This is the beginning of an epic; tenth part.
So! Jack & Elizabeth have stopped being stoopid. For now, at least.
I'd like to continue this, but I need some ideas for where to take it next. If y'all have any inspiration, tell it! Thanks, babes.
His blackened eyes widened in surprise. Caught. He'd been caught. He let his chin sink back against his neck as he turned his head until his eyes found her. Elizabeth. Standing in the line between lamplight and shadows, the soft golden glow pooling around her. He gulped.
"Not hiding, love," he slurred, peeling himself off the wall. He could move now, at least. He could hear the the stairs creaking above him as he placed a shaking hand on the age-old tree trunk they wound around. To hide the trembles that were worrying his nerves.
He was shaking?
He sighed, letting his breath slide out with a groan on his lips. He dropped his jaw and curled his tongue towards the back of his throat, thinking. About her. About how beautiful she looked in the permanant gold-bright light of Tia's river house. About how perfect she'd looked wrapped in William's arms. About how his heart was racing, about how tremors were wracking his body at the mere closeness of her. That was a new sensation; an entirely new sensation. For a woman to pull from him, at least. Oh, he'd felt it before; he knew it well, in fact. The shaking that felt like his bones were rattling together beneath his skin, like nothing in him was fixed in place. He'd felt it the first time he'd sailed towards that endless horizon, the first time he'd taken the helm, the first time he'd felt a ship gliding under his slightest touch. It was excitement. It was heaven. It was love. "Thinking."
Elizabeth smiled as she furrowed her brow. "Thinking?" She absentmindedly reached towards the tree; her palm came to rest just above Jack's. So close their fingers were touching. She felt herself jump slightly; the contact between bare skin felt white-hot. She thought about pulling her arm back. She wanted to pull her arm back. Or, her mind wanted her too. The part of her mind that knew William was just upstairs, seeing to his desire for a certain draft. He'd mumbled something about needing a tonic for head pains after what had seemed like an eternity of vapid, unwelcome kissing. And she hadn't complained. But she had noticed something odd as her eyes followed Will towards the twisted staircase: Jack Sparrow, barely visible, tucked into the shadows beneath them. "And would you care to explain why you were attacking the wall with your head? I can assure you, it can't possibly have done anything to wrong you; I was here the whole time. I would have seen the scoundrel if he'd tried anything funny."
He couldn't help but grin. She was sarcastic. She was witty. She was shooting thrills through his entire body. He forced himself to swallow again, though it felt like there was a lump in his throat the size of a coconut.
"Helps me think."
"And what, exactly, has Jack Sparrow so vexed that he feels it necessary to beat innocent walls into submission?"
He answered before he could hold it back. He answered before he could even consider the consequences. He answered so quickly, so foolishly, he surprised even himself.
"You."
Her lips parted in surprise. She felt her heart surge. Her? There were a thousand feathery wings fluttering in her stomach. Without thinking she shifted her hand so it was on top of his. Touching his. She shivered.
"What about me, Jack?" Her eyes were watering as she nearly choked on her words, but she managed to force them out.
He wanted to take it back. He wanted to pretend it had never happened. He wanted to, but he couldn't. He took a long, shallow breath; he was shaking more now. His upper lip was trembling. His scalp was tingling. His knees were threatening to buckle beneath him. And Elizabeth was touching him His hand felt like it was on fire.She was touching him.
He grinned. His kohl-smudged eyes were half closed as he leered, swaying towards her.
"You seemed upset," he breathed, his face bowing dangerously close to hers. It was a bad cover, but the only one he could think of. "Upstairs. Earlier. You seemed upset." He felt himself coming dangerously close to another insane rant, so he shut his mouth quickly. He wasn't looking at her. He couldn't. If he did, he wasn't sure what insane things his heart would make him do.
She felt cold. Cold and sad at his words. He'd meant nothing. Nothing like she'd thought he might. Hoped he might. She kicked herself mentally for letting her heart fluster her. Again. She pulled her arm back, cradling her wrist in the opposite hand.
"What you do in private is no business of mine," she mumbled quietly, eyes cast downwards.
Jack was about to push past her, about to snatch the squat bottle from the table and down it, about to sew his heart shut one last time. But then he saw it. Something he hadn't seen before. Ever. Not in Elizabeth Swann. Not in the beautiful Swann. And as much as others denied it, he did have an intuitive sense of the female creature. When he wanted to. He could see it in the way she stood. In the way her chin was trembling so slightly. In the way she was wringing her wrist with her long, pale fingers. In the way she wasn't looking at him.
She was disappointed. She was disappointed that he'd mentioned what she'd seen. No, no. Not that he'd mentioned it. That he hadn't continued. That he hadn't said something else, something not about what she'd seen. Something totally different. And then it clicked. Then it all made sense, at least in his head. He knew what to do. He knew exactly what to do.
"Tia Dalma and I go way back. Thick as thieves, y'know. She gives me what I want, love." He extended a wirey, dirt-covered finger and placed it under her chin, easing her head upwards so he could look her in the eyes. He smiled wide, gold teeth flashing in the flickering light. "But not what I need. Savvy?"
Elizabeth felt all the air rush out of her when he lifted her chin. When her eyes met his she could barely breath. She was dizzy again, but it was so warm and comfortable she didn't give it any thought. She wrapped a hand around his forearm, squeezing it gently.
"I don't know what you need, Jack," she breathed. She knew what she wanted him to need. She knew so well what she wanted him to need. She knew from the long hours spent day-dreaming about him. About his voice. About his touch. He was so close. She could feel his hot breath on her face. She could smell his spice-and-rum scent. Their noses were practically touching. She could feel his hips pressed against hers. She felt her mouth fall open, expectant. Wishing.
He had to do it. He couldn't stop himself. He couldn't stop. They were already so close. He could feel her, soft and slender against him. Her warmth was radiating into his body. She smelled sweet. Clean. How does she bloody do that? She was a pirate now! How did she still bloody manage to smell like a gentlewoman?
He couldn't stop. It came from something deep inside him. Something made of pure desire and lust and love. His heart.
He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and kissed her. Hard. Fierce. Quick. He forced himself to pull away. His lips were tingling. Fire was dancing through him. His entire body was throbbing with thirst. It was better than rum ever even thought of being. He wanted to look into her eyes. He wanted to see her face. He wanted to know if he'd been right, if he'd done right.
But before he could pull back enough to do any of it, to see any of it, Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his neck. Pulled him tightly against her.
And kissed him.
She let him part her lips with his tongue. She tasted him. Rum. It was delicious. Spicy. Exotic. She pushed him backwards until his back met the wall. She pressed hard against him. She tangled her fingers in his wild hair, twisting a string of heavy beads around her fist. His beard felt rough against her skin; his chisled face rubbing against hers. She pressed a knee between his legs, planting a trail of kisses down his neck. The yearning inside her was so intense, so unbelievable, she felt like she was going to explode. She let her lips meet his again. His kisses were messy and rough. So different from the gentle, timid ones she'd shared with Will. And she loved it. She loved the ferocity, the chaos. The recklessness. She was panting. Her vision was bluring.
She was shaking with pleasure as she moaned his name to the warm, Caribbean night.