(no subject)
Title: Sparrbecue
Author: Sparrbecuecook
Rating: R
Pairing: Sparrington
Summary: Jamie dreams of Sparrow roast (humour)
Disclaimer:
Gibbs: Quiet, missy, strange rodents own these waters. You don’t want to bring them down on yourself, do ya?
Norrington: Mr. Gibbs, that will do.
Gibbs: She was writing about pirates. Bad luck to be writing about pirates with us copyrighted by this unnatural mouse. Mark my words!
Norrington: Consider them marked. On your way!
Gibbs: Aye, Lieutenant. It’s bad luck to have a fangirl on board, too, even if she makes no money.
Authoress: I think it’d be rather exciting to get reviews.
Norrington: Think again, Miss. Vile and dissolute stories they prefer. I intend to see to it that any story that pairs me whith a pirate fag who wears a pirate brand gets what it deserves - an NC-17 rating and an LJ cut.
Governor Swann: Lieutenant Norrington, I appreciate your fervor. But I’m…I’m concerned about the effect this subject will have upon our fangirl.
Norrington: My apologies, Governor Swann.
Authoress: Actually, I find slash fascinating.
Governor Swann: Yes, that’s what concerns me.
Sparrbecue
All the flavours of the orient. Jack was sandalwood and nutmeg, which he tied into his hair. Cloves on his breath, or sometimes aniseed, from chewing the things; usually mixed with rum. Coconut oil on his skin, his hands bathed in rose water. A pirate in love, who cared for his mate.
Right now, James Norrington was composing a new sauce. He started with molasses. Sticky, sweet sin, slowly spreading its dark tendrils over sun-bronzed pirate skin. There would be allspice, which originated from Jamaica, and chili pepper for the hottest man on earth. Some lemon juice, tickling the tongue. Ginger root - the sailors' dearest spice (being the most effective medicine against seasickness), and while he was at it, some cinnamon. James gave his pirate an experimental lick. Savoury. Something savoury was missing from his sauce. On a whim from a fond memory, he lavished worcestershire sauce upon the slender man slowly turning on the spit. (James could practically hear Jack's mocking voice: "English, Latin based. Inventors of worcester sauce.") James liked worcester sauce.
The pirate was already sizzling, light brown and crisp, a deeper colour than his normal state. Delicious. Smiling invitingly around the apple in his mouth. James daubed him with the sauce, using a broad brush to disperse it well. The smell was heavenly, and they both moaned. In trance-like rapture the former commodore ground black pepper (acquired in Singapore), driving the pestle into the mortar, in and out, in and out, shifting, grinding, pounding hard.
"James."
"James!"
"JAMES!"
"Huh?" The scruffy ex-navyman opened one bleary eye and groaned.
"Ye'r drooling, luv. An' ye were bitin' me." That lopsided, gold-toothed grin again. "Care to let me in on yer dream?"
Already one brown hand was creeping south, the pirate brand disappearing beneath the blanket. That insatiable man! Always stirring things up, knowing no exhaustion, and always ready to be ... consumed? Nay, consummated.
A/N: The worcestershire sauce, also known as worcester sauce, is anachronistic, since it was only invented in the 1830s. I claim poetic license, and preference of the stuff to mayonnaise.
Author: Sparrbecuecook
Rating: R
Pairing: Sparrington
Summary: Jamie dreams of Sparrow roast (humour)
Disclaimer:
Gibbs: Quiet, missy, strange rodents own these waters. You don’t want to bring them down on yourself, do ya?
Norrington: Mr. Gibbs, that will do.
Gibbs: She was writing about pirates. Bad luck to be writing about pirates with us copyrighted by this unnatural mouse. Mark my words!
Norrington: Consider them marked. On your way!
Gibbs: Aye, Lieutenant. It’s bad luck to have a fangirl on board, too, even if she makes no money.
Authoress: I think it’d be rather exciting to get reviews.
Norrington: Think again, Miss. Vile and dissolute stories they prefer. I intend to see to it that any story that pairs me whith a pirate fag who wears a pirate brand gets what it deserves - an NC-17 rating and an LJ cut.
Governor Swann: Lieutenant Norrington, I appreciate your fervor. But I’m…I’m concerned about the effect this subject will have upon our fangirl.
Norrington: My apologies, Governor Swann.
Authoress: Actually, I find slash fascinating.
Governor Swann: Yes, that’s what concerns me.
Sparrbecue
All the flavours of the orient. Jack was sandalwood and nutmeg, which he tied into his hair. Cloves on his breath, or sometimes aniseed, from chewing the things; usually mixed with rum. Coconut oil on his skin, his hands bathed in rose water. A pirate in love, who cared for his mate.
Right now, James Norrington was composing a new sauce. He started with molasses. Sticky, sweet sin, slowly spreading its dark tendrils over sun-bronzed pirate skin. There would be allspice, which originated from Jamaica, and chili pepper for the hottest man on earth. Some lemon juice, tickling the tongue. Ginger root - the sailors' dearest spice (being the most effective medicine against seasickness), and while he was at it, some cinnamon. James gave his pirate an experimental lick. Savoury. Something savoury was missing from his sauce. On a whim from a fond memory, he lavished worcestershire sauce upon the slender man slowly turning on the spit. (James could practically hear Jack's mocking voice: "English, Latin based. Inventors of worcester sauce.") James liked worcester sauce.
The pirate was already sizzling, light brown and crisp, a deeper colour than his normal state. Delicious. Smiling invitingly around the apple in his mouth. James daubed him with the sauce, using a broad brush to disperse it well. The smell was heavenly, and they both moaned. In trance-like rapture the former commodore ground black pepper (acquired in Singapore), driving the pestle into the mortar, in and out, in and out, shifting, grinding, pounding hard.
"James."
"James!"
"JAMES!"
"Huh?" The scruffy ex-navyman opened one bleary eye and groaned.
"Ye'r drooling, luv. An' ye were bitin' me." That lopsided, gold-toothed grin again. "Care to let me in on yer dream?"
Already one brown hand was creeping south, the pirate brand disappearing beneath the blanket. That insatiable man! Always stirring things up, knowing no exhaustion, and always ready to be ... consumed? Nay, consummated.
A/N: The worcestershire sauce, also known as worcester sauce, is anachronistic, since it was only invented in the 1830s. I claim poetic license, and preference of the stuff to mayonnaise.