Disclaimer – Ultimately, Disney owns them. Terry Rossio and Ted Elliot got the screen credit for creating them although Jay Wolpert and Stuart Beattie also had a hand in, Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom gave them life, and Jerry Bruckheimer had the brains to sit back and let talented people do what they do best. I appreciate that in a man, I truly do.

Pairing -- Will/Jack

Rating – NC17 (There, see, I told you they'd get down to it eventually.)

Otherstuff – Canonically, it was night then it was morning. Something had to have happened during the intervening hours. No goats were harmed in the writing of this story but I'm afraid I can't promise that all the chickens survived without injury. In a blatant attempt to garner more feedback, I suggest that, for a deeper enjoyment, of this piece you first read HELM'S A LEE and SAVE THE LAST DANCE which not only sets up Will's attraction to Jack and but also throws around a number of nifty nautical terms like ratlines and bowsprit.

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TAKE WHAT YOU CAN By Teand

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"Take what you can!"

"Give nothing back!"

The sound of two tankards hitting the table, a pair of stools shoved back, and then Gibbs was at Will's side, heavy hand closed around his arm just above the elbow, face in close to make himself heard above the noise in the tavern.

"Try to keep him out of trouble, eh boy. It'd make my job a damned sight easier if he's still standing come morning."

Twisting around, Will looked past Gibbs to Jack currently emptying a conveniently unattended tankard belonging to a very small man nearly buried under the skirts of a very large whore. "I'll do what I can," he murmured unable to prevent a small smile, "but you know Jack." When he looked back at Gibbs it was to find the older man staring at him with something very like sympathy. "What?"

"Nothing. Nothing 'tal." A deep, almost resigned sigh and the hand that had been gripping his elbow, patted him softly on the upper arm. "Good luck, lad."

Wondering just what exactly Gibbs was sounding resigned about, Will watched him weave an expert path through the chaos that filled the main room of the tavern and disappear out into the night.

"And what pray did our Mister Gibbs say to make you so thoughtful, then?"

No mistaking Jack's voice, or for that matter the heat of Jack's breath against his ear. "He wants me to keep you out of trouble."

"Think you're man enough for the job?" Jack sounded more curious than put out so Will answered the question honestly.

"No."

"Smart lad. Now…" Jack's hand closed around Will's arm in the exact spot Gibb's had only Gibb's grip had never caused his skin to flush or his heart to pound. "…I think it's time we found ourselves a more congenial tavern. There's about to be a fight."

That bit of calmly offered information had Will searching Jack's face. Just how much had the other man drank? There'd been at least three continuing fights since they'd arrived – not always the same three but definitely continuing. He ducked as a chair leg whistled past. Four fights at the moment. When he said as much to Jack, the pirate flashed a golden grin.

"Aye, but this fight's going to get ugly." He bounced a heavy purse on his palm – a purse Will had never seen before – and raised a dark brow. "Savvy?"

As Jack started for the door, Will followed close on his heels, shaking his head and marveling at how out of control his boring, tied-to-the-anvil life had become since he'd first laid eyes on Captain Jack Sparrow. And at how very right he'd been in assuming he didn't have a hope in Hell of keeping the other man out of trouble – although technically this was trouble he'd gotten into before Gibbs had actually left.

Only two whores, three pirates, and a confused goat stood between them and the door when an inarticulate bellow raised the rafters round about the spot they'd just vacated.

"Don't run," Jack advised as Will began to speed up. "He'll be likely then to think it was us."

"It was us." Will pushed past the goat, the soles of his shoes squelching against the tavern floor. He supposed squelching was better than sticking. "Or you at least!"

"Aye, true enough, but One Ball doesn't know that, does he?"

"SPARROW!"

"I think he's figured it out!" Hand on his sword hilt, Will had started to turn back into the tavern when Jack's hand on the small of his back propelled him out into the street.

"Keep moving. There's a time for fighting and a time for…"

"Running?" Will snapped derisively. He'd never run from a fight in his life.

"Say more a time for not fighting, as it were. One Ball's on the large side of bloody huge and I swear I once saw him take out a shark bare handed, all by his oneses – although the shark did manage to get one good bite in…" Jack's fingers opened and closed in front of his crotch and the two men shuddered together. "Plus he's down right cranky – due to that whole one ball thing, if you catch my drift."

That Jack was drifting seemed to be a given in Will's experience. "If he's all that, then why did you steal his purse?"

"SPARROW!"

Somewhere in the crowd, the goat bleated an unhappy protest.

