RL with notjackkerouac

[fortiter_in_re]

Jack Sparrow, James decides at some point over the next month, is clearly trying to drive him mad.  Completely bloody insane.  After their date that month ago- because yes, it was a date, no point denying that- James had expected, maybe hoped for a call in a week or so, after Jack had served his three days in prison.  But nothing.  And then nothing

Comments

[fortiter_in_re]

The dancing swiftly progresses from sensual to downright pornographic, and James joins Will in glaring out at the dance floor. Elizabeth is seventeen bloody years old, for Christ's sake; she's still practically a kid; she should not be able to dance like that with a man (or a woman, James supposes). And as for Jack; the bastard's playing right into her, pressing up against her, leaning so close they might well be kissing. Jack is- well, he's not his, that is ridiculous, presumptuous, and untrue, but whatever he is, he's certainly not Elizabeth's.

His pint glass thumps on the counter as he puts it down, realising after a moment that he may be liable to break the thing with the amount of force he's gripping it with.

This is, frankly, ridiculous. He's not going to sit here and watch the man who's spent the entire time he's known James (which, granted, not long, but still) flirting with him feel up Elizabeth Swann. Will beside him is without a doubt in a similar state, but right now, James can't bring himself to really care about poor Will. He's about to stomp onto the dancefloor and forcibly shove them apart when Jack finally pulls back, putting a space between him and Elizabeth.

A tight breath of something like relief goes out of James, but his face turns no less icy. Jack, when he swaggers back (and no, James, don't you dare look at the state of his trousers; you have no business finding him attractive right now) is met by a frosty glare. James is about to launch into a stinging diatribe when Elizabeth's voice comes from behind Jack, and he sighs.

Well. Might as well take the opportunity to talk to the girl.

So he shoulders his way past Jack, following Elizabeth out onto the dancefloor. Her hands go up around his shoulders, and his come to rest on her delicate hips, but (thankfully, God) she doesn't try to make it anything more than a platonic touch. Looking down at her, he lifts an eyebrow, swaying distractedly on the spot.

'Dare I ask what the hell that was?'

She just laughs, letting her forehead dip down onto James's shoulder. 'We were just playing, James; no need to take it all so seriously.'

But James has a tendency to take things seriously, and Elizabeth knows that. He eyes her dubiously, and she rolls her eyes a little, before perking up slightly. 'How did Will look?'

James sighs. 'Afire with jealousy. Am I to presume that was your intention?'

Elizabeth pouts, looking up over James's shoulder. 'He's so... ugh. I mean, I hope I'm being obvious enough about it, but he can't take a clue. He acts like he's my boyfriend, but-'

She's so childish and petulant in that moment that James almost forgets his ire, laying two fingers over her lips to shut her up. 'Really,' he says, 'There are better ways of getting him to ask you out than by... molesting my-' His breath cuts off in an instant as he realises his mistake, and he quickly corrects himself. 'Molesting Jack Sparrow. There's no need to be cruel.'

His swift correction is to no avail, though, and Elizabeth's eyes sparkle wickedly. 'Your?' She asks, voice laden with the promise of intrigue. 'Your what? You never told me you knew Jack, James? Why not?'

'Not my anything,' James says sternly, fixing her with a serious gaze. He's not even going to bother answering her question. 'Now go console that poor boy. And next time, Elizabeth? Think, please.'

She's seventeen, he doubts she'll listen, but he hopes she might.

[notjackkerouac]

As James brushes past to Jack to follow Elizabeth, Jack turns to stare at their backs. His look has trouble deciding whether it wants to be an indignant pout or miserable scowl. He settles for disgruntled and lowers himself into a chair, all the better to watch James. His jeans pull tight over his groin and Jack must shift slightly, leaning forward on his elbows, so as to not drive himself any more up the wall than he already is.

