Title: A New Page for the New Book of Mental Illnesses
Author: Deirdre Lavena
Disclaimer: This story's author does not claim to own any of the characters, concepts, or ideas originating in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. No copyright infringement intended. No harm intended. Material is offered to the public free of charge—not for profit. This piece of fiction is the sole property of the author and cannot be copied, sent, or reproduced without permission of the author
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Elizabeth/Jack
Summary: Sometimes it just feels better to give in.
Author's Note: I stayed up all night last night writing and rewriting this, but I'm still not sure if I like it all that much. Feed my back?
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"And we lay, we lay together just not
Too close, too close (how close is close enough?)
-- Taking Back Sunday, "MakeDamnSure"
Temptation struck, though who its true target was, no one could be sure. Poseidon swept the deck with the salty waters of the ocean just as you swept it over with seduction. The feeling hung low like the fog that swallowed the ship, gobbling it up and digesting it in one fell swoop.
The only evidence that it was happening at all were the crumbs left on its watery plate, things that had been covered in dust, yet were washed clean by the sea.
And the process would start again, people, places, things forgotten, only to be rediscovered when life found the need to continue its circular motion around the Universe and everything.
It would seem that it must have found the need, and rather recently, too. Eyelashes had been batted and skirts had been lifted in a rather lewd manner towards a relatively drunken Jack, and with no regrets.
And as much as you hated those incredibly ditzy wenches in Tortuga, somehow you still managed to envy them and that one thing that set them apart from the rest of womankind, that one thing that seemed to attract men like bugs to oil lamps. You could smell it on them—it was thick and sickeningly sweet, and it just made you want to vomit.
Yet…
You had studied their movements, watched their impressive display of fake emotions, and the secret signals they gave one another, each with its different meaning.
That smirk, though. It awed you, and felt amazing on the corner of your lips, especially after a kiss.
A kiss. Something you could definitely go for right now. You didn't want your life to be on the line anymore. You didn't want another adventure that started with a gasp and ended with a sigh of relief, you wanted a different kind, one that would start with a shiver and end with a scream.
A glance at Jack, and you knew you couldn't resist.
Nor could he.
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You'd like to say that you didn't.
But you did.
The attraction just sliced so deep it was almost painful, it reached your veins and ripped at them until you finally gave in to the madness, and still it continued. Only maybe it did not burn quite so badly.
Or you might have just gotten used to it.
He shoves you against the wall in the midst of a liplock and you're caught. The touch of his rough fingers gives you the Davies as he slips them up the back of your shirt and runs them down your spine.
Phase one: complete.
You stop to breathe, and whisper something to his ear, pulling away with that smirk, giving it a run through.
And he seems to like it, because he pushes you onto the bed and gets the two of you a glass of Bumboo, which you snatched from him and drank deeply from, as if it were some kind of elixir that might save you from your doom and your only chance was to drink it, drink it all before it was too late.
A fist pounded on the back of the door.
Speak of the Devil.
You hid like it was some kind of game, and the other person could just yell, "Ollie ollie oxen go free," and you'd win.
The door was open and a sword brought up to a neck. "I do like you, dear boy, but knock on my door again and I will personally take the pleasure of seeing you to Davy Jones."
He leans in and says, "Go ahead," in a bit of a stage whisper.
It was hard enough for Jack to handle himself, but having to deal with someone like Will made him go mad, and although you couldn't see Jack's face, you could just feel it contorting with frustration.
It made you wince.
"The Cockswain is waiting for you. Captain."
Men and their stupid competitions.
He comes back a little while later and tells you so, even though you were watching him as he came through the door with that delicious smile across his lips that you just wanted to eat right off of his face, raw and without any seasonings.
So you did.
For some reason it felt strange, like you should and should not at the exact same time, and it just made you want to slice off your fingers and lap up as much blood as you could get.
And he pushes you onto the bed.
And you pull him down with you.
And life.
Is.
Good.