Moves & Motion, Part 6

... And Maybe

by

Rispa Cooper

Sparrow had been in the middle of patting down his mass of hair and retying the scarf over his forehead, mad enough apparently to feel that running his fingers once through inky black tangles would do anything at all to straighten his disheveled appearance. But the man stopped with one finger still caught in a line of beads and stared back at Norrington with a slight grin that even Sparrow seemed unaware of.

"What is it you're imaginin' I'm goin' to try an' get away with, Commodore?" Jack put the question to him in the lightest possible voice, his grin nearly splitting his face when Norrington tugged once more on the cloth around his wrists and turned his gaze away. There was a window not far from him, curtained, and the light showing through the thin fabric let him know that not an hour had passed since Sparrow had drawn him from the tavern, slipped away from the two Marines intent on following them, and taken Norrington to an inn where Sparrow seemed far too familiar for a man who had not been in the Caribbean for nearly eight years until a few months before. Then he'd had a chambermaid with shaking hands hold a pistol on him as Jack had proceeded to use his own sash to further tie Norrington's hands together, and then to...

Norrington yanked hard on his bindings and felt the fabric slip and tighten, squeezing his skin and holding him fast. Silk no doubt. Sparrow had received it as a token from some woman in the East, remnants of once fine embroidery rubbed the inside of his wrists when Norrington shifted, and he clenched his jaw and sat up.

To the other side of... on his other side were a few feet of bare, dirty floor and then the wall. A small table next to the door was the room's only decoration aside from, of course, the bed, and Norrington scowled as Sparrow slid his long coat from his shoulders and set that onto the table next to the battered tricorn hat the man was so fond of. Underneath the coat Sparrow wore an equally battered waistcoat and a shirt that rivaled the floor for filth. And then his various belts and weapons, and Jack stopped with his hand at his—at Norrington's pistol, and regarded him expectantly.

His whole damned expression bespoke innocence. And Norrington was having none of it.

"What do you mean by tying me like this, Sparrow?" The force of his words left him shaking, rocking the none-too-steady mattress beneath him as well, and the indignity of it only made him glare all the more at the pirate smiling back at him.

"Can't have you running off now, can we, Commodore." Jack bobbed his head as if this were answer enough, then shrugged carelessly as though admitting it was not an answer at all but would not be giving any more at present.

"I am capable of conversing without restraints!" Norrington whispered at him, very much desiring to yell but aware that if others were to burst into this room at the sound of shouts, the only end to his humiliation would be the noose in Port Royal. Sitting up and fully dressed he might be, but he was still bound at the wrists to one post of a pirate's bed.

"Of course you are," Jack Sparrow smiled pleasantly at him and slid his hands to the belt at his waist. Fluid fingers pushed leather through the shining, silver buckle and Norrington blinked as the belt, and Sparrow's sword, fell to the floor. "Conversing right now, you are."

"I am no..." With an audible snap, Norrington closed his mouth. Bright, intent eyes were steady on him even across the room, and he resisted the urge to try, again, to pull himself free of Sparrow's holds on him. His own neck cloth. The story would reach Port Royal in less than a week. It served him right for being so foolish as to follow Sparrow here, to only bring two guards when ten would have had a problem controlling him. It was almost as though he had wanted Sparrow to capture him.

Ridiculous.

"We are not conversing, Sparrow," Norrington insisted. "If we were, you would have answered my question." Another pistol joined the sword, this one dropped on Sparrow's coat, and then Sparrow paused, tilting his head to one side with the appearance of serious thought as he unbuttoned the cuff at one wrist and slowly rolled back the white sleeve to reveal the skin of his forearm. The raised, pink branding scar was quite visible, as well as the sunburst tattoo, and Norrington swallowed.

Sparrow was watching him, and still Norrington felt himself studying the marks as he had not when he had first seen them. He had exposed them then, and now Sparrow was displaying them for him to see, his motives in doing so possibly known only to Sparrow.

It occurred to Norrington, as his gaze reached the end of bared skin, that it was very likely that they were not the only marks on Sparrow's person.

"Bound me up often enough and I never complained as you are," Sparrow muttered in a low voice a moment later, and Norrington blinked before looking up, certain he was going mad to have been looking for motive in such an ordinary gesture.

"Perhaps because you had committed crimes, Sparrow, and I am innocent." He could not stop himself from hissing a reply, but promptly wished he hadn't when Jack Sparrow winked at him.

"Not for a lack of trying, mate." The warm tones were a reminder—an unpleasant reminder tainted with deception—Norrington repeated to himself, of Sparrow's many attempts to have his way with him. Hearing that phrase, even in his own mind, was enough to have Norrington's face hot once more, and he frowned at the cause of it. Sparrow remained unrepentant, smiling softly just as he had upon the gallows.

A noose around his neck and he had smiled. The man was mad. It was the only explanation for his apparent—and stubborn—insistence on chasing after him.

Then Jack sighed, long and noisy and with a few upward glances in Norrington's direction.

"If conversin' means me answerin' you, Commodore, then it must also mean you answerin' me, mustn't it?" he asked slyly, eyes lighting up when the statement left Norrington quiet and straining to keep his shoulders straight. The man would attempt to bargain with Death itself. In fact, Norrington was nearly certain that he already had. The only good to be found in the knowledge was that Sparrow bothered to negotiate at all. Any other man bearing those marks, any of the others in that tavern, would have simply taken.

Norrington's eyes widened to see Sparrow's gaze so sharp on him, and he wished for a free hand, looser bonds, anything that would allow him to leave at that moment.

"You don't look well, Commodore. Afraid?" If it was actual concern in Sparrow's voice at the question, Norrington would eat his hat. But there was only a sort of soft triumph in the man's question, as if Jack Sparrow had been waiting quite some time for Norrington to realize the obvious, and now, without Norrington saying a word, he knew Norrington had.

"And what's to guarantee any truth in the answers of a pirate?" He pushed the question through stiff lips, very much afraid he knew the answer already. But he kept his eyes on Sparrow, watching the eyebrows lift at the implied insult—for Sparrow would take it as an insult, even though the man was an admitted pirate and pirates called themselves amoral thieves.

Jack's lower lip stuck out in a pout a moment later, a look perhaps meant to be a frown but looking for all the world like a child denied a toy. Then it was gone, replaced with a sly smile and a glinting glance that did nothing to ease the tension in Norrington's shoulders.

Any normal man would be afraid at seeing so many emotions in another man within the space of a heartbeat. Any sane man would tremble to think of whatever madness lurked in Sparrow's thoughts right now. Sparrow could not possibly think... But of course he did, and Norrington couldn't even be surprised at himself, to realize that he had once more entered into negotiations with Jack Sparrow.

