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Title: Best Medicine
Author: heartofslash
Fandom: POTC, The Pirate Way
Pairing: Will/Jack
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Multiple gratuitous smacking of Jack on the side of the head.
Disclaimer: This has nothing at all to do with Disney’s silly-looking sequels. This is the way things really happened…
Note: veroncia_rich won a contest by guessing. Her prize was Will, Jack, cocoa butter and assfucking. Not too much of a stretch...
Time period: Happens some time after the events of The Pirate Way – the settlement of former slaves, pirates and random misfits and outcasts on the Isla de Meurte is thriving. The Black Pearl is at sea…
Best Medicine
“Don’t touch me!”
It was the last thing Captain Jack Sparrow expected to hear from Will Turner.
“I mean it, Jack.”
So he did. Curses, thought Jack. Curses and double damnation. The worst part was, it had nothing at all to do with Jack. It was this confounded weather. A dry west wind had been blowing for three days, utterly unseasonable and thoroughly destructive. Everyone was vexed, there was no hope of landfall for at least a week and between the strict rationing of fresh water and the wind, Will had turned rather… well… arid. His skin itched constantly, it was sore and rough, and as a result he refused all advances.
Not good.
Truth be told, Will’s skin was a tad unpleasant to behold. Thin flakes seemed to hover above the surface and the whiteness was an awful contrast to Will’s ordinarily golden tones.
Now, one does not become a pirate captain through lack of imagination. Jack could see past the present scaliness to the real Will, all tanned and fit under the irritated covering., muscle and brawn and delicate shapes and fine arse (which Will would not let him touch.) But there was little hope of getting past the skin.
There was the old woman. She had taken up residence below deck , surrounded by her chickens and goat and some frankly disturbing decorations that may or may not have been the result of nefarious acts on her part. One reason for this voyage was the transport of said old woman to the Isla de Muerte, where it was possible, although not (in Jack’s estimation) probable that she would be reunited with her sister or cousin or some such relative.
It was also possible, to Jack’s superstitious pirate mind, that the old woman could be the cause, however indirectly, of this inexplicable drought. Although Jack also suspected a certain randy heathen God of diverting the wind. Why he couldn’t say for sure, but he suspected it might have something to do with he and Will not spending enough time on the island, hence not affording the avaricious Aocmoilhuicpa sufficient opportunity to keep a close eye on certain activities.
That left the question of wind direction. They were being blown away from the Isla de Muerte, not toward it. So it made no sense at all that the wind was being caused by the old woman, who wished to be reunited with her kin, or Aocmoilhuicpa, who always liked to have Will near. So maybe the wind had just... happened.
Jack pondered all this as he descended onto the bowels of the Black Pearl and arrived at the temporary domicile of the old woman.
There was no door, so Jack rattled an inverted bouquet of what he hoped were chicken bones, and was soon ushered within by one of his own men. Not really one of his own - one of the ones they’d picked up along the way. He had abandoned his post to act as lackey to the old woman because she’d cured him of some ailment or another. Gout, that’s what it was. At any rate, he led Jack past a few hanging curtains and the like to the inner sanctum.
She was ancient and shrivelled, with shiny bluish-black eyes peering out from wrinkled mahogany skin, and if Jack squinted really hard in the dim light of the lantern he could see a very faint resemblance to someone he knew.
“Juni?”
“That’s my niece,” she rasped. “I am Old Woman.”
“I can see that,” Jack said, “but surely that’s not your name.”
“No, but that’s what the master called me for these past twenty years.”
It was true; she was old enough to have been called Old Woman for at least two decades. But it hardly seemed dignified.
“You no longer have a master,” Jack said. “Alphonse took care of that.” (And Jack hoped said master never tracked down the Pearl, as he’d liberated somewhat more than his half dozen house slaves and twenty or so field slaves. The hold was brimming with swag – but not because of the ex-slaves, it was mostly because the Old Woman was taking up so much damned space in the usual cargo space.) “You are free, madam, to do as you wish, and be called what you wish.”
“Well, I wish to be called Old Woman,” she said, banging her gnarled fist on the table. “And you have a problem that needs solving, so out with it. I haven’t all day.”
Jack bluffed and stuttered his way through a more or less accurate description of Will’s unfortunate affliction. Old Woman pulled Jack’s shirt forward and peered in at his chest.
“It is not for you that you ask, Captain. You look fine. Very fine indeed.” She made a somewhat disquieting clicking sound at the back of her throat. “So it must be for your young man.”
It chafed, at first, at the idea that he might have a “young man”, as that seemed to suggest chaste strolls in the countryside and quiet evenings by the fire with a chaperone. He neither enjoyed nor desired such things. He wanted flesh. Glorious, restored, golden, moist soft skin, stretched over swollen…
Old Woman smacked him on the side of the head. “Don’t be thinking such things in my presence. It is not respectful.”
