This came about from a challenge from someone on the LiveJournal "Sparrabeth" community. The conditions were to:

1. Conjure up a situation in which Elizabeth is forced to share a bed with Jack. Check (though I really didn't FORCE her to).

2. Have Jack talk about some small part of his past without making him seem pitiful or empathetic of sympathy-inspiring. Check. See last paragraph.

3. Have Elizabeth question him, and one of his responses must include the sentence "Is that so, love? Thank God you're not a cat." Allusion to God may be tossed if the author wishes. Check.

This is in progress; it kinda took on a life of it's own. I'll post more as it comes...!

DISCLAIMER 1: I do not own any of the characters, the original plotlines, or anything else in the POTC universe. I'm just a fan with too much time on her hands. The characters herein are owned by Disney and the talented pens of Elliott & Rossio. The fiction is a product of my own fevered brain, belonging to me, thought up by me, written with my own words and talents (such as they may or may not be). I will be incredibly vexed if you hack my stuff, and in fact will lay a very nasty voudou whammy on you. No. Seriously. Don't do it.

DISCLAIMER 2: There is strong language, violence, hardcore sex and adult situations in most of my fics. Read at your own risk. I'm not going to police your kids for you, so don't blame me if they read something marked "Mature". Dig? Check the rating first.

DISCLAIMER 3: My stories are generally very romantic, because I'm a romantic girl. I've tried to stay in character as much as possible while venting my own romantic spleen about how I think Jack and Elizabeth should act. Just warning you. If you don't like the J/E ship, seek other fiction. Seriously.

Curiousity Killed The...

As the Pearl set out into the moonlit open sea, Jack breathed deeply of tar and rope. His ship. His girl. Life looked better all the time. He turned to look where Norrington was still retching the remains of his rum over the side of the ship. Even better, Jack grinned to himself, can't think of a man who deserves it more. Elizabeth stood a few feet away from Norrington with a bucket of water, obviously trying to be of some help, but the former Commodore wanted nothing to do with her. "No thank you, Miss Swann, I can manage just fi... oh God..." And over the side he went again.

"Elizabeth," Jack called, "Leave him be, he isn't interested."

"It's Miss Swann, and why is it that all men have to be so bloody pig-headed?" She set the bucket down with a resounding thump.

"Well, darlin', it might have something to do with the men you associate with. And the fact that self-same man you're currently speaking of once carried a torch for you that you saw fit to quench, if you follow me." Jack smirked at her and was rewarded with the sight of Elizabeth Swann being gloriously angry. She was always so damn lovely when she was angry (and when one was at a safe distance and armed). Before she could sputter out a retort, Jack motioned to her, "Come on then, you can bunk down in me cabin. Just don't make a mess."

"Oh indeed! As though your personal cleanliness were at stake!" she huffed, following him.

"It's just through here. There's food and a bed and..."

"I've been in this cabin before, Captain Sparrow. I recall it very well, having been held captive here by a murderous, undead pirate."

"Ah, the lucky Barbossa. I'd forgotten." Jack smiled a little.

Elizabeth was caught off guard at the almost wistful smile playing about Jack's lips as she followed him to the cabin. "Lucky?"

"Very," he almost purred the word, "since he got to be shacked up in here with you as a dinner guest." Elizabeth suddenly felt a bit warm. She scurried under the arm that he used to hold the door open with and into the safety of the cabin. "Thank you, Jack. I appreciate you giving up your cabin." She waited for him to close the door and leave. Instead, he came into the cabin and pulled the door shut behind him. Oh, God. Why in the hell had she thought she was safe?

"Giving it up? On the contrary, I was planning on sharing." His grin was positively ferocious.

Her mouth dropped open. "Sharing? Absolutely not! I'll - I'll sleep in the rigging before I share a bed with you," she sputtered, feeling herself blush and hating it. She backed up until she was standing beside the bed.

