Reconstructed By the Sea (A Pythagorean Fairytale Remix) POTC, J/E/N
Title: Reconstructed By the Sea (A Pythagorean Fairytale Remix) Pirates of the Caribbean, Jack/Elizabeth/Norrington
Author: djarum99
Summary: Jack, Elizabeth, and Commodore Norrington find solace of a particular kind.
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Pairing: Jack/Elizabeth, Jack/Elizabeth/Norrington
Rating: N17
Disclaimer: the characters belong to Disney, I am making no profit
Warnings: threesome, male-male-female, slash, het, character death implied, post-At World’s End, or Alternate Universe, depending on which eye is dominant
Words: 1,682
Original story: author - siryn99 title - “Wide Hearts Unsprung” find it here - http://siryn99.livejournal.com/tag/james/jack/elizabeth
A/N: “After everything fragile is broken… let’s put all our treasures together…may whatever breaks be reconstructed by the sea.” My remix title and the original author’s are from Pablo Neruda’s “Ode to Broken Things” - http://www.motherbird.com/broken . Bits of Neruda are scattered throughout like broken glass - watch your step. I need to thank my fabulous betas: writing_samsara, sage_laurel, melayneseahawk, and my non-lj-user friend Jules - your input was invaluable.
The commodore was the one who returned her to him. Jack could taste the black irony of that, bittersweet and lingering on his tongue. Norrington and Elizabeth had found him in Nassau port; two years after he had torn her from his heart, six months after Will Turner had died of a fever that took him in a matter of days. Bloody young fool. Should have honored his heritage, taken to the sea. Should have left his bride a pirate’s widow, left her with her pride and something to howl and rail against, an ocean in which to sink her anger. Should never have left her broken, bewildered, a creature of cobwebs and mist who curled against his chest in despair. Another swallow of rum, another irony- here’s to you, Will Turner.
Jack lifted a fine-boned hand to signal for another, grinned when the barmaid responded lightning quick, breasts pressing against his back as she set down the tankard. The tavern's buzz faded again into memory and time. Norrington had provided her what comfort he could, though he must have known it would never be enough. At news of Will's death, the commodore had come with haste and an earnest yearning, as he always would. Jack could taste the irony of that, as well; had done so, on many occasions since, in every sense of the word. The thought brought a twisted smile, washed down smooth with another draught of rum.
Norrington had provided passage to Nassau, found Jack, when Elizabeth told him what salvation she required. It was there that the commodore discovered he needed saving, too; sought his own redemption in their bed, moaning amidst the blood-red tangle of Indian silk. However, that had come later. That first night, he had led Elizabeth aboard the Pearl and into Jack’s arms; turned his back like the gentleman he was, striding resolute and stiff down the gangplank into the night. Bloody Lancelot. Or bloody Arthur, depending upon the point where one enters the story.
At first, she had wandered the Pearl like a ghost, flitting from task to task, floating in the rigging, drifting into his bed. Jack had refused to take her for weeks, although she clung to his body in the night as if he were the only driftwood on an empty sea. He had taken the midnight watch, clenched his teeth, and made frequent use of his palm. Waited, until the sun touched her face with colour, until she laughed again, with him - until he saw something like love in her eyes. Love bound them now; he did not doubt that though they never spoke the words. Love made desperate, urgent, wild, by their intimate knowledge of the invisible smashing hands of deliberate gods.
Jack had led her to the bed that first night, undressed her, tried to conceal the tremor in his hands. She caught them up, kissed each fingertip, and made her promises - “yes, Jack…yes.” He slid into her heat as if her quim was a chalice, the sweetest of mercies. It had not been so gentle since. That wild thread had spun, twisted, and woven itself into their passion, into the warp of love’s tapestry.
They added Commodore James Norrington to the fabric quite by accident, an embroidered afterthought. He had been in command of the Courageous when the Pearl had the misfortune to sail too far into the Caribbean waters she protected. They had outrun her, but not before Jack spied Norrington at the helm, knew the Commodore had deliberately delayed her guns a fraction of a second too long. Norrington was a master of delay, and had already paid dearly for his expertise. Jack and Elizabeth had benefitted from his loss. They had conferred and reached a decision. Word was sent to Port Royal via a passing merchant that Norrington could find them, for one night, in a certain Nassau tavern.
