Bound in her Bones for no_confessions
The first time Will sees the angelic features he knows he’s lost. Bright blue eyes sing in unknown tongues to his hypnotised heart, his fingers ache to comb through the golden curls, and his lips hunger to taste soft, red lips.
“His Lordship requires the locket to be ready within a week,” the Admiral’s matter of fact voice cuts through Will’s dazed mind.
“I will need the portrait to stay here while I work,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant even as his fingers are trembling around the miniature.
“That was not our agreement.” James raises his eyebrow in suspicion but Will’s determined look tells him there’s no room for challenge. “You have until the end of the week.”
But Will is barely listening anymore, his soul captured by magical blue.
***
The second time he only gets a glimpse through a veiled carriage and he can’t for the life of him order his feet to stop running. It’s been five days since James had come for the locket and robbed him of his haunting siren. Five days of walking the streets aimlessly, looking for that face, and as many sleepless nights of yearning.
>“Who is she, James,” he had asked, hungry for a name, even the smallest hint, anything. But all he got was a searching, concerned look that made him blush with its intensity and James was gone before Will could think of a way to get the sweet secret out of him.
But now his body is on fire as he’s chasing the carriage through crowded streets, pushing away outraged maids carrying heavy baskets, almost falling over stray dogs or crashing into a group of playing children. He barely registers the angry words thrown after him or the growing heaviness of his own body, slowing down is no option, loosing sight of the angelic creature frightens him more than anything.
After a last long, steep slope that sucks the air out of Will’s lungs the carriage drives through a masterfully crafted, delicate gate and stops in front of a large, grim-looking mansion. Will has heard many rumours about the place and its master but has never seen either so it’s with growing curiosity that he watches a richly dressed man with his head held high and his hands folded behind his back standing in the door, waiting.
To Will’s surprise it’s James who opens the door of the carriage, waiting patiently as a small, delicate hand, hidden in black silk gloves slides into his. Will’s heart beats faster at the first hints of an exquisite dark blue dress and he’s not sure if the tiniest glimpse of a thin ankle wrapped in expensive white stockings is merely the product of his feverish imagination. He almost cries out in disappointment as the face of his dreams he so longs to see is hidden jealously behind a thin veil, as if her heavenly beauty was only meant for one man.
James encouragingly smiles at her as he helps her out of the carriage and then leads her to Beckett who watches with mild interest at best. His cold composure makes Will’s blood boil and he longs to pull her away from the Lord, who’s leading her inside his gloomy, loveless house. Will lets his head fall against the gate with a sigh but James, still standing in front of the house after the Lord has gone inside, notices and walks up to him with fast, angry steps.
“What are you doing here?”
“It’s her, isn’t it? Who is she, James?”
The Admiral’s eyes are dark and furious as he leans close, his voice not more than an angry whisper.
“That’s none of your concern, Will. Forget you ever saw her.”
***
“Where is he?” James asks, not even trying to hide his concern, not in front of Suzanne. She pulls him into a small storage room behind the counter and James breathes in relief as the loud laughter and slurred words of the tavern’s guests dim slightly. Among the countless boxes, bottles and large barrels there’s Will, lying on the dusty floor, sleeping off his drunken haze.
“I’m sorry for your inconvenience, Miss Summers,” James smiles apologetically.
“It was nothing, Admiral,” Suzanne smiles back at him sweetly, tucking the few stray black locks that escaped her loose bun behind her ears. “He’s not half as bad as the rest of them.”
She laughs bitterly but hides her sadness with another smile. She doesn’t belong here, James, like everyone else, knows this, her fine taste and sharp mind are wasted in such a vile place, but her father’s mistrust of women’s knowledge bound her to the family’s tavern years ago.
“Thank you, Miss Summers, he’s… not been himself lately,” James sighs, the innumerable times that he caught Will lurking around the Beckett mansion these past month flashing before his eyes.
