Fathoms 2

Dead Men Tell No Tales

by

Manic Intent

"'Bout what?" Jack asked innocently. He sat cross-legged, apparently inspecting his compass.

Norrington snorted derisively, then was silent. Jack stole a look. The man had closed his eyes—and as he waited, the thin line in his mouth softened as his breathing deepened and evened. The pirate captain couldn't help smiling despite himself. Mussed brown hair and the way the long, lean body seemed to automatically curl into a somewhat fetal position made for an adorable picture undeserving of the title 'pirate hunter'. He noted, however, that it wasn't a true sleep, but the half-aware slumber learned from years of gambling one's life in the sea against outlaws.

Still, the man would probably be terribly disappointed if he didn't try anything. Jack tugged at his beard thoughtfully for a moment, and wondered what his Pearl would think. And there it was—that definite sense of feminine, if supernatural, amusement. "An' ye'd find it very funny if 'e wakes up an' shoots me dead," he muttered sarcastically.

Jack slowly eased up onto his haunches, then with exaggerated, comical stealth inched his way towards the pistols. Just as one nut-brown hand was about to come into reaching distance of one, the note in Norrington's breathing changed, and Jack froze, waiting until it went back again, then, swift as a snake, his hand darted towards his pistol, cocking it in one fluid movement.

Norrington opened an eye, looked at him with distinct disinterest, and yawned. "Go to sleep, Sparrow."

"Sorry, Jamie. The thump-thump, if ye please." Sparrow grinned as Norrington scowled at the bastardization of his name. To his annoyance, however, Norrington merely closed his eyes again. "Hey! I've got 'e gun here!" To emphasize his point, he took the other pistol as well.

"Kill me then," Norrington said mildly, not bothering to wake up. "You can bury me at sea or whatever suits your mad fancy."

Jack bit out a curse, and cocked Norrington's pistol, aiming it at the wall above the man. Just so he didn't think old Jack was simply fooling around... and there was an audible click. The pistol wasn't loaded. Jack blinked, and checked his own—not loaded, either. "What..."

Green eyes met his own as he glared at the other man. The ex-Commodore seemed decidedly amused—that absolutely annoying smirk was back.

"When?"

"Just before I came back with dinner."

Jack made a sound of irritation, then his hand darted for the sword, only to find that not only did Norrington have longer hands, he was marginally faster, as well. The blade pointed unerringly at his throat. "Don't make me tie you up, Jack."

"We-ell. Ye have no rope, even if that's very kinky of ye, Jamie," Jack smiled, showing all his gold teeth. "Didn't think it o' a Navy man. Or is tha' what all of ye do in yer free time, wi' no free drinkin' o' rum allowed?"

"Heard that before," Norrington said dryly. Somehow he managed to re-sheathe the sword while still lying down, and this time put it behind his back. "And it's Norrington to you."

"Is tha' th'way to speak to yer Captain?" Jack asked, pressing a hand full of pistol to his chest in mock annoyance.

Norrington opened his mouth, probably to object that Jack was no longer his Captain, since there was no longer a ship, and then he abruptly shut it. To spare his feelings over the loss of the Pearl? Very odd. Very gentlemanly. But undeserved, all the same. His voice, however, was caustic, when he decided finally to reply. "No, Captain. Now can you let me sleep?"

"M' cold."

"Then light the fire outside and sleep there."

"M' get eaten by horrible beasties th' likes o' which no man 'as ever seen."

Norrington rolled his eyes. "Maybe I'd finally get some peace, then. And you almost did. Out in the sea."

"Funny 'ow th'more that happens, th'more I don't care t' repeat th'experience."

"I'm not cold."

"That's 'cos ye 'ave all that body heat, Jamie..." Jack put the pistols down where Norrington had left them, and then swiftly pressed up against the other man, tangling their legs and locking his arm over the smooth back, his cheek pressed high against the bit of skin that showed from the half-opened shirt. Definitely deliciously warm. The musky, extremely masculine scent of the other man seemed to hold the faint hint of gunpowder.

There was a strangled pause as Norrington froze in shock, then with a growl he tried to shove Jack away, twisting up and gasping, "Jack!" A blink, then a deeper growl, "Sparrow... your utter lack of propriety is absolutely... for God's sake, man, did you take... clinging lesson from an octopus..."

Jack grinned wickedly up at him. "I think I could like 'ow ye say me name, like that."

