Two (500 word) Drabbles: Order (Jack/Will)
Written for the jackwill challenge of "Order"
Title: Where you left it
Characters: Jack/Will
Rating: PG
No specific era
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I’d have a job.
If you do not have many things, it pays to look after them.
When you are homeless it is important to keep your belongings in order and close to hand, lest you find yourself robbed of them.
If you leave your things wither you will on a ship, they’ll likely roll off in the night and you’ll find yourself without in an emergency.
Not that Will is ever careless of his belongings, being in the same camp wherein those few items you own are looked after because you have little opportunity and less means to acquire more, but having lived in a hovel, he has yet to cotton on to the merits of, say, not leaving your things on flat surfaces, or the floor, or anywhere but stowed properly.
Jack finds him, hands and knees, searching for the ring he gave Elizabeth on the day they were, finally, legally wed.
Will gets up, his back turned, the strength and width of his shoulders not enough to hide the furtive gesture he makes to wipe his eyes. “It was just here,” he says, in the small voice he might have used as a child to say, “It’s not fair” as he was learning the lesson that he was never going to get fair.
Jack does not remind him of the times he told him to mind where and how he left his belongings because this is more than missing boot, or the last of the money taken with only bruises to show for it. He does not say that the ring rolled into a crack, or was stolen by rats.
“Found it on the floor, bound for the hawsehole” Jack says, pulling the ring from under his shirt, where it hangs off a lanyard. He unties the cord and hands the ring to Will.
Will does not take the ring; he takes Jack’s face in his callused, dirty hands and presses their foreheads together. “You’re a son of a bitch,” he says, voice as rough as his fingers, and then he lets go.
Jack ties the lanyard around Will’s neck and tucks the ring away under Will’s shirt. It’s not the safest place for it, but it will do for now. Things cared for are so easily lost at sea. Things cared for are so easily lost.
Jack is no stranger to these notions and even now, knowing where Will is, knowing how he left him and where he’s to be found, there is no consolation. Because Jack fears that which cannot be controlled by exerting his usual precautions. There is no preventing Will from rolling on again. There is no knotting him on a bit of twine and keeping him where Jack wants him.
Jack does not have many things, and he holds on to what he’s got tightly. And it’s not fair, but he thinks this one might not be his to hold on to anyway. There’s a bit of gold strung around William’s neck that tells him so.
Title: Here where you found it
Characters: Jack/Will
Rating: NC-17
No specific era
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I’d have a job.
Sequel to “Where you left it”
Jack is never where Will expects to find him. If he thinks Jack is abed, he finds the captain in the fighting tops, watching the horizon. If he thinks Jack is on the helm, he is in the bilges. If he thinks he’s ashore, he’s probably in bed. But Jack is a contradictory sort of fellow and Will knows one thing for certain: Jack is always where he’s supposed to be. There’s a pattern to it, just not one that Will understands. But Jack, the universe, and God Himself all work in mysterious, ineffable ways and Will doesn’t bother to question it anymore. Just knowing that all is not chaos is enough for him.
But tonight, he looks for Jack in his bed and finds him very close to it; sitting at the table, half-drunk and bollixing up a game of solitaire. “Off watch,” he says, by way of greeting and Jack flips over a card, frowning, and nods. “Mm,” Jack says. Maybe it’s not solitaire, maybe he’s trying to read the cards.
Will hesitates. Jack, contrary to popular belief, is not actually capricious. Will thinks about offering to go to the fo’c’sle where he hasn’t slept since this started. But the ring around his neck is not heavy; it has its place in his life. So does Jack.
Will pulls off his boots and puts them next to Jack’s, upright, in the corner. He strips off his shirt and puts it on the back of the chair, over Jack’s. When he looks over Jack’s shoulder he cannot read the cards and he doubts Jack can either, if that’s what he’s doing. But this, this Jack can understand.
Will pulls him from the chair and to their bed. Jack is not reluctant, no, but it is Will who kisses Jack, and Will who strips them bare.
“Jack,” he says, and Jack says, “William.” And then, “Will you sta…Will, you daft thing, stop staring and -” Jack kisses Will then, sinks his teeth and his fingers into Will’s skin, leaves his marks and his claim. Presses Will onto the dirty sheets and pushes inside him, mouth, and hands, and cock.
Will digs his heels into the small of Jack’s back, gets his fingers into the snarls of Jack’s hair, and his mouth on the curve of Jack’s mouth. Jack’s breath is thick with rum and when they are done his fingers still press into the bruises he left on Will’s arms and thighs and everywhere.
“You’ve got that lockbox, haven’t you?” Will says, when he has caught his breath, sore, and sated, and right where he ought to be.
He’d rather have Elizabeth’s ring on the lanyard, but for the sake of the peace, for Jack’s peace of mind, and his own, maybe it would be better not to have it hanging between them.
“’Less it wandered off in the night when I wasn’t looking,” Jack says, but his grip loosens on Will’s wrist.
