the Dalaverse

The drabble requests so far are really intriguing, but I had to get this ficlet out before it ate me. It's in the Will/Norrington 'verse, the Moon/Tide thing (and I decided to screw the cutesy titles because I like this one too much). NC-17...almost. Heh.



No Rest for the Wicked



“Why is it,” James wants to know as they slam up against the door of the cabin, “that we can subsist for days – nay, weeks and months when I’m at sea – without seeing one another, but every time we set foot onboard this ship we can’t go a quarter of an hour before we’re back in here once again?”

Will shrugs, lips flattening against his teeth as he grins and rocks his hips. “Something about the Pearl and freedom and devil-may-care-but-pirates-do-not...” James presses him harder and he winces, the doorknob digging into his spine. “The bunk is over that way, I believe.”

“Hmm, yes,” James murmurs, not paying much attention because the sweat running down the side of Will’s neck has a particularly sweet taste today. He finds a cake crumb buried in the creases of Will’s shirt, somewhat disappointed that he has apparently missed another food fight. He would dearly love the opportunity to hurl some kind of baked good into Jack Sparrow’s smirking face, preferably a gooey pudding with lots of whipped cream and –

Will yanks hard on the plait Elizabeth insisted on weaving James’s hair into. “Pay attention,” he growls, delighting as usual at the way being given an order puts a rebellious steel glint in James’s eyes. The other man backs up, an arm around Will’s waist ensuring that he follows – not that Will currently has any plans to stay put. James grunts as he heaves himself onto the hanging cot, tugging to keep Will from teetering off the edge.

“Attention enough...Mr. Turner?” His voice hitches from Will dragging tongue and then teeth over a peaked nipple, warmth and moisture soak through the cotton of his shirt. Will doesn’t bother to reply, just rubs his arousal against the top of James’s thigh, too lost in an incendiary kiss to aim properly. James reaches down to rectify that, cupping one firm buttock and dragging Will atop him so that stiff heat finds its mate between James’s own legs. Will jerks, his knees locking straight and then flexing, and his whimpers are swallowed up into James’s mouth. He rolls to the side, throwing a leg over James and dragging him closer. James flounders a hand in Will’s hair before grabbing onto a chain. He braces himself and thrusts, pinning Will against the raised edge running around the outside of the cot. It’s there to prevent anyone falling off in his sleep, but the craftsmanship is sub-par; James managed to kick the strip of wood at the foot off a few days ago, though he doesn’t quite remember how.

Thus it’s probably not a good idea to keep pounding Will against it, no matter how much he wriggles and begs James not to stop. He doesn’t stop, precisely, but the mechanics of getting Will all the way under him are beyond his ken at the moment, so he reverses motion and pulls him back atop instead. Will proves quite agreeable to this change, but then he’s never been particularly choosy about positions. As a rule James is more prone to taking top, but right now he’s too desperately hard to worry about anything beyond the concepts of inside and right now and where is the damned oil. But Will bites him when he attempts to pull free long enough to find it, sharp little nips of reproval just beneath his collar.

James is trying to form just enough words for the proper disdain – it shouldn’t be too difficult, as they haven’t gotten undressed yet – when the cabin door bangs open. Despite the atmosphere of tolerance they’ve both grown accustomed to while vacationing aboard the Pearl, Will and James part so suddenly they immediately have to reach for each other again lest they roll right over the protective rim. It’s a bit like throwing cold water on a pair of feuding tomcats, James thinks. And the man holding the bucket is – of course, of course – Captain Jack Sparrow himself.

Jack seems to take no notice of the way they are arranged on the cot, the clothes and sheets twisted around them, the high color of their skin.

“Well, really,” James sniffs, curling himself up and hiding his face as Will sits upright, chest heaving.

Pacing in short laps before them, Jack shakes his head from side to side. “Women,” he grits out. “Honestly, th’ things they get into those heads o’ theirs."

“Jack,” Will pants, running a hand through his mussed curls, “this is really not a good time.” James mutters darkly under his breath.

“Ye’d think with all their talk about feelings an’ faithfulness of heart that they’d appreciate an honest answer to one o’ their infernal questions.”

Will heaves a great sigh, which does interesting things to the muscles of his back. “What did you say to Elizabeth, Jack?”

The captain shoots him a look through bleary eyes. “How d’you know it was her, eh?”

“Because had it been Anamaria you offended, we’d be able to see the marks,” James pipes up. The urgency of the need causing him to rush Will into the cabin is fading, but he is still highly annoyed at being interrupted.

Jack flings his arms out to either side. “I din’t say a damn thing wrong!” he shouts indignantly. “All I said – and this after she’d specifically asked me opinion – was that I don’t care fer that bolt o’ cloth she bought in Port Maria. It were a nice enough dress she had made from it, sure, but ‘s a terrible orangey-pus color, like somebody’s been sick all o’er it.”

Will begins to stretch out, leaning back against James and resting his head on his hip, which puts him entirely too close to where James would like to have him if they only could get a spot of privacy. His muffled grumping noise causes Will to glance at him, quirking his mouth in sympathy and stroking a hand down his thigh. Jack is still wandering aimlessly about the small cabin, now wringing his hands with a frustrated grimace.

“O’ course Anamaria had t’ take her side, just ‘cause they like to outnumber me – e’en though I caught her makin' a face at the cloth when we were a’ market.” He stops suddenly, just as James has started to get dizzy from his nervous circling. The look he gives them is pathetically hopeful, the corners of his lips turned down in a pout. “Think I’ve been spending too much time with females bookending me. You dear boys wouldn’t mind if I were to take temporary refuge in ‘ere, would you now?”

