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Midnight Ride	By : EvilE Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 2747 -:- 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
- 1-Blazing Saddles
- 2-Pursuit
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 2
- 3
- 4
3. A Matter of Time

They reached the ship just after midnight. Elizabeth trudged exhaustedly, on aching feet, across the ship and into Jack's cabin behind him.

She felt on the verge of collapse as she made her way toward his bunk, which despite her earlier trepidation looked suddenly quite inviting. Jack produced a bottle of rum from somewhere and began to shed his clothes. She might have commented on it, or at least glared at him, if she could have kept her eyes open long enough.

Moments later, she felt his weight in the bed beside her. “Lemme have the bed,” she mumbled in protest.

“Not a chance,” he replied, his voice an equally exhausted rasp.

“What kinduvva gennelman won't lend a lady his bed,” she argued into the pillow.

“And what kind of lady banishes her Lancelot to the floor of his own cabin, er, castle,” he groaned, lifting the bottle to his lips.

“I can't share a bed with you, 'm married,” she insisted.

“Bet that's what Guinevere said, the first two or three or ten times. Here, have a bit of rum, and you won't mind nearly as much,” Jack said, reaching over to part her lips with his thumb. He splashed a bit of rum between them, and she swallowed gratefully.

“I've a boot in my knife and I'll use it, too,” she warned, and gathered the pillow to her head more possessively. In a moment, deep breathing replaced the murmuring and Jack thought he heard a soft snore.

Jack sighed, setting the bottle aside, and leaned down to pull off her boots. Somewhere she'd found some to fit her reasonably, and he admired them briefly before placing them on the floor. He began to pull the sheet from under her leaden body, when he spied a bit of white, filmy undergarment where there shouldn't have been any showing. Between her legs, her breeches were slit wide open.

“Lizzy, you've got a great gaping hole in your kicksees,” he told her sleeping form, pulling the sheet from beneath her feet and laying it over her waist. He thought a moment about how it might have happened, as it seemed not to be a tear incurred while riding astride, but a clean slice... and then his nostrils flared, and bile rose in his chest as he lifted the bottle to drink more rum. He'd like to get his hands on those Spaniards...

His need for sleep soon won out over his anger, however, and the last thing he remembered doing was reaching out an arm to hastily shove the cork back in the bottle, and flinging the same arm back into the bed as he turned his face into the pillow.

When he opened his eyes again, dawn light was filtering through the dirty windows, and he believed himself still dreaming. Usually when he thought he held a half-naked Elizabeth in his arms, he was dreaming. But this felt awfully real, and her sharp elbow poking him in the stomach felt real, and her soft groan sounded real, as she struggled to unbutton her shirt.

“'s so hot,” she was murmuring to herself, eyes still closed. Well, no wonder. Sometime during the night she had wrapped herself up in his arms and legs. He stilled her arm with a hand around her wrist.

“'Lizabeth, stop,” he said, watching her wriggle free and continue to unbutton. “You'll be sorry.”

She did not stop, but continued until she reached the last button, and parted the sides, slipping her bare shoulders out and turning from side to side to escape the sleeves. Jack tried to keep his eyes on her face, her smooth skin, the fine curve of her jaw... the high, arched neck. His throat felt suddenly dry.

Then, because she was stretching, seemingly unaware of him, he found his eyes dropping below her neck, seeing all the creamy flesh beneath, the slight curves of her breasts emerging just above several layers of wrapped cloth that served, he imagined, to bind her into some semblance of boyishness.

He felt her wrists and fingertips at the back of his neck. “Jack,” she was sighing. “...was having a good dream about you.”

“Were you, now?” He concluded she was still mostly asleep, and settled next to her again. “Does that happen often?”

“All the time,” she said nonchalantly, eyes still closed, head turned to one side on the pillow.

Jack could not contain his grin, considering how mortified she'd be if she knew what she was saying. “And what was I doing in this dream of yours?”

“Hmmm... a bath,” she murmured, and clutched the pillow to her head again, becoming still.

A bath? Jack's brows furrowed as he regarded her quizzically. Did she mean... him, or her? Or... “Elizabeth?”

There was no response. His curiosity aroused - among other things - he lay back, only to stare uneasily at the ceiling for a few long minutes before drifting back into sleep.

Soft and smooth, he thought as he slid his palms across her warm female flesh. Even her hair was soft as it brushed his shoulder, her cheek as it met his. Her jawline was smooth, rounded... he found the flesh of her belly and massaged it... still smooth and flat, too. Was he dreaming again....?

