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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"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.'

Jack mimics the smile he can feel against his cheek, lips beginning to feel puffy from kisses. He shudders at the rush of hot air on his ear, moulding his body closer, if that can be achieved. A soft chuckle emerges from Norrington's words.

"Haven't seen all my persuasiveness, James," Jack purrs devilishly and sinks away to find Norrington's eyes. His own issue a challenge.

The name! Why, why on earth it should have such an effect on him James he has no idea, but the heat in his groin, the sudden tightening in his abdomen speak for themselves, and James has no choice but to listen. He groans, opening eyes that he hadn't quite realised were shut and standing up a little straighter, looking Sparrow in the eyes.

'Oh no?' He asks, a challenge right back, 'You think you're that good, Sparrow?' A scoff, calculatedly doubtful, and he steps forward a little, back into Sparrow's personal space. His voice, when he speaks, is unwontedly rough, a low murmur.

'It takes a lot to persuade me.'

Jack steps back inadvertenly, trying to keep his balance on the awkward land. His legs don't know how to keep him up right and still on groud what doesn't move. His fingers at Norrington's side curl slightly, reflexively grabbing for something to hold onto, and only managing to drag his fingernails lightly across the skin.

"Into what?" Jack wants to know. Wants to know what he can aim for. Where Norrington will set the target.

He rolls his hips again, bringing better contact, and he can feel Norrington hardening against him. Very good ground for persuassion. Jack runs his hand up and down Norrington's rib cage, feeling it expand with every breath and rises slightly on his toes to place a very small kiss right on the corner of his mouth, teasing but not promising.

"Hmm?" he hums queitly, liking the feel of his lips vibrating against skin. "What would you let ol' Jack talk you into?"

James bites his lip as Sparrow rolls his hips against his, heat against heat and hardness against hardness, and although he exerts an iron force of will, something suspiciously resembling a breathy moan does slip from his lips. And then another, when Sparrow starts running a hand up and down his chest.

The conversation, though, seems to be taking a rather dangerous turn. What would he let Jack Sparrow talk him into doing? Not much, he would have hoped, but apparently that is not the case. Judging from what's transpired between them thus far, he'd let Jack Sparrow talk him into quite a bit. Not that he's going to tell Sparrow that, no, so instead he brings his hand up to the back of Sparrow's neck, pulling him into a proper kiss, not the light, teasing touch he's been using before.

'Well,' he whispers after he pulls away, 'I suppose that would depend entirely upon the strength of your argument, would it not?'

It's not an answer, of course, but then that's the entire point. And in any event, they are in such a position that James is quite sure he can distract Sparrow if it comes to that.

The concept of proper balancing and kissing at the same time appears a hard thing to master. Jack lurches forwards then backwards against Norrington and the ground under his feet. His hand fists in Norrington's shirt to try to keep anchor to something before he topples both of them over. Not that toppling wouldn't be a pleasing alternative. But Jack has other ideas in mind.

"I reckon I can make a very strong argument."

He flattens his hand against Norrington's chest and shoves until his back hits the tree. Beneath his palm, he feels Norrington's heart pounding. A little thrill of excitement races through Jack as he pushes his mouth against Norrington's for another kiss. He nips lightly at Norrington's lower lip, sucking on it as his hand slides lower.

"Only want to know what can be aimed for," Jack murmurs as his lips follow the pattern of his hand, descending down Norrington's neck and the across his collar bone.

There is a thunk as the back of James' head hits the bole of the tree. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his mind, but with every teasing nip and kiss from Sparrow, it becomes more difficult. One hand at his side scrabbles at the rough bark of the tree, as if he could find some kind of support there, the other finds itself tangled in Jack Sparrow's hair as he paints James' collarbone with teasing strokes of his tongue.

'I suppose that would depend entirely on what you want to talk me into.'

He grits out, trying desperately not to let anything resembling a moan or a whimper into his voice. Though why he should try so hard he doesn't know, for surely Sparrow has already heard as much and more from him. Pride, he supposes; one must have some vestiges of pride to cling to even when one is being ravished against a tree by a pirate. He gasps nonetheless when Sparrow bites down with sharp teeth, and his fingers tighten amid dreadlocks and braids.

'After all,' he continues after a moment, 'If the one being persuaded knew- what the other was aiming for, they wouldn't need persuading, would they?' He paused, biting down hard on his lip.

'Bugger,' he breathed. 'That didn't make any sense, did it?'

Norrington rambling on about nothing at all, with logic so twisted Jack could wear it in his hair, forces a chuckle from him. Jack pauses in his ministations to cast his eyes up, lips twitching in amusement.

"Now you've got it, mate. Well on your way to being a proper pirate."

He grazes his teeth once more over Norrington's collar bone. His fingers work at tugging the shirt free of his breeches, so Jack can touch warm, slightly sweaty skin. He curves his body around Norrington's side, arcing against him to keep friction as he manuvers. Slowly, ever so slowly, he begins to slide down until his knees touch the ground.

