Near Wild Heaven 2/3
Title: Near Wild Heaven
Author: Laura H fried_flamingo
Rating: NC-17
Category: Angst, J/E, Sex
Disclaimer: The Mouse Owns All
First Chapter here.
It was the first storm of the season that brought black sails back to the horizon. The rains came late and Shipwreck Cove found itself in the midst of a hot, balmy summer. The heavy heat seemed to still all activity in the city and even the tempest in the Devil’s Throat was becalmed somewhat; ships found they could pass through the Cove’s entrance with ease. Few vessels came though, having anticipated foul weather, and Elizabeth found life as King during these sluggish weeks a dry, tedious pursuit.
More often than not, she would find herself at the open window of her chamber, longing for a breeze that might cool her brow and dry the sweat that seemed to cling perpetually to her skin. The monotony made her restless and too often she would find herself in a reverie, thinking about that morning when she had awoken with bruises upon her body and a dull ache in the muscles of her thighs.
It seemed that her discomfort had been evident to more than just herself, for even Teague had remarked on it, as she’d settled gingerly into her chair in the Great Hall later that day. Upon the table, had lain huge ledgers detailing the surplus cargoes offloaded by all ships who had docked in the Cove over that week.
“Battle hard on yer bones, lass?” he’d asked, fixing her with his hooded gaze.
“They always are, Captain Teague,” she’d replied, staring intently at the tabletop. “It seems the East India Company are making both their ships and their crews of sterner stuff these days.”
But Teague had merely puffed on his pipe and said quietly, “’Tweren’t that battle I were talking about.” He’d paused a moment and then, as if the two statements were completely unconnected, had added, “Seems our Jackie saw fit to take his leave last night.”
Elizabeth had forced herself to look him in the eye then, unwilling to let the old curmudgeon bait her.
“Did he? He said nothing to me.” I want you gone. “Though perhaps if Captain Sparrow has business in other waters then it’s best he attend to it without delay. No point remaining where there’s nothing for him?”
“Oh, Jack’s got unfinished business, love, but I don’t think it’ll be settled anytime soon. What say you?”
She’d shrugged, the movement eliciting a grimace from her as her shirt chafed against the grazes on her shoulder. “I have no opinion on the matter one way or another. Anyway,” she said, pulling the ledgers towards her, “we have our own business to attend to. Jack Sparrow may come and go as he pleases, same as any other pirate.”
Despite her offhand tone however, she hadn’t been able to help her stomach from dropping like a stone when Teague said, “Aye, but I daresay we won’t be seeing hide nor hair of him any time soon, love.” And what had made it worse was the note of compassion in his gravely voice.
He’d been correct though, in his assumption. The Black Pearl did not return to the Cove for the rest of that month, nor the next. June arrived, stretching its days into one long umber haze that cast the city’s towering spires in bronze, but still the rains did not come. Time passed.
On one dry, listless evening Elizabeth returned to her chamber, the ledgers having taken up less of her time given the lack of ships passing in and out of the Cove. She didn’t light her lamp, needing only the moon’s blue glow to light her way across the room where she threw open the window. To her delight, she felt the faint whisper of a breeze and closed her eyes as it stirred the strands of hair that fell about her face. With a smile, Elizabeth cast off her shirt, boots and breeches and settled herself in her chair by the window, her feet propped on the sill. The breeze upon her naked skin was cool and delicious and, with the tips of her fingers, she traced the places where it touched her body. Her face, her neck, along her arms, until eventually her hand drifted down over her stomach and she dropped one leg from the sill to the floor. Resting her head against the chair back, she let her hand drift lower, beginning to arch and sigh, when suddenly, behind closed eyes, she became aware that the room had darkened. When she looked, Elizabeth saw that a black cloud had passed in front of the moon. In the distance a low rumble of thunder growled and, through the open window, the first fat raindrop fell, splashing onto her naked skin. The rains were on their way.
***
“Cap’n!” yelled Gibbs, above the fury of the storm. “Cap’n Sparrow. Shall we furl the sheets, sir?”
Jack gripped the helm, his gaze fixed dead ahead. “Think we both know what me answer to that’s goin’ to be, mate.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Gibbs, “but, beggin’ yer pardon, Cap’n, I’m not sure as she can hold a bit longer. I fear the top-sail may split.”
“Gibbs,” said Jack, in a warning tone.
“Sir, the Cove’ll still be there once the storms passed, but if we don’t reef the same may not be said of our masts.”
“Mister Gibbs,” replied Jack, “this ship is the fearsome Black Pearl. She has survived Aztec curses, been swallowed by the Kraken and has brought herself back from the barren wastes of the Locker. If I say she can hold a bit longer, then she can bloody well hold a bit longer!” His voice rose to a yell just as his ship crested an enormous wave and a deluge of water crashed down upon the deck, almost knocking him from the helm. As the Pearl descended from the wave’s summit, a cry went up from the crow’s nest.
“Land Ho!”
Jack’s hand passed gently over the worn wood of the ship’s wheel. “That’s my girl,” he whispered, with a smile. Despite his satisfaction at reaching their destination however, he couldn’t help but remember what had occurred upon his last visit to Shipwreck Cove and the nature of his leaving.
