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The Curse of Eve	By : EvilE Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 3580 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Curse of Eve
- 1
Title: The Eve of the Curse

[title yanked from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Curse of Eve ( also author of all“Sherlock Holmes”); very sorry. It was too perfect.]

Disclaimer: Don't own these characters, am only borrowing them without permission, for personal and NOT commercial purposes.

Summary: Set during PotC: DMC. The last night before the Pearl reaches Isla Cruces, where Davy Jones' heart is buried. Jack Sparrow's secrets and fears are keeping him awake at night, and the only solace he is offered is one he knows he shouldn't take.

Rating: It's me, folks. Smut abounds. MA/NC-17.

Continuity: All scenes aboard the Pearl have already happened: “Marr-i-age”; “Curiosity” and the almost-kiss.

“Eve was not taken out of Adam's head to top him, neither out of his feet to be trampled on by him, but out of his side to be equal with him, under his arm to be protected by him, and near his heart to be loved by him.”~ Matthew Henry

I mean no disrespect to the religious... all biblical references are purely (well, perhaps impurely) metaphorical in nature and not meant to offend.

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Chapter 1: Midnight in the Garden

Captain Jack Sparrow was troubled.

Much more troubled than Elizabeth Swann may have been at her seeming inability to complete the act of... marriage. Oh, yes, there were plenty of things in the world worse than being a virgin. Like being damned. He lay in his bed, in his cabin, his eyes wide open as he stared at the ceiling.

He told himself not to check. Don't check, you'll just feel worse... but he lifted his hand and peeked beneath the bandage he'd so cleverly wrapped around his hand - though it hadn't fooled Tia for a moment - and was, of course, less than reassured. There it was. Still there, hadn't moved. He swallowed, attempting to dislodge the knot in his windpipe, but to no avail. The black spot. He was not only troubled, he was in trouble. Lots, and lots, of trouble. Unless he could get his hands on that chest... hopefully soon. Tomorrow, if he didn't miss his guess.

But there was still tonight, and sleep eluded him.

Thank God for Elizabeth. If it hadn't been for her showing up in Tortuga, he'd never be able to locate the chest. And it brought her right under his nose, again, where he rather liked to have her. Oh, he knew without a doubt that laying a hand on the bride-to-be of the son of his loyal friend Bootstrap would be wrong, were he to actually succeed in it. But in the first place, he wasn't succeeding. And in the second, he was already damned. In for a penny, in for a pound. Perhaps he'd get to taste her before the Kraken got him...

At that thought his eyes widened even more. He'd been doing so well, for so long. Aside from that brush with the rope in Port Royal, which Will had gotten him out of, thankfully - another reason why the thought of touching Elizabeth didn't exactly move his conscience, but sort of made it itch - and he in turn had packed him off to the Dutchman. The irony was wonderful. But desperate times, desperate measures...

Jack's stomach began to hurt. What if it caught up to him, finally, all the slipping between the cracks, the running between the raindrops? What if Jack Sparrow's number were up?

No. No. Focus. Get the chest, get some leverage, re-negotiate the terms with Davy Jones - including the return of Will Turner, of course, if it didn't cause too many problems - sail away, take the lovebirds home. Happily ever after, for everybody. He squeezed his eyes shut and told himself to sleep.

And then, before he even noticed he was doing it, he remembered talking to Elizabeth on the deck. No, not talking. The talking was nice, but it wasn't what interested him most. It was the look in her eyes. Wanton. Hungry. If he'd been a piece of sweet, he was certain he'd have been gobbled up. He'd never seen quite that expression in Elizabeth's eyes before. Most of the time when he flirted with her he was playing, playing in a theatrical fashion as to distract attention from the seeds of real desire, real affection he knew he did possess for her. But he hadn't expected her to warm to it, and how... and where had she learned to talk to a man like that, look at a man like that? Had Will Turner taught her that, too? Jack nearly choked in disbelief. Decidedly not.

A man who could go days on a ship, tripping over her constantly when he knew with every fiber of his being that she was more than ripe for the picking, deserved to be knighted for valor, in his opinion. Never mind the piracy - he should be Sir Jack Sparrow, defender of the innocent. Or not so innocent, as the case may have been, and he pictured her purring at him seductively, sidling up close, teasing him mercilessly... No, knighthood wouldn't be enough. Sainthood, was what he deserved, for not kissing her within an inch of her life and then steering her right into his cabin to provide what it was he knew she did, really, desire. But he wasn't really saintly then, because they'd been interrupted by the reappearance of the spot. He was saintly now, for not seeking her out wherever she was, bringing her back, and plying her with a bit of rum and a few thorough kisses until she melted for him... and the irony was that he could pretend to be Saint Jack where she was concerned, and he was still damned. That was on top of the ultimate irony, that a man with as thoroughly healthy a sexual appetite as he had was confined on a ship with a temptation like her and not able to do anything about it. Adam, being shown into the Garden. Look at all these nice trees with scrumptious fruit, and the most scrumptious of all? Right in the center, but don't touch it. You can't.

His eyes shot open. This was not good. Not good at all.

It was then he heard the gentle patter of rain. Well, it didn't sound too serious. Gibbs could handle it. He shut his eyes again, hoping to be comforted by it. But instead it grew to a steady downpour, and then louder, to an actual deluge. He sighed. If he had to go and steer the ship through a storm, tonight, that would just cap off everything nicely, wouldn't it? He swung his legs out of bed and dressed hurriedly, then strode out of the cabin to check on things out on deck.

