Commodore James Norrington had been more than willing to ignore the sight of 'Captain' Jack Sparrow, however disguised—with beard trimmed, with that wild mane of hair pulled back into a single neat-looking braid that had no visible trinkets woven or tangled into it, and wearing finely tailored clothes befitting a well-to-do merchant sailor—at the Turners' wedding. He had not expected to end up apparently staying at the wedding longer than the pirate, whose abrupt disappearance had William Turner pulling James aside to ask if he had arrested anyone that day. Nor had James expected to find the pirate, sans disguise, with piratical garb and hair trinkets intact once more, waiting for him at home that evening, perched upon the desk in his study and reading the commodore's private papers in a casual manner.

James was completely shell-shocked when the pirate interrupted him in the middle of his scathingly sarcastic greeting by pinning him against a bookcase and kissing him with ardent fervor. And James would never have expected—should anyone have had the audacity to suggest that this might occur—that he would like it and thus find himself clinging to Jack's biceps to pull the mad pirate closer, fand eeling flushed with heat and want as he realized, with surprise, that he was starting to return the kiss with nothing less than open desperation.

Then realization struck and struck hard, with a mixture of outrage and horror, but also with a flare of something hotter and hungrier that only wanted more; it was the latter that actually terrified the commodore enough to snap him out of it.

"No!" James said sharply, pushing Jack away so abruptly and so hard that the pirate stumbled back, catching himself on the commodore's desk. "It is not within the realm of propriety. I will not allow you, of all people, to break my self-control." He managed to keep his voice firm. Vaguely, James wondered where his wig and cravat had gone, as the items' conspicuous absence was disconcerting. Around this pirate, he felt that he needed every symbol of authority he could get.

Dark eyes wide and bright with lust and determination, Jack paused where he landed, perched on the edge of the desk. "Propriety is nothing, mate. You know that as well as I, and as well as any good man, or good sailor worth his salt, has to know it." He straightened up then, his eyes narrowing shrewdly. "Besides that, it would've been proper for you to shoot me before I could topple into the sea after my botched hanging."

James winced, but said nothing.

Jack continued, stalking one step closer again, his lilting voice calm and accusing, "And it would've been proper to have young William prosecuted for aiding my escape, and for you to have married Elizabeth, who had indeed promised herself to you." He tool another step closer, positively prowling.

James' eyes snapped open and he glared at Jack. "It would not have been right."

"Which bit of it?"

"All of it, damn you."

"So you admit it, then." Taking one final step, the pirate's body was once again mere inches from the commodore's. "That what's right and wot's proper are, surprise surprise, not always exactly what one would call 'the one and the same.'"

"But you want to persuade me that giving in to base desires, to lust, with a man and a pirate, does not go against both?" James countered.

"Who is hurt by it, ay? No one as I can see."

Not yet, James could not help but think. He answered, "It goes against the laws of God and man alike, Sparrow."

Jack glanced over his shoulder at the armchair on the other side of the study, and the two books on the table beside it. Then he looked at James again with a knowing, vicious sort of smirk. "I've been here a while, Commodore, and I've made some observations. If you were really a religious man, which I doubt—taking into consideration that you appear to read the works of Spinoza more than you read your bible—then you would know that you've every possible chance to ask for redemption from your God." He leaned in closer. "But as I said, love, I doubt somehow that you are a traditional man of faith. So what kind are you?"

James' eyebrows raised at the realization that Jack Sparrow had also read the works of Benedictus de Spinoza. Then he squeezed his eyes shut again and replied with Spinoza's logic: "Overcoming passions and achieving a rational detachment from daily life is the best state of mind for truly acting for one's best long-term benefit, which will ultimately benefit all of society, since self-benefit is best achieved by reaching harmony with others."

Jack considered this. "Aye, there is that, but you're no ice-cold stoic mate, and most of the classical stoics were bastards anyway." One deft be-ringed hand insinuated itself under the fine blue naval coat and caressed up the length of James' side, from hip to ribcage, settling just below James' heart, fingertips tracing shapes there. "I've seen it. And have you read any Rochefoucauld, too? If you'll read a Spanish Atheist Jew, you should allow a Frenchman or two into your library as well. This particular Frenchman said, 'If we resist our passions, it is more through their weakness than from our strength.'" Jack leaned in closer, his eyes fixed on James' as they reluctantly fell open. "You're not a man of weak passions, Commodore. You're too good a leader for that, and your men respect you too well for that."

