Any Port In A Storm
Chapter III : From Dream to Dream
[ colloquial title : Mine ]
***
It seemed as if I did not wake, but simply passed from dream to dream.
The late afternoon sun was pouring through the windows, casting long, dusty beams of light through the indigenous shadows of the smithy. The air close knit and warm and settled like a veil over us, the scent of heated cypress drifting down from the rafters. And Captain Jack Sparrow was asleep in my arms.
He lay with his head tucked under my chin, limbs entangled with mine and his hair trailing softly over my jaw. The cloak had fallen away from us in the night, or perhaps we'd thrown it back as the morning had grown warm, and now the sunlight roamed unchecked over his slender, supple body; highlighting the smooth curve of his side with a nearly ethereal glow and casting soft shadows beneath the angle of his hip. For a long moment I simply lay there, cherishing the rise and fall of his ribs against my own and the warmth of his slow, even breathing against my chest.
How positively peaceful he seemed in slumber; how far flung and distant from the waking Jack Sparrow who seemed, at times, too intense to be human. He was never truly still, awake, and never truly relaxed; a virtual ball of energy with a lightening quick sword hand and a seemingly preternatural tolerance for physical pain. Captain Jack Sparrow; the last real pirate threat left in the Caribbean - uncatchable by officials, unstoppable by cannons, and unpredictable as the day was long.
But here in my arms he was simply Jack - not a terror or a legend but a man like any other; a living, breathing human being that had gone to Hell and back with me to save the one I love, and ended up becoming the one I love instead. A good man. A best friend. A perfect lover. I held him for a long time in the still, warm afternoon and listened to him breathe ... pressed my fingers oh-so-gently to his throat and let his pulse hypnotize me. Alive. He was not a corpse on a rope, somewhere -- not a warning sign to warn off other pirates. He was not starving to death in a prison cell on the other side of the world. Jack Sparrow was alive, and he was beautiful, and he was mine.
I lifted his chin without waking him -- raised his face to mine, pressed a fleeting, butterfly kiss to his lips, and whispered "Mine," against them.
Jack shifted against me ever so slightly in his sleep, his fingers curling faintly again my chest when I kissed him again; coming awake only when I parted his lips with my own. He yielded to the kiss with a soft, sleepy moan. I took his hand in mine, kissed his fingers, drew him closer.
A faint smile crept across his lips as he lay his head against my shoulder, closed his eyes again and whispered; "You know I almost though I was still dreaming?" .
"I almost thought the same. I never thought I'd see you again."
"I never thought you'd want me to..."
The words turned something deep in my stomach. I shifted so that I could see his face. "What do you mean...?"
"Well, here you are, all settled down nice as you please with Elizabeth. You had what your bonnie lass back, and I figured..."
He trailed off into silence. I searched out his eyes, but he would not look at me, and perhaps it was just as well -- for I saw something in them that I had never seen there before, and never want to see again.
Tears.
Captain Jack Sparrow was about to cry.
"Jack, no..." I whispered. "Listen to me." Cupping his jaw very gently in my palm, I lifted his face to meet mine. "I love you, all right? I love Elizabeth, but I'm *in* love with you. Didn't you know it? God, Jack ... when they had you on those gallows ... it's always been you, don't you see? They would have had to kill me to kill you..."
Those dark eyes were fathomless. He looked almost scared to believe me; indeed, I would not have been surprised if he was. In the field of passion he is very much an expert -- and yet knew almost nothing of love. And then the tears spilled over those long, dark lashes, and Jack Sparrow cried for the first time in years.
I let him cry against my chest. He let me kiss him through his tears. He let me gather him close in the crook of my arm, and brush his cheekbones dry with my lips. Silence, save for the hushed sound of his shuddering, uneven breathing. Heartbreaking. How long had it been since he'd allowed himself to cry? How long had he swallowed back these tears, hidden them beneath a layer of lightening quick wit and a charming smile? How long had it been since he'd had a shoulder to cry on?
I made love to him again, slow and gentle in the lazy, late afternoon sunshine. I touched him as though I had never touched anyone else, as though his body were the only thing real to me. I kissed him as I have never kissed Elizabeth. I consecrated his body with my fingertips, burning him into my mind with each caress so that I would never, ever forget these blessed moments when he was mine, and mine alone.
He lay against me when it was over; flushed and tousled, and there are no words to describe the strikingly beautiful portrait he made. The shafts of sunshine slanted at an ever increasing angle across the smithy. Late. It would be dark again, soon. Elizabeth was either panicked, or furious, or both; indeed, I almost wondered why someone hadn't come knocking on the door to find me, yet. I wish I could say that it mattered to me. I wish I could say that I felt guilty, but I didn't.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I already knew that I wasn't going back to her. I couldn't. Happily Ever After had all been a lie; a last, desperate attempt to deny my blood, my heritage, my fate, and my passion. I was William Turner; son of Bootstraps Bill, lover of Captain Jack Sparrow. I couldn't hide in Port Royale for the rest of my life, keep my back turned on destiny and go on pretending. My place was on the sea. My place was beside him.
