Title: Jailbird Author: Inkbug Email: Pairing: Jack/James Rating: R? Mebbe NC-17 (which would be omg first completed one.) Thanks: KJ, carmarthen even though I never came back to get the translations off you, hija_paloma for quick ones even though ill, and linaelyn for beta. Author's Note: Once upon a time, there was a lovely wench by the name of firesignwriter (KJ). KJ wrote 'Jjail', and it was good and hilarious and beautiful and hot, and the people didst rejoice, for all was good, and shiny, and vaguely kinky in the land of Sparrington. And then lo, a humble fellow wench didst comment on the first part and randomly interject a line of Jack taking care of James's injuries. And there was a moment of o_0, and then things didst spiral out of hand, and early December pick me up present fic was born. And the writer was embarrassed, but the KJ was excessively gleeful and nice. Time passed, and the fic was pushed from the memory of the writer, lest her meeps overwhelmed her. But then lo, for a new day rose, and the KJ said more nice things and poked her, and inspiration stuck anew, and with much fiddling and cursing and betaing and stupidity in getting Spanish... ...she now presents Jailsmut, for the masses. So. This is silly, fun smut. I'm still half hiding, but hopefully it'll all work out nicely in the end. They're hot, it's a jailcell, I don't think you could really go too wrong. Fits in after Part 1: 'Jjail' by Firesignwriter. Very different styles. I'm to call it a tangent universe fic, apparently. I'm more inclined to say I stole the setting and molested it. Jailbird by Inkbug * * * "You know, purple's kinda your colour." There was a moment in which those words wavered in the air like Jack's fingers had been in the conversation which had lapsed a few hours before, when the restless pirate had got up from Norrington's side to wander around a bit. They were the kind of words no-one really expected to hear in a dank little jail cell in the middle of the night. The slant of green that appeared with the opening of Norrington's now mulberry eyelid and the swollen eyebrow that lifted slightly with the same movement, spoke volumes about this. "Sparrow. You...what?" Jack tilted his head, crouched in front of Norrington and peering at the face that had until then been still, the Commodore sitting with a knee drawn up and his head back against the wall, both eyes shut. Jack hardly thought that he'd been sleeping – man wasn't stupid – just resting. Which wasn't a surprise given that, if his body was bruising anything like as quick as his face there'd have to be great bloody bruises splashed across his ribs already. Above his left eye a dark wine-like stain was blossoming (Jack had had to resist poking it when he came over to have a look - not to hurt, just to see if it did have wine inside or whether that was in fact just swelling), spreading down to the top of his cheekbone where rings of some kind had ripped open the skin. In the pale moon and starlight coming through the bars he could just make out the interesting sight of all that dark on the pale skin – the fact that the side in the light was a little more shadowed than the other showed the extent of the whallop on the right side. "The purple. Rather goes with the green and the white." He gestured. "Not a bad look." "...Thankyou, Sparrow," said Norrington. "I will of course bear your advice in mind when next picking out clothing, especially since you have such skill at dressing like a complete twit." Shifting uncomfortably against the wall, the Commodore managed to hold Jack's gaze as he spoke, which was impressive. Jack took a second to be further impressed that even though they'd split his lip into a shining wet cut when they smacked him one, his words were just as dry, then he shrugged one shoulder. "'m just sayin'. Lack of wig, for example – nice move. They always do look bloody-" "That wig is an elegant symbol of my status in the Navy and I proudly wear it, thank you." And that glower from under the dark hair was very good, but Jack just smiled. "Really." The bruise on the Commodore's cheek flushed white then red and he began to protest. A second later, though, he expelled a huffy breath, and rolled his eyes (as far as he could, anyway). "Alright. It's a...tad silly." Jack smirked. "Exactly. An' might I say, you look much better without it. Though," he paused thoughtfully, "...if you had been wearin' it, you probably wouldn't be here now." "Yes, thankyou for that observation," the Commodore said, though it was without malice – more like an articulated sigh. He turned his head carefully to look out at the bits of sky they could see through the bars, one hand resting carefully on his ribs and wincing a little as something in his neck cracked audibly in the quiet. He frowned slightly, lips moving as he counted, "...two three...fo – four and a half hours until sunrise." He gave a sigh and turned back. "Joy." Jack didn't reply. The momentary illuminating of Norrington's whole face had revealed the cut across his cheek as being deeper than he had first thought, and longer, with dirt rubbed collected in the rough scab on the edges and exposed red inside flexing along with the movements of his jaw. "You should really clean that, mate," he said, sitting down where he was to save his old legs and nodding towards the cut. "Wouldn't do t'leave it like that." Norrington raised a hand to his cheek, screwing up the both bright and shadowed eye above it as he touched, and frowning at the blood on his fingertips when he pulled away. He considered Jack. "True enough, Sparrow, but without water there's not a lot I can really do." Jack shrugged again. "Tongue it." "...I beg your pardon?" He could suddenly see all of Norrington's eyes. That was a first for that night. He did his best not to grin. This was sort of serious, after all. "Lick it clean? Your spit's cleaner than anything else in here." Norrington's mouth made an 'oh' of understanding he then covered by pursing them, and