By Hook or By Crook -- Part 2
Title: By Hook or By Crook
My Two Cents: Revenge is yummy, and I'm a dork.
Once he was sure that the pirate was sleeping soundly and not about to awake, Norrington carefully pulled from Jack’s arms and rushed to his wardrobe, where he found his shift and threw it on, desperate for something clean. Horrified to find that it clung tight to the sticky seed on his stomach, he stripped it off again and flew to the vanity, where two basins awaited him, one empty and one full of water. With whispered thanks, he washed the shameful remnants from his skin, helplessly admitting, in that action, to the reality of the evening. The taste of sour, bitter bile rose in his throat, and he vomited suddenly and fiercely into the empty basin.
Commodore James Norrington had never been so humiliated, so used, in his entire life. He chided and lectured himself, saying "He’s right, you know, you bloody well can’t hang him now. He’ll have the whole town of Port Royal knowing this, how you took him up to your room, how you even started it, and you begged for it, didn’t you James, like a common whore, you begged. You fool, you absolute fool." Throughout this entire whispered speech, Norrington was racked with angry heaving convulsions, his body still trying to empty itself of the guilt, the shame, the vileness. He slid to the floor, weakened, exhausted, ashamed, and furious, and cast a glance across the room to where Jack lay, still clothed, the blankets strewn across his hips. And James, bare and humiliated on the other side of the room, dropped his head to his hands and shook it slowly. Captain Jack Sparrow had won again, had turned the world to his favor. The officer’s words rang through his head: That has got to be the best pirate I’ve ever seen. He felt again like he had that day when Jack sailed off on the Interceptor; used, betrayed, alone, and helpless. And it was anger against this unacceptable helplessness that drove Commodore Norrington as he dressed himself in a clean, pressed white linen shirt, white fitted breeches, a white waistcoat drizzled with gold brocade, and a deep blue whitefront kneelength overcoat, again trimmed with brocade. With deft, swift fingers he tied his cravat, then sought out his wig, hat, and weapons.
"On your feet." Jack awoke to a sword at his throat, and a very angry commodore. He slid back on the palms of his hands and pushed himself to sitting, then, groggily, he got to his feet. "Sparrow, we have a problem."
"No, mate, you have a problem. I’ve already solved mine." James twitched his blade threateningly, and Jack swallowed and bobbed his head. "I see. Well then, what is it you want to discuss?"
The commodore hesitated for a moment, shutting and opening his eyes, pursing his lips, and taking a deep breath. "It would appear that you have me in quite a bind. I can’t possibly let you roam the streets of Port Royal, nor can I waive you back onto the sea; that would be contrary to my duties and responsibilities. However, as you have already said, neither can I send you to hang. So it seems there is but one choice left to me." He stepped again towards Jack, backing the wide-eyed pirate against the foot of the bed. "But it would be a shame to bloody this room, this blade, with… you." Norrington gracefully flipped the gleaming steel and slid it into the scabbard at his side, then spun on his heel, ending with his back to Jack. "You see my dilemma, then, Sparrow."
"You’re overlooking one option, James." Norrington cast a quick, curious, and frustrated glance over his shoulder at Jack, who nodded solemnly. "You’ve mentioned killing me, which I am vehemently against, leaving us with sending me off to the sea or to the noose. But really, there’s no reason to send me off at all, savvy?"
"Are you suggesting that I keep you in my quarters? I knew you were daft, Sparrow, but this is a bit much, even for you."
"I’m serious, love." He leaned back onto his palms on the bed and crossed his ankles.
"Captain Jack Sparrow, lord only know what you’re up to, and I don’t much care to find out. I would appreciate it if you’d…" James trailed off. He was truly at a loss insofar as resolving the pirate-in-the-bedroom issue. All he knew was that if Jack had his way, the two of them risked another episode like the one of the evening that was just then fading to dawn.
Jack grinned and tilted his head. "You’re out of ideas, then. Well, at least hear me out." The pirate uncrossed his ankles and stood. "What if I were to have fallen… deathly ill during the night. Surely they wouldn’t send me down to the jail, and they couldn’t hang me, especially not if I were…weak and delirious from fever." He swayed convincingly over the course of this last phrase, and cast his eyes wildly about the room, imitating a victim of some terrible disease, in the throes of hysteria. Then he centered his gaze back on Norrington, assuming again an intense focus and practicality that was highly atypical as he asked, "Savvy?"
James almost laughed, but the situation was far too grave to allow that. “You really are addled…" But the commodore had to consider this; he didn’t have much other choice. He locked eyes with the pirate, and asked sharply, "How?"
Jack turned his head toward the vanity and raised an eyebrow, then gestured toward the once-empty basin. "We could easily use that as corroboration."
"Use…" James followed the pirate’s gaze and flushed slightly as the meaning dawned on him, then he turned back to look Jack in the eye and asked, "How much…did you…I thought you were asleep."
