Rum. Warm, spiced rum. Aged rum from old oak barrels. Rum agricole from the finest sugar cane in the Caribbean. Jack was sampling them all at the Faithful Bryde. He'd lost his ship. With no ship came no crew, with no crew came no pirate-y business. He'd even lost the two bothersome stowaways: the whelp, and, well… her. Good riddance to her. She was the one who'd fed his ship to the beastie in the first place. And him, especially him. One kiss was certainly enough. Enough of those voluptuous lips of hers, those pert, lily-white bosoms just starting to tan with her time at sea…
He took another swig. Damn her. What was it she would be doing now? Raising a runt or two, gifted as a parting gift by dear William? He took a swig again. No. She was about as fit for that as he was for a commodore. He tried to picture it, he found he could, but it felt all wrong. The only thing he could see was her salt curled and sun streaked hair as it waved in the wind like their flag. He could see her standing on the rigging of the ship like a Valkyrie, her sharpened sword raised to the skies as she gave a cry. He could see why they'd mistaken her as the goddess of the sea. The woman was wild, untamable. How could such a woman be suited to stare at the sea and never feel it's rough embrace again? Certainly, she had to be a woman with patience. He snorted at that. A woman without curiosity. Or, at least, a curiosity sated. He sipped once more with a slowly spreading smirk. No. Her curiosity could not be sated- only subdued. Ah, but for how long? He wondered.
"You're thinking about that girl again," a gussied-up Scarlett took a seat next to Captain Sparrow at the bar.
"What?" Jack's nose scrunched, showing his teeth. "There's no girl, darling," he gestured with drink in hand. "What makes you think that?"
"You're laughing to yourself with that goofy smile." She leaned forward with a grin, "Honestly, people will say you're in love."
Jack gave her a look over. He used to have a thing for painted faces. Each one looked the same after a while: rouge cheeks, dark eyes, stained lips. It was easier for him to forget names, forget stories, and focus on other more important places to ensure each party a pleasurable experience. He used to like painted faces, until he met a girl without a mask.
Jack leaned forward with lowered lids, "Let's show them, then, shall we?"
Her lips were a breath away from his as she spoke, "I'd be happy to darling, but you still owe me from last time." At that, she pushed him away. "The only reason I haven't got my girls on you is that I got your first mate to pay up. You ought to thank him, really." As she stood, she looked at the array of empty carafes in front of him. "And," to add insult to injury, "after a night like that I doubt you have the money or the fortitude to keep up."
Jack smiled. "Never a need for question of fortitude, love."
She gave a knowing smirk, "Maybe another time, Jack." She turned to walk away. "Pity," she spoke almost to herself, "but even a woman of my stature doesn't want to settle for second best."
"Second best?!" Jack clamored as he leaned back on his wooden stool to watch her go. "What the bloody…" he turned back to the bar to survey the empty glass before him. When he noted the barkeep was distracted, he swiped another amber bottle and returned to his rooms.
Jack took a deep breath, letting it out in a gust as his back landed on the straw mattress. He stared at the wooden beams on the ceiling. What was he doing here? The ground felt all wrong- too solid. The rum helped with that, but it wasn't enough. He needed the sea. He needed his freedom back. There were other things he needed. Though he was loathe to admit, that rendezvous from earlier had him realizing his baser necessities as well. He had no coin, and that which he did was reserved for rum or food. All the girls on Tortuga knew this. It was hard not to know, especially after such a long stint on the isle.
"Jack," her voice echoed in his skull. "I need you so much, Jack.''
Damn her. He ran an open palm over his growing problem. Why was it that her face was the only one to show itself clear as day? He'd tried to imagine other faces, voices, past lovers; but hers would always interrupt part way through. So much of an annoyance it was that he'd long ago decided to give in. Once, he'd made the mistake of calling her name in bed. The slap it had earned him smarted for days. If he ever saw her again he wouldn't forgive her. No, not for killing him… but the torment that came after.
She breathed, "I want to know what it tastes like."
He released his straining member, stroking slowly from base to tip. "You always have, haven't you?"
"Yes," she moaned, "ever since you pulled me from the water and released me from my corset." She played with the strings at her front, "Won't you release me now, Jack?"
"Oh, I'll bring you release." His palm tightened into a fist as he stroked harder. That time was so long ago now. Even if he had gotten a feel on the girl, he had no idea who she would grow to be. Even if he had known, he would have struggled to remember what it was truly like. Had she grown since then? Were they pale and round and soft as velvet? Would they fit just so into his hands? Would she let him taste them to bring her pleasure?
"Yes!" she cried, "Jack! Just like that!"
Gods, he wanted to hear her. He wanted to please her like she'd never known. He wanted to plunge into her slickness, and he'd wanted to be the first to claim her. His heart simultaneously fell and quickened at the thought.
"Take me, Jack. Take me right here on the deck." Her eyes were dark pools of lust, drawing him in. Perhaps it was that look that shackled him to the mast in the first place.
"Ah!" he jerked into her swiftly, filling her completely and ridding her of her maidenhead. Even in dreams he would still himself, looking down as silent tears fell from her eyes. She would take a breath and smile then through the pain, kissing him until their passions renewed. Only then would he bring them both to the brink of pleasure.
Such wasn't the way every night. Sometimes she was on her knees, sometimes she rode him like a strumpet, at times he would bind her and tease her until she screamed. But every time would end the same way: with a curiously unfulfilled Jack in an empty room sans Elizabeth.