"Sparrow, make your report and kindly leave." Commodore Norrington dipped his quill and continued writing without so much as glancing at his visitor, comfortably reclined in the chair opposite his desk.

"'Captain' Sparrow. Commodore, you wound me. And besides, I have interesting things to tell you." Jack plucked absently at the ravels on his sash, looking sidelong at the Commodore to gauge the reaction to his words.

James caught the sly look as he lay the pen aside and sat up, huffing a sigh through his nose. "Captain, then. As you may have gathered, I am not wholly enamored of the Governor's arrangement with you. Even if you had supplied pertinent information—which you have not, by the way—I am philosophically against making arrangements with known criminals. It's indecent, illogical, and bad for morale."

"Oh, I see. I suppose the Royal Navy's famous floggings actually boost morale, then? And 'criminal' is such a harsh term. I prefer scoundrel, or scallywag, or something equally rakish yet charming." James snorted. "At any rate, I have managed to obtain a reliable report that the Spanish pirate—and I use the term loosely because really he's just a... well, that's another issue—Manuel Rivero Pardal is planning an attack on the English turtling village at Little Cayman. I know Hopewell is there, but I recommend you send reinforcements." Jack laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back with a smug expression.

James stared, his eyes narrowing. "How do you know about Hopewell?"

Grimy hands flailed elegantly. "Oh, you know, I get around." Jack put a booted heel on James's mahogany desk and crossed his other ankle over it.

"I have no doubt." James glared at the boots until Jack pulled his feet down. "And just when is Pardal supposed to attack?"

Jack scrubbed ineffectually with his sleeve at the scuff mark. "That I don't know." James sniffed. "Well, I can't do your entire job for you!"

"Right. That's it. Out!"

"What, no thanks?" Jack stood and, unhurriedly, made his way to the door. "Despite your poor manners, Commodore, I'll return when I have more to report." Jack paused on the threshold. "You know, the Spanish have a nickname for you."

"I am utterly uninterested in whatever they choose to call me."

"Very well, Gallo de Indias." Jack grinned and pulled the door shut behind him.

James stared after the pirate for a long moment, the foreign words echoing in his mind despite his stated disinterest. Sparrow was a mystery to him; he couldn't fathom how a man could have so little regard for law and order. After all, that was precisely what James had dedicated his life to. On the other hand, Sparrow certainly lived; in fact, he positively glowed with life and vitality. James looked at the half-finished report in front of him, then at the stack of paperwork awaiting his attention. Was this living? He sighed. He didn't think he glowed at all.

**three and a half weeks later**

James rubbed the pad of his index finger across the scuff left on his desk by Sparrow's boots, his chin propped on his other hand. The attack on the little village had been thwarted, thanks to Sparrow's intelligence. He laughed to himself at that turn of phrase. Still, the Governor's agreement with Sparrow to bring information had proven effective. And that nickname Sparrow had mentioned... James had nearly forgotten it until he heard Pardal muttering the words as he was led away in chains. Now he mouthed the sounds "guy-yo day endyas" to himself, but he knew very little Spanish and had no idea what it meant. Something about an Indian, perhaps? But that made no sense. A knock on the door and his housekeeper entered, bringing his lunch.

"Ah, Mrs. Jenkins, thank you." She smiled and began to unpack the little basket. He returned the smile to the pretty Mulatto woman, the wife of a local baker, and a thought struck him. "Mrs. Jenkins, do you have a moment?"

She looked up. "Of course, sir, what may I do?"

"I have heard you speak Spanish, have I not?"

"Yes."

"Would you mind translating something for me?" She nodded. "I'm probably not pronouncing this correctly, but it sounds like 'guy-yo day endyas.' Any ideas?"

Mrs. Jenkins thought for a moment, brows drawn together and obviously sorting out his butchered pronunciation and accent. "Well sir, the best I can tell you is 'New World rooster.'"

"Are you certain?" That made even less sense than something about an Indian.

She smiled weakly. "Perhaps you misheard an accent?"

"No, no, I am sure you are correct based on my poor communication. Thank you, my dear, you are very kind."

Mrs. Jenkins turned to leave, opened the door, and Jack Sparrow nearly fell into the room. "Ah! Perfect timing!" He pulled up the familiar chair and tucked into James's lunch. The door closed behind the housekeeper and James turned on his visitor.

