Request: Tattoos
Title: Tattoos
Author: nelliedances/Miss Ruby Tuesday
Rating: PG-13, nothing explicit, but suggestive.
Pairings: Jack/Elizabeth
Warnings: Meh, not much in the way of them. Could be after AWE, could be after CotBP. Could be lots of places or none at all.
Disclaimer: I make lots and lots of money off of this. That’s why I live in an apartment, drive a 14 year old car, and write on a second hand iBook. Oh, wait…
Summary: For every 10,000 nautical miles traveled, you gain a sparrow.
Notes: For my darling jacksmermaid and her prompt of tattoos. Second story for my other prompts is coming by Monday, hopefully.
“But it’s a tradition, darlin’! Makes you twice as valuable as not!” The sharp, silver glint of the needle glittered ominously between Jack’s dirty, tar stained fingers.
“Absolutely not! Get away from me with that thing!” Still tanned, but finer boned hands batted his hands away from the tender flesh of her shoulder. “And I’ll thank you not to touch me with those grubby paws you call hands.”
Jack pouted and for a moment, Elizabeth found herself wishing for as fine a mouth as his. It was entirely misplaced on a man. A mouth that sensual really only had business on a woman. She shook her head, attempting to clear the thought of that specific mouth from her brain.
“There’ll be no convincing you then?” She couldn’t tell if the disappointment in his voice was real or feigned. One never really knew with Jack.
“Come off it, Jack. You can’t possibly expect me to let you near me with that.” She fluttered her fingers at the needle still in his hand. “Besides… it will hurt.”
He shrugged and fixed her with a lazy, half-leering smile. “More’n some things, less’n others, I suspect.”
“Is this just a ploy to get your shirt off my back? Because if so, it wasn’t a very good one,” she snipped archly, frowning at him.
“If I wanted my shirt off your back, I’d just as soon as had it. I wouldn’t need to invent tales.” He smiled, content as a cat in cream with the knowledge that he was right, no matter what her protests might be. “No, luv, it really and truly is a tradition and one I’d’ve though you’d be hankering for, what with you being a proper pirate wench and all.”
She didn’t meet his eyes, but the colour rising in her cheeks was answer enough for him. He’d piqued her powerful curiosity. Here fishy, fishy, take the bait, and time to reel her in. A light touch on the line would be all he’d need now.
“Twenty thousand miles, Bess. Round the world and back. You’re owed two. It’s a mark of courage, of pride, and most assuredly a mark of a damn fine sailor.” He paused to stroke a hand across her collarbones, rubbing his fingers over the spot where ball met socket when she didn’t immediately slap his hand away. She sighed, eyes fluttering closed. Just a little bit more line…
“It’s a sign, m’dear, to all who see it that they should show proper respect for you. Not just as a common jack tar, but a sailor worth every bit of her salt. A pirate to be feared…” He reached his other hand into his coat pocket, rolling the small pot of India ink into his palm with the needle even as his other hand was guiding her towards his berth.
“Jack,” her voice was soft and unsure. “I don’t know if you’re the right person exactly to do this. I mean, how much experience do you really have doing this?”
He cupped his hand around her shoulder and spun her to face him. Time to let out the line just a little, to see if she had any fight left. “’Spose we could wake Gibbs. I’m sure he’s available to do the deed… if you want to hear every last superstition and fable about it. In fact, yes! Gibbs is just the man. You won’t feel a bit of pain because you’ll be bored stiff.” He stepped back ever so slightly from her and she leaned in after him, entranced by the sound of his voice and the forbidden idea of letting someone… Jack… permanently mark her.
Hook, line, and sinker.
“No!” Her own voice seemed to startle her and she blinked rapidly for a moment as if waking up. “I mean, no need to wake Master Gibbs. As long as you’ve done this before, I suppose… if it’s really a tradition…”
She let him walk her backwards to the bed, no more protests voiced, even when he pulled the shirt down to bare her shoulders and brandished the sharp needle and ink. She didn’t close her eyes when he leaned over her, close as a lover, to trace the outline against her skin. When the moment came, when he finally pierced her skin, she gasped and started, but he was prepared for it; his arm, heavy and warm across her chest, held her pinned as he continued to tamp the ink under her skin. By the time he’d moved to her other shoulder, she felt her blood humming through her veins under Jack’s never ceasing fingers.
Her head spun when he finally pulled her off the berth and to her feet, producing a damp cloth from somewhere to the right of where she stood. It was cool and oddly clean for something that seemed to have been lying on the floor, but when he swiped it across her skin, it was clear it to her wasn’t some random scrap of linen that he’d cast off. She caught the faint scent of rose water mingling with the India ink and something that had the suspicious, metallic tang of blood. She let him keep his arm around her waist when he finished cleaning her shoulders, steadying her, she told herself, rather than for the simple pleasure of being a woman in a man’s arms as he guided her in front the mirror at the far opposite end of the cabin so she could see his workmanship.
The ink stood out starkly against the whiteness of skin that never saw the sun. With wings skirting the edge of each sharp protrusion of her clavicle, the pair of birds dove inward toward her heart. Twice ten thousand miles and a bird for each… Her heart fluttered against her ribs, eager to join its brethren.
“Those’ll see you home safe every time. Birds like that know their way to familiar shores. You’re not likely to drown at sea now.” He was right next to her ear, his breath warm on her ear and his fingers curling and uncurling themselves around her still-bare shoulders. She turned her head and found closer still than she realized; so close that her lips would nearly brush his when…if… she spoke, if she angled her head a tiny bit more.
“You never told me what kind of birds these were, Jack,” she whispered, reveling in the soft brush of his lips as hers moved.
She felt rather than saw him grin and it made her heart beat just a little faster. “They’re sparrows, luv. What else would they be?”
