LINER NOTES:

THANKS TO: My beta, Janey. This one wasn't edited for style, but it got the Janey mark of approval, so it should still be great! I hope . . . only one beta, wow, that's a record low for me . . .

ARCHIVING: Same rules as the rest of The Jack&William Chronicles. If you take one, you must take all, but all I need is a crew. I mean, link. I need a link.

NAVIGATIONAL NOTES: There aren't any for this chapter! However, since I don't have a "language" section, I'll put this here: Spanish translations were made at the translator Babel Fish (link available on request), and I can make no guarantee as to their complete accuracy. However, I will provide the intended translations at the end of the story in the order that they appeared within it.

DISCLAIMERS: Um . . . Brazil is owned by its current president. What? Huh? Oh, dang. POTC isn't mine either. – Walt Disney

INSPIRATIONS:

Oneiriad's "Falling Into Heaven, Falling Into Hell"
L.M.Griffin's "Rant"
Every good Sherlock Holmes/John Watson slash that I've ever read
Alanis Morrissette's "You Learn"

SERIES NOTES: This is the fourth POSTED ficlet in The Jack&William Chronicles. They are a series of oneshots posted in no particular order, simply being written as I get the inspiration for them.

CURRENTLY, THE SERIES CHRONOLOGICALLY CONTAINS:

Revenge to Extract
Goodnight My Angel
The Heat of the Night
Mutiny Dreams

RATED FOR: Moderate male/male relationship, implied sexual situations, nudity, mild swearing.

Heat. It was . . . hot. Unoriginal and uninspiring word, but a true and accurate one. It was hot in the cabin, and Jack was startled that the wood beneath him didn't simply burst right into flames. At least it was cooler on the floor, he thought dully, sincerely hoping William wouldn't come below and into the cabin before it was cool enough to get back into bed. He'd opened the window, then stripped down to nothing, then kicked off his blankets, then the sheets, and now he was laying on the floor of the cabin he shared with his – what? Friend? Lover? Bloody annoying git? He hadn't quite decided just what he should be calling William now.

He did know that if the Brazilian heat didn't give up – and soon – he'd be sleeping in his own bed tonight, if only to try and get rid of the heat. Blimey, he'd soak the entire bloody bed in seawater if it would only take the heat from his skin and let him sleep. He heard voices in the corridor – surely the watch wasn't over already? Footsteps. A click as the door opened. Oh, bloody hell.

William chuckled at Jack, lying stark naked and unmoving on the floor of the cabin. "It's cooler up on deck." Silence. No response. He nudged Jack with his boot. "Jack?"

"Hnnnn."

"It's cooler on deck."

"Nnnnn."

He bent over the black haired boy-man on the floor. "Jack, are you alive in there?"

"Maria la madre, no me deja entrar en infierno, para esto es demasiado caliente ya."
"Mary Mother what?"
Jack repeated himself.
"Mary the mother of Hell . . . something."
Jack finally sat up. "You dolt. Don't you ever listen?"
William grinned wickedly. "Not really." Jack swore at him in Spanish, and received a snicker in return.

"But it is cooler on deck." No response. So he reached down, seized Jack under the arms, and lugged his dead weight onto the bed. Jack let out one of those childish moans that meant William was about to get an argument that would make his head spin. "But William, it's bloody hot." "You're not going to sleep on the floor, you'll catch a cough." "But it's hot." Seventeen years old and he couldn't come up with a better argument than to repeat himself? "And since it's so hot we both know I won't get a cough, because it's not cold." It's not cold so it's hot. How childish and . . . very Jack. Simple logic that could be twisted into a thousand meanings. Well, it wouldn't be the first time Jack got his way thanks to a fast tongue and a brain that seemed to travel in a quantity of directions all at one time.

Suddenly William grinned to himself. If Jack could play those games, so could he – and he could do so admirably. "Fine." He stripped off his shirt and tossed it onto Jack's bed – in the absence of its owner, it made a fine dumping ground for all sorts of things. Jack winced. "Can't you at least fold it, if you won't put it away properly?"

"No." He dispensed with his kerchief, and a shower of beaded hair fell into his face. He threw that onto Jack's bed, too, trying not to laugh as Jack lapsed into muttering in Spanish, a sure sign he was either cursing, very frustrated (quite likely when he was dealing with William), exhausted, or extremely agitated. "Mi dios, me da la paciencia al reparto con este idiota." "My idiot what?" Jack just rolled his eyes.

William stripped off his breeches and sat down on the side of the bed. "Fine." Jack looked at him questioningly. "Since you express an inordinate amount of interest in sleeping on the floor . . ." He tugged the covers back up onto the straw tick. "I'll just have the bed – "he slipped underneath the blankets and gazed over at Jack, who was resolutely staring back – "all –"he shifted closer to his prey – "to –"he prepared to strike – "myself." And Jack found himself sitting on the floor next to the bed. "Hey!"

William shrugged, supremely unconcerned. "You wanted to sleep on the floor."

Jack let out a cross between a moan, a whine, and a growl. "I didn't want you to push me out onto my arse." William held up a finger and made a clicking noise with his tongue – the sound of an admonishing mother. "Language, language, dear boy." "Not fair." Jack was trying to pull a throw off the bed. Not so warm now, is it, Jack? William thought to himself, suppressing a smirk.

Jack longed now for the warmth of the bed. A light breeze had sprung up, no doubt noticed by William and duly made use of. He tried to snag the coverlet from William's hands, but to no avail, and he fell backward onto his behind again. "Come on, William, play fair." His eyes narrowed dangerously as William just smirked. "You wanted to sleep on the floor." The breeze died, and the cabin became stifling once again. Jack could easily see where this was going. And so he employed a move certain to end the stalemate – he sat down cross-legged on the floor, his back turned toward the bed, and pulled a book out of his sea chest. He could hear William behind him shuffling uncomfortably, and then he spoke. "Come on, Jack, I was only kidding." Jack ignored him. "Jack, come on."

The breeze wasn't picking back up at all, he could easily stay on the floor. If William wanted to play games, he would get games. Jack admitting to defeat in this situation would actually be a victory for himself -- William would never expect him to actually choose the floor. There was a long pause from behind him. "Jack, I'm sorry." He turned his head to look at the blue eyed figure staring at him from over the edge of the bed, and managed to unfold his legs so he could stand up. He could take the heat of the night.

THE SPANISH-TO-ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS FOR THIS STORY ARE:

"Maria la madre . . . "Mother Mary [the Virgin Mary], do not ever let me enter Hell, for this is too hot as it is.

" Mi dios . . . " My God, give me the patience to deal with this idiot.

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PREVIEW OF NEXT FIC: Jack's got plenty of tattoos. Will's fascinated with them. And with every mark comes another story . . .