The Cupid Series, part 4

A Taste of Heaven

by

Webcrowmancer

For what could be more neurotic than to call sweetness such as this rediscovery of boyhood freedom by words as paltry as 'unnatural' or 'indecent'? Or more depraved than wrapping it in silks and finery and keeping it in the dark, to secretly gnaw upon in the closets and corridors of polite homes, upstairs while the party guests below in the parlor carefully ignore the thumps from above?

How many of the affairs conducted discreetly amongst the folk of Port Royal, even in a town as large as this one, were truly affairs of the heart, and not some cheapened imitation that in reality was composed of nothing more than desperation to escape their boredom and futility?

To find something real, to be able to touch something so pure, however tainted he'd believed it to be at first, was to recognize the purity was not instilled by lustful desire or even dreams, but by Jack's smile as he reemerged naked from the waves and walked back up to join Norrington in the sand.

Jack sluiced the drops of seawater from his skin and pushed his wet hair from his face with both hands, the movements somehow graceful and almost effete. Norrington couldn't help but watch, a little undone by them, despite the pleasure he'd shared with Jack not twenty minutes before.

Sitting down beside him, Jack seated himself on the inside of his coat where it lay on the sand. With a lift of his chin, Jack suggested, "Why don't you take a turn, mate? It's not cold, not as much as one would think."

As he looked over where Jack sprawled languorously propped by his elbows, Norrington said thoughtfully, "It might save my skin, yet."

He glanced down at himself. He'd already taken a rinse in the waves, as Jack had swum farther out. But the sun-warmed lassitude of the aftermath of their pleasure and the sheer tranquility of their morning interlude was something he wanted to continue. His gaze returned to Jack, roving over that bronzed body, admiring yet again the seal-smooth skin.

A slow smile crept over Jack's face. With a knowing expression, Jack commented, "You look best without the wig and uniform. Like this," he added, with a wave in Norrington's unclothed direction. "Younger. Less bound up."

Norrington smiled back. "I rather think after sex on the beach, anyone would."

Jack nodded wisely. "Ah. And when was the last time you let your hair down, eh? Don't suppose you ever take the time?"

Norrington sighed a little. Time was passing all too quickly, despite his best efforts to ignore it. He regarded Jack, and it occurred to him that, without the beard and untidy locks, Jack Sparrow would look younger too. In fact, considering the man's delicacy of features and almost sinfully pretty mouth, he'd look positively feminine. Add the wide, dark eyes, and Jack would be entirely too beautiful to consider a threat. No wonder the pirate cultivated such a scruffy appearance. It would be hard for a man of his appeal to be taken seriously, let alone as a pirate, or even a pirate captain.

Looking away again, out to where the waves danced under the late morning sun, he avoided the question and answered only, "All too infrequently, I'm afraid. The dictates of duty and service don't allow such luxuries."

Jack grimaced a little. "All work and no play, then? Sounds horribly dull, if you ask me."

Norrington was curious. "Is that what this is? Here, with me? Why do you even bother? Or do you see it as your mission to save everyone from their dull, ordinary routines they've been held hostage to in their lives?"

Jack grinned at him. "Not at all, mate. You've underestimated us, I think."

Norrington raised his brows. "Us?"

"Pirates," Jack clarified. "Why do you think we avoid duty to any one king? Well, some of us."

Norrington was quiet. Then he pointed out, mildly, "To please oneself to excess is not the answer."

"Nor is it to forgo all life has to offer, to the point of death," Jack rejoined.

"So you're saving me from myself, is that it?"

Jack grinned again. "If you like. Rather saw it as saving you for myself, actually."

"I'm not sure that I agree with your philosophy, but I can see that it does have some benefits."

"Can you, now?" Jack sounded like he was humoring him.

Norrington allowed himself a wolfish smile. "Yes. I'm afraid that once is not enough. I'm nowhere near ready to let you go, yet."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "So, Commodore, you've decided to feast. You're a right little glutton, you are."

Norrington chuckled. "Allow me to demonstrate." And he turned, leaning on his side to face Jack, and ran a hand over Jack's waist, to his hip, all the way to his thigh. As he continued to stroke the tanned skin, he was rewarded with a sigh of contentment from Jack, who sank back and closed his eyes.

"I want this," Norrington said, quietly. "I want all of it, all you have to offer."

Jack cracked one eye open, squinting against the bright sun overhead. "Help yourself; I'm hardly in a position to stop you. Nor of a mind to."

Norrington got up, kneeling in the sand, hovering over Jack before moving lower, running his hands over Jack to hold the slim hips beneath him. Jack's knees parted to allow him to move closer yet, and Norrington noticed that Jack's member appeared to be taking a renewed interest, lifting slightly in the damp, dark curls.

"You're not Cupid," Norrington muttered. "Bacchus, perhaps. Or Pan."

Jack's brows lifted and he chuckled at Norrington. "So long as you're not comparing me with Lucifer, guess I should count meself lucky, eh?"

"Hardly," Norrington retorted, with humor. "You're not terrifying enough."

Jack licked his lips and shifted slightly, under Norrington, as a sure hand cupped Jack's balls, making him suck in a breath. "That would make you Achilles, though, would it not?"

"Which makes you my heel," returned Norrington, amused.

He leaned down to mouth Jack's cock, which drew an interesting sound from Jack, one Norrington hadn't been treated to, yet; a mingled gasping whimper, cut-off.

Velvet skin, still reminiscent of the ocean from Jack's swim, he nuzzled at it, noting it's gradually firming state. Curious but still cautious, he licked at it, finally drawing it into his mouth. The panting moan he received was rather nice to hear. He began to suck, allowing his tongue to linger wetly over the slightly flared crown, the liquid abandon in the act of oral gratification as much a pleasure for himself as for Jack.

Soon, Jack's hands were clutching at his head, moving over his ears, Jack's knees moving upwards to clasp Norrington between them. Norrington continued his ministrations, discovering he had a talent for cocksucking, both in the enjoyment of it and in the skill required. True enough, he was drawing upon the memory of several experiences he'd had previously in years past with various women he'd bedded, but he hadn't expected to take to it so quickly. Now that he was here, in the act, he found he liked it. Too much.

Damn. Another thing to be grateful to Jack Sparrow for.

He closed his eyes, concentrating on the low whisper of surf behind him, and the tumid, responsive organ in his mouth, finding a measure of release in it that had nothing to do with military precision or servicing weapons. This was something outside the bounds of anything he'd allowed himself to indulge in.

For long minutes, he allowed himself the simple, heady luxury of licking, close and hot, the hard shaft spearing his mouth. Surrounded by pale sand, heat, the salted rocks and strangely intimate breeze against his skin, he knew this to be one of the few happy experiences of his life.

Jack was shifting under him, little spasms beginning, a mixture of relaxed satisfaction derived from what Norrington was doing to him and a tension that ran over Jack's body in small ripples.

He could feel Jack's cock beginning to pulse and he knew Jack was close. A thought occurred to him, even as he realized he'd not intended it, but that it was too good to pass up: he'd need this for what he had in mind. And as Jack abruptly called out, a wordless cry, he grasped Jack's cock firmly in one hand and fisted him, quickly, rising up to cover him, pumping him hard in his hand now, and covering Jack's mouth with his own.

Jack shuddered under him, trapped in the kiss, thrusting helplessly into his hand, warm fluid bathing his fingers and palm as Jack cried out against his lips. Jack's hands gripped his upper arms tightly, even as Jack's legs tightened around him. He swallowed Jack's quickened breaths, loving the vulnerability of the man's release, having Jack literally in his power, controlling Jack's pleasure. Taking it from him even as he gave it.

Finally, Jack's shudders fell away, replaced with a familiar relaxing, and Jack's eyes fluttered open, meeting Norrington's.

With a smile, Norrington said quietly, "You're beautiful like this. I think I prefer you this way."