“They say he’s become lax in his work,” Suzanne says silently before, in a surge of anger, she adds “And those wretched whores keep boasting about his insatiable hunger for them.”
James blushes and clears his throat in embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” Suzanne hastily says. “I’ve spoken too freely.”
“Not at all.”
“I always do,” she laughs. “Much to my father’s chagrin.”
“On the contrary, Miss Summers, I should imagine any man would be proud of having such a fine daughter.”
“You’re a shameless flatterer, Admiral Norrington, I shall have to be on guard around you,” Suzanne laughs lightly but her eyes shine with warm gratitude. “Is there anything I could do to help?”
“I wish there was,” James smiles sadly as he kneels down to wake Will and help him home.
***
“Do you know him, James?”
“Who?”
“The man who’s following me?”
“You saw him?”
“He’s everywhere I go, of course I saw him.”
“I’m sorry. I’m trying my best to keep him away from you.”
“That’s… not why I’m asking.”
“I know, Mary. That’s why you can never meet. Don’t test our Lord.”
***
Blushing looks over sinful curves of tempting fruit. The soft brush of trembling fingers reaching for the cliché apple. The busy crowd noticing nothing. Her maid’s bored ignorance. The vendor’s conspiratorial grin. No words dare being born but souls connect.
***
The old, callous mansion shivers like waking from a dream to the soft caress of singing. The alien happiness of the voice feels different from the usual painful moans and sobs and the house creaks in surprise, stretching in embarrassment, unsure how to react.
James watches Mary with concern as she arranges freshly plucked flowers in almost never used vases. In other circumstances he’d be overjoyed to see her heart overflow with happiness but under the Lord’s roof anything but mute suffering is looked at with worried suspicion. He’s seen the fire slowly come back to Mary’s eyes, burning its way through her frail body but he’d hoped she’d know how to hide it so that it might go by unnoticed. He should have known better than to hope, the conversation with Mercer still sends chills down James’ spine whenever he remembers the cold look.
“Mary,” he says softly and his heart clenches at the carefree smile on the beautiful face. “It has got to stop. Now.”
***
“Good morning, Mrs Benson, isn’t this a lovely day?” Suzanne’s contagious smile makes the old woman’s tired eyes shine briefly and her heavy grip on her grandson’s arm loosens a bit.
“Good morning, my dear. I’ve been meaning to come and see your father but such vile folk has been frequenting your area recently that I didn’t dare pay you a visit.”
Suzanne’s cheeks flush in embarrassment and she sets her jaw to keep a sharp remark from rolling off her tongue.
“You know it’s not Sue’s fault, Nan,” the young man says, offering Suzanne a sympathetic smile to make up for his grandmother’s rudeness.
“Whoever said it was, Nigel?” she cries a bit too loudly. “It’s all those youngsters and their modern views on courting, you see. Lax morals are the breeding ground for sin.”
Her low, doom-promising voice makes Suzanne’s lips curl in a small, secret smile only meant for Nigel, who grins back at her over his grandmother’s shoulder and rolls his eyes playfully.
“In my time we still knew what was expected of us, you see, my dear. Young ladies knew their place and acted accordingly. But now it’s like all of Port Royal has turned into a house of deviant desires. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Summers?”
“I’m not sure I…” Suzanne presses her lips together for the briefest of moments. “I’m not sure I know enough of the world to form an opinion, Mrs Benson.”
“Nonsense, dear; just look at that young Mr Turner. He’s been behaving in the most outraging manner these past few months. First frequenting houses of ill repute and then inviting seemingly respectable ladies to his home, tarnishing their reputation.”
“That is not Mr Turner’s custom, Mrs Benson,” Suzanne’s voice is too firm and lacking her usual charm to be anything but rude, but the old woman is so wrapped up in her tirade of the end of the world that she doesn’t notice.
“And your establishment, for example. It used to be such a charming, decent little place but now it reeks of the devil’s doing.”
