Archive of Our Own

Commodore James Norrington could not only sense the unwelcome presence that lurked in his bedroom, he could put a name to it. A very particular aroma hung around this individual, rather as if it were his own odd and elusive curse. Rum. Mostly. Norrington sniffed and frowned, wondering how wise it would be to dwell on what the other elements might be, although the pirate actually smelt a good deal less offensive than he had done on their previous encounters.

Convention demanded that Norrington should be thoroughly alarmed by this nocturnal visitation; he refused to pay convention any heed. His current opinion of the intruder was shifting in some very strange directions indeed, but of one thing he was certain: for all his multitudinous shortcomings, the man had shown none of the characteristics of a hole-and-corner killer. Murder, therefore, was most likely not his purpose, although precisely what he did have in mind was impossible to predict.

"Jack Sparrow," he said flatly.

"That's Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please. On account of the fact that I now have a ship – a detail which I can only assume has temporarily slipped your mind seeing as you were in the vicinity when I was reunited with my Pearl."

Sparrow sounded altogether too cheerful. Norrington heaved a sigh, opened his eyes and focussed them on a dark figure lounging insolently in the shadows against the far wall. "What are you doing here? And how the devil did you get in, anyway?"

"Ah, now that was merely a question of waiting for the opportune moment." Sparrow sashayed out of the shadows and grinned. Even by Port Royal's standards, it was a hot, sultry night; this was presumably why Sparrow had abandoned the hat, coat and waistcoat. Nothing now distracted from the way his shirtfront hung open and revealed considerably more naked skin than Norrington was comfortable seeing. Although he might not be fearful for his life, his peace of mind was entirely another matter.

"It's a nice room, you got here, Commodore. Very … roomy." Sparrow twirled, arms outstretched, looking for all the world as if he was about to indulge some strange heathen dance. Instead, he started to saunter around the place, long fingers darting out to touch some fabric or slide against the sleek grain of wood. Pausing at the dressing table, Sparrow took a moment to regard Norrington's powdered wig with a scornful curl of his lip. Then he moved on and began selecting items at seeming random, picking them up and tossing them from hand to hand. Those with lids, he opened, sniffing at the contents. "Lots of nice things."

"Leave them alone," Norrington said. Realising that he was watching Sparrow's perambulations with undue fascination, he hastily rearranged his features into a scowl. "Just answer my question!"

"What question?"

"The one about what you're doing in my bedroom!"

"There's a good reason for that. Honest, there is." Sparrow cocked his head to one side, his hands fluttering explanations as fluently as his lips. "It's 'cause you're a hard man to find by your oneses, and I wasn't all that keen on renewing our acquaintance when you were in the company of folks like Gillette, folks who'd sooner give me a bellyful of lead than a kiss."

"Can you blame them?" Norrington raised one eyebrow, wondering what else Sparrow expected.

"I'm a pirate so it's no more than my due, is that it? Must be very convenient for you, not having to think overmuch for yourself, just hiding behind Society's narrow way of looking at things."

Sparrow's course had steered him to the very edge of Norrington's bed. Now the pirate finally halted, staring brazenly down at Norrington.

"I'm not hiding behind anything," Norrington retorted, suddenly aware that this was, in fact, almost a literal truth; his naked body was screened from Sparrow's sharp, dark gaze by merely the flimsiest of linen sheets.

Sparrow's eyes raked Norrington's body with unabashed interest. "So I see."

Norrington tried to pretend he hadn't noticed, praying that his body didn't turn traitor on him. The alarming fact that his opinion of Sparrow had shifted far enough for him to find the man strangely alluring was absolutely no excuse for giving in to lust - even allowing for the sad truth that Norrington no longer had any reason to repress his natural impulses.

"Sparrow, I require no great mental prowess to form my own opinion of you: as a pirate, you are, by definition, a vile and dissolute creature."

"Now, there's no call to go hurling insults around. Not when I come at considerable danger to myself to say I'm much obliged to you for giving me that day's head start."

"Are you telling me that you've risked your life to turn up in my bedroom to say thank you? Even by your standards, that has to be the most outrageous, implausible, idiotic –"

"Are you saying that you don't believe me?"

