A Smith and a Pirate

Oh dear LORD, but it´s JANUARY!!! Don´t know if the boy decided on an acutal date as such, that is an important point i shall have to address me thinks. IT´S JANUARY!!!!!

Inspired by a challenge set on the semi RPG community sea_faring_



Waiting plays a rather large role in my chosen profession. Tis all part ´n pracel of "the oportune moment" one might say.

I´ve waited for many things in my time and if there´s one thing I´ve learnt, it´s that in the end, it´s generally worth it, no matter how long it takes.

I´ve waited for my execution on more than one occasion, I´ve waited, marooned on an island, for death, madness or rescue; I´ve waited long, still days, for even the slightest breath of wind to fill the sails and take me towards fresh water and I´ve waited at the other end of the scale, when a squall is ripping at the canvas, and I´ve all but kissed my arse goodbye.

But this...this has got to be one fo the hardest things I´ve ever been forced to wait for.

It´s the whelp´s fault. He doesn´t appreciate me calling him that. Reminds him of that scoundrel, Barbossa (waited ten years to kill that one!), but right now, i couldn´t really give a toss.

I don´t remember when my birthday is. To tell the truth, it doesn´t rate very high on a pirate´s agenda. But Will, bless his sentimental soul, decided that it shall be in January for reasons that escape my understanding. All this meant nothing to me until we got onto the topic of gifts. Of course my interest rose at that, why wouldn´t it? But as soon as i started prodding for more information, he shut up, tighter than a clam.

That was when i had my seemingly brilliant idea of withholding any activities belonging in the bedroom until he told me...looks as though I´ll be waiting this one out a while because it doesn´t look like he´s going to budge on the matter.

So I´ll wait, and become a little more acquainted with my hand than I should like, but I *will* wait because i will be damned before I´m the first to yeild. Of course, if he decides that his bunk is too cold without me, I shall happily oblige but let it be known, whenever the "oportune moment" should arrive, that boy will be incapable of walking for a week. I guess it´s lucky that he won´t be leaving my cabin for that time.

Ah yes, Will Turner is worth waiting an eternity for!

There is a young lad called Will,
Whose arse i so love to fill,
With me hot an' hard cock,
That ol' bed we will rock,
'Til i'm too old an' over the hill.

Not twenty-two years did I have when first I met ye, Bill. An’ not much older was I when I felt the harsh burn of betrayal.
Per’aps the worst part of bein’ left on tha’ island was not the lack of nourishment, but rememberin’ the lack of expression on y’ face as the rest of those rogues threw me over board; knowin’ that me best friend had done naught t’ aide me. I forgave you 'course...after all, ye faced yer fate with me own welfare in mind. Then again, we were pirates...i could not have expected anything else from ye. The friendship we had was more than I could ever have asked from ye.
And now there's Will, yer son...my lover; younger than i was when i met you, and i hate t' say it mate, but a hell of lot prettier than you could ever 'ave hoped to be.
But i digress. I was thinkin' of the time i'd discovered ye'd bedded me sister (God rest her soul) and how i refused to forgive ye...how i STILL to this DAY refuse to forgive ye and so i don't expect anything less for you in regards to me covetin' AND bedding yer son. However, having said all this, i though' it should be known tha', i don't plan on giving Will up any time soon, and regret nothing, forgiveness be damned...in doing so, i've probably damned meself but it's worth it.
So while i won't give him up, i do swear to do everything in me power t' keep the lad safe, and happy, and most importantly, satisfied.
Oh, and from one rogue to another; tha' boy is a damn fine lay!

Writin' never was my forte...can't say as i ever really found use fer it as a pirate. But sometimes, there are certain things that need t' be written down as an affirmation. I am the first t'admit tha' i'm one t' take things fer granted;


Beautiful.
He doesn’t like it when I call him that.
Blushing.
Virginal.
Maiden-like.
Nor does he like those.
He doesn’t realise that these qualities are admirable to me.
“A trophy! Is that all that I am to you?”
Or perhaps he does know, and that’s the problem.
No, the problem lies in the fact that he cannot possibly comprehend the extent of these admirations.
“You must understand; never have you been simply a trophy in this pirate’s eyes.”
Indeed, never a trophy, but forever an idol.
One could hardly call me a spiritual man, but there is one thing in this life that I would gladly worship ‘til the end of my days.
He’s laid out before me now; all long, graceful limbs, sharp muscular plains. Worship him with my hands, I do and then again with my tongue.
This old bed has borne witness to many the carnal sin in its time, but tonight, in this moment, it is an alter, and he the chalice. Or dare I say it; the Holy Grail, because quite frankly, it can’t get any better than this.
He is writhing; skin glowing with perspiration and the flush of arousal.
He is begging; sheets fisted in strong, calloused fingers.
He is panting; my name tumbling from those lips and if I only have one weakness, it’s to hear him calling me in that desperate tone- voice rasping and breath hitching.
He is pillaged.
He is plundered.
He is breached.
He is, “Awe inspiring.”
He is, “Perfect.”
He is, “Mine.” My own, and no one else’s. I’d die one hundred times for him, and pray only that there is something even slightly like him on the other side, for that would be my heaven.
And if I look into those pleading eyes, I see a smoky desire that seems to engulf me as he engulfs me.
He is beautiful.
He is blushing.
He is…not quite so virginal and yet still he is maiden-like, but only in a way that is pure and sensual.
Oh, yes, he is all of these things, but he is also my god.
And he is, “Coming!”
He cries out and it is music to my ears. Not even the voices of Odysseus’s sirens could reach me through this haze, and it seems such a sin that this should end.
But it does, as all good things must, however, I can take comfort in the fact that every day is the Sabbath when your religion is William Turner.