Fic: "Ruse de Guerre" (Norrington/Sparrow, PG-13)
Yeah, I wrote Sparrington. It's true. And I'm writing more.
Title: Ruse de Guerre
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: James Norrington/Jack Sparrow
Summary: There is something James Norrington wants so badly it aches . . .
Spoilers/Warnings: A knowledge of Dead Man's Chest is essential, as this is set during Norrington's time on the Black Pearl in that movie.
Many thanks to falasama for the wonderful beta.
The captain’s cabin on the Pearl was never particularly bright. Her dark wood was handsome, to be sure, but it tended to sap the daylight right out of a room. Jack didn’t mind. It was good to come in to a cool, dim cabin, a bottle of rum waiting on the table. After a vexing conversation such as the one he’d just had with Elizabeth, the bottle of rum was especially welcome.
Jack was a quarter of the way through drinking away his worries about Davy Jones when it became quite apparent that the creaking he’d just heard was not a natural noise of his ship but came, in fact, from someone’s weight shifting in the doorway.
Norrington’s lean form was silhouetted in the light of the doorway. As he stepped into the cabin, closing the door after himself, Jack noticed that the man had a grim set to his mouth that might count, in some circles, as a smile.
“She’s half in love with you, you know.”
“What’s that?” Jack asked, hand still curled possessively around the neck of his bottle.
“Elizabeth,” Norrington replied. “She fancies herself in love with you.”
“Jealous, eh, Jim?” Jack mused, smiling as Norrington’s jaw tensed. “Wish you could turn young Lizzie’s head yourself?”
Norrington’s face relaxed minutely, and for a moment Jack wondered if there wasn’t something a little melancholy in his expression. “I gave up on Elizabeth long ago . . . But it begs the question, is there anyone who isn’t vying for your affections?”
“Cotton,” Jack said with abrupt certainty. “Absolutely refuses to succumb to my considerable charms.” He paused, holding his bottle of rum up to a rare shaft of sunlight and watching the amber color play beneath the glass. When he returned his gaze to Norrington, the other man was startlingly close, one hand splayed over the table as he leaned forward. “And then there’s you.”
“And then there’s me,” Norrington echoed.
“And it seems to me, mate, that you’re much more concerned with terminating my life than sharing it in blissfully concordant and mutually satisfactory maritime companionship. Course, that’s only my own opinion, based on the fact that you tried to run me through just last night. But I could be wrong.”
“You could be,” Norrington said quietly. His eyes were lowered, trained on the surface of the table, as if he were unwilling to meet Jack’s eyes. His hand caressed the smooth edge of the table slowly, almost fondly.
“Could I, now?” Jack asked, sensing a touch of opportunity in the former Commodore’s words.
“I must admit . . . I’ve often wondered what it was that made you so . . . irresistible. People can’t take their eyes off you. I never could. I set my sights on you, to have you hanged, and I haven’t been able to look away since . . .” Norrington was silent for a moment. “The trouble is, I don’t think I want to hang you any longer.” He shook his head, eyes still downcast. His voice was hoarse as he said, “I don’t know what I want anymore . . .”
“I’ve got a sense,” Jack said, reaching out to smooth his palm over the back of Norrington’s hand, “that we could suss out what it is you want without too much trouble at all.” His skin was rough and tanned and balmy from the salt air, and the way the man’s breath seemed to catch in his throat as their hands touched reminded Jack that he had, indeed, been cruelly tempted by Elizabeth and her own considerable charms not long ago.
“Jack . . .” Norrington murmured, and the sound of his Christian name on James Norrington’s lips brought a wash of warmth through Jack’s belly. Jack rose, circumnavigating the table, his hand never leaving its place. They stood close, Norrington’s lax posture bridging the gap in their heights. Jack slid his hand up to the other man’s wrist and, finally, Norrington’s eyes lifted to meet his. There was a heavy spark in his dark eyes that surprised Jack even now. “Jack, have you ever wanted something, so badly it aches . . . but been afraid to claim it?”
There was no sense in resisting, Jack told himself as he studied Norrington’s supple, thin mouth. No harm in playing on the man’s insecurities, if it would give him even a moment’s relief from the constant worry bearing down on him.
