Rating: NC-17, slash m/m
Archive: Yes, help yourself. Just include ALL parts/chapters, please.
Disclaimer: The Mouse/Bruckheimer Productions owns them, except for Jack Sparrow who belongs to J.Depp. ;-)
Warning: Angst, canonical plot, violent graphic description, but still major slash.
Author's Note: This fic is the direct result of pics Ann sent me. Blame her! ;) It caused a meltdown of smuttified proportions in my brain. There are some occasions where mindless smut just NEEDS to be written. This was done for therapeutic reasons. Yes. That's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it!
Thanks: To Garnet, for pointing out that this is by no means a PWP, and explores properly the dynamic of J/N without losing sight of it.
Summary: Norrington's wedding present to the happy Turner couple also doubles as a consolation prize.
Part 1 - Wedding Gift
With an expression of distaste, Commodore Norrington stared down his nose at the pirate who sat nonchalantly on the high wall overlooking the courtyard of Governor Swann's grounds near the big house. As evening fell, the gathered guests below milled about cheerfully. Somewhere amidst them was the newly wedded Turner couple. And watching them all was Jack Sparrow, seated in his gaudy attire that somehow managed to still appear stylishly flamboyant, unaware that Norrington was approaching quietly up behind him.
Unbelievable. It had been scarcely four months since the banns, and only seven months past since the pirate captain Jack Sparrow had tumbled over the wall of Fort Charles to make his escape. Norrington shook his head silently and let out a breath. All Sparrow had to do was stay away; it seemed even that simple act of self-preservation was beyond the pirate's capacity. Where the Turner lad was concerned, anyway.
Clearing his throat, Norrington commented, "Very foolish, Mr. Sparrow. Come to watch, have you?"
The pirate darted a furtive glance at him, drawing himself up a little, then looked back down at the wedding guests below. "I appear to be in good company, at any rate." Then he threw a smirking look up at Norrington. "We're in agreement then, that this is the best vantage point in which to view the festivities?"
Norrington gazed stonily back at him. "I was obliged to let you go, before. I'm under no such obligation now. And I'm bound to see you brought in, Mr. Sparrow." He drew his pistol and aimed, keeping a careful distance between himself and the pirate, lest Sparrow try anything. "On your feet. Slowly."
The pirate pulled a look of exasperated resignation, his dark eyes dropping from Norrington's to regard the pistol on him. But he obeyed, keeping both hands lifted in a nearly placatory gesture. "Keep your cool, mate. I only dropped round to see Mr. and Mrs. Turner." With a grimace, he observed, "As I'm only here on their account, surely you could see clear to letting me disappear again just as quietly, 'ey? Nice and simple, no harm done?"
"I'm afraid not." Norrington tilted his head a bit, regarding him. "Very foolish, indeed, Mr. Sparrow," he answered obliquely. "All you had to do was stay away. Take out your pistol - slowly - and give it to me."
Wearing a greatly crestfallen expression now, Jack Sparrow removed his pistol from where it was tucked beneath his coat and handed it out to Norrington who leaned over and relinquished him of it.
"And your sword," Norrington reminded him, waving his own pistol while tucking Jack's away on his person. Jack gave him an absolutely disgusted look at this, but he still gave the blade over.
With a disarming smile and a little lift of his brows, Jack asked, "Seeing as it would hardly be auspicious for the Turners' marriage to start off with having to watch one of their best friends die the day after their wedding, perhaps you could reconsider?"
"There is nothing to consider," Norrington snapped. "Come along, unless you want to subject them to your last rites tonight instead."
"You take your work too seriously; you do know that, don't you?" Jack asked, frowning. But he sighed a little and preceded Norrington in the direction Norrington indicated with the pistol. "And me without even any rum," he grumbled under his breath.
Making their way back through the streets, on the way to the Fort, he saw Jack making assessing glances up one street and down the other, and stepped forward to press the pistol into his back. "Don't even think about it, Mr. Sparrow," he warned. "Just keep moving."