And for the second time since he'd made Jack's acquaintance, Norrington was treated to the sight of Jack Sparrow at a loss for words. He found he liked it this time, too.

With a lazy, wickedly certain smile, Norrington gathered Jack's ejaculate and anointed his own cock with it.

Jack's sharp, nearly inaudible intake of breath as Jack's eyes registered his intentions was equally delightful.

Norrington looked down into Jack's face, and murmured, "As I said, I want all of you. Who knows when I might get another opportunity like this one?" And he closed the scant couple of inches to Jack's mouth, in another sweet possession, wondering at the rather worrying tenderness that lanced through him even as he did so.

Jack had gone quite still under him, and a thought occurred to Norrington. He lifted his head and asked, "Are you alright with this?"

Jack licked his lips, a darkened intensity in his eyes. "Wondered if you had it in you, to be honest."

Norrington felt a stiffened answer well up from within him in response to the challenge in Jack's words. With a mute growl, he captured Jack's lips again. His organ thrummed, the excitement coursing through him with a feverishness that almost frightened him. The thought of owning Jack, of taking his body like this—too intimate to find threatening and yet somehow engulfing, dangerous.

"Lift your legs," Norrington ordered, enjoying the way the sound of his voice widened Jack's eyes and the challenge there gave way to anticipation, even trepidation. But Jack complied, bringing his knees up.

Norrington reached down and pulled Jack into position. His own cock was leaking a little, and he used his moist finger to stroke between Jack's buttocks. An absent part of his mind wondered at the aesthetic delight of Jack's bum—the firmness of it, and its pert, silent petition to be handled. The doubt and renewed tension in Jack however was both exciting and yet somehow unwanted. He didn't want this moment to be marred.

"I won't hurt you," Norrington promised in a low voice, reassuringly. His fingertip soothed gently at Jack's tight opening, even as Jack's eyes mutely pleaded for a moment's grace.

"You haven't done this before, have you, mate?" Jack muttered.

Norrington gave him a brief smile. "Not with another man; no, I haven't. But no woman has ever left my bed with any complaint. I'll take care."

Jack relaxed a little, and Norrington took that as his cue to continue, sliding his finger into Jack, slowly, easing it in and out with regard for the pirate. He found a distinct amusement in the back of his mind to find himself showing such solicitude for someone who had always elicited such a violent, cold response in him prior to this morning. And the repeated tenderness that he felt towards Jack again, at having him in such a delicate position, was not as surprising as before.

He realized, even as he allowed his finger to slip a little deeper, noting the way Jack held his breath at it, that he was suddenly, acutely and almost painfully aware in this moment that he was making love to Jack Sparrow.

To have the liberty of touching him, even in this dark, forbidden way, to enjoy the knowing of Jack's body, to have the willingness of the pirate beneath him even as Jack must be experiencing slight discomfort at it, it caused a stirring of something new within Norrington's breast.

It was beyond tenderness, or even affection. His newly-discovered heart, which he'd always kept prized and secure from all affection undeserving, except in the case of Miss Swann, and which had been wounded in her rejection, abruptly lived once more.

Love.

The astounding discovery of such a simple, yet profound feeling, whether felt for anyone or even the pirate captain, was a marvel to him. And he realized that this was much more important than he'd supposed before falling onto the sand with Sparrow here on this isolated spot of beach.

Jack's strained, hoarse voice reached him through his realization. "Press up a little, just—"

And as Norrington did so, he felt it, inside of Jack, even as Jack suddenly threw his head back and cried out. The thrill of doing this to him, of causing such a reaction, was beyond anything Norrington had imagined.

He hadn't realized just how far it would go, this need, this desire to do something, anything, to Jack. He was aware of a deep, pulsing craving to just... let go, to ravage the body beneath his, to take Jack roughly and not heed the man's comfort.

Equally chastening was the strangely innocuous knowledge that it was what he'd wanted all along, unbeknownst to himself, yet it accounted for all the times he'd met Jack. In every encounter, that maddening sensation of anger and unresolved intensity he'd felt in response to Jack's presence. He'd stiffly shut it away, each time, knowing it was 'only natural' to feel such darkness in response to someone who deserved to be brought to justice.

But it was too swift, shocking and delightful to find himself sliding yet another finger into Jack now, and enjoying the desperation in Jack's moans.

"God's sake, man," Jack hissed, his breath short and his eyes glittering, "Do it, why don't you!"

A little startled to find himself shaking, Norrington realized that even if they had been bombarded with cannon fire or surrounded by a crowd of people, he would not have been able to give a damn. He seized Jack's waist and pulled him partway onto himself, even as Jack moved his ankles into better position around Norrington's neck.

And then with a slight shift of his hips, Norrington guided his cock to slip between Jack's buttocks, finding it difficult to remember that he wasn't supposed to just slam it home.

As his cock slipped easily into Jack's waiting hole, however, Norrington nearly lost his composure entirely. The clutching heat, the tightly silky rippling of Jack's body surrounding him, and the accompanying whine uttered from Jack's throat galvanized him to thrust forward more deeply, burying himself in Jack.

He stopped, panting, feeling sweat trickling from under both arms, as he held himself still. He remembered to open his eyes, and glancing down at Jack, was caught by the look of combined pain and longing on Jack's face.

As he held them both there, waiting, Jack's eyes opened and met his once more. Entirely too knowing, this time, the expression in them, and Norrington considered the folly of allowing himself to fall for a pirate. It was a little too late for regret, and the unbearable intimacy of this union served to remind him to follow through. He asked, "Are you alright?"

Jack's lips parted in a grin, as he closed his eyes, saying, "I'm not one of your fragile lasses, Commodore."

The sound of Jack's sultry, lust-roughened voice was too much at this point, and Norrington drew a shaky breath, wondering how he'd ever found the nerve to actually allow himself to take what he wanted, while remembering Jack's needs simultaneously.

He tried to focus on the technicality of the act, careful to keep his movements sure and steady, as he began to move in and out of Jack, but it was difficult to remain in control with Jack squirming under him slightly, meeting his thrusts in their shared momentum.

Not fragile? He wondered. He allowed himself to surge forward harder, and was rewarded by a groan torn from Jack that only served to fire him further. He began to quicken his pace, letting the impetus from one thrust to the next carry him harder into Jack.

Oh God, the sweetness, the darkness, the hot wildness of it, to just let go, and take what he'd been longing for, all along. To lose himself in Jack, buried so deep inside him that he never had to leave, to touch the farthest reaches of pleasure and satisfaction in taking it. Taking him.

He felt his balls draw up, tightening, and Jack's hands on his body, gripped hard enough to bruise. The pounding of the surf was joined by the pounding in his ears as his blood surged with heartbeats too loud for his hearing to handle, and he gasped, groaned, pushed into Jack hard enough to make Jack whimper.

Again and again, staccato plunges into the one man he'd thought he couldn't allow himself to have. It was too easy, too good.

Sweet, red fire, and blood straining, and pleasure peaking, and then he was crying out, loudly, as he emptied himself into Jack's quivering arse, which was pinioned on him like an impaled deer.

Shuddering into him, Norrington became aware of Jack's hand on his own cock, pulling himself to his own peak, and then Jack was grinding his hips hard against Norrington, with a husky groan that reached past all of Norrington's remaining defenses, and he stared down at Jack in disbelief at the beauty of it.

Seeing Jack like this, while feeling himself pouring into him in helpless spurts, he couldn't stop, and as the last drops of his desire were lost, the heat still trickling through his veins, he knew he was doomed. For he'd never be able to have enough of this.

Trapped; he was trapped here with Jack. It was over too soon, and yet it seemed that they had been only waiting, through every encounter, for this moment. He didn't want to let go, even as the surging pleasure began to recede, and he faintly tried to retain his hold on it, the rivulets and little shocks still running through him with tracings behind his lids.

