Potc | Elizabeth/James
Title: Trapped
Characters/Pairing: Elizabeth/James
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1.391
Summary: Neither of them can get out and they only have each other to cling to.
originally posted here
Panic. Cold sweat is running down her tense back. Her ears hurt from the deafening cries. She should be in charge. She should be able to act, to show all those who had any doubts that she can do this that she is strong enough. A sense of failure settles on her weak shoulders as pale blue eyes are begging her for help. But the beastly fear in the pit of her stomach numbs her to everything else and she can’t clasp the tiny little hands reaching out to her. She can’t find the strength to lean into the cot and take the baby in her arm, fearful that she might crush the tiny body. She just keeps staring at the fleshy little hands; her own fragile ones seem too large and awkward in comparison.
Elizabeth doesn’t know how long she’s been standing by the cot when suddenly the baby is lifted into the air by two strong hands, whirling it around then pulling it into a loving embrace. The child giggles and its ringing little cries are that of joy now, tears forgotten in its father’s closeness. James is smiling happily in his daughter’s bright eyes, erasing the last memories of fear from the soft cheeks with adoring little kisses that are followed by even more giggling sounds that Elizabeth finds unnerving at best.
If a pirate could see James now… The great and fearsome Admiral, the scourge of piracy in the Spanish Main fooling around with a one-year-old baby. Utterly laughable yet strangely beautiful. She goes back to bed, he knows how to handle his daughter’s moods, they doesn’t need her. She pulls the covers over her head to block out the happy sounds from the corner where James insisted they put the cot instead of the nursery, but she can’t help peeking out from under the covers now and again because James is glowing when he plays with his child, and Elizabeth could never resist shiny things.
He is walking up and down with the baby that is blinking tiredly against his neck, its tiny fingers drawing sleepy circles on his chest, pulling at the soft hair once or twice, listening to his soft, soothing voice. He isn’t singing, he’s not much of a singer. He’s telling his daughter stories about his adventures at sea, about the caress of a soft breeze on a hot Caribbean afternoon, about the perilous anger of a storm and how the courage of devoted men was all that could save him at times. Elizabeth thinks he should know better than to feed his daughter’s mind with such images but it makes her smile nonetheless. She likes to listen to him too, his soft, deep voice bringing back cherished memories of her heady adventure. It’s hard to believe three years have passed since then.
James places his sleeping little girl back into her cot and places a soft kiss on her rosy cheek. In moments like this Elizabeth knows James was born to be a father just like she knows she should never have given birth to his daughter. The impossibility - improbability more like - of it almost makes her laugh. She had never seen a man handle a baby with so much care and competence and it fills her heart with futile anger. This should be in her charge. All of this. The house, the servants, the baby. She shouldn’t have to run to Molly with everything. But unlike James’ old housekeeper she wasn’t born to be James’ silent invisible helper. She was born to shine, to shock and charm their guests with the tiniest movement of her head. These trivialities of the everyday life bored and annoyed her.
“I’m sorry Bella woke you, Elizabeth.” James whispers as he crawls back under the covers. “But she’s asleep now.”
His voice speaks of intimacy but his body is as tense as ever and he seems miles away in their marital bed. She rolls her eyes in annoyance and moves closer to him, wrapping him in an almost forced embrace. He blinks nervously and tries to smile, as usual, unable to guess what she wants of him. Elizabeth just smiles sweetly, not bothered by having to gauge every drop of desire from him, not anymore. Her - by now - experienced fingers tease his cock to life despite his awkward protests and she softly kisses the blush on his cheek before straddling his lap, letting his hardness slide into her body with a gasp of pleasure.
James caresses her thighs gently, more out of habit than true need and tries not to look as she starts moving, squeezing her small breasts to make up for the lack of his touch, eyes closed to the mundane world around her, mind open for flickering images of lust and passion, another’s face, many other faces, eager hands making her fall apart, head thrown back in wanton desire as she cries out without having to keep silent for the baby’s sake… Elizabeth groans in frustration over the gap between fantasy and the reality of being married to a bloody repressed English gentleman and forces James’ hand slide over her abdomen and lower.
“Oh God…”
“Elizabeth, I…”
“Please,” she gasps, not letting him pull away, and leans down to swallow his protest in a deep, wet kiss James can’t quite get lost in. She’s never sure whether it’s the cherished memory of a past lover or the alien softness of the curves of her body that fill him with such repulsion but she’s too deep in the clutches of lust to really care. Her movements become more erratic with every passing second and soon she is falling, crying her release into James’ mouth.
