Rum

Inspired by the Theban Band picture Rum.


James Norrington had excused himself early. He was very tired, he explained. Of course everyone believed him. He is a Commodore, after all. And even a Commodore whose one time fiancee had married another man just prior to this party deserved respect and trust. So he was tired.
And he was tired. That was certainly very true. He was tired of seeing Elizabeth looking so radiant in her wedding dress while exchanging vows with Turner. He was tired of the looks of pity he was getting. He was especially tired of the looks of both pity and gratitude that Mr. and Mrs. William Turner were now giving him. He had wanted cake. And that cake was the only reason he had made it this far into the reception. So now he'd had his cake and he was leaving. Almost as soon as he had exited the building he had been confronted by a man. He wasn't alarmed. It was a pirate, true, but it was Jack Sparrow. And, truth be told, James had had several glasses of champagne and possibly a little brandy to fill the time between getting there and the bride and groom finally cutting the cake. So being confronted by Jack Sparrow almost immediately became politely asking Jack for some help by falling on him and almost knocking him over.
"Alright there, luv? Come here, let Jack help you to your feet..."
And Jack gently manouevered the Commodore so he was resting on his shoulder and Jack was supporting most of his weight.
"Now, Commodore, where were you headed?"
"I thought you wanted something, Sparrow?"
"No, I'll not bother you with that in this condition, Commodore. So where to?"
"I can make it just fine on my own, Sparrow! I was doing fine until you tried to run me over."
James indignintly pushed away from Jack and began walking away in what would have been a very dignified way if he had been capable of walking in a straight line.
Jack cocked his head watching him. "Right, then." He took off at his normal slow swagger, just to make sure he made it home, of course. Everyone knows pirates never have ulterior motives. And, although Jack didn't know what his were, he knew they were there. After all, he is Captain Jack Sparrow.
Sure enough, though, only about a street away from the very nice home the Commodore was obviously making his way to his weaving path wove right into a wall, which he then slid down. He was sitting against the wall with his legs splayed out in front of him by the time Jack got to him. His wig had obviously been upset by the Commodore's interaction with the wall, and had fallen off. The Commodore either hadn't noticed or (MUCH less likely, Jack thought) didn't care. Longish brown hair had escaped the wig, much to Jack's surprise. He would have suspected that the Commodore would be one of those men so infatuated with his wig that he would shave his head to get a better fit. Then again, Jack had also never thought of the Commodore as a man who would get staggeringly drunk at the wedding reception of his former fiancee. Jack was actually beginning to think that there might be more to the Commodore than anyone, possibly including the Commodore, knew. That could wait, though. For now he just wanted to get the man home so no one would find their wigless Commodore face down in a Port Royale gutter. Even if it was in one of the nicer neighborhoods.
"Right then, Commodore. Looks like you do need my help. Here." He held out both hands. "Let's get you up."
The Commodore huffed but took Jack's hands. And then proceeded to pull Jack down to the street with him. Jack looked at him.
"What was that about, then?"
"Do you have anything to drink, Sparrow?"
"Oh, no. You've had plenty, Commodore. Come on, we need to get up and get you in bed."
"You want to get me in bed?"
"I'm goin' ta to pretend that comment wasn't followed by drunken laughter and say 'yes'."
"Well, I won't get in bed without something more to drink. So, Sparrow, have you got anything or am I doomed to a night in the streets?"
Jack rolled his eyes. He thought the Commodore was difficult sober... And sober he didn't make rather frustrating jokes about Jack, himself, and bed.
"Yes, alright, here." He pulled a bottle of rum from his coat. "I was saving it for a celebration with Will, but I suppose you may have some of my rum."
The Commodore just grinned widely and then pulled the cork out of the bottle quickly, bringing it to his mouth and taking a large swig.
"You do realize that it's still my rum, Commodore?"
"James." His voice was a bit rough, though he'd managed not to cough at the burn of the alcohol.
"What?"
"Well, we're sitting in the middle of a street drinking together, it's rather silly for you to call me Commodore, given the circumstances. So it's James."
"Well, James, my point was that I bloody well want my rum, now!"
The Com... James gave him that grin again and handed it back.
"There you are, Jack."
Jack just shook his head before taking a swig himself.
And then the realized that James was coming at his head with something. An instant later, covering Jack's head, there was a... wig?
"Your wig? You put your wig on me?"
James was laughing. Apparently this strange and rather pointless trick was VERY funny. But laughter is contagious, and Jack wasn't able to resist for long. He handed the now much less full bottle back to James, who was still laughing. He didn't think he'd ever seen James really smile, let alone laugh. He should do that more, though. He didn't look nearly as severe when he was smiling or laughing. He looked... nice. He looked good. And human. Not like the distant, cold man he presented himself to be.
"Give us some more, James."
"Not much left..." He passed Jack the bottle.
"Bloody hell. Have we had all that already?" Truthfully it hadn't been a large bottle at all, but they were still going through it very quickly.
James shrugged, trying to look innocent. The smirk on his face, however, prevented the illusion from being complete. James suddenly swung his arm over Jack's shoulders.
"Let me have the rest?"
Jack couldn't help but lean into James, the wig perched crookedly on his head. He put his arm around James's shoulders, too, passing him back the bottle.
"Alright. But hurry up. I want to get you into bed."
This time Jack couldn't ignore James's laughter at the comment, and had to join in. Their laughter calmed to two grins.
"I'll finish it quickly, Jack. Then you can help me to my bed."


My original plan was a smutty sequel. We'll see if that happens...