The storm tossed them and drenched them and generally made a nuisance of itself. Jack clutched his compass tight in one hand. The Pearl would have gotten caught in the bad weather at least two hours ago, slowing her down some, for which he was grateful. The wheel beneath his fingers leapt, the Interceptor crying her fury into the blackened night. Jack couldn't keep a feral grin off his face. She was no Pearl, but he could not think of a ship he'd rather have to chase his own beloved down. He wondered if the commodore appreciated her, if he ever took the helm himself and sailed through the heart of Hell like this.
"We should drop canvas, sir," came Gibbs' shout over the howling wind.
"She can hold a bit longer," said Jack, stroking his fingertips over the water-soaked wood beneath them.
Gibbs argued as he always felt the need to do so, which was one of the reasons Jack liked having him onboard. "What's in yer head that's put ye in such a fine mood, cap'n?"
Jack snapped the compass closed and tucked it safely away, rain lashing nearly horizontal so that he had to slit his eyes. "We're catching up."
When the winds began to die down a bit, he looked about for Will. The boy was a highly capable seaman, but Jack didn't like the way his eyes had gone unfocused once or twice during the day, or how quiet he had been. Jack respected his right to brood himself into a stupor, but not when it might cost him his life.
He needn't have worried. Will was helping Moises and Cotton to tug a sail straight. His hair had been whipped free of its tie and flew about, making his toss his head to get it out of his eyes. Muscles strained as he pulled and his face was alight from the exertion. As Jack watched, their eyes met and he saw his own joy at triumphing over Mother Nature reflected in the boy. Will grinned at him, all else between them forgotten for the moment, and Jack was hard faster than he would've thought possible. The look he gave Will in return was all dropped eyelashes and softly curving lips. The boy gulped as he understood; his eyes darkened and he nodded almost imperceptibly before turning his attention back to the sail.
Jack gave Anamaria the helm and shut himself up in the tiny captain's cabin, lighting a hanging lantern. He wanted to see Will this time, the way he writhed, the look on his face when Jack was making him come apart at the seams. Shedding every stitch of clothing, he settled down in the hammock and touched himself, thinking of Will's long, tapered fingers. He kept his eyes closed when he heard the door open, his hands still moving, until the sounds of fabric shifting as Will undressed faded away.
He looked up to see Will standing naked above him, an indulgent half-smile on his face. Without a word Jack reached to pull him down, the hammock sagging under the added weight. Will bent his head to lave his tongue over a hardened nipple, one hand going down to close around both their erections. With a soft noise Jack buried his face in Will's hair, still damp from the rain, and rocked up against him. It was simple, so simple and so fucking good that he laughed aloud. Will's head came up, his eyes widening adorably. Jack chuckled again and lifted his knees, drew the fingers that had come up to touch his face into his mouth before shoving them downwards. Bright lad that he was, Will got the idea. He looked positively amazed at his good luck when he pressed down and into Jack, which Jack found funny enough to keep laughing as he wrapped his legs around Will's waist and arched into his thrusts. The ship was still swaying erratically from the power of the winds, setting their rhythm. Jack could see that Will had never known the pleasures of the flesh while at sea – couldn't blame him, frankly, for not wanting to bring a lass onboard with Barbossa's crew. Now he panted and strove in time with the swinging of the hammock, the rocking of the ship, the way Jack moved beneath him. Jack pulled him down for a kiss, still smiling against his mouth and tasting the electric thrill of the air outside. He said things, not quite sure what – lovely, please yes, harder, holy God, and Will Will Will...
"William, love," he breathed through clenched teeth as he came. It was a dangerous word to use at a such a time, but it had slipped out before he could catch hold of it. Luckily it went more or less unnoticed, for Will was somewhat preoccupied. His eyes screwed shut and the cords of his neck bulged as he threw his head back and wailed, and Jack knew he was going to hear that sound at the edges of his more interesting dreams for the rest of his life.
Will fell heavy atop him, their bodies curving to accommodate one another even as his spent member slipped free. The thunder rumbled again outside, nearly drowning out the sounds of labored breathing. Jack let him recover a moment before shifting him slightly to the side. Will smiled tiredly, and kissed him, and arranged his arms more comfortably.
The night, Jack decided quickly, granted them a reprieve from other troubles. By an unspoken agreement, they did not once mention what the morning would bring or the reasons they were sharing a bed at all. When Will shyly asked for stories of his father, Jack told him things that were mostly true and only embellished a little. In return, Will shared stories of growing up in England with his mother, who sounded like she'd been more than a match for Bill. He had a long memory; his earliest recollection, he said, was the night his mother had suffered to bring his stillborn little sister into the world. He had been little more than two and everyone told him he couldn't possibly remember that, but he had nonetheless. Jack didn't volunteer to speak of his own upbringing, and Will didn't ask.
