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The humidity.
The humidity was something Jack never got used to when he was confined to nothing but a ragtag bunch of sheets tied together around posts. He could hear the ocean, yes. He could smell the salt air and the smoke of a fire burning low nearby, it was almost pleasant. But there was a constant, maddening sheen of condensation plastered to his forehead, making his skin stick to the itching material of his makeshift bedding.
All that being said, he was sweaty and uncomfortable and very much still awake when he heard it, his fingertips running lazy circles around the circumference of Anne’s shoulder as she slept, gently snoring with her head tucked underneath his chin, her hair sticking to the sweat on his chest. Jack listened, eyes fixed at the gap between sheets near the top of the tent as the murmur of voices grew louder and louder accompanied by a crash and a ripping noise and finally a disgruntled shout of “Oh, for fucks sake!”
“What? What?” he groaned, still staring at the top of the tent as Slade staggered into the tent, his hand clamped around a bloody spot around his upper arm.
“He’s fucking mad, Jack. You need to get a hold of him!”
“Who?” Jack asked. He already knew the answer.
“The Captain!” Another shout echoed through the opening of the tent accompanied by the sick thump of a body hitting sand like dead weight. “Fucking hell, Jack, he’s gonna get us all and himself killed.”
“Fuck’s sake, just go.” Anne murmured against his skin, pushing off of him to roll over, settling deeper into the pile of blankets the two of them were sharing. “Get him to shut the fuck up.”
“Fine.” Jack huffed up at the tent as if someone were up there watching him. Judging him. Making all of this his problem. “Fine. Yes. Fine. I haven’t an earthly idea as to when and why I became Charles Vane’s wet nurse but if a crew of fucking pirates can’t subdue him, by all means let me lead the way.”
He stood, locating his pants and pulling them on, the material sticking to him unpleasantly as he tied the laces. He slid into a shirt and his coat before trudging out of the tent in his bare feet, sand squishing between his toes as he followed the sounds of a scuffle that led straight to a very drunk Captain Charles Vane.
Charles was staggering around, hardly able to keep himself upright, drunk, attempting to spar with any unfortunate soul who came within his field of vision. He drank from the bottle of rum he held in his right hand, clumsily spilling it down his chin, and brandished his cutlass in the other hand, waving it at a very distressed looking young man who had joined up with the crew not long ago.
Jack sighed deeply, before walking over to break up the fight.
“Jack, good Jack is here… this one is refusing to follow his captainssorders ,” Charles slurred, struggling to form a coherent sentence. He waved his blade in the air to demonstrate to Jack his intent.
Jack slowly moved closer to Charles, holding his hands up and smiling cautiously. Charles grinned back, lips wet with drink as he stumbled forward, blade still waving. The young crewman took a cautious step back and widened his eyes at Jack like he was, in fact, in charge of… all of this.
“Tell him.” Charles waved the blade through the newly empty space, just barely catching one foot in front of the other in time to save him tumbling face first into the sand.
“Tell him what, Chas?” Swiftly, Jack took the end of the blade between two fingers and plucked it from Charles' drink-loosened grasp. He shot a very pointed glare at the young crewman who turned tail and all but ran in the opposite direction as soon as Charles started honest to god whining, like a toddler not getting their way.
“Tell him I’m the fucking, god damned captain .” Chas upended the bottle still held in his other hand over his mouth and most of the rest of its contents ended up dribbling past his chin and onto the beach.
“I’m afraid that's just not the case at the moment, darling.” Jack spoke truthfully, keeping his tone as light as possible. It worked. Charles’s eyes shot up to meet Jack’s with a quiet snort of a laugh. He turned the bottle over his face again and grimaced when he found it empty this time. “But we’re working on it, aren’t we?”
Aren’t we , he’s just said. Like he was his goddamn mother.
“No, you’re working on it. I’m just fucking-” before Charles could finish that thought Jack took it upon himself to break this self-righteous bought of pity. He lunged forward to grab a wooden pale of seawater meant to extinguish the fire, almost laughing as Charles drunkenly flailed his arms, preparing for a fight that wasn’t going to come. As quick as he could, Jack upended the bucket of water over Charles’ head, leaving him gasping and sputtering like a freshly caught fish.