Had he made a noise? Or could she read minds? He wouldn’t be surprised if her powers included mind reading. All manner of miracle cures had been attributed to her. Or so Jack had heard.
Old Woman closed her eyes and hummed a little. Jack waited patiently.
She told Jack that Will should eat more fish.
“More fish, eh?” the man at the entrance commented as Jack departed. Jack looked at him more closely and ascertained that he was Mullroy, that navy lackey from back in Port Royal, looking just as portly but less puffy than he used to look in his red Navy uniform. Decked out like a pirate he looked a relatively normal sort. “That’s the same thing she told me - cut out red meat and eat more fish, she said. And wouldn’t you know it, my gout is cured.”
Well, that was promising.
“Not really gout,” Murtogg admitted. “More of a pre-gout condition. Runs in the family, you know.” He went on. “Bit of a preventative measure, actually. But I’m right as rain!”
Jack’s faith in the cure plummeted, but it was the only thing he had to go on. More fish.
Or course, Will refused to eat the fish. “I don’t even like fish, and I’m sick of fish,” he said. More like whined. The discomfort of the skin condition was giving an unattractive plaintive tone to all he uttered.
Anamaria was walking by as Will spoke. “Been to see the Old Woman, have you?”
“What would you know of it?” Jack growled.
“The fish. It’s a dead giveaway,” Anamaria said. “So, what’s the trouble?”
Jack snarled at her. “That’s none of your business!”
Will rolled up his sleeve to reveal an expanse of reddened, scaly skin.
Anamaria winced. “That looks painful. I’ve got something for you.” She disappeared for a few minutes below deck and returned with a jar. “Try this. It’s a skin cream. It’s supposed to make you feel silky smooth.”
Jack eyed it with suspicion. “One of the Old Woman’s concoctions?”
Anamaria laughed. “Goodness, no, Captain. All she ever does it tell people to eat more fish.”
Jack gaped at her. “What do you mean? She’s got the gris-gris and the bones and the creepy furnishings and things hanging about…”
“Oh, Lord, you men are gullible sometimes. People let her have all that to humour her. She’s very old, you know. A little daft. If she wants to think she’s some magic priestess that’s her business. She does no harm. It never hurt anyone to eat more fish.”
Come to think of it, most of that stuff below deck did look a little too new and clean and a little, perhaps even, store-bought to be authentic. Jack looked at the jar in Anamaria’s hand. “So where did that come from?”
“I got it from a man in Tortuga.”
“Tortuga?” Will asked with the same level of disdain he usually showed when speaking of Tortuga. “You found an African healer in Tortuga?”
“Oh, no. He was an English fellow. Said he wanted to rub it all over me and lick it off.”
“Oh,” Will said.
“So? Did he?” Jack asked, wondering if it were really edible.
“Jack! Of course not. I got me a fine woman and a fine man. What do I need with some creepy English man who goes up to total strangers and asks to lick their bodies? What kind of a woman do you take me for?”
Jack muttered something about Anamaria being a pirate.
Anamaria nodded. “Damn right I am - I broke his nose but good, and then I took the jar.”
Will’s nose twitched in sympathy. Not that he would ever approach a strange woman and ask to lick her body and get his nose broken for his trouble, but still.
“And you don’t want it?” Jack asked.
“Charlotte would kill me if I came home smelling like a cheap harlot!” Anamaria exclaimed.
“But Charlotte is a cheap harlo–”
Will clamped his hand over Jack’s mouth. “Hush!” He turned to his crewmate. “Thank you, Anamaria. I’ll try anything – this itching is driving me mad.” He opened the jar and sniffed delicately. “That doesn’t smell like a cheap harlot,” he judged. “Not that I would know what a cheap harlot smells like,” he added. He held the jar out to Jack for his expert opinion. “Does this smell like a cheap harlot?”
Jack refused to sniff it. “I wouldn’t know,” he said with as much dignity as a pirate captain can muster. Anamaria cuffed him on the side of the head. It seemed to be Jack’s day for being swatted. He smelled the contents of the jar.
Rich. Earthy. Full-bodied. “It doesn’t smell like a cheap harlot at all; it smells like… chocolate,” Jack said.
“That’s what the cheap harlots smell like where I come from,” Anamaria said.
Will thanked her for the cream and retreated to the Captain’s cabin.
“Allow me,” Jack said, and he started to pull Will’s shirt up over his head.
“Jack I’m fully capable.”
Jack eased the shirt over Will’s curls. “I know, luv, but it’s such joy,” his hands dropped to Will’s waist, “to disrobe you.”
“I itch and I’m dry all over and really, Jack, I don’t think I – ah!”
Jack’s fingers brushed the loose skin of Will’s cock. “Does that hurt?” Jack asked innocently.
Will shook his head. “I wouldn’t say hurt.”