“Yes,” James snaps, ignoring the glare Will gives him, “in fact we would mind very much.”

Will climbs to his knees and pats Jack on the arm. “It isn’t as though we don’t want to spend time with you, Jack –”

“Speak for yourself,” James mutters. Will raises his voice to a near-shout to drown him out.

“– it’s only that we were, ah, previously engaged when you came in.”

“Came barging in,” James corrects. “Without knocking.”

Jack snaps his fingers. “In the middle of a fuck, were ye?” He frowns, stroking his braided beard. “Again? Not quite sure that’s healthy, an’ comin’ from me – well, I could tell such stories –”

“Please don’t,” says Will, more kindly than James feels is strictly warranted. He tips backwards against James, though, which is enough to placate him. “I’m sure Elizabeth will accept your apology, Jack.”

“‘M not apologizing to that wench!” Jack bellows, huffing and crossing his arms over his chest. “Tried to scratch me, she did.”

“And to think, the rest of us can only dream,” James says, very quietly. Will gives him a dirty look anyway.

Jack cocks his head as he watches them, a lewd grin sneaking onto his face. “Still an’ all, I’ll leave you two t' business. Try not to tear the bolts outta the rafters again, savvy?”

“It was only once!” James says to his retreating back. He sticks his tongue out at the door.

“Fixed it myself,” says Will, flipping himself over and onto James, straddling his hips. He smiles, curling his hands around James’s shoulders and bending down to whisper huskily into his ear. “Now where were we?”

James runs his fingers along the hem of Will’s shirt and tugs it off. “About here, as I recall,” he said, gently turning Will’s head straight and capturing his reddened mouth once more.

It’s quite easy to pick up where they left off, so easy that James can almost forget Sparrow ever interrupted. His own shirt is quick to follow Will’s to the floor and he groans aloud at the sensation of skin on skin, damp with sweat and sensitive to the touch – like the paler undersides of Will’s arms, where he should be ticklish but isn’t, and the spot beneath James’s ribs that makes his stomach try to cave in whenever Will sucks at it. Will moves down, between his legs, and he’s teasing at the buttons of James’s breeches when the knock on the door gives them both pause.

“Will? James? May I come in?”

Will’s breath comes out slow and hot, his cheek pressed to James’s belly and his arse thrust into the air. “Might as well,” he calls out, his voice heavy with defeat. He straightens out like a stretching cat, tucking his head under James’s chin and sprawling halfway across him. He doesn’t look at Elizabeth as she steps into the cabin.

“Oh. Sorry,” she says, not very convincingly. “Listen, what do you think of this?” James reluctantly cracks his eyes open, arms draped leisurely over Will’s back, to peer at the gown she is brandishing. It looks, like Jack said, as though someone has been ill after a long night with a good brown ale.

“It’s awful,” says Will, “chuck it out.”

Elizabeth’s brows come together dangerously. “You didn’t even look at it.”

“I concur,” says James quickly. Will doesn’t like to be on the outs with Elizabeth, and he doesn’t like to be intimate when he’s sulking – it would ruin the whole experience of wallowing in misery. James indulges this behavior because he feels partly responsible for Will’s nostalgia for misery, seeing as how he’s miserable a good deal less these days. “The color doesn’t work with your skin tone. It wouldn’t work with anyone’s skin tone, in fact. It mocks the whole concept of skin tone and wants all skin tones to join it in vomit-hued ugliness.” Will quivers atop him and he thinks he’s perhaps laying it on a bit too thick, but an insulted Elizabeth holds no candle to Will laughing.

Anamaria comes slinking up silently, propping her chin on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Hate to agree, but th’ menfolk are actually onto somethin’ this time.

Elizabeth’s lower lip sticks out. After holding the dress up and squinting at it, however, she finally nods. “All right, I suppose I have to agree with the committee.” She screws up her face. “Does this mean I have to tell Jack he was actually right about something?”

“Never,” the other woman declares. “We’ll fashion a pillowcase outta it so it’ll haunt him forevermore.” They nod in unison. Anamaria’s eyes fall to Will and James, her mouth twisting mockingly. “‘F I were capable o’ pity, I’d be pitying them poor lads right ‘bout now.”

“Please do pity us,” says Will in despair, “and leave us be for a good five minutes. Er, ten,” he amends sheepishly as James clears his throat.

Anamaria snorts, cupping her palms over Elizabeth’s hipbones and pulling her backwards. “Both’re generous estimations.”

“Dear God on high,” Will sighs as the door clicks shut behind them, “at long last – James, where are you going?”

James has wiggled out from underneath him and flopped over the side of the cot. Ignoring Will’s outraged stammers, he rifles through the sea trunk for the broken pieces of wood they dumped there. The first two he discards, but the last hsa broken with a jagged edge. It wedges perfectly beneath the door. James thwacks it several times with the remaining slivers.

He stands and tries to open the door. It won’t budge. When he turns around, the triumphant grin on his face melts into something a bit more predatory. Will has taken the opportunity to strip off the rest of his clothing. He stretches both arms out, raising his eyebrows and parting his legs invitingly.

James collapses onto the bunk again. “That should hold them off for awhile.”

“Of course, we’re now trapped in here,” Will replies, wrapping long limbs around him.

“I suppose we’ll just have to think of some way to entertain ourselves until we’re rescued, then.”

“Yes,” says Will, almost blandly, “I suppose we will.”

For a few minutes the air is filled with the sounds of sliding flesh, creaking chains, and soft moans. Then James speaks again, his voice strained.

“Will – oh – ahhhhh...”

“Yes, my love?”

“Are – are you quite sure we brought the oil back in after last night’s watch?”

“...Damn.”