Rating: NC-17 for m/m sex
Feedback: webcrowmancer at hotmail com & hipfix at yahoo com
Pairing: Jj Sparrington
Archive: Ask, please.
Crossposted: Everywhere.
Disclaimer: The Mouse/Bruckheimer Productions owns them, except for Jack Sparrow who belongs to J.Depp.
Beta: Moonsalt
Authors' Note: Written in collaboration on LJ, along with resultant haiku-smut & keyboard mashing.
Additional Note: Inspired by this Picture… (Theban Band Sparrington1.jpg)
Summary: The best plans for getting laid are usually spontaneously and serendipitously formed; Jack Sparrow seeks out the Commodore for a hands-on demonstration. The result?

Credit and Thanks: The line referenced at the end of this story * is accredited to Firesignwriter (KJ), for her lovely icon of this self-same Theban Band Pic, with her caption. :) it was very inspiring!

Best Laid Plans

By hija_paloma and Webcrowmancer

Norrington glared up from his papers, jostled momentarily as the carriage rattled through the muddy streets of Port Royal. The light from the falling dusk in the sky was providing less than helpful illumination for him to read by in any case, and he gave up, putting them away with a sigh.

Leaning back in his seat, he considered the mostly empty street his carriage passed, outside. There were not many citizens out at this hour, and any of those that might be carousing were most likely already sequestered in the single tavern that carried a license to sell kill-devil to those foolish enough to desire it.

Not that he would ever be tempted to imbibe, himself, boredom notwithstanding. It had been several months since the disturbing events in the wake of Miss Swann's rescue and the journey to the cursed Isle of the Dead. Months since he'd had anything other than bureaucratic duties and social functions to attend. Long, long tedious weeks of…

A familiar form caught his eye as the carriage rolled past. He stared at the dark figure, wondering if he were perhaps mistaken. But no, there was something entirely too memorable about that walk. Hurriedly, he stood and barked for the driver to stop just beyond the street corner. Hastily telling the man to wait, Norrington jumped out of the carriage and quickly made his way after the departing figure who still made his way up the street.

Absolutely brazen, Norrington thought to himself. Unbelievable. The pirate had actually ventured back here, right into Port Royal in the middle of the town in, well, less than broad daylight, but still! It was astonishing. The gall of the man.

Keeping a sharp, fixed eye upon the now-entirely discernable figure of Jack Sparrow, he shadowed the pirate as they continued up the street. Another carriage rolling past nearly spattered mud on his uniform. Distastefully, he wiped at the few flecks that hit him.

When he looked back up, Sparrow was gone. With an angry exhalation of frustration, Norrington quickly proceeded up the street, drawing his pistol.

A dark alley yawned ahead to his left, and he edged to the corner of the wall.


Jack had been advised, of course, to stay away from Port Royal. Anamaria had pitched a fit when the possibility of a visit was mentioned. Even Gibbs had told him there was no sense tempting fate, or Commodore Norrington, either one. Didn't matter, really. Jack knew it was a bad idea. He went anyway.

Jack had always had a bit of mad brilliance about him. He got ideas, half-formed notions, really, and though he couldn't explain them, he knew they were important, knew better than to ignore them. He'd had an idea to sail to the Isla de Muerta, once, and look how well that had turned out! He'd gotten to commandeer a ship of the Fleet with Bootstrap's son, spent time on an island with a divine quantity of rum and a lovely (if slightly less than willing) young lass, and had even left Port Royal a sort of hero, with the Governor's blessing and Commodore Norrington's tacit approval.

He'd had an idea, earlier, that he should sail to Port Royal. He hadn't known why, only that he had unfinished business there. When he arrived, Jack was as surprised as anyone to find his feet turning not to young William's forge, but to Norrington's office. Apparently, he had unfinished business with the Commodore. After expending the effort to scale the wall, rum in hand, and sneak in through the unlatched window, Jack was rather put out to find the room empty. He left a gift, a sort of calling card, on the desk. A full bottle of rum, complete with red ribbon. Lord knew the man needed a stiff drink.

Now he was wandering the streets aimlessly, trusting to his ungodly luck to take him where he needed to be. Truth be told, Jack was a bit unnerved being in Port Royal again, especially at night. It was like being in Tortuga, with all the people gone missing. Ghost town, ghost ship, and he turned his mind down a more pleasant avenue of thought. He was halfway through his favorite scenario on the beach (in which Will showed up on the second day, with more rum) when he heard Norrington's voice crack out in the street. Ah, luck was still holding, then.

Jack slunk down the street, trying to strike a balance between going slowly enough that Norrington could keep up, and not going so slowly that it appeared he wanted to be caught. In Tortuga, he'd have known a dozen shadowy places to slip into that would happily overlook any shady dealings in the dark for the promise of coin. Here in respectable society, he was out of his element, and he kept a sharp eye out for anything that might suit his purpose.

Hm, dark alley. Predictable, but then, it was exactly what the good Commodore would expect from him. Perfect. He slid into the alley, resisting the urge to look back and be sure the other man was still following him, and sank into a shadow to wait. He didn't have to wait long.


Norrington peered down into the dark of the alley, straining to catch sight of…anything. Blast. It was much too dark to tell. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. He took a breath and stepped around the corner, warily holding his pistol before him, ready.

"You may as well come out, Mr. Sparrow. I know you're down here," he called, dryly.

There was a tinkling sound - ah, yes, he recalled it well. Farther back along the dirt-paved alley in the shadows that were nearly impenetrable. Abruptly he wondered at the wisdom of venturing into this gloom without anyone at his back.

There was a hiss and a shushing sound.

Frowning, he moved forward, and was enlightened to find the pirate captain standing behind a stack of empty crates, leaning against the wall. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Norrington moved forward, his pistol aimed.

"Very foolish, Sparrow. You should have-"

"Quiet, quiet, mate, don't want everyone else down here with us, 'ey?" The pirate interrupted, sotto voce. He gestured for Norrington to come closer. "You're alone, aye?" He was glancing around the crates with a furtive air, an exaggerated movement that almost had Norrington wondering if he should follow suit. And then there was the muted flash of that golden grin, even in the dark, as Sparrow's teeth caught the light from the other end of the alley. "Don't suppose you're here to offer thanks for me little gift?"

Norrington sighed. "Sparrow…"

"…Captain. Captain Sparrow," the pirate reminded him in a slightly frustrated tone.

"…Yes," Norrington continued blithely, "Why are you skulking around the back alleys of Port Royal?" He paused, with a sinking feeling that he was going to regret getting tangled up in the pirate's never-ending hyperbole as usual. "What gift?"

But Sparrow was still glancing up and down the alley and not even looking at him. Norrington began to lose patience. The pirate leaned in a little closer, a hand on his arm even despite the pistol in his other hand. "Ah, you've not found it yet, then. Would've made this easier, but never mind."

The sound of Sparrow's pistol suddenly cocked below, aimed at his midriff, made him look down. "Surely you don't believe it will be that simple, Mr. Sparrow," Norrington commented. Still, Norrington was game. There was no way Sparrow would be leaving Port Royal, and he wasn't the type to murder in cold blood. But there was also no good reason for Sparrow's presence here, either. He had to ascertain why the pirate would venture so boldly back into a fortified British town where he'd already escaped hanging twice. "A stalemate, then."


