Possession II
Title: Possession II
POTC: CotBP era
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: This didn’t quite turn out the way I thought it was going to. Unbetaed. Which was probably a bad idea.
Previous part: Possession I
*~*~*~*
James looked around his rooms with satisfaction and sank into onto the plush chaise-lounge with a sigh. “God,” he breathed. “It’s been a day to remember.”
Jack idled by the door for a moment but when James leaned over with a groan to unbuckle his shoes to ease his aching feet Jack was kneeling before him in a flash, batting his hands away. “Let me,” Jack said, nimble fingers making short work of the task. “’S what I’m here for.” He set the shoes aside and lifted James’ feet into his lap.
James jerked his feet away, alarmed. “What-”
“Y’ never know who’s watching,” Jack said softly, taking James’ feet back and digging his thumbs into the sole, rubbing the tension out of them. His head was bowed, and James couldn’t see Jack’s face for the soft curtain of hair swinging down over his shoulders. The oils were absorbing and evaporating in the heat so Jack’s hair showed its hues of brown and red. James reached out and pushed one side back behind Jack’s ear so he could see Jack’s face. Jack didn’t even glance up.
“Don’t.” There was a distinct lack of conviction in James’ voice however, since what Jack was doing felt wonderful and the shoes had been a dreadful torment. He was long used to working under tiring conditions, long past the point where he thought he could carry on and so James pulled his resolve together and extracted his feet from Jack’s grip. “If you insist on…” He sighed. “You can make yourself useful by finding someone to arrange a bath for the both of us.”
Jack rose, and if he resented being told what to do he showed no sign of it. He was still limping as he left the room and James made a mental note to ask him about it, along with examining the lash marks on his back. James took the moment to strip off his wig, coat, waistcoat, cravat and to unbutton his cuffs and remove his hose. His trunks had arrived already and so he set about unpacking the few things that needed to be hung up rather than stuffed in a box. By the time Jack returned he was feeling much more himself and he looked up from straightening up his wig on its stand to see Jack, seriously favoring his left foot.
“Oh for God’s sake,” James snapped. “Sit down before you do yourself an injury.” He gestured at the chaise-lounge and Jack sat like his strings had been cut. “Take off those absurd boots and let me see. Goodness, man, your balance is poor enough without having both your feet under you.” As soon as the words escaped his lips he realized that Jack hadn’t been walking in his usual fashion; His arms stayed down by his sides, one foot went in front of the other. James winced and sat next to Jack, waiting until he’d pulled his boots back off.
Jack’s ankle was swollen and bruised but when James carefully prodded at it he found it wasn’t broken, or twisted, it was just a very sore looking sprain.
James gave Jack the look he usually reserved for very young midshipmen. “Well?”
“Sort of landed on it funny the other day,” Jack mumbled. He glanced over at James and what little resolve Jack might have had, crumbled. “I took one final offense at bein’ sold an’ wound up getting pushed so’s I landed badly on my ankle.” He shifted uncomfortably. “The bath’ll be on its way.”
“Take off your shirt,” James said and Jack did as he was told. The stripes across his back had obviously been tended for, though they were still fresh enough to look sore. The bruising, now that he was close enough to see it, was spectacular, if not mostly hidden underneath the tattoo. James brushed a finger across an unmarked patch of skin and Jack shivered. “How does it feel?”
Jack shrugged and his shoulders stayed hunched up around his ears. “Foot’s fuckin’ killing me,” he said with a sigh. “But me back’s all right. I’ve had worse.”
“That really isn’t the point.” James sat back and scrutinized the tattoo under the healing stripes. “I am sorry about your ship,” he said, touching the very tip of the mainmast so Jack would know he was referring to the tattoo and not the real Pearl.
Jack did something cunning with the muscles of his shoulders and back so for a brief moment it looked as though the sails were filled with air and the Pearl was running before the wind. Then Jack hissed between his teeth again and subsided. “Worked better before it hurt,” he muttered.
“If I asked,” James said cautiously, “would you tell me?”
“Y’re only in trouble if you get caught,” Jack said softly. He’d taken hold of his own wrist and was running his thumb over the leg of the R brand that had changed it from a P. “I’ll tell y’ the sky is purple, if it pleases your fancy, but I’m a liar by trade, Commodore, an’ the truth is one thing they couldn’t make me give ‘em.”
James reached over and snagged his dressing gown, pulling it towards them so he could drape it over Jack’s shoulders. “Not your pride?”
The look Jack gave him was tired and pained. “No, that went early enough. Don’t ask me for the truth, I ain’t ready for that.”
The bath arrived before James could think of anything to say to that. There was already a tub in one of the adjoining rooms, towels laid out next to it and the water was brought in and poured into the bath, hot enough to steam. James had never seen anything so inviting in his life.
James scratched at the back of his neck where the sweat had dried. He felt slightly disgusting in his own skin and wanted nothing more than to sink into the water and scrub until he felt human again. Instead, once the door had shut behind the servants, he settled himself down on a little chair in the corner, leaned back and laid an arm over his eyes. “You’d best get in before it gets cold.” He didn’t look at Jack; he had no desire whatsoever to watch whatever desperate play of emotions would chase their way across Jack’s face. It was exhausting and depressing.
There was a soft touch on his arm. “Commodore…”
“Get in the bath, Jack.”
The hand withdrew abruptly and James slumped down in his seat just a little bit further. He waited, listening to the soft, muted sounds of Jack taking his clothing off, folding them, setting them neatly down, and then, finally, sliding carefully into the bath. The water, despite Jack’s best efforts to be silent, splashed and sloshed for a moment before it finally settled down again. James took his hand off his eyes and glanced over at Jack. Jack was sitting, knees up to his chest, arms around his knees, forehead resting on his arms. He wasn’t washing.
James gave Jack a long, tired stare before he got to his feet. “The usual procedure for bathing, Jack, is to immerse oneself into the water and then scrub. Do we have a problem?”
“No.” Jack lifted his head to look at James; the ends of his hair were wet. Since it had been combed out and cared for, it hung a little past his shoulders and was curling slightly in the damp heat of the steam. “I jus’ assumed this…all things considered, Commodore, I’m cleaner right now than I’ve been most of me life. I’d ’ve thought this was for you.”
“I was planning on waiting until you were done,” James said dryly. “But I’d prefer the water not to be completely tepid, if you don’t mind.”
Jack smiled crookedly. “Room enough for two.” He picked up the soap and waggled it invitingly at James. “You can scrub my back for me.”
There was something off about the request but James was just a little too tired and footsore to think it through. “Very well, but I am in no patience for untoward comments or jibes, so kindly keep those to yourself. I’m sure you will entertain your crew with them at some later date, but not now, if you please.”
“I won’t say a word.” Jack turned the soap over in his hands, staring at it avidly as James undressed. “Cross me little black heart.”
James had been in the Navy since he was twelve and in that time he had seen more male bodies than he cared to think about, in various states of undress. He had bathed with other men often enough before. He had even, on one memorable occasion, been to one of those old fashioned steam houses where fat, important men sat about and discussed their own importance. Perhaps, under more auspicious circumstances, he might have relished the thought of climbing into a private bath with a rather attractive man. However, as James slipped into the bath behind Jack, Jack’s hair slid away from the back of his neck revealing what looked like fingerprints on the bronzed skin. Considering that the rather attractive man in question was Jack Sparrow, pirate before and now James’ own slave it rather negated any attraction that might have been there had circumstances been different. It was also rather disconcerting to think of Jack Sparrow as anything other than irksome, filthy and altogether undesirable. It really didn’t bear thinking about.
Whatever James’ thoughts on Jack’s state of attraction and personal hygiene, Jack’s back needed tending to, so James held out his hand for the soap and Jack passed it back without a word. James lathered his hands and smoothed them over the healing skin, frowning to himself when Jack flinched at even such a light touch. “Let me know if I’m hurting you.”
Jack shook his head. “Jus’ a bit stiff, that’s all.”
Well, so much for Jack not having any pride left. James sighed and pressed his thumbs into the muscles of Jack’s shoulders. Jack hissed between his teeth and his head dropped back forwards onto his arms. “So this is your idea of ‘not hurting you?’” James asked sarcastically, rinsing his hands off in the water before he started scrubbing himself. He was stiff. His feet hurt, his calves ached and his shoulders were knotted tight. He was his own perfect model of what ‘a bit stiff’ should feel like, or even what ‘moderately to quite stiff’ might feel like. Jack was bruised black as the ink under his skin. That was not stiff. That was beaten far past discipline could ever demand.
“I’m perfectly able,” Jack snapped, twisting about so he could glare at James. “’M sure even a bright lad like you caught hisself a few switches with the schoolmaster’s cane every now ‘n then. If soft-skinned little schoolboys can bear it, how’s it you think I can’t?”
James pressed his lips into a thin line. “That explains a lot.” He prodded Jack in the shoulder, turning him back around again. “Is there anything else you’d care to tell me now, to save me finding it out later?” He picked up the little cup and used it to douse Jack’s head with it, and then his own, ignoring the sputtering from the pirate. “Sprained ankle, severely bruised back, stripes on top of the bruising, recent branding…” James tipped the provided unguent over Jack’s head and started scrubbing. He wasn’t sure why, but it made him feel better as the fancy oils slicked over the surface of the bath and Jack’s hair tangled under his hands as Jack spat and cursed like a half-drowned cat.
