Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

-- ST Coleridge, Rime of the Ancient Mariner

"Jack? Jack, where are we?"

"What... no, Orlando. It's me, it's Johnny. Remember? We're still... we're on the boat. You're going to be okay, I promise."

"I'm very tired, Jack."

"I know. Help will be here soon. Stay with me."

"Jack? Where..."

"Stay with me, Will."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He didn't know how it had started, or if he could have stopped it sooner, or if he could have stopped it at all. It was hard to remember the little details, like whose mad drunken idea it had been - they'd been drunk, he remembered that much - or how they managed to get hold of this tiny boat, although he had a horrible (he'd rather not call it sinking) suspicion they had stolen it, with the cheerful disregard of the drunken for any consequences in the morning.

He only knew that at some stage they must have fallen asleep, and when they woke up the only thing they could see was... sea. And even then, it was hilarious at first. They'd laughed, and broken into some ridiculous song about a sailor who went to sea sea sea to see what he could see see see, but that had stopped being so funny after the fifth time they sang it and they realised that really, between the hangover and salt air they were getting very thirsty.

He remembered that the sun had been very quick to rise. The small icebox on the boat's floor contained beer and bait and ice. The ice smelled like rotting fish. Orlando had taken one look at the beer and bolted to the side of the boat, vomiting a goodly amount of beer and whiskey and various cocktails into the ocean. He had stayed there, retching miserably every time the boat moved, for the better part of two hours.

If nothing else, Johnny had thought bleakly at the time, their rescuers could follow the trail of puke. Unless the fish ate it first, of course, and he had wisely chosen not to share that thought with Orlando, who was by this time attempting to feed his lower intestine to the sharks, if the painful sounds he was making were any indication...

The sun had been very quick to rise, and things had stopped being even remotely funny after that.

10.00 - FRIDAY

Johnny sucked on a piece of squid-flavoured ice and considered the situation. They both should have been on set an hour ago, so most likely the phones in their hotel rooms would be ringing by now. Next would be the calls to other cast members, crew members, friends, and the proprietors of various favourite drinking establishments. Then maybe a search or two, he figured, before Gore finally broke and called the police.

All up, he decided, they had at least four or five hours before anyone even considered looking for them out to sea, if they considered it at all. The day was already beginning to heat up; he could feel sweat beginning to gather at his armpits and groin, slicking the skin at the base of his throat and the backs of his knees, tickling the small of his back.

Orlando was still resolutely dry-skinned, although he was starting to look a little flushed, his face a funny colour from where it was trying to be pink and pale and slightly greenish all at the same time. He still sat, miserably slumped, against the side of the boat, his eyes half-lidded and focused on nothing in particular. He had tried to eat the piece of ice Johnny offered him earlier, but the smell had him leaning back over the water, retching dryly, and he hadn't tried again since.

"Hey," Johnny offered around his piece of ice, "you okay, buddy? You want to have another try with the ice?"

Orlando blinked, very slowly, and shifted his gaze until it rested in Johnny's direction. "Ice?" He sounded puzzled, and half asleep. "No, I. What? My head hurts. My h... could you open a window or something?"

Johnny blinked at him and swallowed his piece of ice. "A window? What the hell?"

Orlando's voice shifted into a whine, his voice heavy and slurred. "S'hot. My head hurts."

Johnny shifted to his knees, alarm beginning to stir. "And you want me to open a window?" He started to crawl over to where Orlando was sitting.

"That's just silly,' Orlando told him sleepily. "We're on a boat. There are no windows. Are you feeling all right, Jack?"

Johnny stopped dead, feeling the ice he had swallowed sit stubbornly cold inside his gut. "What... what did you say? What did you just call me?"

Orlando just stared at him like he was the one going nuts. "Johnny. You remember? Johnny Depp? Actor? You? I think you've got a touch of the sun, mate." Then he closed his eyes and groaned. "God, my head. How long do you think it'll take before they find us out here?"