"A man speaking so in Tortuga might find himself at the wrong end of a blade, mate." The melodic quality to Jack's voice was at odds with the warning in his tone, the sudden, tight grip he had on the pistol still stuck in the belt across his chest. "Others might not understand your real meanin' like I do when you talk that way."

"Those others in the tavern, you mean," Norrington asserted, lifting his chin so high that even sitting he had to look down at Jack across the room. Jack Sparrow did not bring him here to protect him, whatever Sparrow thought in his lunatic fantasies. Even if the man's motives were, more often than not, pure as well as selfish, as if somehow the rules the applied to the rest of the world could be bent for Captain Jack Sparrow.

"The Marines would have protected me there, if I had needed protection." Norrington went silent, trying to hold back anything else that might slip out, knowing he already had the sound of fear in his words. It was a dangerous thing to have said to someone like Sparrow, implying he needed protection now, something so foolishly honest that Norrington wondered if Will Turner's spirit had stolen into the room. He shivered, cold when he shouldn't be, coat and hat and wig still in place though Jack Sparrow had been the one slowly stripping away the layers of cloth. They were circling closer now, and he had chosen challenge when he should have been silent.

He blinked and licked his lips, watching the pistol slide free of Jack's belt, the mechanisms checked with dirty, fluid fingers before the weapon was laid, cocked and ready, on the table next to Jack.

"I... Jack..." Norrington began, then found he couldn't say a word when Jack Sparrow stepped closer to him. "Sparrow..." He tried again, in what ought to have been a forbidding tone, though Jack Sparrow paid it no attention.

"Already said 'Jack', Commodore." Jack reminded him, swaying across the short distance. Dancing, Norrington suspected dizzily, to that same irritating tune he insisted on humming at every opportunity.

He shook his head, trying to remember the terms of their parley, as Jack would call it. They had bargained, and they had both agreed to terms, if only he could recall exactly what they had been.

Jack's fingers curled over the wooden post at the foot of the bed, and just as Norrington had feared, the man was humming, stroking the wood possessively as he regarded his captive.

"I came to Tortuga to..." Norrington's hurried explanation ran to ground before it could truly set sail, and he swallowed. To speak now would be to lie, and they had agreed to honesty, and he was no Turner, to baldly shout the facts to whoever might listen. What had been an act of spite to annoy Sparrow and his crew had somehow ended up with an expedition to Tortuga. He had been forced to come here or else retreat to Port Royal to... to wait. That was the only truth he might possibly share.

Norrington jerked his head up and yanked hard on the cloth ropes at his wrists as Jack Sparrow seemed to slink over the end of the bed and crawl over to him. He was a Commodore in the Royal Navy, and a Commodore did not sit idly and wait and see if a pirate would come to him. It was both cowardice and foolishness, for why would Sparrow do such a thing... again? And yet Sparrow continued to move toward him now.

"Turner is doing well..." Norrington tried again, pulling so hard now the cloth strained, loosening a fraction, enough to slide a touch further down his arms. Their hold was now tighter than before, and his pulse was pounding, the restraints only increasing the heavy throbbing at his wrists. But they would not give an inch more, and despite the mention of Will Turner, Jack Sparrow did not slow. The man merely shrugged.

"Bootstrap'll be pleased," Jack remarked in a thick, rumbling voice different from his usual sly manner, and Norrington inhaled sharply to find himself once more with what would have been an armful of pirate—if he had had the use of his arms.

The force of Sparrow's sudden presence across his lap had Norrington's back pressed to the bed, and it was only his restraints that kept from falling flat on the mattress. Sparrow's knot held, and Norrington shot a glance to the tight fabric as Jack Sparrow somehow managed to slide into place at his side despite Norrington's lack of cooperation. Sparrow's legs had to be near the floor off the side of the bed, much as Norrington's were, but the man just maneuvered one arm across his chest and the other around his back.

Norrington felt the muscles in his stomach clench as Sparrow's hand passed slowly over them, and then he was shivering, his body somehow cold next to the heat of Sparrow's fingers. This was more than he had done before in Port Royal. Just slowly encroaching fingers tracing their way across his body but a touch that could in no way be mistaken for the quick, groping feel that Sparrow had tried for while in a dress.

"S... sparrow..." His heart was beating far too loudly, and surely Sparrow could hear it, judging from the narrow-eyed, pleased expression on the man's face as he leaned in closer, his face far too near Norrington's bared neck.

"Jack," the pirate reminded him, pulling closer to press the length of his body against him, and Norrington could practically feel Sparrow's smile as Sparrow dropped his head to his shoulder and kept it there, just out of his vision no matter how he tried to bend his head to look.

The other man was warm, uncomfortably so, and the breath that continually ghosted over his throat and slipped down underneath his waistcoat was just as heated. A mass of tangled black hair brushed his chin as Jack Sparrow sighed, and Norrington held his breath as curious fingers went still.

"Why... why do you keep insist... insisting on this farce?" Surely no one could possibly overhear them from this room, at this distance, and yet Norrington heard himself whispering, his breath coming fast and short. The rum-drenched, tobacco scent of the tavern seemed caught in Sparrow's hair, and with every attempt to find air he was reminded of Jack Sparrow. As though he could forget that the infamous pirate had managed to coerce this... embrace from him.

Restless hands once again began to stroke patterns at his back, over his ribs, and Norrington shook his head and saw the walls shift before him. Blinking did not ease the dizziness, and he opened his mouth to find air, smoke and liquor burning across his tongue. If this was what Elizabeth's fainting spells had felt like, he might have tumbled from a cliff as well, and then he felt his lips curve as though he might grin.

Jack Sparrow had also fallen from that wall.

This must be the world from Sparrow's view, as though he had been underwater for too long, his vision blurred and his thoughts wandering. There were sounds. Sparrow was speaking to him, Norrington realized suddenly. Sparrow was murmuring into his neck, and Norrington lifted his head to better hear, somehow unsurprised when Sparrow followed the move as though he had been waiting for it and lips bussed along his throat.

"This ain't a farce," Jack remarked, just underneath Norrington's ear, so lowly that Norrington thought he might have imagined the words. But there was a definite answer in Sparrow's tone, a response as inevitable as if Norrington had intentionally challenged him to prove himself, and somewhere in the flash of reaction after Sparrow brought his hand down to try to grasp between his thighs, Norrington thought that perhaps he had.

It was impossible to lurch upward as he was, with his hands bound and Sparrow's weight at his side, and yet Norrington was certain he did jump in the air, jerking away from the hand reaching for his prick, and gasping, trying to think of something, anything appropriate to say.

"Sparrow..." he started and stuttered to a stop at the light stroking on the inside of one thigh. "It is..." He tried again, ending in a startled cough as the touch moved casually upward, up to where Sparrow had no business being. He cleared his throat and straightened his spine, pulling in air to clear the pirate-created clouds from his mind. The breath had scarcely passed Norrington's lips when Jack Sparrow's gave one final teasing stroke and then closed his clever fingers around his prick.

