The World Behind the World: Part VII
Title: The World Behind the World: Part VII
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's habit dropping by regularly, as he has for years now, probably doesn't help.
Summary: Consider this to be shamelessly fabricated backstory and subtext for the end of COTBP, with a way to bring in Davy Jones and the others without actually having to go through the other two films. James' worldview has been shaken and the only person he can really discuss it with is a certain pirate. Said pirate persuades him to expand his career options. Bantering abounds.
Beta: The right honorable Porridgebird.
Elizabeth mused to herself, with no little humor, that if any scholar of the time had taken up a scientific study of the territorial and mating habits of pirates, Captain Jack Sparrow would have provided them a wealth of material to observe from the moment that she stepped aboard the Black Pearl.
Frankly, she wondered for most of the first two days how it was that James kept a straight face through it all. Of course, on day one it was not, at first, overly obvious. Jack started off just keeping James at the helm with him as they plotted their course to the Isla Cruces, and the fact that both men were leaning over the same map and muttering to each other provided explanation enough for their close proximity. After that, Jack seemed to linger near the ex-commodore more than usual, and--in a seemingly half-aware fashion--make obvious, possessive little gestures: a hand on James’ arm or lower back, or perhaps even so far as an arm about James’ shoulders.
It was only on the second day that Elizabeth realized that Jack was keeping himself between her and James, possibly without fully realizing that he was doing it; or not, as he also became more and more blatant with his displays: wrapping an arm around James’ waist, tugging James closer by his shirtfront or his belt. At first, Elizabeth was merely a bit embarrassed and bemused. Then she thought about it for a while, got used to the idea, and mischievously decided to toe the line, as it were; thus, while Jack was distracted and standing away at the helm once more, Elizabeth moved to stand by James and asked casually, “You are aware of what he’s doing, are you not?”
The ex-commodore looked away from the men in the rigging he had been supervising, shooting her a cool glance over his shoulder, but she had known him for years and could read the glitter of mischief in his eyes. “Why, Miss Swann, whatever could you mean?” he asked, with airy sarcasm, and then shot her a knowing smirk that told her he knew quite well what she meant.
Before Elizabeth could say a word more about it, Jack called James to the helm.
Elizabeth watched with interest.
James stood slightly behind the captain, and remained there for some time, conversing about, from what little Elizabeth could overhear without attracting notice, the weather and their destination. Jack seemed more curt than usual.
James left after half an hour or so, and once more supervised the men. Elizabeth, by then, had made her way into the rigging and was busy surprising Jack’s crew with her capableness therein. James, for his part, ordered her about as though she were a common tar, and she was more than a little irritated with him by afternoon when she finally descended from the ropes. In her time as a stow-away, she had learned much, but was still a novice, and so she was weary and out of breath.
Not out of breath enough, however, to keep from muttering idle threats and curses under her breath as she massaged the sore muscles in her arms. She jumped slightly at the sound of James’ voice behind her.
“Very good work, Elizabeth. I’m quite impressed. If you spend a few months longer at sea, then I have no doubt you could easily pick up all the skills required to pass a lieutenant’s exam.”
She spun around to face him, wide-eyed, and he smiled at her with a hint of cool, almost paternal pride. Elizabeth felt a strange flutter and realized quite why so many sailors and marines would have followed this man to the ends of the earth. Clearing her throat and trying to ignore the blush that she could not prevent, she said, “Thank you, James,” and smiled almost hesitantly.
His smile brightened a little in response, with amusement more than anything else, but before he could reply, again he was called to the helm. A keen, slightly predatory look crossed his features for a moment. “Excuse me, Miss Swann.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened a little further as she watched him approach the helm again. There was something about the way he walked that seemed slightly different: not the way he effortlessly adjusted to the movements of sea and ship underfoot, as that was the norm for him, but perhaps a change in pace and an emphatic smoothness of gait--as though he were stalking prey. Feeling suddenly overheated, Elizabeth retreated below-deck briefly, seeking sustenance and refreshment, as well as distraction from the thoughts that reddened her face more than any sun exposure had.
By the time she ventured into the sunlight once more--for all that the sun was near to setting by now--Elizabeth was feeling far more collected and cool-headed, and found herself an out-of-the way perch from which to observe her evening’s entertainment (James was shouting out orders as Jack hovered very nearly at his elbow, eating an apple and making idle conversation--he shot Elizabeth a single quick glance as soon as she rose from below-deck and then studiously ignored her) and contemplate what she had learned about both herself and James Norrington of late.
She had never, before that day, looked at the (now ex-)commodore and thought of him in the same terms that she had found came so naturally to her when she thought of her dear Will Turner: the terms of attraction. Perhaps, she reflected, it had been the uniform, and propriety, and all the ways that James Norrington had kept his thoughts and feelings hidden for the sake of both. James’ self-control had always been intimidating--making Elizabeth feel clumsy and childish in comparison.
