Written by: mamazano and danglingdingle

Title: Confessions

Rating: NC-17 (MA)

Characters: Jack/Will

Disclaimer: Disney owns them, we just like playing with them

Warnings: Deliciously decadent man on man love, with a healthy dose of blasphemy. A heady combination.

Summary: Jack has a confession to make...

*

****

Havana - 1757

****

"Hurry! This way!"

The sound of approaching boots made the two men scramble in retreat, their own boots splashing through the puddles dotting the rain-slick cobbled streets. The night was black, the pale sliver of a moon hidden behind a blanket of clouds, the air heavy with the scent of night blooming jasmine. They made their way through a maze of crooked streets lined with tall buildings, their balconies casting long shadows across pools of lamp light spilling from their windows.

"I think we lost them," Will said, breathing hard.

Back pressed to the wall, Jack peered cautiously around the corner of the building, before answering. "Not for long. Best we get back to the Pearl before they return."

"There!" A sudden shout echoed down the street.

"Time to go!" The men made a mad dash across the street, ducking into the alley and running towards the avenue beyond. They reached the end just as the guard turned the corner. Another shout and several more uniformed men rounded the opposite corner, forcing the fugitives to change direction once again, this time through an arched gate in a high stone wall, beyond which a flagstone path led to the broad steps of a whitewashed church.

"In here," Jack didn't wait to hear Will's protest, just grabbed his arm and pulled him through the heavy wooden door. The two men stood there, panting heavily, a puddle of water forming on the tiled floor from their rain drenched clothes.

"They will know we are here," Will pointed out, in a hushed voice.

Jack grinned, the faint light streaming through the stained glass blending with his own ivory and gold, painting him in a myriad of rainbow hues. "Not if they don't find us."

Skirting the edge of the cavernous church he headed towards the rear where a single lantern hung outside the tabernacle, its light illuminating a life-size crucifix hanging over the ornately carved altar.

Jack glanced up briefly. "Gruesome way t' kill someone, aye?"

Will nodded, avoiding the accusing eyes of the many statues in their marble niches.

The church was obviously one of importance, the white marble railing around the sanctuary and gilded arches overhead spoke of a wealthy patron or Holy Order. The altar itself was enormous, ornately carved out of wood and heavily gilded in gold, as were the massive chairs set to one side where the priests would preside over Mass. The cloying odor of beeswax and incense hung in the still air.

Jack skirted the sanctuary, heading for a side door, which led into a small room filled with robes and stoles. He quickly began to remove his water soaked clothing, stripping down to bare skin before pulling the nearest robe over his head. He tossed another to Will.

"Jack!" Will hissed. "Are you insane?"

"Probably. The guards will be looking for two pirates, won't they?" He bent down and bundled his wet clothes, together with his baldric and boots. "And that's what they won't be finding, savvy?"

Will sighed and quickly stripped down as well, muttering under his breath.

Jack stashed their bundled effects under a long cloth covering a side altar. "Thanks, mate," he said, flashing a grin at the statue in the niche above. "St Jude," read the inscription below. "Patron of Lost Causes."

"How apt," Will said dryly.

The sound of the massive front door opening cut further conversation. Pulling their cowls up over their head, Jack and Will ducked into the nearest pew and knelt, heads bowed to conceal their features. To the guard at the door, they appeared to be two monastic brothers, deep in prayer.

The soldiers hesitated at the door, obviously unwilling to disturb the sanctity of the church. After a perfunctory look around, they departed, leaving Jack and Will alone and undiscovered. Breathing a sigh of relief, Jack scooted out of the pew and turned to Will. "I think it's time we got the hell out of here, aye?" he whispered, with a big grin on his face.

Before Will could point out to Jack that they would be doing just that, the side door from which they'd just come opened and a man dressed in an alb entered the church bearing a long pole, and proceeded to light the candles scattered around the altar. At the same time the church bell began to toll.

"Quick! In here!" Jack ducked into a small alcove, dragging Will behind him. The space was barely large enough for a grown man, let alone two.

"Now what?" Will hissed, jammed so tightly against Jack that their noses touched.

They could hear muffled movement in the church beyond, then the somber voices of men in chant. Vespers had begun.

"Looks as if we're going to be stuck here, for a bit," Jack said. "Best make the most of it, aye?"

Will sank onto the kneeler behind him with a groan. Why did he let Jack talk him into these things? The droning chant in the church was soon accompanied by Jack, cheerfully chatting as if they were on the bridge of the Pearl.

"…and by the 13th century, confession was compulsory, which meant the good padre would be required to hear all the sins of his flock. Which of course led the good shepherd to be wanting to share in some of those said sins."

Will was only half listening, his attention distracted by the presence of Jack's cock waggling around under his nose. Shifting his position on the kneeler, Will tried to ignore the bobbing bulge under the robe, with less and less success, and finally giving up to the growing urge, he pressed his cheek against it.

"… wasn't until the 14th century, when men lived alongside women in double monasteries, that grilles were inserted in special recesses in the walls to prevent the priest from coming into contact with the good sisters."

Fascinated more by the constant nudging on the side of his face by Jack's rapidly hardening member, than the story Jack was weaving, Will was having trouble restraining himself, gritting his teeth to resist the temptation right under his nose.

"…nonetheless, the seduction of penitents by their confessors, euphemistically known as solicitatio ad turpia was becoming a perennial source of trouble to the Church, seeing as the perpetrator was able to be absolved of his sin immediately after committing said sin."

"So why not just not go to confession?" Will whispered, hoping Jack might follow his example and do the same.

Jack stroked Will on his head and down his cheek, chuckling. "Because it was compulsory. And, when the poor penitent complained, he or she was told they still had to confess to the lustful priest, and that to pray to God for strength to resist his importunities."

