the Dalaverse

I have a ton of stuff to do, but I've been wanting to write this fic for months and this morning I suddenly found the angle to make it work and had to write for four hours straight.

::pants::

This seemed as good a place to pause as any. No title yet. Mild NC-17, pairings (wait for it).......Elizabeth/James, Jack/Will, Elizabeth/Will, Jack/James, and eventually all other possible permutations of the four.

Can I really write four people in one bed? That's a lot of body parts to keep track of.

By god, I'm gonna try.

But first, the first half, in which we haven't quite moved into humorous poly territory yet -- we're stuck on infidelity and angst.



Beggars Banquet I



“It seems as if I’ll be spending a great deal of time on my own, then!”

As cutting last retorts went, it wasn’t the best she might have come up with, but Elizabeth was too busy slamming the front door to care. She paused for a moment and considered opening and closing it again, just to drive the point home, before deciding it was overkill.

Huffing angrily, she set off down the street. Her destination was not so essential as the need to get away from the house and Will. It had not been a particularly important row, beginning as a discussion about a formal dinner at her father’s house next Sunday. Will didn’t want to go; Elizabeth insisted upon it. They both dug in their heels and before she realized what was happening, there had been shouting and stomping of feet and herself storming out the door.

Not exactly the start of an epic battle, but it was their first argument as man and wife that had ended in such a way, and she was perhaps more upset over the fact that it had been caused by a mere trifle.
Nevertheless, she felt that she was in the right and it was his job to seek her out and apologize. She would be gracious about it, especially if his eyes went adorably wide and earnest as they tended to do, and then she could go home to a warm bed, as supper would no doubt be cold by then.

The shout of a coachman drew her out of her reverie and she blinked as she looked around. Somehow she’d managed to get into nearly the center of town. Business was shutting down for the day, late afternoon sunlight making her squint at the bustling townspeople. Will would have felt right at home, but she was at a loss as to what to do with herself. Running to her father felt childish, and she was much too proud to admit to any of her friends that her new marriage had already hit a snag.

It was then she saw him. The commodore was standing still at the edge of the square, looking as dazed and uncertain as Elizabeth felt. Well, perhaps he wasn’t the obvious choice for a dinner companion, but he’d been unusually friendly towards both she and Will lately. It was high time they all let bygones be bygones, relinquish old grudges and become the kind of friends who had survived a nightmare together.

All right – in truth, she was just looking for a sympathetic ear, and she knew he would never breathe a word of it or take Will’s side over her own. Still, he was a lonely fellow, avoiding the many women of Port Royal who had taken it upon themselves to comfort him after she’d rejected him. Elizabeth was glad for the open season on Norrington, for she’d been honest when she called him a good man, and he deserved a good wife to share his days with. But for whatever reason, he kept his distance and had all but faded from the social scene. Maybe it was time to delicately question him about that as well.

Having found an additional, less self-serving reason to engage him, she caught his eye across the square and smiled.



For several long minutes, Will could do nothing but stand and stare at the door. Gradually the desire to pound the wood into watery pulp left him and he was able to unclench his fists, wincing at the way his nails had dug into the flesh of his palms.

What had she meant by that? She wasn’t leaving him – God no, that was preposterous, no matter what she'd said, but...

Was she?

It was Elizabeth. Her motivations were not often easy to decipher, even when her husband made a try – perhaps especially then.

He’d been warned of this long before the wedding, practically from the moment he had kissed her on the parapet of the fort. Oh, they didn’t dare speak to him directly, of course, all needing their horses shod and their hinges repaired and new blades. But Will was more observant that most gave him credit for, and he heard the whispers.

He’s a blacksmith, the upper crust said. He’s a blacksmith sired by a pirate and probably born of a whore. In no way, shape or form is he good enough for her. He’ll never give her the life for which she was destined. They’ll be penniless and miserable and won’t we all feel satisfied to have seen it coming.

The common folk sang a different tune, especially unwed girls and their keen-eyed mothers. She’s a high-strung hussy, they sniffed. She’ll make demands of him that the poor boy couldn’t possibly keep. He’ll be trapped and miserable and she’ll make a fool of him by tumbling men with fortunes before she leaves him for one of them.

If Elizabeth had heard the same whispers, she paid them no more mind than he did. They were wrong, all of them. He and Elizabeth had seen each other at the worst of times and they each knew the other’s heart, without question, without doubt. No matter that they were young and their future uncertain; they were in love, and the lengths to which they were prepared to go stretched far beyond what these snobbish plebeian minds could imagine.