The waves of pleasure crushing through her body send small jolts through his cock but Elizabeth moves away before he could find release too. She’s too scared of another pregnancy to let him spill into her body. Leaving small kisses on his chest she slithers down with a mischievous smile on her face and teasingly licks the vein on the underside of his cock. James presses his lips firmly together, not betraying his pleasure with any sound as her tongue circles around the head briefly before sucking on his balls.
He should know by now what comes next but is always taken by surprise when Elizabeth licks at his entrance. His protest is violent and angry as always but she just giggles and the quick movements of her hand over his member soon leave him shivering and unprepared for when she pushes her tongue inside him.
“Please…” it’s a last plea for mercy but Elizabeth ignores it every time. She knows what James needs, and enjoys his ecstasy more than he does. Watching small cracks appear in his cold mask is her greatest pleasure these days and she relishes the first swallowed moan as the her finger enters him. His dark hair sprawled on the white pillow, eyes closed, lips open, cheeks flushed with desire, his forehead and collarbone glistening with sweat - this is the James she could learn to love one day and she embalms these short moments of his bliss in the hidden corners of her heart.
A low moan escapes him as she pushes deeper into him and finds that place that leaves him gasping for air. Elizabeth teases from him every sound, every unwanted shiver like only a true pirate could. He fists the white sheets in desperate need as every flick of her finger feels like being crushed by stormy waves. The hand wrapped around his cock is pulled away, leaving him with just the exquisite pressure inside and it’s all he needs to stumble into frantic release, coating his own chest with white streaks of pleasure.
Elizabeth licks them away with more hunger than she has left for the best of Molly’s cakes and her smile is brighter than sunshine when she comes face to face with James again. He doesn’t dare look at her and his eyes are wet with shame, making Elizabeth wish more than ever they lived in better times where freedom was not a luxury reserved for the outlaws. She pushes his hair out of his eyes and gently kisses his tears away before snuggling up next to him and whispering softly against his flushed skin:
“Sweet dreams, James.”
Characters/Pairing: Elizabeth/James
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1.391
Summary: Neither of them can get out and they only have each other to cling to.
originally posted here
Panic. Cold sweat is running down her tense back. Her ears hurt from the deafening cries. She should be in charge. She should be able to act, to show all those who had any doubts that she can do this that she is strong enough. A sense of failure settles on her weak shoulders as pale blue eyes are begging her for help. But the beastly fear in the pit of her stomach numbs her to everything else and she can’t clasp the tiny little hands reaching out to her. She can’t find the strength to lean into the cot and take the baby in her arm, fearful that she might crush the tiny body. She just keeps staring at the fleshy little hands; her own fragile ones seem too large and awkward in comparison.
Elizabeth doesn’t know how long she’s been standing by the cot when suddenly the baby is lifted into the air by two strong hands, whirling it around then pulling it into a loving embrace. The child giggles and its ringing little cries are that of joy now, tears forgotten in its father’s closeness. James is smiling happily in his daughter’s bright eyes, erasing the last memories of fear from the soft cheeks with adoring little kisses that are followed by even more giggling sounds that Elizabeth finds unnerving at best.
If a pirate could see James now… The great and fearsome Admiral, the scourge of piracy in the Spanish Main fooling around with a one-year-old baby. Utterly laughable yet strangely beautiful. She goes back to bed, he knows how to handle his daughter’s moods, they doesn’t need her. She pulls the covers over her head to block out the happy sounds from the corner where James insisted they put the cot instead of the nursery, but she can’t help peeking out from under the covers now and again because James is glowing when he plays with his child, and Elizabeth could never resist shiny things.
He is walking up and down with the baby that is blinking tiredly against his neck, its tiny fingers drawing sleepy circles on his chest, pulling at the soft hair once or twice, listening to his soft, soothing voice. He isn’t singing, he’s not much of a singer. He’s telling his daughter stories about his adventures at sea, about the caress of a soft breeze on a hot Caribbean afternoon, about the perilous anger of a storm and how the courage of devoted men was all that could save him at times. Elizabeth thinks he should know better than to feed his daughter’s mind with such images but it makes her smile nonetheless. She likes to listen to him too, his soft, deep voice bringing back cherished memories of her heady adventure. It’s hard to believe three years have passed since then.
