Baksheesh

by elessil, Hippediva

Summary:

A young James Norrington has shore leave. Set about 17 years prior to canon. The word "baksheesh" means boon, gratuity.

Current mood:	artistic
Current music:	Silence is Golden

FIC: Baksheesh
TITLE: Baksheesh
AUTHORS: elessil and hippediva
DISCLAIMER: The Rodent Empire owns 'em. We've commandeered them (nautical term)
PAIRING: Norrington/OFC?; Sparrington
RATING: X

SUMMARY: A young James Norrington has shore leave. Set about 17 years prior to canon. The word "baksheesh" means boon, gratuity.

The sun had already set when the Defiant put into port. Algeria. Even in night's darkness, the docks were filled with bright colours, some children and citizens assembling to watch the majestic ship sail into the harbour.

When the freshly minted Lieutenant James Norrington set foot on the gangplank, he drew in a sharp breath. The docks positively reeked; of dead fish that had been lying in the sun for too long, of sharp spices and perfumes, of things he decided not to examine too closely. He wrinkled his nose, quickly passing by several outstretched hands that grabbed at him, at his uniform. There was not much they could steal from him. Most of his money he had spent on his new, pristine Lieutenant's uniform whose brocade was stiff with his pride. He had served as acting Lieutenant for seven months before, but now he had passed his exam and truly wore his rank.

They had set sail the day after, patrolling the Barbary coastlines in a stifling routine mission of nearly six weeks. The Defiant had been escorting the East India Company's trade vessels, and no brigand had dared to attack the proud ship of the line. They had been on constant alarm, but nothing had occurred, which left James with all the built-up tension of an expected fight which had never come. His mood was restless for this long-desired shore leave in which he could celebrate his promotion, alone. With his 18 years, the other Lieutenants considered him too young for this responsibility, and to his former Midshipmen colleagues he had suddenly become a strict and feared superior.

Impatiently, he made his ways through the masses into the narrow alleys of the port, searching for a tavern that suited his mood. The pouch with the meagre remains of his last prize money was safe from grasping hands, firmly attached to his belt.

When he pushed open the door of a tavern called the "Black Tide", the sound of drunken laughter and brawls greeted him. It reeked even worse than the docks, but it was one of the establishments his Captain had suggested to his officers, one that was catering to the English sailors, serving the liquor they desired even against their local law, as long as the amount of coin was right. If James did not celebrate with other officers, he would not forgo his drinks as well.

He made his way to a secluded table in one of the darker, shoddy corners, where a barmaid took notice of him. He ordered a tankard of rum and ignored her winks and the fleeting touches as she brought it, merely paid and drank deeply. He definitely was in the mood for company tonight, he mused, but neither her heaving bosom nor her painted face and her faked smile had caught his fancy.

So he drank quickly, with an almost grim determination, and when she passed by again, ordered a bottle rather than another tankard.

If no one would drink with him, then he would have to do his best on his own. Over the course of nearly an hour, the bottle diminished, and when he rose to his feet, the better part of it was gone. The burn down his throat had done nothing to quench the burning restlessness inside him. Still, he remained steady on his feet, only his head mildly whirling as he passed through the tavern with sharp, measured steps, the night already pitch dark as he walked out and stretched.

Outside of the tavern, a few lanterns swayed in the sea breeze tiredly, their lights low and guttering. The docks were far from empty, and this side of them, frequented by foreign sailors, remained busy most nights. To be sure, there was always the threat of the Sultan's laws, but Algiers was first and foremost a den of opportunity and the Barbary Corsairs weren't above flouting any law if it meant profit. It was muggy-hot, sticky and stinking of bilge and rotting fruit. And sandalwood, pouring from a brazier in front of a one-eyed man, cackling to himself as he offered his incense to any who passed him. There were sounds in every dark corner; soft laughter, moans, sometimes a low cry. The new lieutenant's gold braid gleamed in the dim light. There was a soft shuffle, then a small hand was thrust under his nose, fingers grimy and jewelled, henna black-red on the palm. "Baksheesh?" a low voice behind him to the right murmured.

Then there were eyes, huge and dark, ringed in smoke. Almost a head shorter than the Englishman, they floated like black moons above a thin tunic of flame-coloured silk that fluttered like a drooping sheet.