James isn't a bad dancer, which takes Jack by surprise. Someone that tall, it seems fitting that their limbs should be more awkward, less prone to obeying the whims of the body. But James has himself under control, moving a tad slower than the music maybe, but not unpleasant to watch. Very much not unpleasant to watch. Jack doesn't know how the dance manages to be sensual, clearly little more than platonic, but it is. James is. Towering over Elizabeth, with his head ducked in conversation, muscles working in his shoulders and back.

The bass beat somehow manages to echo the pulse of Jack's heart in the hollow of his throat. Jack swallows around it and lights his forgotton cigarette. The cold buzz of nicotine hopefully will help clear his head.

Will stands next to the table, shoulders tense and angrily silent. Jack glances at him, blowing smoke from his nostrils, and even in the state he's in, he can't help but want to say something.

"It's only a game." He waves the cigarette around as if to help illustrate that point. "That she's playing with you. Go over and ask her to dance with you next song."

Will pushes air from his noise in a huffy, noisy exhale. "Why should I take advice about Elizabeth from you?" His knuckles blanche around the glass.

Jack's fairly sure that if Will was drinking something other than cider, he might very well hit Jack at this point. All he can do is shrug about it, though, placing his eyes firmly back on James. "Because she's like me. And likes me. I know how she thinks."

"Bastard," Will snorts, and yeah, definitely would get a bloody mouth if the cider weren't there to curb Will's violent streak. He rounds on Jack. "Is that the only reason you came over here? To rub it in my face that -- "

"You have your own dealings, son," Jack smoothly interrupts, voice dipping dangerously low. "And I have mine. They overlap only a little." He pointedly shifts his eyes to James, gesturing with the cigarette in case Will doesn't pick up physical clues as well as Elizabeth. James manages to glance over right at that moment and Jack outright, unabashedly leers, somewhat for Will's benefit but mostly for Jack's own pleasure.

Will makes a sound and Jack rolls his eyes. The lad is a lost cause sometimes. He wiggles his fingers for Will to lean close and then grabs at his shirt to finish the job for him. "If you want my advice, which I know you don't but that's besides the point, the whole thing would be solved with one very. Simple. Question." Jack waits for Will to prompt him before continuing. He shoves Will away as quickly as he pulled him close. "Ask her the fuck bloody out."

Will scowls and Jack scowls exaggeratdly, mocking him for it, until something in Will's face breaks. "It's not... I can't, Jack. She's perfect and I -- "

"Could never be worthy of something that brilliant," Jack finishes. "Aye." It's not a feeling Jack has any personal experience with, being far more eager to take what he can get when he can get it and nevermind whether he should or shouldn't. But he does know a distant cousin of that particular problem: the taking of pretty things usually works better in theory than in practice. "Bugger," Jack sighs under his breath, tracking James briefly on the dance floor, then looks back at Will. "Tell you what, I'll do you a deal. I'll arrange some alone time with dear Bess -- with you -- and all you need do in return is ask to the flicks later this week. I'll even pay."

Will looks like he's considering it for a moment -- either that, or the cider's sitting bad in his stomach -- before finally give a firm, single nod. "Fine."

"Good!" Jack forces a wide smile and lifts his drink. Now he just need to work up the courage to drop his own game and steal James away from Elizabeth for a bit.

[fortiter_in_re]

The rest of the dance passes without much in the way of talk, and when it's finished, James lifts Elizabeth's hand to his lips, perfectly gentlemanly, and only a touch mocking. She laughs at him and calls him old fashioned, and James offers her a wry little smile.

'Probably right. Now go on.' He ushers them both back towards the bar where Jack and Will are sitting with a faint brush of fingers against the small of her back. 'I think,' he murmurs under his breath as they near, 'your William could do with an assurance that you're not going to be running off to shag Jack Sparrow after he leaves.'

'No, that'll be your job, won't it?' She shoots back, calm as if she was commenting on the weather, and James shakes his head.

'That, Miss Swann, is none of your business.'

