Pairing: J/N
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean is owned by Disney, etc. No infringement intended.
Originally Posted: 2/11/04
Note: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A FREAKIN' DRABBLE. GAHHHH. Pirates not mine, title from Patty Griffin, broken-winged birdie from megpie71.
Summary: "Had a bird once. With a broken wing. I fed it an' tended it, and when the wing mended it flew off."

Sequel to Burn Your Bridges Down.

He takes one step. It hurts, a deep, shooting pain through his healing bones and muscles. He can feel Jack watching him from half-closed eyes and he lays the crutch down on the floor.

"Jamie, come to bed," Jack calls in a singsong voice that does nothing to betray the concentrated worry James knows is hidden beneath those lids.

Ignoring him, James takes another step, and it's a bit easier than the first even though it still hurts like hell. He flexes the fingers on his left hand, ready to grab for the wall if the leg gives out, but it doesn't, not even after a third step and a fourth.

"James." Jack's voice is sharp now, intending to cut through his resolve. James grits his teeth and goes faster, letting more of his weight rest on his bad leg as the other drags forward—he's almost there but it's too much—his knee buckles and he pitches forward onto the bed, falling across Jack's thighs.

Jack pulls him forward as he forces his teeth to relax from their grimace. Stupid. Too fast, too soon, and Jack looks ready to wring his neck.

"I love you, James, but do that again and I'll bloody nail that stick to your ribs, savvy?"

James struggles stubbornly as Jack's arms tighten around his upper body. He raises his eyes to meet Jack's as they both realize what he's just said—what neither of them has ever said before, at least not like this (James is fairly certain that he has mumbled it once or twice during the rush of climax, but it's always muffled by skin or hair and no man can be held accountable for what he says at such moments). He opens his mouth to speak, but Jack cuts him off.

"Be careful," he says, voice oddly demanding. He looks down at James' hands on his chest and gets quieter, almost pleading. "Please, James, don't push too hard or it'll break again."

The leg, me, or you? James wants to ask. But he doesn't. Instead he tries to lighten the mood, to save Jack the bluster of denial.

"You're awfully bossy for someone who was completely at my mercy just a few hours ago," he says archly.

"Those are trick manacles," Jack protests. "I could've gotten out of them in a wink if I so chose."

James chuckles. Jack hugs him tight, hiding his face in James' shoulder, and James understands. Whatever prompted his unusually somber state of mind, whether it was seeing James stumble or something else he won't reveal, Jack doesn't want to play tonight

"I'll be careful," says James softly. "I promise." He slips around between Jack and the wall—this bunk is really too small for the both of them—and pulls Jack back against him. Jack sighs, craning his neck to kiss James on the chin.

"Fine," he whispers.

"Very fine indeed," James replies, spreading his fingers across Jack's breast, over his heart. It beats steady against his fingertips, like his own, like the blood pulsing uncomfortably through his cramping leg. Jack turns in his arms, rubbing his nose in the thatch of hair peeking out through the top of James' shirt.

James presses his lips to the top of Jack's head, rough-hewn braids scratching at him in a familiarly irritating manner. And there isn't an inch of him James wouldn't have in this bed they share—braids and beads and tattoos and scars and insufferable need for attention alike.

"I know, Jamie," says Jack before he has a chance to get a word out. He turns his face up to be kissed, his fingers curling around James' neck. "I know."

He pulls back to track down the jar that went rolling across the floorboards earlier. James turns over onto his stomach, favoring the position because he finds it difficult to hold his bad leg up for long, and he wants to make this last. Jack strokes him with damp fingers before sliding inside. It's lovely when it's hard and quick and desperate, but there's something to be said for this too: the slow, deep rocking, taking care to make the most of every sensation, drawing out each touch and sigh and ripple of flesh, passing heat back and forth until the echoes penetrate and reverberate through them both. The first time Jack made love to him was like this. It ached the way his leg used to ache in the middle of the night, waking him, and he would welcome it because it meant he was still alive.

"Sweet." Jack's soft noises shape themselves into words against the back of his neck. "So sweet like this, Jamie, my own..."

