calicoat | 🏴‍☠️ IC contact; Duplicity

Is that what you think?

[ It would be easy to let his temper flare in his own defense. In fact he can feel it happening. But it comes back to him all at once that Jack got here at a point in his life when the two of them were barely on speaking terms. So. Maybe it's not a completely baseless accusation.

Charles grabs a fistful of Jack's shirt and pulls him closer. ]

You are Captain Jack Rackham.

[ One-handed, he reaches to the front of Jack's pants and opens the button, then the zipper, then gets his hand inside. The other one is still twisted tightly in Jack's shirt when very warm and solid fingers wrap around his cock. ]

You brought your men in line and showed them a glimpse of what you're capable of. You stole the Urca gold out from under all of us.

[ He gives him a few bold strokes, and then relaxes the grip on his cock just enough to bully him backward, up against the wall - not pinning him, but bracing him, fist against his chest, as Charles starts to play with him again like he's got every right in the world to do it. ]

And I bet you just love how it feels when men are deferential to you.

[ He's not sure what he expected to get out of this, but it wasn't this wet dream fantasy brought to life. Whether he's saying all of this to calm Jack down or not, it doesn't even matter, because it's Charles' voice, the fucking growl-by-default that's been prickling at his skin and ringing through his head, making him feel like he's lost control of himself from the day it showed up here. ]

I don't need a fucking pep talk, Charles.

[ Yes he does. He knows all of this, it's all fact, but it means something coming from Charles Vane, an acknowledgement that they're on equal footing, now. Jack tries to keep up the prickly annoyance, but the way his breath hitches when he says the other's name suggests that even if he doesn't need it, he likes it. It's shameful, almost, how quickly Jack gets hard in his hand, just a little bit of touching and Charles' praise.

Not praise, necessarily. Nothing honeyed or exaggerated, just the truth. He tries to remind himself of this, so he doesn't get so damn carried away like he did the last time he was so close to him (and he wasn't a bloodied mess). It's too late, though. The way his heart is already pounding, pumping heat into the space between them which is closed by his own hands, twisting in the fabric of Charles' shirt to keep him there, he's off the fucking deep end already.

He hates how twisted up he feels around him, now. It's all conflicted thoughts and rationalizing and downplaying this, whatever this is, until he's actually in front of him with his hands down his pants, and all of a sudden Jack can barely think straight. Can barely breathe. ]

I do. I won't lie to you. [ If only he could. He licks his lips, eyes darting to his cock in Charles' hand before looking back up to his eyes, blue and sharp and...knowing. He fucking knows, doesn't he? Jack hates that, too. ] But, if they were to describe my type, that's not what they'd say.

It's not a pep talk. I'm telling you what I know about you.

[ If Jack had pushed him away, Charles isn't sure he would have given up so easily. From his perspective, this is the stupidest argument that they could be having, but at least he can guess where Jack's getting it from. Sort of. It still riles him up to think that it's that easy. ]

Are you gonna let those bastards tell you what you know about me?

[ Because that's the part he can't wrap his head around. If all he is in the future is a supporting character to the Legend of Calico Jack, then so be it. He can build his own reputation here and now to whatever he needs from it, and beyond that is the entirely human hope that the people who are important to him might remember him fondly. He knew, at the time, that the distance between himself and Jack was significant; at the time, that was his intention, to make Jack feel the weight of his betrayal, and the loss of all the trust that had been built up between them.

But it hadn't, really. Somewhere, between what Jack remembers and what Charles remembers, each of them decided independently of the other that the hard-earned and battle-forged bond between them wasn't something so easily discarded. Maybe Jack wasn't there yet, when he arrived in Duplicity. Which means it falls to Charles to remind him - or let him make a different decision, in a place where nothing really counts. ]

We could have built a fleet together, you and me. Burned England out of Nassau for good. Captain Rackham, Captain Vane. [ His hand moves faster on Jack's cock, firming up his grip just a little, lingering around the head for a confident roll of his thumb like he's laying claim to his share of spoils. The while time his hand is heavy against Jack's chest, and Charles looks him right in the eyes, watching Jack's face as he jerks him off. ] We would have been unstoppable. But that doesn't mean I don't miss it, sometimes... having you to carry out my orders.

