"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
"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
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
"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."