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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
- 4
- 5
- 6
5. The Vulgar Tongue

She met his burning gaze. He'd realized it too, she saw. Why, he was probably thinking he could reach out and lift her and then bring her down upon him, and he'd slip inside her easily, as her body had given up resisting minutes ago - hours, days, years? - and it was only her mind that told her, firmly, that she must get control.

She loved Will. She and Will had a life together. In a few days, she'd forget about Jack Sparrow.

Liar, her traitorous body responded, causing her to move slightly against him, warm frissons of pleasure rising like steam from where they touched. You'll never be free of him.

His hands were creeping up her sides, now, beneath the water, dangerously close to her breasts... she jerked back.

“Take your hands off me,” she demanded with a surprising air of confidence.

Jack glared at her, running his tongue briefly over his front teeth, his hands coming to a halt. “Would you rather take it from here? Be my guest.” He pulled his hands away and folded them behind his wet head, wiry muscles undulating in his chest and arms.

She was actually surprised that he had done as she asked, and she sat back on his firm thighs, unsure what to do next. Get out, her brain screamed at her.

She reluctantly obeyed, leaning on her knees and slowly getting to her feet to step out. It brought the juncture of her thighs to Jack's eye level, but he only stared for a few seconds before she stepped one foot out, followed by the other.

She could feel his eyes on her. How could she not have felt it before... he was watching her walk, nude, the few steps to where the blanket lay, watching as she picked it up and wrapped it, already damp, around her. He still watched as she walked toward the bed, sat down, curled up to afford herself the most modesty possible. She looked back at him as he sat in the bath, the dark hair on his chest clinging to his sopping skin. She'd never been nude with Will while wet. What would it be like? She closed her eyes when she realized she was imagining how Jack's moist skin would feel against her tongue.

She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the naughty thoughts. Perhaps having her eyes closed would be better, for then she wouldn't see him right in front of her. She would picture her husband, instead. Will, on deck, stopping mid-hoist to send a smile her way. Will, finely chiseled and firm beneath her fingers, warm atop her in their bed. Will, wrapping his arms around her in the night.

“Elizabeth.”

She didn't answer. Talking to him was trouble.

“Elizabeth.”

She pulled the blanket around her, wrapping it tight despite the warmth of the night, and rested her head on the pillow.

“Don't go to sleep. I need you to entertain me while I'm in here.”

“Ha,” she said. “Entertain yourself.”

“Don't you want to watch?”

Her eyes snapped open in surprise, only to see his hands still folded behind his head, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

“So you do want to watch.”

She sighed in frustration. “I don't want to watch you perform anything, if that's what you mean.” She had to get him talking, distract him from trying to seduce her. “But - I wouldn't mind listening to that story you promised? How about your first time on a horse?”

“My first ride, ever?”

She glared at him down the length of her nose. “Something innocent.”

“Hm...” Jack stroked his beard thoughtfully, shifting in the water. “I'm afraid my past doesn't fit that request. It'll have to be something else.”

“Such as?”

“The story of a man... who rode a horse?”

“Who?”

“Sir Lancelot.”

Elizabeth scoffed. “Oh, wonderful. A tale of adulterous love. Hardly innocent.”

“Oh, it's just a story,” Jack argued. “More about power and politics than love. Harmless.”

“Tell that to Francesca,” Elizabeth murmured more to herself and the pillow.

“Who?”

“Francesca,” Elizabeth repeated, a bit louder. “Francesca and Paolo? I read about them years ago. They're in Hell.”

“Says who?”

“Dante. An Italian poet.”

“Ah,” Jack said, shifting his body farther down into the water, using his hands to begin to scrub some of the grime from his arms. “Hm, Dante. The one who went to Hell, isn't he? And he came back. One of the many things we'd have in common.”

“You and Dante?” Elizabeth snorted. “He was a poet, of great faith and esteem! A great man. A man of God. He managed to transform a vulgar tongue - his own language, from Florence, into something beautiful.”

Jack lifted a brow, still rubbing his arms with his wet palms. “If I recall, they booted him out of Florence, didn't they?”

“Well... yes. But only because he fell out of favor with the Pope. He found himself on the wrong side of the law, is all.”

Jack stopped rubbing his arms, looked up at her. “Happens to the best of us.”

“And Dante - “ Elizabeth sat up, still holding the blanket around her. “He believed in God. He knew right from wrong.” A scathing glance at Jack. “He loved one woman his entire life, and Beatrice died at twenty-four! That's nobility.”

