Give me Love, Give me Life

TITLE: ABH- Give me Love, Give me Life
Part 2 of ?Important authors notes below!!!!!
PAIRING JS/OF
RATING NC-17
DATE POSTED: Oct. 19, 2003


DISCLAIMERS:
I sorely wished I owned Jack and his compatriots, but I do not. I am only
borrowing them and will returned them relatively unscathed. Go see the
movie! Give them MORE money. Everyone say SEQUEL (Now a reality in the making!
YAAH US!)
ARCHIVE INSTRUCTIONS: Will be archived eventually at wildbadgers.net.
Anyone else must
ask first please.

AUTHOR NOTES: This is part two to a previous ABH that I did called After
the Boys of Summer. If you have NOT read that one, please read it first so
you understand the characters and where things are coming from and how they
started. You all wanted a bit o' adventure, and more romance. So this I am
all striving for. I figured in the first part I would start with a bit o
smut since I made you wait the first time. Later on I will be add a third
person storyline for Jack's benefit later on due to situations that will be
developing. I have quite a lot planned for Jack and company and if anyone
has any ideas on how to get a name in for the lady, let me know. This is
going to be tough to keep her completely unnamed, since I know where this
story is headed. Egads!

This is unbetaed. Just because Im feeling impatient, and due to life this
has been a long time coming out.

This is an ABH (Anywhere but here), but a longer one then the
ones normally done. To reiterate, this is a story done in the first person,
as if you the reader are relating or reliving the story.

If any mates notice glaring errors let me know, and I shall be updating it.
I would love feedback. ITs been a while
since Ive written much so Im a bit rusty. Take flames and visit old hobs
with em ye scabberous dogs!

Sorry this part is so long in coming (ohhh the pun) but life has been creul to me recently, and i did not want to comprimise ( I hope in all your opinions ) the quailty with getting it out more timely then I did.


CHAPTER TWO


The conditions the next morning were hideous, just as the captain had predicted. All his years of seafaring experience did eventually add up to being a fountain of knowledge with all that was the great blue oceans and its related kindred. Through the night you had not initially paid attention to the storm, being otherwise occupied or exhausted, but the winds had amplified so much as to be blowing more then merely the dead branches from trees, and the rains fell more sideways then straight down.

Jack had risen early when he heard the screaming gales, throwing on his breeches, shirt and boots and grabbing his hat. Your sleepiness and Jacks soft murmuring to rest entreated you to stay between your warm covers for a while more. He apparently rousted or appropriated your young servant Tom, who went helping the older man toten ten down the remaining windows and shutters that had not already been nailed shut and board up the slatted doors of your house.

You came down a couple hours later, sitting at the small wooden table in the kitchen as Ester prepared some hot water for tea and boiled grains for breakfast. You did not stand on formalities of eating separate from your servants like many of the gentry did. Unless you had guests, you spent your time with the people who were important in your life.

Shortly after, your side door flung open, aided by the blustering wind, and amidst driving rain and leafy vegetation, Jack and Tom came stumbling in, drenched to the bone. You jumped up and threw your shawl around the eleven-year-old boy, his small frame shivering being chilled for so long. “Tom, you go change from these wet rags right away,” you say, drying the sandy hair a tad with the wool shawl, “then crawl into your bed, and I’ll have Ester bring you some hot tea and mash.” You watched the lad you practically adopted in the last port four months ago scurry off towards his quarters.

Jack dropped the open wooden box that held your household tools with a loud thud onto the stone floor, some of the straight nails flying over the side and landing next to it. His loose, unmatted hair that stuck out from under the leather hat was plastered against his neck, and water dripped off every part of his body, including a stubborn drop that refused to fall from the end of his nose.

“And what does one have to do around here to get such rapt attention, not to say hot tea and mash,” Jack burst out in a teasing tone, “although I daresay I’d rather have you undress me and I crawl into your bed with you.”

“Jack!” you exclaim glancing over at Ester who was filling a small teapot and setting up a tray. The old lady didn’t even flinch at Jack’s statement.

The pirate followed your glance and threw up an arm towards her. “Do ye think the lady daft luv? I dinna’ think that she assumes we are engaged in a game of nine man morris all the time now - do you? Hell, girl, have you not noticed her walking in on us during on a couple of occasions? No, I would guess maybe not since I had ye a bit occupied at the time.”

The normal purse on Esters lips softened, and she almost smiled. Looking up at Jack she gave him a brief nod and picked up the tray and headed after where Tod god gone.

