the Dalaverse

veronica_rich wanted to see commentary on something Kiltverse, which does not surprise me in the least. The original story is
here.




Right. So, first, here we have one of my few attempts at a modern-day AU. I don't know why I'm so terrified of writing in the modern day, but I'm really just crap at it. I either have to jump back far enough that I'm comfortable or write what I know, as in "All I Want For Christmas," where I made the gang college students because, surprise, I happen to be a college student. That's why the details on this one are a little bit fuzzy. But hey, it was a gift for veronica_rich and I figured Will in a kilt would be enough to make her happy.

“For the last time, Will, you look completely and utterly fantastic,” Elizabeth said through gritted teeth. “So stop tugging on your kilt.”

Will’s fingers twitched an inch away from the woolen hem. The outfit had been sitting in his closet for six years and even though they’d shaken it out, he still felt like his skin was crawling with dust mites. In addition, the new shirt beneath the plaid swept over his shoulder was itchy and his brown loafers were stiff. “Are you sure?”

I wanted a good mental picture for all the costumes.

She rolled her eyes, adjusting the cap-sleeve that would not stop falling off her left shoulder. “What about me?”

“Peter Pan’s wet dream,” he assured her. She’d decided to go as the animated Wendy and her costume mostly consisted of a short, pale blue thing more akin to a satin teddy than an actual dress. He wasn’t entirely convinced that it wasn’t the same Halloween costume from when they were nine. At least this time he hadn’t let her talk him into going as Peter. Although...

Elizabeth and Will's childhood friendship is a constant, and of course in this instance they haven't got society keeping them apart -- just Will's total incapacitating attraction to men. Usually I'd tend to write a modern Will who tends toward the middle of the scale, but not here.

Wrinkling his nose, he double-checked the fastenings holding his kilt together. Elizabeth had relented only after he agreed to a certain extent of costume accuracy. Which meant he’d left his underwear in the car. He wondered if Mel Gibson had had to put up with the draft.

“It was really a good idea to have a Halloween party in April,” she remarked, slinging her tiny purse over her shoulder as they walked up the gangplank. “It’s so warm out tonight.”

“That’s Jack Sparrow for you,” Will said, somewhat absently as he took in the loud, glittering scene they were slowly approaching. When they stepped onboard the giant luxury yacht, an extremely tall blond man dressed as Tarzan offered them a welcome and a thousand-watt smile. That, too, was typical of Will’s current boss. He liked his employees competent and well-recommended, but he also had a habit of surrounding himself with good-looking people. Apparently the waiters at the new restaurant were all gorgeous, and half of them had already slept with the owner.

I have no idea where they live. Seriously. It's somewhere in the U.S. with water and a seasonal climate. I like to think of it as a Choose Your Own Adventure element. Secondly, we get our first mention of Jack -- famous, gay, promiscuous, and somehow involved with the restaurant business. This is probably a good place to take note of another glossing-over: I don't know what Jack does. In part it's family money -- perhaps his grandfather was a robber baron or something. I've the vague idea that he either heads a branch of his father's company/corporation or was able to use a large inheritance to start his own. Which totally does something (the restaurant is just a side project among many others). But fuck me if I know what it is. This is the part where it's crackfic: Jack is obscenely rich and has control over a lot of folks, and now we move on.

They made their way over to the bar, Will with his eyes fixed straight ahead and Elizabeth cruising for famous people among the guests. Jack’s parties were usually ultra-exclusive, but for some reason he’d invited half his staff to this one, which Will suspected might cull the herd a bit.

“Oh my God, is that Tobey Maguire?” Elizabeth gasped, stopping dead in her tracks and staring at a Charlie Chaplin over by the buffet table.

Huh, I forgot about that. Maybe they live in California. Or maybe Tobey travels a lot. Or maybe Elizabeth needs glasses.

“Maybe,” said Will, tugging on her hand. “Can we wait at least ten minutes before the schmoozing starts?”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “William Turner, I’m marching straight back to the car if you’re going to be such a damn party pooper.”

