Gap-filler Hurt/Comfort Belated Birthday Smut...
hereswith had a birthday last month and life was so crazy in August that I let it zoom by unacknowledged. This must be remedied, of course, and I have written her some J/E smut to try to make amends.
I'm at it again with borrowing artaxastra's post-AWE universe, so I hope this meets with her approval. Many thanks to jenthegypsy and hendercats for beta reading. This also uses prompt #6 from my 10_hurt_comfort table: Lonely.
~ Heartsore ~
She went back to bed after Jack left. There was nothing to be done, after all. Though her mind followed him as he made his way through the winding passages of the Cove and out to the docks, starlit and silent, she felt quite blessedly numb, tucked into the comfortable cot, bathed in the dim blue green light, her James sleeping in his cradle close at hand. No lingering warmth, no faint touch of lips. She did not feel. She would not.
*
Her days were filled, with duties, with study, with James -- well, Flip, to everyone, including herself much of the time -- with her new life, her people, so many friends, and more than friends. Will was gone, but he could return, and would too, she had no doubt. Jack was gone, but she had never expected him to stay.
Her days were filled. Not so, her nights.
The first week was the most difficult. A nonsensical feeling of abandonment came over her when she laid herself down to rest each night. Try as she would, she could not regain the insensibility that had seen her to dreamless sleep the night Jack left. How had she ever come to this pass? Surely only a fool would place her heart in the keeping of a man for whom the term "wayward" had to have been coined. She could not blame him, no. Yet his absence was a dull and constant ache.
But her days were filled, and if at night slow tears seeped from the corners of her eyes and trickled down through her hair, and if her hand brushed the bedclothes beside her, of its own volition, in a quest for something lost, why those were matters kept secret by the darkness, and no one else need ever know.
*
She woke in the black of pre-dawn to a fussing baby and aching breasts, a fortnight after he'd gone. She groaned, sleepily, and for a moment regretted Jack's absence for the simple fact that, had he been there, he would have fetched James for her.
The thought that this might be what she missed most about Jack, that she could be as selfish as that, made her laugh -- and gave her pause.
She lit the small lamp and went to fetch her son. "Oh, darling! Come here then," she said, and lifted his sweet weight to her shoulder, and took him back to bed.
Was it true? It could not be! But as she settled and nursed the baby, she examined her attachment to Jack Sparrow.
She'd been reading of his exploits for years before they met, and though they were a mixture of fact and fancy, the gist of the stories pointed true: he was a trickster, a scoundrel, a pirate -- and a good man. It had been proven time and again during their adventures. The best of all pirates, this Pirate Lord of the Caribbean.
And he loved her. He'd proven it in a thousand ways, great and small, from the moment they'd met, and never more so than in these last four months. Consideration, laughter, courage, and just the right degree of sympathy or encouragement -- or outright prodding. How would she have managed without him?
Oh, yes. She loved him. There it was. She loved Will, but she loved Jack, too. He completed her, Yang to her Yin, as Tai Huang would say, and Will a line of contact between them both, for better or worse.
She sighed aloud, the ache in her heart less, somehow. She would not stop missing Jack, and he would not stop loving her. That had to be enough, for now.
*
Another two months went by before she dreamed of him.
Her joy at seeing Will so suddenly had translated to a desire to enfold him, to be enfolded by the man who had loved her for so many years, no matter that he was something other now, with uncanny power and knowledge of things so arcane she would never know the half of it. She had desired him, new wife reaching to new husband, but with her mind more than her body.
"That so another one don' come too soon," Susannah had said sagely, when Elizabeth had put the awkward question to her. "Better for the mother that way. No worries. Your fire just banked, is all. It be early days yet."
Apparently six months was time enough.
Flip had recently begun to sleep through the night, and Elizabeth was deep in slumber when the dream came, taking all her senses. Sweat and patchouli; Jack's voice rough in her ear, telling her what he would do, what he would make her feel; gentle hands ghosting over her skin, his kisses brushing her lips, his eyelashes brushing her cheek. The lips moved lower, tickling her jawline, sweetly lingering at her collarbone, before his hand cupped one breast and his mouth descended, teasing until she writhed, breathless. Whispered endearments, his weight half pinning her, his hand caressing, moving over her waist, around her hip. She turned her face against his shoulder, and opened her legs, and could not keep silent as he touched her there, there where she needed it. She could feel him, too, moving hard and hot against her hip, though somehow she couldn't take him, use her own hands to make him gasp and cry out as she would have liked. "S'all right, Bess, let me... just let me..."
Somewhere in the depths was the knowledge that this was a dream, and she wondered at it, wondered if she would wake. But then his lips were on hers again, nipping, tasting, and she felt his smile as he pressed one long, too-clever finger deep inside her and used the rest to draw her over the edge of reason.
The baby woke, setting up a howl at his mother's apparent distress.
*
She comforted and nursed Flip -- her James, poor little man with such a mother -- and he finally slept again, as the sky was turning gray. Elizabeth put on a heavy silk robe, and went out to the railed overlook that provided the Pirate King with a view of her city. The air was cool and soft, and the stars were fading fast. Her people were beginning to stir, the smells of wood smoke and coffee drifting pleasantly on a slight breeze.
She heard a footstep behind her. It was Teague, just come in, fully dressed, and he smiled. Elizabeth said, "Have you even been to bed?"
He lifted his brows and smirked, shrugging. "In a manner of speaking."
She could not help smiling back, just a little. "Ah. I see." She turned back to the view, and he stepped up beside her.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked her, too casually.
"More or less."
They were silent for a moment, and then he put his hand lightly on her shoulder. "He'll come back."
Elizabeth turned, by reflex prepared to demand what he was talking about, but the assured voice was belied by the hope in Teague's eyes. She could not dash it, not his, not hers. So she said only, "Yes, he will," and reached up to cover his hand with her own.