“What the fuck?” he shouted, wiping water from his eyes with his thumbs.
“Feel better?” Jack dropped the bucket, cocked his hip to the side and crossed his arms.
“Fuck you, Jack!” Charles attempted to lunge towards him but was wildly unsuccessful. Jack catches him around the middle, using the leverage to drape one of Charles’ arms over his shoulder, the weight of him heavy and warm against his side.
“Alright, bedtime.” Jack says, walking a very stubborn and only very slightly less drunk Charles back to his tent. “Or Anne’ll have my head.”
“We mustn't agitate Miss Bonny,” Charles mocked, in what Jack could only think was supposed to be an impersonation of his voice. He walked the two of them through the entrance of Charles' much more elaborate tent and stood him near the entrance, holding his hands up for just a moment to make sure he wouldn't have to catch him.
“Is that what this is about?” Jack deemed Chas able to stand up on his own. He started tugging at the hem of his soaked shirt, yanking it free from his belt and lifting it over his head, Charles helpfully raising his arms with the motion. He let the shirt fall to the ground with a wet plop. "I'm not giving you enough attention?"
Jack guided him toward the bed, just managing to prop him up with a pillow as he fell backwards into the soft fabrics Charles made the crew lug back and forth from boat to beach and back again. Jack appraised him, taking in the firm, work-hardened lines of Charles' body contrasted with the jewel toned velvets and silks and goose down, embroidered pillows.
“Like what you see?” Jack had let his gaze linger a tad too long and Charles caught his gaze, eyes dark and hungry as he peered up through his lashes.
Jack exhaled, lips pinching and eyes squinting as Charles made a show of flexing his abs. Jack chose to ignore him, shaking his head in favor of rifling through the ornate bedside table. He found, amongst the years of accumulated trinkets and knickknacks, a silver comb, engraved with a decorative floral pattern. Jack rolled his eyes, he had a feeling he knew who Charles stole it from, and the last thing he wanted was to occupy his mind with thoughts of her. Still, he grabbed the thing and sat down next to Charles, who quickly dropped all seductive acts and settled himself with his head draped in Jack’s lap.
Familiar, careful of any nasty snags, Jack started by pressing his fingers deep into the knotted muscles of Charles' broad shoulders. The man let out a noise that sounded much more like a growl than anything else, like a content lion being tended to by his pride. Underneath Jack’s nimble fingers, his muscles started to relax. He pressed his thumb into a particularly hard knot and Charles let out a hiss before deflating, his eyes fluttering shut with relief.
It was these small moments, when Charles dropped his defenses, that made it all worth it in the end. Jack knew that it was hard for Charles to allow himself to relax; it was against his instincts. For some reason, Charles chose him to witness this side of him. It made Jack feel strong, needed, wanted . Charles would never allow another man to touch him without violence, but for Jack he yielded.
Jack continued his gentle massage until Charles’ shoulders were loose and pliable underneath his fingers. He then ran his thumbs over Charles’ forehead, smoothing the lines from his knitted brows in broad, firm swipes.
“You aren’t so bad, are you?” Jack smiled as Charles let out a deep exhale. He suspected that he was the only person on earth ever to see Charles like this; content and comfortable and so near sleep, and it was because of Jack that he was able to let go. It was Jack’s prodding and massaging that had Charles purring with his head in his lap. Charles was a wild creature who bared his throat for Jack, trusting that Jack would only bite down if he asked.
Jack did not take this gift lightly.
Charles mumbled something, stubbornly knocking Jack’s hands away with the back of his wrists, not even bothering to open his eyes.
“Yes, yes. You’re all fight, my darling, I know. So tough.”
Jack gazed down at Charles, a smile tugging at his lips. Swiftly, he started working the braids that had survived Charles’ tirade loose. He began to comb through his soft hair with an agile hand, separating tangles and picking out debris as he loosened all of his hair into a mane spread across his lap.
“Mm.” Charles growled, the ghost of a smile lifting his lips. He wrapped a square hand around Jack’s wrist as he worked, not to control it but just to hold it with a squeeze. “ Jack .” he said, like an affirmation. “Feels…” he drifted off, turning his head so Jack could run the comb along his scalp near his ear.