“Nan, I’m sure you’re exaggerating,” Nigel smiles tiredly. “I can assure you, the Persephone’s Eye is still a quite agreeable tavern.”
It’s a lie, of course, Nigel knows it as well as Suzanne but she’s grateful for his efforts nonetheless. But Mrs Benson shakes her head vehemently.
“You, young man wouldn’t see vice in others if it was right in front of your eyes, having enough sins to doom a whole town.”
“Now that, Miss Summers, is true, I’m afraid,” Nigel exclaims in mock seriousness. “Which is why I’m accompanying my grandmother to church, so she could pray for my poor condemned soul. I’m terribly sorry, we must part from your lovely company now, lest we miss our audience with God Almighty.”
Ignoring his grandmother’s outraged gasp at his words Nigel ushers her away with an apologetic smile at Suzanne, who can’t help but shake her head fondly at her friend’s antics.
***
“It’s not your fault, Mary.”
James intended it as a comforting warmth but the words come out as a strangled whisper as Mary presses the wet cloth lightly against his bloody, torn skin.
“It is,” she struggles with tears. “That was meant for me.”
“I was supposed to guard you. I failed. It was a just punishment.”
“How can you say that?” Mary gasps, blue eyes wide with shock.
“Our Lord is infallible, Mary.”
Believing that is the only way he can bear the soft caresses, cruel blows and heartless commands. The only way he can look into the mirror after attending the hanging of a 12 year-old boy.
“If you love him, you have to push him away. For his own safety.” Just like I had to push away Tom. He doesn’t say it but Mary can feel the unspoken regret and longing for a lover he once had to give up.
“How did you survive?” she whispers. Letting her tears flow. For James. For herself. For their lost lives.
“I didn’t.”
***
A slow, wolfish smirk spreads on Mercer’s scarred face at the angry voices seeping out through the cracks in the smithy’s door into the cold, dark night. Ah, trouble in paradise.
“… you have to believe me, Will. You know I love only you.”
“Do I? You always keep me at arm’s length. You never let me hold you. You never tell me anything. I worship the ground you walk on but I don’t get anything in return.”
“You have no idea what I’m risking, do you?”
“Why won’t you leave him then? We could be married. I’ll protect you, Mary.”
“Don’t you understand? He’d come after me. He’d kill us both.”
“Bullshit. He wouldn’t dare. People know me, there would be questions.”
“You really are that naïve, aren’t you, William?”
“Maybe you’re not scared of him but of losing what he can offer you. Comfort, fancy dresses, and ridiculously expensive lockets.”
“You think this is a gift? A treat? It’s a collar, a reminder that he owns me, body and soul. How dare you think I’d choose to stay if I was anything but a slave?”
Suddenly there’s a soft thud against the door - the locket - and Mercer’s grin widens at Mary’s final act of rebellion. He nods his consent to the men and heavy boots violently kick the door open.
***
“How kind of you to finally pay me a visit, Mr Turner.”
The voice is calm and cold, coming from a short, seemingly harmless man standing by the window, looking out into the pitch black. His hard face is reflected in the smooth surface of the glass and the chill it sends through his body makes Will strain in vain against the unyielding grip. He glances at Mary but she doesn’t notice, her face stricken with fear, her pale blue eyes wide with apprehension.
“Let her go, Beckett. I accept the consequences of my actions but leave her out of this.”
“What a gallant knight you’ve found yourself, my dear,” Beckett chuckles and his amusement sends hot waves of anger through Will’s body.
“You don’t own her.”
“I’m afraid, I do.”
Beckett turns around and with a court nod sends his men away. Only Mercer stays, holding Will firmly, just in case. Cold grey eyes are watching Will and Mary, a predator’s last moment of considering the best attack before the fateful jump and the calculating smirk wraps their wildly beating hearts in a cold shroud of fear.
