Kindred Spirits

“The average man's love of liberty is nine-tenths imaginary.

It takes a special sort of man to understand and enjoy liberty – and he

is usually an outlaw in democratic societies”

-H.L. Mencken-


Chapter 22

Cheers to Liberty

As Devon climbed the rigging to adjust the sails, the warm breeze tugged at her locks and Jack just couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the gorgeous view. It was the simple things: the way she climbed the ropes so gracefully and nimbly as if she was weightless, the elegant way her body moved and twisted as she climbed, and the way the muscles in her arms tensed as she lifted herself upon the mast. These things made Jack hold the pegs of his wheel even tighter, while he gazed up at her. She was so gracious and limber he couldn’t stand it sometimes.

As if she felt the presence of his eyes on her, she swung herself over to the other side of the rigging and looked at him. A soft smile formed on her lips as she locked eyes with him for a moment. He barely noticed that the bruises on her face had faded, and all she was left with was a slight yellowish colour on her cheek and her brow. She averted her eyes after a moment and turned them back to the ropes. She began to work and tried to concentrate hard on them so that she wouldn’t have to look back up at him. Even though she was looking at him, Jack could see the frown that was gracing her face.

Devon’s hands worked flawlessly without her concentration, so her mind wandered, and soon she was lost in thought. She was well-aware of the fact that last night she had totally contradicted herself. Lust had completely taken over both her body and mind, and even though she was used to that sensation, this was different. That night she hadn’t made war like she did with any other man. Making war with Jack Sparrow was a completely new feeling, deeply intense and highly addictive.

In fact, she was beginning to believe that she had truly made love, with just a hint of war in it. Jack Sparrow was a man unlike any other. Not only was he just as talented and experienced as she was, but he was probably even more experienced because he had managed to surprise her with several new positions and tricks, and that was truly saying something… No man she knew had ever beaten Devon in originality with erogenous experiments, but she had to admit that Jack’s perverted actions had amazed her in more ways then one.

And now while she was on her perch high above him, she dutifully carried out her tasks, but in reality she was tearing herself apart on the inside. In her mind she knew she hated him with the power of a thousand suns. But if she truly hated him to that degree, then why had she enjoyed their little romp and everything that went with it so thoroughly? If the only true feelings Devon felt for the flamboyant pirate Captain were anger and hatred, then why the bloody hell had she climaxed that often and in such a breathtaking way? Her orgasms had never been that intense before. It was as if her body and mind had been filled with a nearly overwhelming explosion of passionate bliss. And it wasn’t only that, the sheer power behind them had left her breathless, trembling like an autumn leaf just before the fall. She found herself wanting more, needing more. It had felt so good it hurt. Even she herself couldn’t have done the job better. Jack’s lovemaking was absolutely thrilling.

Devon had begged him for more, and more she had gotten. He had pleaded her never to stop and she had gladly inclined to his requests. Last night they had worked together like a well oiled love making machine. They had made an art out of the act, making a point to lift the other to a higher level of ecstasy. Jack Sparrow had made her feel complete. And that was a feeling that Devon had never experienced before. Is it tha’ yer finally admittin’ tha’ yer heart’s involved when it comes ta him? Ye know it’s true, cuz ye know ye’ve ne’er felt my presence b’fore, but now ye feel it quite well. Ye feel it an’ it scares th’ shit out o’ ye!

Devon gulped, for she knew the voice she heard inside her head was right. But at least now she knew it hadn’t been her mind that was betraying her, the one poisoning her with words she did not want to hear. It was her heart, and it had been right all along.

Oh My God, ‘ave I really fallen in love wit’ ‘im?! She bit her lip in quiet frustration as she glanced down to the helm. A whirlwind of emotions raged inside of her when she saw him, and Devon realised it was undeniable. She had! This of course meant war … her heart was right, this she knew, but she didn’t intend to go down without a fight.

