"How's it coming along there, darling?"
I would've thrown the dress at him if it didn't weigh about 50 pounds on its own. Instead, I stepped out from behind the screen and tried to look sad. "Too small. Sorry. I guess maybe I should start working out more."
"You didn't even try it, did you," Sparrow asked, lifting the dress.
God, he sounded like my mother. "Well, look at it! Would you want to wear that?!"
"Me? No, but since this is my ship and you're my special guest, I suggest you try again."
"Or what? You'll make me walk the plank?"
"I've been known to do that on occasion." He smirked and pressed the dress back into my hands. "The nearest land is miles and miles away. How's your swimming?"
It wasn't good enough for miles and miles. Okay, it wasn't really good enough for anything. If I went to the Jersey Shore, mostly, I'd hide and pray not to have to go in the water so nobody would see me in my swim suit. "Are there sharks in the water?"
"Aye. Big ones. Man-eaters."
Miles and miles away from land and vicious man-eating sharks. The dress wasn't that bad. Maybe. "What about that brig thing? Can I do that instead?"
"This isn't a negotiation, love."
Groaning, I stepped back behind the screen and started undressing. And then came the task of figuring out how to put the damned thing on. Give me something with zippers or a healthy dose of Spandex any day!
"Well?"
"I can't get the back closed."
"That's alright, pet. I'll help ye with that. Come, come, darling, don't be shy."
Stomping out from behind the screen, I shoved past him to his full-length mirror. Vanity thy name is Sparrow. "Oh, dear God!"
He came up behind me and began fiddling with the laces of the dress. "Take a deep breath, love."
I assumed that was to prevent me from vomiting at the sight of myself in the dress, so I did it. Big mistake. Sparrow gave a mighty tug on the laces and the damned thing constricted painfully. "Can't breathe...."
"Don't be so melodramatic." He rested his hands lightly on my shoulders and spoke softly in my ear. "You look lovely."
"I look like my Uncle Sandor's Buick." I spun around and poked a finger in his chest, and hoped I was menacing enough in all this lace, ruffles and assorted frou-frou. "Don't even think about calling me Big Blue!"
Grabbing my shoulders, he spun me back to the mirror. "Look at yourself."
"Do I have to?" Okay, so I didn't need a push-up bra, thanks to the dress's whalebone construction, and the massive skirt hid my ass, hips and thighs, but still... I had the sneaking suspicion that somewhere, Morelli was laughing his ass off. "Can I take it off now?"
Sparrow shook his head.
"But why," I whined.
"Because I said so."
Just then there was a knock at the door and then a skinny boy came in bearing a very large tray. "Evenin', Cap'n, ma'am."
The kid didn't look old enough for high school, let alone bussing tables on a pirate ship. I turned to Sparrow. "Is he old enough to be working here?"
"He's older than I was when I started," Sparrow shrugged, watching the boy leave. "He's a good lad, that one. He'll make a fine pirate."
"Maybe he should have the chance to be something safer."
"Like a bounty hunter, perhaps?"
"What about a doctor? Or a teacher?"
Sparrow rolled his eyes. "His father was a carpenter and he was to be a carpenter, as well, 'til he came to me."
"You could've said no and sent him back home where he belonged."
"To be a carpenter?" Sparrow mock-shuddered at the thought. "Heaven forbid. He wanted to sail, to be free."
"You call this freedom?"
"Aye. I go where I please, do as I please –"
"As long as you don't get caught."
"The Black Pearl is nigh uncatchable." He held up his hands mockingly. "Oh wait, you caught me, didn't you? Whatever will ye do with me, missy?"
I rolled my eyes at him, and made my way over to the table to inspect dinner. "Hey, it's chicken!"
"If it's more hardtack you want, I can arrange that."
That earned him another eye roll.
Ignoring me, he produced a bottle of wine and two goblets from one of the cupboards on the wall. "Shall we?"
"I can't."
"Why not? I thought you were hungry."
"If I eat too much, this dress is going to explode."
******************************************************
I had to admit, Sparrow had a pretty decent cook somewhere on board. And the wine, while stronger than anything I was used to, was great. It wasn't my mother's pot roast, and there wasn't any upside-down cake, but it was better than my own cooking, which usually involved the telephone and a take- out menu.
