Rating: NC-17, slash m/m
Archive: Yes, help yourself. Just include ALL parts/chapters, please.
Disclaimer: The Mouse/Bruckheimer Productions owns them, except for Jack Sparrow who belongs to J.Depp. ;-)
Warning: Angst, canonical plot, violent graphic description, but still major slash.
Author's Note: This fic (& its predecessor) is the direct result of pics Ann sent me. Thanks, dearie. :) (Moi? Projecting? MarySueing? Never! ::scoffs::)
Thanks: To Garnet, for pointing out that this is by no means a PWP, and explores properly the dynamic of J/N without losing sight of it.
Summary: Sparrows, like other birds, shadows and dark deeds shared on wedding nights, come home to roost.
Part 2 - Honeymoon
Commodore James Norrington tossed and turned in his sleep. He wasn't dreaming about Jack Sparrow. That was the problem. He suffered the inverse of his nightly visions. Ever since his debatably excellent interlude and revelation with the pirate captain two weeks previously, his dreams had been duly exorcised of that particular visitor. Now, he couldn't dream about him and spent most of his waking hours unable to contemplate anything else.
He suspected it had something to do with the fact that in having Jack Sparrow, it had relegated the man from the shadows of his consciousness and placed him in the limelight.
The unsuspecting Governor Swann had mentioned Sparrow's name fleetingly, half-joking really, in connection with his daughter and new son-in-law's honeymoon together, suggesting they probably had agreed with the pirate to meet him and his ship elsewhere, to abscond for the duration of their nuptial consummation aboard the Black Pearl, rather than the summer cottage they'd allegedly driven to in the wedding carriage after the wedding night.
He'd embarrassed himself considerably by exclaiming aloud that it wasn't true; that it couldn't be true. It shouldn't be true. Perhaps they should ensure that the Turners were safe. The jealousy had swept over him in a hot flood of mingled awareness that Swann was not only probably right, but that it was probably the most logical reason for Jack's presence in Port Royal that night.
The Governor had given him an odd look and assured him that despite his conscientious zeal to bring Sparrow to justice, he need not worry that Sparrow would harm Elizabeth or William, being a good friend of theirs. They were quite safe and there was no reason to go gallivanting after the happy couple in a suspicious attempt to rescue them from Sparrow's friendship.
Stammering his apology, Norrington had coughed, and managed to cover his indelicate reaction with agreement and no further speculation upon the Turners' true whereabouts. He wished them well. He did. He wasn't jealous at all. Swann's indulgent face had twitched in sympathy and some amusement at Norrington's attempts to hide it.
God. If the Governor only knew the true reason for his distress. He'd never live it down.
As he flitted invariably out of his half-successful sleep and glumly considered the interior of his bedroom, Norrington realized that sleep was going to be a fickle stranger on this night. So what was new?
But to spend every day in that same office, unable to stop reliving the moments when he'd had Jack Sparrow bent over his desk, it was taking its toll on his composure.
He couldn't help wondering why Jack had acquiesced, after all was said and done. Although there had been the undeniable fact that he would have been within his rights to hang Sparrow that night, really. Before the Turners had a chance to discover it. But there was the whole issue of knowing he didn't want Jack hanged, no matter how thrilling it had been to catch him. But surely there had been some level of reciprocated desire?
He hadn't given Jack much of a choice, despite their agreed deal of a fair exchange; sexual favor for liberty.
Norrington lay on his bed, his arms up, his hands under his head, staring up without seeing in the dark of his room. He'd not imagined the answering response from Jack, that night. Nor had he imagined Jack's surprise at it.
He wondered if Jack had unwittingly revealed more than he'd meant, in that repeated allusion to it being a curse, to be hankered after by so many. Jack probably found it an inconvenience for the most part, and no doubt cultivated such a bizarre appearance for that reason. The pirate's delicate features and fine bone structure wasn't even very altered or well hidden by the wild hair and attitude, lending a fey appearance rather than seeming more dangerous. Too pretty, by far. And not with the feminine appeal of a woman; the pirate remained entirely gamin and inviting while encouraging wariness of taking without asking.