To love someone would make you weak, and the presence of that love would make you vulnerable and frail. One of the major problems with love is that the one you love could be taken away from you, and that can be especially dangerous when you are in a trade like the one Devon and Jack were in. Another factor is that your loved one could be used as leverage against you, for blackmail or something even worse. But most importantly, love caused a mind cloud. It clutters the brain and causes general malfunction of the whole human psyche. Many years ago, Devon had learned these things the hard way and ever since then she made a promise to herself never to love again.

Just the love she had for her dog, Bullet, had gotten her into more trouble than she bargained for. The only other things she loved before this were the ocean and freedom, but those two things wouldn’t cause any trouble, well, nothing more than she couldn’t handle. But loving Jack? Now, that was downright dangerous… It was bad, not only because if he ever found out he would certainly give her hell for it, but if the feelings she felt were in fact mutual, which was highly unlikely, it would be an extremely dangerous position for the two of them to be in. For if that were the case, Devon figured it would be easier to just take out her cutlass, place it blade up in a crack of this here deck and let herself fall into it. For a pirate to love was mere suicide. But for a pirate to love another pirate, and a Captain to boot… well, she didn’t even want to think about the consequences that would come from that situation.

At this point poor Devon was more confused than a hungry mouse in a maze of cheese walls… so to fix the problem she made a pact with her traitorous heart. She would fight these feelings with all her strength and will power, but if by some miracle, Jack felt the same way for her, the deal could be re-negotiated. But for the moment, Devon knew that the best way to banish Captain Jack Sparrow from her mind would be to get rid of him, but since that wasn’t an option, there was only one thing she could think of and that was just to avoid temptation.

Of course, that might just be the hardest thing to do when she was this close to the flame. Particularly since their little romp at the Turner’s had proven to be much more than just a little romp to her. This made her even more determined to stick to her own rule. Now even more then ever she needed her great will power, since she had to avoid the source of the conflict at all costs.

The “never sleep with the same man twice” rule had to be followed and obeyed. When she spotted two birds playfully flying around and teasing each other in front of her, she just turned her head. She didn’t care if it was an omen, as far as she was concerned she never saw it. She would ignore it just like she would ignore the yearning hunger inside of her. It had never been hard to follow her rules of engagement before, so why should it be so difficult this time? Absentmindedly her eyes were drawn towards the helm again and Devon couldn’t help but curse when she saw the handsome and flamboyant Pirate Captain stare back at her.

‘DAMN! BY LUCIFER’S DRIPPIN’ RED COCK, THIS IS GONNA BE SO BLEEDIN’ HARD!’

‘What’s gonna be hard, tart?’ Jack shouted up to her.

Oh dear sweet Lord, did I just say that out loud?!?!?!?

‘Erm… jus’ meant tha’ gettin’ sloshed on this ‘ere ship’s gonna be bloody hard, innit? Jus’ th’ two o’ us an’ all… ’ she shouted back flatly, passionately hoping she hadn’t said all of her thoughts out loud yet again. She remembered how Drake had caught her rambling under her breath before. And if Sparrow could make out her words from this distance… well, that was not good.

Disturbin’ is wha’ it is… Very disturbin’…

Devon looked down at the helm from the corner of her eye again and found that Jack was still staring at her. She smiled, ignoring her prior troubles, and decided it would be nice to give him a taste of what she was made of. She grabbed hold of the rope and swung down to the deck, unfortunately she had forgotten that landing gracefully wasn’t one of her strengths. So, naturally, Devon landed very clumsily and fell flat on her back. ‘Damnit! One would think tha’ after all this time, I’d learn ta get th’ damned thing right!’ she scolded herself.

Jack couldn’t help but burst out into laughter as he watched her get up. He laughed so hard that tears ran down his face, leaving black traces on his tan skin. ‘I’ve seen sprogs tha’ can land better than ye do, Duville. Tho’ I must admit, it’s nice ta see tha’ ye finally fell fer me,’ he said in between hiccups of laughter. An’ ta think tha’ just a few moments ago I thought she be all limber an’ gracious. That thought triggered another snigger from his throat.

