Author name: Vera Dune, veradune@hotmail.com
Category: Romance
Subcategory: Humor
Keywords: pirates Bootstrap Bill Turner Jack Sparrow slash
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jack uses a last resort when Bootstrap refuses to put on a dress. Slash, PWP fluff.
Disclaimer: Though I would *love* to own Jack Sparrow, he's not mine. Nor are any of the other characters; three words: Disney Disney Disney.
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Another Way
"There is *no way* that I am wearing that."
The proffered garment swished elegantly as Bootstrap Bill pushed it away. Jack swung his head in annoyance; clad in a harlot's vermilion gown, dark hair curled and loose about his bare shoulders, the motion seemed absurdly effeminate. Jack had gone the whole way for this one: powder, blush, hair, lip colour, corset, heels. His usual loosely hanging clothes discarded and thoughtfully hidden behind a few well-placed barrels of rum, the dress, in marked contrast, fit snugly about him. Bootstrap would have had trouble denying that Jack looked good; he was not particularly surprised, but exactly how attracted he was was beginning to bother him.
"William Turner," Jack said patiently. "If you do not put that dress on and pretend to be a whore in the next five minutes, two dozen soldiers of the Spanish Navy will burst through that door, recognize you, and arrest us. Savvy?"
"I'd rather wait for them and fight," Bootstrap answered stubbornly.
Jack sighed and let the dress fall resignedly. His long lashes flickered as he looked Bootstrap up and down in contemplation. Bootstrap could feel himself blush; the noises the other whores were making with their clients were growing unavoidably obvious in the silence between them.
"Then there's another way to do this," Jack murmured, and as the door opened noisily behind them, he pushed Bootstrap back onto the rum-drenched table and kissed him.
Bootstrap let out a muffled sound of surprise as his head hit the wooden surface. Jack's lips were soft and prying against his, growing more urgent as footsteps approached them. He found himself answering back, survival instincts on par with others as he reached out and clumsily pretended to unlace Jack's dress. Bootstrap could hear voices nearby as if through a haze, but saw nothing: thus positioned, Jack's hair formed a silky curtain of darkness and beads obscuring his face.
He was too distracted to care much.
Fingers were brushing against Bootstrap's groin and for a moment he was certain that the world had exploded behind his eyes. Jack was kneeling over him, thighs spread on each side, and instinctively remembering how to treat a whore, he lowered a hand and felt his way into his skirts. Jack let out a breath of surprise that Bootstrap found obscenely arousing.
"Fuck," he whispered into Bootstrap's neck. He raised his head slightly, staring at him; his eyes were unusually clear in the dim yellow light, shining with exertion and something else that Bootstrap couldn't quite place.
"They're gone," Jack said finally.
"I know." Bootstrap said, and leaned forward to kiss him again.
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