"Stalemate." Jack chuffed derisively. "You know, Commodore, I've gone to a lot of trouble to meet you here. And your way of sayin' hello is to point a pistol at me? A man could feel unappreciated." He pointedly ignored Norrington's pointed glance at Jack's own weapon, pressed into his belly.

Norrington looked as though he were having a hard time deciding what part of that to object to first. "Meet me? I never - what are you doing here, Sparrow?"

Jack put on his best wounded look, though he knew it would lose some of its effect to the surrounding darkness. "Couldn't leave you here all by your onesy, mate, pining away for ol' Captain Jack. Or -" he cocked his head and leaned a little closer to the other man, "-do you mean to say you haven't missed me, Norrington?"

"It's Commodore Norrington to you, pirate."

"Not until it's Captain Sparrow to you, t'isn't. And you haven't answered me question."

Norrington smirked, but his eyes seemed quite determined not to look directly into Jack's own. Or at the pistols between them. Instead, they appeared to be fixed firmly on the twin braids on Jack's chin. "It's a ridiculous question. Why on earth would you think I was pining away for you?"

Jack shrugged, fluid and feline as ever. "You've spent an awful lot of energy trying to make sure I stay here, for a man who doesn't desire my company."

"God's teeth, man, I meant to see you hanged!" Jack drew back, arching his eyebrows in surprise, and his entire face brightened. Norrington's face reflected the surprise, but he looked horrified, rather than delighted, at what he'd said. Before Jack could comment, he hastened to correct himself. "Mean to. I'll see you dead, Sparrow, before I let you escape me again."

Jack shook his head, bells and coins chiming softly in agreement. "That so? Question for you, then, Norrington. Why haven't you shot me? You had your opportune moment before I even got close to you. Why pass it up? You don't intend to kill me at all."

Norrington opened his mouth to argue. This could take all night, Jack thought. He'd never be able to talk Norrington 'round; he needed an alternate course of action. His lips, pressed firmly against the Commodore's open mouth, stifled whatever reply the man had intended.


In absolute shock, Norrington realized he was standing in supreme silence in the private darkness of their alley, with a pair of very warm lips sealed to his. Frozen in complete bewilderment, he realized he had absolutely no idea what to do. How does one react when one is abruptly kissed by - by a loathsome pirate? All right, maybe he wasn't loathsome, so much as irritating. But still. Warm. And somehow comforting. Unlooked for. And unasked for. But very, very nice. Puzzlingly so.

When a devilish wet tongue took entirely too much for granted, however, he jerked in surprise, even as Jack lewdly licked at his teeth. It would be so easy, to pull the trigger, or push the man away. Or…

Jack's tongue met his in a hot swipe of silky wetness, and he was confounded to realize that it sent a thrill through his entire body.

He did none of those things, not pushing him away, nor ending it, and wondered why some hazy, distant part of himself was enjoying it. The longer he let this continue, the more obvious it became that he…was indeed enjoying it. A dart of panic arose inside him. Why couldn't he just stop this? Now? Before it grew too late? Was it already too late?

And Sparrow, Jack Sparrow, for heaven's sake, continued to cling to him like a limpet, treating him to the most passionate, demanding kiss he had ever experienced.

Norrington held the pistol in his right hand, holding it nerveless now, and with his left, he reached up to seize Sparrow's shoulder. To push him away. Yes. Only he never quite managed to get around to it, being somewhat distracted by the heat and the sudden, surprising bolt of lust that had arisen and was savaging his insides, and he held Sparrow in place.

Oh, it had been far too long since he'd kissed anyone. Let alone since anyone had kissed him. And in this manner. He heard a distant breathy moan and was appalled to realize it was his.

He pulled back as if bitten, staring down at the pirate in bemusement. Although his blood was rushing in his ears, and his heart was pounding with fear, desire, hope and even something akin to…need, he let out a breath of exasperation. Weakly, he accused, "You go too far, Mr. Sparrow," even as he quailed at the total lack of conviction in his voice.

As the pirate opened his own eyes and stared back up into his, Norrington could read an echo of his own surprise there, in that now-calculating dark gaze.


Jack swallowed thickly. "Not nearly far enough, Mr. Norrington," he countered, when he was sure he could keep the tremors he felt in his gut out of his voice. In fact, he wondered if Norrington might not have a point. This had certainly gone farther than he'd expected.

"Sparrow, you can't just…" Norrington's voice trailed off weakly and he flailed his right hand about as though hoping the pistol would explain everything.

Jack grinned crookedly. "Can. Did. Pirate." He thought it was probably a bad idea to remind Norrington of that fact at this juncture, but couldn't resist needling the man.

"We're in public, for God's sake, there's a carriage waiting for me on the street. If the driver came to look for me…"

"Well, mate, I tried to meet you in your office, but you weren't there. I had to come looking for you." Jack couldn't help but laugh; Norrington was really making it too easy. The laughter bled away a bit of the unsteady feeling, and he could think a little better. He'd need it - Norrington was normally a sharp man, even if he was a bit undone at the moment. "Any time you're ready to adjourn to a more private setting, Norrington, just say the word."

The cavalier use of his name seemed to jar Norrington back into himself. "You can't - the only place we'll be going, Sparrow, is to the jail, that I may see you hanged in the morning. I don't want… You go too far." It sounded no stronger the second time.

"We've been down this road, love," Jack sigh, rolling his eyes. "If I were destined to hang, it would've happened long ago. And, considering that you don't want, as you say, you weren't fighting so very hard."

"I wasn't expecting to be assaulted on the streets of Port Royal. I was caught off-guard." Jack wasn't sure if Norrington was talking to himself or to Jack, but he was sure of one thing - the man was lying. Not about it being unexpected, he'd grant him that much, but it didn't explain why Jack wasn't bound and headed for jail - or dead.

"Mm." Jack's non-committal hum was accompanied by a slight lift of his right shoulder. He turned his face, keeping his eyes steadily on Norrington's, and scraped his jaw along the knuckles of the fingers still gripping his shoulder firmly. "Still off-guard, are you?" He asked the question gently, but Norrington's grip tightened until it hurt. Even now the man made no move to push him away, take him into custody, or pull him closer. He seemed frozen in his own indecision.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Sparrow." Norrington's voice was tight and without the light to see his eyes, Jack couldn't tell if it was lust, or fear, or anger that had him strung so tight.

"Ah. So you do appreciate what I'm doing for you. Even if you are selfish enough to take without giving anything in return."

Norrington's hand slid from shoulder to jaw, and his fingernails dug into Jack's skin as he pulled their faces together. "Put down the pistol, Sparrow," he growled, and then he was leaning over Jack, kissing him fiercely, as though to prove he meant to do it properly.

Jack yielded to him, letting his head fall back and his mouth open under the pressure. He felt the tentative darting of Norrington's tongue against his lips, and then his own mouth was being explored just as he'd delved into Norrington's only moments before. Jack let his arms fall to his sides (he did not let drop the pistol) and hooked one leg around Norrington's. With his free hand at Norrington's shoulder, Jack spun him and shoved him back against the wall, quickly pinning him there with his own lithe body. He ground his hips against the other man's, to tease, yes, but also to grant himself some relief from the straining ache that was growing in his own cock. Norrington wrenched free of the kiss at that too much, not enough contact, and Jack smiled at him. "Ready to head somewhere a little more private?"


