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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: R
Pairing: Jack/James, Elizabeth/Will, surprise other pairing.
Feedback: Good lines, typos, etc.
Disclaimer: Belongs not to me.
Notes: I have to acknowledge my debt to George MacDonald Fraser’s The Pyrates, which is the most brilliant pirate satire ever written.
Summary: Bedchamber machinations never go right.
***
James Norrington knew something was wrong as soon as he woke up in the morning. Namely, something was exceedingly additional.
The uninvited guest in his bed blearily looked up at the *click* of the pistol James kept in the side-table drawer. Considering that Jack Sparrow usually looked as if he’d been fished from twenty fathoms down, he was extraordinarily disheveled. And it was fortunate that he wore his hair so long and wild, since his clothes appeared to be missing.
“Sparrow,” James said. He edged up against the headboard, wishing his night-shirt wasn’t quite so…billowy. If quick action was required, it’d be quite cumbersome to maneuver about in. “What on earth do you think you’re doing? How did you get in here?”
“Haven’t the faintest, mate.” Sparrow blinked rapidly as he looked about. His eyes flicked over the bedspread, then moved southwards to himself. A moment later, his head snapped up and he glared at James. “And shouldn’t I be asking the questions here? You don’t do the Navy proud by making off with a man’s clothes and ship. Bad enough you keep calling Will home to mend your tea-kettles and whatnot.”
“Excuse—I did no such thing!” James hotly protested, forgetting entirely about how much like a flour-sack he felt. “You are the one who invaded the privacy of my bedroom without having the decency to dress for it, and—and I most certainly do not ask for Turner’s services to fix my tea-kettles. I demand an explanation, sir.”
Jack rolled his eyes, and in doing so, rolled completely off the bed. It was a clever trick, for James had no more sprang to his feet before he realized that one, Jack had some advantage in being naked when it came to acrobatics, and two, he was in dire danger of shooting himself. At the last moment James yanked his arm free of the sheets and directed the pistol away from himself. He tried to claw the sheets away from his face as well, but pulling at them suddenly jerked at the fabric tangled about his hand and pistol.
The gun jerked hard, and James, who was already teetering on the edge of the bed, could no longer maintain his balance. He fell to the tune of a muffled thud and groan.
His knees took the brunt of the fall, but that hardly spared his body. He lay there sprawling for a moment, firmly telling himself that it was perfectly natural to grow old, and then he came up flailing. The sheets tore and he had a moment’s regret for the housekeeper’s shrilling he was sure to get, but then he was free and he had other concerns to occupy his attention.
It suddenly occurred to James that the gun had become rather warm. His memory flashed backwards and he realized he’d heard two thuds. “Jack? Jack?”
“How the devil did I get up here?” came an outraged cry from the balcony. “You’ve got spikes on the damned railing, no ivy or trellis handy, a patch of sharp rocks beneath the window and a bloody pack of dogs on the lawn!”
“I’m not in the habit of encouraging people to break into my private quarters.” Somewhat relieved, James crossed off getting a scolding from his groundskeeper as well from his list of onerous morning duties and began to cross to the window. In the process of doing so, he accidentally put his foot in a burning spot. “Ow!”
James hopped quickly backward and so got himself retangled in his damned night-shirt. If he ever freed himself from the damned thing, he was giving it up entirely and sleeping in his breeches.
His carpet was on fire. The spark from the gun, of course, and damn it all—James scrambled for the water-pitcher, but that was empty. He cast frantically about for an alternative, but only one came to mind.
It was revolting, but with no other choice, he hauled out his chamberpot and tossed the contents onto the flaming sheet fragments just as Jack stalked back into the room. The fire went out in a stinking, acrid billow of smoke, which did relatively little to hide the disgusted curl of Jack’s lip. “And you think we’re uncultured. Least I know how to properly care for a Turkey rug.”
“I’ll have you know that I’ve great familiarity with Persian textiles—where are you going?” James scrambled to his feet and pointed the gun at Jack. “I still want an explanation.”
Jack raised an eyebrow, then carefully reached out and tapped the gun away with his fingers. “Er, mate? You might want another bullet, too.”
Then he lunged at James’ feet—or at least it looked that way. When James kicked, his feet hit only air and more air, for Jack had seized the tail of the night-shirt and had yanked. The door slammed shut just as James’ body connected painfully with the floor once more.
Downstairs the housekeeper was screeching like a flock of seagulls, but somehow James couldn’t see the point in further chase. He rested on the floor for a few moments and simply tried to convince himself that Sparrow probably couldn’t infect all of Port Royal with the story before James could take the Dauntless out of port.
“Damn it.”
Then James sat up and limped about his morning rituals. It wasn’t until he was stepping out the door that he realized he hadn’t been the one to curse. “Toby?”