Jack grinned and shrugged. "It was there, mate."

Will briefly contemplated throwing Jack back into the tavern and One Ball's rough justice but he had more or less given his word to Gibbs so instead he grabbed the pirate's coat and began dragging him toward the harbor. "Come on then!"

"Not that way." Jack dug in his heels and spun them both around. "That's the way they'll expect us to run."

"They?"

"Even a chap like One Ball's got cronies don't he? Now, I have to say, I didn't see the whole crew of the Cat in there but I definitely saw Half-hitch and Pegged Pete. That's six pistols between them, minimum, and one of them might just be drunk enough actually hit something."

Given One Ball and the shark, Will was curious about how Pegged Pete had gotten his nickname but their pursuers had gotten past the goat and were spilling out of the tavern so he saved his breath for sprinting after Jack who, in spite of all the rum he'd managed to consume that evening, was still remarkably fleet of foot.

Jack leapt over a body in the gutter, dodged the contents of a chamber pot pouring down from above, and ducked into the angled space between two buildings. With the roar of pursuit growing louder behind him, Will followed. Shoulders scraping rough wood on both sides, he stepped on what felt like a dead rat, leapt forward and bounced off Jack's back.

"Do we make our stand here?" Eyes watering from the stink, he shifted around to face the way they'd come. "It's not a bad spot; they'd have to come at us one at a time."

"Aye, and cut us off on the other side. Not to mention shoot us where we stand. I told boy – a time for not fighting!" Hat off, he cocked his head. "Now if you could just keep your lips locked for a minute…"

"What do you hear?"

"What part of locked lips," Jack sighed, under the sound of boots against cobbles, "did you not understand then?"

Will's response was lost as Jack grabbed his arm and jerked him back into a run.

"SPARROW!"

Left turn. Right turn. Two left. Across what might have been another alley or what might be in Tortuga a main street. Will was completely lost in the maze of dirt and whores and drunken pirates and… chickens?

"Where did these chickens come from?"

"That would be from eggs, I imagine." Jack flashed him a grin as he ducked around a stack of barrels. "But chickens roost at night!"

"Not in Tortuga, mate!" The announcement came with a wink and leer. "I think we've…"

"SPARROW!"

"Bugger it!"

The next alley was wide enough for the moonlight to quite clearly show the back of the building that blocked their way. Dead end. As Jack stared at the rough wood wall, lips moving as he touched each of the vertical planks in turn, Will reached for his sword. He could hear the sound of pursuit but the indignant squawking of the chickens made it difficult to get a sure count of the number of men involved. "If we can keep from getting shot and then keep the wall at our backs, we've a good chance to…"

Jack spun him around and shoved him toward a dark space behind an angled board. "Get in."

"What?"

"Will lad, just this once, I'm all but begging you to trust me."

For a change, trusting Jack wasn't the issue. The space was… well, a little on the small side. Before he could decide on a course of action, Jack's hand slid behind his belt and he found himself jerked forward and unceremoniously shoved into the hole. Before he could protest, Jack was in there with him and the board dropped back into place.

"Wha…" Fingers laid across his mouth cut off the question. From the sound of things, One Ball and his men had just entered the alley.

Rough wood pressed hard against his back, Jack Sparrow pressed hard against his front, Will fought to control his breathing fully aware that it wasn't the threat of imminent death that had his heart pounding like the canons of Port Royale. Or it wasn't only the threat of imminent death anyway.

The space inside the wall would have been snug for one man. For two it should have been impossible. Face to face, so close that the edge of Jack's tricorn rose up over Will's head, there wasn't an inch of Will's body not in contact with Jack's. Legs, chests, bellies… God save him… He felt himself harden and knew he hadn't a hope of Jack not having felt it too.

As One Ball bellowed out in the alley, Jack shifted position, canting his hips slightly to the left, a heated ridge of flesh dragging over Will's groin. Will flushed, tried to bite his lower lip, and realized Jack's fingers were still over his mouth. Hardly aware of what he was doing, he snaked out his tongue and licked the rough skin. Jack's fingers tasted of rum and smoke and salt and when Jack shifted a second time the movement held a certain desperation.

So prompted, Will licked the fingers again.

The fingers moved but only as far as the back of Will's neck, where they slid over sweat damped skin, curved and clung.

Their breathing shared a rhythm now, chests rising and falling together. The air between them grew heated and Will wished he could see Jack's face. And then again maybe it was better he couldn't. Maybe it was better just to slip his hands under the wide skirts of Jack's coat, to close them around lean hips, to pull the other man impossibly closer still, to find that lying, laughing mouth in the darkness and close his over it.

