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“Erm, Will? Could you perhaps… not talk about Jack while you’re inside me?”
“Oh. Right, sorry.”
Will Turner tries to refocus on the here and now. He’s meant to be relieving his frustrations, not reveling in them. He returns his hand to his wife’s hipbone and spoons her closer. Sighing, she shifts back to meet his shallow thrusts, reminding him just how good it feels to have literally nothing between them.
Determined to salvage the mood of their lazy morning fuck, Will presses a kiss to her temple and starts to move with intention, and the sound she makes when he delves deeper tells him that all is not lost. And in spite of the complaints he was making just moments ago, Will cannot deny that at times like these, he does have reason to thank Jack Sparrow.
Six months ago, he and Elizabeth were newlyweds without a nest. No threshold to carry her over, no dowry with which to fund their life together, only a creaky boarding room in the middle of a chaotic pirate fortress, with a mountain of nonsensical papers and logs for the new King to sift through. Further complicating things, Elizabeth’s crew voted to return to the South China seas to reclaim Sao Feng’s assets, and she made the tough decision to forfeit that inheritance on the grounds that she did not quite fancy circumnavigating the globe twice in the span of two years. It was just Will and Elizabeth again, not a ship between either of them and nothing to their name but her title and a pair of swords.
So when Jack Sparrow came knocking on their door with news that Mister Gibbs was retiring, Will and Elizabeth gladly accepted posts on the crew of the Black Pearl , as bosun and quartermaster, respectively. Elizabeth was overjoyed to escape the pressure of the Brethren in favor of the sea, and Will was impressed by the estimation of wages that Jack proposed. If they took the sort of hauls that Jack was promising, then Will could buy Elizabeth a modest ship of their own sooner, rather than later.
Oh, and Elizabeth’s rank came with the added bonus of private sleeping quarters, a luxury not afforded to them on their previous travels. They were quick to take advantage of that at their soonest opportunity, and they haven't stopped since.
It’s been wedded bliss so far , Will reminds himself as he nuzzles into Elizabeth’s neck. And it truly has been, when they aren’t focused on work. The first month, they made love in the traditional sense nearly every night, and when that became routine, they did not hesitate to explore new and different ways to wrap each other up in the most divine pleasure. The rocking and rolling of the sea as proved to be a fun addition to their playful romps, and Will has been known to moan euphoric statements such as: I’m the luckiest man in the world, or What did I do to deserve this?, or most often— Fuck, Elizabeth, do that again please.
And they do it all without an ounce of shame or fear of discovery. Initially, Will had blushed at the thought of facing the crew in the morning, acutely aware that everyone certainly knew that their quartermaster and bosun were fucking like rabbits. But that feeling soon evaporated as he came to understand just how freeing life aboard a pirate ship can be. Aside from sailing and taking order, the crew can’t be bothered to care what anyone does with their time aboard the Black Pearl .
Will and Elizabeth are married, properly married , the way they once longed for while stuck in Port Royal, and when Will isn’t enveloped in his duties, he’s enveloped in Elizabeth— body, mind, and soul.
At present, he’s in deep, (literally and metaphorically) and though he cannot see her face, it sounds as if they are both climbing to that splendid peak. His arm, first casually draped over the side of her ribs, is now tensed from the way he’s clutching at the bed frame. She clings desperately to his elbow as he chases his release.
“Elizabeth, I’m—”
Through a gasp, she reminds him to pull out, which contradicts the way she is tightening around him, almost coaxing him to press on, maybe just this once it would be alright…?
Elizabeth seems to know how close he is to doing something he will certainly regret. This happened once before, and the weeks that followed were somewhat tenuous as they waited anxiously to know whether or not there would be consequences that they aren’t exactly ready for. Luck was on their side that time, but perhaps they will not be so lucky a second time.
“Will!”
At the very last instant, he draws back, and then next thing he knows he’s gazing up through half-lidded eyes at an angelic vision he will never get used to.
“Careful, that was close,” she purrs, sweetly stroking his eyebrows, the hair that frames his face, and then his bare chest, still heaving and slick with sweat.
Will cracks a smile, then brings her in for a kiss. His hand slides between her legs as retribution for the crime of neglecting to get her off while he was buried within. She shudders, and he follows familiar paths that make her collapse into his side— a better angle for them both.
It feels wrong to think so, but this… this is becoming a bit routine too. Not that it is boring by any means, just that he knows his way around her body well enough for his thoughts to drift toward the day ahead. Recalling the days prior, he grits his teeth, and every disagreement, petty or otherwise, that he’s had with their captain burns in the forefront of his mind.
“Sorry, am I taking too long?” Elizabeth asks through a shaky breath. She squirms around his fingers.
“Never,” Will assures her, and he truly means it, “I’m in no rush to get out of bed. It’s going to be a long day.”
Elizabeth sighs again and mutters something like, “Don’t start…” but she trails off, her hips lifting just so, her head rolling to the side.
“He’s just so—”
Will cannot tell if the groan that follows is pleasurable or not.