"Captain Sparrow!" Even he had to acknowledge that his voice lacked the proper outrage, the words unsteady and so faint that he was surprised that Sparrow had heard them at all. But the lips working gently at his neck stopped, and Norrington went still as well to feel the tingling rush of air as Jack Sparrow sucked in a sharp breath.

Too late, he recalled his words, what possible meaning they might have to Sparrow, and frowned, shaking his head in instant denial and then ceasing even that little motion at the feel of Jack Sparrow's tongue, hot and wet along his jaw, the sharp pangs of teeth nipping at his earlobe.

He jerked, the movement so jarring that the linen wrapped around his wrists stretched and nearly tore. Norrington spared it a glance, and then turned his eyes back down, trying to guess Sparrow's next move through the falling waves of dark hair.

He'd forgotten the hand at his back and leaned forward when that too began to creep its way around to his front, but that left him open to Sparrow's mouth, and he shivered as Sparrow ducked his head in order to, it seemed, lave every bared inch of Norrington's throat with his tongue.

"Sp... Jack..." His warning went unnoticed, or unheeded, as Sparrow just moaned into his neck and lifted his head. Norrington had not thought Jack's body could get closer, and yet suddenly one of Sparrow's legs was nearly over his lap, hot over the hand already there, but nothing to the heat of the hardness now pressed to his leg. Sparrow's arousal, Norrington realized, his face stinging. Sparrow's cock. And Sparrow was moving, and humming, something like laughter in the sound as he grabbed onto Norrington's waist.

Of course. The thought came slowly. He had challenged Sparrow to prove himself. And this... that... was his answer. And he was not twitching, was not fighting the need to push back into Jack Sparrow's hand, to shift his leg in order to better feel the strange pressure against his outer thigh. He was not... he would not be some pirate's unwilling plaything.

But Sparrow's hands had not seemed this warm before, not even on his naked skin in the bath, and he could not halt the fast pounding of his heart, the surge of blood that left him dizzy, and if he tried to claim unwillingness now, Sparrow would mock him.

Damn the man, Norrington scowled the thought, licking his lips in preparation to speak and annoyed that it took so little effort for Sparrow to render him speechless. His stomach clenched to imagine how the man doubtless thought him another easy captive of the great Captain Jack Sparrow. He would tell others about the lonely Commodore he had seduced as though it was just another in his series of adventures.

"That's enough, Sparrow!" His voice returned, rough and low, when he had wanted clear. But he was grateful for even a whisper, pleased and nearly smiling until hot hands went still, Jack Sparrow's tongue leaving his skin sticky and cold as that too was pulled away. The immediacy of the withdrawal was startling, and Norrington coughed, holding back more words, unnecessary now that Sparrow had been so easily foiled.

The man's leg remained thrown carelessly between his own, only his motions had ceased, and Norrington blinked, wondering just when Sparrow had started moving at all to have stopped moving now. But soft strands of hair tickled his neck as Sparrow shook his head, and then the man was leaning back and staring at him, studying Norrington from a few inches' distance with a flushed face and narrowed eyes.

Norrington exhaled, sucking back in air immediately when sparks coloured the edge of his vision and he felt lightheaded enough to lean back into his restraints. If his face was red he did not care, could not, when there was the more pressing matter of his body's arousal and Sparrow's knowledge of it.

His prick throbbed and Sparrow knew it, and still the man had pulled away. For all that he attempted seriousness now, the other man's skin was flushed above his beard, his lips parted just so, offering a glimpse of gold teeth and the dark cavern of his mouth.

Norrington swallowed, and watched Jack Sparrow's throat work as he did the same, and then pulled on the cloth at his wrists, unsurprised when even a weak pull left his hands tingling and his arms shaking. And the blasted pirate curved his open lips into a smile and gently waved a hand in the air between them, as though delighted to see Norrington's struggles. Regardless, Norrington felt his gaze drawn to that hand, intent on each flowing finger that had last touched him so intimately. Stroking so slightly it might have been a dream—if Norrington were the type who dreamt of pirates.

His face was red. He knew it, and turned away, not wishing Sparrow to see, for surely Sparrow would also know why. But then Sparrow was speaking, and Norrington felt his eyes flick back to that hand.

"Won't blame a man for tryin', will you, love? Not with this before him." The fingers pointed briefly toward him, and then back to Sparrow as the man scratched at his face, the gesture something less than thoughtful and more agitated as they pulled hard on his beard.

"You mean me?" He had not meant to say that either, and certainly not in such a ridiculously high voice. But glittering eyes grew wide, and then Jack Sparrow sighed in a way that Norrington might have called disappointed. Might have, if Sparrow had not then closed the space between them, moving forward even as Norrington moved back and grinning when Norrington's head thudded against the wall and he had no where else to go.

The thought had Norrington moving forward once more, lifting his chin despite knowing the challenge in the act. If the man claimed that he had kept him tied here to keep him from backing away in just that fashion, then Norrington would not move, whatever Sparrow attempted.

But his stomach twisted into a sharp knot of awareness as Jack Sparrow crept into him again, and careful fingers worked around the lower buttons of his waistcoat. He pulled in a breath and felt a hand press into the flat plane of his stomach, thinking Sparrow would reach inside him if he could, and grab whatever caught his eye. It was the way of pirates, to take what they fancied, and Norrington gasped, trapped by Sparrow's gaze. Far too close. Far too knowing. He did not need to bargain, and yet he chose it, widening his eyes as though he were earnest, and grinning with wicked intent.

"What will it take to prove meself, love?" Sparrow asked him, quiet, coaxing, his eyes bright and warm and innocent of the temptation behind the question.

Not even swallowing would relieve his suddenly parched mouth, and Norrington closed his lips tightly and turned his head partly to the side. As much freedom as he was allowed, he reminded himself, shivering, and thought again that Jack Sparrow would have clapped him in irons in that pub if he could have. A strange thing to think, that the man convincing enough to have the very good Will Turner stealing a ship and committing treason with him had felt it necessary to bind Norrington to his bed to keep him in his power.

The knot in his stomach tightened, sending an ache through his middle, pounding at his groin, and Norrington gritted his teeth, not looking back at Sparrow no matter what the man's hands were doing. Doubtless they were dirtying his waistcoat, to let the world know just where Sparrow's hands had been.

The lowest button on his waistcoat loosened, then popped free as a fluid hand moved upward to the next. It slid free just as Norrington choked, feeling the fabric sag, gaping open to reveal the thin shirt he wore underneath.

