Fanfic--Metamorphosis (5/20)
Title: Touch (Prompt 29)
Rating: Hard PG-13/Soft R
Pairing: Speckett
Word Count: About 2200
Summary: Jack shares some of his past with young Cutler. One-shots dealing with Jack and Beckett's early relationship using the prompts at 50_smutlets
Warnings: Aside from being slash, there's just some language and mild touching in this one.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to the Mouse
A/N: So I've belatedly decided to title this collection of pieces "Metamorphosis." This is piece 5 of 20 (so I'm obviously not going to use all 50 prompts...).
Previous Chapters: 1. Day ; 2. Night ; 3. Gentle ; 4. Lust
029.-Touch
Cutler Beckett had never been as fascinated with anyone as he was with the sailor.
And it wasn’t just the coupling, though it was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. The slightest touch could make his cock spring to attention, make his stomach pitch and make his hands tremble in anticipation.
But it was those other moments, the secret stolen moments between the completion of congress and blissful sleep that earned Cutler’s infatuation-the lyrical tones of the sailor’s voice, the twinkle in his eyes as he mercilessly teased the boy, the little twitch at the corner of his generous mouth whenever he spied Cutler across the deck. When Cutler was alone in his cabin, he could not put those moments from his mind.
But what was more disturbing to the young noble was the way he found himself listening raptly to the sailor’s stories, grinning with wild abandon at the man and even occasionally sharing some whispered secrets of his life as the son of Lord George Beckett. Cutler had always been a quiet, introspective boy, not prone to idle chatter, but words just seemed to tumble forth from him when his head was nestled on the sailor’s shoulder, the sinewy arms wrapped firmly around him, and warm eyes staring down at him.
■ ■ ■ ■ ■
“Is there anywhere you haven’t been, Jack?” Cutler whispered, almost reverently, as he nestled his head in closer to Jack’s neck. They were stretched out together, still naked and damp, the lanky angles of Jack’s body incongruous next to the pale, plump curves of the young noble.
“Plenty of places,” Jack said, absentmindedly stroking the boy’s soft brown curls, tangling one tendril between his fingers.
“Tell me about where you’re going after we make port. Tell me all about Kalikata and Bombay and all those places.”
Jack’s throaty chuckle reverberated in his chest; Cutler smiled to himself as he felt the vibration. “You know more about them than I do, I’m sure.”
“But you’ve been there. I want you to tell me about it.”
Cutler’s eyes closed as he listened to Jack’s lilting voice obligingly describe the exotic ports, the native peoples, the long voyages. He was amazed by the veneration in Jack’s voice as he spoke of his ship, of sailing.
“But it’s just a ship…” he interrupted when Jack began speaking dreamily of the Wench.
“She’s much more than that,” Jack said, furrowing his brow at the boy.
“But how can it be more than a ship?”
Jack couldn’t help but smile. The boy was all reason and logic. If something was not tangible, Cutler didn’t seem to be able to wrap his mind around it. “Can you see the air?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then how do you know it’s there?”
“I…It is there, Jack. Everyone knows that. I breathe it, I…” He cut short as Jack blew gently on the nape of his neck, a small shiver quivering through his body.
“You feel it?” Jack finished for him.
“Precisely.”
“Same thing. I feel freedom on the Wench. I breathe it. She is my air.”
“It’s just a ship,” Cutler repeated stubbornly.
Cutler felt the muscles in Jack’s shoulders and chest ripple as he gave a small shrug. “To you, maybe. But she’s more than that to me.”
Cutler felt a small jealous twinge in his stomach at Jack’s words, though he wasn’t quite sure why. He didn’t know if it was because he envied the sailor or because he wanted to keep him all to himself. His brow furrowed and he pressed himself closer to the hard warmth of Jack’s body. Jack distractedly ran his fingers down the boy’s spine, resting on the soft swell of his buttocks, his fingers tracing indistinguishable patterns on the silken flesh. Cutler quivered at his touch.