Now, here aboard the Black Pearl, she was seeing James Norrington in the furthest possible place from what she had always thought of as his natural habitat, and yet he was as at ease here as he had ever been aboard any ship of his own--perhaps even more so, as he was not under the same pressures to lead by example and to represent the Royal Navy, and he was therefore more relaxed in a number of ways.
What she was seeing now, Elizabeth realized, was James Norrington without the daunting mask of rank and authority in the way: a clearer image than she had ever been admitted a glimpse of before--or that she had ever allowed herself to consider.
She was unnerved to realize that the man was more attractive than she had ever given him credit for. Of course, he had never been anything but fine to look at, but the change in her view of him now was in what she was suddenly seeing of his personality: the unexpected rough spots and panther-like grace that had formerly been hidden behind stiff formalities and the smooth lines of a naval officer’s uniform. Elizabeth appreciated, in a whole new light, just how fine a man she had almost married, and how justly Jack Sparrow coveted him.
James seemed to be only half-paying attention to the bizarre story Jack was telling about something in Singapore, keeping his back to the pirate but occasionally turning his head just enough to glance back at him with a look of droll disbelief or near-exasperated amusement, but there was something very deliberate about the stance, and his stillness--not moving away, his body not relaxed. Elizabeth, drawing on years of experience, could read his mood easily: he felt that he had his prey cornered, and was merely waiting for the perfect moment to reveal to his unwitting prey that they were trapped.
Elizabeth shifted, making herself comfortable to better enjoy the show.
Jack tossed his apple-core overboard and straightened up from his languid slump against the mizzenmast, subtly insinuating himself again between James and Elizabeth, and still talking.
James waited. So did Elizabeth.
Once more, Jack rested a hand on James hip, his fingers curling lightly to grip the man’s belt possessively. Only this time, James did not passively accept the gesture as he had all the others before it. He turned his head and met Jack’s gaze sharply, and the pirate captain fell suddenly quiet as soon as he saw the look on James’ face, which Elizabeth sadly could not quite see from her angle.
Of all the things she might have ever expected of James Norrington, what happened next was not one of them.
James stepped closer to Jack, forcing the pirate to stumble back slightly or else fall over, but Jack didn’t let go of James’ belt or look away from James’ eyes as the ex-commodore steered him back toward the mast, until Jack’s shoulder blades pressed against it. Then James pressed closer still, bending his head down slightly so that his face was a bare inch from the pirate’s, and whispering something that Elizabeth could not hear: “Miss Swann is no threat to you, Jack Sparrow. I want you more than I have ever wanted her.”
All Elizabeth could see was the way Jack’s eyes widened just before James closed the narrow distance remaining between them and caught the pirate’s mouth in a possessive, hungry kiss that lasted longer than Elizabeth had ever guessed a kiss might last. She could feel the heat rise to her face, and to other places, which only embarrassed her further even as it made her feel strangely breathless in a way that she could not call unpleasant. The sight of James pulling Jack up and pinning him in place between his body and the mast, was the most erotic thing Elizabeth had ever seen. She covered her mouth with a hand before it could further her embarrassment by accidentally giving utterance to any of the varied and improper thoughts currently swirling through her brain.
Jack was like liquid, one hand tugging at James’ hair as the other clutched at James’ coat, and one leg draped across James’ hip, drawing their bodies closer as Jack moved his hips in a way that seemed positively serpentine, which visibly caused James’ breath to hitch and his hands to clutch tighter.
The sounds of the crew whooping, whistling and jeering in encouragement finally snapped her out of her daze. Elizabeth felt the distinct urge to run away and hide, but found herself still unable to move, watching transfixed as the two men broke apart and James smiled as she had never seen a man smile before: predatory and incandescently pleased with himself, and hungry for more--all at once.
And Jack stared into his eyes for a moment before smiling back: wicked, but almost nervous, but too far gone on lust to let it stop him from matching James, fire for fire. The pair of them seemed oblivious to the noise from the men around them, until Jack at last bellowed, “Alright, you bloody gawping nitwitted harpies, stop squawking an’ get back to work or I’ll keelhaul the lot of you!”
Laughter followed, but the crew got back to business, even as they loudly muttered comments about squawking, buggery, and other lewd matters.
James ignored them, nibbling and sucking at the side of Jack’s neck casually, making the pirate very distracted indeed for a few moments, until he at last recalled himself and pushed reluctantly at James’ shoulder, muttering something about “below deck” and “now” and James being an “evil teasing” something-or-other.
James laughed and pulled away, letting Jack slide the few inches back down until his feet touched the deck again, then took hold of Jack’s belt, tugging the pirate with him until they both vanished from sight.
