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Title: Figgy Pudding
Author: heartofslash
Disclaimer: Do I really need to tell you this isn’t related to the actual POTC movies? D for ‘dirty
Warning: Graphic description of disgusting Christmas-type food, gratuitous veiled reference to the old Kung Fu TV series, and dubious sexual practices. (sand+sex usually = discomfort in Real Life.).
Rating: NC-17, but don’t worry, the disgusting Christmas-type food isn’t directly involved.
Note: pir8fancier is a total perv. That has nothing directly to do with this fic, but it needed to be said.
Jack’s dream hearkens back to “Sense and Senses”, Chapter 41 of “The Pirate Way”
Figgy Pudding
“What is it?”
“That should be bloody obvious.”
“I beg to differ.”
“I love it when you beg.” He did.
“That’s not funny, Jack.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.” And it wasn’t.
“But what is it?”
“What do you think it is? It’s a figgy pudding.” Jack held out the tray, seeming inordinately proud of the pudding.
“Figgy pudding?” It was brownish with a pale, oily cast to it. To Will, it looked like a misshapen mound of the sort of thing his mother used to tell him not to touch.
So it looked a little bedraggled; it had been on a long sea voyage. Long, that is for a pudding. And they were experiencing unseasonably warm weather “It’s a Yule thing, Will. I thought you’d know that.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
“It’s a tradition. The whole family helps stir it and they all get to make a wish.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Well, it’s sort of a new tradition.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? A new tradition. You’re making it up as you go!”
“Am not. It’s been around a while. Since I was a lad. You just haven’t heard of it because your mum was a bit of a Puritan. They don’t celebrate Yule.”
“Don’t you be saying things about my mum!”
“Isn’t a bad thing; it just is. That’s all.”
Will glared at the figgy pudding.
Jack pretended to look elsewhere. “Can’t say I blame your father for leaving,” he muttered.
“I heard that!”
“Well, some people know how to celebrate Yule!”
“Who?” Who made figgy puddings in the middle of the Caribbean?
“Just some people, that’s all.”
“Which people?” Will demanded to know, still glaring at the soggy pudding.
“No one in particular…”
“Then where did you get the…” Will snatched the silver platter away from Jack and lifted it up above his head to look at the elaborately scrolled “W” on the bottom. “W”. For “Whitfield”. One could only presume. He looked at Jack’s overly innocent face. “You didn’t. Please, tell me you didn’t.”
“Alright then. I didn’t.” That was easy.
Will tilted his head to one side. Jack would have been intimidated, if the rustling of Will’s curls to over his shoulder hadn’t made him so aroused.
“Technically…” Jack said, “I didn’t. It was Shimura who actually went in and got the pudding. Like a ghost, that man is. Can walk through walls. Can’t be heard or seen…”
“I thought he retired.”
“Nonsense. He just spends a lot of time on shore with his woman. Still likes to keep a finger in the pie, as it were. Practice and all that, eh?” This talk of Shimura was excellent. It was completely distracting Will from the issue of where the pudding came from.
“I don’t care who actually stole it.”
Damn. “Borrowed,” Jack corrected him, trying a new tack. “Borrowed with intent to –”
Will actually stamped his bare foot in the sand. “You can’t borrow a figgy pudding, Jack!”
“How would you know? You’d never even heard of a figgy pudding until a minute ago!”
Will lowered the platter. “You are supposed to eat it.”
“You sure about that?” Jack asked doubtfully. He eyed the brown, lumpy mass. It glistened in the sun. Looked a bit rancid, to tell the truth.
Will scowled. Beautiful, that was. But then, Will did everything beautifully.
“Look, how about I take the platter back, eh?” Jack offered. He reached for the platter at the same time Will tilted it, meaning to have another look at the “W”. Jack’s hand collided with the edge of the platter.
They both watched as the figgy pudding slid off the silver platter onto the sand, sparkling grains clinging to the mottled surface. It quivered from the warmth of the beach. They held their breath until the pudding collapsed in on itself with a slight sigh.
“Well,” Jack mused, “I guess I won’t be returning that anytime soon.”
Will looked at the platter in his hand. The surface glinted, sunlight shining across a thin layer of fat, which had seeped from the pudding during its travels. He read the inscription. “To Commodore Jackman Whitfield, on the occasion of his marriage to Miss Claire Johns…” Will’s read, teeth gritted.
“Will, I, um…” Jack shifted a foot and stroked the top of Will’s bare foot with his big toe. It had no effect.
“… with warmest regards, Governor Swann,” Will finished.