Taken by surprise, James pulled his head back sharply, and then turned on his heel, staring at what had to be one of the local women. Golden skin, gleaming against the silken tunic, dark hair and darker eyes, lit with a strange fire that seemed to resonate in James' gut. A fine-boned face was hidden beneath the braided hair, red silk covering the lithe body. "What do you want?"

The lips quirked into a gold-toothed smile. "Ahhh...a drink?" The eyes were dancing, light refracting off the bracelets on the slender wrists. The tunic sleeve flapped faintly as the outstretched hand moved in an oddly graceful gesture of pleading, like a bird frightened from a branch, then easing into flight.

Without hesitation, James pressed his bottle into the slim fingers. He had already had quite enough, in any case. The hands were as filthy as the whole port seemed to be, but strangely, this time, it did not disturb him. He was used to tar and dirt aboard a ship, and a brief touch of the calloused fingers to his sent shivers through him. His teeth bared into one of his quick grins, and had he seen it, he would have called it predatory.

The braids and tangles of thick hair tumbled as the bottle tipped back. "Thank you." That smile flashed, the fingers weaving invisible webs in the air. "Fine uniform. You...want?"

The dim light caught in sloshing amber liquid and golden teeth, thrown back at James from this surprising exhibition of a certain wealth. If his own interest was any indication, her trade was going well enough. "Perhaps. What are you offering that you think I could want?" Better to be certain. It would not do if he simply fell for the trick of a very ambitious pick-pocket.

A slow wink, long lashes dragging down over gleaming eyes, and one hand stole from under the cover of its scarlet sleeve to barely brush against his breeches, then disappeared as quickly. "Wotever ya like, luv." The smile was inviting enough, despite the savage teeth against dark skin. God only knew, the local women were a brutish crew, hardly fit for any decent man, but at least this one wasn't babbling in her foreign cant.

His breath drawn out in a sharp hiss, James had to suppress the shiver running down his spine. This was positively mad, burning like rum and twice as inebriating, but he was beyond caring, slightly drunk, reckless and painfully aroused. He shifted his stance and eyed her coolly. "How much?"

A shrug. "Cross my palm with silver once." The hand was held out, dark eyes anything but coy. "You got a room or here?" There was a challenge in the expression, almost amusement that seemed out of character. Most whores wheedled or bargained, playing at flirtation as a sop to a customer's conscience. This one was bold as brass.

The coins clanked as James lifted a good part of the meagre contents from his pouch into his hand, letting the light catch on them before he stowed them away once more. He might be rash, but he was not stupid enough to pay in advance. "A room." He could not afford soiling his new and expensive uniform by dallying with a whore in a dirtied dockside alley. Only a few yards away, there was one of the many inns, filthy on the outside, but hopefully cheap and at least somewhat clean. "Follow me."

The slight figure fell in step behind him, jingling faintly. When they reached an establishment that the Navyman thought appropriate, a gold-bordered veil was draped over the face, leaving nothing but black eyes, smudged in antimony, that watched from a shadowy corner before ascending the stairs.

They creaked with every step, and James feared the door would fall from its hinges, so much did it protest against opening, but there was a window overlooking the docks and the bed at least did not attempt to crawl away.

His breath had accelerated, sharply aware of any sound in the dim room. Pinioning his companion against the door, he withdrew the veil and brought his lips against the exposed throat. Moaning, he brought one hand up to tangle in thick hair, the other stroked up from lean waist, over the protruding hipbones, when, instead of soft breasts, his fingers found hard pectorals. He froze and drew away. "You are no woman!"

"Never said I was, luv." A breath of laughter, then a very sharp blade at his throat. "An' if yer disappointed, don't try t'take it out on me." The knife disappeared back to wherever it had been hiding under the scarlet silk, one arm still wound around his neck. The light was enough to make the features out better than in the street: long throat arching from the rounded collar, the face remarkable.

For a moment, James merely stared, painfully aware that the man, whoever he was, could have killed him before he even noticed. He had been so certain, mainly because he had not expected to be approached by a man. Yet, the painted dark eyes, the fine cheekbones and the elegant bow of red lips still held the same allure, even now, even knowing.

