Will remembers a time when he would whisper her name like a wish.
He recalls lonely nights, and the weight of his eyelids over dark-bright visions of her. A thousand secret imaginings of long, white limbs and full, soft lips. He's memorized the details. The sound of her voice, the spill of her hair, all of it. A tracery of images, etched upon his mind like a scar.
Will thinks of her now, as he watches Jack stroll along the deck of the Pearl. He remembers her curving grace, and the gentle roll of her hips.
Jack's hips don't roll with his strides. They sway. Like everything about him sways. There's a tipsy, offbeat rhythm to his motions, and it's difficult to follow.
Quite difficult to follow.
But Will tries anyway. He's not sure why. He's swimming in rum right now, and unwanted thoughts are drifting to the surface of his mind. Will is remembering that he is a blacksmith and that his hands are offtimes covered in soot. Will is forming dream-images of Jack. Tanned skin marked with finger-shaped streaks of kohl-black ash.
Will is scared. Scared that he might do...something.
Because right now he wants to feel the itch of Jack's mustache over his lips, and hot breath by his ear murmuring a thousand sketchy promises. Because he wants everything, and too much. Because Jack is walking towards him, and all the rum in the world wouldn't be enough to excuse what Will is about to do.
Will hears words.
Are you alright there, lad?
Jack reaches out a hand in concern. Will grabs it, cradling it between his palms. Soon he is ghosting over Jack's lifeline with his fingertips and saying things he knows he shouldn't. He knows better. But to his utter surprise, the look in Jack's eyes tells him that all this is...acceptable.
There is a short flash of glinting gold grin.
Will hears more words.
We should take this to another part of the ship, savvy?
Will swallows awkwardly, then nods.
He braces himself and stumbles upright.
He forgets all about Elizabeth.
And follows sway.
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