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fan_eluneTitle: Of Opportune Moments and Masks Needing Taking Off (1/1)
Fandoms: The Pirates of the Caribbean/The Princess Bride
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: none of these characters belong to me. No money is being made. Fair use!
Summary: Captain Jack Sparrow and the Dread Pirate Roberts meet. It's been done before, yes, and probably better than this, but they wouldn't leave me alone on Talk Like A Pirate Day.
Warnings: definite slashiness ahead.
Of Opportune Moments and Masks Needing Taking Off
If there was one thing that Captain Jack Sparrow hated, it was being outfamed. Of course, there were many more things Captain Jack Sparrow hated, including but not limited to undeserved slaps (which were fortunately far and few in between very much deserved slaps), running out of rum (which fortunately was not going to happen tonight, not in this fine establishement for imbibing and cavorting, not with the gold he had on him), a mutiny on his beloved ship (still hadn't forgiven Barbossa for that one, ta) and spending too long on land (long enough to drink himself to near death, aye, but not one second longer).
But he really did take it personally when he was outfamed, and everybody in the tavern was whispering about a pirate captain that was not him. A pirate captain that was that kid three tables from Jack, dressed in black from head to toe and wearing a mask. A mask! A pirate captain for landlubbers' costumed parties, maybe, but not one to inspire dread, certainly not in Jack's heart. Never had been. Well, maybe the third one, but no thanks to the mask.
He rose, hand steady on his bottle of rum as he weaved his way over to the other man.
"You're the Dread Pirate Roberts then, 'ey?" Jack plopped himself down on the chair in front of the other man, head tilted to the side as they studied each other in silence. The eyes were young, behind the mask, as young as what could be seen of the features. Young, strong jaw; young, strong hands. Hairless chest. Hmm. "What brings you to Tortuga, mate?"
Jack was stroking his beard. The youth seemed to have very little hair at all, apart from that blond ponytail that escaped at the back of his scarf of a mask. Was he even a man yet? He did wear a sword, after all, but had it ever shed blood? Taken a life?
"Who I am and why I'm here are none of your concerns," the youth answered, and he didn't sound pirate. In fact, he sounded like someone who'd learned to form proper sentences. How distasteful. "Mate," he added, pointily, and Jack frowned.
"Now now, someone's a bit touchy," he said, reaching over to pat his hand on the other captain's arm.
His wrist was immediately grabbed and slapped down on the table. "Someone doesn't like to be touched."
Jack glared, and pulled his wrist back sharply. "Your predecessor knew better manners when faced with his equal than you when faced with your better, lad. And he didn't know many manners to start with, so what does that say about ye, 'ey?"
The youth stared suspiciously at him, and Jack rolled his eyes, took a long gulp of rum from his bottle, and developped. "Aye, I knew the Dread Pirate Ryan. And what-was-his-name before him. Cumberlain?"
"Cummerbund," the youth replied.
"Honestly, I understand the need for a mask, but nobody sees right would think you've been marauding the seas for twenty years," Jack went on, waving a hand vapidly. The twinkle of his own rings caught his eyes, and he trailed off for a second before snapping his gaze back to the youth. "What did they call you, then, 'fore you became Roberts? Don't tell me," he interjected before the boy could answer. "Is it William? Tell me it's not William. You're more of a Jimmy, aren't you. Jimmy-boy!" He grinned proudly, glad to have found the right one. Of course he had!
"My name is not Jimmy," the boy snapped, and Jack pouted with disappointment. Pirate captains might pout, when they were as established as he was. Pouting took nothing away from true pirate captains, and Jack Sparrow was very much that, whether he had a ship at the moment or not. Which he did, thankfully. "And this is no place to have this conversation."
Jack smiled again, pout forgotten. He imagined his gold teeth glittered enticingly; it was their prime reason for being. "Well then. You've yet to be introduced to me Pearl, Dread Pirate Jimmy-boy. Follow me aboard."
