That Captain Jack Sparrow was barking mad wasn't really a question. At least it wasn't to James Norrington's mind, not that he was averse to the kind of madness that brought Sparrow to his window at night.

He most certainly had not minded at all when the unexpected visit lingered past dawn and Jack was still beside him, snoring faintly and occasionally giggling in his sleep.

Norrington, ever the careful and proper Commodore, made sure to fetch his own tray those mornings so as not to startle his housekeeper with pirates laughing between her pristine linens. He sipped his lukewarm tea and watched Jack sleep, wrote a few letters at his desk and stared into his own eyes in the mirror over the shaving basin, wondering how much of Sparrow's madness was contagious.

Stolen meetings were the hallmark of any affair. Should he have taken up with some fat plantation owner's wife, it would not have been much different. Well, he admitted to himself, in such a case it would have been he braving a trellis at midnight instead of hearing the rustling rose leaves and sitting up to wait expectantly for whatever odd manner of entrance Jack could devise.

Whatever it was, it usually made him laugh.

There had been the tumble into the room, arse over boots; the headfirst slide on his nose across the persian carpet; the backwards collapse onto the windowseat and once, the ill-fated swing across from the gnarled old camphor tree. Each one was unique, and each more ridiculous than the last.

James allowed himself a laugh, glanced at his reflection and decided that Jack was perfectly right: laughter did become him. He certainly found himself laughing and smiling much more of late and even had to struggle through the Governor's endlessly oppressive dinner parties, staring at his fork and mulling over yet another of Sparrow's demented visits with a half-smile that led all of Port Royal to assume that the Commodore had a mistress.

The assumption didn't help him hide the smile.

The object of his ruminations kicked off the blankets, opened one eye and bounded out of bed. Jack never did anything sedately, and waking was no exception. He was instantly alert and padded over to peer at James in the mirror over one shoulder.

"Ya missed a spot." He wiped away a dollop of shaving soap with one finger that lingered on Norrington's cheek, bird-bright eyes gleaming through a mess of smeared kohl. James turned.

"You're not helping. Go have some breakfast and let me finish or I will take off a finger with the razor."

Jack pressed a kiss on his shoulder and tossed himself onto the settee, munching on a muffin and washing it down with coffee as black as his hair. James had divined the pirate's preference for it long ago and always had both prepared, telling his housekeeper it was a 'whim'. She grumbled about the expense but kept the silver coffeepot filled on his tray.

"Off to th' Fort, t'keep Port Royal safe an' the Navy occupied?"

"No. I'm sick to death of paperwork. Let Gillette stifle in that office for a day."

Jack leaped to his feet for another muffin, making a huge dent in Mrs. Kemper's excellent preserves. "Oh wonderful! A holiday. What say you we head down t'that little cove? It's not far, mile or so." Jack lazed like a large cat and gulped down a second cup of coffee, followed by the day's first pull from his ever-present rum bottle.

Norrington shook his head. "You, my fine pirate friend, are utterly daft. We can't just stroll along for a constitutional."

"Oooh, " Jack whinnied in a high-pitched voice. "Mustn't have th' neighbors talkin', must we! Didn't mean that we're gonna walk down Broad Street arm in arm, mate. I know a way there through old Sullivan's fruit grove. Let's raid the galley an' have a picnic."

"Jack!"

"Why not?" Norrington was treated to the infamous Sparrow pout. "Can't stay cooped up in 'ere. An' you need a bit o' sun, luv. Not that I don't like ya just as you are, but it never hurt t'have a swim."

James smiled and put the razor back into its case. "You just can't stop tempting fate, can you? What if we were caught? Do you realise just how dangerous it could be if—"

Jack silenced him.


Three hours later, they were running through Mr. Sullivan's groves like a pair of schoolboys escaping class, pilfering the ripest with only one small disaster when Jack fell out of a tree, landing at James' feet like an exotic fruit and bringing down a peck of lemons that made the pirate's pockets bulge.

"Jack, stop it! It's hot and I want that swim, you bloody fool."