Jack blinked at her. “He loved a dead woman?”

“Well, she wasn't dead when he met her.”

“Never married anyone else?”

Elizabeth was silent, her lips open as she tried to form an answer.

“Well, did he?”

She furrowed her brows. “I believe he was married to someone else. But that's not the point.”

Jack pointed a finger at her. “I will remember your saying that.”

Elizabeth exhaled. “I wouldn't expect you to understand. He loved her purely. Completely, even though he'd only met her twice. He swore to praise her in verse like no other woman had ever been praised. He spent his entire life writing the Divine Comedy in honor of her. She was everything to him - he believed she was... light, Heaven... life. That she was... perfect.”

“That's because he was never married to her,” Jack retorted. “All right - regardless of Dante's complete idiocy in loving some fair maiden he could never have - is there a story in there?”

“Yes. The two lovers he meets in Hell - in the circle of the Lustful. Paolo and Francesca.”

“Lust sounds interesting. Do tell.”

Elizabeth eyed him. “I don't think you're going to like this story,” she warned.

“Never fear, love, if I grow bored, I'll... entertain myself.” She heard a soft splash as Jack's hand fell below the waterline.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, willing herself not to think about Jack in the water, about what he might be doing. “Well... as I remember it... he wrote that love is dangerous,” she began. “Love is powerful, and relentless, and can even lead to death.”

Jack's kohl-lined eyes flicked open, fixed upon her. She remembered how he'd looked when they rescued him from that island of death. The accusation in his eyes... the bitter despair. She thought she saw shadows of it, now, but perhaps it was just the dim light. The candles were burning very low. Two had already gone out.

She met his gaze, feeling naked to it, but pushed forward. “He says that... he meets these two souls in Hell. In eternal torment, blown about in a dark whirlwind. But they're together, and he asks to speak with them. The girl is Francesca, and she talks to the poet.” She saw Jack lift a brow, and she shifted in the bed, moving strands of wet hair out of her face.

“Get on with it, or I'll get distracted,” he said quietly.

“So they were... Francesca was married to Paolo's brother. The story is that Paolo served as a go-between... helped his brother marry her, and then... they fell in love. They didn't know it, until one day they were alone, and they were reading a book, together...”

She saw Jack's tongue dart out to moisten his lips, his eyes still hot and strong upon her.

“... and they read about these other two lovers, and how he kissed the mouth he'd so longed for, and how it was trembling...”

Elizabeth folded her fingers together, so that they would not tremble under the weight of Jack's stare.

“...and then Paolo kissed her. And that day, they... read no more.”

The last candle gave a flicker and went out. There was a heavy silence in the sudden darkness.

“Jack,” she said in a whisper.

“Hm?”

“The candle's gone out. Is there another?”

“Not sure. No, not in here.”

“Oh.”

Another silence. Some sloshing of the water, and Elizabeth could only assume he was getting out. “Can you bring the other blanket over?” he said quietly.

She felt for it on the end of the bed, found it, picked it up. Unsteadily she rose to her feet, and put one foot in front of the other until she reached the tub. She turned, seeking him.

“Here,” he said.

She took two more steps. And walked right into him. “Oh... h-here,” she said, shoving the blanket against what she assumed was his chest, and his body was warm and moist and then his arms were coming around her...

He found her mouth with little difficulty, and when he roughly explored it with his tongue she arched against him with a soft cry, unmindful of the blankets or the moisture or anything else.

He pulled away, gently, nibbling at her lower lip before releasing her. “So that's what happened to Paolo and Francesca?” he murmured, beginning to pat the moisture from his skin with the blanket.

“I don't know,” she breathed, taking a few steps back. “Maybe they stopped reading because the candle went out.”

She heard Jack chuckle in the darkness. “And what was it they were reading?”

“The story of Lancelot. So you see... it's not innocent.”

“Yes. Not so harmless after all. Pity. I rather like it.”

Elizabeth, after backing away, had reached the bed, and climbed in. “I can't imagine why. I should think you'd feel sorry for the poor, noble old king who loses his beautiful bride to the young, virtuous knight.” She couldn't keep the smile out of her voice. She did so enjoy taunting him.

“Are you calling me old? Or poor?”

“No more old than noble.”

“Two edges there, too.”

“Perhaps.”

Something landed in her lap. She picked it up. Her shirt.

