"Mr. Davenport." The voice slinks up behind him on a strip of beach that glows white in the moonlight. "Mr. Davenport. Do you like games?"

Johnny is in full Jack Sparrow voice, has been, as far as Jack knows, since the start of the production. Maybe longer. Coming to the Caribbean last month for on-location filming has only enhanced the effect.

"Games?" Jack asks, mildly curious.

Johnny's in a battered pair of Bermuda shorts and wearing no preposterous wig, but his Cheshire smile is darkened in places by the gold caps that won't be removed until after shooting has finished. And the ridiculous goatee, he still has that.

"Yes. Games. Do you like games?" Each word of the last is given equal and exaggerated emphasis.

"Sure. I like games." Jack turns his attention back to the ocean, and St. Vincent just beyond. It's late. A stray light glimmers at the edge of the main island, but it's more likely a security lamp than a sign that people are up and staring back at the two of them across the thin band of water.

"Since you're up," Johnny slurs, bumping into Jack's shoulder, "and since I'm up, why not let's play one?"

"What do you want to play? I think they put up the equipment." "Equipment" being the resort's tennis racquets, boogie boards, and snorkels, as well as the rainy-day stash of board games.

"Now, Commodore, we don't need equipment."

"Commodore, is it?" Jack asks, his interest piqued. Despite the hours he's already put in on the sets, both down here and in California, he's still ready to slip into character, live in someone else's skin.

"Yes, that's the game we're playing..." Johnny's fingers encircle one of Jack's wrists. His lips move close to Jack's ear. "...Commodore." He draws Jack's wrist behind his back.

"And what happens in this game?" Jack feels cloth against his wrist. He allows Johnny to draw the other wrist back, press it against the inside of the first. A wave rises, rolls over in his stomach as the cloth is jerked tight. And then Johnny turns him around.

He twists his hands, trying to pull free, but whatever Johnny used to bind him holds tight. "Well?"

"Well. In this game--" Johnny appears on the verge of topping forward, but it never quite happens. His hand lands heavily on Jack's shoulder. "--we're going to play out a scene that I happened to notice wasn't in the script."

"What scene is that?" Jack tries to pull one wrist up, push the other down, but there's no escaping Johnny's knot.

"The scene where he has the Commodore at his mercy. Don't you think that's fair?"

"Fair?"

Johnny bobs into his face, pauses with the word ripe on his lips, and then, finally, pushes it out: "Fair."

"Since when does a pirate concern himself with 'fair'?"

"Since when fair works in his favor. Enough chatter, Commodore. Let's go."

"Go where?" Jack asks as Johnny pivots him toward the water. When he realizes that "where" is "in there," he digs his heels into the wet sand near the water's edge.

"Come on, don't make me throw you over my shoulder and carry you in." Johnny tugs his elbow.

"I don't think that's safe, do you?" His wrists wriggle in their bonds. He'd be more than happy to wade in, if he had his hands.

"Perfectly safe, mate. Now be a good commodore and come along."

Jack resists the tug, looks Johnny in the eye when Johnny sets his hands on his shoulders and peers, smirking, into his face.

Johnny smiles and there's a dull flash of gold in the moonlight. "I could pull you in kicking and screaming, but you'd probably fall over and drown yourself so why don't we just do this instead? You. Trust me."

"Me? Trust you? Honestly, Sparrow." He shakes his shoulders loose of Johnny's grip. "I'd sooner trust a school of piranha."

Johnny makes a show of being hurt. Then he straightens. "Be that as it may...you're comin' in the water." As he turns toward the ocean, he pushes his arm into the crook of Jack's elbow, then he lifts his leg high and lurches forward.

What's my motivation here? Jack thinks. Why would I follow Sparrow into the water?

To his surprise, and a little to his excitement, he finds that he's thinking this as his feet are already following Johnny into the water. He wonders for a moment what his own motivation is but doesn't stay long in his self to find out--in the time it takes to take another step deeper into the surf, he's back into Norrington.

"How far out are we going?" he asks, knee-deep.

"Far enough."

"How far is that, exactly?" The water soaks his jeans above the knees.

Johnny turns suddenly, grabs Jack by the shoulders. Looks behind him. Considers. Takes a step back, pulling Jack with him, then another. The ocean--tropical and possessive--swirls around his thighs, licks his crotch.