“Sir?” His groundskeeper looked up from where he was giving the hedges their daily clipping.
“See if we can’t have some spikes installed on the roof, please,” James said, surreptitiously rubbing at his sore hip.
* * *
When James walked into the garrison, he thought his day was about to turn about, for there stood his lieutenants flanking a mopey-looking Jack in chains. The moment he saw James, Gillette snapped to attention. “Sir! We caught this scoundrel pilfering in your own office. Of all the audacious…but we caught him.”
“Wasn’t pilfering. Was looking for my damned hat, which your commodore stole,” Jack sulkily said. He noticed James staring at the clothes he’d found and sniffed. “Point in proof—rest of my clothes were stuffed in your closet.”
“A ridiculous lie,” Gillette pronounced.
Groves coughed and looked away, shifting uncomfortably. He couldn’t quite meet James’ eyes, which immediately put James on his guard. “Sir, would you like to interview him before we take him to the jail?”
“The situation seems clear-cut enough, and even if it wasn’t, there are so many outstanding warrants for Sparrow that it hardly matters. Take him along, and then bring the quartermaster in,” James said dismissively. He began to step around the group to go into his office, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.
“Are you absolutely sure you wouldn’t want to speak to him?” Groves asked, looking anxiously at James. He even went so far as to pull Jack forward by the elbow and shove him beneath James’ nose. “It might be useful.”
Jack rolled his eyes again. Then he snickered when James made an aborted attempt to foil a sideways dive that didn’t happen. “Useful? About as useful as a donkey trying to fly.”
“My sentiments exactly. Take him to the jail.” With that, James assumed he was finished, but Groves must have picked up a tropical fever sometime during the night.
He’d seemed perfectly sane the day before, but now he suddenly shoved himself into Jack’s arms and stared wide-eyed at James. “Sir! He’s captured me!”
Gillette’s jaw dropped, and it looked as if his mind was about to burst his eyes with disbelief. For that matter, Jack wouldn’t have been too far behind; he held the chain limply before Groves’ neck. “Er. Not that I mind pretty things like you throwing yourselves at me…”
James distinctly saw Groves elbow Jack hard in the gut. “He’s taken me hostage,” Groves said, a touch more iron in his voice.
“If you say so…” Jack shrugged, yanked the chain around Groves’ throat, and started a mad shuffle for the door. He smiled cheerfully at James. “Don’t know what’s gone soft in him, but I’ll return him in a moment so you can sort it out. Savvy?”
“Certainly not,” James snapped, shaking himself out of his surprise. He yanked out his pistol, remembered he hadn’t yet reloaded it, and exchanged it for his sword. “Gillette!”
“Sir!” Gillette obediently charged through the door after Jack and Groves, but instead of the sounds of cursing and scuffling that James expected, there came only an ominous thump.
The earlier events of the morning still fresh in his mind, James cautiously eased into the hallway. Then he stopped and stared.
“Oh! Morning, James,” Elizabeth said too-brightly, madly fluttering her fan. At her feet lay a groaning Gillette, who was clutching his shin and mumbling about someone slamming a cane into it. Elizabeth smiled even more brilliantly and hastily tucked her parasol behind her. “I was just…it just occurred to me that you’ve been working entirely too hard lately. You must be terribly lonely.”
James blinked. “Not really. I’ve got a fleet to keep in good condition—and while I’d love to stay and chat, my lieutenant’s been taken hostage by that damned Jack Sparrow—”
“He’s not that bad. You only need to get to know him. You really should give him a chance. I’m sure he can be very good company.” As Elizabeth spoke, her cheeks flushed and her eyes went a little glassy. Her fan whipped about so much that it clipped off a few of its blade-tips on the wall.
Concerned, James stepped forward with hands out-stretched. “Elizabeth, are you quite feeling well? If you’re about to faint, you’d best step out into the fresh air.”
“Oh, no, I’m—Groves!” When Elizabeth spun about, her skirts flared and completely muffled down Gillette, who’d almost gotten back onto his feet. She pulled them off of him and smiled a vacant apology before whirling on Groves with something that looked very like a hard glare. “You’re here.”
It could have been the dim light in the hallway, James speculated. Or perhaps he had an epidemic on his hands.
Groves’ eyes darted back and forth between Elizabeth and James. He swallowed hard and set his shoulders, as if he expected to be sent to the gratings. “I’m sorry, sir. We got as far as the outside wall, but then Sparrow let me go and dove over the side.”
There was a little impatient thud. All three men looked at Elizabeth, who hastily smoothed over her expression and pressed a hand down her skirts to make them stop moving so angrily. “Jack Sparrow was here?” she asked with commendable innocence.
“Yes…” James said dubiously, staring at her. “Incidentally, where is your husband today?”
