Kitten
Title: Kitten
Author: nelliedances/Miss Ruby Tuesday
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Jack/Elizabeth
Warnings: Post-Dervish, but may be read as a stand alone.
Disclaimer: Sure I own it; I also have a great bridge for sale in Brooklyn, if anyone’s interested.
Summary: After their night in Tortuga, Jack drinks himself into a stupor to wash away Elizabeth's memory.
Status: Complete
“Round and round the needle goes and where it stops, no one knows...” Jack Sparrow was very, very drunk. He had given Gibbs temporary control over the helm, shut his door, and begun drinking sometime around four bells past mid-afternoon watch and all he knew now was that it had gotten quite dark. Well, that or he was under his desk. He wasn't really sure anymore. He thought about getting up, about getting out of his stuffy cabin, but before he could do anything about it, the floor rushed up at him.
“Great,” he muttered. It had been a very long time since he had this much to drink. Not since the island with her. No. Not going to think about that. Jack rolled over, his face rubbing against the soft Persian rug he had liberated from some ship or another. This might have been undignified, but it was so soft... like her hair.
“Kittens!” he exclaimed, sitting up a little too quickly. He was not going to wallow about how soft her hair was. He must have said it a little too loud, because Gibbs's grey head swam into view.
“Cap'n? I heard a commotion. Are ye all right?”
“Fine, Joshamee! Never better!” Gibbs simply stared at him like he'd grown a second head. There was most definitely something vexing the captain. Jack never called him by his given name. “Yes. As you were then.” Gibbs turned, shaking his head. Perhaps the captain would be better in the morning. He shut the door without another word.
“I'm not fine,” he said to the door. His only response was the ticking of the compass as it spun in circles. “I'm bloody well awful.” He flopped back down on the floor, watching the ceiling of his cabin spin like his compass. Why must the rhum be on the other side of the room? He was sure this situation couldn't get any worse. Then, he heard footsteps approaching.
“Bloody mother hen Gibbs,” he muttered. “I said I was fine.”
The compass stopped clicking as the footsteps fell closer.
“Ah, grand. What I desire most in the world has become my well-meaning, yet frustrating first mate. At least I've made up my mind.” His door opened very slowly. Had he been able to form a coherent thought, he would have questioned why Gibbs was being so courteous about entering into his cabin. Crew members usually burst in and often at the most inappropriate of times... much like when he was lying drunk on his floor. He closed his eyes. He heard the door shut quietly and then jingling. Why was Gibbs wearing jewelry?
“Guess you're not what I desire most in the world, eh Gibbs?” He had mistaken the sound for the spinning of the compass.
“Jack, what are you on about?” Oh, bugger. Elizabeth. The jingling was her anklet. Things could and did just get very worse.
“Liz'beth!” he tried to grin up at her from the floor. “Lovely to see you from here!” She stood over him, her breasts framing her face in his line of vision.
“Not going to think about that,” he mumbled.
“What?” Had he said that out loud?
“What!?” Excellent cover, Jack!
She heaved a sigh and dropped down on the floor next to him. He wasn't even going to wonder what she was doing. She could bloody well stab him in the heart and he wasn't sure he'd care. He figured he wouldn't feel it anyway, being as drunk as he was.
“Could you be a love and fetch me another bottle of rhum, darling?” She didn't move.
“I don't think you really need anymore rhum. It's a vile drink, remember?”
“I can't get to be much more of a scoundrel, can I?”
“No, and I don't suppose you could get much more drunk, either.” She didn't move to get up, though. She lay down next to him on the floor. “It's not as nice of a view in here.”
Things just got steadily worse, it seemed. Damn his luck. He could feel the warmth radiating off her as they lay together on his floor.
“It's a nice ceiling,” he replied petulantly. He paused, concentrating on not saying something stupid. “So tell me, luv, what're you doing here, on my floor, and not on dear ol' whatshisface's?”
“Will,” she bit off sharply. “Is continuing his campaign of silence against me. It seems he wasn't as quick to forgive as I had imagined.”
