This morning's procrastinatory activity of choice: cleaning out some old snips and works-in-arrested-progress which I don't expect I'll ever pick up again. All of the following are Pirates fic-bits of varying length and composition.

( 11 June 2007. Elizabeth and Norrington, post-AWE. 727 words. )

( 20 July 2007. Norrington, Will Jr. 1,452 words. )

( 2 August 2007. Jack/Norrington, post-CotBP. 600 words. )

Jack Sparrow and James Norrington in a Canadian Caribbean shack. Takes place at some handwavy time between CotBP and DMC, but really, let's not get bogged down in post-hoc definitions. We're just here for the sass and the mansex. Right? Right.

First in a tentative "Five Ways James Norrington Never Married" set. Thanks to woolymonkey and the_stowaway for comments on the draft. (Apologies to Margaret Mead for the title.)

( Sex and Temperament in the Primitive World )

The aforementioned post-AWE story: James and Will, after it all. One of many, many ways this story will be told. Major spoilers, obviously.

( ways and means (of picking up the pieces) )

This is mostly just Norrington character study with a touch of sodomy because, heck, what isn't improved by that?

( Sub Rosa. 1,703 words. )

For a drabble prompt Sae gave me ages and ages ago. I suck at life.

--

When Elizabeth is sixteen she decides to learn how to cook — not because she expects ever to really need to, but rather to prove that she could if she wanted to.

Elizabeth, it turns out, is a terrible cook.

Her father smiles benignly on this experiment, as he has on all the rest, but declines to further sample her cuisine after some rock-hard scones and a rather unfortunate bouillabaisse. This poses a minor problem, but Elizabeth is nothing if not resourceful, and she quickly resolves the issue of a recipient for her comestible bounty.

She ventures up to Fort Charles once a week with a covered basket and a parasol, and Captain Norrington jumps to attention when she is shown into his bright, tidy office. He smiles at her as he nibbles at shortbread, or bites into a Cornish pasty, and he is unfailingly complimentary; Elizabeth sometimes has to pinch herself so as not to laugh in response, for that would spoil her fun. After all, if she cannot have the satisfaction of actually being good at this, at least she can have the amusement of watching him lie through his teeth in order to please her.
 

A bit of... something. I feel like the plausible options for this pairing are sadly limited, but I have a determination born of love. Well, lust. Just trying to get a handle on these two, anyway.

--

Beckett rests an elbow on the mantelpiece, thumb idly rubbing the roundness of his glass, and watches Norrington down the brandy. He pours another, wordlessly, and takes a sip of his own drink.

"Come here," he says, after Norrington empties the second glass. Puts his right hand on Norrington's left shoulder and pushes down until the man's mouth turns up in a faint smirk and he drops to his knees.

Beckett comes in his mouth, and Norrington spits delicately onto the wooden floor.



After, Beckett goes to stand by the window, hands clasped behind his back. He addresses Norrington without taking his gaze from the activity of the port below.

"Mr. Mercer will find you lodgings for the evening."

He moves his head as though about to turn around, but doesn't. "You stink of rum and sewage. Don’t appear before me again until you’ve cleaned yourself up."

Beckett turns back to the window. Norrington knows when he is dismissed.