Title: Flogged Author: Doolabug Feedback: doolabug@hotmail.com Rating: NC-17 Pairing: Sparrington Summary: Commodore Norrington isn't a flogging captain for a reason. He discovers that Captain Sparrow suffers beautifully and we learn why. Disclaimer: Hear that whirring sound? That's Walt spinning in his grave. All belong to the Mouse et al. Warnings: torture, hurt/comfort Flogged by Doolabug * * * Bloody buggering hell, thought Captain Jack Sparrow as he sat in Royal Fortune's brig, not merely locked in, but manacled to a futtock as well. He'd been confined in worse places, he supposed, but this was, all things considered, pretty bad. Royal Fortune belonged to the dread pirate Roberts – Bartholomew Roberts to be exact. Black Bart. Scourge of the Caribbean, soulless murderer, raper and pillager of the most virulent sort, and, worst of all, a complete teetotaler. Jack couldn't abide men who didn't have a nip now and then. Roberts was rumored to have climbed the mainmast during a roaring storm with a Royal Navy ship nearly alongside and offered a lock of his hair to Satan, saying, "Good Devil, take this till I come." The Navy ship promptly lost its foretopmast to the storm and Royal Fortune easily outran it. Yes, he thought, I am in deep shit now. And then, a rum punch would do wonders for that man. * * * Commodore James Norrington was uneasy. He had been ever since Annamaria had inexplicably showed up at his office in Port Royal, terrorizing the guards and demanding to see him. What a tale she had told: Black Pearl taken by the crew to the careenage near Tortuga for cleaning, and she and Jack going into the town to secure victuals; Jack being waylaid, thumped on the head and dragged to a waiting boat; Annamaria watching from behind a cart and then seeing Jack rowed out to Royal Fortune. That was Black Bart Roberts' ship – she had recognized it. Annamaria hadn't wasted time going back to Pearl: she was beached and heeled over for cleaning, all her ballast out and her crew scraping barnacles. Instead she had bullied her way onto a merchant schooner bound that day for Jamaica and come straight to him. Inexplicable, but there it was. The commodore supposed he would have to rescue the pirate so that justice could prevail. There was some irony in there somewhere, but James didn't pause to deduce it. Sparrow, he smiled to himself, and Roberts too. What a coup. * * * "You will tell me where Isla de Muerta is, Sparrow. I know you've been there. Don't look so innocent – everyone in the Brotherhood has heard of Barbossa's little, ah, problem." Roberts stood outside Jack's cell, gazing imperiously down at where he sat chained against the hull. "That's what he gets for messing about with heathen gods, instead of sticking with the Christian Devil like civilized folk." "I won't tell you, you know," asserted Jack. "You have to have been there, mate, and you've not been there, so how can I tell you, if you haven't been there but I have?" Roberts glared. Jack thought quickly. "I can take you there, if you've mind to go," he said, trying to buy himself time. "No," said Roberts, "I think you'll tell me. I have ways of convincing you to tell me the island's location, Sparrow, and I'm not adverse to using them. I'll let you think on it tonight and if you're not more talkative in the morning, you can get acquainted with the bosun's cat." "The bosun has a cat? Oh, I like kitties! Long or short hair?" Roberts studied him. "The lash, Sparrow. Cat o' nine tails, and my bosun wields it with a strong arm and a rare pleasure. Think on that tonight and we'll chat again tomorrow. Sleep well." Roberts left and Jack stared after him. He closed his eyes and slumped against the clammy ceiling planks. The lash. He'd been flogged before and of all his scars those alone bothered him. There was something so... ignominious about being whipped. Not to mention the pain. He remembered the lash striking, and then the split second while nerves sent the signal to the brain, and then the blinding pain. Jack propped his arms on his knees and dropped his head to rest on his forearms. I wonder how many he'll give me, he thought. I wonder how long I can hold out. * * * Commodore Norrington stood on Alarm's quarterdeck; the small frigate was just arrived from England, newly built and fast. He hoped it was fast enough to find Roberts's hiding place before he did whatever it was he was going to do with Sparrow and moved on. Annamaria, standing beside him although it was against all regulation, thought she knew where Roberts might go and James followed her directions. Although Annamaria didn't care to speculate on Roberts's motives, James thought it probably had something to do with that damned island and its damned treasure. The last thing I need is more rotting pirates wandering about and stinking up the place, he reflected. Annamaria directed Alarm to a small islet not far from