One-shot: Just a Stranger
Title: Just a Stranger
Author: stealmybike
Pairing: Jack/Isabella, my OFC from Esprit de Corps
Word Count: 854
Prompt: Flower
Rating: R
A/N: Missing scene from Chapter 16 of Esprit de Corps. Inspired by “I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow” by the Soggy Bottom Boys (O’ Brother Where Art Thou).
Enjoy!
Just a Stranger
---
To many he was just a stranger with certain aggressiveness in regard to his own sex, possessing a certain pride in his own superiority, but his egotism was overshadowed by his sense of worship for all manner of women.
In the past, he had placed many of his women among his sweet lilies, thornless roses, and sprays of mignonette and heliotrope, surrounded with rose geraniums and evergreens; for no matter how old they may have grown, they were always the loveliest flowers he had ever laid eyes on. They may have been petite or large, noticeably beautiful, appealing, or merely interesting, but they were always spoken of as lovely.
Occasionally, there were women with fair faces and voluptuous forms, who were nothing but politic in all they said or did. Always an axe to grind, hidden somewhere in the folds of their petticoats-for they always wore costly dresses and favored jewels. They sought for the love of men who could advance their interests and increase their treasures with bountiful amounts of profit, and he had never denied them that luxury, for he never left his whores unpaid.
…Most of the time.
In spite of all this, there was one woman he placed with his camellias, dahlias, hollyhocks, and fuchsias. Perhaps, she might have even been seen in a rosebush, with a hidden thorn now and then - or mayhap, a spicy carnation, wherein a bee might be concealed. She was a simple flower, but attractive nonetheless.
But to her, he was still just a stranger.
Perhaps there was something about him that positively chilled her to the bone. He was so intent, and so focused at the helm. His eyes burned with some secret passion, and there were times when he looked out at sea as if he wanted to cast himself toward the horizon and never come back. Whatever it might have been, he apparently shared it with no one.
Do I scare you? He would have asked when he was naught but an untrained prat. What a fine show he would have made of himself, letting every sensation he felt reflect through his eyes, barely concealing the expression any humble man might wear upon hearing their lover’s response.
What a warrior he had become since then - tall and strong, with lean muscles. His black hair was dampened by sweat and sea spray, and hung in curly tendrils along his neck, framing his face. His skin was bronzed by much work in the sun, slightly weathered by the wind, with sculptured features - a finely arched nose, high cheekbones - that defined the face of sea gods.
He also looked extremely dangerous, and had certainly seen trouble in his days.
So, who was she? Was the question he asked, now a man of great experience.
Who was the woman with her hair dressed in an elaborate garland of five rosettes in his dreams?
She was often forceful in character and noticeably strong, possessing an individuality of her own.
His eyes loved to look at her, and would go out of his way to see her, but for a long time, he chose to not touch her. Not a graze or flutter of his fingers upon her sun-kissed skin, and as time elapsed, he couldn’t help but regret that decision.
A long, clinging tunic of fine white material was held tightly beneath the curve of her breasts with a belt clasp formed by the heads of two snakes. Every part of her form was a mystery - the gilding of her hair, rosettes, her curves, down to the hem of her tunic, and the golden bracelets on her wrists.
“So, consider this,” he finally whispered in her ear, breaking the silence between them. “First, I will kiss you until you’re warm for me again. Then, I will part you from your dress, so that my hands lie on your skin, to roam everywhere they may find.”
She flashed a crooked smile. “Such an eager troublemaker … Are you afraid that you’ll never see my face again?”
“I’ve been running from trouble all my days, Bella, but I know I’ll see your face again, and not by my doing - by yours.”
“A fine assumption you’ve made.”
Through heavy brown eyebrows and pupils, she watched the tips of his fingers voyage along the folded edges of her tunic, making their way along her thighs. A gasp escaped her lips as coarse, but delicate fingers he began peeling open her petals, setting aside the lush silk fabrics to reveal the woman beneath the ancient disguise.
That merited a disapproving wag of his finger. “Not an assumption, more of a promise - a certainty - a guarantee. Mark it well.”
He gave her a long, sweet kiss, while tenderly holding her breast with one hand, and stroking her hair with the other. There was certainly no hesitation in returning the gesture, as he anticipated.
If any woman could avoid becoming a weed or thistles, it would be her.
The only other regret on his mind as he brushed aside the remaining folds was that he would wake up from his dream soon enough, tangled within the sheets of the great cabin’s empty garden and still unsatisfied.
