The Challenge: Chapter 6

[likeahurricane7]

Title: The Challenge

Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean; Sparrington

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: I have no claim on POTC or the lovely characters who populate it, even if it seems that James Norrington has, somewhat disconcertingly, made himself quite at home in my head with no apparent plans to leave. Jack Sparrow has been dropping by at random for years, as well, which surely doesn’t help matters.

Summary: Intent upon better knowing his enemy, after a close shave wherein the commodore’s fleet nearly caught his Pearl, Jack Sparrow climbs James’ trellis, but finds that he’s underestimated the good commodore. Of course, James was unfairly being very distracting, what with the nudity and all. Cat-and-mouse games ensue.

Beta: The right honorable Porridgebird.

Warnings: Violence. And more sex. Not at the same time.

Five months after his rescue at the hands of Port Royal’s commodore, Captain Jack Sparrow found himself facing a serious problem.

He had heard, of course, some of the whispers gone ‘round Tortuga ever since the expansion of Port Royal’s fleet, but he had thought nothing of them at the time. Pirates and privateers both, he reminded himself, were like cats: not prone to working in groups for mutual benefit, no matter what they said about trying to take back Port Royal, which had once been a free port like Tortuga (which was often full of the French, for all that British military support kept it afloat) for unruly British sailors.

Jack pretended to speak only Spanish when people tried to pull him into the argument. It had never occurred to him that a few of the people who had tried to invite him to their sides might have posed a threat to anyone Jack happened to value.

That, of course, was before he came across the burning wreckage of one of his commodore’s ships on his way back to Port Royal for one of his increasingly frequent visits. When he rowed in that night, he breathed a sigh of relief to see James’ two favored ships, the Dauntless and the Fleetwing, still intact; although the Dauntless appeared to be getting some heavy repairs done, despite the lateness of the hour.

Smoke was still clearing from areas of the waterfront.

The town had been attacked, and the navy apparently thought that a repeat attack was likely enough that they wanted their remaining fleet at full strength as soon as humanly possible. It was enough like something James would suggest that Jack felt more at ease.

It was not until he was not greeted by the usual sound of a pistol being cocked when he climbed through the window that Jack felt his stomach turn to lead and his blood run cold.

His commodore was not home.

Don’t panic, Jack told himself. It’d make sense, of course, for James to be working late at the fort on a night like this. But the ice did not leave his veins and mad restless energy soon drove the pirate back out into the night.

After a quick, surreptitious check wherein Jack was nearly caught several times by the militia, he discovered that his commodore was not at the fort, either, and felt the cold in his blood turn into a conflagration of mingled alarm and anger.

Will Turner was a heavier sleeper than James, and did not wake until Jack grabbed him by the front of his dressing gown and yanked him upright. “William!”

Will flailed, jerking back and falling to the floor. “Jack! What in God’s name is wrong with-”

“Where is he?” Jack’s voice was sharp: the voice of a captain giving a command meant to be obeyed without question or hesitation. Something about the deadly seriousness of it caused the whelp’s initial anger to fade.

“Who?” Will asked, not impudent, just confused.

“James Bloody Norrington, this port’s commodore. Where is he?”

Will realized that the last time he had seen that look on Jack Sparrow’s face was when the mad pirate had shot Hector Barbossa. Will gulped quietly. “No one knows.”

Jack snapped his fingers impatiently. “What are the most prominent theories?”

“That he either went down with the Highflyer, or was taken prisoner by the pirates who attacked us this evening.”

Taking a deep breath, struggling past the sharp pang in his chest, Jack gave a curt nod and growled, “Thank you.” He turned on his heel and started walking away.

“Jack!”

“No time.”

“You mean to find him?”

“At the least, lad.”

“One moment. Please. You’ll want this.”

Jack paused, watching Will leap to his feet and head for the smithy. He waited impatiently, itching to leave, pacing as he awaited Will’s return, but he did not have to wait long. Then all of Jack’s movement ceased, and his breath caught unpleasantly when he saw what Will had brought him.

Will held James’ oh-so-familiar sword in his hands: an offering. Jack felt very, very cold, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. Clenching his jaw, Jack blinked at the sudden burn that erupted at the corners of his eyes and in the back of his throat.

“They found this in the wreckage and brought it back to me. I made it, and Governor Swann gave it to him as a gift upon his promotion to commodore. I was able to clean it and fix...some minor damage from when the ship’s powder magazine went up,” Will explained.