Jack gave a deep, heart-felt sigh beneath him, eyes closed and head back, his lips parted.

In awe, he reached up a hand to touch Jack's face, his fingers tracing the outline of those lush lips, and watched as Jack's tongue flicked out to taste his fingertips. He found his fingers being sucked into that gorgeous mouth, and the feel of Jack's tongue on them in that wickedly warm heat made his cock leap, even as it was still buried within Jack, happily spent.

"Marvelous," he whispered, and then moved to stroke Jack's cheek, letting Jack's legs move from around his neck. Norrington leaned over him, to press a kiss to Jack's mouth, loving the way Jack met it eagerly.

He allowed his softening member to slip out of Jack, and lay beside him, on Jack's left, their legs entangled.

Norrington was quiet, alone with his understanding that, despite their differences, something precious had just been forged between them.

"I knew you had it in you," Jack commented.

Norrington wondered why he didn't feel melancholy at all. Usually, after union with previous partners, he'd always felt an after-sadness, a lingering sense of longing that hadn't been fulfilled, and that never was, always remaining empty and aching until he was alone once more, and no longer troubled by the need to keep them close, despite the fact it had only been for a brief dalliance in the first place.

For some reason, this time it was nothing like sadness at all. It was contentment. Afterglow, indeed, he thought with a wry smile.

He knew he must look far too pleased with himself, and he didn't care.

"I will have to leave, at some point, before they send out a search party looking for me," Norrington pointed out, quietly. He caught Jack's hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing Jack's fingers.

"Aye, we both will," Jack agreed, his tone not giving anything away.

"If you should ever be down here again, I daresay I could find my way here on my own, next time," Norrington suggested.

Jack moved closer to him, nestling into him, with his arms around Norrington, even as Norrington pulled him in. With his eyes closed, Jack murmured, "So be it. Down here, we'll both put off our hats, eh? And leave the swords behind."

Norrington pressed a kiss to Jack's cheek, cleared his throat, and answered, "I suppose I owe you a debt of gratitude, after all."

Jack frowned slightly. "That's really not necessary, you know."

Dryly, Norrington reminded him, "You put out for me, on this occasion. I'm only mindful of the fact that next time, it will be your turn."

Jack grinned against him at his words, and nudged against him, leaning into him in response. "Now that will be something worth waiting for, truly." He lifted his head and regarded Norrington. "You are burning. You look half-cooked already." He shook his head sadly. "You need to see more sun, love. You're as fair as the clouds of Nevis."

Norrington sighed. It was true. Already his skin was looking pink, and felt stretched. No doubt he was going to be in agony later on that night.

"Well, it's a small price to pay, I suppose," Norrington commented.

Jack gave him a shrewd look. "Next time, we'll conduct this in the water, so's you don't suffer so much."

Norrington shrugged. "I don't suppose we could meet elsewhere."

Jack bit his lip. Then shook his head. "Too risky. This is the safest place, really."

"I believe I'm in agreement with you, on that one," Norrington sighed. "Very well. Shall we say, a week from today? Or do you have some sort of criminal act planned for that afternoon?"

Jack considered this, obviously thinking it over. "I shall be certain to ensure that at least one criminal activity will take precedence over any other that might spring out to tempt me." He pulled back again and grinned at Norrington. "Namely, the plundering of your fair self, fair sir."

"Not so fair, now," Norrington pointed out.

"In a seven-day, this burn of yours will have faded, and I can wreak another one on you. It will be a pleasure, to do the honor." Jack seemed far too cheerful to be inflicting sunburns on him now.

Norrington gave him a little frown. "So, like fire, you think your embrace leaves me impaired?"

Jack gave him a smug look at this. "Well, don't want to leap to conclusions, but I'd say it's going to be a little harder for you to see me to the gallows now, eh?"

Norrington said calmly, "We'll just have to make do the best we can, then. For every sin you commit, you can consider yourself duly punished by submitting to me the next time we meet."

Jack chuckled. "Ah, so you want another agreement between us."

"No, an addendum to our original one," Norrington explained.

Jack thought it over. "Very well. I'll have to make sure to sin frequently then, over the next few days. Wouldn't want to rob you of the satisfaction, now would I?"

"You're incorrigible," Norrington informed him, with a kiss.

"Yes, well," Jack said, "Pirate, after all."

"Indeed," Norrington sighed.

***

By all accounts, the Commodore had shown up that morning and gone straight to his office, but by the time Groves had knocked on his door, the Commodore had vanished. And, it seemed, into thin air. No one had seen him since, and this was the third time Groves had searched throughout the Fort's confines.

He was actually beginning to suspect foul play, or the possibility that whoever had sent the cryptically disturbing verses to the Commodore had finally brought their plans to a close, whatever those plans might have entailed.

He'd made no headway whatsoever in discovering the identity of the sender of the verses, and now he feared that Commodore Norrington might be in danger. And he had nowhere to begin looking.

It was well after noon that he decided to return to the Commodore's office to try to search for any possible clue as to the Commodore's whereabouts. Who knew; he might find something in the Commodore's desk that might provide at least a pointer in the right direction.

He opened the door and was met with the sight of Norrington calmly sitting in his chair behind his desk, looking up at the intrusion.

Groves stared, wondering how the Commodore had come to be there, why he'd been missing, where he had been, and what he'd been doing.

"Just the man," Norrington said, ignoring the moment that Groves had entered without knocking and now stood open-mouthed. "Come in. And shut the door behind you."

Groves stood, lapsed into silence, then turned, glanced with a frown down the corridor, and entered the Commodore's office, shutting the door behind him. "Sir, you're here. How, I mean... You were gone. I've been searching all morning. I was beginning to wonder if the sender of that message had, well, had something to do with it."

"They did, indeed," Norrington said, his tones clipped as usual. "It was Jack Sparrow, as we first supposed. It was a ruse to cause us mischief, nothing more. A complete waste of time. I should have realized from the beginning."

"You saw him?" Groves was curious; the pirate captain had seemed to have a particular interest in playing games with the Commodore. Now he knew it went probably way beyond anything the Commodore would want to suspect. Given his own predilections, he wondered if Norrington would be surprised, at this point, to discover Sparrow's.

Norrington raised his head from his papers. "Sit down," he said. As Groves did so, he continued, "I seem to have made a somewhat tentative alliance with Mr. Sparrow. Although I can't vouch for his abstention from piracy, I daresay it might come in useful at some point. He seems to have my best interest at heart, or so he claims."

"That sounds very dubious indeed, Sir," Groves suggested.

Norrington gave a cold smile. "It does, doesn't it? Nevertheless, I shall cut him some slack. He seems far too eager to involve himself with the underground of political machinations here in Port Royal. At this point, I'm considering him a useful ear to the ground. We don't have enough of those, especially now that we are in charge of the Governor's seat."

Groves had to bite back a comment at this. It wasn't his place to suggest that Sparrow was interested in Norrington. And quite obviously, at that. Besides, it would bring up yet again that awkward and humiliating evening in the garden at the Turner's wedding, and that would never do. He swallowed and carefully replied, "So we aren't to worry about the clergy, after all?"

Norrington sighed through his nose, regarding his papers. "It would seem not." Norrington shifted uneasily in his chair.

Groves saw that Norrington was looking decidedly flushed. No, not flushed, but burned, Groves realized, at a closer inspection. "Are you alright, Sir?"

Norrington gave him a wry smile. "My clandestine meeting with Sparrow unfortunately resulted in a sunburn. I daresay it will peel, no doubt then justifying the current opinion of me among Port Royal's citizens, that I am some sort of unholy creature sent from Beelzebub's legions." He sat back a little, musing on this. "An opinion I have every intention of substantiating, if Humphries or the others start yammering about the unfairness of my holding the power of Acting Governor."

Groves sat in place, not really sure how to respond. "Yes, Sir."