They anchored that night in calmer waters, in a sheltered bay on the other side of the island, the Throat being too perilous a prospect in this weather. When Jack stepped from the Great Cabin the following morning, however, the air did not possess that freshness that he usually relished the day after such a storm, and he suspected that there was worse to come. Sure enough, when he hauled himself into the rigging, he saw that the horizon was still ugly and black.
“Best get us around the island before that’s upon us, Mr Gibbs.”
And so they set sail again, drawing through the Devil’s Throat and into the Cove as the sultry afternoon yawned and blinked its eyes. Jack shed his coat and tunic, leaving them in the cabin before heading to the gangway. To his surprise, a familiar face was waiting on the dock.
“Welcome home, Jackie,” growled Teague.
“An interesting choice of words,” he said making his way down the walkway, “but thanks all the same. And to what do I owe the pleasure of the welcome party?” Almost against his will, Jack cast his eyes around the dock, wondering if Teague was here alone.
“She ain’t here, boy.”
Jack frowned at him. “Don’t know what you mean,” he said, with a pout, but Teague only chuckled.
“Come,” he said and gestured with his hand as he set off along the quay.
“Where?” asked Jack, following.
“We’ll share a brew, son, and you can tell me tales of your recent travels.”
Frowning, Jack set off behind his father, wondering at the curious absence of his usual taciturnity. All the same, the prospect of a mug of ale in this sweltering heat was an alluring one.
The darkness of the Great Hall brought with it a blessed coolness and Jack was glad of the respite from the infernal heat. Teague lowered himself, with creaking bones, into a large armchair and gestured for Jack to sit in the one opposite.
“So tell me, son, what’s kept you from our company these past months?”
Jack fluttered his hands and shrugged. “Business in more friendly climes,” he answered vaguely.
“Just that?”
“What else?”
His father nodded, as if satisfied by his opaque response and turned his attention to stuffing tobacco into his pipe.
“Perhaps a better question then would be what brings you back to the fold, boy? Biblical allegories notwithstanding.”
“I’ve had meself a run of good fortune these past weeks, as it happens. The Pearl’s belly's full and I know what trade can be for the Cove in these month, not taking into account this damned unseasonable weather. Surmised you might appreciate replenishing your stores somewhat.”
“That’s right magnanimous of you, boy. I’m sure the King will be grateful.” His eyes flicked up when he uttered the last sentence, catching Jack’s with more knowing than was comfortable and Jack mentally cursed the old hawk for his shrewdness. He opened his mouth to respond, but the moment was interrupted by running footsteps in the corridor leading up to the Hall.
The doors flew open and a breathless voice said, “Captain Teague, why did no one alert me to the return of…?” Elizabeth’s sharp voice tailed off as her gaze settled on Jack. He saw her swallow, her breath coming rapidly and he wondered if it was purely through the exertion of running. Unbidden, memories sprang forth in his mind at the sight of her. The feel of her hand around him, the need in her eyes… Jack blinked in an attempt to rid himself of the images.
“Ja… Captain Sparrow,” she said, by way of greeting. “I hadn’t thought to see you in these waters any time soon.”
Thought or hoped, pondered Jack, somewhat bitterly.
“I… er…I had…” he began and cursed himself for his uncharacteristic stuttering. Keep it together, Jackie. The way her hair had felt in his hand as he’d pulled her back and… “Got a decent cargo,” he finished, gesturing randomly with his thumb. “Plenty to share.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Her gaze had not yet left him. Then, seeming to remember her position, she added, “The usual terms of trade shall apply, of course.”
Jack shrugged, though the situation struck him as anything but casual. “Wouldn’t expect it any other way, love.”
“Are you… will you be making berth in the Cove for long?”
“Storms might keep me here for a bit, I expect.” Behind him Teague chuckled and Jack darted him an sharp gaze.
Elizabeth nodded and bit her lip and it seemed then that they were stuck in some tableau, frozen and silent, a chalky fresco upon an old church wall. What might this be called, Jack wondered, this twisted sacra conversazione? What title might be given to such a scene, depicting figures fallen so far from grace?
“Will you sit, lass?” asked Teague, and this time Jack was glad of his interruption. The old man picked up the jug of ale and began filling three mugs.
“I should…” she began and turned back toward the door. For the first time since she had entered the room, her eyes left him and, suddenly, he was gripped by the preposterous notion that if she left this room, he would never see her again.
I want you gone.
“Elizabeth.” Her name burst from his lips almost without him realising. She halted and turned back. “Stay,” he said, quietly, then cleared his throat. “Have a drink at least,” he added, with forced levity. She looked uncertain for a moment, before nodding her assent and dragging a chair over to join them. Teague passed round the mugs and Jack licked his parched lips in anticipation. To his consternation, he was unable to keep his gaze averted as he saw Elizabeth do the same. Those lips upon his shoulder, his neck, frantic pleading for release. How might it feel to have those same lips around his…? Jack shook himself and took a long slug from his mug.
“Feelin’ the chill, son?” asked Teague, his expression apparently without guile though Jack knew otherwise.
