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dwgmMy dear friend and superb beta reader, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hereswith, celebrated her birthday today, and per her request I gifted her with 750 words of James/Anamaria, an R-rated addition to Strange Bedfellows, a series of drabbles and ficlets featuring Jack, James, and Anamaria, that I strung together and bookended with new material for her on Valentine's Day this year. But as Mr. Berra said, it ain't over till it's over...
~ Light ~
In the gray dawn, Anamaria roused from the depths of sleep, became aware that she was not alone, and opened her eyes to find herself face to face with Commodore James Norrington of the Royal Navy.
James.
His eyes were closed, lashes fanned against his cheeks; his hair was mussed; his expression was slack and boyish with the serenity of slumber. But James Norrington was no boy, that was certain. The many things they had done together in the shadowed night began to come back to her, filling her thoughts, and she felt her cheeks warm and her heart quicken.
She had expected him to be gentlemanly. But there was so much she had not expected.
When they’d begun, as she’d finished pulling loose the ties on her shirt, a light had come into his eyes that made her shiver deep inside. She’d pulled the shirt up and off, and tossed it aside a little defiantly, bared to his gaze. There was pride and daring in the look she gave back, but there was that shiver, too, just the same. It was a risky business, loving Commodore James.
That light in his eyes held something of lust, but more of something else. Admiration? Love? She’d almost laughed at that thought, such a romantical notion.
He’d held out his hand. “Come!” he said, his voice rough with burgeoning passion.
She’d risen, heart thudding, stripped off her breeches, then slipped beneath the sheet he held up in silent invitation.
It was a heady shock, feeling his body all along the length of her – far more than just the length of her, and more than the width, too. Somehow she hadn’t realized what a big man he was until that moment. And he was big in other ways, she could feel him, feel it, hot and hard against the skin of her thigh, and there was already a slickness there when he gave a convulsive movement of his hips, his breath harsh. But he stopped, gathered himself, gathered control, and he set out to make love to her.
He was as patient as Jack could be, though Jack’s patience often seemed a game, a testing of sorts – mostly of her, since he was the more experienced of the two of them by far and was all too familiar with his own limits. But with James it was a gift, just as she’d said, and an education, for both of them.
He was skilled enough, but there was nothing jaded in his efforts. When after a considerable time a whimper of frustration escaped her and he allowed her to arch and stretch and reach beneath his touch, then muffled her shrieks of ecstasy with kisses, she was aware through the long moments that his soul was with her, though he gasped and trembled, reining in his physical need.
When she had come back to herself, she had smiled at him, and he’d smiled back, even wound tight as he was, his teeth very white in the dim.
It was her turn, then. She’d taken her time, exploring with the keenest delight, until at last he could bear it no longer. Encouraged by pleading words and urgent touch, she’d moved over him, and sank down, her head thrown back, more than ready. A position of dominance, one would have thought, but it allowed him to savor, to devour with his eyes, and to delay long enough to use those beautiful hands, those long, wicked fingers, to bring her along with him. They’d no wish to wake the camp and managed in relative silence, teeth clenched against harsh whispers, no sound of wailing cries, eyes locked until pleasure overwhelmed and blinded them perforce. Afterwards, lying beside him, Ana thought their restraint must have enhanced the experience, for she’d never felt so entirely wrung out. It had been her last thought, and maybe his, too. She didn’t think either of them had moved, from that moment to this.
James.
He was awake. His eyes were open. And there was that light again.
They just looked at each other for a long time. But finally, wits fuddled with a joyful confusion, Ana asked, nonsensically, wonderingly, “Who are you?”
His hand moved to envelope hers – her small, but work-roughened sailor’s hand – and he drew it up so that he could put his lips to her knuckles, a moment of silent worship. And then he said, in a voice like music, “Just James. Your friend. And your lover.”
~.~
hereswith, celebrated her birthday today, and per her request I gifted her with 750 words of James/Anamaria, an R-rated addition to Strange Bedfellows, a series of drabbles and ficlets featuring Jack, James, and Anamaria, that I strung together and bookended with new material for her on Valentine's Day this year. But as Mr. Berra said, it ain't over till it's over...~ Light ~
In the gray dawn, Anamaria roused from the depths of sleep, became aware that she was not alone, and opened her eyes to find herself face to face with Commodore James Norrington of the Royal Navy.
James.
His eyes were closed, lashes fanned against his cheeks; his hair was mussed; his expression was slack and boyish with the serenity of slumber. But James Norrington was no boy, that was certain. The many things they had done together in the shadowed night began to come back to her, filling her thoughts, and she felt her cheeks warm and her heart quicken.
She had expected him to be gentlemanly. But there was so much she had not expected.
When they’d begun, as she’d finished pulling loose the ties on her shirt, a light had come into his eyes that made her shiver deep inside. She’d pulled the shirt up and off, and tossed it aside a little defiantly, bared to his gaze. There was pride and daring in the look she gave back, but there was that shiver, too, just the same. It was a risky business, loving Commodore James.
That light in his eyes held something of lust, but more of something else. Admiration? Love? She’d almost laughed at that thought, such a romantical notion.
He’d held out his hand. “Come!” he said, his voice rough with burgeoning passion.
She’d risen, heart thudding, stripped off her breeches, then slipped beneath the sheet he held up in silent invitation.
It was a heady shock, feeling his body all along the length of her – far more than just the length of her, and more than the width, too. Somehow she hadn’t realized what a big man he was until that moment. And he was big in other ways, she could feel him, feel it, hot and hard against the skin of her thigh, and there was already a slickness there when he gave a convulsive movement of his hips, his breath harsh. But he stopped, gathered himself, gathered control, and he set out to make love to her.
He was as patient as Jack could be, though Jack’s patience often seemed a game, a testing of sorts – mostly of her, since he was the more experienced of the two of them by far and was all too familiar with his own limits. But with James it was a gift, just as she’d said, and an education, for both of them.
He was skilled enough, but there was nothing jaded in his efforts. When after a considerable time a whimper of frustration escaped her and he allowed her to arch and stretch and reach beneath his touch, then muffled her shrieks of ecstasy with kisses, she was aware through the long moments that his soul was with her, though he gasped and trembled, reining in his physical need.
When she had come back to herself, she had smiled at him, and he’d smiled back, even wound tight as he was, his teeth very white in the dim.
It was her turn, then. She’d taken her time, exploring with the keenest delight, until at last he could bear it no longer. Encouraged by pleading words and urgent touch, she’d moved over him, and sank down, her head thrown back, more than ready. A position of dominance, one would have thought, but it allowed him to savor, to devour with his eyes, and to delay long enough to use those beautiful hands, those long, wicked fingers, to bring her along with him. They’d no wish to wake the camp and managed in relative silence, teeth clenched against harsh whispers, no sound of wailing cries, eyes locked until pleasure overwhelmed and blinded them perforce. Afterwards, lying beside him, Ana thought their restraint must have enhanced the experience, for she’d never felt so entirely wrung out. It had been her last thought, and maybe his, too. She didn’t think either of them had moved, from that moment to this.
James.
He was awake. His eyes were open. And there was that light again.
They just looked at each other for a long time. But finally, wits fuddled with a joyful confusion, Ana asked, nonsensically, wonderingly, “Who are you?”
His hand moved to envelope hers – her small, but work-roughened sailor’s hand – and he drew it up so that he could put his lips to her knuckles, a moment of silent worship. And then he said, in a voice like music, “Just James. Your friend. And your lover.”
~.~
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no subject
Date: 2010-09-22 01:55 pm (UTC)