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Title: Interrogations Author: Inwe Elanesse Email: jack_sparrow_luver@yahoo.ca Rating: NC-17 Pairing: Jack Davenport/Johnny Depp Disclaimer: If this was my doing, I would be rich. I am not rich, so this is not my doing. I don't own it nor do I make money off it. Warnings: I don't know that there are any, let me know if I missed something. Feedback: Please do, I don't get nearly enough. Thanks! Author's Notes: This has not been beta-ed. If you catch a lot of stuff that makes little to no sense, feel free to edit it for me, I would be much obliged. Summary: After shooting, Jack and Johnny do a little role playing of their own. Interrogations
* * * "That's interesting," he mumbled to himself. "Very interesting.""All right, cut, that's enough for now." Jack Sparrow took a moment to meld himself back into the form that was Johnny Depp. The smile changed from predatory and mischievous Jack back into polite and confident Johnny. People walked across the set to move something here or whatever else while Johnny stayed in the makeshift cage of iron bars and brick walls watching as people passed by. "Let's break for lunch." The door to the cell was not locked, and Johnny could step out and follow the crowd back to the trailers to have hot soup and sandwiches if he wanted to, but he did not move, only regarding the rest of the crew and cast as they try not to mess up their makeup and clothes for when they returned. "Not hungry?" A voice asked from across the room. Johnny looked up, and his eyes met a figure in the shadows of the now empty room. In plain dress, he mightn't have known who it was; there were so many British actors here and he couldn't see the man clearly enough recognize him, except for the blue, white and gold brocade of his uniform and that ridiculous wig and hat. "Not just yet." The man stepped from the shadows with a grin uncharacteristic of James Norrington gracing his fine features. "Me neither." He leaned against the wall, pulling at the strings of his shirt before stretching his fingers, almost twitching, as though reminding himself that he shouldn't pick at his expensive costume. Johnny hung his arms through the bars of the cell and replaced his own smile with Jack's, mocking Mr. Davenport's perfect pronunciation with his own slurring accent. "Wha' d'ye think they'd say, those lieutenants o' yers if they found out ye'd been slummin' wit' th' likes o' me." Jack straightened with a tight-lipped smile, clasping his hands behind his back, and squared his shoulders. "I would hardly call interrogating you in the prison at my own fort 'slumming', Mister Sparrow." He grinned and paced toward him slowly as Johnny cocked his head to the side, watching Jack with the likeness of a cat examining its prey. How strange he should feel he was being weighed and measured by the man behind the bars. He almost wanted to shrug away the feeling that he was to become Johnny's next meal, but he could play this game as well as any American actor. He remained in character. "Depends on wha' business ye plan t' conduct in me company, don' it?" Jack smiled and did not let the shiver he could feel waiting at the bottom of his spine slink its way up to his shoulders, then out through his limbs. No, he remained still and controlled despite the way Johnny's words seemed to roll all over him, and the way the rumbling from Johnny's throat made his heart beat a little faster. He smiled. "I thought the word 'interrogation' would shed light on that." Johnny's head lolled back, "Ah, then th' question would be, Commodore, wha' kind o' interrogation will this be, eh?" He grinned as Jack stepped closer and then stepped backwards himself. "There're so many kinds. There's th' gentlemanly sit down for tea kind o' questionin'," Jack had his hand on the cell bars now, and Johnny's back was nearing the wall, "then th' hold 'em at sword point kind o' questionin', then there's me favourite...." Jack's eyebrows raised and he opened the door to the cell to take a step inside. "What kind would that be, Mister Sparrow?" Jack stepped up to Johnny who could not move backward any farther, he was mere feet from the man, though he felt that perhaps he was the one cornered and not the American. It seemed as though heat was washing off of Johnny in waves. It could have been that pesky Caribbean heat, but he doubted it. He had to struggle to not let his breath speed up to give away the rapid beating of his heart. "The kind where I get the upper hand on our poor Commodore." Jack's mind did not grasp the concept of that soon enough before Johnny threw him against the bars on the side of the cell. He hadn't even really seen the man move. All of a sudden he was out of breath and unable to double over to catch it properly. "Sorry, love, couldn't resist." Jack looked up at a pair of stage cuffs on the ceiling. By all rights, they should not have been able to close or lock, but there they were, doing both, around his wrists, which were currently above his head stretching his body in such a way escape or struggle was unfathomable. "Johnny!" His eyes were wide and incredulous, and he forgot all about staying in character. His train of thought turned without hesitation to the state of his co-worker's mental stability. Johnny smiled that predatory grin, gold teeth sparkling in the midday rays streaming through the window. "'Fraid I don't know 'im, love. Must 'ave me confused wit' someone else." His hat was on the ground, and the wig— the costume people would be furious— so the back of his head had no cushioning for its impact with the iron bars when he, quite suddenly, found a pair of very hot lips pressed flush against his own. Course hair scratched his upper lip, and long dreadlocks hit him in the face, but Jack did not feel anything but the insistent tongue pressing against his lips begging entrance. He swallowed once and let the wriggling organ in, meeting it with his own as blood raced through his veins, infusing his face and... other things... with colour and heat. He was not surprised when he felt the other man's hips grind into him, the bulge in the thin material of Johnny's pants unmistakable as it rubbed against his own hardening prick constrained in ridiculously tight naval breeches. Jack did not have a spare moment to gather his wits, but he was able to convince himself in the split second he gained when Johnny pulled back from the kiss, that those moans and mewls were not actually coming from his throat... were