InsaneJournal

A/N: This might seem a bit confusing but bear with me, it does make sense in its strange postmodernist way. lol

A Beautiful Sword, indeed

His lips only open slightly, barely noticeably as his achingly hard cock is engulfed in wet warmth and he casually leans back in his heavy chair, listening to the crackling of the fire in his office. There is hardly need for any more heat on such an unendurably hot day but he likes the sound too much, especially when it is accompanied by the various mid-day noises from the busy town and the faint sucking noises from under his desk. His hands are resting on the armrests of his chair, his head is leaned against the back, his eyes are closed, his features relaxed; if anyone came in, he would merely seem to be sleeping.

He is the epitome of calm self-control even now, when inside he’s trembling in anticipation and he knows he will soon be shaking like a volcano that is threatening to erupt after a long, deep slumber. But to keep his dignity at all times is the least that can be expected from Lord Beckett. He wonders faintly when the last time was that he thought of himself as anything other than Lord Beckett.

He used to be Cutler once.

But he quickly drowns the thought and directs his attention back to the way those lips slide up and down his hardness. It’s a talented mouth, Lord Beckett thinks rather pleased and slips his fingers into the other man’s hair. The dark dreadlocks are surprisingly soft. He can feel the surprised sound the other makes around his prick but he doesn’t care to interpret its meaning, just presses his cold fingers into the man’s scalp and takes over control of the rhythm. It doesn’t take long for the man to adjust to the demanding pace and takes the rigid flesh deeper and deeper in his willing mouth. Cutler Beckett almost smiles at the eagerness of the pirate but can control the urge the last minute, digging his fingers into the armrest of his chair. But when Jack gently brushes his long, dark fingers against his balls, Cutler can’t help it and cries out into the silent night. He’s not sure if he hates or loves the amused chuckle of his lover around him. How can Jack look so smug and dominant even when kneeling on the cold floor, viciously sucking another man’s cock, while being at risk of being found by said man’s father, who would undoubtedly get a heart attack when seeing in what wicked ways his office is used? But Cutler can hardly finish the thought because he’s overwhelmed by the intensity of the fire in Jack’s grinning eyes, by the love he can see there… no… Cutler is far beyond conscious thoughts now, all he knows is that he wants more, needs more, everything Jack can give. He wants to ask his lover… he needs to be touched there… He needs to be filled by the man he loves, the man who loves him… stop… Cutler is close to begging for more but he is trapped inside and can’t make himself be heard no matter how much he screams. And when the violent waves of his orgasm wash over him, Lord Beckett only lets out a barely audible sigh and the raging earthquake of his insides is nothing more than a slight shudder on the surface.

It takes him mere seconds to pull himself together again. He pulls his softening member out of the other man’s mouth and closes his breeches again before standing up from his chair and casually walking over to the liquor cabinet to pour himself some of his fine wine. He doesn’t offer any to the hunched figure still kneeling on the floor.

“You may take your leave now, Admiral.”

Lord Beckett’s voice is cold and hard, and he doesn’t look at the other man, who suddenly seems to become aware of his surroundings and stands up a bit shakily but without leaning on anything. He dusts down his breeches without a word and with practical, emotionless movements puts on his heavy coat and wig, which have been carefully placed on the dark mahogany desk earlier. He instinctively reaches out to wipe his lips with the back of his hand but suddenly stops the movement, obviously not willing to do anything to acknowledge what has happened and then folds his slightly trembling hands behind his back. And Lord Beckett knows without seeing his face that the usual hard mask of indifference is back in place as the man moves to the door with stiff steps, a straight back, a slightly pale face and haunted eyes but firmly holding onto the last shreds of his dignity. But before he can close the door behind himself a voice too uninterested to be cruel reaches out to stab him in the back.

“Haven’t you forgotten something? Admiral?”

Lord Beckett allows his lips to curl into a bored smile as the other man stumbles back to the desk and reluctantly closes his fingers around the sword he got back when he regained his position and honour. A beautiful sword, indeed.

A/N: Ok, so I hope this was not too confusing. I will try not to over-analyze my own work, that’s the worst one can do, but let me just say that any inconsistencies (like in how Cutler’s referred to or whether it’s day/night etc.) are due to his mind’s strange travel back in time. I was trying to show how he is sort of wavering between past and present all the time, sometimes even during one sentence. Sorry, I think I’m too much into postmodernism right now. :P