Jack examined one of the lemons and grinned. "I'm gonna save this one and have garters made fer you."

James threw one at him. "Sparrow, if I ever entertained suspicions of your gender, I long abandoned them. Get up, you maniac. Race you to the gate."

By mid-afternoon, they were lounging beneath one of the palm trees, Jack's hair dripping salt water onto James' face, both sticky with jam and orange and salt.

James was playing with the longest lovelock in Jack's hair, tugging at it. "You were right. This is wonderful."

Jack grinned down at him. "All work an' no play, luv!"

"When do you not play?" James murmured.

"Ain't it all a game? I mean, you can take it serious, or ya can't. Much more fun if you don't."

"You are a Bedlamite. Not to mention a dreadful tease, and a dissolute swine."

"I draw the line at swine!" Jack tweaked a lock of wet chestnut hair. "Besides, that's Gibbs' job. Next it'll be washbaskets. Or, " he pulled at one of his beard braids. "Maybe he's already done that."

"Jack Sparrow, if you don't stop!"

"Stop wot?"

"Mangling the classics. God, it's still. Not even a breeze. I do hope you have stashed your precious Pearl somewhere safe. You won't get wind enough to belly any sails in this weather."

Jack shaded his eyes from the sunlight that glanced off the water like a thousand candles. He peered at the sky and sniffed, his brow knitting. Then he shrugged and pushed James off his lap into the sand, diving on top of him and tickling ruthlessly.

They rolled down to the shoreline, laughing, breathless as the still air, then struggled to their feet and dove into the water, warm as a bath and teeming with tiny schools of fish that darted around their ankles and scattered as Jack splashed him.

Norrington was a strong swimmer, at least for a Navy officer. Jack had admired it tremendously. For his part, Norrington was convinced that the pirate was half-fish and a very pretty one. The stumbling, swaying walk and flamboyant gestures became fluid underwater and he watched Jack dive down deep, always en garde for some sneak attack. His eyes strained to see Sparrow glide beneath the water like a streak of amber masquerading as mercury, slippery and elusive.

Jack emerged with a splash sending foam laughing across the surface.

"Not quite Venus Anadyomene!" James observed, watching the water stream from Jack's hair to scatter droplets that rippled around him.

"C'mon. Let's swim out t'that rock."

James lazily floated on his back. "Why in heaven's name do that?"

"Because it's there! Race ya." With that, Jack dove under again and streaked away, James close on his heels.

Indeed, he almost caught hold of one golden foot before it slipped away into the darker, deeper waters and they emerged, dripping, onto the small prominence some hundred yards from shore to sun themselves like a pair of seals.

They were so busy indulging themselves that neither really noticed that they sky had gone lead grey above them, until Jack glanced up from where his head was buried against James' leg.

"Shite!"

"Very eloquent, Sparrow. I'm not surprised you get yourself..." James followed Jack's gaze to the lowering sky. "Oh."

Their eyes met and they dove back into the water, swimming hard for shore.

Lightning crackled as the sky grew dark as twilight, churned into a steel soup that matched the waves. The winds descended like howling Furies, and they fought every stroke back to shore. Black clouds glowered overhead, so close they were palpable, breathing angry gusts into the currents as the sea itself went dark and twisted beneath them, tongues of foam spitting defiance at the roar. Thunder echoed down into the depths and, by the time Jack held out a hand and pulled James to his feet, rain began to pelt like a flogger on a naked back, stinging and vicious.

It whipped down on them as they raced to shelter and pulled on their clothing.

"Best get out from under here." Jack yelled over the wind.

James nodded grimly and they started to retrace their steps when the Heavens opened and Jack was screaming something unintelligible in the maelstrom of the storm.

Jack grabbed his arm and pulled them both down into the seagrass beside the narrow path, one arm flung around James' shoulder, the other over his head as they were battered by a fierce downpour and beaten flat by winds that twisted in the pirate's long hair, twirling it in tiny tornados. Thunder boomed, cannon fire in the skies that heralded sharp streaks of lightning that struck sparks off the water.

