Moves & Motion, Part 8

Causing a Commotion

by

Rispa Cooper

James rolled onto his side and made a rough noise in his throat as he tried, again, to not recall just how many times he had changed his position in attempt to sleep. His mind told him anyway—seven already tonight—and grit his teeth though he might, his brain continued to tally that his sleepless efforts for the whole week—forty total at least—an eternity of turning in search of rest.

And of course, neither would his mind allow him to forget that the weather had been fine and fair every night but this one. That fact was as present in his mind now as the beastly itching of sweat along his back, the tightening of his skin with every faint breeze that made its way into his bedroom to tease him, softly caressing the thin linen of his nightshirt, begging him to toss even that aside as he had his sheets.

If he turned he would see the pale white jumble of them on the floor, and possibly a hint of the moon outside, just beyond his view.

Resolutely, James stayed where he was and squeezed his eyes shut, focusing his thoughts on the papers on his desk awaiting his signature in the morning, the plans for a new ship to replace the Interceptor that had to be approved, and the tea at the Governor's mansion tomorrow afternoon that required he look well-rested and in control.

There seemed to be no wind at all, and yet the waves were growing stronger, crashing relentlessly into the rocks and cliffs around the harbor, dark fingers creeping up the beaches toward land. There would be only traces of silver as the moon broke through the clouds to reveal the sea's beauty. He had lingered to watch the sight before retiring to bed, standing at the window only half-dressed with one hand outstretched, hoping for the first spray of rain. If he turned now, he might behold the sight again, catch the first golden flash as the storm broke.

Tea. Norrington snorted but held onto the thought nonetheless. He was to have tea. And the Turners would likely be there to help plan the Governor's next ball, with all sorts of questions that no one else would dare to ask him. No doubt lonely and missing a certain pirate, insanely curious about each and every thing the man had been up to in the past month, in the past week, since James had last seen him standing alone in Tortuga, laying a riot to rest with no more effort than it had taken to capture a ship of the fleet.

And how was he to answer them? If his body had not already been stinging and hot from the heat than he might have blushed, the pooling of blood in his groin expected and far too familiar. If he were still tied to that damned bed it would have been the same, easier perhaps, for now his hands were free to do as he wished.

His fingers curled into the pillow, his hand so close it would be simple enough to swipe his tongue across his dry palm before lifting his shirt, pretend the damp pressure of his grip belonged to someone else.

To a liar. And a cheat. And a bloody pirate.

One who, it seemed, had finally given up and left him alone, just as he had wanted from the start. Norrington frowned and left his body to ache, need shuddering through him with every throb of his pulse, his flesh burning in a way that had little to do with the weather, or even the ghost touches across his stomach.

Jack Sparrow. The man had started this and then left him alone. Some diabolical form of revenge or just madness, and James would have risen to get a drink if he had not known that Jack—Sparrow—would so gladly approve of such a remedy. The man would likely even scowl to see Norrington resist the temptation, and then, just as easily, guess the reason why, damn him.

If the remedy had not worked for Elizabeth Swann then it would not work for Jack Sparrow.

It was the intense heat no doubt, that made him shiver, and James swallowed to ease the tightness in his throat since he was to have no brandy and certainly no rum. No matter how badly he needed the sleep, he was not touching liquor again after the results on Tortuga. Even if it seemed like he had not slept since that night, wrapped—so it appeared—in Sparrow's arms.

Jack, his mind corrected him, and Norrington clenched his teeth. Jack who had left him first, he reminded himself, and had not been seen or heard from since.

The sound of a sigh made him go still, the wind picking up outside at last. It caught on his shutters, scratching against his windowsill, and he would have gotten to his knees with a thankful prayer for the rain that would follow if the wind had not then vowed revenge on his garden and then insulted its parentage in a rough whisper.

If his fitful, sleepless nights had not ended in just such a delusion that morning he might have turned around quicker than he did. As it was he froze for a moment, his heart pounding so loudly it nearly drowned out the somewhat inelegant thud of someone crawling in through his window and not quite landing on his feet.

Norrington sat up just in time to see a slim, shadowy figure straighten, his form outlined by the moonlight behind him even if his dress was unfamiliar. The long, dark robes seemed fitting in the black of night, but the wide, round hat stopped James from reaching for his pistol, and he narrowed his eyes as the hat was removed and swept to the side, exposing Jack Sparrow's wicked, glinting smile.

He let out one careful breath, and the smile left the other man's face, making him wonder if he was frowning. He ought to be frowning, glaring if he could not get up to throw the pirate out. Or he could tell the man to leave, as no one else would consider an opened window an invitation, in fact no one else would even had dared to hope otherwise. But then, perhaps that was why he had left it open.