Tortuga. A long headland protected a small but deep bay with a narrow inlet through the fringing reef. A spring of fresh water was located in the hills above the bay, too small to be of use to the Navy but extremely convenient for pirates. Alarm anchored in the lee of the headland, shielded from view of the bay by tall palm trees and the falling light, and Norrington took a small party ashore. Perched on the ridge of the headland, he spied Royal Fortune anchored in the bay. What's more, a largish party of men had rowed ashore and were rolling empty water casks toward the spring. Apparently, they intended to stay at the spring through the night filling barrells. Norrington returned with his crew to Alarm and gave his orders. * * * Morning saw Jack still hunched against the hull. He heard steps and raised his head. "So, Sparrow, care to enlighten me with a few simple directions?" Roberts gazed at him with a satisfied look and Jack realized his captor would be pleased with whatever he answered. Sadistic bastard. Where's the good devil when you need him? Jack stood. "'M afraid I can't acquiesce to your request, mate." "Then please to accompany me on deck, Captain Sparrow. I believe the bosun has rigged a grating just for you." Roberts unlocked the cell and bound Jack's hands before releasing the manacles and ushering him up the companionway. * * * James saw Jack come on deck from his position in Royal Fortune's waist. His plan had gone perfectly, his crew surprising the pirates at watering and taking them down with little noise. Now they were dressed in the pirates' clothes and attending to deck duties as if they belonged there. Roberts was too preoccupied to notice anything amiss, and James had begun to realize why when he saw the bosun lifting a hatch grating and rigging it vertically against the mainmast. James knew what that was for: he was not a flogging captain but nevertheless at times it was necessary. Roberts called the crew to assemble near the grating. Alarm's men stood to the back, as directed, heads down but keeping an eye on their leader. James watched as Jack was led to the grating, saw him eye it momentarily, and then Roberts stepped close to him and spoke in low tones. Roberts gestured to the bosun, who was taking an ugly whip from a cloth bag. Jack's face grew pinched and James began to sweat. * * * "Spare yourself this, Jack, and just tell me. I'll find the island eventually anyway." "?Captain Sparrow,' if you please. 'N be my guest, if you think you can find it. You'll not find it with me, mate." "Very well, Sparrow. You bring this on yourself and you know how to stop it." Roberts called to his bosun and stepped out of the way. * * * The commodore searched the tip of the headland for the first sign of Alarm so he could stop this barbarity. He had told Groves to wait for midday in order to give his shore party plenty of time to get to Royal Fortune and learn where Jack was held and how they could secure the ship. The sun was now approaching its zenith, but he knew Groves, conscientious lieutenant that he was, would wait until exactly noon to move. James's attention was drawn by Roberts's burly bosun stepping forward and grasping Jack's bound wrists. Spinning him to face the grating, the bosun ripped Jack's shirt down the back, pulling the shreds away. James's palms began to sweat as he watched the bosun tie first one wrist and then the other to opposite edges of the grating, the muscles of Jack's back rippling at the movement. James could see the faint scars of a previous flogging that marred the tanned skin, and thought of Jack having been tied like this before. Unbidden, his cock twitched within his breeches. James swallowed hard and attempted to govern himself. * * * Jack stood still as the bosun tied his wrists. He might be in deep shit, but he wouldn't shame himself by struggling. He felt the breeze on his naked torso and looked through the grating, willing Pearl to come sailing around the headland, and cursing himself for getting in this position. He wondered where Annamaria was, and if she had managed to get away and go for help. Or if she had been killed and dumped into the filthy harbor of Tortuga. He jerked as the first stroke caught him by surprise. * * * James saw Jack flinch as the bosun laid the lash onto his back. He didn't make a sound and James's opinion of him increased. A large bead of blood welled on the tanned skin, sliding slowly down the channel of Jack's spine. James watched the blood disappear under the waistband of Jack's breeches, riding low on his hips, and he was fully hard. A second stroke, harder than the first, and James could hear Jack's sharp intake of breath. James shut his eyes, imagining Jack gasping for quite another reason. The third stroke fell while his eyes were closed and again Jack gasped. James suppressed a groan. * * * Jack closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the