The clouds of the evening did not bode well. The stark contrast between the bright sunshine of yesterday and the gloom of the too-quickly descending darkness made Jack feel uneasy when waiting for Will to come home. By the looks of it, it would be a long time apart, and not that things had finally settled again, the money gotten from the recent movie gone to replenishing the Black Pearl as planned, and Jack was looking forward to spending a quiet evening with his beloved.
Will stormed through the door, that same storm in his eyes, building and flashing, mingled with frustration and anger at the gods who were relentless, capricious and entirely too much to handle even when you were prepared for anything in your immortal power.
"I have to go." Like Jack didn't know that already. "There's a hurricane building up out of nowhere. I swear, Jack, I had nothing to do with this. I didn't even know about it before I got a visit from Calypso."
That was the thing about goddesses. Especially when they hadn't quite forgiven for having the wool pulled over their eyes in order to blackmail them the freedom of the Ferryman, which, even if Jack said it himself, had gone quite marvelously.
"Does this mean you have to leave right this minute?" Jack stepped closer to soaking wet Will, arms open in invitation. To get drenched was least of his worries, when there was no saying when they cold meet again. The earthquakes and tsunamis in Haiti and Japan had proven that to be more than true.
"The hurricane hasn't hit just yet," Will answered, having produced a towel to dry his hair, chucking damp clothes over chairs to dry until he stood naked in the living room.
All Jack could do was to stare his full, his mind clambering for something to send Will on his way with good thoughts, the sight of a wet Will meddling with those thoughts peacefully. So the was no rush.
"You have until tomorrow?" Jack took a stride which separated him from Will, and when his hand finally touched Will's arm, he found it cold as ice.
"We need to get you warmed up. I'd force a cup of tea down your throat, but knowing that it'll only make you feel queasy, I think we'll skip that. But warm up you must."
Will leans into Jack's embrace pliant, lingering in the warmth he hadn't noticed he'd been missing, finding the crook of Jack's neck to nuzzle and murmur; "I'm sure you can find a way."
Without a second thought, Jack guides the to the bedroom, his mind only working around the fact that the comforters are warm, the bed is soft, and his own body heat can also do so much to get Will's blood flowing again.
Once Will is tucked beneath the blankets, Jack doesn't bother making it a show as he divests his own clothes and slips next to Will, gathering the man into his arms, resting his thigh on Will's hip.
Both their cocks show interest in the proximity, as they would, on their own volition, which naturally gives Will the rather frisky idea that this warming up-thing could go a lot faster with Jack lodged deep inside him.
Sneaking a hand lower, between their bodies, Will draws a sigh from Jack as he squeezes Jack's half-hard cock with a twist. Jack does not complain. Instead he returns the favour, and wraps his fingers around both their cocks, coaxing Will to do the same.
With irrational relief, Jack makes a note of Will's cock being as hot as ever, giving him a jolt in his stomach, because this was all about taking care of his lover.
Slow movements made circles of pinkish hues raise upon Will's cheeks, the flush spreading all across his chest, and from the miserable heap the man was before, he transferred into something completely different, right there in front to Jack's eyes.
Will's hand found Jack, lacing their fingers together tightly, tight enough for them to enjoy the friction of their cocks meeting, the pressure of their joined hands, and in mere seconds, they found a pacifying, unhurried rhythm, allowing them to share a long kiss without having to part to pant for air.
Languid moments, like warmed wine in front of a fireplace, the knowledge of departure lost in the pleasant haze of one another, but as it goes, it would not be enough. They were always demanding for more, knowing that the other would give it freely.
With Will properly warmed up, the demand changed shape; for pace, for contact, as he mouthed Jack's collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, a reminder, his hand working faster on their joined cocks, Jack unable to do more than to obey the wordless call. Wordless, but not silent, as Jack wrung out sounds from Will's chest. Wanton moans when Jack's thumb brushed over the slick tip of Will's cock; sigh, when Jack drew his hand slowly over the smooth skin, kissing Will deeply while twisting his hand, conducting this beatific play of love and lust, the line between the two so fragile neither of them knew where the other began, nor where the end was.
Mingled breaths came out harsh, there was no room for lips meeting lips, except for the desperate need to murmur against each others mouths, endearments, promises, sweet, sweet nothings turned into messages of the most importance, for their truth, when the need to become one overwhelmed.
It didn't take long, while taking an eternity, for the men to come loose, the prickling in the base of their spines simultaneous as if conducted my a master bandleader, the tight grip of building orgasm forcing Will to curve away from Jack, and Jack to curve against Will, as it had always been, as it always would remain.
The feel of their simultaneous completion had never lost its shine. To be able to share that particular moment, to brand each other's names into their skins with merely words, was something unfathomable.
And then, there was the relief, the certainty. That it would happen again, which was an idea even greater than any form of sexual release. For they had, somewhere along the line, become one.
Leaving was the last thing in their minds. For they'd always find each other again.
Not that Jack was going to budge before he had Will in his arms again.
