Chapter Eleven
A/N: Any suggestions would be most welcome- ideas/ plot twists, wotever, I hate to say it, but I appear to be suffering from a severe case of writers block.
Finn woke to the sun striking his face. It slanted through the windows of Jacks cabin, showing the golden dust motes tickling his nose. He stretched luxuriously, not allowing any lucid thought to enter his head. All that was there was a vague feeling of happiness. He felt comfortably warm with Jacks naked body next to him, his arm draped over his chest.
"Och, ooch."
He flinched as he opened his eyes to meet full golden sunshine blazing in them. He shut his eyes and languidly rolled over. He allowed his gaze to rove over the floor, it was littered with rum bottles and various articles of clothing. Ah, yes, now he remembered. What a wonderful night. All that was there in his memory was the smell of rum and Jack and a feeling of love. He leaned over, brushing hair away from Jacks face. He traced the curvatures of his cheekbones and leaned down to kiss him.
Jack woke slowly.
"Mmm," He sighed contentedly, "'lo, love."
Finn grinned impishly, and tweaked Jacks nose.
"Ye migh' wanta ge' dressed, love- look a' th' time. Th' crew'll be wunnerin' wot's acome o' their beloved Cap'n, eh?"
"Oh, but 's so very much more comf'table naked."
Finn rolled over and got up. The sight of him standing there stark naked nearly got Jack started again, but Finn, seeing the hungry look in Jacks eyes, came over and slapped him lightly, getting into his pants. Jack raised his arms, looking upward pleadingly.
"Begad- ye too? Will I ever 'ave a lover 'oo don' slap me?"
"Prob'ly not."
Jack grinned cheekily and exited the cabin.
Three years later
Jack Sparrow stood at the helm of The Black Pearl, skillfully guiding her. He had stood in the same manner for so many years now; it seemed he could fall asleep standing like this. His hips cocked slightly to one side, his hands on the helm, upper body swaying unconsciously with the rhythm of the water against the timbers of his ship. Ah, his ship- his ladylove: for long she'd been his only love, the only one he'd stay faithful to. Well- he thought- she still is his only ladylove. For, know ye all- there is one thing in all the world that Jack Sparrow loves more than his ship, the infamous Black Pearl. Finnbarr Robeson- an Irish corsair, taken far from his homeland, far from the seas surrounding it, searching for a way to quench the terrible thirst that had devoured him for so long. Finn was gay, queer, homosexual, however you like to say it. He'd tried to slake his thirst with his blade, with the blood of any who got in his way. With drink- long nights he'd stay at dockside pubs and inns drinking himself into oblivion. Once or twice he found a fellow pirate drunk enough to warm his bed for a night, but in the morning... With the sea- far he'd roamed. To Bombay, Singapore, India, even that strange land, Australia. He had the scars to prove it, but never in all his wanderings had he found the key to satisfaction, until, one night in Tortuga- that monumental night, when Jack Sparrow had recruited him to help man his ship, The Black Pearl.
Now, he was happy. For the first time in all his life- for three glorious years he and Jack had been together on the Pearl, and he had been happy.
Three years later, they both looked much the same- Finn's hair had plaits inserted here and there, a testimony to moments of contented boredom between him and Jack. His eyes had more laugh-lines around them. As for Jack, well, Jack had looked the same for near ten years, so another three really made little impact on his looks
It was night on the high seas, the men all sat around, drinking, telling stories, playing cards. Finn had a bottle in one hand, and had taken center stage with Jack, singing, "A Pirates Life for Me."
"C'mon, lads! Louder!" Finn roared as they sang, they danced 'round- somehow managing to stay atop one of the tables in the galley.
"Ahh..."
Jack sighed contentedly, nursing his flagon of weak ships grog.
"'S 'mazing, innit?" asked Finn
"What?"
"'Ow much I'm enjoyin' this."
Jack looked at him, one eyebrow quirked
"An' why 'sactly is 'at so 'mazin'?"
"Well- afore I met ye, Jack- I drank alla time- but I 'ated it- really- cos I 'ated meself, y'see. Now... I'm 'appy- seems a'ter three yea's I still en't got used teh 't."
Jack looked at Finn, and the fireflicker dancing in his eyes revealed an odd look, look of pity; he was feeling Finns pain. Imagine going all your life without even a whore to spend you time with; how lonely it must be. He looked at Finn, serious for once
"Love- don't go... 'atin' yerself- it don' 'elp- I love ye- an' I want ye t' love yerself 's well. Can' see a reason why anyone'd 'ate ye... 'ch less yerself."
He kissed Finn on the cheek
"Up wi' it, then, love."