“Infuriating,” Elizabeth cuts him off, and if he isn’t mistaken, she rolls her eyes, “You said that earlier.”
“Yes, exactly. What I don’t understand—”
Elizabeth lets out a hiss, and he mumbles an apology, shifting his fingers back to where they should be.
“What I don’t understand,” he continues, “Is why we let him continue. I mean, we’re the ones that the crew truly respects. We ought to organize a mutiny.”
“No!” Elizabeth shoots upright, utterly appalled. Will isn’t sure whether or not he should retract his hand.
“Why not?”
“How can you say such a thing! Will, that’s perfectly horrible.”
Will sits up with her. His face twists. Are they not on the same page about this? Yesterday evening she seemed quite sympathetic to his complaints about the captain. So much so that she— Oh. Will realizes now that he was being humored, and that there was a reason that she had asked to mount his face…
“You’re not serious, are you?”
“Very serious,” says Will, awkwardly removing his hand from her, “We would be much better off without him.”
“Have you forgotten he is the reason that we’re here in the first place?”
Will attempts to recount any of the myriad reasons he has to resent Captain Sparrow, but for once he goes tongue-tied, realizing that there is not a single complaint of his that she has not already heard.
“He is our friend. You know how dear this ship is to him. Would you really be so cruel as to try to take that from him again?”
And that’s all that is said on the matter. Elizabeth refuses to even entertain the idea, and Will spends the rest of the day seething.
“Something on your mind, William?”
Will looks up from his dinner to find that both the captain and his wife are staring directly at him from across the table. The two of them have been engaged in their own conversation for the past hour, chattering over this and that. They seem to find each other terribly amusing almost all the time, which has begun to irritate Will for no discernible reason.
It cannot be jealousy that he is feeling, for he knows that what he has with his wife is unique and special in its own right. He would not deny her her friendships, or his trust. Yet neither can this feeling be solely rooted in his frequent disagreements with the captain’s decisions. As Elizabeth has pointed out in the past (and Will has begrudgingly agreed) Jack is right as often as he is wrong. Today he was right, and the Pearl is sailing low, burdened by a sizable haul. They're meant to be celebrating over goblets of wine.
But perhaps in spite of everything, Will has grown to hate Jack.
Maybe he hates the arrogance that emanates from his every interaction. Or he might hate the man for his eyes, those dark piercing things that see much more than they let on. It's just likely that he hates the way the pirate speaks— roundabout sentences and conniving half-truths. Does he despise the clever curve of Jack’s mouth, positioned below that handsome mustache?
The other two are still staring. Elizabeth’s concern and Jack’s confusion make Will shift uncomfortably, and he decides to excuse himself from dinner altogether. He is already asleep when Elizabeth comes to join him in bed.
Half a week goes by, and the animosity between the two men continues to simmer above an unseen source of heat. The captain, who until now seemed utterly indifferent to Will’s protestations to his leadership, starts to return Will’s snark. It begins with little remarks here and there, some spoken under his breath, some as direct statements. And Will starts to wonder if Jack is purposely trying to goad him into a fight.
“Watch it,” Will snarls one evening, after Jack has bumped into him while passing over the quarterdeck. Jack raises his hands up in a show of surrender.
“Sorry, mate. Didn’t see you there.”
Will is sure that he detects something tongue-in-cheek about Jack’s response, yet he decides to let it go, for Elizabeth’s sake if nothing else.
But each jolt of sourness between him and Jack builds into an itch he cannot scratch away through pillaging and plundering and sailing. He cannot work it away, he cannot push it from his mind with distractions. Even his marriage bed is not enough to slake the unrest that prickles under his skin. All he can do is steal away for private moments where he will take himself in hand and get himself off like some frustrated teenager. He’s ashamed of it, and it doesn’t fully relieve the itch, but it’s the only way he can stand to put up with Jack.
The following evening, the Black Pearl approaches Nassau, and Will finds himself at odds with Jack once again. The captain is insistent on selling two-thirds of the cargo they picked up. Will tells him that would be foolish— that they ought to keep half the stores of provisions as it will save them money in the long run.
Elizabeth is notably detached from the conversation. She sits at a desk in the captain’s quarters, absently twirling a quill over the open logbook while Will argues with Jack, and though Will can hear her breathe an exasperated sigh, he is incapable of backing down from this fight, no matter how petty or inconsequential this may be.
“Your shortsightedness will be the death of us one day, Sparrow!”
“Mr. Turner—” Jack lays a hand on Will’s shoulder, sending a peculiar prickle down Will’s spine, “How long have you been sailing? ….and how long have I been sailing?”
“That is irrelevant.”
“Will…” Elizabeth softly chides. Will shoots a glance at her, wondering whose side she is on.
“Not quite irrelevant, Mr. Turner,” Jack says patiently, and his hand moves to rest between Will’s shoulder blades, guiding him in the direction of the desk. “Why don’t we ask our dear quartermaster, seeing as it’s her decision after all?”
“Fine,” Will concedes.
