Jjail

Footsteps on the stairs in the middle of the afternoon had Norrington tensing
markedly, rising to his feet, no doubt wondering if a little more
assassin-bashing were in order. The curvaceous, sultry young woman -- dark of
hair and eye, tawny of skin, short enough to make Jack feel tall -- who
stormed into the corridor outside the cell seemed to take him by surprise.

Not so much Jack, who'd been rather expecting her.

She lit into him in rapid-fire Spanish that he almost couldn't follow at all.
By the time he'd languorously stood, stretched, shaken straw from his hair, and
finally made his way to the bars opposite her, she'd poured out more words than
he thought he'd spoken himself in the past three days. And it looked to be
going on a while longer.


Norrington, he noticed absently, was again being quite thoroughly ignored. This
wouldn't do a thing for the man's confidence, honestly.

"Now Alondra, darling," he tried to interject when the torrent
briefly slowed. Eyes flashing dangerously, she launched into an even more
energetic flood that sounded to his somewhat overwhelmed ears to be part
dressing down, part long-winded narrative, and possibly part joke (though she
sure was taking her time getting to the punchline).

Resigned to patience, Jack propped a shoulder to the bars, crossed his arms and
waited.

Eventually he managed to interject a few words in his faltering Spanish. She
listened intently. Spoke sharply, and they went back and forth for what seemed
a long time but probably wasn't, given the speed at which the woman spoke.

Jack's thumb jabbed over his shoulder at Norrington when they reached that part
of the discussion. She deigned to glance. Frowned. Asked a question.


Jack jerked his head imperatively. "C'mere, James."

He did so, eyeing her with the uncertainty of a man who seldom met such a
vociferous woman and worried that she might have fangs.

Alondra reached through the bars fearlessly and grabbed Norrington's jaw to
pull his face down. He winced only a little. Tried a tight, mannerly smile.
"Miss."

She paid no notice. Frowned more, then spoke tersely.

"Ahh," Jack said, "but you should see him cleaned up,
love." Then, remembering that her English was nowhere near so reliable as
her father's, he repeated it in the appropriate tongue.


"What are you saying, Sparrow?"

"Jack. And quiet, man. Can you not see I'm negotiating?"

Alondra released his face. Looked doubtfully at Jack. He put his hand over his
heart. "Prometo, querida."

Her lips pursed thoughtfully. "Béselo."


Uh oh. Jack's eyes shifted back and forth, from commodore to, ah, fiancée.
"¿Qué?"

A steady look of challenge from her deep chestnut eyes. "Béselo."

"¿Aquí? ¿Ahora?"

"Sí," she answered firmly.


Sighing, nodding, he turned to the commodore. Put a hand to his chest and
nudged him back, back.

"Jack." Norrington -- no, James, best think of him as James
now -- didn't appear particularly comfortable with his negotiating skills.
"What the devil is going on?"

Jack pitched his voice low and intimate. "It's like this, mate: I've asked
for you."


"What does that--"

"As a wedding gift."

Norrington -- James -- dropped his jaw. Stared.

Good. The less discussion here, the better chance Alondra would buy his tale.
"He talks tough, but it seems the Guv'ner pretty much gives her what she
wants. If she decides to let me have you, chances are you'll stay off the
scaffold."

James didn't move. Not even to breathe.


"She thinks we're matelots. Lovers. Deeply, truly, profoundly in
love." An uncomfortable smile. "And I have to kiss you to prove
it."

There! Motion! A blink!

"But," James said. Hesitated. Took a breath. "But."

"This isn't really a good time for argument, James."


"But. She's a woman."

His lip curled appreciatively. "You have no idea."

"But. A woman certainly wouldn't want to...see..."


Jack smirked. "Haven't you led the sheltered life."

Green eyes flew to Alondra, waiting by the bars. Her stare was skeptical. Her
right foot tapped impatiently. She held his gaze a moment, then upthrust her
chin warningly.

"Kees heem."

James's jaw dropped again.


Unable to deny his enjoyment of this, Jack stepped closer. Closer still. Ran
hands around the man's abused torso as carefully as he could. "Best make
it look good, mate. Think of her as the magistrate. Here's where you make your
case."

Eyes snapped to him. Even the puffy one managed to be wide and startled for
this.

