It's not easy for him to get away, but James can sometimes find time to remove himself for a few hours from prying eyes. Meeting in another port is another issue entirely, but once in a great while they manage it. It takes scheduling, however, something that goes against his outlaw lover's nature. Organization requires the meshing of time frames and duty and stealing run in opposition. Jack's spirit runs free. James's spirit yearns to do the same. The best that he can do is arrange to meet Jack once every few weeks, and hope that Jack shows up. So far he has never missed being there at the appointed time, though is sometimes unavoidably late enough for James to worry. It requires the Black Pearl remaining close to Jamaica, something that chafes at the crew, although not even they seem too upset. It touches James that Jack never complains, even though the signs of restlessness are there, subdued or suppressed; he's never quite certain which it is. He hates to place restrictions on a free soul, and then wonders if he is creating problems where there are none.

Meeting on a deserted, moonlit beach, or in their favourite cove outside of town is easier than this present assignation at an inn outside Kingston—with an actual bed, but James wants to make the effort every now and then to show Jack that he can.

"Y'know, love," Jack says casually, even though James is inside him and they're both sweaty and flushed. James would be offended if he hadn't heard the concentration in Jack's voice enabling him to speak. Jack continues. "If it's too difficult for you t'meet me in places like this, I can always keep comin' to our little hidey-hole on the beach. I don't mind."

"I know." James slides his hands over Jack's slick flanks. Neither can speak further of it just then, as preoccupation turns to insensibility followed by a tidal wave of sensation. When they are spent, and James is flopped across Jack's heaving chest, his tongue laps gently at tiny beads of perspiration decorating tattoo ink, and his brain slowly revives so he can speak once again.

He picks up the conversation right where they left off. "But I do. It's not fair to you to always have to be the one going the extra mile, so to speak."

Jack rubs his heel up and down James's calf, turning his head to plant a slow, deep kiss on a willing mouth. When he releases him Jack says, "My schedule, so to speak, is more open to change than yours, my sweet. The fact that you came to me here means everything. The next time we'll go to our cove and make love near the mouth of it, with the moon and the stars as our audience, and perhaps one of those nosy seagulls that's always spying on us."

"You do love to flaunt yourself." James's rich voice fills with amusement.

Jack's dark eyes regard him seriously for once. "All that matters is that you are with me. If it requires staying in these waters for the rest of my life, than that is what I will do. If my crew has a problem with that, I'll get a new one."

Though his heart swells at his lover's declaration, James quirks one eyebrow and looks back at him just as seriously. "And...?"

"And nothing. I need you—as often and as much as we can manage."

"Ja-ack," James draws out his beloved's name knowing there's more. He waits for it.

Finally, "I need you... and perhaps some... minor... occasional... attention from... others wouldn't go amiss." He grins quite suddenly, somehow mixing innocence and mischief in one expression.

James bursts into unfettered laughter. That is the Jack Sparrow he knows and loves.

"Then we shall find a beach somewhere inhabited with gulls and turtles, and close enough to the ocean so that the dolphins and fish can watch, too."

It is Jack's turn to chuckle, although he affects a smug tone when he says, "I hope they tell their friends."

And then he completely surprises James when he adds, "They'll all want to see the beauty of a certain rather shy Commodore of His Majesty's Navy. It's not every day such splendour is on display for anyone but me, and the show is not to be missed."

"Jack," James whispers fondly, horrified when he begins to blush.

Long fingers stroke his heated cheek. "Then again, maybe I'll want to keep you all for myself. Some sticky-fingered turtle might decide to cart you off to his lair and I'll be forced to make soup out of him."

"Jealous are you, pirate?" James nuzzles the palm cupping his face.

"Yes," Jack states firmly.

"Good." Then James pulls the lithe man in his arms closer and conversation ceases for a long, long time.

# end