Even knowing that he could hang for this. In truth, that merely added to his excitement. He was not blind, nor deaf. He knew what men did with one another belowdecks once night and silence fell.

Curiosity as to what they risked their lives for got the better of him and he reached a decision. "And I never said I was disappointed," he hissed and renewed his touch, firmly gliding up the planes of muscle.

The slender body relaxed against him, hands wound in the hair that strayed from under his wig. "Oh good. Then let's make you a bit more comfortable, eh?" The fingers danced up the elaborate braid admiringly. "Must be such a brave 'un, ain't ya?" The lips teased along his jawline and it was only when the creature was suddenly shorter that James realised he'd been standing on his toes. He unwound the veil from his shoulders, and opened a few buttons of the brocade waistcoat.

"I will have you know, my name is James." The uniform suddenly seemed even more stifling, far too hot and heavy. Wrenching himself away from the tight embrace, James untied his cravat, and took a moment to smooth it carefully before draping it over the back of the single chair, then unpinned his wig and set it down. The last buttons of coat and waistcoat followed urgently.

Clad only in his shirt and breeches, he turned, his companion right behind him, and finally he could no longer resist the long stretch of golden skin, biting down at the side of his throat. "And what is yours?" His breath was hot against the arched neck.

Another soft laugh in his ear and long, clever fingers worked at the collar of his shirt. "Oh, wotever ya like, luv. Or just Jack. Don't matter t'me." Jack's dark eyes stole a glance down at the shoes. Damnation. No boots. And they'd be too big anyway. The lieutenant was a sight bigger than he by far.

"Jack" wheeled away from James and checked the washbasin with one finger, wrinkled his nose and held up one hand. "Let me take care o'this." He wound the veil around his head once more and disappeared out the door, returning some minutes later with a fresh basin and towel. "Now, let's get you nice and relaxed." He let the veil flutter to the ground and, for the first time, James could see he was barefoot, his ankles chiming with geegaws that glinted in the light. He set the basin on the floor and knelt down beside it. "Go on and sit down, luv."

James' mouth opened for a second to insist that, since he was the one paying here, he should issue the orders, yet, the first hint of cleanliness in this port intrigued him and so he complied, settling back as comfortably as he could with his breeches protesting against the strain. "If you give me Jack as your name, I will call you by it." He shifted a little, eyes locked intensely on the figure kneeling before him.

He got another silvergilt grin as his shoes and stockings were removed and Jack proceeded to soak the towel in the water and gently washed his feet, lingering over the high instep with a smile. The breeze from the window picked up the scent of attar of roses from the water and sent it swirling around the figure in red, intoxicating and elusive.

First one foot, then the other, then Jack reached back and let the rest of his hair loose. It was absurdly long, woven into many braids and black as tar. He flipped the whole heavy mane forward over James' white feet and ran his hands up into it, drying them.

At first, James tensed at the tickling touch, but he barely noticed, captivated. This was not at all what he had expected from being with a man. He had expected need, hard and furious, not care, not this gentle, peculiar washing and drying of his feet. Not the coarse texture of hair dragged up over his heel, the barest of touches but so very stimulating. And he certainly had not, at this point, expected his thoughts to turn towards the Holy Book, to the sinner washing the Saviour's feet, and certainly not with himself in the role of the latter.

Jack sat back on his heels and reached up to unbutton the tunic. The silk slid off one shoulder and he leaned forward, pressing the barest of kisses against the bulge in James' breeches, his fingers working them open and easing them off his legs with apparent practise. He sat back again and smiled. "So, James. Wot exactly do you want?" his voice was low, hair tumbling about his face, curling where it was damp.

For a moment, James found no answer. He had hired the whore on the whim of a moment, had wanted relief and release, but knew not what exactly he wanted. Although he had never been with a man before, he was aware of the possibilities, and the sheer thought made him lick his lips.

He pulled Jack up to face him, let his hands explore the now-bared skin where before he had recoiled in surprise, dragging the calloused pad of his thumb hard over the lines of firm muscle. Then, he brought his lips again to the pectorals, slow and exploring, before he withdrew and voiced the first thought that came to his mind. "Your mouth. I want you to suck me." For a moment, his face coloured in a faint blush, but need quickly overcame his awkwardness. He was paying for this, after all.

