The Pitfalls of Being a Good Guy (Kingdom Hearts, Tifa/Jack Sparrow)
Title: The Pitfalls of Being a Good Guy
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts 2
Pairing: Tifa/Jack Sparrow
Author: HYK
Recipient: Like Two Hummingbirds Which Also Had Never Met
Rating: NC-17
Summary: There are times when Jack remembers what it's like to be a good guy.
Warnings: Not so quick and dirty porn
Prompt: Quick and dirty porn! Tifa and Jack getting it on behind the bar (hers or one in Port Royal, don't care) preferably with some knocking-over of glasses or bottles and Jack getting to lick some manner of liquor off some part of Tifa. Set them up for it however you like, but I'd love to see Jack fast-talking her as much as humanly possible.
There are times when Jack Sparrow remembers what it's like to be a good guy.
It usually hits him at night, and usually after a long bout of indulgence. Often, when the darkness howls especially close to the edges of his soul, he finds himself seeking temporary salvation in either a bottle of rum or a willing woman.
When he walks into The King's Knob, he's not quite sure which one he's seeking, but he knows he needs something. His eyes scan the busy, noisy room, and it doesn't take him too long to see her. She's a bright spot in the room, a beacon on an unclear evening-which he finds ironic, given that everything she's wearing is black.
"Lovely gels shouldn't be drinking alone." It's a line he's used before, to better effect, and in better places than a suggestively named bar that smells of smoke and boiled eggs.
She lifts her head and gives him an appraising stare, but underneath it is a quiet desperation, a loneliness he can relate to. He tells himself that all he really wants is the bottle of rum in her possession.
Her head tilts to the side in wordless acquiescence, and she pushes the nearly full bottle to the empty spot next to her. He takes the chair there and perches himself at the edge of it, with legs casually crossed.
"Not from around here, no?" He takes in her leather corset, odd leather half-skirt, and visible leather knickers, and comes to the conclusion she likes leather. His kind of woman, really. And he can see her legs.
"No, I'm not."
Not very talkative either. Definitely his kind of woman.
"So tell me, what sort of elucidationing would a lone lass like you have for coming to a place like this?" He leans an elbow on the table and props his chin on a fist. "Because my tremendous intuitive sense of the female creature informs me that you are troubled."
She takes a sip from her glass, real slow-like, and his tremendous intuitive sense tells him she's thinking about whether or not handing the truth to ol' Jack is worth her time. "I thought I might find him here," she finally says.
"Ah. Man troubles. The worst kind." He gives her a knowing look and taps the side of his head. "Obviously scuppered in the head."
"Who? Me?" Her spine stiffens.
"No," he says hastily. "Him."
Her shoulders lower an inch, but still she eyes him. "Scuppered? What does that mean?"
"Scuppered..." He waves a ringed hand as he searches for the right words. "Broken... a little off... not working right... A fool, in other words. He's a fool- eh, what's your name?"
"Tifa."
"Ah! Tifa... lovely name, that." A nod of the head is accompanied by his best smile. "He's a scuppered fool, Tifa. Let us pronounce it sound and have a drink, shall we? Cheers." He clinks her glass with the bottle and steals a quick peek at her legs.
"Why do you say that?"
He pauses with the bottle halfway up to his lips. "Why do I say what?"
"Why do you say he's a fool? You don't even know him... You don't even know me, for that matter." She sighs and stares at the glass curled in her hands. "...I don't even know me."
He studies her for a moment before finally tipping the bottle back. She's clearly in need of a little appreciation, he's clearly in need of a little escape, and a woman of her caliber wasn't an opportunity often presented.
He sets the rum down on the table with an air of decisiveness and announces, "Then I will help you find yourself."
A sharp glance. "You will?"
"Aye. Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service."
"And how will you service me?"
He can't help the naughty chuckle, blames it on second nature, but he says, "By helping you find out who you aren't."
"Who I'm not..." She rolls the words around on her tongue, thinks about it. "Yes," she agrees, "that might work."
"Shall we drink to it, then?" There's a sound of glass against glass, and he watches, impressed, as she downs the liquor in her hand.
"I am not a drinker, usually," she explains with a sheepish smile, finding his eyes on her as her glass is refilled.
"Cheers to that." More glass against glass. A more reserved sip from her this time. "What else aren't you, love?"
