Friends and Enemies
Title: Friends and Enemies
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean; Sparrington
Rating: R
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: A surprisingly sincere and heartfelt exchange between William Turner and James Norrington is overheard by Jack Sparrow, who then comes up with a rather brilliant idea.
“You. Me. Friendly terms. What say you?”
“That you were hit about the head too often as a child.”
Note: Another brief one-shot, for real this time: not a series in disguise. It was a little idea that popped into my head demanding to be written and, helpless as I am to such persistent muses, I succumbed. Also, I've been meaning to break my habit of having James leaving the navy, if only because I hate it when I get predictable.
Will Turner was more than surprised when Commodore Norrington arrived in his smithy, sans the wig, hat and coat of office, wearing instead a fine coat of warm grey with emerald embroidery and gold accents. Norrington cleared his throat. “Good evening, Mr. Turner. I’m sorry to arrive unannounced, but I was hoping that I might have a word with you.” The authoritative edge to his voice was less sharp, now, and he had relaxed the mask of control that usually made his countenance so distant.
Will had gotten to his feet quickly upon Norrington’s entrance, and, dressed in soot- and sweat-coated work clothes (breeches, hose, and a battered shirt that had once been cream-colored, as well as a waistcoat that no longer had any definable color) he made a point to look as proud as he had the day, not yet a month ago, that he had saved Jack Sparrow from the gallows. He nodded at Norrington and gestured toward the bench on the other side of his work table, which currently had several swords lined up on its surface: three polished to perfection, and in his hand Will held another, which he was in the process of bringing to the same level of shine. “Of course, Commodore; although I apologize for the relative lack of proper seating.”
A faint half-smile tugged at Norrington’s lips for a moment. “I have been a sailor for more than half my life, Mr. Turner, and have both sat in and stood through far worse conditions.” He approached slowly, shedding his coat and draping it over the least occupied corner of the table before seating himself on the bench. “It is warm here, and dry, and not infested with rats. Therefore your position in life is rather more comfortable than mine was, when I was your age. Then again, if I had been less inclined towards mischief, I would not have gotten to know the bilges so well, but that is neither here nor there.”
Taking his seat on the stool he had occupied before James’ entrance had provided interruption, Will once more set about polishing. “I have learned, of recent, what it is like to be a sailor.” There was an edge to it.
Norrington took a deep breath, resting one arm on the table as he said quietly, “Mr. Turner.” He waited until William met his gaze again. “I would like to apologize for my words and my behavior the day that you approached me on behalf of Elizabeth’s rescue effort. I was, I know, exceedingly rude, in letting my own frustration get the better of me. You, I know, felt much the same way at the time, and instead of letting myself sympathize with you, I lashed out in a crude fashion, and for that I am sorry.”
Will blinked a few times in surprise, then looked away. “I was hardly acting in any polite fashion that day, myself, Commodore.”
“Yes, but as your elder and because I, often misguidedly, try to pride myself on being a civilized and clear-thinking man, I should have better controlled my own anger in response. More than my fear for Miss Swann, I believe that a...competitiveness, drove me to act as I did. It would have served both of us better if I had been clear-headed enough to give your words and intentions their due measure of consideration. Perhaps if I had listened to you, then...” His voice threatened to waver, and he trailed off, a flare of guilt and sincere hurt crossed his features before he could mask it. After a moment, he cleared his throat and continued, “I lost a number of good men at the Isla de Muerta. They could have been spared. In that regard, I have failed in my duties both to the navy and to myself.”
For a long moment, Will watched the older man, but James’ gaze was on the swords laid out on the table; he would not, or perhaps could not, look at Will again just yet. The blacksmith took a steadying breath. “I accept your apology, Commodore Norrington, if you will in turn forgive me for provoking you with my own anger, which I did not bother trying to control. I did, after all, abandon all decorum and put a hole in your map.” Will looked away, vaguely chagrined. The commodore was right: if either of them had been able to get a grip and consider the matters at hand calmly, then...
In that moment, he happened to miss the way that Norrington frowned slightly and tilted his head, looking at something reflected in the surface of the polished swords. Spotting it, the commodore stilled for a moment, but did not actually seem to be surprised; Norrington then schooled his expression into a careful and inscrutable blank as Will’s voice once more interrupted his thoughts.
“I plan to put more care and devotion into my manners, not only for my own sake.” The blacksmith looked at Norrington again, who now met his gaze.
A slightly bitter smile touched the commodore’s lips, but a glint of something brighter and more like mischief may have lingered, barely visible, in the depths of his eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Turner.”
Not noticing the hint of amusement in Norrington’s look, William asked, as conversationally as possible, “If I might inquire, Commodore, why have you not yet begun to chase Captain Jack Sparrow?” His eyebrows lifted a little.
James smirked, but let on nothing more in his expression. “Actually, I have, in my way. Without the Interceptor in Port Royal’s fleet-” a flare of anger crossed his expression, but he made a point of not aiming it directly at William “-we have no chance of catching up with the Black Pearl by any more conventional means. Even had I leapt with all haste, on the day that her captain fell off the fort, to the Dauntless to give chase, it would have served only to lower my men’s morale further when the faster ship escaped us before sunset. It was better to let them think that we were allowing for a bit of sport, in giving him ‘one day’s head start’ as I told them that day; however, instead of trying to chase his ship, I am using alternative means to keep track of his movements.”
Despite looking a bit sheepish at the mention of the Interceptor, Will still managed to sound self-assured as he asked, “Spies, you mean?”
“Yes. I have, for a number of months actually, been coordinating an information-gathering network based in Tortuga itself. The town is, after all, kept running by British political support. Otherwise, the Spanish would have erased it from the map by now.”
Will gaped. “You have spies in Tortuga?”
“Not precisely, but I have a few select, trusted men who can enter Tortuga without anyone giving them a second glance, and they, in turn, have been building relationships with a number of relatively prominent people in the town, who see and hear much and will give that information to us, either accidentally or for money, depending on the person in question.” James raised his eyebrows. “Are you quite alright, William?”
The blacksmith’s eyes were wide and his skin was had gone a bit pale. He had the distinct feeling that he had been greatly underestimating this man for a long time, which made him uneasy about a certain presence over their heads, lurking in the rafters. Will cleared his throat quietly. “I am--merely surprised, Commodore. It all sounds rather unexpectedly devious, for the Navy, all things considered.”
Norrington smirked. “You will need to get a better grasp of politics, then, Mr. Turner, for it gets outright vicious in those circles, making military strategy look childish.” A hint of bitterness touched his expression. “I myself am a military man, and not so skilled at politics as rank might indicate; your betrothed, however, could probably teach the both of us a great deal.”
Being reminded of Elizabeth’s brief and less-than-sincere engagement to this man made Will wince slightly. “I suppose, really, that there is little difference between politics and piracy, then?”
“Indeed,” Norrington sighed, rubbing his left temple as though trying to sooth an oncoming headache. “Pirates, however, are rather more honest about their trade and their selfish intentions, which I am coming to reluctantly appreciate.” His mask cracked again, this time showing conflict, pain, and more anger and frustration than William had imagined the stoic commodore capable of hiding at the bottom of that deep well of sangfroid. Quickly, Norrington took a deep breath, his expression clearing. “I do not, however, have the luxury of firing upon the most deserving; I must fire upon those whose actions both place them in the public eye and indicate them, via the law, to be danger to the public. I serve the law, and I serve my men. I am left to try my best, then, to protect them from both politicians and pirates.” He tried to smile, but did not quite manage it, and looked away, his gaze once more on the swords.
Will opened his mouth to speak, but found that he could think of nothing to say and closed it again. He was, however, wary when Norrington picked up one of the polished swords, holding it up to the light from the smithy.
“You have, I noticed, become a very talented swordsman, William, as well as one of the finest sword-smiths I’ve ever met.”
Being called by his given name by the man, for the first time in years, Will felt a glow of pride. “Thank you. In both respects, I had most excellent teachers when I required them.” His smile tentatively showed his gratitude, for not just the compliment, but for the fencing lessons as well.
Norrington smiled. “Thank you, but it has been a few years since then, and you have, it would seem, only continued to improve in my absence, and quite impressively I might add.” Norrington tilted the sword so that the well-polished blade reflected the same sight as before, only this time the pirate hiding overhead seemed to notice the potential danger and made the effort to duck behind one of the rafters; his boots, however, were still visible. Casually, as though he were completely unaware of the close proximity of one Captain Jack Sparrow, James continued, “Do you know that I envy you, William?”
“Er...” An awkward, almost fearful look crossed the blacksmith’s face.
“Not only for your connection to Elizabeth, although that has always been a part of it, I suppose, ever since she grew into such a fine woman. I envy you for your youthful abandon, and for the time you are able to spend free of the influence of others telling you exactly how you must think and behave.” An almost wistful look crossed James’ features. “I will advance no further in my naval career, in spite of my skills or even eventually my seniority in years yet to come, unless I finish selling my soul to politics and destroy my heart in order to be rid of my love of the sea, because they will wish to keep me in offices and behind desks instead of on the deck of any ship, even if the ships are meant to be mine.” He turned the sword in his hand and let it sway back and forth a little in his grip so that he could feel how well it was balanced. He placed it back on the table. “Four grams heavy along the blade,” he said quietly.
“I know. About--about the sword, I knew, but about the rest I...I’m sorry.”
Norrington nodded slightly. His smile was cynical. “As am I.”
“Why, then, if I may ask, did you accept promotion?”
