One Silly, Bloody Wish Later

Part 2

by

E. Batagur

~*~

"I thought the rum went without saying," Norrington let a slight smirk curl his lips. Jack grinned back in response.

"Usually it does, but with you navy types, I'm never sure when it all needs to be spelled out."

Norrington snorted a small laugh and looked out to the horizon. "Freedom," he said.

"That's the easy part, mate," Jack said. Norrington looked back at him, his eyes still softened by his own thoughts. Jack's breath caught in his chest, for at that moment, with the firelight reflecting in his clear, green eyes, James Norrington was more than just beautiful. He was unearthly and bright.

~*~

~*~

"You knew Beckett?"

"You could say that," Jack replied immediately but did not look up from his meal.

"Your escape from the agents? Singapore?"

Jack looked up at that. "He may have been there."

"He was one of the seven?"

"Not exactly."

"He was... how you escaped."

Jack grinned. "Cutty can be very generous when the mood strikes him. And he had a particular weakness... a taste for the lads."

Norrington's mouth thinned to a tight line and color sprung to his cheeks again.

"Ah, I see," Jack smile widened. "He came on to you, did he now? That I can see. A fine, handsome gent such as yourself, in need of his generosity..."

"At least I deflected his advances politely." He looked Jack square in the eye. "I gather that as you were able to make such a miraculously clean escape, that you were not so kind."

"If you are implying that I took the opportunity to commit a little sin with his lordship, I must take offense, sir." Jack straightened where he sat looking as indignant as he could.

"You promised it and reneged," Norrington corrected.

"Ah," Jack said brightly, lifting a finger to stop anything more Norrington had to add. "Promise is in the eye of the beholder, is it not? And although we struck an accord otherwise, I believe it was he who implied there would be other fringe benefits on top of what was agreed."

"You stole the compass for him."

"I obtained the compass, aye. But it was agreed that the usage would be to both our benefits..."

"Please stop trying to justify yourself to me, Sparrow. It is giving me a headache." Norrington rubbed his forehead as if to illustrate the point.

They sat quiet for a moment longer, then Jack pulled up the new jug of rum. "Neither one of us wants to admit how far we played the man's weakness, and you played it as sure as I did."

He pulled the cork with his teeth and spat it to the ground beside him. Norrington said nothing, but simply stared at his own hands.

"You let him touch you," Jack said softly.

Norrington sighed. "After I returned with the heart and that letter of marque, he gave me hospitality. Allowed me to bathe and groom myself. I was feeling rather human again. He invited me to dinner. I expected him to discuss terms for my work as a privateer, advance payment and finance of a ship and crew.

"He was very pleasant to me, and the evening went well. But I had noticed that all attempts made by me to steer the conversation towards business were smoothly deflected by the man. After dinner, in his study, I made my last attempt to bring forth the subject of our business together.

"He poured me a glass of fine port. It was then, as he approached me that his hand slipped, seemingly on accident, to brush my flank and move slowly towards my... my..."

"He took a handful of derriere," Jack supplied, taking another drink.

Norrington cleared his throat. Jack offered the jug with a smile. Norrington took it, taking a very deep swallow.

"I can guess the rest," Jack said plainly. "Although you did not encourage him, neither did you push him away. His hand got a little more bold, and that is when you questioned his actions. At that point, he laid it plain to you. The more you give, the more you get."

"He promised he could secure me a knighthood if I went to his bed."

"But you settled for a feel and an admiralty."

Norrington looked up at Jack suddenly, his eyes burning bright with challenge. "And what did you give?"

Jack looked down at the brand on his right arm. "More than what was agreed," Jack said dourly. Cutler Beckett liked giving. He especially enjoyed giving pain with pleasure. Jack had not been prepared for the brand, even as Beckett's hot mouth seared pleasure around his member. Blindfolded at Beckett's fancy, Jack had learned a sharp lesson that day about leaving oneself vulnerable even to supposed allies.

"Freedom," Norrington stated knowingly, but didn't question further.

Jack nodded. He had to agree. In the end, it had all been about freedom. Beckett had been far too greedy and entirely too full of his own entitlement. He thought Jack should have been grateful to him, even after the branding and betrayal. He expected his 'pretty bird' to fly back to his hand. Jack had taken the compass and lost himself to the seas again, not looking back once. The sea had always been his salvation.

"I felt cleaner when I was a deck hand on the Black Pearl," Norrington admitted in a strained whisper.