Norrington flushed as he realized Jack hadn't missed his slip, then let out a sound that was definitely a stifled moan as the pirate rubbed against his body like a cat, even purring to complete the impression. His struggles seemed to become somewhat more half-hearted, especially when Jack slipped a hand up his shirt, stroking his back curiously, occasionally exploring scar tissue with callused fingers. "Sparrow."

"I preferred it when ye said Jack, Jamie-luv."

"It's Norrington," he said almost absently, trying to disentangle his legs. Jack pressed himself more firmly against him until he gave up, the rippling muscle that the pirate had just admired tensing, and then relaxing a little as Norrington took a deep, calming breath, then he sighed. "I suppose you're going to tell me you learned this in Singapore."

"Mebbe," Jack grinned, nuzzling the warm skin at face-level, and chuckling as Norrington hissed softly. "And I take it back. Ye don't smell funny."

"The dip to save your life probably helped," Norrington said pointedly, as if attempting to remind Jack that he hadn't been very forthcoming in terms of gratitude, and leaving his rescuer in peace.

Jack chuckled, then licked, and laughed as muscles spasmed around him, the taller man taking in a sharp intake of breath. "Don't taste bad either."

"You. Are. Trying. My. Patience. Sparrow." Norrington ground out, and then yelped as Jack attempted to slip his free hand into his breeches, catching it roughly. "Stop!"

Unfortunately, this meant that Norrington's remaining hand was trapped between their bodies, freeing the hand that was petting his back to slide down and cup his firm rump. Glancing up, Jack saw green eyes widen with surprise, and then darken with annoyance... and aye, perhaps something else. He danced fingers down the rough fabric over a thigh, and then stroked him, the warm flesh seeming to burn under his palm. Up again, squeezing a hip—the bone a little stark (didn't eat too well in Tortuga, did he now), then under the shirt again, splaying against the warmth of the flat belly. Norrington didn't resist, or even make a further sound of protest.

Looking up to check, Jack noted that the ex-Commodore's eyes were half-lidded, and watching the movement of his hand under the thin fabric of the discolored shirt. Afraid to speak, in case the spell broke, Jack glanced away, pressing a kiss on warm skin, then craning his neck to taste more, greedily laving the flesh available, purring as he did, eventually having to disentangle his legs to nuzzle the hollow of Norrington's neck. The grip on his hand no longer seemed to be that of restraint, but support, as he licked up the browned neck and under the chin, his nose tickled by the scruffy growth of the beard, then up to one ear, nuzzling it first, then running his tongue delicately over the shell.

He risked a glance back. Half-lidded eyes were now unfocused, and breath, erratic. Good. Jack tugged at the lobe with his teeth, gently, and then sucked—that got a reaction—green eyes blinked open, and Norrington did not have time to bite down his moan. Jack was fairly surprised at his pliancy himself, half-expecting the other man to roll them both over at any moment and tell him to 'try again' in that dry, so very British voice. It was never his way to question good fortune, however. Maybe trekking over half the island and catching dinner had indeed made Norrington tired enough to be more agreeable. Of course, his own (and self-admitted) immense ego told him to take all the credit in his skills of seduction, as it were...

Nimble fingers pulled open the buttons of Norrington's shirt, gently, then continued to explore revealed skin. Jack gave the reddening ear a final lick, and then scooted up until his face was on level with the taller man. Still dazed. So very adorable. So close, he only had to lean forward a little...

Lips not as soft as Elizabeth's, of course, but then he was kissing no lass. In his long career of buccaneering Jack had played both sides, and hadn't committed himself to either. More fun that way, he found—but this kiss already threatened to steal his heart. Hesitant, as though wary of rejection, but definitely responding. Jack flicked his tongue at the lower lip, and they parted, allowing him to leisurely explore the mouth of an ex-British Naval Officer. Faintest hint of rum, and the aftertaste of the night's dinner, and something almost smoky, and very, very seductive. A muffled whimper, and then his wrist was released, slender, long fingers reaching up to stroke his cheek, then weave through his hair. Jack let out a purr of appreciation as he rubbed his tongue against Norrington's.

When they pulled away, Norrington's eyes burned with a heat that was almost palpable, making the pirate shiver in response, licking his lips as he looked the other man over. The open shirt was an even better improvement from when it was wet, but Jack decided he would have to daze Norrington a little more before he could do something about that. A few more hungry kisses, and green eyes seemed to glaze over again. Satisfied, Jack slid back down the long body, encouraging him to shift so that he now lay on his back. Again that odd compliance.

