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Title: Moonverse Series: 5 - Penumbra Chapter 1: 'Full Moon' Chapter 2: 'Tides' Chapter 3: 'Drowning' Chapter 4: 'Currents' Author: Firesignwriter Email: firesignwriter@yahoo.com Pairing: Norrington/Jay (though it's really about Jack'n'James -- trust me) Disclaimer: Norrington and Jack are Disney's. No money. Don't sue. Jason/Jay is mine. Please don't use him without my permission. Rating: NC-17 for explicit nookie and disturbing content Warning: some reference to past abuse Archiving: Not yet. I might wanna keep this one limited to my LJ. Haven't decided. Dedication: To inkbug for being the source of all this delightful madness. Summary: Jack has been gone nearly nine months. Tonight, Norrington's looking to remember. The Moonverse Series
5: Penumbra * * * The wild tumble of white-gold hair drew attention, and its gilt-skinned owner knew as much. He'd been strutting through the tavern with an easy showmanship, alighting here and there for a few words with this weary serving wench or that portly regular, every motion speaking of long familiarity with this place and these people. His laugh was a quick, ready thing, complemented by flashing white teeth and dancing eyes blue enough for Caribbean waters at midday. Those eyes were restless even when the man paused somewhere, engaged someone in conversation. They moved, constantly seeking, flitting from face to face, over weapons and clothing and stances and shoes. Cagier eyes than the frequent, amiable flash of teeth suggested. Older. Alert as a wild thing's. Once, then twice, then for a lingering third time that searching gaze found a plain-clothed James Norrington alone at his corner table, unobtrusively observing. With the third look his eyes caught, held. The blond's head cocked aslant in a considering pose that struck a deep and resonating chord somewhere in the officer's chest. When Norrington didn't look away the man swept a tankard from the bar and strolled directly for him. Moved like Jack, too. Not like Jack on land, with that tipsy, languorous saunter that looked so precariously unsteady; he moved like Jack at sea, on a ship. On _the_ ship, his own, with that cocky, rolling strut assured and peculiarly graceful. He stopped before the table. Stood there, hipshot, and tipped back a generous swallow while inquisitive eyes sized Norrington up. Unspeaking, Norrington met him look for look. His foot hooked a chair and turned it. Without invitation he straddled the chair in reverse, sitting with lean, muscled arms folding loosely atop the back of it. Took another pull from his tankard, watching him. Some sense of social niceties fought its way through Norrington's distraction. He gripped the mug he'd not been paying much attention to, lifting it in a token salute. Said, "Cheers," and was gratified to find his voice sounded as it should, low and level and entirely unflustered despite the disturbance the stranger caused in his already discontented mind. "Cheers," the blond replied, matching the salute with a little bob of wrist. "You've been watching me." Somehow it surprised him to hear the words formed by a clear, even tenor, with hardly a slur or a purr or a throaty rumble to it. Norrington took a pull from his mug. Withheld a reflexive grimace. Still hadn't developed much of a taste for the drink, but memories demanded their due and tonight that meant rum. "I would imagine you're quite accustomed to being noticed." A smile, pleased. What struck him was its evenness -- how it didn't pull more to one side than the other, or curl up with a hint of a sneer or a leer. Unadorned white. And why should that disappoint him? "I am," the blond allowed. "But you're looking at me different." "Am I?" "You're not looking like you're enjoying looking." He stared into his rum, gleaming red-gold in the mug. Promising, as was its way, to dull this unwelcome _claritvy_ that he desperately wanted to escape from for just one bloody night. "My apologies." "Didn't ask for an apology." A glance up. That restlessness he'd observed in the man was nowhere to be seen; for the moment he appeared astoundingly calm, patient, steady. And that was Jack-like too. "You remind me of someone," he said. Deep blue eyes danced across his face, down to his shoulders and back up so quickly the glance might not have happened at all. "_I_ remind you of someone?" "Quite a bit." Sandy eyebrows tilted upwards just a smidge. "That's a new one. Most tell me I'm one of a kind." "Until you came in here, I would have said the same of him." "Huh." He scratched idly at an elbow. "Enemy or friend?" "That would depend on when you looked, I suppose." "Sounds complicated." A shoulder lifted and fell a bare inch. "For a short time he was a close friend." Another headtilt. He looked thoughtful. Evaluative. Maybe Norrington's eyes were giving him away again, the way Jack once told him they tended to if a fellow studied them just so. Maybe he wanted them to give him away. The blond sipped his drink. Held it in his mouth a moment, savoring or considering, then swallowed. Studied him, half-lidded. "_How_ close?" "Close," Norrington said, meaningfully quiet. And wondered at himself for knowing this subtle language-beneath-words. A hint of that bright smile pulled again at his mustached upper lip. "I see." Faded. "Dead?" Throat tightening, he scrutinized his rum. Tried not to let himself think about it. "I hope not." "But gone, I take it." "Gone," he agreed, lost in the muted amber gleam, "yes." Silence. It didn't register immediately, but eventually he noticed the weight of the wordlessness, the continuing presence of the stranger across the table, and he flicked a look up. Was jolted again by the dissimilar similarities, the wild mane strung here and there with beads (and was that a feather threaded in beneath the fall?), the steep angle of jaw and plump, exquisitely shaped lips and eyes that were just too _savvy_ for anyone's comfort. Watching him, the blond tipped the tankard fully up, finishing off whatever had filled it. Let the empty vessel dangle meaningfully from his elegant fingers. "Buy me a drink." Norrington regarded him. Didn't answer. "No, listen..." He leaned against his arms on the chair-back and smiled engagingly, cheerfully. Rather puckishly. "Buy me a drink." Lips twitched, curving very slightly. The man's light eyebrows rose, asking and inviting, and that smile was affable and warm. Norrington looked past him, catching a barmaid's attention, nodding at the odd stranger who seemed so comfortable here. The girl's expression soured markedly before she moved to comply, and he wondered at that. But only briefly, absently, and when his gaze returned to the blond's laughing eyes he forgot the unhappy maid. Smile receding to a small, contented thing, his tablemate