Title: Close Shave
Rating: M (sexual situations)
Characters: Jack, Scarlett, with some special guest appearances
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with them

Summary: Scarlett adjusts to her new employment, while Jack runs into an old friend

Note: A special thank you goes out to compassrose7577, who has graciously allowed me to pilfer her Thomas for my series. Pierre Bouspeut and Anne Bonny are OC's from the realms of history, though I have taken liberties with them.

This episode was inspired by a wonderful piece written by pinksiamese, The Purple Hibiscus. I highly recommend it.

--

Close Shave

Tortuga was quiet that night, the streets devoid of their usual crowds of drunken revelers. The crew of the Griselle made their way up from the waterfront, scattering among the various taverns and brothels that lined the muddy streets. Planning on being in port for at least a week, while their ship was refitted and resupplied, their captain had given his men liberal shore leave. Their last run had been profitable, the Griselle having taken several prizes, including a fat merchantman bound for the colonies. The profits from that cache alone would keep each crewmember in rum and wenches for the duration of their time ashore.

His pockets jingling with ample silver and gold, their captain chose to head further inland, following the road as it rose above the squalor of the waterfront. The air was fresher here, the scent of jasmine and gardenia replacing the stench of rotting fish and festering humanity. Slowly, the many brothels and taverns that crowded the narrow streets of lower Tortuga gave way to well spaced and higher quality establishments, intending to please the more discriminating tastes of Tortuga's wealthier patrons.

Captain Thomas was neither wealthy nor discriminating, at least not when it came to satisfying his base needs. Neither was he adverse to drinking his nights away with his crew, dicing and whoring in the taverns along the wharfs. This night however, he was looking for something in particular, and his enquiries at the docks had yielded the information and directions he needed.

He found the building without difficulty, a two-story wooden house with a wide porch and balcony running the width of the front. Flowering vines trailed up the walls, and spilled over the rails, lending fragrance and color to the weathered wood. Set back from the road, he would have walked past, assuming it a private residence, if not for the painted sign over the door.

The Garden of Eden.

He turned up the walk and smiled in anticipation of the long awaited pleasures that lay within.

--

The jingle of the bell announced a customer at the door. Scarlett, and the other women that waited in the small anteroom off the main hall, eyed each other with various degrees of distrust and jealousy. After only a short week, Scarlett had already drawn the wrath of several of the more established women, when their usual clients had chosen her instead, no doubt attracted by her distinguishing hair and alabaster skin.

Not wanting to give the Madame any cause to dismiss her, Scarlett bore the brunt of their jealousy in silence. Madame Rose was a stern matron that demanded strict discipline from her girls. In return, the working women were given a place to live, a portion of their earnings, and meals. It was a marked improvement over the uncertain life of a street whore, and one coveted by all.

A young mulatto maid opened the door, and graciously took the man's hat and coat, before leading the new customer into the sitting room. The woman turned in unison, primping and preening, hoping to be the one he selected. Scarlett sat up straighter and smiled, as did the others, trying to catch his eye as he surveyed the group.

He was tall, with high, broad cheekbones, and honey-colored hair that was pulled back in a heavy tail. His dark blue eyes slowly scanned each woman, a smile building as he savored the view. Madame Rose appeared at his elbow and he bent to listen as she spoke in hushed tones. His smile faded as he appeared to be having a contradiction in terms with her about something, but then money changed hands and everyone was smiling once more.

Madame Rose stepped forward and snapped her fingers. "You, with the red hair! You will take care of Captain Thomas tonight. He is a very special client; you will see that he is given everything he desires."

Scarlett rose, ignoring the glares and whispered comments from the other girls. She gave the handsome captain her most charming smile, and led him down the carpeted hallway to a room at the rear of the building. Thomas followed, moving with the easy confidence and grace of a large man.

In the center of the room stood a large metal tub filled with steaming water. Large white gardenia blossoms floated on the surface, their heady fragrance blending with the smell of jasmine that wafted in through the high-set windows that offered both ventilation and privacy. Captain Thomas had asked for the specialty of the house – a hot bath, a close shave and, for a few shillings more, warm lips to suck his cock.

The mulatto entered with an armful of towels and a decanter of wine, moving in whispered silence as she poured the wine and lit the candles scattered around the room before slipping out, closing the door behind her. Scarlett waited until Thomas, standing at ease in the center of the room, nodded his approval at the arrangements.

"Is everything to your satisfaction?" She moved closer to him, handing him a glass of wine.