"We can't stay here, Jack!" Norrington's eyes were squinted shut against the storm. Jack grimaced and pushed himself upright, just as the tiny gate that separated Sullivan's land from the beachhead broke under the weight of rushing water.

Sparrow yanked at James and they ran along the beach as fast as bare feet would take them, boots and shoes clasped in frantic fingers, until they came to the first building of the far side of town and huddled beneath its dripping eaves.

James' eyes were pale green with fear. "We can't run through town!"

"Can't stay out here either. C'mon. We can get to the smithy." Jack's voice was half-swallowed by the howl and another crash of thunder.

"You're mad!"

"An' I wanna stay mad an' alive. Move!"

They stayed close to the walls, dodging through narrow mews and muddy lanes until they were sheltered beneath the archway near Brown's shop. Jack darted out and tried the door.

"It's locked."

"Christ, I feel like Lear."

"Yer not that old an' I ain't a fool. The window."

Sparrow was nothing if not a pirate. It took him a few minutes to pry open the wooden shutter with his boot knife, starting as another crack of thunder echoed in the deserted street and shrieked itself back to sea, a raging ghost in a rain-drenched hell. James face was splintered white in flashes and sparks, electricity making his hair stand on end around his face.

He wrenched the casement open and motioned James to climb up to it, cupping his hands and spitting hair and baubles out of his mouth. Once inside, James reached out and hauled Sparrow over the sill, where, typically, he tumbled forward to land near the forge, his face streaked with dirt that dribbled grey splotches onto his soaked shirt.

James pulled the shutter closed and searched for something to fasten its broken latch. Jack handed him a fresh-made bolt and he banged it into the frame with one of the hammers.

The wind battered at the shutter and screamed through the cracks in the sodden roof, weeping the occasional tear into the embers of the forge that sizzled.

"Whelp should fix his blasted roof!" Jack complained as a raindrop streaked down his nose.

James looked around curiously. He'd only been in the smithy twice and both times, he had been far too preoccupied to take in such humble surroundings. The rafters above them were damp in places, wet wood glistening as Jack lit one of the lanterns.

Old Brown was long gone and evidently Mr. Turner had taken shelter elsewhere, for the place was silent save for the storm without and the subdued crackle of the fire. James bent near the great wheel to examine the swords gleaming in their rack while Jack stirred the grate and stripped off his wet shirt, hanging it on one of the gears' pegs.

A crack of lightening so close they both jumped and Norrington rubbed the top of his head. They could smell the strange piercing odor of lightning, cutting through the stink of powder and iron and donkey.

"Suppose that teaches me to be inquisitive. His swords really are quite impressive."

Jack took his shirt and hung it up beside his own. "Nothin' wrong wif a bit o'snoopin', luv. And he does do good work. Guess he's off—" Jack's hand flapped aimlessly. "—somewhere."

Norrington raised an eyebrow. "Jack?"

The pirate's eyes were hugely innocent. "Wot?"

"You know very well that if Mr. Turner is anywhere, he's up at the Governor's mansion with Elizabeth."

Sparrow grinned at him. "Aye, sippin' tea and wriggling 'round on his bum, wonderin' how soon he can get outta there and how bad his bloody shoes are pinchin'!"

James had long ceased to regret losing Miss Swann. He figured that, of the two of them, he'd got the better bargain. As preparations for her mesalliance got underway, Elizabeth had grown snappish and queenly. It looked exceeding well on her, he thought. She was a trifle young for the royal 'we' but the air of confidence and command was becoming. It couldn't, however, be easy for young Turner. Half of Port Royal was enthusiastic about the strange engagement, the other half deplored it and both gossiped unashamedly.

Mr. Brown had retired with a nice enough pension and Turner was his own man. He earned his own living and, if he had to swallow a good deal of pride in regards to his future wife's position in society, he bore it with quiet dignity. Still, Norrington supposed, it must be hard to be thought of as a fortune-hunter. For a moment, he tried to put himself in the young man's position and wondered how, exactly he might have carried himself in similar circumstances. His own brief attachment to the Swann girl had been one of social equals.