Sometime during the meal, Sparrow took pity on my gasping and wheezing and loosened the dress. It was almost bearable, except for the itchy, heavy fabric that didn't let me move freely.
"Stop scratching," he told me for the umpteenth time.
"This thing itches. And the fabric doesn't breathe. I'm sweating like a pig under here."
He shot me the same 'why can't you act like a girl' look that Morelli and my mother frequently used.
"It's not my fault this dress wasn't made for hot Caribbean nights." I risked another look at myself. Nope. Still awful. "I can see why this style isn't popular anymore."
"Are ye telling me that those strange black breeches are all the rage back home in New Jersey?"
"As a matter of fact, yes, they are. And they're called cargo pants on account of you've got lots of pockets for stuff like...." I trailed off, suddenly remembering that while my purse, cell phone and handcuffs were in my truck, in the future, I had my keys and more importantly, my pepper spray.
"Like what?"
"Feminine stuff. Nothing you'd care to hear about."
"And that little black shirt that folds up to the size of a handkerchief? What do they call that?"
Men I knew referred to them as 'titty shirts' but that didn't seem like the thing to tell Sparrow. "Stretchy top. Nothing fancy, there."
His gaze rested on my chest, which was pushed up beyond belief by the dress. "I would disagree with that, love."
Rolling my eyes, it occurred to me that while being called 'love', 'pet' and 'darling' was all well and good, I missed Morelli calling me 'cupcake'.
Sparrow was beside me in a flash, cupping my chin in his hand. "You're not going to cry, are you?"
"What?!" I got to my feet and glared at him, which probably wasn't nearly as effective as it could have been considering I was wearing a Buick.
"You looked so sad, love."
Before I could come up with a suitable insult, the ship pitched and I fell onto Sparrow, toppling us both to the floor.
He looked up at me and chuckled softly. "My, aren't you the bold one!"
"That wasn't me! That was the turbulence!"
"The what?"
Oh. Right. Turbulence was for planes. Mental head slap. So what was the right word? While I pondered this, Sparrow's hands traced patterns on my back. It felt pretty nice, actually. No. Wait. I was engaged. To Morelli. In the real world. But this was just a hallucination. Right? And from what I could tell through the miles of fabric separating us, Sparrow's long-sword was pretty impressive for a hallucination.
One of Sparrow's hands reached up to the back of my neck and pulled me down to him.
Okay, one little kiss wouldn't hurt anything. Besides, Sparrow was a hallucination. I was pretty sure kissing a hallucination wouldn't be cheating.
Wow. Sparrow could kiss. He was definitely in the same league as Morelli and Ranger.
If kissing a hallucination wasn't cheating, and I was pretty sure it wasn't, would an orgasm from a hallucination be cheating? Put that way, I really didn't think so.
"Prepare to be boarded, love," Sparrow murmured.
****************************
My hallucinatory sex life seemed destined to be as pathetic as my real one.
We'd gotten as far as getting Sparrow's shirt off, me still in the Buick dress, when – you guessed it – there was a knock at his door.
"Cap'n! Come quick! Callinan's dead!"
Sparrow eyed me regretfully as he lifted me off of him and slipped back into his shirt. "Sorry, pet ---"
"Yeah, yeah, duty calls." And then I realized why he was leaving. "Wait."
"What?"
"Let me come with you."
"Absolutely not!"
"I've seen my share of dead bodies. Hell, I found one on my living room couch, once. This is something I can help you with."
I could tell he was still trying to wrap his mind around the thought of a dead body on my couch when he sighed. "All right, all right. You can come, but remember, missy, this is my ship, savvy?"
"Capisce."
"Then we have an accord, darling."
And I could tell it was going to be a long night.
More author's notes:
Can you tell I'm still having fun with this? And I'm so glad that so many of you are, too. I really appreciate the feedback and suggestions. Hopefully, this will tide us over until Stephanie Plum #10 comes out this summer.
By the way, this is the first Plum fanfic I've ever done, so many, many thanks to those who tell me I've got the voice down. You made my day.