Sparrow's query rang in his ears with the double entendre, intentional or not. Whether heading south for their respective breeches, just like his blood-flow abruptly had, or indeed to someplace less decidedly public, the answer had to be a firm 'no'. Certainly not. Firm. Resolve, resolve! He would not rut in this alley like a - a pirate. With a pirate. But he already was.

He could give as good as he got, but Jack's-

No! Sparrow, Sparrow! he frantically reminded himself, his body aching to find release with this brazen man who seemed to offer far too much, too fast and all at once.

Sparrow's reminder of their public position, and that he was a pirate, brought home again the fact that they were in an excellent position to be wholly compromised, and the danger of being discovered together grew with each passing moment he delayed. Something he could not afford.

The jingle of Jack's silver ornament and his sudden flash of teeth as he grinned reminded Norrington he was supposed to be answering. As the pirate shamelessly moved against him, causing stimulation in terribly wonderful places, he swallowed.

Damn this tremor that seized him, and the trickle of sweat that had run down his left side. And the unrelenting hardness of his member that made him bite his lower lip against a moan at the stimulation. Couldn't they simply finish this, right here? No one would ever know. It had been so long since he'd had any relief like this. Too long. Could he be damned for it? Regardless of Jack's reasons? Why was he even contemplating it? The situation was ghastly. Simply ghastly.

The thought of blackmail and betrayal arose sharply, only to flee in the next supple writhe of the pirate's body against him and Jack's whisper, "Come, come, Mr. Norrington. We haven't all bloody night to make up our minds, 'ey?"

The heat and swirling desire made him want to pull Jack to him again and simply drown in him, here and now. He was finding it harder and harder to think at all. Jack was like kill-devil, a tiny unaffected portion of his mind whispered to him; the pirate impaired a man's judgment and caused irrational behavior. Such as rutting like a common vagabond in alleyways, for instance…with a common vagabond. He was momentarily horrified at himself.

"No," Norrington finally managed, aware that he was actually agreeing, admitting, that he wanted it, even as he continued, "I can't. I can't simply bundle you into my carriage and make off with you. It would not only be unseemly, it would be scandalous."

A bit caustically now, Jack (Sparrow, Sparrow! his mind shrilled) Sparrow mused reflectively, "I see. An' a good, hard shag wif me in this little alley isn't scandalous or unseemly in the slightest." Sparrow gave a small shrug and added, "Hard on the knees, as well. I'm afraid there's nothing for it, Commodore. T'will have to be either your place, or mine. Which is it going to be?"

With an angry grunt, he pulled Jack to him again. "Neither," he retorted, before laying claim to that damnably wicked, enticing and tormenting mouth again, letting his control slip loose for once, and possessing the pirate's dishonest lips which, despite all the prattle, were undeniably desirable. He allowed himself a few more heartbeats' worth of liquid heat before pulling back again, eliciting a disgruntled moan from Jack, and said, "Drop your pistol."

"I'll drop mine if you drop yours," Jack instantly rejoined, and Norrington heard the humor in his reply.

But it was enough to rekindle his resolve, and he finally pushed Jack backwards, slowly, away from him enough that the pirate was no longer squirming up against him. "I can't," he said, a bit helplessly.

"Ah," Jack said. And then added, amusedly, "Your place it is, then." He put away his pistol and stepped forward into Norrington again with a light kiss, and continued in a low, husky promise, "Until then, Commodore."

Jack patted his cheek consolingly, and then stepped away from him. Norrington watched, paralyzed, as Jack walked away from him, moving farther back along the alley until he was merely a dark shape against the outline of the end of the street.

As Jack turned the corner and disappeared, Norrington drew a shuddery breath. On the heels of this, guilt and doubt settled in immediately. What in God's name was he doing? And why had he let him go? Was Jack serious, about meeting him…elsewhere? The faint whicker of a restless horse reached his ears and despite his uncomfortably erect state, he realized he had to stir himself to return to the carriage. For home.

He put away his own weapon and managed to remove himself from the now empty alley to make his way back to the carriage where the driver was waiting. "Carry on," he said, as casually as possible, before climbing back into the carriage, wondering why he had let the pirate go. And why he hoped that Sparrow would make good on that threatening promise.

Norrington glumly considered his future as the carriage continued on its journey bearing him home. As lonely and possibly difficult as his night would undoubtedly be, he could think of no good reason why he should be surprised if Sparrow simply disappeared after concluding whatever unfortunate business he'd had in Port Royal. He put a hand over his eyes, briefly. Madness. That's what it had been. Temporary madness.

There was no possible reason to expect the pirate to arrive at his door. Or window, or any other entrance to his home. And he'd already given Sparrow ample ammunition to use against him in any future encounter. Glowering darkly now, and with a sense of foreboding, he sat in stiff, non-assuaged discomfort all the way back to his residence.


Jack waited until he was sure he was well out of Norrington's path before he dropped to the ground on the side of the street. He sat, elbows propped on his knees, head resting on his arms, and took a couple deep breaths to clear his head. Unfortunately, this meant getting a good whiff of the streets of Port Royal, and he quickly switched to taking shallow, open-mouthed breaths to clear his head.

Just wasn't fair, really. A man shouldn't be able to do that to another man's mind. Brought them far too close to a level playing field, and as a pirate, Jack never had much use for playing fair.

And now what? Jack asked himself, Where do I go from here? He looked up as though expecting to see a signpost, something to point him in the right direction. Nothing.

No, hello, down there. "Lucky Jack's." What a fortuitous name for a tavern. Jack could use a drink, and he seemed to have left his rum behind somewhere.

"Really ought to let him stew for a while, you know. Let him go hungry for a bit, see how much he wants it. Would only serve him right, too. No cause trying to hang a man every time he sees 'im. That's just not right." Jack paused for another swig of rum, licking the stray amber droplets from his mustache with force of habit rather than conscious thought. "Might not be the best idea, though. Gives him too much time to decide he's wrong, and he'd really rather hang me than fuck me after all." He paused again, thought about it, grimaced. "Or fuck me, then hang me. No delay, then, best not to risk it." He looked around for agreement, but nobody spoke up. Jack considered the possibility that this was because he was sitting in a corner, talking to himself. Satisfied with this explanation, he got up and left the tavern.

The problem, Jack mused, was that now he had to find Norrington. Again. He was willing to bet the Commodore wasn't in his office, since Jack had let slip earlier about his visit there tonight. No, given the circumstances, and the time of night, at home in bed sounded about right. Or, possibly, at home, brooding. Just wouldn't be right, he thought, leaving a man in such a state. His grin and determination renewed, Jack set off to find Norrington's quarters.

Over an hour later, near exhaustion and unusually cranky, Jack swung his feet over Norrington's windowsill. "Really startin' to wonder if you're worth all this, mate," he groused as he slid into the room.

"Mister Sparrow! I certainly did not invite you into my bedchamber. I expected you would've taken the opportunity I so graciously gave you and left town by now." Norrington sounded outraged, but, slumped at his desk, sans wig and coat, he simply looked weary and defeated.

"Might have, too, if you'd told me you quartered next door to your office. Would've saved me a great deal of time and runnin' around Port Royal, trying to find you again." Jack advanced on Norrington as he spoke, trying not to look too intimidating.

"Sparrow, if you leave now, I'll forget I ever saw you." Norrington had closed his eyes and a pained look stretched across his face.

"Can't have that," Jack murmured. "Wouldn't want to have you forgetting me. A man could feel unappreciated."

