"Impure Thoughts"
Viva la Sparrowstrap, baby!
I posted this at pirategasm, but I thought I'd toss it in here as well for the sake of community. :)
Title: Impure Thoughts
Author: Mandolin the FlameDame
Rating: R
Pairing: Captain Jack Sparrow/"Bootstrap" Bill Turner
Summary: Inspired by the listings of Jack's "chief offences" at the end of the film, and the smile he gives at "impersonating a cleric of the Church of England..."
Disclaimer: If I had any legal claim to the characters of POTC, I would not be sitting here at my temp job writing fandom smut, now would I?
Warnings: None.
Author's Notes: I know nothing of the practices of the Anglican Church or Protestantism. Sorry.
Archive: Any port in a storm. (Ask first, please.)
Feedback: Mama's little baby loves feedback, feedback....
Beta: Mille grazie to cheeriomonkey
****************************************************
Unidentifiable fluid dripped steadily from the ceiling of the cell and puddled in the grout of the floor-stones. Thick, Caribbean sunlight was quartered by the window bars and floating bits of dust were glittering in the bands. Though it was still but morning, the air was heavy with the humidity, to the point that Bill Turner was unsure if the moisture on his brow was sweat or condensation. He sat in a shaded corner and pressed his cheek against the cool stone wall. When his flesh had warmed the spot, he'd turn fitfully to find a virgin patch of granite. He was in a Port Royal prison cell and, worse, he was feeling the aftereffects of a rum-soaked night. Worse still, he was set to be hung for piracy and a potpourri of other crimes that afternoon. Hope as he might, there didn’t seem to be any way he was getting out of it this time.
The bars of the cell door had already seen many desperate attempts at escape, as witnessed by the shallow scratches and occasional dent. Bill ran his fingers down the bar nearest him, and even through his tough calluses, he could feel the catch and snag of shaved metal. He continued his lackluster exploration of the bars until he was interrupted by the sounds of approaching boots.
Looking up with regretful resignation, Bill suddenly had to bite his lips to keep from laughing aloud. Coming down the stone staircase was the usual guard: young and green in his ill-fitting Navy uniform. He was obviously put out by the fact that, instead of out on a ship hunting pirates, he was relegated to the bowels of the fort to baby-sit those too foolish or drunk to avoid the hangman's noose.
But it was the figure behind him that was causing Bill nearly uncontainable mirth. The tall, solemn man in the dark gray vestments, clutching a worn leather book to his breast. The man who was staring at him with an expression of mischievous pity.
He had cleaned the black smudges from around his eyes, a feat Bill would never have thought possible. His wild tangle of beads, braids, and dreadlocks was pulled back from his face and restrained in a ponytail. The twin braids in his goatee remained, yet he looked downright... respectable. What a filthy word! Bill’s eyes were drawn to the Bible reverently clutched to the man’s bosom, or more precisely, the hands clutching it. The fingers were curiously banded with pale, creamy streaks. Bill could not imagine what had done that to his fingers...
Oh! His rings! He'd taken them off!
By the time the tiny entourage had reached him, Bill was violently trembling with repressed laughter.
"Hey, you," the young guard rapped the cell door with the toe of his boot. "You've got a visitor. I’d suggest you make use of him."
The guard then strode off, Bill currently being his only ward, to a small chair and desk at the far end of the corridor to lose himself in government paper work and dreams of glory.
Jack the Cleric stepped forward and stood before the door of the cell and waited. After he was sure the guard was out of hearing range, Bill dared to let out the breath he had been holding.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph."
"None of the above, I'm afraid,"
"Where'd you get those, Jack?" Bill asked, indicating the robes.
"Jack? My dear man, you must 'ave me confused for someone else! I am merely a humble minister seeking to ease your passing into the next world."
"I've never seen a minister wear his hair quite like that."
He stroked his goatee with his free hand, "Missionary work. 'mongst the natives, you know."
"But, of course," Bill solemnly agreed as Jack's fingers began to undulate hypnotically in front of his eyes.
"Strange customs, they 'ave. Eunuchs, all of 'em. D'you know that?"
"Really? And just how do they reproduce?"
"Did I mention the missionary work, lad?"