“We’ll make a name for ourselves one day,” Jack continued on, his voice soft. “The Wicked Wench and her Captain, the legendary Jack Sparrow.” He ended with such over-elaborated emphasis that Cutler couldn’t contain a small giggle.
“Sparrow,” Cutler snorted. “It’s really such a foolish name.”
“Well, what of yours, Cutler?” Jack shot back, a roguish grin lighting up his face.
Cutler sniffed, a bit indignantly. “Well, that’s a different matter. It is a family name. Besides, only select company may address me as such, whereas everyone calls you Sparrow.”
“Well, Sparrow’s not a family name, as it were,” Jack said. “Started calling myself that when I was twelve.”
Intrigued by the hesitation he detected in Jack’s voice, Cutler propped himself up on one elbow and peered down into the sailor’s face. “Why?”
Jack gave him an enigmatic little grin. “Every man has to make a name for hisself, Cutty.” Cutler pursed his lips in annoyance at Jack’s insistence at calling him Cutty.
“So what was your Christian name?” Cutler pressed.
There was a moment of silence before Jack responded. “Jonathan Teague.”
As soon as he said it, Jack regretted it. He didn’t understand exactly why, but he didn’t want the cherubic boy curled in his arms to know about his sordid beginnings and questionable connections. It wasn’t the danger-he didn’t for one moment think that Cutler would punish him for his objectionable family, but Jack couldn’t quite put a finger on it, on why he felt his face burn hot as he saw the moment of realization flash in Cutler’s grey eyes.
“Teague. Like the pirate?” Cutler breathed. Jack shifted uncomfortably as the pale eyes widened and the plump lips parted in astonishment. Jack gave him a small nod. “You’re the son of a criminal…,” Cutler muttered, his brow furrowing slightly. Immediately, Jack threw the thin sheet off of his body, his lean torso rippling as he started to rise from the small bunk. Cutler’s firm grasp halted him. “I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean anything by it. Truly. I’m just surprised is all.”
The earnestness in the boy’s voice made him pause. With a nondescript noise, Jack settled back down on the bed, draping one tanned arm across his face. Even with his eyes covered, he knew that Cutler was staring intently at him.
“You can see why I felt it was necessary to shed said name-make me more respectable to the likes of you and your father, as it were,” Jack muttered. He did not resist when Cutler gently pulled his arm from his face.
“I’d never find you respectable, Jack, regardless of your surname,” Cutler retorted, his voice husky as he leaned over Jack. “That’s why I allow you unfettered access to my bed…as it were…” Jack pulled a face as Cutler mocked him. Cutler grinned before impetuously kissing him. Jack found himself returning the kiss with as much enthusiasm as it was given. Both men were panting slightly when Cutler finally pulled away. Jack saw the grey eyes were darker with renewed lust. He was momentarily pleased for the distraction, until Cutler’s eyes narrowed. “So what is he like?” he demanded. Jack sighed, resigning himself to defeat-he could tell that Cutler would not let the matter drop until he was satisfied.
“Well, I didn’t see him much, obviously,” Jack muttered. Cutler’s lips pursed at the condescending tone. Jack put his arm around Cutler’s shoulders and pulled him closer. “He’d make port maybe once a year, maybe less, and probably sought out me and my mum half of the time.”
“How long had they been married?”
Jack scoffed at Cutler’s innocence-he had such a sheltered view of the world. “No woman of sense marries a pirate, Cutler. Mum was a diversion in a port-he probably had some poor soul like her at every harbor town. Probably still does, for that matter...”
“Oh,” was Cutler’s soft response. Even without looking, Jack knew that the boy’s eyes had gone wide.
