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Sparrow's Odyssey	By : EvilE Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 4426 -:- 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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Jack looked at her and thought fast, trying to come up with a way to avert disaster. He couldn't yet admit that he really was trying to seduce her.

“I'm sorry, love, I got a little carried away. But I didn't touch anything other than your hands, which you did, conveniently, employ to correct my blunder. Forgive me.” He put on his best contrite face.

She propped herself up on her elbows, glaring at him fiercely. “That doesn't begin to solve the problem, Captain Sparrow.”

“I know, I've gone and done it. Go on.” He extended his wrists and stuck out his lower lip. “Turn me into a pig, then.”

“There's no need. You are a pig.”

“Oh, is it so bad?”

“First of all, you're a liar. I asked for one simple story about your past, and it's not even true.”

“What do you mean? I wouldn't-“ but she ignored his gesture of innocence at his chest and charged forward.

“Oh, please, Jack. I had several governesses and was tutored in Greek and Latin. I know this story. It's Homer. Odysseus and Circe - it's famous.”

“All right, so maybe I confused meself and good old Odysseus a little. Come on, both legendary sailors...quick-witted...” He leaned closer, smiling fiendishly. “...fine lovers.”

She gave a cough of protest. “Oh, of course. Both liars. Scoundrels. Full of tricks. Of course, there were all the things you left out of the story.”

“Such as?”

“Well, for one thing, Odysseus is married.”

Jack blinked. “So?”

“So as a female, I find it quite ironic that while Penelope, the man's faithful wife, sits at home waiting for him for twenty years, Odysseus is off cavorting around the Mediterranean.”

“Cavorting?”

“You know.”

He grinned, showing a few gold teeth. “You mean, 'fucking'.”

“Jack! I'll thank you not to - “

“I'll thank you not to mince words, since we're forced to endure each other's company for the foreseeable future. When fucking's what you mean, better to just say it.”

She gaped at him.

“And you're right - he does fuck his way across the Aegean, or however you put it. But that's his prerogative. And he does make it home to wifey by the end.”

“So much the worse for her. Who knows what kind of venereal diseases witches have?”

“How do you know about...” and he trailed off, scratching his temple, thinking about his own past, and then shaking his head to clear it. “At any rate, doesn't it matter than the poor man's just lost, wandering the seas, looking for a little comfort? Hm?”

She regarded him, the flames of the fire flickering in her eyes, and he found that he really wanted her to understand, so he continued.“Is it so bad that he seduces the witch, to free his men and be on his way home again?”

“Oh! And you've got that wrong, too.”

“Why's that?”

She sat up, then, fully, and looked him dead in the eye. “He doesn't seduce her. She seduces him.”

Jack felt his throat go dry. “Really?”

“Of course. She forces him to share her bed, even though he doesn't want to. It says so right in the book. I remember reading it, even though my tutor tried to skip over those parts.”

“No, you're thinking of the other one. The goddess Calypso. She forces him. But Circe, he just wants to f-“

“So bloody many, one loses track,” she interrupted. “Hardly a fair story, in my opinion. There's very little about Odysseus that I find admirable.” Her scathing glance up and down his body let Jack know exactly what she meant.

And he felt dirty, suddenly. Dirtier than usual, dirtier than the sand they sat on. Because he had been trying to seduce her, even though she was just a virgin and going to be married - to one man or another - and she trusted him, and he'd let her down. Then he realized what he was thinking, and couldn't believe himself. Jack Sparrow, guilty? Jack Sparrow, ashamed? No. Yes. But not for long.

“Look, Odysseus wasn't so bad. I can think of at least one woman in the Odyssey he doesn't... cavort... with.”

“Oh, only one?”

“Yes.” Jack narrowed his eyes at her. “The young one. The virgin.”

Elizabeth met his gaze, her cheeks coloring a pale pink. She said nothing.

“The princess at the river. He's washed up, remember? Got nothing. Shipwrecked. Marooned. No crew to speak of. He hasn't even got any clothes, and he washes up on the riverbank, and she's his only hope.”

“I only sort of remember this part.”

“Figures. You're so focused on all the f-“

“Jack!”

“Sorry. But I'm right. She takes pity on him and rescues him.”

He watched as she swallowed, and turned her face toward the fire again. “Isn't...isn't she the one whose father is trying to make a proper match for her?”

“Aye,” Jack said, leaning a little closer to Elizabeth. “Her father, the king, tries to give her away right then and there, while Odysseus is dining with them.” He saw Elizabeth furrow her brows pensively, and moved to recline beside her, similarly propped on his elbows.

“Well, perhaps the princess didn't want him,” Elizabeth said, eyeing Jack warily.

“Oh, she wants him all right. She catches him alone in the corridor of the palace. Makes him promise to always remember her, since he rescued her. Er... she rescued him.”

“That doesn't mean she wants him. The story doesn't say that.”