The realization made him scowl, and he opened his mouth to breathe when his thoughts began to make him dizzy, surprised to hear himself speaking.

"Jack..." the one word was all he managed, his voice stern, but that was all Jack had needed it seemed, and it was only years of leadership in times of crisis that allowed him to stay motionless as Jack Sparrow slipped across the room and climbed onto his bed. Beringed hands were on his face a moment later as Sparrow knelt over him, preventing him from moving, he supposed. Or perhaps not, for there was no force in Sparrow's hands at all, they lay still and warm along his jaw as Jack frowned at him.

"I know, love." Jack Sparrow told him with eyes that did not dart around looking for any exits, his expression so serious that it took James a moment to reflect on his words. He parted his lips to speak, knowing he ought to inquire on just what, exactly, Jack thought he knew. That was as far as he got before Sparrow leaned in further, his pose very like what it had been all those weeks ago, bent over his lap in a tavern for all the world to see. And Norrington went as still as though there were still other officers just yards from them, as though he still had no clue as to Sparrow's intentions and believed Sparrow would act according to reason.

But he had thought Jack Sparrow trifling with him, had thought it out carefully, forgetting the whole time that this was Captain Jack Sparrow intent on kissing him, and that this—whatever one might name it—had nothing to do with reason. He had had no time to think on what Jack might have done then if they had been alone. Alone as they were now.

There was no one else, and would not be. There were no ropes to hold him here. There was in fact, nothing but his stripped bed and the storm outside his window.

"I..." he began and stopped to try to breathe, his chest tight as he tried to think of what he ought to do.

"I know," Jack said again, slicing cleanly through his thoughts, his voice surprisingly firm, as warm and determined as the hands sliding down to James' shoulders, disturbing the fabric of his shirt to expose his skin. He was shivering so hard that Sparrow had to see, and he would have glanced away if Jack's gaze had allowed it. "It's all right, love." Jack spoke forcefully, a low rumble near his cheek, and then pressed his mouth to the same spot. "Jus' leave it to Jack."

There was a definite promise in that, and James blinked rapidly, his mouth falling open when Sparrow continued to press kisses to his neck, dropping his head to suck gently along his collarbone. Just as in Tortuga, the man seemed to have a fixed interest in his neck, dragging his tongue along every bit of skin he could find, and James dropped his head back against the headboard when Sparrow's teeth pulled at his earlobe. He arched back up a moment later, gasping at the feel of what had to be those teeth now nibbling on his skin, wondering if he were perhaps still tied to that bed in Tortuga after all and had dreamt being free.

Jack's hands moved downward without pausing, as quick as James might have imagined on other nights like this, hot on the outside of his thighs as he gathered bunches of the fabric, yanking up the bottom of Norrington's shirt before James could do more than raise his arms. His hands came to rest on Jack's shoulders, the cloth of his strange attire rough against his palms, and on their own his fingers crept to Jack's hair, seizing handfuls as Jack shifted.

"It's all right." A trace of irritation was audible in Jack's voice now, leaving Norrington to wonder if his grip was too tight, if this were not a dream after all. Nevertheless he kept his hands where they were, frowning at Jack when Jack glanced up at him, short of breath and flushed.

"Wh... what are you doing, Jack?" It should have been a demand, would have been if he had not stuttered and whispered, sounding foolish enough that he ought to have blushed. At least he had not asked why Jack was there, he had learned that much. Perhaps he was blushing, the heat in his face nothing to the stinging of his flesh elsewhere, a burning underneath Jack Sparrow's hands as though James had stood out in the sun too long. Those hands were still gracefully at work, pushing away his shirt inch by careful inch, and if Sparrow thought him oblivious to that he was mistaken.

Yet he did not stop them, and possibly for that Jack was grinning, his lips red and curving softly, as beguiling as the words they shaped.

"Giving a good man what he deserves." Jack ducked his head before speaking, giving no hint of what he meant by the remark, giving Norrington had no time at all to think before Jack's fingers slid under his shirt to his chest. They splayed out over him, hot, insistent as they pushed his shirt up and away until it reached his shoulders.

His mouth was dry suddenly, so dry he could not manage anything other than a cough, and he wondered how he ever thought the night too warm. His bared stomach was quivering under Jack Sparrow's gaze, and the rest of him... There was no hiding how the rest of him felt and it was not unexpected at all to hear the hum of pleasure from Jack's throat, or that it had the sound of their song. It was only when Jack bent to press his mouth near his navel that Norrington gave a start of surprise, feeling the rumble of it straight down to his cock.