“Where’s James?” Mary asks, desperately trying to sound determined but her voice is thick with worry and cold terror. “What have you done to him?”
“I would worry about my own fate if I were you,” Beckett’s sharp voice cuts through the room and his eyes narrow in annoyance. “You know, I never would have thought you could stoop so low, Mary. Inviting the touch of a common blacksmith.”
A slow smile forms in the corner of his lips seeing Will’s frustrated blush and Mary’s inability to look at the boy.
“You haven’t told him, have you?”
“Please…” Mary gasps, unable to say more, paralyzed by fear.
“Undress.”
The unrelenting crackling of burning wood from the fireplace is the only sound that fills the heavy silence following Beckett’s command. Will tries to free himself from Mercer’s iron grip, though more out of instinct than with any real force, too stunned by Beckett’s words to react. He doesn’t even notice that Mary’s body is shaking with suppressed tears as she shakes her head.
“No.”
It’s barely more than a whisper, more of a plea than actual rebellion but Beckett’s eyes turn diamond sharp. It only takes one look and Mercer kicks Will’s legs, the force sending the boy to his knees, a surprised yelp escaping his lips when blunt fingers tangle in his hair, forcefully yanking his head back as a cold blade is pressed against his neck. Mary’s gasped cry of shock and the desperation on her face hurts Will more than Mercer’s brutal grip and he has to look away in shame as she throws herself on her knees in front of Beckett.
“Please, my Lord.”
Her tears are flowing freely now over her pale cheeks and her whole body is shaking with fear. Beckett looks down at her fragile form, his lips curling with distaste as with two fingers under her chin he forces her to look up, but his features soften ever so slightly as the light of her pale blue eyes washes over him.
“Why did you betray me, Mary?”
He runs his fingers through her golden hair almost gently but with enough force to make her wince in pain as the pins holding up a few thick locks are yanked out.
“Forgive me,” she whispers as lips descend on hers, claiming, torturing, burning but she’s too scared to struggle. “Please,” she gasps, trying to block out the knowledge that Will must be watching them. “Please, my Lord, let him go.”
Beckett pulls back suddenly, gripping her throat in angry violence.
“What?” he growls, ignoring Will’s fruitless struggle to wretch his arms free from Mercer’s grasp.
“Please, I’ll do anything,” Mary pleads, shivering at Beckett’s cold, calculating smirk. He glances at Will and then back at Mary.
“Anything?”
She nods, knowing all too well it might be her death sentence but she can’t bring herself to care as long as it buys Will’s freedom. The cruel glint in Beckett’s eyes gives her hope that whatever torture he’s thinking of might amuse him enough to forget further thoughts of revenge.
“Leave us,” he orders Mercer, who seems to hesitate, weighing up whether Will would be stupid enough to attack his master even knowing there’s no way to escape, but Beckett’s growled >“Now” leaves him no chance but to obey.
Will immediately jumps to his feet when the strong grip on his arm is released but doesn’t move from the spot. He watches with horror as Beckett slightly cocks his head, and Mary, only after a moment’s hesitation, crawls over to him. Will backs away slightly, too stunned to do anything else to voice his protest, but soon his back connects with the wall and there’s no escape. Mary looks up at him with pleading eyes, begging him to accept her sacrifice for his life and he finds himself unable to refuse her.
Her long fingers are fumbling with his breeches for a bit longer than necessary before her shaking hand wraps around Will’s cock. He bites his lips, reluctant to give into pleasure, stubbornly clinging to the illusion that there must be another way to escape the Lord’s wrath. But while his thoughts are running in circles, desperately hoping for a revelation, Mary licks along the length of his shaft and suddenly wraps her lips around him and in his surprise Will is too slow to stifle a gasp of pleasure.