"You know," Jack said casually, as if they were simply on an evening stroll together, "one could say that you'd be saving yourself a lot of trouble just to let me leave, seein' as they're going to ask it of you anyway, as a wedding gift. And it'd be a truly generous gesture on your part to save them the worry, 'ey?" And he caught Norrington's eye over his shoulder, giving him a particularly winsome smirk that this time undeniably caused a hot, dark little rush in Norrington's insides.
Angrily, Norrington pushed him forward. "Certainly not. The law is not open to interpretation, and you forfeited your freedom the moment you stepped foot in Port Royal. You're a wanted man, pirate. I can hardly ignore that."
Jack gave him a hurt glance at this. "Meaning you won't, you mean; although you could. But what do you really mean, I wonder?"
Norrington drew a breath, losing patience with him.
Unfortunately, Jack carried on. "It's very true, though. I'm wanted wherever I go. It's like a curse. Can't seem to shake it. Of course, not a curse such as that undead Aztec curse, as you may recall. But a curse, nonetheless."
"I am not moved to tears," Norrington stated, dryly.
They had neared several guards of the town militia, and Norrington ordered them to escort the prisoner to the fort on horseback. He accompanied them, on a borrowed horse, unwilling to take the chance that Sparrow might escape under their custody.
He felt an unaccountable nervousness, in fact, until they managed to sequester the pirate within the walls of the Fort and hustle him off to a cell. Only then did he breathe a sigh of relief.
But what Sparrow had pointed out continued to echo within his mind. For it was very true that the Turners would be outraged and distressed at his having taken the pirate prisoner on the night of their wedding, after having arrived to see them and wish them future happiness. He paced the floor of his office in bitter indecision, wondering why it was so damnably difficult to decide what the right course of action was on this occasion.
And why it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe properly, or to ignore the insistent excitement that twisted in his belly at knowing he had the pirate locked up below. Again. At long last. The strange, curiously exciting knowledge that Jack Sparrow was here, in Port Royal, again. It was…worrying.
Not only was it incredibly worrisome that he should feel so exultant at having caught the man, especially after his relief to his conscience at allowing Sparrow to leave that day over the wall to join his ship, but it was very much so that he now felt this fierce joy at catching him once more - and having him at his disposal.
And then to have to let him go again…for both Will Turner and Elizabeth would insist upon it. He let out an aggravated breath. It was unfair. Not only was this the day he lost Elizabeth forever, but both of the young Turners would pressure him to let Sparrow go as well. Which was probably for the best, seeing as he didn't really want to see Jack Sparrow hung, after all.
Wait, what? He stopped in his pacing, blinking at the door without seeing it, unfocused. It was true; he didn't want Sparrow dead. He just wanted him caught. And, having caught him, he could let him go again. Only to have to go through the process of having to catch him all over again in the future? Ludicrous! Except - it admittedly gave him something to look forward to. A break in the usual routine of service to King and Country, and the Crown's interest in the Caribbean. Something for himself.
Norrington considered the door, thoughtfully, straightening and putting his hands behind his back. Well, well. He could allow Sparrow to leave, as a wedding present and a gesture for the Turners, as Sparrow had suggested. But what did he get out of it? What was his consolation, other than the satisfaction of having caught the man?
Never mind the rather distressing nature of many of his nights these months past; his dreams haunted by those excessively darkened eyes and Sparrow's damnably, wickedly tempting mouth.
He swallowed against the bolt of lust that ran through him as he recalled the irritatingly shameful dreams he'd suffered of late. Unnatural. That's what it was. This attraction. But perhaps…tonight, he'd found a mode of deliverance from it. He could have Sparrow brought up to his office and no one would ever be the wiser if Sparrow should escape, come the morning. And in the meantime, he could observe the object of his foolish nighttime fantasies with a more objective eye. For the reality was hardly as flattering as his dreams painted the pirate, based on memories of Sparrow from before.
Yes, he thought. Why not? It was better than spending countless nights wondering what it meant, to have this attraction to the man. To have to suffer it. And it was certainly better than passing up the opportunity to investigate the possibilities.