"Sparrow..." Vaguely, he heard the sound of the thunder outside that masked some of the cry and he clamped his jaw shut too late, twisting strands of beads and hair around his fingers when Jack only squirmed and wriggled. He was moving backwards, moving away, and James shuddered at the cold, the loss across his lap, releasing Jack's hair only to find his hands once more at Jack's shoulders.

He feared he was gripping too strongly, and licked his lips, bending awkwardly to try to see Jack's face. "Jack, please..." This was not bargaining. Indeed his mind would not even tell him what he was asking for—begging for, if he were being honest—but Jack stopped and sat up and James caught the flash of a familiar, pleased smile before Jack Sparrow was swooping in, pushing him back with the force of his kiss. Norrington was against the bed before he could do more than part his lips, feeling Jack Sparrow's hands caress his throat as he swallowed, letting Jack Sparrow's tongue have its way in his mouth. He said something, or tied to, moaning when Jack did not soften his strange, fierce kiss, when he realized that he did not wish him to.

They had done this before, he remembered that much of Tortuga, and put a hand to the back of Jack's head, urging him closer, twisting and thrusting his body upward with every pounding beat of his heart. He had been lying alone and hard in this bed with thoughts of Jack, and now here Jack was, dream or not, and he wanted... he wanted...

As abruptly as he had started, Jack tore himself away, scowling quite seriously for a man with lips wet and fat from kissing him. James frowned back at him, habit as well as frustration making it easy to do, and then he shifted, carefully, underneath Jack, granting their bodies the briefest touch. His breath was coming too fast, and he could not relax his grip on Jack's shoulders. He felt overheated and dizzy from just that and took a deep breath; trying to recall what it was they were negotiating for now, if they were negotiating at all... if... if he could somehow bring Jack down to him.

"Can't just lay back, can you, Commodore?" Jack huffed at him, shaking his head as well as one finger, "Ye just have to tempt a man from his plans, don't you?" As angry as his voice made him sound, there was no disguising the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Norrington lowered his head and stared, trying to think of anything other than the body inching back from him. He shivered, and the action caused his shirt to fall partly back down his chest.

His flesh felt hot and tight, and he closed his eyes at just the feel of the fabric, Jack's breath just as soft, damp at his stomach, across his hip.

"Plans?" he asked thickly, trying to follow Jack's words, and then sat up at a painful angle, his hands splaying out across Jack's back and then drawing back to clutch at his tangled mess of hair. It was like silk on his palms, and he clung to it, pushing up from the bed into the hot suction of Jack's mouth. Jack Sparrow's mouth.

"This isn't..." He started to speak and choked on his words, his mind spinning at the textured feel of Jack's tongue curled around his prick, sliding so firm under the head it was like his own thumb coaxing fluid to ease his strokes. The man drank it as though it were his rum, and Norrington shut his eyes tight at the memory of how Jack had guzzled the liquor from that bottle, the tight lock of his lips, his throat working as he had swallowed. He had burned in that alley as he did now, his cock throbbing in response, and he looked down, seeing his hands pressing Jack there, his hips thrusting up quickly, pushing him further into Jack's mouth.

His face was so hot he could feel it even with the heat across his whole body, the ache at his back that grew sharper with every dip of Jack's head. Jack seemed to have no interest in stopping, and for all that his hands were free now, Norrington could not do anything but continue to cradle Jack's skull, his fingers curling into the waves of Jack's hair. It was madness, and yet he did not wish it to end, and perhaps it was that very same madness that made Jack do this.

He turned wide eyes to the window and then forgot about the storm altogether as Jack hummed deep in his throat, sending pleasure shooting up James' spine and then echoing back down to his groin. James threw his head back and hit the headboard, unaware of any pain as the startled groan slipped from him. And it seemed, somehow, that he had been here before, or had never stopped dreaming it.

"I..." He needed to speak, wanted to say something other than mindless gibberish, and Jack brought a hand to his prick, surrounding the shaft with heat before he squeezed. He was so tight, hard, and James shook his head, panting loudly into the air between them.

"Jack..." he tried again, saying the one word still clear in his mind, then jerked up when Jack's head dipped until his lips met the top of his hand, pushing himself past Jack's lips into his throat as Jack seemed to want him to. But it wasn't anger burning white hot behind his eyes, making his face sting, and it was shaming how very little he wanted to fight. His blood hammered in his ears, throbbing fast around Jack's moving hand, and Norrington shut his eyes to the storm and gasped when Jack's mouth slid back to close tightly around the head of his cock.

For a fraction of a moment Jack's tongue swirled around the wet slit, his hum as low and content as a cat's purring, and then he...

