(no subject)
Title: A Peculiar Nuisance
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Pairing: Jack Sparrow x James Norrington (Sparrington)
Length: 8,565 words. Split into two parts due to restriction policies on LJ.
Rating: NC-17 for lemon.
Status: Complete
Warning: Spoilers for At World's End.
Part 1
James had retreated back up to the rigging to think; however, his hands had become twitchy, searching for something to do, and so he pulled out a piece of driftwood and his knife and began to hack. Shavings tumbled down, skittering onto the floor where Cotton’s parrot would occasionally peck at them, or they would land on the occasional crewman’s nose - or, finally and most amusingly, in Sparrow’s hat.
Sparrow looked up, and found him in the rigging. “What are you doing up there?” he yelled up, and James looked back down.
“Whittling,” he replied calmly, and set about it again. Around him, the night glistened with stars, and his mind drifted for a moment before he refocused on the task in hand. Sparrow was still staring up at him.
“Well, now that you come to mention it, I suppose it is rather obvious,” Sparrow replied as he climbed up. James sighed in exasperation; he seemed incapable of finding any solitude, and had hoped that with the majority of the crew asleep his new location was failsafe, but his captain perched beside him at last, and was watching him with hooded eyes. “What are you intending to do with said piece of wood?”
He looked down, and discovered he’d rather unconsciously fashioned it into a blade-shaped triangle. He ran his finger along it, removing splinters. It was rather sharp. He looked back up at Sparrow. “It was not about the creation of the object, rather more the occupation of my hands whilst I dwelt in my thoughts at the time.”
“Thoughts which were inadvertently directed at me, I could guess from the general sharp and pointy shape of said object.” Sparrow raised his eyebrow.
James smiled. “I don’t know. It might be the more phallic nature of the shape, mightn’t it?” He peeked up at his captain.
Sparrow had no idea what he was talking about; his expression remained infuriatingly chipper. “Ah,” he said, trying to look intelligent. James smirked to himself and began moving his hand in even strokes again, sharpening the ‘blade’, but due to his earlier comment the shape was beginning to feel dirty in his hands, and he eventually put it down and stared out at the horizon. He would have liked to say that he joined the eyes of his captain, but his captain’s eyes seemed to be fixed on a location much closer to home.
He looked along said gaze, and said, rather irritably, “what?”
Sparrow cast his eyes away, following James’ earlier route. James’ plan bubbled unpleasantly to the top of his thoughts, and he knew that there was really, really not much more time before Barbossa got impatient and did something dreadful to Elizabeth he’d rather not contemplate. So, closing his eyes, trying to focus on anyone and anything but where he was, he leant forward and kissed him.
It would have been nice if Sparrow wasn’t quite so unresponsive, he decided as his chin scraped across the other’s. There was nothing there; at least the last person he kissed, Elizabeth, had sort-of kissed back, but here there was nothing but mild surprise. He made to pull away, but finally Sparrow seemed to make his mind up and pushed back, softly, hesitantly. It had been odd, kissing him, James realized. More hair than he was used to, he put it down to, and a different face beneath his fingertips. When he finally tugged away, Sparrow was staring back at him with a gentle incredulity. “I think that took you long enough,” he whispered softly, and started to climb down.
James watched him go, before realizing that if he were to disrobe Sparrow far enough to get the compass he’d really have to follow. He scrambled down after, landing beside Sparrow, casting an eye about the deck. Only a singular beady black one replied, and because of this he tugged at Sparrow’s arm till he was facing him again, and pressed against him again. He felt ever so slightly sick; Sparrow stank, and as much as homosexuality was rife within their profession it wasn’t what floated his boat, as it were. Still, he gripped harder and thought of Elizabeth, thought of the sacrifices she must have made, and kissed. Sparrow pulled away, grinning in a way he must have believed was elusive, and moved inside his quarters. James cast another wary eye around before following him in.
Sparrow seemed determined to get what he wanted; his hands were already on James the moment he stepped through the door, and it was all James could do to hesitantly disrobe his partner, watching the layers shed away, running fingers on burning scars. Sparrow’s shirts were removed; still no sign of the compass, and the other seemed to be insisting on doing something slightly wicked with his tongue on James’ neck, which was rather making James lose his train of thought; the other was hopelessly persistent, hands burrowed in James’ trousers, tugging and pulling at the intricate fastenings as James’ head dropped back and he stared at the ceiling, lost inside the wet tongue for a moment.
He realized that it was much, much too late when sheets met the back of his knees; the damn pirate’s tongue had made him completely lose track of his plan, of the compass, of their location, of pretty much everything, and now their clothes lay abandoned out of James’ reach, along with the compass and Elizabeth’s freedom. The plan had, admittedly, been to incapacitate Sparrow before it got this far forward and make off with the compass whilst he lay on the deck, but thanks to the aforementioned muscle on James’ neck he’d missed his chance. The mouth had returned; Sparrow bit hard, leaving a mark, and James hissed; it had been a show of possession, he knew, but it made his gut writhe in anger that he had allowed himself to be possessed by this goddamned pirate. The world fell for a moment as Sparrow shoved him back on the sheet, scrambling forward and pinning him down before James could writhe into a position in which he could knock Sparrow out. His evil tongue was pressing insistently on the earlier mark, moving in languid circles, whilst a hand dipped lower across his spine. James closed his eyes and burrowed his face in Sparrow’s neck, hiding; this was more than he had planned to have to bear, more than he had planned to let Sparrow do, more than he had planned Sparrow to have to lose…
He was cut off by his own hiss of breath; Sparrow had taken his distraction as acquiescence and had slid two fingers inside, and it hurt. He moved them gently, and the painful slip-slide of muscles was more than James could take; it wasn’t so much the searing pain, he could cope with pain, but the clumsily tender way Sparrow insisted on doing it. This was more than he ever, ever wanted to do; it was betraying a friend, leading him on, and breaking his heart. It was worse than piracy, and he would be damned for it.
“I’m fine,” he whispered, deciding he couldn’t take the soft way Sparrow’s other hand was moving on his hip. “Please,” he begged, knowing Sparrow would not know what he was asking for; he was pleading for the pirate to run, before James trampled both of their hearts irreparably. Sparrow stayed where he was, though, removing the fingers and pressing his hands palms-down onto the sheets either side of James’ waist and sliding forwards across the sheets.