What those possibilities might entail, he could not quite bring himself to entertain just yet. But he was tired of having to hold in the pain of losing Elizabeth Swann. To a blacksmith, no less, whose own blood was apparently that of a pirate as well. And he was also heartily ready for something to take his mind off of the fact that all he had gained from the past few months after his newly awarded title of commodore was a new sword, and as much work as ever; service and duty and obligation with no personal recognition as yet. Nor even any chance to distinguish himself in the field. Glorified policing, really, of the local coastal waters and Jamaican political issues in the settlements and towns.
He found he actually had to brace himself at the new race of nerves that thrilled through him as he went to the door, and called to the two guards who stood there to go below and have the captive pirate brought up to his office.
Shutting the door once more, he forced himself to sit behind the desk, wondering why he was having to compose himself, lest he disgrace himself by revealing how Sparrow's presence affected him.
Norrington darkened, glowering at the spotless, immaculate and mostly bare surface of his desk with unseeing eyes. It was not his fault that Sparrow conducted himself as shamelessly as any so-called 'freeman', as the Brethren were wont to label themselves.
Free, yes; to debauch themselves in Godless and sinful ways, with drink and wenching and carousing… It was an affront to all decent folk.
Sparrow would no doubt cause him endless mischief, if he realized the nature of Norrington's quickened pulse and the need to apprehend the man.
But then again, he was mightily tired of wrestling with his ambivalence where Sparrow was concerned, and seeing as the pirate's freedom was in the balance, Sparrow was sure to be willing to accept the offer of a fair exchange: his life and freedom for - for…
For what exactly, Norrington's mind shied away from settling upon. He wasn't certain yet himself, just what he wanted from Sparrow. His dreams had been all too starkly and embarrassingly vivid upon the matter, leaving him with sweat-soaked bedsheets and the lingering aftereffects of nocturnal emissions.
Faced with the reality of the unkempt pirate captain, Norrington was aware that the living image of the man would probably fail to satisfy as well as the dreams had.
It was on that particular thought that the rapping upon his door brought him into the present moment again, and he sat up. "Come in," he called, sharply.
The door opened and the two guards brought in Jack Sparrow, notably sans hat and coat and his ubiquitous effects, his hands shackled before him.
Standing, Norrington nodded to the guards. "You may leave. I'll question him myself. It will undoubtedly take some time." At their glances at the pirate, he raised his brows. "Out, gentlemen."
They shuffled out of his office, and closed the door behind them. Jack looked thoughtfully at him. "Alone at last," he grinned, the gold edge to it glinting familiarly.
The first time Norrington had seen that japing, golden smirk, he'd found it a little grisly and wholly in keeping with the pirate's nature…as a pirate. A mouthful of treasure, most of those teeth no doubt melted down from stolen coin. Now, he was slightly put out to realize he found it almost charming.
"Sit down," Norrington ordered. As Jack did so, taking a seat in the chair facing Norrington's desk, Norrington remained upright, slowly pacing the floor on Jack's left.
As Jack put up his boots on Norrington's desk, Norrington went to him, exasperated, and pushed his feet off the surface. "You're right, Mr. Sparrow. I'll have the Turners in here at dawn; pestering me to let you leave, shoving letters of clemency and excellent excuses under my nose. Pulling out your past acts of sacrifice and noble efforts during their rescue, in that previous debacle with the cursed gold and your erstwhile ship. I'll get no work done at all."
Jack gave him a sardonic look. "Pity. Well, can't have that, can you? Although I have to say, your penchant for clapping me in irons is growing predictable, as well as tiresome. Next time, what say you we bypass all this unpleasantness and merely share a drink over the wall?"
Norrington glared coldly down at him. "You are a scoundrel and a menace. Letting you go now will only ensure that I'll have to come after you in the future. I wouldn't put it past you to have come into this port using the wedding as an excuse, to do a little scouting of the possible vulnerable merchant ships and richer establishments."
