[potc] Driftwood

[permetaform]

ceria_taliesin! Will-fic-a-thon fic for you!

fucking HELL but this is strange, just to warn you...(it's a five part ficlet series, consider Sunstroke to be part one; parts two, four, and five are in production...)

NOTE: Some bits might make more sense if you've read Sunstroke first.

title: Driftwood
fandom: PotC
pairing: Other/Will, Jack/Will, Elizabeth/Will
rating: NC-17

There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.
What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;
Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun
- Robert Frost, 'Mowing'

"No use, Will," Gibbs said as Will tested the bars of the Pearl's jail. They remained tight, the hinges rusted but firm. Elizabeth and Jack are on back on the island, beyond any reasonable swimming distance by now, and Will doesn't know why he tries except that he has to.

He slides down the hull to sit jarringly on a coil of rope. There was an inch or so of water tumbling across the floor, back and forth with the ship's movement.

The cobbled-close crew of the late Interceptor mutter aimlessly. The sound sloshes. It blends with the rushing liquid-noise; and with it, Will placed his head against the hull of the ship and closes his eyes--

"...and what about Jack," Elizabeth asks, her body a warm line down Will's side.

And what about him, what is it about him, all confused and swaying and tumbling out end over end like Will's mind when his shoulders shoved at the Interceptor's floor because Jack was working in and Will couldn't move but towards him, pirate, in the brace of Jack's arms around him, the floor there, rocking forth and in and. The deck, there, backed against the rail, wind whipping his breaths away, Jack ripping his breaths away, no he can't breathe, eyes closing against the sea and the spray and the feel of Jack against him and. The mast, there, against the wood straining against him, afraid of falling but for Jack's hands keeping him in place, what promise but they never never make it to the bed.

Will always wakes up on the floor, alone--

Jack is taking up the bed, his back turned to him; and Will, bitter and choking, leaves --and he realizes he's stopped talking, Elizabeth's mouth rancidfull and wet against his and he wrenches back and her face is ashen and her hair in tatters and it's not Elizabeth at all, angular dark-faced vicious woman and he cringes back but then moans as her overlong fingers grasps him and pulls and flicks him idly, she hisses at him--

"Don't ye know respect, boy?" and he thinks--

Jack, his back turned to him, the skin a long, undefended arch; and Will, stomachchurning, leaves --and she laughs in surprised approval as he jerks helplessly into the circle of her hand and she whispers into his ear--

"Idiot," and--

Jack, his back turned to him, space enough on the bed for him, hips and legs and arse to him, in naked invitation; and Will *leaves* --and Will gasps, and her tongue swirls in, he sinks to her in denial and it's tight and nothing like anything but she wrenches away, like punishment, and Will groans and presses his face against the floor, in acceptance.

Because it is (a punishment), and he is (an idiot). He keeps back a scream and tries to suffocate himself with it.

The dark one laughs and mashes his face against the wood more, curls herself around to his back and shoves his chest along the floor. She is tall, and long, her legs bracket him and her long arms corsets, tight, around his waist to cup him again and, my god, thrust in, and she laughs in his ear as he helplessly writhes forward into her grip then back onto her fingers, twists again, and he writhes, forth, around, not being able to escape her, not knowing he if wants to, splinters digging into his cheek as she grips him, both hands thrust between his legs and giving vicious pulls, shocks and shudders him, idiot, hissed into his ear and he comes, the screams he held back releasing as.

He shakes and blacks out--

and wakes up.

The echos of his groans linger in the hold.

The water drips, over-loud, as he chokes in gasps against the water and sludge, riding out shudders, ass-raised and fingernails digging into the wood of the deck.

Someone coughs.

And Will tries to concentrate on the metal creak of lampchain, not the crew in the hold across from him who now breaks out in laughter at him or is looking away from him or is leering at his soaked. He reddens and doesn't meet their eyes.

He therefore hears,

"She likes you," and this said quietly, under the mocking and the teasing, and he looks up into Anamaria's eyes, which look wild.

All at once the low creaks and gasps of the Pearl turn into laughter, too. --and Will feels the splinters in his cheek.

And he could only brace his hand against the iron bars because--

They're not love marks, he tells himself; they're not.

---

Disclaimer: This story is not true and not mine. Disney owns.
Notes: Part 3 of Sea Elements, beta thanks to linaelyn and guede_mazaka