Castaway Cay
Trying to commandeer a ship, Jack stumbles on a careworn Elizabeth, only to find out just how far she will go to obtain the Fountain of Youth for herself. An Elizabeth/Jack story with implied Elizabeth/Will all tangled up in it as well. Sexual content. A bit dark. Stand-alone.
Romance/Drama Warnings: sexual content, adult themes, AWE spoilers.
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Jack Sparrow heaved on a line of rope secured to the mast as rain lashed wet and sharp about his face in the night air. The tiny dinghy pitched sharply in the waves, bucketfuls of seawater sloshing over the side and drenching his boots.
Oh bugger, thought Jack. Letting go of the rope, he carefully removed his left boot, examined it for several moments, and then tipped it over. Out came a half-gallon of water and two small crabs.
"Saucy little things, aren't you?" he mumbled, watching the creatures swirl about in the water at the bottom of the dinghy as he replaced his boot onto his foot.
Jack was just securing his circular map to his belt so as not to lose it to the sea and the wind when he saw it: small pinpoints of light dancing on the horizon not half a mile from him. Land. No, a port. Taking up the line again, he steered his dinghy through the gale, making for the cluster of lights.
Stepping onto the dock, Jack secured his tiny boat and gazed around to take stock of the port. Blinking rain out of his eyes, he made out craggy cliffs, a perfect half-moon bay, and a glittering harborfront crammed to the gills with saloons, inns, and no small amount of establishments of disreputable nature. Castaway Cay.
Jack lets out a loud "Ha!" and bounded forward. The infamous Castaway Cay, a small island in the Spanish Caribbean, was almost as famous as Tortuga and for the same reasons, only better positioned for picking up supplies for ships on their way to Cuba. "Supplies" here having the meaning of "rum," thought Jack, and he patted the map tucked into his belt, a satisfied smirk tugging one corner of his mouth. The Fountain of Youth beckoned from just this direction. This was a perfect spot to pick up a ship and a crew-"pick up" here having the meaning of "commandeer..."
He made his way along the dock, peering up at the ships lined hodge-podge along the harbor. The Black Pearl was not among them. Presently, he came upon a particularly grand one, painted satin black with deep, blood red trimming. It had wide, white sails and the words The Marked Swan stenciled across her stern.
"Looks bloody new," he mumbled breathlessly, and lost no time climbing the rigging. Launching himself over the rail, he landed on deck. No light shone in the ship's lanterns and all was deathly quiet except for the pounding rain and rasp of wind; the ship appeared to be quite deserted, though one never can tell, so he tread lightly, trailing his hands along the mast, the cannon braces, the wooden helm, the brass handle to the captain's cabin door.
Quite suddenly, the latch gave, and the door swung creakily open. Jack gave a lurch and stepped quickly to the side. Slowly, he peered around the edge of the doorway, his sword half drawn. A flickering sort of light shone from within the cabin, and he saw that there were in fact half a dozen guttering candles cluttering the captain's desk, a pair of boots propped up next to them. Jack squinted, but could not make out a face through the shifting shadows.
And now, faintly, a drunken whisper of a song ...
"Yo ho, yo ho," the voice burbled, "a pickle's life for me." A pause. A giggle. And then: "No, a pirate's life for me..."
I know that voice, thought Jack. I know that giggle. I know that song.
"...We're devils, we're black sheep..."
"Elizabeth?" he questioned, incredulous.
" ... we're really bad eggs ..."
"I mean really, it can't be you, but it is you. And this new-and apparently rum-soaked-you has a ship, aye? 'S pretty." Jack waved a hand around the darkened cabin and stepped cleanly into it, replacing his sword in his belt as he went.
" ... Drink up me hearties, yo ho!" she finished, still in a stupefied, drunken sort of whisper, and Jack caught a glimpse of a bottle curving upwards through the air and heard the unmistakable sound of a gulp of rum washing down her throat. With a dull thud, Elizabeth Turner brought the rum bottle down hard upon the desk and leaned forward into the circle of candlelight.