The guilt came creeping in on tiny feet, on the heels of these thoughts. He wondered if Jack resented what he'd done to him. It had been too swift and too overpowering, the response that had overwhelmed him at Jack's presence there. Perhaps he'd done them both an injustice by pursuing it. Especially to the point of forgetting himself and all proper decorum or conduct. But Jack had seemed to take it in good grace, accepting albeit a little reluctantly, and had even enjoyed it. Hadn't he?
Norrington gnawed upon his lower lip. Supposing, however, that Jack hadn't? He wondered if Jack might…seek revenge at some point? Or perhaps simply avoid returning here, on his account? He wondered which would be more distressing: the thought of Jack coming back to settle their differences, or the idea of never seeing Jack Sparrow again, ever.
He hadn't shown much regard, after all, for Jack's fear and obvious anxious discomfort in being kept in shackles for the duration of their sordid tryst. And it wasn't even a proper tryst, as Jack had actually been his captive at the time.
Feeling subdued, Norrington realized he had not only mistreated Jack, but he'd very probably terrified him, much in the way a cat plays with a cornered mouse. Conduct unbecoming, indeed. He flushed with shame, realizing in that instant just how far outside the bounds of propriety he'd actually stepped, in allowing himself the personal pleasure of helping himself to - to an imprisoned man.
Besides, Jack had not had any assurance that Norrington wanted anything from him but to see him captured and brought to justice, right up until being dragged into his office.
But that had been the whole point, the reason for his feeling such excitement in it: to have Jack at his mercy, to enjoy having him at his disposal. He had reveled in it. And now, to his shame, he realized he was sickened by the fact that he'd been able to stoop that low. His unconscious reasoning had supplied the justification that at least he'd not sought the man's death. That even sodomizing him was preferable over keeping him imprisoned.
But Jack had not even had the assurance that Norrington wouldn't have behaved like many a corrupt and petty tyrant before him, and simply had him thrown back into his cell when he was done with him.
Norrington scowled painfully and closed his eyes. Dear God, what had he done?
He'd not exactly treated Jack with the care he would have shown to anyone in a position of equality, and had even disregarded Jack's obvious discomfort in having to keep wearing the irons during it. Which, considering Jack's circumstances and the fact that he was a pirate - and all their previous encounters which had been so lacking in any kind of personal understanding or contact between them, was more than understandable.
Fresh guilt rose at this, sinking sharp claws deeply into his psyche, and he wondered how he could have fallen so far as to behave in such a reprehensible manner.
Nothing could justify what he'd done, how he'd behaved. If Jack had been a woman, or even a free man, he would have never treated him thus. But somehow it had been more than exciting and had made sense at the time.
Pride. It was damnable pride, was what it was, he realized. As long as he'd stayed in control, he knew he could afford to continue. Even to the extent of buggering the man over his own table in the sanctity of the very office of his military position and rank.
Oh, God. He owed Jack Sparrow. He did. He had more than compromised himself; he'd left himself open to any number of terrible repercussions.
But it had all happened so quickly, another part of his mind protested. When faced with the utter temptation of having Jack bound and captive, in his power, he'd been unable to resist.
But more terrible than all these thoughts was the slow, dawning horror of knowing that the real reason he felt guilty now, a scant two weeks later, was because he'd willingly and fervently repeat the offense again. As many times as he could, given the future opportunity.
Even worse, he knew also that he shouldn't care what Jack Sparrow thought, or how Jack felt about what had transpired between them…or what Jack thought - of him.
To be sure, Jack had responded; had even been taken aback at his response to Norrington's advances. But how much of that had been due to the circumstances, or reflexively under duress, born of necessity and not really of his own choosing? Most likely the reason Jack had accepted it in such good grace after all was said and done before he left Norrington's office that night was wholly because of Jack's familiarity with people having that kind of reaction to him, as a matter of course.
Which meant Jack probably didn't take it personally. And, damn it all, Norrington wanted him to take it personally. For it was personal.
At least for him.
Norrington swallowed against the pain that rose inside of him at this. His heart clenched within his chest, in swift realization that it had meant far more than he'd dared to imagine or allow himself to know, up until this moment.
He'd carefully shoved thoughts of what had happened out of his mind, suffering the haunting aftereffects of fragments of memory of that night in stoic silence. Visions of Jack's perfect, sweet and tempting backside, and the delirious relief at being able to fill it with his very being, pushing forward into him…The dark joy of possessing Jack Sparrow in his own office.
