TITLE: Bedevil
E-MAIL: eli @ popullus.net
RATING: NC-17
POSTED: May 25, 2004
SUMMARY: No one can direct a change in the tides.
NOTES: Mel says, "Wall!kink!" My brain thinks, "Oooh." You pay attention to the rating.
THANKS: To Mel for the enthusiastic beta/push and to KJ for some truly effective cheerleading. DISCLAIMER: Read

---

It had been a thought, a sense, a desire, more than a plan.

He had anticipated a bitter taste in his mouth, even as he imagined celebrating with a grin set to cut and slash at the insides of a man while those insides burned down to ash.

He had expected pleasure, envisioning the tidal waves of it pulling him under from the thrill of at long last turning the tables and flipping their roles.

It had simply been too much. Built-up time after time teasing, glancing, winking. The mouth that said one thing while another message was conveyed through apparently thoughtless collisions of one body part or another in this port, and surely deliberate intersection of gazes, eyes flashing and meeting across that bow.

Something, he had realized before he had known, had to change.

**

The Pearl had been berthed on this island when the Dauntless arrived. In dry dock, clearly in need of repair, and Norrington only discovered that fact on a rare solitary walk through the more dilapidated section of this town. Filled every night with good fishermen, cleaned every day by good wives, there might be hope for the town yet. Particularly since the Pearl, as far as any of Norrington's men had been able to discover once he returned that afternoon -- tight-lipped and with a glint visible from under lowered brows that swept all men but his lieutenants from his path -- was once again an exception, not bowing to any rule.

Groves and three Marines kept track of the mismatched crew for the first two hours. It seemed that they had been able to blend into the tavern's population well enough (Norrington had long since established which of his Marines were able to shed the military with their uniform), yet none could report any sighting, scenting or harkening of Sparrow himself. And all had been vastly amused to tell tales of how the number of tankards of ale that passed the lips of the dark woman only increased the number of men cringing and shielding vital parts from her tongue.

There was, however, no point to taking a barrel of apples when the tree still thrived. And there was no chance that the tree could voluntarily separate itself from its root. Those truths birthed a decision: Perhaps a captain would appear if a commodore did so first.

Indeed, the moment Norrington stepped over the threshold of the town's sole tavern in full uniform, half the inhabitants stopped breathing; the lack of new clouds of smoke generated by that side of the room was all the proof he needed of that. He turned toward an empty table, well-removed from the hearth, and sensed more than heard the scuffle and then the scuttle of a single pair of feet headed through the doorway. Most likely the woman. An hour past, Groves had been pleased to report that the Pearl's men had taken on the challenge of draining the establishment's barrels dry, for any number of reasons, and had made a good show of it.

Another hour went by -- an uncomfortably quiet one, during which Norrington began to doubt the truth of that particular report given the sobriety of the voices drifting his way -- and there was no sign. He hadn't thought it would be simple or quick, but he had been sure it would happen...although at that point, near blind from the thick haze that had formed once again when the pirates saw he was neither going on his way nor arresting all and sundry, the thought had occurred that this had been an utterly ridiculous idea given how Sparrow's mind seemed designed to flaunt logic. Now instead of being able to simply sit on his deck as all but the bare bones of his men went carousing in the town, all he had was a headache and a strong desire for a clean glass.

At that moment, the door opened and the outside air swirled the smoke, a writhing snake of clarity. Norrington straightened, though the added height made little difference, he knew. It was immediately obvious that the man who allowed the visibility in was as far from Jack Sparrow as anyone could hope to be: a mountain of a man who took up enough space to give away his presence by the eddies of the haze around his every movement.

Norrington frowned at the fanciful description. It would be better, more familiar, if he were standing, so he could clasp his hands behind his back to hold onto the rising frustration instead of watching those hands flex on the table, obscuring the fanciful and, frankly, impossible suggestions carved there. He sighed and leaned back to signal the passing barmaid for another pint. One more hour, he'd give this insanity that much more of his life.

"Not to worry, lass, I have the solution right here."