James revelled in the pain, in the white-hot searing agony which engulfed him. It was a means for escape and he took it, slamming his eyes shut and breaking away as much as he could, feeling ready to curl up in a ball and cry. It did not last forever, unfortunately, and his eyes fluttered open again; Sparrow was deathly still, his eyes boring into the pillow beside James’ head, mouth hanging open as he took in deep, steady breaths. James’ hands ghosted across the scar on the opposite arm to his brand, feeling the web against his fingers. Sparrow’s eyes snapped to his, and James looked up, nodding once.
The ache returned; Sparrow’s hips were shimmying across the sheets, and James let his eyes slide shut once more, keeping Elizabeth’s face in his mind, forcing himself to remember the task in hand. Her face wouldn’t stay, however; no matter how long or how hard he concentrated, she slipped from his mind like silk, and was consumed by Sparrow’s face, voice, touch, gentle press of fingers against his, hot, sliding tongue against his neck. The aforementioned voice cut across his fogged mind; it was hoarse, clipped with pleasure, but undeniably concerned. “You’re bleeding,” it whispered, and James stared at the sheets below them, vivid scarlet impressing patterns on the material.
“Yes, I should think so,” he gasped back, finding his voice was not as easily accessible as he had thought it was.
Sparrow stared at him for a long while, the creaks around them painfully loud, the sloshing of the sea so close slightly soporific, but their minds so painfully sharpened by each other they could do nothing but stare. “Why are you doing this?” he said eventually, and James looked up at him with what he realized were tear-fogged eyes.
“I don’t know,” he whispered honestly, and the pain which wrenched him in two was of the heart, stronger and much more insistent than of the body; he pressed up on his elbows, kissing the other, and it was harder, more persistent than before; he didn’t understand anything in his life anymore, but whoever this was above him, in him, they were touching him, holding him, and he didn’t want them to let go.
Sparrow started his slip-slide again, and James let out a keen in the back of his throat, spine snapping upwards, fingers clawing; white-hot oblivion returned, but James realized he’d been sorely mistaken; it was so, so much better as pleasure than pain, the gentleness from before still driving him mad, still shattering everything he had, but he could do nothing but clench tighter and keen and shout as Sparrow’s hips moved quicker, rhythm gone, sense gone, life gone; there was nothing of him left, soul laid bare to God, to Jack, to brown, glowing eyes and hot white teeth that grasped his ear and whispered a command he was so very happy to follow, hearing Jack follow him with a roar. His body was overtaken by tremors and sleep and he sank into them happily.
James felt the weight of the cool wood against his fingers, staring down at the sleeping man in the tangle of sheets he’d just left. He did not open it; he would not like what he saw. His fingers curled, crablike around the black surface and he made his way above deck. They were coming up to land, that much he knew; it had disappeared with the sunlight, just out of reach. He stared into the murky water and wished he could just throw the wretched thing over the side. He sighed, tugged free one of the smaller boats and watched it wallow in the water before clambering down, curling his fingers around the oars and beginning to row.
It took him a matter of days to find Barbossa; he had, after all, wanted to be found, seeing as James had something for him. He clambered aboard the Pearl in Tortuga and could feel only a slight sense of nausea as he was painfully reminded of its previous captain. Barbossa strode down, smiling broadly. “I knew you’d establish the means, Admiral,” he said amicably as he reached the bottom of the steps, descending from the wheel onto the deck. He spread his arms, his eyes glittering malevolently. “I take it you have the goods?” James nodded.
“Our agreement?” Barbossa nodded at the one he recognized as McAvinger, who went below, bringing out Elizabeth and her son. With a careful look at Barbossa he went over, gripping hold of her hand. “Are you alright?” he whispered, and she smiled, gripping back.
“Yes, we’re fine, I told him you’d come back!” James smiled down at the boy, but was reminded too much of the life he’d lost and looked back at Elizabeth.
“We’re to be dropped here, in Tortuga, the moment I hand over the compass. We’re not far from freedom now, Elizabeth,” he whispered, but his mind was far away with another whose heart he’d so shamelessly stolen.
“As much as reunions touch a nerve, I fear it may be the wrong one in me, for I’m getting mighty impatient,” Barbossa sounded from behind him. James reluctantly let go of Elizabeth’s hand, turning to face him. “Now, the compass.”
“Drop her first. When she and her son are safely ashore, I will give you the compass.”
“What’s to stop us rushing you now and taking it of you?” Barbossa snarled.
James looked back at him with sharp eyes. “What’s to stop me jumping overboard? Elizabeth. You are the man in control, Barbossa. I will give you everything I promised.”
Barbossa nodded, and Elizabeth and her son were escorted to the safety of the shore; she peered up at him with anxious eyes, waiting for him to follow her down. James reached into his shirt and pulled out the compass, dropping it firmly in Barbossa’s hand. Barbossa smiled. “Feel free to step ashore, Admiral,” he jeered, and James moved across to walk down to Elizabeth. “It seems we have a need to find Jack Sparrow, gents,” he cackled to his crew, and James froze on the lip of the boat.
“What for?” he said as he turned around.
Barbossa shrugged. “I have a debt needs settling. He shot me. It’s his turn.”
James moved forward, pacing a little more angrily. “This was never part of our agreement,” he snarled.
Barbossa nodded. “No, you’re right, Sparrow’s safety was never part of any agreement we made.” James struggled as he was gripped from behind, a blade settling on his throat. Barbossa’s fingers slipped beneath his collar, tugging it down to reveal the row of teeth marks James knew to be there. He frowned, running a finger across the marks, and James hissed in the back of his throat. “I wonder, Admiral…” he said slowly. “What is it you want most?” Barbossa flicked out the compass, forcing James’ hands to clamp around it. He prayed, wished with everything he had, tried to remove any trace of Jack from his mind, but when Barbossa flicked open the lid the arrow pointed straight and true. “Not me dead, nor Elizabeth, it would seem,” Barbossa murmured, eyes flicking to the docks; the arrow pointed off into the horizon. “It seems to me, Admiral, that for reasons of your own you seem to be overly concerned as to Jack Sparrow’s safety at the moment, and therefore seek him to make him safe.” Barbossa smiled slowly. “It would appear the Admiral will be useful in locating Sparrow,” he called, and his crew jeered. He struggled against the arms holding him, tried to drop the compass, do anything to stop them finding him, but Barbossa cackled. “It seems we have our heading, gents,” he grinned, and their laughs followed him into unconsciousness as he was struck around the back of the head and everything swam into darkness.
