The Challenge
Part 5
by
Disclaimer: I have no claim on POTC or the lovely characters who populate it, even if it seems that James Norrington has, somewhat disconcertingly, made himself quite at home in my head with no apparent plans to leave. Jack Sparrow has been dropping by at random for years, as well, which surely doesn't help matters.
Originally Posted: 12/21/09
Originally Posted: 12/21/09
Several months after the conclusion of his initial challenging the commodore escapade, Jack found himself—for entirely unrelated reasons—in a small stone cell. It had a tiny barred window, high up out of reach, and a heavy, solid metal door with an even more tiny barred square window at eye level.
You escape from some people several times and suddenly they find a new place to keep you. It just wasn't fair.
Jack hated the French. Their froggy selves simply did not take care of their prisons with that same sense of moral righteousness that the British often did: no clean straw, or straw at all, and the floor itself had not apparently been cleared of the remains of one or two previous occupants from a number of years ago.
Of course, the Spanish were worse, but Jack had long ago mastered hoodwinking the Spanish, so he had not had the misfortune to get himself into one of their jail cells in several years, and therefore thought of them almost fondly in comparison to his current, more malevolent thoughts concerning the French.
He rubbed his face, careful not to smudge the kohl over his eyes. "I have got to get out of here."
The last thing he expected to hear was a reply, especially when it was delivered in a familiar sardonic drawl, saying, "Could you please state that in the form of a desperate cry to God to save you from an unholy death?" James' voice echoed a little in the quiet of the jail cell.
Jack sat up so fast that he hit his head on a bit of architecture. He cursed in three languages for a brief moment, then barked, "Jamie, what the hell are you doin' here of all bloody places?" He tried to discern where the man's voice was coming from: door or window.
A small, thoughtful hum. "You can be glad, at least, that the bureaucrats here put the British to shame in their ability to dawdle, but I suppose that a lot of their current dawdling is because of your surreptitious interfering in their decision-making processes at every possible opportunity."
A low, quiet click from the metal door. It swung open a crack.
Jack gaped.
"Are you coming, then?"
"How did—James, what in the name of—" As soon as he wriggled out the door into the marginally brighter light outside, his words cut off, faded entirely.
James was in full uniform, polished and shiny and clearly not supposed to be here this evening. A man dressed like that, visiting a French prison at dusk...
Jack eyed him up and down more closely, and corrected his previous observation: James was in uniform, except for that pair of sturdy, well-polished boots he wore, which were clearly suited more for action than polite decorum.
The commodore unlocked the manacles from Jack's wrists deftly. "Quickly, before they finish with the paperwork and realize that a number of things are not as they should be." He then turned on his heel and started away, walking at a clipped pace.
Jack struggled to keep up with his longer legs without looking altogether conspicuously hurried. "Paperwork? James, what in God's name are you doing here?" he hissed.
"Initially, I was here doing some diplomatic work." He offered the hint of a smirk, but there was something steely in his look that amusement could not warm. "Imagine my surprise, finding that they had captured you. They do so love to brag."
"Init..." Jack trailed off. "James. What are you doing?"
"Saving your life," he said softly, and halted them at the corner of the fort building, peering to and fro quickly. Seeing and hearing no one around, he doffed his coat and folded it as compactly as possible into a neat square, which he then tucked into a largish leather satchel carried over his shoulder. Along with it went his hat and wig. He pulled a less conspicuous coat from his bag: one of light forest green. As he did this, Jack could only gape at him in shock. Then he gestured for Jack to follow him quietly before the pirate could say another word.
Jack waited until they were concealed under the cover of forest, then burst out again, "What are you doing, man? Are any of your men with you? What about your diplomatic—"
"Lieutenant Groves has his instructions; that is all that is important in that regard. As for diplomacy: I was already scheduled to leave tomorrow on the morning tide." James removed his wig, tucking that away in his bag as well.
"What about the paperwork that you—"
"A diversion, of course. Now, where is the Black Pearl, currently?"
Jack frowned, and told him. "They follow orders, then they'll be gone on the morning tide, as well."
"Hmm. We will be needing the horses, then," James muttered. "This way, quickly." He led Jack out of the compound, into a patch of woods.