asked, "What should I call you?" The words 'Commodore James' very nearly tripped off his tongue. He caught them just in time. Offered only, "James." Then arched an eyebrow in query. "Call me Jay." "Like the bird?" Quick flash of that smile. "Jason. Jay." Norrington dipped his chin in a tiny nod. Found his eyes wandering that face, exploring it, without any conscious decision on his part to do so. Jay's jaw was longer than Jack's, but still cut with the same sharply angled refinement. Lips were wider, just a bit fuller. Eyes looked smaller, but that might have been due to the lack of accenting lining. His beard and mustache -- thicker, less carefully shaped -- reminded Norrington of quiet times in the mornings before a day's travels had begun, when they'd tended to their respective grooming and he'd come to understand that Jack's uncivilized appearance took effort to maintain, was even a source of pride. Jay sat there, an impossible gold color next to remembered, sun-burnished brown, looking nothing like the pirate and yet so similar Norrington wanted to rub his eyes to clear them. The same displeased-seeming serving girl thunked a new tankard onto the table. Norrington presented a coin, which she snatched from his fingers briskly. She ignored the blond through the whole brief exchange. Jay followed her swift departure with a tolerant expression. Returned a small grin to Norrington. "Don't ask." "I wasn't." He lifted the tankard. "Cheers." Waited this time until Norrington took the hint and knocked his mug against the larger stein. Drank. Set it down. "What was his name?" Norrington forced a swallow of rum. "Jack." "And he looked like me?" "You look like him," Norrington corrected flatly. Eyebrows quirked amusedly, but he let it go. "How long's he been gone?" "Nearly nine months." A pause. Reason told him not to volunteer anything, but something deeper than that was pushing him tonight, making him want to...connect. With someone. Maybe with this man who held such a strong echo of the one who refused to leave his thoughts. So he said more, feeling careless, ready to take a chance. "It's his birthday this month." "When?" He opened his mouth. Paused, then smiled with bitter amusement. "I forgot to ask." "And now you can't," Jay supplied. His smooth brow bore a few sympathetic lines. Eyes that had first struck Norrington as feral now seemed surprisingly concerned. Either the man had uncommon empathy or uncommon talent at fakery. "It's been lonely for you, eh?" That time the echo of Jack was so strong he felt a frisson along his spine. He didn't answer that. Wouldn't have had Jack asked; certainly wasn't about to with this not-Jack, this golden ghost-of-Jack. Not aloud, at least. But if his eyes _did_ give him away, perhaps, just a little bit...? He couldn't blame himself for that. There was little help for it when confronted with an overly perceptive audience. Jay nodded sagely. Lifted his tankard again, waiting until Norrington matched the gesture, then hefted the drink in tribute. "To absent friends. May they find their way back." Constriction around his chest. "Absent friends." Mugs thunked together, wooden and weighty. "But he won't be returning." "No?" Norrington shook his head slightly. Drank. Eyes dwelling cryptically on his face, the man paused, lips a hairsbreadth from the rim of the tankard. "Well well," he murmured. "Now that's a very sad thing." There seemed no reasonable answer to that, so he offered none. "And what brings you to our fine tavern tonight?" Norrington smiled wanly. Tipped the mug. "The libations." "Are you in town for long?" "No." Jay waited for more. Not ready to cut this off, lose this apparition so quickly, he gave it to him. "Only until Saturday." The blond sipped his drink, gazing at him. "Hmm." "And you?" he asked dutifully. This time the smile reminded him of first impressions. Reminded him of the guardedness he'd seen when the man first entered, despite his joviality. "Let's save time, James, shall we? You don't really care to know about me." Something told him he should protest. It wasn't a strong enough something to compel him to do so, however. "And that's all right," Jay went on. "I don't mind." An odd glint to his suddenly intent eyes. "I'll stand in for him tonight." Norrington's lips went slack. He made special effort to keep his jaw from hanging. After a moment he collected the wits to clear his throat, speak. "I didn't come here looking for...company." "Well, company's found you." A bit of a leer, every inch as arrogant as Jack's. Maybe more. "You've been thinking of little else since you first saw me." "A man's _thoughts_," Norrington said, not so levelly as he meant to, "need not dictate his actions." "Need not," Jay agreed. "Often do." He propped his bearded chin on his forearm, something incongruously innocent in his limpid eyes. "You can call me Jack." Norrington flushed. Looked away, blinking. The man pressed on. "Tell me what he'd do to you." And now Norrington heard a bit of that growl or purr, like a roughening of the terrain beneath the words. "Show me what you'd do to him." Oh Christ... Pressure against his leg, the side of his calf, rubbing upwards -- a booted toe. Confidence in Jay's voice. "Bet you're getting hard already." Norrington shifted his chair back. Made himself turn a cold look on the blond, though the heat in his blood made doing so a challenge. "I could be anyone. Anything. You take your risks too easily." Another little tip of the gilded head, smile lingering. "What do you care?" He didn't have a ready answer for that one either. Not even in his own mind. Except, perhaps, the thought that somewhere this month Jack might be putting into a port, going ashore to find a suitably raucous establishment in which to commemorate the ticking over of forty years into forty-one. Somewhere on the African continent, maybe -- perhaps even now, at this very moment -- he'd find some unfamiliar face that caught his fancy. Possibly a man's. And Jack, bold as a popinjay, would no doubt trust to his ridiculous luck to keep him well through whatever followed. Fingers curled around the mug, gripping it angrily. Bright enough to look after himself -- oh, _certainly_. As bright a man as this afterimage here, with clever eyes and a quick tongue and a fool's hapless faith in unreliable Fortuna. "I want to show you something," Jay said. He looked up again, the anger still simmering. No hint of a smile now. The man's face was quite serious as he stood, clearly expecting him to follow. "Come with me. You'll wanna see this." Slowly, deliberately, he tipped back the last of the rum. Swallowed it, staring speculatively. "You're a little taller." "C'mon." Norrington set the mug on the table and rose to his feet. Jay led him outside, turning to follow the building, pausing at its corner to