“But when he did come ‘round, he’d always bring me small things, little trinkets and relics from some of the places he’d been. A Turkish coin; a bead from Morocco; worthless little tokens. But, each one had a story and that was the real present. I would sit at his feet and he would tell me of how he came by that little bit of shine. I can still remember the sound of his voice and the way he would laugh at me. And when he was done telling his story, he would just sit there and quietly strum a song on that old guitar of his.” For a long moment, Jack was silent, staring up at the wooden planks overhead, his brow furrowed, lost in thought.
Cutler shifted about impatiently until Jack glanced at him. “Did you always know he was a pirate?”
“I think so, though mum didn’t tell me as much until I was older. I always wanted to leave with him when I was much younger. It seemed like such a better life than the one I was living. But, as I grew up, I realized more of what he was, and though I envied him, I didn’t want to be him.”
“Envied him?” Cutler’s voice was incredulous.
Jack barked out a small, acerbic laugh before replying. “Envied the freedom,” he qualified. “See, he could come and go as he pleased. Saw us when it suited him and always did as he wanted. And whenever things would get hard, or unpleasant, he could just go. Such freedom in that way of life. I think that’s what drew me to the sea. He didn’t have to listen to my little sister cry ‘cause hunger was gnawing away at her and she hadn’t eaten all day or smell the shit in the gutters. He could just get on his ship and sail away from it all, as if none of it existed, and breathe in the sea air and gather his trinkets.” Cutler was taken aback by the hardness of Jack’s voice, the latent bitterness. He opened his mouth to interrupt, but Jack plunged on. “I was eleven last time I saw him; it was an accident. We’d heard he’d made port, but hadn’t seen him. I snuck out that night and went down to the unsavory district by the docks. And I found him there. Drunk and rutting some whore. He didn’t even bother to come see us. And then three months later, my sister died of fever, mum ran off and I found my own freedom. Honest freedom, which was something he never had. I changed me name, got a position on a merchant ship and found myself in India. Haven’t seen him since.”
A heavy silence hung in the room, broken only by the creaking of the ship as she listed gently in the waves. Cutler saw the tightness in Jack’s jaw, and could feel the tenseness of his muscles. He regretted having pressed the matter at all, and struggled desperately to find the words to say, but found himself chewing on his bottom lip, unable to voice the emotions that were racing through his mind.
Jack mistook the silence as disapproval, contempt. He swallowed hard, regretting having said anything at all, much less having prattled on endlessly about things he had not spoken of, or even thought of, for that matter, for some years now. It suddenly felt as a great weight were pressing down on his chest as he lay next to the silent boy. He could not stand it any longer, so he briskly sat up, his face dark.
“Jack,” Cutler whispered, seeing the distraught look on the sailor’s face. Jack met his eyes for a long moment, surprised by the tenderness he thought he saw there. Cutler opened and closed his mouth wordlessly, before biting hard on his bottom lip. Unsure of what to say, he settled on the simplest truth he could voice. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise,” Cutler said earnestly, impetuously grabbing Jack’s hand and squeezing it.
“You’re not afraid that one of the Captains in your Company has piratical leanings? That I might stage a coup and join ranks with my father?” The bitterness in his voice was sharp.
“Don’t be silly,” Cutler admonished him.
“It’s what your father would think.”
“That would be foolish of him. I know you’d do no such thing.”
Jack made to rise from the bed, but a soft, hesitating touch on his arm caused him to pause. He glanced over his shoulder to find Cutler studying him intently.
“I don’t care about your father.” The voice was so low Jack could barely make out the words. “I care about you.”
Before Jack had time to absorb Cutler’s last words, the boy had swept from the bed, speaking rapidly as he retrieved his clothes that were scattered about the room. “Besides, we’re not all destined to become our fathers.”
“You are,” Jack said pointedly.
Jack saw a shadow flash across Cutler’s face. As quickly as he saw it, it was gone. “In title, yes. But I shall be greater than my father ever even dreamed of being.”
A genuine smile parted Jack’s lips. The childish braggadocio reminded him of how delightfully naïve the boy could be. “Aye, that you’ll be, Cutty, love.”