"Do help yourself, Captain Sparrow."

"Thankee, mate," he said as he pulled apart the cold chicken breast and grinned up at James, "And call me Jack." James resigned himself to a guest for lunch and poured two glasses of wine. Jack carved into the cheese with a knife that James decided not to examine too closely.

"So, what news this time Sp..., er, Jack?" The name was sharp and hot on his tongue and James took a swallow of wine so he wouldn't think about that.

"Oh, it's big this time, although there isn't much you can do about it." Jack tasted the wine. "By God, this is lovely! I didn't know you appreciated fine spirits, Commodore."

James sipped and rolled it on his tongue. "It's German, from the Alsace. My mother sends it when she can. And I'm nearly out, so don't gulp it. Now, what is this 'big' news, then?"

"The Spanish king's treasure fleet has wrecked, twenty-one of the twenty-two vessels, in the foul storm that passed north of here a fortnight ago. Scattered like beads from a broken necklace along thirty leagues of the Martyrs. I think they've refloated a few of the ships, but most broke their backs on the reef and won't swim again." Jack chewed his chicken and enjoyed the look on James's face.

"What are they doing about it? What of the people?"

"Salvage crews have gone out from Havana with supplies for the survivors, and native divers to start recovering whatever they can get. But hundreds were drowned, and hundreds more are stranded on those mosquito-infested islands with little food and less water. I left what I had and came straight to Port Royal."

James thought for a moment, twirling the wine glass in his fingers. "I can't officially send Navy ships, but I can 'persuade' a few of the local merchant captains to take food and water, and perhaps even bring off some of the women and children." James shook his head. "What a tragedy."

Jack watched the stem of the glass roll in James's long fingers, the rim rest on his lower lip as he sipped. "Uh, yes, a tragedy." He swallowed and looked away. "There's something else as well. Freebooters will swarm the wrecks soon enough, and won't scruple to aid the survivors."

"Then it's up to us." James pulled another cork.

The sun was setting and James was completely out of his nice German white when Jack stood to leave. He opened the door on the early evening, shrugged on his coat, and decided to take a chance. "So, James. I may call you James, mayn't I, Commodore?" James, leaning against the scuffed corner of his desk, smiled and raised his hand in invitation.

Jack gaped, momentarily stalled by unexpected dimples. "Erm, yes, so James. Have you deciphered your Spanish nickname yet?"

James thought of Mrs. Jenkins' weak smile and shook his head. "As best I can deduce, it means 'New World rooster.' Why would they call me that?"

Jack looked up at the emerging moon, chuckling quietly. James drained his glass and gazed at the pirate's profile limned against the falling light of day: the high cheekbone casting a deep shadow on his jaw, the beaded braids and the line of his throat, the open collar of his shirt exposing a sharp collarbone. He looked away, frowning at the empty glass in his hand as if it were at fault. He thought it could be at fault, actually.

Jack stepped back into James's office and walked toward him. He saw James swallow and set down the offending wineglass. Holding his eyes, Jack moved close, close enough to smell the sweet wine on James's breath, and reached behind James to pick up his pen. Jack glanced down as he wrote quickly and dropped the quill, then brushed his fingertips across the back of James's hand where it gripped the edge of the desk. "'New World rooster.' That's close, Commodore James, but not quite right. Try again." And with that he smiled, gold and ivory in the soft light, and was gone again.

James stared after him a moment, then examined the back of his hand, half expecting it to be marked with angry red burns, so hot was the pirate's touch. His office seemed suddenly very dark.

**six weeks later**

James wasn't sure how much he had helped the shipwrecked Spaniards, but he had tried and perhaps done some good. It had been weeks since Jack had shown his face in Port Royal, and James wondered where he was. For the good information he provided, he told himself confidently. Definitely for the information.

He looked again at the words Jack had written just before he left. 'Gallo de Indias' was written, in a surprisingly elegant hand, on the parchment. James figured the problem with the translation was the first word—it was gallo, not guy-yo. He must have misunderstood the spoken word. However, he had asked Mrs. Jenkins again, and she had said 'gallo' meant 'French' and that didn't make sense either. He was stumped. He was also enjoying the game.

