Fic: Bordello
Title: Bordello
Author: djarum99
Rating: N17
Pairing: J/E
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, but they’re cunning pirates and have made an escape
A/N: Standalone, in the ‘verse of A Priori. This one is for
sage_laurel, and her smut muse. No beta, as it’s long past midnight and Jack won’t leave me alone until I post :). The erotica deferred from C.1 - “I’m feeling a bit of the whore tonight…”
He lay naked across the scarlet brocade covering their bed, a languid sprawl of burnished copper flesh, braids a serpent’s tangle fanned over the pillows. The parts of his body hidden from the sun glowed pale in contrast, places touched only by other lovers. Candlelight softened his scars, life’s damage and tattooed remembrance. In the dim circle cast by the dancing flame he was the night's own creation, at ease in its shadows.
“What would you do first, with them? What would you ache to do?” Elizabeth needed his guidance in this new game, for her a step into uncertainty. She summoned confidence; his invitation had been for her command, his acquiescence to all she desired. She rose, her body bare to the night’s heat, kneeling beside him.
“I’d want to touch them, explore the soft and secret places I’d paid for, order them to touch me, make them mine to hold for as long as my coin lasted.” The liquid tempo of his voice was already uneven, giving the lie to his body’s repose.
She studied him, chose first to run her fingers along the ridges formed where his hips met the hard plane of his belly, and drew them inward and up to brush across taut nipples, then the hollow of his throat. She felt his heart awaken at the contact, saw the pulse quicken beneath his skin. Her hands found a bolder course, slid to his thighs and the dark coarse hair between them, cupped the weight of him. This elicited a muttered curse, a low moan under his breath. She circled his cock, slid over its satin, loved the slip of it under her fingers, a sheath for rigid yearning.
“Touch me, Jack, touch me now.” He obeyed, reaching for her breasts. The cool of his rings and the warm strength of his hands moved over her; she felt a tremor run through his body as she continued to stroke him. She covered his fingers with her own, guided them down over hollow and curve to her center, urged him inside her heat. His lips parted, eyes drifted shut in a sweep of kohl and thick lashes.
“No, open your eyes, look at me. Tell me what you would want next.” She brought firmness to her tone with difficulty; heard her own heart’s rhythm, felt the molten rush of her blood swirling to meet the fingers that stroked inside her.
His eyes found hers, heavy with arousal and a challenge. “I’d want to taste them, use my tongue on them. Every woman tastes different; did you know that, Lizzie? Salt and sweet, always, but each one a strange new sea. I’d want them to taste me, take me in their mouth.”
“Do it, then, Jack; and show me how.” Her voice shook; she was losing the battle for mastery, and no longer cared.
“Another night, Miss Swann; tonight I’m your whore. Let me earn my wages.”
The curve of his mouth was a promise of sin and sweet damnation. He freed her hand from his cock, brought it to his lips and kissed the palm, open mouthed, the tip of his tongue a tease against her skin. He swept across her wrist, the tender skin inside her elbow and at the juncture of her shoulder, lowered her to the bed. His mouth settled at her breasts, drew the music his fingers made inside her upward in a spiraling crescendo. He moved over her, down her body, paused to lave a caress into the hollow of her navel, over the cradle of her hips. He settled between her thighs, the thick mass of his hair spread over her. Its movement echoed the play of his tongue against her; memory's trinkets carrying his body’s warmth, rough braids and silken strands trailing her skin.
Her body’s symphony reached its apex, crested and broke so sharply her cry was almost one of pain. He shifted upward, drew her against him, and whispered a litany into her hair. “Hush, Lizzie, sweet Bess, hush, love, hush; it’s the Caribbean you taste of, the sea I pulled you from, sweet darkness, and salt, and you.”
She rested her cheek against his chest, heard and felt the beat of his heart, the new cadence of her life. She pulled away, raised her eyes to his. “Would you talk to them like that? Offer endearments, tenderness?” She was not sure what she wanted him to answer.
“Not tenderness; that was never on offer from them, nor me. But, sometimes, it was…friendly; they were accustomed to harsher men than me, men who took them hard and without a word, at best. At worst, they earn their pay with bruises and broken bones. If their luck fails, and it often does, they earn an early grave.” He touched her cheek, eyes soft in the dim light. “Sometimes, after, I just wanted to hold something warm, talk to a woman; and besides, you know I’m not a man for silence, especially not in bed.”
“And this game, tonight, is that...?” She still felt the thrill of the power he had given her, to order her wishes done, his body at her bidding. Her own inexperience left her searching for a way to reconcile the harsh realities he spoke of with the song that still coursed in her veins.
“No, love, this is a play, a fantasy. This is you, and me, and anything we can imagine together. Besides, as I told you, I’m a bit of a tart myself. Like to put it ‘round, you know, and I promised you a night as your whore.” He grinned like a satyr, gold flashing at the corner of his mouth.
She smiled, pushed him back against the pillows, pinned his wrists above his head. “All right, then. I believe I still have something on credit. And I no longer need instruction; I know what I want next.”
Kissing him, she tasted the sea of her childhood, of herself. His mouth’s essence was of another sea, dark with complexity, bittersweet. She ran her tongue around the curve of his ear, a favorite trick of his, slipped it down his throat and heard his breath catch. Straddled him, took his length inside, and made a slow fall towards bliss. He broke free of her hold, cupped her breasts, his body a golden arc matching the pale of hers. She made it slow, and she made it last, until she clenched around him and he grasped her hips with shaking hands, lifted her and spilled hot between them. Through it all and until she slept he gave her words, all his variations on her name, all the things she was for him, all that he was for her.