Entry tags:

pg-13

The Price

Chapter: 2/?
Pairing: Lord Cutler Beckett/Captain Jack Sparrow
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter
Summary: It's just... good business.
Disclaimer: Disney probably didn't write this.
Notes: If it wasn't full of anachronisms, it wouldn't be true to canon.
Feedback: Is like cookies to me.
Previous Chapter: One

Cutler's new office really was terribly, terribly nice. A sizeable desk spanned one wall, maps and charts spread across the teak table top. The floor was richly carpeted, and the walls held tasteful watercolour seascapes interspersed with yet more maps.

It was the wall opposite his desk that held his favourite decoration. A giant chart, spanning all of the known world. Each time somewhere new was discovered, a clerk with a paintbrush was summoned to add it in its proper place (and then be roundly flogged if he made a smudge. Cutler abhorred messy painting).

He pulled a small silver hand-mirror from his desk-drawer, glancing at himself for the hundredth time. The new white wig settled upon his head filled him with pride each time he saw it, although he had to admit that it looked somewhat incongruous next to the still-youthful blush of his skin, moreover it did absolutely nothing for his colouring and frankly, it itched like the Dickens. Scratching his head fitfully and pulling a face, he lay the mirror carefully back into its drawer, picked up his fountain pen and started to sign various important documents.

There was a knock on the door. He returned his pen to the inkwell and sat back in his chair, smoothing his eyebrows back with his thumb.

"Come in," he said in his most commanding voice. The door opened and in sidled Jack Sparrow, whose eyes, Cutler noticed, immediately darted towards every shiny object in the room.

"Ah, Captain Sparrow. How good to see you," said Cutler composedly. "Do have a seat." He took a moment to observe the other man, who looked much the same as he had three years ago, when they first met. The hair was a little longer, perhaps, the hollows under the eyes somewhat more pronouced - and there were definitely more trinkets in the collection, attached to his belts, hair and shirt. Sparrow grinned back at him, legs crossed comfortably in his chair.

"Just what's this business venture you'll be needing my assistance in, then?" Sparrow settled back, regarding the young man across the table with darkly gleaming eyes.

"We require the transport of some cargo," said Cutler, picking up the teapot and delicately pouring the fragrant liquid into two china cups.

"Well, I do just so happen to have a ship," said Sparrow, stirring four teaspoonfuls of sugar into his cup and taking a sip, little finger sticking out as he grasped the handle.

Cutler gave a tight smile. "How very helpful. We'd need you in Africa in three months' time."

"Africa?" Sparrow beamed suddenly, showing gold teeth. "I've had some great times in Africa. Last time I was there, there was this tribe of pygmies..." He leant forwards in genuine enthusiasm, eyes sparkling. "They had some way of tattooing people using berries and thorns from this one bush that only grows where there's been bloodshed," he continued, punctuating his words with vague gestaculations. His hands moved hypnotically, fingers spreading as he spoke.

"You let them tattoo you?" asked Cutler, interested despite himself. In response, Sparrow rolled up his sleeve.

"I wasn't born Jack Sparrow, you know."

Beckett raised an eyebrow.

"Captain Sparrow, that appears to be a swallow."

Jack looked down at his arm. "Oh." His lips opened in a pout. "I probably should have asked someone about that," he mumbled.

"So you're familiar with the African coastline?" said Cutler, aware of the amusement showing in the lines of his face. He took a sip from his tea. "That will be most helpful."

"I aim to please," replied Sparrow distractedly, licking his finger and jabbing it in the sugar bowl. The other man repressed a shudder.

"Now as to the matter of fiscal recompense?" said the sailor, dark eyes suddenly intensely focused towards Beckett.

"Twenty percent of the value of the cargo," he replied, aware of the blush that was creeping up his neck under his companion's scrutiny.

"And how valuable is this cargo?"

"Significantly, but only to the East India Company," said Beckett in clipped tones. Sparrow raised his eyebrows and smiled. His eyes darted to the left as he thought.

"Thirty," he said abruptly, a businesslike tone to his voice.

"Twenty," repeated Cutler, annoyed.

"Twenty-five," offered Sparrow. "And I'll make it worth your while," he added more slowly, a grin spreading across his face as his fingers stroked the edge of the desk.

"Twenty-five is acceptable," said Beckett wearily, attempting to cultivate an expression of disdain, "on the condition that you never explain to me what exactly 'worth my while' means."

"We have an accord!" said Jack, standing up with a flourish and extending his arm across the table. Cutler stood in response and grasped the hand offered, smiling to himself.

He walked around the table and lay a hand on the doorknob to open it. Sparrow moved swiftly, covering Beckett's hand with his own and leaning on one arm against the door, preventing him from opening it. His mouth opened in surprise as Jack's hand ghosted over the side of his face, before the sailor leant in and placed an open-mouthed kiss on his top lip. He stiffened for a second, before raising his own hand to grasp the back of the other man's shirt and pull him closer, his head tilting to the left and tongue darting forwards into his mouth. Their bodies pressed together, tongues tangling and hands sliding under shirts.

Jack pushed Cutler against the wall and kissed him roughly before grasping the handle and opening the door, turning around gracefully before he walked out of the room to give the flustered man a lascivious wink.

Cutler slid down the wall and landed on the floor with a bump.

"Oh, hell."

To Part Three