Jack was pacing around, peering into corners and at the floor until he spied a telltale edge in the soot near the chimney wall. "Aha! Knew ye'd done somethin' like this, ya rum-soaked bastard!"

James looked around the stones to stare at Jack, who was tracing lines on the floor, his fingers dancing in the dirt. "What in God's name are you doing, Jack? Making up for all that cleanliness?"

There was a groan and yelp of wood as the small trap opened and Jack held up two bottles triumphantly. "I knew he had t'have a stash. Same thing me da' used t'do."

James shook his head with a smile. "Trust you to find the rum. Well, I won't say no. I'm quite chilled from the rain." He stood close to the forge, his hands stretched out to welcome the heat.

Jack uncorked one bottle with his teeth and handed it to Norrington, guzzling deep from the other. "You can always trust an old sot to squirrel it away, luv. Not bad rum, either. Think Mr. Brown were drinkin' away a lot of profit!"

"And you don't?" James laughed. The rum felt good, warming his belly and scorching down his throat.

"Well, they say Dionysus were a sailor."

James shook his head. "You know too much."

He fell back into his reverie, watching the occasional flame leap up from the grate. Turner had been powerless to keep Governor Swann from gifting him with the smithy and providing him with a reasonable living. Mr. Turner would be a very rich man in time. Elizabeth stood to inherit a goodly fortune and had already been left a tidy sum at her mother's death, all of which would be at a blacksmith's command. At least that was the way society saw it.

James had heard every nasty bit of tongue-wagging that reverberated around the taverns, the Mess, in drawing rooms and salons. It struck him as supremely funny that they should pity him so much. As a very wise person had once told Turner, not all treasure was silver and gold. He remembered Will once telling him that, nervously tipsy after a first formal call, in a fantod to apologise. By that time, Norrington's trellis had swallowed any disappointment.

He smiled to himself at the memory.

Jack stalked over to him, too close as always. "An' wot's got you ruminating like a cow, mate?" His black eyes danced. "Already replacin' me?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Jack's hair smelled like rain and seawater. "I was thinking about Turner. How hard this is for him."

Sparrow fluttered in his arms. "Holdin' me and thinking of the whelp. I should be jealous," he laughed softly, tasting a bit of Commodore, just to the left of his throat.

"You shouldn't throw stones. You're the one that always gets slapped."

Jack huffed a zephyr of rum at him. " Besides, we're stuck here until it stops." He straightened, and arched a brow. "Hope t'God Ana and the..."

James covered his lips with one finger. "Shhh. Don't sound so... naval." His eyes were gleaming.

Cat's eyes, Jack thought, clear as jade. There were tiny amber flames in them and they were flickering a welcome.

"This is different." Sparrow nuzzled against his neck. "You soundin' all piratical an' predatory."

" 'Piratical' is an execrable word. The way you maul the English language, I'm surprised it hasn't slapped you too." James hands were doing their own fluttering along the scarred, golden back, down ribs and muscles. "Besides, as you said, we are stuck here and we are still alone."

Jack arched backwards, his hands dropping to James' waist, dark fingers digging into the white flesh.

James let go and turned away to fumble in the pocket of Sparrow's worn coat. "You," he advanced on Jack, holding up the small vial. "are completely shameless."

Jack winked at him, turned and leaned forward on the edge of the forge, the light turning his face Venetian gold. He waggled his arse, the soaked breeches bunching and straining. "Should I go lookin' through your pockets, Jamie?"

James wrapped both arms around him, one hand tangled in the black hair, his lips against Jack's long neck when the door screeched open and William Turner, the second of that name, stood, staring on the jamb, the wind howling in with him.

He never gave a thought, but drew his sword and jumped down towards the forge.

"Let him go."

James was frozen. He couldn't seem to move his limbs.

The door banged rhythmically and Jack looked at Will, his mouth half-open. "Whelp."

Will's blade was poised at the hollow of Norrington's throat. "I said, let him go. Now, Commodore." The dark eyes were steady.

Jack cleared his throat and attempted to slide between blade and flesh. "Listen t'me, Will. It ain't..."