“I don’t know why I invited you in the first place,” he grumbled, knowing she wouldn’t be able to hear him over the music. It felt like there were speakers installed in the floors, the ceiling, the corners, possibly between his own ears. Turning to the barkeep – also handsome – Will gave him a strained smile. The wall of liquor behind him was probably worth more than Will’s yearly salary, but he barely spared it a glance. He’d seen Jack’s private office supply. “A cosmopolitan and a Dos Equis, please.”

I deliberated a great deal over the choice of drinks in this fic. I wanted Will to have a fondness for a slightly unusual beer (it's one of my dad's favorites), and I figured Elizabeth would like a chic cocktail. I think I googled something along the lines of 'pirate cocktails' or 'pirate drinks' to find Jack's White Pirate, which really is from the Florida Keys.

Elizabeth accepted her drink graciously, leaning back against the bar and surveying the crowd with narrowed eyes. “Come on, Will. Isn’t there anybody here you’d like to fuck?”

Will choked on his beer, reddening under the coolly startled gaze of the bartender.

“What?” she wanted to know when he glared at her. “We both know it’s been awhile.”

Aww, poor Will.

Oh God. Now the man was smirking. “It has not been that long,” Will hissed, looking for a nearby escape. Most of the small groups looked too intimate for butting in, and he wasn’t going anywhere near the dancers in the center of the floor. To his relief, he spotted familiar faces in a corner to their left.

He shouldered his way past a vampire and several hobbits, nodding to Anamaria Rodriguez, Sparrow’s personal trainer, and James Norrington, his defense lawyer. Anamaria was dressed to kill in a black vinyl Catwoman suit, while James was nicely turned out in a tux.

Okay, so I kind of made James a lawyer because I couldn't think of anything else. Jack probably got into a lot of legal troubles when he was younger, and he's always traveling and skirting international laws. I'm still tickled by the idea of Anamaria as Jack's fitness taskmaster. And Jack Davenport would make an awesome Bond.

“Bond?” he asked by way of a greeting.

“None other,” said James dryly. Will bit back a grin; he knew the Brit didn’t like large crowds any more than he himself did. Anamaria was full of scorn for the empty-headed playboys and pseudo-celebrities, but Will suspected she secretly enjoyed the act. It would explain why she was still storming into company headquarters several times a week, demanding to see “the hung-over bastard” who’d missed their session yet again.

“Anamaria, James, this is my friend Elizabeth Swann,” he said. “Elizabeth –”

“Will’s mentioned you before,” she interrupted, shaking both their hands and lingering a bit on James. “It’s nice to finally meet some of the other people who’re shut up in that building all day.” She glanced at Will and raised her left eyebrow in the signal they’d agreed upon earlier that day: straight?

Will shrugged very faintly. He didn’t think James had ever mentioned a girlfriend, but he also ignored Jack’s flirting. Elizabeth got a little gleam in her eyes. ‘Indeterminate’ was a perfectly acceptable orientation for her.

Will has good instincts. James in this universe is straight -- except for that one time he had sex with Jack after his wife left him a few years ago. In his office. On the desk. I might write that one some day.

“So where is our illustrious host?” Will asked.

Anamaria’s mouth twisted sourly. “Some idiot asked about the L.A. restaurant. Jack kind of disappeared after that.”

Will winced. Sparrow was still very sensitive with the business with his former partner. The insurance money from the fire had meant nothing to him even before he’d figured out that Barbossa had set it deliberately.

I wanted to stick Barbossa in somehow, and I'm still pretty pleased with the hint at backstory.

“Though not before giving the man a proper chewing-out,” James added with a straight face. Having worked for Jack the longest, he had been witness to more temper tantrums than the rest of them combined. There was a dark side to Jack’s generosity and he held grudges like nobody’s business.

Will's got such a crush on his boss.

Elizabeth deposited her empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray. “Do I get an introduction before the night is over?”