She traces a crack in the table with a fingertip. "I'm not his light. And I'm not someone worth returning to, apparently."
"Then why are you waiting?"
"I'm not..." She sets her jaw stubbornly. "Not anymore."
"No more scuppery," he agrees. "Cheers!"
"Cheers," she echoes, and takes a long swallow from her drink. "You know what else I'm not?"
"What, love?"
"I'm not a woman."
He almost spits out his rum at that. "Come again?" He eyes her chest and thinks to himself that those ladies sure fooled him.
"I worded that wrong." She frowns. "I mean to say, I don't feel like a woman. I don't feel attractive or desirable or sexy. I feel like... I don't know... blah. It's no wonder I'm not worth returning to."
He runs a hand over his chin and tugs on his beard thoughtfully. "That's interesting."
"What's interesting?"
"Worth and no worth." He takes in the dark of her eyes, the line of her jaw, the silk of her black hair. "You're a stunning specimen of pulchritude and voluptuousness-don't you ever hear that?"
She blinks at him. "No. Mostly I hear I'm strong and kind and too patient."
"And perhaps you are, love, but wouldn't it be nice to remember you're a woman in addition to a saint?"
She laughs ruefully. "Yes. Yes, it would. Even if just for a little while."
"Then let us declare that Captain Jack Sparrow is aroused by you, here and now, henceforth, ever after, unto eternity." He makes a vague twirling gesture with his hand. "Et cetera, et cetera." He stops and examines her. "There... I don't suppose that worked, did it?"
She laughs again, a little less ruefully. "I'm afraid not. But it was a nice thought."
He sighs. "Then I suppose I shall just have to show you."
----
The alleyway behind the bar smells a few levels better than the inside of the bar, much to Jack's surprise. Not exactly the best place for a seduction, but he knows their time together is meant to be fleet.
He kisses her, tentatively, waiting for a slap or some other sign that this isn't what she wants. But she leans into him, opens her mouth wide, and invites his tongue and other parts of him to participate. She's not hesitant at all, proof of how much she needs this, and it isn't long before he's navigating his way around unfamiliar things like a zipper, a bra, shorts, and panties.
They remove her confusing skirt/apron and spread it out on the wooden crate behind her. Then he's lifting her up, setting her down and gently pushing her back-pausing to admire the way her hair fans out underneath her, the way the moon makes her skin look flawless.
But there's something untreasurable about it, something self-indulgent about what he's doing that makes him uncomfortable. He thinks to himself, She deserves more than one night. She certainly deserves more than an anchorless sea rover like himself. But the old pirate in him surfaces and reminds him, That's all you have, and you're all she's got.
He kisses her again, slower and more purposeful, and she melts into him. If he was a romantic man, he'd describe her as a willow bending in the wind or a flower lifting its face to the sun. But he's not, and she's not. She's a person, starved and hungry for human contact, and he follows her cues, cupping, stroking, stirring her to life.
She smells like a bath, like fruit and flowers and femininity-things the boy in him had always imagined a woman to smell like. She tastes like she smells; he runs his eager tongue over, in and around everything he can reach. The underside of a breast makes her swear impatiently. There's a ticklish spot behind her knee. The first delve into her folds sends her fingers into his hair.
She's a gasping, writhing thing under his worship, and as his palms realize they've never felt skin so smooth, his conscience realizes he's stealing a little bit of something he doesn't deserve. Once a pirate... but he's out to prove to himself that he can give, for once.
She moans as he enters her, and her hands grip at his coat like it's a lifeline. Her knees bend and bracket his ribs as he pulls out and sinks into her again. Everything of hers tightens around him-her fingers, her legs, the pitch of her breathy, quiet cries, her warmth and wetness-as he lunges and withdraws, ebbs and flows. She gathers him into herself with her sounds and her sex, and he's loath to leave.
"Tifa." His hands find the juncture of where her hips and thighs meet as he leans in to take a nipple in his mouth.
"Jack," she pants. "I feel-"
"Tell me," he urges her, and gives her breast one last flick of the tongue before abandoning it in favor of a deeper angle.
"I feel..." Her mouth falls open at his new position. Her breaths come a little shorter as she strains and pushes toward an end. "I feel..."