“You’re upset, luv. I can see that. The boys and I went into town without you, so you’re feeling a bit left out. But you seemed to be having a good time on this island, we didn’t see any cause to be dragging you away from your little forge, doing your blacksmithing and that. Teaching the lad, savvy.”
When in doubt, Jack had learned, mention the lad. His son, Jonathon, was sailing with them for a bit. Needed to get out of Nassau Port for a while. Apparently, he’d been experimenting with some of the young ladies from the local school. And then he’d been experimenting with some of the boys...
He was too old for school now, anyway. Good for him to spend a little time with his father, learn about the sea for a change. Not that spending time with his father would discourage him from what the more respectable citizens of Nassau considered to be improper behaviour - “salacious and scandalous” he believed his sister said it had been called - but the trip did take him away from any daughters of marriageable age who might be inclined to elope. Or worse. As for the boys, Jonathon simply had to learn to be more discreet with them. He should know that by now.
“I’ll just be gone long enough for them to really miss me,” Jonathon had said that very morning, in a very Sparrowish manner. Will grimaced at the memory. Like father, like son.
When they’d spotted the island, isolated but not desolate, with a fresh water supply and enough space for the lads to have some privacy, Jack and Will had thought it an ideal place for Will to set up a temporary smithy. The Pearl needed a few repairs and the boy had taken to metalwork quite naturally. But it was a bit of a bore for Jack. This peaceful life wasn’t really his way. Hence the little side trip to Port Royal, which was now getting him into so much trouble.
Will had his eyes closed, hands clutched around the edges of the platter, breathing slow and even.
Oh. Dear. It was time to run away when Will got like that. Calm before the storm.
Jack took off down the beach. His feet pounded on the sand. This was NOT how he’d envisioned his day unfolding.
To start with, his feet were being burned by the rough, hot sand.
Secondly, his lungs were burning. He was in decent enough physical condition, but he was not in the habit of running full tilt across a hot beach pursued by an enraged Will Turner.
Thirdly, Will wasn’t pursuing him at all. That was the real shame, because if he had been pursuing, it would have been a spectacular sight. Will, angry, with his sleeves and pant legs rolled up to expose long golden limbs, chestnut hair streaming in the wind, chest heaving. But he wasn’t following Jack.
Jack slowed down when he heard a faint whistle. He looked over his shoulder and saw the platter, wobbling slightly in the air but headed straight for his head nonetheless.
He dodged to one side. The silver disc lost velocity, trembled and fell with a thunk to the ground.
Jack wasn’t stupid. He kept running. Will sprinted to the fallen platter, picked it up and let it fly once more. Jack spun around and caught it by the edge.
“Two can play that game,” he growled. He hurled the platter at Will.
It did not reach its target. It caught a random thermal and sailed up, over Will’s head.
And into the surf.
Bollocks.
Jack jogged back to Will. “Sorry, mate. Guess I won’t be returning that now either. Not my fault.”
“You threw the Commodore’s wedding present into the water!”
“Did not! I threw it to you. It was you who failed to catch it.”
Will frowned. Full, deep frown full of lickable lines.
“Jack…”
Time to run away again. Which was, really, an utter shame.
This time Will did follow, limbs flashing in the bright sun, muscles pumping, sweat breaking out across his smooth chest and the top of his back. Jack would have loved the look of it, if he hadn’t been so busy trying to keep his balance on the soft sand. Which was a real shame, because he so wanted to see the delicious curve of Will’s arse when he completed a long stride, the flex of his thighs when they pushed off the ground, the slow-motion elegance when his feet both left the beach, his arms stretched out, his body taut in a graceful dive. He missed that.
He did not, however, miss the mass of Will’s body connecting with his. How could he? Nor the resounding thud of his own body hitting a sand dune.
He found himself sprawled in the sand with the substantial weight of Will Turner on top of him and Will’s hot breath in his ear.
This Yule thing just kept getting better and better!
“Jack, you’ll have to pay for that platter.”
“Pay? The commodore?”
“You can pay me. I’ll make a nice pair of candlesticks for the Commodore and Claire.”
“You’d do that for me?”
Will nodded.
“Promise?”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Correction – this Yule thing was better than better!
“Now that I think of it –”
Will made an encouraging noise, urging Jack to keep talking, while he pulled his loose shirt over his head.
The sight of that chest, newly bared. What had it been? Seven years, almost eight? And it still hit Jack like a bolt of lightning every bloody time.
“What, Jack?”
Jack licked his lips. “I once…” It was a bit silly. “I once had a dream. About you. On a beach like this,” he admitted.
“Dream, Jack?” Will was wriggling out of his tight trousers, which was a dream in and of itself.
