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

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[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.

[fortiter_in_re]

As it turns out, James very much likes the sight of Jack Sparrow shoved up against a wall. There's a certain amount of satisfaction in it, after the man's spent the last two months flirting about the edges of his life, never actually getting within James's line of sight, to have him like this, most decidedly not going anywhere. The little swallowed-back groan, also; James finds he rather likes that as well.

The sound of music filters out as a door opens somewhere, but nobody comes out into the alley, so it's no concern to James. The air tickles at his nose with the damp, chill smells of asphalt and mostly-dried puddles, and all of this really ought to feel incredibly seedy- scratch that, it does feel incredibly seedy- but that's mostly just amusing as Jack leans forward for a kiss.

James catches it easily, opening into the kiss and leaning forward into it himself. Whatever Jack wants, James makes it something slow and deep, thorough and patient, his hands braced against the brick on either side of Jack's head. He's never snogged anybody in a back alley, he thinks vaguely, as he's kissing Jack. Not really his style. Perhaps, he reflects, it ought to be.

[notjackkerouac]

Given James' vehemence from earlier, Jack's prepared for the kiss to be something fierce, demanding, and has prepared to dodge that with teasing, soft glances across James' lips. He's not prepared for James to automatically open his mouth, allowing Jack to stroke slowly along his tongue, edging the kiss into something drawn-out and needy.

A groan works its way up from the back of Jack's throat as he bunches the fabric at James' sides into his fists. This could quickly become his new favourite past time, exploring the recesses of James' mouth, the feel of his skin sliding beneath his shirt under Jack's hands.

The brick scraps against his back but somehow that just adds to the entire experience, and Jack smiles as the kiss peters out, shifting slightly between the wall and James' knee. The back of his head hits the brick with a dull thud as Jack searches out James' eyes in the shadows. The smile doesn't seem to be able to quite fade and Jack suffers through it, resisting the urge to touch James' face or neck, as if movement will somehow break the moment.

Unfortunately, Jack can't seem to keep still, rolling his shoulder blades to rub against the brick, circling his thumbs over the arc of James' hip bones. "Worth the wait," Jack says and can't quite make his voice turn that into the smug question he wants it to be.

It was worth the wait.

[fortiter_in_re]

James tilts his head into the kiss, aligning mouths and noses in a way that works, humming a little, lowly, in the back of his throat when Jack's hands tighten in his shirt, pulling the fabric tight against his skin. It'll be wrinkled, he registers, but really, it's nothing the judicious application of an iron can't fix. At the moment, snogging Jack Sparrow seems to be of rather more importance.

Still though, the kiss can't go on forever, and after several long moments, James slowly pulls back, drawing Jack along with him until the contact between their lips is finally lost. The stupid little smile on Jack's face makes James want to grin in turn, but he confines the urge to a little twist of the lips.

It was, in actual fact, worth the wait.

Jack's fingers rub little concentric circles over his hipbones, and James imagines that, if he played his cards right, he could probably get Jack into bed tonight. In several different positions, in fact. Subsequently. But that's not what he wants. No, that would be far too simple. So he gives Jack a look that teases along the edge of being stern, straightening slightly so that the faint pressure of his knee nudged between Jack's legs disappears entirely.

'Well, we wouldn't want you to have waited all that time for nothing, would we?'

Because if Jack thinks it's as simple as appearing back in James's life one night and suddenly getting him all to himself, oh, he is very much mistaken.

[notjackkerouac]

The loss of a leg to rub against, even one that did little else than tease with the promise of friction, is hard to bare. Jack flounders for a moment, balance lost without James there to pin him against the wall. He fists again at the fabric of James' shirt, tugging him near as Jack sways forward, keeping the contact between their bodies as much as he can.

Jack's desperate enough to give up the games, but now that James is playing with him -- because that's what this must be; you don't kiss like that without having some sort of interest in the stakes on the table -- Jack is willing to talk himself down a bit in order to keep playing.

At James' words, twisted a little just like his expression, Jack bites his lip, narrowing his eyes. He hums a little chuckle and smoothes his palms down the front of James' shirt with the proposed intention of straightening it (and possibly sneaking a feel of the planes of muscle and skin beneath the fabric). Then takes a shaky step backwards, pressing himself flat against the wall. His fingers wander with a mind of their own to pull and trace over the pattern on Jack's t-shirt. He watches James from beneath his lashes.

"If that's you repaying my hard-won dedication, I'd say that only covers about a week."

Possibly ten days, maximum. But if James has set on resisting Jack, Jack's going to make himself damn near irresitable.