"And as for what I'd be wanting to talk you into?" Jack pauses and finds Norrington's eyes. "Everything."

He fairly trembles as Sparrow slides to the ground, the tension in his breeches increasing tenfold at the image of the pirate on his knees before James. Nor, indeed, do the heat in his eyes and the throaty growl of his voice help things.

Everything, Sparrow said. Well, at this juncture, James feels about ready to give the man anything and everything he could possibly imagine, not that he'd ever say as much.

Instead, James shakes his head with a strained little smile. 'I am not on my way to being any sort of pirate, Sparrow, much less a proper one.'

Fingers trace across his hypersensitised skin and he nearly whines at the sheer teasing of it. He's too riled up now, and wonderful though it indubitably feels, it feels designed to torment him.

'But then,' he continues, 'I suppose that's one of the things you'll be wanting to talk me into.'

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Jack asks, not terribly curious in the answer.

He can see, and what's more feel, Norrington react to him. Feel the trembling of his muscles as he presses his cheek against the man's hip, scooping up his shirt to nuzzle the skin of his stomach. Places sloppy kisses just above his waistline. Jack curls his another hand around the back of Norrington's thigh, gently massaging his leg.

He shoves the shirt upwards to Norrington's chest, hoping that the man will get the clue and hold for him instead of letting it billow in his face. His thumb circles around Norrington's navel, followed soon by his tongue, tracing the same path. He pulls back to admire his work and breathes a cool stream over the wet mark.

"And as for pirates," he tells Norrington's stomach. "You don't seem as averse to them as once were. Or am I wrong?" He flicks his eyes up to Norrington's face, putting on a faux expression of thoughtfulness. "Should I stop?"

James accepts the shirt without question when Sparrow shoves it up his chest, clutching it to himself with the hand not touching the man before him. Anything, anything to keep him going. He can feel the muscles in his stomach twitch convulsively as Sparrow limns a path around his navel with his tongue, and his prick strains against the confines of his trousers. Finally he can stand it no longer, and a shuddering moan trips from his lips out into the humid, tropical air.

It is then that he notices that Sparrow is no longer touching him, is instead leaning back and regarding James with mild curiosity. He exhales a noise which is nothing but sheer frustration, barely restraining himself from pulling Sparrow's hair.

'If you stop, so help me, I will-'

But he can't continue. He has nothing to threaten, and he is so frantic with arousal that surely anything he did say would sound utterly idiotic. Please, he nearly says, Please just bloody get on with it, you insane pirate, but he restrains himself.

"As I suspected," Jack all but hums to himself, quite devilishly pleased with that response.

He presses another open-mouthed kiss to Norrington's waist, right along the hip, where the bones curved down to make room for a pelvis. Then he sucks, hard, to leave a purpling-red blotch for a mark. His fingers pluck slowly at the fastenings to Norrington's breeches, avoiding as much contact as possible with the hardness beneath the fabric. More to annoy Norrington than out of any sense of hesitancy.

Jack's getting it in his head that it might be interesting to see how desperate Norrington becomes when pushed to the limits. He would have been curious the first time they attempted something like this, but he was a bit too eager himself to get results. Now, well -- he shifts slightly to relieve some of the uncomfortable tightness in his own breeches -- he might be able to wait a few more moments.

'Jack...'

That's a definite groan now, and well deserved, James fancies, as Sparrow is clearly doing everything he can to irritate James. If nothing else, the evil smile hovering about his lips proves as much. Not to say, of course, that he isn't thoroughly enjoying it, but he's not enjoying it nearly as much as he would if Sparrow would just bloody get on with it.

'Surely,' he mutters tensely, 'I am debased enough. Or are there more depths you would have me sink to?'

He mentally kicks himself as soon as the words escape his mouth, for doubtless Sparrow has a multiplicity of such depths, deeper and more steeped in iniquity than James even has the capacity to imagine. A tiny voice in the back of his head suggests that sinking to said depths might not be such a bad thing after all, but he silences it hastily.

The raw little groan of his names delivers a line of shivers down Jack's back, one after another. He delights in the sensation momentarily, each little trigger-shock exploding through his veins.

Those few more moments of wait-time are fast shrinking from the horizon. Jack shifts again, straining against the laces of his breeches to have something soon done. By the tone Norrington's set, he's feeling much the same anxiety about getting down to brass tacks.

"I could name a few," Jack manages to get out, voice tight and far too breathy to really issue much of a threat. Silently, he adds to himself, But I won't.

He pops the laces of Norrington's breeches and pushes the placates aside. Light feathery touches he applies first, just to include the priliminaries, before taking him fully in his palm. Firm on the upstroke, almost unprecetible on the down. He swirls his thumb around the head, then includes a quick swipe of his tongue.

"Good?"

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