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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Will/Elizabeth, Jack/Jacques/José Gaspar/James
Feedback: What worked for you, what didn't, etc.
Disclaimer: PotC characters belong elsewhere. José is historical, but this is my own fleshed-out idea of him. Likewise, Jacques is my version of the Anti-Jack (name is fanon, however).
Summary: Loosely-connected introduction to the main plot. Think of these as the opening illustrations in a book of stories.
Notes: José Gaspar=Antonio Banderas, and Jacques is my version of the Anti-Jack. Crossover with Once Upon a Time in Mexico.
***
Will came stumbling out of the cabin, rubbing at his eyes and calling for rum. Despite his obvious desperation for liquid numbness, it still took two sailors to pin him down and Anamaria's post-Christmas glare to get the alcohol actually down his throat, but after that, he seemed to calm.
"What happened?" Gibbs asked as he shouldered his way through the murmuring onlookers.
"Jack…he's…haybale…skin all over…"
"He's buggerin' straw?" Ready and willing to knock some sense back into her captain, Anamaria started to roll up her sleeves. Before she could do anything, however, Will lunged up from the deck and caught her wrist.
"No. It's not that…it's just…" The first mate furiously shook his head, then dragged her over to the open doorway of the captain's cabin. He refused to look in himself, but instead waved a limp hand at her. Mostly pirate now, the boy was, but he still had the oddest moments of prudery. Anamaria rolled her eyes, sure that she could no longer be shocked by anything, and took a peek.
Writhing patches of gold skin, slicked over with sun. Sweat dripping into moan-wide mouths, and then the faces came into view. Anamaria's heart bounced with her jerk backwards. "How're they…that shouldn' be possible. 'S like starin' in a magic mirror."
"Most likely what he did," Will muttered in a dire voice. His jaw firmed. "Anamaria. You're going to hide your voudoun, and never, ever let Jack near it again."
"Aye, sir."
***
Two Hours Later
"So he called you up? Doesn't that make you a spirit?"
Jacques smiled lazily from his slump across the rumpled bed. "Non. I am a man, same as you. But I am also a…how do you say…familiar? I have ties, I have obligations to Jack."
Will's brow wrinkled. "Like a slave?"
Twisted wheat flipped about as Jacques shook his head, teeth gleaming from beneath his quirked lips. "But I enjoy this, m'sieur."
***
Two Weeks Later
"Anamaria! What did I tell you?"
"Shuddup, Turner." A menacing sulk sprawled Anamaria out in the rope coil, and a hefty rum bottle accompanied her slow descent. "I did hide 'em, all right? Don' know as how Jack found m'voudoun bits."
"I-" Will's shoulders slumped "-sorry. It actually seems like he can do it without those, now. Something to do with whatever Jacques is." He stalked up and down the Pearl's deck as he spoke, then came to a sudden halt and gestured at the Dauntless, which was anchored nearby. "But how are we going to explain why we need their commodore for the next month or so?"
"We ain'. I talked t'Jack, an' he said it's taken care of. Jus' goin' t'take a bit t'kick in. So Gibbs sent over some rum t'tide 'em over till then." Anamaria raised her bottle in an ironic toast and swigged it.
"Oh. I see." Sarcasm plastered itself over Will's face as he sat down next to her. "We drink them under."
"Captain's orders." Will dropped his head into his hands and emitted something like a cross between a stepped-on cat and a foghorn. Anamaria stared, then passed over the rum "Here. Y'need this more'n I do."
He grumpily took the bottle and drained a fourth of it. "What I need," Will said in a frustrated voice, "Is for Elizabeth to come back from visiting her London relatives. Or for them to stop being so damn loud."
"Trousers feelin' th'strain, are they?" Anamaria smirked.
A shout went up from the lookout, drowning out Will's indignant reply. "Ship's coming!"
Will and Anamaria glared over the railing; if it wasn't the Flying Dutchman herself, it couldn't come anywhere near to what they already had on board. She snorted. "The Floridablanca. José Gaspar's."
"Hell. Get me drunk, Anamaria."