They cut through the undeveloped land, wove through a citrus orchard, and finally reached a small set of stables. From keeping up with the pace that James' longer legs had kept, Jack was breathing hard.
"Are all commodores in the shape you're in?"
"No," James said, absently. He was too distracted even to make his usual quips; that alone was a sign that things were all too serious. "How well do you ride?"
Jack frowned. "Not well. Lots of falling involved."
"We'll share a mount, then. It will be quicker, and likely easier on us both in the long run, if we avoid such mishaps."
Jack then, in awe, watched James stroll into the the stable and engage the stable-boy in conversation in flawless French. As soon as the commodore had persuaded the boy to turn his head to look at something distracting, James promptly hit the back of the youth's skull with the pommel-end of a dagger that had been up his sleeve, knocking the lad out with a neat exactness that bordered on delicacy. After a quick check on the youth, James then proceeded to steal a horse. Jack gaped once more.
"You." He pointed at James as he spoke, sounding mystified.
James saddled his chosen mount: a large, sturdy-looking black gelding. "Yes?"
"Just... stole something."
James glanced over his shoulder as he bridled the horse. "I never liked the French," he said simply, as if that explained all. Then he promptly took his place in the saddle and reached out a hand to help Jack up.
For a long moment, Jack could only stare.
"Jack!" James warned. "We do not actually have very much time."
As if on cue, the sound of a distant pack of hounds could be heard in the distance. Jack felt distinctly like a fox accepting help from a hunter to escape them, but then, he knew this hunter quite intimately. He took James' hand and let the taller man pull him up, until Jack perched between James and the head of the horse. James wrapped one arm around Jack and used the other for the horse's reins as he dug his heels in and the creature surged forward.
Jack may have yelped. He was a born sailor, and most forms of transport related to animals tended to bode ill for him, but James' arm at his waist kept him stable as the horse galloped outside into what had turned from merely evening to full-fledged night. James was not the most skilled of horsemen either, but he had a clear grasp of the basics from long-ago days back in England. Through clenched teeth, Jack gave him directions to where the Pearl should be waiting.
A few hours before dawn, they reached the narrow inlet where the Black Pearl lay waiting. Even before he got off the bloody horse, Jack exhaled with bone-deep relief at the mere sight of her. Then the horse steadfastly refused to follow the steep, rocky path all the way to the water, and nearly bucked in dismay, causing Jack's relief to momentarily vanish as he recalled how very much he disliked traveling horseback.
James urged the gelding away from the path several paces and murmured to the animal soothingly, stroking his neck. Jack, who could feel the man's low voice against his back as it rumbled up from deep in James' chest to pass warmly by Jack's ear before reaching the horse, shivered appreciatively.
"We'll be on foot from here, then," James muttered. "I do not suppose I can trouble you for transport back to Port Royal or any nearby outlying towns from whence I might make my way home?"
Jack's eyebrows raised as he considered it. Then a single thought struck him and took hold: he could have James on his Pearl. All reason flew out the window, possibly never to return. "I suppose I might be persuaded." He shot a leer over his shoulder, grinning.
James smirked in response, clearly intrigued. He helped ease Jack down from the saddle before himself dismounting. The commodore then smacked the creature's flank, and it bolted away into the night. James turned to Jack and bowed slightly, gesturing toward the Black Pearl with a flourish worthy of Jack himself. "Lead on, Captain."
Jack was greeted, of course, with the usual mixture of condemnation, celebration, and general head-shaking all around.
Then James lithely pulled himself up over the rail after him: a tall figure in very fine pale clothes with a fine green coat over them, and a crushed-looking plain black tricorne on his head, shielding his face from view a little.
"Who's this, Jack?" Mr. Gibbs asked, sounding suspicious and a little unnerved.
Peering out from under his hat, through strands of brown hair pulled loose by the wind, James smirked very slightly; he recognized the quartermaster as ex-navy, formerly under his command. He shot Jack a glance and raised his eyebrows expectantly, awaiting introduction.
Jack cleared his throat. "Old friend of mine, name of Jamie. He most kindly provided me a hand out of that French gaol."