The Pearl was faster than any ship Jack could have stolen; it took them next to no time to locate him, James’ arrow pointing true whenever Barbossa forced the compass into his grasp. They were closing in; James stood with Barbossa behind the wheel, a sword pressed neatly into James’ neck as the compass rested in his hands. “When we reach the ship, gents, cross over. Don’t bother leaving any alive, but Sparrow is mine.” James struggled again, but Barbossa clamped a hand around his arm. “The Admiral can stay here with me and watch,” he drawled, eyes glinting in glee as James just looked back. In the horizon, he saw the unmistakable glitter of light on a scope, and let his face drop towards the deck, hoping Jack would at least understand that he didn’t want to be here.
“Let me go over first,” James said quickly as the boarding crews prepared themselves. “You have nothing against Sparrow’s crew or his boat and I can persuade him to come to you, and once you defeat Sparrow then they’ll follow you without question.”
Barbossa’s eyes narrowed. “They’ll run you through the second they see you,” he said, and James shrugged.
“It’s no more than I deserve,” he whispered softly, face falling towards the deck.
Barbossa’s eyes narrowed. “Very well. We let the Admiral over to the ship, he brings Sparrow back, and then we slit their throats together and send them over, with yet another ship under our command.” The men chuckled around him. The arm around him was released, and he was unceremoniously shoved across the side of the boat. Knowing there was little to stop Barbossa blowing Jack out of the water as it was, he burst into a quick front-crawl, nearing Jack’s ship and climbing up the rigging at the back, flopping over and up against the sword of his former captain.
Jack was staring down at him with blank eyes, his sword pressing against James’ throat. “It was you that lead them here. I feared the worst.” He sheathed his sword and turned to bark orders at his crew, peering back at the Pearl behind them. James pushed himself up off the side, shaking the majority of the wet out of his clothes before coming to stand behind him. He knew no combination of apologies or explanations would ever help.
“It’s just you he wants, Jack,” he said softly. “He’ll let the rest go.”
“Here to negotiate, eh?” Jack’s voice was bitter.
“I’m here to get you out alive,” he whispered, and Jack rounded on him, pressing his swordtip against James’ throat.
“There was only one moment when I thought that was true, and it has passed and proved me wrong,” he snarled quietly, and James couldn’t read the amount of betrayal in Jack’s eyes.
“I’m not here for apologies or forgiveness, or to clear my conscience.”
“But not because you care, it would seem?” James’ face burnt in indignation, and he bit down a snarl in the back of his throat.
“I’m here to get you your ship back,” he murmured when he got his voice under check. “And I don’t suppose this will go very far to proving it, but it is yours as well, after all.” He opened his hand and pushed the compass into Jack’s hand; it was withdrawn immediately, flinching from James’ touch. “Barbossa was suitably distracted,” he said with a small smile.
“How do I know that you’re not one of Hector’s tricks?” Jack said softly, running his hands across the black box, revelling in the familiar wood beneath his fingers again.
“You don’t,” James whispered. “And I can’t ask you to trust me, but you know there isn’t enough time.” The Pearl was so close now, boarding party almost ready. “He will have double-crossed me. His crew is to board and leave none but you alive.”
“Boarding party, you say?” Jack pondered for a moment. “That’ll leave his crew mighty preoccupied, I wouldn’t wonder, and his ship nigh deserted…” He grinned quickly, marching over, relaying information to Gibbs, who scuttled off to inform the rest of the crew. Beside them, the Pearl’s crew was jeering, almost in range, though not in sight. One by one, Jack’s crew dived over the edge silently into the water, as James moved to Jack’s side, their fingers brushing briefly. “Does he know?” Jack muttered gently in James’ ear.
“Yes,” he replied softly, looking at their hands, close together.
“Oh,” Jack murmured, allowing his fingers to press against James’ momentarily before turning to face the hordes landing on his ship. “I welcome you gentlemen aboard my fine vessel,” he called happily, spreading his arms to the empty decks.
“Where is everyone?” a pirate James recognized as Door Pirate number 2, peering around under the piles of rope as if he expected an ambush.
“There is no ‘everyone’. I’m all on me lonesome.” He smiled his best smile, and the other pirates peered up at him suspiciously.
One drew a pistol and clicked off the safety, desperate for blood, but his hand was smacked down by his superior. “Barbossa wants him personally,” he snarled, and the subordinate whined. His eyes scanned over James, and a horribly toothless smile graced his features. “Him, on the other hand…” The pistol rose again, aiming directly at James, who had expected no less than to die on this ship and was not about to worry about it particularly now.
“There’ll be no shooting my men here,” Jack said quickly, moving in front of James, mouth glittering in a half-smile. “You wouldn’t want this whelp anyway, sort of a little weedy, isn’t he? Eunuch,” he added conspiratorially, miming some form of slicing movement with his fingers which had the other men peering at James in disgust and James’ eyeballs rolling up.
“Leave him,” the superior barked, pushing the pistol down. “Go lay the gunpowder,” he said with a malevolent grin, and the others scurried off, smirking broadly and jeering as they went. “You’ve got an appointment to keep,” he said to Jack, and tossed him a rope from the other ship. He and James exchanged a look before James grabbed a second rope, together swinging across and landing on the Pearl’s deck, feet away from Barbossa. Jack quite unnecessarily stepped in front of James, who found his eyes rolling again but bit back a sigh.
“Hector,” Jack exclaimed happily, waving his arms. “It has been too long, has it not?”
Barbossa turned with a smile, pistol pointing at Jack’s chest. “Aye. Much too long.”
Jack’s smile wavered, and he bowed slightly. “Have you consulted the compass yet?”
Barbossa peered at him for a moment suspiciously. “I haven’t needed to, your crewmate has been quite helpful in leading us right to you,” he jeered, and James found himself shrinking behind Jack slightly before hating himself for it and stepping out beside him.
“It was hardly help when it was involuntary,” he snarled slightly, and Barbossa’s eyes strayed to him momentarily, smile unwavering.
“I have a strange little thing with welcome, Admiral, and I suggest that you do not want to outstay yours.” James did not reply, simply standing up next to Jack, eyes watching out for the signal from Jack’s ship.
“Well, since you’ve got yourself such a good prize, why not use it, hmm?” Jack’s eyes glittered. Barbossa rolled his eyes, patting the front of his shirt, and Jack’s smile widened. “This?” he said eventually, bringing out the black box from inside his shirt, Barbossa’s incredulous face sparking off happy spirals in James’ stomach.
“How the devil - ” Barbossa spluttered, striding forwards, safety clicking off the pistol.
“It was me,” James said quickly, and Barbossa swung the pistol round and shot him.
