Of time and kisses.
At first he cannot believe that his calculations are correct. Jack checks the dates, and then checks again. He verifies the day with Tom when he comes on deck and Tom looks at him with some concern before saying that yes, Captain Aubrey is correct about what day it is. After the conversation is over Tom sneaks little glances at Jack and frets.
For all his revelry ashore and all his indulgence of vices, it has been a year now since Jack was last kissed. It had been George, curiously. Jack had been holding him, explaining the movement of the ocean beyond their land and pointing out where stars and planets would be. Sophie had grown bored and kissed his cheek, saying she was heading for home. Mimicking his mother George laid a wet sucking kiss to Jack’s cheek and said, “Head home.” And so they had, and passed a quiet evening at the fire talking of nothing in particular.
Jack, a man with a fondness for the details of his passions, loves kissing. He loves the last breath before the lips touch, he loves the feeling of the other’s dry warm mouth on his own, and he loves the moan against his mouth that comes from a kiss well given. Sometimes he will cradle a woman’s head in his hand as he kisses her and feel her grow soft and pliant under his fingertips. Sometimes a laughing barmaid will tug at his lower lip with her teeth as she pulls back from his kiss and winks as she walks away. Sometimes, he remembers, he liked to taste the port and cigar on the mouth of the second lieutenant when he was first aboard Surprise so many years ago.
George will be too old, now, for kissing his father with abandon. And while their kisses in the privacy of their bedroom are far from chaste it has been so long now that Jack wonders if he will remember how Sophie likes to be kissed. Indeed, with their voyage not yet done and his shore time often taken up with meetings and seeing to stores and repairs the next year looks as bleak as the last. There will be no time for barmaids or willing Admiral’s daughters. There will be no time for capturing enough of them that he’ll be able to taste their mouths until dinner.
He finds that he has been standing there at the quarterdeck rail worrying at his lower lip with his teeth. His breathing is coming a little faster and his forehead is furrowed. Tom sees all these things and clears his throat.
“Yes Tom?”
Tom’s own forehead wrinkles now and he licks at his lips before speaking. “Sir, not meaning to pry, but are you feeling quite well?”
‘Oh Tom,’ Jack thinks as he stares at the slick trail left by Tom’s tongue, ‘oh you oughtn’t have done that.’
“I’m fine, Lieutenant. I feel very well.” And he does. Because this is a long voyage, and he has months to discover the flavor of Tom’s mouth.