Elizabeth dropped from her perch and skulked away to sit in a hidden spot just below-deck, toward the opposite end of the ship Jack and James had seemed headed for. With her heart thumping in her chest and her face still hot, she tried to recollect her thoughts and form them into a sensible sort of shape.
She had felt something like this before, on occasions that she had seen Will at work in the forge, stripped to the waist and covered in a thin sheen of sweat that she often had felt the totally improper urge to lick off his skin, but this was something else. Perhaps it had been the sheer heat and intensity of the sight, the surprise of it and the abandon shown by both of the participants, as well as the fact that both men had a number of pleasant physical attributes. Perhaps it had been the small little things that the sight had taught her about desire, about what a real kiss could be like, and what real passion looked like: knowledge that she, as Governor Swann’s daughter, had been shielded from for the sake of propriety.
Propriety be damned, Elizabeth thought, not for the first time. She had not been able to pin down, before, what exactly it was she had wanted all this time, but that passion she had glimpsed, between those two, was it. In a way, she supposed that was why she had wanted Will rather that James.
On some level, perhaps she had not considered that he could show that sort of--fire; on another level, perhaps she had been unnerved by the idea that if he did possess it, he was so clearly in total control of it as to be beyond her, and she would be unable to match it--unable to be his equal in such matters. Will was more like her: less controlled, and yet thus easier to control; so that William matched her, and James was...overwhelming, in comparison. James had loved her, but she could never have truly made him happy. He could never have given her that vicious smile that he had given Jack...
At that thought, Elizabeth laughed to herself softly. “A fine match indeed,” she muttered to no one, running a hand over her face as the heat of mortification finally receded. If anyone could match James for fire, be undaunted by him, and still be wild enough to both tempt him and never be wholly dominated or overwhelmed by him, it would have to be one Captain Jack Sparrow.
Given that this had started with his piratical self pinned up against the mizzenmast, Jack was not at all sure how exactly they had gotten here: with James bent over a waist-high pile of crates secured under a net, one hand reaching back to grasp at Jack’s nape, hand tangling in Jack’s hair as Jack pounded into him mercilessly.
Jack had no idea quite how matters had arranged themselves thus, given that his head had been--and still was to some extent--reeling with James’ words. I want you more than I have ever wanted her... The phrase kept repeating, swirling through Jack’s brain like a small typhoon and robbing him of reason. The feel of James’ body under him and around him was hardly helping things in that department, but again, Jack was very, very far from complaining.
He bit at James shoulder and felt the muscles there bunch with each thrust as James held himself up on one elbow, using the leverage to push his hips back in perfect counterpoint. Then James arched his back, changing the angle slightly, and shuddered as it appeared to improve things greatly for him. He began muttering encouragement, almost pleading, his grip on the back of Jack’s neck tightening.
Jack pulled James’ hips back more sharply, then let one hand slide teasingly lower, tracing a shape on the hollow of James’ hip, then lower still: just below James’ navel. The ex-commodore made a sound somewhere between a growl and a whimper, and it was so pretty that Jack decided to oblige him, wrapping a hand around James’ cock and stroking him in time to the rocking of their hips.
James gasped, his body tensing, pressing his body up and back--closer to Jack’s--small tremors running through him as all resistance, all semblance of self-control, fled at last. “Like that--Yesss--Jack, please don’t stop!” His voice was rough with need. Then his breath caught and he came in Jack’s hand with a shudder, his hold on Jack’s nape loosening, then falling away as he swayed--momentarily off-balance--needing both arms to hold himself up as Jack’s thrusts became harder, rougher, and less controlled, so that one of James hands gripped the netting over the crates and he rested his weight on his forearms to brace himself.
It was perversely good, almost painful, but James arched into it with abandon nonetheless, still meeting each thrust and feeling a sense of triumph as Jack’s breathing grew more ragged, puffing hot against his neck, until Jack finally lost it, and came hard, losing himself entirely for a moment, resting a hand over the back of James’ free one and leaning on him for support as his strength left him in a rush. Jack rested his forehead against the back of James’ neck and tried to catch his breath as well as recall what his name was and how to function with a melted brain.
Jack was drawn back to reality by the feel of James’ fingers clutching his. He realized, belatedly, that he’d laced his fingers in between James’ and gripped the ex-commodore’s hand tight. James returned the grip more softly, but in a way that was strangely reassuring.
Again, those words rang through Jack’s mind. I want you more than I have ever wanted her. He should have known, really, but the compass had changed bloody directions in James’ hand, hadn’t it? Kept changing, as Jack recalled, having spotted the arrow wavering and pointing at him now and then while they’d plotted their course, but it had always swiveled back to point toward the chest again. Most bloody confounding thing Jack had ever seen...
After a few minutes, James apparently caught his breath and regained his senses enough to make the totally deadpan observation: “I believe, Jack, that I have rope burn on my stomach.”
Helplessly, Jack gave a soft laugh. “I can think of worse places.”
