The Challenge: Epilogue
Title: The Challenge
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean; Sparrington
Rating: PG-13
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.
Note: Five brownie points to those who can remember where I’ve used Captain Raimond before.
Warnings: No actual bed-posts were harmed in the making of this fic
Jack told himself, as he had many many many times before in the past month since he had seen James Norrington, that he had nothing to worry about.
As ever, it was an utter lie.
Sure, all had gone well enough: with Jack helping out the navy lads to pin the rat bastards who’d attacked Port Royal in their meeting place and James’ brother not killing Jack or sinking the Black Pearl. And afterward, James had seemed grim but not actually worried concerning the words he had to share with the Admiralty; that was encouraging.
But what if they didn’t throw James out, or what if the man changed his mind and decided to bloody well stay with them? Such thoughts had begun to make Jack feel nauseous, and he wondered if men who got seasick felt much the same way.
Sitting in his favored tavern, he was relieved to overhear the rumor that the Fleetwing had made port in Tortuga, wearing no trace of her naval colors or the uniforms of her former naval crew, instead flying a black flag with a hawk on it or something.
So Jack stayed where he was, waiting quite impatiently for chaos to ensue. And when it quietly began, Jack nearly dropped his rum bottle to the floor at the sight of its primary instigator.
First he’d noticed the unusually well-disciplined gentlemen making their way in through the door, picking up drinks and settling themselves at strategically advantageous points all around the room. Then James had walked in, looking positively edible, in Jack’s opinion: in a long blue-grey coat trimmed embroidered at collar, cuffs, trim and lapels with green that matched his eyes, tall bucket-topped boots, his long hair sans wig and tied back loosely, two baldrics with pistols and one bearing that familiar Turner-made sword. He also wore a very fine black leather tricorne with a single hawk-feather in it.
Jack’s eyes were glued to the ex-commodore, watching the man’s purposeful, long-legged stride as James made his way to the bar and ordered rum.
Before James could turn and make another surreptitious scan of the room, a man beside him slammed his mug on the bar loudly and shouted, in shocked recognition, “Commodore Norrington!”
The tavern went quiet, except for whispers of ‘Death Himself Norrington’ and the sounds of bar wenches scuffling instinctively out of harm’s way.
James slowly turned his head to meet the man’s gaze. He said loudly, but in his usual deadpan, “Not anymore. It’s ‘Captain’ these days.” He took a sip from his tankard in a deliberately unhurried and unconcerned manner.
“Aye. Heard about somethin’ like that. You got moved down a peg, even after gettin’ rid of Captain Archer and his little makeshift fleet,” the other man said, and smiled an unpleasant, vicious smile, his teeth gleaming brightly white against his dark skin. “Sent the lot of ‘em down to Davy Jones’ Locker.”
“Yes I did.” James held his gaze evenly, his jade eyes steely.
The stranger lifted his tankard. “Good riddance to that lot of rotten bastards! Good that you got rid of ‘em quick before they could get the rest of us shot down by an over-active navy.” He knocked back the last of his rum and slammed his empty tankard down. “Let’s have a round of drinks for the lot of ‘em, in honor of the navy bein’ fool enough to lose a gun like Death Himself Norrington.”
After momentary hesitation, a yell went up through the crowd. Free alcohol can make any man popular in Tortuga.
James glanced sidelong out at the crowd, then looked back at the stranger again. “You are most kind, Captain Raimond.”
The dark man grinned. “Captain Archer was scum with a half-decent speakin’ voice and some skill in persuadin’ the stupid. Good riddance, indeed.” He took a fresh tankard from a passing wench and held it up. “And it’s good to see you outta the navy, so’s you won’t be chasin’ me again. You damned near caught me too often, and you sail damned well, Captain Norrington.”
James smirked. “I will not chase you if you keep away from British ships around my part of Jamaica, and thus do not provoke the men who pay me. I do hope that you won’t.” He raised his own tankard to meet Raimond’s. “You are a fine sailor yourself.”
“Aye. I’ll keep that in mind. You took the most vicious little ship of your fleet and I’d not like to tangle with her or her cannons,” Raimond said, peaceably enough, for all that his smirk was wicked.
Both men drank.
When James lowered his tankard, he noted a presence at his elbow, turned, and saw Jack. His face lit up in a wide, bright grin. “Captain Sparrow.”