~.~
I'm at it again with borrowing artaxastra's post-AWE universe, so I hope this meets with her approval. Many thanks to jenthegypsy and hendercats for beta reading. This also uses prompt #6 from my 10_hurt_comfort table: Lonely.
~ Heartsore ~
She went back to bed after Jack left. There was nothing to be done, after all. Though her mind followed him as he made his way through the winding passages of the Cove and out to the docks, starlit and silent, she felt quite blessedly numb, tucked into the comfortable cot, bathed in the dim blue green light, her James sleeping in his cradle close at hand. No lingering warmth, no faint touch of lips. She did not feel. She would not.
*
Her days were filled, with duties, with study, with James -- well, Flip, to everyone, including herself much of the time -- with her new life, her people, so many friends, and more than friends. Will was gone, but he could return, and would too, she had no doubt. Jack was gone, but she had never expected him to stay.
Her days were filled. Not so, her nights.
The first week was the most difficult. A nonsensical feeling of abandonment came over her when she laid herself down to rest each night. Try as she would, she could not regain the insensibility that had seen her to dreamless sleep the night Jack left. How had she ever come to this pass? Surely only a fool would place her heart in the keeping of a man for whom the term "wayward" had to have been coined. She could not blame him, no. Yet his absence was a dull and constant ache.
But her days were filled, and if at night slow tears seeped from the corners of her eyes and trickled down through her hair, and if her hand brushed the bedclothes beside her, of its own volition, in a quest for something lost, why those were matters kept secret by the darkness, and no one else need ever know.
*
She woke in the black of pre-dawn to a fussing baby and aching breasts, a fortnight after he'd gone. She groaned, sleepily, and for a moment regretted Jack's absence for the simple fact that, had he been there, he would have fetched James for her.
The thought that this might be what she missed most about Jack, that she could be as selfish as that, made her laugh -- and gave her pause.
She lit the small lamp and went to fetch her son. "Oh, darling! Come here then," she said, and lifted his sweet weight to her shoulder, and took him back to bed.
Was it true? It could not be! But as she settled and nursed the baby, she examined her attachment to Jack Sparrow.
She'd been reading of his exploits for years before they met, and though they were a mixture of fact and fancy, the gist of the stories pointed true: he was a trickster, a scoundrel, a pirate -- and a good man. It had been proven time and again during their adventures. The best of all pirates, this Pirate Lord of the Caribbean.
And he loved her. He'd proven it in a thousand ways, great and small, from the moment they'd met, and never more so than in these last four months. Consideration, laughter, courage, and just the right degree of sympathy or encouragement -- or outright prodding. How would she have managed without him?
Oh, yes. She loved him. There it was. She loved Will, but she loved Jack, too. He completed her, Yang to her Yin, as Tai Huang would say, and Will a line of contact between them both, for better or worse.
She sighed aloud, the ache in her heart less, somehow. She would not stop missing Jack, and he would not stop loving her. That had to be enough, for now.
*
Another two months went by before she dreamed of him.
Her joy at seeing Will so suddenly had translated to a desire to enfold him, to be enfolded by the man who had loved her for so many years, no matter that he was something other now, with uncanny power and knowledge of things so arcane she would never know the half of it. She had desired him, new wife reaching to new husband, but with her mind more than her body.
"That so another one don' come too soon," Susannah had said sagely, when Elizabeth had put the awkward question to her. "Better for the mother that way. No worries. Your fire just banked, is all. It be early days yet."
Apparently six months was time enough.
Flip had recently begun to sleep through the night, and Elizabeth was deep in slumber when the dream came, taking all her senses. Sweat and patchouli; Jack's voice rough in her ear, telling her what he would do, what he would make her feel; gentle hands ghosting over her skin, his kisses brushing her lips, his eyelashes brushing her cheek. The lips moved lower, tickling her jawline, sweetly lingering at her collarbone, before his hand cupped one breast and his mouth descended, teasing until she writhed, breathless. Whispered endearments, his weight half pinning her, his hand caressing, moving over her waist, around her hip. She turned her face against his shoulder, and opened her legs, and could not keep silent as he touched her there, there where she needed it. She could feel him, too, moving hard and hot against her hip, though somehow she couldn't take him, use her own hands to make him gasp and cry out as she would have liked. "S'all right, Bess, let me... just let me..."
Somewhere in the depths was the knowledge that this was a dream, and she wondered at it, wondered if she would wake. But then his lips were on hers again, nipping, tasting, and she felt his smile as he pressed one long, too-clever finger deep inside her and used the rest to draw her over the edge of reason.
The baby woke, setting up a howl at his mother's apparent distress.
*
She comforted and nursed Flip -- her James, poor little man with such a mother -- and he finally slept again, as the sky was turning gray. Elizabeth put on a heavy silk robe, and went out to the railed overlook that provided the Pirate King with a view of her city. The air was cool and soft, and the stars were fading fast. Her people were beginning to stir, the smells of wood smoke and coffee drifting pleasantly on a slight breeze.
She heard a footstep behind her. It was Teague, just come in, fully dressed, and he smiled. Elizabeth said, "Have you even been to bed?"
He lifted his brows and smirked, shrugging. "In a manner of speaking."
She could not help smiling back, just a little. "Ah. I see." She turned back to the view, and he stepped up beside her.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked her, too casually.
"More or less."
They were silent for a moment, and then he put his hand lightly on her shoulder. "He'll come back."
Elizabeth turned, by reflex prepared to demand what he was talking about, but the assured voice was belied by the hope in Teague's eyes. She could not dash it, not his, not hers. So she said only, "Yes, he will," and reached up to cover his hand with her own.
~.~