"Beckett does have that nasty habit of leaving a body feeling a bit soiled, as it were."

Norrington touched his own lips briefly, but then moved his hand away quickly, his eyes shifting to Jack furtively then back down.

So Norrington had let Beckett kiss him? Jack was struck with the idea. It intrigued him and angered him at the same time. Why it should anger him, he was not totally clear on. Obviously Norrington felt soiled by the contact, but that only made Jack more incensed. Jack paused for a moment longer, then reached his hand back Norrington's way in a plain gesture.

Norrington looked at the outstretched hand for a moment, then tipped the rum back for another quick swallow before placing it back in Jack's possession. Jack took a far longer swig.

It wasn't right to feel indignant at the thought of that feculent swine, Beckett, plundering Norrington's most delicious looking lips. It wasn't proper that Jack should feel irate that the man had touched Norrington in ways that Jack had only fancied in his wildest dreams. And so, Jack had to admit it to himself.

~*~

~*~

Norrington did not look consoled, and Jack passed the jug back his way. He watched him as he took a swallow and then looked into the fire with an expression that would have moved even the coldest heart. Aye, Norrington lived in regrets, and that was why his soul was not at peace.

***

"Tia, darlin'." Jack smiled at the woman as she stood on the bright beach. The sands about her calico skirts were teeming with small white crabs. "I never asked..."

"You secret heart done asked," she drawled with her painted smile. "You tink I don't hear you secret heart? Witty Jack! Him dat loves the brightest be worth more than any treasure. Win this prize... if ye dare!"

Jack looked up the long beach, the white sand gleaming and almost too bright for his eyes. The sea was only a sound and a smell. He was aware of it with all his senses. He didn't know where the sun was. He was sure it was somewhere in the sky, but he was disorientated, turned about. It was bright as midday, but he was sure it was not.

Tia Dalma was no longer standing before him, but where she had stood, several small white crabs shuffled back towards the surf. Jack saw one as it reached the breaker sparkle against the white crest of foam.

"Him shines like the brightest diamond." Her voice seemed to come to Jack from the very rush of the waves. "Treasure worth the 'avin'."

***

Norrington was not where he left him, snoozing off a mild drunk on his spare blanket, but this time, Jack was not concerned. The man was probably off relieving himself or some such business.

Upon standing, Jack noticed his little cooking pot still sitting where he had left it. Looking inside, he found his crab friend still rested at the bottom. Jack shuffled barefoot down to the surf carrying the pot. The waves were cool on his toes, and he tipped the pot, setting the crustacean free.

"There you are little beastie, and never let it be said that Captain Jack Sparrow did not show mercy. The bird was already dead."

A flash of color out of the corner of his eye drew his attention back towards the camp. Norrington was returning, and he now wore his blue jacket with its heavy brocade. Jack smirked wickedly. That ensemble was bound to get hot during midday.

He watched as the man fiddled about the camp, picking up this and examining that. He seemed to be gathering up tools. Abruptly, he marched away back into the trees.

Jack stood wondering, his smirk turning into a thoughtful frown. His feet were moving even before he had though about what he wanted to do next. He stomped back up to the camp, scanning about at what Norrington had been picking through. His eyes fell upon his boots, sitting just where he had left them the night before. Upon further inspection, he notice a certain lack of boot knife.

"Bugger," he muttered; then sat to brush the sand from his feet and put on his boots. He couldn't imagine what Norrington was up to. That fact alone made him nervous. He stood, looking off into the trees the way the former admiral had gone. With a put-upon sigh, Jack squared his shoulders and headed inward.

The light was reduced in the denser canopy. Above him were birdsong and the hazy buzz of insects. Jack pushed deeper in. The terrain began to slope upward. Ahead, Jack knew there was a freshwater pool that was fed from a spring on higher ground. The island was close enough to the British territories that it could almost be considered one of those same islands, but it was smaller, and well overlooked by most.

The pool ran out to a stream that went to the sea. Jack followed the stream, surrounded by lush rainforest that smelled as fresh and unspoiled as it looked. It was a pleasant little island, but hardly a secret to the buccaneer types in these waters. Jack was certain that the safety of his sojourn here would be limited once Barbossa had scoured every inch of Tortuga for him and Feng's chart.

Well, he could make it one more day at the most. He would have his dinghy ship-shape, and he could be on his way.

But what of Norrington?

