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Unto Your Lives' End	By : EvilE Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > General Views: 2611 -:- 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
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Chapter 3: Tomorrow

Elizabeth was dreaming again. But this time, the dream was different.

This time, she could feel every touch of her lover's tongue as he drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. His beard scratched her tender skin, but it didn't hurt... it felt good. Naughty. But it was all right to be naughty, now. She was married.

She opened her eyes. “Jack!”

“Morning,” he drawled. The air moved across her exposed skin, causing her nipple to tighten. He bent his head to her again, and she sighed. She turned her head to the right, trying to see if Will was awake, unable to discern much in the pale dawn light trickling in through the stern windows. As memories of the night before flooded back, she shut her eyes, and was sure she blushed. Had she really... had they really...

“Yes,” Jack said, letting go and smiling at her.

She glared at him. “How do you know what I was thinking?”

“I always know.” He flicked his tongue lazily across her breast again.

“Is that so,” came a drowsy whisper from the other side. Will sat up on his elbows, and leaned down to press his lips to her other breast, caressing her gently with the tip of his tongue. She looked at him in surprise for a second before she shuddered and gave in to the feeling of both men nibbling at her... “And what about me?” Will continued, raising his head to look at Jack.

Jack blinked. “Meant no disrespect, mate, but I do fancy myself rather good at reading people. It's one of my talents. One of... many.”

“Reading people,” Will murmured, the remnants of sleep making his deep voice sound thick. “So does that include me, as well?” He bent his head to her breast again, but Elizabeth saw his eyes were narrowed at Jack, as he brushed his lips back and forth over her.

“It most certainly does,” said Jack in a low, ominous whisper. He reached a hand underneath Will's jaw to push her breast toward him, instead, and leaned over to fasten his mouth upon it as it popped free of Will's lips.

Will, not to be outdone, shoved Jack's face away with a palm to his cheek, and took the nipple he'd freed lightly between his teeth, glaring at Jack.

Elizabeth began to feel as though she were a piece of meat being tugged upon by two wild animals.

“You realize I do possess two of those,” she said in a tone a governess might have used to reprimand recalcitrant schoolboys. After all, that was how they were behaving, she thought as Jack leaned forward again to reclaim it. “Are you listening?” she cried. “Ow!”

Jack had pinched her, right on her bottom, and it smarted. She understood the message: be silent. But why? she wondered as she watched them, Jack licking and biting one half of the tip of her breast, Will the other half... and then Jack was snaking his tongue out to flick across her nipple, and Will was forced to cede territory or change his methods.

And change them he did, for soon he was holding his own with Jack, and she watched as their lips and tongues brushed, several times, as they battled. She felt her pulse begin to quicken, as she watched. Her nipple slid back, and forth, between the two of them, alternately... and then it was caught between their lower lips, which were pressed together... and then it was pulled inside as they surged together and upward, and Jack and Will were kissing each other, whiskered lips and full mouths and tongue, not six inches from her face.

She stared in awe. It was beautiful. And erotic. And strange.

“Is this more ridiculous competition?” she remarked as they pushed back and forth with their mouths, rather aggressively.

Will pulled back until his lips were just touching Jack's. “Of course it is.”

“Patience, love,” Jack added, and it began all over again. Elizabeth snorted in frustration and disbelief.

“Am I just supposed to lie here while you two...”

“What does it take to shut her mouth, I wonder?” Jack said to Will, tilting his head.

“Something in it, I fear,” Will replied before returning his lips to Jack's, continuing where they had left off. She might as well not have been there at all... and could probably have pretended she wasn't, were it not for feeling Will, smooth and hard, against her right thigh, and Jack, twitching now, against her left... she lowered her hands to wrap her fingers around and pulled, hard, refusing to be ignored.

They both started, but didn't seem to mind, and began to thrust into her hands as they kissed each other. She sighed in resignation, and her head fell back against the pillow as she watched, feeling the fairly new sensation of heat gathering between her legs, again... and after several moments had passed, she saw Jack break the kiss and drag his mouth along Will's cheek to his ear, to whisper something. She shut her eyes, hearing bits of Jack's whispered words, barely audible over the pounding of her own heart. If Jack was talking, it was dangerous. This much, she knew. And she knew his words weren't for her ears, either, but she still caught part of it. “...mouth on it?” it sounded like.