glance down the narrow path between the tavern and the neighboring leatherwork shop. Grunts and gasps from that darkened recess warned of occupants, busy ones, and Norrington felt another hot chill shudder through him at the sounds. Jay cast him a conspiratorial grin (_take a walk with me, Commodore James_) and gestured him on past the alley with its noises, past the darkened front of the leatherwork store. He stopped at that next corner. Turned, disappearing into the deep shadows. Norrington hesitated. His heart pounded too fast, too loud. Judgment. Judgment had to be compromised. Two drinks could do that to a man unaccustomed to imbibing. Two drinks and loneliness. With an unsteady breath he checked the looseness of Jack's sword in the sheath at his left hip. Let his hand linger there a moment, curved to the hilt, thumb rubbing an absent caress. "Come on," came Jay's voice from the alley, gentle and amused, and Norrington stepped into the shadows, following. He felt the hands before his eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness. They touched lightly at his ribs and then roved up, hissing linen over skin and chest hair, moving with intent. Stopped at his pectorals. Shifted, thumbs searching until the small rises of peaked nipples were found. He didn't move. Didn't breathe. "How long's it been?" With slow, dragging thumbstrokes. A tight-throated swallow. "What do you care?" Dimly visible, Jay flashed another of those smiles. Stepped closer. "You don't expect much from people, do you?" His men would say otherwise. They'd tell that he _demanded_ much, and accepted nothing less than their best efforts at whatever tasks he assigned them. But those were underlings. Subordinates, loyal to the rank before the man. And he suspected Jay meant something rather different. Norrington cleared his throat. "What did you want to show me?" A hand slid down his chest. Down his abdomen. Down. "This." Lips parted and breath shook through them. His heartbeat was terribly loud in his ears. It only got louder when the blond head tipped, dipped, lips replacing that hand against his shirted chest. Teeth, then, with a nip through cloth, catching and stinging the hard nub. Norrington flinched, but not away. His eyes closed tightly. Jay's hand moved over his crotch only lightly, rubbing in downward glides. Like petting a cat, though why that particular comparison should spring to mind Norrington couldn't guess. "Hm," Jay murmured as fingers explored. "You're a big boy." He forced a slow, indrawn breath. Noticed the heavy dampness on the air, the thick and sluggish breeze carrying it. Focused on that. "It smells like rain." The hand stroked. Teeth grazed, closed, and he flinched again. Jay's head came up. "Did you kiss him?" He opened his eyes. Somewhere near the horizon the sky growled. "Yes." A sinuous motion put Jay against him, put them both against the wall, cold stone pressing jagged indentations into his back. The other's arousal was apparent against the top of his thigh. His palm rolled over and over Norrington's erection, coaxing it to stiffen further. "Show me," Jay said softly. "Close your eyes and show me." At a corner of his mind a little shred of rational self-preservation shrilled a warning. He found it disturbingly easy to ignore. Closed his eyes again. Let hands move, following slowly undulating shoulders up, fingers slipping into the mass of hair. Jack's had been softer, past those thick elflocks. But only the backs of his hands noticed that; the calloused pads of his fingers were numb to the difference. He pulled him in, blindly seeking his lips. Softer -- not chapped by salt-sea wind. Warm. Full. The mustache brushed ticklingly at his upper lip. The hand over his breeches was quiescent, still and heavy as lips opened on his, hotter and moister than the pre-storm air around them. It was Norrington whose tongue first moved in exploration, flicking across the dry swell of his bottom lip, then slipping past, touching teeth. Tasting. He'd never been able to define the taste of warm gold and silver in a pirate's mouth. But he recognized the absence of that taste -- felt it like a sting behind the eyes, and in some unclear way that made him angry again. Frustrated. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He wasn't a bloody widower, for God's sake. The anger vented in the sudden fierceness of the kiss, the stab of his tongue into that alien, willing mouth, the curling of his rough-skinned fingers into thick hair. Moving on instinct, he twisted, pushed, and then it was this not-Jack who was pressed to uneven stone, Norrington whose body pinned him there, whose hands held his face and traced his features and found him so confusingly alike. His cock, trapped between them, didn't care about his mind's useless spinning. Neither did Jay, if his eager squirming and broken little moans were any indication. His hands roved busily, digging here, gripping there, and his hips writhed as needfully and shamelessly as a whore's. Or Jack's. Or his own at the moment. Christ. He pulled back, panting. Jay's pupils were dilated and his eyes looked very dark, very feral again. His breathing came rapid and shallow. Thunder rumbled. He'd still seen no lightning, but the closeness of the air, the dampness of it against his skin promised the sky would break open soon. His mouth opened before he knew what he meant to say. He heard the words as if from a distance: "I have a room at the inn." Lips drew up, baring mutedly gleaming teeth. "Is that an invitation?" Caution shrilled impotent protests. "Yes." Jay rocked against him in a tortuously slow, bucking motion. He grabbed the man's hips and held him still. "I need..." Jay said breathlessly "...need to duck into the Rose again." "What for?" The blond touched a finger to his lips. Trailed it down over his chin, his throat, then traced a squiggle over the center of his chest. "Something I think we're gonna need." Norrington stared at him. Thought too many thoughts to understand a single one of them. "I'll get us something to drink as well," Jay offered. "Rum's your preference?" Collecting himself -- as much as he was able -- Norrington took a step back. Rubbed an unsteady hand over his mouth, wiping at the wet remnants of their kiss. "It is tonight." *** Jay's evaluation of the lodgings took only a heartbeat. "It's a pretty shite room." It was. Small, dark, windowless. The bed would be a squeeze for the both of them. Not that that was likely to be a problem. "I got what I paid for." "I'd've figured someone like you would pay for better." Norrington lit the lamp. Coppery gold illumined the shabby room, the already rich wealth of Jay's hair and skin. "I'm a sailor." "Of course you are." He didn't bother trying to elaborate on the understatement (not quite a lie). It mattered little if