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A Certain Caribbean Détente

by Linaelyn


Fandom: PoTC    Rating: NC-17    Pairing: Sparrow/Norrington/Gibbs    Full Header


Cotton's Parrot: Give us a yarn, now! Give us a yarn!

'e was a Commodore sure. Still among th'handsomest lads in His Majesty's fleet, I warrant, but that's nob'but wind in yer sails. Aye, an' been left on th'shoals by his lady fer the whelp, if'n Jack's tale be true.

The Captain's been known to spin a yarn or two in 'is day, but this one 'ad the ring o'truth, it did.

Still, I could see, as he relayed the adventure, where he'd speak of the fellow, and damned if Jack didn't get a look in 'is eye, what told of "always rootin' for you, mate."

I seen it. Jack's smitten.

Cotton's Parrot: Aground on the Shoals! Wrong tide for these waters!

I've no notion, really, what overcame me that day. Wishing Elizabeth well, that was merely an ingrained social grace, one which years of practice gave me strength to deliver. Her smile at my words, it nearly sundered my resolve; I imagined running my sword straight through Turner's heart, for his treachery.

Not that I'd ever do such a thing. No.

Some things should only be contemplated in the privacy of one's own heart, and should never see the light of day, nor be acted upon.

I would never countenance allowing a known pirate a full day's head start.

Would I?

Cotton's Parrot: Hoist the mizzens & mains! Steady as she goes!


Aye, I had everything I could possibly desire, at this juncture. Revenge, sweet and thorough. My life, returned to me beyond all expectation. A worthy crew, not a lubberly one among'em, and loyal to a man, except of course for Anamaria, who is, in fact, a woman.

My lovely Pearl.

A man can only stand so much happiness, however, before happiness itself, pure unadulterated contentment and joy, becomes too much.

No, it's true, honestly.

I knew he'd come looking for me. Had to, really.

I did not understand that he'd chase me and chase me...

...until I caught him.

Cotton's Parrot: Wind in yer sails! Wind in yer sails!

Jack's some fair distant, off in the horse latitudes of 'is thoughts, I'm reckonin'.

He's of no mind to do naught but lead the Dauntless on a merry chase. We've not taken a ship nor pillaged a town once, since leavin' Port Royal. We only seem t'go ashore t'drop a trail of breadcrumbs, to entice our pursuit to draw closer.

Crew's restless, so I goes t'mention it to 'im.

He's havin' a bit of a lie-about in 'is quarters, when I knock. Jack's never one to worry much about his state of dress or undress, when we're 'ome on th'Pearl.

Cotton's Parrot: There'll be the Devil to pay...

I've always got a plan or three. It's like draughts, really. You must know what your opponent could do, before you know where your next move lies.

I know what his next moves are. But it's surprising to me, how often I find myself dwelling on outcomes of capture and the absconding of my person. Or my absconding with his person.

In a rather personal fashion, if ye take my meaning.

Gibbs comes to warn me of the crew's temper.

I should have given him a bit more warning of my own. Fellow prefers a slow fuck.

Still. No complaints.

Cotton's Parrot: Morpheus and Mephisto!

Nightmares plagued me, continually forcing me to relive those moments on the parapet, the ill-fated decisions that led here.

Now, at sea on the Dauntless, with the likely prospect of court martial awaiting me on my return, to say nothing of the impending nuptials of my former financée to another man, a pardoned criminal, no less...

The dreams took a more unsettling turn.

Why did I dream of Sparrow and that ordinary sailor from my days as a lieutenant? Notwithstanding my experiences with Seaman Gibbs... why in the name of all the powers would I dream of them doing that?

Cotton's Parrot: Well, blow me down!

Now, mostimes, Jack's as gentle an' consid'rate a lover as ye could ask fer. Which is one reason I'm happy t' be the one what catches what's bein' pitched.

Jack was in no state for patience, could see that plain.

A'fore I could catch my breath, 'e's kneelin' in front o'me, takin' me in that mouth o'his, shuckin' off m'breeches, left hand cradlin' me jewels, an' the right strokin' it. Then 'e's runnin' his tongue in that little space b'tween the head and th'skin.

Heh. I taught 'im that one.

Could've knocked me over with a feather, when 'e slicked me good, an' spun round to slide me in 'im. Jack's never 'llowed me, not sober nor drunk, not even that time he had that bit o'trouble with the... well, that's none o'yer business, I s'pose.

So I ponders a moment. Or as much as I might ponder, in such a position, cognition not bein' me strong suit when swallowed to the hilt in a beautiful man's arse.

'magine I'm yer Commodore, says I, all soft in 'is ear, as I bend 'im over the desk. An' I strokes into 'im, smooth and deep and hard.

Aye, that's done it.

Cotton's Parrot: Avast ye!

Knows me too well, Joshamee does. Best friend I've ever had, and that's a terrifying prospect, I must admit.

