PotC Drabble - Mark II - Facial Graffiti
Jul. 30th, 2006 02:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
order_of_chaosTitle: Mark II – Facial Graffiti
Author:order_of_chaos
Rating: G
Genre: Humour/Parody
Pairing: Speckett (Sparrow/Beckett), if you wish to see it as such.
Summary: Jack leaves his mark on Beckett. It's been done before, and will be done again - it's too good a starting-point for fics not to be - but this time, it's crack. (Not compared to some of the things I've written, but still.)
***
Jack peered suspiciously at his former captor. Cutler didn’t move.
Sleeping. Not awake. Good.
A grin spread gleefully across the pirate’s face. Very good.
Working carefully to avoid waking the man, Jack drew a large, curling moustache on Beckett’s lower lip, then round, black circles of spectacles for his eyes.
After a moment’s contemplation he added whiskers.
Laughing silently, the pirate stepped back. He brushed his fingers lightly over the still raw brand in his arm, grimaced at the pain of it, then grinned again at Beckett. “Ta, luv,” he whispered, waving, and tripped – very quietly – over the doorstep on his way out. The shadows of the night fortuitously concealed his escape.
Minutes later, Cutler Beckett opened his eyes, inked-on whiskers twitching, and regarded the ceiling with disinterest. “Ta, Jack Sparrow,” he said dryly, and went back to sleep.
Author:
order_of_chaosRating: G
Genre: Humour/Parody
Pairing: Speckett (Sparrow/Beckett), if you wish to see it as such.
Summary: Jack leaves his mark on Beckett. It's been done before, and will be done again - it's too good a starting-point for fics not to be - but this time, it's crack. (Not compared to some of the things I've written, but still.)
***
Jack peered suspiciously at his former captor. Cutler didn’t move.
Sleeping. Not awake. Good.
A grin spread gleefully across the pirate’s face. Very good.
Working carefully to avoid waking the man, Jack drew a large, curling moustache on Beckett’s lower lip, then round, black circles of spectacles for his eyes.
After a moment’s contemplation he added whiskers.
Laughing silently, the pirate stepped back. He brushed his fingers lightly over the still raw brand in his arm, grimaced at the pain of it, then grinned again at Beckett. “Ta, luv,” he whispered, waving, and tripped – very quietly – over the doorstep on his way out. The shadows of the night fortuitously concealed his escape.
Minutes later, Cutler Beckett opened his eyes, inked-on whiskers twitching, and regarded the ceiling with disinterest. “Ta, Jack Sparrow,” he said dryly, and went back to sleep.
