AN: Apparently somebody should've burned my laptop a LONG time ago. Goodness, I need a life…

Anyway, what you see here doesn't necessarily take place during a specified period of time, but if it had to be, I'd place it somewhere in or towards the end of the second film.

Disclaimer: Again with the Pirates…tis not mine.

He had never seen a finer day in all his many years, as unaccounted for as they were. The sea conserved its rapacious energy to a steady undulation, lapping serenely against the ship's weather beaten hull, felicitous mist conjured from the salty entity licking his skin and lips as he stood leaning against the port gunwale. Consumed by astute admiration for the bright, cloudless sky spread before him, he spread his arms as if about to expel some grand revelation, delighting in the warmth of the sun's rays as they soaked both flesh and bone in a most titillating manner.

Speaking of flesh

His gaze stole away towards the opposite side of the deck to a reposeful corner, one that presently occupied the statuesque representation of womanhood in his prurient eyes. The light in her eyes flickered dubiously as her gaze was inevitably averted to him – one thick brow arching demurely as the mask was stripped, if only for a moment, the façade quickly being reiterated sanguinely into place with a darkly unyielding scowl and purse of full lips. He more or less repented, staring longingly at her back as she revoked his voyeuristic escapade, but to scant extent; the sight of her generous mane twisting and curling in the strangely aromatic breeze proved all the more entrancing than her immaculate visage.

Fisting his hands at his sides, he resisted the curiously overwhelming urge to pout, fidgeting at his station as he now observed the completely undeserved approach of the whelp with fervidly territorial intensity. Didn't that boy have something more important to attend to? Hadn't he – the Captain, mind you, master and commander of the unfortunate souls at his disposal – ordered him to care for a matter that he couldn't quite remember at present, but still knew to be of immense magnitude?

Ah, what's this?

Elizabeth reciprocated Will's effete gesture, howbeit her gaze backtracked again to him; yes, the man (if he could be referred to as such) who had mere seconds before stomped his foot in explicit avidity and exorbitant vexation – so much so that it's vice remained scathed into whatever was left of his mindless restraint. Oh, how that look made him cast reason to the wayside. It was scandalous, he knew, to think of her in that manner, but it was that stubborn defiance, a deliciously impetuous sentiment that radiated as a slow burn in his belly.

Her tremulous orbs ensnared his attention again; every trace of emotion, every distinct and purposeful thought, the whole essence of her persona was wrapped entirely up in those amber irises that for some reason made him think of rum.

I like rum.

He swallowed, throat thick with trepidation as he took one hesitant step forward, yet several staggering backwards as far as his mind was concerned. He had gotten her to indulge in his most favored drink once, back when she was still the prudent shrew running away from her lovely friend Norrington and into the arms of a blacksmith. She came to life, loosed from a society that smothered her in tafetta and silk; he was certain, of course, that never had her eyes shone as brightly as they did that night and since the fact he was even more certain that he might not live to see them so again.

There's more to it than rum, Jackie.

He sighed, thoughts splitting open and allowing him to contemplate the endeavor of downplaying his potent emotions. He wasn't used to being denied, being rejected, being used...generally he was the one doling out those edicts and it suited him just as much. But he wanted her to use him...

And, rum or not, Jack Sparrow always got what he wanted.