They clinked tankards.
A/N: Any suggestions would be most welcome- ideas/ plot twists, wotever, I hate to say it, but I appear to be suffering from a severe case of writers block.
Finn woke to the sun striking his face. It slanted through the windows of Jacks cabin, showing the golden dust motes tickling his nose. He stretched luxuriously, not allowing any lucid thought to enter his head. All that was there was a vague feeling of happiness. He felt comfortably warm with Jacks naked body next to him, his arm draped over his chest.
"Och, ooch."
He flinched as he opened his eyes to meet full golden sunshine blazing in them. He shut his eyes and languidly rolled over. He allowed his gaze to rove over the floor, it was littered with rum bottles and various articles of clothing. Ah, yes, now he remembered. What a wonderful night. All that was there in his memory was the smell of rum and Jack and a feeling of love. He leaned over, brushing hair away from Jacks face. He traced the curvatures of his cheekbones and leaned down to kiss him.
Jack woke slowly.
"Mmm," He sighed contentedly, "'lo, love."
Finn grinned impishly, and tweaked Jacks nose.
"Ye migh' wanta ge' dressed, love- look a' th' time. Th' crew'll be wunnerin' wot's acome o' their beloved Cap'n, eh?"
"Oh, but 's so very much more comf'table naked."
Finn rolled over and got up. The sight of him standing there stark naked nearly got Jack started again, but Finn, seeing the hungry look in Jacks eyes, came over and slapped him lightly, getting into his pants. Jack raised his arms, looking upward pleadingly.
"Begad- ye too? Will I ever 'ave a lover 'oo don' slap me?"
"Prob'ly not."
Jack grinned cheekily and exited the cabin.
Three years later
Jack Sparrow stood at the helm of The Black Pearl, skillfully guiding her. He had stood in the same manner for so many years now; it seemed he could fall asleep standing like this. His hips cocked slightly to one side, his hands on the helm, upper body swaying unconsciously with the rhythm of the water against the timbers of his ship. Ah, his ship- his ladylove: for long she'd been his only love, the only one he'd stay faithful to. Well- he thought- she still is his only ladylove. For, know ye all- there is one thing in all the world that Jack Sparrow loves more than his ship, the infamous Black Pearl. Finnbarr Robeson- an Irish corsair, taken far from his homeland, far from the seas surrounding it, searching for a way to quench the terrible thirst that had devoured him for so long. Finn was gay, queer, homosexual, however you like to say it. He'd tried to slake his thirst with his blade, with the blood of any who got in his way. With drink- long nights he'd stay at dockside pubs and inns drinking himself into oblivion. Once or twice he found a fellow pirate drunk enough to warm his bed for a night, but in the morning... With the sea- far he'd roamed. To Bombay, Singapore, India, even that strange land, Australia. He had the scars to prove it, but never in all his wanderings had he found the key to satisfaction, until, one night in Tortuga- that monumental night, when Jack Sparrow had recruited him to help man his ship, The Black Pearl.
Now, he was happy. For the first time in all his life- for three glorious years he and Jack had been together on the Pearl, and he had been happy.
Three years later, they both looked much the same- Finn's hair had plaits inserted here and there, a testimony to moments of contented boredom between him and Jack. His eyes had more laugh-lines around them. As for Jack, well, Jack had looked the same for near ten years, so another three really made little impact on his looks
It was night on the high seas, the men all sat around, drinking, telling stories, playing cards. Finn had a bottle in one hand, and had taken center stage with Jack, singing, "A Pirates Life for Me."
"C'mon, lads! Louder!" Finn roared as they sang, they danced 'round- somehow managing to stay atop one of the tables in the galley.
"Ahh..."
Jack sighed contentedly, nursing his flagon of weak ships grog.
"'S 'mazing, innit?" asked Finn
"What?"
"'Ow much I'm enjoyin' this."
Jack looked at him, one eyebrow quirked
"An' why 'sactly is 'at so 'mazin'?"
"Well- afore I met ye, Jack- I drank alla time- but I 'ated it- really- cos I 'ated meself, y'see. Now... I'm 'appy- seems a'ter three yea's I still en't got used teh 't."
Jack looked at Finn, and the fireflicker dancing in his eyes revealed an odd look, look of pity; he was feeling Finns pain. Imagine going all your life without even a whore to spend you time with; how lonely it must be. He looked at Finn, serious for once
"Love- don't go... 'atin' yerself- it don' 'elp- I love ye- an' I want ye t' love yerself 's well. Can' see a reason why anyone'd 'ate ye... 'ch less yerself."
He kissed Finn on the cheek
"Up wi' it, then, love."
They clinked tankards.