"Sexy? Desirable? Like a woman?"
She squeezes her eyes shut and nods, too close to the edge for words.
"You are." And she is. Parted lips, curve of a throat, arched spine, breasts thrown into prominence-starlight suits her.
She comes around him, squeezing and trembling and sobbing his name. He stays for as long as he can possibly stand before pulling out of her body and hurriedly putting temptation behind his breeches.
"Jack..." His sudden retreat has her sitting up and reaching for him in confusion.
"Shhh, love." He kisses her protests and runs his hands over every exposed part of her, memorizing, before his clever fingers start putting her back into decency.
"But... I don't understand. What about you?"
"I can't," he tells her, and leaves it at that. "Don't worry about it. This was more than enough for me." You've silenced the edges. "Finish dressing while we're yet still undiscovered."
He watches as she pulls on panties, shorts, and skirt, and once she's finished, she wraps her arms around his waist and he gathers her in for a farewell embrace.
"So what will you do now?" His nose takes one last plunge into her hair.
"I don't know." There's a sadness to her voice. "Maybe I'll try to find my own light."
"A sound idea. I like it."
"Will you be here when I do?"
He takes a deep breath and releases her. "No, darling. I'm afraid not." He turns his face to the direction of the harbor. "I'll be somewhere out there."
"So what should I-?"
"Walk ten paces that way, turn the corner, and then walk about another twenty until you're out of the alley. Beyond that? Forget about me. Go find your light and be happy, Tifa." With someone else. And the old pirate in him thinks, But at least I got to have you for a little while.
She exhales loudly, and he can see how she's fighting tears, but she's smart enough to know what they have isn't love. "Thank you, Jack," she whispers, "Maybe someday..." She yanks the ring from her finger and presses it into his hand before quickly making her exit, head bowed low.
He falls heavily onto the crate she had been beautiful on only minutes ago, and places the ring into a pocket, not quite ready to deal with it just yet. He feels terrible, like he's just taken a cannonball to the gut. Every part of him (some parts more than others) wants to run after her and ask her to sail away with him, to maybe take a stab at being his light for a while.
But he doesn't. He stays firmly planted amidst the smell of old eggs and lingering flowers, and he remembers why he hates being a good guy.
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts 2
Pairing: Tifa/Jack Sparrow
Author: HYK
Recipient: Like Two Hummingbirds Which Also Had Never Met
Rating: NC-17
Summary: There are times when Jack remembers what it's like to be a good guy.
Warnings: Not so quick and dirty porn
Prompt: Quick and dirty porn! Tifa and Jack getting it on behind the bar (hers or one in Port Royal, don't care) preferably with some knocking-over of glasses or bottles and Jack getting to lick some manner of liquor off some part of Tifa. Set them up for it however you like, but I'd love to see Jack fast-talking her as much as humanly possible.
There are times when Jack Sparrow remembers what it's like to be a good guy.
It usually hits him at night, and usually after a long bout of indulgence. Often, when the darkness howls especially close to the edges of his soul, he finds himself seeking temporary salvation in either a bottle of rum or a willing woman.
When he walks into The King's Knob, he's not quite sure which one he's seeking, but he knows he needs something. His eyes scan the busy, noisy room, and it doesn't take him too long to see her. She's a bright spot in the room, a beacon on an unclear evening-which he finds ironic, given that everything she's wearing is black.
"Lovely gels shouldn't be drinking alone." It's a line he's used before, to better effect, and in better places than a suggestively named bar that smells of smoke and boiled eggs.
She lifts her head and gives him an appraising stare, but underneath it is a quiet desperation, a loneliness he can relate to. He tells himself that all he really wants is the bottle of rum in her possession.
Her head tilts to the side in wordless acquiescence, and she pushes the nearly full bottle to the empty spot next to her. He takes the chair there and perches himself at the edge of it, with legs casually crossed.
"Not from around here, no?" He takes in her leather corset, odd leather half-skirt, and visible leather knickers, and comes to the conclusion she likes leather. His kind of woman, really. And he can see her legs.
"No, I'm not."
Not very talkative either. Definitely his kind of woman.
"So tell me, what sort of elucidationing would a lone lass like you have for coming to a place like this?" He leans an elbow on the table and props his chin on a fist. "Because my tremendous intuitive sense of the female creature informs me that you are troubled."
