Tiger Baiting: A Spectator Sport
Title: Tiger Baiting: A Spectator Sport
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.
Summary: Jack Sparrow makes an unsettling discovery in Tortuga one night, and takes the opportunity to do some tiger-baiting. This is the blatant-excuse-for-PWP sequel to "Tyger, Tyger" and is set after CotBP, completely ignoring the two movies meant to follow shortly after. Influenced a little bit by William Blake.
Note: Apparently, this will be a short little series of a sort. It's coming together a little bit at a time, since my life is still hectic, but it is coming together. So far it looks like the next story will be called "A Tiger's Stripes" and there will be one more after that, but bugger if I know what the title of it will be. And that's just if things go according to plan, which is rare. We shall see. Also, the characters of Marie and Annette, the two lovely bar wenches, are (c) me.
From across the room, Marie watched two of tonight’s customers with surprise and amusement. Idly, she elbowed one of the other serving girls. “You owe me, Annette.”
The narrow, rather heavily-painted brunette took her time looking up from counting her coin with shrewd concentration. Then she frowned at Marie. “What for?”
“Watch,” Marie said, nodding toward one of their favorite regulars: the polite one with the lovely, deep and cultured voice, and the pretty eyes, who visited every few month for just a few nights, charming them every time, but never giving in to their charms, more’s the pity.
Annette frowned, then watched as the tall green-eyed man kept his gaze fixated upon a certain pirate captain; the captain was another regular, of whom both women approved, both as a customer downstairs and in the more private rooms upstairs: a good tipper as well as a playful and creative lover. Then Annette raised her eyebrows as the pirate purchased a room for the night and stalked across the room with a hint of extra hip-sway in his usual half-drunk half-dancing gait, shooting the green-eyed man a blatantly suggestive leer before heading upstairs. The green-eyed man got to his feet gracefully, but with visible eagerness, wearing a devilish predatory smirk as he followed the pirate, taking long and precise strides like a panther stalking its prey.
Clearly catching a glimpse of his prey doing something very intriguing indeed, not visible to the others as the stairway concealed it, he paused at the foot of the staircase with a hungry look, then darted up the steps with surprising deftness for such a tall, long-limbed man. Presumably, this was followed by an eager pounce.
“I won the bet, Annette, love: his tastes run elsewhere. Now pay up,” Marie chirped, sounding amused even as she shot the staircase a longing look and licked her lips. Without looking away from where the two men had vanished, she held out one hand, palm-up, towards her friend.
Annette dropped a few small coins into Marie’s palm, giving a low, impressed whistle. “Hey, you think they’d like some company?”
Marie snorted. “No.”
“Are you sure? Because, Honey, for those two, I wouldn’ even charge,” Annette sighed, with a bit of a pout.
“Me neither, Annie, but I get the feelin’ they’ve got somethin’ to sort out. You know men.” She rolled her eyes emphatically. “I think those two ‘ave a history of some sort, if only judgin’ by the way Captain Sparrow was gawkin’ at me bein’ familiar with our regular, there, when it was only the two of us flirtin’ like always.”
“Really?”
“Aye. In fact, I think our tall, mysteriously posh and oh-so-valiant customer ‘as been waitin’ for this. For a little while, at least. He was watchin’ the Captain last time he was here, too. I’m surprised Jack took this long to notice.”
Both women paused, looking over at the stairs thoughtfully.
“Of course, it’s possible that they might’ve ended up with one of the upstairs rooms what’ve got peepholes hidden in the walls,” Marie mused, her tones too deliberate and mock-airy.
“I like the way you think, love. You had a word with our dear innkeeper, then?”
“He owed me a couple favors.”
Giggling, the two women darted behind the bar, to the servant’s staircase, heading for the narrow entrance to a narrower secret passage hidden in the walls.
Both girls went quiet at the sound of a low, masculine groan on the other side of the wall as they approached the correct room. Careful to keep silent, they crept the few steps further to reach the hidden voyeur spot. Marie swung open the small hatch, revealing two small gaps in the plaster, dim light falling through them. Annette pressed her right eye to the left-side gap, and Marie pressed her left eye to the right-side gap; their ears brushing each other, both women admired the sight before them.
The floor was littered with belts, two pairs of boots, both men’s small arsenals of weaponry, Jack’s waistcoat and sash, and two tricorne hats. Jack’s coat had been tossed over the corner of the bed, and Jack himself had managed to push his chosen lover up against the door and was kissing him passionately. The other man was hardly submissive: those long pale hands took hold of Jack’s hips and one knee insinuated itself between the pirate’s legs. As the two women watched, their green-eyed man pulled Jack up his body, just fast enough to provide maddening friction as James’ thigh rubbed against the pirate’s arousal. Jack let out another groan, inadvertently teaching the two serving-women the name of their green-eyed customer as he broke away from the kiss long enough to gasp, “Eager, ay, James?”
“Yes, in fact, I am,” was the cooly delivered reply.
The two women glanced at each other and smirked, then quickly turned to watch again as a loud shuffling noise caught their attention; it had been James’ doing, as he had shifted their positions and pinned Jack up against the wall right beside the door, muffling the pirate’s commentary with another searing kiss. Jack wrapped his legs around James’ hips and eagerly tugged at the man’s coat, pushing it off James’ shoulders and cursing when it would go no further--at least, it wouldn’t while James’ hands were still exploring new territory under his shirt. Even as James’ mouth did quite amazingly distracting things to his neck that nearly made Jack’s knees turn to water, the pirate captain managed to grip the coat’s lapels and demand, “This. Off. Now, Jamie!”
“Oh no, I’ve been branded with a new epithet. ‘Jamie’ now, is it?” the commodore inquired, his lips brushing Jack’s earlobe. He sounded amused, but still obediently pulled his hands away, if only long enough to let the coat fall to the floor under Jack’s scrabbling hands. Then James seized the hem of Jack’s shirt and lifted it over the pirate’s head.
Jack let him, and then returned the favor, grinning when James’ hands got stuck. “You buttoned the cuffs, didn’ you?” the pirate mocked. “Hardly proper dress standards for Tortuga, love.”
“Old habits,” James muttered, tugging in an attempt to free himself.
Jack laughed. “Oh, no you don’t.” With a deft twist, he tangled the shirt around James’ wrists. “I could have fun with this.”
The look he shot the pirate was both warning and promising. “Did I not tell you my patience was worn thin? You can restrain me some other time,” James snapped, too impatient, and jerked firmly, ripping the sleeves of the shirt, but freeing his hands. He grinned at the look of surprise and amused lust on Jack’s face.
“You promise, Jamie?”
Snorting at the nickname, James took hold of Jack’s hips and ground their still-covered erections together. “I will swear on my word as a gentleman, if you will in turn swear by your ship that I will get to return the favor.”
Jack groaned at the friction, then chuckled at the promise. “Aye, because this is real gentlemanly behavior, ay, commodore?”
The two serving wenches’ smirks faded a bit, and they glanced at each other with open surprised, both silently mouthing, ‘Commodore?’ Surely not the Commodore. Surely not the ‘Scourge of Piracy’ Norrington. No. Not their James-the-lovely-and-polite-green-eyed-man-currently-trysting-with-Jack-Sparrow...right? They felt a hint of unease, despite their undimmed feelings amusement and arousal as they watched the two men.
