Parlait

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Barbossa was glad to be heading back to his cabin. The morning had dragged on, the wind was of no cooperation to their new heading, The Reproach lurched along under his feet, making the navigational meeting seem to take that much longer. His impatience showed, his eyes more portentously upon his crew when he thought about how they looked and leered at Elizabeth while she had been on deck, his hand even going for his sword when his pilot had made the most common of mathematical errors when reporting their position. All the while he berated himself, should have thought to have some breakfast arranged for Elizabeth. He hoped she’d found the apples, oranges and the pomegranates in the basket on his desk. He knew his men sensed that he wanted to get back to the lass in his cabin, but he didn’t care, it was just good to finally be getting back to her.

Elizabeth lay asleep, face down in his bunk, Barbossa smiled, noticing that she had found the fruit, a pomegranate lay beside her untouched as though she perhaps didn’t know how to go about eating it. But when he noted how the hem of his shirt was pulled up as far as the top of her thighs, the swell of her buttocks so nearly on display, legs slightly parted, Barbossa forgot about the fruit. The sight was too much to resist, he removed his hat, baldric, sash, belt, shrugged off his coat, pulled his shirt over his head and thought again of breaking into her chamber back in Port Royal. He walked to the bed, knowing he’d likely startle her, but that would be half the fun of this. His knee hit the mattress, and he quickly swung himself over her, crushing her into the bunk as he snaked his arms around her, maneuvering between her legs. She woke with a jump and a gasp, but quickly settled, remembering where she was. “Don’t move!” he growled with mock threat, and rubbed his half hard cock against the cleft of her well shaped ass.

“And I thought your preference was the opposite?” She smiled, trying to turn over, but he wouldn’t let her, just leaned down and nuzzled her hair with his beard and mouth, kissing her neck. His weight above her this way felt good, it was so tempting to spread her legs further and allow him to take whichever hole he desired. But she couldn’t give in so readily this time. He’d shown her the broach instead of being inclined to talk about his horrors, but she would get him to talk about something. She’d have his attention better if she faced him, though. “I can’t kiss you this way,” she sighed unhappily, arching her back against his chest, that wonderful, broad chest that warmed her back, pectoral muscles rippling as he squeezed her to him. “Or touch you.”

He had removed his shirt in anticipation of her hands worshipping his upper body as though he were some sacred idle of her very own religion, why deny her the chance to make that genuflection? He propped himself up and off of her with one hand and his toes, only needing the other hand to swiftly flip her lithe body over onto her back. She’d little time to gasp this time before he kissed her, mouth hard on hers, tongue between her lips, but met weakly by hers, her lips sliding slowly from his as she turned her head. “Too tired?”

“No,” she smiled, hoping he didn’t think she was uninterested, she was interested, God help her she was, it took all her strength not to wrap her legs around him and encourage his cock hard enough to enter her. She’d made up her mind that they would talk, and they would. “I—“

“Good!” Barbossa growled, pressed his body more against hers and kissed her again, another deeply intended kiss, but he could feel her trying to keep the osculation from its destination, her lips this time not parting, remaining taut as he kissed them. Was she teasing him? He slipped one hand beneath her head, tilted her face to his and proceeded to kiss her, flicking her lips lightly with his tongue, sometimes brushing his mustache across her soft mouth, and then kissed her again, sucking at her upper and lower lip until finally he felt her sigh beneath him, her hands went to his chest and shoulder, and her lips finally began to part. Now he pulled away teasingly, just as her tongue came forward to find his. Her eyes opened and she looked up at him as if betrayed, then lunged at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him where she wanted him. He started to chuckle deep in his chest, but it soon turned to a moan as the tip of Elizabeth’s tongue boldly tickled the roof of his mouth. His cock gave a lurch against his leg, lengthened a bit more, he let her head fall back against the pillow to move his hand between their bodies and tug open the buttons of his breeches, but once again, Elizabeth abandoned their kiss with abruptness.

The way he could make her want him was startling, no man ever distracted her so much. “Wait,” she breathed, placing both her hands against his chest as if she believed she could really toss him aside if need be…as if she believed that feeling all that muscle move beneath her palms was something she could ignore.