“Thank you, Captain.” Elizabeth smiles when they turn to face her, as though she is amused by something that Will cannot see. “I must say that I fail to understand your concern, Mr. Turner. We will do fine with just a fourth of the provisions acquired from our last prize. In fact, I would not expect the half of it to last long enough for us to make use of it all…” She infuses every word of her response with open sympathy for Will, which does begin to douse the flame of anger within him, but the heat remains. He feels it smolder from the base of his throat to the pit of his stomach. “I appreciate that you want to be cautious, but I’m afraid that I am with Captain Sparrow on this one. Just this once.”
“Thank you, Mrs.Turner,” Jack says through a tight-lipped smile. He looks to Will then, lifting his brow as if to innocently ask if they can now proceed below decks to prepare the goods. If it were anyone else to whom he had to admit his fault, Will would have no issue. But this is Jack.
“While I have you both here—” begins Elizabeth, shuffling through some papers on her desk, “I think it may be productive to have a different discussion.”
“A discussion?” Will echoes.
“Yes,” Elizabeth smiles again at them both. Leaning forward on her elbows, she forms a bridge with her fingers upon which to rest her chin, and she tilts her head sideways as she assesses them both. Half a moment passes of just her warm brown eyes. Her gaze is captivating, as always, but Will finds it strange to see such a look from her here. In front of Will and Jack.
“What about?” asks Will. Beside him, Jack rocks forward and back on his heels, his hands folded behind his back in a show of professionalism.
“About you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, William,” Jack contributes, “You.”
“My love,” Elizabeth chooses her words like one might choose which chess piece to move across the board, “Please do not take this the wrong way. But I– we have noticed that you have seemed… out of sorts, of late. Particularly where Captain Sparrow is concerned.”
Will keeps his eyes locked on her, rather than on Sparrow, who continues to sway in his periphery.
“As your quartermaster,” Elizabeth goes on matter–of-factly, “And your wife … I must take it upon myself to mediate any disagreements aboard this ship. The fate of the crew and our earnings is entirely dependent on there being no ill-will between us.”
“I harbor no ill-will,” says Will and in the moment, he truly believes it.
“Then why are you always at Captain Sparrow’s throat?” counters Elizabeth evenly. She inclines her head toward Jack, and though Will refuses to look in that direction, he can imagine the captain’s smudged, round eyes boring into the side of his skull.
Elizabeth waits for an answer that Will cannot come up with. After the way she’s reacted when he’s brought up his opinions on the matter of captaincy, he does not expect her to give him the opportunity to state his thoughts plain. So he chooses to hold his tongue.
“Perhaps I might illuminate—”
Jack is promptly interrupted by Elizabeth, who need only raise her hand to halt him mid-sentence. She does not even glance at Jack. Her attention is fixed solely on Will, and she offers him a warm, patient expression.
“For the sake of efficient communication, I would encourage Mr. Turner to speak freely.”
“In that case, I might remind Mrs. Turner,” replies Will, “That there is nothing I might say on the subject that you have not already heard.”
“Oh? Am I a topic of the happy couple’s pillow talks?” asks Jack.
“Naturally,” says Elizabeth before Will has the chance to refute that assertion. Perhaps she notices that he was about to object, for she adds, “We’ve discussed Captain Sparrow quite a lot as of late. Would you agree with that, Mr. Turner?”
Will wishes that she would address him by his first name– her exaggerated diplomacy is stirring things in him that he would rather not feel in current company, lest things get doubly confusing.
“Elizabeth,” says Jack, his voice a thin whine, “Might we simply—”
But Elizabeth cuts him off again.
“I’m in charge here, thank you, Captain Sparrow.”
Will swallows. He always appreciates the sight of his wife giving orders, and the feeling she inspires is only complimented by her utter disregard for Jack. She must be aware of this– Will can see it in how she looks into him so deeply— the way only a wife can.
“Will,” she says in a voice that makes his knees weak, “For weeks now, you’ve expressed to me your frustrations regarding Captain Sparrow. And I cannot help but wonder from where your frustration originates?”
Both pairs of eyes are locked on Will, who cannot, for the life of him, form an answer.
“Look at him, Will,” Elizabeth orders so gently that Will cannot refuse. Jack is waiting for his gaze with an expression so soft that Will struggles to believe that it could be genuine. Were it not for Elizabeth’s domineering presence guiding this interaction, he would not stand to let Jack look at him that way… as if he is a prize to pursue, a trick to play, a sword to swing...
“Tell me, Will— do you want to fuck him?”
Will feels a rush of panic as he realizes what the honest answer to that question is. He turns to look at his wife, fearful that his obvious desire might be hurting her, only to find that she is appraising them both. Not a hint of jealousy, not a shred of discontent. She wets her lips. Hungry— that’s how Will would describe his wife’s expression. And the corner of Jack’s mouth lifts ever so slightly.
“Because if that is the case,” Elizabeth continues, folding her hands atop the desk, “We can certainly arrange that.”
“It’s in my best interest, mate,” adds Jack, “If you don’t take the edge off soon, I may find myself on the wrong end of your sword. I would rather an alternative solution to our disagreements.”