Elizabeth turns a dazzling grin on him, an expression that says she knows he's going to be shagging Jack Sparrow once the night is up (patently not true), and what's more, she likes the visual. James sighs a little, but it's indulgent. She's utterly incorrigible, but it's part of what makes her sweet.

Will looks like he's steeling himself to say something of vital importance when they return, but Elizabeth grabs him by both hands and drags him off his stool before he can get it out. James tracks their movement through the crowd, into a darker, further off spot on the dance floor where he and Jack aren't able to see them as well, before shaking his head and resuming his seat himself. He nabs his beer and downs the rest of it without so much as looking at Jack. Now, he rather thinks, is time he got that talking to.

'I do not,' he says frostily, after a moment, 'appreciate you dancing with Elizabeth like that.'

[notjackkerouac]

Jack is not chickening out. He is simply -- taking his time, making sure not to rush into anything, pondering. The early bird gets the worm but the second mouse gets the cheese, et cetera et cetera and so forth. The niggling little voice in Jack's head can take its pick of excuses for why he's not interrupting James and Elizabeth's dance to drag James off to the loo for a shag. Or really a discussion. And then a shag. Hopefully.

It's that hopefully part that keeps Jack rooted to his seat, balancing on the balls of his feet as he watches James kiss Elizabeth's hand. That could be Jack's hand right now. That could be Jack's smile on Elizabeth's face.

She bites her tongue at him as she approaches and Jack bares his teeth, not as ready to fogive her for stealing James as she was him for resisting her come-on. But she doesn't say anything to him, turning instead to Will -- who looks like he's going to suffocate if he doesn't starting breathing soon.

"Elizabeth," he says, so painfully earnest that Jack has to wince.

Elizabeth washes right over him, halting whatever he was about to ask. "Come on. I have something to show you." The glint in her eye seems to tell that what she wants to show Will is that same thing she offered to show Jack earlier.

Jack rolls his eyes and takes the final drag of his cigarette, stubbing it out in an ashtray. Young love. It's a funny thing.

Adult love, however, is a miserable, gut-wrenching affair. Jack sucks in a sharp, too-telling breath when James marches flat into Jack's personal space and gives tonality to the way frostbite feels. Jack stares a bit dumbly in response, distracted by the tiny bead of sweat on James' temple. It would be a really brilliant, expert idea right now to lick it off.

"Mrn," Jack goes. "Mmm." He curls his fingers around James' wrist, standing simultaneously from the chair. It has the effect of putting not much more than two inches between their chests. "I thought not," he says drowsily, twisting the words to give James a completely different reason to be displeased about the way Jack was dancing, or really who he was not dancing with, and tugs at James' arm. "Conversation not here though."

And he does exactly the same as Elizabeth did, dragging James off to a more secluded corner. The loos seem a poor solution to the heat flushing up Jack's neck and he heads for the backdoor instead, banging it open with a shoulder and stumbling into the alley.

"As you were, then," he continues and only unwillfully detatches himself from James.

[fortiter_in_re]

The sudden lack of distance between him and Jack is jarring, and entirely not suited to maintaining a proper disapproving elder brother attitude. Still, James has always been a man of strong will, and he steels that will now, forcing himself to be utterly unimpressed with the inviting little slur to Jack's voice, the way he's looking at James as though he wants nothing more than to pin him against a wall and lick him all over.

Well. Mostly unimpressed.

He doesn't resist perhaps as much as he feels he ought to when Jack drags him through the crowd of people and out a back door. The relative quiet of the outside is better for talking anyway, and it's talking that James wants now. He doesn't need an explanation for what Jack and Elizabeth were doing- Elizabeth had all but told him, after all- he just needs silence enough to enforce on Jack that he is never going to do that again, unless he wants to come out slightly worse for the wear.

'She's seventeen, Jack.' He repeats his words from earlier, picking up right from where he left off at the bar. 'You... well, I don't know how old you are, but it is far from seventeen. I understand that she likes you, but please, do try to control yourself.'