coughing, rubbing the blood on his fingers together and then wiping his hand on his thigh. "Ah, yes. Well...also true, but oddly enough, I cannot lick my own cheekbone." He gave Jack a sort of...half grin; an amused-but-trying-not-to-be-face that Jack had gotten a glimpse of in a rowboat one famous little night. Jack blinked, and laughed out loud. "Shame," he replied. "I wouldn't have kept my arm after this lot happened-" he moved swiftly, yanked up his sleeve to show the Commodore the impressive mess of gouged out scars on his left forearm, lines like riverbeds left in a drought, "if it weren't for me licking 'em all clean." He let Norrington's gaze dart over the marks, then put them away again. "'S not exactly a tasty job, an' it stings like salt water, but it does the trick." Norrington nodded quietly. "Well, since I have no desire to try and teach myself to...tongue my own face..." He coughed again, lips quirking, " - at least not in front of anyone –" Jack chuckled " - I shall be using my hand for this." He inclined his head in agreement. Somewhere outside a bird called out in a wavering echo that made his eardrums quiver, but Norrington paused with his hand halfway to his mouth for a different reason. He raised his non-swollen eyebrow (hey, he could do both of them!) and pointed a long, smudged finger at Jack. "When we get out of here – for I hold no doubt that you will find some way of getting out - and you recount this tale to all of your rapscallion crew, I'll thank you to blame my oversight about this obvious idea on the repeated thumps to the head," he said. Jack put a hand on his heart. "Of course." "Mmm." Sceptical, Norrington pointed the finger back to himself, looked down at them as he sucked the first two digits into his mouth, and then started to probe at his cheek gingerly. Jack watched him, still except for his eyes following the movements, one hand on the floor and the other forearm braced on his drawn up knee. Norrington wiped his fingers across the cut; rubbed, winced, flicked the grit off and then licked them clean once more to do it again. His other palm flat on the floor, Jack shifted in the dirt, rolling little bits of the grit between his own fingers as he watched. Norrington stopped, and glanced up. "...Sparrow." "Yup?" "Must you stare? It's...disconcerting." He held his palms up. "Nothing else interestin' to look at, Commodore." Norrington frowned. Then he went back to his work – but he stared straight back at Jack as he did it, refusing to lower his eyes. The corner of Jack's lip lifted slowly, coolly, into a grin, and he gave a little nod and looked away to let the Commodore finish in peace. He could still see the little flush of colour come up to match the bruises, though. All in all, the cleaning didn't quite have the lazy feline grace of a cat or anything, especially with the way Norrington's eye kept twitching, but it wasn't bad. He finished quickly, putting his hand back to cradle his ribs. "You missed a bit," Jack said, turning back. There was a speck of black still in the cut, some grit that had rubbed in when he slumped against the wall. Nostrils flaring once, Norrington wiped again. "Gone?" "Nope – it's there in...no, in the corner-..." Jack tried to gesture, pointing in front of Norrington's face, but for once the man was being right off the mark. "Oh Christ," he swore, dropping his hand into his lap. "I thought you were famed for your good aim, Commodore?" Norrington opened his mouth to reply – but quick as a snake Jack reached out, put one hand on his neck and the other on unbruised chin to hold him, and dove in to lick across the cut, flicking his tongue at the end to get the grit out. It tasted like stone and salt and metal and...oranges, which was a little unexpected but then them Navy lot always had fancy food on board. He wouldn't have put it past this one to have brought some with him whenever and whyever he came here. Jack turned his head to spit it out on the dark floor, then looked back to survey his work - he narrowed his eyes, tilted Norrington's head up to look closer, then nodded once. "Much better." He patted Norrington's shoulder twice and took his hands off him. Norrington didn't move. "You licked me." Smiling lazily, Jack bit back a laugh. "That I did, mate." "You. Licked me." Commodore was turning another interesting shade. Shuffling his arse into the dirt a bit, Jack folded his arms and got comfortable. "Thanks'd be nice, y'know," he said. "Any time soon. I mean, who knows where that grit had been." "On. My. Face. ...Which you licked!" Aheh. "Norry. You know you're gonna have to move past this. It's for the best. Or our time in this cell'll just be a pain in the arse." There was another one of those moments. "...Sparrow." Jack winced. Bad words. Bad words. "Mmm?" "I..." Norrington closed his eyes briefly. "Really ought not to be surprised." He pinched the bridge of his unscathed nose and waved a hand dismissively. "Just...thank you for your...assistance." Jack openly chuckled. "'s alright. Shame I can't do anything about the rest, though." He raised his eyebrows. "...Unless you-" "Do not complete that sentence," Norrington warned. He clacked his gold teeth shut audibly, still laughing. "Pity." Norrington looked up. Jack stilled, and looked back. Norrington opened his mouth, then shut it again. Jack was aware the brim of his hat was throwing his eyes into shadow. He went with it; hopefully he looked dark and swirling and mysterious, not just like his hat was low. Norrington opened his mouth once more. ...Then stopped. "Do you have a plan for getting out of here, yet?" he said. Blink. "...Er, what? A mirthless laugh. "Well you see, I'm actually in rather a lot of pain, and I'd like to get out of here before they kill me, only I'm not sure I'll...quite be able to manage on my own." He gave the ghost of a smile. "As I said, I don't doubt you'll get out of here, and...ah..." Straightening his dark head Norrington looked as proud, suddenly, as one possibly could with bloody