“For the same reason that it was offered: because I am the most qualified, despite not having the seniority usually required. My skills in regards to strategy have impressed the politicians. My practical nature and my more practical skills, as well as the callouses on my hands, have impressed the sailors, and continues to impress the men who serve under me. That, added to my authoritative nature makes me a most sensible commander. The politicians, however, have scarcely begun to learn how difficult I am to sway in regards to their ‘interests’ when those interests are neither practical nor honorable. It will not be easy, once that starts.” He took a deep breath. “I met the other possible candidates for my rank. I could not inflict such men as them upon my myself or my men. That is the extent of my ambitions.”
Will smiled slightly. “You’ve not changed as much as I’d feared, then...James.”
The commodore looked up, and smiled sincerely, albeit with the same sardonic air that often permeated his speaking voice. “No. I am still the same sailor and swordsman, even after the years since our day-to-day lives made our fencing lessons nearly impossible to schedule. I do hide it well under all the brocade, do I not?” His smile took on a conspiratorial edge.
“Incredibly. After they sent you off with the East India company four years ago, it seemed like you had come back a stranger.”
“In a way, I had,” James murmured. “I suffered under politics there as a songbird would suffer being held underwater, and for a long time I was not myself. I am only sorry that our friendship suffered for it; it had always been my intention to try and look out for you, since we pulled you from the sea, but after a nearly a year spent under Lord Beckett’s command, it took all of my concentration just to look after my own neck in order make sure it was still going to keep my head attached, and take equal care of my men as well. I could not see very far beyond that for a long time, especially...after a few particularly overwhelming incidents. And even once I returned, and things quieted down somewhat, it seemed to me that you lacked any interest in speaking to me, and that you were more than busy taking over more and more of Mr. Brown’s work as he...well.” James cleared his throat and glanced over towards where the man in question lay on the other side of the smithy, once more unconscious and insensible with a mostly-empty whiskey bottle close at hand.
“I understand. At least, I do now,” Will murmured. “Although, I was extremely angry with you for ages, I admit. You and the navy; because you had treated me like family, and the navy had let the sea had take you away, as seemed to be a pattern in my life with people I looked up to.” He smiled, pushing away the more melancholy thoughts with a flare of hopefulness. “Perhaps we can try to go back to that again, James: the friendship, at least, for all that we have grown very distant. It will both shock Elizabeth speechless in the short run and give her peace of mind in the long, either of which would be reason enough.”
James smiled. “I do still rather miss those lessons, as well. You learned quickly enough to prevent me growing complacent; now, however, you could probably provide me a very real challenge.”
“Now that we shall definitely have to test.” Will’s smile widened.
“We shall indeed, but not tonight, I am afraid.” James pulled out a pocketwatch and glanced at the time. “I’m expected to dine with the governor, as well as a wealthy family visiting him, whose daughter Miss Swann has insisted upon my meeting with.” He eyed Will pointedly. “Will you do me a favor, William, and please encourage your betrothed to cease her matchmaking habits? I am still recovering my pride as it is, and do not need her already prodding me toward other young women of standing in order to attempt to somehow pull me out of what she perceives to be my melancholy. I appreciate her concern, but this...” He tucked away his watch with a sigh, shaking his head.
Will stifled a laugh, with minimal success. “Ah yes, Miss Ashburn. I met her yesterday. She has, at least, a quick wit, so it shouldn’t be nearly as horrible as you’re thinking, James. Also, you know very well that I could encourage Elizabeth to the full extent of my abilities and not change her mind in the least.”
James smiled faintly. “True, I suppose.”
“I...am sorry, James. That one of us had to lose in this. I...had honestly thought that she would chose you.”
“And I knew, though I scarcely let myself contemplate it and was indeed fairly distracted at the time--be that as it may, on some deeper level, I suppose I knew that she never would,” James mused. “But I did not want to leave you behind, either, and only the Governor truly stood in my way. If I could have stood against him on my own...” He sighed. “The governorship of Weatherby Swann, despite some of the man’s less than perceptive qualities in regards to those not close to him in societal standing, is the only thing still standing in the way of Lord Beckett swooping in and using Port Royal as his seat from which to control all trade in the Caribbean, and I know enough of Beckett’s methods to want to keep him out, for the sake of all.” Norrington’s brow furrowed, and he massaged his temple again. “I think, after all that has happened, that I shall need a holiday sometime soon, if I am to remain sane somehow.”
“You definitely deserve one,” Will mused.
“Mayhap,” James sighed, but he paired it with a smirk. He slowly got to his feet. “I fear I must be going, William. I...am very sincerely glad we have been able to mend our bridges instead of burning them.” He held out his hand.
Will reached across the table and shook it, smiling brightly. “I am as well.”
“Thank you,” James added quietly, and then picked up his coat, shrugging into it as he turned away. At the door, however, he paused and, without turning, called, “Oh, one more thing, William...”
“Yes?”
“Do inform Captain Sparrow that he is not nearly so stealthy as he thinks himself to be, and that next time he should find somewhere more concealed to hide than the open rafters over your smithy.”
Will choked audibly, as did the pirate in the rafters.
James smirked, stepping out the door without a single backwards glance. “A good evening to you both.”
“And to you, Commodore,” Jack called, his voice not quite managing to sound as blithe and casual as the pirate had intended it to, due to the slight nervous timbre that entered it when he said the man’s title.
With a low chuckle, scarcely audible, James let the door snap shut.
After a few moments of shocked silence as the commodore’s footsteps faded, Will cursed profusely. “Jack,” he groaned, his voice openly scolding.
“When the Hell did he spot me? I think it was your swords. Did ye have to polish ‘em so bloody well?”
“It really doesn’t matter, the fact is: you’ve been spotted by the Commodore!”
“Well, young William, it does not quite sound as though he’s exactly calling in the militia, now does it? Curious, that is, ay?”
Will did not have to look; he could hear Jack contemplating chaos, even without seeing the thoughtful-and-theatrically-devious way that the pirate was stroking his braided beard. With exasperation, Will said warningly, “Jack. Whatever it is that you might be thinking: Stop.”
“Besides, it seems to me that you and the commodore are on surprisingly good terms, lad.” Jack was climbing down, now. His voice sounded almost petulant. The pirate found himself wishing that he had known more about this facet of the commodore’s personality to begin with.
Pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, Will exhaled through gritted teeth. “That’s no excuse to provoke him.”
“You never mentioned ye used to be close to the man.” The look he shot the young man was one demanding some form of explanation.
“He was on the ship that found me at sea, when the merchant ship I was on was attacked by Barbossa and the Black Pearl. He took me under his wing somewhat, and he and Governor Swann found my apprenticeship for me. I asked him, a few years later, to teach me to fight, and he taught me most all I know, before...well, you overheard everything, I trust.”
“Taught you almost all ye knew, ay? Including all those little rules that you still tend to trip over? Does he fight just as proper? If so ye can definitely beat him now.”
“I have not seen him fight for more than practice, and even then he still fought officers, and therefore tended to fight by the rules. He’s successfully hunted pirates for years, though, and lived this long doing it; if he’s really not changed as I thought he had...well, he has his share of interesting tricks up his sleeve, Jack.” He looked at the pirate, who was now approaching his table.
Jack rubbed his forearm with a bit of a frown. “Aye. I suppose that he does. I should’ve guessed that earlier.” Then, a subject change: “Now, he talked about a man called Beckett...”
“Yes. Elizabeth mentioned before that that was who James served under when he was temporarily transferred out of Port Royal. I am still not sure quite what happened while he was away, but apparently it was not a positive experience. Beckett also wants to extend his control over the East India Trading Company to get himself power here in the caribbean.”
Jack hissed, sounding thoroughly disgusted. “Good thing you’ve got a couple of more reasonable men keepin’ him out, then.”
“You know Beckett?”
“We’ve met,” Jack muttered, dropping in Norrington’s vacated seat. “It’s a long tale, lad, and not one I’m inclined to tell without a lot more rum in my system; enough to pickle a pygmy elephant, in fact.”
“The more I hear about this man, the less I like.”
“For good reason. He’s slimier than a hagfish.”
“I will take your word for it.”
Jack stared distractedly at the door. “He’s really not called the lobsters in or anything. No boots stomping to your door...no disturbance at all...”
“Well, you weren’t seen by the public this time, so he isn’t obligated to act on the public’s behalf,” Will offered.
Jack’s eyebrows raised. “Ay?”
Will cleared his throat. “It was something he mentioned during a lesson. He was in a very bad mood and could not quite mask it, and when I asked, he explained that he had to enforce a part of the law that day with which he did not agree. He said that the man he’d had to punish should have known better, as he was an intelligent man, and therefore hidden his indiscretions better. He called it, ‘A matter of decency, if not actual virtue.’” Will smirked slightly. “If the man’s rule-breaking had been better hidden, James would have been content to ignore it.”
Jack considered this. “Ah, I see then. And this did not apply to me...”
“Because you are many things, Jack, but ‘discreet’ is not among them. At least, it has not been in any of his past meetings with you.”
The pirate could not help but smirk at that. “Aye. That is most definitely true.”
“Just as ‘stealthy’ is apparently not among them either.” Will looked up into the rafters thoughtfully.
“Now that is not true in the least.” Jack scowled. “I’ve a mind to have a word with the man.”
Will’s eyes widened. “Dear God, no.”
“Why not? I’ll be discreet.”
“Because...because, Jack, he’s still Commodore Norrington!”
“Commodore James Norrington. Aye, it is. Which is precisely why I think I need to be havin’ a word with him about a few things. When do you think he’ll leave dinner with dear Elizabeth and her misguided match-making tendencies?”
“Jack. Do not do this. I will lock you up myself if I have to.”
The pirate gave a derisive snort. “You could try it, whelp, but you’d not succeed,” he drawled, glaring at Will darkly.
Will backed down a little. “You’re really serious about this? You want to ‘chat’ with Norrington? What on earth about, Jack?”