James bit the side of Jack’s neck and gave another hard grind of his hips. “I preferred ‘James’, or should I once more call you Mr. Sparrow.”
Jack snorted. “Point made.” Then he dipped his head and caught the commodore’s lips again, hungrily. James tasted like rum and salt and gunpowder green tea, with a hint of something richer and spicier and solely James that Jack was finding quite addictive.
All that militant control and all that restraint that Jack had previously marveled at in the commodore, was all cast aside now, so Jack thought, and the results were...Oh God Yes. The pirate’s whole body jerked as one of those long-fingered hands wrapped around his eager cock. A rough hand it might’ve been, but not clumsy. In fact, James’ touch was very leisurely, very deliberate, and altogether maddeningly sure.
So perhaps not all that control was gone, but oh, Jack thought with fierce determination as he met James’ gaze, the night is young.
Then James growled, in an oh-so-commanding tone, “Feet on the floor.”
Jack’s thoughts turned a bit incoherent as he caught the look on James’ face: dark, hungry, and pure predator. He obeyed, not looking away from those fierce green eyes. Then the pirate’s thoughts turned entirely incoherent as James finished unbuttoning Jack’s trousers, pushing them down, and proceeded to kneel in front of him: licking Jack’s cock from base to tip and then, without further ado, taking the full length into his mouth.
“Merde--verdammt--bloody h-...nghn!” Jack gasped, as James sucked him down, enveloping his length in velvet heat. Tangling his hands in James’ hair, Jack struggled to remember how to breathe, let alone remain upright. If not for James’ hands firmly on his hips, the pirate captain would have tumbled rather embarrassingly to the floor, as much from the sight of James’ work as the feel of it: the pride of His Majesty’s Royal Navy, the all-too-pretty Commodore James ‘Scourge of Piracy’ Norrington, sucking Captain Jack Sparrow’s cock whilst on his knees in a room above a Tortuga tavern; and add to it that Jack was just another part of the commodore’s brief taste of freedom and abandon. Both the image--of those green eyes glancing up at him, and of James’ tongue briefly running across the head of Jack’s cock, teasingly flicking under the foreskin--and the concepts implied behind it, sent a jolt through Jack’s body of more intense pleasure than the pirate had felt in years.
“God--bloody dammit, Jamie!” He tried to buck his hips when James’s mouth and throat fully engulfed him again, but was held fast by James’ hands pinning him to the wall. Jack watched, breathless as James pulled slowly back, sucking harder, tongue teasing and cheeks hollowing, only to bob back down, engulfing him yet again. Jack whimpered.
James found himself fascinated and enthralled by how Jack just kept making noise. The noises were loosening James’ already weakened hold on his ever-present restraint, especially as the pirate began to breathe more raggedly, the muscles in his thighs and abdomen now and then fluttering slightly as James kept him held against the wall--so close was Jack to release.
In retaliation, James hummed low around Jack’s cock, almost like a rumbling purr, and Jack gasped, hips writhing under James’ grasp, and the tar-stained fingers clutched hard, both where they were tangled in James’ hair, and where they gripped at James’ shoulder. Jack came with a groan, and gave a low, breathless sound at the feel of James swallowing around him: once, then, after the briefest pause, twice, making the spent pirate whimper yet again. Finally then, Jack gave a low hiss of mixed completion and reluctance as the taunting mouth released him, pulling away.
Those dark, kohl-lined eyes opened wide to stare at James in shock. “Where in the name of Beelzebub did a nice navy lad like you learn to suck cock like that?”
James licked his lips in an absent-minded fashion as he got to his feet, smirking. “Jack. It’s the navy.”
Allowing himself to be held up by James’ body as the taller man leaned into him, Jack grinned wickedly. “Ah, of course. All those interesting rumors about what goes on below-decks: personally, I blame the uniforms.” The edge taken off, his predatory patience was ready, waiting for James to let his guard down.
The commodore snorted. “You must’ve enjoyed yourself, then, aboard my ship. At least, the one that you did not destroy.”
“Not my fault, mate. Wasn’t part of the plan, that,” Jack insisted, but it was hard to remain focused when James’ mouth was once more on his neck, finding far too many quite maddeningly sensitive places. When teeth and tongue found that insanely pleasurable spot under his left ear, Jack had to cling to the other man in order to stay upright. “JeesusbloodyChrist!” It had been far too long since a lover had found that spot.
Norrington chuckled. “Such blasphemy,” he taunted, his baritone voice close and dark and enough to make Jack shiver.
“This isn’t bloody, fair, mate: catching an innocent pirate captain by surprise and taking full advantage of him before he can even get his bloody wits about him.”
“I think that statement proves at least one wit is about,” James countered.
“Flatterer,” Jack growled, pulling himself together quickly. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, dammit. “Bloody navy, alright.” Then he reached down, pick-pocket’s hands making short work of the buttons of James’ breeches, so that James gasped in surprise when Jack so abruptly took him in hand. “Which is likely why you don’t look half-debauched enough, yet, love. That blush is quite becoming, though.”
James’ breath roughened as he lifted his hooded gaze to meet Jack’s. “I have the feeling that you are just the man to remedy that, Jack Sparrow.”
“Aye,” Jack growled, and with a deft move, pushed James back with all his wiry strength just as he tangled one of his legs with the commodore’s, tripping him up nicely so that that the taller man fell promptly backwards. Luckily, there was not far to fall, since the room was small and the bed was therefore conveniently near.
James’ breath left him as he hit the mattress with a pirate on his chest. Then Jack shifted, and James was able to get a lungful of air just in time to lose it again shortly thereafter as the pirate’s mouth engulfed the length of his cock without pretense.
“GOD, Jack!” he groaned, his fingers clutching at the sheets under him hard enough to nearly rip them, because it was either rip the sheets or thrust hard into that hot, welcoming mouth like a rude wanton with no self-control or respect for his bed-mate. So, as the pirate suckled greedily, moving slowly up and down James’ length, the sheets made very quiet ripping noises, but James managed to keep his hips still except for a few barely-restrained jerks. Jack gave an inquiring hum and James whimpered. He whimpered again when Jack’s mouth left him, but this time it trailed off into a growl.
“Easy, Jamie,” Jack purred, one hand stroking the commodore’s impressive salute.
“Hardly. I daresay that we are both of us terribly difficult creatures.” James wondered, distantly, just when Jack had managed to get that vial of almond oil from the pockets of that disreputable coat of his, but the pirate distracted him by drizzling some of it over him and--Ohyes. The firm grip, that rough hand, and those warm metal rings, all slicked with oil and stroking him: it was maddeningly good and James gave a low, guttural sound of approval, muttering something almost totally incoherent under his breath, which sounded suspiciously like a prayer, but ended with Jack’s name.
“Aye, right up until stroked the right way,” Jack countered. “Then it’s all smooth sailing, ay, James?” The pirate was climbing up his body, and draped over him with a smug look, but his breathing was ragged. “You get exceedingly polite towards even a pirate when you’re stroked properly, Commodore.”