It really was not his concern what happened to the man. By all rights, he should be long dead.

"So should I," Jack murmured to himself as he pushed past a thick fern. "Bloody bad timing for the man to just... show up!" Jack gestured wildly to no one.

Beyond the small rock outcropping that connected to a moss-covered cliff face that made up the low ridge beyond which the water's source was located, Jack spotted the small rocky clearing beside the pool. Beside the water's edge sat a collection of items: the tin cup, the two empty rum jugs, and all of Admiral Norrington's clothing that was not currently gracing the drying bush. In the pool, in waist-deep water, and with his back to Jack, stood Norrington, his white skin glowing with beads of moisture, his wet hair tied neatly back from his face with a simple black ribbon. Jack ducked back a bit to watch.

The sunlight glinted calico through the dense canopy. A golden beam of light rested on Norrington's shoulder making his skin glow softly. The man turned his head, looking down the length of his own arm; his perfect, noble and fine profile was caught in the golden light. His hand went to his own chin. His other hand was out of Jack's view, but Jack could tell what he was up to by the deliberate motions that were echoed in the flexing muscles of his shoulders.

"He's shaving," Jack whispered bemused. But as he sat and watched, a warm feeling seemed to come over him from head to toe, making his shoulders un-tense and his brow to ease. Jack was unaware of the sweet and simple smile that came to his own lips as he
watched Norrington finishing up this small task. Jack would not have admitted so much to himself, but in that fleeting moment, it felt as if James Norrington was giving him, Jack Sparrow, a precious gift.

Jack had told him to shave; Norrington continued to oblige. Jack slid back from his hiding spot and headed back to the beach. There was much he wanted to do today.

***

~*~

~*~

"Hm..." was Jack's only remark.

Dinner was a silent affair: Fish and fruit and clean-shaven, morose company. It wasn't until Jack passed the rum that Norrington spoke.

"You are leaving soon."

Jack didn't respond, and Norrington took a healthy swallow.

"Then you may grant me a single boon, Sparrow, being it is because of your ill-luck in wishing that I am here, and I'm fairly certain that I am correct in assuming that you will abandon me here as well."

Jack frowned. "I'm not sure I care for what your assumptions about me imply, mate."

"That you're a pirate?"

Jack's frown deepened. "No! Well, yes... but no! You see now, there are pirates and then there are pirates. Now, if ye are looking for mean, ignorant scallywags with scraggly beards that would slit your throat as soon as look at you, then you want the likes of Hector Barbossa."

"Are you trying to tell me that you are different, Sparrow?"

"One would think that given what you have experienced of me, you would see that."

Norrington tilted his head considering. "Let me see... upon our first meeting you held a woman hostage..."

"Only after you put a sword in my face and threatened my life after I selflessly saved the same woman!"

"You stole one of my ships..."

"I thought we already discussed this point. I commandeered your ship. I would have returned it... eventually... maybe. But that is beside the point. It was all for a good cause, right?"

"You sank it!"

"I protest that claim, sir!" Jack sat up indignantly. "I was not aboard the Interceptor when she was scuttled! I was a prisoner of Barbossa and his undead hellions!"

"It is still your fault!" Norrington hissed.

"And you are still holding me responsible for more than I am guilty of!" Jack roared back.

Norrington's back stiffened, and he looked as affronted as a man who had been slapped.

The fierce scowl Jack knew he was wearing melted before realization. His voice came out kinder. "You can't go on like this. She really tore you. Let it go."

"I thought I had," Norrington said before he took another drink.

"No," Jack said thoughtfully. "You gave up. Not the same thing, mate."

Norrington's head dropped, defeated, and Jack watched; the pain mirrored in his own eyes. He had told him to shave, and for two whole days, Norrington had honored his request. This was the second time that Jack had asked him to let the dream of Elizabeth Swann go.

"Him dat loves the brightest be worth more than any treasure. Win this prize... if ye dare!"

"But what was this boon you would be needin'?" Jack asked re-capturing the rum from Norrington's slackened grip.

Norrington took a breath, and the let it out as if he found he had no words to use it for. There was a long pause and Jack had been about to say something else when Norrington at last spoke.

"How did you meet Lord Cutler Beckett?"

Jack gave the man his most devilish smirk. "Ah, so you want the story of me life, eh? Understandable. I am Captain Jack Sparrow. You just can get to all the fun stuff by reading warrants and arrest reports. I suppose ol' Cutty mentioned me?"

