They either met in an inn outside of Kingston or they went to a deserted beach outside Port Royal, and they had sex.

They had been meeting for nearly five months, about two or three weeks between each rendezvous. James didn't ask why Jack was hanging around Jamaica so closely for so long when he could be off pillaging, but he was grateful knowing that Jack was not committing acts of piracy; at least, none that he had heard about... yet. He was having a difficult enough time warring with his conscience about having sex with a brigand. He did not need any information that might make the situation even more morally wrong than it already was.

They had sex because James was attracted to the lissom, sensual man, and Jack was attracted to anything with two legs. He expressed fascination with James' looks on many of their meetings, saying how "pretty" James was. James only response to that was a cynical, "Men are not 'pretty'," and then he would turn away, or begin to suck Jack dry, anything to hide his blush.

They had sex because James was tired of being alone. He wanted someone in his life. He wanted messy, exciting, urgent and ultimately satisfying bodily contact. As Commodore of the Jamaican Fleet, he was expected to be a paragon of propriety. If he even looked once at a woman of marrying age and social position, the rumours started to fly and he was promptly invited to every event of the season. He normally was invited to most of those affairs anyway, but showing human, male interest seemed to begin the stampede of mothers wanting to marry him off to their daughters. The main problem with that, besides the excruciating sameness of those events, was that he was more interested in men than women. Elizabeth Turner nee Swann was one of the few exceptions because of her extraordinary spirit. He still held her in the highest esteem and suffered not a little attraction towards her. He could not go to a bawdy house, although Andrew and Theo had conspired once to bring a whore to him, aboard the Dauntless of all places. They had gotten him drunk while on leave in a New Orleans port and sneaked her aboard, on the pretence she was for them to share. That was a laugh, he thought, since the two of them had been lovers for years, and were not interested in sharing each other with anyone of either sex.

James had sex with Jack because he was forbidden and he made himself available. Jack, apparently, had sex with James because he was pretty.

So far, despite exchanging all manner of illicit and physical acts with each other—by God, the things they had done... Jack had learned many things in the Far East, they had not done that most intimate of all things. They had not kissed.

On nights when James lay alone in his bed at home, with only his own hand for comfort, he thought about Jack's exotic appearance. They had bathed in a fresh water lagoon one time, about a half mile inland from their private beach. Jack had removed the trinkets from his hair and combed out the braids as best he could while using just his fingers. James, unable to stop himself from touching, had helped, taking great care in untangling the knots. Jack had stripped off all of his gaudy attire and dived into the lagoon. When he emerged with silken hair streaming wetly down his back, he washed away the kohl that lined his eyes, diving again to emerge from the water like a sleek mythological creature. James had been knocked breathless by the man's natural, unmasked beauty. In that moment, he realized that sex was no longer enough. He wanted to possess Jack Sparrow. That was a flight of fancy destined never to be realized. One did not possess the wind or the sea. As a sailor he might learn to master both, but knew he did not want that from Jack. He only wanted to merge with him in all ways—mind, body and soul. And they had not even kissed.

The night Jack came to him, took him fiercely and then gentled him with touches, he told him he was going away and did not know when he would return. The idea that he might never return hung unspoken in the air between them. A cold hand clutched at James internally. He ignored it resolutely, unable to afford to follow the reason for it through to its obvious conclusion.

He lay there on their well-used blanket at the mouth of the cave and watched Jack dress against the lightening sky, the stretching arms of the sun behind him casting a rosy glow on his golden skin. He watched and wished he could say something to make this moment hurt less, to make Jack turn and say something to give him hope. But he knew neither of them would say the words James needed yet refused to acknowledge, the words James was certain Jack did not need to hear or to say.

Jack finished strapping on his sword and looked up and across the fine white sand to James. His lips parted; it was the tiniest of movements and it made James heart stutter in its beat. Then an expression crossed Jack's face, so fleeting that there was no time to decipher what it meant. Jack took the two steps that separated them and dropped to his knees, spraying sand onto the blanket. He brought his hand to his lips, and then reached out to touch James' mouth. James pressed his lips to the warm fingers, savouring that precious contact before they were withdrawn.

A soft sigh floated out between them and then Jack was gone, leaping into his rowboat and drawing away from the cove and from James.

# end