Title: Seven Deadly Sins
Summary: A collection of one-shots relating to a character and their sin…
Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean nor the characters in this collection.
Author's Note: There are a number of relationships explored deep within the bowels of this collection. If there is one expressed that you are not particularly a fan of, please stick it out and still review. Lollipops and Tricorn hats for those who do.
Gluttony
Darkness stretched out around him; the only light being that emitted from the flickering lantern he held in his outstretched hand and the dim, distant stars.
Grumbling, he stumbled over a discarded pile of useless rope. The moment he steadied himself, he turned harshly and thrust a foot out, his dirt covered boot colliding with the rope with a thud.
The heavy rope, worn from the spray of the sea and the tear of hard labor, did not move from his half-hearted and drunken attack.
Sighing, Norrington stumbled backwards, towards the mast of the Pearl, and slid down its length, coming to a crumpled heap at the bottom. Much like his life, he mused soundlessly as he placed the lantern down next to him and began searching his worn, dirty jacket for the bottle he had earlier stolen.
Somewhat victoriously, he pulled the bottle out and held it up in the flickering light of the lantern. Smiling, he admired the dusty bottle.
He had never thought that he would find himself drunk and keeping watch on a pirate ship. Especially, not the Pearl. The one ship whose pure existence, not at all helped by her captain, haunted him. The Pearl ruined him.
And yet he now called her home.
Of course, that would've never happened had Elizabeth Swann, the Elizabeth Swann that he adored so dearly, decided to go back to Port Royal with her beloved Will and make the life that he had pictured for themselves. No, instead she had befriended 'Captain' Jack Sparrow and made the Pearl her residence.
It was only on her pleas that Sparrow had allowed him to stay, rather than going back to being a rum-soaked, pathetic, no-life former-commodore living on the streets of Tortuga.
Sighing, he tilted back his head and put the neck of the bottle to his lips, downing the sweet liquid. Now, he was a rum-soaked, pathetic, no-life former-commodore living on the notorious Black Pearl.
As he swallowed the alcohol and pulled the bottle from his mouth, he inhaled deeply. He had never been fond of the liquid before. A vial drink, turning respectable men, like him, into complete scoundrels, like Sparrow.
Living in Tortuga, however, had showed him the sweeter side of the liquid. It stopped him from noticing the way his wig, something he used to wear so proudly, was degraded with the conditions it was worn under. It stopped him from caring about the smell that had soaked his navy uniform. It prevented him from putting his pride first when a wench would slide into the seat beside him, offering him use of her…services.
Now, living on the Pearl, he still found the liquid enticing. Now, it didn't stop him from caring about the sexual advances made by the wenches of Tortuga but rather the fact that he was sailing under pirate colours. And that he was scrubbing the deck of Sparrow's Dark Lady. And that his Elizabeth had fallen, if not in love than in deep lusting, for the man he so deeply despised.
He shook his head, indicating the banishing of the thoughts from his mind. He'd not think of such things. He'd only think of his escape.
Perhaps, he began to conspire with excitement rising from deep within him, in the dead of the night – a night when he was on deck, alone, keeping a watchful eye over the anchored Pearl -, he'd gather some supplies, steal onto one of the longboats and leave the Pearl again.
Norrington furrowed his eyebrows. Tonight he was on deck, alone, keeping a watchful eye over the anchored Pearl. Grinning wildly, he tightened his protective grip around his rum bottle and used his free hand to push himself upwards and off the mast.
The alcohol he had consumed disagreed with his sudden movements and he swayed dangerously, tripping over invisible objects and stumbling sideways. Somewhat pathetically, he transferred his weight to his other foot, resulting in the stumbling in the other direction.
After a few moments, he managed to steady himself. Confident that the stumbling had only been the result of the non-existent waves lapping harshly against the hull of the Pearl, he muttered happily to himself and held out his hand, stumbling forward once more.
As he collided with the wooden boards of the deck hard, he groaned loudly. Perhaps tonight wasn't the night when he'd make his witty and miraculous escape into the darkness.
Too numb to be bothered to move, Norrington simply rolled over, staring up into the dark night. He sighed loudly, lifting his rum bottle – surprisingly unharmed from the fall – to his horizontal lips.