[notjackkerouac]

"Thirty-four," Jack supplies becase he's not really listening. The bead of sweat is killing him, physically causing him pain from not being able to deal with it in the manner Jack most sees fit. Or manners. Jack can think up a few alternative measures, though most still involve his mouth in some form or another.

That bit about controlling himself crashes hard into his line of thought, though, completely derailing it. Jack gives a very put-upon sounding groan (it is definitely not a whimper) and balls his hands into fists to refrain from touching James.

James doesn't get it, which is the issue, or does get it but is purposefully ignoring it in favour of discussing what's-her-face. Jack really needs it paid attention to before it sucks all the blood from his brain and he dies from cerebral hemmoraging.

"In regards to Miss Elizabeth or to you?" he asks pointedly, the smile he attaches to it coming out hungry rather than cheeky. "Because I make no promises about you."

And he proves it by swiping his thumb -- finally -- along James' temple, catching that drop of sweat and sucking it off the pad of his finger in one smooth act. He actually does manage a proper, playful grin this time.

[fortiter_in_re]

'Thirty four?' James's voice, much to his chagrin, nearly comes out as an indignant squeak. 'Twice her age! In no way is that at all appropriate. And please, be under no misconception about-'

James is about to detail what precisely he'll do to Jack if he sees him encouraging that kind of behaviour in Elizabeth again, when Jack darts close and dragging his thumb along James's temple. Sweat, it must be, from the heat of the club, because he then follows the movement by sucking the tip of his thumb into his mouth. James catches a faint flicker of tongue in the half-darkness, and then the way Jack's cheek's hollow slightly around the digit. It is far too enticing, and he scowls. It would be easy to lose his train of thought now, with Jack standing there looking like that.

'If you're under the impression that this is a clever to get me into bed, Jack, you are highly mistaken.'

He's pleased to hear that his voice contains nothing but cool disdain, despite the fact that the heat that had lit itself under his skin whilst watching Jack and Elizabeth dance seems to have returned.

[notjackkerouac]

James' indignation might be amusing -- or actually a bit terrifying -- if Jack were in his right mind. Luckily for him that he isn't and all matter of attention that he pays that squeak is to raise his eyebrows. It's cute.

He bites at his thumb nail and then releases the finger with an audible pop from his lips. He takes two wobbling steps towards James, edging him closer to the wall. The wavering balance has far less to do with the few beers Jack drank and far more to do with being close to James.

"Not under that impression at all, James L." He catches his tongue between his teeth on the elongated l, more shameless than Elizabeth was on the dance floor. Though, apparently, Jack should have twice the experience as her. He hovers a hand over James' chest but does not touch, wanting James to come to him.

It's not clever, this, not by a long shot. Which Jack knows. He just can't care. If he did, he wouldn't be out here. He would be nodding and grimacing along to James' lecture in the pub, defending himself and Elizabeth and Will most likely, and trying at every chance possible to distract James back to their original conversation about Kensington Park.

"I have," Jack speaks very slowly, "no intention of getting you into bed. Right here works just fine for me." He brushes his fingers along the bared line of skin at James' collar, feeling burning heat radiate back to him. "Never did get to ask you dance."

[fortiter_in_re]

The way Jack holds his tongue behind his upper lip there, his head tipped back to look up at James- it should look cheap and sluttish, probably would on anybody else, but somehow Jack manages to make it look enticing. James swallows. He feels like he ought to be holding himself firm, but somehow he finds himself backed up, the warm brick of the wall only a few paces behind him. There's not much of anywhere to go, and he twitches slightly away from the touch when wandering fingers trace the lines of skin bared by his shirt.

'You stalk me for two months,' he says, his tone exaggeratedly reasonable, 'Somehow find out who all my friends are without once contacting me, practically molest the girl I consider to be my younger sister, and then expect me to leap at the chance for a shag up against a back alley wall?'

