Jack ponders. And comes to an unsurprising conclusion.

Captain Jack Sparrow loved a challenge.

The more difficult the better. If a man said it couldn’t be done, the better yet. And if there was some outlandish (or not so outlandish) legend attached to it you could be certain Jack would look into it. He was never one to turn down a dare, even one mention in jest or in passing. He’d done the impossible and then he’d done it again. He’d been the captain of the most feared ship in the Caribbean, a ship said to have sailed to Hell and back. Jack personally had never seen Hell but was most certainly going to see it one day, so that wasn’t really an issue. He considered it a promise of things to come. He had a crew consisting of a man with more superstitions than sense, a woman with more mood swings than the sea, a few more individuals even more mad or drunk than he, and a parrot, along with a ship as his mistress and a man in his bed. Aye; it was a good life. But even Jack wasn’t mad enough to think it would last. More challenges awaited, and the horizons he had not yet seen clamored for his attention. No, it would not last. But that was the way of things.

It had taken him years to get back the Pearl. Years, more blood than he’d cared to admit, and lots of rum. You’ve no idea how much rum. She’d been worth it. His ship. His freedom. It was a great irony that his freedom came with an anchor, but Jack was a man who understood contradictions. Like Will, for example. Will had been a bundle of anger and resentment, tied up tightly in manners and propriety. But not as tightly tied as Jack had first thought. The real problem had been getting Elizabeth’s hooks out of him. That had proved far more difficult than actually getting Will into his bed. He’d been much more open to the unconventional than one would have thought.

Will was like that. So open and honest you were sure that he was hiding something. But he wasn’t, blast him. He was totally, completely up front with everything. Will was sweat and tanned skin with no scars. Will was brown eyes that could turn colder than a witch’s tit and a heart as soft as butter. Will was a honeyed mouth and callused hands. Will called out Jack’s name each and every time. And when his eyes melted, that too was for Jack. Will was simple, and Will was pliant, and those were things Jack just couldn’t stand for. Simplicity, honesty. And monogamy, as it were. Where was the danger? Where was the adrenaline in things like that? How much less of a pirate could he get?

So he couldn’t quite explain to himself why no one but Will had been in his bed for three months now. If they were out at sea, that would be perfectly understandable. It was not like he was going to invite Gibbs into it, eh? They were not, however, at sea. They were anchored right off Malaki. Malaki was no Tortuga, but neither was it Port Royal. Jack couldn’t have gotten a whore more easily. Frequented a few dozen taverns, gotten into a half-dozen fights, parted with some of his ill-gotten gold, indulged his vices, and committed a few more sins. A day’s work and all that. And instead of being out there like the rest of the crew, he was here. Here being his bed, with Will lying sleepily wrapped around him. Cor, Jack was a ruddy idiot sometimes. And he’d caught himself doing the most half-witted things lately. Gently tracing the cheekbone of Will’s face as he slept, nuzzling his neck, thinking about Will for no particular reason. Those kinds of things.

He slid off the bed, carefully shifting Will’s arm so not to wake him. Jack wasn’t completely dense. He knew what all this meant. He had just never considered that he’d fall in love with Will. He hadn’t ever given his heart to someone else to guard. Because that wasn’t dangerous. That was bloody stupid. And Jack Sparrow – Captain Jack Sparrow– was not a stupid man. Many had called Jack a madman, and it was true indeed. But stupid? There are few people on this earth who can outsmart Jack Sparrow. Provided he’s conscious.

But love. Good God! Love wasn’t... love was... Up until now, freedom had been so intertwined with love that Jack couldn’t tell them apart. And now they were showing themselves as two distinctly different entities and each one was pulling him a different way. Freedom was heading for the hills while love was perfectly content to stay here. Freedom was screaming to dump Will and head into town for the nearest tavern. Love said that the sensible thing to do would be to crawl back into bed.

“Bloody voices...”

He needed some rum.

So? You like?

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