Your Move
Chapter 3 - Match
by
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean is owned by Disney, etc. No infringement intended.
Originally Posted: 2/28/04
Originally Posted: 2/28/04
Friday morning at 7:00 a.m., I left word with the sentry at the fort that the minute Captain Andrew Gillette and Lieutenant Theodore Groves decided to show their tardy faces, I wished to see them at once. And if they didn't appear in my office by 9:00 a.m., all three of them faced certain court-martial. The man actually looked terrified.
What did I say?
I paced back and forth in my office waiting for them to appear. Ten years the three of us had served together, fought side-by-side in battle, stumbled our way through many a pub crawl, and supped side-by-side at umpteen dinner parties replete with wine, conversation, and pleasant argument. Last but not least, we shared one of the most enjoyable, painful evenings of my life when I made Captain and Andrew made Lieutenant. At Ted's obnoxious prodding, we had agreed to get tattoos en masse to celebrate; perhaps not in keeping with my new rank, however, most in keeping with my dearest friends. It was a tribute to Mr. Grant's fine ale that I didn't feel a bloody thing until the next morning. At which point I seriously considered busting both men back to midshipmen. These many years of trials, tribulations, and celebrations, surely, if I could trust these men with my life, I could trust them with my soul.
The sentry must have sent word because at 7:33 a.m. a swift knock on the door alerted me to their arrival.
"Come in," I barked.
Befitting their ranks, Andrew came in first, followed by Ted. One look at my face alerted them that it was not business as usual; they stood at attention and saluted me.
"Andrew, your wig is off center. Ted, those boots could have used a polish this morning."
"Yes, Commodore," they said in unison.
"At ease," I ordered and continued my measured pacing. They shifted their backsides onto the chairs in front of my desk and watched me march the width of the room, back and forth, back and forth. The sharp click of my heels on the polished wood floor grated, but I found myself unable to stop, as I studied both of them sitting bolt upright in their chairs, the question of what in the hell they were doing here creasing both their brows.
Two men were never more different. Andrew Gillette's wig hid a sleek head of copper-colored hair (of which he was inordinately vain). His blue eyes never missed a trick. Intelligent, brave, and blessed with a canny ability to get the most out of a wind made him indispensable on board. From his Irish mother he inherited his fair skin, fiery hair, and a temper; from his French father he inherited his physical ease and delicious sarcasm, usually at someone else's expense. We got along splendidly.
Theodore Groves was your quintessential son of Devon. Broad shouldered and slim-waisted, he physically resembled the farmer stock from which he came, but you never saw a man more in his element than when on a ship. He didn't so much move with the ship as dance with her. His naturally brown hair nearly bleached blonde by the sun (I was constantly nagging him to put on his hat), Theodore (Ted to his closest friends) Groves was the foil to both of us. Constantly softening the sharp edges of the two of us, gently chastising us when our humor became too vicious, he'd be insufferable except for his indefatigable propensity for mischief of all sorts and an equally broad sense of humor, not to mention an endless supply of the filthiest jokes imaginable. After what has gone down in canon as "The Night of the Tattooed Fools," I never again let those sleepy brown eyes deceive me. There was often a plot brewing behind them, which inevitably involved drink and high jinx, accompanied by crude jests. And, without a doubt, he was the best blade on my ship.
Except for yours truly, of course.
With a start I realized I'd been pacing for several minutes. Both of them were perched on the edges of their seats, about as "not at ease" as possible. For the life of me I didn't know how you say politely, "I want to fuck a man and I want your advice on this matter."
I decided to leave them in the dark about the pirate part.
"James, for God's sake," Andrew blurted out. "What is the matter? For the past month your humors have been as wild as a sail cut from its rigging. Moody as all hell one minute, taciturn the next, even for you"—I gave him my the-commodore-is-not-amused look—"then euphoric, then..."
"And how would you describe my mood this morning, Captain Gillette?"
The man wasn't navy for nothing; he never backed down from a fight. "Positively ugly, James, if you want to know. The sentry at the gate is still shaking in his boots. He was nearly incoherent when he came to fetch us."
"Groves?"
"Have to concur with Andrew on this one, James. You've been right old bear. What's the matter, man?"
I marched to the window overlooking the harbor. There lay the Dauntless in all her splendor, rigging snapping in the breeze as she hugged the dock. Another ship was on its way from England to be part of my fleet to replace the Interceptor. The dock of Port Royal hummed with activity: ships unloading to warehouses, marines in smart red coats marching in formation, the sky of the Caribbean so blue that you wanted to invent a new word for it. In front of my eyes was my entire command. It had become home. And I could lose it in a heartbeat. I knew that if I did not have the support of these men, if my confession disgusted them, horrified them, that this would be lost to me. How could they effectively serve under a man they'd lost all respect for? If they told the admiralty... I took one last look at the Dauntless and turned around. I must end this one way or another. I could not endure another week like the last one. They were my friends. I prayed they'd understand. In a low, even voice, I demanded, "I want to know if you two have had any experience with other men."
"Experience with other men?" Andrew whispered. Ted went six different shades of white.
Oh God, this was going to be much worse than I thought.
"Yes," I snapped. "Don't be obtuse, Andrew. Carnal relations with other men. You know exactly what I mean." In my distress, my voice came out as curt and officious.
I was in no way prepared for what happened next.
They both shoved their chairs back and stood at attention.
"Sir," Andrew barked. "You may rest assured that Lieutenant Groves is blameless in this affair. My conduct has been most disgusting, unbefitting an officer of the Royal Navy. Any relations between Lieutenant Groves and me was at my instigation. I take full responsibility, whatever the consequences may be..."
"Sir," Ted interrupted. "Captain Gillette is most mistaken. We share in the responsibility for this behavior..."
"No, Teddy, no! I will not let you..."
"We are in this together Andrew. Together," Ted muttered out of the side of his mouth. His hand grasped Andrew's shoulder for one split second and then stood ramrod straight. A fine officer.
I lowered my head, my forefinger and thumb pinching the all too familiar spot between my eyebrows; a horrendous headache was brewing. I did not seek this confession and now it was laid in my lap. Irony of ironies. I require advice on buggering and the mountain comes to Mohammed.
"Commodore, I wish..."
"Andrew, do be quiet and sit down," I ordered. "This applies to you, too, Ted."
I turned back to my window. The facts. Andrew and Ted were lovers. How did this affect my command? I was the envy of every captain and commodore in the fleet having these two by my side, their bravery was unquestionable. They'd saved my life several times and would no doubt do so again in the future. I didn't know how long this had been going on, but the bottom line was that for the entire ten years we'd all been together, I'd trusted them with my life, both on and off the ship, and had never been proven false.