"Sparrow, I make it a point of honour never to believe you."

Sparrow didn't look at all insulted by this. He grinned, gold teeth winking bright as the genuine amusement in his eyes. "So tell me, why do you think I'm here then?"

"I have absolutely no idea," Norrington said wearily. "And I really wish you weren't."

"I've always liked you," Sparrow said, in relation to absolutely nothing that Norrington could think of.

Norrington closed his eyes, wondering just how much more of this he could possibly put up with. "Oh please!"

"A fine, upstanding naval officer in a very nice uniform – lots of shiny buttons – what's not to like? Well, apart from the fact that fine, upstanding officers such as yourself always seem to want to hang me by the neck until I'm very, very dead." Sparrow's voice continued to haunt his ears, and to Norrington's dismay, he felt the bed move as Sparrow apparently settled himself down on it. "Only you and me, it's not like that, on account of us having a special relationship."

Norrington's eyes flew open, and then he rather wished they hadn't. Jack Sparrow was leaning towards him and was entirely too close for comfort. "Sparrow, believe me, the only reason I'm not summoning the marines at this very moment is out of courtesy to the Turners." That, and the fact that if Jack Sparrow was known to have been cavorting in the Commodore's bedroom, Norrington's reputation as a fearsome pirate hunter would be in shreds. Thanks to Sparrow's previous antics, said reputation was already looking frayed round the edges. "And we do not have a special relationship!"

"'Course we do! No shame in admitting it, James … it is James, isn't it? I always knew you'd warm up to me." Was it Norrington's fevered imagination or was the damned pirate actually leering at him now? Whatever the truth of that, there was no doubt about the fact that Sparrow was patting Norrington's leg in a display of unsettling familiarity. "Now tell me, James, do you always sleep in the buff, or did you know I'd be visiting tonight?"

So many responses to this presented themselves in Norrington's mind that he was incapable of articulating any of them; he was left speechless, his mouth opening and shutting like a stranded fish.

Having thrown Norrington's thoughts into complete disarray, Sparrow was free to warm to his theme. "You could have been waiting for some doxy to warm your bed. Only, you see, I've been here a couple of days and made my enquiries, and it does seem as if there's no lad or lass that keeps you company a-night. Gossip has it that you're pining for the fair Miss Swann. Now, celibacy is all well and good for monks and suchlike, but for a fine, upstanding man as yourself –"

"Get out! Now!" Norrington strove for a commanding tone, but was humiliatingly aware that it sounded more like a girlish squeak of outrage.

"Why, James, you wouldn't be going all dainty on me, now would you? And there I was thinking we were both men o' the world." Never taking his eyes away from Norrington, Sparrow allowed one hand to drift onto Norrington's leg. Then, with a look that could only be described as predatory, he began to slide that hand up and down the said extremity.

"Captain Sparrow, kindly take your hand from my leg!" Norrington ground out, fighting the urge to either rage or whimper.

"Now, why would I be wanting to do that 'Tis a very nice leg, firm and well-fleshed." Sparrow's hand slid relentlessly over Norrington's kneecap and squeezed his thigh.

With a strangled oath, Norrington sat up and grabbed hold of that offending hand. Sparrow seemed to have been ready for some such manoeuvre for, far from trying to resist, he threw his whole weight forward onto Norrington with predictable results: an avalanche of beads and braids smacked Norrington's face as he crashed backwards against the bed - with Jack Sparrow sprawled on top of him.

Just when Norrington was telling himself it couldn't possibly get any worse, Sparrow gave that utterly depraved grin of his and began to rub himself against Norrington's crotch with all the subtlety of a rutting dog.

Objecting to this cavalier use of his body, Norrington twisted and rolled them both over. He managed to lose the bed sheet in the process, but succeeding in his aim of trapping the pirate under him. Sparrow's expressive face flashed momentary confusion, and Norrington didn't even trouble to suppress a smile of satisfaction at that small victory. For once, he'd finally caught the wretched man unawares. Regrettably, once he'd recovered from his initial surprise, Sparrow didn't appear too concerned by this reversal of their situations.

"Now, that was an interesting little tactic!"

