Upon reflection, Jack realized he could not quite be sure how they had gotten into this situation – he recalled some vague argument about how scrubbing the deck was a waste of Norrington's sailing skills. He was captain of this ship, goddamnit, and if he wanted Norrington to swab the bloody deck, well then Norrington better damn well do as he was told. And if Jack thought even harder (which was cursedly hard to do at the moment) he could remember that it had been his idea to move the argument into his cabin, away from the prying eyes of the crew, lest they get any foolish notions in their heads. But that still didn't explain how that had turned into this.
Before he could dwell on the matter any further, Norrington's hands moved to a better position, effectively destroying Jack's ability to concentrate.
Ah, right. Sailing skills.
He could not stop the moan that bubbled up from deep within him as the former Commodore's head bobbed back and forth, back and forth, driving him toward completion before backing away again, refusing to let him find his relief. It was nigh on torturous, the things this man was doing to him, but it was, at the same time, so very ohgodyesrightthere that Jack found himself torn between frustration and sheer ecstasy. And he knew Norrington (oh yes indeed he did) – knew that he could keep at this all night, if he so chose to. Another cry ripped through him, and he looked down to find those green eyes gazing at him – hauntinghuntingwatching him, almost accusing in their intensity. The rest of his features seemed unimportant in comparison, and Jack found himself focusing solely on them.
But all at once those eyes were slipping away from, gliding backwards into the darkness. Jack whimpered a protest and made a grab for him, but was evaded easily. Laughter – oh, he knew that laughter alright – bubbled from the deep shadows to his left, but he ignored it to make one last snatch at the man attached to those damned (damning) eyes. With a blink, Norrington disappeared altogether, and Jack was annoyed to hear the obnoxious laughter build in volume and intensity, now accompanied by a shrill chitteringscreeching sound. Just this side of angry, the pirate whirled to face the bodiless voices, only to realize he wasn't entirely sure where they were coming from. They seemed to completely envelop him in the darkness (since when were there ever so many shadows in his cabin), pressing on him, suffocating him. He spun again, searching for that grizzled old face to punch, that tiny body to shoot, but the sudden reappearance of those eyes made him freeze. Those eyes spoke two words to him before vanishing for good, along with the laughterchatter. Jack opened his eyes.
Unfinished business.
The words still echoing in his head, Jack sat up in his small dinghy, surveying his surroundings – water and a lot of it. "Change of plan, mates," he informs himself. "We're to the Locker, t'see how dear Jamie's fairing. If all goes well, we'll 'ave ourselves a guest aboard." Glancing down, he sighed and arranged himself to better take care of his… 'unfinished business.'