"If." Norrington stopped, swallowed, opened his eyes, looked directly at Jack. Every time Jack saw that shocking green, he startled a bit. It was like coming across a bit of the ocean in the midst of a desert. "If you insist on staying I shall have to have you arrested and hanged." Norrington bit off the words as though he were pronouncing his own death sentence, not Jack's, but he did look relieved once he was done.

Jack cocked his head and looked at him sadly. "Did I give you too much time after all, then?" He now stood immediately in front of Norrington, leaning over him. Since the Commodore's weapons were nowhere to be found, Jack kept his hands off his pistol. He didn't put it down, though. Fair play could only be stretched so far. "Earlier you said no because we were in public. Nobody will find us out, here, Norrington. It's your choice. Kiss me or kill me. Make it quick, and make it final. I can't spend all my days chasing you."


Norrington hesitated, mulling over Jack's words. It really was that simple. And if he were going to act on the decision to have him arrested and hanged, he'd have done so already. He never would have allowed Jack to persuade him with words or kisses in the first place. And then what Jack had said struck home, finally.

He raised his eyes in some disbelief to the pirate's now, unable to suppress a tiny flinch while noting both the expression in that dark-rimmed gaze, and the pout of those petulant lips.

His concentration even now threatened to waver as he remembered that mouth on his, under his own, even as he replied carefully, "Chasing me?"

At Jack's equally-careful lack of reaction and bland look, he stood up slowly, adding, "I was under the impression, and do feel free to correct me, Captain Sparrow, that I was chasing you."

Jack's eyes narrowed, turning him quite feral, but Norrington recognized the defensiveness there. In fact, it allayed his guilt somewhat, and even soothed some of his ruffled dignity at the impossible manner in which he'd conducted himself in that alley. No matter that he had every intention of throwing dignity to the four winds, even now.

However, Jack met his eye stoically. "Same difference, really. Although I must admit, Commodore; thought you'd prefer to keep up appearances for your high an' mighty reputation."

Norrington allowed himself a tight smile at this, feeling a little better at this unusual outcome. Far better than he'd expected he would if it came down to it.

"You came back to Port Royal with the sole intention of seeing me?" he asked, quietly and mildly enough.

Jack rolled his eyes a bit at this. Plaintively, he countered, "Saves us both a great deal of trouble. No need to let it go to your head, mate." He gave Norrington a studied once-over, his eyes traveling down and then back up to meet his eyes. "So what's it to be?"

In a moment of self-honesty, Norrington realized that what he was being offered was far greater than a simple night's debauchery. Jack Sparrow was offering his trust. It did place him in a difficult position, but considering that he'd already damned himself with his own desires and actions, it would be churlish of him not to accept it now, and offer his own in return. Which of them stood to lose more, after all?

Wearily, he replied, "Very well. I have no wish to see you dead, though I may be damned for it."

At his acceptance, Jack approached even closer, and slow enough as if wary of spooking him. There was a twinkle in those dark eyes now. "Such enthusiasm, Mr. Norrington. An' after all those kisses earlier. Or is it only the cover of darkness that gives you the courage, I wonder?"

Nettled, Norrington reached up and grasped both of Jack's shoulders, pulling him against him, feeling the pirate's body along his once more as the long-denied and banked arousal revived strongly within him. "Speak for yourself," he rejoined, and captured Jack's mouth under his.


The kiss had none of the tentative, questioning nature that the first one had held, and Jack allowed himself to be rolled by it, taken under by the strength of Norrington's desire - and his own. He always had admired a man who knew exactly what he wanted.

As Norrington's lips played over his, Jack played his fingers down Norrington's sides and across his back. His calloused fingertips pricked and pulled at the fabric of the shirt, tugging the fine linen out of place. Jack had intended to keep his touch light, casual, letting Norrington square himself with the idea of having a filthy pirate's hands on him, but he quickly found it turning into something more. Needy, searching, he pulled up on the shirt, slid his hands under the hem to rasp against the bare skin of Norrington's waist.

Immediately, Norrington stiffened and broke off the kiss with a sharp, shuddering gasp.

"Sorry, mate," Jack murmured, slowly moving his hands out from under the shirt. "Going too far again, am I?"

Norrington looked down at him, his face completely inscrutable. "I - if you laugh, I shall change my mind, and hang you myself."

Jack wrestled an innocent expression onto his face and waited patiently.

"It tickles. I'm very - damn you, Sparrow, I told you not to laugh." He pushed Jack away from him, holding him at arm's length with his hands still on his shoulders.

"I'm not laughing, Commodore."

"You're smiling."

Jack nodded in acquiescence. "It is the accepted way for a man to indicate that he's enjoying himself."

"At my expense." Norrington looked as though he were in danger of frowning again, and Jack wished he'd left the rum in here. At least the man would be smiling.

"No, mate, at your hands. See?" He twisted out of Norrington's grasp and stepped into his body again. Carefully, he put his hands on Norrington's waist and pulled them tight together, catching his mouth in another heated chase of lips and tongues and teeth. When he pulled away, he looked at Norrington solemnly. "I'm not laughing at you, Commodore."

Norrington smiled wryly. His answering nod was tight, nearly imperceptible, and rather ambiguous in its interpretation. Ever the opportunist, Jack took it for permission, and pulled Norrington's shirt off over his head. His exposed skin was pale in the moonlight, giving the man an unexpected air of fragility. Jack reached out and drew his fingers up the center of Norrington's chest, enraptured by the contrast his own dark skin presented.

"Jack, you- "

Jack's eyebrows shot up, and his eyes went wide in his face. "Jack, now, is it?"

Norrington flushed and smirked at him. "Well, it seems inappropriate to continue addressing you by your last name, given the circumstances, and what is about to transpire here."

"Inappropriate? And what do you expect is about to transpire here, Commodore?" Jack's tone was coy but his eyes were serious, searching Norrington's face for a hint of - well, anything, really. Damn the man and his impervious facade.


It was so patently not an answer to the questions Jack had asked, it made no sense at first. "Eh?"

Finally, the facade cracked, and Norrington smiled amiably. "My name is James."


It seemed incredible to him, in that moment, to witness the transformation that simply telling Jack his name appeared to cause. Jack looked taken aback.

It sent a shaft of tenderness through him to see it; an unexpected feeling even now, which he would have considered inconceivable before that curious encounter in the alley.

Norrington reached for him again, marveling at the ease he felt in doing so now. Gone was the earlier fear of discovery, and also his instinctive, internal tug-of-war over whether to allow himself to enjoy this man's company, or to resist it. This shared time and space between them seemed less fraught with danger, somehow. All that was left was the heat. For a small while, at least.

"I expect you to make good on the offer you keep making me," he replied, with another kiss pressed to that surprised mouth.

After allowing him a momentary capture of that warm, close sweetness again, Jack drew back a little and murmured agreeably, "We're both still overdressed for it."

Norrington began to wonder just how far 'too far' was. Abruptly, the clothing he still wore felt like bonds, and he chafed at the presence of too much between them. Skin, delicious warm skin, was all he could focus on. His hands flew to his breeches, unbuttoning them quickly, and continuing to undress in a slight daze as he watched Jack casually begin to remove his coat, his pistol, and the belt. Then he began to unwrap the sash from around his middle.