A soft moan from her reminded him she was aware of him. Aware of his exploration of her body from behind. He opened his lips to taste the skin beneath her earlobe. Divine. His Elizabeth hadn't changed much at all, dream or not.

At the touch of his tongue she sighed and arched against him, and he moved back to allow her to turn on her back. He pressed another kiss to her neck, nipping slightly with his teeth to feel the tautness of it. He was fairly certain he was awake, now. His imagination was good, but never as good as this...

He had to taste more. More of her neck, her chest, down to those wrappings. He reached up with his fingers under her arms and curled them inside, tugging with all this might until the fabric slipped. His eyes opened wide. Her breasts were no new mother's, no overabundant mistress's, but delicate and pale and two of the most beautiful Jack had ever seen. He bent his head to press his tongue to one nipple, and was rewarded with her fingertips squeezing his shoulders, and another soft groan from deep in her throat.

“God, Jack,” she was sighing through lips that barely moved.

So she knew it was him. That was good. Wouldn't want her to think it was Will. He opened his mouth to taste her breast more fully, and she inhaled sharply, one hand coming up to rest on the crown on his head. He pulled back, slowly, until he just held her nipple between his teeth. Then he let that go, too.

She opened her eyes. They were hazy with sleep and desire, and he relished the look of her, lips puffy and pink and lids heavy. He knew the moment she came fully awake, for she recoiled with a jerk and grasped the sheet beside her, yanking it almost up to her chin.

“What do you think you're doing,” she demanded, indignant, her voice scratchy and raw.

So much for that. “You need me to explain it to you?” he replied, propping himself on an elbow.

“How dare you... remove my clothing while I slept!”

“That you did yourself, darling,” he said, rolling onto his back with a sigh, concluding the romantic interlude was over.

“Let me out of this bed at once,” she was saying while shifting about, pulling the sheet out from under him. “If you wished me to be groped against my will, you may as well have left me with the Spaniards!”

His eyes narrowed and he went very still as she made a lot of commotion struggling out of the bed over top of him, since he had no intention of moving. But at the last moment he reached out and caught her, pulling her back onto him. She was still naked from the waist up, as he was, and he took a moment to appreciate the startlingly intimate feel of her against him as she fought against his grasp.

“Now, let's get one thing straight. Nothing, nothing, you've done with me has been against your will, and I won't have it said otherwise.”

“Have you no decency? Let me up!” she insisted.

“Stop thrashing like a caught trout, and I'll consider it,” he said in a menacingly soft whisper.

A great exasperated sigh, and she simply glared at him from atop his chest.

“Elizabeth,” he said quietly. “It's not going to do any good to fight it, you know. Better to just give in.”

“Ha! You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“I'd like that very much,” he replied with a devilish grin. “And so would you. Trust me on that.”

“Let me go,” she ground out through gritted teeth.

He smiled a small smile. “One kiss.”

“Absolutely not!”

“Scared?”

“Appalled!”

“Is that so? Prove it.”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“Lecher!”

“Coward.”

With a grunt of total frustration, she pounded one fist against his chest, and with the other reached forward to grasp the braids of his beard, pulling his chin up. It hurt. But he only had a moment to think about that before she was kissing him, hard and fierce, nearly crushing his lips against his teeth, intentionally, he was sure. She drove her tongue into his mouth in a deliberate imitation of the bruising kiss he'd given her last night on the road, and she reached around to dig her nails into his nape, no doubt hoping to cause him pain there, as well. After a moment she tore her mouth away, leaving him only the sound of his blood pounding wildly through his ears. The look in her eyes was every bit as animated. The last shreds of his control were rapidly evaporating as he watched her pant and wipe her mouth with the back of her hand.

“There,” she said. “Are you satisf-“ and in the next instant he had recaptured her open lips with his, snaked his arms around her back, and had turned her over in the bed, coming to rest on top of her as he obeyed the near-deafening clamor of his body to take her, now, now. Vaguely he was aware of her hands at his shoulders, nails digging in, at the same time she was pressing back against his mouth with her own, and he couldn't tell if she were fighting him or giving in. Either way, her response in his arms was making him harder than he'd ever felt.

Just then, her nails left his shoulders to rake across his shoulder blades. He jerked back, breaking the kiss, startled to see her eyes were wide open, alarm in their warm depths.

Fighting him, then. It should have dampened the heat in his blood, in his loins. It didn't.

But he held still, breathing hard, waiting.

“Please don't do this,” she breathed, and he noted she was nearly gasping for air even though he had relaxed his hold on her.