"Almost made me feel sorry for you. Never meant to make that much trouble, just doing me job, savvy? Pirate. Do what I can, with what I have." He shrugged and gave James a small smile.
James tried in vain to return it. "Of course. Well, you’ve done plenty already, Mr. Sparrow." He jolted slightly as a sharp knock sounded against the door. "Dawn…" he said under his breath, then, louder, but still hushed, "Into the bed. Now, Jack." The knock came again, more urgent, and Jack wriggled in between the sheets and nodded, pressing a hand to his forehead and making a dramatically distressed face. James shook his head slowly as he walked to the door. Why am I doing this…? "On my way." He turned the brass knob and pulled the door open just enough to identify the knocker.
"Notification to the guilty party, sir, he has until midmorn."
"Yes, thank you Lieutenant. But there seems to have been a complication over the past number of hours." His heart pounded and his chest drew tight as he opened the door the rest of the way to admit Gillette entrance. He could tell what the first impression was by the look of shocked horror that gripped Gillette’s face, and he quickly countered it. "The accused was struck with a sudden illness last evening, and is in no fit condition." Jack moaned and tossed his head to emphasize the commodore’s words, and Gillette raised an eyebrow as he looked to the pirate in his commanding officer’s bed.
"So you will be keeping him…here, sir?"
"As I said, Lieutenant, he is in no fit condition."
Gillette looked again to Norrington, then to Sparrow, and back to Norrington. After one last glance at Jack, he said sotto voce, "Sir, may I speak to you a moment?"
"Surely." James motioned to the doorway and followed Gillette into the hallway, then shut the door most of the way behind him. "What are your concerns?"
"Well, sir… It’s only that… you see, it could raises a few eyebrows, keeping Jack Sparrow in your room." He hushed and dropped his gaze, then after a moment he continued. "Rumors have already started getting around, sir. Suspicions." He looked back up to meet the eyes of his commanding officer. "It isn’t good form, sir, not at all."
James gave a small trite nod and a forced smile. "Thank you for your advice, Lieutenant, and your concern, but I can assure you that there were no wildly intriguing acts of sodomy last night. I am sorry to disappoint you." James was becoming increasingly good al lying through his teeth. Blame the pirate. "I wanted to be certain that Sparrow would not pull any of his tricks, so I kept him under direct surveillance. I am quite sure that you have heard the adage, that one should keep his friends close and his enemies closer." The topic was closed. James turned and re-entered the room, leaving Gillette to send the message. He leaned against the closed door and ran his hands down the brocaded front of his military coat, sighing, then stood and walked over to Jack, who was grinning up at him in a most disconcerting manner.
"So, what’d your little lieutenant want to talk to you about?"
"You."
"Really? I’m flattered."
"Shouldn’t be."
"And why not? " A sly smile sneaked across the pirate’s face and he continued in a knowing tone, "Ahhh, was the nosy lieutenant worried about his lovely commodore?"
"Hah. Rumors spread like smallpox in these walls."
"I see. Navymen gossip like streetwomen, do they?"
"So it would seem."
Jack tossed his head back into the pillow and laughed. "Well, how far off the mark are they?"
"Depends on whose point of view you’re talking about."
"You mean mine versus yours?"
"I do."
"Mine then."
"How should I know your point of view?"
"Good point. Yours."
"I’d rather not discuss this, Mr. Sparrow. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. We can’t all lounge around in my bed all day." He walked to the door and opened it, taking a step out into the hall, when Jack threw back a quip.
"Well, you could always join me, Jamie." James shut the door abruptly behind him and strode straight down to his office without pause.
Norrington sat at his desk, elbows propped up on the ebony inlay, pressing the heels of his hands to his shut eyes. He needed to get away from that pirate, to think this through clearly, rationally. Jack Sparrow could not have won. It was that simple. In all their rounds of cat and mouse, Sparrow had always left an out. James saw that now. One for himself and one for the Commodore. Considerate of him, really, and all too clever.
James lifted his head from his hands and picked up his wig. Studying the piece as though it were some foreign object, he thought of the even more foreign, yet hauntingly familiar creature who was at the moment in the commodore’s own bed, flushed with a feigned fever, tousled and disheveled and-James cursed sharply and dropped the wig to the desk. If he expected to match Sparrow now, he needed to keep a clear mind, free from any distraction. Unfortunately, said pirate seemed to be the worst of said distractions.
So with a newfound resolution and blessed detachment, James pushed himself to his feet, replaced his wig, hat, and overcoat, and strode through the stone halls, each crisp rap of his boot against the unyielding stone corridor echoing in his ears and sending a fortifying tremor to his heart and spirit, determined to fight fire with fire. And fire it was, fire that licked at his insides at the mere thought of countering Sparrow, leveling the score of their morbid tournament once again, and last of all. Fire that danced a measured minuet within his eyes of ice and steel, counterpoint to the lush and exotic, writhing rhythms that lived inside Jack’s smoky brown ones. Fire that glowed beneath the pirate’s skin, incredible heat and light, alluring, burning, dazzling. James opened the door.
