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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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“Well, now that's a challenge worthy of Odysseus' talents, isn't it? Because he doesn't really want to ruin her for marriage, you know? And all the problems that come along with that.”

“So what can we...what can they...do?”

Jack reached out and took her left hand in his right, gently pinching her fingers between his. In his left he reached for the bottle of rum... nearly forgotten, beside her. He brought it over to her, meeting her eyes as they reflected the firelight. He lowered the bottle above her lips and she parted them, and he poured a small amount, just a little, between them, and splashed a bit over her rosy, full lips, watching as her tongue darted out to catch the errant drops. He raised her hand and brought her fingertips to her lips, and, grasping her index finger, moved the tip over and across her bottom lip, and then up over the top, catching a few beads of rum upon it. He watched as she rotated her face in time with his motion, as though pulled magnetically toward her own finger, which he held. He then leaned closer, inches from her face, and brought that finger of hers to his own lips, drawing it inside and sucking on it, using his tongue to lick every drop of rum from it.

When she opened her eyes they seemed misty with longing. Yes, oh, yes.

He tilted the bottle again and splashed some rum on her long, graceful neck, and lowered his mouth to lap it up, greedily, with his tongue without even thinking at all, but she made a sound in her throat that he felt against his lips, and he pulled away. “Sorry, that was just the rum,” he murmured against her skin. “I remember I promised.” And he held his mouth away from the wet spot he'd just made with the rum and his mouth, and breathed upon it, from the top of her neck to the bottom, and he was immensely pleased to hear a soft moan.

He then splashed more down the center of her chest, and followed that with his mouth, breathing hotly against her skin, holding his lips away by a fraction of an inch. His every movement was controlled, restrained, and he knew she couldn't possibly know how much it was costing him to rein in his raging desire...

His gaze fell to her magnificent breasts, and when he splashed the rum this time, he aimed for her right nipple, which had become taut in the night air. She gasped and her back arched a little. Now this... for this he needed something else. He took the hand he still held in his right and brought it up to her breast. Then he laid her own palm over her nipple and held it there, watching her breathing quicken and intensify, before he squeezed her hand and moved it back and forth over her own breast, eliciting another moan from her throat and even more painful throbbing in his deliciously spasming cock.

The other one, next. He poured a tiny dribble of rum over her other nipple and bent his mouth to that one, exhaling upon it, gratified to watch it tighten into a hardened pebble instantly, and then he took the hand that was warm and sticky from her other breast and brought it to this one, taking the tips of her fingers and moving them in a slow, ever-narrowing circle from the edges of the pink to the center. When he reached it, he heard all her breath escape in a rush, and he knew she was going to be ready, so ready, for what he had in mind next.

He poured the rum below her breasts so that it ran in a rivulet straight down the middle of her stomach, pooling in her navel, just reaching the top of her curls. He took her hand and pressed her fingertips to her sternum, and then dragged them downward in the path of the rum, holding her hand tightly, wanting her to know that he was dying to follow that path with his own hand, with his mouth, hell, with his cock, for that matter, but all of that was under the lock and key of his promise, and so he was squeezing her hand pretty hard as it made a slow, languorous path from her breasts down her belly and abdomen. He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them again, slowly, ostensibly to drink the rum off of them, but really to try to taste her skin, all the places he'd made her touch, wishing like hell he could taste them for himself.

He'd been so absorbed in his own thoughts that it took him a moment to notice that she was gasping for breath and her thighs were parting by themselves, her feet sliding apart in the sand. Yes, it was time. She was ready, she was more than ready, she'd been ready since she'd first felt his mouth on her hands before, he was sure. He put her hand back down between her thighs, and set down the rum so that he could lean on his left elbow, next to her. He guided her fingers between the curls - she gave a little jump off the ground at the new sensation - and then he laid two fingers on top of hers, and pushed her hand farther down between the folds to her hot, moist center.

His fingers slipped off of hers for a second, only a second, and he brushed against the heat of her, and he thought he'd die, right then and there, a happy man. But then he found her fingers again, and moved them underneath his hand, and pressed them downward against her sex, and she cried out with a wild upward movement of her hips.

“Jack... I...” she panted desperately.

“Shhh,” he said. “Don't interrupt the story.” And he began to rub, slowly, his fingers over hers, between the soft, wet folds. The heat of her nearly scalded his hand, even though he still only touched her fingers, and their fingers slipped back and forth and between one another as more of her moisture emerged and he lowered his forehead to her shoulder with a groan. He wanted her so much, so badly he didn't know how he'd survive... and he pulled her hand away, then, and brought it up to his mouth, and swallowed two of her fingers, laving them with his tongue, tasting her on them, knowing he would give his right arm to taste her for himself...

He heard her gasp of surprise, and then another soft groan as he continued to suckle her fingers, and when he opened his eyes her head had fallen back into the sand and she was looking at him with total, wanton desire.

“What does the princess taste like?” she said low in her throat.