Jack's fingers tightened on his neck and Jack's lips parted, inviting exploration – no, demanding exploration as with an impatient whuff of breath, he sucked Will's tongue into his mouth.

Fine. If that was the way he wanted it. These swords were more flexible, the dance wet and carnal, and Will had no intention of allowing Jack breath enough to ask him if he'd yield. A bit of teeth now and Jack's free hand up under his shirt, ragged nails dragging lines of not quite pain. Still too much cloth for him to get to Jack, too much for him to actually lay his hands on that heated gleaming skin. Knew he was gripping too hard. Didn't care. So close now they were one flesh not two… except Will was very aware of one bit of flesh most definitely his own and the pressure, the heat, the… Jack against it was driving him mad. He had to move.

There wasn't room.

It didn't matter.

Whimpering low in his throat, trying to swallow the sound, Will worked his groin against Jack's, moving as much as their confined space allowed. Then driven by a growing need, moving a little more. Not enough! Thrusting blindly in the darkness.

Wood cracked, splintered, and they were falling. Jack's forehead smacked him in the nose as they hit the packed dirt of the alley. As Jack grunted a protest, Will rolled off, eyes watering, both hands clamped to his face.

He heard Jack's trinkets chime. "Not quite enough to die for, I don't think," the pirate remarked thoughtfully, "but a good start."

Die? One Ball! Hands away from his aching nose, and blinking back tears, Will rolled up onto his knees. The alley was empty of all but him and Jack – who rose to his feet with a careful lurch and stagger and an almost coy rearrangement of his sash.

Two damp fingers under Will's chin drew him up onto his feet a moment later.

"We've a problem here, Will my lad. We can't go back to the ship tonight; they'll be watching the harbor."

Jack's lips were wet and slightly swollen. It took Will a moment to focus on the words and a moment after that to find words of his own. "We can't stay here."

"Aye, we can but do we want to, that's the question. And the answer…" He bent, picked up his tricorn, and set it on his head at a jaunty angle. "I'd have to say the answer is a definite no. Fortunately, I know a place we'll be safe as…"

"Houses?" Will offered when the comparison continued to dangle.

Jack stared at him as though he was some new and exciting sea creature he'd pulled up from the depths on his anchor and said, "No."

***

Jack's safe place was only one chicken and goat infested alley away. He rapped a complicated pattern on a scarred back door which was opened almost immediately by a middle aged woman wearing enough paint to waterproof the Interceptor and the Dauntless combined.

Scarlet lips parted. "Jack Sparrow!"

Jack visibly braced himself as a heavy arm drew back but instead of the expected slap, she caught him up in an enthusiastic embrace and his indignant "Captain!" was delivered into the swelling white mounds of a barely contained bosom.

When she finally released him, Will had to grab a handful of his coat to keep him on his feet as he staggered back. He caught his breath, shook himself, and pulled free of Will's grip. "Rose my love, I'd like you to meet a very good friend of mine, Will Turner. Short for William." The introductory gesture took in most of the alley but Jack's intent was clear. "Will my lad, this is Rose O'Bannon, the most beautiful woman in Tortuga!"

Pale eyes widened and Rose leaned around Jack to sweep an incredulous gaze over Will from head to foot. It was probably his imagination that her gaze lingered just a little at the edge of his vest. "Sure and aren't you the spitting image of Bootstrap Bill."

"Did I not tell you that you look just like him," Jack tossed over his shoulder before turning the full force of his personality on the woman still blocking the door. "Rose, my flower, my petal, my… " Rings flashed as long fingers pulled another word from the air. "…chicken -- you see before you two men in desperate need of a safe port."

"I do, do I? And who's after your lovely hide this time, Jack? Never mind!" She raised a plump hand before Jack could speak. "Best I don't know. You and Mr. Turner can use the back garret room, same as you always done." Stepping aside, she waved Jack in through the door. "But right up those back stairs and don't let anyone see you, mind. You're a distraction to the working girls you are and, besides, they won't happy that you've brought your own in."

From inside the brothel, Jack peered back out around her bulk at Will. "Are you planning on standing in that alley all night, Mister Turner, or had you possibly thought you might, oh, I don't know, follow me?"

Rose pinched him twice as Will inched past her, once on each cheek. Since he was facing her at the time, he had no idea how she'd managed it.

"Oh and Jack." Rose's voice drifted up the narrow stairs after them. "Don't let the girls see your lovely either, or you'll be having a fight on your hands! Bootstrap's ass was never that tight."

