Title: Carried Home by You Authors: Hippediva and Elessil Disclaimer: The Rodent Empire owns them. We are naught but simple pirates. Pairing: Sparrington Rating: PG Warning: Avast! Here be a gentle interlude Summary: Clandestine affairs sometimes bring unexpected confidences and unanticipated pleasures. Carried Home by You by Hippediva and Elessil * * * Duty was all well and good; his guiding principle and his golden rule, but James Norrington grew tired when duty was wed to endless rounds of propriety. His groom took his mount and he greeted his housekeeper wearily before trudging up the stairs to his bedchamber. A single candle was lit on his desk, flooding the spare room with weird shadows that fluttered and twisted in the warm breeze. The big window was open to the deepening twilight, turning the bay below to midnight. There was a boot poking out from behind the curtains, accompanied by a shadowy hand. A slow smile spread over his tired face. "Insatiable pirate!" Jack had been waiting for James rather impatiently, toying with the tassels of the heavy curtains about the windowseat. "There ya'are luv! Wondered 'ow long ye'd be!" He swayed forward, his hair jingling, his cutlass clanking softly and traced an imperfectly clean forefinger down the Commodore's cheek. "Couldn't wait a fortnight, luv." "Impatient as always." James sighed and took off his hat and wig, stowing them out of Jack's sight with well-practiced caution. "I can well see that." Jack left his swordbelt and pistol on the windowseat and promptly pulled the commodore into a blistering kiss. Patience was one of those selective virtues in Sparrow: sometimes he was its very soul; other times, he was as bad as any five-year-old. Right now, he had been playing with more than those tassels and wanted nothing less than immediate gratification. "Shouldn't be such a temptation then, luv, " he muttered. James responded lazily, his tongue gliding along Jack's and pulled him into his arms, welcoming him. "If I wasn't, how could I ensure you would still come?" He squinted, pulling back a little to get a better look. Below kohl-lined black, only faintly visible in the dim light, he could make out a purplish bruise. "Jack?" He traced his thumb gently over the faint swelling. "What did you get into this time?" Jack's grin was lopsided. "Nothin' much, bit of a brawl. Yer Port Royal tavern's ain't so welcomin'." He laughed softly, untying the cravat. His thieving fingers stole into James' shirt. "I'd come awright, mate," he leered. The pale flesh beneath his eternally-stained hands was soft, riding atop hard muscle as easily as the Pearl rode the waves. James sighed softly at the touch, bringing up his own hands to divest Jack of his coat and then his shirt, exposing bronze skin, the stark contrast of his white fingers on it never ceasing to fill him with wonder. "And pray tell, what was this brawl about?" The only certain way he knew to provoke Jack to violence was depriving him of his rum. He let his eyes wander with his hands, roaming and exploring, as if truly seeing it for the first time. Jack looked down, watching the elegant fingers against his own dark skin. "Ahhh, tavern brawls! Ain't a proper night wifout at least two or three." But his grin had faded a little. "I fergit it ain't Tortuga, mate. Does it bother ya? Jamie?" He didn't look up. "Bother me?" James asked curiously. "What? That you are unable to keep away from trouble? I should be used to that by now." The bantering tone of his voice nearly stuck in his throat when he noted Jack's sudden seriousness. "It don't keep 'way from me, luv. Nah. Me hide. I mean, it don't revolt ya?" "Revolt me?" James repeated. "I might on occasion find your manners revolting." he stated teasingly. "But not you. Not anymore." Almost reverently. he kissed the exposed collarbone, licking at its hollow. "As I believe I have made clear several times." Jack quirked an eyebrow at him. "Never mind. Don't matter." By now, James knew Jack well enough that if something truly did not matter, the other simply forgot about it rather than mentioning it didn't. "I think it does", he stated, running his hand through black braids, slowly loosening some of the tangles. "Was the brawl about this?" The idea nagged at the back of his head. The pirate's head crested under the caress. "Sumpfin' like that. Evidently, the barkeep ain't fond o' half-breeds. Oooh, tha' nice, Jamie." Jack looked up and saw, for the first time, the circles around the Commodore's eyes, the lines of weariness creasing his forehead. "Poor luv, 'Ere, let's get ya outta them shoes." He evaded the subject by pushing James into a chair and diving to the floor, tugging at shoes and stockings. James let out a deep breath as he settled into the chair more comfortably. His eyelids nearly fluttered close when he leaned back, and, when he forced them open, a tired smile curled his lips. "For certain, a nice evasive tactic, but I won't forget so easily. Someone insulted you? Your parents?" Jack laughed softly, peeling off one white stocking in need of darning. He pulled at James' toe through the hole. "Well, ya know 'ow it is. Can't let that sort o'thing lie there. 