stem_the_tide | Shore Leave

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Shore Leave

A shore leave, Sparrow had decided, was in order, and so when he had gone off to do... whatever it was he was doing, James had set about helping the crew to unload the necessities, and he himself had gone belowdecks to make sure that all the supplies and victuals housed therein had not been upset by the storm. One of the barrels of fresh water had sprung a leak, but it was quickly sealed, and since they were anchored, it had caused no worry. Now the work has finally finished and the men gone ashore, James leans back and passes a hand over his brow, breathing in the scent of vegetation and dark, wet earth that hangs heavy upon the air. The air is cool and James finds his ire at Sparrow melting away with every breath he takes.

His momentary feelings of restfulness, however, are soon cut short as a shrill voice cuts through the slapping of waves against the walls of the cove and the strangely loud rustling of the heavy, wet leaves of the trees which grow all about them. James sighs. Already he is getting tired of that voice.

'Hey! Navy man!'

He turns, twisting his mouth into a pained smile. The woman (he realises suddenly that he has no idea what her name is) is soaked through and looking positively vicious, her white teeth bared in a sneer James does not like at all. He suddenly wonders if she really does live in a state of perpetual fury, or if it's just something about him that so riles her. He is equal to that, however, and he raises an eyebrow at her. 'Miss?' He says, the epitome of restrained politeness

She scoffs. 'Don' take that tone with me, Norrington. Mebbe you're Commodore, yeah, but that doesn' mean you don' have to do what the rest of us do. We're to gather supplies- water, fruit.' She jerks her head in the general direction of the jungle and sets off without bothering to see if James is following her or not. He sighs, but follows after her anyway. She makes her way smoothly through the dripping foliage, slapping branches and massive leaves out of her way as she goes. No-matter how he tries, James seems always to be a good few metres behind her. After about ten minutes of walking (and it's more like jogging, James has to admit), and no sign of any gathering of supplies, he calls up to her.

'Where exactly are we going?'

She does not turn, just calls: 'To meet the Captain.'

James groans audibly, gritting his teeth when suddenly they do come to a halt and there before the pair of them stand Jack Sparrow- looking rather dementedly cheerful- and Mr. Gibbs. He runs a hand through his wet hair, droplets of water flying from his fingertips. Lovely, he thinks, how really bloody wonderful.

What he says is: 'Captain. Mr. Gibbs.'

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Coconuts. James purses his lips, sucks pensively at his teeth. Obviously, Sparrow has no plan at all, just... fears as to what might happen if things continue in their current path, but no ideas as to how to deal with them. He nods in a businesslike fashion.

'Very well,' he says, smiling a mirthless sort of smile, 'Coconuts. I see no reason to neglect our work simply because we're having a conversation.'

And with that, he sits down at the base of the tree and shucks his boots and stockings. Raising an eyebrow at Sparrow, he stands and removes his coat, and then begins to scale the tree. It's not hard, being of the variety whose bark is comprised of large, overlapping scales which provide easy grips for hands and feet. He is silent save for the occasional grunt until he reaches the top, at which point he settles himself in the crux of one of the stiff, green branches and the main body of the tree. Freeing a coconut, he lets it drop to the ground with a hollow thunk

'So!' He calls down, not looking at Sparrow but concentrating on his task, 'You have no idea what to do should any of these... eventualities come to pass? Just planning to-' another coconut, 'roll with the punches, as it were?'

Apparently Norrington failed to connect collecting coconuts as Jack's solution to their dilema. Jack considers correcting him, even raising a finger to begin his point, but then abruptly stops as Norrington plops down at the base of the tree. And begins undressinging.

The first thought that strikes Jack is that the ground seems awful pokey and lumpy for that sort of thing, but when the mood strikes he's not one to turn it down. The second thought that strikes him is probably actually more accurate to what's going on, and that's that Norrington is going to climb the tree. Which he is obviously doing. Quite amusingly too. That also means no work for Jack. He's not one to turn down this type of mood either.

Leaning against the trunk as Norrington scales higher, Jack makes himself as comfortable as possible against the scratchy bark. Closes his eyes. Intends to rest a bit while Norrington collects coconuts.

