A/N: Okay, I'm having a bit of a bad night, because I'm at my mother's house, and apparently while I was gone she started a halfway house for mice. Every few minutes I hear scratching or scurrying all around me, and I have a cat's instincts, so I'm going MAD. I did see a nekkid lady earlier, though, so the day wasn't a complete loss… anyhow. It took a while to write this chapter. I have an excuse, but it's a very long story involving a haunted dishwasher, Seattle's premier music festival, and a knife named Silhouette. Not in that order. Next chapter WILL be seeeeexxxxxx. Sex sex sex! Rating will go up to R on ff.net, and I will post the /real/ smut on aff.net. What I plan to do for censoring is cut out all the bits with nekkid penises. I hope that's a good guideline. Umm… that chapter may take longer than usual as well, because of all the elements I mentioned before, as well as an extended family reunion and the fact that I've never /actually/ written a sex scene before, and I'm very trepidatious. Okay. I'm done. On with the story. Bloody mice.

***

"What?" Will asked, confused. Jack was rejecting him?

"You're not in your right mind, lad, and—"

"What? I'm not drunk, Jack!" he insisted.

"Not on spirits perhaps, but there's more than one way to it. I won't have you do something you'll regret later."

Lust began to give way to anger. "When did you start caring about my regrets?"

Jack's gaze darted around briefly as if looking for an escape, then he looked back to Will. "Seeing as we're only two of us on a ship some hundred miles away from any thought of land, I think it best to keep on the good side of your righteous indignation." He grinned very briefly.

"I can make my own decisions!" Will said incredulously.

Jack backed up another step and raised his hands. "Aye son, that you can. But you can hardly make mine."

***

Some time later Will was trying very hard to think while he worked around the ship. Hard work always helped to distract troubled thoughts, and while working in the forge was far harder work, it required different muscles to hoist sails that to hammer steel, so it exhausted Will just the same.

He should have never left Elizabeth. Elizabeth, who he had subtle, familiar passion for, who was sweet, and who's thoughts never seemed very great a mystery. He felt he had betrayed her by desiring someone else. He had been engaged to her for a year, never once man enough to satisfy her, and left her on the day of her wedding for a ship and a man. Yet he only felt remorse for his wandering lust, and he felt worse that he didn't regret his other misdeeds.

And Jack! Oh, Lord, Jack. He had tried to kiss Jack. His friend and captain had been trying to explain something to him—albeit in his own uniquely Jack way—and Will had sullied the gesture like some… /sexual deviant/. He was terrified that Jack would decide Will's behavior was unacceptable for one of his crew and send him back to Port Royal. It wouldn't be much of a bother, turning around. They were only a day from Port Royal, where it would take another eight to go all the way to Nassau.

He didn't know how he would ever look at Jack again. Unfortunately, he didn't know how he would ever /not/ look at him again either. He was a vixen in pirate's clothing—though currently he wasn't wearing much of them, stripped down to shirtsleeves in the sun, which certainly wasn't helping Will's wicked thoughts. Jack stood at the helm, exuding majesty and power despite being half-naked. A siren turned sailor.

A few note of the song Jack was singing reached Will's ears, and he cringed. Well. Perhaps not a siren, then…

Stealing himself, Will tied off the last line and straightened, whipping sweat from his brow. The heat and hard work had caused him to strip to shirtsleeves as well. On a normal occasion he would had gone bare-chested, but he was afraid it would off-put Jack.

"Jack," Will said, cautiously approaching the helm.

Jack, still staring purposefully at the horizon grunted, "Aye, man!" in a powerful voice. He paused, and blinked slowly. His gaze shifted to Will, eyes gradually focusing. "Ah, William," he said vaguely.

"Yes," Will said cautiously. "I feel I must apologize for the way I acted earlier. I was out of line. I sincerely apologize, and I give you my word it will never happen again. However I'll understand if you can't forgive me and don't want me on your crew."

Jack stared at him long enough that Will thought perhaps he hadn't said enough and considered continuing the apology. Eventually Jack nodded slightly and said, "Yes. Quite. No worries."

"You don't want to turn around?" Will asked, trying not to get his hopes up that Jack wouldn't reject him completely.

Jack grinned a grin that made Will wonder just how mad he truly was. "No," he said, "we won't be turning around."

His attention turned back to the sea, seeming to instantly forget Will's presence.

***

The next few days were torment. Will battled his conscience and his libido to the same extent. At times it seemed utterly ludicrous that he should even be torn about it—it was improper, and a sin, and most of all, it wasn't something Jack wanted any part of. He had made that clear enough. Why risk such a precious friendship for a few moments of physical pleasure?

Other times logic seemed to fade away in the face of cocky golden smirks and a strut as fluid as water. What did it matter, being improper? He was a pirate. If his passions didn't care what proper society approved of, why should he? But even when the other apprehensions fled, the one always remained. No matter what, he couldn't risk falling from Jack's favor. If Jack wasn't interested in him, he would do his best to act as if he were equally uninterested.

