Diving for Pearls

Chapter 9

by

Kitty Fisher

"Bloody hell, Jack."

"It rained."

"So I see."

"But we're through the worst. All masts intact." Norrington was getting out of bed. "No, I'm fine, I'll just strip off." His fingers plucked ineffectually at his belt, and he frowned down at it, sure that it undid that way.

"Give that here." Warm hands pushed his own out of the way, and the belt was undone, peeled off, along with his coat and shirt. It was all very business-like and efficient. A sheet was pulled off the bed and draped around his shoulders. Norrington knelt.

Jack giggled. "All the same, darlin' but I'm not up to anythin'. Don't think I could get it up at all, 'n fact."

"Idiot. I'm going to take off your boots."

But the hands were unfastening his breeches. "Don't look like me boots. You seeing straight?"

"As a falcon, Sparrow. Now stop talking and," a tug brought the fabric down around his thighs, "sit on the edge of the bed."

He sat with a thump, rocking backwards, actually tipping over when James lifted a leg to strip off first boots and then breeches. The other leg followed suit. The ceiling looked a long way away. He stared up at it and frowned as it moved. No, he was moving. Being moved? Yes. Pushed and pulled up into the bed.

"You're frozen."

"Couldn't leave the wheel."

"For six hours?"

"She wanted me there."

"AnaMaria?"

"No, the Pearl."

James was rubbing him all over with the sheet, brisk and fast, not in any way suggestively, but somehow Jack's cock still gave him the lie and found the energy to stir. Perhaps he was less cold, tired and drowned than he thought he was. Or maybe James just had magic hands. They were certainly warm enough. It was lovely, feeling them touching him, caring.

"Good grief. You'd come to a stand on your deathbed." Ah, he noticed.

Jack waved his hand, fingers pointing in all directions. "Actually, that's common. 'anged men die with a stiffy. Sort of a final consolation."

"Well, you're not dead yet, so shift over."

Jack shifted, and sighed as the wet sheet was pulled away and the blankets brought up to cover him. He shivered happily. "That's nice." All cocooned and getting slightly warmer than a block of ice.

The sheet was suddenly attacking his hair and he batted it away. "Jack, keep still, you've a tonne weight of water in here."

Obediently, he stilled. It was pleasant, really, the cotton rubbing through his hair. The scarf must've come off in the storm. Oh, well, he had more. Scraps of cloth, pretty as birds. His eyes closed, and for a moment he must have slept, for the next instant a warm body was wrapping itself around him. "Lovely... "

"Wish I could say the same. Christ, you're cold.'

"I'll soon warm up. Kiss me, that'll help."

"Incorrigible."

"Pirate... "

"Is that your excuse for everything?"

"Absolutely—pirate, captain, pirate captain. Kiss?"

Norrington sighed, and kissed him. A peck on the cheek.

"Hey!"

"That was a kiss."

"I'm greedy, I want more." Jack pouted.

"You're bone white with exhaustion, how will any excitement help that?"

"It feels nice."

"Damn, now you sound ten years old."

"Not an arousing idea?"

"Good gr... No!"

"That's a'right. Come here, Jamie, kiss me." He wriggled around, so they were face to face. "I like your kisses. I like you."

"Ah, Jack, as I like yours and you as well. Daft, damned pirate that you are."

"You make it sound like a crime!"

"I hate to break this to you, but I rather think it is."

"Bugger."

"That too."

"So, everything's illegal?"

"Only the good stuff."

"Ah, makes sense. Where's my kiss?"

"Here."

He sighed happily and opened his lips to Jamie's sweetly searching tongue. It felt warm in his mouth, cosy, until it slipped away and, with a chaste press of lips to cheek, James pulled away. "Is that it?"

"Yes." So firm. Jack wriggled again. Ah, yes, firm there too. "We could—"

"No, we couldn't. You wouldn't let me in the bath. I'm just proving that I can be equally tyrannous."

"So this is by way of revenge?"

James giggled. There was no other word for it. Amazing, you'd never have looked at that uniform and imagined the man inside could laugh, let alone giggle. "Absolutely."