***
"Holy…Jack, that is entirely…entirely…" The word was right there, teetering on the tip of James' tongue. And then a kiss sucked it clear out of his mouth. James knew something wasn't quite right with this-
The blond-Jacques?-finished licking up licking up the liquid amber trickling down a very-disheveled commodore's chest, then leaned over James to share a rum-steeped kiss with Jack that scorched down his throat and stoked the fire in his belly. It also cleared out whatever remnants of reason still clung to the inside of his too-small skull, and somehow he was certain that had been the precise effect for which Jack had planned. "You're right. He does wriggle très beau," murmured a low, sweetly rasping voice.
"Tol' you, mate." Jack sucked some more rum off the flush heating up the hollows of James' throat. "An' just wait. José should be 'long presently."
"José?"
"José Gaspar." Jack shrugged and sloshed more rum over James, then considerately pulled more of the uniform off so as it wouldn't be dirtied. "Fine Spanish gent'man of th'brotherhood. Very knowledgeable, he is. Believe y'll like him."
"But-" James started to object.
Blinking, Jack stared at the puddles of liquid bliss in a way that made James shiver. "Damnation. Can't have all that rum goin' t'waste."
And then he and Jacques promptly sent James back to white-hot heaven.
***
Unfortunately, before they could proceed much beyond the full removal of clothing, a slightly-flushed Will came in and flourished with his arms. "Gentleman, Captain José Gaspar wishes to pay his respects."
Immediately afterward, a fiercely handsome Spaniard strolled in, took one look at the bed, and then doffed his hat with a look of indulgent impatience. "Sparrow, I thought we agreed to only call each other in this manner if a matter of utmost importance came up."
"Oh, but we are." Not bothering to get up, Jack reached out an arm and groped about for something. Rolling his eyes, Will tossed his captain the nearest tin of salve and stalked out in search of alcohol. Or Gaspar's first mate-or first wife; the introductions had been a little confusing-a small but buxom mestizo that was quite friendly. And sympathetic. And friendly.
Within the cabin, José carefully shut the door, then stripped off his coat and sword, whose jeweled hilt caught Jacques' gaze. "A fine blade, m'sieur."
"A fine eye, Señor." Amusement and something else growing on his face as he observed James' gasping and arching, Gaspar perched on the edge of the bed and examined Jacques' hair beads. And then Jacques' tattoos, which José lightly traced with one nail. "Who would you be, then?"
Jacques shivered and twisted about to pick at the other man's laces, which slowly but surely came undone. "Merely a misfortunate gentleman who stumbled across some strange events, and whose path finally led him to this kind captain."
"Much as I'm likin' it, stop wi' th'flatterin' an' help a bit," Jack broke in while trying to wrestle a completely incoherent and boneless James up for the proper angle. Sighing in a very Gallic fashion, Jacques turned back and propped up James' hips so Jack could push in. "Ah, God. Merci, gracias, as y'will…"
"I suppose business can wait," José mock-grumbled as he hastily peeled off the rest of his clothing and crawled all the way onto the bed. Jacques latched onto his mouth, and the two spent an enjoyable moment tasting each other. Rather rudely interrupted by James' flailing arm, which whacked José in the head. "Maldición!"
Jacques flopped backwards to land besides the writhing commodore, who twisted about as far as he could and gave José a heartfelt apology. Which the Spaniard enthusiastically accepted even as he skimmed his hand across Jack's heaving back to retrieve the salve and start applying it to Jacques. Who squirmed like a ten-years-trained Barbados whore, only without the raddled face and bad temper. And with considerably more appealingly golden skin. The glimmer and flash caught Jack's peripheral vision, so of course he leaned over and lapped at the salty droplets. Teeth grazed down the side of his neck to press to his shoulderblades, and then José backed off just long enough to sink into Jacques. Whose eyes rolled up to the whites.
"Jack?" the other pirate panted, rocking furiously as Jacques stumbled across James' mouth with his own. "Why didn't the Navy ship fire on me?"
"Magic, my friend. Called them, too-" a high, desperate keen from James drowned out the rest of Jack's explanation. Swearing violently, Jack stiffened along with the commodore, then slumped against José. Nipped absently under the other captain's chin while Jacques squalled like a wildcat and writhed, tearing a rasping shout from José.