“Oh, yes it does, love. It's between the lines. You've got to look there.” He cast his eyes over her face, and saw she was looking back at him, warmly, earnestly.

“So what stops him?” she said.

“Sorry?”

“What stops him... from seducing her?”

“Well, the princess - Nausikaa, was her name, I think - was very beautiful. As beautiful as a goddess. So naturally he would have wanted her.”

“Naturally. But?”

“But there's a bond between them, see? She's the only other kindred soul he meets in that godforsaken place, just when he's at the end of his rope, completely done for. He meets her and she saves him.”

He paused, and Elizabeth was looking at him even more intently. Were those tears in her eyes? So perhaps she did understand what he was trying to say. “What does he say back to her, then, when they're alone and she approaches him?”

Jack looked over at her, thinking how to phrase the sentence while watching the firelight shimmer in her hair, on her skin. “He tells her - he tells her that he'll always remember her, as fondly as a lovely goddess who had blessed him.”

The silence of the night settled upon them, and the cracking of the fire was the only sound for several long minutes. Then Elizabeth spoke.

“So... Odysseus goes on his way after that. And he never sees the princess again?”

“Not the way Homer wrote it.”

“That's rather sad. Since they had forged a bond, as you said.”

“Quite. Although, as you've pointed out, she goes on to make a pretty, rich bride, and he goes on to bed loads of goddesses and sail the seas plenty before finding his way home to wifey.”

“Jack...” He could sense her hesitation, tried to look at her sincerely, to quell her fear. “You still owe me a story.”

He chuckled. “Back to that, are we?”

“Just one story, before we go to sleep.”

“All right, love. What'll it be?”

“I want... I want the story that you would have written.” He looked over at her, certain his eyes were smoldering. She continued. “I want to know - if you had written it, what would happen to the shipwrecked sailor, and the princess?”

Jack felt desire begin to stir again, coiling low in his belly. “I don't know if that's a story for a lady's ear.”

“I can accept it. I want you to tell it.” He looked at her, saw the honest determination in her eyes.

“You'd better be sure. I'll impose the same conditions as last time - I promise not to touch you except for your hands, but you're going to act the part of the princess.” He waited for her answer, seeing the hesitation in her eyes. The question was... would she trust him?

“All right,” she said a small voice. Back to the child, it was. Well, he would change that.

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

“So,” and he rolled over onto his side, facing her, still propped on an elbow. “The lately shipwrecked sailor, and the princess. They meet in the corridor, alone. She begs him to remember her, and he tells her he'll think of her as a goddess. And then he remembers how she saved him and how much he's going to miss her, when he goes. And he wants to give her a gift, something that she can have for herself no matter who she ends up marrying or what happens after he leaves her island - which may be nothing, because they may never meet again.”

Elizabeth's eyes danced, the same color as the rum in the firelight. “What does he give her?”

“Well, it's something that he shows her. He turns her around and guides her back to her bedchamber, where they can be alone.” He saw Elizabeth's lips part, saw her take a nervous breath.

He reached out and took her hands in both of his, warming her palms. Her fingers flexed around his and he squeezed them, firmly, but not so hard as to hurt her. Her hands moved in response. Oh, yes, she was a sensual creature. And she was going to find out how much delight her senses could bring her. He sat fully upright and pulled on her hands to indicate she should sit up, too, and they faced each other, cross-legged on the sand.

“Once they're alone in her bedchamber, he takes her hands and puts them on him. You see, he knows she's curious about his body because he's seen her staring, and looking, and it's only natural that she should be, because she's a woman and he's a man.”

Elizabeth regarded him for a moment, and he saw she was fighting to keep her gaze on his face, but she soon lost that battle and he watched her eyes fell to his parted collar, the exposed brown skin of his chest. He took her right hand and laid it on the crook of his shoulder, inside his shirt. He felt her fingers curl against his skin, and her thumb moved out to stroke along his clavicle. Before long she curved her fingers so that just the tips were against his skin, and she moved her arm of her own accord, painting an S pattern across his chest with the ends of her fingers. He closed his eyes and gave in to the sensation, having known it would be marvelous to have her touch him, but not knowing how...

And then he felt her other hand on the side of his neck, sliding slowly up and down, the edge of her palm hot as she moved up to his ear and back down to his shoulder, several times. His head fell forward of its own accord, and he lifted his hands to part his shirt more, opening it all the way down to the scarf he had wrapped about his waist, untucking it and pulling it out.

Her hands followed suit, gliding over his entire chest, exploring the scars on his right side gently between a few smooth fingers, making a wide series of arcs across his chest and through the bits of black hair that curled against his sun-bronzed skin. He bit his lip as she reached his stomach, still touching lightly. He was afraid to open his eyes, afraid to let her see how deeply her butterfly-light touch was affecting him. When she reached the waistband of his trousers, his hands shot out and wrapped around her wrists.