"Jack!" His shout could likely be heard in Tortuga, storm or not, but Norrington had no time to bit his lip to hold back anything else, crying out again at the rough, slick feel of Jack's tongue, his hand working fast, determined. James felt his breathing catch, his back arch up. The length of Jack's hair was sliding under his damp palms, the beads catching on his raw flesh, reminders of the pirate he was with, the good man.

His voice was hoarse from Jack's name and still he called it out, his mind lost to all else as he felt his seed burst from him, his heart thundering as he collapsed back against the headboard.

He knew his mouth was open, gaping as he tried to catch his breath, and left it that way, unconcerned for the moment with his appearance for all that he knew dark eyes were watching him.

Jack Sparrow had just sucked his cock. That thought stood alone in his mind, as large and splashed with colour as a flag hanging from a fort's gray walls. In a moment, when he could feel something other than the last few tingling swipes of Sparrow's tongue across his prick, he might be able to pull himself upright, and ask why Jack had done it. As it was, he dropped his brows into a frown, blinking in a far too dazed manner at the pirate grinning back at him.

He had spilled his seed into that grinning mouth. And Lord save him, the thought was enough to make his already heated skin itch. His hands had fallen to the bed beside him, though he could not remember when, and he considered asking Jack. If he was not certain the reply would be even more embarrassing than his current position—sprawled naked beneath the crouched man who had just pleasured him as well as any doxy—he might have.

"So, that's what it takes to get yer mind to quit workin', Commodore..."

The way in which Jack used his tongue to lick any traces from his lips bordered on obscene, Norrington decided, and would present a serious problem in the future as he could not seem to look anywhere else.

"...Or at least your mouth," Jack added after a pause, almost thoughtfully. "That's interesting."

The quiet ruminations held more than a hint of future plots in them, and habit had James moving to sit up straighter at last—as much as he could with Jack still kneeling over his legs. A sharp glance into Jack's eyes showed him nothing but Jack's evident pleasure in studying him, and though he should not have been able to, Norrington felt his cheeks grow red with a blush, and looked down.

That, of course, granted him an exceptionally close view of Jack's hand, moving slowly back and forth over the hard outline in Jack's trousers. The sleeve of his black robe did not fully cover his arm, and James could see the branding, as well as part of the Sparrow tattoo, and imagined the muscles shifting underneath the markings as Jack's fingers traced the length of Jack's cock.

James swallowed carefully. This was not a dream at all. In no dream had he ever thought what he was thinking now.

He had never seen Jack naked, for all that Jack had seen him. A situation that was hardly fair, and James blinked, looking quickly back to Jack's face, flushed above the thin white collar of his robe. He blinked again to notice that, wondering just how he had not noticed before, then realizing exactly how, or rather why, with a short cough.

...Impersonating a cleric of the Church of England... Even distracted by Elizabeth, James had taken note of the sheer volume of charges Sparrow had earned in a lifetime of piracy. Odd then, in that incredible list of charges, there had been no mention of anything like this. He wished now there had been. It might have given him some clue as to Jack's intentions.

The soft tsk from Jack made him lift an eyebrow—and his gaze—and Jack bowed his head in acknowledgment without ever ceasing the slow movement of his hand.

"Back already, mate?" He seemed almost disappointed.

James cleared his throat and fought the urge to grab anything within reach and cover himself. It was far too late now and he had already made a fool of himself this evening. At least the shadows would hide some of his blushes, even if his body remained so exposed.

"You were sure of your welcome, Sparrow." His words rang out as loudly as clashing swords, startling when the only other sounds were the rushing of his heart in his ears and Jack's quick, soft breaths above him. The attack had slipped out easily, as easily as the last time they had spoken, and James nearly dropped his head. The shame at least cooled his overheated skin, his tongue too thick suddenly to allow any more speech.

Jack's noisy sigh would have expressed what even his rolled eyes did not, and Norrington felt his frown slipping back into place at Sparrow's open exasperation.

"Ye know as well as I do, Commodore, that you invited me." Jack leaned his head to one side, his grin slashing crookedly in the opposite direction. From his momentary stillness it was clear that he expected James to deny it, and James considered back at him, his eyebrows raised.

He could of course, remember his last words as well as anyone else, even lunatic pirates. But to mention those would be to also ask why exactly Jack had chosen this night to... fulfill his earlier promises. And doubtless Sparrow would say he had invited that too, that somehow he had been asking for... this by—of all things—calling Jack a wretched man back on the docks of Tortuga.