Taking the sword in hand with hesitation, Jack nodded and said tightly, “Thank you.”

“If you don’t find him...” Will met Jack’s eyes cooly. “Find the ones who took him and kill them with it. They were trying to take the town and James--well, he stopped them.” The despairing look on the young man’s face declared too well that it had come at a price. “Even though he was being threatened with a court-martial for some business with the French, he was still willing to give it all for us, and they bloody took him.”

Jack winced, immediately sure as to the probable reasons for that court-martial; they must have found some of that paperwork James had mentioned. “He sent the Dauntless back to protect the fort, and ordered all the repairs done immediately, sleep be damned, didn’t he?”

“While he took them on in the two sloops, yes, until the Fleetwing was forced to retreat. That’s what I heard from Lieutenant Groves, as he told Governor Swann. Groves...he said the commodore said to start repairs quickly in case one of the ships went down. They had all assumed that he meant the Dauntless until he began his next barrage of attacks.”

Jack swallowed thickly. “Aye. Damned mad fool.” His voice wavered for a moment.

“Funny. He’s said the same about you, in the past.”

Jack set his jaw. “Goodnight, William.” He spun away again, all but marching for the door.

“Goodnight, Jack,” Will murmured, bemused and mystified, but also strangely reassured.

James Norrington paced the floor of his cell in the brig, cursing under his breath in Latin, French, Gaelic and occasionally English when his concentration slipped.

Pacing kept his mind clear, kept him from thinking about the burns on his left arm, the self-stitched fleshwound on his chest--sewn after they had given him needle and thread, early in his time aboard the ship before they had grown impatient with his silence and resorted to cruelty to try and force him to speak--or the still-searing, fresher pain across his shoulder blades from the captain’s most recent attempt to get useful information out of the commodore. The crew had seemed gleeful, watching an officer of such a high rank get his first, albeit relatively light, taste of the lash.

The captain had promised another, greater serving of it this afternoon, if James still refused to be helpful and share his knowledge.

James was not naive, not after so many years in the navy. He could tell when a man wanted to be told ‘no’ just in order to have a reason to commit further cruelty. This captain was one such man.

And tomorrow, James had been told, he would have an even larger audience, when this ship caught up with the rest of the small fleet that had attacked Port Royal.

The idea of a mob of cruel men of that size, all crying out for his blood, chilled James to the bone; he knew that he would not survive such a display, not with the sort of enthusiasm that such bloodlust would bring.

He tried to fold his hands behind his back, but winced with a hiss and stopped halfway through the motion, feeling the scabbed-over wounds across his back throb and crack in protest at the movement.

Still, he kept pacing and trying to think.

He would not, could not give up, nor could he waste time thinking that even if he managed somehow to return home it might only be to meet his own court-martial. And it was also for the best, James told himself, not to think of Jack: about whether his pirate had yet noticed him gone, or what Jack might think upon learning of what events had passed. No, best not to wonder whether Jack’s affection ran as deep as his own, not now.

James did not have time, now, to feel guilt or love or fear. He had to focus less on thinking half-longingly of Jack Sparrow, and more on thinking like Jack Sparrow, for James could think of no one else who might be able to get out of this.

Of course, Jack would spin a cunning web of lies in order to...

James’ pacing stopped abruptly as an idea popped into his head. It was a good one, too, and he almost started to smile to himself.

Then, unfortunately, daylight and heavy boot-steps interrupted his thoughts. James cursed profusely. No, I need more time, more time to think!

“Ready, then, Commodore?”

James glanced up into the daylight, then met the gaze of the man holding the keys to his cell, and raised an eyebrow sardonically, silently suggesting that the sun was not yet in the correct position for this nonsense.

“The captain’s gotten a bit impatient, see. You’ll be getting your second dose of the cat served early.”

His blood ran cold, but James’ countenance remained a stony, defiantly impassive mask. He said nothing, even as they opened the brig’s door and the two heavily muscled men standing behind the key-bearer reached in, each one seizing one of James’ elbows and yanking him forward. James barely flinched when they dragged him out into the blinding-bright daylight.

He would not say a word to them in English, but he again muttered creative curses in a bizarre mixture of every other language in his repertoire as they marched him forward. Only when they once more bound his hands in front of him did he fall completely silent, the strength of his stoicism on full display, but if not for how tightly bound his hands were, their shaking would have been visible.