"I should've 'ad me wicked way with you then, then you might 'ave pity on me now."

"You can't be desperate—twice in one day and a storm contended with!"

Was he desperate? No, but he wanted to touch James, to hold him. While he was here. In case he ever wasn't. "Jamie, I just want to feel you." Did that sound too pitiable? He didn't feel wretched. Just, maybe, a little in need. Which really was wretched. He began to turn away.

"Don't." A hand stilled him. "You are a manipulative creature, Jack Sparrow, and we are not, repeat not, going to indulge in any pleasure of the flesh apart from kissing. But if you turn your head... like that... "

Ah, yes, the kiss was so good. Their lips hardly touched, but it was enough to make him content. He lay still, head resting on a crooked arm, his own arm wrapped lightly around James' ribs. He shivered, which made the other man pull him closer, though he wasn't really bone cold anymore, just chilled and warming fast. James' mouth brushed his cheek, and he could feel the other man was smiling. "What?"

"I was thinking."

"Dangerous."

"I know."

"So, what were you thinking?"

"Ah, that. Well, that I hope we don't have any storms for a while, and that you don't have to go and get wet and tired—unless it's here with me."

"Ah." Jack smiled too. "A quick prayer to the weather gods then."

"That would be most acceptable." He paused. "You don't have to sacrifice chickens or anything?"

"No, just make love well and often."

"A most acceptable bargain."

And though Jack was the one who had been battling the elements and wearing himself out, it was Norrington who slept. Jack watched him, watched his face relax and his breath even out, lengthen. Strands of hair were curling over his forehead, and his lashes were dark on his cheek. The detail was so clear that it took him a moment to realise the skies were clearing and that the day was going to be fine and lovely. He felt the Pearl, listening to her heartbeat as he listened to Norrington's. Both seemed content enough. But where the open seas were all that was needed to make the Pearl fly over the waves, her timbers singing, what would make Norrington happy? To go back to the uniform? Or to stay and be free of his past?

Ah, that was not likely. Not anything more than a strange dream that Jack was not even sure he should be having. Or why. Yes, why was this man important? He frowned, and peered at the sleeping face. Favoured, undoubtedly rich, gently brought up, pampered, officer, pirate catcher, the list went on. But the other list was more appealing: courageous, kind, amusing (not always intentionally), curious, captivating, capricious. The man had gone to Tortuga to search for him. And he'd been prepared to suffer rather than betray a boy he hardly knew. Fine qualities in any man, whatever moral ground he took. However confused he was about who he shared his cock with.

His eyes were the green of deep rock-pools.

Bugger it. Jack rolled his eyeballs, disgusted with himself. Norrington was a man. One who was not averse to sharing a bed with one of his own kind, but who was clearly intent on marriage and children and a career that would end him in the Admiralty. What use had he for pirates, other than to hang them? Or fuck them.

Which was unfair. Norrington had come to this grudgingly, for the fact that he seemed to take great joy in it all. It wasn't habit, more a rediscovery of something lost.

Jack shivered, his body alert and alive in a way it hadn't been in so very long. Not since Bootstrap. And then, well, he'd been so young. So mad. A ghosting memory of the dream snipped at his thoughts. It was remote enough to make him merely sad. For time seemed to have solved one problem, if not the other.

Jack watched him walk across the deck, avoiding contact with those of the crew who were lazing about, dicing or working on scrimshaw. Mostly the men were below decks, though Gibbs was at the helm and AnaMaria was secreted in her own tiny cabin, probably making a doll of the Commodore and running it through with pins.

Norrington appeared to be much better. His colour, under the fading bruises, was less pale, and his walk was straighter, less careful and almost back to its usual grace. Wearing the same breeches and shirt, his feet bare, he came up the shallow steps and rested himself against the rail just by Jack's grubby feet. He looked amused, and his eyes, though narrowed against the brightness of the midday light, teased prettily. "Don't you ever sleep?"

"I could ask, don't you ever stay awake. Though I think you've extenuating thingies goin' for ye."

"Circumstances."

