Slashy pirates
Oct. 20th, 2003 10:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ravenI blame all of you for this. Me, slashing pirates? How very uncharacteristic. This was briefly scribbled in half an hour or so, and the title is subject to change, by the way. Suggestions are very welcome.
Licked and Twirled
by Raven
“Wind in the sails!”
It’s always the same. The parrot, feathers gleaming in the sea-sparkle brightness, wheels over the deck. Will turns as the shadow of wings passes over his head. He sees there’s another shadow coming; a silhouette with the sun behind him.
Swish, swish, swish...
Jack... no, Captain Jack Sparrow.
...swish, swish.
Will fights the urge to stand to attention. He’s not in the navy, after all. He’s a...
Blacksmith. He’s a blacksmith. He leans over the side with self-conscious insolence, ignoring the presence behind him. If he looks out to sea, he can imagine he sees the Black Pearl, and from there run the safe thoughts.
“My, my.” Jack props one elbow up on the side and leans in. “Ignoring our captain, are we?”
He’s close enough to touch.
Will blinks. That was not a safe thought.
Swish, swish... why does the man walk and talk and think like... like that?
He went crazy, they say. He went mad from the heat and the dehydration, and he lashed a pair of sea-turtles together with human hair, and that’s why he’s...
Stop it. Do you believe that?
Do you, Will Turner?
“No, Captain,” he says seriously, austerely. His eyes are on the deck. He is the image of a man ready to die for the love of a woman. She’s out there still, on board ship with a gang of pirates and murderers, and he’d die for her, he really would, he’d do anything to get her back safe, and that’s why he’s here on a stolen naval vessel with a man who’s made outrageousness into an art form, and he’s loathing every minute of this, he is, he is.
“Good, good.” Jack’s eyes are lingering over the sea. “I don’t like it when they ignore me, don’t you know. I like it when everyone gets along.”
“Yes, Captain,” says Will primly.
Oh, he’s just asking for it there, isn’t he?
Isn’t he?
Jack pulls his gaze from the water and looks across to the tiller. “Anna, darling,” he says.
Anna-Maria stares at him balefully. “Yes?”
“Go down and see if our friends in the navy left us any rum, would you?”
“Get it your-bloody-self, Jack Sparrow.”
“Please?” His voice is like butter, soft and melting and insidious.
She slaps him. But she goes and gets it.
He rubs his cheek. “I love women,” he says ruefully, addressing the air. Will is firmly facing in the other direction.
It’s not going to work.
Jack perches up on the side, caring nothing for the danger. “You’ve got a girl, haven’t you,” he says, and it isn’t a question. How could he not know the answer?
Will is trying to ignore him.
Jack merely looks at him. He lets the light of insanity burn brightly. One long, slender index finger is extended, licked and twirled with slow, delicate movements, brought closer and closer…
Will jumps and jerks away. He is trying to look afraid.
“Mmm. Hard to get.” Jack licks his lips, tosses his head with perfect come-hither coquettishness.
Will draws himself up to his full height, resplendent with the light of righteous indignation. “I beg you, sir...” he begins, in the furiously clipped tones of His Majesty’s naval officers.
He doesn’t get very much further. It’s all about what a man can do, and what he can’t; and what Jack can’t do is resist temptation.
Will reaches out, grabbing blindly. Jack watches as his hat is grabbed and thrown to the deck. He glances at it. “That’s interesting.”
There are teeth-marks in the leather.
“But,” Jack says, thoughtfully, “if that’s how you want it...”
After some time, Anna smashes a rum bottle over his head, but he doesn’t feel it.
Steady like a heartbeat, the lapping waves against the ship, and time blends into shattered glass and rapid breathing and alcoholic sweetness, until it is the light of the moon that sparkles off the water, making metal and human hair shine silver on the deck.
“Wind in your sails!” shrieks the parrot.
Rustle, rustle; the brief sweep of skin on leather, a light-as-air kiss dropped on a shadow, then swish.
Swish, swish, swish.
“Welcome to the Caribbean, love.”
finis
Licked and Twirled
by Raven
“Wind in the sails!”
It’s always the same. The parrot, feathers gleaming in the sea-sparkle brightness, wheels over the deck. Will turns as the shadow of wings passes over his head. He sees there’s another shadow coming; a silhouette with the sun behind him.