"I prefer to be in control." Norrington kept his voice cool and focussed, trying to ignore the fact that his treacherous body was proudly proclaiming the fact that he was in nowhere near as much in command of it as he pretended. "And this way I'm not in any danger of having my eyes poked out by those damn beads of yours."

"So now you're set on poking me," Sparrow observed slyly with a quick jerk of his hips to emphasise the point, "and not with any damn beads either."

Norrington's body demanded to launch an immediate counter-offensive; he forced it back to order. "So, the real reason for this nocturnal escapade of yours was to seduce me."

"Seduce!" Sparrow declaimed the word with all the fervour of a lovestruck poet. "That's such a pretty word, isn't it? True, it doesn't quite convey exactly what I had in mind, but it will serve well enough."

"Doesn't it bother you that I now have the upper hand?"

"You can be on top if you like, mate. On the Pearl, of course, it'd be a different story on account of my not wanting the crew to think their illustrious captain was happy to be shafted by any old Tom, Dick or … James."

"Shut up." Losing patience with the entire situation, Norrington tried to summon up the proper feelings of revulsion and push himself away. Only somehow his hands were instead scrabbling over the faded red bandana to tangle in any dark knots of hair they could find, and he was actually tugging the pirate's face up towards his own. And he was not revolted at all, particularly not when he succeeded in dragging Sparrow's mouth to meet his.

Sparrow's lips parted eagerly enough under Norrington's rushed assault. Almost as if the pirate had been expecting it, damn him! The moustache prickled, but not unpleasantly so, and Sparrow's lips were considerably softer than Norrington had imagined they would be. He found he liked the supple slide of them against his own rougher mouth very much; liked, too, the way Sparrow's tongue teased and flirted against his, as impudent as the man himself. Sparrow tasted, predictably, of rum and the sea. Salt, liquor and a warm tang of spice, a strange compound of the familiar and the exotic, battered Norrington's senses as their mouths clashed.

Norrington lifted his mouth, altering his grip until he was cupping Sparrow's narrow face in his hands. He slid his thumbs across the small patch of beard below Sparrow's lower lip, then toyed with the beaded goatee that stuck out from the pirate's chin - a ridiculous affectation, as were the dice and tawdry bits and bobs threaded into the black mane of hair. Letting this tatterdemalion finery spill through his fingers, Norrington wondered what each item signified - if, indeed, any of them meant anything at all.

"I always did see you as a man who'd be more than happy to play with me baubles." Sparrow grinned up at him, unabashedly smug.

Norrington didn't bother to deny it: he knew full well that his lofty resolve to remain immune to the pirate's dubious charms was now in shreds. He skated a finger across a high cheekbone, and then slid it through the sooty smudge of kohl under an eye.

"Why the devil do you wear this stuff?"

"Protects my eyes. From the sun. You should try it."

"I think not." Norrington's mouth twitched, imagining the expression on Gillette's face should his senior officer appear on the bridge of the Dauntless with his eyes adorned in pagan paint.

"Ah!"

"Ah what?" Norrington felt the touch of Sparrow's long fingers, snaking around his waist in a bold embrace.

"So you do have a sense of humour. Must admit I was starting to wonder."

"Really. I'm naked, I have you pinned under me on my bed, and you think I don't have a sense of humour?" Norrington settled back on his haunches, still nestled between the pirate's legs, making a very immodest display of his state of arousal and taking a certain amount of pleasure in doing so. Sparrow's hands fell back against the bed. His smile widened with frank appreciation as he switched his gaze from Norrington's face to a rather more eye-catching part of his body.

"Why, you are indeed a fine, upstanding naval officer! That's a splendid weapon you have at your disposal, but how skilled are you at using it?"

"You'll know soon enough." Sparrow's flattering regard was doing little to subdue Norrington's lust, but he grit his teeth and tamped down on it. This was not the time for rash action: this was the moment he stamped his authority on this shameless rogue and made it clear who was in charge here.

Leaning forward, he took hold of Sparrow's shirt and ripped it open; the fabric tore apart easily enough to an indignant squawk of protest from the pirate.

"That's me best shirt, you bastard! Me only shirt, as it happens! I'd have taken it off quick enough if you'd bothered to ask!"