"Get on your knees," Johnny says with pressure on Jack's shoulders.

"What?! I will not."

"Shhh. I have a theory I'd like to run by you. Get on your knees."

"What does your theory have to do with--"

"Knees now, Commodore, before I do worse than ask you sit in a pool of water."

"It's a bit more than a pool," Jack complains as he carefully lowers himself to one knee, then the other. The tide isn't strong enough to knock him about, but he sways and bobs with it nonetheless.

He opens his mouth in surprise when Johnny drops to his knees as well. They're face-to-face, chins over the water.

"Norrington's gay," Johnny whispers, dropping his hands once again on Jack's shoulders, this time with a quick squeeze.

"What?"

"I've gone over the script backwards and forwards. And I've watched the rushes, especially your scenes with Elizabeth and--"

"I ask her to marry me! How on earth can that be gay?"

"Sure you ask her to marry you because you're a closeted, career-minded gentleman living in a certain time. What on earth else would you do? You can't very well go down the streets of Port Royal hand-in-hand with Gilette--"

"Gilette!"

"So what happens is you see a smart match for yourself--you and the Governor's daughter, right?--and society at that time near-about dictates that you make that match.... But."

"But?"

"But Elizabeth might as well be a piece of furniture for all the interest you show--"

"Aren't I a bundle of nerves when I ask her--quite awkwardly--to marry me? Wouldn't that be construed as--"

"As a homosexual male asking for a woman's hand in marriage? Think about your speech! Have you? 'This promotion throws into sharp relief that which I have not yet achieved.' Jesus, man."

"I simply don't have a lot of experience with women, especially one of Elizabeth's--"

Johnny frowns.

"Plus, she intimidates me. I don't know what to do with her--"

"Because you're gay."

"I am not."

"Gay, gay, gay. And let's not forget that thing you have for me."

"What?!"

"Oh, come on, Norrington. It's as plain as...as plain as your nose on your face! Honestly, I can't see why you can't see it."

"I tried to have you killed. More than once. Shot, hanged...."

"Do I really need to explain to you why you've tried so hard to get rid of me?"

"Shut up."

Johnny, for a change, does, but his dark eyes gleam.

"So," Jack says finally, after a long frown. "What are you saying?"

"You're gay, commodore. Homo_sex_ual. That--" He flattens his palm against the front of Jack's soaked t-shirt, pushes his mouth alongside Jack's ear. "--you fancy men. No wonder you're in the navy."

"Shut up."

"You might not want me to shut up. What would I do with myself if I wasn't talking, I wonder?" His finger and thumb find Jack's nipple, already sensitized from the lapping of the water, and pinch. "Hmm," he muses as his hand flattens again. His palm drags the rough cloth of Jack's wet t-shirt up and down across the tortured nipple. "What would I do?"

Nerve endings Jack didn't know he had are rushing to attention. He's gripped by an urge to lean against Johnny's hard, slim body but counters it with fear of Johnny's discovering how gay Norrington really--and suddenly--is. So instead he pulls at his wrists, trying to get free. They could have a more sensible conversation if he had his hands, and permission to get up and walk out of the water.

"Come to think of it, if I didn't talk, my mouth would be free for other purposes." Johnny's tongue forges a scorching path along the side of Jack's neck.

Jack swallows hard. Turns his chin away. The ocean laps at his neck, pulls his body back and forth.

"Or this...." Johnny's tongue flickers over Jack's ear. Then he hovers for a moment, breathing a slow stream of hot, tickling wind against the delicate opening.

A shiver corkscrews up Jack's spine. His head tips back. His lips part. He pushes his chest forward against Johnny's still-roaming hand.

"Or...this." Johnny's tongue slides across Jack's lips. He tries to catch it. Instead, he gets Johnny grinning at him, eyes sparkling.

"See," Johnny says, pulling back. "Norrington's gay."

"So what if he is?"

"So...well, this."

Johnny cradles his jaw between his hands. Kisses him with soft lips that make Jack melt toward them.

Johnny's mouth curves into a smile, becomes momentarily serious as his tongue slides over Jack's teeth, then breaks once again into a grin without once breaking contact.

Jack hears a soft laugh jump from Johnny's throat just as Johnny pulls away. He straightens. Licks his lips.

