"Still don't quite see why you're here, mate."

James, insouciantly lounging in one of the chairs of the Black Pearl's main cabin, shot Jack an arch look, as though he thought it was perfectly obvious why a commodore of the Royal British Navy would be in his position. He was picking his nails with a small knife and looking generally at ease, like a panther resting in the shade.

Captain Jack Sparrow, however, did not seem nearly so relaxed. On the contrary, his usual lilting, flowing, and drunkenly graceful movements were made stiff and a little awkward by his sheer tension. Some of this was the fact that there was a commodore in the room, but mostly it was the rather distressing way that said commodore was dressed: no uniform, no waistcoat, no wig, no hat, his long brown hair tied back in a wind-loosened queue, a faded black sash about his waist, a plain but mostly-clean sailor's shirt made less white by a hard day's work in the rigging and left open at the collar to expose a lightly sunburned strip of formerly fair skin, fawn breeches, and tall black bucket-topped boots.

No naval officer, Jack felt, had the right to look so damned delicious.

James said not a word. All day, for two or three days now, he had said not a word. Jack had mistaken him for a common sailor in Tortuga, due to a combination of hangover and sheer carelessness, and had taken him and several others into the crew there. Then James had appeared to misplace his hat the next day, leaving his face exposed. Jack had spotted him almost immediately and nearly fallen overboard from the sheer shock of it.

What was most mystifying to Jack was that he knew the man was still commodore in Port Royal. He'd done some checking in while the Pearl had spent a week or two in Tortuga for repairs and re-stocking. Elizabeth and Will both had offered relieved smiles when they saw him, and had proceeded to explain the impeccability of his timing, due to Norrington's having taken off on a well-deserved month-long holiday just a few days previous.

Jack had been disappointed at the time, given that he enjoyed the tense, predatory, reluctant sense of camaraderie he tended to foist upon yon commodore when he visited Port Royal. The fact that the pretty officer appeared to always sleep scandalously nude under thin white sheets was also a bonus.

All in all, Jack had long felt confident that they had reached an unspoken understanding as to what these meetings were to be about: Jack would climb in through the window, James would threaten him at gunpoint, Jack would agree to be gone before dawn without stealing or destroying anything belonging to more upstanding members of society, and James would let him live to see daylight once more. Then, in the hours between bargaining and pre-dawn, the two men would talk. Usually, Jack had tended to do most of the talking until James was thoroughly lost in the conversation enough to add to it himself, either with droll and scathing commentary, or on rare occasion with his own tales.

However such meetings might've given Jack new insight into his rival, showing surprising tendencies James had toward improper philosophies, shrewd and perceptive cleverness, and even the occasional rare hint of mischief, nothing could have prepared him to find James Norrington aboard the Black Pearl, especially looking as delicious as previously mentioned. Jack had done the most sensible thing he could think of: he'd ignored the man for three straight days. Well—ignored except for staring at the commodore's lovely backside as he worked in the rigging with more adeptness and familiarity than Jack would have credited him for, given his rank. Jack was, after all, only human, and the exceptionally fine backside of the commodore was one of many things usually hidden under a white bedsheet, all of which Jack had an unhealthy fascination with of recent.

Then, tonight, after handing over the helm and heading to the main cabin to chart their course before retiring for the night, Jack had found James waiting for him.

They had been staring at each other in stony silence for a few minutes now, only briefly interrupted by Jack's single statement.

Finally, the pirate lost patience again and this time cursed a blue streak before finally shouting, "What the HELL are you doing on my ship?"

James did not even blink, but nodded slightly as if agreeing with himself about something. He put his knife away in his boot and then leaned back in his seat to rest both of his boot-heels on the table. "I am on holiday," he said simply, his voice only a little rough from lack of use.

For a long moment, Jack merely stared. Then he put his hands flat on the table and leaned forward, glaring hard, his black eyes vibrant in the candlelight. "You didn't think, perhaps, to mention it to me?"