James bowed low, offering his salutations in French, but with a hint of accent that was, strangely, Dutch. Jack was a little impressed, until he glanced at Gibbs and saw how pale the man's face had gotten; even through the mask of a different language and accent, Joshamee had recognized the good commodore's voice and was staring with wide, horrified eyes. Luckily, however, he seemed to be stunned speechless. Jack struggled for a moment to catch Gibbs' attention, then tapped the side of his nose with a warning look.
Gibbs straightened his bearing, but nodded despite his look of confusion.
Taking note of the exchange, James was careful to stick close to Jack's side and play up the character he had invented: a harmless, soft-spoken and only slightly mischievous Dutchman.
Jack distracted most of the crew by declaring that they take advantage of the full moon to make their way out of soon-to-be hostile waters and out to open sea. He then gently steered James toward his cabin, and called Gibbs to join them for a brief chat shortly before closing the door.
Gibbs entered with no little trepidation, surprised to see Jack seated calmly and leering a little at the tall, dangerous Englishman, who was, even more surprisingly, standing opposite him and smirking back at the pirate captain with amusement instead of violent intent. The commodore's smirk became less heated and more ironic, however, as he turned to meet Gibbs' gaze and held out a hand with perfect civility. "Joshamee Gibbs. It is good to see you well, all things considered."
With visible hesitation, Gibbs shook the commodore's hand. "You, too, Commodore-sir." Upon being released, however, he turned to Jack with a look of alarm.
Jack seemed to be silently stifling a laughing fit, and his gaze whenever he so much as glanced at the commodore had a hungry wolfishness to it that Gibbs found deeply disconcerting. "As you can probably guess, Master Gibbs, knowledge of the good commodore's identity should be kept 'tween us, and not leaked to the rest of the crew; it might, after all, cause a bit of an upset."
Nodding, the quartermaster darted his gaze between the two men, feeling a strange sense of dread. "Did ye really help Jack escape, then, Commodore?" Norrington, after all, was slightly more likely to both tell the truth and be a bit more direct about it.
"Yes. I never liked the French, you see," Norrington replied, his more heated smirk in place once more as he glanced at Jack, who wore a slightly bemused, plotting sort of expression for reasons that Gibbs could not fathom and did not want to think about overmuch, but felt himself inexorably approaching an understanding of it.
"We'll be dropping off James here near Port Royal in a few days," Jack explained, not breaking eye contact with the commodore, who was wearing a different sort of predatory look than Gibbs had ever seen him wear before.
Suddenly, everything snapped into place in the quartermaster's head, and he realized with terrifying certainty what it was between the two men. Gibbs cursed under his breath and pulled out his flask, promptly draining half of it. "Yer both mad."
"In my case, mate, you well knew that," Jack countered, sparing him a glance.
James only chuckled quietly.
Gibbs murmured something about the Navy and bad luck.
"I mean the captain and crew of the Black Pearl no harm, Mr. Gibbs, else I would not have rescued the former and returned him to the latter; this I swear to you on my honor. Can we rely on your discretion?" He met Gibbs' gaze with a hint of mischief, and a lot of sincerity: not pleading, but politely hoping for the man's assent.
"Aye. Ye can at that. Ye were a fine lad, in my memory, Norrington, fer an officer. Better than either of yer brothers to serve under, and I owe ye a good turn, for turnin' a blind eye to my slippin' off before that court martial could catch up with me."
Norrington bowed his head slightly, lowering his gaze. "I had wondered if you noticed." He shook his head slightly. "The charges were not wholly fair, and even had they been, the punishment you would have been threatened with was far more than I would have seen you receive for your relatively minor indiscretions."
"Aye." He glanced once more between the two of them: the captain and the commodore. "I'll go spread a couple tales about this Dutch friend o' yours, ay, Cap'n?"
"Let's call 'im James De Lange, If you'd be so kind," Jack answered, grinning. "You're a good man, Gibbs."
"Mayhap: that don't explain why I keep endin' up abettin' yer actions, Cap'n, but abet again I seem to be doin'. Goodnight, lads. Try not to make too loud a racket an' go distractin' the rest o' the crew." He shook his head at them and exited promptly.