The rain was steady, but the wind was calm, he saw, as Gibbs gripped the wheel. Nothing too much to worry about. He then heard a racket from belowstairs. He snorted and turned to go back in his cabin.

But above then din he heard a single voice, a bit higher-pitched than the others. “-off me, you foul-stinking sea-rat! Pirate scum!”

Elizabeth. And where had she learned to talk like that, he wondered. Another question for when he talked to her, which would, unfortunately, have to be now, since he suspected someone had noticed the all-too-obvious fact that despite her clothing, she was, in fact, a woman. And a comely one. He opened the weapons cache and withdrew a sword, not bothering to button his shirt as he cut a path toward the stairs and down them.

When he reached the crew deck, he saw a small crowd had gathered in the aft corner, and some men jostled each other for space, while others hopped up and down, trying to see. Norrington, he saw, was passed out in a hammock, indifferent to the entire scene. Jack approached the edge of the group, unnoticed by the crewmen so far, because he could make it a point to walk as lightly on his feet as a cat.

Elizabeth stood with her knees bent, glaring fiercely at another pirate who was lunging at her with his cutlass. She hit at him with her sword, but he was bigger and meaner, and he grabbed for her with two dirty, meaty hands and the small crowd of men cheered. At first Jack watched in disbelief, but when he saw the man's fingers catch in the neck of Elizabeth's shirt, yanking on it and popping a button loose, eliciting yet enough cheer of appreciation from the crowd, his sword lifted of its own volition and he heard himself calling in a deceptive cool tone, “Enough.”

The men froze, then, some of them standing at attention. “Cap'n!” one called. Like the Red Sea they parted to allow him to pass, and approach the man who was Elizabeth's opponent in this apparent battle for her virtue.

The man, a recent addition from Tortuga, leered up at Jack. “Lookee, Cap'n. We's found a woman, we has. I 'spose ye'll be wantin' first crack at 'er?”

Jack had been about to ask the man if he thought he'd be able to say keel-haul without the benefit of any front teeth, but he stopped to consider. Never a matter better settled by violence when another means presented itself, he always believed.

“Why, you read my mind. Sorry, gents, you'll have to wait till I'm through,” he said, turning his eyes upon Elizabeth, who glared at him murderously.

“I still have a sword!” she yelled, and shoved the tip of said sword at the middle of the broad expanse of Jack's chest. Her teeth were bared and her cheeks were hot, and it occurred to Jack that they'd frightened her so badly that she didn't even realize he was saving her.

“Now, now, lass, no need to be unfriendly,” he told her, meeting her eyes, his calm voice containing a note of warning. “Why don't we go back up to the deck and have a chat, hm?”

A bit of the fire went out of her eyes, but she didn't respond. He reached forward and wrapped his hand around her forearm, and then pulled her firmly toward him, pushing down the sword with his other hand. She allowed him to pull her away, and some of the men grumbled as he steered her toward the steps.

Once they were clear of the crowd and on their way up, he leaned toward her climbing form to whisper, “You're mad as a hatter to go down there. What on earth possessed you? I saw you sleeping peacefully with a blanket on deck last night.”

“It wasn't raining last night,” she hissed.

“Well there was always my cabin,” he replied. “I offered.”

“Oh, yes. Out of the frying pan, and into the fire,” she whispered back, finally reaching the top. “No, thank you.” It still rained steadily and she looked up, wiping her palms across her cheeks. “Now I realize I'd have been better off soaked.”

“Undoubtedly,” Jack said, watching her cool her face in the rain. “Or, dare I say, under my protection.”

“I can do without the protection you'd offer, certainly.”

“My mistake,” Jack said, walking closer and gathering her arms in his hand. “Shall I accompany you back downstairs, then?”

She shook her arms free and glared at him again. “Thank you for your intervention on my behalf.”

“Said with such bite, it hardly seems like sincere gratitude.”

“What would you prefer? A kiss, no doubt?” And he saw that as soon as the words left her seductively pink lips, her cheeks reddened to the same color. He knew she was thinking about their almost-kiss by the rail, because he was, too.

“And what if I did?” He kept his voice even.

“You'd be unfortunately out of luck.”

He couldn't resist teasing her. “Why, don't know how?”

“Don't - !” She broke off with a scoff, taking a challenging step forward. He was delighted to see her temper up. He'd never quite seen her so ready for a fight. “Of course I know how. I'm betrothed to Will. He's shown me.”

“That's what you said about the sword. Funny, didn't see a vast display of skill down there.”

Her mouth opened and then closed again, her lip jutting out in anger. Her eyes flashed. She was very worked up, he noted. He wondered, for a moment, if he could use that to his advantage... and then he laid a hand on her shoulder and steered her toward his cabin.

“What are you doing?” she breathed, and he thought if she were any more indignant there would be smoke pouring from her nostrils.

“Getting us both out of the rain,” he stated matter-of-factly. He opened the door to his cabin and pushed her inside before she could say anything else, and closed it behind him. Latched it.

* * *

She whirled to face him in the dark. “What - what do you mean by locking that?”

“I mean to keep the door shut. Since a ship moves about, pesky things with hinges - like doors - tend to come unstuck.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Thought I was going to hold you prisoner and ravish you? Sorry to disappoint. Good night.”

“I'm not staying in here. It's improper.”