Johnny shifted cautiously back until he was leaning against the opposite side of the boat, his eyes not leaving Orlando for a second. "Um. I guess they'll probably start searching the water around one or two, maybe. After they try everywhere on land."

"Mmm." Orlando's eyes were closing again. "We'll have to be careful, then," he murmured. "If they do find us they'll lock us both up again, and then we'll never find Elizabeth."

Johnny licked his lips, shivering. "Orlando?" he said quietly. "Don't... don't go to sleep, okay? I think something's wrong."

Orlando's eyes opened and fixed on him. "What's wrong?" he asked, worried. "Are you sick?" He leaned closer, squinting slightly. "You are looking a bit pale, and... God, you're shaking. Maybe you shouldn't eat any more of that ice."

Fuck.

"No," Johnny said hastily. "No, the ice is fine. It's okay. I just... I get a little seasick on small boats, is all. The ice helps. You should have some."

Orlando grimaced slightly, shaking his head. "I'd rather not. If I throw up any more I'll turn myself inside out. Then you could use me as bait." And he giggled.

It was the most horrifying sound Johnny had ever heard; high and raspy and not entirely rational.

"Just one piece," he tried. "Come on, you must be thirsty. One piece of ice and I'll leave you alone, I promise."

Orlando just looked at him, his gaze oddly sad. "Maybe later," he said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Johnny?"

"I'm here, it's okay."

"Johnny?"

"Orlando, I'm right here."

"Don't... don't be scared, Johnny."

"I'm not, I... stay with me, okay?"

"Your skin is cold."

"I'm sorry."

"No... it's nice."

"Okay."

"I'm tired, Johnny."

"I know. Me too. Stay with me, Orlando."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

12.00 - FRIDAY

The sun was shifting higher, the heat sullen but bright and fierce enough to burn, enough to hurt. Johnny took off his shoes and socks and Orlando tried to do the same, but his fingers were clumsy and fumbling and he needed help. Johnny pulled the shoes from his feet, wincing at the dryness of dry skin, batting away Orlando's hands as they tried to help.

Orlando's skin against his palms was dry and hot; his breathing was fast and laboured. Hoping to lead by example, Johnny stripped off his shirt and leaned over the side of the boat to dunk it in the ocean, before pulling it back on. The wet material was blissful against his skin and he watched, hoping to see Orlando do the same thing.

Orlando just watched him, though, from his listless slump against the boat's side, panting like a small dog and making no attempt to move.

Johnny swallowed hard and started forward to help. "Here, I'm going to take your shirt off and get it wet. You need to cool down, Orlando. You're making yourself sick."

Orlando fought against him for a moment; the movement making him gag weakly before he slumped forward against Johnny's chest, letting him pull the shirt up and off. "Jack," he slurred quietly. "Jack, what are you... no, I. Elizabeth. Johnny?"

Johnny said nothing, dipping Orlando's shirt into the water with one hand and holding him upright with the other.

"Johnny?" He sounded panicked, now, and Johnny pulled back, holding the shirt up and wringing the water out onto Orlando's head before wrapping it around his shoulders. Orlando struggled briefly, then subsided, gasping. "I don't... feel well," he said, his voice broken, and Johnny closed his eyes for a moment.

"I know, buddy," he muttered. "I'm trying." Leaning awkwardly sideways, he managed to snag the icebox with one hand and drag it closer. Sitting back in a sprawl against the boat's side with his legs apart, he pulled Orlando around to sit in front of him, letting his own wet shirt cool the hot skin of his back. Orlando's shirt he spread over the feverish chest, fanning it slightly.

The ice was starting to melt, but he grabbed a piece and pushed it against Orlando's cracked lips. He felt the other man's tongue as he pushed the ice inside, feeling it melt almost instantly in the heat of his mouth.

