Norrington stands at the edge of a spit of land barely worthy of the name, spyglass hanging forgotten from one hand. He's long since given up on the mechanical, preferring to squint out across the ocean, relying on his own two eyes and the pounding of his heart to sound the alarm.

He waits while the sun is high. He waits while day crawls toward the horizon, until the sea boils into the sky, staining the wide heavens as pink as his sunburnt skin. But the ocean remains wide and empty, mocking him with its calm.

Without Jack at his side, Norrington knows nothing of calm, can't call the feeling to mind. He's lain awake, long nights under sparkling stars—all of whom, he hopes, have turned a blind eye as he stroked his rigid cock, already anticipating Jack's wicked lips on him, his leering, playful grin, and a touch Norrington tries hard to imitate in the lonely recess of his bunk. He conjures up Jack's voice, dirty and rotten, low and cunning, and that's what makes him come, nearly wincing with desire, the spasms of pleasure moving too quickly through him, too soon past, leaving him alone again, panting and moist-eyed with his own hand.

He will not swear. Not even under his breath as he scans the damnably empty sea joined now to the night sky in a swell of spilled ink, the two shades blending into one overwhelming firmament, mocking this lone figure still on his spit of godforsaken island.

Norrington sits down, hard, on the cold and silky sand, heart in his throat. He was so loyal to Jack's promise, so believing... so gullible.

The spyglass drops from Norrington's hands with a soft clink, and he stares down at the individual, moonlit grains of sand mounded between his feet. How could he have been so—

"'Ello, love. Miss me?"

The rough palms over his eyes, the lips and teeth harsh and demanding at his neck, he'd know them anywhere. Gasping, Norrington falls back into Jack's embrace, writhing to capture his lover's greedy mouth, ignoring the rip of fine linen as Jack tears open his shirt and rolls one nipple between thumb and finger, sending lightning coursing to Norrington's hungry, needing groin. The noise he makes is whorish; the perfect expression for how he feels as Jacks tugs at his breeches. Norrington helps, their fingers a joyful tangle, the long wait forgiven.