As friends? That exceptionally bleak month after Elizabeth's rejection, they never left my side until the worst of it was over. And this was just one of the many instances of true friendship I could name. My hand left the bridge of my nose and rubbed the shoulder that sported the tattoo. Did this knowledge make them any less my friends? I didn't even hesitate. No, it didn't.
The battle with the decayed pirates came to mind, Andrew frantically screaming Ted's name in the worst of it. Ted's voice answering back in the heat of the fray, "Drew, am nearly undone. Help me."
I turned back to them. Both of them wore their navy faces, stoic, impassable, without emotion; they were betrayed by the hands gripping the edge of their chairs. How horrible that their entire future lay in the hands of one man. Me. I'd never understood quite until then the word "command." Well, I was willing to put my future in their hands; I would not fail them now that the tables were turned.
"Andrew. Ted. This... surprises me. But hear me, this is no way affects our friendship or my respect for either of you as officers of His Majesty's Royal Navy. You are my dearest friends, in addition to being the best officers I've ever served with. I expect nothing less than the conduct I've seen on both fronts for the last ten years. That is that."
I walked over to them and held out my hand. At first they just stared at me, not quite believing my words. "I mean it. Gentlemen?" I thrust my hand forward further. Andrew stood and took my hand, then Ted. I sat down. They were both studying their shoes, not quite to make of this entire scenario.
"Sit," I ordered, and they collapsed with undisguised relief into their chairs. "How long has this been going on?"
Uncharacteristically, Ted spoke first; he usually deferred to Andrew. "Since the battle with the Spanish five years ago. When I got that cut on my shoulder."
"When you nearly died, you mean?" Andrew snorted.
Five years and I hadn't a clue. Perhaps Jack and I could conduct a secret affair.
"James?" Ted asked, "If you didn't bring us here to cashier us, what did you bring us here for?"
My mouth went dry.
Andrew, as always, was a little quicker on the uptake. "James, are you with...someone?" He left it at that.
"I am thinking about it," I mumbled.
"With whom?" If Ted's eyes were any further out of his head, we'd need to collect them off the floor. "Someone we know?" He could barely contain the glee in his voice.
"I do not care to divulge that information if you don't mind. Not an officer, I assure you, or, Ted, get that speculative gleam out of your eyes this instant, any member of our crew. He is not a naval man." In good conscience I really couldn't say Jack wasn't a sailor. A damn fine sailor, in fact. I held up both palms, a sign that I was categorically refusing to name the man I was contemplating bedding. "Suffice it to say that I'm having a most difficult time with this notion and thought to seek your advice on this matter. Little did I know..."
And all of a sudden we were laughing like hyenas, clutching our sides as the absolute ridiculousness of the situation hit us full force.
Once things had finally subsided to the occasional chuckle, I wiped the tears of mirth from my cheeks. "Oh Andrew, Ted, did you really think I'd court-martial you?"
This sobered them up immediately.
"We're not insensible of the law, James," Ted reminded me.
"And you've been such a cranky bastard for the last three weeks, don't glower at me, James, you've been a complete ass. We didn't know what the hell was going on. Pardon us for thinking the very worst. So you haven't yet but are thinking...?" Andrew let the question hang there.
"No. Not yet. And yes, I am." Yet another blush crept up my cheeks. I've never blushed as much in my entire life as I've done in the last three weeks. I still hadn't recovered from Jack's rather frank discussion the previous evening of cocks and holes. "First time I've thought of it, to be honest. Just this person... is special," I finished lamely, probably the most innocuous word I could use to describe Jack Sparrow. "I assume it is the same between you two."
Andrew and Ted exchanged glances.
"Well, yes and no, James," Ted slowly. "Permission to speak frankly, Sir."
"You call me 'sir' again and I will demote you on the spot. What do you mean?"
He twisted his hat in his hands. "Andrew's charms not withstanding, James, some men just like men. Only men."
I stared at him. "Only men," I repeated. I had never considered myself particularly naïve, but it never occurred to me that men would only want men. I must ask Jack about this. "Really?"
"Never met a woman I wanted to bed, frankly. Lots of men though," he smirked.
Andrew smacked him smartly on the shoulder. "Those catting days of yours had better be done, Lieutenant Groves. Don't fancy sharing you with half the Royal Navy."
"Didn't know James was in the market. Might... Ouch, that hurt, Andrew," Ted complained as Andrew hit him again in the same place with just a tad too much force.
"And you, Andrew?"
He blushed. "It's a bit different with me. Been with women, and I can't deny that I like women very much. At one time I thought I liked only women." Ted made the tiniest of growls. "But Ted here," Ted gave Andrew the sweetest smile, a smile very like the winsome smile that Jack has seen fit to bestow on me on occasion, "is quite the charmer when he wants to be." And then Andrew looked at Ted in that same half-mast, oh let's have fun, glint that Jack wore that spelled certain mischief. I expect the charm worked both ways.
"Took you long enough," Ted grumbled. "I was beginning to doubt my powers of persuasion." The very tip of his tongue licked the outside of his lip.
This was getting perilously close to the byplay between Elizabeth and William. What is it about me? Must I suffer yet another couple attacking each other like dogs in heat in my presence?
"Ted, control yourself," I ordered. "I beg you, no details, Gentlemen. Please." We sat silent for few seconds, then I said quietly, "You two are playing with fire, you know that. I may be rather obtuse on these matters. Others are not."
"We know, James," Andrew admitted, his shoulders curving inward slightly as if the weight of this secret was, in fact, sometimes too much to bear. "We know. But we decided that it would be most foolish not to grab happiness when we can."
I stared, the choice of words a little too prescient for my liking.
"We might meet a pirate ship tomorrow and one of us killed, maybe both," Ted said grimly. "We're not living in a country village, expecting to die of old age. The blade comes awfully close sometimes."
"Came awfully close," Andrew murmured.
"One of us might not be able to jump out of the way tomorrow," Ted's eyes beseeched me to understand. "You have to admit, that is a real possibility."
I steepled my hands together.
"Yes, I do admit that. This is what is making me consider what I am considering."
"Ted, leave us for a minute," Andrew said quietly.
He bristled at this, his brown eyes narrowed in consternation, and he turned a little pale under his tan. "Why? What could you possibly say to James in this regard that I shouldn't be privy to?"
I must keep a closer eye on him. His silly refusal to wear his hat. The man was nearly as dark as a pirate. A certain pirate. Not quite as dark though, and while Ted wasn't shabby by any stretch of the imagination, he wasn't a patch on Jack. Jack was the most delicious, lovely shade of coffee lightened by a splash of cream. Was he that color all over? I wonder. My pants began to get tight. No, no, mustn't think of that now.
"Please," Andrew implored and gave a quick squeeze to Ted's shoulder. "Don't make me pull rank on you," he mocked.