"Ah, Christian charity...it's a beautiful thing," he grinned.
"Speaking of, are you of a mind to confess your sins?"
Bill raised an eyebrow. "Must've missed your collar. Didn't take you for a Catholic."
Jack spread his hands in a gesture of benevolent supplication. "Humor me."
"All me wrong-doings fit neat and square under 'piracy,' I'd imagine. Now, are you going to get me out of here?"
The right side of Jack's mouth shot upwards in an amused smirk, exposing a glint of gold. "I'm afraid you'll 'ave to do better than that, luv."
"Not playin' your game, am I?"
Those strangely nude eyes went wide as he stroked the leather binding of his Bible, "This is your immortal soul, boy! I'd hardly call that a game."
"Everything's a game if you know the rules," Bill smirked in return. He took a step closer to the bars and whispered, "What are the rules...Jack? Confession and penance? Tell you what a naughty boy I've been and say a few 'Hail Mary's?'"
Full gold-speckled grin, this time. "You'll be saying a few 'Hail Somebody's.'"
"What did you 'ave in mind?"
Glancing to check the guard's whereabouts, Jack cocked an eyebrow and asked: "Had any impure thoughts lately?"
"You're incorrigible and manipulative."
"Well, that hardly counts! Come now, me boy, the truth shall set ye free..."
"Amongst other things. And individuals."
"Individuals who would be more inclined to acquiesce to your requests if you played along, savvy?" Jack replied as he waggled his brows.
Bill knew when he'd been beat. "Fine, fine. 'Impure thoughts,' 'eh? Well, I've had a few about this certain pirate Captain I know...”
Jack the Cleric thumped the Bible to his chest in mock horror. "A man?! Saints preserve us!"
"Would you kindly keep your voice down and let me finish?," Bill hissed.
He was rewarded with a truly stunning pout. "Fine. Tell me all about your little sea-rogue. Spare me no detail."
“Wouldn't dream of it. Well, first of all, he's quite lovely to look at. His skin's been baked a golden brown from years at sea, and he has this mass of thick, dark hair so festooned with trinkets you'd think a raven had taken up residence. All ginger and licorice, he is. Makes me mouth water...”
He paused to listen for any sounds from the guard. Hearing naught but pen scratchings, and receiving an impatient look from Jack, he continued in a whisper.
“His eyes are rimmed with some kind of black powder or ointment. It's meant to cut the glare off the sea; it looks bloody exquisite on him. And he knows it, too. Like ash 'round twin volcanoes that are bubbling just below the surface. When he looks at me with them eyes, I feel heat rising from the pit of me gut. It’s like a burning, twisting knot in me flesh and I can barely breathe; I don’t hear nor see anything else 'round me. When he looks at me like that, I almost want to beg him to stop. He does so like it when I beg him for things.”
“He does, indeed,” murmured Jack as he shifted to hold his leather-bound tome in front of an area more in need of it's cover, the way this "confession" was going.
Bill's eyes were shining now, as he raked a hand through his unruly chestnut mop. “And then he touches me with those 'ands of his, and that knot snaps wide open sending sparks all under me flesh. I’m a pulsing ember under his 'hands, and he’s only just stroked me cheek. That moment right before his lips are on me...that’s me favorite. All the little hairs stand on end and reach out for him. Every inch of me screams out for him. I close me eyes; I don’t trust me legs to hold if I look at him much longer. And then...”
Another pause, as the guard’s chair scraped across the floor. Jack glanced down the hall, then looked back at Bill and shook his head.
“I feel the warmth first, before the flesh. The hair on his face scratches me chin, and I feel his hands move up to the back of me head. He’s pulled the hair tie out, and hair’s fallen all over me face. His fingers try to push the curls behind me ears, as he grabs me bottom lip in his teeth. And then we’re moving. He’s walking forward, one arm holding me to him, the other stretched out in front of us as we stumble blindly to his cabin.”
Jack's fingers were now completely white from his death-grip on the Good Book. “You'd be advised to continue,” he growled.