***
"The most beautiful woman in all the world," Westley rambled on. He was called Westley, as it turned out, which was a perfectly horrid pirate name, almost as bad as Hector, Dread Pirate Roberts was entirely better. Westley was such an honest man's name. "The sun rises and sets in her eyes."
Jack rolled his eyes to the ceiling as he dug in his chest for more rum. Dear Westley, not at all an honest man although undoubtedly a good one, was sprawled in a chair, and thankfully the mask was off, abandoned on the table. The boy was young, yes, younger than Jack, but not as much as he had thought; he figured it was that true love business giving him younger eyes than he ought to have. Same thing went for young William Turner, after all.
"What about that engagement, then?" he asked, victoriously brandishing a half full bottle of rum as he turned back to Westley, sauntering on his way to him.
Westley's gaze sharpened to something that might have cut right through his beloved's throat if she had been standing there, Jack was ready to put a wager on that. "Prince Humperdink."
Jack paused in the process of lowering himself in the chair next to Westley, burst out laughing, and only then finished sitting down. He slid off his boots and swung his legs up to rest his feet crossed at the ankle on Westley's thigh, still grinning with justified amusement. "Is he really called that? That's... well, it's worse than a pirate called Westley, it is."
Westley was brooding, clearly, staring down at Jack's feet and probably pondering whether to push them off of him. Jack wasn't sure why he wasn't; for all that he was a marvellously attractive man, he also happened not to wash very often. Personal hygiene, in a pirate captain, was a mark of weakness. What did a pirate care what he or any of his body parts smelled like?
"Don't trouble yourself, lad," he told the boy, and reached over to muss up Wesley's hair, which earned him a glare he grinned shamelessly to. "Women are fickle. There's none can be trusted where you can't see them, and only the thicker ones can be trusted where you can. Trust Cap'n Jack, he's known enough of them." He tilted his chair to the side to reach over and pat Pearl's bulkward. "Only this kind'a lady here will stand by you's much as she can."
Westley blinked. "You're saying ships are better than women."
"Aye," Jack replied in a wide grin. "That I am."
***
Jack was not sure how it happened, other than it must have been caused by his above mentioned charm, but he found himself rather suddenly in possession of a lapful of Dread Pirate Westley. He also found himself with a Dread Pirate tongue working on his earlobe in a most distracting manner.
"Did your Buttercup -" and really, did they all have to have such ridiculous names? "- teach you this?" Because the boy had acquired impressive skills with his tongue, and it was a very good omen for things to come.
Westley pulled back - which was a shame, and not at all the intended aim - and looked at Jack with altogether too sad eyes. Oughtn't look so sad when you'd drunk so much rum and you were sitting in Jack's lap. Jack's lap was a very happy place. "Don't -"
"I didn't say anythin'," Jack cut in before Westley could finish that sentence, and put a stop to the matter altogether by leaning forward and kissing the boy.
Impressive skills with his tongue, aye, but Jack had a few tricks of his own. Soon the boy was writhing on his bed, and Jack hadn't even needed the use of his hands.
That was a true pirate captain for you.
***
"Westley Westley Westley," Jack saw himself forced to interrupt.
Apparently that fair bout of fucking that had just happened seemed to have given the boy the impression that Jack was now his confident. Instead of enjoying the post-orgasmic haze for what it was, Westley had started rambling on again, about his Buttercup and her prince Humperdink (that name), and Jack had taken it before the fucking fully hoping that it would somehow lead to the fucking (and look how absolutely right he'd been, excellent strategical planning here) but now there was no point standing for it.
"There's only one thing you can do now," Jack went on, fingers walking up Westley's chest. No, not walking, prancing. Fingers could prance; Jack's fingers certainly did. "Okay, no, two things. You can keep fucking extremely attractive specimen of the brethren such as meself - it's the better option - or you can go back to your one true love and find out exactly what Prince Humperdink has that you don't. Besides an even more ridiculous name, if you don't mind me sayin'. And a crown. But you're a pirate captain, you can get a crown if you want to. A much better one than his, too. Maybe one with a gekko on it."