Jack patted Will’s head, as though Will happened to be little more than a blacksmith-shaped labrador. “A wide number of things, my lad, but specifically that rotten bastard called Lord Cutler Bloody Beckett.”
“I take it the ‘Bloody’ is what you personally call him, not actually the name his parents gave him.”
“You can’t really be sure. They were vicious creatures, too, as I understand.”
“You are mad. Utterly and totally mad,” Will muttered, but he sounded as much resigned as exasperated.
“‘Course I am. I’m Captain Jack Sparrow. Now where does the fine commodore live, then? Tell me or I’ll be forced to work it out all by me onesie and I’m sure you can only imagine what that might entail.”
Will winced at the thought. “God help us all.”
“Yes, but only after you’ve helped me.”
Reluctantly, Will told him.
Jack was not altogether surprised that the first thing to greet him, as he tumbled through the window into Commodore James Norrington’s bedroom, was the sound of a pistol being cocked. What he was rather surprised by was the lovely sight of a half-dressed James Norrington pointing it at him.
Jack Sparrow praised every deity he could think of (and a few made up for good measure) for his good timing in this regard.
James Norrington was in the middle of undressing before bed, and was therefore barefoot, wearing only shirt and trousers, and his waistcoat half-unbuttoned. Half-unwrapped: enough to tease, but not enough to take away the fun of the final big reveal. Jack’s only real disappointment was in seeing the man’s rather pretty brown hair, however free of that horrible wig, was still tied back instead of hanging loose. Oh well, the pirate thought, you can’t have everything; some things you just have to take when nobody’s looking.
Also somewhat off-putting was the steady way that Norrington had that pistol aimed at Jack’s head, whilst wearing a look of utmost suspicion and irritation. “Captain Sparrow, you are without a doubt the least stealthy thief that I have ever seen,” he drawled, with feeling.
Pulling himself to his feet with drunken grace, Jack grinned extra-unnervingly. “Well, I had been hoping to avoid startling you, but if that pretty little gun is anything to judge by, then it would seem that I’ve managed to do so anyway.”
“I am hardly startled. I would greet anyone who climbed through my window as you have--in the dead of night, rather like a common thief--in much the same manner. Why are you here, Sparrow?”
“Because I would like for us to be friends.”
With some difficulty, James remained blandly impassive, if only to further emphasize the flat, scathing tone of his response: “You want what?”
“You. Me. Friendly terms. What say you?”
“That you were hit about the head too often as a child.”
“That may be true, but hear me out on this, ay? ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’, right? Well, it seems to me that you and I are in possession of at least one small and disproportionately evil and powerful little enemy, and that we should therefore be friends, Commodore James. Savvy?”
James blinked a couple of times in sheer bemusement at the name Jack called him, but did not let it distract him. His brows furrowed and, after a thoughtful moment, he said slowly, “You mean the Lord Cutler Beckett.”
Jack sidled closer, into James’ personal space. “I mean the Lord Cutler Beckett.”
Silently thanking the navy for the years of discipline and self-control it had instilled in him, James did not look away from Jack’s eyes. He put the muzzle of the gun against Jack’s sternum and used it to push the pirate back a few inches. “Good to know that my records on him are correct, then, in that he was one of the EITC agents that you escaped from, getting yourself branded in the process.”
“After another mishap-”
“With a ship called the Wicked Wench,” James finished.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “One of your spies tell you that?”
“Mayhap so. Mayhap not,” James replied, deadpan and blandly inscrutable. “Mayhap I have one or two men willing to provide me information from the EITC itself.”
Jack studied him. “You’re smarter than you look, mate.”
“And so are you, which begs the question as to why you are here.” James glanced at his gun pointedly, then met Jack’s gaze again and raised his eyebrows.
“As I said: friendly terms. I don’t want Beckett in these waters any more than you do. I’d like to suggest a discreet and very not-public little truce, between you an’ me, that we may better focus our efforts on the more dangerous threat.”
“What, exactly, do you have to offer me?” James inquired, his voice cold.
However, the words, the low baritone rumble of the voice speaking them, and the proximity of the half-dressed officer’s body, made Jack feel rather the opposite of cold. It was an effort to keep himself restrained, and the restraint was unfortunately necessary...for now, anyway. “A number of things, love. Information, on the sort of trade movements that the local bits of the EITC won’t tell you if you’re on Beckett’s bad side (and judging by that scowl you probably are) as well as a pirate threat that will give you an excuse to ask for needed funds and protections for Port Royal, and which Beckett will not prevent from being given to you; because no matter how much he hates you, I assure that the slimy little bastard hates me much more, and anything that he thinks might possibly kill me will indeed get funding; and also--” Jack grinned more brightly “-I can offer you a vacation.”
James had listened to the first two offers with shrewd attention and wary interest, but the latter earned a look of outright suspicion and anger. “Clarify that last one, if you would, Captain. A vacation?”
“What you need, James, and you said it yourself, is a holiday. Those, however, tend to take a great deal of time, during which all your political enemies at home and abroad start setting up tiger traps for you while you’re away. Therefore, I’d like to offer an alternative means of stress relief.” His tongue darted out momentarily to wet his lips.
Despite himself, James found his gaze drawn to Jack’s mouth by the movement. Then, his shoulders stiffening, he met Jack’s gaze again and glared. “Are you propositioning me?”
“Would you accept?”
James paused to consider this with surprising seriousness. “You are propositioning me, but there’s more to it than that. You parsed your words too carefully. What is the other half of what you are implying?”
Inwardly, Jack was damning the commodore’s infuriating inscrutability and sangfroid. Outwardly, his gold-edged smile was unaffected. “I could kidnap you. Just, not against your will, except everyone else won’t exactly be knowing that, of course. You could spend a week or two aboard the Pearl, whereupon I would, of course, continue to proposition you regularly, which you can either accept or decline as suits your mood, and then I could sail just a bit too close to one of your ships, whereupon you could either work out an ingenious-looking escape, or I could hold you for ransom, before your return to Port Royal. Since you’d not have to request and plan a holiday, Beckett would not have enough time to put any significantly damaging political machinations to work. Savvy?”
James’ eyebrows raised. It was, he had to admit, a very good plan--assuming, of course, that the pirate would keep his word. “And how, exactly, am I to know that you are at all in earnest, Captain Sparrow? How can I trust you to bring me back, or even simply not to kill me whilst I am on board?”
“Because killing you would cause a very unpleasant change in the political winds, here, mate. It would shake up the navy and Governor Swann enough for Beckett to insinuate himself into Port Royal on the auspices of his history of success against piratical threats in other parts of the world.” Jack’s voice was low and dark with bone-deep rage. “Commodore, I do not want that man in my caribbean.”
For a moment, James scrutinized him closely. Then the pistol gave a quiet, harmless snap as he lowered it. “And what is it that you want from me in return?”
Jack relaxed somewhat and made a show of eyeing Norrington from head to toe before answering. The fact that this caused the tips of the man’s ears to turn pink was an unexpected bonus. “What I want in exchange is different from what I want on general principle, no worries there, James.” Use of the man’s name caused the light pink blush to darken: interesting. “I’ll be here for the wedding--more subtly than this evening, I assure you; young William’s explanation of why he thought it was that you did not call in the militia on me gave me an idea in that regard. I shall be most discreet. What I ask of you in that matter is that you continue to ignore me, in your professional regard at least, as I continue to stay out of sight. Also, I want to know more about your little information-gathering program, and reap some of its benefits as well, now an’ then.” He raised his eyebrows significantly, but his narrowed gaze was shrewd. “As they’re apparently successful, if I would hazard a guess.”
James’ smirk was cold. “Indeed they are; they told me you were on your way here, before I caught sight of your reflection in one of Will’s blades. They were able to hear mention of your heading off in the direction of Port Royal in a small sloop whilst your crew enjoyed some well-earned shore leave back in Tortuga,” James said, a hint of smugness in his expression.
“I guessed that when you didn’t show any signs of surprise in regards to my presence in the smithy,” Jack muttered.
James nodded thoughtfully. He took a moment to put his pistol away on his nightstand, and then again approached Jack, this time with his hands folded behind him in his usual authoritative fashion. “Your terms are surprisingly reasonable, for a madman.” He tilted his head slightly, looking rather hawk-like: his gaze piercing and sharp. “So much so that I am inclined to accept them.”
Jack held out his hand with a grin. “So, we have an accord, then?”
Without hesitation, James reached out and shook it firmly. His long, elegant-looking hand was rough from sword and sail; he was not a soft man, no matter how good he looked in popinjay finery. “We have an accord,” he agreed.
“Good.” Jack took a step closer as soon as James released his hand, until there was only a few inches between their bodies. “And what of my other offer, then?”
James looked him over, from head to toe, mirroring (and lightly mocking) Jack’s earlier appraisal. His interest was piqued, definitely; more so than he was altogether comfortable with, given that he was dealing with a pirate, but it was the man’s intelligence and beguiling charm that truly drew him in. He merely had to work out exactly what was on offer here; was it pure physical release, another attempt to manipulate, or--and this was the most dangerous as well as the most intriguing idea--was it a means of deepening the connection between them from mere allies into something...more? Something about the intense, reckless heat in Jack’s gaze made the commodore wonder.
Again taking on an inscrutable mask, James inquired, “Out of curiosity: do you approach me merely as a man who has been at sea too long, or are you interested in something with any degree of greater significance?”
Ooh, yes, Jack thought, shocked at his own success. “You’re an interesting man, Commodore James.” He moved away, walking a single circle around the commodore, looking him over like a panther sussing out potential prey. “Very interesting, indeed.” His circuit completed, Jack once more stepped in close, leaning in, his nose an inch from James’. “All of you.” Yes, it was forward; and, yes, it was probably very early in the game to get this intense, but then again, it was also coming from Captain Jack Sparrow and he’d not have James forgetting that for a second. “And I would like very much to see more.” His grin was challenging.
