Fandom: POTC (AU)

Pairing: Pintel/Ragetti

Rating: R

Running on Empty

Chapter One

Fucking border patrol.

Pintel didn't like being dead in the water - but firing up the engine could call unwanted attention to the small vessel and right now; he didn't need the feds coming down on his ass over a shipment that was hardly worth the gas to run it from Singapore to the keys. It was more a favor this time - because he and the boy owed that nappy headed jack-of-all-trades their balls. Fucker distracts the cartel's stoolies for them once and he thinks they've become his running dogs.

Bah to MR. Jack Sparrow. This was the last time today. A hundred pounds of Cannabis; only a third of what he might normal run across. Hell, he could remember being elbow deep in the shit; wonder how the hell the dogs didn't smell it when he docked. That was a long time ago; when he'd first started - before the boy had joined him.

The sun was coming up. Daring daylight today. Work with what they don't expect. As far as the authorities knew; he was bringing nothing more then homegrown coffee beans.

Thick fingers flickered the butt of a cigarette off into the ocean and Pintel rested his elbows on the siding. The first rays of the sun kissed his blistered balding head good morning and he didn't feel inclined to welcome it. Pushing near fifty, Pintel was what the business referred to as past his prime. And with every run - he was starting to feel it. Hell; fuck that he looked the part.

A short squat man that was more sturdy weight then fat. What was left of his graying hair was long and dirty. He'd not seen a bath in a week and probably wouldn't even bother for another. Thick arms littered with tattoos (A dragon up his right, a naked woman down his left. Words and pictures and patterns that all had their own meanings) expanded out of the cutoff sleeves of a faded jean jacket. A ratty bandana around his throat that dragged against his bare hairy chest. The occasional scar etched white against the blistered skin on his stomach following the hair to where it started thickening again right before it disappeared into the top of his jeans. He had a scruffy round chin, a nose broken twice and bushy eyebrows that only got more unmaintainable every year. The left one was half disfigured by one hell of a scar. But in all honest opinion, he could have looked worse.

Heavily lined blue eyes squinted as he dug fingers into his jeans for his crumbled pack of cancer sticks. Pulling one out he slipped in between his sun chapped lips and then began the dig for his lighter. Once located he tugged it out and scrapped his calloused thumb against the flint.

Nothing.

"Fuck." He scrapped a few more times before just winging the cheap plastic BIC out to sea. It skipped a few times before sinking out of sight. Couldn't be out of fluid already. Maybe he should cut down on the smoking. Yah right. Pintel wrinkled his nose at the horizon and turned toward the cabin of the small ship. A Hardy Bosun, 20 feet from stern to bow. A little cramped with having to carry product; but it was a fast vessel and it got the job done.

Grumbling to himself the aging man headed into the cabin letting the unlit cigarette dangle in annoyance. Shoving the door open Pintel coughed as the strong sickly sweet order of product - freshly smoked greeted him. "Boy.." he growled as he reached above him for the string of the light and hastily clicked it on. "How many times do I have tah tell yah?"

Squinting in the dim light from the half burnt out bulb; Pintel focused his gaze on the long form that was sprawled out across the bunk.

Fucking hell was the kid ever lanky. Ragetti, Rags (not the boys real name; but neither was Pintel his own.) had been skin and bone the day he'd picked up the do-nothing in off the coast of Bermuda; and it seemed he might of lost weight since then. He was nothing but knobs and knees all entwined in his clothes and the single dirty sheet. A white Jolly Roger fading on a black tank top rose and feel with slow drulls of the lad's painfully thin chest; it was half pulled up and his skin bore an unhealthy looking tan.

A pair of dingy khakis rode low on hips sharp enough to cut; the softer arrow of hair that started at his belly button was crusted with dirt and ash. He had a mess of greasy blond hair and a long scruffy face that didn't quite fill in as Pintel's did. He had more metal in his ears then the older man had graying hair. On his back with his head luring against the wall; eyes shut and shadowed far more then someone of his age should have been; he was quite the awkward little shit. Still despite his gawkiness; the kid reminded Pintel of his younger days. Free; uncaring, dripping an allure of sex, drugs and a complete lack of respect.

A still burning joint was half dangling from Rags wide generous mouth. No doubt the boy had smoked more then his fair share in the last couple hours. The older man growled again and shuffled forward reaching out to pluck it out with a sneer. "Yer gonna burn the fuckin' boat down - Wake up yah candy ass."

The boy's face scrunched and he grumpily rose a hand and ushered the older man to shove off by flaying a skinny arm in his direction before rolling to his side. Pintel used the joint to light his cigarette and then snuff out the item in his palm. Dropping it into a nearby ashtray he hitched a leg up onto the bunk; pushed the boy down on his back and began to jab him in his exposed stomach.

"Comon Rags yah didn't even open a fucking window - it's stuffier in 'ere then yer mother's bra. Get up!"

'Rags' flicked him off.