Jack hid another smile under his hair. The young lieutenant was adorably shy. And more than adorable, even without the blush. He ran his fingers into the tousled hair and trailed kisses down the firm chest, pausing to lick delicately around his navel, then down further, lips and lashes flicking against the hard prick. He settled himself on his knees between James' long legs, his fingers grasping and pressed a kiss to the very tip of the hard shaft before taking it gently into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the head.

The cry James bit back became a long, strangled moan as he was engulfed. Knuckles white, his hands gripped the sheets tightly, and, for a moment, he was surprised he did not simply fall back onto the bed. Torn between closing his eyes tightly and staring at the dark head between his legs, James gritted his teeth to stop the embarrassing whimper that escaped. His breathing was harsh, coming in gasps, trembling as his body did with the effort of holding still. "Oh God!"

Jack's head bobbed as he picked up a rhythm, lips closing tight, then loosening as he warmed to the task, one hand braced against James' hip, the other rolling his balls gently as he let his throat open.

James was trembling, shudders running along his thighs and Jack glanced up at him, sternly suppressing another smile.

Black eyes caught green ones the moment Jack sucked him in whole and James threw his head back, squirming and spasming as he spilled himself into the accommodating heat. He shuddered, spine arched and mouth open as he greedily drew in deep breaths.

Jack continued to lap at him until James was thrashing beneath his tongue, his fingers still fondling below the softening cock. The taste was almost sweet-salt and the flush on those pale cheeks was delicious. Jack gave one last lick and sat back again, smiling. "Like that?"

He used the towel to clean James up, his hair falling forward between his thighs once more.

James laughed breathlessly. There was not much he could have articulated at the moment, but this he knew for certain. "Oh yes." He was still so very sensitive, first the towel and now the coarse hair, relentless between his legs, making him squirm. "Have mercy. For a while at least."

In no battle had he ever asked for this, but he was not certain if he could suck in enough air if Jack continued this sweet torture now.

Jack slithered to his feet, letting the silk tunic fall away. His bare chest was smooth and unmarked, arms slender and sinewed, chiming with bracelets. He let the laces of the baggy purple trousers with their funny drawn-up hems slide free and kicked them aside as he straddled James, his hair falling to shadow the pale face. "Ain't you just sweet, luv. Mercy it is, then." His lips travelled from one eyelid to the other, then retreated.

Normally James would have protested at being called sweet, but he did not. Instead he watched Jack strip with a smile on his face; instead he stared into black eyes for a while, twin darkness with the lure of a syren. Again his hands mapped the smooth skin, up along the well-defined collarbone, a curiosity to his touch as he took note of even slightest reaction.

The cool white hands were gentle and Jack let himself get lost in the sensation. Ordinarily, he would have finished their business and been on his way but he rather enjoyed the young lieutenant's passionate response, his embarrassed curiosity.

For just a moment, he spared a thought for Bill, then pushed it away and once more relaxed into James' touch. Hopefully, it wouldn't take much longer to get the money he needed to pay off the greedy wogs at the gaol. He was careful now, not to get caught stealing. Wouldn't do any good with both of them in stir. And this James was a lot prettier than most of his trade these past few weeks.

James' hands never stilled; they explored and took notice, a man's lean body at once more familiar and less known than a woman's. Sated himself, he took his time contemplating the taste of salt on his lips as he kissed lower, hard muscle instead of soft flesh beneath slick skin. He reached up to cup Jack's chin, now feeling the very faint coarseness of a beard growing there, testing the texture beneath his tongue before travelling lower, slowly mapping the enticing expanse of bared skin as he drew them both down on the bed.

Jack obligingly let himself be explored, stretching out on his back, his head turned to watch the wonder in James' face as his hands moved over skin smoother than expected. He smiled and reached out to push the chestnut hair aside so he could see those wide green eyes. "All yours, luv, for whatever ya want."

With any luck, that scant handful of coin wasn't the only thing the young man had stashed on his person. Though, he thought, it wasn't a complete failure as a night. Bill would cut his throat if he knew how he'd managed to keep his friend's right hand, but that wasn't going to happen, and Jack was tired. Being stranded here in Algiers hadn't been any kind of a picnic and just now, his main object was to get Bill out of that bleedin' prison before it got too hard to bribe the guards. He didn't speak enough of the local lingo to pass for a fisherman and Lord only knew, it weren't the first time he'd traded his body for coin or consideration.