I would've thrown the dress at him if it didn't weigh about 50 pounds on its own. Instead, I stepped out from behind the screen and tried to look sad. "Too small. Sorry. I guess maybe I should start working out more."
"You didn't even try it, did you," Sparrow asked, lifting the dress.
God, he sounded like my mother. "Well, look at it! Would you want to wear that?!"
"Me? No, but since this is my ship and you're my special guest, I suggest you try again."
"Or what? You'll make me walk the plank?"
"I've been known to do that on occasion." He smirked and pressed the dress back into my hands. "The nearest land is miles and miles away. How's your swimming?"
It wasn't good enough for miles and miles. Okay, it wasn't really good enough for anything. If I went to the Jersey Shore, mostly, I'd hide and pray not to have to go in the water so nobody would see me in my swim suit. "Are there sharks in the water?"
"Aye. Big ones. Man-eaters."
Miles and miles away from land and vicious man-eating sharks. The dress wasn't that bad. Maybe. "What about that brig thing? Can I do that instead?"
"This isn't a negotiation, love."
Groaning, I stepped back behind the screen and started undressing. And then came the task of figuring out how to put the damned thing on. Give me something with zippers or a healthy dose of Spandex any day!
"Well?"
"I can't get the back closed."
"That's alright, pet. I'll help ye with that. Come, come, darling, don't be shy."
Stomping out from behind the screen, I shoved past him to his full-length mirror. Vanity thy name is Sparrow. "Oh, dear God!"
He came up behind me and began fiddling with the laces of the dress. "Take a deep breath, love."
I assumed that was to prevent me from vomiting at the sight of myself in the dress, so I did it. Big mistake. Sparrow gave a mighty tug on the laces and the damned thing constricted painfully. "Can't breathe...."
"Don't be so melodramatic." He rested his hands lightly on my shoulders and spoke softly in my ear. "You look lovely."
"I look like my Uncle Sandor's Buick." I spun around and poked a finger in his chest, and hoped I was menacing enough in all this lace, ruffles and assorted frou-frou. "Don't even think about calling me Big Blue!"
Grabbing my shoulders, he spun me back to the mirror. "Look at yourself."
"Do I have to?" Okay, so I didn't need a push-up bra, thanks to the dress's whalebone construction, and the massive skirt hid my ass, hips and thighs, but still... I had the sneaking suspicion that somewhere, Morelli was laughing his ass off. "Can I take it off now?"
Sparrow shook his head.
"But why," I whined.
"Because I said so."
Just then there was a knock at the door and then a skinny boy came in bearing a very large tray. "Evenin', Cap'n, ma'am."
The kid didn't look old enough for high school, let alone bussing tables on a pirate ship. I turned to Sparrow. "Is he old enough to be working here?"
"He's older than I was when I started," Sparrow shrugged, watching the boy leave. "He's a good lad, that one. He'll make a fine pirate."
"Maybe he should have the chance to be something safer."
"Like a bounty hunter, perhaps?"
"What about a doctor? Or a teacher?"
Sparrow rolled his eyes. "His father was a carpenter and he was to be a carpenter, as well, 'til he came to me."
"You could've said no and sent him back home where he belonged."
"To be a carpenter?" Sparrow mock-shuddered at the thought. "Heaven forbid. He wanted to sail, to be free."
"You call this freedom?"
"Aye. I go where I please, do as I please –"
"As long as you don't get caught."
"The Black Pearl is nigh uncatchable." He held up his hands mockingly. "Oh wait, you caught me, didn't you? Whatever will ye do with me, missy?"
I rolled my eyes at him, and made my way over to the table to inspect dinner. "Hey, it's chicken!"
"If it's more hardtack you want, I can arrange that."
That earned him another eye roll.
Ignoring me, he produced a bottle of wine and two goblets from one of the cupboards on the wall. "Shall we?"
"I can't."
"Why not? I thought you were hungry."
"If I eat too much, this dress is going to explode."
******************************************************
I had to admit, Sparrow had a pretty decent cook somewhere on board. And the wine, while stronger than anything I was used to, was great. It wasn't my mother's pot roast, and there wasn't any upside-down cake, but it was better than my own cooking, which usually involved the telephone and a take- out menu.