“Yes,” Will answered in a rasp, and then Will moved to sit back, spreading his knees, while Jack began to crawl toward him on all fours, like a predatory cat, and Elizabeth, a little alarmed, slid between Will's knees as though to protect him. Her back pressed against his damp thigh as Jack approached, crawling right over her, his knees straddling her hips, his arms on either side of Will's hips.

Her head fell back, her eyes closed. She knew what he was doing, knew it from the clenching of Will's thigh and the pressure of his hips lifting against her back... knew it from Will's full-throated groan, and yet could not bring herself to look. She felt Jack's cock against her stomach, and she reached down to touch it tentatively with her fingers, and then began to stroke him, wanting to be noticed, wanting to matter, even if the two of them were busy... and Jack noticed, for he began to grind himself against her hand, and she cupped her palm the way Will had shown her the night before.

In another minute Jack had reached down between her legs, parting them, and then he was placing his knees between them. Will groaned again... in protest, she thought, as Jack must have stopped in order to find his way to getting inside her, again... and once he did, she was completely lost, her hands sliding around his back as it curved down toward Will. She was safe between both men she loved, she thought hazily. Jack thrust into her, smoothly, and she finally gathered the courage to open her eyes and watch as he opened his lips around Will's manhood and swallowed it, inch by inch, with no hesitation whatsoever, until he reached his own hand, which was wrapped solidly around the base. When Jack moved his hips Elizabeth moaned... when he moved his mouth, Will did... and Elizabeth realized it was Jack in control of this encounter, and she wondered if they'd done a stupid, insane thing by inviting him into their bed. It should be she to orchestrate this, they were her men and she was their lady, and it wasn't fair for Jack to manipulate them this way... even if it was pleasurable, too pleasurable. Even if the pleasure grew, and went on, and on, and on...

Will was swearing. He almost never swore. This, too, alarmed Elizabeth through her haze of desire... Will's blasphemy was just another sign that they were in too deep, that they ought to get out now, while they could. But it was too late; Will's hips were bucking against her back and strangled groans, helpless as the groans of a dying man, were ground out through his clenched teeth. She gave in, too, feeling herself explode around Jack, who thrust deeply into her three, perhaps four times, before spending himself inside her, silently shaking.

When Elizabeth opened her eyes again, sunlight streamed in through the stern windows as Jack was lifting himself up and off of her. He looked at her, and she detected something unusual in his eyes... guilt, perhaps. He climbed from the bed and hastily began to dress.

She turned to Will, whose eyes were still closed as he leaned against the wall. She watched him for a long minute while Jack dressed. Finally Will's eyes opened, and he looked... determined.

“No,” she said.

Will met her gaze boldly. “I have to. Today's the day. It's what we agreed.”

“No,” she said again, through gritted teeth.

“The party's over, 'Lizabeth,” Jack called to them as he wrapped a sash around his middle. “He's set his mind on it. There's no trying to change it now.”

She turned to Will and caught his hand, even as he slid to the edge of the bed, beautifully naked, and still managing to look innocent. “You don't have to. You're putting yourself in danger. Your father will understand.”

“Elizabeth, we've been through all this before.”

Jack tossed Will his trousers as he stood, and began to pull them on. Elizabeth flopped against the pillow in despair.

It was the end. She knew it was coming. Knew he would leave... after all, that was why they had decided to get married... but it was happening too fast.

“I'm going to get my things,” Will said as he buttoned his shirt.

“Fine. Go.” Elizabeth whispered into the pillow. Will nearly raced out of the cabin, and she heard the door slam, her face still buried in the pillow. When she lifted her head, her cheeks were wet, and she didn't bother to wipe them away, certain she was alone.

She turned her head to the side on the pillow, drawing deep breaths. Her eyes flicked open.

Jack was leaning against the wall, watching her.

“What are you staring at?” she said venomously.

He blinked, slowly, without saying word.

“Why don't you leave,” she ground out, sniffing and wiping a tear away with her palm. “That's what you men are good at, isn't it?”

“It's my bloody cabin, for one thing,” Jack said, completely deadpan. “Unless you're planning to take up residence.”

“As if I would.” She sat up, trying to remember what had become of her clothing. She was still peering into the darkest corner of the room when a piece of clothing struck her in the shoulder. She held it out. A shirt. Jack's shirt.