“No,” you timidly chuckle, once it was just you two alone. “I know Ester is well aware of our activities, but I like to pretend to keep some sense of propriety in my life. I would like to think the poor woman didn’t have to be subjected to watching us make the beast with two backs.”

“Don’t begrudge the girl. Pro’lly the most excitement she’s ‘ad in a long time. In fact I would lay good gold on that fact if I were a bettin’ man.”

“Jack Sparrow! You are simply incorrigible!” You go stand in front of the soaking wet man, not quite touching him, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, for everything,” you warmly say. “I had not gotten to a lot of that myself, and Tom is really too young to be doing too much of that yet.” You reach out and start to untie the fastenings on Jack’s shirt, the fabric almost translucent from the moisture.

“Ye should be hiring someone, an’ not doing it yourself either. The maintenance on this new abode of yours leaves something to be desired, luv, and not demeaning you, its not a woman’s place, even your place, to be having to crawl on rooftops or ladders to fix things,” he wearily sighed, removing the very wet hat and hanging it on one of the chair back posts. Amusingly enough his red headscarf was dry on the top, attesting to the great weathering of the leather. “I would highly suggest getting cross bars for the shutters rather then havin’ to nail them all the time each time a bloody hurricane comes by. Im surprised they don’t ‘ave any, since they have the hinges for them.”

“They might have at one time, and got misplaced or sold before I moved in. Iron can be a valuable commodity, especially to people fleeing. I will order some new ones from the blacksmith straight away after this clears up a bit. I never expected the storms to be this strong.”

Jack laughed. “And it aint even started yet. This is but the beginning. The brunt of the beast is pro’lly not comin’ until later, an’ the worst part even more after that, just when ye think it be done. The eye of the storm they call it. A deceiving lull that quickly turns evil if it catches you unawares.”

“Worse then this?” you worriedly ask. You had already begun to grow anxious as the intensity had increased earlier, and had only set aside fear by thinking it had to be near over or at its maximum. Jack’s assertations that this was nothing yet set your insides churning.

“Aye love,” Jack replied, stripping off the wet shiHe hHe hands it to you, and proceeds to remove his boots and set them upside down in a corner, a great puddle of water streaming out of each one. He grimaced at the mess and said, “I shoulda’ jus’ gone barefoot.”

“Don’t worry about that. Sit down,” you practically ordered, pulling out a chair that he promptly sat in. “I’ll go get you a warm blanket and some dry clothes.” You started to turn to leave and Jack grabbed your arm pulling you into his lap.

“Jack, you’re soaked. You’re getting me soaked, “you practically shrieked in mild happy annoyment.

He only held you closer, the dampness of his body and his remaining pants seeping into your garments, and he kissed you soundly. “You’ll have plenty of time to dry, whilst ye be warmin’ me up,” he smirks, “but first, I heard rumor of hot tea and breakfast. So some of that first, if ye wouldn’t be mindin’.”

You tsked, and pulled yourself up, giving him a playful swat on the arm. You took another ceramic teapot from a cabinet and started to measure the loosa ina into it, Jack’s eyes on you’re the entire time
“
“Tell me about the boy, Tom, “ you heard him ask. “How did ye end up with him?”

You reflected back to that day in the open-air market several months ago. It was not long after Jack had left the first time. You had gone shopping (or more the reality was being ordered by Ester to get you out of the house) for some fresh produce and meat for dinner. There were a few stalls where the local residents still sold items from meager subsistence farms, or from where people gathered items from the jungles and forests of the island. There was lots of fish and seafood, and even a variety of livestock that could be purchased for those without their own yards to raise them. Many items were still imported and available for quite the price in couple of adjacent shops run by local merchants, such as the flour and sugar and oil and more such upscale items that had to be imported from Europe or the Americas.

Your thoughts really were not on the melons that you weighed in your hands, or the squawking chickens in their cages waiting for the quick flick of a wrist around their neck to snap it after a buyer chose them. Your mind was somewhere in the vast unknown, on the rolling waves, staring off onto the endless horizon on a wooden ship, until a sharp howl from behind you caught your attention.

Whirling around, you saw a dirty young boy in torn rags that presumably passed for clothing, dangling in the iron grasp of a beefy merchant. The boy was gaunt, painfully thin, and his steely blue eyes were wide with anger, terror and frustration as he futilely wriggled in the hands of his captor. A pair of ripe mangos rolled across the ground, one stopping nearly at your feet.

“Filthy li’ile maggot,” you heard the man growl. “Go stealin’ my hard gained goods would ye?” He raised a clench fist above the boy’s head.

