Title: Dead Man's Chest
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Captain Jack Sparrow, Will Turner, James Norrington and various permutations thereof
Warnings: character death, violence, non-con, spoilers
Summary: 15 men on a dead man's chest, yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!
Disclaimer: At no point do I claim any form of ownership of any of the characters depicted in this piece. My representations of them are not necessarily indicative of the intentions of their original creators. The plot in which I place these characters holds no relationship to their original context. I make no profit from borrowed characters. Don't sue me.
Word Count: 2092
Notes: Don't overlook the warnings. I implore you, for the love of all that is holy, do NOT overlook the warnings. If you have an inkling that this sort of thing will rub you the wrong way, now would be the time to stop, before you're reading this like one watches a train wreck. And then you'll be mad at me. But I warned you.

X. Stranded

Will stood at the edge of the ship staring into the longboat and Norrington urged him to climb into it. Had he lost consciousness at the conclusion of the last terrifying scenario? How much time had gone by? A day? More? A mantra echoed through Will's mind, reminding him that Jack was dead, yet it seemed a foreign notion. It would not sink in. He could not entirely remember the progression of events leading up to this point. He felt a flow of emotions from the events passed, but was detached from them, as if viewing the situation through a cloud.

Started by a shove, Will climbed down into the longboat with the crumpled, silent figure that laid within it. The figure was Jack, but it wasn't Jack. He didn't move, didn't smirk, didn't protest, but laid unnaturally on the floor of the boat. Will did not turn as the boat moved under the weight of a third body, but reached out and touched Jack's hair. It felt the same as it always had, but a new set of emotions were attached to the stroking of it. Will felt angry that Jack did not respond. In spite of knowing that he would not, the expectation did not dissipate.

Will grabbed Jack's shoulders and turned his face upward. Blood stained the front of his body and the face, although familiar, was decidedly different. Will closed the eyes mechanically, as an act of respect, but also to prevent their eerie, mindless staring. Will heard a noise and loosed Jack's shoulders. The thud with which his body settled, the head lolling back, was sickening and heavy. Will turned from the observance of Jack's body toward the other end of the boat. Norrington had cut them free of the ship and begun to row them to shore.

Will sat on his haunches, carefully avoiding bumping against Jack's body and watched as Norrington rowed. He heard but did not listen to the sound of wood creaking and water splashing gently. Somewhere in the distance behind him, breaking waves roared against the shore. As the ship receded and the longboat swayed in the sea, the waves grew stronger, but they were guided smoothly to shore by the Commodore's practiced hand.

Will knew they had reached the beach when he felt the bottom of the boat run up into the sand. Norrington hopped out into the knee-deep water, pulled the boat completely onto the dry land and instructed Will to help him drag the boat to the tree line. When they got there, Will picked branches from a low-hanging palm and covered Jack with them before following Norrington into the shade where he was beckoned.

"Are you quite well?" the Commodore questioned viciously.

"I am very hungry," Will answered. "How long has it been since port?"

"Days," Norrington said softly. "You have refused to eat."

"I am ready, now, to eat," Will whispered, "is there any food?"

"There is something I can prepare."

Norrington lead Will away from the shore and the boat, to a shady spot under a tree many yards away. Will sat very still as the Commodore lashed him, sitting down, to a tree, in spite of lacking much concern that Will would attempt to get away. Will's breathing was deep and even and his head leaned back against the tree behind him. He slipped into a half-sleep while Norrington stalked off to tend to food.

Near the tree-line of the little island, Norrington built a fire pit and began to light it. He went about his task silently and meticulously. Once the fire was growing on its own, he turned to the boat with the palm leaves still covering Jack's body. Filled with insane and righteous fervor, he tossed away the palms and looked indignantly down at the lifeless form.

Norrington would have his revenge on the formerly happy couple regardless of what it cost him. He would be gladly damned for his vengeance; the tradeoff was acceptable to say the least. Jack's last Christian dignity, his corpse, would not remain unsullied by Norrington's druthers. He reached out with a sneer and grabbed a firm hold of Jack's clothes, lifting him clumsily out of the longboat and heaving him into the sand. Norrington's expression sharpened with strange pleasure at the thought of depriving Jack not just of Christian burial, but even seaman's burial. He was certain Jack was well on his way to damnation already, but this extra measure gave him solace.

The Commodore dragged Jack's body through the sand to the fire pit and stripped him of clothes. He stalked to the boat and back, retrieving a blade. He sat down beside the body, near the fire, and began to hack at the flesh with the blade. Norrington realized that he was going to soil his clothes with the blood and he rolled his sleeves up as far as they would go. Over the course of an hour or so, he carved and cooked most of the useful parts of the body, roasting them over the hearty flames.

When he was satisfied with the effort, he dragged the remainder of the carcass into the woods and covered it with a thin layer of loose dirt. If Will asked, he could tell him Jack had been buried, which was, in a sense, true. He pulled the boat just out of sight just in case, however, to prevent it from reminding Will of the body, which so obviously occupied his thoughts so long as it was present. Norrington surveyed the roasting human meat with approval and stalked off to get Will from the shady brush.

"There is plenty of meat if you are up to it," he told Will.

"I will eat," Will answered, nodding.

