...And Stars
Friday, July 14th, 2006 03:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
orange_crushedYet more PotC. Elizabeth and Jack, set in some nebulous future. Possible spoilers for DMC, rated PG-13 for language and suggestion.
"You know- your vanity's an affront to the Almighty."
"So's your chastity," he shot back, and rolled away, in search of another needle.
"I didn't know-" she began, and pricked her finger. "Damn this !"
"Now, now." He took the sailcloth from her with slender, dirty fingers, and examined the needle. It hung half-in and half-out, broken a third of the way down. "Ah, damn your temper instead, Lizzie." She sucked on the end of her finger, sulking, and watched him tie the loose end into a knot.
"My temper's fine," she frowned.
"Indeed- it's well-fed and properly exercised."
"That's a fine thing to say. Is there anything you're not proud of ?" she said, one eyebrow already arched and laughing, curling like a fig leaf above overly holy eyes. She knew, and accepted, that she could be bloody sanctimonious at times, and with very little warning. He pretended to think about it for a long moment, and then shrugged.
"No." He belched salty breath, rather gently. "Well, if you must know- that last. I've done much worse. Better. Impressive richness to the sound really, like a dragon."
"I"m sure they tell tales of it in Hong Kong."
"Hmm." Jack pulled a box out of his pocket, shook it, and put it back again. "Not often. They don't speak of me at all in Hong Kong. S'terrible bad luck." Elizabeth felt something bursting out from below her lungs, which presented itself as helpless laughter. He smiled and took a brief, seated bow.
"You know- your vanity's an affront to the Almighty."
"So's your chastity," he shot back, and rolled away, in search of another needle. This was not precisely how she'd intended that exchange to go.
"I didn't know that you could sew," she said, from the doorway. He fell backwards a little at the sudden noise, and banged his head on the table.
"Damn-hell-damnshit." There was a clinking sound as two bottles rocked into one another with the movement of the ship. "I'm going to bell you," he added.
"And spare all the mice ?"
"Didn't think of that." He crawled up from underneath the furniture and sat heavily in a chair. "Well, there'll be no more patching for a bit. Can't find another bloody needle."
"You've one in your hair !" she cried out, and pointed. For someone so well brought-up, she had a number of very bad habits.
"That's lucky," he said. "Can't use it, rubs the luck off."
"You're mad."
"You're-" he blinked, a faraway look in his eye. "Have we had this argument before ?"
"Yes, many times." She gritted her teeth, and stalked forward to slam her hand on the table. "Starting with me saying you're mad and ending with you saying you're a virgin, and every bloody time you think you've had the last word ! I am through ! I am sick and tired of-"
"Finally," he said, and pulled her down by her shirtfront.
Many moments later, she pulled her mouth away from his and opened her eyes. There was a sweetly sticky sensation somewhere that didn't bear thinking about, and his tongue had gotten halfway down her throat at least- oh, eight times.
"Jack," she said against his ear. "Jack."
"Yes ?" God, he was leering at her. And she suspected she might be enjoying it.
"We can't- Will. I can't do this."
"Will's gone. If we stop now, I'll kill myself," he said honestly.
"You wouldn't."
"I'll think about it." But he heaved a sigh and pushed her backwards, and dropped his hands to his sides. They sat facing one another, sprawled on the cabin floor with her shirt half-undone and his scarf at a crooked angle. Once again, she was compelled to laugh. "You're a demon woman," he huffed.
"I was supposed to be in love with him," she said suddenly, and looked down at her hands, cradled in her lap.
"You were."
"How can you say that ? After I- we- I'm no better than, a- well. I'm a demon woman," she agreed.
"No, you're an idiot." She shot him a filthy look, and he responded by leaning against the cabinets and sighing at her thoughtfully. "Lizzie, darling, you've resisted the irresistable for this long. If that's not the lingering death-spasms of love, it's at least a strong dose of fondness tempered with respect. Or guilt. A man could do worse- lots of 'em have."
She thought about this for a long moment while he chewed on the end of a string and hummed dirty limericks to himself.
"I did love him," she said firmly. "I really did."
"Good. It's not your fault he ran off."
