| Overall rating: R Genre: slash, hint of het Pairings: Norrington/Gillette, Norrington/Elizabeth Other characters: Norrington, Gillette (heh!) Warnings: sap, first time Feedback: very welcome. Good or bad. Author's notes: there was really a Mr. Gillett serving on HMS Victory during the Battle of Trafalgar. A comment regarding this fact by Dauntless gave me the idea for this story. Cheers! Summary: "He could not see which way to go, if you did not twinkle so." It was a good thing the housekeeper of the cottage, Mrs. Burton, had already arranged everything for the arrival of Captain Norrington and his guest and lit a fire. The weather had worsened since their departure; due to the rain and heavy gales their journey had taken far longer than expected, and James and Thomas had arrived at 'Birch Grove' wet to the bones, exhausted and in a foul mood. However, after a quick change of clothes and a cup of rum with a lacing of tea things had improved, and the excellent grilled lamb with roasted potatoes had found their greatest approval. "Very unwise thing to do, Sir, travelling in this weather," Mrs. Burton grumbled while clearing the table, disapproval obvious on her face. "Especially with your leg and all. Your wife should've kept you home, that's what I say. Young women nowadays, no common sense… wouldn't have had that with my Henry, no, Sir!" The two men had a hard time stifling their laughter. Mrs. Burton disappeared in the kitchen, and if the ferocity she handled the tableware with was anything to go by, she was tearing strips off poor Elizabeth. "She scares me, James," Thomas whispered. "She looks like the boatswain we had on the Dauntless." "True," James whispered back, "if he'd had whiskers, she'd be the spitting image of him." Some time later, Mrs. Burton returned to the dining room, already wearing pattens, a thick coat and a large scarf. "Leaving you now, Sirs. I'll be back in the early morning, preparing breakfast." "No, please, my dear Mrs. Burton, that certainly won't be necessary. Lt. Gillette and I are both exhausted from our journey, and we will very likely not be up before lunch. It will be fine if you are here in the early evening." Mrs. Burton glared at James and waved his words aside. "Ah bah, nonsense! It's not good for a man to skip breakfast, Sir. Can't have you and the lieutenant here starving, now can I?" "Very kind of you, Mrs. Burton, but I must insist. I couldn't bear the thought of a lady out in such beastly weather that early in the day." "If you say so, Sir," she grumbled, but it was obvious that she was flattered. "Have a good night then, gentlemen. Fire's lit in the bedrooms. You better take young master Jamie's one, Sir. It's warmer there; at your age, one has to be careful." "I thank you for your concern, Mrs. Burton. I wouldn't know how to manage without your help, considering my advanced age." James' sarcasm was lost on Mrs. Burton. "No need to thank me, Sir. My Henry's been just like you, never listened to my advice. And where is he now? On the churchyard. Hah!" With those encouraging words Mrs. Burton left, and the two men let out a sigh of relief. "A housekeeper can be quite a humbling experience. Looks like she has a weak spot for you, James." "With a bit of luck, she might dote on you in future." "I fear for my life. And now please tell me: why are we here?" James twiddled his thumbs, then he swiped an imaginary bread crumb off the table. "There are some things we need to discuss." "For example?" James sighed. It was difficult to find a start, so he just said the first thing that crossed his mind. "I think you should make captain." Thomas' face hardened. "You have dragged me to this cottage in the middle of nowhere to tell me that? Certainly you must be jesting?" That was not going well. "No! I - it's just because Jamie suggested that you should serve under my command again. I wanted to tell you that I don't desire this." "I have no desire to serve under your command again, either." No, that was not going well at all. "That's not what I - it's just that - I wondered if -" "You used to be able to form coherent sentences," Thomas interrupted him. "Maybe you should try that approach?" James cleared his throat. "I wouldn't want you on my ship because I couldn't give you orders anymore. Considering that I had twenty-two years to find the right words, I'm not doing very well, I suppose. I feel like an old fool." It finally dawned Thomas what this might be all about. "You should have felt like a fool back then. I told you that I love you, and asked if you returned my feelings. If I remember correctly, your reply was 'yes, but I think I'll marry Elizabeth'..." "I'm aware that it was not the most diplomatic answer." "And now you want to apologise? This is very embarrassing, I'd rather see this conversation coming to an end." "We've lost twenty years, Thomas. If we can manage not to get ourselves killed, we might still have ten good years ahead of us." "For us?" James saw the mixture of hope and fear on Thomas' face, just like on that terrible evening so many years ago. "Stay here. Please. With me." Thomas leaned forward. "When we first met, it was the Royal Navy Article Of War no. 28. Then it became no. 29, and now it's no. 30. The numbers may have changed, but the consequences in case of breach are still the same. 