And was completely unprepared for what met him. Angel, was all he could think, as he saw Jack stretched upon his bed, the sheets snaking across his thin hips, one arm cast above his head and the other falling gently across his torso, the fingers resting lightly on the slight rise of his hipbone. He wasn’t wearing his shirt. James shut the door quietly, for Jack’s eyes, though half hidden behind his upraised arm, were shut. God above, he’s an angel, James thought as he set his wig and hat on the bureau and pulled off his overcoat. There was no fire in Jack now, he seemed to be made of nothing but gold and innocence. Then he moved, and James had to bite back a moan. Even in his sleep -especially in his sleep-the man was a cat, a black panther, tempting, inviting, shadowed, and dangerous as hell. All Sparrow had done was shift a little, turn his hips the slightest bit, start a wave of sleepy contentment that ended its journey up his body as a nearly inaudible low purr, and already Norrington’s meticulous control was threatening to slip. He pulled himself to stand as straight as possible, shoulders back, chin up, perfect model of command, and cleared his throat sharply.
“Ah! Wha - hu - I -“ Jack stammered and very nearly injured himself as he flailed his way out of sleep, almost coaxing a smile from the commodore’s lips. “-oh. ‘S you. Don’t you know it’s bad luck to --- aw hell. Well, welcome back.” Jack propped himself up on his elbows and regarded the commodore, who was at the moment unpinning his cravat and laying it out on the bureau. He returned to the position he had before waking and asked, “How was work?”
James did not turn to look at him, but instead undid his cuffs and began to unbutton his shirt as he answered, “Fine, fine.” He pulled off his shirt and turned to Jack, saying “It is, however, late and I am afraid I would like to have my own bed back.”
He was not at all surprised to hear Jack’s reply, spoken more to the pillow and to Jack’s right arm than to the commodore. “What, ye won’t take me up on my offer from this morning?” Sparrow paused for a time, waiting for some response from Norrington, but when none came he said, “’M still wearing me pants, don’t worry.” Another pause. “Unless, of course, yer fine self’d rather I weren’t.”
Jack heard a low laugh suddenly from the side of the bed behind him, and James’ voice. “I can assure you, Sparrow, that all I wish is for a night of sleep, and for that you can keep your trousers on.” He slid into the bed, himself unclothed, to find Jack the same.
“You lied,” he hissed into Jack’s ear, licking at the curved edge, which earned him another of Jack’s purrs, accompanied by the pirate nudging back against him, all of him, to say, with absolutely no surprise evident in his voice whatsoever,
“So did you.”
Ah, there was the flint for James’ steel, as Jack’s eyes darkened to just shades from black, and struck against James’ to make the first sparks. And then they were kissing.
It was probably Jack who started it, but that hardly mattered as fingers found hair and tongues found each other. Far from the slow, languorous one-sided kiss of the night before, this was fierce and hot, competitive, and altogether inflaming, and the two lost track of whose breath was whose, whose tongue raced across whose teeth, who moaned, who gasped, who whimpered, who grinned. But it was definitely the commodore’s hands that tore Jack’s head from his, and surely both of them were panting, eyes blazing violently. It was Jack who darted his tongue out over his swollen lips to catch the blood that stained them, and James who shivered thoroughly at the sight. And it was James who smiled, a perfect wolf, as Jack opened his eyes wide and tugged on the ties at his wrists. James who laughed a low and dangerous ripple as Jack opened his mouth in angry surprise. James who cut off the pirate’s exclamations of consternation before he could even voice them.
“You ought not let yourself get so carried away, Sparrow.”
“Captain,” Jack fairly spat.
James smiled again, and Jack could have sworn he saw fangs. “We’ll see about that.” He slithered his hand down the side of Jack’s chest, over his waist, down to his hip, where he paused just long enough to take hold of the sheets and slide them tauntingly, making the pirate gasp softly. Without any further delay, he threw the sheets to the foot of the bed, and let his eyes wander down Sparrow’s lithe body, once again ablaze with that glorious fire, a bronze deity, a wild idol. The commodore raised his eyes back up to Jack’s and held that gaze for far too long, causing said awe-inspiring body to writhe nicely, before he spoke. “Now, Mister Sparrow, I believe we have some matters to…” He laid a palm flat on Jack’s chest, covering both bullet scars, and continued in a lowered voice. “…discuss.”
“Dis-discuss?” Jack cursed to himself for letting his voice break like that.
“Why of course, Jack.” He bent his head to that perfectly tanned neck and explained. “There’s the not so small matter of -“ a scalding tongue dashed out to burn a wet brand into the hollow of Sparrow’s throat “-blackmail. And therefore, of payment. And I was considering something as follows.” He nuzzled Jack’s neck, then moved up to his ear and whispered, his breath both kindling and chilling the pirate, “You agree to keep silent as the grave, till the grave, and not a moment sooner, and I” -nip- “let you” -lick- “come.” James fastened his mouth behind Jack’s ear and utterly took possession of the tender skin, and his victim gasped and arched his neck and groaned.