And that’s how William finds himself in the captain’s chambers, undressing in front of his wife, and Jack. At a respectful distance, Elizabeth perches on the arm of a plush chair angled toward the bed. Chin in her hand, she is the absolute picture of serenity, a victor reveling in her spoils.
“Are you going to watch the entire time?” asks Jack.
“I am here to mediate, after all,” Elizabeth replies, “That is, if that’s alright with Will?”
Will pulls his shirt over his head, and when his face is uncovered again, Elizabeth is looking at him expectantly. Jack looks at him too, in a different fashion. He moves in, placing a hand at the small of Will’s back, turning him away from Elizabeth, and towards the bed.
“What say you, William? Should we banish the monarch from her kingdom?”
“Uh…” Will twists at the waist to lock eyes with his wife. “She stays,” he says, which seems to delight Elizabeth immensely.
“Just as well,” hums Jack, dropping unceremoniously to his knees, “I don’t mind an audience.”
Will’s mouth goes dry. Jack, resting on his heels, blinks up at him. His dark eyes ogle what he’s knelt down to be nearer to, and Will sees Elizabeth’s hunger reflected in Jack. Though Jack’s appetite has gone a step further, into something uncouth.
Will looks to Elizabeth, as though asking for permission for something that she suggested, which makes him feel a bit foolish. She nods, sweet and encouraging. Will feels dizzy. This is something he never would have guessed could coexist with his marriage, but now that the notion has been presented to him, he’s afraid of how badly he wants this.
Jack is fumbling with the fastenings of Will’s britches now, and Will almost stops him, afraid of being seen only half-hard. He wouldn’t want to appear unwilling, he just—
Jack takes all of Will into his mouth at once, and Will realizes that he doesn’t need to worry about that.
The room is quiet at first, with Will too shy to express more than a gasp, Jack with his mouth full, and Elizabeth watching with her tongue between her teeth. Then Jack makes a mumbling sound, adjusting to the swell of Will’s erection, and Will looks up to see Elizabeth on the edge of her seat, wringing her hands as if she’s struggling to keep them still. Will can’t help but smile at her, as captivated by her boldness as she is by the sight of his cock in Jack’s mouth.
Will keeps his composure until Jack takes him into the back of his throat.
“Fuck—”
Jack’s eyes laugh, but he keeps his mouth working a purposefully inconsistent pace, clearly relishing in catching Will off guard. He drags Will against the roof of his mouth, pushes him into the pocket of his cheek, then pulls him past his tongue and into the deeper warmth of his throat— all the while sucking like he’s trying to keep Will’s cock trapped for all eternity.
Will would never admit it, in fact, it feels blasphemous to even think it, but Jack is alarmingly better at this than Elizabeth, who often struggles to take Will even halfway into her mouth without choking. How is it, Will wonders, biting back a groan, that Jack can disappear the full shaft without the slightest gag? It’s almost unnatural. It’s frustrating.
So when Jack bobs forward to swallow him again, Will places a firm hand on the back of Jack’s head and holds him there, out of curiosity more than anything else. Surely he’ll start to twitch. He’ll push back on Will’s grasp and spit him out, coughing or retching… But if such a threshold exists for Jack, Will can’t reach it, and the sensation of stillness, fully enveloped in that pleasurable chamber yet denied its full bliss, is near maddening.
Elizabeth is taken aback as well, notices Will. They share a look. Then, from below, Jack tries talking with his mouth full, producing only thick mumblings. Will thinks this is it, the point where Jack proves that he’s a human person and not some lecherous creature of the deep, intent on sucking the soul out of him. Will takes a handful of unwashed hair and tugs Jack free of his cock.
Jack shifts his jaw left to right, then drags the slobber from his mouth onto the back of his hand. It does not go amiss to Will that while Jack swallows, his dark eyes flicker in the direction of their audience before he looks up at Will.
“I said– Aren’t you going to fuck me?” asks Jack, sliding his fist over Will. He opens his mouth again, positioning himself at the tip of Will’s cock, then takes both his hands and clasps them behind his back. “Go on then, Mr. Turner.”
Will pauses to admire the spectacle that Jack has made of himself. Maybe this was what they both needed— the logical conclusion to weeks of unrest between the two men. And perhaps this could be an ongoing solution, thinks Will as he starts to thrust into Jack’s throat, if Jack continues with his aggravating antics in the weeks following.
The room is no longer silent once Will has started fucking Jack’s mouth in earnest. The noises coming from Jack's mouth are downright lewd, and soon Will is holding either side of Jack's head, desperate groans slipping from as he works his mouth for all its worth. Will’s head tilts back toward the heavens, his eyes scrunch shut, and he really has to focus on avoiding the finish line.
His wife is a saint for suggesting this.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Elizabeth materializes at his back, her arms snaking under his to embrace him, her soft face pressed to his shoulder, her voice silky in his ear. She’s touching him very carefully, so as not to restrict his movements.
“What’s his mouth feel like, Will?”