"Oh- damn you." She balled her hands into fists and put them to her eyes. He reached out to her, and she slapped at the extended arm. "Leave- leave it. Just leave it."
"Lizbeth," he began, and she fell sideways into him, and remained there. He smelled of linseed oil and cabbages, but she buried her face in his shirtfront regardless, and let him stroke her back in circles. They stayed like this for a while, listening to footsteps ringing hollow above and below them, and the endless creaking of their wooden universe. She started to doze, but was roused by a changing sensation.
"What are you-"
"Shh," he said, without stopping his fingers and their invisible trails. "I'm drawing a turtle on your back."
"Jack, I can't hate you," she mumbled; then kissed him, and fled to the crow's nest.
She appeared in the evening, long after supper was nothing more than a handful of chicken bones; which Gibbs had an unfortunate habit of cracking and suckling on. Jack lay sprawled on the steps, one hand against his stomach, and the other behind his head.
"There's more than one way to get proper nutrition, man," Jack was saying. "Give the carcass to the cat. You're putting me to thoughts of a voodoo-minded fishwife, stretching her pocket money."
"I'd crack your bones too, Captain, if they tasted this fine."
"On pain of bloody death you will never repeat that."
"Yessir." Gibbs mock-saluted with one greasy hand, and turned back to his bowl.
She drifted past them in the direction of the cabin, silent and absent, and Jack watched her go. After a moment's hesitation, he followed. "Finally," Gibbs muttered to himself, and passed a hunk of blackened meat to the monkey hiding at his knee.
"See something, while you were up there ?" he asked, half-jokingly, when the door was shut. Her eyes sprang up with stars, unbidden; and he was forced to blink them back.
"The world, might be. Saw sky and moon. Saw water. There's an awful lot of water in this world, Jack."
"It's all yours, if you like."
"Hmm."
"I don't need you to do this," he said. She smiled at him, watched his nervous fingers play the edge of the table like a clumsy lyre.
"No," she agreed. "But I think I will." She put her mouth to his skin. He breathed against her, pulled her closer, let his hand drift down to the small of her back, and put the other at her throat, to feel the hum. When he slid her out of her boots and trousers, and folded open her shirt, he paused. "Jack ?"
"Sky and moon," he said, kissing her pale flesh. "And stars."
"You know- your vanity's an affront to the Almighty."
"So's your chastity," he shot back, and rolled away, in search of another needle.
"I didn't know-" she began, and pricked her finger. "Damn this !"
"Now, now." He took the sailcloth from her with slender, dirty fingers, and examined the needle. It hung half-in and half-out, broken a third of the way down. "Ah, damn your temper instead, Lizzie." She sucked on the end of her finger, sulking, and watched him tie the loose end into a knot.
"My temper's fine," she frowned.
"Indeed- it's well-fed and properly exercised."
"That's a fine thing to say. Is there anything you're not proud of ?" she said, one eyebrow already arched and laughing, curling like a fig leaf above overly holy eyes. She knew, and accepted, that she could be bloody sanctimonious at times, and with very little warning. He pretended to think about it for a long moment, and then shrugged.
"No." He belched salty breath, rather gently. "Well, if you must know- that last. I've done much worse. Better. Impressive richness to the sound really, like a dragon."
"I"m sure they tell tales of it in Hong Kong."
"Hmm." Jack pulled a box out of his pocket, shook it, and put it back again. "Not often. They don't speak of me at all in Hong Kong. S'terrible bad luck." Elizabeth felt something bursting out from below her lungs, which presented itself as helpless laughter. He smiled and took a brief, seated bow.
"You know- your vanity's an affront to the Almighty."
"So's your chastity," he shot back, and rolled away, in search of another needle. This was not precisely how she'd intended that exchange to go.
"I didn't know that you could sew," she said, from the doorway. He fell backwards a little at the sudden noise, and banged his head on the table.
"Damn-hell-damnshit." There was a clinking sound as two bottles rocked into one another with the movement of the ship. "I'm going to bell you," he added.
"And spare all the mice ?"
"Didn't think of that." He crawled up from underneath the furniture and sat heavily in a chair. "Well, there'll be no more patching for a bit. Can't find another bloody needle."
"You've one in your hair !" she cried out, and pointed. For someone so well brought-up, she had a number of very bad habits.