An expensive missive, as they released the merchant with a nearly full hold to ensure delivery, and a risky one. Elizabeth was confident of Norrington’s loyalty. Jack was not. They had waited in a nearby alley until Ragetti and Gibbs, taking duty as sentries, assured them that the commodore travelled alone. When they welcomed Norrington aboard the Pearl, Jack had recognized the look in his eyes. He had seen a familiar longing, and not just for her; the steadfast and upright commodore had a yen for freedom, and perhaps for something else.
Jack had promptly tested his theory about the “something else.” Elizabeth’s obvious arousal had granted him permission as he swayed into a yielding Norrington and took his mouth in a fierce kiss. One of many kisses that night, as they followed Elizabeth’s instruction and their own inclinations. A revelation - he had always known the man wanted Elizabeth; had not known that under the natural antagonism lay lust, and something more, for him.
Surprising, to have missed that. He was usually much more astute. They had continued their assignations; Norrington sans wig and uniform, Jack and Elizabeth skulking in alleys, slipping in and out of each other's lives like ghosts. The dingy walls of many a portside tavern had witnessed their phantom encounters, heard them moaning in the night.
Jack tipped the tankard, drained the last of the rum. Elizabeth waited in a musty upstairs room, and Norrington would follow with alacrity at the brush of his hand, the sight of his casual grace swinging towards the stairs. He was not a cruel man, but he enjoyed the tease, the anticipation. Rising, he wove his way through the crowded tavern wearing a smile drawn by the devil’s own hand. Drifting past a table near the entrance, he trailed jewelled fingers across the arm of a man whose tense body betrayed him. Norrington had been too long without them.
Elizabeth opened the door and pulled at his clothing, sweeping his mouth with her tongue before he could speak. By the time the commodore knocked, Jack was naked; stretched like a golden cat across the coarse sheets, his hard cock brushing his belly. He saw Norrington's eyes rake over him, open throughout Elizabeth’s welcoming kiss. When they reached the bed, it was his mouth Norrington sought first, his body the commodore’s hands mapped, searching out new scars. Jack nudged him towards Elizabeth when he caught her wanton eye. Norrington used lips and tongue to rediscover her, taste her. A taste Jack knew was salt-sweet, the essence of a sea that would always claim him. He used rough fingers to pleasure them both, orchestrating their desire. Elizabeth pulsed against his hand and Norrington’s mouth, sinking her nails into his scars and her commodore’s smooth skin.
Rising above her, Norrington chose the night’s dance. Jack took him in hand, guiding his cock inside her before she could fully recover. She cried out for them both, sighed their names, chanting her siren’s song. The silk of her voice clinging to his name never failed to ensnare Norrington, make his breath catch. Jack grinned; their companion was a man enchanted, as was he. Bloody Arthur and bloody Lancelot, impaled on each other’s swords and dipping into the same grail.
Norrington leaned in to kiss her, deep and slow, halting his rhythm. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Jack lowered his mouth to the pale ridges of his spine, tracing them with his tongue until he reached the curve at its base. He could feel the pounding of the man’s heart, sparring with his own through layered muscle and sharp bone. Leaning over their joined bodies, Jack found the flask of oil, anointed Norrington and his own straining cock.
The commodore stilled to allow him entrance, and Jack inched home with tantalizing slowness. Elizabeth’s eyes found his; Jack saw love there, beneath the lust. His Bess, his seraphim, a paradox of icy intention and fiery tenderness. She smiled for him, reaching up to brush her fingertips across his mouth. At first, they moved together in a slow, easy accord. Norrington began to tremble, and Jack increased his pace, took control. He watched her ecstasy first, and then felt the body sheathing his tense and shudder. Whispering obscene endearments through it all, he flew above them both until his body shook and the words were lost.
Norrington rose to bring a wet cloth from the washbasin, gently washing Elizabeth and Jack clean and tending to himself. She nuzzled Jack’s throat, twined a slender leg through his and murmured drowsy contentment into his hair. Her heartbeat beneath Jack's palm slowed his own to the cadence of dreams. When he returned to the bed, Norrington slid under the quilt, cradling Elizabeth against his chest. Jack studied him through half-closed lids. The commodore was staring through the open window, watching the night sky fade to a dawn that would bring the return of loneliness.
Jack saw a man who longed for freedom, for piracy, but could not find it charted in his soul. Saw a man of dangerous fragility, a man who chose to sail love’s merciless waters without a compass. He made a silent admission that perhaps he was the greater fool. Bedding both the man who had tried to kill him and the woman who had succeeded was surely the ultimate irony. There was not enough rum in this broken world to drown the flavour of that.