“That one's my cleanest.” She looked over to see him, bare to the waist, now. Again. She wet her lips, her eyes sliding over him as she pushed her arms into the sleeves. Jack eyed her before continuing. “Shall I send someone to get the rest of your clothes?”

“Oh, and as good as announce that you're in here with me, naked?”

“I'm not naked.”

“You know what I meant,” she snapped, and then she realized that Jack was teasing her, seeing the ghost of a smile on his lips. He meant to distract her... to stop her from crying. “Jack,” she said, her fingers falling from the buttons.

“Dress, love,” he answered, leaving the wall to walk toward her. He stopped next to the bed, and her chin lifted, inches from his chest.

“I don't want him to go,” she whispered. “Can't you stop him?”

“No,” Jack admitted, reaching out to cup her cheek in his palm. “He's been set on this for weeks.”

“But he'll listen to you.”

“No, he won't.” He bent down to press a kiss to her forehead, and she slid her arms around his back, to hold him there. To keep him. And she feared she would fail, just as she had with Will.

* * *

As Will climbed down into the longboat, he smiled at Jack, and said, “Take care of her for me.”

Jack frowned, unsure what precisely he meant. If he'd known it would be the last time he'd talk to Will, he might have asked.

Elizabeth stood apart from him, staring, unseeing toward the boat and the sea beyond it. They'd said their farewell, which was distant and strained. If she'd known it would be the last time she'd see him, she might have made sure to at least kiss him goodbye.

But Will waved and sat in the boat, and he was rowed ashore, the first leg of his long journey.

Years later, Jack would remember his surprise when she came to his cabin, even that first night.

Wasn't expecting you so soon, he had said, sitting up in his bed when he heard the door.

I find hammocks uncomfortable, she stated flatly, pulling at her clothes even as she walked toward the bed.

Jack only smiled, reaching out to pull her on top of him. So, Will's taught you to handle a sword. But has he taught you to ride, I wonder?

The first of many nights she spent in his bed, during which they made love with a relentless passion fueled by desperation, and loneliness. They did not speak of Will again.

Not until the day they came across Bootstrap floating on a piece of the Dutchman's hull. When they pulled him aboard, and Jack questioned him, his eyes told them the truth even as he stumbled over the words. Elizabeth screamed, saying No, no, he can't be dead, you're lying... and she would have attacked him had Jack not restrained her, receiving bloody scratches for his efforts. When she collapsed, sobbing exhaustedly, he left her to grieve in his own way, alone, with the sea. He stayed on deck through that night, and the night after, and the one after that.

She did not return to his bed, and so Jack took rum to bed with him, instead. She refused to be taken back to Port Royal, refused to leave the ship for her old life. Jack hadn't the heart to argue with her. She still bore the ring on her finger, and he hadn't the heart to even tell her it was his.

One evening, she appeared. Jack was lying in bed, drinking, not asleep, and he turned at the sound of footsteps. Elizabeth leaned unsteadily against the door, her eyes red-rimmed, a nearly empty bottle of rum clutched in her hand.

His lips parted, but he had no saucy remark. She looked awful. No better than he did, he imagined. And then she was walking, with a hint of a stagger, toward the table. She took the chair from it, the one Will had used on their wedding night, and half-shoved, half-carried it to the shadows beyond the head of the bed, setting it down gently with a sniff. Wordlessly she looked at Jack, who stared back.

She climbed into the bed, and his hands slid beneath her shirt as his arms came around her, his mouth meeting hers hungrily.

And though that was the first of many nights, again, that they spent together, countless nights, until long after Jack's beard was grey and Elizabeth's face leathery from age and the sun, and they hid away to pass their remaining days in peace in seclusion, after many days of sun and sails and new waters and the thrill of theft. Throughout the entirety of the exciting life they led - while perhaps not as complete as they had once dreamed, for life rarely turns out as one dreams it will in youth - until death finally parted them, they still did not speak of Will.

Perhaps it was because of guilt. Or perhaps it was simply too painful, or each was too afraid of what the other might think, or say.

But many times, Elizabeth would wake suddenly from a dream, her nude body wrapped in Jack's arms. In that space between sleep and waking, the gray light of the dawn, she would feel that Will was not gone after all, even though he'd been dead all those long years. She would feel, strongly, that Will was there.

Watching.

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Unto Your Lives' End