“Maybe,” he replied, with a frown.
“Settle, mate. We’ve a long evenin’ ahead of us. The jug’s full and there are plenty more where that came from. So why don’t you tell us some tales from your voyages these past months.”
And so, much to Jack’s surprise, began an enjoyable evening. As the ale flowed, so did the conversation and Elizabeth settled back in her chair, laughing at his stories and even going to far as to prop her feet on the arm of his own chair. In the candlelit hall, the day passed without regard for time and Jack was relaying some particular incident regarding native girls and coconut shells when a flick of Teague’s head directed his attention to Elizabeth's chair. There he found his King curled upon the seat, her chest slowly rising and falling as she slept.
“A fine creature, ain’t she,” rumbled Teague and Jack felt a another flash of annoyance, only this time it was laced with something else at the thought of what his father’s comment might mean. He remembered Elizabeth’s taunt that night and, though he knew she had said it purely to provoke him, he baulked at the thought of it having become reality since he had left.
“And what care you for her fineness? If you and she are…”
“Easy, lad. Though me swiving days aren’t quite past me yet, I don’t have a mind to be stickin’ me pintle where it don’t belong. Besides, the lass seems almost kin to me now.”
Jack settled back, relief washing over him. “Ah, then you haven’t…”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. And even if I would, she’d be havin’ none of it. I’ve grown quite fond of me bollocks and wouldn’t want to be losin’ them anytime soon. No, son, there’s only bloke in this family that Captain Swann is setting her cap at, and it ain’t me.”
Jack raised his eyebrows, trying to ignore how dry his throat had become. He sipped at his ale before saying, “Is that so? Have I a brother you ain’t told me about then?” Teague blinked slowly and Jack looked away, his gaze settling on Elizabeth’s curled figure.
Suddenly it seemed foolish to hide any longer. What use was there in speaking in riddles and double talk, given all that his father seemed to know already? He shook his head. “It can’t ever be. I can’t let it… can’t let her…” Sighing, he leaned forward in his chair and caught Teague’s eyes. “You didn’t see how it was between us the day I left. I was so angry. So was she. I think we even hated each other then.”
“And now?”
Jack shrugged.
“Be careful, son. Anger’s a dangerous thing to cling onto. Turns all it touches rancid. Makes it rotten. Trust me on that.” His words made Jack wonder if there was any other motive behind this conversation. Then Teague said, “It’s late,” and pushed himself from his chair, stretching like an indolent old cat. Jack looked into his ale and realised something.
“Three mugs.”
“Eh?” His father’s expression was quizzical.
“On the table when we came in. There were three mugs. One for each of us.”
Teague shrugged and pursed his lips. “A happy coincidence, mate.”
“You knew she’d come.”
A craggy grin spread itself across the old man’s face. “Jackie, there are things in this world of which we can all be certain. The tides, the sun, the fact that one day each of us will close our eyes, never to open them again.” He looked down at Elizabeth’s sleeping form. “Then there are things what we have to make happen. Things what won’t fall into our laps without giving the tree a bit of a shake first, savvy?.” He yawned and set off towards the door of the Hall. “What a man can do and what a man can’t,” he called over his shoulder. “That’s the key, Jackie.” And with that he disappeared through the doors, closing them behind him and leaving Jack with his slumbering king.
For a moment, he reached out, ready to wake her that she might return to her chamber, but there was something that stilled his hand. Some aspect to her countenance perhaps or maybe it was just the thought that he might never again get to see her so untroubled, her face unlined by the vexations of life.
Jack settled back in his chair, stretched his legs out in from of him and smiled at the sight of her. It wasn’t long before his eyes too drifted closed and he fell asleep.
The first thing Jack noticed when he awoke, was that the most of the candles had burnt themselves out and the Hall was almost in darkness, save for the few flames that still flickered near where he lay. The second thing he noticed was that he was being watched. He turned his head to find Elizabeth’s eyes upon him, the expression on her face unreadable in the dim light. When she realised he’d caught her staring, she darted to her feet and looked away.
“I’m… I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure if… I was about to wake you.”
“Don’t worry about it. Didn’t mean to fall asleep. Chair’s not exactly the most comfy place to catch forty winks.” He stretched the ache out of his joints, turning his head sharply when he heard Elizabeth gasp. “Everything alright?” he asked, with a tilt of his head. She licked her lips and it was then that Jack realised where her thoughts had taken her. “Elizabeth,” he whispered, rising from the chair.
“I have to get out of here,” she said, with a groan and ran towards the door.
“Wait!” But she had already set off down the corridor. Jack hurried after her, the balmy night air assailing him as he stepped from the coolness of the Hall. When he came to the court yard, he caught the white flash of her shirt disappearing between the ruins of two hulking galleons. He ran after her, catching up quickly. Snaking his hand out he gripped her wrist and whirled her towards him.
“Where are you going?”
“To my chamber. Don’t follow me, Jack. Please don’t follow.”
And he knew that she was thinking of the last time he had followed her there. She had been so bitter that day, so full of fury, so wild in his arms as she’d shuddered against his body…
“Then don’t run from me, Lizzie,” he replied. “That day…”
“Don’t speak of it.”