Sometime during the meal, Sparrow took pity on my gasping and wheezing and loosened the dress. It was almost bearable, except for the itchy, heavy fabric that didn't let me move freely.
"Stop scratching," he told me for the umpteenth time.
"This thing itches. And the fabric doesn't breathe. I'm sweating like a pig under here."
He shot me the same 'why can't you act like a girl' look that Morelli and my mother frequently used.
"It's not my fault this dress wasn't made for hot Caribbean nights." I risked another look at myself. Nope. Still awful. "I can see why this style isn't popular anymore."
"Are ye telling me that those strange black breeches are all the rage back home in New Jersey?"
"As a matter of fact, yes, they are. And they're called cargo pants on account of you've got lots of pockets for stuff like...." I trailed off, suddenly remembering that while my purse, cell phone and handcuffs were in my truck, in the future, I had my keys and more importantly, my pepper spray.
"Like what?"
"Feminine stuff. Nothing you'd care to hear about."
"And that little black shirt that folds up to the size of a handkerchief? What do they call that?"
Men I knew referred to them as 'titty shirts' but that didn't seem like the thing to tell Sparrow. "Stretchy top. Nothing fancy, there."
His gaze rested on my chest, which was pushed up beyond belief by the dress. "I would disagree with that, love."
Rolling my eyes, it occurred to me that while being called 'love', 'pet' and 'darling' was all well and good, I missed Morelli calling me 'cupcake'.
Sparrow was beside me in a flash, cupping my chin in his hand. "You're not going to cry, are you?"
"What?!" I got to my feet and glared at him, which probably wasn't nearly as effective as it could have been considering I was wearing a Buick.
"You looked so sad, love."
Before I could come up with a suitable insult, the ship pitched and I fell onto Sparrow, toppling us both to the floor.
He looked up at me and chuckled softly. "My, aren't you the bold one!"
"That wasn't me! That was the turbulence!"
"The what?"
Oh. Right. Turbulence was for planes. Mental head slap. So what was the right word? While I pondered this, Sparrow's hands traced patterns on my back. It felt pretty nice, actually. No. Wait. I was engaged. To Morelli. In the real world. But this was just a hallucination. Right? And from what I could tell through the miles of fabric separating us, Sparrow's long-sword was pretty impressive for a hallucination.
One of Sparrow's hands reached up to the back of my neck and pulled me down to him.
Okay, one little kiss wouldn't hurt anything. Besides, Sparrow was a hallucination. I was pretty sure kissing a hallucination wouldn't be cheating.
Wow. Sparrow could kiss. He was definitely in the same league as Morelli and Ranger.
If kissing a hallucination wasn't cheating, and I was pretty sure it wasn't, would an orgasm from a hallucination be cheating? Put that way, I really didn't think so.
"Prepare to be boarded, love," Sparrow murmured.
****************************
My hallucinatory sex life seemed destined to be as pathetic as my real one.
We'd gotten as far as getting Sparrow's shirt off, me still in the Buick dress, when – you guessed it – there was a knock at his door.
"Cap'n! Come quick! Callinan's dead!"
Sparrow eyed me regretfully as he lifted me off of him and slipped back into his shirt. "Sorry, pet ---"
"Yeah, yeah, duty calls." And then I realized why he was leaving. "Wait."
"What?"
"Let me come with you."
"Absolutely not!"
"I've seen my share of dead bodies. Hell, I found one on my living room couch, once. This is something I can help you with."
I could tell he was still trying to wrap his mind around the thought of a dead body on my couch when he sighed. "All right, all right. You can come, but remember, missy, this is my ship, savvy?"
"Capisce."
"Then we have an accord, darling."
And I could tell it was going to be a long night.
More author's notes:
Can you tell I'm still having fun with this? And I'm so glad that so many of you are, too. I really appreciate the feedback and suggestions. Hopefully, this will tide us over until Stephanie Plum #10 comes out this summer.
By the way, this is the first Plum fanfic I've ever done, so many, many thanks to those who tell me I've got the voice down. You made my day.