When the Dauntless moored in the harbour at Nassau, Commodore Norrington gave his men a much needed shore leave. They had returned with a gift for him, a gift that had been peacefully snoring in the alley behind "The Silent Swan": Jack Sparrow, insensible with drink and wrapped in the arms of Morpheus. He hadn't woken until the five crewman had him bound in one of the longboats, oars dipping lightly into a calm sea. He grunted and tried to turn. One of the men gave him a clout on the back of the head and he lay still once more.

He woke up, hours later, in the brig of the Dauntless. Interesting. Naked. Even more interesting.

"'ere, you! he croaked to the guard. "Water."

The young face above the uniform grinned down at him and pushed the dipper through the bars. Jack drank noisily, breathing a sigh of relief. His mouth felt like a churned-up hog sty and his head was pounding.

" 'ow'd I get 'ere?"

"Your own folly, you drunken lout."

The gourd was refilled and he drank half of it, pouring the rest over his head and shaking it like a dog. It was cold enough to wake him thoroughly.

The air in the brig was fetid and dank and familiar enough for him to feel mildly comfortable. It was, after all, a ship, and Jack Sparrow made a point of never having a hangover on dry land.

He tapped the bars lightly. "Where're me clothes?"

The young officer just grinned at him again. Jack raised an eyebrow. Now this was an interesting predicament. He'd only gone ashore for a bit of fun and damn, that doxy had had a head of iron when they got into a drinking contest. Course, London girlie that she were, she'd chosen gin and gin never did set too well with Jack. He's should have stuck to rum.

He wasn't surprised that the Pearl hadn't been spotted. He knew the reefs and shoals around these waters like the back of his hand and she was safely anchored in a little cove that no one would think could moor so large a ship, but Jack knew better.

Right now, he had little idea of how far or close she was, since there were no portholes in a brig. He stood up with a groan and sat back down, his head spinning. Standing was definitely not an option at the moment.

He glanced up through his tangled hair at the stripling, watching the boy's eyes taking in every scar and tattoo on his body. Goddamn Royal Navy. Every last one of 'em a bleedin' pouf. And most of 'em after his assets, at least in these waters.

"Curse me nat'ral charms!" he muttered under his breath.

His head was throbbing miserably and he ordinarily would have simply puked over the side, then swallowed enough rum to get him right. Alas, that was not an option and he was not going to be sick and have to sit in it. So he stretched out on the hard decking and pillowed his hands behind his head, cracking one eye on the watching lad.

The boy's eyes had grown enormous and Jack bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. That ring through his john thomas always did it to the young'uns. The continually shocked reaction to it all these years made it worth the pain in the soggy little port off New Guinea. And it never failed to make even the most hardened strumpets squeal. Yes, all in all it had been well worth the trouble and the pain of having that crazy tattooed wog punching a flame-hot steel needle through his most prized possession, aside from the Pearl.

The Dauntless rocked gently in the current and Jack dozed off.

He was wakened by a clatter of boot heels and a shout.

Commodore Norrington was staring down at him with deeply shocked eyes.

"Good God, man, where are your clothes!"

Jack sat up, testing his head and was pleased to find only a slight lingering throb. "Well, mate, that was my question too. Seein' as how I don't know quite how I got your kind invitation and I wasn't 'ware it were a dress ball."

Norrington turned and shouted up the hatch. "Ensign, get down here."

The stripling was back, trying desperately not to look at Jack, or specifically, at Jack's groin, while standing at stiff attention.

"Where are Mr. Sparrow's clothes?"

"Captain." Jack corrected in a pained voice. "Captain Sparrow, if ya please."

"Bo'sun and Lt. Gillette took them, sir. Thought it best in case he had hidden arms."

"I've only got two arms!" Jack pointed out.

"You, shut up." Norrington glared at him, turning back to the lad. "Well, where are they?"

"Can't rightly, say, Commodore."