“They didn’t test the wares, if that’s what you’re drivin’ at,” Jack sputtered as James tipped another bucket of water over his head. He started to rub his eyes but James caught hold of his wrists.
“Don’t, you’ll only make them sting worse.” He let go when Jack made no move to struggle and scrubbed at his own hair, washing out the sweat, dust and powder from his wig. “And I wasn’t suggesting anything, Jack, I was simply asking you for the…the sum of your injuries.” Not the truth, not yet.
Jack shook his head again. “Nothin’ that’ll trouble me now.” He stood abruptly and climbed carefully out of the bath, wrapping a towel around his waist and dripping all over the floor. “Here, let me.” He pulled the chair over so he could sit and picked up a washcloth so he could wash James’ back. “’M cleaner ‘n you anyways an’ I’ve…” his mouth twisted into something that would have been a smile if there had been any humor in it, “I’ve learned a few tricks in the past months.”
James wasn’t sure he wanted to know exactly what Jack meant.
“Oh don’ make that face,” Jack laughed. “Y’ look like a maiden aunt gettin’ her arse pinched. I meant things like back washin’, foot rubbin’, shite like that. I’m a regular lady’s maid these days.”
“Well I’m glad you see the humor in it,” James snapped, before he could think to bite his tongue. He sighed when Jack went very abruptly quiet. “I only meant that I’m concerned and I don’t take…It’s been a long time since someone’s poked fun at me where I can hear it, that’s all.”
Jack rubbed soothing circles on his back with the cloth, easing the tension out of James’ shoulders and neck. “Well it’s a good thing you’ve got me then, ain’t it, Commodore?”
“James.”
The expression of bemusement on Jack’s face was nothing short of comical. He tipped his head to one side, pulled down his eyebrows and pursed his lips; the washcloth hovered halfway between scrubbing James’ back and the water in the tub. “Eh?”
James shook his head and smiled a little to himself. “My name is James.”
The expression of bemusement changed in an instant and James couldn’t say he liked the tone it took. “Aye, aye, Commodore,” Jack said softly. “’F you say so.”
“I do.” James could feel his shoulders tightening up again. “I see no reason not to be on more familiar terms whilst we’re alone, and since I am to call you Jack, it seems only correct that you address me by my own Christian name.”
Jack looked away. “I can’t call you by your Christian name, Commodore, ‘less I feel like callin’ you ‘Master James’ an’ sorry if I ain’t that far down yet.” He sounded furious but when he started rinsing the suds out of James’ hair, his hands were steady and gentle.
James smacked Jack’s hands away irritably. “I wouldn’t expect you to call me anything of the kind.”
“Well, Commodore, you’re a daft bugger who can’t see an inch before his nose.” Jack threw the washcloth at James’ head and stormed out. Considering he was wearing nothing more than a towel and was limping to boot made it something of a less impressive exit than Jack might have hoped for. As it was, James found himself smiling as he plucked the cloth off his head and finished washing.
Considering now what Jack’s idea of servitude seemed to be, and what, in his mind, apparently constituted being broken and what was only his bending, James could see why they had considered Jack as yet unbroken, no matter what Jack’s own thoughts on the matter might be.
*~*~*~*
Jack was really quite beautiful.
He was also incredibly stubborn and annoying.
James found all these traits attractive and wasn’t sure which he found more puzzling; his recognition of Jack’s handsomeness, or that he enjoyed the company of someone so infuriating.
*~*~*~*
“Have you any other clothes?” James found Jack huddled on the floor in the bedroom, still wearing only the towel, dripping onto the carpet, fumbling with the packet of trinkets.
When James spoke, Jack startled and dropped the packet and the beads started rolling away. He didn’t move to chase them, he just slumped in defeat. “No.” Jack was clutching the broken remains of the spine he’d had woven into his hair.
James sighed and crouched down next to Jack. He’d changed into his dressing gown and he really hoped he wasn’t simply making a fool of himself in front of the pirate, but Jack seemed more concerned with picking up the scattered baubles than mocking the soft paleness of James’ legs. James started helping and Jack very nearly dropped the beads he’d picked up again.
“What’re you doing?”
James frowned. “What do you mean?” He handed Jack a die with a hole bored through the middle. “Here.”
“You’re not supposed to be down on your hands and knees with me.” Jack shoved his hair out of his face and James could see more bruising on Jack’s neck and a vague, lingering yellowing on his temple where he had obviously been bruised near his hairline.
“You went through my pockets,” James said abruptly, making a little pile of the beads and gewgaws he found. “These were in my coat.”
Jack flinched. Very carefully he set down his baubles and twisted his fingers around themselves. His shoulders were a delicate, defeated line. “I’d be grateful if you’d aim more for me lower back. Not that I’m telling you what to do, but I’m not sure I’ll be good for much if you take to my shoulders again.”
“I beg your pardon?” James asked. “Did I not already say that I had no intention of striking you, never mind beating you?”
“People say a lot of things, Commodore,” Jack said, equally as quietly.
James was tempted to smack Jack over the head just for being an idiot but settled for throwing a scrimshaw at Jack instead. It bounced off Jack’s cheek and fell onto the carpet. “Well, unlike you, I am not a liar by trade and when I say something I most almost always mean it. So listen carefully to me, Jack; you’re a damned fool.”
Jack stared at the scrimshaw as though it was a fish that had jumped up on the table and started performing a hornpipe. “You threw that at me,” he said stupidly.
“I did.” James picked it up again and put it back in his pile. “When I brought up the subject of your rifling through my pockets, not that I ought to condone theft, I was simply pointing out that whatever it is they’ve done to you, they don’t seem to have made a lasting impression and I’m incredibly impressed at your tenacity.”
“You think a bit of pickpocketing is tenacity?” Jack said incredulously.
James stared down at the glass bead he was holding. “With that bruising, yes.” He put it down in the pile. “You can borrow some of my things until we can get you something of your own.” He tried to smile. “Feel free to go through the rest of my things and find something that fits. I’ve got to attend dinner in an hour or so but I’ll have the servants send something up here for you to eat so you can rest your ankle.”
Jack rubbed at the back of his neck thoughtfully. “You’re an odd man, Commodore.”
James got to his feet with a groan. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Anything in particular you’d like?” At Jack’s blank look he elaborated with, “To eat.” Jack stared up at him shaking his head in utter bewilderment. It struck James that it might all be a bit too much for Jack to parse, so he nodded. “Never mind, I’ll just get them to send up something nice.”
What they sent up, in the end, was almost exactly what James had at the table with the other guests; soup, rather delicious beef, fruit, cheese, a bottle of wine and something that looked far too sweet for James’ palate and that he’d declined to eat. He found Jack licking the last of the syrupy sugar off his fingers when he came back to the room. Jack was wearing James’ dressing gown and when he looked up James could see a flash of silver at the end of a braid.
“I hope you didn’t eat entirely with your fingers,” James said dryly, sitting down at the little table across from Jack.
Jack grinned his mouthful of gold and silver at James. He was drunk, James realized. “How were all the little lords and ladies?” Jack asked, slightly slurred. “Maybe I’ll eat with you next time, with my fingers, an’ give them all a shock.”
James sighed. “I’d rather not talk about it. They would have been intolerable if I had been fully awake, but I’m exhausted and so they were beyond intolerable.”
Jack staggered to his feet and gave an exaggerated bow. “Then to bed, m’lord.”
“I’m not a lord,” James said. “And after that dinner, I’ve no wish to ever become one.” He got up again, deciding Jack had the right idea for once, and that passing out for the rest of the evening sounded wonderful. Jack limped after James, following him into the bedroom. If James looked at him askance, he almost thought he could see a bit of a sway and roll to Jack’s walk that didn’t have to do with the bottle of wine Jack had drunk. “I appreciate your company,” James said, “but I’m certain I can dress for bed without any assistance or audience.” He turned to settle his wig onto its stand and to hang his jacket, and when he turned back Jack was standing, dressing down pooled at his feet, utterly naked. “Jack?” James looked away but not until too late.
It was too late to avoid having the image of Jack burned into the back of his eyelids, even though he closed his eyes against it. Jack was a golden-brown all over. All over, and the expanse of skin was marked with old scars and tattoos as well as the more recent bruising and cuts. Jack was a little too thin, collarbones a little too sharp, but his stomach was softly curved from the good food. His hair was unbrushed and it tangled around his face, long, dark lashes hooding a slightly unfocused gaze.
“What are you doing Jack?” James asked, though he was certain he knew already. He opened his eyes to find that Jack had moved behind him as Jack reached up to pull James’ waistcoat off his shoulders, the tips of Jack’s fingers brushing over James’ shoulder blades and back.
“Depends on what you want, Commodore,” Jack purred into his ear, slipping his hands around and over James’ chest so he could unbutton James’ shirt.
James grabbed Jack’s wrists, to still his hands, which had the unfortunate effect of making Jack flinch at the touch on his fresh branding and keeping him trapped up against James’ back. “I want you to cease your violation of my person and put some clothing on. I then hope, beyond hope, that you might get into the bed and sleep so on the morrow you can continue your recuperation.”