"It's usually more practical to mix business with pleasure," Jack agreed with an engaging smile, as though he had nothing to fear whatsoever, in spite of his current predicament. Sitting in Norrington's office in irons.
Norrington smiled back at him, the edges of it not quite reaching his eyes. "My thought exactly."
Jack met his eye, his own smile slipping somewhat. "So you'll let me go, in return for - what? My solemn oath to leave the worthies of Port Royal alone? To never set foot here again? Or are you wantin' to hire my services, mate?"
"Your services?" Norrington asked, nonplussed at this suggestion.
"As a pirate," Jack explained. "Would hardly be the first time such as meself's done a little work on the side for His Majesty's Navy." He held up a finger, despite the shackles. "Not that I'm offering, or accepting, mind."
Norrington was privately chagrined to find that, quite apart from seeing Sparrow up close was not having the effect of dispelling his fascination he'd held at a distance, and in finding it refused to disappear in the light of the reality as opposed to those guilty dreams, it had grown worse. Notably worse in the past few minutes, in fact, every time he looked back into the pirate's disturbingly deep, dark, and somehow mutely appealing eyes.
Brusquely, he said, "I had something else in mind, entirely." He tried to state it casually, but was unable to help the suppressed excitement he felt from lowering his voice considerably, and he nearly bit his tongue at the way it sounded in his own ears.
At his tone of voice, however, Jack sat up straighter. The look of recognition that passed over Jack caused a renewed lance of need, and want, to go surging through Norrington's body, starting from his belly and curling downwards to settle heavily between his legs in a puddle of molten anticipation.
"Well, then," Jack drawled in a more knowing voice. "And what might that be, exactly? Or am I to divine that from the ever-present irons you seem to prefer me to wear?" He wore an almost mocking expression. But he was definitely more guarded now, too.
Seeing it, Norrington had to swallow for the dryness in his throat. He felt a shaft of predatory possessiveness flare through him, at having his quarry so close at hand and so aware of their relative position. Captive, and captor. Norrington uncomfortably realized though that Jack Sparrow was probably all-too-aware that he was the more captivated, despite the fact that Jack was the one wearing the irons, as he'd pointed out.
"You're an intelligent man, Captain," Norrington said, carefully emphasizing Sparrow's self-granted title, enjoying the position of being in power over this man. It was highly addictive, somehow. Having caught him, and enjoying having Sparrow on the defensive. In his power. There was undoubtedly an entire host of very good reasons why this was taboo, forbidden and completely inadvisable.
Continuing, he said in a more reasonable tone, "You helped to lift the curse, and to rescue Miss Sw- Mrs. Turner, and it was for that you were allowed to escape. However, simply because your friends naively believe you are worth dying for is hardly reason for me to just let you escape, yet again. You are still a pirate, after all."
Jack let out a breath. "The question is, Commodore, are you a cruel man?" He awarded Norrington a perceptive look now, and at it, Norrington almost felt a part of himself backing down from this course. Especially as Jack continued to hold his gaze.
"Not especially," Norrington said. "But you tell me, Mr. Sparrow. I allowed the woman I loved to go to another man, and I let you escape that same day, almost in the same minute."
Jack gave him a grin, but the amusement was clearly lacking from it now. "So why d'you need to bother with these, then, 'ey?" He held up his shackled wrists. The tacit entreaty was still in his eyes, however.
Norrington did smile at this, amused. "Because you are, quite irredeemably, a pirate. I could hardly afford to forget that, now could I?"
Something flickered in Jack's face at this, his eyes holding an answering note of shared humor. But he replied, "An' what could you possibly want from a pirate such as meself, Commodore?"
Norrington almost found his breath caught at the knowing tone. Jack knew. He already had more than just an inkling as to why he'd been brought up here. But the question now was: would Jack go along with it? Or would he force Norrington to spell it out and end up creating some sort of agreement that Norrington would find himself unable to back out of? Even though Jack was a pirate, if they both gave their word to it, Norrington would be honor-bound to keep his also.