"That wasn't the point." It was Norrington's turn to smile. He spread one hand, pressing his cool fingertips against the warm skin at the base of Sparrow's throat. Sparrow swallowed involuntarily, and that quick jump of his pulse was enough to make Norrington momentarily light-headed with lust. He drew in a long, slow breath and then, licking a bead of sweat from his top lip, Norrington let his fingers slide possessively across the sun-darkened skin he'd exposed, and then allowed his fingers to roam more freely still. The half incoherent mumbles of approval that spilled from Sparrow's lips at these advances only encouraged Norrington in his shameless display of self-indulgence. Sparrow's body curved greedily into his touch, and Norrington revelled in it.

Giving in to temptation, Norrington licked a finger and stroked delicately around one of Sparrow's nipples. Then, without warning, he pinched the hard nub and tweaked it lightly. Sparrow's hips twitched noticeably, and he groaned. Not all men appreciated such attentions but it was clearly to Sparrow's liking, and Norrington prided himself on having forgotten none of the old tricks. In short order, the judicious application of his lips and tongue had the pirate making tiny appreciative whimpers, a development that Norrington found decidedly satisfying. When he rather reluctantly came up for air, he was aware of a new expression in Sparrow's eyes.

"By the Lord, that's a wonderful talent you have there, James!"

"Thank you." Norrington considered that any note of smugness that crept into his voice then was justifiable. "I trust you didn't really imagine I was celibate just because you failed to unearth any gossip about me? I'm well accustomed to finding pleasure in the company of men. My objection to you is not that you are male, merely to the fact that you are a pirate and, as such, my sworn enemy."

"Ah," a rebuking finger wagged under his nose, "but you're not objecting to me all that much. Else I'd not be lying here with you molesting me like you haven't had a good shag in months."

That was a palpable hit. Norrington drew his brows together in a scowl. Once his course had been set towards wooing Elizabeth Swann, he'd been compelled to be even more discreet than was his custom.

"Before you get too carried away, you'll be needing this." Sparrow flipped a small, lidded jar towards Norrington, who caught it by reflex.

"And this would be …?" A mild skin balm purloined from his dressing table. "I see. It would be mine."

A sly smile crossed Sparrow's face. "It fell into my hands, as it were. I reckoned that a smooth navigation of the Windward Passage would be in both our interests, savvy?"

"Indeed." Norrington understood very well: Sparrow's apparently endless self-belief could be decidedly unnerving at times. The pirate had obviously been so certain of his conquest that he'd lost no time in pilfering Norrington's own possessions to assist proceedings. "You're far too sure of yourself, Sparrow. It's a lamentable weakness."

"But I had you fathomed, didn't I?" Sparrow's long fingers jabbed to emphasise the word. His voice dropped to a smoky purr and he grinned up at Norrington. "I knew you couldn't resist my manifold charms."

"Your manifold charms are, I fear, decidedly overrated. You, Sparrow, are an acquired taste."

"One that I note you're most intent on sampling."

"So it would seem. Let's just say that my tastes are a lot more diverse than I realised." Keeping his movements unhurried, Norrington shifted backwards, leaning to each side in turn so that he could tug off the pirate's boots. Then he unbuckled Sparrow's belt and scabbard, letting them slide gently to the floor. "You won't be needing that."

"Will I not?" Sparrow rolled his hips, the unmistakable bulge in his breeches shoving hard against Norrington's thigh. "And there I was thinking I might need it to threaten you with if you don't get a move on."

"Impatient wretch, aren't you?"

"James, love, we both know you're set on buggering me. It's only a question of when."

"When I'm good and ready, Sparrow. When I'm good and ready."

Norrington placed his hands on Sparrow's hips and held him still for a long moment. Sparrow tensed, his breathing quickening. For once in his life he was silent, but his eyes never left Norrington's face. Unnerved by the stark intensity of that gaze, Norrington fumbled briefly with the buttons on Sparrow's breeches, and then roughly reached his hand inside.