Jack stretched lazily in my arms, rolled over and propped himself up on an elbow beside me. For a long moment he simply looked at me, and then he whispered,
"I love you, Will Turner."
There was no other choice for me, now. Going back to Elizabeth would have been a cruelty to all three of us. I couldn't love her the way she wanted me to love her, the way that -- once upon a time - I dreamed of loving her. She was precious to me, and beautiful, and forever would her darling, doll like face hold a dear place in my heart; but to return to her ... to hold her and wish to hold him instead -- this I could not do. I could not lie to her with tender gestures any longer. I had to go Home.
"I love you, Jack Sparrow. And I'm coming with you, this time. I won't lose you again."
Jacks eyebrows drew down and together, knit in an expression of soft confusion. "You're a married man, Will." Small hitch in his voice, though he did well to hide it.
"I am. And I shouldn't be. I should have left Port Royale behind forever the day I helped you escape. I should have dove off the cliff after you. I should have done what my blood told me to do, from the first time I set eyes on you, and followed in my fathers footsteps. I'm coming with you, Jack. When the Black Pearl hauls anchor, I'll be on her deck. I'm done lying to Elizabeth, and I'm done lying to myself. I am my father's son -- and you made me see it, Jack. You're the reason I know who I am."
He grew very, very quiet - drew his eyes away from mine and gazed at nothing at all, lost as deep in thought as I. And then he said,
"Are you going to tell her...?"
"Better that she lament me to unknown tragedy, than know my leave was willful. I don't want to break her, Jack. I do love her. She knows that. And I want to remember me that way -- as a man who loved her -- not the man who broke her heart."
He smiled down at me, very softly and very sadly, and said, "Ever the gentleman."
"Let's go, Jack. Let's go before someone comes looking for me. I want to be gone by the time she truly misses me. I think I'll feel it, if I'm still here in Port Royale. Let's go now, and never come back here. I want the sea. I want you. I want the freedom I was born for."
He kissed me ... and then he smiled; the brilliant, charming, adventurous smile that had won the hearts of so many nameless, faceless women (and most likely men). "You are, indeed, your father's son, mate."
I cherished my last moments in the smithy; remembering, as I dressed, all that had passed within these walls. It was time to leave it behind, now. My fate lay on the horizon. I could feel my father's ghost calling me from the depths of uncharted waters. And so I said good-bye to Port Royale in my mind; tucked it away in the corner of my heart, took his hand, and opened the door...
Six members of the British Royal Navy trained their rifles on us; and Commodore Norrington said, "Jack Sparrow. We meet again."
***
- to be continued -
Chapter III : From Dream to Dream
[ colloquial title : Mine ]
***
It seemed as if I did not wake, but simply passed from dream to dream.
The late afternoon sun was pouring through the windows, casting long, dusty beams of light through the indigenous shadows of the smithy. The air close knit and warm and settled like a veil over us, the scent of heated cypress drifting down from the rafters. And Captain Jack Sparrow was asleep in my arms.
He lay with his head tucked under my chin, limbs entangled with mine and his hair trailing softly over my jaw. The cloak had fallen away from us in the night, or perhaps we'd thrown it back as the morning had grown warm, and now the sunlight roamed unchecked over his slender, supple body; highlighting the smooth curve of his side with a nearly ethereal glow and casting soft shadows beneath the angle of his hip. For a long moment I simply lay there, cherishing the rise and fall of his ribs against my own and the warmth of his slow, even breathing against my chest.
How positively peaceful he seemed in slumber; how far flung and distant from the waking Jack Sparrow who seemed, at times, too intense to be human. He was never truly still, awake, and never truly relaxed; a virtual ball of energy with a lightening quick sword hand and a seemingly preternatural tolerance for physical pain. Captain Jack Sparrow; the last real pirate threat left in the Caribbean - uncatchable by officials, unstoppable by cannons, and unpredictable as the day was long.
But here in my arms he was simply Jack - not a terror or a legend but a man like any other; a living, breathing human being that had gone to Hell and back with me to save the one I love, and ended up becoming the one I love instead. A good man. A best friend. A perfect lover. I held him for a long time in the still, warm afternoon and listened to him breathe ... pressed my fingers oh-so-gently to his throat and let his pulse hypnotize me. Alive. He was not a corpse on a rope, somewhere -- not a warning sign to warn off other pirates. He was not starving to death in a prison cell on the other side of the world. Jack Sparrow was alive, and he was beautiful, and he was mine.
I lifted his chin without waking him -- raised his face to mine, pressed a fleeting, butterfly kiss to his lips, and whispered "Mine," against them.
Jack shifted against me ever so slightly in his sleep, his fingers curling faintly again my chest when I kissed him again; coming awake only when I parted his lips with my own. He yielded to the kiss with a soft, sleepy moan. I took his hand in mine, kissed his fingers, drew him closer.
A faint smile crept across his lips as he lay his head against my shoulder, closed his eyes again and whispered; "You know I almost though I was still dreaming?" .
"I almost thought the same. I never thought I'd see you again."
"I never thought you'd want me to..."