“Why not?”
“It was the battle. We got carried away. And the things I said, oh Jack, the things I said to you.”
He forced a smile. “’Twas nothing I ain’t heard before, from mouths not quite as pretty as yours. Old Jackie’s got a hard shell, love. Very much like a sea turtle in that respect.”
“Don’t laugh at this,” said Elizabeth.
“I’m not.” And he wasn’t, for this was not a moment to be flippant. There had been damage done that day and it was hard to think on the extent of it. “Was a bit rough on you meself, I think,” he said, his voice becoming hoarse. “And not just with words.” He reached for her, sliding his hand across her cheek and into her hair. “Did I… hurt you?”
Elizabeth glanced down and he thought he saw the hint of a blush spread along her cheeks. She shook her head. “No. No, you didn’t hurt me that way.” She paused. “Why did you leave?”
“You wanted me gone. Said so with those very words.”
Elizabeth frowned and looked away from him. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Oh, I think you did, love.” Somehow, as they spoke, her hand had found its way into his. She swallowed and Jack watched, mesmerised, as a trickle of sweat made its way down her throat to the open neck of her shirt, disappearing into the valley of her breasts. He leaned towards her, closing the gap between them.
“You said you wanted rid of me,” she said. “I think you meant that.”
“Lizzie, I…” But he couldn’t finish, for her lips were so close now and all he longed to do was kiss her, to take her mouth with his own. Before he could make the final move however, Elizabeth moved forward, taking that last step between them and pressing her lips to his. They kissed gently at first, perhaps both afraid of unleashing that which had possessed them three months ago, but eventually the kiss dissolved into something passionate and hungry. Jack ran his tongue over her lips, along her jaw-line, catching her earlobe between his teeth. She gasped against his neck. Then her hands were pulling his shirt free from the confines of his breeches and she was running her palms over his back.
“What do you want from me, Jack? What do you want this to be?”
“I don’t know, Lizzie,” he answered between kisses. “Don’t know what I want. Do you?”
“No, I can’t think. It’s too much…Oh!” Jack had lifted the sweat damp cotton of her shirt, his mouth claiming one nipple, while his thumb brushed across the other one. Both hardened beneath his touch. “Jack, tell me. Tell me what you want. Right now, tell me what you want.” He shifted his hand from her breast, running his fingertips across her stomach in a way that made her shiver and sigh, then down into her breeches and she groaned in a way that made his prick harden instantly, as his fingers moved between her legs. Finding the spot he sought, he began to stroke her. “Oh God, Jack,” she hissed. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want this, Lizzie,” he murmured, and pressed into that bud of flesh, eliciting another cry. “I want to slide my fingers into you, to feel how wet you are, to know that I made you that way.” He ran his tongue across her nipple again and then did as he had just described. Elizabeth pulled at the fastenings of her breeches and let them fall to the ground, before lifting her shirt over her head and casting it aside. Jack groaned in desire at the sight of her naked in front of him.
“What else do you want?” she demanded.
“I want to feel you come against my hand, to bring you off by touching you just so…” And he pressed inside of her, causing her to whimper against the damp skin of his chest and dig her nails into his back. “I want to taste you, to open you up with my tongue and make you moan and shudder in ways you’ve never dreamed of before. And, oh god Elizabeth, you’d taste so sweet.”
Jack’s kisses trailed lower across her abdomen and down. Suddenly above them, thunder cracked open the night and the sky spilled rain upon them, drenching their bodies within seconds. For just a moment he let his eyes caress her, watching as the rain ran in tiny rivulets down her body, dripping from her nipples, across her navel, down to where his hand still worked between her legs. She arched her back against the wood of the galleon, catching his gaze, and there was a look in her eye so wanton and lust filled that it stirred him, until he thought his cock could not get any harder. In that instant, he felt caught in a rip tide, the current taking him to unknown waters. Swim back, he tried to tell himself. Keep swimming. Find the shore. But he was too far out now and feared that rescue was a futile hope.
“What is it you want, Lizzie?” he whispered, wiping the rainwater from his face with a shaking hand.
“I want this. With you.”
He nodded and took her hand before reaching down to pick up her clothes, meaning to lead her out of the rain, perhaps back to the Great Hall or up to her chamber, but instead she pulled him back into the shadow of the ship.
“No,” she said, peeling the wet fabric of his shirt from his back and pulling it over his head. “Here.”
And so he took her against the weathered hull of the great galleon, as water cascaded over their skin and their hair. They moved against each other, not frantic and angry like before, but with no less passion. Twice, Jack felt Elizabeth spasm around him, as she gasped and whispered into his ear what he was doing to her, how he was making her feel. But the words they uttered were of flesh and skin and touch. Neither of them spoke of their hearts and neither of them dared to use that taboo word.
Soon release came for him in a ribbon of heat across her belly and he used the rain and his hands to wash it away. They pulled on their sodden clothes and Elizabeth led him through the streets to her chamber, where they undressed each other once more and made leisurely use of one another’s bodies, until dawn brought sleep and the birth of another day.