He fixed a genuinely puzzled gaze on her, looking her up and down in her man's shirt and breeches. “You've got funny notions of propriety, you know that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Aside from your disguise - a thin one, if I may say - you seem to be under the impression that you are more safe being tossed about by the crew in public than left to your own devices in the privacy of my cabin.”

“It wasn't so bad. James would have come to my defense if I couldn't take the scoundrel with my sword.”

“Oh, yes,” Jack said, rolling his eyes, and made a teetering motion with his arms as he pretended to be drunk. “'James' is in a marvelous condition to protect you.”

She sighed, then, in resignation, and her temper had finally cooled enough for her to see reason. “Where might I - that is, where would you like me to...” and that was as far as she got, and she realized she'd begun the question without even considering the end of it.

“Wherever you like, love. More than enough space for you on the floor, there. And then, there's always the bed.”

“I'll take the floor, thank you,” Elizabeth said through thinned lips. She'd rather take her chances with her sword than willingly climb into a bed with Jack Sparrow.

“Suits me,” said Jack.

A pillow arrived with a thump at her feet. When she bent to get it, a blanket landed on her head. “Ever the gentleman, aren't you?”

“You've no idea,” he murmured, and she heard his body shift in the bed. “Good night, Miss Swann.” She heard a loud yawn, and then, nothing.

She spread out the blanket and pillow on the floor, and curled into them, punching the pillow until it nearly folded in half. She put her head down, and closed her eyes. She could hear the rain outside, and Jack's slow, even breathing. But it was very quiet, and she found herself wondering if he were asleep.

She certainly couldn't get to sleep quickly. She was keyed-up from her near-miss downstairs, from her interrupted wedding, from missing Will, worrying about him. And the floor was hard. Unyielding. She shifted under the blanket, but it only brought more of her bones in contact with the floor. And Jack had the nerve to be perfectly, completely comfortable in his nice, big bed! A real gentleman would have offered her the bed and slept on the floor.

Had he offered her the bed? Well, he had, but she hadn't asked whether he meant with him in it. Though she supposed, once he were asleep, it hardly mattered. At least, that's what she told herself as she scooped her aching body off the floor and gathered the pillow to her chest.

She turned toward the bed, and looked at Jack. It was dark, but some light filtered in through the window, as the clouds seemed to have passed and allowed a bit of moonlight to shine through. She saw the outline of his dark hair against the pillow, and her hand itched to grab a huge bunch of it - she had always been very curious what it felt like, but afraid to find out - and folded her fingers into a fist so she wouldn't be tempted. She saw he'd removed his red scarf, and that unnerved her somewhat, as though she were looking at him in a very intimate state of undress. His rings, too, had been removed from his hands, leaving small pale stripes where they had been, and he still wore a bandage around the middle of his left hand - wonder what folly of his had resulted in that. But his shirt was still upon his shoulders, though it was unbuttoned, and she moved her eyes down the rest of him, covered by the sheet. So this was what a man looked like, in bed. Another thing that she may have wondered somewhere in the back of her mind. Although she'd certainly never permitted herself to imagine Jack in that scenario- all right, only a few times - per month. And she was sure she'd forget all about Jack, all about their previous adventures and their night together on the island, about his gold teeth and wicked smile and dancing dark eyes, and suggestive remarks - those, too - once she were married. She looked him over, again, in the near-darkness, catching a glimpse of suntanned skin and curling black hair. Her mouth went dry.

The trouble was, she was not married. If she had been, she'd never have had to stow away and try to disguise her femininity - which would have worked, except that lecherous wretch downstairs had not seemed to care if she were a lad when he began to hassle her - and she wouldn't have been terrified that something truly awful was going to happen, truly violent and debasing and humiliating and painful, so much more so than anything she had to fear, from Jack.

As with many challenges over the past few weeks, she had found she was simply unaccustomed. She had the will to defend herself with a sword. Perhaps even some of the knowledge and skill. But she lacked the experience. And the girl who'd slept in soft feather-beds for years did, now, find it difficult to be comfortable enough to sleep on the floor. However much she might wish it. She noticed the ship rolling a bit as she took a careful step toward the edge of the bed, and placed her pillow at the head, next to Jack. He lay quietly - as quiet as she'd ever seen him, she'd wager - with his hands folded across his chest. She was determined not to wake him with her weight, as she felt the safest knowing he was still asleep and unaware of her presence entirely. She removed her boots, and balanced on one foot while placing the other, gingerly, upon the mattress, and began to slowly shift her balance toward the bed.

Then the ship rolled, somewhat violently, and to her dismay she went sprawling across the bed, landing, unceremoniously, right on top of Jack. Her eyes flew open in horror. She sat up, realizing her knees sandwiched one of his legs beneath the sheet, and was tacitly aware of the hard heat of his thigh between hers. But before she could push off of him, his eyes opened, wide, with an awareness that told her he hadn't been completely asleep, after all. She was suddenly, incredibly mortified. She felt paralyzed as she rested there, watching him watch her.

“If you're planning on doing me bodily harm, Elizabeth, do get on with it. If not, I must protest that it's polite to at least kiss me before taking full advantage of my person.”

She fixed a stare upon him that she hoped conveyed her wish to do him bodily harm at that particular moment. “I was merely trying to get on.”

“Have no fear - you got on. You mean, get in?”

She blushed furiously, climbing off him onto the farthest part of the bed. “Stuff all your lewd comments. I need a place to sleep, and as Will's friend you ought to give it to me. Graciously.”

