A/N: Well, as promised, here is the same story from James Norrington's point of view. Much of the inspiration for this chapter came from a YouTube video by paraparahime, titled 'Sparrington.' Do go check it out, it is wonderful. I've realized that I don't prefer smutty stories, at least not for writing. For me, the climax of the story is not the consummation, but the surrender. Such is how this story will go. Please review! I reply to all of my reviews personally.
Disclaimer:I, unfortunately, do not own PotC, Jack Sparrow, or dear James Norrington. –sigh-
WHAT YOU WANT MOST
You're back in Port Royal, your uniform and periwig spotless and clean once again. Standing on the battlements of Fort Charles, you gaze out over the ocean. Everything is still and calm, but you cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. Something is supposed to happen here, but it isn't happening. A noise draws your attention, and you turn. Out of the morning fog walks that pirate. He stops before you, his face inches from yours, his filthy fingers brushing your lapel. You find yourself unable to recoil. You can see nothing but his dark eyes as he mumbles, "I want you to know that I was rooting for you, mate. Know that." And then he trips, falls, over the wall and into the ocean. You lean over to see where he's gone, but then you're falling too, head over heels, tumbling through space until –
Crash.
Dizzily, you look around. It seems you've fallen out of your hammock. Angry voices swirl around you as you struggle to your feet.
"Oi! Git out of 'ere!"
"Can't you see we're tryin' to sleep?"
A boot flies in your direction, narrowly missing your left year and hitting you on the shoulder instead. After a moment of stumbling around in the dark, you gather your clothes in a pile and hurry away from the sleeping pirates. After making sure that your trousers haven't awkwardly loosened while you were asleep, you step out into the morning sunlight.
As your eyes adjust to the brightness, you see the captain coming towards you down the stairs. As always, he's wearing every stitch of clothing he owns, looking for all the world like the best pirate on the seas. In fact, he probably believes it himself. And how you hate him for it. If it weren't for him, Elizabeth would be yours, Turner would be holed up safe in his blacksmith shop, and you wouldn't have spent the last thirteen months of your life chasing that stupid pair of brown eyes around the Atlantic. And now you haven't even the authority to arrest him. You glare at him, strangely annoyed and amused that he hasn't yet noticed you standing here.
When he finally sees you, he stops. His face shifts through a series of expressions before settling into a glare that rivals your own.
"Ah, Norrington," he drawls. "I was just coming to wake you for your duties."
"Here I stand. How convenient," you grumble.
"Worried I'd come push you out of bed?" he sneers.
"No, your crew did enough of that already," you say as your shoulder gives a nasty throb. You guess that's it's probably black-and-blue by now, and curse your sensitive skin.
Jack – the Captain, has got an odd look on his face, but before you can figure out what it means, he's looking down. He picks up a bucket and a rag and shoves them at you.
"Get dressed and get to work," he says before disappearing inside. You try to juggle your clothes and bucket for a moment before giving up. Dropping the bucket and your boots, you shrug into your shirt and coat. Once you put on your boots, you take the bucket and tie a stray bit of rope to the handle. You toss it overboard and then pull it up again, dripping with seawater.
You lug your bucket to the bow and begin to scrub at the deck, trying in vain to bring it up to military standards. You let your mind rest as your muscles fall into the familiar rhythm of swabbing the decks. But it refuses to do so. As the ship comes to life around you, you reflect on your dream from this morning. It was more or less true to the real events that had happened on that fateful day, but you can't shake it. As you scrub, Jack's dark eyes swim before your vision.
After a few minutes, Elizabeth walks over to you. You stand.
"Good morning, James," she says.
"Miss Swan," you reply.
"I'm sorry for bringing you into this," she says.
"You didn't," you say. "I signed up for Sparrow's crew all on my own."
"I'm still sorry," she says. "I know that you don't want to be here, and if there is any way –" She stops. Jack Sparrow has just walked up, looking thoroughly confused, his dark eyes troubled. You raise an eyebrow.
"Lizzy, may I speak with you?" he asks. Rather formal for a pirate, you think. Elizabeth follows Jack a few yards away. You kneel back down and resume your scrubbing until Jack's voice catches your ear. "Last I heard, you were in prison, love." Prison?
As you scrub, you try to listen. From what you can gather, Lord Cutler Beckett wants the heart of Davy Jones so he can finally purge the world of pirates. When Elizabeth mentions the reward for helping him, a full pardon, your head snaps up. Jack's dark eyes flit from you back to Elizabeth.
You sit back on your heels, completely abandoning your chores to pay closer attention. Gibbs (that traitor) is rambling on about how "bad" it is for Beckett to control the sea, and Jack is eyeing Elizabeth in a very calculating way. Your stomach does a funny turn at the sight of his dark eyes narrowed, staring her down. Gibbs ambles off to do something, and Jack sidles up to Elizabeth, waving the letters of marquee beneath her nose.