TBC...
~~~
Author: Laura H fried_flamingo
Rating: NC-17
Category: Angst, J/E, Sex
Disclaimer: The Mouse Owns All
First Chapter here.
It was the first storm of the season that brought black sails back to the horizon. The rains came late and Shipwreck Cove found itself in the midst of a hot, balmy summer. The heavy heat seemed to still all activity in the city and even the tempest in the Devil’s Throat was becalmed somewhat; ships found they could pass through the Cove’s entrance with ease. Few vessels came though, having anticipated foul weather, and Elizabeth found life as King during these sluggish weeks a dry, tedious pursuit.
More often than not, she would find herself at the open window of her chamber, longing for a breeze that might cool her brow and dry the sweat that seemed to cling perpetually to her skin. The monotony made her restless and too often she would find herself in a reverie, thinking about that morning when she had awoken with bruises upon her body and a dull ache in the muscles of her thighs.
It seemed that her discomfort had been evident to more than just herself, for even Teague had remarked on it, as she’d settled gingerly into her chair in the Great Hall later that day. Upon the table, had lain huge ledgers detailing the surplus cargoes offloaded by all ships who had docked in the Cove over that week.
“Battle hard on yer bones, lass?” he’d asked, fixing her with his hooded gaze.
“They always are, Captain Teague,” she’d replied, staring intently at the tabletop. “It seems the East India Company are making both their ships and their crews of sterner stuff these days.”
But Teague had merely puffed on his pipe and said quietly, “’Tweren’t that battle I were talking about.” He’d paused a moment and then, as if the two statements were completely unconnected, had added, “Seems our Jackie saw fit to take his leave last night.”
Elizabeth had forced herself to look him in the eye then, unwilling to let the old curmudgeon bait her.
“Did he? He said nothing to me.” I want you gone. “Though perhaps if Captain Sparrow has business in other waters then it’s best he attend to it without delay. No point remaining where there’s nothing for him?”
“Oh, Jack’s got unfinished business, love, but I don’t think it’ll be settled anytime soon. What say you?”
She’d shrugged, the movement eliciting a grimace from her as her shirt chafed against the grazes on her shoulder. “I have no opinion on the matter one way or another. Anyway,” she said, pulling the ledgers towards her, “we have our own business to attend to. Jack Sparrow may come and go as he pleases, same as any other pirate.”
Despite her offhand tone however, she hadn’t been able to help her stomach from dropping like a stone when Teague said, “Aye, but I daresay we won’t be seeing hide nor hair of him any time soon, love.” And what had made it worse was the note of compassion in his gravely voice.
He’d been correct though, in his assumption. The Black Pearl did not return to the Cove for the rest of that month, nor the next. June arrived, stretching its days into one long umber haze that cast the city’s towering spires in bronze, but still the rains did not come. Time passed.
On one dry, listless evening Elizabeth returned to her chamber, the ledgers having taken up less of her time given the lack of ships passing in and out of the Cove. She didn’t light her lamp, needing only the moon’s blue glow to light her way across the room where she threw open the window. To her delight, she felt the faint whisper of a breeze and closed her eyes as it stirred the strands of hair that fell about her face. With a smile, Elizabeth cast off her shirt, boots and breeches and settled herself in her chair by the window, her feet propped on the sill. The breeze upon her naked skin was cool and delicious and, with the tips of her fingers, she traced the places where it touched her body. Her face, her neck, along her arms, until eventually her hand drifted down over her stomach and she dropped one leg from the sill to the floor. Resting her head against the chair back, she let her hand drift lower, beginning to arch and sigh, when suddenly, behind closed eyes, she became aware that the room had darkened. When she looked, Elizabeth saw that a black cloud had passed in front of the moon. In the distance a low rumble of thunder growled and, through the open window, the first fat raindrop fell, splashing onto her naked skin. The rains were on their way.
***
“Cap’n!” yelled Gibbs, above the fury of the storm. “Cap’n Sparrow. Shall we furl the sheets, sir?”
Jack gripped the helm, his gaze fixed dead ahead. “Think we both know what me answer to that’s goin’ to be, mate.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Gibbs, “but, beggin’ yer pardon, Cap’n, I’m not sure as she can hold a bit longer. I fear the top-sail may split.”
“Gibbs,” said Jack, in a warning tone.
“Sir, the Cove’ll still be there once the storms passed, but if we don’t reef the same may not be said of our masts.”
“Mister Gibbs,” replied Jack, “this ship is the fearsome Black Pearl. She has survived Aztec curses, been swallowed by the Kraken and has brought herself back from the barren wastes of the Locker. If I say she can hold a bit longer, then she can bloody well hold a bit longer!” His voice rose to a yell just as his ship crested an enormous wave and a deluge of water crashed down upon the deck, almost knocking him from the helm. As the Pearl descended from the wave’s summit, a cry went up from the crow’s nest.
“Land Ho!”
Jack’s hand passed gently over the worn wood of the ship’s wheel. “That’s my girl,” he whispered, with a smile. Despite his satisfaction at reaching their destination however, he couldn’t help but remember what had occurred upon his last visit to Shipwreck Cove and the nature of his leaving.