Green eyes wide and full of confusion, James finally bit out, "What is it that you want from me? Why are you so determined to pursue me thus?"

"Pirate," Jack reminded, his hand roaming down again, settling on James hip as the pirate leaned against him, pressing their bodies together from thigh to sternum. "I have a habit of chasing after fine and beautiful things when they catch my eye." He tilted his head a little. "You're a fine man, Commodore, and beautiful, too. And I've had the chance to glimpse your more passionate nature, as well, albeit mostly either when you were fighting or hurting." Jack's other hand raised up, fingers brushing the line of James' cheek as the commodore stared into Jack's eyes with total fascination. "I've never liked to see passion or beauty caged, mate, as I'm sure you've discovered by now, since those the letters on your desk have so much of my history in them. And from what I've seen since the wedding, caging that all up is what you're bloody well doing," he growled, sounding almost angry.

James glanced at where Jack's sleeve had fallen down his arm to reveal the pirate brand. Then he met Jack's gaze again, a flicker of understanding, reluctant by all appearances, flashing in his eyes. "You're here to... free me?" He was trying to sound mocking and disbelieving; it did not quite work.

"There's no life, no vitality to living without passion, James; I'm here because I really liked seeing that fire in you, and since I've not seen it since jumping off your fort, I've wanted very badly to see it again, but more than that, I've really wanted to taste it myself," Jack growled, growing more desperate. He had been waiting for this too long, wanting this too long. His eyes snapped shut and he added, almost pleading if not for the roughness of his voice, "But now I finally come back and see it's been gone for almost as long as I have, and I can't even provoke it by showing up at the bloody wedding right in front of you! Not even a bit of anger: you just brushed me off like everyone else what came your way today. Come on, Commodore: reach harmony with me, if you'd like to call it that. Elizabeth may've wanted a man she'd already tamed, but I swear I can match you fire for fire if you'll just bloody let me. Don't you dare tell me that fire's gone."

James shivered despite himself at the words, and the heady feeling that flooded him at the unabashed want he could hear in Jack's voice. But it was more than James' own desires and the good done to his ego that made the argument so persuasive; the argument itself was solid, and James found himself won over, both by it and the man who made it. He swallowed thickly and let out a tremulous breath that he had not realized he'd been holding. His hands, formerly motionless at his sides, raised to settle on either side of Jack's narrow waist, just holding the pirate in place. The lean and wiry body, even hidden as it was beneath the sea-battered clothes, felt good pressed against him: warm and firm and close. Jack Sparrow smelled of the sea, of rum, of recently-washed sailor, and of exotic spices: peculiarly enticing at the moment.

Belatedly, James realized that Jack's eyes were open again, staring at him with a mixture of wariness, curiosity and... fragile hope? "Help me find it again, and I will be happy to let it free," James whispered finally, his voice sounding oddly harsh, despite how fragile the offer made him feel.

Jack groaned something incoherent and pulled James' head down into an almost violent kiss, furious and desperate and hungry. He tangled his fingers in the commodore's hair, the queue soon falling into disarray. At Jack's soft moan, James began to respond again, the warmth and closeness of the other man's body, and the smells of musk and spice, combining into a more heady intoxicant than any liquor.

James let himself drown in the kiss, in the feel of Jack's hands on him, and of Jack's body under his hands, hardly aware—through the haze of lust and urgency—of himself or the passage of time or even his clothes being removed, until a rush of insight hit him like a sudden conflagration throughout his body.

It was like waking up, like coming to the surface after nearly drowning, like rising from the ashes: finding himself again—feeling at last like the man he was instead of the figurehead he was expected to be and that he had expected himself to be. James trembled for a moment, feeling the last several months of his life shed like a dry and cracking husk: months of cold and forced indifference, of lethargy, and of starched thoughts too stiff and aching to let him feel any sort of emotion properly.

