Title: It's All About the Hat
Characters/Pairings: Barbossa/Jack
Disclaimer: I don't own POTC; all belongs to Elliott, Rossio, etc.
Warnings: m/m, language, unseen force
Summary: "There was something about it that caught me fancy."
A/N: I've seen posts about the hats in POTC having meaning and all that, so this idea just happened to come the other day. This is about Barbossa's - told in his POV as well. What the hell? I needed some Sparbossa. :D

The hat had been around ever since I can remember. It belonged to my father and hasn't changed since the day he acquired it, I'm sure. There was something about it that caught me fancy, and I cannot deny that I envied him for the illustration of class and luxury it brought to him. He didn't deserve that hat, so it was not surprising when I stole it from his head the day he died. I'd be damned if I saw somethin' that fine buried with him in the earth to be unseen by the world. Horrible and out of the question, it was.

It would be unfair to say that the piece of attire has not molded me in some way. In fact, there's a certain powerful property that accompanies it every minute that I wear it. It has made me.

It be too precious for a filthy rat to lay hands on it. I'd kill anyone who dare touch it. Perhaps that was one of my biggest mistakes – not killin' him when I walked in on him.

Oh yes, we shared a bed and each other every night, but I did not remember agreein' upon the terms of sharin' other property. He seemed to think otherwise. He stood stark naked in all his glory, admiring himself in the mirror when I discovered him – and I would've had no problem with starin' at his exquisite, androgynous form if it hadn't have been for the only article he did wear. It was my gorgeous hat. My hat.

It made naught a bit of sense to me why he would choose to do such a thing. His own meant the world to him, I happen to know. I would've shot him if he hadn't have turned around. That damn smile of his always weaves its charm into me soul. He may have been quite the whore, but he was my whore; I knew better than to be sucked into his sensuality after spending so many nights with him, but alas, it is a weakness of man. I dared not harm him.

"Now I see why you love this hat so much, Hector," he said contently. "It is quite wonderful. And the feathers are magnificent."
I stepped in front of him and grabbed him by the throat. "What makes ya think ye can try it on, Jack?"

He simply lowered his eyelids to scold me and pried my fingers from his neck.

"You really do need to work on not bein' so possessive, love," he huffed as he sashayed to the table. He picked up his own tri-corn and presented it to me. "Here. Try mine on."

It was ridiculous to think that he believed it would rectify his actions. I snatched it from him and placed it on me head. To my wonderment, it actually felt almost as good as me own. Why didn't I think of it before? Of course there would be some sort of power that came from his as well. But there was no mistakin' it – it was different.

He grinned cheerfully as he studied me. "Feel better now?"

I treaded to him and shoved him back to lie on the table. He was always eager to be fucked; it didn't matter what time of day or night it was. As I thrust wildly within him, I couldn't tear my eyes from his face…..the hat…..something had changed. Whenever his eyes opened for brief seconds as he gasped for breath, a flash of red lit them up like a demon. After the first few instances it happened, he became more demanding, and I pounded him harder than any other time previous.

There was somethin' amiss.

When I finished with him, he remained limply where he was and barely moved. At last he reached up to remove the hat and I could see his hands shaking relentlessly. There was a moment where I could tell he was reluctant to let it go, but he finally took it off and gave it to me. I returned his and that was that. Whatever had had a hold of him was gone.

And I felt it back within me.

I never take it off anymore and if I do, it doesn't leave my eyesight. There's somethin' about it……