Norrington licked his lips, uncertainly. He was not entirely sure what he did want from Jack Sparrow. Having caught him, and having him here in his power was one thing. Discovering what it was he wanted him for was another thing completely.
The unbidden image of pushing Jack over his desk and holding him down over it leaped across the surface of his mind, a bright vision from one of his nightly, secret, guilty dreams. His member stirred restlessly and he grew uncomfortably aware that he was growing aroused. It was like having one's wishes granted suddenly, offered by some unknown agency.
In this case, the very one he had been dreaming about. He looked down, away from Jack's shrewd gaze for the moment. "That would depend, I think," he muttered.
For all the same reasons as before, Norrington found Sparrow irritating, and that hot pair of eyes getting under his skin in the very memorable fashion they had before. Coming across him in the gloom overlooking the Governor's home had felt like an easy victory. Having him sit here in his own office abruptly caused it to slam home a little too hard.
"On what, exactly?" Jack asked, reasonably enough, although the mockery was now running all throughout his voice. But there was also enough of that defensive uncertainty in it that allowed Norrington the advantage of feeling in control once more.
Seeing it had the effect of showing Norrington that perhaps the situation - and his pride - was salvageable. "On how willing you are to cooperate," he answered, smoothly.
Jack suppressed a near rolling of his eyes at this. Wearily, he leaned back further in the chair and said, "An' there we are, just as I said. 'Tis like a curse."
Norrington asked, "You can hardly claim it comes as a surprise, seeing as you were instrumental in helping them to get together. Look at it as a fair trade. I am."
Jack frowned indignantly at this. "Now, hold on there, mate. I told you I was rooting for you to win the girl."
Norrington gave him a tight smile. "I beg to differ. Had it not been for her timely intervention on your behalf, you never would have escaped in the first place."
Jack regarded him through narrowed eyes. Then he sighed dramatically. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, Commodore. But don't expect me to believe it. We both know why I'm up here, 'ey?"
Indeed. Well, if the pirate was going to call him out on it, then why dance around the subject any longer? At close inspection, Jack didn't appear to be any less beguiling than before. If anything, the illicit desire coursing through Norrington at the moment was far headier than any dream that had affected him, these long months past. Besides, it was lust. That was all it was. It didn't mean anything more than that. No doubt after it was slaked, and the curiosity abated, the dreams would end and he'd be able to forget Sparrow at long last. Which was all he really wanted, in fact. To be able to exorcise this…this pirate from his blood. From his mind. From his body.
Stepping closer to the desk, leaning against it, looking down at Jack where the pirate still sat lounging in the chair, he asked quietly, "Are you calling me out, Mr. Sparrow?"
Jack wore a most definitely resigned expression now, but Norrington could also see accompanying signs of tension in the supple form; in the telltale tightening of the muscles in his thighs, and the way he held his head. As Jack looked up to meet his gaze, forced to look quite a ways up to meet Norrington's eye, Jack muttered, "Need I bother? You're not trying very hard to hide it, mate. Practically gagging for it, aren't you?"
Norrington blinked, finding Jack's attempt at confronting him rather hilarious. He cleared his throat, and attempted to keep the amused smirk that threatened to curl his lips from taking over. With a twitch of suppressed glee, Norrington suggested, "What an interesting choice of words, Jack. I'd almost have to take you up on those, wouldn't I? Unfortunately, I'm not entirely sure I have anything immediately at hand that could serve as a gag."
Jack gave a thoughtful little smile. "Well, well. Not so refined and proper after all, then?"
He let his eyes travel down Norrington's front, to settle upon his breeches for a good long moment or two, before flicking up to meet his eyes again.
If Jack had intended this as anything other than an invitation, Norrington was going to disappoint him. It had the effect of causing a flash of heat to rise up his body, prickling his skin before settling in his face. He glanced at the door to his office, remembering it wasn't locked. With a casual sniff, he moved towards the door, going to it and sliding the bolt home, saying, "Am I to believe that would make a difference to you?"