Will tries to form a sentence once, twice, three times, before he gives into a moan instead, prompting a sweet trickle of laughter over his shoulder, and a trail of open mouth kisses to the back of his neck. He tries to keep his composure, but there’s stars when he closes his eyes, a need to be deeper and deeper, and the sensation that he’s flailing over the edge of divinity. But he isn’t ready to fall just yet.
Will draws back, pulling out of Jack’s mouth with an audible pop . He throbs, his body begging to finish right here and now. Will takes a shaky breath, and looks down at the mess he’s made of Captain Sparrow.
Mouth still ajar, dripping spit and sweat, Jack’s flushed face lifts into a woozy smile, Will swears he hears Elizabeth suppressing a giggle into the side of his neck, and all of the sudden he could care less about the man kneeling at his feet.
“Is something funny, Mrs. Turner?” asks Jack. It’s a marvel that he can still speak, though he is understandably hoarse.
Will can feel her toothy grin grazing his skin. He turns at once, cups the side of her face, and kisses her as if they are alone, as if there is not a shameless voyeur in the room, reaching for the leg of Will’s britches to remind them he’s there, waiting to proceed. But Will isn’t the person to ask. Has Captain Sparrow forgotten who is in charge here?
When they break for air, Will kisses a polite path to the shell of Elizabeth’s ear, and whispers a simple request. Elizabeth shudders, and Will knows the answer already.
“Captain Sparrow,” she says, “I must ask you to give us the room.”
Now it’s Will who wants to laugh at Jack, whose facade slips into genuine confusion. His head tilts, and he looks from Elizabeth to Will, lips parting to question them. Will decides to clear things up for him.
“I’m going to fuck my wife now. You can wait outside.”
Jack blinks and does not move. In fairness, they are in his quarters. But Will doesn’t much care about fairness at the moment. Elizabeth, as if remembering her rank aboard the Black Pearl, steps forward to take the reins on the situation.
“Come now, Jack,” Will hears her say, offering the captain her arm to steady him as he stands, “Remember, patience is a virtue…”
“Banishing from me own chambers... You must see the injustice here, don’t you, Swann?”
Elizabeth clings to the door frame, half-way in and half-way out. She’s much too smug, thinks Jack, though he won’t deny her the power in this affair, nor the glee she’s gleaning from it all.
“Don’t be ungrateful,” she chides.
“Am I to stand by and let you two have all the fun?”
“You’re to stand out here and wait. Whatever you do to occupy yourself in the meantime is entirely up to you.”
Jack shakes his head, surrendering to her infectious grin.
“Remind me how you managed to orchestrate all this?”
Elizabeth bites back a peel of laughter, and from within, Will calls her name.
“Better get in there,” says Jack, “Your husband sounds desperate.”
“Don’t go anywhere?”
“Where else would I be?” he replies.
He folds his hands and gives her an innocent smile. She kisses him on the cheek and disappears into the room. The lock clicks shut.
Jack exhales at last. His legs are still cramped, and his jaw clicks when he opens his mouth. That’s nothing new. What is new is the arrangement being presently drafted between himself and his (allegedly) most loyal crew members. When Elizabeth had first broached the idea to him, it had obviously been appealing, but he’d expected something far more detached. It would merely be a way to let off steam, they had said. Conflict resolution, was the phrase that Elizabeth used.
His back to the locked door, Jack slides down to the floor, listening and waiting. Maybe he ought to be humiliated by this turn of events (and maybe he is), but his saving grace is the knowledge that his very presence was compelling enough to warrant banishment in the first place. They’ve got to be thinking about him right now, or else they would have ignored him completely and started copulating without a second thought.
Is Will thinking of Jack’s mouth as he sinks into Elizabeth? Comparing and contrasting, perhaps?
Jack sighs, tilts his ear against the door, and loosens his britches. So consumed he’s been with the task at hand, he hasn’t taken the time to think about his own needs. And in spite of his generous nature, he does need things for himself. And well, if you want a job done right…
There’s movement from within the room. Have they made it to the bed already? Or did they give up and tumble to the floor? Jack holds his breath as he takes himself in hand, listening for the slightest clue as to what Mr. and Mrs. Turner are up to, not that he has any cause to wonder.
A few moments go by, and then, if he’s not mistaken, Jack hears Will’s name in a lilting, feminine moan. For certain that’s got to be dear Lizzie, unless Will is secretly very self-absorbed. What’s he done to elicit that sound from her? Jack finds it fun to imagine it. Does Will take his time with teasing her, or will he get right to it this time, trusting that Jack’s performance was enough to warm every part of her?
Jack smiles to himself, remembering the keen fascination on Elizabeth’s face as she watched them from her royal perch. She was sitting on her hands by the time Will stopped fucking his mouth. Jack would have laughed at her pink face and wide eyes if he’d had enough air. What a delightfully selfish impulse their king had acted on, persuading her husband to entertain her with their own captain…
Then, a moaning crescendo from the other side of the door. Thereafter follows a rhythmic creaking, and Jack knows that they must be fucking in his bed, atop his sheets.
