* * * * * * * * * * * *
Ana-Maria's hair spread out like a fan across Jack Sparrow's chest. Her mocha skin next to his bronzed one shivered slightly under the heat of the day. The sheet lay wrapped around them, pale powder blue and crimpled. Her fingers court on his skin as she touched the hardened muscles around his waist, the trail of hair that lead up to his belly button.
His shirt, casually draped around Ana as though by accident, lay undone at the front. She watched his face, the contours of thought that seemed etched in some unknown language into his skin. If only she could read them. She reached out, tracing his forehead like a brail reader does, her thoughts distant. The heights of passion they had reached earlier seemed far removed now, her face growing distant again.
"I'm going to leave you." She whispered. His eyes refocused on her, his mouth curling down in a slight frown. His hand, which had been stroking her hair, stilled.
"Where are you going?" He asked. Her hand moved from his forehead, as she sat up, flicking her hair over her shoulder. She pulled the shirt closer to her, and then resumed stroking his face. She tugged slight at the jangling bells on the side of his face.
"These look so silly." She said. He grabbed her wrist suddenly, moving to sit up so he stared levelly into her eyes. She quivered slightly.
"Where are you going?" He repeated.
"I'm not going anywhere." She sighed, prying his fingers of her wrist, then resting her hand on his exposed heart. She bent up to bite his lower lip. "But I'm going to leave you." She said, with an inflection on the last word. He paused, his eyes clouding. He looked at her face, a breath from his, and saw the truth in her words.
"Don't." He said quickly. She half smiled, and he traced the curve of his mouth with his lips.
"Why?" He said, feeling his heart sink inside him, a hollowness in his stomach. He closed his eyes for a second to long, in took his breath a second too quick. She saw all these things, and stroked his face, kissing him again.
"I don't know." She murmured against his lips, feeling the vibration of her words flood into him.
"You do know." He contradicted. "You do know, but you don't can't or don't to tell me." He stated. She nodded slightly. He wanted to grab her, to shake her, and find the answer to this problem. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, why she was becoming like this. Why each moment with her was like making a memory.
"When?" He asked instead, his fingers working against the corse fabric of his shirt that she was wearing, pushing it of her shoulders, sliding it down her arms. She leant back against the pillows, pushing her hand through his hair until it resting against the cool of his neck.
"I don't know." She repeated, tilting her head, watching the way he interpreted this. Jack rested his arm by her head, his other on her upper thigh, pushing it up against his waist.
"Are you coming back to me?"
"I don't." She started, but he stopped her, kissing her again. She faltered when he released her, and closed her eyes. She relished in the feel of his skin against hers, in the way she could hear the gulls and waves as backdrop to their lovemaking, the way his eyes could be filled with doubt and arrogance at the same time.
"I don't think so." She said, kissing his cheek, hiding his eyes in her hair. He kissed her earlobe, his cheek against hers, and she couldn't see the pain that contorted his face.
They'd gone out after that, the walls of the ship feeling too close around them. The breathe of Singapore was on their necks. The loose silken clothing of the women there seemed to fill the air with a breathtaking lightness. Scents, sharp and subtle, of herbs and floral perfumes filled the air, mixing with the damp monsoon air. Bright lanterns hung in the darkening streets, and woman watched through shuttered windows at the crew of white and black pirates who left their ship, joining the throng of the Singapore port.
The bars were different, more subdued. Everyone spoke in different languages, half hushed conversations, a million schemes hatched and given life in the bars and brothels of Singapore. And Asian women with painted huge eyes clung and swayed to the music with the pirates on dance floors, their faces revealing nothing.
Jack played cards, flipping them out on the table with a flourish that drew eyes. People crowded around, watching Jack squeeze every last penny out of the Singaporean pimp, whose moustache twitched with hatred. Girls, as if on que, wrapped their arms around Jack's neck. His fingers trailed up their arms while he played, or to the soft flesh of their waists that could be felt through their traditional dress if one pushed hard enough.
Then Jack began losing. His hand's reached for his rum more and more often, his dirt encrusted nails holding on to each card longer and longer. Each time he dropped a card, his face was court with indecision. And his pile of gold slowly drifted away. Finally he stood up, his chair scraping across the floor, and tossed the cards down.