Two tankards connected hard enough with the table to leave a ring of liquid when one was immediately raised and half-drained. Norrington's jaw set, in part to keep from falling open as Sparrow waved a hand at the other drink with a tilted, knowing grin.

"Don't want it, then? Could've sworn that was what you were looking for."

Deliberately, Norrington opened his mouth to draw a breath rather than risk certain pain by inhaling any more of the acrid fog through a sniff. The air was now deep and blue enough to blur even Sparrow, separated though they were by only the width of the scarred table. Being reduced to a sneeze or tears would do nothing but humiliate.

Sparrow's grin twisted into a smirk, as if he enjoyed the discomfort.

"You know what it is I'm looking for, Sparrow." Norrington frowned, disturbed by how deeply he wished to wipe that expression from the man's face. "I will admit, I didn't think it would drop into my lap quite so easily."

The pirate leaned in, pushing the second ale before him. "But I'm quite a lapful, if I may say so, and I believe I may after near-countless people have said so themselves." A lecherous lift of an eyebrow made it impossible to ignore the undercurrents rippling outward from the man's words. It was even harder when he continued, "P'rhaps more than you'd be able to handle, were I dropped, all of a sudden, into yours."

Given the time -- only three hours to dawn now, Norrington was well aware -- and the circumstances -- what in heaven's name made him decide this was the approach to take, instead of simply locking up the lot of them and seizing that damned black ship where it sat? -- Norrington didn't attempt to stop the impulse that pushed him to reply, "I think you overestimate your ability to disconcert me."

He reached out and placed his hand around the offered drink, felt how Sparrow stilled when their fingers connected, permitted himself an ever-so-slight satisfied smirk. Throwing a pirate off his stride was its own reward, as always, and doing so to this pirate had an extra fillip of satisfaction.

Sparrow's eyes dropped, long, dark lashes and kohl-smeared lids providing no little protection for his thoughts. His lips compressed, even as his hand failed to flutter beneath Norrington's. The man had a great capacity for stillness when he chose to call on it, Norrington noted once more, yet it was as much of a jolt now as when he'd first noticed the trait back on that dock, charging toward the slight, soaked man leaning over Miss Swann.

Then those lips parted, and it wasn't Norrington's mind that quaked when the pirate touched tongue to bottom lip. "Really? Is that what you're thinking, commodore?"

Lashes swept up and the challenge in the dark eyes settled Norrington's insides, but barely had he celebrated that fact when a familiar burn took its place, only slightly stronger now that it was due to a man sitting in front of his eyes rather than an idea growing deep in his thoughts.

He spoke, however, with those thoughts dominant. "Things will be clearer outside of this establishment, I believe. Would you join me?"

Sparrow cocked his head and pulled back his one hand so he could offer up both, wrists pressed together, a familiar taunt. "And how many of those fine soldiers have you got waiting 'round that back corner to clap on the irons while my crew is blind?"

The temptation was strong to see him with those metal cuffs weighting him down again, yet, "I swear to you, none."

Another moment of tongue-leading thought. "Swear, do," Sparrow muttered.

Then he tossed back his head, setting trinkets clattering, clear and oddly harmonious under the constant rough murmur of voices throughout the single room. Vowing to himself to ignore that sweet sound, Norrington pushed back his chair and tilted his head toward the door.

A few other heads turned when Norrington followed the pirate out, both their hands casually yet clearly away from their swords. But -- whether the head-toss had been the signal, or there had been some meaningful motion he hadn't detected -- none of the Pearl's crew moved from their seats, he was glad to note. This night already held too many uncertainties.

Once in the street, Sparrow immediately turned and stepped into the alley between the tavern and the smithy next door. Norrington pursued without worry, only one step behind, having noted Gillette at the end of the street and knowing his man had seen him. He was equally sure that the lieutenant couldn't see more, thanks to the shadows. No torches were wasted on a narrow stretch of packed dirt in a community such as this.