That was enough of an answer for Norrington, who licked over the spot with the flat of his tongue and set his hands to tormenting every inch of Jack Sparrow. He pressed his palms over Jack’s chest and traced each and every scar and tattoo with the tips of his curled fingers. He outlined every well-defined muscle, took advantage of every dip. And while his hands were conducting a symphony of intriguing sounds, James’ lips and tongue were singing a song of their own, kissing down Jack’s neck to his collarbone, licking to the curve of his shoulder, nibbling over his bicep and pressing a kiss to the inside of his elbow, painting a burning vine along the inside of his forearm, twisting it around his wrist and uniting it with the rope that held him fast. He repeated the slow, tantalizing, blazing chorus on Jack’s other arm as his hands danced up and down the pirate’s sides, fingers barely touching, setting aflame but never really allowing any satisfactory heat to settle. Sparrow arched and twisted, wanting contact, needing contact, but every time, Norrington’s fingers danced away. Jack moaned and curled his toes, then bucked his hips, affording one brief moment of blessed contact for his throbbing, aching member against James’ before the latter pulled instantly away, leaving the pirate cursing aloud.
“Now Jack, that’s no way to ask for what you want.”
“Etiquette be damned” hissed Jack Sparrow, before arching almost completely off the bed, requiring that James force his hips back onto the mattress.
“Not in the Commodore’s bed, it won’t be.” Norrington dropped his head and licked over Jack’s nipple. “Whatever you want…” He circled it with the tip of his tongue, then nipped gently, and Jack made a sound like steam was escaping from between his teeth. Which it could well have been. “…you have to ask…” He moved to the other dark circle and did the same, and got the same answer. “…nicely.” James sucked, hard, and Jack almost screamed, but managed somehow to knock it down to a desperate groan.
Alright, fine. “J-James… please.” Jack didn’t entirely remember his voice sounding that desperate, shaky, or breathless before, but that was immaterial. He thought, no, he knew he would die, would burn himself to ashes from the inside out, if he didn’t get release, and soon.
James smiled against the pirate’s chest and took one hand off Jack’s hips to take a small bottle of oil from the dresser and uncork it. Still using his other hand to hold Jack down, he tilted the bottle enough to get a decent amount on his fingertips, then replaced the bottle and trailed glistening designs over Jack’s stomach, then his hips. The pirate bucked again, but it made no difference now, for Norrington was seated on his feet somewhere between Jack’s ankles, watching him with something between hunger and triumph. Then he put the oil, and his finger, to good use. Amazingly good use.
There again was that steam rushing out, ending in another lovely purr, and James smiled and slid his finger in further. Almost immediately, he found his target, and at that Jack did scream, which made Norrington smile even wider. But after that, to Jack’s great dismay, the commodore completely stilled. It took a few moments for Sparrow to realize that he was being spoken to, not to mention expected to answer. “S…so sorry mate. Could ye repeat that?”
Norrington laughed rough and low, but obliged. “I said, you do realize I outrank you, commodore over captain.”
Jack tossed his head from side to side almost frantically. “Sss…yes of course…now finish what you started,” and then as an afterthought, at James’ continued stillness, he added, “…please.”
“You learn well,” James said, and a second finger joined the first in driving the pirate even madder, circling, brushing, twisting, pressing, in all the right places that wrung the most beautiful cacophony from Jack’s lips. Then, again, Norrington froze, and Jack growled.
“For God’s sake man, what now?!”
James’ voice was soft and determined, but that did not imply that it was by any means kind. “Not a word?”
“On my honor as a pirate, and on the Pearl, I will not say a word till I am dead and gone.”
Another triumphant smile, and the third finger came into play, almost undoing him then and there. Jack could see the crest, could even smell it, taste it, and he tensed and groaned, bracing himself...----
damn that navyman!! This time Jack veritably roared in frustration,
but Norrington was calm, cool, matter-of-fact, when he said "You...
are a pirate."
"And you...are a---" Jack began to retort in a nasty snarl, but then
James twisted his fingers just *so*. "---COMMODORE!!" Jack's
shout rang off the walls, and he melted into the bed under his own
hot white rain, as James wiped his hand on the sheets and slid off the bed, stepping up to the headboard to untie Jack’s wrists, which fell limply to the pillow. Norrington was grinning as he padded across the room to pull his shift over his head, and Jack was slowly recovering. It wasn’t until the Black Pearl’s captain was nearly asleep that it occurred to him. James never touched him. Not once, save the stolen contact with that first buck. “That bastard…” Jack muttered through his teeth into the pillow, and then let sleep take him, planning to handle it in the morning.
“Hm?” said the pile of blankets on the chair, who was finally getting some sleep.