"Jack, stay out of this." Will's eyes never left the startled green ones that flicked from him to the pirate.

Norrington backed away, his hands open, towards the rack of swords. Jack moved again and Will pushed him hard, advancing on James. "I won't let you kill him. Not undefended and in secret like this."

James reached behind him and pulled one of the swords free. "Mr. Turner, I assure you there is no need for this, but if you insist upon it, I shall oblige you."

Jack heard them, midair, and groaned. He fell hard to the floor and scrabbled around, his fingers searching for his knife, trying to yell and sneeze at the same time.

"You stupid, bloody...achoo...fool...ah-ah-ah...it weren't...HACHOO..." He sat back in the soot, wide-eyed as Will lunged and the blades clashed together in a flurry of parries. He bounded to his feet, dancing to keep out of reach of either blade. "Stop it! Damn ye both t'Hell and back, stopchooo!"

Norrington was ever the gentleman warrior. That was something that had drawn Jack to him, a loadstone that defined him. He would never back down from any challenge.

William was as cool as ice, his form and stance unique and brilliant as the lightning that flashed, waging an offensive against a foe as fast and bright.

Jack tried to get between them and another push sent him reeling into the chimney, his arms outstretched to keep from falling into the embers.

"F'God's sake..."

They fought in silence, no sound but the hushed shoof-shoof of their feet through the straw and soot and the clank of metal on metal. James lunged forward, looking to disarm with only one tiny part of his mind. Once drawn, he was long-trained to never think.

Will saw only the man who had been forcing his friend's face nearer and nearer to the ruby coals in the grate. He had a sudden horrid vision of Jack's hair igniting like a flaming Pentecost, the bones beneath as clear as that night in the cave. He pushed Norrington back towards the wagon, furious.

Jack ran back in between them, stopping short as the blades clashed in front of his face. He ducked as they pushed around him, and made another try, holding up the knife, determined to at least scare the whelp into sanity.

He took two steps, weaving to avoid Norrington's sword, and grabbed for Will's throat, his right hand sliding close.

He realised he was holding a half-mashed banana that had slipped out of his pocket at exactly the same moment that James stepped on the loose board.

The two combatants eased their way off the wagon, all pretenses laid aside and searching one another for an opening.

Jack watched, once he'd slung a leg over the rafter, and scowled. The thunder reverberated like a bell in his ears and he glanced from Will to James to the swords' points, sparking and stabbing. Then he looked at the squashed fruit.

Swiftly, he scooted along the beam on his arse, yanking at the peel, until he was directly above them. He bit his lip. This could end badly, but, it would anyway if he didn't do something to stop them.

The fruit shot out of his hand, almost directly under James' heel. He slid backwards, out of range of Will's blade and Jack let the peel drop.

He vaulted himself down to stand over Turner, glaring at the wild eyes.

"Bloody hell, whelp! Yer entirely out o' yer depth. Now, put it away afore I shove it up yer arse!"

Will looked woefully confused as Jack turned to help Norrington to his feet. "You all right, luv?"

James glared at Will over Jack's bare shoulder. "I did what honour insisted of it." His chin was set in that stubborn line, lips drawn thin.

Jack rolled his eyes and planted a kiss on them.

"Will, he wasn't tryin' t'kill me. You! Why'd ya have t'draw? Dammit, ye both got porridge fer brains, not that I mean to denigrate porridge. I mean, it's a fine food, very healthful and good fer the digestion."

Will got to his feet and dusted off his one damp, good coat, thanking God it was black. "What in hell are you talking about, Jack?"

Jack's hands waved and poked at the young man, who glanced warily at the half-naked Commodore.

He looked at Jack's bare torso, again at Norrington and his face turned the colour of a steamed beet. "You—you—didn't! Not here!" His eyes became hard again.

Jack stepped on the blade. "No, we bloody didn't. We got outta the storm. An' what in hell were you doin' walkin home through such a tempest?" He watched the gold in Turner's eyes fade.