James placed the parchment on the small writing desk in his home study, carefully setting a cut glass paperweight on it, and gazed out the open window. He liked the Jamaican night. It was thick and velvety black, and he could smell the ripe mangos on the tree in his back garden. A steady warm rain fell, and palm fronds rustled in the light breeze. He looked up at the tree, but the fronds weren't moving. He heard the rustle again and frowned. Not the palm, then, and Mrs. Jenkins had cleaned up dinner and gone home long ago. The clock on the sideboard showed 11:30. Very long ago.

A knock sounded at the back door and James went to investigate, collecting his sword on the way. "Who's there?"

"A little bird bearing gifts."

James put aside the sword and flung open the door. "Jack! Where have you been? Come in, come in."

Jack entered James's house, shedding his damp hat and coat as he headed toward the open door of the study. "Two glasses, James. And do you have anything to eat in the house?" He paused a moment and looked back, "Your hair is brown."

"The hell you say."

Jack gave him a pained expression. "Don't ever wear that wig again. Really. It's quite horrible," and continued on his way.

James shook his head and collected two tumblers, as well as the remains of the pork roast, rice and peas, and bread that Mrs. Jenkins had put away earlier. "This is unexpected, Jack," he called from the kitchen.

"Is it too late? I can come to your office tomorrow."

"Not at all! I was up." James winced at the high tenor in his voice. His heart was beating too fast. What was wrong with him? He carried a tray into the study where Jack had already removed his boots. Apparently, he wasn't that serious about leaving.

"They're wet," said Jack, brandishing his dripping boots to James's raised eyebrows. The pirate's grin brightened the dark room. "I have gifts!" And he produced two bottles, of better quality glass and blown with more care than the usual squat, onion-shaped bottles that populated the local drinking establishments. "Puerto Rican rum, aged eight years. The best I've ever had." He poured several fingers of the dark amber liquid into the tumblers. "Smooth, for sipping. Not that rot-gut you find in the taverns here." Black eyes gleamed in James's direction. "I thought you might like it."

"Why, Jack. I don't know what to say." James raised a glass. "To gifts, and information."

Jack raised his. "To knowing when to accept both."

James smiled that smile, tipped his glass, and closed his eyes as he savored the smoky-sweet alcohol.

Jack watched as his pink tongue captured an errant drop. He pulled at the waistband of his breeches and half turned away.

"Excellent. Jack, this is quite excellent. Thank you." James clinked his glass against Jack's and sipped again. "Now, what do you have for me this time?"

Jack stared at the commodore for a long moment, thinking about how to respond to that. He chose the less lewd. "Haiti is on the verge of a slave revolt. They are well organized and have a strong leader. I know you can't get involved in the rebellion, but if the Royal Navy, shall we say, 'occupied' any French ships that respond to the threat, it would give the slaves a better chance."

James sat and stretched out his legs. "Let's talk."

Dawn had not quite broken when the last drops of the second bottle were consumed. Jack stood, fell over, and attempted the standing again with slightly better results. James, being a prudent man, decided to remain in his chair. Jack pulled on his coat, nearly strangling himself with his own dredlocks in the process, and turned to face his host. "Once again, James, I must know—have you deciphered your Spanish nickname?"

"I seem to be having some diccifulty. I mean ditticulfy. I mean trouble with it."

"Oh? Why is that?" Jack moved closer to James's chair as he spoke, finally grasping the arms and leaning over James. James looked up into his face, only inches away.

"Why is that, James?" Jack leaned closer, nuzzling along James's jaw to see what he would do. He felt the jaw tremble for a long moment, and then lift as James gave him access to his throat. Jack nipped the soft flesh and traced the sharp jawbone with his tongue, then pulled James's mouth into a blistering kiss, raw and harsh. James responded, sucking Jack's tongue and gripping his upper arms to hold him in place. Jack slid his legs closer to retain his questionable balance and felt the hard line of James's thighs against his own. He moved his legs and felt James's muscles tense.

Jack finally pulled away and looked down into amazed green eyes. James's lips were swollen and slick as they formed words. "Gallo means French."

Jack blinked. "What?"

"Gallo means French."

Jack's head dropped to James's shoulder and he shook with barely suppressed laughter. He put his mouth close to James's ear and whispered, "Indeed it does, dear James, but that's not what I said, nor wrote. I said 'gallo.' In Spanish, double Ls sound like a Y." He traced his tongue around the convenient ear and pulled back to look into James's face. "Try again." Jack licked James's bottom lip where the damned glass had been all night, then grabbed his boots and hat and disappeared into the night.

