Fic: The Wailing Walls - A Ghost's Story
Chapter 2 - Fog Bound
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Jack Sparrow woke at dawn, as was his custom, and untangled himself from his lover, only to find dawn’s arrival to be not quite according to plan. In its place was a day shrouded in thick sea fog, blanketing the town and harbor, wrapping its tendrils around the boarding house, enveloping them in a cocoon of gray dampness. There’d be no weighing anchor in this weather, not with the treacherous rocks guarding the mouth of the harbor. Not much left to do then, but return to bed, and the slumbering delights within. Not particularly anything to lament on…
Upon turning to trod back to the warmth of the bed, Jack was trapped by the sight of Will Turner turning languidly in his sleep. It so happened, that as the young man lay on his back, the sheet they’d pulled on for cover, crazed every dip and dingle of the man’s anatomy for Jack to ogle.
There, in the midst of it all, was the center of Jack’s suddenly flaring interest, innocently raising a bump in the linen, completely unaware of the effect it had on the onlooker.
Jack’s brow lifted to an enchanted bow, lips quirking into a delighted grin, while his feet took him towards the enticing mound on their own accord.
Careful not to stir the slumbering man, Jack climbed on the bed, raising the sheet corner enough to duck his head under it with a devilish smirk.
In the misty morning, very little light got through the fabric. In the following darkness, Jack closed on his prey with mere instinct.
Belaying the urge to run his hands along Will’s thighs and up his sides while inhaling his scent deeply, Jack chose a more practical approach, and paused to tie his beard braids into a knot.
Mindful of the risk of either getting a knee jerked into his breast plate, or indeed finding himself sprawled on the floor in the firm grip of a startled Will, Jack still couldn’t resist; Determining the correct bearings by the slight shift of the cloth he was half under, Jack licked his lips, bracketed Will’s hips with his arms and rose to the heels of his hands.
With a smooth bend of a head and a slick slide, Will’s morning erection was safely imprisoned in heat of Jack’s mouth, and when Jack pulled back and sucked around the crown, his tongue dipping into the slit on the head, Will woke up with a loud gasp and a moan.
Will’s hand shot instantly under the covers, and grabbed a fistful of the mane of Jack’s hair while he bucked his hips upwards, halting Jack to stay still.
“Christ, Jack you‘re…”
Jack could but whimper in response around the cockhead, feeling more needy by the second, and victorious for his plan being a glorious success, as Will rapidly lost all coherence, and wantonly fucked Jack’s mouth with small, provoking thrusts.
Satisfied with the turn of events, Jack leaned to one elbow and let his hands do exactly what they’d craved for only a moment earlier. Finally, as if predetermined, his fingers brushed through the wiry hair of Will‘s sack tenderly.
Knowing the effects his makework would have on the young man, Jack shifted to place an arm across Will’s hip, and nudged his head to shake Will‘s grip, briefly regretting the loss of Will’s fingers against his scalp. Jack’s sorrow was soon pushed aside, as the broad palm traveled over Jack’s back in circles, stroking along his side and down, finding Jack‘s ardent opinion on just how much he enjoyed himself.
Groaning throatily, licking a long swipe along Will’s shaft as the rough-skinned hand encircled his cock, Jack continued his explorations of the southern regions of Will.
Will spread his legs wider as Jack’s fingers prodded the responsive skin behind his sack with slow, gentle strokes, while the divinity of Jack’s mouth slid along the stiffness and his palm cradled the ballocks.
Encouraged by Will’s touch on his back, together with Will’s other hand coming up to bury in his hair, Jack pressed harder, sucked harder, and was gratified with the throb and pulse of Will’s cock against his lips, the sweetly sour taste of Will seeping on his tongue, and the anticipated reflex of Will trying to get in deeper.
Drawing long, harsh, anxious breaths, Will abruptly pulled the sheet aside and tugged Jack by his upper arms desirously, forcing Jack to leave his ministrations.
Beatifically breathless, Jack sat back on his haunches, hand stroking Will’s thigh soothingly, eyes almost black with arousal, his face shining with sheer ravishment, and when his gaze met Will‘s, he lunged into a kiss with a predatory growl.
Legs tangling, hips grinding for the perfect alignment, hands searching, finding, needing, the two men panted into each other’s mouths greedily, far beyond words, their world consisting of only them and their thirst for each other.
Lifting against Jack anxiously, Will edged his large hand between them, his gaze smouldering when Jack gave him room with his head thrown back as Will’s hand closed around his prick again.
“Yes, please, yes, do that.” Jack begged, fucking into the hand, bringing his own to press Will’s cock against his own, overwhelmed with the lust for this, his balls drawing up with the sounds of Will‘s grateful “Oh, God, Jack…so close.”
“Come on darling,” Jack’s mouth found patches of skin to suck in between his feverish words. “Come on, come for me.”