They anchored that night in calmer waters, in a sheltered bay on the other side of the island, the Throat being too perilous a prospect in this weather. When Jack stepped from the Great Cabin the following morning, however, the air did not possess that freshness that he usually relished the day after such a storm, and he suspected that there was worse to come. Sure enough, when he hauled himself into the rigging, he saw that the horizon was still ugly and black.
“Best get us around the island before that’s upon us, Mr Gibbs.”
And so they set sail again, drawing through the Devil’s Throat and into the Cove as the sultry afternoon yawned and blinked its eyes. Jack shed his coat and tunic, leaving them in the cabin before heading to the gangway. To his surprise, a familiar face was waiting on the dock.
“Welcome home, Jackie,” growled Teague.
“An interesting choice of words,” he said making his way down the walkway, “but thanks all the same. And to what do I owe the pleasure of the welcome party?” Almost against his will, Jack cast his eyes around the dock, wondering if Teague was here alone.
“She ain’t here, boy.”
Jack frowned at him. “Don’t know what you mean,” he said, with a pout, but Teague only chuckled.
“Come,” he said and gestured with his hand as he set off along the quay.
“Where?” asked Jack, following.
“We’ll share a brew, son, and you can tell me tales of your recent travels.”
Frowning, Jack set off behind his father, wondering at the curious absence of his usual taciturnity. All the same, the prospect of a mug of ale in this sweltering heat was an alluring one.
The darkness of the Great Hall brought with it a blessed coolness and Jack was glad of the respite from the infernal heat. Teague lowered himself, with creaking bones, into a large armchair and gestured for Jack to sit in the one opposite.
“So tell me, son, what’s kept you from our company these past months?”
Jack fluttered his hands and shrugged. “Business in more friendly climes,” he answered vaguely.
“Just that?”
“What else?”
His father nodded, as if satisfied by his opaque response and turned his attention to stuffing tobacco into his pipe.
“Perhaps a better question then would be what brings you back to the fold, boy? Biblical allegories notwithstanding.”
“I’ve had meself a run of good fortune these past weeks, as it happens. The Pearl’s belly's full and I know what trade can be for the Cove in these month, not taking into account this damned unseasonable weather. Surmised you might appreciate replenishing your stores somewhat.”
“That’s right magnanimous of you, boy. I’m sure the King will be grateful.” His eyes flicked up when he uttered the last sentence, catching Jack’s with more knowing than was comfortable and Jack mentally cursed the old hawk for his shrewdness. He opened his mouth to respond, but the moment was interrupted by running footsteps in the corridor leading up to the Hall.
The doors flew open and a breathless voice said, “Captain Teague, why did no one alert me to the return of…?” Elizabeth’s sharp voice tailed off as her gaze settled on Jack. He saw her swallow, her breath coming rapidly and he wondered if it was purely through the exertion of running. Unbidden, memories sprang forth in his mind at the sight of her. The feel of her hand around him, the need in her eyes… Jack blinked in an attempt to rid himself of the images.
“Ja… Captain Sparrow,” she said, by way of greeting. “I hadn’t thought to see you in these waters any time soon.”
Thought or hoped, pondered Jack, somewhat bitterly.
“I… er…I had…” he began and cursed himself for his uncharacteristic stuttering. Keep it together, Jackie. The way her hair had felt in his hand as he’d pulled her back and… “Got a decent cargo,” he finished, gesturing randomly with his thumb. “Plenty to share.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Her gaze had not yet left him. Then, seeming to remember her position, she added, “The usual terms of trade shall apply, of course.”
Jack shrugged, though the situation struck him as anything but casual. “Wouldn’t expect it any other way, love.”
“Are you… will you be making berth in the Cove for long?”
“Storms might keep me here for a bit, I expect.” Behind him Teague chuckled and Jack darted him an sharp gaze.
Elizabeth nodded and bit her lip and it seemed then that they were stuck in some tableau, frozen and silent, a chalky fresco upon an old church wall. What might this be called, Jack wondered, this twisted sacra conversazione? What title might be given to such a scene, depicting figures fallen so far from grace?
“Will you sit, lass?” asked Teague, and this time Jack was glad of his interruption. The old man picked up the jug of ale and began filling three mugs.
“I should…” she began and turned back toward the door. For the first time since she had entered the room, her eyes left him and, suddenly, he was gripped by the preposterous notion that if she left this room, he would never see her again.
I want you gone.
“Elizabeth.” Her name burst from his lips almost without him realising. She halted and turned back. “Stay,” he said, quietly, then cleared his throat. “Have a drink at least,” he added, with forced levity. She looked uncertain for a moment, before nodding her assent and dragging a chair over to join them. Teague passed round the mugs and Jack licked his parched lips in anticipation. To his consternation, he was unable to keep his gaze averted as he saw Elizabeth do the same. Those lips upon his shoulder, his neck, frantic pleading for release. How might it feel to have those same lips around his…? Jack shook himself and took a long slug from his mug.
“Feelin’ the chill, son?” asked Teague, his expression apparently without guile though Jack knew otherwise.
