Jack glanced back over his shoulder as Norrington hauled him behind a shed. The little lieutenant was cute as a button, and neither married like Elizabeth nor the offspring of his dead mate like Will nor really, really scary like Anamaria and Governor Swann. It was entirely unfair that Jack was not to be permitted to take advantage of the lad's friendly nature. On the other hand, he was quite enjoying the way the commodore was manhandling him so – and with such big, strong hands, too...
On the other-other hand (and Jack had once seen a man in Delhi with three hands, so he never hesitated to put it into use), though the fire in Norrington's green eyes suited him beautifully, it did not bode well for Jack's chances at exploring where else those hands might grip him so tightly.
"What is going on here?" Norrington bit out, keeping his voice low and his head bent.
Jack rotated one hand gracefully. "You've seen it. Everybody's trippin' all over themselves for a little attention from Captain Jack. Me crew, and your man, and dear Lizzie an' William..." He paused, remembering the offer they had finally agreed upon. Somebody had better grant him a boon of fair sailing for turning that one away.
"But why?"
Jack boggled at him. "Why? Well, I never thought 'bout that." They both jumped at the sound of a dull clatter nearby, but it was only a loose goat, nosing around for some scraps.
Norrington turned that intense gaze upon him once again. "Think, Sparrow," he said. "There must be some reason as to why you've suddenly become an irresistible Don Juan to anyone who crosses your path -- except me, fortunately."
"Become?" Jack repeated, licking his lips and waggling his eyebrows at the other man. The fact that he had no effect whatsoever on Norrington made him all the more eager to give it a try.
A muscle twitched in Norrington's jaw, which was as tightly clenched as his arse. "Jack. This is causing a great deal of trouble. I want it fixed."
"Jack is it, now?" He saw confusion cloud Norrington's face – hadn't even realized he'd done Jack the honor of calling him by his first name. That, now...that was interesting indeed.
"It's shorter," Norrington muttered, his cheeks going faintly pink.
"Mmhmm," said Jack, far from convinced. Perhaps he should retract that whatsoever bit.
His eyes widened at the sudden rough touch between his legs. Perhaps he should retract the whole damned statement.
Another stroke made him shudder. "Didn't know you'd move things along this quickly, James," he said, a bit out of breath. "Not exactly shy with our hands, are we?"
Fine dark eyebrows raised. "I'm not touching you."
Abruptly Jack realized that both of the commodore's arms were stationary at his sides. Well, he'd heard tell of witches who could look a man in the eye and make him come without so much as blinking, but this was really...
...really disturbing, actually.
"Get on with you!" He shoved the white goat away from himself. It bleated in protest and tried to nuzzle him again.
Norrington hid his mouth behind a palm, but Jack could see the laughter dancing in his eyes. "It's your fault, really – that goatee is terribly misleading."
Jack glared at him. He was soon distracted by a snuffling noise by his feet. Glancing down, he saw a mangy gray dog avoid the goat's stamping hooves to sniff thoughtfully at his leg.
That was quite enough for Jack. Grabbing Norrington by the hand, he darted off down an alley, away from overfamiliar beasts. The commodore protested, but weakly and quietly.
They paused in a dark corner after they were safely away, Norrington wheezing slightly. Jack figured running in that ridiculous uniform was probably responsible for his shortness of breath. The exertion had put a healthy glow to his face, though, and Jack was suddenly tempted to reach up and see if the skin over his cheekbones was as peachy-fine as it looked.
His fingers had just twitched to shoulder-height when an outbreak of broad accents at the far end of the alley attracted his attention.
"It was Jack Sparrow what made me pregnant, Pa!"
"That rapscallion! Cheeky li'l bugger...I'll kill 'im fer throwin' me over..." Others muttered along with them, indistinct but clearly angry.
Throwing Norrington a look of sheer panic, Jack dragged him forward again. There was no hope of reaching the right fork before the unseen mob came down the right. He would just have to trust his luck and hope that whoever owned this house was out combing the streets for him.
For some reason, Norrington began to dig in his heels, pulling Jack back. Jack threw all his weight forward, dragging them through the door that was conveniently unlocked.
"No! Not in..."
He stumbled over a potted plant, eyes dazzled by the light inside the building. Norrington freezing behind him made him struggle to keep his balance. He lost the battle quickly and they both went tumbling down on smooth wooden planks.
"– there," Norrington finished darkly as he and Jack peered around at the interior of the Port Royal division of the Church of England.