Jack pressed up behind James, body hot against the fabric of James’ breeches and shirt. “’Zat so?” He tugged gently, so James let go of his wrists and let Jack turn him around. Jack sashayed backwards, sitting on the bed before scooting over the covers to sprawl invitingly on the comforter. “In bed like this?” He wasn’t even slightly hard.
“We’ll have another conversation when you’re sober,” James said and went to leave the room.
“An’ what’s wrong with me?” Jack snapped, rather abruptly.
James rested his forehead against the doorframe. “Nothing, Jack, expect that you are injured-”
“Barely.”
“Drunk.”
“Tipsy.”
“A man.”
Jack snorted. “Navy,” he said dismissively.
“Then the only reason I can fathom for this lunatic suggestion of yours, if it is not drunkenness or a genuine interest in unnatural acts, that you are making some ill-conceived attempt to…to repay me.” James risked a glance in Jack’s direction. While Jack was still naked in his bed, he had pulled his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, chin resting on them.
Jack glared at him, but there was more desperation than fury in the expression. “I’ve got nothing else,” Jack said. “An’ to be fair, this is yours if you want it anyway. I just thought I’d offer it.”
James took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I am going to take a pillow and a blanket. I am going to sleep in the other room and I am going to pretend that you never said that to me.”
“I ent got anything else,” Jack said again, “and I won’t be beholden to you.”
“You aren’t,” James said shortly. “I don’t do any of this for repayment or thanks.”
“Because you serve others.” Jack sighed. “The world’s not done right by you, Commodore. She ought to bend over backwards so you get the things you want.”
“Goodnight, Jack.” James took a pillow and forwent the blanket, heading back into the sitting room. He’d barely settled himself in when Jack followed, wearing one of James’ spare nightshirts. “Yes?” James asked.
“It’s your bed.”
James buried his face in the pillow. “Goodnight, Jack.”
“It’s your bed an’ I’ll sleep on the floor in protest if I have to.” Jack, when James looked up, had his arms folded stubbornly. “The couch is good enough for me an’ a damn sight more comfortable than I’m used to these days.”
“You’re in no shape for it.”
Jack scowled. “Bollocks.” He appeared to consider for a moment, then said, “It’s big enough for the both of us if you’re going to be all noble and stalwart. An’ I promise no funny business.”
“That would be highly inappropriate,” James said.
“I’m not a sprawler or a cuddler. I hardly snore an’ I ent about to start talking or moving about either. Just get in the damn bed because I’d rather not sleep on the floor, all things considered.” Jack gave him a slightly drunk, rather tired look. “Please.”
James sat up. “If I told you to sleep on the couch…”
“Then I’m on the couch,” Jack said without hesitation.
James stood and picked up the pillow. “Then I suppose I ought to oblige you.” He gave Jack a stern look. “But if I hear one more word about repayment or anything of the sort then I’m sleeping on the couch again and you can go to the devil. Do we understand one another?”
Jack grinned crookedly. “No goodnight kiss then?” he asked cheekily.
James threw the pillow at his head and it was to his great satisfaction that it actually hit Jack.
*~*~*~*
The room was dark. One man curled up around another and stared thoughtfully at his sleeping companion.
“Goodnight, Commodore.”
*~*~*~*
Jack was a liar. A dirty, stinking liar. Not only did he snore and mumble in his sleep but he was also a cuddler. James woke up with Jack pressed up against him, face tucked into James’ neck, mouth open, snoring slightly, fingers clenched in James’ nightshirt and legs tangled around James’. It was far too hot for such intimacies and the sweat had stuck them together most unpleasantly.
James lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling. A spider had found its way into the room and was steadily building a web between one of the lamps and the wall. “Jack.”
“Mngh,” was his only reply.
James elbowed Jack in the side. “Jack, wake up.”
Jack grunted and curled up closer. “Fuck you,” he said, quite plainly. He then opened his eyes abruptly and pushed himself away from James, back onto his side of the bed, tucked up into himself. “Sorry,” Jack said. “I thought you were someone else.”
“I dread to think,” James said distantly, wondering what and who exactly Jack had taken him for. The one he’d been wrapped around, or the one he’d so vehemently told where to go. The question must have shown on his face because Jack said, “I didn’t always get a pleasant awakening.”
“Ah.” James decided not to press the matter. “I suspect that we will be breakfasting sooner rather than not, and I suspect you might wish to wash and shave.” He laid a little more emphasis on ‘wish’ than he ought to have, but all things considered, he’d rather share a living space with someone who washed than with someone who didn’t. And the Jack Sparrow of his previous acquaintance wasn’t someone who always smelt as James might wish.
Jack wrinkled his nose. “All this washing,” he complained. “T’ain’t healthy.” But he got out of the bed nevertheless, scratching at his stomach and yawning. He considered the washstand for a moment and then turned back to James, a carefully blank expression on his face. “Unless you’d rather stay abed.” The hand that had been scratching now trailed somewhat suggestively down his stomach. It would have been less absurd if he hadn’t been wearing a slightly oversized nightshirt. It would have been less pitiful if he’d been smiling and not so somber.
James looked away. “Try to keep your weight off your ankle today as much as possible. And be quick with the washbasin, I’ve got an early morning appointment to make.”
Jack’s hand moved to fall down by his side. “Let me know if you change your mind,” he said absently and stumbled sleepily towards the cutthroat and soap.
James watched him wash, watched Jack shave his cheeks but not his upper lip, nor his chin and smiled slightly to himself as Jack examined the braid in his hair and the curling ends of the rest of the already tangled mess atop his head. “I could have you join me today, if you’d like to leave the rooms,” James offered. “It would be in attendance, but I don’t imagine you’d have to do much more than follow me about.”
“P’raps once I’ve got something that doesn’t make me look like a hareem girl,” Jack said, twisting his hair between his fingers, to coax it into its usual lovelocks. Without the addition of sea and wind though it was resolutely remaining curled and not locked. “So p’raps once we’re away from here an’ I can filch something of my own.”
“You needn’t resort to theft,” James said, finally getting up. “I wager I can find or buy something that ought to suit you.”
Jack frowned into the glass. “Commodore-”
James came over to the mirror and took the cutthroat from Jack. “Don’t even start,” he warned. “You will need something to start you on your way, and I do what I can.”
“Not for me,” Jack said quietly.
“I beg your pardon?” James asked, halfway through scraping the first of the morning’s beard off his face.
Jack shrugged and shuffled off, rifling through James’ wardrobe. “Don’t trouble yourself on my account.” They were both silent as James shaved and Jack set out undergarments, breeches, stockings, shirt, weskit, jacket and shoes, all very obviously for James.
Abruptly, James set the razor down. “Aren’t you a man like any other?” he demanded. “Oughtn’t you have your freedom like any other?”
“Freedom ain’t real,” Jack said bitterly and wouldn’t talk to James for the rest of the morning.
*~*~*~*
They didn’t speak again until the evening when James returned to the rooms in order to dress for dinner. He found Jack, dressed in clothing that James hadn’t owned previously. The clothing looked second hand but it mostly fit and it was mostly unstained.
“I’ve made a note of what I owe you,” Jack said preemptively.
James scowled at him. “You have quite missed the point.” He adjusted his wig and changed out of his coat into another, swatting at Jack’s hands when Jack tried to help him.
Jack slept on the sofa that night, and James wasn’t sure why he felt so badly about the whole situation.
*~*~*~*
“Freedom is real,” James said, as they took a turn about the garden. Jack was hardly limping at all. “It’s the reason I’m in the navy.” Jack didn’t say anything so James continued. “I gave up my own so that I might protect that of others. And now that freedom in question is yours. You might privateer for the crown when we are quit of here, or you might sail off the ends of the earth. I’d rather it was the first, but your options are always open. Isn’t that freedom enough?”
Jack gave him an odd look. “Do you ever do anything just for you, Commodore?”
“I was going to marry Miss Swann,” James said, after a moment’s thought. “I had thought we could make one another happy. Of course, she and Mr. Turner are far better suited, but still, I had never seen myself as the villain to come between someone and the one they love.”
“They played you unfairly,” Jack agreed. “But she’s got too much pirate in her for you anyway. Reminds me a lot of myself, actually.”
James laughed. “Perhaps I was bored of the society ladies.”
“You should smile more often,” Jack said, staring out over the gardens at the sea. “It suits you.”
*~*~*~*
Jack watched him constantly.
Sometimes curiously, sometimes with amusement. Sometimes sadly.
James rather liked the attention.
*~*~*~*
They parted ways on the dock of Port Royal, with a handshake, the Black Pearl moored in the harbor and the bumboat coming for Jack, Gibbs shouting and hallooing from the water.
Jack scratched at his growing beard. “I suppose I’ll see you about,” he said.
“I suppose so.” James gave him the certificate of ownership. “Stay out of trouble.”
Jack grinned and tucked the paper into his shirt. “If you say so.” Jack didn’t sound as though he meant it, and for some reason, despite all the headaches James was sure it would cause him, he was rather pleased about it.
“Thank you.”
“I don’t ask for your thanks,” James said.
Jack shrugged. “Those you get for free.” He patted James on the shoulder. “You really ought to smile more often. Before the wind changes an’ all that.”
They parted ways with a handshake and then James went and got rather drunk, and he wasn’t sure why. He suspected that he was going to miss Jack.
