Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, written purely for fun.

Author's Notes: This takes place in the Your Move universe on one of the nights that Jack is not playing chess with James. The chase with the wig has just occurred and Jack is beginning to realize that he and the commodore might be playing much more serious games in future. Much thanks to fabu, lizzie_omalley, and lyric1 for their suggestions.




I never knew when Jack was going to appear at my doorstep expecting a place to sleep. The treasure from the Isla de Muerta had rendered him richer than Croesus, and no doubt he could have stayed where ever he pleased, notwithstanding the death sentence on his head. There would be no dearth of landlords in Port Royal whose love of gold was stronger than their fear of Commodore Norrington's wrath, but Jack preferred to stay with me. He slipped in and out of Port Royal like the thief he was, but was now intent on stealing what little bits of friendship he could glean on his brief visits, as opposed to silverplate and jewelry.

I loved his visits, even though in a constant state of anxiety during them. I doubted his one night a week clemency to play chess with the commodore would have any influence on the commodore's good will. Good chess partners can't be that hard to find. Saturday through Wednesday he was fair game for that date with the hangman. Elizabeth continued to work her most prodigious wiles on her father to get Jack a full pardon, but as of yet she'd been unsuccessful. Her first defeat. Which, I may add, she was not accepting very graciously.

Jack's clemency allowed him free reign from Thursday noon to Friday noon, but he never really limited his visits to that period of time. He came and went as he pleased. Where he got his intelligence I knew not. When I asked him all I got was a finger making a most circuitous route to his lips and a whispered, "Loose lips sink ships, mate. Best you don't know." But he seemed to know exactly when the commodore and his crew went to sea, when they were due back, and exactly how much they drank when they returned. I learned to expect him the minute the Dauntless sailed out the harbor. He'd spend his evenings at the Tar, he and his crew no doubt drinking enough rum for Mr. Grant to consider an early retirement, and then he'd come back to the forge and regale me with stories of my father. No matter how tired I was, I'd wake up the minute he stumbled into the forge, my "Lo, Jack," always at the ready. Then he'd plop himself down on the first available lump of straw and answer back, "William, my lad, did I ever tell you the story about when your da and I…"

Not tonight.

I was in the depths of misery and in no mood for silly stories. The last one had involved Jack and my father in a card game with a mermaid. Did he think I was a fool? I'd pretend I was asleep and hopefully the vicissitudes of the rum would render him insensible within seconds of his head hitting the hay.

For a man laboring under a death sentence, you've never heard anyone louder and more obvious. It was as if he was begging to be caught. He must have been at least a couple of blocks away, yet I could him bellowing at the top of his lungs, singing that stupid song Elizabeth had taught him. Bloody pirate.

Typical Jack, he threw open the door to the forge with such force that he'd wake the dead and then, even in his drunken stupor, he carefully locked the door behind him. Giving the donkey a scratch behind the ears, he rambled over to his usual mound of hay, humming that blasted song, and plopped himself down, no doubt having manufactured some outlandish tale while walking home from the tavern, fueled by his own well-endowed imagination and three bottles of rum.

When I didn't chime in with my usual greeting, I heard a "Bloody hell," and then he got up and began sashaying across the forge toward the little room where I bunked. I always knew how much he had to drink, because unpredictably the slurring actually disappeared the more he drank. Predictably, the swaying got worse. He'd "tack" across the room, cutting backwards and forwards like a ship in an opposing wind. I opened my eyes just a slit. And there he was, his shadow reflecting in the moonlight, meandering from one wall to another. Based on the number of tacks, it had been a three-bottle night.

"William, my lad, you awake?"

When I didn't answer, he fumbled on the table for the flint to light the candle, amazingly got it lit, and grabbed my shoulder and shook it.

"You awake?" he demanded.

Definitely a three-bottle night. His diction was perfect.

"N.O.T. N.O.W," I snarled between my teeth.

"How goes it, lad? Not like you to not greet me when I come in. Had me worried." He collapsed on the bed near my shoulder. "Move over, you're hogging the bed."

"It's my bed," I protested rather loudly.

"That it is, mate, but been singin' all night and my throat's dry. Can't tell you my story from out next to Petunia." He shoved me flush against the wall and spread out.