“I am sure there are stories to go with each,” James mused. “Another time, you should tell me one or two--when I will empathize with them less.” He rested his head on one arm, still not letting go of Jack’s hand.
Jack laughed again, and nipped affectionately at a spot between James’ shoulder blades that inspired a not-complaining noise to rumble up from James’ throat. “Mayhap I’ll let you re-enact one of ‘em on me, if we can manage to drag ourselves up to m’cabin,” Jack murmured against James’ skin.
James gave pleased, thoughtful hum. “To your cabin it is, then. Assuming, of course, that you have rope there...”
“This is me we’re talking about, love.”
“Ah, yes, of course. How could I have doubted.” James shifted, turning about just enough to catch Jack’s lips in a kiss for a moment. “Shall we, then?”
“But I’m just so comfy, here,” Jack teased.
“I know, but I’ll make it up to you,” James promised, his eyes narrowed wickedly.
Jack grinned brilliantly. “I like the way you think, Jamie.” Reluctantly, he drew back from James’ warmth, unsheathing himself and pulling up his trousers. He was focused enough on straightening his shirt and waistcoat for a few moments that when he looked up to see James mostly-dressed he felt a flicker of disappointment.
“I may never find that waistcoat,” James mused, looking over his shoulder and frowning. “I can’t even recall quite where you tossed it. It’s good that I kept hold of this, then, I suppose.” James shrugged into his outer coat and raised his eyebrows at Jack’s slightly smug expression. “I have others.”
Jack’s brow furrowed. “Where?”
“I hid them from you.” A hint of a smirk.
Jack frowned a little. “That’s not fair.”
“I am dealing with a rather practical sort of pirate, so I suspected that fair play would doom me to lose from the start,” James explained.
“True enough.”
“Of course, at this point, I’m no longer sure exactly what counts as winning,” James murmured, as he put his sword-belt back on.
Jack, in the midst of tying his sash, paused. He sensed a change of subject and the ice under his feet growing thinner. “How so?”
James stepped closer, before Jack could pick up his own belts, and rested his hands on either side of the crate behind Jack, holding the pirate in place. “I want you,” he said simply. “I also would like to have a more permanent place in this world behind the world that you and others have inadvertently brought me into--a place wherein I don’t have to fake a Dutch accent regularly. I plan to achieve the latter, for reasons that you are familiar with.” He lifted a hand, his fingers lightly cradling Jack’s jaw. “As for the former, I have to ask: once I am the captain of the Flying Dutchman, Jack, what will become of this?” His thumb traced Jack’s lower lip lightly, slowly.
Jack swallowed tightly. “I don’t know, James. It’s a blank spot on the map, innit?”
James raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“I want you, too, James, and you know it, damn you,” Jack whispered heatedly. “If you didn’t know it, I’d be able to ignore it and not think of it and-”
James silenced him with a kiss for a few moments, just enough that Jack stopped trying to talk. When he pulled away, it wasn’t very far. “You only thought I knew. I was still trying to work out whether I was the jar of dirt or something rather more significant in your possession.”
Jack swallowed tightly. His voice was very low, not quite a whisper, and almost hoarse as he said, “Honestly, James, you’re more like the Pearl. I’m not any more inclined to let you go than I am her.”
James inhaled sharply, and something in his look softened with a mixture of surprise, awe, and another more intense feeling. “Oh,” he said, his voice wavering a little, but full of warmth and all the emotions flickering through his sea-green eyes. “Good. I had hoped it was not just me.”
Despite himself, Jack laughed a little. “James, we’re both mad, y’know.”
With an indulgent, almost shy smile, James shook his head. “I blame you.”
“My madness has benefits,” Jack countered, nipping at James’ lower lip.
“Indeed. Let us hope that prolonged survival remains one of them,” James riposted, wrapping his arms around Jack’s waist. “Now, I recall something about your cabin and rope-burn...”
Jack chuckled, draping one arm around James’ neck and scooping up his belts and coat with the other. “Aye. Let’s head that way, then, and start plotting anew.”
A low groan escaped James’ throat. “My mind will not be of any use for plotting if you keep doing that with your damned hips, Jack.”
“I’d apologize, but it’d be a lie.” He started to pull away.
“Hmm.” James lowered his mouth to a tender bit of skin just below Jack’s ear, which the ex-commodore then proceeded to suckle at, teeth nipping and tongue tracing across it.
Jack froze, making a low, incoherent noise and feeling his brain start to melt again. The damned man had found his damned weak spots in more ways than one. He whimpered when James pulled back, releasing him and walking away.
“Come along, Jack,” James called, not looking back, despite how tempting it was to glance back, if only to see the indignant and shocked expression on Jack’s face that must have accompanied the sputtering noises the pirate was making.
Needless to say, Jack followed him post-haste, but it still took them quite a while to reach the captain’s cabin.