the man believed him -- which clearly he didn't. In a few days Norrington would be on his way back to Jamaica, well past likely reach of blackmail. And beyond that... Beyond that, he couldn't make himself think about it. Tonight was the focus. Tonight and events nearly nine months gone and a man at least an ocean away from here. He turned to find Jay smiling yet again, presenting the deeply colored bottle of rum he'd retrieved from the tavern in his swift stop-in. "You drink the sailor's meal, at least." The bottle felt smooth and familiar in his hands. He unstopped it and tipped it up, eyes on Jay. Lowered it and swallowed. "Why are you here?" A lazy shrug. "You invited." "But why do you want to be here?" Some of the easy amiability faded. Those eyes -- yes, their gaze could be intense. "You're the most interesting thing I've come across in a long while, James." His chest felt tight. He swallowed more rum. "I don't do this." "What?" A gesture between them, one to the other. "This." Jay nodded understanding if not belief. "Pleased to be the exception then." He shifted weight as if to take a step forward. Stopped, an unreadable expression flitting across those sharply refined features. "Did he ever strip for you?" An involuntary chuff of laughter. "In a manner of speaking." "What does that mean?" "Let's just say that he did." Another sway, slow and graceful, like the most elegant of snakes. "Would you like me to?" He took a pull of rum. Reckless tonight, James. Jack would be proud. "I would." Jay's hands moved to his shirt. That swaying, like a dance in place, kept on, hypnotic. Buttons there at the top. His fingers were deft, deliberate. Not so magnetic as Jack's ever-active hands, but they had their own appreciable appeal. Blue eyes had even more. Where Jack's had seared him, set him afire, these pierced. He couldn't look away; eyes and hands and that slow, slow dance held him trapped, rapt. The man was beautiful. He hadn't thought of Jack as beautiful. He hadn't thought of Jack as anything but Jack -- yet seeing this man who bore such strong resemblance, he was forced to realize that Jack must have, to his eyes at least, been beautiful too. Another draught of rum. It did little to help him swallow the knot in his throat. Three large, widely spaced buttons down, and now that plain shirt gaped open. Jay's chest was well-toned, more muscular than he'd expected. Those muscles shifted, rippled as he crossed arms over his torso to tug his shirt free from breeches, offering glimpses of an equally taut stomach. Jay peeled the shirt up over his head, his body a lithe, feline thing. Shook his tumble of pale hair into its ordered disorder, shirt dangling limply from curved fingertips. Reflexively, with the surge of heat in his blood, Norrington started to raise the bottle again. Stopped himself. Stoppered it with an unsteady hand. No. He'd do this sober, or as near to it as he was now. Better to blame himself than the drink. The shirt fell with a soft whump to the floor. Jay's fingers went to his breeches next. Nudged the top button free, his gaze entrancing, full of libidinous promise. Thunder grumbled nearly overhead. Norrington turned away, sweating. "Stop." A startled pause. "What?" He set the bottle down against a wall. Sought words for what he was feeling, but wasn't sure enough of _that_ to think of the right ones. "I don't..." .. _.know what I'm doing_... "...I don't need a performance." "I don't mind." Headshake. He made himself look at the other, forcing a small smile that felt bitterer than he intended. "I do." Jay frowned a bit. It was the first time he'd seen that expression on him. But it lasted only a moment, barely that, and then Jay nodded slightly. Padded across the small floorspace to the lamp. Turned it down, down, until only the merest glimmer illuminated them. His stomach knotted. He regretted putting the rum aside. Outlined dimly, bright hair haloed, Jay came to Norrington. His features were lost in shadow. "You really _don't_ do this, do you?" "No." He hated the hoarseness in his voice. "Clearly you do." A soft snort. Jay stepped in against him with another familiar glide of hands along his ribs, around this time to slide up his back, prompting a shiver. "But I'm not me now." A thigh brushed his. A firming erection pressed near his hip. "You're not him." "Pretend I am." It felt like a kick to the chest. Breath paused in his lungs. "Pretend." "It's not hard." A sudden breathy chuckle as he shifted purposefully, the contact sending waves racing from groin outward. "I should put that another way." Norrington caught his face and kissed him. The softness of those lips surprised him again. They parted readily and for a few heartbeats that was all it was: lips playing, warm-wet sensation, the feel of almost-familiar cheekbones against the outside edges of his thumbs and the brush of long, tousled hair against the sensitive backs of his fingers. Eyes closed. He dared to taste again, ready this time. With the flavor of rum fresh in his mouth...almost...almost... He met Jay's tongue halfway. Tested its temper with a hesitant stroke and found eager, strong response. A hand crept up his back. The ribbon tying his hair was tugged, pulled free, and hair swung forward to tickle his cheeks. An instant after, fingers were running up his neck, tangling. He broke the kiss. Didn't pull back. Didn't open his eyes. A murmur against his lips-- "I like the way you kiss him." Wrong words. Wrong voice. He shut them off with his mouth, with the distraction of a hand that now moved, wandering hot skin lightly slicked with sweat, firm muscles beneath. No tattoos. He'd seen no tattoos. Jay wriggled towards the hand that searched him, a pleased not-quite-moan sounding in his throat. Shifted again, turning 'til they were hip to hip, cock to cock. And then he rocked. Norrington shuddered. Moved with him, against him as the rain started on the roof above, tap-pattering in scattered bursts, the wind picking up and sighing around the inn. Fingertips found a scar low on the man's back. Traced it, pressing in to feel the rise of flesh through deadening calluses. Clean and straight. A knife, he supposed. Perhaps a poorly wielded sword. He left Jay's mouth and sampled his neck beneath the hinge of his jaw. Curved fingers against his lower back, prodding, urging him to push harder against him. Hair fell around his face in a sheltering curtain. Eyes closed. Dark room. It could be Jack's. Jay's head tilted until breath whispered heatedly across Norrington's ear. "Did he suck you?" Knees tried to wobble. "Did he, James?" Norrington sent a hand up Jay's neck, gripping hair at the base of his skull. Pulled his head back, mouthing the bared throat, grinding pelvis to pelvis. The blond's answering moan had a different note: less self-satisfied, more