"I'll be outside then," he agreed, but not without giving us a worried look as he exited.
Now it was time for Andrew to abuse his hat. "James, I know what you're going through. I went through the same thing when I discovered that I loved Ted..."
"Andrew," I protested sharply, "I do not love this man. I..." and left it at that. How did I feel about Jack? God, did I love him?
"Whatever you say, James. Anyway, when Ted was nearly killed in that battle, do you remember?"
"Yes." Ted had lost a tremendous amount of blood. I received a nasty cut in the forearm myself. I shuddered. Fifteen of my men died in that skirmish.
"You know that the surgeon didn't give him much of a chance, but sewed him up anyway and gave him some laudenaum to blunt the pain. After they'd finished, I held him for several hours while the drug took him. I prayed for hours, realizing that if he didn't, I'd be inconsolable. Absolutely inconsolable. Do you know what I mean? It would be like a wound I'd never recover from."
I imagined Jack dead. I felt cold, a deep cold that nearly stopped my heart from beating. I nodded.
"Anyway, as he was coming out of it, he began mumbling. At first, he was delirious. But then he began to string sentences together, and what he was trying to tell me was that he thought he was dying, and he wanted me to know how much he loved me. That he truly and absolutely loved me. As a man loves a maid." He flushed at this. "He'd felt that way for years and couldn't die without me knowing. As you can imagine, this confession at first horrified me."
"Hmmmn."
He got up and began ambling aimlessly around the room, his gait was a little unsteady as picking his words with care.
"I'd always assumed that some day I'd get my command, captain a ship, marry, and have children. And I won't deny that there's a part of me that misses that. I love children. And like I said, I do, well, very much enjoyed bedding women." A slight leer twitched the edges of his lips. "I didn't want Ted to hear that part. He's terribly afraid that one day I'll leave him for a woman. You wouldn't know to look at him, but he's rather jealous," he grinned, a note of pride in his voice. Clearly, this didn't bother Andrew in the slightest. Relished it, in fact.
"And?" I stopped myself from leaning forward. For some reason, despite my earlier plea of no details, I was now almost panting for details.
"Once I'd ascertained he was out of danger, I refused to talk to him. Wouldn't see him while he recovered. My mind was in complete upheaval. I'd never envisioned myself with a man."
"Yes, Andrew, we are one on that point."
"Was rather a shock, wasn't it?" He grimaced.
I nodded.
"I have to admit that I'd always found Ted particularly handsome, but admiring someone in their uniform does not make one a sodomite," he commented ruefully. He stopped his pacing and studied me. "The shadows under your eyes. You're going through the same torture I inflicted on myself five years ago."
The last five nights had been hell on earth. No sleep, not even the jade queen could weave her magic spell. In the dark of my bedroom, I relived chasing Jack around the parlor, his saucy grin, my triumph at catching him, our bodies pressed up against each other, hard cock straining against the seam of my breeches, hands aching to touch him, horrific aching to have him touch me. Night after night my sheets heated through as my entire body flamed as desire and shame claimed me over and over again. I didn't know which was stronger: my desire or shame. I'd rather cross swords with evil, half-dead pirates than go through another week like that.
"Yes, Andrew, torture is exactly the word I'd use."
"For a brief moment I even considered asking you for a transfer to another command, but couldn't bring myself to do it." Here he blushed again, "I couldn't stop thinking about him. I hated myself, hated even going to sleep because I couldn't banish carnal thoughts about him. But it was more than that. Oh, I'm saying this so badly, but it's more than a fuck between us, James. You must understand this."
Fortunately, Andrew was so caught up in his story that he failed to notice that I'd broken my quill in half.
"Anyway, despite those God-awful nights, I refused to entertain the possibility of anything between us. We had the fight of all fights when we got back to port. He stormed into my room at the inn, still bandaged up, shouting at the top of his lungs why in the hell was I acting like such a perfect bastard when he'd almost died. Where had I been? Was in a terrible temper. He had no idea what he said while under the laudenaum. I screamed back at him, repeated what he'd said to me. It took the fight right out of him. He wasn't embarrassed. He confirmed that it was true. He knew I was partial to women, but he thought that we could be happy together. He had hoped that one day I would return his affection, but that if I didn't, he'd request a transfer to another ship. I said some things I will regret for the rest of my life. I called him a number of ugly names; I told him I never wanted to speak to him again. His parting words to me were, 'I love you, Drew. God bless.' That's the sort of man he is. I called him a depraved, filthy sodomite, and he told me that he loved me. I got stinking drunk that night, so drunk I passed out. When I woke up in the morning everything looked black and white. I realized that Ted was my color, that without him, everything was pale, indistinct. I admitted to myself that I thought, and still think, he has the finest arse in the navy." That elicited a ghost of a smile. "I finally admitted to myself I couldn't live without him."
He paused and all the unease, the embarrassment, of laying out before me the particulars of their affair vanished. A fierce expression sharpened all his features, and he has never worn his French ancestry with more prominence, challenging me with a particular Gallic tilt of his chin to deny their true affection for one another, that this was lust disguised in the banal dress of love. He didn't yet realize how ill-equipped I was to pass judgment on anyone. At least the object of Andrew's affection wore a naval uniform, not a tattered, silk sash encasing lean pirate hips. When I said nothing in response, he stopped his pacing and didn't so much as sit as collapse into his chair, as if he'd run ten leagues. "And there you are. Do you feel that way, James? Like things are black and white without him?"
"Cold. I feel cold without him."
"If I may say so, James, there you are."
"Do you regret your decision?"
He looked to a point beyond me, somewhere even outside this room. "I see a child and sometimes wish he were mine. I'd have liked to have had a son. But it passes." His gaze returned to mine. "You can't choose who you love, James. Perhaps you can choose not to accept or act on this love, but you will still love that person."
I shoved back my chair and walked back to my window. Out of the side of my mouth I said, "AAndrew, what about the..."
Dammit, I was blushing again.
"What, James?"
"The, you know, the bed part."
"Lot like bedding a woman, James."
Where have I heard that before?
"Only better."
I turned around.
"Better?"
"Best of both worlds," he grinned. "Get to mount and be mounted."
I was seized with an uncontrollable coughing fit. Once my coughing had subsided to mere wheezing, I saw Andrew's grin had broken and he was solemn once again.
"James?" There was more vigorous abuse of his hat. "If you'd discovered about Ted and me earlier, say five years ago, would you have..."
"Been so understanding?" I paused and considered his question. I was not the same man I had been two months ago. "No, Andrew, I'm ashamed to say I doubt it. At the very least I'd have asked you both to transfer to another ship. I'm more blessed in my choice of friends than you are, I'm afraid."