James places his sleeping little girl back into her cot and places a soft kiss on her rosy cheek. In moments like this Elizabeth knows James was born to be a father just like she knows she should never have given birth to his daughter. The impossibility - improbability more like - of it almost makes her laugh. She had never seen a man handle a baby with so much care and competence and it fills her heart with futile anger. This should be in her charge. All of this. The house, the servants, the baby. She shouldn’t have to run to Molly with everything. But unlike James’ old housekeeper she wasn’t born to be James’ silent invisible helper. She was born to shine, to shock and charm their guests with the tiniest movement of her head. These trivialities of the everyday life bored and annoyed her.
“I’m sorry Bella woke you, Elizabeth.” James whispers as he crawls back under the covers. “But she’s asleep now.”
His voice speaks of intimacy but his body is as tense as ever and he seems miles away in their marital bed. She rolls her eyes in annoyance and moves closer to him, wrapping him in an almost forced embrace. He blinks nervously and tries to smile, as usual, unable to guess what she wants of him. Elizabeth just smiles sweetly, not bothered by having to gauge every drop of desire from him, not anymore. Her - by now - experienced fingers tease his cock to life despite his awkward protests and she softly kisses the blush on his cheek before straddling his lap, letting his hardness slide into her body with a gasp of pleasure.
James caresses her thighs gently, more out of habit than true need and tries not to look as she starts moving, squeezing her small breasts to make up for the lack of his touch, eyes closed to the mundane world around her, mind open for flickering images of lust and passion, another’s face, many other faces, eager hands making her fall apart, head thrown back in wanton desire as she cries out without having to keep silent for the baby’s sake… Elizabeth groans in frustration over the gap between fantasy and the reality of being married to a bloody repressed English gentleman and forces James’ hand slide over her abdomen and lower.
“Oh God…”
“Elizabeth, I…”
“Please,” she gasps, not letting him pull away, and leans down to swallow his protest in a deep, wet kiss James can’t quite get lost in. She’s never sure whether it’s the cherished memory of a past lover or the alien softness of the curves of her body that fill him with such repulsion but she’s too deep in the clutches of lust to really care. Her movements become more erratic with every passing second and soon she is falling, crying her release into James’ mouth.
The waves of pleasure crushing through her body send small jolts through his cock but Elizabeth moves away before he could find release too. She’s too scared of another pregnancy to let him spill into her body. Leaving small kisses on his chest she slithers down with a mischievous smile on her face and teasingly licks the vein on the underside of his cock. James presses his lips firmly together, not betraying his pleasure with any sound as her tongue circles around the head briefly before sucking on his balls.
He should know by now what comes next but is always taken by surprise when Elizabeth licks at his entrance. His protest is violent and angry as always but she just giggles and the quick movements of her hand over his member soon leave him shivering and unprepared for when she pushes her tongue inside him.
“Please…” it’s a last plea for mercy but Elizabeth ignores it every time. She knows what James needs, and enjoys his ecstasy more than he does. Watching small cracks appear in his cold mask is her greatest pleasure these days and she relishes the first swallowed moan as the her finger enters him. His dark hair sprawled on the white pillow, eyes closed, lips open, cheeks flushed with desire, his forehead and collarbone glistening with sweat - this is the James she could learn to love one day and she embalms these short moments of his bliss in the hidden corners of her heart.
A low moan escapes him as she pushes deeper into him and finds that place that leaves him gasping for air. Elizabeth teases from him every sound, every unwanted shiver like only a true pirate could. He fists the white sheets in desperate need as every flick of her finger feels like being crushed by stormy waves. The hand wrapped around his cock is pulled away, leaving him with just the exquisite pressure inside and it’s all he needs to stumble into frantic release, coating his own chest with white streaks of pleasure.
Elizabeth licks them away with more hunger than she has left for the best of Molly’s cakes and her smile is brighter than sunshine when she comes face to face with James again. He doesn’t dare look at her and his eyes are wet with shame, making Elizabeth wish more than ever they lived in better times where freedom was not a luxury reserved for the outlaws. She pushes his hair out of his eyes and gently kisses his tears away before snuggling up next to him and whispering softly against his flushed skin:
“Sweet dreams, James.”