"Only to tell me that you were the best fuck he ever had," Norrington replied dryly.

Jack's smile widened. "So nice to be remembered kindly." He took another swallow of rum and then cleared his throat. "How did I meet dear Cutty? It's hard to explain without going over all of it. It truly is the story of me life, savvy?"

"If you will, Sparrow," Norrington asked tiredly.

Jack smiled at the man. "Teague Sparrow was quite the infamous pirate lord, and at the height of his success, he had seven ships in his command. Each of them was the envy of all, from his flagship to his smallest sloop. However, none was more bonny than the crown jewel of his small fleet, the fastest ship what said sailed the seas, the Black Pearl. He left the command of the Pearl to his most profitable collaborator, Hector Barbossa. However, he promised his son when he came of age, that he would have a ship of his own to command, and that ship could be any one of his choosing from the fleet.

"Of course, lit'l Jackie had his heart set on the Black Pearl and Barbossa be damned. Teague made the promise that upon Jackie's twentieth birthday, the Black Pearl would be his. Jackie said, 'Oh, goody,' and went about his merry way in the family business of pillaging and plundering at Da's command. Well, before Jackie could claim his ship, Barbossa ran afoul of the worst of the Barbary merchant fleets, armed to the teeth. Hector survived, badly wounded, and that's why he limps to this very day, but the Pearl drowned off the coast of Africa.

"Teague was not happy, but being a rather sanguine and mellow realist at that point in his life, he simply sat back to play his sitar and contemplated how much worse the loss could have been. He decided to quit while he was ahead, so to speak, and handed over the piece of eight to his son, braiding it into his hair." Jack's hand went up absentmindedly to reach for the now missing short braid that had the small Spanish coin on its end that always hung from over his red headscarf.

"But he had no promised Pearl to give his son. All the other ships in his fleet would not do. Now, you would think ol' Jack would just ask Teague to finance him a new ship just as good, if not better than the Black Pearl, but no. Jack was rash and young and his heart belonged to the Pearl from the first time he climbed her rigging at the tender age of six. She was more than a ship, she was his childhood friend and his family home. He swore he'd find a way to get her back."

"As intriguing as this all is, Sparrow, it doesn't feel as if it will eventually answer my question," Norrington said with soft incredulity.

"Aye, but it will, mate. Everything leads back to the Pearl." Jack's gaze narrowed emphatically. He took another couple of swallows of rum and then continued. "Thoroughly disgruntled and demoralized, young Jack sought his fortune in the Orient, Singapore was a land of opportunity, and Jack knew of a young pirate lord who needed navigators. Sao Feng was not known for his kindness, but he was known for rewarding those who served him well. Jack figured he had nothing to lose and everything to gain by spending a few years in the man's employ.

"Well, one fine day while he was at port in Singapore, he was drinking in one of the more mellow dockside taverns... and when I say mellow, I mean a man could expect only one or two homicides a night... when a lad walked in who clearly did not belong. Dressed in fine waistcoat, a coat of sable, silk cravat, powdered wig and silver-handled walking stick, he looked such the over-exaggerated easy mark that no one paid him any mind. They thought him some sort of cursed trap. Well, imagine Jackie's surprise when the dolting little popinjay walked up to him, sat himself down at Jack's table and bought him a fresh bottle of rum.

"The creature was talking at him with that smooth, unhurried voice of his, telling him that he needed a man for a job... a simple job at that. He introduced himself as Lord Cutler Beckett, having recently claimed the title after his father's unfortunate demise." Jack made a face. "I wonder still if the little bastard did his own father in.

"Well, never mind that," Jack remarked cheerfully. "Apparently, Beckett's father had had dealings with Sao Feng and had been given information about the existence of certain items that existed in the world that defied the material nature of things. Beckett wanted a compass. Feng didn't have it, but Feng had the means to find it, a charm that would call you to the audience of the owner. From there, you could barter it from her, if you dared."

"You took Beckett's job," Norrington said.

"It seemed very lucrative at the time." Jack smiled. "Tricked Sao Feng's younger sister to let me look at the charm. Cute lit'l music box locket in the shape of a heart with a woman's face on it. I opened it. It played a sad little song, then I met dear Tia Dalma."

"The owner of the compass."

"Aye."

"The barter?"

