Authoress' Note: Okay everyone, this is it. This is the moment people have been expecting since the first chapter. (At least I've been expecting it. :P) This is what is going to earn this fic a T rating, so please prepare yourselves. The scene in particular is in no way graphic or explicit, but there are many implied things. If you're not comfortable reading about sexual situations then I suggest you skip over the last few paragraphs. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy my first attempt at a sex scene. (LOL. That sounds quite perverted somehow.)

The First Time

"A bit to the left. No, no, now to the right."

Beads of sweat roll down my back as I teeter precariously on one of Thomas's ladders above the sitting room fireplace mantle. Elizabeth lolls against the doorframe giving instructions as to the placement of her mother's portrait. "There now, that's perfect!" She smiles, and I jump down from my perch, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. Mrs. Swann gazes down at us serenely, her face forever held in a stance of youthful beauty. Elizabeth's resemblance to her is extremely striking.

"James, it's terribly hot today, and we're finally finished with all this moving. Will you go to the seashore with me?" Elizabeth asks from her place in the doorway, her voice hopeful. Her rocking back and forth is beginning to make me dizzy.

I look back at the painting on the wall, and think of the work sitting in a pile upon the desk in my study. The tropical heat is stifling as it seeps through the house. I swipe the back of my hand across my forehead again to brush away beads of sweat forming there, my mind fixed on the crashing waves and cool sea air. Elizabeth's offer is tempting.

"I'm sorry, it's too far," I say, looking down at the floor, "I've got several orders to write today. They must get done one way or another."

Elizabeth stops her movement, and I glance up at her with a sorry smile. She glares back haughtily and turns hastily on her heel to leave me alone again. I make my way up to my study, grateful for the fact that we have finally finished moving all of the late governor's belongings into our home.

I lean back in my desk chair and sigh. Only a few months earlier Elizabeth had been completely house-ridden, too grief-stricken to go anywhere but the church, cemetery, and home. Now, in the dead heat of the summer she wants to be outside and everywhere. Already, it seems, we have trekked across every remote area in Port Royal. Her desire to be adventurous, and at times, utterly scandalous cannot seem to be satiated.

Alone now I take off my wig and coat, both sticky with humidity and perspiration, and drape them on a coat rack in the corner of the room. A slight breeze outside rocks the native palm trees back and forth. I loosen my cravat and open the window, leaning out over the garden to catch the breath of wind coming up from the sea. Water in a fountain trickles nearby, and my mind slips into oblivion as all thoughts of work are forgotten. We should have gone to the sea despite my protests. . . Elizabeth should have dragged me there for my own good. . .

"Sir?"

I shake my head, and turn to Thomas, who stands with a letter in his hand.

"This came from your brother."

I take the letter, nodding, my mouth dry from the intake of salty air. Tearing open the letter, I read quickly, my eyes scanning the page.

My dear brother,

I am writing to inform you that my visit with our mother has come to an end. I will be joining my wife and her parents on the Continent within the week. Do pray that my journey will go well. I'm sorry I have not had time to write. I assure you, Mother is in fine health and is doing well on her own. I expect she will join me on the Continent within the year, and I hope we will see you there soon as well. Good luck with your endeavours in Port Royal.

Your brother, etc.

John

See you there soon, indeed. John has never been fond of my gallivanting about the Caribbean. I roll my eyes at my brother's indiscretion and make to throw the letter into the grate to be burned at a later date. Suddenly, singing floats in through the open window. It is high-pitched, but not unpleasant, and slightly off tune, but lovely nonetheless, and it is coming closer. I move toward the window to search for its source. Elizabeth is walking through the garden in one of her summer dresses, her hair hanging in loose curls about her face.

"Elizabeth!" I call down, waving the letter in my free hand.

She looks up, squinting as she brings a hand up to her eyes to shield them from the sun. The light has made her porcelain cheeks and nose tan with freckles, and slightly pink with the heat.

"What's that you've got?" she asks.

"It's a letter from my brother. He's going back to the Continent and intends to drag my mother along with him."

"Oh," Elizabeth lets her hand drop from her face. I can no longer see her eyes as she turns to look at something off to her right. "I don't really care to hear about him, James. All he seems to do is make me upset, and it's much too hot for that," she fans herself with one hand, "Would you please get out of that stifling house and come down here? It'll do you a world of good."

I glance back at the letter and then at my work still left unfinished on the desk. I hesitate, torn between the urgency of work and the sudden feeling growing in me that something is going to happen today, something completely unexpected. Tossing the letter aside, I bound out of the room and outside to where Elizabeth waits in the garden. She looks up at my approach and smiles.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist coming down here," she says, hopping up onto the low fountain wall. She stares down at her reflection. "This is one of the warmest summers I think we've ever had, James."

"Yes, I think so as well, though it doesn't quite live up to the heat of India."

"India?" Elizabeth asks, one eyebrow raised, "You've never said anything of it."

"You've never asked," I reply, "Besides there's not much to say about it. All I remember is it being hot and crowded all the time."

"It sounds terribly exciting. You know I haven't been anywhere other than England and Port Royal. The world is a large place. I'd love to see more of it someday."