James snorts a little, taking those few steps backwards to lean against the wall, one knee propped up, thumbs tucked in his belt loops. 'And here I thought we'd talked about presumptuousness. Though, granted, that was two months ago.' He gives Jack a tight little smile. 'You may have forgotten.'

[notjackkerouac]

"And I thought we decided it was more a matter of persuassion."

Jack's mind flash back to that conversation, lying on the hill top with James, the grass wet with due, running his fingers tips over James' face as Jack waited to kiss him. He can't recall now why there was waiting involved, why he didn't just pull James across the table at the restaurant and molest -- if that's going to be James' word for it -- him right then and there. Or, topping that, why Jack didn't for once, in hours now he's spent chatting with James in the pub, actually invite him in the loo. Jack's own internal logic has busted as soon as he set foot on that dance floor.

"Though I grant you," he says, affecting neutrality, "two months now seems like a bloody bad idea."

He advances on James, running a hand along his raised thigh, fingers dancing over the fabric. James has nice thighs, given this specimin, muscles held tight in flex. Jack spends a moment appreciating it while slowly turning inward to lean his arse against James' inner thigh, hand smoothing behind him to James' knee.

"I'll do you a deal, how about? You convince me you didn't once think about that night -- " Jack ducks close for a moment -- "in the dark, in bed, and I'll do a full-stop. Never hear from me again. Elizabeth can stay on her merry way dancing with only you and Will. What you say? Persuade me."

It's a challenge that Jack feels he will come out winning no matter what.

[fortiter_in_re]

In theory, Jack's deal is a fair proposition. Easy enough thing, surely.

Except with that hand smoothing along his thigh, Jack's arse pressing back against him, he's sure to be able to feel the way James's blood flow very suddenly decides that it would be a good idea to divert southwards. And even were that not the case, it would be a damn lie to try and claim that he'd never thought about that night. For one thing, it was practically impossible, given the frequency Jack's name was mentioned to him, for another... Well, the southerly blood flow illustrates that one well enough.

So he avoids answering the question altogether. 'I seem to recall you attempting to strike a deal with me before,' he says mildly, 'And I believe we decided that it would be for the better if you forwent it.'

He doesn't push Jack away, though. He's tempted to let the leg he's got propped up fall open further so that Jack would be leaning against him, instead of just his leg, but he resists. He does have some pride, after all, though the further the evening progresses, the more that is being called into question.

[notjackkerouac]

James tenses as Jack slips near him, a fact Jack very much enjoys. The music of the bar trickles out here, magnified by the alley, and Jack presses a palm to the wall next to James' shoulder to feel the beat pulse near his skin. He's never been much one for dancing but it seems tonight he is because he can't help but move subtly to the rhythm.

The song sounds vaguely pop-ish and sad, which doesn't really fit for Jack's mood, but he'll take what he can get right now. All he needs to figure out is how to take it from James.

"Not an answer," Jack murmurs and grinds back once into James' thigh. He wants to go forward, press up against James' hip like he accidentally did to Elizabeth while watching James. Wishing it was James. Jack lets another repressed groan form into sound at the thought. "I really wanted to dance with you," he says in the rush of one breath, eyes slipping shut.

It's becoming more difficult to contain that heat the longer James resists. Jack won't force it -- obvious reasons aside, he just dislikes needing to be the one to make the first move -- but his brain has falled to sit right below his belt line and there's little else he can think of at this moment.

It would be so easy just to kiss James, and when Jack looks up he catches sight that James is fairing not much better than Jack is.

"You thought about it," Jack says and it's not a question this time, rather a direct challenge.

[fortiter_in_re]

It's a strange confession- I really wanted to dance with you. Dance, James is sure he means, the way he was dancing with the Elizabeth, which, towards the end there, wasn't really dancing any more. But even so. It sounds almost... genteel- I wanted to dance with you- and that is an immensely strange thing coming from Jack.