“Heavenly,” he answered, hearing the word sounding choked, his voice hoarse. And then he returned her hand between her legs and pressed against her sex, hard, and cupped his hand around hers to force her fingers against herself. She groaned aloud again, and he began to move her fingers rhythmically, up and down, back and forth. Her hips rocked in time to his motions, and he realized he felt good, so good, despite fearing that he was about to split his trousers open from the force of his erection. He spread her fingers apart and moved them so that her small nub of flesh slid between them, and then he squeezed them together again, caressing it firmly.

“Jack...” she moaned, deep and low as he'd ever heard her, and he pushed himself up off his elbow to look into her face.

“Yes, love.”

“I think... the princess...doesn't know what's going to happen...it's very strange...”

“Is it?” He continued his ministrations below, pressing harder, moving her fingers back and forth more deliberately. “What does it feel like, to her?”

“It feels...” and her breath came out in a sigh, and her lips remained open for a moment, till she spoke again, still rotating her hips with his touch on her touch on her... “feels... it burns, it's tight and burning...”

“That's good,” he said with a smile, feeling his throat constrict. “That's very good. That's what he wanted to show her.”

“It... is?” she gasped, and once again her mouth stayed open, and he bent his head till his lips were almost against hers, and he wanted to kiss her more than anything in his entire life. “I can't... I can't breathe...” she was saying, a hair's breadth from his lips. “Help me... make it... I want...”

And he tried to aim her fingers more accurately, sweeping them over the sensitive nub he know was the focal point of her pleasure, but she had lost some coordination in her hand - probably the rum, and her near-overwhelming state of arousal - and her fingers felt limp to him.

“Jack, please. Please. Please, touch me, yourself.”

He smiled to hear those words, but didn't change what he was doing. “I can't, love. I promised. Just wait a moment...”

“No. No. I can't wait,” she exhaled against his mouth. “I can't... bear it... any more.”

“Well, I can't do anything else, unless you release me from that promise,” he whispered to her, knowing he was tormenting her unnecessarily, but he wouldn't have her crying scoundrel again, after this... “If you release me, from that... I'll release you... from this.”

She seemed to debate as he drove her fingers against her harder, bringing her to a fever pitch, and she was crying out wordlessly right against his mouth. But still she thrashed helplessly, and he held himself above her lips, watching pleasure contort her pretty features, knowing with a sinking feeling that seeing it once would never be enough.

And then he heard her trying to form words again.

“Yes... release... you...” was all he could make out.

But it was enough.

He flung her hand away and in the same moment replaced it with his own. And his mouth descended on hers to kiss her, thoroughly, openly, since her lips were already parted and she was spread wide to him, and he slid his lips over hers and pushed his tongue into her mouth at the same time he pushed his thumb, hard, against her below, and curled two fingers into her hot, dripping slit, feeling her buck and writhe and moan against him in both places, and with several deft, solid movements of his fingers and thumb and mouth and tongue he brought her over the edge, and she screamed into his mouth and he swallowed her scream, kissing her rhythmically, encircling her tongue, claiming her mouth as completely as his hand claimed her body.

And then he waited for her to calm, still kissing her, but slowly, more gently, more for himself now, than for her. He'd been waiting all night for that kiss, and he was determined to take his time now that he had it. When he finally lifted his mouth from hers, her chin fell to the side and she took a few slow, deep breaths, as he felt her heartbeat slow against the fingers of his other hand that had come up to brush her neck.

But while her heartbeat was slowing, his was still pounding, because now that he was no longer focused on what he was doing to her, his own arousal was clamoring in his ears, threatening to take control of him. She was warm, she was wet, she was naked, and she was right underneath him. Half-inebriated, half-drowsy with pleasure. She turned to look at him, after a moment.

“Does the princess... thank him for his gift?” Her voice was still breathy, but closer to normal.

“She ought to, if she liked it.”

“I think she did.”

“I think she did, too.”

To his surprise, she lifted her lips to his again, and kissed him, tenderly, hesitantly. He fought for a moment and then gave into it, kissing her back ardently, but when he felt his control coming dangerous close to breaking, again, he tore his mouth away with a groan.

“What's the matter?”

He chucked ruefully, looking down at the innocence in her recently-satisfied gaze. “After Odysseus gives the princess her gift, he's left in a bit of quandary. Because you see, he wants her more than ever, but he still can't take her, the real way, because he'd ruin her, and she's still too innocent to know it. And he's close, so close, to taking her anyway, because it seems like she's offering herself to him, but he keeps telling himself she doesn't know what that means.”

Elizabeth sighed, still meeting his eyes. “Does he... is he in pain, from wanting her? Like before, when I... when she... when she needed to be released?”

Jack marveled again at her cleverness, and wondered how that might come into play in the future. She was very smart. He'd do to watch his back, in fact, if their interests ever came into conflict. But for now... he wanted her. Desperately. “Yes. Exactly like that.”

“And isn't there any way she can... release him... like he released her?”