Sparrow's mouth fell open with a whine of pleasure and he thrust himself eagerly against Norrington's hand. Norrington smiled with a fierce satisfaction, his initial touch quickly developing into something considerably more stimulating. Sparrow squirmed, his face flushing darker still, white teeth catching his lower lip. To know that he could rouse such a wanton reaction in Jack Sparrow caused Norrington no small gratification, even though he reminded himself tartly that a tavern whore could probably boast as much. But no tavern whore, no matter how skilled she was at her profession, would be able to accomplish what Norrington had set his mind on next. The very thought of it set a warm wave of colour rising in his own face, and increased the pleasurable ache of anticipation in his groin.

When that ache threatened to become more uncomfortable than enjoyable, and Sparrow was showing signs of becoming a little too responsive to the attention he was being paid, Norrington made his next move. Sparrow made no protest beyond a mumble of regret as Norrington's hand released him. He raised his hips slightly as Norrington began to slide his breeches off, obligingly lifted each leg in turn so that Norrington could strip them away completely. Moments later, the breeches joined Sparrow's boots and effects already discarded on the floor, and then the sight and scent of a naked and aroused Jack Sparrow threatened to wipe out what was left of Norrington's remaining composure.

He shoved his damp hair out of his eyes and drew one shaking hand across his forehead. Earlier, he'd thought the night almost unbearably humid, but that was nothing in comparison to the heat that now fired through every nerve of his body. Breathing was hard: every time he inhaled, he drank in the heady musk of Sparrow's body, and it had obviously been too damn long since he'd lain with anyone if even a shameless villain like Sparrow could have this effect on him.

It didn't help that the shameless villain himself knew exactly what was going through Norrington's head. He stared up at Norrington with those hell-dark eyes, a wicked smile playing on his slightly parted lips as if Norrington's attempt to reason away his lust was all one huge elaborate joke. No doubt it was as far as Sparrow was concerned. He was a pirate: this dalliance with the enemy probably wouldn't even rank as a crime in his eyes, only as an amusing diversion.

Something in Norrington rebelled at that notion. He leaned forward and roughly pulled the pillow out from under Sparrow; the pirate looked a little piqued as his tousled head thumped back down on the mattress to a jangle of beads, but his expression soon brightened when the pillow was shoved under his backside. Catching up the pot of balm, Norrington removed the lid and scooped out a generous amount of the salve, coating his fingers. Jack Sparrow would remember this night as not just another of his amusing diversions, but as the night when he received the most exquisite reaming of his degenerate life.

Norrington eased first one slick finger up inside the pirate's body and then another. Sparrow seemed rather more discomfited by this than was reasonable, although he made no protest. The possibility that he might be less accustomed to taking this role than he'd earlier intimated had never occurred to Norrington before, but it was one that now forced itself into his consideration. Whatever the truth of it, Sparrow wasn't inclined to much more by way of foreplay. He raised his legs, drawing his knees back against his body.

"That'll do, James. I'm ready enough."

The husky coaxing of Sparrow's voice slid like a velvet rasp through Norrington's mind. He shivered and let his fingers slide free, smoothing the balm liberally over his own flesh and positioning himself for that first, firm push up inside Sparrow's body. He had intended a measured assault, but … dear heaven! … the exquisite friction as he eased inside Sparrow's body almost undid all his best intentions.

Struggling to regain some semblance of self-control, Norrington paused. Sparrow's quick, harsh gulps for breath matched his own, his body tense and expectant. Norrington withdrew a fraction, pressing back in with a deeper, longer stroke before pausing again. Sparrow's pink tongue flickered over dry lips.

"You keep stopping. Why do you keep stopping?"

"Because I want to be absolutely certain you're ready to accommodate such a fine, upstanding gentleman as myself." Norrington trusted it would be forgiven if his voice was considerably more unsteady than was customary.

"What more do you need? A bloody written invitation?" Sparrow bucked his hips and Norrington gave in. One fierce jerk forward, and he thrust his way in fully, deep inside Jack Sparrow.

Sparrow gave a strangled yelp. Anticipating some such reaction, Norrington leaned forward and just about managed to clamp his mouth over Sparrow's, muffling most of the sound. Sparrow's breathing was ragged and fast, and Norrington's head was spinning, beads of sweat trickling down his face. He lifted his mouth, and Sparrow sucked in a long shuddering breath.