“And just what is it we be waitin’ for?” He asked, sensing now that he’d get no where until he at least listened, placing his hand on either side of her head and supporting his weight, but keeping his pelvis melded to hers, less she forget what it was he was after.

“Talk to me,” Elizabeth asked, unable to resist dragging her fingertips lightly over his hard nipple and then down through the grooves of his serratus muscle. His body flinched, eyes closed and he hissed a sharp breath. She hadn’t meant to tease, but perhaps it would make him more pliable? “Tell me something of yourself. Anything. I want to know!”

“Girl, yer bein’ silly!” He grumbled and leaned down to kiss her again, one thing on his mind only, but Elizabeth’s hand quickly flew up and she cupped it over his lips before he could touch them to hers; such a bold move!

“No,” Elizabeth said sternly, giving no thought to what implications it may have. “I know very little about you, other than what floats around as legend. I want to know you.” He was paying attention now; she peeled her hand from his mouth. “Please, Captain.”

“If yer thinkin’ I’ve relented in tellin’ y’about—“

“You haven’t, and I know enough not to ask.” She quickly replied, watching his blue eyes for any sign of anger, but there wasn’t one. He was more puzzled than anything else. “Talk to me.”

It was clear that she wouldn’t be swayed; she must have been lying in here pondering that pomegranate and planning this out for the few hours that he’d left her. Damned stubborn woman! He heaved himself off of her with a half groan, half growl of frustration and leaned back against the hull. “If’n I tell y’somethin’, y’ll stop yer cavilin’ about?”

“Caviling?” Him and his words, she sat up, glad to have his attention finally. “Yes.”

His eyebrow went up at the sound of his vocabulary spoken through a smirk. Elizabeth was always such a happy challenge. He smirked back, leaned closer to her, mouth hovering around hers, hoping he could seduce her with language. “Talk to ye, and then y’ll anodyne me intumescence?”

She giggled, had no idea what he even spoke of any longer but he purred the archaic words so tantalizingly. She wondered if this was how he’d lured maidens to his bed in years gone by. “Fine.” She answered, and pushed him away again before he kissed her, and before she kissed him. She looked forward to hearing more about him, for she sat in bed with one of the world’s most feared pirates, the oldest man still to Captain a crew, he had to have stories like no one else did! “Thank you for your alacrity.” She smiled at him, asserting one of her own little used words.

“Hmm,” he replied, not as impressed with her words as he was with his own, but he could get a book, and teach her. “I’ll not be volunteerin’ a thing. Excludin’ the obvious subject, if’n y’want to know somethin’, ask me.”

He was being purposefully coy, but that was fine, Elizabeth enjoyed this side of him. She tucked her legs underneath her and rested her elbows on her thighs, chin on her knuckles. She smiled, trying to think of a good question, something she’d been wondering about ever since last night. “How old are you?”

His head jerked towards her and he blinked as if taken somehow off guard by her question, but then he laughed. So she did wonder as to the difference in their ages. “No one knows that.”

A secret! “Tell me!” She leaned forward with anticipation of knowing something about him that no one else did. “Please!”

Barbossa laughed even more. Governor’s daughter, lady of high breeding and high society, for all her time on pirate vessels it still showed, this thought obviously too ridiculous for her to comprehend. “No, Ms. Swann. I mean to say that me arrival into this world was not an event momentous enough to mark upon the calendar.”

“Not even the year?” She was astounded; Barbossa laughed again, more heartily this time. How did one get on in the world without knowing how old they were? “How does such a thing go unnoticed?”

“Money be more appreciated than sentiment,” he replied, making himself more comfortable against the hull, stretching his long legs out, picked up the pomegranate that was rolling about and tossed it from hand to the other casually. She should hear this, he’d let her know this. “That be the goin’ of things in a brothel.”

“Brothel?” Her brows were furrowed, for a moment what he’d said made no sense, until she thought it over, and then she gasped so that her hand flew to her mouth with her astonishment. “Your mother was a…”

“Aye.” He answered. “A Scottish whore, died of childbed fever three days after.”

“And your father?” What a stupid thing to ask! But she couldn’t help it; this was too horrible, intriguing and exciting! The Captain had no age, he had no family; it was like he barely existed. She’d never met anyone who knew they were the son of a whore, and then admitted such so freely!

