Pirate fic: Contact (Jack Sparrow/James Norrington)
I don't love this, but I'm having trouble lately with writing, so I thought getting something posted would make me feel better. Please remember that this is still a fandom I'm learning to write in. And pardon the title. Anything else I came up with tread a little too close to bad pun.
Title: Contact
Pairing: Jack Sparrow/James Norrington
Rating: R
Summary: Snarking and swordfighting.
Note: Please don’t make me try and place this in any conceivable known time from either Pirates of the Caribbean movie. It's just something silly; don't squint or you'll find yourself staring at something AU like. Believe me when I say with a story like this, it doesn't matter.
And: I don't know the first thing about swordfighting. :)
Disclaimer: Dear Disney: If you can prove this threatens your empire, then I wish you'd let me know so I can quit my day job.
Contact
Captain Jack Sparrow was deceptively fast, but Commodore James Norrington was fast learning deception, so it was usually an even draw. That made it infinitely more entertaining.
"Do you know, love, that you have this-" He huffed out a quick burst of air and contorted his whole body to miss the blow of James's sword. This was so much easier to do on a ship, more fluid and graceful, more natural than swinging away in this room James had taken at Tortuga.
"Have what?" James said, with a smirk.
Panting, backing away to get another few seconds to size him up before they went back to it, he replied, "You have this tendency to fight like you fuck."
James's face was amused but noncommittal. Then he said, "It would be unwise to use words like predictable or boring."
"Wasn't gonna say that. Rather more to the point, you take your sweet time…getting your bearings, as it were…then you're suddenly hard and…nasty about it."
"Oh? I don't remember any complaints before."
"No, no. None." He held his sword up, jolting James into moving again, watching the sweaty fabric of his shirt slap open at the chest just before he saw his arm go up for a high thrust. If he had a mind to, he might've knocked the sword from his hands, but instead he simply blocked it cleanly, saying, "It's just that it takes a great deal of…force to stop you." Actually, what it more often took was cunning, but Jack wasn't about to say that. Might give the man a swelled head.
"Indeed."
"It's just sad is all," he said, giving him a pitying face.
James gave him a confused, irritated face as they fell back on a rather harmless and predictable exchange of blows, swords clanking lazily, making long but high and tinny echoes of metal on metal. "Why?"
"They teach you to overpower a person, which I do appreciate, as you well know, but it's a shame a man with your"-here he thrust pointedly, withdrawing with a flourish-"imagination…isn't taught how to better cultivate that…line of attack."
"Some people do not naturally think in terms of knavery."
"And others learn at lightning speed. But that's no matter. Say it again: I do love it when you take that moral tone with me."
With renewed vigor, James struck out against him again, this time in quite serious fashion. "You are…the nastiest…sodding…pirate…I've ever…seen." It was a compliment as much as an insult, or maybe it was a compliment because it was an insult.
Jack braced James's sword against his, with a heavy scrape of metal, and it held-just how, he wasn't sure and didn't plan to question much, lest it suddenly fail "And the best swordsman, eh?"
James tried to struggle out of the impasse without looking like he was using his whole body's strength, though he was. With a small smile, he said, "Only if we're discoursing in euphemism."
"Compliments and impressively large words. You do know what I like, don't you?"
James finally succeeded in pushing back from him, letting their swords drop between them, but only for a moment before they were back at it again, that same lazy but exhausting pattern of thrusts and withdrawals. James said, "You like anything impressively large."
He hadn't even leered. It was almost hotter when he used innuendo so coldly, because it reminded him of just how many layers he'd had to get through to get the man. And that coldness promised a lot of things to a person who understood why it was used. So he answered indifferently, "You do have a rather sizeable…ship."
At that, James quirked his brow. "One you can't resist trying to take command of now and again."
"Not lately. It's no fun when the imperial navy, as it were, isn't playing hard to get."
With a sudden mischievousness, revealed in the sparkle in his eyes and the way the corners of his mouth turned up, James said, "Then try. There's a sword between me and you."
"You should take care. You're beginning to talk pirate. There's two swords…between you and I."
"Are we speaking in euphemism again, captain?"
"Whether we are or not, it's always about the same thing, isn't it…Commodore?"
"What's that? Rum?" He smiled before he raised his sword again, attacking less predictably, although it was nothing Jack couldn't handle. Then he said, "This would be much simpler to settle if we fought with our hands."