“Stop!” You cried, rushing forward. The merchant drew back only inches from the boy’s ear, startled by your outburst. “What’s the meaning of this violence against this child?”

“Bastard was stealin’ me fruit. I’s naught but givin’ ‘im a lesson ‘e won’t soon forget. What bus’ness is it of yers now there milady?”

“It is my business,” you harshly replied, getting up close and in his face, “when he is being assaulted for doing but what I asked of him. I needed two fresh mangos for a fruit salad I had planned for a special dinner party. He was but seeing if they were what I desired before I paid for them, him being a small boy and all.”

The man looked quizzically at you up and down in your fine brocade and satin, and then the bedraggled little boy, whom he now let rest on his feet. You knew for an instant that he probably didn’t believe a word of what you said, but wouldn’t and couldn’t voice his misgivings of your explanation. You were an upstanding and known social lady, and your word was not to be disputed without good reason.

Wanting to exit this situation as quickly as you could, you fished out your small velvet money pouch from the folds of your skirt, and removed a few small coins. “I presume this will be enough to cover the fruit, sir?”

The man nodded, and released his grip on the boy. You nodded to the fallen fruit. “Go ahead lad. Pick them up and lets get going. I haven’t any more time to waste today.”

The boy blinked several times at you, then scurried over and grabthe the fallen food, and rushed to your side. Herding him along, you waited until out of earshot before calmly asking,” What’s your name boy, and why were you pilfering from the market? You know he could get you stockaded and lashed, after making you deaf from boxing your ears. Don’t be lying to me now.”

The boy’s voice was scared and soft, but full of determination, an odd mix that suited you. “Tom. Tom Whitter,” he said. “I was hungry. That’s all.”

“Well Tom,” you said, taking one of the mangos, and then his free hand with your other, “I think we need to fix that, and talk about what reparations need to be done to atone for your deeds while we do.” The dssiossion you ended up having while he ate was more you telling Tom that he was expected back at your door in the morning bright and early.

You would always remember that astonished and disbelieving look in the stormy eyes of the child, as for the first time he could ever recall, he was treated with the smallest amount of kindness and mercy, and how he inhaled the bowl of stew he was given, staring at you and Ester fearfully over the spoon. He didn’t say anymore, and disappeared into the twilight afterwards. You really didn’t expect the small knock on the door the next day, but there he was, and to you it said something about the boy’s character. Tom returned that day and everyday, to do small chores for you without complaint or grumbling, until the day he just stopped leaving.

The first time, Ester found him sleeping by the back door, and the next on the kitchen floor. It was then you had a small cot set up for him. Life seemed to whirl by in the next few weeks and Tom blossomed out into what a child should be in your eyes; eager, smiling and boisterous. You started to sit him down to teach him his letters and to read and write, which was more of an dire effort then getting him to scrub floors. You never asked him about his family, until the day you had to tell him you were leaving the island. You did not expect the flood of tears, and the pawing at your skirts as he begged on his knees that you not leave him behind. It was then you insisted you had to arrange with his parents his leaving. “It doesn’t matter,” Tom tried to say, and you should have listened.

His mother was a wretched woman, wasting away from consumption or some horrible festering disease; barely able to recognize anything in the laudanum haze she was in. The hovel was rotting and leaking and she sat in filth and empty bottles and smelt of old alcohol, death and decay. The perfumed handkerchief at your nose was barely able to keep you from gagging in the stench. In the end you left a small bag of coin, and wondered if the great Paracelsus ever imagined his medicine being used as such to keep a person in such a misery. Or perhaps maybe it kept her from misery. You did not know and did not want to ever have to know.

But in your mind, Tom was, and probably would soon be, an orphan, and you were determined to consider him as such, and not as the indentured servant your payment legally made him to you. You had kept him in your care and service right up to the present, and would until he was old enough to strike out on his own. Hopefully by then you would have him educated and taught in some skill so the boy could make his way in the world better then his kin had done.

Taking a folded cloth you lifted a heavy cast iron pot filled with steaming water from over the coals and carefully filled the delicate little vessel on the table as you spoke. “He’s the son of some poor wretch of a woman, probably a whore, from back in port where we first met. I caught him stealing some food from a vendor, and saved his little hide from a good thrashing when he was caught. I could tell he wasn’t a bad boy, just hungry, and I took pity on him, and made restitution to the merchant. I had Tom make it up to me by promising to come to my home each day and do chores around the house, which he did. I made sure he was well fed, and he ran my errands. He is smart, eager and a good boy, even though he has been forced to grow up too fast. He just needed a guiding hand. When it came time to for me to leave, he wanted to go with me, so I went to arrange the possibility with his family. I can’t say his mother was too distraught to see him go, which is sad, but I think it is for the better. The boy has been nothing but a godsend to Ester, and me, despite the trials of having a small boy around the house. Why? Was he a problem for you outside there?” You set the tea on the table to steep and turned back to grab a bowl.

