Title: Song in Red & Gray-Chapter Five: Kneeling
Author: ophelivia
Rating: R-NC17 for later chapters
Word Count: 557
Pairing: Beckett/OC
Characters: Beckett, OC.
Summary: "Do just what I tell you and no one will get hurt." A series of vignettes spanning both films.
Status: In-Progress
Disclaimer: I don't own the Pirates characters. Rose is mine, but I should mention that she began in an RPG over on fanfiction.net. This story has nothing to do with the plot of that game. The prompts for each chapter are from
50_smutletsWarnings: Power plays, S&M, emotional manipulation, prostitution and implied slash. The chapters will go in no real order. I'm picking the prompts at random.
Ladies and gentlemen, at long last the smut has arrived!!!! Please, I need to know if what originally was supposed to be the object of this fic has been achieved. Especially since my reviewers have written some of the best sex scenes to ever steam up a really messy computer cabinet.
On a second note, I finally got my hands on photoshop and have spent the last week making a cover illustration for this fic. It can be found:
HERE. I should credit puffapuffarice for the picture of Beckett.
This chapter is for Justin, because he told me about the "little known fact."
Ealier chapters:
HERE 2-17: Kneeling
There wasn’t a Roman Catholic church in Port Royal Rose prayed in a basement.
A portrait of the Virgin tacked on the cracked wall, pilfered from a book she stole from Beckett. A wrought iron table she rescued from the curb of the blacksmith. She wished she could talk to her God in a chapel, but priests made her wary. Kneeling on a dirt floor was just as well.
Rose lit three candles. She loved the color of flames, the smell of smoke and humid air.
“Ma. Da…Andrew.”
Just addressing them she felt their spirits around her. It filled her with both peace and terrible guilt. Seven Hail Mary’s for that day’s sins before she went off to commit another. In all likelihood her greatest.
Forgive me my trespasses. And deliver me to evil. We all must stay alive.
She was greeted with a kiss that left blood on her lip and that voice hissing:
“Do me now.”
“How?”
“Mouth.”
She hoped her relief was hidden. A blow job was less creative than Cutler usually got. She wouldn’t have to limp home. He threw her to the floor, but she landed on her hands. She slithered under the desk. He sat. Languid as water, hard as glass. Rose reached up, stroked the velvet and the stiffness. He growled.
“Don’t tease.”
“Oh,” she mewled. “Your Lordship is no fun at all.”
A fistful of hair yanked hard for this. In response she scraped one fingernail fast down his navel. He hissed and strangled a moan at the pain.
“Oh, good girl.”
She knew exactly how he liked, and undid his breeches in silence. Unexpected really for such a small man to be so well sized. Saved her some nights, that.
“Look at me, pet.”
She smiled up from between his knees. Signet ring made his caress cold.
“Such a plain thing,” he purred, and she felt as though she were looking at herself from a distance.
“You picked me, love,” she replied and set efficiently to work.
He liked it deep. All the way down. She tortured him, nipping sharply at him, rolling her eyes up to watch his fingers curl, and just as he was about to grow angry falling upon him. Engulfing it all, and listening with pleasure to the un-lordly whimpers that came from Cutler’s throat. He grasped down, entangling his fingers in her frizzy curls. She breathed carefully. He’d pull if she tried to pull away. She was fast, and could feel him tightening. She was expected to take every drop.
It’s a little known fact that if a cullie asks for a blow, a miss always asks what he’s eaten first. You can taste it on them. Tonight her Lordship tasted of strawberries. He leaned down to take her chin in his palm. She swallowed. And he wiped the excess from her mouth.
“You made it sweet for me.”
“Anything for my pet,” he smiled.
He kissed her, got a taste of his own. Self-important in everything, Rose thought. Then he took a pinch of fabric from her skirt between his fingers.
“You’re filthy.”
Only then did she notice the faint brown stain. Sometimes a chapel was better than a dirt floor. She thought of the candles, and was sad. But she smiled.
“In every sense of the term,” she said.