And wanting more.
It would never be enough. To have tasted it just the one time. Maddening.
Until next time, Jack had said to him. What was he to make of that? Until next their paths crossed, or until Jack came back - for him? To him? Had Jack been mocking their circumstance? Or his pursuance of him?
No, it wasn't to be borne. He had to relinquish this desire. He had to find a way to stop wanting him. He could not afford to allow his remaining days and nights to be a living torment of desire that could not even be assuaged by having Jack again, repeatedly.
It would have been a far, far better thing had he not given in to the desire in the first place. A pirate. For God's sake, what had he been thinking?
Yet the hope flared within him that Jack might return at some point, to see him. It was childish, really, another part of himself admonished. To expect Jack Sparrow to remember him as anything other than a man who not only had seen him to the gallows but then proven to be as corruptible as the very men he cleared from the Caribbean. In fact, the hypocrisy of it was enough to make him wince.
Dressed in his nightshirt, he turned on his side, and under the bedcovers, he resolutely closed his eyes in the dark, giving in to the inevitable knowledge that it really made no difference what he wanted, at this point. Blessed sleep, still elusive, hovered around the fringes of his awareness.
At a familiar sound however, his eyes snapped open again. He frowned, straining to listen.
There it was once more; a muted jingle. He knew that sound. The trinkets in Jack's hair. Sitting up, feeling a definite growing apprehension now, he realized he really wasn't prepared for the event of Jack actually visiting him under any circumstances, anywhere. Let alone at night, in his home. That was most definitely another sound now, a footstep on the landing outside his bedroom.
Whatever the occasion, and despite all his musings to the contrary, he did not want Jack coming back to settle their account. Did he?
No, of course not. Surely not. The reality was all too likely to be unpleasant, considering his own actions that night, a fortnight ago.
He cautiously began to draw back the covers, intending to get up from bed and ensure that he wasn't simply imagining hearing that sound.
Almost predictably, his bedroom door opened and even in the dark, he could see the shine of Jack's smile flash briefly at him from where he sat, his spirits sinking quickly. The reflective surface of Jack's pistol was equally unsurprising.
Sardonically, Norrington said, "I take it you've come for a reckoning then, Mr. Sparrow?"
Jack entered the room on feet as silent as before, the errant tinkle of his ornaments contradicting his stealth. He shut the door behind himself and went to the window, glancing out of it momentarily before giving Norrington a knowing, considering look from the corner of his eye. The twilight from outside illuminated his face barely, giving him a rather sinister appearance, as if that of a lordly apparition.
"You were expecting anything less?" Jack sounded almost amused.
Twin shapes of fear and desire threatened him upon hearing Jack's voice again, however. Norrington realized this would probably go both very badly, and very well, all at once. There was also a tiny pinch of shame at how glad he was to merit the visitation in the first place.
Despite his suddenly dry throat, and alarm, he commented dourly, "Not really. You never did possess much sense, when it comes to trespassing in Port Royal. You drop in regularly enough to warrant the belief you're thinking of settling here."
Jack half-turned from the window at this, regarding him in the dark. "Or seeing a lover, perhaps."
Norrington ignored the hope and pleasure that sprang up wildly at this, and focused instead on the dry delivery and undeniable sarcasm in which Jack said it. He was taunting him, that was all. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he pointed out, "You may as well put it away, Jack. You've no intention of using it. The shot would place you in as much danger if you pulled the trigger. Besides, it's as I said before; if I wanted you dead, you would be."
Jack put the pistol away, but he did smile at this, almost derisively. "Aye, to be certain. Although, there's no sense in dropping in on commodores in the middle of the night without taking sensible precautions, is there?"
He turned from the window now and advanced on Norrington, who sat perfectly still and to his credit didn't flinch back. Standing a little too close for comfort, Jack murmured thoughtfully, "It wasn't enough, was it?"
The fact that Jack was not saying it out of any egotism or arrogant presumption, but merely a keen and all-too-familiar awareness of Norrington's reaction and attraction to him, was more chastising. Piqued, and despite the heat that suffused his face, Norrington snapped, "Speak for yourself."