Norrington considered him. "I trust I can count on your silence where this matter of Sparrow is concerned?"

"Most assuredly, Sir," Groves said. And more besides, he thought, wondering if Norrington possibly had more of a general idea of what Sparrow was up to than he had supposed. Still, he had no idea why Norrington should regard him as a suitable confidante. He was already too keenly aware that the only reason the Commodore spoke to him at all was because of the uncomfortable understanding they had over that meeting with Sparrow in the garden.

And he lowered his eyes, as his heart thumped painfully within him once more, at the remembrance of it. One kiss, one unforgettable kiss, seared into his memory, and thank God that they'd been drinking because there was no way he would ever have been able to forgive himself for forgetting himself like that, otherwise. Never mind that it had seemed as though his prayers had been answered.

The memory of that one kiss was all he had to keep for himself, alone.

"Now, on another matter, I want you to go find William Turner, at Brown's smithy. Have him visit me here, immediately. Tell him the particulars concern his ex-wife's and her father's return to England."

"Of course, Sir." Groves looked back the Commodore, noting that he seemed... Different. Calmer. The thought of the pirate trysting with Norrington filled him with a hopeless kind of despair. If Sparrow should try to seduce Norrington, there was little possibility of his even attempting to compete. Norrington was looking back at him, meeting his gaze, and abruptly, Groves felt his face coloring and he looked swiftly away.

"Well," Norrington stated. "That will be all. Keep me informed of any further developments, should they arise, concerning Humphries and his cronies."

"Yes, Sir," Groves said, rising to his feet.

He was halfway to the door when Norrington said without inflection, 'By the way, Lieutenant, I've reconsidered our situation regarding the commandeering of the punch. I cannot let pass your challenge, as the outcome was entirely mangled by Sparrow's interference. I'm therefore reissuing the challenge. Perhaps this evening? Your words were, I believe, 'I can drink you under the table'."

Groves grinned back at him. "Yes, Sir. The wager still stands, as well?"

"Naturally." Norrington shot him a look.

Groves found it indecipherable, although he could tell the Commodore was amused; Norrington had that little quirk to his lips that always betrayed a certain amount of suppressed humor.

"Until this evening then, Sir," Groves said, and left the office.

Once out in the corridor, however, he was hard-pressed to remain calm or detached. His heart was pounding and he couldn't fathom for the life of him why Norrington was suddenly rekindling their drinking contest.

He knew Norrington had no close friends; that had to be it. It had to be the reason for it. To think that Norrington had finally decided not to just overlook his predilections, or accept them, but to actually return his interest... Well, it was too much to hope for.

Still, he couldn't quite keep down the flare of wild hope that leaped within him. And then he sighed.

It would be a long, tedious afternoon.

***

He hadn't cared much for anything to do with pirates, Elizabeth or politics, after their return to Port Royal. And he knew the Commodore blamed him and Elizabeth for the sacking of Port Royal by pirates four times over. The entire wedding had been a disaster, and to discover that, in their wedding bed, the passion and fire of sexual chemistry had not been as fiery as either of them would have liked, had been a heart-breaking disappointment.

Will had bitterly kept to the forge, hurling himself into the crafting of his swords with renewed intensity. Why had he imagined that marrying the Governor's daughter would be everything that he'd dreamed it would be? Dreams, that was all they had been.

He'd felt numb for weeks, now. It was that numbness that sustained him as he entered Norrington's office, and stood waiting as the officer left them and closed the door.

"Mr. Turner," Norrington said. "Have a seat." As Will did so, Norrington continued, "Elizabeth came to me a while ago with a most unusual request. She said she feared you would be tempted to turn pirate, and go seeking out some likely ship, such as the Black Pearl. I promised her that I would look out for your well-being, and as such, it behooves me to inquire as to your welfare. How are you holding up?"

Stiffly, Will ignored the rather angry reaction that arose in him at the Commodore's words. He needed no keeper. And the implicit meaning that Elizabeth considered him unable to help himself, or even possessing sound judgment where piracy or his own welfare was concerned, it needled him painfully. Love has its thorns, he thought. Elizabeth had always been so hotheaded and fiery, he'd realized too late that she might burn him. And he was paying for it even now. Indeed, he'd begun to wonder if the ocean would be cold enough to counter the burn. The fire of his forge hadn't been able to replace the pain yet.

Still, the Commodore had also been burned by Elizabeth, in her rejection of him for Will, so he not only could understand what Will was going through, he was more than likely to see it as justice due.

Carefully, he replied, "I'm doing well, actually. I don't require your assistance, Commodore. And you needn't worry about my turning pirate. My father may have been one, but considering the alternatives, I am happy to continue with my chosen career."

"Good," Norrington said, thoughtfully. "I have a commission for you then. As journeyman apprenticed to Master Brown, I have complete faith in your ability to continue to craft swords as fine as the one you provided me, last year. I have here the order, if you will accept it."

"Certainly, Sir," Will said, sitting up straighter. Down to business, he thought, thankful that Norrington appeared to be keeping it short and to the point. His hopes were dashed in the next moment, however.

"Both your own and Elizabeth's decision to seek Jack Sparrow's aid, however, in the debacle of your wedding night elopement, leaves us with the problem regarding your impetuous and decidedly rash nature."

Will stared back at him. "What? What are you talking about? We didn't seek his aid. He kidnapped us. We told you he had." Will stood, angrily. "Just because he turned out to be doing it for his own mischief and amusement does not make us accomplices to the fact. And I resent that you would say so."

Norrington regarded him, blinking. "From what Elizabeth told me, I was left with the impression that the two of you had planned it as a honeymooning stunt that got out hand."

Will let out a breath. "It did get out of hand, but it wasn't our idea. It was Jack's. How can you even think that I would do such a thing?" He was incensed.

Norrington appeared stiff, frozen, apparently taken by surprise at Will's revelation. Will wondered why Norrington would consider that anyone other than Jack Sparrow was responsible for the events that had transpired from his wedding onwards. He frowned, considering the possibility that Norrington was indeed burdened by his new additional responsibilities.

Norrington looked down briefly, and then lifted his chin. "My apologies, Mr. Turner. I assumed that as he is your friend, you would have encouraged him. I suppose that, being a pirate, he needs no encouragement. As it is, I don't place the blame on you or Elizabeth for what happened. It was entirely my own misjudgment that led to Port Royal's subsequent sacking by pirates."

But Will wasn't mollified by this. "You believe me to be witless, as does Jack, as does Elizabeth... And virtually everyone else. If it hadn't been for me, we never would have found Elizabeth last year, after Barbossa took her, nor would Barbossa and his undead crew have been restored from that curse. They would have continued to plunder the Spanish Main and perhaps even farther out, for years more. For Lord knows how long."

Norrington looked down. "Quite right. However, I hope you can understand my point: if Sparrow hadn't known that the two of you consider him a friend, he might not have used your wedding as the opportunity to arrange that fiasco."

Will was astounded. Carefully, he replied, "Commodore, you yourself let him go that day, instead of chasing after him. And you let me go, as well. Are you saying you regret those decisions?"

Norrington gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Not at all. Mr. Sparrow had sent word that left me with the unmistakable impression that you and Elizabeth were in cahoots with him. And that you were aboard his ship at his invitation, as part of his company for the duration. Hence my belief that the two of you were partly responsible."

Will almost laughed. He sat down in the chair. "And you believed him?" His tone was sharp, but it was almost too hilarious.

Norrington regarded him. Annoyance flickered on Norrington's face. "Well, we would have left Port Royal, in any event. Knowing that you were both gone, Sparrow and the others would have attacked the town anyway. So you can be sure this is why neither of you suffered any recriminations after the fact."

Will was resolute. "It is not my problem, Commodore, that pirates are more active in these waters. It is yours."

"To be sure," Norrington agreed. "But if you should choose to join them, then it becomes your problem as well, as I will have no choice but to consider you as equal a nuisance as they are."