"Aye, there's the ones." He hauled his feet off the warm wood, sat up, crossed his legs in front of him and leant forward, elbows on knees. "Lovely weather."

He watched Norrington take a deep breath of air, seeing how his nostrils flared as he drank in the freshness bequeathed by the storm. There was scope for him to be such a sensual man. Or rather, to allow those tendencies in himself full rein. All it would take was the right set of circumstances. Which were damn useful things, Jack thought to himself.

"What's amusing you?"

"Watching you enjoy the day."

Dignity clearly affronted, Norrington looked down at him. "Why's that an amusement?"

"Hush. I liked it, 'tis all. No offence, Commodore."

"I wish you wouldn't call me that." He sighed.

"'tis what ye are."

"No. No, I'm not commodore here." As he leant back, his hands held fast to the rail, the long fingers curled tight. He stared into the distance, and a lot of the ease in his body bled away. "And as you made clear, in fact I'm dead. So I have no rank at all."

"You're not really dead, James, I promise you."

The pious sincerity at least made him laugh. Jack watched the way his face creased with amusement, the way his mouth quirked unevenly, and felt a rush of affection. But the closer inspection also made it possible to see that they were shadows under his eyes, not just bruises. So, sleep hadn't been easy. "What did you dream about?"

Norrington looked at him in surprise, as if amazed that he guessed. Then he clearly remembered, and shuddered delicately. "Guess."

Blood and pain, then. Jack stood up, uncoiling himself from the rope to stand facing the sea. Though they stared in different directions, their shoulders just touched. "You can still go back."

"Can I?"

"Course! You're—whatever you may be thinking—still Commodore Norrington. You can have your fancy house and hat and 'ave that poncy git Governor Swann swooning over you. I mean, you don't 'ave to stay dead. Savvy?"

"Maybe not."

Hating himself, Jack frowned at the fine pale line of a distant island and spoke cheerily. "Sure, they'd 'ave you back."

"Jack." He felt Norrington half turn, but he didn't move. "Jack, I am a failure! I lost thirty men to Barbossa, I let a hanging turn into a shambles, I let you go, oh yes, convinced I could catch you, but then saw nothing but empty sea for weeks and weeks and to damn me further, that made me happy. I was kidnapped—twice—by a sadistic bastard who really, really didn't like me much and I failed to escape until you came along and rescued me. Add to that the fact that I lost Elizabeth to a blacksmith, so I doubt very much that Governor Swann will be swooning over me at all, that the disciplinary committee only just about vindicated my actions that led to the loss of The Interceptor and that I appear to have unaccountably lost my sanity because I think I might be in love with a pirate... " he broke off sharply.

Turning to him, Jack saw the sudden apprehension that drew the dark brows together and left Norrington biting his lip. "Jamie?"

"No. I'm sorry, I shouldn't... " He began to turn, but Jack stilled him, curling his hand firmly about one taut upper arm.

"Don't be."

"If you laugh, Jack Sparrow... " The whisper was so unsteady.

"Look at me. I'm not laughing." Watching the way Norrington swallowed, and how, as if bolstering his courage, he took a breath before raising his eyes, Jack kept his face very still. "See?"

Pained eyes searched his face, then eased. He nodded. "No, no laughter. You're too kind."

"I'm not kind, James." He let his hand drop away from Norrington's arm. "I'm arrogant, self-centred, drunken, debauched and strangely, mysteriously and quite unfathomably taken by someone who seems to feel the same way about me."

"Oh."

Jack looked deep into the green, perturbed eyes. "What we have here, without regard for whatever you decide about your future, let's enjoy it. Live a little, Jamie."

"I have lived, Jack." Norrington's eyes darkened, reflecting the sea, the sky and Sparrow himself. "But maybe never this intensely."

The words sparked something deep within him. "Jamie... how I want ye."

"You should hate me."

"I hate what you did, what you were, not you."

"I am still those things."

"No. No you're not."

"I still would hunt pirates."

"Even me?"

"Jack, no, not you. But you are the strangest pirate I've ever seen."

