Playlist: 'Sail' by Awolnation. (Sexy ass tune).
Warning: this chapter contains erotic images and suggestions about Jack *taking care of himself*. Nothing too explicit though. But gosh, is it juicy! Enjoy.
The storm had passed on, but it was still very early morning. Jack's eyes were red and heavy from his efforts, and many hours without sleep. Gibbs meandered over discreetly, away from the rest of the working crew.
"Cap'n?" he muttered politely.
"Mm?"
"Cap'n, yer keep bein' about to drop off into slumber, sir."
"What?" Jack asked as his eyes rolled closed and his head fell towards his chest for the tenth time. He snapped himself back to attention, "I dunno what you're on about."
"Cap'n, perhaps I should take the helm for a few hours, aye?"
Yes. Perhaps he should. Jack thought back to the last time he'd had sleep - certainly not last night in Port Royal, and only briefly the night before when he'd discovered there was a small leak in his vessel.
"Quite right, Mr. Gibbs." he slurred, stuffing a fist in his mouth as he yawned widely.
He just about made it to his quarters and through to his cabin, and dropped straight onto the four poster bed, sinking into plush velvet cushions. Proper posh English captain's stuff, was this.
He barely noticed - he was snoring.
He awoke not knowing how much sleep he had had, still bleary and irritable.
Gibbs hadn't called him back to the helm yet, judging by his decided absence.
He should go back to sleep. He needed it.
He rolled over into a more comfortable position, huffed, and drifted more gently this time into lighter slumber. Lighter slumber, in fact, that took him directly to the Sea of Dreams. A place he didn't have the chance to visit often.
'Sail'.
He stood at the mouth of the cave of Isle de Muerta. The last medallion was clutched in his left hand. His right was stained with rich, dripping blood. Will's.
He floated through the cave's passages like a blissful spirit.
He didn't know why he was heading back into the caves. The Pearl was waiting for him outside.
And then he saw her.
She was standing in the shallow waters, in the midst of all that gold.
She radiated more beauty than any of the precious objects around her.
She was clothed in the dress he had first rescued her in, but it was different - more flowing, more ethereal. It floated gently, slowly, in swathes around her, defying gravity for the sake of beauty, as though she was a ghost. Her golden hair was coming loose too, shimmering and washing and wafting about her like a mermaid's. A light gorgeous as the setting sun emanated from her, making the dust motes dance in its beams. Her face was - so pale, so soft-looking, the face of a goddess, a goddess of the sun, with her fierce golden attire and her sharp, dark halos glaring out from the blinding brightness of her visage.
She was everything, everything he had wanted her to be.
He wasted no time. Suddenly he was standing in front of her, bathed in her light, body electrified with erotic pleasure. She gazed at him silently with those black beams that cut through his soul.
He reached out to touch her, catching a strand of hair in his fingers before placing his palm on her neck. She shuddered at his touch, eyelids softly closing in ecstasy.
He ached to grasp her hair in knots between his fists and drag her mouth against his. He ached to own her. But something in his stomach told him, not yet. Not yet.
She wasn't any ordinary creature. She wouldn't give herself up to him so quickly.
He traced his hand from her neck down towards her breast, pushed tightly upwards inside her corset. He felt the delicious full roundness of it, chased the semi-circle round, and longingly caressed the rim of her clothing, wishing to tear it back, to reveal her.
The long floating folds of her dress were hovering tentatively about him. They stroked his shoulders, began to wrap themselves lovingly around him. She was staring him square in the eye with that gusto she had, a small smirk playing about her divinely shaped lips.
Her garments drew him in, closer, until he was circling his arms around her tiny waist, gazing slightly down at her petite, delectable form, at every sharp detail of her snow-white, angelic face.
He saw himself suddenly from the outside, standing a few metres from the scene.
He watched as Elizabeth's eyes closed again, and she leaned toward Captain Sparrow, mouth ready to gently connect with his. His head bent in reciprocation towards her. Her dress had swallowed him up almost completely; he was cocooned in her supernatural embrace, and as their lips touched more softly than the brush of feathers, a great, powerful white light exploded between them, utterly blinding, all-consuming, and it swept them away from Jack's view. It swept him away too, and for a moment he didn't know who or where he was.
He jerked up in bed, gasping for air, fire coarsing through his veins, his whole body feeling so charged with incredible power and ecstasy that he felt he would float up off the bed towards the ceiling.
As the apocalyptic sensation began to calm, he made to get up.
Then stopped as he noticed, and looked down at the ridiculously emphasised shape pushing up against the fabric of his trousers.
He groaned, threw himself back onto the mattress, and began to unbutton himself.