*~*~*~*
Gillette looked incredibly put out about something. “Sir,” he said tightly, “letter for you.” It was actually a letter and a little package that clinked suspiciously like money, but Gillette put both down on the desk and glowered out into the harbor.
James glanced up from his desk, noted the face Gillette was pulling and sat back in his chair, deciding that the tariffs on whathaveyou would have to wait until Gillette was gone and he could confer with merchants. It was all rather tedious and even if Gillette was bringing bad news, it might at least get him out of the office and into the sunshine. He took the letter and opened it.
The letter was battered about the edges, and the seal was thick, so as to stand up to poor handling. “Comodore Norington” was written in such elaborate script that it took James a moment to realize that both words were spelt wrong. He cracked the seal and scanned the contents.
“It was brought in yesterday,” Gillette said. “Rather, Captain Sparrow brought it to me, by his own hand and I was told not to deliver it until this morning. Some nonsense about time sensitive information. He was quite adamant about it though, so I thought perhaps you had some sort of pre-arrangement.”
James looked out the window. The Black Pearl had moored two days ago and had been delivering on her promise to privateer and had unloaded the goods she had taken from the Spanish. James had been expecting a visit from her erstwhile Captain for two days but it seemed as though a note was all he was to receive. As he watched, the Pearl hauled up her anchor and made ready to get underway.
“Time sensitive?” James asked.
Gillette watched the Pearl’s sails hauled down and frowned a little more. “I expect, seeing as he’s leaving with such haste, that the news will not be favorable.”
Jack’s handwriting was quite beautiful. There were the inevitable blots and crossings out from writing at sea, but overall it was something any man would be proud to display. His spelling, however, left much to be desired.
“Comodore. As you no dowbt hav gatherd, the Black Pearl has made her caling to Port Royale and you will be receev geting the cargo from her soon enof. You will allso find my pacage for you. Enclosed is part of my own wage. It is not so much as you are owed, but I will send more as soon as it has been ernd. With thanks, CJS.”
James frowned almost as much as Gillette. Enclosed with the letter was the contract he had used to buy Jack with and it had been gone over by a clerk of some description because it had been declared invalid by law. Jack was no longer a freed man; he was, once again, simply a free man.
“What in God’s good name happened while you were away?” Gillette asked, as the Black Pearl sailed out of the harbor.
James sighed. “I discovered that some people cannot see the difference between a good deed done them and a debt needing repayment.” He stood. “This could look rather suspect, I shall have to take the matter to the Governor immediately so all is made legal and aboveboard.”
Gillette peered at the contract and his eyes widened comically. “Sir?”
“No good deed goes unpunished, as they say.” James gathered up all the parts of his message and tucked them back into each other. “I would appreciate anything you’ve seen not leaving the office.”
“Yessir.” Gillette actually saluted, then faltered. “How did you-”
James gestured for Gillette to precede him out of the office. “Perhaps the next time Captain Sparrow makes port you might ask him to tell you the story. I am certain his version will be far more entertaining than my own.”
That said, James didn’t feel as though he really knew the story. He didn’t know how Jack had found himself in such a dire position. Jack had never elaborated on his time as a captive and their days together were nothing that James felt he could explain to Gillette. Best that any answers come from Jack Sparrow, who actually seemed to know what was going on.
*~*~*~*
Four packages and almost a whole year later and Jack’s debt was repaid.
There was no sign of the Black Pearl.
Reports came in and James knew what betrayal felt like for the second time in as many years.
James stopped waiting.
*~*~*~*
Some time in the early hours of the morning, when all sensible folk were abed, James woke to the sound of something at his bedroom window. He quietly and quickly pushed his blankets away and reached for his pistol. He had the gun cocked and aimed at the window when Jack came tumbling through, landing in an ungainly sprawl on the carpet.
“Hullo,” Jack said, grinning up at him.
James didn’t uncock the gun. “You attacked an English ship,” he said, reaching up to steady the pistol with his other hand as it grew rapidly heavier.
Jack got up, dusting himself off. He looked much like he always had, before everything. There was lampblack smeared around his eyes and on his hands. His hair was a tangled, salt stiff mess of braids and lovelocks, glinting and clinking in the candlelight from the gewgaws woven into it. His clothing was dirty with salt and sand and he smelt of the sea, docks, unwashed pirate, pitch, fish and rum. He had another gold tooth. “I might’ve.” Jack sashayed up to James and pushed the gun to the side. “Did you expect any less?” His moustache had completely grown back, as had the goatee, though the twin braids were shorter than they had before Jack had been shaved.
“To be fair,” James put the gun away, “no; I had no such expectations, though I had hoped.”
“Well then,” Jack said. “I suppose the only question you ought to ask is ‘Jack, why are you here,’ ain’t it?” He leaned in, too close, too far into James’ personal space and his breath smelt of rum and salted meat and, oddly enough, of oranges. “But you’re too sensible for all that.”
James sat down on the bed, partly because he was tired, and partly because standing so close to Jack was making him uncomfortable. “You had a pardon. All you had to do was stay away from English ships. Now I have an obligation to hang you and, after everything, I find myself disinclined to do so. You have made my life into a very difficult place, I hope you know.”
Jack took off his hat and set it on the seat by the window; his new bandanna was a rusty red, much like the last one had been. “You said, once, that you’d have nothing to do with repayment, or thanks, or obligation etc.” He stared out into the night, hands curled about the windowsill. “An’ I’ve never done well with debts, or thanks, or obligation. But I’ve thanked you as a man, an’ I’ve repaid you as I saw fit - no, don’t argue, it needed doing. Then I suppose it’s fair to say that I’ve gone and thrown any debt, or obligation, or thanks to the winds by turning back to piracy in the face of all you’ve done for me. Wouldn’t you say so, James? You owe me nothing and I’m the same to you.”
“I suppose,” James said cautiously, unsure of where, precisely, Jack was going with his argument.
“So, James.” Jack glanced over his shoulder at James. “Why am I here?”
James stood again. “I have an obligation to hang you,” he said dully. “In that light I really can’t fathom your motives.”
Jack shrugged one shoulder, unconcerned. “Could’ve been the Spanish raiding the Lady Devonshire,” he said. “God knows they’ve been all over your boys these days. No one would say otherwise. I suspect a war’s about to break out. You’ll be busy enough then with things other than my good self. No need to get all preemptive an’ such.” He gave James an expectant look.
“Why are you here, Jack?”
“Ah,” Jack said. “That’s the trick.” He caught hold of James’ wrist and tugged him two steps forwards so they were pressed toe to toe and chest to chest against each other. His moustache was surprisingly soft when he kissed James. He tasted of salted pork, rum and oranges. The fingers of his other hand, the one that crept up to touch James’ face, smelt of oranges. Jack stepped back, head cocked expectantly to one side. “So what say you?” His fingers were calloused and rough against James’ wrist and the skin of his cheek.
James swallowed. “I’m afraid your motivation is still a little cloudy,” he said, sounding strained even to his own ears.
Jack rolled his eyes. “This ain’t payback, James, I’ve done that and we’re square now. This is you in an absurd nightshirt that I’d rather was on the floor and me wearing far too much for what I have in mind.” He stepped into James’ personal space again and licked a hot, wet trail up the curve of his throat and ear. “I want to fuck, James Norrington. We can work out the details as we go.”
“Oh,” James said in a small voice and then, “Oh,” again in a gasp as Jack’s hand pressed firmly up against his erection, warm even through the fabric of his nightshirt.
“Say yes,” Jack purred into his ear.
James grabbed Jack’s coat and pushed it down off Jack’s shoulders, trapping Jack’s arms for a moment as they kissed, before it fell to the floor with a heavy thud. Jack unbuckled his own sword belt and kicked off his boots as James unwound the sash and then Jack’s weskit and shirt were on the floor and James was shoved up against a wall, one hand curving over the golden corrugation of Jack’s ribs and the other tangled in Jack’s hair, panting against Jack’s mouth, biting and kissing as Jack pushed one of his thighs in between James’.
Jack shoved the nightshirt up until it bunched under James’ arms and the fabric of his breeches was rough against James’ thighs and cock. Jack was muttering against James throat and it sounded like, “off” so James obligingly lifted his arms so Jack could tug the nightshirt over his head and discard it on the floor. James fumbled at the placket of Jack’s breeches as Jack wrapped his long, dirty fingers around James’ prick and into the sweaty tangle of James’ hair, kissing him hard enough to bruise.
“Christ, James,” Jack growled grinding against him. “I want to have you.”
James pushed his hand into Jack’s breeches so Jack groaned and shuddered. “Yes,” James said hoarsely.
*~*~*~*
Jack lay on his side, smelling strongly of sweat and sex with James tucked up behind him, smelling about as good. James’ fingers traced the scars that mapped Jack’s torso and smoothed over the flat of his stomach and the curve of hip.
“We were off the coast of Madagascar,” Jack said. There was a bead in his hair that looked very much like the missing button from James’ uniform. “I went ashore to arrange for fresh water.”
James’ hand stilled. “You don’t have to tell me.”
Jack smiled slightly in the dark. “I’m a liar by trade, Commodore; I don’t have to tell anyone the truth.” His fingers wrapped around James’. “Sometimes I just want to.” They were silent for a moment and then Jack let go of James and his fingers came up to illustrate his story. “It was stinking hot there, let me tell you that much,” he said.