He spoke of Elizabeth though, watching Will's jaw drop when he learned that she was the girl who'd saved him years ago. Jack rather wished they'd all come across one another in different circumstances; he thought the boy and the lass would get along nicely. Eventually Will began to yawn more often, so Jack let his voice grow quiet and his stories less linear until the boy had drifted to sleep, still clutching tightly. He woke again just after dawn, pressing kisses to the underside of Jack's jaw. Jack grinned into his tangled curls and rolled him over, making love to him slow and long and deep the way he'd wanted to do the first time, when he hadn't quite had the patience for it. Afterwards he let the boy sleep for a few hours more, dressing silently and going to check their bearings. They would be sure to reach Isla de Muerte by sunset.
When he returned to the cabin, he found Will dressed and standing. The boy held out Jack's weapons. "I suppose I ought to give these back." They exchanged looks, both knowing that Jack could have easily picked them up from the floor where they'd been dropped, but he recognized it as the peace offering it was. Peace he would accept with grace; however, the cautiously hopeful look on Will's face was something he had to discourage.
"Remember, William, that this is an arrangement that benefits us both." He paused, holding Will's gaze, and cringed internally at his own words. "But we are not on th' same side."
Hurt flared in Will's eyes, but there was nothing Jack could do about that. A healthy distance was necessary now; were Barbossa to suspect they were in league, it would be the sword or the cold sea before you could say Jack Robinson.
The boy lifted his chin defiantly. Good lad, thought Jack in approval, even if it pained him more than he would have suspected to face such coldness.
"Of course," said Will. "I've my business and you have yours. Can we get underway before the light goes?"
As they were lowering the boat, Gibbs came by to lean in close to Jack. "Cap'n, what if the worst should happen?"
His eyes shifted to Will before he answered. "Keep to the Code."
"Aye, the Code," Gibbs confirmed with a nod. Will's jaw tightened. He said nothing as they rowed out.
When they came around the point Jack's heart leapt, for there she was, looking the worse for wear and improper attention but as magnificent as ever he'd seen her. Ten years, ten long years of yearning for just one thing with only an occasional scrap of information in the odd tavern – it was no wonder he had to ask Will to repeat himself.
"I said, do you see the girl?" He flicked a strand of hair out of his eyes, leaning over Jack's shoulder and looking thoroughly annoyed.
"No." He thought he was deserving of a moment, just a moment to admire the unobstructed view of the Pearl.
"It's begun, then." Will nudged Jack impatiently. "We'd best get going."
Jack shook himself, snapping the spyglass closed. "Aye.
As the sun sank below the horizon, the silence was only broken by the oars dipping into the dark water. He could feel Will squirming at his back while he held the lantern aloft, however, and presently the boy had to say something before he burst.
"They'll find another way." His voice came out strong and sure, but too loud.
"They might do," said Jack neutrally. Will was quiet again while they pulled the boat up onshore, though he started when Jack's fingers touched his. Together they crept into the cave, drawn forward by a flicker of light.
The rock gradually gave way to a clearing of sorts, where Jack's attention was first captured by glitter. There was treasure everywhere, of the sort filling a pirate's dreams at night, in the water and in scattered piles. The light fell from an opening in the ceiling of the cave along with torches borne by the gathered pirates. Barbossa himself had the lass up on a little hill, behind a stone chest that could only contain the accursed gold.
"Elizabeth," he murmured, nodding to Will. Watching the boy's face was interesting; upon first seeing his crewmates, it had lit with relief. When his eyes fell upon Elizabeth, he crouched a little straighter and brought his hand to the weathered kerchief knotted about his neck. She looked frightened, but otherwise appeared fine. Then Barbossa kicked the lid off the stone chest, theatrical and nattering on as always, and something twisted in Will's eyes. He started forward when Barbossa stabbed a finger at the gold dangling in front of Elizabeth's bodice and Jack pulled him back down.
"Not yet," he murmured. "We wait for the opportune moment." Which was not to be found from this vantage point; it was too exposed. He straightened up and began to circle, searching for a better spot.
Will followed him, fists clenched. "When's that? When it's of greatest profit to you?"
Jack closed his eyes. Perhaps it was not such a good idea to have the boy angry; it seemed to cloud what little sense he had. "If you'll listen to me for just a moment?" He drifted in close to Will, who pursed his lips and leaned back. "We both want that girl alive, so please, do as I say for a bit longer. I know it's difficult for you, but stay here, and try not to do anything stupid." Will's brows drew together and he batted at Jack's hands, which had been wriggling from trying not to wrap themselves around the fool boy's throat.
He turned around to watch Barbossa once more. The man was still going on about blood repaid and heathen misery. Jack rolled his eyes, hating him just that bit more. Finally he lifted the knife. Jack leaned forward eagerly – things were progressing quite nicely now – Will tapped him on the shoulder and he spun, prepared to give the boy a more lasting reprimand.
Something flat and brown hurtled toward his face, and then he saw nothing more.