James looked away from Jack to stare out the window, listening to the patter of rain on his roof tiles and determinedly ignoring Jack's pathetic little sigh, the shifting at the edge of his vision that meant Sparrow's hand was still in motion. The man who would have likely rubbed a hole into his thigh back on that bed in Tortuga was certainly not going to stop fondling himself for a conversation, no matter how important. Indeed, experience guaranteed that only the Black Pearl herself could make him do that.

Norrington did not bother to hide his small smile to see that the little black ship was not currently floating in the bay outside his window.

He turned back to Jack with narrowed eyes, so abruptly that Jack momentarily stopped his hand, regarding James with frowning curiosity, his head tipped back.

Dark, heavy-lidded eyes dropped to his mouth a moment later, and James' smirk fell away at his quiet gasp, one hot rush of breath drying out his lips. And he knew, with a certainty that a Commodore should not have had about the actions of a pirate, that if he darted out his tongue to wet his suddenly parched mouth, that Sparrow would suggest some other use for it. Just as he knew that he might agree.

His shiver had nothing to do with the weather.

It had been many years since Norrington had been a lonely, naive sailor, but he could not allow himself to forget that they had not yet settled on terms. Jack had not yet found his satisfaction. And neither, he realized, had he.

"There's to be no peace for me then?" The tightness in his stomach might have meant anything, just as the rapid, uneven beat in his chest could have been explained in a thousand ways. Anything other than his... concern... at what Jack Sparrow might say next. He dragged his damp palms down along the mattress, the fabric rasping much as Jack's costume had in his hands, and he could not stop his quick glance down to Jack's lap. Jack would see it, and so he looked openly, scowling before he met Jack's gaze again, from habit. Scowling in earnest to see Jack's expressions as fluid as his hands as he likely considered the tremor in his voice that James had not managed to fully suppress.

"Well now, peace." Sparrow rolled the word around on his tongue as though he had never tasted it before, speaking in the low, thick tone he used when attempting to be his most convincing. That it usually worked—despite Norrington's best judgment—did not soothe James' nerves in the least. "...That can be had..."

James caught himself as he nearly asked "At what price?" and thinned his lips to keep himself silent. Of course, if he wanted to look over payment options he had only to let his gaze fall back down the space between them. To his own naked flesh and the slender body arched over him, waiting. It was not as costly as he might have supposed only a few months ago, if he didn't mind making a fool of himself a few times more. It would be so easy to just reach out and take what he wanted, and just imagining if Jack would allow it was enough to make him groan; the sound escaping his closed mouth as the faintest whimper.

"What..." The one word was hollow, rasping, and Norrington pulled his hands up, his fingers glancing against one dangling leather string, one smooth curve of bone, and Jack crooked an eyebrow but said nothing. "What if that isn't what I wish?"

It wasn't only pirates who lied, and they both knew it, his made clear when he stretched to lay his thumb against Jack's jaw, running it cautiously over the warm, rough skin of his cheek and then across surprisingly soft lips. Jack had damned well proved it. The proof was there in the rings beneath James' eyes, the heat still lingering in his middle, the curling of his fingers as he denied them what they wanted.

"I am seriously startin' to think yer toying with my affections, love." The whine seemed sincere for all that Jack was obviously panting as he said it, his eyes steady on Norrington, a pout on his face that did not belong on a grown man, even a scoundrel. The words were false, but Norrington sense the truth behind them. And of course, it was no coincidence that the expression allowed Jack to push his lips out against Norrington's exploring thumb. James inhaled sharply, his cock twitching and eager now that it knew the feel of those lips.

"Exceptin' for the ample evidence to the contrary," Jack added a long moment later, and despite himself, his face still glowing red, James felt his lips curving up into an undeniably smug smile. His chin lifted, but whatever he had been going to say was forgotten as Jack slipped further down onto his knees to lean in, his voice just a whisper. "An' peace... can be so very dull." Jack's hand lay between them, curved over Norrington's lap, pressing close to Jack's own arousal. And for all that it had been his intention, Jack hissed at the first touch of skin, no doubt his cock achingly ready and wanting, with only rough cloth to rub against.

"Man's got to 'ave some way to keep his sword..." James lowered his hands carefully to Jack's hips, pleased when Jack gently rocked back into his hold. He spread out his fingers a moment later in cautious exploration, and then jerked into stillness as Jack dropped his head to nip at the skin underneath his ear, his hand squeezing Norrington's cock almost fondly. "...Sharp..."

Just that, and James nearly fell back dizzily, his cock growing thick and insistent for more. He coughed his embarrassment while his fingers pried underneath the cloth of Sparrow's disguise. "That sort of joke is beneath even you, Jack."