The commodore’s eyes widened a little, making their green depths look brighter, even as his pupils dilated. James could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Jack’s words stirred an unexpected reaction in him: heat and hunger and insatiable curiosity, which altogether made up James’ mind for him; he felt alive, he felt wanted, he felt challenged and eager and reckless--and he wanted more: a vacation, indeed, and an attractive one at that.
It had been years since he had been with another man, and he had begun to think himself long past being tempted, but apparently not; at least, not in regards to this maddening, intelligent, too-handsome and too-charming pirate. There was not even protest from the part of him still wounded by Elizabeth’s rejection, which should have been worrisome, but was instead a profound relief.
James wet his lips and finally replied, “That is good to know, Jack.” His voice was low and sultry enough that it made Jack shiver. James noticed, and smirked in response. “I feel exactly the same way about you.” And that was--somewhat to James’ surprise--true, which also should have been worrisome, but James found himself feeling a peculiar absence of worry. It had been far too long since he had felt this rush of devil-may-care excitement. It was, he was sure, something this pirate had a habit of bringing out in people around him.
When Jack looked as though he were about to reply, James interrupted, leaning in closer than even the pirate had dared, and tangling one hand in Jack’s eccentrically decorated hair. He caught the pirate’s lips with his own, his fingers twisting into that dark mane of braids and baubles to pull Jack closer and deepen the kiss quickly, James parting those wickedly tempting lips with his tongue. He gave a soft, guttural noise of pleasure at his first taste of the man’s mouth: rum, cloves, oranges, musk, and a faint metallic tang from those gold teeth. James felt addicted instantly, especially as Jack leaned bonelessly against his body, arms wrapping around him and grabbing fistfuls of his clothing for support, and returned the kiss with equal fervor.
Jack was feeling a little dazed, unused to things working out quite so well, and so easily; he hadn’t even been slapped across the face, and had still managed to get his hands on this pretty, sharp-minded man. Passionate he was, too, putting everything he could into the kiss, knocking Jack back on his heels and making the pirate captain more than a little dizzy.
At first, Jack scarcely noticed his clothes being removed by James’ clever hands: first his coat pushed down his shoulders and tossed aside to drape over a chair, then his hat landed in the same chair, and then his belts tossed them aside. It was the thud of the belts hitting the floor that helped Jack to think of something other than drowning in the feel of James’ mouth and mindlessly groping at will. He shifted back enough to finish unbuttoning James’ waistcoat and then tugged at the bottom of James’ shirt, pulling it untucked from those pristine white breeches. Jack broke away from James’ lips, feeling pleasantly dazed, and demanded, “Off with the shirt, James.” The pirate marveled at his own breathlessness.
“Your impatience does not surprise me.” This comment aside, James shrugged out of his waistcoat, tossing it away to land on top of his dresser. He then looked Jack up and down, this time with an unmistakable predatory glint in his eye. “However, I note that you are still far more dressed than I, Jack. See to remedying that, will you?” James purred, his voice a little ragged as he stepped back from Jack, unbuttoning the cuffs of his own shirt and raising his eyebrows expectantly.
Jack’s fingers made short work of his own remaining clothes: divesting himself of shirt and waistcoat as he kicked off his boots. Then he looked up and went momentarily still, his mouth gone dry.
Completely naked and apparently more than comfortable with himself, James leaned against the bedpost, arms crossed over his chest, watching and waiting for Jack with a slightly smug, inviting smirk on his face. He was pale, probably from being under than heavy uniform all the time, but his skin was not flawless; here and there, the tale of a soldier and a sailor was written across his skin in pink-tinted pearlescent cicatrices. Shrapnel, falling debris, nearly-too-close encounters with falling yardarms, cutlasses, pistols, and knives: all had left a mark or two on James Norrington in his time, and lit by candlelight the scars looked almost decorative, in a vicious sort of way.
Again, Jack silently thanked every deity he’d ever heard of. Then he stalked up to James and pressed up against that long, lean body with a sound almost like a purr. “Damn, but you’re a pretty man, James.” He licked nipped at a thin pink line that intersected the line of James’ collarbone.
James gave a murmur of approval, not quite able to form coherent words for a moment as he took in the sight of Jack’s gold skin, tattooed and scarred and yet lovely. James’ hands wandered down to make short work of the back-lacing of Jack’s breeches, which James then slid his hands under, caressing the lines of Jack’s hips as he slipped the fabric down until it fell to the floor and Jack kicked it away impatiently.
Then James smiled as a reply finally came to his mind: “Pretty pirate,” he purred. When Jack then pressed up and closer, grinding against him, James gasped and muttered something blissful and obscene-sounding in Gaelic, which earned him an odd, amused look from Jack.
“What’s a fine English lad like you doing saying words like that?”
Distracted as he was by holding onto Jack’s hips and writhing his own in counterpoint as he leaned on the bedpost for support, James managed to reply, in a rather absent-minded manner, “I had a nursemaid who was more Scottish than clan warfare, and my basic grasp of the language helped me befriend large, angry Scottish sailors that had initially been press-ganged into service; it was from them that I learned some less proper vocabulary.”
“Your eloquence knows no bounds, does it?” Jack sighed. “Does that composure of yours ever come off?”
“You are doing a fine job of testing it, so far. Let us see if you can keep it up,” James countered, and twisted, tripping the other man up and turning them about in order to pin Jack to the bed.
Jack stared, his dark kohl-edged eyes open wide and a slowly-widening grin on his face. “That’s something I can promise you I’ll do, love. After all, who do you think I am?” The pirate’s was still theatrical streak was truly irrepressible.
James rolled his eyes, but could not help answering, in low tones both sardonic and promising, as he leaned in slowly, “As though I could possibly forget that you are ‘Captain Jack Sparrow.’” James smirked, and pressed his hips against the pirate’s with a wicked grind. Jack moaned softly at the hot velvet slide of James’ cock against his own, and did not look away from the commodore’s intense gaze. James’ grin widened. “Trust me, I know. That is why I have every intention of ravishing you to within an inch of shattering whatever iota sanity you might have left.”
And, without much further ado, that was exactly what he did.
Will slept fitfully. Worry kept him half-listening for Jack’s return to the smithy: the pirate’s safest hideout in Port Royal. Finally, two hours before dawn, even the merest whispers of sleep and sleepiness up and abandoned him and, cursing under his breath, Will dressed, shaved, and snuck through the dark pre-dawn toward the house of Commodore James Norrington. He was armed, he was sleep deprived, and he was planning to have words with both men and then throttling Jack a bit for this, if the pirate were not already dead.
He was not wholly surprised to note that James’ house was still locked from the outside and, with a sigh, he began searching for the easiest way to climb up.
He landed quietly in James’ study, shutting the window behind him and listening to the quiet house. Slowly, he crept toward the only room with a light on. He assumed, rightly, though he had never been in the house before, that the doorway with the flickering candlelight visible through the keyhole and the crack under the door, was to Norrington’s bed chambers. For a moment, he hesitated, then quietly turned the knob and opened the door.
Click! Click!
Two pistols were aimed at his head. The two men holding them, freshly awoken though they were, were instantly alert. They soon lowered their pistols. Jack appeared amused. James appeared determinedly inscrutable, except for the fact that his ears had turned red.
Will cleared his throat, and silently thanked god that they were both covered by the sheets. A muscle under his left eye twitched a few times. His voice sounded distant, and traumatized as he said, “Terribly sorry. When Jack failed to return to the smithy, I thought there might have been a mishap of some kind, but...” He stared at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but at the bed and its occupants.
Jack chuckled wickedly. “Nope. Sorry to worry ye, lad. All’s well here. Right, Jamie?” He grinned shamelessly, tucking his pistol back under a nearby pillow and lounging back against James’ chest.
James cleared his throat. “My apologies to have worried you, Mr. Turner. I had no idea that you might be awaiting Jack’s return.” He shot the pirate a disapproving look, but received only a wider grin in return. James rolled his eyes.
Will nodded slowly. “Well. That’s fine then. Uhm. I’m going to leave now, and never think or speak of this ever again.”
Jack opened his mouth to say something very suggestive and inappropriate, which would surely have scarred William Turner for life, but James clapped a hand over Jack’s lips firmly.
“I thank you for your discretion, William. Good day.”
“Yes. Good day. Never again.” He shut the door.
Jack bit James’ hand.
James winced, and pulled his hand away. “That was uncalled for.”
“So was it’s being there in the first place,” Jack complained.
James sighed. “Let the boy have time to process and come to terms with things, before you go about completely shattering his mind. He would not have appreciated an invitation.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly.
Jack frowned. “Ye know me too well already. ‘S not fair.”
Chuckling softly, James leaned in and nipped at the side of Jack’s throat, which was already showing an interesting collection of marks from the previous night. “Let me make it up to you.”
“Mm.” Jack tilted his head to one side, allowing James better access. “Go on.”
James’ hand moved slowly across Jack’s stomach. “About the kidnapping...”
“Decided it might be an interesting idea?”
“Indeed I have.” There was something distinctly devious in his look. “Will you be back in these waters in around...let us say three weeks?”
"Aye, that I might do."
“Good then. We should work out a devastatingly clever plan for it...later.”
“After a bit more sleep.”
“Which in turn can wait just a little longer as well, I think.”
“Hm?” Jack feigned innocence.
James kissed him. It was deep and slow and very, very persuasive.
“Yes. Sleep can wait, then, if only a little.” Jack pulled him back down for another.