For once, Cutler didn’t scold him for calling him Cutty.
Rating: Hard PG-13/Soft R
Pairing: Speckett
Word Count: About 2200
Summary: Jack shares some of his past with young Cutler. One-shots dealing with Jack and Beckett's early relationship using the prompts at 50_smutlets
Warnings: Aside from being slash, there's just some language and mild touching in this one.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to the Mouse
A/N: So I've belatedly decided to title this collection of pieces "Metamorphosis." This is piece 5 of 20 (so I'm obviously not going to use all 50 prompts...).
Previous Chapters: 1. Day ; 2. Night ; 3. Gentle ; 4. Lust
029.-Touch
Cutler Beckett had never been as fascinated with anyone as he was with the sailor.
And it wasn’t just the coupling, though it was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. The slightest touch could make his cock spring to attention, make his stomach pitch and make his hands tremble in anticipation.
But it was those other moments, the secret stolen moments between the completion of congress and blissful sleep that earned Cutler’s infatuation-the lyrical tones of the sailor’s voice, the twinkle in his eyes as he mercilessly teased the boy, the little twitch at the corner of his generous mouth whenever he spied Cutler across the deck. When Cutler was alone in his cabin, he could not put those moments from his mind.
But what was more disturbing to the young noble was the way he found himself listening raptly to the sailor’s stories, grinning with wild abandon at the man and even occasionally sharing some whispered secrets of his life as the son of Lord George Beckett. Cutler had always been a quiet, introspective boy, not prone to idle chatter, but words just seemed to tumble forth from him when his head was nestled on the sailor’s shoulder, the sinewy arms wrapped firmly around him, and warm eyes staring down at him.
■ ■ ■ ■ ■
“Is there anywhere you haven’t been, Jack?” Cutler whispered, almost reverently, as he nestled his head in closer to Jack’s neck. They were stretched out together, still naked and damp, the lanky angles of Jack’s body incongruous next to the pale, plump curves of the young noble.
“Plenty of places,” Jack said, absentmindedly stroking the boy’s soft brown curls, tangling one tendril between his fingers.
“Tell me about where you’re going after we make port. Tell me all about Kalikata and Bombay and all those places.”
Jack’s throaty chuckle reverberated in his chest; Cutler smiled to himself as he felt the vibration. “You know more about them than I do, I’m sure.”
“But you’ve been there. I want you to tell me about it.”
Cutler’s eyes closed as he listened to Jack’s lilting voice obligingly describe the exotic ports, the native peoples, the long voyages. He was amazed by the veneration in Jack’s voice as he spoke of his ship, of sailing.
“But it’s just a ship…” he interrupted when Jack began speaking dreamily of the Wench.
“She’s much more than that,” Jack said, furrowing his brow at the boy.
“But how can it be more than a ship?”
Jack couldn’t help but smile. The boy was all reason and logic. If something was not tangible, Cutler didn’t seem to be able to wrap his mind around it. “Can you see the air?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then how do you know it’s there?”
“I…It is there, Jack. Everyone knows that. I breathe it, I…” He cut short as Jack blew gently on the nape of his neck, a small shiver quivering through his body.
“You feel it?” Jack finished for him.
“Precisely.”
“Same thing. I feel freedom on the Wench. I breathe it. She is my air.”
“It’s just a ship,” Cutler repeated stubbornly.
Cutler felt the muscles in Jack’s shoulders and chest ripple as he gave a small shrug. “To you, maybe. But she’s more than that to me.”
Cutler felt a small jealous twinge in his stomach at Jack’s words, though he wasn’t quite sure why. He didn’t know if it was because he envied the sailor or because he wanted to keep him all to himself. His brow furrowed and he pressed himself closer to the hard warmth of Jack’s body. Jack distractedly ran his fingers down the boy’s spine, resting on the soft swell of his buttocks, his fingers tracing indistinguishable patterns on the silken flesh. Cutler quivered at his touch.