Previous || Story Index || To Be Continued...
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's habit dropping by regularly, as he has for years now, probably doesn't help.
Summary: Consider this to be shamelessly fabricated backstory and subtext for the end of COTBP, with a way to bring in Davy Jones and the others without actually having to go through the other two films. James' worldview has been shaken and the only person he can really discuss it with is a certain pirate. Said pirate persuades him to expand his career options. Bantering abounds.
Beta: The right honorable Porridgebird.
Elizabeth mused to herself, with no little humor, that if any scholar of the time had taken up a scientific study of the territorial and mating habits of pirates, Captain Jack Sparrow would have provided them a wealth of material to observe from the moment that she stepped aboard the Black Pearl.
Frankly, she wondered for most of the first two days how it was that James kept a straight face through it all. Of course, on day one it was not, at first, overly obvious. Jack started off just keeping James at the helm with him as they plotted their course to the Isla Cruces, and the fact that both men were leaning over the same map and muttering to each other provided explanation enough for their close proximity. After that, Jack seemed to linger near the ex-commodore more than usual, and--in a seemingly half-aware fashion--make obvious, possessive little gestures: a hand on James’ arm or lower back, or perhaps even so far as an arm about James’ shoulders.
It was only on the second day that Elizabeth realized that Jack was keeping himself between her and James, possibly without fully realizing that he was doing it; or not, as he also became more and more blatant with his displays: wrapping an arm around James’ waist, tugging James closer by his shirtfront or his belt. At first, Elizabeth was merely a bit embarrassed and bemused. Then she thought about it for a while, got used to the idea, and mischievously decided to toe the line, as it were; thus, while Jack was distracted and standing away at the helm once more, Elizabeth moved to stand by James and asked casually, “You are aware of what he’s doing, are you not?”
The ex-commodore looked away from the men in the rigging he had been supervising, shooting her a cool glance over his shoulder, but she had known him for years and could read the glitter of mischief in his eyes. “Why, Miss Swann, whatever could you mean?” he asked, with airy sarcasm, and then shot her a knowing smirk that told her he knew quite well what she meant.
Before Elizabeth could say a word more about it, Jack called James to the helm.
Elizabeth watched with interest.
James stood slightly behind the captain, and remained there for some time, conversing about, from what little Elizabeth could overhear without attracting notice, the weather and their destination. Jack seemed more curt than usual.
James left after half an hour or so, and once more supervised the men. Elizabeth, by then, had made her way into the rigging and was busy surprising Jack’s crew with her capableness therein. James, for his part, ordered her about as though she were a common tar, and she was more than a little irritated with him by afternoon when she finally descended from the ropes. In her time as a stow-away, she had learned much, but was still a novice, and so she was weary and out of breath.
Not out of breath enough, however, to keep from muttering idle threats and curses under her breath as she massaged the sore muscles in her arms. She jumped slightly at the sound of James’ voice behind her.
“Very good work, Elizabeth. I’m quite impressed. If you spend a few months longer at sea, then I have no doubt you could easily pick up all the skills required to pass a lieutenant’s exam.”
She spun around to face him, wide-eyed, and he smiled at her with a hint of cool, almost paternal pride. Elizabeth felt a strange flutter and realized quite why so many sailors and marines would have followed this man to the ends of the earth. Clearing her throat and trying to ignore the blush that she could not prevent, she said, “Thank you, James,” and smiled almost hesitantly.
His smile brightened a little in response, with amusement more than anything else, but before he could reply, again he was called to the helm. A keen, slightly predatory look crossed his features for a moment. “Excuse me, Miss Swann.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened a little further as she watched him approach the helm again. There was something about the way he walked that seemed slightly different: not the way he effortlessly adjusted to the movements of sea and ship underfoot, as that was the norm for him, but perhaps a change in pace and an emphatic smoothness of gait--as though he were stalking prey. Feeling suddenly overheated, Elizabeth retreated below-deck briefly, seeking sustenance and refreshment, as well as distraction from the thoughts that reddened her face more than any sun exposure had.
By the time she ventured into the sunlight once more--for all that the sun was near to setting by now--Elizabeth was feeling far more collected and cool-headed, and found herself an out-of-the way perch from which to observe her evening’s entertainment (James was shouting out orders as Jack hovered very nearly at his elbow, eating an apple and making idle conversation--he shot Elizabeth a single quick glance as soon as she rose from below-deck and then studiously ignored her) and contemplate what she had learned about both herself and James Norrington of late.
She had never, before that day, looked at the (now ex-)commodore and thought of him in the same terms that she had found came so naturally to her when she thought of her dear Will Turner: the terms of attraction. Perhaps, she reflected, it had been the uniform, and propriety, and all the ways that James Norrington had kept his thoughts and feelings hidden for the sake of both. James’ self-control had always been intimidating--making Elizabeth feel clumsy and childish in comparison.
