Norrington's always known duty. Since he was young and roamed the halls of his family's mansion, staring up at the portraits of so many military men, lining the walls. Duty means knowing your place. Earning your spot on the wall.

It's a doctrine he's embraced, much to his family's delight, and it's carried him far. It's carried him across the seas, thousands of miles away from the hallway of his ancestors. Thousands of miles to this dirty shack on the beach, within spitting distance of the water's edge. To the hammock where he lies awol, limbs entwined with those of a- a-

A pirate.

What he feels for Jack knows nothing of fine homes and family lineage. It's fueled more by unfettered lust, desire thrown off its shackles and standing naked in a brisk wind, it's—

Jack stirs next to him, stretching with an atrocious sound that goes straight to Norrington's cock. "Oh good," his pirate says. "You're awake. That'll certainly make things...simpler." And Jack looks at him, kohl-rimmed heathen eyes on fire, their message plain. Norrington spreads his thighs and looks up at his lover expectantly. Jack grins lasciviously, tooth and beads glinting equally, and climbs on top. Norrington rolls his hips back like a common whore. It's a freeing gesture, and judging by Jack's expression, the correct one. His lover descends on him, biting and pinching and knowing of all the secret places on his body.

Sometimes, Norrington reflects, just before Jack's hand moves lower and all conscious thought tucks up its skirts and flees for safer ground, sometimes, one's duty is to the flesh.