Rp for captjacksparrow

[bertiewwooster]

'Dash it, Jeeves, it's too bally early!'  He grumbles, still half asleep.  'If you're going to wake a chap up at an indecent hour like this you could at least bring him a cup of tea, what?'

But Jeeves doesn't answer.  There is no serene voice next to the bed saying 'My apologies, sir, but you had requested to be woken at this hour,' no cup of tea

Comments

[captjacksparrow]

They tulips -- they're chasing him with pure intent to eat him. Jack's sure of it. Never should have come to Holland. Ridiculous place for being made with so much water, and Jack's Dutch is too rusty to properly explain to the giant flowers why, in fact, it would be a very bad idea to eat him. One giant green leafy... plant-part is about to scoop him up when Jack suddenly fires into consciousness. A shout rings in his ears

[captjacksparrow]

Jack hums appreciatively when Bertie bears his neck for him, nuzzling the underside of his ear, then setting to leave another mark somewhere on him. He rather fancies the pulse point at the base of Bertie's throat. He licks wetly, then closes his mouth around it and sucks.

The finger brushing his ear makes Jack twitch, skittering away from the touch. The giggling sound he makes is really a manly sort of chuckle that just goes high-pitched on the end because it tickles. He throws a put-upon look at Bertie, but can't quite pull it off.

'Not appreciated enough, my priorities.' Jack nods anf flashes a grin. 'My only endeavor is to please.' He gives a mock little bow, the incline of his head serving as a perfect excuse to continue at Bertie's neck. He pauses halfway there to nip once more at the mark on Bertie's jaw, flaming it red again.

[bertiewwooster]

Bertie insists to himself it's not really a groan, that sound he makes when Jack dips down to suck hard at the place where the blood pounds just under the skin of his neck, but it's so deep and throaty that really it can't be called anything else. He doesn't really know what to do with his hands with Jack just going at his neck like that, so he settles for sliding them up and down the other man's arms, gripping hard now and again when he does something particularly breathtaking.

He returns Jack's grin almost compulsively, and lets out a little gasp of startled pleasure when he nips lightly at Bertie's jaw. The sound quickly turns into a breathless laugh as Jack returns to his neck, and his eyes strain downward at the top of his dark head.

'Well, bally well keep endeavouring, I say, because you're making a neat job of it so far!'

[captjacksparrow]

'Never been told I were neat before.' He gives a strange look, as if he's not sure what to do with that, and dips his mouth to the hollow of Bertie's throat once more. Jack continues to apply himself, teeth then tongue then lips, until he's satisfied there is a mark. He inspects it, running his fingers over the tender skin, and moves to place wet, sloppy kisses across Bertie's collar bone and shoulder. He can't reach much else in their current position

[bertiewwooster]

He murmurs a little, contentedly, as Jack sucks at his throat, kissing a wet path over his collarbone, simply luxuriating in the sensations, stretching out beneath them. Jack's fingertips pitter-patter over his skin, tracing patterns Bertie can't identify, and he squirms a little at the light touches. A little snort of a laugh trips out over his lips when Jack suggests he get a tattoo, though actually most of the amusement is at his use of the word 'bally.' He shakes his head down at Jack, a smirk twitching about his lips

[captjacksparrow]

It's too much that Bertie kiaaes the sparrow. Too much of a recognition or an acceptance or a question. Or something. Jack isn't sure, only that he can't quite face what it means himself. He gently twists his wrist from Bertie's grasp, reclining against the side of the bed with a soft smile.

'It don't need to be someplace she could see it.' He ignores Bertie's question for the time being, unsure if he should tell (or could tell) the real story behind any of them. 'You could get one right over here.' Jack arcs a finger over Bertie's nipple. 'Could say, Jack.'

He's only teasing, of course, but the idea makes him smile.

'Could say Jack was here right there.' He runs his fingers through Bertie's chest hair, dancing a little design on his breast bone. 'You need a mark on all that parchment white skin of yours

[bertiewwooster]

'Rather presumptuous of you to assume I'd want your name writ all over this body of mine, what?'

Bertie means to say. He makes a valiant effort, at that, but his voice degenerates into a little mewl when Jack flicks a fingernail over a nipple, grinning at him. Of course, he wouldn't entertain the notion of getting anything tattooed on him at all, much less Jack was here, but the thought is somehow not entirely unappealing, and lends a flush of heat to his cheeks.

He lets himself loll back on his arms, watching Jack with contented curiosity as he traces over one of his own tattoos. It's the idea that somehow, if one knew how to read them properly, a fellow could divine Jack's entire life story just from going over his tattoos. Bertie finds he rather likes that idea. The momentary brush of Jack's toes (and they're really quite cold) against the sensitive back of his knee shocks him into a giggle for a moment, but after giving Jack a halfhearted sort of glare, he subsides. He hmms consideringly at Jack

[captjacksparrow]

'Presumption's got me far in life,' Jack says as Bertie fades off. He narrows his eyes consideringly, as if calculating the exact proper formula for dissolving Bertie into a quivering mess of ecstacy. He plans to try that nipple thing again.