“Yeah, I thought maybe I could try to, you know, recreate it.”
Will grinned. Blinding.
“You have to get on your hands and knees.”
Will whimpered.
Deafening.
Will got on his hands and knees.
Paralysing.
But only for a second.
“You were on your belly to start,” Jack remembered.
Will dropped to the sand and hissed. “It’s hot,” he said.
But not as hot as Jack’s tongue in the crack of his arse.
“Oh, fuck, Jack!”
Jack pushed Will’s legs apart. His head filled with the scent of Will.
How could anyone want figgy pudding when they could have Will? But then they couldn’t, could they? Only Jack could have Will.
“Jack. Oh, Jack, yes!”
Will was not the same timid virgin he’d been when Jack first imagined doing this to him. Virginal Will wouldn’t have been this vocal. He wouldn’t be begging for it.
That suited Jack just fine. If he really wanted to see Will looking innocent and scandalised, even nervous, he was always able to come up with something, some suggestion or image or position that would shock him. After all, you don’t get to be a pirate captain unless you have a healthy imagination. But this wanton Will was preferable by far.
His tongue followed the familiar, beloved contours of Will’s arse until it reached its destination. Rich, musky taste and lovely little puckers around the opening, thighs spreading… spreading… Will jerked up onto his hands and knees. Jack rocked back to get a good look at the impression of Will’s hard cock in the sand beneath him.
He cursed under his breath. The things this man did to him!
“Jack!”
Jack plunged his tongue back into the waiting hole. He pushed hard, wishing his tongue could grow longer, pierce deeper, give the kind of pleasure that would make Will purr.
Fuck, yes! The purr! Rolling and pulsing and flowing over and around Jack, complimenting the roar of the waves perfectly, punctuating the way Will’s hips shook and his hands dug into the sand.
“Cock.”
Jack barely heard it.
“Cock!”
It was louder this time.
“COCK!”
Howled, that one was.
Jack obliged. He rose to his knees, flicked off his sash, dropped his trousers and rammed his cock home.
Not entirely. He stopped long enough to coat himself with a palmful of saliva, and to smear the copious leaked seed all over his head.
Then he rammed home.
Will went stiff under him. Had he hurt him?
“Jack!”
No. Oh. My. He was… already! Arsehole clenching crazily around Jack and sand-covered cock bobbing in the air, jerking wildly, seed spraying out in an abstract pattern across the sand. Already.
Until that very moment in time, Jack would not have believed it physically possible to have an orgasm from only inserting his cock into an arsehole. No thrusting, no grinding, no fucking. Just in and that was it.
But it was.
Because it was Will’s arsehole. And he’d been licking Will’s arsehole. And Will had been purring, which never failed to bring him all that much closer to completion at the even worst of times. And this was the best of times. Not to mention that the little side trip to the Commodore’s abode had taken several days, so it had been a while since Jack’s cock had felt the exquisiteness of Will’s interior.
“Missed me?” he gasped, as soon as he stopped howling.
Will lowered himself, and Jack, to the ground. “More that just missed, Jack. I ached for you.”
“You’re not aching now.”
“No. I’m fine now.”
Jack licked across Will’s shoulder. “So, I was right.”
“Hmm?”
“I knew you’d like the figgy pudding.”
“I hated the figgy pudding. Always have. My mother made the worst figgy pud…”
Jack laughed. “I know. William told me all about it.”
Will sat up. Carefully. Sort of on his hip, tilted to the side. “You knew about my mother’s awful figgy pudding?”
Jack nodded, almost grinning too hard to get the word out. “Pirate!”
“So why did you…?”
Jack pulled Will down on top of him. “And why did you lie about knowing what it was?”
Will dug his arms into the sand under Jack’s back. “Because I have horrid memories of being force to eat the worst figgy pudding… that one looked good compared to what she used to make me eat. Hers didn’t look like that at all. It was dark and had these crunchy bits in it. I swear it has afflicted me for the rest of my life. I loved my mother dearly, but her cooking skills left a lot to be desired.”
Jack arched up against Will’s body. “She was a wonderful woman, though, wasn’t she.”
Will smiled. “That she was.”
“In spite of the figgy pudding.”
Will scowled, but gently.
“ I knew she wasn't a Puritan... but I haven’t seen you that irate in years. I was hoping you might be a bit put off by it, but that was spectacular!” He nuzzled Will’s neck. “If you’re not going to allow me to be a real pirate and get into pitched battles anymore, you’ll have to expect that sort of prank every now and then, luv.”
Will could manage that.
End.
And a very Merry Christmas to all!
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