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Title: The Untitled Beard Scraping Fic (Later titled Norrington’s Stubble)
Author: heartofslash
Fandom: POTC, Dead Man's Chest
Rating: NC-17
Warning: No knife kink. I could only do so much in one fic. Sorry. Also, this has absolutely nothing to do with The Pirate Way. In fact, it's the first pirate fic I've ever written that was no, in fact, part of The Pirate Way. Feels a bit weird, but good. Like a new sex toy.
Disclaimer: Ha. Like Disney would hever have this much fun.
Norrington scraped his scruffy beard across the tender skin. Stubble met upturned arse, accompanied by a low hiss.
"That's what you really want, isn't it?"
All he got in response was a whimper.
He turned his head to drag his chin across a pale, taut arse. “What you’ve always wanted,” he whispered.
What he had always wanted. Norrington closed his eyes and tasted salty damp skin. The taste of the sea. Of sweat.
The trail of a drop of sweat as it crept down the straining neck of Will Turner. The image flashed in his mind, sharp as a knife, Will bent over his work, sparks flying, and Norrington standing in a blacksmith’s shop, scalp itching under his stiff wig, feeling the first, undeniable pang of desire for him.
He’d hidden it well. Buried it under layers of decorum and haughty pride. He would not fall for a mere blacksmith, and certainly not an orphan who had the nerve to pursue a relationship with the governor’s daughter. Preposterous.
Yet he found excuses to visit the shop, or to arrive at the governor’s house when he knew Will would be there, visiting his precious Elizabeth. Will kept growing stronger and more beautiful, and Norrington could only watch him from a distance. He could never touch another man. That was unthinkable.
Unthinkable, but here he was, tongue rasping across the back of a thigh. Men, it seemed, could touch other men. Most intimately. Here was all the proof he needed. As his tongue crept toward the dark crease, he could feel tremors in the trim hips under his hands. The arch of a back and the spreading of thighs. Silently begging for more.
Norrington stiffened his tongue and probed until he sensed the heat rise, tasted a deeper flavour, felt tense ridges. Heard another whimper.
Oh, he liked this indeed. He loved it. And Norrington did as well.
He had fallen a long way from Commodore to deckhand. Everything else seemed to have been stripped away as well – his morals, his pride, his self-respect. An act he would have at one time been inconceivable now seemed natural. He stabbed roughly at the hole and earned himself a low moan.
How low could a man stoop? The resignation had been one thing, the slow descent into drink and debauchery another, but the performance of a deviant act such as this...
He loved it. He loved the depravity of it, the sheer filthiness. He wormed his tongue deeper inside the dark hole. Tight at the opening, but he knew that was only the entrance, the barrier to be breached. Inside would be warmth and softness and everything he desired. He licked around the hole and forced it further open.
“Spit!” he heard. Spit he did. He pushed his spit inside the hole, thankful that he’d got over the dry mouth and attack of self-conscious prudery that had almost spoiled this encounter from the outset. It had not been easy to overcome all those years of superiority. But an accord had been struck. If he did this, if he abased himself and performed this one humiliating task, he could have what he’d always wanted.
“Enough!”
Norrington pulled away, but not without one last swipe of the tongue and caress with his lips. He pushed his trousers down and rose up. His cock had obviously not found his actions shameful in the least. It stood out thick and eager. He winced as he smeared the supplied oil up and down its length. It was altogether too large to fit inside such a tiny little hole.
“It’ll fit,” came the abrupt reply when he voiced his doubt.
He lined it up, fat, blunt head pressing against the wet arsehole.
“Don’t be shy, luv; I won’t break.” Hissed in the half-dark. “Push harder.”
And Norrington did. The resistance was enough to hurt at first. And if it hurt the organ doing the breaching, it must have been agony for the hole being breached. But then the tension disappeared and he sank into incredible heat.
“That’s it,” he was encouraged. So he threw himself into the task, pounding into the tight arse and thrusting so hard the two of them almost ended on the floor. He grunted and was reprimanded with a hiss.
“Careful. Elizabeth will hear.”
And would be appalled. She was on deck, somewhere. Pacing. Furious. She’d almost spit at them when they’d gone into the cabin together. Jealous Elizabeth. He didn’t feel much for her anymore, except for a residual sense of duty. She’d rejected him for Will. Thrown him over for someone he had to despise, in a way, for bringing out these unnatural urges.
She’d assumed he still desired her, still kept her high on her pedestal. Little did she know that he’d desired Will for far longer than he’d been considering the politically and socially more acceptable match with her. He cared little for her feelings, but not so little that he would want her to hear this.
Jealous indeed. The spoiled girl, if she knew what was really happening in here, would want it for herself. He could almost picture it, but not while she was dressed like that. No, he would want her in all her finery. Bent over the table with her skirts pushed up to her waist, bottom upturned and pale, pink where he’d scraped his rough beard over genteel skin. And he would take her with his tongue, and then his cock, and not in her cunt. NO, he’d take her like this, in her arse, stretched to accommodate his cock, and her whimpering with need.
Whimpering. That must be the trick to keeping quiet. It would explain the small, almost helpless noises that wafted through the air. That was the trick to having one’s way on a ship full of pirates. He bit his cheek and suppressed a moan. He was throbbing now, his cock and the tight channel it was trapped in. Pulsing with need. He could not do this much longer, but he would not finish until he was assured of satisfaction on all accounts.
He leaned down and reached around to find a steel-hard cock, wet at the tip. It would take a few, deft strokes. That would be easy after all the practice he’d had on himself, furtively tugging on his own talk while thoughts of Will’s hair, loose and tangled in his hands, Will’s long legs spreading beneath him, Will’s soft voice whispering, begging to be taken, swarmed through his mind like fireflies – brief, painfully bright, fleeting. Uncatchable.
The cock in his hand stiffened and jerked and his hand was bathed in seed. He wiped it against a pale hip and gripped said hip tightly. Now he thrust with abandon, and soon filled that clenching arse with his own seed. A much needed release.
He slumped over and sighed.
Done.
Jack Sparrow rolled over, flashed him a golden grin. “Knew you had it in you, Norrington.”
Norrington cringed. He could not believe he’d just done that, in spite of the sticky dampness of his hand, the sated heaviness of his cock, and the intense smell of carnality in the air. He wanted to throw himself overboard from the shame of it, but he kept his goal in mind.
“Can I trust your word, Sparrow?”
“Captain Sparrow. And yes, you can. I promise, on my honour, that when this is over, the key is found and my debt to Davy Jones cancelled forever, you shall have Will Turner all to your own, to do with as you will. I’ll drop you off on whatever island you prefer, and no one will ever be the wiser. And I’ll even take dear Lizzie off your hands in the bargain.”
It was a fair deal.
"But I'm not quite finished yet. Greedy pirate and all that. Don't suppose you'd be up for another go at it anytime soon?"
Norrington considered it for a moment.
"This time, maybe I could fuck you," Jack added in a low, surprisingly seductive voice.
Still a fair deal.
End.
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