He picks up the pace, trying to match the sound of his bed rocking. And if he listens closely, he can hear William, too. There is a subtle difference, Jack notices, between the way Will reacted to Jack and the way he is responding now to his wife. Understandable, Jack decides. Those two have been at this with each for far longer. He knows that all too well from sharing a ship with them. The Turners aren’t exactly the quietest pair.
Another crescendo, and Jack is grasping at the base to keep himself together. He forces his hand to slow. Patience is a virtue, according to Elizabeth, and he’s taking that to heart.
Jack rises to his knees to angle himself better, his ear pressed to the keyhole. Evidently things are getting rather heated in his bedroom. For as many time as he’s overheard the Turners’ activities, he’s never stopped to listen this acutely before. Jack wants to think that Elizabeth is being overzealous on account of him, but then again, he can still feel Will’s hands on him, so he must admit that its not at all outside the realm of possibility that she’s forgotten dear old Jack entirely.
“Oh yes! Yes, yes, yes!”
Now they’re just being obnoxious. Jack gnaws on his cheek, thrusting jaggedly into his own hand. His insides twisting, he reaches for the doorknob to brace himself, only to hear it unlock moments later. He scampers backward on his hands and knees, his britches still undone.
“Having fun, Jack?”
Jack peers up at Will through his lashes, limbs shaking as he sits up on his heels. Will slouches against the door frame, wearing that particularly smug look that his wife perfected years ago. That’s about all he’s wearing. Shirtless and sweaty, his trousers hang loose on his hips, held up by just one hand. Jack swallows.
“Not as much fun as you’re having, it would seem.”
Will stoops to his level, takes his jaw in hand, and kisses him on the mouth. Jack’s world goes foggy as Will pulls him to his feet. Their kisses are sloppy, toothy, and desperate, everything Jack enjoys in a lover like Will. And he can feel every inch of Will’s pent up frustration pressing hard against his thigh, so he throws an arm around Turner’s neck like a lovesick lass, and Will takes a fistful of Jack’s shirt so that he can tug him over the threshold.
Jack doesn’t need to be told twice. He stumbles after Will, pausing only to lock the door behind them.
The lanterns have begun to dim, and the air is thick with the perfume of sex. Sprawled sideways across the center of Jack’s bed is Elizabeth, a vision of bliss. She seems to be laying just as Will left her— legs slightly ajar, long waves of sun-kissed hair dusting the floorboards, her bare chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.
As much as Jack would like to admire the lovely vision Will has made of their devious quartermaster, he hasn’t the chance to look for long. The mattress dips, Will all but straddles Jack, and their mouthy scuffle continues.
Given how violently this bed was creaking not so long ago, Jack is impressed at Will’s fervor. The man attacks his scruffy jaw like a dog in heat, grasping at the swollen need in Jack’s trousers like it’s something he’s trying to claim. Jack can’t hold back the whimper that Will elicits as he drags his teeth along Jack’s throat, and as his head falls back onto the sheets, Jack hears a soft gasp that belongs to neither man.
Jack turns his head to the side, and locks eyes with Elizabeth. Her lips are parted, and her hand is buried between her thighs. They share a wicked grin, made one and the same by the heat that shrouds the three of them, by the urges that clouds their senses, by the blacksmith in their bed.
Will‘s mouth reaches Jack’s collarbones and continues downward. Feeling bold, Jack wriggles away, and scoops Elizabeth up into his arm. This wasn’t part of the plan— not something that was discussed as a group, or in private, but Jack kisses her anyways.
Elizabeth returns the favor with reckless abandon. Either she knows something about this arrangement that Jack doesn’t, or she simply could not be bothered to care. She hums into his mouth when he traces her waist, and welcomes the touch of his hand on hers, showing him where his fingers can replace hers.
Behind Jack, Will shifts, and Elizabeth breaks from their kisses, presumably to look at Will over Jack’s shoulder. Into the downward slope of her neck Jack dives, and her whole body seems to whimper.
“Your wife was feeling a bit left out, mate,” Jack tells Will.
In Jack’s arms, Elizabeth shifts forward, prompting Jack to draw back slightly. He turns his head and sees Will kissing Elizabeth’s outstretched hand, then her wrist, and near to her elbow. Satisfied with the dreamy smile on her face, Will releases her hand so that she might fall back into Jack’s arms. Will then looks to Jack, flames of hunger flickering in his eyes against the dim lights. He nods, and Elizabeth speaks up,
“Go on then, Captain Sparrow.”
Her invitation is readily accepted, and moments later, Elizabeth is lounging against the headboard, flushed and anticipatory. Will has Jack in his arms from behind, and Elizabeth marvels at the sight of another man’s stiff cock grasped firmly in her husband’s hand, the way he might grip a sword, or the helm of a ship.
Jack seems to be torn between Will’s merciless stroking and the prospect of burying himself between Elizabeth’s thighs. Selfishly, Elizabeth wishes that Will might let up long enough for Jack to bridge the gap between them. Until then, she takes it upon herself to give them something to look at— easing the ache that’s making her feel lightheaded.