Devon was about to tell him that he could go shove a sprog up his arse, but somehow the picture of him just standing there laughing with his dark eyes sparkling and black rivers of tears marking his face sparked her own laughter as well. She burst into laughter while she sashayed her way over to the helm, rubbing her sore back gently.

‘I s’pose I can be a bit clumsy sometimes…’ she gasped while she held onto the railing, regaining her breath.

‘An’ here I thought it was me masculine appearance tha’ was th’ reason fer yer struggle wit’ gravity,’ Jack teased.

‘Don’ flatter yerself Sparrow, this ‘appens ta me all th’ time,’ Devon replied, immediately cursing herself for admitting and confirming her clumsiness to him. ‘I mean, not all th’ time, but sometimes… even when ye’re not ‘round, so… O’ blast it all, can we jus’ drop th’ bloody subject?’

‘Don’ worry luv, me thinks yer better off yer feet anyways,’ he said with a wink.

With that one small gesture, Devon Duville experienced something that hardly ever happened to her: she blushed. She could feel it like a warm glow that slid down her face from her temples along her neck and down her cleavage.

Jack of course noticed her flushed cheeks and found it surprisingly arousing. It gave her a sense of weakness, a bit of girlishness amidst the tough appearance she usually had.

Good God, Dee, pull yerself together. Yer th’ Queen o’ sexual innuendos yerself, don’t go actin’ like a youngster when ‘e pulls a lil stunt like tha’. But in spite of her chiding, that blasted blush just wouldn’t budge, and if it was even possible she felt it spreading and glowing even more. Devon couldn’t bare the embarrassment and turned on her heel to flee from Jack’s infuriating eyes. ‘E’s gonna make fun o’ me … I know I would. Damned feelin’s!!!

‘Duville?’

Damn it all ta bloody Hell, ‘ere we go… let th’ mockin’ begin.

‘What?!?’, she snapped, her back still turned to him, knowing he would say something that would earn him a major whoop-ass, if she could just get her cursed cheeks to calm.

‘Ye look really sweet when ye blush, ye know luv,’ he said softly.

Devon raised her eyebrows, and just barely caught her jaw before it dropped open most ungraciously. He had to be mocking her… he was mocking her, right??

All the mixed emotions she felt over this man tore through her body once more. She didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so she just walked away instead of saying anything that might embarrass her further.

Jack growled while he flipped open his compass, ‘Mental note: never give th’ wench a compliment ever again.’

A little while later, when she finally had regained control over her cheeks again, Dee casually made her way back to the helm. When she was halfway there she changed course and went to lean on the railing to enjoy the spray of the sea in her face and the feel of the winds of change upon her. Devon sniffed in the salty air and felt the freedom of the sea wash over her. This was why she had become pirate in the very beginning, not for the gold, not for the fame, but for the freedom. Free to go wherever the Hell she wanted to go, free to do whatever the Hell her heart desired and seize every given opportunity. There were no barriers on the water, no frontiers and no borderlines. Devon simply loved the way water rippled when the ship caressed its surface. This was freedom. Naturally after a few years at sea, she enjoyed the fame and treasure as well, just as any other proper pirate. Just while she was getting more and more calmed by the lapping water, she was brutally broken from her reverie.

‘Oy Duville!!!’ Jack shouted from behind her. ‘Where does The Hazard make berth?’

An’ tha’ voice is heaven… she mused when she glanced over her shoulder to meet Jack’s dark mysterious orbs.

‘Bermuda,’ she said simply, while she sauntered over to the helm. He stood there holding the wheel with one hand and studying an old weather-beaten compass that was in the other. A touch of remorse showed on his face. Jack’s place was indeed to be behind the helm, to grasp the wheel and caress it passionately. But it was not at this helm, not on this ship. The HMS Liberty was a fine ship, to be sure, but not his ship, not his Pearl. And Jack couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that he was cheating on his wonderful ship.