“If you'll recall, Elizabeth, I offered. You declined.”

“I've changed my mind.”

“Woman's prerogative?”

She snorted by way of reply, and then heard him sigh.

“You've no need to put the width of the ocean between us. I've no intention of taking advantage of a young miss so green she doesn't even know how to kiss.”

Her cheeks burned and she opened her mouth to retort, but then she fluffed the pillow and kept silent. He wanted to irritate her, to bait her into acting. Well, she wasn't biting. “Good night, Captain Sparrow,” she said almost to the pillow.

“So you admit it, then?”

“There shan't be any further discussion on this topic, thank you.”

“You do admit it. Well, that's all right. Admitting one's shortcomings is the first step toward correcting them.”

“I admit nothing.”

She felt him moving closer, then, and she tensed. Soon he was peering down at her from behind. “You have already admitted everything, and you don't even realize it. Every breath gives you away. Has the entire time you've been on board. You're curious about things you've not tried. It's perfectly natural.”

“Oh, this again?” she said, refusing to look at him.

“Foolish of you to deny it. Women are very curious creatures. Always have been, think about it. Wasn't Adam who couldn't keep his hands off the bloody tree in the garden, was it? No. Eve had to reach out, taste that apple for herself, out of morbid, insatiable curiosity. Adam's only weakness was for her.”

“I've no morbid curiosity about kissing, I assure you. I know as much as I need to, and I certainly shall not satisfy what I don't with the likes of you.”

“Show me,” he said then, his breath a hot caress against her ear. She nearly jumped out of her skin, both at the sensation of his lips so close to her body, and the implications behind his words. Oh, God... he was so close. So close. And if she were perfectly honest, she was thrilled by it, just as she had been when they'd been talking on the deck. All she had to do was turn her head. Just one turn, and she'd be nose to nose with Captain Jack Sparrow. The thought frightened her and delighted her at the same time.

“Well, go on,” Jack was saying, still against her ear. “You have my word, if you do know how to kiss, as you say, I'll consider myself properly chastised, and won't speak a word again for the entire night.”

“Really?” she said, and turned her head so quickly their lips almost brushed. She shifted her weight away from him. “The whole night through?”

“You won't hear anything from me, love. I swear.”

And his softly intoned words melted a little something inside of Elizabeth, and she was hard-pressed to say what it was. She wanted to protest the love, as she'd meant to protest it a dozen times, a hundred times, from his lips. And she found she couldn't. She always got just as far as Leave off calling me 'love' in her mind, and then she'd imagine never hearing it again. And that made her sorry. She liked it. She knew he called all women that, all the time. The cad. But somehow when he said it to her she liked to pretend it was special... if not unique, it still made her warm, somewhere deep down. And so once again she failed to tell him not to call her 'love,' and tried to remember what it was they were talking about.

Her gaze fell to his full, sumptuous lips. Oh, that's right. Kissing. A demonstration, to prove her skill. She sensed that he was only toying with her, as he always did, goading her to the limit. Perhaps he didn't really expect her to do it, or perhaps he wished to assert his own superiority by gloating over her refusal. Or her capitulation. Perhaps he didn't know that Elizabeth routinely attempted things she only half-knew how to do, and most of the time no one was the wiser. She was nothing if not ambitious. Except for one other thing, which was very, very curious what Jack's lips would feel like against hers. She lifted her lips to his and kissed him.

He didn't move as he held himself over her, only waited. She pressed harder, and he leaned back a little. She tilted her head, and their noses bumped awkwardly. His lips were warm and firm under hers, and she felt a little dizzy, truth be told, at the touch of them. Then she remembered she needn't worry about being dizzy or fainting because, after all, she was lying in a bed.

Jack's bed.

She pulled her head away suddenly, withdrawing her lips from his in a panicked gesture. His eyes were still closed, hooded in the darkness, and she took a deep breath while she waited to see what he would do. When he opened his eyes and looked at her, they were alight with his usual mischief, and something else. Amusement or desire... she couldn't tell...

“Is that all?” he said, his voice low and even as the beat of a drum.

“Is that...” and she gaped at him, sure she was blushing even more. Well, of course that was all. That was a kiss, wasn't it? What more did he expect? She'd kissed him exactly as she kissed Will, the way they had a hundred times, before Will would gently grasp her shoulders and put her away, saying something like Let's save something for later. Later, she would think, and then behind the bars of the jail, she thought again, later? What if there was no later? What if they were hanged?

Even so, she was fairly positive she hadn't left anything out. Unless she had done something wrong?

“I'll try again,” she said staunchly in her own defense, still mesmerized by the look in Jack's dark eyes.

Jack smiled. “Be my guest.”

And so she raised her mouth to his again, fitting her lips between his, feeling the scratch of his goatee against her chin, and nudged her face closer, trying not to enjoy the feeling of Jack's mouth... Jack's fingers moving over her middle... Jack's hand!

He had insinuated a hand underneath her shirt, and was sliding his palm over her bare stomach! How dare he... and she opened her mouth to protest, still kissing him, and was completely shocked when she found she couldn't speak because Jack's tongue was entering her mouth. Her eyes shot open and she jerked her chin back, but then he slanted his mouth over hers and was doing delicious things with that tongue... wonderful things... and she closed her eyes again and just drank in the sensations, heady and new, trying to understand the taste of him, masculine and raw and salty and utterly, completely Jack. This, this was what they were saving for later? she thought as she reached up around Jack's neck to pull him closer, wanting to know, to know, what she was missing...