He rested his ice-cooled hand for a moment against Orlando's chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart and the quick rasp of his breathing. Heat still blazed from his skin, the wet shirt already growing warm, and even as he listened Orlando's breathing grew faster into panicked gulps for air.

"Jac.. Johnny? Ss-someth's wrrong..."

"Jesus, Orlando! Calm down!" Johnny was panicking himself, his eyes darting madly around the boat looking for something - anything that would help, but his frantic search was halted abruptly when Orlando stiffened in his arms, choking.

"Fuck. Fuck!" Orlando was jerking convulsively, shuddering against him, unconscious and seizing and Jesus, Johnny could feel a new warmth and wetness against his legs as Orlando's bladder released itself, the sharp smell of urine blending with the scents of fear and sickness and sea. He pulled them both sideways and down, curling with his cheek against the deck of the boat and his arms holding Orlando against his body, feeling the spasms finally slow and lessen into the occasional shiver.

He was crying, he realised; helpless, terrified tears falling onto Orlando's shoulder and the back of his neck. He couldn't stop or control the quick hitches of his breath, could only hold onto Orlando and whisper petrified gibberish into his ear and hope that he wouldn't die before he could figure something out, hope that he wouldn't be stuck on this boat forever with a dead boy in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Johnny?"

"I'm here."

"I'm sorry, Johnny."

"You haven't done anything wrong, Orlando."

"We're not going to find Elizabeth, are we?"

"... We'll find her. I promise."

"Do you think when we find her, she'll mind if..."

"If what?"

"I like it when you're holding me like this."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

13.00 - FRIDAY

The sun was still hot and sharp, but there was a bright coldness to his thoughts now, letting him act, letting him do, with the memory of his tears on Orlando's burning, golden skin and the stutter of Orlando's heartbeat against his palm.

What remained of the ice he wrapped inside two halves of his torn shirt and placed under Orlando's armpits, trying not to flinch at the heavy, unconscious weight of the arms as he lifted them. He wet Orlando's shirt again and wrapped it around his head like a turban. He removed both their pants and soaked them, spreading them on the deck, then rolled Orlando onto them before jumping out of the boat into the water.

The cold was a welcome shock and he stayed there, treading water, for as long as he could before hauling himself back into the boat and wrapping himself around the other man, pressing his wet skin against Orlando and feeling him grow slowly cooler, at least on the surface.

He kept his mind resolutely on steps to be followed, not thinking about permanent damage, not checking his watch; help would come when it would come. His hands were very steady as he emptied a bottle of beer over the side and filled it with water from the ocean, then emptied another and filled it with melted ice water from the icebox.

He poured the ocean water over Orlando's body; over his neck and shoulders, over his chest and belly, over his groin and legs and feet. When the bottle was empty, he dipped his hand into the icebox, into the cold water, and ran his dripping palm over the same path of skin, over and over, cooling and soothing and speaking softly, hoping Orlando could hear.

He pressed his wet hand over Orlando's chest, feeling the slower beat of his heart and breathing easier himself, before dipping his hand again and bringing it further down the still body, blanking his mind as he took Orlando's flaccid cock in his hand. Ice at the groin, he remembered vaguely, and cradled Orlando's balls briefly, feeling the heat of them against his skin.

Orlando shifted slightly, murmuring, and Johnny moved his hand back up, still cool, to rest against his chest; he didn't want to embarrass the boy, he told himself.

"Johnny?" Orlando's voice was a quiet, exhausted whisper of sound, almost lost against the murmur of the ocean.

"Yeah," Johnny told him. "I'm here, I'm right here." He shifted awkwardly to pick up the bottle of melted ice water, bringing it to Orlando's lips. "You need to drink some of this, okay? It'll make you feel better."

Orlando moved his head away with a soft moaning sound. "N-no... smells bad. Like dead things."

A surge of impatience made him snap "If you don't drink, you're going to be one of those dead things."

Orlando went very still against him for a moment, but before he could apologise one shaking hand came up to lift the bottle, and Orlando drank without further complaint.