James felt the world explode into pain and the deck hit his side harshly; heard Jack’s yelp beside him; just a leg shot, he realized, gasping, pushing himself up off the side of the ship and glaring at Barbossa, the pain causing an eruption of stars whenever he shifted, his blood trickling in a hot, sticky mess down the side of his leg. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cotton’s parrot land on the Pearl’s wheel, but Jack hadn’t noticed it, and if he messed up now - Barbossa was striding forwards again, grinning. “Jack, Jack,” he drawled, mouth spread open in a smile. “You do allow yourself to get attached.”
Jack’s face was almost as white as James imagined his to be, but he smiled shakily and shrugged it off. “Jack,” James rasped, and Jack’s eyes flickered to him, finally picking up on Cotton’s parrot and smiling broadly. He moved his feet sideways, shuffling further towards the side, grin still firmly in place. James’ mind was fogged with the blood loss and pain, but he forced himself to stay conscious, watching out for Jack’s crew who were silently moving up the outside of the craft, Barbossa’s crew still preoccupied in laying the gunpowder on Jack’s ship; the only people on the Pearl save for Jack and himself was one other crew member; McAvinger, he remembered him being called, and felt a hot surge of anger fill him. Jack was wittering on across the deck, drawing Barbossa closer to the side of the ship, and Jack took the opportunity to distract McAvinger. “Are you naturally that disgusting, or do you have to apply it every morning?” he gasped out; it wasn’t inventive, it wasn’t intelligent - all in all, it was a bit pathetic, but with pain searing across his mind it was all he could do to stay conscious, never mind think of witty retorts. It did the trick; McAvinger rushed at him with a roar, and James crouched at the last moment, sending the other plummeting into the ocean. Across the deck, Jack grabbed hold of Barbossa’s arm and jerked; the other lost his balance momentarily and fell over the side, whilst Jack’s crew swarmed up and onto the Pearl.
“Trouble,” said Jack quickly as those aboard Jack’s old ship saw what they had done and attempted to board; they were saved by the pirates’ stupidity as in their rush to return to the Pearl they tripped over one another, including the one holding the fire to set alight the gunpowder trail, which ignited rather spectacularly and snaked off into the bowels of the ship. James’ eyes closed at the fireball and despite a panicky hand clasping around his found himself incapable of opening them again for some time.
He bit back a hiss as the present emerged in a ball of messy, painful stickiness. Pushing himself up on his elbows he inspected an unprofessionally-bandaged leg for signs of infection, easing it out of the bloodied sheets for cleanliness’ sake. He tilted his head; creaking and groaning and lack of sound informed him it must be quite late, alongside the faintest hints of a snore from below. He swung his feet down to the floor in an attempt to stand; failing due to a large sting of agony, he groped around in the semi-darkness until he located some form of driftwood which vaguely resembled a crutch and he moved out onto deck.
He closed his eyes, revelling in the sting of salt on his face, feeling immensely happier for having been extracted from the gloom below. He leant on the rail, staring below him; the water seemed less menacing than before, and however inviting he knew that with this damned hunk of flesh for a leg he’d never survive a dip.
There was a vaguely panicky noise behind him and a shout of “Captain! CAPTAIN!”, to which he let out a long sigh and turned round to watch Jack emerge from below, eyes bleary and foggy from a lack of sleep.
“I dunno, I go off to find some rum and you choose that momen’ out of the last thirty odd hours to wake up. That’s what I call dissress. Dissreesss. Dissysiss…” He gave up with another swig, moving rather cautiously to stand beside him, peering at him nervously. “You’re real, aren’t you?” He poked. James sighed.
“There’s rum,” he murmured, nodding towards the bottle. “Does that suggest reality?”
Jack seemed to frown for a moment. “Generally, no, but this stuff is godawful cat’s piss so due to the rather hounding laws of irony probably yes, this is real. Then again, in reality I seem to remember the only James Norrington in my acquaintance running off to a certain Hector Barbossa whilst helpfully alleviating me from the burden of my compass.” An eyebrow was raised.
“Is this the same James Norrington standing next to you now?” James murmured, running a hand across smooth wood.
“I don’t know,” Jack mumbled, and for once he sounded completely honest. “I don’t know.”
James sighed. “I’m sorry, Jack,” he whispered, and the sincerity must have hit true, somewhere, for Jack smiled and murmured once before leaning in to kiss him.
“I know.”
It was a particularly stroppy Elizabeth they finally met up with at Tortuga; grasping her son’s shoulders firmly she slapped James once about the face before hugging him tightly. “Oh, I thought you must have died,” she whispered, and he laughed.
“It didn’t stop me before,” he smiled, looking at her fondly. “I just got a little sidetracked helping Captain Sparrow acquisition his precious Pearl before I came back for you.”
“I thought he’d lost it, after the siege at Port Royal three years ago, but there she is!” Elizabeth stared at the ship affectionately, one hand still on her son’s shoulder.
“You could still come with us, you know,” James offered again, but she shook her head.
“I’ve had what you might call a shifting in priorities,” she said with a smile, grasping her son’s shoulder tightly. “When Barbossa kidnapped him I thought I would die if Will never got to saw him, so I have to keep him safe.” She leant over and gave James another hug. “Find me whenever you’re in port.”
“I promise,” he smiled, and watched her walk away, turning back to the Pearl and mounting it slowly with the vaguest semblance of a limp, walking up behind his captain.
“We’re ready to go,” Jack said softly, his eyes watching Elizabeth walk away. “You don’t have to.”
“If I wanted to go with her I would not have hesitated to do so. Entwined, but never destined to meet.” He smiled to himself, turning to face Jack. “You, I don’t seem to be able to get rid of. Besides, I have a lot of grovelling to do.”
“That much is true,” Jack grinned, watching as the anchor was retracted and the ship was allowed to pull away. He ran his fingers across the wheel, revelling in the spokes’ imprint beneath his fingers.
“Where to?” Gibbs asked from below, and he pushed his hand into his shirt, wrapping his fingers around his compass and bringing it into the light, peering at it in order to gain the ship’s heading.
Jack watched the needle flicker and settle resolutely on James, who was standing staring at Tortuga shrinking into the distance. “You’re going to be quite a peculiar nuisance,” he remarked, watching as James walked closer and pressed lips to the nape of his neck. Once the action was performed the needle seemed to change its mind and flickered off onto the horizon. “It’s as good a heading as can be expected,” Jack said with a smile, and turned the wheel, and the Pearl slithered off into the horizon.