"If that is a warning, then I thank you," Will said, tightly. "Consider it marked. But as I've already said, I have no intention of joining Jack aboard his ship, and I have no need of your assistance. So I guess this meeting is at an end. Good day, Commodore." He rose from the chair and nodded, before turning on his heel and marching to the door.

As he flung it open, Norrington said behind him, "You have my sympathies, Mr. Turner. She will be sorely missed. Although a handful, she is passionate, willful creature, perhaps too free-spirited to be tied down. We will not be the same without her."

Will looked back at Norrington. Swallowing a sudden lump in his throat at dreams lost and too many stark memories to have to suppress, he nodded once more, and said, "We won't. Thank you. Good day, Sir." And he left, shutting the door behind him.

All the way back to his shop, however, Will found to his disconcertment that he was actually reconsidering his options. He'd believed Elizabeth would return to Norrington. The fact that she hadn't, and was in fact returning to England, made him wonder. What was it Elizabeth wanted? He'd never know, now. And he bitterly wondered if Jack Sparrow hadn't turned their wedding into such a disaster, that perhaps their marriage might have stood a chance?

Abruptly, his anger towards Norrington dissipated, leaving him with a fresh wave of annoyance towards Jack. The pirate had used him, after all. The Commodore was right about that.

Fuming, he considered another practice session with his blades. He'd already had one that day, but with the mood he was in, he would be unable to concentrate on anything until he'd worked his anger out.

***

Standing by the window, wary of possible bolts from unseen messengers armed with crossbows, he sipped the brandy and considered the view. He could see the bay, the horizon on the sea beyond, and a number of boats at the dock.

He'd been lucky that Mr. Turner hadn't called him out on principle, after his accusation of the Turners' complicity with Sparrow. Damn, why had he believed Jack, even this once? The message Jack had sent him after the wedding had been entirely to nettle him, and had not contained a grain of truth, being only the tidbit meant to get him chasing after. And chase he had, so eagerly. Jack was dishonest, by his own admission, so why had he assumed that the Turners would have indeed gone along with Jack's plans? He'd leapt to conclusions again, just as he had in the matter of the two verses from the Shepherd's Calender Jack had sent him.

In fact, where Jack Sparrow was concerned, Norrington had to admit to himself that he was entirely compromised. His effectiveness at dealing with Jack had been reduced to nil.

And Mr. Turner had been right to point out that with their honeymoon coming up, they would all have been away from Port Royal in any case, and in fact Jack's mischief had been welcome, as it had alleviated what Governor Swann had so rightly-pointed out as their cabin-fever that they all had been suffering from for quite some time. But raiding and sacking towns along the Jamaican coast was hardly a welcome alternative to boredom.

With relations with Spain grown considerably worse, the last thing they needed was further disturbances with pirates.

He closed his eyes, recalling the raw purity of the too-few moments spent with Jack earlier that morning. What else did he have? Besides the excitement of Spanish incursions and pirate raids, there was precious little else to focus on. And regardless of how his own feelings were involved with Jack's continued interest in him, he was glad to know the man better.

Will Turner had been right; Jack was a good man. It was Jack's choice to continue in a career of piracy, and if Jack was caught and hung, or killed, although he would mourn him, Norrington knew that he could not allow himself to resent Jack for it, or for Jack's decision to become intimate with him—for whatever reason.

However Jack might enjoy playing games with him and everyone else, always turning the tables to his own advantage somehow, Norrington had to admit that Jack could not have been dissembling earlier that morning. There was no way he had missed the depth of the response in Jack's eyes, however good a liar he was—which was considerably better than Norrington had previously supposed.

He smiled, dourly, reflecting upon the success of Jack's insinuation that the Turners had asked for his interference. Norrington had been all too eager to believe it, his heart broken by Elizabeth previously, and resenting Mr. Turner for his new bride.

He sighed, wondering if his payment to Will Turner was in fact in the form of his promise to Elizabeth to look out for Will's well-being. He hadn't started off on a very good footing, so far. He'd have to make it up to the young man.

Norrington considered that he was getting soft.

So much for the hard military line, he thought to himself, bitterly. And pulled at his cravat, chafing beneath the fabric of his clothes as the discomfort of his sunburn worsened.

***

Despite the rattling of his nerves and the slight weakness in his knees, he straightened, and knocked on the door.

A muffled assent reached him, and he opened the door. Norrington was sitting in a chair by the window, looking out over the evening sky that filled the room with a blushing sunset light.

His heart knocked painfully in his chest at the sight. So much for his decision to remain firmly in control.

He entered the room and shut the door. His tongue felt dry, and cleaved to his palate, at the knowledge that he was in Norrington's rooms.

Norrington gave him a smile. "I started without you, I'm afraid. I'm on my second glass. Although I daresay you'll have the advantage, as I had a glass earlier as well. Inadmissible, however, and I won't put it towards the final count."

Groves swallowed, realizing he had absolutely no desire to drink anything at all, except perhaps the sight of the Commodore at ease rather than completely in control as usual. He'd been sorry for Norrington at the Turners' wedding, seeing him staring morbidly after the bride. He had never meant for things to get so out of control, of course. And it had been entirely too easy to blame the rum. He was glad enough to find that Norrington hadn't intended to make an issue out of the events that had followed.

"So, what's our poison?" he said, in a rather forced cheer that really didn't sound at all convincing, even to himself.

Norrington threw him a look. "Brandy. I'm reasonably certain the error in my judgment occurred that night from mixing the wine with the rum."

Groves went to the cabinet and poured himself a glass. Maybe it was welcome after all. Liquid courage. He downed a swallow of the smooth brandy, noting that it was, in fact, the Commodore's choice, and favorite brandy, to boot.

He glanced over at Norrington, who appeared to be in some distress. Groves frowned. "Are you alright, Sir?"

"It's this damned sunburn," Norrington muttered. He pulled off his cravat, gingerly. Then he removed his wig and pushed off his shoes.

Groves was unprepared for the twist of excitement that leapt through his belly at the sight. Blinking, he turned away, to pour himself another measure of brandy. At this rate, he was going to become a drunk. Driven to drink, by a superior officer too fine for him, and too straight. Groves sighed and closed his eyes, downing the second measure.

"I could do with some assistance, I think," Norrington commented, the polished and beloved voice reaching through Groves' defenses easily.

He turned, and saw Norrington rising and pulling at his shirt, loosening it, undoing the first few buttons as he made his way to the bedroom.

Groves was thunderstruck. "Ah, assistance, Sir?"

"With this burn," Norrington replied from the bedroom, returning with a jar of salve. "My back has been burned quite horridly, I'm afraid."

Groves felt lightheaded. The Commodore couldn't possibly be serious. The room seemed to tilt at an awkward angle. Did Norrington have any idea what he was suggesting?

The horrible realization that he did indeed, and was still suggesting it regardless, was enough to cause Groves to lose the power of speech.

"S—Sir, I—that is, why..." He trailed off, lost, watching as Norrington winced, removing his shirt.

Norrington gave him a sardonic look. With a note of resignation, he said to Groves, "I can't reach it myself. Would you apply it for me?" And he sat down in his chair by the window again, picking up his glass and sipping from it nonchalantly.

Groves considered the task at hand. Feeling as if he were in a trance, he wondered if Norrington was offering this as a consolation to him in lieu of... something. Or if Norrington was simply in need of assistance, as he'd said. Had to be the latter, it had to be. He drained his brandy and set the glass down, moving to pick up the jar of salve. Moving to stand behind the Commodore, he opened the jar and applied a measure of the salve onto his fingers, then rubbed his hands together to warm it a little.

