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Communion	By : ainsoph15 Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Slash - Male/Male > Jack/Will Views: 2617 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Communion
- 1
Communion

I�ve divested him of everything he thinks makes him himself. There are no layers left now; no barriers. He�s spread out under me on the white sheets like a sacrifice. All the things he clings to are gone. Things he held on to so tightly for so long, never letting the mask slip to reveal the warm human beneath.
He�s more than human now, but to me, he�s just a man. No. More than just a man. He�s mine.
I�ve tied his wrists up over his head to the headboard, the bindings tight enough to cut into the skin, but not so tight that the blood is cut off from his hands with their strong, clever fingers. His left thumb is circling one of the knots in the carved wood, stroking this as a substitute for my skin. One of my nipples is in his mouth and his frustrated hands can�t touch its twin.
I lean back and look down at him, feeling my gut twist. He�s so beautiful it hurts. His hair is splayed around him, framing his face. His eyes are wide, blackened by the dilated pupils. Lips wet and parted. Cheekbones so high the hollows beneath look like bruises. He looks, almost, innocent. Almost frightened. He hasn�t had the right to wear that virginal expression for longer than I�d remember.
Let�s see how long it lasts.
I hover over his mouth and he arches up towards me for the kiss that doesn�t come. Not yet. No kisses yet. Instead I jerk my head back just before his lips touch mine, slide down the length of his rigid body and grip his thighs tightly, spreading them apart. I never break my gaze with him as he lifts his head a little higher, eyes widening further, trying to guess my next move. It�s only when I feel the tremor of anticipation run through him that I tear my eyes from his and disappear from view. I fasten my mouth on the tight opening beneath his balls, licking and sucking. There�s a muffled thump as his head thuds back onto the pillow, followed by a curse. He lets out a long, sobbing moan when I slide my tongue inside him and start darting it in and out. The keening noises he makes when I do this always make me wish I could see his face at the same time. I wriggle my tongue in deeper, and feel his muscles contracting around me, throbbing against my mouth. Sometimes I�ll let him have this, only this, these little wet stabbing thrusts until he�s brought over the edge and comes without my hand or his. But not tonight.
I bite my way up him again, over his thighs and hips, and glance at him to make sure he�s watching before I swallow his cock whole. I let it slide to the back of my throat before I start to suck, my lips buried in the dark, damp curls at the base, my hands gripping his hips and holding him still. I can feel myself getting even harder from the taste of him, as he weeps that salty slickness onto my tongue. He�s so hot it burns. There are many times when I want him to grasp me by the hair and fuck my mouth. This isn�t one of them. Now, I rather feel like teasing him to the point of distraction. I draw my tongue up to the tip of his cock and lick over it, then give him just enough teeth to make him squirm and whimper before taking him deep again. My hands leave his hips for long enough to bind his erection with a leather thong, my fingers dipping under his balls to fasten it securely. Now I decide when he gets his release. He growls and thrashes, and I try to hold his hips down again and snarl, chasing his hardness with my tongue as it jolts from side to side over his belly.
�Keep still,� I hiss, and when he does I reward him with another long lick from root to tip, sliding the point of my tongue into the slit, then take him into my throat again. He�s making little, soft, purring sounds now. I�m sure it�s just to infuriate me more. He knows that the mewling noises are far more likely to bring out the worst in me (that is to say, the best) than any roared obscenities. I release him from my mouth with a satisfying pop, then slide up his body in one, unbroken, tongue-wet line. And I make sure my cock is pressed against his, my hips rolling against him, before I wrap my arms under his shoulders and finally let him kiss me. I know my mouth tastes of him. I play with the tip of his tongue, flicking against it with my own, before I draw it into my mouth and suck it like I was still down between his thighs. He moans and I can feel the throb of him against me; persistent, needy.
I pull back and up onto my knees, and try not to let the grin I give him border too much on smugness, as I lean over the side of the bed and pull out the dagger I keep under the mattress. In case of sudden intruders, of course (not that I need it). And now, this. I hold the dagger in front of his face, silently twirling the handle round in my palm. The blade catches the lamplight and sends flashes around the room. He looks warily from the dagger to my face, and back again, playing along.
