As late I sought the spangled bowers
To cull a wreath of matin flowers,
Where many an early rose was weeping,
I found the urchin Cupid sleeping.
I caught the boy, a goblet's tide
Was richly mantling by my side,
I caught him by his downy wing,
And whelm'd him in the racy spring.
Then drank I down the poison'd bowl,
And Love now nestles in my soul.
O yes, my soul is Cupid's nest,
I feel him fluttering in my breast.

Right, did you read it? Good—then maybe my little drabble might even make a little sense to you :-)

***

The goblet was obviously stolen—gold set with sapphires and emeralds, fit for a king's table. In Norrington's humble opinion it had no business being on a pirate's table, yet there it was, filled to the brim with what appeared to be red wine.

Then again, in Norrington's humble opinion -he- had no business being tied to a pirate's chair, yet here -he- was!

"Well?" Norrington's gaze moved to the pirate in question, standing in front of him with an expectant look in his cinnamon eyes, then back to the goblet.

"So, you are telling me that all I have to do is drink a cup of wine and then you will let me go?"

"Share a cup, Jamie-lad. And aye, then you'll be free."

Any observer would have noted the suspicion in Norrington's eyes as he studied the goblet—after all, Sparrow had carefully positioned himself so that the commodore had not been able to see the goblet when the wine was actually poured. For all he knew, the mad pirate might have poisoned it!

But if that was the case, why would the scallywag insist on sharing the wine?

"You drink first, Sparrow." Surely that would insure that no poison was involved?

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Jamie." A golden grin was aimed at him before the goblet was brought to the pirate's lips. A moment later it was lowered, roughly half of the crimson liquid gone.

Norrington studied the pirate, but he did not seem overtly inclined to suddenly collapse—so, apparently the wine was not poisoned.

Although there was something a little bit odd about Sparrow's eyes—still, he could not say if it was not simply what passed for normal with the crazy buccaneer.

"Your turn, love."

Norrington was just about to object to the pirate's familiarity when the scallywag practically crawled into his lap. Then he was almost about to object to that familiarity when the rim of the goblet was pressed to his lips.

At first the wine tasted just like ordinary wine. An obviously very fine wine, but still—just wine.

Then the taste changed, became first one of overwhelming sweetness, then fiery, reminding him of the one time—shortly after he had first arrived in the Caribbean—when he had bit into a chilli.

His heart seemed to beat faster than he had ever noticed it do before. He felt ever so slightly dizzy.

Calloused, but gentle fingers nimbly untied the ropes around his wrists, then tangled with his own.

Sparrow's face hovered just in front of his. He saw something strange in the pirate's eyes, and in the depths of those dark pools he saw the same thing reflected in his own. When their lips met he was not certain which one of them had taken the step—nor did it really matter.

Norrington's senses filled with Sparrow—the taste of rum disguised by wine, the smell of somewhat unwashed pirate, the flash of candlelight reflected in gold teeth, the feel of skin that was by turn smooth and roughened by scars, the pleading sounds that was not quite words.

Later he was not sure how they managed to make it to the bed—but somehow they must have, because when next he felt capable of reasonably sensible thought he was lying naked on it, his legs entangled with a similarly naked pirate's.

"Jack?"

"Hmmm?"

"There was something in that wine." An accusation, but he could not really make it more than half-hearted at best.

"Aye, love." Impudent grin, not the least bit repentant.

"Care to tell me what?"

"Of course, love."

Five heartbeats worth of silence followed by a sigh.

"Jack, what was in that wine?"

"Love, love."

And before Norrington could voice another question Sparrow claimed his lips.

There was still a lingering taste of sweetness and fire.