“Oh. OH!” Something clicked in Jack's head. “From the other night?” She just nodded and sniffled. Oh God, please don't let her cry. If she started to cry, Jack was sure he would too and there was nothing he hated worse than sloppy drunks, especially when the drunk in question was him.
“Where's the bloody rhum?” She heaved herself up enough to grab the bottle from his table before taking a long swig and returning to the floor. He reached for it, but she moved it away. “You've had a head start on me.” He huffed. Bloody bossy women.
“ So, 'm I second best for when Will's not available? That why you came here?” Why did he sound like a child who'd been picked last for a game? Bloody compass.
“You're not second best,” she said softly. “I would've come earlier, but I heard you say you wanted to be alone.”
“I did want to be alone.” She looked hurt.
“Should I go?”
“No, no...” He struggled to sit up. He managed to get about as far as resting his chin on her sternum and draping himself across her. “Alone means everyone else.” He waved his hand over her face, trying to make his point. He had the sinking feeling that he wasn't doing a very good job of it. “Bugger.”
Then, she did the most wonderful thing. She smiled and she rested her hand on the back of his head, kneading it absently. It was a grand feeling. Better yet, the damnable compass was still, too. Maybe things weren't so bad after all. She moved a little closer as she brought the bottle back to her lips. Then, more footsteps and a rattle at the door.
Bloody crew. Couldn't they manage 5 minutes (or 5 hours, whichever) without him?
The anticipated interruption never came. Jack peered quizzically at Elizabeth and she just smiled.
“It's locked. First thing you should learn is, if you want to really be alone, bar your door.” He looked at her, thinking about how he should tell her that the door had to remain unlocked in case there was an emergency, how if there was one, he'd be to drunk to make it to the door and open it, how he could kiss her and they would be safe from prying eyes.
Maybe barring the door wasn't such a terrible idea, after all. Gibbs was certainly a capable first mate. He'd be able to handle anything that came up. The door rattled again and then whoever it was gave up. He could hear the footsteps moving away.
“Maybe they think you've fallen asleep.”
“Maybe they think I'm ...otherwise engaged...” he countered, trying valiantly to leer at her. Jack waited for her to shove him off or to slap him or to do something, anything, but stare at him with those doe eyes of hers. “Have I sprouted a horn, luv?”
“Hmm?” She hadn't been paying attention to his talking. The liquor was hitting her and she had become rather entranced by his mouth. She reached her fingers up to brush it.
“Lizzie? Are you sure you want to be doing that? Not that I mind, but Will...”
“Hang Will!” She was definitely tipsy. “He's not what I want anyway.” His ears must've been playing tricks on him. She had not just told him she didn't want Will while she was a hair's breadth away from kissing him. He pulled her against him as best he could, which was half lying on his side and half lying on top of her.
“Come again, luv?” Her eyes darkened.
“I know which way your compass points.” That took him by surprise. In his haze, he wasn't sure which compass she meant and, rather than pondering it, he kissed her. It was a bit sloppy, but she didn't seem to be complaining. He could taste rhum and lime in her mouth. It occurred to him fleetingly that this might be what it was like if the rhum could drink you.
“Let's move this to my berth, shall we, Lizzie?” She didn't say no, which was as good as yes, and he half crawled, half dragged her into up with him. In the background, he heard the compass tick a few degrees. Finally, it did something useful, besides drive him to drink.
Unfortunately, this was also the time he discovered his other compass had chosen to take a holiday. This was not his night. Oh well, he wasn't going to mention it if she didn't. It didn't matter, really, because he was suddenly too busy watching the motions her throat made as she swallowed the last of the rhum.
“That... is a truly impressive sight,” he said appreciatively. “There's nothing I love more than a woman who loves her drink.” Another tick from the compass. At least the blasted thing was right on this time. He did love a woman who could hold her drink. That's how the whole messy business on the island had started, wasn't it?
Her eyes were heavily hooded as she turned to face him.