“Sorry, Liz, but you might have to do it yourself,” said Will. “He can never remember my name at work, much less outside of it.”

James, apparently feeling that it was only polite to protest, said, “That’s got to be an exaggeration.”

“Oh, definitely,” said Anamaria with a nod. “You’re blowing things way out of proportion, Turner. He called you ‘Wilbur’ just the other day.”

Frankly I think Jack was just teasing him.

Elizabeth giggled, deigning to take her eyes off James for half a second. Unless Will was mistaken, he was in the process of noticing her back.

Will suppressed a sigh, hating the feelings of loneliness and jealousy that cropped up at the thought of a romance sparking in front of his face, but unable to stop himself. Elizabeth had been blunt, but she was right – it had been awhile. It wasn’t like it was Will’s fault for not putting himself out there. It was just so hard to find a nice, single, reasonably attractive guy in the city. Jack had a virtual smorgasbord of gay men working under him, often literally, but they’d never look twice at somebody like Will. He had tried all the clubs and bars, deciding they weren’t worth the effort or the headaches. At this point, he was reduced to going over the cheesy personal ads in the paper, although he hadn’t picked up his phone.

Yet.

I might be stretching it a bit here. He's gorgeous, yes, but he's also shy and kind of a dork, and a serial monogamist at heart.

“I’m going to get another drink,” Elizabeth announced. “Anybody want?”

James responded to her graceful half-turn, stepping forward. “I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind. Ana, Will?”

Anamaria waved her water bottle. “I’m good.”

“No thanks,” said Will, still only halfway through his beer, though he had a sudden urge to chug it and whatever else he could get his hands on.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Anamaria watched them walk off with an arched brow. “Think they’re coming back?”

“Not a chance,” Will replied, trying to keep even a hint of bitterness out of his voice. He thought he succeeded, until Anamaria’s expression softened. She put a hand on his arm.

“Your fag hag’s not cutting it anymore, huh? If you want, I could introduce you to a friend of mine, Adrian. He works downtown at an ad agency and he just broke up with –”

Will bit down hard on his lower lip. He might have been lonely, but he wasn’t looking to become somebody’s rebound lay. “Thanks, Ana, but I’m okay.”

“Really?” She didn’t look convinced.

He nodded, forcing his face into a mix of shy and excited as he lied through his teeth. “Actually, I’ve got a date next Friday with a guy from my bank. I’m not here because I’m desperate for romance, trust me.”

Anamaria studied him with her sharp, dark eyes for a moment before nodding slowly. “Okay, Turner.” She bobbed her head toward the buffet table, which was one of the more popular milling spots at the party. “There are some fruit kebabs over there with my name on ‘em. Coming?”

I had a wicked time thinking of something healthy that might be served at any party of Jack's.

“Actually, I think I’m going to get some air,” Will replied. Besides the loud music, the bodies crowded into the room generated enough heat to make it feel like the height of summer. His plaid wasn’t exactly breathable.

Just in case anybody has forgotten about the KILT.

On his way to one of the open double doors, he spotted Elizabeth and James tucked into a nook. Their heads were bent close together in some private discussion. As he watched, she lifted a hand to push a lock of curled hair behind her ear, brushing against James’ sleeve on the way. Will grinned and shook his head. James was as smooth a straight man as ever Will had seen, but not even he was likely to resist Liz if she turned it on full-power.

The deck outside was mercifully empty and the open air felt like a cool touch upon his flushed skin. Some remnants of idle chatter and dance beats spilled out behind him, but for the most part it was quiet. He stood at the rail for a moment, looking out past the lights of the harbor, before turning toward what he thought was the front of the yacht – forward? It was fore and aft, wasn’t it? He’d never been sailing and his knowledge came from an adolescent crush on Errol Flynn and a boyfriend on the college crew team.

That's me projecting. I have a thing for Errol Flynn, and it reminds us of our piratical origins.

Before he got very far, a thickly-built man with a salt-and-pepper beard stepped out of the shadows looming from the deck above his head. “Afraid you can’t go any farther, sir.”