Jack ignored the fluttering happening behind his chest because it was frankly ridiculous. Charles was drunk, tired, and vulnerable. But he hardly ever said Jack’s name like that. Charles’ hand fell away, settling on his chest as it rose and fell. He sighed as Jack took the pilfered comb and ran it gently through the strands, taking care to comb out every tangle, every spot of dried blood and dirt that matted it together. Jack couldn’t resist sifting through the sleek strands, running them through his fingers and letting them tumble back down feather-light.
The braids had been Jack’s idea in the first place. For their first few months together, Charles’ hair was constantly in his face, blowing in the wind into wild nests of tangles and knots. He wouldn’t hear of a haircut or a ponytail and frankly Jack wouldn’t dream of it. So, instead, he made the suggestion of trying something a little more practical.
I’ve read about the Vikings, He started explaining, his hands raised in defense before he could even make his point. Warrior folk. Ancient. Strong. They wore their hair like this…
Charles had been hesitant at first, fidgeting and flinching as Jack twisted and weaved his hair into an intricate pattern that he’d learned from practicing on his sisters in childhood. When those braids were lost in battle, however, Charles had come to him, asking for them to be replaced, maybe a little tighter this time.
It had become routine. His braids would inevitably unravel, and he would come to Jack at night to fix them. Jack, always attentive, would be ready and waiting with hair oils and combs and his lean fingers to undo them and fix them with a secure, comforting hand. Charles would slump in front of Jack, tense and tight and ready to snap until Jack’s fingers coaxed him into taking one deep breath and then another, until his hair was secured and his anxiety was eased.
Jack hummed, gently, just under his breath as he worked and noticed an almost imperceptible smile curve onto the corner of Charles’ lips. He made quick work of the small braids on the left side of his head. He ran his index finger down the length of one braided close to the scalp before gently rolling Charles’ head over to work on the other side as Charles’ breathing evened into sleep, a pleasant grumbling echoing from deep in his throat as Jack scratched his nails along his scalp.
He allowed Charles to sleep, watching as his eyes fluttered against dreams, fingers twitching from their spot against his heart as Jack hummed and sorted through a few snags towards the ends of Charles’ hair with just his fingers. His legs were fast asleep and tiredness was scratching at his eyelids, sticky with the weight of it.
Carefully, he lifted Charles’ head, uncrossing his legs and moving them over the edge of the bed. He felt a calloused hand wrap around his wrist, pulling him back just as he was about to stand.
“Stay.” Charles murmured, eyes still closed in sleep as, dragging his thumb along the back of Jack’s hand.
“Now, Chas, I’d very much like to get back to my own-” he couldn’t finish his thought before he was being tugged back into the embrace of the expensive fabric and of Charles’ iron grip arms tight around his middle.
“Stay,” Charles said again, gravelly voice pressed in close to Jack’s ear this time, sending a shiver down his spine. He tried shoving at the arms around him but there was no give. His skin was hot, his blood warm with liquor as it beat through his veins, his heart beating quick and even against Jack’s back. Charles threw a leg over his, hooking his knees so that the lines of their bodies were tight against one another.
“Charles, I-”
Charles’ arms constricted around him, squeezing him round the middle for just a moment in an attempt to quiet him. Charles huffed, rolling his eyes one final time before adjusting his arms underneath his head and letting his eyes fall closed.
***
Charles awoke to the wet Caribbean heat and the familiar crash of ocean waves. He stretched, beginning to flutter his eyes open. It was still dark; the campfire outside was now a pit of embers, and it was not yet time for dawn. The heat was strong, heavy and warm and smelled like…
Jack.
Nassau was humid, yes, but what Charles felt now was Jack’s hot breath on his face, steady like the waves outside. The events of the night returned in a haze as he awoke. Too much rum, too much unchanneled frustration within him, pulling his sword to challenge what little remained of his crew…
Fuck, he thought, how much did I fucking drink?