Jack's smile grew wider. "She wanted me to carry a message to the man she loved. Not as easy a task as it looked. Davy Jones can be a hard man to find when you are young and healthy. But Tia gave me the compass to help. She trusted me, and back then, I was young and stupid enough to be trustworthy. Ye'd think I'd learned nothing at me Da's knee!

"I found the man, after five years of near-death experiences. The message was simple: it was the locket. It affected him badly and I threatened to take it away, but he stopped me. He seemed pretty desperate for it. He wanted it, and he offered me my heart's desire. Go on and guess what I wished for."

"The Black Pearl," Norrington said plainly.

"Aye, and he raised her from the deep, right before me very eyes. He gave me thirteen years to be her captain, but in the end, there was a price to be paid." Jack sat back, casually regarding Norrington's frown for a small moment before he continued.

"My brain was moving so fast at that moment, mate, that there might have been sparks flyin' from me ears. I knew I could maneuver around any cost. I was Teague Sparrow's boy! I was Captain Jack Sparrow!"

Jack toasted himself and took a good swallow before giving the bottle back to Norrington and encouraging him to drink as well.

"I came home the conquering hero to Beckett. I had the compass and I had my own ship. I hoped Cutty would help me finance a crew for the next venture."

"Did he?"

"Of course not," Jack replied matter-of-factly. "Instead, he sent me off on another little fetch and carry mission. His father's book that had that had been a gift from Feng. It contained all that information I mentioned earlier. Well, it was in the hands of the other partners of the East India Trading Company. Beckett wanted sole control of it, without his esteemed colleagues being the wiser.

"Your escape from the seven agents," Norrington said knowingly.

"Yes, would have been a clean thing too if Cutty hadn't decided to try and make me a scapegoat."

"He turned on you?"

"After I delivered the goods," Jack replied. He touched his brand as he looked into the fire. "But I got out. Took the compass and what gold I thought he owed me and I left. Brought enough crew to get me back to me Da's cove. Came home like a returning prince on me beloved Pearl." Jack sighed at the happy memory.

"That's quite a story, Sparrow," Norrington said. "Isla de Muerte was in that book?"

"One of the few pages I glimpsed before Beckett locked it away from me. Figured that would be enough swag to keep me comfortable for a long time, but I needed a good crew first." Jack laughed and looked down. "But that's another story, mate, and you know how that one ends."

"Another ten years without your ship," Norrington said softly as he reached for the rum. Jack pulled it back from his grasping fingers.

"Aye."

"And you were Beckett's lover," Norrington added, looking at Jack with a thoughtful frown.

Jack frowned back, but slowly allowed it to soften. "Surely one such as yourself, the renowned Pirate Hunter, must be versed on the ways of the brethren. Wenches on the high seas were considered impractical at best and cursed at worst. Most considered them only good enough for sacrifices to the angry sea gods. Purely a waste, mate."

"Sodomy and sailors tend to go hand in hand," Norrington agreed grimly.

"Ah, you do see then," Jack smiled once more. "Even me Da's love of his life was not me mum. T'was an ol' salt called Mick; gave me the best advise of me young life. He said, 'Jack, you can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you just may find you get what you need.'"

"Did you ever love someone so deeply?" Norrington asked, and the question took Jack by surprise. He thought about it, and then took a deep swig of rum.

"Can't say as I have, mate. I've always been focused on other things. But there are plenty that I have found to be pretty and pleasant company."

"I'm not certain that what I felt was love," Norrington said softly. "But I always assumed that I would never be certain of love. It was not something a man could quantify. Elizabeth was beautiful and agreeable, and I admired her sharp mind. Her spirit was a little daunting, but I figure that it was for the better that I try to tame a spirited lass than be bored with some placid creature."

"I can truly see your point, mate," Jack said, saluting him with the rum. He looked over at Norrington only to find the man quietly laughing.

"What?" Jack asked.

"I'm trying to imagine a young and trustworthy Jackie Sparrow," Norrington said in an amused tone.

Jack frowned again. "Well don't sprain something while you are at it, lad. Remember, I killed my first man while you were still clingin' to your mum's skirts. And that is Captain Jackie... er, Jack Sparrow still to you."

"Are you really so afraid to let people see you as anything other than a crazy pirate?"

"Have you let anyone see you as anything other than a stick-up-his-arse military fiend? Well, other than that short stint as a rum-soaked, stick-up-his-arse ex-military fiend." Jack retorted.

