It was all too easy to picture the lean beauty of the other man sprawled across his bed, suffused in moonlight streaming into the house. A single finger of it brushed Jack's spread knees, furthering their connection, not that he was cognizant of it at that moment. Jack had lots of practice conjuring up images in his mind's eye of the tall, green-eyed pretty in and out of his ornamental uniform. Long sea voyages spent alone in his bunk with only his hand for comfort provided the opportunities; his vivid imagination gave him the pictures that fuelled his fantasies.

A low moan floated out to caress Jack's ears, sweet as any sound he'd ever heard. Oh, yess. This was what was missing from those lonely times at sea—the accompaniment of sound from his would-be lover. He had done it this way many times, straining to match the rhythm he could hear but could only see in his head.

Calluses rough on sensitive skin, the one on his thumb especially delicious, stroking, rubbing, strong fingers gripping velvety heat. His head dropped back against the stout balustrade as he arched into the sensation. He wanted to draw it out, but it had been too long since the last time and it was too good and the soft sounds drifting from inside the house out to the balcony were too torturous, growing in intensity and speed and volume. Frantically, he worked his flesh striving to match what he imagined was happening on the other side of the casement, grateful the French doors were once again opened slightly.

More moans, and then a gasp that signalled the other man was nearing completion. Jack changed his technique, dragging his thumb over the tip again and again and again, pressing that one callus into the slit. The panting breaths stuttering out over the heavy night air almost became a chorus of two as Jack fought to keep his own moans silent. He tasted blood just before he heard the blessedly-sweet sound of climax, and then he followed into momentary oblivion. Spent, wrung out and happy he sagged against the greenery cushioning his back. When his breathing was under control he wiped his sticky hand on the scarlet sash at his waist, pulled his clothing into some kind of order and got shakily to his feet.

Pausing for a moment Jack leaned against the side of the glass doors, listening to the even breathing of his untouchable lover. He suppressed a sigh of frustrated longing and began the climb down the trellis. This was becoming too much to bear. He wanted the other man so much, but Jack Sparrow was not stupid and he enjoyed not being hanged by the neck. These stolen minutes would have to suffice.

Until next time...

#

James waited for the telltale rustle of leaves before approaching the window. He hesitated even then to swing it wide but finally opened it enough to peer out, refraining from stepping out onto the narrow balcony. It would not be seemly for a commodore to be caught unclothed in public sight. He stayed in the shadows and searched the darkness below until he thought he saw a blacker, stealthy shadow creeping away from his home. He watched until it slipped from sight and then he went back inside, still frustrated, lonelier than ever and wishing one more time that Jack Sparrow would take the step that he, James, could not offer—over the threshold into his room and into his bed.

# end