“Meeting me for lunch. Of course, you’re more than welcome to join. It’ll be a nice surprise. Don’t you like surprises once in a while, James?” Flutter, flutter went the fan. It was a wonder Elizabeth hadn’t yet snapped it.
Of course, Elizabeth still was the Governor’s daughter no matter what her current mental state might be, so James had to remain polite. “I appreciate the invitation, but as you can see, we’re quite busy today. Jack Sparrow—”
“Oh, I’m sure Gillette and I can take care of that,” Groves quickly put in. He flushed at the sharp look James gave in. “We did…well, catch him once already this morning. And I certainly know better this time—once caught, twice shy.”
“The accounts—” James started.
“Already done,” Groves airily replied.
Gillette raised an eyebrow. “Since I looked at them two hours ago?”
“I’ve discovered a new aptitude for mathematics?” Something about the pleading way Groves looked reminded James a good deal of a puppy. And something about the way Elizabeth stood behind him and meaningfully clicked her fan open and shut reminded James of a…
…no, that was absurd. “Very well. I shall see if I can drop in for a short while,” James sighed.
“Thank you so very much. You won’t regret it,” Elizabeth trilled, pecking him on the cheek.
He already was, frankly.
* * *
By one contrivance and another, James managed to arrive so late for the luncheon that he was certain all they could possibly offer him was coffee. “I’m terribly sorry, and I’m sure I’ve completely missed—”
“Oh, not at all.” Elizabeth waved her hands theatrically in the air and dishcloths and tins were whipped away to display five courses of servings that had been saved for him. She dimpled at him and gestured towards a chair. “Do sit down, James.”
James would rather have traded places with Pirithous at Hades’ table, but Elizabeth had a way of putting a glint in her eye that could flatten the will of cities. He sat. Then he resigned himself to picking up his silverware. “I’m sure the food is excellent as always.”
“Hmm?” Will, sitting on his left, seemed to be engrossed in reading something hidden in the palm of his hand. Something smacked something else beneath the table and he jerked up exactly like a man who’d just been kicked hard in the…shin. The thing in his hand was briefly visible and appeared to be a tiny booklet. “Oh. Thank you, James. Elizabeth’s had a good deal of fun collecting recipes during our travels. You should really try the…oh, damn, they haven’t brought it out. It’s rather large, so would you mind giving me a hand?”
“Can’t you call the servants?” But even as James said that, he suddenly noticed that all the people bustling about had suddenly vanished.
Elizabeth smiled winningly at James. “You really should see our new kitchen anyway. Will’s done wonders with the place.”
Will, however, was staring blankly into space. He jerked a second time, winced, and then shook his head in the manner of a man trying to recall something. A flash of paper reappeared in his hand before he looked up at James. His expression was engaging enough, even if he seemed a bit distracted. “Yes, absolutely. Come see the kitchen. He’s a terrific surprise—oops, I meant ‘it’s a’—just come see it, all right?”
So James reluctantly left his uneaten lunch and followed Will into the bowels of the house. “Will, I need to ask you something.”
“As you can see, I installed some extra fittings…” Will said loudly, pretending he hadn’t heard James. He waved his hands and gestured in a way that was distinctly familiar.
“Has Jack Sparrow—” James started.
“And it’s right through here!” With that, Will whacked James hard in the back and sent him stumbling into what appeared to be a pantry closet.
The moment James was inside, the door slammed behind him. The closet was fairly roomy, so James had enough room to turn around, stare at the door, and then turn back without bumping into anything that let on that he was sharing the space. Of course, it was difficult to miss Jack’s unique smell of rum, salt and sweat.
“Mate, we’ve really got to stop meeting like this,” said a voice somewhere around James’ left cheekbone. “I’m getting right tired of being smacked over the head and being dragged off, only to wake up with you in some compromising position. The objection mainly being of course to the method and not the position.”
James put up his hand, nearly poked out his eye in the dark, and groped more carefully till he could rub at the bridge of his nose. “I think I’m beginning to understand what’s going on. But why…”
“Don’t look at me.” Soft chuckle. “Speaking figuratively, of course. I didn’t give them the idea. Perfectly happy with the company I keep, so don’t see the point in bothering with you lot. Too much fuss, too much work.”
“Exactly what I—” After a quick review of Jack’s words, James straightened up and glared in Jack’s general direction. “What do you mean, too much work?”
Jack’s voice shrugged and backed away. “Well, really, there’s the trouble of getting you not to hang me, first of all, and then there’s acclimating you to the idea of enjoying yourself and probably teaching you that the mouth goes there and the hands there--”
“I am not that ignorant!” James furiously retorted. He took a step forward with the intent to do—do something rather stupid, but thankfully, Jack saved him from himself by bashing out some kind of window. The sudden flood of light blinded James and sent him stumbling backward with an arm thrown over his eyes.