“There's my noble gesture of the night. Get dressed.”

She shed the blanket and slipped into the shirt, fumbling with the buttons in the dark.

“So what happened to them?” Jack asked.

“Who?”

“Francesca and, er, what's his name.”

“Paolo? Well,” she said, thinking as she pushed the buttons through their holes, “Francesca's husband killed them both. He surprised them one day in her room. He killed Paolo on purpose, Francesca by accident - she threw herself in front of her husband's blade while trying to protect her paramour.”

“Pity,” Jack said. “And for that, they're in Hell?”

“Only the second circle. And they're together. It could be worse.”

“I suppose. If you believe all of that thou-shalt-not.”

“I did say you wouldn't like it. But it's only a poem, after all.”

“Ah, but let us not underestimate the power of a story,” Jack whispered, and she suddenly realized he was right in front of her. She couldn't see in this blasted dark... how was she supposed to keep her defenses up if she couldn't see...

His hands wrapped around her arms, and he yanked her forward, against him, lifting her forearms to his shoulders and swooping in with a single motion, covering her mouth with his in a kiss that left no room for protests.

In the distance, Elizabeth heard bells. She thought for a moment - between other flashing thoughts, one after the other, Jack and No and I want - that she'd gone mad. But it didn't stop - the kiss, nor the sound - and both were pulling her apart at the seams and she felt as though she were crumbling, no longer completely of herself.

Jack relented, just for a moment, his lips still open across hers. “That's midnight,” he breathed into her mouth. “Eight bells. Time for bed.”

So she wasn't mad... at least, if she were, the bells were no sound proof. She tried to catch her breath. Difficult with him so close. “It's late,” she managed, withdrawing her arms from around his neck.

She was determined to make it through this night without betraying Will. She prided herself on being good, on being faithful to him as he was faithful to her, and she told herself she would remain faithful. No matter her small lapses... she only need survive this one night, and in the morning she would be gone. She was through waiting in Kingston. She find out who had last seen the Pegasus and what had become of Will. She would sneak aboard a ship or set out on her own if necessary.

Anything was better than this.

Having a sense of purpose gave her the strength to lean back and move away from Jack, whose eyes were just visible in the darkness, now that her sight had adjusted and the tiniest sliver of moonlight ghosted from the windows. It was not enough to see by, but it was enough to sense movement, to tell changes in the air. She crawled backward on the bed, and finally tucked her feet underneath a sheet and lay down, fully aware Jack was watching her.

“Good night,” she said firmly.

“Good night,” he whispered back, but there was a nasty, sharp undertone that set her on edge again. She heard his feet on the floor, knew he was walking about. She heard him pick up the bottle and heard it slosh, and then she heard the rustling of clothes and assumed - hoped - he was dressing.

She began to relax. With every moment that he left her alone, she grew more tired. Her lids were heavy. She hoped he would leave... or make a bed on the floor... or...

Everything was silent for she knew not how long. In her somnolent state, she almost didn't notice when he climbed into the bed.

Almost.

Her eyes flew open. “Jack, you promised me the bed.”

“Yes. For sleeping.” He rolled toward her, and she felt his hand on her stomach, having slid beneath her shirt. His palm was hot and weather-roughened against her soft skin, and she felt as though it were wearing away at her, from the outside in.

She flung it off. “I wish to go to sleep.”

“So do I. Eventually.” The hand returned to her shoulder, and he was quickly turning her body toward him, so that they lay side by side, face to face.

“Jack...” And once again his name sounded like a plea, and she looked at what she could see of his face in the darkness. There were dark places and rising planes, his cheekbones cliffs, his eyes dark pools. “Why must you make this so difficult for me?”

His eyes met hers with an expression that seemed like disbelief. “Me? 'Tis you, that's making it difficult for you.” He lifted his head and pressed his lips to the base of her neck, turning his head gently back and forth. She leaned her head back, hoping to remove temptation, but he only followed, and then the tips of his teeth met her bare shoulder, and she shuddered.

“I love... him,” she gasped, as she felt his fingers begin to work their way up her thigh.

“Reminding me, or yourself?” he whispered beneath her chin, and shifted above her just as his fingers and thumb closed around her thigh, pulling it outward. “You can love him. Makes no difference at all. Don't care in the least.”

“Are you telling me... or yourself?” she forced out on what little breath she had, as Jack's breeches-clad hips landed between her spread thighs. “Stop this at once. You must understand I've... taken an oath of marriage.”