"You say?"
"I weigh more than you do."
"But I'm a trifle bit more…nimble."
"That you are. But I'd still like to be able to use my hands against you."
"But using your hands-now that isn't good swordsmanship."
Sternly: "Good swordsmanship is wasted on a pirate."
"You're quite right about that. Your swordmanship is always a waste."
That was all it took: an insult; although a pause and a not quite suppressed appreciative snort told Jack he was quite aware of the staginess of this act but willing to play along. James struck out against him with renewed vigor, relentless in a way that might've made Jack slow down and marvel at the man's power, letting that lust grow into something rather close to uncontrollable, but this time at least it made him work harder, even if he had to defeat him.
Their playful exchange had suddenly become a pitched battle, fast but brutal, the sort of physical effort that made him feel a little like he was flying, or diving headlong off the Black Pearl, meeting the water with a gasp and a shout. And it was made all the better because he knew it was the same for James. He'd even told him so once.
Jack managed to stay utterly focused on his movements while he drank in James's, so different but skillful in their own way. And ridiculously arousing. Then James went in for what appeared to be a deep thrust only to let his sword flip just hard enough against Jack's to block him before it continued its upward motion. With another push forward of his hips, James had gotten close enough to knock his hat off his head.
This was not as startling a move as James probably thought it was. In truth, Jack had had several people knock his hat off as distraction, especially those who knew of his attachment to it, so he'd learned to fight first and recoup later. That's why normally a stunt like this wouldn't have fazed him in the least, but the look on James's face-so pleased with himself, so enamored of his own slyness-caught Jack off guard, and his hand wavered just long enough for James to send his sword clattering to the ground. After he did, he brought his sword up and let it rest flat and cold against Jack's neck, just above his collar bone.
Without missing a beat, Jack said, "Would you go for that hand-to-hand combat now?"
James finally let himself leer. "I've already won. And do we really want to resort to hands again, Jack? Even now that we aren't stealing away below deck to race our way through it?"
Just the mention of their manic ship-bound escapades made him hard, ready enough to just pounce on James, truth be told. But there was the pesky problem of a sword at his ear. Jack reached his opposite hand across his body until it reached the sword, running a finger down its length as far as he could reach. That it should be so cool after such a heated rush was unthinkable. But it was just as cool as James's eyes as they dug into him, finding all those warm places on his skin, making the hair on the back of his neck rise.
"Undo your trousers," James said, low. Jack had to hold his breath so as not to simply yank off his pants. He'd lost fair and square, and he would have to play this James's way. Not that that was all that bad, not when he got to slide into the softest pair of lips in the empire; then, after, hear those lips roughly speaking all manner of deliciously dirty things in his ears while he had him bent over the nearest flat surface.
Only after Jack let his pants fall did James take away the sword from his neck, tossing it to the floor near his own. Then James let his tongue dart over his lips as he looked him up and down and said, "Now or after?"
"Now or during, you mean." He never could make it through one of the man's orgasms without having one of his own. It just wasn't possible, not the sort of strangled noises James made.
James just smirked at him. God, did he love that smirk. "Why not both?"
He rolled his eyes and threw a hand into the air. "Why not take that sword and cleave about fifteen years off me age if you want that sort of performance."
James just smiled and advanced toward him, predatory but not looking to actually lay hands on him just yet. When he was close enough that Jack could feel the heat coming off him, he reached out and stroked his hand over Jack's cock for a moment before he began to push him, with maddening slowness and tightly coiled strength, into the wall behind them until Jack's back hit with a heavy thud.
But it wasn't yet the solid, hard contact he craved. Now it was still more promise than anything, thighs ghosting against thighs, the warm smell of bodies and arousal mingled between them. Jack felt James's fingers go to the laces and buttons on his own trousers. "Before, then?" James said as he finally pulled himself free and let their bodies slide together.
It was all slick heat and temperance, for now. James was good at pacing things; Jack had come to enjoy that. Lightly, Jack nipped at his earlobe. "Please."
He felt breath come out in a warm rush against his ear. With that droll voice, James said, "I daresay you're the predictable one."
It was true enough, if never getting enough of having James Norrington buried inside him or swallowing him down made him predictable.
