"Is it because of my teeth?" James asked very quietly.
"Hm? What about your teeth?" Cutler asked without looking up from the paper.
"My teeth are crooked," he said equally quite and fidgeted on the velvet cushioned chair, ashamed and uncertain.
"Are they now? I had never noticed," Beckett turned his attention back to the paper, oblivious to James' turmoil.
Norrington was becoming quite warm sitting next to the fire and the crackle of dry wood and newspaper had lost their appeal. James felt as though he was wearing too much clothes and at the same time not enough; even in full dress uniform he felt naked and exposed. Just a yard from him lounged Cutler Beckett, in breeches and shirt with a dressing gown slung loose around him for modesty's sake, reading his paper.
They had often spent Sunday evenings thus, but Beckett's outburst had James on edge. He wondered if he was somehow at fault for Cutler's lack of affection towards him. He had never kissing Norrington and Norrington had been rather implicitly instructed to never kiss him. Obviously, he had misunderstood what Lord Beckett considered kissing. When the old childhood habit of biting his nails reared up, James decided it was time for bed.
"Lord Beckett, if you will excuse me, I should very much like to retire," Norrington said, rising suddenly from his chair.
"Very well," Cutler said without looking up and turned the page, the firelight bringing the gold out of his brown curls.
"Will you be joining me…soon?" James winced at his own desperation.
"Yes, yes, when I am finished here. Goodnight," said Cutler and with that dismissal Norrington walked towards the door.
Very carefully, James let himself out of the library and shut the door softly behind him. An ache that he could not explain or even put a name to had settled between his heart and his belly and Norrington trudged forlornly to his chamber.