“Funny you should mention that,” Jack said before closing the distance between their mouths. He kissed Norrington thoroughly, reveling in the base sensation of it.
“Jack,” Norrington sighed into Jack’s mouth. One hand crept up Jack’s body, smoothing over his chest.
Another surge of arousal pushed through him as Norrington’s questing fingers brushed against one of his nipples. Before he even knew what was happening, Jack was leaning back against the table, Norrington’s mouth at his throat and hands pushing up, under his coat. They stilled for a moment beneath Jack’s right breast pocket, and Jack had to laugh.
“You’re good, Jim, m’lad,” Jack said, extricating Norrington’s hands from beneath his coat and pushing him gently away. “You nearly had me fooled. But you’ll need a subtler hand than that if you’re looking to pick Captain Jack Sparrow’s pockets.”
Norrington drew back. The melancholy, the vulnerability was gone from his face, replaced by a calculating gaze that made Jack’s pride burn.
“Besides, you’ll not find the Letters of Marque just lazing about in my pocket as if they were a common handkerchief. I’ve put them away somewhere safe, somewhere that even wily devils like yourself won’t be able to locate.”
“I think you’ll find,” Norrington replied coolly, “that I won’t be dissuaded so easily.” That grim smile returned, and now Jack recognized it for what it really was: the terse humor of a man with nothing left to lose. “And besides, it’s not just the Letters of Marque that I have my eye on. There are far more important things at stake.”
“My life, for one,” Jack mused, thinking of Davy Jones’ slimy handshake and the dreadful cracking sound of a beloved ship being wrenched in two.
“If I were you, Sparrow,” Norrington ground out, “I’d be more worried about my blade meeting your throat than some spectral seaman and his mythical beast.”
“Let me tell you something, mate. Pass on a bit of wisdom, as it were. I’ve seen Davy Jones, taken his cold hand in mine . . .” Jack leaned forward, perilously close to the mouth that had so nearly been his, and let his breath roll over Norrington’s face. “But I’ve never seen you succeed in killing me yet, so you’ll excuse me if my priorities are in a bit of a different order.” Jack smiled broadly, showing the man his teeth.
Norrington let out a short, derisive snort. “You’re disgusting.”
“That so?” Jack asked, backing away, slowly retracing his steps to his chair. “You seem to work awfully hard to get close to me for someone who loathes me so.”
“I don’t want you to labor under false impressions, Captain Sparrow,” Norrington said, the tone of his voice as bleak as his expression. “I may be much reduced since last we met, but my goal is the same.”
“Don’t forget, former Commodore. You no longer have the jurisdiction to hang me.”
“You don’t deserve the gallows, Sparrow.”
“Ah, we have a point of agreement,” Jack said, his lips curling unbidden into a smile.
“It would be too good for you.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, mate.”
“Do you know what I pray for each night?”
“Peace on earth and mercy mild?” Jack suggested.
“I pray that the slowest death possible awaits you, and that when you die, I am there to watch the light go out of your eyes.” Jack was startled by the cold remorselessness of Norrington’s expression, though he couldn’t help but wonder whether the light of desire he’d seen in the man’s eyes minutes before had been entirely fabricated.
“I always thought you had that lean and hungry look,” Jack mused, settling back into his chair and taking another swallow of rum for good measure.
Norrington’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth flexed into a smile. “I hope you do escape the Kraken’s wrath, Sparrow.”
“That’s powerfully kind of you,” Jack replied, fascinated by the wild glint in Norrington’s eyes.
“I hope you survive so that I may have the pleasure of tearing you limb from limb myself.”
“It’s a pity, really,” Jack murmured, rolling his bottle between his hands. “Just as I was beginning to think you’d warmed up to me.”
“Never, Sparrow.”
“Never say never, mate,” Jack warned wryly, to which the other man replied, “I’ll take my chances.”
“Then here’s to hoping I make it out of this alive.” Jack lifted the bottle in Norrington’s direction before washing down the toast with a hot mouthful of rum.
“Cheers,” Norrington replied, and with that he turned on his heel and left the cabin without another word.
Jack, for his part, raised his bottle in the air, toasting the Pearl’s dark walls and all his hard-won freedom. He drank deeply, swallowing the last drops of the rum. There was no harm in it, he told himself. After all, he would need all the fortification he could find if he intended to survive.