Jack sat up in his seat, and answered more carefully this time. "My freedom then, for my silence on your not-so-refined and improper conduct, is that it? An' what makes you think I'd acquiesce to such as yourself, Commodore Norrington?"
Norrington raised his brows at him, going to stand beside him once more, looking down at Jack with new eyes, enjoying the fact he could simply…look at him properly, without worrying about propriety for once. Quietly, he replied, "What makes you think I need your acquiescence? Or want it, even?"
A wariness entered Jack's eyes at this, causing a sharp, answering pang of desire that nearly caused Norrington to reach out his hand. Not really knowing yet how he wanted to touch him was the only thing that caused him to stay that hand. That, and the fact that he found himself aghast at how easy it would be to do so and that he wanted to, to the exclusion of anything else in this moment.
To touch him. To seize him, and to press himself against him, into him, to lose his very being in this - this irritatingly alluring and bewitching man. It wasn't fair, to find this kind of longing in the form of such a person. Not just a man, but a pirate. But maybe that was part of the allure, suggested a more sensible part of his mind.
But Jack said, agreeably, "So that's where your taste runs to, 'ey? Can't say as I'm surprised, considering your fascination for seein' me in irons. How's it to be then? Up against the wall? On the floor?"
At Norrington's unconscious glance at the desk, Jack pointedly followed it, staring at the desk, then back up at him. "Here, then," he said, brightly.
Unable to stand any of it anymore, Norrington leaned down to seize Jack by the shoulders, and caught the devilish mouth under his own, enjoying the hissed, indrawn gasp of surprise Jack tried to suppress.
Jack's lips were too warm, the feel of him in Norrington's grasp was too real, too solid and present. Forcing Jack's head back beneath the kiss, Norrington licked lightly at the full lips under his own, and was slightly taken aback to find Jack parting them welcomingly, the tip of that hot tongue darting out to meet his until abruptly they were stroking against each other in a wet, lewd caress that spoke nothing of tenderness and only craving, dueling in each other's mouths.
It didn't help; this kiss. It didn't slake anything at all. If anything, it continued to build, and Norrington was horrified to find that his organ was a stiff rod in his confining breeches, harder than he could remember being in a long time. From a mere kiss. He knew this wasn't going to be enough. But he couldn't break it off; bringing the deliciously hot, searingly wet and almost painfully intimate union of their mouths to a close was unthinkable. His hands were clutching at Jack's shoulders hard enough to bruise.
His heart was hammering in his chest and he realized he was going dizzy from lack of air. Reluctantly, he drew back, his mouth open in dismay as he tried to catch his breath. He searched Jack's eyes as they fluttered open to stare back into his with an unreadable expression. But he thought he could see an answering amazement in them at how strong the passion had quickly mounted between them.
"Stand up," he found himself urging, only half-aware that he was suggesting it rather than making it an order or any kind of a demand. But Jack apparently found it a suggestion to his liking because he rose rather quickly, and didn't pull away as Norrington leaned down to capture those lush lips once more.
This time the kiss really wasn't enough, and it deepened a little too fast, both of their breaths coming harsh as they moved against each other, and Jack groaned against him, the sound reaching down into Norrington's very core and tugging at his cock.
Dragging his mouth from Jack's, he said, "Here. Right now."
"Aye," Jack agreed, between breaths, his response enlightening Norrington that he'd actually been correct in his estimation that Jack wanted this as much as he did.
Fumbling rather hastily, Norrington ignored the feeling of awkwardness that overtook him, concentrating instead on undoing the front of his breeches as quickly as possible, even as Jack's hands flew to his own. Who, despite the irons, managed it very nicely.
Hungrily, Norrington caught Jack's lips under his own again, feeling like a drowning man. This time, as their bodies met, their exposed pricks slid against each other, the sensation of it a silky hot caress against Norrington's member and the unexpected pleasure was nearly too much. A thrumming desperation clutched inside of him, tightly sweet and yet somehow painful. He had to have this man.