Devon couldn’t quite place the expression on Jack’s face and she had the feeling he hadn’t even heard her answer, since it seemed that he was off in his own little world for the moment. ‘Bermuda,’ she repeated to draw him from his reverie, while poking him in the ribs ‘Drake makes berth in Bermuda… but why do ye ask? Thought we’d be plannin’ ta get yer Pearl back firs’?’ she said, her face inches away from his.

Jack’s eyes met hers once more and finally he responded, ‘Then we’ll be off ta Tortuga first, where we get me Pearl, ‘ave a few drinks an’ a bit o’ fun b’fore I drop ye off in Bermuda, like th’ gracious gentleman I am.’

Devon smiled and placed her hand over his ever so gently and let her fingers slide between his. ‘Thanks Jack, I realise I ne’er did thank ye fer what ye’ve done fer me…’

He snapped his compass closed and let it casually slide back in to his pocket. Then he took her hand in his free hand and placed a soft kiss on it. ‘Always a pleasure ta help a …’ he glanced her form up and down and decided that “damsel” wasn’t really a word that would fit this particular woman, so he smirked and added, ‘… devil in distress.’

Devon curtsied and returned his grin. ‘Ye may not be th’ first man in me life by far, nor th’ first or th’ last ta ‘ave enjoyed th’ intoxicatin’ thrill o’ fornicatin’ wit’ th’ likes o’ me, but ye be th’ first man I let meself get saved by,’ she stated locking her eyes steady on his. ‘But don’ ye be gettin’ used ta tha’.’

‘Don’ get used ta wha’ th’ rescuin’ or th’ fornicatin’?’ he said huskily, a naughty grin forming on his lips.

That comment snapped Devon back to reality and she hissed, ‘Both an’ ye know it! But ‘specially th’ fornicatin’…’

Jack’s smile grew wider, ‘Bermuda ye say, eh? Yer ‘is type no doubt… But th’ place ‘e makes berth just proves me theory all th’ more.’

Dee frowned and narrowed her eyes at him, ‘Wha’ th’ fuck are ye talkin’ ‘bout now?’

‘Drake.’

‘‘Ow’s tha’?’ she asked, thinking Jack had finally lost all his marbles.

‘He makes berth in Bermuda, correct?’

‘Aye, I’ve jus’ told ye tha’, twice as a matter o’ fact… don’t ye ever listen?’ she retorted, still not sure what the Hell Drake had to do with any of this. Not that most of Jack’s logic ever made sense to her in the first place.

‘Bermuda ‘appens ta ‘ave a small town called Devonshire, but ye knew that, didn’t ye lil’ Miss Know-it-all?’ he huffed.

‘O’course I knew tha’, ye donkeysdroppin’. Naturally it be a wonderful name fer a town an’ all, but what th’ Hell has tha’ got ta do wit’ Drake an’ his supposed feelin’s fer me, as I assume tha’ be where yer goin’ wit’ this lil tangent o’ yers,’ she placed her hands on her hips and awaited his answer.

‘‘E makes birth in fair Devonshire, ta honour th’ woman tha’ haunts ‘is heart an’ ‘is dreams…’ Jack pondered out loud, enjoying this chance to play with her mind.

‘Yer dead wrong ‘bout Drake mate, though I be dead sure ‘bout those dreams,’ Devon got that randy glint in her eyes again while she continued. ‘Drake’s me Capt’n and a good friend, but there be nothin’ ‘tween us, an’ there ne’er will be.’

He shrugged his shoulders, ‘If ye say so…’

‘An’ I do say so. Now, ye be needin’ me ta do somethin’ else but feed yer perverted curiosity, or can I start feedin’ me own an’ go see what th’ Brits ‘ave got hidden in their liquor cabinet?’