Sparrow turned and waved a hand. "All right. What had you seeking me out in a tavern, all by your lonesome, instead of stomping through with a brigade? I don't expect you to let me and mine go free, but you can see where there'd be room for confusion in the matter."

Allowing instinct to lead, Norrington stilled that hand through the simple expediency of grabbing the wrist and pressing it flat into the wood of the building behind the man. Sparrow's eyes went wide, but he didn't struggle beyond a single, instinctive flexing of his fingers.

Norrington started to smile, and knew there was something sharper in the expression than he'd shown this pirate before.

"You expect a lot from me." He reached down and locked his fingers around Sparrow's other wrist, drawing them both up over the man's head. Sparrow's weight hit the wall and there was a muted clatter. Norrington felt his smile stretch and grow even tighter than his hold as Sparrow's gaze dropped, and it didn't matter whether the surprise in those eyes was due to his action or his expression, not now. "You should know as well as I not to expect the expected between us."

"Aye. You've a surprising knack for the unexpected," an insolent pursing of lips, "for someone so steeped in that fine Naval tradition of upstandingness."

Now came a twist against the imprisonment, a wriggle that started in Sparrow's hands and undulated down to the man's hips. A breath caught in Norrington's throat, and the heat that had turned comfortable in his gut sliced downward.

What would it take to make that movement less controlled, less a product of forethought and more one of instinct, need?

Norrington's fingers tightened.

"Upstanding isn't the word, Sparrow," he gritted, desire and irritation combining into a fearsome mixture, with frustration serving as the firing point. Did the man still not see the difference? "I stand up for people, between people and the elements in this world that they shouldn't have to face."

"Like myself," Sparrow smirked.

"Yes. Like yourself." Determined to counteract Sparrow's continued prodding, Norrington shifted his weight, catching both of the pirate's wrists in one hand while using his height and leverage to exert the pressure needed to compensate. "And I'm forced to face you, deal with you and your...teasing, far too often."

Sparrow dropped his head forward, not leaning against the hold so much as using it to brace himself as his breath slid hot against Norrington's face while he murmured, "You think it's teasing? I'm rather fond of the phrase 'testing the barriers' myself. Has a lovely, official ring to it."

Norrington raised his eyebrows and, intent on finding something that would truly shake the man, took the final step. "Or we could try 'testing a theory.'"

Not waiting for a response, he slid his free hand down, glancing off the sash tied at Sparrow's stomach and settling, firm, on the bulge between his legs.

A hiss escaped Sparrow's suddenly tight mouth, and there must have been something hard in Norrington's eyes for the pirate quickly said, "Careful there, man." A conciliatory smile. "If damage is imminent, I've a request."

Only he would sound so flippant at such a time. That realization was less than comforting. "Yes?"

"A simple one, really, just," a sigh and a small thrust against the pressure of Norrington's hand, a nudge of promised pleasure, but Norrington couldn't shift his gaze from the laughter flickering in the dark eyes before him, "that I'm quite happy that god made me a man, and just as happy to keep the form -- all of it -- that came with the decision."

The humor in that coaxing voice was hard to resist, and more difficult not to challenge.

"Is that so?" Norrington closed his fingers, tight, and drew them up, slowly, a thrill clenching just as tight in his chest when the laughter dispersed a quickly as a mist before a storm and Sparrow's head thumped lightly back against the wall. The bulge hardened into a distinct erection beneath Norrington's touch. "And what makes you think I would want to change what god provided?"

Sparrow took several deep breaths as Norrington started a still-slow rhythm and then bit back a chuckle when the pirate's stance shimmied wider, providing easier and more complete access.

"Forgive the misunderstanding, hmm?" Sparrow tilted his head down just enough for Norrington to look again into now very narrow eyes. "This is lovely. Quite."

"I'm sure it is."

Norrington lifted his hand away.

Sparrow's eyes shot open completely. "Don't stop!"

Now that was an honest reaction, if ever one had passed the pirate's lips, and so very tempting to satisfy. But Norrington began to shift back, denying himself in order to reach the true goal. "Whyever not? I believe I've proved my theory."