Bill smiled softly and leaned his forehead against one of the bars. “Once we’re properly ensconced, his hands are all over me. They’re clever little creatures; poised like snakes and fluttering like birds. They roost on me belly, me shoulders, me face and then flit away again. Me hands are at work on the few buttons he has keeping his tattered cloths on; I’m desperate to see all of him. He laughs, real low in me ear, and gently pushes me away. Tosses his shirt to the floor, sits on the edge of his bed and says, ‘Show me.’ I try to give him a decent show, but the look on his faces sends me to trembling. When me trousers are a shapeless puddle at me feet, he stands again, and closes the distance between us with a deliberate swagger. He takes me 'and in his, and puts it on the sash at his waist. I look down, but he raises me chin with a finger and makes me look at him. I’m thankful that the knot is easy, and I hear the quiet rustle of his remaining garments fluttering to the deck. We’re silent for a moment, and I can feel the ship gently rocking under our feet. I don’t trust me voice to break the silence, and 'pparently neither does he, since all he does is push the tops of me shoulders with his fingertips and I’m down on me knees for him.”
Jack had wrenched on of his hands from the book and was know clutching a bar next to Bill's cheek. Bill closed his eyes and leaned the side of his face against the knuckles, rubbing his faint stubble against them, and causing Jack's breathing to labor slightly in the sticky air.
“All that deep brown skin...like a seal. Perhaps he’s a selkie, but no pelt could be as soft as the flesh under me tongue,” Bill slipped his tongue out to lick a knuckle and Jack visibly shuddered. “And I’ve never heard a seal make such beautiful sounds. Me hands trail up from the backs of his knees, to the backs of his thighs. I can feel their muscles tightening against each other as I trail up to his bottom. With a squeeze, I pull him into me until me nose is rubbing against his curls. It sounds like he’s drowning, the way he’s gasping for air, and his rings are snagging in me locks. But I don’t care. He smells like the sea, and he tastes like the sea, and finally that wave crests and breaks and his trembling and crying out ‘Bill, oh, Bill...’ and he falls backwards onto the bed, pulling me with him...”
The sudden pounding of boots on the stones echoes up towards them and both men pull flushed faces back from the bars as the guard approached.
“Alright, that’s all the time scum like you deserves. Come along now, sir...,’ and the youth went to take the cleric by the elbow. Needless to say, he was a bit surprised with the man grasped him by the nape of the neck and shoved him forward into the wall and unconsciousness.
"I bloody hate being interrupted," he snarled as he began to search the young guard for his keys.
Bill leaned back and cleared his throat. "Well, are you going to let me out or not?"
Jack stood and flashed a predatory smile. "Finish the story."
"Jack, other soldiers will be coming soon!"
He triumphantly jingled the keys beside his face. "Finish it, luv. Captain's orders."
Bill shifted his stance, as his trousers were becoming increasingly restrictive, closed his eyes and continued.
"I'm on the bed with him, back to belly with me on top. He's dragging his hands down me chest, and lower, and I turn me head to the side, so's I can hear his heart beat. He's kissin' the top of me head and mumbling, and suddenly all I can hear is his heart in one ear and me own blood pounding in t'other, and everything is rushing, stumbling over itself, hot and wet and sticky like blood. I must be dead. He must've killed me. I'm too raw to be alive. I open me eyes, and it isn't blood that's on me belly. I screw me neck up to look at him, and he's smiling real peaceful like and when he speaks, I feel the rumble up through me spine..."
Bill looked up as the cell door creaked and opened. Jack was spinning the key ring on his finger, and beckoning to Bill with the other hand.
"William." The word was languidly stretched to the staccato backbeat of Bill's panting. Like a man in a trance he obeyed, but Jack held up the beckoning hand to stop him as he cleared the cell door.
"Let's move him inside, shall we?," Jack said indicating the guard.
The youth was roughly dragged inside and the door re-locked. Jack thoughtfully tossed in the Bible, in case the youth grew bored.
Bill then found himself spun by familiar arms and his belly pressed against the cool stone of the corridor.
"And now, me lad, lead us on into temptation!" Jack whispered into his ear, as he began to nuzzle the damp curls at the nape of Bill's neck.
"Soldiers. Soon," was all Bill could muster.
"Then you best keep still and not make a fuss, savvy?"
Bill nodded mutely and threw himself upon the mercy of Jack's blessed, magnificent hands.