The current of possessiveness running under his voice makes James push his hips back a little faster, as effective as the hand snaking around to palm his straining cock. "Yours, Jack."

"Mine," Jack growls as he speeds up too, towing them both closer to completion.

"Yes." James gasps as a tremor runs through him, hint of what's to come. "Always. And you're mine, love, all I've got, all I could ever want." He wonders if Jack will remember these words later. They're not anything different from what he usually says when he's got Jack inside him or surrounding him. He still talks far less often than he once did, learning the value of what is unspoken during his brief vow of silence, but in this he says whatever comes to mind, whatever truths he feels Jack should know.

Jack is thrusting hard now, pounding them both down into the mattress as James hunches his back a bit to keep the bones of the hand pumping his length from being crunched against his stomach.

"Oh God, James—need you—"

"Take me, Jack, I'm right here, please, please..." He breaks off into an incoherent cry as Jack hits just there, just now and he comes, the clenching of his muscles sending Jack shouting off into his own release. They break upon the sheets and pant out of sync with one another. James lays his cheek on the cool part of the pillow and thinks of the looks, the winks, and perhaps the odd pat on the arse he'll get from the crew tomorrow. He and Jack are actually capable of being discreet, even nearly silent, but tonight doesn't appear to be one of those times.

After a few moments Jack stirs, starting to pull out, but James twists an arm around to keep him still.

"Just... stay like this, for awhile."

With a grateful sigh Jack flops back down onto him. "Bit longer, then." He lays his palms flat on either side of the pillow, half-supporting himself on his arms to let some badly-needed air into James' lungs.

"I don't ever want t'lose this—lose you," Jack murmurs into his ear.

"You won't," says James, surprised and a bit alarmed. "Were you planning to?"

Jack shakes his head fervently, some of his ornaments smacking James in the back of the head. "Had a bird once," he says, kissing a path down James' spine. "With a broken wing. I fed it an' tended it, and when the wing mended it flew off."

"All right, off," James grunts, bucking his shoulders upwards. Jack tumbles down beside him, still flushed and bright-eyed, and James has to take a moment to kiss him before he continues. Jack curls and uncurls against him, like a cat, as he runs his hands over a back scored by years and sun and lash. Finally James remembers that they were discussing something rather important; he pulls his head back against Jack's muttered protests.

"That's what this is about, isn't it?" he asks, running his thumb along the curve of a cheekbone. Jack's eyes are hard to read in the dark, but he's listening, even if his posture's gone standoffish. "You think I'm going to leave you the moment I can."

Jack shrugs, catching his hand and anointing his palm with tiny kisses. "You should be free to. I wouldn't hold you here if you didn't want to stay."

"And if I do want to stay?" James demands. He can't keep the hurt out of his voice. Jack is running his hands through James' hair now. Jack grabs the nervous appendages and holds them still. "Jack," he says in a calmer tone, "if I ever walk again, I'll be walking beside you, not away from you."

"When, not if," Jack corrects him. "When. I know you'll do it."

"Whatever," says James, though Jack's faith in him is heartening. "I don't understand—do you not want me here?"

Jack's fingers clench desperately in his own. "No," he insists, "'s not that at all. I want you here, Jamie, more than anything—if you want to be here."

"I want to be here." He kisses the tip of Jack's nose. "I do."

"Well... good," says Jack, and just like that his own peculiar brand of joie de vie is restored. The heavy silence of the cabin ceases to press down upon them as he settles himself back in the bunk and draws James' head onto his chest, humming a tune with which James is all too familiar.

"Not again," James groans, arranging his long arms around the suddenly giddy pirate, quite suddenly giddy himself at having gotten that conversation over with.

"...maraud and embezzle and even high-JACK!"

"You're completely off-key."

"...we kindle and char...inflame and, oooh, ignite..."

"Not now!"

"...aye, but we're loved."

"That's where you're ending it tonight?"

"That's where I'm endin' it tonight. Fitting, no?"

"Very much so."

Two dark heads fall together on the pillow. "Very much so," James repeats, before he lets his heavy eyelids drop and sleep comes to take him farther than he'll ever want to go from the man in his arms.