Westley blinked at Jack. Jack smiled helpfully (his smiles really ought to help, even when they didn't.) Westley managed to frown, although it seemed to require an effort. "What?"
"A gekko," Jack went on. "Don't tell me you've never been east. Or west. It depends how you look at it. Little lizards, very colourful, look splendid as accessories. Very majestic."
Westley blinked again. "You're making very little sense, Jack."
"The point," because sometimes Jack did feel like getting back to the point, much to his own surprise, "is that you don't know what's going on in your Buttercup's head anymore than between her legs."
"How dare y -"
"I dare easily," Jack cut in, a finger on Westley's lips to stop his outraged tirade before it properly started. "Pirate, see? The point my first point leads to, Jimmy-boy, is that your moping about's intolerable. Go to her and fix it."
"Fix what?"
"You, her, the two of you, Prince Humperdick." Yes, he'd mangled that name on purpose. "Just fix it. Oh, here's a tip. Opportune moments."
"Opportune moments," Westley repeated dubiously.
"Opportune moments," Jack repeated sagely.
***
Six months later, Jack met another Dread Pirate Roberts. One Dread Pirate Inigo Montoya. At least the Spanish accent did sound far more dreadful than Westley's proper diction. That was better; more fearful.
"What about your predecessor?" Jack asked.
"Aye, aye, he had a message for you," the Dread Pirate Inigo replied, leaning confidently close to Jack. "He never thought the opportune moment would be while falling down a ravine."
Jack raised surprised, pleased eyebrows. "He found one! What of Dick the Prince?"
"Prince Humperdink? Living alone with his cowardice, I believe," Inigo answered, sounding perplexed about that, probably a whim of Westley's (wonderful alliteration, that), and scratched at his cheekbone under the black cloth of all Dread Pirates. "This mask itches."
"All the more reason to take it off." Jack smiled, gold teeth glittering. "You've yet to be introduced to me Pearl, Inigo, mate."
Fifth Dread Pirate Roberts Jack bedded in a row. Good going, that.
Fandoms: The Pirates of the Caribbean/The Princess Bride
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: none of these characters belong to me. No money is being made. Fair use!
Summary: Captain Jack Sparrow and the Dread Pirate Roberts meet. It's been done before, yes, and probably better than this, but they wouldn't leave me alone on Talk Like A Pirate Day.
Warnings: definite slashiness ahead.
Of Opportune Moments and Masks Needing Taking Off
If there was one thing that Captain Jack Sparrow hated, it was being outfamed. Of course, there were many more things Captain Jack Sparrow hated, including but not limited to undeserved slaps (which were fortunately far and few in between very much deserved slaps), running out of rum (which fortunately was not going to happen tonight, not in this fine establishement for imbibing and cavorting, not with the gold he had on him), a mutiny on his beloved ship (still hadn't forgiven Barbossa for that one, ta) and spending too long on land (long enough to drink himself to near death, aye, but not one second longer).
But he really did take it personally when he was outfamed, and everybody in the tavern was whispering about a pirate captain that was not him. A pirate captain that was that kid three tables from Jack, dressed in black from head to toe and wearing a mask. A mask! A pirate captain for landlubbers' costumed parties, maybe, but not one to inspire dread, certainly not in Jack's heart. Never had been. Well, maybe the third one, but no thanks to the mask.
He rose, hand steady on his bottle of rum as he weaved his way over to the other man.
"You're the Dread Pirate Roberts then, 'ey?" Jack plopped himself down on the chair in front of the other man, head tilted to the side as they studied each other in silence. The eyes were young, behind the mask, as young as what could be seen of the features. Young, strong jaw; young, strong hands. Hairless chest. Hmm. "What brings you to Tortuga, mate?"
Jack was stroking his beard. The youth seemed to have very little hair at all, apart from that blond ponytail that escaped at the back of his scarf of a mask. Was he even a man yet? He did wear a sword, after all, but had it ever shed blood? Taken a life?