James was too caught up in his exploration to notice anything but salt and skin, so determined was he to use the opportunity and find out all he could, to understand what he had sometimes witnessed in dark holds and to which he had turned a blind eye.

His hand had found Jack's hip, gripping tightly around the sharp bone that fit perfectly into his palm; his tongue dipped into the hollow of his navel, as Jack had done to him before, just more slowly, wonderingly.

As he crawled lower yet, he hesitated for a moment, but then let his tongue flick out against hardening flesh, wondering if he could coax a reaction similar to the one he had experienced.

Jack's fingers stroked through his hair gently. "Ya don't hafta do that, luv. I'm here fer you, y'know."

The tentative lips were soft, inexperienced and felt very good, nonetheless, and Jack moaned softly at the hot wet of James' tongue against his prick. He smiled again, and propped himself up on his elbows to watch James with unreadable eyes.

Through the curtain of his hair, already grown long since he had last had it shorn, James glanced up, eyes almost pleading beneath long lashes. "Then let me." His fingers tightened and relaxed against Jack's hips, but he did not move, waiting instead for permission to do something for which he had not paid.

"Ye're lovely, James." Jack's voice was very soft and he was honestly touched. "Wotever ya like." He ran one hand along a cheek, tracing the strong jaw and down the pale throat, then lay back obediently. "I'm all yours."

It was only the second time that Jack had used James' name, curling around his lips, such a personal sound, which of course it was not. He was a whore, James reminded himself, someone to whom he could perhaps extend a certain care, but not more. Come morning, no one would be the wiser, and James one, albeit illegal, experience richer. "Thank you, Jack," he whispered with the barest hint of a smile, then leaned forward tentatively, first his tongue feeling its way, then his lips enveloping.

Jack moaned low in his throat at the touch, his breath quickening. He held himself still. This was clearly more than just a surprise to Lieutenant James Whoever-He-Was and Jack wasn't about to shock him with the kind of rough thrusting to which he was accustomed. His hands stroked the dark hair encouragingly. "Oh damn, that feels good." He took in a shuddery breath.

James continued, trying to remember what had taken him to the brink of ecstasy, attempting to imitate what little he consciously remembered. He took Jack as far as he could, but when he gagged, withdrew and instead gripped the base in one hand, stroking as he bobbed his head, fondling beneath with his other hand.

Jack's hair tossed back and forth across the pillow, the fingers curled around him a shock of coolness against his overheated flesh. This young man was almost unbearably sweet, his hesitant fingers exploring. Jack smiled into the darkness. "It's awright, luv. Feels wonderful." he panted.

His stained and painted hands were in James' hair, gently guiding his head, until he could feel himself pulsing, trembling on the very brink of release. "Sure about this, luv?" he managed to gasp, holding back until he thought his head was going to explode.

James peered up at him from under his hair, a challenging glint in the expressive green eyes that conveyed the smirk even without the aid of his lips. The hands on his head were still, did not demand anything, and that made him all the more certain. Instead of relenting, he bobbed his head down again, sucking hard.

Jack took two little breaths, then moaned long and low, his fingers tensing a little as he forced his hips still and let a wave of passion wash through him like a gale, shooting between those very insistent lips. For a long moment, he simply shuddered, surprised at himself and at James. This had been the last thing he expected from the night, but it was more than welcome. Funny how it seemed so different from his usual rounds and he almost felt a pang, wondering if it was deserved.

James swallowed as well as he could, grinning around softening flesh as he contemplated the taste. Again, salt, just slightly bitter. Did a man always and everywhere taste of the sea? Was that the reason it was not as appalling as the thought had struck him before? He reciprocated in kind, washing first with his tongue and then with the towel, although his hair was too short to use it for drying. The bed creaked as he crawled up, both of them at eyelevel now.

The dark gaze drew him in, and he was silent, once more hesitating. Then he cast restraint into the wind and knowingly brought his lips to a man's for the first time.