"Now then, Commodore," Jack admonished quietly. "Let's not waste time. I've only a few hours here. Do you really want to spend them arguing over what you've already eloquently established not long ago?" It didn't appear to be a rhetorical question though, for Jack waited for him to answer.
Drawing a breath, Norrington replied, "That was…different. I-I was bound by the law, to-" He found himself silenced by a finger against his lips. Despite the distraction of having that long, lovely finger upon his mouth, Norrington realized he was not at all in control here. He didn't want things to get ugly, and he'd be a fool not to admit to himself - or to Jack - that he'd already established that he wanted Jack. Eloquently, indeed.
"There's only one thing you need to be considering here, mate, and that is: do you want this? It's really very simple. Either you're still interested, or you're not. It's up to you. Savvy?" Jack grinned down at him now.
Uncertainly, Norrington asked, "And if I say no?"
"Then it gets even more interesting, because you'll be the one wearing the rope," Jack replied, amused.
"Ah," Norrington said dryly, as things became clearer. "A reckoning then, as I said."
"For me, perhaps," Jack agreed. "Although, I would have thought you'd be happier at the prospect. Am I unwelcome, then?" Again with the incorrigible, insufferable, and damnable grin.
"No," he found himself replying, the word out of his mouth before he could think about it. The longing to have this, with Jack so close at hand…and after all the long nights and tedious days of wondering if he'd ever be allowed to have him again…it was starting to affect his judgment. It was, in fact, all he could do not to pull Jack into his arms, down onto the bed.
His bed - God. First his desk, and now his bed. He was all too eagerly surrounding himself with the presence of Jack, too much all about him, in all his own private spaces, and he'd never be able to dismiss it now. The memory of him, of encounters and terribly bright, vivid pleasure.
"Oh, good," Jack said, cheerfully. "This isn't going to become unpleasant, then?"
Norrington let out a tense breath. "No, it isn't. I suppose I owe you, after what happened last time."
"That you do, mate," Jack nodded. Then he grinned, a shark's sharp reminder that he was still a pirate. "You've had your fun, after all. Now it's my turn."
Despite the hint of Jack's satisfaction in the reminder, it didn't serve to warn Norrington at all. If anything, it made him harder. It brought terribly short but beautiful moments to mind. The remembrance of Jack's dusky, reddened cock, and the sensation of having his hands on those trim hips, on that tapered waist, caused a singing thrill throughout his veins. Even in this darkness, he could make out the watchful glitter of Jack's eyes staring down at him.
An incubus, indeed. He stated, slowly, "Your turn, then."
Jack began to remove his coat, and his hat, placing them carefully to one side. As he pulled off his boots, he said, "I believe I mentioned a matter of hours. More than we had before."
Norrington's breath caught in his throat, threatening to choke him with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. He wanted this man, with a violence that was curiously beyond anything sexual, although that was admittedly part of it. A good deal of it. But it was more. He was embarrassingly close to begging.
Jack's hands were at his breeches, and then the whisper of cloth over skin as he stepped out of one leg and then the other reached Norrington's ears in spite of the pounding of his heartbeat and the rush of blood in his head. He was even ashamed to recognize that abruptly, the fear of what Jack would expect from him was more than he could give.
His face burned with the knowledge that he'd been all too eager to take, before. He hadn't even really given much thought to it, or to how it had been for Jack.
Jack's hands came to rest upon either side of his neck, and Jack murmured, "Are you with me, Commodore?"
Swallowing, Norrington reached out to the shadowed, lithe body, standing so close to him that the scent of Jack's warm skin filled his nose. As if in wonder, he ran his hands over the tanned flesh, marveling at the smoothness of him. Pulling him closer, Norrington noted the aroused salute of Jack's organ lifted proudly from the curled dark hair at his groin.
He licked his lips before he realized what he was doing, and blinked at the sudden and almost painful urge to taste it. Leaning over, he sucked the head of it into his mouth, Jack's hands tightening their hold on him in response, as the pirate made a strangled noise.
Moving up and down on the straining member, he was gratified to find that instead of what he'd expected, there was virtually no taste at all. If anything, the sensuousness of having that silky hardness against his tongue, stretching his lips, was making him salivate.
