the Dalaverse

Who wants to play Spot the Stolen Line? I've got a quote each from "The Fresh Prince of Bel Air," "Return of the Jedi," "Miss Congeniality" (in the last part, actually) and "Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered" itself, plus one from a later episode of "Buffy." Bonus geek points for guessing which one ;)



Bewigged, Bothered, and Bewildered (V)



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 for 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.



After an treacherous flight, the two of them finally managed to reach James’ office. He flung the door shut behind Sparrow and slid the bolt home, gasping for breath. Sparrow staggered over to his desk and dropped into the leather chair, putting his head between his knees.

“‘M too old for this sort of thing,” he groaned.

James raised shaking hands to his head. His hat had gone missing, but what he was really concerned about was the orange mess clinging to his wig.

“It’s all sticky,” he complained, licking the stuff off his fingers.

Sparrow’s head popped up. “Here, let me.” He pulled James over, nimble fingers tugging at the wig.

“I can’t believe they threw marmalade at you,” said the pirate, sounding like he was fighting off laughter.

“It isn’t as if I have any interest in you,” said Norrington crossly, snatching his wig back.

Sparrow’s eyes danced as he reached out to brush a bit of marmalade from James’ ear, tsking. “You should throw ‘em all in jail. Assaulting a naval officer with fruit spread.” He licked a fingertip. “And poor quality fruit spread, at that.” James swallowed hard, suffering an internal quake at the sight of that tongue slipping out. It wasn’t forked, as he had half-expected.

Common sense told him to remove himself from temptation as quickly as possible, so he strode over to the window, looking down upon the horde gathered at the fort’s doors. He could just make out Will Turner engaging his father-in-law in a duel, silk parasol tapping against horsehead-tipped walking stick.

“What could possibly have gotten into them?” he said, turning away.

Sparrow shrugged, drawing a feather quill between his fingers. “Can’t say. Haven’t even been here in months.” His nostrils flared and he slapped the quill down on the desk. “That’s it! Not here – Tortuga! That doxy cast a spell on me!”

“A spell?” said James, doubt coloring his voice.

Sparrow nodded vigorously. “An’ not just any ruddy spell, oh no,” he said, pushing himself up from the chair and wagging his finger at James. “A love spell.” He spat out the words as if they were bitter to the taste.

“I don’t believe in magic,” said James faintly. He was out of his element and he really hated that.

Sparrow shrugged. “Don’t have t’ believe in it, mate. Doesn’t change the fact of it.”

“Of course,” James added, “before now I’d never have believed I would see a priest invite a pirate back to his room.”

“You learn new things every day,” said Sparrow absently. He had his bottom lip stuck out in thought and he was tapping his nails against his thighs. “What all did we say? Can’t remember th’ whole...”

“Are you certain this is some type of enchantment? Because a curse is a type of enchantment, too, and I didn’t deal very effectively with the last one I encountered.”

“Lover like a ship,” Jack muttered, lost in thought. “Sea of suitors...one wriggly little fish all for meself...”

James moved nearer and passed a hand in front of his eyes. “Sparrow? Jack? Excuse me?”

Sparrow’s gaze suddenly rocketed to his own. “I remember,” he breathed. “She wanted to make me see.”

“See – see what?” James found it difficult to speak, captivated as he was by the depths and the contours and the currents in Jack’s dark eyes – and when had he become Jack?

Just now, James realized, while looking at him like that...

“You,” said Jack simply, as though it was something James should have known. Then he was moving closer, too close, and then his lips were closer still until they were finally touching down.

They were nice lips, though the part of James’ mind which was still capable of the action. Not smooth, for they belonged to a sailor and so the skin was rough and chapped, but soft all the same. Lush, though not squishy, and firm – not delicate or feminine, certainly not weak. He liked the way they fit against his own, and he liked the neat way they parted. The tip of a tongue came slinking into his mouth cautiously as if it feared being turned away. James flexed his jaw, deepening the kiss and welcoming Jack’s tongue with long, sweeping strokes of his own. He tasted rum, and gold, and heat and sun and salt. He felt the tiny thrum deep in Jack’s throat, felt the vibrations pass back and forth between them.