A sudden breeze from his open window guttered the candles and made the light and shadows flicker wildly over Jack's undressing form, even as the shafts of moonlight balefully added a twilight hue to that bronze skin. Norrington quickly pulled off the last of his clothing, carefully setting it to one side on the dresser.

Jack's legs were bare now, and Norrington licked his lips before he realized he was doing it. Dressed in just the shirt and that scarf, with the beads and charms and coins in his hair, Jack looked delectably disheveled. As if no matter how much he removed, he would still appear half-dressed. Norrington swallowed in a parched mouth, watching. Waiting. And gradually became aware that Jack wasn't moving anymore.

By way of explanation, Jack lifted his chin a little and said, considering, "You sure about all this light, then? That alley offered more security."

Norrington blinked at this, wondering why Jack was being so overly concerned about his sensibilities at this point. And then it hit him. Giving him the option of darkness, bringing it up again…perhaps now it wasn't he that needed it at all, but Jack. Norrington smiled once more, and saw that curiously vulnerable expression go over Jack again. Illumination was swift. Jack was entirely unused to seeing him smile at all. And was actually surprised that he'd got as far as he had with him - even to the point of standing on the verge of climbing into his bed.

Understanding brought a bit of compassion, and more of that balm to his slightly-piqued conscience, which truthfully still burned a little to be dallying with Jack in the first place.

Smoothly, he said, "You said you brought me a gift. I confess I still don't know what you were referring to." And he turned to regard the bed. Moving past Jack, who still stood unmoving, Norrington went to his bed and turned back the covers. The blanket and sheets would undoubtedly suffice; he didn't want to lessen the light in the room, but wanted to be able to see as well as feel, and hear. And taste. Climbing into the bed, he moved over to make room, asking, "Well?"

Jack looked as though he'd come to a decision within himself, undoubtedly surprised still at Norrington's acceptance of their impending intimacy, and went to the bed, pulling his shirt over his head as he did so. "Rather unmistakable really; you'll not miss it, once you find it, I promise." And as he slid into the sheets to settle close to Norrington's bare and waiting flesh, he muttered, "Although, must say I'm missing it meself already."

Aching to feel the pirate's body against his now, Norrington hungrily pulled Jack into him, nearly gasping aloud at the sensation of that heated skin touching his own, searing along every nerve and fiber of his over-sensitive and starving body. It really had been too long. Too long since the alley. Too long since anyone had shared his bed. And too long since he'd allowed himself this luxury. This sin.


Jack brought his hands up again, skating quick fingers over the smooth expanse of cool white skin. Cool to the eye but not the touch; Norrington's skin was hot, as though he were burning from the inside. "How do you keep it so white?" he breathed, only half-aware of the question.

Norrington chuckled self-deprecatingly. "The uniform. Not a lot of naval officers walking around in their skin, Jack." He used the name carefully, as though it were a new privilege, one dear to him, that he was afraid to lose.

Jack shook his head impatiently, and his hair rang out whispered dissent. "No, I mean -'ey, they should, you know, be a damn sight prettier than those blue coats." Norrington smiled at that, and Jack thought there probably wasn't much he wouldn't do to see that sight again. And again. "I meant, well, me, I'm - marked. Can't say I'm surprised you've no ink on you, but I would expect a man of action to have a scar or two, at least."

Norrington's smile faded. He took one of Jack's hands in his, and slid it around and slightly under his left side. "You're not looking in the right places, that's all." Suddenly Jack felt it, long and ragged and rough. "Lieutenant Groves was holding a pirate in custody. He got away. I stopped carrying a knife after that."

Jack looked at him, didn't say anything. He felt suddenly responsible, as though by being a pirate, he were accountable for all the actions of his ilk. He couldn't shake the suspicion that Norrington's thoughts on the matter were remarkably close to exactly that.

Norrington's hand pushed at his again, guiding it down his side, over his leg, to his inner thigh. Jack raised his eyebrows. "Getting bold?" Then he felt the ridges and whorls under his fingers. "Cannon fire?" Norrington nodded. "'M sorry, James. Close one, 'ey?" he winked, and the smile returned, but it was tremulous, and it hurt to look at it, so Jack kissed it away.

Norrington's hands came up to tangle in his hair, and he took advantage of the opportunity to slide his hand slowly up. He gave Norrington plenty of time to say "no", time to say "stop", and he was immensely relieved when he didn't say anything. His fingers wrapped around the hard heat and stroked, and then Norrington did say something. He rolled back his head and groaned Jack's name like a curse.

Jack grinned, wild and savage, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the curve of Norrington's neck. "Something I can do for you, James?" He slid his mouth down, over collarbone and across that pale, perfect chest.

"Jack, what are you doing to me?" This, too, was ambiguous in its interpretation. Jack felt the meaning behind it and shoved it aside, decidedly did not answer that question.

"Should think it's obvious, Jamie." He dragged a slow, wet kiss - more tongue than lips, really, now - over Norrington's belly. Continued down, down. "Got to find out if you taste as good as you look."

Norrington gasped out a strangled sob as Jack's mouth slid over him. "Oh, God, Jack!" His back flexed and arched and Jack pulled back, coughing a little.

"Sorry, mate, been a while." Jack wrapped his fingers around Norrington's hips, pulling them down flat to the bed. "Hold still, James, 'ey?" He didn't wait for a response but immediately descended on Norrington's cock again, eager to discover what other reactions he could tease from his stoic Commodore.


Self-control and discipline were not foreign concepts, but when he felt the head of his hard cock enveloped fully in that lusciously hot, wet, silky mouth, and Jack's tongue curling about it with slow licks up and down, Norrington was hard-pressed to remember what 'hold still' actually meant.

There were limits to what a man could endure, after all. The pleasure was wrecking him, recklessly dancing along his bloodstream and causing little shocks and tremors through his muscles, made worse in his attempts to remain unmoving.

The unbelievable sight of Jack Sparrow moving to crouch properly between his legs, settling naked there over his thighs and pushing the covers back off of them impatiently, was nearly enough to bring him to a climax then and there.

"Jack, wait. It's - too much. Your- your mouth," Norrington managed, helplessly. He'd been waiting too long, after all. Since their first kiss in the alley, he'd been suffering a state of arousal that he'd wanted to take care of earlier, and had nearly been ready to attempt it even as Jack had climbed in his window.

The reality of seeing Jack lift his head momentarily, and actually look up at him questioningly from where he hovered over his length, was something he'd never imagined. No, really, he'd never…never, ever thought of it.

All right, perhaps. Once. Or even twice. When unable to help noticing those full, winsome lips, during their previous encounters. But not this.

"You want me to stop?" Jack asked in something of a smirk, his brows lifting and his eyes widening with the question, far too mischievous now to mistake for innocent.

"No," he found himself gasping, near begging for him to continue.

Jack tilted his head a little, glancing down and regarding his straining, eager cock, and then said in a speculative tone, "Been awhile, has it, love?" Jack began to crawl his way back over him, upwards, until he was on hands and knees above him and grinning down at him, his hair falling around his face like a dark curtain, sundry ornaments and that…spiny thing thankfully pointing in a less dangerous direction. "Have you never done this before, Jamie?"

Norrington's eyes narrowed at this rhetorical question. Reaching up to pull Jack forcefully down upon him, he rolled them to the right, pinning Jack to the bed beneath him. Seizing that trickster mouth under his, he relished finally being able to stifle whatever oddities Jack might choose to utter, while grinding his throbbing member against Jack's.