I posted this at pirategasm, but I thought I'd toss it in here as well for the sake of community. :)
Title: Impure Thoughts
Author: Mandolin the FlameDame
Rating: R
Pairing: Captain Jack Sparrow/"Bootstrap" Bill Turner
Summary: Inspired by the listings of Jack's "chief offences" at the end of the film, and the smile he gives at "impersonating a cleric of the Church of England..."
Disclaimer: If I had any legal claim to the characters of POTC, I would not be sitting here at my temp job writing fandom smut, now would I?
Warnings: None.
Author's Notes: I know nothing of the practices of the Anglican Church or Protestantism. Sorry.
Archive: Any port in a storm. (Ask first, please.)
Feedback: Mama's little baby loves feedback, feedback....
Beta: Mille grazie to cheeriomonkey
****************************************************
Unidentifiable fluid dripped steadily from the ceiling of the cell and puddled in the grout of the floor-stones. Thick, Caribbean sunlight was quartered by the window bars and floating bits of dust were glittering in the bands. Though it was still but morning, the air was heavy with the humidity, to the point that Bill Turner was unsure if the moisture on his brow was sweat or condensation. He sat in a shaded corner and pressed his cheek against the cool stone wall. When his flesh had warmed the spot, he'd turn fitfully to find a virgin patch of granite. He was in a Port Royal prison cell and, worse, he was feeling the aftereffects of a rum-soaked night. Worse still, he was set to be hung for piracy and a potpourri of other crimes that afternoon. Hope as he might, there didn’t seem to be any way he was getting out of it this time.
The bars of the cell door had already seen many desperate attempts at escape, as witnessed by the shallow scratches and occasional dent. Bill ran his fingers down the bar nearest him, and even through his tough calluses, he could feel the catch and snag of shaved metal. He continued his lackluster exploration of the bars until he was interrupted by the sounds of approaching boots.
Looking up with regretful resignation, Bill suddenly had to bite his lips to keep from laughing aloud. Coming down the stone staircase was the usual guard: young and green in his ill-fitting Navy uniform. He was obviously put out by the fact that, instead of out on a ship hunting pirates, he was relegated to the bowels of the fort to baby-sit those too foolish or drunk to avoid the hangman's noose.
But it was the figure behind him that was causing Bill nearly uncontainable mirth. The tall, solemn man in the dark gray vestments, clutching a worn leather book to his breast. The man who was staring at him with an expression of mischievous pity.
He had cleaned the black smudges from around his eyes, a feat Bill would never have thought possible. His wild tangle of beads, braids, and dreadlocks was pulled back from his face and restrained in a ponytail. The twin braids in his goatee remained, yet he looked downright... respectable. What a filthy word! Bill’s eyes were drawn to the Bible reverently clutched to the man’s bosom, or more precisely, the hands clutching it. The fingers were curiously banded with pale, creamy streaks. Bill could not imagine what had done that to his fingers...
Oh! His rings! He'd taken them off!
By the time the tiny entourage had reached him, Bill was violently trembling with repressed laughter.
"Hey, you," the young guard rapped the cell door with the toe of his boot. "You've got a visitor. I’d suggest you make use of him."
The guard then strode off, Bill currently being his only ward, to a small chair and desk at the far end of the corridor to lose himself in government paper work and dreams of glory.
Jack the Cleric stepped forward and stood before the door of the cell and waited. After he was sure the guard was out of hearing range, Bill dared to let out the breath he had been holding.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph."
"None of the above, I'm afraid,"
"Where'd you get those, Jack?" Bill asked, indicating the robes.
"Jack? My dear man, you must 'ave me confused for someone else! I am merely a humble minister seeking to ease your passing into the next world."
"I've never seen a minister wear his hair quite like that."
He stroked his goatee with his free hand, "Missionary work. 'mongst the natives, you know."
"But, of course," Bill solemnly agreed as Jack's fingers began to undulate hypnotically in front of his eyes.
"Strange customs, they 'ave. Eunuchs, all of 'em. D'you know that?"
"Really? And just how do they reproduce?"
"Did I mention the missionary work, lad?"
"Ah, Christian charity...it's a beautiful thing," he grinned.
