Fracture 1/7
Title: Fracture
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my ideas and this dark place.
Fracture
Part One
Things that are found in dreams, it is said, are things that you wish for, but can never find nor have the courage to speak aloud. Things that are found outside of dreams often cause fractures, small breaks in dreams and hearts, where only reality can fit. It is the things, that we remember, that are found in dreams that let us keep going. And so we dream, and dream...
Will opened his eyes watching the water flow simply passed his face as the Dutchman surged under the waves. He’d long since yanked out the dripping out of tune organ from his Captain’s cabin, freeing up space for other things. It had been enough years -almost five, by his count - and he could control The Flying Dutchman with a mere thought. Slowly the massive ship rose into the air, water running out of broken windows and door frames.
Clinking slightly with shining scales, Will made his way down to the Brig, where a man hung loosely from his wrists. The man didn’t move, except to sway with the motion of the waves. Will waited in the doorway until the dark head lifted. Equally dark eyes met his, and Will took sadistic pleasure in the fear that filled the tan face. “Hello,” Will told him caustically, grinning when the body flinched.
“Day?” rasped the almost corpse.
“You’ve been here a week,” Will answered him mildly, slipping into the cell and closing the door behind him. The man, naked and wet, shivered as the cold of Will’s body got close enough to touch. “Have you given thought to my request?”
The man nodded. “Do you what you will,” he rasped, hanging his head in shame. “I will not fight you.”
With a grin that didn’t reach his eyes, Will began to strip off his clothes, baring his body to the early morning sunlight. He glittered as he did so, the iridescent scales catching and reflecting light all over the cell. Will’s grin turned predatory. “You’re staring,” he reminded pleasantly, standing proudly naked.
Eyes dropped away and closed. “Sorry,” muttered the prisoner. “Scales surprised me.”
Brushing a sensual hand down his chest to cup his burgeoning erection, Will smirked. “These? Yes, I do find them passing strange but I cannot help but enjoy the sensation.” Lips parted on a moan as Will continued to stroke his cock, smooth, slick scales over his fingertips.
The almost broken man in front of him, licked his lips and struggled for the first time in his bonds. It was with the growing humiliation of getting hard that Will struck. Lips on chapped lips, hands covering protruding ribs, and hard cocks in line with each other. The almost-corpse gasped and cried out, rutting against the Captain of The Flying Dutchman as much as his bonds would allow. “Please,” he cried out, “please!”
“Begging now?” Will asked, delightfully amused. “If you insist...” He pulled away from his captive and took position behind him, rubbing his painfully hard erection against smooth globes. “What do you want?” he asked, dancing his fingers over the clenching opening.
“More!” begged the prisoner, pressing back wantonly.
“More what?” Will taunted, pressing the tip of his index finger into the ass of the man in front of him.
“You!” he cried, sobbing in relief as Will’s whole finger slipped into him. “Yes!” he cried out, thrusting back without abandon. “Oh God, please, more...” he begged quietly, his mind slipping into the place he created the first day of his capture on the Dutchman. He would never be able to disregard the sensations coursing through his body, so he fabricated, he dreamed, and he hoped that someday the act being impressed upon him would happen in a more comfortable setting.
Will forwent the rest of his fingers, the week long teasing no doubt had his prisoner on the very edge. Without any further ado, he pressed violently into the willing body. Hot, tight heat enveloped him and Will didn’t pause. He continued to thrust, rubbing a scaled palm over the erection of his partner.
Will felt his prisoners balls draw up, and he stopped, listening with pleasure at the pained gasps and moans from the man below him. “What do you want?” he asked again.
“Let me come, Will, please, god...” begged the broken man. “Just please, no more.”
The Captain’s lips turned up in a smirk. “As you wish,” he promised, and squeezed just once. Jack Sparrow came with short harsh sobs of Will’s name, falling limp into Will’s arms when he was finished.
Will pulled out, still hard, and dressed quietly, arranging himself carefully. “Will,” Jack cried out as he moved to leave. “Why?”
For the first time since their encounter, Will’s face gentled. “Try not to worry Jack,” he offered instead of an answer, pulling his face up. “There is a place for you here.” He bestowed a gentle kiss on his former friends lips. “You are, after all, the first to give in. I suppose you never found that immortality. Poor Jack...”
Jack looked up, a mere shadow of his prior self. “What do you want from me?” he cried.
Will opened the door to the cell and closed it softly. “Love,” he responded, and exited the hall.
The pirate captain stood straight in his bonds, looking around for the first time since he regained consciousness. Across the way to his cell was another, this one empty. But to his left, chained to the wall was a bloody and broken Barbossa, his head hanging at an unnatural angle that bespoke of death, but his chest rose and fell.
To his right was a pristine Norrington, the man clothed and sitting on a cot with his long legs tucked up to his chest. He was nonsensical, rocking minutely to the waves, murmuring under his breath. Just passed the insane ex-Admiral, was Beckett, the man in much the same state as Barbossa.
The ship shuddered and began to lower. And Jack, as the water closed over his head began to dream again.
Part Two