Norrington ground his teeth. "Go to my cabin and fetch my dressing gown. Now."

The boy bolted up the stairs at a run.

Jack leaned back against the wall, watching the Commodore with amused eyes. Norrington was struggling to look anywhere but at him.

"You are positively remarkable, Sparrow. You lead me a merry chase all over the Spanish Main and my men pick you up in a back alley, dead drunk." He shook his head. "Amazing."

"Well," Jack drawled, "I mus' admit to thinkin' meself rather amazin' at times."

"Amazingly stupid."

"Now, y'see, Commodore, tha' were I have t' be disagreein' wi' ya. Amazingly drunk, per'aps. But not stupid. "Ts an honest enough blunder any man could'a made."

"Whoring, no doubt." Norrington nose wrinkled and Jack grinned.

"An' wha's wrong wif a bit of fun, I ask ya?"

The Commodore's lip curled. "I hope you had a good time. It will be your last, I promise."

Jack looked at him sidelong through a mass of hair. "Wanna bet on tha'?"

"Oh no. I don't have to bet. I'll see you swing this time, Sparrow. And that you can bet on. Ah, Ensign, thank you."

He pushed the blue silk robe through the bars. "For God's sake, cover yourself, man. Have you no shame?"

"No, " Jack replied cheerfully, slipping the dressing gown over his shoulders. "Course, I'm understandably disappointed, Commodore. I thought you'd chucked me in here in me altogether thinkin' t'have a bit of a romp wi' me. An' here ya've gone and dashed all me hopes."

"Don't be disgusting." Norrington was fighting an insane notion and pushed it out of his mind resolutely. He was not going to treat Jack Sparrow as a fellow seaman and a Captain. He was not. The man was a criminal and a lout, in no way an equal.

Three minutes later, Jack was struggling to pull the long gown out from under his feet as they ascended to the Captain's quarters, his eyes taking in the positions of the belowdecks and the crew.

Jack sauntered into the cabin, looking around and looping the robe over one arm for it dragged behind him. The Commodore was a good bit taller than he. Immediately, he went to examine the desk, eyeing the locked cabinets and poking around, as curious as a monkey.

Norrington unbuttoned his uniform jacket with a small sigh of relief and went to the table and unlocked the small chest there.

"Would you like a drink?"

"Now, that's positively the sweetest thing ya've said t'me all day, Commodore. I would indeed." Jack flopped himself in a chair, stretching out his legs and propping them up on the table, the blue silk falling away from his tanned body.

"Here." Norrington handed him a fine cut-crystal glass. "And take your feet off the table."

Jack sighed and swung his legs down, pulling the gown around himself and watching a bead of sweat on Norrington's upper lip with a sly smile.

He sampled the amber liquid with the air of a connoisseur. "Why, Commodore. I'm truly surprised. Didn't take you for a rum boy. " he grinned wickedly. " Of course, it's very nice rum, to be sure."

Norrington sat down and regarded the pirate across from him, wound in his dressing gown and looking disgustingly chipper for a man who should have a raging head and be in fear for his life. Then again, in his short acquaintance with Jack, he'd never known the man to be anything other than perfectly, insanely happy. The only time he'd ever seen anything remotely like melancholy in those dark eyes had been those last moments on the scaffold, just as the noose was pulled over his head. A short-lived bout of melancholia, indeed, thanks to the Turner lad and his regrettable skill with a sword

"Now, Commodore, about me effects..." Jack tossed back the rest of his drink and was turning the glass in his hand. "Very nice bit o' sparkle. Looks French t'me. Or Bohemian at that."

"Bohemian. And I will endeavor to get your clothing returned to you shortly. I gave no such orders and I'm not in the habit of stripping my prisoners."

"Ahh, like a pirate, eh?" Jack pushed the glass over to him for a refill.

"Precisely."

They drank for a moment in silence and Jack hopped up out of the chair, circling the cabin, poking and prodding at everything, his eyes dancing over the cabin.