I walked back to my desk and sat down, resisting the urge to put my head down and take a nap. It was only 8:00 a.m. and I was exhausted.
"We still dining at the Tar tonight? Believe it's my turn to buy. And a celebration is in order. In my mountain of mail yesterday I received word that my recommendation to the Admiralty requesting Ted's promotion to First Lieutenant has been approved."
At this, his shoulders sagged just a fraction, not quite believing his ears.
"Thank you, James."
"He earned it, Andrew," I said sharply. And then to lighten the mood, I added, "Fucking you senseless on a nightly basis not withstanding."
That earned a hearty laugh. "Who's ever caught your fancy, James, has certainly broadened your vocabulary. Not that the staid matrons of Port Royal would appreciate such foul language from their favorite commodore. Will let you tell Ted the good news tonight. I shall enjoy torturing him all day with certain knowledge of some wonderful secret you divulged to during our little tete-a-tete. I wouldn't mind tweaking his jealousy a bit, if you don't mind. He tweaks mine often enough. It's not often I get the opportunity to get a bit of my own back. He's always commenting on the backsides of any man within thirty paces."
I rolled my eyes.
"Thank you for that elucidating comment, Andrew. Previously when I've seen the two of you with your heads banded together in fervent conversation I'd assumed you two were devising strategies on how to capture Spanish and French frigates, not rating naval derriers." A horrible thought struck me. "Andrew, if I find that a single, a single syllable has passed either your lips or Ted's regarding the attributes of a certain commodore's backside, I will, on my honor, bust you both back to midshipmen." I lowered my head. "Do I make myself clear?"
"Not even the least bit curious, James? Get a few drinks in you and I bet you'll be worrying us to death wondering how you fared," he teased.
"I doubt it, Andrew," I replied with perfect ease. The only person I wanted to wax loudly and eloquently about my arse was a certain pirate captain.
"I should warn you, James, to bring your purse. Know for fact that I'll be drinking more than a few. Now if I may ask you for your leave. Ted will be apoplectic from curiosity."
I nodded my assent.
When he reached the door, he paused. "You're wrong, James. I am most blessed in my choice of friends, thank you very much."
Why is everyone so willing to give me the benefit of the doubt? First Jack, then Andrew. I deserved it not. I turned my head, unable to look at him. Once more I'd been teetering on the edge of that battlement for what I knew in my heart was right against that what was written as right. But for my recent friendship with Jack, I no doubt would have willy-nilly sacrificed both friendship and honor in homage to those rule books. Those little rule books written by men, who I was learning clearly didn't know arses from their elbows.
He was almost through the door when I stopped him.
"Andrew, just a minute. Shut the door." I waited until he was inside the room. I turned the broken quill over and over again in my hand. "Did you pray to God for guidance during this struggle? Did he answer you?"
"I felt that God more than approved when he spared Ted's life. He answered my prayers."
***
That talk with Andrew and Ted saved me from going barking mad. They walked on eggshells around me all day, but then at the Tar we led the pub in a most riotous version of the stupid pirate song that had everyone's feet stomping and hands clapping. I purposefully got very drunk, so that I needed to hang onto their shoulders during the long walk back to my house. That put to rest any lingering trepidation they might have had regarding my knowledge of their friendship.
After our night at the Tar, everything was back to normal. Naturally, they hounded me constantly to divulge the name of the lucky man I was so passionate about, and naturally I was silent. Wild horses couldn't have dragged Jack's name from my lips. Clearly, the thought of me contemplating sin was so out of character that they were rabid on the subject of exactly who was this extraordinary individual who'd captured the commodore's affections.
The rest of the week went by slowly. I still had twinges of doubt, but all in all I'd come to terms with the idea of Jack and me. Indeed, he was correct; there was something there between us, something that I certainly had never experienced. I hesitated to call it love. I wasn't sure what it was. Passion and desire certainly, but this was only part of it. I didn't mind him teasing me, teasing the man out from behind the commodore. I wanted him to do it. And he did it so easily. Elizabeth came close; she knew the man behind the commodore and could coax him out. Jack demanded he come out. No quarter given.
Wednesday evening I sat in the garden, a glass of Armagnac in one hand, a cigar in the other, listening to the tide coming in. I was so very happy. He'd be here tomorrow evening. I refused to speculate how the evening would end. I would just let things happen what may. I had jumped off the battlement of my mind into the water below and let it wash over me. Drown me even.
Amazing how much we had in common, really. Both the sons of clergy, both went to sea when mere boys. We both loved ships, music, flowers, and games (of all sorts, apparently). It amused me to think what would have happened if Jack hadn't been assigned to Jock Ritchie's ship. If we had served together. Jack was really too much of a natural renegade for me to see him kowtowing to naval regulations, but maybe not. There were a few men in the Royal Navy who wrote their own rules. Despised and admired, men who always sailed too close to the wind, who were constantly on the verge of being cashiered, but whose exploits and daring (not to mention their unfailing ability to capture French and Spanish frigates) temporarily silenced the critics. Jack would have been such a captain; however, fate decreed that Jack find himself on Jock Ritchie's ship and a pirate was born.
I shuddered to think of Jack as that monster's cabin boy. I meant it when I said I wouldn't have blamed Jack for mutinying. The only power Jack held in that situation was Ritchie's affection for him. His Achilles heel. When Ritchie confessed his love, Jack twisted the metaphorical knife in his heart. Fitting. What could possibly be worse than sating oneself on a young boy?
My glass slipped out of my fingers; I heeded not whether it broke. Oh my God, I was such a fool. Hanging him. The one thing that could have been worse was to hang him. To refuse to acknowledge that he'd saved my life, the life of my men, that I'd not pressed, not even tried to stop the execution. I had enormous influence over the Governor. He knew my power, my presence in the Caribbean. One word to the Governor and I could have secured a pardon.
And once I'd capitulated, embraced that charm, just like Jock Ritchie, he'd break me, humiliate me. God, what if he went public! What if he told a roomful of people at the Tar that he'd buggered good and often the proud Commodore James L. Norrington. Oh yes, the revenge would be fitting. I'd be damn lucky if I was only cashiered. No doubt he was counting on me being hung for these crimes against nature. I'd be the one listening to the hangman read out my crimes as all the men who had been under my command refused to look at me, disgust twisting their faces, sagging with relief when the hangman did his job.
Ritchie and I shared the same Achilles heel. Jack Sparrow. The Armagnac roiled in my stomach as the horror of Jack's plan became more manifest. I didn't smell the night jasmine; I smelled betrayal, rank and foul. I fell to my knees and heaved and heaved and heaved.