POTC: CotBP era
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: This didn’t quite turn out the way I thought it was going to. Unbetaed. Which was probably a bad idea.
Previous part: Possession I
*~*~*~*
James looked around his rooms with satisfaction and sank into onto the plush chaise-lounge with a sigh. “God,” he breathed. “It’s been a day to remember.”
Jack idled by the door for a moment but when James leaned over with a groan to unbuckle his shoes to ease his aching feet Jack was kneeling before him in a flash, batting his hands away. “Let me,” Jack said, nimble fingers making short work of the task. “’S what I’m here for.” He set the shoes aside and lifted James’ feet into his lap.
James jerked his feet away, alarmed. “What-”
“Y’ never know who’s watching,” Jack said softly, taking James’ feet back and digging his thumbs into the sole, rubbing the tension out of them. His head was bowed, and James couldn’t see Jack’s face for the soft curtain of hair swinging down over his shoulders. The oils were absorbing and evaporating in the heat so Jack’s hair showed its hues of brown and red. James reached out and pushed one side back behind Jack’s ear so he could see Jack’s face. Jack didn’t even glance up.
“Don’t.” There was a distinct lack of conviction in James’ voice however, since what Jack was doing felt wonderful and the shoes had been a dreadful torment. He was long used to working under tiring conditions, long past the point where he thought he could carry on and so James pulled his resolve together and extracted his feet from Jack’s grip. “If you insist on…” He sighed. “You can make yourself useful by finding someone to arrange a bath for the both of us.”
Jack rose, and if he resented being told what to do he showed no sign of it. He was still limping as he left the room and James made a mental note to ask him about it, along with examining the lash marks on his back. James took the moment to strip off his wig, coat, waistcoat, cravat and to unbutton his cuffs and remove his hose. His trunks had arrived already and so he set about unpacking the few things that needed to be hung up rather than stuffed in a box. By the time Jack returned he was feeling much more himself and he looked up from straightening up his wig on its stand to see Jack, seriously favoring his left foot.
“Oh for God’s sake,” James snapped. “Sit down before you do yourself an injury.” He gestured at the chaise-lounge and Jack sat like his strings had been cut. “Take off those absurd boots and let me see. Goodness, man, your balance is poor enough without having both your feet under you.” As soon as the words escaped his lips he realized that Jack hadn’t been walking in his usual fashion; His arms stayed down by his sides, one foot went in front of the other. James winced and sat next to Jack, waiting until he’d pulled his boots back off.
Jack’s ankle was swollen and bruised but when James carefully prodded at it he found it wasn’t broken, or twisted, it was just a very sore looking sprain.
James gave Jack the look he usually reserved for very young midshipmen. “Well?”
“Sort of landed on it funny the other day,” Jack mumbled. He glanced over at James and what little resolve Jack might have had, crumbled. “I took one final offense at bein’ sold an’ wound up getting pushed so’s I landed badly on my ankle.” He shifted uncomfortably. “The bath’ll be on its way.”
“Take off your shirt,” James said and Jack did as he was told. The stripes across his back had obviously been tended for, though they were still fresh enough to look sore. The bruising, now that he was close enough to see it, was spectacular, if not mostly hidden underneath the tattoo. James brushed a finger across an unmarked patch of skin and Jack shivered. “How does it feel?”
Jack shrugged and his shoulders stayed hunched up around his ears. “Foot’s fuckin’ killing me,” he said with a sigh. “But me back’s all right. I’ve had worse.”
“That really isn’t the point.” James sat back and scrutinized the tattoo under the healing stripes. “I am sorry about your ship,” he said, touching the very tip of the mainmast so Jack would know he was referring to the tattoo and not the real Pearl.
Jack did something cunning with the muscles of his shoulders and back so for a brief moment it looked as though the sails were filled with air and the Pearl was running before the wind. Then Jack hissed between his teeth again and subsided. “Worked better before it hurt,” he muttered.
“If I asked,” James said cautiously, “would you tell me?”
“Y’re only in trouble if you get caught,” Jack said softly. He’d taken hold of his own wrist and was running his thumb over the leg of the R brand that had changed it from a P. “I’ll tell y’ the sky is purple, if it pleases your fancy, but I’m a liar by trade, Commodore, an’ the truth is one thing they couldn’t make me give ‘em.”
James reached over and snagged his dressing gown, pulling it towards them so he could drape it over Jack’s shoulders. “Not your pride?”
The look Jack gave him was tired and pained. “No, that went early enough. Don’t ask me for the truth, I ain’t ready for that.”
The bath arrived before James could think of anything to say to that. There was already a tub in one of the adjoining rooms, towels laid out next to it and the water was brought in and poured into the bath, hot enough to steam. James had never seen anything so inviting in his life.
James scratched at the back of his neck where the sweat had dried. He felt slightly disgusting in his own skin and wanted nothing more than to sink into the water and scrub until he felt human again. Instead, once the door had shut behind the servants, he settled himself down on a little chair in the corner, leaned back and laid an arm over his eyes. “You’d best get in before it gets cold.” He didn’t look at Jack; he had no desire whatsoever to watch whatever desperate play of emotions would chase their way across Jack’s face. It was exhausting and depressing.
There was a soft touch on his arm. “Commodore…”
“Get in the bath, Jack.”
The hand withdrew abruptly and James slumped down in his seat just a little bit further. He waited, listening to the soft, muted sounds of Jack taking his clothing off, folding them, setting them neatly down, and then, finally, sliding carefully into the bath. The water, despite Jack’s best efforts to be silent, splashed and sloshed for a moment before it finally settled down again. James took his hand off his eyes and glanced over at Jack. Jack was sitting, knees up to his chest, arms around his knees, forehead resting on his arms. He wasn’t washing.
James gave Jack a long, tired stare before he got to his feet. “The usual procedure for bathing, Jack, is to immerse oneself into the water and then scrub. Do we have a problem?”
“No.” Jack lifted his head to look at James; the ends of his hair were wet. Since it had been combed out and cared for, it hung a little past his shoulders and was curling slightly in the damp heat of the steam. “I jus’ assumed this…all things considered, Commodore, I’m cleaner right now than I’ve been most of me life. I’d ’ve thought this was for you.”
“I was planning on waiting until you were done,” James said dryly. “But I’d prefer the water not to be completely tepid, if you don’t mind.”
Jack smiled crookedly. “Room enough for two.” He picked up the soap and waggled it invitingly at James. “You can scrub my back for me.”
There was something off about the request but James was just a little too tired and footsore to think it through. “Very well, but I am in no patience for untoward comments or jibes, so kindly keep those to yourself. I’m sure you will entertain your crew with them at some later date, but not now, if you please.”
“I won’t say a word.” Jack turned the soap over in his hands, staring at it avidly as James undressed. “Cross me little black heart.”
James had been in the Navy since he was twelve and in that time he had seen more male bodies than he cared to think about, in various states of undress. He had bathed with other men often enough before. He had even, on one memorable occasion, been to one of those old fashioned steam houses where fat, important men sat about and discussed their own importance. Perhaps, under more auspicious circumstances, he might have relished the thought of climbing into a private bath with a rather attractive man. However, as James slipped into the bath behind Jack, Jack’s hair slid away from the back of his neck revealing what looked like fingerprints on the bronzed skin. Considering that the rather attractive man in question was Jack Sparrow, pirate before and now James’ own slave it rather negated any attraction that might have been there had circumstances been different. It was also rather disconcerting to think of Jack Sparrow as anything other than irksome, filthy and altogether undesirable. It really didn’t bear thinking about.
Whatever James’ thoughts on Jack’s state of attraction and personal hygiene, Jack’s back needed tending to, so James held out his hand for the soap and Jack passed it back without a word. James lathered his hands and smoothed them over the healing skin, frowning to himself when Jack flinched at even such a light touch. “Let me know if I’m hurting you.”
Jack shook his head. “Jus’ a bit stiff, that’s all.”
Well, so much for Jack not having any pride left. James sighed and pressed his thumbs into the muscles of Jack’s shoulders. Jack hissed between his teeth and his head dropped back forwards onto his arms. “So this is your idea of ‘not hurting you?’” James asked sarcastically, rinsing his hands off in the water before he started scrubbing himself. He was stiff. His feet hurt, his calves ached and his shoulders were knotted tight. He was his own perfect model of what ‘a bit stiff’ should feel like, or even what ‘moderately to quite stiff’ might feel like. Jack was bruised black as the ink under his skin. That was not stiff. That was beaten far past discipline could ever demand.
“I’m perfectly able,” Jack snapped, twisting about so he could glare at James. “’M sure even a bright lad like you caught hisself a few switches with the schoolmaster’s cane every now ‘n then. If soft-skinned little schoolboys can bear it, how’s it you think I can’t?”
James pressed his lips into a thin line. “That explains a lot.” He prodded Jack in the shoulder, turning him back around again. “Is there anything else you’d care to tell me now, to save me finding it out later?” He picked up the little cup and used it to douse Jack’s head with it, and then his own, ignoring the sputtering from the pirate. “Sprained ankle, severely bruised back, stripes on top of the bruising, recent branding…” James tipped the provided unguent over Jack’s head and started scrubbing. He wasn’t sure why, but it made him feel better as the fancy oils slicked over the surface of the bath and Jack’s hair tangled under his hands as Jack spat and cursed like a half-drowned cat.
