A/N: Written for day six of Flufftober '23 – for the prompt 'hot chocolate'. Posting tomorrow over on tumblr, where my flufftober fills for other fandoms have been going - my username over there is esta-elavaris.
Drinking chocolate was actually the most common form of chocolate in this time period, but I have decided that I am flouting historical accuracy here. Alternatively, given that this is a world where Beckett existed and he was a horrible little fuck who hated joy, I like to think he and his ancestors were on a lifelong campaign to stamp out drinking chocolate from the lives of those in their sphere of influence, and James has therefore never heard of or tried it. Not only is this a reasonable headcanon to have, it's also so valid and so wise. Okay? Okay.
James had lost count of how many voyages he had undertaken under the banner of Norne Maritime Protection at this point. Enough for the crew of their flagship to stop grumbling over Theodora's presence – both in matters of business, and on a literal level – which could only mean that there had been many. A combination of James' firmly making it clear that disrespect would not be tolerated, combined with Theodora's nature, the one that had her rubbing shoulders with pirates like it was nothing, soon disabused their men of any notions that she should be sneered at or talked down to. Those who did not come to this realisation in a timely manner soon found themselves without employment.
Unsurprisingly – at least to James himself – those who lasted any sort of time before ultimately being let go only did so at her insistence. He would have them off the ship from the first moment of disrespect, to make the no-tolerance policy very clear. It was Theodora who insisted on having a chance or two at cracking them. Usually through stomach-dropping feats like scaling to the top of the rigging to do some repairs herself or, on one memorable occasion, almost costing a man his finger in a game that involved taking turns with a knife and unfailing hand-eye coordination. Unfailing in his wife's case, at least.
James struggled to decide which of the tactics he liked least. More often than not, however, they worked – especially now that the bulk of their growing pains were behind them, and this…this thing of theirs was running smoothly. Consistently. This voyage had been a particular success. There had been but one glimpse of a pirate ship, and it had turned around the moment its captain realised that the merchant vessel they'd sailed with was accompanied by a force to be reckoned with. Their fiercest foe had proven to be the cold, with winter swiftly nearing, but Theodora adored the cold so that he could hardly grudge her the happiness it brought.
Conditions above deck were frosty as he moved about, looking this way and that for the telltale red hair of his wife. She hadn't been in the cabin, and with the day drawing to a close he was hoping they might eat together and then retire, but he would have to find her first.
It was one of the men aboard who directed him to her in the end, answering his enquiry of 'Mrs Norrington?' with 'the galley, sir' which boded…suspiciously. James wondered what combination of bread and cheese he was about to be confronted with this time. The crew having long since eaten, he found his wife alone in the galley, an enormous simmering pot of milk to her left and a slab of chocolate to her right, which she was massacring with a vigour that was both fearsome and oddly enticing.
"What are you concocting?" he asked in the way of greeting.
Theodora looked up, then she smiled at him – something he always had no choice but to return – before she returned to her efforts.
"Concocting?" she echoed. "Are we resurrecting the witch rumours, then?"
"Didn't you know? I was the one to start them the first time around. It was my way of warding off any competition I may have had."
Approaching, he moved to stand behind her, his chest at her back as he watched her work from over her shoulder. Theodora chuckled.
"Oh? You like your women on fire, then?"
"Evidently," he teased, lifting a hand to tug gently at an errant strand of her hair.
Laughing softly, she set the knife down and leaned into him, taking up a chunk of chocolate she had not yet cut to shreds and holding it up towards him in offering. After a quick glance ensured none were about to bother them, James leaned forward and ate it directly from her grasp, his lips enveloping her fingertips and sucking the swiftly melting chocolate off of them as he did so.
"Your hands are cold," he murmured, feigning ignorance to how her eyes had become hooded as he teased her.
"You needed your mouth to assess that, did you?"
"An old naval trick," he said with a great deal of mock-solemnity.
"I'll verify that with Groves, you know. We write."
James doubted it was an empty threat, knowing Theodora.
"I'll confiscate your quill," he countered casually.
"This is how it's going to be, is it? Not allowed to read or write…what's next? Chaining me to the stove?"
"My love, if I was going to chain you to something, it would not be the stove."
A beat passed – not because it took that long for her to understand him, he knew, but because she was second-guessing whether she'd understood him correctly. Turning her head, but remaining in his arms as she did so, she caught sight of his smirk and her eyes widened in dismay that he knew her far too well to believe.
"James Norrington!" she gasped, before smirking up at him. "I'm sure we've spoken about your threatening me with a good time."
He chuckled lowly, keeping the close proximity and watching as she worked. "You still haven't answered my question."
His intrigue grew as she loaded the pot of simmering milk up with the chocolate she'd just demolished, stirring it until the milk turned to a pale brown colour and a sweet smell permeated the galley. Then, she added a pinch of cinnamon and, after tasting, a touch of sugar.
"I do hope this isn't some strange manner of soup," he commented.
"It's hot chocolate."
"You're…warming chocolate? Wouldn't that just be melted chocolate, then?"
"Not literally hot chocolate. Drinking chocolate. I'm surprised you've never had it – then again, it's not really suited to Caribbean climates. I knew it'd get cold while we were out here, so I brought what we'd need with us. Then I started making it and realised I'd feel guilty if I didn't make enough for everybody…hence the vat. But we get first crack at it."
James watched, intrigued, as she ladled some of the hot chocolate into two tankards she'd set aside, evidently expecting him to root her out sooner or later. He smirked at that, and only stepped away from her when she handed one of the tankards towards him, knowing if he tried to drink that from her hand things would take the gesture from flirtatious to ridiculous. Then again, given his wife's penchant for the ridiculous, perhaps she'd enjoy it.
She turned to watch him, sipping from her own cup as he tried this hot chocolate – and then beamed when he, after scarcely a mouthful, stopped to stare at her in amazement.
"See?" she grinned.
"I can't believe you've kept this from me in all the time we've been married," he hummed, taking another sip, relishing in how it warmed him after all those hours above deck.
"Have to keep a few things up my sleeve to keep the spark alive," she said drily, topping up their mugs despite the fact that neither were yet half-empty.
"Oh?" he played along. "What else do you have stashed up there?"
"Well I know you've got chains up yours, so I'll have to set about outdoing that."
He chuckled – not least because of the pink tinge her cheeks adopted as she said it, however much she tried to act unbothered as she teased him. There would never come a time, he knew, when he'd tire of making her blush. Not least because it seemed a privilege granted only to him.