James sat in his chair until well into the morning, glad it was Sunday and he wasn't expected at the fort. The previous evening had certainly taken an unexpected turn. He briefly considered going to church, but figured that was just asking for lightning bolts. Or worse.

**three weeks later**

Mrs. Jenkins was certain, as was the Mexican cloth merchant on the waterfront, and Lt. Groves, who spoke fluent, perfectly accented Spanish (who knew?). Elizabeth's Spanish dictionary confirmed it, although James still winced thinking of the story he'd made up about needing to translate a livestock manifest; he hated to tell her a mistruth, but explaining the real reason was unthinkable. "Gallo," pronounced correctly, meant "rooster." But Jack had said that wasn't right. James was absolutely flummoxed.

He sat in his study, again looking out the window on the black night. The bottles that formerly contained the Puerto Rican rum sat on the mantle reflecting lamp light. James looked at them and thought about Jack bringing the rum especially for him. Based on his report, the captain had been to Hispaniola. James wondered if Jack had sailed out of his way to Puerto Rico just to get the rum. Possibly. Probably. That made him smile.

A knock at the back door made James's stomach flip and he hurried to answer it. He opened the door to a Sparrow with a large bottle and a larger grin.

"Jack! What's this? You don't have to bring liquor every time you come to Port Royal."

"D'you mean you'd allow me in your house without a little bribery?"

James chuckled. "Oh, well, you also have those interesting reports from around the Caribbean, so I figure you're worth my time. And my dinner."

Jack affected a hurt expression, but stepped inside anyway. "So my entertaining company isn't enough? Again, you wound me, Commodore."

James smiled and cocked his head at his guest. "Perhaps I have learned to... endure your company."

"Endure?" Jack's kohl-darkened lids dropped to half-mast and his lips curved in a feral smirk as he brandished the bottle. "Allow me to pour you a glass of this and we'll see how well you endure me."

James couldn't hold that gaze and looked away, covering his blush by reaching for the familiar tumblers. "What is the poison this time?"

"Have you ever heard of tequila?" At James's puzzled expression, Jack pulled the cork. "It's from the Yucatan, made from a cactus, of all things. Are there any limes on that tree in the side yard?"

James slid a wooden bowl of limes toward Jack, who pulled the disreputable knife and began slicing. "Pour it up, mate."

James complied, then lifted a glass to his nose. "Damn, Jack. I don't want to go blind."

Jack snorted in amusement and continued cutting the limes into wedges. "Don't worry, Commodore James. I'll make sure you see everything you need to." He smiled up at James through his lashes, the coin on his headscarf winking in the lamplight.

He watched James's adam's apple dip and handed him a slice of lime. "Watch me now." Jack tipped the contents of his glass into his mouth and swallowed. James saw his throat work, and then stared as he placed the lime against his lips and sucked hard on the tart fruit. "Now your turn."

James steeled himself, tossed back the tequila, nearly choked, then bit into the lime. The sour juice cut the strong flavor and he felt a warm path down his throat and into his stomach. He looked with watering eyes at Jack, who was grinning like a wild man. "Excellent," crowed the pirate, "Let's have another!"

They carried the glasses, the bottle, and the bowl of limes into the study. "Now, Jack, what news?" They sat and James realized that they were in much the same position as the last time Jack had visited. He gripped the bottle to stop his hands shaking.

Jack made himself comfortable and held out his empty glass. "As you know, the house of Bourbon has ascended to the throne of Spain." His host nodded as he poured more tequila. "It seems the new king has made sweeping changes to the centuries-old administration of Spain's New World colonies, and they're beginning to take effect."

James tossed a slice of lime to the pirate. "How does this concern us?" They downed the liquor at the same time, James wincing and Jack looking as if he'd died and gone to pirate heaven.

Jack handed over his glass for a refill. "Well, it's mostly my speculation at this point, but I've seen, and heard, some things that are, shall we say, disconcerting." Jack leaned back in his chair and toed off his boots. "This could take a while to explain."

James felt the warm glow expand from his stomach to his head. "I have nothing but time and limes." And he poured another round, then chuckled as he realized he'd rhymed.

