Adult-FanFiction.org : Movies

The Scythe's Song	By : hallowedmaiden Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 2815 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own POTC or the characters and I do not make any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
"Why did she try to draw a gun on me?"
She knew it had to be between the fact that the woman thought she was dangerous, or because she thought that Jack was trying to trick her somehow.
They were halfway back to the hotel, and it was the first time either of them had spoken since they had left the party.
"She's a paranoid bitch. You weren't in any danger of getting hurt," Jack replied.
"Because I had the big bad Jack Sparrow to protect me?"
He gave her a sideways glance, his lip curling at the corner in a half-smile. Even though she liked to tease him about it, she knew that the only thing that would stop him from protecting her if necessary was death. To anyone that wasn't her, it would have been obvious enough by precisely how fast he had drawn his gun the second he saw Suzuki's arm so much as twitch, and she also knew that he wasn't kidding about being able to put a bullet in her head before the woman even knew what had happened.
In 1969, she had been captured in Russia while on an information gathering mission for something she was supposed to steal, and Russians weren't known for giving things up unless forced, especially when they had a bounty as big as the one they had on her. Everyone involved in keeping her locked up in that disgusting prison had regretted even looking in her direction after Jack found out that they had her. Action movies got dangerous people all wrong. It was never slinging gunfire everywhere or rigging a place with explosives, or storming a compound with the equivalent of the United States military packed into one person.
It was deconstructing them from the inside, sending threats to them while in a business meeting, playing games with their heads, waiting outside in the car park and having a chat, generally with the added help of a firearm, leeching money off of them until they don't have enough to pay for dinner, enticing their enemies to attack them, until they are so dysfunctional amongst themselves that they don't know friends apart from hostiles.
Jack ruined them for three days, threatened their houses, bank accounts, jobs, cars, and reputations, terrorized them until they could barely go outside without having a panic attack. When he decided that they had reached the point of near insanity, he entered the prison compound in the dead of night like a wraith, taking them out one by one, wrapping wire around their necks, embedding a knife into several of their hearts, emptying the round of his Heckler and Koch P9 into the back of nine heads, before finally arriving at the leader. Jack had killed him with the man's own shotgun. None of them had families or things they were leaving behind (she had checked while gathering research for the mission before her capture), so their deaths were no great loss.
It was the only time that Jack had ever been something that put her on edge, and she would never admit it to anyone, but in the darkness of her own mind, it excited her too. The cool, collected, bad-boy trickster and very occasional sweetheart (though if she tried to call him that he might just leave her in Mumbai) that was in control of everything turned into a cold-blooded psychopath only for her. He never talked about it afterward, besides informing her that he also knew that they had no family to leave behind, and she didn't pester him about it. She didn't think it was because he was disturbed by his own behavior, but it wasn't something that brought him joy either.
She often wondered if, through a strange series of events, the character of the Joker in the Dark Knight had been entirely based off of that dark side of Jack. If anyone were to ever succeed in killing her, there was a good chance that Jack might turn into something like that, maybe not with the purple suit, face makeup and neon green hair, but certainly someone who started to find joy in chaos, and nothing else.
Of course, immediately after he had returned her back home, he had bombarded her with almost-interrogations, making dinner for her, asking if she was okay every three hours, drawing baths for her, grilling her about whether they had hurt her or not, swearing that he would murder all of them if he did, then remembering that he already murdered all of them.
Four years later she had gotten him arrested in London for trying to steal her car. She would almost say the bastard had deserved it, but she always felt guilty looking back on it. A lot of the events between 1969 and 1973 stayed in the vault of things that she didn't like to think about.
"If I had to choose between saving you and saving this car, you might just have the edge," he said, turning onto the motorway.
The classic Jack Sparrow language for saying he cared about her, immensely, and she couldn't help but smile a little at it. But even through all of their history, and everything that they had been through together, the subject of commitment to each other, or love, or any other label she could think of for it, had never been brought up.
She knew why, and she knew that the reason she had arrived at was only one facet of the complicated matter of a real romantic relationship between them. Both of them had walled their hearts off so deeply that it would take a great force to even start to crumble them. Jack, she suspected, was terrified of getting hurt, because once he let her in, once he let her see that innermost layer of him, betrayal would be the end of him.
And she couldn't guarantee that she wouldn't hurt him. She certainly wouldn't cheat on him, but her life was so erratic that eventually, she might fuck up some other way.
"How do you know her?" she asked.
He sighed, as though he had expected the question to come up eventually.
"It's complicated," he answered as his phone started to ring.
"Chris, what's up?"
"Yeah, I dealt with her."
"I will tell you later. I need you to arrange to ship a car to my house in Bath."
"Yeah, a car."
"Chris, I just spent 60 grand on a map. Four grand is pocket change."
"I don't give a shit. Tell him to shut the fuck up."