great bruises all over them. "I don't think I could do the same without your help, so I'm..." Then he lost the fancy edges a bit as he trailed off and, "...ah...", coughed. Looked significantly at Jack. ...Jack was momentarily speechless. He hadn't been speechless for a while. "Would you..." He lifted his chin to peer suspiciously down his nose, rolling the thought around his mind again, then frowned, scooting closer and peering right in to Norrington's face with his own, with his hands raised as if he were going to prod the man. Which he was sort of tempted to; see if this really was the Commodore and not some imposter with a very convincing mask and wig. "Would you by any chance be...offerin' yourself to me? So that I'll help you get out of here?" "Ah..." Maybe it really was Sad Man Samuel. Looking nervous for just a second, Norrington set his jaw, and it was gone. Jack, still reeling a bit, had to accept his true identity there - no-one could but the Commodore himself could look that defiantly prepared to face whatever would come face on, yet about to swallow his own tongue, at the same time. He gave another of those false smiles that would probably pass for real if you weren't this close, or observant. "It would appear so." "...Well." Jack considered, eyebrows disappearing under the line of his headscarf. "I thought to meself you were gettin' more intriguin' with every conversation, but this I did not expect." He leaned back to consider the man in front of him. Norrington stayed mostly unmoving, his jaw tight and his mouth a thin line, but Jack could see his fingers against the dull beige of his shirt (he'd come back minus his lovely blue jacket – probably taken off to make the effect of boots easier - and Jack didn't expect either one of them'd ever see that one again) curling slightly, twisting into the fabric. He nibbled his lip a moment, looking. Then, he took his hat off, laying it on the floor. Holding a hand palm out, as you would with a nervous animal, he reached slowly for Norrington. And poked him very hard right in the swollen eye. "Aahh!" Norrington yelped, jerking back with a hiss not just for that but for the other pains that flared when he did so, hand flying up to his eye. "Ow-ah-oh, god - what are you doing?!" He looked furious. Jack was a little too recklessly annoyed to care, though any other pirate he'd knew'd be trying to squeeze through the bars to get away, at that point. "No, Commodore, what are you doing?" He batted Norrington's hands away and grasped his chin again to check if he'd done any real damage, now gentle fingers at odds with his tight face and terse movements. "Tryin' to bribe me. Of all the things you could've done you had to pick that." He tutted, beads on his braids tapping Norrington's face with the movement. "Stupid, for you." "You're a pirate!" Screwing his eye up and gasping, the Commodore protested, squirming at the pain and pushing at Jack. "Norrington?" Jack batted his hands again. "Shut up." He finished checking him over, pulling away only when satisfied it was just going to be a burning ache he himself had experienced more times than he cared to remember, not start bleeding or something. Norrington stilled immediately under his gaze as he sat down again, drawing his leg up once more, and after thinking about it, he put his palms on his thighs so as not to gesture during this speech. He didn't want any distractions now. "Right. You gotta understand somethin', Commodore," he began, voice low. "First off, you don't need t'bribe me to get my help. I'm not the kind to leave a man in pain unless he's really done somethin' to warrant it, savvy? An' second..." He rolled his fingers on his thigh. "You really needn't bribe me for the other thing, either." There was no response as he waited, trying to gauge Norrington's reaction, quiet in the dark. Norrington just breathed, a flip of dark hair obscuring his good eye but not moving to push it away, throwing a veil across his gaze. So he carried on. "See, I haven't got a plan for getting out of here yet but I'm sure I will. An' when I do...well, I might just have already been startin' t'plan to make you tag along." He cocked his head, and slowly, very slowly, lifted his hand, and brushed the hair away, then smoothed his fingertips across Norrington's jaw. "Am a pirate, after all," he murmured. "Couldn't be leaving anythin' so pretty lyin'around in good conscience." Norrington let out a shaky snort that tickled the back of his hand. "Hardly pretty," he replied. Or, croaked, then frowned at his voice as if angry at it for betraying him. Jack took the chin in his hand again, gently. "Mate, even with your face caved in you're lovely." "...Oh." "Oh." And then, because he'd done it once before and he always did something he enjoyed more than once, Jack moved in, gentle like, pausing at the wide look of veryvery green, and licked the cut again slowly. This time Norrington's eyes flickered shut briefly, closing over purple-black, and Jack felt a little exhalation on his cheek because he turned his face slightly, tentatively towards him. He took hold of the example and blew back, a cooling soothe over the red flare he'd made wet and shining dimly, and a hand just brushed the sash around his waist, fingers then hooking into it like Norrington'd been doing on his own shirt. He grinned, stomach flipping lazily. Moving back enough to look in both of the eyes when they opened, he held the dark gaze a second before pushing forwards and brushing the tip of his nose against the lovely straight one in front of him. "What are you-" "-Explorin'," he said. Norrington broke into a smile before his other complicated expression (this one nervous-but-no-I-bloody-will-not-show-it) could quell it, winced as it made his lip sting and the lines around his bruised eye crinkle, and then laughed. Something in him relaxed, just a little, and Jack felt it as he tilted his pale face up further into what light there was, stroking his fingers along the angular chin