This is Gibbs, btw. I was trying to be all subtle.

“Oh, of course,” said Will sheepishly. Jack hadn’t survived attempts on his father’s life and his own to let his security go lax now. Another, slighter figure stepped around the man blocking Will’s way.

“That’s okay.” Jack Sparrow smiled his golden smile at Will. “You get tired of the madness in there, too?”

Will’s jaw fell before he could attempt to respond. It wasn’t just the smile that glittered. He was dressed in white and gold like an Egyptian pharaoh, linen skirt belted around his waist, matching headdress covering his black hair, bejeweled collar hanging heavy around his neck. The exposed skin of his upper body was deeply tanned, and it was clear that Anamaria had earned the exorbitant fees she charged.

The only reason I didn't dress Jack as a pirate was because I wanted him in a skirt too. And he'd love the opulence of that costume.

He realized he was staring just as Jack lifted an eyebrow. “Umm...I guess.”

“Well,” said Jack slowly, and Will realized with some abashment that he was being just as closely scrutinized, “why don’t you stay out here awhile?”

Much as it thrilled him to see blatant interest in Jack’s black-lined eyes, Will’s heart deflated a little at the thought that Jack didn’t recognize him after nearly a year of board meetings. “I, umm...” Further words just wouldn’t come out. The man probably thought he was retarded. To wet his dry throat, he took a swallow of his beer – a mistake, because he found himself downing the rest of the bottle in one gulp.

I don't really know what Will does for Jack, either. Something to do with finances. Also, I probably should've given him at least one more beer.

Jack watched him with a half-smile. “Something else to drink?” he asked when Will had finished. Before Will could answer, he turned to the bodyguard still standing at attention. “I’m going to get Mr. Wallace something from my cabin, Josh. Will you keep an eye on things around here?”

“Will do, sir,” said the man in his gruff voice. Jack turned, inclining his head in that way Will had seen a million times, the way that implied both you and he knew that doing whatever he wished would make you very happy. Will had never figured out if it came from being rich or if it was a quality he would’ve had no matter what. Regardless, and horrified at himself, he followed.

That's just Jack, baby.

He wracked his brain for something to say, and came up with, “Wallace?”

“It’s the costume, right? William Wallace?” Jack’s version of a Scottish accent made Will take in a breath so quickly he nearly choked. It was more of a purr than a burr.

“Right,” he said after clearing his throat.

It was a good thing Jack was naturally loquacious, because it seemed Will couldn’t get out more than a couple syllables at a go. “I was going for a Yul Brenner in ‘The Ten Commandments’ look, myself. What do you think?” He waved his hand at himself in an approximation of Vanna White, but again continued before Will even opened his mouth. “God knows I can never keep track of everybody who comes to these things, but I could swear I’ve seen you before. I never forget a face.”

I have a thing for Yul Brenner, too.

This was it, Will thought with some combination of disappointment and relief. Jack would realize the man at his heels crunched numbers for his company, perhaps recalling the time Will had spilled coffee all over himself and a quarterly report, and his laughter would send Will reeling all the way back to the dock.

Jack cocked his head in contemplation of Will’s face. “Are you one of Calvin’s models? When I look at you, I seem to remember a 60th birthday party and underwear.” The ‘or lack thereof’ was implied by his quick canvas of Will’s body, with eyes that seemed to bore right through his layers of clothing.

That would be Calvin Klein, who I also googled to find out that he'd recently turned 60. Happy birthday Calvin Klein! Jack buggered all your male models!

“No,” he said, and for the first time he tried a smile, hoping it came off as mysterious and enigmatic rather than crazed. “It’s a good guess, though.”

“Hmmph,” said Jack, pouting a little. They went down a flight of stairs, ducking the low ceiling, and stopped in front of a door with a gold plaque reading Captain Jack Sparrow. Will bit his lip to keep from smirking. Jack was famously obsessed with pirates and he had helped fund several archaeological expeditions in the Caribbean. It was a wonder he wasn't dressed as one tonight, but maybe he'd gotten tired of that costume.