[ Charles is right. Jack knows him better than these people do. Better than anyone, probably. Just the knowledge of it does little to soothe his wounded pride, because it’s not something he thought about and decided to twist himself into a knot over, it’s a purely emotional reaction. He’s preceded here by a reputation he hasn’t fully earned, skipped over the ridicule and rejection that defined his existence long before his boots met the sand on New Providence Island, and had only intensified with the dissolution of the Ranger’s crew.

As far as Jack’s concerned, the deep gap that it caused has been bridged. He didn’t want the gap in the first place, but was given no choice but to have Anne’s back as she wedged it open. If Charles can forgive, and accept that a new world can come with a fresh slate, then he’ll be as eager to accept it as he always has. Not as deference, but as a friendship mended and a formidable partnership renewed. An unstoppable one, maybe.

It’s too goddamn alluring, hearing those words from a man who was once advised by Blackbeard himself that Jack may be of more use to him thrown overboard, so that his body might slow another ship’s advance by a handful of seconds. Captain Vane always saw something in him that more grizzled and experienced pirates couldn’t, and as he grew into one of those men himself, his validation only grew more important.

It’s a weakness of Jack’s. He knows this. How is he supposed to fight it, when he’s rattling off an almost romantic fantasy about the two of them leading Nassau together, and touching him like he's got all the time in the world to work him up, to make him need him so damn desperately when what he wants is to assert himself, dash any talk of him relying on Charles to survive before it even starts.

He swallows, trying to collect himself, but he can feel it showing on his face. He's doomed. ]

You’ve got good reason to miss me. Your new quartermaster can’t keep up with you, is what I hear.

[ New - oh. Jenks, that stupid bastard who thought he knew how to manage a coup better than Vane. Charles only snorts, giving his arm a good shove down the front of Jack's pants to tease his balls, and draw them just a little bit closer. ]

No one ever does, as well as you did.

[ But it isn't just the value of having a competent and reliable right-hand man that Charles cares about. It's that he came to believe that Jack wasn't only there to further his own ambitions, as much as that may have been the driving force behind his choices. They were friends. Almost family. Certainly he counts Jack as part of the closest he ever came to such a thing. ]

But I don't need a quartermaster. I need men I can trust, in whatever position lets them do what needs doing. You are one of those men, Jack, and you always will be. Without or without my help.

[ The palm of his hand runs flat up the length of Jack's cock before Charles takes hold of it again, and this time the stroke from top to bottom is achingly slow. ]

Just because you don't need it doesn't mean it isn't there if you want it.

[ Jack bites back a groan, gripping Charles' shoulders so his knees don't go weak on him. It's too fucking much, it can't just be the teasing machinations of his hand, but every word out of his mouth, which shoots hot down his spine like molten gold, only to settle in his chest as a weight. It doesn't feel like it's something he should be hearing. It's too sentimental, too intimate, too similar to Charles' voice in the dreams he's been trying not to indulge, even here.

He's one hair of self control away from kissing him, just to get him to shut the fuck up for a minute. Jack bites his lip, swallowing the impulse with it, and not for the first time. ]

Do you? What position do you think that is?

[ He banishes the thought, making it a problem for 2 AM Jack, and drops his hands to the front of his former captain's pants, working them open in a hurry. It's so much easier to just be horny and not put too much thought into why. Why Charles, why now, why he gets like this every time, why, out of the variety of people he's slept with here, this is what he can't quit thinking about.

Why, why, why? ]

[ Now, that's more like it.

If Jack was hoping for a break from the relentless searing eye contact, he's got it now, because Charles thinks that the dexterous fingers opening up his pants are a lot more interesting than anything else he could say at this point. None of this is planned out in his head, it's just true, and Jack ought to know that it's true. If Charles gets nothing else out of this claustrophobic place, that'll be enough.