Title: Ruse de Guerre
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: James Norrington/Jack Sparrow
Summary: There is something James Norrington wants so badly it aches . . .
Spoilers/Warnings: A knowledge of Dead Man's Chest is essential, as this is set during Norrington's time on the Black Pearl in that movie.
Many thanks to falasama for the wonderful beta.
The captain’s cabin on the Pearl was never particularly bright. Her dark wood was handsome, to be sure, but it tended to sap the daylight right out of a room. Jack didn’t mind. It was good to come in to a cool, dim cabin, a bottle of rum waiting on the table. After a vexing conversation such as the one he’d just had with Elizabeth, the bottle of rum was especially welcome.
Jack was a quarter of the way through drinking away his worries about Davy Jones when it became quite apparent that the creaking he’d just heard was not a natural noise of his ship but came, in fact, from someone’s weight shifting in the doorway.
Norrington’s lean form was silhouetted in the light of the doorway. As he stepped into the cabin, closing the door after himself, Jack noticed that the man had a grim set to his mouth that might count, in some circles, as a smile.
“She’s half in love with you, you know.”
“What’s that?” Jack asked, hand still curled possessively around the neck of his bottle.
“Elizabeth,” Norrington replied. “She fancies herself in love with you.”
“Jealous, eh, Jim?” Jack mused, smiling as Norrington’s jaw tensed. “Wish you could turn young Lizzie’s head yourself?”
Norrington’s face relaxed minutely, and for a moment Jack wondered if there wasn’t something a little melancholy in his expression. “I gave up on Elizabeth long ago . . . But it begs the question, is there anyone who isn’t vying for your affections?”
“Cotton,” Jack said with abrupt certainty. “Absolutely refuses to succumb to my considerable charms.” He paused, holding his bottle of rum up to a rare shaft of sunlight and watching the amber color play beneath the glass. When he returned his gaze to Norrington, the other man was startlingly close, one hand splayed over the table as he leaned forward. “And then there’s you.”
“And then there’s me,” Norrington echoed.
“And it seems to me, mate, that you’re much more concerned with terminating my life than sharing it in blissfully concordant and mutually satisfactory maritime companionship. Course, that’s only my own opinion, based on the fact that you tried to run me through just last night. But I could be wrong.”
“You could be,” Norrington said quietly. His eyes were lowered, trained on the surface of the table, as if he were unwilling to meet Jack’s eyes. His hand caressed the smooth edge of the table slowly, almost fondly.
“Could I, now?” Jack asked, sensing a touch of opportunity in the former Commodore’s words.
“I must admit . . . I’ve often wondered what it was that made you so . . . irresistible. People can’t take their eyes off you. I never could. I set my sights on you, to have you hanged, and I haven’t been able to look away since . . .” Norrington was silent for a moment. “The trouble is, I don’t think I want to hang you any longer.” He shook his head, eyes still downcast. His voice was hoarse as he said, “I don’t know what I want anymore . . .”
“I’ve got a sense,” Jack said, reaching out to smooth his palm over the back of Norrington’s hand, “that we could suss out what it is you want without too much trouble at all.” His skin was rough and tanned and balmy from the salt air, and the way the man’s breath seemed to catch in his throat as their hands touched reminded Jack that he had, indeed, been cruelly tempted by Elizabeth and her own considerable charms not long ago.
“Jack . . .” Norrington murmured, and the sound of his Christian name on James Norrington’s lips brought a wash of warmth through Jack’s belly. Jack rose, circumnavigating the table, his hand never leaving its place. They stood close, Norrington’s lax posture bridging the gap in their heights. Jack slid his hand up to the other man’s wrist and, finally, Norrington’s eyes lifted to meet his. There was a heavy spark in his dark eyes that surprised Jack even now. “Jack, have you ever wanted something, so badly it aches . . . but been afraid to claim it?”
There was no sense in resisting, Jack told himself as he studied Norrington’s supple, thin mouth. No harm in playing on the man’s insecurities, if it would give him even a moment’s relief from the constant worry bearing down on him.
“Funny you should mention that,” Jack said before closing the distance between their mouths. He kissed Norrington thoroughly, reveling in the base sensation of it.