Will found himself heartened by his musings rather than sobered. What reason did he have to doubt when they’d already been through so much together? So things weren’t perfect – so they were capable of snapping at each other and being selfish and saying unkind things. It didn't mean their marriage was doomed to failure. When Elizabeth came back –

He glanced at the clock on the wall. She’d been gone for nearly twenty minutes. Checking at the window, he saw no sign of her.

What if she’d really meant it? What if she did intend to leave him?

A dark blur popped up in front of him and Will jumped back.

“Jack!” he hissed, pleased to see him but thinking that his timing could’ve been better. “What are you doing here?”

Jack propped his elbows on the sill and made sorrowful faces through the glass. “Goin’ to let me in?”

Cursing under his breath, Will went to the door. Jack was too adept at reading him. Taking a deep breath, he steadied his mind and forced his face into an expression of calm surprise.

When he opened the door, Jack had only to take one look at him. “All right, lad, what’s happened?” he demanded, slipping inside and fixing Will with a concerned frown.

Despite himself, Will could feel his shoulders slump. I will not cry, I will not cry, he thought, giving himself a mental slap.

“Elizabeth and I...had an argument...” he said, struggling to keep the quavering from his voice.

Jack clucked and drew him into the parlor. “Poor biddie, come tell ol’ Jack all about it.”



James had seen weather at sea change faster than Elizabeth Turner’s face, but only barely. One moment she was smiling and greeting him cordially and the next her whole body had seemed to crumple as she propped her head on his shoulder and let out a sniff.

Alarmed, James glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. The Turners were currently the favorite gossip item in town, and God knew how fast bad news would travel if he were to be seen with a sobbing Elizabeth collapsing in his arms. Not that his heart didn’t tighten at the sight of her distress, but this exchange was clearly going to have to take place away from prying eyes.

He thought of asking her back to his home, but that would be just as suspicious. And Jack might be tapping on the window at that very moment, begging to be let back in. A frown stole over James’ face at the mere idea. After making such accusations and being greeted with all the cold fury James could muster, any sensible person would have stayed far away from him for some time. Jack Sparrow, however, was anything and everything but sensible, and James had no doubt he’d find a pouting pirate sneaking into his house later that night to try and soothe his temper.

Right, not the most opportune train of thought at the moment – he had Elizabeth to worry about. Seeing her take a deep breath in preparation for another sob, he took her by the elbow and drew her into a nearby alley.

She left off crying to wrinkle her nose at the smell. Oh, splendid: they had ended up behind the butcher’s. Still, it was infinitely preferable to the dead center of the town square, and there were only a few mangy dogs to disturb them here.

“Oh, James,” Elizabeth said suddenly, burying her face in his chest. His arms went around her and he awkwardly patted her back, feeling his face beginning to turn red. “Will and I had a fight, and we were yelling, and he called me a brat –”

“He did?” James demanded, a sudden swell of righteous, protective anger making his voice harsh.

Elizabeth winced. “Well, to be fair, I called him a good number of...rather more incendiary things first. I don’t think my parents-in-law deserved to be so maligned, especially when they’re in no position to defend themselves.”

James chuckled, shifting her into a more comfortable position, his shyness ebbing away at her sheepish tone.

“Anyway,” Elizabeth mumbled into his coat, “point being that I walked out on him and I’ve no idea how to make it better.”

He wondered briefly just how he’d become first choice for counselor of marital difficulties, considering that he was woefully under-qualified – unless one counted Jack, but that was as much like dealing with a child as a spouse, most of the time. In any case, Elizabeth was hurting and looking up at him with pleading hazel eyes, tearstreaks doing nothing to mar the fair beauty of her skin. Not that that mattered, of course – water under the bridge. Someone else’s life, someone else’s dreams.

Nevertheless, he cared for the woman strictly on the level of friendship. So he told her what he would have wanted someone to tell his own wife in her position; what, to be honest, he wished somebody was telling Jack at this moment, because despite James’ opinion that he would come crawling back with his tail between his legs, the fear that he’d decide to sail off instead weighed too heavily on his mind.

“Go home,” he said gently, wiping a tear from her cheek with one thumb. “Tell him how you feel. Disaster seems to strike whenever you don’t.” He could hear the unexpected bitterness creep into his voice and was ashamed. Over her or not, he had no right to remind her of their history at a time like this.