The palpable promise of finding the keys to the Gates of Heaven together with Will made Jack hold back just a little longer,
“Take me with you Will…”
“Jack, oh, ahhh.”
Will’s back arched involuntarily, tempestuous, harsh pulses coursing through him, wave after wave, his hold on Jack gripping tighter, but it was his voice that drew Jack along; the unbitted, free way Will beckoned Jack to join him, to fall from the razor’s edge of despair and fulfillment, and onto the arms of love. “Oh, Will, Will!”
La petit mort, the French had seen fit to call the state of beatitude which rushed through the men, they’re pleasure overlapping one another and over, onto the brief passage of time, the blink that stretches into moments of joy and sincerity, naked, bare to all the world, where within has epiphanies, and truths, and answers been discovered throughout the centuries.
Breathing into each other’s open mouths, Jack pressing his forehead to Will‘s, stealing light brushes of kisses from Will‘s lips, they were slowly born again.
“Mmmm, that was…” Will sighed.
“…perfect awakening, aye, the best of mornings to you Sir.” Jack murmured through his smile, winking at Will while lifting his drenched hand to his lips for a taste.
Will wrapped his arms around Jack and hugged him tightly, sighing contentedly against the crook of Jack neck; “Good morning, birdie.” After a moment or two of lingering in the embrace, and discreet wiping of hands to the sheets, Jack pecked a kiss to Will’s cheek and got onto his elbows.
Eyes shining brightly, Jack wrapped a lock of Will‘s hair around his finger and tugged gently. “Now, as much as I love having you for breakfast,” he paused for another peck, “I could still use something I can actually bite into.”
“Well you can’t go anywhere looking like that, you look ridiculous.” Will smirked, giving a meaningful look somewhere to the direction of his shoulder, where there was a tell-tale mark of Jack’s passion, and reached for the knotted beard braids and nimbly let them loose.
Jack glanced down, trying to see his own chin. “Didn’t want to tickle.”
Will felt a ripple of pure happiness in his heart, when he gazed up into Jack’s earnest eyes smiling at him, and chuckled. “You still did.”
“And perhaps that’s what you tried to tell me earlier?” Jack grinned wickedly.
“No, I believe the word I was looking for was ‘insane.’”
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The proprietor was waiting in the entry hall when they descended the stairs, wringing his hands and looking dreadfully worried.
“You are still here,” he squeaked.
“Of course we are still here. Where else would we be?” Jack said cheerfully, fishing in his pocket for a coin. “We would like to thank you for your hospitality. And reserve a room for the remainder of our time ashore.”
The old man looked in astonishment at them. “You did not hear her?”
Jack grinned. “Who? The wailing one? We heard her. Persistent little bugger, isn’t she?”
“And yet you wish to remain.” The man shook his grizzled head. “Haven’t had a customer stay the night since I bought the place, let alone return for another.” He pocketed the coins. “I shall make sure all is to your satisfaction before I leave you tonight.”
“Leave?” Will furrowed his brow.
The innkeeper nodded. “I do not dare spend the night. I have my own cottage down the lane. I will see that you have all you need before retiring.”
“All the better!” Jack grinned widely at Will. “No worries, mate. We’ll keep your bonny ghost entertained.”
Will choked, covering it with a cough. Regaining his composure he asked, “You mentioned you knew who she was. Did she once live here?”
“She did. Her name was Maria. Maria Hallet.” The elderly man shook his head sadly. “She crossed the threshold as a bride, only to take her own life on her wedding night.” The man hastily crossed himself.
“Seems a rather gruesome history for a boarding house,” Jack observed, glancing around at the tarnish grandeur of a once majestic dwelling. “This was before all that, I gather?”
“I don’t know much more, the house had been converted long before I arrived. Should never have come to this cursed place,” he muttered. “Nothing but bad luck I’ve had.”
“You mentioned she married Bellamy. Was this his house?” Jack asked nonchalantly, as if discussing the weather.
The old man shook his head. “No. I hear this was after Bellamy died at sea. The locals would know more. You might try one of the taverns along the wharf, if you’re interested.”
Jack shrugged. “Not so much interested as curious. Well, we’ve business to attend to, and won’t trouble you further. We will see you when we return this evening.”
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They made their way through the silent streets, towards one of the dockside taverns the proprietor had mentioned. The cobblestones were slick with moisture, the town shrouded in a thick layer of gray mist, dampness seeping through, and dripping from the dilapidated buildings that lined the streets. Jack pulled up the collar of his coat to combat the moisture dripping off his hat, droplets of water fringing his beard and brow.
“According to local legend, the unfortunate woman that wailed so charmingly last night was once the daughter of a prominent merchant.” Jack paused, pointing a finger at Will and grinning broadly. “Not that she had anything on you, luv. Yours was quite the delight to hear.”