He slowly sauntered over to her and she felt her breath quickening. What was he going to do? He walked right up to her, reached out a hand. He stared deliberately into her eyes, leaning toward her. She swallowed, waiting for his next move... and then realized he was reaching around her to pluck a thin blanket off the bed. "Well, love, I was planning on sleeping on the floor, but if you really want to share..."

Mortified, she spun and sat down on the bed with her back to him, hearing him chuckle. She hazarded a glance back and saw that he'd slumped into his chair, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was looking at a map that canvassed the desk, tracing lines with his long fingers. Elizabeth had the fleeting thought of wondering what those fingers would feel like before she mentally shook herself and flopped down onto the bed, pulling the remaining blanket up around her. She was still in her coat and breeches and shoes, fully dressed and miserable. She longed for a bath, for a soft robe and a cup of tea. Most times, she no longer cared for that easy life of a governor's daughter; in fact, she loved the freedom of being a boy and the rocking of the ship. But at times like this when she felt lost and confused, she sometimes wondered if she wasn't meant to stay in corsets and drawing rooms. Damn it. She wanted a cup of tea. And a biscuit. Something sweet and sugary. And... her stomach rumbled.

"It occurred to me, love, that you might be hungry," she heard Jack say.

"No, thank you." she lied, her back still to him. She heard him get up and rummage around, opening boxes and making a clattering ruckus.She then heard his footsteps coming toward the bed. She shut her eyes tightly and pulled the blanket higher. Suddenly, she smelled something heavenly just under her nose.

"Not even for a bit of sweet?" he asked. Her eyes flew open to see Jack smiling down at her and in his hand was... no...

Jack tried not to laugh at her face as she smelled and saw the piece of seed cake he held out. She scrambled out of the blanket and reached for it, and this time he did laugh. "Apparently that will do, eh?"

Elizabeth didn't care how she looked, that cake smelled like heaven. She ate it quickly and then fell to licking her fingers, cleaning them of all traces of the sugar and seed. Until she remembered whose company she was in and paused mid-suck to see Jack staring at her, mesmerized. She hurriedly wiped her fingers on her breeches and Jack shook his head as though to clear it. He turned back to his desk where he had set out a platter with some fruit, more of the cake, a wheel of cheese, some bread and a bottle. "I don't have much, I'm afraid. I did however take the liberty of, er, liberating a few edibles on the way to the ship." Looking over his shoulder, she saw several bags of fruit laying on the floor of the cabin as well as a ham, a few wheels of cheese and assorted bottles. A few, indeed.

He gestured to the other chair and Elizabeth sank into it, already reaching out for the fruit. She flinched when he lightly slapped her hand. "Wait," he told her. She started to retort, but then obeyed, watching him. He picked up a knife (clean, she thought, wonderingly) and began to methodically cut up pineapples, apples, the cheese. She watched him, oddly charmed that he was going to the trouble and that, for once, he wasn't talking. "Now then," he told her and she reached out for the bread and cheese.

Jack tried to pretend as though he wasn't watching her this time, seemingly studying his maps and charts. He wondered if she'd pull the stunt with licking her fingers again, found himself praying that she would. That had been worth the trouble of taking her on board, right there. She ate quietly for a few minutes, and then reached for the bottle. Jack smiled, "Rum, darlin'. Just warning you."

She regarded the bottle for a moment, shrugged, and then took a long drink. Which promptly caused her to cough, gasping and sputtering. Jack leaned over and lightly patted her back, "I did warn you. Not as though you haven't had it before, eh? I seem to remember that back on the island..."

"Vile stuff. I drank less than you thought back on that island, Captain Sparrow," she reminded him, "which is how I was able to gather all the rum when you were asleep, if you recall." She almost laughed when Jack hurriedly reached for the bottle, cradling it protectively in his arms. She went back to eating, reaching for a piece of pineapple and sucking down the juice, eyes closed in pleasure.