She heard him groan as he deepened the kiss even more, and she felt his weight half-settle on her as he continued to stroke her belly with his hand, slowly sliding higher and higher... he was going to touch her breast, she realized. He was going to grope her. What would it feel like? and she ought to slap him, now, hard, let him know he wouldn't be taking any more liberties with her, she ought to, she ought to... and then his hand was upon her breast, warm and dry and a bit rough against her smooth skin, and she could barely draw breath as he continued to kiss her and flexed his fingers around the curve of her, and she was swimming in sensation, drowning in Jack... Had to stop him, now, had to find her voice and push him off. She was grateful when at last his mouth drew away from hers, but sorry, too, and she was about to gasp out her firm resolution that he must Stop at once, when he drew his open mouth along her jaw, lightly, and then down her neck, slowly, and then up her neck, quickly and then by her ear, drawing her tender skin into his mouth, and she couldn't think while Jack was doing that to her!

“Jack,” she said brokenly, and realized it sounded more encouraging than denying. “Jack, stop.”

He groaned in response and planted a slow, languorous kiss on the ridge of her throat as her head was thrown back, and moved his hand over her breast again, slowly, back and forth, back and forth.

“Jack - I can't- you can't - “

“I know,” he said, low in his throat. “Just a little more. Just a little.” And she was only too happy to oblige, as he brought his lips back to hers and parted them slightly, rubbing his lips over hers possessively, hungrily. She felt both his hands beneath her shirt, now, and they covered both her breasts with their warmth and she couldn't help making a sound, a little moan, as he brushed her taut nipples with his thumbs, because she'd never felt anything like that before, and it was so wonderful to feel needed, to feel wanted by a man, a man like Jack... and just when she thought she'd pass out from the pleasure of his touch on her sensitive flesh, and the sparks shooting through her insides the more he touched her, he withdrew his hands and mouth and rolled away onto his side of the bed, leaving her bereft.

She gasped for breath and so did he, she heard, and she propped herself up on her elbows, looking over at him. “Jack, what is it?” meaning, What's wrong? forgetting that only a few seconds ago, she'd been begging him to stop.

But of course he dodged the question, and said, “It was a kiss, love,” between gradually slowing breaths.

“It was more than a kiss,” she said dryly. “Even I know that much.”

“Not so innocent after all, then.”

“Not so innocent as to not know what it is you want.”

“Oh? And what's that?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but realized she lacked the words to express her thoughts. Instead she blushed in the darkness, hoping he couldn't see.

“Come on,” came the teasing tenor voice from across the bed. “Pray tell. What is it that I want? Let's see how well you've read my compass, 'Lizabeth.”

“You want to bed me,” she said plainly, feeling her cheeks heat more at the words. And then at the idea... Jack wanted to bed her. And even though she'd only the vaguest idea of what that meant, it excited her tremendously. She could feel a drop of sweat on her brow. It was hot in the room, so hot, and yet she dare not remove so much as a single piece of clothing. She wanted to, suddenly, she wanted to feel the air on her skin and be nude in the darkness. But she couldn't while Jack was there... obviously.

Chapter 2: The Tree of Knowledge

“Yes. You've caught me.” Jack had managed to control his breathing now, she heard, and he turned to face her, his open shirt displaying a thin wedge of black hair along his chest and stomach. She wondered what that hair would feel like against her palm, and was so curious she began to stretch out her hand, fingers outstretched, just wanting to know...

Jack reached out and snatched her hand, catching her eyes just as fiercely, holding her gaze while she smoldered.

“That's not a good idea, Lizzy,” he said, and yet again she got the impression she should correct him: Miss Swann or at the very least Elizabeth, because allowing him to call her by that silly nickname was poor manners and probably gave him ideas... for example that she loved the sound of her name on his lips, and he could Lizzy her into next week and she'd be dying for more.

“I didn't think you'd mind,” she said, a bit sadly, still collecting her wits.

“Oh, I wouldn't,” Jack agreed. “But you would, after I'd deflowered you in the space of the next ten minutes. And Will would, too, once we find him and you marry him.”

Her eyes widened and she reeled from the weight of his words, suddenly ashamed of herself, incredulous that she'd let these sensations overcome her good sense. And she channeled that shame into anger, and he must have seen the fire shoot to life in her eyes because he began shaking his head.

“Oh, no. No, no, no. Don't even think about blaming me for this. What's a man to do? I'm trying to sleep and you throw yourself on top of me -“

“I fell!”

“And boldly begin to kiss me-“

“You asked!”

“And then you're darn nigh close to tearin' me shirt off-“

“I hate you!” she howled with all the frustration of the last two weeks of her life, and threw the first thing that came to hand at him, which happened to be the pillow. It bounced off of his face and fell onto the floor.

He looked at her, a smile just showing a quick glimpse of gold, before he rolled onto his side, facing her, and closing his eyes and settling down as though going to sleep. But not before saying, “You wish you hated me. Would make everything simpler, wouldn't it? Good night.”

She flopped down, too, folding her arms across her chest. And while Jack seemed to be content to simply go to sleep, she was angry and confused and frustrated and pillow-less. She was going to have to get up and get that pillow. Curse his black pirate heart. She sniffed at the indignity of having to fetch the very item she'd thrown at him, herself. Well, if she were going to get it, he certainly wasn't going to lie there comfortably and gloat. Instead of getting out of bed, she shoved his hips over and leaned across him to reach the pillow, and she heard him grunt as she kneed him none too gently in the thigh in the process. She felt him trying to sit up as she reached for it, and then his hands were on her waist and he was pulling her higher on top of him, and she snatched the pillow and swung it at his head, narrowly missing his nose.