“Alright,” Will says. “In the morning, then.”
Title: Where you left it
Characters: Jack/Will
Rating: PG
No specific era
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I’d have a job.
If you do not have many things, it pays to look after them.
When you are homeless it is important to keep your belongings in order and close to hand, lest you find yourself robbed of them.
If you leave your things wither you will on a ship, they’ll likely roll off in the night and you’ll find yourself without in an emergency.
Not that Will is ever careless of his belongings, being in the same camp wherein those few items you own are looked after because you have little opportunity and less means to acquire more, but having lived in a hovel, he has yet to cotton on to the merits of, say, not leaving your things on flat surfaces, or the floor, or anywhere but stowed properly.
Jack finds him, hands and knees, searching for the ring he gave Elizabeth on the day they were, finally, legally wed.
Will gets up, his back turned, the strength and width of his shoulders not enough to hide the furtive gesture he makes to wipe his eyes. “It was just here,” he says, in the small voice he might have used as a child to say, “It’s not fair” as he was learning the lesson that he was never going to get fair.
Jack does not remind him of the times he told him to mind where and how he left his belongings because this is more than missing boot, or the last of the money taken with only bruises to show for it. He does not say that the ring rolled into a crack, or was stolen by rats.
“Found it on the floor, bound for the hawsehole” Jack says, pulling the ring from under his shirt, where it hangs off a lanyard. He unties the cord and hands the ring to Will.
Will does not take the ring; he takes Jack’s face in his callused, dirty hands and presses their foreheads together. “You’re a son of a bitch,” he says, voice as rough as his fingers, and then he lets go.
Jack ties the lanyard around Will’s neck and tucks the ring away under Will’s shirt. It’s not the safest place for it, but it will do for now. Things cared for are so easily lost at sea. Things cared for are so easily lost.
Jack is no stranger to these notions and even now, knowing where Will is, knowing how he left him and where he’s to be found, there is no consolation. Because Jack fears that which cannot be controlled by exerting his usual precautions. There is no preventing Will from rolling on again. There is no knotting him on a bit of twine and keeping him where Jack wants him.
Jack does not have many things, and he holds on to what he’s got tightly. And it’s not fair, but he thinks this one might not be his to hold on to anyway. There’s a bit of gold strung around William’s neck that tells him so.
Title: Here where you found it
Characters: Jack/Will
Rating: NC-17
No specific era
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I’d have a job.
Sequel to “Where you left it”
Jack is never where Will expects to find him. If he thinks Jack is abed, he finds the captain in the fighting tops, watching the horizon. If he thinks Jack is on the helm, he is in the bilges. If he thinks he’s ashore, he’s probably in bed. But Jack is a contradictory sort of fellow and Will knows one thing for certain: Jack is always where he’s supposed to be. There’s a pattern to it, just not one that Will understands. But Jack, the universe, and God Himself all work in mysterious, ineffable ways and Will doesn’t bother to question it anymore. Just knowing that all is not chaos is enough for him.
But tonight, he looks for Jack in his bed and finds him very close to it; sitting at the table, half-drunk and bollixing up a game of solitaire. “Off watch,” he says, by way of greeting and Jack flips over a card, frowning, and nods. “Mm,” Jack says. Maybe it’s not solitaire, maybe he’s trying to read the cards.
Will hesitates. Jack, contrary to popular belief, is not actually capricious. Will thinks about offering to go to the fo’c’sle where he hasn’t slept since this started. But the ring around his neck is not heavy; it has its place in his life. So does Jack.
Will pulls off his boots and puts them next to Jack’s, upright, in the corner. He strips off his shirt and puts it on the back of the chair, over Jack’s. When he looks over Jack’s shoulder he cannot read the cards and he doubts Jack can either, if that’s what he’s doing. But this, this Jack can understand.
Will pulls him from the chair and to their bed. Jack is not reluctant, no, but it is Will who kisses Jack, and Will who strips them bare.
“Jack,” he says, and Jack says, “William.” And then, “Will you sta…Will, you daft thing, stop staring and -” Jack kisses Will then, sinks his teeth and his fingers into Will’s skin, leaves his marks and his claim. Presses Will onto the dirty sheets and pushes inside him, mouth, and hands, and cock.
Will digs his heels into the small of Jack’s back, gets his fingers into the snarls of Jack’s hair, and his mouth on the curve of Jack’s mouth. Jack’s breath is thick with rum and when they are done his fingers still press into the bruises he left on Will’s arms and thighs and everywhere.
“You’ve got that lockbox, haven’t you?” Will says, when he has caught his breath, sore, and sated, and right where he ought to be.
He’d rather have Elizabeth’s ring on the lanyard, but for the sake of the peace, for Jack’s peace of mind, and his own, maybe it would be better not to have it hanging between them.
“’Less it wandered off in the night when I wasn’t looking,” Jack says, but his grip loosens on Will’s wrist.
“Alright,” Will says. “In the morning, then.”