James found that the more he drank the tequila, the easier it went down. He felt exquisitely content listening to Jack, enjoying the cadence of his speech and marveling at the pirate's command of European politics. And damn, those limes were delicious! He had another shot of the golden liquor, and poured more for Jack as well.

Jack finished his long narrative and again tossed down the contents of his glass, then set it aside. For a moment he studied the man across from him. The commodore, he knew, was contained. Controlled. Proper. But at the moment, with the sharp green eyes softly unfocused as he studied the lamp's reflection in the cut design of his glass, he looked alive. Jack seized his courage (now much enhanced), slid from his chair and crawled across the carpet to where James sat. Placing a hand on each of James's knees, he pushed them apart and heard James draw in a quick breath. Jack rose to kneel between James's legs, feeling the hard muscle against his sides. He leaned close, pressing his belly to James's, and raised his lips. "Kiss me, now," he whispered, and James had to obey.

James held the angular face, devouring the sweetly arched lips and feeling the scratch of Jack's mustache under his mouth, the chin braids tickling his neck. He felt Jack's hands at his waist, pulling his shirt from the band of his trousers and then quick, clever fingers on his flesh, stroking and pressing. He gasped into Jack's mouth, and Jack took the opportunity to suck his lower lip.

Jack pulled away. "Shall we retire upstairs?" James stared a moment and made his fuzzy brain think about what that statement meant. But not for long. This, he supposed, was living. He stood, pulling Jack to his feet with him, and turned them both toward the staircase. The stairs, he found, seemed to have become warped, causing him to teeter alarmingly as he climbed. Curious—they were fine that morning.

At last mounting the stairs, James steered them to his bedroom. The light of the waning moon slanting through the windows cast a subtle light that illuminated the bed's white linens. James shut the door and swallowed heavily. Jack turned to face him and leaned close, brushing his lips against James's mouth.

James pulled Jack against him, leaning on the door for support as he pushed his hands into the low, open collar of Jack's shirt to feel the collarbones that had taunted him for weeks. He traced his fingertips along the hollow above each one and was rewarded with a gasping moan and the feel of Jack's hands tightening on his hips. James pushed the shirt off Jack's shoulders and bent his head to taste along the path of his fingers, pushing his tongue into the enticing hollow.

Jack swore, and then stepped back, panting. "I have to know, James. If this is just the tequila, then this stops now. I won't have you think I coerced you into anything."

James looked at him for a long moment, green eyes glinting in the moonlight. "Show me how to live, Jack."

Jack made a sound, half cry and half growl, and flung himself onto James with enough force to slam him back against the door. He pulled at James's clothes, getting his hands under James's shirt and lifting it off. Jack bent his head to James's chest, pale in the soft light, and kissed along his breastbone to a nipple. He pulled it into his mouth and sucked, feeling James's hands grip along his sides. He slid his hands down the muscled stomach to the waist of James's trousers and tucked his fingers inside. Slowly dropping to his knees, he pulled the trousers down with him as he kissed the soft skin of James's belly and the hard knot of his hip.

James cried out as his cock was freed to the night air and tangled his fingers into the decorations in Jack's hair. Jack pushed the trousers all the way down, kicking them away as he nipped the inside of James's thighs. Pushing against his knees, Jack caused James to spread his legs. He worked his way up the long legs, knowing James was watching, until he reached the thick cock, stiff and lust-dark.

Jack blew on the head and heard the corresponding gasp. He looked up into James's eyes, nearly black now. "This is living, James," he said and, holding his eyes, took James's cock into his mouth in one motion.

James swore and slumped against the door as he watched Jack's lips close around his shaft. The warmth of the tequila in his stomach spread to his groin. He felt suction and the soft rasp of Jack's tongue against the underside and had to close his eyes. The heat of Jack's mouth pulled back and in its wake he felt the tightness of fingers close around him; Jack's hand and mouth moved in concert and threatened to make him come undone.

"Jack, not yet. You have to stop." James tugged at the locks in his hands and Jack reluctantly pulled away.

"There'll be more than one round this night, Commodore James. Let me finish."

"Yes, I know. But right now, show me more."

Jack grinned up at him and rose to his feet, the tequila not appearing to affect his usual oddly graceful stagger. He quickly popped the buttons on his own trousers and let them drop to the floor, then pulled his shirt over his head. James stared as Jack's body was revealed in the moonlight, lithe and strong and frighteningly scarred.