Charles’ eyes adjusted to the light provided only by a lone candle on the table behind Jack. He thought for a moment that Jack looked a bit like a painting, the soft glow illuminating his skin where the darkness did not contour him. Charles was always surprised by Jack. He had never trusted another man to sleep next to him like this; most that would share his bed might still try to slit his throat while he slept. Jack had proven time and time again that he was not only there in moments of carnal abandon, but in moments like last night, when Charles was at his worst, his weakest.
Normally this intimacy would feel troubling, Charles didn’t want anyone to see him so vulnerable. Yet somehow, with Jack, he felt safe letting go. When Jack touched him he felt something… new to him. It wasn’t only in moments of lust either, it was the warmth he felt when Jack touched his shoulder, the shiver that ran down his body when Jack carefully braided his hair. The way Jack’s lips quivered ever so slightly when he looked into his eyes…
Charles felt his cock twitch with longing as he noticed Jack’s lips, flushed pink and parted open as he slept. He was eager to touch him, but allowed himself a moment just to look, before he broke the tableau by reaching his hand out to caress Jack’s face.
Jack stirred, exhaling a soft murmur of contentment. Charles gently moved his hand to trace his neck, then his shoulders, feeling every line and curve.
“Hmm,” Jack stirred, blinking sleepily into the darkness.. “Chas?”
Charles answered by moving his hand down Jack’s slight torso, his fingers landing around his hips. Jack must have removed his shirt before falling asleep, but his belt still held his trousers cinched at the waist. Charles ran a lazy finger just inside the line of his belt.
Jack was wide awake now. Charles looked up from the lines of his hips that looked enticingly sharp in the candlelight, and met his eyes. Jack was gazing intently back at him, with a look that Charles couldn't name but that made him feel warm and wanted.
Charles moved from Jack’s belt to take his hand, gently interlacing their fingers and squeezing softly. Jack exhaled heavily in surprise. Charles didn't make gestures like this often, at least not in a long time. But in this moment it felt obvious, the most intuitive choice he ever made.
Jack leaned in and gently pressed his forehead into Charles’, letting their breath mingle in the narrow space between them. He brought Charles’ hand to his mouth, placing a tender kiss on his skin before gently setting Charles’ hand down on the bed. He ran his hand down Charles’ firm chest, his stomach, down to the buttons on the front of his pants. Charles exhaled heavily, their eyes still locked as Jack unbuttoned his pants and reached in to free his throbbing cock.
“Jack…”
Charles’ breath hitched. He thought he saw a flicker of something in Jack’s eyes when he said his name, but Jack’s hand was firm and determined, and Charles’ thoughts scattered as he thrust into it with urgency.
Jack moved up Charles’ shaft to tease the tip of his cock, pulling the skin back gently and feeling the sticky wetness that was teeming from him. Charles groaned, his cock twitching as Jack teased him with masterful skill, massaging him in the spots that made him feel frantic with need to release.
“Good?” Jack whispered as Charles twitched against his touch, body clenching to press firmer into Jack’s hand. He nodded as Jack twisted his fingers against the tip of his head, smearing the beaded wetness.
“ I want you to come for me, Chas,” Jack whispered, the words spilling from him as he quickened his motions. His eyes burned into Charles, and he firmed up his grip in the way he knew would push him over the edge.
Charles shuddered; he was getting closer and Jack’s eyes on him only intensified the heat that built up with every stroke of his hand. He wanted to let go, but instead of succumbing into his own pleasure, Charles felt an unexpected need to do something that Jack rarely asked him for. He gripped Jack’s wrist and held him still.
“ Jack, wait,” Charles pleaded.
Jack paused, looking puzzled, then surprised, as Charles reached over and began to unbutton his pants. Charles pushed the fabric aside and released Jack’s dripping cock, and took it in his hand.
“Chas, you don’t have to…” Jack was silenced as Charles stroked the wetness over his cock with a rough hand. His eyes closed briefly as Charles gripped him tighter, before opening them again to meet Charles’ gleaming eyes.
“I want you to come for me first.”
Jack was speechless. All he could do was gasp as Charles stroked him faster. Charles chuckled softly, dragging his hand slowly up and down Jack’s cock, luxuriating in each twitch and moan. Jack felt like he could dissolve. There were depths inside Charles’ heart that he would never know, but in this moment he was allowing Jack a glimpse of the deepest parts of him.