He raised himself on his arms and knees so that he no longer rested upon her... she was free to move if she wished, if she thought about it. He bent forward to nuzzle her neck, whispering in her ear as he did so, fully intending to distract her from any thoughts of escape.

“Why shouldn't I?” He pressed his parted lips and tongue against her skin, tasting her slowly, back and forth. He glanced up to see her eyes flutter closed again, her forehead wrinkled as she continued to resist. “We should have done this long ago, love. Could have given you your first taste of passion, on that island, perhaps...” He found her lips and made a miniature island of them, tracing a slow, careful path around their edges with the tip of his tongue. He drew back to watch as they parted, her tongue darting out to moisten them, her eyes still squeezed shut. “Or on the Pearl, God rest her, should have stripped you naked, learned your every curve,” he murmured, lifting a hand to draw his knuckles along the ridge of her throat, from her chin to her clavicle, a gentle arc, noble as a ship's hull. He could feel her breathing quicken with every stroke of his hand. “Or last evening, if I'd taken you under those trees in the dark, by the road...” His hand wove a path from her throat down between her breasts, ringed fingers spread, his hand almost spanning the distance between the petal-pink tips.

A tiny, frustrated groan escaped her lips. She wanted to give in, he knew it...

“Come now, Elizabeth,” he purred against her ear, reaching up with both hands to cover her breasts lightly... not enough to satisfy, just to tease her into capitulation. “You know it's only a matter of time.”

He kissed her again, then. Skillfully this time, coaxing her lips apart with gentle flicks of tongue and he felt her arch up against him with another helpless groan, still delicately feminine in pitch but more wanton than before, and then she was kissing him back, responding to his rhythm with an urgency of her own. He felt her palm against his chest, and he was being pushed up and backward, all the while she leaned forward, still kissing him hungrily.

But when he found himself sitting up, she gradually separated her lips from his until they were just brushing, and he heard her whisper, “If it's a matter of time, Jack... that time is past.”

Before he knew it, she had extracted herself from his arms and left the bed, grabbing up her shirt as she did so. In another moment she had donned her boots and finished the buttons, and he watched with narrowed eyes as she avoided his gaze, and walked toward the cabin door as quickly as possible.

“We'll see about that,” he said as the door slammed shut.

* * *

A matter of time, Elizabeth thought as she watched the sun set that evening, her hopes sinking along with it.

Time. The four days that had now passed with no sign of Will, worrying her, multiplying the possibilities in her anxious mind... shipwreck, pirates, mutiny, storm...

She had watched the horizon practically the entire day from the deck of the ship, except when the midday heat proved too much and she found a spot of shade to pass the hours. Jack had not spoken to her, but had instructed the crew to be on the constant lookout for the Pegasus. He also told them - loud enough for her to hear, as she was sure was his intention - to be on the lookout for her, should she decide to disembark and head for town to try and collect that reward after all.

And time... the five years that had passed in which her life had taken an unexpected course, and the years before that, and the few days she'd spent around Jack, and the night she'd spent alone with Jack when she was too innocent to know what to do with it, and the hours it had been since she'd been furious with him that morning. She closed her eyes. Thirteen. And a half.

And the minutes, or seconds it would have taken, this very morning, for her to lose all sense of everything and abandon herself to him completely... perhaps ten. Or five... or one single second more in his presence, tasting him, smelling him, feeling him.

She had been hoping Will would come, and she wouldn't be facing another night with Jack. She couldn't, not now. Not in his cabin. Not in his bed. Not anywhere within sight or reach of him - off the ship altogether. Which meant she needed to find another place to sleep, and for that she would need some coin. She would go and ask Jack for money. That she could beg him for without too much loss of pride.

She turned and scanned the deck, looking for his tall form standing proudly at the helm. He wasn't there. She'd noticed out of the corner of her eye a constant parade of crewmen carrying things - buckets? - from below up to deck and then returning, grumbling about the captain's orders, and she hadn't paid much mind since she was ignoring the captain with all of her might, and cross with him for his audacity this morning. But now she needed him - for one last thing, just some coins for a room in town - and perhaps a whole pair of breeches, since hers were immodestly ripped. Not that it mattered, since her every pore and follicle felt caked with dirt and she was certain she smelled like a pirate ship.

He didn't seem to be anywhere she looked. She was about to cross the deck to knock on his cabin door - though she was loath to enter, given what had occurred there far too recently - and she spied Pintel and Ragetti exiting, empty buckets swinging. What on earth were they doing?

