Her Tears- Anamaria/Elizabeth (R)
Title: Her Tears
Author: eonone
Rating: R
Pairing: Anamaria/Elizabeth
Warnings/Author's notes: Set directly after DMC. Oh, and femmeslash. Not explicit, but substantial. Also, this is my first pirate fic (and first femmeslash, zomg) so be gentle. It's a rarepair, but I think Anamaria is of the Jack type... as in she has sex with everyone even with all her clothes on.
Summary: Anamaria is captain of her boat- and she holds little tolerance for those who keep secrets.
Her tears, while they remained abated during the day, absent during Will’s unnatural silence and distance, and dry during the solemn workings of a crew seeking Jack’s resurrection, ran hot and angry down her cheeks at night, in the hammock she shared with no one.
In such cramped quarters, nearly everyone noticed, though they all thought it was the same sort of tears they shed themselves for Jack. Will knew more than anyone else, and he made no move to comfort her. Instead, he took up the post of night watch.
It was Anamaria who had shoved her up against the door of the Captain’s quarters and pushed her in. Latched the door and advanced.
“Listen here, fille. I don’ know what happened on that ship beside what the men say- and the men don’ cry like you do. And it ain't for the sake of your damned sex, neither. They cry for Jack, and they mourn for Jack. But they look for him and search for him and carry hope in their reekin’ pirate hearts. But you? You, wit your true love and your fine airs and your gold hair- you reek not of pirate. You reek of guilt.” Her voice was cold, and her gaze fierce. She guarded the door with her own frame, one leg against the wall while her arms braced against the frame of the door.
"There isn't time for this, Anamaria," Elizabeth said, pushing forward and avoiding Anamaria's eye. In two swift movements Anamaria had her pinned painfully to the bed.
“I’ll not have a member of my crew holdin’ such dangerous secrets as you do, fille. Out with them, or ‘tis out with you.” Her pale teeth glinted, and her hat rocked precariously as her fingers dug into Anamaria's wrists.
"I have no secrets," Elizabeth hissed, trying unsuccessfully to wrench her wrists free. Anamaria shifted her weight, moving her legs to hold Elizabeth further.
"You were the last one to see Jack Sparrow alive," she spat, rocking forward and digging a knee sharply into the muscles of Elizabeth's left thigh. "Why does that tear at you, fille?" Anamaria smiled, her lips twisting into a sneer as she watched Elizabeth's face. "And why does your William refuse to look at you?"
Elizabeth let out a keening sound- a growl caught in between the pitch of a caterwaul and Mr. Cotton's parrot- and thrashed her wrists forward. Anamaria twisted Elizabeth's hand backward until the growl became a whimper, and snatched Elizabeth's arms above her head when she quieted.
"You know something, and you will tell me, or you will walk the plank and swim to Tortuga, where you can be a grieving whore." Anamaria spat, her dark hair brushing against Elizabeth's now sun-kissed skin. "And your true love can follow you, as much bloody use as he's been to this crew. He'd make a good whore, too. You're both pretty enough."
"Why should I tell you?" Elizabeth snarled, bucking her legs hard enough that Anamaria lost her grip. "You, off robbing the bloody rum runners while Jack- while Jack-" she lurched forward, knocking Anamaria to the floor of the cabin, smacking her own head on the hanging lamp as she followed, arms knocking against the hard wood to brace her fall. And then it was fingernails and wrenched hair and little exclamations of pain and triumph until they were both panting on the salt-encrusted rug, Anamaria with her pistol cocked and aimed at Elizabeth's throat.
"And you, lusting after Jack Sparrow while Turner grieves for you." Anamaria said, her hat somewhere to the left, and her shirt untucked from her breeches in the struggle. It hung loose on her small shoulders, and low, with a gun balanced in one hand and a knee pressed between Elizabeth's breasts and her other hand tangled cruelly in Elizabeth's hair, anchoring her head against the dirty floor.
It was hard to breathe, much less protest, and Anamaria must have realized this, as the pressure against Elizabeth's ribcage subsided just a bit. Not enough to allow Elizabeth to catch her breath, nor enough to end her panting. Truth be told, Anamaria liked the view. Turner's fiancée, with her chest heaving up and down, refusing to flinch as Anamaria's gun traced along the hollow of her throat, as Anamaria bared the truths Elizabeth herself still denied.
"What happened on that ship?" Anamaria demanded, and the gun stilled and clicked again. Silence hung in the air, and Anamaria glanced up, not looking satisfied until a thump from above proved her men were working.