"Sparrow..." His protest went unheard as two buttons became three, and Jack Sparrow's mouth found his ear, and whispered, wet and sweet, into the soft shell as his hand continued its mad path

"I could tell you how much I enjoy how very proper you are, Commodore." It was the same smugly triumphant tone that had lightened Jack Sparrow's voice back on the docks, when he had had his arms wrapped around Elizabeth. Holding her slender form to his own body he may have been, but his devilish gaze had been on Norrington alone.

The fourth button popped free, and Norrington felt himself counting, trying to remember the number of eyelets on his waistcoat. To tug on his restraints would be foolish, but he felt Sparrow considering him, and pulled anyway, prepared for the rush of blood to his wrists this time, expecting the dull pounding that echoed back through his body.

He was Jack Sparrow's prisoner.

The thought was a cold touch to the back of his neck that slid down his spine instead of leaving him. He shivered, curving back away from the lingering touch and finding Jack Sparrow's hands at his stomach, impossibly warm. Heat seemed to bloom from them, and he opened his mouth in warning, but they did not venture lower. Norrington frowned, his body twitching at encroaching fingers, already working their way underneath his loosened clothing.

His shivers had not ceased, and yet his face felt flushed, his skin under his clothing sticky with sweat, and he licked his lips as Jack Sparrow reached the top of his waistcoat and pushed the fabric easily to the side. Only his shirt remained to cover his chest, though of course Sparrow had seen him naked before. It would be foolish to become excited—to become alarmed—by the thought now.

But it did not seem so foolish to Sparrow. A soft moan brought Norrington's gaze back around to Jack, and then he was pulling hard on his restraints to keep from falling, licking his lips and discovering it useless when his tongue, indeed his whole mouth, had gone dry.

When had Sparrow gotten so close? Once more the man had somehow slipped in closer without Norrington noticing, shortening the distance between them until Norrington could feel the other man's breath on his lips, could see only his dark eyes.

"...An' how quick..." When had his lips parted, so that he could taste the golden sting of Jack Sparrow's whispered words? Belatedly, Norrington closed his mouth, staring back into Sparrow's face as he tried to make sense of the words, as hands crept over to his racing heart and then down his side to his waist.

He inhaled sharply, sliding his gaze away at last to feel fingers sneaking to his hips as lightly as the best of cutpurses. Clenching his jaw did nothing to ease the ache in his lower body, the pounding in his groin as his prick swelled, hard when Sparrow had not even touched it yet.

"Or maybe, Commodore," Jack Sparrow's mouth possessed his ear, the triumph in his voice maddening though Norrington could not turn to face it. Not with his stomach tight with the need for Sparrow continue, and he frowned at the wall, at the air that was not Sparrow, his whole body so hot and tense that he shuddered like a fever victim. It was only his bonds keeping him from Sparrow now, and he faced them, biting his lip to keep still as Sparrow went on. "...It's the mystery of not knowing your name."

Even dizzy and overheated, Norrington recognized the offer for a bargain; even if he could not have named what it was they were now negotiating for. He shook his head and blinked before whipping his head around to glare at the other man. It appeared that nothing would make this pirate stop being such a... such a...

"...Bloody pirate!" he said aloud, his voice rasping.

True to form, Sparrow was unrepentant even with his glassy eyes and flushed face. Under Norrington's harsh look, he only gave a small shrug and twisted his hips to rub himself along Norrington's leg. Unashamedly, the man pressed his aroused cock to Norrington's thigh and rocked back and forth, intent on his own pleasure it seemed, stilling his hands and leaving Norrington waiting. Perhaps that was what he was negotiating for, even if he seemed intent on at least taking his own pleasures from Norrington's thigh if Norrington refused him.

There was truth in Norrington's frown now, a heavy ache behind his eyes that neared the one in his trousers, though both were the result of Jack Sparrow's interference. Try though he might, Norrington could think of no motive for this, save than the one currently pressing into his leg.

"...Think too much, love," Jack admonished him in a thick voice, and without Norrington's answer, returned a hand to Norrington's lap and curved his palm around his throbbing flesh.

"Commodore!" What could not have been surprise colored Jack Sparrow's voice as he rubbed a palm down the ridge in Norrington's trousers. And Norrington would swallow his tongue before he would inquire as to the reason. His cheeks felt raw from his blushes and Sparrow would get no more from him.

"Jack..." He did not think his breathless murmur would have stopped the slow, careful first stroke of Sparrow's hand, but made the attempt regardless, tugging once, far too softly, at his bonds for the sake of dark, watching eyes. But Sparrow paused, paused even the movements of his hand, and Norrington felt himself glancing to the side, to Jack, observing Jack's serious scowl with a frown of his own.

"You're not...you're not thinking of the lass, are you?" The hesitation had Norrington's shoulders hitching in apprehension before the words could fully sink in. All the while panting silently under Jack Sparrow's intent gaze and struggling not to shudder and push back against Jack's damnably still hand.

But Sparrow would not turn from him, and Norrington again felt the sharp ache in his belly, the twitching of muscles as he fought to stay still and not turn back. He caught a glimpse of Sparrow's eyes and closed his own, ready to speak but gasping to hear his voice stuttering an answer.

"J... James..." It seemed he had not forgotten their terms at all.

"James?" Jack repeated the small word instantly, and Norrington could just imagine the man drawing his brows together and then smoothing his forehead and leaning back to better study him. Perhaps he even tilted his head to one side, considering whether to withdraw now that he had what he wanted. But the words that followed were once more whispered into his ear, quiet and wistful. "And never Jim or Jamie, I imagine."

Allowing his eyes to open afforded him a close view of a rumpled Jack Sparrow, eyes narrow and steady on Norrington's mouth. "Never." Norrington kept his voice just as low, distracted into staring at the way his breath stirred Sparrow's beard, the slow curve of Jack's lips at Norrington's answer.

"James," Sparrow swallowed his name as he had swallowed that rum in the tavern, leaving some on his tongue to savor, and then his eyes drifted shut as he brought himself still closer. Only Sparrow's free hand moved to clutch at his coat; all other motions ceased, and Norrington blinked to find himself with a quiet Jack Sparrow, eyes closed and waiting, feeling the world dip and spin about him, the air darken. And the thought came again that he was drowning.

He had been dizzy near Elizabeth, felt nervousness constrict his stomach until he had nearly felt bile in his throat, but never had he felt this crushing at his chest, as though he couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. His heart beat so furiously he thought it might explode, and he tore his gaze away, tightening his captive hands into fists at the exclamation from the man next to him. From the man nearly atop him if he were honest, and he would be honest here, if Jack Sparrow would not, obviously toying with him like this.

He swallowed dryly, coughing when he still could not breathe.