Story Index || Sequel: Friends and Abductors
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean; Sparrington
Rating: R
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: A surprisingly sincere and heartfelt exchange between William Turner and James Norrington is overheard by Jack Sparrow, who then comes up with a rather brilliant idea.
“You. Me. Friendly terms. What say you?”
“That you were hit about the head too often as a child.”
Note: Another brief one-shot, for real this time: not a series in disguise. It was a little idea that popped into my head demanding to be written and, helpless as I am to such persistent muses, I succumbed. Also, I've been meaning to break my habit of having James leaving the navy, if only because I hate it when I get predictable.
Will Turner was more than surprised when Commodore Norrington arrived in his smithy, sans the wig, hat and coat of office, wearing instead a fine coat of warm grey with emerald embroidery and gold accents. Norrington cleared his throat. “Good evening, Mr. Turner. I’m sorry to arrive unannounced, but I was hoping that I might have a word with you.” The authoritative edge to his voice was less sharp, now, and he had relaxed the mask of control that usually made his countenance so distant.
Will had gotten to his feet quickly upon Norrington’s entrance, and, dressed in soot- and sweat-coated work clothes (breeches, hose, and a battered shirt that had once been cream-colored, as well as a waistcoat that no longer had any definable color) he made a point to look as proud as he had the day, not yet a month ago, that he had saved Jack Sparrow from the gallows. He nodded at Norrington and gestured toward the bench on the other side of his work table, which currently had several swords lined up on its surface: three polished to perfection, and in his hand Will held another, which he was in the process of bringing to the same level of shine. “Of course, Commodore; although I apologize for the relative lack of proper seating.”
A faint half-smile tugged at Norrington’s lips for a moment. “I have been a sailor for more than half my life, Mr. Turner, and have both sat in and stood through far worse conditions.” He approached slowly, shedding his coat and draping it over the least occupied corner of the table before seating himself on the bench. “It is warm here, and dry, and not infested with rats. Therefore your position in life is rather more comfortable than mine was, when I was your age. Then again, if I had been less inclined towards mischief, I would not have gotten to know the bilges so well, but that is neither here nor there.”
Taking his seat on the stool he had occupied before James’ entrance had provided interruption, Will once more set about polishing. “I have learned, of recent, what it is like to be a sailor.” There was an edge to it.
Norrington took a deep breath, resting one arm on the table as he said quietly, “Mr. Turner.” He waited until William met his gaze again. “I would like to apologize for my words and my behavior the day that you approached me on behalf of Elizabeth’s rescue effort. I was, I know, exceedingly rude, in letting my own frustration get the better of me. You, I know, felt much the same way at the time, and instead of letting myself sympathize with you, I lashed out in a crude fashion, and for that I am sorry.”
Will blinked a few times in surprise, then looked away. “I was hardly acting in any polite fashion that day, myself, Commodore.”
“Yes, but as your elder and because I, often misguidedly, try to pride myself on being a civilized and clear-thinking man, I should have better controlled my own anger in response. More than my fear for Miss Swann, I believe that a...competitiveness, drove me to act as I did. It would have served both of us better if I had been clear-headed enough to give your words and intentions their due measure of consideration. Perhaps if I had listened to you, then...” His voice threatened to waver, and he trailed off, a flare of guilt and sincere hurt crossed his features before he could mask it. After a moment, he cleared his throat and continued, “I lost a number of good men at the Isla de Muerta. They could have been spared. In that regard, I have failed in my duties both to the navy and to myself.”
For a long moment, Will watched the older man, but James’ gaze was on the swords laid out on the table; he would not, or perhaps could not, look at Will again just yet. The blacksmith took a steadying breath. “I accept your apology, Commodore Norrington, if you will in turn forgive me for provoking you with my own anger, which I did not bother trying to control. I did, after all, abandon all decorum and put a hole in your map.” Will looked away, vaguely chagrined. The commodore was right: if either of them had been able to get a grip and consider the matters at hand calmly, then...
In that moment, he happened to miss the way that Norrington frowned slightly and tilted his head, looking at something reflected in the surface of the polished swords. Spotting it, the commodore stilled for a moment, but did not actually seem to be surprised; Norrington then schooled his expression into a careful and inscrutable blank as Will’s voice once more interrupted his thoughts.
“I plan to put more care and devotion into my manners, not only for my own sake.” The blacksmith looked at Norrington again, who now met his gaze.
A slightly bitter smile touched the commodore’s lips, but a glint of something brighter and more like mischief may have lingered, barely visible, in the depths of his eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Turner.”
Not noticing the hint of amusement in Norrington’s look, William asked, as conversationally as possible, “If I might inquire, Commodore, why have you not yet begun to chase Captain Jack Sparrow?” His eyebrows lifted a little.
James smirked, but let on nothing more in his expression. “Actually, I have, in my way. Without the Interceptor in Port Royal’s fleet-” a flare of anger crossed his expression, but he made a point of not aiming it directly at William “-we have no chance of catching up with the Black Pearl by any more conventional means. Even had I leapt with all haste, on the day that her captain fell off the fort, to the Dauntless to give chase, it would have served only to lower my men’s morale further when the faster ship escaped us before sunset. It was better to let them think that we were allowing for a bit of sport, in giving him ‘one day’s head start’ as I told them that day; however, instead of trying to chase his ship, I am using alternative means to keep track of his movements.”
Despite looking a bit sheepish at the mention of the Interceptor, Will still managed to sound self-assured as he asked, “Spies, you mean?”
“Yes. I have, for a number of months actually, been coordinating an information-gathering network based in Tortuga itself. The town is, after all, kept running by British political support. Otherwise, the Spanish would have erased it from the map by now.”
Will gaped. “You have spies in Tortuga?”
“Not precisely, but I have a few select, trusted men who can enter Tortuga without anyone giving them a second glance, and they, in turn, have been building relationships with a number of relatively prominent people in the town, who see and hear much and will give that information to us, either accidentally or for money, depending on the person in question.” James raised his eyebrows. “Are you quite alright, William?”
The blacksmith’s eyes were wide and his skin was had gone a bit pale. He had the distinct feeling that he had been greatly underestimating this man for a long time, which made him uneasy about a certain presence over their heads, lurking in the rafters. Will cleared his throat quietly. “I am--merely surprised, Commodore. It all sounds rather unexpectedly devious, for the Navy, all things considered.”
Norrington smirked. “You will need to get a better grasp of politics, then, Mr. Turner, for it gets outright vicious in those circles, making military strategy look childish.” A hint of bitterness touched his expression. “I myself am a military man, and not so skilled at politics as rank might indicate; your betrothed, however, could probably teach the both of us a great deal.”
Being reminded of Elizabeth’s brief and less-than-sincere engagement to this man made Will wince slightly. “I suppose, really, that there is little difference between politics and piracy, then?”
“Indeed,” Norrington sighed, rubbing his left temple as though trying to sooth an oncoming headache. “Pirates, however, are rather more honest about their trade and their selfish intentions, which I am coming to reluctantly appreciate.” His mask cracked again, this time showing conflict, pain, and more anger and frustration than William had imagined the stoic commodore capable of hiding at the bottom of that deep well of sangfroid. Quickly, Norrington took a deep breath, his expression clearing. “I do not, however, have the luxury of firing upon the most deserving; I must fire upon those whose actions both place them in the public eye and indicate them, via the law, to be danger to the public. I serve the law, and I serve my men. I am left to try my best, then, to protect them from both politicians and pirates.” He tried to smile, but did not quite manage it, and looked away, his gaze once more on the swords.
Will opened his mouth to speak, but found that he could think of nothing to say and closed it again. He was, however, wary when Norrington picked up one of the polished swords, holding it up to the light from the smithy.
“You have, I noticed, become a very talented swordsman, William, as well as one of the finest sword-smiths I’ve ever met.”
Being called by his given name by the man, for the first time in years, Will felt a glow of pride. “Thank you. In both respects, I had most excellent teachers when I required them.” His smile tentatively showed his gratitude, for not just the compliment, but for the fencing lessons as well.
Norrington smiled. “Thank you, but it has been a few years since then, and you have, it would seem, only continued to improve in my absence, and quite impressively I might add.” Norrington tilted the sword so that the well-polished blade reflected the same sight as before, only this time the pirate hiding overhead seemed to notice the potential danger and made the effort to duck behind one of the rafters; his boots, however, were still visible. Casually, as though he were completely unaware of the close proximity of one Captain Jack Sparrow, James continued, “Do you know that I envy you, William?”
“Er...” An awkward, almost fearful look crossed the blacksmith’s face.
“Not only for your connection to Elizabeth, although that has always been a part of it, I suppose, ever since she grew into such a fine woman. I envy you for your youthful abandon, and for the time you are able to spend free of the influence of others telling you exactly how you must think and behave.” An almost wistful look crossed James’ features. “I will advance no further in my naval career, in spite of my skills or even eventually my seniority in years yet to come, unless I finish selling my soul to politics and destroy my heart in order to be rid of my love of the sea, because they will wish to keep me in offices and behind desks instead of on the deck of any ship, even if the ships are meant to be mine.” He turned the sword in his hand and let it sway back and forth a little in his grip so that he could feel how well it was balanced. He placed it back on the table. “Four grams heavy along the blade,” he said quietly.
“I know. About--about the sword, I knew, but about the rest I...I’m sorry.”
Norrington nodded slightly. His smile was cynical. “As am I.”
“Why, then, if I may ask, did you accept promotion?”
