Her eyelids drooped down, her lashes about to hug the sensitive skin under her eyes and refuse to let go until morning. Actually, it was technically morning. Elizabeth rolled onto her back and stared at the darkness above her. I bet many a woman has held this view, she thought, still in awe of the fact she lay alone in Jack's bed. But it was because he offered it to her, she reminded herself. Where was he now, sleeping below decks with his crew? Didn't seem like him.
Fanning her arms out on either side of her, she locked out her elbows, trying to accept sleep with open arms. Too tired to sleep. At least she knew where some reading material lay if she grew desperate.
Kicking one of her discarded boots when she climbed out of the bed, Elizabeth crossed to the desk, now with Jack's charts and tools concealing all traces of the top. Might as well be a textured tablecloth, she laughed to herself, bending down to sort through his books. Most of these stories she loved—Aeneas, Lucifer from John Milton's point of view, all of the Shakespearean plays except King Lear…which she now wished Jack had in his possession to put her to sleep. The poetry of Marlowe? She brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a mocking laugh.
"Lizzie?" She almost bumped her head scrambling out from under the desk, obviously not hearing any knocking preceding her name, or his version of it. In half of the clothes she stole, and thank God that this half covered everything, she met his raised eyebrow and smirk.
"I thought you would have the decency to knock."
"You ought to know by now the level and extent of decency I have. How did you know about those?" He lowered his head to point out the small book of Marlowe in her hand.
"You forget I've been in this ship before," she said. "Now I was just about to retire so if you don't mind…"
"Just pullin' the chart out for Marty, love. Most women aren't nearly so anxious to kick me out of here."
"I'm sure it's because you're seldom still around to kick out." She played with the book, passing it from hand to hand, behind her back and circling back to her front. He seemed flattered she had just rummaged through his things, giving her that look she dubbed the I-see-you look, the one that seemed to dissect her from the inside out, the one that sent tremors through her. It was the one he gave her on the Dauntless that was enough to, for a split second, make her forget everything else. No, not this time. You're here to get your hands on his chest…no, the chest. The! The dead man's chest that will save both him and Will. Yes. Think of Will, probably in the dank and gloomy brig of the Flying Dutchman without a friend in the world. "What would you have done if I hadn't answered, anyway? Barged in here not caring if I were decent or not?"
"It's me own cabin and no. I would have let you sleep, and from the sounds of it, probably should have let you alone anyway. You're a might out of sorts tonight. Admirer of Marlowe, are you?"
"Hardly." She lifted the book up to signal to him she was about to throw it and tossed it to him.
"Lizzie, darling, if you wanted me to recite poetry to you, all you had to do was ask," he mocked her after catching the book. "Pour a bit of rum, lock the door, watch that face of yours light up with, well, disgust since you seem to have no taste when it comes to poetry at all." He tossed it back to her.
"Rubbish!" She shoved him, laughing, not sure how they were close enough to be within shoving reach in the first place. "Go to bed, Jack."
He lingered, his jaw moving as if it could formulate what to say if it just spent enough time practicing. Back when she visited him in prison, he always asked her to kiss him goodbye when she left, a bit like the Beast always proposing to Beauty after their candlelit dinners. Those were odd times, odder than now, passing out bread to the rest of the prisoners to mask the fact she had really come to inform Jack of Will's progress tracking down Gibbs and the Pearl. It was the very last day he was there, the day before his hanging, when she finally gave in and kissed his hand through the rusty bars. Would he ask her tonight to kiss him? She licked her lips.
"If ye decide to rummage some more," he said, "just leave me rum alone." Giving her a fake look of warning, he grinned at her and left, closing the door behind him.
Elizabeth ran her fingers through her hair, more limp than she would have liked to imagine. She fought the temptation to run her fingernails over her bottom row of teeth and dig out all the dirt. Plopping back down onto the bed, she squinted her eyes to compensate for the poor lighting and opened the book, warm now.
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods or steepy mountain yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;
Awful, she shook her head, recounting all her tutors going on and on about Marlowe and Spenser and Sir Walter Raleigh, the last of which decided the nymph, the love of the youth's life, would reject him and refuse to "come live with him and be his love." Cruel. Would she really want to hear Jack's voice saying such drivel? Why Jack? Will.
The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.
Sinking deeper into the bed, she folded her arm across her stomach, silently repeating the last stanza in her mind as her fingers slithered up under her blouse. They zigzagged up her side until they reached the fleshy mound that would have been a breast had she been more buxom like Mother. Ha, only girl she knew with her father's chest. But they were there, just small enough for her hand to form a perfect cup over one of them. She tightened her grip on her right breast, repeating just the last stanza of the poem in her mind again and again. Her fingers circled her nipple, protruding outward. Her back arched up at the sensation, rising higher and higher the smaller her circles became.
Elizabeth allowed her other palm to knead her hip, grinding against the bone and following it down to her abdomen. Seizing it, she gasped at her own touch. The man was impossible, unattainable—one who played with her for his own amusement until he tired of her and could cross her off his list and move on to the next one.
An impossible man that defied an establishment for the freedom of a ship full of people the rest of the world decided weren't good enough for freedom. An impossible man that pulled her from the water fully aware that it was the equivalent of walking into the lion's den. An impossible man who kissed her neck back at her house and all but pleaded with her to come with him.
She groaned at the realization two of her fingers managed to crawl their way inside her and massage her. Her eyes rolled back, and a broken inhale heralded the coming of knuckles. Stroking faster and faster, Elizabeth kept squeezing her breast to keep both her hands busy until a dizzying feeling swept over her.
Elizabeth pouted her lips, letting them kiss the air, when her own sweat smeared the pillow. Her toes curled. Her torso bucked. Craning her face until it was buried in the soft folds of the pillow, she growled into it.
It was all she could do to keep from screaming and waking the entire crew. Panting, panting like a used, ruined, wanton harlot, she rolled onto her stomach and exhaled. Some thought was on its way to entering her head, but it fell back to wherever it came from as sleep finally came to her.
A/N: The name of this poem is The Passionate Shepherd to His Love and is probably Marlowe's most famous work. Take me back to my high school days... Anyways, I don't own anything POTC. If you want to know about when Jack kissed Elizabeth's neck in more detail, I suggest reading my fic "One or the Other." To read about the interlude between the climax of COTBP and the hanging that didn't take, you'll have to read "The Sparrow's Journey." This is my first Mature fic, so please leave reviews.