“Maybe,” he replied, with a frown.
“Settle, mate. We’ve a long evenin’ ahead of us. The jug’s full and there are plenty more where that came from. So why don’t you tell us some tales from your voyages these past months.”
And so, much to Jack’s surprise, began an enjoyable evening. As the ale flowed, so did the conversation and Elizabeth settled back in her chair, laughing at his stories and even going to far as to prop her feet on the arm of his own chair. In the candlelit hall, the day passed without regard for time and Jack was relaying some particular incident regarding native girls and coconut shells when a flick of Teague’s head directed his attention to Elizabeth's chair. There he found his King curled upon the seat, her chest slowly rising and falling as she slept.
“A fine creature, ain’t she,” rumbled Teague and Jack felt a another flash of annoyance, only this time it was laced with something else at the thought of what his father’s comment might mean. He remembered Elizabeth’s taunt that night and, though he knew she had said it purely to provoke him, he baulked at the thought of it having become reality since he had left.
“And what care you for her fineness? If you and she are…”
“Easy, lad. Though me swiving days aren’t quite past me yet, I don’t have a mind to be stickin’ me pintle where it don’t belong. Besides, the lass seems almost kin to me now.”
Jack settled back, relief washing over him. “Ah, then you haven’t…”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. And even if I would, she’d be havin’ none of it. I’ve grown quite fond of me bollocks and wouldn’t want to be losin’ them anytime soon. No, son, there’s only bloke in this family that Captain Swann is setting her cap at, and it ain’t me.”
Jack raised his eyebrows, trying to ignore how dry his throat had become. He sipped at his ale before saying, “Is that so? Have I a brother you ain’t told me about then?” Teague blinked slowly and Jack looked away, his gaze settling on Elizabeth’s curled figure.
Suddenly it seemed foolish to hide any longer. What use was there in speaking in riddles and double talk, given all that his father seemed to know already? He shook his head. “It can’t ever be. I can’t let it… can’t let her…” Sighing, he leaned forward in his chair and caught Teague’s eyes. “You didn’t see how it was between us the day I left. I was so angry. So was she. I think we even hated each other then.”
“And now?”
Jack shrugged.
“Be careful, son. Anger’s a dangerous thing to cling onto. Turns all it touches rancid. Makes it rotten. Trust me on that.” His words made Jack wonder if there was any other motive behind this conversation. Then Teague said, “It’s late,” and pushed himself from his chair, stretching like an indolent old cat. Jack looked into his ale and realised something.
“Three mugs.”
“Eh?” His father’s expression was quizzical.
“On the table when we came in. There were three mugs. One for each of us.”
Teague shrugged and pursed his lips. “A happy coincidence, mate.”
“You knew she’d come.”
A craggy grin spread itself across the old man’s face. “Jackie, there are things in this world of which we can all be certain. The tides, the sun, the fact that one day each of us will close our eyes, never to open them again.” He looked down at Elizabeth’s sleeping form. “Then there are things what we have to make happen. Things what won’t fall into our laps without giving the tree a bit of a shake first, savvy?.” He yawned and set off towards the door of the Hall. “What a man can do and what a man can’t,” he called over his shoulder. “That’s the key, Jackie.” And with that he disappeared through the doors, closing them behind him and leaving Jack with his slumbering king.
For a moment, he reached out, ready to wake her that she might return to her chamber, but there was something that stilled his hand. Some aspect to her countenance perhaps or maybe it was just the thought that he might never again get to see her so untroubled, her face unlined by the vexations of life.
Jack settled back in his chair, stretched his legs out in from of him and smiled at the sight of her. It wasn’t long before his eyes too drifted closed and he fell asleep.
The first thing Jack noticed when he awoke, was that the most of the candles had burnt themselves out and the Hall was almost in darkness, save for the few flames that still flickered near where he lay. The second thing he noticed was that he was being watched. He turned his head to find Elizabeth’s eyes upon him, the expression on her face unreadable in the dim light. When she realised he’d caught her staring, she darted to her feet and looked away.
“I’m… I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure if… I was about to wake you.”
“Don’t worry about it. Didn’t mean to fall asleep. Chair’s not exactly the most comfy place to catch forty winks.” He stretched the ache out of his joints, turning his head sharply when he heard Elizabeth gasp. “Everything alright?” he asked, with a tilt of his head. She licked her lips and it was then that Jack realised where her thoughts had taken her. “Elizabeth,” he whispered, rising from the chair.
“I have to get out of here,” she said, with a groan and ran towards the door.
“Wait!” But she had already set off down the corridor. Jack hurried after her, the balmy night air assailing him as he stepped from the coolness of the Hall. When he came to the court yard, he caught the white flash of her shirt disappearing between the ruins of two hulking galleons. He ran after her, catching up quickly. Snaking his hand out he gripped her wrist and whirled her towards him.
“Where are you going?”
“To my chamber. Don’t follow me, Jack. Please don’t follow.”
And he knew that she was thinking of the last time he had followed her there. She had been so bitter that day, so full of fury, so wild in his arms as she’d shuddered against his body…
“Then don’t run from me, Lizzie,” he replied. “That day…”
“Don’t speak of it.”