Magic, Jack had said. James wouldn’t know magic from a hole in the ground, but he did know this, suddenly and unequivocally. He knew that it was the thing casting shadows on the pale imitations Jack had been running from all day. He knew that it was not what woke him at night, sweating and gasping, but instead what caused him to lie awake for hours afterward, curled around the empty ache somewhere deep inside. And he knew that he needed air or he was going to suffocate – still, it wouldn’t be the absolute worst way to go...

It was Jack who pulled free, though he didn’t go far. His nose touched Norrington’s own as he bent his head, staring down at their hands – palms flat to palms, fingers interlaced. James couldn’t remember how it had happened.

For long moments they stood still and James breathed, trying to balance himself. Then Jack said, “Gone quiet.”

“Yes,” James replied, his eyes fixed on the tips of Jack’s fingers stroking the back of his hand.

Jack pulled his head back, looked at James with wicked humor in his black eyes. “James. You have a whole mess o’ people who may well not remember why they’re queued up outside the fort. Yours and mine might be the only fully functional minds in all Port Royal at the present moment.”

“I don’t feel particularly functional,” said James, closing his eyes. Jack was poking fun at him. That was unkind. He should be dealt with. Doing so would require James to move, however, and as the air had settled so nicely around the two of them, he wasn’t of a mind to disturb its flow.

Twisting his arms until he could break free, Jack gave him a gentle shove. “Get your shapely arse down there t’ make sure we’re not disturbed for a good long while.

“Oh,” said James, blinking. “That does make sense.” He rubbed his hands together. “Could you possibly point me towards the door?”



Jack tilted his head and ogled freely as James left, still looking a bit touched in the head. Well, that hadn’t been so very difficult after all. He’d be sure to thank the lass next time they docked in Tortuga. Perhaps he’d even take the good commodore along.

Running around all morning had left him with a strong desire to collapse where he stood. Most likely that was no longer in the cards, at least not until he’d gotten James to unwind even further, but he was still disinclined to set one foot outside that door. The office would have to do.

Jack glanced around it. Not the ideal location, but he’d had worse to work with. He drew the heavy linen curtains closed, after grinning down at James amidst the confused citizens far below. The necessity of clearing off the desk really depended on how limber James might be. Jack was very much looking forward to finding that out.

First things first, though – he stripped off his coat and vest, unwound the sash around his waist, unbuckled his belt, tugged his boots and socks off. He left the breeches temporarily while he deliberated over where to place his discarded clothing. James was absolutely the type to fold everything into immaculate little squares, but Jack was averse to the very idea. He finally decided that a suitable compromise was kicking the pile into a corner of the room.

“That was certainly a task I wouldn’t wish on...” James gave up on words entirely, standing in the doorway and staring mostly impolitely.

Jack leaned back against the desk, enjoying what was happening to James’ pupils. “Shut the door, would you? I don’t fancy givin’ your boys a free show.”

James’ lips twitched. “Not even Lieutenant Groves?”

“Certainly not! Why should he get to look upon you a second time when I’ve not gotten to a first yet?” He cocked his head to the side, frowning as a thought occurred to him. “It would be a second time, eh? Not a third or fourth or seventeenth?”

“Captain Sparrow,” said James in that low, smooth, seduction-flavored voice of his, “jealousy is ill-suited to your complexion.”

Jack clapped a hand over his heart. “I’m wounded, truly I am.”

The speed with which James crossed the room surprised him, but he quickly got over it and chose to be delighted instead. James caught his wrists, stroking the pads of his thumbs along bone and blue vein. When he pressed a kiss to Jack’s pulse, the way it leaped made Jack pull in a shallow breath.

“Everything restored to order?” he asked, more determined than ever to assure their complete and total privacy.

James’ mouth curved sardonically. “I told them there’d been an outbreak of influenza, side effects being severe hallucinations and temporary memory loss.” He turned his head to let Jack pull on the tie holding his hair back. Freed, it fell thick and straight nearly to his shoulders, colored a rich, earthy brown. Jack’s hand found its way into it before he could form a thought, curling and sliding and stroking. The smile softened and James let out a sigh, looking at Jack through half-lidded green eyes.

