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Desperate Measures

by Melusina

 

Fandom: PoTC    Rating: R   Pairing: Jack/Norrington    Full Header

 


"I thought you had it."  Half in and half out of his breeches, Jack stopped, with an exaggerated expression of dismay.  He tottered, took a hopping step to balance himself, and collided with his desk, knocking over the nearly empty bottle of brandy.

"Why should I have it?  You carry that damn vial with you everywhere."  James pushed the damp hair out of his eyes and tried, in vain, to clear his muddled head.  Thinking hard, he said, "Surely you have something slick.  Salve?  Lamp oil?"  An exasperated note crept into his voice as the significance of their predicament sunk in.  He fingered the bite mark Jack had left on his collarbone and repeated, "Surely you have something we could use."

Jack gave the disordered cabin a wild-eyed look.  Trailing one leg of his breeches, he rifled through the desk and sea chest to no avail.  Suddenly, a flash of inspiration lit his face.  "The galley!  Marty's bound to have some grease or somethin' put away."  Hastily pulling his breeches back on, he grabbed James' arm and dragged him toward the deck.

Once on the deck, they both stopped short.  "I knew this was a bad idea!" James snapped, straining to keep his voice hushed. 

Two crewmembers were sitting before them, sharing a bottle and blocking the way to the galley.  From Jack's stories, James recognized them as Gibbs (who looked oddly familiar, although James couldn't place him) and Anamaria.  Gibbs was telling a convoluted tale about a volcano and a heathen princess; Anamaria's feet were propped on a crate, and she was sucking contentedly on a pipe.  Neither of them looked like they were going anywhere soon.

As if he'd heard James' thoughts, Jack said, "Maybe they'll shove off soon."

James made what was undeniably a snort of derision, causing Anamaria to cock her head. 

"Hush!"  Jack hissed, as he clapped a hand over James' mouth.  His mouth close to James' ear, he whispered, "The crew's liable to mutiny if they learn I've let the bloody Navy on board."

Perhaps it was childish resentment of this rebuke that prompted James to lick the palm of Jack's hand, or perhaps the brandy had robbed him of his senses.  Admittedly, it wasn't a very circumspect thing to do, but the way Jack groaned through his gritted teeth was quite gratifying.  Less satisfying was the way Gibbs halted his story to peer into the shadows for the source of the noise.  In a panic, James put his hand over Jack's mouth.  Jack's eyes shone with pure mischief and, under his hand, James could feel Jack's lips twisting into a smirk.  Predictably, Jack's tongue darted out and slowly traced a sinuous figure across James' palm, reviving his flagging erection and reminding him of their original intent.

In frustration, James bit down on Jack's hand.  Jack seemed to take this as a challenge; with a low chuckle, he swiped his tongue across James' palm again, making him shudder with desire.  Not to be outdone, James lowered his now wet hand to Jack's waist, unfastened the top button of his breeches, and slipped a finger in.  Comprehension dawned on Jack's face, and he raised his eyebrows significantly.  With a sardonic grin, James lavished his tongue across Jack's hand, leaving a wet trail behind.

With astonishing speed, Jack's hand was working its way into James' breeches, and James was grabbing the bulkhead to steady himself as he grasped hold of Jack's cock with his other hand.  The ridiculousness of his position struck him and he had to bite his lip to stifle a laugh.  The laughter choked off abruptly when Jack's hand, warm and slippery wet, closed around him. 

Oh yes, this was what he'd been waiting for all night.  If he were honest with himself, this was what he'd been anticipating for the past month, since their last all-too-short meeting.  This mad liaison was reckless and sinful and could very possibly cost James his career - not to mention his life - but when they were together, none of that mattered.  Nothing mattered except Jack's rough hands, and the noise Jack made when James touched him there, and the greedy longing that could never be completely sated. 

They quickly found a pace, furious and desperate, and James buried his head in Jack's shoulder to muffle the noises he couldn't help making.  He was overcome by the musty smell of Jack's hair; it was the scent, more than any other, that he associated with Jack, and that, as much as the twist of Jack's wrist, brought James to the brink.  With the last vestiges of his self-control, he held himself back until Jack's ragged breath suggested that he too was close. 

James went first, his teeth caught in the linen of Jack's shirt, and his grip tightening involuntarily.  It only took a few more strokes for Jack to spill himself into James' hand with a strangled moan.  Limp and boneless, they each collapsed back against the bulkhead, heedless of the noise.

"For the love of God, Cap'n," Gibbs called out petulantly, "Couldn't you take your whore somewhere more private-like?  Those of us who've no better than Rosie Palmer don't appreciate having it rubbed in our faces."

Anamaria picked up his complaint.  "If she's not clean enough to fuck in your bed, take her on the floor, but leave us in peace, you daft bugger!"

James started to sputter indignantly, but Jack's howls soon had him rocking with silent laughter.  Sniggering and shoving at one another, they made their way back to the great cabin, where they collapsed on the hanging bed, still laughing uproariously.  Something hard prodded James in the back. Fumbling in the tangle of sheets beneath him, he pulled out the missing vial of oil. 

"Ah, there it is!" cried Jack with a lewd grin.  "Fancy another go?  It'd be a shame not to use it now that we've found it."
 

 

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