“I think, perhaps, we should get some sleep.”
“Sleep!? But darling...”
“Jack...” And he noticed her words were beginning to slur. “I couldn't tell you my arse from my elbow right now.” She giggled and hiccuped.
“Oh. Right then... So you'll be headed back to your bunk then?” She stretched out against him languidly and he once again cursed his temporary incapacitation.
“No, I'm staying here tonight.” She caught herself, realizing her statement. “I mean, I'm too drunk to make it back without causing a scene and, well, if you don't mind... If it would be all right with you.” She was rambling. Adorable. Kittenish, even. He chuckled at his little joke.
“By all means. Now, lets get you out of those clothes...” She didn't protest as he stripped her down to her shirt, nor when he clumsily undressed himself. It was a wonder, really, he was still conscious after all he'd made it a point to drink. It didn't matter. He nuzzled her neck as she furtively tried to roll over onto her side.
“You taste like limes, you know.”
“You taste like freedom.” She buried her face into the crook of his neck. “I imagine this shall mean that Will won't be speaking to me for a few more days now.”
“A veritable crime against nature,” he said drolly. “As captain, though, my door is always to troubled members of my crew, of which you are one.”
“Thank heaven for details such as those.” She stifled a yawn. “If he asks, I'll tell him we played cards.”
“Perhaps you could tell him the truth.”
“That wouldn't make me much of a pirate, then, would it?”
“I suppose not, luv.” He wasn't sure he liked how she was going about this, but he also wasn't going to complain if it meant having her in his arms, even for a little while. He didn't suppose it mattered, anyway. So many of the things aboard the Pearl were stolen, anyway, what was one more?
Besides, it was the boy's own fault for her being here. If he couldn't keep her interest, then perhaps, much like the esteemed former commodore, he didn't deserve to have her in the first place. Jack was, at least, confident in his ability to keep her interest. After all, she had come here on her own, tonight, hadn't she? Curiosity might well kill this kitten, but Jack knew that satisfaction would bring her back, again and again.
Author: nelliedances/Miss Ruby Tuesday
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Jack/Elizabeth
Warnings: Post-Dervish, but may be read as a stand alone.
Disclaimer: Sure I own it; I also have a great bridge for sale in Brooklyn, if anyone’s interested.
Summary: After their night in Tortuga, Jack drinks himself into a stupor to wash away Elizabeth's memory.
Status: Complete
“Round and round the needle goes and where it stops, no one knows...” Jack Sparrow was very, very drunk. He had given Gibbs temporary control over the helm, shut his door, and begun drinking sometime around four bells past mid-afternoon watch and all he knew now was that it had gotten quite dark. Well, that or he was under his desk. He wasn't really sure anymore. He thought about getting up, about getting out of his stuffy cabin, but before he could do anything about it, the floor rushed up at him.
“Great,” he muttered. It had been a very long time since he had this much to drink. Not since the island with her. No. Not going to think about that. Jack rolled over, his face rubbing against the soft Persian rug he had liberated from some ship or another. This might have been undignified, but it was so soft... like her hair.
“Kittens!” he exclaimed, sitting up a little too quickly. He was not going to wallow about how soft her hair was. He must have said it a little too loud, because Gibbs's grey head swam into view.
“Cap'n? I heard a commotion. Are ye all right?”
“Fine, Joshamee! Never better!” Gibbs simply stared at him like he'd grown a second head. There was most definitely something vexing the captain. Jack never called him by his given name. “Yes. As you were then.” Gibbs turned, shaking his head. Perhaps the captain would be better in the morning. He shut the door without another word.
“I'm not fine,” he said to the door. His only response was the ticking of the compass as it spun in circles. “I'm bloody well awful.” He flopped back down on the floor, watching the ceiling of his cabin spin like his compass. Why must the rhum be on the other side of the room? He was sure this situation couldn't get any worse. Then, he heard footsteps approaching.
“Bloody mother hen Gibbs,” he muttered. “I said I was fine.”