"Want something really good?" she heard him ask. She opened her eyes and saw that he was pouring some rum onto a piece of the yellow fruit. "Try that." He held it out to her, grinning.

She looked at him skeptically, but took the piece of rum-soaked pineapple. She gingerly put it into her mouth and then sighed in happy surprise. Now that really did make the rum much better, surprisingly so. He chuckled, drenched another piece and held it out to her. As she chewed it, she suddenly had a thought and frowned, "Captain Sparrow, are you trying to get me drunk?"

He held out his hands in front of him, widening his eyes in mock-surprise, "Me, love? Never would." He held his hands out in what tried to be an innocent, open gesture.

Elizabeth regarded him a moment, then couldn't help but smile at his ridiculous attempt at sincerity. "Good. Wouldn't work, you know." She went back to eating her supper, deliberately avoiding the pineapple.

His mouth quirked up on one side and he speared another piece on the point of his knife. "Of course it would, lass. You can't possibly hold your rum like a proper pirate. You're just a bit of a girl, after all." He calmly munched on the fruit, took a swig off the bottle.

She could feel herself rising to the taunt, to the challenge. No. Don't let him, Elizabeth, you know he's just trying to goad you. "After all," he continued, "a proper lady like yourself can't be expected to ever really know what it's like to throw caution to the winds... to know what it's really like to be free."

He watched her over the bottle, watched her struggle with not rising to the bait. Come on, lovey, you know you want to.

Damn him. "Oh, really, Captain Sparrow! As if drinking oneself senseless conveyed a sense of freedom, please," she suddenly lunged across the table and snatched the bottle out of his hand. She didn't drink from it though; she doused another piece of pineapple in the liquor. Two can play games, she thought. You want to play the taunting game, Jack, fine.

Well, she wasn't drinking the rum but she was enjoying the pineapple a bit. A bit much, actually. Oh, bugger. She was slowly sucking the piece of fruit, sliding it between her lips while she looked up at him, seductively. Jack felt his mouth go dry, tried to lick his lips. She let the fruit slide into her mouth and then began to lick her fingers again, so slowly. He swallowed, stopped breathing. She finished the piece of fruit, then smiled up at him sweetly. And he realized she was playing him. Alright, then.

Ha! That got him. She tried to ignore the part of herself that was intrigued by the smoky look in his eyes, and to congratulate herself on taunting him. She finished the pineapple, finished licking her fingers of rum and juice and looked up at him innocently. Wait. What was he doing? He stood up and slowly began to remove his coat, watching her. Just as slowly, he began to unwind the sash from around his waist, still looking at her intently all the while. The look in his eyes was dangerous, fascinating. She couldn't look away.

Jack took off his coat, the sash, the belts. She was still watching, fancy that. When he began to pull his shirt out of the waist of his breeches, her eyes grew enormous and she quickly stood up and away from the table. "Finished eating, love?" he asked her, softly.

"I, yes, thank you, I'll retire to bed now," she stammered.

"I was thinking that self-same thought meself," he purred, and watched her pale. She scrambled into his bed and pulled the blanket up all the way to the tip of her nose. But still, she watched him. When he pulled his shirt off, he heard the slight gasp from under the blanket.

His body was that dark, that brown all over. And the scars, she'd never seen anything like them. She'd remembered the bullet scars on his chest from when they were on the island, had seen his arms and their tattoos, their network of raised flesh, the brand. But seeing it all there before her was shocking. And fascinating. And somehow sinfully attractive. That lean, dark body with its map of scars made her want to touch it. He was still watching her, watching him. He started toward the bed. Oh no, she thought, he can't possibly... He came right up to the side, stopped, looking down at her. He leaned down, stooping over her, coming closer... and took a strip of leather from where it hung off the post of the bed. "Need to tie me hair back," he told her, smiling lazily into her wide eyes. "'Night."

