The golden glow of clustered lit candles cast their light through the ornate glass panels of a wooden door and onto Elizabeth's dewy skin. A door which lead to a meeting of most importance, a fact echoed by the rumblings of her desperate stomach. A meeting that could put the seal of approval on her execution or save her skin. Every word had to be spoken with purpose and gain. The negotiation had to fall in her favour. Though it seemed that all of her meticulous planning escaped her. The clever and carefully thought out retorts and debates were simply gone from her mind. She had planned on storming in, fierce and perfectly apt for skilful parley. But now she was at a loss of words.

Elizabeth's nerves had never been so on edge. With more difficulty than usual, she swallowed, a cool click coming from her dry throat. Her body was on fire and her breathing was shallow; she felt that something was wrong, as though she wasn't breathing enough. She took a deep breath in. And another. It was seemingly helpless. A boney hand, her hand, which shook in fear, went to her brow to wipe away a bead of sweat.

'You'll be fine, Miss Elizabeth,' Private Murtogg murmured with a nod. He reached a hand out to knock upon the door, but hesitated. His brow furrowed and he sighed. 'Here,' he pulled a pistol from his side and showed it to her. 'Put it in your pocket-' he put it there for her despite his instructions- 'Don't use it if you can keep from it. This place is surrounded by guards far for faithful to Lord Beckett than I. If you fire, they will be alerted immediately and you would be dead in a matter of seconds.'

'Thank you,' Elizabeth said. The weight of the pistol in her pocket tugged at her waist. It felt comforting. No longer was she the defenseless damsel that she so often found herself being.

With that, Private Murtogg rapped his knuckles against the wooden door.

'Enter,' was the unreadable voice of Lord Beckett that answered this knock.

Private Murtogg twisted the golden doorknob and let the door swing open. He gestured for Elizabeth to enter first.

The smell of a hot meal first hit her and sent her mouth watery for the first time in weeks. Her stomach growled angrily. She sighed and tried to ignore it's pleas. Elizabeth surveyed her surroundings. It was a large warm room, with lots of open windows that were rendered useless with the late hour. Instead the room was lit by three chandeliers, one large in the centre of the room, and two opposite sides of it. A large map was on one wall, which she wished to study more. There was also a large desk, a red chaise lounge beside the fireplace, and in the centre a table which held all the delicious food she was smelling.

'Aha, Miss Swann,' Lord Beckett said in a sarcastically mirthful tone. 'Enjoying your stay, I trust?' He stood from the red velvet chair at the large desk. He waved a hand at Private Murtogg to leave, and he did, closing the door behind him. 'The food, the bed, all up to a ladies standards?'

Elizabeth squinted at him in the upmost distaste. Already she had to fight the urge not to curse him. But she quashed the desire and gave a tight lipped smile. 'I'm certain that you know the prison conditions are terrible, my lord.'

'Pity, I even picked the best cell just for you,' he said as he poured himself a glass of something red. After he downed what was surely alcohol in an alarmingly quick amount of time, he pointed at the table of food. 'Might I make it up to you?'

'YES, YES YOU MAY,' her mind screamed. Elizabeth squared her shoulders and tilted her head upwards. She didn't want him to know how desperate she was. She had to remain in control of the situation. She wanted the food, she didn't need the food. That's what she told herself. 'I suppose you might,' was her tepid response.

Lord Beckett languidly made his way around the desk and towards the table of food. He pulled out one of the two chairs and motioned for her to sit. Elizabeth had to keep herself from skipping to the table; she slowly approached the chair. As she passed Lord Beckett, she glanced into his icy blue eyes. 'He is handsome,' she thought, still looking at him. It was for a second too long. Her cheeks went an angry shade of scarlet. She sat quickly and nervously adjusted her skirts.

'You may eat whatever you like,' he informed as he took the chair opposite of her.

'Thank you,' was all she murmured.

