Rating: PG13 for relentless innuendo of the slashy kind.
Pairings: Barbossa/Apple, Jack/Black Pearl, Jack/Barbossa, Apple/Black Pearl. Heh.
Disclaimer: All these things belong to Disney. I just rearranged them in a disturbing manner.
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Crunch.
"You keep doing that, you're going to lose a tooth, mate." The captain gave him a lazy half-smirk from where he stood, more or less draped over the wheel. If Barbossa hadn't known better, he'd have thought Sparrow was ridiculously inebriated. But Jack was the same with or without the rum--except with he might actually have smelled a little better. For all his first mate knew, he could be making love to the ship in his own strange way. At any rate, he didn't have much room to be commenting on the state of Barbossa's teeth.
Crunch.
He took another resounding bite of the apple, lips lingering, sucking the juice that threatened to drizzle through his beard. And if he did lose a tooth or two--what of it? There was a sinfully simple pleasure in consuming an apple, especially after too long on board with too little worth eating. Besides, he could always have a set carved--of ivory, perhaps, he'd have the leisure to afford it after this venture.
Crunch.
Sparrow continued to watch him, one eyebrow raised, that smirk revealing his own upper row of teeth. Hmm. Or maybe, Barbossa thought with what would have been a leer if he had any expressions that weren't some variation on leering, maybe he would keep someone to chew for him. A dark-eyed cabin boy who'd been in the sun a little too long--heavens knew there were no shortage of them--who would let himself be dressed up properly and keep mum about it. A bit of kohl round the eyes, some extra rags and too-tight boots, and it would be easy to see this mouth on a different face.
crunch
That bite a bit less enthusiastic, as it was really quite distracting the way the captain's hands idled over the wheel--not to say that his hands weren't always distracting, flitting about like butterflies with his arms as leashes, but distracting in an entirely different--dare he say deliberate?--manner. And then Jack Sparrow licked his lips--a strangely pale tongue wetting salt-cracked skin, the quick wink of gold from each corner of that unnaturally exotic mouth. Good god but that man had a mouth.
"Look like you're enjoying yourself, mate." Barbossa's teeth hovered unmoving over the white-fleshed apple, as much because his jaw was hanging open as because he had intended to take another bite. He watched those lips form the words; almost didn't notice that odd staggering walk bringing Sparrow closer, so fixed on their movement. But it was impossible not to notice, because the captain had never had the slightest of ideas about personal space. Barbossa found his quite suddenly and totally occupied.
"I like you, Barbossa," the mouth said grandly, "You know what you're about." In his peripheral vision, the hands--well, there was no mistaking it, they ran over the rail on either side of him in a way that, to his mind, hands should only run over very specific parts of human anatomy.
Preferrably his.
The mouth was speaking again. "You know what you're about...and I of course know what I'm about. We're men of a common purpose, savvy?"
"Aye," he replied, and the leer slowly drew into a salacious smile.
Sparrow grinned then, showing all his teeth--upper and lower, real and gold.
thump
The apple hit the deck, a few tiny beads of juice soaking into the wood. The Pearl groaned a little in welcome, or perhaps just from the wind; at any rate, she and the apple had something in common.