After a silent Japanese bartender, who looked scrupulously ahead while the two girls on Jack's arms preened, settled the tab there was little gain to be said by either party. Jack slapped down his winnings on the table with a grin.
"I'd say we're square mate." He said, swaying slightly. The girl on his left arm in a pretty red dress smiled at the bartender, her red lips flashing like they were blood coated next to her smooth powdered skin.
Jack made his way onto the lantern street, a geisha on either arm, his face turned into the neck of the tall one on her right. Ana-Maria sat outside and stood up from her game of dice, when she saw Jack. Her white shirt clung against her body. She swept her winnings into a pouch, which she attached to her belt. Jack smiled when he saw her, tilting his head against the soft hair of the Singaporean whores. His fingers rested on the tightly bound bun of bluish black hair. He wanted to remove the pins and run his fingers through the silken Asian's girl's hair.
The geisha in red pressed her lips to Jack's neck, leaving red marks that looked like bite marks, while the other whispered words in Jack's ear that he could not understand.
"He's with me." Ana-Maria said slowly, and then repeated it in a broken foreign tongue while Jack swayed between the two of them. Ana-Maria nodded at the two girls, pressing a few coins into one of the girls hands, and easing Jack's arm onto her own shoulder. The two whores moved soundlessly back into the brothel, as a golden and red firework burst overhead.
The girl with red lips watched pirate wench and her captain made their way down the street, him leaning heavily on Ana-Maria. She saw the way the black girls hand clung to the fabric of his shirt, and the soft way he leant his head against Ana-Maria's.
"Are we home yet?" Jack asked, his eyes resting on Ana-Maria's wearily. His rubbed his hand over his moustache. He then reached down for his flask of rum, leaning heavily on the girl while he drank so that they veered of path.
He looked up at the stars, and thought of other nights spent gazing up at the stars with Ana-Maria. He smiled and remembered on drunken promise to take her to them. In his memory, she had believed him, but in reality she had kissed him and laughed at his foolishness.
"We're nearly home Jack," Ana-Maria said, and closed her eyes.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Ana-Maria's hair spread out like a fan across Jack Sparrow's chest. Her mocha skin next to his bronzed one shivered slightly under the heat of the day. The sheet lay wrapped around them, pale powder blue and crimpled. Her fingers court on his skin as she touched the hardened muscles around his waist, the trail of hair that lead up to his belly button.
His shirt, casually draped around Ana as though by accident, lay undone at the front. She watched his face, the contours of thought that seemed etched in some unknown language into his skin. If only she could read them. She reached out, tracing his forehead like a brail reader does, her thoughts distant. The heights of passion they had reached earlier seemed far removed now, her face growing distant again.
"I'm going to leave you." She whispered. His eyes refocused on her, his mouth curling down in a slight frown. His hand, which had been stroking her hair, stilled.
"Where are you going?" He asked. Her hand moved from his forehead, as she sat up, flicking her hair over her shoulder. She pulled the shirt closer to her, and then resumed stroking his face. She tugged slight at the jangling bells on the side of his face.
"These look so silly." She said. He grabbed her wrist suddenly, moving to sit up so he stared levelly into her eyes. She quivered slightly.
"Where are you going?" He repeated.
"I'm not going anywhere." She sighed, prying his fingers of her wrist, then resting her hand on his exposed heart. She bent up to bite his lower lip. "But I'm going to leave you." She said, with an inflection on the last word. He paused, his eyes clouding. He looked at her face, a breath from his, and saw the truth in her words.
"Don't." He said quickly. She half smiled, and he traced the curve of his mouth with his lips.
"Why?" He said, feeling his heart sink inside him, a hollowness in his stomach. He closed his eyes for a second to long, in took his breath a second too quick. She saw all these things, and stroked his face, kissing him again.
"I don't know." She murmured against his lips, feeling the vibration of her words flood into him.
"You do know." He contradicted. "You do know, but you don't can't or don't to tell me." He stated. She nodded slightly. He wanted to grab her, to shake her, and find the answer to this problem. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, why she was becoming like this. Why each moment with her was like making a memory.