Norrington loosed Will from the tree and stood him up gently. The boy was weak from stress and hunger and lack of any real sleep. He leaned heavily and dazedly on the Commodore's shoulder as they walked back to the fire on the beach. Will's nostrils flared, smelling the cooking and clearly finding the smell appealing. With a stumble, Will propelled himself down the sloping sand to the fire and began to gorge himself, unknowingly, on his former lover's flesh. Norrington abstained, watching with twisted pleasure, but Will was too famished and too far gone for this behavior to arouse any suspicion.

When Will was finished and his belly filled with meat, he rolled back on the sand and looked at the darkening sky. He was tired. Every inch of him ached with pain and loss and need. He fell asleep. Norrington thought it best to let him rest a while and he pulled out his own store of hardtack, steeping it in a bit of boiled water, and refreshing himself before he, also, slept.

When Norrington woke it was morning. Birds sang somewhere on the island and the waves lapped at the sand near where he lay. Will still slept beside him, though fitfully, his breathing shallow and uneven. Norrington scooted over to Will's side and roused him, seeing as he looked pale and was sweating uncharacteristically of the still-cool morning. Will was slow to wake and when he did, he was confused. Immediately upon gaining his bearings, he retched.

When Will's sickness had somewhat passed, Norrington lifted him from the ground and brought him into the shade to rest. Norrington propped Will up and removed his shirt with which to dab his forehead. He saw that Will's skin was flushed and he was clearly very ill. The flushed skin, however, shone with little beads of sweat which looked absolutely tantalizing. Norrington ran his index finger through the sweat on the center of Will's chest, feeling the slickness and warmth.

Will's eyes fluttered open and shut and he felt the Commodore's hands on his body. The touch was gentle and soothing for a time, and then it took a turn for the erotic and Will groaned in meager protest. He had not the energy of body or spirit to put up much of a fight. Will resigned himself to his plight and let his mind wander, though never for too far, as it seemed he could not help but think of how Jack's lifeless body had lain still on the floor, with the blood pooling all about.

Will tried to ignore the hands on his skin and looked up at the clouds. A bird flew by. It was small and brightly colored. Will watched it go. He felt the hands again, as soon as the distraction had passed. He looked for another bird, but there was naught but palm trees, at rest without a breeze. The hands ran up and down as Will watched the clouds. The clouds were motionless. Norrington laid him flat on the ground and hovered above him, deceptively affectionate. The birds were silent. Will closed his eyes and mouth when lips met his own, and at this, Norrington retreated from kissing to squander his attentions on more fruitful endeavors.

He held himself close to Will, pressing the weight of his body down. Will squirmed, though whether in pleasure or displeasure, Norrington could not discern. The Commodore undressed himself and then bent to undress Will, moving his inert limbs with care as he disentangled them from the cloth. When Will was prone and bare, Norrington set himself upon his body, delighted by the victory he had gained in Jack's death and over Will's spirit.

Grunting with the effort of self-restraint, the Commodore recalled the bottle of oil in his coat pocket. He turned, fetched it and set upon Will again. His hand worked gently and slowly, trying to pry some response from Will. After a time, Will breathed heavily, but he never resisted. Through the whole of the venture in the coarse, unforgiving sand, Norrington could not determine whether Will's small reactions were a product of pain or desire.

With a perverse force of will, the Commodore told himself it must be desire. Will could desire no other, as Norrington was the only soul left to him. Jack was taken away. Elizabeth was long out of mind. No other lover would present himself, nor be capable of reaching Will in any other way, in his delicate state. If not for Jack, Will would have been his long ago regardless. The present was merely a manifestation of the inevitable, even if the means to said end had been rather unsavory.

Norrington placed himself between Will's knees and carefully slid forward. Will winced; not enough time, not enough oil, something. Norrington retreated for more oil and Will looked at the tree above him which had begun to sway in a light breeze. Will felt him return and work carefully and thoroughly in preparing Will for intimate activity. Norrington, however, had noticed Will's decided lack of interest. With some concentration, Will was able to sustain an almost-acceptable level of arousal. He knew that the onslaught would not end until he cooperated and he longed to be left at peace.

Will sighed and set his mind to the affectionate hands that manipulated him. He tried to let himself be comforted physically and numbed mentally by the activities at hand, but he felt ill. Will bit back nausea and discomfort and tried to relax, but the effort left him drifting in and out of consciousness. He closed his eyes and let himself flow as his body would have him. Will felt Norrington press down upon him and he turned his face away to hide the wince that crossed his face.

As the Commodore forced his way, Will gasped and finally lost consciousness, which went unnoticed by his less than lucid partner. The effort drenched Norrington in sweat and sped his breathing to a rapid pace. He buried his face in Will's neck and his hand in Will's hair and grunted loudly, waking him. Will swallowed hard and tried not to tense his body as Norrington sped to his release. He finished with a shudder and rolled back into the sand, chest heaving.

Will moaned, grateful that the ordeal was over and disgusted that it had occurred at all. He wanted to fight back, but the fight was not in him. Jack was gone, they were stranded, what purpose was left to him? Why fight? Will's jaw tightened with less fervency than was his usual manner and a tear escaped his eye. Norrington reached to wipe Will down with a cloth, but Will turned away and again began to retch.