�Um� What are you�?�
I put my hand over his mouth and lean against him,
�Shhh,� I whisper against his ear, the command tempered by the soothing tone. He frowns and bites at the heel of my hand as I press it to his lips, brows knitting in anticipation. Slowly, slowly, the tip of the dagger descends, until I rest the sharp point next to his sternum, indenting his glowing skin. He grinds his hips, gnawing on the flesh of my palm. I lower myself down slightly to feel him moving against me, my cock leaving silvery trails on his belly, then draw the dagger over his chest to make one, fine line of delicate red. His head flicks back and he releases my hand with a cry. I lean in and nuzzle his ear with my lips, whispering between kisses, telling him how beautiful he is, and my fist is already poised over him for the next cut, the dagger nicking into the sweat-slicked skin. I pull back and look at him again, slipping my fingers into his mouth, drinking in the fierceness, the lust, the surrender in his wild eyes as I mark him with another crimson streak. His hips buck up against me, and he goes very quiet and sucks my fingers, only stopping every now and then to give a breathy gasp, watching me from under his lashes. If the thong wasn�t there I know he�d have come already from this alone. I carve a third gash, deeper than the other two, and he arches up under the knife, pushing against the blade. The marks glow against his flushed skin. An unholy trinity. A testament to passion. I pull my fingers out of his mouth so I can hear the long, low moan rasping out of his throat. Everything is dissipating into pinpricks of light; hot dancing motes of skin-shimmering fire.
�I want you so much.�
I couldn�t help myself. The words have already left my mouth, and I fill the ache they leave there with the first taste of my handiwork as I bend to his chest. A broken rosary scatters over his skin as each red bead wells up out of him. One. The flat of my tongue slides over the cut, and the taste of him floods into me. Two. Sweet and hot with each heartbeat. Three. Iron and smoke and the taste of him, so real, so now.
I feel so alive.
I move my lips over his chest and kiss and lap at each of his nipples in turn, rolling them in my mouth until they become little hardened nubs. Then I lean on one elbow and give him a small smile, holding the knife up in front of his mouth.
�Lick,� I instruct, grinding against his belly.
His tongue slides out slowly and slicks along the blade, and he chuckles wickedly as my eyes widen. He�s perfectly aware of how much I enjoy watching him. It pales though, next to how much I love touching him.
Then the dagger�s gone as I fling it from my hand, embedding it somewhere in the bulkhead. His eyes watch the arc of the dagger with some amusement, before his gaze is occupied as I crawl up him, straddling his chest and cupping my hands round the back of his head, lifting him. His expression is positively gloating as his lips part, and the tip of his tongue darts out for an instant.
�Suck,� I growl, sliding into his mouth. �Fucking whore, my fucking beautiful whore,� I croon, like a filthy lullaby, running my fingers through his hair as he takes me deep. He�s too damn good at this, though, and I�m wound so tight I�ll need to work fast. I lean back, easing out of him, lowering his head back to the pillow as I work my way down the bed again. His eyes lock with mine, and as I bend over towards him to retrieve the bottle we keep in the bedside drawer, he arches up and tries to kiss me again. This time I let him. I can never resist him for long. For a long moment I let myself drown in the feel of him kissing me.
I hold the bottle high up over him and tilt it, waiting for the first viscous splash. He watches each drop fall, gold on his golden skin. He shivers as the oil runs into the gashes on his chest, though I know they�re already starting to seal shut without leaving a single mark under the red lines.
More oil. Drip, drip, drip. Oil on his belly, over his bound cock, painfully hard, and down between his thighs. I use two fingers to spread his pursed entrance apart, and he hisses and pants as the cool oil falls onto his hot, puckered skin. I slip a single finger into him and twist once to anoint the way. Only just enough. Just enough to breach him, and leave the rest of him raw. With one hand I slick up my cock, then flick the lid on the bottle and send it back onto the tabletop with a clatter.
Now is not the time for gentleness, and sweet words whispered softly into each others ears. I hold his thighs wide apart and allow myself to look at him, bare and open and beautiful under me, before I bury my yard deep into his tight, waiting hole and fuck him hard. He grunts and bares his teeth as I ream him, and I catch the feral noises he�s making with my lips and swallow them down.
No, he�s not so innocent looking now, as he thrashes and moans under my mouth, his tongue flicking into me. I know he�s doing his best not to bite down on my lips. Sometimes his self-control is� quite unexpected.