"When?" He asked instead, his fingers working against the corse fabric of his shirt that she was wearing, pushing it of her shoulders, sliding it down her arms. She leant back against the pillows, pushing her hand through his hair until it resting against the cool of his neck.
"I don't know." She repeated, tilting her head, watching the way he interpreted this. Jack rested his arm by her head, his other on her upper thigh, pushing it up against his waist.
"Are you coming back to me?"
"I don't." She started, but he stopped her, kissing her again. She faltered when he released her, and closed her eyes. She relished in the feel of his skin against hers, in the way she could hear the gulls and waves as backdrop to their lovemaking, the way his eyes could be filled with doubt and arrogance at the same time.
"I don't think so." She said, kissing his cheek, hiding his eyes in her hair. He kissed her earlobe, his cheek against hers, and she couldn't see the pain that contorted his face.
They'd gone out after that, the walls of the ship feeling too close around them. The breathe of Singapore was on their necks. The loose silken clothing of the women there seemed to fill the air with a breathtaking lightness. Scents, sharp and subtle, of herbs and floral perfumes filled the air, mixing with the damp monsoon air. Bright lanterns hung in the darkening streets, and woman watched through shuttered windows at the crew of white and black pirates who left their ship, joining the throng of the Singapore port.
The bars were different, more subdued. Everyone spoke in different languages, half hushed conversations, a million schemes hatched and given life in the bars and brothels of Singapore. And Asian women with painted huge eyes clung and swayed to the music with the pirates on dance floors, their faces revealing nothing.
Jack played cards, flipping them out on the table with a flourish that drew eyes. People crowded around, watching Jack squeeze every last penny out of the Singaporean pimp, whose moustache twitched with hatred. Girls, as if on que, wrapped their arms around Jack's neck. His fingers trailed up their arms while he played, or to the soft flesh of their waists that could be felt through their traditional dress if one pushed hard enough.
Then Jack began losing. His hand's reached for his rum more and more often, his dirt encrusted nails holding on to each card longer and longer. Each time he dropped a card, his face was court with indecision. And his pile of gold slowly drifted away. Finally he stood up, his chair scraping across the floor, and tossed the cards down.
After a silent Japanese bartender, who looked scrupulously ahead while the two girls on Jack's arms preened, settled the tab there was little gain to be said by either party. Jack slapped down his winnings on the table with a grin.
"I'd say we're square mate." He said, swaying slightly. The girl on his left arm in a pretty red dress smiled at the bartender, her red lips flashing like they were blood coated next to her smooth powdered skin.
Jack made his way onto the lantern street, a geisha on either arm, his face turned into the neck of the tall one on her right. Ana-Maria sat outside and stood up from her game of dice, when she saw Jack. Her white shirt clung against her body. She swept her winnings into a pouch, which she attached to her belt. Jack smiled when he saw her, tilting his head against the soft hair of the Singaporean whores. His fingers rested on the tightly bound bun of bluish black hair. He wanted to remove the pins and run his fingers through the silken Asian's girl's hair.
The geisha in red pressed her lips to Jack's neck, leaving red marks that looked like bite marks, while the other whispered words in Jack's ear that he could not understand.
"He's with me." Ana-Maria said slowly, and then repeated it in a broken foreign tongue while Jack swayed between the two of them. Ana-Maria nodded at the two girls, pressing a few coins into one of the girls hands, and easing Jack's arm onto her own shoulder. The two whores moved soundlessly back into the brothel, as a golden and red firework burst overhead.
The girl with red lips watched pirate wench and her captain made their way down the street, him leaning heavily on Ana-Maria. She saw the way the black girls hand clung to the fabric of his shirt, and the soft way he leant his head against Ana-Maria's.
"Are we home yet?" Jack asked, his eyes resting on Ana-Maria's wearily. His rubbed his hand over his moustache. He then reached down for his flask of rum, leaning heavily on the girl while he drank so that they veered of path.
He looked up at the stars, and thought of other nights spent gazing up at the stars with Ana-Maria. He smiled and remembered on drunken promise to take her to them. In his memory, she had believed him, but in reality she had kissed him and laughed at his foolishness.
"We're nearly home Jack," Ana-Maria said, and closed her eyes.
* * * * * * * * * * * *