"Will you please sit down."

"All right, all right. Don't get yer knickers in a twist, mate. I'm sitting."

Jack slouched comfortably in the chair, the glass balanced on the bare V where the robe opened over his smooth chest, one hand circling it, his long fingers tapping their rings against the tinkling surface.

"Now, me effects.."

"Will go to the hangman. I'm only doing this because I am mortified that any man should have been treated in such a coarse and humiliating fashion on board my ship." Norrington shifted uncomfortably, wishing his cravat wasn't tied quite so high and his trousers weren't quite so tight.

Jack grinned at him impudently. "Well, I really couldn't tell ya 'xactly how coarse an' humiliatin' it were, seeing as I were passed out and sleepin' like a wee babe in arms at th' time. Did they 'ave a good time? Or d'ya jus' ignore it when one o' yer crew's hammock is weighin' a bit 'eavy and sportin' an extra set o'legs?"

The Commodore sputtered a bit and took another drink, then filled both glasses again. As he leaned across the table, he glared into Sparrow's wicked, ink-dark eyes.

"You are a revolting, filthy-minded lout, a slave to drink and sodomy and God knows what else. For that alone, you should hang."

"An' how would ya be knowin' that, Commodore? Y'ever seen me kip wi' another bloke?" Jack took a swallow of the drink and smiled sweetly. "Or per'aps you 'ave. I still don't know wot yer bloody crew mighta done t'me whilst I was out." His smile stretched into another grin, gold teeth winking into the glass. "'Ow'm I t'know wot kinda pox they could'a given me?"

Norrington's eyes were stricken for a moment. before he masked them by filling up Jack's glass again, but not before those sharp eyes had registered the look. Jack smiled softly into his drink.

"I have no doubt that, rough as my crew's handling might have been, and regrettable as their actions in removing your clothing, they would never have molested you in such an obscene fashion."

Jack shrugged. "All the same t'me, mate, obscene or not."

The Commodore squirmed imperceptibly in his seat. He truly was not as sure of his crew's honesty in the matter and it sat ill with him that he had not been informed of Sparrow's capture until the morning. He made a mental note to take Lt. Gillette severely to task for it. He did indeed wish that somehow he could be assured that Sparrow had not be subjected to any worse indignity than the nudity he so blithely ignored.

Jack watched the play of emotions in Norrington's eyes and swallowed his smile and another mouthful of rum. His headache was quite gone now and he felt more than up to the challenge of the situation. He let the robe fall open a bit more with all the nonchalant practice of a Seven-Dials doxy flashing her tits.

"Care to make sure? Commodore?" his voice was silky, dark as his hair and those bird-bright eyes.

Norrington's blue eyes registered shock, then anger, then concern. He had no intention of letting the matter pass now, not with Jack's eyes looking oh-so-innocently over the rim of the glass.

"Stand up." Norrington grabbed for the bottle and swayed a bit in place. Jack tucked that fact into his brain and stood obediently.

The robe hung open, hiding nothing at all. The sharp hipbones jutted over scattered dark hairs that deepened into short curls cradling his cock. Sparrow's head tilted up, watching Norrington weave as he approached.

They were face to face now, Jack looking up at him. Norrington's eyes were a bit glassy and he struggled to think why, in the name of all that was Holy, he was discussing such a subject with Sparrow, of all people, or why his chest felt so tight and he was so hot. He was staring at Jack's mouth, fixated on the lips that curved into a pout above that ridiculous beard.

Jack's hands pulled at his collar gently. "This is awfully tight, Commodore."

Norrington couldn't take his eyes of those lips, and his head felt fuzzy. He had not taken breakfast and so much rum on an empty stomach was going straight to his brain. Such a vile brew and damn Jack Sparrow for having Satan's own way of twisting everything around sideways. The dark head was thrown back, that mouth agonisingly close.

"Yer sweatin' a bit, luv." Sparrow murmured and the distance was breached. Norrington's mouth closed over those tempting lips, trembling.