"Meet me at my place."
"Thanks, bye."
He put his phone in the center console and glanced at her with a raised brow. She realized that he was waiting for her to ask more questions.
"Bath?"
"Yeah, that's where we are going tomorrow morning. I have a place there."
"Tomorrow morning? And where do you suppose I am going to sleep tonight?"
"With me, of course."
Of course.
"Am I actually going to get to sleep? And what clothes am I going to wear to bed?"
A snarky little laugh bubbled up from his throat.
"You can wear one of my t-shirts. Should be big enough to count as clothes. And we have to get up early."
"Since when has that stopped you?"
"I seem to remember that it was you who insisted on shower sex, and then accosted me again in bed that time just before we were supposed to catch that plane to Cairo. Almost missed it. What did we get, two hours of sleep?"
1971. They had been hired as a pair to steal a matching set of amulets from the Egyptian Antiquities museum. It had been an interesting experience.
"Two and a half, actually," she countered with annoyance.
"Yeah, well, you have no room to complain about my sex drive, love."
She leaned her head back against the seat, watching the city fly by in a myriad of blurred lines and colors.
"I am sorry for being so rude to you earlier."
This time a truly genuine laugh, a deep chuckle that gave her goosebumps, rumbled in his chest.
"No, you're not."
After she gave him a look of playful irritation, they sat in silence for the rest of the car ride. She must have dozed off for a few seconds because she awoke to Jack nudging her shoulder from outside the car. They were parked in the garage again.
"Come on, the plane leaves tomorrow morning at 8:30, so we really do need to get some shut-eye if we don't want to be zombies tomorrow. Although you apparently got a head start."
She climbed out of the seat, running her hands through her hair.
"I think all of the India heat is just getting to me."
When he didn't say anything, she glanced up at him to find him staring at her like a particularly tasty piece of candy. It only took him about a step and a half to pin her against the now closed car door, and she didn't even have a chance to protest when he encircled his arms around her, fastening his mouth to hers.
He kissed her with the expertise that only he possessed, caressing just the right spots, making her skin tingle with long pent up wanting. She threaded her fingers into his hair, kissing him back with fervor, pushing her tongue against his lips.
Out of pure instinct, she thrust her hips up slightly, and any other man would have been blind to the invitation, but not Jack. He grinned against her mouth, abandoning it to give attention to her neck. His hands snuck under her dress to tug her panties down, leaving them laying on the ground where she had stepped out of them.
Then he was lifting her and tugging her dress up to her waist in one motion. She automatically wrapped her legs around him, inhaling sharply when she felt his erection pressing against her core, damning the clothes that were still separating them.
God, she wanted to touch him. It had been too damn long, and she was tired of waiting. Her hands dove down to his belt buckle in a frenzy, fully intending to release him, and then she actually whimpered when he pulled them away.
"What? What are you-"
"Shh, we can worry about me later," he said into her neck, and she felt a flood of fire go straight to her center just from the sound of his voice. "You've been distracted all night, you need some relief."
She wished she could deny that. She wished that she could deny that the world-renowned thief, Elizabeth Swann, got distracted from being too turned on by Jack Sparrow.
But she couldn't, especially not when he slid two fingers into her entrance, reclaiming her lips with a kiss that sucked the breath out of her lungs, his other hand curled around her thigh to support her.
"Damn, you're wet," he whispered into her ear when he detached his mouth.
"It's your fault," she managed to say in broken syllables that were punctuated by moans from the delicious friction his fingers were creating.
"Mmm," he agreed, finally rubbing his thumb on her aching clit in slow agonizing circles, speeding up the movements when she reached down to clutch at his wrist, the fingers of her other hand wrapping around his shoulder for something to keep her attached to reality. As the knot in her stomach tightened, and the small bursts of heat started to explode under her skin, she thrust against his fingers rhythmically, running through her list of curses when she nestled her head against his neck.
"...Jack, Jack, I'm s-oh-I'm so close..."
With one perfectly timed swirl of his thumb, she was already tumbling off of that golden precipice, her core tightening into a vice around his fingers, clenching at them with each wave of pleasure that ripped through her, erasing all knowledge that she had of everything at the very peak, and then she slumped against the car as though she had been shoved out of a very pleasant dream.
Jack withdrew from her, pausing to lick his fingers clean before planting a sweet kiss on her lips, letting her down from him gently, keeping himself pressed against her and one hand on her hip to steady her.
When the final aftershock left her body, she opened her eyes and smiled at him gratefully.
"I would say thank you, but then I would feel bad," she said, glancing down at the bulge in his trousers.
"Well, you're welcome anyway. And as much as I would like to let you rip all of my clothes off, I do not want to wait for the next flight tomorrow."