abandoned. He clutched at Norrington's shoulders as though afraid he'd fall. The wind gusted, louder, and the rain began to hit the roof and walls in irregular sheets. Norrington nipped at the join of neck and shoulder -- salt-sweat and skin oils and flavors not a part of Caribbean sailing. The body crushed against him was trembling now. Shuddery breathing, startled little grunts, groans that sounded helpless, involuntary. Surprised. He'd not made anyone make those sounds in far too long. Hadn't felt anyone shake against him like this, grab at him with fingers that sought to pull him closer. He'd forgotten the thrill of it entirely. Fumbling hands unbuckled his swordbelt, let it fall. Stumbling steps took them to the bed. They dropped in an ever more intricate tangle, and in an instant Norrington was bracing over him, seizing his lips, thoughts blurred with arousal and emotions that thundered. No, that was the sky. The sky that thundered. Nimble fingers tore at the buttons on his shirt. Yanked it up, catching beneath his arms until he released that mouth long enough to let Jay tug the thing off over his head. Dove again for his lips the moment he could -- sensitive, full lips he wanted to nibble and suck just like...just like he used to... Jay fought the buttons over Norrington's rigid erection. The sensations were torturous, splendidly maddening, and he pushed mindlessly towards the contact. Broke the kiss to suck in a short breath when his cock sprang free to be encircled instantly in a welcoming hand. A push against his chest, nudging him to his side, his back, Jay all the while feeling him, fondling him. Hair fell to brush and drag over his chest, his ribs. The cool weight of a few smooth beads made it through the steam clouding his mind, dug into safeguarded memories, and he was scrambling to shove his breeches down, hips lifting, shoes and stockings and everything on him being shed in a fevered rush. Jay licked the nipple that earlier he'd bitten. Stroked him. Stroked him. Norrington tried to remember how to breathe. "Did he?" Jay asked, breath warm on his chest. Thoughts came sluggishly. He licked his lips. "Wh...what...?" "Did he?" Oh. Oh, _that_. His fingers knotted into the blanket. "Yes." Jay released him. Slid a hand down his thigh, then up, squeezing. "Shall I, James?" He cracked eyelids just enough to make out the indistinct figure above him, lithe and wild-maned and -- Christ, he wanted to believe it. Just for a few heartbeats. Just that long, and it would be enough. "Please," he said roughly. That was all it took. Jay moved swiftly, nestling in between his thighs, and then he was over Norrington, on him, a hand closing on his shaft, tongue drawing a broad stroke up his length. Jay's hair sat softly over his hips and thighs. Those beads kept catching his attention. At the furthest corner or awareness, he wondered if they were mementos. Wet heat. Soft and then firm and then soft. He choked, wanting to thrust, holding himself still. A wordless murmur from the mouth closing over his cock. The other hand came in and gently, _gently_ gripped his sac. Hips jerked. He panted rapidly and clutched the blanket and didn't think. Felt instead. Listened to the thickening rain and his shallow respiration and hammering heart and beneath, beyond, familiar moist sounds joining with the pulses that skillful mouth shot through him. Tongue. Christ. Tongue lashing at...at his slit, and it was too much, so close to pain as to make no difference, and... _Christ, _ he needed to thrust, thrust hard, and he remembered...he wanted... Hands moved of their own volition -- threaded into golden (_dark_) locks and shaped themselves to the elegant curve of skull. Insistently, without thought he lifted, nudging him up. Off. Guiding him back down. Jay took the hint. Began to lick. Norrington's heels dug into the limp mattress beneath them. Lungs contracted, forcing out a pleading moan. In memory echo he heard the lapping of water against the flanks of a boat -- felt the rocking beneath them, the oceanic sway. Jack had taken him apart there for the very first time. Norrington had never really managed to put himself back together after. Jay sucked at the base of his desperate shaft, working upwards, massaging his balls, and he couldn't quite believe it but it still felt so - it just - _so much, _ and he couldn't... "Oh god," he gasped, and sky was rumbling and "god, that's it..." escaped him, and then that mouth was on him and a hand was pumping and the other squeezed his sac hard enough to make him buck up with a raspy hiss, up into _heat_ and pressure and the constriction of a tight throat around the head of his cock. He gripped Jay's head. Thrust twice, three times. Hands clutched at his thighs as he came, spasming, barely swallowing a cry behind his teeth. He let go, eyes snapping open, clamping shut, breath seizing, fingers clenching. Thundering inside. He called no name, and felt distantly proud of that. And then he lay there, chest rising and falling, heart pounding and aching, staring at closed lids while the shivers rippled through him and out like the disturbance left after a ship's passing. The _Pearl_. He'd watched her diminish, trailing fading waves in her wake until she was only a blurry black smudge skimming for the horizon. An incomparable ship. There'd never be anything like her in this part of the world again. Nor anything like her captain. He opened his eyes. Came up on his elbows and stared at the shadowy figure pulling back from him, sitting up now, watching him in turn. He thought he sensed a new wariness from the man. Norrington drew his knees up and leaned into them, arms loosely braced atop. "Thank you." A nod, silent. Cautious. Did Jay expect him to take his pleasure and then turn on the man? He curled a finger. "Come here." Hesitation. What sort of men did he usually do this with, that he'd be so skittish all at once? "It's all right," Norrington said with as much quiet reassurance as he could muster. "Come here." A moment, then Jay scooted up the bed, within reach. Sat there on his knees, still in breeches and boots. The russet light from the dimmed lamp painted interesting shadows around the bulge at his crotch. Norrington slipped a hand up that golden neck and into his hair. This time he felt that just-glimpsed feather against the back of his hand, an insubstantial tickle, hollow and stiff. His fingers curved to the base of Jay's skull. Pulled him in, mouth finding his, sampling the taste of himself on a stranger's tongue. The blond was shaking, he realized after a few heartbeats. Shaking and then kissing him back, hard and furious, a starving whimper in his throat just audible over wind and rain. Hands ranging the taut torso, Norrington dipped to nip that throat. Found a nipple with one hand and scratched it with