He's still fascinated by pirates. This also makes me want to write Doola-and-Monkey fic.

Jack waved him inside. Will could feel the scrutinizing gaze fixed on him and he battled back some of his shyness, ran a hand through his loose, curly hair and cocked a hip.

“Nice cabin,” he remarked, looking around. Like everything Jack owned, it was bold and colorful, tasteful accents like the simple navy bedspread competing with tacky touches like the naked mermaid lamp secured in a far corner.

Over the summer at Bed Bath and Beyond, I spent a ridiculous amount of time decorating everybody's house. Particularly their bedrooms. James was usually a simple, manly Nautica plaid in blue and/or red. Will was either that or the surfer ensemble. Elizabeth's tastes wavered between this pretty white bedspread with pink flowers and the bright henna-themed set. And Jack got a dark red silk with gold accents called Sari.

“Why, thank ye kindly, William,” said Jack in earnest Scots. He brushed past Will to the bar opposite the bed. “Let me make you something they don’t serve up there – a Jack Sparrow speciality.”

Will found himself standing in front of a full-length mirror and paused to make an assessment. The green and brown pattern of the plaid suited his eyes. The kilt showed off his legs and accentuated the slim waist that ran in his family. He had thought himself too skinny to be wearing the trappings of a famous warrior, but though he wasn’t as finely sculpted as Jack, there was strength in his build, left over from playing lacrosse and soccer in school and maintained by sporadic visits to the gym. He remembered the glee in Elizabeth’s eyes when he’d stepped out of the bathroom this evening. “Pretty,” she had exclaimed.

From the sultry look on Jack’s face when he turned around, he was inclined to agree with her.

“Here we go,” said Jack gallantly, handing him a double shotglass filled with a murky pale liquid and ice. “It’s called a White Pirate. Basically a White Russian, but with rum instead of vodka. I got addicted to it when I was in the Keys over the winter.”

I've never had a White Russian but always thought they sounded disgusting. But I'd probably drink anything if Jack Sparrow handed it to me. Wouldn't you?

Will took a sniff and nearly coughed from the strong fumes of the rum. No wonder James was always turning down Jack’s pleas to go out for a drink. A couple of these and anybody would be eating out of Jack’s palm.

Which, he guessed, was the point. And this was the point where he was supposed to make a choice.

He clinked his glass against Jack’s and murmured, “Cheers.”

Yes! We're all set for slutty!kilted!Will!

“Cheers, matey,” said Jack with a pirate’s growl, and he tipped back most of the thing in a single hearty swallow.

Will sipped at his more slowly; it was every bit as strong as it smelled, and he didn’t drink cocktails very often.

I have only recently learned what an insane amount of alcohol you can slip into a mixed drink. Girly drinks my ass.

Jack watched him with an adorably eager expression. “Good?”

Will nodded, feeling warmth start to disperse through his bloodstream. He drank more to cover his nervousness when Jack sidled behind him, standing very near. At the touch of hot breath against his ear, he crunched a few ice cubes in an attempt to balance his temperature.

“So,” Jack breathed, his hand resting lightly on Will’s hip, “is it true, that thing about what a Scotsman wears under his kilt?”

I remember frowning over that sentence for awhile. I wanted "what they say about what..." but the repetition really bothered me.

A shiver ran through Will despite the crackles of heat in the air. He turned his head, leaning back into him. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

Jack chuckled, a low rumble full of threat and promise, and then he wrapped an arm around Will’s waist and kissed him.

The empty glasses went somewhere and Will got turned around somehow, but he didn’t register much beyond the sweet, stinging taste of Jack’s mouth. He was glad he'd gone without the blue facepaint, because it would've gotten all over Jack's face and lips and fingertips and wow, everywhere. The golden collar was hard against his chest, the body beneath it smooth and firm and silky-skinned. Always before he’d tsked over the amount Jack spent on personal care products, but if this was the result, fuck it all if Will wouldn’t buy the stuff for him.