He doesn’t want to think about how experienced Mary is, how familiar she seems to be with this part of the male anatomy but the thought has spread in his mind before he could stop it. He can feel himself harden in her mouth and he has to lean heavily against the wall to take some of the weight off his shaking legs. He looks down at Mary, into her carefully masked blue eyes, and he reaches out to wipe away fresh tears from her cheeks. Soft gasps and moans fly from his lips liberally now and it doesn’t take long to push his inexperienced body close to the edge. But just as he’s about to spill himself into her mouth a sharp command cuts through his dazed mind and Mary pulls away as if whipped.
“Undress.”
Beckett’s face is like a cruel mask painted in the golden glow of the lamp and Will shivers in horror not just in need for release. He knows he should abhor the idea of taking Mary like this, watched, pulled on strings like puppets, and he does, but desire flares in his veins at the thought of being wrapped in her tight wetness. But Mary is shaking, desperately looking for a way out, and Will blushes in shame for wanting her so much that he’d willingly accept Beckett’s cruel games.
“Undress.”
The voice is threatening now, filled with the heavy promise of retribution for disobedience, and Mary reluctantly lifts her hands to open her dress. But Beckett’s patience is a rare commodity in the confines of his private chambers and she’s not fast enough for his taste. Suddenly the walking cane connects with the hard surface of Beckett’s desk, making Mary jump in fear. She lifts her pleading eyes to him but her tears can’t move him now.
“Let me help you,” Will softly whispers, startling Mary even more.
He steps behind her back, as close as he dares, sensing the tenseness of her small body. His inexperienced, rough hands glide over her bare shoulder along the edge of her dress before he slowly but with surprising efficacy frees her of layers of clothing. A short glance at Beckett tells Will his actions amuse the Lord, buying them time, and despite himself he breathes a sigh of relief. But ultimately the last underskirt drops soundlessly to the floor and Will withdraws his eager hands uncertainly.
“Turn around, Mary,” Beckett says in a voice stuck between gentle request and cruel command.
Will can see a shiver run through Mary’s frail body as she turns unbearably slowly to face him. He tries to smile encouragingly at her but it comes out as an awkward twitch at best. Her eyes are strangely empty, her expression guarded as his eyes slowly travel over her flat chest and lower.
Will’s eyebrows furrow in confusion before realization dawns on him and he involuntarily takes a step back, looking at Beckett in horror. A single, broken sob escapes Mary as she tries to cover the frail body of a boy she never wanted to be. A wolfish smirk spreads on Beckett’s mask of a face at Mary’s desperation and Will’s shocked disbelief and he takes his time crossing the room.
“Have you ever seen such perfection, Mr Turner?”
Will knows Beckett is revelling in the way he can’t bring himself to look at Mary but doesn’t care. He feels betrayed, shocked, and revolted - not by Mary but the reaction of his own body. How can desire drain out of his system so quickly? This is still Mary, his Mary, his beautiful angel and his heart knows that but his body can only see another boy and recoils from touch.
“I think you’ve let our friend wait long enough, Mary,” Beckett drawls, eyes sparkling with the sweetest revenge as he leans close to her, lips almost touching.
He leads her to the sofa, hands icy cold and possessive on her naked arm and she doesn’t have the will to resist anymore and pliantly lies down. This seems to please Beckett and his touch is almost gentle as he pushes a golden strand out of her face. His hand is briefly hovering over her flat chest before it glides lower, brushing against her teasingly and it makes her close her eyes as if in pain.
“Shh, I’ll take care of you,” Beckett whispers with a kiss against her collarbone. “We wouldn’t want Mr Turner to cause any lasting damage, would we?”
Will can’t for the life of him decide if the words are born out of genuine caring or utter cruelty, all he knows is that he’d give anything to get out and never return. But he finds he can’t make himself look away as Mary’s pained expression morphs into pleasure under Beckett’s heartless tenderness. Looking at her beautiful face he can almost forget what she is and what she isn’t and he cannot bring himself to let his gaze venture lower. Yet her soft gasps mesmerise him so that he doesn’t even notice when Beckett gets up and only notices his closeness when his words come as soft huffs against his cheek.