"You never asked, until a moment ago," James deadpanned, his expression remaining a perfect, sardonic blank: inscrutable and infuriating. "You took me onto your crew without sparing me a second glance, in fact."

Well, having had no commodore to amuse himself with back in Port Royal, Jack had found himself uncommonly agitated, and had gone to great lengths to alleviate himself of the feeling. This had apparently led him to get more drunk than he'd been in years, and gotten him very nearly sexually assaulted by a burly ex-marine who had been given naught more from Jack than a grievous head-wound for his aggressive propositioning. The ensuing morning-after had seen a more sickly version of Jack Sparrow than anyone, especially Jack himself, had felt altogether comfortable with: one who had scarcely been able to notice minor hazards such as closed doors (which he had run into three of that day) let alone navy men looking to work as part of his piratical ship's equally piratical crew—and James had seen it, too.

At Jack's bleak scowl, James added, "Your quartermaster asked, however. He knows me of old." For a moment, his green eyes glittered with cruel humor.

Jack's scowl deepened. "Gibbs knows yer here."

"You did not ask him about his thoughts on your new crewmen, or else he might have mentioned it." James' humor faded and a hint of a crease appeared between his brows. If Jack had been more inclined to deceive himself, he might've called it a look of concern. "You seem to have been quite discomfited of late. You hit the bottle quite hard back in Tortuga before setting sail, so it is not merely my presence at work here. Are you quite all right, Jack?"

Jack had every intention of countering that with a very acid comment, but hesitated when he realized that James—the commodore, Jack reminded himself, for his own safety—had called him by his given name for the first time in the whole of their acquaintance. He blinked twice, and tried to get his bearings. "I'm fine. What the hell are you up to with this holiday on my ship, Commodore?"

For a moment, Jack thought that he might have seen a flicker of disappointment in James' expression, but if so it had been for less than a second; in any case, Jack guessed it to have been a trick of the light. Why would he possibly—

"A very good question indeed, it would seem," James muttered, folding his arms over his chest a bit defensively. "I am not here on any business with the navy or anyone else at all, Jack. I have no career-related ambitions or potential threats fixed upon your ship, and no intention to harm anyone aboard."

"Still doesn't tell me what intentions ye do have, James," Jack snapped, and then bit his tongue at the slip.

James' eyebrows raised and he stared into Jack's eyes for a long moment, wary and piercing as he read the other man. A small amount of tension left James' shoulders, but he turned his head and looked away before Jack could detect more than that. James relaxed his defiant stance, returning his chair to a more natural position and resting his boots on the floor. With his eyes downcast, James said in his usual deadpan, "I am here because I want to be."

Jack's confusion reached whole new levels, his brow contracting and a look of faint distress on his face. "But why would you..." he trailed off, not even sure where to begin with that line of inquiry.

"Oh, I don't know," James said, his voice cold and acerbic now, but he kept the anger and hurt from showing on his face. "Perhaps so that I could ask you, whilst on equal and civil terms with you outside of my own domain of dominance, why it is that you regularly risk your life just in order to climb my trellis at least once every time you visit Port Royal." He met Jack's gaze with reproach, looking more like the icy and distant commodore now than he had at any point in the previous few days.

Jack got a strangely chagrined feeling, and wondered how on earth he had managed to offend the man. Pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, Jack took a deep breath and exhaled through his teeth. By way of very indirect apology, he muttered, "I'm out of sorts." And how had that started, anyway? Jack took a moment at last to reflect on his actions, trying to find the source of this foul mood. In Tortuga, it'd been restless agitation and a vague sense that he'd somehow been cheated out of something, but it had started in Port Royal, hadn't it? He had only planned on staying the one night, and visiting the commodore on his way out the next—had been quite looking forward to it, in fact, since he'd not been there in so long...

Jack was uncomfortable with the look of this, and reflected on his bleak and somewhat offended mood over the past few days.