James grinned, gripping Jack’s hips firmly. “I could prove you wrong,” he said, his voice ragged, because Jack’s indecently lovely behind was settling into a very suggestive position, the hips under his hands shifting, changing their angle.
“How is that, Jamie?” the pirate asked, but before James could answer, Jack made a few adjustments and lowered his hips.
James’ hands clenched and his head jerked back at the feel of the tight, welcoming heat of Jack’s body engulfing him--so slowly...too slowly. “Christ.”
“Such blasphemy,” Jack countered mockingly, sounding breathless and not stopping his slow descent. He was considering a remark about the size and formidableness of naval cannons, but instead found himself gasping as a pale hand wrapped around his cock, bringing him swiftly back to full erectness. The combined stimulation robbed him of all words except a low hiss of, “Bloody Hell!”
“In answer to your question, Jack...” With his other hand, James brutally yanked the pirate’s hips down, thrusting up into him at the same time, and Jack cried out at the surge of mixed pleasure and pain. “By showing that your commentary can provoke rough seas, however properly done the stroking happened to be,” the commodore growled.
Jack groaned as James wrapped an arm around him and used it to pull him back up, then he gripped the paler man’s biceps for support when James began thrusting into him earnest: sharp strokes, hard and merciless and Yes. “Only one thing to do, then, with rough seas, ay?” Jack panted, and began to writhe his hips in perfect counter-rhythm.
James chuckled softly, and agreed, “Ride it out.”
The pirate momentarily gripped James’ wrist, encouraging the hand still stroking his cock. “Just don’t stop doing that.” It was almost a plea.
“Aye,” James agreed, and eased his iron grip on Jack’s hip as they both let go of their remaining shreds of restraint, losing the ability to speak: too busy rutting and stroking and striving for that much-needed release.
Jack neared the edge first, overwhelmed both by the relentless push and draw of James’ thrusts, to the slightly rough and surprisingly skilled hand stroking his prick. His movements grew less controlled, more desperate, and he cursed eloquently in three languages when James’ hand suddenly sped up its pace: stroking him harder, pulling, providing just enough pressure to send him over the edge, and the continued pistoning of James inside him prolonged the ecstasy, earning one more breathless moan and a shudder from Jack that pushed James to completion with a ragged growl.
Watching the other man fall apart beneath him, Jack admired the wildness of it, and felt very satisfied with the results of his tiger-baiting.
Jack held himself up on shaking arms at first, until the commodore wrapped both arms around him, tugging him down to rest half-curled on James’ chest and half-sprawled on the bed, after an initial petulant noise of regret when James’ softened cock slid out of him. The pirate buried his face against the curve of the commodore’s throat.
“Fifteen minutes, and then I plan on buggerin’ you eight ways from Sunday,” Jack muttered, after a long pause in which they both recovered.
James chuckled softly. “Presumptuous.”
“You sayin’ you can’t get as good as you give, commodore?”
“Now, I never said that.” He sounded playful, but there was a more than encouraging, sultry hint of something else: eagerness.
Jack’s mouth felt dry, dizzy at the very idea of it as he purred, “Huzzah, Jamie.”
Slowly, Annette closed the little peephole-door, and the space between the walls turned very dark. Silent as church mice, she and Marie--both flushed and more than a little excited--made their way out of the secret passageway and into the servants’ hall. Marie leaned against the wall, fanning herself with one hand. “I wouldn’t charge ‘em either,” she said finally.
“Aye,” Annette concurred. Then she shot Marie a look. “Our green-eyed man, then...”
“James. Lovely name,” the blonde mused.
“Jack called him commodore, too, love.”
Marie raised her eyebrows archly at her friend. “And? He’s still been comin’ here for nigh on three years. He only ever hurt a pirate here when the pirate in question was a bloody drunken lout askin’ to be knocked on his arse, and James merely obliged ‘em. Saved our pretty arses from a few particular louts, too, as I recall.”
“I’ve ‘eard ‘em talk, Marie, as well as you. They call ‘im the Scourge!”
“And I call him damned attractive.”
Annette made a small, dismayed noise.
Marie pulled herself up to her full height and took a step toward her friend. “As I recall, Annie, you weren’t much averse to him naked, either.”
Annette took a step back, then another, and found herself backed against the wall. She shivered despite herself, and not with fear. “D-don’t call me-”
Not letting her finish, Marie brushed her lips across Annette’s, feather-light and brief. “Shh, lovey. You only told me not to call you that outside certain situations. I’m ready to propose we get into one of those situations, right here...now.”
Annette gave a shaky smile, her pupils suddenly dilated. “You really do like ‘im, don’t you, Marie?”
“You were the one touchin’ yourself while we watched.”
“Aye, ‘cause I’m not so loud as you an’ so I could get away with it,” Annette riposted.
“We’ll see what you can get away with.”
By way of reply, Annette kissed her, and the two spectators began making sport of their own.
Jack Sparrow awoke in a state of vague confusion. Namely, he was confused as to why his pillow seemed to be moving when the rest of him and his bed did not seem to be moving as well. Not on a ship, the thought vaguely. It was a hazy, pleasant sort of confusion, so he didn’t even open his eyes at first, simply enjoying the feel of the inexplicable motion: slowly up a bit, then back down a bit, rhythmic as the tide in early morning.
He was a little amused to realize that this was because his pillow was breathing. Of course, then he came to the slower realization that his pillow was, in fact, a man.
That would explain the sore backside, then, he mused, through the haze.
Slowly, he recalled that he’d done a bit of debauching himself, which seemed only proper and natural, him being the pirate and all, and his lover certainly not being a pirate in the least.
That idle little thought gave Jack a bit of pause, until he woke up a little more, remembering cat-green eyes and pale skin and that deep velvet-and-gravel voice promising, I’ll follow.
Ah yes, that was what had happened: tiger-baiting. He’d spent the night exchanging debauchery with a highly decorated commodore of the British Royal Navy.
Jack’s eyes snapped open.
Oh. Right. That might have repercussions.
Jack dared not move more than was necessary to keep breathing, slowly and evenly and quietly, so as not to wake the other man, upon whom he was sprawled, and who had one long, pale arm wrapped around his waist. From where his head rested on James’ chest, the pirate tentatively glanced up at James’ face. God, the man looked young--almost disconcertingly so.
When the commodore’s eyelids fluttered and fell open, Jack tensed somewhat, ready to bolt if necessary, but James only looked at him sleepily for a moment, scanned the room instinctively for any sign of threat, and smirked a bit before meeting Jack’s gaze with a bit more wakeful attention. “Good morning, Jack.”
Relaxing with relief at the lack of hostility, Jack shifted a bit, and then stretched luxuriantly with a low grunt of contentment, deliberately ignoring the effects (including one lovely, low little noise of surprise and arousal) on James as their bodies rubbed together pleasantly in the process. “Morning, Jamie,” he said casually.
Recovering from his momentary distraction, due to the pirate’s sinuous movements against him, James gave a small derisive snort and raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to call me that for-bloody-ever, now, aren’t you?” he mocked, but did not actually sound altogether displeased.