He wanted this to be really happening; no illusion, no dream, the real thing. Something to remember. To have this in his hands, to actually reach out and touch him, to have his body in his grasp. Reaching up both hands to grab Jack anew, he said against his mouth, "Turn around, Jack."
Jack pulled back a little, staring back at him with a helpless and almost angry expression. For all that he didn't say, his eyes said far too much; and Norrington wondered if he'd have to force the matter. And then with a rather endearing exhalation of annoyance, Jack turned, and Norrington had to bite back an exultant moan at the sight of Jack shimmying his hips somewhat to lean down over the front of Norrington's desk. The links of the chain clinked loudly against the wood, breaking any semblance of dreamlike similarity.
Feeling like a child allowed to steal sweets from the pantry, a forbidden pleasure not often tasted but long desired, he reached out to drag the top of Jack's breeches down, exposing lean, firm buttocks that surprised Norrington in their shapeliness. He hadn't expected this voluptuously sinful wealth of beauty, although a part of his consciousness realized he ought to have, from the hints of beauty that adorned the pirate everywhere else.
Leaning in to place his palms against both cheeks firmly, he felt the answering quiver run abruptly through Jack in response. It galvanized him to focus on the fact he had Jack bent over his desk in readiness for the act he'd never even really contemplated as a possibility - with any woman, let alone a man. Or this man. Of course, there had been that one dream, a few weeks previously. But now as he lifted his head from the exquisite sight of Jack's backside, he realized he had nothing to use to ease his entry.
Jack seemed to apprehend the fact, however, and pressed back into him, saying, "Just do it, man. Doesn't matter. Just go easy."
As he spat into his hand, a part of Norrington's mind cart-wheeled at the impact of this, that Jack could take it, and what that said about him…He wondered how often and how frequently Jack engaged in this form of intercourse. He wasn't sure if he wanted to take him harder than any other had before to remove any memory of them, or if he wanted instead to make him beg for it first, prolong it to last a while. Spreading the luscious handful wider, he bit his lip and his hand shot to his organ to guide it home. Despite his musings, the rest of him simply accepted it as an excellent idea and pressed within.
He slowly slid the first inch into Jack, who let out a small, strangled exclamation and said, "Easy, easy."
"Sorry," Norrington said, halting, his hands going to the slim hips to steady himself. The hot, tight channel enveloping the head of his cock was a miraculous pleasure he'd wanted instinctively, but to actually receive it was nearly enough to cause him to peak then and there. He could feel tremors running through him at the need to surge forward and bury himself inside of the pirate captain he'd finally caught.
To have brought him up here and then have him bent over his office desk in this manner was suddenly shocking.
What was he doing?
Uncannily, Jack's voice reached his ears from where he lay under him. "What are you doing, mate? Are we doing this, or what?" And he actually moved back against him again, this time causing a good inch or two more to slide into that velvet heat. He had to clench his teeth against the groan this extracted from him.
He hadn't wanted to actually hurt him, but now the imperative to shaft him properly took hold and he had enough of an appropriate angle to do just that. Taking his time to withdraw ever so slightly, he sank forward once more, a little deeper this time, before repeating it, keeping it slow, and tight, and not relinquishing his hold on Jack's hips all the while.
It wasn't going to take long to find release this way, he knew. He could feel it in the way the bliss was beginning to spark along his veins, from his feet and up his legs, running up through his body in waves. To have this control, this power over this - this pirate, who'd eluded him in all but fantasy for so long now. To have this man speared on his cock, taking it. And obviously, from the way Jack's open-mouthed moans revealed, enjoying it well.
The idea that he really shouldn't be doing this, and that he'd end up regretting it in the future, was lost in the spiraling wave of heat that shot over him, threatening to spill into Jack's deliciously clenching hole. He wanted Jack to reach his peak also, and reached around in front to search out Jack's cock. Finding it, he palmed the throbbing organ and began to pull on it in time with each short, stabbing thrust, beginning to increase the tempo to quicken their pace.