The look on her face was golden, he told himself as he sauntered back across the cabin to his desk, tying back his tangled mane as he did so. He sat back down in his chair, kicking off his boots, and was gratified to notice she was still watching him. He deliberately picked up a large chunk of pineapple and began to suck at it, drops of juice falling onto his chest. He heard the slight intake of breath from his bed and tried not to grin. Not so proper, are we, Elizabeth? He wondered if she'd make the next move, or go to sleep.

There was absolutely no reason why she should want to go back to that desk and eat more fruit, she told herself firmly. Absolutely no reason why she should be any nearer to that scoundrel than possible, especially in his current state of undress. She studied his face. He looked somehow younger with his hair pulled back like that. His cheekbones seemed even higher, his jawline more defined. It was... unsettling. "Still hungry?" she heard him drawl.

"No," came the muffled reply, "I'm – I'm just thirsty."

"Can't have that, can we?" he replied, and started to pad back over to the bed, bottle of rum in one hand.

"Don't you have anything other than rum?" she asked, plaintively. He stopped, considering. Then he smiled.

"Hold tight and I'll fetch something," he answered, setting down the bottle and leaving the cabin. He briefly wondered if she'd lock the door while he was gone. Not that it mattered, he knew how to open it.

She briefly entertained the notion of locking the cabin door, but figured he'd be able to open it anyway. She got up out of the bed, blanket wrapped tightly around herself, and went back to the fruit. She considered the bottle of rum, and then drenched another piece of pineapple. It really was delicious, she told herself, faintly aware that she felt just the slightest bit tipsy. Faintly aware that she was possibly getting herself into trouble, and that she didn't care in the least. She began to eat pieces of the fruit chased by sips of rum.

On deck, Jack walked over to a crate, tugging it open and reaching for a bottle. "Wine... Mm. Good vintage..." He had turned to a barrel and was pouring water into a mug when he heard heavy footsteps behind him.

"Where the hell is Miss Swann, and what do you think you are doing?" Norrington's voice suddenly demanded.

"Miss Swann is within my cabin, and I am fetching her refreshments to go with supper," Jack replied, turning to look at the drunken man, "I'd ask you to join us, but in your current state you would likely be unwelcome." He couldn't help smirking at the former Commodore; it was just too much fun to taunt him.

"If you touch her," Norrington began.

"Save it, man. I've no intention of sullying the fair maiden. I'm giving her a place to sleep and a bite to eat. The rum is entirely up to her."

"You're trying to get her drunk!" Norrington suddenly lurched over to Jack, pushing him in the chest. "Look at you! You're not even dressed! I know what you're up to, Sparrow, and I won't let you..." Norrington took a wild swing at Jack, who easily dodged it. He watched as Norrington stumbled and fell to the deck, shaking his head in disgust. "Commodore, you're a sorry mess. Sleep it off, I can't abide having any drunks on my crew." With that infuriating remark, Jack sauntered back toward his cabin. Norrington began to rise, intending to follow Jack and give him a sound beating, and then promptly fell to the deck again as a bottle firmly connected with his skull, showering him with wine as it broke. Gibbs looked down at the unconcious man and shook his head regretfully before walking back up the deck to where Marty and Cotton had opened a fresh bottle of rum.

Jack opened the cabin door, "Here you are love, something other than rum as requested..." he broke off at the sight before him. Elizabeth sat back in his chair, boots and coat off, long legs up on his desk, sucking down more pineapple.

"You know," she commented, "this really does make the rum taste better." She proceeded to soak another piece of fruit in the rum and tossed it into her mouth.

Jack felt his brain go into argument mode. You can't, mate, it wouldn't be right. Look at her, by God, she's delicious! No, you have to put her to bed, it's the right thing to do. Maybe just a little snog, eh, mate? Absolutely not, she'll wallop you. Wouldn't it be worth it though?

"Jack?" Elizabeth was looking at him quizzically.

