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Ship in a Bottle	By : EvilE Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 4205 -:- 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.

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Chapter 11: To Love a Pirate, Part 1

After dinner, Elizabeth took a walk on the deck for air. Will had retired to his cabin, hinting - rather boldly, for him- that he would appreciate a visit from her tonight. And she wasn't in the mood. Not after watching Mary fawn over him, and him lap up the attention like an eager kitten. And Jack... she didn't even want to begin sorting out how she felt about him, now. After all that had happened before. After all the ways he'd humiliated her. After the way he looked at her, when he'd offered her his bed, again... and when she was so sorely tempted to accept.

Mary, she saw, was also out on deck. Elizabeth approached her from behind, uncertain how to begin the conversation, knowing that she needed to, because there were questions she wanted answered. Taking a deep breath, she began the way she was raised to: by being polite.

“I'm sorry about your husband,” Elizabeth said, drawing up next to her at the rail.

“Not as sorry as I am,” Mary answered, her tone glum as she stared at the waves. Is this what I look like when I sulk? Elizabeth wondered. If so, not very attractive at all.

“What was he like?”

Mary lifted her eyes to Elizabeth, seemingly to gauge her sincerity. “Handsome... exciting. Careless. Unreliable. Dishonest. But never boring. Shall I go on?”

“Please.”

“He always had some ridiculous scheme in mind. Some way to make us rich. But more often than not he only got himself in trouble, and I was stuck waiting for him to come back or get out of it.”

“Sounds like Jack,” Elizabeth agreed, weighing Mary's words with a grain of salt. “So that's what it's like... to be married to him. Always wondering what he's plotting for himself. Always waiting for him to come back to you. While you're dying the entire time.”

Mary glanced at Elizabeth again, and seemed look surprised at the astuteness of her appraisal. “Yes. But when he does come back...” she sighed, and dropped her chin slightly. “I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.”

Elizabeth was silent for a moment. Then she said, “Not even for Will?”

Mary seemed to freeze, as though she'd never really considered the possibility. She was silent for a minute, and Elizabeth imagined she was constructing a careful answer. Finally she spoke. “Well, I was never presented with that choice. Not like you. Is that what it's like to be married to him?” Without the name, Elizabeth understood that Mary meant Will. “All perfectly well, except that you're always bored half to death, and you're kept busy denying and hiding that you're in love with another man?”

Elizabeth felt the truth of that statement shake her, somewhere deep inside. But she resisted. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh, rubbish. You can't fool me. I'm you, remember?”

Elizabeth sniffed. “The situation's rather complicated.”

“Listen to you! You've got it easy, all you have to do is choose!” Mary whirled on her, something passionate flashing in her eyes. “I didn't get any choice at all. Will's dead. And Jack's dead. You've got them both.” A tear welled in her eye, and she brushed it away. Elizabeth felt the first stirrings of genuine sympathy.

“It would be easier to choose if I... knew some things, knew how I felt, knew how I'd feel years from now,” Elizabeth protested after a moment of consideration.

“I can tell you how you'll feel. Cold. Alone. If you make the wrong choice.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gibbs did a last round of checks on deck, making sure Cotton was still awake at the helm, and that the rigging was secure. When he had first come out of the captain's cabin, he had noticed Mary and Elizabeth talking by the rail. They spoke in hushed tones, and he had no real wish to listen. But before long he heard a few small notes of laughter, and when he glanced at the spot they had occupied before he descended the stairs to the hold, they were both gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack sat at his place at the table, contemplatively rolling a bottle of rum around in his hands. He had drunk a little, but not too much, since things were going relatively well. Oh, neither Elizabeth nor Mary would ever forgive him after the debacle at dinner, but that was well and good. Soon he'd have the Pearl, and he'd forget about women for a while.

And so he was surprised when he heard the door open and he caught a flash of crimson silk in the candlelight. Although, he supposed, Mary hadn't really any other place to sleep. But he wouldn't force her to share his bed, if she didn't want to. After all, there was plenty of space on the floor. For her.

She glanced up and met his eyes for a moment, and he felt a spark leap between them, and he somehow knew she was thinking about the same thing... sharing his bed. But he didn't get up, only watched her walk into the room and shut the door, before she approached him at the table.

“Jack, I can't really get out of this dress by myself. Can you help me? I'm ready to retire.”

He restrained his smile, getting to his feet and swaggering over to her. “Of course, love. Not like I haven't played lady's maid before.”

Mary swallowed, turning around so he could undo the buttons at her back. “So you have, have you? To Elizabeth?” She said the name awkwardly, as though it made her nervous.

Jack's hands paused on the buttons for a moment, as he contemplated before resuming. “No, but to dozens before her, and probably dozens after. Hundreds, provided I live that long.”

