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It Was in the Stars	By : hallowedmaiden Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 2029 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Disney, I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean and I make no profit off of this story.

Chapter List
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The inhale swam into her body with a sharp convulsion of her throat, a rising of her shoulders, her chest expanding with a strength as though it thought itself capable of calming her, and then the breath became trapped within her, blockaded by a masochistic perversion of thought that disallowed her take even the slightest reprieve from the sweet torture that was enveloping her like an opium haze, dimming her consciousness to anything that might linger in reality, in that strange place where the consumption of her body by a crazed possession didn't exist, but on the last moment that she could hold the oxygen in her lungs, she reminded herself that as quick and sure as an oncoming hurricane, the acceptance that this was her new reality had taken root in her mind without nary a whisper of permission.
Sweat prickled at her skin, her men's breeches and billowy white shirt rendered a prison rather than a salvation, while several strands of sun-kissed hair stuck to her forehead, staying there without even the slightest nudge from her brain that she might want to wipe them away, as it instead directed her to alternatively purse her lips and let them fall open, like that simple tactic might release the tension gripping her muscles, and nevermind her hands being applicable to any such task, as they were fisted in the bedsheets so tightly that she had lost the sensation in them.
When she finally did exhale, the equivalent of a wave summoned from Calypso herself slammed into her, not that she hadn't expected it, having learned the rhythm of this torture quite without effort, akin to a raging storm pounding mercilessly on a lone palm tree threatening to topple it over with one more crushing gust of wind. Besides, it wasn't as though she was brandishing any weapons at it, her defense was non-existent, rather more like there wasn't a defense in the world that she could wield.
And she didn't even want to defend.
Some wild part of her liked this torture, liked the sensation of being dangled over a bright and crackling bonfire, and the comparison wasn't very far off, because it was so very warm in here, with her wallowing in the devastating heat, balancing on the knife-edge of letting her guard fall out from under her, collapsing under the pressure of pressure itself.
She was also trembling, a raw energy bubbling underneath her skin like a simmering witches' potion, and she might have been trembling only since she had sat down on the bed with a frustrated groan, or she might have been trembling all twenty-one days since Will had left, or maybe even before that, subjected to a game of smoke and shadow with a person far more experienced in it than she, as though he was a cat and she a mouse released upon a pirate ship with the task of driving each other to near ruin, but the trembling hadn't stopped, had only grown stronger. Her body was trying to take matters into its own hands, she was sure of it, and flashes of compliance teased her every time she chanced a glance at her bedroom door.
As was the ebb and flow of this night, she inhaled again with the same trepidation as she had last time, not more than twenty seconds ago, letting her eyes fall shut for a moment, and the air only served to fan the flames within her, a companion to the other terrible and beautiful monster twisting and writhing, her own personal Himeros dancing for her, the embodiment of all she was being consumed by...her fantasies, released against her like armed cavalry on a battlefield when she exhaled again, each one equipped with the skill to send her into a mindless frenzy, and it was only the heavily trodden nature of them that saved her. It wasn't even those that she had to worry about, her memories proving far more lethal...
Tightening a bit of rope, trying to ignore the way the sun beat down on her forehead, shoulders tense and taut, and then setting her head at just the right angle to catch of a glimpse of sun-browned hands gripping the helm of the Pearl, tightening and loosening with the same rhythm of the waves, sliding across the smooth wood with a perfect caress, forcing a jaunt of breath into her lungs with a strangled gasp as she imagined what those hands might feel like upon her skin, yet utterly unable to imagine it, the lack of knowledge as torturous as a constant drip of hot wax upon her.
Those hands, a magical ingredient in her imagination all on their own…
Forced ahead by some kind of unknown entity, because certainly it was not her that had coaxed her body down the hallway to the door of his cabin, and it was absolutely not her that had her pressed against the wall next to it either, sucking breath in and out of her lungs like she would die if she didn't. Just a moment ago, she had been enjoying one blessed moment without torment, staring at the sky, watching the stars, and then too quickly for her to understand what was going on, booted feet were marching across the deck, a white shirt was flung down to it, along with a sword and scabbard, hat, scarf, several belts, and...but the breeches had been missing.
The thought of whether he had seen her there or not paled in complete and utter insignificance at the knowledge of almost all of his clothes being in a pile in front of her, and him being almost completely naked in the ocean below her…
...she waited there, incapable of remembering how to use her body, until she heard him coming back up, the beads and baubles in his hair making small clinking noises, and just before his head appeared over the top of the railing, she took off into a dark corner, taking heaving breaths, but it was, unfortunately, the corner adjacent to his cabin door, and she had a complete unblocked view of his soaking wet torso, half obscured in the dark, the lower half of his body only covered with breeches, a garment that to her shame took on an entirely new definition of hatred...and the way his wet hair clung to his skin, the damnable water droplets that carved paths down the lean ridges of muscle, the dark lines of his tattoos…what would it be like to run her tongue over him, tasting the salty water and the taste of his skin below….