Or, well, more it has the potential to sound genteel. As it is, said in a gasping release of breath on the tail of a moan, it's not so much genteel as it is really, incredibly sexual. James bites down on the corner of his lip; a precautionary measure, in case his throat should decide to make any potentially embarrassing noises. An eventuality which seems to be becoming more and more likely, as Jack drifts closer, eyes on James's lips.

'Difficult not to,' he gives as an answer, 'What with every other word out of my friends' mouths being your name.'

It's not an answer in the same way his last answer wasn't an answer, but Jack has been driving him mad over the past two months, James feels that he's got the right.

[notjackkerouac]

And that would be the answer Jack has been searching after all night. That Theo and Elizabeth and the rest of them had done what Jack fully anticipated them to do, telling stories to James so that he hadn't the chance to forget. And James having no other choice but to remember Kensington Park and that kiss and Jack waiting for him to make the next move. Since he set up this adventure, he has been waiting for James to appear out of the woodwork, admitting to that and more.

James' mouth is pink, blooming red where his teeth sink into the skin, looking utterly delictable. Must run in the family, that. But this time is different than with Elizabeth; Jack has no qualms about dipping closer, sneaking his fingers to edge the skin hidden just beneath James' collar, tracing his collar bone.

"Thought so." His voice is pitched not much louder than a whisper, Jack close enough for his breath ghosts over James' face. He licks his lips, eyes flicking up to lock on James' gaze. "Two months long enough for you to do anything about it?"

[fortiter_in_re]

Jack's fingers are very hot against his skin, the heat being drawn to those faint touches against his collarbone like iron filings to a magnet. Moulten iron filings. He swallows, smelling sour beer on Jack's breath, watching the way his tongue quick-flickers out across his lips. It rather puts James in mind of a cat, heading in an uncertain stalk towards wary prey.

'Presumptuous,' he breathes, laughing a little, and then very suddenly, the tense air of still waiting evaporates into sudden, violent, movement. James lurches out and away from the wall, catching Jack by the waist and turning him around to take James's place. He slams up against the wall with James flush against him, one knee still slightly bent- it could be almost nudging between Jack's legs if he pressed a little harder.

The reversal of positions, for all he'd instigated it, takes him somehow by surprise. James feels now like he veritably towers over Jack; it's easy to forget how much shorter than him he is, with the way he'd been advancing earlier. But he is, and James finds that he rather likes that.

Pressing a little closer, he lifts one eyebrow. 'That sort of anything?'

[notjackkerouac]

The change happens so quickly that Jack barely has time to register anything more than motion. At one moment, he's curled close to James and the next James has a hand pressing to the small of his back, spinning Jack and then shoving him roughly to the wall. Jack gives a little "ooph" for emphasis, the brick suddenly cold against his skin and some of the damp from a recent rain seeping through his t-shirt.

James by comparison feels stifling hot, the heat from his body radiating into Jack, chest pressed to chest. He's so close that Jack must tip his chin up to be able to look James in the eye, and Jack smiles a little at that discovery. It serves to remind him of watching James lean over Elizabeth as he danced with her, head dipped low and fringe falling past his eyes as Jack watched from the bar. He rather likes this view better.

His hands fall to rest on James' waist, curving a little up over his ribs before smoothing down again to the line of his trousers, an absent stroking movement that Jack can't keep himself from doing. James' knee is either far too close or far too distant for Jack's tastes, brushing just enough to draw the attention of Jack's groin but not to help relieve any of the pressue there. Jack swallows back a groan, straining into it, searching for a source of friction.

His breath pushes quickly from his lungs in a supressed whine when James shifts closer. Jack means to say something smart, cajole James into doing more but all that manages to come out is a strangled, "This works."

He raises a hand to swipe a finger along James' jaw, eyes slipping shut as Jack leans in for a kiss.