Will said a silent prayer, then, no longer able to resist, slipped his hand under Jack's robe and grabbed the dancing cock.

Letting out a gasp, Jack leaned his head back, purring, as Will stroked him with his thumb, asking with a thick, low voice; "And what if the penitent could not resist?"

He heard Jack gulp as Will pulled his robe up and disappeared under the cloth.

"It took a virtue of uncommon robustness to resist the temptations arising from the confidences of the confessional," Jack rasped, gasping as Will took him deep into his mouth and began to hum.

Somewhere, outside the dark confines of the confessional, a bell began to toll. Neither man noticed, as each was intent on the other.

Without warning, a door slid open in the wall in front of Jack, revealing a grate and a lit alcove beyond in which a priest sat, ear pressed to the grate.

'What's he doing?" Will whispered, emerging from under the robe in alarm.

"Listening. Jesus Will, don't stop now."

"Christ, Jack, how can I with him there?"

"Benedícat vos omnípotens Deus, Pater, et Fílius et Spíritus sanctus. Amen."

"You started this!" Jack hissed, sucking in his breath with a groan as Will complied to his wishes.

"¿Has venido a confesar tus pecados?"

Jack groaned louder, not quite bursting to confess just yet.

"¿Cuándo fue tu última confesión?"

Jack could only moan a mumbled, "Sí padre," in response.

"Jack! What are you doing?," swept hot, divine breath right there.

"Confessing me sins," came the gasped answer between clenched teeth.

"Continuar."

Jack was having difficulty with that, as Will had resumed his expert administrations with a vengeance.

"Madre de Dios," Jack exclaimed, leaning heavily, arms on either side of Will's head, forehead pressed to the wall. "Oh, mygodmygodmygod, yes, yes, Will…"

There was a thick, scared-to-breath- silence from the other side of the wall, followed by a hurried prayer.

"Para su penitencia va a decir cuatro rosarios."

"What'd he say?" Jack whispered, out of breath.

"Something about four rosaries." Will's mumble made Jack want to see his face, the happy smile, and the closed eyes. Jack knew the feeling well…

"Dominus noster Jesus Christus te absolvat; et ego auctoritate ipsius te absolvo ab omni vinculo excommunicationis et interdicti in quantum possum et tu indiges."

The priest made the Sign of the Cross and added, "Deinde, ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen."

The grate slid shut abruptly, leaving them in blessed darkness once again. After waiting several minutes, making sure that the church was once again deserted, and that Will could actually walk (although Jack's promises of what was waiting for him once they reached the Pearl didn't much help in terms of assuaging Will's heated predicament), they made their way out of the confessional and swiftly retrieved their effects.

"You could have gotten us both caught," Will said as he pulled on his boots.

Jack adjusted his baldric and placed his hat on his head. "Me?" Jack grinned and winked, waking another wave of warmth in Will's belly, the taste of Jack still lingering on his lips enticingly. "Aye, but I didn't. And, not only that, unlike you, I've been absolved of me sins."

"What about your penance, Jack? The rosaries?" Will couldn't keep the leer out of his voice.

"Ah, you're right!" Jack glanced around and noticed a brightly painted statue of the Blessed Mother, an array of flickering candles beside it. With a few brisk paces Jack was reaching up, and plucking a silver and gold rosary from around the statue's neck. "Rosary. Right. Outta fetch a good price."

"Jack!"

****

Epilogue:

As sacristan, Br. Antonio was the first to enter the church at sunrise and the last to leave, making sure all candles were extinguished and doors locked after Compline. There had been a time when the church was always open, a welcoming sanctuary for the faithful. But that had been before the plague of pirates had invaded the city, making nightly raids from their stronghold in Regla, a short distance across the Havana harbor.

He now waited impatiently for Father Cordoba, who was hearing confession, to finish, so that he could lock up the sacristy. He wondered what was keeping the priest, not known for lengthy confessions. A shuffling on the steps announced the old man's return, his shoulders drooping and his grizzled head bowed in thought.

Brother Antonio could see Father Cordoba was troubled. He did not ask questions, though, as he helped the priest remove his alb and stole. The sanctity of the confessional was not to be violated, even to appease the younger man's interest. Br. Antonio was not worried. He would find out soon enough what was troubling the old man. Secrets traveled fast throughout the monastery.

He did not even peek to see what unfortunate penitent might be praying his or her penance in the darkened church. A rumbling stomach and the aroma of the evening meal being served in the Refectory overcame the young monk's curiosity. He left by the side door with Father Cordoba, who did not join him for supper but continued onward through the cloister and into the gardens beyond.

****

Father Cordoba lit his pipe and stood deep in thought, the fragrant tropical flowers mixing with the pungent aroma of black tobacco. The earlier rains had moved on, the star-filled sky lending a soft light to the surrounding gardens. An ornate fountain gurgled peacefully from the center of the plaza, somewhere in the distance a dog barked. The peaceful night contrasted with the old priest's trouble heart.

He had always seen himself as a humble servant of the Lord, not one to be tested. And yet, tonight he had been visited by the devil himself. The poor soul in the confession had been practically groaning in his travails, the devil himself must have had him by the balls, to illicit such torment. The moaning and gasps of agony had pierced the old priest's soul. The final pleading to the Virgin Mother for relief had broken his heart.

Praise be to God, the final throes of agony were followed by blissful release as the Prayer of Absolution had been said. How fortunate the wretched man had found salvation in his confessional. Father Cordoba's humble heart swelled with pride, before being squelched by the realization he was but a humble servant of the Lord, at whose feet all good works belonged.

Sighing, he tapped out his pipe and returned it to his pocket. He would have to add pride to his list of sins for his next confession. But still, a small part of him was pleased he was able to bring about such a wondrous release for a fellow man.

****