Now, here aboard the Black Pearl, she was seeing James Norrington in the furthest possible place from what she had always thought of as his natural habitat, and yet he was as at ease here as he had ever been aboard any ship of his own--perhaps even more so, as he was not under the same pressures to lead by example and to represent the Royal Navy, and he was therefore more relaxed in a number of ways.
What she was seeing now, Elizabeth realized, was James Norrington without the daunting mask of rank and authority in the way: a clearer image than she had ever been admitted a glimpse of before--or that she had ever allowed herself to consider.
She was unnerved to realize that the man was more attractive than she had ever given him credit for. Of course, he had never been anything but fine to look at, but the change in her view of him now was in what she was suddenly seeing of his personality: the unexpected rough spots and panther-like grace that had formerly been hidden behind stiff formalities and the smooth lines of a naval officer’s uniform. Elizabeth appreciated, in a whole new light, just how fine a man she had almost married, and how justly Jack Sparrow coveted him.
James seemed to be only half-paying attention to the bizarre story Jack was telling about something in Singapore, keeping his back to the pirate but occasionally turning his head just enough to glance back at him with a look of droll disbelief or near-exasperated amusement, but there was something very deliberate about the stance, and his stillness--not moving away, his body not relaxed. Elizabeth, drawing on years of experience, could read his mood easily: he felt that he had his prey cornered, and was merely waiting for the perfect moment to reveal to his unwitting prey that they were trapped.
Elizabeth shifted, making herself comfortable to better enjoy the show.
Jack tossed his apple-core overboard and straightened up from his languid slump against the mizzenmast, subtly insinuating himself again between James and Elizabeth, and still talking.
James waited. So did Elizabeth.
Once more, Jack rested a hand on James hip, his fingers curling lightly to grip the man’s belt possessively. Only this time, James did not passively accept the gesture as he had all the others before it. He turned his head and met Jack’s gaze sharply, and the pirate captain fell suddenly quiet as soon as he saw the look on James’ face, which Elizabeth sadly could not quite see from her angle.
Of all the things she might have ever expected of James Norrington, what happened next was not one of them.
James stepped closer to Jack, forcing the pirate to stumble back slightly or else fall over, but Jack didn’t let go of James’ belt or look away from James’ eyes as the ex-commodore steered him back toward the mast, until Jack’s shoulder blades pressed against it. Then James pressed closer still, bending his head down slightly so that his face was a bare inch from the pirate’s, and whispering something that Elizabeth could not hear: “Miss Swann is no threat to you, Jack Sparrow. I want you more than I have ever wanted her.”
All Elizabeth could see was the way Jack’s eyes widened just before James closed the narrow distance remaining between them and caught the pirate’s mouth in a possessive, hungry kiss that lasted longer than Elizabeth had ever guessed a kiss might last. She could feel the heat rise to her face, and to other places, which only embarrassed her further even as it made her feel strangely breathless in a way that she could not call unpleasant. The sight of James pulling Jack up and pinning him in place between his body and the mast, was the most erotic thing Elizabeth had ever seen. She covered her mouth with a hand before it could further her embarrassment by accidentally giving utterance to any of the varied and improper thoughts currently swirling through her brain.
Jack was like liquid, one hand tugging at James’ hair as the other clutched at James’ coat, and one leg draped across James’ hip, drawing their bodies closer as Jack moved his hips in a way that seemed positively serpentine, which visibly caused James’ breath to hitch and his hands to clutch tighter.
The sounds of the crew whooping, whistling and jeering in encouragement finally snapped her out of her daze. Elizabeth felt the distinct urge to run away and hide, but found herself still unable to move, watching transfixed as the two men broke apart and James smiled as she had never seen a man smile before: predatory and incandescently pleased with himself, and hungry for more--all at once.
And Jack stared into his eyes for a moment before smiling back: wicked, but almost nervous, but too far gone on lust to let it stop him from matching James, fire for fire. The pair of them seemed oblivious to the noise from the men around them, until Jack at last bellowed, “Alright, you bloody gawping nitwitted harpies, stop squawking an’ get back to work or I’ll keelhaul the lot of you!”
Laughter followed, but the crew got back to business, even as they loudly muttered comments about squawking, buggery, and other lewd matters.
James ignored them, nibbling and sucking at the side of Jack’s neck casually, making the pirate very distracted indeed for a few moments, until he at last recalled himself and pushed reluctantly at James’ shoulder, muttering something about “below deck” and “now” and James being an “evil teasing” something-or-other.
James laughed and pulled away, letting Jack slide the few inches back down until his feet touched the deck again, then took hold of Jack’s belt, tugging the pirate with him until they both vanished from sight.