---
Author: stealmybike
Pairing: Jack/Isabella, my OFC from Esprit de Corps
Word Count: 854
Prompt: Flower
Rating: R
A/N: Missing scene from Chapter 16 of Esprit de Corps. Inspired by “I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow” by the Soggy Bottom Boys (O’ Brother Where Art Thou).
Enjoy!
Just a Stranger
---
To many he was just a stranger with certain aggressiveness in regard to his own sex, possessing a certain pride in his own superiority, but his egotism was overshadowed by his sense of worship for all manner of women.
In the past, he had placed many of his women among his sweet lilies, thornless roses, and sprays of mignonette and heliotrope, surrounded with rose geraniums and evergreens; for no matter how old they may have grown, they were always the loveliest flowers he had ever laid eyes on. They may have been petite or large, noticeably beautiful, appealing, or merely interesting, but they were always spoken of as lovely.
Occasionally, there were women with fair faces and voluptuous forms, who were nothing but politic in all they said or did. Always an axe to grind, hidden somewhere in the folds of their petticoats-for they always wore costly dresses and favored jewels. They sought for the love of men who could advance their interests and increase their treasures with bountiful amounts of profit, and he had never denied them that luxury, for he never left his whores unpaid.
…Most of the time.
In spite of all this, there was one woman he placed with his camellias, dahlias, hollyhocks, and fuchsias. Perhaps, she might have even been seen in a rosebush, with a hidden thorn now and then - or mayhap, a spicy carnation, wherein a bee might be concealed. She was a simple flower, but attractive nonetheless.
But to her, he was still just a stranger.
Perhaps there was something about him that positively chilled her to the bone. He was so intent, and so focused at the helm. His eyes burned with some secret passion, and there were times when he looked out at sea as if he wanted to cast himself toward the horizon and never come back. Whatever it might have been, he apparently shared it with no one.
Do I scare you? He would have asked when he was naught but an untrained prat. What a fine show he would have made of himself, letting every sensation he felt reflect through his eyes, barely concealing the expression any humble man might wear upon hearing their lover’s response.
What a warrior he had become since then - tall and strong, with lean muscles. His black hair was dampened by sweat and sea spray, and hung in curly tendrils along his neck, framing his face. His skin was bronzed by much work in the sun, slightly weathered by the wind, with sculptured features - a finely arched nose, high cheekbones - that defined the face of sea gods.
He also looked extremely dangerous, and had certainly seen trouble in his days.
So, who was she? Was the question he asked, now a man of great experience.
Who was the woman with her hair dressed in an elaborate garland of five rosettes in his dreams?
She was often forceful in character and noticeably strong, possessing an individuality of her own.
His eyes loved to look at her, and would go out of his way to see her, but for a long time, he chose to not touch her. Not a graze or flutter of his fingers upon her sun-kissed skin, and as time elapsed, he couldn’t help but regret that decision.
A long, clinging tunic of fine white material was held tightly beneath the curve of her breasts with a belt clasp formed by the heads of two snakes. Every part of her form was a mystery - the gilding of her hair, rosettes, her curves, down to the hem of her tunic, and the golden bracelets on her wrists.
“So, consider this,” he finally whispered in her ear, breaking the silence between them. “First, I will kiss you until you’re warm for me again. Then, I will part you from your dress, so that my hands lie on your skin, to roam everywhere they may find.”
She flashed a crooked smile. “Such an eager troublemaker … Are you afraid that you’ll never see my face again?”
“I’ve been running from trouble all my days, Bella, but I know I’ll see your face again, and not by my doing - by yours.”
“A fine assumption you’ve made.”
Through heavy brown eyebrows and pupils, she watched the tips of his fingers voyage along the folded edges of her tunic, making their way along her thighs. A gasp escaped her lips as coarse, but delicate fingers he began peeling open her petals, setting aside the lush silk fabrics to reveal the woman beneath the ancient disguise.
That merited a disapproving wag of his finger. “Not an assumption, more of a promise - a certainty - a guarantee. Mark it well.”
He gave her a long, sweet kiss, while tenderly holding her breast with one hand, and stroking her hair with the other. There was certainly no hesitation in returning the gesture, as he anticipated.
If any woman could avoid becoming a weed or thistles, it would be her.
The only other regret on his mind as he brushed aside the remaining folds was that he would wake up from his dream soon enough, tangled within the sheets of the great cabin’s empty garden and still unsatisfied.
---