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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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?"

James very nearly chokes when Sparrow flicks his tongue across the head of his prick, his eyelids flickering weakly shut. How long has it been since he's had someone's mouth on him? God, he doesn't even know, but it's been long enough that his vision tunnels inward for a moment, hazing over with pleasure, heat spiking in his abdomen.

'God,' he manages, his voice more a croak than anything else, 'Yes. Very good.'

James' fingers in Sparrow's hair tighten with the strain of keeping himself under control, and entirely without his say-so, pull towards himself, pushing Sparrow closer to his aching arousal. He can feel puffs of wet breath against the fevered skin and very nearly groans again.

'Get on with it...'

The words are muttered so that he's not even entirely sure whether Sparrow can hear them or not, but James is quite sure he'll get the message, whether he does or no.

Something deep in Jack's abdomen tightens, but not with arousal. It's darker, but just as primal: an instant instinct to recoil and pull away. He doesn't know if it's because his hair's being tugged painfully, which is not a nice thing in general, or the little note of command in Norrington's voice, or the fact it's Norrington giving the command -- but suddenly Jack flouders. His mouth dries up and he stills, dumbfounded about what to do.

Go forward or retreat.

It's not meant to be force; he can assume that much. It's not probable that Norrington's attempting to coerce him. And hasn't he built his life around that, probabilities? But it feels like force, the tiny tremors of panick running through his bloodsteam.

Still. Jack's been in uncertain positions before. Thrives in uncertain positions. This is just another time, another opportunity and he's aching hard and he wanted this about two blinks of an eye ago. Nothing's changed except Norrington's getting a little too over-eager.

To cover the pause, Jack flicks a smile upwards, closing his eyes against the bright sky. "Careful, there, love," he murmurs then takes Norrington full in his mouth.

For the briefest of moments, James imagines that he sees something strange in Sparrow's eyes; a hesitancy, a flash of something dark and strange that he does not understand... But then it's covered by a grin, a slightly chiding gleam of golden teeth, and that great wild head is dipping forward and James stuffs the fist holding his shirt into his mouth to keep from crying out. Coherence ceases to exist in his brain, and any thoughts he might have had about Sparrow's eyes are taken over by the feeling of his mouth.

It's wet and hot and Jesus Christ- Sparrow knows exactly what he's doing, James can tell that right away. He's sure there's a lot going into it; lips and tongue and wonderful slick suction, but all he can think to do is to hold himself back, to keep his hand from getting too tight in Sparrow's hair, from rutting against him, fucking his mouth like he was some kind of cheap whore.

A whimper makes its way out of his throat at that thought, leaking around the fabric and his hand as he bites down hard, and his hips twitch slightly, bucking into Sparrow's mouth.

'Sorry,' he gasps out, but with his shirt and fist in the way, it is quite unintelligible.

There's not much conscious thought that goes into it. Jack finds a rhythm and glides, back and forth, tongue flat and teeth covered. He pulls back until just the tip balances between his lips then slides down as far as he can, sucking hard.

His eyes shut, concentrating on the motion, on how to control his breath. Nothing else matters. He doesn't want to think, just feel.

The thigh muscle beneath his hand trembles just before Norrington's hips slip, jutting his prick down Jack's throat. Jack swallows convulsively so he doesn't choke, gripping hard to the fabric of Norrington's breeches. His other hand flies to Norrington's hip, to steady him, and he glances up.

All Jack can see is a shirt fisted upwards. The sun throws shadows over the crown of Norrington's head, backlighting him. Head reclined back and a long, flushed neck.

Jack loosens his grip on Norrington's hip, keeps his hand there but no longer restricting motion. Guiding him, gently, to move if he wants to.

Sparrow swallows hard around him, a strangled sort of gurgle choked around James's cock down his throat. He feels a strange, deep sort of guilt when the pirate's grip on his breeches tightens momentarily and a hand flies up to James's hip, clearly steadying himself against the unwelcome intrusion. The guilt is no more than a buzz in the back of his head, however, for as much as he is ordinarily a man ruled entirely by his brain, he is too far gone now to devote any amount of blood to rational thinking.

He still notices, however, when Sparrow's grip relaxes somewhat, fingers stroking across the protrusion of his hipbone rather than clutching uncomfortably, and James allows his head to fall back against the tree trunk, a sensation of relief flooding over him. Again he twitches into Sparrow's mouth, but this time the pirate is ready for it, and insteady of a choke or hasty gulping, he opens his throat, takes James in, sucking hard.

'Oh- fuck...'

The word slips out with a choked groan, and James looks down at Sparrow, his eyes wild and unfocussed.

'Jack,' he breathes.