rough grating. The lash fell again and again and he could feel the blood rising. He gritted his teeth, determined not to give voice, either to talk or to cry out. He lost count somewhere around ten or twelve strokes; the bosun wasn't counting either – no need, as Jack supposed the lash would fall until he either talked or passed out. The bosun grunted with effort. Blood flowed freely down his back and Jack found it harder to ignore the pain arcing through his body. He realized the lashes had stopped and slowly opened pain-glazed eyes. Roberts was standing beside him, looking into his face and Jack could feel a hand on the back of his neck. "How do we do, Jack? This is growing tiresome and I have places to be." "'Captain Sparrow,' and we're doing fine, mate. Lovely day, innit?" Roberts leaned close. "I hate to further mark that pretty skin, Jack. Soon there won't be any left. Then I suppose we'll have to turn you around." * * * James marveled at Jack's fortitude. Never a sound escaped him, save for the occasional gasp or grunt. He wondered if he would have been able to endure the lash as well; he doubted it. James realized his admiration for Jack was growing with every stroke, even as he frantically searched for the first sign of Alarm. A movement from Roberts caught James's attention as he motioned to the bosun to hold his cat and stepped close to Jack, who was now sagging somewhat against his bindings. His bloody back glistened in the sun with every slight movement. Roberts put his hand on the back of Jack's neck and James bristled. They exchanged a few words, though James couldn't hear what was said, and then Roberts straightened and almost tenderly moved Jack's long hair away from his back, draping it in front of his shoulders. James saw the paler skin of his neck, unmarred and perfect, and quailed at the thought of the lash drawing blood there as well. He thought of his mouth on that spot instead; his cock throbbed and he moved his hands to surreptitiously press against the hard heat. The lash fell again. * * * Jack could scarcely tell the individual strokes now. His legs felt weak and he was, perversely, glad of the bindings holding his wrists and keeping him from falling. He dared not turn his head to rest his cheek against the grating, wary of the lash catching his eye. He could feel his breeches soaked with blood. Would be nice to pass out, he thought as he heard the lash whistle angrily through the air again. Wonder how he'd wake me up though... * * * Straight up noon and Alarm rounded the headland, unobserved by Roberts or his remaining crew, so engrossed were they in torturing Jack. Thank God, James thought, and then the ambush began as Alarm fired toward the waterline to cripple Royal Fortune without harming her own men. James shot the bosun without a second thought and then turned on Roberts. * * * The remaining pirates were quickly subdued and James sent Gillette with Roberts to chain him in his own cell; Black Bart would be summarily dealt with in Port Royal. He then turned immediately to Jack, still tied to the grating. Pulling his knife he cut Jack's wrists free and caught him by the shoulders, careful of his mangled back as he lowered him to the deck. "Whosit? 'M not dead yet." "Captain Sparrow, its Commodore Norrington. You're safe now. Can you walk?" Jack tried to rise but stumbled to his knees. James called for a sheet from Roberts's cabin. Wrapping it around Jack, he grasped him about the waist, pulling one of the pirate's arms over his own shoulders to help him stand. Moving with Jack toward the gangplank to Alarm, he gave orders to Gillette to take a prize crew, repair Royal Fortunev, and bring her and the prisoners into Port Royal. He helped Jack across the gangplank, and then gave the deck to Groves with orders to anchor and allow the men to go ashore. He took Jack into his small cabin under the quarterdeck. * * * Inside, he helped Jack lie down across the table, cheek resting on the wadded up sheet, and called for warm water and clean cloths. He glanced at the pirate, who had more color in his face now, and was breathing easier. Already the blood was beginning to congeal. Jack looked at him. "Not that I don't appreciate your efforts, Commodore, but it seems a bit unnecessary if you're just going to hang me when we get back to Port Royal, dunnit?" James considered this. His original intention had been to seize both Roberts and Sparrow, which he had certainly done. But the idea of hanging Jack now, having seen him withstand such an ordeal, seemed a travesty. He again thought of Jack tied to the grating, standing firm, and realized his esteem for the man much outweighed his loathing of the man's career. Besides, it seemed rather callous to talk of trial and hanging to this beaten, bloody person. "I believe you have endured enough for one adventure, don't you? If you will allow me, I will attend