Raimond seemed wary, glancing back and forth between the two men.
Jack leaned in and smirked, wrapping an arm around James’ waist. “Captain James,” he countered, his eyes bright with mischief. Then he turned and nodded at Captain Raimond. “I’ve not seen you around of late, Raimond.”
“With him an’ his brother both about?” Raimond scoffed. “Ye can hardly blame me for buggerin’ off elsewhere.” In spite of his jokes, his brow creased slightly in confusion. “Speakin’ of buggery: I thought the pair of you had a bit of a rough history...”
“A rough start, perhaps,” James corrected, one hand settling idly on Jack’s hip possessively.
“But we’ve got an understanding.” Jack leaned against James’ side.
Raimond’s eyebrows raised a little. “Rumor’s true then--that you took down the Serafin yerself, Cap’n Sparrow?”
“Aye, but you needn’t buy a round of drinks to it. I’ll be a mite busy.” He turned his head and grinned at James.
“As will I,” James agreed quickly, unable to suppress an answering smile. “My thanks, Raimond, for the warm welcome to Tortuga, but I have a slightly warmer one awaiting me, I believe.” He let Jack drag him away.
Raimond stared after the pair of grinning devils, an amused look on his face. He caught the attention of a passing maid. “Whatever room those two’ve got, send up a bottle of rum. I’d like to keep on their good sides.” They would make valuable potential allies, he knew. Especially because the thought of the pair of them fighting towards the same goal at any point sent a fearful shudder down his spine.
Beds in Tortuga are not known for having fine sheets. James had laughed helplessly when Jack revealed that he’d brought one of his own: clean white linen. The laughter stopped, and was shortly afterward replaced by other intriguing noises when Jack drew a second, smaller length of linen from the depths of his coat, and used it to tie James’ wrists to the bedpost.
Mad, passionate sorts of chaos had then ensued.
Now, laying on his stomach on the bed and enjoying the serene glow of satiated post-coital exhaustion, James silently catalogued the damages they had done to the room as Jack’s fingertips traced the still-new scars across his back.
“Welcome to Tortuga, love,” Jack murmured.
James laughed softly. “And a magnificent welcome I’ve had, indeed.”
Jack smiled warmly, then asked in an idly curious fashion, “How’d you know Raimond, then?”
“I’ve never met him in person before, but I have chased his ship on several occasions over the years, and come very close to catching him once or twice, but he tends to escape into French waters closer to Hispaniola, where he knows the small islands and sand-bars better than I,” James explained. “Before I met you, he was one of the more challenging pirates I’d chased.” Although he did not open his eyes, he could hear Jack frown with a hint of jealousy. “Of course, you left him in the dust along with all the others. And he was never foolish enough to try and hunt me in return.” He opened one eye and shot Jack a glance full of mixed affection and amusement.
Jack chuckled smugly. “You do know how to smooth ruffled feathers, don’t you?”
“I am certain that I have no idea what you mean, Jack,” James drawled, sarcasm evident.
Jack mock-growled and bit the ex-commodore’s shoulder.
James merely opened both eyes and shot him a sardonic look. When this had no effect on the pirate, James sighed as though exasperated and looked away to hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Did you notice: I think we damaged one of the door-hinges on our way in.”
Still biting, Jack replied with a half-questioning hum.
“Not to mention how badly askew that battered vanity’s mirror is. That was your fault, I believe.”
Releasing James’ shoulder, Jack countered, “Aye, but it was you that broke the bed-post.”
“I assumed that if you were going to tie me to something, you would choose a more well-anchored structure. How was I to realize it was already cracked partially while you were...” James cleared his throat.
Jack chuckled. The commodore by no means blushed or showed any other signs of maiden-like modesty, but as a gentleman he still had trouble describing certain matters, which amused Jack to no end. “While I had a hand busy with two fingers in your arse and your cock in my mouth?”
James cleared his throat again, more quietly, feeling a flicker of heat up his spine. Jack Sparrow was crude, lewd, and arousing as hell--and the piratical bastard knew it, too. “Yes. Perhaps I should provide you with an opportunity to experience just how distracting that can be...” In contrast to the dryness of his words, he shot Jack a smoldering look.
The pirate’s mouth went dry and his prick twitched. He grinned a wicked challenge. “Really now?”
As always, James met that challenge, and thoroughly exceeded expectations.