James' eyebrows raised, showing his surprise and amusement. His attention lingered on the closed door for a moment, until Jack gently called his name. The commodore then turned to meet the pirate's fathomless black gaze again.
"Why'd you do it, James?" Quiet. Solemn. Jack's usual swaying and flourishing had become very still.
James stepped away for a moment, to lock the door, then made his way over to stand in front of Jack, so close that their knees nearly touched. "I allow myself moments of pure selfishness, Captain Sparrow," he replied, letting his fingers gently trace the lines of wiry muscle along the side of Jack's neck. "This is one of them." The heat in his sea-green gaze more than explained the rest.
Enticed, Jack rose to his feet, taking hold of the front of James' waistcoat both to pull the commodore closer, and to begin unbuttoning it. "This was a dangerous one, though, James. If you're found out..."
"I have taken measures, should that arise," James said quietly, his voice more solemn. "All things considered, I found the risk acceptable." His hands stroked Jack's hips. More softly, he added, "Despite your machinations, they had planned to hang you in the morning."
Jack's eyes widened a little. He had not known that, had not heard-
"They have learned, it seems, to keep loose-talkers far away from you, after so many experiences with your tendency to escape." James raised his eyebrows. "I would suggest avoiding the place in the future."
With a slight pout, Jack sighed. "Just like Singapore, all over again, except my rescuer is far more attractive this time, and does not apparently wish to turn me over to the Portuguese for some kind of reward." He raised his eyebrows. "Do you, Jamie?"
"No. I have you to myself at the moment, which is eminently more satisfactory," James mused, bending his head down to nip at Jack's ear. "Although I believe that you are overdressed for the occasion."
"No more'n you are, love." Jack untucked the commodore's shirt and slid his hands beneath the fine fabric to feel the commodore's deliciously bare skin.
James gave a low rumble of appreciation, almost like a purr, and shrugged out of his coat, carelessly allowing it to fall to the floor. Jack tossed his own onto the table, and flung his hat and James' to follow it.
"Do you usually travel with a costume change at the ready, James?"
"Let us just say that there was some creative improvising involved." Their daily lives kept the two men apart for two or three months at a time, but James had still managed, even with just their few hurried meetings after Jack's initial challenge had been concluded, to grow thoroughly adept at removing Jack's eccentric regalia with impressive speed: belts, sash, bandanna, and even the cloths wrapped around the pirate's greedy hands—all were plucked away and set aside on Jack's chart table.
Jack let him get away with it, shuffling out of his boots and admiring naval efficiency at work in the meantime until, with cloth-free be-ringed hands, he began stripping James of his clothes with not only efficiency, but also piratical flair, as he caught James' mouth with his own and pulled the good commodore toward his bed.
Distracted by Jack's wandering hands and the aggression in Jack's kiss, James seemed almost startled to feel the edge of the bed meet the backs of his knees, and gasped softly into his pirate's mouth when Jack pushed him onto his back, pinning him in place.
"I want to have you," Jack rumbled in James' ear, grinding his hips for emphasis.
James' sea-green eyes fell open, wide and dark with lust as he stared up at Jack, making no attempt to fight the pirate's grip. Nervousness hovered at the edges of his mind, but not enough to prevent him from draping one leg over Jack's hip in invitation, pulling him closer. "Yes," he said breathlessly.
Jack's dark eyes glowed like embers as he grinned. "Good," he murmured, his pinning hands relaxing, caressing their way down from James' wrists, along his arms, shoulders, down his chest, as Jack's mouth nipped and sucked at James' earlobe, neck and jaw.
James, with hands freed, retaliated, tangling one hand in Jack's hair at the base of Jack's skull, pulling the pirate up for a hungry kiss as the other hand trailed down Jack's side. He was distracted somewhat when Jack reached for the chest beside the bed, one hand fumbling in its depths absently for a few moments before emerging triumphantly with a vial of almond oil. James shivered in a not-unpleasant way, and made a low noise of complaint when Jack broke away from the kiss.
"Easy, love," Jack murmured, and his mouth trailed down James' throat, collarbone, further down to his chest, and then still further.