Author: djarum99
Summary: Jack, Elizabeth, and Commodore Norrington find solace of a particular kind.
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Pairing: Jack/Elizabeth, Jack/Elizabeth/Norrington
Rating: N17
Disclaimer: the characters belong to Disney, I am making no profit
Warnings: threesome, male-male-female, slash, het, character death implied, post-At World’s End, or Alternate Universe, depending on which eye is dominant
Words: 1,682
Original story: author - siryn99 title - “Wide Hearts Unsprung” find it here - http://siryn99.livejournal.com/tag/james/jack/elizabeth
A/N: “After everything fragile is broken… let’s put all our treasures together…may whatever breaks be reconstructed by the sea.” My remix title and the original author’s are from Pablo Neruda’s “Ode to Broken Things” - http://www.motherbird.com/broken . Bits of Neruda are scattered throughout like broken glass - watch your step. I need to thank my fabulous betas: writing_samsara, sage_laurel, melayneseahawk, and my non-lj-user friend Jules - your input was invaluable.
The commodore was the one who returned her to him. Jack could taste the black irony of that, bittersweet and lingering on his tongue. Norrington and Elizabeth had found him in Nassau port; two years after he had torn her from his heart, six months after Will Turner had died of a fever that took him in a matter of days. Bloody young fool. Should have honored his heritage, taken to the sea. Should have left his bride a pirate’s widow, left her with her pride and something to howl and rail against, an ocean in which to sink her anger. Should never have left her broken, bewildered, a creature of cobwebs and mist who curled against his chest in despair. Another swallow of rum, another irony- here’s to you, Will Turner.
Jack lifted a fine-boned hand to signal for another, grinned when the barmaid responded lightning quick, breasts pressing against his back as she set down the tankard. The tavern's buzz faded again into memory and time. Norrington had provided her what comfort he could, though he must have known it would never be enough. At news of Will's death, the commodore had come with haste and an earnest yearning, as he always would. Jack could taste the irony of that, as well; had done so, on many occasions since, in every sense of the word. The thought brought a twisted smile, washed down smooth with another draught of rum.
Norrington had provided passage to Nassau, found Jack, when Elizabeth told him what salvation she required. It was there that the commodore discovered he needed saving, too; sought his own redemption in their bed, moaning amidst the blood-red tangle of Indian silk. However, that had come later. That first night, he had led Elizabeth aboard the Pearl and into Jack’s arms; turned his back like the gentleman he was, striding resolute and stiff down the gangplank into the night. Bloody Lancelot. Or bloody Arthur, depending upon the point where one enters the story.
At first, she had wandered the Pearl like a ghost, flitting from task to task, floating in the rigging, drifting into his bed. Jack had refused to take her for weeks, although she clung to his body in the night as if he were the only driftwood on an empty sea. He had taken the midnight watch, clenched his teeth, and made frequent use of his palm. Waited, until the sun touched her face with colour, until she laughed again, with him - until he saw something like love in her eyes. Love bound them now; he did not doubt that though they never spoke the words. Love made desperate, urgent, wild, by their intimate knowledge of the invisible smashing hands of deliberate gods.
Jack had led her to the bed that first night, undressed her, tried to conceal the tremor in his hands. She caught them up, kissed each fingertip, and made her promises - “yes, Jack…yes.” He slid into her heat as if her quim was a chalice, the sweetest of mercies. It had not been so gentle since. That wild thread had spun, twisted, and woven itself into their passion, into the warp of love’s tapestry.
They added Commodore James Norrington to the fabric quite by accident, an embroidered afterthought. He had been in command of the Courageous when the Pearl had the misfortune to sail too far into the Caribbean waters she protected. They had outrun her, but not before Jack spied Norrington at the helm, knew the Commodore had deliberately delayed her guns a fraction of a second too long. Norrington was a master of delay, and had already paid dearly for his expertise. Jack and Elizabeth had benefitted from his loss. They had conferred and reached a decision. Word was sent to Port Royal via a passing merchant that Norrington could find them, for one night, in a certain Nassau tavern.