***
Clutching the chess board to my chest, I walked the three miles up the hill to the Governor's mansion. Even though the day was infernally hot, I shivered uncontrollably in my full commodore regalia. Without bothering to knock on the front-door, I wrenched open the gate to the garden, flung open the French doors, and marched into the parlor. As I suspected, Elizabeth, William, and Jack were just finishing luncheon. Someone must have said something amusing, no doubt Jack. They were all having a great laugh. I slammed the door shut, breaking several panes in the process. The mirth froze on their faces.
"Ja...," Jack immediately got up from his seat and then stopped. I wanted to hit him, beat him repeatedly with the chess set, take a chair and smash it over that pirate head, shove that green jade queen down his throat until he choked to death. Poised like wax figures, nobody moved.
"Out." I ground the words out of my throat and pointed at him. "Into the garden. Now!"
Elizabeth gasped, and William jumped behind her chair and put his hands on her shoulders to protect her.
"I don't take orders from anyone, James. Even you," Jack commented as quietly as if we were discussing the weather. He stiffened, but his hand didn't near his blade. He just stood there, eyes blank, waiting for my reaction. Even in my rage, his dignity moved me.
"Please," I managed to choke out.
"Since you asked nicely, I will. After you."
I moved one foot in front of the other until I found myself at the bench overlooking the harbor. I turned to face him. He didn't look angry, just puzzled and concerned. I shoved the chess set at him.
"Take it and don't ever come back. I mean it, Jack. Show your face again, and you won't even see my sword until you feel it cut out your black heart."
He stepped away from the chess set and threw his hands up in the air. "What in the bloody hell are you going on about, James?"
"Stop it, Jack," I shouted. "I know exactly what you're about. Me. Jock Ritchie. Thought it worked so well on a captain that why not a commodore?" I literally wanted to kill him.
He held up both hands in protest. "Do not mention that man in conjunction with yourself. I don't know what you're talking about. Start from the beginning."
"God, Jack," I threw the chess set down on the ground, hoping I broke every fucking piece in it. "You told me, in my very parlor. How you got revenge on him. Waited until he loved you, bided your time, then when he confessed his love for you, you deserted him. You couldn't have made things plainer than if you'd drawn a map."
He pushed a hand up to his forehead. "Jesus, I've a terrible headache coming on. You think I'd do that to you? Think I've been playing you for a fool all this time? Why in the bloody hell would I pull such a sick twisted trick like that? Why? In God's name, why?"
By this time we were both shouting at each other. They probably could hear us down at the docks.
"Stop it, Jack. Stop it! The game is done." I grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. "Revenge. Revenge for not stopping your hanging. For letting William save you. For not saving you myself when I should have. This was all a trap. Sending me that saucy letter. You knew I played chess. Thank you very much, William and Elizabeth. Then coming to my house, wriggling that arse of yours in my parlor. The wig. The chase. Jesus, I've been a complete fool. You played the part of the whore to perfection." I shook him again.
He brought his arms up with a swift jerk and cast off my grip. "Me?" He grabbed two fistfuls of his hair, closed his eyes, "I don't fucking well believe this," he said to himself. His eyes snapped open, ebony with rage. "Who!" he bellowed, "was flaunting their goods at me. Sticking them in me face. Parading hisself on that mantle like a London doxy. In cock-sure glory. 'Sal's done me, too,'" he mimicked in a sarcastic imitation of my plumy accent. "Mr. High-Faluting Navy Gob thinking to impress me because some madam in Singapore sucked his cock."
If I'd had my sword I'd have run him through.
"Oh, really? I was not the only one whoring myself that evening, Jack. I think you said something like, 'She does something with your slit.' I wanted you to know that I wasn't some innocent you could pull the wool over on, that the playing field was level. God, I couldn't even begin to compete. You are despicable. I can't believe..."
"I wouldn't do that to you!" he yelled back at me.
"And why not? It's the same thing you did to him. Can imagine the tales at the Tar. How you would enjoy humiliating me, destroying my character. The opportune moment to get your own back. I can hear you right now, Commodore James L. Norrington? Think he has a yardarm or two up his arse? Well let me tell you that's not only thing that's been up his arse lately. I'd be thoroughly disgraced, damn lucky if I wasn't hanged. You'd have had your sweet revenge, by God."
"Revenge, why would I want revenge, James? Why?"
"I almost bloody well hanged you! How could that possibly be worst that what Jock Ritchie did!"
"He. Raped. Me. Every. Night. For. Two. Years. James. Shoved that enormous cock in me until I cried for mercy and then he'd ram me again. I was fourteen! He destroyed my innocence. I would never be a boy again. That's what he did and he deserved whatever misery, whatever dark nights he had on my account. You're different. We're different."
"Go to hell, Jack. I can see you plotting, leaving clues, wondering if I'd get it. Soooo clever. I bet you thought, he's vain, he'll have no trouble believing I desire him, fancy him. he'll beg for me before this is done. And then you'd win. Checkmate. Fuck you, FUCK YOU!" I spat in his face.
I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling like some spark in me had died forever.
He wiped my spit from his face and began pacing in front of me muttering, "Fuck, fuck, fuck," over and over again. Then he grabbed me by the arm and shook me. "What can I do to make you believe that this has never been about revenge. Never."
"Nothing, you bastard." I wrenched my arm free. "Touch me again and I swear I'll kill you."
He grabbed it again, his grip like a vise. He roared at the top of his lungs. "LIZZIE! WILL!"
They must have been at the parlor door listening because they slunk out immediately. William had one arm around Elizabeth's shoulders, a fireplace poker in the other hand. They looked absolutely terrified, eyes as large as saucers.
"See this man," Jack demanded. They nodded. He shook me violently. "I love him and I will kill with my bare hands any person who says different. SAVVY!" They nodded again. "Go!" he ordered. Before they had even turned around he grabbed me by the neck, pulling me down. He kissed me with such force that we fell back onto the lawn. Covering my face with kisses, he said my name over and over again. Sweet Jesu, I was warm again. I brought a hand up and put my hand over his mouth.
"I'm sorry, so sorry," I whispered into his ear and wrapped my arms around him, burying my head in the warmth of his shoulder. Charms tickled my neck. We lay like that until our breathing had returned somewhat to normal. I caressed his hair, marveling at how soft it was. I'd expected it to be coarse, but it was like ropes of black silk. He raised himself slightly and propped himself up on one elbow.
"Believe me now?"
I nodded and kissed him, pulling slightly on his lower lip. Such a wonderful lip. Salty and sweet, a little chapped, firm...
He pulled away from me and groaned. "Don't tease me, James. Am restraining meself as it is here."
"The chess set. I apologize. It's probably smashed to bits."
"No worries, just a chess set. Nearly lost something much more important." A callused thumb traced my eyebrows. "I could drown in those green eyes. What I first noticed about you. The passion you try to hide in them." He leaned in and I closed my eyes. He kissed one eye, then the other. Ran his tongue gently along my lashes. "Made me turn pirate, love. Kissed you first. Said I wouldn't do that," he murmured.
