Constructive criticism is welcome as this is my first fic.
Disclaimer: I don't own POTC or any of the characters, but I do pride myself on owning the girl Jack is chatting up.
The Rum Will Always Be Gone
Elizabeth Swann was drinking rum. And Elizabeth Swann was not pleased.
If I have to watch one more wide-eyed girl be chatted up by Captain Jack Sparrow, I think I'll be sick.
It was the same story each time they made port. Jack waltzed off to the nearest tavern and waited to be approached. And approach him they did. Girls in every shape, size, and manner of clothing could be seen sizing him up all through the night. He had his pick of the best of them, and would disappear sometime around midnight. The next morning he would reemerge on the deck of The Black Pearl, hung over and smirking.
Elizabeth brought her bottle of rum to her lips. Rum was a vile drink, but she'd taken to drinking it ages ago. She did not want to admit, even to herself, the reason behind that first full bottle she'd drunk so long ago, but she remembered it well. It had been on The Black Pearl itself, mere weeks after The Flying Dutchman had disappeared under the horizon. She had been lusting after Jack ever since Will had left, but when he turned up with his ship, prepared to take her on as a guest of honor, she'd tried to fight her feelings.
"You know, love, it's a pity that you should look so sad, especially on this remarkable occasion."
"Remarkable occasion, Jack? Will's left me alone while he's off on his bloody ship, and-"
Jack put a hand over her mouth and flung himself down on the steps leading up to the helm, one hand around her shoulders and the other clasping a dusty bottle.
"It was not so long ago that you yourself made me quite a proposition, right here, on these very steps. A proposition of marriage, do you remember?"
Elizabeth looked up at him in disgust.
"Jack! If you remember, if was you, not I, who made the proposition, and if you remember my answer, it still holds true today."
Jack faltered for a minute, and then his smile returned and he took a swig of rum.
"Aah, but not long after that it was you who sent me to my death. And if you remember correctly, love, before doing so you were kind enough to chain me to my ship." Jack swallowed and drew a breath.
" And do you remember, Elizabeth, how you shanghaied me into that? Do you remember what happened after you told me that I was a good man?"
Elizabeth felt blood rush to her skin, all the way down to her toes.
"And so again I'll tell you something. We're very much alike, you and I, I and you. I think we've established that I do have a moral center and I am a good man, and so my question for you is this," Jack said in a low voice. He drew his face close to hers, their mouths inches apart. He placed a hand on the back of her head and as he spoke, she felt his hot breath on her lips, so very close. "Curiosity." Leaning in so their lips barely touched, he continued. "Do you want to know, love, do you need to know-" his mouth pressed against hers, slightly parted, and breathed the last of his words into her-"what it tastes like?"
His tongue touched the tip of hers as she lost all manner of self-control. He tasted like rum and sweat, just as he had that fatal day when he'd called her a pirate, only this time it wasn't bittersweet. She wasn't killing him and they didn't need to stop.
She exhaled sharply as he pulled away. He smiled again, his golden teeth gleaming in the sunlight.
"I knew you'd come over to my side," he told her.
That night, after all the crew had gone to bed save the night watchmen, he came for her. As the door to his cabin was pulled shut, as their lips met, as his hands traced the outline of her body, she suddenly thought of Will.
"Jack-" she began, but he silenced her with another kiss. And suddenly the magic of Captain Jack Sparrow disappeared. Even as he tugged her to the bed, lips attached to hers, she realized what she'd been blinded by all along was gone. The veil lifted and she no longer felt anything. Or more precisely, she no longer felt the previous attraction. She felt something warm and wet against her lips, and she opened her eyes to see how ridiculous Jack looked with his closed. As he lifted off her shirt, the bottle in his hand rubbed on her stomach, and all she could think about was the dirt under his nails and the stench of his breath. He smelled, she thought as his mouth moved over her body, like something had died in the pit of his stomach and the smell was wafting out his mouth. His lips lifted from her stomach and the sensation reminded her slightly of a leech being pulled away from bare skin.
He paused for a gulp of rum from his bottle.
His shirt came off, and for the first time, Elizabeth noticed a roll of skin around his belt. It heaved when he took a breath, jiggling as he exhaled. She was repulsed. When his pants dropped to the floor, she couldn't help thinking of Will. Will was so much more caring; wanting to be sure she was okay, whereas Jack thought only of himself. Hell, Will was clean, not foul and smelling like the bilge. If space made a man, she thought as she lifted an eyebrow, Will was certainly more a man than Jack.
And as he rose and fell above her, blasted rum bottle still in hand, one thing was to be certain, she felt nothing. No explosions within her, no bright bursts of light, nothing. Jack was clearly feeling something, and as he rolled off of her, she couldn't help missing Will yet again. Jack moved to rest his head on her stomach, and as he did so, his hair splayed out across her chest. The rope-like braids were matted and upon closer examination, she noticed dozens of tiny little things crawling on one. She grunted in disgust and Jack looked up at her.
"It's very advantageous that dear William isn't here, aye love? We'd be incredibly bored otherwise. Good job you don't drink rum, or soon it'd be all gone as well and-hey!" Elizabeth had shoved him off and stood up sharply. Jack sat up as Elizabeth hurriedly replaced her clothes, eager to leave.
"Going so soon?" he asked. His voice sounded thick and fake, a corny tone doubtlessly used on many girls. Why had she let him use it on her, too? He wasn't wonderful, he was a greedy, smelly pirate wearing dirty rags and using women to pass the time. She grabbed the rum bottle from his hand. A rat scurried across the floor as she reached for the door handle, and she threw the bottle as hard as she could at it. It smashed just over the door, the rum trickling down the bare wood, mixing with the dirt and the odor from emancipating from the cabin. Jack yelped as it shattered, and she gave him one last withering look before stepping over the glass and slamming the door to his cabin.
Cursing the day she'd been kidnapped by pirates, Elizabeth stomped across the deck, stopping only to snatch up a bottle of rum from the foot of the stairs. She wasn't sure who the previous owner had been, and she didn't care to think on it. She yanked the stopper from the bottle and taken a huge gulp. It burned the insides of her mouth, but she forced herself to swallow. She felt it burn its way down her throat to her stomach, where it felt as though it curdled and churned. With a look at the door to Jack's cabin, she swore and took another gulp. She thought of his tattoo, a sparrow flying over the water, the letters J-A-C-K printed beneath it, and how incredibly self-absorbed you'd have to be to brand yourself with your name. Tilting back her head, she let the rum pour down her throat. A familiar scent floated up to her nose, and she smiled wickedly.
Jack appeared a few minutes later, immediately looking to the foot of the stairs. Instead, movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to jump. Elizabeth had stationed herself outside his cabin, sitting with her back against the wall and her legs drawn up to her chest. She clutched an empty bottle in her hands, and the ball dropped. He looked at her, disbelieving.
"Yes," she said sardonically, malice in her very eyes, "the rum is gone."
She missed Will something awful, she reflected as she nursed her bottle of rum and watched Jack through slit eyes. She hated to see yet another girl taken in by Jack, especially when she couldn't do a damn thing to stop it. One hand rested on the girl's cheek, the other gestured wildly, doubtlessly spinning some tale involving bravery and cunning. But, she thought as Jack reached for his bottle of rum and instead found only the hard, empty surface of the table, a confused expression flooding his face, I can ensure that the rum will always be gone.