She takes a sip from her glass, real slow-like, and his tremendous intuitive sense tells him she's thinking about whether or not handing the truth to ol' Jack is worth her time. "I thought I might find him here," she finally says.
"Ah. Man troubles. The worst kind." He gives her a knowing look and taps the side of his head. "Obviously scuppered in the head."
"Who? Me?" Her spine stiffens.
"No," he says hastily. "Him."
Her shoulders lower an inch, but still she eyes him. "Scuppered? What does that mean?"
"Scuppered..." He waves a ringed hand as he searches for the right words. "Broken... a little off... not working right... A fool, in other words. He's a fool- eh, what's your name?"
"Tifa."
"Ah! Tifa... lovely name, that." A nod of the head is accompanied by his best smile. "He's a scuppered fool, Tifa. Let us pronounce it sound and have a drink, shall we? Cheers." He clinks her glass with the bottle and steals a quick peek at her legs.
"Why do you say that?"
He pauses with the bottle halfway up to his lips. "Why do I say what?"
"Why do you say he's a fool? You don't even know him... You don't even know me, for that matter." She sighs and stares at the glass curled in her hands. "...I don't even know me."
He studies her for a moment before finally tipping the bottle back. She's clearly in need of a little appreciation, he's clearly in need of a little escape, and a woman of her caliber wasn't an opportunity often presented.
He sets the rum down on the table with an air of decisiveness and announces, "Then I will help you find yourself."
A sharp glance. "You will?"
"Aye. Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service."
"And how will you service me?"
He can't help the naughty chuckle, blames it on second nature, but he says, "By helping you find out who you aren't."
"Who I'm not..." She rolls the words around on her tongue, thinks about it. "Yes," she agrees, "that might work."
"Shall we drink to it, then?" There's a sound of glass against glass, and he watches, impressed, as she downs the liquor in her hand.
"I am not a drinker, usually," she explains with a sheepish smile, finding his eyes on her as her glass is refilled.
"Cheers to that." More glass against glass. A more reserved sip from her this time. "What else aren't you, love?"
She traces a crack in the table with a fingertip. "I'm not his light. And I'm not someone worth returning to, apparently."
"Then why are you waiting?"
"I'm not..." She sets her jaw stubbornly. "Not anymore."
"No more scuppery," he agrees. "Cheers!"
"Cheers," she echoes, and takes a long swallow from her drink. "You know what else I'm not?"
"What, love?"
"I'm not a woman."
He almost spits out his rum at that. "Come again?" He eyes her chest and thinks to himself that those ladies sure fooled him.
"I worded that wrong." She frowns. "I mean to say, I don't feel like a woman. I don't feel attractive or desirable or sexy. I feel like... I don't know... blah. It's no wonder I'm not worth returning to."
He runs a hand over his chin and tugs on his beard thoughtfully. "That's interesting."
"What's interesting?"
"Worth and no worth." He takes in the dark of her eyes, the line of her jaw, the silk of her black hair. "You're a stunning specimen of pulchritude and voluptuousness-don't you ever hear that?"
She blinks at him. "No. Mostly I hear I'm strong and kind and too patient."
"And perhaps you are, love, but wouldn't it be nice to remember you're a woman in addition to a saint?"
She laughs ruefully. "Yes. Yes, it would. Even if just for a little while."
"Then let us declare that Captain Jack Sparrow is aroused by you, here and now, henceforth, ever after, unto eternity." He makes a vague twirling gesture with his hand. "Et cetera, et cetera." He stops and examines her. "There... I don't suppose that worked, did it?"
She laughs again, a little less ruefully. "I'm afraid not. But it was a nice thought."
He sighs. "Then I suppose I shall just have to show you."
----
The alleyway behind the bar smells a few levels better than the inside of the bar, much to Jack's surprise. Not exactly the best place for a seduction, but he knows their time together is meant to be fleet.
He kisses her, tentatively, waiting for a slap or some other sign that this isn't what she wants. But she leans into him, opens her mouth wide, and invites his tongue and other parts of him to participate. She's not hesitant at all, proof of how much she needs this, and it isn't long before he's navigating his way around unfamiliar things like a zipper, a bra, shorts, and panties.
