Taming A Dragon

Author: Pilgrim
Title: Taming A Dragon
Rating: NC-17 by the end possibly sooner depends on the story progresses
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the PotC characters or movies (unfortunately); anything you recognize isn’t mine although that shouldn’t be much in this fan fiction.
Feedback: Please! First time fan fiction writer and desperate for tips, tricks, advice, stuff me full of info please! I want to improve and take over the world with my genius mwhahaha! Lol, only kidding but feedback would be fantastic, send it to raukarwen_deomene@yahoo.com!
Notes: So far unread, so really need feedback on it.

Chapter 12 - Time To Play

Jacks’ hand crept around the back of her head and threaded his fingers through the various braids holding her carefully to him as their tongues duelled for dominance. A knock came at the door and Oria sat back sharply and avoided his gaze.

“Enter.” Bootstrap glanced at the desk and was surprised to see Jack on the bed.

“The cook sent up some more salve, how are you doing miss?” He glanced at Oria who met his gaze confidently.

“Glad to be back.” He nodded and gave a gentle smile.

“Seems you’ve had quite a beating from what Jack’s been saying.” He glanced at the various expanses of bandages on her arms and legs, “Course don’t need to go on faith telling when you can see it with your own eyes. I’ll leave ya now, night.” Jack took the new bowl from him and slid it under the bed next to the first, he watched silently as Bootstrap closed the door before returning his gaze to Oria. She met his gaze confidently.

“Well that was… interesting…” The corner of her lips quirked up, she began to shuffle back down under the covers and watched him from over the duvet, he kept the look of disappointment off his face. Easing himself up from the bed he headed over to the hammock, the wait had definitely been worth it. Oria sat up slowly.

“I can sleep in my hammock.” He waved a hand to brush the remark aside, she swung her legs out of the bed as he tugged the blanket back, “I’ll sleep in it.”

“No worries, really love. I’ll be… fine… what’s this?” His fingers caught hold of a worn leather bound book and he slowly lifted it out, Oria attempted to stand but her feet were in no mood to tolerate the weight.

“It’s nothing, leave it.” Jack turned it over in his palms before it slipped from his grasp and fell open on the floor, he bent down to pick it up transfixed by the script there. Swirls and calligraphic loops like those taught to a lady or gentleman of good breeding rested there. He lifted it from the floor, dimly aware that Oria was getting increasingly agitated. He scanned the pages before looking up at her.

“You’ve not been telling the whole truth now have you pet.” Oria gritted her teeth and tilted her chin arrogantly, “This page here tells of the destruction and slaughter of the ship ex-HMS ship Lady Ursula, which was transporting your sister, her two children and her husband. So much for she died in child-birth eh?” He closed the book slowly, “I think it’s time we heard the whole truth from your lips, or I could just read this here diary.” He waved it casually ignoring the fearful tumble of his stomach as he regarded what he could only describe as a merciless killer.

“I owe no explanation for my actions to you or anybody else. Read the diary if you wish, I care not how you judge me.” Whatever it was that had inspired her to partake in the activities before had now decidedly died. She watched him flip open the front page of the book but his eyes were on hers, he slammed it closed and tossed it to the end of the bed silently. Oria stared in surprise at the book now resting sparse few millimetres from her feet, “Why did you do that?” Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper; Jack glanced at her over the side of the hammock.

“’Cos I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready.” He laid down tugging the light blanket up to his chin; Oria felt for the diary in the gloom and gently eased it off the covers and into her fingertips. She glanced between it and the hammock before her gaze rested on the outline in the hammock, her bandaged fingers running over the stained and worn bronzed leather.

How she hated him, he always turned the tables, stole the ball back into his court and kept her guessing, she couldn’t help herself; no one had ever played these games before. It intrigued her; it was different, too different, unique to him and it was drawing her in faster than she had realised, this was not part of her plan, this was a complication that had to be removed and soon. Time to step up the game and get the ball back, no matter what the cost.