He was unprepared for the chill as Jack pulled away in order to give him one searing look, his thoughts more than clear on his face before he fell back to his former position, and James knew himself to be frowning in understanding. Frowning, since it was better than blushing to recall that Jack was a pirate, and therefore nothing was beneath him. And that, if something were to be beneath Jack Sparrow at that moment, Norrington would be it.

But the robe was coming up easier now, and Jack shifted to allow him to pull it up to his hips, his teeth leaving stinging marks across Norrington's collar as he did.

"Right aggravating ain't it, mate?" Jack questioned in a rumble over James' gasp, leaving James to settle for gripping Jack's sides tightly in retaliation. "...Knowin' what I'm thinkin'."

Heat rushed down from his face to the rest of his body, no doubt burning hot under Jack's mouth. It seemed tonight Jack Sparrow had no need for circuitous paths, and the blunt acknowledgement of something James had thought only his imagination would have been infuriating if he had not known Jack had the same problem. Except that Jack had known that he would know that, and...

It would all be so very confusing if not for how lightheaded he felt, as though too dizzy or drunk to care. And he thought perhaps this was how Jack thought all the time.

"This is not what I planned."

What should have been a horrifying admission was made somewhat less than when Jack would not shift his arse in any direction and Norrington had to relax his hold on Jack's hips and slide them around between them, his words turning to an irritated growl. But his unsettled frown should have made clear just how disconcerting it was to have a pirate in his bed—head.

There was a shudder underneath his hands, a not-very-well-muffled snort against his neck as Jack could only be laughing, and James drew his eyebrows even further down, trying to glare down the hidden line on the inside of Jack's coat. If Jack thought him whining he was mistaken. Commodores did not whine, not even when the fastenings on Jack Sparrow's robe would not quite come undone for all his efforts.

"Course not. 'S better." Jack's whispered assertion was mild enough to lull even James' frustrated fingers into momentary stillness. A mistake. They were feebly gripping the lines of the coat a heartbeat later, and Norrington was sucking in a flat, desperate breath, Jack's teeth hard at his shoulder.

His flesh was aflame underneath Jack's careless bite, throbbing and sore already as Jack slid his mouth elsewhere, and then something cloth gave way suddenly, the sound of the tear harsh and clear next to James' labored breath. The body over him went still for one solid minute, and then Jack's teeth found his throat, his chest, fluid hands skimming down his ribs to his waist.

Something small and hard was under his fingertips now, and Norrington focused his attention sharply on buttons he could not see as his body started rocking back against the mattress, away and back again to Jack Sparrow, who was continuing their game and showed a good chance of winning now. His smirk was hot against Norrington's chest, his thighs firm on either side of him.

The first button slid free with ease, and then Jack was frozen and panting noisily into the stinging skin he had just marked with a bite. And if the bared flesh under his touch now had not been so very warm and damp, James might have made more of his victory.

His words, when he remembered them, were thick and slow. As slow as the sweep of his thumb across Jack's lower belly, mapping the trail of hair and sweat.

"Wh... why are you here?" It was foolish to ask, some might even say mad, and yet he heard himself speaking just the same, hissing when two more buttons slid free of their holes with the barest touch of his hand. As though they had been waiting for just that.

"Came... for treasure." His fingers were curling around the fabric of Jack's trousers before he could start to think on Jack's mumbling. And then he was blinking, wondering just when Jack Sparrow had gotten so close him; their faces—now that Jack was sitting up to stare at him—near to touching in fact.

"Ah..." His voice hitched most embarrassingly, but he did not pause his hands, smoothing them down over the bones of Jack's hips, pushing down Jack's breeches as they did. "Your treasure at last?" He should have been furious. But, Lord help him, Jack was shifting at last, shimmying and squirming as well as any Oriental dancing girl on his lap, his trousers dipping low. And damn it all, but Sparrow knew just how low judging from his winking grin, at odds with his flushed face.

He leaned in to share a secret as he always did, his breath oddly musky when Norrington swept his tongue out over his lips to taste it.

"Yers," Jack announced in evident satisfaction, and gripped hard on Norrington's hips as he dropped down to lick a wet, shivering path across James' nipple. "Savvy?" he wondered smugly a moment later, rolling the hard bud between his teeth while James gasped above him. But if he thought Norrington stunned into silence again, he was mistaken.

"Took you long enough to get here, Sparrow," he complained, simply to say something, and felt more than heard the laugh rumbling in Jack's chest, the tuneless hum against his chest. He might as well have just admitted to missing Jack and ended the pretence.

He sank his teeth into his lip to halt anymore imprudent admissions, grateful that Jack's attention was elsewhere.