I sighed. "I am tired, Jack. No stories tonight, if you please. I had rather awful day, and I'd just like to get some sleep."

It was like trying to turning back the tide.

"No stories? You sure? Remember one time we were in Singapore. A Chinese acrobat wanted us to join the circus and asked your da to ride the elephant. You should have seen him up there on Esmerelda's back. Then your da started sneezing, turned out he and elephants—"

"Jack, please!" I begged. "No stories about Chinese acrobats or circuses or mermaids or elephants or horses that fly or…or…anything." I turned over to face the wall.

For one brief second I actually thought I won the point.

"Want to talk about it? Am a good listener, contrary to what most people think. Think that I just jabber away, not paying attention to what folk are saying but there isn't much that ole Jack Sparrow misses. Not much, so if you want an ear—"

"If I could get a word in edgewise, I'd tell you that I don't want to talk about it," I shouted and tried to scoot further into the wall.

"Ill wind?"

I'd just refuse to answer him and eventually he'd go away.

And I might have stood fast against all his natterings and naggings, except he began to sing that song. I knew him. He'd bloody well sing all twenty verses and start all over again until I told him what was bothering me. He and Elizabeth were the only two people I knew who weren't driven nearly barking mad by that tune. He only got to, "We pillage and plunder," before I just gave up.

"It's Elizabeth. She threatened to run me through with one of my own swords and then called off the wedding." I said this in a reasonably calm voice. Which was absolute bollocks, because I was only six seconds away from full-blown sobbing when I'd heard the strains of that blasted pirate song as Jack weaved his way down the street on his way to the shop.

This brought him up short, his head cocked to the side.

"Amazin' 'ow that song works every time. Oh lad, this is serious business. Calls for some rum."

"Is there any occasion that doesn't call for rum?" I snapped at him.

He cocked his head to the other side and paused, like he was actually giving this serious consideration.

"No, don't believe there is. Tonight am ignoring all your usual protestations about rum being the Devil's drink. Now sit up. You're going to get good and drunk and tell ole Jack what's the matter with your fair lass."

Fumbling under the bed for a bottle, he pulled it up with a sigh of satisfaction. "Have a mind to complain to Mr. Grant 'bout the quality of the drink he's serving. Under normal circumstances I'd be passed out by now. Think he's watering the rum."

"Perhaps he's on a mercy mission. Trying to prevent you from drinking yourself to death," I pointed out and eased my back against the wall.

"Eh, why would he want to do that? Doesn't make any bloody sense. The drink acts as a preservative. Keeps me alive. Without me rum, I'd be dead."

I rolled my eyes. It was pointless continuing this line of thought. The man invented the circular argument. He pulled out the cork with his teeth, hauled the bottle to his lips, and drank at least a quarter of it in one go.

"Ah, that's better. Here, my lad. Now you."

Grabbing the proferred bottle, I took the tiniest of sips. Absolutely vile, nasty stuff. Must remember to stock some cider in this room. By the looks of things, I'd be spending a fair amount of time by myself or with Jack on his odd trips to town.

"Now, why'd she threaten you? Women happen to threaten me all the bloody time, but you being the upstanding gent you are, am surprised."

I leaned over to blow out the candle. I hadn't yet said one word about the horrible argument Elizabeth and I had had, and my face was already flushed from shame at the very thought of it.

I sat there mute, not knowing where to start. Then Jack began to hum.

"If you must know, she wanted me to do something and when I refused, she called me a 'bleeding coward.' Her very words. That was followed by, 'I never want to see you again.'"

Jack slurped another great slug of rum and shoved the bottle in my direction, smacking me on the side of the head.

"Jesus, Jack! That hurt!"

"Sorry, Will. Thinkin' you'll be needed some Dutch courage to tell me the rest."

He was right. Holding my nose, I took a big swig.

After which I began to cough so violently I was amazed my stomach wasn't in my lap.

Jack hauled back and, although aiming for my back, he missed and ended up giving my head a thumping great wallop before lowering his hand to whack me twice on the back to quell the coughing as the rum threatened to sear every inch of my stomach. If I made it through the night without being beaten to a bloody pulp, it would be a miracle.

"How do you drink this stuff? It's horrible." I shuddered, wiping my lips with the back of my hand in a futile attempt to rid my mouth of that sweet burn.