as he considered where to go next, transferring the gesture he'd do when thinking onto Norrington's skin instead of his own. That eyebruise looked like it ought to be moving, he imagined it was throbbing so hard. He dappled his fingers carefully across the sore ridge he'd poked, tapping out an apology in code, then up across the dark eyebrow, shifted across and down to the battered jaw. He brushed his nose along that, too. Then his lips. The fingers in his sash tightened. Pulled him closer. He kissed carefully, once, just a tiny press of his mouth to the warm skin. Then, because Norrington's breath had hitched slightly and he was going to be careful, here - little steps and all - he paused, thinking, then grinned and rubbed his moustache back and forth over the bump quickly. Norrington curled his shoulders up and made a higher pitched noise than Jack would ever have expected to hear from that dulcet voice, pushing his palm into Jack's belly and skittering away. "Ah! Good god man, I'm ticklish, stop!" Jack jerked back, eyes wicked. "Really?" The Commodore slumped a little. "Oh, sod." Jack chuckled, grinned, and dove in to kiss his jaw again. "Nah, call me Jack." He moved then to lay some gentle touch on the cut on Norrington's lip, but a hand was suddenly on his wrist, fingers curling around his skin where his shirt sleeve there was ripped and hung open. Norrington was moving, wincing as his pains protested. But he was moving in. Tugging Jack back, even. "Call me James," he murmured, leg brushing Jack's side. Jack felt a little rush of warmth go through him. "James, then," he said back quietly. Smiled at the feel of it in his mouth. "James." And kissed him instead. He was careful, at first, what with the cut, and he felt the dried blood against his mouth dry and brittle, so very different from the warmth of the lips, before he pulled away. James had caught a breath in the space between them before Jack closed it, which he now let out and then it was even warmer, and neither of them had shut their eyes. Chest hitching and eyes burning into Jack's, James took another breath and on the exhale said "...Right." Then he gave a crooked little smile Jack would have liked to have had a proper look at but it was too late, because he'd closed his eyes - and more importantly the gap, himself. He parted his lips quickly, probably to stop himself aggravating his cut too much, but it made everything suddenly very...wet. Tangy from the little bit of blood - Jack knew that it was likely stinging James, but the Commodore was pushing against his lips as though he'd had done this with a man before. Which Jack was mostly sure he wouldn't have, but no-one'd ever guess that from the...persistence of his mouth; the sudden slip of a hot tongue across his bottom lip. Oh. Ah. Yes. Nice. But Jack wasn't exactly going to let him take the lead. He snaked a hand around James's waist, flicked a knee aside with the other and rose and pushed with his chest and abdomen, had James's back up against the wall and himself inbetween his legs before the good Commodore even knew what was happening. He was mindful of the rib area but pressed his belly in to James even whilst pulling towards himself, backs of his knuckles scraping the wall they were so close together. That wasn't exactly comfortable so he moved it up, hand flat on the wall next to the dark head he then cupped with the other. Mentally he apologised for the grunt of pain that rose as if James were vocalising the complaint from his aching sides, but in reality he just swallowed it down, then opened his own mouth and licked the roof of James's. Oh, but he did make the loveliest little noises. Little gasp and half moan rumbling against his skin in the open v between his fallen open coat and the unlaced top of his shirt, James's fingers twisting further into his sash and then moving around. When Jack felt the arm slipping inside his coat and wrapping tentatively around his back he rewarded James by tilting his head further, snagging the bottom lip in his teeth and tonguing the cut once, then suckling away the gasp and hurt and hiss from a mouth that – opened wider. Jack pulled one hand out of the soft hair to tug out his Commodore's shirt whilst he was distracted and slipped fingers underneath, wanting to feel skin now; skimming around and up and over with the heel of his palm, lifting the thin material with him as he went. When the heel of his palm lightly ran over James's ribs, however, he jerked away with a choke and broke the kiss. Jack stopped, his hand hovering somewhere near a pectoral, the fine dusting of hair running between them tickling his thumb. He hoped James appreciated how difficult it was to stop there, because it turned out the Commodore had some of the smoothest skin he'd touched in a long time – mostly unblemished, but for a scar somewhere on one side at the back that had caught his attention. Not to mention that the nipple his fingers were only just brushing felt very, very inviting. "Alright?" he asked, aware his voice was rough. James swallowed, wincing a little. "Just the ribs," he said. His lips were bruised now as well and somewhere down by Jack's belly there was a pressing, too; stirring even more when he sucked his own bottom lip clean and tried to catch his breath, shifting against James to flex his arm. Jack changed his mind about the purple suiting him. This was by far a better look. "Bloody..." James took a shaky breath. "They're...ah, on fire, actually." Tensing a little, Jack looked down, lifting the shirt away. He'd been right about the kind of bruising he would see, then - it looked like someone had thrown paint at James's stomach, and the darkest area of purple-black clung to the hang at the bottom of his ribcage, just pooled in that shallow where his stomach was tensed and concave. He sucked in a sympathetic breath. "Christ..." It was enough to make him move his hand from the top of that quick rising and falling chest to touch them as he always wanted to with