Jack shook his head. “Nay, not at all. Does ‘ave a tendency to prattle on about e’erything and anything like a noisy little bird, but he listens well. Did what I said, and when. And I was even able to teach him a tad about woodworking there.”

You laughed, spooning out some thickened porridge of various grains into the dish, and drizzled some honey over it.

‘What’s so funny about that?” he inquired quizzically.

You set the steaming food in front of him, and just stared at him a moment. “It’s funny to think of you teaching woodworking, I guess. That’s all.”

“Because I’m a pirate and not a carpenter?”

You shrugged. “I suppose so. Its not the thing that would come forefront to my mind.”

Jack took a careful bite of the hot gruel after blowing on it. “Let me ask you something. Do ye think I could last 20 years on variouODENODEN ships, without learning at least something about being able to handle a hammer, saw and nails, luv? I can even wield a lathe with the best of them. Well maybe not the BEST of them, but I can wield one.”

“No, I suppose not,” you said, slightly disconcerted at first at your assumption and his correction. “Im gladly willing to unlearn and relearn what makes you Jack, Mr. Sparrow. There seems to always be interesting layers to you that I would not expect to find, but it’s a pleasurable discovery I think. I may only see a few of those layers, but I will be grateful for that peek inside a pirate.”

“Not just any pirate, lass. The infamous and succinct ‘Captain’ Jack Sparrow.” Jack grinned, and poured himself a steaming cup of black tea.

“I don’t know if succinct is the right word to describe you.”

“Of course it is!” He matter-of-factly stated while spooning some of the dark raw sugar from your little bowl into the dark liquid and watching it dissolve with a swirl of his spoon. Jack leaned back, delicately holding the thin curved handle of the cup, and stared at you over the rim as he sipped the hot drink. “See?”

You groaned in exaggerated exasperation, and turned to you yourself some of the food, when several loud thumps on the walls followed shortly by a huge crash made you practically jump from your skin with a shriek. Jack quickly opened the door, fighting the gusts, and looked out.

“Just the palm tree, luv, ripped right out by the roots,” he tried to com comfortingly. “Have some wall work you need to do, but it missed the house. I think the savage lady is about to pull ‘er skirts through the door.”

Your hands still shaking you meekly sat down, your appetite gone.

For the first time in a long time you were terrified. Even the wildest thunderstorm you had ever seen in England was nothing like this. The winds were sounding like the screeching, wailing and howling of the reputed banshees of the old Irish and Scottish tales. Perhaps the old angry faerie women, haunting the Cairns, and annong dng death with their arrival, spent part of their time down here, honing their skills before returning to the Old World.

Not wanting to seem weak, you tried to will yourself to hide you fear. It made you feel childish and horrible to be letting something as simple as a storm get to you, but then you tended to forget this was just not any storm.

Your growing dread only escalated as the minutes and hours ticked by. You had tried to distract yourself with some paperwork on a shipping deal were contemplating getting in on, but the violent storm just drew your complete ation ion with its fury. Although it was midmorning, near midday, it was black as night outside. The rain came down in sheets, flooding the chimneys to where the fires had to be put out to keep the house from being consumed in clouds of billowing smoke. The creaking of the trees trying to withstand the extreme weather force of the winds that picked up nigh everything not bolted down culminated in echoing crashes all around the neighborhood. Wagons were tipped onto their sides. Roofs were pulled from houses and sent flying streets away.

Jack had taken his leave to your chambers after eating, presumably to rest. When you gave up the idea of accomplishing anything anughtught out your blankets to cower under, wanting to feel his warm body against yours, your room was where you founm, bm, but not sleeping. He stood just outside on your veranda, under the shade roof, just out of the line of direct rain but still damp in the spray, staring out into the dark and fog and clouds where the inlet could usually be seen. He squinted against the forceful gusts and bits of his own hair and other wind blown items that battered his face. For an instant you could almost picture him on his Pearl guiding the ship through an ocean squall, despite the fact you weren’t quite sure what his ship looked like.

