WARNING: This single chapter is rated M for suggestion of sexy stuff. But no graphic detail!

Playlist! This is a goodun.

'Earth' from Gladiator.

'Now We Are Free' from Gladiator.

'Elysium' from, you guessed it, Gladiator.

These will all come one after another with no break, so if you have Spotify, queue them.

16

Farewell and adieu to you, fine Spanish ladies
Farewell and adieu to you, you ladies of Spain
We've received orders to sail for ol' England
But we hope very soon we shall see you again.

"Ye know... this is what I really do like about ye, dearie." he mused as he chucked a couple of driftwood pieces into the flames. The salt encrusted on them made it turn blue and turquoise amidst the orange-yellow.

"What's that?"

"Yer fine spirit." satisfied with his work, he came and stood over her, "I loves a girl who knows what she likes. An' you like it your own way. Jus' like me."

She handed him his bottle and he relaxed beside her again, taking a few more mouthfuls for courage.

He couldn't believe what he was about to say, but the alcohol told him it was a good idea, and he trusted alcohol to the ends of the earth.

"Ye know..." he said again, in a slightly more hesitant tone that caught her attention, "I'd always wanted to see ye like this. Dishevelled, I mean. Like one of us. With all ye curls come loose an' without any o' that fine silk on."

He was running his ringed fingers through her long tresses.

His heart thudded and thumped and stuttered in his chest, and his hand quivered slightly.

She was looking at him with a curious half-smile playing across her mouth, and her eyes narrowed sharply. Why couldn't she just look doe-eyed and adoring sometimes?

"I say 'wanted'... I was curious." he backtracked quickly.

"Well." she said with some satisfaction, "I must admit, I did rather hope you would return my favour and be the one to come and rescue me. I genuinely believed you would, for a while. And then I saw you, lying on the ground with Will standing over you, and... I was pleased. As well as horrified, and guilty, and what have you."

That stunned him to the core.

She had been thinking of him all this time as well?

Blimey. Just... blimey.

"I, errr..." this was going to be even more painful if she didn't approve, "I 'ad a certain dream about you, on the voyage over."

"You what?"

"I know, curious, isn't it?"

"Well, what happened?"

"You really want to know?"

"Of course I do. There could be something exciting involved." she whispered thrillingly, obviously intending to keep that line casual and generalised, but utterly failing.

"Alright." Jack gulped, but decided to play it smooth, trying not to get distracted by her heat against his body as she leaned in.

"I was... standing at the entrance of Isle de Muerta. I had some things, in me hands. The medallion, was one. And -" he remembered the second, "I don't remember the second. I'm drifting through these tunnels, like a ghost, until I come to the cave and there you are, all alone. In the middle of all my treasure. Wearing your golden gown, only it's floating around you, and your hair's all loose and floating too. Like you're underwater, or a spirit, or I don't know what."

He chanced to look at her, and realised that she looked doe-eyed and adoring.

He must be doing well.

His trousers were also getting a bit tight though, and he hoped she wouldn't notice.

"Suddenly... I'm standing, right in front of you." he murmured.

And he was right in front of her, and she was here, and he was going crazy. His dream had come to life.

"And your skin was luminous white, and your eyes was black as fiery coals. And I..."

'Earth'.

He reached out a tentative hand, and brushed her neck with his palm.

Her eyes closed in soft ecstasy, head tilting back, lips slightly parted as she drew a longing breath.

Oh, God.

"I touched your throat." he managed hoarsely, "And your eyes closed, like you was enjoying it. An' I wanted - to grab your hair and do awful, awful things to you. But I didn't."

He was whispering in the most erotic tones he had ever used, whispering right into her ear, their bodies crackling with mutual electricity, "And..."

He took his palm from her neck and traced with his fingers down her collar to those white, round, neat breasts still shown off vividly by her chemise. Just like the dream, he slowly followed one soft semicircle, fingered the rim of the fabric.

She moaned softly, involuntarily.

"An' your dress, it began - to wrap itself around me - like arms." he croaked suggestively.

Sure enough, her delicate limbs brushed his shoulders, encircled his neck.

Her far leg slowly crossed over his body, toes pointed.

A step further than the dream, but he wasn't complaining.

