Dark of the Moon (9/?)
Dark of the Moon continues with part nine, in which Jack plays Lady's Maid. Profuse thanks to hereswith for her sharp eye and unfailing encouragement.
“Oooh, bringin’ ‘er gifts already, eh?” Pintel simpered and batted his eyes at Jack.
Jack grinned. “She needs these. Trust me.”
“Mussed ‘er ‘air, did you? An’ what’s that other for? Thought the captain ‘ad ‘is eye on that for Mother Comfit.”
“Did he?” Jack considered the black and gold silk shawl over his arm. “Letty won’t hurt it.”
“Letty? That her name?”
“It’s Mrs. Granger to you, mate.” And to me, too, Jack thought as he walked away, though he’d not enlighten Pintel, or anyone else, on this point. Best they thought she was his, in all the ways that mattered, while she was aboard the Pearl.
He trotted down the stairs and along the dim passage to his cabin door. Listened, just for a moment, but detected no evidence of distemper. He knocked briskly.
There was a shuffling, then Letty’s voice: “Who… who is it?”
Oops! “Sorry!” called Jack, and repeated his knock: twice, and twice again. The bolt was drawn, and the door opened, and Jack gave a snort of stifled merriment. She’d put on the dress and taken the pins from her hair, and she looked like nothing so much as a gorgon in a red sack.
Letty was seen to grit her teeth. “If you laugh at me, I’ll… I’ll kick you!”
A spark of liveliness?
He fanned the flame with a deliberate chuckle, and then did laugh when she came after him, as promised, bare feet not withstanding. Yaller hair, scarlet cheeks, and that red dress: too bloody much! He danced away from her, delighted at the effect he’d produced, until her foot grazed his shin, got tangled in the voluminous skirt, and she tripped with a cry.
He caught her, awkwardly, and hustled her back into the cabin, slamming the door shut.
“Let me go!” She struggled out of his grasp and faced him, breast heaving - quite a sight, considering the dip of that neckline. She noted the direction of his gaze quickly, though, and hastily clutched the loose material, pulling it up toward her neck.
Jack kept his amusement at bay with some effort. “Doesn’t fit, quite, does it?”
“I look ridiculous!”
“No! Well, maybe a little. But we’ll make it right. See what I’ve brought you.” He held out the shawl, and the comb and brush, but when she didn’t take them he set them down on the cot. Then he went to his chest. “Just a minute - I think I have… here!” The length of material he was seeking was near the top. He held it up, triumphantly. It was a beautiful thing, black shot with every color of the rainbow including real gold thread that glinted in the faint light, and long enough to wrap ‘round his own waist twice with plenty to spare.
Her eyes widened.
“Turn around,” he instructed, with a wave of his hand.
She seemed uncertain, but complied.
He tossed the makeshift sash over her head, settled it at her waist, and proceeded to tie it in back, adjusting the excess material of the dress as he did so.
“It’s… very bright,” she commented.
“So’s the dress. It’s the best I can do, for now. There!” He gave the dress and sash a final few tugs, then turned her about to face him, eyeing her critically. “Very suitable for a pirate’s wench.”
“The neck is much too low! And I am not a pirate’s wench. I’m a pirate’s captive.”
“I know that, and you know it, but it’ll be best if the rest of the crew think we’ve come to an accord, as it were. Here.” Jack took Mother Comfit’s shawl and draped it over Letty’s shoulders, knotting it at the front. “Modesty is thus preserved,” he said, solemn as a judge - or nearly.
“Thank you.” Letty tried to peer closely at the shawl, and spread her hands over the skirt of the dress, which really was of a very beautiful brocade.
“Not at all.” Jack frowned, considering her. “We should address the hair.”
She put her hands up to the pale nest. “I tried to straighten it.”
“With your fingers? It looks it. Use the brush, eh?”
She made a face at him, but did as he’d bade her. He made himself useful, straightening things a bit, but a minute later there was a rap on the door.
“It’s Reed, come to do the cabin,” he told Letty. “Hang on, mate, she’s nearly ready. Here, love, give me the brush.”
“I can do it! And I wish you will not call me ‘love’.”
“’Darlin’ then? Give over the brush: you’re takin’ too long.”
“No!”
“Yes!” He caught her about the waist and tickled her. She gave a shriek of surprise and dropped the brush, which he quickly snatched up. “Hold still.”
She folded her arms in front of her. “You… you’re… that was most unfair!”
“Pirate!” He bent and breathed into her ear, “But you can return the favor any time.”