‘Gonna search fer rum, tart?’

‘Rum, gin, port, bourbon, whatever th’ fuck there is ta drink ‘round ‘ere… Though I strongly doubt that th’ wigs’ll ‘ave any o’ th’ good stuff aboard, but maybe they’ll surprise us…’

‘T’would be th’ first time they’d achieve tha’…’ Jack spoke absentmindedly, while he dug up his raggedy compass from his pocked and studied it closely.

‘Sparrow?’

‘Aye?’

‘If I don’t find anythin’ improper an’ indecent fer us ta drown in I’ll buy ye a drink when we’re in Tortuga.’

‘Now I wonder, dear brazen vicious vixen, on jus’ ‘ow ye intend ta buy me a drink when yer broke?’

Devon’s lips pulled in her trademark smile again, lopsided and downright nasty ‘I – unlike ye – ‘ave breasts an’ those, me darlin’ foe, can get ye anythin’!’ she quipped, turned on her heel and dashed towards the former Captain’s quarters.

She searched the boring, noble, plain dressed quarters and saw the suspicious globe in the centre of the map room. She swiftly opened it and revealed several bottles of liquor and goblets. She lifted the bottles one by one to discern their contents. Now let’s see what we ‘ave here…. Hmmm… Gin…. The devil’s tonic…. Very nice… She quickly picked up another bottle to inspect, Whiskey…. colour’s good, but th’ taste could be better… port… oh th’ horror o’ this all hoity-toity stuff is gettin’ ta me… I certainly won’t be touchin’ tha’ anytime soon! Oh an’ how positively original…. Wine.

Of course Devon didn’t find rum. It didn’t really surprise her though. The noble Brits probably couldn’t appreciate the divine and vile drink that pirates cherished. Devon chose the gin and quickly uncapped the bottle, wrapped her lips around the bottleneck, upturned it and took a long, heavenly swig of its contents.

The tingling and slight burning sensation tickled her tongue, while the flavour made her taste buds tingle and made her feel all fuzzy inside. Sure it ain’t no rum, but it’ll do th’ trick… she thought as she gulped down more of the clear liquor. A part of her wanted to take the bottles up on deck, to share with Jack, but the other part, the greedy pirate inside her, wanted to get sloshed all by her onesies. Of course, getting drunk with the mysterious flamboyant bastard Captain held a certain randy potential, but at the moment, Devon’s libido subsided to her desire to fill her taste buds with alcohol instead of sweat and semen. After all, it had been ages since she had anything alcoholic to drink. The only thing she had to drink since she set foot in Port Royal had been the water given to her in the Fort and the milk at the Turner’s. And though milk was good for you, she had to agree with Jack… drinking dairy wasn’t as much fun as drinking stuff like this.

Truth be told, Devon wasn’t the gin kind of girl, but since there wasn’t any rum or absinthe on board, this would have to do. She went ahead and took another big gulp and spilled some of the devil’s water when it ran down the corners of her mouth and trailed down her neck. She wanted to wipe it off, but then she realised by doing that, she would have to take the bottle away from her mouth and that in itself would be such a waste of precious time… so she kept right on drinking. While she forced herself to breathe in between gulps, since that was rather important, she looked around and studied the map room. It proved to be rather boring since it held no trophies from former raids, no collection of false colours, no mystical maps that were worth studying, everything was just… plain. And in her opinion, such a hideously plain room was boring and a waste of space.