Elizabeth dropped from her perch and skulked away to sit in a hidden spot just below-deck, toward the opposite end of the ship Jack and James had seemed headed for. With her heart thumping in her chest and her face still hot, she tried to recollect her thoughts and form them into a sensible sort of shape.
She had felt something like this before, on occasions that she had seen Will at work in the forge, stripped to the waist and covered in a thin sheen of sweat that she often had felt the totally improper urge to lick off his skin, but this was something else. Perhaps it had been the sheer heat and intensity of the sight, the surprise of it and the abandon shown by both of the participants, as well as the fact that both men had a number of pleasant physical attributes. Perhaps it had been the small little things that the sight had taught her about desire, about what a real kiss could be like, and what real passion looked like: knowledge that she, as Governor Swann’s daughter, had been shielded from for the sake of propriety.
Propriety be damned, Elizabeth thought, not for the first time. She had not been able to pin down, before, what exactly it was she had wanted all this time, but that passion she had glimpsed, between those two, was it. In a way, she supposed that was why she had wanted Will rather that James.
On some level, perhaps she had not considered that he could show that sort of--fire; on another level, perhaps she had been unnerved by the idea that if he did possess it, he was so clearly in total control of it as to be beyond her, and she would be unable to match it--unable to be his equal in such matters. Will was more like her: less controlled, and yet thus easier to control; so that William matched her, and James was...overwhelming, in comparison. James had loved her, but she could never have truly made him happy. He could never have given her that vicious smile that he had given Jack...
At that thought, Elizabeth laughed to herself softly. “A fine match indeed,” she muttered to no one, running a hand over her face as the heat of mortification finally receded. If anyone could match James for fire, be undaunted by him, and still be wild enough to both tempt him and never be wholly dominated or overwhelmed by him, it would have to be one Captain Jack Sparrow.
Given that this had started with his piratical self pinned up against the mizzenmast, Jack was not at all sure how exactly they had gotten here: with James bent over a waist-high pile of crates secured under a net, one hand reaching back to grasp at Jack’s nape, hand tangling in Jack’s hair as Jack pounded into him mercilessly.
Jack had no idea quite how matters had arranged themselves thus, given that his head had been--and still was to some extent--reeling with James’ words. I want you more than I have ever wanted her... The phrase kept repeating, swirling through Jack’s brain like a small typhoon and robbing him of reason. The feel of James’ body under him and around him was hardly helping things in that department, but again, Jack was very, very far from complaining.
He bit at James shoulder and felt the muscles there bunch with each thrust as James held himself up on one elbow, using the leverage to push his hips back in perfect counterpoint. Then James arched his back, changing the angle slightly, and shuddered as it appeared to improve things greatly for him. He began muttering encouragement, almost pleading, his grip on the back of Jack’s neck tightening.
Jack pulled James’ hips back more sharply, then let one hand slide teasingly lower, tracing a shape on the hollow of James’ hip, then lower still: just below James’ navel. The ex-commodore made a sound somewhere between a growl and a whimper, and it was so pretty that Jack decided to oblige him, wrapping a hand around James’ cock and stroking him in time to the rocking of their hips.
James gasped, his body tensing, pressing his body up and back--closer to Jack’s--small tremors running through him as all resistance, all semblance of self-control, fled at last. “Like that--Yesss--Jack, please don’t stop!” His voice was rough with need. Then his breath caught and he came in Jack’s hand with a shudder, his hold on Jack’s nape loosening, then falling away as he swayed--momentarily off-balance--needing both arms to hold himself up as Jack’s thrusts became harder, rougher, and less controlled, so that one of James hands gripped the netting over the crates and he rested his weight on his forearms to brace himself.
It was perversely good, almost painful, but James arched into it with abandon nonetheless, still meeting each thrust and feeling a sense of triumph as Jack’s breathing grew more ragged, puffing hot against his neck, until Jack finally lost it, and came hard, losing himself entirely for a moment, resting a hand over the back of James’ free one and leaning on him for support as his strength left him in a rush. Jack rested his forehead against the back of James’ neck and tried to catch his breath as well as recall what his name was and how to function with a melted brain.
Jack was drawn back to reality by the feel of James’ fingers clutching his. He realized, belatedly, that he’d laced his fingers in between James’ and gripped the ex-commodore’s hand tight. James returned the grip more softly, but in a way that was strangely reassuring.
Again, those words rang through Jack’s mind. I want you more than I have ever wanted her. He should have known, really, but the compass had changed bloody directions in James’ hand, hadn’t it? Kept changing, as Jack recalled, having spotted the arrow wavering and pointing at him now and then while they’d plotted their course, but it had always swiveled back to point toward the chest again. Most bloody confounding thing Jack had ever seen...
After a few minutes, James apparently caught his breath and regained his senses enough to make the totally deadpan observation: “I believe, Jack, that I have rope burn on my stomach.”
Helplessly, Jack gave a soft laugh. “I can think of worse places.”