An expensive missive, as they released the merchant with a nearly full hold to ensure delivery, and a risky one. Elizabeth was confident of Norrington’s loyalty. Jack was not. They had waited in a nearby alley until Ragetti and Gibbs, taking duty as sentries, assured them that the commodore travelled alone. When they welcomed Norrington aboard the Pearl, Jack had recognized the look in his eyes. He had seen a familiar longing, and not just for her; the steadfast and upright commodore had a yen for freedom, and perhaps for something else.
Jack had promptly tested his theory about the “something else.” Elizabeth’s obvious arousal had granted him permission as he swayed into a yielding Norrington and took his mouth in a fierce kiss. One of many kisses that night, as they followed Elizabeth’s instruction and their own inclinations. A revelation - he had always known the man wanted Elizabeth; had not known that under the natural antagonism lay lust, and something more, for him.
Surprising, to have missed that. He was usually much more astute. They had continued their assignations; Norrington sans wig and uniform, Jack and Elizabeth skulking in alleys, slipping in and out of each other's lives like ghosts. The dingy walls of many a portside tavern had witnessed their phantom encounters, heard them moaning in the night.
Jack tipped the tankard, drained the last of the rum. Elizabeth waited in a musty upstairs room, and Norrington would follow with alacrity at the brush of his hand, the sight of his casual grace swinging towards the stairs. He was not a cruel man, but he enjoyed the tease, the anticipation. Rising, he wove his way through the crowded tavern wearing a smile drawn by the devil’s own hand. Drifting past a table near the entrance, he trailed jewelled fingers across the arm of a man whose tense body betrayed him. Norrington had been too long without them.
Elizabeth opened the door and pulled at his clothing, sweeping his mouth with her tongue before he could speak. By the time the commodore knocked, Jack was naked; stretched like a golden cat across the coarse sheets, his hard cock brushing his belly. He saw Norrington's eyes rake over him, open throughout Elizabeth’s welcoming kiss. When they reached the bed, it was his mouth Norrington sought first, his body the commodore’s hands mapped, searching out new scars. Jack nudged him towards Elizabeth when he caught her wanton eye. Norrington used lips and tongue to rediscover her, taste her. A taste Jack knew was salt-sweet, the essence of a sea that would always claim him. He used rough fingers to pleasure them both, orchestrating their desire. Elizabeth pulsed against his hand and Norrington’s mouth, sinking her nails into his scars and her commodore’s smooth skin.
Rising above her, Norrington chose the night’s dance. Jack took him in hand, guiding his cock inside her before she could fully recover. She cried out for them both, sighed their names, chanting her siren’s song. The silk of her voice clinging to his name never failed to ensnare Norrington, make his breath catch. Jack grinned; their companion was a man enchanted, as was he. Bloody Arthur and bloody Lancelot, impaled on each other’s swords and dipping into the same grail.
Norrington leaned in to kiss her, deep and slow, halting his rhythm. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Jack lowered his mouth to the pale ridges of his spine, tracing them with his tongue until he reached the curve at its base. He could feel the pounding of the man’s heart, sparring with his own through layered muscle and sharp bone. Leaning over their joined bodies, Jack found the flask of oil, anointed Norrington and his own straining cock.
The commodore stilled to allow him entrance, and Jack inched home with tantalizing slowness. Elizabeth’s eyes found his; Jack saw love there, beneath the lust. His Bess, his seraphim, a paradox of icy intention and fiery tenderness. She smiled for him, reaching up to brush her fingertips across his mouth. At first, they moved together in a slow, easy accord. Norrington began to tremble, and Jack increased his pace, took control. He watched her ecstasy first, and then felt the body sheathing his tense and shudder. Whispering obscene endearments through it all, he flew above them both until his body shook and the words were lost.
Norrington rose to bring a wet cloth from the washbasin, gently washing Elizabeth and Jack clean and tending to himself. She nuzzled Jack’s throat, twined a slender leg through his and murmured drowsy contentment into his hair. Her heartbeat beneath Jack's palm slowed his own to the cadence of dreams. When he returned to the bed, Norrington slid under the quilt, cradling Elizabeth against his chest. Jack studied him through half-closed lids. The commodore was staring through the open window, watching the night sky fade to a dawn that would bring the return of loneliness.
Jack saw a man who longed for freedom, for piracy, but could not find it charted in his soul. Saw a man of dangerous fragility, a man who chose to sail love’s merciless waters without a compass. He made a silent admission that perhaps he was the greater fool. Bedding both the man who had tried to kill him and the woman who had succeeded was surely the ultimate irony. There was not enough rum in this broken world to drown the flavour of that.