Jack didn't question it any further, however, when at the first lick over one rosy nipple Norrington arched his back with a gasp, the strangled "Jack!" seeming to tug directly at his groin, the heat in his own body pooling down. So pretty, this ex-Commodore—a good man, and yet with such a deliciously hidden wicked streak that made him unpredictable. He'd thought so the first time they'd met, when he'd been tricked with that handshake that revealed his pirate brand.

He lapped at the hardening nub, then swirled his tongue around it, letting out another soft purr as Norrington all but writhed under him, long fingers plucking at his sleeve, his coat, then stilling and gripping his shoulders tightly when he began to suck, whimpering when he nipped. A definite whine when he stopped, then a soft, unintelligible exclamation when Jack proceeded to do exactly the same thing to the other. Jack could feel Norrington's arousal now, as he shifted to move his thigh between the long legs, just as he pressed his own against a hip, making the other man buck involuntarily. "Jack." A sigh—of resignation. Giving in.

Somehow he managed to unlace breeches with fingers that were beginning to tremble—the whimpers and soft, wounded cries each time they brushed the long ridge in Norrington's trousers were very bad for his concentration—then he pulled them down impatiently, the other man shifting to help him. They pooled at the boots—Jack grumbled—and it felt like eternity before those were out of the way, as well. He looked back up when the battered fabric was in a pile behind them, to that fine-boned face, and blinked when Norrington glanced at him, and then curved his lips into a smile that was almost predatory, and definitely incredibly sexy. Jack couldn't stop a groan from escaping his own throat when Norrington arched an eyebrow, then spread his legs. Definitely unpredictable.

With this sort of an invitation, however, he didn't feel like he needed further encouragement. Placing both hands on Norrington's hips, he lowered his head to nuzzle the curls around the proud shaft, then nipped at skin over the juncture of the thighs, then flicked his tongue over it. Another brief lap over the balls, and more kisses around the base... and he chuckled as he heard Norrington's voice, roughened with want, growl, "Bloody tease."

"Pirate," he murmured in response, leaning up to press his tongue into the navel. Norrington hissed, then reached down deftly to remove the sea urchin spine from his hair, then fumbled with the scarf. When Jack's hair tumbled free, slender fingers again weaved through it, stroking, exploring the texture of the beads, stilling only when Jack blew over the tip of the long shaft and pressed his tongue into the weeping slit. Salt. The sea.

"Oh God." Norrington fell back on the rotting ground with an audible thump, his hips bucking as Jack began to leisurely explore the rosy shaft with his tongue, his hands doing their best to restrain the other man, enjoying the gasped curses that would probably have made titled ladies faint in shock. "Oh God, Jack." A benediction. A curse. Then, finally, a whisper. "Please."

Jack grinned against the hard flesh, licking his way to the tip, then sucking the shaft down his throat, holding Norrington's gaze inch by inch. The ex-Commodore's cheeks were flushed, and sweat beginning to soak his shirt, the grip in his hair verging on painful, trembling, control fighting a losing battle with abandon. So beautiful. The sight made Jack's own arousal, cruelly ignored for now, ache most pointedly. He purred, the vibration making Norrington yelp a word that could have been his name, then gasp out another string of curses when Jack began to suck in earnest, greedily drinking up the leaking essence. When the words turned into incoherent moans and the moans, into sweet cries Jack stopped and pulled back, almost laughing at the shock and the instant whine of protest from the proud man beneath him. "D... don't stop ..." The complaint fell into silence as Norrington watched Jack hastily undo his own breeches, cursing at the folly of forgetting about his own boots.

When that was done (and finally), Jack climbed back up the other man and kissed him, roughly now, want overstepping any wish for gentleness, caressing sweaty skin, Norrington in turn trying and failing to navigate the buttons on Jack's shirt, then with a muffled snarl, simply ripped it open. Jack's exclamation of protest turned into a moan when he was pulled down, flush against Norrington, their shafts rubbing, the friction heady. Distantly he could hear someone moan "James", and realized with mild surprise that it was his voice.

With an effort, he sat up, winking cheekily at Norrington when he bared teeth in a snarl of frustration, one hand encircling their shafts to pleasure them both, while he slowly slicked the fingers of his other hand with his tongue. Norrington's reaction was almost comical—torn between wanting to watch the hand between them, or the one being licked, or concentrating on the growing realization of what that meant. "Jack." Uncertain now. "I'm not... sure that I... I mean..."