"Might I inquire as to how you came by these?" he asks. Elizabeth jumps. As they banter, you can't help but notice an odd emotion building up inside you, but you can't quite place it.
When Elizabeth says, "You do know Will taught me how to handle a sword," you see Jack's eyes flutter closed. In that instant, your mind produces a name for the odd emotion: Jealousy. But why? Are you jealous of Jack for being able to talk so easily with Elizabeth? You remember trying to propose to her, all those months ago. You could barely get a word out. Or are you jealous of Elizabeth for—But you don't even want to think it.
You're startled by Elizabeth walking abruptly past you. You look back at Jack, but he is gone. You get up, your knees protesting, and walk over to Elizabeth. She's blushing and nibbling her lower lip. Jealousy flares up inside you, hot and just as unexplainable as ever. Answers, your mind screams, as it always has. This insatiable need to understand everything has plagued you for as long as you can remember, starting many a fight in your youth. Might as well just figure this out now and get it over with.
"It's a curious thing," you say, leaning on the railing beside Elizabeth. "There was a time when I would have given anything for you to look like that while thinking about me." Elizabeth's giddy smile vanishes.
"I don't know what you mean," she says hurriedly.
"Oh, I think you do," you say slowly, smiling.
"Oh, don't be absurd. I trust him, that's all," she snaps.
Right, you think, chuckling. You start to walk away, your head spinning. Talking to Elizabeth now is so different than it used to be. The feelings are still there, of course, but this, believing her to be in love with Jack, does not wound you as it did when she left you for Turner. Turner… Best remind her of him, says a little nagging voice at the back of your mind. You turn to face her again.
"So you never wondered how your latest fiancé ended up on the Flying Dutchman in the first place," you say, enjoying the shock that flickers across her face. You smile again, shrug, and return to where your bucket and rag are waiting for you.
The day drags on with interminable slowness. You gradually scrub your way towards the stern. Elizabeth paces around restlessly, and you keep an eye out for Jack, but he remains hidden away, presumably in his cabin. Your hands are busy, but your mind is free to warder. You find yourself dredging up old memories. Grasping Jack's hand for the first time and revealing his status as a pirate. The feel of his arms under your fingertips as you drag him to be arrested on the docks at Port Royal. The sparkle in his eyes as Elizabeth buckles his belt around him and he smirks at you. That sinking feeling in your stomach as you watched him ascend the steps to the gallows. Feeling strangely relieved when he escaped, and you remember Governor Swan's eyes on you. That man always saw too much…
The sun is setting, and the crew begins to prepare the ship for the night. As soon as the sun touches the western horizon, Elizabeth flees into her quarters. You notice that she's left the compass on the stairs. Morbidly curious, you snatch it up before finishing your chores.
"Norrington," says a voice. You turn. Gibbs is walking towards you. "You'll be taking the first watch tonight," he says. You nod, and he claps you on the shoulder. "Good man," he says, and then disappears below decks with the rest of the crew.
In the evening light, the deck gleams amber, and you feel a surge of pride. It looks presentable now, at least. As the sun sinks below the horizon, you hear the crew clattering about in the galley. Someone brings you a hunk of stale bread and a moldy bit of cheese. It looks and smells revolting, but you choke it down anyway.
The night grows dark around you. You hold the ship's wheel firmly in your hands and try not to think about all that happened today. You try to close your mind to all of those memories of Jack Sparrow, to not remember that calculating look he gave Elizabeth, to not wish that it had been you instead.
By the time the full moon rises, the ship is silent. The crew has gone to bed, and there is very little wind. You feel the weight of the compass in your coat pocket, but as curious as you are, you don't want to open it. Yet. You slip out of your coat and drape it over a railing nearby. Someone stirs below decks, and your heart leaps into your throat.
Holding very still, you wait for the someone to come out on to the deck. After a long moment, he appears. It's Jack, looking thoroughly disheveled. He is wearing only his breeches and shirt. Even his hands are free of jewelry, no rings glittering in the moonlight. He walks out onto the deck and stares up at the moon.
"Couldn't sleep, captain?" you say, letting your voice slide over the words. Jack freezes, and then turns to look at you. He shakes his head, setting the beads and trinkets jingling.
"Too much sleep, actually," he says. He looks at you for a moment, and then walks away to the bow of the ship. Your body springs into action, as if you had known all along what you would do. You find the compass in you jacket and flick it open. The arrow points straight ahead, to Jack. You are a little unsettled, but mostly just glad to finally have an answer. Why were you jealous this morning? Why had you really resigned your commission and chased this man all over the sea? Now you know. You hold the proof in your hand. All your life, you have believed in what you can see with your own two eyes, even when you didn't want to. Why falter now, when whether you want to or not isn't even a question?