I forgot about the blue paint until the end, so I added that little tease.

He feared the dizziness making him stumble against Jack might be the result of the yacht disembarking, and he hoped they didn’t crash without the captain at the wheel, because the captain was busy grinding against another guy in a skirt in his cabin. Except probably Jack couldn’t really man the thing, he was always showing off like that –

“Oh, fuck,” Will gasped, realizing that the kiss was over, that Jack was on his knees. His hands floundered, his elbows coming to rest on a bureau behind him. He’d known Jack was direct, but this was something else entirely.

Jack flung off the headdress impatiently, shaking his dark hair free. Between the outfit, the smeared eyeliner, and the swollen lips, it was easy to imagine him as some ancient courtesan, studying the composition of Will’s costume with proprietary interest. He went for the buttons, cursed softly when he pricked his finger on the sword-shaped pin, while Will stared down at him and fought to breathe. He wasn’t actually going to do this, was he? He’d only met Will ten minutes ago, at least by his account.

Mmmphh. Still like that image of Jack. And I wasn't originally planning for them to go even this far, but the smut sort of sneaked its way in.

Finally Jack succeeded in getting the kilt undone. Beneath it Will’s cock was flushed and hard, growing harder still when Jack's warm breath ghosted over it. Okay, yes, so they were definitely going to do this. Recalling the endless succession of partners in Jack’s past, Will hoped he measured up.

“So that’s a yes,” said Jack, canting amused and lust-sparkled eyes up at Will.

“Y-yes,” Will repeated, hearing a whine creep into his voice. Jack caught it too and he smiled, the contours of his mouth softer than before, but maybe that was just from the kissing. He licked his lips and wasted no further time in sliding them over Will’s erection.

Will braced himself against the cool marble countertop of the bureau, desperate for the support his knees didn’t seem willing to provide. With the delicacy of a connoisseur, Jack tasted the swollen head, circling it with his tongue, before gripping Will’s wool-covered thighs with both hands and taking him deeper.

Whenever he’d thought of Jack in bed – and okay, maybe he’d thought of it more often than was strictly healthy – he’d always seen Jack as the most dominant of tops. In his professional life, that was how he always turned out, despite the designer clothing and the mincing and the taste for luxury. No matter how he batted his lashes at his employees when he asked them for something, they all knew he had an iron grip on his affairs, financial or otherwise.

Now, faced with the undeniable evidence, he saw that Jack was just as precise in giving due as he was in demanding it. His eyes darted up to Will to check responsiveness as his tongue and mouth and throat worked on him.

Not that Jack's not still a total top. And not that Will is going to be complaining.

And Will, despite the fact that it was the best head he’d ever received and he was about five seconds away from losing himself, choked out, “Stop.”

Jack’s eyes clouded with confusion, but he pulled off immediately, sitting back on his heels and panting. “What?”

“I – I – this isn’t right,” Will said, covering his face with his hands so Jack wouldn’t see the burning shame. “It was an – an accident.”

Part of the request was 'an accidental kiss,' which is where that line comes from.

Jack stood up, gingerly touching Will’s arm. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. An accident would be if I tripped and fell on your dick. This is you not wanting me. Which, you know, is okay, but I thought –”

Haaaa! I can say dick because it's modern-day! Although I wouldn't actually use it except in dialogue. I hate that word.

Still unable to look at him, Will hung his head. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Jesus, kid, I’m not gonna force you,” Jack snapped.

That was a bit cruel of him, but Will performed such an abrupt 180 here that I don't think Jack can be faulted for reacting badly.

Will swallowed hard. His fingers shook as he fumbled with the buttons at his waist. Jack heaved a sigh and pushed his hands aside, fastening the kilt himself.

“Good as new,” he said in a soft, unreadable voice as he stepped back. Will tugged at a lock of his hair, edging toward the door.