"Shh, Jamie-luv." Maybe some other time, then—he didn't want to scare him off now. Besides, Jack wasn't sure if spit would ease the way as much as it would for himself. "Watch." He shifted so that the thick shaft was snug between his cleft, unable to help rubbing against it briefly, then grinned salaciously as he slipped fingers into himself, scissoring to spread the passage.

Norrington's hands had stilled from where they were stroking Jack's thighs. "Devil!" He gasped. "I swear, Jack... you're..." The rest of his words were swallowed in a hoarse cry as Jack reached behind him and guided the thick head through the first ring of muscle.

"I'm what, love?" Jack asked mildly, surprised that he could keep his voice steady. He hadn't had this sort of fun since he'd found out about the Davy Jones Problem, and the lubrication wasn't all that sufficient.

"... absolutely..." Norrington managed, then gave up trying to get himself heard, his body tensed from the effort of control. Not his first time, then, but not often, either. Jack rewarded him by easing himself down all the way.

"'Sec," the pirate hissed, waiting for his body to grow accustomed enough to the burn. "Need a mom't." The response, a strangled laugh.

Finally the pleasure seemed to out-balance the pain, and Jack began to move, slipping up to the tip, and then impaling himself with a sharp motion. His mind gave up trying to sort out their voices, then simply gave up on thought altogether as he settled into a short, fast rhythm. Norrington reached between them, grasping Jack's own arousal and squeezing it roughly in time to his own thrusts, which grew more and more unrestrained, snarling at times at clenching muscle. Absolutely addictive... wildness and raw beauty stole his breath away. Inwardly he cursed his previous fear over the past days. It would have been so much more comfortable to seduce the ex-Commodore in the comfort of his Pearl.

Their need made it over too soon in a wash of slippery heat and lust—liquid fire within him, barely aware of his own release between their bodies, focused on Norrington's howl and his own sharp cry. Tired, he slumped on top of the other man, knowing his rump was going to make him regret his actions in the morning. He purred, a sated sound now, when long fingers stroked his hair and shoulder. They remained like that for a while, Jack enjoying the intimacy and the afterglow that was absent with too many of his partners, then he sighed softly when Norrington murmured, "You're heavy."

"Sorry." Jack pulled himself off, then blinked when James tugged him back down, rolling over to his side to pull them together, now stroking his back, cradling his head against one still-clad shoulder.

"If I find the heart gone in the morning, I swear I'd hang you right here on this island myself." A look upwards showed Jack that Norrington, while perhaps being as strong a man as one could be, was one still recovering from heartbreak. And he would not stand to be used. Jack burrowed his head in warm flesh and listened to the steady beat. If he listened hard enough, he could hear another beat, somewhere within the coat. At the moment, that seemed a lot less interesting.

"'Mmk." Jack yawned. "'ave an accord. Though ye surprised me there, mate. Yer a fair bit stronger than I am." Could have pushed me away. The words hung in the air, unspoken.

Norrington sighed. "There are different kinds of strength."

"That so." A sleepy reply.

"I am still going back to Port Royal."

"'Kay, Jamie-love."

"And after that we may not meet again, so..."

Jack forced his brain to wake up from 'sleepy-sated-purr' mode, and watched as Norrington pulled away and reached for his compass in his effects. Pressed it up against Jack's heart, and flicked it open. The needle began to wheel, as it did whenever Jack stood on the deck of his Pearl and spoke to her in love. He pulled the compass away, and the needle swung still. Pointing straight at him. Wordlessly, Norrington closed the compass, placing it back on the discarded trousers, and then lay back down against Jack, pulling him close.

By remembering I serve others, and not just myself.

Stunned, Jack compliantly allowed himself to be cuddled.

"Where're ye going?" Jack yawned and stretched, then flinched. Definitely sore. Problems with well-endowed partners. Norrington looked down at him in concern, and then mutely fetched his things from where they had been strewn around the ruin in the course of last night's passion. The ramshackle cottage smelled heavily of sex—Jack watched as Norrington moved quickly out into the open and breathed deeply. Putting on his own things and grimacing at the stickiness—a dip in the sea was in order—Jack followed, limping.

"Are you all right?" Was that a possessive glint in those changeable green eyes?

"I'd be better after a bit of a swim," Jack replied, watching Norrington's expression change to that of concern, then he set off on a slow walk back down to the beach.

No mention of sin, of buggery or anything, throughout the journey there. Perhaps some of what Jack had heard about Navy lads was true, indeed. Jack tried to wrap his mind around the enormity that his compass had shown him, and felt mental resistance. Too much had happened over the past couple of days. He'd need to take a breather some time later and sort it out.