“We’ll make a name for ourselves one day,” Jack continued on, his voice soft. “The Wicked Wench and her Captain, the legendary Jack Sparrow.” He ended with such over-elaborated emphasis that Cutler couldn’t contain a small giggle.
“Sparrow,” Cutler snorted. “It’s really such a foolish name.”
“Well, what of yours, Cutler?” Jack shot back, a roguish grin lighting up his face.
Cutler sniffed, a bit indignantly. “Well, that’s a different matter. It is a family name. Besides, only select company may address me as such, whereas everyone calls you Sparrow.”
“Well, Sparrow’s not a family name, as it were,” Jack said. “Started calling myself that when I was twelve.”
Intrigued by the hesitation he detected in Jack’s voice, Cutler propped himself up on one elbow and peered down into the sailor’s face. “Why?”
Jack gave him an enigmatic little grin. “Every man has to make a name for hisself, Cutty.” Cutler pursed his lips in annoyance at Jack’s insistence at calling him Cutty.
“So what was your Christian name?” Cutler pressed.
There was a moment of silence before Jack responded. “Jonathan Teague.”
As soon as he said it, Jack regretted it. He didn’t understand exactly why, but he didn’t want the cherubic boy curled in his arms to know about his sordid beginnings and questionable connections. It wasn’t the danger-he didn’t for one moment think that Cutler would punish him for his objectionable family, but Jack couldn’t quite put a finger on it, on why he felt his face burn hot as he saw the moment of realization flash in Cutler’s grey eyes.
“Teague. Like the pirate?” Cutler breathed. Jack shifted uncomfortably as the pale eyes widened and the plump lips parted in astonishment. Jack gave him a small nod. “You’re the son of a criminal…,” Cutler muttered, his brow furrowing slightly. Immediately, Jack threw the thin sheet off of his body, his lean torso rippling as he started to rise from the small bunk. Cutler’s firm grasp halted him. “I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean anything by it. Truly. I’m just surprised is all.”
The earnestness in the boy’s voice made him pause. With a nondescript noise, Jack settled back down on the bed, draping one tanned arm across his face. Even with his eyes covered, he knew that Cutler was staring intently at him.
“You can see why I felt it was necessary to shed said name-make me more respectable to the likes of you and your father, as it were,” Jack muttered. He did not resist when Cutler gently pulled his arm from his face.
“I’d never find you respectable, Jack, regardless of your surname,” Cutler retorted, his voice husky as he leaned over Jack. “That’s why I allow you unfettered access to my bed…as it were…” Jack pulled a face as Cutler mocked him. Cutler grinned before impetuously kissing him. Jack found himself returning the kiss with as much enthusiasm as it was given. Both men were panting slightly when Cutler finally pulled away. Jack saw the grey eyes were darker with renewed lust. He was momentarily pleased for the distraction, until Cutler’s eyes narrowed. “So what is he like?” he demanded. Jack sighed, resigning himself to defeat-he could tell that Cutler would not let the matter drop until he was satisfied.
“Well, I didn’t see him much, obviously,” Jack muttered. Cutler’s lips pursed at the condescending tone. Jack put his arm around Cutler’s shoulders and pulled him closer. “He’d make port maybe once a year, maybe less, and probably sought out me and my mum half of the time.”
“How long had they been married?”
Jack scoffed at Cutler’s innocence-he had such a sheltered view of the world. “No woman of sense marries a pirate, Cutler. Mum was a diversion in a port-he probably had some poor soul like her at every harbor town. Probably still does, for that matter...”
“Oh,” was Cutler’s soft response. Even without looking, Jack knew that the boy’s eyes had gone wide.
“But when he did come ‘round, he’d always bring me small things, little trinkets and relics from some of the places he’d been. A Turkish coin; a bead from Morocco; worthless little tokens. But, each one had a story and that was the real present. I would sit at his feet and he would tell me of how he came by that little bit of shine. I can still remember the sound of his voice and the way he would laugh at me. And when he was done telling his story, he would just sit there and quietly strum a song on that old guitar of his.” For a long moment, Jack was silent, staring up at the wooden planks overhead, his brow furrowed, lost in thought.