“They didn’t test the wares, if that’s what you’re drivin’ at,” Jack sputtered as James tipped another bucket of water over his head. He started to rub his eyes but James caught hold of his wrists.
“Don’t, you’ll only make them sting worse.” He let go when Jack made no move to struggle and scrubbed at his own hair, washing out the sweat, dust and powder from his wig. “And I wasn’t suggesting anything, Jack, I was simply asking you for the…the sum of your injuries.” Not the truth, not yet.
Jack shook his head again. “Nothin’ that’ll trouble me now.” He stood abruptly and climbed carefully out of the bath, wrapping a towel around his waist and dripping all over the floor. “Here, let me.” He pulled the chair over so he could sit and picked up a washcloth so he could wash James’ back. “’M cleaner ‘n you anyways an’ I’ve…” his mouth twisted into something that would have been a smile if there had been any humor in it, “I’ve learned a few tricks in the past months.”
James wasn’t sure he wanted to know exactly what Jack meant.
“Oh don’ make that face,” Jack laughed. “Y’ look like a maiden aunt gettin’ her arse pinched. I meant things like back washin’, foot rubbin’, shite like that. I’m a regular lady’s maid these days.”
“Well I’m glad you see the humor in it,” James snapped, before he could think to bite his tongue. He sighed when Jack went very abruptly quiet. “I only meant that I’m concerned and I don’t take…It’s been a long time since someone’s poked fun at me where I can hear it, that’s all.”
Jack rubbed soothing circles on his back with the cloth, easing the tension out of James’ shoulders and neck. “Well it’s a good thing you’ve got me then, ain’t it, Commodore?”
“James.”
The expression of bemusement on Jack’s face was nothing short of comical. He tipped his head to one side, pulled down his eyebrows and pursed his lips; the washcloth hovered halfway between scrubbing James’ back and the water in the tub. “Eh?”
James shook his head and smiled a little to himself. “My name is James.”
The expression of bemusement changed in an instant and James couldn’t say he liked the tone it took. “Aye, aye, Commodore,” Jack said softly. “’F you say so.”
“I do.” James could feel his shoulders tightening up again. “I see no reason not to be on more familiar terms whilst we’re alone, and since I am to call you Jack, it seems only correct that you address me by my own Christian name.”
Jack looked away. “I can’t call you by your Christian name, Commodore, ‘less I feel like callin’ you ‘Master James’ an’ sorry if I ain’t that far down yet.” He sounded furious but when he started rinsing the suds out of James’ hair, his hands were steady and gentle.
James smacked Jack’s hands away irritably. “I wouldn’t expect you to call me anything of the kind.”
“Well, Commodore, you’re a daft bugger who can’t see an inch before his nose.” Jack threw the washcloth at James’ head and stormed out. Considering he was wearing nothing more than a towel and was limping to boot made it something of a less impressive exit than Jack might have hoped for. As it was, James found himself smiling as he plucked the cloth off his head and finished washing.
Considering now what Jack’s idea of servitude seemed to be, and what, in his mind, apparently constituted being broken and what was only his bending, James could see why they had considered Jack as yet unbroken, no matter what Jack’s own thoughts on the matter might be.
*~*~*~*
Jack was really quite beautiful.
He was also incredibly stubborn and annoying.
James found all these traits attractive and wasn’t sure which he found more puzzling; his recognition of Jack’s handsomeness, or that he enjoyed the company of someone so infuriating.
*~*~*~*
“Have you any other clothes?” James found Jack huddled on the floor in the bedroom, still wearing only the towel, dripping onto the carpet, fumbling with the packet of trinkets.
When James spoke, Jack startled and dropped the packet and the beads started rolling away. He didn’t move to chase them, he just slumped in defeat. “No.” Jack was clutching the broken remains of the spine he’d had woven into his hair.
James sighed and crouched down next to Jack. He’d changed into his dressing gown and he really hoped he wasn’t simply making a fool of himself in front of the pirate, but Jack seemed more concerned with picking up the scattered baubles than mocking the soft paleness of James’ legs. James started helping and Jack very nearly dropped the beads he’d picked up again.
“What’re you doing?”
James frowned. “What do you mean?” He handed Jack a die with a hole bored through the middle. “Here.”
“You’re not supposed to be down on your hands and knees with me.” Jack shoved his hair out of his face and James could see more bruising on Jack’s neck and a vague, lingering yellowing on his temple where he had obviously been bruised near his hairline.
“You went through my pockets,” James said abruptly, making a little pile of the beads and gewgaws he found. “These were in my coat.”
Jack flinched. Very carefully he set down his baubles and twisted his fingers around themselves. His shoulders were a delicate, defeated line. “I’d be grateful if you’d aim more for me lower back. Not that I’m telling you what to do, but I’m not sure I’ll be good for much if you take to my shoulders again.”
“I beg your pardon?” James asked. “Did I not already say that I had no intention of striking you, never mind beating you?”
“People say a lot of things, Commodore,” Jack said, equally as quietly.
James was tempted to smack Jack over the head just for being an idiot but settled for throwing a scrimshaw at Jack instead. It bounced off Jack’s cheek and fell onto the carpet. “Well, unlike you, I am not a liar by trade and when I say something I most almost always mean it. So listen carefully to me, Jack; you’re a damned fool.”
Jack stared at the scrimshaw as though it was a fish that had jumped up on the table and started performing a hornpipe. “You threw that at me,” he said stupidly.
“I did.” James picked it up again and put it back in his pile. “When I brought up the subject of your rifling through my pockets, not that I ought to condone theft, I was simply pointing out that whatever it is they’ve done to you, they don’t seem to have made a lasting impression and I’m incredibly impressed at your tenacity.”
“You think a bit of pickpocketing is tenacity?” Jack said incredulously.
James stared down at the glass bead he was holding. “With that bruising, yes.” He put it down in the pile. “You can borrow some of my things until we can get you something of your own.” He tried to smile. “Feel free to go through the rest of my things and find something that fits. I’ve got to attend dinner in an hour or so but I’ll have the servants send something up here for you to eat so you can rest your ankle.”
Jack rubbed at the back of his neck thoughtfully. “You’re an odd man, Commodore.”
James got to his feet with a groan. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Anything in particular you’d like?” At Jack’s blank look he elaborated with, “To eat.” Jack stared up at him shaking his head in utter bewilderment. It struck James that it might all be a bit too much for Jack to parse, so he nodded. “Never mind, I’ll just get them to send up something nice.”
What they sent up, in the end, was almost exactly what James had at the table with the other guests; soup, rather delicious beef, fruit, cheese, a bottle of wine and something that looked far too sweet for James’ palate and that he’d declined to eat. He found Jack licking the last of the syrupy sugar off his fingers when he came back to the room. Jack was wearing James’ dressing gown and when he looked up James could see a flash of silver at the end of a braid.
“I hope you didn’t eat entirely with your fingers,” James said dryly, sitting down at the little table across from Jack.
Jack grinned his mouthful of gold and silver at James. He was drunk, James realized. “How were all the little lords and ladies?” Jack asked, slightly slurred. “Maybe I’ll eat with you next time, with my fingers, an’ give them all a shock.”
James sighed. “I’d rather not talk about it. They would have been intolerable if I had been fully awake, but I’m exhausted and so they were beyond intolerable.”
Jack staggered to his feet and gave an exaggerated bow. “Then to bed, m’lord.”
“I’m not a lord,” James said. “And after that dinner, I’ve no wish to ever become one.” He got up again, deciding Jack had the right idea for once, and that passing out for the rest of the evening sounded wonderful. Jack limped after James, following him into the bedroom. If James looked at him askance, he almost thought he could see a bit of a sway and roll to Jack’s walk that didn’t have to do with the bottle of wine Jack had drunk. “I appreciate your company,” James said, “but I’m certain I can dress for bed without any assistance or audience.” He turned to settle his wig onto its stand and to hang his jacket, and when he turned back Jack was standing, dressing down pooled at his feet, utterly naked. “Jack?” James looked away but not until too late.
It was too late to avoid having the image of Jack burned into the back of his eyelids, even though he closed his eyes against it. Jack was a golden-brown all over. All over, and the expanse of skin was marked with old scars and tattoos as well as the more recent bruising and cuts. Jack was a little too thin, collarbones a little too sharp, but his stomach was softly curved from the good food. His hair was unbrushed and it tangled around his face, long, dark lashes hooding a slightly unfocused gaze.
“What are you doing Jack?” James asked, though he was certain he knew already. He opened his eyes to find that Jack had moved behind him as Jack reached up to pull James’ waistcoat off his shoulders, the tips of Jack’s fingers brushing over James’ shoulder blades and back.
“Depends on what you want, Commodore,” Jack purred into his ear, slipping his hands around and over James’ chest so he could unbutton James’ shirt.
James grabbed Jack’s wrists, to still his hands, which had the unfortunate effect of making Jack flinch at the touch on his fresh branding and keeping him trapped up against James’ back. “I want you to cease your violation of my person and put some clothing on. I then hope, beyond hope, that you might get into the bed and sleep so on the morrow you can continue your recuperation.”
