{ Young Jack Sparrow: Coming Storm Starters }
“Bold of you to assume we’ll be living through this, you unmitigated shit!” Hal was all but beside himself with fury, but that didn’t stop him from making clear both his frustration and his doubt in no uncertain terms. “Might be better for you if we don’t,” He grumbled in addition – a not so empty threat of retribution for getting them into this disaster in the first place!
“Uhh…” Gates, having completely forgotten the whole ‘call me pretty’ conversation, has found himself temporarily thrown by the compliment. Unthinkingly, he looked down at himself – perhaps the boss was being sarcastic, and he had some manner of grotesque stain on his shirt?
Nope. Just as pressed and polished as he could be after weeks at sea and no port towns to spend money to bathe in.
Looking up, he shrugged and grinned, figuring he might as well roll with it. “Don’t I always?”
@intolerablexsacrifice plotted !!
Something nagged at him – something more insistent than guilt or even frustration. He was intimately familiar with the sensation that he had forgotten something important, and knew better than to chase it. It would come or it wouldn’t, but if he tried to grasp onto whatever his mind was trying to tell him, it would inevitably become impossible to obtain until days after it was actually relevant.
So he kept speaking, insisting that they would not kill Flint, merely depose of him. That he would personally see to it Flint and the Barlow woman were secured in the wake of it, sent off with their pardons. It was an ideal solution, the best option available in light of the brewing mutiny and the fact Flint was losing all track of how to exist without a fight. There were men who would kill to be pardoned, to be offered the chance to live the quiet life this hell robbed them of.
Still, that nagging, hassling sensation –
Wait. He had it – or rather, it had him. Flint was a man who killed to appease the fact he would never be sorry for what he was robbed of, only that he didn’t fight to keep it then. To threaten him with exile was crueller than the promise of mutiny – if only he had thought of that sooner!
“No – I suppose that won’t work for you at all, will it?” He deflated – as much as he hated this situation, he also had no intention of making an enemy of Flint. The situation was fucked, but he had spent too long beside this bastard not to want to see him off well. “So we’re back at an impasse then.”
There was only one thing for it – if he couldn’t exile Flint –
“I resign. When this is over – how you get out of it is your business. As for me – I’ll find my way elsewhere.”
{ Smash or Pass }
“Well between you, me – and this little wall here,” Because apparently the fourth wall holds as much bearing to Hal Gates as it might for Deadpool, “I’d say smash if it weren’t for one tiny little detail.” He paused, gave it a little moment to sink in, before pointing out the fucking obvious. “I’m fucking dead.”
There is a quietness between them now. It was one thing to come back from the dead – one thing to fight over, to yell about, to overcome. It was a whole other bag of fucking cats to accept the bullshit price Hal had ended up paying – and the reward that came with such a curse.
Up until now he’d managed to keep the arcane to himself – he was a spook enough to the men without it – but now Flint knew, and it would only be time that would determine if the man would opt to make use of it – or do all in his power to end the risk it posed.
The arm around his shoulders was a promising sign of truce, for now at least. At the question, he grumbled low before pointing out flatly, “Not once since I woke up like this, I’ll tell you that.” It was harsh, perhaps, but it was the truth of it. “Imagine it’ll fade with time – either my being bothered, or the sense that I should be. Suppose I just can’t tell which unnerves me more at this juncture.”
~
Hal wasn’t drawing back, and he wasn’t relenting, either. What he was doing was making this entire situation worse (which until now had, in general, been Flint’s job – and even he would never pull this shit). Their foreheads were still resting together; Hal’s breath was on his face, his voice a rumble in the little space between them, and despite the fact that he was clearly referring to Flint snapping his fucking neck, the unusual tension between them simply wasn’t going away.
His hands twitched. His body shifted under Gates, like he might be working himself up to start fighting again. That would have been the intelligent thing to do. At least, it would have been the intelligent thing to do in comparison to what Flint did do, which was decidedly up there on the list of stupid, impulsive decisions he’d made throughout his life.
Flint kissed him. It took only the slightest tilt of his head to allow it, which in Flint’s mind was only proof that Hal should never have been this fucking close to his face in the first place. It was the briefest press of lips, but it was decidedly more than a peck, which could have been played off as a jest. This–could most assuredly not be played off. But what the fuck did Hal think was going to happen?
Probably not this, Flint’s mind supplied helpfully, while he burned with adrenaline. Just about anything else, maybe.
He was already trying to come up with some kind of excuse in his mind as he withdrew, wide-eyed and whole body burning (and shaking, which he supposed was only natural after kissing a man you had no business kissing). With nowhere else to look, Flint simply glared like this was Gates’ fault, and tilted his chin up slightly without a word.
Perhaps he should not have provoked him.
In truth Hal couldn’t have said what possessed him to do it in the first place, but there was no denying the outcome was already leading to panic. He could feel the man shaking beneath him – and even if he couldn’t, the effort Flint’s face and neck were presently making to dress as one with his hair would have been a dead giveaway regardless.
So, this was a quandary if there ever was one. On the one hand, he still had Flint pinned ( and it had a whole new context thanks to that little bit of cheating on the captain’s end! ) and could certainly get on up out of here well before the damn spitfire registered he’d bolted for it. On the other hand –
Ah, fuck it. Whatever remained of his immortal soul already had it’s soul nailed to this fucking idiot anyway. What was another sin for the coffin?