"Who I am and why I'm here are none of your concerns," the youth answered, and he didn't sound pirate. In fact, he sounded like someone who'd learned to form proper sentences. How distasteful. "Mate," he added, pointily, and Jack frowned.
"Now now, someone's a bit touchy," he said, reaching over to pat his hand on the other captain's arm.
His wrist was immediately grabbed and slapped down on the table. "Someone doesn't like to be touched."
Jack glared, and pulled his wrist back sharply. "Your predecessor knew better manners when faced with his equal than you when faced with your better, lad. And he didn't know many manners to start with, so what does that say about ye, 'ey?"
The youth stared suspiciously at him, and Jack rolled his eyes, took a long gulp of rum from his bottle, and developped. "Aye, I knew the Dread Pirate Ryan. And what-was-his-name before him. Cumberlain?"
"Cummerbund," the youth replied.
"Honestly, I understand the need for a mask, but nobody sees right would think you've been marauding the seas for twenty years," Jack went on, waving a hand vapidly. The twinkle of his own rings caught his eyes, and he trailed off for a second before snapping his gaze back to the youth. "What did they call you, then, 'fore you became Roberts? Don't tell me," he interjected before the boy could answer. "Is it William? Tell me it's not William. You're more of a Jimmy, aren't you. Jimmy-boy!" He grinned proudly, glad to have found the right one. Of course he had!
"My name is not Jimmy," the boy snapped, and Jack pouted with disappointment. Pirate captains might pout, when they were as established as he was. Pouting took nothing away from true pirate captains, and Jack Sparrow was very much that, whether he had a ship at the moment or not. Which he did, thankfully. "And this is no place to have this conversation."
Jack smiled again, pout forgotten. He imagined his gold teeth glittered enticingly; it was their prime reason for being. "Well then. You've yet to be introduced to me Pearl, Dread Pirate Jimmy-boy. Follow me aboard."
***
"The most beautiful woman in all the world," Westley rambled on. He was called Westley, as it turned out, which was a perfectly horrid pirate name, almost as bad as Hector, Dread Pirate Roberts was entirely better. Westley was such an honest man's name. "The sun rises and sets in her eyes."
Jack rolled his eyes to the ceiling as he dug in his chest for more rum. Dear Westley, not at all an honest man although undoubtedly a good one, was sprawled in a chair, and thankfully the mask was off, abandoned on the table. The boy was young, yes, younger than Jack, but not as much as he had thought; he figured it was that true love business giving him younger eyes than he ought to have. Same thing went for young William Turner, after all.
"What about that engagement, then?" he asked, victoriously brandishing a half full bottle of rum as he turned back to Westley, sauntering on his way to him.
Westley's gaze sharpened to something that might have cut right through his beloved's throat if she had been standing there, Jack was ready to put a wager on that. "Prince Humperdink."
Jack paused in the process of lowering himself in the chair next to Westley, burst out laughing, and only then finished sitting down. He slid off his boots and swung his legs up to rest his feet crossed at the ankle on Westley's thigh, still grinning with justified amusement. "Is he really called that? That's... well, it's worse than a pirate called Westley, it is."
Westley was brooding, clearly, staring down at Jack's feet and probably pondering whether to push them off of him. Jack wasn't sure why he wasn't; for all that he was a marvellously attractive man, he also happened not to wash very often. Personal hygiene, in a pirate captain, was a mark of weakness. What did a pirate care what he or any of his body parts smelled like?
"Don't trouble yourself, lad," he told the boy, and reached over to muss up Wesley's hair, which earned him a glare he grinned shamelessly to. "Women are fickle. There's none can be trusted where you can't see them, and only the thicker ones can be trusted where you can. Trust Cap'n Jack, he's known enough of them." He tilted his chair to the side to reach over and pat Pearl's bulkward. "Only this kind'a lady here will stand by you's much as she can."
Westley blinked. "You're saying ships are better than women."
"Aye," Jack replied in a wide grin. "That I am."