As soon as Jack's hand reaches his cock, he moans, barely more than a huff but it comes from somewhere deep, and the hand twisted in Jack's shirt goes flat against his chest. How is he so hard already? How does Jack turn him on so much? ]

This one's a start.

[ Then Charles releases the shirt to slam one hand to the wall instead, braced with enough space between them for either one of them to look down and see their hands on each other's cocks, and maybe to keep either one of them from doing something fucking insane. But it doesn't stop him from bringing his attention back to the other man's face, as his hand twists around him, thrusting into his grip. ]

[ Breaking eye contact doesn't do all that much to make Jack feel less crazy, he's too lost in the damn sauce to take relief in anything but the searing touch of the other's hand. This feeling, of Charles looming over him and boxing him in, is starting to feel familiar, and he doesn't know if that should be a comfort or just another thing to stew over in the dead of night. If it takes three times to make it a pattern, then it's over for him after this, the memory of it he knows will be too strong to ignore.

But he doesn't speak up or push him away or even stop jerking him off for any longer than it takes to spit into his hand. If he were going to do any of that, it would have been as soon as Charles stuck his hand down his pants, not now. ]

For future reference, Charles. [ Idiot is trying to be cheeky without grunting into the space between them or rolling his hips to get closer, with no success whatsoever. ] The next time you need me, you can say so without the blustering and throwing things about the place.

[ He's not letting go, not for anything; he just makes do with a careful grip and the little pearl of precome he drags from the tip with his fingers. Letting go might mean giving Jack a chance to get the upper hand, and right now they're on exactly equal ground, looking at each other, jerking each other off, with enough space to watch and nothing else. ]

When I need anything from you, Jack...

[ He lets go of the wall so he can grab the other man's jaw instead - not to demand control, but just to make sure that Jack is looking at him, that he really hears it. Charles thrusts forward, into those long, clever fingers, and kneads the head of Jack's cock, rubbing a thumb under his chin like he's trying to coax a purr from a cat. ]

...I'll let you know however I god damn please.

[ Sorry, Jack. He's already trying his best to avoid doing something stupid around you - he can't let you tell him how to handle it. ]

[ Even if it isn't meant to be a show of dominance, that Jack lets him handle him like that, that he likes it, feels like a concession of some kind. His anger over the way this place described him feels so toothless now, with his cock twitching in Charles' hand, so close to coming that he can't focus on reciprocating properly.

It might not be a purr, but he pulls a groan from deep in Jack's throat, one he has to part his lips to let out. ]

Fuck you, Charles.

[ That too, is toothless, more inviting than indignant. ]

[ Now why the fuck does that sound hot when Jack says it.

He refuses to think about it, and lets it go right to his cock instead, making him groan and thrust harder into Jack's hand. Then, with his grip still firm on Jack's jaw, Charles presses himself in close enough that he can thrust forward and feel Jack's fingers bump against his own a second before he lets go of Jack's cock. and then drags Jack's hand away as well.

The next roll of his hips presses his cock right against Jack's, and slides them together, every thrust followed by a growl as he grinds them both against the wall. Pressure at the corner of his jaw rolls Jack's head aside enough for Charles to bury his face in his throat, hungrily sucking the skin raw.

He's absolutely not going to stop himself from coming, just like this, all over the two of them with their dicks trapped between their bodies. Let Jack clean himself up before he goes back to flirting on the network. ]

[ This is so stupid, two grown men pawing at each other like boys. If Jack were able to be in his right head about it (time to admit at least that much to himself) he'd be embarrassed, not to mention on edge about the fact that Anne or Hickey could walk through the door at any minute and bear witness to this.