Jack swallows again, taking Norrington in, eyes strained upwards to watch his face. He can see it better, sun not so blindingly bright, just the tip of Norrington's chin and his neck and his chest heaving with each breath. Jack stares at the pulse point beneath his jaw, head bobbing slowly, until suddenly Norrington looks down.

Says his name.

Jack stills, finding Norrington's eyes and just staring. He wishes he could touch his face, stroke his cheek. Hear his name said again in that way. It's rare to be addressed like that, such a gentle way. Reverent. Caring. It's... nice.

His hand on Norrington's thigh relaxes. Smoothes up over his arse, cupping and bringing the man closer. Jack strokes over his hip and down to his knee before retreating over the same trail. Soothingly. He directs Norrington to shift back and forth, bobbing his head in time.

When Sparrow's hand slips around to cup James's arse, to bring him forward, everything suddenly becomes so much better James would almost think it madness. It's... softer somehow, less strained, with Sparrow's hand caressing the muscle of his thigh. James feels he could almost call the man lover.

But such thoughts do not remain for long, for with this change in proceedings, James realises that he is much closer to completion than he'd appreciated. His eyes are squeezed shut, and he groans deep and throaty.

'Jack,' he tries, panting, tripping over the name, slurring it as if he were drunk.

'I'm- ah, Jack, I'm- I'm close...'

Even with this new softness, it seems to James that it would be beyond vulgar to come in Sparrow's mouth, to defile him as if he were some kind of common whore.

Jack wants to say, Well, that's the bloody point of this, isn't it? but can't, because his mouth is kind of full at the moment. Instead he pushes on with more intent. Works Norrington at a quicker pace, swirling his tongue in a cute little trick that usually brings about terrific results.

He knows Norrington doesn't want to come in his mouth. Whether it's from politeness or awkwardness or some other reason entirely, he can't say. He suspects it falls into the category of Other Reason Entirely, and for that it's vitally important that Jack keeps his mouth where it is. There are already too many conflicting urges inside his brain, between panic and lust and confusion -- the confusion is definitely a problem. One more is not welcomed.

Jack screws his eyes shut then and swallows, deeply, overriding his choke reflex. He wants to feel it when Norrington comes, back of his throat, every single ounce of his attention drawn into that one sensation. Wants to look up at Norrington, tasting him still in his mouth, and show him -- something. Jack doesn't know what it will show Norrington, what he wants it to show. He just feels defiant against the man, against all the feelings rushing through his veins.

He can't even tell if he's hard anymore.

Come for me, he wants to say. Like this, right here. He swallows a second time and then a third, pulling Norrington in until it feels like he can't breathe anymore. His hands clench on Norrington's flanks, rubbing harder, nails scraping into flesh. This is what he wants; bugger Norrington if it isn't what he planned to happen.

Sparrow is not moving.

He shows absolutely no signs of going anywhere, and James is not going to be able to make Sparrow move without this not ending in an orgasm, and that's something that, at this stage in the proceedings, he simply cannot permit. Somehow, amid the assault of sensation, a note of panic finds its way into James' brain, until it hits him in a rush that maybe somehow, inexplicably, the insane pirate wants this.

He looks down; Sparrow's eyes are closed tight, his lips wet and red stretched around James' hardness, his tongue unseen but doing gorgeous, incredible, unspeakable things. He wants this.

And that's it; James surges up onto the balls of his feet, feeling Sparrow's throat work around him as he climaxes. Tight, almost painful surges of sensation as his orgasm is torn out of him with a groan, and black dots wink before his eyes. But there is Jack Sparrow, a trail of white streaked down his chin, swallowing his fluid until he has nothing left and he sinks back down, trembling, against the tree trunk.

After a moment to compose himself, he looks down at Sparrow, who's licking his lips absently. James shakes his head.

'Why did you do that?' He asks. It does not nearly serve to communicate everything going on in his head, but at the moment, it is quite definitely the best he can do.

Jack near feels like he's orgasmed himself by the time Norrington releases. It feels good to swallow him down, Norrington bucking against his mouth, and it all going inside him. He swallows what he can, before it gets too much, then tugs away finally. Spits the rest to the ground and cleans his mouth off with the back of his hand.

He slumps on the ground, collapsing back on one eblow with his knees still bent backwards. It's a little uncomfortable actually but he doesn't want to move. Too much energy is in him, rattling round his bones and inside his head. Coursing, plumeting -- like he's in the middle of the storm again, wind howling and waves tossing about, making his blood near sing with all the commotion. Except there's no storm here anymore. No reason he should feel quite so buzzed. Staying very, very still seems like a good solution to counteract it.