“Jack,” Norrington sighed into Jack’s mouth. One hand crept up Jack’s body, smoothing over his chest.
Another surge of arousal pushed through him as Norrington’s questing fingers brushed against one of his nipples. Before he even knew what was happening, Jack was leaning back against the table, Norrington’s mouth at his throat and hands pushing up, under his coat. They stilled for a moment beneath Jack’s right breast pocket, and Jack had to laugh.
“You’re good, Jim, m’lad,” Jack said, extricating Norrington’s hands from beneath his coat and pushing him gently away. “You nearly had me fooled. But you’ll need a subtler hand than that if you’re looking to pick Captain Jack Sparrow’s pockets.”
Norrington drew back. The melancholy, the vulnerability was gone from his face, replaced by a calculating gaze that made Jack’s pride burn.
“Besides, you’ll not find the Letters of Marque just lazing about in my pocket as if they were a common handkerchief. I’ve put them away somewhere safe, somewhere that even wily devils like yourself won’t be able to locate.”
“I think you’ll find,” Norrington replied coolly, “that I won’t be dissuaded so easily.” That grim smile returned, and now Jack recognized it for what it really was: the terse humor of a man with nothing left to lose. “And besides, it’s not just the Letters of Marque that I have my eye on. There are far more important things at stake.”
“My life, for one,” Jack mused, thinking of Davy Jones’ slimy handshake and the dreadful cracking sound of a beloved ship being wrenched in two.
“If I were you, Sparrow,” Norrington ground out, “I’d be more worried about my blade meeting your throat than some spectral seaman and his mythical beast.”
“Let me tell you something, mate. Pass on a bit of wisdom, as it were. I’ve seen Davy Jones, taken his cold hand in mine . . .” Jack leaned forward, perilously close to the mouth that had so nearly been his, and let his breath roll over Norrington’s face. “But I’ve never seen you succeed in killing me yet, so you’ll excuse me if my priorities are in a bit of a different order.” Jack smiled broadly, showing the man his teeth.
Norrington let out a short, derisive snort. “You’re disgusting.”
“That so?” Jack asked, backing away, slowly retracing his steps to his chair. “You seem to work awfully hard to get close to me for someone who loathes me so.”
“I don’t want you to labor under false impressions, Captain Sparrow,” Norrington said, the tone of his voice as bleak as his expression. “I may be much reduced since last we met, but my goal is the same.”
“Don’t forget, former Commodore. You no longer have the jurisdiction to hang me.”
“You don’t deserve the gallows, Sparrow.”
“Ah, we have a point of agreement,” Jack said, his lips curling unbidden into a smile.
“It would be too good for you.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, mate.”
“Do you know what I pray for each night?”
“Peace on earth and mercy mild?” Jack suggested.
“I pray that the slowest death possible awaits you, and that when you die, I am there to watch the light go out of your eyes.” Jack was startled by the cold remorselessness of Norrington’s expression, though he couldn’t help but wonder whether the light of desire he’d seen in the man’s eyes minutes before had been entirely fabricated.
“I always thought you had that lean and hungry look,” Jack mused, settling back into his chair and taking another swallow of rum for good measure.
Norrington’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth flexed into a smile. “I hope you do escape the Kraken’s wrath, Sparrow.”
“That’s powerfully kind of you,” Jack replied, fascinated by the wild glint in Norrington’s eyes.
“I hope you survive so that I may have the pleasure of tearing you limb from limb myself.”
“It’s a pity, really,” Jack murmured, rolling his bottle between his hands. “Just as I was beginning to think you’d warmed up to me.”
“Never, Sparrow.”
“Never say never, mate,” Jack warned wryly, to which the other man replied, “I’ll take my chances.”
“Then here’s to hoping I make it out of this alive.” Jack lifted the bottle in Norrington’s direction before washing down the toast with a hot mouthful of rum.
“Cheers,” Norrington replied, and with that he turned on his heel and left the cabin without another word.
Jack, for his part, raised his bottle in the air, toasting the Pearl’s dark walls and all his hard-won freedom. He drank deeply, swallowing the last drops of the rum. There was no harm in it, he told himself. After all, he would need all the fortification he could find if he intended to survive.