"Depends on which way your winds blow. Can't see not drinkin' it. Now, no more lollygagging. What'd you do to get her knickers all twisted, like."

"I told you," I murmured. "It's what I didn't do that put her in high dungeon."

The room was silent for a few seconds, then, "Love games, Will. Is this the 'What Did Young William Not Do to Young Lizzie' game? How many guesses do I get, mate?"

Oh, hang the man. "We were in the garden. We were kissing—"

"Am rather partial to kissing myself. Lovely day for it. Come to think on it, every day's a lovely day for kissing. Surely, she wasn't complaining bout that."

"No, she wasn't. And then, we were kissing…kissing, um, harder." My voice got smaller and smaller as the details of the afternoon unfolded.

The cot creaked as he leaned forward toward me. "Speak up, lad. We're getting to the good part."

"And, um, we were standing very close to each other. And she, uh, put her hands around my waist. She smelled like lilacs and I…somehow my leg found itself in-between her legs. I couldn't help but…she smelled so wonderful, and then…"

I took another swig of rum, managing not to choke, primarily because my entire throat had been cauterized from the previous gulp.

"Then," he prompted.

"I…took my hands…and I moved them down her back and I…I just couldn't help myself, Jack. I touched… with these hands…" I held up my hands. Mortification the likes I've never felt rendered me speechless. Not another sound came out, just wheezes.

"Well, lad, can't see a thing, since the room's pitch black, but seeing as you're having a breathing fit, think that maybe it's Jack's turn. Let me guess. You grabbed her arse."

"Something like that," I mumbled. Or I tried to mumble it. I guess he understood because that got a ribald chuckle and a few snorts.

"Course you did, lad," and he smacked me on the back again. I moaned; he might have bruised a rib that time. "Didn't know a Turner that didn't appreciate a fine swell of arse. And I'm the man that should know. One point for Jack. Then what?"

I cleared my throat. "We kept kissing. It was lovely, Jack, I didn't know anything could feel so good. But then… It happened."

More silence. I just couldn't say it.

"What? What?" Jack was bouncing on the cot with anticipation. He was like a child begging for a sweet.

"Mmmm, can't say," I groaned.

I'd join Jack's crew. The idea of facing her again after my horrific behavior and her equally horrific demand made me ill. Singapore. Perhaps I could convince Jack to berth in Singapore.

"Round two, eh? Getting really good at this game. Let's see. Grabbing fair lassie's arse. She's got her hands on your back. Bet she's running them up and down feeling the lovely muscles you got, and you do have some lovely muscles, mate. Thinkin' maybe little Will made an appearance. Have I got that right?"

"Little Will?" I choked.

"Your cock, Will. Was it all nice and hard?" I squeaked. Which in Jack's lexicon must pass for a yes. "Glad to hear it. Had my doubts about you, must confess. Well, not really. Well, perhaps for a few moments but sounds like the goods are in working order. So, you frightened the girl? Surprises me that does. Thought Lizzie was half pirate. Pride myself on rarely being wrong on that score. Must have gotten it from her mother. Can't see the governor grabbing for the goods, although I've been surprised before. In fact, got the surprise of my life recently. Folk you least expect. Still waters run deep and tall that—"

"It's 'all that.'"

"That's what I said. Tall that. Take my word for it, mate. And that's two points. It might take her gettin' used to the idea but she'll come around."

"Jack, you do not understand. She, she…put her…her…"

"Hand or mouth?" he prompted.

"Her mouth?" I shouted. "Of course not her mouth. Her hand. On my breeches."

"Shame 'bout it only being her hand. Lizzie has a beautiful mouth. Not that I've noticed or anything. 'Course a hand job with the proper hand… Felt good didn't it?"

Good was the understatement of the year. It felt like the world had exploded and then imploded back again. Hot licks of something I'd never experienced before shot up my back and down the backs of my legs. I was in heaven for about thirty seconds and then the deepest sense of self-disgust overwhelmed me. I was so hard, I'd never been so hard. Heinous behavior in the presence of a lady. I was behaving like a total animal. I didn't want to pull away, the only proper response under the circumstances, followed by a hundred apologies. No, I wanted to rub against that hand. Wanted to feel her cool long elegant fingers on my…my…well, little Will.