A warm welcome, indeed.
Previous || Story Index
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean; Sparrington
Rating: PG-13
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.
Note: Five brownie points to those who can remember where I’ve used Captain Raimond before.
Warnings: No actual bed-posts were harmed in the making of this fic
Jack told himself, as he had many many many times before in the past month since he had seen James Norrington, that he had nothing to worry about.
As ever, it was an utter lie.
Sure, all had gone well enough: with Jack helping out the navy lads to pin the rat bastards who’d attacked Port Royal in their meeting place and James’ brother not killing Jack or sinking the Black Pearl. And afterward, James had seemed grim but not actually worried concerning the words he had to share with the Admiralty; that was encouraging.
But what if they didn’t throw James out, or what if the man changed his mind and decided to bloody well stay with them? Such thoughts had begun to make Jack feel nauseous, and he wondered if men who got seasick felt much the same way.
Sitting in his favored tavern, he was relieved to overhear the rumor that the Fleetwing had made port in Tortuga, wearing no trace of her naval colors or the uniforms of her former naval crew, instead flying a black flag with a hawk on it or something.
So Jack stayed where he was, waiting quite impatiently for chaos to ensue. And when it quietly began, Jack nearly dropped his rum bottle to the floor at the sight of its primary instigator.
First he’d noticed the unusually well-disciplined gentlemen making their way in through the door, picking up drinks and settling themselves at strategically advantageous points all around the room. Then James had walked in, looking positively edible, in Jack’s opinion: in a long blue-grey coat trimmed embroidered at collar, cuffs, trim and lapels with green that matched his eyes, tall bucket-topped boots, his long hair sans wig and tied back loosely, two baldrics with pistols and one bearing that familiar Turner-made sword. He also wore a very fine black leather tricorne with a single hawk-feather in it.
Jack’s eyes were glued to the ex-commodore, watching the man’s purposeful, long-legged stride as James made his way to the bar and ordered rum.
Before James could turn and make another surreptitious scan of the room, a man beside him slammed his mug on the bar loudly and shouted, in shocked recognition, “Commodore Norrington!”
The tavern went quiet, except for whispers of ‘Death Himself Norrington’ and the sounds of bar wenches scuffling instinctively out of harm’s way.
James slowly turned his head to meet the man’s gaze. He said loudly, but in his usual deadpan, “Not anymore. It’s ‘Captain’ these days.” He took a sip from his tankard in a deliberately unhurried and unconcerned manner.
“Aye. Heard about somethin’ like that. You got moved down a peg, even after gettin’ rid of Captain Archer and his little makeshift fleet,” the other man said, and smiled an unpleasant, vicious smile, his teeth gleaming brightly white against his dark skin. “Sent the lot of ‘em down to Davy Jones’ Locker.”
“Yes I did.” James held his gaze evenly, his jade eyes steely.
The stranger lifted his tankard. “Good riddance to that lot of rotten bastards! Good that you got rid of ‘em quick before they could get the rest of us shot down by an over-active navy.” He knocked back the last of his rum and slammed his empty tankard down. “Let’s have a round of drinks for the lot of ‘em, in honor of the navy bein’ fool enough to lose a gun like Death Himself Norrington.”
After momentary hesitation, a yell went up through the crowd. Free alcohol can make any man popular in Tortuga.
James glanced sidelong out at the crowd, then looked back at the stranger again. “You are most kind, Captain Raimond.”
The dark man grinned. “Captain Archer was scum with a half-decent speakin’ voice and some skill in persuadin’ the stupid. Good riddance, indeed.” He took a fresh tankard from a passing wench and held it up. “And it’s good to see you outta the navy, so’s you won’t be chasin’ me again. You damned near caught me too often, and you sail damned well, Captain Norrington.”
James smirked. “I will not chase you if you keep away from British ships around my part of Jamaica, and thus do not provoke the men who pay me. I do hope that you won’t.” He raised his own tankard to meet Raimond’s. “You are a fine sailor yourself.”
“Aye. I’ll keep that in mind. You took the most vicious little ship of your fleet and I’d not like to tangle with her or her cannons,” Raimond said, peaceably enough, for all that his smirk was wicked.
Both men drank.
When James lowered his tankard, he noted a presence at his elbow, turned, and saw Jack. His face lit up in a wide, bright grin. “Captain Sparrow.”