Because the last time I said that, it was true of Hector Barbossa.

They say keep your friends close and your enemies closer. How'd he know the underlying business with Norrington, before 'tis come to conscious thought in me own head?

I must needs admit now, at least in my heart of hearts, that there's another motivation than mere desire to tweak His Majesty's men in this cat-and-mouse across the waves.

Norrington's such a stiff-arsed prig. Wonder if he ever has?

Cotton's Parrot: Runnin' a rig! Runnin' a rig!

I helped build th'false floors, when we'd first taken hold of the Pearl; never thought I'd be smugglin' meself in 'em. As usual, the Captain's a canny lad, an' more'n a match for any o'them lime-suckin' blokes o'the Navy.

We take the lot of 'em, leastwise those stayed aboard to secure the vessel, while the marines go ashore to "capture the bleedin' pirates," as we hear 'em say. Toss the lot of 'em, well-bound, into their jollyboat for a ride.

By the time they ungagged enough to hail their fellows on the Dauntless, we've set canvas.

But one, we kept.

Cotton's Parrot: Goin' t'dance the hempen jig!

Blast and damnation.

Lying here, trussed like a Christmas goose and blindfolded for good measure, I am reminded once again that my judgment is woefully inadequate when it comes to this pirate, Sparrow.

I took what looked to be blessed opportunity, the Black Pearl's crew all ashore and carousing merrily around several raucous bonfires...

In truth, it was a convincing ruse, cooked up by Sparrow and the locals. His men were actually secreted deep in the hold, and the indigenes vanished into the jungle, as soon as my men tried to apprehend them as pirates.

Captain. Jack. Sparrow.

I am at his mercy.

Cotton's Parrot: Best serve this dish cold!

He's at my mercy.

Commodore. James. Norrington.

He lies there in the brig, locked up tight. And he's tied. And he's blindfolded. I'll not be underestimating him, no.

The man who ordered my hanging. The man who said, "Nothing I'd lament being rid of."

The bloke what gave me a full day's head start, then chased me like Lucifer, hither and yon.

I'm thinking I like this situation. I'm thinking I'm liking it better all the time.

I'm thinking I'll be letting him stew for a while. No food, no water. Healthy, strong fellow, he'll manage a little deprivation, sure.

Cotton's Parrot: Walk the plank! Walk the plank!

Hullo, James. You don't mind if'n I call ye James, do ye? Jamie seemed a bit familiar for the circumstance, but seein' as we've known each other so long, "Commodore" was a bit too much. Given the circumstance.

Aye, ye hear me voice, an' it's familiar to ye, but ye can't quite place me, can ye?

I'll give ye a hint then: They ask the leftenant his name, but he's wise, and he gives them a false one, says his name is James and not Stephen, as his mother had him christened. The Warrior-maids take him to their queen...


Cotton's Parrot: Goin' on Account!



God in Heaven.

I seem to have developed some bizarre form of prescience.

When Able Seaman Joshamee Gibbs deserted, all those years ago, I assumed our paths were never to cross again.

Certainly, that was the best course, considering my ambitions for my career.

Those dreams that plague me. Oh. Does that mean Sparrow and Gibbs are...

...are intimate?

Why must my inner vision supply such graphic imaginings of that possibility? The bloody blindfold prevents even the distraction of looking elsewhere.

Sparrow's narrow hips, held tight in those blunt, tar-stained fingers, so deft in their skill on a man.

Cotton's Parrot: Down to the Briny Deep...

Ah, I see ye haven't forgotten me after all, have ye now? Aye, and I see I've not misremembered ye either. Still quite the grower, ye are.

James, I'm goin' t'ask ye somethin' and it's goin' t'be hard to say yes. But I need ye to say yes. For the sake of the crew of the Pearl and the sake of the good folk of Port Royal. Because you need to keep bein' th'Commodore, an' Jack needs to captain the fiercest pirate ship on the Spanish Main. Yer both too stiff-necked to let the other go free.

Trust me, James.

Cotton's Parrot: All Hands on Deck!
"Come!" Jack called, to Gibbs' usual staccato at the door to his cabin. The quartermaster entered, frogmarching the captured commodore in front of himself. "What's this then? I left orders for him to be bound, blindfolded, and kept in the brig!"

"I've bought him here for questioning, Captain," Gibbs replied without contrition. "I believe it t'be vital to all our interests to get ourselves some answers at the soonest possible moment." The commodore wore only his breeches, having been divested of his jacket, shirt and wig; he was no longer restrained, eyes nor hand nor feet. He looked well rested and fit, as a matter of fact.

Jack hrrumphed. "Very well. What sort of questions?"

"What do you want from me?" replied James, slightly hostile.

"Willing to be reasonable, are we?" Jack smiled. "Well, shall we start with the strength of the British fleet in the Caribbean, and the locations of the various ships, at this time?"