"Ay," Jack replied. "But I'm never, ever boring, love." He pulled James's head back by the hair and watched his lips part, inviting and open, and he could almost already taste the rum on his quick pink tongue.
Title: Contact
Pairing: Jack Sparrow/James Norrington
Rating: R
Summary: Snarking and swordfighting.
Note: Please don’t make me try and place this in any conceivable known time from either Pirates of the Caribbean movie. It's just something silly; don't squint or you'll find yourself staring at something AU like. Believe me when I say with a story like this, it doesn't matter.
And: I don't know the first thing about swordfighting. :)
Disclaimer: Dear Disney: If you can prove this threatens your empire, then I wish you'd let me know so I can quit my day job.
Contact
Captain Jack Sparrow was deceptively fast, but Commodore James Norrington was fast learning deception, so it was usually an even draw. That made it infinitely more entertaining.
"Do you know, love, that you have this-" He huffed out a quick burst of air and contorted his whole body to miss the blow of James's sword. This was so much easier to do on a ship, more fluid and graceful, more natural than swinging away in this room James had taken at Tortuga.
"Have what?" James said, with a smirk.
Panting, backing away to get another few seconds to size him up before they went back to it, he replied, "You have this tendency to fight like you fuck."
James's face was amused but noncommittal. Then he said, "It would be unwise to use words like predictable or boring."
"Wasn't gonna say that. Rather more to the point, you take your sweet time…getting your bearings, as it were…then you're suddenly hard and…nasty about it."
"Oh? I don't remember any complaints before."
"No, no. None." He held his sword up, jolting James into moving again, watching the sweaty fabric of his shirt slap open at the chest just before he saw his arm go up for a high thrust. If he had a mind to, he might've knocked the sword from his hands, but instead he simply blocked it cleanly, saying, "It's just that it takes a great deal of…force to stop you." Actually, what it more often took was cunning, but Jack wasn't about to say that. Might give the man a swelled head.
"Indeed."
"It's just sad is all," he said, giving him a pitying face.
James gave him a confused, irritated face as they fell back on a rather harmless and predictable exchange of blows, swords clanking lazily, making long but high and tinny echoes of metal on metal. "Why?"
"They teach you to overpower a person, which I do appreciate, as you well know, but it's a shame a man with your"-here he thrust pointedly, withdrawing with a flourish-"imagination…isn't taught how to better cultivate that…line of attack."
"Some people do not naturally think in terms of knavery."
"And others learn at lightning speed. But that's no matter. Say it again: I do love it when you take that moral tone with me."
With renewed vigor, James struck out against him again, this time in quite serious fashion. "You are…the nastiest…sodding…pirate…I've ever…seen." It was a compliment as much as an insult, or maybe it was a compliment because it was an insult.
Jack braced James's sword against his, with a heavy scrape of metal, and it held-just how, he wasn't sure and didn't plan to question much, lest it suddenly fail "And the best swordsman, eh?"
James tried to struggle out of the impasse without looking like he was using his whole body's strength, though he was. With a small smile, he said, "Only if we're discoursing in euphemism."
"Compliments and impressively large words. You do know what I like, don't you?"
James finally succeeded in pushing back from him, letting their swords drop between them, but only for a moment before they were back at it again, that same lazy but exhausting pattern of thrusts and withdrawals. James said, "You like anything impressively large."
He hadn't even leered. It was almost hotter when he used innuendo so coldly, because it reminded him of just how many layers he'd had to get through to get the man. And that coldness promised a lot of things to a person who understood why it was used. So he answered indifferently, "You do have a rather sizeable…ship."
At that, James quirked his brow. "One you can't resist trying to take command of now and again."
"Not lately. It's no fun when the imperial navy, as it were, isn't playing hard to get."
With a sudden mischievousness, revealed in the sparkle in his eyes and the way the corners of his mouth turned up, James said, "Then try. There's a sword between me and you."
"You should take care. You're beginning to talk pirate. There's two swords…between you and I."
"Are we speaking in euphemism again, captain?"
"Whether we are or not, it's always about the same thing, isn't it…Commodore?"
"What's that? Rum?" He smiled before he raised his sword again, attacking less predictably, although it was nothing Jack couldn't handle. Then he said, "This would be much simpler to settle if we fought with our hands."
"You say?"
"I weigh more than you do."