* * * * * *
End Part Two:
Fight Fire With Fire
*
My Two Cents: Revenge is yummy, and I'm a dork.
Once he was sure that the pirate was sleeping soundly and not about to awake, Norrington carefully pulled from Jack’s arms and rushed to his wardrobe, where he found his shift and threw it on, desperate for something clean. Horrified to find that it clung tight to the sticky seed on his stomach, he stripped it off again and flew to the vanity, where two basins awaited him, one empty and one full of water. With whispered thanks, he washed the shameful remnants from his skin, helplessly admitting, in that action, to the reality of the evening. The taste of sour, bitter bile rose in his throat, and he vomited suddenly and fiercely into the empty basin.
Commodore James Norrington had never been so humiliated, so used, in his entire life. He chided and lectured himself, saying "He’s right, you know, you bloody well can’t hang him now. He’ll have the whole town of Port Royal knowing this, how you took him up to your room, how you even started it, and you begged for it, didn’t you James, like a common whore, you begged. You fool, you absolute fool." Throughout this entire whispered speech, Norrington was racked with angry heaving convulsions, his body still trying to empty itself of the guilt, the shame, the vileness. He slid to the floor, weakened, exhausted, ashamed, and furious, and cast a glance across the room to where Jack lay, still clothed, the blankets strewn across his hips. And James, bare and humiliated on the other side of the room, dropped his head to his hands and shook it slowly. Captain Jack Sparrow had won again, had turned the world to his favor. The officer’s words rang through his head: That has got to be the best pirate I’ve ever seen. He felt again like he had that day when Jack sailed off on the Interceptor; used, betrayed, alone, and helpless. And it was anger against this unacceptable helplessness that drove Commodore Norrington as he dressed himself in a clean, pressed white linen shirt, white fitted breeches, a white waistcoat drizzled with gold brocade, and a deep blue whitefront kneelength overcoat, again trimmed with brocade. With deft, swift fingers he tied his cravat, then sought out his wig, hat, and weapons.
"On your feet." Jack awoke to a sword at his throat, and a very angry commodore. He slid back on the palms of his hands and pushed himself to sitting, then, groggily, he got to his feet. "Sparrow, we have a problem."
"No, mate, you have a problem. I’ve already solved mine." James twitched his blade threateningly, and Jack swallowed and bobbed his head. "I see. Well then, what is it you want to discuss?"
The commodore hesitated for a moment, shutting and opening his eyes, pursing his lips, and taking a deep breath. "It would appear that you have me in quite a bind. I can’t possibly let you roam the streets of Port Royal, nor can I waive you back onto the sea; that would be contrary to my duties and responsibilities. However, as you have already said, neither can I send you to hang. So it seems there is but one choice left to me." He stepped again towards Jack, backing the wide-eyed pirate against the foot of the bed. "But it would be a shame to bloody this room, this blade, with… you." Norrington gracefully flipped the gleaming steel and slid it into the scabbard at his side, then spun on his heel, ending with his back to Jack. "You see my dilemma, then, Sparrow."
"You’re overlooking one option, James." Norrington cast a quick, curious, and frustrated glance over his shoulder at Jack, who nodded solemnly. "You’ve mentioned killing me, which I am vehemently against, leaving us with sending me off to the sea or to the noose. But really, there’s no reason to send me off at all, savvy?"
"Are you suggesting that I keep you in my quarters? I knew you were daft, Sparrow, but this is a bit much, even for you."
"I’m serious, love." He leaned back onto his palms on the bed and crossed his ankles.
"Captain Jack Sparrow, lord only know what you’re up to, and I don’t much care to find out. I would appreciate it if you’d…" James trailed off. He was truly at a loss insofar as resolving the pirate-in-the-bedroom issue. All he knew was that if Jack had his way, the two of them risked another episode like the one of the evening that was just then fading to dawn.
Jack grinned and tilted his head. "You’re out of ideas, then. Well, at least hear me out." The pirate uncrossed his ankles and stood. "What if I were to have fallen… deathly ill during the night. Surely they wouldn’t send me down to the jail, and they couldn’t hang me, especially not if I were…weak and delirious from fever." He swayed convincingly over the course of this last phrase, and cast his eyes wildly about the room, imitating a victim of some terrible disease, in the throes of hysteria. Then he centered his gaze back on Norrington, assuming again an intense focus and practicality that was highly atypical as he asked, "Savvy?"
James almost laughed, but the situation was far too grave to allow that. “You really are addled…" But the commodore had to consider this; he didn’t have much other choice. He locked eyes with the pirate, and asked sharply, "How?"
Jack turned his head toward the vanity and raised an eyebrow, then gestured toward the once-empty basin. "We could easily use that as corroboration."
"Use…" James followed the pirate’s gaze and flushed slightly as the meaning dawned on him, then he turned back to look Jack in the eye and asked, "How much…did you…I thought you were asleep."