“Come now, you mean for me to believe you've never undressed her?”

A muscle in Jack's jaw twitched, and after a few moments of inner debate, he selected one of his favorite categories of responses: the true non-answer. “I've never gotten Elizabeth into, or out of, a dress.”

“And does that bother you?” Mary asked, and Jack began to feel vexed as he worked his way down the row of buttons. It seemed his chances of convincing Mary to share his bed again were slight, after all. Nonetheless, he drew his knuckles gently down her smooth, exposed back, and she sighed.

“Listen, Mary, I know this may sound odd to you, but Elizabeth and I are not involved... romantically. She's married.”

She turned to face him, then, and looked earnestly up into his face. “Say whatever you like, but I've seen how you two look at each other. I was there at dinner. You still want her.”

Jack looked at her face in the candlelight, and all he could think was: Elizabeth's face. Elizabeth's hair. Elizabeth's eyes. He reached out and cupped her face in his hand, and she turned her face into it, sighing again.

“Let's not talk about her, shall we?” He leaned in to kiss her, and she did not resist, allowing him to ply her lips apart with his tongue, and he felt her tremble slightly at his touch. She did want him, of that he was certain. Then she pulled her lips away.

“You only want me because of her.”

Jack sighed. “Mary, that's an awful thing to say.”

“It's true.”

“I want you because you're beautiful. Whoever else happens to share that beauty, they're not here and you are.”

“So it's my body that you desire.”

He sighed again, and slid his palms along her collarbone, resting them on her pale shoulders. He then slid them sideways, beginning to inch the crimson folds down her arms. “Not just your body. I do know you. I'm you're husband, after all.”

“Rubbish,” she said, turning back around, and then looked at him over her shoulder, while allowing him to continue to peel her dress down her arms. “You've only known me for one single day. You can't possibly love me.”

“Perhaps not. Perhaps not yet. Does that make this wrong?” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the back of her shoulder, and she gave a soft moan, deep in her throat. “You don't love me, do you? After all, I'm not really your husband. And seems to me you're forgetting his tragic demise awfully fast.”
He felt the muscles in her back tense and tighten, and was aware he'd angered her with that remark. But even so, he wasn't quite prepared for her sharp retort.

“Even if you were really my husband, I could never love you. You're a pirate. Only whores love pirates.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, sincere.

His mouth stilled, and he moved away from her, finding her suddenly not as appetizing as before. He found himself wishing she were Lizzy... wishing too damned hard.

And as though she'd read his thoughts - again - she turned around, and walked closer to him, sidling up against him. “I just want there to be honesty between us,” she whispered, leaning so close to his lips he could feel the gentle caress of her breath. He felt himself hardening, in spite of all of it, and he cursed himself for a fool. He wanted Elizabeth...

“...And so I have a deal for you, Jack Sparrow.”

“For someone who hates pirates, you certainly talk like one.”

“I want you...” and she slid her palms up his torso, slowly, “to admit that you want Elizabeth. If you admit the truth, I'll share your bed tonight, because at least then...you'll be an honest man.”

Jack chuckled. “Mary-“

“Those are the terms. Either you can admit it to yourself and to me, or you can't. Admit it, Jack. Admit that you want Elizabeth Swann so much it eats you up inside...” she raised her lips to his, again, and he was aching to smell her, taste her, “and it drives you to do cruel, selfish things... even bizarre things. Just admit that's the truth, and I'm all yours. For tonight.”

Yes, Jack wanted to shout. Yes, that's exactly how I want her. But he bit his tongue and resisted, still, because something about her choice of words struck him as odd. He looked into her eyes, his hands coming up to touch her face. She'd said Elizabeth Swann. Had anyone mentioned that name at dinner? He didn't think so...

“Why is this so important to you,” he murmured, feeling his breath catch at the possibility that was even now dancing at the edges of his brain. He pressed a thumb to her left eyebrow, stroked it across, looking for the scar in the candlelight. The tiny scar that Mary Sparrow had.

There wasn't much light in the cabin, but he was fairly sure it wasn't there.

And wouldn't Elizabeth love to be privy to this conversation, he thought suddenly, love to get me to empty my heart so she could run away with it, merrily, back off to Will? Oh, no. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of that.

Only trouble was, he wasn't sure. Not completely. Perhaps he couldn't see the scar in the bad light, and perhaps it was only very wishful thinking on his part.

Or perhaps not. But he was damned well going to find out.

She had raised a hand to his face, and it rested there, her palm to his cheek, her lips only inches from his. The thread that held his patience snapped, and he leaned in to kiss her, hard, thrusting his tongue between her lips, driving his hands into her silky, soft hair, pulling her against him. She moaned in earnest, and he told himself to slow down, that he'd be ravaging her in only a moment and then she really would never forgive him for dinner.