***
Jack was not sure how it happened, other than it must have been caused by his above mentioned charm, but he found himself rather suddenly in possession of a lapful of Dread Pirate Westley. He also found himself with a Dread Pirate tongue working on his earlobe in a most distracting manner.
"Did your Buttercup -" and really, did they all have to have such ridiculous names? "- teach you this?" Because the boy had acquired impressive skills with his tongue, and it was a very good omen for things to come.
Westley pulled back - which was a shame, and not at all the intended aim - and looked at Jack with altogether too sad eyes. Oughtn't look so sad when you'd drunk so much rum and you were sitting in Jack's lap. Jack's lap was a very happy place. "Don't -"
"I didn't say anythin'," Jack cut in before Westley could finish that sentence, and put a stop to the matter altogether by leaning forward and kissing the boy.
Impressive skills with his tongue, aye, but Jack had a few tricks of his own. Soon the boy was writhing on his bed, and Jack hadn't even needed the use of his hands.
That was a true pirate captain for you.
***
"Westley Westley Westley," Jack saw himself forced to interrupt.
Apparently that fair bout of fucking that had just happened seemed to have given the boy the impression that Jack was now his confident. Instead of enjoying the post-orgasmic haze for what it was, Westley had started rambling on again, about his Buttercup and her prince Humperdink (that name), and Jack had taken it before the fucking fully hoping that it would somehow lead to the fucking (and look how absolutely right he'd been, excellent strategical planning here) but now there was no point standing for it.
"There's only one thing you can do now," Jack went on, fingers walking up Westley's chest. No, not walking, prancing. Fingers could prance; Jack's fingers certainly did. "Okay, no, two things. You can keep fucking extremely attractive specimen of the brethren such as meself - it's the better option - or you can go back to your one true love and find out exactly what Prince Humperdink has that you don't. Besides an even more ridiculous name, if you don't mind me sayin'. And a crown. But you're a pirate captain, you can get a crown if you want to. A much better one than his, too. Maybe one with a gekko on it."
Westley blinked at Jack. Jack smiled helpfully (his smiles really ought to help, even when they didn't.) Westley managed to frown, although it seemed to require an effort. "What?"
"A gekko," Jack went on. "Don't tell me you've never been east. Or west. It depends how you look at it. Little lizards, very colourful, look splendid as accessories. Very majestic."
Westley blinked again. "You're making very little sense, Jack."
"The point," because sometimes Jack did feel like getting back to the point, much to his own surprise, "is that you don't know what's going on in your Buttercup's head anymore than between her legs."
"How dare y -"
"I dare easily," Jack cut in, a finger on Westley's lips to stop his outraged tirade before it properly started. "Pirate, see? The point my first point leads to, Jimmy-boy, is that your moping about's intolerable. Go to her and fix it."
"Fix what?"
"You, her, the two of you, Prince Humperdick." Yes, he'd mangled that name on purpose. "Just fix it. Oh, here's a tip. Opportune moments."
"Opportune moments," Westley repeated dubiously.
"Opportune moments," Jack repeated sagely.
***
Six months later, Jack met another Dread Pirate Roberts. One Dread Pirate Inigo Montoya. At least the Spanish accent did sound far more dreadful than Westley's proper diction. That was better; more fearful.
"What about your predecessor?" Jack asked.
"Aye, aye, he had a message for you," the Dread Pirate Inigo replied, leaning confidently close to Jack. "He never thought the opportune moment would be while falling down a ravine."
Jack raised surprised, pleased eyebrows. "He found one! What of Dick the Prince?"
"Prince Humperdink? Living alone with his cowardice, I believe," Inigo answered, sounding perplexed about that, probably a whim of Westley's (wonderful alliteration, that), and scratched at his cheekbone under the black cloth of all Dread Pirates. "This mask itches."
"All the more reason to take it off." Jack smiled, gold teeth glittering. "You've yet to be introduced to me Pearl, Inigo, mate."
Fifth Dread Pirate Roberts Jack bedded in a row. Good going, that.