It was the same mood, in fact, that James seemed to be in, now. Except, no, there was more to it. James probably never felt something without knowing the cause; he was too controlled a creature for that, Jack reasoned. James, then, felt he had a good reason to be offended. Jack wondered what it was, then found himself thinking about his habit of climbing through the man's window.

The window, he noted, was never locked—not even once it became clear that Jack was making a regular habit of dropping by. James had greeted him matter-of-factly every time, with the pistol from under his pillow, but once the usual agreement was in place, James always became civil; the commodore never even asked what Jack thought he was doing in his bedroom, but occasionally got that shrewd and thoughtful look that said he was figuring it out even if Jack deliberately avoided thinking of it.

Jack was giving James the same look now.

James lifted his chin a bit and deliberately unfolded his arms, leaving himself open in a defiant fashion, daring Jack to read him.

"Yer mad at me," Jack muttered, as much to himself as to James.

"I think I have a right to be," James countered, eyes narrowing a little.

Jack ran a hand over his own hair, adjusting one or two ornaments along the way as he continued to stare at James. "I should've noticed you in Tortuga. Yer too bloody pale to quite fit the look of a common sailor."

James snorted. "You looked a bit pale that day, as well—almost green, in fact."

Ignoring the insult, Jack shook his head a little, still looking thoughtful. "Still shoulda noticed. You expected me to."

James clenched his jaw slightly to bite back the words, I wanted you to, you idiot! After a moment, in drolly humorous but also acerbic and biting tones, James added, "And then you ignored me for three days. Was it out of embarrassment?"

"Confusion, actually. Like I said, James, I still don't see why you're here."

Again, James' jaw clenched, but this time he seemed taken aback slightly: disconcerted, as though something that he had been hopeful of seeing had just been taken away. "I see." His voice was oddly flat and he looked away from Jack's eyes quickly. "Well. It seems, then, that I have misjudged you, Captain Sparrow." He sounded very weary all of a sudden. "My apologies."

Jack's brow furrowed more deeply. "Wot?"

"Nothing to concern yourself with overmuch," James mused bitterly, with a dismissive hand gesture as he pushed his chair back further from the table and pulled himself to his feet. He kept his eyes downcast "I shall be out of your way as soon as we next make port."

Jack was aware, suddenly, of a cold and empty feeling in his chest, like it had been hollowed out by an unexpected blow. "Wait a minute here, James." He reached out, trying to grab James' sleeve.

The commodore jerked away from Jack's hand as if avoiding a burning brand. "Why?" Feeling eager to flee now, James sounded more than a little impatient. "I just told you that I would—"

"Sit down. Now. Captain's orders," Jack barked, bristling authority to cover his inexplicable feeling of acute unease.

James' lips thinned in anger, but he lowered himself back into the chair silently.

Jack perched on the edge of the table in front of James, more leaning than actually sitting on it, with his head still spinning a bit as he regarded the commodore. Taking stock of himself, Jack realized that his heartbeat was racing, his nerves were on end, and that the thought of James leaving with them both in moods like this made him feel distinctly sick to his stomach with unease and something disconcertingly like fear.

Again seeking out the cause, Jack tried to piece together James' statements into something that made sense, but he kept getting stuck on how damned hollow and dull James had sounded when he had apologized—for what, Jack still had no idea—because it had disturbed Jack deeply. He'd never heard the commodore's voice sound like that, not since that day on top of the fort—

This—is where your heart truly lies, then?

Oh. Oh.

Jack felt the hollow place in his chest suddenly fill up with what seemed to be red-hot coals. Distantly, a small voice in the back of the pirate's head said, Yes! Ohyesplease. His throat went dry and he couldn't quite seem to breathe properly. His brow cleared and he looked at James with new eyes.

James seemed discomfited by this. "Captain, may I ask why it is you wish to detain me further?" he inquired testily.

"Aye, ye might." Jack's voice was softer now, but oddly distant with lingering disbelief even as he mused, "I may as well ask you why your ears have turned such an interesting shade of scarlet."