With a rush of heat, it hit him all at once, and under its influence James realized that he was forcefully pinning a nearly-naked Jack Sparrow up against the bookcase. He was flushed and wanting and he could feel the pirate's arousal, pressing firmly against his own through their remaining clothes. James found that he liked this predicament very much, even if he did not fully remember how they had both managed to loose all but their breeches in such a seemingly short amount of time.

For a moment, they stared at each other, panting hard.

Jack seemed to think this indicated another crisis of conscience on the commodore's part. "Don't you dare stop, James Norrington," Jack growled, sounding at once enraged and also a bit desperate at the very thought.

James smiled brilliantly, still breathing hard, and pressed in closer, grinding his hips in a manner that made the pirate mewl in relief, kohl-smeared eyelids falling shut. "I've no intention of stopping, Jack: of that I can assure you," he purred.

Jack's eyes snapped open wide, staring at him in shock, as though suddenly no longer quite sure who he was dealing with. "James?"

Leaning his head down, James bit and suckled at the skin of Jack's throat, until he discovered a spot that made the other man writhe against him. Then, chuckling softly, James nuzzled Jack's jaw and explored the pierced ear above it with his lips. "Found it," he murmured, sounding much amused, his deep voice distinctly sultry, rumbling from deep in his chest like a purr. "My thanks." He suckled Jack's earlobe, nibbling at it gently.

"Aye?" the pirate managed to reply, his voice cracking in the middle. Then James's mouth wandered down his throat again as James' hips began to grind against him again, and words became impossible. Jack's breath caught, hitched, and finally escaped in the form of a guttural moan and a string of whimpered expletives in Portuguese. His hands were moving again, over the pale skin of James' back, where he was surprised to feel scars interrupt the flawlessly smooth surface, to James' shoulders, which Jack gripped tight, pulling their bodies closer together. "Yesss, please, Jamie, please," he groaned.

"Please what Jack?" the commodore murmured against the pirate's collarbone, before licking and nipping his way down further.

Jack shivered, letting his head fall back against the bookcase and giving himself up for lost. "Anything. Everything," he breathed.

"Mm. Yes, but not on my books," James mused, pulling his lips away momentarily with a hint of a smirk as he eyed the bookcase behind Jack. "They stain easily." His hands moved down from Jack's hips to cup his behind, using his hold there to lift the pirate up off the floor.

Jack's eyes fell open, once more wide in shock and some amount of disbelief even as he instinctively wrapped his legs around the commodore's waist and his arms about the commodore's shoulders as a precaution against being dropped. "Didn't expect you t' turn heathen this easy," he panted.

"Given the opportunity, I am actually full of surprises." James raised an eyebrow, tilting his head, even as he stepped back from the bookcase, moving toward the door. "But you knew I needed this," he murmured.

"Aye," Jack leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth, the line of his jaw. "I did, a bit, but mostly I just knew I wanted ye." His voice was husky, though, with something more than just want: something deeper. "Didn't expect you'd know you needed this, or that ye'd be able to admit it."

It was difficult to focus, with one of Jack's hands sliding down his chest to tease his left nipple as that taunting mouth brushed against his own, but James managed to get them through the door and into the hall without major incident. "What else didn't you expect, Jack?" he asked, considering the question to be part of an inspired guess as to what seemed to be going on in the pirate's mind.

Jack murmured incoherently against James' skin for a moment, then said more clearly, "Anything... everything..." He startled slightly at the feel of solid wood at his back.

"Would you mind opening the door? My hands are a tad full." James smiled, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Breathlessly, Jack laughed and obliged, turning the doorknob and pushing the door open behind him.

Seeing the way that the pirate was looking at him, James knew one thing at least: Jack had not expected to laugh with him.