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Pairing: Jack Sparrow x James Norrington (Sparrington)
Length: 8,565 words. Split into two parts due to restriction policies on LJ.
Rating: NC-17 for lemon.
Status: Complete
Warning: Spoilers for At World's End.
Part 1
James had retreated back up to the rigging to think; however, his hands had become twitchy, searching for something to do, and so he pulled out a piece of driftwood and his knife and began to hack. Shavings tumbled down, skittering onto the floor where Cotton’s parrot would occasionally peck at them, or they would land on the occasional crewman’s nose - or, finally and most amusingly, in Sparrow’s hat.
Sparrow looked up, and found him in the rigging. “What are you doing up there?” he yelled up, and James looked back down.
“Whittling,” he replied calmly, and set about it again. Around him, the night glistened with stars, and his mind drifted for a moment before he refocused on the task in hand. Sparrow was still staring up at him.
“Well, now that you come to mention it, I suppose it is rather obvious,” Sparrow replied as he climbed up. James sighed in exasperation; he seemed incapable of finding any solitude, and had hoped that with the majority of the crew asleep his new location was failsafe, but his captain perched beside him at last, and was watching him with hooded eyes. “What are you intending to do with said piece of wood?”
He looked down, and discovered he’d rather unconsciously fashioned it into a blade-shaped triangle. He ran his finger along it, removing splinters. It was rather sharp. He looked back up at Sparrow. “It was not about the creation of the object, rather more the occupation of my hands whilst I dwelt in my thoughts at the time.”
“Thoughts which were inadvertently directed at me, I could guess from the general sharp and pointy shape of said object.” Sparrow raised his eyebrow.
James smiled. “I don’t know. It might be the more phallic nature of the shape, mightn’t it?” He peeked up at his captain.
Sparrow had no idea what he was talking about; his expression remained infuriatingly chipper. “Ah,” he said, trying to look intelligent. James smirked to himself and began moving his hand in even strokes again, sharpening the ‘blade’, but due to his earlier comment the shape was beginning to feel dirty in his hands, and he eventually put it down and stared out at the horizon. He would have liked to say that he joined the eyes of his captain, but his captain’s eyes seemed to be fixed on a location much closer to home.
He looked along said gaze, and said, rather irritably, “what?”
Sparrow cast his eyes away, following James’ earlier route. James’ plan bubbled unpleasantly to the top of his thoughts, and he knew that there was really, really not much more time before Barbossa got impatient and did something dreadful to Elizabeth he’d rather not contemplate. So, closing his eyes, trying to focus on anyone and anything but where he was, he leant forward and kissed him.
It would have been nice if Sparrow wasn’t quite so unresponsive, he decided as his chin scraped across the other’s. There was nothing there; at least the last person he kissed, Elizabeth, had sort-of kissed back, but here there was nothing but mild surprise. He made to pull away, but finally Sparrow seemed to make his mind up and pushed back, softly, hesitantly. It had been odd, kissing him, James realized. More hair than he was used to, he put it down to, and a different face beneath his fingertips. When he finally tugged away, Sparrow was staring back at him with a gentle incredulity. “I think that took you long enough,” he whispered softly, and started to climb down.
James watched him go, before realizing that if he were to disrobe Sparrow far enough to get the compass he’d really have to follow. He scrambled down after, landing beside Sparrow, casting an eye about the deck. Only a singular beady black one replied, and because of this he tugged at Sparrow’s arm till he was facing him again, and pressed against him again. He felt ever so slightly sick; Sparrow stank, and as much as homosexuality was rife within their profession it wasn’t what floated his boat, as it were. Still, he gripped harder and thought of Elizabeth, thought of the sacrifices she must have made, and kissed. Sparrow pulled away, grinning in a way he must have believed was elusive, and moved inside his quarters. James cast another wary eye around before following him in.
Sparrow seemed determined to get what he wanted; his hands were already on James the moment he stepped through the door, and it was all James could do to hesitantly disrobe his partner, watching the layers shed away, running fingers on burning scars. Sparrow’s shirts were removed; still no sign of the compass, and the other seemed to be insisting on doing something slightly wicked with his tongue on James’ neck, which was rather making James lose his train of thought; the other was hopelessly persistent, hands burrowed in James’ trousers, tugging and pulling at the intricate fastenings as James’ head dropped back and he stared at the ceiling, lost inside the wet tongue for a moment.
He realized that it was much, much too late when sheets met the back of his knees; the damn pirate’s tongue had made him completely lose track of his plan, of the compass, of their location, of pretty much everything, and now their clothes lay abandoned out of James’ reach, along with the compass and Elizabeth’s freedom. The plan had, admittedly, been to incapacitate Sparrow before it got this far forward and make off with the compass whilst he lay on the deck, but thanks to the aforementioned muscle on James’ neck he’d missed his chance. The mouth had returned; Sparrow bit hard, leaving a mark, and James hissed; it had been a show of possession, he knew, but it made his gut writhe in anger that he had allowed himself to be possessed by this goddamned pirate. The world fell for a moment as Sparrow shoved him back on the sheet, scrambling forward and pinning him down before James could writhe into a position in which he could knock Sparrow out. His evil tongue was pressing insistently on the earlier mark, moving in languid circles, whilst a hand dipped lower across his spine. James closed his eyes and burrowed his face in Sparrow’s neck, hiding; this was more than he had planned to have to bear, more than he had planned to let Sparrow do, more than he had planned Sparrow to have to lose…
He was cut off by his own hiss of breath; Sparrow had taken his distraction as acquiescence and had slid two fingers inside, and it hurt. He moved them gently, and the painful slip-slide of muscles was more than James could take; it wasn’t so much the searing pain, he could cope with pain, but the clumsily tender way Sparrow insisted on doing it. This was more than he ever, ever wanted to do; it was betraying a friend, leading him on, and breaking his heart. It was worse than piracy, and he would be damned for it.
“I’m fine,” he whispered, deciding he couldn’t take the soft way Sparrow’s other hand was moving on his hip. “Please,” he begged, knowing Sparrow would not know what he was asking for; he was pleading for the pirate to run, before James trampled both of their hearts irreparably. Sparrow stayed where he was, though, removing the fingers and pressing his hands palms-down onto the sheets either side of James’ waist and sliding forwards across the sheets.