The older man smirked. As much as the boy was a pain in the ass; he couldn't help but like him. "Aight, yah asked for it." Pintel inhaled deeply on his smoke and then proceeded to pull his entire bulk up onto the bunk before just laying full out on top of the boy's thin frame. He gave a grunt and then hissed smoke out in the others 'sleeping' face.

"Ah! Yah fuckin' bastard! Get off yah weigh a ton!" Rags writhed, coughing and his eyes finally popped open. They didn't quite focus on Pintel though. The left blue; dilated from the drug; squinted in the light from the bulb above; and the right faced in no good direction. That being because it was false, not quite the same blue as his good eye; made of plastic and didn't quite fit. Pintel didn't know the exact details of how the boy had lost the optical. Something about a Cartel not liking how much dope the boy pinched from the total product for his own 'medicinal' uses or something along those lines.

"'Ey I don't weight a ton! Watch yer fuckin' mouth! Yah think yer uncomfortable - I can feel yer fuckin' bones stabbing into my gut." Pintel smiled a mouth full of yellow teeth as he took another drag; shifted his weight so his legs straddled the boy's; and rested his elbows on either side of Rags head. The boy wrinkled his nose up at him and the older man chuckled again. " 'Mornin' sleepin' beauty."

Ragetti rolled his good eye but did little to try to shove the smelly older man off him. Instead he gave a big yawn of bad breath mixed with the pretzels he'd eaten and the weed he smoked right back into his shipmates face. "I was awake an hour 'go when yah decided to go fuck 'round outside."

Pintel actually growled a laugh back. "I was havin' a smoke fer yer information. I woulda stayed in 'ere if I wanted tah fuck around, sweet'eart." he said gruffly and shoved his crotch a few playful times into the younger man's.

Rags groaned a bit (but it seemed it might be more from being squished then from any sort of sexual tension.) "Oh, yer a funny asshole." Ah but he smirked shaking his head making too-many earrings chime out. The boy finally raised his arms and just wrapped them around the older man's handkerchief neck. "That's all yah do anymore. Smoke. Smoke 'n' bitch 'bout me smokin'." He snorted, but even as he was scolding he leaned up to press a kiss to the side of Pintel's mouth; avoiding burning himself on the lit cigarette, which was in danger of dropping ash into the hallow of his bird bone throat. " 'n' fuck 'round. Yer a broken Record, Pinters."

"Ah didn't hear yah complainin' last night, you lil bitch." The older man finally pulled his cigarette from his mouth and aimed it toward the ashtray. Even with his gripping about Rags burning down the boat; he didn't even bother to look to see if he'd made the score before hissing out the smoke and leaning down to close their mouths together.

Between growls, moans and a few giggles from Rags; they kissed heavily. Sharing the taste of tobacco, weed, bad breath and spit. A thin body arched up into a stoat one; grinding together as they battled with their tongues in a different manner then flinging insults. Pintel rose his one hand to shift it through strands of dirty blond hair. He shifted his hips up and began to squirm the other thick arm between them; strong fingers slipping to the hem of that worn tank top; shoving it up toward the lad's collar bone. "Fuck ah want y-"

A blaring horn caused the older man to rear up like a startled horse, slamming his head on the cabinet above the bed. He swore loudly, wincing and about fell off both his boy and the bunk.

"Mother Fuckin' th'hell?"

"Shit! It's the Coastie?" Rags was already squirming out of the bed as Pintel slowly dragged his own ass out of it.

"Shut up.. Stay 'ere!" He reached onto the night table and grabbed the 9mm he stashed there. Shoving it into his back pocket, the older man opened the door to the cabin. He squinted in the morning sun and swore loudly as another loud horn blast about blow him over.

A large black yacht had pulled up along side his ship. Pintel let out a sigh of relief that bordered on annoyance. He lifted his hand off his pistol and stepped more onto the deck. The horn fogged again.

"Ah can fuckin' hear that you asshole! What do yah want!?"

A darkly tanned face with eyes rimmed with liner popped up over the Yachts bow. Wearing a ridiculous sized fedora on his dreaded hair; the man smiled widely; if not a bit vacantly - at Pintel.

"Well I wasn't quite sure you were home; anyhow. You're suppose to be on target two days ago; I was beginning to experience concern over your reliability."

Pintel snorted and begrudgingly waved his hand. Behind him the cabin door opened. "The shores are crawlin' with Coasties. The Fuck if I'm going anywhere near there right now."

Wrists were wiggled in an insane manner and the other man raised a brow. "Adherently I heard of some commotion - that is why I'm here to offer you my ass-" he paused as he looked toward Ragetti who had stepped out of the cabin, tugging down his wrinkled tank top; new joint dangling from his lips.

Jack Sparrow smirked. "I see I was interrupting something." Another wrist roll. "And I hope that's not our little agreement he's smoking."

Pintel rubbed his forehead with a grumble. "Fuckin' aye.. okay.. what's yer plan?"

TBC