James’ breathing hitched when the first blow landed, and his eyes watered as the previous day’s wounds were laid open, but he blinked against the burning at the corners of his eyes and took a slow, deep breath, keeping himself controlled.

The crack of the second blow was harder, but James made no sound. He had ripped a couple of small bits of fabric from the knees of his breeches last night, in preparation for this. He had rolled them into tight bundles, which were now clenched between his back teeth. The fact that he had not spoken in more than a low muttering curse, with his teeth clenched, had concealed them. Now they provided him a way to avoid putting further bite-marks in his tongue.

Again the lash struck, and James’ muscles jerked automatically, but he took another breath, stubbornly controlled, and his voice remained silent.

A distant part of his mind contemplated the scars he would have from this, and he recalled the texture of long-healed lash-marks under his hands: marks on Jack’s skin. The thought was a welcome distraction, strangely soothing, until the next searing blow landed, harder than the ones before it.

Then James was hard pressed to think at all, except the for stubborn, almost mindless way that he clung to his own self-control as the cat landed blow after blow. The captain was growing more frustrated by James’ lack of reaction, and it showed, but even as his eyes watered and his breathing grew more ragged, James said nothing.

Jack found the ship he was looking for, late in the night: a heavily-armed square-rigger, called the Serafina. Jack wondered if the captain knew that his ship’s name translated to “the burning one.” It would be a fitting name, Jack hoped, by the end of the night.

It was simple enough, once he had looked at his maps of Jamaica in and around Port Royal, and plotted a course to the place he knew, both from overheard conversations and the attempts of other captains to bring him into the fleet, that these fools made berth. Then it was simply a matter of catching up.

He ordered the lamps doused, and felt the dark engulf them, making his ship and crew very nearly invisible, as clouds obscured the moon overhead, and the Black Pearl quietly sidled up to her intended prey.

When the cannons were at the ready, Jack left the helm and gave the men quiet, detailed instructions on where to aim. To a couple of them he gave a pair of cannonballs linked by a short chain.

As soon as the clouds threatened to pass, Jack gave the order to fire.

The Pearl’s cannons swiftly downed the enemy ship’s mainmast with the chain-shot, and the rest had landed gravely damaging blows above the water-line. As the smoke clouds billowed, the clouds overhead cleared, and the already distressed and confused cries from the Serafina grew more frantic.

Jack gave the order to board, and was himself among the first to swing across and land on the Serafina’s deck. He dodged much of the fighting, save for knocking a few unsteady sailors overboard and managing to knock a few more unconscious as he immediately headed below-deck.

The smell of smoke, and a lot of it in fact, hit his nostrils and threatened to send his mind spiraling into a panic, but steely determination rushed him down the stairs. The panicked sailors of the Serafina, now headed up past him and away from the smoke, were too busy to give him a second glance.

Jack felt a momentary flare of half-numb panic when he reached the brig and found it visibly empty, even through the obscuring smoke and the dark: its open door swung back and forth with a faint creak, each movement in time with the sway of the ship. There was also a body on the floor. Jack approached tentatively, and let out a breath he had been unaware of holding when he got close enough to realize that the body was not James’. Then Jack felt warm metal pressed to his throat--the barrel of a pistol--and froze as he heard the hammer slowly drawn back.

A familiar voice, rasped from smoke and disuse, growled from behind him: “Do not move.”

Jack’s eyes fell shut and he gave a low sound in his throat akin to a stifled groan of pure relief. “James, it’s me.”

A momentary pause, and Jack felt one of James’ hands lightly brush over his hair, taking in the familiar feel of all the trinkets. The pistol pulled away, but James’ hand lingered, clutching hard at Jack’s shoulder. “I thought I knew those cannons,” James murmured, his hoarse voice laced with disbelief.

Jack spun around and dragged James into the slightly-better light under the open hatch overhead. A look of dismay crossed his features as he felt dried blood on the back of James’ arm and saw more of it smeared on the man’s exposed skin, but the man was not only on his feet but also obviously still mobile and dangerous, and Jack didn’t have much time just yet to find out how much of the blood under his hand was Jamie’s. “Can you follow me?” He pointed up the ladder.

James glanced up and gave a bitter, pained sort of smile. “I will follow, whether or not I think I can.” Then he looked at Jack again and noticed that the man had two swords on his person, and that one of them was very, very familiar. His throat tightened and he asked quietly, “Are you using both of those?”

With an uneasy half-smile, full of wrath aimed at the Serafina’s men, Jack drew James’ Turner-made sword and presented it to him. “Will had it on hand.”