James' eyes fell shut tight, but his look was more one of cold anger than embarrassment. He had long ago learned to conceal feelings of shame. "I will not have you mock me, Sparrow."

Jack stood up and rested a hand on either arm of James' chair, leaning over him. His tone became one of apology at last. "James, look at me."

James' expression only hardened further as he felt Jack's touch brush his forearms. The commodore's hands gripped the arms of his chair tight enough to turn his knuckles bone-white. He sought an escape from this, any escape that would let him keep his composure and what little dignity he felt that he might still have left, after being rejected yet again. It hurt more than last time. A lot more. Feeling like a cornered wild animal in pain, James snapped curtly, "Get. Away."

Jack leaned in closer still.

James flinched when Jack's forehead touched his own, then turned to stone, not moving and not reacting. "What are you doing?"

"Maybe if you'd open your eyes, you could work it out," Jack suggested, not quite whispering, but his voice was very low.

Feeling Jack's breath close to his face, James visibly hesitated, and Jack felt more than saw the commodore's brow furrow. James swallowed tightly around the sudden lump in his throat, but said nothing. If he ceased to react, so James thought, then perhaps the pirate would lose interest and let him go, but his armor was weakening with the pirate so damnably close. "Get away," James whispered, despite himself, his voice slightly pained.

Jack felt a painful tightness in his chest as he saw the first cracks appear in James' mask and realized what was going on. "I'm sorry," he said sharply, urgently, the words fairly tumbling out of him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, love; I've not meant to hurt you. Don't look like that, James; it makes me feel cold. Please just look at me."

James twitched, confusion evident, and then cautiously opened his eyes to peer up at Jack. His confusion quadrupled as he took in the soft, concerned look on Jack's face, which turned into relief as James held his gaze. "What the hell i—" James started to ask, in a rather shaken voice, but he was cut off when Jack suddenly seized the back of his neck, tilted his face up, and kissed him. It was not gentle; Jack's mouth pulled at him, and Jack's tongue forced past his lips and claimed him hungrily, as though Jack, too, had been wanting and craving this for months. James' anger, confusion and his ability to think all threw themselves out the window.

With involuntary desperation, James seized the lapels of Jack's coat, bringing the pirate closer with a sharp tug, as he returned the kiss with more than equal fervor and skill. Jack was surprised enough by it that he was quite swept away, lost in the feel of it, and the sea-salt and gunpowder-tea flavor of James' mouth until his attention was at last jarred free when James tried to stand and draw them both up abruptly, only causing them both to lose balance and fall to the floor.

Staring up at James in amazement, Jack grinned brilliantly. "Wow. Better than I thought, but then, reality often is." Then he glanced down at himself. "Where'd my coat go? And the belts. I'm impressed." Even as he mused over what clothing he seemed to be missing, he was tugging off his boots and kicking them out of the way, eager as he was to be rid of the rest.

Unfortunately, James seemed to have somewhat recalled himself as well, and despite blushing furiously and looking to be more than a little aroused, he was able to sound very terse and well-disciplined as he demanded, "Jack. Explain this. With words, please."

Jack had the decency to look almost sheepish for a moment. Then he took a very deep breath and explained, "Well. It's kind of impossible, really, which is why I was quite so mystified by it, see, because you're who you are, and I've been resigned to that, savvy?" He gestured vaguely, but there wasn't much space to do so, with James hovering over him so close and kind of straddling him and all—looking so confused and cautiously hopeful and also still a bit flushed with lust; it was very distracting, in fact. "I thought that was what we had, with our agreement and all, every time, with you tolerating me, and me showing up to stare at you and imagine half the time that I was under that damned bedsheet where I wanted to be, and me talking until dawn got close enough you'd have to actually do your job, despite not wanting to grieve Lizzy an' Will by tryin' to hang me again, like you said the first time I dropped in. I'd not realized that I'd gotten quite so attached to you, since I kept telling myself I was resigned to take what I could, and I thought I knew what I could an' I couldn't because you... You would never, I thought..." Jack got that slightly awestruck look again. No hand gesture, Jack felt, could do his current feelings justice, and so his arms fell to rest limply on the floor. The shock was evident in his voice as he finally stated his conclusion aloud: "You love me." He was once again stunned by the mere idea of it, but this time a warm, incandescently happy and slightly ridiculous smile appeared on his face.