"We kissed," Elizabeth whispered, tears catching in her breath and the quivering muscles of her throat twitching against the gun barrel. Anamaria stared for a moment, searching Elizabeth's face before tossing the gun. A single kick, and it skittered in tiny circles to rest at the base of the door.
"Oh, fille," Anamaria said softly, her face twisting into something triumphant and sympathetic, and Elizabeth hitched a breath that might have been a sob, except for the fact that she was trying to squirm out from underneath the Cajun pirate who was far too close for comfort. Anamaria simply laughed- just a single, momentary peal- and flung her knee off of Elizabeth's chest and her weight onto arms that too quickly had grasped Elizabeth's. And then her lips were on Elizabeth's- Elizabeth, who, in her surprise had muttered an "oh"- which is, most decidedly, not the best way to keep a pirate from being sinfully good with lips and teeth and tongue.
Which Anamaria was. She could sense grief, loss, and love, and she could sense dishonour among her crew. Thankfully, for Elizabeth's sake, she had not looked past the kiss. She had not looked past the kiss to see the shackles and regret and how she had forced Jack into his final act of piracy that wasn't an act of piracy at all. Thankfully, for Elizabeth's sake, Anamaria had her pinned with much less force and far greater purpose, and her tongue skillfully traced whispers along the soft skin of Elizabeth's ear- all in a language she couldn't understand, but by the tone of them, they were vile, twisted, and sinful.
It was a voodoo spell, Elizabeth would later argue, that prompted the moans that spurred the pirate on. It was an enchantment of the most unholy sort that made her breath catch and her fingers fumble along the buttons of her own shirt. That it was Anamaria's laugh that bewitched her into returning the kisses, into tangling her own fingers through snarled hair and cinnamon skin, and that it wasn't her own will that had her panting for Anamaria's calloused fingers beneath her breeches. But the buttons still snagged free of thread and fingers caught and tugged and tiny little mewls from forbidden touches and the most awful words all rolled together with the rocking of the sea.
"We will save Jack Sparrow, Miss Elizabeth," Anamaria said, marveling at the contrast of skin between their tangled bosoms in a bed that was big enough to lie further apart, but they didn't. Elizabeth looked up in surprise, and her lips parted, but Anamaria sealed them closed again with her own.
"And I will save you."
Author: eonone
Rating: R
Pairing: Anamaria/Elizabeth
Warnings/Author's notes: Set directly after DMC. Oh, and femmeslash. Not explicit, but substantial. Also, this is my first pirate fic (and first femmeslash, zomg) so be gentle. It's a rarepair, but I think Anamaria is of the Jack type... as in she has sex with everyone even with all her clothes on.
Summary: Anamaria is captain of her boat- and she holds little tolerance for those who keep secrets.
Her tears, while they remained abated during the day, absent during Will’s unnatural silence and distance, and dry during the solemn workings of a crew seeking Jack’s resurrection, ran hot and angry down her cheeks at night, in the hammock she shared with no one.
In such cramped quarters, nearly everyone noticed, though they all thought it was the same sort of tears they shed themselves for Jack. Will knew more than anyone else, and he made no move to comfort her. Instead, he took up the post of night watch.
It was Anamaria who had shoved her up against the door of the Captain’s quarters and pushed her in. Latched the door and advanced.
“Listen here, fille. I don’ know what happened on that ship beside what the men say- and the men don’ cry like you do. And it ain't for the sake of your damned sex, neither. They cry for Jack, and they mourn for Jack. But they look for him and search for him and carry hope in their reekin’ pirate hearts. But you? You, wit your true love and your fine airs and your gold hair- you reek not of pirate. You reek of guilt.” Her voice was cold, and her gaze fierce. She guarded the door with her own frame, one leg against the wall while her arms braced against the frame of the door.
"There isn't time for this, Anamaria," Elizabeth said, pushing forward and avoiding Anamaria's eye. In two swift movements Anamaria had her pinned painfully to the bed.
“I’ll not have a member of my crew holdin’ such dangerous secrets as you do, fille. Out with them, or ‘tis out with you.” Her pale teeth glinted, and her hat rocked precariously as her fingers dug into Anamaria's wrists.
"I have no secrets," Elizabeth hissed, trying unsuccessfully to wrench her wrists free. Anamaria shifted her weight, moving her legs to hold Elizabeth further.
"You were the last one to see Jack Sparrow alive," she spat, rocking forward and digging a knee sharply into the muscles of Elizabeth's left thigh. "Why does that tear at you, fille?" Anamaria smiled, her lips twisting into a sneer as she watched Elizabeth's face. "And why does your William refuse to look at you?"