"That's lucky," he said. "Can't use it, rubs the luck off."
"You're mad."
"You're-" he blinked, a faraway look in his eye. "Have we had this argument before ?"
"Yes, many times." She gritted her teeth, and stalked forward to slam her hand on the table. "Starting with me saying you're mad and ending with you saying you're a virgin, and every bloody time you think you've had the last word ! I am through ! I am sick and tired of-"
"Finally," he said, and pulled her down by her shirtfront.
Many moments later, she pulled her mouth away from his and opened her eyes. There was a sweetly sticky sensation somewhere that didn't bear thinking about, and his tongue had gotten halfway down her throat at least- oh, eight times.
"Jack," she said against his ear. "Jack."
"Yes ?" God, he was leering at her. And she suspected she might be enjoying it.
"We can't- Will. I can't do this."
"Will's gone. If we stop now, I'll kill myself," he said honestly.
"You wouldn't."
"I'll think about it." But he heaved a sigh and pushed her backwards, and dropped his hands to his sides. They sat facing one another, sprawled on the cabin floor with her shirt half-undone and his scarf at a crooked angle. Once again, she was compelled to laugh. "You're a demon woman," he huffed.
"I was supposed to be in love with him," she said suddenly, and looked down at her hands, cradled in her lap.
"You were."
"How can you say that ? After I- we- I'm no better than, a- well. I'm a demon woman," she agreed.
"No, you're an idiot." She shot him a filthy look, and he responded by leaning against the cabinets and sighing at her thoughtfully. "Lizzie, darling, you've resisted the irresistable for this long. If that's not the lingering death-spasms of love, it's at least a strong dose of fondness tempered with respect. Or guilt. A man could do worse- lots of 'em have."
She thought about this for a long moment while he chewed on the end of a string and hummed dirty limericks to himself.
"I did love him," she said firmly. "I really did."
"Good. It's not your fault he ran off."
"Oh- damn you." She balled her hands into fists and put them to her eyes. He reached out to her, and she slapped at the extended arm. "Leave- leave it. Just leave it."
"Lizbeth," he began, and she fell sideways into him, and remained there. He smelled of linseed oil and cabbages, but she buried her face in his shirtfront regardless, and let him stroke her back in circles. They stayed like this for a while, listening to footsteps ringing hollow above and below them, and the endless creaking of their wooden universe. She started to doze, but was roused by a changing sensation.
"What are you-"
"Shh," he said, without stopping his fingers and their invisible trails. "I'm drawing a turtle on your back."
"Jack, I can't hate you," she mumbled; then kissed him, and fled to the crow's nest.
She appeared in the evening, long after supper was nothing more than a handful of chicken bones; which Gibbs had an unfortunate habit of cracking and suckling on. Jack lay sprawled on the steps, one hand against his stomach, and the other behind his head.
"There's more than one way to get proper nutrition, man," Jack was saying. "Give the carcass to the cat. You're putting me to thoughts of a voodoo-minded fishwife, stretching her pocket money."
"I'd crack your bones too, Captain, if they tasted this fine."
"On pain of bloody death you will never repeat that."
"Yessir." Gibbs mock-saluted with one greasy hand, and turned back to his bowl.
She drifted past them in the direction of the cabin, silent and absent, and Jack watched her go. After a moment's hesitation, he followed. "Finally," Gibbs muttered to himself, and passed a hunk of blackened meat to the monkey hiding at his knee.
"See something, while you were up there ?" he asked, half-jokingly, when the door was shut. Her eyes sprang up with stars, unbidden; and he was forced to blink them back.
"The world, might be. Saw sky and moon. Saw water. There's an awful lot of water in this world, Jack."
"It's all yours, if you like."
"Hmm."
"I don't need you to do this," he said. She smiled at him, watched his nervous fingers play the edge of the table like a clumsy lyre.
"No," she agreed. "But I think I will." She put her mouth to his skin. He breathed against her, pulled her closer, let his hand drift down to the small of her back, and put the other at her throat, to feel the hum. When he slid her out of her boots and trousers, and folded open her shirt, he paused. "Jack ?"
"Sky and moon," he said, kissing her pale flesh. "And stars."