The tensing of the still-warm body should have warned him, but it didn't.

"Sorry," Orlando managed to choke out, before the water he had drunk came back up again, still cold. Guilty, Johnny smoothed his hand down to rest against the spasming muscles of his belly.

"No," he said quietly. "I'm sorry, I should have known that would happen. But you really need to try again. Smaller sips, maybe?"

A small sound from Orlando that could have been a sob, and then he nodded.

The water stayed down this time, but Johnny felt no particular sense of victory; the sun was still hot and hateful, beating down on them both and drying the salt water into itching crystals on their skin. Orlando was growing hotter again, and there was only so much he could do with melting ice and bottles of beer-scented water from the ocean.

"Jack?" Orlando's voice had gone vague again, with a strangely childlike note beneath the words that made him shiver. "Jack, where are we? I don't... there's something wrong, isn't there?"

"Yeah," breathed Johnny, and knew he'd have to jump back into the water soon. "Yeah, there's something wrong."

"Oh." Orlando's voice was very small. "What are we going to do?"

"We're going to wait," Johnny told him quietly. "Just... wait. Help will come. I promise."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Johnny?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you... is there a sound?"

"What kind of a... oh. Oh."

"What's happening?"

"It's okay. We're okay. Help is here."

"Johnny?"

"Yeah?"

"Stay with me."

"I... yeah. I will. Promise."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

11.00 - SUNDAY

Orlando was already awake when Johnny let himself into the hotel room, but he moved quietly anyway.

Dark eyes watched him in sleepy bemusement out of a sunburnt face; cracked lips turned up slightly at the corners.

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

Johnny smiled back at him, and made a great show of looking him up and down before settling himself cross-legged on the end of the bed. "You're not going to start calling me Jack again, are you?"

Orlando flushed, the sunburn darkening briefly. "Yeah, they told me about that. God help us all if it gets into the tabloids."

Johnny allowed himself a smirk and leaned forward slightly. "Did they tell you what else you were saying?"

Orlando's eyes widened in trepidation. "No... but you're going to tell me, right?"

Johnny grinned. "Oh, Jack," he moaned, in a fair approximation of Orlando's English lilt. "Elizabeth can go to hell. I want you and only you, my sexy pirate hero!"

Orlando blinked at him. "My sexy pirate hero?" he said dubiously. "That doesn't sound like something I'd say. Are you sure I was the only delirious one on that boat?" He frowned. "I certainly wasn't the only naked person on that boat. What the hell were you up to while I was out of it, anyway?"

Johnny cocked his head, considering. "I could show you, if you'd like. Might help jog your memory." He bobbed his eyebrows and leered as obscenely as he could manage.

"Uh huh," Orlando said sceptically, and then shrugged, looking amused. "Why not?" He sat up, throwing the covers completely off the bed, and began stripping to the skin. He paused and raised an eyebrow when he realised Johnny wasn't moving. "Well?" he said impatiently.

Johnny started to speak, then thought better of it and started removing his own clothes. Naked, he climbed onto the bed and gathered Orlando against him, pressing his chest against the younger man's back.

They were both silent for a long moment, then Orlando shifted slightly in his arms. "So you're telling me you didn't take advantage of me? Not even a little bit?"

He sounded disappointed, Johnny thought.

"Well," he said. "I was trying to cool you off... pretty much everywhere, you know."

"Everywhere?" That was definitely interest he was hearing.

"Yeah," Johnny told him, hearing his own voice growing slightly hoarse. "Mostly here, and here," and he moved his hand from one of Orlando's armpits to the other. "And here." He moved his hand down to cradle Orlando's cock and felt it start to grow beneath his hand. He squeezed, and heard Orlando's breath catch slightly.

"Then what?" Orlando's voice sounded breathless, but in a good way this time.

Johnny smiled. "And then you woke up."

