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Pomme D'Ambre Part 1/3

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Title: Pomme D’Ambre

Author: Ezra’s Persian Kitty

Pairing: Groves/Gillette; Groves/Norrington/Gillette

Rating: NC-17

Summary: With my sledgehammer of juxtaposition, I tell the story of how much it sucks to be Norrington until two Lieutenants plan a seduction.

Disclaimer: Like Disney cares I’m using their stuff w/out permission.  I dare the mouse to come get me.  Cause I’ve got claws, dammit.

Warnings/AN: In case you missed the pairing, we’re talking threesome here.  Also, really horrible French.  For which I am truly sorry, but I make no apologies for anything else.

 

POMME D’AMBRE

= = = = =

One

= = = = =

On the twenty-fourth of December as dusk settled, Fort Charles seemed abandoned.  Theodore Groves scanned the hallways and courtyards he briskly traveled, but there wasn’t a glimmer of life.  He wearily pulled at the knotted silk at his neck, loosening the cravat and breathing a sigh of relief.  He counted the moments to the morrow’s parties, but his steps faltered as he passed Commodore Norrington’s office and noticed the light flickering round the door firmly closed to the elements.  But there was no evil weather for the season, only a lessening of heat as night fell.

He debated with himself a moment, found a loophole in the moral compass that never quite pointed north to begin with, and eased the door open a crack without knocking.  With neither wind nor sun to betray his trespass, the man beyond took no notice of his unwelcome visitor.

Norrington’s eyes were closed and pain lined the normally composed face.  He tipped his head back and raised a hand to dig into the muscles of his neck.  He sighed – a broken sound – and dropped both hand and head, looking for all the world like a rag doll emptied of its stuffing.  With a fortifying breath, Norrington broke the tableau, pulling forward the stump of the remaining candle and bowing his wigged head over his desk once more.

Groves shut the door without a sound and quickened his pace.

= = = = =

“Andrew,” he shouted at his roommate in the Fort’s boarding house, “wake up!”  He threw pillows at the immobile figure between bouts of stripping out of his uniform, which also served as projectiles toward the sleeper.  “Get up!  You lout!”

Andrew sent a shoe back across the room and pulled a pillow over his head.  Je suis fatigué.  Recognition set in and he corrected himself.  “Go ‘way.”  He rolled over and the pillow went with him.  “It’s Christmas,” the muffled whine complained, “have a heart.”

“I do!” the naked Groves protested, striding forward to rip away the defense.  The pillow flew back to its proper bed and Gillette squinted at him through sleep-glazed eyes.  Theodore’s voice was suddenly infused with rare sobriety.  “It’s James.”
“Oh,” Andrew Gillette said, slowly sitting up.  “…would you cover yourself?”

“Making you nervous?” Theodore flirted, shimmying his hips before he pulled on his civilian clothes.  “But truly, that man is so tense he’s going to break his own back for nerves.  We need to do something.”

“Uh…” Gillette had never been eloquent upon waking.  “I have a bottle somewhere…”

Groves shook his head.  “Get dressed, Andrew.  We have to talk.”

“We have to get dressed to talk?” Gillette asked before his mental filter caught the sentence.

Groves smirked, Gillette blushed, and silence fell.

“I’m taking you to the Bowsprit.  C’mon, then.”

Gillette allowed a generous yawn before eventually complying.

= = = = =

Several mugs of something not readily identifiable loosened tongues and limbs enough to be comfortable in the shadows of the pub.  Groves’s hand found its way to Gillette’s velvet-clad thigh and he leaned precariously over to whisper his drunken ramblings.  “I wish you’d let me touch you, Andrew; you’re never more handsome than when you blush at my words and smile when you think I’m not looking…”

“Please,” Gillette whined, removing the offensive hand, “we are in public, Groves!”

“No one cares,” Theodore cajoled, but ceased his devious attentions.  “Ah, you’re right of course… a hanging offense,” he muttered the last into his glass-bottomed tankard.  “Bloody stupid world,” he declared and signaled the barmaid for two more.

Bowsprit was a notoriously dark place; the tallow candles and rushlights guttered their blue smoke into the atmosphere that milled with tobacco and incense and the fetid air from the kitchens.  The gruel-like salmagundi they served was worse than the terracotta jars of rumbullion, a hellish conglomerate of rum, wine, tea, limejuice, sugar, and spices. 

It was a good place to get drunk if you didn’t mind a headache in the morning, for the rumbullion was cheap and strong and the company always varied.

Here in the shadowy corners of Bowsprit, Theodore Groves and Andrew Gillette had first rambled their drunken confessions together and fumbled beneath the table.  Near a year had come and gone, and both were too fearful of the world they lived in, and this became the only place where truth bled through, muddled and half-forgotten though it would be the next day.