“I am sure there are stories to go with each,” James mused. “Another time, you should tell me one or two--when I will empathize with them less.” He rested his head on one arm, still not letting go of Jack’s hand.
Jack laughed again, and nipped affectionately at a spot between James’ shoulder blades that inspired a not-complaining noise to rumble up from James’ throat. “Mayhap I’ll let you re-enact one of ‘em on me, if we can manage to drag ourselves up to m’cabin,” Jack murmured against James’ skin.
James gave pleased, thoughtful hum. “To your cabin it is, then. Assuming, of course, that you have rope there...”
“This is me we’re talking about, love.”
“Ah, yes, of course. How could I have doubted.” James shifted, turning about just enough to catch Jack’s lips in a kiss for a moment. “Shall we, then?”
“But I’m just so comfy, here,” Jack teased.
“I know, but I’ll make it up to you,” James promised, his eyes narrowed wickedly.
Jack grinned brilliantly. “I like the way you think, Jamie.” Reluctantly, he drew back from James’ warmth, unsheathing himself and pulling up his trousers. He was focused enough on straightening his shirt and waistcoat for a few moments that when he looked up to see James mostly-dressed he felt a flicker of disappointment.
“I may never find that waistcoat,” James mused, looking over his shoulder and frowning. “I can’t even recall quite where you tossed it. It’s good that I kept hold of this, then, I suppose.” James shrugged into his outer coat and raised his eyebrows at Jack’s slightly smug expression. “I have others.”
Jack’s brow furrowed. “Where?”
“I hid them from you.” A hint of a smirk.
Jack frowned a little. “That’s not fair.”
“I am dealing with a rather practical sort of pirate, so I suspected that fair play would doom me to lose from the start,” James explained.
“True enough.”
“Of course, at this point, I’m no longer sure exactly what counts as winning,” James murmured, as he put his sword-belt back on.
Jack, in the midst of tying his sash, paused. He sensed a change of subject and the ice under his feet growing thinner. “How so?”
James stepped closer, before Jack could pick up his own belts, and rested his hands on either side of the crate behind Jack, holding the pirate in place. “I want you,” he said simply. “I also would like to have a more permanent place in this world behind the world that you and others have inadvertently brought me into--a place wherein I don’t have to fake a Dutch accent regularly. I plan to achieve the latter, for reasons that you are familiar with.” He lifted a hand, his fingers lightly cradling Jack’s jaw. “As for the former, I have to ask: once I am the captain of the Flying Dutchman, Jack, what will become of this?” His thumb traced Jack’s lower lip lightly, slowly.
Jack swallowed tightly. “I don’t know, James. It’s a blank spot on the map, innit?”
James raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“I want you, too, James, and you know it, damn you,” Jack whispered heatedly. “If you didn’t know it, I’d be able to ignore it and not think of it and-”
James silenced him with a kiss for a few moments, just enough that Jack stopped trying to talk. When he pulled away, it wasn’t very far. “You only thought I knew. I was still trying to work out whether I was the jar of dirt or something rather more significant in your possession.”
Jack swallowed tightly. His voice was very low, not quite a whisper, and almost hoarse as he said, “Honestly, James, you’re more like the Pearl. I’m not any more inclined to let you go than I am her.”
James inhaled sharply, and something in his look softened with a mixture of surprise, awe, and another more intense feeling. “Oh,” he said, his voice wavering a little, but full of warmth and all the emotions flickering through his sea-green eyes. “Good. I had hoped it was not just me.”
Despite himself, Jack laughed a little. “James, we’re both mad, y’know.”
With an indulgent, almost shy smile, James shook his head. “I blame you.”
“My madness has benefits,” Jack countered, nipping at James’ lower lip.
“Indeed. Let us hope that prolonged survival remains one of them,” James riposted, wrapping his arms around Jack’s waist. “Now, I recall something about your cabin and rope-burn...”
Jack chuckled, draping one arm around James’ neck and scooping up his belts and coat with the other. “Aye. Let’s head that way, then, and start plotting anew.”
A low groan escaped James’ throat. “My mind will not be of any use for plotting if you keep doing that with your damned hips, Jack.”
“I’d apologize, but it’d be a lie.” He started to pull away.
“Hmm.” James lowered his mouth to a tender bit of skin just below Jack’s ear, which the ex-commodore then proceeded to suckle at, teeth nipping and tongue tracing across it.
Jack froze, making a low, incoherent noise and feeling his brain start to melt again. The damned man had found his damned weak spots in more ways than one. He whimpered when James pulled back, releasing him and walking away.
“Come along, Jack,” James called, not looking back, despite how tempting it was to glance back, if only to see the indignant and shocked expression on Jack’s face that must have accompanied the sputtering noises the pirate was making.
Needless to say, Jack followed him post-haste, but it still took them quite a while to reach the captain’s cabin.
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