Drowsily she opened her eyes when he pulled away. “What's it going to be, Jack? Can you tell me you want the girl?”

How far would Lizzy be willing to take this? he wondered. “No,” he said firmly, to spite her, because he did believe it was Elizabeth, after all. And if it wasn't... “I want you, Mary. You're kind and smart and a proper lady who still knows the way of the world. You're right, only whores love pirates. Don't love me. That would make you a whore.” He encircled her forearm with his thumb and forefiinger, sliding along the length of it toward her wrist.

And he was rewarded by seeing her eyes widen at the insult, and he dared to hope against hope that maybe... maybe there was something to be saved here, after all. He decided to up the ante a bit more, and murmured against her mouth, “I want you, Mary, because of the delicious things we've done... that we did last night, do you remember?”

“Of course,” she responded, and he could feel the pulse in her wrist speed up, against his fingers.

“I want you to do that, again. What you did with your mouth. It was extraordinary.” He saw the flash of desire - or anger - in her eyes, and moved in for the kill. “Elizabeth would never do that for me. She thinks I'm dirty... and she's so proud. But you... you did it beautifully. Do it again.” There, Elizabeth Turner. Now you've got to swallow your pride and end this masquerade, or else...

He saw her tongue come out to moisten her lips, and he wondered if he'd succeeding in trapping her, if she even knew what he was talking about, or if she'd finally have to cry off and give up the charade.

“All right,” she said after a moment had passed, pulling farther away but still within the circle of his arms, and looked at him, square in the eye. Either it was Mary... or Elizabeth was an even better actress than he'd thought.

“Do you want to sit down?” she asked innocently, as if she were inviting him to a proper tea, instead of the most excruciatingly sensual thing he could ever imagine. Did she really comprehend what he was asking of her? If it were Elizabeth, could she even know... could Will have showed her, or at least hinted... he made a mental note to congratulate, and thank, Will Turner, for continuing the education he himself had begun, a while ago. Not to his face, of course.

“No, but I won't mind if you do,” he suggested, a low, teasing note to his voice. He grasped the folds of her dress and pulled it the rest of the way down her arms, tugging on it around her waist as well, so that the over-garments, the bodice and skirt, fell to the floor. She was left wearing her white chemise, and he thought that if it were somehow Elizabeth, if she and Mary had switched their clothing, they had switched undergarments, as well, because he remember the silken cords that trimmed this shift when he'd seen them earlier. His mind reeled at the thought of the two of them, hiding in their tiny cabin, stripping themselves naked in order to enact this ruse...

Elizabeth (or Mary, as the possibility still nagged him) knelt gracefully in front of him on the floor, her white under-dress fanning out below her knees. This was wrong, his blasted conscience decided to chime in. He silenced it. I'm not forcing her to do anything she doesn't want to do. She entered this game. If she finds the stakes are too high, the door's right there. I won't stop her. She's dying to do it, mate, just look at her.

And he saw the determination mixed with something else - curiosity? and desire - in her expression as she rose up on her knees, leaning forward to untuck his shirt from his breeches, and unbutton his tunic and shirt from the bottom, exposing the fastenings of his trousers. As she did so, her nails lightly brushed him, and he closed his eyes, hearing his breath cross his teeth with a hiss. This was too much... too much.

Then she had finished unfastening them, and once free of the restraint, his swollen, hot member burst out into her waiting hands, and he groaned, partially with desire, partially in still-mounting disbelief. He recalled something he'd said - what was it, about getting her into his trousers? - and he looked down to see her smile slightly, and he wondered if she were thinking the same thing... but he'd said that to Elizabeth... and so it had to be her... didn't it? If it turned out to be Mary, he was going to feel like the biggest heel in the world. In any world.

Then she was touching her lips to his shaft, gently, her hot breath a caress along its length. He forgot to breathe, and watched in wonder as she moved up one side of him and down the other. He told himself he should call it off, now, before it was too late for both of them, before he ripped her dress off and fell on top of her on the floor and pounded into her, wildly, until they both screamed for release... and at the first touch of her tongue his knees nearly folded, and he reached out to steady himself on the back of the chair he'd been sitting in earlier.

Then she stopped, and looked up at him. He could see the golden flecks in her brown eyes, could see the candle flames jumping in their depths. He saw a very womanly desire in those eyes, and before she lowered her lids again, he thought that look would be seared permanently onto his retina, making him burn for her, constantly, the way he burned for her now, the way he'd been burning for her for so long.