James revelled in the pain, in the white-hot searing agony which engulfed him. It was a means for escape and he took it, slamming his eyes shut and breaking away as much as he could, feeling ready to curl up in a ball and cry. It did not last forever, unfortunately, and his eyes fluttered open again; Sparrow was deathly still, his eyes boring into the pillow beside James’ head, mouth hanging open as he took in deep, steady breaths. James’ hands ghosted across the scar on the opposite arm to his brand, feeling the web against his fingers. Sparrow’s eyes snapped to his, and James looked up, nodding once.
The ache returned; Sparrow’s hips were shimmying across the sheets, and James let his eyes slide shut once more, keeping Elizabeth’s face in his mind, forcing himself to remember the task in hand. Her face wouldn’t stay, however; no matter how long or how hard he concentrated, she slipped from his mind like silk, and was consumed by Sparrow’s face, voice, touch, gentle press of fingers against his, hot, sliding tongue against his neck. The aforementioned voice cut across his fogged mind; it was hoarse, clipped with pleasure, but undeniably concerned. “You’re bleeding,” it whispered, and James stared at the sheets below them, vivid scarlet impressing patterns on the material.
“Yes, I should think so,” he gasped back, finding his voice was not as easily accessible as he had thought it was.
Sparrow stared at him for a long while, the creaks around them painfully loud, the sloshing of the sea so close slightly soporific, but their minds so painfully sharpened by each other they could do nothing but stare. “Why are you doing this?” he said eventually, and James looked up at him with what he realized were tear-fogged eyes.
“I don’t know,” he whispered honestly, and the pain which wrenched him in two was of the heart, stronger and much more insistent than of the body; he pressed up on his elbows, kissing the other, and it was harder, more persistent than before; he didn’t understand anything in his life anymore, but whoever this was above him, in him, they were touching him, holding him, and he didn’t want them to let go.
Sparrow started his slip-slide again, and James let out a keen in the back of his throat, spine snapping upwards, fingers clawing; white-hot oblivion returned, but James realized he’d been sorely mistaken; it was so, so much better as pleasure than pain, the gentleness from before still driving him mad, still shattering everything he had, but he could do nothing but clench tighter and keen and shout as Sparrow’s hips moved quicker, rhythm gone, sense gone, life gone; there was nothing of him left, soul laid bare to God, to Jack, to brown, glowing eyes and hot white teeth that grasped his ear and whispered a command he was so very happy to follow, hearing Jack follow him with a roar. His body was overtaken by tremors and sleep and he sank into them happily.
James felt the weight of the cool wood against his fingers, staring down at the sleeping man in the tangle of sheets he’d just left. He did not open it; he would not like what he saw. His fingers curled, crablike around the black surface and he made his way above deck. They were coming up to land, that much he knew; it had disappeared with the sunlight, just out of reach. He stared into the murky water and wished he could just throw the wretched thing over the side. He sighed, tugged free one of the smaller boats and watched it wallow in the water before clambering down, curling his fingers around the oars and beginning to row.
It took him a matter of days to find Barbossa; he had, after all, wanted to be found, seeing as James had something for him. He clambered aboard the Pearl in Tortuga and could feel only a slight sense of nausea as he was painfully reminded of its previous captain. Barbossa strode down, smiling broadly. “I knew you’d establish the means, Admiral,” he said amicably as he reached the bottom of the steps, descending from the wheel onto the deck. He spread his arms, his eyes glittering malevolently. “I take it you have the goods?” James nodded.
“Our agreement?” Barbossa nodded at the one he recognized as McAvinger, who went below, bringing out Elizabeth and her son. With a careful look at Barbossa he went over, gripping hold of her hand. “Are you alright?” he whispered, and she smiled, gripping back.
“Yes, we’re fine, I told him you’d come back!” James smiled down at the boy, but was reminded too much of the life he’d lost and looked back at Elizabeth.
“We’re to be dropped here, in Tortuga, the moment I hand over the compass. We’re not far from freedom now, Elizabeth,” he whispered, but his mind was far away with another whose heart he’d so shamelessly stolen.
“As much as reunions touch a nerve, I fear it may be the wrong one in me, for I’m getting mighty impatient,” Barbossa sounded from behind him. James reluctantly let go of Elizabeth’s hand, turning to face him. “Now, the compass.”
“Drop her first. When she and her son are safely ashore, I will give you the compass.”
“What’s to stop us rushing you now and taking it of you?” Barbossa snarled.
James looked back at him with sharp eyes. “What’s to stop me jumping overboard? Elizabeth. You are the man in control, Barbossa. I will give you everything I promised.”
Barbossa nodded, and Elizabeth and her son were escorted to the safety of the shore; she peered up at him with anxious eyes, waiting for him to follow her down. James reached into his shirt and pulled out the compass, dropping it firmly in Barbossa’s hand. Barbossa smiled. “Feel free to step ashore, Admiral,” he jeered, and James moved across to walk down to Elizabeth. “It seems we have a need to find Jack Sparrow, gents,” he cackled to his crew, and James froze on the lip of the boat.
“What for?” he said as he turned around.
Barbossa shrugged. “I have a debt needs settling. He shot me. It’s his turn.”
James moved forward, pacing a little more angrily. “This was never part of our agreement,” he snarled.
Barbossa nodded. “No, you’re right, Sparrow’s safety was never part of any agreement we made.” James struggled as he was gripped from behind, a blade settling on his throat. Barbossa’s fingers slipped beneath his collar, tugging it down to reveal the row of teeth marks James knew to be there. He frowned, running a finger across the marks, and James hissed in the back of his throat. “I wonder, Admiral…” he said slowly. “What is it you want most?” Barbossa flicked out the compass, forcing James’ hands to clamp around it. He prayed, wished with everything he had, tried to remove any trace of Jack from his mind, but when Barbossa flicked open the lid the arrow pointed straight and true. “Not me dead, nor Elizabeth, it would seem,” Barbossa murmured, eyes flicking to the docks; the arrow pointed off into the horizon. “It seems to me, Admiral, that for reasons of your own you seem to be overly concerned as to Jack Sparrow’s safety at the moment, and therefore seek him to make him safe.” Barbossa smiled slowly. “It would appear the Admiral will be useful in locating Sparrow,” he called, and his crew jeered. He struggled against the arms holding him, tried to drop the compass, do anything to stop them finding him, but Barbossa cackled. “It seems we have our heading, gents,” he grinned, and their laughs followed him into unconsciousness as he was struck around the back of the head and everything swam into darkness.