"But-"
"Don't think that I'm not going to go out of my mind with thinking about finally being inside you again because I started doing that the second I saw you in the damn hotel room, but we just don't have the time."
He stepped back from her, and she bent to pick up the panties on the ground, not bothering to put them back on.
"Fine, but I am only agreeing because I like the idea of you torturing yourself."
"I'm sure."
They let themselves back into the hotel room, and Jack immediately started to strip off his suit, laying everything on the top of the couch. She watched him unabashedly from her perch at the counter, grinning when he noticed.
"You always did like to watch me undress."
"Are you complaining?"
He was down to his gray undershirt and trousers now, and the more skin he exposed, the more she wanted to forget about the damn flight to Bath.
"Of course not, darling, but I rather think that watching you undress is more fun."
"You couldn't just go to bed after watching me undress, Jack Sparrow."
"Touche," he replied, smirking his damn face off, dropping his trousers to reveal a matching pair of boxers. "I am going to go take a shower."
Dammit. Terrible images to have in her head after she had just orgasmed.
"I'll get in after you then." She poured herself a glass of wine as he disappeared down the hallway.
Taking a moment to reflect on how her day had gone, it occurred to her that she still had stuff in her other hotel room. Scrolling through her phone to locate Ringa's number, she pressed call.
"Hey Liz, que pasa?"
"I will tell you all about it when I am not distracted by a gorgeous naked man that is standing in a shower just a few feet away from me."
"Oh, dios mio, who is it?"
"It's um...it's Jack."
Ringa squealed into the phone, giving her the strong sneaking suspicion that she had known about Jack's presence in Mumbai.
"Did you know?"
"...I knew he was in Mumbai, but I swear that I didn't try to contact him in any way. I would say I am jealous of you, but that would be awfully redundante of me. He's yours, amiga."
"Jack Sparrow, mine? I'm not sure that's possible."
"Liz, carino, with the way you have talked about him, I would be shocked if that wasn't true."
"Yeah, well, maybe. Listen, I need you to arrange to have everything that was in my hotel room shipped to my place, please. I won't be going back there to get it myself."
"No hay problema, you just relax in Jack's bed all you want."
"Ringa!"
"Hey, hey, just saying."
"Good night, I will talk to you tomorrow."
"Si, adios, duerma bien, amiga."
They both hung up just as the shower shut off. Both, fortunately, and unfortunately, he went into the bedroom instead of in her direction. Finishing off her wine, she waited until he emerged.
Noticing the compass sitting on the counter, she picked it up and walked over to the small purse that she had brought with her, shoving it in there.
She had not expected to be lured to a hotel room by Jack, conned into going to a party only to be nearly gunned down by a hit woman, accosted against a McLaren F1, and then subjected to Jack in a bed, but she was not complaining about any of it. Life with Jack was never boring.
Particularly when she got to see him soaking wet, his hair sending water dripping down his naked chest. She tried to not show any reaction to it, tried not to stare, but she couldn't help it, and she wished that his charcoal colored PJ trousers didn't exist.
Even if he was the biggest asshole on the planet, even if he was literally the most despicable man she had ever met, and he wasn't either of those things, she would still have to admit that he had a body to die for.
She hadn't even realized that he had a shirt hung on his arm until he handed it to her. It was a black faded vintage Iron Maiden concert tee, and it smelled like his cologne and him.
"That should work. The shower is all yours."
"Thanks."
"Not a problem."
She arrived at the conclusion that he was a bit distracted, which could be for a multitude of reasons, realistically. With Jack, what you could see on the surface was only a small inkling of what was going on inside his head.
Showering quickly, washing with the bottle of Old Spice that was sitting on the railing, she stepped out, dried off, and pulled his t-shirt over her head. The fabric was soft against her skin, and it smelled heavenly. It was just long enough to stop at her mid-thigh.
Padding into the bedroom, she found Jack sitting on the bed scrolling through his phone.
"So, I am assuming we are going to start this whole box of evidence adventure once we get to Bath?"
"Mhm, that's the plan, though it goes without saying that it is probably far more complicated than just retrieving a box."
It usually was.
"Can't wait," she replied, walking around the other side of the bed to climb in, sliding under the down comforter. "See you in the morning then?"
He shut his phone off and placed it on the nightstand, turning his attention to her. Scooting closer to her, he leaned over and kissed her, almost tenderly. "Mhm, night love."
No matter what had happened, whether they had just had sex, or if they had just survived a shootout with a horde of cops, he had always made it a point to kiss her before going to sleep, and she loved it. When he reached over to turn the lamp off, she realized exactly how tired she was. It was a combination of the heat, the surprise that she had gotten, and the other surprise she had gotten. She could add orgasming against the door of a McLaren F1 to her list of things that she had done now, thanks to Jack.
Sleep came quickly, her consciousness fading like a wave gently retracting from the shore.
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Scythe's Song