(no subject)
Title: Lost in Translation
Prompt: Guilt and/or translation
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Barbossa, Jack/OCs
Warning: Rape, violence
A/N: WIP
Part Six
****
Chocolate eyes stared ravenously at the captain’s plate. A small slab of meat, bread, wine, and of course, a green apple adorned it. His stomach voiced its misery as Barbossa leisurely consumed his dinner. How long had it been since a decent meal? He was not sure. The taste of stale, slightly molded bread was becoming revolting, and there was never enough water provided to omit the dryness left in his mouth. It hurt - being so famished and being pushed closer and closer to his physical limit every day. Soothingly, he rubbed his abdomen, hoping to assuage the pain of emptiness.
Dare he ask? No, that would most likely cause him more distress. It would be another punishment that he would not be able to handle, especially after the gang rape and beatings that had occurred earlier that day. Then again, surely Barbossa did not want his captive losing strength quite so soon; it would remove a large portion of the enjoyment the men had when maltreating him. The struggle was a turn on, and Jack knew it.
Longingly, he gazed with wide eyes at the juice that had wept from the apple and onto the brown, scraggly beard. He licked his lips and moved to the edge of his seat. The other man was too far across the table for him to try and steal anything. An apple - a simple firm, succulent, delicious apple - would send him into a spasm of ecstasy. He winced at the clenching of his stomach. This was another torture, he thought. A necessity of life was right before him, but he was not allowed to indulge in it.
Barbossa grinned devilishly from the engrossed expression on Jack’s face as he bit into the fruit for the last time. He dropped the core onto the dish absentmindedly and gulped down a sizeable amount of wine. He chuckled at the almost inaudible whimper that came from Jack’s slightly opened mouth.
“Ya hungry, Jack?” he inquired casually.
“Y-Yes,” Jack spoke intensely softly.
The captain stood and walked the plate over to Sparrow. The sight up close made Jack almost weep from its beauty. It was not much by any means - only the remains of what Barbossa had not eaten - but there was enough meat left on the bone for a couple of bites, a slice of seasoned bread, and a little more that could be extracted from the devoured apple.
“Have that,” Barbossa said and stalked into the adjacent room.
Jack closed his eyes, muttered words of thankfulness, and attacked the food like a vulture.
****
Several minutes after he had finished the pathetic dinner, he crept cautiously toward the bedroom. He peered around the corner before fully entering. Barbossa stood, observing scrupulously as Jack came nearer. An abrupt feeling of trepidation filled the younger man from noticing the captain was dressed in only his shirt and breeches. He hurriedly brushed the apprehension aside, attempting to show confidence instead of hesitation.
“Thank you for that,” he stated quietly.
“Ye know it comes at a price, Jack. This time, you’re the one payin’.”
The aching sensation in his chest made his expression morph into one of depression. He drew in a deep breath and asked, “On the bed, then?”
“Aye, on the bed.”
Shaking hands removed Sparrow’s shirt, and unsteady fingers unbuttoned and lowered his breeches. The pirate stepped out of them and shuffled to the somewhat rickety piece of furniture. He lay on his back, aimlessly waiting for Barbossa to crawl on top of him. When the older man did, coarse hands lifted him up to sit. Before he could voice his confusion, Barbossa kissed him erotically. A surprised noise sounded in Jack’s throat as their lips worked rapturously with one another’s.
Without parting, Barbossa lowered Sparrow slightly; his arms were slacked around the pirate’s torso. After numerous minutes of exploring Jack’s mouth, his lips forged a path to the man’s neck. His tongue licked the length of his throat and suckled on it fervently. A breathy, contented sigh escaped Jack. His eyes were closed and his fingers combed Barbossa’s hair.
Downward Barbossa ventured, planting passionate kisses onto Sparrow’s chest. He eased Jack onto his back as he captured a taut nipple between his lips. Jack’s toes curled, and his back arched. He produced a quavering whine in response to the warm tongue circling and licking the tender spot. Teeth latched onto it and tugged lightly. Jack trembled and moaned gloriously.
“Ohh….” he panted elatedly. “Ahh….” The touch was not completely invited, but it was far better than the horrendous molestations the men did to him. “Nnhnn….Hector,” he whispered rather ardently.
Barbossa ceased his ministrations and violently grabbed Jack’s neck. It made the pirate yelp like a beaten cur. The action snapped him back into his reality of Hell.
“Certainly can’t have ya enjoy it that much,” Barbossa said venomously. He applied pressure on the man’s throat, causing Jack to emit a choking sound. “Need I remind ya that you aren’t in control?”