I�m the first one he�s ever allowed to do anything like this to him, ever wanted and begged and pleaded for this, and I damn well want to be the last. A disjointed memory chimes in my head, so far-off and long ago it seems more like a legend now:
I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end� This is my body� this is my blood� Do this in remembrance of me. Through him, with him, in him.
He was my undoing; I, his.
I lift my head and look into his eyes, heavy-lidded and full of lust. Lovelier than any pretty rhetoric. Mmm. He doesn�t look innocent at all now. More like a fallen angel. Lucifer by lamplight. My devil and my salvation.
He snarls between gasps,
�Harder. Harder. Make me bleed.�
God, he�s shameless. And dangerous.
I wrap my arms around his neck, and bury my face into his shoulder, thrusting into him fiercely. He feels incredible. I can feel his cock, hot between his belly and my own. He grinds out,
�Don�t stop.�
I lift my head to grin at him, and see that his eyes are squeezed shut. A single tear runs from the corner of his left eye, wet on the already damp skin of his cheek. This is mine, too, this drop. I�m not sure if it�s from pleasure or pain, the wicked twin gods who preside over flesh. I claim the salt taste of him with my lips, kissing his cheek before I whisper into his ear.
�Oh, I�m not going to stop. Not until you�re screaming my name and begging me to untie this,� I slide a hand between us, ghosting my fingers over the strap around his cock and the aching skin, �so you can come.�
I swing his legs over my shoulders, grip at his thighs and slide all the way inside him, watching myself disappear. And, oh, oh fuck, he feels so good, and I�ve got to� I�ve got to� Can�t stop slamming into him. Only the sound of slick skin smacking against skin. All the hairs on my body prickle from the heat, the tightness, his eyes incandescent. Just now, this moment, no barriers. I suck at the skin on his ankles and calves where I�ve hitched them up over my shoulders until everything is coloured by my mouth. He�s an altar that demands worship with each guttural moan. Everything is punctuated by howls, and I don�t know any more which of us is shouting louder.
Then I make him roar again, because suddenly I grab him by the ankles and wrap his legs around my waist, pull halfway out of him, and then keep perfectly still. I raise his hand to my chest, and put mine on his, gashed and swollen, and I make him breathe in time with me, slowing it down, bringing it back from the edge. His heart and mine, both pounding to the same seething rhythm; two drums beating the same tattoo, where once one had to do for us both. Then carefully, gently, I undo the cord round his cock. I want to hold this off just a bit longer. Always a bit longer. I look down and see the red blush between his thighs, on my hips. The colour matches the flush of his cheeks and the scripture on his chest; promises written in blood.
�More. You said you wouldn�t stop.� His voice rasps with fury. He writhes against me, trying to impale himself back onto my length. At that, I laugh, and look into those beautiful eyes, narrowed into slits.
�I lied,� I say. He actually has the audacity to look shocked for a moment. I dip my head and touch my lips to his collarbone, kissing across into the hair under his arm, lapping at the scent of him there, musky sweat like anger and passion making me want to throw my head back and rut him like an animal.
Not yet.
Instead I roll my hips and feel him tighten and buck underneath me.
�More,� he groans, digging his heels into my buttocks, trying to force me to move faster, deeper.
NOT YET.
My heart is thudding so hard I can feel the echo in my tarse, pulsing inside him. I dip my tongue into the crook of his neck and lave at the skin. He smells different here, like the air after a thunderstorm. I fasten my teeth into him and give him two quick, shallow thrusts and hold still again, sending the blood in my veins on a skittering path around my body. He heaves against me, cursing and struggling against the bindings round his hands, only succeeding in making them tighter. Suddenly a pain shoots through both of my ears as he jabs me in the side of the head with his elbow on one side, and nips the lobe of the other with sharp teeth, momentarily catching hold of one of the gold rings. I snap my head up and we glare at each other, united by savage, raw need. His eyes are barely human now, and he snarls through gritted teeth,
�Fuck me, you bastard.�
Fingers tangled together through the headboard, bodies pressed close, I crush my lips against his, licking the salt of him back into his own mouth. All I can taste and feel and see and smell is him, all over me. And there, with my lips up against the confessional of his skin, there is no such thing as sin.