For several moments, Elizabeth picked at a few slices of pork on the plate before her. It looked delicious. But despite her groaning stomach, which begged for her to fill its aching void, she couldn't yet bring herself to eat. Lord Beckett was shamelessly watching her, causing her skin to feel hot and prickly. The unceasing gaze felt as though it burnt holes in her skin and it caused her the upmost discomfort. She took refuge behind her long dark lashes. Only once he turned his attention to his food did she finally feel like she could too. It didn't take her long to devour the sliced pork; she had attempted to eat it in the most ladylike manner possible, but still felt certain that she had ate like a man. There were baked cinnamon apples and sweet rolls, of both she shoveled down copious amounts. To finish it all off she drank a large glass of warm mulled wine. Elizabeth couldn't even say if it had all tasted well, for her taste buds had been out of commission for so long that they didn't care to yet do their job. It could have been a foul poison that she ate and would have still been just as satisfied. She was left waiting for Lord Beckett to finish his meal and felt little chagrin for the amount of food she ate in such little time.

'If not for him I wouldn't have been starved in the first place,' her mind said bitterly.

'So-' Lord Beckett sipped on his wine and stood from the table. He motioned for her to follow and moved to sit on the chaise lounge by the fireplace.- 'what is it that you so desperately needed to tell me?'

Elizabeth stepped slowly over to the area between the large fireplace and the chaise. Lord Beckett tapped on the spot next to him. It was too close, too intimate. Or perhaps just intimate enough. Her mind started working towards a reply. She could not divulge the information she knew at him so quickly, she knew. Not if she wanted to be granted the rewards that she sought out. Cunning and charming, as she usually was when she wanted something from a man. This setting was just right. Elizabeth sat beside him. 'There are a few matters which I would like to discuss with you,' her voice was low. The tips of her fingers trailed across the soft velvet of the chaise and onto the smooth silk of his trousers. Her index finger traced circles on his thigh. 'If you might be so gracious to afford me the pleasure of doing so.'

Elizabeth brought her body closer to his and ran her hand along the length of his leg, knee up. For just a moment, she felt her eyelids falling heavy as she tried to use her doe like brown eyes to seduce him. The faint smell of alcohol and tobacco on him intoxicated her. There had been a time when she enjoyed flirting with men, but since the disastrous consequences of the last three, she had been put off of the nonsense of it all. But now she had been away from it for so long, and for two weeks she had been subjected to such a dull time, that she felt she might have been falling for her attempts more than Lord Beckett was.

'I'm so weary of my imprisonment. All I want is to be free, for my fathers sake,' Elizabeth sighed. 'I would do anything to earn it.' She moved her hand up his thigh, the palm of her hand dangerously close to his groin, while her fingers rested just over it. 'Absolutely anything.'

Lord Beckett sighed, much to Elizabeth's satisfaction. It was the only sign that the statue like man might have enjoyed her actions. He was so stony that it frightened her.

'And what of your fiancé, Mister Turner?' Lord Beckett wondered.

Elizabeth looked away. She was ashamed that she didn't feel guilty.

'Ah,' he mused, a smile only just at the corner of his mouth. 'Did I do you a service by interrupting the happy wedding? How cruel, Miss Swann. While he's working to save his damsel in distress, she sought out the company of another.'

'It's none of your business,' she whispered. There was not enough fury, if any, as she wanted there to be, for him to cease his assault on the validity of her relationship. With it she exposed her true feelings on the matter.

'Oh but it is,' Lord Beckett assured her. 'A promised woman has her hand on my cock like some common whore. Is it not my business?'

Elizabeth's jaw tensed. She couldn't let the situation spiral out of control. It had to be remedied.

'I've felt so lonely in my cell,' she went on in a purr, choosing to leave his words left unanswered, and moved her palm over his now rock solid manhood. She simpered, pleased with herself. 'Besides, he won't touch me. Not in the way that I would like. Not in the way you could.'

Victory seemed so close, but suddenly Lord Beckett gripped her wrist in a painful vice. Elizabeth gasped. He sat his now empty wine glass on the wooden side table. Still holding her wrist, he harshly pulled her closer. 'I don't have time for your games,' he hissed through gritted teeth. 'I won't be as easily mislead as your imbecile fiancé.'

Elizabeth's mind reeled for cunning ways to lead him back into false security. 'No, you misjudge me, my lord,' her breathing quickened as she struggled against him. 'I feel my relationship to William sundered. I mean not to offend. As a woman there aren't many ways I might negotiate-' she gripped onto his waistcoat- 'I'll do anything to appease you, anything you ask for.'

