SPOILER: All Your Nights Belong to Me
Title: All Your Nights Belong to Me
Style: Prose
Genre: Drama
Rating: R
Length: Ficlet
Pairings: Beckington
Warnings: AU, AWE, Slash, Unanswered Questions, etc…
Authoress: LJ -
cassiopaya, GJ - smw006
Characters: James Norrington and Cutler Beckett with a supporting cast.
Word Count: 855
Summary: James Norrington is given a choice: he can serve Lord Beckett during the day or he can serve him at night.
Notes: SPOILER! An advance chapter for your spoiler pleasure! Mercer guest stars in this episode.
***
James had made Cutler very angry this time and it troubled him. The last time Norrington angered the Lord he simply refused to see him - as though a reprieve from buggery were a punishment! But Beckett had summoned him and the Admiral worried.
Upon arrival in the office of Lord Beckett, James felt the cold rush of adrenaline shot down his spine followed by a hot flush of blood. Cutler was dressed and sitting behind his desk while Mercer stood guard over the fireplace.
A zephyr played with the sheer curtains on the open French doors leading out to the balcony. The soothing sound of the ocean sung a melody for the stars above in the clear, black, moonless sky.
All this was lost on Norrington because he knew what manner of device Mr. Mercer monitored by the hearth: brands. Hat under his arm, the Admiral placed himself before Beckett’s desk and bowed artfully; tonight’s meeting seemed to have a formality about it.
Cutler watched James from his desk, his eyes flicking hither and thither in an emotionless face. He did not ask Norrington to sit. With a sigh the Lord rose and padded to the fireplace, removing the brand the EITC used on pirates and contemplated the red hot iron in silence. James was sweating.
“There are many things I could do to you, James, to manifest my displeasure in physical means; but I doubt any of them would burn as much as this.”
Beckett said it so quietly, almost to himself, as he indicated the backwards P with a slight inclination of his head. Cutler locked eyes with James.
“No. NO!”
Norrington tried to run, but Mercer had anticipated this. While James had been listening very carefully to Beckett’s voice, the administrative assassin had walked around to the Admiral’s rear.
Mr. Mercer grabbed James’ arms and held them tightly from behind while simultaneously knocking his feet out from underneath him and slamming him face first against Beckett’s desk. Norrington’s hat was trampled underfoot as he fought the clerk viciously.
James went limp against the wood when he realized that Mercer already had his hands lashed together. The instant the man moved away, Norrington sprung up and tried again to run from the room. It was shameful how easily the clerk caught the Admiral and Norrington dropped to his knees with a sob.
Beckett had replaced the brand with the other in the fireplace and came to stand above James, “tsking” him. Norrington trembled as he sucked in a deep calming breath and steeled himself for what was about to happen. He would be damned if he gave Cutler the satisfaction of seeing him snivel like a midshipman.
Mercer hoisted him up. James shook off his grip, turned about, and splayed himself across the Lord’s desk. Norrington breathed deeply, knowing this was one exception to the “no permanent disfiguring” rule on his contract with Beckett. Cutler was well within his rights.
The Lord lifted the tails of Norrington’s uniform and folded them over his back before setting to work on the buttons of his breeches. Mercer came around the other side of the desk and reached out with both hands.
It seemed there was some measure of mercy in David Mercer and James thanked God that Beckett was blessed with a jealous servant. One hand pressed his head down and the other, with a slight of hand that would put Jack Sparrow to shame, pressed a piece of leather to Norrington’s lips.
Cutler finished pulling down James’ breeches and lifting his shirt to uncover the white flesh of his quivering buttocks. Beckett stroked his knuckles along the smooth flesh.
“Such a shame, such a waste. Mr. Mercer, the brand, if you please.”
James stilled himself and felt his eyes roll back into his head at the white hot flame of pain. Instead of crying out in the high-pitched scream of a dying animal, Norrington keened very softly as he bit down into the leather.
At last the brand came away with the soft sounds of ripping; pieces of Norrington’s abused flesh stuck to the brand. James shuddered as though in the aftershocks of a climax. The absence of pain after having a great deal of pain inflicted had the same affect as an orgasm.
“I do hope in the future James, for both our sakes, you never give me cause to do something like this again. Good night.”
Once again Mercer was left the clean up the mess: untying Norrington’s hands, rubbing the salve into his wound, offering him a tot of rum, helping him return his uniform into some semblance of order…
This time there was pride in the clerk’s eyes as he appraised Norrington. James had impressed the man with his submission to Cutler Beckett. The Admiral felt as though he had just gained an ally in this man.
“I wouldn’t worry about the scar. It’s not as bad as you think; it’s much worse.”
With that ambiguous statement, Mr. Mercer excused himself and James was left alone in the empty office to contemplate just what had been branded into his arse.