They were warm and wet and pliant, and it was not so different from kissing a woman, even if the taste of metal, probably from the golden teeth, filled his mouth. He drew back after a while, smiling down.

Jack simply looked up at him mutely and managed a returning grin. He'd found out right quick that few, if any, kissed a whore. A pity, since he did enjoy it so, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He pulled James closer. "Thank you." His hands wandered over the strong shoulders, feeling along the bones under the milk white skin. "You're a lovely one, you are." His lips curved into another grin.

"There's plenty more, y'know." No teasing in the dark eyes. It was all-too-obvious that James was in the throes of a first experience and he couldn't help feeling a rush of gratitude for the care and curiosity. Better that than the usual, and that was a fact.

James was perched on his elbows, buying himself time with another kiss, again, unusual, soft as he would kiss a woman, but Jack was never passive, even as he yielded beneath his lips. He withdrew, staring down, shaded by his own hair. "What more is there, then?"

"Oh luv, you are new t'this!" Jack laughed, reaching between them to fondle James as he kissed a trail along that lovely collarbone. "You can do it if ya want, y'know. Bugger me, I mean."

James breathed in sharply. A hanging offence, even more than what they had already done, yet tempting as Satan himself, and he no saint to resist. This was not something he had ever done with a woman, and the unknown held the same appeal as before. It was not as if it affected anyone but Jack, who had given him permission, and himself. "Yes. I mean, yes, I would like to do that."

Jack kissed him again, swallowing his smiles. This was too precious and completely ridiculous but then again, Jack was used to ridiculous situations. They seemed to be created just for him, like getting stranded here in the midst of the Barbary without a shilling and Bill, caught for thieving a bit of fruit. He almost laughed out loud at the delightful blush turning the young lieutenant's face crimson and stole another kiss. He did love kisses and these were dreadfully sweet.

"Hold on, luv." He uncurled from around James and dug about in those blasted native trousers until he found the sweet oil and stretched out on the bed again, admiring the lean limbs and taut muscle. His fingers were slow and languid, teasing James' half-hard prick with light caresses.

The vial in Jack's hand was small and translucent, and when James guessed its purpose, his prick literally leaped to attention under the teasing touches. Still, he leaned back and let himself be touched as Jack had done, watching, his breath hitching into a gasp every now and then.

Jack continued to touch and tease, then opened the bottle and warmed the oil between his hands before using both to anoint James' cock with it liberally, taking the opportunity to stroke him in a slippery grip. He stretched one leg to the floor, balancing on his knee and poured out a bit more of it, reaching around to make sure he was amply prepared: the hard prick was not of inconsiderable size and he arched one eyebrow with a grin before kneeling, looking back over his shoulder, one glistening hand reaching down to trail droplets of oil onto James' balls.

James moaned again and he was shuddering, every muscle tensed with the attempt to keep still. Jack worked with effortless grace, grinning at him. The stroking hands, lightly calloused beneath the slippery oil were slick bliss against him, and he bit his lip to keep from moaning and whimpering like a boy.

The braided black mane streamed down over Jack's back and he winked, waggling his arse with a laugh. "Go on, luv. I won't break." The hollows of his hips swallowed the shadows, his small backside rounded and the colour of dark amber.

James blinked, but then laughed as well, a little strained as his hands slid up Jack's thighs to his hips, steadying as he pushed in slowly, thinking that it might well be him who would break. The heat beckoned for him to thrust, and so he did, albeit carefully, a distant part of his brain realizing that the sheer tightness might be pleasant for him, but certainly painful for Jack.

Jack bit down on his lower lip and forced himself to stay relaxed, his eyes widening as he was filled. Oh yes, a very healthy Englishman, this lovely young man was! He took a deep breath and pushed back, exhaling and letting James set his own pace, his head dropping to the pillow.

James rocked slowly, the sweat already pearling on his forehead and his trembling arms, the price of his restraint. A whore Jack might be, but he had shown a certain kindness and understanding, and James saw no reason to hurt him in the pursuit of his own pleasure. It cost nothing but a bit of rapidly dwindling self-control.

He had one hand around Jack, on the firm stomach just beneath prominent ribs, and he slid it down to curl around Jack's prick, teasing and touching in an attempt to give some pleasure in return for his own.