Jack pressed up behind James, body hot against the fabric of James’ breeches and shirt. “’Zat so?” He tugged gently, so James let go of his wrists and let Jack turn him around. Jack sashayed backwards, sitting on the bed before scooting over the covers to sprawl invitingly on the comforter. “In bed like this?” He wasn’t even slightly hard.
“We’ll have another conversation when you’re sober,” James said and went to leave the room.
“An’ what’s wrong with me?” Jack snapped, rather abruptly.
James rested his forehead against the doorframe. “Nothing, Jack, expect that you are injured-”
“Barely.”
“Drunk.”
“Tipsy.”
“A man.”
Jack snorted. “Navy,” he said dismissively.
“Then the only reason I can fathom for this lunatic suggestion of yours, if it is not drunkenness or a genuine interest in unnatural acts, that you are making some ill-conceived attempt to…to repay me.” James risked a glance in Jack’s direction. While Jack was still naked in his bed, he had pulled his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, chin resting on them.
Jack glared at him, but there was more desperation than fury in the expression. “I’ve got nothing else,” Jack said. “An’ to be fair, this is yours if you want it anyway. I just thought I’d offer it.”
James took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I am going to take a pillow and a blanket. I am going to sleep in the other room and I am going to pretend that you never said that to me.”
“I ent got anything else,” Jack said again, “and I won’t be beholden to you.”
“You aren’t,” James said shortly. “I don’t do any of this for repayment or thanks.”
“Because you serve others.” Jack sighed. “The world’s not done right by you, Commodore. She ought to bend over backwards so you get the things you want.”
“Goodnight, Jack.” James took a pillow and forwent the blanket, heading back into the sitting room. He’d barely settled himself in when Jack followed, wearing one of James’ spare nightshirts. “Yes?” James asked.
“It’s your bed.”
James buried his face in the pillow. “Goodnight, Jack.”
“It’s your bed an’ I’ll sleep on the floor in protest if I have to.” Jack, when James looked up, had his arms folded stubbornly. “The couch is good enough for me an’ a damn sight more comfortable than I’m used to these days.”
“You’re in no shape for it.”
Jack scowled. “Bollocks.” He appeared to consider for a moment, then said, “It’s big enough for the both of us if you’re going to be all noble and stalwart. An’ I promise no funny business.”
“That would be highly inappropriate,” James said.
“I’m not a sprawler or a cuddler. I hardly snore an’ I ent about to start talking or moving about either. Just get in the damn bed because I’d rather not sleep on the floor, all things considered.” Jack gave him a slightly drunk, rather tired look. “Please.”
James sat up. “If I told you to sleep on the couch…”
“Then I’m on the couch,” Jack said without hesitation.
James stood and picked up the pillow. “Then I suppose I ought to oblige you.” He gave Jack a stern look. “But if I hear one more word about repayment or anything of the sort then I’m sleeping on the couch again and you can go to the devil. Do we understand one another?”
Jack grinned crookedly. “No goodnight kiss then?” he asked cheekily.
James threw the pillow at his head and it was to his great satisfaction that it actually hit Jack.
*~*~*~*
The room was dark. One man curled up around another and stared thoughtfully at his sleeping companion.
“Goodnight, Commodore.”
*~*~*~*
Jack was a liar. A dirty, stinking liar. Not only did he snore and mumble in his sleep but he was also a cuddler. James woke up with Jack pressed up against him, face tucked into James’ neck, mouth open, snoring slightly, fingers clenched in James’ nightshirt and legs tangled around James’. It was far too hot for such intimacies and the sweat had stuck them together most unpleasantly.
James lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling. A spider had found its way into the room and was steadily building a web between one of the lamps and the wall. “Jack.”
“Mngh,” was his only reply.
James elbowed Jack in the side. “Jack, wake up.”
Jack grunted and curled up closer. “Fuck you,” he said, quite plainly. He then opened his eyes abruptly and pushed himself away from James, back onto his side of the bed, tucked up into himself. “Sorry,” Jack said. “I thought you were someone else.”
“I dread to think,” James said distantly, wondering what and who exactly Jack had taken him for. The one he’d been wrapped around, or the one he’d so vehemently told where to go. The question must have shown on his face because Jack said, “I didn’t always get a pleasant awakening.”
“Ah.” James decided not to press the matter. “I suspect that we will be breakfasting sooner rather than not, and I suspect you might wish to wash and shave.” He laid a little more emphasis on ‘wish’ than he ought to have, but all things considered, he’d rather share a living space with someone who washed than with someone who didn’t. And the Jack Sparrow of his previous acquaintance wasn’t someone who always smelt as James might wish.
Jack wrinkled his nose. “All this washing,” he complained. “T’ain’t healthy.” But he got out of the bed nevertheless, scratching at his stomach and yawning. He considered the washstand for a moment and then turned back to James, a carefully blank expression on his face. “Unless you’d rather stay abed.” The hand that had been scratching now trailed somewhat suggestively down his stomach. It would have been less absurd if he hadn’t been wearing a slightly oversized nightshirt. It would have been less pitiful if he’d been smiling and not so somber.
James looked away. “Try to keep your weight off your ankle today as much as possible. And be quick with the washbasin, I’ve got an early morning appointment to make.”
Jack’s hand moved to fall down by his side. “Let me know if you change your mind,” he said absently and stumbled sleepily towards the cutthroat and soap.
James watched him wash, watched Jack shave his cheeks but not his upper lip, nor his chin and smiled slightly to himself as Jack examined the braid in his hair and the curling ends of the rest of the already tangled mess atop his head. “I could have you join me today, if you’d like to leave the rooms,” James offered. “It would be in attendance, but I don’t imagine you’d have to do much more than follow me about.”
“P’raps once I’ve got something that doesn’t make me look like a hareem girl,” Jack said, twisting his hair between his fingers, to coax it into its usual lovelocks. Without the addition of sea and wind though it was resolutely remaining curled and not locked. “So p’raps once we’re away from here an’ I can filch something of my own.”
“You needn’t resort to theft,” James said, finally getting up. “I wager I can find or buy something that ought to suit you.”
Jack frowned into the glass. “Commodore-”
James came over to the mirror and took the cutthroat from Jack. “Don’t even start,” he warned. “You will need something to start you on your way, and I do what I can.”
“Not for me,” Jack said quietly.
“I beg your pardon?” James asked, halfway through scraping the first of the morning’s beard off his face.
Jack shrugged and shuffled off, rifling through James’ wardrobe. “Don’t trouble yourself on my account.” They were both silent as James shaved and Jack set out undergarments, breeches, stockings, shirt, weskit, jacket and shoes, all very obviously for James.
Abruptly, James set the razor down. “Aren’t you a man like any other?” he demanded. “Oughtn’t you have your freedom like any other?”
“Freedom ain’t real,” Jack said bitterly and wouldn’t talk to James for the rest of the morning.
*~*~*~*
They didn’t speak again until the evening when James returned to the rooms in order to dress for dinner. He found Jack, dressed in clothing that James hadn’t owned previously. The clothing looked second hand but it mostly fit and it was mostly unstained.
“I’ve made a note of what I owe you,” Jack said preemptively.
James scowled at him. “You have quite missed the point.” He adjusted his wig and changed out of his coat into another, swatting at Jack’s hands when Jack tried to help him.
Jack slept on the sofa that night, and James wasn’t sure why he felt so badly about the whole situation.
*~*~*~*
“Freedom is real,” James said, as they took a turn about the garden. Jack was hardly limping at all. “It’s the reason I’m in the navy.” Jack didn’t say anything so James continued. “I gave up my own so that I might protect that of others. And now that freedom in question is yours. You might privateer for the crown when we are quit of here, or you might sail off the ends of the earth. I’d rather it was the first, but your options are always open. Isn’t that freedom enough?”
Jack gave him an odd look. “Do you ever do anything just for you, Commodore?”
“I was going to marry Miss Swann,” James said, after a moment’s thought. “I had thought we could make one another happy. Of course, she and Mr. Turner are far better suited, but still, I had never seen myself as the villain to come between someone and the one they love.”
“They played you unfairly,” Jack agreed. “But she’s got too much pirate in her for you anyway. Reminds me a lot of myself, actually.”
James laughed. “Perhaps I was bored of the society ladies.”
“You should smile more often,” Jack said, staring out over the gardens at the sea. “It suits you.”
*~*~*~*
Jack watched him constantly.
Sometimes curiously, sometimes with amusement. Sometimes sadly.
James rather liked the attention.
*~*~*~*
They parted ways on the dock of Port Royal, with a handshake, the Black Pearl moored in the harbor and the bumboat coming for Jack, Gibbs shouting and hallooing from the water.
Jack scratched at his growing beard. “I suppose I’ll see you about,” he said.
“I suppose so.” James gave him the certificate of ownership. “Stay out of trouble.”
Jack grinned and tucked the paper into his shirt. “If you say so.” Jack didn’t sound as though he meant it, and for some reason, despite all the headaches James was sure it would cause him, he was rather pleased about it.
“Thank you.”
“I don’t ask for your thanks,” James said.
Jack shrugged. “Those you get for free.” He patted James on the shoulder. “You really ought to smile more often. Before the wind changes an’ all that.”
They parted ways with a handshake and then James went and got rather drunk, and he wasn’t sure why. He suspected that he was going to miss Jack.