"Almost made me feel sorry for you. Never meant to make that much trouble, just doing me job, savvy? Pirate. Do what I can, with what I have." He shrugged and gave James a small smile.
James tried in vain to return it. "Of course. Well, you’ve done plenty already, Mr. Sparrow." He jolted slightly as a sharp knock sounded against the door. "Dawn…" he said under his breath, then, louder, but still hushed, "Into the bed. Now, Jack." The knock came again, more urgent, and Jack wriggled in between the sheets and nodded, pressing a hand to his forehead and making a dramatically distressed face. James shook his head slowly as he walked to the door. Why am I doing this…? "On my way." He turned the brass knob and pulled the door open just enough to identify the knocker.
"Notification to the guilty party, sir, he has until midmorn."
"Yes, thank you Lieutenant. But there seems to have been a complication over the past number of hours." His heart pounded and his chest drew tight as he opened the door the rest of the way to admit Gillette entrance. He could tell what the first impression was by the look of shocked horror that gripped Gillette’s face, and he quickly countered it. "The accused was struck with a sudden illness last evening, and is in no fit condition." Jack moaned and tossed his head to emphasize the commodore’s words, and Gillette raised an eyebrow as he looked to the pirate in his commanding officer’s bed.
"So you will be keeping him…here, sir?"
"As I said, Lieutenant, he is in no fit condition."
Gillette looked again to Norrington, then to Sparrow, and back to Norrington. After one last glance at Jack, he said sotto voce, "Sir, may I speak to you a moment?"
"Surely." James motioned to the doorway and followed Gillette into the hallway, then shut the door most of the way behind him. "What are your concerns?"
"Well, sir… It’s only that… you see, it could raises a few eyebrows, keeping Jack Sparrow in your room." He hushed and dropped his gaze, then after a moment he continued. "Rumors have already started getting around, sir. Suspicions." He looked back up to meet the eyes of his commanding officer. "It isn’t good form, sir, not at all."
James gave a small trite nod and a forced smile. "Thank you for your advice, Lieutenant, and your concern, but I can assure you that there were no wildly intriguing acts of sodomy last night. I am sorry to disappoint you." James was becoming increasingly good al lying through his teeth. Blame the pirate. "I wanted to be certain that Sparrow would not pull any of his tricks, so I kept him under direct surveillance. I am quite sure that you have heard the adage, that one should keep his friends close and his enemies closer." The topic was closed. James turned and re-entered the room, leaving Gillette to send the message. He leaned against the closed door and ran his hands down the brocaded front of his military coat, sighing, then stood and walked over to Jack, who was grinning up at him in a most disconcerting manner.
"So, what’d your little lieutenant want to talk to you about?"
"You."
"Really? I’m flattered."
"Shouldn’t be."
"And why not? " A sly smile sneaked across the pirate’s face and he continued in a knowing tone, "Ahhh, was the nosy lieutenant worried about his lovely commodore?"
"Hah. Rumors spread like smallpox in these walls."
"I see. Navymen gossip like streetwomen, do they?"
"So it would seem."
Jack tossed his head back into the pillow and laughed. "Well, how far off the mark are they?"
"Depends on whose point of view you’re talking about."
"You mean mine versus yours?"
"I do."
"Mine then."
"How should I know your point of view?"
"Good point. Yours."
"I’d rather not discuss this, Mr. Sparrow. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. We can’t all lounge around in my bed all day." He walked to the door and opened it, taking a step out into the hall, when Jack threw back a quip.
"Well, you could always join me, Jamie." James shut the door abruptly behind him and strode straight down to his office without pause.
Norrington sat at his desk, elbows propped up on the ebony inlay, pressing the heels of his hands to his shut eyes. He needed to get away from that pirate, to think this through clearly, rationally. Jack Sparrow could not have won. It was that simple. In all their rounds of cat and mouse, Sparrow had always left an out. James saw that now. One for himself and one for the Commodore. Considerate of him, really, and all too clever.
James lifted his head from his hands and picked up his wig. Studying the piece as though it were some foreign object, he thought of the even more foreign, yet hauntingly familiar creature who was at the moment in the commodore’s own bed, flushed with a feigned fever, tousled and disheveled and-James cursed sharply and dropped the wig to the desk. If he expected to match Sparrow now, he needed to keep a clear mind, free from any distraction. Unfortunately, said pirate seemed to be the worst of said distractions.
So with a newfound resolution and blessed detachment, James pushed himself to his feet, replaced his wig, hat, and overcoat, and strode through the stone halls, each crisp rap of his boot against the unyielding stone corridor echoing in his ears and sending a fortifying tremor to his heart and spirit, determined to fight fire with fire. And fire it was, fire that licked at his insides at the mere thought of countering Sparrow, leveling the score of their morbid tournament once again, and last of all. Fire that danced a measured minuet within his eyes of ice and steel, counterpoint to the lush and exotic, writhing rhythms that lived inside Jack’s smoky brown ones. Fire that glowed beneath the pirate’s skin, incredible heat and light, alluring, burning, dazzling. James opened the door.