With the sense of finding himself in some sort of surreal dream, he carefully placed his hands at the top of Norrington's reddened back, near the back of his neck. And began to soothe it in. As Norrington visibly relaxed, despite the sting he must be feeling, Groves considered leaning down to catch a better whiff of Norrington's hair. Stopping himself from acting on this just at the last moment, he contented himself with slathering more of the salve onto Norrington's burnt skin.

And said, cautiously, in a voice far too thick to mistake, "Is that better? It doesn't hurt, does it?"

Norrington was quiet for a moment, then sipped at his brandy. "Smarts a little, but never mind. It's all in a good cause, really."

Groves became painfully aware that he was growing aroused. He couldn't help it, the nearness of him... Being so close to him... Touching him. It was unbearable. His heart was pounding so loudly now, he was sure Norrington could hear it. And his breath was coming shorter. Damn it, why couldn't he stay in control! He inhaled, carefully, and spread more of the salve onto the burnt shoulders.

Diligently, he bent to the task, forcing himself to focus. Concentrate on covering all areas. It wouldn't do to neglect any part of this expanse of flesh, now that he was at it.

And he nearly gasped as Norrington spoke, his voice breaking the stillness rather too abruptly, cursing the fact that he flinched as Norrington did so.

"I received an interesting reprimand from Mr. Sparrow today, for neglecting you."

Despite Norrington's mild delivery, Groves was rather startled at it. "Neglecting me, Sir?" This could not bode well. Flashes of recalled kisses sprang wildly to mind; kissing the pirate in the dark, and then finally, at long last, the sensation of that beloved, yearned-for mouth against his own...

He swallowed and tried to renew his efforts, digging into the salve more fervently now.

Norrington sounded amused. "It seems he regards me as lacking in manners, for having ignored your needs. I believe he may have a point, however."

Groves stopped at this; salve perched on his fingers, awaiting application onto that rosy skin. Licking his lips, Groves said, "Well, Sir, I'm sure he has his reasons. I do suspect that his design in doing so, however, stems from a desire to create more mischief. He is a pirate, after all."

"Indeed. That's precisely what I said, except that in this case, he is right. I may have erred in not dealing with this before now." Norrington eased his head, craning his neck from the left to the right and back again. "It's possible that I should have been more attentive to what transpired, before, and not simply shut it away." He looked down, swirling the remainder of the brandy in his glass.

Groves continued to apply the salve, this time to the back of Norrington's neck, and along to his shoulders. He was quiet. What could he say, after all, that would not incriminate himself further? He'd already said far too much, with that one kiss. Quietly, he responded, "Sir, I'm sure that you did right. Your options were severely limited, at the time."

Norrington chuckled. "It would appear that they are no longer as limited as they once were. Sparrow saw to that."

Groves stopped, mid-motion, his hands on Norrington's shoulders, as the import of what Norrington had just said rocked through him. He couldn't possibly be implying...

A flash of jealousy and wounded anger lanced through him. "What do you mean, Sir?"

Carefully, Norrington replied, "Simply that he illuminated me as to the true scope of the possibilities. I might ask if you have considered them, yourself."

His head spinning somewhat, still not sure what exactly Norrington was talking about, Groves tried to muster some thought from somewhere, despite the debilitating effect that touching the man was having on him, currently.

Norrington turned his head to the left, and Groves could see Norrington's expression now. Thoughtful, and somehow wistful. "I know it hasn't been easy for you," Norrington said, sounding less sure of himself.

Groves nearly closed his eyes at the sound of it. His hands trembling where they lay upon Norrington's shoulders, he whispered hoarsely, "Sir, it—it was my own fault, I'm sure. I never should have... forgotten myself. I—"

"But then, neither should I," Norrington interrupted, more firmly. He turned his head now, looking back up at Groves.

Groves was speechless. He stood stock-still, unable to move, yet desperately wanting to say something, anything, to absolve himself, yet well-aware that Norrington was all-too-aware of his feelings for his Commodore. He swallowed again, and looked down, unable to look the man in the eye. It was too much. His heart in his mouth, he managed, "S—Sir, I swear, I meant no impropriety. It's just... you were... it was... "

Norrington turned to face front once more, letting out an exasperated breath.

"For God's sake, man," Norrington stated, dryly, "I'm not entirely blind. I have eyes in my head; I know it's been a struggle for you. Why do you think I invited you here tonight?"

Groves stood in confusion. Thoughts of salve were jolted by the realization that as far as seduction scenes went, it was going badly, because he was already a sure thing, and why, 'for God's sake' indeed, would the Commodore even think he had to do anything but point to the floor in order for Groves to be on his knees before him?

And Groves held that thought clearly in his mind, momentarily, realizing that maybe he had a chance after all. Not wanting to leap to conclusions prematurely, he cleared his throat and asked, "Sir, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Norrington chuckled at this and bent his head a little, regarding the floor. Then he looked back up at Groves, behind him.

"It would seem that the pirate was playing Cupid, after all. I won't lie to you, Groves: this is an indiscretion, and cannot be something that is overdone. But I'm sure that we can come to some sort of arrangement. Between the two of us."

Unable to help himself any longer, Groves leaned down and captured Norrington's lips beneath his. Too swiftly, he found it was difficult to remain in any kind of state other than complete honesty—he'd wanted this for far too long not to take what he could, now. And Norrington was turning in the chair, not breaking off their kiss, surprising him with the surety and need he felt returned in it.

Groves found himself moaning, his heart bursting with the momentousness of desire achieved, wondering if he'd awake to find himself alone in his bunk after yet another vivid dream. But Norrington was pulling him down against him, and he felt himself going to one knee, as Norrington's tongue met his and then he was drowning in fire, as his beloved Commodore was kissing him with all the abandon he'd ever considered forever beyond his reach.

When Norrington pulled back, Groves gasped in despair. But Norrington muttered, "Let's get out of these," as his hand went to Groves' shirt.

Groves was all too happy to comply, trembling fingers flying in anticipation over the buttons, and then the laces of his breeches, after.

Norrington stood, pulling him in for another searing kiss, and then said, with a wry nod in the direction of the bedroom, "That would be far more suitable, I think."

"Yes, Sir," Groves stammered, wondering why tonight of all nights was his lucky one. But he was in no position to question it. He followed Norrington into the man's bedroom, where they divested themselves of the remainder of their clothing.

Norrington was grinning at him. "Considering my current condition, I must insist that I not lie on my back."

Groves smiled back at him, the obvious sunburn ruling out the practicality or comfort of Norrington doing anything of the kind. "Naturally, Sir."

Norrington raised a brow at him. "It's entirely appropriate for you to call me James, I think."

Groves swallowed, his heart melting completely at this. "James," he breathed, stepping close to kiss Norrington again, who appeared a little taken aback at his response to the suggestion.

And the knowledge that his hands were sticky with the salve suddenly brought him to bear upon their circumstances. He pulled back, saying, "We should... I should..."

"Lie down," Norrington finished for him.

Groves was a little put out at the fact that Norrington could still think, let alone speak. Unfair advantage really, in spite of the fact that Norrington had already consumed more than he had. Which was absurd to contemplate when one recognized that he was about to have exactly what he'd been waiting so long for. Groves moved to the side of the bed and lay down upon it, wondering how much he had to thank the pirate for, after all was said and done.

It would hardly be apropos, here and now, to ask what exactly had transpired during Norrington's meeting with Sparrow. He contented himself with the realization that something extraordinary had finally happened.

Norrington was holding the salve, and asked, "I'll let you decide; what would you prefer, this first time?"

"Prefer?" Groves asked, wondering what exactly Norrington was asking of him. Then it dawned on him. "Oh. Ah, whatever you're comfortable with," he said.

In the dim light of the bedroom, he could see Norrington smile at this. "Very well. I believe I shall do as Mr. Sparrow suggested and 'take you in hand.'"

Groves mused on this and replied with a note of amusement, "Then I believe I shall have much to thank him for, should our paths cross again."