'Specially if it's between me an' the rum!" His face was gilded by the lamplight as his bent his head and worked the kinks out of knotted calves. "Yer so smooth, Jamie. Like milk...a swan." For a long moment, there was only the sound of his hair chiming. "Been called all number o'things, luv. Doesn't matter a'tall, but..." his voice trailed off. "'Sides," he grinned. "Coin is coin an' ain't got no colour but silver or gold, right?" The pleased sound James let out was not at all unlike a purr, even though it were Jack kneeling at his feet with feline grace. Reaching down, he pulled the pirate up to sit astride his own legs. "It seems to me that it matters enough to warrant a mention that it does not. Tell me, Jack, what worries you?" he asked softly, sea-green gaze locked into black, as he eased further into the chair, drawing Jack with him. "That I would think ill of you, or of your mother?" Jack was uncharacteristically still, only his fingers dancing along the commodore's shoulders. "Dunno, James. Never worrit me much. An'," his smile was teasing, " who ever said it were me mum? Coulda been Da." The expression on Jack's face belied that immediately, it was such a comical blend of cunning and exasperation. James leaned into the touch, relaxing both mentally and physically. "So, remedy my ignorance and tell me. Who was it, then? Who were your parents, Jack?" His curiosity was awakened, and he had never been anything if not persistent. Keeping his hold on Jack, he stroked his hands over the warm back, in time with his even breathing. Jack had curled around him, legs tucked on either side as he pulled off the cravat and began unbuttoning the heavy brocade waistcoat. He stopped, glanced up at James quizzically, then sighed. "Me da? 'E's a rum old bugger. Seaman, pirate. Chip off th' ole block, eh?" He laughed against James' neck. " Only 'ope ye never 'ave the misfortune t'meet 'im! Me mum, she were th' halfbreed. Redskin an' Spanish. Come from the Floridas, she did." The Commodore helped in discarding the waistcoat, shrugging it off his shoulders. The ever-present texture of his linen cravat was replaced with coarse hair rubbing against his sensitive skin. "Two of your ilk? Not even my nerves could bear that." he teased, then prodded Jack to continue. "I know there is a story to this, and normally you need no prompting to tell one, which means this might actually be true." Jack shifted a little on his lap. "Yer pretty 'ead would spin an' yer pockets be emptied!" He paused for a moment, black hair shielding his face. "Don't talk 'bout it much, Jamie. No need. 'Tis wot it is an' tha's a fact." James reached up, brushing the mane from Jack's face. Wild and free, for all that he tamely sat on his lap, as a cat might. "Some of us are more concerned with facts than with legends." he said lightly, then added, "Jack. I know so little of you. Just.... trust me." Jack's head dropped, shadowed by hair and the trinkets that swung close to his face, looking up under his lashes. He smiled ruefully. "Can't make ya let go, can I? Yer implacable." He sighed, his lips twisting into a pout. "Me da were a freeboater then, smugglin' rum an' cane to th' colonies. Mum were servant; some plantation in Spanish Florida, guess you'da called 'er a slave. She run off wif 'im. Wound up in Yarmouth wi' me in arms. I were born on th' voyage out." He sighed again, then flashed a silvergilt grin. "There. Guess yer th'only quality's ever asked me." James reached out for Jack's chin, his fingers touching the rough hair there, the short braids tingling from his touch as he tilted the head up to meet his eyes while he still struggled for words. The British Crown to which he had sworn his loyalty, condoned slavery, for all that he did not. What was there to say? "Did your father love her then? What happened?" "Guess 'e did. Dunno really. 'E was off again, out t'sea. An' Mum made do. Da come back when I were five or six. Dunno fer sure. Mum were gone, then an' he bound me to a cartographer." He shrugged, saying more with that gesture than words. Sparrow's eyes were impossibly dark, for all of his light tone as he played with James' hair. How to say what it was to be a dredger at four, digging garbage off the shore? To sit on the stairs of the brothel, waiting until he could curl up in his cot? There were no words for all that. He hadn't thought of it in years, and here, twice in one day, he'd been reminded. "So that is where you got your skill in charting course from. Jack, I'm sorry." James smiled a little, attempting reassurance, taking one of the slender hands from his shoulders and brought the dark fingers to his lips. "I did not want to force you to talk of what you'd rather not think