The words turned something deep in my stomach. I shifted so that I could see his face. "What do you mean...?"
"Well, here you are, all settled down nice as you please with Elizabeth. You had what your bonnie lass back, and I figured..."
He trailed off into silence. I searched out his eyes, but he would not look at me, and perhaps it was just as well -- for I saw something in them that I had never seen there before, and never want to see again.
Tears.
Captain Jack Sparrow was about to cry.
"Jack, no..." I whispered. "Listen to me." Cupping his jaw very gently in my palm, I lifted his face to meet mine. "I love you, all right? I love Elizabeth, but I'm *in* love with you. Didn't you know it? God, Jack ... when they had you on those gallows ... it's always been you, don't you see? They would have had to kill me to kill you..."
Those dark eyes were fathomless. He looked almost scared to believe me; indeed, I would not have been surprised if he was. In the field of passion he is very much an expert -- and yet knew almost nothing of love. And then the tears spilled over those long, dark lashes, and Jack Sparrow cried for the first time in years.
I let him cry against my chest. He let me kiss him through his tears. He let me gather him close in the crook of my arm, and brush his cheekbones dry with my lips. Silence, save for the hushed sound of his shuddering, uneven breathing. Heartbreaking. How long had it been since he'd allowed himself to cry? How long had he swallowed back these tears, hidden them beneath a layer of lightening quick wit and a charming smile? How long had it been since he'd had a shoulder to cry on?
I made love to him again, slow and gentle in the lazy, late afternoon sunshine. I touched him as though I had never touched anyone else, as though his body were the only thing real to me. I kissed him as I have never kissed Elizabeth. I consecrated his body with my fingertips, burning him into my mind with each caress so that I would never, ever forget these blessed moments when he was mine, and mine alone.
He lay against me when it was over; flushed and tousled, and there are no words to describe the strikingly beautiful portrait he made. The shafts of sunshine slanted at an ever increasing angle across the smithy. Late. It would be dark again, soon. Elizabeth was either panicked, or furious, or both; indeed, I almost wondered why someone hadn't come knocking on the door to find me, yet. I wish I could say that it mattered to me. I wish I could say that I felt guilty, but I didn't.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I already knew that I wasn't going back to her. I couldn't. Happily Ever After had all been a lie; a last, desperate attempt to deny my blood, my heritage, my fate, and my passion. I was William Turner; son of Bootstraps Bill, lover of Captain Jack Sparrow. I couldn't hide in Port Royale for the rest of my life, keep my back turned on destiny and go on pretending. My place was on the sea. My place was beside him.
Jack stretched lazily in my arms, rolled over and propped himself up on an elbow beside me. For a long moment he simply looked at me, and then he whispered,
"I love you, Will Turner."
There was no other choice for me, now. Going back to Elizabeth would have been a cruelty to all three of us. I couldn't love her the way she wanted me to love her, the way that -- once upon a time - I dreamed of loving her. She was precious to me, and beautiful, and forever would her darling, doll like face hold a dear place in my heart; but to return to her ... to hold her and wish to hold him instead -- this I could not do. I could not lie to her with tender gestures any longer. I had to go Home.
"I love you, Jack Sparrow. And I'm coming with you, this time. I won't lose you again."
Jacks eyebrows drew down and together, knit in an expression of soft confusion. "You're a married man, Will." Small hitch in his voice, though he did well to hide it.
"I am. And I shouldn't be. I should have left Port Royale behind forever the day I helped you escape. I should have dove off the cliff after you. I should have done what my blood told me to do, from the first time I set eyes on you, and followed in my fathers footsteps. I'm coming with you, Jack. When the Black Pearl hauls anchor, I'll be on her deck. I'm done lying to Elizabeth, and I'm done lying to myself. I am my father's son -- and you made me see it, Jack. You're the reason I know who I am."
He grew very, very quiet - drew his eyes away from mine and gazed at nothing at all, lost as deep in thought as I. And then he said,
"Are you going to tell her...?"
"Better that she lament me to unknown tragedy, than know my leave was willful. I don't want to break her, Jack. I do love her. She knows that. And I want to remember me that way -- as a man who loved her -- not the man who broke her heart."
He smiled down at me, very softly and very sadly, and said, "Ever the gentleman."
"Let's go, Jack. Let's go before someone comes looking for me. I want to be gone by the time she truly misses me. I think I'll feel it, if I'm still here in Port Royale. Let's go now, and never come back here. I want the sea. I want you. I want the freedom I was born for."
He kissed me ... and then he smiled; the brilliant, charming, adventurous smile that had won the hearts of so many nameless, faceless women (and most likely men). "You are, indeed, your father's son, mate."
I cherished my last moments in the smithy; remembering, as I dressed, all that had passed within these walls. It was time to leave it behind, now. My fate lay on the horizon. I could feel my father's ghost calling me from the depths of uncharted waters. And so I said good-bye to Port Royale in my mind; tucked it away in the corner of my heart, took his hand, and opened the door...
Six members of the British Royal Navy trained their rifles on us; and Commodore Norrington said, "Jack Sparrow. We meet again."
***
- to be continued -