"Am still in the dark here, mate. Lizzie wants to inspect your goods. You want her to inspect your goods. Haven't drunk enough to render me insensible, and the way you're pounding back that rum it looks like it isn't going to happen tonight. So am afraid you're going have to spell it out for ole Jack. Why was she ready to keel haul you?"

"ShewantedmetotellherwhatIdo." I said it so fast that it came out all as one word.

"Come again, lad. Your mouth's moving too fast. Do what?"

"At night. When I'm alone. By my…my onesies. To me. To…to little Will."

"Naturally! Knew the girl was half pirate. Did you tell 'er?"

"Of course not!" I huffed. "And it got worse. She wanted me to take…it…out…out of my breeches…and she wanted do to it…to it…what I do to it."

That earned another smack on the back.

"Course she did. If you're anything like your da, you've a magnificent cock. Haven't seen a finer one. Although I must confess, I just got a feel of one recently under a pair of breeches that makes me think it'll give your da's a run for the money. I'll keep you posted. But am still not getting the problem, Will."

"For heaven's sake. Do I have to spell it out? She wanted to touch me. Touch it. And the worst of it was that I wanted her to. God, Jack, I really wanted her to. I was so thoroughly disgusted with myself that I told her that in future we'd better limit our interactions to the parlor. That's when she slapped me across the face—"

"Been there, had that done to me, mate."

"And threatened me with bodily harm and cancelled the wedding."

I'd withstood all the humiliation and torment a man could stand for one night. Tears of frustration and confusion had been pricking at the corners of my eyes ever since I'd blown out the candle. I finally just gave in. A few minutes later, when I'd reached the sniffling stage, Jack got up from the cot and his hands fumbled for something on the table. The hiss of the flint and the candle was lit.

He returned to the cot and cupped my jaw with his hand to turn my face to his, forcing me to look at him.

"William, you need to see my face for this part of the palaver. You're a lucky man. You've got a woman who loves you, loves all of you. Just gave this speech to a recent acquaintance o' mine who had similar qualms about hands and cocks and all other manner of doings. You think what your Lizzie and you wanted was sinful and wrong. What that man in the collar tells you on Sunday morning is the biggest cargohold of shite I've every run across."

I made a muffled protest.

"No, you listen to me, lad. Have I ever been wrong?"

I gave him a look and snorted through my tears. "Oh let me count the ways."

He held up his hands in supplication. "I grant you once or twice, but on the important issues am never wrong. Told you your da was a good pirate, and I wasn't wrong on that one. Was I? Was wrong about Barbossa, thought the man was loyal to me. Lost my girl as a result of that misplaced notion, but eventually it came right in the end. Got my girl back and saved you and your Lizzie in the process."

I smiled. Yes, he had.

"See you're beginning to listen, to put some faith in me. Got your da's smile. Ah, he was a good man, I miss him still. Anyways, doesn't make sense that God created men and women such like they fit together. Assume you're a virgin, Will, ever been with a woman?"

I shook my head.

"Man?"

I was too embarrassed to do anything.

"Didn't think so, just checkin'. Anyway, once you two start fucking each other you'll see what I mean. Everything just fits and feels good and if you love someone it feels the best. Swived a fair number of people just for the fun of it, some because I was stinking drunk and I could've been poking a goat and wouldn't have known it, and a few, a very few, because I loved them."

He stopped. Then he laid a hand on my arm and squeezed it hard. Later in my life I realized that this was the most important piece of advice he would ever give me.

"Been lucky on that score, myself. Didn't think the wind would blow that way again for me, but I honesty feel a change in that regard. Time will tell. Nothing is better than fucking someone you love, Will. And no preacher will ever tell me different. What you and Lizzie to do to each other, as long as the two of you want it, tis good. And nobody's else's business. Savvy? Been with lots of women and men in me lifetime and truly don't think God wants it any other way. Now you march up to that house in the morning, grab her by the arm, drag her into the garden, know for a fact there's a secluded patch near the roses, and you two have a good feel up each other. Your cock is just made to fill her cunt and you think kissing is glorious? Wait until you fuck her. When your cock fills her hole…" Jack sighed. "Envy you, mate. It's been a long time since Jack had his first swive."