Norrington did not look insulted; instead, he smiled sadly and shook his head. "No, I suppose I have not. Perhaps that is why Elizabeth preferred William Turner over me. I was polite. I was attentive. But I was always the naval officer who came to call, and not just James. Through most of our courtship, she addressed me as 'Captain.' I hadn't even noticed until I achieved the rank of commodore. Only then did I think to ask her to call me James."

"Sad statement to your state of mind, mate." Jack now handed over the rum, like a consolation prize. "You could say that we were a bit alike then: focused on other things."

"Yes," Norrington said quietly and then took a drink.

"James..." Jack said just as softly.

Norrington looked up from his drink, his eyebrows raised in a questioning glance.

Jack laughed. "I didn't know your name before."

"It is nothing remarkable; just a good Christian name."

"Works best on you though, luv."

"You are flirting, Sparrow."

"I am at that." Jack chuckled. "I do so enjoy a pleasant amount of flirting... probably as much as you enjoy a goodly amount of dry sarcastic wit."

"I doubt my wit presents itself as half as obnoxious." James rolled his eyes briefly.

"Ah, but same as you, I endure bearing the brunt of it. I reckon that makes us square... like my telling you the story of my life and you telling me the story of your death.... Square, you see." Jack grinned.

"No."

"Now you are just being difficult, dear James."

"Did I give you leave to be so familiar with me?"

"You now know that Beckett buggered me three ways till Sunday, and you want to split hairs over Christian names?"

"You are impossible, Sparrow! And wholly irredeemable."

"Let's sing songs!" Jack said, changing the subject abruptly with a bright, and near manic smile. "Do you know any good songs? Elizabeth... Oo! Excuse me! Miss Swann now Mrs. Turner, taught me a great lit'l ditty..."

"Sparrow!"

"Oooooooooo-Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for meeee!"

"Jackie?"

"Oi!"

"I thought that would get your attention." Norrington said with a satisfied smirk.

Looking more than slightly affronted, Jack blinked at the man.

"If you may call me James, that must give me leave to call you Jackie. Am I correct?"

"Jack! Jack! The name is Jack." Jack snatched the rum back from James' hands. "You've had too much of this."

"Hardly. Sparrow, you are not the only man on the earth who can hold his liquor."

Jack's grimace turned immediately to a playful grin as he registered the challenge in Norrington's tone. "I've seen you drunk, as you'll recall. You weren't holding much of anything, not drink, words, or smell."

"And let us see you try to hold back a rebellious stomach after going in head first with the hogs? I stood my ground."

"You smelled funny."

Norrington snatched the bottle back and took a swift, deep drink. "You just smell, always!"

"Aye, but my smell be honest sweat; not local pig pen." Jack took the bottle back and took his own deep swallow.

When Norrington reclaimed the bottle with a derisive snort, tipping it back immediately for a long determined gulp, Jack smiled, totally entranced and lost in admiration for the man's fire. For all his cool, controlled aloofness, James Norrington was a passionate spirit barely held in check. It was little wonder he seemed the angry drunk before. Drinking helped to loosen the reserve and bring the passions all to the surface. Jack was certain that under the correct circumstances, James could be a joyful drunk, a playful drunk or a downright amorous drunk just as easily.

Nevertheless, the man was fragile and his moods volatile at this juncture. One wrong move and Jack would be saddled all evening with a morose drunk. Having already had more than enough of a morose Norrington, Jack decided to make it a goal to see those other, more pleasant drunks James Norrington had harboring inside his breast.

"But I can honestly say," Norrington intoned determinedly after he finished his drink, "that I have bathed more in one month than you have in two years!"

Jack took the bottle back with a small pout. "I've been kinda busy, mate."

"Judging by the number of flea bites on your person, so have the vermin in your unwashed hair."

Jack's pout turned to a frown but he knew better to be baited into an angry shouting match with the man. It was time to pour on the charm more-so and flirt like there was no tomorrow.

"Now I am hurt! My hair harbored no greater number of vermin than your own wig, I'm sure... And those are not flea bites. They are goose flesh. I'm a bit chilled."

"It was sweltering all day, Sparrow, and now we sit next to a bonfire; yet you tell me that you are chilled."

"I am very hot blooded, mate. Doesn't take much." Jack smiled and wiggled his brows suggestively. Norrington snorted, but caught himself before he let the guffaw completely come out. Instead, he took back the bottle for his turn at draining the rum.