Elizabeth studied him for a moment, but apparently decided to take his smile at face value. She met it with one of her own, bright and fresh, and he had to swallow down a ridiculous urge to trace the freckles on the bridge of her nose with his lips.

Something changed in her eyes, though her smile didn't falter. The moment for letting her go had long since passed, but James found himself frozen in place at the silent question. If he could just gaze on her a bit longer, he might be able to figure out what exactly it was.

“Speaking my mind,” she said, slowly, pausing and looking surprised at the way her breathing had quickened without either of them noticing, “has always been my pet vice.”

“Your mind, yes,” James murmured, desperately trying to figure out where the words had come from. How Jack would double over with laughter if he could see them now. James didn’t care, couldn’t care – couldn’t see anything but Elizabeth’s bottom lip being captured by her teeth. “But your heart?”

No, he had not actually said that, had he –

He stopped worrying about what he’d said, because she had grabbed him by the shoulders and was kissing him, over and over.



“...and then she left. Left, Jack! Just...strode through the door and disappeared down the street.”

Jack sympathized with Will, he really and truly did. It was a hard thing to watch a lover turn her back on you. But for Christ’s sake, why hadn’t the boy run after her? Elizabeth was a lass who needed to be chased; the commodore, bless his heart, had proved that with all his hemming and hawing and if-I-may-ing. From what Jack had seen, Will had finally worked up enough mettle to meet his headstrong girl with equal measure. Mmm, the thoughts of what went on between those sheets – just because he had a perfectly lovely bed in Port Royal didn’t mean he was willing to dismiss those thoughts, not at all.

Well, not ‘perfectly’ lovely, at least not today. Jamie could be a prickly one when he got an itch, and the return to stuffed shirt sometimes took them both unawares despite all the oiling of joints Jack had done. This was the first time James had actually gotten angry enough to throw Jack out, and the first time Jack was annoyed enough to let him stew in his own juices until he felt properly sorry for it. Really, all he’d done was bring up the possibility that James could warm his cold bed with other company during the weeks Jack was gone from him. It was downright generous on his part, considering that James had far more opportunity to become attached to someone else if he fished in this small pond. Jack, on the other hand, kept time only with temporary partners at this port or that. He’d made the rule against consorting with members of his own crew to save himself aggravation, but nothing was hurt if the commodore thought it made him special.

Oh, but special he was, and far more wanton than Jack would ever had guessed. To his consternation, it was usually himself having to cry uncle – or would be, if his pride had ever let him do so. James was the most enthusiastic lover he’d had in years, and Jack had become smitten enough to keep risking death by sneaking into town every now and then.

But it wasn’t James curled up in a sad little heap at his side, and it wasn’t James around whom Jack was carefully slipping an arm, wary of frightening him off.

“I don’t know what to do,” Will groaned, dropping his chin onto his knees.

“There now, lad,” said Jack, patting his shoulder. And that fine muscle was even firmer and more enticing than he remembered – how tight Will could hold on with arms like that...

No, no, no – Elizabeth. Sympathy. Sage advice. Right.

He’d run through a few scenarios involving himself giving advice to Will in regards to his wife, but they usually ended in graphic demonstrations involving the girl herself, and then of course he had to make sure Will had been paying strict attention to the lesson...

Will was blinking moist brown eyes at him and he shook his head, trying to clear it before he glazed over entirely.

“Women’re a puzzle,” he said to the boy, “and yours is e’en more complicated than most. So I suggest not making an attempt to figure out what’s best. Wait till she gets back and see how she greets you, then go from there.”

“But...but what if she doesn’t come back?”

Oh, for – of all the – couldn’t he see that he’d gotten his happily ever after?

“You let her take the lead, so now you have to wait on her,” he replied in a complete non-answer. Truthfully, he didn’t know whether Elizabeth would be back as soon as Will was obviously hoping to have her. The girl possessed an uncommon temper.

Will sighed in frustration. “Nothing you’ve said has eased my mind in any way,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Jack, looking vaguely betrayed.

“Want me to make you feel better, is ‘at it?” Jack asked, knowing that Will wouldn’t catch the purr lurking just beneath his words. Sure enough, the boy nodded.

Jack considered that permission granted. Elizabeth was going to murder him, slowly and painfully, and then James was going to do a stiff-legged jig over his grave, but he would have a taste of chocolate-eyed blacksmith before he died.