Will was still blushing when the door to the back garret room closed behind him. That was definitely information about his father he'd rather have never known. And could Jack and Mr. Turner use the back garret room same as he – Jack – had always done or same as they – Jack and his father – Bootstrap Bill had always done? If Jack was one of the few who'd known him as William Turner, just how well did that mean Jack had known him? Especially as it seemed Rose had also known him as William Turner. Head swimming, Will groped his way to the wall and sagged against it.

"Lost momentum, have we?"

Jack's amused question drew him out of his thoughts. He stared around the room – a bed, a washstand holding bottles of rum rather than a basin, a ship's lantern hanging over the bed, a small window up in the angle of the wall… No surprise that Jack, sprawled out on the bed, boots off, already had a bottle in his hand.

Somewhere between that first alley and this room, he'd lost the aching need that had driven his body to Jack's. Actions that seemed inevitable in the dark heat of that bolt hole now seemed rash and… stupid. The… well, attraction for lack of a better word was still present but it was no longer so much a need as once again a really bad idea. The ache in his groin was no more insistent now than the ache in his nose.

"Jack…"

"It's all right." The hand not holding the bottle sketched God-knew-what in the air. "I could be insulted but I'm not. Heat of the moment, threat of imminent death, close quarters, friction… The moment's passed. The opportunity's lost. Have a drink." "A drink? Is that your answer for everything?"

"Of course not!" Moving the bottle from hand to hand, Jack unbuckled his belt and slid cutlass and pistol carefully down to the floor. "Some things require two drinks. Some things…" He stared into the rum, smiled as he lifted it in salute, and took a long swallow. "…more."

Will ran a hand back through his hair and paced over to the window. The noise and smell of Tortuga rose up to meet him. A woman shrieked with laughter, a man cursed, and in the distance a goat and some chickens made their opinion of the proceedings perfectly clear. What was he doing here? "Jack." There was accusation in the name. "Elizabeth…"

"Is out of reach." The man on the bed had stilled and when Will turned to face him, he had the strangest feeling he was seeing the man behind the affectations. The dark eyes seemed wise and his voice was almost kind as he added, "Whatever danger your Elizabeth is in, you can not save her tonight, lad. Tomorrow, we'll have a crew and a fast ship and a chance. Tonight, there's just me and the rum."

After a long moment, Will sighed and reached for the bottle. "I guess that'll have to be enough then."

Affectations returned in full force, Jack slid over to make room for him on the bed. "I'm flattered. I truly am."

"You should be."

"Didn't I say I was?"

Will smiled in spite of himself and handed the bottle back to Jack.

Took the bottle from Jack.

Handed it back.

Took it.

Handed it back.

Lost track of whose turn it was and got a second bottle off the washstand.

They were leaning against each other now, shoulder to shoulder. Will stared down at his stocking feet and thought about standing shoulder to shoulder with Jack Sparrow. About what that meant. "Jack, can I ask you a question?"

They were sitting so close Will's shoulder moved with Jack's as he shrugged. "You can ask what you like, mate. I'll answer what I like and we'll both be happy."

"Why are you so damned hot?!" It wasn't the question he'd intended to ask, but distracted by the heat of the other man rubbing against him, Will had no actual memory of what his intended question would have been.

Clearly it took Jack a bit by surprise as well. "Why am I what?"

"Hot." Now that he'd asked it, he had every intention of carrying it through to the end. That was what he did. He saw thing through. Dependable, that was him. Not exciting, not gleaming, dependable. He took another long swallow of rum. "Why," he repeated when his mouth emptied, speaking slowly so there'd be no misunderstandings, "are you so hot?"

"Hot?"

"It's not that hard a concept, Jack. Try to…" Try to what? Will frowned and took another drink. Right. Now he had it. "Try to pay attention."

"You have my full attention, Mister Turner. Feel free to carry on."

Shifting on the bed so that he faced the pirate, he frowned again. Jack was lying down. Why was Jack lying down? And more importantly, when had it happened? Carefully setting the rum to one side, he scooted down the bed and propped himself up on one elbow. "Your skin is hot to the touch. Almost feverish. I've never felt the like."

Jack's eyes glittered. "How much skin have you felt then?"

"That's not the point. We're talking about your skin." Will laid one hand flat on Jack's stomach, realized there was fabric under his palm and dragged the cotton shirt up until he found the item under discussion. Item? Not right. Never mind. Jack's skin felt like he'd always imagined the heavy satin of fine women's dresses to feel. Heavy satin dresses in the sun. Heated satin stretched over flesh. He drew his tongue over his lips, realized Jack was watching him, remembered the salt, smoke, Jack taste of fingers, and did it again.