"You have very knowledgeable hands, Mister Sparrow." This had been no quick grope in the dark. But then a pirate was not bound by law, or honour, or feeling. So Jack Sparrow desired him... whatever the man's madness it did not matter now, Norrington realized as the ache in his stomach only tightened to pain. Pain worse than the burn of his prick now that Sparrow had pulled his hand away. But he continued. "You didn't learn these caresses with your wench in the tavern." He pressed his lips into a thin line thinking of Will Turner; as starry-eyed as the boy had been for Elizabeth he had still been alone for days with Jack Sparrow.

"Jealous type aren't you, James?" How Sparrow managed to sound frustrated and amused at the same time was another thing about the pirate that Norrington had no interest in learning. But he glanced over and found Jack Sparrow leaning back to observe him, shivering with his shoulders close about him as though he were very cold indeed. Large eyes gazed back at him sorrowfully, but he grinned slowly when he saw Norrington looking, and nodded to himself before dropping a hand to move across the front of his breeches. "Knew you weren't as proper as all that," he remarked, wetting his lips, "Weren't thinking of her at all, were you, love?"

The man dared to sound pleased, lowering his head in warm understanding even as his hand, as the hand that had just been on James'... stopped in its stroking to tug at the buttons at Sparrow's waist.

A series of quick knocks on the door stopped Sparrow's hand, and Norrington moved his gaze to meet Sparrow's before he could be accused of staring, nearly smiling despite his discomfort to see the look of unfettered hatred Jack Sparrow gave the door. No doubt the maid or some other wench behind it, and Norrington had only a moment to hide his frown before Sparrow was turning back to him with a grin splitting his face as though he somehow knew Norrington's thoughts anyway.

But there was no denying that the man seemed ready to lean forward to try his seduction once more. Apparently Sparrow had no more desire to lie about that at least, letting the band of heat at Norrington's side do his speaking for him. He looked up, and met Norrington's gaze, his smiles suddenly gone to see Norrington glaring down at him.

"I am still tied up, Sparrow," Norrington spoke quickly, yanking on the cloth holding him back as a reminder.

"But if I untie you, James, you'll just run off..." Sparrow rolled his eyes in obvious irritation when this just made Norrington lift a deliberate eyebrow, then heaved a sigh. The sight of a grown man whining was odd indeed, and whining for Norrington's presence in his bed was even odder, but if not for the person at the door, Sparrow might have been howling his outrage. Norrington wondered if such consideration was for him, but felt no gratitude, not a bit. Only a raging burn through his middle, in his veins that he could only direct at Sparrow with his eyes, a look that should not have made Sparrow lick his lips. But then the knocking came again.

"You're hardly giving me a ch... choice in the matter, Jack." He stammered a response when Sparrow looked ready to ignore the intruder and inch his way closer. This intruder would not be ignored, and this time Norrington felt the strange energy in him aimed at the door when the knocking sounded once more.

"Just hold on one bloody minute!" Now Jack did howl, his voice pleading, not taking his eyes from Norrington and Norrington felt the flush spread down his neck, and still lower. No. He denied it and shook his head to support the thought. He was no pirate plaything, no matter how much pleasure Jack Sparrow offered with those hands. And there would be pleasure; there was no point in denying that any longer, at least.

The rush of heat through his belly left him aching, but Norrington blinked and forced a slight smirk.

"A minute, Sparrow?" Sarcasm was usually successful only on his men, but somehow it worked on Sparrow for the moment, though only enough to make the other man look at him, his gaze a message. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, mate, the heavy stare reminded him, and promised to show him just what that meant. And Norrington twitched, curling his fingers around cloth restraints.

"Cap'n Sparrow, sir..." A voice they both seemed to recognize instantly as Mister Gibbs froze them both, though Norrington was the only one who shuddered, turning away and pulling so hard that he felt the cloth rip once again. "Sir, we might 'ave a problem with the ship."

The mattress lurched as Sparrow leapt from the bed, Norrington, and his cock, apparently forgotten with a threat to his beloved Pearl. With a quick, unsteady grin, Jack Sparrow bent down to pick up with weapons, slipping them on and clearing his throat, shooting James constant, heated glances all the while. "Negotiations'll 'ave to wait, love."

"Sparrow..." He thought himself calm until he saw Sparrow's spine jerk straight and wide, wary eyes fasten on him. Whatever had so surprised Sparrow was pushed aside a bare second later, and that knowing gaze swept over him. Then Sparrow was smacking his lips and winking at him shamelessly, looking for all the world like a rumpled doxy on her way out the door.

"You'll be a good Commodore and stay here?" Sparrow dared to tease him before yelling for Gibbs to meet him outside. Then without bothering for his ridiculous hat or coat, Jack Sparrow slipped through the door and left him alone.

For a very long time, Norrington could only stare at the door, unbelieving that even Jack Sparrow would just leave him like this. But the door did not reopen, and with a short snarl, Norrington set his shoulders and yanked furiously against the hold on him, nearly falling forward when the linen gave one long, final tear.

He blinked as his hands fell easily down to his lap, and he was free.

Free. His mind lingered on the word the way his body would not forget the touches of moments before, and Norrington closed his eyes as his fingers twitched over his arousal, nowhere near as warm as he wanted. As he needed. His eyes opened at the word, and Norrington shuddered.