“Does... does he like it, when the princess touches him?” said Elizabeth, and he could hear a throaty quality to her voice.

“Very much,” he answered, his own voice thick, as he chanced a look at her through barely opened lids.

“Does he want her... to touch him more?”

“Oh, yes, he does.” Jack shrugged out of his shirt, then, and cast it over in front of the fire. He leaned toward her, reaching for her hands, again, and she pulled back her head, but only a little. “Relax, will you? I promised. Just your hands.”

She nodded mutely, and allowed him to lift her hands to his shoulders, and he released one and lifted his mass of hair so she could slide her hands underneath it, and his breath caught as she began to stroke his upper back with her fingers, delicately. He was so focused on what she was doing that he didn't realize he'd come to rest his forehead on her shoulder, and she slid her palms down the rest of his back, which he was certain was covered with a fine sheen of sweat, now, both from the warmth of the fire and the exertion of holding himself back... he felt the middles of her fingers touch him individually, one after the other, as though she were playing the piano, and he wondered if that had been part of her proper education, too. And as she made her way down his back in two curving lines he fought to breathe, because the touch of a woman's hands on his back was something he had always found extremely erotic, perhaps because it often happened when he was on top of one, driving himself into her over and over and over... a low groan escaped his lips against the front of her shoulder, and he didn't know how much more of this he could take, how reliable his control and his promise really was.

At that thought he raised his head, and opened his eyes. Her eyes were lively, very warm as they looked at him, and it occurred to him that all that rum might be taking its toll, finally, and that she might relax even more being drunk. Or else, the warmth in her eyes was a sort of feline satisfaction that came from witnessing the effect she had on him, of gaining a knowledge of her own power. Perhaps she was drunk on that, too.

That was all right. But it was time to bring her to another level, beyond simply pleasing him and arousing her own curiosity about his body. And he didn't think he was flattering himself too much to think that she had actually enjoyed touching him, all the sinewy muscle and male flesh that he knew much be exotic and strange to her. He ran his tongue over his lips so that he could speak.

“And so...” He had to clear his throat again, because he found speaking difficult. “...so after he puts the princess's hands on him, he wants to show her some things about herself, about her own body. But for that, he needs to undress her.”

Her lips parted, and he saw her try to focus on him with her eyes. “Jack... you can't, I...”

“I won't touch. Only your hands. I swear. Swear on me mother's grave...” and then it was moot, because he'd been inching her dress up over her knees ever since he'd started speaking again, and while she debated he lifted it slowly over her hips, but there it caught, because she was sitting on the other side of it, so she'd have to cooperate of her own free will. But would she...

She leaned back onto her elbows, then, her knees coming together as her feet slid in front of her on the sand. He wasted no time in grasping the hem and sliding it farther up, and she lifted her hips so he could slide it underneath, and then it was at her waist, and then her chest, and with a final push he dragged it over her ample breasts and up over her face. She had to lay on her back to raise her arms and allow it to be lifted over her head, and then she put her elbows back in the sand, and she was naked to his gaze. He dropped the dress beside her and told himself to breathe, to keep breathing, as he took in her nude form with his eyes.

A goddess... yes, that was perfectly fitting, he concluded as he ran his eyes over her. Those beautiful breasts, jostled slightly by her breathing... round and lush and full, tipped with nipples the color of summer roses, large ones, that begged for him to lower his mouth to smell, to taste...the pale, creamy skin of her stomach and thighs, the thatch of curls between them that, like her tresses, were neither brown nor gold but somehow both or in between... the curve of her thigh and knee, down to her feet which now nestled shyly in the sand. He took a deep, shuddering breath and cursed himself for a fool, because he'd promised not to take her, and now, he didn't see how he couldn't, how could he not have her, not ever have her, because he needed her so desperately... and he wished that he'd just gone to sleep and told her to stuff her story, because he was in it, now, and deeply, too.

“Jack, is the princess... is she... as beautiful, as Odysseus thought she'd be... does the sight of her... please him?”

Jack's eyes snapped up to her face, and he thought he saw a hint of mischief in her eyes. Listen to her, fishing for compliments like a brazen hussy. Well, so be it.

“She's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and that's saying a lot, because remember, he's seen witches and actual goddesses, and slave girls and sirens and a whole host of other things, too... but none of them can compare, can ever, will ever compare, to the beauty of the princess in his eyes.” And he watched her chin lift and she smiled, a genuine smile, and he sensed that underneath the bold asking of her question was a real insecurity, a real ignorance of her own power as a woman, as a sexual being.

“And so the gift he gives the princess is this: to realize that her body is a source of pleasure, and not something to be frightened of. Even though she's still got to be very careful, because there are lots of men in the world who aren't noble like Odysseus and who would love to get their hands on her just to satisfy themselves.”

“How... does he? Show her this?” She sounded nervous again. And well she should be - he could take her right now. The only thing stopping him was her trust, and his promise.
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Sparrow's Odyssey