Cutler shifted about impatiently until Jack glanced at him. “Did you always know he was a pirate?”
“I think so, though mum didn’t tell me as much until I was older. I always wanted to leave with him when I was much younger. It seemed like such a better life than the one I was living. But, as I grew up, I realized more of what he was, and though I envied him, I didn’t want to be him.”
“Envied him?” Cutler’s voice was incredulous.
Jack barked out a small, acerbic laugh before replying. “Envied the freedom,” he qualified. “See, he could come and go as he pleased. Saw us when it suited him and always did as he wanted. And whenever things would get hard, or unpleasant, he could just go. Such freedom in that way of life. I think that’s what drew me to the sea. He didn’t have to listen to my little sister cry ‘cause hunger was gnawing away at her and she hadn’t eaten all day or smell the shit in the gutters. He could just get on his ship and sail away from it all, as if none of it existed, and breathe in the sea air and gather his trinkets.” Cutler was taken aback by the hardness of Jack’s voice, the latent bitterness. He opened his mouth to interrupt, but Jack plunged on. “I was eleven last time I saw him; it was an accident. We’d heard he’d made port, but hadn’t seen him. I snuck out that night and went down to the unsavory district by the docks. And I found him there. Drunk and rutting some whore. He didn’t even bother to come see us. And then three months later, my sister died of fever, mum ran off and I found my own freedom. Honest freedom, which was something he never had. I changed me name, got a position on a merchant ship and found myself in India. Haven’t seen him since.”
A heavy silence hung in the room, broken only by the creaking of the ship as she listed gently in the waves. Cutler saw the tightness in Jack’s jaw, and could feel the tenseness of his muscles. He regretted having pressed the matter at all, and struggled desperately to find the words to say, but found himself chewing on his bottom lip, unable to voice the emotions that were racing through his mind.
Jack mistook the silence as disapproval, contempt. He swallowed hard, regretting having said anything at all, much less having prattled on endlessly about things he had not spoken of, or even thought of, for that matter, for some years now. It suddenly felt as a great weight were pressing down on his chest as he lay next to the silent boy. He could not stand it any longer, so he briskly sat up, his face dark.
“Jack,” Cutler whispered, seeing the distraught look on the sailor’s face. Jack met his eyes for a long moment, surprised by the tenderness he thought he saw there. Cutler opened and closed his mouth wordlessly, before biting hard on his bottom lip. Unsure of what to say, he settled on the simplest truth he could voice. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise,” Cutler said earnestly, impetuously grabbing Jack’s hand and squeezing it.
“You’re not afraid that one of the Captains in your Company has piratical leanings? That I might stage a coup and join ranks with my father?” The bitterness in his voice was sharp.
“Don’t be silly,” Cutler admonished him.
“It’s what your father would think.”
“That would be foolish of him. I know you’d do no such thing.”
Jack made to rise from the bed, but a soft, hesitating touch on his arm caused him to pause. He glanced over his shoulder to find Cutler studying him intently.
“I don’t care about your father.” The voice was so low Jack could barely make out the words. “I care about you.”
Before Jack had time to absorb Cutler’s last words, the boy had swept from the bed, speaking rapidly as he retrieved his clothes that were scattered about the room. “Besides, we’re not all destined to become our fathers.”
“You are,” Jack said pointedly.
Jack saw a shadow flash across Cutler’s face. As quickly as he saw it, it was gone. “In title, yes. But I shall be greater than my father ever even dreamed of being.”
A genuine smile parted Jack’s lips. The childish braggadocio reminded him of how delightfully naïve the boy could be. “Aye, that you’ll be, Cutty, love.”
For once, Cutler didn’t scold him for calling him Cutty.