Fathoms 7

Twenty-six Answers

by

Manic Intent

"M'hope ye aren't goin' back on yer word, Jamie-luv," Jack said innocently, sauntering closer, savoring the moment. He wanted to frame it in his mind permanently—the moment of having finally cornered his Jamie in a position where he could take his time forging a memory that would brand itself on the other man as starkly as the 'P' scar on his own arm. There wasn't much room to maneuver in the room—plain wooden furniture: a dresser, a small desk pushed to one corner, two chairs, and a bed with cheap, but clean sheets, next to a window overlooking the jungle, partially covered by a curtain. Currently, his prize was slowly inching into the corner between the dresser and the wall, looking delightfully panicked, previous experiences with the supernatural and undead pirates notwithstanding.

"No, I won't," Norrington said indignantly, at the very idea, or attempted to - that pretty face was too etched in worry for that. "But..." He gasped as Jack sidled into his personal space, one hand palm down on the dresser, the other on the wall against his side, his own long fingers lightly grasping Jack's hips. "But... two days?"

"Two days, Jamie-luv," Jack smirked, obviously enjoying the ex-Commodore's discomfort. "Of complete disposin', m'recall."

"Actually," Norrington's voice was almost a warble as his shoulders pressed into the wall, "I wanted to... to talk to you." Another gasp as Jack pushed one knee up on the dresser, his other foot on tiptoe, such that he had a height advantage as he melded his lithe body against the other man. Norrington, however, continued gamely on, "Since we haven't actually had the opportunity..."

"What'd ye want t'talk about, then?" Jack breathed into Norrington's ear, nipping it as he began to rub himself against the warm body, rough fabric hissing against each other, the buttons on Norrington's shirt catching briefly in torn cloth. He pushed his other thigh insistently against long legs until they parted, then chuckled at the low moan marked by a tremble between them as he felt swelling heat against it. "Yer childhood? Mine? Me crew? The separation o' state an' religion?"

"What?" Pretty green eyes were unfocused as Norrington bucked a little against the pressure, and then chocolate brown tresses flickered against the tanning face as he shook his head quickly to clear his thoughts, but only managed to focus on the first suggestion. "Childhood. Yours." Spoken from behind gritted teeth, as Jack unbuttoned his shirt with practiced fingers, his tongue busy on the unmarked neck, teasing, tasting.

"Best ye be doin' th'speakin', mate," Jack laughed breathlessly as he drew back for a moment to push both shirt and coat off broad shoulders, letting it pool carelessly on the ground. "M' goin' t'be busy." He emphasized this by running a tongue from one muscled shoulder to the collar, tasting the salt and smoky spice that was so very Norrington, then gently bit down on taut flesh, making the other man flinch and mutter an oath. Jack held on to one shoulder with a hand, the other toying with the hem of Norrington's breeches.

Another flinch as he lowered his head to flick his tongue at one nipple, than the other, and a soft growl as he bit, then sucked at, skin just over one, teasing at the reddened mark with his tongue, ignoring hardening nubs. Jack glanced up mischievously to meet darkening green eyes, stormy with lust. And licked his lips. Then long fingers were fumbling at his coat, yanking it off more roughly than it deserved, pulling open and discarding the badly treated shirt, and all but pulled him bodily up and against Norrington. A growl, then a forcibly claimed kiss, as the stronger man reversed their positions, trapping Jack between him and the wall. The pirate let out a sharp gasp of laughter, wrapping his legs quickly around the narrow waist, one hand pressed up against the wall for support, the other stroking, then squeezing, a shoulder. "James...!"

"Tease," Norrington snarled, and bit down hard on his shoulder, making Jack hiss in pleasure and pain, and grind himself against the hardening bulge he could feel between his legs, despite the intervening fabric.

"Pot callin' th'kettle, mate," Jack managed to gasp, as Norrington lapped at the reddened mark as if in apology. "M' remember at least a couple o' times where ye left me out in th'cold, after makin' all manner... o' suggestive insinuations." A delighted yelp at a sudden buck underneath him, followed by a purr, leaning forward to run his tongue over the shell of an ear.

"And what's a man to do," Norrington growled, then cursed under his breath as he attempted the laces of Jack's breeches, "When his lover is absolutely obsessed with something else?" He pushed Jack's wrist firmly back against the wall when the pirate attempted to help him, cupping his heat briefly in both promise and warning. "In this case, a ship?"