Jack, however, was hardly making Will's task any easy one. He acted exactly as if nothing had happened. It was a bit of a relief that Will's rash actions hadn't damaged Jack's behavior toward him, but it was also a bane. Jack commenced with his ludicrous amounts of physical contact, outrageous innuendos which, upon closer inspection, could have been meant innocently enough, and just generally being the embodiment of temptation. At times it went so far that Will even wondered whether he had made mistake, that Jack did want him, but then he remembered the sight of Jack after Will had tried to kiss him, backing away, eyes endlessly regretful. No. Will didn't think he could handle seeing that again—/causing/ that again—without his heart breaking.

Eventually the times when Will doubted his desire lessened. It was a choice between accepting how he felt or driving himself mad trying to deny it. He chose to accept. He could hardly help how he felt, and he evidently couldn't avoid it. Even if a man desiring another man was totally unique to him, or more likely something simply not mentioned in polite society, he wasn't in polite society. Anyhow, none of that mattered. He couldn't act on anything as long as Jack wasn't willing.

It was quite an experience, sailing Capitan Jack Sparrow, and a great challenge to Will's self control. Some moments more than others.

***

One night, after Jack had drunk more than enough wine for both of them, and Will had drunk just enough to feel warm and languid;

Halfway through the song Jack stopped—or shifted rather, since he still seemed to be singing his words. "Com'on, mate, join! The entire crew must sing, and that's you and me, and you're not singing."

Will felt outrageously content, lounging on the deck and listening to Jack's enthusiastic, if off-key crooning. It was an acquired taste, he supposed, and he had obviously acquired it. He shook his head, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"You must," Jack insisted, straightening seriously, "it's the law."

"Is it?" Will asked, playing along.

"Oh, yes," Jack said. "It will be, anyhow. Once we get to Nassau I'll add it to the articles. Singing… and dancing, must be dancing as well."

"Do you think the crew will agree to that?"

"They will," Jack said confidently, leaving no room for argument. "Up, up, now," he said, standing and motioning for Will to do the same.

"Why?" Will said, standing anyway.

"Dancing," Jack said in an obvious tone.

"I can't dance. Elizabeth tried to teach me once. She said I was hopeless."

Jack waved a hand dismissively. "I've seen your footwork. It's just like blades without all the arm-swishing."

Will didn't mention that everything Jack did involved 'arm swishing.'

Jack moved to pull Will to him, trying to catch Will's hand in his own. Will backed up hastily. "No, honestly, I can't—" /I don't know what I'll do if you touch me./

He was captured nonetheless, and gritted his teeth and held his breath while Jack pulled him close and slung and arm over his shoulder. "Now," Jack began, showing Will the steps, "we pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot…"

It wasn't at all like the dances Elizabeth had tried to teach him. This was free, unrehearsed, just running and twirling and jumping as you please. Jack's scent filled the air, wild and dark and crisp, like fresh cut wood and new leather, and they danced until they didn't have the breath to sing along.

***

Mid-day:

Will was practicing on the aft, trying to use what little space the ship afforded him for footwork. His habit of daily practice has become more of a ritual, something familiar that cleared his head, and he didn't ever feel his day was complete without it.

Some time into the routine there was a loud 'ting' as his blade met another, and he very suddenly had a sparring partner. It felt perfectly natural to thrust and be blocked with fluid expertise, to dodge a slash that he had only seen coming at the very last moment. They were exquisitely matched, both skilled just enough to be a challenge to the other. It truly was like a dance, Will realized, though no dance that he had never seen before.

Will overestimated a thrust slightly, Jack dodged, and whacked Will's passing backside with the flat of his blade.

Will blushed crimson and straightened. "Jack!"

Jack smiled beguilingly. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. It was such a perfect target."

Will opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to figure out how to respond to that, or at least how to take it. Jack used to the distraction to attack again. Will nearly didn't get his sword up in time and they locked blades, pulled close together.

Will suddenly really, really didn't want to play anymore. Jack was grasping his forearm firmly, looming over him, and all Will could think about was knocking him to the floor and tasting every inch of his skin. He wanted to inhale that wild scent until he could never smell anything else, burry his nose in that untamed hair, feel bare skin rub against bare skin.

"Surrender!" Jack growled, pressing closer.

"I can't," Will breathed.

"Course you can. It'll be easy."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

***

One morning, as Will was waking:

He opened his eyes to see Jack slumped carelessly over the wheel, staring at Will like he sometimes stared at the sea. It was perfectly lovely, starting his day with the vision of Jack staring fondly at him in the pre-dawn glow. He would like it to be closer is all. Much closer.