...perhaps that was the force that nearly had her barging into his cabin and throwing herself at his feet, or his body, or throwing her body onto his bed tugging his on top of hers…where she found the strength to take a deep breath and walk away, she didn't know...didn't even want to contemplate…
Her body fell, slumped by the weight of absolute arousal that pummeled her as another memory assault attacked her.
The hard wooden wall behind her did nothing, the strange angle that she was twisted into sitting against it did nothing, half sliding onto her back with her only her neck jammed onto it, nothing did anything to curb the fierce fury that possessed her, driving her only towards one goal, one that lay waste to anything else...the goal of absolute earth-shattering release, that beautiful snap of tension that had her flying above everything like a dove finally released from its cage…and she was almost there, gasping and straining, warmth blooming in her loins as her fingers stroked maniacally, all the while imagining larger fingers, rougher than her own, touching her, a beautiful voice akin to velvet whispering in her ear, telling her to come, to let herself go...and then her hand became wild, slipping and jerking as she did come with a fury and an assault of half-images exploding into her mind like a rainbow of ink onto a canvas.
...But there was nothing that could hold a candle to the ever-looming step over the cliff, one that she could perform only by rising from the bed and walking down the hallway, not even her fantasies could compare to the possibility of making them a reality, and she was getting nearer and nearer to throwing everything out the window for it.
Only then did she notice how quickly her heart was really beating, a frenetic musical number of looping and winding violins, banging percussion, air-piercing trumpets, all born for the sole reason of teaching the human mind the true feeling of a complete consumption of body, mind, and soul, and the frustration within her left her feeling bereft and full in tandem, tears stinging the corner of her eyes at the entire unfairness of it, of her inability to claim what she wanted without questioning herself, him, the world...everything.
This is what she had been reduced to, a shell of crazed need, of dizzying yearning, undone by the complete and utter all-consuming physical desire for another human being. As if Jack Sparrow could be called a simple human being...no, he was more like a dark sorcerer, commanding her thoughts and her body even when he was rooms away, like the devil himself winding its way into her to thrum through her like dangerous honey, mixing and fusing with her blood to make it change to lava as well, forcing her to take shelter wherever no one could see her just to smother some of the fire inside so that she may function with some semblance of normality again.
Just like he was reducing her now to chasing the cavalcade of thoughts running around in her head, carving out a place to stay inside of her mouth until she had the insane notion that maybe just screaming everything into the empty air of her bedroom might relieve her, that maybe collapsing on the floor in a fit of tears and hysterical defeated laughter with her own hand shoved down her breeches like she was a freak in a carnival, a creature ruined by lust, and something far more dangerous, something that also began with the letter L, something that was going to leave her stranded on an imaginary island with nothing but her own tortured existence because she just couldn't bloody force herself off of the bed.
His roughened sailor's hands, what would they feel like on her skin? They would know where to touch, would probably know far too well...she could finally get a real glimpse of his tattoos...scars, bury her fingers in his hair...the weight of his body atop hers...how would his face look as he moved above her? Like the most intoxicating thing she had ever seen, no doubt, and it made her eyes slip closed just for a moment...would he close his eyes or would he keep them gazing straight at hers...she wanted to see him undone so bloody bad she would kill for it.
Every glimpse she had seen of his body, the exposed triangle of chest through his open shirt, every word he said to her, 'curiosity', 'my side' 'resist'...she wasn't resisting now, just waiting...that feeling she had experienced when his entire torso had been bare for her on the deck that night...like she had just sloshed and entire bottle of rum down her throat...the braids and beads in his black hair...the noises they would make when...and she would not die without knowing what kind of pleasure noises he would make...that beautiful husky voice of his even deeper, lost to her ministrations, whispering encouragement and words of gratification…
They were all like throwing gunpowder into an already raging fire, and she could no longer determine which torturous bits of her depravity involving Jack belonged to her daydreams, and which belonged to her actual dreams, or where they all originated from...and that wasn't even to speak of the absolute treachery her brain delved out to her when it made her think of what she hadn't yet seen beneath his clothing...
She was a bloody King for Christ's sake, and what was the worst that he could do, say no?
Oh, please god don't let him say no, it would kill her…strike her down as surely as a bolt of lightning from a vicious storm, if the ache between her legs didn't do it first.
