For the LJ Drabble Meme:
Dialogue: Horny is such a tasteless word. I prefer the term sensually opportunistic, thank you.
For Redorchard13 (Lady Lorax) who has been endlessly patient . . .
Warnings: Gratuitous quote abuse, likely paint errors, and possible anachronismsTaking Advantage
"Sparrow!" The annoying English voice called across the Quad.
"Professor Sparrow. Why is that so hard?" He did his best to look down his nose at the figure before him – a somewhat difficult task given the man was taller by several inches. But after all, James Norrington taught modern art and drawing - with colored pencils no less – and was HARDLY in the same class as him. Oils and the great Masters, now that was Art. Not the mere tossing of paint in a haphazard pattern on a canvas like that new guy Jason, Joshua, no, Jackson Pollock – that was it. Though he had to admit that the other man himself could quite be considered a work of art – brown hair, bright green eyes and a body that cried out to be painted naked. Viciously squashing that thought, Sparrow returned his attention back to Norrington.
"What is it you are wanting Mr. Norrington?"
"The Art Exhibit at the Student Union this weekend Professor?" James was not quite able to keep the sneer out of his voice. "You promised to come to the art lab and look over the works before they were displayed."
Honestly, since winning the much-coveted Black Pearl Award for Art – for an admittedly stunning oil of a ship in full sail during a tropical storm – Sparrow had become even more impossible. He certainly had talent though - and was good looking in a stuck up bow tie and suit kind of way. For example, the red tie he was wearing today had to be silk was just the color of ripe apples and made the tint of his skin look even more golden. Wonder if he is that gold all over. Do not go there James.
Sparrow made a show of shooting the cuffs of his Armani suit probably silk too before replying. "Very well. I will come over directly after class. You will be there of course?"
"Indeed." was the only reply Norrington made.
James was eating sushi while he waited for Jack to arrive. The final edits for the children's book he had written and illustrated had just come from the publisher. Finch's Flight followed the adventures of a group of pirates who preferred to use their wits rather then their swords in the pursuit of treasure. Led by Captain Jonathon Finch, they were constantly engaged in trying to out finagle their sometimes nemesis, sometimes reluctant ally Captain Jeremy Norwell. He looked up just as Sparrow sashayed in. Pretty, that chocolate sweater is just the color of his eyes – errrm – SQUASH
Norrington was reading a book – and eating sushi Jack noted.He loved sushi. His nose crinkled just a bit at the familiar smell of the wasabi. He hadn't had any is so long.
James watched as Jack's nose wrinkled at the sight of the sushi. Probably too good for it. Probably only ate high falutin' French cuisine like say creamed parsnips a la'orange with candied raisins He sniggered at the thought. He preferred ramen and sushi himself. "Let me just get the key to the lab from my office and I will be right back Professor Sparrow." His response was a loose flap of a very fine wrist with a graceful long fingered – ARGH James beat a hasty retreat.
Jack sat down at the desk and longingly eyed the sushi. Those nicely curved red lips delicately closing around the selected morsel. Stop, think about something ELSE His eyes fell on the book Norrington had been reading. Here now, what's this? Probably some leftist liberal treatise on the glories of slinging paint all over the place as if THAT was Art. He turned the book over and frowned in surprise. The cover featured a finely detailed and brilliant colored drawing of a pirate in full regalia. Finch's Flight, written and illustrated by James Norrington. Hmmmm Casting a wary eye on the door, he began to flip through the pages.
James sighed as he rapidly searched his office for the key. Where was the blasted thing?? They had to get the art sorted for the exhibit. The Swann Art Forum combined student work with reproductions of some of the best of the Masters in one grand show. He hoped Sparrow wouldn't be too hard on the students. He had seen the man conduct an interview one time for prospective candidates. Sparrow had gotten right up in the poor boy's face and asked him "Do you have the courage and fortitude to follow your art and stay true in the face of critics and almost certain near starvation until you can one day say 'but you HAVE heard of me'?" James had thought kid was going to faint. Still, all his students seemed to love him. Pretty much EVERYBODY loved him except James. Finally, the key.
Jack heard the door to James office shut and quickly shut the book. He put his feet up on the desk, wiped the smile the story had raised off his face and plastered on his most supercilious expression. "About time" he snarked. "I don't have all night, Savvy?"
James counted to 10 and then smiled sweetly. "Right this way Sparrow." He made a mocking bow. "We have to decide which of the Master's reproductions to hang in addition to the student work."
Sparrow lips twisted in a sneer as they entered the studio. "Just as long as you don't want to put up that Johnson Pollvault guy." Jack didn't know why he said these things – something about James just brought out this side of him. It had nothing to do with unrequited lust . . . nah
That was the last straw for Norrington. "JACKSON POLLOCK is a fine modern artist – a talent to be reckoned with. His voice edged up in volume and his green eyes spit fire.
Pretty green eyes Jack noted for the umpteenth time just the color of his favorite viridian oil paint, and flashing gemstone bright just now. James was still yelling though . . .
""You need to get that paintbrush out of your hoity toity arse Sparrow and try seeing some REAL life and some real art." With that, Norrington picked up the nearest pot of watercolor paint and slung it directly at Sparrow. "Here, I will show you how Pollock works." Not stopping, he grabbed several more pots in a red, green and yellow and slung those too. "There NOW you are a real masterpiece."
Jack just stood there in shock – for all of like 30 seconds – before he turned and grabbed the nearest pallet of oils and rubbed them into James' blindingly white shirt. "How do you like them apples??" His lips quirked evilly. "All the best painters use oils."
Neither Jack nor James could ever really say what happened next. One minute they were madly tossing paints and rinse water everywhere and the next, their lips were locked, tongues investigating the colors of each other's mouths.
Finally having to stop due to lack of air, they pulled back and looked at each other in amused shock. Paint dripped from Jack's hair and down his cheek in a multi-colored trail while James' shirt looked like a child's fingerpainting experiment.
"I say Jack, are you horny?"
"Horny is such a tasteless word. I prefer the term sensually opportunistic, thank you."
"Well then by all means" James replied smugly, "let us take advantage of the opportunity and adjourn to the bedchamber, prostate ourselves upon the mattress and indulge in the pleasure principal."
Jack grabbed up a handful of soft paintbrushes. "We might need these . . " he smirked lasciviously.
James eyes grew wide. "Oh, that's not fair."
"Heh" Jack merely cut a look to the book still lying on the desk, miraculously unbesmirched, and grabbed James' hand, pulling him towards the door. "Pirate."