"Hot blooded or no, it could not hurt you to apply soap and water to your flesh a bit more often."

"I'll concede with you there," Jack said with a look of general satisfaction. "By the by, shaven is a far nicer look on you."

"Thank you," Norrington replied sincerely. "It is far more comfortable, as well. I thank you for supplying me with the tools to keep myself at least marginally groomed."

Jack let his smile be as flirtatious as possible, putting as much naughty-come-hither into his eyes as he could. He watched Norrington's face go a slight shade darker in the fire's light, but his green eyes glittered unlike ever Jack had seen them before.

Norrington took another deep swig.

"Aht! Out of turn!" Jack reached for the jug, still smiling his simply wicked smile.

"A pirate practicing turn and turn about? I thought good form and fair play were not conducive to successful pirating."

"They aren't," Jack agreed as he took back the rum. "But that stuff is good for sharing rum... and other pleasures."

Norrington's gaze dropped suddenly and he cleared his throat, looking somewhat uneasy, but certainly not upset. Jack offered the rum back with an agreeable smile that was a bit more lighthearted than flirtatious. He was getting somewhere.

And they continued to drink, Jack engaged Norrington in semi-pleasant conversation of subjects he knew they could agree upon: sailing, the color blue, toast and jam, good weapons, and hideous sea monsters they had encountered. He kept Norrington going until he noticed the slight slur to the man's words.

"...And, I tell you, it was huge! Not unlike those beasts they say inhabit the rivers of the Spanish territories. Scaly and dragon-like, with a monstrous maw full of the largest sharp-pointed teeth!"

"It's just a reptile, Sparrow... like the kind you may encounter in Africa and India... not a sea monster."

"You come face to muzzle with it and tell me that again, mate... By the way, why not call me Jack?"

"Because then I would be tempted to call you Jackie," Norrington stopped a slight chuckle before it took the last shred of his precarious dignity away. He took another drink.

"Mayhaps I could forgive the occasional slip as long it be only between ourselves."

"Then you would insist upon calling me James."

"Would that be so disagreeable?"

Norrington straightened his spine and looked down his nose at Jack. "It would be highly improper. You are a pirate. I am a..." Then he seemed to remember that he was no longer any of those things that he once was that would have made their familiar association improper; so, instead he finished by echoing Jack's words. "I could forgive the occasional slip as long it is only between ourselves."

Jack scooted closer to Norrington as he reached for the rum. "Then we are settled? I call you James and you call me Jack?"

"If it will make you feel like you have accomplished something... Jack...." Norrington said as dryly as his intoxication allowed.

Jack smile brightly, once more turning on the flirtatious charm and smoldering appeal. This time, Norrington, a little slower on the uptake as intoxication impeded his reaction time, did not shy away. Instead, he looked Jack squarely in the eyes.

"Are you flirting with me again, Spar... Jack?"

"Does it make you uncomfortable, James?" Jack asked in a lower, husky tone.

Norrington frowned slightly as he thought this out. "It did... but it doesn't. I expect it of you now."

"Have I become predictable?"

"No!" Norrington chuckled. "Predictable is not an attribute one could easily pin to you. You are a rascal, a scoundrel and a knave, but you are not predictable."

"You're mixing your metaphors, Jamie lad. Time to go a little slower on the rum."

Norrington did snort this time and allowed the hearty guffaw to roll from him. "Now you correct my grammar! A man who occasionally has trouble applying the verb 'to be' corrects my grammar."

"And you question what is correct pirate behavior in me almost as much. A body would think you would be refreshed to hear that I understand such concepts as good form and fair play."

"I never said you didn't understand them. I merely stated that practicing such seemed hardly in character for you."

"Shows how little you know about my character."

"Indeed, Sparrow... um... Jack. I know next to nothing of your character. I only know of your crimes."

"Exploits, I prefer to call them exploits."

"Call them what you will. They are quite telling, in and of themselves," James declared quite assuredly.

"What, pray, have they told you, James?" Jack asked leaning in a smidgen closer, allowing his voice that husky tone once more.

"They have told me that you are a self-serving scoundrel who is not to be trusted."

"Have they really?" Jack smiled. "I assumed with Beckett adding to the tales, they could have told you far more than that."

"Beckett only spoke to me of the crimes I was already aware of."

"Aye, but he spoke of my sins as well," Jack said. "To me, the sins and the crimes both fall under the term exploits. There is much more to know about me, James."