James seemed taken aback, but not in a bad way this time, because those pretty green eyes of his had a softness to their look, and his mouth was slightly parted in a rather inviting sort of look of surprise. "You thought that it was because of Elizabeth that I was—and the agreement... and... bedsheet?" he sputtered quietly, sounding lost. Then, shaking his head a bit to clear it, he asked in a more serious, controlled voice, "How—how attached to me, exactly?"

Jack's smile became self-mocking and chagrined. "I didn't quite realize 'til you helped clear the air a bit. See, I hadn't seen you in five months, and I got to Port Royal, lookin' forward to the trellis and the bedsheet and all, but then found out you were off on holiday for another month, off to some mystery destination even Lizzy didn't know anything about. I was surprised, first, and then just kind of restless an' irritable, but by the time I got back to Tortuga I was a bit of a mess, apparently, judging by the amount of rum I imbibed, and how little I can remember of it, except that I clobbered some pillock with too-friendly hands over the head. At least, I think I did."

"Actually, that was me." James cleared his throat. "As I had been waiting for you to appear in Tortuga, I took to following you and making sure you'd not get hurt. Your recall of the evening is poor indeed, as I recall you were angry at me for hitting him with a bottle that had been half-full, before I broke it."

Jack laughed a little, helplessly. "Damn it, James; no wonder you made me love you before ye even tried. Stop catching me off-guard like that."

A quiet, slightly guttural noise escaped James' lips. He cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded a bit uneven as he drawled, "I'm sorry, can you repeat that next-to-last sentence?"

Jack slipped his arms around James' waist and tugged him closer. "I love you."

James' pupils dilated. "Oh," he said simply. "Very good, then."

"Fergive me?" Jack shot him a winning smile and draped a leg over James hips. "I'll make it up to you," he purred.

"Yes," James said immediately, with feeling.

"Good." Jack flipped the commodore onto his back. "First things first, then." He tugged off James' boots and tossed them over his shoulder randomly.

Upon getting his breath back, James inquired, "Pardon?" Then Jack's hand unbuttoned James' breeches in record time and slipped inside, causing James to become momentarily incoherent.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to see what all you kept hidden under that damned sheet?"

"Probably about as long as I've wanted to remove that damnably teasing shirt of yours," James countered, and then tugged the offending garment up over Jack's head. "Really. From some angles, I can see down your collar almost to your navel."

Jack countered by at last wrapping his hand around the prize he sought and giving it a slow, exploratory stroke. His eyebrows raised significantly. "You should burn that sheet, for its hiding all this. Very impressive, love."

In response James could only make a small and incoherent noise low in his throat. Distantly, he reflected that the warm metal rings on Jack's fingers made for a quite novel and damned lovely sensation.

Jack chuckled darkly and slid further down James' body.

Sitting up slightly, James lifted his head curiously and was met with the sight of Jack Sparrow's mouth engulfing his cock. James' back arched and he fell flat on the floor again with a gasp. He cursed an impressive blue streak when Jack stopped.

"Shirt off," Jack commanded, as he tugged down the commodore's breeches.

James held his gaze for a moment, regaining his composure somewhat, then obeyed, tossing the garment aside carelessly as Jack's eyes devoured him.

A squeak of disbelief. "You've a tattoo!" Jack's finger landed on the blue-inked eagle on the outside of James' hip.

"Yes. As do you," James drawled. He then tangled his legs with Jack's and rolled the pirate under him again. "How many have I not found yet?" he mused, hands running down Jack's chest with apparent fascination, undeterred by the varied textures of Jack's many battle-scars, having earned more than a few of his own in the navy.