The Pearl was faster than any ship Jack could have stolen; it took them next to no time to locate him, James’ arrow pointing true whenever Barbossa forced the compass into his grasp. They were closing in; James stood with Barbossa behind the wheel, a sword pressed neatly into James’ neck as the compass rested in his hands. “When we reach the ship, gents, cross over. Don’t bother leaving any alive, but Sparrow is mine.” James struggled again, but Barbossa clamped a hand around his arm. “The Admiral can stay here with me and watch,” he drawled, eyes glinting in glee as James just looked back. In the horizon, he saw the unmistakable glitter of light on a scope, and let his face drop towards the deck, hoping Jack would at least understand that he didn’t want to be here.
“Let me go over first,” James said quickly as the boarding crews prepared themselves. “You have nothing against Sparrow’s crew or his boat and I can persuade him to come to you, and once you defeat Sparrow then they’ll follow you without question.”
Barbossa’s eyes narrowed. “They’ll run you through the second they see you,” he said, and James shrugged.
“It’s no more than I deserve,” he whispered softly, face falling towards the deck.
Barbossa’s eyes narrowed. “Very well. We let the Admiral over to the ship, he brings Sparrow back, and then we slit their throats together and send them over, with yet another ship under our command.” The men chuckled around him. The arm around him was released, and he was unceremoniously shoved across the side of the boat. Knowing there was little to stop Barbossa blowing Jack out of the water as it was, he burst into a quick front-crawl, nearing Jack’s ship and climbing up the rigging at the back, flopping over and up against the sword of his former captain.
Jack was staring down at him with blank eyes, his sword pressing against James’ throat. “It was you that lead them here. I feared the worst.” He sheathed his sword and turned to bark orders at his crew, peering back at the Pearl behind them. James pushed himself up off the side, shaking the majority of the wet out of his clothes before coming to stand behind him. He knew no combination of apologies or explanations would ever help.
“It’s just you he wants, Jack,” he said softly. “He’ll let the rest go.”
“Here to negotiate, eh?” Jack’s voice was bitter.
“I’m here to get you out alive,” he whispered, and Jack rounded on him, pressing his swordtip against James’ throat.
“There was only one moment when I thought that was true, and it has passed and proved me wrong,” he snarled quietly, and James couldn’t read the amount of betrayal in Jack’s eyes.
“I’m not here for apologies or forgiveness, or to clear my conscience.”
“But not because you care, it would seem?” James’ face burnt in indignation, and he bit down a snarl in the back of his throat.
“I’m here to get you your ship back,” he murmured when he got his voice under check. “And I don’t suppose this will go very far to proving it, but it is yours as well, after all.” He opened his hand and pushed the compass into Jack’s hand; it was withdrawn immediately, flinching from James’ touch. “Barbossa was suitably distracted,” he said with a small smile.
“How do I know that you’re not one of Hector’s tricks?” Jack said softly, running his hands across the black box, revelling in the familiar wood beneath his fingers again.
“You don’t,” James whispered. “And I can’t ask you to trust me, but you know there isn’t enough time.” The Pearl was so close now, boarding party almost ready. “He will have double-crossed me. His crew is to board and leave none but you alive.”
“Boarding party, you say?” Jack pondered for a moment. “That’ll leave his crew mighty preoccupied, I wouldn’t wonder, and his ship nigh deserted…” He grinned quickly, marching over, relaying information to Gibbs, who scuttled off to inform the rest of the crew. Beside them, the Pearl’s crew was jeering, almost in range, though not in sight. One by one, Jack’s crew dived over the edge silently into the water, as James moved to Jack’s side, their fingers brushing briefly. “Does he know?” Jack muttered gently in James’ ear.
“Yes,” he replied softly, looking at their hands, close together.
“Oh,” Jack murmured, allowing his fingers to press against James’ momentarily before turning to face the hordes landing on his ship. “I welcome you gentlemen aboard my fine vessel,” he called happily, spreading his arms to the empty decks.
“Where is everyone?” a pirate James recognized as Door Pirate number 2, peering around under the piles of rope as if he expected an ambush.
“There is no ‘everyone’. I’m all on me lonesome.” He smiled his best smile, and the other pirates peered up at him suspiciously.
One drew a pistol and clicked off the safety, desperate for blood, but his hand was smacked down by his superior. “Barbossa wants him personally,” he snarled, and the subordinate whined. His eyes scanned over James, and a horribly toothless smile graced his features. “Him, on the other hand…” The pistol rose again, aiming directly at James, who had expected no less than to die on this ship and was not about to worry about it particularly now.
“There’ll be no shooting my men here,” Jack said quickly, moving in front of James, mouth glittering in a half-smile. “You wouldn’t want this whelp anyway, sort of a little weedy, isn’t he? Eunuch,” he added conspiratorially, miming some form of slicing movement with his fingers which had the other men peering at James in disgust and James’ eyeballs rolling up.
“Leave him,” the superior barked, pushing the pistol down. “Go lay the gunpowder,” he said with a malevolent grin, and the others scurried off, smirking broadly and jeering as they went. “You’ve got an appointment to keep,” he said to Jack, and tossed him a rope from the other ship. He and James exchanged a look before James grabbed a second rope, together swinging across and landing on the Pearl’s deck, feet away from Barbossa. Jack quite unnecessarily stepped in front of James, who found his eyes rolling again but bit back a sigh.
“Hector,” Jack exclaimed happily, waving his arms. “It has been too long, has it not?”
Barbossa turned with a smile, pistol pointing at Jack’s chest. “Aye. Much too long.”
Jack’s smile wavered, and he bowed slightly. “Have you consulted the compass yet?”
Barbossa peered at him for a moment suspiciously. “I haven’t needed to, your crewmate has been quite helpful in leading us right to you,” he jeered, and James found himself shrinking behind Jack slightly before hating himself for it and stepping out beside him.
“It was hardly help when it was involuntary,” he snarled slightly, and Barbossa’s eyes strayed to him momentarily, smile unwavering.
“I have a strange little thing with welcome, Admiral, and I suggest that you do not want to outstay yours.” James did not reply, simply standing up next to Jack, eyes watching out for the signal from Jack’s ship.
“Well, since you’ve got yourself such a good prize, why not use it, hmm?” Jack’s eyes glittered. Barbossa rolled his eyes, patting the front of his shirt, and Jack’s smile widened. “This?” he said eventually, bringing out the black box from inside his shirt, Barbossa’s incredulous face sparking off happy spirals in James’ stomach.
“How the devil - ” Barbossa spluttered, striding forwards, safety clicking off the pistol.
“It was me,” James said quickly, and Barbossa swung the pistol round and shot him.