Raimond seemed wary, glancing back and forth between the two men.
Jack leaned in and smirked, wrapping an arm around James’ waist. “Captain James,” he countered, his eyes bright with mischief. Then he turned and nodded at Captain Raimond. “I’ve not seen you around of late, Raimond.”
“With him an’ his brother both about?” Raimond scoffed. “Ye can hardly blame me for buggerin’ off elsewhere.” In spite of his jokes, his brow creased slightly in confusion. “Speakin’ of buggery: I thought the pair of you had a bit of a rough history...”
“A rough start, perhaps,” James corrected, one hand settling idly on Jack’s hip possessively.
“But we’ve got an understanding.” Jack leaned against James’ side.
Raimond’s eyebrows raised a little. “Rumor’s true then--that you took down the Serafin yerself, Cap’n Sparrow?”
“Aye, but you needn’t buy a round of drinks to it. I’ll be a mite busy.” He turned his head and grinned at James.
“As will I,” James agreed quickly, unable to suppress an answering smile. “My thanks, Raimond, for the warm welcome to Tortuga, but I have a slightly warmer one awaiting me, I believe.” He let Jack drag him away.
Raimond stared after the pair of grinning devils, an amused look on his face. He caught the attention of a passing maid. “Whatever room those two’ve got, send up a bottle of rum. I’d like to keep on their good sides.” They would make valuable potential allies, he knew. Especially because the thought of the pair of them fighting towards the same goal at any point sent a fearful shudder down his spine.
Beds in Tortuga are not known for having fine sheets. James had laughed helplessly when Jack revealed that he’d brought one of his own: clean white linen. The laughter stopped, and was shortly afterward replaced by other intriguing noises when Jack drew a second, smaller length of linen from the depths of his coat, and used it to tie James’ wrists to the bedpost.
Mad, passionate sorts of chaos had then ensued.
Now, laying on his stomach on the bed and enjoying the serene glow of satiated post-coital exhaustion, James silently catalogued the damages they had done to the room as Jack’s fingertips traced the still-new scars across his back.
“Welcome to Tortuga, love,” Jack murmured.
James laughed softly. “And a magnificent welcome I’ve had, indeed.”
Jack smiled warmly, then asked in an idly curious fashion, “How’d you know Raimond, then?”
“I’ve never met him in person before, but I have chased his ship on several occasions over the years, and come very close to catching him once or twice, but he tends to escape into French waters closer to Hispaniola, where he knows the small islands and sand-bars better than I,” James explained. “Before I met you, he was one of the more challenging pirates I’d chased.” Although he did not open his eyes, he could hear Jack frown with a hint of jealousy. “Of course, you left him in the dust along with all the others. And he was never foolish enough to try and hunt me in return.” He opened one eye and shot Jack a glance full of mixed affection and amusement.
Jack chuckled smugly. “You do know how to smooth ruffled feathers, don’t you?”
“I am certain that I have no idea what you mean, Jack,” James drawled, sarcasm evident.
Jack mock-growled and bit the ex-commodore’s shoulder.
James merely opened both eyes and shot him a sardonic look. When this had no effect on the pirate, James sighed as though exasperated and looked away to hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Did you notice: I think we damaged one of the door-hinges on our way in.”
Still biting, Jack replied with a half-questioning hum.
“Not to mention how badly askew that battered vanity’s mirror is. That was your fault, I believe.”
Releasing James’ shoulder, Jack countered, “Aye, but it was you that broke the bed-post.”
“I assumed that if you were going to tie me to something, you would choose a more well-anchored structure. How was I to realize it was already cracked partially while you were...” James cleared his throat.
Jack chuckled. The commodore by no means blushed or showed any other signs of maiden-like modesty, but as a gentleman he still had trouble describing certain matters, which amused Jack to no end. “While I had a hand busy with two fingers in your arse and your cock in my mouth?”
James cleared his throat again, more quietly, feeling a flicker of heat up his spine. Jack Sparrow was crude, lewd, and arousing as hell--and the piratical bastard knew it, too. “Yes. Perhaps I should provide you with an opportunity to experience just how distracting that can be...” In contrast to the dryness of his words, he shot Jack a smoldering look.
The pirate’s mouth went dry and his prick twitched. He grinned a wicked challenge. “Really now?”
As always, James met that challenge, and thoroughly exceeded expectations.
A warm welcome, indeed.
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