“Aye,” Jack murmured, and leaned over the edge of the bed for a few moments, rustling through the pile of their combined shed clothing on the floor until he found the half-empty bottle of rum from the previous night. He uncorked it and took a swig before settling beside James again.
James plucked the bottle from his fingers and took a sip as well, sloshing it around to get rid of the rather unpleasant taste of morning-mouth before swallowing. The he returned the rum to the pirate, who accepted it, took another swig, corked it, and set it on the bedside table. Jack then raised his eyebrows as he rested his chin on the commodore’s sternum. “So, Jamie, where is it that you’re staying here in Tortuga, then, on yer little vacation?”
“I’ve a room at a rather more respectable inn, which is only to say that it is one with thicker walls and only slightly less questionable bedsheets.”
“Aye, and no doubt their walls have no spyholes like this one does,” Jack mused, glancing over at the portrait on the wall with a smirk.
James’ eyebrows raised. “Ah. A voyeur room.”
“Aye. Been on the other side of that picture before. I only wonder who was watchin’ us. Mayhap it was that serving-girl of yours: Marie. She’s got a wild streak, that one does.”
“Mmm,” James replied, making it sound like an affirmative, but with a touch of annoyance. “We shall know depending upon the smile she will give us upon our departure.”
“Aye. And when would that be, do you think?”
“Mmm,” James mused, this time making it sound like a purr. “Later.” His fingers traced the line of Jack’s jaw, down the side of his neck and across the livid marks he had bitten and suckled into the skin there.
Jack’s eyelids lowered a little, and his pupils dilated. He wheedled, “Well, Jamie: I’ve got far cleaner sheets on a much nicer bed...aboard the Pearl.” Those pitch-black eyes burned with promise. “We could head there, to continue this more comfortably. For longer. Without interruption or rent to pay or voyeurs to entertain.”
James’ hand stilled. “I’ve only one more night, here, before I have to head back to Port Royal.” His eyebrows raised a little, rather accusingly. “And would you let me go, then, after that, Jack Sparrow?”
With a grin and a leer, Jack lifted himself up so that he leaned in close to James’ face. “Don’t you trust me, then, Jamie?”
“I think I’ve shown a great deal of trust this past evening. You are, after all, almost out of oil in that little container of yours and you are not the only one slightly sore, this morning.” James’ eyes narrowed, even as a hint of a smile tugged at his lips, and he slid his fingers into Jack’s hair, exploring the textures of braids and tangles and baubles. His thumb brushed the corner of Jack’s jaw. “I trust you with my body at this point, Jack, but I do not trust you to go out of your way to act in any manner beneficial to my career, given the chance, especially when I know myself to be a valuable hostage as well as a probable bed warmer for you, Captain.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly, but did not actually seem offended.
Jack snorted, but smirked, unable to be irritated by an intelligent bed-mate, even when the navy man had so inconveniently seen right through his plans. The pirate gave a lazy shrug and tried a new tactic. “That’s assuming that I wanted to return you at all,” he muttered, and leaned in to nuzzle James’ ear before running his tongue over the outer edge of it. “And assuming that you even wanted to go back.” He nipped and suckled James’ earlobe, noting with surprise that the piercing was real instead of a cleverly designed fake as he’d half-suspected; the commodore hid it well, when not dressed as a rogue.
Breathing a bit more raggedly as the half-aroused state he had awoken in became greatly advanced, James growled, “Jack.” As protests went, this one was, at best, half-hearted, especially as the pirate reached beneath the sheet and took James in hand, stroking him to full hardness. It was only sheer determination that kept the commodore talking. “I leave Tortuga tomorrow morning,” he said, his tone firm despite the edge of breathlessness present in his voice.
“And then what, James?” Jack rumbled, his hand deliberately stilling as he met James’ gaze with a dark look. The children’s rhyme suggested that one should catch a tiger by the toe, but Jack thought that this would be rather more effective.
His head falling back, James cursed crossly for a moment. Then, pulling together the remains of his composure, he answered calmly, “Then I will head to a less piratical port, shed this roguish wear, shave, bathe thoroughly, and once more don my uniform. After that, I shall return to Port Royal, board the Dauntless, and continue hunting pirates.” Only then did he lift his head and fix Jack with a steely glare. “I’ll not have you capture me, Jack. If and when Navy should turn on me, I will break free of my own will, and by my own abilities; I do not need your help.” His eyes narrowed. “I am my own man.” Unspoken was the warning: I will not be kept like a pet.
“Aye. I’m beginning to see that,” Jack murmured, and tightened his grip not-at-all-painfully around the base of James’ cock.
“It’s about time,” James countered, resting a hand on one of the pirate’s lean hips and parting his legs to allow Jack to settle between them.
“Will you be still be hunting me, then, James? When your back in uniform?” His voice was a low and dark, like the distant rumble of thunder shortly before the eruption of a tempest.
James’ hand ran up the pirate’s back and then back down again, admiring the texture of the smooth, suntanned skin, as well as the contrasts provided by the occasional battle scars marking it. His emerald gaze was still smoldering, but it was also solemn and surprisingly open. When he spoke, the roughness of his voice was like a tiger’s affection: “I enjoy following you, and chasing you, far too much to actually capture you, Jack, either in a cage or with a noose.” His other hand, still tangled in Jack’s hair, cupped the back of Jack’s neck to pull him a little closer. “The game between my fleet and your ship will remain as it has always been: I will hunt you, but I will not catch you, and not for lack of trying. I am sure that you, on your part, will not be fool enough to let my ships get close enough to the Black Pearl for that; you have never let me down in that respect before.” A smirk tugged at his lips, playful even as he spoke with utmost sincerity. “In that, too, I suppose that I trust you, Jack Sparrow, if only as I would trust the sea.” He stared deep into Jack’s eyes, his own gaze dark with significance despite the almost light-hearted tone with which he’d spoken.
The pirate swallowed thickly holding the other man’s gaze as those words struck home. Trust...as I would trust the sea. Never a more perfect phrase had Jack Sparrow heard uttered, and it made heat and need flare through his body and brain: abrupt and all-consuming, making his breath hitch. He knew exactly what James meant, and he wanted it--needed it. Trusted to be changeable, trusted to be uncatchable, trusted to be challenging and tricky and untamable and impossible to own. It seemed simple, and yet so few had ever offered it, especially with such an intelligent, calm, appreciative and understanding look in their eyes as James currently wore. Jack stroked James cock hard, setting a fast pace and making the commodore groan, which the pirate used an opportunity to plunder his mouth.
James’ grip on the back of Jack’s neck tightened and he draped one of those long legs across Jack’s hips, pulling him closer.
Pressing his arousal against James’ inner thigh, the pirate pulled back slightly from the kiss, lips still brushing James’ as Jack fervently agreed, “Aye, Jamie.” He nipped James’ lower lip. “Aye. We have an accord.” Then he kissed the commodore again: hard and hungry, trying to get more--more of this sudden rush of heat and pleasure and want that James had set pulsing through his blood. He wanted as much as he could get, right now, because he could have it--and have James--at least for now.
Bait the tiger, he may; have the tiger, he may; but keep him, Jack could not.