to your wounds." Jack merely nodded, knowing when to hold his tongue, and watched as James collected the bucket of water and cloths that had been left outside the cabin door. James surveyed the mess that was Jack's back. Before anything else he needed to be cleaned up. James again drew his knife and cut the soaking breeches from Jack's waist. Jack raised his hips to allow James to pull them away. James resolutely did not think of the pirate naked and stretched out on his table as he began to clean the blood away. No, not at all. He began with his legs and worked his way up, wiping and rinsing until the gore was gone and clean skin showed again. Golden, gleaming skin. He worked his way up Jack's arse, appreciating the taut muscle, the dip at his flank, the divot at his hip. Jack's hiss of pain brought him back to his task and he began to work carefully at cleaning the pirate's back. * * * Jack closed his eyes and tried to relax as the commodore worked to clean him up. This kindness was unexpected and unlooked for, but gift horses and all that, Jack supposed. The warm water felt like heaven against his aching body. Its over, its over, he kept telling himself. He was remotely proud of not breaking under the lash. But Christ, how much more of this kind of punishment could his battered body take? And bloody hell, but that warm cloth rubbing gently over his arse and hips was magic. He wondered what the commodore was about – is this compassion or something more? Might like to explore that sometime... And that thought was cut off as the cloth caught the edge of a lash mark, causing Jack to hiss through his teeth. He relaxed again as Norrington slowly cleaned the lattice-work of cuts patterning his skin. * * * Finally, James thought as the last of the blood was removed, I didn't know a body could bleed this much and remain living. Jack appeared to have relaxed, though he knew the cleaning must have been painful. The pirate had endured that like he had the flogging, without a sound. James smoothed ointment into the gashes. They looked raw and angry, but were no longer bleeding. "Captain Sparrow – Jack – can you move to the cot? You can rest there tonight and I'll take the hammock." "Aye, mate," he said, noting the use of his given name as he gingerly sat up and began to move toward the spacious hanging bed, "but I di'n't expect you t' give up your own resting place." Jack looked at the cot and thought of the commodore's gentle touch on his hip. I wonder... "'S plenty big enough for the both of us." James didn't know how to answer that, so he ignored it. "Call if you require anything. I will attend to you during the night if you have need." Jack peered at his rescuer as James helped him to lie down on the cot. The commodore was blushing as he returned to the deck. * * * Jack awakened to the feel of fingers softly smoothing more ointment into the abrasions on his back. He had slept well, despite the discomfort, and felt more like himself. He didn't move, enjoying the soothing movement and wondering what had inspired this in the staid commodore. Still waters, he reflected, as the hands moved lower. Wonder how far he'll take this. Not how I imagined it happening, but here are those gift horses again. James gazed at Jack's slender form under his hands. Slim and sleekly muscled, like an otter. The cuts would heal. They'd leave scars but they'd heal. James thought of dragging his tongue across the slight ridge of those scars and his prick jumped to life again. He considered his reaction to this man. Of course he found the pirate wildly attractive – and where did that come from? - but that wasn't all, he realized. Damn, he just suffered so beautifully. Took it like a man. * * * James's hands wandered, smearing ointment over cuts and skin alike. He knew Jack was awake now and he watched the pirate's reaction as his fingers drifted lower, to the rise of his arse. Jack shifted and James snatched his hands away, accidentally brushing against a lash mark on his lower back and causing Jack to grunt. Jack shifted his head on his arms and looked back at James for a long moment. "Didn't say stop, mate." James gazed at the naked man on his bed and then looked Jack in the eye. "Is this what you want? I'd not have you think you must buy your freedom this way." His eyes roamed across the scabbed-over lash marks. "I wouldn't hurt you more, Jack." "I know that. D'you really think I don't want, or can't take, what you're offerin'?" James thought of Jack spread against the grating and the lash falling. He groaned softly and returned his hands to Jack's arse, oily trails of ointment marking their path across his skin. Soft kneading, stroking; hands moved to the crease of his thighs and Jack shifted, raising his hips slightly and parting his legs. James stood briefly and stripped, then returned to the cot at Jack's side. Jack watched the clothes come off and