They weren't even supposed to be in Spain.

The situation between Spain and His Majesty's royal navy had deteriorated to the point where even muttering the word "armada" was grounds for at the very least an extra shift or two topside with a mop in hand, if not a boot up the arse from one or two of the older tars. The tradewinds had begun carrying word of war between the two nations and James Norrington, rising quickly through the naval ranks, felt a stirring in his blood he'd long forgotten. A stirring he'd only felt thrice before in his young life.

The first time he'd been standing on the Gallant's deck, a musket to his shoulder, taking aim at the filthy swine flying the hated bones and black, men of no morals or discipline who, nonetheless, had pulled alongside and made known their intentions to board. Pirates! Norrington hadn't thought twice about defending His Majesty's honor and bullion from such scoundrels. Then the dirtiest of the lot had swung across the yawning blue chasm between the ships and before Norrington could draw breath had grasped the barrel of the musket and stepped in close. Close enough Norrington could smell sweat and rum and something else, some undefinable musk that sent Norrington's blood rushing chaotically through his veins, his pulse racing. The pirate grinned and the sun winked off the gold in his front tooth. He'd pushed his thigh between Norrington's own suggestively, grin widening...

Then he'd knocked Norrington out cold with his own musket.

Norrington had repaid him for it later, of course, because the second time they met, Jack had been in shackles, having fallen afoul of the local constabulary in West Bengal. The Gallant had just happened to put into port at Haldia for repair and supplies and Norrington had been the only one aboard with a decent command of Bengali. He'd followed Captain Stevedore along the narrow, wood-swollen piers to the government building and, while ostensibly haggling over the price of a docking permit, Norrington had happened to glance up and see Jack staring at him through the bars of his cell. The harbormaster had given the Gallant a slight discount on the price on the condition that they take Jack Sparrow far, far away from Haldia. In fact, out of all India for preference.

Norrington had explained it to Captain Stevedore in only the roughest terms and then shrugged his shoulders. "Bureaucracy is still an international currency."

"Not for long, my boy, not for long." The captain had pounded him heartily on the back and produced a glass bottle of rum from somewhere in the pockets of his uniform jacket. The prisoner had been produced post-haste.

Even shackled, Jack had grinned at Norrington, a slow salacious smile that caused that same violent rush of blood, that particular roaring in his ears. Then, while captain and harbormaster sealed the deal over small tin cups, Norrington had remembered the smarting in his jaw, the jeers from the other men when he'd come to. He took a deep breath and belted Jack with everything he had.

Jack's smile, when it returned, had simply widened, raising an eyebrow with it.

The third time—

Norrington blushed every time he thought of it, half-shame, half-longing.

Late that evening while Norrington stood watch in Halia's harbor, Jack had undressed for him in the brig, slow and teasing, whispering things—shameful things—through the bars. It was as if he'd known all along all the things Norrington didn't dare say in the light, until he was pressing himself up against the bars, pushing his cock through them, teasing Norrington, daring him.

The keys somehow found the lock and then the bars swung aside in the moonlight.

It had been Norrington's first time.

It had hurt and then it hadn't. Then it had felt amazing, the heat of Jack's skin against his, Jack murmuring the lewdest things in Norrington's ear, telling him how good his sweet young arse felt, how tight and hot, until Norrington was crying aloud with every stroke, not with pain but with untrammeled pleasure at being taken and had in a way he'd never dreamed of before.

In the morning of course, Norrington woke up alone in an empty cell. Then there'd been official recriminations and unofficial jeers, a black mark on his record. A demotion.

After that, four very long, very lonely years had passed, during which Norrington did everything in his power not to think of Captain Jack Sparrow, at least not more than once or twice every day.

Despite Captain Stevedore's orders, some of the boys decided to take a longboat to Majorca. The captain himself had disembarked for some high-level official meetings, which Norrington had come to learn involved rum, more rum, sea shanties sung badly in multiple languages and on one memorable occasion, rescuing Stevedore from a Panamanian jail cell. They were safe for a good twenty-four hours, minimum.

They drew straws to see who'd go, Norrington entering the contest only reluctantly, his sense of duty smarting even four years later.

He'd won, and one choppy, sunbaked crossing later, found himself in a rotten, rum-soaked hostelry on the island's southern coast called La reina Codorniz.

It had taken only a few pieces of sterling before the sailors were accepted into the loud, overheated belly of the bar, and a few more before they were taken to the bosoms of the local wenches, all of whom seemed fluent in whatever language each seaman chose.

Norrington sat at the end of a rough plank table, a pint of ale untouched before him. Shrill laughter warred with gruff, angry voices and the full-throated whine of an accordian. Surrounded by drunken strangers enjoying the best the island had to offer, Norrington couldn't think of the last time he'd felt so alone.

"Comprarme un trago?" A heavy-bosomed wench nudged Norrington's elbow. He turned his back with a quick headshake.

"Por favor," she continued in high, lyrical voice. "Estado tan sediento desde que vi la última vez."

Norrington focused on two of his shipmates in the far corner, teaching a cat to dance for scraps of roast chicken skin.

"That last bit means I've missed you, James," said a familiar voice.

Norrington froze.

"You didn't think I'd forgotten all about the good turn you did me, did you? And I remember it as being a very good turn indeed."

He turned around slowly.

Leaning over the table toward him, in a low-cut frilled blouse and full skirt, was none other than Captain Jack Sparrow. The beard and mustache had gone, and Jack sported eyeliner, bracelets and thick gold hoops in his ears instead. His long black hair was pulled back and teased and his lips glistened red by the hearthlight.

Heart spiked with anger, Norrington rose from his seat.

Jack laid a strong hand on his arm. "Careful now, love. With an accent like yours, I wouldn't think you'd want to draw too much attention. Especially not by having another go at the fair Isa."

Norrington frowned. "The fair what?"

"Isa."

The frown deepened.

"Isa. The fair. Me!" Jack whispered loudly.

Norrington rolled his eyes but retook his seat. "I assure you, madam, I see nothing fair before me. I see a scoundrel, a liar and a- a- a pirate! Even in that get-up, I doubt anyone would mistake you for anything else."

"There's at least two men in this room who've made that mistake and gladly. Although now I come to think of it, the last one did seem a bit confused about his own plumbing, so—"

"I'll see you hanged!" Norrington hissed.

Jack grinned. "Oh I am, James. As you well know."

"I'm sure the local constabulary won't find your wit half as amusing as the price on your head. Summoning them will be a pleasure."

Jack released Norrington's arm. "If you're sure that's the only pleasure you're after." He leaned forward, eyes flashing. "Of course, you could always call them...after."

Then the familiar rush came over Norrington again, the pounding of blood in his ears, the indefinable something that made his heart soar and his loins throb.

With a swirl of skirts, Jack turned and pushed away from the table. He threaded himself nimbly through the crowd and headed for a narrow, rickety staircase against the back wall of the tavern.

And after a few seconds, Norrington found himself following.

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