After only the slightest hesitation, James took it, took a deep breath, and turned a steadier, more shrewd stare toward the chaos overhead. “Out.”

“Aye.” Jack darted up the ladder, slower than he was capable of, all-too-aware of the hiss of pain from James as the commodore first pulled himself up, for all that he then fell silent again as they climbed.

The panic below-decks had increased, so the pair did not truly meet with violent resistance until they stepped above, and into the thick of the fighting. Jack barked an order to his men to return to the Pearl, then looked back over his shoulder at James and felt his heart skip a beat, the noise around him strangely muted for a second.

James had turned so that they stood back-to-back to better fend off attack, but the fighting itself had reopened a number of the wounds on his back, all of which Jack could now see, and James’ face seemed even paler than usual, grey and ashen despite the warm yellow light of both lanterns and the parts of the deck that had become afflicted with the spreading conflagration Jack had ordered set.

“James,” Jack said sharply.

The commodore turned to meet his gaze, his jaw clenched against the pain. He glanced at the Black Pearl hesitantly and said, “I will need some aid swinging across. My grip is not altogether at its strongest.”

For a moment, Jack only stared, then he nodded. “With me.”

James smirked weakly. “Yes.”

The Black Pearl sailed away with haste, leaving the Serafina to deal with her problems of fire, missing captain, and fallen mainmast. With the element of surprise so much on their side, the Pearl’s crew had suffered no deaths, only several injuries, and had managed to retrieve some valuables and weapons from the Serafina in their brief time aboard. They were feeling rather good about themselves, for all that they seemed to share the idea that the attack had been one based on mistaken identity, thinking that Jack had mistaken the square-rigged ship for a merchant vessel in the dark; the more senior crewmen, who knew Jack Sparrow better than that, only shrugged, not bothering to point out to the others the addition to their number Jack was keeping in his cabin. Nor did they say anything about the Serafina’s captain and the few others Jack had ordered put into the brig.

Jack, for his part, was rather busy.

His forehead resting on his arms, James hissed as the hot water stung his wounds, even though it soothed his less damaged tissues as Jack washed away all the blood. Occasionally, Jack reached for the bottle of rum on the table beside them and took a swig, then continued his ministrations without a word.

With the exception of a few curt commands, in order to get James sitting backwards on a chair with his arms folded on top of the chair’s back in preparation for the cleaning, Jack had said nothing since the fighting had stopped, and James had remained equally silent, except for the sounds of his slightly ragged breathing and the occasional involuntary hiss when the pain was a bit too much and his tired mind wandered away from his slightly-loosened control. James was still buzzed from the fight, but bone-deep relief at having escaped, combined with the comfort of Jack sitting so close behind him, tending to his wounds, made him feel suddenly tired.

Cleaning done, Jack spread some ointment from Tia Dalma across the wounds, watching the movement of James’ shoulders as the commodore’s breathing smoothed out: the ointment made wounds heal quicker, but also had a slight numbing effect, which James was very grateful for. He remained still as Jack began wrapping his torso in clean linen bandages, from God only knew where.

Once finished, Jack bid James turn around, which he obeyed. James watched Jack’s expression as the pirate examined his other injuries: the self-stitched wound on his chest and the minor array of burns on his left arm, both of them from before he had been taken aboard the Serafina.

“You’re a bloody fool,” Jack muttered, still not looking James in the eye.

“Yes. I did not, however, have any other choices at the time that I could live with,” James replied, his voice very low, more than a little apology audible in his tone.

Jack’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment, his lips thinned. “I’d gathered.”

Tentatively, James leaned forward until his forehead pressed against Jack’s. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “But this is who I am, Jack.”

Jack leaned into the touch instinctively, one hand reaching up to tangle in James’ hair and cradle the base of his skull. And Jack shivered, just a little. “I know. You’re a bloody, damned noble fool.” He tilted his head up, at first in a gentle nuzzle, and then to catch James’ lips, kissing him with a mixture of tenderness and desperation. James’ lips parted under his, and the commodore kissed back with equal fervor, cupping Jack’s face in one hand.

The kiss lingered, grew less gentle, until James tried to pull Jack’s chair closer to his own, only to wince when the effort sent a fresh sting of pain across his shoulder blades. Jack felt it and gently broke away.

Before he could stop himself, James whispered against Jack’ lips, “I love you.”