"No! No you haven't!"

Panic flared over Sparrow's face. Because petulance was not far behind, Norrington let the chuckle loose this time. "You aren't even aware of what the theory is."

Sparrow's hips thrust forward away from the wall, connecting with nothing as Norrington took a full step back. The pirate frowned. "And I don't give a good damn, either, man. Prove whatever you want!"

With a smile near-permanently fixed on his face in some form, Norrington let his hand hover just close enough to Sparrow's cock that it seemed the heat seeped into his palm. Although, that could also have been a burn of his own, he acknowledged. This might not have been his original objective, but he'd be damned if that was going to stop him now. Taking advantage, on this random spit of land, wasn't going to affect anyone but himself. And the man now vibrating before him. Because of him.

"Well, now." Taking advantage, indeed. "I believe the theory has shifted a bit."

"But," hope lit Sparrow's eyes, firing glowing embers in the depths, "it's still a theory, right?"

That eagerness. It had to be for more than a willing hand. Holding onto that assurance, Norrington stepped forward again, into the sigh heaved by the other man, a whisper of hot air against his cheek when he put his lips to Sparrow's ear. "What do you want?"

Sparrow tried to pull back his head, tried to turn to look him in the eyes. Norrington could feel it. He also felt how Sparrow stilled when the wood at his back and the hold at his front kept him from doing any such thing.

Finally: "I don't want you to stop."

"That is not enough," Norrington breathed. No, compliance wasn't enough. Nor consent. "What...exactly...do you want?"

Another moment, one in which Norrington could near hear the rattle of thoughts flying around within that hard skull. Then, with a sneer rounding every word, "Y'don't want to know. Not really."

"You don't think so?" Stung, Norrington jerked back, and his still-free hand reached out and grasped Sparrow's neck, forcing the pirate's chin up and his gaze with it.

Those dark eyes were still hot enough to singe a man's soul, even with their power diluted by the shadows that deepened the twist to Sparrow's lips, pushing his expression into one of superiority that looked far too natural for something so wrong. "You hound me across months and oceans and you don't have some goal that you are trying to attain?" Norrington demanded, "Some action that you hope to provoke?"

"Aye." Sparrow tilted his head back further; a move that Norrington struggled to ignore, particularly the way the increased arc to Sparrow's neck only emphasized every breath, every swallow occurring under the restraining hand. "But all of my careful aiming would be for naught should you take my goals poorly into that wigged head...and turn tail and flee."

A scant second later Sparrow's hands jerked, fluttering fingers setting tendons and bones shifting in his wrists, and Norrington blinked, wondering. Then his eyes fell, and he stumbled on and barely caught the apology that filled his mind and his mouth as he snatched his hand back from Sparrow's neck, dismayed.

The hand fell to his side and clenched tight once more, against nothing this time.

Sparrow coughed once, twice, again. Norrington held his breath, watched as Sparrow pounded a fist against his own chest, watched and didn't move to help or move away because he couldn't do anything other than keep his eyes fixed on the man he had almost--

Dear god, how far had his control frayed that one comment would--?

"Y'see?"

Norrington's lips pressed tight, paralysis broken by the keen look, that dismissive wave from the hand of a man who he should have known would never lose all the power in any situation.

"Not precisely what I'd been aiming for, but an excellent demonstration, nonetheless."

Gold flashed in the grin from the darkness, and Norrington's own teeth set against each other, sharp and hard enough that his ears ached.

This was his turn.

Needing that grin, that knowledge, to be more than wiped away, Norrington spun Sparrow around, forcing his stomach, chest, cheek against the wood, which the man hit with a muted clatter that drew attention once more to the arms they both bore. But Norrington barely heard the sound, distracted by the hard "Oof" forced into the air; he didn't glance down, fascinated by the way Sparrow's hands came up flat against the wall at shoulder height. Faster than anticipated, Sparrow managed to push several inches off from the wall, and faster than he could think, Norrington flattened himself against the pirate's back, covering the rough and stained hands with his own.

Control? Perhaps for once he'd do without.