She’s sure that she sees Will’s fist tighten when she slips a finger inside herself. It’s then, when both men become distracted, that Elizabeth remembers she put herself in charge, and can ask for whatever she wants.
“Come here, Jack,” she beckons, feeling less bold than she sounds. Gooseflesh prickles her skin, and she wets her lips before her gaze flickers to Will again, just to make sure he’s still under the same haze of desire that looms heavy over her and Jack.
“Show her what you did to me,” entreats Will, relinquishing Jack, “Or are you only good with a cock in your mouth?”
“I’ll let you be the judge of that,” Jack says pointedly, crawling to Elizabeth. He dips his head to kiss the soft part of her stomach, then the edge of her curls, and then his mouth is on her sex, and the sudden jolt of pleasure is almost blinding.
She tries to curse, but no words come out. The very breath in her lungs is stolen by a teasing flick of Jack’s tongue, and she struggles not to pin him in place with her knees. In fact, she does grasp at him at first, but when Will reaches for Jack’s hips, she realizes Jack needs to be malleable now, if they are to share him.
Elizabeth refrains from grabbing fistfuls of Jack’s hair as Will did earlier, and instead grasps at his bed sheets. Jack knows just the right ways to draw out the throbbing in her cunt, and she almost thrashes, biting the heel of her hand to contain the loudest of her responses.
“Jack–” she hears Will say, and she fears that Jack will stop entirely, but instead he lifts his head only enough to acknowledge Will, and puts his fingers to work in the meantime.
It’s difficult to understand what the men are saying, with how vicious a rhythm is being played on her clit. Her eyes scrunch shut, she gasps, and presses the side of her face into the headboard to steady herself. The bed dips with movement, and she’s vaguely aware that Will has gone to fetch something. Jack mutters an answer to a question from Will and then puts his mouth back where Elizabeth wants it.
All she can think of is how wonderfully they seem to be communicating.
Jack shifts back ever so slightly, for Will has returned to take him by the hips again, and when Elizabeth opens her eyes they are both as naked as she is, which makes her shiver with delight. Will breaks with the intensity for a moment, and smiles at her.
“Elizabeth,” he says, savoring her name on his tongue as though it is him between her legs instead of Jack, “Don’t hold back.”
A whimpering moan escapes her at his encouragement, and she writhes as she watches Will use what he went looking for on the other side of the room. He smothers his fingers with oil from a small bottle, then slicks his own cock before touching Jack somewhere that makes his mouth jolt against Elizabeth.
Elizabeth knows that Will must have slipped at least one finger into Jack, who is perfectly in position with the way he’s folded himself over to lap at Elizabeth. Jack’s movements slow for a moment, Elizabeth hears a muffled groan, and Will’s arm flexes as he feels his way into uncharted territory.
Elizabeth has to wonder what it must feel like for Jack, and this fascination leads her to reach for Jack’s face, allowing him a tender moment of reprieve. He moans into her palm, holding onto her knee for support.
“William,” Jack gasps, “If you’d be so kind…?”
“Not yet,” says Will in a low tone that makes Elizabeth shudder. She watches him shift behind Jack, teasing him. Her breath hitches.
Will looks at Elizabeth over Jack’s shoulder and then mutters in Jack’s ear, just loud enough for Elizabeth to hear too—
“Make her cum first, then you’ll get yours.”
“Fair deal,” Jack huffs. His kohl-rimmed eyes roll up to look at Elizabeth as though she is a means to an end, and she cannot feel anything but understanding, for did she not use him in the same way, to end up here in his bed with her husband?
“Quite fair,” adds Elizabeth, sucking in a breath as Jack skillfully resumes the task at hand. She gives in and takes a handful of his hair, allowing herself to buck up against his mouth, “What a— ahh — productive discussion we’re having. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Turner?”
Will ignores her question to instead press himself against Jack’s back so that he can mutter something else into Jack’s ear. Elizabeth catches parts of it between waves of lightning– something about her ability to form sentences— and then Jack’s efforts increase tenfold, dragging her to the edge and leaving her to dangle.
Soon she is spasming, inching closer and closer to the bliss she needs more than she needs air. The ascent is almost languid, though her every nerve ending sparks in double time, and when she reaches that holy peak (for the second time this evening), she almost goes still for a moment.
In the same instant as he comes up for air, Jack is gasping for it. Will exhales too, and Elizabeth knows he must be making good on his deal with Jack.
Curses fit for a sailor spill from Will’s mouth as he eases into what Elizabeth assumes must be a very tight sheath. She’s watched him do the same to her countless times, but there is something special about seeing him like this from a third perspective. The ecstasy on his face, the subtle trembling of his body as he forces himself to keep a gentle pace. What divine torment it must be, thinks Elizabeth, to ease himself back and in, deeper and deeper, waiting until he can fuck him properly, the way that she knows he wants to.
Jack is back in Elizabeth’s hands again, mewling into her hip. She lifts his head up with a surge of fondness, and smiles at him from the other side of bliss. His brow crinkles, and she wonders if Will is unintentionally hurting him.