“For the same reason that it was offered: because I am the most qualified, despite not having the seniority usually required. My skills in regards to strategy have impressed the politicians. My practical nature and my more practical skills, as well as the callouses on my hands, have impressed the sailors, and continues to impress the men who serve under me. That, added to my authoritative nature makes me a most sensible commander. The politicians, however, have scarcely begun to learn how difficult I am to sway in regards to their ‘interests’ when those interests are neither practical nor honorable. It will not be easy, once that starts.” He took a deep breath. “I met the other possible candidates for my rank. I could not inflict such men as them upon my myself or my men. That is the extent of my ambitions.”
Will smiled slightly. “You’ve not changed as much as I’d feared, then...James.”
The commodore looked up, and smiled sincerely, albeit with the same sardonic air that often permeated his speaking voice. “No. I am still the same sailor and swordsman, even after the years since our day-to-day lives made our fencing lessons nearly impossible to schedule. I do hide it well under all the brocade, do I not?” His smile took on a conspiratorial edge.
“Incredibly. After they sent you off with the East India company four years ago, it seemed like you had come back a stranger.”
“In a way, I had,” James murmured. “I suffered under politics there as a songbird would suffer being held underwater, and for a long time I was not myself. I am only sorry that our friendship suffered for it; it had always been my intention to try and look out for you, since we pulled you from the sea, but after a nearly a year spent under Lord Beckett’s command, it took all of my concentration just to look after my own neck in order make sure it was still going to keep my head attached, and take equal care of my men as well. I could not see very far beyond that for a long time, especially...after a few particularly overwhelming incidents. And even once I returned, and things quieted down somewhat, it seemed to me that you lacked any interest in speaking to me, and that you were more than busy taking over more and more of Mr. Brown’s work as he...well.” James cleared his throat and glanced over towards where the man in question lay on the other side of the smithy, once more unconscious and insensible with a mostly-empty whiskey bottle close at hand.
“I understand. At least, I do now,” Will murmured. “Although, I was extremely angry with you for ages, I admit. You and the navy; because you had treated me like family, and the navy had let the sea had take you away, as seemed to be a pattern in my life with people I looked up to.” He smiled, pushing away the more melancholy thoughts with a flare of hopefulness. “Perhaps we can try to go back to that again, James: the friendship, at least, for all that we have grown very distant. It will both shock Elizabeth speechless in the short run and give her peace of mind in the long, either of which would be reason enough.”
James smiled. “I do still rather miss those lessons, as well. You learned quickly enough to prevent me growing complacent; now, however, you could probably provide me a very real challenge.”
“Now that we shall definitely have to test.” Will’s smile widened.
“We shall indeed, but not tonight, I am afraid.” James pulled out a pocketwatch and glanced at the time. “I’m expected to dine with the governor, as well as a wealthy family visiting him, whose daughter Miss Swann has insisted upon my meeting with.” He eyed Will pointedly. “Will you do me a favor, William, and please encourage your betrothed to cease her matchmaking habits? I am still recovering my pride as it is, and do not need her already prodding me toward other young women of standing in order to attempt to somehow pull me out of what she perceives to be my melancholy. I appreciate her concern, but this...” He tucked away his watch with a sigh, shaking his head.
Will stifled a laugh, with minimal success. “Ah yes, Miss Ashburn. I met her yesterday. She has, at least, a quick wit, so it shouldn’t be nearly as horrible as you’re thinking, James. Also, you know very well that I could encourage Elizabeth to the full extent of my abilities and not change her mind in the least.”
James smiled faintly. “True, I suppose.”
“I...am sorry, James. That one of us had to lose in this. I...had honestly thought that she would chose you.”
“And I knew, though I scarcely let myself contemplate it and was indeed fairly distracted at the time--be that as it may, on some deeper level, I suppose I knew that she never would,” James mused. “But I did not want to leave you behind, either, and only the Governor truly stood in my way. If I could have stood against him on my own...” He sighed. “The governorship of Weatherby Swann, despite some of the man’s less than perceptive qualities in regards to those not close to him in societal standing, is the only thing still standing in the way of Lord Beckett swooping in and using Port Royal as his seat from which to control all trade in the Caribbean, and I know enough of Beckett’s methods to want to keep him out, for the sake of all.” Norrington’s brow furrowed, and he massaged his temple again. “I think, after all that has happened, that I shall need a holiday sometime soon, if I am to remain sane somehow.”
“You definitely deserve one,” Will mused.
“Mayhap,” James sighed, but he paired it with a smirk. He slowly got to his feet. “I fear I must be going, William. I...am very sincerely glad we have been able to mend our bridges instead of burning them.” He held out his hand.
Will reached across the table and shook it, smiling brightly. “I am as well.”
“Thank you,” James added quietly, and then picked up his coat, shrugging into it as he turned away. At the door, however, he paused and, without turning, called, “Oh, one more thing, William...”
“Yes?”
“Do inform Captain Sparrow that he is not nearly so stealthy as he thinks himself to be, and that next time he should find somewhere more concealed to hide than the open rafters over your smithy.”
Will choked audibly, as did the pirate in the rafters.
James smirked, stepping out the door without a single backwards glance. “A good evening to you both.”
“And to you, Commodore,” Jack called, his voice not quite managing to sound as blithe and casual as the pirate had intended it to, due to the slight nervous timbre that entered it when he said the man’s title.
With a low chuckle, scarcely audible, James let the door snap shut.
After a few moments of shocked silence as the commodore’s footsteps faded, Will cursed profusely. “Jack,” he groaned, his voice openly scolding.
“When the Hell did he spot me? I think it was your swords. Did ye have to polish ‘em so bloody well?”
“It really doesn’t matter, the fact is: you’ve been spotted by the Commodore!”
“Well, young William, it does not quite sound as though he’s exactly calling in the militia, now does it? Curious, that is, ay?”
Will did not have to look; he could hear Jack contemplating chaos, even without seeing the thoughtful-and-theatrically-devious way that the pirate was stroking his braided beard. With exasperation, Will said warningly, “Jack. Whatever it is that you might be thinking: Stop.”
“Besides, it seems to me that you and the commodore are on surprisingly good terms, lad.” Jack was climbing down, now. His voice sounded almost petulant. The pirate found himself wishing that he had known more about this facet of the commodore’s personality to begin with.
Pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, Will exhaled through gritted teeth. “That’s no excuse to provoke him.”
“You never mentioned ye used to be close to the man.” The look he shot the young man was one demanding some form of explanation.
“He was on the ship that found me at sea, when the merchant ship I was on was attacked by Barbossa and the Black Pearl. He took me under his wing somewhat, and he and Governor Swann found my apprenticeship for me. I asked him, a few years later, to teach me to fight, and he taught me most all I know, before...well, you overheard everything, I trust.”
“Taught you almost all ye knew, ay? Including all those little rules that you still tend to trip over? Does he fight just as proper? If so ye can definitely beat him now.”
“I have not seen him fight for more than practice, and even then he still fought officers, and therefore tended to fight by the rules. He’s successfully hunted pirates for years, though, and lived this long doing it; if he’s really not changed as I thought he had...well, he has his share of interesting tricks up his sleeve, Jack.” He looked at the pirate, who was now approaching his table.
Jack rubbed his forearm with a bit of a frown. “Aye. I suppose that he does. I should’ve guessed that earlier.” Then, a subject change: “Now, he talked about a man called Beckett...”
“Yes. Elizabeth mentioned before that that was who James served under when he was temporarily transferred out of Port Royal. I am still not sure quite what happened while he was away, but apparently it was not a positive experience. Beckett also wants to extend his control over the East India Trading Company to get himself power here in the caribbean.”
Jack hissed, sounding thoroughly disgusted. “Good thing you’ve got a couple of more reasonable men keepin’ him out, then.”
“You know Beckett?”
“We’ve met,” Jack muttered, dropping in Norrington’s vacated seat. “It’s a long tale, lad, and not one I’m inclined to tell without a lot more rum in my system; enough to pickle a pygmy elephant, in fact.”
“The more I hear about this man, the less I like.”
“For good reason. He’s slimier than a hagfish.”
“I will take your word for it.”
Jack stared distractedly at the door. “He’s really not called the lobsters in or anything. No boots stomping to your door...no disturbance at all...”
“Well, you weren’t seen by the public this time, so he isn’t obligated to act on the public’s behalf,” Will offered.
Jack’s eyebrows raised. “Ay?”
Will cleared his throat. “It was something he mentioned during a lesson. He was in a very bad mood and could not quite mask it, and when I asked, he explained that he had to enforce a part of the law that day with which he did not agree. He said that the man he’d had to punish should have known better, as he was an intelligent man, and therefore hidden his indiscretions better. He called it, ‘A matter of decency, if not actual virtue.’” Will smirked slightly. “If the man’s rule-breaking had been better hidden, James would have been content to ignore it.”
Jack considered this. “Ah, I see then. And this did not apply to me...”
“Because you are many things, Jack, but ‘discreet’ is not among them. At least, it has not been in any of his past meetings with you.”
The pirate could not help but smirk at that. “Aye. That is most definitely true.”
“Just as ‘stealthy’ is apparently not among them either.” Will looked up into the rafters thoughtfully.
“Now that is not true in the least.” Jack scowled. “I’ve a mind to have a word with the man.”
Will’s eyes widened. “Dear God, no.”
“Why not? I’ll be discreet.”
“Because...because, Jack, he’s still Commodore Norrington!”
“Commodore James Norrington. Aye, it is. Which is precisely why I think I need to be havin’ a word with him about a few things. When do you think he’ll leave dinner with dear Elizabeth and her misguided match-making tendencies?”
“Jack. Do not do this. I will lock you up myself if I have to.”
The pirate gave a derisive snort. “You could try it, whelp, but you’d not succeed,” he drawled, glaring at Will darkly.
Will backed down a little. “You’re really serious about this? You want to ‘chat’ with Norrington? What on earth about, Jack?”