As she walked over to the windows to peer out of them and see if there was anything worthwhile outside, she swaggered and hit the globe, which would have fallen down if she hadn’t caught it. There! Anyone tha’ says alcohol ruins yer reaction skills is wrong! She thought proudly. To celebrate this moment of victory she took the bottle from her lips and held it up in a mock toast to the painting of His Majesty that hung pontifically in front of her and bellowed in a stuck up British alto, ‘Cheers to you your Majesty! Thank you for returning me my liberty! Or can I be so bold as to say Georgie, George?’ At this point her usual drawl kicked back in as she continued, ‘Ye see I ne’er were really good wit’ titles ‘n all, ta be blunt, which I ‘appen ta like bein’ as a matter o’ fact, since these fancy-shmancy titles mean shit when yer in th’ stark….’ Then she giggled as her rant trailed off and suddenly began to search through the desk, looking for a quill or something else to draw with because she really needed to do something about that portrait. She was positively ecstatic when she found a tool to work with and almost squealed with glee.

Devon took another swig from the gin and then placed the bottle beside her on the desk while she stood on tip-toes, the tip of her tongue sticking out from between her lips. First she sketched out a very suave pair of goggles on the King and stepped back to admire her work. ‘There now luv, tha’ makes ye look a tad smarter, dontcha think? Ye an’ I both know tha’ ye don’t really qual’fy as one o’ them intellect-uals…’ she said between giggles, ‘but at least ye look the part now!’

Dee had been so engrossed in drinking the gin bottle dry and working on her creation that she had failed to notice that the Liberty had anchored a while ago, and how Jack was casually leaning in the doorframe behind her, while frantically trying to contain his laughter as he observed the scene before him.

After she finished the spectacles, Dee took a large gulp of the gin and continued her work of art. Next she drew in a large Sparrowish moustache on his pale, clean-shaven face and then gave him a small goatee to go with it. She swaggered back a bit, tilted her head a bit to the right and admired her creation once more‘Hmmm, now darlin’ methinks yer still quite lackin’ in sex-appeal, lemme see what lil’ Dee can do fer ye, aye?’ Shewalked back to the abused visage of the King of Britain and gave him looped earrings that peeked out from beneath his brown wig. She bit the top of the quill while she pondered what else to do with the ugly bastard. She sighed in resignation when she realized that she couldn’t give him one of her infamous tattoos since there wasn’t enough bare skin to draw on. ‘Now, I pride on bein’ an artiste extraordinaire, m’dear, but I’m not a magician. No one could turn yer poor excuse fer a face inta somethin’ tha’ a pretty lil lass like me would actually want ta look at. Ye, good Sir, are hopeless.’

Seeing how there was no way in Hell she could make George look more appealing she decided to just make him even more revolting. She grinned at the thought and proceeded to draw wraths on his cheeks and a hairy mole on his nose and just when she was about to give him a nice stitched scar on his jaw, she ran out of ink. She shook the quill wildly, but pouted when she realized there was no ink left. When she turned back around to search the desk again for more ink, something, or rather someone, interrupted her.

‘Devon me darling, would ye care ta explain what it is exactly tha’ ye be doin’ down ‘ere?’ Jack inquired while he continued to chuckle at her antics.

Devon gulped and nearly dropped her quill. God, what is he? A bloomin’ ghost?! She licked her lips and turned around, acting as though he hadn’t just scared the shit out of her.

‘Ah, Sparrow, I would like ta intr’duce th’ new an’ improved George, His Royal Highness, th’ King o’ England,’ she said in a sing-song slur, while her arms flew over to display the savaged painting.

‘Seems ta me ye’ve jus’ turned it into quite th’ interestin’ portrait!’ he said finally letting his laughter run free.

‘‘Ow very perceptive of ye!’ she hiccupped, as tears of laughter trailed down her own cheeks as well. She wiped them off with her sleeve and noticed the half full bottle of gin still on the desk, picked it up and handed it to him, ‘‘Ere, ‘ave a drink mate, dear Georgie is even prettier when ye’ve ‘ad a bit o’ Lucifer’s water,’ she snorted.

‘No rum?’ he questioned after taking a gulp.

