As man hath caused a blemish...

There was a wicked glint in his eyes that made me want to shiver but he didn’t let go and I didn’t reach out to him, unsure of whether or not I should take that last little leap. I fiddled with the hole in the sleeve of my arm as he let my wrist go, not stepping back, still pressed together hard. He reached out again, batting my hand away from the hole in my sleeve, hooking his crab claw into it. I had just enough time to say

“Careful or you’ll rip-” before *skriiiit*. The hole was suddenly a lot bigger. I looked up at him with a shocked expression, trying to figure out if he’d done it on purpose. Yes. Yes he bloody had. As I looked at him he did it again, practically tearing my sleeve off. I reached out and tugged at the front of his shirt in warning – the stitches creaked but I hadn’t pulled anywhere near hard enough to tear. Ok so I was still a little afraid. He smirked and the crab clawed hand shifted, opening up my buttons in one easy move to expose the simple black bra I wore underneath. I should have covered myself up and yelled at him. But I didn’t. Fighting between the urge to laugh and the urge to yell at him I reached out and yanked *hard* tearing the buttons violently off his shirt, exposing his chest and stomach to the belt. Or would have, if not for the tentacles. The longest one reached to his belt buckle. Dirty thoughts flashed through my mind as I looked up at him and really *did* laugh out loud. He looked surprised, and ever so slightly puzzled, as if he hadn’t expected me to retaliate, despite the warning. He smiled down at me in return,

“So it’s like that is it?” He asked softly, the crab claw hooking beneath the front of my bra as I nodded,

“Not my bra it’s the only one I- ” *snip* “-had” I sighed heavily, glaring up at his rather smug little grin. I lashed out and knocked off the hat he constantly seemed to be wearing, revealing the black bandana he wore underneath which made him laugh, even as my hands dropped to the belt buckle. The tattered remains of my bra were pushed from my shoulders by the tentacles on his beard and I shivered at the gentle, smooth little caresses. RIP bra, I knew thee well. *skriiit* A good sized rip appeared in the back of my trousers where as I was still fumbling with his belt buckle,

“God damn it!” I yelled in frustration as I yanked at it, making him laugh. I reached into my pocket *just* before my trousers slid to the floor, pulling out a knife I carried around with me and slit the thick leather of his belt easily, looking up in triumph to see his questioning expression, “what? I said I can look after myself now” I clarified, starting to blush as I realised I was now standing before him in just my knickers and boots,

“I wasn't looking at that. *What* are these?” He asked, hooking a finger into the side of my knickers, snapping the elastic of the waistband,

“They’re called French knickers” I shrugged before the realisation dawned that he’d probably never seen them before. I kicked away my trousers and toed off my boots before stepping back, twirling a little for him to see. He seemed rather appreciative from the way his trousers bulged before sliding to the floor…Davy Jones didn’t wear underwear, “my, my Captain Jones” I giggled nervously, barely resisting the urge to cover myself up under the weight of his gaze. His cock was almost as big as his ego. More than long enough to be pleasing and thick enough to be interesting. I didn’t get too much of a chance to study it though as just as I was about to move forward he moved towards me, shoving me back roughly against the wall, his mouth over mine in an open mouthed kiss another tearing sound as he literally ripped my knickers off, “those were expensiv- oh jesus do that again!” I moaned harshly as the little suckers on the tentacles of his beard spread out across my breasts, over my shoulders, neck, even my belly button got some attention. Thousands of tiny, cold little kisses peppered down on me. I pushed against him, feeling his hips move against my own, his cock slid between my legs, pressing *up* but not into me, “Please” I whined, biting his lower lip demandingly. I was rewarded with a groan – a deep, throaty, addictively masculine sound – from him as I tried to hook my leg up over his hip, demanding him. Unfortunately the movement once again reminded me that I was a lot shorter than him and – bendy though I am – I couldn’t quite hook my leg over his hip. He seemed to notice amidst his exploration of the crook of my neck – his teeth are *sharp* but the tender bites he placed there were just perfect – and reached down. I yelped in surprise, clinging to the solid muscles of his back as I was lifted up the wall, my feet well off the floor now. The hand with the tentacled finger supported my thigh lovingly, the long finger curling upwards, the tip of the tentacle pushing into my wet folds, finding my clit and latching on, a sharp, soft, hard, gentle little suckling thing and I wrapped both legs around his waist at that, bucking forward, “Captain P-please!” I whined,

“My name” He growled against my throat, placing another kiss on my collarbone, probably just to hear me moan,

“Davy” I whispered into his ear, ignoring how strange it felt to say it, “Please, please” His head moved lower, his oh so wonderfully hot mouth warming my kissed cold breasts. Apart from the tentacles – which remained luke warm – his body seemed to throw off heat all the time, the muscles pressed against me shifting restlessly beneath a network of scars. I clawed at his back as I felt the tentacles of his beard slide into me, two slim wriggling things gliding into me with ease thanks to the wetness,