"Make it look good," Jack murmured again, reaching up to slide a hand
behind his head, tugging firmly downward. "True love, mind."

Nervousness far too apparent, James let himself be drawn down. Arms moved
awkwardly to enfold him, though James seemed to think he might be able to
accomplish this act without actually touching him.


Jack closed his eyes as lips grazed his. Smiled just a little, breathing in,
his mouth curving, opening slightly beneath the dry warmth of the hesitant
caress.

But then Norrington -- no no no, James -- pulled back after that barest
of contacts. Jack opened eyes to find the uneven green pair trying
unsuccessfully to hide alarm behind guardedness.

"If that's how you kiss someone you love, mate," Jack said softly,
"then no wonder she turned away from you."

Anger. Injury. Other things he couldn't name crossed distorted features,
settling in the depths of dirty-ocean eyes.


Jack's other hand rose to glide along the undamaged side of his jaw, thumb
stroking the tight muscle clamping it shut. Half-lidded, he gazed a quiet
challenge of his own.

A hand ran swiftly up his spine, beneath his hair, tangling at the base of his
skull. James dipped down, lips hovering over his. "Love?" he asked in
an almost vicious undertone. "I'll give you 'love,' pirate."

And then his mouth came down, and suddenly all bets were off.

With that intro, Jack had expected something near violence. Force and heat and
an oh-so-manly need to crush out the painful reminder of rejection and loss.


Instead he found force, yes, but fiercely controlled. Lips opened on his, dry
then wet, the swollen heat of that lower one tasting of copper or iron or some
other metal not already residing in his mouth. The hand not gripping his hair
ranged instead along the curve of his spine to the small of his back, hitching
him in snugly. The contact seemed to cause pain -- James grunted with
discomfort when Jack pressed against his ribs -- but he didn't pull away,
didn't ease back, and then his tongue surged forward with the confidence of an
invading army, the surface of it rippling along the side of Jack's
in a warm, wet, muscular wave. Coaxing. Tantalizing. Imperative.

Well, Elizabeth, in case you were wondering -- the man can kiss. And then
some.

Jack struck back, his tongue a flirtatious dancer between moving lips, fingers
spidering gently, gently over marred features, tracing a cheekbone, the
protruding ridge of brow, down again to cup the working jaw. His body moved in
a roll, curving up and along James's, not quite grinding (not yet) but
undeniably expressing interest, gauging same.

And finding it. Against the inside of his hip he felt a telltale stirring that
made his heart suddenly thump quite a bit faster.

That was more than bait. That was a bloody promise, sure as he was
Captain Jack Sparrow.


Lost in it, unthinking, he closed teeth over that bottom lip, tugging. The
split opened, blood on his tongue, between their mouths, and he decided the
flavor was definitely iron, yes. Salty, hot iron. And the harsh, indrawn gasp
against his lips came from desire more than hurt, he was sure of it.

James pulled away jerkily, lips shiny with clear sheen and crimson. Didn't
release him. Glared, panting, at the woman watching from outside the cell.

Feeling no little bit dazed, Jack turned his head. Alondra's eyes were wide,
fascinated, and a sensual smile played over her lush lips. He grinned at her
breathlessly.

"¿Bueno?" he asked.

"Oh, sí," she murmured. Then the dear girl actually leered

at him. "Muy bueno."

"¿Y el gobernador?"

Her chin dipped in affirmation. She'd speak to her father. And from the excited
gleam in her lovely dark eyes, he was fairly certain she'd be most
insistent on the matter.

Alondra took her leave without delay. The moment she'd vanished up the stairs,
James pulled back and turned swiftly away, his respiration still not much
slowed. "Well?" he asked shortly.


Jack couldn't get rid of the grin. "She liked. She'll speak for you."

"And then?"

He shrugged limply, palms up. "Suppose we'll find out."

A curt nod. James didn't face him.

"You certainly know how to put on a good show, James."


"As do you." Tightly.

"I mean, I was convinced."

"Hm."

His lips curved more. "So d'you imagine you'll be turning around again
anytime soon?"


"No," James said, "never."

"Never?"

"That is correct."

Jack rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to smooth away the grin. Failed.
"Well. I believe I'm flattered, mate, truly."


"Hm," James said again, grimly.

With a near-heroic effort, Jack managed to keep his peace this time.

***