James felt the world explode into pain and the deck hit his side harshly; heard Jack’s yelp beside him; just a leg shot, he realized, gasping, pushing himself up off the side of the ship and glaring at Barbossa, the pain causing an eruption of stars whenever he shifted, his blood trickling in a hot, sticky mess down the side of his leg. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cotton’s parrot land on the Pearl’s wheel, but Jack hadn’t noticed it, and if he messed up now - Barbossa was striding forwards again, grinning. “Jack, Jack,” he drawled, mouth spread open in a smile. “You do allow yourself to get attached.”
Jack’s face was almost as white as James imagined his to be, but he smiled shakily and shrugged it off. “Jack,” James rasped, and Jack’s eyes flickered to him, finally picking up on Cotton’s parrot and smiling broadly. He moved his feet sideways, shuffling further towards the side, grin still firmly in place. James’ mind was fogged with the blood loss and pain, but he forced himself to stay conscious, watching out for Jack’s crew who were silently moving up the outside of the craft, Barbossa’s crew still preoccupied in laying the gunpowder on Jack’s ship; the only people on the Pearl save for Jack and himself was one other crew member; McAvinger, he remembered him being called, and felt a hot surge of anger fill him. Jack was wittering on across the deck, drawing Barbossa closer to the side of the ship, and Jack took the opportunity to distract McAvinger. “Are you naturally that disgusting, or do you have to apply it every morning?” he gasped out; it wasn’t inventive, it wasn’t intelligent - all in all, it was a bit pathetic, but with pain searing across his mind it was all he could do to stay conscious, never mind think of witty retorts. It did the trick; McAvinger rushed at him with a roar, and James crouched at the last moment, sending the other plummeting into the ocean. Across the deck, Jack grabbed hold of Barbossa’s arm and jerked; the other lost his balance momentarily and fell over the side, whilst Jack’s crew swarmed up and onto the Pearl.
“Trouble,” said Jack quickly as those aboard Jack’s old ship saw what they had done and attempted to board; they were saved by the pirates’ stupidity as in their rush to return to the Pearl they tripped over one another, including the one holding the fire to set alight the gunpowder trail, which ignited rather spectacularly and snaked off into the bowels of the ship. James’ eyes closed at the fireball and despite a panicky hand clasping around his found himself incapable of opening them again for some time.
He bit back a hiss as the present emerged in a ball of messy, painful stickiness. Pushing himself up on his elbows he inspected an unprofessionally-bandaged leg for signs of infection, easing it out of the bloodied sheets for cleanliness’ sake. He tilted his head; creaking and groaning and lack of sound informed him it must be quite late, alongside the faintest hints of a snore from below. He swung his feet down to the floor in an attempt to stand; failing due to a large sting of agony, he groped around in the semi-darkness until he located some form of driftwood which vaguely resembled a crutch and he moved out onto deck.
He closed his eyes, revelling in the sting of salt on his face, feeling immensely happier for having been extracted from the gloom below. He leant on the rail, staring below him; the water seemed less menacing than before, and however inviting he knew that with this damned hunk of flesh for a leg he’d never survive a dip.
There was a vaguely panicky noise behind him and a shout of “Captain! CAPTAIN!”, to which he let out a long sigh and turned round to watch Jack emerge from below, eyes bleary and foggy from a lack of sleep.
“I dunno, I go off to find some rum and you choose that momen’ out of the last thirty odd hours to wake up. That’s what I call dissress. Dissreesss. Dissysiss…” He gave up with another swig, moving rather cautiously to stand beside him, peering at him nervously. “You’re real, aren’t you?” He poked. James sighed.
“There’s rum,” he murmured, nodding towards the bottle. “Does that suggest reality?”
Jack seemed to frown for a moment. “Generally, no, but this stuff is godawful cat’s piss so due to the rather hounding laws of irony probably yes, this is real. Then again, in reality I seem to remember the only James Norrington in my acquaintance running off to a certain Hector Barbossa whilst helpfully alleviating me from the burden of my compass.” An eyebrow was raised.
“Is this the same James Norrington standing next to you now?” James murmured, running a hand across smooth wood.
“I don’t know,” Jack mumbled, and for once he sounded completely honest. “I don’t know.”
James sighed. “I’m sorry, Jack,” he whispered, and the sincerity must have hit true, somewhere, for Jack smiled and murmured once before leaning in to kiss him.
“I know.”
It was a particularly stroppy Elizabeth they finally met up with at Tortuga; grasping her son’s shoulders firmly she slapped James once about the face before hugging him tightly. “Oh, I thought you must have died,” she whispered, and he laughed.
“It didn’t stop me before,” he smiled, looking at her fondly. “I just got a little sidetracked helping Captain Sparrow acquisition his precious Pearl before I came back for you.”
“I thought he’d lost it, after the siege at Port Royal three years ago, but there she is!” Elizabeth stared at the ship affectionately, one hand still on her son’s shoulder.
“You could still come with us, you know,” James offered again, but she shook her head.
“I’ve had what you might call a shifting in priorities,” she said with a smile, grasping her son’s shoulder tightly. “When Barbossa kidnapped him I thought I would die if Will never got to saw him, so I have to keep him safe.” She leant over and gave James another hug. “Find me whenever you’re in port.”
“I promise,” he smiled, and watched her walk away, turning back to the Pearl and mounting it slowly with the vaguest semblance of a limp, walking up behind his captain.
“We’re ready to go,” Jack said softly, his eyes watching Elizabeth walk away. “You don’t have to.”
“If I wanted to go with her I would not have hesitated to do so. Entwined, but never destined to meet.” He smiled to himself, turning to face Jack. “You, I don’t seem to be able to get rid of. Besides, I have a lot of grovelling to do.”
“That much is true,” Jack grinned, watching as the anchor was retracted and the ship was allowed to pull away. He ran his fingers across the wheel, revelling in the spokes’ imprint beneath his fingers.
“Where to?” Gibbs asked from below, and he pushed his hand into his shirt, wrapping his fingers around his compass and bringing it into the light, peering at it in order to gain the ship’s heading.
Jack watched the needle flicker and settle resolutely on James, who was standing staring at Tortuga shrinking into the distance. “You’re going to be quite a peculiar nuisance,” he remarked, watching as James walked closer and pressed lips to the nape of his neck. Once the action was performed the needle seemed to change its mind and flickered off onto the horizon. “It’s as good a heading as can be expected,” Jack said with a smile, and turned the wheel, and the Pearl slithered off into the horizon.