Somehow above the screaming winds and deafening clashing and crashing of the world around you, Jack managed to hear you come in and up behind him. “The Greeks and Romans were convinced that the spirit of the sea was a man,” Jack solemnly yet loudly said out of nowhere, his voice naturally attuned to rising above the surroundings when needed, ”but I am convinced that if there is a great spirit whom controls these ‘ere waters, it is most surely a woman. Men are not like the sea. The sea is fickle and yet she is predictable. The sea is soothing and compliant, and yet she’s a harsh mistress. The sea can be insurmountable if ye cannot understand her, if ye cannot ply her properly, and yet she can reach out and strike ye down when ye least expect it. You need to know when to glide over her caressing waves like a lover, when to ride her out, and when to let her work through her rages with as wide a berth as possible. So, you see, I am convinced that concealed in the deep blue depths are the soul and spirit of a woman.” He continued to gaze out into the savage weather, arms folded and stoic in expression, as if in some form of deep concentration.

“Are you worried about your ship? Do you need to go to her?”

Jack turned back, and regarded you silently. “Nahe fhe finally replied. “Actually, with where she is moored, she is fairly well sheltered from the brunt of this lady. She will roll and drift a bit, but out and not in. Gibbs, me Bo’sun, will be watching her for me this time. He’s planning to careen her for a bit after this hurricane decides to be done. One of the reasons I have a spot ‘o time here wi’ you.”

“What’s careening?”

“Ah, yes,” Jack said. “Forgive me forgettin’ at times that not everyone is up on all me nauticarms.rms. Careening is when we beach her on low tides and the men get to scrape all the barnacles and creeping crud from the poor girl’s bones ‘for the worms bore right through her. We can also get repairs done, and actually get some of that brackish bilge water drained from her. You can see that on a bark like mine an activity as such would ta whi while to get accomplished, and as such can be a tricky and dangerous proposition being a pirate ship and all. So what brings you up here now other then your sudden interest in maintaining a seagoing vessel? “

Your mouth opened and nothing came out. You hadn’t a clue how to answer him. You certainly did not want to tell him that the this hurricane had turned your blood into ice, and that you only wished to ride it out from under your bed. You didn’t want to hear the wailing and whining of it any longer. The pirate must have known, or gathered, or assumed, for his face softened with a warm compassion.

Jack ambled back inside, shutting the barricaded and planked wood and glass door, and oozed up against you, enveloping you against him. While he wore a fresh shirt, he was still damp from the soaking he had taken earlier and even more from blowing rain and mist he had just come in from.

“Its just wind and rain and a brilliant show. She can’t hurt you now. She can’t hurt you here. Tell yourself it’s just a storm. You’re warm, and relatively dry, and safe. I promise ye that you’ll be safe luv.”

“You can make that promise?” You guardedly asked, your misgivings evident.

“Of course luv,” came the confident reply. “Captain Jack Sparrow does not a promise that he can not incontrovertibly keep.”

You stood in his encompassing grasp, ignoring the chill that traveled up and down your limbs until it struck you that part of the shivering was also coming from Jack.

“Let’s get you out of these wet clothes,” you said shakily as another rumbling roar of something ripping apart outside tried to drown you out.

Jack grinned with that glint of pearls and gold that you found so appealing, sliding his hands to either side of your head to cradle it tenderly. “Last time I heard that from your lips, I think I responded with something about an invitation? So not to be presumptuous…” He pressed his lips to your neck, and then to your jaw line, and to your ear to whisper, “Is that an invitation?”

In that instant all the alarming turmoil around you vanished and all you could feel and hear was Jack’s lulling tones and his warm breath coursing through the little hairs on the nape of your neck, and his soft lips with the courser brush of his short beard and such tickling your skin. There was nothing more you wanted right now then to feel his body connected with yours. “Yes. Oh yes, Jack.” You still don’t know whether you actually said the words or just murmured something unintelligible and vocally guttural yet inspiring enough to get your desire across. Those strong hands tightened on your head, and pulled you into a long, deep kiss, his tongue venturing through your willing open lips to caress yours in small supple motions.

Perhaps your hands reaching back to grasp his buttocks and pull him close also gave him that encouragement to proceed with fervor. His already hard erection pressed eagerly into your stomacrougrough his breeches. Jack traced his fingers through your hair, and down around your neckline to the swell of your breasts, where they softly stroked the pliant flesh through the light shift. His fingers found the pebbled nipples, and he flicked at them tantalizingly, following that with the barest touch of his palms in measured circles over the tips. Trembling again, but this time not from cold, you fought the mind numbing desire that the little jolts of pleasure from his touch sent coursing through you. You breathed out in a shaky, low moan.