Jack patted Will’s head, as though Will happened to be little more than a blacksmith-shaped labrador. “A wide number of things, my lad, but specifically that rotten bastard called Lord Cutler Bloody Beckett.”
“I take it the ‘Bloody’ is what you personally call him, not actually the name his parents gave him.”
“You can’t really be sure. They were vicious creatures, too, as I understand.”
“You are mad. Utterly and totally mad,” Will muttered, but he sounded as much resigned as exasperated.
“‘Course I am. I’m Captain Jack Sparrow. Now where does the fine commodore live, then? Tell me or I’ll be forced to work it out all by me onesie and I’m sure you can only imagine what that might entail.”
Will winced at the thought. “God help us all.”
“Yes, but only after you’ve helped me.”
Reluctantly, Will told him.
Jack was not altogether surprised that the first thing to greet him, as he tumbled through the window into Commodore James Norrington’s bedroom, was the sound of a pistol being cocked. What he was rather surprised by was the lovely sight of a half-dressed James Norrington pointing it at him.
Jack Sparrow praised every deity he could think of (and a few made up for good measure) for his good timing in this regard.
James Norrington was in the middle of undressing before bed, and was therefore barefoot, wearing only shirt and trousers, and his waistcoat half-unbuttoned. Half-unwrapped: enough to tease, but not enough to take away the fun of the final big reveal. Jack’s only real disappointment was in seeing the man’s rather pretty brown hair, however free of that horrible wig, was still tied back instead of hanging loose. Oh well, the pirate thought, you can’t have everything; some things you just have to take when nobody’s looking.
Also somewhat off-putting was the steady way that Norrington had that pistol aimed at Jack’s head, whilst wearing a look of utmost suspicion and irritation. “Captain Sparrow, you are without a doubt the least stealthy thief that I have ever seen,” he drawled, with feeling.
Pulling himself to his feet with drunken grace, Jack grinned extra-unnervingly. “Well, I had been hoping to avoid startling you, but if that pretty little gun is anything to judge by, then it would seem that I’ve managed to do so anyway.”
“I am hardly startled. I would greet anyone who climbed through my window as you have--in the dead of night, rather like a common thief--in much the same manner. Why are you here, Sparrow?”
“Because I would like for us to be friends.”
With some difficulty, James remained blandly impassive, if only to further emphasize the flat, scathing tone of his response: “You want what?”
“You. Me. Friendly terms. What say you?”
“That you were hit about the head too often as a child.”
“That may be true, but hear me out on this, ay? ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’, right? Well, it seems to me that you and I are in possession of at least one small and disproportionately evil and powerful little enemy, and that we should therefore be friends, Commodore James. Savvy?”
James blinked a couple of times in sheer bemusement at the name Jack called him, but did not let it distract him. His brows furrowed and, after a thoughtful moment, he said slowly, “You mean the Lord Cutler Beckett.”
Jack sidled closer, into James’ personal space. “I mean the Lord Cutler Beckett.”
Silently thanking the navy for the years of discipline and self-control it had instilled in him, James did not look away from Jack’s eyes. He put the muzzle of the gun against Jack’s sternum and used it to push the pirate back a few inches. “Good to know that my records on him are correct, then, in that he was one of the EITC agents that you escaped from, getting yourself branded in the process.”
“After another mishap-”
“With a ship called the Wicked Wench,” James finished.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “One of your spies tell you that?”
“Mayhap so. Mayhap not,” James replied, deadpan and blandly inscrutable. “Mayhap I have one or two men willing to provide me information from the EITC itself.”
Jack studied him. “You’re smarter than you look, mate.”
“And so are you, which begs the question as to why you are here.” James glanced at his gun pointedly, then met Jack’s gaze again and raised his eyebrows.
“As I said: friendly terms. I don’t want Beckett in these waters any more than you do. I’d like to suggest a discreet and very not-public little truce, between you an’ me, that we may better focus our efforts on the more dangerous threat.”
“What, exactly, do you have to offer me?” James inquired, his voice cold.
However, the words, the low baritone rumble of the voice speaking them, and the proximity of the half-dressed officer’s body, made Jack feel rather the opposite of cold. It was an effort to keep himself restrained, and the restraint was unfortunately necessary...for now, anyway. “A number of things, love. Information, on the sort of trade movements that the local bits of the EITC won’t tell you if you’re on Beckett’s bad side (and judging by that scowl you probably are) as well as a pirate threat that will give you an excuse to ask for needed funds and protections for Port Royal, and which Beckett will not prevent from being given to you; because no matter how much he hates you, I assure that the slimy little bastard hates me much more, and anything that he thinks might possibly kill me will indeed get funding; and also--” Jack grinned more brightly “-I can offer you a vacation.”
James had listened to the first two offers with shrewd attention and wary interest, but the latter earned a look of outright suspicion and anger. “Clarify that last one, if you would, Captain. A vacation?”
“What you need, James, and you said it yourself, is a holiday. Those, however, tend to take a great deal of time, during which all your political enemies at home and abroad start setting up tiger traps for you while you’re away. Therefore, I’d like to offer an alternative means of stress relief.” His tongue darted out momentarily to wet his lips.
Despite himself, James found his gaze drawn to Jack’s mouth by the movement. Then, his shoulders stiffening, he met Jack’s gaze again and glared. “Are you propositioning me?”
“Would you accept?”
James paused to consider this with surprising seriousness. “You are propositioning me, but there’s more to it than that. You parsed your words too carefully. What is the other half of what you are implying?”
Inwardly, Jack was damning the commodore’s infuriating inscrutability and sangfroid. Outwardly, his gold-edged smile was unaffected. “I could kidnap you. Just, not against your will, except everyone else won’t exactly be knowing that, of course. You could spend a week or two aboard the Pearl, whereupon I would, of course, continue to proposition you regularly, which you can either accept or decline as suits your mood, and then I could sail just a bit too close to one of your ships, whereupon you could either work out an ingenious-looking escape, or I could hold you for ransom, before your return to Port Royal. Since you’d not have to request and plan a holiday, Beckett would not have enough time to put any significantly damaging political machinations to work. Savvy?”
James’ eyebrows raised. It was, he had to admit, a very good plan--assuming, of course, that the pirate would keep his word. “And how, exactly, am I to know that you are at all in earnest, Captain Sparrow? How can I trust you to bring me back, or even simply not to kill me whilst I am on board?”
“Because killing you would cause a very unpleasant change in the political winds, here, mate. It would shake up the navy and Governor Swann enough for Beckett to insinuate himself into Port Royal on the auspices of his history of success against piratical threats in other parts of the world.” Jack’s voice was low and dark with bone-deep rage. “Commodore, I do not want that man in my caribbean.”
For a moment, James scrutinized him closely. Then the pistol gave a quiet, harmless snap as he lowered it. “And what is it that you want from me in return?”
Jack relaxed somewhat and made a show of eyeing Norrington from head to toe before answering. The fact that this caused the tips of the man’s ears to turn pink was an unexpected bonus. “What I want in exchange is different from what I want on general principle, no worries there, James.” Use of the man’s name caused the light pink blush to darken: interesting. “I’ll be here for the wedding--more subtly than this evening, I assure you; young William’s explanation of why he thought it was that you did not call in the militia on me gave me an idea in that regard. I shall be most discreet. What I ask of you in that matter is that you continue to ignore me, in your professional regard at least, as I continue to stay out of sight. Also, I want to know more about your little information-gathering program, and reap some of its benefits as well, now an’ then.” He raised his eyebrows significantly, but his narrowed gaze was shrewd. “As they’re apparently successful, if I would hazard a guess.”
James’ smirk was cold. “Indeed they are; they told me you were on your way here, before I caught sight of your reflection in one of Will’s blades. They were able to hear mention of your heading off in the direction of Port Royal in a small sloop whilst your crew enjoyed some well-earned shore leave back in Tortuga,” James said, a hint of smugness in his expression.
“I guessed that when you didn’t show any signs of surprise in regards to my presence in the smithy,” Jack muttered.
James nodded thoughtfully. He took a moment to put his pistol away on his nightstand, and then again approached Jack, this time with his hands folded behind him in his usual authoritative fashion. “Your terms are surprisingly reasonable, for a madman.” He tilted his head slightly, looking rather hawk-like: his gaze piercing and sharp. “So much so that I am inclined to accept them.”
Jack held out his hand with a grin. “So, we have an accord, then?”
Without hesitation, James reached out and shook it firmly. His long, elegant-looking hand was rough from sword and sail; he was not a soft man, no matter how good he looked in popinjay finery. “We have an accord,” he agreed.
“Good.” Jack took a step closer as soon as James released his hand, until there was only a few inches between their bodies. “And what of my other offer, then?”
James looked him over, from head to toe, mirroring (and lightly mocking) Jack’s earlier appraisal. His interest was piqued, definitely; more so than he was altogether comfortable with, given that he was dealing with a pirate, but it was the man’s intelligence and beguiling charm that truly drew him in. He merely had to work out exactly what was on offer here; was it pure physical release, another attempt to manipulate, or--and this was the most dangerous as well as the most intriguing idea--was it a means of deepening the connection between them from mere allies into something...more? Something about the intense, reckless heat in Jack’s gaze made the commodore wonder.
Again taking on an inscrutable mask, James inquired, “Out of curiosity: do you approach me merely as a man who has been at sea too long, or are you interested in something with any degree of greater significance?”
Ooh, yes, Jack thought, shocked at his own success. “You’re an interesting man, Commodore James.” He moved away, walking a single circle around the commodore, looking him over like a panther sussing out potential prey. “Very interesting, indeed.” His circuit completed, Jack once more stepped in close, leaning in, his nose an inch from James’. “All of you.” Yes, it was forward; and, yes, it was probably very early in the game to get this intense, but then again, it was also coming from Captain Jack Sparrow and he’d not have James forgetting that for a second. “And I would like very much to see more.” His grin was challenging.