"M' won't call it absolutely obsessed, Jamie-luv," Jack's voice hitched when the problem of the laces was solved, and his pants pulled down enough to free his length. Norrington was supporting his weight, pulling one knee over an arm, encouraging the other leg to rest on the dresser, spreading him, then shoved him against the wall again, the kiss possessive, passionate, if slightly clumsy in their position.

Jack managed, somehow, through the fog of want, to find the vial of oil he had surreptitiously 'borrowed' from the kitchen of the ship Tia in his breeches, crumpled as the fabric was between their bodies, and as they broke for air, he dangled it before Norrington's face, with a playful, toothy grin that needed no words. The other man laughed ruefully, recognizing its purpose, as he struggled with his own breeches. "Prepared, I see." Another curt oath, and Jack arched his back with a moan as he felt heat press insistently against the cleft of his rump, curling his nails into Norrington's shoulders.

His Jamie had somehow managed to juggle Jack, oil, and leg as he dribbled some oil on the fingers of his free hand, then took possession of Jack's lips again, this time gentler, more leisurely. Jack groaned into the wet mouth as he felt himself lifted slightly, an oiled finger probing his entrance and slipping in, hesitantly stroking, exploring. The whimpers and soft yelps from the pirate seemed to encourage Norrington, who added another deliciously long finger, inexpertly scissoring them, then inadvertently rubbing against the sweet spot within Jack that made him throw his head back against the wall and let out a sharp cry. "James!"

Not having much leverage to push himself down, Jack resorted to demands, when Norrington's only response seemed to be mere continuation of the slow exploration of his passage. "Jamie. More. Now."

"Spoiled," Norrington chided him, though the heaving chest and the occasional hitching moan gave lie to his self-control. He obliged him, however, stroking the spot again, making Jack writhe in his grasp and rake his back with his nails, flushed shaft between them forgotten. A third finger was enough to make the pirate have to stifle a scream by muffling it in a bite on broad shoulders.

Jack forced his brain into some semblance of coherency, gasping, "Jamie. I need ye now... Jamie. Inside. Now."

"Try 'please', Jack," Norrington said, wickedly playful, but fingers withdrew. More oil, and they disappeared beneath Jack again. The back of a wrist against his rump informed Jack's overloading mind that oil was indeed being applied to the correct organ in question.

"Don't want to," Jack informed him, as firmly as he could when more than half-naked before the other man and pinned between the lean body and the wall, his legs spread and his breeches pushed up between their bellies. And he growled as he felt a finger tracing his entrance. "Jamie. Now."

Norrington smirked, and Jack all but howled in frustration. "You're being very loud, Jack."

"Awlright, awlright!" A whimper, a muttered curse, a groan, then, sulkily, "Please."

Green eyes that had just been smoldering with heat now seemed to burn into his, and Jack moaned a string of foul gutter oaths as the slicked length entered him slowly, stretching him, the sweet burn alleviated by the oil. Trapped, it seemed like eternity before he was filled to the hilt, his own shaft weeping against his belly.

"Oh God, Jack," Norrington breathed, his guiding hand now pressed against the wall next to Jack's head. Muscles rippled under skin made velvet with sweat in the dimming sunlight, as he fought for control. Another irreverent sigh. "Incredible."

"Move, man!" Jack clawed impatiently at lighter skin, clenching his muscles tight to make Norrington issue a startled hiss of pleasure. "Now, now!"

He had been half afraid that Norrington would waste more time trying to get him to beg, again, but Jack needn't have worried—the lean body shifted for balance, then the pirate found himself being thoroughly pounded into the wall, his gasps and cries hitching when Norrington managed to angle to hit that spot, boot scrabbling on the dresser helplessly as his knee was pulled higher, deepening the thrusts. He gripped one shoulder, white-knuckled, his other hand slipping down again to pull at himself in time to the savage rhythm that their bodies forged between them. Splinters in his back, harsh growls from Norrington, and yelping cries that could only have come from his own throat, a shuddered groan and a wordless exclamation, and there was white heat between them, within him.

Time stilled, but only fleetingly, and Jack let out a purr as Norrington gently pulled out and lowered him down onto his feet. The scent of sex around them as they unhurriedly removed their remaining clothing, and by wordless agreement retired to the bed. Jack found himself gently but firmly pushed onto his front, as Norrington surveyed the damage done to his back.

"Sorry," Not exactly repentant, his Jamie. Jack hissed as long fingers plucked out the first tiny splinter, and then moaned as lips brushed it in apology. The process was repeated until all offending bits of wood were discarded, and his back soundly explored with brushing lips, until Jack grew impatient and tugged Norrington back down to him.