“Now, now,” he said, and his tone had taken on a sinister note. “Play nice.”

“You're despicable,” she hurled at him, struggling out of his grasp and scrambling to the other side of the bed.

“No, I'm bloody well not, and you know it. If I were despicable - truly - despicable,” and he leaned back over her, caging her within his arms as she flattened herself against the bed, “I'd strip those clothes off of you in a minute flat, and fall on top of you and kiss you senseless again, and then you know what would come next, hm?”

She swallowed, with effort. What would come next, indeed? “Well, why don't you, if that's what you really want? Like you said before, you wave a joyous farewell to moments where you could do the right thing! What's stopping you, now?”

He regarded her in the very dim light, not moving at all. Finally he said, in a whisper that was at once icy and searing, “I think one of us had better get out of this bed. Otherwise, I don't know that there will be anything stopping me, at all.”

She felt a shudder course through her at those words, and she closed her eyes for a moment, gaining control over her breathing, her thoughts, her hands... they were creeping up his chest unbeknownst to her... she just wanted to know what he felt like, had to know, had to... “Far be it from me to stand in the way of what Jack Sparrow wants,” she muttered, knowing it was the wrong thing to say, the wrong thing to do, to keep trailing her fingers up his neck and feel him shiver, too, at her touch.

He caught her hand, again, and put it away from him. “You don't understand. Get up. Go.”

She looked at him through lids that felt drowsy. She didn't understand, but she wanted to... “Go? Go where?”

“Out of... ahhh,” he groaned, as her hand came up to slide inside his shirt and move along his bare shoulder and his forehead fell against her. “Elizabeth,” he said, and the word was a hoarse plea. “I don't have it in me to be a good man, not that good. You have to... stop... get out o'th' bed... or...”

“Or what?” she taunted, suddenly feeling powerful at the reactions she was getting from him. Will never groaned like that... and then at the thought, her hands stilled and she pulled them back into her lap. He sat up, and rolled away. They both lay on their backs in the bed, and Elizabeth tried to make sense of the feelings broiling within her like a stew.

“Do you know what I really want?” Jack said suddenly, examining one of his hands, the bandaged one, as though he'd never noted its shape before.

“What?” she said, turning to watch him as the steaming pot inside of her slowly reduced to a simmer.

“I want to live until the day after tomorrow.”

“What are you talking about?”

He turned his face toward her, and his eyes were huge and sad. “I'm a marked man, Elizabeth. If we don't get that chest tomorrow... I think I might have just run out o' luck. Like rum - it's great when you have it, but it goes quick.”

“We'll get it,” she said, frowning at him. “Is there something you haven't told us?”

He didn't say anything, only kept looking at her, and then she suddenly felt as though the temperature had risen ten degrees, because the heat was returning to his eyes. “What if we don't, hm? What if it all goes to hell, over there, and the Dutchman gets there first? What if I - and you - and everybody - what if we all go down fighting, tomorrow? Will you be glad you at least tried to save Will? Will you be glad you helped me? Or will you regret everything?”

“Why, I-“ And she broke off, alarmed by his morose words, and yet stirred, too, because she'd had similar thoughts when she was rotting in jail, and Will was gone, and her wedding was ruined, and she wondered if, among other things, she'd ever know a man before they sent her to the gallows. “Don't - don't say such things, everything will work out all right.”

He still regarded her hotly, intensely. “Go. Get up and leave this bed, now, before I give in to the urge to make damned well sure I don't perish without having bedded you.”

“Jack, don't be silly, I...” But as she looked at him, and felt herself melting, again, and she knew it was wrong, knew she should want Will and only Will, but he wasn't here and Jack was, and he was looking at her with promises of a hundred forbidden things in his eyes and how could she not...

“Now,” Jack was whispering. “Now. Go. Now.” And he began to reach for her.

With the last shred of self-awareness she possessed, she slid off the mattress and snatched up the blanket, and it caught, and she tugged on it as she stood up straighter, and realized it was caught because Jack was rolling with it, on it, still looking at her as though he wanted to devour her, and she wanted to let him, let him. Another realization broke over her, and it was that Jack had decided not to take her, had tried not to, tried valiantly, perhaps, but it was she who coaxed, teased, insisted, and now perhaps it had gone too far, and she had no doubt that Jack possessed a great deal of self-control - he had to, in the life he led - and she had toyed with that control, stretching it until it snapped like old leather. She took a step back, but only a tiny one. His hand snaked around her hips and he pulled himself closer to her, and she couldn't help herself, she reached down to stroke his hair, that strange, dark, ropy hair that she'd longed to touch with her fingers for so long, just to see what on earth it felt like.

It felt soft, and spongy. She closed her eyes in satisfaction. Then her knees were bending as he pushed her down, and then he was rolling off the bed and on top of her, and she wanted to tell Jack they shouldn't, they mustn't, but her limbs were like water and she couldn't even form words as Jack bent his head to kiss her again.