"That wasn't my question, Sparrow." James smiled equally dangerously in return. "What do you want from me."

The hackles rose on the back of Jack's neck. He was so rarely caught out, that he wasn't quite sure what to do with the sensation. He glanced at the door. Gibbs had bolted it, on his way in. "Josh? What's going on here?

"Well, Jack, it's like this, y'see. I had a little conversation with my friend James, here, about..."

"Your friend, James, is it!" Jack crossed his arms across his chest, began pacing the floor like a trapped animal. A dangerous cornered beast.

"...about whose name you may or may not have been calling out in your sleep, recently." Joshamee's toothy grin gave a slightly evil cast to his face. "Or rather, certain moments when yer decidedly not sleepin'!"

"I... see."

"I think the two of ye might be needin' need a little time together in the altogether, t'see what's what. Man to man. P'r'aps we can manage t'avoid a very nasty and unpleasant war between our respective personnel, the war the both of ye seem hellbent on givin' us.

"Jack. Gimme yer weapons." Sparrow arched an eyebrow in Gibbs' direction, as the older sailor held out his hand. "Come on man, it'll be fine," Gibbs reassured. "It's the condition I promised, fer 'is cooperation."

Jack addressed the Commodore directly: "And what sort of cooperation have you agreed to exactly?"

"I am the prisoner here, Sparrow," replied Norrington. "I didn't see I had much choice in my cooperation, and any conditions I lay are merely my attempts at preserving my own life and limb, under these dire and nefarious circumstances."

Jack didn't wear a great deal of armament aboard his own ship, as a general rule. Gibbs had already picked up Sparrow's sword from the corner where it sat in a rack made to purpose, and for good measure he caught up Norrington's sword which hung there as well. A pistol, three knives, a stiletto, a chiruken, and a shaving razor were all passed over.

"Jack..." the quartermaster remonstrated.

Another dirk appeared, and after another glowering look, the garrote, which was found after a bit of groping about in his breeches. Jack gave a longsuffering sigh. "Makin' me give away all my tricks in front of the enemy, here, Josh."

"And the spine, if you please, Jack."

Jack rolled his eyes and untied the stingray's method of self-defense from his hair, and passed it over with the rest of the collection. "Satisfied?"

"I'll just leave you lads to your negotiations then, shall I?" Gibbs turned to depart. "I'll keep watch outside the door, to be sure you're not disturbed." And with that, he unbarred the door with his knee, and made his escape.


After sitting outside the door for nearly an hour, and hearing nothing from within...

...he decided to wait some more.


After another two hours...

...he went to get some victuals and grog.


After yet another hour...

A gentle push showed the door was still unbarred from the inside. Peeking in, Joshamee saw the Pirate and the Navy man in the same places he had left them, through now seated in the two chairs that the room provided. Still fully clothed, still staring hostilely. He slid the door back shut again, and thought a moment.

"Goddamned idiot whoreson bastards, can't figger it out on their own, can they?... noooooo that'd be faaaaar to easy, Josh. Bugger it."

Standing abruptly, he flung open the door, slamming it against the inner wall with a resounding crash that echoed through the ship.

"YE HAD YER CHANCE!" he thundered in a baritone worthy of a position as b'osun. "Now, I'm callin' th'dance." Both Jack and James jumped a little in their seats, at the declaration, more for its volume than for the content delivered.

"You! Jack!" Josh's finger stabbed at his captain. "Strip!"

Jack, out of startlement more than anything, proceeded to comply. A low chuckle emanated from the corner where James was.

"You're next!" the finger swung round to point at the commodore. As Jack struggled with his boots a bit, Joshamee approached James, bent over the chair where James sat, and grabbing him roughly by the long brown locks at the base of his neck pulled him in for a mashing, whiskery kiss. Nimble tongue flickered over James' lips, teasing them apart and penetrating his mouth. James battled him back briefly, then seemingly surrendered. Joshamee whispered into his filtrum, "D'ye remember, James? D'ye ever think about that night on th'Dauntless?"

While they were occupied, Jack discreetly tiptoed to the door, shut it, and shot the bar home. This was getting a wee bit too interesting for leaving it standing wide open.

"Now, ye go pass what I gave ye on t'Jack." Jack froze. Not a stitch of clothing on him, and James in only his breeches, the latter approached the former, then hesitated. "G'wan! Hand in the hair. Yer mouth on his'n. It's not trigonometry, boy!"

James did as he was told, entwining long fingers among Jack's elflocks, bringing their lips together more reluctantly, but together nevertheless. Jack's jaw parted, hungry, searching. Jack's hands slid around to cradle the small of James' back, pushing them together at the belly.

"Remove his breeches for 'im, Jack," instructed Joshamee. "Nice an' slow."