Jack's lungs constricted and he felt a shiver move, slowly, from his chest to his loins. “There... there might be, yes.”

“Can he show her?”

He blinked, a long, slow, blink. “It'll require the use of her hands.”

“Well, that sounds safe enough.”

“That's what you thought an hour ago.”

She smiled, and brought her hands up to his face as he held himself over her. “All right.”

He wasted no time in reaching his hands down to untie the scarf and unfasten his breeches, and he spilled gratefully out, brushing against her naked thigh. He got up on his knees and climbed between her legs, sliding his hands up her sides to wrap around her back. Then he brought his mouth to hers, again, and kissed her slowly, greedily. When he broke the kiss, she was moving her hands down his body, all the way down to his sides, and then around to the front, and then down more... until her fingers brushed against him, and she gasped in shock.

At the touch of her fingers to his member, he groaned, and could not form the words to tell her, to explain that it was him, she needn't be afraid, just to keep touching him... but she did anyway, exploring his length with her fingers, from tip to base, and back up again. He reached down to guide her, still in a state of disbelief that it was really happening, that Elizabeth was really touching him, that she wanted to.

He wrapped her fingers around him, and once he had done so, lifted his hips slightly for one, agonizing, delicate stroke.

“I don't know what to...show me, Jack,” she breathed.

“Just do that, love,” he groaned. “Keep doing that.”

And she did, holding onto the same place at the base of his cock while he rocked his hips forward again, and again. But it wasn't enough. He was dying, dying... and even though he'd wanted this exact feeling the entire night, ever since he'd watched her with that bottle, he thought he'd die of frustration before her tender touch could bring him release. And then that gave him an idea.

“Love, pretend it's a bottle, all right? You grasp the neck-“ she did so, squeezing him a little more tightly “-and then you lift it up to drink-“ he broke off as she pulled him upward, causing delicious friction all along his length, and he laughed darkly at his own choice of words, knowing he could only imagine what it would be like if she really did bring him to her lips “-and then you set it back down. And you do that, over and over.” She grasped, she lifted, she stroked downward.

And Jack thought he would explode. Right then.

But he clenched his teeth and told himself to wait, and she did it again, and again, and he thrust helplessly into her hands.

“Yes, oh yes, just like that,” he hissed. “Sure you haven't done this before?”

“No, but I am a quick study.”

“You certainly are.” And he realized they'd left off with the pretense of the story, entirely, even though it was a nice one, it had served its purpose and there was only Elizabeth and Jack, now, and she was pumping him expertly and he was melting into her hands.

Before long he felt a familiar tightening ache beneath his cock, and knew she'd done it, that she'd brought him to orgasm in record time with nothing except those hands, those hands, those beautiful hands of hers... He came with a jerk and a long groan, spilling himself into her hand, onto her stomach, and still she moved her fist upon him for a moment before slowing to a stop. Well, she'd figured out what that meant, too, which was good. Not that she could have missed it.

He raised his head to look down at her, and once again saw that smile of feminine mystique, the one that made him think she was high on her own power, her own ability to seduce. Who had seduced whom, indeed? he thought as he remembered her insistence on the correction to his story.

“Well, they won't be finding that in Homer,” he said, brushing hair out of her face with his hands.

“A pity, in my opinion.”

“Yes. People are so busy looking for the fairy-tale ending, they miss all the delightful stories along the way. Between the lines, as it were.”

She took a deep breath and sighed. “How does a pirate come to know so much about literature?”

He regarded her in the diminishing firelight. “How does a lady come to know about venereal disease?”

She laughed, then, and he grinned as he rolled off of her to flop in the sand.

“I'd recommend a dip in the water, love, or you'll be quite sticky in the morning,” he said with a yawn. He could barely keep his eyes open as he saw her walk, naked, down to the water's edge and in, getting in up to her knees before he closed his eyes. In a moment he sensed her back next to him, and she had bathed her entire body, for her hair was wet, and then put her dress back on. He must have dozed off... he sincerely hoped that, once all the rum really wore off, she wouldn't be too angry at him, or at herself...

“Jack?”

“Hm?”

“How does the story end? Between the princess, and the pirate?”

“You mean, the soldier... sailor?”

“Yes.”

“I don't know, love. That I don't know.” He yawned. His eyelids were heavy, so heavy... he didn't know when he'd last felt so at peace. Even though they were stuck on this island and were probably going to die on it.

“You forgot something, Jack.”

“What's that?”

“The sailor... he looks awful, he's down on his luck, lost all his possessions, shipwrecked and at the mercy of the princess... but you know... underneath of that, he's not a nobody or a vagrant wastrel at all. He's a king... the finest king his people have ever known.”

Jack opened his eyes and looked at her, and she looked back at him. He searched her face one last time, feeling a weight he didn't even know was there suddenly lift from his chest, before his eyes closed and he went blissfully to sleep.

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A/N: Did you like it? Leave a review, after all, it's the only way I get paid.

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Sparrow's Odyssey