Elizabeth let out a keening sound- a growl caught in between the pitch of a caterwaul and Mr. Cotton's parrot- and thrashed her wrists forward. Anamaria twisted Elizabeth's hand backward until the growl became a whimper, and snatched Elizabeth's arms above her head when she quieted.
"You know something, and you will tell me, or you will walk the plank and swim to Tortuga, where you can be a grieving whore." Anamaria spat, her dark hair brushing against Elizabeth's now sun-kissed skin. "And your true love can follow you, as much bloody use as he's been to this crew. He'd make a good whore, too. You're both pretty enough."
"Why should I tell you?" Elizabeth snarled, bucking her legs hard enough that Anamaria lost her grip. "You, off robbing the bloody rum runners while Jack- while Jack-" she lurched forward, knocking Anamaria to the floor of the cabin, smacking her own head on the hanging lamp as she followed, arms knocking against the hard wood to brace her fall. And then it was fingernails and wrenched hair and little exclamations of pain and triumph until they were both panting on the salt-encrusted rug, Anamaria with her pistol cocked and aimed at Elizabeth's throat.
"And you, lusting after Jack Sparrow while Turner grieves for you." Anamaria said, her hat somewhere to the left, and her shirt untucked from her breeches in the struggle. It hung loose on her small shoulders, and low, with a gun balanced in one hand and a knee pressed between Elizabeth's breasts and her other hand tangled cruelly in Elizabeth's hair, anchoring her head against the dirty floor.
It was hard to breathe, much less protest, and Anamaria must have realized this, as the pressure against Elizabeth's ribcage subsided just a bit. Not enough to allow Elizabeth to catch her breath, nor enough to end her panting. Truth be told, Anamaria liked the view. Turner's fiancée, with her chest heaving up and down, refusing to flinch as Anamaria's gun traced along the hollow of her throat, as Anamaria bared the truths Elizabeth herself still denied.
"What happened on that ship?" Anamaria demanded, and the gun stilled and clicked again. Silence hung in the air, and Anamaria glanced up, not looking satisfied until a thump from above proved her men were working.
"We kissed," Elizabeth whispered, tears catching in her breath and the quivering muscles of her throat twitching against the gun barrel. Anamaria stared for a moment, searching Elizabeth's face before tossing the gun. A single kick, and it skittered in tiny circles to rest at the base of the door.
"Oh, fille," Anamaria said softly, her face twisting into something triumphant and sympathetic, and Elizabeth hitched a breath that might have been a sob, except for the fact that she was trying to squirm out from underneath the Cajun pirate who was far too close for comfort. Anamaria simply laughed- just a single, momentary peal- and flung her knee off of Elizabeth's chest and her weight onto arms that too quickly had grasped Elizabeth's. And then her lips were on Elizabeth's- Elizabeth, who, in her surprise had muttered an "oh"- which is, most decidedly, not the best way to keep a pirate from being sinfully good with lips and teeth and tongue.
Which Anamaria was. She could sense grief, loss, and love, and she could sense dishonour among her crew. Thankfully, for Elizabeth's sake, she had not looked past the kiss. She had not looked past the kiss to see the shackles and regret and how she had forced Jack into his final act of piracy that wasn't an act of piracy at all. Thankfully, for Elizabeth's sake, Anamaria had her pinned with much less force and far greater purpose, and her tongue skillfully traced whispers along the soft skin of Elizabeth's ear- all in a language she couldn't understand, but by the tone of them, they were vile, twisted, and sinful.
It was a voodoo spell, Elizabeth would later argue, that prompted the moans that spurred the pirate on. It was an enchantment of the most unholy sort that made her breath catch and her fingers fumble along the buttons of her own shirt. That it was Anamaria's laugh that bewitched her into returning the kisses, into tangling her own fingers through snarled hair and cinnamon skin, and that it wasn't her own will that had her panting for Anamaria's calloused fingers beneath her breeches. But the buttons still snagged free of thread and fingers caught and tugged and tiny little mewls from forbidden touches and the most awful words all rolled together with the rocking of the sea.
"We will save Jack Sparrow, Miss Elizabeth," Anamaria said, marveling at the contrast of skin between their tangled bosoms in a bed that was big enough to lie further apart, but they didn't. Elizabeth looked up in surprise, and her lips parted, but Anamaria sealed them closed again with her own.
"And I will save you."