Suddenly something large and heavy lands near Jack's feet. He pretends he wasn't startled. Just like he didn't jump at the loud So! from high above. jack doesn't fancy looking up just to see a brighter version of the sun and perhaps get a coconut straight to his pretty face, so he keeps his eyes close and his posture as relaxed as possible. A second coconut lands closer to him, nearly hitting his shoulder on the way down.

Jack waits an extra beat of pause from the dull thunk until he answers. "Hm. Yep!"

'I see!'

Another coconut, and another, and another.

'So, if I get lynched by your crew in a fit of madness, you're going to do nothing? Give them a stern reprimand, perhaps?'

His voice is light and vaguely scornful, but he really cannot see any other way around the thing. After all, it's not just a threat to James, but also one to Sparrow himself, and as irritating as the man often is, James has no desire to see him mutinied upon again. Why precisely that is, he's not sure. Of course, it is really only Sparrow's authority that stops his crew from lynching James right here and now, but it's not solely self-preservation that motivates the thought. It's... he thinks of the fear and the fury he had seen from Sparrow when he'd foolishly brought up the mutiny that first night. It's that he doesn't want. For whatever mad reason. He hurls another coconut to the ground.

'How many of these do we need?'

Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say. The coconuts keep dropping, but in quicker succession and coming closer and closer to hitting Jack. He has to jump out of the way of the third one only to be nearly smacked in the back by the fourth one.

"Your aims a bit off," he calls up as the fifth coconut comes crashing down. Jack sidesteps it narrowly. "Or a bit too on," he then mutters under his breath.

Norrington doesn't seem to be in the best of moods. A giant understatement if he's trying to passively brain Jack with falling coconuts but Jack figures he can't really blame him. His stomach rebelliously knots up at the image of the crew straping Norrington up by the neck to the rigging and hoisting him like a flag. He wouldn't just stand aside. His muscles tighten and his teeth clench at very the idea. A feeling very much like remorse hollows out of pit in Jack's chest and he has to consciously reassert himself as standing next to a palm tree, surrounded by coconuts before he can begin to shake the sensation. He doesn't register the next thing Norrington says at all.

"S'against the Code," he murmurs, not even sure Norrington can hear him. "Can't string a man up aboard ship." Though he can't help but add, "Ironic as it may be."

The hollow in his chest expands and Jack feels a flare of anger. "Unfitting for any man. Unfitting for..." The word you dries on his tongue when he realises how forceful he's begun to sound.

He doesn't know why he feels so strongly about pushing away that image, but he doesn't like it. And he doesn't like feeling this way. Jack stares at the coconuts at his feet and thinks suddenly that he doesn't really want to go back. Not just yet.

All he gets from Sparrow is a shout about how his aim is off, and then... nothing. Or- James cranes his head downward- muttering, apparently to himself. James, however, can catch none of it, and from his vantage point, all he can see is the top of Sparrow's head, so he can catch none of his expression. He dislodges a few more coconuts, watching distractedly as they hurtle to the ground and Sparrow's voice swells from a distracted murmur to what is practically a shout.

And then he stops, quite suddenly, as though catching himself in the act of saying or doing something he'd really rather not. Unfitting for- he'd said, before cutting himself off. The hanging James had so casually mentioned, he supposes, but it's not that that interests him, it's whatever Sparrow had been about to say that he'd so violently cut off. Several thoughts occur to James, but most of them produce an unpleasant knotting sensation somewhere in the region of his stomach, so he does not give voice to them. Instead, he looks down at Sparrow once again, surveying the ground about him. It is littered with coconuts. More than enough.

It takes him several moments to climb back down the tree, and he falls the last seven feet or so, scraping his arms and legs against the rough, fibrous bark. He falls in a graceless tumble near Sparrow, who- he discovers- is looking strangely morose, and hastily untangles himself, looking at the pirate curiously.

'Unfitting for what?' He asks quietly.

It's not panic he feels. Nothing like panic. Because any situation he can say as being panic-inducing is running from angry soldiers. Or running from angry women. Or running from angry merchants that got confused over the idea that Jack should pay them for their goods. So this can't be panic. He's not running. There's not an angry someone chasing him. It just kind of feels like he should be, but he doesn't know what exactly he feels the urge to run from.

Or why he thinks maybe he needs to stay this time.