Even on an island full of drunken madmen, a man could not find a bigger fool than James Norrington.

~~~~~

Jack curled his hands at his sides, easily imagining Norrington's warm, soft skin beneath his palms. The skin of his neck as Jack held him steady for a long kiss, parting lips that had grown pliant for him, plundering that fair mouth until Norrington started making those little noises he had been making before—even if the man would likely deny their origin. But it hadn't been Jack grunting and gasping softly with every press o' Jack's fingers, nigh moaning when Jack's tongue had discovered his ear.

Bugger it. Jack scowled to realize he was once again stiffer than a post for all the good it would do him now, and tried to imagine throttling James instead, or maybe running him through, but that of course led invariably to thoughts of other, better, pointy things which ought to be buried in James' beautiful body. Which made Jack sigh and pull at his belt and try very, very hard not to smile.

The very moment he laid eyes on Commodore bloody Norrington, Jack repeated firmly, he was going to... Never mind Norrington's breath in his ear as Jack had caressed his throat, tasted his chest, his hand dropping down to his lap, he was going to...

Jack spared a moment to stop and glare at the crumbling wall of a tavern and then at the alleyway behind it, which due to the growing dark was already filling with those interested in pursuing one of Tortuga's favourite pastimes. A pastime which was also a personal favourite of Jack's, and which he should have been an ecstatic participant in, if his plans had gone as bloody planned. That was why he had called them plans, and not hopes. Because they were supposed to bleeding well work.

Instead here he was, wandering the alleys of Tortuga and trying to keep an eye out for the very same Commodore who should have been naked and captive in Jack Sparrow's bed right now, if Fortune had favoured him at all. But no, he couldn't have sat and waited for Jack to return, not the crafty Commodore. He had torn himself free and run off, likely none too pleased about the state old Jack had left him in.

The way Jack's cheeks were aching could only mean that he was grinning again, and Jack did his best to wipe the smile away, a fearsome pirate he was, and not a man grinning and mooning about the fact that he had succeeded in getting Commodore Norrington's cock harder for him than the walls of Fort Charles themselves. Even if Norrington—James—had said no, he couldn't have refuted that sweet piece of meat between his legs and how it had throbbed for Jack. He hadn't even tried, not even when Jack had offered to think it was for his precious Elizabeth. Honest even through his blushes, his James was, and this time Jack left his grin where it was, merely reaching down to adjust himself at the memory of Norrington's prick in his palm.

But it had been his Pearl; he'd thought surely Norrington would have understood. Jack scowled again. For likely the man had understood, understood exactly what the problem with Jack's ship had been. And there Jack had thought he was doing so well, keeping Norrington tied up and safely out of trouble and all the while the bloody man had already had his own plans in motion, even if he hadn't bothered to think about the meaning behind his newest stratagem.

Or then, of course, perhaps he had known the meaning of his latest challenge when he'd done it, and the meeting in the tavern to provoke Jack had been what people who read books about strategies—like his James, now that he thought about it—would have called a feint. Jack didn't know which idea he liked better, James speaking deliberately through gestures, or James so intent on playing the game he missed the meaning entirely. He settled for licking his lips thoughtfully without deciding. He nodded a moment later, unsurprised at his lack of reluctance at admitting the obvious, even if Elizabeth or Will might have expected him to.

James Norrington had done him in good and proper. There was no denying that. And about the only prize to be won in that the fact that the knowledge had Norrington running scared. And of course, Norrington himself, if he was to be had. The inescapable fact remained that Norrington had removed himself from Jack Sparrow's bed and taken himself off to parts unknown. His lovely boat was still in the harbor, and so the logic James was so proud of indicated he was still somewhere about...it were only a matter of where... and with who. But of course Jack could hardly wander down to the Dauntless and ask if they had seen the man—or see if that pointy-nosed lieutenant was safely on board.

That the thought had even occurred to Jack was proof of just how far gone he was, as daft as Anamaria said he was, sun-baked, though currently not rum-soaked, brains and all. But the missing Commodore wasn't just a Commodore, it was Norrington. It was James. James who had grown desperate enough at Jack's petting to offer his name, James who had a pounding heart for Jack's kisses, and quite the handful between his legs for Jack to stroke, and who hadn't seemed to realize his only complaint had been that he had still been tied up for Jack's attentions. 'Course, that was unless he had simply wanted to be free to escape and not to reciprocate those attentions, which was why Jack had left the man bound to the bedpost—that and the lovely picture he made stretched out and captured-like.

Why precisely the Commodore would have objected otherwise, Jack hadn't had time to fully determine. Jack would have untied him if he had asked, even a fool Commodore had to know that. It wasn't like they was irons and a threat of hanging to keep him still. Only a bit of cloth and a bed.

A hot, luxurious bed that the Commodore had apparently rejected.

Jack sniffed, his eyes and throat suddenly dry and scratchy like he was marooned once more. And just as he had then, he needed a drink. Except of course that he couldn't seem to stop long enough to get one, since somewhere on this blasted, yet sweet smelling, island was his Commodore, hiding from him... Hiding from him and, it seemed, with Jack's hat and coat, which the man had pilfered from Jack's room. That were just nothing but petty revenge, and beneath James entirely. Jack loved that hat, damn it. Norrington hadn't been fond of his wig at all.

And now here he was again, chasing the Commodore until the Commodore would catch him. If the Commodore would catch him. Even Jack had to wonder now what Norrington would do with a pirate if he had him.

He still didn't even know why Norrington had come to Tortuga... Though that were Jack's fault for so distracting the man, if Jack were to approach honesty in the matter. Which he did, something that was undoubtedly Norrington's influence—Anamaria would not be pleased. But, aside from Jack's plentiful and vivid fantasies, such a thing hadn't seemed possible yesterday.

"The day you are well and truly caught is the day I run away to Tortuga to become a pirate myself."

Norrington himself had said it, and Jack weren't likely to forget it. But it was also doubtful that Jamie had figured it out so soon. The man could be stupid at times... rather like William, but without the irritating habit of... well... being William.

The sound of a hiccough stopped Jack short, and he cocked his head, looking carefully around empty alleys for the source of the echo. A moment later it hardly mattered, when a low murmur followed it. Jack knew he was grinning now and didn't bother to hide it, walking on silently.

"It doesn't matter if you win or lose..." There was a pause for another hiccough, and the sound of liquid sloshing, and then the song continued, quite melodiously in Jack's opinion. "It's how you play the game..."

It were very possible that Jack Sparrow was the only soul on Tortuga to know that sound when he heard it. Possibly the only soul living or dead in all the seven seas that had ever been permitted to hear it, and that was just pleasing enough get Jack's heart racing, even if Commodore James Norrington hadn't been singing Jack's song.

Maybe Jack really was as mad as the stories said. He must be, there was just no other explanation for the sight Jack beheld as he turned another corner and found himself in an alley behind a merchant's shop. But stark raving or not, Jack could have fallen to his knees right then, for prayer, or for any other purpose a man might think of, and he would have felt the same amount of reverence in either act.