"Too much noise, Sparrow!" Norrington muttered unevenly. "Far too much noise…"

Sparrow smiled, his fingers catching in Norrington's hair and tugging his head down again. His warm breath gusted against Norrington's mouth. "Aye, well … I never was one to engage in pleasure quietly." He gave Norrington no time to respond, but pulled him roughly into a rapacious kiss. As Sparrow's mouth plundered his, all heat and hunger, the flame of desire kindled inside Norrington into a white-hot need.

Even before the kiss had ended, he was thrusting hard into Sparrow with all the reckless abandon of a man diving headlong into unknown waters. Suddenly blind to anything except his own need to seize what was being so freely offered, he sank willingly into the darkness, not caring whether he ever emerged again.

Back and forth they surged, driven entirely by the unpredictable will of Jack Sparrow. One moment Sparrow yielded to him, outwardly complaisant, but the next he would pitch crazily back up against Norrington with all the fierceness of storm wave, urging him deeper, harder, faster. Norrington adjusted his angle and strokes accordingly, sometimes spearing Sparrow with short sharp thrusts, sometimes sliding deeply into him with a long, slow caress. As each moment passed, so Sparrow grew more demanding, more greedy. Norrington was more than willing to respond in kind and Sparrow groaned as each hard shove of Norrington's impelled them both backwards, rattling the headboard of the bed and jarring the springs until they creaked in protest.

Norrington had some vague awareness that the increasingly frenzied nature of their coupling meant that overbalancing and toppling off the bed was becoming a distinct possibility; and the thud of the two of them crashing to the floor would surely wake everyone within earshot. But that knowledge had to be balanced with the fact that it was worth every risk to feel that lithe body clamped, hot and sweating, to his own, and to see Sparrow's eyes wide open, dark as sin and lost in lust.

Blood pounded in Norrington's head, his breath increasingly harsh and ragged. He knew he was getting close, each thrust more urgent than the last. One final fierce plunge into the tight, dark recess of Sparrow's body tipped Norrington over the edge. Waves of unholy pleasure crashed through him, his body shook, his face contorting, but scarcely a sound escaped his lips. He knew it was perversion, and knew too that he sinned doubly to take his pleasure like this with an enemy of the Crown. Yet at that moment he would not have had it any other way.

Thoroughly sated and gulping for breath, Norrington slumped forward on top of Sparrow's sweating, slippery body, momentarily oblivious to the fact that Sparrow was still desperate for his own release. Only when he found his hand snatched, and clamped firmly around Sparrow's own hard flesh in the most peremptory of manners, did Norrington guiltily rouse himself into action.

Skin flushed, teeth catching at his lower lip, Sparrow squirmed and gripped one hand in the tangled sheets. His face wore a look of delighted torment as Norrington worked on him with slow and sensuous caresses. But after a few moments of this, Sparrow's other hand clutched importunately around Norrington's neck.

"Please!"

Undone by this unexpected begging, Norrington quickened his movements until Sparrow trembled, writhing on the brink. A few more swift strokes were all it took. Finally coaxed to completion, Sparrow's hips jerked wildly, his fingernails digging sharply into Norrington's skin. Norrington dipped his head, swallowing the sound as Sparrow's mouth fell open on a series of hoarse cries.

When he'd finished, Norrington slid his head sideways into the curve of Sparrow's neck and closed his eyes. Neither of them seemed to have the energy to pull away and disentangle themselves from each other so they simply lay there, wrapped together in a sticky, sated heap. Norrington sank into the lassitude, aware of Sparrow's breathing mirroring his own, slowing and slackening off. Then Sparrow's warm, sweaty fingers were touching Norrington's face in a rough caress and he opened his eyes reluctantly.

"I think we've made a bit of a mess on your nice bed."

Norrington groaned and shifted, becoming aware of the bed linen plastered to every bit of his anatomy it could reach. "So it would seem."

Once they'd wiped themselves down, it was easiest to bundle up all the bed linen and abandon it in a heap on the floor. So much for discretion, Norrington mused, allowing Sparrow to tug him back onto the bed. But then, what need did he have now for caution? Elizabeth was lost to him, and it would take rather more than stained bed linen before any authority would be willing to prosecute him for sodomy.

