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Convenient Distractions

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Jack recognized the look on his Captain's face. He had no idea what Eleanor Guthrie had done this time, and by this point he wasn't sure he cared. He trusted that if it had any relevance towards their operations Charles would make him aware of it. For now, he sat down, sighing inwardly as he accepted the glass of rum Charles wordlessly nudged towards him.

A couple of hours later saw them stumbling towards Charles' tent, Charles leaning heavily on Jack's shoulder. Just as they got inside, Jack lost his balance, nearly falling. He caught himself against the pole on one side of the tent. Charles swayed into him, their bodies pressing together. He instinctively tried to step back but there was nowhere to go. He was about to say... something, God knows what, because the words died in his throat as he took in a look he'd never seen on Charles Vane's face before. At least not directed at him. He must have had far more to drink than he could recall, because there was no way Charles fucking Vane could possibly be looking at him with desire in his eyes.

Charles' eyes were piercing, steadily holding his gaze as he slid a hand under his coat and settled it on his waist. Jack started at the unexpected touch. He could feel the warmth even through the material of his shirt. He couldn't speak, couldn't think of anything to say even if he could. His hands reflexively flew to Charles' shoulders and rested there awkwardly, unsure if they should push him away or draw him closer. Charles slowly leant forward. Jack's breath caught in his throat. He pressed his lips against his jaw, then trailed across to his neck. Alright, he definitely had to be having some kind of hallucination, because Charles Vane was nuzzling at his throat and there is no world in which that makes sense.

He stood frozen, his mind spinning wildly as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Charles had never - to his knowledge anyway - fucked men. He couldn't begin to imagine what ulterior purpose this could serve, but there must be some reason. Almost certainly to do with Eleanor. But why this, why now, what was he actually planning to do, what the fuck?

Charles' hips rocked forward against his. He drew in a sharp breath. Well. Regardless of motivation, there definitely was an erection digging into his stomach.

"I can feel you thinking Jack. Stop it." Charles ordered.

He pressed a thigh between Jack's and he reflexively ground up against it. He belatedly realised his own cock had begun to take an interest in the proceedings. Jack had never felt any particularly strong draw towards his own sex before, but still, he had to admit Charles Vane was a strikingly attractive man.

... who could probably fuck half the people on this island without much effort, so why the fuck did he want Jack? He knew he was unlikely to get a clear answer. His Captain was not a man of many words.

Before he could gather his thoughts and demand an explanation as to what the fuck was going on - fuck it was difficult to think coherently with the way Charles was grinding against him - Charles cupped the back of his head and drew him into a kiss. He tasted of rum and tobacco smoke and his lips were softer than Jack would have imagined, had he ever imagined anything like this. Against all reason, Jack couldn't help but respond, if somewhat tentatively.

When they broke apart, Jack managed to stammer out, "Captain... N-not that I'm necessarily complaining... but if you wouldn't mind... explaining... what- um-" he trailed off.

'the fuck you think you're doing, you fucking lunatic,' he finished mentally.

He'd indulged many a ridiculous whim of Charles Vane's over the years, but this would have to win first prize. It suddenly hit Jack that he had more or less already made up his mind to allow this, even though he felt terribly confused and out of his depth.

"I just need to get her out of my head." Charles answered, voice even lower than usual. His jaw was set and his eyes were glinting with something unreadable. Anger? Sadness? Both? Something else?

Jack had figured that was the reason for this... unusual behaviour, but he still couldn't fathom why the fuck Charles' first instinct was to turn to him. His voice cracked slightly as he tentatively replied, "Well... there's a whole brothel full of whores who are, I'm sure, much better suited to the task than I."

"If that's what I wanted right now, that's were I'd be. I've made it clear what I want. So make up your fucking mind about what you want. Though I suspect you already have, or you wouldn't still be here."

Well. That still wasn't a fucking answer, but it was obviously the closest thing he was going to get. And it he could hardly deny the accuracy of Charles' supposition. Jack nearly laughed at the absurdity of the whole situation. He'd likely never understand Charles Vane as long as he fucking lived. There were a thousand reasons why this was an inadvisable course of action. For a start, he really had no idea what the fuck he was doing. He had no experience in this area, save for the once or twice he'd fooled around with another boy in his youth. He wasn't at all sure if that was adequate preparation for what Charles might expect from him.

But his mind was too foggy from the rum he shouldn't have drunk to keep arguing with his cock, which was enjoying the warm pressure of Charles' thigh against it, the hands that had slid under his shirt and the brush of lips and teeth at his throat.

And, if he was honest with himself, as much as he was at loathe to acknowledge it, there was a small part of him that craved Charles' approval so much that it was grateful to have this opportunity to please him, no matter what he wanted.