'The condition of this visit was the exchange of information and yet all you have produced is your wanton desires,' Lord Beckett drew her up with him off of the chaise lounge. 'I think it is time you returned to your cell.'

The chance to be free was quickly diminishing. 'No, my lord, I know about the compass,' Elizabeth informed. 'I know what it's used for.'

'Fantastic,' he rolled his eyes. 'Now, the hour is late, come.'

That was it. Elizabeth had failed to lure him into an agreement. 'No, I-'

'Another word and I'll have you executed tomorrow, Miss Swann.'

Lord Beckett strode across the room to his desk. He reached into a drawer and sat shackles onto the desk top. With his left hand raised, he crooked his index and middle finger, wordlessly calling her over. Elizabeth shook her head. She would milk this opportunity still. Once more he rounded the desk and approached her, now accompanied by the shackles which he swung from a finger. Perhaps she still had a chance; if not up for her so called games, then why would he attempt to restrain her? Why not call one of the many guards waiting just outside of the walls? Elizabeth tilted her head up. Her confidence was returning. Lord Beckett had made a mistake by showing her that she was still very much in control.

'Do you mean to shackle me, my lord?' Elizabeth questioned light heartedly.

'What are you here for, Miss Swann?'

'I require a royal pardon for myself.'

'And my payment for that pardon?'

'I presume that you already know what I'm willing to give,' she said coolly.

A sound of acknowledgement came from the back of Lord Beckett's throat. He turned effortlessly on the heel of his shiny black boot and retired to the chaise lounge once more. His emotionless eyes shamelessly wondered her body. Even sitting, he had an apt for seeming as though he was looking down onto one.

'Your dress,' he gestured towards her lazily, 'remove it.'

Elizabeth's cheeks went scarlet at the command. Her knowledge on sex wasn't vast; she had only discussed it a few times with her chambermaid, Henrietta. From what she gathered, the man would assist with the state of undress. . . That it was supposed to be something that was built up to. She worried her brow at the prospect of stripping bare in the middle of Lord Beckett's office. There were many windows and many doors. Alas, she had far better matters to worry herself over. With her chin raised, she pulled at the ribbons on the back of her gown. It wasn't long before her bodice fell to the floor. Next was her skirt- the gun. 'Damn it!' Elizabeth breathed a short breath through parted lips. The only choice was honesty. She pulled the pistol out with a tight smile and waved it in the air before handing it to him. He hadn't flinched as most people would have; she knew that he must have known about it earlier. He tossed it carelessly onto the floor with a thud. Next her skirt came down, leaving her in the cream colored stays and shift; she had lost her silk stockings days before that, in the heat of her cell they were the first to go.

Lord Beckett's eyes widened, just for a second, yet he remained tepid. He exhaled a sharp breath that was so nearly a laugh and let his eyes take another visual stroll. Elizabeth reveled in his intimate gaze.

'Come here,' he whispered.

Hesitation suddenly gripped her. All at once she was terrified into panic and yet her desires were insatiable. Despite the truth that it was she who put this scene into motion, it was only then that she realized it could really happen. She was in a trice made acutely aware of heightened sexual tension. She noticed how hot her dewy skin was, burning in anticipation. The way it felt stretched over her delicate clavicle and her breasts, heaving in the corset that pushed them upward. Her hair was messy and her lips red, chewed with worry. Elizabeth for the first time felt that she may look sultry and irresistible. There was something in her that told her she should feel ashamed, but she couldn't. She was about to lay with a man who she lacked any knowledge of, save for that he imprisoned her. Somehow that made it all the more thrilling. It was rousing to know that she was completely defying everything that society taught her. It was dirty and adventurous. Liberating even.

With a surge of confidence, Elizabeth stepped towards Lord Beckett. She put one foot onto the velvet chaise, next to his thigh. If not for her shift, which slid towards the apex of her thighs, he would have had quite the view.