Will grinned self-consciously and made to hush Jack.
Jack instead opened wide his arms and announced to the empty streets, “Whut? Is there something wrong with pleasure being expressed so pleasantly?”
“Jack, please.”
Jack slumped his shoulders. “Fine. T’will be our secret. Well, unless you count the ghost lass knowing as well.”
The two men continued making their way down the empty street. Devoid of the usual hustle and bustle of commerce, the silent shops and boarded windows bespoke of a town long deserted, the desolate few remaining shops crowding the narrow streets along the wharf. Once a thriving seaside village, the decline of the local mills and plantations had driven all but the most tenacious of settlers elsewhere.
“What happened to her?” Will picked up the thread of conversation as they skirted a large puddle in front of a boarded up bakery.
“She died.” Jack stopped to peer through the mist at the weathered sign above their head. “Rumor has it she was murdered.”
Will gave Jack a startled look. “I thought the inn keeper said she killed herself.”
“Of course he would say that. Wouldn’t want to scare away any prospective guests by the mention of murder most foul.” Jack sighed, feigning grave disappointment and wrapping an arm around Will‘s shoulders. “Really, William. I worry about you sometimes.”
The two men traversed several more blocks in pondering silence as they both went through what little information they had, before Jack stopped abruptly, halting Will with a hand to his chest and pointed at the sign creaking in the fitful breeze.
The Cock and Bull.
Unlike the other establishments along the cobbled street, this one was not boarded up, a faint glimmer of light trickled out from the grimy multipaned windows. With a grin, Jack gestured magnanimously for Will to precede him, causing Will to glare back and stick his tongue out at Jack as they ducked their heads and entered.
The tavern’s lantern-lit interior and blazing fireplace was a welcome respite from the fog-shrouded world beyond its thick walls. Shaking off the moisture clinging to their coats, the two men glanced at the patrons scattered around the low-beamed room, sturdy figures hunched over pints of nut-brown ale. Their eyes followed the two strangers as they made their way to the worn oak bar, Jack signaling the barkeep over with a smile and a handful of coins.
“A plate of your finest stew and a pint of ale of the both of us, if you please, sir.”
The bartender eyed them suspiciously. “You’re not from around here,” he observed in a dour voice.
“You are as astute as you are cordial,” Jack said with a brief smile. “A man that might know a bit more about the local legends than that old codger we spoke to last night.”
The man scrutinized Jack, apparently not sure whether he’d been insulted or complimented. He finally settled on the latter and relaxed slightly. “You mean ol’ Pete?” He laughed. “Wouldn’t believe half of what he tells you. The old salt’ as crazy as a loon.”
“He mentioned some strange going ons up at Drax House.” Jack took a long swallow of ale and wiped him mouth with his sleeve, nodding appreciatively. “Fine brew. You make it yourself?”
“No, buy it from Tom McNally, over at the Crown and Thorn. Has a cellar full.”
Jack took another sip and smiled. “We might need t’ see this McNally, could use a few barrels for me ship.”
The bartender relaxed, as the topic switched to where local wares might be procured. After several suggestions, including the best location to obtain the island’s finest rum, the conversation led back into the realm of the supernatural.
“Used to be the best rum came off of the Drax plantation. Back when Henry Drax were still alive.” The bartender, whose name turned out to be Ned, had joined Jack and Will for a pint or two, in between serving customers.
“What happened?” Will asked curiously.
The bartender shook his head. “See, when Henry Drax died, he passed on Drax Hall to his sister’s son, Thomas Sheterden, on one condition. That he change his name to Henry Drax.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s peculiar.”
“Not as peculiar as some of the going-ons reported happenin’up there.” The bartender shook his head and lowered his voice. “Nothin’ but ruins now, but to this day there ain’t a man in this village’ll go near the place.” He stood up abruptly. “I don’t want t’ be sounding like that crazy coot, Pete, but I’ll tell you gents, there’s been more than a few souls who traveled to Drax Hall and ne’er returned.”
As Ned excused himself to his duties, Jack turned to Will conspiratorially and whispered close to his ear; “Now, keep your wits sharp, luv, there might be something there.” A quick glance around the surroundings, and Jack caught a nip and a lick on Will’s earlobe, and retreated with a happy grin. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” The words laced with innuendo, Jack took his ale and smiled in welcome as the barkeep returned.
“Not sure what you gents are looking for, but there’s a lass that works at the Crown and Thorn that knows more about the Drax place than I do. Her grandma used to work for old Henry Drax, before he died. Just ask for Nellie.” He leaned down and said in a low voice, “Rumor is she fled for her life when the new Henry Drax took over the place.” Straightening, he wiped the table and added, “You see, some say there weren’t no nephew, and that old Henry himself had returned from the grave."
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