“Alright, Jack?” she asks softly. Jack just cozies up to her breast and moans. Elizabeth decides to mediate, just in case. She looks up at Will and says, “More oil, my love… Yes, that’s it.”
Further lubrication seems to be exactly what both men needed, for Will suddenly slides in deeper, and both of them cry out in sweet pleasure. Elizabeth is wet and jealous. Not out of possessiveness, just that she is empty where Jack is full. Perhaps they ought to all three join up. She’s certainly got the stamina for it, and she needn’t bother with oil or those slow, shallow thrusts. She can take Jack into the fold, as it were, right this very instant.
“That all you’ve got, Mr. Turner?” Jack grunts. He reaches for the headboard, hoisting himself up, and Elizabeth takes that opportunity to wrap her hand around the head of his cock. Jack nearly collapses back onto her, for in the same instant, Will makes a sharp move, and Jack is reduced to whimpers.
“Is that enough for you, Captain Sparrow?” Elizabeth asks, moving her thumb in a strategic way that makes him choke on his own spit.
“Are you—” Jack pauses for air, and Elizabeth watches his arms tense above her as he clings desperately to the bed, “Are you offering more, Mrs. Turner?”
Will catches Elizabeth’s eye and grins when he sees where she’s headed. He curls himself over Jack again, a firm, yet familiar embrace.
“Do you want to fuck my wife, Captain Sparrow?”
Seemingly accentuating his question with a long, deep thrust, Will renders Jack momentarily mute. His mouth ajar, and eyes blown wide, Jack gazes blearily down at Elizabeth, as if he wants to be entirely sure that this is something she’s encouraging.
“I think he does,” Elizabeth purrs, reaching up to cradle Jack’s scruffy jaw again. He does more than lean into her touch, nuzzling into her palm like a needy tomcat, and gasping for breath. With a smile, she cranes her neck to look at Will again, silently urging him to slow down for just a moment, just long enough for Jack to—
The trio moans in tandem as Jack sinks effortlessly into Elizabeth.
For her part, Elizabeth no longer needs to chase another finish, seeing as she’s gotten twice as many orgasms as the others. She lets Jack simply bury his cock in her at first, watching him struggle to form a thought while pinned between both Turners. And then Will starts to move again, each heavy thrust pushing Jack deeper into Elizabeth’s ready cunt.
Elizabeth clings to Jack with one arm and reaches for Will with the other. She wants to feel them both, wants to keep Jack ensnared in their intertwined limbs. The world moves slow save for them three, panting and clinging and rutting desperately against one another. Will fucks into Jack, who fucks into Elizabeth, who fucks back on them both. She’s vaguely aware of her thighs starting to cramp, but she thrusts up to meet their movement each time.
It could be minutes, or it might be hours. All that matters is that delightful pressure, the shallow strokes of her whimpering captain and the bosun behind him who makes it so. Elizabeth urges him on, pulsing around Jack at the thought him taking Will to the hilt, moaning his name, begging for more.
Then, all at once, Will cries out and Jack flops forward, catching himself on the pillows so that he doesn’t land directly atop Elizabeth. Will has got Jack pinned nearly face-down, and Elizabeth has an unobstructed view of him as he fucks through his orgasm. She holds Jack to her and he keens in her ear as Will presses oh-so-deep to spill himself inside Jack. The sounds of it all drags Elizabeth to the edge a third time, and she doesn’t stop to think of what she might cause Jack to do by grinding and squeezing his sensitive cock to the very limit.
But Will regains his senses quicker, and when Elizabeth opens her eyes again, Will is yanking Jack off of her, so that he can kiss him on the mouth as he strokes him off to his well-earned finish.
Captain, Quartermaster, and Bosun lay in the captain’s bed, all weary limbs and sweaty skin, reveling in that post-orgasm glow. Jack fetches something to drink, and pours his rum gently into Will’s waiting mouth, then offers it to Elizabeth, who is quick to cozy herself into the crook of her husband’s arm post-coitus. Jack takes a long drink, then mimics Elizabeth’s affections on Will’s other side.
For a brief moment, Elizabeth worries that Will might rebuff Jack, now that the fun is over the the desires have been sated. Then she scolds herself for thinking such a thing of Will, for he wraps his arm around Jack much the same as he has Elizabeth.
“Well, Mrs. Turner?” asks Jack, peering at her from across Will’s bare chest.
“Well what , Captain Sparrow?”
“What’s your read on the situation?”
Elizabeth gives a questioning hum in response, her eyes half-lidded. Will laughs softly and starts to smooth out her hair.
“Is it not your job to facilitate a discussion between myself and Mr. Turner?”
“Oh. Yes,” murmurs Elizabeth, “Yes, that’s right…”
“And?” adds Will, “Have we resolved our conflicts? Or is further… mediation … required?”
“I suppose that will depend on the two of you,” says Elizabeth, “Though I believe that good communication is the foundation of any relationship– professional or otherwise— so perhaps it would be in all of our best interests to reconvene for further discussion at a later date…”