“You said you wanted to talk,” Andrew reminded him, absently pushing a tangle of auburn hair from his brow.  “So are you going to drink yourself into a stupor while manhandling me or are we going to talk?”

“Both, if I have any say about it,” Groves told him with a wink, sneaking another stroke to the thigh that rested alongside his own.

With a swish of skirts, two mugs clanked down upon the table and Groves laughed his thanks, slinging an arm about the waist of the wench who delivered them and pulling her onto his lap.  “Esmé, you’re a doll,” he told her, smacking a kiss on her cheek and slipping a coin into her cleavage before letting her go with a pat to the ample bottom.

She tittered a laugh and sauntered back through the haze of the tavern, black hair swaying.

Groves grinned sideways at his companion.  “Jealous?”

A fortifying gulp preceded Gillette’s, “Should I be?”  He could not lift his gaze from the tabletop.  Groves’s hand returned to a place out of sight and Gillette gritted out, “You’re a right tease, you know that, Theodore?”

“Oh aye,” Groves grinned.  But then his expression fell and he stared at the misty liquid in his cup.  “I am a right git sometimes.”

Steeling himself, Gillette looked up at him.  “So, is this it finally?  Why’ve you dragged me out here on Christmas Eve?”

Theodore Groves folded his hands on the table and glared down his drink.  “I was walking back from my post today and I saw a light at Norrington’s office door.  I am horrible… I opened the door, just a crack you understand, and peered in… The look of him, Andrew!  If a man could die of misery, he’d be six feet under.  There was pain in every line of his face, grief pulling at his shoulders and such sorrow in his eyes…”

“You’ve a tongue for poetry when you’re drunk,” Gillette said, “and right, to boot.  James bloody Norrington… he hides it well, but not from those who know him.”

“We need to help, Andrew.”
“How?” Gillette asked, swigging from his tankard.  “The man won’t let anything underneath his skin, not after that mess with Mrs. Turner and the Sparrow character.  He’s married to his work, and more than that, too.  He doesn’t define his job anymore; he lets it define him.  If there was ever a time to reach him, it’s passed.”

Groves slowly wagged his dark head from side to side, scraping his bottom lip with the nail of his thumb.  “He is far gone.  We need to snap him out of this funk.”

“How?”

“Shock him so bad he can’t sink under again.”

“How?” Gillette pressed again.

Unsure eyes, pale and testing, peered up from under long lashes.  “We could seduce him.”

Gillette’s eyes widened comically and he nearly dropped his mug.  Tu déconnes ou quoi!?  He stammered a moment and cried, “You’re mad!”

“Not at all.  Do you know what he’ll be doing tomorrow?  He’ll wake up, dress up, visit the Governor because it’s expected, visit the Turners because he feels obliged, go to church because he has to, inspect the troops because he’s obsessive, attend the party because he’s invited, propose a toast because it’s appropriate, and then go home, where he’ll sit in his study in his drafty old townhouse and do paperwork until he’s too exhausted to do anything but sleep.”  Groves met Gillette’s disbelieving stare with a gaze emboldened by a surety he finally knew.  “And who knows what then?  Maybe he’ll dream of hell, the one he thinks awaits him or the one he’s already made for himself.  And the next day and the day after that… it will be the same until he really does work himself to death, maybe at the hands of an enemy he no longer has the passion to fight.”

Gillette saw his looks, heard his words, and then said, “You’re right.  Mon Dieu!  You’re right.  We have to seduce him.”

= = = = =

They supported one another on the way back to the Fort, loose and happy drunks the both of them, though each suffered a dose of melancholy to curb the otherwise idyllic contentment. 

The cool night breeze sobered them both so that by the time they reached their shared officers’ quarters, they were quiet and morose, regretting their cups and second-guessing what an hour before had seemed incontrovertible.  They peeled off their clothes and sponge-bathed with the cool water in the waiting basin, scrubbing the rough cloth over pale skin and washing the foul taste from their mouths.

“I’ve never been with a man,” Gillette confessed, clinging to the remnants of his intoxication and breaking the long silence between them.

“Well,” Groves wondered, drying himself with a ratty old towel, “we could play it by ear tomorrow…” he tossed the towel aside, “or I could rectify the oversight tonight.”

“Rectify the oversight?” Gillette echoed, amused by the turn of phrase.

Groves swooped in without warning to kiss him.  Their mouths crashed together, teeth clicked, noses bumped.  Groves pulled back and smiled; he leaned forward, pressing naked skin together.  Only the meager starlight from the window showed him Gillette’s baffled expression.  Theodore shook his head and his smile softened.  “You’re a treasure, Andrew,” he said, caressing the blushing, freckled face.  “Won’t you finally let me love you?”

Je ne… I don’t know; I…”

“You think too much.”  Finally, the smile melted away, and a rare sadness showed through Theodore’s pale eyes.  “I wish we could be happy.”