The guttural moan Jack emitted seemed torn from him, and it flicked a tumult of ramping desire through Norrington's body, all over him. All through him. Grabbing hold more firmly, he reached around, pulling Jack towards him now so that the pirate's legs were trapped between his parted knees, his hands upon Jack's buttocks. He mouthed Jack's cock deeply, bobbing on it hungrily, wanting to devour him.
It was so good to have this man under his mouth, to have his arms around Jack. And here in his own bedroom, no less. At long last. He was humbled at how much he wanted him.
Jack was close, he could tell. He wasn't surprised when Jack urged him off of him, with the exclamation, "Enough; that's far enough. Don't want this over just yet, 'ey?"
Impatiently, Norrington relinquished him, and tore at his nightshirt, feeling irritated not to have their bodies pressed together as closely as possible. As he lifted it over his head and tossed it to the floor, he heard Jack's silent chuckle.
"Did I wait too long, d'you think?"
Norrington couldn't care less at this point. "It will always be too long."
Jack kneeled down in the dark, doing something that Norrington could not ascertain, rummaging about in his clothing. Absently, Jack explained, "Since you're new at this, I thought I'd take your education in hand."
The urgency running through him now was taking over, and replacing even the apprehension he'd suffered momentarily, at what was about to happen. Moving back up onto the bed, making room for Jack to join him, he was aware that his pride was feeling more than assuaged to have this. To have Jack actually wanting him, and to have taken this chance in coming to see him. After all, Jack hardly had any assurance that his reception would have been so well disposed towards him, even despite Norrington's actions previously.
"Get on your hands and knees, love," Jack said, rising up with something in his hand. Norrington was glad for his foresight in this, especially given the fact that he'd never done this before. The fact that he owed it to Jack, to relinquish the sanctity of his innocence and had in fact signed it over when he'd claimed Jack right over his desk, seemed almost to make some sort of strange sense. A fait accompli, as it were.
But the fresh humiliation that stained his face as he assumed the position, even as Jack took his place beside him on the bed, was enough to send a quiver over his bared body. But the sensation of Jack pressing all up the back of him, leaning over him as he knelt there on his mattress, made up for it. The deliciousness of that hot skin against his sent flames of madness marching up and down him.
As Jack's hands ran admiringly over him, pulling at his nipples and moving down to cup his balls, hefting them slightly, tugging at his cock, he gasped aloud, and groaned, the stimulation almost too much in the relief it afforded him to finally have it, to finally have another's hands upon his body. He hadn't been touched in so long.
The long, almost scratchy dark hair draped against him, and he felt the odd, cool metal of the silver trinket against his skin. And then Jack's mouth was upon the back of his neck, those hot lips and the curious but erotic sensation of his mustache, joined by the sucking at his nape. It felt like being gently mounted by an animal, seized by a tiger, particularly as teeth occasionally joined to nip at him in amidst licks of that hot, wet tongue.
But Jack's hands left him and seemed busy elsewhere. And then he felt the outright touch of those long, lovely fingers caressing directly against his buttocks, slipping down the cleft to search out his most intimate spot, he pulled back. It was inadvertent, and he bit his lips against the shame he felt renewing at the fact that he was…letting this happen. Allowing it. Desirous of it.
The gentleness and care with which the slickened tip of Jack's finger quested into him, probing deeper, was enough to offset the slight burn of it and the strangeness of this new experience. He was also humbled at how much care Jack was taking to prepare him, to introduce him to this. He wasn't sure which he was more appalled at: the humiliation of it, or the fact that he was so grateful. After all, he'd not exactly been gentle, himself, when he'd taken Jack before. A part of him almost wished Jack would just…be rougher in this, to soothe his conscience.
A mild note of amusement laced Jack's quiet query behind him. "Alright then, Commodore?"
The mockery of calling him that, considering what they were doing, made a shaft of anger rise up inside of him, and Norrington had to bite back a curt reply.
"Get on with it," he contented himself with saying, glad for the moment that he'd actually managed to say it without betraying how much he wanted it. He'd even managed to instill enough detachment in his answer to convey a measure of acceptance without anxiety.
Jack moved his finger back and forth, wriggling it slightly, in and out, and Norrington could hear the smile in his voice. "Is it everything you hoped for, then?"