"Strange, but interesting, don't y' think?" Jack grinned, clasping the rail tight. But his grin faded fast, for he wasn't really laughing. He searched James' eyes, but found no answers, just confusion, lust, and yearning. Without waiting for a reply, he stood back. "Right, let's see the rest of the Pearl." And with an easy motion he leapt onto the rail, standing there for a moment looking down at Norrington's surprised face. Then he was climbing. After about twenty feet he looked down, feigning bemusement. "Aren't you coming?"

Norrington, one hand lifted to shade his eyes, was squinting upwards. "What for?"

"For fun, Jamie!"

"Oh, that... "

Jack laughed and climbed on. After a short while the ratlines quivered under his touch and he knew Norrington was on his way. Hand over hand, up, the air here lifted from stillness by the slightest breeze, he glanced back, seeing James' dark head, his face concentrating as he made his careful, sure way upwards. Another twenty feet up, and Jack swung himself onto one of the yardarms, settling there, quite at home.

Five minutes later, Norrington joined him.

"You couldn't've managed that even a couple of days ago." Jack patted his knee as he sat down, one hand braced on a lanyard.

He was breathless, pale. Jack wanted to lick the sweat off his top lip. So he did. He grinned at James' affronted expression, and reached up to brush the dark fringe of hair from his eyes. His hand was flapped away. "Jack, stop it!"

"Why? Afraid the sea birds'll blush?"

"No... it's just—unseemly."

Jack couldn't help it, he laughed until he thought he might fall off his perch. "Oh, Jamie, I need you, just as you are to keep me cheered."

"Glad to have been of service." Very dry voice. Face that looked, if anything, resigned. Jack couldn't resist, he leaned over and kissed it.

"There, a sign of my gratitude." He giggled again. "But, tell me—is kissing in the rigging an offence in the Navy?"

"Kissing anywhere,"—he emphasised the word by careful enunciation—"is an offence. Between two men, anyway."

Jack thought about it. "But it happens, so what? People just turn a blind eye?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes a strict captain will have the men flogged. Officers get demoted, or thrown out of the service."

"Nasty crime, loving someone."

"Vile."

"Is that why you asked Elizabeth to marry you?"

"Why, so I'd have someone to kiss?"

"So you'd not be tempted!"

"Oh. Maybe. More I think, that I wanted to love her. She is very beautiful. Though I think she rules poor Will with a rod of iron."

"Aye, not one to be gainsaid, our Lizzie." Jack pondered for a while, watching the waves dancing around the Pearl's bow. "What about your pretty officer, Gill, Gull, Gillie—"

"Gillette. Or you might mean Groves, who is, I believe, accounted the better looking."

"The one I got a little damp at the edges."

"Gillette."

"Him. He's not interested in women, surely?"

"No idea. I think he lives with his sister in Bermondsey. He's originally from the Welsh valleys though, so he could be interested in anything."

"Ah, sheep."

"So rumour hath it."

They both grinned. Jack considered. "Never fancied a sheep, meself. Nor anything with four legs."

"I should hope not!"

"Ah, that's not seemly either is it."

"Animals, children and Rookery whores,
They're immoral, illegal or give your dick sores."

"Nice rhyme, though I'm guessing it's not something' ye learnt in the officers' mess?"

"I like to think I can learn from the men." Norrington sat there looking virtuous.

"I try not to—or I'd probably know more about sheep than your lieutenant."

Norrington laughed, the sound soft, easy. Jack wondered at it, at him. As dreams went this was one of his better ones. Despite the nightmares that had slipped in along the way.

"James, show me your wrists."

"They are much better... " He sounded dryly resigned.

"Aye, or ye wouldn't be monkeying in the rigging, but show me?"

With a sigh, Norrington pushed his sleeves up and held out his arms, curled fingers up, as if presenting his wrists for chains. The marks were livid still, and though healing well the scars would be there always. It would be a long time before he was pain free, or adept at certain skills.

"I won't be fencing for a while."

"Nor doing any fine needlepoint."

"Ah, my favourite occupation, taken from me so callously!"