Just as the tiger could not keep him.
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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.
Summary: Jack Sparrow makes an unsettling discovery in Tortuga one night, and takes the opportunity to do some tiger-baiting. This is the blatant-excuse-for-PWP sequel to "Tyger, Tyger" and is set after CotBP, completely ignoring the two movies meant to follow shortly after. Influenced a little bit by William Blake.
Note: Apparently, this will be a short little series of a sort. It's coming together a little bit at a time, since my life is still hectic, but it is coming together. So far it looks like the next story will be called "A Tiger's Stripes" and there will be one more after that, but bugger if I know what the title of it will be. And that's just if things go according to plan, which is rare. We shall see. Also, the characters of Marie and Annette, the two lovely bar wenches, are (c) me.
From across the room, Marie watched two of tonight’s customers with surprise and amusement. Idly, she elbowed one of the other serving girls. “You owe me, Annette.”
The narrow, rather heavily-painted brunette took her time looking up from counting her coin with shrewd concentration. Then she frowned at Marie. “What for?”
“Watch,” Marie said, nodding toward one of their favorite regulars: the polite one with the lovely, deep and cultured voice, and the pretty eyes, who visited every few month for just a few nights, charming them every time, but never giving in to their charms, more’s the pity.
Annette frowned, then watched as the tall green-eyed man kept his gaze fixated upon a certain pirate captain; the captain was another regular, of whom both women approved, both as a customer downstairs and in the more private rooms upstairs: a good tipper as well as a playful and creative lover. Then Annette raised her eyebrows as the pirate purchased a room for the night and stalked across the room with a hint of extra hip-sway in his usual half-drunk half-dancing gait, shooting the green-eyed man a blatantly suggestive leer before heading upstairs. The green-eyed man got to his feet gracefully, but with visible eagerness, wearing a devilish predatory smirk as he followed the pirate, taking long and precise strides like a panther stalking its prey.
Clearly catching a glimpse of his prey doing something very intriguing indeed, not visible to the others as the stairway concealed it, he paused at the foot of the staircase with a hungry look, then darted up the steps with surprising deftness for such a tall, long-limbed man. Presumably, this was followed by an eager pounce.
“I won the bet, Annette, love: his tastes run elsewhere. Now pay up,” Marie chirped, sounding amused even as she shot the staircase a longing look and licked her lips. Without looking away from where the two men had vanished, she held out one hand, palm-up, towards her friend.
Annette dropped a few small coins into Marie’s palm, giving a low, impressed whistle. “Hey, you think they’d like some company?”
Marie snorted. “No.”
“Are you sure? Because, Honey, for those two, I wouldn’ even charge,” Annette sighed, with a bit of a pout.
“Me neither, Annie, but I get the feelin’ they’ve got somethin’ to sort out. You know men.” She rolled her eyes emphatically. “I think those two ‘ave a history of some sort, if only judgin’ by the way Captain Sparrow was gawkin’ at me bein’ familiar with our regular, there, when it was only the two of us flirtin’ like always.”
“Really?”
“Aye. In fact, I think our tall, mysteriously posh and oh-so-valiant customer ‘as been waitin’ for this. For a little while, at least. He was watchin’ the Captain last time he was here, too. I’m surprised Jack took this long to notice.”
Both women paused, looking over at the stairs thoughtfully.
“Of course, it’s possible that they might’ve ended up with one of the upstairs rooms what’ve got peepholes hidden in the walls,” Marie mused, her tones too deliberate and mock-airy.
“I like the way you think, love. You had a word with our dear innkeeper, then?”
“He owed me a couple favors.”
Giggling, the two women darted behind the bar, to the servant’s staircase, heading for the narrow entrance to a narrower secret passage hidden in the walls.
Both girls went quiet at the sound of a low, masculine groan on the other side of the wall as they approached the correct room. Careful to keep silent, they crept the few steps further to reach the hidden voyeur spot. Marie swung open the small hatch, revealing two small gaps in the plaster, dim light falling through them. Annette pressed her right eye to the left-side gap, and Marie pressed her left eye to the right-side gap; their ears brushing each other, both women admired the sight before them.
The floor was littered with belts, two pairs of boots, both men’s small arsenals of weaponry, Jack’s waistcoat and sash, and two tricorne hats. Jack’s coat had been tossed over the corner of the bed, and Jack himself had managed to push his chosen lover up against the door and was kissing him passionately. The other man was hardly submissive: those long pale hands took hold of Jack’s hips and one knee insinuated itself between the pirate’s legs. As the two women watched, their green-eyed man pulled Jack up his body, just fast enough to provide maddening friction as James’ thigh rubbed against the pirate’s arousal. Jack let out another groan, inadvertently teaching the two serving-women the name of their green-eyed customer as he broke away from the kiss long enough to gasp, “Eager, ay, James?”
“Yes, in fact, I am,” was the cooly delivered reply.
The two women glanced at each other and smirked, then quickly turned to watch again as a loud shuffling noise caught their attention; it had been James’ doing, as he had shifted their positions and pinned Jack up against the wall right beside the door, muffling the pirate’s commentary with another searing kiss. Jack wrapped his legs around James’ hips and eagerly tugged at the man’s coat, pushing it off James’ shoulders and cursing when it would go no further--at least, it wouldn’t while James’ hands were still exploring new territory under his shirt. Even as James’ mouth did quite amazingly distracting things to his neck that nearly made Jack’s knees turn to water, the pirate captain managed to grip the coat’s lapels and demand, “This. Off. Now, Jamie!”
“Oh no, I’ve been branded with a new epithet. ‘Jamie’ now, is it?” the commodore inquired, his lips brushing Jack’s earlobe. He sounded amused, but still obediently pulled his hands away, if only long enough to let the coat fall to the floor under Jack’s scrabbling hands. Then James seized the hem of Jack’s shirt and lifted it over the pirate’s head.
Jack let him, and then returned the favor, grinning when James’ hands got stuck. “You buttoned the cuffs, didn’ you?” the pirate mocked. “Hardly proper dress standards for Tortuga, love.”
“Old habits,” James muttered, tugging in an attempt to free himself.
Jack laughed. “Oh, no you don’t.” With a deft twist, he tangled the shirt around James’ wrists. “I could have fun with this.”
The look he shot the pirate was both warning and promising. “Did I not tell you my patience was worn thin? You can restrain me some other time,” James snapped, too impatient, and jerked firmly, ripping the sleeves of the shirt, but freeing his hands. He grinned at the look of surprise and amused lust on Jack’s face.
“You promise, Jamie?”
Snorting at the nickname, James took hold of Jack’s hips and ground their still-covered erections together. “I will swear on my word as a gentleman, if you will in turn swear by your ship that I will get to return the favor.”
Jack groaned at the friction, then chuckled at the promise. “Aye, because this is real gentlemanly behavior, ay, commodore?”
The two serving wenches’ smirks faded a bit, and they glanced at each other with open surprised, both silently mouthing, ‘Commodore?’ Surely not the Commodore. Surely not the ‘Scourge of Piracy’ Norrington. No. Not their James-the-lovely-and-polite-green-eyed-man-currently-trysting-with-Jack-Sparrow...right? They felt a hint of unease, despite their undimmed feelings amusement and arousal as they watched the two men.