Was he thinking about her? Was he sitting in his little office that she had given to him...or maybe even his cabin on the Pearl...was he sitting there like a starved vampire ready to pounce at the first sight of blood...starved of her more like...did he fantasize about her...was he fantasizing about her? Did he...oh Lord that train of thought needed to be stopped dead away...did he touch himself...what was that about stopping that train of thought...nevermind, it was unimportant...how would he look while he pleasured himself...what would he be thinking…did he do it fast or slow...did he draw it out or was it...how did his hand look wrapped around himself...and then her thoughts took a sharp right into the point of no return...but she couldn't find the strength within herself to stop…
...what did his...what did he look like? Was...he...was...it was hard to think...oh hard is not a good word right now...hard...dammit...difficult to think when her body was threatening to start on fire from the blush...was he...she blushed even harder...please why...when she couldn't grasp words to use...was he well-endowed her proper English vocabulary finally offered up, and then she barked out a ridiculous laugh that she couldn't even use simple language to wonder about Jack's...what did she call it? She had collected a few terms aboard the Edinburgh Trader, and had tested them out in the safety of her own mind but...applying them to Jack gave them an entirely new meaning...was he large...big...long...thick...and then she was laughing again, her pathetic head buried in her pathetic hands like she had learned that her life was falling apart and she was totally fine with it... how absolutely ridiculous was she...could barely think about...oh for Heaven's sake...his cock without feeling like a maniac exposed to too much sun for too long…
...maybe she was, because that sharp right had just taken a dive straight into the first circle of hell...like she was Dante descending...or maybe she was in the second...lust...or perhaps she had already done several laps through all nine and was just revisiting…
...how would he feel inside of her...better let the thoughts come now...more dangerous repressed...she guessed he wasn't...small...certainly...would he fill her...would he feel warm...what would it actually feel like...similar to when she stroked herself...or was it a pleasure much greater than what she knew?
Part of her wanted to throw herself onto the bed and writhe like a child in a fit...she wanted Jack Sparrow to make love to her so damn bad that it really was going to kill her...going to leave her to the dogs...sharks...dogs and sharks maybe...she was going to drown in her own beautiful sea of love for a pirate and she was finding it supremely difficult to care at this point...but she at least wanted to go down with something to show for it.
And then she inhaled again, slowly, with measured focus found in some long lost vestige of her mind, forcing herself clear for one blessed second, and then another, and then another, and then she was at her bedroom door, the bed behind her, the hallway in front her because the door was open now, the rush of air across her face the only indication that she could remember...he wasn't there, in the hallway, but why would he be..where was he then...she had to find him, had to find him right now, couldn't even stand another moment before she had him in front of her...
Her footsteps were unusually loud, magnified, and the frantic racing of her heart was nearly drowning them out, pounding in her ears, making her skin vibrate with tension, but she didn't care, needed him...could withstand her heart bursting into a million pieces if she could only have him…
Down another dark hallway, wasn't there, turning around to look down another, not there either, wrenching open a door and then clutching the frame while she looked, god where was he...he didn't even know how frantic she was...didn't...oh…
And then she froze when she heard his voice, teetered on the precipice of rushing forwards and retreating back into the cave of her torment, but that thought was banished the more she heard him speak, with each word that left his mouth, wrapped in that exquisite timbre, dammit, even everyday conversation sounded beautiful right now coming from him, and then she was moving again, reaching out to steady herself against the wall, his voice getting louder, he was getting closer...making her force several deep breaths down her throat to curb the lightheadedness that threatened to topple her over.
The light of the room was far too bright, but she did nothing to shield her eyes, maybe it wasn't even that bright, maybe it was just the amplification of the world, because he was here now, just in front of her, talking to his father about something that certainly didn't matter more than she did...was he going to see the state she was in? Was he going to turn and look and see how undone was?
Was he finally going to acknowledge the near insanity he was driving her to by doing absolutely bloody nothing to her, for her, with her?
Turn and look at me she commanded silently. Turn and look, look at what you have turned me into, dammit. Don't make me come over there and get you because I can't remember what words sound like right now, can barely feel my own body, need you to feel it, need you to return life to it, turn and look you bloody pirate...
And he didn't until she stepped closer out of pure stubbornness, his head twitching to glance in her direction like he had noticed a rodent scrambling across the floor, but then when he saw her…
You've been looking at me for three damn weeks...but the puzzle of Jack Sparrow was still ever-present even in his eyes...she could barely tell what he was feeling, let alone thinking, wondering...now, ever...she just wished he would fix this mess he had made…that they had both made...
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It Was in the Stars