"O' what?" Jack yawned. Sated for the night, and planning the next day's method of attack. The sheets were half pulled up their waists, stained with exertion. Stacked plates at the door—Norrington had insisted they stop the 'shameless debauchery' for dinner, lest they collapse from hunger, and to Jack's amusement had absolutely refused to do anything regarding the other sort of hunger and the food provided. Had, in fact, lectured him briefly on common propriety, despite looking so delightfully rumpled (and shamelessly debauched).

"Your childhood, Jack. Everything about you. I want to know." Norrington was rubbing his abdomen, lulling him to sleep as he would a cat. "Where you grew up. Who your parents were."

"That 'ardly defines a man, Jamie-luv," Jack replied, pouting slightly, wondering what exactly it was that made people so curious about himself. "Why not ye get some sleep? Ye might need it tomorrow."

"I suppose you're right." A pause in the petting, then at the rumbled growl of protest, the fingers continued their stroking. "But I'd still like to know."

"Well, if ye believe th'word on th'street, me ma was a Spanish Princess, an' me da' a Prince of Araby, an', y'see, they went an' 'ad me on th'back o' an elephant, on' a royal 'untin' trip in Africa," Jack replied, smirking into the sheets as he felt Norrington let out a sigh that ruffled his hair.

"I don't believe that."

"An' yer right not to, 'tis all fancy fabricatin'. Y'see, t'aint an elephant, but t'was a camel."

Norrington groaned, exasperated. "Why did I even bother to ask?"

"Why indeed?" Jack snickered. "But ye 'ave th'dubious honor o' addressin' an illegitimate Prince o' Spain an' Araby. Right rock Windsor Castle, it will, if old Jack's found out. Ye can call me 'yer Highness' in private."

A wordless grumble, then a reproachful nip at the back of his neck. "What will it take to get the truth from you?"

"M'don't see why it's so important, Jamie-luv," Jack poked one of the arms encircling him. "Ye don't see me askin' about yer personal life."

"You're not curious?"

"Y'see, Jamie-luv, th'difference between us, ye asks fer things, and m'steals things. So ye be askin' Jack th'manner and the 'ow of his birth, but he already be knowin' th'manner and 'ow o' yers, what wi' yer Navy keepin' such scrupulous records, an' all." Another satisfied smirk. "Though m'curious 'ow the second son o' one o' th'pillars o' the East India Company chose t' enter t'Navy, 'stead o' followin' in his father's an' brother's footsteps, an' in such a far off post as Port Royal."

There was a stunned silence, then a wry chuckle. "Far enough for my name to mean nothing, compared to rank and skill, Jack."

"An' likely as anythin' ye didn't like tradin', ye liked blowin' ships up an' crossin' swords fer yer life wi' pirates and scallywags."

"Protecting others instead of filling my own coffers, yes," Norrington corrected dryly. "Trafficking in human lives, profiting at the expense of smaller traders, introducing diseases to natives, no."

"M'like me version better," Jack informed him, "'Cos this 'protectin' others' an' all th'talk o' duty, must make ye pretty lonely at night, mate."

Tension, then it seemed to flow out with another wry chuckle. "And you're suggesting that shooting holes in other ships and hanging pirates doesn't?"

"'leastways it sounds more interestin'."

A snort, then, as Jack knew Norrington would, another question. "How did you steal that information?"

"Sometimes m'likes t'waylay ships that m'knows holds all manner o' dispatches an' interestin' papers," Jack decided it didn't really matter if he told some of the truth. "'Tis a smart pirate who gets it in 'is business t'know, fer example, th'rising price o' coffee in th' East Indies. T'aint good t'call attention just robbin' any old merchant ship ye see on th'water, an' booty 'as t'be sold. An' o'course, sometimes these ships 'ave interestin' papers about th'famed Pirate Hunter. Makes fer good readin'."

A started laugh. "Jack Sparrow. Each time I think you can't do it any longer, you surprise me even more."

"One 'as t'occupy oneself somehow when not bein' chased by pretty Commodores, love."

"You still haven't answered my questions." Another nip. As stubborn as a bulldog, was his Jamie.

"M'not goin' to. So there. But t'make up fer it... did ye ever 'ear 'bout th'time I got meself into a pinch over in..."

"It's probably something mundane. Your childhood." Jack half-turned to see the faint outline of a smirk, limed in lamplight from the streets, where the revelry was in full swing. "That's why you don't want to tell me. Perhaps your father was a fisherman and your mother was a washerwoman, with you one of a large horde of unwashed children, and you left for the sea by pure accident. Fell into a crate and got stowed aboard, perhaps. It wouldn't do for the past of the likes of the great Captain Jack Sparrow."

