the Dalaverse

Seeing "Master and Commander: the Far Side of the World" (about which I may or may not post a review later) made me crave Aubrey/Maturin fic, but it made me want to write Norrington slash. So...I have. I give you this, my first PotC fic (and probably the last, too). I very much need to see the movie again to clear up certain aspects. Also, this is a scene from the middle of the fic. Plot is: Captain Jack Sparrow's crew brings him to Will and Elizabeth in Port Royale to recover from a serious illness. They hide him for awhile, but Norrington finds him and agrees to hide him in his own household because the Turners, with Will working round-the-clock commissions and Elizabeth pregnant, are rather busy. Norrington ends up having to care for Jack, and...stuff happens. I know, I know, it's cheesy, but it's what I want to write.

I had idea idea how much I would love writing Norrington. I mean, Jack's a hoot and all, but Norrington pinged for me the second I attempted to get into his head. I can't wait to see the movie again, because I've kind of forgotten what he looks like, heh.

I'll get to see it FOUR TIMES this weekend on the (semi-)big screen, making it the movie I've seen the most times in the theater, at six viewings. Finally, finally the crown is snatched away from "Titanic." I know the little St. Mary's theater doesn't really count, but as long as I'm not watching the DVD on a computer or a player, it counts as theater viewing.

Anyway, without further ado, the fic.

(no title yet, but as I got to the end I was inspired by U2's "Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses" so that will probably factor in somehow)

