Captain Jack Sparrow/'Bootstrap' Bill Turner
A pirate's greatest love must always be the sea. Right?
Slash. Taking it that both Jack and Bill are in their 20s here; Jack is Captain of the ship and Bill is a sailor.
-o-o-o-
Captain Jack Sparrow stands on deck and stares out over the empty ocean, ring-clad hands tightly fisted around the spokes of the wheel. His shallow breaths seem to echo across the stillness as he stands, taut and alone, closing his eyes for a moment to feel the throbbing in his arm stretch through his whole body and centre between the temples. With a forced grin, he reaches for the rum bottle, so intent on easing the aching that he doesn't sense the person behind him until the bottle is snatched from his fingers.
The Captain turns sharply, a most unimpressed look overtaking his features as he sees Bootstrap Bill Turner dangling the bottle from his fingers, smirking. "An' what precisely, Mr. Turner, be your intention in depriving an honest sailor of his rum?" Jack slurs, studying Bill's face for an answer. "Why, I'd never do such a thing unless the aforementioned sailor had imbibed far too much of said rum already." Bootstrap replies promptly, setting the rum carefully out of Jack's reach and stepping towards the other man even as the Captain turns back to the wheel.
Bill lets his hands slip along Jack's thin shoulders, rubbing away knots of tension as the Captain's eyes flutter shut, stopping only when Jack winces under his touch. "Jack?" Bootstrap questions, turning the other man to face him. The inquiry goes unanswered as the man's sharp eyes pick out a bloody tear on the Captain's battered overcoat sleeve.
He moves to remove Jack's hands from the wheel, large, pale hands curling around small, clinging ones and eventually pulling them free; Bill holds the other man still, pulling the overcoat off to reveal a blue jacket stained with blood from a fresh, jagged wound. Jack has the good grace to look vaguely sheepish in the face of his companion's indignant fury.
"How?" Bill snaps, glaring at his superior and refusing to relinquish his grip as the Captain gives a wan smile. "Well, presuming that your memory stretches back to our recent escapades in Tortuga, you may recall that rather... Unfortunate incident with a large glass of strong rum and a very unhappy sailor with a large, sharp sword."
At Bootstrap's confused look, Jack's grin turns bitter. "Or perhaps," he continues, somehow leaning into Bill and trying to pull away at the same moment, "The altercation occurred while you were otherwise occupied, charmingly wooing your latest strumpet?"
The Captain's lip curls as he watches Bill intently, waiting for some retort. He doesn't expect what happens; Bootstrap simply shrugs and slings an arm around Jack's shoulders, effortlessly steering him towards the edge of the ship and seating him on the wooden rail. He realises that Jack is trembling.
"Wait here." He grunts, leaving Jack to watch the ebony waves, quite contented, and muse upon the location of that other bottle of rum.
-o-o-o-
Moments later, Bill returns carrying a bowl of water and a pile of rags. Jack watches pensively as the man strides across the empty deck. When Bootstrap reaches Jack he wordlessly dips one rag in water and unbuttons his unresisting Captain's jacket and shirt.
As the thin shirt is slipped off stiff shoulders, cold sea air breaks in waves against the man's warm, tan skin and he shudders. Bootstrap smirks, but doesn't comment, beginning instead to trace the rag along Jack's wound and clean the blood away, lips pursed in lingering disapproval. Long minutes later, the stroking of the rag against tender skin is no longer stinging but relaxing. Jack's head lolls forward, snapping him out of sleepy reverie, at the same moment as Bill ties another rag around his arm and mutters, "There."
For a moment, captain and sailor, pirate and pirate, stare at each other. Bill sees Jack, dark eyes uniquely unguarded, with clean-shaven face and tangled hair offset by bare chest and bright bandana. Jack sees Bill; long brown hair neatly tied back and tired, concerned eyes standing out in a youthful face that looks readily at his own and makes his stomach clench every time.
Bootstrap breaks into a smile first and bends to pick up Jack's shirt, but it is Jack who laces his fingers through those of his companion, pulling the both of them towards the his cabin. The Captain himself misses the angry gaze upon them from the Crow's Nest, but Turner sees Barbossa watching and, just for a moment, he wonders.
-o-o-o-
As the mahogany doors to the Captain's Quarters swing shut behind them, Bootstrap takes in the familiar surroundings; oak desk in the corner, mountains of maps spilling their secrets from every line that lie piled upon each other and take up an entire wall, trunk of clothes against another, porthole on the third. The large, soft bed takes up the centre of the cabin and Bill feels a rush of affection for the room and the memories it holds.
He turns to Jack and grins tentatively, squeezing the man's hand. The Captain purses his lips. "So, Mr. Turner, would I be too presumptuous if I were to venture to assume that you are, in fact, in love with the current strumpet?" Bill rolls his eyes. "Her name is Rebecca." He says mildly, avoiding the question until he looks at Jack and sees the flash of hurt in his eyes.
Bootstrap sighs. "Jack... I believe I have informed you, repeatedly, that my only love will always be the sea." The man cannot resist another glance at Jack, who simply shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. Bootstrap sees the way his eyes sparkle, though, and he doesn't miss that vein throbbing in the man's neck like it always does when he's distraught, and he isn't fooled.
The Captain glances at him with calm, shielded eyes and composedly trying to slip his hand away from Bootstrap's.
Bill tightens his grip, watching Jack's suddenly furious gaze fix on him, and clears his throat. "I never said I was an honest man." He mutters, the words suddenly hard to say in the face of the hope glittering in Jack's expression. "I lied to you; I... My only love may not be the sea."
The Captain's face pales like the silver-white moon far above their heads. "Then I suggest you return to your harlot, Turner, because I have no place upon my ship for a woman." He says curtly, his voice barely wavering.
"Jack..." Bill whispers, raises his other hand to cup the pirate's smooth cheek, stares into his eyes and feels his heart prepare to break, "It's you."
-o-o-o-
Captain Jack Sparrow stares in stunned silence at William Turner. For the first time, conceivably the only time in his life, he is lost for words. Instead of trying, he presses his lips against Bootstrap's, feeling his own calloused, bitten lips against Bill's mouth that is as miraculously soft as all the rest of his body.
Jack nips the other man's lip gently as he pulls away to rest their foreheads together, repressing the ridiculous urge to cry at something that has occured so many times before but has never meant so much. Silently, smiling widely, Bill kneels to remove Jack's boots, his sash, his weapons, before stripping off his own and his waistcoat and doublet.
The two stare at each other, each dressed only in light trousers, and Jack takes Bill's hand again and leads him to the bed, slipping beneath the crimson velvet covers (liberated during one of their more exotic ventures). Bootstrap, pulling the blankets back, pauses for a moment as he stares at Jack's tanned skin with the spine's ridges clearly visible through his back, shoulder blades obscured by a waterfall of tangled ebony locks, brown trousers riding low on slim hips. The man looks so unusually vulnerable, curled up facing away from Bill, waiting for him. Trusting him.
With an irrepressible smile, Bootstrap slips in beside Jack, one arm possessively sliding around his thin waist and the other reaching to stroke through his dark, tangled hair. Jack hums contentedly under his breath for a moment, grinning sleepily. "Love ya, Bill." He whispers, and Bootstrap can feel the man hold his breath as he waits for an answer.
Just for a moment, he panics; Bill is a pirate, and pirates do not fall in love, but Jack Sparrow always was special. Still, love is an awfully big word, and they are both so young... The pirate in him casts around for a way to evade the question, but Bill looks at the man curled up in his arms and he suddenly knows the answer.
"Love ya, Jack."
-o-o-o-
Review?