Soft yellow light illuminated her drained-looking face, and drops of alcohol glistened on her lips. She brought a hand up to her mouth and impatiently wiped them away. Her head bore a folded brown bandana, out from under which her long hair tumbled carelessly, and she was clad in pirate's gear: faded pants, tunic, sash, and jewels. Jack had never seen her look more like a pirate, nor had he seen her look so careworn.
"A wee bit drunk, are you, dearie?" said Jack, stocking still further into the room and stopping just short of the circle of candlelight surrounding Elizabeth. His boots sounded heavily on the cabin's polished floor.
"A touch," she admitted, eyeing the half-empty bottle next to her and holding two unsteady fingers half an inch apart.
"Ah, dear Elizabeth Swann, the Pirate King an once-upon-a-time governor's daughter, is by herself, on the grandest ship in the harbor, getting herself drunk. How fortuitous."
Elizabeth glowered at him, a bit more life leaping into her cheeks.
"For me, I mean," he clarified, finally stepping into the guttering light and hovering across Elizabeth's desk, which was strewn with stubs of candles, maps, and half-empty rum bottles.
Elizabeth made a gallant effort to straighten. "It's Turner now. You haven't forgotten, have you?"
"Ah, so it is," said Jack. "My deepest apologies, Captain Turner. There be two by that name in the seas now, then, aye?" He poked at one of the maps with a careless forefinger. Elizabeth slumped back in her chair, her expression unreadable as she took in the captain standing in front of her, her eyes roving over his familiar features and pausing briefly at the scroll of map secured to his belt next to his compass, her eyes shining a bit brighter. Jack didn't seem to notice. She reached for the bottle of rum again.
"The other Captain Turner is at sea, Captain Sparrow ... Nine and a half years more ... This is all your fault, you know. All... your... fault." She pointed the rum bottle at him, puncturing her words.
Jack let out a bark of laughter and seated himself on the edge of Elizabeth's desk, pushing a thick scroll of paper aside to make room. "And how's that, Elizabeth?" He reached out a hand for the bottle and plucked it from Elizabeth's grasp, taking a hearty swig.
He continued. "It seems to me that pirates make their own fortune. And so it follows that you, no less than the Pirate King, make your own as well. You seem to be doing alright for yourself, Lizzie." He gestured around her cabin again. "You've a ship, savvy? And a bloody grand one, at that. So how be it my fault that you are here, alone on your ship, drunk, apparently unhappy, and married to the new Davy Jones?"
"All your fault," she said, trying in vain to tug the bottle back from Jack. "You made him pierce the heart, Jack. You gave birth to the new captain of the Flying Dutchman. You robbed me of my husband a mere ten minutes after we were married." Elizabeth's eyes shone brightly in the candles' glow and her voice began to rise dark and brooding, as if it had to grind itself out from deep inside her chest. "You made it so I was married to a man I will probably only see four, perhaps five times again in my lifetime. All... your... fault."
"Ah, yes, well ... the timing was regrettable," Jack conceded, frowning.
"Could not have been more regrettable," Elizabeth clarified.
"But it was an undeniably honest mistake, love. Honestly. May have been my only honest mistake, come to think of it." He gave his head a tiny shake. "I even had a different plan for the heart. How was I supposed to know about--"
"Don't say the word."
"--the marriage. Or that ol' what's 'is face--"
"Don't say the name!" Elizabeth let out a groan.
"--Fish Face, no, erm, Davy Jones was going to kill young William?"
"Don't say Will's name either, Jack," she moaned. "I can't bear to hear it." And quite suddenly she lurched forward and grasped the lapels of Jack's coat, her eyes boring into his dark ones. Hot angry tears glinted on her cheeks. "I might as well not have married at all. I don't feel married, I feel trapped outside of it." She looked hard at Jack, who was now perched atop her desk, his legs dangling carelessly off one side, the rest of him brought forward into a ridiculous sort of bow by Elizabeth's clutching hands. "I want to feel married, Jack," she continued, and gestured at herself, at her tangled hair, at her lips which once again were glistening with drink. "Just look at me. Look at me. All... your... fault."