“Tight” He groaned against me as my hips started a rhythm all of their own without any intervention of my brain. My hand reached down, wrapping around his cock and *squeezing*, giving him the rhythm that my hips seemed to have caught, biting my lip against a groan as he thrust again me,

“*Davy*!” I nearly snapped, the irritation taken away by the fact every single nerve ending in my entire body was being pleasured. He laughed – that deep wicked dirty sound going straight to my groin as he straightened out enough to look into my face, his tentacles still working across my breasts and the ones still inside me shoving me closer towards the edge,

“Perhaps we need to work on your patience, Miss Spyce-” He was cut off by a groan as my hand sped up on his cock,

“Perhaps you have to stop teasing” I whispered back, watching his eyes close and pressing a kiss to the sharp definition of his cheekbone, “and get on with it” I smiled before it faded in the heat of Davy Jones’ gaze. I felt that gaze – my eyes sliding shut – as the tentacles slid out and his cock – a surprisingly hot contrast - slid into me easily. A ridiculous noise fell from me and I bit his shoulder, causing a harder thrust, my hands scraped against his back and something sticky ran over my fingers,

“Easy” He hissed, biting my ear in retaliation. We stayed that way for a minute, both of us breathing heavy, the tentacles on my breasts still caressing gently,

“Davy?” I whispered, letting my head fall back against the wall,

“What?”

“Move or I’ll cut it off” He laughed again, his hand moving from my thigh up to my ass, patting it before squeezing as he started to move, his crab claw hand on the wall beside me and I was pretty much clinging to him, moaning as pleasure broke over me in rapidly building waves,

“Not gonna last” He growled into the crook of my neck and yeah, ok, I was more than a little proud to hear him breathless, so what

“Good” I replied, deciding we were talking to much I blindly sought his mouth with my own, groaning his name against the kiss as our tongues duels and I got closer,

“I want to see” He whispered, pulling back, his hips jack hammering, the tentacles kissing, caressing my breasts becoming more demanding. I felt the soft touch of one against my eyelid and opened them, looking into eyes so god damned blue, his cock inside me moving hard, his hand on my ass, I was his his his and he was going even harder, there’d be bruises but jesus I didn’t care so long as I belonged to-

“Davy” I gasped as I came, cracking my head against the wall but uncaring as I rode it out, feeling rather than hearing him come deep inside me, his teeth sinking once more into the crook between shoulder and neck..it was the *best* kind of hurt I’ve ever felt. I sighed in utter contentment as our breathing slowed down, smoothing my hands over his back, feeling him wince a little as I accidentally brushed against the gouges I’d left with my nails before,

“Sorry”

“Say that again when you see the state of your neck, Spyce” He replied. I shivered. I’d never heard his voice like this before. Low, rough, tired but…content…he pulled out of me and engaged me in a few lazy kisses. I yelped as he pulled away, not letting me drop to the floor but rather lifting me up – as if I weighed *nothing* and headed towards his bed – a beautiful, heavily carved (or at least, what I could see beneath the barnacles) ornate thing. He paused mid-step, “you’re bleeding” He stated, looking down,

“No I’m not” I whispered the reassurance, wincing a little as I shifted in his arms. The ride had been ecstasy and I tried to ignore my catholic upbringing that was informing me I was now going to hell but it hadn’t been particularly gentle – not that I was complaining…it was the *good* kind of hurt after all. Am I grinning a little smugly right now? Yes I rather think so…hee hee…

“You are, it’s-” He looked up at me as realisation dawned,

“Didn’t want to ruin the mood by saying”

“For a virgin you seem to know how to…handle a sword pretty well” He growled, almost questioningly. It was the tone that said ‘I really want to ask a question because that’s interesting but I don’t want you to know it’. I tried. I really *really* tried not to laugh at the metaphor but it didn’t happen. I burst into giggles, resting my forehead against his shoulder as he started moving again. I was still laughing when he dropped me – from a height by the way, this man has a weird sense of humour - unceremoniously onto the bed, bouncing a little before he joined me,

“I was a virgin, sir, not a saint” I said, still grinning as he *dragged* me across the sheets,

“Call me ‘sir’ again in this bed an’ I’ll have you keel hauled” He grumbled, eyes already closed, our legs tangling together as much as possible without too much harm for me…a lot of him was quite rough to the touch and I will admit that I *did* worry about rolling over in the night and ending up with a deep scrape or something. I needn’t have worried. Davy Jones was *not* a restless sleeper. I knew as soon as he’d fallen asleep because it sounded like he’d stopped breathing, only the constant undulation of that (marvellous! Wonderful! Glorious! Dear-god-why-doesn’t-ever-man-have-one?) beard of his reassured me that he hadn’t passed away. Upon assuring myself that I wasn’t sleeping next to a dead man I snuggled closer. Yes. Davy Jones was hot…in *many* ways
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A/N - please PLEASE please tell me if this is alright! I dunno if it's any good and if it's awful I'll re-write it.