James kissed the pirate, then, curious as to what that smile would feel like against his lips. Jack's trimmed beard was prickly, but not actually off-putting. It did not leave a burn like the sharper roughness of stubble, which James had more experience with than he was ever likely to admit; it had been long ago, and he had been convinced, after making post-captain, that he would grow out of such youthful passions. So convinced had he been, that any lapse wherein he had again felt a flare of this lust, this affection, and this want, he had berated himself for it as a loss of self-control and a show of immaturity. At the moment, he could not think clearly enough to realize how relieved and even pleased he was to now doubt that previous conviction.

As Jack's mouth opened to him, James stepped through the doorway, kicking the door shut behind him and then stepping back until he felt the cool oak against his shoulder blades. Leaning against the door, giving the pirate the opportunity to take control.

With alacrity, Jack accepted, giving low moan and unwrapping his legs enough to ease down James' body until his feet reached the floor again, aided by the firm grip of James' surprisingly rough hands on his hips. He took immediate advantage, sliding his thigh between James' legs, pressing up against the impressive arousal there and listening to the other man gasp. Pickpocket fingers unfastened James' breeches quickly, despite the all-too-lovely distractions the commodore provided: kissing and biting his way down Jack's neck and running those sword- and sailing-calloused hands over all of Jack's skin that he could reach.

The taller man's confidence and enthusiasm, once provoked, had caught Jack off-guard: if only because of how unexpected it was from the cold and quietly broken figure he had seen at the wedding. And Jack liked it, perhaps too much. His original plan (or fantasy, rather) had been to incite the commodore into ravishing him thoroughly, making James lose control and getting his unhealthy infatuation with the commodore out of his piratical system in the process, but Jack had been swept away, somehow; James had been incited, but instead of losing himself...

That playful, rough voice in his ear: Found it...

God, but what Jack had seen since then was so good: so dangerously good. Jack was reckless, aye, but he wasn't suicidal. He needed to get control of the situation again, and try to salvage his original plans: be done with this unhealthy fixation on a too-pretty too-lovely commodore of the Royal Bloody Navy.

Jack dropped to his knees, pulling James' breeches down with him. Maintaining eye contact, Jack took hold of James' erection and ran his tongue along the underside from base to tip.

James shuddered in anticipation, unable to look away, scarcely aware of the quiet, guttural sounds he made as Jack's mouth took in the length of him. With considerable effort, he kept his hips still, out of practice as he might have been. One hand lost in Jack's mess of hair, the other gripping the man's wiry shoulder, James let his head fall back and gave himself over to the shocks of pleasure as Jack's mouth began to move.

Jack smirked inwardly at the submission and worked to the best of his ability to drive the commodore mad with the heat of his mouth and all the tricks he had picked up in Singapore over the years. Some of the more complicated tricks were made more difficult by the navy man's impressive size, but Jack was nothing if not able to improvise, and the results were excellent: James' breathing becoming labored, his pale hands tightening their grip, and his knees shaking. However, even as James finally came, shuddering in the loveliest manner when the pirate swallowed around him, Jack found himself impressed by the commodore's restraint and consideration; no hair-pulling, and not once had he over-enthusiastically thrust into Jack's mouth or otherwise ended up choking him.

Impressed he may be, but not satisfied: Jack wanted to see this man lose control completely, however desperate that desire suddenly felt; but once on his feet again, it was with ferocity and not desperation that he claimed James' mouth.

For a few moments, James remained upright only by grabbing the doorframe with one hand and pulling himself up as Jack's kiss dizzied him. Then Jack pinned his hips against the door, grabbing his hips with bruising force, which made things easier—until Jack tugged him away, toward the bed. Anticipation helped clear the lingering post-orgasmic fog in James' brain, and had him deftly unlacing Jack's breeches, sliding his hands beneath the fabric to feel the lines of those taunting hips. Then Jack tangled one leg around James', tripping him up and pushing him backwards to land on the bed and knocking the breath out of him. The sight of Jack's breeches falling and being kicked away was almost enough to distract James' attention from the small vial that Jack pulled out from under the red bandana in his hair.

Watching James' eyes widen, Jack grinned, settling himself comfortably between the commodore's legs and leaning over the man. "I want to have you." His voice, rough and heated, belied the playful look. Need. I need to have you.