Jack's head shot up at the touch, surprised, and he smiled over his shoulder. "Go on, luv. Ya won't hurt me. We're both slippery as a bucketful o' eels." James' fingers were gentle as Jack shifted his weight further forward, his back bowed, arse upended and face buried in the stale linen. James thrust in again and he breathed a gasp of pure pleasure, stiffening under the long, pale fingers.

James halted for a moment. It was difficult to concentrate, but he was almost certain he had not caused this reaction with his hand. He pushed in again, and again Jack gasped, briefly tightening around him. He shifted his weight, balanced on one arm as he slowly fell into a rhythm, which grew harder and faster when Jack did not protest. His hand continued stroking, in time with his thrusts, without conscious thought. "This is... wonderful." His breathing was coming shallow and fast.

"Ooh yes! G'wan luv. Fuck me good an' hard as ya like." Jack's voice was muffled in the pillow, his fingers gripping the sheets as each stroke set his head whirling. He was drowning in sensation, his body beginning to quiver, blood roaring in his ears and he stifled a low drawn-out cry as the wave crashed over his head and his insides spasmed, as the pounding coaxed him over the edge a second time.

"God, Jack!" Taken completely by surprise, James cried out sharply when Jack convulsed around him, pleasure so searing it was almost pain, forcing his release and leaving him to fall forward, rolling off Jack with the last bit of strength he seemed to possess. He lay there on his back, eyes wide open, breathing harshly.

Jack pushed his hair out of his face and looked over at James, his knees giving way. He could feel the slow trickle of cool wetness behind his balls, and reached out to touch James' cheek with a smile. "Not so very strange, then, is it?"

James blinked once, then forced his eyes to focus. He rolled to his side and shook his head. "No. Not at all. I think I do understand now." He remembered Jack spasming beneath him, finding release in a way he had never thought possible to be shared by two men. As he looked up, the shyness seemed to return, tempered by a boyish smile. "Thank you."

"Yer very sweet, luv." Jack stroked back the sweat-damp hair from James' forehead. What was this young man? Not much more than a lad, really, for all his fancy uniform. Jack idly wondered how long he'd been at sea but stilled his runaway tongue. No sense in getting himself nicked by the Navy, no matter how pleasant the evening. Bad enough he'd been babbling under so lovely a fucking. And hopefully those elegant fingers weren't guessing too hard at the tell-tale lashmarks on his back. He smiled and kept silent.

"You keep telling me so. Do you tell that to everyone you pick up on the street, or just the blushing virgins?" James closed his eyes and felt the caress, now that his head had cleared, aware that it was impossible that Jack had always earned his keep like this, nor for long. He was extraordinarily beautiful, but probably not older than James, and the callouses on his fingers spoke of manual work, perhaps even a sailor. He wondered if he had earned enough indulgence to ask, but did, anyway. "You are not doing this for a long time, at least not for money, are you?"

Jack grinned at him, trying to extricate himself from his pleasant lethargy. "Doin'what I need to, luv. Tha's all." He tried to think, but his head was deliciously foggy. "And ya're lovely." That was no lie. James was not only handsome and enchantingly inexperienced, but so gentle and he'd been treated with much less than gentleness for too long. "How about another drink? Sure you could use a bit of a bracer." He rolled off the bed and padded to the corner where James had left the bottle and brought it back, uncorking it with his teeth and handing it over.

Although his curiosity was not appeased, James did not question further, knowing evasion when it faced him, and although he was disappointed, he had no right to press the matter. He accepted the bottle and drank deeply, welcoming the sharp burn. He was sated and exhausted, some answers and more questions swirling around in his head.

Jack saw the querying eyes and bit his lip. "No, to be honest. Haven't fer that long if that's what yer wonderin'." He could have kicked himself as soon as the words left his mouth and covered his nerves with a long swallow.

There was not much more left in the bottle, and James only took a small sip before he gave the remainder to Jack. He nodded, but otherwise gave no reaction. "Are you a sailor?" He grew more and more certain of that, not only because of the callouses that perhaps came from handling the rigging, but also because there was something about Jack that reminded him of the sea.