She sniffed. “I shall wait until you’re asleep.”
“Oh, cruel!” he chuckled.
He was good with hair, and the tangles soon began to sort themselves out under his careful ministrations. It was a long while since he’d done this, and then it’d been for his mother, whose dark tresses had been much thicker and easier to brush. Letty’s long hair was very thoroughly “mussed”, pale as moonlight, fine and soft: the rough skin of his fingers kept catching in it. He persevered, however, from the wispy ends up to her scalp, brushing it back over her pretty ears, pink and shell-like.
Her cheeks were pink, too, and no wonder really: it was intimate work. She stood still and silent, but he could see her hand where it lay against her leg, the tapering fingers moving against the fabric of the dress. He was sorely tempted, but resisted the urge to bend and kiss her cheek for he wanted her trust more than that brief sweetness against his lips.
When her hair finally lay smooth in his hands, he swiftly and expertly divided it and braided it into one thick plait down her back, tying it with a bit of black cord.
“This’ll save it from the wind. It’s blowing steady today.”
She turned to him and almost smiled. “Were you a lady’s maid in a past life?”
He thought briefly of telling her of his mother. But no. In a low, provocative voice he said, “There’re other ways to gain a familiarity with the fairer sex, lass.”
“Oh,” she said, and looked away.
He frowned, but just then there was a renewed rapping at the door, and Reed’s voice called, “Mr. Sparrow?”
“There he is,” Jack told her. “Hurry and get your shoes on. The captain’s waiting for us.”
*
TBC
-------------
And speaking of my darling and brilliant hereswith, be sure to catch her newest Jack/Elizabeth piece, the epilogue to Turnabout, which is the fabulous three chapter J/E adventure story she wrote for me (!!!) for the Secret Santa fic exchange at Black Pearl Sails. The new epilogue is beautiful and utterly hot, just like the protagonists. *G* hereswith has all these posted to her journal, but the very best place to read Turnabout, or, indeed, her whole series of Jack/Elizabeth stories, is on Black Pearl Tales, where I have posted them with a sort of table of contents/list of links at the top of each page so you can read them in their proper order. Each one is a jewel.
But on top of the perfection of her J/E stories, hereswith writes in other fandoms, and she recently wrote a Firefly story that is so good it renders me incoherant. It's called Never Go Back. It's River/Mal set post-Serenity, and is absolutely perfect.
~.~
“Oooh, bringin’ ‘er gifts already, eh?” Pintel simpered and batted his eyes at Jack.
Jack grinned. “She needs these. Trust me.”
“Mussed ‘er ‘air, did you? An’ what’s that other for? Thought the captain ‘ad ‘is eye on that for Mother Comfit.”
“Did he?” Jack considered the black and gold silk shawl over his arm. “Letty won’t hurt it.”
“Letty? That her name?”
“It’s Mrs. Granger to you, mate.” And to me, too, Jack thought as he walked away, though he’d not enlighten Pintel, or anyone else, on this point. Best they thought she was his, in all the ways that mattered, while she was aboard the Pearl.
He trotted down the stairs and along the dim passage to his cabin door. Listened, just for a moment, but detected no evidence of distemper. He knocked briskly.
There was a shuffling, then Letty’s voice: “Who… who is it?”
Oops! “Sorry!” called Jack, and repeated his knock: twice, and twice again. The bolt was drawn, and the door opened, and Jack gave a snort of stifled merriment. She’d put on the dress and taken the pins from her hair, and she looked like nothing so much as a gorgon in a red sack.
Letty was seen to grit her teeth. “If you laugh at me, I’ll… I’ll kick you!”
A spark of liveliness?
He fanned the flame with a deliberate chuckle, and then did laugh when she came after him, as promised, bare feet not withstanding. Yaller hair, scarlet cheeks, and that red dress: too bloody much! He danced away from her, delighted at the effect he’d produced, until her foot grazed his shin, got tangled in the voluminous skirt, and she tripped with a cry.
He caught her, awkwardly, and hustled her back into the cabin, slamming the door shut.
“Let me go!” She struggled out of his grasp and faced him, breast heaving - quite a sight, considering the dip of that neckline. She noted the direction of his gaze quickly, though, and hastily clutched the loose material, pulling it up toward her neck.
Jack kept his amusement at bay with some effort. “Doesn’t fit, quite, does it?”
“I look ridiculous!”
