James set the thing in the center of his desk and leaned back, regarding it warily. It sat there, and looked back at him with bright painted eyes.

Leered at him That's what it did. Leer.

Watching him from over the table, Jack Sparrow leered as well. "I dunno, James. It just made me think of you for some unfathomable reason. What, don't like it?"

James just arched an eyebrow at him. "Well, it's not the most sentimental token of affection I've ever received, now is it?"

"Oh, and I'm sure you're just swimming in sentimental tokens of affection, now aren't you, James."

"Ah. Cold, Sparrow. Very cold."

The thing sat between them, grinning a mad grin. James tried hard to keep his eyes off, but it was a losing battle. The physical equivalent of NOT thinking of Governor Swann in a frilly petticoat if the subject happened to come up in conversation. (Just try it and see.) Jack grinned at the lovely shade of red creeping up his commodore's neck as he busied himself by pouring more brandy. "I especially like the—"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you do. So, where did you get it," James cut in, smiling sweetly. He gulped his brandy. Ah, that was a good sign. James Norrington didn't gulp. Jack leaned back in his chair, swirling the contents of his glass easily. Most people would have told the old bloke down at the dock that he was daft, and mad to boot, but Jack Sparrow was of a rather different mind. He paid a small fortune for the thing, and he was damned sure it was going to work.

"From a mummy, luv."

James only just managed not to spit out his mouthful of liquor. "From a what?!"

Jack waved his hands expressively, as though he were trying to conjure the very thing out of thin air. "Dead bloke. You know the type. Dry, crispy, stiff, dead bloke. The French have got them in droves. Dig'em out of the desert, you know. I haven't a clue what they want with a heap of dead—"

"Jack?"

"Aye, luv?"

"Where in the name of all that's holy did you find a mummy?"

"Down by the docks," Jack replied, as though this should be the most obvious answer in the universe.

"I see." James's eyes slid back to the idol crouched jauntily between them. It really was grotesque. He reached out but almost couldn't bring himself to pick it up. After all, it did have a five-inch-long... er... oh hell.

"S' not every day I pillage the coffin of a bloody royal dead man to get ye a present. Pried it from his hands I did. Broke his little finger off, too, heathen gods forgive me."

James dropped the thing back onto the table. It handed with a thump and rocked back and forth cheerfully. "I do believe that is the most unromantic thing I have ever heard, Jack, thank you." He could almost hear it snickering as he wiped his hands on the leg of his breeches. Foul thing.

"What do you mean, not romantic? E's a fertility god. How's that not romantic?"

"Only you would ask that question, Sparrow." James tugged restlessly at his collar.

If you'd been shut up in a box with a dead man for five thousand years, you'd be rather horny yourself.

Now where did that come from? James shook his head hard, trying to dislodge the thought. He was warm. It was too warm in the room. He should go open a window. Or possibly just have another drink.

He was so busy being disgusted, he didn't notice Jack watching him with keen black eyes over the rim of his glass as the last of his drink slid burningly down his throat. Then he was so busy coughing and spluttering that he didn't realize that the pirate had left his chair until he deposited himself directly in his lap.

"JACK! Bloody hell!"

"I'm sorry you didn't like your present, luv." Jack straddled James's hips and began to rock in his lap, slowly.

"Well, I didn't mean to..."

"What do you say I give you another one?"

"I... uh..."

"Promise you'll like this one better."

"MMmmph."

...........

In the dark of the night, Jack swam up from sleep to the sensation of fingertips skating lightly up and down the center of his chest. He cracked open one eye and waited until the blur hovering over him formed itself into James's smirking face.

"Hello," James whispered, and kissed him.

When James finally decided to give him his lips back, Jack murmured, "I'm very sleepy..."

"MMm... I'm not..." James was working his was down Jack's throat now, licking and nibbling. Jack arched his neck and considered things. It was nearly dawn. He could hear the soft morning song of birds through the window. Come to think of it, he'd been hearing them as he dozed off as well. Lord knew he felt as though he'd only gotten an hour of sleep. And now here was a delicious and very (oh! hmmm...) very aroused commodore sucking his way down his belly... and he was so bloody tired he didn't know if he could do anything about it...

It was possible, just possible, that Jack Sparrow had gotten himself in over his head this time...

"Don't mean to... er... don't mean to rain on yer garden party, Jamieluv, but I dunno if I c'n strike the old colors again, if you... uhn... get my meaning..."

James lifted his head and said, quite rationally, "I fail to see how that is a problem."

"Oh," Jack said.

And then, "OOOoohhhh." He writhed and bucked against the bed, bowed his back, whined, clawed... and finally gave up being difficult, wrapped his legs around his lover's hips and let himself be ravished.

"...ohFINEbloodyhelldamnmummyscursewhatthehellwasIthinking... ohgod... ah... DAMMITWHATAREYOUSTOPPINGFOR?!"

"What mummy's curse, Jack?"

"DAMN!!!"