“Never been introduced,” he smiled as if he enjoyed telling this story. Perhaps he did? Perhaps it was due to her reactions? “It was deduced that the Portuguese Fleet be in Edinburgh’s port at the time of me conception, so I was called Hector Barbossa.”

“You were ‘called’ Hector Barbossa?” Elizabeth’s eyes squinted as she tried to take some more meaning from what he said than what he actually was saying. That sounded so terrible! “You’re not from Portugal? The other…prostitutes? The…Madame, they ‘called’ you Hector Barbossa? Like…like, naming a cat or a dog?”

“Along those lines,” he shrugged.

“But, how do you speak Portuguese? I heard you! You speak Portuguese!” She remembered hearing him adrift on the pleasure they shared, the Latin language escaping him as her body moved his and his moved hers. She looked at him now though, as if to solve this mystery before he told her, his reddish hair, his blue eyes, the spread of his shoulders and chest, his skin darkened only by the sun. “But, now that it’s been said, you do appear more like a big Scot than you do a Portuguese!”

Barbossa smiled again. It had been years since anyone cared to listen to this. “A few years before whiskers grew on me chin, the Portuguese fleet returned to Edinburgh. Livin’ as slave labor in a house of ill repute was none too fancy, and bein’ that I was told I was likely a son of Portugal, I joined up, became a cabin boy in the Portuguese Navy.”

“How long did you serve?” The story only became more fascinating as the pieces fell into place. What a life he’d lead; an exceptional, though unfortunate, life. Elizabeth wanted to know more, but with each revelation came another tug at her heart, something rising up within her that wanted to take him in her arms and try to hide him from everything that he’d lived.

“Six years. Made an attempt to join the Royal Navy after, but was told I be too stout and too tall for life aboard ship.” He looked off for a moment, rolling his eyes, then back at Elizabeth, and both burst out laughing.

“I think you’ve proven them wrong!” Somehow, amidst such tales of misery, sadness and hopelessness, he’d managed to be charming. Perhaps it was due to having accepted his situation, but not his station. Elizabeth had never met anyone who had managed to overcome the things that Barbossa had. She smiled, sat back and looked at him with a sigh, broad chest, strong arms, hair like a Highland Laird, blue eyes, and hidden within them all a fortitude like no other living thing possessed. Such a man!

“And I’ve made them pay!” He half growled, one hand clenching into a fist, but quickly relaxing again as he saw the way she looked at him. Elizabeth Swann; born with the world at hand, but she’d given it up for true freedom, something she’d done anything to keep. And she loved him! Blackbeard had married a governor’s daughter, why not him? What? Had he actually just thought such a thing?

“And thus you became a pirate?” Elizabeth smiled again, drew closer to him, reaching out until her hands rested on his shoulders, rising up on her knees. He deserved some reward for living through what he had, for suffering what he’d suffered. She could be that reward, wished to be that reward so badly! She’d wanted to know more about him, and now she did! And it made her want him.

Her arms slid around his neck, and Barbossa watched as her eyes drifted closed, her head angling to the side, closing his own eyes just as her lips pressed softly to his, waiting for him to take the lead. He hesitated, fighting the urge to tell her that wasn’t it exactly, that he’d become a Merchant Captain, that he was a damned good Merchant Captain for the Piran Fleet until…no, he’d said he wouldn’t talk about it, and he wouldn’t. Even these sudden and fleeting thoughts of it was making the pit within him begin to seethe, and he pulled Elizabeth into his lap, kissing her harder, his tongue taking her mouth as his cock hardened below her, anxious for the solace and comfort that her body could provide. “Elizabeth,” he half whispered, trailing a hand down her side, down over her hip, across her thigh, feeling her shiver with anticipation even before he traced the bend of her thigh. “We’ve talked,” he said, his fingers caressing her wet arousal and moving further into that heat, three of them buried within her billowing creases, rubbing and stroking. “Be the oyster open to pearl?”