Jack gasped a little when James' touch wandered lower and one commodorial hand cupped his piratical arousal through his breeches. "No tattoos there," he said breathlessly. "But feel free to explore."

"I shall." James stroked him slowly through the cloth with one hand while the other attacked buttons and laces until they fell open for him and he was at last able to strip Jack of the last of his clothing.

The hungry look in James' eyes made Jack feel very exposed indeed, but he only grinned cheekily and folded his arms behind his head, casually putting himself on display. James then smirked at him, pinned the pirate's hips down, and took Jack's entire length into his mouth with surprising skill, leaving Jack too breathless to even curse properly. James glanced up, meeting his gaze with a truly evil look, and began moving up and down Jack's length with alacrity.

Unprepared for such treatment, the pirate moaned and gave himself up for lost. His fingers clutched at the rug under him as his hips struggled, trying to buck under James' restraining hold. And still the commodore kept going, pulling all sorts of indecent and lovely little noises from Jack as the pirate fairly writhed. When he felt himself getting dangerously close to the edge, Jack tangled his fingers in James' hair and pulled him up and away with reluctance, but also with clear determination. To James' questioning look, the pirate said simply, "Fuck me."

"Pardon?" James asked breathlessly, although part of his anatomy fairly leapt at the suggestion.

"There's a vial of oil in one of my coat pockets. Where'd my coat end up, anyway?" Jack didn't bother actually looking away from James' eyes.

James reached up absently and tugged the garment down from where it hung over the edge of the table. "Are you sure—"

"Yes, yes and yes again." Jack plucked the necessary item from his coat, and smiled when James tossed the garment aside again carelessly, so focused was the commodore on his pirate. Jack wrapped his legs around James' hips in open invitation and uncorked the vial with his teeth. Then he reached down and slicked the oil over James' cock.

James needed no further encouragement after that, and pulled Jack close, lifting one of the pirate's legs over his shoulder with one hand while the other guided his cock as he pushed into Jack's body slowly.

Jack's head fell back with a grunt as he adjusted, remembering to relax into the near-painful invasion and thankful for the oil to smooth the way. He muttered something crude about naval cannons and tentatively bucked his hips, abruptly sheathing James to the hilt and making them both gasp. As he waited for the burn to recede, Jack focused on the feel of James' mouth at his throat, nipping and sucking at his pulse-point. As he arched up into the attentions, Jack felt James shift slightly inside him, hitting a spot that made the pirate see sparks. Jack writhed his hips in a slow grind and moaned.

"Now?" James whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Yes for the love of—" Jack then cut off as James pulled back and then pounded home again with surprising abruptness. Jack gave a low keen in response.

James paused for effect. "That is a lovely sound."

"James Bloody Norrington, if you do not keep moving I will—"

"As you wish," James teased, and resumed with vigor, soon losing that damnably annoying self-control as Jack's body and Jack's noises both set out to destroy it efficiently, brick by brick.

Jack himself was beyond thought, the push and pull of each thrust holding him suspended on the edge of climax, right where every jolt of pleasure was so intense that it hurt, but was far too good not to want more of. It was white-hot and intense and not enough: infinitely frustrating. Jack finally managed a pleading sound of sufficient coherency that James reached between their bodies to finish him off.

As he watched Jack grow tense and spasm, and heard as well as felt the pirate's low cry of completion, James lost it himself and came shortly after.

For several minutes, they both lay still on the floor to catch their breaths. Then, without lifting his head from where his face hid against Jack's throat, James reached up and gently pushed Jack's hair from his face, tucking it behind the pirate's ear. "I do love you," he assured softly.

Jack smiled, feeling a strangely comfortable warmth in his chest. "Aye, love. I love you, too."

He felt James sigh contently and smile against his skin. Then after a moment, the commodore added, "By the by: five months is too long between visits."

Jack chuckled. "Agreed."