Jack froze for a moment, his eyes snapping open to try and meet James’, but they were too close together for him to focus properly and he was disinclined to pull away. “Jamie...” he sounded distinctly hesitant, too aware of where he had just pulled this man out of.

“I had a lot of time to think about a number of things. Thoughts of you came up frequently.” James’ fingers traced the lines of Jack’s cheekbone and lower lip, his touch ghost-light. “The thought that I might not see you again was one of the most painful, when it came up. I wish I could say I found myself surprised by it, but...”

Jack shivered again, his eyes falling shut, and melted into it when James kissed him again briefly, softly. Then he pulled away, just a little. “I thought you might be dead. In fact, it was more likely that you were dead than alive, but I had t’ look, I had t’ know,” Jack whispered, his voice rough and pained. His grip at the back of James’ neck tightened. When James’ hands tugged at him, Jack let the commodore pull him up, until his piratical self draped across James’ lap. He wrapped his arms around James’ neck for support and tucked his nose just under the corner of James’ jaw, inhaling his scent in deep, hungry breaths. “Never again, James,” he growled, despite knowing it impossible.

James’ hands ran up and down Jack’s back soothingly, and for a long few moments he was quiet again, focused entirely on the smell and feel of the pirate in his arms. Then he asked in a low, gentle voice, “Would you prefer me to be more easily within reach, then?”

For a moment Jack felt a flicker of anger, but then realized with some confusion that James as being very, very sincere. Slowly, Jack lifted his head to meet James’ gaze. “What?”

James pushed some of Jack’s hair from his face, focusing on the beads attached to one braid, rolling them between his fingers. “You may recall that I mentioned putting certain precautions in place, in the event that something in relation to the incident with the French might arise.”

“Aye...” Jack’s confusion was undimmed.

“I could not fully secure my place as Commodore,” James explained, “but I found a means of allowing for an alternative career option.” A faint hint of a smile. “As a privateer, of a sort: a freelance pirate hunter and a less-than-official spy and general havoc-wreaker in working against France and Spain, working for, and under the protection of, Port Royal’s governor. My letter of marque is already drafted, in fact, as are the plans to request a new sloop to replace the Fleetwing, which will be given over to me.”

Jack’s eyes were very wide and his lips parted in a look of absolute awe.

Nervously, James watched the whole of the message sink in.

“You...” Jack tried to begin, but trailed off helplessly. Hope, terror, glee and confusion all swirled about in his chest. “But...why would you-?” He cut off again, not able to form the words.

“If the navy has chosen, after months of delays and deliberation, to be rid of me over your escape and a few suspicious French papers, despite my previous record, then I am clearly not cut out to be a commodore,” James said, his irritation with the navy’s judgement clear. “Especially not when my connections allow me to find a means of continuing service to the crown, providing protection to its subjects, without being myself subject to such highly critical, and yet questionably sensible, judgment by my superiors.”

As he listened, Jack covered his mouth with one hand. Then he removed it, taking hold of James’ shoulder as he stared searchingly into James’ deep green eyes. “You could sail with me,” he whispered, sounding amazed and disbelieving. It was something he had never thought of, had never considered possible, but the thought of it... Jack felt a pang of longing and made a low, incoherent little noise from deep in his chest, somewhere between a growl and a whimper.

“Yes. And for a start, we could perhaps go after this fleet responsible for the attack on Port Royal, before giving the French a number of difficulties.” James smirked a bit, a hint of nervous eagerness in his expression.

The reality of it crashed over Jack like a wave. He pulled James into a frantic kiss, his hands on James’ face, in his hair, stroking his neck and his shoulders, tugging him closer whenever possible. “Jamie,” Jack murmured, pleased and hungry and breathless, and repeated it in between a series of smaller kisses. “Jamie, JamieJamieJamie, yer a marvelous, beautiful fool, m’love.” He noted James’ increasingly ragged breathing, the way the commodore’s hands had made their way to his hips again, now gripping tight. Jack could feel James’ smile against his lips. “My bloody fool. Love you, too, James. Gods, yes, sail with me.”

James half-sighed, half-moaned against his lips with relief and hissed a fervent affirmative, “Yes.” Then Jack was lost in feel and taste of him, coherent thought long gone for the both of them, replaced with heat and need.