Will was not going to like this.
Author: nelliedances/Miss Ruby Tuesday
Rating: PG-13, nothing explicit, but suggestive.
Pairings: Jack/Elizabeth
Warnings: Meh, not much in the way of them. Could be after AWE, could be after CotBP. Could be lots of places or none at all.
Disclaimer: I make lots and lots of money off of this. That’s why I live in an apartment, drive a 14 year old car, and write on a second hand iBook. Oh, wait…
Summary: For every 10,000 nautical miles traveled, you gain a sparrow.
Notes: For my darling jacksmermaid and her prompt of tattoos. Second story for my other prompts is coming by Monday, hopefully.
“But it’s a tradition, darlin’! Makes you twice as valuable as not!” The sharp, silver glint of the needle glittered ominously between Jack’s dirty, tar stained fingers.
“Absolutely not! Get away from me with that thing!” Still tanned, but finer boned hands batted his hands away from the tender flesh of her shoulder. “And I’ll thank you not to touch me with those grubby paws you call hands.”
Jack pouted and for a moment, Elizabeth found herself wishing for as fine a mouth as his. It was entirely misplaced on a man. A mouth that sensual really only had business on a woman. She shook her head, attempting to clear the thought of that specific mouth from her brain.
“There’ll be no convincing you then?” She couldn’t tell if the disappointment in his voice was real or feigned. One never really knew with Jack.
“Come off it, Jack. You can’t possibly expect me to let you near me with that.” She fluttered her fingers at the needle still in his hand. “Besides… it will hurt.”
He shrugged and fixed her with a lazy, half-leering smile. “More’n some things, less’n others, I suspect.”
“Is this just a ploy to get your shirt off my back? Because if so, it wasn’t a very good one,” she snipped archly, frowning at him.
“If I wanted my shirt off your back, I’d just as soon as had it. I wouldn’t need to invent tales.” He smiled, content as a cat in cream with the knowledge that he was right, no matter what her protests might be. “No, luv, it really and truly is a tradition and one I’d’ve though you’d be hankering for, what with you being a proper pirate wench and all.”
She didn’t meet his eyes, but the colour rising in her cheeks was answer enough for him. He’d piqued her powerful curiosity. Here fishy, fishy, take the bait, and time to reel her in. A light touch on the line would be all he’d need now.
“Twenty thousand miles, Bess. Round the world and back. You’re owed two. It’s a mark of courage, of pride, and most assuredly a mark of a damn fine sailor.” He paused to stroke a hand across her collarbones, rubbing his fingers over the spot where ball met socket when she didn’t immediately slap his hand away. She sighed, eyes fluttering closed. Just a little bit more line…
“It’s a sign, m’dear, to all who see it that they should show proper respect for you. Not just as a common jack tar, but a sailor worth every bit of her salt. A pirate to be feared…” He reached his other hand into his coat pocket, rolling the small pot of India ink into his palm with the needle even as his other hand was guiding her towards his berth.
“Jack,” her voice was soft and unsure. “I don’t know if you’re the right person exactly to do this. I mean, how much experience do you really have doing this?”
He cupped his hand around her shoulder and spun her to face him. Time to let out the line just a little, to see if she had any fight left. “’Spose we could wake Gibbs. I’m sure he’s available to do the deed… if you want to hear every last superstition and fable about it. In fact, yes! Gibbs is just the man. You won’t feel a bit of pain because you’ll be bored stiff.” He stepped back ever so slightly from her and she leaned in after him, entranced by the sound of his voice and the forbidden idea of letting someone… Jack… permanently mark her.
Hook, line, and sinker.
“No!” Her own voice seemed to startle her and she blinked rapidly for a moment as if waking up. “I mean, no need to wake Master Gibbs. As long as you’ve done this before, I suppose… if it’s really a tradition…”
She let him walk her backwards to the bed, no more protests voiced, even when he pulled the shirt down to bare her shoulders and brandished the sharp needle and ink. She didn’t close her eyes when he leaned over her, close as a lover, to trace the outline against her skin. When the moment came, when he finally pierced her skin, she gasped and started, but he was prepared for it; his arm, heavy and warm across her chest, held her pinned as he continued to tamp the ink under her skin. By the time he’d moved to her other shoulder, she felt her blood humming through her veins under Jack’s never ceasing fingers.
Her head spun when he finally pulled her off the berth and to her feet, producing a damp cloth from somewhere to the right of where she stood. It was cool and oddly clean for something that seemed to have been lying on the floor, but when he swiped it across her skin, it was clear it to her wasn’t some random scrap of linen that he’d cast off. She caught the faint scent of rose water mingling with the India ink and something that had the suspicious, metallic tang of blood. She let him keep his arm around her waist when he finished cleaning her shoulders, steadying her, she told herself, rather than for the simple pleasure of being a woman in a man’s arms as he guided her in front the mirror at the far opposite end of the cabin so she could see his workmanship.
The ink stood out starkly against the whiteness of skin that never saw the sun. With wings skirting the edge of each sharp protrusion of her clavicle, the pair of birds dove inward toward her heart. Twice ten thousand miles and a bird for each… Her heart fluttered against her ribs, eager to join its brethren.
“Those’ll see you home safe every time. Birds like that know their way to familiar shores. You’re not likely to drown at sea now.” He was right next to her ear, his breath warm on her ear and his fingers curling and uncurling themselves around her still-bare shoulders. She turned her head and found closer still than she realized; so close that her lips would nearly brush his when…if… she spoke, if she angled her head a tiny bit more.
“You never told me what kind of birds these were, Jack,” she whispered, reveling in the soft brush of his lips as hers moved.
She felt rather than saw him grin and it made her heart beat just a little faster. “They’re sparrows, luv. What else would they be?”
Will was not going to like this.