someone's injury, to feel it against his own skin since that was often the best way to judge things. It wasn't wet, though he expected it to be, but he could feel the swelling underneath, the heat of them, and he hoped the bruises were simply on the skin and nothing inside. He moved. Because he couldn't help himself - but also, because he wanted to help James, he shuffled and scooted back, hunching down. And flicking his eyes up, he licked once along that bottom rib. James's mouth opened with his surprised gasp, his teeth flashing in the starlight. His hand flexed on Jack's shoulder and then slipped into his hair, long fingers cool on the nape of his neck - Jack did it again, then closed his mouth and sucked lightly, making it a kiss. He tasted - sweat, distant tang of soap, dust and the tiniest hit of salt; moved across and lower, following the trail of dark hair that disappeared below the waist of his breeches, kissing above the taut belly button and then swirling his tongue around it with a grin. Below that, James's hardness was pressing against the base of his throat, his face looking down at Jack alight with lust and wonder and a sort of startled, bright expression, and Jack arched his neck and pressed and started to move down, slow but sure and mouth just grazing over the buttons and James -- scrabbled at his arm and the back of his neck as though he were a dog, pulled him up, and punched him right in the face. "Agh!" His head snapped back with the blow, shock of it more than anything sending him nearly over backwards – he was only saved from falling by the hand tight in the fabric of his coat at the back. His hair flicked out and whipped back, the beads hanging on the side very cool against the new bloody painful smack, thankyou. Ow! He clapped his hand to his face, looking hurt. "What'd you do that for?!" "You, sir, will not best me!" James was pushing back from him, his right fist still in the air and the knuckles bright red and white, looking stern even with his hair mussed. But he was staring at Jack, too, like...trying to tell Jack something, or... His eyes flicked over Jack's shoulder – Jack whirled just before a hand landed on his shoulder and yanked him up to his feet. One of the two guards that had dropped James back to the cell earlier was there, horrible lump of a man with dark little eyes almost hidden underneath the lowest frown Jack had ever seen. He started spouting rapid Spanish, pointing at James and back to Jack and waving the hand about - it took Jack a second to take in what he was saying, a little dazed. He hadn't even heard the cell door clank open – he had been a bit distracted - and for half a second he started to step in front of James, wondering if they'd come to get him early or something, not really knowing what he could possibly do if they had but shrugging and just going with what his thumping heart told him. Then he realised. He cracked a little smile, nudging his coat around himself to cover the undeniable bulge he was currently sporting as he held his hands up. "Sorry," he said in Spanish, looking sideways to James. "Couldn't resist, mate." The guard sucked the inside of one cheek and narrowed his eyes to the point Jack was looking more at eyelid than anything else, opening his mouth to shout again - but Jack wasn't finished. He sidestepped back, shrugging. "He was annoyin' the hell outta me, after all, what d'you expect?" Guardo shut his mouth. Looked to James – legs drawn up again to hide the obvious sign of the truth, his shirt still pushed off, bruised and dishevelled and not sure what was being said but sitting straight and looking alert. And, Jack found himself thinking, more than slightly beautiful as he glared that glare which really ought to have been recognisable in the Spanish Main, since it was in all the other places Jack'd had been to. Basically, James looked like he'd been found rolling around the floor with someone. Which, he had. But Guardo didn't know the context... Jack clapped a hand on the Spanish man's shoulder. Fortuitously, it was the one with similarly scratched knuckles to James's. Who'd probably thrown that punch as he'd spotted the guard coming in. Clever, that Commodore. Guardo looked at the hand. Jack patted him, then lifted it to gesture. "See, we're even now," he continued as if there had been no pause, getting Guardo's attention back on his face. "I...er, pushed him over when he wouldn't shut up, he smacked me - all fair. We'll stop now." Guardo's twisted mouth slowly started to smile. "No, pirata," he said, showing chipped little teeth as he looked back at James, and laughed. "Continϊe." After that little sadistic moment, he then reached out quicker than anyone would have expected he'd be able to move, grabbing Jack by the dreds and pulling him right in to his sweaty face. "Pero, no le mata," he hissed. The knuckles on the back of the hand he was holding Jack were scratched, too. Ah. That settled which of the two guards had done most of the hitting, then. Though he knew he'd just been doing his job, Jack still leaned back a little to nod. "'Course not." Guardo stared a moment, then let go. He smirked at James, shook the keys in his meaty fist, and left, clanging the door shut and locking it once more behind him. Once his footsteps had died out, Jack turned back. James was starting to get up - he waved him down, fiddling with his coat again as he walked back. James had watched Guardo go too, but now he sank down the wall again, visibly relaxing and letting out a breath it hadn't been obvious he'd been holding. "Did it work?" he asked. "What did you say?" "That when you hit me, it bloody hurt." Jack dropped deftly to the floor, hand on his jaw, testing it. "Don't get me wrong, love, very clever, but couldn't you have just poked me or something?" "Oh, do stop complaining," James said, rubbing his knuckles. "I held back." He raised an eyebrow. "That was holding back?" "Yes..." James said warily. Raised his chin. "Why?" Jack rolled his jaw, considering. "Nice." Flushing