Will leaned on the rail of the Flying Dutchmen, the warm dying rays of the sun upon his face, listening to the creak and moan of the ship. Another soul was calling to him. There was something familiar about this one, but he paid it no mind because it didn't feel like Elizabeth.
He saw the light before he saw the tiny boat it belonged to. Squinting, he let out a gasp when the face of the occupant of the boat came into view.
⌠Jack!■ Will waved. His stomach dropped as Jack looked up and none of the man's eccentric vitality shone on his face. How long had the pirate been left out to sea? Had he been marooned again?
Images of Jack pointing a gun at him, drinking rum with him, and double crossing him shot through his mind. Memories of his mouth on Will's, his warm hand slipping into the younger man's trousers, and looking down at Will as he pumped his cock between Will's lips lingered. Heat spread throughout his body as he remembered the delicious burn of their fucking. As he thought of the feel of Jack around his dick, it filled and grew hard. The manic look that glimmered from Jack's dark eyes was etched into his brain.
The boat sailed closer and Will's breath hitched as the memories assaulted him.
Jack's empty eyes gazed into his own and Will knew.
Captain Jack Sparrow was dead. For good and true this time.