All thoughts of complaint, and most of the rest of James' thoughts as well, evaporated as Jack sucked hard on the head of the good commodore's cock shortly before engulfing the full length of him.
Jack took his time, smug satisfaction with James' responses allowing him to well temper his eagerness, allowing him to be thoroughly patient, using every trick at his disposal and dragging James close, so close, to the edge. Then, not stopping, he made use of that little vial of oil, and pressed two fingers into James' entrance.
James' head fell back as he forced himself to relax into the strangeness of the feeling. Then he found himself rewarded as Jack drew back, curled his fingers slightly and began pumping experimentally, hitting a spot James had not previously been aware of, but which sent jolts of pleasure up his spine. He arched into the touch with a groan. "Jack!"
The raw need in James' voice taxed Jack's control greatly, and he lifted his head, smirking a bit at the disappointed whimper from the commodore as his mouth left James' cock. "Good?"
"Yes. Don't stop," James breathed, his voice slightly ragged.
"No worries there, love," Jack murmured, adding a third finger and increasing the pace of his ministrations.
James winced slightly at the burn, but it faded quickly and when he lifted his head to meet Jack's gaze heatedly, Jack found his patience had abruptly run out.
"Ready?" he asked, sounding strangled.
"If you do not get on with it, I will hurt you," James growled.
"Well then." Jack's hand pulled away and James bit his lip to keep from whimpering. Then Jack settled on his knees between James' legs and pulled on James' hips until the man's lovely behind rested partially in his lap.
Jack raised his eyebrows when James sat up and picked up the vial of oil, then gasped as James one of the commodore's long pale hands, slick with the oil, wrapped around Jack's cock. "Bloody Hell, Jamie."
James said nothing, but released him reluctantly and arched his hips in almost tentative invitation.
Swallowing at the sight laid out for him, Jack leaned over James' body as he guided himself between those lovely, pale commodorial buttocks. He entered slowly, holding James' gaze throughout. Not looking away, James made a low sound in the back of his throat and reached between them to stroke himself as Jack pushed in to the hilt.
Gloriously tight, velvet heat threatened to rob Jack of his self-control and his sanity both in one fell swoop. He rested his hands on either side of James' head, and bit his lip when James reached up and captured one with his own, their fingers entwined. Jack then decided it was a better and more satisfying idea to lower his head to bite gently at James' lips instead, coaxing them into a hungry kiss as he pumped his hips slowly, experimentally.
Encouragingly, James ground his own in response, and Jack began to thrust in earnest. James tensed at first, feeling acute discomfort, but then Jack changed his angle and the commodore positively writhed, moaning into Jack's mouth as the jolts of pleasure from earlier made a welcome reappearance, their intensity increased.
Jack broke the kiss to catch his breath, nuzzling James' cheek and breathing hard in James' ear, murmuring encouragement and the occasional muffled curse in one of several different languages as he quickened his pace, thrusting harder. He groaned as he felt James' mouth on the side of his neck, biting and suckling in a maddening fashion. Jack knew he wouldn't last and felt a pleasant mixture of relief and smugness as the man beneath him started to come, and thrust harder, faster, making James cry out and hastening his own release.
James held onto him tightly as Jack came, shuddering and gasping against James' throat, his hips jerking with a few final compulsive thrusts before he stopped, resting against James' body heavily for a few long minutes, feeling James' hands stroking his back, fanning the pleasantly languorous afterglow.
Only when they had both sufficiently recovered did Jack disengage himself and roll onto his side, clutching at James' arms and guiding them a bit to remain wrapped in commodore, earning an amused look from James, who offered no protest; even when Jack used his shoulder as a pillow, he merely shifted to tuck the top of Jack's head under his chin.
Jack looked like a cat who had gotten the canary, the cream, and feline worship reinstated in Egypt.
"That look on your face makes me suspicious."
"You had me on the sheet, now I've had you aboard my Pearl. I'd say we're even."
"Irredeemable rogue," James muttered, amused.
Jack grinned. "As always, love."
"So it would seem," James sighed, with mock-exasperation and a hint of affection.
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