They exchanged a look, amusement and shared dark humour. Then Jack bent forward, and kissed the marred skin. He felt Norrington flinch slightly, but the wrists were kept still, and he brushed his lips against them gently, all around, before straightening.

They sat companionably for a long time, just being, hardly thinking. The sun lowered and the breeze lifted, until in fact they could have made sail and been on their way. They did nothing though, just watched from their eyrie as the world dipped around them, their bodies touching at thigh and shoulder, at knee and where their feet brushed together, the touches hardly more than accidental, yet at the same time deeply meant.

Glancing sideways, he saw that Norrington was staring out to sea. Jack thought he looked happy. It was a good feeling, just sitting watching him. A glance was thrown his way, and Jack smiled wryly and looked down the vertiginous drop to the deck and the sea. The wind was lifting again, and the calm water was stirring, the waves breaking here and there with tiny spumes of white. Close by, a fin broke the surface, and then a dolphin lifted from the sea, arching high before diving back into the water. Just the one, just the once. Jack peered at the water, wanting it to happen again. There, a high leap, the silver body twisting in the air before it slipped back into the depths. He'd never tire of seeing them. Dolphins, porpoises, even flying fish—creatures that skimmed and leapt and defied their element.

The sea broke again and the fish leapt high, flicking her tail as she laughed at the less able Pearl.

"What a saucy... " Jack shook his finger at the now empty water. "You shouldn't make fun of those less able!" A head popped up from the waves and stared curiously at the huge ship, at the man shouting at her from so high in the clouds.

"They almost seem human, sometimes." Norrington's voice was warmly amused. The creature swam backwards for a while, then with a sleek turn was gone. "Apparently the legends about mermaids came from when mariners first saw dolphins."

"Are you trying to tell me that mermaids aren't real?"

Norrington looked taken aback. "Well, yes."

"Bloody 'ell. You'll be telling me there are no sea monsters next! Come on." And he stood up, balanced lightly on the yardarm, and held his hand out.

"Where now, to see a sea monster?"

"Don't be daft, there's none around 'ere. We're going back down, o' course." He gripped Norrington's hand and carefully pulled him upright. They stood for a moment, easy with the deep sway and roll of the becalmed ship. "As I'm hungry."

"Hungry."

"Aye, and after a bite to eat, I'm taking you into my cabin, locking the door and then showing you exactly how inventive a pirate can be." He'd meant the words to be light, to keep the banter frivolous, but the look on James' face, the want he saw there, the need, it gave him hope and despair as one, and before he could think too deeply, he twisted to one side and slipped, hand over hand, down the ropes and was gone.

A man who seemed remarkably familiar. Surely not, but, taking into account the years that had gone by, the deeper wrinkles in the man's face and the darker red of his skin... "Mister Gibbs?" He knew he sounded incredulous, but he couldn't help it.

The man jumped as if bitten. "Aye, nice o' ye to remember me, Lieutenant."

"Gibbs, mind, 'es a commodore now," Jack interjected.

"Oh, that'll be it. Commodore."

"You're a pirate?" James still looked mildly stunned.

"Quick, very quick, don't ye think, Gibbs?"

"Aye, Cap'n. Good thing the Navy 'as such clever officers."

Piqued, Norrington straightened. "I'm sorry, but the last time I knew, you were being hauled off ship for being drunk whilst on watch."

"Maybe that's why he became a pirate?" Sparrow leant forward, peering at each of them. "Maybe?"

"Why, don't you care if your lookouts are so drunk they can't see their bottle let alone the horizon?" He was actually curious, and his words had no bite. Though he'd never understand how any pirate boat ever managed to set sail. Or catch anyone unwary. Except they'd done it to him. Which was something else he really didn't like to remember.

"No." Jack shrugged blithely.

Gibbs grinned toothily. "Cap'n Jack found me in Tortuga when 'e needed a crew."

"Found 'im in a pigsty." Jack winked. An image floated into Norrington's head that made him feel slightly queasy.

"Bucket o' water in the face an' a tale to make ye shiver o' nights."

Apologetically, Jack made a face. "We did need 'im."