I tried to take all this in. Why did I feel once again like Jack had yanked on the wheel of the ship and the boom once more whooshed into my stomach, carrying me over the water and threatening to drown me? He just didn't see things the way most people did. He was also the happiest man I knew, savoring each day like it was his last, because it very well could be, but also just because. And that moment in the garden with Elizabeth, it had felt good and right. And she wanted me. The young man who would be never more that a blacksmith. I'd do exactly what Jack said. Go the governor's mansion and hold her and kiss her and… But once again my innocence was so profound that I didn't understand half of what Jack was talking about.

"Jack," I asked in a timid voice, "What hole?"

His paroxysms of glee were such that I was sure they could hear him cackling at the fort.

I waited several minutes as his enjoyment at the expense of my innocence played itself out. When he was at the gasping stage, I handed him a handkerchief so he could wipe away his tears.

"Are you quite done?" I demanded in my frostiest tone.

"Sorry, Will, just can't believe anyone is that unawares, like. Sorry, I truly apologize. Ahem," he coughed and tried valiantly not to break into yet another peel of laughter. "See here, lad, haven't you talked with any of your friends about women and what they like and what they, uh, look like and such."

"I don't have any friends really," I muttered. "Sort of in no man's land here in Port Royal. Between classes, you see. Elizabeth insisted I be educated, blacksmith apprentice or no. So here I am." I pointed in the direction of the forge. "Too educated for the rest of the apprentices," and then pointed in the direction of town. "Too much beneath the station of other higher born lads. And," I sighed, "I've pretty much run the business single-handedly practically from day one because of Mr. Brown's penchant for drink." I looked at him from under my eyes. He couldn't have timed it better. Just as the word "drink" had no sooner left my lips than he tipped the bottle forward and guzzled a goodly amount. "I spend my time here in the forge pounding steel, then if I'm not too exhausted I do my studies, and then dream of Elizabeth."

Jack put the bottle on the floor and turned his dark eyes to me, the mirth gone; they were tired with concern and sadness for the blacksmith who belonged to no class, to no one until Elizabeth accepted my proposal.

"And," I commented wryly to break the somber mood, "I'd sooner have asked Mr. Brown for advice on women as…as…fuck that donkey."

That brought a great laugh. "Mr. Turner, I am shocked. Such language! We'll make a pirate out of you yet." he chortled. He threw his arm around mine and squeezed me to him. "See we got a long night ahead of us. You get me that basket of fruit on the table while I open the second bottle o' rum."

"Why do you need the fruit, Jack?" I asked, truly curious as I handed him the basket.

"Ex-plaining," he said cryptically and then grabbed my crotch. I oomphed and nearly dropped the basket. "Think I'll use the bigger banana. And hand me a knife. Need to cut open this papaya. No coconut? Too bad. Could've used one. Unless…"

He got that look. The one where he's hatching a plan he knows I won't approve of or agree to, but on the very off chance I might… Jack was the ultimate optimist. He cocked his head to the right, his chin twisted up to the left as if tasting the breeze, and those black eyes glittered in the corner of his eyes. But the biggest give away was the smile. Could practically count his teeth it was so broad and even in the dim light of the one candle the gold off his teeth shone.

"We could," and he steepled his hands together. Another dead give away that he was planning something completely inappropriate and no doubt involved breaking at least ten laws. "Go get Lizzie and indulge our little selfs in a more practical-like demonstration. The three of us. Me just helping you two learn the ropes. Wouldn't mind in the least. Get your married life off to a good start. You understand. Jack Sparrow," and he thumped his chest, "would be happy to oblige."

The Will Turner of a week ago would have been horrified at the suggestion. Most likely bolt from the room and most certainly book passage on the first boat out of port.

This Will merely thrust the basket into Jack's hands, saying, "Help yourself more likely. Absolutely not. Now what hole?"

Jack sighed, his face all pulled down in the most grievous pout, like he'd been eternally wronged.

I put a hand on his shoulder. "Not tonight, Jack. I must confess I am still having trouble with the idea of holes. I won't say never, just not now. Savvy?"

That earned me the trademark Captain Jack Sparrow smile, a grin like no other. "Pirate," he drawled.




Fin