I gaze at Elizabeth, transfixed, as she walks steadily about the edge of the fountain, placing one foot in front of the other. Somewhere to my left a bird chirps loudly. "Perhaps we can go to India someday then or any other place in the world you'd like to go."

"What about Africa?" she asks looking up at me again, "Have you been there?"

"Only along the coast and from very far off. I've seen more of India than anything else."

She nods, dipping her bare toes lightly in the coolness of the fountain. She pauses suddenly, as though waiting on a precipice, before taking a leap into the water. Upon seeing my face she bursts out laughing. "Don't look so scandalized, James. People take dips like this all the time. I hear that it's becoming all the rage in England."

She reaches for my arm, and stumbling, I am pulled into the fountain after her. The water is up to Elizabeth's knees, causing her pale gown to float upon the surface. Before I know it she has the gown unbuttoned and draped over the low brick wall. She is a sight to see with her crisp white chemise fluttering about her knees.

"Don't stare, love, it's terribly demeaning," she says, hands on her hips and mock sternness in her voice, "It makes me feel like a piece of meat at the market." I avert my eyes toward a flowering plant nearby, and out of nowhere I receive a splash of water to the face.

"Got you!" Elizabeth cries triumphantly as she bounds through the water, her chemise hiked up to her thighs. I slog as quickly as I can after her, this way and that, as we splash at each other attempting to make the other more wet, without getting ourselves splashed in the meantime. It is a futile process, and finally, breathless, we fall in a heap on the edge of the fountain where we dangle our feet in the water, the heat of the day completely forgotten.

Elizabeth sighs contentedly, resting her head upon my shoulder, her hand creeping over mine where it stays, entwined. A light wind plays across the garden rustling the palm trees and tropical flora. Elizabeth shivers slightly.

"We should get changed," she says softly.

She stands up, leading me by the hand, her summer dress completely forgotten. We enter the house through a pair of side French doors and peer into the entrance hall cautiously. Our bare feet slap against the tile floor making loud squelching sounds as we walk. Elizabeth puts a finger to her lips as she herself tries to stifle a laugh.

"Betsy will have our heads if she finds us walking through here with wet feet."

"Perhaps it will be better if only one of us walks through with wet feet," I say, and sweep Elizabeth up and over my shoulder.

"James!"

She pounds her fists against my back, but finding herself utterly defeated, collapses into a fit of laughter as we pass the dining room. Thomas pokes his head out, staring at the two of us with wide eyes and a bemused smile.

"James Norrington, put me down this instant!"

"You don't understand, Mrs. Norrington. I'd rather Betsy have my head than yours. Yours is much too pretty to be given up."

Elizabeth gives an exasperated cry and resigns herself to propping her head up with two hands underneath her chin as we make our way up the stairs and down the corridor. Setting her down, I push open the bedroom door. I walk in first, and Elizabeth follows behind me. The door shuts, and the lock clicks into place.

"Elizabeth?"

Suddenly, her arms are around me, encircling my chest. My breath hitches as I catch her arm and spin her around to face me. She stares at me, the laughter still upon her face, although she is flushed considerably and breathing hard.

"Would you like to explore a different India tonight?" Her question comes out in a rush of breath and lingers in the air between us, an open invitation. I shiver involuntarily as she steps closer to me.

Only a moment passes before her lips are on mine, her arms encircling me again. She is bolder than I expect. With her lips against mine she explores hidden recesses with her tongue, pressing her lithe body fully against me. I have her trapped against the bed the air between us used up with each gasp between fervent kisses that taste of salt and something bittersweet, like lime. Elizabeth makes quick work of my damp shirt, and I only begin to realise what we are doing, where we are going, when its weight is shrugged from my shoulders. Hoarse whispers echo in a darkening room.

"Elizabeth. . ."

"James. . . I am ready. I love you. Please."

I have waited so long. . .

Blood rushes in my ears, and in my haste her chemise is torn as I help her pull it over her head. I run a hand through my hair to calm my quaking nerves and to remind myself that I must have some control. I must wait for her. Only a little longer now. . .

My hands are reverent upon her untouched skin, tracing each undiscovered path. I trail a hand over her hipbone and down until she arches her back to meet my fingertips. A soft moan escapes her lips followed by a sigh, "James. . . please," which I silence with my lips crashing upon hers. With each gentle caress I allow her to know pleasure before myself. The air around us is hot and heavy, drenched with our desire. Elizabeth fumbles with the buttons of my trousers, her breasts heaving with anticipation. Her hand brushes against me, and I am nearly undone. Tangling a hand in her hair, I emit a low hiss of breath at her touch. She has no idea what she does to me; how intoxicating she is.

It is uncomfortable for her at first, and she expects this, but when I move again her moan is no longer one of pain. She is tight, and I press closer until it is impossible to tell where I end and she begins. Our names are the only sounds on each other's lips, repeated over and over into the night. There is a pressure building between us, and her eyes are clenched shut as I kiss her, harder this time, more insistent with each thrust. There is no longer me or her, but only us, and our release is swift and ragged with broken cries and shuddering limbs.

We lie entangled, as one, until our heartbeats find a matching rhythm. Only then do we move apart, coming to rest within each other's arms. Time has passed, for the sky is darkened, but exactly how much time, I do not know. The entirety of it has passed all too quickly.