"Perfect! Red wine to match your hair, white blossoms to match your skin." Thomas took a sip of wine and sighed in contentment. "A man couldn't ask for a more pleasant setting or lovelier wench to pleasure him."

His words made Scarlett smile. Most men did not waste time on pleasantries, wanting only what they paid for. She sensed this one was different. He reminded her somewhat of Jack Sparrow, always one to sweet talk and linger, long after the pleasuring was through. She took his now empty glass and went over to the side table to refill it.

"Would you care to take those off?" she asked over her shoulder, gesturing to the massive baldric he wore, dagger scabbard at the shoulder and two pistols crisscrossed at his waist. "I'm surprised the Madame let you keep them with you. She does not usually allow her clients their weapons. You must be very special, Captain Thomas."

Thomas shook his head and laughed. "No, not special. I have found through the years that, with enough coin, you can sway even the most obstinate of persons." He slipped his baldric off and placed it near the tub on a chair, along with his guns. He took her hand, bending down to kiss it lightly. "What is your name?" he asked, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Scarlett raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

"Like to know who'll be tending my needs, I suppose." He laughed again, a deep, rumbling sound. "You look surprised."

"Most men aren't interested in my name." She shrugged. "Anyways, it's Scarlett."

"Scarlett." He nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Should've guessed. Real...or professional?"

"Don't think it much matters." She frowned. "Why all the questions anyways? You remind me of…" She caught herself and looked away, not wanting to remember.

"Remind you of whom?"

She shook her head. "No one." Scarlett brushed her fingers across his chest, playing with the heavy mat of golden curls spilling out from his open shirt, and ran another practiced hand downward, giving a private nod of approval. Not bad!

She tilted her head towards the tub. "Now, no more questions. What say we take care of those needs of yours before the water gets cold."

--

Jack Sparrow poked a cautious head around the corner of the building, his chest heaving from his recent diversionary exertions. He scanned the dark shadows, punctuated by pools of light spilling from the many taverns lining the streets of Nassau town. No one. Heart thudding, he peered about once more before sliding out into the street, assuming – with some effort-- a casual gait toward the waterfront.

"There 'e is!" The shouts came from behind and to his left.

Jack veered a right angle to the street and dove into the nearest doorway. His back pressed against the door, he reached behind and tried the handle. Unlocked! He slipped inside the darkened shop, careful not to make a sound as he crouched down in the shadows and peeked through the multi-paned window. A pair of burly men hurried past, their weapons drawn as they methodically checked both sides of the street. Jack waited a few minutes longer to make sure they did not double back, wearing a smug grin as he straightened and turned to go.

Two menacing figures suddenly loomed out of the shadows, hovering over him in the gloom. Jack drew his cutlass on reflex, brandishing it at the closest one as he backed away for position, only to be brought up short by a third one, pressing something sharp against his back. Determined not to be taken without a fight, he gave a wicked slash at the two in front of him, while elbowing and kicking the one behind. A scuffle ensued as they became entangled, and then crashed to the floor, with Jack pinned beneath the lot of them.

"Mon Dieu!" The exclamation came from the shadowed rear of the shop, as a tall fellow in a frilly lace-trimmed shirt and velvet breeches scurried closer, holding a lantern aloft. Directly behind him came a young woman, the pistol in her hand pointed at Jack's head.

"Don't move or I'll shoot," she said in a rough voice.

Her companion held up the light and glanced around the room, a dismayed look on his face.

"Mon Dieu," he repeated. "Ruined! My latest creation! This horrible brute has slashed it to pieces!" The man, ignoring whatever threat Jack might pose, rushed over to the fallen figure, lifting it lovingly in his arms.

Jack, wide-eyed in disbelief, realized that he'd just been attacked by a trio of dressmaking manikins, and apparently had inflicted grievous injury to the one now cradled in the other man's arms.

"Two weeks," he was lamented over the stiff form "Two weeks I have slaved, every waking moment to create this masterpiece, only to have it ruined! Ruined by this filthy beast!"

Ignoring the acid glare the man shot at him, Jack struggled out from under the other human forms and stood up, grinning.

"Anne Bonny! Now, don't tell me you're not happy to see me!"

The girl squinted in the gloom and said in an incredulous voice, "Jack? Jack Sparrow?"

Jack held his arms wide. "That's Captain Jack Sparrow, luv."

Annie lowered her pistol, took two steps towards Jack, and slapped him hard across the face.

"Not sure I deserved that!" Jack said with a pout, rubbing his jaw.