And oddly, as she once again experienced the exhilarating sensation of Jack's mouth combined with her own, she thought about the compass. What she wanted most... it was all so confusing, but she had to admit that she did really delight in Jack, in his laugh, his smile, his teasing... his mouth... and what was a kiss, a real kiss, if not a connection between two people... between speaking, and doing, the part of the body that emitted speech and that could give pleasure, like this, at the same time... and no one had a mouth like Jack's, for speaking or enjoyment, she was sure. And growing more sure, the longer he kissed her, never staying the same, but varying every motion, every rhythm, every stroke of his tongue, until she was totally breathless and her limbs were languid underneath the weight of his body.

When he finally lifted his head she thought her eyes must be glazed over, so lost was she in what he was doing to her.

“I'm not good, Lizzy,” he whispered to her. “I can't be that good a man. I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” and he kissed her neck again, began to undo the buttons of her shirt. “'S too late for me to change, now.”

“It's all right,” she said between deep breaths as the gentle brush of his fingers on her chest only heightened the tension she felt all through her body. “Sometimes I fear I'm not that good, either,” she whispered, reaching her arms back to allow the shirt to fall, and then leaned forward to part the sides of his shirt and slide them off of his bronzed body, touching the various ridges and scars she saw faintly in the near-dark. She felt a little sorry for him, too, after feeling those scars, as he hastily sought the fastenings of the trousers she wore and slipped his hands inside. He gripped her flesh around her hips, firmly. He needed her, he needed her and it was so nice to feel needed instead of insignificant.

She felt one tiny tinge of regret as he slid the trousers down and off of her body, and she knew she'd always pictured herself being naked before her husband, and only him, for the first time. But then Jack looked at her, slowly, from her feet all the way up to her face, and the look of wonder and desire on his handsome features took her breath away and almost made up for the little bit of disappointment, little bit of shame.

He braced himself on his elbows, above her, and brought his mouth down to hers again, for another deep, bruising kiss. It was a bit shameful being completely naked with him, but thrilling, too. She thought about the thrill of it as he settled between her knees and ground his hips against her, and she felt something strange and hard jutting up in the cloth of his breeches, and she reached her hand down to feel what it was, instinctively. He rocked his hips back and broke the kiss, catching her hand and bringing it up for a kiss. She watched.

“They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, Jack,” she said as he looked at her, the very heat of the Caribbean night itself seeming to emanate from his eyes. Then she looked at where his lips were pressed against the back of her hand. “But I think it's the mouth, don't you? We talk, we kiss, we eat and drink...”

“More than that,” he said with a sly smile, and dropped her hand to the side.

“What do you mean?” she said, puzzled as he slid away from her on the floor, so that his arms were resting by her hips. She watched as he settled onto his belly between her legs, the pink tip of his tongue pinched saucily between his teeth on one side.

“Shhh,” he said. “You talk too much.”

“Me? You said if I kissed you properly you'd shut up for the remainder of the night! And you're still... Oh...” and her voice trailed off as she was fairly certain that Jack was indeed hushed, at least as long as his exquisite mouth was busy doing that...

She couldn't watch. It would be utterly, completely shameless to watch him engaged in whatever this sinful, delicious, act was called... she didn't care what it was called, not really, because nothing mattered when Jack was flicking her most intimate parts repeatedly with that pretty tongue of his... it didn't matter what she was called, for that matter, because she was literally aflame where he was touching her. She was a slave to her body, then, and her own need to know, to know, to understand all the ways she could connect with another person, and she wanted to know them through Jack. Not Will, as she was astonished to realize. Will was fine. He would be fine. He'd be found soon enough... but she still had tonight, with Jack. No matter what happened tomorrow. The pace of Jack's light, teasing kisses increased and she found herself lifting her hips to meet his rhythm, sure this was the most wanton thing she'd ever done in her life, grinding her private womanly parts against a man's mouth - a pirate's mouth - Jack Sparrow's mouth - and she knew she was moaning aloud, a little ashamed of that, too, but unable to help herself, and it felt good, so good, so damned deliciously good.

Her eyes slid open and she sat up just a little, on one elbow. Yes, ghastly of her to want to watch, to want to see him there. Naughty, very naughty... but wonderful, to see the outline of his head and shadowy eyes and handsome, aristocratic cheekbones as he moved his head slightly back and forth... and suddenly she was desperate, for what she wasn't sure, but she was begging Jack aloud, begging him please, please Jack, please and he answered with a curled finger planted suddenly inside of her, just inside, and it didn't have time to register that part of Jack was actually in her, before the warm force in her loins began to spin crazily like the compass, and then swung mightily into alignment with that piece of Jack, pointing emphatically toward him for a long... overwhelming, awe-inspiring... sinking, drowning, moment. She collapsed onto her back, her chest heaving as she fought for breath that burned in her lungs.

“Jack,” she panted in a voice she hardly recognized. Low. Throaty. Wanton.

And then he was gathering her into his arms again, and she realized he'd divested himself of his breeches and was rocking that swollen man-part of him against the sensitive flesh he'd just devastated with his mouth.

“Wish I were better,” he was saying in a strange tone for him, too. Rasping. He pressed his mouth to her ear. “God knows you deserve better, but I just can't. Can't let him have this...” and she felt him pressing inside of her then, only a little, and it stretched her and felt warm. “He'll have you, every day after this, let this, tonight, belong to me, just this, just this... 'm sorry it's going to hurt, for a minute...” and then he was pressing harder and deeper and she wrapped her arms around him because something was being opened, pulled, inside of her and there was pain. She whimpered a little against his cheek and he said, “Shhh, I'm sorry, hang on... soon, soon.” And he moved against her again, hard, and it did hurt, it seared her and tore her, but her eyes were dry as she squeezed Jack's neck, and either she'd choke him or it would stop hurting but either would be all right with her.

