The world began and ended with Jack.
There was no other explanation for it; she had sailed off the edge of the world, far from any charted map, any safe path, any knowledge possessed by man. And there were no monsters here. There was only Jack, and Jack, and JackJackJackJackJACK-
"Captain." he corrects, into her neck, only half-joking. His body slicked against her skin and he dragged gold teeth across her collarbone, gentle as a breeze. Elizabeth realized she'd been screaming his name.
After the last shudder, when her throat is hoarse and gasping; there's a silence when their sluggish, temporarily revived heartbeats are the only thing pounding in their ears, waves of blood beneath the surface. He slips his arm underneath her neck, without tangling her hair, and she slides her head onto his collarbone. She knows there's no point in trying to cover herself. Modesty apparently was not mentioned in the finer points of the curse.
"La petite morte is kind to you." he says, breaking the reverie; and one coral edge of his mouth twists in a wry smile. "Some women make terrible faces."
"Pardon ?"
"Ah, Lizzie." he nibbles thoughtfully on an earlobe, pretending to ignore her. "You're fabulously delicious."
"If you're hungry, try the fruit." she giggles. Jack traces a finger along the sloping underside of her breast, and she sees stars. Fingers to his lips, he licks the salt from her sweat off of them.
"Too sweet." the gourmet declares, and covers her open mouth with his own. It is some hours before coherent speech is regained. There's no end to the pleasure, and the need, no end in sight for the both of them. It can never be enough, but one supposes they'd rather keep trying. Seems more fitting. Insatiable curses can be deeply dull when one practices restraint. The Pearl slides on through the night, and the crew snores in their hammocks; and two songbirds try to come to life again in each other's arms.
Time passes, not slowly enough; and even the dead need rest. He feels her breathing change a hair, and her eyelids flutter like a dragonfly, exhausted.
"Jack ?"
"Hrm ?"
"I don't love you." she slurs comfortably, and nuzzles deeper into his chest. He laughs, gold teeth glinting like starlight.
"No, darling." the water slaps against the hull, children knocking their heels on a fence. He thinks about her mouth unfolding its secrets to his own, like the sun shining through parted clouds. "No, you don't." he says.
When she falls asleep, much later, Jack waits for his heart to slow, and it does. It's not the lack of a steady beat that horrifies him, as much as the resignation he feels. There's nothing to do but wait; the course is set, and checked, the island awaits; in the meantime he recoils from the touch of his own skin. But not from hers.
She turns away from him in her dreaming; and he rises, to take his place at the wheel.