Needing to fight fire with fire, you found the end of his erection through the tenting pants and outlined the ridge of the head several times before tracing the shaft back and forth as it strained against the thick fabric. You fumbled with the middle metal button that held the loose flap of material that hid the drawstring to his breeches and covered the open fly. Once undone you were able to slide you hand into the pants with no obstruction to grasp the velvety steel object within to free it. It pulsed under your caress, and you swore you felt it grow even firmer as you languidly slid it back and forth clutched firmly in your hand. You released it only long enough to allow the pants to drop to his feet on the floor, helping it over his hips with your free hand.

With some sort of unmentionable exclamation that started in your mouth, Jack reached back over his head, and yanked the clingy linen shirt off. The garment went flying unseen to somewhere in the room. . “I think we have a horrible inequity here that must be rectd, Id, I think,” Jack said in a low, rumbling tone, as if his voice was being waylaid in his throat. He stood there naked in all his aroused glory before you, reflecting on the thin nightgown that you still wore

“Be patient,” you murmured, unable to remove your eyes from his body. He was so beautiful in your eyes, even though he was not even close to the epitome of what a perfect man was in the high too-doo society. You just wanted to look at him, burn him into your memory for that when he would be gone again. He was not overly tall for a man, perhaps being a tad on the short side in fact, yet still a bit taller then you, and Jack was still in excellent shape for a man his age. He was not emaciated as many sailors became from scurvy and malnutrition, actually more on the nicely rounded side in certain areas of his middle and backside. Pps aps a cross between the perks of being a Captain of the ship, a pirate in general, and outwardly spoken in his love of fine food and drink, could help attest to that. Where he had a little extra though he was not weak or soft. There were plenty of layers of strong, firm muscle that made the opportunistic buccaneer a formidable opponent, a valuable ally, and a dreadfully dangerous enemy.

Jack’s limbs and body were well bronzed from ais tis time in the unforgiving Caribbean sun, except for the area hid by his pants. Yet that was still darker then the average pale British resident as well, but a few shades lighter then the rest of him. The thought of how he got his posterior and related privates exposed to the sun was an interesting line of reflection you would have to peruse later on.

You eyes were drawn then to the pale scar of the East India branding that stood out brightly on his right forearm. Someday you woulde toe to have him tell you about how he was able to escape the Trading Company, no small feat in and of itself. You were strangely attracted to his various scarring in an odd sort of way, and had been since the moment you saw him. They were a testament to a man of a long and intriguing life.

Many times while laying in bed, cradled in his arms, you would just trace the lines on flesflesh one by one, over and over again with your finger. Each rippled and puckered mark was not a blemish on his beauty. It was an additive. It was part of the essence of Jack Sparrow; a part of his life etched forever on his body that he would never be able to forget. You were determined never to forget either.

His bronzed skin was only made darker in places by his coal black body hair most evident on his limbs, but with smatterings across his torso. The hair that covered his legs and arms was pleasantly soft and not scratchy like you had experienced in the past. Right now they stood up quite straight away from his skin as goose bumps from the cold lifted the hair high. That did put the in in your mind that he would probably be more appreciative of being under a set of warm covers then having you admire him as if he were some Italian renaissance statue. Still, you did not see in his face any irritation at what must have been a slight discomfort to him, only a cocky amusement as he waited out your inspection.

A sudderieerie silence grabbed your attention, and you turned towards the closed door.

“It’s the eye, “Jack knowingly said, your unspoken question obvious. “A bit o’ peace before the backside hits. This,” he emphasized,” is the calm before the storm.”

With a small smile, you walked over and pulled the spread down on your great bed. Knowing better then to let Jack at your clothing in his manly frustration, especially with what happened that first time you two had an intimate encor, yr, you slipped out of the gauzy sleepwear and laid it over the end of the bed. “Better?”

With a devilish gleam and a lustful expression, Jack chuckled,” Aye, much better luv’. I was beginnin’ to wonder there what yer plans were to be doing with me, ‘cause it didn’t seem to be there for a moment what mine were to be doing with you!”

In a blink of an eye he was with you, gently pushing you back down into the soft wicking of the cotton filled mattress, following you into its depths. Kneeling next to your prone form, with a touch that one would use for handling valuable porcelain, Jack skimmed his hands just over the surface of your skin, raising your own goosepimples in the wake of his almost imperceptible stroke. “You’re so beautiful, so beautiful,” you heard him mumble under his breath before his lips started leaving languid wet trails over your neck and chest. When he brushed against your nipples, he eagerly took one in his mouth, sucking and teasing it, his hands encircling the firm globes in a solid grip.