He dove in, closing his mouth on Will’s startled squeak.



The closer Elizabeth got to James, the more his scent of wool and salt air drove away the stench of freshly slaughtered meat. So she ignored warnings of protest in her mind and tugged him nearer still.

He moaned into her mouth, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her neck. He was gentle with her, as she’d expected on the handful of occasions she’d thought about kissing him, but never could she have foreseen the passion she could feel quivering just beneath the surface. Wondering how she might make him release it, she chased his tongue with her own and bit him, not quite sharply enough to draw blood, but enough to suggest the faintest hint of copper.

Someone – who? Who would dare? I want him – had clearly been rough with him recently, because the ploy worked beautifully. The large, strong hands went to her waist and tightened, sending a hot thrill down her spine as he pressed her against the wall. No surprise to find him hard, the heat of his body seeking hers even through the many layers of clothing. Far, far too many – she wriggled one arm between them to tug at her bodice. His ravenous mouth left her own – the dress had slipped enough to let him drag teeth across one shoulder before he found that spot to the left of her collarbone – how she’d trembled the first time Will had kissed her there –

Will.

With that one thought, she was able to summon enough force to shove James away. The naked desire clouding his eyes made heat pool low in her belly, but it faded as he sucked in a breath and came back to his senses.

The horror on his face was too painful to bear, so she closed her eyes. She didn’t need to see herself to know what she would find – hair mussed, laces torn, face flushed, as beautifully ravished and as damned as any whore.

“I – I’m sorry,” James gasped out. “I don’t know what –”

“I must get home,” she said woodenly, hoping that he would be gone when she opened her eyes.



Will had not kissed many women. There had been only two before Elizabeth: one a blushing peck on the lips from the milliner’s youngest daughter when he was fourteen, the second a more lingering, exploratory kiss with Patty Blye at seventeen. It had been sweet, but thoughts of who he would rather be kissing had made him pull away. Patty, her dare fulfilled, had shrugged and run off again.

Only three women, and yet he knew that none could ever kiss like Jack, even without the beard and mustache scraping against his skin.

For one thing, Jack was bold, his tongue demanding in Will’s mouth and his hands sure on Will’s body. Elizabeth could be just as brazen, but she was staking a claim on her husband, while Jack had never touched him before – not like this.

Not like – oh God – a hand slipping inside his shirt, hot and dry and more callused than Elizabeth’s could ever be, no matter how many times she burned her fingers trying to cook. Up and under the hem, stroking blunt nails against his ribs, harder and harder until he was bucking his hips in reflex. A smile Will could feel, curving both sets of lips, as Jack’s attention was drawn and his over-friendly hand went seeking more responsive prey.

Jack’s long fingers wrapped around his cock and Will bit down on Jack’s tongue, which only made him chuckle and begin to stroke. So confidently, knowingly – Elizabeth had asked him, on their wedding night, how he touched himself. Too mortified to answer, Will had shaken his head mutely and squeezed his eyes shut when she pursed her lips and determined to find out for herself what would please him. He could still see her eyes fixed on him, curious and hunger-dark and watching every reaction flicker across his face.

Watching him –

To his surprise, the notion sent a bolt of heat straight to the hard flesh Jack was handling. But there should have been shame, shame and fear and horror at what he was doing, what he was allowing Jack to do, how his wife would feel if she knew how badly he –

“Elizabeth,” he cried, tearing his mouth away.

Jack seemed to understand, rather than mistaking it as him saying the wrong name at the right touch; his hand paused on Will’s erection, though it did not move away.

“Elizabeth is not here,” said Jack, looking him square in the eye and speaking very deliberately, with none of his usual pomp and circumstance.

You’re just as stuck-up as you think them to be, Will Turner! The only difference is that you give yourself airs of noble suffering about it!

Which would be the greater suffering – to have Jack stop, or to have him go on, to lead him up to Will’s marriage bed where he seemed to think he belonged?

Jack’s fingers tightened on him again, the band of the silver ring he wore a familiar coolness, even if it was on the wrong finger.

Caught between a rock and a hard place – only Jack’s black gaze was both and Will, painfully swollen cock notwithstanding, was completely formless.

Will closed his eyes and fisted his hand in Jack’s hair, part of him hoping he wasn’t hurting, part of him hoping he was, all of him realizing that Jack wouldn’t mind one way or the other.