A Pleasant Holliday?
folder
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › Slash - Male/Male › Sparrington
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
26
Views:
5,884
Reviews:
61
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › Slash - Male/Male › Sparrington
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
26
Views:
5,884
Reviews:
61
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 9 - The Deadly Dance
A Pleasant Holiday – by Hellborne
Pirates of the Caribbean – Slash: Norrington/Jack, Will/Norrington/Jack, Will/Jack, Elizabeth/Anamaria (implied).
NC-17
Copyright: Characters, not mine, see the mouse. Story, mine, but I make no money. He does, but not on this.
Typing convention: / and * are used for thoughts. * is used for COMMODORE Norrington exclusively, and / is used for the softer James Norrington and for everyone else. Don’t ask…just read and you’ll understand.
Beta: Now beta’d by my most perfect and wonderful Pendragginink! Hail to thee, oh modest and humble goddess of betadom!
Summary: Commodore Norrington is on holiday, and finds that Jack Sparrow has gotten himself in trouble again. Torture, Violence, Lemon, Slash, Angst.
NOTE: I'm a Review Whore and a Fire Eater, so bring on the reviews and flames! I have a pet muse and a pet demon, so if you don’t review I’ll sick my demon on you…
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - *
Chapter 9 – The Deadly Dance
Will stretched, a quick spasm traveling through his body as he came to. He shook it off and looked at the pirate next to him gorging himself on lunch and grinning like a fox.
Jack looked at him over a turkey leg. “Why did it take so long to learn it? I’ve tried to teach ye to turn off yer mind t’pain for nigh on four months before I was abducted.”
“You never tried it that way before. And I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘pain.’ You always had me concentrate on my own. This time you gave me something else to put my mind on.”
Jack grinned. “Good readin’, too. And torture comes in many flavors, whelp. Now if ye can learn that technique without the book ye’ll be fairly immune t’torture.”
Will looked at Jack’s grin, smiling. “Your crowns match.”
“Eh?”
“Your crowns. They didn’t match before. You’d gotten them at different times throughout your life.”
“Aye?”
“These were all put in at the same time. They all match. Same color of gold as each other.”
“Well, I guess the slavers did me a favor then. I’d always wished that they matched. Make it look like I were rich.” He grinned wide, showing as many crowns as possible.
“They’ll take some getting used to.”
“Ah, my bonnie blacksmith. Are ye jealous, lad, that the Commodore didn’t bring the job to you? I woke up with these, so I don’t think he knew where ye were at the time.”
“No, I’m not jealous. It would have been terrible for me to make them, as I’d have to see you without them and I don’t know if I could bare that.”
Jack smiled gently. “Didn’t think o’that, love.” He gestured at the food tray with his turkey leg. “Have some lunch.” There was at least enough for one person out of the tray for four that he’d brought in. Will laughed and picked up a pear. Jack looked at him, eyes twinkling. “An’ I’d close up yer breeches if I were you.”
* - * - *
When Norrington arrived back at his quarters, he found Jack in the parlor, dancing with Will. It was an odd dance with no music. They weren’t touching, or even facing each other, being about three feet apart. The steps were smooth, and looked just a little like a cross between ballet and slow motion boxing, but their fists were not clenched. Their eyes were closed, a look of contentment and peace on their faces. He silently watched them, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The two of them moved identically, even though they could not see each other. They almost appeared to be puppets guided by a supreme puppet master with but a single set of rigging to control them.
He kept watching them from just inside the door, not wanting to disturb the harmony between them. He was amazed that Jack was able to do the movements at all, as they required enough strength to keep his arms out in mid air for reasonably long periods of time. Soon, however, the pirate opened his eyes, moving forward to the couch to fairly collapse, while Will continued as if nothing had happened. As he looked up, he saw James and gave him a melancholy smile. “Half a circuit. I usually do two circuits every morning and every evening, and I tired after half a circuit.”
“What?” James looked at Will and back at Jack. “I’ve never seen such dancing as that. What was it you were doing? What is Will doing?”
Jack grinned. “Tha’s not dancing, love. It’s Te Chi. Learned it in the Orient many years ago. Taught it to young William shortly after he joined me. It clears the mind for the day’s events and for the night’s rest.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s deadly.”
“What?”
“Ye see, love, the movements are slow, trainin’ the muscles. If ye’re ever attacked, the muscles do what they know best, and Robert’s yer uncle, Fanny’s yer aunt, your attacker is on the ground, possibly dead, before ye even know ye did anything to them. Here. Will probably doesn’t even realize yer there. Try to hit him. Go on. Give it yer best shot.”