“Oh Jack!” Your body rose in pleasure against him, wanting and demanding more, placing one of your hands on top of his to encourage his soft kneading. You wrapped your other arm around his back to play with the long hair from his head that rested there. Using his tongue and teeth, Jack pulled and rolled the hard pink nipple, peaking it as far as it could go, before turning his attention to the other.

You let go of his hand and slid it down and under to wrap around his member, sliding it gently back and forth in your palm, using your fingers to apply varying pressures as you moved it. Jack groaned and pressed into your slow stroking. Lifting his head, lips shining from the moisture he was leaving on your skin, his eyes ablaze with pleasure and face taut with emotion, he affirmed your actions without words and barely without breath.

With a throaty sigh, he nuzzled back against your chest, starting under your breasts and measuredly covering every inch of skin back and forth across and down your torso. You trembled expectantly as he kissed the tender area right above the hairline at your apex. He hadn’t moved down between them like he usually did, but stayed sideways next to you, pressing your legs apart. His hands massaged the entire thigh closest to him, from the knee up to the inner joint, digging into the muscle brushing your center without ever touching it. Turning his head he licked the area his hand had been kneading with long deliberate stroke leading into small delicate circles when he reached that responsive area where your leg and hip met just before your mound.

Jack had brought every nerve ending in your body to life, and then to the brink of exploding. You were practically dying waiting for him to touch you more intimately, to help sate the need that was boiling in your center. The wetness between your thighs grew by the minute, dampening the tight little curls, and carrying with it that musky aroma of your yearning. You heard yourself whimper, and shifted desperately, trying to urge him closer.

He reached out to grasp your far hip, and gently rolled you slightly onto your side, but kept your legs apart. Then he shifted so that he was more or less parallel with you, but his head still down above your sex, and his groin suggestively in reach of yours. Hoping you were responding correctly to Jack’s silent implication, you took his length and ran your lips tantalizingly across the velvety surface. The sharp intake of air from him affirmed your assumption, and was returned as an exhalation of long hot breath that he directed into your pubis and between your lips.

Cutting to the chase and with a loud moan you wrapped your lips around his head, already glistening with leaked fluid, while pushing your hips up and you leg down so that his mouth connected with your slit. He parted the soft lips with his fingers, and pulled on the small blood swollen organ between then with his teeth and laved it repeatedly. It was so hard for you to keep your mouth and hand moving on his shaft as he pleasingly tortured you so.

You knew how much Jack liked extra attention on the area right under and at the base of his head. You would take him in as far as you could into your mouth, and then slodrawdraw him out, increasing your suction, until you just reached the tip. Then without removing it from the heat of your mouth you flicked at the small opening with your tongue, running it around the exposed ridges from the pulled back foreskin. Jack began to thrust his hips gently, trying to increase the speed and pressure of your suction and stroking, as he delved further down and added his tongue and fingers to your channel, alternating between that and your most aroused inner flesh. You felt Jack biting occasionally at your inner thigh, hard enough to make you jump, but not enough to cause real pain or draw blood.

Bodies moving and undulating in unison, and desire and bliss expressed in mutual louder and louder gasps, grunt, and groans, Jack turned, guiding you with body, so that he was face down over you and his knees on either side of your head. Balanced on his forearms, he was able to grasp your hips and get wider movement, spreading your legs down wide, and you could more easily reach up and caress his posterior and l


Your body helplessly twitched and thrashed under Jacks careful and skilled ministrations. Your spine tingled and you felt your insides tighten like the wool around a spindle. The more it twisted the stronger it got, yet the more it threatened to snap. Suddenly you felt that smoldering in your core explode, and an uncontrolled shuddering overcame you and you had to pull your mouth away from him. Jaw clenching and body bucking, starting in the pit of your gut, emerging through your teeth and ending as a long and protracted wail you screamed Jack’s name repeatedly, invoking the Christian almighty several times as well.

You felt your muscles practically turn into jelly as the euphoria partially subsided and you limply collapsed. Jack twisted and rolled off, crawling up your body like a large cat. He towered over you up on his arms, staring down at you, his eyes mirroring that feral glow of the predator, a wild feline stalking the unaware, with his sights on the prey. His baubles and bangles clinked down as his hair fell down to frame his face, as he stayed there, not moving, not talking, and not perceptively breathing, the sinews in his arms standing out as he held up his weight.