"Why slow?" Jack asked after a moment, muffled against James' neck. James' head was tilted back, lost for the moment in sensation of warm tattooed pirate pressed against his skin.

Joshamee laughed sharply. "So's I can see yer face, when ye see what he's been hidin' there." James ducked his face, dropping a stray lock of hair across his brow, as a slight blush suffused his cheeks.

Jack responded by speeding up his fingers at the buttons. And then gasping at the sight. "Sweet, wild houghmagandy!" Jack spoke it as an oath. James traced fingers down over scars and inked skin to Jack's equivalent, and taking it in hand gave smooth strokes.

James' smile was the first genuine one that Joshamee had seen on the man's face.

Smitten cuts both ways, thought Gibbs. Aye, this had been the right course, true for certain.

The Pearl was unexpectedly rocked by a strong wave, and Jack took the assist and dropped to his knees before James. Pausing to inhale James' scent, Jack momentarily forgot the presence of his quartermaster in the room. But Joshamee had circled around behind James, and was now running his hands over that slender, muscular chest, peaking the nipples, scratching lightly with the nails. James let out a small moan.

"Suck 'im, Jack," Josh insisted. "Suck 'im deep an' fine, like ye done for me, so often." Ah, yes, James's breath did hitch at that thought, din'n'it? Joshamee thumbed the nubs on James's chest in rhythm with the mouth's action below. Jack was humming with delight, and the dribble of pearly liquid that Gibbs noticed was forming at the tip of Jack's cock gave evidence to his enjoyment.

But unless Josh missed his guess, James wasn't going to last much longer for this round. Poor sod pro'lly hadn't had a decent fuck in years. "Hold up there, mate," and he placed a gentle hand on Jack's forehead. "Is the oil still in th'desk drawer, Jack?"

"That's one thing I shall not do." James' voice was hard as diamond, sharp as steel. His eyes glittered in the gloom of the cabin, pale green with pinpoints for pupils.

"I remember, lad; I remember," Joshamee assuaged the fellow's fear. "An offence against the Articles, you said then, and I doubt even Jack here could convince ye otherwise. Though I would enjoy watchin' 'im try to change yer mind."

"Then why the oil?" Jack wondered aloud.

Joshamee strolled across the room, rummaged in the drawers for a moment, then found his prize. The little flask rolled in his hand, allowing the blue glass to glitter in the light. "It don't need to go inside t' feel mighty powerful good. Lean over the desk like ye done, Jack. 'S'more comfortable, for what I have in mind."

Awkwardly, Jack assumed the position requested of him. Joshamee ran lightly oiled hands down the man's back, massaging the tension from the muscles there, and then pouring a bit more of the liquid in the small of his captain's back, he worked the substance down over the buttocks and the crease between. Jack sighed in blissful appreciation.

Meanwhile, James struggled with his inner demons; he fairly trembled with lust and was wracked with guilt for that fact. Caught up in the enjoyment of Jack's dorsal surface, Josh nearly missed the shift, but just before James would have fled the room, he was caught up in a strong left arm, and his cock was flourished firmly by an oil-slicked hand.

"Remember, this is for the good people of Port Royal, James." Joshamee whispered in his ear, hoping Jack wasn't listening. "You must live to fight another day, and this is just to get yerself free from the clutches of a vile blackguard."

A bark of laughter escaped James' lips. "I serve others, and not only myself, is that the story?"

"Aye, an' it's the story we'll all be stickin' to, lad, as long as we can be gettin' on with the stickin' if ye can manage it." The hand slid smoothly, up and down, up and down; then gently he guided James over to press against the well-slicked crease of Jack's arse. Jack pressed back against James lusciously, luridly, lasciviously.

James began to glide over the surface of the pirate, in long, slow thrusts, eyes closing, jaw slack.

Josh ducked beneath the desk, where there was just barely enough room for his bulky form to crouch, and he took Jack's glistening cock in his mouth. The sounds of ragged breathing above grew stronger, and Jack slammed himself solidly home into Josh's welcoming shelter, in time to the motions of James' strokes on his own body.

James cried out, and Jack froze and just listened to the man come apart in pieces atop him. When the shuddering waves finally abated, Jack gave a tiny nudge with his own hips, and Josh took the hint.

He did that thing with his tongue, sending Jack over into oblivion as well.

Cotton's Parrot: Give us a yarn now! Give us a yarn!

Aye, the lads've eyes for none but each other. An' they left me a bit high-an'-dry that day, but ye can't argue with that sort of thing, the connexion that these two blokes've got, it's like one for the storybooks, 'tis.

I've no complaints, truly, since what's passed since has been as close to a peace as I've e'er lived in my life at sea.

'Sides. If'n I'd not broken things off with Jack, then there'd never have been reason to go back t'John's hammock.

But one of these days, that parrot's gonna end up in the stewpot, sure's sunrise.


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