James bit the side of Jack’s neck and gave another hard grind of his hips. “I preferred ‘James’, or should I once more call you Mr. Sparrow.”
Jack snorted. “Point made.” Then he dipped his head and caught the commodore’s lips again, hungrily. James tasted like rum and salt and gunpowder green tea, with a hint of something richer and spicier and solely James that Jack was finding quite addictive.
All that militant control and all that restraint that Jack had previously marveled at in the commodore, was all cast aside now, so Jack thought, and the results were...Oh God Yes. The pirate’s whole body jerked as one of those long-fingered hands wrapped around his eager cock. A rough hand it might’ve been, but not clumsy. In fact, James’ touch was very leisurely, very deliberate, and altogether maddeningly sure.
So perhaps not all that control was gone, but oh, Jack thought with fierce determination as he met James’ gaze, the night is young.
Then James growled, in an oh-so-commanding tone, “Feet on the floor.”
Jack’s thoughts turned a bit incoherent as he caught the look on James’ face: dark, hungry, and pure predator. He obeyed, not looking away from those fierce green eyes. Then the pirate’s thoughts turned entirely incoherent as James finished unbuttoning Jack’s trousers, pushing them down, and proceeded to kneel in front of him: licking Jack’s cock from base to tip and then, without further ado, taking the full length into his mouth.
“Merde--verdammt--bloody h-...nghn!” Jack gasped, as James sucked him down, enveloping his length in velvet heat. Tangling his hands in James’ hair, Jack struggled to remember how to breathe, let alone remain upright. If not for James’ hands firmly on his hips, the pirate captain would have tumbled rather embarrassingly to the floor, as much from the sight of James’ work as the feel of it: the pride of His Majesty’s Royal Navy, the all-too-pretty Commodore James ‘Scourge of Piracy’ Norrington, sucking Captain Jack Sparrow’s cock whilst on his knees in a room above a Tortuga tavern; and add to it that Jack was just another part of the commodore’s brief taste of freedom and abandon. Both the image--of those green eyes glancing up at him, and of James’ tongue briefly running across the head of Jack’s cock, teasingly flicking under the foreskin--and the concepts implied behind it, sent a jolt through Jack’s body of more intense pleasure than the pirate had felt in years.
“God--bloody dammit, Jamie!” He tried to buck his hips when James’s mouth and throat fully engulfed him again, but was held fast by James’ hands pinning him to the wall. Jack watched, breathless as James pulled slowly back, sucking harder, tongue teasing and cheeks hollowing, only to bob back down, engulfing him yet again. Jack whimpered.
James found himself fascinated and enthralled by how Jack just kept making noise. The noises were loosening James’ already weakened hold on his ever-present restraint, especially as the pirate began to breathe more raggedly, the muscles in his thighs and abdomen now and then fluttering slightly as James kept him held against the wall--so close was Jack to release.
In retaliation, James hummed low around Jack’s cock, almost like a rumbling purr, and Jack gasped, hips writhing under James’ grasp, and the tar-stained fingers clutched hard, both where they were tangled in James’ hair, and where they gripped at James’ shoulder. Jack came with a groan, and gave a low, breathless sound at the feel of James swallowing around him: once, then, after the briefest pause, twice, making the spent pirate whimper yet again. Finally then, Jack gave a low hiss of mixed completion and reluctance as the taunting mouth released him, pulling away.
Those dark, kohl-lined eyes opened wide to stare at James in shock. “Where in the name of Beelzebub did a nice navy lad like you learn to suck cock like that?”
James licked his lips in an absent-minded fashion as he got to his feet, smirking. “Jack. It’s the navy.”
Allowing himself to be held up by James’ body as the taller man leaned into him, Jack grinned wickedly. “Ah, of course. All those interesting rumors about what goes on below-decks: personally, I blame the uniforms.” The edge taken off, his predatory patience was ready, waiting for James to let his guard down.
The commodore snorted. “You must’ve enjoyed yourself, then, aboard my ship. At least, the one that you did not destroy.”
“Not my fault, mate. Wasn’t part of the plan, that,” Jack insisted, but it was hard to remain focused when James’ mouth was once more on his neck, finding far too many quite maddeningly sensitive places. When teeth and tongue found that insanely pleasurable spot under his left ear, Jack had to cling to the other man in order to stay upright. “JeesusbloodyChrist!” It had been far too long since a lover had found that spot.
Norrington chuckled. “Such blasphemy,” he taunted, his baritone voice close and dark and enough to make Jack shiver.
“This isn’t bloody, fair, mate: catching an innocent pirate captain by surprise and taking full advantage of him before he can even get his bloody wits about him.”
“I think that statement proves at least one wit is about,” James countered.
“Flatterer,” Jack growled, pulling himself together quickly. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, dammit. “Bloody navy, alright.” Then he reached down, pick-pocket’s hands making short work of the buttons of James’ breeches, so that James gasped in surprise when Jack so abruptly took him in hand. “Which is likely why you don’t look half-debauched enough, yet, love. That blush is quite becoming, though.”
James’ breath roughened as he lifted his hooded gaze to meet Jack’s. “I have the feeling that you are just the man to remedy that, Jack Sparrow.”
“Aye,” Jack growled, and with a deft move, pushed James back with all his wiry strength just as he tangled one of his legs with the commodore’s, tripping him up nicely so that that the taller man fell promptly backwards. Luckily, there was not far to fall, since the room was small and the bed was therefore conveniently near.
James’ breath left him as he hit the mattress with a pirate on his chest. Then Jack shifted, and James was able to get a lungful of air just in time to lose it again shortly thereafter as the pirate’s mouth engulfed the length of his cock without pretense.
“GOD, Jack!” he groaned, his fingers clutching at the sheets under him hard enough to nearly rip them, because it was either rip the sheets or thrust hard into that hot, welcoming mouth like a rude wanton with no self-control or respect for his bed-mate. So, as the pirate suckled greedily, moving slowly up and down James’ length, the sheets made very quiet ripping noises, but James managed to keep his hips still except for a few barely-restrained jerks. Jack gave an inquiring hum and James whimpered. He whimpered again when Jack’s mouth left him, but this time it trailed off into a growl.
“Easy, Jamie,” Jack purred, one hand stroking the commodore’s impressive salute.
“Hardly. I daresay that we are both of us terribly difficult creatures.” James wondered, distantly, just when Jack had managed to get that vial of almond oil from the pockets of that disreputable coat of his, but the pirate distracted him by drizzling some of it over him and--Ohyes. The firm grip, that rough hand, and those warm metal rings, all slicked with oil and stroking him: it was maddeningly good and James gave a low, guttural sound of approval, muttering something almost totally incoherent under his breath, which sounded suspiciously like a prayer, but ended with Jack’s name.
“Aye, right up until stroked the right way,” Jack countered. “Then it’s all smooth sailing, ay, James?” The pirate was climbing up his body, and draped over him with a smug look, but his breathing was ragged. “You get exceedingly polite towards even a pirate when you’re stroked properly, Commodore.”
