[ He's not that much of a mystery, really, if one can put aside the stories civilization tells about Jack and those like him. Everyone on this Earth who ever gave two shits about him met an early death or was molded into a monster by their perseverance, and so he's learned very intimately that the way they are spoken of, as monsters, is too broad and dehumanizing a stroke. The most notorious among them, men like Samuel Bellamy, Edward Teach, Charles Vane - and soon, if multiple dumbstruck (or horrified) men here from the future are to be believed, Jack Rackham - are noteworthy for their ability to put that costume on when needed, play that role to perfection to instill fear where they want it.
But they're still men underneath it. Irving can learn that lesson or not, it doesn't matter much to him. He only needs to show enough of himself to keep Irving curious, keep him coming back to him when he's got this itch to scratch. ]
Fuck--
[ Irving clenching impossibly tighter around him makes him growl a curse into his ear, grip his hip hard enough to bruise if he keeps it up too long, so he doesn't, raising his hand to the back of his head to keep him flush against him. Jack doesn't stop, keeping his pace as well as he can while willing himself to hold on, keep fucking him until he's done, pulling every last drop of his pleasure from him.
His hand twists in Irving's hair and pulls, yanking his face far enough away that Jack can see the hot flush taken over him, the hazy eyes sinfully glazed over. Jack keeps slamming up into him as long as he can before he finishes, spilling deep with a grunt to the sound of heavy breathing on both sides. ]
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But they're still men underneath it. Irving can learn that lesson or not, it doesn't matter much to him. He only needs to show enough of himself to keep Irving curious, keep him coming back to him when he's got this itch to scratch. ]
Fuck--
[ Irving clenching impossibly tighter around him makes him growl a curse into his ear, grip his hip hard enough to bruise if he keeps it up too long, so he doesn't, raising his hand to the back of his head to keep him flush against him. Jack doesn't stop, keeping his pace as well as he can while willing himself to hold on, keep fucking him until he's done, pulling every last drop of his pleasure from him.
His hand twists in Irving's hair and pulls, yanking his face far enough away that Jack can see the hot flush taken over him, the hazy eyes sinfully glazed over. Jack keeps slamming up into him as long as he can before he finishes, spilling deep with a grunt to the sound of heavy breathing on both sides. ]