they? Deciding he didn't care, he tried to reach forward with his neck to retrieve those shiny swollen lips and that hot tongue, but Johnny moved back farther than he could reach in his restraints. "So easy t' debauch a young commodore such as yerself? Thought you naval types would need some pokin' an' proddin'." Jack swallowed hard, trying to maintain a normal rhythm of breathing. "You... have my actions mistaken, Sparrow... Captain Sparrow. I'm simply... trying to escape these ridiculous binds." Johnny smiled that cocky grin of his, speaking volumes about sex and desire without so much as a leer, and nodded, crossing his arms. "Well if that's so... jus' say th' word, mate, an' I shall release you from your prison." Jack swallowed, unable to maintain that Commodore James Norrington was an upstanding citizen who obeyed the law, including all the little notes about depravity and sex and pirates and... oh God. Clearly, Johnny had taken his silence to refute his previous statement, as his body was once again flush with Jack's, his lips locked to the skin just above the collar of the Commodore's uniform and his hand moving precariously low on his stomach. Oh... oh. "So... Commodore Norrington, sir... 'ave ye got a first name?" Jack took a moment to process the question, desperately trying to think through the sensation of lips and teeth nipping and sucking and simultaneously clouding his thoughts. "J-" he stuttered, "James." Luckily, he had chosen the correct name beginning with that particular letter. Johnny smiled. "Beautiful name, that... reminds me of me sister's nephew's cousin twice removed." He winked, but Jack did not react except to the hand quickly untying his now uncomfortably snug breeches. A groan escaped his throat, and his head fell back again, against the bars. "Beautiful," Johnny repeated, but Jack had the feeling he was not referring to the name anymore. Somehow, without Jack's noticing, his jacket and shirt had come undone. He did not have time to ponder the mechanics as roaming hands parted the shirt to give a hot, wet mouth direct access to his heated flesh. Johnny's lips burned a trail from his neck to his naval and Jack could only groan, as he was certain he was as hard as he could get, when Johnny's tongue flicked in and out of the little indentation. Then when he started to mouth the hair just below his bellybutton, and when he moved lower and Jack could feel the heat of his breath through the thin fabric of those tight, tight pants... sweet Jesus! He wrapped his hands around the chains binding him and squeezed enough to possibly cut flesh on one of the less rounded bits, but he didn't notice. Johnny's hand snaked up his torso to toy with one of his nipples as his lips massaged his aching erection through his pants, and his other hand struggled to keep him from bucking into his face. His breathing was erratic, and he thought to himself that this was far too soon in the foreplay for him to be wanting to shoot down his lover's throat, but despite Johnny's sex and supposed sexual inclination, he was far more experienced at this than most other lovers Jack had had. He had no other chance to think before Johnny stopped his ministrations and stood abruptly, pressing his face to Jack's, locking their lips, and his hand slid from his painfully hard nipple to his undone trousers and started to remove the obstruction they created. Then there were no thoughts, just feeling, and moving, and pushing against that hand as it gripped his erection to help it spring free. The hand was different from that of his wife. It was stronger and larger, more callused. It felt more like his own hand, but it was most distinctly not his own hand. His own hand had never done that. Jack's breath left him in a cry, and Johnny pulled back with that grin again, but Jack did not concentrate on that. Johnny's hand was far more interesting at the moment, his thumb running over the head of his cock, sliding on the droplets of precum collected there. When he jerked just so and locked his lips onto Jack's neglected nipple, Jack felt about ready to explode. He told the American actor as much. "'At's it, let yerself lose control. For one precious moment in all of your constrained, guarded life... let the rules cease to matter." His voice lost the slur for a moment and Jack opened his eyes to see Johnny looking back at him with, for a split second, a glint of something more than lust and Jack Sparrow in his eyes, something resembling a different kind of longing, and then he smiled. Jack thought he had lost consciousness when he came. The world exploded in a burst of colours and his knees went very limp so that he was hanging by the shackles on the ceiling of the jail set, but Johnny pulled his head up and kissed him, the Jack smile taking over again. "Now, wasn't that nice then?" He reached up, not taking his eyes off of Jack and undid the clasp holding the shackles together, almost allowing Jack to fall to the floor. He caught the man though and lowered him down gently, sitting next to him. Jack didn't care what the costume people thought about the dirt on his costume, or what the set people thought about that wet patch of dirt on the floor. "'Fraid I can't stay though, love, lunch time and all." He took a step backward, but then, with more energy than a man in his situation should have had, he lunged, pushing the actor to the floor and pinning him there with his body. As he suspected, Mr. Depp was still hard and gasped at the sudden contact. "Interrogations are yet to be finished, Mister Sparrow." Orlando walked up behind his co-star and was about to speak, but she shushed him just in time. He furrowed his decidedly handsome brow in puzzlement while she watched, then Keira grinned and nodded down the stairs, taking a couple of steps forward but remaining in the shadows. From his vantage point, Orlando couldn't tell what he was seeing at first. Was Jack Davenport in some kind of distress, on the floor like that? No, he moved a little and... oh! His mouth formed an 'O' of understanding as he gazed Jack lowering himself onto Mr. Depp in what could only be described as a sexually explicit manner. He swallowed hard and exhaled a soft sigh. Keira turned to him expectantly with an appreciative grin on her face. Orlando sputtered a moment, examining the proceedings with an unwavering gaze. He removed his eyes from the sight with difficulty and swallowed to dampen his now dry throat. "Nice arse." * * * [Next Part: 'Unconvincing'] |