James grinned, gripping Jack’s hips firmly. “I could prove you wrong,” he said, his voice ragged, because Jack’s indecently lovely behind was settling into a very suggestive position, the hips under his hands shifting, changing their angle.
“How is that, Jamie?” the pirate asked, but before James could answer, Jack made a few adjustments and lowered his hips.
James’ hands clenched and his head jerked back at the feel of the tight, welcoming heat of Jack’s body engulfing him--so slowly...too slowly. “Christ.”
“Such blasphemy,” Jack countered mockingly, sounding breathless and not stopping his slow descent. He was considering a remark about the size and formidableness of naval cannons, but instead found himself gasping as a pale hand wrapped around his cock, bringing him swiftly back to full erectness. The combined stimulation robbed him of all words except a low hiss of, “Bloody Hell!”
“In answer to your question, Jack...” With his other hand, James brutally yanked the pirate’s hips down, thrusting up into him at the same time, and Jack cried out at the surge of mixed pleasure and pain. “By showing that your commentary can provoke rough seas, however properly done the stroking happened to be,” the commodore growled.
Jack groaned as James wrapped an arm around him and used it to pull him back up, then he gripped the paler man’s biceps for support when James began thrusting into him earnest: sharp strokes, hard and merciless and Yes. “Only one thing to do, then, with rough seas, ay?” Jack panted, and began to writhe his hips in perfect counter-rhythm.
James chuckled softly, and agreed, “Ride it out.”
The pirate momentarily gripped James’ wrist, encouraging the hand still stroking his cock. “Just don’t stop doing that.” It was almost a plea.
“Aye,” James agreed, and eased his iron grip on Jack’s hip as they both let go of their remaining shreds of restraint, losing the ability to speak: too busy rutting and stroking and striving for that much-needed release.
Jack neared the edge first, overwhelmed both by the relentless push and draw of James’ thrusts, to the slightly rough and surprisingly skilled hand stroking his prick. His movements grew less controlled, more desperate, and he cursed eloquently in three languages when James’ hand suddenly sped up its pace: stroking him harder, pulling, providing just enough pressure to send him over the edge, and the continued pistoning of James inside him prolonged the ecstasy, earning one more breathless moan and a shudder from Jack that pushed James to completion with a ragged growl.
Watching the other man fall apart beneath him, Jack admired the wildness of it, and felt very satisfied with the results of his tiger-baiting.
Jack held himself up on shaking arms at first, until the commodore wrapped both arms around him, tugging him down to rest half-curled on James’ chest and half-sprawled on the bed, after an initial petulant noise of regret when James’ softened cock slid out of him. The pirate buried his face against the curve of the commodore’s throat.
“Fifteen minutes, and then I plan on buggerin’ you eight ways from Sunday,” Jack muttered, after a long pause in which they both recovered.
James chuckled softly. “Presumptuous.”
“You sayin’ you can’t get as good as you give, commodore?”
“Now, I never said that.” He sounded playful, but there was a more than encouraging, sultry hint of something else: eagerness.
Jack’s mouth felt dry, dizzy at the very idea of it as he purred, “Huzzah, Jamie.”
Slowly, Annette closed the little peephole-door, and the space between the walls turned very dark. Silent as church mice, she and Marie--both flushed and more than a little excited--made their way out of the secret passageway and into the servants’ hall. Marie leaned against the wall, fanning herself with one hand. “I wouldn’t charge ‘em either,” she said finally.
“Aye,” Annette concurred. Then she shot Marie a look. “Our green-eyed man, then...”
“James. Lovely name,” the blonde mused.
“Jack called him commodore, too, love.”
Marie raised her eyebrows archly at her friend. “And? He’s still been comin’ here for nigh on three years. He only ever hurt a pirate here when the pirate in question was a bloody drunken lout askin’ to be knocked on his arse, and James merely obliged ‘em. Saved our pretty arses from a few particular louts, too, as I recall.”
“I’ve ‘eard ‘em talk, Marie, as well as you. They call ‘im the Scourge!”
“And I call him damned attractive.”
Annette made a small, dismayed noise.
Marie pulled herself up to her full height and took a step toward her friend. “As I recall, Annie, you weren’t much averse to him naked, either.”
Annette took a step back, then another, and found herself backed against the wall. She shivered despite herself, and not with fear. “D-don’t call me-”
Not letting her finish, Marie brushed her lips across Annette’s, feather-light and brief. “Shh, lovey. You only told me not to call you that outside certain situations. I’m ready to propose we get into one of those situations, right here...now.”
Annette gave a shaky smile, her pupils suddenly dilated. “You really do like ‘im, don’t you, Marie?”
“You were the one touchin’ yourself while we watched.”
“Aye, ‘cause I’m not so loud as you an’ so I could get away with it,” Annette riposted.
“We’ll see what you can get away with.”
By way of reply, Annette kissed her, and the two spectators began making sport of their own.
Jack Sparrow awoke in a state of vague confusion. Namely, he was confused as to why his pillow seemed to be moving when the rest of him and his bed did not seem to be moving as well. Not on a ship, the thought vaguely. It was a hazy, pleasant sort of confusion, so he didn’t even open his eyes at first, simply enjoying the feel of the inexplicable motion: slowly up a bit, then back down a bit, rhythmic as the tide in early morning.
He was a little amused to realize that this was because his pillow was breathing. Of course, then he came to the slower realization that his pillow was, in fact, a man.
That would explain the sore backside, then, he mused, through the haze.
Slowly, he recalled that he’d done a bit of debauching himself, which seemed only proper and natural, him being the pirate and all, and his lover certainly not being a pirate in the least.
That idle little thought gave Jack a bit of pause, until he woke up a little more, remembering cat-green eyes and pale skin and that deep velvet-and-gravel voice promising, I’ll follow.
Ah yes, that was what had happened: tiger-baiting. He’d spent the night exchanging debauchery with a highly decorated commodore of the British Royal Navy.
Jack’s eyes snapped open.
Oh. Right. That might have repercussions.
Jack dared not move more than was necessary to keep breathing, slowly and evenly and quietly, so as not to wake the other man, upon whom he was sprawled, and who had one long, pale arm wrapped around his waist. From where his head rested on James’ chest, the pirate tentatively glanced up at James’ face. God, the man looked young--almost disconcertingly so.
When the commodore’s eyelids fluttered and fell open, Jack tensed somewhat, ready to bolt if necessary, but James only looked at him sleepily for a moment, scanned the room instinctively for any sign of threat, and smirked a bit before meeting Jack’s gaze with a bit more wakeful attention. “Good morning, Jack.”
Relaxing with relief at the lack of hostility, Jack shifted a bit, and then stretched luxuriantly with a low grunt of contentment, deliberately ignoring the effects (including one lovely, low little noise of surprise and arousal) on James as their bodies rubbed together pleasantly in the process. “Morning, Jamie,” he said casually.
Recovering from his momentary distraction, due to the pirate’s sinuous movements against him, James gave a small derisive snort and raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to call me that for-bloody-ever, now, aren’t you?” he mocked, but did not actually sound altogether displeased.