There's a loud scraping sound from just behind. Like a giant coconut falling from the tree. A really giant coconut. That makes oofing sounds. He turns around just in time to see a crumpled Norrington at the base of the tree. It's a slightly comical image. Jack didn't know a man could get his knee that close to his nose. He watches with what he wants to be a smirk on his face as Norrington rights himself, prepared to crack some weak joke at the mess he's made of his limbs.

Then shuts himself up at what comes out of the man's mouth.

Bugger. Jack looks wildly about at all the coconuts at his feet and decides he really does not want to answer that seriously. So he doesn't.

"Hm?" Wide smile. "Don't want to be infringing on your territory, mate. Stretching necks and all. Navy's idea of a good time. Me, I prefer pillaging."

There we are. Just avoid. As good a plan as any.

The too-bright smile, the suddenly flippant words- it is painfully obvious that Sparrow is lying, and if nothing else, this serves only to arouse James's curiosity as to what he is so desperate to cover up. He looks at him coolly.

'I hardly think so, Mister Sparrow. I have, after all, made known to you my feelings on the subject of hanging.' A little grimace flickers across his face at the memory of that particular conversation. 'Besides,' he adds after a moment, 'you're not nearly as good a liar as you think you are.'

Oh, so this is what he wants to run from. This conversation. This tone Norrington is taking with his "Mister Sparrow" -- which sounds like an old, high pitched crone when Jack mimics it in his head. He'd very much like to just walk away. Can't even remember the reason that he should stay.

And he is not a bad liar.

"Am too!" Jack pouts. And then promptly realises he just admitted to lying. Possibly he needs to work on that a bit more. "Er..."

He really just doesn't want to be here. Why is he still here? It would be so easy to turn around and walk that-a-way and leave the coconuts for Norrington to deal with all on his onesie. But for some reason Jack is just standing here.

Right. Ending this. Now.

"Since you're to be feeling so strongly 'bout the idea of hanging, best we just ignore the entire concept." Suddenly a thought strikes him and he puts in as flippantly as possible. "I don't hang you, you don't hang me. We're all square, hey!"

He turns around to start walking off to further explore the island and really doesn't care if Norrington chooses to follow him or not.

Given the general tone of evasion and avoidance that this conversation has been taking thus far, it really shouldn't be surprising to James when Sparrow simply gets up and walks away. It is, however, and he stares rather dumbly after Sparrow's retreating moment before getting up himself, shoving his feet into his boots, and following at what would have been a jog had his dignity not prevented it.

It doesn't take too long, however, before he catches up with Sparrow and lays a firm hand on his shoulder, stopping him where he stands

'Sparrow,' he says, and his voice is very nearly a sigh, 'You bring me out here to talk and now all you can do is avoid talking? I'm not entirely sure I understand your motives.'

Jack has gotten very adept at moving quickly when he wants to. The ground is a little uneven and, well, ground, so it's harded to keep his balance while trying not to run. But really, he's making quite good time despite all that.

Though it's apparently not good enough when he feels Norrington's hands curl around his shoulder, forcibly halting him in his not-quite-run. Brisk walk more like. Fast stagger. Jack drops his arms with a sigh of resignation. Damn the man for not leaving this be. Then again, he wouldn't be Norrington if he let Jack get away with anything. More squirming is needed.

"Who's avoiding?" Jack asks lightly. He doesn't know why his voice is reaching higher octives than usual. Must be something about land air. "We're having quite the lovliest little chat right now. And back at the tree. And probably will again in just a few yards."

He doesn't want to discuss what they were discussing at the tree again. Or discuss dicussing it even. Norrington is stubbornly refusing to understand that. Sighing again, Jack half turns to face him.

"Look, mate. There's not anything to talk about. You don't want to tell about your hanging. I don't want to hear about it. Therefore, absolutely no ground for any kind of talking whatsoever." Taking a deep breath, Jack looks Norrington in the eyes, almost pleading not to make him get in depth about this.

Honestly, he doesn't even know to what depths this goes.

James sighs heavily and leans back against the bole of an impressively tall tree with grey-green bark and massive, buttressed roots, crossing his arms across his chest. Sparrow is... well, he's being irritating for one thing, but more important, he's running- both literally and metaphorically, looking at James with something almost like pleading in his eyes, which disturbs James probably more than it ought.