*~*~*~*
Gillette looked incredibly put out about something. “Sir,” he said tightly, “letter for you.” It was actually a letter and a little package that clinked suspiciously like money, but Gillette put both down on the desk and glowered out into the harbor.
James glanced up from his desk, noted the face Gillette was pulling and sat back in his chair, deciding that the tariffs on whathaveyou would have to wait until Gillette was gone and he could confer with merchants. It was all rather tedious and even if Gillette was bringing bad news, it might at least get him out of the office and into the sunshine. He took the letter and opened it.
The letter was battered about the edges, and the seal was thick, so as to stand up to poor handling. “Comodore Norington” was written in such elaborate script that it took James a moment to realize that both words were spelt wrong. He cracked the seal and scanned the contents.
“It was brought in yesterday,” Gillette said. “Rather, Captain Sparrow brought it to me, by his own hand and I was told not to deliver it until this morning. Some nonsense about time sensitive information. He was quite adamant about it though, so I thought perhaps you had some sort of pre-arrangement.”
James looked out the window. The Black Pearl had moored two days ago and had been delivering on her promise to privateer and had unloaded the goods she had taken from the Spanish. James had been expecting a visit from her erstwhile Captain for two days but it seemed as though a note was all he was to receive. As he watched, the Pearl hauled up her anchor and made ready to get underway.
“Time sensitive?” James asked.
Gillette watched the Pearl’s sails hauled down and frowned a little more. “I expect, seeing as he’s leaving with such haste, that the news will not be favorable.”
Jack’s handwriting was quite beautiful. There were the inevitable blots and crossings out from writing at sea, but overall it was something any man would be proud to display. His spelling, however, left much to be desired.
“Comodore. As you no dowbt hav gatherd, the Black Pearl has made her caling to Port Royale and you will be receev geting the cargo from her soon enof. You will allso find my pacage for you. Enclosed is part of my own wage. It is not so much as you are owed, but I will send more as soon as it has been ernd. With thanks, CJS.”
James frowned almost as much as Gillette. Enclosed with the letter was the contract he had used to buy Jack with and it had been gone over by a clerk of some description because it had been declared invalid by law. Jack was no longer a freed man; he was, once again, simply a free man.
“What in God’s good name happened while you were away?” Gillette asked, as the Black Pearl sailed out of the harbor.
James sighed. “I discovered that some people cannot see the difference between a good deed done them and a debt needing repayment.” He stood. “This could look rather suspect, I shall have to take the matter to the Governor immediately so all is made legal and aboveboard.”
Gillette peered at the contract and his eyes widened comically. “Sir?”
“No good deed goes unpunished, as they say.” James gathered up all the parts of his message and tucked them back into each other. “I would appreciate anything you’ve seen not leaving the office.”
“Yessir.” Gillette actually saluted, then faltered. “How did you-”
James gestured for Gillette to precede him out of the office. “Perhaps the next time Captain Sparrow makes port you might ask him to tell you the story. I am certain his version will be far more entertaining than my own.”
That said, James didn’t feel as though he really knew the story. He didn’t know how Jack had found himself in such a dire position. Jack had never elaborated on his time as a captive and their days together were nothing that James felt he could explain to Gillette. Best that any answers come from Jack Sparrow, who actually seemed to know what was going on.
*~*~*~*
Four packages and almost a whole year later and Jack’s debt was repaid.
There was no sign of the Black Pearl.
Reports came in and James knew what betrayal felt like for the second time in as many years.
James stopped waiting.
*~*~*~*
Some time in the early hours of the morning, when all sensible folk were abed, James woke to the sound of something at his bedroom window. He quietly and quickly pushed his blankets away and reached for his pistol. He had the gun cocked and aimed at the window when Jack came tumbling through, landing in an ungainly sprawl on the carpet.
“Hullo,” Jack said, grinning up at him.
James didn’t uncock the gun. “You attacked an English ship,” he said, reaching up to steady the pistol with his other hand as it grew rapidly heavier.
Jack got up, dusting himself off. He looked much like he always had, before everything. There was lampblack smeared around his eyes and on his hands. His hair was a tangled, salt stiff mess of braids and lovelocks, glinting and clinking in the candlelight from the gewgaws woven into it. His clothing was dirty with salt and sand and he smelt of the sea, docks, unwashed pirate, pitch, fish and rum. He had another gold tooth. “I might’ve.” Jack sashayed up to James and pushed the gun to the side. “Did you expect any less?” His moustache had completely grown back, as had the goatee, though the twin braids were shorter than they had before Jack had been shaved.
“To be fair,” James put the gun away, “no; I had no such expectations, though I had hoped.”
“Well then,” Jack said. “I suppose the only question you ought to ask is ‘Jack, why are you here,’ ain’t it?” He leaned in, too close, too far into James’ personal space and his breath smelt of rum and salted meat and, oddly enough, of oranges. “But you’re too sensible for all that.”
James sat down on the bed, partly because he was tired, and partly because standing so close to Jack was making him uncomfortable. “You had a pardon. All you had to do was stay away from English ships. Now I have an obligation to hang you and, after everything, I find myself disinclined to do so. You have made my life into a very difficult place, I hope you know.”
Jack took off his hat and set it on the seat by the window; his new bandanna was a rusty red, much like the last one had been. “You said, once, that you’d have nothing to do with repayment, or thanks, or obligation etc.” He stared out into the night, hands curled about the windowsill. “An’ I’ve never done well with debts, or thanks, or obligation. But I’ve thanked you as a man, an’ I’ve repaid you as I saw fit - no, don’t argue, it needed doing. Then I suppose it’s fair to say that I’ve gone and thrown any debt, or obligation, or thanks to the winds by turning back to piracy in the face of all you’ve done for me. Wouldn’t you say so, James? You owe me nothing and I’m the same to you.”
“I suppose,” James said cautiously, unsure of where, precisely, Jack was going with his argument.
“So, James.” Jack glanced over his shoulder at James. “Why am I here?”
James stood again. “I have an obligation to hang you,” he said dully. “In that light I really can’t fathom your motives.”
Jack shrugged one shoulder, unconcerned. “Could’ve been the Spanish raiding the Lady Devonshire,” he said. “God knows they’ve been all over your boys these days. No one would say otherwise. I suspect a war’s about to break out. You’ll be busy enough then with things other than my good self. No need to get all preemptive an’ such.” He gave James an expectant look.
“Why are you here, Jack?”
“Ah,” Jack said. “That’s the trick.” He caught hold of James’ wrist and tugged him two steps forwards so they were pressed toe to toe and chest to chest against each other. His moustache was surprisingly soft when he kissed James. He tasted of salted pork, rum and oranges. The fingers of his other hand, the one that crept up to touch James’ face, smelt of oranges. Jack stepped back, head cocked expectantly to one side. “So what say you?” His fingers were calloused and rough against James’ wrist and the skin of his cheek.
James swallowed. “I’m afraid your motivation is still a little cloudy,” he said, sounding strained even to his own ears.
Jack rolled his eyes. “This ain’t payback, James, I’ve done that and we’re square now. This is you in an absurd nightshirt that I’d rather was on the floor and me wearing far too much for what I have in mind.” He stepped into James’ personal space again and licked a hot, wet trail up the curve of his throat and ear. “I want to fuck, James Norrington. We can work out the details as we go.”
“Oh,” James said in a small voice and then, “Oh,” again in a gasp as Jack’s hand pressed firmly up against his erection, warm even through the fabric of his nightshirt.
“Say yes,” Jack purred into his ear.
James grabbed Jack’s coat and pushed it down off Jack’s shoulders, trapping Jack’s arms for a moment as they kissed, before it fell to the floor with a heavy thud. Jack unbuckled his own sword belt and kicked off his boots as James unwound the sash and then Jack’s weskit and shirt were on the floor and James was shoved up against a wall, one hand curving over the golden corrugation of Jack’s ribs and the other tangled in Jack’s hair, panting against Jack’s mouth, biting and kissing as Jack pushed one of his thighs in between James’.
Jack shoved the nightshirt up until it bunched under James’ arms and the fabric of his breeches was rough against James’ thighs and cock. Jack was muttering against James throat and it sounded like, “off” so James obligingly lifted his arms so Jack could tug the nightshirt over his head and discard it on the floor. James fumbled at the placket of Jack’s breeches as Jack wrapped his long, dirty fingers around James’ prick and into the sweaty tangle of James’ hair, kissing him hard enough to bruise.
“Christ, James,” Jack growled grinding against him. “I want to have you.”
James pushed his hand into Jack’s breeches so Jack groaned and shuddered. “Yes,” James said hoarsely.
*~*~*~*
Jack lay on his side, smelling strongly of sweat and sex with James tucked up behind him, smelling about as good. James’ fingers traced the scars that mapped Jack’s torso and smoothed over the flat of his stomach and the curve of hip.
“We were off the coast of Madagascar,” Jack said. There was a bead in his hair that looked very much like the missing button from James’ uniform. “I went ashore to arrange for fresh water.”
James’ hand stilled. “You don’t have to tell me.”
Jack smiled slightly in the dark. “I’m a liar by trade, Commodore; I don’t have to tell anyone the truth.” His fingers wrapped around James’. “Sometimes I just want to.” They were silent for a moment and then Jack let go of James and his fingers came up to illustrate his story. “It was stinking hot there, let me tell you that much,” he said.