"Not really. I'd already jumped. You just didn't see me."
He went back to his elbow. "You know, James, think I'm a really bad influence on you. First, you're nigh desperate to fuck a pirate..."
"Oh I am, am I?"
He rocked against me. I moaned. "The goods don't lie, mate. Then that little plot to destroy your career. And you say I'm clever. Never would have thought of anything that sinister myself. Diabolical. Really proud of you. Next time I'm in the market for a fiendish plan, you're my man."
I shook my head, "Don't make fun, Jack. Not about this. I... you nearly..."
"Broke your heart?"
I nodded.
***
Thursday evening: 6:00 p.m.
"CHESS! YOU WANT TO PLAY CHESS? NOW?"
"One game, Jack, Just one," I pleaded. Against all odds, the chess set had survived.
"I hope you're joking, James, because for the last four hours I've had the worst hard-on of my entire fucking life. Nearly crawled up here..."
"I know for a fact that Governor Swann lent you his carriage."
"Uncomfortable doesn't even BEGIN to describe how I feel..."
"Yes, I know, but one game. Please."
He threw himself into the chair, not even acknowledging the chess board. Slouched in his chair, he hugged himself and muttered curses under his breath. If someone were to paint his portrait at this instant it would be named "The Pouting Pirate."
I poured both of us a large glass of Armagnac, handed him his, which he consumed without any preamble, and then he slammed the empty glass on the table.
"Let's get on with it. Plan on losing every man, telling you right now."
"We'll see about that."
Something in my voice must have caught his attention, because he stopped pouting and looked at me, a question on his face. I reached over the sofa and pulled a gray wig from behind a cushion. The eyes went half-mast and were dark. A small smirk twitched the corners of his lips.
"Commandeered the Governor's wig, I see."
"Borrowed it. He's got lots. Will never miss it." I handed it to him and sat down opposite him.
He put it on slowly, watching me, waiting.
"New rules." I coughed. Eyes went darker. "For every man lost, the loser needs to take off a piece of clothing. Rings," I pointed to his fingers, "and trinkets," pointed to his head, "don't count."
He learned forward and nuzzled my ear. Jack oozed rum, cinnamon, and musk. This was going to be harder than I thought. "Ooohhh, aren't you full of surprises. I stand corrected. Jack does want to play, my naughty, naughty commodore," he cooed. Jack sat back in his chair, his eyes wide and hot. He roamed them all over my body, disrobing me with his eyes. I couldn't have been more aroused than if he had done it with his hands. "Any other little rules I should know about?"
Barely able to breathe, I panted out, "Game ends when... one person loses... all their clothes. Winner... gets first crack... at loser. At his mercy... so to speak."
He hissed in delight. Feral gleam matched equally feral grin, the gold in his mouth flashing. "I like this idea very much. Very, very much." He brought his hands together and stared at me. He cocked his head first this way and then that, the grey curls following suit. I laughed out loud. "James," he admonished. "This is serious business. Decisions, decisions. Do I let you win so that we can get to the festivities in record time? No, that would leave you dressed while I'd be starkers. Never do. Want to see your skin, Mate. Am really wanting to see you, feel you, kiss you..."
"Jack," I warned.
"Lost my train of thought. No, clearly ole Jack needs to win because the one thing I have been plotting over the last few weeks is what I'd do with you once you tumbled..."
"Knew I'd tumble. Hmmmn."
"No, Jaime," he reached over, grabbed my hand and put it to his cheek. "Hoped you would. Only a hope."
I gasped as he sucked each finger, one by one. I let him savor me as I savored him savoring me. Wonderful tongue moving oh so slowly over each knuckle, then sucking each fingertip. What would his mouth like on my cock? Perhaps we could play later... much later... like next week... sometime next year...
Then he dropped my hand and grinned. Ran pink tongue over that full bottom lip, now slightly swollen.
"You are truly evil," I hissed. "You're just doing that to distract me. It won't work. I plan on winning this game because I have a few plans of my own. Your move."
"The things you say to me, Jaime. Oh the things you say," and he kissed the green jade queen for luck.
***
"CHEATER!" he roared.
"Commodore," I reminded him. I'd lost a man and in keeping with the rules of engagement, had shed one shirt. There were three more underneath that one.
"NEVER, never would have pegged you as a cheater, James. Can see I'm going to have to keep my eye on you."
"Just trying to level the playing field. Look at you. Scarf, sash, boots, belt, shirt, vest, breeches, stockings..."
"Don't wear stockings," he grumbled.
"And wig. In the normal course of events, you've have me undressed in no less than six moves, seven if you include the wig."
He narrowed his eyes and demanded, "How many of those bloody shirts are you wearing then?"
"I was wearing four. I'm now down to three."
He began pouting again, muttering under his breath. "Cursednavygobscan'ttrust'emcannybastardsnotfairchristonaraft."
"You just can't stand it when anyone is as clever as you are. Stop sulking."
" 'em not," he mumbled.
"You are, too. Here, I just moved. Your turn."
He sat back grumbling for a few more seconds and then with great reluctance returned to the board.
Tugging absentmindedly on his beard braids, he studied the board, I studied him. He was wrong; Jock Ritchie hadn't stolen his innocence. Oh no, he retained that peculiar delight, joy, and effervescence in all things, that curiosity, bravery, fearlessness toward life peculiar to children, that which slowly erodes in us as we grow older until we find ourselves clutching the rule books, not questioning, hugging propriety as our security blanket against our mortality. This is what made me treasure him. He would save the man from the commodore. I was no Jock Ritchie, but as clearly as if I had a magical mirror in my hand. I could see myself twenty years from now, bitter, unyielding, a stickler for rules and regulations; the pirate would hang every time, no regrets.
The steady beat of the clock, the comfortable silence between us as Jack pondered his next move lulled me into reverie. Finding myself twirling a curl that I had teased out from my wig, an irritating habit that I do when in lost in thought. I quickly put my hand in my lap, as if caught stealing a sweet. I looked up at Jack, his brows scrunched together tightly in some emotion I'd never seen before, eyes all iris. He reached over and began imitating me, twisting that little errant curl around his forefinger, pulling gently, then easing up, back and forth. The brow relaxed, and the forefinger of his other hand did a slow caress along the right side of my jaw. My lips parted and I wetted my bottom lip, aware that I couldn't breathe. Just when I was on the verge of grabbing his wrist to kiss the inside, he stopped and tucked the curl under my wig. Now the scent of musk overpowered the cinnamon and rum. The pout was over, very over. In fact, the eyes went half-mast, followed by a sharp, intake of breath. Then a "James," my name more of a sigh than a word, then that mischievous-pirate-smirk made an appearance.