The white-hot boiling in his balls abruptly rose and spiked pleasure seized his body, as he pushed into Jack over and over, almost against his own volition, control leaving in the wake of the dark power of losing himself.
The glorious moment of release, giving it to Jack but good, all at once, fisting his cock while running him through, and he was coming in shortened, jerky thrusts, the muted sound of his own wordless cries in his ears as he attempted to stifle them.
Jack shuddered around him, against him, beneath him, and he felt his fingers smeared with sticky wetness as Jack's body was wracked, pulsing with his own climax as he was caught between the hardness that speared him and Norrington's hand still gripping his cock, urging more from him possessively.
Panting, Norrington found his limbs trembling from the tension so recently loosened. He leaned against the pirate, wondering how much this changed things between them, and how much it actually finally revealed.
It was still too fresh and trickling through him, the glow stretching his lips into a helpless smile. And he chuckled lowly.
An answering chuff of laughter from Jack brought him back to himself more starkly now.
Here he stood, bent over Jack Sparrow, with his softening erection as it wilted slowly inside of the other man's arse. He hadn't expected it to come to this. But it felt so good to finally, finally have him, to have this, that it seemed academic.
"Are you alright?" he asked, wondering.
With a little wince, Jack replied, "Will be, I expect." And the rattling clink of the chains against the desk was loudly ringing in Norrington's ears as Jack moved, shifting under him; ringing with the call to remember where they were, and how to get Jack out of the Fort without any complications arising.
For there could be no question that he'd be letting Jack leave.
As he pulled reluctantly away from Jack, and they pulled up their breeches, he regarded their messy state with a lack of enthusiasm.
He found himself not looking at Jack, and Jack didn't appear to be attempting to look at him either. They managed to get their clothing into some sort of respective order, to their individual satisfaction.
And as he was standing by the desk, Jack leaning against it with his head back slightly, thoughtfully regarding the door, Norrington realized he had totally compromised himself. He looked down.
Jack looked over at him. With the return of that smirk of his, Jack commented, "I thought so."
Norrington frowned and glanced at him, seeing the merriment dancing in those dark eyes, and asked, "What do you mean?"
Jack's grin widened and he tilted his head to one side, giving Norrington a look that, had he not already buggered Jack a few minutes before, would have been invitation enough to do so. "Are you going to leave these on, then, mate? Or are you plannin' on keeping me here indefinitely; chained under your desk, perhaps?"
Feeling sticky, compromised, flushed, sated and thoroughly guilty, Norrington sighed. Fishing out the key from his pocket, he unlocked the shackles from around Jack's wrists, who promptly laid them on his desk.
Jack stared at him momentarily, then quick as a snake, reached up to grasp him around the back of his neck, pulling their faces together, their mouths meeting a little too hard, nearly breaking the skin on the inside of Norrington's lower lip against his own tooth. Jack's mouth was hot upon his, swift, his tongue delving into Norrington's with a somewhat indecently arrogant and affectionate manner.
But it had the same effect as before, and to be on the receiving end this time, instead of taking hold himself, and just letting Jack expertly linger upon him in this distressingly possessive fashion, Norrington found it sent a reviving thrill through his entirety.
All too soon, Jack was stepping away with a little touch of his fingers to Norrington's lips, saying, "Until next time then, 'ey?" And with another glinting smirk, he went to the door, slid the bolt back and walked out, letting the door close behind him.
Norrington swallowed, wondering why Jack had let him…do it. And then he wondered why he'd let him go, just like that.
He breathed in, straightened, and decided that, whatever Jack did at this juncture, it was more likely to be no word at all that would be the harder to deal with, rather than worrying about blackmail, or possible intimidations, or recriminations.
And he realized that although Jack had most likely left to go back to visit the newly married Turner friends of his, Norrington was content to let him without further interference. At least until next time.
And he slowly smiled to himself, even as he caught sight of the stain against the edge of his desk, and the shackles that lay there upon it.
Next time, indeed.
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