He didn’t think it was unfair to expect to run into the door’s support, but the door was woefully absent. Looking up at the world with a serious ache in his back and a dizziness swirling his vision was a sensation that was becoming entirely too familiar to James.
The blurry golden figure kneeling on his left stamped her foot. “They’re still not taking the bait!”
“Well, you can’t blame me, and stop blaming Groves,” said the browner figure on James’ other side. That one was considerate enough to put a hand beneath James’ neck and help him up. “We followed the script exactly.”
“Script?” James said.
Will cursed. “Oops.”
“Quick, onto the fallback plan,” Elizabeth hissed, grabbing for something that greatly resembled a frying pan.
Yes, today hurt entirely too much, James muzzily thought just before passing out.
* * *
“A Spanish prison,” someone said in utter disbelief.
James blinked, then painfully rolled over on the hard stone floor and promptly ate filthy straw. He immediately spat it out. “What?”
“A real, genuine Spanish prison,” Jack snorted. He slumped against the wall besides James, looking as exasperated as a grandmother of ten. Then he sat up and threw his hands at heaven. “Can you believe this? The bloody Spanish. I swear, when I’m out of here I’ll give that pair such a dunking—hey, mate? You all right?”
The answer required some thought, and considering the situation, James decided he might as well give it that. He got himself up onto one elbow before he replied. “Let me see, Jack—since the morning began I’ve been put through all sorts of ridiculous antics in some absurd plan to get me in bed with you. Including actually putting us in bed together. As far as I can tell, this has resulted only in a terribly sore back, more severe damage to my dignity, and now a possible threat to my life.”
Jack managed to restrain himself for several moments before he stated the obvious. “Commodore, for all that, we might as well have obliged them, really. The outcome would’ve been the same, only at least we’d have gotten something in exchange.”
“If I’d wanted to bed you, I would have been perfectly capable of arranging it for myself!” James snapped.
“Likewise, likewise,” Jack drawled. He lazily unfolded himself and gave James a pat on the shoulder as he started crawling about the jail, examining bars and locks. Strangely-shaped bits of iron began sneaking out of his sleeves. “No need to take it out on me. Now, don’t suppose you know much about—”
“Will Turner broke my jail and you don’t think I’d take steps to rectify that gap in my knowledge? Give me that.” James snatched up the nearest hinge-pick and set to work. Prying at iron and steel wasn’t quite giving the Turners the spankings their childhoods had apparently lacked, but it was a satisfactory substitute for the moment.
For a moment, Jack just watched. Then he chuckled and stepped up beside James. “Well, while we’re on the subject—care to bed me?”
James’ fingers slipped and he nicked himself hard across the thumb. Then he paused and rested his brow on the cool bars, wondering what on earth he’d done to deserve this.
A moment later, he raised his head. “I want an actual bed. And by the way, this by no means earns you rights to be the first to tackle Will and Elizabeth. Or Groves, come to think of it.”
“Savvy,” Jack laughed.
* * *
A few hours later, Jack was gasping with his hands wound tightly in James’ hair. “All right, I take…back what…I said about…you not knowing…”
James felt the tiniest bit smug as he crawled up Jack, languidly licking the sweat from the curving, clenching muscles. He nuzzled Jack’s neck, then hissed as fingers nipped at his nipple. Jack quickly turned that brief distraction to his advantage, and before James quite realized it, Jack was balls-deep in him and he was rather too busy moaning to protest. His hands kneaded the bed and he arched, straining his bruised back and that hurt, but the pain was a delicious edge to the bursts of pleasure that Jack sparked within him.
“S’pose I should’ve been looking twice,” Jack muttered, licking hotly up the side of James’ face. His hands kneaded James’ buttocks, then slipped around and forward to take hold of James’ prick just as the mattress shifted and the angles changed from merely blissful to blindingly good. “Tell you what. Get rid of the dogs and I’ll let you smack your lieutenant first.”
“Ye—what?” James dragged up his head and narrowed his eyes. “I told you, I—”
Jack bucked into James with a slight twist, and James’ eyes rolled uncontrollably back into his head. Damn him. God--damn him, he—really needed to do that again.
* * *
“I can explain,” Elizabeth squeaked, grabbing for the sheets.
Will was red-faced and clearly dying to be somewhere else, but his bullheaded brand of courage meant he forced himself to stay still and face the two who’d invaded his bedroom. Theodore had been mostly hidden beneath him and Elizabeth anyway, and didn’t seem inclined to come out; it probably was due more to the fact that Will still had fingers in his arse rather than to lack of bravery.
“No need, love. We found the, ah, script,” Jack said, grinning. “Interesting. Very interesting.”
“And no need to get up,” James added. He casually produced another script from the inside of his coat and held it up just long enough for Elizabeth’s and Will’s faces to go white. “We’ll give you the night.”
Tomorrow morning was going to be simply wonderful, James thought.
***