Commodore James Norrington had been boxing since the age of seven, and knew that he was very good at it. He looked at Will, who was still dancing, his eyes closed. /I’ll try not to hurt him too much./ He took off his jacket and hung it on the peg next to the door, removed his hat and wig and put them down as well. He then got into his boxing stance behind Will, looked quizzically at Jack, who tipped his head toward Will, and shrugged. He threw a beautiful right cross into Will’s jaw, which followed the punch around, his body twisting around gracefully and instantaneously.
Will helped James, hacking and coughing, to a sitting position. James couldn’t figure out why he was on the floor, nor why he was having trouble breathing. Jack was watching him, eyes full of mirth, grinning and laughing. “So, young William. Do you remember what happened?”
Will considered it. “In a way, I suppose, but not really. I remember my thoughts being interrupted and a slight pain in my jaw, but nothing other than that till I noticed James on the ground and you giggling. What happened?”
“Good. How’s your jaw feel now?”
“Fine.”
Jack turned to James again. “How’s yer midsection, James?”
James wheezed and coughed. “I thought I was good at boxing.” He coughed again, getting his breath finally. “I’ve been hit in the midsection more times than I can remember and ignored it. I don’t even remember him hitting me!”
Jack sniggered. “T’top that off, love, he hit you with but two fingers.”
James looked at him in amazement. “You simply MUST teach me.”
“Not a chance, love. Y’see, you’ll have all yer redcoats doin’ it in no time, ‘n’ then what kind of defense will a good, honest, pirate have comin’ up against them, eh?”
“I thought you said that it could kill?”
“It can. Will only mastered it today, truth to tell. I don’t know why he couldn’t figure it out before, but he never could get the concentration right before. But thanks to your poetry, love, he’s got it perfect now.”
“My…poetry?” Norrington started blushing.
“Jack got up slowly and walked to the bookcase, selecting the book of poetry. “Personally, I would compare your work favorably to Lord Wilmot, James. You have a great deal of talent, and I think ye’re wastin’ it in the Navy.”
James stared, doing fish imitations, at his book of poetry in Jack’s hand. He considered lying, but Jack was too sure it was his. He dropped his eyes, blushing. “I am afraid that you have discovered my weakness. I write poetry in order that I do not burst with emotion.”
“Aye, James. I do indeed understand. Yer a right passionate man, and I’ll swear t’that. I always wondered how it was that you were apparently born with that stick up yer arse.” Norrington fidgeted a bit. “Aye, Commodore. Ye could never allow the men or the admiralty know yer heart, so ye write yer poems to give ye some release in private. James, would you mind copyin’ or allowin’ me to copy your poems? I can’t bear to leave such beauty out of me own collection, but I’ve no mind to take them away from yours.”
James swore that he would never be surprised by Jack Sparrow’s ability to read people’s hearts agin. “You are right, Jack. Am I that bad? You’ve said it before, about my being a bit ‘stiff.’”
“No, Commodore. I.SAID…Ye.had.a.stick.up.your.arse. If you had merely been ‘stiff,’, I would ha’e thought ye might be ill at ease with yer job. YOU are so far beyond that tha’ I would no’ be surprised that half the fort would keel over dead were ye to ask one of ‘em how the wife and children were doin’!” Jack took the book and walked carefully back to the couch and sat down, putting the book beside him.
James stood there for a moment and seemed to come to a decision. “Jack, I shall copy the book for you myself if you show me what you know of hand-to-hand combat. Not lessons, but just show it to me. What I saw was beautiful, and I would hasten to see more.”
Jack thought about it. “All right, James. When I’m feelin’ up to it, I’ll give you a good show of how I can fight, and in return, you will copy yer book for me. Do we have an accord?” He held out his hand.
“Yes, I believe we do.” James took his hand and shook it, smiling.
James looked curiously at the pirate. “Jack, you have so much knowledge; so much wisdom. How is it that you chose to be a pirate?”
Jack suddenly became serious, his shoulders drooping slightly. “James, ye’ll learn this yerself eventually, I think, but a man does not CHOOSE to be a pirate. It chooses HIM.”
* - * - *
TBC
A/N: Did you know that the *ONLY* payment that fanfiction writers ever see is the review that someone gives their work? While it would be great to get paid for this, it's a labor of love...and it gives a writer warm fuzzies to go on when someone appreciates (or hates) their work enough to comment on it. I *LOVE* warm fuzzies...Now please feed the plot bunnies by hitting the "REVIEW" button!!!