Style: Prose
Genre: Drama
Rating: R
Length: Ficlet
Pairings: Beckington
Warnings: AU, AWE, Slash, Unanswered Questions, etc…
Authoress: LJ -
cassiopaya, GJ - smw006
Characters: James Norrington and Cutler Beckett with a supporting cast.
Word Count: 855
Summary: James Norrington is given a choice: he can serve Lord Beckett during the day or he can serve him at night.
Notes: SPOILER! An advance chapter for your spoiler pleasure! Mercer guest stars in this episode.
***
James had made Cutler very angry this time and it troubled him. The last time Norrington angered the Lord he simply refused to see him - as though a reprieve from buggery were a punishment! But Beckett had summoned him and the Admiral worried.
Upon arrival in the office of Lord Beckett, James felt the cold rush of adrenaline shot down his spine followed by a hot flush of blood. Cutler was dressed and sitting behind his desk while Mercer stood guard over the fireplace.
A zephyr played with the sheer curtains on the open French doors leading out to the balcony. The soothing sound of the ocean sung a melody for the stars above in the clear, black, moonless sky.
All this was lost on Norrington because he knew what manner of device Mr. Mercer monitored by the hearth: brands. Hat under his arm, the Admiral placed himself before Beckett’s desk and bowed artfully; tonight’s meeting seemed to have a formality about it.
Cutler watched James from his desk, his eyes flicking hither and thither in an emotionless face. He did not ask Norrington to sit. With a sigh the Lord rose and padded to the fireplace, removing the brand the EITC used on pirates and contemplated the red hot iron in silence. James was sweating.
“There are many things I could do to you, James, to manifest my displeasure in physical means; but I doubt any of them would burn as much as this.”
Beckett said it so quietly, almost to himself, as he indicated the backwards P with a slight inclination of his head. Cutler locked eyes with James.
“No. NO!”
Norrington tried to run, but Mercer had anticipated this. While James had been listening very carefully to Beckett’s voice, the administrative assassin had walked around to the Admiral’s rear.
Mr. Mercer grabbed James’ arms and held them tightly from behind while simultaneously knocking his feet out from underneath him and slamming him face first against Beckett’s desk. Norrington’s hat was trampled underfoot as he fought the clerk viciously.
James went limp against the wood when he realized that Mercer already had his hands lashed together. The instant the man moved away, Norrington sprung up and tried again to run from the room. It was shameful how easily the clerk caught the Admiral and Norrington dropped to his knees with a sob.
Beckett had replaced the brand with the other in the fireplace and came to stand above James, “tsking” him. Norrington trembled as he sucked in a deep calming breath and steeled himself for what was about to happen. He would be damned if he gave Cutler the satisfaction of seeing him snivel like a midshipman.
Mercer hoisted him up. James shook off his grip, turned about, and splayed himself across the Lord’s desk. Norrington breathed deeply, knowing this was one exception to the “no permanent disfiguring” rule on his contract with Beckett. Cutler was well within his rights.
The Lord lifted the tails of Norrington’s uniform and folded them over his back before setting to work on the buttons of his breeches. Mercer came around the other side of the desk and reached out with both hands.
It seemed there was some measure of mercy in David Mercer and James thanked God that Beckett was blessed with a jealous servant. One hand pressed his head down and the other, with a slight of hand that would put Jack Sparrow to shame, pressed a piece of leather to Norrington’s lips.
Cutler finished pulling down James’ breeches and lifting his shirt to uncover the white flesh of his quivering buttocks. Beckett stroked his knuckles along the smooth flesh.
“Such a shame, such a waste. Mr. Mercer, the brand, if you please.”
James stilled himself and felt his eyes roll back into his head at the white hot flame of pain. Instead of crying out in the high-pitched scream of a dying animal, Norrington keened very softly as he bit down into the leather.
At last the brand came away with the soft sounds of ripping; pieces of Norrington’s abused flesh stuck to the brand. James shuddered as though in the aftershocks of a climax. The absence of pain after having a great deal of pain inflicted had the same affect as an orgasm.
“I do hope in the future James, for both our sakes, you never give me cause to do something like this again. Good night.”
Once again Mercer was left the clean up the mess: untying Norrington’s hands, rubbing the salve into his wound, offering him a tot of rum, helping him return his uniform into some semblance of order…
This time there was pride in the clerk’s eyes as he appraised Norrington. James had impressed the man with his submission to Cutler Beckett. The Admiral felt as though he had just gained an ally in this man.
“I wouldn’t worry about the scar. It’s not as bad as you think; it’s much worse.”
With that ambiguous statement, Mr. Mercer excused himself and James was left alone in the empty office to contemplate just what had been branded into his arse.