a little, James dropped his eyes. "Thankyou." His gaze fell on his hand, though, and he lifted it to show Jack. "If it's any consolation, your bones must be like rock." Jack grinned, carefully dropping a kiss on the colourful knuckles. James didn't pull away. "Well, if you'd come into the cave that night, y'could've had a look yourself." "I was rather preoccupied with the rest of the skeleton pirates, actually." Ah. Bugger. They looked at each other a moment, and suddenly the moonlight was familiar; the cold air to James and the stone around them to Jack. Then, "I know about all that," Jack said. He laced fingers through James's. "You helped us out, an' I didn't mean that to happ-" "I know," James interrupted. "I worked that one out for myself." Oh. He relaxed too, smiling before he knew he was. "Well. I..." He grinned, and put on James's voice. "Really ought not be surprised." Badly. James snorted. "You are clever like that." Dropping his eyes a second, James still managed to look nonchalant. "I try." "Heh." He tongued a canine in dark amusement. "Indeed y'do." "So," James continued, well recovered from the shock of their unexpected visitor and the reminder of that night, "now that that is established, tell me what happened." "Oh, as you no doubt hurriedly hoped." Jack said, pressing the cool back of James's hand to his smarting jaw as he spoke. "I cottoned on, said we'd been fighting, he believed it." "...And?" "An' he said to keep goin', just not to kill you." James pulled his hand back with a snap. "...He thought you were winning." Jack nodded, and reached out for him again. "Well, it's not a surprise." "I beg your pardon?" James leaned back. "Oh. Now, Commodore don't get annoyed-" Jack reached out further, but James shuffled out of reach. "Oh bloody... James, think about it. You're all battered, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow...what else would he think?" "That you would have a hugely unfair advantage were we fighting, and that your ego is so inflated it's likely you who lends such speed to your ship's sails?" He blinked. "How do you do that?" James frowned. "What?" "Make a barb sound so...appealin'." He stroked his moustache, tugged on his beard braids and shook his head. "No wonder people fear you so, Commodore. Sharp wit, and all that." "Er..." "Ah!" He clicked his fingers. "Must be that mouth." He dove in while James was trying to catch up, and captured his face before he could pull away. "The clever little shapes it makes..." He traced the lips with his fingers. "All so very well spoken, o'course." James sighed, closing his eyes, and tilting imperceptibly closer. "No wonder people are always talking of you, Jack," he muttered, "if you're always this...persuasive." Jack stroked the light stubble on the Commodore's top lip. "I don't hear you complainin'," he said. James opened his eyes suddenly, took one of his hands, and very, very slowly, moving it away, kissed the centre of the material covering the palm. "It would seem not," he said, quietly. Jack's stomach dropped about three inches, into fire. He cupped James's jaw and pulled him in and kissed him, again, mouth still as hot as the low heat curling in his belly, and the stirring in his groin once more. "Well," he muttered against James's skin, expression wicked. "Huzzah for me." James snorted softly again – and then he yelped, because Jack moved back, wrapped arms around him and yanked him forwards into his lap. The complaint for his body choked off into a hiss, though, as their stirring erections bumped together. Jack settled his splayed fingers on James's hips, letting out a slow breath as he tried to resist the strong urge to flick his hips up and instead let James settle. He could feel the bumps of bones and flexing muscles as settle he did; hands going to Jack's shoulders to steady himself, knees pressed to the floor either side of Jack's flanks and sucking in a great breath, of surprise. Jack waited until he was comfortable, back into its stiff Commodore position to take the pressure off his ribs, and then James was looking down at him. "'Ello sailor," he murmured. Amusement crossed James's face, but his main expression of dark, dark eyes and open emotions that were making something flutter in Jack's blood won out in the end. Jack wanted to fully have that gaze so he didn't move a second - he wanted to show James and let him choose and let him not be able to blame this all on Jack, in his mind, if he were to try. So, intent, he flicked his eyes down, urging James to look where he was. Not misdirection but - watch. Unhurriedly, painstakingly, he rolled his hips, the dirty brown of his breeches meeting James's dark blue and the bulges at the front of both rubbing firmly, cresting and rolling away. When he glanced back up James was watching; eyes round, cut bottom lip dropping open, and his hand tightened on Jack's shoulder. Jack lifted his head and kissed the cut, sucking it once, then dropped to press his lips and feel the pulse thrumming in James's pale neck as he rolled again, harder - James's head tipped back and his eyes closed and something truly shocking was groaned into the dank air. "Language, Commodore," he chuckled, pulling the hips snug in and biting the tense muscle by his mouth. "Jack?" "Aye?" he rumbled. He was nice and content, at that moment, to continue with the slow and hot and sparking, feel the thrumming down his arms and the nice weight on his thighs, more of that taste of salt and sweat and copper-dirt on James's skin. However, James apparently wasn't. He snagged his head and lifted it, ducked his own to press his forehead to Jack's as he ground his crotch down hard and fast, breathing hot, shuddery breaths onto Jack's mouth. "Do that again." Eyes widening, Jack felt his cock twitch. "That'd be my pleasure, Commodore," he said, and bumped up once. They both grunted at the shift, and then he did it again, only languidly, lazily, a show of control he wasn't sure he would actually have for