It was not a kiss of passion, nor was it entirely chaste. Jack's lips were softer than he would have imagined, what with the sea and wind, and the damned pirate was finally silent and still, passive beneath the kiss, until Norrington's tongue flicked out and he opened his mouth

That's when the passion, fueled by rum, flooding into James Norrington's brain and he pulled Sparrow into his arms, tipping him backwards, one hand tangled in that mass of hair, devouring his mouth as though it were life and death. Jack wound both arms around his neck and leaned into the kiss, pliant as a reed.

Norrington pulled his face away, gasping for breath, and hardly dared to look into Jack's eyes. There was no mockery in them, thank God, only a questioning smile. He leaned back in for another kiss.

"You taste like the rum." He could feel Sparrow smile and kissed it away impatiently, determined to keep his bird silent, now that he had him in hand.

Jack's fingers fumbled at the back of his neck and he took a long breath between kisses as the stiff collar and cravat fell to the floor. His jacket followed and Jack's hand wandered under the collar of his shirt, fingertips scorching along his throat.

Norrington's brain was flashing like lightening on a dark sea and he swept Jack up into his arms and off his feet, pushing them both back towards the bed.

"Get this thing off, " he growled, pulling at the dressing gown, his fingers impatient and rough.

Jack shrugged it off his shoulders, his arms pinioned as Norrington's lips burned down his throat, then back up to his mouth.

"You really need, t'get yerself a girl, mate." Sparrow grinned until he was silenced once more.

"Don't you ever shut up?" Norrington sighed, dizzily, tongue flicking out to trace the line of Jack's upper lip.

"Mmmm..." Jack was wriggling beneath him, trying to get free of the robe. Norrington rolled off him and pulled it away, then held Sparrow on his side, fingers sliding down the slender body, over scars and tattoos, down along the narrow waist and over the firm curve of his buttocks. His eyes felt as thought they would burn out of his head and he wondered muzzily why Sparrow's crazy hair wasn't igniting from the heat. He buried his face in the space between neck and shoulder blade, sucking hard and long until he could feel the vibration of Jack's moan against his cheek. It left a lovely, mouth-shaped mark purpling against the golden flesh.

He reached around, letting his hand wander down to the dark curls between Sparrow's legs, reaching around to cup his balls, running up the now-very hard cock, looping one finger through the gold ring and giving it a tug. Jack gasped in a most delightful manner and writhed his backside against Norrington's much-too-tight trousers, sending shockwaves through the Commodore's groin. He tugged again just to hear that moan.

"What in God's name made you do this?" he murmured into Jack's ear, toying with it and thoroughly enjoying how his hips were beginning to pump. "Ooooh, makes the girlies weep f'joy, mate." Jack gasped, his whole body beginning to flood with heat. Trust the Royal Navy. Commodore Norrington certainly knew how to handle a cock and he'd a sneaking suspicion that he would be equally good mounting an offensive.

As if answering that very thought, Norrington tore himself away and Jack looked back over his shoulder to watch him fumbling impatiently with the bottle of lamp oil on the shelf beneath the sideboard. Oh yes, our Commodore had the grappling hooks out, he did, indeed! Jack smiled and simply waited, watching the tipsy man pulling his clothes off and weaving his way back to the bed. He wriggled a little, gauging the bunched robe and bedclothes beneath him.

Norrington fairly pounced on him, latching on to his neck again, his fingers pulling at small, surprisingly pink nipples, then grabbing Jack's cock again and twisting that ring until the pirate was bucking back into his own furnace heat. He raised up on one elbow and managed to get the lamp oil all over his hand and belly, where it dripped sideways into the sheets, cool against overheated flesh. He grabbed his own aching cock, then pushed his slippery fingers between Sparrow's cheeks, searching until they slid over the small hole. Fingertips trembling, he pushed in and Jack gasped softly, arching back in a most encouraging fashion. Norrington laughed softly against Jack's neck and twitched his finger, making Jack suck in his breath with a sobbing moan.