He returns the glare with the more innocent expression he can conjure, as if mentally adjusting the halo back around his crown. It's entirely accidental that his toes flex beneath Bertie's leg, tickling the sensitive underside of his thigh this time. Jack has no say in the matter.

He's pretty sure he isn't at all convincing, and that just makes it more fun to continue.

Curiousity flames in Jack's eyes when Bertie mentions he keeps a track of his stories. Jack misses hearing stories, told by Gibbs or other sailors, in the belly of the Pearl or at some dockside pub, drinks and laughter transforming an anecdote into an epic. He loves the way stories breath for people, coming to life to dance around the room, their words and the air spun together like yarn to create a patchwork cloak of images

[bertiewwooster]

Another twitch ripples out through his body as Jack's foot moves upward, toes wiggling against his thigh. The other man's look is calculated innocence, though, and Bertie humphs good-naturedly. He does not, however, move away from the touch of his feet, cold though they might be

[captjacksparrow]

Jack takes a long swig of the rum, enjoying the taste and the heat as it rushes down his throat. Rum's the same no matter where he goes and he's drank more of it in the last day than he has during almost his entire stay in London.

Which makes it such a shame that some of it splatters out of his mouth when Bertie mentions masquerading as woman. Jack coughs, and laughs, and coughs some more. He brings a hand to his mouth to catch the trails of rum that are sliding down his chin and neck.

'Women,' he croaks out at Bertie's nonchalence way of relating it, as if saying Well, they're just like that, aren't they?He coughs again and laughs stupidly, the image of Bertie in a dress amusing and oddly appealing. His cups a hand around his jaw, drying the dribbles of rum, and follows down his chest and stomach to wipe off the liquid

[bertiewwooster]

Bertie can't help but preen a little under Jack's admiring eyes, even if it is a bit of an embarrassing thing to be admired for

[captjacksparrow]

The image of Berite got up with eyeblack fizzles from Jack's mind. He frowns, because he had been enjoying that image, but it suddenly doubles back on itself at the mention of a maid's uniform

[bertiewwooster]

Bertie swallows hard when Jack's fingers curl over his belly, his attention drawn immediately and irreversibly to the sudden, arresting evidence of his arousal. An... interesting reaction, certainly. Not exactly what Bertie had been expecting to the image of himself dressed up as a maid (personally he'd thought he looked a complete idiot at the time), but certainly not something he's going to complain about.

It is with an effort that he tears his eyes away and back up to Jack's face. The expression there does little to help, though, and he squirms slightly where he's sitting, trying to discreetly adjust himself within his shots.

'Er, well, not much of a story really.' He flounders. 'Just, you know- to get one's family out of the soup. A preux chevalier does what he can, even if that means, erm, getting up like a beazel.'

[captjacksparrow]

'Er, right,' Jack says, with every conviction that he believes Bertie. Which he does, in an odd way, despite not knowing half the things he talks about. Like what a beazel is. He figures it might be a girl, or a servant, or perhaps something else all together

[bertiewwooster]

Bertie startles horribly at the sudden pounding at the door, his eyes going wide like a small child with its hand caught in the cookie jar. His immediate reaction is to press his hands down over his groin, covering the embarrassing bulge there. When the person outside the door (and it sounds like the barkeep, whose bad side Bertie is not eager to get on) starts to shout, he casts around wildly for his clothes, scrambling up and tugging his trousers on, hopping on one foot and then the other in his eagerness.

He knows it's just the man wanting to clear up his rooms for business, but it feels very much to Bertie like being caught, as if Pickle's going to throw open the door with Sir Roderick Glossop and a fleet of coppers behind him. As if he's going to point and shout- 'Invert! Sodomite!' And Bertie's going to be dragged off to chokey for the rest of his life. It's horrible, the way the fear of this swamps him, sudden and irrational. Bertie isn't often afraid like this- why should he be, after all- but this is real and it

[captjacksparrow]

He notices that Bertie looks at least as panicked as Jack feels, if not more so, but he can't figure out why that is. Bertie doesn't dodge the law like Jack does. Seems, in fact, to be a lawful sort of man, straight and narrow, though not as strigent about as Norrington is. Or untruthful about it either.

Jack doesn't move as Bertie flails about for his clothes, except for sinking lower and lower against the floor. Jack's trousers are still nearby, as is his hat, but his shirt is halfway across the room and not reachable. As Bertie goes to answer the door, Jack slinks beneath the bed, hopeful that if Pickle comes with any sort of reinforcement, that at least he can shimmy out the door when provided with some distraction. He slips the trousers over his hips and tugs his hat along with him, using his elbows to crawl securely into the shadows.

As he half-listens to Bertie coax Pickle into letting them be, all Jack can hear is Norrington's voice rolling round and round inside his head. It is not just your life that hangs in the balance