You kick off your boots and follow Jack, your bare feet making no sound. Before you reach him, he asks, "How may I help you, James?" His voice lingers on your name, sending shivers down your spine. You lean on the rail facing Jack.
"Why did you need Elizabeth's help finding the chest? If you want it, why can't your magic compass lead you there?"
Jack doesn't answer. He glares out over the ocean, but he looks more sad and tormented than angry. You feel a sudden rush of protectiveness. Whatever this is that is hurting him so, it must stop.
"The compass won't point to the chest because the chest isn't what you 'want most in this world,' is it, Jack?" You scoot a few inches closer to him, and smile when he shivers, almost imperceptibly. He looks at you and you dangle the compass in front of his face. "So what is?"
He looks away again, but you know that it is close, so close now. A small breeze blows past you and Jack breathes in deeply, his eyes closing. You don't move, and neither does he, until he looks at you again.
"What is, Jack?" you whisper again. His eyes are nearly all black; the pupils dilated so fully that the brown becomes nothing more than a thin outline. He leans towards you, and your eyebrows raise, but you don't have time to move before he kisses you.
His lips are surprisingly soft, warm against yours. You try to raise your arms to embrace him, but they refuse to cooperate. The feel of his body against yours has paralyzed you, like a pinched nerve. But every single nerve in your body is on fire, none of them pinched or broken, and still your arms will not respond.
Jack pulls away and stares at you, his black eyes reflecting an excruciating agony.
"James," he whispers. "Please." The desperation in his voice echoes your own, and you force your body into motion. The compass slips from your fingers. You slowly lean towards him, your eyes focusing only on his full lips, drawn down in a pout.
You kiss him slowly as your body adjusts. You couldn't move faster if you wanted to. Your fingertips ghost over his face. You wrap your hands in his hair, the beads cold against your fingers. You feel his hands in your hair as you gasp for air. He kisses your neck, grazing it with his teeth, making maddening little circles with his tongue. You arch your neck. The cool night air burns as it roars down your throat, leaving your mouth dry as a desert.
Jack catches your lower lip between his teeth. All at once, your body wakes up. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you clutch him to you. He slides his hot tongue along your lips and into your mouth. He tastes like sugar and salt, rum and sweat, bitter and heady and sweet. Your fingers find the hem of his shirt and you push it off of his body.
In the moonlight, a familiar sticky white substance gleams on his stomach. You raise your eyebrow, aroused at the thought of Jack pleasuring himself. Well, that explains where you were all day.
Then you notice two bullet scars on his chest, and a web of scars inside his left arm. You don't know where they came from, but whoever did this deserves to die a slow, painful death. You kiss each scar on his chest, and run your tongue over the scars on his arm, feeling each one individually. Jack moans into the night. You move to kiss him again, but he stops you with a hand on your chest.
"My turn," he says. He gathers up your shirt and pulls it over your head, tossing it behind him. You arch your back, leaning over the railing, and he gently kisses the sabre wound on your stomach, all the way up to your neck. His black eyes bore into your own as he leads you to his quarters.
Once there, the fears of being caught that you didn't even know you had disappear. You push Jack up against the door, kissing him hungrily. His skin is feverish under your hands. He starts to undo the fastenings on your pants. You take a hold of his wrist.
He looks at you, confused. But how do you explain that your blood has suddenly turned to ice, that you are terrified, unsure of how to proceed. One word finds its way to your frozen lips.
"How?"
Jack smiles, his black eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "You've been a sea captain long as I have, mate. You tell me."
"I've never—" you begin, but he interrupts you.
"Never ever?" he asks incredulously. You glare at him.
"With women, of course. Never with a man," you admit.
"Nor I, love," says Jack, and you take comfort knowing that this is new for him too. "But my men have, an' it's not hard to figure." He winks. You merely kiss him again, and he finishes unfastening your trousers. You step away.
"Please let me." You don't look at him as you slide your trousers down over your hips and legs. The fabric is rustling too loudly in the darkness. Jack looks you over, and you are suddenly afraid that he won't find you attractive anymore.
"You are beautiful," he says. Your fear melts away as he undoes his own pants and pushes them down his body. A growl builds in your throat, but you force it away. Once Jack is sufficiently naked, you step closer, savoring the feel of the length of his body against yours. He kisses you.
"Turn around," he says. You obey instantly. He steers you towards the bed. "Kneel." Before you can do so, you feel his lips on your bruised shoulder. Then his teeth nip your skin cruelly. A wave of heat flashes over your skin. You cry out and fall to your hands and knees on the bed.
"Now, relax…" Jack hisses, his breath hot against your ear. He wraps his cool hands around your hips and you groan. For a moment you feel nothing, and then pressure.
Pain.
Sweet pleasure.
Oblivion.