She felt her body finally unable to hold out, a sudden contraction overtaking her, making her bite her lip as his moved softly against her ear. His fingers wouldn’t be still, found new nooks to occupy as her moisture engulfed them, each touch a sharp tickle, like the shrill sound of a sword cutting through the air. Her hands gripped his shoulders with trembling strength, her hips rocking forward towards his touch, wanting to be penetrated by some part of him; she wished to hold him within her. His cock, she could feel it hard against her inner thigh, the sticky head pounding against her skin, and her lips parted, imagined that she took him within her mouth to give him the most supreme of her attentions. “Lie back,” she whispered, turning her head until her lips met his once more in a hungry kiss, his other hand drawing her nearer as he his fingers played her need for him further. She could have taken him easily now, he’d have slid into her smoothly and deeply, she’d only to lift her hips a bit to guide them together, but the raw taste of his mouth drew her focus, and provoked a more resonant need within her. His cock, she’d hold the most virile part of him in her mouth and have his seed against her tongue. “I’ll pleasure you first. I want your taste.”

Her willingness and desire to work him thusly made him groan and pull her tighter, he would gladly accept what she offered, his cock stiffening past what it usually did, the head drawing so completely tight, his foreskin pushed back as though it weren’t there at all. He wondered how long he’d last when she set upon him, felt his congested organ squeeze out a hot bead of milky fluid that rolled down his shaft. Her body sensed the state of his, his fingers were drenched as they plowed gentle furrows between her legs, the hot firmness of her arousal, the glossy smoothness of her readiness, the feeling of his fingers trolling through the richest of chamois; he held true luxury. “Peace,” he whispered to her, kissing her by her ear the hand between her legs shifted forward, cupping her crotch and rubbing the whole of her slit so very slowly, feeling all of her as Elizabeth sucked in a ragged breath, her back arching. “It’s been too long since I’ve felt a woman’s pleasure swallowed up from me hand.”

Elizabeth hadn’t had to think to spread her legs wider, they did so immediately, feeling the heel of his hand now nudging her eager clitoris, his fingers massaging her entrance, coming so close to slipping within her, but always pulling back just as she felt herself open to accommodate him. Her whole body warmed and sang with the propensity of his teasing touch, beguiling her desire for his cock. One hand wandered down his chest, trapping his hard nipple between her thumb and finger and squeezing lightly, applying more pressure until his big body flinched and Barbossa growled, kissing her neck with a sharp scrape of his teeth, and he bumped his hand hard against her taunted little knot, making Elizabeth cry out, tremors reverberating down her legs as she ground herself against him, her hand sinking lower and lower into his lap.

He felt her grip him firmly, just as he’d managed a staggered breath, which now caught in his throat, leaving him gasping, teeth clenched as waves of delectation cast throughout his body. Unable to bear it without claiming her in some way, two fingers plunged within her as deeply as he could thrust them; Elizabeth shrieked and clung to him with the one arm around his neck, pulling at his hardness. “Careful, Miss,” he hissed passed her ear as Elizabeth stroked him, her closed fist drawing up and down his taut shaft at the same agonizingly slow pace his fingers teased her with. “Be it me taste y’want, don’t spend me here.”

It was so good to be penetrated, she rocked her hips frantically, trying to speed up his rhythm but trying also to get control of hers, she wanted to feel him in her hand, but taste him in her mouth. She was more able to move her clitoris against his hand than she was able to control the depth or speed of his fingers, and so she did, nudging herself mercilessly upon his hand until the familiar dance of blissful stress began. “Kiss me!” She nearly squealed, dreaming of his cock in her mouth, her voice rising and throat tightening as her abdominal muscles began to lock, purposefully squeezing herself as tight around his fingers as she could master. Through closed eyes she could nearly taste him, salty and dusky, and when the tip of his tongue slid between her lips, she took it deeper, sucking it hard.

Barbossa fought off the urge to use his strength to his advantage and raise her up, steady his cock with one hand, and bring her back down upon it before she could realize what had happened. He’d wanted to feel her reaching her point with his hand, and now he could, her channel rippling around his digits as the convulsions threatened to burst forth, she heaved breath after breath against his neck and chest, her hard nipples kissing his skin over and over with each rise of her chest. Her passion was beautiful, her past dour, and Barbossa could no longer think of being without her, would find some way of keeping her, forever. She twisted against him, her clitoris a hard, slippery, needful little thing against his sailor’s hand, and he pressed back against her, his fingers moving within her at a faster pace now that had her bouncing up and down on his hand, holding his cock in her grasp with a steady control. Such ardency and such darkness, she’d never leave him, he’d never let her! The bunk shook, the pomegranate rolling against his leg as Elizabeth took her pleasure. The pomegranate; how be her knowledge of Greek myths?