Lord Beckett was as unreadable as ever. He put a hand on her thigh before rising to her height. The move brought the two bodies close, but Elizabeth did not back away. He brought his fingers to his neck and deftly did away with his cravat. Next was his waistcoat. As he separated the buttons, Elizabeth watched avidly, putting away every detail of what he was doing to her memory. It was all so intense. Within seconds the silk waistcoat was on the floor. Elizabeth tugged at his lawn shirt, pulling it from his trousers and over his head. Her throat clicked, dry from the little nerves that were left. She looked down as she couldn't handle the intensity. Lord Beckett grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. It was sudden, they were amidst a frenzied kiss, with teeth clashing and tongues wrestling as each tried to out do the other. Elizabeth moaned as he moved the assault onto her neck, sending shocks through her body, to her core where a dull hum was building.

'Fuck me, my lord,' Elizabeth whispered into his ear. She had such conflicting feelings of her behavior; disgust and delight. 'I want-'

Before she could finish her plea, Lord Beckett pushed her roughly to the chaise. It was unexpected and only Elizabeth's top half landed onto it's soft serface, while her knees went to the hard wooden floor, causing her to wince. She felt a hand grip into her tangled hair, holding her where she was. Lord Beckett was behind her, he used his grip on her hair to pull her up, bringing her back to his chest. Elizabeth could feel the hardest part of him against her rump, still concealed by his trousers. Her moans were out of desperation for him to invade her. The spot between her legs throbbed for it and she felt like she would explode without it. He pulled her shift up, exposing her. She shifted, spreading her legs apart of him.

'Please, my lord-'

Lord Beckett grabbed a handful of her backside, causing the pressure within her to built. 'Call me by my name.'

'Cutler please, I can't take it,' she breathed.

Be-ringed fingers skimmed up the soft flesh of her inner thigh and over the searing junction of her legs. It was a scourging touch, sending her knuckles white as she grasped desperately at the edge of the chaise. She glanced back to see him untying his trousers and willed him to hurry. Her head fell to the soft velvet in wait.

It wasn't to be long, as she felt the hot appendage resting against her thigh. With no warning, he rammed into her. Elizabeth cried out. Lord Beckett remained still for a moment while she adjusted to this foreign feeling. She felt so uncomfortably full. As he began thrusting into her, the pain slowly ebbed into pleasure. Every stroke forced a moan from her lips. She tried to quiet herself, but it seemed impossible. Pressure was building. Passion coursed through her limbs and to her centre where she throbbed violently for release. Elizabeth withered.

'Harder,' she pleaded, her voice already shaking with Lord Beckett's rough movements.

He complied with her request so vigorously that her boney hips began hurting with the force they were being slammed into the wooden edge of the chaise lounge. She couldn't care for the pain, as her back arched in pleasure. Her breaths, restrained by her stays, came quicker as the muscles of her abdomen clenched in agony. Her brown eyes shut as she was forced into mindless oblivion. Lord Beckett reached around and rubbed her clit. With one more deep lunge, a hot tidal wave surged from her centre and coursed it's way through her limbs. A cry, which she could not recognize as her own, filled the silent air as she felt her body tense and release repeatedly around Lord Beckett. At the same instant he sped his pace up and rutted against her with a groan. After a moment, he pulled himself from her. He laid his chest against her back, resting from the taxing activities.

The two were left, collapsed and tired, alone in the humid room.

WRITERS NOTE

Yikes. I have never written smut of any sort. I apologize. You know when you just feel like, this is weird, why am I doing this? Yeah that's how I feel about this.

Mostly I wanted to expand on the character that I think Elizabeth is. It is touched upon quite frequently in the films that she wants to be free to do what she pleases. She seems to me as the femme fatale, willing to do anything to get her way. A totally selfish character in the best way. Yet she ended up with such a boyish and immature character, so unlike her own. She would have been far better suited with any other man in the films. Such a man eating badass who killed just to save her own skin, in my eyes, would not marry a boring man like Will in the first place, and then certainly not once she could only see him once every ten years. I just don't see what satisfaction came from an ending where she, after all her going on about freedom and sacrifices made for it, chooses to live on an island as a lonely house wife. If the movie wasn't dictated by disney (who love the happy princess with a family ending) I think her character would have made much different choices.