It seemed as if only then did Norrington notice how intimately close Jack had moved into his personal space. He cleared his throat softly, but refused to give up ground. Jack was counting on the man's stubborn resolve in this little game.

"You assume I wish to know more," Norrington replied in a slightly strained voice. He cleared his throat again.

"I think it is a valid assumption." Jack moved, leaning in that final few inches, his lips brushing lightly across Norrington's own. He was prepared for the man to stiffen and move away, but he hoped that he would not all the same. He got his wish.

Norrington only stiffened, his eyes opening wider in shock and then blinking for a moment as the soft kiss continued. Jack pulled back only a bare fraction to look into his eyes.

"See, there you are." He smiled as he raised a hand to tenderly run a finger along James clean shaven jaw. "Interested. I bet it was better than any treatment you received at Beckett's hands."

"I... I'm..."

"Not sure?" Jack's smile widened. "Then we shall have to see to your uncertainty."

This time Jack's lips came down firmly on James' claiming with a swift yet tender regard. Norrington still did not move away, nor did he move in any direction. Nevertheless, Jack was confident in the prowess of his own kiss. He let his lips move smoothly over Norrington's, tasting him with the softest flick of the tip of his tongue. This caused a small tremor to move through Norrington's body. Jack's lips open to take in James' lower lip. He sucked on it lightly as he let his hand reach about his neck to hold him close. He let his fingers stray into James' hair, massaging in ever so small movements, and he watched through a hooded gaze as James' own eyes slid shut.

Slowly, oh so heart-breakingly slowly, James began to relax into the kiss, melting like ice against bright winter sunshine. Yes, Jack reckoned James was like ice, indeed. But Jack was hot blooded.

James melted until his lips were pliant to Jack's. He did not kiss back, but the way in which he allowed himself to be kissed was delicious all the same. Jack just knew that Beckett never knew this soft surrender and quiet sweetness. Jack pulled back once more.

"Now then," he whispered against James' lips. "Much better than Beckett, I'll wager." Jack brought his other hand to James' face now, running his fingers lightly over his now kiss-swollen lower lip.

"Please stop mentioning that man's name," James spoke in an urgent whisper.

"Aye, luv. As you wish," was Jack's whispered reply; then they were kissing once more, and James lips stirred to life against Jack's own. He kissed back only lightly, tentatively, but he allowed himself to be far more pliable. Jack soon had him bent back, lowering him slowly to the soft sand, his lips never disengaging in the warm and now mutual caress. James' lips opened ever so slightly and Jack pressed his advantage, slipping his tongue into the wondrously, rum-sweet mouth beneath him. James let out a very soft moan that could have been a sigh. The sound of it sent a flash of heat down Jack's spine to settle pleasantly in his loins. Jack answered the moan with one of his own as his tongue danced softly about James'.

Jack loved kissing. He enjoyed the intimacy of it: the touch of lips and tongues, dancing in a sweet mimic of intercourse. He loved the press of a hot body to his own as he explored the softness of flesh with his mouth. And, at that moment, he could honestly say that he loved kissing James Norrington, mostly because the man gave it up so prettily: the high color on his cheeks, the soft flare of his nostrils, the way his eyes would slit open from time to time, giving Jack a small glimpse of green fire, and those lovely kiss-bruised lips, so red and delightful. But after a moment, as Jack took the time to sample James' lower lip a little longer than he had before, he noticed that James had grown a little too still.

Jack released the kiss, looking down on him bemused. James' eyes remained closed, and his sweet lips were still softly parted. Jack frowned as a very breathy, soft snore escaped James.

Passed out.

"It was just getting interesting too," Jack groused as he continued to watch the man. But as he watched, his eyes traveling over his still form, Jack's gaze locked on the smooth curve of James' beautiful throat. The urge struck him, as often this particular urge did, to sample the taste of it. As always, the urge was too compelling to deny.

He lay the flat of his tongue at the very base of his throat, right at his collarbone, and ran it slowly up, across skin, only slightly roughened by the first traces of a beard's new growth. His tongue curved along the arch of James' neck as it traveled upward until the tip lay against the warm throb of his pulse. Jack paused to examine the sensation. Each beat sent an enthralling, hot vibration through his tongue. Most enjoyable indeed. Jack rose up again to look at the man, his salty taste pleasantly in Jack's mouth.

It was the first time in a long time he had liked what he licked.

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