Swallowing the nervous lump in his throat, James sat up on his elbows, holding Jack's gaze. He knew it was a request, not a demand, and could tell Jack was expecting that he would have to persuade him, and perhaps take the time to teach him the ropes, as it were.

How satisfying then, to show Jack Sparrow that this commodore was not to be underestimated; it would be fun, James mused, to turn the tables for a change.

Jack was wary when James plucked the vial from his hand, and then shocked speechless when James uncorked it, poured it into one hand, and wrapped that hand around Jack's cock. Grabbing James' thighs for support, Jack stared wide-eyed at the faint smirk on James' lips—so similar to the one he'd seen the first time they met that day on the docks—as the commodore stroked him.

"Then have me, Jack," James growled.

Shuddering once, Jack groaned something incoherent in an incomprehensible mixture of Portuguese and French, and pulled James into a bruising kiss, his fingers tangling in James' hair and pulling almost painfully. The feel of James' long legs wrapping around his waist brought him back to himself, reminding him of his original goal, somewhat to his chagrin. Breaking the kiss, Jack seized James' hips and pulled them to the edge of the bed, noticing as he did that the commodore was flushed beautifully, those green eyes dark and heated and pleading.

Jack was more than willing to oblige, guiding himself to press against James' opening, entering him slowly.

James forced himself to relax against the burn, letting his head fall back and cursing raggedly under his breath in a mixture of English and Gaelic as Jack filled him. How long had it been since he had last done this? James' mind was barely coherent enough to form the question, but then Jack was buried to the hilt inside him and James was not capable of any thought at all. There was only heat and desperation for release.

Breathing raggedly, Jack ran his hands up and down James' thighs soothing himself as much as the other man. His eyes were tight shut, but snapped open when James arched against him with a sound almost like a growl.

"Jack," he hissed. "Move." His tone left no room for argument.

"Aye, Commodore," Jack teased, but his gaze was heated and promising as he began to move, slowly at first, then accelerating with every stroke. Despite how wickedly good James felt—velvet heat engulfing him, and those long legs wrapped high around his waist, dear God—Jack managed to keep a tether on his restraint admirably for some time, watching James' control fall apart more and more by the minute. Then James wrapped a hand around his own cock and his eyes fell open, holding Jack's gaze, and the pirate abruptly lost it, unable to hold anything back as he watched James' openly wild abandon: surrendering to him, and to the heat of passion.

He thrust with bruising intent, pushing James' knees up higher and watching transfixed as James arched against him and came hard. Jack did not last much longer, following him over the edge soon enough with a low and ragged cry.

When Jack felt his arms begin to shake from holding himself up, as he caught his breath, he let James pull him onto the bed, until they both rested on top of the covers, Jack sprawling so that he was draped partway across James' chest.

For a long time, neither of them spoke; just laying together as their heartbeats slowed to normal and their breathing became less ragged.

"I didn't expect it t' be this good," Jack muttered, too quietly, almost hesitant.

James' hand paused momentarily where it had been stroking up and down Jack's spine, but then continued. "I am not entirely sure whether to be flattered or insulted by that, but I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt in this case."

"I expected to get ye outta my system," Jack continued, "and I don' think it worked." He gave a rather bitter smile. "I still want you. More than I should, all things considered, Commodore." He started to pull away, but was stopped by James' arms wrapping around his waist. Clenching his jaw, Jack looked James in the eye.

James' brow was furrowed in a look of mild confusion. In his arms, Jack felt tense and wary, like wild animal preparing to flee for its life. James cupped the back of his neck, massaging the muscles there. His expression cleared a little. "You are welcome in my home Jack, and my bed, so long as you do not get caught by any of the other soldiers in and around Port Royal. I would be forced to end my naval career by letting you go." He smirked. "Again."

Jack gulped, but relaxed a bit despite himself. He folded his arms, resting them on James' chest, and resting his chin atop his folded arms as he read James' expression: sincerity, nervousness, and a hint of affection. "I escaped before."

"I could have caught you. There were ships faster than the Dauntless that I could have temporarily commandeered, and either intercepted you on the way to your ship, or forced the Black Pearl to flee before picking you up. I gave you one day's head start. More than enough, I thought, considering how fast your ship is." He raised his eyebrows. "Did you not notice?"