an even thumbnail. Jay quaked as if shot and gasped out some word he didn't catch, though it had almost the same feel as Jack's usual litany of cursing. When Norrington covered his still-confined erection with a curious hand Jay flinched, then all but fell against him, breathing hard into his shoulder. Pulling his hair back, nibbling his neck, Norrington rubbed him through his breeches and listened to his pained little sounds and enjoyed the quivering responses that lips and teeth and tongue and fingers caused. Jay was primed, desperate, needing what he could give, begging wordlessly. It wasn't enough, this man and this night. But it was something. He tucked long hair behind an ear. Sucked the lobe, part of his mind protesting the lack of an earring. Released it and suggested, "Strip." Between the beginning of a roll of thunder and the end, Jay's boots and clothes had vanished and Norrington had him up against the wall at the head of the bed, squirming frantically as a hand closed on him. Pulled on him. "H-hard," Jay stammered. "What?" "Your hand." Raggedly. "It's...it's hard." He gentled his touch a little. Caressed a thumb along that angled jawline. "So were his." Eyes flashed to Norrington's face. He thought he saw Jay curl his fingers in against his softer palms. Not a laborer's hands, those. For the first time Norrington wondered what he did with his days. "Was he...a sailor?" Bitter smile, probably invisible in the dimness, with the light behind him. "Something like that." "Like you?" "No," he said, left hand working between man and wall to feel the tensing flex of his back, follow his arching, bending spine. "Nothing like me." And then he was kissing him again to shut off the questions, jacking him firmly to drive concentration from his mind, shifting in against his wriggling body and feeling his own interest begin to renew. The thunder seemed nearly a constant rumble overhead now -- no heaving crashes, no deafening booms to take his mind back to sea battles and naval life and the career by which he so often defined himself. Thoughts of who and what he was rested somewhere quiet and undisturbing for the present. He didn't count on that to last, but welcomed the peace. With Jack sometimes, usually at the bottom of the night when they'd been at each other long enough to forget themselves, he'd felt this: the experience of being only a man, his worth in the moment rather than the future. Jay didn't know him. Jay didn't care who he was. Jay lived in the instant and took his foolish chances like Jack did, like Norrington _didn't, _ and this time, this night, Jay would not regret it. Maybe Norrington wouldn't either. Leaving those soft lips, that frenzied tongue, he nuzzled the hollow between collarbone and neck. Jack had liked him to murmur stories against that spot -- fantastical ones, sailors' myths, were his favorites, but he'd approved of anything that meant breath and lips moving over him there, traveling up a bit, paying tribute to the pulse jumping softly in his neck. An almost inaudible moan told him this man had some appreciation for the place as well. He lingered there, tonguing, catching skin and lightly tugging while his right hand learned the shape of him, the slight curve, the arrhythmic way his body jerked when Norrington's hard-skinned fingers turned in, claw-like, and dragged slowly up his length. He pulled back a fraction. Glanced at his face, the copper-gilt line of an illuminated cheekbone, the tiny flames reflected from his eyes. It was the animal look again there: leery, distrustful. An odd expression, he thought, for a fellow who did this regularly. Suddenly he had an utterly ridiculous desire to tell Jay not to worry; he'd been trained by the (self-proclaimed) best. "Do you like this?" he asked instead, repeating that finger-arched caress. Jay's tongue flicked out, skating across his upper lip, the motion seeming unconscious for all its enticement. Chest heaving, he nodded mutely. Norrington's mind stuttered over the offer, but he felt obliged to make it. _Fair play turnabout, Commodore James_. "Would you like me to--" "Fuck me," Jay said. Breathless. Wild-eyed. Norrington's waking hard-on woke a lot faster. He blinked several times. Worked to keep his voice composed. "I was going to say--" "Fuck me." His hand stilled. Jay quivered. Didn't move, watching his face intently. This time it was Norrington who nodded silent assent. Then Jay was shoving him back, away, leaving the bed in a rush. Bolting? What...? But he crouched swiftly by discarded breeches, digging into a pocket. Found what he was looking for. Stayed there for a few breaths, the dark line of his back to Norrington. Motionless. Before Norrington could ask, he straightened and turned and came back, going to his knees on the bed, reaching out to take a calloused hand. A slim flask was slipped into Norrington's palm. Uncapped and sniffed, it yielded the faintest herbal, nose-tingling scent. He upended it against a thumb and rubbed the spot of oil between his fingers, flicking a glance at the half-visible face before him. "You'll use it?" Jay asked, a note of tension underlying. Norrington's brow lined with a bemused frown. "Of course." A ghost-hint of taut strain left the blond's shoulders. Tiny smile -- a personal thing, indecipherable -- and then Jay was at him, all over him, squirming in his lap with tormenting enthusiasm, fractured little sounds of wanting murmured from full lips. He was nosing, then nipping Norrington's neck. Force enough to mark. Hopefully the cravat would cover it. Hopefully... Oh, who the hell _cared_? Teeth found his earlobe. Bit hard. He flinched sharply, a little astounded by the surge of readiness that shot into his groin. "_Easy, Jay_..." The body in his lap tightened, stilled. Jay's mouth hovered near his ear. "Can't I be your Jack anymore?" Norrington's world was shrinking, centering down low, distracting his thoughts with every excited throb. "Shh," he managed, "shhh..." "Can't I?" Wriggling against him. A harlot, god, the man was a harlot... "Tell me how. Tell me what he'd--" He couldn't hear this now. Norrington covered that mouth with a hand, fingers gripping his cheeks. Jay's tongue immediately struck at his palm, licking and licking, his blue eyes going heavy-lidded, salacious. Working with one fumbling hand, not wanting to let go his face and risk altering that lustful aspect, Norrington tried to apply the oil without spilling it everywhere. In the end it took both hands, and then there was Jay's so-eager aid in slathering the slick stuff all over his achingly ready member. He capped the flask and tossed it aside. Graceful hands pulled him up as Jay moved back, released him and turned, forearms sliding down against the thin blanket, back arching and knees spreading and one piercing eye gazing