'Very well,' he concedes. 'I don't want to talk about it, you don't want to listen. But pray, Sparrow, why then did you bring me out here? And don't say for coconuts.' He warns as Sparrow begins to speak.

He raises an eyebrow, looking the very picture of indolence as he lazes against the tree-trunk, but in reality he is intensely curious. There are, of course, many things wrong with having a Commodore of the Fleet as First Mate aboard a pirate ship, and as such, many things to talk about concerning said Commodore and the captain of that ship. Sparrow, however, just can't seem to make up his mind.

Jack bites off the second co of coconuts with an audible clack of his teeth. He's not quite sure what to say if not that, apart from the truth of course. But why would he ever want to admit to that? Not that he exactly knows what the truth is anymore.

It's a relief to know that Norrington won't bring up... that subject anymore, because it gives Jack a peculair nervous feeling. Strange, too, in the way that he's never found himself with too much about necks getting stretched as long as it's not his. Yet he finds himself caring about Norrington. Er. S'neck. Norrington's neck. Not that the man himself. He'll just forget that slight slip of the mind. Not like his mind is particularly sound anyway.

Yes. Right. Good. He really needs to find some sort of distraction.

Jack smiles innocently and leans a little closer to Norrington. "Can't blame a man for wanting to get away from all the superfluous company back there. Have to leave something up to the imagination of the crew when words gets passed 'round."

James has to smile at the warmth which glows into being under his skin at Sparrow's tone, at the way he sways in a little closer to James. A distraction, obviously, but that doesn't mean James isn't allowed to appreciate it. He props one foot up against the base of the tree, his knee bending up in front of him and adjusts his neck a little; just arranging himself, really. Not an invitation at all. The smirk he gives Sparrow is laden with affected doubt.

'Ah, of course. So they're allowed to know the gist of it but not the mechanics, is that it? Silly of me to think that you might actually be thinking with your head for once.'

He tips his head back, looking down his nose at Sparrow with barely hidden amusement.

'Like I said; you're a terrible liar.'

"Ah, but really I'm thinking of your head in this instance," Jack murmurs. "One particular part of it, in fact."

His eyes drop down to blatantly trace the line of Norrington's lips, then follows the rest of his body down to his boots and back up until he can see into Norrington's hooded eyes. Leaning a bit closer, he places one arm as a brace on the tree, hovering right in front of Norrington without touching him.

It's odd that he never realised how much taller Norrington is than him, though it isn't by all that much. Perfect height, in fact, to almost whisper right into his ear.

"Not everyone's allowed to see such things. Man's got to keep some of his secrets, after all."

Jack delicately begins to play with one of the buttons on Norrington's coat, twisting the material in between his fingers. "What'd you say to that, eh, James?" He just about purrs his name, hoping it will bring back images of the last time he said it.

And get them completely away from what they were just talking about.

'Well, thank God for that!' James is about to say, perhaps throw in a wry glance at Sparrow there at the end, comment on a no doubt valiant effort in seducing him out of a conversation, but then- he says his name. And almost immediately, like some sort of direct chemical reaction in his brain, all rational thought flees. Why is this, he half-wonders? His name is nothing special. Surely, half the boys in England are named James, but Jack Sparrow says it like it's a particularly delicious sweet that he's savouring, wrapping his tongue around to draw every hint of flavour out of it, and it's as if the pleasure he gets from saying the name translates exactly to how James feels hearing him say it. Completely illogical.

Just about now, he thinks, it would be acceptable to give up the topic of conversation. A man must know when to draw back, after all, and there's no shame in a calculated retreat. He can always bring it up later, because God knows he hasn't the will power to do so now.

'I say,' he answers, and if his voice is a wee bit strained, what of it? 'That I'm very glad indeed you don't want Mr. Gibbs watching this. There would certainly be some questions needing to be asked if you did.'

Jack laughs and then shudders when he completes the thought of Gibbs in the background, just staring at them. Possibly muttering about bad luck and how that reminds him of a story.

He twists his mouth while trying to think of a delicate way to put it, still staring at his fingers as they twist the button around. "As fine a man as Gibbs is, to be sure, he's not quite of our ilk or my interest to be watching."

Jack's eyes trail up the line of Norrington's neck and he gently brushes his lips against the pulse point there, before murmuring into the skin.

"Think it's called voyeur by the French."