'Punished with death by the sentence of a court martial', James. Are you absolutely certain you want this? " "Absolutely." "Ah." They sat in silence for a while, watching each other; Thomas scared of making a decision, James afraid of what that decision might be. Finally, Thomas stood up and pushed the chair back. "It's your house, James. Lead the way." * * * James headed for Jamie's bedroom. He wouldn't have felt comfortable staying with Thomas in the same room he usually shared with Elizabeth. Hallway and corridor had been chilly, and the small bedroom was warm, thanks to the efficient Mrs. Burton. She had heaped at least three covers on the narrow bed to make sure poor Captain Norrington wouldn't freeze to death during the night. Thoughtful soul that she was, she had also put the cordial he used to take in the evening on the bedside table and, to James' greatest embarrassment, the chamber pot next to the bed. That just couldn't work. "This is the most ridiculous, embarrassing, idiotic and pathetic situation I've ever been in," he stated, and kicked the pot under the bed. "I suggest we go downstairs and get drunk instead. This is absurd!" He turned around, but Thomas stood between him and the door and made no attempt to step aside. "Would you be good enough to move?" he snapped. "I thought you'd never ask." Thomas reached out and began to open James' cravat, the tip of his tongue firmly pressed in the corner of his mouth and a concentrated look on his face. He used to look like that while studying a nautical chart or making notes. "What on earth are you doing, Thomas?" "I'm trying to undress you. But please continue your twaddle; I can open buttons and listen to you simultaneously." "You say that as if it was the most normal thing to do." "You twaddling?" "You undressing me." Thomas put the cravat aside. He began to fiddle with the bow in James' pigtail, standing so close to him now that James could feel his breath on his skin. James wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands, so he clasped them behind his back, as if he were on deck of HMS Buckthorn. The bow joined the cravat, and Thomas put his arms around Norrington's waist, pulling him close. "You used to be smaller," James muttered. "No, but you held your nose so high that you seemed to be taller." James had often wondered what it would have been like if he'd kissed Thomas all those years ago. Awkward and clumsy, their noses bumping, and very likely also nothing short of a battle, as none of them would have allowed the other to take the lead without arguing about it first. Now Thomas was kissing him, a scenario that had never really crossed his mind, and it was not like anything he had ever imagined. Neither awkward nor clumsy, but loving and right. Thomas teased him, nipped on his lower lip, then withdrew only to kiss him again. Thomas' hands were now on James' back and on the nape of his neck, playing with his hair. His skin tingled, and he could feel the heat beginning to spread in his body. It was like running a fever, or like being drunk from heady wine. "It is the most normal thing, James," Thomas whispered in his ear, then nuzzled the exposed soft skin of his neck, which seemed to be an even more intimate act than the kiss. James unclasped his hands and returned the embrace hesitantly. Thomas sighed happily and buried his face in James' hair. "Now isn't it a good thing the days of the wigs are over," he said, and had to chuckle when James sniffed indignantly. "I still feel that we've looked more dignified wearing wigs." "As if one needed to wear bleached horsehair to look dignified. I hated them. Especially on you. The way you look now, that is dignified." They kissed again, and from the confident way Thomas touched him, James guessed that this was not the first time he broke that bloody useless article no. 30. He could have asked him, but he'd rather not know. Not 'when', not 'why', and certainly not 'who'. It made him feel a little inadequate, what if he did everything wrong? It had always been him who had the knowledge, and Thomas had taken his orders. Now there were no ranks between them anymore; if caught, they'd be hanged with the same kind of rope. James forgot all about ranks and hangings when Thomas' hands caressed his backside, pressing him close to his body. If Thomas' reaction was anything to go by, it couldn't be completely wrong what he was doing. Shoes, stockings, waistcoats, shirts and breeches piled up on the floor, a mess of silk and wool and linen that James wouldn't have tolerated under normal circumstances. Now he didn't even notice. He was mesmerised by the sight of Thomas: the sharp contrast between weather-beaten face and hands and the white skin on the rest of his body. There were countless scars; of some James knew the origin, others were unknown to him. "You must have quite a few battles behind you," Thomas said, and reached out to run two fingers along a scar that went from James' collar bone down to his