Norrington made a noise of exasperation. "Pray that it isn't over the bow of a ship, for that's the most likely possibility."

To Groves' sudden edification, Norrington knelt between his legs and moved to straddle him. Leaning down, covering him, Norrington said in between kisses, "You can stop breaking your heart; there's no reason why we can't have what we want."

Groves stared back up at him, wondering at the strange miracle that had been delivered unto him, in the form of his Commodore's capitulation. "Each other," he said.

"To be sure," Norrington muttered, kissing him again, running a hand over his chest, and down to his stomach, admiringly. Lifting off him, Norrington regarded him. "I must say, it is surprising, to find your uniform has been hiding such a marvel."

Groves wondered at the compliment. "W—what, Sir? I mean... James?" It still felt strange to say the man's name, but he relished it anyway. God alone knew how many opportunities he might have in the future like this one to say it, let alone partake in this rapture.

Norrington raised his brows at him. "You're well-made. You keep yourself fit. I wasn't expecting such a physique." And without waiting for Groves to respond, he possessed his mouth again, moving over Groves' lips and down his chin, to his neck, leaving a wet burning trail of heat in his wake, over his front, to lavish attention upon one nipple and then the other. Then stole all breath from Groves' body as he descended lower, mouthing the hard, flat planes of his abdomen, all the way down to his cock—which was pointing straight up, in a most proper salute.

As Norrington didn't slow, but continued to effortlessly glide his lips and tongue all the way up the length of it, only to engulf the head of his cock with an eagerness that shocked Groves' to his foundation, Groves was left in the wake of Norrington's path, clutching helplessly at the covers of the bed, leaving faint sticky traces upon it.

He must have made some sound but he couldn't hear it for the throbbing in his head, as his body shivered beneath Norrington's mouth. It was unspeakably wicked, and yet so devastatingly pleasurable, to have his cock between the Commodore's lips.

And Norrington continued on down, taking him in long, slowly appreciating sucks, that tongue moving over his cock in ways that sent a simultaneous jolt of grateful envy through him at it. The recognition that Sparrow must have educated him well, indeed. But a small price to pay, it was, for pushing Norrington back in his direction.

And then he whined in complete distress as Norrington lifted off him, and paused over him.

"Do you want me to take you?" Norrington asked.

Groves stared back at him. What a question. He could hardly believe his ears. It seemed so unreal, for Commodore Norrington to ask him such a thing. He opened his mouth, "God, please, yes, Sir. Now. Just... please."

And Norrington smiled down at him. "Very well," he said, before bending to take him into his mouth again, sucking harder now.

Groves' breath caught in his throat and he nearly stuttered an oath before Norrington moved off him again, and then grasped his cock in a firm hand. The way that the Commodore moved however, seemed entirely sure, and deft. He worked Groves with an expert hand.

As Norrington moved up to cover him, and to kiss him again, Groves murmured against him, "You've done this before."

"So have you," Norrington said, before his mouth descended once more to silence him.

All the longing and desperation, to be followed so swiftly on their heels by this sudden abrupt departure from all his expectations to the contrary, in having exactly what he'd wanted, was too much.

Overwhelmed by the feel of Norrington's body upon his, covering him, his Commodore's hand pulling on his cock, sending shooting pleasure throughout him relentlessly, and in the emotional release of knowing he no longer had to hide his heart from his beloved, Groves jutted upwards, caught in the momentum of the surging, racing, pounding heat.

Norrington's lips still ravaged his, and he cried out as he lost control, bucking, feeling his cock quiver and pulse in the other man's hand.

And Norrington was kissing him, yet, and not letting up. Groves wondered if Norrington knew, just how much he owned him. He belonged to Norrington, completely. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do for him. He wanted to weep, from the sensations of belonging, of being owned, accepted and wanted, at long last.

Norrington released his mouth, and stilled his hand, noting that he'd stopped pulsing his fluid into it.

"James," he whispered, quite overcome.

Norrington regarded him with an affectionate, and surprisingly possessive expression. "Is this what you wanted?"

Groves found himself nodding. "Exactly this. With you." And he realized his sticky hands were clutching the Commodore's shoulders.

He stared back up at Norrington, wondering what he was waiting for. Then he realized. Before he could hide the eagerness in his voice, he said, "Let me take care of you, Sir."

Norrington shook his head a little. "Not this time. I'm going to take you, remember?"

Groves could have died at that point and gone to heaven, because the exquisite novelty of hearing those words pass from Norrington's lips—directed at himself, no less—was enough to ensure that he would never lack for something to cherish in his life, from that moment on.

It was with a measure of returning clarity and recognition that he saw what Norrington had done, using his own issue to prepare that fine organ. And Groves allowed himself to watch with perfect awe, as Norrington continued to handle himself.

"I just... never thought I would be able to see this," Groves tried to say.

Norrington smiled at him, easily, and remarked, "It comes as somewhat of a surprise to myself also, I assure you."

Oddly, Groves felt a sudden shaft of amusement and a mirthful chuckle bubbled from him before he could stop it. "Then we both owe Jack Sparrow far too much."

Norrington considered him and then startled him into silence by saying, "Your heart was your own, before the pirate arrived. My regret is that I didn't want to see it until now."

Groves found himself speechless once more, at this. And then there was only the touch of Norrington's hand on his thigh, urging him to lift his legs, to part them. At the thought of what they were about to do, Groves scrabbled upwards to grab at the pillow, and brought it down, shoving it under his hips with some assistance from Norrington, and then Norrington's lubricated finger was at his opening, gently and surely moving into him, so gently that it made Groves' heart clench in his chest.

And he tried to suck breath into abruptly contracting lungs, at the sensation of Norrington's fingers upon that most intimate place. It had been a long time since he'd engaged in intercourse with anyone at all, let alone with his Commodore who he'd lusted after, broken his heart over, and adored from afar for years, now.

He groaned at the thought of it. Years spent, wishing for the impossible, and suddenly here they were, with his hole being breached by Norrington's finger, first one and then gradually two, working him.

Dear God, he just hoped he wouldn't go into shock when Norrington finally took him. He blinked back the dizzy spell he felt at the sheer wonder that, yes, he was about to be fucked by Commodore Norrington, of all people. In the Commodore's bed.

And then Norrington's fingers withdrew, as he asked, "Are you ready?"

Groves wanted to yell, "Yes, damn it, please, now! Just do it!" And then realized he had yelled it aloud after all. "I mean, yes. Um. Sir."

Norrington smiled in spite of himself. "With that hearty endorsement, I'm sure I'm convinced." And then the considerable head of Norrington's cock was pressing into him, slowly.

He held his breath at the sudden wince of pain, as it burned. But he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth because he didn't want to have to endure the solicitude of a suddenly worrying Commodore backing out at this late in the game.

But Norrington must have recognized his response, for he stilled, and said, "We have all night, you know. Some things are better not to rush, regardless of the wait until holding them."

Wise words, indeed, Groves thought. And wondered how Norrington could possibly still maintain coherent speech.

Norrington pulled him into position better, angling himself against Groves in a more advantageous approach. All thoughts of his own were robbed from him though, as Norrington then continued to slide forward into him, holding his gaze in spite of the dark of the room, and with a slight loss of control, surged forward into him yet another inch.

Groves found himself scrabbling for a hold of the covers again, pleading. And then Norrington was pushing into him, slower, but relentlessly, and he was open-mouthed beneath him, feeling that thick hardness coring him out, leaving him filled and yet somehow completely weak.

"Please," he repeated. And was rewarded with Norrington's murmur of assent as he began to rock back and forth, causing a riot of sensation within him that began to undo his sensibilities.

"Oh, please, Sir, yes, just... wanted this. Want you. For so long. Oh, Sir," he babbled, the words torn from him, and as Norrington bit his lower lip in concentration and tightened, shafting him more quickly, Groves added, "Love you, always. Loved you, for so long now."