And he did look. His eyes slid over her wet cheeks, her dark eyes bearing a serious sort of glint, the lock of messy hair that curled out from under her bandana to hang over her brow, her lips parted as if to welcome another swig of rum.
"I ... I am looking at you, Lizzie," said Jack after a few moments. He raised his hand as if to stroke her cheek; it trembled. He broke off, sighed.
"I want to feel married," she whispered. "I want to see my husband more than a handful more days in my life." For a moment, Jack thought he caught a vulnerable sort of look in her eye, but before he could register it, it had clouded over.
"Well, dearie," said Jack, now gently prying Elizabeth's fingers from his coat and turning towards the cabin door. He could see now where this was going, what her plans were, and he was not going to help her get there. "If there was anything could be done..."
Elizabeth's head snapped up. "Do you swear?"
"On me life, love," said Jack, the faintest irony lacing his voice. "Now Elizabeth, it's really been a pleasure, but seeing as..."
But before Jack could finish his thought, Elizabeth's lips were on his.
He sprang back awkwardly, his legs colliding with painfully with the edge of the desk. "We've tried that once before, love. Remember how it turned out?" He ducked his head towards hers, his mouth inches away from her own. "Remember the beastie? I remember the beastie." His voice was a snarl.
"You swore."
"I ... I did?"
"Yes." Elizabeth's fingers trailed lightly down the side of Jack neck, and he fought back a shudder of pleasure.
"When?" Jack sounded indignant.
"Just now. On your life." Without quite knowing how, Jack realized that Elizabeth was out of her chair and pressing him back onto the desk. He leaned back and pushed himself as far away from her as possible, his hands held up as if in truce.
Suddenly the cogs in Jack's head slid into place. "You want to feel married, is it"
Elizabeth gave a sly sort of smile and a single nod.
"I want to feel married." She slid herself into Jack's lap, straddling him, reaching out to place her hands on the desk on either side of him. He was trapped. Her sun-goldened hair fell against his shoulder to mix with his black locks as she lowered her lips to the base of his throat, dragging her mouth along the place where his heartbeat echoed the strongest. She could hear Jack's breathing become ragged and uneven, as with one hand began to loose Jack's map from his belt. Jack struggled for control.
"No, love," he said, suddenly changing course and sliding his hands underneath her tunic. He splayed them on either side of her breasts, almost but not quite touching them, catching her off guard.
Elizabeth gasped. Had she really thought she had been in control? Honestly?
Jack's lips found her ear, and his breath sent shivers through her. "No, love," he said again. "You don't want to feel married. You want to feel like a pirate." His breath came again in her ear, "You want to know what it tastes like ..." In the glow of the candlelight, he could see her redden. "Are you sure you want to do this, love? Once you turn pirate, there's no turning back."
Elizabeth pressed her mouth against his, leaning into his skin and rumpled shirt, sliding herself against him. Her tongue suckled his. He moaned against her lips and a rush of victory that she found had little to do with Jack's map or compass surged through her as his hands, now sliding down her back, began to tease the skin at its base. Their kiss deepened, heat rising, their lips becoming more insistent, both playing the game but seeming to forget why they were in it to begin with. Outside, the rain pounded and slashed at the windows.
"Jack?" she gasped.
"What is it," he growled.
"I've already turned pirate." Her hands came up to his face, a small grin of triumph playing on her lips and he made a low noise deep in his throat and captured her wrists with one ringed hand, forcing them above her head. She threw him a dirty look as her back arced. Lowering his mouth to hers, he kissed her as his other thumb began a slow assault on her upper thigh. Elizabeth's eyes widened, and she trembled as she tried to recapture some semblance of control over the situation.
"No, you haven't," he murmured against her lips, his eyes locking for a second with hers, "this is you turning pirate, dearie."
Elizabeth let out another gasp as Jack continued to tease higher along her inner thigh, his other hand releasing her wrists to drag across her aching breasts. And then, each pealing away the other's outer layers of clothing piece by piece, Elizabeth rocked against Jack, her body fully flush with his, her fingers raking down his back, her throat seeming to clench in need. She could feel him pressed against her and she ground herself closer still.