Jack's brows furrowed. "I did notice." His look was questioning.

"I did not want to see you to the noose the first time, let alone a second, for all that it was my duty. And capturing you would have set a precedent; I would have had to hang William Turner as well, for aiding you. Despite my justifiable anger toward him, and you, I could not do that and call myself a good man. I would have felt like a jealous and petty tyrant, over-zealous in my duties for emotional reasons rather than any reasonable or even honorable ones."

Jack's eyes were narrowed, appraising but no longer suspicious. He even smirked faintly. "Here I flattered myself thinking it was just because you wanted my arse even then," he mocked.

James blushed fetchingly and cleared his throat, looking away. "If I did at that time, I was not aware of it." He cleared his throat again before once more meeting Jack's gaze. "Did you..."

"Aye." Jack smirked a little. "From the first, love. Especially after you got 'Lizabeth and I off that bloody island. Ye surprised me, there, by bein' more interesting an' having more character than I'd expected. Made me wonder how else ye might surprise me. It's been a fixation of mine for a while, now." His smirk widened. "It was, I see now, a more than worthwhile pursuit."

James' blush deepened, but a shy, flattered smile tugged at his lips.

Jack's breath silently caught at the sight of it. God, the man was pretty.

"Thank you, Jack," James said softly, his hands stroking lazily up and down Jack's back, intrigued by the occasional roughness of scars on the otherwise smooth gold skin. He resolved silently to explore them with his tongue at some point. He wanted to say more, to explain what he had somehow discovered because of this, but could not put it into words.

James' last male lover, before this, had been lost in battle with a pirate vessel, a number of years ago; James had then fought with more heat and more ruthless fury than at any other time in his life, and his 'valor' had led to his promotion to post-captain. The loss had made him close off a part of himself, making him that much colder and restrained, until he had begun falling in love with Elizabeth, who had been wild and fiery and intelligent enough to keep his attention whilst also being conveniently proper enough (both female and a fine match for him in social rank) that James had been almost relieved when he had been able to fall for her.

Losing her to William Turner had been an unexpected blow: one which James had seen coming as soon as Elizabeth had accepted his proposal at such an 'opportune moment' but which still left him dazed and pained and unsure how to react when it finally came to pass. He had remained Elizabeth's friend, and was coming to respect William as the young man worked so hard to be worthy of his betrothed, but his heart had not been in it. His heart had not been in anything, of recent, since that day on top of the fort. He had slipped into a depression: a fog wherein he had tried to numb himself with reassurances that he was an honorable man, but the numbness had not been from feeling honorable; it had been from feeling cold.

Jack Sparrow had been the only person to offer him warmth—the only one to see that James had needed it: that he was human, and a man, and that he needed this. James himself had not even known until Jack had showed it to him. The realization made a number of things in James' life make more sense.

"What exactly are ye thanking me for, Jamie?" Jack sounded teasing, and James could not say for sure whether there were other implications behind the question.

With a thoughtful hum, James answered, "For everything unexpected."

Jack smiled despite attempting not to, and leaned forward to brush a brief, almost chaste kiss across James' lips. "Aye. That's what I'll come back for, then, since you offer so much of it."

James smiled back. "I would like that." He then rolled them over, pinning Jack under him for a firmer, less chaste kiss. "I would like that very much."

"I like this look on ye, James."

"Recently debauched?"

"Aye. More than that, though." His hands explored James' sides, pausing a little when he felt a long, knotted scar on the left. Jack decided to ask about that at some point, along with the other scars he'd noticed: more than he had expected an officer to wear. "Ye looked like an ice-sculpture at the wedding."

"I was one." James was still smiling. "Again, Jack: thank you."

The pirate shifted a little, looking momentarily stunned. "Oh."

"I would think, by now," James murmured, nuzzling Jack's throat, "that you would have learned to expect the unexpected."

"I try, love, but you still keep surprisin' me."

"I surprise myself," James countered, with a teasing smirk. "After all: I never expected to finally catch Captain Jack Sparrow."

Jack laughed.