Title: Leave Her, Johnny
Category: Television Shows » Black Sails
Author: And The Moment's Gone
Language: English, Rating: Rated: T+
Words: 1,326

Warnings/Spoilers: Pre-Series. Because I prefer them that way.

Official Disclaimer: All Black Sails characters and plots belong to Starz, and Michael Bay, I do not hold stock either the company or the man. Charles Vane, Eleanor Guthrie, and any other character featured are NOT mine. The title comes from the sea shanty Leave Her, Johnny and I don't own that either.

"The sails are furled an' our work is done.
Leave her Johnny, leave her."

Eleanor hadn't actually meant to fall asleep with Charles.

Well, that was almost a lie.

She'd meant to rest. After all, that was why she had fought so hard to get Mister Scott to allow her to go to the beach that afternoon instead of waiting for the Charles to decide to come up to the tavern. She'd spent the last three days traveling back and forth to her father's estate, arguing shipping lanes, favorable captains, and the cost of doing business. That was three full days of her refusing her father's 'hospitality' in favor of a cold bed and a warm mug of rum to accompany her sleepless nights. And when he finally agreed to just let her do things her way – as long as they didn't affect his profit margin – she practically raced back to her side of the island, not being able to fathom going back to the warehouse no matter how many workable hours were still in the day.

So she'd turned her negotiating skills on Scott and gone to the beach.

To rest.

She tried to keep her breathing slow as she shifted, bringing her knee up to comfortably rest against her bedmate's hip.

It was highly likely that when she'd wandered into camp, Charles had been doing something important. The Ranger had been out on a five-day excursion this time, to a wreck off the coast of Inagua that she'd been tipped off to just a day before they'd sailed. Jack and Mistress Bonny were nowhere to be found, and the longboats coming ashore full of cargo meant that they were still in the process of inventorying their prize before beginning negotiation at the warehouse. She forced business out of her mind though, stalking through tents looking for their illustrious captain before demanding a private audience with him.

They'd gotten two steps into his tent before she dropped to her knees, and he realized that her definition of 'having something to discuss' was drastically different than his had been.

Not that he was actually stupid enough to complain.

"For the voyage is done and the winds don't blow
And it's time for us to leave her."

His chest rumbled slightly as he hummed to himself, one hand flexing against her hip. It happened more often than she wanted to admit, whenever he stopped moving for more than a minute, his hands started to twitch, and his muscles begged for action.

She shifted again, pulling her head off of his shoulder and dropping a soft kiss to the brand on his chest.

Despite what she had argued with herself hours ago, she really should get moving. He had inventory to oversee, a crew to maintain, and was an afternoon spent naked in Charles Vane's tent really worth the denunciation and disapproval that was going to pour off of Scott like waves if she didn't make it back to the tavern before dark?

There was already no way she wasn't going to be hearing about this when she finally resurfaced.

"Leave her Johnny, leave her.
Oh, leave her Johnny, leave her."

"You sing." It was an observation, with absolutely no wonder or judgment present.

She too understood things that were not said.

"Jack started that shit when we cast anchor last night." They'd gotten in late, beyond late, and he'd chosen to just sleep aboard the ship rather than try to figure out how to get his crew ashore on little to no sleep. "It's been stuck in my head ever since."

She didn't point out that he didn't address her comment in any way.

Instead, Eleanor smiled, rolling so her front was completely pillowed against his and chuckled. "Oh, to have the troubles of Captain Vane."

There was half a breath, and then she was under him again, his hips nestled between her knees. "You want my troubles?" She didn't even try to breathe as he slid home, closing her eyes against the sensation. "You want-

"Fuck!"

Jack's eyes shot to the roof of the tent when he realized that the petite blonde in his bed hadn't just been a joke the crew threw around to excuse the captain for not paying attention to the unloading.

The twitch in his jaw was back, but Jack supposed that that was why he was bothering the man to begin with.

Eleanor's head dropped back onto the pillow and Charles shifted slightly to give her more coverage. He wasn't looking; God knew Jack wasn't that stupid, but it made all parties involved slightly more comfortable.

"Get the fuck out, Jack."

"Love to," he coughed, still trying to figure out how he wound up in these situations. "Really I would," another cough. "But there's a man from the warehouse asking for you, and I don't think it's in our best interest to put him off."

"Scott?"

The ease in which he slid off the bed and pulled the cover over her all at the same time was almost impressive. Or it would have been, if Jack were willing to admit that he was paying attention.

Eleanor shrugged on the spare shirt she was handed, reaching for the rugs on the sand to find her skirt. "He would have sent Bastian." Why had Jack never taken the time to actually watch them interact with one another before? Eleanor was tying the bottom of Charles's shirt as if it had been hers all along, sliding into her skirt after Charles was wearing his pants in order for him to block Jack's view. They moved as two separate pieces of the same clock. "And he's not looking for you."

Charles was pulling another shirt over his torso now, finally turning to acknowledge that Jack hadn't gone anywhere. "She'll be out in a moment," he waved his quartermaster off. Jack wasn't looking forward to the next few hours before his captain could work out his newly found aggression.

And he wasn't sure which one of them started cursing when he dropped the tent flap.

"You want my troubles?" Charles wrapped his arms around Eleanor's waist, pulling her body flush against his. The kiss he pressed against her lips could only be construed as lewd, and Eleanor had to anchor herself to his shoulders to keep from trying to pull him back onto his makeshift bed. "You are my troubles."

"So that means you're not interested in finishing this?" Eleanor used the hair at his nape to force him down into another kiss, the heat of them still running through her veins.

The thought of having Eleanor Guthrie on her knees twice in one day was definitely appealing. Charles smiled against her lips, pulling back just enough to run a hand through her hair. He was actually seriously considering not letting her answer to Scott's summons.

"If it wasn't important, he wouldn't have bothered." Eleanor shook her hair free from his grasp, twisting it up carefully and securing it with a hair stick. She was actually relieved that he'd had enough sense to take them out and lay them down on one of the various flat surfaces when they had first begun that day.

She would never have heard the end of it if she lost another one this month.

When he reached for his boots, she slid into her own shoes, incredibly thankful that hers didn't have the laces his did. "Your drinks are on me tonight, if you can keep from killing any of your men in the meantime." The tent flap let in more light than either of them would have hoped, and she nodded to Jack, strongly considering making the same offer.

One more smile for the road, this one a bit brighter than she usually allowed herself in full view of everyone, and she turned to the poor retainer that had been sent to fetch her, a soft tune on her lips.

"For the voyage is done and the winds don't blow
And it's time for us to leave her."