Ego te absolvo.
�Thou shalt have no other gods before me,� he says, the wryness wrung from his tone as his whole body tenses.
�And thou shalt have none after me,� I gasp, my grin ecstatic, as I feel him tightening, tightening, offering himself up completely to me as he shudders with wave after wave of orgasm, bringing me over the edge with him into a lovelier heaven than one either of us will ever know.
When he comes, he doesn�t scream my name. He whispers it, over and over. The amen to a prayer answered.
I rock against him, gentler now, and slide a hand between us across his slippery belly, describing circles with my fingers around his navel. He twists and struggles against the bindings so hard he makes the heavy headboard rattle. This time I know it�s because he wants to put his arms around me and can�t. I bring my fingers up to my mouth, tasting him, watching him watching me. He tastes like hot paradise and eternal torment. Like brine and embers. Like mine.
Oh God, what have you done to me?
I grip his shoulders and gaze at him. The expression that passes between us is different now. There is no challenge. No pride or posturing. This is the truth. Candid and raw. A bright, sharp edge so beautifully pure it pierces the laboured pulse and thud in each of our chests. He smiles at me. His real smile. For a moment, he looks so very young.
I pull out of him, slowly, raggedly, then reach down with one hand and slick the wetness from the seam between his legs. I put my fingers into his mouth and make him taste this too, his blood and my come and the sharp tang of himself. He sucks at me wetly, his teeth fastened on my knuckles. I bend my head and lick at the streaks of blood on his chest, the cuts now closed to leave him scarless and perfect, then I lean in and kiss him, lapping at the obscene taste of his mouth. He arches up against my chest and slides his tongue into me. This. What I want. My head is thumping in time with my heart and I can feel my arms start to shake with the effort of holding myself up over him. Him. Me. All one. Sacred and profane.
I untie the cord of the slipknot round his wrists with one sharp tug and slide the crumpled silk from the headboard. His arms wrap round me at last and he rolls me onto my side, his head pressed against my shoulder. Soft caresses, my hands stroking his back. His arms lock around me, his fingers reminding themselves of the shape of my spine. He kisses me roughly, and again I lick at the wanton flavour of his lips. I use the silk still balled in my hand to gently wipe him clean, brushing it over the red sweat of his chest and the stickiness on his belly. I wrap it over the length of his cock and smooth away the last remnants of his release, then pass the damp cloth between his legs. There�s no more of the sudden urgency for water that there once was, so long ago, washing each other away as if we were dirt. Familiarity breeds contempt for propriety at least. I do not mourn its loss. I shall not repent.
This is holiness. Our resurrection and our life.
We lie wrapped around each other, kisses and sliding limbs and no words. Soon he�s hard again. Insatiable. He pushes me onto my back, straddling across me, leaning down over my face and curtaining me with his hair in a pall of chimes and whispers. He doesn�t take his eyes off me. They glitter blackly as he tugs open the drawer in the table next to the bed. He pulls out a length of thick, coarse rope, and drags it over my collarbone, flicking one end up against my neck.
�I think it�s my turn,� he says, a dangerous rasp in his voice. �An� I�m not gonna hold back like you do.� His grin glints in the half-light, and he bends to kiss me, catching my answering smile between his teeth, biting down harder now because he had held back before, relishing my cry of pain. Wine in the chalice turns to blood.
He pulls back, and his face becomes suddenly quizzical. He rummages under one knee and retrieves the leather cord I used to bind him earlier.
�Aha! I think this is yours.� I take the thong from him and start to bind my hair back again.
�No, leave it,� he says, the hard edge back in his voice, as he wraps a finger round a few stray curls and gives them a sharp, demonstrative tug. �I like your hair like that. An� it gives me somethin� to hold on to.�
I toss the little slip of leather off the bed. It lands on top of a black heap on the floor that was once a cassock until I ripped it open at the seams when he turned up in my cabin tonight, back from wherever and full of stories. His real disguise is always much more difficult to remove; the years of masks and harlequin veneers.
I grin again and pull him down for another kiss, wrapping my legs around him.
The last thing I whisper against his lips before he gags my mouth is our trinity; the three words that make him smile as if I offered him the keys to the kingdom of heaven.

Forever and ever.

Amen.
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Communion