Shit, he thought, putting down the bottle in his hand. Wine is not a good idea. "Here love, have some water. I'll take that." He handed her the mug of water, took the rum from her and proceeded to take a long drink. He looked over at her and she was drinking the mug down. Good, wonderful, drink the damn water and ohmyGodwhatisshedoing? She had taken some of the water and poured it over herself, closing her eyes and using... dammit, that was his scarf she was using to wash her neck and face with! "My scarf!" he protested.

She sighed, irritably, "Jack, I need to wash my face, and it was the first rag I picked up."

"Rag! But that's me lucky scarf!" he protested, reaching for it. Damn clean women!

She dangled it in front of him, grinning, then snatched it back when he reached for it. She had one moment of clarity when she realized his dark eyes had suddenly turned grim, one moment where she thought to herself, oh, damn. And then he had lunged.

He leaped at the chair and the positively infuriating girl in it. She let out a shriek as the chair tipped backward, she in it, Jack on her. They landed on the floor, and now Jack was straddling her, pinning both arms to the floor. "Want to play?" he asked, deadly serious. "Really?" His hair had come loose of the leather tie and hung in a dark curtain around their faces.

For the first time since the day they had met, Elizabeth was honestly afraid of Captain Jack Sparrow, of the look she saw in his eyes. "Jack, I... I was only teasing, you can have your scarf..."

"Yes. You were teasing. You've been teasing for some time now. Not very nice, Elizabeth. And not very smart." He looked down at her, studying her face, those wide eyes and red lips. Part of him wanted very much to kiss her silly, part was reminding himself that it might not be received well. Part of him was bloody furious at how this game of theirs had gotten out of hand and how it was affecting him. He leaned closer. You know you want to, mate...

His eyes, those black eyes, were getting closer. He was going to do it, he was really going to kiss her. And then he pulled his scarf out of her hand, and climbed off her. He righted the chair, pushed it back to the table and picked up the bottles of rum and wine."Play time's over, darling. Run off to bed." And with that, he turned and walked out of the cabin, softly closing the door behind him. And Elizabeth felt unreasoningly, stupidly and furiously disappointed. Which meant throwing something. She picked up an apple and hurled it at the door, letting out another soft shriek.

Jack heard the thump against the door and her cry, wondered what she'd thrown. He wryly smiled to himself. Well, that makes two of us frustrated, love. Though he wasn't quite sure what it had been that she'd wanted, or even if she'd known herself. He paced furiously for several minutes, then stopped suddenly. He'd left his shirt in the cabin. Go back, or no? Better get it, he thought, telling himself that he really shouldn't wander about shirtless and that it was the only reason he was going back into the cabin. Honestly. He took a long pull off the bottle of rum and turned around.

He opened the door slowly, wondering if something would be launched at his head. He noted that the lanterns had been blown out. Lass must have gone to bed then. "Lizzie?" he asked softly. No answer. "I've, er, come back for me shirt. I'll be just a moment." Silence. He padded over to the table, put down the rum and picked his shirt up off the floor. He could hear her breathing in the darkness and he slowly made his way over to the bed. "Elizabeth?" She still wasn't answering. "I'll just say good night, then."

"Why did you knock me to the floor?" she sounded like she was clenching her teeth.

"Well... you did have me scarf," he answered, puzzled.

"You..." suddenly she'd sat up, he could make out her shape by the moonlight coming in through the open door. "You scared me to death." In the dark, she sounded very young and very hurt. And oddly disappointed.

Interesting reaction. Now was she scared of being hurt, or scared of being ravaged? Good question. Should we find out, Jack? He slowly sat down on the side of the bed. "Sincere apologies, love. We were only playing, after all. Here, have a drink."

He tried to hand her the bottle. "There's no pineapple," she complained. No, pouted. She was actually bloody pouting and she couldn't believe herself. What the hell was was wrong with her? Was she trying to get herself in more trouble? Yes, she thought. I want trouble. I want more rum. And I want him to stay here with me and talk to me. That's all. Tell me stories of his adventures. Yes.