“Looking for someone?” drawled a smooth tenor voice, and Elizabeth turned to find Jack behind her, leaning amiably on the rail. The sun was setting behind his head, casting golden rays outward in a halo, and Elizabeth nearly laughed at the incongruity. He was smiling, his lower lip protruding just a bit more than his upper - that full lower lip that always felt so delicious between hers - and his kohl-lined eyes were warm and still upon her. He was not handsome, she thought, not in any traditional sense. Too strange, too exotic. So what caused this effect he seemed to have on her? She took a deep breath, reminding herself that she was doing what was best.

“Looking for money, actually,” she responded, warily assessing his confident, mischievous expression.

“For?”

“A room in town. It's not proper for me to stay here.”

There was a moment of silence that held the weight of that statement. I don't trust myself to be near you.

One brow lifted. “More proper to be dressed like a lad, and bedding down at some tavern with soldiers and sailors?”

“Certainly safer,” she replied.

Jack scoffed. “Oh, come now. What have you to fear from me, hm? What is it you want?”

“To sleep alone.”

Jack grinned, broadly, and stood up from the rail, closing the short distance between them in three swaggering strides. “Is that all?”

“Why...” She swallowed. “Yes. But it's absolutely necessary.”

“No need for a room. You have my word - tonight, you shall sleep alone.”

She was stunned, and suspicious that he'd give up so easily. “You - you promise? I may have the bed? To myself?”

“Why don't we continue this discussion in my cabin,” he stated rather than asked, grasping her shoulders to turn her and steer her in that direction. “There's something I want to show you.”

She dug in her heels and resisted. “Jack, I hardly think - “

“Shhh, sh, sh. Just come in for a moment, and then you can say or do anything you like.”

She sighed and reluctantly allowed herself to be guided to his door, where he let go of her shoulders and opened it. She walked into the darkness, and he followed. She could see little of anything because the twilight was rapidly fading. She heard Jack's footfalls and then a candle flame flared. A second.

She regarded his back as he finished lighting a number of candles and turned to her. “All right, Jack, what is it that you wanted to show me?”

He did not answer, but smiled and flicked his eyes to the right. She followed his gaze.

There, in the middle of the floor, sat a large wooden tub. She frowned at it, confused at its presence, as she remembered seeing ones like it in the cargo hold. It had handles on the sides and was probably used to store feed for livestock or dry foods or some such. She was about to ask what it was doing there, when she noticed the faint wisps of steam emerging from the top.

“A bath!” she gasped, and found herself pressing the heels of her palms to her cheeks as her eyes watered in appreciation. “But where did all that water come from?”

“Still costly, but at least available, while in port,” Jack said, folding his arms casually across his chest. Then the grin returned. “Don't you want to get in?”

She did want to - post haste. But she was wary. It was the one thing that could have kept her aboard tonight, and she was a bit curious as to how he'd guessed that... well, other than her slovenly appearance and unpleasant smell. And there was something else, something at the back of her mind, about Jack and hot water... a memory? No. A dream. The bath was a rare treat indeed, one she'd be a fool to give up, but what would it cost her?

She eyed him, up and down. “I know how you work. What do you want in exchange?”

He spread his fingers apart over his sternum, sticking out his lower lip. “Elizabeth, I'm wounded. Can't a gentleman offer a lady a gift without-“

“Oh, stuff it,” she told him, marching up to him. She began to loosen the leather cord that bound her hair. “I'm getting in the bath. I just wanted to know the price.”

Jack's lids lowered. “Price? Oh, hardly a price. Just a trifle.”

“Which is?” The steam seemed to be calling her name. She began to work at the buttons of her shirt, not caring that his eyes fell immediately to her fingers. After all, he'd seen her this morning, and the hot water was waiting.

“I get to remain while you take it,” he breathed, seemingly transfixed by her rapidly moving hands.

“That's your only condition?”

The last of the buttons fell open. She rested her fists on her hips.

“Yes,” he told her midsection.

“Fine,” she replied, and shrugged out of the shirt. She tossed it aside.

Secretly she relished the way he was looking at her, the way his eyes kept flicking upward and then falling back down, and she admired him a little - just a little - for the valiant effort. “Take off your hat,” she ordered. “And your scarf.”

All of his teeth showed, gold and not, as he smiled and reached for his hat, tossing it over onto the bed with a well-aimed throw. “Well, my dear,” he murmured. “I must say, this was easier than expected - but don't you want to try the water by yourself, first?”