"Back door, huh?" said Jack sheepishly. He glanced down at the tangle they'd gotten their legs into. Norrington's face, pale from the prospect of facing the crowd gathered to witness the union of some wispy blonde and her apple-cheeked bloke, went red and he scrambled to his feet, automatically offering Jack a hand. Something – happened when their fingers touched, a sensation like dragging your feet across a rug on a cold winter's day and then touching a doorknob. That and the sunlight shining through the tall windows served to make him dizzy, so that he stood motionless for a moment and blinked stupidly.
"Jack?" Norrington's brows drew together with something Jack might have called worry in anyone else. "Are you all right?"
There was something important about that...about the light, and the spark, and how they were both reflected in those green eyes...
"What is the meaning of this?" demanded the robed figure at the altar.
Jack opened his mouth to explain, but saw the looks on the darling couple's faces.
"Oh bugger," he said with feeling.
Norrington's fingers tightened around his, evoking an illicit thrill despite the overwhelmingly unfortunate setting. "What?"
"I object to this marriage!" said the groom in a throaty voice, licking his fingertip and attempting to comb a cowlick out of his hair.
The bride shoved her bouquet into his arms. "As do I." She looked Jack up and down, blue eyes narrowed in appreciation.
The vicar in the tightly-curled white wig thumped his Bible on the pulpit to get their attention. "Well, I am overriding your objection. I pronounce you man and wife whether you like it or not." Jack could just barely see a child's hand thrusting an ivory pillow with the rings between bride and groom. The vicar, clearly considering his job done, turned to bow his head to Jack, who wrinkled his nose at the memory of how bloody itchy and hot those robes were. "And you, sir – I do not believe I have seen you at Sunday service."
"I...don't attend," said Jack. Beside him, Norrington snorted in derision.
Stern gray eyes regarded him from behind a tiny pair of spectacles. "That is simply a shame. No matter what his profession –" His clothing and effects were being scrutinized and quickly found wanting. "– it behooves any man to strengthen his relationship with God." His thins lips turned up at one corner and his gaze was suddenly a great deal warmer. "By seeking guidance from earthly ministers of the Word, of course."
Norrington dropped his hand like a hot coal as realization struck home. "Good Lord!" he exclaimed.
"Watch your mouth, young man," said the vicar fussily. "I'll not stand for anyone defiling my house of worship, authority figure or not." He offered a be-ringed hand to Jack, his demeanor taking a turn quick enough to give it whiplash. "I would be remiss in my duties as a citizen of the crown and a servant of the Lord if I did not offer you the hospitality of His house, my good man. Tell me, have you ever been inside a rectory?"
Jack plastered the most disarming smile in his considerable repertoire onto his face. The vicar's eyes closed in bliss and the sound of heady sighs echoed throughout the church. He took this opportunity to haul Norrington back into the alley, relieved to find it deserted once more.
Slamming the door and pressing his back to it, Jack said thoughtfully, "You know, if I didn't already think 'rectory' was a dirty word, I certainly would now."
Norrington was staring past him with utter shock. "That – that vicar was trying to proposition you!"
"Jealous?"
"But he's a priest!" Norrington burst out. "Surely there are some common laws, even in this – this –"
"Never done it with a priest," Jack assured him.
"I am positively thrilled to hear that," said Norrington, a bit of his typical acrimony drying out his tone.
Jack stroked his chin thoughtfully. "'Twas quite nice with that nun, though. Wonder if a vicar might blaspheme as loudly?"
Norrington dropped his head into his hands. "This is madness, through and through. Even you should be ashamed of yourself."
"Hey, I didn't cause this!" Jack protested. "Whatever's goin' on here, 's not my fault!"
"Well, since we've yet to determine the root of the problem, we can't rule out –" He was cut off by a thump from the other side of the door.
Jack braced himself, trying to hold it closed. "Little help here?" he asked tightly. Norrington threw a shoulder against the door and they both grimaced in concentration as more force was applied from within.
"On second thought," Jack panted, "let's find a better spot to continue this discussion, shall we?"
Norrington frowned in thought for a moment. "My office," he declared. "We should be safe enough within the walls of Fort Charles."
"Safe from my many admirers?" Jack shook his head ruefully. "Hope those are good thick walls. All right, on three we make a break for it. One, two –"
"Why do you get to do the counting?" Norrington wanted to know.
Jack rolled his eyes. "Oh bloody – three!"
Together they leapt away from the door, sprinting down the alley and ignoring the shouts from the congregants now puddling in the dirt.
"There he is, Pa! That's the varmint what made me pregnant!" -- Hick Girl to Will Smith, " Fresh Prince of Bel Air
"Back door, huh?" -- Harrison Ford to Ewok, "Return of the Jedi"
"So this is a rectory. Sounds like a dirty word. Rectory!" -- Jenna Elfman to Edward Norton, "Keeping the Faith"