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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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.

It's an effort to keep Sparrow upright when he finally reaches his peak, flopping against James as though he had no bones in his body. The expression on his face is extraodinary, and James finds himself staring; open-mouthed ecstasy and brow smoothed of all the lines of tension which had been there a moment before. His eyes are shut and the kohl sweat-smeared, condensed into a line across the crease of his eyelid, his lashes dark and obscenely long as they flutter with each breath. It's a strange thing, but it suddenly grips James that it would be an excellent idea to kiss the man just about now.

He looks down at Sparrow, spent as he is, clutching at James's clothing, and kisses him. No passionate claiming of his mouth now, though; he instead presses a quick, chaste kiss against the fabric of his headscarf, smooth as silk from so much wear. Why, he couldn't say. Though he's in a better state than the man clinging to him, James Norrington is in no state to think any more than he has to.

A smile, then, twitching warmly about the corners of his mouth as he looks at Sparrow.

'Well,' he murmurs, in answer to Sparrow's gasped comment of a moment before, 'I am a talented man. And we all do our best.'

Though slight, Sparrow's body against him now is strangely heavy, and uncomfortably hot and sticky with sweat and semen. James grunts a little as he circles a hand 'round the pirate's thin back and hoists him up against himself, encouraging him to use his legs as they were intended.

'There,' he says. Where 'there' might be, he doesn't know, but it seems the thing to say

Jack doesn't notice whether he's crushing Norrington or not. He's not much in a position to notice anything. Or to care. The sweaty, sleepy, sappy feeling of post-orgasm weighs heavy in his muscles, draining him all of urge except perhaps to lean here for a while, and not think of anything.

The tune to that song he fancies dances in and out of his head, and he hums a few bars of it into Norrington's shoulder. "Pirate's life for me," he mumbles and squints an eye upwards when Norrington kisses him on the forehead. It's oddly quietly affectionate, and Jack feels oddly affectionate at the moment. He has it in mind to give Norrington a proper kiss -- only that may require movement. Jack's not too keen on movement.

Except he does seem to be moving, because Norrington is awkwardly attempting to prop him up. Jack finds some residual strength in his knees and pushes upwards, moulding them chest to chest. He can't quite reach Norrington's mouth at this angle so he settles for returning the kiss on the side of his chin.

"Our very best," he slurs lazily, then casts his eyes around wildly. A small, teasing smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Never done it against a palm tree before."

The smile is there again; James cannot seem to stop it, and it occurs to him that he's smiled more in these days with Sparrow than he has for... well, for a long time. He can't really bring himself to care, though, not with Jack Sparrow humming tunelessly against James's jacket, planting a pleased, sloppy kiss on his chin and grinning up at him. James arches an eyebrow down at him, tugging him more firmly up against himself.

'How entirely fitting that I should be the one to so broaden your horizons,' he teases.

A silence settles over them, and James suddenly recalls, entirely against his will, what happened last time they did this. They had lain in comfortable, companionable silence, just as they are now, and then James had gone and said something stupid and ruined it all. The problem is, he doesn't know how not to do that now. Something has to be said eventually, after all.

However, James is adamant that at least it will not be him this time who makes things horrible and awkward. All too often that is the case, but not now.

"Think it's meant to be more the reverse actually. Unless you've got some tales you've been keep from me."

He tries hard but can't keep the grin which breaks forth from that. Jack will laugh if Norrington admits he's had sex quite like this before. A few days ago he would have laughed just to hear Norrington say he ever had sex itself. A man who keeps himself as uptight and proper as the Commodore isn't the type to just go bandying about, removing knickers and making folk moan.

Yet here is, completely undone and in disarray, and pressed against Jack with that eyebrow seeking solance somewhere in his hairline. It looks ridiculous, that pompous expression, in such circumstances, and Jack can't resist provoking him for it.

"They teach you that in the Navy? Or is that all due to your own practice?" He skims a thumb beneath the worried muscle -- giving Norrington some idea what he's on about -- to see if it will relax under his touch. "Looks good on you," he says and briefly touches the pocket at the corner of Norrington's smile as Jack brings his hand down. I like it when you smile.

Being in such close proximity makes Jack realise how cold his arse is beginning to feel. And realise why, exactly, it is that his arse feels cold. His breeches are still about his ankles and the front of Norrington's are also open. Both wet and sticky from each other. They might do with a bit of cleaning up.

Jack pushes a hand against Norrington's stomach to prop himself fully on his own two feet. Several coconuts are still cluttered around them and it strikes with a dull remembrance that they actually did not come all the way out here just for this.

Or least not only for this.

Gibbs or Anamaria might come looking for them any momemnt, or might have already come looked and decided it best to leave them be. Either way, it's a decent excuse to stay missing for a bit longer.

Jack has an idea. "Don't know about you, but I could do with a bit of a swim." He glances down between them, at his own state of undress and at Norrington's. At the mess the made between them. "What say you?"

Unless you've got some tales you've been keep from me

He has to grin at that. Even if Sparrow entirely missed the irony of the statement, he knows they're both thinking the same thing right now, and it really is dreadfully amusing. When Sparrow's thumb brushes along what might be a dimple if James used it more often, he looks down, his eyelids brushing soft against the curve of his smiling cheek. Again, that queer tenderness from him whom James would least have expected it.

Of course, he'll not answer Sparrow's question about where he learned it; he doesn't expect the man wants him to. Just teasing, an attempt to provoke the Commodore as Sparrow so loves doing. It does afford him a certain strange satisfaction, however, every time he turns out to be something Sparrow hadn't thought him to be, or does something that completely befuddles the pirate. He thinks he knows so much, does Captain Jack Sparrow, he plays games with people- with the world, really. It's a marvellous thought that James of all people can disrupt his playing board somewhat.

When Sparrow pushes himself up though, looks down between them, James is suddenly and abruptly made conscious of what a state he's in. Both their fronts are sticky and unpleasantly wet with the evidence of their passions, and looking down, James sees his own limp prick stuck to the inside of his thigh. He grimaces. Lovely. A thorough cleaning is most definitely in order.

He clears his throat and smiles a brisk sort of smile when Sparrow suggests swimming. 'A superb idea, Sparrow. I daresay I could do with a bit of a rinse.'

He grimaces once again, looking down at himself, and does up his trousers. They really are dreadfully uncomfortable to wear like this, and James knows that once he actually moves, he'll be forced to walk with an absurd, duck-footed gait.

'You know these islands better than I; is there anywhere more... ah, private, where we might swim? I don't particularly fancy showing your entire crew my unclothed body, particularly not that woman. I dread to think what ideas it might give her.'

He shudders a little at that thought, and tries to banish any images of sword-weilding pirate women in conjunction with his naked body from his mind. He pushes an errant lock of hair out of his eyes.

'Shall we?'

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