Oh God. The sweetness of it, of holding him down, relentlessly trapping the infuriating pirate at last with a punishing kiss.

A wicked urge began to suggest itself in the back of his mind. Something he'd been keeping at bay for, well now, it was since the beginning, really. He broke away, lifting his head enough to allow Jack to suck in a few gulped breaths. And nearly groaned as Jack immediately said, "See, that's more in the order of things. I knew you had it in you. All that practice shouldn't go to waste-"

Norrington shut him up with another hard kiss, and then managed against his lips, "Do you ever shut up?"

"Don't think, James. Just do it," Jack grinned into him, with a series of little kisses, not really serious and more playful than anything.

Norrington arose at this, feeling that urge starting to dictate his actions, like an eager wave that had been held back behind the dam for too long. He felt light-headed, breathless. He wanted. He wanted - the chance…to give it to someone who could take it.

Jack licked his upper lip, and the sight of that tongue sent a startling bolt of pure need through Norrington, where it rushed up to join the spiraling decision. The one that had such a bright grip in his mind now that he couldn't shake it loose. The consequences - were immaterial and irrelevant.

"I want you," he said, in a low voice. "I want to have you."


The warning tone in Norrington's voice gave Jack pause. "Seemed to me I'd made it quite clear, James, that I'm offering meself to you here." His voice was quiet, cautious, unsure. Entirely unlike Captain Jack Sparrow.

"That's understood, Jack. My desire for you is - fierce." Norrington hesitated again, and understanding broke on Jack like the surf.

He grinned invitingly and wrapped his legs around Norrington's. "I'm no fragile English rose, James," he whispered, "No need to be gentle with me."

Norrington's grin was feral, and Jack was unnerved to suddenly find himself staring into a mirror of his own predatory expression. "Good."

It was all the warning Jack got, and then Norrington grabbed his arms and turned him over forcibly, kneeling over him and crossing his ankles over Jack's calves to hold him in place. Jack huffed softly. "I always forget that you're stronger than I am. Must be all that brocade they make you carry around."

The voice in his ear was unexpectedly dark, deep and rich like smoke and brandy. "Jack… shut up." He probably could've come up with an argument if that soft, sweet tongue hadn't been licking his neck, curling around his ear. The teeth came next and then Norrington was whispering to him, "Oh, the things I'll do to you, Jack. You don't know how long I've wanted this. Oh, but you did know I wanted you, didn't you? Parading yourself about in front of me like a whore. Rash, indeed. Never mind that, now, it's time for you to deliver on your promises."

Jack wanted to protest, wanted to answer, wanted to point out that Norrington was even more loquacious than he was, but those fine, strong hands were driving him to distraction. The left slid around his belly while the right tangled in his hair, then left raked up, across his chest, while right curled possessively over his shoulder, left held him tight, right followed the dip of his spine, dancing over his scars, not lingering or avoiding them, just tapping lightly over the ridges before moving down to stroke the curve of his arse.

Norrington paused, skating his fingers lightly back and forth along the line between Jack's arse and his thigh. Jack squirmed, and did not appreciate the fairness in being tickled in his turn. Not when he wanted so much more.

"James…" He began to say so, and was dismayed at the frank need in his voice. Jack Sparrow didn't beg. Oh, bugger that. "James, please… don't tease a man…"

Norrington pulled his hand away, and if Jack had been dismayed before, it was nothing to what he felt now. Then those searching fingers returned, suddenly slick, and Jack muttered a grateful prayer to the heathen gods as they pressed inside him. Well, prayer, curse, all the same, they were heathens, after all.

Jack was dimly aware that Norrington was still whispering in his ear, but if pressed, he could not have said whether the man was still delineating his plans for Jack, or praying to Jack's heathen gods himself, or reciting his favorite recipe for peach cobbler. He did know that the sweet pressure inside wasn't nearly enough, and that had to be addressed. "Not enough, James… give us more, love."

Norrington drew out his fingers and Jack held his breath. The sudden, slippery invasion of heat stole all pretense of thought or control. His world didn't so much narrow, as collapse, and all that was left was the blissful burn of Norrington driving into him, and the puffs of heat that blew against his neck with James's ragged breaths.


The bliss of sliding deep into hot, creamy, gripping tightness was enhanced by the accompanying lengthy groan of the pirate under him. Oh, to do a little plundering himself - and to know that Jack wanted it, was pleading for it, craving it as desperately as he was; it was more than satisfying. It was maddening, and relentless.

He gripped the slender shoulders tightly, reveling in the act of lying atop this man who was willingly offering himself over to this act, and pulled out of that clenching sweetness a few inches, feeling the silky-slick sensation of being inside of Jack Sparrow still surrounding the head of his shaft. Then allowed himself to sink forward again, driving deeper into him. He was rewarded with an open-mouthed, guttural moan; the sound of it sending a sharp thrill of power through him…at being the cause of it.

Helpless to even try to pretend he had been hungering after anything else, Norrington let his hips dictate a steady, hard pace, repeating the delicious thrust and plunge with a blend of intent and abandon that quickly began to sap what was left of his composure.

Duty? By all that was in him, it was his duty now to oblige himself and the pirate captain he'd finally caught at last, and to do it as thoroughly as possible. Jack was actually moving in graceful, tiny jutting movements backwards to meet each thrust, welcoming them, and the squirming, writhing motion of it was abruptly like riding the waves, or having caught a sea-creature bareback. The sheer animal release of the simple in-and-out rhythm was like a dance, however lewd.

It was all he could do not to thrust home too hard, but he longed to bury himself inside Jack's quivering arse to the hilt.

Like an astonishing musical answer to his silent wish, Jack wriggled back against him impatiently in a staccato, eager bounce, nearly making him lose his mind. "Harder, if you please," Jack demanded, in a voice too coherent and saucy for Norrington's peace of mind.

Norrington held onto him, gripping him tighter, and panted, "Still not enough?" Letting his control slip free of the reins, he sank in balls-deep now, not heeding the harsh exclamation that it wrested from Jack, only to quickly repeat it, feeling every inch of his organ buried over and over in clutching, liquid depth.

"Is this what you're looking for, Captain?" he hissed in Jack's ear, punctuating it with another stab sinking deep. The only reply was a strangled noise. Norrington seized Jack's earlobe between his teeth, causing a rippling shiver to traverse the pirate's body, before licking at it soothingly and moving his lips down to that graceful, long throat, mouthing it and suckling at the tanned skin.

Jack was writhing under him now, unable to speak, with little jolts and involuntary jerks, as he continued to punish that tight, begging hole between the pert, lusciously indecent buttocks he was grinding into. His, his at last. With every slam into him, Norrington felt the incidental, brushing shudder of his balls against Jack's, below.

Every part of his body that was not in direct contact with Jack's skin felt keenly ignored, and yet the only thing he could focus on was the immediate gratification of his member, sheathed at last in hot, willing flesh, eliciting the most delicious sobbing curses from the pirate under him. The pirate captain he'd finally caught. Who even now was struggling, not to escape but to meet each and every plunge forward.

The sounds of the slap of skin upon skin was united with the breathy, sibilant panting from both Jack and himself now, as the silence was filled with the lack of words, the complete inability of any speech to complement this straining, urging, desperate union.