The compass stopped clicking as the footsteps fell closer.
“Ah, grand. What I desire most in the world has become my well-meaning, yet frustrating first mate. At least I've made up my mind.” His door opened very slowly. Had he been able to form a coherent thought, he would have questioned why Gibbs was being so courteous about entering into his cabin. Crew members usually burst in and often at the most inappropriate of times... much like when he was lying drunk on his floor. He closed his eyes. He heard the door shut quietly and then jingling. Why was Gibbs wearing jewelry?
“Guess you're not what I desire most in the world, eh Gibbs?” He had mistaken the sound for the spinning of the compass.
“Jack, what are you on about?” Oh, bugger. Elizabeth. The jingling was her anklet. Things could and did just get very worse.
“Liz'beth!” he tried to grin up at her from the floor. “Lovely to see you from here!” She stood over him, her breasts framing her face in his line of vision.
“Not going to think about that,” he mumbled.
“What?” Had he said that out loud?
“What!?” Excellent cover, Jack!
She heaved a sigh and dropped down on the floor next to him. He wasn't even going to wonder what she was doing. She could bloody well stab him in the heart and he wasn't sure he'd care. He figured he wouldn't feel it anyway, being as drunk as he was.
“Could you be a love and fetch me another bottle of rhum, darling?” She didn't move.
“I don't think you really need anymore rhum. It's a vile drink, remember?”
“I can't get to be much more of a scoundrel, can I?”
“No, and I don't suppose you could get much more drunk, either.” She didn't move to get up, though. She lay down next to him on the floor. “It's not as nice of a view in here.”
Things just got steadily worse, it seemed. Damn his luck. He could feel the warmth radiating off her as they lay together on his floor.
“It's a nice ceiling,” he replied petulantly. He paused, concentrating on not saying something stupid. “So tell me, luv, what're you doing here, on my floor, and not on dear ol' whatshisface's?”
“Will,” she bit off sharply. “Is continuing his campaign of silence against me. It seems he wasn't as quick to forgive as I had imagined.”
“Oh. OH!” Something clicked in Jack's head. “From the other night?” She just nodded and sniffled. Oh God, please don't let her cry. If she started to cry, Jack was sure he would too and there was nothing he hated worse than sloppy drunks, especially when the drunk in question was him.
“Where's the bloody rhum?” She heaved herself up enough to grab the bottle from his table before taking a long swig and returning to the floor. He reached for it, but she moved it away. “You've had a head start on me.” He huffed. Bloody bossy women.
“ So, 'm I second best for when Will's not available? That why you came here?” Why did he sound like a child who'd been picked last for a game? Bloody compass.
“You're not second best,” she said softly. “I would've come earlier, but I heard you say you wanted to be alone.”
“I did want to be alone.” She looked hurt.
“Should I go?”
“No, no...” He struggled to sit up. He managed to get about as far as resting his chin on her sternum and draping himself across her. “Alone means everyone else.” He waved his hand over her face, trying to make his point. He had the sinking feeling that he wasn't doing a very good job of it. “Bugger.”
Then, she did the most wonderful thing. She smiled and she rested her hand on the back of his head, kneading it absently. It was a grand feeling. Better yet, the damnable compass was still, too. Maybe things weren't so bad after all. She moved a little closer as she brought the bottle back to her lips. Then, more footsteps and a rattle at the door.
Bloody crew. Couldn't they manage 5 minutes (or 5 hours, whichever) without him?
The anticipated interruption never came. Jack peered quizzically at Elizabeth and she just smiled.
“It's locked. First thing you should learn is, if you want to really be alone, bar your door.” He looked at her, thinking about how he should tell her that the door had to remain unlocked in case there was an emergency, how if there was one, he'd be to drunk to make it to the door and open it, how he could kiss her and they would be safe from prying eyes.
Maybe barring the door wasn't such a terrible idea, after all. Gibbs was certainly a capable first mate. He'd be able to handle anything that came up. The door rattled again and then whoever it was gave up. He could hear the footsteps moving away.