Will had learned by now that Jack often went into trances while sailing, staring at the horizon but seeming not to see it. Any attempts to pull him out of it would be futile. At first Will thought Jack meant to stare at the horizon that morning, and had simply misplaced his eyes. It seemed quite plausible, considering it was Jack doing it. But when Will got up to do the morning's work, the gaze followed him ceaselessly. It was slightly disconcerting to be one the receiving end of that endless stare, but Will couldn't find it in himself to attempt to pull the captain back to his senses.

Night:

Jack was drinking. Not a new occurrence to say the least, but tonight something had driven him to carefully unseal the bottle rather than taking the entire neck off with one slice of the cutlass as he usually did. With no dangerous edges to avoid Jack was free to wrap full lips around the bottle's mouth and take long, pulling draughts. Will couldn't help but stare. Head thrown back, eyes closed serenely, beautiful neck visibly working to swallow. What Will wouldn't get to have that kind attention. He wanted nothing more than to nock the bottle from Jack's lips and take its place, tasting wine flavored lips, pouring everything he had down that perfect throat.

Jack lowered the bottle and looked to Will, breathing deeply from the prolonged drink, lips stained red from wine, eyes sparkling like anything.

Oh, Lord.

Jack passed him the bottle, never breaking eye contact, and Will drank.

Night, again:

Will was very drunk, and Jack was… well, Jack. Will was beginning to form a theory that Jack didn't actually /get/ drunk, he simply became more thoroughly Jack the later the hour and coincidently happened to be drinking at the time.

Jack was talking about… something. Will couldn't say what, because all the talking was distracting him. Jack's voice was far more interesting to listen to than his words, and anyhow, when Jack went on like he was then it was most likely something incredibly untrue. He had an arm draped over Will's shoulder, waving it about to illustrate various points. Will felt that odd content again, warm against the chill of the night, burrowed in the wild scent that was quickly becoming familiar and cherished. He let the purring voice wash over him while he watched the hand dance in front of his eyes. Entrancing.

It was a beautiful hand. The most beautiful he'd ever seen, Will felt bold enough to decide. Sinewy and strong, calloused in different places than his own, able to make tentative, delicate gestures or wield a weapon with deadly strength. This hand wasn't as decorated as the other, its only adornment a plain gold ring with a black stone on his ring finger.

There was something about that…

"Jack," he said urgently, interrupting the epic tale.

"Mmm?" Jack said, seeming undisturbed by the interruption.

"Why are you married?" he said, reaching up to fiddle with the offending ring.

Jack delicately lifted his arm up and around Will's head, bringing it down to rest in Will's lap. He stared at it for a moment then said, "That would be because I am not."

"Oh. Good," Will said and leaned closer toward him, missing the solid weight around his shoulders. He picked up the hand now in his lap and began inspecting it closely. "Go on," he muttered, distracted.

Jack started talking again, tone slightly warmer, rhythm more languid, and Will tuned out the words again. He stroked the hand delicately, noting countless tiny scars, the dirt-encrusted fingernails, the masterful slope of the palm. Will ran a finger down each of Jack's, memorizing the feel of Jack's rough hand against his own. He lingered at the base of the thumb, gently massaging the fleshy part there, tracing the heavy curved line. Lightly caressed over the palm, down to the wrist and—

"William." Will froze. "You'd best be stopping that."

Will quickly released Jack's hand and scrambled backward, putting distance between them.

"Oh, god, Jack, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—"

"Calm down mate. No harm's been done."

"No, honestly. I'm sorry. I'll never bother you again. I—I—I'll find another ship to sail with once we get to New Providence. I—" He tampered off, realizing that Jack was simply lounging there smirking at him. "I'm sorry," he said weakly.

"Hardly the first time I've been propositioned by a pretty drunk sailor. First time I stopped it, a'course."

Will flinched. So Jack was attracted to men. Just not him.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Don't look that way, lad. I loathe regret is all, and seeing as you only see fit to initiate while considerably intoxicated, I have little faith in your moral soundness. Come morning you'll make a spectacle, get angst all over the deck... It'll be terrible to live with."

Will felt hopeful for the first time in days. "You mean you only rejected me because you thought I would regret it later?"

"That would be the look of it."

Will grinned. Jack /did/ want him. It was fantastic. Marvelous!

Jack raised his eyebrows and his arms at once. "Oh no no, don't look that way either. As I recall, you recently consumed a goodly amount of alcohol."

"I'm sober enough to know what I want," Will said.

"I'm certain you are, lad." He paused for a moment. "I have a plan. Proposition me again on the morrow and I shall grant your every heart's desire and more. If you do come to your senses, we shall forget this entire night and never speak of it again. Savvy?"

Will nodded, thinking about the morning. His own Capitan Sparrow, ready and willing to… what was it? Grant his every desire. But the night was still relatively young… "What will we do until then?"

Jack hoisted a bottle with reverent joy.