As they left the chairs behind, Jack felt James’ hands wander seemingly everywhere, divesting him of all his clothing quickly. Jack’s touch was gentle, stroking James’ chest through the bandages, his arms and hips, pushing James’ breeches down to the floor. James stepped out of them and let Jack guide him backwards until his arse met the wall. Jack smiled with a touch of wickedness and slowly knelt, trailing kisses from James’ navel down, down, and further down, flicking his tongue along the underside of James’ cock and earning a low, pretty noise from the commodore’s throat. Jack glanced up, meeting James’ gaze, and swallowed him whole.

James hissed, not looking away, leaning back, careful to rest his weight on the backs of his arms instead of his injured back even as Jack Sparrow’s mouth set about completely melting the commodore’s brain. James’ hips twitched under Jack’s hands and his breathing stuttered as Jack’s tongue and throat did marvelous sanity-shattering things to him that may or may not have been learned in Singapore, until James’ head lolled back to thud softly against the wall.

Jack listened with satisfaction to the low, tender and breathy sounds and faint whimpers from his lover, as he dragged James to the edge and sent him tumbling over it, swallowing twice in quick succession when James came and pushing James’ hips hard against the wall when he felt the commodore start to slide down.

“Now, James, if you hit the floor, my ego may inflate to such a size it’ll threaten to tip the Pearl onto her side.”

“For once, you might be justified, after that performance,” James groaned breathlessly. “I feel that I must warn you: I will seek vengeance.”

Jack regained his feet and placed a single, possessive kiss on James’ throat. “Is that a promise, then?”

James lifted his head, and pushed himself upright, wrapping an arm around Jack’s waist. “It most certainly is.” He brushed Jack’s lips with his own, gently, then possessively, as he slid his tongue past them and firmly claimed Jack’s mouth with every iota of skill in his possession and all of the heat in his blood, until Jack was firmly rocked back on his heels, melting against him and making low, desperate noises as James ground their hips together hard and began backing the pirate slowly toward the bed, step by step.

The pirate gasped softly as James pinned him down on the bed, his mouth running a trail of fire down Jack’s throat, licking and nipping with his lips adding light suction. James’ hands were cool and rough on Jack’s skin, palms and fingers pressed flat as they trailed down his chest, belly and sides. He gave Jack no time to think, the trail of fire wandering across Jack’s collarbones, the scars on his chest, his sternum, and down along his taut belly. Jack’s hips writhed as James’ tongue delved into the dip of his navel, and James pinned them down hard with both hands as he nuzzled the soft skin even lower on Jack’s belly, just above Jack’s increasingly eager cock.

“James, please, for the love of-” he then cut off with a small choked-off sound as wet heat abruptly enveloped him, James’ tongue swirling on the tip of his cock for a maddening moment before sliding lower as the commodore’s mouth sheathed him to the hilt. Then James cupped his balls in one hand, rubbing and toying as James’ mouth picked up a maddening, unpredictable rhythm that made Jack’s toes curl.

“HellJamieyesdon’tstop!” Jack arched his back, hips twitching under James’ one still-pinning hand.

Smirking slightly around his work, James slowed his pace and hummed low in his throat, almost a growl, and enjoyed the way Jack gasped in response, then sucked hard and relaxed his restraining hold. With one hand tangled in James’ hair and the other gripping James’ shoulder, Jack shuddered, instinctively thrusting into the tight, welcoming heat without resistance, and came hard, tossing his head back with a growl as James’ throat contracted around him, milking him.

James stilled, and then pulled away slowly, releasing Jack gently and moving up the pirate’s body until his lips hovered over Jack’s. “Well, Jack?”

“We are,” Jack said weakly, “I believe, even.” He rested a hand on James’ nape, holding him in place. “Never doubted it.” His thumb stroked back and forth on the side of James’ neck. “You c’n always match me, Jamie, fire for fire.” His hooded, pitch-dark eyes glittered as bright as his gold-edged grin. “I love that.”

James smiled softly, and shifted to lay down on his stomach alongside Jack, resting his head on the pirate’s shoulder and draping one arm across Jack’s torso. “As do I, Jack. More than I might have ever expected to, but I am very, very far from complaining.”

Jack stroked his hair softly, a pleasant, lazy warmth sweeping over him. “Get some sleep, love.”

“You as well, Jack,” James murmured, already drifting off as his exhaustion returned in force, his battered body complaining quietly, but easily ignored for now, with the ointment still fresh and pain-dulling, and after-glow still warming him.

“Aye,” Jack whispered, and firmly pushed aside thoughts of all the work ahead of them, satisfied as he was for the moment, to have this man safe at his side, possibly for a longer time than he could have ever dared hope for until tonight.

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