Oh, fuck it. He tangled a hand through the other man's hair and leaned up to kiss him again. Charles responded immediately and fiercely, wrapping a strong arm around his waist and dragging him closer, plunging his tongue into his mouth, nipping sharply at his lower lip. He could hardly draw a full breath between almost savage kisses. His back was against the tent-pole, and he was crushed tightly against Charles' broad chest. He could feel the hard, thick line of Charles' cock against his hip.

He felt a flutter in his stomach that was part arousal and part fear. He trusted that Charles wouldn't hurt him - trusted him within reason. Only a fool would let himself forget what a dangerous and unpredictable man he was, and Jack Rackham was no fool.

He pulled away, panting. Charles immediately moved the other side of his neck, licking and biting. It would be sure to leave marks - marks that would necessitate an explanation to Anne. Brilliant. What a fun conversation to look forward to...

"Just so we're on the same page... before this goes any further," Jack began, trying to keep his tone light, but Charles probably noticed the tremor of worry in his voice anyway. "I hope you haven't got any ideas about fucking me... because I don't think I'm nearly drunk enough for that."

"Christ, do you ever shut up?" Charles growled. "All I want is to get off and you are a convenient distraction. But if you're going to make such a goddamn fuss-"

"Alright, alright, sorry. I'll shut up."

Charles loosened his grip, his movements becoming... not exactly gentle, but less rough. He cupped his face and kissed him again, surprisingly sweetly, which mostly allayed his concerns. Then he slid a hand down Jack's body to his groin and rubbed and squeezed him through his trousers until he was panting and arching against his hand.

"Ready to stop overthinking every fucking thing yet?" Charles asked mockingly.

"Ahh, dammit, yes." Jack hissed, reaching for Charles' trousers and beginning to undo them.

Charles did the same and after a minute of fumbling, they succeeded in getting them open. Charles' hand closed around him and began stroking. It felt different to his own; larger and more calloused. Unfamiliar, but good. He hissed softly and let his head fall onto Charles' shoulder, inhaling the scent of sea and sweat and smoke. He reached out to stroke Charles' cock in turn. He felt more than heard the answering moan. He turned his head and nipped at the cord of Charles' throat, tasting salt. Charles' other hand came up to slide through his hair. He tugged at it firmly, nails scraping his scalp and Jack shivered.

"God, Chas," he murmured against the damp, heated skin.

He had started to relax into the situation, the little voice telling him what a god-awful idea this was growing quieter and quieter, drowned out by pleasure and need. Somehow his whole body felt more sensitive than usual, his arousal heightened... it was probably a combination of the alcohol and the rush of indulging in something so forbidden - God, if the crew were to find out about this, what a fucking mess... but he found himself caring less and less about nebulous consequences by the second, eagerly responding to Charles' touch. 

Charles paused for second to spit in his palm and then continued. Jack whined softly. Yes, that was much better. He mirrored the action, the hot flesh sliding more easily through his fist now. Their movements sped up. He was spiraling quickly towards release, and guessed Charles was too from the way his breathing grew increasingly rapid and uneven. Before long, the tension coiled in his body reached its limit and snapped in a hot rush of pleasure. He slumped against the other man, burying his moans into his shirt as he worked him through his climax.

After taking a few moments to recover his wits, he resumed stroking the cock in his hand. Feeling the hot, panted breaths against his neck and the fingers tightening painfully in his hair he knew Charles was close. Just a few more strokes with a brush of his thumb over the leaking head pushed him over the edge, spilling hot and wet between them with a harsh groan.

They leaned against each other as they caught their breath. Charles pulled away first, moving back a couple of steps. He found a rag and they quickly wiped themselves clean. As the post-orgasmic haze faded away, reality crept back in, uninvited.

Jack's mind raced as they silently set their clothes to rights, wondering what effect this might have on their relationship - professionally, or personally. Did Charles ever want this to happen again? If he did, would he want more next time? Or were they going to pretend it had never happened? Shit, he had no fucking idea which of these options he even wanted himself. And what the fuck was he going to say to Anne...

"Good night, Jack."

Charles' voice cut through his thoughts. Right. Obviously they weren't going to discuss this. Obviously Jack was going to be left to tie himself in knots trying to figure this shit out, whilst Charles was probably going to fall asleep without a second thought, the bastard.

He turned and left without another word. After a minute he stopped and took a deep breath, the cool, salty air clearing his head. It almost seemed as if he must have dreamt what had just transpired. But no - he could feel the breeze on his neck, cold where saliva had not quite dried, and the slight ache of the bruises that were in the process of forming. He tugged at his collar, even as he knew it wouldn't cover them.

He felt as if everyone on the beach was staring at him, knowing exactly what he'd just done. As irrational as it was, he made an effort to look natural - even though it probably had the opposite effect, as he headed... fuck. Somewhere. Anywhere that wasn't his and Anne's tent. He didn't feel ready to face her yet, not until he formulated exactly how he was going to phrase it.

He turned and headed back to the tavern he'd just left. He needed another fucking drink.