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Playing with Fire
BY: Sparrowhawk*** Will Turner struck a match and pondered the nature of desire. Like the flame, it was beautiful, perilous, volatile. Like fire, it could warm or it could scorch, and Will knew all too well that Captain Jack Sparrow could burn him as effortlessly as the flame licking its way down the matchstick toward Will's fingertips. Maybe that was part of Jack's appeal, he thought with a sigh. He blew out the match and lit another. The acrid smoke bitter in his nostrils contrasted sharply with the sweet-sharp taste of rum lingering on his tongue. The liquor was like fire too, searing his throat, warming his stomach, sizzling in his blood. Hang it all, he didn't even like rum--it was Jack's poison of choice, not his. Even the blasted rum made him think of Jack, with his smoldering eyes and his hands that were never cold. Jack, whose fiery kisses tasted of rum. Will dropped the match to the floor and ground it under his boot, started to push away from the bar, then stopped. He signaled for another drink, struck another match. Another swallow of rum and he was sure he'd burn from the inside out--but then, he was already burning with a need that simmered just below the surface, never quite extinguished. He should have realized what he was letting himself in for. He could have said no, *should* have said no. Like a moth to a bloody flame I am, Will thought, and with no more sense than to throw myself headfirst into the fire. The hell of it was, he didn't *want* to want Jack. Wanting Jack made him burn, made him beg, made him lose control. It made him want to hold onto the maddening, slippery bastard and never, ever him let go. He watched the flame consume the thin stick of wood between his fingers, feeling consumed himself. He held the match a bit longer than was wise before he dropped it with a muttered curse. Would that happen with Jack? Would their mutual heat eventually bring more pain than comfort? Too soon to say, really, although he knew from experience that a fire that burns too hot soon burns itself out. In the smithy he'd become expert at building a slow, steady blaze that served him for as long as he needed it. But Jack served only himself, and burned so brightly sometimes Will could almost see the white-hot glow around him. He sipped at the rum, lit yet another match. The barkeep was starting to watch him warily, and Will chuckled wryly to himself. Soon they'll think I'm as mad as Jack, he thought, and maybe I am. He stared fixedly into the dazzling blue heart of the flame, marveling at the purity of it. At its core it blazed clear, nothing more than a shimmer of heat, potent but invisible. Unable to look away from the fire dancing ever nearer to his skin, Will let the heat build, and build, and despite the quickly intensifying pain found himself unwilling to snuff out something so elemental and compelling. Like desire, he thought. An irresistible force of nature, just like Jack. Damn him. A strong hand abruptly closing over Will's startled him enough to grab instinctively for the dagger at his belt with his free hand. In the same instant a puff of rum-scented breath blew out the flame licking at his fingertips. Jack was grinning at him, the flashes of gold in his mouth and in his hair glowing like embers. "I leave you alone for ten minutes, boy, and already you need lookin' after." Jack settled himself on a stool with loose-limbed grace, shaking his head in mock reproach and setting the trinkets in his hair swaying. A sharp glance at the barkeep sent the man scurrying for a bottle and mug. "I can look after myself," Will said a little testily. All too aware of Jack's watchful eyes, he quelled the urge to suck the singed fingers into his mouth for relief or to examine them for blisters. "Aye, that you can. But why would you want to, when ol' Jack's here to do it?" Jack leaned close and draped an arm casually about Will's shoulders. In the stale, smoky air of the tavern he radiated heat that set Will's skin to prickling. "Are you?" Will gulped his drink and welcomed the warmth that licked its way down to his belly, temporarily subsuming a deeper burn. "Lookin' after you? Aye, luv." Will studied the inside of his mug, silent. "I am, y'know," Jack insisted. "'Specially when you get all moody and start playin' with fire like you don't have any bloody sense." "I've been playing with fire for a while now," Will said with a sidelong look. "You must like it if yer still playin'." Jack smirked and pointedly eyed the cluster of purple-red love bites half-hidden by Will's collar. Will let the glittering black eyes burn into his for a moment without speaking. Then he sighed and allowed the corners of his mouth to twitch upward in a reluctant smile. "I couldn't stop now if I wanted to." |