Sparrow sighed, a deep sound of satisfaction, and then carefully rearranged his limbs, giving them a little shake or pat as if to reassure himself that everything was still in working order. Then without so much as a by-your-leave, he turned on his side and pressed himself close to Norrington, draping an arm across Norrington's chest in comfortable familiarity.

"You know, you're not such a stick once you get going, James. And when you said you were accustomed to finding pleasure in the company of men, you were telling me no more than the truth, I'll give you that."

Norrington grunted something non-committal in reply. Now that his wholly inappropriate lust had been quite thoroughly sated, something resembling reason was beginning to reassert itself and ask some pointed questions.

"Satisfying though this interlude undoubtedly was, I'm having some difficulty in coming up with a reason why you would endanger yourself on such a venture. It was rash, Sparrow, even for you."

"Well now, let's see." Sparrow tapped one long finger on his chin in mock contemplation, and then paused. "Ah, I have it! You're a fine looking man, James, and I had a fancy to lie with you … under you…."

"Really."

"Really. Of course, I knew there was a slight risk that you would respond with less fervour than I hoped to my proposition, but only a very slight one, and once you and I had got to know each other more … intimately … as you are a man of honour –"

Norrington's eyes narrowed. "Let me see if I have this clear. Does your current line of reasoning run something like this: that as I am a man of honour, now I've bedded you, I'll be unable to see you hanged."

"Never crossed me mind, mate." Sparrow's expression was guileless. Norrington didn't believe it for a moment, and his well-founded scepticism must have shown in his face for Sparrow added hurriedly: "Well, maybe it did cross me mind, but only a little bit. Truth is … ah, but I've told you the truth already: all I wanted was the pleasure of your company."

"And if in a week, a month from now when I run you to ground, it's my pleasure to hang you?"

"Mate, when we're done here, I'll do what I must do and you'll do what you must do."

Norrington shook his head. "I don't understand you."

"Aye, well, you take some understanding yourself, James, if you don't mind me mentioning it. Now, you and me, we've just had ourselves a nice little romp, no denying that."

"I have no intention of denying it."

Sparrow nodded. "And that's what I don't understand. You're a fine gentleman who likes the company of other fine gentleman."

Norrington's mouth twitched at that appellation applied, evidently in all seriousness, to Jack Sparrow.

Sparrow sailed on, regardless. "So, given all that, what I can't quite get me head around is why you should take it upon yourself to court the lovely Miss Swann."

Norrington had every intention of telling Sparrow to mind his own damn business, but instead found himself offering a clumsy explanation almost as if the pirate had earned a right to it. "Elizabeth was … is … different. And I didn't just 'take into my head' to court her: I've watched her grow into a fine young woman; and she has a fire and spirit that's a match for any man's. Had we wed, I would not have continued my … other associations."

Sparrow watched him, for once without a mocking gleam in his eyes or a smile on his lips. "Like I said, you're a man of honour, James. Too honourable for your own good. Chances are you'd have made Lizzie's life, and your own, bloody miserable – you do know that, don't you?"

Norrington found himself strangely unwilling to meet the sharp scrutiny of Sparrow's eyes. "I will arrange my life as I choose. Don't presume to –"

"Shhhh!" Sparrow sat up and cocked his head on one side, suddenly alert as if he was listening for – sensing? – something beyond the room. Norrington raised his head and listened too, but detected nothing beyond the usual night noises.

Then Sparrow gave his head a little shake, and patted Norrington's knee. "I'd best be off then. Wouldn't want to fall asleep in your bed and still be there when morning comes."

"Quite."

"It would be a terrible embarrassment for us to be caught, wouldn't it?" Sparrow slipped off the bed.

"On account of us both being men. Yes. Society isn't overly indulgent of those of us who live a little differently."

"Wouldn't know about Society. I was thinking more on account of you being bloody Commodore Norrington. I have a reputation too, and it wouldn't be helped any if the Brethren knew I'd been buggered by the most hated man in the Caribbean."