Norrington let out a breath of exasperation at this. He couldn't possibly respond properly to that, especially given the weight of the implications Jack had just stirred. "For God's sake," he began.
A kiss pressed to his back, followed by a light trail of more of them down his spine, made him shiver. "Never mind," Jack murmured. "We've plenty of time for that later, I suppose."
Norrington frowned. Plenty of time for what? But all thought was shoved away abruptly as he felt Jack's finger leave him and the considerably unnerving blunt head of Jack's prick against his nether opening. Jack's hand trailed comfortingly down his back, and then Jack was rising up, his hands on Norrington's hips, sliding into him with what felt like a thick, hot brand; inches of it.
Norrington swore, his fists gripped around twin bunches of the bedclothes beneath him. His legs strained as he tightened up, unable to help clenching around the foreign invader.
"Relax, mate; it'll be much better if you relax," Jack suggested, his words slurred slightly with obvious pleasure.
Nearly panting, Norrington felt something give inside of him, some unknown and even undetermined tension broke, giving way to a thrilling weakness like water running through his body, filtering down into the core of him and making him slide back against Jack, impaling himself further. It felt so good, he did it again, and was rewarded with the rather delightful sound of Jack giving a low, hoarse whimper at it.
Jack's hands took a vise-like grip around his hips, and he wondered if he'd have bruises, come morning. He hoped so. But the marvelous sensation of release and relief and pleasure at thrusting backwards onto Jack's throbbing organ was a backwash of hot happiness that replaced all other considerations. All that was left was the need to be penetrated.
When Jack surged forward into him, locking their bodies together and shoving into him with long, deep, slow thrusts, he held himself still to take it. He became aware that with every slide of Jack inside of his body, he was moaning aloud, and was even a little shocked to hear himself making such sounds. He sounded…unbound, undone and wanton.
The need to feel that tight, burning sensation of pleasurably being used, hard, was taking over his entire world, and at this moment he wouldn't have been able to care if the house collapsed about them, the town was sacked by pirates, or if there was an audience watching.
Jack's helpless, musical moans were wrested too forcefully for them to be anything but authentic and the spiraling need inside of him was joined with the strangely tender happiness of knowing that it was mutual, that it wasn't just an act of balancing the power between them.
With a wicked, wordless sound, Jack leaned forward a bit more now and began to take him harder, those lean hips snapping with the jerking motions of plunging into him. The gratitude he felt at it was soon scoured away in the resultant conflagration that tumbled over him. It was almost like having an itch that couldn't be soothed away, and the pleasure wasn't enough, nor was the heat or the hardness within him.
"More," he gasped, feeling his forearms nearly aching from the taut way in which he was remaining in position. He wasn't even sure what he wanted more of, really; just more of everything.
But the near-punishing rhythm Jack was taking him with was abruptly and overwhelmingly joined with Jack's hand on his neglected, desperately hard penis, pulling at him in a quick, expert motion designed to bring him off all too swiftly, gripping him tight, and he couldn't hold back his cries as the double stimulation of Jack inside of him, ravaging him, around him, behind him…all melted down into a sweetly painful, long-denied ribbon of pearly come, exploding out of him in helpless bursts.
He could have sobbed from the release granted him in this heart-stopping measure of seconds, and the pleasure stretched out into extended long moments of feeling it leave his body in perfect ecstasy. His orgasm became a tattered, black butterfly, dark wings drifting and wilting slowly.
Jack shuddered behind him, and he felt the warmth flood him inside as Jack found his own climactic crest, his thrusts erratic and uncontrolled now. He couldn't explain the immense satisfaction he felt at it. At having Jack losing himself within his own body. It seemed hallowed somehow, and sweet.
The rich, musky marine scent of sex and sweat was close about them, hanging in unmoving air. His throat hurt from crying out and panting for breath, and his lips were dry.
Jack leaned over him, letting his weight settle upon him momentarily. He grinned at it, finding it - endearing. As Jack let out a contented hum, Norrington shifted. Moving away from him slightly, feeling the softening length slip out of him, he turned to pull Jack atop him, settling on his back on the bed. As Jack moved into him, against his left side, he pulled the covers over them.