“Aye,” Jack murmured, and leaned over the edge of the bed for a few moments, rustling through the pile of their combined shed clothing on the floor until he found the half-empty bottle of rum from the previous night. He uncorked it and took a swig before settling beside James again.
James plucked the bottle from his fingers and took a sip as well, sloshing it around to get rid of the rather unpleasant taste of morning-mouth before swallowing. The he returned the rum to the pirate, who accepted it, took another swig, corked it, and set it on the bedside table. Jack then raised his eyebrows as he rested his chin on the commodore’s sternum. “So, Jamie, where is it that you’re staying here in Tortuga, then, on yer little vacation?”
“I’ve a room at a rather more respectable inn, which is only to say that it is one with thicker walls and only slightly less questionable bedsheets.”
“Aye, and no doubt their walls have no spyholes like this one does,” Jack mused, glancing over at the portrait on the wall with a smirk.
James’ eyebrows raised. “Ah. A voyeur room.”
“Aye. Been on the other side of that picture before. I only wonder who was watchin’ us. Mayhap it was that serving-girl of yours: Marie. She’s got a wild streak, that one does.”
“Mmm,” James replied, making it sound like an affirmative, but with a touch of annoyance. “We shall know depending upon the smile she will give us upon our departure.”
“Aye. And when would that be, do you think?”
“Mmm,” James mused, this time making it sound like a purr. “Later.” His fingers traced the line of Jack’s jaw, down the side of his neck and across the livid marks he had bitten and suckled into the skin there.
Jack’s eyelids lowered a little, and his pupils dilated. He wheedled, “Well, Jamie: I’ve got far cleaner sheets on a much nicer bed...aboard the Pearl.” Those pitch-black eyes burned with promise. “We could head there, to continue this more comfortably. For longer. Without interruption or rent to pay or voyeurs to entertain.”
James’ hand stilled. “I’ve only one more night, here, before I have to head back to Port Royal.” His eyebrows raised a little, rather accusingly. “And would you let me go, then, after that, Jack Sparrow?”
With a grin and a leer, Jack lifted himself up so that he leaned in close to James’ face. “Don’t you trust me, then, Jamie?”
“I think I’ve shown a great deal of trust this past evening. You are, after all, almost out of oil in that little container of yours and you are not the only one slightly sore, this morning.” James’ eyes narrowed, even as a hint of a smile tugged at his lips, and he slid his fingers into Jack’s hair, exploring the textures of braids and tangles and baubles. His thumb brushed the corner of Jack’s jaw. “I trust you with my body at this point, Jack, but I do not trust you to go out of your way to act in any manner beneficial to my career, given the chance, especially when I know myself to be a valuable hostage as well as a probable bed warmer for you, Captain.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly, but did not actually seem offended.
Jack snorted, but smirked, unable to be irritated by an intelligent bed-mate, even when the navy man had so inconveniently seen right through his plans. The pirate gave a lazy shrug and tried a new tactic. “That’s assuming that I wanted to return you at all,” he muttered, and leaned in to nuzzle James’ ear before running his tongue over the outer edge of it. “And assuming that you even wanted to go back.” He nipped and suckled James’ earlobe, noting with surprise that the piercing was real instead of a cleverly designed fake as he’d half-suspected; the commodore hid it well, when not dressed as a rogue.
Breathing a bit more raggedly as the half-aroused state he had awoken in became greatly advanced, James growled, “Jack.” As protests went, this one was, at best, half-hearted, especially as the pirate reached beneath the sheet and took James in hand, stroking him to full hardness. It was only sheer determination that kept the commodore talking. “I leave Tortuga tomorrow morning,” he said, his tone firm despite the edge of breathlessness present in his voice.
“And then what, James?” Jack rumbled, his hand deliberately stilling as he met James’ gaze with a dark look. The children’s rhyme suggested that one should catch a tiger by the toe, but Jack thought that this would be rather more effective.
His head falling back, James cursed crossly for a moment. Then, pulling together the remains of his composure, he answered calmly, “Then I will head to a less piratical port, shed this roguish wear, shave, bathe thoroughly, and once more don my uniform. After that, I shall return to Port Royal, board the Dauntless, and continue hunting pirates.” Only then did he lift his head and fix Jack with a steely glare. “I’ll not have you capture me, Jack. If and when Navy should turn on me, I will break free of my own will, and by my own abilities; I do not need your help.” His eyes narrowed. “I am my own man.” Unspoken was the warning: I will not be kept like a pet.
“Aye. I’m beginning to see that,” Jack murmured, and tightened his grip not-at-all-painfully around the base of James’ cock.
“It’s about time,” James countered, resting a hand on one of the pirate’s lean hips and parting his legs to allow Jack to settle between them.
“Will you be still be hunting me, then, James? When your back in uniform?” His voice was a low and dark, like the distant rumble of thunder shortly before the eruption of a tempest.
James’ hand ran up the pirate’s back and then back down again, admiring the texture of the smooth, suntanned skin, as well as the contrasts provided by the occasional battle scars marking it. His emerald gaze was still smoldering, but it was also solemn and surprisingly open. When he spoke, the roughness of his voice was like a tiger’s affection: “I enjoy following you, and chasing you, far too much to actually capture you, Jack, either in a cage or with a noose.” His other hand, still tangled in Jack’s hair, cupped the back of Jack’s neck to pull him a little closer. “The game between my fleet and your ship will remain as it has always been: I will hunt you, but I will not catch you, and not for lack of trying. I am sure that you, on your part, will not be fool enough to let my ships get close enough to the Black Pearl for that; you have never let me down in that respect before.” A smirk tugged at his lips, playful even as he spoke with utmost sincerity. “In that, too, I suppose that I trust you, Jack Sparrow, if only as I would trust the sea.” He stared deep into Jack’s eyes, his own gaze dark with significance despite the almost light-hearted tone with which he’d spoken.
The pirate swallowed thickly holding the other man’s gaze as those words struck home. Trust...as I would trust the sea. Never a more perfect phrase had Jack Sparrow heard uttered, and it made heat and need flare through his body and brain: abrupt and all-consuming, making his breath hitch. He knew exactly what James meant, and he wanted it--needed it. Trusted to be changeable, trusted to be uncatchable, trusted to be challenging and tricky and untamable and impossible to own. It seemed simple, and yet so few had ever offered it, especially with such an intelligent, calm, appreciative and understanding look in their eyes as James currently wore. Jack stroked James cock hard, setting a fast pace and making the commodore groan, which the pirate used an opportunity to plunder his mouth.
James’ grip on the back of Jack’s neck tightened and he draped one of those long legs across Jack’s hips, pulling him closer.
Pressing his arousal against James’ inner thigh, the pirate pulled back slightly from the kiss, lips still brushing James’ as Jack fervently agreed, “Aye, Jamie.” He nipped James’ lower lip. “Aye. We have an accord.” Then he kissed the commodore again: hard and hungry, trying to get more--more of this sudden rush of heat and pleasure and want that James had set pulsing through his blood. He wanted as much as he could get, right now, because he could have it--and have James--at least for now.
Bait the tiger, he may; have the tiger, he may; but keep him, Jack could not.
Just as the tiger could not keep him.
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