“No! Well, maybe a little. But we’ll make it right. See what I’ve brought you.” He held out the shawl, and the comb and brush, but when she didn’t take them he set them down on the cot. Then he went to his chest. “Just a minute - I think I have… here!” The length of material he was seeking was near the top. He held it up, triumphantly. It was a beautiful thing, black shot with every color of the rainbow including real gold thread that glinted in the faint light, and long enough to wrap ‘round his own waist twice with plenty to spare.
Her eyes widened.
“Turn around,” he instructed, with a wave of his hand.
She seemed uncertain, but complied.
He tossed the makeshift sash over her head, settled it at her waist, and proceeded to tie it in back, adjusting the excess material of the dress as he did so.
“It’s… very bright,” she commented.
“So’s the dress. It’s the best I can do, for now. There!” He gave the dress and sash a final few tugs, then turned her about to face him, eyeing her critically. “Very suitable for a pirate’s wench.”
“The neck is much too low! And I am not a pirate’s wench. I’m a pirate’s captive.”
“I know that, and you know it, but it’ll be best if the rest of the crew think we’ve come to an accord, as it were. Here.” Jack took Mother Comfit’s shawl and draped it over Letty’s shoulders, knotting it at the front. “Modesty is thus preserved,” he said, solemn as a judge - or nearly.
“Thank you.” Letty tried to peer closely at the shawl, and spread her hands over the skirt of the dress, which really was of a very beautiful brocade.
“Not at all.” Jack frowned, considering her. “We should address the hair.”
She put her hands up to the pale nest. “I tried to straighten it.”
“With your fingers? It looks it. Use the brush, eh?”
She made a face at him, but did as he’d bade her. He made himself useful, straightening things a bit, but a minute later there was a rap on the door.
“It’s Reed, come to do the cabin,” he told Letty. “Hang on, mate, she’s nearly ready. Here, love, give me the brush.”
“I can do it! And I wish you will not call me ‘love’.”
“’Darlin’ then? Give over the brush: you’re takin’ too long.”
“No!”
“Yes!” He caught her about the waist and tickled her. She gave a shriek of surprise and dropped the brush, which he quickly snatched up. “Hold still.”
She folded her arms in front of her. “You… you’re… that was most unfair!”
“Pirate!” He bent and breathed into her ear, “But you can return the favor any time.”
She sniffed. “I shall wait until you’re asleep.”
“Oh, cruel!” he chuckled.
He was good with hair, and the tangles soon began to sort themselves out under his careful ministrations. It was a long while since he’d done this, and then it’d been for his mother, whose dark tresses had been much thicker and easier to brush. Letty’s long hair was very thoroughly “mussed”, pale as moonlight, fine and soft: the rough skin of his fingers kept catching in it. He persevered, however, from the wispy ends up to her scalp, brushing it back over her pretty ears, pink and shell-like.
Her cheeks were pink, too, and no wonder really: it was intimate work. She stood still and silent, but he could see her hand where it lay against her leg, the tapering fingers moving against the fabric of the dress. He was sorely tempted, but resisted the urge to bend and kiss her cheek for he wanted her trust more than that brief sweetness against his lips.
When her hair finally lay smooth in his hands, he swiftly and expertly divided it and braided it into one thick plait down her back, tying it with a bit of black cord.
“This’ll save it from the wind. It’s blowing steady today.”
She turned to him and almost smiled. “Were you a lady’s maid in a past life?”
He thought briefly of telling her of his mother. But no. In a low, provocative voice he said, “There’re other ways to gain a familiarity with the fairer sex, lass.”
“Oh,” she said, and looked away.
He frowned, but just then there was a renewed rapping at the door, and Reed’s voice called, “Mr. Sparrow?”
“There he is,” Jack told her. “Hurry and get your shoes on. The captain’s waiting for us.”
*
TBC
-------------
And speaking of my darling and brilliant hereswith, be sure to catch her newest Jack/Elizabeth piece, the epilogue to Turnabout, which is the fabulous three chapter J/E adventure story she wrote for me (!!!) for the Secret Santa fic exchange at Black Pearl Sails. The new epilogue is beautiful and utterly hot, just like the protagonists. *G* hereswith has all these posted to her journal, but the very best place to read Turnabout, or, indeed, her whole series of Jack/Elizabeth stories, is on Black Pearl Tales, where I have posted them with a sort of table of contents/list of links at the top of each page so you can read them in their proper order. Each one is a jewel.
But on top of the perfection of her J/E stories, hereswith writes in other fandoms, and she recently wrote a Firefly story that is so good it renders me incoherant. It's called Never Go Back. It's River/Mal set post-Serenity, and is absolutely perfect.
~.~