There was his long-lost James-love, leaning against wall with a bottle in one hand, Jack's hat hanging crookedly from his head as he lifted the bottle for another swig of whatever was inside. He frowned as he swallowed, his forehead marred with a small scratch and a streak of what the man would never admit was dirt, and if Jack hadn't been more interested in Norrington's missing wig and ridiculous navy coat, he might have pondered that more.

He couldn't help staring a bit, his eyes threatening to fall from his head until he blinked, noticing that the sleeves that didn't quite reach to Norrington's wrists belonged to Jack's coat—and that Norrington's waistcoat and trousers weren't any cleaner than that stained black garment. No longer spotless white they were, but sort of gray. Dirt where anyone in the Caribbean could have walked by and seen it.

Jack didn't even know he was frowning until his cough made Norrington turn to face him, his fine eyes a bit blurry until they finally focused intently on Jack.

"Now just what would get a Commodore of the Royal Navy so filthy, I wonder?" Jack asked as he stepped forward, snatching the bottle from Norrington's loose grip and taking a long swallow, just from curiosity, looking down on the Commodore as he did. Another thing he had never thought to see, proud, straight shoulders hunched, looking much like the man were trying to hide. 'Course, Commodore Norrington did not hide from anything, any more than he got drunk in alleys in Tortuga, wearing a pirate's garb.

Jack might have choked on the pleasing burn of the rum if he hadn't seen Norrington flinch away at the question, his bright cheeks nearly glowing. But then the chin lifted up defiantly, and Norrington reached out for the bottle, scowling when Jack held it away and took another swallow or two.

"That would be the ground, Mister Sparrow." It was Jack's turn to look confused at Norrington's slowly spoken, but strangely familiar-seeming, words, but he just pushed the feeling to the side a moment later, and sat down on the barrel next to Norrington—next to James—for this was not Norrington at all, Jack decided. He helped himself to a hefty swig of rum before reluctantly handing the bottle back. After all, he had a lot of drinking to do if he was to catch up to Jamie, who must've finished off a bottle or two all on his onesies before Jack had found him here.

"What were you doin' on the ground, mate?" His hand seemed to want to go to his pistols. Interesting, that. The last time his gullet had rumbled and twisted like this, he'd been watching a beautifully large cache of rum go up in smoke.

Maybe Old Jack had spoken a touch too sharply, for James blinked and ducked his head, mumbling into the collar of Jack's coat, "...fell..." before turning back around to glare stubbornly in Jack's direction, chin up and usual superior frown in place.

"Was that on your way to the Pearl, or from it?" Jack leaned back to ask, moving his hand to tilt back his hat for a moment before remembering that he no longer had his hat. He would have scowled, but James' glassy eyes were wide beneath the brim, his mouth hanging open in a way that a sober Norrington would never have allowed. Jack nearly brought his hands behind his back and stood up to pace back and forth. Excepting that he was a pirate, not a displeased officer of the Navy, no matter how strong the urge to order his James lashed. "You seem surprised, love," Jack added at last, running his thumb along his belt and watching Norrington as Norrington watched him.

"Nonsense." James replied earnestly, as though he had been reading Jack's thoughts, and broke Jack's gaze to pull that bottle up and take a long, sweet drink of the devil inside it. A man with a thirst like that must have been parched for some time, Jack decided, licking his lips and lifting his eyebrows in surprise when Norrington finished and handed Jack the bottle without a word. But he nodded his thanks and took a long sip as well, enjoying the way Jamie's fine eyes fastened on him, the way he breathed heavily through the rosy mouth that still hadn't quite closed. "It was only a matter of time, Jack..."

"Until all the world knows what you've done?" Jack demanded, withholding the bottle when James reached for it and keeping it close to his chest. And Commodore James Norrington of the Royal Navy stuck out his lower lip in a look that some less charitable than Jack Sparrow might have called a pout, standing up straight just as Jack's hat fell over one side of his face.

"I would have thought you'd find it pleasing, Sparrow," he delivered in the icy tones that would have stopped Jack in his tracks a few weeks ago. As it was, Jack still shivered despite his anger, taking in the delicious image of Commodore Norrington pointing unsteadily at him, his fingers curving fluidly in a way that was almost beckoning.

"Embarrassing was what it was!" Jack stood up too, pointing his finger—which was quite steady—back at Norrington. It would have been better if the man had tattooed it across Jack's arse. "To me bloody ship!" he added a moment later, the memory still burning on the inside of his eyelids, the colours so bright and bonny on the black hull, the gleam of the paint. The bloody royal flag. On his bloody ship. And the Pearl had loved it, that was the worst bloody part.

"Quite an annoyance, wasn't it, Captain Sparrow?" Norrington's lips curved in drunken satisfaction, his chin lifting. "Seeing me on your property?" A flick of his hand had the hat out of his eyes while Jack was scratching at his beard, hearing the edge to the words, trying to determine if Norrington knew what it was he was saying. "Hadn't had a bit of sport in a few weeks," the man went on, so smooth they might have been back on St. Kitt's, his sword pressed to Jack's throat.

Jack grinned and Norrington blinked, his smile dropping a bit.

"If sport was all I'd wanted, mate, I had easier ways of getting it." Jack remarked pleasantly, helping himself to more rum as Norrington tried to reason that out. "Different sort of message, I was hopin' to convey..." That were as much hint as Jack was going to give for now. And likely wasted on Norrington now, since the man was beginning to look parched once more, and though his James was too proud to ask, Jack handed back the bottle with a small sigh for its loss. He had to approve of Jamie's taste in rum; his thoughts were growing soft around the edges, the colours of that flag sparkling like stars, spelling out such a lovely message.

Or maybe that weren't the rum at all, just the heat of James' fine eyes studying him so carefully over the top of that bottle.

"Never thought I'd be sharin' a bottle with you in Tortuga..." Jack admitted thickly, his mouth dry.

"Indeed, I am far too rigid, to allow such a trespass," Norrington snapped instantly, waving the hand that still held the bottle, which, thankfully, was now too low to spill even a drop. Jack stared fixedly at the rum anyway, knowing Norrington would be embarrassed by the confession, but the hurt in the man's voice demanded a response, and Jack couldn't help but grin.

"Never said I minded you bein' rigid, love." He grinned at Norrington's slow swallow, the red in those cheeks that had little to do with rum. James let out a breath, and Jack darted out his tongue to wet his lips. It might be time to suggest a return to his room, Jack thought distractedly, intent on Norrington's mouth as he tried to thin his lips, on the slender fingers curled so possessively over the neck of the bottle.

But then Norrington let out a long, heavy breath, slumping back against the wall and lowering his brows seriously. "Lying pirate," he insisted, and Jack sat down hard on the barrel right after he snatched away the rum.

"But a good man," Jack insisted in return, then paused for a moment, expecting an argument.

"So Mister Turner has said, I believe." The clipped response sounded far too much like a sober Norrington, and Jack eyed the other man suspiciously, exclaiming something and falling forward a moment later when Norrington dropped abruptly to the ground and scowled up at him. "Give me my bottle, Sparrow, I paid for it."

Jack landed on his knees next to him, swearing and only a little pleased to see Norrington rubbing his now sore arse. Grumbling loud enough for even a drunk man to hear, Jack turned and leaned against the wall too, shifting to position himself close to Norrington's side, hearing Norrington's indrawn breath as he did.