(oh yes, and Norrington's first name is Gabriel -- I don't recall how this first popped into my head, but now that's all I can possibly see as his name)

~~~~~~~~
Norrington was awakened from a thankfully dreamless sleep by the sounds of thrashing limbs. He winced and stretched, realizing that he’d fallen asleep in the chair beside Jack’s bed, rather than his own clean, comfortable bed. Ah well, he often fell asleep at his desk, and the armchair was a mite more comfortable.

Jack groaned and vaulted onto his left side, facing Norrington. In the moonlight coming through the open window, his eyes looked sunken in his thin face. He looked up at Norrington in a haze of fever, shivering violently.

Damn. He had seemed to be much better this afternoon, but now he was twisting around in the sheets in a way that was painful to watch. Norrington got up and leaned forward, brushing a lock of dark, matted hair away from the pirate captain’s brow. His head was hot to the touch, though not as hot as it had been when he had first arrived.

"What is it, Sparrow?"

"Cold," Jack replied, his voice rising in a whine, "so cold, so cold...like icecaps..."

Norrington sighed and rearranged the blankets, trying to put off for as long as possible the only solution that seemed to work when Jack took these chills. The other man tossed around again until his back was to Norrington, knees drawn up to his chest until he was a small shaking ball, mumbling piteously about the cold under his breath.

At this point Norrington couldn’t take it any longer; he drew the covers aside. Jack didn’t react as Norrington slid in beside him and took him in steady arms.

"There now," he whispered in an attempt to soothe Jack’s whimpering, drawing Jack back against his chest, "is that better?" It was stiflingly hot, but Norrington ignored it, vigorously rubbing his hand up and down Jack’s arm.

"Mmmm," Jack replied sleepily. His body began to relax, muscles unclenching as he let his legs fall back alongside Norrington’s. "Warm." He turned to face his makeshift bedwarmer, shifting so that he was lying comfortably in the circle of Norrington’s arms, burying his face in Norrington’s neck. He yawned. Norrington, feeling decidedly sleepy himself, stroked his hands idly down Jack’s back. Strange -- his body was cool, not nearly as warm as his face.

"Warm," Jack repeated softly, letting his fingers come to rest on Norrington’s hip. It was just then that Norrington realized that Jack had thrown a leg over him, and it was as this thought was exploding in his brain that Jack kissed him.

For a moment all Norrington felt was shock. Then he was aware of Jack’s tongue pushing his lips apart, and one arm going round his waist while the other gripped the back of his head. The southbound hand found its way to his backside and squeezed gently, making Norrington start, but other than that he could not move.

Finally notions of protest began to make their way into his paralyzed brain; he pushed against Jack’s body, but this only caused Jack to hold on tighter, bucking his hips as his nails dug into Norrington’s flesh. And within that thrust the extent of Jack’s desire was brought to Norrington’s knowledge, striking him dumb once again, this time with wonder. Jack moved against him again, his erection pressing between Norrington’s legs in a type of pleasure that Norrington had left behind long ago. Half-memories swam to the surface of his thoughts, schoolboy moments of stolen bliss he had spent years repressing. With them came the memories of discovery and punishment, provoking an aversion strong enough that he tried to imagine Jack -- on top of him by now, effectively pinning him to the mattress -- as a woman. He was certainly slight enough, but in all the places where their bodies touched he knew better: Jack’s cock against his own, the hard, flat planes of his chest, his mustache scraping against Norrington’s cheek as Jack plundered his mouth...

Norrington knew that he had the upper hand in this situation. Jack had been ill and Norrington outweighed him by a great deal. It would take the smallest of efforts to shove Jack over, off the bed if he so chose. Instead he took notice of Jack’s mouth on his own. Experimentally he pressed his tongue against Jack’s; with a small murmur of encouragement Jack lent him courage, and he began to explore. He came into contact with Jack’s gold and silver teeth, discovering that they were the source of the exotic tang he detected. It was a taste that he felt should have been unpleasant, but in reality was far from it. He ran his hands under Jack’s nightshirt and up, feeling the multitude of scars he had so far only witnessed. Norrington touched them gently; sight had not prepared him for the way Jack’s skin puckered into little ridges and crevasses, a landscape under his fingertips, as warm as if the sun had been beating down upon it.

Jack’s lips left Norrington’s own to trace his jawline back to his ear, which received a light nip. Norrington heard a sharp cry but did not register it as his own. As Jack nibbled resolutely at Norrington’s neck, he clawed at the Norrington’s trousers with one hand and flung the blankets off with the other.

The sudden flood of cold air evoked winter at Oxford -- Norrington’s slim adolescent hands shaking as they negotiated laces and buttons at the waist of a red-haired boy -- the wine cellar -- Jack tugged at Norrington’s belt and he remembered the belt of his father and its steel buckle --

He came out of Jack’s spell and scrambled out of the bed, not caring if Jack fell.

Jack sighed in irritation and reclined, nightshirt pulled indecently up to his thighs. Norrington felt his gaze pulled there and looked forcefully away.

"I knew it," Jack told the ceiling lazily.

Norrington could do nothing but stare at him in incredulity. "Knew what?"

"About you," he replied, turning his head and fixing Norrington with a cocky grin. "Knew it the minute I saw you, what you wanted, what you are --"

"Sh-shut up," Norrington said, appalled to find himself stuttering, something he hadn’t done since he was eight. He waited until his voice was under its normal state of control before he spoke again. Jack just lay back with that slow infuriating smile on his face, watching him like he was prey.

"You’re wrong, Sparrow, and you’re sick," he finally ground out between clenched teeth.

"Actually," said Jack, rubbing his chin reflectively and deliberately misinterpreting, "I think I may be on the mend. Had to nearly suffocate myself under the pillows to get my face hot so you’d crawl in with me. Not that you needed much prompting." He smirked and looked Norrington up and down suggestively. Norrington discovered that he had backed up into the chair. He sank down onto it, pressing the heels of his into his closed eyes.

Immediately he could feel Jack’s warm breath against his skin as the other man came close.

"You’re shaking, Gabriel."

"Don’t," he whispered without looking at Jack. Whether he meant "don’t call me that" or "don’t touch me," he wasn’t sure. Jack had no idea what he had done -- what he was still trying to do. Cool fingers lifted Norrington’s hands away from his face and laid them at his side. Norrington looked down at the floor, Jack’s legs as he knelt on the bed at the edge of his vision.

"Look at me," Jack said, his voice strangely gentle. He cupped Norrington’s cheek in one hand, but removed it when Norrington flinched away. "Let me help you --"

Norrington shook his head. "No, Jack." His voice was firm. It was the first time Norrington had ever addressed him like that -- as a friend -- and they both knew it. "Please." He could hear the desperation in his own voice and he was ashamed, but not nearly as much as he knew he would be if he accepted Jack’s proposal.

Out of the corner of his eye, Norrington saw Jack sit back on his heels, seeming to consider.

After a moment he said, "All right, then." Lulled by the even tone of his voice, Norrington made the mistake of meeting Jack’s eyes. They were black and snapping with anger and passion. "I’ll leave you alone.

"But you remember this, Commodore," Jack continued, sounding vaguely threatening, his palms resting on his thighs. "We are who we are. You can’t remove the way you love from your blood any more than I can remove the seawater from mine. I’ve tried to leave the sea behind, lad -- believe that if you believe nothing else. It won’t do. It would kill me, as this’ll kill you too, slowly, if you let it."

"You are fond of self-indulgent speeches," said Norrington coolly, getting to his feet. "Get some rest or your fever will return."

With a long-suffering sigh Jack fell back onto the pillows. "Your wish is my command, sir."

Norrington was at the door when he paused. There was something he had to ask, now that he knew what he knew, and knew it for certain.

"Captain Sparrow."

"Commodore Norrington."

"Did you -- the blacksmith boy -- were the pair of you..."

"No," he responded flatly. "I loved his father. I wouldn’t’ve."

Norrington nodded and left the room, collapsing onto his own bed. He slept and dreamt of long black hair threaded with beads, and of saltwater kisses.
~~~~~~~~

That's all I've got so far. It needs a strong beta badly, but I'm damn happy with it.