A/N: Wow, I haven't been around this part of in a while. This is my first pirate fic in a long time and hopefully, I still have it. I just saw the movie last Saturday and was must disgruntled that there was no Anamaria. So, I concocted this little scenario of how she left (we all probably know why). Enjoy!
A Very Good Morning
Jack Sparrow knew the repercussions for excessive drinking. But he didn't care, no matter how painful the morning after was (and it really was hellishly painful, but nothing he couldn't handle). It was a price he was oh, too eager to pay for those hours of mindless bliss the night before. The freedom, the heightened sense of self-esteem, he loved every part of it. There was only rum that brought that kind of happiness for him. Well, rum and the other thing. Though judging by the state of his clothes, the other thing didn't happen last night. Ah well, next time. He brought a hand up to rub his forehead; his headache was the size of Isle de Muerta, and twice as painful. That was something he did not like about drinking rum, the bloody morning after!
Of course, it wasn't until he felt a slight rustling of the sheets and the shifting of weight on the bed that he realized that someone else was on the bed with him.
Ah, then again, perhaps he did have some company the night before.
If that was the case, then why were his clothes still on? He turned his head to be greeted by the back of a figure with long black hair and a white blouse.
He raised his eyebrows. Wait a minute, he did not remember taking anyone into bed with him last night. And if he did, why was he fully dressed? Well, he wasn't wearing a shirt but he was still wearing his pants! He could hear a sigh coming from the figure, and it hit him with an amount of shock as to who it was. It was Anamaria herself; though she was in a situation that he had never imagined her to be in. In bed! With him! And fully dressed! Actually, scratch that, the latter is a bad thing. But that could be remedied…Oh bad thoughts, Jack. One must not think such things of one's first mate. Actually, his mind reminded him, 'former first mate, now captain of her very own ship' (that he bought). No matter, captain or first mate, one shouldn't think such things about her, however alluring she may be, and despite the situation that seems to present itself on a silver platter.
A smile slowly crept to his face. He could definitely use this situation to his advantage (though he knew that she would not be happy with it at all.) No worries, he won't see her again, anyway. And if he did, he knows she won't say anything, not in front of her new crew. Besides, he knew that he didn't force her into bed. If he did, they wouldn't be wearing clothes, that was for sure. That meant that she must have done so willingly. But why, and how? 'Okay, Jack, think! What happened last night? Ouch, maybe not.' Thinking was bad at the moment. He closed his eyes, then opened them again when the headache passed. Damn, he could not remember a bloody damn thing.
Suddenly, a moan came from her. A moan that sent shivers, combined with a warm feeling all through his body and down to his nether regions. If a single moan from her could do that to him, he wondered…Oh how did he wonder what physical contact would do, a kiss, a caress, maybe even something more. He licked his lips in contemplation. He didn't deny that it would be something he probably wouldn't be satisfied of once.
No, there was something in Anamaria that attracted him to her, that had always attracted him. Perhaps it was her face, skin of chocolate, full lips (how would they taste, he wondered), her dark eyes that always looked at him in defiance. He tried to imagine if they were softer, looking at him perhaps with adoration. Somehow, he couldn't imagine it. That look would not suit her at all, he thought. Then, she'd be like any other woman that he had bedded. And somehow, he did not want her to be like any other woman. He hadn't even properly bedded her yet! It wasn't like that was his goal, of course not.
Though he did wonder how she would be…would she be content to be on top or on the bottom? Would she be submissive or dominant? Somehow, he believed that it would be the latter. His lips curved up into a wicked smile.
Even if they had not done the deed, no reason for her to believe that nothing happened the previous night (though even if he didn't know what exactly happened last night). He inched closer to her and put one arm around her torso, below her breast, pressing her body against his. She did fit quite well there. He buried his face in her hair, slightly coarse but altogether soft. She smelled of salt and the sea, as well as of something that was definitely feminine. It stirred something deep within him (it also stirred something else but that won't be mentioned), a memory, as if he had smelled it before.
Then, he felt the warmth of her hand as it covered his, pulling him tighter. 'This is interesting.' He had a feeling that it wasn't a conscious action. Yes, definitely very interesting.
They laid as such for a few moments before he felt her stirring again, and moaning again. He watched as she stretched, her back curving delightfully. He had to admit, he found that small action quite erotic (and the fact that the lower half of her body was pressing in that most wonderful region). Then, he felt her stiffening, as if realizing now that his arm was around her and she had been holding on to it. What surprised him next was that she didn't immediately leave the bed. Smiling, he pressed his face closer into her hair, until his lips met the flesh of her neck. Again, she stayed there, though he could feel her still stiff.
'Relax' he wanted to tell her, eager for her to turn around, so that he could pull her closer.
She stayed like this for a while before lifting his hand and gingerly climbing off the bed. He closed his eyes quickly, feigning sleep as she turned around to look at him. He could feel her watching him, her eyes drifting across his form. He had to control himself to keep from smiling at her hesitation, he knew it. Then, he heard more rustling as she put on her shoes and heard the soft tapping of her footsteps as she made her way to the door. He opened his eyes slightly for a peek at her retreating form, at her hair, flowing down her back, not covered by her hat. One of these days, if he ever saw her again, he had to make a mental note to steal that hat, the look didn't suit her at all.
"Don't you know it's rude to leave without saying goodbye?"
Jack smiled as he saw her form still.
A/N: What in the world is going on? This little piece got a bit long so I decided to split it up into multiple chapters. Review please, it'll help me finish the second part of this story.