"What's this, now?" Sparrow chuckled. "Going to find those irons anyway?"

"What do you think?" Norrington pressed even closer, and knew triumph in the hiss that came the instant realization hit that martial punishment was hardly what he had in mind.

"Well. Perhaps you do want to know..." Sparrow murmured, pushing back not with his hands but with his hips, driving his backside firmly into the erection Norrington made no effort to hide.

"I did."

Norrington stilled the roll of Sparrow's hips, pinning them to the wall with his own. Although it had been years since the opportunity presented itself quite so plainly, his cock slid in to rest between the pirate's buttocks without any conscious thought from him; a happy thing, as thought had apparently fled before searing heat and sharp sensation, leaving nothing behind but the humid wash of his own breath losing its way in the hair and braids and trinkets spilling from beneath Sparrow's headscarf.

Sparrow purred.

The vibration slid through Norrington's chest and settled in his bones, he'd swear to it. Gritting his teeth -- which hummed with the rest of him as the damn pirate kept up that animal sound of pleasure -- Norrington marshaled what thoughts he could.

"What you want no longer--"

Another attempted wriggle telegraphed Sparrow's desires quite well, and satisfying them was suddenly everything. Norrington growled, instinct taking over completely and goading him into biting down, seeking vulnerable flesh through the hair tickling at his nose. Sparks ran through him from throat to stomach when Sparrow's next breath escaped on a whimper. Such a wonderful, personal sound. Compelled to seek more of it, force more, Norrington thrust forward and almost let loose a cry of his own at the rush that weakened his knees.

Yet the sounds from Sparrow held him upright as they grew higher, shifting into a whine, and Norrington was tempted to simply maintain the rhythm and never, ever stop because it felt so...so...

But then that pitch, the strength of it, pierced the buzz that cushioned them. Blinking, Norrington raised his head, and the chill of the night air licking at the sweat that had sprung up on his brow stung like a slap.

No footsteps. No -- he shook his head, trying to clear it -- men rushing in, rifles leading the way. Still, with awareness (happily? unfortunately?) once again in place, he started to pull back.

"Yer not stopping now."

That wasn't a question from the pirate, not at all. Norrington shook his head again, amazed.

"And you are the last one to be making demands at this juncture." Was that his voice, so harsh?

A low, mirthless laugh. "Then 'Stop dithering about and fuck me' wouldn't be taken well at this point?"

The unmistakable tang of blood, metal sharp, flooded Norrington's mouth, lingered on his tongue, and the pain that followed on its heels throbbed harder for a heartbeat than his erection. He'd sunk his teeth into his lower lip, he realized, shocked.

"Commodore?"

Norrington closed his eyes. Yes, he was a commodore, an officer in the Royal Navy, a leader, an example. But he was also a man, and this would not be the first time that was the more vital factor.

His right hand came away from the wall, bringing Sparrow's with it without resistance. There was a moment's struggle, however, swiftly subdued, when he raised them together and brought them over Sparrow's mouth, forming a double barrier to further sound.

What else was he to do?

Sparrow started to turn his head, but Norrington curled their hands tighter, unable to come up with the words to convey what he now wanted. They stood there, locked together. Then a dog barked, a man shouted a curse in response, and words that would have to do materialized.

Eyes still shut, keeping the rest of the world at bay, Norrington ordered, "Be silent."

No answer. The smell of their combined sweat threatened to overwhelm the melding that had stayed with him for years now: a mixture of the sea he knew so well and the enigma that was Sparrow. Even now, closer to the source than he had ever truly thought to be, Norrington couldn't identify all of the scents that made up the man. And he gave up on the attempt, overwhelmed. The harshness of his own breath -- shallow, fast, each exhalation as sharp and wrong as a flapping sail -- echoed and built, until he thought he'd have to let the pressure loose in a shout.

Just when uncertainty began to tip over into unwillingness, he felt their joined hands move up, down, up, down with Sparrow's slow nod. Eyes open once more, Norrington sent up thanks to the starry sky; surely it was better not to involve god in this endeavour.