Swish, swish, swish...
Jack... no, Captain Jack Sparrow.
...swish, swish.
Will fights the urge to stand to attention. He’s not in the navy, after all. He’s a...
Blacksmith. He’s a blacksmith. He leans over the side with self-conscious insolence, ignoring the presence behind him. If he looks out to sea, he can imagine he sees the Black Pearl, and from there run the safe thoughts.
“My, my.” Jack props one elbow up on the side and leans in. “Ignoring our captain, are we?”
He’s close enough to touch.
Will blinks. That was not a safe thought.
Swish, swish... why does the man walk and talk and think like... like that?
He went crazy, they say. He went mad from the heat and the dehydration, and he lashed a pair of sea-turtles together with human hair, and that’s why he’s...
Stop it. Do you believe that?
Do you, Will Turner?
“No, Captain,” he says seriously, austerely. His eyes are on the deck. He is the image of a man ready to die for the love of a woman. She’s out there still, on board ship with a gang of pirates and murderers, and he’d die for her, he really would, he’d do anything to get her back safe, and that’s why he’s here on a stolen naval vessel with a man who’s made outrageousness into an art form, and he’s loathing every minute of this, he is, he is.
“Good, good.” Jack’s eyes are lingering over the sea. “I don’t like it when they ignore me, don’t you know. I like it when everyone gets along.”
“Yes, Captain,” says Will primly.
Oh, he’s just asking for it there, isn’t he?
Isn’t he?
Jack pulls his gaze from the water and looks across to the tiller. “Anna, darling,” he says.
Anna-Maria stares at him balefully. “Yes?”
“Go down and see if our friends in the navy left us any rum, would you?”
“Get it your-bloody-self, Jack Sparrow.”
“Please?” His voice is like butter, soft and melting and insidious.
She slaps him. But she goes and gets it.
He rubs his cheek. “I love women,” he says ruefully, addressing the air. Will is firmly facing in the other direction.
It’s not going to work.
Jack perches up on the side, caring nothing for the danger. “You’ve got a girl, haven’t you,” he says, and it isn’t a question. How could he not know the answer?
Will is trying to ignore him.
Jack merely looks at him. He lets the light of insanity burn brightly. One long, slender index finger is extended, licked and twirled with slow, delicate movements, brought closer and closer…
Will jumps and jerks away. He is trying to look afraid.
“Mmm. Hard to get.” Jack licks his lips, tosses his head with perfect come-hither coquettishness.
Will draws himself up to his full height, resplendent with the light of righteous indignation. “I beg you, sir...” he begins, in the furiously clipped tones of His Majesty’s naval officers.
He doesn’t get very much further. It’s all about what a man can do, and what he can’t; and what Jack can’t do is resist temptation.
Will reaches out, grabbing blindly. Jack watches as his hat is grabbed and thrown to the deck. He glances at it. “That’s interesting.”
There are teeth-marks in the leather.
“But,” Jack says, thoughtfully, “if that’s how you want it...”
After some time, Anna smashes a rum bottle over his head, but he doesn’t feel it.
Steady like a heartbeat, the lapping waves against the ship, and time blends into shattered glass and rapid breathing and alcoholic sweetness, until it is the light of the moon that sparkles off the water, making metal and human hair shine silver on the deck.
“Wind in your sails!” shrieks the parrot.
Rustle, rustle; the brief sweep of skin on leather, a light-as-air kiss dropped on a shadow, then swish.
Swish, swish, swish.
“Welcome to the Caribbean, love.”
finis
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no subject
on 2003-10-20 11:59 pm (UTC)I esp. like the repetition of "swish" and the last line.
Yay for PotC slash! (You don't suppose we should start a PotC slash yahoo group, do you? Although I bet by now, someone already has)
no subject
on 2003-10-21 02:10 am (UTC)STOP WRITING BLOODY GOOD FIC WHEN I'M IN THE LIBRARY
Or, rather, don't. Because it amuses me when people make strange faces at my 'O_O GUH' expressions :D
no subject
on 2003-10-21 06:53 am (UTC)And yes, swish is exactly the word.
no subject
on 2003-10-21 06:56 am (UTC)It's like my logic over Legolas/Aragorn- they're too pretty not to be slashy.
Lovely!
(And welcome to the Caribbean yourself!)