TITLE: Couch It to Me

AUTHOR: ClarySage FANDOM: Potc

PAIRING: Jack Sparrow/ and a foot –grin- DISCLAIMER: Don't own.

RATING: PG with implications

SUMMARY: Jack has his way with words

WARNINGS: Beware the overuse of the english language FEEDBACK: Pretty please? I'd love some.

When he woke up, he thought to himself that it should always be that easy -no tired senses shuffling their way to the light, instead just an instant alertness. He didn't wonder why that was, nor why on this particular day it should happen. Alternatively his eyes popped open and his thoughts moved on to more interesting topics, such as what might be for breakfast, or whether it would rain.

Jack Sparrow never liked to think useless thoughts, which was just as well since most days common thought completely eluded him. On this morning, as the sun tried in vain to stream through the firmly shuttered windows, Jack found thought was seeking him out for a change. There was an odd spring in his body, merriment in his twinkle of a gaze. Moreover, something - something that nagged at the very edge of realization. Jack had a niggling doubt, a pinprick of sensation that there was something he should be remembering.

He gazed thoughtlessly about the room, his mind a complete blank as it scrolled over a chair with his clothing strewn liberally over it. In the corner sat a small table bolted down, a bottle of beautiful rum tilted sidewise and empty upon its surface. Jack's eyes continued their idle perusal, coming across a single boot, sagging against the bed, and a foot.

The foot somewhat bothered Jack, as it sat – or rather lay quite innocently in the bed. Who might be attached to the foot was hidden by the sheet, and so left merely the foot as evidence. The foot twitched, and Jack jumped back and eyed it.

Once more Jack's eyes fluttered about the room, nearly free from his skull as they searched, and landed upon the small couch – more like a loveseat really, that sat opposite the foot of the bed. What had Jack's interest were the clothes that scattered the cushions and painted the padded back. For one, they weren't female clothes, which didn't really take Jack at all by surprise. If Jack had his way, most females he associated with would wear nothing at all, but as it was most merely dressed as men.

This of course left the foot, which happened to be a right foot, on the right of the bed, though, if Jack were to sit on whoever it was and face the foot of the bed, it would then be the left side, though – still the right foot. After that little segue of thought, Jack decided thinking was for the damned, and damned if he'd think that way. In conclusion, he cautiously approached the foot and examined it.

It was nice foot. Just the sort you'd want to bring home to your mother. The toenails were healthy in appearance, and the foot seemed to have a nice graceful strength to it. Jack concluded he'd either slept with a large woman the night before, or... The foot twitched rather suddenly and a groan from beneath one of the pillows answered Jack's anxious thoughts. Indeed, he recognized that voice, despite the fact that the groan had been wordless.

Again, as if to answer Jack, the voice spoke - "Where am I?" it said.

Jack was unsure how to couch it in terms he thought the occupant of his bed might like to hear. Things such as; "You're in heaven." Or perhaps, "Miss Swann's bed."

Then the figure rolled lazily upwards, discarding the pillow in favor of staring at Jack incredulously. "Jack?"

Jack in turn stared firmly at the couch opposite the foot of the bed. He gazed accusingly at the discarded clothes upon it, and vaguely recalled the evening before. It had involved a lot of rum and a complete lack of thought. Jack decided thought was for the birds. He turned to face the naked and morning-blurred form of Will Turner sitting up in his bed. "Rest assured, it was good for you." And really, what more could he say.

There's just no excuse ^_^' I was having some fun though –grin-