"Will ain't one to understand pirates," Jack started again, and felt the body next to him stiffen. "Not a sailor,' Jack went on, and knew himself to be smiling once more. A moment later he was chuckling, and put out a hand to rest on James' leg. James' body was fair to humming from just that for all his frowning, and Jack patted him once or twice. To calm him down, he would have explained, if James had been sober enough to question the move. "First time I brought him out with me—to commandeer your ship it was, James—he bloody near ruined the whole thing by yelling out 'Aye, avast!' at yer men. A most fearsome pirate he was," Jack ended with another crooked grin, offering an apology to Bootstrap, though it hadn't been Jack's fault the boy were so ignorant of anything useful.

He had another sip of Norrington's rum and stilled his hand when Norrington turned to stare at him with wide eyes.

"Aye, avast?" Norrington repeated, his eyebrows up, and then Jack was delighted to see his mouth open as James suddenly threw his head back to laugh, the sound as rich as his singing. His fingers itched with the need to stroke the bared line of his throat, but Jack took another drink instead, forcing a grin as he shoved the bottle determinedly at the other man and then had to reach out to yank Norrington back up when the man nearly toppled over from mirth.

The corners of his eyes crinkled in a most interesting way when he was laughing, Jack noticed, and wondered if he ought to spend more time with the young Mr. Turner in order to gather more stories to amuse the Commodore.

"Not much understanding of pirates, you see." James once he calmed down was most appreciative of the liquor, and Jack hummed under his breath between his words, eyeing Norrington sideways. "But knowledgeable on the subject of good men."

"'Lizabeth..." Norrington blurted the name, his lips still wet with drink, and Jack swore out loud and yanked the bottle from him. As though Jack were not even there, Norrington sighed softly at the thought of his former betrothed. Jack shot a harsh look at the liquor, shifting away from Norrington only to freeze as Norrington followed him. The man just continued speaking once they were again sitting side by side, and didn't seem to notice if Jack stared at him until his eyes burned.

"Jack..." Norrington started again, and Jack let himself smile, reaching out a careful hand to stroke the line of James' neck. James shivered, but did not move away, and so Jack leaned in expectantly, giving every appearance of listening to whatever it was that his James-love had had to get drunk to tell him. It wouldn't do to jump the man now, best hold on for another few moments at least.

There was a slight, ruddy cast to Norrington's face, visible even in the dark, and Jack let his fingers trace that too.

"Elizabeth believes me a good man, Jack. And you..." Startled as he was to hear himself mentioned with Elizabeth Swann, Jack still smiled at the words. Hesitant and cautious and not a drop of venom to be found as he asked a truly strange question of a pirate, James' voice was low. "Do you... do you think that could be true?"

"Yes, James, I do." Jack nodded, in case the Commodore was too drunk to understand his answer, and was quite pleased at James' slow, deep breath, the slight increase of weight at his side as James sighed and leaned against him. Then Jack was blinking to see the very, very low level of rum in that bottle, wondering just when James had consumed that much.

"Too good, Sparrow?" Norrington angled his head and considered Jack with a stern face, awaiting his answer as though drum rolls were playing somewhere in his mind. He would have looked quite fierce if he had not hiccoughed.

Jack felt his palms itching again and wondered if now would be the better time to suggest a return to his room, and reward such bravery. "I can take what I want too, Jack," Norrington went on when Jack said nothing, so warm Jack felt it down to his toes, far better, at the moment, than any grog. Better than any treasure, the pleasant twisting in his belly, and he leaned over until James' breath brushed his mouth, putting a hand down to steady himself and drifting slowly toward Norrington.

"But I have my crew to consider." Jack opened his eyes wide at the furious voice, the heavy frown as Norrington lifted his head. He may have bitten his tongue too, and looked unhappily at Norrington for it, which James of course did not see. "I... have responsibilities..."

"Only responsibility now, love, is to me," Jack fought to keep his voice low, putting his hand back on Norrington's thigh and enjoying the jump of muscles under the touch. If Norrington remembered it in the morning, then Jack would deal with his anger then. Such a little thing as a fit of temper weren't likely to stop him now. James should have recalled that before getting drunk around a pirate. "You as much as promised me," Jack reminded him, and James flinched—the act of a very guilty man. Jack grinned and shifted to drop his head, inhaling deeply as he buried his head against Norrington's shoulder. "That flag..."

"I did, didn't I?" Norrington straightened, not protesting Jack's hold on him the smallest bit. "That was clever, wasn't it?" James wondered, and Jack nodded again, letting his hand inch up a little more, James' breath uneven and quick above his head.

"Yes, love," Jack agreed eagerly, not nearly drunk enough to miss such a chance. This was the opportune moment if there ever was one.

"You thought I didn't know, when you flew your banner over St. Kitt's," Norrington was humming now, that song, Jack's song, and Jack stretched out his other hand to take the bottle and set it down carefully on the ground. "But I knew, Sparrow." Norrington shook his head, so Jack narrowed his eyes and nodded, sliding in to bring both hands within reach.

"Course you did, James." Commodore Norrington, as Jack had observed before, had a wonderfully ready pikestaff between his legs, and loved to make quite a few noises whenever Jack put his hands to it.

"You took my wig." Noises, yes, but words as well, and words Jack hadn't quite expected. He raised his head to study Norrington, noting the red, shining cheeks and the soft line of the man's lips. But Jack nodded since a reply seemed expected, and Norrington lifted a hand, laying it gently on Jack's cheek. "I took your hat," he declared triumphantly, "I own you—it." And he frowned, his whole countenance drooping as though he knew his phrasing were off but couldn't determine how. Jack nearly spun about to take a look at that bottle of rum, certain it was some heathen magic potion instead of hearty liquor—but then he would have had to look away from James.

Shameful it was, that Jack Sparrow, infamous captain of the fearsome Black Pearl, felt his stomach knot and his heart quicken at the mumblings of a drunken man, even if that drunken man were the Commodore of Caribbean fleet himself, James Norrington.

But there was no time to consider that, not with James setting his shoulders and staring earnestly at Jack, licking his lips.

"You'll make a lovely pirate, James," Jack declared, and Norrington glared at him, for his wickedness no doubt, listing a little to one side as he tried to stay upright.

"I am not a pirate, Sparrow." He said it firmly enough. "If I were a pirate I'd be able to do what I wished. I'd..." James stopped, swallowing, and went still as he studied Jack. "God help me, Jack..." he murmured at last, and dropped his head to plant a kiss on Jack's lips, his mouth already wet with rum and opened for him.

Jack twisted around instantly, rising to his knees and sliding his hands around Norrington's shoulders, feeling the shuddering strength under his palms that was keeping him up as Norrington's tongue was busy in his mouth. Making his insides quake, making his heart pound and his prick throb, and Jack mumbled his surprise, his pleasure, against James' firm lips, dragging his fingers through clean brown hair with a sigh of his own.

"James-love," Jack whispered when James pulled away, then blinked and frowned at the handsome face before him, eyes closed, lips parted as Norrington let out one gentle snore and fell heavily against him. Jack caught his weight with a grunt and stared unblinkingly at the alley beyond his head, twitching as a man had to twitch when he felt such a need and was left with an armful of sleeping Norrington.

Fortune hated him. Just because he planned to seduce a drunk Commodore, that was no reason for the lady to be so cruel, was it? He had waited so long... surely the good lady wouldn't let him twist in the breeze now.

"Who's he?" The shrill voice made Jack turn his head, already certain that he would not like what he found.

"Giselle!" He really shouldn't have been surprised that Fortune had taken the form of a Tortuga doxy. But Jack tried a smile anyway, and had just enough time to wince before her hand found his face.

Bloody Fortune.

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