"An' I came. Despite the omens... "

"What omens?" Norrington glanced between them.

"We've a woman on board." He squinted sideways, nodding in the direction of the quarter deck and AnaMaria. "An' now we've a Commodore. For all 'e don' quite look the part."

"Why am I bad luck?" Indignantly, Norrington tapped his own chest. "I'm not a bloody albatross!"

"Navy man on a pirate boat... "

"Ignore Gibbs, Jamie. He sees portents and signs in the way his dinner lands on his plate."

"Mock ye not, Cap'n, I knows." And with that cryptic comment he stalked off.

Norrington stared after him. "Mister Gibbs, well I never. He was a good sailor once."

"He still is."

"Though he never liked women much, I do recall that."

"Fond o' pigs though."

"Jack, please, you'll put me off my supper."

"Which I'm ready for." He smacked his lips cheerily.

"Incorrigible... "

"But very lovely." With a flutter of his eyelashes and with a swirling turn, he swaggered off towards the stairs.

Not that Norrington had been going to disagree. Not at all. He was already anticipating the evening. And the night. With a spring in his step he followed along, down into the lower decks and the crew's mess.

The room fell silent as he walked in. A man with a parrot on his shoulder stood up and, taking his tin plate with him, walked out. Two others just turned their backs and dug into the food. Everyone else just continued staring. Norrington felt Jack's eyes on him, but he didn't turn, just went to the huge pot of stew that stood to one side, and ladled himself a plateful. He slid onto a bench, smiling at nobody in particular. "Spoon?"

A tiny man reached into a box and passed him one.

"Thank you."

"Polite, ain't 'e?"

A voice from the other side of the room. Norrington took a bite of the food. It was surprisingly good. "This is excellent—compliments to the chef."

A murmur of voices seemed to concur that he was indeed polite. And apparently had good taste as well. Norrington was onto this third mouthful when Jack sat down next to him, flicking his beads out of the way as he dug into his meal.

Slowly, they all started chatting again. No one spoke to him, but then no one was rude, or even went particularly out of their way to ignore him. When he finished, and sat back, someone offered him an apple, which he accepted gracefully. Crunching his way through it, he caught Jack's amused eye, just as a hand slipped onto his thigh. He stilled. The hand crept higher.

"Right, lads, I'm off to do some work on the charts—anybody needs me? Ask AnaMaria."

Ah. Charts. Norrington swallowed the apple that somehow had turned dry in his mouth, and tossed the core onto his plate. Curiously, he wondered if he should just leave with Jack, or if he should wait. Surely it was no secret he was sharing the captain's bed? Which probably made him the captain's Ganymede. Or maybe just strumpet was a better word.

A tap on his shoulder and Jack motioned for him to stand.

No secrets then. He'd never been called a chart before. Glancing around, he noticed that no one seemed to be unduly upset. He smiled at them all. "Thank you for supper."

"No problem, mate." One man gave him a mocking salute. Another just took his plate away. Though when he stepped out of the door, and Jack closed it behind him, immediately there came the muffled sound of loud conversation.

"See? Knew they'd like you." Jack patted him on the shoulder and walked past.

"Like?"

"Aye. Phelps gave you 'is spoon instead of stabbing you with it."

"Thank you, I am so reassured."

"Thought you might be." He stopped just at the lowest step. "I'm going on deck, to make sure everything's nice and under control, how about you go to bed. 'Spect you need a lie down... "

Norrington came to stand close to him. "You know, I think I do. Very tiring, climbing the shrouds and eating good stew."

"Mmm, and I think I need to check you over—top to toe. For injuries, of course. All of you, every inch." But instead of smiling, he stood very still, then shivered once. When he spoke again his voice was low, threaded with desire. "Every inch, James."

As if in a tight closed room, the air was very hard to breath, like it was thickening around him. Norrington wondered at his hunger, it was something that tore at him, a need to touch, to have, to own. A hunger that was so clearly reflected in the other man's eyes that it was akin to staring in a mirror. And in answer to a question that was quite silent, he simply said, "Yes."

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