"Sparrow?" There was no answer. James' eyes strained against the darkness
that enveloped him, but nothing could be seen. Not so much as a sliver of
moonlight illuminated the cabin. He listened intently, but heard no sound
but the slap of water against the hull as the Black Pearl swayed and rocked
in the water.
He tugged futilely at the chains that bound his wrists, all the while
berating himself for falling for Jack's trick. Jack knew him too well, knew
that James would forget caution in the pursuit of duty. Just when he thought
he'd outwitted the pirate, he realized it had all been a trap, and he'd
played right into Jack's hands. James banged his head back and swore a
stream of profanity worthy of Jack Sparrow himself. God, he was such a
In desperation, he called out again, indignantly. "Sparrow! What have you
done with my uniform?" Again there was nothing but silence.
Long minutes passed. James could not have said how long it was before he
drifted off. He slept for a while, despite the discomfort in his shoulders
and wrists, and awoke again to the click of a latch closing. Somewhere
nearby there was a rustling sound.
James tried again. "This game has gone on long enough. I demand that you
release me at once!" The imperative tone sounded ridiculous even to his own
Sardonic laughter. "You're hardly in a position to make demands, James."
"That's Commodore Norrington to you." James' voice held the same querulous
note he'd so often heard in Jack's.
Jack was close now. Something about the heat pouring off his body told James
that he too was unclothed.
Clever fingers brushed against James' cheek, traced the high curve of his
cheekbone and then drifted south in a light, careless touch. "Not here,
mate. We left Commodore Norrington behind, with your wig, and your fine hat,
and your uniform. Here, there's just James-" A squeeze for emphasis. "And
Jack leaned in closer. Something poked James' cheek - that damn bone Jack
kept in his hair, no doubt. His voice poured into James' ear, taunting and
rich with innuendo. "Tables are turned now, savvy? You've. . .had me
at your mercy. . .and now I've got you at mine."
The implicit threat in the words made James shiver. He thought of the rough
and careless way he'd used Jack when their positions were reversed, and
wondered how Jack would extract his revenge. A nagging voice in James' head
told him that no matter what Jack did, it would be no more than he deserved.
Jack nestled even closer to James, rubbing his hard cock against him and
leaving a wet trail along James' thigh. The faintest whisper of a kiss, then
Jack flicked his tongue out to taste the corner of James' mouth. James
flinched away, but Jack pulled him close again, holding him firmly as one
hand slowly dragged down the length of James' body, toying with his nipples,
lingering on the sharp point of his hip. All the while his tongue was
swirling and circling along James' chest, tracing intricate patterns on his
James' breath was coming in short bursts, filled with needy little sounds.
He no longer seemed in control of his body, for no matter how much he willed
his hips to stay still, they insisted on arching up in a desperate attempt
to bring his cock into contact with something, anything.
In contrast, Jack was collected and cool, his breath even, his movements
measured and steady. His hand moved to the small of James' back, rubbing
tiny circles, then dipping lower and brushing against the opening there.
When James stiffened and jerked away, Jack made an amused noise. "Y'don't
know what you're missing." His fingers danced along James' spine, then, with
an aggrieved sigh, he moved his hand back to James' front, grazing it over
his cock, then running the tip of his finger around the head.
A bolt of pleasure shot through James and his breath caught in his throat.
Contradictory feelings warred in his mind - longing, anger, lust, fear. He
had to stop this, to get away from this torment. He'd braced himself for
cruelty and abuse. He could take any torture Jack could devise. Anything but
this. . .tenderness and solicitude. This was not how things were between
them, and it seemed the cruelest trick of all to pretend that it was.
As if he sensed James' confusion, Jack's hand moved to the nape of James'
neck, to the hair trimmed neatly to fit under his wig. "I didn't know it'd
be so short." His voice was tinged with wonder. "It's soft - like velvet."
He ran his thumb repeatedly over the fuzz at the base of James' skull, and
James felt the fight drain out of him. For a long while there was nothing
but the sound of their breathing getting heavier and the curiously
reassuring pressure of Jack's hand on James' neck.
Jack fumbled with something and when his hand returned to James' cock, it
was slippery and wet. James thrust into the grip helplessly. Before he could
understand what was happening (in all his fears and fantasies of what this
moment might be like, this had never occurred to him), Jack was in his lap,
easing himself down onto James' cock. It was as tight and hot as James
remembered, although it was different with Jack controlling the pace. He
kept it agonizingly slow, pulling almost all the way up and then lowering
himself back down, his deliberate movements enough to inflame James' desire,
but not to bring it to its natural conclusion.
Here, in the dark, it should have been completely anonymous at last. James
should have been able to imagine that the body riding him was anyone - the
buxom red-headed barmaid from the Sailor's Rest, Elizabeth Turner, even her
too-pretty husband. But instead, the dark only made him more keenly aware of
all the ways that this could be no one other than Jack Sparrow. The baubles
in his hair clacking together as he shifted up and down, the sibilant
hissing sounds he was making as his control began to slip, the sea-salt
smell, the taste of rum and gold in his mouth when he ducked down for a kiss
- it was all Jack through and through.
The pressure built in James' body, but the steady pace gave him no relief.
His hands clenched reflexively. Whatever remnants of pride he still had
abandoned him and he begged abjectly, hardly aware of the words that were
spilling out of his mouth. "Please. . .Sparrow. . .oh God. . .I need. . .Jack.
. .please. . ."
Jack's voice was confident as ever, but there was a slight hitch in his
breath. "All y'had to do was ask." He sped up then and kissed James deeply,
as if he would consume his very essence. James felt everything in his body
rushing toward his cock, rushing to meet Jack and to join with him. He was
crying out now, incoherently and Jack was whispering in his ear, "Shh, love,
shh." But none of it meant anything to James. He was lost in the blessed
relief of giving himself over to this moment, of surrendering to Jack, and
then he was spilling himself deep in Jack's body and Jack was groaning too.
James was dimly aware of Jack's hand between them, on his own cock and then
Jack shuddered and moaned through clenched teeth, and the sound he made
might have been James' name.
James had never felt anything as satisfying as Jack's sticky weight atop
him, heart pounding against James' chest and his breath hot and fast on
James' neck. But eventually, James again became aware of his bound hands,
and the cramps that were now shooting through his shoulders, and of the cool
night air that chilled his body everywhere that Jack was not covering him.
James shifted tentatively. "Er. . .Jack?"
Jack's voice was dreamy, half-asleep. "Yes, love?"
"You might free my hands now. I suspect we'd both be more comfortable. And
perhaps we could find a blanket?"
Jack laughed. "I can do better than that. There's a whole bed 'bout three
feet to your left." Then he reached behind James, unlocked the manacles, and
slipped them off James' hands. Circulation recommenced with a painful
prickling, as Jack rubbed the feeling back into James' hands and soothed his
"Sorry 'bout that." He sounded anything but regretful.
James was too full of the odd sensation of freedom to care. He would have to
go back, resume the wig and the hat and the uniform and Commodore
Norrington. But not tonight. Tonight he was free from the shining sword of
duty that hung over his head. Tonight he was just James, alone in the
comforting dark with Jack, and that was enough.