All the world became sensation and a fight for breath, all the tension unraveling like a twisted line, finally breaking with sharp snap, and Elizabeth fell limp against the Captain’s chest, her body shaking, his fingers still thrusting into the tightness that fought to hold them deeper as her heart pounded in her temples, her head spinning too much to realize that Barbossa had again taken up the fruit, crushed it open in his hand, loosing a few of the deep fuschia seeds into his palm. She only felt the sudden berry like plumpness rubbed against her lips.

“Know y’of Persephone and Hades?” His whisper was hoarse, low and distracted by what his body cried out for.

The contractions grew less potent, but she could barely speak, barely think. “God of the Underworld and his stolen queen.” Her lips parted to take the seed as it was pushed to her lips, only to have Barbossa’s mouth follow it with a deep kiss, holding her chin and sucking the smooth, round, sweetly sour morsel back into his own mouth.

“Aye,” her learnedness pleased him, he hoped she would understand the rest, rolling the seed back upon his lips with his tongue, then kissing her again hard enough that the ripened seed burst against his mouth and hers, both licking and sucking the tang of its juice from the other’s lips. “Hades fed pomegranate seeds to Persephone, to—“

Elizabeth’s eyes flew open; she knew this myth well, and what it meant suddenly filled her with an earth shaking happiness. “To insure that she would always return to him!” She knew if she waited, Barbossa would tell her that he intended to keep her, that he wanted her with him! Her energy was immediately renewed, up until this moment the Captain had been so cryptic, his actions decidedly leaning one direction, and yet his words another. But now, he’d told her! His big hand held more pomegranate seeds, and she snatched it up, taking it to her mouth, watching his blue eyes as she cupped his hand and lowered her lips to his palm, quickly sweeping each remaining seed into her mouth with her tongue. She wanted to see his expression, wondered if he’d smile.

She was zealously making her point, there would have been no better or more temperate a moment to tell her that he loved her, but he knew that he couldn’t, that such words from him had no meaning, were equal to failure and murder. But as her tongue and lips continuously brushed his palm, his physical need for her overflowed, and he crushed her to him, kissing her with parted lips, one of the tart seeds offered to him and quickly accepted, held for a moment between her mouth and his as his tongue curled around it, the acerbic fruit and the feel and taste of her mouth making his cock throb, and again he stayed himself from taking her.

Elizabeth smashed the few seeds she held in her mouth, her next kiss pouring forth their unifying elixir. It dripped between their lips, red drops like the bloody past that bound them, sharp tingles shared against their wrestling tongues as she found the seed to again slide into her mouth from his. She crushed it as well, her tongue and cheeks teaming with the pleasant sting of pomegranate, rejoicing that the feeling somehow made her his. She reached down, picking up the fruit and scooping more of the seeds out and pushing at Barbossa’s broad chest, wanting him on his back, wanting the taste of his cock, wanting to pleasure him as the woman he intended to keep with him.

Barbossa didn’t resist as her hand pushed him to his back, too entranced by the look in her eye and her magenta stained lips, his cock having suffered far too long to be ignored any longer as well. As soon as his back was against the bunk he felt her lean over him, her hand spilling pomegranate seeds all across his expansive chest and the bunk as she kissed him, seemingly unaware of how she dominated him and how he submitted to her, some asylum found in the affirmation of their wish to remain together that made this more natural than impressive; the tension in his groin tightening another notch. No woman had ever made such sensual use of his body and fruit before this, the surprise alone coaxing him to another level of arousal.

But Elizabeth took her time, sucking pomegranate and his taste from his lips and tongue, then moved down, over his throat as he exposed it for her lips, down to the first of the seeds that lay upon his chest, kissing it into her mouth as he groaned beneath her, the threat of release now lingering in Barbossa’s spasming cock. Her hand smoothed over his chest hair as she steadied herself, his arms trembled to raise up and guide her, but he stilled himself, would let her do this to him, and exhaled sharply as she smashed the next seed against his nipple and sucked his stiff peak and the blood red nectar into her mouth. His need and impatience grew; he wouldn’t last much longer. She headed further away from him, following a trail of seeds that lead down over his abdomen, her lips and tongue tickling him as she ate them from his skin, another hot pearl of fluid overflowing his swollen cockhead and dripping down to his base, balls achingly tight. No more, the torture too voluptuous, his entire body more rigid than his muscles could bear. Perhaps some part of her did realize her power over him. “Waitin’ for me to beg?”