Without even looking at the board, he pushed a man into a square. "Your move," he drawled.
He'd deliberately sacrificed his bishop.
And yet he was smug. Fairly bursting with it. He couldn't have been more pleased with himself.
What was that little devil planning? With great reluctance, I took his bishop. He stood up, took off one boot, then the other, fiddled with his sash, dropped his breeches and stepped out of them, feigned astonishment at the boots at his feet—as if they'd appeared out of thin air—slapped his cheek, tsk-tsked, put his boots back on, pushed back his chair, and sat down.
Jesus Christ, he was brown all over.
"CHEATER," I bellowed.
"Pirate," he reminded me.
"How am I supposed to play with that," I pointed at his cock, in full erection, already dripping... ohsweetlord, "staring me in the face."
"Didn't say anything about the order in which we're supposed to strip." He studied his nails.
"Bring your chair up to the table at least."
"Can't. Too close to the fire."
"There isn't a fire," I growled.
He glanced over to the fireplace. "So it would seem."
"Checkmate," I choked out. Shoving the table to the side, I grabbed him by the wrist and began dragging him across the room and up to the stairs to my bedroom, I ignored his protests.
"Ouch, James... can barely walk, man... have a heart... Jesus, that hurts... merciless, you are... ahhh."
When we reached my room, I grabbed his shoulders and pushed him onto my bed. "You should have thought of that before you dropped your breeches."
I raced back to the door to lock it. When I turned around he was laid out for me, legs spread, arms resting behind his head, cock pointing quite vigorously in the air. "Your move, love."
In the dusky soft gray light from the window, my eyes could just make the shape of him on the bed. White shirt bleeding into white counterpane, bronzed body set into such sharp relief against the white, the wig had fallen off at some point and his black mane heavy with charms and jewels was strewn higgledy-piggledy. As I neared the bed, seeing him so trusting, offering himself to me, and more importantly letting me acknowledge for myself what all this meant, not taking as he could have easily done, my strength left me. I fell to my knees. Groping for his hand, I pulled him to me so that we were kneeling together on the floor of my bedroom. Running my hands underneath his shirt, I wrapped my arms around his waist, clasping him to me, trying to erase any air between us. It was like holding lightning.
"I never said it back, Jack. Didn't say it. Love you, Jack, Love you so very much."
The tears that been welling up in me for weeks finally burst forth. I cried like I hadn't cried since I was a child. And he held me and let me cry it all out. A warm, hot brown hand circling my back in a lazy figure eight, the softest of whispers saying, "Jack's here, love. Jack's here."
***
"All right now?"
We were still on our knees at my bedside, dusk had dissolved into night.
I lifted my head from his shoulder. I was better than all right. I had no qualms, no fear that this wasn't absolutely right. Using both hands to carefully smooth that silky mane away from his shoulders, I opened my mouth and sucked on the hollow just above his collarbone. That particular spot had been teasing me for weeks. Ah, rum and cinnamon. I could get drunk just kissing him. Jack shuddered and pushed his groin against mine. I ran my hands down his back, palms caressing the scars and lash marks, and cupped with trembling fingers that thoroughly delicious arse in both hands, squeezed, kneaded. Jack hissed and pushed even harder. With one hand I reached down further to cup and fondle his sac while my mouth traveled up to his ear.
"Jack," I whispered. I tugged on his earlobe with my teeth.
"J.j.j.j.j" was all he could get out.
"Make love to me. Show me how to make love to you. Touch me. Anywhere, just touch me. I want..."
I smashed my mouth against his. It seemed like I'd waited six lifetimes for this. He stiffened in surprise and then, there's no other word for it, he inhaled me. Thrust his tongue into me, tasting me, demanding me to taste back. I matched his passion with my own mouth; we inhaled each other. The brand of his tongue as it met mine and the cool, cool gold of his teeth as I thrust back, savoring him, rolling my own tongue around his nearly drove me insane; it was like kissing fire and ice. This was almost enough, just the heat from him, the taste. I could kiss him forever. He began to pull back, "No," I whimpered and followed that mouth, caught that full lower lip with my teeth, and then sucked on it. At the same time I moved one hand to the small of his back and the other to his cock. At least here I knew what I was doing. I sucked his bottom lip harder as I swirled my thumb over his slit, massaging the come over the tip, around and underneath, then exploring slowly the shaft with my hand, up, down, soft on the upsweep, hard on the down, memorizing the curve, its pulse. I dipped my hand underneath to cup his balls again. As they tightened at my touch, his mouth slackened and he groaned, nails biting into my shoulders. I began to rock against his hip in time to my stroking, massaging my own erection. Jesusmaryandjoseph, I was going to come off fully clothed without him even touching me.
He pulled away. "Stop... I want... together."
Fumbling with shirt, shirts, he reeled back, shouting, "Shirts. Too many bloody shirts." He grabbed the collar of one, ripped it in half, the second, ripped it in half, the third, and pushed all of them back from my chest. With a feral growl he began mouthing me, eating me, neck, shoulders, collarbone. I arched to meet him as he branded me with his mouth.
"James," he panted. "Too close... want you... so long... too long." He grabbed my breeches and pulled the placket apart. Buttons scattered across the floor. He yanked my breeches down over my hips. With splayed fingers, his hand began circling my stomach, in ever widening arcs, getting closer and closer to my groin. With every pass, he moaned into my ear. This was torture, I wanted, needed desperately for him to touch me. I shoved up his shirt and ground my nipples against his. Grabbing his hand, I placed it on my cock. It was my turn to groan. He nestled my cock in his hand and then one by one his fingers wrapped around it. He mumbled, "Fuck," his voice thick, deep, aroused. Bringing his hand up to my head, he mimicked me, slowly circling the head with his thumb, massaging the pre-come, then he whispered, "Together. Now."
With his free hand, he fumbled until he found the back of my head and with a satisfied sigh, pulled my mouth to his. Returning one hand to an arse cheek another to his erection, I began to caress him again. Our tongues swirled, stroked each other, and we began fisting each other in perfect rhythm, moving as one. His stroke matching mine, mine matching his, our panting and groaning singing to each other. And then as if on cue, we started pumping harder, pulling almost with too much pressure on the head. Pleasure just shy of pain, ecstasy one touch away from agony. When I was just at the precipice, teetering on the edge, the heat in my groin almost unbearable, I didn't say so much as say "Jack" but think it when he wrapped his mouth around my tongue and sucked. Hard. We spilled against each other, groaning into each other's mouths as we spent, bodies shuddering against each other, propping each other up, sweat-slick chest to sweat-slick chest.