through pale hair over a taut shoulder to invite him, incite him... It was the lewdest, most alluring sight he'd seen in nearly nine months. Struggling with himself, he moved against the man, two fingers probing. Pushing. Jay arched more, shoulders rolling. Gasped out, "C'mon." Unbelievably snug and hot, that passage, calling him in. "I don't want to hurt you." Another glimpse of a wild blue eye. "I can take it." "A moment." He curved fingers slightly. Brushed that place and was smugly gratified when Jay gave a little lunge, a startled grunt, his forehead dropping to the mattress. "All right," Jay said, weak-voiced. "A moment." Norrington smiled genuinely for the first time that night. For the first time in a long while, actually, though he didn't care to think just then about when the last one occurred. Fingers flexed and turned, stretching, teasing and promising. Control took great effort, but damned if Jay wasn't a lovely sight as he writhed and twitched and panted there... Too lovely to hold off any longer. "Please god yes c'mon please yes..." Jay's words were a fragmented babble as Norrington covered him, trading cock for fingers as carefully as he could make himself. And oh. Holy god. God, he'd _missed_ this sensation. Jay breathed shallow and ragged and quick while Norrington paused, barely sheathed, trying to give him a chance to adjust. Hands glided up from sharp hips to caress trembling flanks. He could see it now, that scar he'd felt. It wasn't alone. Abruptly Jay was lifting up, pressing back, taking him in with a swift motion and a low, uneven cry. Norrington's air hissed between his teeth in a rush. He caught hips again and held Jay still, held himself still, fought for restraint. "Do it," on a shuddering sigh, "do it, do it, just...just do..." He broke a little. Surged harder than he meant to before he mastered himself again, slowing. His lips were drawn back in a grimace of effort and the body he fitted himself in was so, so tight and the man beneath him was trying rather desperately to make him thrust. "Easy," Norrington said, "easy." To himself or the other, he didn't know. The rain drumrolled sibilantly at the edge of his awareness. Over and over, steady, steady on, he sank into Jay, half-emerged, sank in. It was bearable at first -- exquisite, not overpowering. The strangled gasps and groans Jay poured into the air sounded wholly unlike and entirely similar to the pleas and demands and shameless exhortations Jack would have given him. When he closed his eyes, lost himself in sensation, this rhythmic coupling was finally close enough for his mind to begin to grasp the fantasy. His thrusts quickened. Deepened. A short peal of thunder let it be known the storm still crouched above them. The body he shafted shuddered full-length with the sound, doing destructive, wonderful things to the cadence of their motions. He folded in, over, hands bracing on the mattress, chest cleaving to the rolling, swaying back while lips pressed here, there against sweat-glazed skin. There were little half-broken words now, choked and barely audible beneath him. He caught at the tumble of hair with one hand, pulling it back, baring and arching that neck for his mouth. Sweat was sweat, from a pirate or from a whatever-he-was, and it bore nearly the same salt-dirt flavor. And the arse he pumped into employed some of the same breathtaking muscular tricks to spur him on. Feeling the sting still on his own neck, he closed teeth. Heard a guttural moan in response. Held on, hips grinding, losing his mind in the body's grip that had him and squeezed him and stroked him with every plunge. Beads clacked together. Beads and barbarically untamed hair against his face, thunder and rain a background cacophony like fiddling and laughing and the din of a raucous pirate crew and he wasn't Jack, but he was close enough for just these stretching seconds, close enough... He fumbled beneath, keen to the meaning of the burbled not-quite-words that begged incoherently. Found hard flesh with his hard hand and put them together with a sliding grip, firm, not backing off at the ensuant, lost-sounding yawl. His forehead pushed down against a twisting shoulder and his lungs fluttered for air and he heard the cries in a different voice as he pounded out an ending for the man, felt him tighten and thrash, let himself go, just let go for the first time since "Jack" sailed off and the horizon pulled "Christ, _Jack_" away and he stood in the rowboat and just watched him _leave_ and swore to himself that he could live with _never, never again_... He emptied himself blindly into an unseen body, choking on a name that ripped his throat, smothering the word against rippling muscles right there beneath his lips. The fantasy failed him even as his hips moved in dying thrusts. As his mind cleared he realized he was sprawled heavily over Jay, who lay quite still beneath him, ribs expanding and contracting with labored respiration. He lifted up and out swiftly. Jay didn't move except to breathe more freely. Norrington put a hand to one sprawled arm. Said his name. A quiet sound, like half a chuckle on an indrawn breath. Oddly unsettling. "What does it take?" "What does it take...?" "To make a man leave you." Jay rolled onto one side, propping against an elbow, a peculiar curve to his lips. Not exactly a smile. "It was a...complex situation." "Of course." Blue eyes held his only a moment before sliding away. Norrington studied what he could make out of his face. Couldn't read anything helpful there. Was there some sort of...etiquette for these situations...? He should find a way to ask Groves. Without, of course, actually asking. Sitting up, head tilting in a listening manner, Jay cast a glance upward. "It's coming down hard." "It has been." "We could finish off the rum." His mouth twitched a bit. "To be honest, I'm not terribly fond of it." A swift look. Lengthy pause. "Can I stay 'til it stops raining?" He felt something at that. Something that wasn't about Jack, but that tapped imperatively in the same vicinity in his chest. Uncomfortable. Not ignorable -- not _now_, certainly, when he'd just...used the man. Jay's willingness and encouragement notwithstanding. So a smile, small but meant. "Stay the night." Another moment whispered by before Jay's lips curved, flashing teeth in an echo of that cocksure grin from earlier. "All right then." It might have been a trick of the light, but the expression in the man's eyes didn't quite seem to match. He felt that insistent tapping in his chest grow a little stronger. Went with what his gut told him to do even though it felt awkward, reaching for Jay and drawing him in, kissing him lightly, undemandingly. The response was slow and uncertain. Apparently Jay had less familiarity with physical attention outside the heat of sexual