Jack's expression made it difficult to breathe. He arched his back as Will's fingers traced patterns over the smooth ridges of his belly, calluses catching on the line fine black hairs that disappeared under the frayed edge of his breeches but his voice was remarkably steady – considering the rum and the situation and the fact that Jack's voice was never particularly steady. "I very much doubt that my skin's any hotter than yours."

The petulance in Will's surprised him just a little even through the fog of the rum. "How would you know?"

A heartbeat later he found himself flat on his back, shirtless, with Jack straddling his hips, trinkets chiming as he dragged his own shirt off over his head. "How did you…?"

Gold gleamed. Jack gleamed. "Practice."

Right. And then it was skin against skin and Will cried out at the contact as Jack's mouth closed over his and swallowed the sound. When they finally broke for air, Jack spit one beaded end of his moustache off to the side and announced between nips and licks that had Will writhing beneath him, "Have to admit, you surprised me in that bolt hole. I'd always thought I'd have to get you drunk to do this."

"Al… Jesus!... ways?"

"Aye."

"So now I'm drunk," Will gasped wondering if he could ever taste rum again and not taste Jack, "and you're taking advantage of me."

"I am." Jack's teeth dragged a line down his chest, closed around a nipple and bit. Between the sudden sensation and clever fingers working at his last piece of clothing, Will almost missed the second part of Jack's response. "And do you know why?"

"Pirate?" Will managed as his breeches finally surrendered to Jack's skill.

"That would be why."

One hand wrapped in Jack's hair, Will dragged the pirate's mouth back to his and gave himself over to the plundering. "Avast my hearty," he snickered, as they broke apart and he grasped a mobile lip between his teeth, "prepare to be boarded."

Jack pulled back and propped himself up on one elbow, his smile no longer shark-like but devouring for all that. "My line, I believe."

"Not necessarily." Bracing himself against the straw tick, he flipped them both and Jack was on the bottom and Will was dragging faded breeches down over slim hips and there was finally skin enough and it was hotter than he could have imagined. Jack threw back his head and Will dove for his throat.

Salt and rum and the edge of his beard and Jack's lying mouth laughing words against his hair. "Right. You're stronger than you look."

His answer pressed into golden line of Jack's throat. "Blacksmith."

"Ah, yes. I keep forget…"

And then words got lost in the rhythm as Will braced himself above the welcoming sprawl of Jack's body and drove down against him and Jack rose up and Will was almost at the point of understanding what had actually been happening every time they'd crossed swords in the past but then the heat grew slick and hotter still and finally ignited and he threw back his head and cried out as he spilled over Jack's belly, shaking and trembling as he collapsed. Jack's hand slipped between them. The rhythm went on a moment longer and then Jack cried out as well, thrust upward and went boneless beneath him.

Damp legs tangled together, Will shivered as a gentle touch ghosted up his spine. His face was wet in the crock of Jack's neck and he was very much afraid that not all of it was sweat. A moment later he was sure as two fingers lifted his chin and shadowed eyes stared down into his.

"Never mind lad…" A thumb traced the corner of his mouth, dragging new lines of sensation over swollen lips. "…in the morning, you can blame the rum." And then the familiar gleam of a golden smile. "In the meantime though, if you don't shift your great bloody self I'll be wearing the imprint of your manly chest permanently in my ribs."

"Sorry."

"You've naught to apologize for, mate. Well, except the ribs," Jack amended as Will shifted over to one side of the bed. "Hold fast there, not so far."

And Will found himself dragged back to snuggle – there was really no other word for it no matter how hard he tried to find one – up against Jack's side.

"Cold here at night. We'll have to huddle together for warmth."

"It's not cold…"

"Don't argue with me, Will my lad. If I say it's cold at night, it's cold. Savvy?"

He was too tired to argue. Too tired and still too drunk and, if truth be told, too comfortable. He helped the other man pull a blanket up over them. "I'm not your lad," he muttered sleepily as Jack stretched out a golden arm and turned down the wick of the lamp.

"Never said you were, mate."

Jack's voice seemed to come from far away and Will decided best they argue that in the morning as well.

In the morning when they'd have a crew and a fast ship and a chance of catching the men who'd taken Elizabeth.

In the morning, when he could blame the rum if he wanted to.

He fell asleep wondering if he would.

--end--