Jack hadn't been prepared for this. Oh, he'd long been aware of Norrington's desire for him, had even taken it as a foregone conclusion that they'd end up here, but he'd expected the man to need a little more… coaxing. He'd expected to be the one doing the taking. He hadn't been prepared to find himself here, helpless under Norrington's long, heavy form, submitting to this reckless, relentless pounding. He hadn't been prepared to find the man so eager to lose control. He hadn't, above all, been prepared for how badly he'd wanted it.

He was beyond the point of begging, now, though he'd done his share of that earlier. Now there were no words, only the press and the stretch of their bodies crashing against each other, and Jack's blood seemed to ebb and flow with the rhythm of Norrington's motion. The tide pounded in his head, in his heart, in his pulse, where Norrington's teeth scraped under the curve of his jaw.

Jack arched his back to capture the thrust of Norrington's hips, drove his own forward to press his cock into the sheets below. Not enough, not enough, and he wasn't sure anything would be enough for him now, not when he knew, not when he'd felt this deliciously punishing stroke, not when he'd been covered in James Norrington and felt the man sinking into his body like the sea into sand.


Every swift, penetrating slide into the pirate's body simply added to the conflagration that was burning through him. A fire-tide of licking flames that made him snap his hips forward, almost against his volition, seeking for…consummation, of the triumph of grasping for pleasure and finding it at long last. Looking for the peak.

A single, quiet memory took that moment to awake however, and Norrington heard in the back of his mind the advice given to him by an older friend from his early days before leaving England - "A gentleman always lets his lady come first." No lady, perhaps, he thought with a sudden, vicious smile, but pretty nonetheless.

Licking his lips, he breathed against Jack's neck, "Shall I let you find release, Jack?" Continuing to stoke the arching, writhing body beneath him, he asked in a harder tone, "Do you want it?"

Through gritted teeth, Jack managed, "Aye, please, please just fucking do it!"

The easy obscenity…hearing it spoken by Jack in that husky voice, mingled with urgency, was a barb of lust in Norrington's being, and he surged forward in the next instant, nearly giving in at the last. Raggedly, he ordered, "Turn- turn a little." As Jack complied, he reached his right hand down blindly to roughly grab Jack's leaking, desperate cock. He wasn't prepared for the reaction this brought forth from Jack, though.


Jack found he had apparently completely abandoned his no-begging policy, and howled helplessly as Norrington's grip closed around his tormented flesh. Rather, he started to. Norrington's other hand flew to his mouth, and Jack pressed his teeth deep into the meaty palm, muffling his scream against it.

His body twitched and jerked like a fish on a line, stretched taut between Norrington's hand over his mouth, his hand on Jack's throbbing cock, and his cock in Jack's arse.

Norrington was whispering in his ear again, punctuating his words with broad tongue-swipes and sharp bites on his neck. "Let it go for me, Jack, let me see you fall apart, I want to see you come undone, for me, Jack, let it go," and he didn't even have time to think, this wasn't how it was supposed to work.

Then he was falling, falling in, falling down, falling to pieces, and he thought he might shake apart if Norrington weren't wrapped so tight around him.


Norrington felt the wracking shudders resonating through his own body as the pulsing spasms of Jack's climax reduced the man under him to boneless weakness. The sharp excitement of seeing, and hearing, and even feeling Jack's surrender as he yielded in this insistent embrace was enough to make Norrington spend, his aching balls finally finding relief as he fired volley after volley of pleasure into him. White-hot, explosive, wicked, and terrifying, and sweet.

He fastened his mouth on Jack's neck, stifling the shout his pleasure tore from him, almost whimpering from the near-pain of the ecstasy soaring down and out and through and over, until it was too late. Far too late. No going back, ever, from the knowledge that he was claiming him, marking him, making Jack his. At last. And there was a tiny shadow of fear that slipped furtively and instantly away, but not before he recognized it for what it was.


As he lay panting atop Jack Sparrow, pirate captain and desired captive, held down and taken at last, Norrington closed his eyes against the swift horror of the comfortable, beautiful vulnerability of him there, claimed. How easy it was.

With his heart pounding, and his breath coming still too quickly, Norrington waited, allowing precious seconds to pass by, wondering how much had changed now. And began to wonder why, despite having taken and received exactly what he had been yearning for, he was afraid. To admit that he wanted it again. Like this. Repeatedly. And that he wasn't willing to let go. The possessiveness he felt surprised him, actually.

He swallowed, licked at the sweat-damp neck, and licked his lips, not wanting to say anything. Unwilling to relinquish his hold just yet, he stubbornly stayed in place. Thankfully, Jack didn't try to move away.


Jack lay still, enjoying the heavy press of Norrington's body sprawled over him, the pulsing aftershocks in the softening cock still inside him, the cool trails being licked across his neck. Specifically, across the teeth marks on his neck. Jack didn't mind the marking, but he wondered if Norrington had meant to do it. What, if anything, he'd meant by it. Carefully, he reached a hand up to feel the impressions, trying to gauge their severity and Norrington's reaction, with the latter being far more important.

As his fingers found the first semicircle of imprints, Jack felt Norrington stiffen. "What's this, then, Jamie?" He kept his tone gentle, not pressing. Just idly curious, no need to panic, James.

Norrington's breath skated across his neck in a hesitant stutter. It was all the answer Jack got.

"James?" He shrugged his shoulders a bit, jostling the man on top of him. "You still with me?"

There was a small, broken sound; it could have been a laugh, or a sob. "For now," whispered James, "for now, anyway."

"Jamie, love, as much as I'm enjoying snuggling with you like this, you're going to have to let me up."

"No." Norrington's terse answer sounded even more clipped than usual, considering how freely words had been flowing from his mouth just a few minutes ago.

"Yes, James. I'm no delicate English rose, but neither are you, and you're squashing me." It was true; he'd enjoyed it at first but now the full weight of the man was coming to bear on his lungs, and if he ever hoped to breathe again, let alone walk, he'd have to move.

"Jack. I don't think - I don't want to let go." Jack had lost count of how many times Norrington had surprised him tonight, but this admission threw him more than anything else. It spoke of need, and fear, and trust, and the vulnerability of it touched a place in Jack's heart he would rather not have thought about.

"I'm not going anywhere, James, I just need some air." He spoke carefully, his words measured, trying not to promise anything more than he meant to.

"No, you'll have to go. You can't stay in Port Royal, Jack." Norrington sounded resigned, as though he'd long ago accepted that life would grant him no favors. It was one of the most pitiful things Jack had ever heard, the kind of thing that made a man want to promise anything, anything at all, if only to make that bleakness go away.

"No," Jack said carefully, "You're right, I can't stay in Port Royal."

As if the frank response were a cue, Norrington pulled away from him and rolled onto his side. Jack turned to his own side and looked into unguarded green eyes.


A numb sense of reality was washing over him. The knowledge of who they both were, where they were, and what they had done began settling upon him even as he stared back into Jack's unfathomable gaze.

'Delicate English rose'? He wondered if it had been a veiled remark; certainly he was behaving like one, he realized with a mild dart of panic. Having lost control and bared everything, all his desire and need, he was left with the aftermath, to wonder if he'd ruined it by saying anything. He didn't need cossetting. He wasn't a maid. But Jack was watching him a little too carefully, and his expression held no clue as to what the pirate was thinking. Calm and a little too patient. Waiting for him.