As they both became still, and a silence descended, Norrington noticed it carried less awkwardness than he had expected. In fact, he felt…replete. Good.
Truth be told, he felt deeply smug. As the wildness coursing through his blood dissipated, he wondered at the shared, dark abandon of the act. Of giving himself over to Jack. And he smiled in the darkness of the room, to know why Jack had given himself up before to Norrington's desire.
Though the memory of the little flare of hurt and resignation in those dark eyes, as Jack had turned to bend over his desk, marred the moment for him. He'd not understood it before. Now he knew why. Reflexively, his arm tightened about Jack, who was quiet.
"Thank you," he said, meaning it quite sincerely. Jack had wanted more than to just be used. He had every intention of making it up to him tonight.
"'Twas my pleasure," Jack replied, easy enjoyment coloring the words. "'M glad I could save you from the calm."
The not-so-subtle reference to the cabin fever he'd been suffering from the past fortnight brought a wry smile to his lips. Absently, he stroked the thin shoulder, liking this simple comfort of touching him.
The luxury, in fact, of having Jack Sparrow in his bed, and the satisfaction of having the pirate just show up, just like that, at his door, expecting nothing less than to crawl into his arms, into his bed…It was bewitching, like the man himself.
He lifted his hand to caress the high cheekbone, trailing the back of his fingers down to the twin beaded braids, and leaned in to kiss that sinfully delightful mouth. Despite the fact that he felt emptied and cored out, thoroughly debauched and completely at rest, content to simply lie here with Jack, he noticed that the mere act of pressing his lips to Jack's devilishly luscious ones caused a stir of want within him.
Feeling Jack's mouth part under his was a sensual indulgence that did more than gratify the desire for Jack's interest to match his own. It healed something inside of him that could not take it for granted, for wanting it too much.
He found himself insistently sealed to Jack's mouth, his hand still catching Jack's face, leisurely nibbling at those too-full lips, too soft and too warm to not want with almost frightening possessive intent. The way that Jack's arm stole under his to clasp against his back, and the mouth under his opened wider, and met his tongue with lazy heat, robbed him of any vestigial doubt that what Jack wanted was anything other than what he himself had been dreaming of.
This pure, dark and quiet joy in kissing Jack, in his arms, lying beside him and against him… Norrington discovered that, in the simplicity of having him, it displaced the guilt and shame and all the unwanted tension that had haunted him before. He could feel and hear the steady pounding of Jack's heart.
Jack's legs were tangled with his, and this kiss was unhurried, carrying both of them into some slumberous complacency that was almost enough to make him forget that however many hours they actually had left were trickling away. He pulled back and muttered, "How much longer?"
For several pauses, Jack considered this. "Until dawn. You're not going to get all clingy, are you?" he asked in a suspicious tone.
Grinning, Norrington said, "That would depend on how you define 'clingy'. You're rather clingy yourself, just now."
"Exactly what are you implying?" Jack huffed, although he didn't remove his arm from about Norrington.
"Ah, well," Norrington stated, expansively, "the great and infamous pirate Captain Jack Sparrow, snuggling up to His Majesty's finest in the small hours before sunup. Doesn't exactly strike a note of fear or respect, does it?" he teased.
"I'll have you know that snuggling is far more dangerous than you can possibly guess," Jack murmured.
"I fail to see the danger," Norrington pressed.
Jack was quiet momentarily. "There's nothing hurts worse than a knife in the back."
As this little revelation reverberated through him, Norrington wondered how badly Jack had found himself betrayed in the past. Weakness indeed; letting down one's guard opened one up to the most painful sort of betrayal. Perhaps Jack hadn't merely been jesting with him when he'd said he'd been 'rooting for him' to win Elizabeth's heart…
Norrington blinked, realizing he'd gone far too quiet. Haltingly, he said, "Women have more subtle weapons in their arsenal, it's true."
Mildly, Jack asked, "Why do you assume I'm talking about women? Men are just as capable of breaking hearts."
Norrington wondered at the carefully hidden hint of past pain in the words, even as he wondered too at the instinctive need he felt to reassure Jack. "I've no intention of doing anything of the kind."
Sounding more amused now, Jack asked, "How do you know I was referring to you? I might've been giving you a friendly warning."
