TITLE: One (Not So) Good Turn
E-MAIL: eli @ popullus.net
RATING: R
POSTED: Feb. 24, 2004
SUMMARY: Lessons in piracy aren't always comfortable.
NOTES: My first shot at Pirates of the Caribbean, this started out as an attempt at a snippet of smut for KJ. Really. It...kind of got away from me. Some AU, sort of shaped by her Full Moon universe, but really, I have no idea when/where this is. Just go with it. Considering the historical issues, posting this completely without a beta might not be the best idea I've ever had.
DISCLAIMER: Disney has nothing to fear from me. Read.

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James was sulking.

He knew it. Gibbs knew it. The damned parrot likely knew it. That didn't stop it from happening. In fact, he felt entitled to a good sulk. Lord knows, the reason for this one rivaled any of the circumstances from his childhood.

Jack, he could tell, was finding it highly amusing. "This..." ringed fingers had fluttered over James' pout, then danced away in time to leave James' teeth closing on air, "...it's supposed to be my thing, isn't it?" he'd asked. And he hadn't resisted the obligatory taunting grin as he backed out of the room, pulling the doors shut with a single decisive thud.

If he'd had a free hand, James would have thrown the lamp at Jack's head. Even if he hadn't managed to knock the man on his foolish (if sweet) arse, the clang of the base against the wood would have been satisfactory enough.

But the lack of a free hand -- or a free anything else, James thought, glaring at the rope pulled snug around the ankle that he jerked again right then, sharp and hard, despite the renewed sting of raw skin -- was the point of the matter.

He had awakened in this...situation...hours ago. He could tell, even if he couldn't precisely pinpoint the time, because the light that had been coming in those windows was now entering through those, and he wasn't so far removed from reality that he couldn't be perfectly sure the Pearl had not changed course at any point during his enforced stay in this bloody bed. He could tell because he hadn't fallen asleep again, although he had shut his eyes in a childish attempt at denial when Gibbs had eased the doors open for a (thankfully) brief moment. Although if Jack was going to send anyone to check that he hadn't garroted himself with one of the ropes, Gibbs was the least painful choice possible, he supposed.

It wasn't that he was uncomfortable. No, Jack knew what he was doing when it came to ropes and knots, no doubt about that. And the man had at least made sure he was decently covered before sashaying out onto the deck.

He wasn't going to be grateful, however. The pain in his ankle was his own fault for struggling so wildly when an irritating itch on his nose had grown and increased and nearly driven him to frustrated tears before he'd thought to rub it against the pillow. But Jack had, intentionally or not, left other forms of torture.

James rolled his head to the left and eyed the flask on the small table under the window. His tongue was almost sticking to the roof of his mouth, it was so dry. What saliva he could still generate was a poor substitute for the reality of whatever liquid rested in that tempting container.

As his eyes fell shut in resignation, James admitted to himself that, at this moment in time, he would gladly gulp down seawater if it were poured into his mouth. Who would have thought a pirate would react to a deep-night comment (an off-hand joke) with such an ill temper? Particularly one so clearly aimed at repaying said pirate for an incident they both remembered well.

At the click of the handle, he turned his head further away from the doors.

"Are y'still mad, then, Commodore?"

He wasn't going to answer, James swore. The man didn't deserve an answer.

"I take it that's a 'yes.'"

Damn him for laughing. James clenched his teeth and his hands, and wondered which he'd rather fasten on the blackguard's throat.

"Can't have been that bad," Jack murmured, the heat of him settling on the mattress and the weight of him making James slide just enough to the left to sink against that heat. One rough hand immediately started playing with the sheet draped across James' chest, but he refused (no chance in hell) to react. "When's the last chance y'had to laze around, without any orders or demands callin' you to spit 'n' polished attention?"

The growl escaped; or perhaps, he thought, it was indeed appropriate to register a protest.

"Y'asked for it, truly." That was said with a burr of amusement buzzing against James' ear, and it was the final straw.

Beads and trinkets set up discordant music as Jack jerked his head back, narrowly avoiding a collision when James whipped his head around and glared the built-up feelings of ill use at the man.

"Asked for?" His shoulders made it up off the bed before the ropes forced him down to his back again, but he had the satisfaction of watching Jack's eyes go wide. "What words, exactly, did I say that your sun-baked brain warped into a request to be trussed up like a prize, Sparrow?"

Jack slowly lifted two fingers to his mouth, which only emphasized the close-lipped smirk that slid into existence there. "Well, now." Jack cocked his head and those fingers started tapping. Oh, if only he had one hand free, he'd wipe that look away in an instant, James thought savagely.

"Nah-ah, Commodore," Jack said, reaching across to slide the fingers of his other hand under the rope restraining James' right wrist. "Don't tug so, you'll do yourself an injury."

Unhappy with his body's unconscious attempt to act out his fantasy, James took a deep breath, inhaling the salt-and-spice scent of the man leaning over him before saying what had to be said. "This isn't funny, Jack."

"Wasn't entirely meant to be, James."

Now that was a surprise, as was the seriousness in Jack's eyes as he brought his face in close. His hair, falling free without the scarf to hold it at bay, brushed lightly against James' neck, but still his eyes, dark as the kohl that surrounded them, demanded all attention. James frowned.

"Why?"

"'Tisn't funny to mock a man's heart. Almost mean-spirited, which makes it just a nasty thing to do."

The light tone was playing havoc with James' thoughts, contradicted as it was by the gravity of Jack's expression. He was willing to take the first step, though.

"You know I'd never actually scuttle the Pearl," he said, sincere as a man could make a sentence delivered while spread-eagle beneath another and bare as the day he was born other than a thin sheet.

He was rewarded with a pat on the cheek. "I know, I know. Yet," a teeth-baring grin, "the thought had passed through this skull, or 't would never have been voiced, would it've?"

James sighed and turned his head to press his lips to Jack's fingers in apology, was gratified to see Jack's smile sweeten and hear a chuckle when he nipped at Jack's palm. Then he pulled back.

"You do still owe me some payment for the Interceptor. It was, other than the Dauntless, the finest ship I had."

"'Course it was," Jack grinned. "Wouldn't've done to be at the helm of anything less."

James raised an eyebrow. "Nicely dodged."

Jack's "Wasn't it?" was entirely unrepentant, and James couldn't help but shake his head, accepting the loss for now.

When Jack relaxed and his body came down to rest completely on his, James rolled up as far as he could, trying to ease the sudden pull on his shoulders; the way Jack's skin slid and clothes caught, dragging the sheet a little this way and then that, was a not entirely incidental side-effect that he quite liked. Always pushing further, faster than James was ready, Jack sent one hand down to play quite seriously between James' thighs and his lips went up to discover the line of James' jaw. Breath started to come faster.

Before he lost Jack and his own sense to the heat that would inevitably (happily) overwhelm, James cleared his throat and asked, "Have I suffered enough?"

"Hmm?" Jack vibrated behind James' ear.

"The--" Jack bit, and James gasped. "--the ropes..."

Jack's hand stopped playing and James swallowed a groan of disappointment, even though he knew the cessation was necessary. Temporarily necessary, he hoped. Then the hand closed firmly around his erection and stroked, once, hard, through the cloth, which doubled the friction and James stared blindly at the planks overhead, almost feeling the blood rush from all extremities to force his cock full into that grasp.

His back arched without command, every limb futilely straining against the bindings.

"Jack!"

A finger pressed against his lips, started rubbing back and forth and back.

"I dare say you could stand to suffer...just a tad more." Jack's voice drifted over him, into him, and James closed his eyes, wondered if he should start to pray. "What do you think?"

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