“So, Jack,” she purred in a whisper, looking up at him again. “Will you confess? Will you admit who it is you really want to be doing this...?” And she stroked up his length with the flat middle of two fingers, and his breath caught in his throat.

“You,” he managed to get out, his voice a hoarse groan. “Whoever you are,” he added quietly, almost too far gone for the rules of the game. She seemed to ponder that response for a moment, and he prayed that she would be satisfied, that she would accept it and throw away the pretense so he could have some relief... and if it were Lizzy, that he'd get to find out just how far she meant to take this, how far she was able to take it...

He found out in the next moment. Far. Very, very far.

And vaguely it registered that if Elizabeth were here, with him, taking his aching prick into her mouth and making love to him with her gorgeous lips and tongue and teeth, that Mary was somewhere probably doing the same thing to Will, and he found he didn't care in the slightest.

And he heard himself talking incessantly, alternately murmuring love words and swearing, saying things he hadn't said in years, things that probably blistered her ears with their obscenity, as he wrapped his fingers in her silky hair and gave into her astonishingly deep and encompassing rhythm, which had begun timidly and ineptly but seemed to grow as she gained confidence, and it probably helped that she knew she was making him wild, crazy, insane with the need of it, because he'd needed her insanely for far too long.

“Oh, God, Lizzy... my Lizzy,” he realized he was panting aloud with each stroke. Then... “Move. Move. Move!” and when she failed to respond, he yanked her off of him by the hair, barely getting her lips free in time before he covered himself with one hand and came into it, shuddering violently, his knees finally buckling and he grabbed for the chair and collapsed into it, groaning, as the last remnants of his extraordinary desire pulsed from his thrumming body.

When he opened his eyes and looked at her as she unbent her knees and rose from the floor, the expression in her eyes was knowing, almost predatory in its hunger.

“So you do want her, after all,” she was saying in a taunting tone. “I heard you: Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy.”

“Oh, come off it,” he finally snapped at her, rising to find a rag, shoving himself roughly back inside his breeches. “I want you. You're you. You're her. I've known it the entire time.”

She folded her fingers into fists and they came up to rest on her hips. “What are you talking about?”

When he was finished with the rag, he tossed it on the floor in frustration, and approached her with so much speed that she jumped back with a squeak as he grabbed her into his arms. “I said, I know bloody well who you are!”

“Jack-“ she protested.

“Don't you dare 'Jack' me!”

“I thought I just -“ And he silenced her with a bruising kiss, which he was gratified to feel her melt into, kissing him back with as much gusto as she'd been kissing other parts of him, and their arms wrapped around each other and he held her tightly, so tightly, against him, that he became worried he would stop her from breathing, worse than a damned corset.

Then he pulled his mouth away, and his eyes blazed down at her. “No more playing. You wanted to share my bed - you've got it. Mrs. Turner.”

“Don't call me that,” she said, attempting to wiggle out of his grasp. “That's not my name.”

“Isn't it?” He reached around and cupped the back of her skull, bringing her face close to his, again. “Tell me then, Mary darling, what's the name of your dearly departed ship?”

“Jack, this is hardly the time to-“ But he silenced her again with a firm shake, and her hair spilled from his fingertips to fall about her shoulders.

“Come on, Mary, what's it called, then? Do tell. Remind me.” He saw her hesitation, reveled in it, felt a rush of joy as she confirmed what his body and heart had known all along... that this was Elizabeth, and she wanted him. He'd have to work on getting her to admit it, true. But the night was still young.

She attempted to move in and kiss him again - a diversionary tactic - but he gently pulled her head back by her hair and smiled down into her face. “Not even a guess, eh, Lizzy?”

“Don't be silly, my ship is called the... the...” she still hesitated, her breath coming in shallow pants. “..the Pearl, of course,” she finally tried, her voice weak.

His mouth twisted into a sardonic, and then genuine, smile, and he released her from his arms, strolling over to the door of the cabin.

“W-where are you going?” she asked, a note of panic entering her voice.

He knew she heard the click of the latch as he locked the door because she jumped slightly at the sound. He walked back to her, slowly, methodically, looking her up and down. “That wasn't the right answer. But I'll wager you know that already.”

He strode up to her, meeting her eyes as she appeared to temporarily consider the means of escape, her gaze darting right and left, and her chin lifted proudly as her eyes seemed to water.

“Oh, don't cry, love,” he said as he reached her, pulling her back into her arms. “Your little ruse almost worked. You almost seduced a man with him none the wiser. Except you forgot about one thing.”

The intimidated look in her eyes seemed to beg him, wordlessly, to both stop and continue at once.

“I'm Captain Jack Sparrow,” he growled, and immediately covered her trembling mouth with his.
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