Captain Sparrow's brow wrinkles in pained aggravation as he looks at Commodore Norrington. Or, more specifically, at his head. "I thought I drowned that damn thing!"

"Actually, you drowned its brother." A smug little smile quirks James's mouth. "Did you think I possessed only the one wig?"

"Apparently you have the entire litter of wigs. And this one suits you no better." Jack moves languorously to the commodore's chair; trails spastic fingers down James's jaw and into the tight collar of his uniform. "Come now Jamie, let us put this one out of its misery as well. Or our misery, as it were. 'T's really the kindest thing to do."

"Jack. Aboard Pearl I minded your wishes. But that was then and this is now. I must keep the wig."

A snort. "'Minded my wishes'?! May I remind you that I had to pluck that wig from your very head? Besides which, it was only a month ago." Jack swings a leg over James's lap and sits; hands explore through brocade and lace. "And just think how well our, er, negotiations progressed after that wig took a swim. Why, I can walk right into Port Royal and mount commodores to my heart's content." A wiggle proves his point.

An eyebrow arches. "Be that as it may, Captain Sparrow, I am required to appear professional here. As I believe I have told you before." Large hands grasp slender hips, pull them closer. James tips his head back to Jack's questing tongue at his throat. A gasp. Buttons come undone; a sash is removed.

Growling. "Take it off Jamie. Take it all off." Jack's hands move toward the odious object; larger hands release hips and catch wrists.

"No." A challenging glint in sea-green eyes. "I will retain the wig. All else may go."

Jack sits back; black eyes blink. "You can't be serious, mate."

"I am entirely serious." James stands, hands catching the pirate's ass and holding him in place. Legs wrap his waist; strong arms grasp his shoulders; a solid body is pressed to his. James carries him the few feet to his sitting room divan; drops.

Boots are pulled off, swords laid aside, clothing removed, the wig remains. Bare skin, pale and tanned. Mouths seek, find. White curls caress dark locks, leaving powder in their wake. Hands stroke chests, stomachs, thighs, cocks. James knees legs apart, settles into the heat. Catches Jack's hands as they move toward his head. Green eyes hold amusement, and a warning. Entirely too self-possessed for Jack to leave alone.

A back arches; an idea forms. "It can, ah, can stay. Let me, oh yes, let, unh... I want, Jamie yes!, I want to touch... there, right there!... want to touch it!." Green eyes widen; the tempo increases. Fingers release Jack's hands and move to lift his hips.

Jack raises his hands to the wig, still in place despite the heat and movement. Grimy fingers tangle in the white, pulling James down; a searing, thrashing kiss. Twisting, pulling, clutching. Powder drifts like icing sugar, sticking to sweaty collarbones, gritting between slick stomachs. The commodore's façade disintegrates along with the wig.

A strain, a push; groans and curses. Bodies collapse. The wig is askew but holds its post.

Jack and James lie together, stretched on the damp divan. James holds the gallant but mortally wounded wig. Sighs. "You've done it again Jack. The wig is ruined." Beholds draggled curls, tangled pieces, some chunks removed altogether. "You must desist in your flagitious abuse of my wigs."

Jack studies white powder lodged under his nails, obscuring the tar there. "Jamie, it should have been drowned at birth. 'T's not my fault if it put up a fight and forced me to defend myself." Looks up through dark lashes. "Besides, as I recall, mate, I'm not the one who insisted it accompany us."

A rueful glance. "Having already murdered one innocent wig, I didn't think you'd stoop to maltreating another."

A glittering smile. "Pirate."

Read Wigs 3: A Matter of Trust