Dead Man's Chest
Pairing: Captain Jack Sparrow, Will Turner, James Norrington and various permutations thereof
Warnings: character death, violence, non-con, spoilers
Summary: 15 men on a dead man's chest, yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!
Disclaimer: At no point do I claim any form of ownership of any of the characters depicted in this piece. My representations of them are not necessarily indicative of the intentions of their original creators. The plot in which I place these characters holds no relationship to their original context. I make no profit from borrowed characters. Don't sue me.
Word Count: 891
Notes: Don't overlook the warnings. I implore you, for the love of all that is holy, do NOT overlook the warnings. If you have an inkling that this sort of thing will rub you the wrong way, now would be the time to stop, before you're reading this like one watches a train wreck. And then you'll be mad at me. But I warned you.
XI. Till Death Do Us Part
For some time after they landed on the island and Jack had been disposed of, Will was unwilling or perhaps unable to care for himself. He could not eat, and if he managed, he swiftly threw it up again. He was constantly feverish, hallucinating and sweating and crying out. Whenever he was awake, which was sporadically, he was unreasonable and aloof. With a caring uncharacteristic to him, Norrington cared for Will diligently. He forced him to drink the grog they had and kept him laying comfortably in the shade, but it was to little avail.
Over the course of a week or so, Will grew thin and gaunt, and nothing the Commodore could do had any effect. He refused to put Will into the longboat and bring them to the ship for fear that he could not man it alone in the strong current that had developed along the coast. And he feared that moving Will would render him permanently unwell. The point, however, was ultimately moot as Will's mental condition deteriorated rapidly and his body, once strong and tall, became withered.
One humid morning, Norrington rolled about uncomfortably in the heavy air and woke to find Will gasping for breath. In a flurry of flying sand, he came to Will's side and propped him up gently. He fought helplessly against the unseen enemy of his lover, but Will continued to suffer for several minutes, mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. Finally, Will went still. Norrington put his hand over Will's face, but there was no breath. He listened to Will's chest, but it was silent.
The end had finally come for Will, restoring him to whatever peace awaited him. This, however, was no consolation at all to Norrington, having long ago been overcome by perversion and lunacy. When Will's last breath was gone, the Commodore lamented him wildly, shouting to the sea and sky, gesturing like a man gone mad. When his fit subsided, he knelt again beside Will's body. It was still warm, the sweat still beaded on the face and hair. Will looked restful, as if he might wake gently at any moment. Norrington grieved.
His grief, however, turned decidedly more insane when he reminisced about how he had loved Will, and how, mistakenly, he believed Will loved him in return. He bent and kissed Will on the mouth, half expecting a response, allowing himself to doubt whether or not he had really seen Will die. Will did not respond, but neither did he protest. Norrington laid himself in the shady sand beside his former lover. With tears streaming and oaths of unconditional love, he touched Will's hair and face.
He longed for the intimacy they had shared, if briefly, and wished aloud for one more opportunity to feel Will's heaving breath beneath him. At this Norrington mused. Certainly, there was nothing left for him. Why ought he not to lay with Will while the heat of his body remained? He would say his final farewell in the fashion that had suited them when they lived and then he would set off on the ship waiting just beyond the breaking waves. If he could not man it alone, he would go down with poetry on his lips and sadness in his heart.
He wiped the sweat from Will's brow with a sleeve and caressed his face. He tore apart the tattered shirt and tasted the skin that was so familiar to him. Will seemed so close to life, but Norrington made sure to close his eyes before leaning in to kiss him. Will always had shut his eyes. Norrington was going to fetch his oil when he remembered that Will needn't be prepared. He took haste, then, and undressed Will. He looked at the still form with longing and caressed the skin that once sweat at his manipulation. No longer. Their goodbye would be bittersweet.
With some effort, Norrington overcame his sadness and laid himself on Will, forcing his way for the last time. Will did not squirm or struggle, but most regrettably, did not moan or breathe or hold Norrington's shoulders. The feeling of being within Will was familiar, albeit different and sadly sentimental, but he was determined to commune with his lover for the last time. It was a fitting goodbye, he felt. It was the most intimate act that could be shared and he would not miss his last opportunity to share it with Will.
Thinking of better times, Norrington pushed forward until he could push no further. He tried to hear the sound of Will's voice from the first time they were together. He tried to feel his breathing, his muscles strain and pull. With the memories to carry him and the sadness to bring quickness to the endeavor, he thrust for only a few minutes before reaching his peak. It arrived swiftly enough to take him by surprise and he gasped. When he had finished and his muscles relaxed, he let his head fall onto Will's chest and he wept bitter tears. He laid beside Will for some time after, touching his face and hair with adoration and grief, thinking of whether to gain the ship at anchor and risk manning it alone or whether to remain on the island until his own, inevitable death.