Norrington was closer to the truth than he'd thought, but Jack elected not to tell him, instead grinning impishly as he ran fingers lightly up an arm. "M'wouldn't know. Mebbe the life o' a washerwoman is full o' high 'jinks an' adventure."

"However I'd discount that as unlikely, having seen how you sign your name and how you can read, know and pronounce difficult words. And those long, rambling sentences you use to try and throw people off your point are too complicated linguistically for someone who spent their childhood uneducated."

"M'could 'ave been self-educated, Jamie-luv," Jack suggested playfully, fascinated despite himself at the analysis. "Could be I picked up all th'high falutin' words from Barbossa, who left fer a life o' piratin' an educated man, an' him bein' me first mate fer many a year."

"Elizabeth also informed me that while drunk on the island with her and, apparently, while teaching each other all manner of drinking songs, you made references to sirens, beeswax and Odysseus."

"Ye asked 'er 'bout me?"

"Yes. As did her father. As did young Mr. Turner, and likely every socialite on Port Royal." A deep sigh. "You happen to be somewhat of a celebrity in these parts." A pause. "Do restrain your ego."

Jack was actually more interested in the admission that Norrington had in fact asked about him. He wondered how, and when—things has likely been complicated back in Port Royal, what with the breaking off of his engagement and the following announcement of Elizabeth and William's. Jack remembered, slightly guiltily, having received word of it when docking in Tortuga for resupply, and even a slightly battered gold-edged RSVP to the engagement party. He'd fully intended to go along, or at least send a present, but then he and his Pearl had stumbled on the Dauntless in open water, all by her ownsies, and he'd promptly forgotten about it afterwards, what with forcing a playful chase that turned serious, the hurricane and the later business with Anamaria, then Davy Jones.

Serving himself. Taking the Dauntless out on a jaunt, perhaps with some hastily tacked-on official excuse, instead of attending the engagement party of the woman he'd loved and reliving the moments of heartache, the humiliation of having to congratulate her on her upcoming marriage with Turner, the man he'd been manipulated into saving. Then engaging in some pirate hunting that had gone too far. Yes, that sounded about right. Even his Pearl seemed to feel slightly guilty about their involvement (which was—firing on the Dauntless, but purposefully making sure the shots fell short, then allowing it to give chase, but not flying at her best speed over the waves to cut it too short, both captain and ship laughing, wild and madcap in their freedom, up until stormy clouds heralded disaster for any ship slower than his Pearl. But he'd been so sure that Norrington would turn back—such that he hadn't even gone back after the sea had vented its fury to check. It seemed heartache over Elizabeth had once again caused an irrational decision.).

"You're quiet again," Norrington poked him in the side.

"M'sleepy," Jack said petulantly, provoking a quiet laugh.

"All right, Jack." Arms settled him more comfortably against the warm chest, breathing slowed, and Jack was left to his thoughts.

Norrington was amused to realize that Jack liked it rough, gentle, on his back, on his knees, on top, on his side, any way the other man wished to try their play, it didn't appear to matter, wanton, unashamed, unfettered. Free.

Jack saw that Norrington had limits—nothing to do with toes, nothing to do with tongues anywhere near his rump. Any attempts and there'd be a rough, warning growl, and Jack would be pinned, on his back, and scolded in a voice husky from sex. After the third time, the man had simply run out of words. No, just no.

Norrington wondered how old Jack was, and had been treated with a characteristically enigmatic and convoluted answer—older than ye t'knows more, younger than ye wot 'as fun more. Further attempts at persuasion, and even disclosing his own age, had been met with a smirk and a terribly distracting roll of slighter hips against his own.

Jack was pleasantly surprised as it dawned on him that 'complete disposal' and Norrington's given word were not figures of speech after all, despite the other man's muttered protestations as the day drew on that normal people should have nigh collapsed from exhaustion by now.

Norrington noticed a definite tremble in his arms as he held himself on his elbows above a writhing, keening pirate who either seemed to have untold stores of energy or was taking a loan from his future self. The same thing, admittedly. Or perhaps not. His mind quit considering the issue when muscles clenched beneath him.

Jack managed to maneuver Norrington up against a bedpost and tie fine-boned wrists to it with the tasseled rope that held back the curtain, shuttering out the sun. A smirk at the worried expression, as he proceeded to absolutely undo the other man, tongues, teeth, fingers.

Norrington was sure the apprehension was written all over his features as oiled fingers probed him, gentle, reassuring words he could not catch murmured into his ear, a hand stroking his side to soothe him. He tugged at his bindings and tried to speak, and then a cry was torn from his raw throat as nimble fingers found a certain spot within him. Jack laughed.