He released his grip, moved down Sparrow’s quaking frame, and removed the dagger that was tucked into his breeches. Jack stared at the captain with alarm as a hand was placed under his bended knee to hoist his right leg.
“No, certainly can’t have ya enjoy anythin’,” Barbossa said bluntly.
The first violent slash colored the underside of Sparrow’s thigh. Jack writhed about and bit his tongue to smother any sort of wounded expression. A second was created beside the first, followed by five more lacerations. Jack breathed unevenly as he cried forlornly. The gashes were of good length and fairly deep. Blood flowed from the fresh injuries; Barbossa’s blue eyes sparkled with excitement from the sight.
The captain got up, placed the weapon into his coat pocket, and returned to hover over Jack once more. He lowered his breeches and lifted the younger man’s legs onto his shoulders. Jack shook his head helplessly, yet he knew there was nothing he could do to dissuade Barbossa from continuing.
Once his arousal was saturated with oil, Barbossa entered Sparrow forcibly. Jack groaned shamefully, only fueling the captain’s desire to see him suffer. Barbossa shoved his way into Jack’s body until he was completely sheathed within the pirate’s warmth. He did not wait long before starting to thrust vigorously in and out of the misused being. Jack’s body rocked involuntarily with Barbossa’s with every vigorous propulsion. His tender muscles were in dreadful agony as the hardened member forged its way into him again and again.
The sight of Sparrow’s face contorted in torment and mortification, and the strained noises he created made Barbossa ejaculate within him after several minutes. A tremor shot through Jack’s anatomy before the captain at last pulled entirely out of him.
There was no time to recover. He was pushed powerfully off the bed, landing on the floor with a weak moan.
“Waste such as you sleep on the ground,” Barbossa stated coldly.
Jack coughed scratchily and dragged himself to the corner of the room opposite of the bed. He curled up and scolded himself as he sobbed.
Though he was utterly exhausted, he did not allow himself to succumb to sleep until he was absolutely sure Barbossa was.
****
Jack was woken by a harsh kick to his stomach. He gasped and quickly opened his eyes. The room was lit by the warming sun, and Barbossa’s figure was shadowed before him.
“Get up,” the captain said gruffly.
Those were the only two words spoken between them as Barbossa put on his entire attire and Jack dressed himself with his shirt and breeches. The finishing touch was the handcuffs, which Barbossa secured about the pirate’s wrists. Sparrow had hoped they would be disregarded, seeing as how they were unshackled before he sat down to dinner with Barbossa the previous night. Alas, he was not granted such luxury.
He ambled out the door behind Barbossa, dreading each step he took that moved him closer to the crew. Some liked to begin the day with it, while others waited until later in the afternoon. He watched with scornful eyes at the three men who made their way to their captain. After a very brief period of conversing, Barbossa shook hands with each of them to signify the accord. Jack emitted a quivering sigh, and his heart sped its pace. One of the men strode to him, grabbed his arm in such a manner that was hard enough to bruise, and hauled him to the descending stairs near the bow.
Once below, they did not travel far before he was struck forcefully by the man’s fist. He stumbled backward and desperately sought to keep his balance. The attempt failed, and he fell to the ground with a small groan. The buttons of his breeches were rapidly undone, and the garment was ripped from his body. He could not prevent himself from shaking as the crewmember helped himself to fondling his battered frame and kissed him debauchedly. Dirty fingers ran themselves over the strands of beads in his hair before petting the disheveled mane. He was not sure which was worse: being touched inappropriately everywhere and beaten a little or having the man inside of him until the warm climax filled him. Frankly, it did not matter. He always experienced severe humiliation and disgrace, not to mention the sensation of being disgustingly violated, from both scenarios. The present crewmate indulged in a bit of both as did the next one. The last, however, merely craved to physically abuse Jack to a drastic degree.
Aggressive and furious blows showered him to the point of causing him to weave in and out of consciousness. His vision was tinted red as blood flowed from his head and down over his half-opened eyelids. An awful cracking sound was heard, and he gave a feeble wail. A searing pain tore through his left shoulder; it blinded him for a moment.
The beating came to a close soon after, leaving him sprawled out on the floor in a bloody, bruised, immobile heap. After the crewman had returned to the deck, a number of minutes passed before Sparrow retrieved his article of clothing. As he worked to pull the breeches up and button them, he quietly cried in agony. His left clavicle bone was broken in half; the two ends now overlapped one another. It immersed him in a terrible inferno.
He got to his feet, though had to wrap his arms around the nearest wooden post to keep from collapsing. He panted heavily; perspiration covered his skin. At last he found a sliver of strength, and he took use of it fast.
When he made it up to the deck, there was nothing to do other than wait for the next taker.
