(standard disclaimer applies)

Rating for sexual content, het and implied slash/threesome

"I know you don't put much stock in jewels, but I could not help but think of you when I saw it."

The bracelet – a simple silver band with a polished chunk of golden stone set at its center – was beautiful, even though he had been right about her opinion of jewelry. She let him fasten it to her wrist and held her arm out to admire the effect.

"It's called tiger's eye," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist, his chin dipping to rest on her shoulder.

"It doesn't glitter," she remarked, her voice neutral.

His chuckle was as soft and sure as his lips against her neck. "Yes, but see how it glows so warmly in the candlelight. I rather thought that would be why you liked it." Hesitating, he seemed to remember the troubles that would always lie between them, even on these nights. "Do you like it, Ana?"

She turned in his embrace, grinning as only a buccaneer presented with fine treasure can grin. "Aye, I like it." To further soothe the anxiety on his open face, she kissed him and nudged him back to the bed. He moaned into her mouth, fingers still clumsy even after half a dozen such meetings, unfamiliar with the dynamics of her men's clothing. Managing to get her shirt over her head, he pulled back in order to see her properly.

"God, you're beautiful," he breathed, and she smiled like the great cat for which the stone was named. With his milk-pale skin, his supple body, the cheeks flushed with desire and the eyes fixed hungrily on her, he was none too objectionable himself.

Suddenly his mouth curved downward. He reached out to touch a mark on her collarbone. "From whom did you get this?"

"Where'd this pretty bit come from?" he wanted to know, nibbling at her fingertips and regarding the new bracelet with interest.

She tossed her hair back, frustrated by how easily distracted he was. "'S just a gift," she said, flicking her hand out of his grasp to run it down the scar on his ribs.

"Expensive gift," he said, then closed his eyes as she rocked her hips, grinding insistently against him. "Oh yes, darling..."

The attention span of a toddler, she thought with an internal snicker. But thankfully the body of a nice, limber, impressively patient man. She knew she could ride him like this, direct his strokes into her, until she reached completion – and then look forward to a variation on the same theme, once he'd rolled her over to claim his own pleasure. He was generous with his affection in that way, even if – and now she couldn't suppress a scowl – not with the command of his precious ship.

Apparently mistaking her expression for displeasure at the state of current affairs, he huffed in a determined sort of way and pulled her closer, one agile hand pressing between her thighs above where he entered her while the other curled at the base of her skull to hold her steady as he plundered her mouth. And she entirely forgot that she'd planned to make him beg, at great length and for any number of rewards she might or might not bestow upon him. Ah well, there was always time, and if she didn't get to it tonight, there was always the other.

Next time the Black Pearl slinks into the little cove a few miles downshore from Port Royal, he climbs into the boat beside her like he always does. But this night, instead of setting off for the household of Mr. and Mrs. William Turner the Second, he melts into the shadows to observe the direction she takes. When he judges her far enough along that she won't hear footsteps behind her, he follows. It's entirely possible that she will have his head for this, or something else near and dear, but he can't contain his curiosity any longer. He must know the man or woman whose bed she finds as warm as his own.

He tracks her through the still town, finally alighting upon a small house at the edge. Here he hesitates, wondering if he might climb the tree beneath the lit second-story window, but she turns around and raises her eyebrows at him.

"Coming?"

Taking her damnable cat's instincts in stride, he follows her through the unlocked parlor window. Together they creep up the stairs, she directing him over one that presumably squeaks. At the end of the hall there is a door slightly ajar. A predatory smile steals over her face as she steps through it.

He is a step behind, so the man at the window doesn't immediately see him upon turning, and he doesn't immediately recognize the man.

"Anamaria. I didn't think you'd be back so soon." Jack stares at the handsome face, relaxed and alight as Anamaria kisses the fair cheek with almost sisterly fondness. He is not an easy man to surprise, but his jaw drops nonetheless.

Then the commodore spots him; his lovely green eyes widen and he reaches protectively for the woman.

"Sparrow?" he whispers.

"Commodore," says Jack, his voice a little shaky still, though he is well on the way to recovery from the initial shock.

Anamaria nods between the pair of them. "Jack. James." She stretches her arm out to tug Jack closer, grinning from ear to ear. "An' one fortunate pirate lass."

James begins to splutter in consternation. Fortunately there are two willing mouths to silence him, and four hands on his body to further break down his resistence.

Jack wonders how the little minx knew, but he's far too busy with smug first mate and melting commodore to ask.