A slight tinge of panic or something like dismay crossed Norrington's face, but Groves didn't have time to wonder at it, for Norrington abruptly thrust harder into him at it, and Groves was left to contemplate the fact that he was not going to have to beg the Commodore to fuck him harder, after all.

Sure enough, Norrington began to set a more punishing rhythm, sliding out a little only to let his hips snap back, sending that sizeable member sliding between his buttocks with a bit more of a hint of the strength he knew Norrington had.

He hissed, "Please, oh please, harder."

And was happy at last to find Norrington's control slipping as Norrington growled in response, and bent lower over him, seizing a better hold on his legs, and plunging hard into him. The motion sent stars cart-wheeling behind Groves' eyelids, and he was panting desperately to find air, as dark flowers of ecstasy began gathering momentum in his blood.

He'd known; he'd always known that behind the cool, commanding and polished steel of Norrington's external face he presented to the world, there lay a man of fire and heat, capable of animal passion and yet human grace. He was humbled to be able to witness it himself. Abruptly, he found the reason for his empathy he'd always suffered on behalf of Norrington's pain in the loss of Miss Swann... It had been because he himself had been suffering the loss of his Commodore, and didn't wish such pain on him in the slightest. To be able to be here for him was all that Norrington need ask of him. Ever.

"Let go with me, Sir," Groves whispered, as Norrington continued to pound against him.

Norrington finally found the height, and with a series of short helpless thrusts into him, gave a choked gasp, shaking as he came inside of Groves. The look on Norrington's face was sublime, and Groves could only stare as he realized that he'd never thought to see such an expression on him, such a beautiful balance of pleasure and pain and wonder and complete freedom.

He vowed in that moment to ensure that the Commodore got laid as often as possible. It wasn't right, for Norrington to be denied this. He swiftly swallowed the jealousy that tried to stifle him at the knowledge that the pirate had already had his Commodore... He could afford to be generous, he supposed.

Norrington stilled above him, panting, saying, "Are you alright?"

Groves said wonderingly, "I've never been better, actually." And he meant it.

Norrington smiled at little at it, and lowered his head, closing his eyes.

"Lie down, James," Groves urged him, moving his legs down, allowing Norrington's cock to slip out of him. "Here, upon me." Mindful of Norrington's sunburn, he helped Norrington position himself atop him.

In the dark of the room, Norrington pressed a kiss to his cheek and said in his ear, "We have all night. No one will be any the wiser, especially as brandy was supposedly involved." And he grinned cheekily against him with a chuckle.

The sheer, juvenile note in Norrington's voice was so sweet to hear, Groves couldn't help smiling. "I think you've been studying piracy for too long, James. Their ways are rubbing off on you."

"That's more true than you can possibly know," Norrington commented, dryly.

"I believe I can, actually," Groves said, contentedly. "After all, we did exchange shots with a certain pirate in the bushes."

"Hm, yes. Well." Norrington sighed, sinking down a little more, allowing himself to drape over Groves now, completely.

Groves was fascinated to discover that nothing felt quite so wonderful as having the delicious weight of Norrington on him.

"And we have all night," Groves continued, allowing an interested tone to enter his voice.

Norrington chuckled soundlessly against him at it. "Somehow, I'm a little curious to know what the good folk of Port Royal might think, if they only knew what we get up to in this Fort of ours."

"Fucking like animals?" Groves asked, innocently, knowing full well what Norrington meant.

"I'll teach them to try to stand between me and the punch-bowl," Norrington added. He raised his head and looked down into Groves' face. He raised his brows at him. "Audacious? Really?"

Groves grinned at him. "Entirely. And do you know, I fully suspect that Jack Sparrow ought to have some comeuppance for his part in all this, when all's said and done."

Norrington heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Indeed," he said, darkly.

A sudden sound at the window made both of them raise their heads in alarm, and they broke apart, Norrington scrabbling for his robe. Pulling it on, he went to the window and peered out into the gloom, down to where the trees stood by the wall.

Norrington stared down for a while, then turned and regarded Groves with a sardonic expression.

"It would seem that now he knows it, also."

Groves was nonplussed. "That... he was... there?" He wasn't sure how he felt about this. Somehow, it didn't bother him as much as he'd expected it might.

"Well, he did warn us," Groves supplied.

"A voyeur, yes, I remember distinctly," Norrington said. He went back to the window and said, loudly, "A voyeur, indeed. With a price on his head."

Groves gulped. "Sir, should we call attention to the fact that... I mean, it's just..."

Norrington grinned. "Brandy is remarkable. One could blame any number of sins on it, particularly if imbibed too rashly." He raised his brows and called out, "Much like rum, I expect."

Groves shook his head. "Surely he won't be there any longer."

Norrington sighed and went back to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it and said, glumly, "Why do I get the feeling that this isn't the first time he's climbed up here?"

Groves muttered, "He'd better not attempt it again tonight."

Norrington regarded him. "I daresay you're jealous, Teddy."

Groves blushed in the darkness. "James, that was—I was drunk. You don't have to call me that."

Norrington smiled. "I believe I may have to, now."

Groves licked his lips and said, "Yes, Sir," a little too fervently.

"Dear God," Norrington muttered. "What have I got myself into? First Sparrow, now you. Whatever next."

Groves pulled him closer, and kissed his arm, saying, "James. Sir. I must insist that you tell me everything. I can't have some pirate as a rival for your affections. This had better be a bloody good explanation too, for why he's climbing up to eavesdrop at your window."

"Oh, that's par for the course, I expect," Norrington said. "I do think he will have his hands full with the Turner lad, however. We really ought to warn him. That lad is going to be out for his blood, now that he knows the truth."

Groves frowned. "What was it... Turner didn't know the truth of what?"

Norrington shook his head. "Sad state of affairs, really. Turner realized that it was Sparrow who was eventually responsible in the main, for the disintegration of his wedding. I expect there will be reparations. Severe reparations."

Groves murmured, "Good."

At Norrington's look of curiosity, he said, "It means Sparrow will be busy and won't have the opportunity to poach you any longer."

Norrington stared at him. "I'm not sure I agree with you using the words 'poach' and 'me' in the same sentence."

"That's too bad, Sir, because I just did, and I will again, where Sparrow is concerned."

Norrington leaned against him and smiled. "Then you'll have to face the consequences."

"Gladly, Sir," Groves said against Norrington's lips, which, unsurprisingly this time, were on his once more.

***

With Commodore Norrington engaged at last, and the lovely little addition of enjoying an added treat of watching the two men together, Jack was heartened by the fact that Norrington was finally compromised. And happy, he added to himself, adding a new lilt to the hum.

He had been surprised to find Norrington already on the make with his young officer Groves. And had been equally surprised to find a shaft of possessiveness enter him at it, for he'd climbed the wall with every intention of visiting Norrington himself. But they really did make such a lovely couple.

And now that Miss Elizabeth had left, he had plans for young Mr. Turner.

His humming took a decidedly carnivorous turn, even as he finally exited the sea cave out onto the sand where he'd met with Norrington that morning. The rowboat was still secured where he'd left it, and climbing aboard, he began to row out around the Point, where the Pearl was anchored.

If all went as planned, it wouldn't be long now before the innocent little blacksmith would find himself requesting 'parlez' with Captain Jack Sparrow. He grinned back at the lights of Port Royal as his boat slipped away into the dark.

Besides, no one had been hurt by the events of the day, and considering that his own plans had resulted in the very successful raid of Norrington's office for charts, procedures and fleet details, he was quite content indeed.

And he began to hum once more, the strains returning to something more along the lines of the familiar 'yo ho' and 'bad eggs' and 'thank you 'Lizabeth, for the lovely opportunity of a ditched blacksmith, a Governor-less province, a wonderful song, and a broken Commodore who'd needed no less than two male lovers to patch him up again'.

***

~Fini~

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