“Why not?”
“It was the battle. We got carried away. And the things I said, oh Jack, the things I said to you.”
He forced a smile. “’Twas nothing I ain’t heard before, from mouths not quite as pretty as yours. Old Jackie’s got a hard shell, love. Very much like a sea turtle in that respect.”
“Don’t laugh at this,” said Elizabeth.
“I’m not.” And he wasn’t, for this was not a moment to be flippant. There had been damage done that day and it was hard to think on the extent of it. “Was a bit rough on you meself, I think,” he said, his voice becoming hoarse. “And not just with words.” He reached for her, sliding his hand across her cheek and into her hair. “Did I… hurt you?”
Elizabeth glanced down and he thought he saw the hint of a blush spread along her cheeks. She shook her head. “No. No, you didn’t hurt me that way.” She paused. “Why did you leave?”
“You wanted me gone. Said so with those very words.”
Elizabeth frowned and looked away from him. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Oh, I think you did, love.” Somehow, as they spoke, her hand had found its way into his. She swallowed and Jack watched, mesmerised, as a trickle of sweat made its way down her throat to the open neck of her shirt, disappearing into the valley of her breasts. He leaned towards her, closing the gap between them.
“You said you wanted rid of me,” she said. “I think you meant that.”
“Lizzie, I…” But he couldn’t finish, for her lips were so close now and all he longed to do was kiss her, to take her mouth with his own. Before he could make the final move however, Elizabeth moved forward, taking that last step between them and pressing her lips to his. They kissed gently at first, perhaps both afraid of unleashing that which had possessed them three months ago, but eventually the kiss dissolved into something passionate and hungry. Jack ran his tongue over her lips, along her jaw-line, catching her earlobe between his teeth. She gasped against his neck. Then her hands were pulling his shirt free from the confines of his breeches and she was running her palms over his back.
“What do you want from me, Jack? What do you want this to be?”
“I don’t know, Lizzie,” he answered between kisses. “Don’t know what I want. Do you?”
“No, I can’t think. It’s too much…Oh!” Jack had lifted the sweat damp cotton of her shirt, his mouth claiming one nipple, while his thumb brushed across the other one. Both hardened beneath his touch. “Jack, tell me. Tell me what you want. Right now, tell me what you want.” He shifted his hand from her breast, running his fingertips across her stomach in a way that made her shiver and sigh, then down into her breeches and she groaned in a way that made his prick harden instantly, as his fingers moved between her legs. Finding the spot he sought, he began to stroke her. “Oh God, Jack,” she hissed. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want this, Lizzie,” he murmured, and pressed into that bud of flesh, eliciting another cry. “I want to slide my fingers into you, to feel how wet you are, to know that I made you that way.” He ran his tongue across her nipple again and then did as he had just described. Elizabeth pulled at the fastenings of her breeches and let them fall to the ground, before lifting her shirt over her head and casting it aside. Jack groaned in desire at the sight of her naked in front of him.
“What else do you want?” she demanded.
“I want to feel you come against my hand, to bring you off by touching you just so…” And he pressed inside of her, causing her to whimper against the damp skin of his chest and dig her nails into his back. “I want to taste you, to open you up with my tongue and make you moan and shudder in ways you’ve never dreamed of before. And, oh god Elizabeth, you’d taste so sweet.”
Jack’s kisses trailed lower across her abdomen and down. Suddenly above them, thunder cracked open the night and the sky spilled rain upon them, drenching their bodies within seconds. For just a moment he let his eyes caress her, watching as the rain ran in tiny rivulets down her body, dripping from her nipples, across her navel, down to where his hand still worked between her legs. She arched her back against the wood of the galleon, catching his gaze, and there was a look in her eye so wanton and lust filled that it stirred him, until he thought his cock could not get any harder. In that instant, he felt caught in a rip tide, the current taking him to unknown waters. Swim back, he tried to tell himself. Keep swimming. Find the shore. But he was too far out now and feared that rescue was a futile hope.
“What is it you want, Lizzie?” he whispered, wiping the rainwater from his face with a shaking hand.
“I want this. With you.”
He nodded and took her hand before reaching down to pick up her clothes, meaning to lead her out of the rain, perhaps back to the Great Hall or up to her chamber, but instead she pulled him back into the shadow of the ship.
“No,” she said, peeling the wet fabric of his shirt from his back and pulling it over his head. “Here.”
And so he took her against the weathered hull of the great galleon, as water cascaded over their skin and their hair. They moved against each other, not frantic and angry like before, but with no less passion. Twice, Jack felt Elizabeth spasm around him, as she gasped and whispered into his ear what he was doing to her, how he was making her feel. But the words they uttered were of flesh and skin and touch. Neither of them spoke of their hearts and neither of them dared to use that taboo word.
Soon release came for him in a ribbon of heat across her belly and he used the rain and his hands to wash it away. They pulled on their sodden clothes and Elizabeth led him through the streets to her chamber, where they undressed each other once more and made leisurely use of one another’s bodies, until dawn brought sleep and the birth of another day.
TBC...
~~~