The liquor burned his throat and the position he was laying in made him splutter some of the liquid back up. Sighing, he rested his head back against the black wood and closed his eyes.
He wasn't sure how long his eyes had been closed, or even if he had fallen to sleep, when he was awaken by a harsh, calloused but feminine hand grabbing his arm and pulling impatiently.
Norrington was quick to react, his timing not affected by the alcohol he had consumed. With a swift, but somewhat drunkenly, movement, he pulled a dagger from the waist of his torn pants, with his eyes flashing open quickly, pressed it to the neck of the owner of the hand.
"I heard you fall," a small voice choked out. Through the darkness, Norrington made out the figure of Elizabeth.
She could not hide the fear from her face.
Quickly, he retracted the dagger, sheathing it. "Did you now?" he asked, his voice casual even though he was trembling inside from the realization that he had almost just killed Elizabeth.
Elizabeth nodded. Pirate or not, the girl still got scared.
"Sorry," he muttered softly as Elizabeth helped him to his feet. As he stood, he felt his balance give out and he stumbled closer towards Elizabeth, putting most of his weight on her.
She grunted in response but did not complain.
Lord knows she had probably done this several times with Sparrow, Norrington mused bitterly as Elizabeth maneuvered him with practiced ease to the railing of the Pearl. Reaching the wood, Norrington pushed himself away from her and fell into a heap against the railing.
"Drunk again on watch?" Elizabeth noted.
He glared back. "And, once again, Miss Swann, you are here to assist me."
Elizabeth stilled at his use of her proper name. "James," she began, her voice urging.
Norrington rolled his eyes, knowing what was to come. "You gave up the right to advise me years ago, Elizabeth."
"I'm not the rum-soaked, pirate without a life here," Elizabeth bit back defensively.
He snorted. "No, you're just sleeping with one."
The hurt that flickered through her eyes at his retort pained him, so much so that he opened his mouth to apologize.
She, however, cut him off. "We need to talk."
Immediately, Norrington let his grip on his bottle loosen. Now with two free hands, he started moving away, half-crawling, half-walking in his haste to get away. He knew what was coming. He knew what she'd say. He knew it'd be lies.
"It's just a talk," Elizabeth stated, the sadness in her voice forcing him to pause.
Sighing, he pushed himself backwards, falling into a similar position as before. "Well, talk," he replied, his hand clutching around the bottle once more.
"Jack's given you a good opportunity here. Don't jeopardize that," Elizabeth began, speaking slowly and softly as she lowered herself beside Norrington.
"No, you gave me an opportunity," he replied bitterly, "Jack wanted to leave me for dead, no, Jack wanted to leave me in Hell. You convinced him otherwise."
"Regardless of the way it came to be, it still is." Slowly, Elizabeth took his free hand into her own.
Her skin was warm underneath his, the perfections of womanhood only slightly marred by the life of a pirate. There was a time where he would've done anything to feel her skin against his own.
Was. As if he had been burned purely by the touch, he snatched his hand away. Slowly, he rolled his head to stare at her. "This opportunity is neither good nor wanted. As soon as we make port, wherever that may be, I plan on departing Sparrow's crew…along with Turner."
At the mention of Will, Elizabeth hung her head. Norrington, however, was unrelenting in his speech.
"Sparrow is the worst kind of man, Turner's not far behind," he stated simply, his words as cold as ice and just as harsh.
Eyes burning with fury, Elizabeth glanced up. "And yet I choose both of them over you."
Norrington let his eyes glaze over, almost symbolic of the barrier that was building itself deep within him. "You have never been a good judge of character."
"I know. I liked you once."
Smirking, Norrington raised an eyebrow, somewhat amused by her response and not at all offended. "Liked?" he questioned, his voice light and mocking.
"Yes," Elizabeth replied, her voice hard and contrasting his, "liked. Past tense."
"That, I don't believe," he stated simply, a cockiness rarely shown expressing itself. "See, I think that you do like me. A lot." Norrington positioned himself so that he was facing Elizabeth, and shuffled closer towards her body. "After all, why would you not have me sent to the depths of Hell for betraying you and your beloved?"
Elizabeth grinned. "The Jack Sparrow enigmatic charm that you are attempting," she mocked, "is not working."