“Maybe they think you've fallen asleep.”
“Maybe they think I'm ...otherwise engaged...” he countered, trying valiantly to leer at her. Jack waited for her to shove him off or to slap him or to do something, anything, but stare at him with those doe eyes of hers. “Have I sprouted a horn, luv?”
“Hmm?” She hadn't been paying attention to his talking. The liquor was hitting her and she had become rather entranced by his mouth. She reached her fingers up to brush it.
“Lizzie? Are you sure you want to be doing that? Not that I mind, but Will...”
“Hang Will!” She was definitely tipsy. “He's not what I want anyway.” His ears must've been playing tricks on him. She had not just told him she didn't want Will while she was a hair's breadth away from kissing him. He pulled her against him as best he could, which was half lying on his side and half lying on top of her.
“Come again, luv?” Her eyes darkened.
“I know which way your compass points.” That took him by surprise. In his haze, he wasn't sure which compass she meant and, rather than pondering it, he kissed her. It was a bit sloppy, but she didn't seem to be complaining. He could taste rhum and lime in her mouth. It occurred to him fleetingly that this might be what it was like if the rhum could drink you.
“Let's move this to my berth, shall we, Lizzie?” She didn't say no, which was as good as yes, and he half crawled, half dragged her into up with him. In the background, he heard the compass tick a few degrees. Finally, it did something useful, besides drive him to drink.
Unfortunately, this was also the time he discovered his other compass had chosen to take a holiday. This was not his night. Oh well, he wasn't going to mention it if she didn't. It didn't matter, really, because he was suddenly too busy watching the motions her throat made as she swallowed the last of the rhum.
“That... is a truly impressive sight,” he said appreciatively. “There's nothing I love more than a woman who loves her drink.” Another tick from the compass. At least the blasted thing was right on this time. He did love a woman who could hold her drink. That's how the whole messy business on the island had started, wasn't it?
Her eyes were heavily hooded as she turned to face him.
“I think, perhaps, we should get some sleep.”
“Sleep!? But darling...”
“Jack...” And he noticed her words were beginning to slur. “I couldn't tell you my arse from my elbow right now.” She giggled and hiccuped.
“Oh. Right then... So you'll be headed back to your bunk then?” She stretched out against him languidly and he once again cursed his temporary incapacitation.
“No, I'm staying here tonight.” She caught herself, realizing her statement. “I mean, I'm too drunk to make it back without causing a scene and, well, if you don't mind... If it would be all right with you.” She was rambling. Adorable. Kittenish, even. He chuckled at his little joke.
“By all means. Now, lets get you out of those clothes...” She didn't protest as he stripped her down to her shirt, nor when he clumsily undressed himself. It was a wonder, really, he was still conscious after all he'd made it a point to drink. It didn't matter. He nuzzled her neck as she furtively tried to roll over onto her side.
“You taste like limes, you know.”
“You taste like freedom.” She buried her face into the crook of his neck. “I imagine this shall mean that Will won't be speaking to me for a few more days now.”
“A veritable crime against nature,” he said drolly. “As captain, though, my door is always to troubled members of my crew, of which you are one.”
“Thank heaven for details such as those.” She stifled a yawn. “If he asks, I'll tell him we played cards.”
“Perhaps you could tell him the truth.”
“That wouldn't make me much of a pirate, then, would it?”
“I suppose not, luv.” He wasn't sure he liked how she was going about this, but he also wasn't going to complain if it meant having her in his arms, even for a little while. He didn't suppose it mattered, anyway. So many of the things aboard the Pearl were stolen, anyway, what was one more?
Besides, it was the boy's own fault for her being here. If he couldn't keep her interest, then perhaps, much like the esteemed former commodore, he didn't deserve to have her in the first place. Jack was, at least, confident in his ability to keep her interest. After all, she had come here on her own, tonight, hadn't she? Curiosity might well kill this kitten, but Jack knew that satisfaction would bring her back, again and again.