"Wot's wrong, whelp? Problems wif the filly?" Jack reached a hand back to pull James closer. "Wotever it is, don't take it out on us, right?"

Will made a face. "You two! You should be ashamed of yourselves."

Jack could feel James suck in a breath and stiffen to attention. "Oh no ya don't. No more o' that. Will, you may have found yer lady fair an' be well on yer way to true love and everlastin' happiness. But you've got a lot t'learn 'bout life. An' don't you dare bloody tell me y'ain't seen it. Or..." Jack's eyes grew sly. "tried it."

James pulled away from Jack, cold terror beginning to ice his veins. "Mr. Turner, I assure you..."

"Jamie, don't bother." Jack shrugged. "He ain't gonna listen so might as well just resign ourselves to it."

"Jack, you're a friend! I wouldn't think... oh, hell!" Young Mr. Turner saw fear in Norrington's eyes. Jack's were unreadable. "I'm not a fool, Jack."

"Good. Have a drink." Jack collected one of the bottles and pushed it into Will's face. "You too, luv. Oh please. Unbend. Nothin' here t'disturb anyone but the mice, eh?" He looked up into James' eyes, his own wide.

Turner's shoulders slumped and he sloshed down a bit of the rum. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." He took off his coat and carefully hung it on the far wall's pegs, swallowing more as he watched Jack sidle close to Norrington, one hand on his chest, the other clasping one arm. There was something almost too-intimate in the gesture and Will turned his head away.

Jack glanced over at him and back to Norrington, who buried his face in the bottle. He felt like a scared midshipman as Jack breathed close in his ear.

"Trust me."

William Turner turned, not so much to hide his embarrassed face, but to hide his overexcited extremities. He certainly wasn't going to tell James Norrington that he'd bolted from the darkened back drawing room before he and Elizabeth had behaved most improperly. Between that and the shock of his perceived discovery in the smithy, young Turner was ill-equipped to watch Jack and the Commodore behave in such a casually depraved fashion. At least Jack was behaving so. The Commodore was still standing in breathless fear.

He could hardly bear to think about this new interpretation of what he had seen upon opening the door.

Jack watched him and glanced at James. He grinned and winked.

"Whelp."

"Stop calling me that."

"Awright. Listen, whe—Will. No sense in keepin' yerself till ya lose yer mind, y'know."

Jack's eyes danced, wicked and black. James' brows rose to gable his shocked face. as they opened wide, the whites stark and fluttering, like a dove's wing against the blackened rims. Norrington inclined his head, trying to still his breath.

Turner had sunk into Brown's old chair and Jack swayed towards him, dropping into a crouch.

"Ye've lived portside yer whole life, young William. Can't tell me you don't know."

"Jack, I do know. I'm just... nevermind, Jack."

Will squirmed but Jack had trapped him between the arms of the chair and smiled, then bent to retrieve the bottle. "Have another drink."

Will had several while Jack muttered nonsense at him and he tried to still the image of Jack's head thrown back over Norrington's shoulder, his eyes closed, those long lashes, black on black and quivering like moths' wings.

The smithy smelled different, of powder and iron, soot and sweat, to be sure, but there was a faint hint of lemon, a tang of salt that cut through the mundane and opened different windows.

James watched, leaning against the wall, holding his breath as Jack leaned forward and kissed Will.

The bottle clattered to the ground.

"Jack!"

"Shhh."

Rum swirled in Will's mouth along with a very gentle but insistent tongue that felt like wet fire. He gulped and kissed, kissed and gulped again, then reached up and pulled the headscarf away, letting the mane fall free. Jack smiled into the kiss.

"Friend, 'member?"

Will's body made up its own mind. One hand tangled in the knotted black hair and he drowned into another kiss. He hardly knew when they hit the floor and Jack was tugging off his shirt. The pirate seemed to have become an octopus, fingers everywhere, lips sucking and burning.

James eyes narrowed as Jack transformed himself, like a jellyfish in a treacherous current, seductive as a siren, as aware as a peacock's eyes. He bit back a thin green spike and cocked his head to one side, unconscious imitation of Jack, and admired the curve of young Turner's throat, the breadth of the blunt fingers splayed against the pirate's shoulder. They were different tones of gold in the firelight, two crayons used in a single sketch.