of. I merely wanted to know, because I care. Not about the past. About you." Jack looked into James' eyes, one of his half-smiles lurking in his beard. He meant it. That counted for something. "Past don't mean a thing. An' I got me 'eart's desire now, so wot does it matter?" His hands slid under the fine linen shirt to work at the Commodore's tense shoulders. "Wot you been doin', Jamie? Careenin' the Dauntless by yer onsies? Yer like a line pulled too tight, luv." James' head lolled forward, and he nearly moaned at the pleasant touch, wincing a little when questing fingers found a particularly sore knot between his shoulder blades. "Worse." he said. "Invited for dinner by the Governor. He could not refrain from introducing me to two 'lovely young ladies' and their 'adoring mothers' who had just arrived in Port Royal. I am relieved they did not stalk me when I bade my farewells." Jack threw back his head and laughed delightedly. "Poor ole Commodore! Ya can't 'elp bein such a good catch! Any sensible gel would throw 'erself at yer head, top gallant o'er keel." He soothed the knot, his fingers gentling. "There now. I could do this right but not perched 'ere on yer lap like a dockside trull." "That's the problem with them. They are not sensible." James grumbled. Pulling the pirate with him, he stalked over to the bed, flopping down on his stomach, breathing deeply of the clean linen sheets and the scent of the ocean on the windbourne breeze. "Jack?" he asked lazily. "Did you climb through the window again?" Jack swung one leg over the slim hips and began to work on James' tense shoulders with sure hands. "Course I did. That trellis is mos' advantageous. 'Sides, can't come t'either door, can I, mate? Yer butler'd faint if I were t'show up at the front and yer 'ousekeeper'd start screaming a blue streak at th' back." "Yes, I do take your point." James lifted his head briefly, only to let it fall down on the sheets again, propping it sideways on the pillows to watch Jack out of the corner of his eye. Warm hands on his back kneaded and prodded, a pleasant lethargy and bodily desire warring as he lay there, sprawling contentedly. Jack shifted his attention to the lower back. "Y'know, Jamie, ye've the mos' beautiful skin." His fingers trailed up along one shoulderblade. "So pale. An' smooth as silk. Not a mark on't." He pressed a kiss onto James' shoulder, stealing a glance at the drooping lids, the lashes fluttering like ragged scraps of satin. He smiled and continued to knead away the tension . "Not quite." James disagreed, regaining some of the clarity he had lost under a touch that was so soft, so pleasant; like a warm blanket safely tucked around him. Blindly, he grasped for Jack's hand, guiding it up the side of his torso to his ribs, allowing him to feel the ridged mark of a scar there; a deep cut he had received in a tumultuous skirmish years ago. He brought the fingers to his upper arm, another mark left by a sharp blade. Jack had been humming to himself as he worked, and stopped in surprise when his fingers wandered over the rough scars. He ducked his head to take a peek and whistled softly. "Aye. She do leave 'er stamp on us all, don't she?" He continued to work at the tight muscles, singing low. "'Look ahead, look astearn, Look the weather in the lee. Blow high! Blow low! An' so sailed we. I see a wreck to the windward an' a lofty ship t'lee. A-sailin' down all on th' coasts of High Barbary'." James hummed the tune, the sound muffled into soft sheets which became increasingly comfortable with every moment that passed. "'O are you a pirate? Or a man-o-war cried we?'" he continued, smiling to himself. As if he did not know the answer to that question. Jack grinned and leaned forward, his hair falling forward to spill over James' cheek with a faint jingle. "'Blow high! blow low! And so sailed we.'" His lips paused against one temple, then continued in that low tone, rumbling from deep inside him. "'Oh no! I'm not a pirate, but a man-o-war, cried he.'" Their voices joined, Jack's soft and lulling as the waves on the shore, James' so faint it was lost in the sound of his breathing. His eyes dropped closed completely as weariness and comfort both drew him into Morpheus' arms. "'Blow high! blow low! And so sailed we...'" The pirate's hands stilled and he carefully rose so as not to wake the sleeping Commodore and stood by the bedside, smiling down at him. "Next time, luv." He moved catlike across the room, stopped for a moment to consider pilfering the brandy bottle and shook his head. Nah! 'Twould only make me gut rise up like an August gale. A chiming shadow, he strapped on his swordbelt and slung out of the window. And the wind carried back the tune from the shore as he slipped away. FIN NOTE: The song they sing is The Coast of High Barbary, a well-known sea song dating from the 16th century. The lyrics and tune can be found here. The title is culled from the third verse. * * *