The commodore’s eyes widened a little, making their green depths look brighter, even as his pupils dilated. James could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Jack’s words stirred an unexpected reaction in him: heat and hunger and insatiable curiosity, which altogether made up James’ mind for him; he felt alive, he felt wanted, he felt challenged and eager and reckless--and he wanted more: a vacation, indeed, and an attractive one at that.
It had been years since he had been with another man, and he had begun to think himself long past being tempted, but apparently not; at least, not in regards to this maddening, intelligent, too-handsome and too-charming pirate. There was not even protest from the part of him still wounded by Elizabeth’s rejection, which should have been worrisome, but was instead a profound relief.
James wet his lips and finally replied, “That is good to know, Jack.” His voice was low and sultry enough that it made Jack shiver. James noticed, and smirked in response. “I feel exactly the same way about you.” And that was--somewhat to James’ surprise--true, which also should have been worrisome, but James found himself feeling a peculiar absence of worry. It had been far too long since he had felt this rush of devil-may-care excitement. It was, he was sure, something this pirate had a habit of bringing out in people around him.
When Jack looked as though he were about to reply, James interrupted, leaning in closer than even the pirate had dared, and tangling one hand in Jack’s eccentrically decorated hair. He caught the pirate’s lips with his own, his fingers twisting into that dark mane of braids and baubles to pull Jack closer and deepen the kiss quickly, James parting those wickedly tempting lips with his tongue. He gave a soft, guttural noise of pleasure at his first taste of the man’s mouth: rum, cloves, oranges, musk, and a faint metallic tang from those gold teeth. James felt addicted instantly, especially as Jack leaned bonelessly against his body, arms wrapping around him and grabbing fistfuls of his clothing for support, and returned the kiss with equal fervor.
Jack was feeling a little dazed, unused to things working out quite so well, and so easily; he hadn’t even been slapped across the face, and had still managed to get his hands on this pretty, sharp-minded man. Passionate he was, too, putting everything he could into the kiss, knocking Jack back on his heels and making the pirate captain more than a little dizzy.
At first, Jack scarcely noticed his clothes being removed by James’ clever hands: first his coat pushed down his shoulders and tossed aside to drape over a chair, then his hat landed in the same chair, and then his belts tossed them aside. It was the thud of the belts hitting the floor that helped Jack to think of something other than drowning in the feel of James’ mouth and mindlessly groping at will. He shifted back enough to finish unbuttoning James’ waistcoat and then tugged at the bottom of James’ shirt, pulling it untucked from those pristine white breeches. Jack broke away from James’ lips, feeling pleasantly dazed, and demanded, “Off with the shirt, James.” The pirate marveled at his own breathlessness.
“Your impatience does not surprise me.” This comment aside, James shrugged out of his waistcoat, tossing it away to land on top of his dresser. He then looked Jack up and down, this time with an unmistakable predatory glint in his eye. “However, I note that you are still far more dressed than I, Jack. See to remedying that, will you?” James purred, his voice a little ragged as he stepped back from Jack, unbuttoning the cuffs of his own shirt and raising his eyebrows expectantly.
Jack’s fingers made short work of his own remaining clothes: divesting himself of shirt and waistcoat as he kicked off his boots. Then he looked up and went momentarily still, his mouth gone dry.
Completely naked and apparently more than comfortable with himself, James leaned against the bedpost, arms crossed over his chest, watching and waiting for Jack with a slightly smug, inviting smirk on his face. He was pale, probably from being under than heavy uniform all the time, but his skin was not flawless; here and there, the tale of a soldier and a sailor was written across his skin in pink-tinted pearlescent cicatrices. Shrapnel, falling debris, nearly-too-close encounters with falling yardarms, cutlasses, pistols, and knives: all had left a mark or two on James Norrington in his time, and lit by candlelight the scars looked almost decorative, in a vicious sort of way.
Again, Jack silently thanked every deity he’d ever heard of. Then he stalked up to James and pressed up against that long, lean body with a sound almost like a purr. “Damn, but you’re a pretty man, James.” He licked nipped at a thin pink line that intersected the line of James’ collarbone.
James gave a murmur of approval, not quite able to form coherent words for a moment as he took in the sight of Jack’s gold skin, tattooed and scarred and yet lovely. James’ hands wandered down to make short work of the back-lacing of Jack’s breeches, which James then slid his hands under, caressing the lines of Jack’s hips as he slipped the fabric down until it fell to the floor and Jack kicked it away impatiently.
Then James smiled as a reply finally came to his mind: “Pretty pirate,” he purred. When Jack then pressed up and closer, grinding against him, James gasped and muttered something blissful and obscene-sounding in Gaelic, which earned him an odd, amused look from Jack.
“What’s a fine English lad like you doing saying words like that?”
Distracted as he was by holding onto Jack’s hips and writhing his own in counterpoint as he leaned on the bedpost for support, James managed to reply, in a rather absent-minded manner, “I had a nursemaid who was more Scottish than clan warfare, and my basic grasp of the language helped me befriend large, angry Scottish sailors that had initially been press-ganged into service; it was from them that I learned some less proper vocabulary.”
“Your eloquence knows no bounds, does it?” Jack sighed. “Does that composure of yours ever come off?”
“You are doing a fine job of testing it, so far. Let us see if you can keep it up,” James countered, and twisted, tripping the other man up and turning them about in order to pin Jack to the bed.
Jack stared, his dark kohl-edged eyes open wide and a slowly-widening grin on his face. “That’s something I can promise you I’ll do, love. After all, who do you think I am?” The pirate’s was still theatrical streak was truly irrepressible.
James rolled his eyes, but could not help answering, in low tones both sardonic and promising, as he leaned in slowly, “As though I could possibly forget that you are ‘Captain Jack Sparrow.’” James smirked, and pressed his hips against the pirate’s with a wicked grind. Jack moaned softly at the hot velvet slide of James’ cock against his own, and did not look away from the commodore’s intense gaze. James’ grin widened. “Trust me, I know. That is why I have every intention of ravishing you to within an inch of shattering whatever iota sanity you might have left.”
And, without much further ado, that was exactly what he did.
Will slept fitfully. Worry kept him half-listening for Jack’s return to the smithy: the pirate’s safest hideout in Port Royal. Finally, two hours before dawn, even the merest whispers of sleep and sleepiness up and abandoned him and, cursing under his breath, Will dressed, shaved, and snuck through the dark pre-dawn toward the house of Commodore James Norrington. He was armed, he was sleep deprived, and he was planning to have words with both men and then throttling Jack a bit for this, if the pirate were not already dead.
He was not wholly surprised to note that James’ house was still locked from the outside and, with a sigh, he began searching for the easiest way to climb up.
He landed quietly in James’ study, shutting the window behind him and listening to the quiet house. Slowly, he crept toward the only room with a light on. He assumed, rightly, though he had never been in the house before, that the doorway with the flickering candlelight visible through the keyhole and the crack under the door, was to Norrington’s bed chambers. For a moment, he hesitated, then quietly turned the knob and opened the door.
Click! Click!
Two pistols were aimed at his head. The two men holding them, freshly awoken though they were, were instantly alert. They soon lowered their pistols. Jack appeared amused. James appeared determinedly inscrutable, except for the fact that his ears had turned red.
Will cleared his throat, and silently thanked god that they were both covered by the sheets. A muscle under his left eye twitched a few times. His voice sounded distant, and traumatized as he said, “Terribly sorry. When Jack failed to return to the smithy, I thought there might have been a mishap of some kind, but...” He stared at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but at the bed and its occupants.
Jack chuckled wickedly. “Nope. Sorry to worry ye, lad. All’s well here. Right, Jamie?” He grinned shamelessly, tucking his pistol back under a nearby pillow and lounging back against James’ chest.
James cleared his throat. “My apologies to have worried you, Mr. Turner. I had no idea that you might be awaiting Jack’s return.” He shot the pirate a disapproving look, but received only a wider grin in return. James rolled his eyes.
Will nodded slowly. “Well. That’s fine then. Uhm. I’m going to leave now, and never think or speak of this ever again.”
Jack opened his mouth to say something very suggestive and inappropriate, which would surely have scarred William Turner for life, but James clapped a hand over Jack’s lips firmly.
“I thank you for your discretion, William. Good day.”
“Yes. Good day. Never again.” He shut the door.
Jack bit James’ hand.
James winced, and pulled his hand away. “That was uncalled for.”
“So was it’s being there in the first place,” Jack complained.
James sighed. “Let the boy have time to process and come to terms with things, before you go about completely shattering his mind. He would not have appreciated an invitation.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly.
Jack frowned. “Ye know me too well already. ‘S not fair.”
Chuckling softly, James leaned in and nipped at the side of Jack’s throat, which was already showing an interesting collection of marks from the previous night. “Let me make it up to you.”
“Mm.” Jack tilted his head to one side, allowing James better access. “Go on.”
James’ hand moved slowly across Jack’s stomach. “About the kidnapping...”
“Decided it might be an interesting idea?”
“Indeed I have.” There was something distinctly devious in his look. “Will you be back in these waters in around...let us say three weeks?”
"Aye, that I might do."
“Good then. We should work out a devastatingly clever plan for it...later.”
“After a bit more sleep.”
“Which in turn can wait just a little longer as well, I think.”
“Hm?” Jack feigned innocence.
James kissed him. It was deep and slow and very, very persuasive.
“Yes. Sleep can wait, then, if only a little.” Jack pulled him back down for another.
Story Index || Sequel: Friends and Abductors