He can be mad about it later, just like everything else. Charles' mouth feels too good, roughly going at his throat, to think about getting huffy again. He keeps him there, hand tangled in his long mane of unkempt hair, until he comes, the moan vibrating against the other's lips as they suck a bruise onto him, as soon as the last one's healed. It feels like he's being claimed, staked out as territory as a warning for whoever else may be looking to cross it. How Jack feels about that is another thing for him to examine later. ]

[ In his opinion, more things should be this aggressive and eager and shameless, sloppy because they're worked up and not thinking about what it looks like from the outside, or at least Charles sure as hell isn't, and if Jack is then at least it isn't stopping him. His grip shifts abruptly, moving around the back of Jack's neck instead, sliding into his hair - almost a caress, if they can be so rough.

Then he gets to taste that beautiful sound as the pulse beneath his mouth flutters wildly, and Charles only grinds closer as come spills out between them, smearing their cocks and the edge of their clothes, groaning his deep satisfaction into a rough bite.

Just a few more hard rolls of his hips with Jack gripping him like that before it's his turn to come, thrusting hard into the mess they've already made, and without an ounce of hesitation he drops his other hand to Jack's ass to jerk him forward. He just presses his face into the crook of the other's neck with a deeper moan, riding it out until he can finally slow and go still. ]

[ Well, Jack's always been too wrapped up in perceptions, hasn't he? It is, in part, the reason he does anything that he does, anything that doesn't have to do with Anne. Even his loyalty to Charles was, at one point, tied up in his obsession with his own name, the idea that it might be more noteworthy if it were uttered in the same breath as Charles Vane. Over the years, things changed, but one change is too new, too fragile to speak aloud.

He thinks too much, for this kind of shameless, reckless desire to take hold of him. He doesn't pull his dick out on a whim, he doesn't melt into the hands of another man, he doesn't beg for more or crave a touch rough enough to feel the next day, so that he can luxuriate in the memory of it. He doesn't...until Charles is involved, and then he does.

Jack stands there quietly and catches his breath, keeping his grasp tight at the back of Charles' head to keep himself steady just as much as to keep him close. Is it alright for him to have that, almost face to face in the light of day, pulse still pounding against the other's tongue? Maybe not, but he takes it anyway, just as Charles has taken his self-control. He buries his nose I'm the other's hair and just breathes, for as long as he'll let him. ]

[ Fuck.

The way he withdraws from Jack's neck is incremental at first, almost a nuzzle as his lips part, his nose brushing skin. Feels like his bones are melting, and his skin is tingling all over, and Jack's hand feels... ugh, so fucking good in his hair like that, why haven't they been doing this the whole fucking time?

His own hand shifts a bit at the back of the other's neck, not gripping anymore, but stroking so gently that he barely realizes he's doing it. If he moves his fingers just a little this way, he'd be able to feel Jack's pulse. And if he lifts his head just enough, with Jack close enough to breathe him in--

Fuck. It's like waking up from sleepwalking to find himself at the edge of a cliff. The way he moves is drugged, requiring entirely too much thought and willpower to lift his head up, and deliberately take a step back from Jack.

They're a fucking mess. Not that he gives a shit. With a heavy exhale, Charles puts his dick away and ties his pants back up. ]

We could end more arguments like that.

[ Having Charles' fingers stroking the back of his neck makes him shiver, with a greedy satisfaction that makes him want more, more, more, who cares if it's too affectionate or that he's got cum on his shirt, he could stand here and let this man press him against the wall until his legs give out, breathe in the scent of tobacco that clings to his hair, that Jack picked out--

And then it's gone. Charles pulls away and leaves him cold, and he needs a minute to collect himself out of his little fantasy and tuck himself back into his pants. He could have said something, just then. Could have whispered it, even. ]

Don't you go picking fights on purpose, now.

[ Maybe if his pride weren't always in his way. ]

[ He pushes his hair back, because he needs something to do with his hands, and also because he can still feel Jack's fingers in it. ]

I'm sure we'll manage.

[ After all, how many times have they fought over some stupid thing or another since they got here? Just because Charles is consistently the one responsible for escalation doesn't mean it's on purpose. It's a fine line. ]

I'm gonna go find something to eat.

🏴‍☠️ IC contact; Duplicity

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