excitement. It was a decidedly odd experience to find himself the more practiced here, and he was abruptly more grateful for Jack, who'd been so natural and comfortable with every touch bestowed and received. He'd found it impossible to retain his reservations about such casually affectionate contact when sharing a cot with a man so fond of randomly draping over him. Jay pulled away. Offered that same smile, no words, and then searched out the flask of oil and stood. He was a sight worthy of appreciation there, nude and sweat-shiny and thoroughly tousled. Norrington's body was too tired to show its agreement just yet, but it occurred to him in an absent way that they might enjoy a little more pleasurable distraction later, if sleep didn't win out first. Half-smiling, he watched Jay gather clothes and move them out of the center of the floor, over to the wall by the stool on which the lamp perched. The blond crouched to slip the flask back into a pocket. Glanced toward Norrington. The look in his half-lit face...guarded again, unsure, not quite trusting... The man certainly did manage to call out Norrington's protective instincts. Still crouched there, Jay reached for the lamp and turned it all the way down, plunging them into the blackness of a windowless room. "Did he stay the night with you often?" Norrington turned his attention to shifting the sheets and the threadbare blanket to give them enough dry space to stretch out in. "It would be more accurate to say that I stayed with him." Sounds of standing, motion, a hand hiss-gliding along the wall. It paused, and then Norrington heard the slosh of the rum bottle lifted. A hollow pop as it was uncorked. "All night long?" He snorted. "All night, all day. I was his..." A cough. "...guest, you see. There was simply no getting away from the man." Something clinked quietly. A bead against the bottle, probably. "But he's gone." Sitting back against the wall, arms on knees, Norrington closed his eyes, inhaling slowly, exhaling. Listened to the hand resuming its guiding slide along the wall towards the bed. The darkness made it possible to say these things; the company, who might well forget him in a few days, seemed the right audience for small hours' confessions. "I expected it to get easier. With time." The mattress sank, suspiring with Jay's added weight. "Why?" He moved across the narrow bed, patting until a hand found Norrington's leg and followed it, then scooting in beside him against the wall. The gesture was almost...cuddlesome. And curiously endearing. And his question, besides, gave real cause for thought. Norrington blinked at the black room, an arm absently opening to let Jay settle in next to him. Why should it have gotten easier? Why expect _anything_ to hurt less with the passing days? _Because the alternative would be unendurable_. The cool, smooth bottle was pressed into his hand. "Here." He considered its weight without enthusiasm. "Hm." An elbow poked him. "I bought that for you. The least you could do is drink it with me." "I could reimburse you." "That misses the point." "The point of getting drunk with a man you don't even know?" Jay ran a finger along the arm Norrington had slipped across his shoulders. "I know you a little bit." Lips quirked. He tipped back a swallow, making special effort to not taste it. This wasn't even quality rum. The _Black Pearl's_ crew might've turned their noses up at it. Well, no, they wouldn't have. But they'd have complained loudly while imbibing. Jack must be dearly missing rum by now. Unconsciously he pulled Jay a little closer. Drank another swallow and handed him the bottle. Rum splashed inside as Jay turned it up, passed it back. Fingers traced Norrington's neck, up to his jaw, followed by lips that pressed in their wake. He rubbed Jay's arm, appreciating drying skin and curving muscles. His body tingled, shivered, while thoughts of recent activities played out. Another swallow. Jay had turned in a bit more and was nuzzling again at his neck, his throat, barely kissing, more just...caressing with his lips and the warmth of his breath. That and the intoxicating thoughts and very probably the rum were combining to make him a little light-headed and quite atypically content. Tranquil. He offered the bottle, nudging it against the smooth chest. Jay ignored it, murmuring something appealingly full of vowels along his skin, and he drank more himself. There was a certain...pleasantness...in the languor found in drink. Not that he could afford to let himself indulge often, but... His hand played over the firm back. Slid down, grazing the swell of buttocks, following the graceful line of spine a few inches and then detouring, feeling for those scars. "A knife?" Tension rippled through him, but Jay kept up his almost-kissing. "Bayonet." Unease swirled low in his belly, surprisingly detached, not urgent. "A soldier?" Surely he couldn't have just broken the law with _another_ enemy of King and country... "Retired officer. He kept his lucky musket on the wall..." He skimmed slowly down Norrington's chest, lipping at dark hair. "...in his bedchamber." It sank into his realization slowly. His thumb traced the largest gash -- a slash there rather than a puncture like the others he'd noticed. Jay might have turned, caused the weapon to graze him instead of pierce that time. Fighting for his life. "Why did he do it?" "I made him angry. Drink your rum." He was raising the bottle before he noticed. Swallowing by the time it occurred to him in a distant way that that was a tad odd. "How did you make him angry?" "It doesn't matter." Jay tipped his temple against Norrington's chest. Let his head rest there a moment while his hand curved to the pale-skinned waist. "It was years ago." A long minute passed. Perhaps two of them. He found it a little difficult to track the time with the continual petting that ranged his body and the drink that kept finding its way to his mouth, down his throat, though he swore he wasn't consciously deciding to put it there. Thoughts unfolded, slow and elegant like flowers in sunlight. "Is that why you're so..." The word escaped him. He stopped, blinking, hunting for it. "'So'...?" To his earlobe. The same one that likely had toothmarks on it. When did the man get there? Norrington had thought him still doing soothing tongue-things somewhere in the region of his navel. "Earlier it looked...I thought..." Another blink, lids heavy and tired. "Are you...afraid of me?" Muscular heat curled in close beside him. A hand took the bottle from his curiously limp fingers and held it to his lips, tilting it up. When the wetness hit his mouth Norrington swallowed reflexively, obediently, without thought. Jay's voice sounded rather gentle again. Friendly. "Not now." *** [Continued here.. Moonverse Series: 5 - Penumbra II] |