"Some very clever commodore made it a bit difficult to get here without getting caught first." It was interesting, how high and almost hopeful Jack's voice could get when Norrington let his fingers dip down along the sweaty, damp skin on the inside of Jack's thigh. "An'... and... that would have ruined the effect. Ha... hard to do this is a gaol cell, mate." Breathless now, Jack's babbling seemed to flow faster than before.

It was... displeasing to consider the knowledge that Jack Sparrow somehow possessed and how easily he tossed out his history for Norrington to hear. For a moment, James said nothing, glaring at the dark corners of his room and curving his hands over the naked flesh of Jack's hips, up along his back. Jack shuddered, and then Norrington was letting out a careful sigh, marveling for a moment at the remarkable softness of Jack Sparrow's skin. Odd that a traitorous, lying pirate should then wriggle in seeming helplessness at the gentle touch. Norrington considered that for a moment, then allowed his fingertips to dip low, skirting the edge of Sparrow's fallen trousers, catching Jack's rumbling response to that deep in his belly.

"You like things to be difficult, Jack." He announced finally, his voice hard enough to startle Jack into looking up into his face, dark eyes innocent in a way that made them entirely suspect. And since that was no doubt a carefully planned act, James had no hesitation in taking advantage of Jack's moment of stillness. He shifted his legs and tightened his grip, flipping Jack over and onto his back, then pinning him down quickly, deciding to allow Jack's wriggling and squirming to continue when he was ready to fully appreciate the effect.

He remembered some things at least, from his younger days.

"Do I, mate?" Jack challenged, somewhat less than intimidating with his eyes still widened with surprise and his voice low and rough.

Jack's gaze was still fixed on him when Norrington shifted in order to free one hand, bringing it to his mouth and licking his palm, the act itself practical until he felt Jack's cock twitch against his stomach. Perhaps it was anticipation, James decided, his thinking suddenly as slow as his motions, the feel of his own tongue dragging along his skin making him shudder. It was something that he had always done as a matter of fact, hurried in the dark, someone above him waiting impatiently, but now...

Curious, he lowered his hand, nearly falling when Jack lifted his head to lick his already wet skin, shifting to ease the pressure of Jack's hard prick pushing urgently against him, his own cock swelling as though he had not already come off once in the last few minutes. His blush did not stop his instant response, thrusting downward, grinding into the heat of Jack's lap, far too strongly though Jack did not complain.

It was not naked flesh, Jack's breeches were still trapped somewhere around his thighs, but it would do. He spared no hands to finish pulling them down, and Jack's hands seemed to have been glued to his chest, his belly, his back, anywhere but Jack's own person. And the smile James knew he wore for that was most certainly smug and superior, and it was likely Jack might have had a remark or two about that if he had not still had Norrington's hand at his mouth, and if he did not seem so willing to continue laving the palm with his tongue until Doomsday.

James took his hand away at last with a small sigh, leaning to the side as he managed to part the sides of Jack's borrowed robe up to the neck—where the collar interfered. It was enough for now, his eyes studying the tanned skin, noting the lack of tattoos there at least, before letting his gaze fall back to the white collar tight at Jack' neck, how it moved when Jack swallowed, finding himself wondering what Jack would have done, if he had been tied to that bed and Norrington had been the one free.

As it was the advantage was still his, and James allowed his fingertips to trail in the line of hair around Jack's exposed navel, something not ordinarily done between two sailors on a rocking hammock in the hush of night. But this was no hammock, and the particular sailor underneath him now just shivered before lifting his hips, sliding an eager cock along his body to show him just how pleasing he had found that.

James wet his lips uncertainly, watching Jack's face as he slid his hand down between them, curling his damp palm around Jack's cock and then squeezing, tight and hard, a quick stroke to measure the weight and feel of him.

"So... you were a... lonely... midshipman..." Jack seemed ridiculously triumphant, if breathless, his eyes the merest slivers as he arched his body up. He slid his legs apart as much as he could, pushing easily back into Norrington's fist.

James let out one heavy, annoyed breath, slowing his hand to just a careful caress, trailing his fingers up the throbbing length of Jack's cock and nearly light headed to feel Jack's desperate writhing beneath him. He jerked, pressing bare, needy flesh down into Jack's lap, pushing himself away at Jack's pleased hiss.

"Pirate," Jack mumbled his objection to that, and James slowed his touch even more, removing his hand to squeeze himself, leaving Jack to thrust into the hot air between them, searching for even the smallest friction.

With obvious effort, Jack held himself still after a few moments, his body tense and hot as he glared, his mouth opening to pant a few curses at James, the kind of thing that Norrington might have done when tied to a bed in Tortuga and could do little else. James smiled before he eased back down, sweeping his hand quickly across Jack's stomach and down over his hips, damp with sweat.

