AN: Inspired by flynne's theories as far as DMC and AWE go. I wrote this while listening to "Crazy Love" by Aaron Neville and Robbie Robertson, and I think the writing was influenced a little bit by it. But shrugs you know. And any grammar mistakes (IE the so bad in the summary) were done on purpose.
Disclaimer: I've got a fanfic! I've got a fanfic! And guess what I own? Tumbles down Yeah. Don't own it.
A Taste Of Liberation
He feels like he might know what she's doing, as she leans into him. And even though he has suspicions, as her lips meet his, he doesn't really care. He's wanted this so bad, (He's even proposed to her, and no sane man ever proposes. Which is why he doesn't put much faith in sanity.) and when she opens her mouth to his as of yet stationary tongue, he suddenly gets a little weak in the knees. Doesn't even understand why, because Ms. Swann is just a woman. But, he reasons, she hasn't been Ms. Swann to him in a long time. She hasn't even been Elizabeth, the blacksmith's love. She's been Lizzie, the pirate, the beautiful, deadly creature he feels more for than he's ever felt for the Pearl. And so he falls back even as he feels Lizzie's still-a-bit-too-ladylike hands push him toward the mast (He gets another inkling of suspicion, and knows he was right about her. That doesn't stop him from continuing the kiss) and he tilts his head a bit more, and gets his footing as he leans against the mast for support. One hand curls into his hair, and the other stays pressed into the junction of his shoulder for a moment before she trails it down, down toward his hand (Rope? he thinks. Manacles? But he throws the thought away.). He thinks he should probably care enough to stop her plan, but she's kissing him, and even though it's probably a goodbye kiss, he can't bring himself to think she doesn't want this too. It doesn't feel like unfeeling seduction, or manipulation. It feels like…freedom.
He hears the manacle, feels it around his wrist even as she pulls from the kiss, and there's a split second where he could pull his hand free. He doesn't, and as it clicks closed, the taste of her lingering on his lips, he still thinks she tastes like freedom. Even as she's taking it away, she's still that liberation he'd always hoped she would be. Her eyes hold his. Her hand brushes across the back of his own, and even though she's saying she's not sorry, he can see that she is. It's the way her fingers tenderly grasp at his skin, and her hand stays fisted in the lapels of his jacket, and she leans forward like she wants to kiss him again. He feels like he should be angry, upset – planning revenge – but instead all he feels is the need to have her lips on his one last time before she leaves him to his not-entire-chosen fate. He thinks the way she grits her teeth doesn't mean she doesn't want to kiss him – but that she can't, because, for some reason, she feels like it would make things worse. He wishes she weren't right. He attempts to think of something to say, something to tell her he knows. He isn't upset with her. The only thing he can come up with is "Pirate."
He watches her walk away, and knows she won't look back at him. When she makes it into the longboat, he hears Will ask where he is, and makes a silent apology to the boy who sounds far too bitter not to have seen them. He hears Elizabeth make him a martyr, and shakes his head. Not sorry, indeed.