Jack smiled the smile of a man on the correct course. “What about this?” He ran his fingers lightly over Will’s bollocks. “A little sensitive, perhaps?”
Will took short, quick breaths. “Perhaps.”
“Let’s try the cream,” jack suggested.
“Not there!” Will protested. “There isn’t that much of it, and it’s for my skin!”
Jack pinched and gently tugged the wrinkled sac of Will’s left bollock. “Feels like skin to me, mate.”
Will gasped. Very nice. “Condition… it’s for my skin condition… the dry parts.”
And it would condition his skin very nicely indeed. But first Jack slid his hand up Will’s shaft and ran his thumb over the already leaking head. “You’re right, luv. It’s not dry there at all. It is, in fact, quite moist.”
“Moist,” Will whispered, as if the very word might bring relief to his parched skin.
“Let me help you,” Jack said, and pushed Will’s pants all the way down. “Where do you need it the most?”
Will’s cock almost bobbed in response, but Jack acted in a responsible fashion. After all, he needed Will as healthy as possible. Jack helped Will lie on his back on the bed, where Jack started at the feet and worked his way up, rubbing the cream into his skin in small, gentle circles. The shins were the worst, scaling and cracked in a couple of spots. Jack soothed the cocoa butter all over, following the contours of Will’s knees and calves, spending a little extra time on lovely ankles, then back up to firm thighs. By then, Will had his legs spread so Jack could kneel between them. Jack prudently resisted the temptation of genitals and worked up to shoulders and down arms, upon which he elbows were the most afflicted.
“Turn over,” he whispered.
Will whimpered in reply. And turned over.
An excellent turn of events, Jack muttered to himself. He stripped off his clothes (to avoid soiling them with the cream. Really.) Once naked, he straddled Will’s thighs and started on the shoulders.
The cream was thick in the jar but spread in a thin, even layer once warmed by Jack’s hands and Will’s body. The chocolate scent mingled with the scent of Will and the dry skin magically became smooth again. Jack scooped a bit more cream into his hand and spent a good five minutes on the buttocks, which were not terribly dry to start with but one could never be too careful when it came to the care and preservation of Will Turner’s arse.
"I think you should turn over again,” Jack whispered. He lifted up off Will’s thighs and scooped a bit more cocoa butter into his hand.
“Oh! Jack!”
All warmed up, skin softened, cock hardened, mouth twisting with pleasure and Jack’s hands wrapped around his cock - this was one of Jack’s favourite ways to see Will. Jack shuffled forward.
“Yes, Jack. Put them together.
Jack did as he was told. He’d known the cream was slick and smooth, but he’d had no idea how slick and smooth until he felt his own cock slide against Will’s. This was likely not purpose the Englishman had in mind for his cocoa butter cream, but you never really knew. Those Englishmen could be randy buggers.
“More. Squeeze more,” Will pleaded.
Jack closed both hands around their cocks, creating a tunnel.
“Harder!”
“That’s as hard as I can… oh… hard as I can squeeze, luv. I’m not the one with the bloody great blacksmith hands. If you want any tighter, you’ll have to use another part of me.”
“Oh, fuck, Jack, then I can fuck you?”
“By all means, Mr. Turner,” Jack acquiesced immediately.
It was a tight fit, due to lack of preparation, but the cocoa butter proved more than adequate to the task of easing the way, and in the realm of buggering, lubrication is at least half the battle. Or so Jack had often found. The trouble was that great, big head of Will’s. It was a devil of a stretch. Jack groaned and grit his teeth and then Will passed the entrance point and the thickest part of him was within. Much better.
Bloody great blacksmith hands gripped Jack’s thighs. There might be bruising in the morning. Small price to pay for that lovely cock up his arse.
Oh, and then those blacksmith hands were on Jack’s cock, and that was better than good. And Will was saying filthy things about how Jack’s seed would take care of the skin on his belly, so it wasn’t long before Jack was administering the treatment.
Will was still inside Jack, and still quite large, but he seemed preoccupied with spreading Jack’s seed all over his belly and moaning quite deliciously. Jack circled his hips and squeezed Will’s cock with all his might. Will stopped worrying about his skin and started pumping his hips up and down in what could only be described as a frantic manner. Just a little more and then, yes, Will writhed beneath him and spent.
Definitely the best medicine Jack had ever witnessed.
Will pulled Jack down to his chest so cocoa butter and sweat and everything else squished between them.
“Feeling better, luv?”
“Mm, much,” Will sighed.
Jack sniffed the air.
Will cuffed the side of his head. “No smart remarks about me smelling like a cheap harlot!”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, mate. It’s just…” Jack sniffed some more.
“What is it?”
Jack smiled. “Wind’s changing. We’re going home.”
Jack didn’t even bother to wonder why.
Back to Pirates of the Caribbean
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