Pirates of the Caribbean – Slash: Norrington/Jack, Will/Norrington/Jack, Will/Jack, Elizabeth/Anamaria (implied).
NC-17
Copyright: Characters, not mine, see the mouse. Story, mine, but I make no money. He does, but not on this.
Typing convention: / and * are used for thoughts. * is used for COMMODORE Norrington exclusively, and / is used for the softer James Norrington and for everyone else. Don’t ask…just read and you’ll understand.
Beta: Now beta’d by my most perfect and wonderful Pendragginink! Hail to thee, oh modest and humble goddess of betadom!
Summary: Commodore Norrington is on holiday, and finds that Jack Sparrow has gotten himself in trouble again. Torture, Violence, Lemon, Slash, Angst.
NOTE: I'm a Review Whore and a Fire Eater, so bring on the reviews and flames! I have a pet muse and a pet demon, so if you don’t review I’ll sick my demon on you…
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - *
Chapter 9 – The Deadly Dance
Will stretched, a quick spasm traveling through his body as he came to. He shook it off and looked at the pirate next to him gorging himself on lunch and grinning like a fox.
Jack looked at him over a turkey leg. “Why did it take so long to learn it? I’ve tried to teach ye to turn off yer mind t’pain for nigh on four months before I was abducted.”
“You never tried it that way before. And I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘pain.’ You always had me concentrate on my own. This time you gave me something else to put my mind on.”
Jack grinned. “Good readin’, too. And torture comes in many flavors, whelp. Now if ye can learn that technique without the book ye’ll be fairly immune t’torture.”
Will looked at Jack’s grin, smiling. “Your crowns match.”
“Eh?”
“Your crowns. They didn’t match before. You’d gotten them at different times throughout your life.”
“Aye?”
“These were all put in at the same time. They all match. Same color of gold as each other.”
“Well, I guess the slavers did me a favor then. I’d always wished that they matched. Make it look like I were rich.” He grinned wide, showing as many crowns as possible.
“They’ll take some getting used to.”
“Ah, my bonnie blacksmith. Are ye jealous, lad, that the Commodore didn’t bring the job to you? I woke up with these, so I don’t think he knew where ye were at the time.”
“No, I’m not jealous. It would have been terrible for me to make them, as I’d have to see you without them and I don’t know if I could bare that.”
Jack smiled gently. “Didn’t think o’that, love.” He gestured at the food tray with his turkey leg. “Have some lunch.” There was at least enough for one person out of the tray for four that he’d brought in. Will laughed and picked up a pear. Jack looked at him, eyes twinkling. “An’ I’d close up yer breeches if I were you.”
* - * - *
When Norrington arrived back at his quarters, he found Jack in the parlor, dancing with Will. It was an odd dance with no music. They weren’t touching, or even facing each other, being about three feet apart. The steps were smooth, and looked just a little like a cross between ballet and slow motion boxing, but their fists were not clenched. Their eyes were closed, a look of contentment and peace on their faces. He silently watched them, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The two of them moved identically, even though they could not see each other. They almost appeared to be puppets guided by a supreme puppet master with but a single set of rigging to control them.
He kept watching them from just inside the door, not wanting to disturb the harmony between them. He was amazed that Jack was able to do the movements at all, as they required enough strength to keep his arms out in mid air for reasonably long periods of time. Soon, however, the pirate opened his eyes, moving forward to the couch to fairly collapse, while Will continued as if nothing had happened. As he looked up, he saw James and gave him a melancholy smile. “Half a circuit. I usually do two circuits every morning and every evening, and I tired after half a circuit.”
“What?” James looked at Will and back at Jack. “I’ve never seen such dancing as that. What was it you were doing? What is Will doing?”
Jack grinned. “Tha’s not dancing, love. It’s Te Chi. Learned it in the Orient many years ago. Taught it to young William shortly after he joined me. It clears the mind for the day’s events and for the night’s rest.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s deadly.”
“What?”
“Ye see, love, the movements are slow, trainin’ the muscles. If ye’re ever attacked, the muscles do what they know best, and Robert’s yer uncle, Fanny’s yer aunt, your attacker is on the ground, possibly dead, before ye even know ye did anything to them. Here. Will probably doesn’t even realize yer there. Try to hit him. Go on. Give it yer best shot.”