:/

A lazy morning rose, its’ cool rays trickling through the salt encrusted glass, Oria glanced across to the hammock. Jack was still fast asleep and snoring gently with one leg flung carelessly out, easing her legs quietly from under the covers she dragged out one of the bowls beneath the bed. Stripping the bandages away from her arms she studied the wounds, they were no longer raw, a thin film of skin covering them. She applied the salve quickly and re-bandaged her fore arms, her hands and fingers were only scarred, being smaller areas they had healed quickly.

Another few minutes and she had done her lower legs as well finding her feet the same as her hands if a little more tender. Crossing her legs she waited for Jack to awaken to a different world, one where he was not calling the shots. Five minutes later and the hammock began to rock as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up on his elbows.

“Morning.” Jack glanced across at her sleepily.

“Aye, morning. Sleep all right?” His eyes lighted on the bowl next to her on the bed and the newly bound appendages, “I see you’ve healed like you said you would.” Oria nodded and picked up the journal, she tossed it at him.

“Read it, it’ll take too long to re-tell and I don’t have the patience. I need clothes.” He caught the journal wincing as the sharp movement tugged on the tender flesh over his chest. Stiffly he pointed to a chest.

“Some of my extra clothes in there. Be a bit big but they’ll do till we get to a port and can get some that actually fit.” Oria slipped out of the bed and knelt in front of the chest, she tipped the lid open to reveal several white shirts and brown britches.

“My, the choice is amazing.” Jack grinned while absently rubbing his fingers over the journal.

“Aye, there’s several shades of brown and white in that there chest.” Oria glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Indeed.” She tugged out a set and began to shrug her shirt over her head, Jack spluttered.

“What till I’m out of the room at least!” Pulling it off completely she folded her arms over her chest and turned to face him.

“Why Jack, are you embarrassed?” He glanced every which way not sure where to put his eyes.

“No… but ladies aren’t supposed to just strip in front of anyone.” Oria hid her grin, hot under the collar, just how she liked them.

“Don’t be such a baby; it’s nothing you haven’t seen before I’m sure.” Jack attempted to scramble out of the hammock but with his eyes not sure where to focus he ended up getting knotted in it and tumbled out with a loud thump. Oria tugged the britches up and felt them sink back down.

“Might need a belt.” Jack turned the other way and tried to extricate his leg from the twisted mess of a hammock.

“Bottom of the chest, on the right.” Oria dug around and pulled one out, swiftly buckling it about her hips allowing the grin to spread at Jacks’ curses and frantic attempts to get free. Finished with dressing she knelt next to him and removed his leg from the hammock, he stared at her in disbelief.

“Now then, there’s quite a bit of information in that journal, I suggest you get started.” His brain was still frazzled from the near strip display and the torrent of thoughts he would much rather have kept for dreams were still very much present in his fore mind. The well placed hand on his thigh didn’t help the situation as she leaned on him to stand up fighting back the smirk that threatened to break her neutral mask, just like every other man. This was going to be too easy, “I’ll go and find some breakfast.”

He nodded dumbly his gaze transfixed at where her hand had been but moments before; he swore he could still feel it burning him through the material of his britches as hot as any forge iron. Absently he picked up the journal and stumbled into his desk chair before flipping open the first page. After five minutes he was finding it no easier to focus on the script, his thoughts still diligently focused on that burning hand print on his thigh and the whispering fleeting touches that trailed up to his groin and a pool of heat.

With a frustrated moan he dropped the book onto the desk and fumbled at the laces of his britches, just as he got them loose, Oria stepped in with two plates. He sat back up abruptly with a startled look on his face, Oria bit back her grin, she had been waiting outside the door for the book to drop to the desk knowing exactly what would follow. Sliding the plate across to him she sat on the bed and watched him intently, she could see the frustration he was struggling to control.

Oria had got her advantage again; he believed she was completely unaware of what she was doing and he wasn’t about to retaliate against something innocent. With both plates cleared she remained watching him before sighing and glancing away.

“Could you take the plates back down, I’m tired.” She laid back on the bed and watched as he gritted his teeth while trying to lace up his britches without her realising, “What are you doing?” Oria sat back up.

“Nothing.” She shuffled around trying to see; Jack leapt up suddenly, grabbed the plates and ran out of the room. Oria watched him go and couldn’t fight back a laugh when the door had closed, already her mind was working on the next stage…