He withdrew, and she felt a throbbing ache where he had been, and then he crushed her hips against him, again, and this time he seemed to go all the way inside and she opened her mouth in silent wonder at how hot he was on the inside, how velvety soft against the outside of her, and he held himself still for a long moment. Shaking. “'S done, now, my little Eve,” he whispered to her in a trembling whisper. “No going back.”

“Don't want to go back,” she breathed, leaning up to kiss him. But he stopped her with a finger over her lips.

“No more kisses,” he said and drove into her, hard and deep, and she cried out. “No more nice, soft kisses I don't deserve.” He thrust into her again, and again, finding a slow, natural rhythm, cresting and breaking like the waves. “Can't undo it, now, but I just couldn't stop myself, I couldn't...” and he broke off in a groan and began to speed up the pace, and Elizabeth found she was meeting his thrusts by rocking her own hips against him, becoming lost in the strange new sensations, and suddenly she realized was taking Jack Sparrow very deeply into her body, and she'd never felt so powerful in all her life.

It was like a drowsy, heated afternoon dream, his intense need for her, and she fed on it and relished it and gave back to it. Yes, he needed her, wanted her more than anything, and she would do well to remember that in the future, how he was groaning and sighing her name all the while pushing himself into her relentlessly, making her hot again, making her mad, making her insane with his touch on her, everywhere... and she shattered wonderfully, again, nearly weeping, she was sure.

A groan escaped him, a deep, forceful one, the groan of a man past the point of no return, a man condemned. He thrust into her several times, so hard she moved along the floor with each, still clinging to his body with her arms, and there was only one more thrust, one final shot that seemed to move over them both and ignite his passion like an explosion of gunpowder, and he fell onto her, his eyes squeezed shut and his brow furrowed, his mouth partially open in a silent gasp.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and began to take deep, calming breaths, trying to find herself again... who was this wild woman who'd just handed over her maidenhood to Jack Sparrow? Not Elizabeth Swann... couldn't be, couldn't be. But it was, and she was lying on the floor of his cabin, beneath him, just trying to breathe, trying to make sense of everything.

After a minute he rolled off of her and sat on the bed, extending a hand to help her up before collapsing back into it. She tried to crawl into his arms but he put her away from him, saying, “No.”

“What's wrong?”

But he only laughed, as bitterly as she'd ever heard him. “You're asking me what's wrong?”

“Yes.” There he was, confusing her again. She began to feel he was keeping secrets, perhaps about the danger they were facing, and she eyed him suspiciously, but could not fight the urge to want to touch him.

“No,” he said again, putting her hands away. “Don't make this something it's not. Don't fall in love with me. I'm sorry I did that, Lizzy, but I'm just not capable of any better.”

“You are,” she said, and bent to press a kiss to his cheek.

“You won't be saying that tomorrow,” he replied, his tone still dark and mysterious. “Just you wait.”

“Jack, if it bothers you so, just... make better choices.”

“Such as?” He rolled off the opposite side of the bed, and she saw him stroll, still naked, toward a small wash bowl on a table in the corner.

Was he going to wash, she wondered? Had she made him feel dirty? “Well, I don't know, how am I supposed to know the future? The next time you're faced with the chance to be a good man, be that man.”

“Don't know if I can. Don't think I have the courage.” And he brought a rag back over to where she sat on the bed, and with a steady look at her, parted her thighs with his hand and swept the cool cloth over her skin. She looked down to see a few dark spots of blood on her skin, now on the rag. Oh, she'd bled. That was the pain she felt. It was gone, now. And he was gently, so gently cleaning her everywhere he'd touched... as though he thought her sullied.

“You do,” she said, watching as he crumpled the rag in his hand and stalked back to the washbowl, tossing it in with a small splash. He didn't move and stood in front of it, and she rather thought he was watching the rag as it folded and was swallowed in the water.

“Will you thank me, if I do?” His voice was smooth, a bit less despondent.

She smiled. “That depends on what you've done. If it's good enough, I'll thank you.”

“How?” He strode back to the bed, and climbed in beside her, but did not touch her.

She couldn't suppress a grin. “How else? With a kiss.”

“Oh, yes? On the mouth, port of entry to the soul?”

“More like... way of meeting. Way of joining souls.” She paused to consider, taking a slow breath as he pondered a response. Finally he looked over at her.

“But you're forgetting, if our souls are going to have a little drink together, Lizzy, it's not enough, me doing something good, is it?”

She thought for a moment. “I suppose not. I suppose I shall have to do something not quite good. Something worthy of a pirate. Sometimes things that aren't good still need doing... like this, perhaps.” She met his eyes to make sure he knew she meant what they had done just a few minutes before. He held her gaze for a moment, and then sighed.

“You'll be sorry about this tomorrow, you'll see.”

“No, I won't. No matter what.”

Jack laughed again. “Oh, you'll see. Very well that you enjoyed yourself, but it goes beyond all that, you know, what we've just done. We ate from the tree, Elizabeth. There's no putting the apple back. As it were.”

“I still won't be sorry.” She looked over him as he lay there, and thought still that he was keeping secrets from her, but wanted to believe that he could make her proud. She lowered her lips to one of his scars and kissed it, lightly. And then he reached over and stroked her hair and gathered her to him, and the two of them finally fell asleep.
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The Curse of Eve