"Sparrow." He didn't know why he spoke, studying Jack's face as he laid his hand back on Jack's waiting cock, making eyes that had only just closed open to stare at him.

"Commodore," Jack managed, rasping and dry, curious and impatient, but still wanting, and James leaned in before he knew he meant to, his arms shaking as he slowly placed his lips along Jack's opened mouth.

Jack's groan was loud and pleased, echoing through their bodies as Jack brought his free hand up, running down the length of James' back, pressing down. A wriggle and Jack had freed one leg, dislodging James only to trap them firmly together, a weight at his arse. Jack's fingers clenched hard in his skin, squeezing once, and then Jack was rolling his whole body, twitching his hips up with short, hungry motions.

James got one hand flat on the mattress, the other sliding away to grab desperately at Jack's hip, closing his eyes as he fell back down and felt the slide of their skin, the agonizing ache of Jack's cock rubbing along his own. Hard, quick thrusts punctuated by grunts against his mouth, his tongue working past Jack's teeth as Jack sought his pleasure, pushing faster, his noisy, edgy demands nothing but shameless moans now, that James swallowed eagerly, rocking back.

His body was tight, ready, and it took only Jack, tearing his mouth away as he jerked his release between them to make him fall, thrusting into the hot, wet mess and Jack's twisting warmth until he came off again, back arched and his throat raw.

It was only when Jack moved, long moments later, that James even realized that he had almost fallen asleep, right there, again, in the arms of a pirate. Opening his eyes revealed that he had collapsed at Jack's side, or perhaps on top of Jack and Jack had simply moved. But there were strands of hair clinging to his face, long black hairs that wanted to creep and stick to every inch of him it seemed. It was not unpleasant, but it was not comfortable either, his skin stinging from the work of Jack's mouth and itching with drying sweat.

Currently having no strength to lift his arms, he decided to leave it as it was, lying still as his heart's beating finally began to slow. His lips twitched upward as he glanced over to his window and the rain, then looked back to his ceiling. Looking anywhere but at the wriggling person next to him.

It would be simple enough to go to sleep, or to lie awake and pretend it was anyone else in the world next to him other than who it was; Jack Sparrow, pirate and scalawag. A thief who stopped at nothing to get what he wanted—even if it took him a decade or two to get it—and yet who still also claimed to be a good man, and who, it seemed, for whatever mad reasons of his own, had decided to make a place for himself in James Norrington's bed this evening. And, though he knew his own reasons well enough, James Norrington had let him.

The beads in Sparrow's hair clacked loudly as the man shifted once more, the whole bed shaking with his forceful motions, and Norrington scowled, sitting up to glare at the man next to him.

"If you got fleas in my bed, Sparrow, I will hang you myself." He spoke clearly and slowly, leaning in to stress the promise in each and every word. And Jack went still, his eyes widening before he blinked them in false innocence and waved the hand that had been scratching his arse in the air. He didn't bother to sit up, or to remove his cleric's robes, still gathered together by the collar at his neck. Next to his stained eyes and his glinting gold teeth, it made a very strange picture indeed, and he could have stared at it for quite some time.

He made himself look away, down over his body and the mess that was going to have to be taken care of soon. Then he gritted his teeth and swore, lifting a hand to scratch fiercely at his back.

"Got an itch, mate?" That Jack seemed genuinely concerned only hardened James' theory that he now had vermin in his sheets. He glared out of the corner of his eye and then gasped, coughing to disguise it even as he leaned back and silently urged Jack to keep scratching. It felt very nice, surprisingly good in fact, to have Jack Sparrow scratching his back, even if the feeling, and Jack, would most likely be gone by morning.

He left his frown in place, but reached out, dragging his short fingernails through the small swirls of hair on Jack's stomach, watching Jack smile and stretch in a way that was almost feline.

"Knew you'd be the man to scratch me itches," Jack remarked, with all evidence of pleasure, and then wrapped his fingers around Norrington's wrist and slyly urged it just a little bit lower.

His blood was pounding just at the thought, and Norrington's eyes widened.

"You can't possibly..."

"Now, Jamie..." Jack began, humming in a way that either brilliant or mad. James suspected it was both. He also suspected that he was going to lose this particular round of their game. Of course, if he did, there was still the matter of responding to that bird that Jack had dared to paint on his ship. "There's only what a man can do... and what a man can't do, and..."

That Jack seemed to falter for a moment at his slow smile just made him smile even more.

Leave a Comment
(If you're commenting about a specific chapter, please mention that.)

Read Comments
(Warning: May contain spoilers!)