"But I'm a trifle bit more…nimble."
"That you are. But I'd still like to be able to use my hands against you."
"But using your hands-now that isn't good swordsmanship."
Sternly: "Good swordsmanship is wasted on a pirate."
"You're quite right about that. Your swordmanship is always a waste."
That was all it took: an insult; although a pause and a not quite suppressed appreciative snort told Jack he was quite aware of the staginess of this act but willing to play along. James struck out against him with renewed vigor, relentless in a way that might've made Jack slow down and marvel at the man's power, letting that lust grow into something rather close to uncontrollable, but this time at least it made him work harder, even if he had to defeat him.
Their playful exchange had suddenly become a pitched battle, fast but brutal, the sort of physical effort that made him feel a little like he was flying, or diving headlong off the Black Pearl, meeting the water with a gasp and a shout. And it was made all the better because he knew it was the same for James. He'd even told him so once.
Jack managed to stay utterly focused on his movements while he drank in James's, so different but skillful in their own way. And ridiculously arousing. Then James went in for what appeared to be a deep thrust only to let his sword flip just hard enough against Jack's to block him before it continued its upward motion. With another push forward of his hips, James had gotten close enough to knock his hat off his head.
This was not as startling a move as James probably thought it was. In truth, Jack had had several people knock his hat off as distraction, especially those who knew of his attachment to it, so he'd learned to fight first and recoup later. That's why normally a stunt like this wouldn't have fazed him in the least, but the look on James's face-so pleased with himself, so enamored of his own slyness-caught Jack off guard, and his hand wavered just long enough for James to send his sword clattering to the ground. After he did, he brought his sword up and let it rest flat and cold against Jack's neck, just above his collar bone.
Without missing a beat, Jack said, "Would you go for that hand-to-hand combat now?"
James finally let himself leer. "I've already won. And do we really want to resort to hands again, Jack? Even now that we aren't stealing away below deck to race our way through it?"
Just the mention of their manic ship-bound escapades made him hard, ready enough to just pounce on James, truth be told. But there was the pesky problem of a sword at his ear. Jack reached his opposite hand across his body until it reached the sword, running a finger down its length as far as he could reach. That it should be so cool after such a heated rush was unthinkable. But it was just as cool as James's eyes as they dug into him, finding all those warm places on his skin, making the hair on the back of his neck rise.
"Undo your trousers," James said, low. Jack had to hold his breath so as not to simply yank off his pants. He'd lost fair and square, and he would have to play this James's way. Not that that was all that bad, not when he got to slide into the softest pair of lips in the empire; then, after, hear those lips roughly speaking all manner of deliciously dirty things in his ears while he had him bent over the nearest flat surface.
Only after Jack let his pants fall did James take away the sword from his neck, tossing it to the floor near his own. Then James let his tongue dart over his lips as he looked him up and down and said, "Now or after?"
"Now or during, you mean." He never could make it through one of the man's orgasms without having one of his own. It just wasn't possible, not the sort of strangled noises James made.
James just smirked at him. God, did he love that smirk. "Why not both?"
He rolled his eyes and threw a hand into the air. "Why not take that sword and cleave about fifteen years off me age if you want that sort of performance."
James just smiled and advanced toward him, predatory but not looking to actually lay hands on him just yet. When he was close enough that Jack could feel the heat coming off him, he reached out and stroked his hand over Jack's cock for a moment before he began to push him, with maddening slowness and tightly coiled strength, into the wall behind them until Jack's back hit with a heavy thud.
But it wasn't yet the solid, hard contact he craved. Now it was still more promise than anything, thighs ghosting against thighs, the warm smell of bodies and arousal mingled between them. Jack felt James's fingers go to the laces and buttons on his own trousers. "Before, then?" James said as he finally pulled himself free and let their bodies slide together.
It was all slick heat and temperance, for now. James was good at pacing things; Jack had come to enjoy that. Lightly, Jack nipped at his earlobe. "Please."
He felt breath come out in a warm rush against his ear. With that droll voice, James said, "I daresay you're the predictable one."
It was true enough, if never getting enough of having James Norrington buried inside him or swallowing him down made him predictable.
"Ay," Jack replied. "But I'm never, ever boring, love." He pulled James's head back by the hair and watched his lips part, inviting and open, and he could almost already taste the rum on his quick pink tongue.