Summary: Norrington knows he's staring, but he can get away with it. It's his job.
Disclaimer: Slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse.
Notes: A drabble about a personal obsession subsequently imposed upon our favorite Commodore. Still dedicated to all those who've ever loved a rockstar. It's just so hard for the groupie inside to let go. Follows What Matters Most.
Norrington knows he's staring, but he can get away with it. It's his job.
There's something hypnotic about how those deft fingers fly up and down the strings. Fast or slow, yet never a pause. No uncertainty. Each move is certain, calculated. Absolutely flawless in execution. But, it's perfection born of human talent, no stiff automan at work. The music flows. It looks easy - deceptively so. The soft chords start up, fingers gently caressing its beloved. Then, the smooth transition into an electric solo. It's a blur of motion, too fast for eye to catch. Suddenly, the air's alive, energy crackling over one's skin. Passion palpable, it sticks in one's throat, makes it hard to breathe.
Then, the spell is broken. An exaggerated twang on the strings as the music screeches to a stop. It's accompanied by boisterous laughter characteristic of the player. There's the teasing lilt of the same golden voice that had been a siren call just moments earlier. It's answered by two others, one amused, the other rougher with age. Yet, Norrington's eyes never stray as callused fingers idly brush against taut strings. Only when they pull away do the eyes hastily follow suit, a guilty snap of the head to turn towards soundproof walls of sanitized white. Soft clatter of instruments carefully put away and a louder chatter of voices about a jam session gone well. There's talk of releasing a new album sometime soon.
A subtle perfume scents the air with the sudden breeze of an opened door. Heels clack on the floor and a woman's laugh joins the throng. Lunch out on the terrace today. The kitchen staff will have their hands full with that. There had been reservations made at a new cafe. Norrington will have to tell Gilette and Groves that there's been a change in plans.
Just within his peripheral vision, he can sense more than see Anamaria smirk. Just 'cause he can get away with it doesn't mean sharp-eyed women don't notice. It's the same way with his former charge. For all her peroxide blonde locks, nothing gets past Lizzy. It must be female intuition. Thankfully, Lizzy's just as discreet as Anamaria. She knows when to keep her mouth shut, and Lord knows, Norrington doesn't want Turner to find out.
Because for as long as he can blind himself to Anamaria's smirks and Lizzy's half-smiles, he can pretend that this isn't turning into a dangerous obsession. And that when looking up to meet dark eyes that glint in the light, he isn't falling deeper into the abyss.
On-going sequel Dead Chivalry is a crossover located in the King Arthur section.