He pulled away first. "James, don't mean to fuss, but my knees are killing me. Can we move to that bed of yours? Looks quite comfy. Not that I'm complaining about your floor..."
I laughed, picked him up, and threw him on the bed. Stepping out of my breeches, I pulled off my boots and stockings, then the remnants of my shirts. Licking a brown knee, I pulled off one pirate boot, licked the other knee, off came the other pirate boot. Starting at his ankles, I moved my hands up the length of his body and eased him out of his belt, sash, and vest.
"Hang vest on the bedpost, mate, will need it later," he murmured. I even undid the ratty scarf around his head but left his shirt on. I had plans for that shirt. Climbing on top of him, I nibbled on his ear lobe, kissed his chin, ran the flat of my tongue over his lips. All that trepidation about making love to another man now seemed silly. I would never get enough of him. I knew him in a way I would never know a woman, because I knew myself. Knew just how hard to pull, knew exactly how it felt to have someone cup your sac, knew to a ripple how the fingers of desire race up your back when a warm hand moves up and down your shaft.
He turned us on our sides, our legs entangled, wrapped in each other's arms, our breath warming each other's face, enjoying that unique lassitude that comes from having spent and spent well.
In the faint moonlight, I struggled to make out his features. Someday soon we must make love in broad daylight.
He began to move his fingers gently all over my face. With a shock I realized he was playing me. Just like an instrument. Like my features were a keyboard, he caressed my jaw with two fingers in an allegretto, next a saucy allemande as he brushed my lips with his thumb, and then finally the lento as he ran his fingertip over my closed lids. "Can't see you. Those green eyes. Love 'em. Want you in daylight, James. "
"I was just thinking the same thing." I grabbed his arse to bring him in closer. "Jack, how do you think I'm going to explain to my tailor why nearly every garment I own has been ripped in half? You have single-handedly destroyed my wardrobe."
"S'your fault. You're the one who thought he was being clever by putting on all the shirts."
"Speaking of, you're still wearing yours. And oh my. It's not torn." I grabbed the front and ripped it in half.
He smacked my bottom. "That was my favorite shirt, you sod."
"S'your fault. You're the one who thought he was being clever by ripping mine to shreds."
He grinned, the gold in his mouth just barely illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the window.
"Like I said before, got to keep an eye on you, mate. Must say you've given new meaning to the old saw still waters run deep. Thought I'd have a blushing lad on my hands."
I kissed him; my tongue licked the back of his teeth. That fatal combination of the ice of those teeth, the heat of his mouth and I began to harden again. "Don't forget, I did spend almost every cent of my first prize money at Sal's. Worth every penny."
"Must send her a present, Sal." He paused. A gentle palm caressed my cheek. "Sorry first time was so hot and dirty, Jamie. Just been wanting you a very long time. Believe it or not, I'm something of a romantic. Like to take my time. Savor my dessert." I rubbed my cheek against his. It was warm, too warm. A slight blush?
With the very tip of my tongue, I traced the outline of his lips and then slowly wound my way down to his chin. I tugged on the beard braids with my teeth and murmured, "Was wonderful. Wanted hot and dirty."
"And now?" he pushed his cock, which was hard again, against my stomach.
"I am in your hopefully thoroughly depraved pirate hands."
"Cocks in nice warm tight places?" he said this lightly, but I felt the muscles in his back tighten, afraid I'd say no, yet still offering me the chance. Another gift. Acknowledging that I while I was stretching, I might not yet be bendy. "Will tell you everything am going to do so you won't be frightened, savvy?"
I scooted down and teased one brown nipple with my lips until the nub had sharpened into a tight point, then nipped it gently with my teeth. "Jesus," he whimpered and arced his body into my mouth. Did the same thing to the other nipple, and the scent of cinnamon, rum, and musk filled the room as Jack's desire climbed higher and higher. I then kissed my way up his chest, tickling his collarbone with my tongue, until I'd reached his mouth. I climbed on top of him and rubbed my erection against his. "Please, James is vewy hungry. Really, really hungry for Jack. Wants dessert."
Jack's throaty, aroused chuckle heated me to my toes. "Must send Sal a really big present."
Rolling me over on my back, he ordered, "Spread your legs." Nestling himself between my thighs, he began almost absentmindedly running his fingers up and down my shaft.
"First thing am going to do is suck your cock. For weeks been wondering what you'd feel and taste like in my mouth. Naughty boy shoving your goods in my face that night, James. I didn't sleep a wink."
"That makes two of us."
Fingers paused, then gently grasped my cock and began to stroke lightly. "Jesus, you're built like a horse, Jamie." The strokes became less absentminded, a little more purposeful. "While my mouth does unspeakably obscene things to your cock, I'm going coat my delightfully long and wriggly pirate fingers with some borrowed oil, Mrs. Pince you're a love, and do some rather nice stroking and petting of your hole, which, if you still have the power of speech, which I sincerely doubt,"—he moved his hand to the base of my cock and twisted. I arched up—"will have you begging for mercy." He twisted the other way. I yelped. "At which point, I'll ease one long, wriggly pirate finger up your arse. It might hurt a little, burn, but that will go. Depending how much you want it, it might not hurt at tall. If it gets too much, you let me know and I'll slow down. We've got all night. Once inside said arse, am going to explore a little to find your sweet spot."
"Sweet spot," I gasped.
"Sweet spot," he confirmed. He cupped my balls and rolled them gently in his palm. "Every man has a spot inside his arse. Some men like it more than others. You let me know if you like it, savvy? Hopefully, you're one of the ones who when touched will think you'd died and gone to heaven." He grabbed my shaft with one hand and languidly moved a thumb over my slit, pushing back the skin. "And if not, there are lots of other ways to make James a happy boy. Also while in there, I'll be stretching you a bit, making it so that I don't hurt you when I go in. Listening, James?"
"Heaven. Stretching. In. Got it." I grunted as one hand began moving up and down my cock again, the other massaged the head. My hands began clutching and unclutching the counterpane.
"Once first finger's done its job, second finger goes in, more stretching, more lovely spot stroking."
"Spot stroking," I choked out. His hands were doing, evil, evil, wonderful, wonderful things.
"Then third finger goes in with its mates, then very happy fingers leave, and finally Jack lathers cock with oil, and puts it slowly and gently into nice warm tight commodore arse until Jack is all the way inside. Then real fun begins. While Jack's cock thrusts, grinds, and rolls hips like the depraved little pirate he is, James will be thrashing all over comfy bed in absolute ecstasy. The like-fucking-a-woman-part. Did I remember to tell you that as I'm pounding you into the mattress, I'm stroking your cock..."
"Dammit, Jack," I shouted. "Do shut up and do it now!"
Just before enveloping my cock in his hot mouth, he said. "My move."
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