“Clever of you. And that’s enough small talk, don’t you think?” he murmured.

"God yes," said James. Jack chucled, pulling him down for a kiss more sure than the one before it, but still new and shiny.

The heavy blue coat went the way of the hair ribbon, James rolling his shoulders to let Jack peel it off and drop it on the chair. To his consternation, Jack found himself divested of his breeches before he could make another move. Although being able to move his hips against James’ with one less hindrance was a welcome development, the current state of affairs was far too uneven for Jack’s liking. Tearing inelegantly at the buttons in James’ starched shirt, he set about trying to rectify the mistake.

James was mouthing desperate things against his neck and writhing deliciously when a small sneeze interrupted them.

“Ignore it, ‘s the hallucinations,” Jack mumbled into his hair.

James’ shoulders shook with silent laughter. “You do understand I made that up?” He kissed Jack again, but it was a distracted, half-interested thing. “I think it came from my closet,” he said, pulling away and straightening what remained of his shirt. Jack pouted, but wrapped himself in James’ coat nonetheless, turning his face to the collar and breathing in the scent of talc and sea air, which was a surprisingly agreeable combination.

He tiptoed behind James, peeking over his shoulder as he pulled open the door to the tiny closet in the far wall.

The two of them stared at their discovery for a moment, speechless.

Lieutenant Gillette peered fearfully up at them. “I – I don’t know how I came to be here, sir, but...” He glanced down at his own huddled body. “I seem to be having a slight case of nudity.”

“No you aren’t, mate” said Jack, trying to be helpful. James raised his eyebrows and Jack shrugged. “There’s the big red velvet bow an’ all.” When James’ expression didn’t alter, Jack back away slowly. “I’ll just, er, get meself dressed and leave you to deal with the whole naked problem.”

“Wait,” said James anxiously. He bit his lip and looked down at his lieutenant. “Andrew, if you’ll excuse me for a moment?”

“Of course,” said Gillette, adjusting his bow.

James shut the door again, watching silently as Jack gathered up his clothes. He was alarmed to find his hands shaking. No matter; he’d soon be out of this town, on the dawn tide if he could help it. The whole debacle had been a mistake – to think that he’d put faith in the sorcerous workings of a whore who was probably stark raving mad during her off hours. Ludicrous, that was what it was, and he’d do himself a favor by getting clear before the commodore’s good senses reasserted themselves.

He was struggling to knot his sash satisfactorily when James’ hands glided into his field of vision, holding a key.

“Here.” His voice was soft, probably to prevent being overheard by the poor fellow in the closet. “My house is down Bluestone Lane, the third one on the left with the lilacs out front.” He pressed the key into Jack’s palm, closing his fingers over them. Jack looked up at him, and his damnable tremors stopped.

“Don’t be long, now,” he said huskily, leaning in to kiss James once more, well and long, so that his eyes were glazed over when Jack pulled away.

He was still looking tottery as Jack skipped to the door and said over his shoulder, “Else I might be tempted to seek out dearest Teddy and bring on another bout of flu."

"Bloody pirate," he could hear James mutter, but there was reluctant pride in his voice. Jack smiled to himself and clutched the key. He was fond of lilacs. He was even more fond of the treatment he was sure to get when James came home to find him covered in the fragrant things. If James hadn't been lying when he professed his disbelief in magic, a night with Jack Sparrow was sure to convince him otherwise - especially a night following a day in which he'd built up a great deal of frustrated energy.

One year after the unusual epidemic of flu, Port Royal's skilled doctors, healers, and midwives were still unable to explain its cause. They did find, however, an increased demand for their services regarding expectant mothers in the ensuing months. Back in town only three weeks after his last visit, Jack merely smiled when Elizabeth exclaimed over the anomoly, and kissed infant Billy on the cheek, and went to call on the commodore.




Hope I didn't offend any religious sensibilites with the bit about the priest. Or, you know, all the gay smooching :)

I think this is the most fun I've ever had writing anything, and maybe my favorite kiss I've ever written. I'm at the stupid level of happy about it.

And now, time for PIE.