Jack toyed with the bottle, his eyes lowered. No sense denying it. Besides, he was more than proud of that. "Yes. Bit of a workin' shore leave, as it were." He grinned. It was a lot more than that: it was a right mess, to be honest, what with the Genevra blown to kingdom come and Bill stuck in that gaol. And these parts it didn't do to get caught stealing unless one wasn't particularly attached to one's right hand. He looked up and smiled at James' face, soft and young in the dim light.

"I see." James cupped his chin and kissed him again, again tasting salt and rum. "I thought so." There were many options. Jack could be a deserter: many fled to faraway ports, but if he was, it had been long ago, the ridiculously long hair bore testament to that. He could be a merchant sailor out of luck, or one of the many other peculiarities sailing these waters. He did not ask what ship Jack sailed. It was better he did not know.

Jack returned the kiss lustily. The young lieutenant kissed as inquisitively as he did everything else, and he found himself truly enjoying it. It wouldn't be long until he and Bill could ship out of this blistering desert, so temptingly close to shore. A little more and he could get Bill sprung. Then, it was a matter of choosing a ship. Jack grinned at his own thoughts. Lucky for them, he was familiar enough with the coastline to know exactly where they could go to avoid detection, enslavement or worse. And he would be damned if he was going to sign on to some ungainly foreign merchant vessel. There were plenty of small sloops, perfect for them. He could have left a dozen times over these past weeks, but he was not leaving Bill behind for any amount of coin.

James let the kiss taper off slowly, the sensation of kissing a man nearly making him forget that Jack was a whore he had promised to pay. He rolled to his feet and retrieved his money pouch, getting out more coin than he had offered before, leaving himself barely enough to pay the room for another night. Wordlessly, he gave it to Jack, then lay down again. "You can stay the night, if you wish."

Jack stared at him in surprise. "Ya want me to?" he couldn't help but ask. Any bed, no matter how hard, would be a welcome change from the dock or alley. He looked down at the money, gleaming in his dark hand and shook his head, torn between wanting to simply hand it back and tallying up the total of his weeks' here. "Are ya sure?" he asked doubtfully.

"I would not have asked otherwise." James shifted over to make a little more room. "I know it is not much, but it is more comfortable than my cot shipboard. You are free to go or stay as you please." He stretched out, the sweat slowly drying on his back and offering some cooling against the humid heat.

Jack cocked his head to one side, his hair falling over one shoulder, nearly to his waist. He bent over the side of the bed and rewetted the towel, mopping the sweat off James' brow and chest. "Thank you." He'd stashed the coins at the same time, a little regretfully.

James only smiled and nodded in response, pulling one of the thin linen blankets over himself, curling up and slowly surrendering to lethargy as he drifted off.

Jack watched him for a little while, thought about how easily that fancy coat could barter Bill's freedom and abandoned the thought. He'd received surprising gentleness from this man and equally surprising pleasure. He wasn't about to reward it with that kind of cruelty.

He stretched out beside James and dozed until the sunlight through the funny wooden grille of the window woke him. He rose, careful not to wake the sleeping lieutenant, gave himself a quick wash and dressed, slipping out of the door with a faint jingle.

Better not to lie abed like that, especially not with such a one as James. Like as not, he'd be embarrassed or angry come daylight and sobriety, and it were much better to not face such things. They had a dreadful habit of getting ugly. And this night had been far from ugly.

He'd left the money on the pile of James' breeches. A mad notion, to be sure, but Jack never questioned those notions. He wandered back into the marketplace to find something to eat, figuring he could spend a bit longer at this, rather than spoil what had been a very lovely encounter.

He tucked himself into a corner of his favourite alleyway, having managed to cajole the fat baker into a few bites of the sticky, flakey sweets they gorged on hereabouts and curled up to get some rest. Most would have called him a fool, but Jack knew better. And knowing that, he slept until late in the day.

James had awakened the moment the warm weight had left his side, but had remained still, his eyes closed as he let Jack take his leave. He had wanted to wish him well, perhaps to touch him again, but he knew he could not allow himself that indulgence. What had happened here would have to remain here. When the door closed, he rose, washing perfunctorily before he turned to dress.

The money he had paid lay there, undiminished, as if what had passed between them was nothing for which Jack wished to be paid.

As if they had lain with one another not as whore and customer, but as equals.

FIN