A/N: I'm sorry about this but they're just asking for it aren't they? I
have to do something while I wait for the sequel.
Electricity Burn.
Electricity. That's what forked down from the sky in a luminous burst of gold energy and lit your sleeping face as you lie before me. That's what shot, hot, between us as you glanced over your shoulder at me and the salted spray whipped through our hair.
It struck me then, as it has before. Made me take a step back, blink in surprise, but when my eyes reopened in hope you had already turned back. Didn't you see it? Perhaps it was just my imagination.
But then, if lightning never strikes twice, why to I keep getting burnt? I lean back in the seat which sits in front of our hammocks. You'll be gone soon, off with your bonnie lass, and have children no doubt, and I'll be here. Wanting lightning to strike.
You look so much like him. It's scary, seeing you lying there as he used to, my Will Turner, so headstrong, so stupid, so very pretty. I used to watch him as I'm watching you now, but I won't stand, won't touch that buttery-smooth skin, won't dirty china so easily broken.
I ask nothing but to look on those things people like me can never have.
I wonder if you taste like him - stop. Men have hanged for less, and if I die how will I be able to hear the soft sigh of your breathing or see the play of light across your eyes or feel the warmth of your presence next to mine? I try to hold back the memories. I don't need much sleep.
When you stand, just a few delicious inches away, there it goes. Electricity, rushing through me, burning. I need it, need it so damn much. Just one kiss, the slight brush of your soft lips against my rough...the rain thunders against the side of the ship and sends the waves up into a thrashing frenzy. I feel sick. Too much. Too close. I push my feet against the floor and scramble with the chair up against the wall.
God, I miss it.
What? What do I miss? My memories, are they fading? Or are you just taking his place in them? If only you were aware of the hold you have over me. What would you do if you knew?
It's cold in here. I shiver.
Only when you sleep do I get the feeling that it could be. You and me. The daylight pierces my hopes, isolates me, but in these monochrome hours it seems as though I could just reach out and there you'd be.
What a fool I am. There goes the lightening, reminding me of your other life as it mimics the sun. I'm last in line.
I hope that you know that I'd stay here, right here in this chair, if you ever wanted to come back. If you ever wanted to see me again. I hope you know because I won't ever dare to say it aloud.
The storm subsides with a final wheeze of weak rain which runs its fingers over the portholes. Soon you will stir, and I will pretend that I have just woken, as I do every morning. I'll comment on your lethargy and perhaps even criticise your choice in Elizabeth. This I always do.
But I won't ever breathe a word about how each of your faults is like a rich wine to me, heady and sweet, which I savour on my tongue and relish in desperate silence. Oh no, I will never tell you how I feel, for how could you ever come to love a pirate?
Electricity Burn.
Electricity. That's what forked down from the sky in a luminous burst of gold energy and lit your sleeping face as you lie before me. That's what shot, hot, between us as you glanced over your shoulder at me and the salted spray whipped through our hair.
It struck me then, as it has before. Made me take a step back, blink in surprise, but when my eyes reopened in hope you had already turned back. Didn't you see it? Perhaps it was just my imagination.
But then, if lightning never strikes twice, why to I keep getting burnt? I lean back in the seat which sits in front of our hammocks. You'll be gone soon, off with your bonnie lass, and have children no doubt, and I'll be here. Wanting lightning to strike.
You look so much like him. It's scary, seeing you lying there as he used to, my Will Turner, so headstrong, so stupid, so very pretty. I used to watch him as I'm watching you now, but I won't stand, won't touch that buttery-smooth skin, won't dirty china so easily broken.
I ask nothing but to look on those things people like me can never have.
I wonder if you taste like him - stop. Men have hanged for less, and if I die how will I be able to hear the soft sigh of your breathing or see the play of light across your eyes or feel the warmth of your presence next to mine? I try to hold back the memories. I don't need much sleep.
When you stand, just a few delicious inches away, there it goes. Electricity, rushing through me, burning. I need it, need it so damn much. Just one kiss, the slight brush of your soft lips against my rough...the rain thunders against the side of the ship and sends the waves up into a thrashing frenzy. I feel sick. Too much. Too close. I push my feet against the floor and scramble with the chair up against the wall.
God, I miss it.
What? What do I miss? My memories, are they fading? Or are you just taking his place in them? If only you were aware of the hold you have over me. What would you do if you knew?
It's cold in here. I shiver.
Only when you sleep do I get the feeling that it could be. You and me. The daylight pierces my hopes, isolates me, but in these monochrome hours it seems as though I could just reach out and there you'd be.
What a fool I am. There goes the lightening, reminding me of your other life as it mimics the sun. I'm last in line.
I hope that you know that I'd stay here, right here in this chair, if you ever wanted to come back. If you ever wanted to see me again. I hope you know because I won't ever dare to say it aloud.
The storm subsides with a final wheeze of weak rain which runs its fingers over the portholes. Soon you will stir, and I will pretend that I have just woken, as I do every morning. I'll comment on your lethargy and perhaps even criticise your choice in Elizabeth. This I always do.
But I won't ever breathe a word about how each of your faults is like a rich wine to me, heady and sweet, which I savour on my tongue and relish in desperate silence. Oh no, I will never tell you how I feel, for how could you ever come to love a pirate?