The anger was self-directed, but unexpected, and he set his jaw while trying to ascertain what he wanted. It was too quiet in his bedroom, and he felt laid bare. He wished he had held his tongue.

Glancing down, Norrington admittedly quietly, "It's been a long while; you're right."

It wasn't exactly an admission, nor an excuse, but Jack appeared to accept it readily enough, despite the vagueness of the implication that he'd really not been prepared for the strength of his responses, nor the knowledge that he'd been holding them in abeyance from the start.

Jack moved closer to him with an assessing expression, and wrapped an arm about him, the ease and understated affection of the gesture probably calculated to soothe away a little of the tension he'd unwittingly created. Awkwardly, he felt himself relaxing in spite of himself.

With a small, friendly smile, Jack murmured, "I can stay for a little longer, 'ey?"

Norrington gave a half-smile at this, and said wryly, "I'm sorry I bit you so hard."

Jack's smile turned more dangerous, his eyes narrowing. "Aye, James. Apology accepted." He leaned in and pressed a warm kiss to Norrington's lips. "You alright then, love?"

The solicitude was almost too much; nearly enough to cause a resurgence of the cruel longing and doubt he'd virtually managed to keep at bay. He swallowed and let out a shallow breath. "Of course."

But Jack looked searchingly back at him, shrewd now. "You don't… allow yourself to live in the moment very often… do you, James?"

Norrington gave a silent, mirthless laugh at this, replying, "Like you? Living life to the full, seizing it by the throat, at sword-point even; forcing it to cough up whatever it is that I might desire? No, I don't."

Jack began chuckling at him. "Until jus' now, then?" He gave a little moue. "Excellent tiger-mating impression you gave, Commodore."

Norrington's smiled slipped at the use of his title, although he knew Jack hadn't used it to goad him. "I want to see you again," he admitted, longing making his voice rougher than he'd intended.


Jack laughed; he knew it wouldn't be well-received but he couldn't help it. "Shouldn't be a problem, Jamie, I do know where to find you. Did it tonight, didn't I? And next time I won't even have to chase you all over town."

Norrington chuckled, but that easy, genuine smile still evaded him. "That simple, is it?"

Jack stared at him thoughtfully for a moment. Not the first time tonight they'd had this conversation, and he was starting to understand the problem. "Y'worry too much, James. Really, you do, mate. You need to relax. Smell the roses, and all that."

"Not everyone can live in the moment, Jack. I have responsibilities." Norrington's eyes were narrowing, growing cold, drawing back, and damn if this wasn't exactly the problem.

"You're hardly the only man in the world with that cross to bear, James. So how can you be the only one what hasn't got time to enjoy life?" Jack took a moment to study Norrington's face. He was frowning, but not too much, and he appeared to be listening. Jack didn't think what he had to say next would go over too well. Another reason for him to be missing the rum. Well, while he still could, then, Jack reached over and kissed him. It was slow and sweet, the sharp edge taken out of their desire.

Sighing, Jack rolled away and stood up from the bed. He gathered his things and began dressing, watching Norrington carefully as he continued his explanation. "I think you're a bit afraid, myself." He noted the flash of anger in Norrington's eyes and hurried on over it. "You've got no cause to be, James. Giving in to temptation now and again, indulging yourself in a bit of pleasure - there's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Norrington propped his head up on one bent elbow and regarded Jack solemnly. "No, there's not, Jack. Not now and again. But all the time, to let oneself be - ruled by one's desires, by impulse - that's - unacceptable."

Jack made a bit more of a fuss over tucking in his sash than was strictly necessary. He was delaying now, and he knew it, and every minute here was another minute closer to staying. For the night. Longer, maybe. Jack reached for his weapons and his hat, and as he snugged everything into place, he gave Norrington an appraising look. "And that's your fear, James, that you'll give in - like you did tonight - and not be able to go back to being the right proper Commodore after."

It wasn't precisely a question, and the look on Norrington's face wasn't precisely an answer. Jack smiled sadly. "Like I said, no cause to be afraid, James. You're not like that - you're not like me."

The stricken look in Norrington's eyes wasn't something Jack wanted to see, let alone stand around thinking about, and he took this as the opportune moment to make his leave. He swung his legs out the window, and, turning around to climb to the ground, he saw that Norrington was looking down at the bed, not at him. "'Ey. Jamie." He looked up, expectantly. "I'll be back."


In spite of himself, Norrington found himself cracking a smile at the irrepressible, glittering smirk that Jack flashed him.

Meeting Jack's eyes, he said, "Be sure that you do, or else I'll have to hunt you down, Captain Sparrow." He spoke with enough amusement that it could almost have been considered a challenge.

Jack stood at the window, pausing, and suddenly leaned forward with both hands on the sill, and scowled in at him, growling impishly, "You'll never catch my Pearl, Jamie."

Norrington threw casually back at him, "I don't have to catch your ship. I just have to catch you."

Another grin, more wild this time, and certainly less playful. "We'll see. Until next time, Commodore. Keep the bed warm. Don't spend too many nights at your desk, workin' yourself to the bone. Give my regards to young William, and the missy. On second thoughts, don't. I'll give 'em meself." Jack gave him a significant stare. Then brightened. "Oh, and enjoy your present," he suggested, before vanishing into the night beyond the bedroom window.

The curtains stirred faintly in the breeze, the familiar frangipani and hibiscus floating in, and the sound of the insects and frogs singing outside was undisturbed.

Norrington let out a breath. Then closed his eyes. Alone once more. Out of temptation's reach. It was better this way. It was. Even despite the tiny, fluttering ache in his breast at growing all too painfully aware of the absence of the man who had flown so quickly into his life, and then out again.

Although, he knew in truth that Jack Sparrow had somehow crowded his way into his life upon their first encounter, and had never quite left. No more than he had really left, tonight.

He might have left his mark on Jack's body, and made his claim upon the pirate's attentions, but Jack had left an indelible impression on his heart.

Sin. And utter damnation. But he couldn't even bring himself to believe it, that he'd be damned for having shown weakness in the face of his own isolation and vulnerable state, nor in the face of such affable and seductive temptation. No, perhaps the pirate was right; he wasn't a man to falter and fall upon his sword for admitting his attraction and desire to sin. To enjoy himself. In fact, he'd learned that he could... live with it.

And that in the winds of adversity, a tree had to learn to bend a little, or break.

Norrington glanced down at the now-empty bed, and smiled wistfully, not seeing a vacant space at all, but an open invitation. A welcoming, temporary haven that was not a trap, or a cage, or a bittersweet space of desperate expectations that could never be fulfilled. Merely an offering of open arms, and companionable pleasure to share occasionally. Whoever would have thought?

Wait - he'd 'give them his regards…himself'?

"You rascal," Norrington said aloud, realizing what Jack had said. Mr. Turner would be marrying the Governor's daughter in two months. So. Norrington smiled to himself. It wasn't that long to wait, after all.

Thoughtfully pulling the covers over himself, he settled down into the pillows, his nostrils filled with the lingering scent of sweat, and Jack, and even a faint whiff of rum. It had the pleasant memory of bright moments, to create new dreams.

It was comforting. It was enough.



* Note: The line "Oh, the things I'll do to you," is a caption from Firesignwriter's Sparrington icon. It was so inspiring, it was used in conjunction with the pic at that point, in tandem, as a visual/auditory aid for the scene is this fic. It was too hot to resist.

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