long. James swore a second time and kissed his mouth, then the place he'd punched, pushing back to meet as Jack opened his legs a bit and pulled him down further, starting a rhythm. He dropped his forehead to rest on James's breastbone, flushed skin where he'd tugged the shirt out of shape earlier against his headscarf and his fingers working at the top button of James's breeches, managing to snap it open and push one hand down past the waistband and follow the dark trail down - then scoot around when James tensed in anticipation and tickle the base of his spine, just above the swell of what he imagined would have to be a rather delectable arse. What with all that time spent being manly and upright and...taut. James shuddered and wriggled, pulling a face as he tried to laugh and moan at the same time. He seemed to settle on pushing Jack's coat off his shoulders instead. When Jack moved back to help him, and they'd got it off onto the floor, leaving them both of them in their shirts but not currently bothered by the slightly chill air, he brushed fingers hesitantly across the deeply tanned skin of his chest that was revealed. 'S no time to get coy, love, Jack thought, stilling a little. Then, of course, just to once again turn things on their head, James tugged the shirt even further open, dragging it to one side. Jack looked down, and up. He raised an eyebrow. (This didn't mean he stopped moving, though; if he stopped doing whatever he was - especially if he were enjoying it - every time something unexpected happened, he'd never have gotten anywhere.) James was staring at the almost healed musket shot burns on the right of his chest, just below his shoulder. "So that tale is-" He choked, jaw stilling as Jack slipped his hand lower and cupped his buttocks "...true," he finished, in a somewhat strangled voice. Jack stroked the smooth flesh, pushing him down lower, and opened his other arm wide. "Got a lot more to see, if you're curious, mate," he said, leering a little. James wrapped his fingers into the shirt and pulled him back in. "Not right now," he said, shifting and kissing him again. "Y'mean there'll be a later?" Jack managed, around the wet tongue slipping over his palette. "I mean be quiet. We don't want the guard coming back." "On the contrary, love," Jack said, moving hands down to hook behind James's knees on the floor and lifting him up, and with a turn and a bit of luck suddenly (Jack wasn't sure how he did that himself, but you know, when you've got the motivation) James was flat on the floor alongside the wall, air rushing from his lungs with an oomph, and Jack was on top, pressed all along him except the chest where he was a touch more careful, bracing himself on hands either side of James's shocked face. His hair dropped down to frame them in bars far more appealing than the metal ones off to their left, and the dim light bounced off the silver pendant hanging by his face, onto his teeth, and reflected a gold dapple onto James's nose. "He just said not t' kill you." He licked the gold and dropped to an elbow to get one hand free and run it back down past their pressed bellies, starting to work on both of their buttons at once. "So they'll be expectin' some noise." James swallowed. Hard. His hips lifted a little, too. "You...What if they come to check?" "What, you wanna try your own silent as the grave thing?" Jack asked, popping his top and second button and then shuffling, flicking the rest of James's open in one go. "I – ah! – oh, god no." James groaned, clutching at Jack as his head smacked back against the ground, reflection of the bars playing across his tipped back face. A second later he lifted it again, though, to look down to where Jack had just wrapped a dark hand around his cock, as if to checking that that were really happening – Jack pushed once, tight and slow to the base and back up, and the little, tiny, would never admit it to it in public whimper James gave at the sight of the hand moving in his open breeches seemed to confirm that oh, yes, it really really was. His head smacked back again. Jack felt his eyes hood to match his leer. "Right you are." He licked a stripe up along James's neck as he let go and moved his own length in in place of his hand. Buttons clacked together as the open sides of their breeches met, and then, when he started to move, rubbed with an audible friction to match that of oversensitive skin meeting skin. He flexed, sighing at the long needed contact, slipping his hand back inside James's breeches to palm one hip and pressing down as James jerked up again, knees rising and tremors running down the thighs that were suddenly ensconcing him between them, their cocks rubbing and sliding and bloody hell. This was all far more appealing than anything he'd ever envisioned happening to him in a jail cell. Unable to resist the temptation, he bit James's jerking adams apple, and in reply James hooked an arm around his neck and shuddered, pulled him closer and rolled upwards. "Indeed," he gasped, and Jack felt the words buzz on his tongue. He choked, puffing a hot breath onto a sharp collarbone, and had to reluctantly let go of the hip to balance on both forearms so he didn't collapse down, his hips still working. There was heat and, now, slick where their lower bodies met, and he hadn't eaten a lot recently so there was also his slightly swirling head - happily, he managed to move in order to nudge James's shirt aside with his nose and finally snag one of them nipples in his mouth, and as the Commodore arched his back, tongued it to further hardness, grazing it with his bottom teeth. James cried out, digging his nails into Jack's shoulder. His injured chest was heaving up and down, carrying Jack with it as though he were balanced on the top of a wave, and he got in a good couple of licks before he realised James had started exploring, too. It was a bit of a shock, but then Jack had never had complaints about himself before so it was probably inevitable that he'd feel a calloused