"Speaking of, are you of a mind to confess your sins?"
Bill raised an eyebrow. "Must've missed your collar. Didn't take you for a Catholic."
Jack spread his hands in a gesture of benevolent supplication. "Humor me."
"All me wrong-doings fit neat and square under 'piracy,' I'd imagine. Now, are you going to get me out of here?"
The right side of Jack's mouth shot upwards in an amused smirk, exposing a glint of gold. "I'm afraid you'll 'ave to do better than that, luv."
"Not playin' your game, am I?"
Those strangely nude eyes went wide as he stroked the leather binding of his Bible, "This is your immortal soul, boy! I'd hardly call that a game."
"Everything's a game if you know the rules," Bill smirked in return. He took a step closer to the bars and whispered, "What are the rules...Jack? Confession and penance? Tell you what a naughty boy I've been and say a few 'Hail Mary's?'"
Full gold-speckled grin, this time. "You'll be saying a few 'Hail Somebody's.'"
"What did you 'ave in mind?"
Glancing to check the guard's whereabouts, Jack cocked an eyebrow and asked: "Had any impure thoughts lately?"
"You're incorrigible and manipulative."
"Well, that hardly counts! Come now, me boy, the truth shall set ye free..."
"Amongst other things. And individuals."
"Individuals who would be more inclined to acquiesce to your requests if you played along, savvy?" Jack replied as he waggled his brows.
Bill knew when he'd been beat. "Fine, fine. 'Impure thoughts,' 'eh? Well, I've had a few about this certain pirate Captain I know...”
Jack the Cleric thumped the Bible to his chest in mock horror. "A man?! Saints preserve us!"
"Would you kindly keep your voice down and let me finish?," Bill hissed.
He was rewarded with a truly stunning pout. "Fine. Tell me all about your little sea-rogue. Spare me no detail."
“Wouldn't dream of it. Well, first of all, he's quite lovely to look at. His skin's been baked a golden brown from years at sea, and he has this mass of thick, dark hair so festooned with trinkets you'd think a raven had taken up residence. All ginger and licorice, he is. Makes me mouth water...”
He paused to listen for any sounds from the guard. Hearing naught but pen scratchings, and receiving an impatient look from Jack, he continued in a whisper.
“His eyes are rimmed with some kind of black powder or ointment. It's meant to cut the glare off the sea; it looks bloody exquisite on him. And he knows it, too. Like ash 'round twin volcanoes that are bubbling just below the surface. When he looks at me with them eyes, I feel heat rising from the pit of me gut. It’s like a burning, twisting knot in me flesh and I can barely breathe; I don’t hear nor see anything else 'round me. When he looks at me like that, I almost want to beg him to stop. He does so like it when I beg him for things.”
“He does, indeed,” murmured Jack as he shifted to hold his leather-bound tome in front of an area more in need of it's cover, the way this "confession" was going.
Bill's eyes were shining now, as he raked a hand through his unruly chestnut mop. “And then he touches me with those 'ands of his, and that knot snaps wide open sending sparks all under me flesh. I’m a pulsing ember under his 'hands, and he’s only just stroked me cheek. That moment right before his lips are on me...that’s me favorite. All the little hairs stand on end and reach out for him. Every inch of me screams out for him. I close me eyes; I don’t trust me legs to hold if I look at him much longer. And then...”
Another pause, as the guard’s chair scraped across the floor. Jack glanced down the hall, then looked back at Bill and shook his head.
“I feel the warmth first, before the flesh. The hair on his face scratches me chin, and I feel his hands move up to the back of me head. He’s pulled the hair tie out, and hair’s fallen all over me face. His fingers try to push the curls behind me ears, as he grabs me bottom lip in his teeth. And then we’re moving. He’s walking forward, one arm holding me to him, the other stretched out in front of us as we stumble blindly to his cabin.”
Jack's fingers were now completely white from his death-grip on the Good Book. “You'd be advised to continue,” he growled.
