Friendly Skirmish
by Luvvycat
A/N: This is a little "interlude" from PotC:AWE, intended to be my (quite naughty) "take" on why Jack was so distracted in Tortuga as to allow Hector Barbossa to (once again) make off with the Black Pearl...
Many thanks to my brand-spanking-new beta-reader, the lovely and talented GeekMama, for giving this a glance-over before posting! Ever so grateful, luv! :-)
This is rated a solid "M" for extensive use (abuse?) of sexual metaphor, innuendo, and double-entendre (hey, it's Tortuga, after all, not Disneyland!).
As ever, the Mouse owns all! I make no claim of ownership to their property (just a wicked desire to play around with it every once in a while!)
Hope you enjoy! Reviews are encouraged, and very, very welcome!
'Ta!
-- Cat
Captain Jack Sparrow slipped out of the Tortuga boarding-house as quietly as possible. He usually made a practice of leaving well before the sun showed its morning face, but he had spent a long and quite pleasurable night enjoying the bounteous charms of both Giselle and Scarlett, and he had managed to oversleep.
He had snuck out with the girls still nestled together in the big bed upstairs, naked limbs entwined in post-coital slumber, sleeping off the effects of a night of too little sleep, too much rum, and an overabundance of rough-and-tumble luvvin' from a certain golden-toothed pirate captain of their intimate acquaintance.
It wasn't often that he was able to get the two wenches to set aside their differences and agree to anything, particularly where it concerned him. But his adroitly negotiated détente had reaped bountiful benefits, for him, and he imagined no silver-tongued French diplomat could have delivered a more agreeable or a more — satisfying — accord.
He recalled with delight the friendly skirmish that had ensued on the linen-sheeted field of battle — his rapier tongue locked in a heated duel with that of the fiery Scarlett, her parry masterfully meeting his every thrust as his dexterous hands scored touch after palpable touch upon her bared breast, while, below, lovely Giselle skilfully polished his rampant blade with hands and mouth, before rising to ensheath his noble weapon quite deliciously in her warm, moist, silken scabbard.
Indeed, his sword had seen much action that night, sinking deeply into tender flesh, again and again and again, until his charming opponents each cried out in surrender before collapsing, utterly spent, in a breathless heap upon the snowy, sweat-stained battlefield. The memory brought a smile of gratification to his lips, and an evocative twitch to another part of his anatomy. Down, boy! he thought, lest rising circumstances forced him into having to do a bit of impromptu sword-polishing himself ...
* * * * *
Later, after a victory breakfast of kippers and rum at the Faithful Bride (having lifted one last goblet of rum on his way out) he was heading toward the docks, where his beloved Pearl was berthed, when he heard a strident chorus of cries behind him …
"Oi! Jack!"
"Jack Sparrow!"
He glanced around to see his favourite pair of doxies — fully clothed now, to his regret — bustling toward him.
He turned, pretending not to see them, and increased his pace …
But the girls were surprisingly swift, and in no time at all caught up to the fleeing pirate, each attaching herself to one arm.
"Oi, Jack. Ain't you forgettin' something?" said Giselle, plucking at his right sleeve.
"Wot?" he said, slanting a nervous, sidelong glance at each of them. "I remembered to pay you, didn't I?"
Scarlett swatted him on his left arm. "Not that, silly! We mean, wot you promised …"
"Las' night …" Giselle added.
Jack squirmed. He often made promises, in the heat of the moment. The trickiest part was remembering exactly what was promised, and to whom. "Promise?" he squeaked. "Wot promise was that?"
"About takin' us for a ride …" the redhead prompted.
"On the Black Pearl …" the blonde finished.
"Oh!" he said, rather relieved. "That!" He smiled. This was a promise, fortunately, that he had a chance of keeping. For once, he might just escape the requisite face-slapping he nearly always expected upon his visits to Tortuga …
"Tell us about her again …" Scarlett pressed against his left side, most provocatively, fingers finding their way under his mass of braids and brushing against the nape of his tanned neck.
"About your magnificent Pearl …" Giselle nestled against his right side, her hand trailing down his back, then snaking around his waist.
Recalling the previous night, his grin turned wicked. Perhaps he could … persuade them … into a continuation of last night's activities, in his private cabin on the Pearl …
He couldn't help his sword rising in salute in anticipation at the prospect of another lively skirmish …
Oh, yes … he'd show them something quite magnificent, indeed!
As they sidled even more closely to him, and their powdered-white bosoms rose in creamy swells above their tightly-cinched décolletages, making quite an alluring display to his feasting eyes, he draped his arms casually around their naked shoulders, the goblet in his hand coming to a rest somewhere near Giselle's right ear, and, with his usual, hip-rolling gait, he started walking them down the crowded docks.
"Granted, it tends to list to port, and has been, on occasion, known to frighten young women …" he said, archly, and they giggled knowingly at the double-entendre, "but I promise you," he purred, "… you will not be disappointed …"