And was completely unprepared for what met him. Angel, was all he could think, as he saw Jack stretched upon his bed, the sheets snaking across his thin hips, one arm cast above his head and the other falling gently across his torso, the fingers resting lightly on the slight rise of his hipbone. He wasn’t wearing his shirt. James shut the door quietly, for Jack’s eyes, though half hidden behind his upraised arm, were shut. God above, he’s an angel, James thought as he set his wig and hat on the bureau and pulled off his overcoat. There was no fire in Jack now, he seemed to be made of nothing but gold and innocence. Then he moved, and James had to bite back a moan. Even in his sleep -especially in his sleep-the man was a cat, a black panther, tempting, inviting, shadowed, and dangerous as hell. All Sparrow had done was shift a little, turn his hips the slightest bit, start a wave of sleepy contentment that ended its journey up his body as a nearly inaudible low purr, and already Norrington’s meticulous control was threatening to slip. He pulled himself to stand as straight as possible, shoulders back, chin up, perfect model of command, and cleared his throat sharply.
“Ah! Wha - hu - I -“ Jack stammered and very nearly injured himself as he flailed his way out of sleep, almost coaxing a smile from the commodore’s lips. “-oh. ‘S you. Don’t you know it’s bad luck to --- aw hell. Well, welcome back.” Jack propped himself up on his elbows and regarded the commodore, who was at the moment unpinning his cravat and laying it out on the bureau. He returned to the position he had before waking and asked, “How was work?”
James did not turn to look at him, but instead undid his cuffs and began to unbutton his shirt as he answered, “Fine, fine.” He pulled off his shirt and turned to Jack, saying “It is, however, late and I am afraid I would like to have my own bed back.”
He was not at all surprised to hear Jack’s reply, spoken more to the pillow and to Jack’s right arm than to the commodore. “What, ye won’t take me up on my offer from this morning?” Sparrow paused for a time, waiting for some response from Norrington, but when none came he said, “’M still wearing me pants, don’t worry.” Another pause. “Unless, of course, yer fine self’d rather I weren’t.”
Jack heard a low laugh suddenly from the side of the bed behind him, and James’ voice. “I can assure you, Sparrow, that all I wish is for a night of sleep, and for that you can keep your trousers on.” He slid into the bed, himself unclothed, to find Jack the same.
“You lied,” he hissed into Jack’s ear, licking at the curved edge, which earned him another of Jack’s purrs, accompanied by the pirate nudging back against him, all of him, to say, with absolutely no surprise evident in his voice whatsoever,
“So did you.”
Ah, there was the flint for James’ steel, as Jack’s eyes darkened to just shades from black, and struck against James’ to make the first sparks. And then they were kissing.
It was probably Jack who started it, but that hardly mattered as fingers found hair and tongues found each other. Far from the slow, languorous one-sided kiss of the night before, this was fierce and hot, competitive, and altogether inflaming, and the two lost track of whose breath was whose, whose tongue raced across whose teeth, who moaned, who gasped, who whimpered, who grinned. But it was definitely the commodore’s hands that tore Jack’s head from his, and surely both of them were panting, eyes blazing violently. It was Jack who darted his tongue out over his swollen lips to catch the blood that stained them, and James who shivered thoroughly at the sight. And it was James who smiled, a perfect wolf, as Jack opened his eyes wide and tugged on the ties at his wrists. James who laughed a low and dangerous ripple as Jack opened his mouth in angry surprise. James who cut off the pirate’s exclamations of consternation before he could even voice them.
“You ought not let yourself get so carried away, Sparrow.”
“Captain,” Jack fairly spat.
James smiled again, and Jack could have sworn he saw fangs. “We’ll see about that.” He slithered his hand down the side of Jack’s chest, over his waist, down to his hip, where he paused just long enough to take hold of the sheets and slide them tauntingly, making the pirate gasp softly. Without any further delay, he threw the sheets to the foot of the bed, and let his eyes wander down Sparrow’s lithe body, once again ablaze with that glorious fire, a bronze deity, a wild idol. The commodore raised his eyes back up to Jack’s and held that gaze for far too long, causing said awe-inspiring body to writhe nicely, before he spoke. “Now, Mister Sparrow, I believe we have some matters to…” He laid a palm flat on Jack’s chest, covering both bullet scars, and continued in a lowered voice. “…discuss.”
“Dis-discuss?” Jack cursed to himself for letting his voice break like that.
“Why of course, Jack.” He bent his head to that perfectly tanned neck and explained. “There’s the not so small matter of -“ a scalding tongue dashed out to burn a wet brand into the hollow of Sparrow’s throat “-blackmail. And therefore, of payment. And I was considering something as follows.” He nuzzled Jack’s neck, then moved up to his ear and whispered, his breath both kindling and chilling the pirate, “You agree to keep silent as the grave, till the grave, and not a moment sooner, and I” -nip- “let you” -lick- “come.” James fastened his mouth behind Jack’s ear and utterly took possession of the tender skin, and his victim gasped and arched his neck and groaned.
