It had been worth all the wait, the nigh two weeks the shipment was late, when the trader carrying spices under the flag of the Dutch Indian Trading Company finally aroused the holler of 'ship ahoy!' from the crow's nest, the Black Pearl began bustling with well practiced, precise action.
An easy task - these vessels weren't as nearly as closely protected as their English counterparts - and the pirates' East Indiaman was packed with spices.
Furthermore, amongst the crates of black pepper, the exotic cloves, the delicious smell of cinnamon wafting everywhere Will turned, there was one scent above them all, and it seemed to, curiously enough, follow wherever Jack went.
Will recognized the scent. It was coffee. The black, rich, stimulating drink of kings and aristocrats, lords and respectable ladies, and somehow, Jack had managed to negotiate a stash of his own, in turn for giving up his part of the mace and the nutmeg, despite of the threat of the plague.
Not entirely sure if his feet were even touching the ground, Will floated after the scent, all the way to Jack's cabin, and before he could knock on the door, required under the current circumstances with Jack as the very much acting Captain of the Black Pearl, the order came for Will to step in.
In he stepped, into a dream, where Jack sat behind the table, finest china splayed before him, cups filled with black, invaluable nectar, the room a slice of heaven.
"Take a seat," Jack stood up and offered Will a chair with a coy, yet cunning smile on his face.
Speechless, Will sat down, suddenly almost painfully, gratefully aware that this was for them alone, waiting for Jack to take the initial sip, not daring to touch the breathtaking scene laid before him, the odor of the black gold heady in the already dizzying mix of scents.
As if Will hadn't been enthralled enough, that Jack would arrange this, this romantic event, his Captain saw it fit to produce clumps of sugar to plop in their cups, stirring his own succulent brew reverently, then, holding his cup up under his nose.
"Try it," Jack urged Will, who could but stare in his dazed felicity.
With a shaky hand, Will lifted the cup to his lips, the rich, bittersweet taste flooding his mouth instantaneously. Eyes closed, he savored the moment, and had it broken by Jack, with his enigmatic statement; "Only one thing to make it even better."
Before Will could make a move, Jack was already at his side of the table, behind Will, leaning over his shoulder, and capturing the man in a bewildering kiss.
Will, in all honesty, thought he might die. The cloves, the peppers, the saffron, the coffee, and Jack. Were it a dream, Will refused to wake up. Until Jack spoke again, an equally besotted expression adorning his face, as he sampled Will's lips again with a murmur; "One day, my love, I promise you, we'll even have chocolate."