He reached to touch the puckered scars on Jack's chest. "My God, Jack, what happened to you?"

Jack smiled at him, a soft curve of lips rather than his usual wide grin. "Life, James. This too is life, and you take it with all the rest." James let his gaze wander from Jack's face down his flawed, beautiful body to the stiff cock. He reached to take it in his hand and felt the thrum of Jack's heartbeat through the hot, soft skin. Jack groaned and grasped his shoulders. "Bed," he gasped, and backed toward it.

The back of Jack's knees hit the edge of the mattress and he let himself fall, pulling James with him. James used his weight to pin Jack, holding slender wrists above the pirate's head with one hand while the other hand traced down Jack's side and flank, making him wriggle. James mauled Jack's neck, causing him to arch and moan, until Jack regained enough sense to spread his thighs. James's hips slid into the space and he froze as he felt his cock press against Jack's.

James released Jack's hands and, planting his palms on the mattress, raised his upper body off the man under him and began to push against him. Jack pushed back, heels hooked over James's calves and hands gripping his biceps. James closed his eyes and pushed harder.

Jack watched him, seeing the determined set to his chin and feeling the purpose with which he thrust, as if Jack were a task to be completed. The pirate stopped moving and when James opened his eyes in confusion, Jack used the advantage to flip him over. Sitting triumphantly atop James, Jack grinned down at his astounded expression. "Let me do this," he whispered, and began to make James lose his mind.

Moving atop him, Jack felt James draw a long breath. Jack slid back to straddle James's hips, feeling the hardness prodding his backside. He leaned down to mouth James's chest, licking across a nipple as his free hand tweaked the other. James arched and felt Jack smile against his skin. The pirate sat up and James saw dark eyes study him. He blushed and squirmed under the scrutiny.

"Be still James," he said in a low voice so that the commodore would do it. James stilled, wondering what was wrong and afraid the dream would stop. Jack looked his fill at the long, lean body under him, laid out like a feast on the white bed linens. Moonlight streamed through the window at the head of the bed, bathing James in silver and making his pale, unscarred skin gleam. Jack smoothed his hands across the expanse of flesh. "You're glowing," he murmured, and didn't know why James's breathing hitched so.

Jack reached behind him and took James's cock in his hand, again feeling soft skin slide on the hard shaft. With his free hand he touched himself, watching green eyes go dark. He trailed his fingers down the length of his own cock, mirroring the movement with the hand behind him. He circled his forefinger in the wetness at the tip, simultaneously spreading the slickness he felt on James. Closing both hands tightly, he pulled slowly up and back, shuddering at the sensation. James gasped, and Jack worked him harder.

"Jesus!" The expletive was accompanied by a violent shudder.

"No, luv, just ol' Jack." He let go of James, ignoring his noise of frustration, and reached to the lamp on the nightstand to dip up some of the clear oil and smear it over both hands. Again reaching behind him, he slicked his oily hands down the hard cock and across James's balls. James hissed and pushed up, his cock finding the channel of Jack's buttocks. Jack continued to stroke, spreading oil on the inside of James's thighs and letting it trickle down to stain the white linen.

James fisted his hands in the sheets as Jack raised himself on his knees. Holding the base of James's cock, he slowly lowered himself onto the hard shaft. James felt the barrier of taut muscle and, unable to help himself, thrust against it. Jack hissed, mindful of not being prepared. "Be still, now," he again told the trembling man under him, and James steeled himself. Jack sank down carefully, feeling his muscles stretch around James's cock and watching beads of sweat form on James's brow.

James saw his shaft disappear into Jack's body. Looking up into his face he saw the pirate's eyes slit with tension and knew he caused pain. "Jack," he gasped, intending to tell him to stop, then groaned deeply as he felt Jack open to him. Muscles relaxed and Jack slid completely onto him, resting his weight on James's groin.

They panted in unison, James shaking as Jack allowed his body to become accustomed to the thick length inside him. Jack shifted slightly, causing James to gasp and curse. Gradually the burn became a wonderful throb and Jack tested James's responsiveness by clenching muscles around his cock. James tensed and pushed his hips up into the tight heat. Then it was Jack's turn to curse as he felt a jolt of pleasure course through him. He leaned back, hands braced on James's thighs behind him.