He doesn't look at Norrington, almost forgets him standing there, until he speaks. Jack throws a glance his way. Norrington sounds vaguely upset for some strange reason. Shouldn't be surprising because Norrington always reacts to things a little bit funny, but there's something in the way he's looking at Jack. Something vaguely sad. Vaguely disappointed.

"Didn't you like it?" Jack says, and it's suppose to come out cheeky, or maybe even a little sly, but his voice doesn't quite manage all that. It shakes. Too much air, more than really necessarily to say the words, and his breath shuddering a little bit inside his chest.

'Gods,' James breathes, almost wanting to laugh, the giddiness of his orgasm creeping up on him despite himself. 'Yes. Yes, I liked it very much.'

He pronounces the words carefully, though whether it's to stop laughter or that same tremor he heard in Sparrow's voice he's not sure. Of course it was good; it was more than good, it was... incredibly, indescribably fantastic, but there's still some level of unease hovering in his brain. He doesn't even know why, and that's possibly the worst thing about it. Just- surrendering himself so completely to this man; it frightens him in a way few things do. And having Jack Sparrow debase himself like that for the Commodore of the Caribbean fleet... it's strange. It could be those, it could be something else; he doesn't know. He hates not knowing.

But now is not the time for soul-searching; he stoops a little and grasps the hand that Sparrow isn't leaning on and heaves him up. He only wobbles a little as he does so.

'My turn, I think.'

"Been waiting for you to say that." Jack teeters trying to find balance on his legs and balance in his tone. Things are still not coming out quite how he means them to sound. Still a bit breathless, still a bit edgy.

It really is not good.

Whatever Norrington has planned should be something worhtwhile, and if he has to Jack is going to force himself to enjoy every single second of it. He's tired of this... feeling, whatever it is, catching him up, twisting things and bending things out of the realm Jack likes them in. That realm is pleasure and fun and none of this strange, uneasy feeling. Norrington enjoyed himself and Jack -- well. It's been a long time since he's done something quite like that, wanted or not, so maybe it just takes a while to figure it out again.

Jack places a hand on Norrington's face, cradling his jaw. He remembers wanting to do this, before. Before whatever feeling overtook him. He brushes his cheekbone ever so lightly with a thumb, soft gentle strokes, tracing a line under Norrington's eye.

"And what, exactly, are you having in mind now that you've got me up here." Jack tilts his head to the side, and loops a strand of Norrington's hair about his finger. Studies it as he twirls it around before sliding his fingers once more down the side Norrington's face. "Hm?"

A smile flickers about James's lips as Sparrow's thumb brushes over his cheekbone, shivering a little with the hypersensitivity that still clings to his skin after his orgasm. It surprises him- as it always does when Sparrow acts gently or kindly- that the pirate should be so tender with him. Neither of them, after all, are tender men; they do not have the time to be tender. But it would, of course, be a falsehood of the direst sort if he even tried to convince himself that he didn't enjoy it.

As for what he has in mind... well, nothing, really. He'd been rather too distracted to give any thought to it, but now he does, he realises that he's a bit stuck. He... cannot reciprocate what Sparrow had done for him. It simply is not an option. At least not right now. Sodomy is similarly taboo, though more because he has no idea how Sparrow feels about such things, and even if he did, there's no way he'd be able to bugger anybody after coming that intensely. His hands, then, seem to be the only option.

James feels rather akwardly that, having done that already, he ought to have something better to offer.

He doesn't, though, and so he presses his lips to Sparrow's in a kiss, slipping his tongue inside and tasting the flavour of his own come there, an unpleasant, salty taste. Well, perhaps not that unpleasant.

'I have no idea,' James murmurs dryly against Sparrow's mouth, his hands toying with the many sashes and belts looped 'round his skinny waist. 'But I endeavour to please-' He pulls back slightly, flashes an invisible smirk at Sparrow. 'As ever.'

Jack opens his mouth to the kiss, his fingers stilling against Norrington's cheek. They circle around to the back of his neck as Norrington speaks, petting the damp tendrils of hair. He ducks his head into the crook of Norrington's neck, breathing in the dull scent of his sweat.

It's not so much that he's clinging to Norrington, except that he sort of is. Didn't exactly mean to, but it's nice, this touching. This ability to be close and press up against, and not just a warm body but someone... different. Jack doesn't really want to think about why, exactly, Norrington is different. Or what makes him different. Or what different implies. Perfers actually to stop that train of thought right there, and concentrate on the fact that he's being disrobed by eager hands.

"Make it up as you go along," he says idly into Norrington's neck. "Sounds like the perfect plan to me."

He twists his hips to kindly assit Norrington in removing his sash, but it morphs into kindly aggravating Norrington as Jack moves the wrong way against the fabric. He smiles against Norrington's skin then sucks a patch between his lips, nibbling it lightly. Wants to leave a bruise for later that Norrington can try and fail to hide, and perhaps blush about, and Jack can see and appreciate his handiwork.