Settled, calmer than should have been possible, Norrington focused first on their left hands, on the long fingers that were still and waiting under his. He pressed Sparrow's palm harder against the wall, spreading those fingers flat enough that his own slipped between them to touch the wood planks.

"Keep it there."

Another nod.

Fighting to slow his breathing -- slow this entire moment, at least a little -- Norrington drew his hand away and sent it ranging downward, skimming along Sparrow's arm to his side, running over the curve of shoulder, easing past the thick folds of the pirate's outercoat and through the well-worn cloth beneath. So many layers to the man; the thought flitted by and away. Finally, he again reached the bunching of the sash at Sparrow's middle. He fumbled for a moment when he couldn't avoid the solid length of Sparrow's erection and felt the man twitch and his breathing kick into harsh panting against their hands. Finally, Norrington found first of the buttons needed and he tugged.

It didn't come loose. A second attempt, and a third, were also futile. Norrington cursed. Now was not the time to discover that men's buttons, although larger (perhaps, because) were far more difficult to defeat single-handed than ladies. Then he found himself chuckling at the image of practicing on himself for the future. This was hardly going to become habit.

Sparrow's whimper was faint, but thanks to their proximity, it was clear enough to knock Norrington's preoccupation aside. Still, Norrington hesitated before he put his mouth to Sparrow's left ear, aware enough to avoid the spikes and whatnot threaded over the right.

"That I am removing my hand should not be taken as permission to remove yours."

The instant nodding his hard words provoked was most emphatic.

Sparrow's head hadn't yet stilled again when Norrington let go. He kept his hand there, hovering, but the pirate -- wonder of wonders -- held onto his unspoken word. The one hand stayed over his mouth and now he was leaning forward, resting all of his weight on the other braced against the wall.

Norrington had no doubt that Sparrow realized how the position helped, how it pushed him back away from the wall and allowed Norrington free access to the buttons, which, thankfully, opened without further delays under two hands and ten shaking fingers. It was even more of a relief that the shaking disappeared as Norrington lifted Sparrow's cock free of the breeches. Holding it, heavy in his palm, he wished for a moment that he could see it, could watch the pulse that he felt hard against his own. But, no, he didn't wish for more light. It was enough to be able to see the new arch and stretch to Sparrow's back as he pushed forward again, seeking contact with anything within his limited reach.

The muffled moan when Sparrow glanced against the wall tore an answering harsh sound from Norrington's throat. That the man had no restraint, no compunction about voicing his pleasure, loosened Norrington's desperate clutch on what was left of his own self-control. His other hand tightened on Sparrow's hip, keeping him suspended away from the building.

"Don't do that again," Norrington panted. "Not unless...I say you can."

A tremor ran the length of Sparrow's frame, then his head dropped forward, his hair falling forward and baring a slice of dark skin beneath the collar of his coat. Not even trying to resist, Norrington leaned forward to taste, licking at each bump of bone pushing against the skin, savoring the salt and musk and leather and wondering how in the world that combination could possibly be so compelling.

Sparrow twitched. Not enough to be testing the directive, but enough to draw Norrington's attention to the fact that he had halted his attention to any other part of the man.

"You still want more?" Norrington asked, not at all surprised to find that he was unable to make his voice turn those words into the barb they should be.

Sparrow immediately bent even further forward, his arse once again doing his speaking for him and drawing a strained chuckle from Norrington.

"For once, we are in full accord."

The hand at Sparrow's hip slid around, forward, in between warm fabric and hothot skin. "Just for a moment," Norrington whispered, and then pulled the other hand back to mirror its fellow. Even with the muffling hand, he heard and thrilled in the sob of a plea when both his hands shoved the breeches down. Only in part because of that sound, he returned to start up the stroking again, keeping it light because this had to be quick, but that didn't mean it should be fast. Although the thought of simply-- No. He wanted Sparrow to remember this for something more than pain.

