"James, this is really very sad."

"Go 'way," James muttered, flicking his hand out at Jack.

The parrot on his shoulder ruffled its feathers and squawked reproachfully, "Red sky at morning." Standing next to the inebriated commodore, Cotton gave Jack a look that was both apologetic and accusatory.

Crouching down in front of James, Jack reached for the bottle in his hand. James yanked it away, glaring. "Mine. Get your own." He took a claim-staking swig that was interrupted by a hiccup.

Jack fought down the urge to snap at him. "C'mon, Jamie."

"No!" James wavered away from him, startling the parrot. "Staying down here with my friends." Grinning lopsidely, he tried to pet the parrot with clumsy fingers, it sidestepped to the very edge of his shoulder. Cotton winced on its behalf.

Jack tried again, putting more wheedling into his voice. "James, love—"

"You called me a tight-arsed prig!" James shouted.

"Yes, but I didn't mean it," said Jack quickly, before he smiled and did the slight head-tilt that usually made James turn red and shove him into the nearest deserted space. "Well, I didn't mean all of it..."

James stared at him malevolently, but his throat was working and he seemed not to notice Jack's fingers slowly stealing up his non-parrot-occupied arm.

"I am sorry, you know..." He leaned in, letting his breath drift across James's lips.

"You have to go and... and ruin our holiday," James grumbled uncertainly. He shifted one knee to the side, letting Jack kneel between his legs.

Jack threaded his fingers through dark hair, loving how it parted softly for him, much as the lips he'd been paying so much bruising attention to for the past three days were now slightly parted, James's tongue pressed against his teeth. Such a lovely pink tongue, always bold these days, whether it went exploring inside Jack's mouth or was lapping him up after...

"I've been so terribly naughty," Jack purred, stroking that spot just under his jaw, the one always made him flail like a fish dragged out of water. A little sound escaped his lips, not quite a moan, and his eyes closed as his head fell forward against Jack's. "Take me back to bed and show me the error of my ways, hmm?"

Lashes fluttering, his eyes opened to show a bit more lucidity than Jack had given him credit for. "And I can call you whatever I want?" His voice was a low, drawn-out growl, sending shivers playing chase down Jack's spine.

"Anything you want," he promised, finally attacking that mouth, those lips that were so often tightly closed, but never when Jack was around.

He barely noticed the indignant call of "Dead men tell no tales," a threat if ever he'd heard one. Without letting James go, he shooed the parrot out of the way. It flapped to Cotton's shoulder and clacked its beak at the preoccupied captain and commodore.

James eventually succumbed to the need for breath. Lightweight, Jack thought contemptuously, grabbing for him again. Suddenly worlds soberer, James shoved him off and dragged himself to his feet.

"Bed," he gasped. "Now."

Jack hid a grin as he let James haul him up and off in the direction of the cabin, wondering what names would greet his ears once they were secluded. James was an educated boy; he ought to have a wide range of vocabulary, including some choice words provided by Jack himself. Oooh yes, Jack could think of one or two obscene foreign phrases that he'd maybe fibbed on the definition of when James had asked him what they meant. And best of all, the sweet things he always whispered when he got close, the appeals and endearments he'd later deny if Jack brought it up. In the end, though, it didn't matter what James called him, as long as it was some expression of 'mine,' and as long as he got to go on hearing it for the rest of his days.

Cotton and the parrot looked after the departing men. "Red sky at night, sailor's delight," said the parrot, almost smugly. Cotton nodded in agreement.