marveled at James's pale skin, unmarked and so unlike his, his cock erect and lust-dark. He wanted to explore every inch of skin and cock alike. He was, however, effectively immobilized by his sore back so, being a reasonable man, he decided to let the commodore have his way. This time. * * * Jack felt James's hard length pressed against his hip and he rocked his own erection into the cot mattress under him. James returned to stroking his arse and he felt more cool salve applied to his skin. Jack groaned and lifted his hips, offering his body to James. James pressed his cock into Jack's hip, thrusting roughly, and slid his fingers down the cleft of the pirate's taut arse. Slick with ointment, they slipped easily across his opening, bringing a gasp from Jack. James thought of Jack gasping at the fall of the lash and strained against the smooth skin of his flank. He slowly rubbed back and forth across the small entrance as Jack buried his face in his arms and tried not to move. James slipped the tip of his index finger inside the tight muscle and then pushed it home. Jack cried out and James had accomplished with one finger what the nine-tailed cat had not. James held his hand still, feeling the pirate's muscles quivering. Deliberately, he pulled the digit free and with the same steady pace drove it in again. And again. The steady push and retreat was maddening; Jack got his knees under him and pushed back. James added another finger, pushing and withdrawing through the tight heat. The questing fingers found the small gland and tapped lightly, wringing a whimper from the stoic pirate. "Been tortured enough for one week, dontcha think, Commodore?" "Far be it from me to add to your misery, Captain Sparrow." James moved between Jack's legs, using his knees to push the pirate's thighs farther apart and quickly stroking more ointment onto his straining erection. Careful not to touch the marks on his back, James grasped Jack's hips, positioned his cock, and pushed slowly inside, the head of his cock popping through the slightly loosened muscle. James groaned low in his throat; Jack drew a long breath and pushed back until James was hilted. James used his weight to push Jack's hips down onto the bed and placed his hands on the mattress on either side of the pirate's back. He began to pump, slowly building power and speed. Jack's pants encouraged him: "So good, James. So hard... I feel you so deep." James increased the tempo of his thrusts, the heat in the cabin increasing with their exertions and the rising sun. He shifted his angle and could feel the head of his cock brushing the swollen gland; Jack cried out again. Relentlessly he drove, feeling his release building in the pit of his stomach. "Harder James, that's it... harder now." James obeyed, pounding against the muscled buttocks. Suddenly Jack stiffened and held still. James pumped twice more and the pirate gave a strangled, guttural groan, shuddering his seed into the rumpled sheets. James pushed in as far as he could go. He was teetering on the edge and he could feel Jack's tight heat trembling around him. His shoulders shook with the effort of holding himself off Jack's mangled back. A bead of sweat trickled to the end of his nose and dropped; James watched it fall into an open gash. The pirate hissed and writhed at the pain of the sharp sting. James came like a cannon firing. * * * They lay together, spent, Jack's chin cradled on James's shoulder. James's fingers caressed the soft skin at the back of Jack's neck, under his wild locks, where Roberts had touched him. He looked at the wounds marking a tortuous path across the expanse of skin. "It looks bad, Jack, but I think you'll survive. I'm sorry I couldn't stop it sooner." "'ve had worse. 'm sure I'll have worse." "You'll have to be more careful with yourself, Jack," James admonished. "I don't think I can take watching you flogged like that again." "Oh? Seemed t'me that flogging might've changed a few of your long-held opinions about me, Jamie. Why, if I'd known a simple flogging would've landed me in your bed, I'd've arranged it long ago. Besides which, I know how watching a lashing can affect some men." He looked archly at James. James colored. "I've been a baaaaad pirate, commodore, and need to be punished." James choked. * * * Notes: - Bartholomew "Black Bart" Roberts is considered the last of the Golden Age pirate captains. His flagship Royal Fortune was a large brigantine captured from the French in 1720. Unique among pirates, he apparently actually was a teetotaler. - "Good Devil, take this till I come," is attributed to the "Gentle Pirate" William Lewis (or Louis – he may have been French). He offered Satan a lock of his hair while chasing a ship in the Gulf of Guinea and proceeded to catch it despite his mainmast being crippled by cannonfire. The episode originally was published in The Pirate's Own Book in 1837. * * *