"Easily enough remedied, love," he chuckled and made his way back to the table. It may have been dark, but it was his cabin and he knew every inch of it. He picked up the platter of pineapple bits and the rum, brought them back to the bed. He sat down on the corner and sprinkled rum liberally on all of the remaining fruit. What the hell, he thought, in for a penny... "Here, love." He tried to pass the plate to her.

She could clearly see him, silhouetted by moonlight, so her next comment was a complete lie. And completely wanton. "I can't see it, Jack. You can see better than I can. Can you give it to me instead?" Then, she breathlessly waited to see what he would do.

Jack swallowed. Oh yes, he could. He could see just fine in the moonlight. He carefully picked up a piece of the rum-laced pineapple and brought it to her lips. Her mouth opened and he quickly dropped the fruit inside, pulling away. I must be good, I must be good, I must be... oh hell.

She chewed slowly, reaching back to plump up the pillows and prop herself up a little more. A girl could get used to this. She'd never been fed like this by anyone before. It was... fascinating. She traced a scar on his arm. "Where is this one from?"

"Oh, you don't want to hear about that one. No story to it at all."

"Yes, I do, Jack, honestly. I've always loved to hear your stories." She bit her lip, embarrassed for admitting it.

He grinned in the darkness. "Is that so, love? Thank God you're not a cat. No telling what might happen with that curious streak. Another time, I promise." If I have anything to say about it, he thought, there will be plenty of opportunity for that later. He picked up another piece of fruit and slowly leaned toward her. "More pineapple?" he asked, his voice slightly husky.

"Yes, please."

Alright then. Jack picked up another piece of fruit, brought it to her mouth, but this time he was very deliberate. He gently, briefly traced her lower lip with it, slowly dropped it in her mouth. And felt the briefest touch of her tongue on his fingertips. He flinched slightly, and decided that being good was really quite overrated.

She had no idea where she was going with this, but she now knew what she wanted. She wanted him to kiss her, wanted to see what he felt like, whether his mouth was like Will's or... When she felt him trace her lip with the pineapple, her stomach clenched and she reached out to suck in the fruit, licking his fingertip in the process. She felt him tense and realized she was the cause of it. It was a heady sensation, even more so than the rum flowing through her. So when he suddenly leaned close to her, it was perfectly natural for her to lift her face to him. So ready, she thought.

Jack leaned over her, his face only inches from her own. She had tilted her face up. She's inviting you, mate, do it. "Lizzie, you've had a bit too much rum, I think," he breathed.

"Yes, maybe a bit..." she breathlessly agreed, "but I assure you, Captain Sparrow, that I am completely aware of my surroundings."

"Jack," he corrected her.

"Jack," she agreed. "Are you going to give me more?"

Definitely. He leaned back a moment, took a swig of rum, swallowed it, then swiftly leaned down to her and did what he'd been dying to do since the day he first saw her. He kissed Elizabeth Swann firmly on the mouth.

Oh yes, she thought, blood pounding in her ears. The rum. And the sweetness from the pineapple. And oh, his lips are so much more firm than Will's. Harder and hotter. Should I...?

She parted her lips, he took the invitation and slowly curled his tongue around hers. So sweet, and not only from the fruit... and yet not as sweet as he'd thought she'd be. She was not merely yielding to him, she was kissing him most assuredly back. He kissed her more deeply, his hand twining itself into her hair. No. She was not what he'd expected. She was so much more.

She felt his hand sliding into her hair, felt him leaning more into the kiss, further onto the bed. This was so dangerous, this was so forbidden, she was surely the most wicked woman ever. And the deeper he kissed her, the more she wanted from him.

He pulled back briefly, taking in air, and she could see his eyes glittering in the moonlight. "Finished with that rum yet?" he drawled.