‘Nay, searched th’ whole bloody stash, but couldn’t find anythin’ ‘sides th’ gin, some whiskey an’ a few others tha’ don’t ‘ave much potential wit’ pirates like ourselves… Go an’ take a look yerself,’ she slurred, pointing a swaying finger towards the globe.

He scurried over to the globe and lifted the bottles like she had done earlier.

‘Damned pigs, ev’ry Capt’n knows th’ importance o’ ‘avin’ rum ‘round’ he pouted.

‘Methinks tha’ our dear Gilesy can’t hold ‘is liquor, Sparrow. Drinkin’ rum would be a bit too much fer th’ fag,’ she stated matter-of-factly while her words were strung together like beads on a chain.

‘Whether Duville can hold ‘er liquor, is more what I’m wondering…’ He baited squinting at her, placing himself in front of her.

‘Ye bet tha’ scrawny arse o’ yers I can,’ she hissed through clenched teeth, face hovering in front of his. He could smell the gin on her breath and saw the mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes.

Jack idly stroke his braided beard, and being quite the gambler himself he took the bet, taking another firm swig from the gin. ‘We’ve got ourselves an accord, Duville!’

‘Now since I ‘ad a head start, I suggest ye lemme finish off tha’ gin an’ ye go find somethin’ else ta drink… ‘Ow ‘bout tha’ eh?’ and without waiting for any acknowledgement from him that she pried his fingers from the bottle and ushered him towards the remaining bottles.

Jack contemplated for a moment, and finally picked the whiskey. He took one of the goblets as well, but then decided drinking it straight from the bottle would be much more effective, so he put it back in its chestnut container.

Devon swirled around the floor, doing a silly solo-waltz as she occasionally bumped into the chairs or desks scattered about the room. Then she danced over to Jack, who had just upturned and downed a good amount of the liquor in his bottle when she bumped into him so hard that they both fell down to the floor from the sheer force of the collision. Devon landed on top of Jack, and while the gin and whiskey bottles still remained clenched in their hands, splashes of spilt liquor surrounded them.

‘Now here’s an interestin’ situation…’ Jack said while his dark eyes darkened well past their natural colour, and a randy glint glistening in their depths, while his free hand snaked its way over to her bum.

Devon smirked down at him and placed a finger from her free hand on his well shaped lips, ‘Hold that thought, Jack,’ and she turned her head to the side and belched like an old man.

‘Big turn-on, tart,’ he said while he arched an eyebrow at her.

‘Knew ye couldn’t resist me…’ she whispered and kissed him roughly. Tongues duelled, gin and rum blended with saliva and teeth collided. After a few moments of fervent pleasure Jack broke the kiss, trying to regain his breath and get another drink from his bottle.

Devon rolled over so she lay side by side with Jack, finished off the last of her gin, and got back on her slight unsteady feet and took him by the hand. She pulled him up and played with one of his dreads.

‘Jack?’ she whispered nuzzling his face.

‘Hmmmm?’

‘Methinks we should make ourselves a bit more comfy… don’t ye agree?’

‘Ye took th’ words right out o’ me mouth, tart,’ he said gruffly as he guided her towards the Captains Quarters, stroking her back and fondling her bum. When Jack opened the doors Devon turned around, wrapped her arms around his strong shoulders and gently kissed the hollow of his throat. By the movement of his Adams apple she knew he had to swallow hard. Devon took his hands in hers and pulled him towards the mahogany bed, while single-handedly unbuckling his belt in the process.

Jack grinned and a randy glint shimmered in his near-black eyes. ‘Devon me darlin’, wha’ was tha’ thing ye said ‘bouts th’ fornicatin’ ‘again?’

‘Can’t recall correctly, Jack….’ she said hoarsely while she bit on his bottom lip. ‘An’ at th’ moment,’ her tongue slipping inside of his lips as a little tease before she continued, ‘I be too horny an’ tipsy ta really give a damn.’

Jack couldn’t have agreed more…


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Thesaurus :

Sprog: young inexperienced sailor.

TBC