His voice was so breathy Elizabeth had barely heard him, but when she looked back at him the yearning was evident in his eyes. Another glance at how inflamed and aggravated the head of his cock was confirmed what she was doing to him, and she gave him a brief apologetic look, then immediately repositioned herself beside his hip, facing away from him, knowing she could work him better with her mouth if the curve of his erection was towards her. But, from the looks of things, it wouldn’t be very long before his taste blazed upon her tongue. Further diversions and displays of the skills she’d accumulated weren’t needed, would have been inappropriate for the state he was in, the Captain required the warm softness of her mouth around him with clear intent, and her desire to relieve his strain. No stalling, she steadied him with her hand, feeling the raging within his shaft and pursed her lips, pushing the head of his swollen organ through them much the same way his cock would have taken her tight channel.

Barbossa growled, body flexing, coming half off the bunk as his cock sank into the heat of her mouth, his hips thrusting forward involuntarily, driving himself deeper, into Elizabeth’s throat, but she was ready for it, and swallowed him without faltering. Now she began to move her head, a classic, well used rhythm, up and down, sucking the head of his cock as she drew her mouth upwards, her hand wrapping around whatever her mouth failed to hold. His shaft seemed to rattle against her tongue and lips, the slit at the head of his organ irrepressibly weeping drop after drop of fluid, which Elizabeth noticed, applied more pressure to his staff to get a greater taste of them. He heard her moan as his cock felt to be twisting in her mouth, and opened his eyes to see her working him with closed eyes, seemingly drinking from his readying cock as her upturned buttocks bowed forward and back with each one of her strokes as though he fucked her from behind. Another spark ignited within him and he immediately reached for another pillow, quickly stuffing it behind his head. “Elizabeth,” he whispered through clenched teeth, working to relax his jaw as his eyes burrowed deeper and deeper into the wetness of her slit. He stroked the back of her thigh with his thumb. Her eyes opened, holding the tip of his cock in her mouth, sucking as she looked back at him, his body reeling, but he wanted her taste as eagerly as she sought his. “Splice me with yer legs, I’ll have y’as well.”

She wasn’t sure what he was suggesting, it seemed at the most complex and at the least distracting, but her mouth was alive with the sharpness of pomegranate and his salty charge, his pounding cock in her mouth awakening a new longing within her, setting something deep inside throbbing for his touch again. She lifted one knee slightly; Barbossa’s hand took it and guided it across his chest, his hand angling her hips in place as he planted both her knees on either side of his head. His cock for a moment slipped from her mouth, and she frantically lunged forward to reclaim it, but before she could take him between her lips again, his hands clamped at her hips and she suddenly felt the stab of his stiff tongue plunging deep into the wet furrows and grooves spread wide above his mouth. Her body shook and she gasped, throwing her head back as he adjusted himself closer, her clitoris embedded in the roughness of his beard; such a wonderful friction! Elizabeth gasped again as she leaned forward, tried to again take his cock in her mouth, but Barbossa’s tongue traced the shape of her, drawing a wishbone from bottom to top, flicking her growing clitoris twice before burying his lips within the damp folds nearest her opening. She felt him sucking hard at her delicate, sensitive skin, mustache prickling against the rim of her vagina, tongue teasingly sliding within her, and she soon discovered herself sucking the head of his cock with intensity, her desire for his taste never so strong before.

The depth of her taste was a mellow tincture against the lingering tang of symbolic promise in his mouth as his cock took up more space against her tongue. She seemed as though she touched him differently now, or was it he who felt her differently above him? Without a word she’d accepted a place beside him, her place beside him, as new and strange as it may have been; if only he could tell her more than that he wished for her to remain there. But before Barbossa could begin to dwell he felt Elizabeth making the best of efforts to contain him all, leaving no part of his organ untouched, her mouth and hands all stroking him up and down, his balls cupped and gently massaged in her other palm as she was otherwise helpless to refuse what he gave her with his lips and tongue. The forces were all but aligned within him, pulling fire inwards from his extremities towards his groin, leaving ice in its wake. He angled his head forward, craning his neck due to their difference in height, but forced himself to bend until her clitoris was between his lips. Elizabeth sucked harder and faster upon his cock, a firmer hand on his balls, and Barbossa curved his lips over his teeth and began to chew her flaring little knot gently.