He did stop, but only to lift his head above her and look down at her, and she couldn't tell if his expression was more disdainful or amused. “To quote you, that's not the point. And besides, you're not undoing any oaths... only taking a little holiday from them.” Then he shifted to one side, and she was relieved he was no longer atop her... until she realized it was so that he'd have his hands free to unbutton her shirt. He undid two. She reached down and re-buttoned them.

“I swore before God, and our families, to love and honor him! Not that you'd understand about keeping promises.”

His hands moved upward. Two more buttons. Her fingers followed, shaking, trying to get the buttons back in their holes, as though that alone would save her. She saw him smiling a sordid smile before he answered, “That's because they're not worth keeping, mostly.”

Another few buttons. He was unfastening them faster than she could re-fasten them, and the two over her bosom were now gone, and before she could stop him his hand was inside, spreading to cover her breast, thumb sweeping across a nipple. She groaned, and caught his wrist, pulling his hand away.

She turned her head to glare at him. “Not worth it? He's a man who's saved your life. Or have you forgotten that?”

Jack shrugged, or perhaps it was just the movement of his shoulders as he rolled on top of her again, his hands between the small of her back and the bed, and he was dispensing with the re-fastened buttons entirely, lifting the hem of the shirt inch by inch as her hands and fingers trailed helplessly on his forearms in an attempt to stop him.

He had pushed her shirt up under her arms, exposing her to him. “Now, there's your dilemma,” he whispered against her earlobe, tongue flicking out to taste it, too. “If we go to hell, will we end up in with the lustful, the perjurers, or the traitors, I wonder?”

“I've no intention of finding...” She sighed in frustration as he bent to bestow lazy, open-lipped kisses on her chest and the curve of her breast. Then he fastened his mouth on a nipple, and sucked hard, just for a moment, and she arched against him, crying out. “Please,” she was breathing, begging him to stop, and he left her breast to nibble his way down her stomach and below. A torturous descent. She had to stop him, before it was too late.

“Don't,” she said raggedly, as he pressed the flat of his tongue to the soft skin of her inner thigh. Was he there, already? She was coming apart, she thought, she had to gather the pieces of herself, or she would be lost.

“Don't what?” he replied, exhaling purposefully across her curls.

“I meant, stop...”

“Don't stop?” he prompted, moving his lips against her lightly.

“No,” she tried to protest his twisting of her words, his twisting of her insides... “Don't...”

“Don't worry, darling,” he said with just a hint of threat, making sure his lips brushed her in exactly the right place. She shivered. It was too much. “I've no intention of stopping.” Then he gently lifted her hips toward him.

The tip of his tongue, and she was dying. Dying. It flicked her gently up, then down. She was suspended in his hands, waiting for the next. She was appalled at herself, caught by such an endeavor... it wasn't as though she'd never felt that before, it only seemed that way because she'd never felt it from Jack before...

“More?” he whispered, the air from his lips sending a shudder coursing through her. He lowered his chin to allow his mustache to tease her, turning his head gently back and forth.

She willed herself to shake her head, silently, back and forth, mimicking his gesture, no longer trusting herself to speak. Perhaps he would give up and let her go.

“Are you certain?” he breathed against her, this time parting his lips to touch his tongue to her, warmly, gently.

Her breath came in uneven gasps. A tremor seemed to settle in her limbs, from her middle outward, and she was shaking so strongly her hips seemed to move of their own accord. Jack was still. He still held her bottom cupped in his hands.

“Lizzy... why won't you let it go,” he paused long enough to murmur, letting his tongue return to its soft, quivering bit of flesh.

He held it there, patiently, while she shook.

She guessed he thought she deserved this torture, for being so stubborn. And she was stubborn, but about a world of things he'd never understand... he'd tasted ruin long ago and she was only now having it placed before her. She didn't want to let go of everything she'd ever known and held true... even when she let him make a pirate of her she believed she was doing it for the right reasons, and there was no reason in this.

Only chaos. Blindness that would lead to helpless, whirling destruction. He moved his tongue against her again, so little, so very little, but it tightened her even more, and she nearly sobbed, her fingers digging into the bedclothes, clawing for some hold, some support, something to anchor her.

Will... I'll think of Will, she told herself. Except that the only thought she could muster was that she'd known pleasure from him before, but it took hours, hours they seldom had, patience she seldom had, and Jack's words and hands and mouth were catapulting her forward along this road to oblivion much, much faster. Alarmingly fast.