hand on the base of his spine, then a hesitant feel lower. They were pressed so close he could feel the gasps one of them was making up echoing through his abdomen, tightened to match the pressure building below it, their groans and low breaths winding together in his groin and pulling. He couldn't quite tell who was rubbing against who as he laved his tongue over any skin he could find, up to a scar on James's shoulder and the trembling legs around him rose and feet pressed his backside lower, but then all this didn't matter that much since he was being dragged into a kiss and thighs and hands were clamping and James tensed everywhere all at once, groaned and shuddered and bit his mouth, and Jack felt the splash of warm liquid against his skin just a moment before he came too, ripping his mouth away to bury his face and shout into a damp neck. ...So. Sweating in a chilly situation was a weird feeling. As was being out of breath when you were lying down. He raised his head when he felt his wildly thumping heart had calmed a little. James's eyes were shut, his bruises still livid even against his flushed face, hair sticking to his jaw. Jack imagined there were all sorts of bits of grit digging into his back and bum, now (even through creased cloth) just as they were into his own elbows. ...Had a mental image of licking them off. Laughed. James poked him on the back. "What?" he asked, breathing still quickened, but not moving any more than that. Jack rolled off him to save his aching arms, still grinning, landing on his back squidged between the wall and the larger body next to him and taking a second to catch his breath. The close but still slightly cool night air ran her palms gently over his now softened cock and bare stomach, and he turned his face towards James, draping one arm across the top of his chest and brushing the hair away from his throat. "Oh, just fittingly immoral thoughts," he said, still grinning. "I don't see any reason for you to keep them to yourself, now," James replied, turning his face back. His eyes were open again. Jack stilled, under that look. "No," he agreed softly, aware this was another one of those...moments. Then James kissed him, just a gentle press to the side of his mouth, but sweet as cider. Smooth and full of something - like his PearlM on new, open water. He felt his toes thrum. Decided, still, to keep the image to himself (not that he wouldn't find some way to bring it up later) and instead said, "Think we made enough noise to satisfy them?" James flushed further. "I'd wager..." He looked sideways, "...If gambling weren't a very bad thing and something I never do..." Jack narrowed his eyes. "That at least one of us may have." "Meanin' you." "Quiet, pirate." He grinned and kissed James's temple as he sat up, surveying the mess they'd made. Well, their breeches were ruined. Not that he really cared. He looked about, then shrugged and wiped himself clean with his shirtsleeve, tucked himself back in and rebuttoned, then did the same for the knackered Commodore. James bit his bottom lip at the careful touch, but managed to say nothing, as if to prove something. Stubborn, stupid, lovely man. "You know," he said, helping James sit up and straightening his shirt for him, "it was clever of me to help you do so, actually." "Really." "Yep." He snagged his coat and brushed some dirt off it. "You see, we're gonna need a bit of time to rest before we put my plan into action, and if they think you're lyin' in a battered heap on the floor...which y'sort of are...they won't come check until late mornin' at least." He started to get up. James yanked him back down by his arm. "Explain," he ordered, growling. Jack grinned, and gave him his coat. He looked at the bundle on his (stained) lap. "...As much as I appreciate the apparent chivalry, Jack, I'd rather know what you're up to." "Look in the pocket, love," he said, standing and stretching, cracking something in his shoudlers with a smirk. James frowned at him, but did so. And pulled out the little knife he'd pinched from Guardo's pocket earlier. Now it was James's turn to be speechless. He turned it in his hands as if it would disappear, and looked up. Jack gave a little bow, sneaking a kiss from a slack mouth whilst he was down there. "Pickpocket," he said, as explanation. Then straightened. "Turned pirate." He picked up his hat, twirled it on one finger, and put it back on. "But, retaining ability to pick locks with any pointed metal object, as well." A number of expressions passed over James's face. He seemed to be attempting to be annoyed at the behaviour. However, pleasure and excitement and tiredness were all warring with it at the same time. He put the knife back into the coat, then entirely unfairly and with no warning, wrapped a hand around the back of one of Jack's boots and brought him tumbling to the floor. Apparently he liked everyone to be bruised, if he were going to be. Half on one knee, Jack let himself be manhandled back against the wall. "Love?" he asked. He got a pointed look and a proffered coat as answer. James waited as he put his coat back on, then simply crawled between his legs with a little breath of sympathy for his aching body. Or perhaps it was for his breeches. Shuffling, he pulled the edges around himself as well, curling into Jack's side. Not easy, when he was taller, but somehow he managed it. Jack was inordinately pleased. "I don't care anymore," James announced. "Just be a pirate, and wake me preferably before it gets light. ...Or when you get bored." And with that, he shut his eyes, and lay his head down. Jack gaped, and felt the thrum in his toes move up, and spread, all down his arms and legs. He shook his head once at the top of the dark one on his shoulder. "With you around?" He brushed knuckles over the back of James's neck - James sighed something unintelligible, wriggling a bit, and moved closer. Grinning at the rest of the empty cell, Jack rested his chin on his Commodore's hair. "Unlikely." ~ fini~