"No need for preliminaries with you, is there?" The Commodore's voice had dropped almost an octave and sent a pleasant thrill down Jack's spine. The finger twitched again and Sparrow cried out softly, his body shuddering.

"Shh. Now." Norrington's hand slipped out of Jack and guided his own oiled cock to the right place and his hips bucked forward, shoving himself full length into Sparrow, the other hand clapped over his mouth to keep him quiet. There was no need. Jack didn't scream, he only moaned deep in his throat and pushed his hips back, accelerating into a furious rhythm. Norrington's hand crept around the pirate's pierced cock, fingers threaded through the ring, alternately twisting it and pumping him until Jack stiffened and shook against him, coming hard over his teasing fingers. Norrington buried his face into Jack's neck, as the tight heat around his cock throbbed with the pirate's orgasm and he bit down to muffle his own cry as he shot deep into that glove of flesh.

Exhausted, they lay still for a long time, as the sweat dried cold on their bodies and the rum kept swirling in Norrington's brain. His eyes drooped closed and his arms slipped away from Jack, a wave of satiated slumber pulling him down.

Jack lay quiet until his own breathing slowed and he heard a faint snore behind him. He slipped one hand down into the folds of the blue silk robe and felt around for the pocket. His hand slipped into it and he grinned. Slipping out from under the spent Commodore's arms, he busied himself with cutting the dressing gown into long blue ribbons.

Commodore Norrington rose to the surface of his lust-induced slumber to find himself trussed up like a guinea fowl, one of his stockings being shoved, none to gently into his mouth.

Jack looked down at him, shaking his head, the trinkets and beads chiming. "Yer a very naughty laddie, you are, mate." The pirate was fully dressed, having found his clothing and effects stashed in the cabinet beneath the bunk, where, unbeknownst to his superior, Lt. Gillette had obligingly left them. "Such a liar! Ye'd make a good pirate, you would." He patted Norrington's cheek with a grin.

"And yer not 'alf a good fuck. I might have t'try you fer seconds. I mean, " he sat down on the bed to pull on his boots, watching Norrington struggle out of the corner of one eye, "what kind o' man steals a man's clothes and uses tha' as an excuse to tup 'im?"

He waggled one long, beringed finger in the Commodore's red face. "Ye've a dirty, devious mind, tha's fer sure, luv. But ye really should remember that ye've a habit o' leavin' yer penknite in yer pocket, darlin'."

Sparrow leaned over and planted a kiss on Norrington's sweat-beaded forehead.

"So I'll be sayin' ta fer now. And yes, you can mark this up as another day you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow." He paused, finger to his lips, pondering. "Well, maybe ye did catch me, after all. Me arse certainly tells me so." He grinned and wriggled his hips lewdly, making his coat swing like a bell. "Then again, it would be a damned thing t'be hangin' me off yer yardarm in yer own dressin' gown. Folks would talk. So we'll jus' keep our l'il secret, you an' me, eh?"

Norrington grunted and yanked at the ties, but the silk, being silk, held fast.

"Oh, an' sorry t'be ruining said dressin' gown. But blue never were my best colour."

Jack smiled and winked, stuck his hat on his head and paused at the door to blow a kiss. He closed the door, locked it and made his way down to the gundecks, sliding through the shadows as silent as a cat. He slithered along one of the guns and straddled it, smashing his precious hat in one coat pocket and shimmied out over the side, dropping a most-convenient rope and sliding down it with only the smallest of splashes.

He noted, ruefully, that it would be a longish swim and what with all the kicking, he was definitely feeling the effects of the morning's activity. Maybe he could manage to cop a nice hot bath once he landed on shore. Then again, maybe it were better to enjoy the burn in his backside and chalk up another victory in their merry chase.

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Read the sequel, This Ragged Wound.