“That was shit.” A rude critique, but it was true – barely a fucking peck, and hardly anything to brag about. Lifting up, Hal kept his grip and shifted so that he could get up and haul Flint with him. Once they both had their feet under them, Hal was good enough to give Flint his arms back – bu only so as to reach up and yank his lanky ass in for a proper kiss.
~
Flint gave an indignant noise of protest in the back of his throat as his arms were immobilized, Hal’s grip on them firm and inescapable. He tried to wrench them free, naturally: it was as futile as the rest of this endeavour, which only made this worse. Gates’ weight on him rose a ridiculous sensation in his stomach, a sort of fuzzy, flipping nervousness that Flint was determined to suppress by fighting.
That plan was put to rest the moment Gates leaned down. The alarm Flint felt was indescribable– he could think of only one reason anyone would put their face this close to his in a moment like this, and his thoughts turned to searing crimson and rushing seafoam in the wake of that idea.
Hal bumped their fucking foreheads together, because of course he did.
Flint was fairly certain his soul left his body in the heartbeat it took for it to register, but if nothing else, it was effective: he’d frozen, praying his face wasn’t as red as it felt, or that it could at least be blamed on the exertion of trying to get Gates off. Blinking up at him like a startled animal, the fight was utterly drained from his body. Heat crawled up his throat.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” His voice cracked on the last word, voice jumping in pitch even as his eyes narrowed and his jaw twitched, “I’d like my arms back.”
The struggling stopped, and for a moment everything seemed so still that it was almost wrong – it took Hal a moment to realize that the tension had nothing to do with the whispers that had quieted in the midst of all this wrestling, but rather everything to do with the somewhat precarious position he’d put the captain into.
Now, a good man might have – upon the realization of matters – been kind enough to withdraw now that all ends had been achieved. The fight was won, the resistance was gone, they could get up now and talk this out like civilized men and pretend they never noticed that things got a little strange.
Unfortunately, Hal Gates was not a good man. Maybe he had been once, but whatever he was now – it was as mischievous as the soul that had forged him.
“I’d say my minding relies rather heavily on what you mean to do with them should I give them back to you. all things considered.” In another circumstance that might have been a rather threatening remark, but considering he hadn’t deigned to cease his headbump it rather put a strange spin on things.
~
He doesn’t know what the fuck he expected, but this most certainly wasn’t on the list. Retaliation had been inevitable; Flint had known that from the moment his anger snapped him into motion. A punch, or a shove, or a fucking slap, he might have expected. But Hal slamming him into the floor and keeping him there?
He stares at him, wheezing a little. There’s a brief struggle as soon as he can breathe again, Flint’s hips lifting and twisting as he tries to wriggle out from under the bastard to no avail. He shoves uselessly at Hal’s knees, glaring silently up at him. The back of his neck is burning. Sitting on him like this is one thing- does he have to just look at him like that, too? Smug bastard.
“That you’re fucking heavy, for one thing.” That Hal could probably break Flint in half, for another, but Flint’s fairly certain that’s always been true, even before Hal became–whatever he is now. Flint narrows his eyes, waiting until he’s sure he’s fully composed himself before reaching to grapple with the bastard again, throwing his whole damn body into the effort of getting Gates off of him. He very likely looks like a fish struggling out of water, hair all over the place and body contorting, but that’s an indignity he’ll take any day over just lying there under him in defeat.
Hal huffed at that, “Now you’re just being rude,” The admonishment was lost a moment as Flint took this opportunity to flail at him – but seeing as there was nothing actually in reach to smash him with the man was all but sailing upstream without a wind.
“You done?” He asked as he rode this out, only to have to lean back as Flint swiped at him like an angry cat. Well enough of that then.
Grabbing the flailing arms, he brought them together and locked them in his grip so that all Flint could really do was buck and wriggle – which admittedly probably was not the best look. Heaving a sigh, he shifted, locking their position again and leaning down suddenly to press his forehead to Flint’s while still maintaining his grip – considering using the shadows to bind the man if he had to but hoping that the very unexpected headbump might knock the fight out of him more effectively.
“Mm,” The sound is involuntary, and the way his hand moves to swat the captain aside is as instinctive as the slight and strange way he cocked his hips so that he could arch his side out of easy reach. “Fuck off, you twat,” Falls from his lips before he even looks and realizes who it is, and it is decidedly not who he thought it was.
Which, admittedly, was about ninety percent of the crew. He had a good enough rapport with most of them that he knew the better majority of the lot would try it – some were too serious, others too respectful, and still others – smart enough to know Gates didn’t like them enough to let them get away with it.
Still left a pretty large majority though.
“What’s gotten into you?” He could not help but wonder – playfulness wasn’t really a public thing with the captain. “You’re not sick are you,” A tease to make up for the other response, his hand reaching over as if to check the man’s forehead – further indicating Hal wasn’t actually pissed, just startled.
The response is immediate as he drops his shoulder and launches forward, returning the shove by barrelling the other man in the chest. The force he struck with was exactly enough, and he was able to haul the other man almost brutally to the ground. They crashed to the floor of the cabin, and Hal was quick to straddle the man’s waist and keep him pinned even as he sat up and crossed his arms, just looking at him from that position.
“So, what did we learn?”
Ocean Archive 