Fic: "Rum and Sand"
Title: "Rum and Sand"
Authors: ms_lockheart
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Innuendos, implied m/m activity.
Genre: AU-ish (Only because it doesn't really fit into the canon timeline.)
Disclaimer: Disney owns POTC and its characters; I, however, do not.
Summary: The two are shipwrecked, and they 'bond'. Indeed.
Another bottle fell beside him, cast to the sand by a lazy hand. James looked to the bottle in disgust. It was the third one now, and he could smell the rum riding on his partner's breath. James slowly turned to the pirate next to him, who stared blankly ahead. Something about the waves lapping against the beach, their beach, had him entranced.
"Haven't you had enough yet? Or do you plan on drinking the cellar dry?" But Jack only grinned; that look that James routinely gave him amused him. It was a mix of contempt and disgust that blended together perfectly in a terribly comical grimace. He never tired of it, and had resorted to actively provoking such a response from him.
"Trust me," he answered. "I know what I'm doing. I can handle it. The question is, my dear Commodore...can you handle it?" Shoving another bottle into the officer's lap, he stood up and stretched, letting loose a loud yawn. He took a few steps away, eying the pink horizon, that troubling horizon. They had spent two nights on this island now. After the storm had cast both men from their ships, they had ended up here, pulled by the sea.
And as happy as they both may have been to step on dry land, they wanted nothing more than to put it behind them now. James wanted to return to the fleeting tranquility offered by Port Royal. Jack, conversely, wanted to return to his ship. He never could really understand why James seemed so averse to uninhibited wandering of the waters. So much freedom. So much to discover. Why did it not call to him as well? Why did he need a reason to sail?
James watched the pirate captain linger near the waves, watched him study the sea. He wondered if it might have been honest contemplation; he never could know for certain. There was no doubt that Jack was an intriguing paradox of a man: he was one that possessed a strange style of rationalization, one that James could not altogether reconcile. Yet, he found himself to be one of the few who could predict the wily man’s actions and recognize the true meaning behind his often nonsensical uttering. He had him easily read.
"Hmpf. That's all you have to say for yourself? Give me one."
"Last time I checked, both of your legs were in fine condition, fine enough to let you swim all the way to this island." Jack snickered and turned back around, arms crossed. "...And I'm not your bloody maid anyway." He loved this game. And even James could not deny that he found this mildly amusing.
"Well, lucky for you, I'm too tired to deal with you. Otherwise, I would have run you through by now."
"You're too tired to run me through? That's a weary Commodore indeed." Jack and his quips, always on the mark. "Very disappointing. Nevermindin' the fact that this is such a beautiful night for swordplay."
The pirate flashed him a cheeky smirk. It was one not unfamiliar to the Commodore, who returned the smile.
...
When James awoke the following morning, he winced. A splitting headache and a traitorous stomach had made for a restless night. With half-open eyes, he could just make out Jack's form lying near him, along with those of a few more half-empty bottles. He then grasped at the ground, intending to brace himself as he stood up. More glass and sand met his fingers. Rum and sand.
It was always rum and sand. Trademarks of one of the loveliest troublemakers he had ever known.
Authors: ms_lockheart
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Innuendos, implied m/m activity.
Genre: AU-ish (Only because it doesn't really fit into the canon timeline.)
Disclaimer: Disney owns POTC and its characters; I, however, do not.
Summary: The two are shipwrecked, and they 'bond'. Indeed.
Another bottle fell beside him, cast to the sand by a lazy hand. James looked to the bottle in disgust. It was the third one now, and he could smell the rum riding on his partner's breath. James slowly turned to the pirate next to him, who stared blankly ahead. Something about the waves lapping against the beach, their beach, had him entranced.
"Haven't you had enough yet? Or do you plan on drinking the cellar dry?" But Jack only grinned; that look that James routinely gave him amused him. It was a mix of contempt and disgust that blended together perfectly in a terribly comical grimace. He never tired of it, and had resorted to actively provoking such a response from him.
"Trust me," he answered. "I know what I'm doing. I can handle it. The question is, my dear Commodore...can you handle it?" Shoving another bottle into the officer's lap, he stood up and stretched, letting loose a loud yawn. He took a few steps away, eying the pink horizon, that troubling horizon. They had spent two nights on this island now. After the storm had cast both men from their ships, they had ended up here, pulled by the sea.
And as happy as they both may have been to step on dry land, they wanted nothing more than to put it behind them now. James wanted to return to the fleeting tranquility offered by Port Royal. Jack, conversely, wanted to return to his ship. He never could really understand why James seemed so averse to uninhibited wandering of the waters. So much freedom. So much to discover. Why did it not call to him as well? Why did he need a reason to sail?
James watched the pirate captain linger near the waves, watched him study the sea. He wondered if it might have been honest contemplation; he never could know for certain. There was no doubt that Jack was an intriguing paradox of a man: he was one that possessed a strange style of rationalization, one that James could not altogether reconcile. Yet, he found himself to be one of the few who could predict the wily man’s actions and recognize the true meaning behind his often nonsensical uttering. He had him easily read.
"Hmpf. That's all you have to say for yourself? Give me one."
"Last time I checked, both of your legs were in fine condition, fine enough to let you swim all the way to this island." Jack snickered and turned back around, arms crossed. "...And I'm not your bloody maid anyway." He loved this game. And even James could not deny that he found this mildly amusing.
"Well, lucky for you, I'm too tired to deal with you. Otherwise, I would have run you through by now."
"You're too tired to run me through? That's a weary Commodore indeed." Jack and his quips, always on the mark. "Very disappointing. Nevermindin' the fact that this is such a beautiful night for swordplay."
The pirate flashed him a cheeky smirk. It was one not unfamiliar to the Commodore, who returned the smile.
...
When James awoke the following morning, he winced. A splitting headache and a traitorous stomach had made for a restless night. With half-open eyes, he could just make out Jack's form lying near him, along with those of a few more half-empty bottles. He then grasped at the ground, intending to brace himself as he stood up. More glass and sand met his fingers. Rum and sand.
It was always rum and sand. Trademarks of one of the loveliest troublemakers he had ever known.