Orlando didn't seem at all deterred, pushing his hips slightly against Johnny's hand. "What... what would you have done, if I'd stayed asleep? Just lying there, naked, with your hand on me like this. Are you... did you get hard?"

Uh," Johnny took a moment to focus and drag his mind away from Orlando's ass pushing back against him. "If, if you hadn't woken up? Yeah, I...oh. Would have gotten hard, yeah. And I, I wouldn't be able to help myself, I would have started to, uh," and he pushed himself between the cleft of Orlando's buttocks, feeling himself grow harder and moving his hand on Orlando, rubbing, feeling the first slick liquid spill over his fingers.

"And I would have stayed asleep." Orlando's voice was dreamy, but the tiny hitches in his breathing gave him away and he was shoving himself more urgently into Johnny's fist. "Fast asleep, and getting harder and harder while you rubbed my cock, and you - "

His voice broke off and Johnny groaned. "I would have needed really bad to be, be inside you, only there'd be - uh - there's nothing to... fuck it. Orlando, what can I use?"

"Hand cream," Orlando ground out, writhing against him. "Bedside table. Drawer. Fuck - hurry."

Johnny pulled them both up roughly, Orlando moving with him onto his hands and knees, and groped blindly with his free hand until he found the drawer, pulling it open and rummaging until he found the small tub, unscrewing it one-handed, braced between their bodies. He tossed the lid aside and dipped his fingers in, coating them.

"Fucking do it," snarled Orlando, his cock already starting to jerk under Johnny's hand.

So hot he was moaning with every exhale, he pushed slick fingers into Orlando's ass, curling them inside and grinning fiercely when he heard Orlando's bitten off cry.

"Oh, good, good." Orlando was pushing back in quick, uncoordinated jerks, fucking himself mindlessly on Johnny's fingers, breathless. "Fucking do it, will you? God, stop pissing around and put your fucking cock in me before I c... " His words trailed off into a groan as Johnny wrenched his fingers out and replaced them with his cock. "Oh. Oh, fuck. God. Yeah."

"Mmm." Johnny could feel his eyes rolling back into his head. So hot, so fucking tight, and he wasn't going to last, no way. He pulled back, thrust, and that was all he could bear. Just pushed himself in as far as he could go and ground himself into that tight hot space in quick, urgent shoves until he could feel himself starting to come, the rush burning up from the base of his spine and he choked and groaned into Orlando's shoulder, spilling into him in fierce, helpless spasms.

Orlando writhed beneath him, sounding frantic. "God, fuck, keep moving, just like that, just like, oh, oh," and then he was coming into Johnny's fist, pushing and thrusting and pulsing, his cock spitting hot, slick cum over Johnny's fingers and onto the sheets beneath them.

They collapsed forward onto the bed, just breathing for a moment, and then Orlando started to laugh, snorting into the pillow.

"What's so funny?" Johnny mumbled into the nape of his neck and licked absently at the sweat he encountered there.

"My, my sexy pirate hero!" Orlando was laughing so hard the whole bed was shaking.

"T'was indeed a jolly roger," Johnny agreed, which sent Orlando off into new spasms of laughter, tipping Johnny off his back to roll around on the bed, laughing so hard he was crying.

Eventually they calmed and Orlando flopped onto his back, gasping. "Oh, I needed that."

Johnny grinned. "Glad I could be of service," he said, and Orlando punched him lazily on the shoulder.

"You know," he said slowly, "we don't have to be back on set until Wednesday."

"Yes," Johnny agreed slowly. "Why, what are you thinking?"

Orlando rolled onto his side, leaning on an elbow and looking at him with such innocence Johnny was immediately suspicious. "Well," he said earnestly. "I was thinking. If we really want to build up our onscreen rapport - our chemistry, you know - we should maybe switch roles for a little while. Try to get a grip on each other's motivations, you know?"

Johnny licked his lips. "So... what you're saying is, you want to be on top next time?"

"Ar, matey," said Orlando, and pounced.

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