Edited 2008-01-04 11:03 (UTC)

Make it up as you go along.

He's never been particularly good at that, James Norrington; he prefers a strategy when at all possible. But then, this whole ordeal with Sparrow and the Black Pearl has been nothing more than one great improvisation, so he supposes that he'll be able to deal with this somehow. He'll have to, really. And it's not as if he minds, whatever he might tell himself.

James hums appreciatively in the back of his throat as Sparrow worries at the skin of his neck. He's too spent for it to rile him as it normally would, but it feels good nonetheless. The pirate's sash is tricky, but soon enough it unknots itself under his hands, and they easily find their way into the waistband of Sparrow's trousers, skimming over warm skin before . Sparrow squirms a little against him, and he grins. James can feel the evidence of Sparrow's arousal insistent against his hip, and he shifts to slip a leg between the pirate's thighs.

Jack jumps a bit at the fingers suddenly caressesing his bare flesh. His stomach muscles clench. It tickles slightly, the brush of rough knuckles against the sensitive skin and he presses his face into the side of Norrington's neck to stifle the -- it's not a giggle, because Captain Jack Sparrow certainly does not giggle, particularly at times like this. He leans more of his weight into Norrington when a thigh breaks its way between his legs. Begins to unconsciously rub a little against him.

"Nngh," Jack groans, which he means to be a positive reenforcement. He never was one who did well with prolonged waits, and finally having attention in that area feels blessedly good. It's not enough though, far from it. Or, well, it possibly could be at this point, but that would just be embarrassing. If Norrington would just move his hands just a little, both problems could be solved and done with.

Jack's glad it's his hands and not his mouth. That Norrington doesn't just drop unceremoniously to his knees like Jack did. He wouldn't normally be one to pass up such an offer but now is not the time. If he closes his eyes, and presses his forehead to Norrington's shoulder, it all seems so uncomplicated. Jack likes uncomplicated. Jack really, really likes Norrington uncomplicated the most.

He bites lightly the bit of muscle stretching along Norrington's shoulder as an incentive to keep going. The man seems to like when Jack uses his teeth, a curious little fact to file away for later.

It's strangely comforting to feel Sparrow's weight against him, to hear him groan into James's neck, and he rubs his leg a little between Sparrow's to goad him on a bit more. His fingers slip over the angularity of his hipbone and the smooth muscle of the man's arse and he takes a moment to appreciate the feel of him. It occurs to him that he thoroughly enjoys the feeling of having the man's pleasure entirely at his mercy.

Now is not the time for teasing, though, and he chuckles as Sparrow scrapes his teeth over the muscle of James's shoulder.

'Clearly I'm doing something right,' he murmurs into the pirate's hair, and with that he allows his hand to slip down to where Sparrow clearly wants it. Clutches firmly at the length of Sparrow's prick, thumb swiping along the underside as James himself likes it. It's hot and heavy in his hand, and suddenly he wants nothing more than to have Jack Sparrow in a swoon in his arms, Jack Sparrow clutching at him because of James. The thought is dizzying.

Trousers are quickly dealt with, pooling around those absurd boots, and now James is able to properly wrap his hand around Sparrow's length, working it between their two bodies. He sweeps the mass of Sparrow's hair to the side, brings his face close to the man's skin, breathing in the scent of sweat as his teeth scrape a path under his ear.

'Satisfactory, I trust?' He growls.

An uncontrolable spasm wracks through him. He bucks viciously at the first touch of a hand on his prick, hold the right side of tight, and thumb doing glorious things. He doesn't even register that his breeches are suddenly dropped around his ankles.

Jack shivers at the teeth below his ear. "Gnnnh" he grits out, this time meant more as a reproach for asking silly questions than a commentary on how well things are unfolding. He is far, far too close to have much patience with words. "S'a talent," he gasps, cocking head so he can catch Norrington's eye, "to sound that smug -- " He pauses to shudder as Norrington's thumb brushes over the head of his prick in a particularly nice way. "-- at a time like this."

He drops his head back down to Norrington's shoulder, pushing the full brunt of his weight against him so he needn't worry about his kness buckling. He's so, so close now. Just a little more of that, some nice friction in all the right places, can't even think about what it was like to have Norrington's prick in his mouth because then he might -- He might --

Jack sucks in one sharp breath, a sickening sensation coiling low in his belly when he remembers what it felt like to have his lips stretched and Norrington hot and hard inside his mouth, and then comes abruptly. He catches a piece of fabric at Norrington's side in his fist, anchoring himself upright, and then sags boneless against Norrington.

"God," he says and swallows thickly.

Shore Leave

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