The day they met, years ago, was the day that'd ultimately sum up everything right about them. Bold lack of reluctance, a tad of obsession, a mutual understanding of rhythm and pace – and just enough self-awareness to realise resisting their chemistry wouldn't be the way forward.
"Why so silent, all of a sudden?" She took their empty plates over to the stove, well aware how his dark eyes kept following her every move.
Well noticing how right that felt …
By now, he seemed to be fully at home, brazenly slouching on her old chair after the best food he'd had in a much too long while. In the orange afternoon light that made it through the small window behind them, the kitchen's broken up flooring didn't even look that worn. The cracks in the walls weren't that bad. It did feel like a home, despite the condition the little town house was in, because she made it feel like one. And in it, she'd taken such good care of him that oddly enough, his usual flight reflex for homes of any kind didn't quite kick in.
All while the sight of her faint smile, her silhouette, kept vexing him.
That apron.
All the unnecessary fabric …
Her words, the way she tilted her head …
He actually believed she knew just how tempting it all was.
"The right thing to do now," he thought out loud nevertheless, leaning back in the chair with ever more audacity, "is what I'm least interested in."
"What would that be, pray tell."
"I should leave now." He didn't move an inch, though, adding, "You know that."
"You're likely trouble. And yet I haven't asked you to leave. Still you can do whatever you like."
He could tell. She knew so well that her tone of voice made it all a bit ambiguous.
Was she aware just how much he loved ambiguity, though?
"That cooking of yours …" Pausing, he simply shrugged. "Almost pretentious to tease a lost soul with such a taste of heaven."
"I tried my very best for you, you mean?"
"You tell me …" He gave her a challenging smirk when her eyes narrowed in skeptical amusement.
"Rest assured I don't do things by halves in this kitchen."
"Well, love, I bet any guest of yours thoroughly appreciates that."
"No, I told you," she protested, returning to him almost sternly again. In a way he wished she'd just finally anchor herself on his lap, but to his silent chagrin, she only took the glasses and cutlery to also add it into the washing bowl. "I never cook for strangers. You're the very first exception to that rule."
"Might want me to be the last one also, but remember – I'm no stranger anymore, you know my name. You know where I last lost treasure." With his mind wandering back to the Isla de Muerta for a moment there, he got up and approached her, opening his palm as though he wanted to offer her the world – and all she could see was his wounds and the way he still stood up proudly. "You know why my hand is cut. Trusted you with all of that, didn't I …"
After glancing into his palm she quickly left for her shabby hallway, opening a drawer to come right back with strips of cloth and alcohol.
"Show me your hand again," she demanded.
He hesitated. It would take ages to heal anyway, but a bit of … further care … couldn't hurt. So he did as she asked.
"I get to see your blood …" she came back to their conversation, soaking a bit of cloth with liquid to pat it onto his wound.
She could only imagine the way it burned on his skin, but she had long noticed the branched scars down one of his arms. The two dark gunshot wounds on his chest whenever his shirt moved, also his branding … He knew pain like an old friend.
"And I heard a ghost story …" she said while proceeding to bandage his hand up with a fresh strip of linen. "And I know a title and a name. But see? That's about it."
"Thank you, love." He twisted his hand, nodding very seriously. "Feels much better already."
"May it get well soon."
Even though his golden smile made her heart skip a beat, she wouldn't let it on. He seemed to be the lack of responsibility personified, still she couldn't help but notice the irony of him being the first man since the passing of her father with whom she instantly felt safe.
However the undeniable desire of having him closer – as close as possible, that was – would only further fuel his ego. So he'd better saw to it that it'd at least be worth it …
"Since you imply to know so little about me still," he eventually said, "be told that you, and only you, since I'm not very talkative actually, may ask me anything."
"Really? Well, in that case, could you …" She paused on purpose, making him complete her sentence with various options in his mind while feeling like the worst guest to ever live.
Because first of all, that apron had to go, then he'd unbotton her –
No. Hell, he knew no boundaries, his savage thoughts were utterly inappropriate given her hospitality. He had to get it together …
"Know at this point," he meekly admitted nevertheless, "it'd do it all for you."
She bit her lower lip, well aware that he long since imagined what it would be like …
"Could you wash the dishes then, since I already cooked?" She held his gaze, a brash smile spreading across her pretty face as he began to chuckle along with her.
"You think I wouldn't?" He inched even nearer, bridging the last distance between them. "I used to salute now and then, darling, I love orders if they make sense – do try giving me some."
"I just politely did."
"I'm afraid the crux always lies in politeness …"
She also inched forward even more, blatantly glancing up. On her tiptoes, she could have kissed him. But not yet. He deserved to be teased … "I was brought up that way, what can I do."
"Only right and proper," he claimed, "but direct communication creates ways for thrilling possibilities."
"How would you know?"
He couldn't stifle a laugh, mesmerized by her lips, so close they were when she walked him back to the kitchen table, slow but steady, and willingly forgetting about dishes.
"I'm very direct, haven't you noticed?"
"Prove it," she demanded just when he couldn't move back any further – touching the table already.
Slightly wrong position, he noticed.
"That apron of yours …" His hands went to her waist so he could gently turn her infront of the table.
"What about it?"
He let go again – teasing just like her. "It's stained."
"Is it?" As she noticed he was right she nodded. "See …" She undid the tie behind her back to put the apron onto a chair. "That's what I wore it for."
"Served it's purpose." He could feel his pulse speed up just by examining the curves her gown could now reveal even better again. She purposely let his eyes take in every inch, until finally he added, "But no shame in getting rid of it for now, huh?"
She had to suppress a grin, he tried his hardest to be polite and not just undress her right away, but by now, she could feel her own impatience bubble up … Just what he wanted.
"Let me also be direct now, Mr Sparrow."
"If formally, then Captain, if you please."
"Over my dead body, Jack. Talk is cheap, you know that?" Slight frustration was lacing her words.
It was exactly what he longed to hear, it made him lift her up onto the kitchen table as though she was weightless. Her thighs embracing his waist the next moment felt like yet another forbidden piece of heaven.
"A little less conversation," he breathed into her ear, "is that what you want?"
It made her shiver even though the heat in this kitchen was unbearable. In between her legs she pulled him even closer as an answer – his carte blanche to proceed at last.
"And later on …" she hushed, his lips already brushing hers as she let him trace his hands up her hips underneath her dress. "You'll do the dishes, yeah?"
He paused his hands right where they'd already begun to appreciate her exposed skin and chuckled. "I might even do those of tomorrow …"
She caught her breath despite the sensation his touch caused and asked, "You believe I let you stay?"
"You'll ask me to."
She gave him an incredulous smirk. "So sure of yourself …"
He winked, his hands clutching tightly. "Have a little patience and I'll see to it."
That vow he kept. Apart from that he didn't promise a thing – she wouldn't have believed him anyway.
He always came back without her asking, and she let him stay. But it all came and went in waves.