Usually, he would've taken such a statement as an insult…
…But perhaps he could use it to his advantage this time…
Norrington leant forward, his face bare centimeters from Elizabeth's. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, his breathing slow and steady despite the heat the radiated from the close contact. "And now your comparing me to Sparrow," he cocked his head, "another sign of your affections."
"Your drunk," Elizabeth snorted in response. "I do not fancy you…at all."
"Hmmm…" Norrington let his voice trail away, moving back slightly as if he accepted her response. Leaning back against the railing, he tipped his head back and downed the remaining contents of the bottle. The sweet liquid burned his mouth in its ferocious journey to his stomach. But lord knows he loved it.
The liquor was his addiction now.
To make sure that the contents were well and truly gone, he tipped the bottle upside down, watching the space between the neck of the bottle and the material of his pant's legs. Nothing happened; no last drops making their kamikaze dive from the bottle. Nothing.
Sighing softly, he lowered his hand heavily, resting it on his legs. He closed his eyes, taking up the serenity and quietness of the situation.
"…Is that Jack's?" Elizabeth asked suddenly, jolting him from his near-sleep.
Opening an eye, he glanced at her. Noting her line of sight, he managed to open his other eye and follow it. He smiled as he realized what she was talking about.
"Yes," he replied simply, holding the stolen bottle up for her inspection. "It is."
The pride he had for managing to steal such an item underneath Sparrow's nose was not lost in his words. At least the Navy had taught him something.
He let his grin widen as Elizabeth turned to him.
"…Impressive," she replied. From the tone of her voice, he could tell she meant it.
She flashed him a genuine smile.
He returned it.
"James," Elizabeth begun but stopped abruptly as Norrington, once again, moved closer.
This time he did not spoil the moment through words and petty debates. Instead, he moved with fierce want, need even. Within moments, his body was close to hers, his mouth lowering over hers.
His sunburnt, peeling, coarse lips brushed over Elizabeth's soft, smooth ones, unaffected by the spray of the sea and the hard days of work onboard the Pearl. They moved with unadulterated desire, not pausing in their quest for fulfillment.
As he let the bottle drop from his hand with a loud thud, and moved his now-free hands to cradle her head within them, he realized that Elizabeth was not pulling away.
Instead, she was returning his kiss with the same longing and need as himself.
With his hands tangled deep within her locks, he ran his tongue over her lips, coaxing them open. As her lips parted, he took advantage of his access, exploring the foreign depths of her mouth with hunger.
When he broke away, it was not because of guilt or any emotions whatsoever. It was merely a case of lack of oxygen. Pulling back, he let the side of his mouth curve upwards.
Without words, for they were not needed, he untangled his hands and rolled back into his previous position, leaning against the railing of the Pearl.
He was happy with the silence that engulfed them.
Elizabeth was not.
"…I'm with Jack now," she murmured softly, almost regretfully. "James, that was…"
"Yes?" Norrington urged, gazing at her even though she avoided looking at him.
"…A one-off."
Norrington grinned. "Not a mistake, then?"
The playfulness in his voice made Elizabeth glance in his direction. "It'll only be a mistake if Jack finds out, for I can not guarantee your safety in such a situation."
He chuckled slightly. "Noted."
The silence that ensured was not tense, nor was it awkward or uncomfortable. It was soft, relaxed and, dare he suggest it, peaceful.
He smiled. Once again, he had taken something dear to Sparrow from him. Even if Sparrow would never know.
Their own secret. Something to always be remembered with content, not regret.
He liked the sound of that.
Soundlessly, he leant over Elizabeth to grab the empty bottle abandoned in the heat of the kiss. As he moved back, he shot Elizabeth a somewhat reassuring look, "I should return this. Best not let Sparrow know what I've taken."
He wasn't talking about the rum.
The gaze gracing Elizabeth's features told him that she understood exactly what he meant.
Suddenly, Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, glancing between the empty bottle of rum and Norrington. "You're not slurring," she stated, her confusion not hidden from her features.
With a snort, Norrington pushed himself upward, his stance nor balance affected by the alcohol coursing through his veins. He grinned at her, his grin neither humorous nor frightening, but rather mischievous.
She had fallen into his trap perfectly; played right into his hands.
"I'm not as drunk as you think, Miss Swann."
Then, with that statement hanging thick in the air, he walked away.
Author's Note: Thanks to those who have/will review! It's very much appreciated!