Prompt: Guilt and/or translation
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Barbossa, Jack/OCs
Warning: Rape, violence
A/N: WIP
Part Six
****
Chocolate eyes stared ravenously at the captain’s plate. A small slab of meat, bread, wine, and of course, a green apple adorned it. His stomach voiced its misery as Barbossa leisurely consumed his dinner. How long had it been since a decent meal? He was not sure. The taste of stale, slightly molded bread was becoming revolting, and there was never enough water provided to omit the dryness left in his mouth. It hurt - being so famished and being pushed closer and closer to his physical limit every day. Soothingly, he rubbed his abdomen, hoping to assuage the pain of emptiness.
Dare he ask? No, that would most likely cause him more distress. It would be another punishment that he would not be able to handle, especially after the gang rape and beatings that had occurred earlier that day. Then again, surely Barbossa did not want his captive losing strength quite so soon; it would remove a large portion of the enjoyment the men had when maltreating him. The struggle was a turn on, and Jack knew it.
Longingly, he gazed with wide eyes at the juice that had wept from the apple and onto the brown, scraggly beard. He licked his lips and moved to the edge of his seat. The other man was too far across the table for him to try and steal anything. An apple - a simple firm, succulent, delicious apple - would send him into a spasm of ecstasy. He winced at the clenching of his stomach. This was another torture, he thought. A necessity of life was right before him, but he was not allowed to indulge in it.
Barbossa grinned devilishly from the engrossed expression on Jack’s face as he bit into the fruit for the last time. He dropped the core onto the dish absentmindedly and gulped down a sizeable amount of wine. He chuckled at the almost inaudible whimper that came from Jack’s slightly opened mouth.
“Ya hungry, Jack?” he inquired casually.
“Y-Yes,” Jack spoke intensely softly.
The captain stood and walked the plate over to Sparrow. The sight up close made Jack almost weep from its beauty. It was not much by any means - only the remains of what Barbossa had not eaten - but there was enough meat left on the bone for a couple of bites, a slice of seasoned bread, and a little more that could be extracted from the devoured apple.
“Have that,” Barbossa said and stalked into the adjacent room.
Jack closed his eyes, muttered words of thankfulness, and attacked the food like a vulture.
****
Several minutes after he had finished the pathetic dinner, he crept cautiously toward the bedroom. He peered around the corner before fully entering. Barbossa stood, observing scrupulously as Jack came nearer. An abrupt feeling of trepidation filled the younger man from noticing the captain was dressed in only his shirt and breeches. He hurriedly brushed the apprehension aside, attempting to show confidence instead of hesitation.
“Thank you for that,” he stated quietly.
“Ye know it comes at a price, Jack. This time, you’re the one payin’.”
The aching sensation in his chest made his expression morph into one of depression. He drew in a deep breath and asked, “On the bed, then?”
“Aye, on the bed.”
Shaking hands removed Sparrow’s shirt, and unsteady fingers unbuttoned and lowered his breeches. The pirate stepped out of them and shuffled to the somewhat rickety piece of furniture. He lay on his back, aimlessly waiting for Barbossa to crawl on top of him. When the older man did, coarse hands lifted him up to sit. Before he could voice his confusion, Barbossa kissed him erotically. A surprised noise sounded in Jack’s throat as their lips worked rapturously with one another’s.
Without parting, Barbossa lowered Sparrow slightly; his arms were slacked around the pirate’s torso. After numerous minutes of exploring Jack’s mouth, his lips forged a path to the man’s neck. His tongue licked the length of his throat and suckled on it fervently. A breathy, contented sigh escaped Jack. His eyes were closed and his fingers combed Barbossa’s hair.
Downward Barbossa ventured, planting passionate kisses onto Sparrow’s chest. He eased Jack onto his back as he captured a taut nipple between his lips. Jack’s toes curled, and his back arched. He produced a quavering whine in response to the warm tongue circling and licking the tender spot. Teeth latched onto it and tugged lightly. Jack trembled and moaned gloriously.
“Ohh….” he panted elatedly. “Ahh….” The touch was not completely invited, but it was far better than the horrendous molestations the men did to him. “Nnhnn….Hector,” he whispered rather ardently.
Barbossa ceased his ministrations and violently grabbed Jack’s neck. It made the pirate yelp like a beaten cur. The action snapped him back into his reality of Hell.
“Certainly can’t have ya enjoy it that much,” Barbossa said venomously. He applied pressure on the man’s throat, causing Jack to emit a choking sound. “Need I remind ya that you aren’t in control?”