The swim did make him feel better, though Norrington refused to join him—he only washed himself off clinically and dressed again, sitting on the beach to watch Jack roll about in the surf with amusement. Occasionally, in the corner of his eye, Jack could see the amusement turn briefly into tenderness. Good God. As though he hadn't enough problems as it were. "An' ye can stop laughin' at me now, Missy!"

"What?" A glance back at the shore showed a puzzled ex-Commodore.

"Me ship. She's laughin' at me," Jack replied mildly, reasonably, as if it were perfectly normal. If anything, he felt it just worsened the hilarity that his Pearl saw in the situation.

"...okay." Norrington rubbed at his temples wearily and murmured something that Jack couldn't quite make out.

"She liked... likes ye, y'know." Jack sat down waist-deep in the water and let the waves rush and pull against him. "Tried her best t'charm ye into th'crew. T'was so embarrassing I 'ad t'keep makin' eyes at 'Lizabeth t'distract her. All that talk 'bout marriage." A wicked grin. "Right scared me Pearl, it did. She sulked fer days."

"Jack Sparrow, you're likely madder than I even imagined possible," Norrington said wryly, but he couldn't quite suppress his smile. A jealous sort, it seems. "I didn't exactly notice any sort of... charming."

"'Cos yer eyes were right on that gel, 'Lizabeth. Pearl was very annoyed. Had to talk 'er out of flicking th'gel overboard, at some point. She doesn't like 'aving women aboard. Don't like anybody giving her any less attention than she thinks she deserves."

"Your first mate was a woman," Norrington reminded him mildly.

"Ah. Anamaria." Jack sighed. "T'aint her now. She left. Family business, or summat. Gave her t'share of her treasure from th'last take, an' some of me share, as well. Wish her well—ain't a first mate as bonnie as that. She got along with Pearl, too." He walked out from the surf, and grinned as Norrington averted his eyes quickly until he dressed. Funny sort, the Navy.

"Where to now, Jamie?"

Norrington no longer seemed to object even to the mangled version of his name. "We might as well look around."

The stones were obviously moved from parts of the Church wall and scraped clean with swords. On them was written:

"Captain Jack Sparrow, Lost at Sea. The best pirate there ever was." The precision of the words, yet their slight unevenness suggesting of a lack of calligraphy lessons spoke of William Turner. Someone had even managed to get his birth date nearly right. Jack picked up some of the other smaller stones, which had more personal messages ascribed to him from the crew. Right touching, it all was. He looked through some of the more memorable ones.

"Buy ye a drink in Hell. –Gibbs"

"Hat back here sometime. –Marty" (written by Gibbs).

"Dead men tell no tales awwrk –Cotton" (Turner's hand, this time)

"Thank you, Jack, for everything. I can't hate you for who you are. I hope you're with your ship forever at last. –Turner"

And finally, on a small piece of shale:

"Sorry. So sorry. -E.S."

The pain in those words was evident in the harsh scratches. Jack only had enough time to carefully hide the piece of shale behind some other rocks before he felt Norrington approach him and read the message on the large stones. And chuckle softly.

"Shouldn't you be removing your hat?"

"I 'appen to be very much alive, thanks to ye," Jack patted the stones. "But I 'preciate th'gesture from them, all th'same. But!" and here he whirled around, shaking his finger under Norrington's nose, "they obviously forgot one very important thing, mate."

"If I ask 'what', you'd reply with 'I'm Captain Jack Sparrow!' by which time I do believe your ego will implode," Norrington said dryly, making as if to turn away. Jack quickly stepped forward and embraced him, nibbling at his neck, then leaned up to murmur into his ear.

"Why not we do a little bit of celebratin' over me bein' still on this bonnie earth, eh, Jamie-luv?"

"Next to your tombstone? Certainly not!" Norrington gasped, pushing Jack away and scowling. "That is... so... wrong, I cannot even begin to describe it."

"It's just a lot of stone, mate."

"And in a graveyard, over... over buried people! This is sanctified ground, Jack." Norrington snapped.

"Fine, fine," Jack said placatingly, waving his hands about. "'M just joking."

"I hope so." Norrington sniffed, then stalked off into the jungle, not bothering to wait to see if Jack was following. The pirate captain could barely keep from laughing. So prim and proper at times, and yet so wild at others.

He was becoming addicted, and his Pearl knew it too.

After all, she was the one who thought it was so very funny.

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