"So what's with all this?" he asks, finally, twisting his shoulders to indicate his bound wrists, nodding at the water that surrounds them.

"Oh that! The game. I'd forgotten about the game. Here." Johnny gets to feet. The crotch of his Bermuda shorts--darkened by the ocean to the same color, in the moonlight, as his gold teeth--almost clears the surface of the water. A gentle wave pulls back and the water line dips to Johnny's thighs.

"Now, the object of this game--"

Jack watches Johnny's slender fingers work the buckle on his belt.

"--is to see if you can get me off before you drown."

"Drown?"

"Well, if the tide comes in."

"Is the tide coming in?"

Johnny looks over his shoulder. "Don't think so."

"So the drowning part...."

"Just for effect."

"Ah."

Johnny grins. "Well, that's the plan at least."

Jack twists his wrists. The water hasn't loosened the knot, or the loops around his wrist. The realization that he's still without the use of his hands sends a throb through him, all the way to soles of his feet.

In front of him, Johnny's slender fingers pull at the button on his shorts.

Excitement wells in Jack like a fever. He hitches his hips against the tide.

Johnny wades closer. His shorts, still zipped, stop a breath away.

Jack's lips part. He presses his mouth against their front, gently at first. Breathes in. Heat spreads across Jack's lips. His tongue reaches out to touch coarse, wet fabric. He sucks on it, drawing out the salt of the ocean. His lips, he's sure, are pressed against the shaft of Johnny's cock, buried beneath the shorts.

"I think you just might be able to do this, Commodore." His hands force Jack back as he moves to unzip his shorts.

"Delighted in your confidence in me, Sparrow," Jack says, his tone sardonic. His fingers, behind his back, curl, trying to reach the knot.

"That's Captain Sparrow."

"Whatever. Just let's get on with this."

"Captain Sparrow."

Jack watches Johnny lift his chin. His mouth becomes pregnant with the word "Captain," waiting for Jack to follow his lead and actually say it.

"Listen, Sparrow, you--"

Johnny's fingertips are hard when they grip Jack on either side of his mouth. Jack feels his own spittle, warm on his bottom lip.

"No, you listen. It's Captain. Captain Sparrow. Say it."

"No."

"Why not?"

"You don't deserve it. You're a pirate."

"Aye. A pirate captain. Say it." A tightened grip emphasizes his words.

"No." Jack jerks his head aside, free of Johnny's hold. He's panting. He wants to be touched. When Johnny twists his fingers into his hair and forces him to look up, he pulls the corners of his mouth down and renews his struggle with the loops that bind his wrists.

The water surges as Johnny drops to his knees. His fingers drag at Jack's hair. His mouth bangs against Jack's, pulls away, then returns, hungry, desperate.

In slow motion, one of Jack's wrists pulls free. He pushes his hands through the water. His arms close around Johnny's body. Johnny comes against him, crotch then stomach then chest. He pulls his mouth away, however, and peers at the surface of the water while, below it, his hands feel for Jack's hands

When his fingers close on the loose strip of cloth still tied to one of Jack's wrists, he says, "Damn it."

Jack laughs.

Johnny has a hold of the cloth and uses it to drag Jack's arm out of the water, bend it behind his head, but he has no place to tie it so he holds it there, which essentially ties up one of his own hands as well.

Jack catches him at the back of his neck, goes after his mouth with his own.

"You think it's that easy?" Johnny asks, pulling away.

"Think what's that easy?"

"Winning the game?"

"I think this game is far from over yet." He tugs at the front of Johnny's shorts, finishing the undoing that Johnny had started.

"Oh, so that's how it's gonna be?"

"Get up," Jack says, yanking on him. He notices the way water sloughs off Johnny's chest and stomach as Johnny stands. He keeps his free hand on Johnny the whole time, just as Johnny keeps his free hand twined in the loop of cloth at Jack's wrist.

"What now, love?" Johnny says, but Jack's moving even as the words are spoken.

Johnny tastes like the ocean. The salt makes Jack's lips tingle.

After a few minutes, though, Johnny tastes like Johnny.

Johnny won't let Jack's wrist--still held behind his head--go. He pushes it more sharply back as he gets excited. Jack's free hand grabs Johnny's ass, his back, his thigh. Then it circles around the base of Johnny's cock. Squeezes. His mouth sucks.