A muscle ticked in Andrew’s jaw and he squeezed his eyes closed.  After steadying his breath, he looked to his friend with a courage usually reserved for battle and promised, “We could be happy tonight.”  He took Theodore’s hand and pulled him toward the nearest bed.  Quelquefois, je pense que… je t’aime,” he wondered, and not for the first time.

“Why do you do that?” Theodore asked with a sad little smile, sitting beside him.

Quoi?”

“Speak French, when you don’t want me to know what you’re saying.”

“It’s so much easier,” Andrew confessed, exploring stretches of pale skin and bunched muscles with the anxious fingers of an adolescent.  “Though you’re right, I shouldn’t say anything at all, should I, if I’m not brave enough to be heard?”

“Not necessarily,” Theodore allowed, setting off on an exploration of Andrew’s freckled skin.  “I like it.  It’s romantic.”  He laughed then and leaned in for a kiss.  “It’s very sexy,” he spoke against Andrew’s lips before covering them.

“Ah, oui?” Gillette asked.

Très oui,” Theodore agreed with a laugh.  Then he lay back on the bed and pulled Andrew close alongside him.  “This is easy, you see?  First, we touch.”  His strong, eager hands sought out pale skin flushed hot and ready.  “We’ll find all those secret places,” he promised, voice turning husky as he pinched a nipple, which elicited a shocked gasp.  “…Places that make us sigh and squirm.  How about here?” he asked, kissing just under Gillette’s jaw.  “I think your neck is very sensitive; is it, Andrew?”

“Y-yes…”

“Ah.”  Theodore smiled and slowed his teasing fingers.

Andrew’s hands rested safe near Groves’s waist, but finally they moved in curious, halting circles wider and wider until one reached around to explore Theodore’s backside and the other a muscled chest.  Tu es joli, mon Teddy.  I love touching you.”

“As do I,” Theodore sighed his bliss.  “And then,” he instructed, “we kiss.”

“We’ve done that already,” Gillette pointed out.

“Are you complaining?”

“No, Teddy.”

“I like that.”

“What?  Me not complaining?”

Theodore laughed.  He was always the sort of man who was ready with a friendly laugh, but this one was pure and deep.  “That’s not what I meant, but it would be nice for a change… I meant your calling me Teddy.”  In a rare moment that spoke of Theodore’s true nature, an expression of uncertainty clouded his features. 

Quickly finding the rhythm of this heretofore-unknown interaction, Andrew decorated the shy face before him with little kisses, up one side and down the other until a real smile was drawn forth.

“This is so incredibly dangerous,” Groves whispered, his smile fading again.

“This is so incredibly worth it,” Andrew promised, carefully drawing upon the strength within.  “And after touching and kissing, what comes next, Teddy?  Show me.”

Groves ducked his head into the curve of neck and shoulder, breathing in the scent of the man before kissing the heaving chest.  He gently rolled Gillette to his back and Groves slid over him, planting open-mouthed kisses in a path down flat sternum to heaving belly.  He handled Andrew’s cock with firm precision, stroking it slowly before applying his tongue to the crown and plunging his mouth down.

Gillette barely stifled his shriek of surprise and ecstasy, his fingers creasing the sheets, his hips bucking.

Theodore smiled and lifted away, coasting back up the trembling body.  “Don’t get too excited now,” he said.  “There’s more to come.”  He reached for the little lantern on Gillette’s nearby desk and carefully detached the glass pot of oil.

Andrew tried to breathe and watched each of Theodore’s movements in wonder.  “What’s that for?”

Groves kissed him on the nose and smiled.  “You’re the sweetest gift god’s ever given me,” was what he said, and kissed the pert nose again.  In good humor once more, he went one, “Next, you fuck me in the ass, Andrew.”

“Oh, my god.”

“Say it in French.”

Mon Dieu!

Theodore laughed and confessed, “By Jove, that shouldn’t boil my blood the way it does.”  Then he held up the oil and said, “This is to ease the way.  I’ll start, unless you want a crack at it.”  He dribbled the coarse oil onto his hand and set the jar upon Gillette’s torso with an affectionate pat.  In a feat of athletic dexterity, Theodore pivoted about on one knee so that he was kneeling away from Andrew, giving him a good view of the erotic scene before him. 

Gillette could only lay still and watch.  One of Theodore’s hands was braced against the rough stone wall as he bent forward, exposing his ass with his knees spread wide.  His pale form seemed a ghostly magic in the moonlight and Andrew caught his breath at the marvelous sight.  Sweaty and curled, dark hair stuck to Theodore’s neck in enticing hanks while a fine sheen over pale flesh caught the white light in blocks from the leaded windows.  The shadowed bars drifted over the body whenever the man moved and Andrew was transfixed.