“Don’t leave her waiting.”
Will gulps and doesn’t move. But suddenly a cold shiver runs through his body as Beckett pushes a hand in his breeches, coating his half-hard cock with what feels like some kind of oil. Will’s mind recoils from the touch but a tiny wave of excitement curses through his shaft as Beckett squeezes just a bit and frees it from the confines of clothing just as much as needed.
“There’s no need to undress.”
It would be hard to mistake the words for anything but a command and Will obeys despite himself. Mary turns, pushing herself on all fours as he approaches but Beckett seems to have other plans.
“Let him see you.”
His voice whips across Mary’s body, leaving another set on invisible scars on barely healed ones. She turns around again, a blush of embarrassment on her cheeks, and opens her legs as Will leans over her. He can’t completely suppress and involuntary shudder when his member accidentally brushes hers and closes his eyes in shame at her pained sob.
“Come, come, Mr Turner, we don’t have all night.”
Beckett’s impatient voice is embroidered with frustrated anger and he’s watching Will’s hesitant touches with displeasure. But Will is frozen between need, love, and distaste and seems unable to move until Mary, sensing the Lord’s mounting fury, gently closes her pale legs around his waste. This seems to shake him out of his thoughts and guided by her trembling hand slowly pushes into her body. The tight heat makes him moan involuntarily and the sound mixes with the gasp of Mary’s initial discomfort.
It’s awkward at first, clumsy, giving no real pleasure, and Beckett’s loud breathing won’t let them forget where they are even for a second, but then Will shifts a bit and his next hesitant thrust makes Mary cry out into the dark room. The short flicker of reluctant bliss on her face takes him off guard; it sends new waves of pleasure through his body and need into his heart to be the cause of that look again. His thrusts come faster and deeper with every passing second and he ignores the uncomfortable twist in his stomach as he presses closer to Mary’s body, feeling her need against his skin.
A soft brush of his lips against her neck is all the invitation she needs to wrap her arms around him and tighten the grip of her legs around his waist. Their breathing becomes shallow and ragged and every little movement pushes them closer to completion. A single teardrop of bliss slides down Mary’s cheeks and Will leans down to kiss it away just above her jaw but she turns her head and he tastes her lips instead. The kiss is slow and tentative at first but their gasps and moans turn it into a heated dance of tongues.
“Love you… Mary.”
It’s merely a gasp, the words are hardly recognizable but it turns one of Mary’s gasps into a relieved, happy half-laugh. The next powerful thrust makes her cry out her release and clinging to Will more fiercely she pulls him over the edge too and they’re falling together in an impossibly long moment of fleeting completion. They hold onto each other as the last waves of their pleasure wash over them and only reluctantly let reality seep back in.
The first thing Will notices is Beckett’s reflection in Mary’s blue eyes dazed with happiness. The Lord seems to stand much closer than before, breathing heavily with suppressed anger, grey eyes dagger sharp, ready to slice their joined bodies in two.
“Get out,” his silent rage is more frightening than cannon fire would be but they don’t move. “Mercer!”
It’s a loud cry this time and it only takes a second for the faithful servant to march into the room and drag Will away from Mary, who gasps a pleading protest. Will struggles against the unrelenting hold but stands no chance against the other man. And the last thing he sees as he’s forcefully pushed out of the room is Beckett kissing Mary violently as if his lips could mark her as his only.
***
Two days in a cell, waiting for death. Two days of endless fear for Mary. In the end: unexpected freedom on a chilly morning. He runs like the wind back to the house but finds nothing but peaceful slumber. Blinds closed. Doors locked. Hopes killed. And he can’t help but rattle on the gates in fruitless desperation.
“She’s gone, Will.”
James. Bruised. Scarred. Limping. But alive.
“She’s gone.”
Two fateful words echoing in Will’s mind, pushing against the cage of his skull.
She’s gone.