Author: Ponderosa (ponderosa@dragonworld.com)
Pairing: Jack/Norrington
Archive: Lists/Community archives, and anyone with prior permission. Others please ask.
Warning: [PG-13] Mild angst.
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to that crazy corporate machine, Disney. Plot, if you can call it that, belongs to me.
Notes: A thousand thanks to linaelyn and juniper200 who help turn this into something worth posting.
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Naked save for the shirt hanging loose from his shoulders, Norrington set himself to the task of getting dressed. He went about it with leisure, appreciating the things that he couldn't when performing the same steps in the low light of morning. He admired the fine weave of his breeches, and made note of the washerwoman's skill in having returned them to him as white as a gull's wing. With the tips of his long fingers, he traced the relief decorating the buttons on the flap. They were custom made, and a detail few would ever see; a trio of tiny secrets wrought in silver and kept close to his person.
When his breeches were on and neatly buttoned at both waist and knee, he looked about for his waistcoat. He found it on the floor under the edge of the bed, and as he knelt to retreive it, he glanced at the man lounging against the pillows. Norrington's thin lips stretched into a small smile.
Not more than an hour ago, Jack had been tangled in the crumpled remains of the sheets, his bare chest heaving as he sucked in great lungfuls of air. Sweat gleamed on his brown skin after the afternoon's wild exertion, and his heart had been thumping so powerfully Norrington could see the man's chest quivering from the force of every beat.
"The day is more than half gone," Norrington remarked. He shook the wrinkles from his waistcoat and pulled it on. "Shouldn't you be getting up?"
"There's somethin' wrong with m'legs," Jack mumbled, and threw an arm over his eyes. He drew in a deep breath that made the ripple of his ribs appear beneath the map of scars that marked his skin. He held the breath for a long time, and then lost it all at once in a sharp bark of laughter. "What've ye done to me?" he said. "Drained all the strength from my bones... Left me faint and tremblin' like a girl! How d'ye manage it, mate?"
Norrington paused as he tied the cravat as his throat and arched an eyebrow. "I care as much about the chase, Mr. Sparrow, as I do the catch," he responded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jack struggle to bite back the reflexive need to stress that it was Captain Sparrow, but they'd agreed that when they were alone together it would simply be Jack, and James, and nothing more. If they tried hard enough, they could keep their titles - and all their inherent complications - from getting in the way.
"James," Jack said, slanting a grin and stretching a tattooed arm out towards him. "Why don't ye stay a little longer..."
Norrington ran his tongue against the backs of his teeth and fiddled with the gold brocade of his coat. Hidden in the pocket, a letter direct from England weighed as heavily as lead. "I can't," he replied after a lengthy silence.
"'Course not," Jack chuckled. He waved his hand, the heavy ring on his forefinger catching the sunlight and drawing Norrington's eye away from the shameless sprawl of his naked body.
"Off with ye, then," Jack said. He tucked his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. "Mind ye don't forget your hat this time."
Hat in hand, Norrington set about fixing it firmly on his head. "I shant," he said dryly.
He left without a farewell, although Jack heard him stand for a long moment with his hand on the latch.
End.