ribs. James shivered; not only because the touch aroused him, but also because Thomas had obviously mused about the same things. They were a perfect match, despite their differences. "A few. Just like you." Thomas smiled. He took James hand and lied back on the bed, dragging him along. James shifted until he lay on top of Thomas, in a position that was comfortable for both of them. The feeling of Thomas' body and the knowing smile on his face alone almost made him come. James had to take a few deep breaths to calm down and gather himself before he kissed him. James realised that Thomas allowed him to take the lead, knowing well how awkward he would feel in the role of the novice. It was overwhelming, the care and the tenderness, the love for Thomas; James was carried away by it like a leaf in a river. He had to kiss and touch him, explore every inch of his body, every hair, every mole, even every bloody freckle, and Thomas had a lot of them. The discovery of a treasure island could not have excited him more than finding a spot just above Thomas' hipbone that made him squirm and cry out when caressed. Their bodies rocked against each other; Thomas' fingernails left angry red welts on James' back, and he bit down so hard on Thomas' shoulder at one point that he could taste the coppery flavour of blood in his mouth. This sensual frenzy couldn't last long, and it didn't. Their movements became increasingly erratic; Thomas was strong, and James had to be careful not to be thrown over and out of the bed. He pinned Thomas' hands above his head, holding him down while grinding against him. "Finish this!" Thomas hissed, bucking under him. The command, accompanied by a wanton look from under short, ginger lashes was enough to push James over the edge. He cried out, and Thomas followed suit, repeating James' name over and over again. James collapsed on top of him, trembling and close to crying, desperately trying to catch his breath. There was so much he wanted to say, a thousands thoughts racing through his mind, but he didn't have the strength left to speak. He reached for Thomas' hand and kissed each finger, then rested his cheek in its palm. "I love you," he murmured, twenty-two years delayed, but fortunately not too late. * * * Thomas ran the tips of his fingers over the scratches on James' back, as if his caresses could make them disappear and soothe the throbbing pain. "I'm sorry that I hurt you," he said. "I didn't want this. It just - happened." James, who had been a dead weight resting on his lover, stirred and pressed a kiss on the skin just below Thomas' ear. "I didn't notice anything." "Still, I'm sorry." Thomas drew lazy circles and patterns on James' back, wrote his name just for the fun of it and ran his fingers through James' hair, playing with in. He delighted in the feeling of wrapping a strand around a finger, or pushing a lock behind James' ear. "We're lovers now," Thomas said. "I like the sound of that: lovers. That's better than 'senior officers'." "Absolutely. It should be a special rank." Thomas smiled wickedly at James. "Would the lover serve under the captain, or the captain under the lover?" James rubbed his cheek on Thomas' chest and closed his eyes. "This depends on the ability of the captain to move in the morning or not." * * * "Do you want more of the ham, grandfather?" Jamie yelled. He had to yell, otherwise Weatherby Swann wouldn't have understood him. The former governor was still in best of health and, despite his age, very popular with the ladies for his charms and wit, but unfortunately, he had become very hard of hearing, which made conversations between him and his family rather tiring. He reached for his ear trumpet, and Jamie repeated his question. "Ham? Yes, certainly, my dear boy!" The servant hurried to Mr. Swann's side, and while she heaped more meat and potatoes on his plate, Mr. Swann turned to his daughter, who had already finished her meal and was discussing a book on poetry with Thomas. "Elizabeth, dearest, you still haven't told me where James is." "James is staying at our cottage, father." "Yes, yes, you said that," Mr. Swann replied impatiently, "but I still don't understand what he's doing there at this time of the year!" "Actually, I'm rather curious as well," Jamie said, and looked at his mother. "Usually, you two stay there in summer, but now it's November. It must be terribly dull, especially with that weather." Elizabeth looked from her father to her son and folded her hands on the table. "James is hunting foxes," she said. Mr. Swann held the ear trumpet to his ear. "I'm sorry my dear, could you repeat your answer? I fear I haven't heard you quite right. I understood you said he went on a fox hunt!" Both he and Jamie laughed. "Well, yes. James did go on a fox hunt." "I always thought father doesn't care for hunting?" Elizabeth looked at Thomas, who followed the conversation wide-eyed and slightly confused. Then she smiled at her son. "That is true, Jamie. But he's very fond of foxes." * * * THE END * * * Back THE SEQUEL: "CROSS AND PILE" |
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| LOST AND FOUND 3/3 by Molly Joyful |