His arms moved with natural memory to her waist, pulling her into him.

"And..." he said, finally, eyes riveted on her voloptuous, parted pink lips, those tantalising beauties, as they moved closer and closer.

Their mouths were an inch apart. He had closed his eyes; he could feel her breath on his face, smell the sweet alcohol, he could feel her angelic visage just there, just across the gap between them.

His brain felt like it was swelling and heating, his mind was blurred and tingling with the sensation.

This was all there was. The whole world was made up of this one moment.

And then it happened. Their lips touched more softly than the brush of feathers, and they both took great, delicious breaths deep into their lungs, and became light-headed, and clutched one another a little tighter with a sudden fury.

The kiss lingered, lingered for so long.

And then he gently pulled away.

His face was burning.

"And then -" he blathered, too quickly and too high-pitched to sound casual like he so wanted to, eyes glued to the ground, "There was this bloody great light that sort of came and swept everything away, and then I woke -"

'Now We Are Free'.

She grabbed the back of his neck with both hands and her mouth crashed down on his again, scorching his lips, closing them together with hers and then opening again in unison, so he could feel the moisture of her mouth and almost taste it too.

Her fists grasping the back of his shirt desperately.

They kissed, and kissed, and kissed again, each movement like a tidal wave against his mouth, an explosion of ecstasy in his chest and his shoulders and his loins.

Her tongue met his suddenly, unanimously, in the middle, and twirled around it with relish, sending shocks of high voltage through every nerve.

It was so delicious.

He gently rolled her underneath him.

For some minutes he leaned his elbows in the sand and just kept on kissing her, sometimes forcefully, sometimes as gently as if she were a ghost, trying to imprint every part and aspect of her mouth, her tongue, her way of kissing into his brain like a brand, to commit it to memory. She was so good at it.

Then, very tentatively, he began to hitch up the skirts of her petticoat.

"Jack!"

She said it very sharply. He once again raised his eyes to her face, and her expression made his stomach turn over and his heart twinge.

She looked terrified. Her eyes were so wide, like a startled mare's. Her chest rose and fell at an alarming rate.

He wanted so much - needed - to hush her, to tell her it was all fine and that she was safe with him, that the pull was too strong now, that there was no going back from this.

But it wasn't what was best for her.

It was too soon. Far too soon. And if she was really serious about going back to her life... he knew the consequences of her future husband discovering that her treasures had already been rifled. There would be no prospects for her. She'd be a lowlife whore, the shame of her family.

He needed so badly to make daring, incomprehensibly sweet love to her.

But he knew, in that moment, that he shouldn't.

And that meant it was never going to happen.

He sighed, one drawn-out, tragic, insanely frustrated sigh.

Then he slowly retreated, leaning down to give her a single earnest kiss on those bonny lips, before gently, with dignity and respect, replacing the fabric of her garment.

Then he lifted himself off her, spun around to plant his backside on the sand next to her, and pulled her head onto his chest as he lay back.

He cradled her there for a few minutes, telling himself he was going to heaven for this, stroking her hair as comfortingly as he could.

"Sorry, luv." he said slowly, tenderly.

"Don't." she replied in the same way, "It's not your fault, Jack. I can't believe you stopped."

"Neither can I."

"I'm proud of you."

"Well, at least that's something."

"It's just that -"

"Darling, you don't have to explain one miniscule point of your very sensible decision to me."

"... Thank you."

"Come and kiss me. I won't bite this time. Promise." he requested huskily.

She complied with all the eagerness in the world, proving that there wasn't anything awkward between them after all.

Her kisses were like drops of golden water, delicate, fresh, fleeting, just on the surface of his hungry lips.

They were... doting kisses.

Then, quite abruptly, she moved away, and suddenly his neck was the centre of her mouth's attention. Then his collar bones, then the fabric of his shirt.

"What's this?" he asked, a smirk altering his voice.

"I figured... I might be able to relieve you some other way."

"You. Are a diamond." he growled with pleasure, smugly placing his hands behind his head, and shifting his gaze down to her poised expression, to watch her.

"I've never done this before."

"Beginners usually have more interesting techniques. I'll let you know if you're going wrong." he chuckled, and then let out an involuntary "OH! Knights of Columbus!"