A/N: I wrote this for all my Sparrabeth readers out there. I feel as if I have abandoned you guys for a long time, and for that I am sorry. However, my writing is slowly going down the drain I've noticed or at least in my opinion. Everything feels wrong. And weird. Alas, this is just a short little drabble-like thing for you all until I write something decent.

Reviews and feedback are welcome.

Disclaimer: The trilogy would have been R rated.

Just Good Business:

"An' whose bettin' it'll take a week?"

"What, wit' the captain at 'er 'eels? I'll say 'alf a week!" says a ragged corsair confidently.

"A day!" guffaws another.

"'Ave you seen the way they look at each other? I bet ten pieces of eight they're already at it!"

This final remark emits an uproar of mirth from the group of sailors crowded about prow of the ship, as well as some agreeing 'ayes!'. The final bets are placed amongst the pirates when they settle down once more; three vote that it'll take a month, six for a week, four for half a week, and only one lone man holds true to the idea of the two already being together.

"Did you know, Miss. Swann, that those aboard this ship are placing bets about you and I?"

Jack lingers about in the galley near the pirate king, watching each of her movements with careful precision. She has plucked a red apple (green are forbidden under the Pearl's proper captain) from a nearby barrel and has begun eating it. It makes a loud cracking sound when she bites into.

"Is that so?" she asks, arcing an eyebrow at him in challenge. Her lip quirks northwards for a brief moment. "Over what? Do tell."

"Well…" Jack takes a slow step towards her, waving an arm about greatly to help express his point. "They're all in pocession of the curious notion that you and I are contriving behind their cretinous backs to perform the fifth deadly offense against the bloody church within the next month." He pauses, his eyebrows meeting together in a bout of uncertainty.

"Or is the seventh? Could be the sixth, but m'sure that's gluttony…"

"I'm not a fool, Jack. You're speaking of lust." Elizabeth takes another clever bite from her apple, leaning her hip on the oak table that lies in the center of the room. "What are the bets?"

"Only three believe you to have an ounce of virtue left in you – they bet it'd take a month. Four said it'd take a half a fortnight. The rest all straddled the bow, as it were, and chose to mull about the range of a half of a week," Jack tells her, ticking off the various choices with his fingers while still taking a few seemingly unconscious steps towards her. "However, a more favorable wage came from a man who thought contrary to all previous thoughts."

He leans towards her with a conspiratorially perverse grin on his face, blatantly waiting for her interest to peek. And he is in luck.

"Which is?"

It is then that he sidles up next to her, far too close it would seem to anyone viewing this exchange and glances about hurriedly as if sharing a secret. He then brings the side of his face to hers and says, "Dear Bess, he had the propitious belief that we had already had a go about me cabin. He even put two-hundred pieces of eight on it, more silver then the poor bugger even has."

Elizabeth stares forward thoughtfully and ponders over this news, absently taking another bite of her fruit. Jack watches her mouth with darkening eyes until she turns to him, forcing his gaze to avert to a more proper area of her face.

"I want half of the winnings," she murmurs casually. At his questioning look, she continues, "You cannot honestly think I'd believe that a crewmember would even contemplate betting that much silver without knowing he would win. You put him to it."

"You think me that black-heartened?" Jack pouts, bringing himself in front of her.

A smirk curls mischievously at Elizabeth's lips, wickedness tangling about her mouth like a vine… A vine that likes to bite, something Jack knows from experience.

She takes another chunk from her apple and does not miss his black eyes dart to her mouth. Ah, you're not as stealthy as you think you are, dear captain.

"I believe it's a well known fact." She raises her eyebrows.

Jack appears distracted; his fingers wiggle at his side restlessly and his lips visibly twitch.

"You know… love…" He moves even closer – if that was possible – and grabs her hand that holds the apple. He slowly pulls it away from her. "I believe it would be in our best interest to commit said treacherous act to give the fishwives more incentive to believe we've already been at it. I for one, think -."

Before he can ramble any more, Jack is silenced by a pair of very luscious and very tasty lips pressing against his.