Charles pushed his hips into Jack’s hand, snapping him out of his thoughts and back into the bed. Jack, who had abandoned Charles’ cock in the haze of his own pleasure, reasserted his grip, matching his strokes to Charles’. Charles groaned frantically, he was getting close and needed Jack to be on the edge with him.
They were mirror images of each other, for a moment. Their eyes fixed on one another, neither daring to look away for fear of shattering something. Their hands, grasping and jerking and desperate, tried to communicate something to one another that they didn’t know how to say. Their breath mingled together and the sound of their pants and moans pierced the otherwise quiet night, both of them edging closer and closer to the brink.
“Oh f-fuck, Charles, ” Jack spoke first, gasping as the heat that was building in him threatened to bring him to his peak.
This was all Charles needed. He pulsed into Jack’s hand with a roar, his cock spilling in hot waves. He gripped a pillow with his free hand, moaning in a haze of pleasure. Jack pumped at his cock until he was empty and shuddering, making sure that he was satisfied before he stopped. Charles stroked Jack’s cock urgently, maintaining pace despite the convulsions. Feeling Charles come in his hand always gave Jack a rush, and he was so close it felt like time had slowed down to allow him an extra moment in which to enjoy it.
“Jack…” Charles whispered Jack’s name. He would not have been able to name a reason why, except for the fact that he wanted to .
Jack cried out, shockwaves of pleasure overcoming him as he released into Charles’ hand. Jack’s eyes closed in rapture, but Charles kept looking at the subtle movements of his face as he pressed into Charles’ hand for a few final, gasping jerks.
They caught their breath for a moment, feeling simultaneously relieved of a burden, and contentedly full. Normally, this was the part where Jack would get up and grab a cloth to clean them up, but he took a moment longer this time. Neither one of them was ready to break eye contact, to pull away and expose the areas of their bodies that had warmed one another to the elements. Eventually, Charles’ eyes began to close, and Jack got up and returned with a damp cloth he used to clean them up.
Charles couldn’t be sure, but just as sleep finally overtook him, he thought he heard Jack say the word love …
***
Anne awoke alone, her skin too cool and her bed too empty. She ran a hand across the rough bed linens with a frown when she realized her fingers weren’t finding Jack’s radiating heat. The tent was still dark when she opened her eyes, the sun still dipped below the horizon. Jack had left hours ago, and she knew just where to find him.
With a yawn and a back-arching stretch, Anne slid out of her makeshift pallet and slipped into one of Jack’s shirts she fished from off the ground. She shoved her feet into her boots, leaving them unlaced as she trudged across the sand to Charles’ lavish tent, close enough to the water to feel the spray of the seafoam being tossed on shore with the tide.
Quietly, she ducked inside and kicked her boots off again, leaving them in a pile near the entrance as she took in the two sleeping men. Jack’s lanky fingers were knitted into the end of Charles’ hair, and his mouth was slack as he snored. Charles was curled in towards him, one arm slung around Jack’s middle, displaying a lazy confidence even in sleep.
Anne tiptoed across the room, her feet silent against the hard packed ground, before crawling into the narrow space between them, lifting Charles arm and placing it on his side to settle her own over Jack’s bare abdomen.
“Shove over,” she nudged at Charles' hip, and he stirred awake with a sleepy grumble, jerking up onto his elbows with one hand over his hip where his knife would be if he were wearing any clothes. “Blanket. Shh.” Anne muttered, tugging at one of the plush things Charles was rolled on top of. He blinked at her through the darkness for just a moment, brain catching up through the fog of sleep before he lifted his hips and let Anne take the silk. She settled it over Jack’s shoulders, then her own.
“Wouldn’t want to sleep there, if I were you.” Charles let his head fall back onto his pile of pillows with a smirk.
“Slept in worse.” Anne countered.
“If you insist on being here, my darling, you’re going to play nice,” Jack mumbled, his words half heard through the pillow he had his face pressed into.
“Shut up, go to sleep.” Anne settled her cheek into the crook of Jack’s arm and let her eyes fall shut, completely ignoring the weight of Charles’ leg as he threw it over her hip, his own breath evening as he fell back asleep.