"I'm the most hated man in the Caribbean?" This was a new notion to Norrington, and it rather took him aback.

"By the Brethren," Sparrow qualified, adding glibly, "I'm sure Society rates you very highly, and for precisely the same reasons."

Sparrow began scrabbling around for his discarded clothes, perching on the side of the bed as he stuck his feet into his breeches. Norrington watched him.

"If I catch you, I'll have to hang you."

"No, you don't, actually. But as long as you think you do, it comes to the same thing." Sparrow stood up, hauled his breeches up over his hips and fastened them with quick fingers. Then he ducked down, gathering up his effects. He stared ruefully at his ruined shirt, shrugged and let it fall.

"I'm not saying I wouldn't regret it."

"Well, there's a thing." Sparrow stood up, dropping his boots on the bed. "You'd regret hanging me, but you'd do it anyway."

"My duty –"

"Ah yes, your duty. Duty to whom, may I ask?"

"To the Crown. To my country. To the law-abiding citizens of the Caribbean –"

Sparrow settled back on the bed and began easing on his boots. "You have a duty of care, I see that well enough. But what about those times when your duty conflicts with your conscience?"

"You see a conflict where none exists."

"Really? In that case, why would you regret hanging me, then?"

"I… I don't actually know."

"Ah well." Sparrow's quick glance at Norrington was all too perceptive; he looked away as he fastened up his belt and checked his cutlass. "Probably best not to dwell overmuch on that little contradiction. Wouldn't want his Majesty's finest forced to redefine either his duty or his conscience, now would we?"

"I'm not in a position to make private judgements, damn it! I'm sworn to uphold the whole of the law; I can't pick and choose which parts of it I administer!" Norrington took a deep breath. "It doesn't have to be like this, Sparrow. Worse men than you have taken the King's Pardon and sail free because of it. Would you consider such an option?"

"Well now, that would rather depend on if there were any profit in it for me."

"Isn't the prospect of prolonging your life sufficient profit?"

"I will arrange my life as I choose." Sparrow deliberately tossed Norrington's own words back at him as he stood up, a cocky glint in his eye. "And I'll not be pinned down till I'm in my coffin."

"Coffin? There'll be no coffin for you, Sparrow. You'll be dancing on nothing, and then strung up on Deadman's Cay for the gulls to feast on. Is that really what you want?"

"Doesn't matter what I want: we're each set on our own course. And out at sea, when you're in your ship and I'm in mine, if our paths should cross then there'll be no quarter asked."

"And none given." The fact that Norrington's response was instinctive did not make it any less true. What other choice did he have?

The silence that followed was not entirely comfortable as both of them tracked those words to their logical conclusion. Norrington looked away, setting his mouth in a thin firm line, which every single man under his command would have recognised as meaning the Commodore was not going to budge on this point. He half expected Sparrow, being Sparrow, to argue the point, but he did nothing of the sort. After a moment or two, Norrington heard him move lightly across the floor, and then registered the squeak of his wardrobe door. He turned his head sharply.

Sparrow was helping himself to one of Norrington's shirts, completely untroubled about being caught in the act. He smiled affably as he stuck his arms into one of the shirts. It was too big for him.

"Fair's fair. You ripped my shirt, I steal yours." Sparrow fingered the fabric appreciatively. "Lovely quality."

"Yes, I know," Norrington said resignedly. "That happens to be my best shirt."

"Ah, but it's not your only shirt, is it?"

His point made, Sparrow grinned cheerfully and sauntered across to the open window. Norrington belatedly realised that was probably his point of entry. Years of shinning up and down masts would mean that the second floor posed very little challenge, providing he managed to elude or dupe the guards. How he'd managed to accomplish that would have to be looked into. Discreetly, of course. There was, after all, no point in advertising Sparrow's presence here after the event.

"Ah well." Sparrow gave a little shake of his head, the beads jingling slightly. "Ta, love. Till next time, eh?"

The curtains rippled in the wake of Sparrow's departure, creating the illusion of a breeze and casting a sliver of predawn light into the shadowed room. A vine rustled briefly by the window, and then there was a yawning silence. Norrington allowed himself a tiny smile. Until next time.

Indeed.

~THE END~