As he reached back with glistening fingers, Theodore glanced over his sinewy shoulder to be sure he held his audience’s attention.  But there was no need for concern: Andrew was spellbound.  His breaths came quick and shallow, his dark eyes stared wide and unblinking. 

One finger breached his own body, shallow and slow at first, but then he curved further to the side and slithered two fingers up within.  “This,” he huffed out, “helps to alleviate the pain.”

“Pain?”

“Don’t worry,” Theodore soothed.  “It’s been a while for me but…” he twisted his fingers and stretched the opening further, “it’ll only burn a little, I imagine.”  He finally withdrew his hand and wiped it on a towel that had landed on the footboard.  “Next time, you can do the honors, eh?”

“Or we could do it the other way round completely,” Andrew readily offered, hardly knowing what he was in for.  

“You are a treasure,” Theodore quietly praised as he faced his friend once more and crawled forward to straddle strong thighs.  “Now, where’s that oil?  Ah, yes…”  He kept up a running commentary as he took the little glass pot and poured a small pool of it on the pale and lightly furred abdomen before him.  He ran his hands through the slick, gooey stuff, coating his fingers before wrapping both hands around Andrew’s cock, thick and hard and already weeping.  “You won’t last long,” he said.  “That’s all right.”

Groves inched forward until his thighs embraced Andrew’s chest and the slick cock bumped the crease of his buttocks. 

“Now,” Theodore teased with a slightly puzzled expression, “what comes next again?”

Andrew barely found breath for his words, so tight were his chest and throat.  Je te fourche.”

Theodore grinned, wide and happy.  “I don’t know what that means, but I think I got the gist of it.”  He raised himself and reached behind to align their bodies.  Then he sank persistently down, grimacing against the blunt entry, until the head was lodged firmly inside him. 

Andrew quaked and gasped.  His strong fingers bruised dense thighs in his struggle not to cry out.

One of Theodore’s hands fluttered down to press flat on Gillette’s chest as a brace.  The other found the wall with the same purpose.  “If only you let me,” he vowed, “I’d do this every night.”  He sank down a bit at a time, the oil helping, the violation still stinging.  “Each night would be so precious to me, Andrew, as precious as each of your smiles.  Oh!”  He finally settled himself, his thighs quivering like a spent horse.  “Maybe I’m just a romantic, but I dream of it so often… Kissing you, touching you…  Last night, when you were late coming home,” he confessed as he slowly rose and then settled again, “I stroked myself so hard and thought of you tying me to the bed so I couldn’t move, and fucking me so long I ached just to cum.”

Andrew mewled and his hands slid to grasp Theodore’s tormenting hips, to hold them still as he thrust, easing up into tight heat, away, and then in again, in that same ancient rhythm found every moment in the punishing waves that broke endlessly on Caribbean shores.  “Teddy, oh!”

Theodore caught his breath and smiled.  He pried off Andrew’s hands and kneeled up until he lifted away completely.

Gillette groaned at the loss and could hardly form a question before Groves was directing him again.  “Budge up there, Andrew.”  Theodore kneeled on hands and knees on the mattress.  “Come and bugger me proper, my French lover.”

Driven by emotions and needs he couldn’t have found words to define, Andrew gained his knees in seconds and reverently bent over the body offered to him.  He kissed a sharp shoulder blade, a defined spine, the dip of the lower back.  He kissed the skin so pale in the moonlight.  Et maintenant,” he said, “je jamais serai ne regret.  Jamais.”  He covered the back before him like a blanket as he calmly aligned their bodies and they slid together once more.  Nom de Dieu de bordel de merde!” he swore at the beauty of it.

Andrew grabbed those hips tight, and quickly taught himself the tender viciousness with which one can love another.

Arching and clawing the sheets, Groves didn’t object, and he rammed himself backwards to meet every assault.

Sweat dripped from the moonlit bodies as moans and grunts dripped from their lips.  No beast moved more artfully than they; no sight on earth could be more striking.

One of Andrew’s crafty hands slid a dangerous path around to Theodore’s belly, up to tease a nipple, and then down to grasp the straining erection that bobbed free in the air.

Theodore cried out, only invigorating Andrew to thrust all the harder until the passion coalesced into an unexpected deluge that could not be held back.  He bucked and shivered as he spent himself in tight heat.  His hand never stopped, and Theodore followed shortly after, spilling his seed to the sheets as he howled his thanks.

Hands petted and caressed.  The men clung together as they slithered from the disheveled bed to the other and curled up there, recovering their breath and composure, smiles gracing features both handsome and plain. 

And despite their blissful and lethargic fatigue, they still did not sleep, but whispered together long into what remained of the night.  Until they had a plan.  Ruthless.  Exact. 

Perfect.

= = = = =

End Part 1

 

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