"Oh yes you do, Jack Sparrow!" She balled her fists and advanced until she was nose to nose with him. "After what you did the last time you were here?! I ought to just shoot you and be done with ya!"

"Now that weren't me fault at all!" Jack protested.

Anne waved her hand at the shambles of the dress shop. "And I supposed this ain't your fault either?"

Jack shrugged. "I was attacked. Man has t' defend himself." He glanced at the tattered remains of the dummies. "Was three against one! Bloody unfair odds, if you ask me."

Anne gave him a dumbfounded look then laughed. "You haven't changed a bit, Jack Sparrow. Always spinning them tales." She turned to her companion. "Oh stop sniveling, Pierre. Damn thing was uglier than a witch's wart anyways. Jack here did ya a favor, if you ask me."

"Pah!" Pierre pouted, still clutching the ruination. "A woman who dresses like you, what do you know about fashion, eh? This was a masterpiece; it would have made my name famous all across the island."

"The only thing you'd be famous for is making a fool of yerself, Pierre! Who on this godforsaken spit of land is going to wear a gown like that? You landed on the wrong island when you came to New Providence."

"Is it my fault that the island is populated by peasants?" Pierre righted the dummy and glanced sadly at the shredded gown. "At least I have that new shipment of cloth. I shall just have to recreate!" he declared in a moment of inspiration.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "I heard tell of that. Quite a clever trick. Your idea, Annie?"

She laughed and hooked her arm in his. "Learned it from an expert!" She tossed her head towards Pierre. "I think you owe Pierre a drink."

--

Thomas lay back in the warm water and allowed his senses to be enveloped in the moment. It was a small luxury, and well worth the price. The wench was an exceptional bonus, comely and quiet, a rare combination. He closed his eyes in contentment as she ran a large sponge across his shoulders and chest, washing away all the salt and grime of the weeks at sea. It had been too long since he had had the pleasure of a woman's touch. Her delicate hands belayed their strength, as she massaged his scalp, running her fingers through his hair, as he surrendered to her. After a thorough rinse she moved on to his face, lathering his cheeks and chin before deftly shaving him, leaving his skin smooth.

She remained clothed for the entire process, her gown bunched under her as she knelt beside the tub, her sleeves pushed up to keep them dry. Half asleep, Thomas watched her with languid eyes as she leaned closer, her hand seeking beneath the water, his cock rising to meet it. Ah, yes! A woman's touch! She ran her hand down its length, bringing a groan from deep within him. Without a word she stood and held out her hand to help him out of the tub, wrapping a soft towel around his hips.

As Scarlett dried him, Thomas watched her impassive face, unable to read her thoughts or emotions. A small smile grew on his face as she ran the towel down each of his legs, the sensation bringing his already hard cock to attention. Without a word or change of expression, she knelt before him, and took him, her practiced tongue bringing him to the edge until, with a shattering moan he released his seed, her warm mouth taking it all, riding his crest to completion.

He stood there, gasping in the waning moments of pleasure. Scarlett rose to go and he stopped her, his hand gentle on her arm. "Don't go yet."

"I must." Her eyes sparked with something he hadn't seen, before the shutters fell once more. "Madame Rose is quite strict about us tarrying."

"Just for a little while, then. Been a long time since I've had the pleasure of a woman's company." He was not sure why he'd asked her to stay, it wasn't his usual way with the whores. There was something about this one though, the way she held herself or the hint of sorrow in her eyes, something made him want to find out more about her.

Scarlett hesitated, uncertainty on her face. "She will expect extra payment."

Thomas pulled her close, his hands skimming the soft curves of her body. "I'll handle the Madame."

She felt good under his hands, a hint of lavender in her hair. He tilted her face up and kissed her lips, tasting his own spiciness there. He could feel his body responding, wanting more.

A tap on the door signaled the return of the maid. Glancing at the door, Scarlett paused, then squared her shoulders and went to open it.

Thomas heard hurried whispering, then Scarlett gasp. She turned with eyes wide and a stricken look on her face.

"Is something wrong?"

"It's Giselle! She's been attacked!" Her voice was choked with alarm. "I must go to her!"

Thomas hastily dressed, kicking into his boots and restoring his weapons, and was halfway out the door before she recovered.

Scarlet hurried after him and caught him by the sleeve as he reached the front door. "Why are you rushing off, do you know her?" she rasped, panic tightening her throat.

Thomas shook his head. "My ship's the Griselle. Perhaps you heard wrong. Either way I have to go find out."

Scarlett grabbed his arm and said with determination, "I'm going with you. I need to know as well."