Jack wasn't sure that Norrington would have agreed to being fucked if he hadn't been tied up (even with all those pretty words about disposin'), but he was glad he had thought of doing it. He tried to decide what he liked more, the sucking heat, the broken, pleading whimpers, or the tremor and helpless, uncontrollable bucking.

Norrington found himself unable to speak after completion, unable even to hide the stunned look on his face with his habitual smirk, unable to object to Jack's entirely self-satisfied grin. And then unable to make his mind process the sight of fingers swiped through his essence and lazily licked clean.

Jack had only just untied Norrington when he was pinned on his front, and the tasseled rope used to bind his wrists with a seaman's knots. He'd been expecting that, even encouraging it, which was why he'd let the dusty ends dangle so temptingly in front of Norrington's nose, but he still gave the semblance of struggle when teeth nipped at the soft underside of his elbow.

Norrington found himself mildly appalled at Jack's salacious suggestions, as he mapped the pirate's back with lips and tongue. He'd merely laughed; wincing as it hurt his throat, which had made Jack pout most prettily. Already beyond tired, it seemed natural to do it slow, tender. Making love.

Jack had withstood about a minute of butterfly kisses over his shoulders and the careful thrusts before demanding that Norrington release his hands. He wasn't obliged, and his begging was summarily dismissed. The heartbreaking tenderness was too much to handle, and he sank teeth into the pillows, muffling his moans.

Norrington knew he didn't have much left to give, if at all, when afterward he undid the knots, his fingers slipping as they shook with weariness. Slumped on the bed, he was surprised Jack was silent, and pulled him close, nuzzling sweat-soaked hair, questioning.

Jack was thinking again, a most damnable thing to be doing when there wasn't much time left, but he was tired, so tired, of not having what he wanted. A half turn, and there were kisses, swollen lips.

Norrington was grateful that kissing was all Jack was content on doing at the moment, unsure that he was able to do much else. His mind filtered in the few sounds of Tortuga in its sleepy hours, and he wished vaguely that he didn't have to leave in a day. There was too much Jack.

Jack wanted to speak but his throat threatened to mutiny, and he lay back instead, memorizing Norrington's half-curled frame with kohl-rimmed eyes slightly glassy from weariness. A joke now, about Navy officers and repression, would have been so Sparrow, but it wouldn't have been much Jack.

Norrington finally pulled himself to Jack, who rolled on his back, allowing the taller man to pillow his head on a nut-brown chest, take in the scars and the row of ribs with half-lidded eyes, and wish that he could give this man a better life and still make him happy.

Jack listened as his Pearl abruptly sang to him, that she was coming for him. Perhaps just yesterday morning he would have immediately run back to sea to wait for his love. Now he simply felt tired. Joyful, but tired. No, not even fully joyful, there was sadness there. He hoped she understood—she did.

Norrington was watching Jack's face, took in the faraway, absent-minded unfocused expression, the soft half-smile, and knew that he was somehow, unbelievably, communicating with his ship. Time was almost up. He was glad now that he had given himself, given them, two days. Even if he'd ultimately lost to a pirate galleon. Too tired to be bitter.

Jack found himself in the unenviable position of being scolded by his Pearl as well as trying to kiss a suddenly uncooperative Norrington under her behest. Tickles, pleas, pokes and pouts hadn't worked. His Pearl was deeply unimpressed, but he refused to accept suggestions from a ship.

Norrington decided, finally, that there was really no point in closing this chapter of his life on a sour note, and relented. Jack's relief soothed his pride, somewhat, and he noticed that the pirate was careful to hide his expression whenever his mind wasn't focused on his lover. Lovers. But not partners. He'd been the one to suggest they had better be getting back to Tia.

Jack managed to hide how grateful he was for that suggestion, having been unable to come up with a way to put it forward gently without making it seem as though he was indeed absolutely obsessed with his Pearl. It merited an 'obsessed', but not an 'absolutely', in his opinion.

The innkeeper was greatly relieved to see the backs of the two men, all but staggering out into the street. They'd made enough noise to wake the dead, and business hadn't been picking up. He made a mental note to charge Jack Sparrow double the next time he brought lovers to the Dancing Rooster, and wondered which maid would have to have the bad luck of cleaning up after them.

Jack and Norrington had only just managed to walk out onto the main street, before a lady of the night, dressed for shopping, had marched up to Jack, demanded to know who Norrington was, slapped the pirate before he could answer, and flounced off.

Norrington laughed. It had only seemed fitting.

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