Pairing/Characters: Jack/Barbossa; Jack/Norrington hinted at.
Warning: Fluff and nonsense. Slash, of course, meaning two men kissing and, perhaps, more
Summary: Jack loses a bet; Hector wins.
Disclaimer: None of my own though I wouldn’t kick it out of bed.
Author’s note: For the cutler_beckett “Last Author Standing” challenge. Prompt number 1: Uncanny.
“If I hadn’t seen it meself, I’d ne’er believed it,” Hector Barbossa remarked, his eyes raking over the pretty coquette fanning herself on the quarterdeck of the Pearl.
“An’ if I hadn’t been a bettin’ man, ye’d never have seen it,” Jack responded, snapping the fan shut and glowering at the bigger pirate. “Took me three years t’ grow me beard braids an’ it took ye three minutes t’ chop ‘em off. Hope yer happy.”
Barbossa sidled closer and sniffed deeply at Jack’s hair. “Now ain’t that a lovely parfume ye be wearin’. What be that scent?”
Jack lowered his head and began to pout though Hector could tell he liked the flattery. “’Tis rose-water, if ye must know. Don’t think ye’re winnin’ me over, Hector.”
“Far be it from me t’ even try, Jack. Though I mus’ say, the resemblance is uncanny,” Barbossa reached out and stroked his hand down Jack’s hair. Freed from its unkempt braids, washed and properly brushed, there was a gentle curl to the dark locks that Barbossa admired.
“What d’ ye mean?” Jack began to fan himself again but with short, hesitant swipes. “What resemblance?”
“A young lovely I knew many a year ago in Glasgow. Matter o’ fact, I nearly married the bonnie lass. Her father objected, though, an’ sent me packin’. Her name was Mary Alice,” Barbossa offered Jack his hand and Sparrow, reluctantly, placed his palm in Hector’s. “She often wore a lovely burgundy dress, much like that ‘un. Shall we dance?”
Jack started to object then nodded in acquiescence. He curtsied low and let the fan dangle from the cord about his wrist. Hector placed an arm around his waist and they began to do the steps of a low-country reel. With no music save the sound of the waves and the slap of canvas, they began to move faster. When Jack stepped on the hem of the dress and fell to the boards, dragging Hector down with him, he couldn’t resist the impulse any longer. He began to laugh, followed an instant later by Barbossa.
“Pair o’ fools, we are,” Jack groused though he was still grinning. He noticed that he’d torn the dark lace from the bottom of the muslin skirt. “Now look at that! Ye ruint me dress, Hector. Hope ye’re proud o’ yerself.”
Barbossa said nothing, just leaned in and planted a kiss on Jack’s neck, just under his ear. Sparrow pulled away barely and smacked Hector lightly on the chest with the folded fan. “Now, now, I ain’t that type o’ girl.”
Jack stiffened as Barbossa’s hand found his knee under the skirt and began to move higher. “But ye are that type o’ lad. An’ this type too, eh?”
Jack couldn’t fight the groan that Barbossa’s touch pulled from him. He dropped his head back and Hector’s lips attacked his throat. After a moment, Sparrow pushed him away, his hand trailing along the other pirate’s lapel.
“What say you t’ me slippin’ int’ somethin’ more comfortable, like the captain’s cabin, an’ out o’ this frock? Never know when ye’ll want t’ see Mary Alice again, eh?”
“Who?” Barbossa said, then the eyes widened as he remembered. “Oh, aye, me once intended. We have an accord, darlin’. Let’s adjourn below deck.”
Jack pulled himself to his feet then dragged Barbossa up with him. From behind a barrel, he drew out a bottle of rum he’d stashed earlier and shook it at Hector. “Ye’re jus’ damn lucky I ain’t still got that Commodore’s uniform. I always did admire a Navy lad.”
Barbossa laughed. “An’ who said there ain’t a Commodore’s uniform aboard, Jack?”