Almost imperceptivity the pirate tipped his hips and his rigid shaft began a long unhurried slide between your legs through the new immense amount of fluid that soaked your bed and your body. He ran it through several times, thoroughly lubricating himself before pressing it down, the tip sliding deeper into the curls. It parted your lips, and sought the comforting entry to your passage. Jack needed no guidance to find home, and it was when the head passed into the tight opening and into the sweet depths, he allowed himself a deep sigh. He closed his eyes as he relished the feel of the your heat from the smooth slick joining.

Jacgan gan to move his hips in a deliberately slow pace, drawing himself out and then re-sheathing it just as slowly. His arms began to tremble under the strain of not moving, and yet he did not allow himself to shift anything other then his groin. His calculated actions rekindled the flame that he had not allowed to die out, fanned the desire for more. You wanted him to take you, not play with you like he was. You wanted to feel his body deep and hard within you. You wanted to be driven to the edges of passion and beyond.

“Please Jack,” you whispered, raising yourself against him, trying to increase the contact. Trying to sate what your soul was screaming for right now.

“Please Jack what?” he whispered back, his own resilience starting to fade against his own desire.

Your fingers ran up through his short beard on the side to the top of his cheeks, your thumbs tenderly caressing the high bones. “Make me yours Jack, completely. Please.” Just then, screaming howls rattled the shutters and the house, and you paled, knowing the horrible storm had started again.

Jack quickly lowered himself down, and grabbed your chin with one hand, forcing you to look at him. “Its only the wind and the rain and a lot o’ hullabaloo. It canna’ hurt ye. I wont let it hurt ye.” He pressed his lips to yours and kissed you tenderly. You still tasted yourself upon his lips. He started to resume his thrusts into you, but with a purpose and a passion and a need. You felt something different in that kiss, something more, something deeper, something wanting. He broke off the kiss, his body still plunging and delving eagerly into yours and said, “Its only the wind and the rain… Say it luv.”

Haltingly you said,” Its.. Its just wind and…rain.” The fear and the pleasure were a fascinating juxtaposition, vying for your attention. He was feeling so good, drawing you away from the world outside as he fed your body’s hunger.

“Say it again. Its just wind and rain.” Jack sounded so serious.


“Its just wind and rain.” As you looked into his dark brown eyes, you saw that they were unveiled and open. The windows into his soul were there and free for you to see into, and you saw compassion, and sincerity and… no…you had to be wrong. Were you? Almost breathlessly you added, “And you wont let it hurt me.”

“Nay sweetness,” he gasped, ”I wont let it hurt ye. Not while I live and breath.” Jack doubled his efforts as if the renewed ferocity of the storm fueled his desire, grabbing your wrists and holding them down while he took you, not once letting go of your eyes. His thrusts became more erratic and harsh, and you knew that he was on the verge of his climax when he was forced to look away as he fought for control, a pained grimace on his face.

That touched something in you, and it aroused you further to know he was so close. You loved that bit of power, knowing he was trying to keep from losing it, and having trouble. Your legs wrapped around his and you urged him onward with your calves. “Take me now, you pirate scoundrel. Claim me and mark me. Make me yours Jack,” you said, reaching out for that inner ego you knew he had, your lips suggestively open and inviting, wanting to taste him again as he came. You squeezed around him as he entered, enhancing the pressures of the walls within you, right around his manhood.

Jack groaned and crushed you in the searing kiss you sought, and you felt him start to spasm against you. The flood of new heat as he loosened his essence inside and the wrenching cry that tore from his lips acted like a lit trail of gunpowder to the magazine, and you joined him shortly after in that explosion of passion. Your cries mingled for that brief instant, and then slowly subsided. The pirated lay weakly on top of you, his face nestled in your neck, his favorite spot after this until he regained his breath.

You felt Jack’s grip loosen on your wrists, and then felt his hands caressing your head, stroking over your hair, tousled and tangled. He pulled his spent body apart from yours after a moment, and moved next to you, drawing up the downy comforter over you both, and pulling you into his arms. He sleepily stared into your face from the pillow, thoroughly drained from his day’s activities even though it was early still. Tracing your lips and your eyes and all the curves of you face with his thumb, he regarded you silently, as if he was searching for words. Finally he softly kissed your forehead, and his eyes slid shut as he slipped off into blissful, well-needed sleep.

You lay gratefully curled in his arms as the weather raged on outside. Jack believed what he said, and right now, you believed it too. Tonight he made them a reality. Deep inside you though you knew that you would not always have his strong protective arms shielding you from the world. You only hoped his words and his memory would be enough. Tonight they were more then just a memory and tonight they were enough.


END PART TWO