Dryly, Norrington said, "If you intended to 'break my heart', you could have accomplished it just as easily by not showing up."
Jack grinned. "How do you know I will again, 'ey?"
"Keep this up," Norrington replied, bestowing a kiss on that winsome, devil-smile, "and I might get clingy after all. That's all the warning you'll get, as well, so you'd better remember it."
Thoughtfully, Jack said, "Really can't see you very happy, should I decide to get clingy meself, mate. It's not exactly a good thing to be wanted by a pirate."
Norrington lifted his brows. "Do tell, Captain Jack."
Jack grinned again, and chuckled. "Pirates…we tend to help ourselves. I thought you knew that."
"I'm not worried that you'll be making any foolhardy attempts to raid Port Royal and begin kidnapping Navy officers," Norrington assured him.
"So sure, are you?" Jack asked, an edge entering his voice despite the note of playfulness.
Norrington hesitated. "You wouldn't."
"Came here tonight, didn't I?" Jack asked. "Who's to say you won't convince me to make off with you next time, 'ey? So far, you've done a very good job of it, I must say."
"It's completely infeasible. What would you do with me?" Norrington found himself amused at the turn of their conversation, despite the fact that he held in the back of his mind the very real awareness of Jack's pirate nature and complete lack of moral consideration.
"What wouldn't I do with you, would be more to the point," Jack corrected him.
"Alright, for the sake of argument, say that you did remove me from Port Royal - under duress. Where would you keep me? Chained to your bunk? Locked in your brig? It's absurd - you'd never get away with it, especially considering every available Navy ship would be hunting you down to get me back."
"You do have a high opinion of yourself," Jack remonstrated. "Every available ship? Are you certain?"
"Every single one," Norrington repeated. "And then there's your crew to consider. I doubt they'd be happy to have me aboard."
"They'd take to you eventually, I imagine." Jack replied humorously, "You have given this some thought, haven't you?"
Norrington let out an exasperated breath. "Well, what do you expect, after bending over my desk like that? I had half a mind to start keeping a gag and pots of coconut oil in my desk drawer afterwards."
"Keep that in mind," Jack suggested. "It may very well come in handy in the future."
"So you do intend to come back, then?" Norrington smiled at him.
"Let's just say, if the welcome is always this warm, I might be persuaded to spend my winters here."
"Jack," Norrington said, patiently, "you already spend your winters here. It's the Turners. You can't keep away from them."
Jack thought this over for a bit. "That's an excellent cover, you realize."
Norrington had to agree. "It is, isn't it?" For it was, admittedly, a most wonderful excuse for Jack's continuing to visit Port Royal…and himself.
"So this is your port of call, then, Jack?" He asked it with a mind to discovering if Jack really intended to return to him at some later date.
"Port of choice," Jack corrected, adding, "You do realize I took a chance on you, to be coming here at all."
Sobering quickly, Norrington nodded. "Well, yes. Naturally. I honestly didn't think you would."
"I know," Jack murmured, lifting up to meet Norrington's mouth with his. "That's why I came back, 'ey?"
Norrington felt the resurgence of desire course through him as Jack's lips wandered over his. He wanted to press the pirate back into his mattress, make love to him slowly, endlessly; make him writhe and beg and scream for it. Between kisses, he said quietly, "You don't have to kidnap me, Jack. I'm a sure thing." He drew back a little. "It came as a surprise to you, didn't it?"
"Well, not that great of a surprise," Jack said.
Norrington lifted his brows. "Oh, come now. You can admit it."
"It really wasn't," Jack smiled. "I am Captain Jack Sparrow, after all."
Exasperated, Norrington shut him up with a well-placed kiss, turning to roll Jack onto his back and proceeded to act out the protracted assault that had whispered itself into his mind not moments before.
He had a good mind to discover all the ways to make Jack Sparrow plead for release, and to find out how lovely it would sound to hear him.
When dawn crept into the sky, no one was the wiser when a dark figure crept from Norrington's home and made his way back to the dock.
Christmas in the Caribbean was likely to be a bedeviled affair, if their affair was anything to go by, Norrington knew. And he wondered if the Turners had even the slightest idea.
Glumly, he realized that, knowing Jack, they most probably did.
~ fini ~
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