Then Norrington's fingers encountered the moisture forming at the tip of Sparrow's cock and he wet his lips even as he slicked his fingers, easing his way when his hand slid down to the base. Sparrow shuddered and started moving ever so slightly into, away, forward again into the grasp that Norrington alternately tightened and turned, trying never to allow Sparrow to grow accustomed to his touch. Sparrow could, Norrington knew, come from that touch alone, but -- Norrington's eyes fell shut again as he gave in to his own need to thrust against the heat now plastered wantonly against him -- there had to be more.

Certain that Sparrow was engrossed, caught, Norrington eased back, missing the pressure of another body even when only inches separated them. Once he swung the tails of Sparrow's coat to the side, however, the distance was worth it. Feeling a flush rise in his face, Norrington traced his free hand moved over the line of Sparrow's buttocks, and the man jerked -- so sensitive -- and liquid spurted from his cock as free as the sound that escaped from between his fingers.

"Shhsh," Norrington urged automatically, taking those fingers and slowly working one into Sparrow, into that tight, hot clutch, which clamped tighter when Norrington drew his finger back out, crooking it just enough along the way to -- yes, there, that cry, that was what he needed to hear. But he was already focused elsewhere, moving to attack his own buttons, which were courteous enough to not put up a fight. His cock felt like it might burst free on its own with every touch, so once he had released it, he covered it blindly with his still-slick hand. Lungs going like a smithy's bellows, Norrington couldn't help but watch though, couldn't look away, as he lined up against Sparrow's suddenly absolutely still arse and, with a gasp, pushed in, into the heat and the--

"Bloody...hell..."

At the broken whisper, Norrington's head jerked up. Sparrow had both hands against the wood now, his head thrown back, his teeth gleaming once more in the weak light that reached toward them from the street as he bit deep into his lower lip. Wanting nothing more than to shove forward, thrust until he was thrusting against the wall itself, Norrington nonetheless held himself still, unsure whether to be concerned or to say to hell with any pretense of courtesy and ram fully in.

Sparrow didn't open his eyes, but he grimaced. Then:

"Damn it, move!"

Harsh, near unintelligible, an order. It didn't matter.

Burying his face against Sparrow's shoulder -- the distracted identification of oranges in all those unknown scents playing havoc with a corner of his mind -- Norrington drove in, his heart stopping, two beats simply gone missing, when the pleasureheat seared through to his bones.

A choked sound was cut off. Sparrow's. Norrington didn't know how Sparrow quieted himself and he didn't much care. The pirate was silent and surrounding him and so incredibly tight that it was a temptation never to move again. Suddenly Norrington stumbled, falling forward as Sparrow's arms gave way and they both slammed against the wall. Forced in that final measure, Norrington he knew stillness was not enough. He had to do that again. He drew his cock out slowly, heard the soft groan and felt Sparrow's body clutch, unwilling to give up its prize until Norrington forced himself to pull out almost completely. At the last moment, he paused. Keeping his eyes on Sparrow's face where it was turned against the wall, Norrington thrust back in one motion, absorbing the jolt as that face contorted against sensation and sound.

Setting up that slow-then-hard rhythm was the easiest thing Norrington had done all night, his body taking complete control. This felt better than that so, oh, and do that again, yes. He didn't even pause when Sparrow turned his face to rest his forehead against the wood, a running litany of words or orders or prayers falling from his mouth toward the ground. If he could have understood them, if he'd had the breath, Norrington might even have joined in; anything to release the pressure without sacrificing the sweetpain tension building in his gut.

When Sparrow's arms dropped, his hands reaching back to pull at Norrington's arse, Norrington grabbed and yanked and pinned once more, this time keeping the hands trapped beneath his. Knowing what it would do, but truly because deeper, harder, more was all he could think, Norrington bent his knees and pushed Sparrow up on his toes, so the man shook at the new angle on every faster and rougher thrust.

Without warning, without permission, the fire burst through Norrington. His mind cried, Notyet! but his body didn't listen. A white explosion behind his eyes split him open and emptied him of everything: seed, thought, soul. Dimly, he heard his groan, and heard it overtaken by the gasping "Nownownow!" as Sparrow jerked and arched back, his head dropping onto Norrington's shoulder in total surrender to the moment.