That was enough of an answer for Norrington, who licked over the spot with the flat of his tongue and set his hands to tormenting every inch of Jack Sparrow. He pressed his palms over Jack’s chest and traced each and every scar and tattoo with the tips of his curled fingers. He outlined every well-defined muscle, took advantage of every dip. And while his hands were conducting a symphony of intriguing sounds, James’ lips and tongue were singing a song of their own, kissing down Jack’s neck to his collarbone, licking to the curve of his shoulder, nibbling over his bicep and pressing a kiss to the inside of his elbow, painting a burning vine along the inside of his forearm, twisting it around his wrist and uniting it with the rope that held him fast. He repeated the slow, tantalizing, blazing chorus on Jack’s other arm as his hands danced up and down the pirate’s sides, fingers barely touching, setting aflame but never really allowing any satisfactory heat to settle. Sparrow arched and twisted, wanting contact, needing contact, but every time, Norrington’s fingers danced away. Jack moaned and curled his toes, then bucked his hips, affording one brief moment of blessed contact for his throbbing, aching member against James’ before the latter pulled instantly away, leaving the pirate cursing aloud.
“Now Jack, that’s no way to ask for what you want.”
“Etiquette be damned” hissed Jack Sparrow, before arching almost completely off the bed, requiring that James force his hips back onto the mattress.
“Not in the Commodore’s bed, it won’t be.” Norrington dropped his head and licked over Jack’s nipple. “Whatever you want…” He circled it with the tip of his tongue, then nipped gently, and Jack made a sound like steam was escaping from between his teeth. Which it could well have been. “…you have to ask…” He moved to the other dark circle and did the same, and got the same answer. “…nicely.” James sucked, hard, and Jack almost screamed, but managed somehow to knock it down to a desperate groan.
Alright, fine. “J-James… please.” Jack didn’t entirely remember his voice sounding that desperate, shaky, or breathless before, but that was immaterial. He thought, no, he knew he would die, would burn himself to ashes from the inside out, if he didn’t get release, and soon.
James smiled against the pirate’s chest and took one hand off Jack’s hips to take a small bottle of oil from the dresser and uncork it. Still using his other hand to hold Jack down, he tilted the bottle enough to get a decent amount on his fingertips, then replaced the bottle and trailed glistening designs over Jack’s stomach, then his hips. The pirate bucked again, but it made no difference now, for Norrington was seated on his feet somewhere between Jack’s ankles, watching him with something between hunger and triumph. Then he put the oil, and his finger, to good use. Amazingly good use.
There again was that steam rushing out, ending in another lovely purr, and James smiled and slid his finger in further. Almost immediately, he found his target, and at that Jack did scream, which made Norrington smile even wider. But after that, to Jack’s great dismay, the commodore completely stilled. It took a few moments for Sparrow to realize that he was being spoken to, not to mention expected to answer. “S…so sorry mate. Could ye repeat that?”
Norrington laughed rough and low, but obliged. “I said, you do realize I outrank you, commodore over captain.”
Jack tossed his head from side to side almost frantically. “Sss…yes of course…now finish what you started,” and then as an afterthought, at James’ continued stillness, he added, “…please.”
“You learn well,” James said, and a second finger joined the first in driving the pirate even madder, circling, brushing, twisting, pressing, in all the right places that wrung the most beautiful cacophony from Jack’s lips. Then, again, Norrington froze, and Jack growled.
“For God’s sake man, what now?!”
James’ voice was soft and determined, but that did not imply that it was by any means kind. “Not a word?”
“On my honor as a pirate, and on the Pearl, I will not say a word till I am dead and gone.”
Another triumphant smile, and the third finger came into play, almost undoing him then and there. Jack could see the crest, could even smell it, taste it, and he tensed and groaned, bracing himself...----
damn that navyman!! This time Jack veritably roared in frustration,
but Norrington was calm, cool, matter-of-fact, when he said "You...
are a pirate."
"And you...are a---" Jack began to retort in a nasty snarl, but then
James twisted his fingers just *so*. "---COMMODORE!!" Jack's
shout rang off the walls, and he melted into the bed under his own
hot white rain, as James wiped his hand on the sheets and slid off the bed, stepping up to the headboard to untie Jack’s wrists, which fell limply to the pillow. Norrington was grinning as he padded across the room to pull his shift over his head, and Jack was slowly recovering. It wasn’t until the Black Pearl’s captain was nearly asleep that it occurred to him. James never touched him. Not once, save the stolen contact with that first buck. “That bastard…” Jack muttered through his teeth into the pillow, and then let sleep take him, planning to handle it in the morning.
“Hm?” said the pile of blankets on the chair, who was finally getting some sleep.
* * * * * *
End Part Two:
Fight Fire With Fire
*