Her elated body jolted with the boldness of such pleasure, his lips now holding her ecstatic little bud and sucking it as hard as she sucked the head of his cock. Elizabeth’s heart pounded in her head, she imagined that they were locked in some endless struggle to each draw the other into themselves, this unexpected and unexplored way of being one with each other that connected them deeper than she ever would have predicted. She could suddenly feel everything, her body contracting, climax locking and loading deep within her groin, his chest hair tickling her belly as the two big blue veins on his shaft thumped against her lips. She wondered which one of them would be consumed by orgasm first. Pomegranate still shadowed her mouth, seeds fed by Hades to Persephone to keep her with him; the Captain wished to keep her, she wished to stay. A thief, a murderer, a man who had survived so much pain and had become so strong for it all; she loved this man!

From chest to knees strength like mythical force itself escaped him, a gush of searing pleasure that left his body like shot from the guns of his ship, his body even recoiling beneath the shockwave it left. Elizabeth’s mouth was flooded as she held his cock with both hands, pressing her tongue against the hot spurt, letting the taste of seasonings and salt bathe her senses, swallowing him readily, taking in so much of his essence it seemed to push back, twisting with the spiraling tension in her stomach and groin, finally exploding, wracking her body with such convulsions and tremors that she had to let his cock slip from her mouth for fear of biting him. She stroked him with her hand as she moaned, feeling his shaft still undulating as if pumping forth more and more semen, but nothing came, his body in the final throes, mouth still buried between her legs, her contracting channel kissing his lips.

Elizabeth’s eyes opened and she saw that somehow she’d moved off of him and was now tucked under his strong arm, her head on his chest. From the looks of things both had collapsed into a few minutes sleep, now awakening, a warm blush overtaking their skin as their eyes met. She raised her arm, trying to hug herself tighter to him and noticing the stippled red marks from crushed pomegranate seeds all over her skin and the Captain’s as well. She laughed, Barbossa with her as she felt two of the vagrant seeds against her side, capturing them in her hands as he pulled her to him to kiss her. Quickly she raised the seeds to her mouth, fearing her breath may not have been as sweet as when last he kissed her, but Barbossa noticed and blocked her hand with his.

“Tis only the taste of us,” he whispered, and turned more towards her and covered her lips with his, his tongue gently active at the purposeful seal of her lips. He pulled back, gave her a mildly scolding look and then stroked her cheek. “Never doubt I be against that union.” He kissed her again.

This time Elizabeth let his tongue snake as deeply into her mouth as he pleased, unafraid to stroke it as it roved about, her taste still as much upon his mouth as his was upon hers, the flavors meeting and melding, the taste of their harmony. She loved him, the blended essences in her mouth sinking deep within all her tissues, giving her heart cause to race once more as they kissed. She crawled more upon his chest, suddenly not feeling close enough to him, her fingers crossing the names over his pounding heart, surprised now when it was she who flinched and not The Captain upon the contact. She wished so badly there was some way she could remove that tragedy of his past—that scar; and her heart swore it knew how. One of her hands sought out his, holding tightly, fingers intertwined, but something told her to lower her head over his heart, not to make eye contact. “I love you.”

She was well and truly conscious this time, and so was he. She’d said it once before, but not like this, and though he’d already heard those words from her, the same exuberance ran rampant within him; his heart afloat on a rolling sea of joy, but all too soon began to sink below the surface. “I know.” He let her lay upon him, but didn’t move, ashamed to admit he was afraid to, didn’t want to see disappointment, or anger and particularly not tears in her eyes; enough of the three brimmed in his own. He felt her head lifting up and closed his eyes.

Elizabeth smiled faintly, not surprised to find him laying there as if suddenly asleep, not surprised by anything. He hadn’t gotten to be the Captain he was by easy means. He was a man well acquainted with loss. “And I knew you’d say that.”