Bill smiled softly and leaned his forehead against one of the bars. “Once we’re properly ensconced, his hands are all over me. They’re clever little creatures; poised like snakes and fluttering like birds. They roost on me belly, me shoulders, me face and then flit away again. Me hands are at work on the few buttons he has keeping his tattered cloths on; I’m desperate to see all of him. He laughs, real low in me ear, and gently pushes me away. Tosses his shirt to the floor, sits on the edge of his bed and says, ‘Show me.’ I try to give him a decent show, but the look on his faces sends me to trembling. When me trousers are a shapeless puddle at me feet, he stands again, and closes the distance between us with a deliberate swagger. He takes me 'and in his, and puts it on the sash at his waist. I look down, but he raises me chin with a finger and makes me look at him. I’m thankful that the knot is easy, and I hear the quiet rustle of his remaining garments fluttering to the deck. We’re silent for a moment, and I can feel the ship gently rocking under our feet. I don’t trust me voice to break the silence, and 'pparently neither does he, since all he does is push the tops of me shoulders with his fingertips and I’m down on me knees for him.”
Jack had wrenched on of his hands from the book and was know clutching a bar next to Bill's cheek. Bill closed his eyes and leaned the side of his face against the knuckles, rubbing his faint stubble against them, and causing Jack's breathing to labor slightly in the sticky air.
“All that deep brown skin...like a seal. Perhaps he’s a selkie, but no pelt could be as soft as the flesh under me tongue,” Bill slipped his tongue out to lick a knuckle and Jack visibly shuddered. “And I’ve never heard a seal make such beautiful sounds. Me hands trail up from the backs of his knees, to the backs of his thighs. I can feel their muscles tightening against each other as I trail up to his bottom. With a squeeze, I pull him into me until me nose is rubbing against his curls. It sounds like he’s drowning, the way he’s gasping for air, and his rings are snagging in me locks. But I don’t care. He smells like the sea, and he tastes like the sea, and finally that wave crests and breaks and his trembling and crying out ‘Bill, oh, Bill...’ and he falls backwards onto the bed, pulling me with him...”
The sudden pounding of boots on the stones echoes up towards them and both men pull flushed faces back from the bars as the guard approached.
“Alright, that’s all the time scum like you deserves. Come along now, sir...,’ and the youth went to take the cleric by the elbow. Needless to say, he was a bit surprised with the man grasped him by the nape of the neck and shoved him forward into the wall and unconsciousness.
"I bloody hate being interrupted," he snarled as he began to search the young guard for his keys.
Bill leaned back and cleared his throat. "Well, are you going to let me out or not?"
Jack stood and flashed a predatory smile. "Finish the story."
"Jack, other soldiers will be coming soon!"
He triumphantly jingled the keys beside his face. "Finish it, luv. Captain's orders."
Bill shifted his stance, as his trousers were becoming increasingly restrictive, closed his eyes and continued.
"I'm on the bed with him, back to belly with me on top. He's dragging his hands down me chest, and lower, and I turn me head to the side, so's I can hear his heart beat. He's kissin' the top of me head and mumbling, and suddenly all I can hear is his heart in one ear and me own blood pounding in t'other, and everything is rushing, stumbling over itself, hot and wet and sticky like blood. I must be dead. He must've killed me. I'm too raw to be alive. I open me eyes, and it isn't blood that's on me belly. I screw me neck up to look at him, and he's smiling real peaceful like and when he speaks, I feel the rumble up through me spine..."
Bill looked up as the cell door creaked and opened. Jack was spinning the key ring on his finger, and beckoning to Bill with the other hand.
"William." The word was languidly stretched to the staccato backbeat of Bill's panting. Like a man in a trance he obeyed, but Jack held up the beckoning hand to stop him as he cleared the cell door.
"Let's move him inside, shall we?," Jack said indicating the guard.
The youth was roughly dragged inside and the door re-locked. Jack thoughtfully tossed in the Bible, in case the youth grew bored.
Bill then found himself spun by familiar arms and his belly pressed against the cool stone of the corridor.
"And now, me lad, lead us on into temptation!" Jack whispered into his ear, as he began to nuzzle the damp curls at the nape of Bill's neck.
"Soldiers. Soon," was all Bill could muster.
"Then you best keep still and not make a fuss, savvy?"
Bill nodded mutely and threw himself upon the mercy of Jack's blessed, magnificent hands.