He's not exactly sure anymore what the French actually call it or if it even was the French. Jack's mind is far too busy contemplating the ways he could work te name James into everyday conversation. Just to see how mad it would drive Norrington. Suddenly he wonders why the name has the affect that it has. If he's the only one ever to have used it.

"Who else calls you James?" Jack asks, finally popping the button out of its corresponding hole and dragging his fingers down to the next one.

He shudders slightly as Sparrow's voice buzzes against his throat, lips moving against the beating vein there. His own lips part to let out a shivery breath as pirate fingers trace their way with maddening slowness down the front of his shirt.

Who else calls you James? Sparrow asks, and without thinking, James breathes 'No-one,' because really as far as he's concerned, no-one else does. At least not the way Sparrow says it.

But, wait- that's not true, is it? Well, his mother, of course, and his father, but that's not what Sparrow meant and besides, it lends a far too Oedipal note to this conversation, and that would rather spoil the mood.

'Friends,' he mutters, 'Lieutenants Groves and... Gillette.' A pause. 'Elizabeth.'

Jack grins at the no one, keen to press the point that he's the only one who calls him that. A delightful little thrill goes through him at the thought, that's he's the only one, but then Norrington keeps talking. With a sigh, Jack drops his head to the crook of Norrington's neck and listens to the list.

He remembers the two men Norrington spoke to when he first came abroad the Pearl. Regular Navy. Eager shots for any one of Jack's crew, and probably even Jack himself. But Elizabeth... Interesting girl. Jack remembers the way she asked Norrington to save Will as a "wedding present" only to back out on him in the end.

Dangerous girl. Jack doesn't mean to say that comment outloud but he feels his throat vibrate with the words and can feel them on his lips against Norrington's skin.

Dangerous girl.

James registers surprise that that particular description should be what Sparrow immediately thought of. Not to say that he was wrong, necessarily, but it's not the sort of thing he would think a man like Sparrow would say about Elizabeth.

'Perhaps,' he murmurs, feeling his throat move against the press of Sparrow's mouth. 'But I shouldn't say dangerous... clever, headstrong, certainly unaware of the impact her actions have on others.'

Uncaring of the impact she has on others, he almost says, but no- Elizabeth is young and beautiful and well-off, younger in some ways than she is in others, she will have time to learn awareness of such things. But why are they talking of Elizabeth? James does not want to think of Elizabeth if he can help it, and certainly not now with Jack Sparrow nibbling on his neck. He's not about to say as much, however, so he drags the pirate up into a kiss, putting as much care and thoroughness as he can manage into it and most decidedly not thinking of Elizabeth.

"Not unaware," Jack murmurs just before he presses his moouth to Norrington's. He would say more, but it's hard to talk and kiss at the same time, as he's found out many times, and Elizabeth isn't what he wants to discuss.

The image of his compass pointing back to Port Royal suddenly flashes through his head, and something almost clicks into place, but then Jack can feel Norrington's tongue sliding softly against his. He pushes all other thought out of his mind.

Jack slides his hand up to Norrington's neck, cupping the back of it and pulling him further into the kiss. It wasn't in his original plan to start something like this out here but he's not going to complain about it happening.

James stretches his neck against the touch of Sparrow's hand, returning the kiss lazily with slow, sure strokes of his tongue. He almost, almost finds it in himself to wonder about Sparrow's comment, but just as he's about to really start thinking about it, the thought slips from his grasp. Perhaps it's Sparrow's doing, perhaps it's his own- he can't really tell.

At some point during the proceedings, his foot had slipped down the trunk of the tree so that his knee is no-longer a barrier between their two bodies, and he finds Sparrow pressed hotly against him. James murmurs something contented into the kiss and felt Sparrow's chuckle in return as he pulls away, mouthing at James's lower lip.

James finds himself speaking.

'Not unaware?'

Why he chose those particular words he cannot say, and immediately he wishes he could take them back, because really, really he does not want to talk about Elizabeth, not when there are (and this thought sounds suspiciously like Sparrow) so many better things he could be doing. Could, of course, always do both.

He allows his hand to trace down Sparrow's back, stroking smoothly along the muscles of his back until he comes to the swell of a particularly fine, piratey arse. He doesn't go quite that far, however, contenting himself to rubbing small circles just above it, looking as curiously at Sparrow as the space between them permits.