He reached back to untie the scarf, hastily, and she drew up closer, feeling suddenly drunk on her own power, a flash of what she'd felt on the Pearl, when she first learned she possessed the ability to seduce. His hands were in back of his head as she whispered, slowly, almost against his chin, “Just... hurry.”

The scarf fell away, and he reached for her in the same moment that she caught the scarf, and lifted her hands to stretch it across his eyes.

“What - what are you doing?” he asked, his hands resting on her bare sides.

In another second she had tied it tightly behind his head and stepped out of his grasp. “Protecting my modesty, of course,” she said coolly, as if commenting on the weather. “You said you wanted to remain. Fortunately, you didn't specify anything further. Now,” she continued, leaning down to draw the knife from her right boot and making a tight fist with her other hand, and then holding both right in front of his face, “how many fingers do you see?”

Jack's smile faded to a pout, and then folded into a frustrated line. “One, and I must say, it's not a very suitable gesture for a lady, Lizzy.”

She smiled. “Excellent.” Just to make sure, she drew her fist back as though she were about to strike him, and watched to make sure he didn't flinch. He stood calmly.

For a moment, she considered the possibility of taking advantage of his vulnerability. She could very well strike him - with her fist or something else - until he was knocked out, and then she could sneak off the ship, to return with a few soldiers before anyone would be the wiser. That reward... and it wasn't as if she and Jack were friends, as if they'd ever been friends, even when they'd been... friendly. A trial would end with a hanging, no doubt, but he'd gotten himself out of tight spots before. She debated for a few seconds, imagining a soft, fresh bed at an inn, a good meal, some nice clothes for when Will arrived. She weighed those against the sight of Jack in irons, and how outraged he'd be, and on top of all of that, if she knocked him out and turned him over to the authorities, she wouldn't end up in his bed but she also wouldn't get to take her bath... she straightened and returned her hand to her side.

“All right,” she said, bending to remove her boots and drop the knife back inside. “Now go lie on the bed, and leave me in peace. You may entertain me with a story while I bathe.”

“That is not the entertainment I imagined,” he retorted.

“I'm sure it wasn't,” she said amicably as she shed her boots and breeches, leaving only her undergarments and wrappings. She turned and walked closer to the tub, glancing to see if Jack's head turned toward her. It didn't. “On the bed, now, Jack,” she quietly commanded.

“Thought you'd never ask,” he said bitterly, turning in a wide circle, an arm outstretched. “A bargain is a bargain, but d'ya think you could hand me the rum before you climb in there?”

She tested the water with two fingers. Hot. Heavenly. Her spirits were lightened considerably. “Rum? All right.” She finished loosening and shedding her wrappings before strolling to the table and picking up the half-empty bottle that sat there. She walked toward him again. “Here,” she said, holding it out a foot in front of her, close to Jack's ringed hand.

His hand reached out and clutched empty air to her right.

“Here, Jack,” she repeated.

His palm moved hesitantly forward again, overshooting the bottle and landing on her breast. He clung and cupped it, brushing his thumb over her nipple. She drew in her breath as he smiled naughtily, murmuring, “Now, that's not the rum.”

She lifted her chin, glad he couldn't see her cheeks reddening. His thumb made lazy circles around her nipple, and it itched and tickled pleasantly... and when he spread out his hand and lifted her breast in it, she bit her lip to keep from making any noise. Then she composed herself and forced the bottle into his groping hand, backing away.

She kept her eyes on him as she eased her steps backward to the tub, making sure he stood still. When she reached the tub, she inserted her thumbs into her thin undergarment. “Jack, lying down, if you please?” she said.

She still wasn't certain that he couldn't see anything. She lowered the material an inch.

“Actually, it pleases me standing up, too,” he replied, smiling, but then turned and ambled toward the bed. She dropped her undergarments to the floor.

“Bugger!”

The chair smacked into the table as Jack tripped against it. Elizabeth watched as he righted himself, and finally made it to the bed. She stepped out of her puddle of clothes and placed one foot, then the other, into the tub.

“Oh, God,” she sighed, sinking into the hot water gratefully. She caught her breath at the feeling of the steamy water enveloping her, even between her toes, behind her bent knees, deep between her thighs. The rough wood scraped her soles and bottom, but even that could not detract from the extraordinary sensual delight. Heat scalded her skin everywhere at once, easing all of her tension, melting away the grime and ugliness. “God in heaven...” she heard herself saying, “...nothing on earth could ever feel this good, ever.”

“Elizabeth, you're breaking my heart,” came a plaintive voice from the bed.
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Midnight Ride