"Your nickname fits you, Commodore James." Jack tried to stop his legs twitching.

"Wha..." James swallowed and tried again. "What?"

Jack grinned down at him. "Your Spanish nickname. Don't tell me you still don't know what it means."

"I do not, and I fail to see how it could be important at this precise moment."

"Oh, it's extremely important, precisely now, actually." Jack clenched again to illustrate his point, causing James to gasp and look at him in confusion.

"Gallo de Indias." Jack lifted nearly off James and let himself fall heavily back onto him. "Cock of the Indies."

James arched and grabbed Jack's knees, bent and pressed to his sides, and began to thrust. Jack braced his hands on James's chest and rode him. James's hipbones slammed against his pelvis and he knew they would leave bruises. He pushed down against the hard thrusts, matching his rhythm to James's and feeling the long shaft sliding smoothly, his balls pressing against James's belly with each downstroke.

The pirate swiveled his hips and James pushed up hard. He moved his hands to Jack's flanks, intending to make him do it again but instead held him still, feeling the heat and the tightness surround him. Chest heaving as he caught his breath, James saw dark eyes regarding him thoughtfully. Sitting heavily on James to hold his hips still, Jack again reached behind him. He parted James's thighs, hooked his hands under them and pulled James's knees up and apart. He trailed fingers lightly up to James's balls, pressed against his ass, then dipped lower. Jack watched James closely as he felt the tight ring flutter under his fingertips.

James said nothing, only panted and held Jack's gaze with eyes gone wide. Jack lifted his chin and pressed a finger inside, an eyebrow rising at James's willing compliance. Jack pushed the finger further, the oil from his earlier attentions easing the way. He pulled the finger back, pushed it in again, and James whimpered. Jack pulled his hand back, rising on his knees as he did, then pushed himself down and his finger in. James arched his back and spread his knees wider. Jack added a second finger.

The tight, silky heat, coupled with the pressure of Jack's fingers inside him, was too much. James groaned and the pirate pushed his fingers deeper, pushing against a spot that made James's body sing with pleasure. He came hard, feeling Jack's muscles clench against his pulses. He reached to grab the dark cock jutting over his stomach and pulled hard twice. Jack arched and came, leaving gleaming trails on James's chest.

**three hours later**

James awoke to Jack, in full regalia, leaning over him.

"Must be off, luv." Jack kissed him. "I have to make sure you'll continue to endure my company."

James smiled. "Indeed." He stretched luxuriously, tempting Jack sorely with a view of lean torso and hips covered modestly with the light sheet. Jack could see the outline of his cock, lying against his thigh, under the sheet and reached to touch.

"So, Cock of the Indies, what shall I bring you next time?"

"I'm sure I'll be able to use whatever you have, Sparrow."

Jack pinched his thigh. "That's where the nickname comes from, you cocky bastard. Not this," he stroked the half-hard length through the soft cloth, "although I suppose the name is doubly fitting." James arched his hips up into the touch and Jack rubbed a bit harder. He straightened reluctantly, feeling soreness in various muscles from his thighs to his stomach. "Yes, it certainly fits."

Jack gave James a small salute and let himself out. James closed his eyes and sank back into sleep, a smile on his lips.

**four weeks later**

James signed the last report and slid it aside to let the ink dry. He rose and walked to the open window, looking down on the parade ground and the blue Caribbean beyond. Marines drilled in the yard and a fat merchant brig was just mooring to the quay; he could hear the shouts of the sailors mingling with the measured march of the troops. He leaned against the masonry of the window sill to enjoy the breeze.

It had been weeks since he'd seen Jack. Not, in fact, since the night. That night. James shifted his seat as he thought of it. He gazed toward the point where the sky met the sea, subtle shades of blue nearly indistinguishable. He was out there, somewhere, doing whatever it was that he did.

James wondered, for a fleeting moment, whether the Sparrow would return. He'd gotten what he'd wanted, after all. Proved to himself that he could do it, and proved to the commodore that no man was an island. But then a slow smile curved James's lips and he relaxed against the casemate. Jack would be back. Having shown him what it was to really live, James could not now imagine Jack leaving it alone.

James wondered for a moment at his own bravado where the elusive pirate was concerned. But then he was, after all, the Cock of the Indies.