He watched with hidden amusement as Captain Jack Sparrow contributed to the legends and stories about him by relating them himself. At the moment, Sparrow was perched precariously on the bar of The Faithful Bride Tavern on Tortuga, swaying as he gestured wildly with a bottle of rum clutched firmly in his right hand, the be-ringed fingers on his left hand fluttering to punctuate his story. "An' then they made me their chief."

Those members of his audience who were still awake and sober enough to follow his rather convoluted style of storytelling cheered and hollered for more. Sparrow waved for quiet as he finished his rum. "Awl righ', I'll tell ye about one o' me run-ins wit' the famed Pirate Hunter." He tensed in his corner as the pirate gestured with his hand, but it was simply a random flutter of his fingers with no meaning behind it.

Or so he thought until the bartender took the empty bottle from Sparrow's hand and replaced it with a full one. After a long pull, the pirate captain began talking again. "On the occasion in question, I was still without me beloved Pearl, Barbossa still bein' in command o' her at the time. I'd made me way to Port Royal in 'opes of stealin'—commandeerin'—one of the lovely boats—ships—in the 'arbour."

He stifled a chuckle in his own bottle of rum as Sparrow then proceeded to relate a highly embroidered version of the story about how he finally got his ship back from his mutinous first mate, with some help from the Pirate Hunter, of course. He noticed that some facts were omitted while others had been changed and twisted to suit the new version of the story. By the time he finished, most of his audience was either passed out or too drunk to notice much of anything. "Thank ye for yer attentiveness."

Sparrow jumped down from the bar and swayed his way over to the table in the corner. The sole occupant raised his bottle to the pirate captain. "A most creative version of events, Captain."

"Ye know ye enjoyed it, luv." Sparrow grinned, gold teeth glinting in the dim light, and sat down beside him. Without an invitation, he took the bottle and finished it off.

"Perhaps," he conceded, hardly reacting when a fluttering hand came to rest on his thigh. "I'm not sure Mrs Turner would appreciate the idea of having been stranded on the island with you, though."

"Ye're jealous," Sparrow observed with a leer. "Ye would prefer I'd told 'em ye had been stranded on the island wit' me and buggered me senseless?"

"Not the part about buggering you, no, but the rest, yes." He covered the hand on his thigh with his own. "It might have better served your purposes if you had."

"No, not wit' this lot." The pirate captain shook his head, the various ornaments woven into his hair jingling. "They'd remember the story better if it's a lass on the island who burnt all the rum."

He shook his own head, smiling reluctantly. "I'll never win this argument with you, will I?"

"No, but that shouldn't stop ye from tryin' anyway." The dark eyes were studiously innocent as the slender hand slid up his thigh. "Besides, I'd rather our relationship be known only to us."

"And our crews," he added with a smirk, catching the hand on his thigh and holding it firmly. "They haven't said anything in all this time and they never will."

"Aye, I know." Sparrow grinned, stretching up and kissing him lightly and teasingly.

Smouldering green eyes met playful dark eyes. "I have a room for the night if you would care to sleep ashore, Jack."

"I thought ye'd never ask, Jamie-luv." Jack grinned again, squeezing the larger hand wrapped around his firmly.

Smiling quietly, Commodore James Norrington rose from his seat and led Captain Jack Sparrow to the room he'd rented for the night. They'd hardly entered the room before James had his lover pinned against the door, kissing him hungrily. Jack returned the kiss just as hungrily, winding his arms and legs around the commodore, clinging to him. They didn't make it to the bed at first, but they certainly ended up there, falling asleep in a tangle of naked, sweaty limbs.