Johnny tastes the ocean.

Jack holds him tight around the waist when he rises onto his toes, feels like he's losing his balance, like he's about to topple forward.

"Can I have my arm back?" he asks, finally, waving the hand at the end of the arm he's speaking of. His elbow feels stiff.

"Get on the beach," Johnny murmurs, letting Jack's wrist go. He tugs at Jack's shoulders, helping--sort of--to Jack get to his feet. "Get on the beach."

He shoves Jack, starts walking right against him. Their feet tangle. They spill into the water.

"The beach." Johnny crawls on one arm and his knees as he tugs Jack along.

Jack tries to get back to his feet, but every time he just about makes it, Johnny, unwittingly, tows him back down. The water, at least, gets more shallow as they make their way toward shore.

"The beach," Johnny says again. He pulls Jack down once more, shoulders him onto his back. The waves lick as high as their hips before retreating.

"Okay, we're on the beach." Somewhat. Jack lifts his head. Johnny's crouched at his knees, wrestling with the fly on his jeans. The sides of his hands bump Jack's hard-on.

Jack drops his head on the wet sand. Grabs Johnny's shoulders. Lifts his hips so that Johnny can drag the heavy, sopping jeans down to his thighs. When he settles his ass back on the ground, wet sand like a tide of heavy slush pushes between his cheeks. For a moment, it's uncomfortable, but then Johnny's moist lips are tugging at him. The coarse sand against gets tumbled in with all the other sensations, and in another moment he finds himself pushing against the ground to exacerbate the feeling. More goes through his head. More of everything. More sand scraping his back. More salt drying on his lips. More of Johnny's fingernails scraping his chest. More of Johnny's sultry kisses on the insides of his thighs, the head of his cock.

More heat.

More urgency.

His fingers claw into the water-logged sand.

Waves tickle his thighs, tug at his ankles.

His muscles tense. His ass lifts off the ground. And he hangs there, poised on the brink until Johnny, who grabs his asscheeks in both hands while plunging his mouth down on his shaft, shoves him over the edge.

He sees stars, literally. Blinks at them. Tries to come back to reality, which he hadn't realized he'd left in the first place until the last waves of orgasm begin to retreat from his body.

"Well, there you go," Johnny says, sitting up.

Jack blinks at him. Funny...he'd imagined Johnny with the wig on. Doesn't know where he got that. Oh yes he does--Sparrow. He'd imagined Johnny as Sparrow so of course....

He pushes up onto his elbows, watches Johnny stand up, step out of the shorts that are tangled around his feet. It's a wonder they weren't lost during their scramble out of the ocean.

"That was fun, wasn't it?" Johnny frowns at his shorts. Clumps of wet sand drop off.

"Yeah, that was fun."

Jack doesn't want to move. He stretches. His jeans are still around his thighs. With a grunt, he pushes onto his knees, considers taking the time to wipe the sand off his ass or sit in the ocean to wash it away, then tosses out the consideration. He'll take a shower back in his suite. A steamy, relaxing shower. He tugs the jeans up over the grit--and wouldn't admit to his closest friends how good that grit felt rubbing against his post-orgasm skin.

"Well, then, I'll be seeing ya." Johnny lifts a hand.

"Yeah. Oh--hey."

"Yeah?"

"This...." He glances toward the ocean to collect his words. "I just want to make it clear. About this."

Johnny watches him, waiting.

"It's Norrington, okay? Who's gay, I mean. Not...well, you know."

Johnny continues watching him for a moment, expressionless, until finally the corners of his mouth turn upward. "Well, duh."

Jack lets out a self-conscious laugh. Well, duh.

"That all?"

"Yeah."

Johnny raises a hand again, tosses his shorts over his shoulder, turns away.

Jack, forearms resting across his knees, watches Johnny's lean, brown body swagger up the beach in the glow of the moon.

Jack's jeans and t-shirt start to feel clammy against his skin. Already, though, he's thinking of what Norrington would do with Sparrow if he had the pirate locked in his brig all night. Disney, it occurs to him, probably didn't have this sort of thing in mind when it optioned the film. But Johnny was right. Norrington was most definitely gay.


* * *