"No, Captain Sparrow, I believe I'll have another sip..."

Amazing. She was inviting him back for more. He leaned back down to kiss her and as he did, he felt her hands touching his chest, his arms, tracing his scars. He shivered slightly, knew she felt it, found he didn't care. He wanted more himself.

Oh, yes. Those scars she had longed to explore, here they were. She could feel him shiver at her touch and it stoked the fire even more. He was ravaging her mouth now, sucking her tongue, biting her lips gently, and she heard herself moan against his lips. This was what she had always wanted, this danger, this fire, this...

Stop. Losing control now. When she moaned into his mouth, he nearly ripped off her shirt, and that would not end well. He quickly pulled away from her, stumbling to his feet. "Yes, well, that's enough rum for tonight, I'm afraid. I should let you sleep now, Elizabeth." Oh, yes, that was nonchalant, Jack. "You'll need your rest if we're to find the chest and rescue Will." Oh, how he hated to bring up that name. But he had to bring her back to her senses. It was the right thing to do. Damn it.

Elizabeth almost cried from frustration. He'd stopped, he was going to leave her. She knew she shouldn't want him to stay, knew that it could end in something that she might not really be ready for. And Will? What about Will? How could she be kissing this man and supposedly affianced to the other? Only she knew who it was that she really wanted at this point. Yes, she wanted to save Will and yes, she loved him dearly and always would. But she had never felt with Will what she had felt with Jack Sparrow. She didn't think now that she could ever be truly happy as Will Turner's wife, as a normal girl who never had another day of adventure. Tears welled up as she considered what a mess she was making of everything. "Yes, Jack, you're probably right. I should go to sleep." She turned away from him, curling up into the blankets.

He swallowed, trying to slow his breathing. He'd never experienced a kiss like that in his life. Then again, he'd never wanted a woman so much in his life. He pulled his shirt on and fled out of his cabin, not even bringing the bottle of rum. Like a coward. He pulled the door shut, and then sank down onto the deck, growling. Bloody hell, what kind of mess was this? The wind suddenly freshened, sails flapping. Oh, bugger. My coat and my blanket are both in the cabin. Somehow, he didn't trust himself to go back for them. He got to his feet and paced his ship.

She heard him mumbling curses outside the door and smiled bitterly to herself. At least she wasn't the only one. Then she closed her eyes, buried her face in the blanket that smelled of him, inhaled deeply and drifted off to sleep.

And never heard him re-enter the cabin, late in the night. Never felt the soft kiss he laid on her forehead. Never noticed when he wrapped himself up in his blanket and curled up next to her. Elizabeth slept the sleep of the inebriated.

Mm. Morning. Sunlight was streaming through the window of his cabin and he stretched langorously, catlike. Time enough to get up, for the moment he was content to lay there, naked in his tangled blanket, letting the sun warm his brown skin. It reminded him of the quality of light that the Indian sun had, a saffron glow that infused everything it touched with warmth. The smells of sandalwood and incense, the tastes of rosewater and curry. He could still hear the cries of peacocks in the dusky evenings, still see the bright flowers in the garden that his mother had loved. He didn't think much on India anymore, but when he did, it was a confused jumble of colors, scents, tastes, sounds. Someday he'd have to go back again, maybe take Elizabeth. He imagined how her eyes would light up at the beauty of it, the magic of it. Imagined how she'd look in a sari the color of the ocean, gold and pearls swathing her neck, her ears... better yet, wearing nothing but those self-same jewels. He grinned a little at that thought. Not bloody likely, mate. She'd likely turn into an angry Kali, hacking your bits off and stomping on yer dead body. He sniggered, the image somehow tickling him even as it titillated him. Alright. Well and truly awake and needing to piss, find a drink and figure out where they were this morning. He lazily rolled over, yawning. And straight into the arms of the self-same lass he'd just been thinking about.