Sparrow smiled up at Will, his fingers working open the buttons of the black breeches. He pulled them down slowly, forcing Will to inch backwards until he was pressed against the warm corner of the chimney.

Jack looked down, then up, grinned like a satyr and, starting with the beating hollow of Will's throat, worked his way down until he was poised on elbows and knees above a very stiff prick. He grin went lopsided and he winked into the wide eyes.

James watched Jack's hair fall forward, heard the chiming of its trinkets and beads, the gasp of breath as Turner stared down, his hand firm on the bronze shoulder. Jack was far too tempting a target and the lightning crashed outside, thunder rumbling like God's footsteps as James crept closer, his white hand snaking towards a gleaming trifle, forgotten in the mele. He had the worn breeches unlaced and down and was arched over Jack, one long arm stretched out to brace himself.

Will was no fool, as he said. His legs splayed open and he sobbed out a breath as he opened one eye to watch the fire glowing, peach-soft in James' skin; watched Norrington moving behind Jack, and then he couldn't close his eyes.

Oil slid skin to skin and Jack moaned over his task, while Will stared and writhed, holding his head down in a convulsive grasp. Familiar flesh inside flesh and Jack found a rhythm, bouncing from prick to prick like a maddened bumblebee.

It was the humming that finally sent Will into a fit of shudders, spilling himself out into Jack's mouth, his eyes, wide and enormous, fixed on the line of muscles moving in James' chest with every thrust. Jack's head fell forward against Will's thigh and he gasped out a curse.

James reached around, his fingers brushing against Jack's stiff prick and he grinned, his eyes fever-bright. Jack gasped again, then again and choked out a sound, something between a grunt and a moan. James was engulfed in tensing heat and bit down on the gilded flesh, losing himself.

The wind outside had died down and their breathing was heavy in the silence.

Jack slid forward, his nose pressed against Will's spent cock. "Hullo, there!"

Will's head fell forward with a chortle. "Don't!"

The smithy was suddenly so hot and all three wondered if the rain had stopped. Norrington moved first, extricating himself from Jack and running lightly to the open door, peeking around the frame.

The rain still fell on the quiet alley, insistent and steady, but not the raging torrent it had been earlier. Jack raised his head from the comfortable pillow of Will's lean thigh and grinned.

"C'mon." He held out a hand.

Had any of Mr. Turner's neighbors spied them, all three would have been carted off to an asylum. They passed the bottle—Jack never forgot the bottle—around, dancing in the rain that washed the soot from them and splashed in dirty puddles at their feet.

Laughing, Jack shooed them back into the smith. "Now, that's definitely wot I call a picnic."

James shook his head, spraying water around in silver drops. "Madman!" He handed the bottle to young William, who swiped at his wet face. Their eyes met over Jack's head and Will smiled. James' lips quirked, then widened. Turner's dark eyes were mischievous but not malicious.

Quickly, they all dressed, Jack and James making sweep's boys of themselves again in the process. William held out a lady's cloak.

"Wear this. I think the path through Sullivan's is safe now."

Jack glanced down at the fine green wool and back at Will. "You sly dog! You an' Lizzie..."

"Go! Get out of here, both of you." Will winked. "I understand the ways of pirates, remember?"

James paused, looked at Turner and smiled. Will shook his head. "Don't let the daft bugger trip."


Halfway up Sullivan's hill, Jack turned and let the hood fall back. "Jamie?"

"Don't even start. You're an evil man and I shall have to punish you."

"Really?"

"Really."

They ran all the way back to the house.


Later that night, when the skies had cleared and the stars winked above the mist rising from the harbour, Will thought about Elizabeth; her soft breast beneath his hand, the honey and roses scent of her, the way her dark eyes glowed in the darkened parlour. It didn't stop him from walking down to where he could see the faint light in an upstairs room at the Commodore's house. It flickered, then went out and he smiled.

FIN