He released his grip, moved down Sparrow’s quaking frame, and removed the dagger that was tucked into his breeches. Jack stared at the captain with alarm as a hand was placed under his bended knee to hoist his right leg.
“No, certainly can’t have ya enjoy anythin’,” Barbossa said bluntly.
The first violent slash colored the underside of Sparrow’s thigh. Jack writhed about and bit his tongue to smother any sort of wounded expression. A second was created beside the first, followed by five more lacerations. Jack breathed unevenly as he cried forlornly. The gashes were of good length and fairly deep. Blood flowed from the fresh injuries; Barbossa’s blue eyes sparkled with excitement from the sight.
The captain got up, placed the weapon into his coat pocket, and returned to hover over Jack once more. He lowered his breeches and lifted the younger man’s legs onto his shoulders. Jack shook his head helplessly, yet he knew there was nothing he could do to dissuade Barbossa from continuing.
Once his arousal was saturated with oil, Barbossa entered Sparrow forcibly. Jack groaned shamefully, only fueling the captain’s desire to see him suffer. Barbossa shoved his way into Jack’s body until he was completely sheathed within the pirate’s warmth. He did not wait long before starting to thrust vigorously in and out of the misused being. Jack’s body rocked involuntarily with Barbossa’s with every vigorous propulsion. His tender muscles were in dreadful agony as the hardened member forged its way into him again and again.
The sight of Sparrow’s face contorted in torment and mortification, and the strained noises he created made Barbossa ejaculate within him after several minutes. A tremor shot through Jack’s anatomy before the captain at last pulled entirely out of him.
There was no time to recover. He was pushed powerfully off the bed, landing on the floor with a weak moan.
“Waste such as you sleep on the ground,” Barbossa stated coldly.
Jack coughed scratchily and dragged himself to the corner of the room opposite of the bed. He curled up and scolded himself as he sobbed.
Though he was utterly exhausted, he did not allow himself to succumb to sleep until he was absolutely sure Barbossa was.
****
Jack was woken by a harsh kick to his stomach. He gasped and quickly opened his eyes. The room was lit by the warming sun, and Barbossa’s figure was shadowed before him.
“Get up,” the captain said gruffly.
Those were the only two words spoken between them as Barbossa put on his entire attire and Jack dressed himself with his shirt and breeches. The finishing touch was the handcuffs, which Barbossa secured about the pirate’s wrists. Sparrow had hoped they would be disregarded, seeing as how they were unshackled before he sat down to dinner with Barbossa the previous night. Alas, he was not granted such luxury.
He ambled out the door behind Barbossa, dreading each step he took that moved him closer to the crew. Some liked to begin the day with it, while others waited until later in the afternoon. He watched with scornful eyes at the three men who made their way to their captain. After a very brief period of conversing, Barbossa shook hands with each of them to signify the accord. Jack emitted a quivering sigh, and his heart sped its pace. One of the men strode to him, grabbed his arm in such a manner that was hard enough to bruise, and hauled him to the descending stairs near the bow.
Once below, they did not travel far before he was struck forcefully by the man’s fist. He stumbled backward and desperately sought to keep his balance. The attempt failed, and he fell to the ground with a small groan. The buttons of his breeches were rapidly undone, and the garment was ripped from his body. He could not prevent himself from shaking as the crewmember helped himself to fondling his battered frame and kissed him debauchedly. Dirty fingers ran themselves over the strands of beads in his hair before petting the disheveled mane. He was not sure which was worse: being touched inappropriately everywhere and beaten a little or having the man inside of him until the warm climax filled him. Frankly, it did not matter. He always experienced severe humiliation and disgrace, not to mention the sensation of being disgustingly violated, from both scenarios. The present crewmate indulged in a bit of both as did the next one. The last, however, merely craved to physically abuse Jack to a drastic degree.
Aggressive and furious blows showered him to the point of causing him to weave in and out of consciousness. His vision was tinted red as blood flowed from his head and down over his half-opened eyelids. An awful cracking sound was heard, and he gave a feeble wail. A searing pain tore through his left shoulder; it blinded him for a moment.
The beating came to a close soon after, leaving him sprawled out on the floor in a bloody, bruised, immobile heap. After the crewman had returned to the deck, a number of minutes passed before Sparrow retrieved his article of clothing. As he worked to pull the breeches up and button them, he quietly cried in agony. His left clavicle bone was broken in half; the two ends now overlapped one another. It immersed him in a terrible inferno.
He got to his feet, though had to wrap his arms around the nearest wooden post to keep from collapsing. He panted heavily; perspiration covered his skin. At last he found a sliver of strength, and he took use of it fast.
When he made it up to the deck, there was nothing to do other than wait for the next taker.