They all subsided into a sodden heap of limbs, hopelessly tangled with each other and with the fine silk blankets, now strained and stressed beyond recovery.
James lifted a bleary head. "Did someone yell?"
A tanned and beringed hand gently pushed him back down onto Jacques' exploring lips. "That'd be Will," Jack muttered. "Nothin' t'worry over."
"Mi Dios." José smirked into Jack's ribs. "And Carolina. She can have a bit of a temper. My apologies in advance."
"What, y'think m'first mate doesn' have more sense'n that? An' he's a very devout husband," Jack retorted indignantly, planting hands on Jacques' and James' hips, which trembled. Gaspar simply smiled, satisfied feline permeating his entire posture. Comprehension dawned, and Jack returned the grin. "Ah. Bad form t'compare women t'each other." He cocked his head at the bodies lying before him, which were slowly beginning to signs of life. "So…who's goin' where, this time 'round?"
***
Three Hours After That
"William Turner! I go to England for a few months and what do you-oh. Oh. Good Lord."
Being closest to the top, Jacques got the first look. His eyebrows shot up in an approving manner. "Une très belle fille. Would this be the mysterious Mrs. Turner?"
"Yes, I would be…" Elizabeth said faintly, furiously fanning herself as she struggled to make sense of the sight before her. Twined limbs and sweat-shimmering skin and masses of hair. Gold hair, black hair, brown-brown? Not Will's shade, but--"Commodore Norrington?"
"Oh, he's down there somewhere." Jack's unmistakable tangle of ornamented hair emerged from beneath a stomach that appeared to be very nicely flat and firm. "Sleepin' right now, so I'm hopin' y'don' have any 'mediate need t'talk t'him."
"Ah…"
A third head slid up, Spanish and dark and gorgeous. "Pleased to finally meet you, Mrs. Turner. Your husband is a…" eyes languidly skimming over her, deepening her flush "…very lucky man."
Will. Yes. She'd come here because she'd seen that Spanish woman, and then Gibbs had told her this was where-"
"Elizabeth, thank God," panted her husband's voice, and before she knew quite what was happening, a hot mouth had descended on her own, and desperate, clever hands were hiking up her skirts. She fervently returned the greeting, tossing that useless fan over one shoulder, and tumbled them to the floor.
"Seems we're rather inspirational," José drawled as he leaned over for a better view. "Hmm. Jack, I do believe we could improve on that one, yes?"
"Have t'say I agree." Jack slung an arm over Jacques' shoulders, then stroked his hand down to cup one well-rounded buttock when the other man protested. "Might need some rope t'manage it on th'bed, though."
"Wait, wait." Jacques wriggled, trying to get away, but only managed to press himself into José's wandering hands. "I would adore to, but I need time to-"
"Just relax, mate." Licking a long trail from Jacques' ear to his pulsepoint, Jack ran soothing hands over the-well, the body certainly was willing enough-"We'll be doin' all th'work."
***
And One Hour Later
Elizabeth tentatively brushed a few locks off the stubbled cheek. "Still not awake. I fear he'll sleep through lunch."
"He can always make up time later," Will whispered, nuzzling her ear. "Besides, it's probably better if he sleeps till Barbados, at least."
Twisted gold braids dropped into view in front of the both of them. Lazy as any fed cat, Jacques sprawled out over James' slumbering form, grinning up at the curious couple. "Oui, m'sieur Turner. We also will need time to figure out how one is to explain the changes to the good commodore."
"Changes?" Eyebrow arching high, Elizabeth closely regarded the Frenchman. "What changes?"
"Er…" Will fiddled with his fingers, then visibly screwed up his courage. "Remember when we were all in a ghost story? Well, now it'd appear we've fallen into a fairytale."
"Oh?" Sunlight slipped off one of Elizabeth's shoulders as she turned to her husband. "Norrington as the sleeping beauty? Then I suppose Jack would be both prince and enchanter, and José his faithful comrade-in-mischief. But where, pray tell, would we fall in?"
Jacques' smile only grew as he edged nearer to the other two, hands toying with Elizabeth's lace, with Will's buttons. "Why, les bons fairies, of course."
***