Breathless, stunned, Norrington almost lost his balance when he pulled free. Sparrow hissed and slumped against the wood. The other wall, only steps behind him, became a necessary prop for Norrington while he fumbled his buttons closed again and desperately wished for the world to stop spinning around him. Or at least make sense again.

"Now where...did you ever learn...to do that?" Sparrow panted.

Norrington frowned, not liking that Sparrow could utter a coherent sentence before he himself was able to form a complete thought. He did, however, manage to erase that displeasure from his expression before Sparrow yanked up his breeches and turned to face him, leaning negligently against the wall as he straightened all of the various pieces of clothing that Norrington had tugged and pulled aside.

Thrown again by the flash of memory, body still humming from the aftermath, Norrington ground out, "I don't believe that is something that you need to concern yourself over, Sparrow."

"Right then. Just be happy that I'd left my hat behind, is that it?"

That was altogether too confusing, but Norrington refused to ask what the man meant. Then Sparrow abruptly shifted upright, an almost soft grin spreading across his face.

"You might've been better off holding onto yours, however."

"What?"

The smile disappeared. But the image of it remained in Norrington's mind as pain shattered through his head and blackness rushed in to fill the void.

**

Seated on his bunk, a cold compress pressed to the throbbing at the back of his head, Norrington scowled.

"For the last time, lieutenant, I don't blame you."

Gillette's face still bore a trace of the angry flush high along his cheekbones. "I should have had more men coming as soon as you exited with that...that...bloody pirate."

Norrington fought to keep his lips from quirking. The man had finally run out of oaths to hurl at the long-gone Sparrow and his crew. On the way back he had simply steamed, silently. But once safe aboard the Dauntless, it had only taken half an hour for Gillette to reach this point, perhaps because he had verbally castigated himself, the Marines, and the "damned cowardly scum" who had, as they should have expected, snuck up and laid out the commodore with the empty bottle of rum that he himself had found by Norrington's head.

Really, Norrington supposed, he should be grateful that Groves had immediately followed his orders and taken charge of the Dauntless' crew. Two of them in here would be far too much to take at this moment.

But enough was enough. Careful not to move too quickly -- those black dots still danced at the corners of his eyes when even he jostled his head in any way -- Norrington commanded, "Gillette."

The man's muttering cut off.

"There were, I believe I counted, fifteen of the Pearl's crew present in that tavern."

Gillette opened his mouth, but Norrington raised a hand.

"And four of you," he continued. "Correct?"

The lieutenant's mouth settled into a thin disgruntled line. "Yes. Sir."

Norrington let out a frustrated breath. "It would also be fair to point out that calling in the other men any earlier would have precipitated the very attack to which we fell victim."

Gillette curtly nodded.

"Then since I have already said that I will not repeat myself further," Norrington bit out, struggling harder than should have been necessary to keep his tone even, "we shall consider the matter settled."

His second said nothing, but he inclined his head far enough that Norrington knew he had accepted the verdict.

"Dismissed, lieutenant."

With a nod and, "Very well, sir," Gillette turned on his heel and left the cabin.

A slight moan escaped Norrington once the door was shut, and he dropped the compress on the floor and slowly lowered his head into his hands. Resting there, at least, he believed it would not fall off. There was no way to tell which of the pirates had taken that bottle to his head, but they had clearly set out to make that first blow count.

With a curse, he ground the heels of his hands against his closed eyelids. It didn't matter. What was done was done, the opportunity -- for what, exactly, didn't matter either; not any more -- gone.

He swallowed hard against the tightness in his chest. Yes, the bitterness that he had expected was there, along with the recriminations. Together they were strong enough to make it hard to draw even breaths.

None of the pleasure was sustained, though. None of the celebration.

It was some consolation to see that last smile in his mind's eye, however; to think that perhaps, possibly, it was because of him.

He hadn't anticipated that.

##

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