Title: Anoushkala Icon Drabble 1
Author: hija_paloma
Feedback: hipfix@yahoo.com
Pairing: Johnny/Jack Davenport
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: RPS, Orlando's filthy mouth.
Disclaimer: Product of a fevered imagination and a twisted subconscious.
Author's Notes: This series of drabbles was inspired by anoushkala's icon, which is shown below. Many thanks to her for permission to use it, and to skemono for teaching me how. Of course, thanks to Kat for beta. Even though I completely ignored all of her suggestions this time.

It's at pirategasm, but it's also
The cause of it all:





"Johnny?" Orlando's voice, searching, drifts down the hall, not nearly warning enough before the door is opening, "Johnny—Jack? Jesus... I... Sorry, man—Christ, lock the fuckin' door next time, will ya?" He is backing out the door as he speaks, and he's gone as quickly as he came in. The whole thing happened so fast that Jack is only now starting to turn his head, to look with startled guilt at the boy who's already gone. Johnny hopes it's because Orlando's already gone that his hands fly to Jack's head, forcing him back to the task at hand. He prays, as Jack's too-willing mouth slides over him again, that he's this close to the edge in spite of the interruption, not because of it. He looks down as his balls tighten and spill into Jack's mouth, and he wishes, really he does, that he could look into this sweet, eager face and see Jack's eyes, green with hunger and envy, but all he sees is deep brown, shocked and hurt, backing away from him.






Title: Anoushkala Icon Drabble 2
Author: hija_paloma
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Johnny/Orlando/Jack Dav
Warning: RPS.

Disclaimer: Not true. Look, I'm not crazy, not totally divorced from reality. It's more of a trial separation.
Author's Notes: It's not a sequel, although it could be. It's just also based on Anoushkala's icon, shown above. If you enjoy this collection of drabbles at all, all credit goes to her. If you hate them, it's my fault. How the hell did Jack Sparrow get into bed with three men who don't exist in his universe?



"Oh, god, Johnny... Jack, Jesus!" Jack giggles, and whatever he did that cut off Orlando's helpless moan, he does it again. Competition, then. Johnny is up for the challenge. Oh, yes. He draws back his lips, presses Jack Sparrow's gold teeth to the back of Orlando's shoulder. As he trails lithe fingers down Orlando's supple back, the long, twisted scar whispers to him of Sparrow's own scars, but he will not be distracted. He reaches his target and encounters Jack's hand already there. Well, yes, that would explain the broken whimpers, Orlando thrusting into Jack like he's trying to break him. "No," thinks Johnny, "mine." He pushes at Jack's hand, impatient to replace Jack's probing fingers with his own. Jack resists, and the thought is spoken out loud. "Mine. Come on, man, don't be greedy." Fluid green eyes spark with laughter as Jack yields before Johnny's whining insistence, and Johnny wonders how the man can find the presence of mind to be amused when Orlando's fucking him so nicely. Orlando protests when Jack pulls out, "Oh god, Jack, don't stop," and damnit, Johnny feels the need to remind the boy that Jack Davenport isn't the only other man in the room. He moves his hands to Orlando's hips, stills him forcefully. "Johnny..." it's half a warning, half a cry for mercy, and wholly ignored. Johnny pulls away to look at them, his hands pressing Orlando's hips down, holding him pinned on top of Jack. Jack, whose head is thrown back so Johnny can see those eyes, still amused but also entreating, asking for something Johnny's all too willing to give. Slowly, carefully, he slides into Orlando, still not letting the other men move. "Oh, please, oh, Johnny, please, god, you're killing me here," Orlando is panting, begging. Johnny's amused now, and the realization that he, too, has the capacity to be amused while fucking Orlando brings a grin to his mouth that is very, very Sparrow. "Shh," he whispers in Orlando's ear, "slowly. Slowly..." He demonstrates, pulling deliberately out of Orlando and then gliding back in leisurely. He does it again, taking Orlando with him, pulling their bodies away from Jack and then carefully guiding them back into that desperate heat. "Oh, Johnny..." Orlando moans again, and Johnny replies, giving back his freedom of movement, "Slowly..." "Slowly," Orlando repeats, and Jack smiles into Johnny's eyes as he pulls Orlando's head to his for a kiss.






Title: Anoushkala Icon Drabble 3
Author: hija_paloma
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, barely insinuated RPS
Disclaimer: What am I, Rita Skeeter? I don't sit around recording people's conversations. So far as I know, I made this up.
Author's Notes: Another one based on Anoushkala's icon, shown above. If you enjoy this collection of drabbles at all, all credit goes to her. If you hate them, it's my fault. And I promise to stop writing them. Soon. Seriously. They keep getting longer.



"Not smart to fall for your coworkers, you know. Tabloids'll be all over it."

Orlando gives him a sharp, guilty look. "What're you on about?"

Johnny winks and nods at Jack, across the room. Somehow he manages to look solemn as he elaborates, "Don't be coy, Orli, everyone can see you've got it bad. Not that I blame you, hey? Those eyes, that ass—Jack Davenport's a man just begging to be fucked silly."

"Johnny!" Johnny feels bad for having a joke at Jack's expense, but the burst of shocked laughter is worth it. "Jack? Jesus, man. I know I'm just a dumb kid, but give me some credit here, right?"

Johnny's still smiling—he has discovered that it's impossible to look at Orlando laughing and not smile—but his eyes are serious. "You're not a dumb kid, Orlando. Why would you say that?"

Orlando gives a fluid, easy shrug. Every movement has an effortless grace that Johnny never felt in his own body. Orlando's twenty-five years of living have left no weight, no burden on his body, despite the scars. Abruptly, Johnny wonders what he'll be like at forty, and like an ache in his gut, he feels the need to see it for himself.

"Well, I've worked with all these amazing people—Ian Holm, man, and Hugo Weaving, Cate Blanchett and Christopher Lee—on Rings, I was just barely out of film school, and surrounded by all these legends. And now I'm working with Johnny fuckin' Depp—man, I grew up watching you, and now—I'm sitting on your couch, having a beer with you and chatting like we were mates." Orlando tips his head down and his mouth twists into an embarrassed grin.

Johnny's face is carefully schooled to give nothing away as he studies Orlando for a moment. He chooses his words delicately; Orlando shouldn't feel he's being laughed at. "Well, first off, thanks for reminding me what an ancient fossil I am. For a minute there I almost forgot I'm old enough to be your father." Orlando winces, and Johnny waves away the apology unspoken. He's not offended, not by that. "But Orli, I'm not your father—so when you say 'like we were mates,' I must say it hurts me a bit, because what are we, if we're not mates?"

Orlando meets his eyes again, and his smile is so fucking earnest it makes Johnny's heart hurt. "Yeah?"

Again, Johnny finds it impossible to resist returning that smile. "Yeah. Cut yourself some slack. And stay away from Jack Davenport. Man's a complete deviant."

Orlando's laugh is so loud, he draws Jack's attention from across the room. The man's puzzled expression is enough to drive Orlando into hysterics, and Johnny with him. As the two of them rock back and forth on the couch, punching each other on the arm and howling with laughter, Johnny thinks, "Not smart," but it's distant, and disconnected, and the sound of Orlando's laughter drowns it out quickly enough.

 

 

 

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