Commodore James Norrington had been boxing since the age of seven, and knew that he was very good at it. He looked at Will, who was still dancing, his eyes closed. /I’ll try not to hurt him too much./ He took off his jacket and hung it on the peg next to the door, removed his hat and wig and put them down as well. He then got into his boxing stance behind Will, looked quizzically at Jack, who tipped his head toward Will, and shrugged. He threw a beautiful right cross into Will’s jaw, which followed the punch around, his body twisting around gracefully and instantaneously.
Will helped James, hacking and coughing, to a sitting position. James couldn’t figure out why he was on the floor, nor why he was having trouble breathing. Jack was watching him, eyes full of mirth, grinning and laughing. “So, young William. Do you remember what happened?”
Will considered it. “In a way, I suppose, but not really. I remember my thoughts being interrupted and a slight pain in my jaw, but nothing other than that till I noticed James on the ground and you giggling. What happened?”
“Good. How’s your jaw feel now?”
“Fine.”
Jack turned to James again. “How’s yer midsection, James?”
James wheezed and coughed. “I thought I was good at boxing.” He coughed again, getting his breath finally. “I’ve been hit in the midsection more times than I can remember and ignored it. I don’t even remember him hitting me!”
Jack sniggered. “T’top that off, love, he hit you with but two fingers.”
James looked at him in amazement. “You simply MUST teach me.”
“Not a chance, love. Y’see, you’ll have all yer redcoats doin’ it in no time, ‘n’ then what kind of defense will a good, honest, pirate have comin’ up against them, eh?”
“I thought you said that it could kill?”
“It can. Will only mastered it today, truth to tell. I don’t know why he couldn’t figure it out before, but he never could get the concentration right before. But thanks to your poetry, love, he’s got it perfect now.”
“My…poetry?” Norrington started blushing.
“Jack got up slowly and walked to the bookcase, selecting the book of poetry. “Personally, I would compare your work favorably to Lord Wilmot, James. You have a great deal of talent, and I think ye’re wastin’ it in the Navy.”
James stared, doing fish imitations, at his book of poetry in Jack’s hand. He considered lying, but Jack was too sure it was his. He dropped his eyes, blushing. “I am afraid that you have discovered my weakness. I write poetry in order that I do not burst with emotion.”
“Aye, James. I do indeed understand. Yer a right passionate man, and I’ll swear t’that. I always wondered how it was that you were apparently born with that stick up yer arse.” Norrington fidgeted a bit. “Aye, Commodore. Ye could never allow the men or the admiralty know yer heart, so ye write yer poems to give ye some release in private. James, would you mind copyin’ or allowin’ me to copy your poems? I can’t bear to leave such beauty out of me own collection, but I’ve no mind to take them away from yours.”
James swore that he would never be surprised by Jack Sparrow’s ability to read people’s hearts agin. “You are right, Jack. Am I that bad? You’ve said it before, about my being a bit ‘stiff.’”
“No, Commodore. I.SAID…Ye.had.a.stick.up.your.arse. If you had merely been ‘stiff,’, I would ha’e thought ye might be ill at ease with yer job. YOU are so far beyond that tha’ I would no’ be surprised that half the fort would keel over dead were ye to ask one of ‘em how the wife and children were doin’!” Jack took the book and walked carefully back to the couch and sat down, putting the book beside him.
James stood there for a moment and seemed to come to a decision. “Jack, I shall copy the book for you myself if you show me what you know of hand-to-hand combat. Not lessons, but just show it to me. What I saw was beautiful, and I would hasten to see more.”
Jack thought about it. “All right, James. When I’m feelin’ up to it, I’ll give you a good show of how I can fight, and in return, you will copy yer book for me. Do we have an accord?” He held out his hand.
“Yes, I believe we do.” James took his hand and shook it, smiling.
James looked curiously at the pirate. “Jack, you have so much knowledge; so much wisdom. How is it that you chose to be a pirate?”
Jack suddenly became serious, his shoulders drooping slightly. “James, ye’ll learn this yerself eventually, I think, but a man does not CHOOSE to be a pirate. It chooses HIM.”
* - * - *
TBC
A/N: Did you know that the *ONLY* payment that fanfiction writers ever see is the review that someone gives their work? While it would be great to get paid for this, it's a labor of love...and it gives a writer warm fuzzies to go on when someone appreciates (or hates) their work enough to comment on it. I *LOVE* warm fuzzies...Now please feed the plot bunnies by hitting the "REVIEW" button!!!