He's genuinely hurt that Will doesn't want him. Poor Jack, his playboy lifestyle's starting to become a bit much for him.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Sparrow,” he said again, still staring at the floor. “Thank you for the drink.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jack wave a hand at him. “No problem. Enjoy the rest of the party, William Turner.”

It took a few seconds for his words to drop into Will’s head. He froze with his handle on the doorknob. “What did you say?”

Jack was silent, and Will knew he’d have to turn and meet his eyes to get an answer. When he did, he found Jack combing his fingers through his hair, smiling ruefully.

“You knew the whole time?” He was aware of his jaw hanging open again, but he didn’t care.

“Yeah,” said Jack with a shrug. “I told you, I never forget a face.” His mouth twisted into a friendly leer. “Or a nice ass.”

Will leaned back against the door, feeling nearly as shaky as he’d been with that mouth on him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Jack crossed the room to the enormous bed and sank down onto it, regarding Will with clear, forthright eyes. “I thought maybe if you felt like somebody else, you’d stop treating me the way you do.”

Oh God, he was about to get fired and all he could do was keep asking questions. “How – how do I treat you?”

“Like I’m not there,” Jack replied. “Or like you feel you shouldn’t be there. I know I’m technically your boss, but I’m just a man. You act like we exist on totally different planes, Will.”

Will's not the only one with a crush. Jack's just better at hiding it.

Will snorted, glancing around the sumptuous cabin. “Don’t we?”

Jack’s face split into a grin. “We certainly didn’t tonight.” At Will’s blush, his smile only widened. “You’re cute, you know that? You’re cute and I like you, and I really want you to stay.”

Sometimes it's just that simple.

“But – but why?” Will whispered, trying to keep his gaze on Jack’s face even as Jack untied the collar around his neck and laid it aside. His neglected hard-on twinged at the sight of flat dark nipples. He sobered when his eyes flicked to the bullet wound on the right side of Jack’s chest. He’d heard a lot about the sniper incident, which had occurred years before he had started working for Jack, but he’d never thought to see the scar.

Dunno why people repeatedly try to kill the Sparrow partiarchs, either -- whether it's just a wackjob or two, maybe one of Jack's disgruntled conquests, or if there's something slightly sinister about their business.

The corner of Jack’s mouth twitched. With nimble fingers, he unwound the sandal laces going up his calves. “I thought we covered that.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Will said stubbornly. In his head he could hear Elizabeth screeching at him to stop being an idiot and hop into that bed.

Jack didn’t say anything, just looked at him squarely. He stood, pulled on the scarlet sash holding his white skirt closed, and let it fall to the floor.

Will gulped and flushed even darker. Apparently the Egyptians didn’t put any more stock in underwear than the Scots. Also, not even the most rigorous of workouts could make Jack look any better naked.

“You can turn around and walk away,” said Jack quietly, completely comfortable in his own skin, “and we don’t have to bring this up ever again. Or...” He stepped out of the puddle of cloth and approached, pace steady, giving Will plenty of time to back up the few steps he’d progressed in his shock. Will stayed perfectly still.

This is a bit more chilled-out than I've ever written Jack, but I figure he's kind of had to become so, in order to be taken seriously.

“Or,” Jack continued when he was standing before Will, half an inch shorter in his bare feet, “you can come to bed with me now, avoid explaining everything to your friends for at least the rest of the weekend, and go in late on Monday.”

“I’m never late,” said Will, fingers curling around Jack’s wrist like they belonged there – like he belonged here.

He totally isn't, either. Jack's late to everything.

Jack laughed and touched his lips to the soft part of Will’s ear. “So try something new. Being late, or snowboarding, or sailing, or fucking a millionaire on a giant boat beneath a mirror on the ceil --"

"Hey Jack? Your turn. Try shutting up for a change."

Pushing against his grip, pressing him back against the door, Jack kissed his chin and suggested, "Make me, Braveheart."

Will liked that name, so he did.

I don't really care for the last line, but it's a good association for Will nevertheless.


Yay! Fun!