'What did she do to you?'

Jack nips lightly at Norrington's lip as he begins to pull away, chuckling a bit under his breath at the close press of their bodies. Norrington's knee has slipped from the tree and Jack manages oh so innocently to straddle it between his legs, making Norrington's hip connect right with his groin. No longer being able to reach Norrington's mouth, he turns his attention to the man's neck, laying soft, sucking kissing down the line of muscle to his shoulder.

He chooses to ignore Norrington's first question, because really all he can concentrate is the beginning stirring in his groin. And how, possibly, they might do this while standing up right. Jack shivers slightly at the feeling of Norrington's hand sliding down his spine, almost but not quite reaching his arse. It's possible that a little whine might have escaped his throat, but fortunately he smothers it covertly into the fabric of Norrington's shirt.

Unfortunately, he does hear the second question. Jack chuckles again, mirthlessly, and rubs his cheek against Norrington's shoulder. Blows warm air onto the wet marks on his neck.

What has Elizabeth done to him? She saved his life for one, not that he'll ever admit to that. She burned his rum and fought undead pirates with him and made him laugh and kept him on his toes. She'd make a good pirate in that way.

"Man's got to keep some of his secrets," Jack eventually says, and then gently bites the side of Norrington's neck. "Meant more though that you can't be clever without knowing somewhat what you're doing. She's a smart ol' girl. Good pirate material."

The image of Elizabeth as a pirate, kitted out in tight-fitting breeches and a man's clothes with a sword at her side is an interesting one. And, the back of James's mind whispers, as Sparrow bites teasingly at the side of his neck, an enticing one. The heat in his groin flares as Sparrow presses up against his hip, a strange combination of the physical sensation of the body against his and the image in his mind. What he says, though, is:

'Planning to turn her pirate, Sparrow? I hardly think so.'

His voice is breathy, though, and his neck tips back apparently of its own accord, baring more skin in a silent invitation. His own hand slips down a little further and he pulls Sparrow against him further.

'First the Commodore, then the Governor's daughter,' he teases. 'Who's next? I don't imagine Governor Swann would make a terribly good pirate.'

All thought flees from Jack's brain as Norrington tugs him closer. He cants his hips against the thigh offered to him, breath speeding up and emerging in short, staccato puffs against Norrington's neck. His attention begins to wade far from what the topic of conversation is, but Jack makes a fine attempt at keeping up.

"Wig's the first thing what has to go. Too hot for open-sea suns."

His hand works furiously down the line of buttons hiding Norrington's chest from Jack's touch, but it's slow-going. Or at least not fast enough for Jack, whose impatience with clothes already exists throughout most days' activities and now has reached as impass. With a frusterated chuff that he did not think of it before, he abandons work on the annoying fastenings and yanks the shirt from Norrington's breeches. Trails fingertips under the fabric and across the line of a hipbone.

Jack shifts until he can stand more in front of Norrington, reaching around to tap a pattern against his side, enjoying the sensation of warm, slightly sweaty skin against his fingers. He places a kiss to Norrington's neck and then his jaw and chin, silently coaxing him to lower his mouth so that Jack can kiss that.

"And turned you pirate did I?" he asks lazily, picking up the line of conversation again. "Thought I tricked you into everything."

It's really almost amusing, the palpable frustration of Sparrow attempting to undo the buttons on his shirt, and he lets out a little chuckle at the expression on the pirate's face. All he can manage, however, as Sparrow suddenly gives up on his quest and simply tugs his shirt from his breeches is a long, drawn out Ohhhh.... Fingers skate with teasing rapidness over the skin just above the waistband of his trousers, and his hips jerk a little, entirely against his will, into the touch.

When Sparrow makes his way back up to James's mouth, he leans forward, cutting off Sparrow's words with his mouth, his eyes slipping shut as he tilts his head to accommodate Sparrow's mouth and tongue.

'I was speaking hypothetically,' he murmurs in between strokes of his tongue, pulling out of the kiss for a moment to bite at Sparrow's jawline, soothing the faint impressions of teeth with his lips and tongue. A smile against Sparrow's skin, and then he leans forward, his breath playing over the shell of an ear under the great mat of hair.

'I am far from having turned pirate, Sparrow. Even you are not that persuasive.'

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