And he wasn't even moving. She could stand it no longer.

She pushed with both palms on the bed to sit up, suddenly, and he still held her against his lips but looked up and lowered his hands when he felt her sudden movement, and by then she had grabbed his hair and pulled him away from her. Shock registered on his face as pushed him backward, violently, off the end of the bed and onto the floor. He landed on his bottom with a resounding thud.

She followed her own momentum and landed on top of him, across his lap, and his surprised look melted into pleasure... she was surprised, too, but grateful, to find that his breeches were already open - perhaps he'd done that earlier? - because she was out of patience, and she slid along the length of him in a desperate attempt to meet the deep, throbbing ache he'd stirred in her.

She ground herself forward and back over him. All the way up, then down. It was delightful, too good, too good, to rub him between her folds and feel the hard heat of him, there, and she told herself she wasn't giving in, as she turned her head and her hair fell across his chest, she wouldn't look at him, she would simply end this and then tell him to go to hell. She began to lose herself in the sensation, his naked chest abrading her tender breasts, his cock pulsing and scalding hot against her.

“Oh, no, you don't,” he suddenly growled, sitting up between her thighs. In another moment, he had gathered her to him and flipped her on her back on the floor, and she cried out because she had been so close to release, and she couldn't take any more, she couldn't...

When he sank into her, hard and deep, with a single thrust of his hips, Elizabeth was sure the world was slipping away, falling to pieces. She saw the faint outline of the windows but they blurred and shook, and Jack's hoarse groans sounded oddly staccato and far away. And then that shaking uncertainty reached her, too, starting at the center of her and radiating to all her limbs, so powerful that she was sure, positive, that she would never be whole again.

She wondered if that was what it felt like to die, as she selfishly slid her hands over Jack's back, feeling the muscles push and pull under the surface as he ground himself into her again and again, smoothly, then more rough and less careful. Then he seemed to gain some control and lifted away from her, standing and extending a hand to her. “Come here,” he said in a voice she hardly recognized, it was so heavy with need.

She took his hand and stood, still trembling, unsure of what to do or who had won or who she was, even, and let him pull her to the bed and guide her onto her hands and knees. She was upside down, the bed in front of her and the ceiling and Jack behind her.

“Needed this ever since I saw you,” he muttered, as he positioned himself between her thighs.

Her chin met her shoulder as she glanced at him. “Last night, you mean?”

His eyes met hers with a gaze that nearly burned her with its intensity. “Sure,” he said as he put himself inside her, and his tone told her he wasn't sure at all.

It was certainly different. And perhaps that was easier for her to come to terms with, because if it had been just like being with Will it would have hurt, somehow. She also realized she had been wrong, as her fingers dug into the bed for support and Jack's hands covered them, because she'd thought that giving in to Jack would be guilty and shameful... instead it was liberating to give in, to lose herself completely, to meet and meld...

Soon she had lowered herself to her elbows and thighs on the bed, and Jack was covering her body entirely with his. He held her wrist with one hand and used the other, low on her abdomen, to lift her against him, before he slipped it down to caress her where they joined. It was a transformation of a different kind, not a feeling of flying apart, but a sense of turning inside out. Part of her was escaping, sliding out to moisten the tops of her thighs, and when Jack stilled inside of her, harsh words entering her ear and a hot rush entering her body, she wasn't sure entirely sure where she ended and he began.

When it was over, he lay collapsed atop her for a long moment, and she reveled in the feel of his warmth everywhere. She moved only when she could positively no longer breathe under his dead weight, and then they tangled themselves up in each other. He trailed fingers over her hair and arms, sometimes to her waist, as they lay curled together in a dark, silent limbo.

“What happens to that idiot poet after he goes through Hell?” Jack murmured against her nose.

“Mmm... the world turns upside down. Or he does.”

“And then?”

“And then...” She smiled a bit, knowing he couldn't see it in the dark. “... his lovely Beatrice meets him at last and guides him away.”

“Where does she take him?” he whispered, his hand making winding paths across her body.

She found his eyes with hers, not caring if he saw the fear, the regret mixed with exhilaration. “Paradise,” she whispered back.

She thought she saw him smile, ruefully, and she wondered if he was thinking of facing the morning, and the hours after. And the days after that. But it wasn't long before exhaustion overcame them both, and that night they spoke no more.
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Midnight Ride