They remove her confusing skirt/apron and spread it out on the wooden crate behind her. Then he's lifting her up, setting her down and gently pushing her back-pausing to admire the way her hair fans out underneath her, the way the moon makes her skin look flawless.
But there's something untreasurable about it, something self-indulgent about what he's doing that makes him uncomfortable. He thinks to himself, She deserves more than one night. She certainly deserves more than an anchorless sea rover like himself. But the old pirate in him surfaces and reminds him, That's all you have, and you're all she's got.
He kisses her again, slower and more purposeful, and she melts into him. If he was a romantic man, he'd describe her as a willow bending in the wind or a flower lifting its face to the sun. But he's not, and she's not. She's a person, starved and hungry for human contact, and he follows her cues, cupping, stroking, stirring her to life.
She smells like a bath, like fruit and flowers and femininity-things the boy in him had always imagined a woman to smell like. She tastes like she smells; he runs his eager tongue over, in and around everything he can reach. The underside of a breast makes her swear impatiently. There's a ticklish spot behind her knee. The first delve into her folds sends her fingers into his hair.
She's a gasping, writhing thing under his worship, and as his palms realize they've never felt skin so smooth, his conscience realizes he's stealing a little bit of something he doesn't deserve. Once a pirate... but he's out to prove to himself that he can give, for once.
She moans as he enters her, and her hands grip at his coat like it's a lifeline. Her knees bend and bracket his ribs as he pulls out and sinks into her again. Everything of hers tightens around him-her fingers, her legs, the pitch of her breathy, quiet cries, her warmth and wetness-as he lunges and withdraws, ebbs and flows. She gathers him into herself with her sounds and her sex, and he's loath to leave.
"Tifa." His hands find the juncture of where her hips and thighs meet as he leans in to take a nipple in his mouth.
"Jack," she pants. "I feel-"
"Tell me," he urges her, and gives her breast one last flick of the tongue before abandoning it in favor of a deeper angle.
"I feel..." Her mouth falls open at his new position. Her breaths come a little shorter as she strains and pushes toward an end. "I feel..."
"Sexy? Desirable? Like a woman?"
She squeezes her eyes shut and nods, too close to the edge for words.
"You are." And she is. Parted lips, curve of a throat, arched spine, breasts thrown into prominence-starlight suits her.
She comes around him, squeezing and trembling and sobbing his name. He stays for as long as he can possibly stand before pulling out of her body and hurriedly putting temptation behind his breeches.
"Jack..." His sudden retreat has her sitting up and reaching for him in confusion.
"Shhh, love." He kisses her protests and runs his hands over every exposed part of her, memorizing, before his clever fingers start putting her back into decency.
"But... I don't understand. What about you?"
"I can't," he tells her, and leaves it at that. "Don't worry about it. This was more than enough for me." You've silenced the edges. "Finish dressing while we're yet still undiscovered."
He watches as she pulls on panties, shorts, and skirt, and once she's finished, she wraps her arms around his waist and he gathers her in for a farewell embrace.
"So what will you do now?" His nose takes one last plunge into her hair.
"I don't know." There's a sadness to her voice. "Maybe I'll try to find my own light."
"A sound idea. I like it."
"Will you be here when I do?"
He takes a deep breath and releases her. "No, darling. I'm afraid not." He turns his face to the direction of the harbor. "I'll be somewhere out there."
"So what should I-?"
"Walk ten paces that way, turn the corner, and then walk about another twenty until you're out of the alley. Beyond that? Forget about me. Go find your light and be happy, Tifa." With someone else. And the old pirate in him thinks, But at least I got to have you for a little while.
She exhales loudly, and he can see how she's fighting tears, but she's smart enough to know what they have isn't love. "Thank you, Jack," she whispers, "Maybe someday..." She yanks the ring from her finger and presses it into his hand before quickly making her exit, head bowed low.
He falls heavily onto the crate she had been beautiful on only minutes ago, and places the ring into a pocket, not quite ready to deal with it just yet. He feels terrible, like he's just taken a cannonball to the gut. Every part of him (some parts more than others) wants to run after her and ask her to sail away with him, to maybe take a stab at being his light for a while.
But he doesn't. He stays firmly planted amidst the smell of old eggs and lingering flowers, and he remembers why he hates being a good guy.