"Jack, please," she could barely gasp the words out. His touch had turned suddenly light, his fingers feather soft on her skin. She found it unbearable, and tried to press against him. Jack smirked, and moved his lips south to her chest, to her stomach, to the dip of her belly button and further still, lightly teasing. She found herself splayed across her own desk, Jack hovering over her.
"I ... Please," she begged.
"Yes, Lizzie?" He spoke innocently. "Want something?"
She turned the tables on him, straddling him, forcing him onto the desk, at last feeling pressure where she needed it the most.
"Please, Jack." She whispered it.
She let out a strangled sort of cry as they joined at last, her whole body trembling, each pounding against the other, for the moment one delirious, sweating creature. She could feel his heart beating against her own and she thought suddenly of her day with Will on the beach, how she lay with him afterward, her head buried in his chest, a smile playing on both of their lips. She remembered how she listened for his heartbeat, wanting it to beat steadily in time with her own, and how she cried, silently, when she realized that his body no longer contained the thing that made him her Will, her husband, her lover.
Jack ground into her harder and drove all thought of Will cleanly from her mind. She clutched at his shoulders, feeling the muscles working and surging beneath smooth skin. Her body came to match his move for move, and she felt unbidden, delicious, free.
The mounting pressure broke inside of her and they melted into each other, sucking in air. Her head pounded with the aftermath and she came to rest it on his shoulder. She could once again hear the rain and the wind as noise rushed back into the world. Jack pressed one last kiss onto her collarbone, his lips feeling rough against her skin. She placed a hand to his hair, and he leaned back.
"Was that what you wanted, love?" he questioned, his expression mild and unreadable. "Or shall I say, pirate?"
Elizabeth sank her hand through his hair to reach the back of his neck. "I didn't know I wanted this. I thought I wanted ..." Her gaze fell to Jack's compass and map, which had been cast aside with the rest of their garments.
"Your crew will be back soon," said Jack coolly, glancing at the door and then back at Elizabeth, tugging the tunic flung over the back of the chair up and around her bare shoulders as though concerned about her propriety.
"Yes, I've got a crew," said Elizabeth after a moment, not helping Jack with the tunic but sliding her palm more firmly across the back of his neck and looking directly into his eyes. "But I haven't got a heading. Or a map." She paused, seeming to decide to lay all her cards on the table. "Or your compass..."
Jack gazed at her, then cocked a sly grin, his eyes twinkling. "I haven't got a ship."
"I know you haven't. I saw Barbossa and the Pearl not two days ago."
"Did you, now?" His gaze turned roguish and piercing.
"I was surprised to find you weren't on board. Nor was a certain map." She held Jack's gaze, her fingers toying again with the back of his neck.
"A certain map ..." Jack echoed.
"I've got a keel and a hull and deck and sails ..." she began, reaching up to touch his chest, feeling his scars ripple beneath her fingers. Her face was very close to his.
"Aye," said Jack, eyeing her with interest. "You've got exactly what a ship needs, even if it's not the Black Pearl." And he pulled the circular map out from under the pile of their rumpled garments, unfurled it, and flattening it against the desk. He sat down, pulled Elizabeth into his lap, and reached around her to play with its rotating circles. At last he stopped his toying and pointed to a drawing of a goblet, the words "Aqua de Vida" curling over it.
Elizabeth leaned over the map, her eyes shining. "Yes, the Fountain of Youth," she breathed.
"Fancy being with your whelp forever, Lizzie?" He grinned. So did she.
"Fancy a ship and a crew, Jack?" Elizabeth snatched up the rum bottle, offering it to Jack.
Jack's grin widened pleasantly, and a gold tooth seemed to flame in the light of the candles. "So we have an accord. Commandeering just got a whole lot more pleasureable."
"Indeed." Her eyes were full of their own vigor, her face suddenly more alive.
"Welcome to the Caribbean, love. Here's to the Fountain of Youth ..." He plucked the bottle from Elizabeth's hands, and drank.
End.
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