Exorcism

Title: Exorcism

Part: IV

Pairing: J/E

Rating: NC-17

Summary: An act of exorcism - finally!

***

Exorcism IV

Lit by the candles they’d brought with them, her room looked different. The retreat of a long-forgotten princess, she thought, a reminder of what once was and would never be again. She remembered it all, every single chair, the cabinet, the drawer and the davenport, and though most of it was torn to pieces now, it was still something that had managed to cross the barrier between two worlds: The one that had ended and the new one that was just about to begin.

Jack’s eyes wandered across the room, no doubt trying to extract some information on its former inhabitant, and Elizabeth felt exposed – for no reason at all, considering that most of her things were broken or missing anyway. He walked over to her bed and pulled the curtains away, revealing a mattress covered by an astonishingly white sheet and some rather large pillows some of which were torn, downy feathers splaying all over the place.

“Looks fine,” he observed while he took off his coat and threw it over the remains of her drawer. “Much better than my bunk on that horrible junk … though I’d like to think that my bed on the Pearl is still unrivalled.”

“That I cannot judge.”

“Well, this time, I am hardly to blame, I suppose.” He grinned saucily and she remembered the numerous occasions on which he’d actually flirted with her when they’d been together on the Pearl, heading for Isla Cruces. His behaviour had been typical Jack Sparrow and she’d taken none of it too seriously, but now she wondered whether there’d been some kind of hidden truth behind all the innuendo and wordplay.

Completely untroubled by her presence, he pulled out his pistol and carefully placed it next to the bed before unbuckling his belts and untying the pink scarf he’d wrapped around his waist. The ensemble landed rattling on the floor, along with his sword and all the curious things he carried with him. He seemed to rely on the durability of his artefacts, shoving them aside with his boot as if they were no more valuable than the rubble littering the room. He was already half done with unbuttoning his waistcoat when he changed his mind and knelt down to go through his things again until he’d found what he was looking for. Elizabeth smiled at the obvious relief that spread across his face, finding that his compass had survived the unceremonious treatment without further damage. Jack flipped it open and inspected it for a long moment, apparently satisfied with the heading the magical needle gave him.

Elizabeth leaned forward, curious on what the compass pointed to for him, but he closed it again before she could get a proper view.

“Oh no,” he laughed, “That’s none of your business.”

“Why? I already know that it points to what you want most in this world – which, I assume, is the Black Pearl for you.”

He cocked his head and looked at her inquiringly, obviously trying to determine whether she was just teasing him or if she really believed the ship was what he wanted most in this world.

“So it’s not the Pearl, then?” she asked, mockingly, this time, but with an enthusiasm she found it hard to conceal from him.

“Maybe not. But …oh, now that’s interesting!”

At first, Elizabeth wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but then, she saw that he’d spotted something underneath her bedstead. Something that caused the blood to rush into her cheeks as soon as she recognized it.

A book. He picked it up and she jumped forward to snatch it from him, but he’d seen it coming and turned around quickly so she could not prevent him from browsing the worn pages, a huge grin gradually conquering his face.

“That’s very interesting indeed …,” he chuckled and she thought she might die from the shame and humiliation she felt at his discovery. She’d told herself time and time again that there was nothing wrong with wanting to know how these things worked, considering that she’d been expecting her wedding night. What happened between man and wife in the privacy of a darkened bedroom had not exactly been the subject of dinner conversation at the governor’s, and somehow it had seemed equally wrong to mention it to Will, even though he’d been her fiancé and therefore the man she was most likely to share these pleasures with. She had been curious and, yes, she had been afraid as well, so she’d asked her maid to get her the book. It was not exactly what she’d expected it to be, but it had at least provided her with some kind of basic information, though presented in a manner that seemed to suggest that the subject at hand was merely overrated and not half as exciting as some novels liked to imply. But no matter how exciting it truly was, this book was something she didn’t intend to share with anyone, let alone Jack Sparrow.

“This was just for … educational purposes,” she stuttered in a futile attempt to hide her embarrassment, knowing perfectly well she was just making a fool of herself.

“I see,” Jack replied, sounding pensive. “But, fair Elizabeth, this is a book for young gentlemen. At least it does say so on the cover.”

“It was the only one I could get here … as it were.”

He seemed to contemplate the matter while he took off his waistcoat, tossing it on top of his artefacts before approaching her slowly.

“Well, you won’t need it anyway,” he declared, reaching out to touch her hair and placing a lose strand behind her ear. “I think I have a pretty good, not to say really outstanding idea of how it works.” And with that, he started unbuttoning her vest, methodically and with no haste, his eyes fixed on her face while he watched her tensed features. She hadn’t been afraid back in the sewing room when the turn of events hadn’t given her enough time to spend a conscious thought on what was happening, but now, she didn’t feel so confident anymore.

Though she had read about it, she had no idea how this act worked, much less the experience to keep up with the women he was used to spending his nights with. All these things they sang about in Tortuga, things so indescribably dirty and depraved that not even the “Young gentlemen’s guidebook” had dared to mention them … things only pirates and whores did … And though tonight, he’d proven to be a lot more of a gentleman than she’d have thought him to be, she still feared she wouldn’t be able to meet his expectations.

“No need to be afraid. You will be fine, I promise …,” he whispered, sensing her bewilderment and when he skimmed his hands over her shoulders, she couldn’t help but give in to the feel of his touch through the thin fabric, sighing. Slowly, oh so slowly, he slid the vest over her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor and never would she have thought that there could be so much to such a simple gesture. Never breaking the eye contact between them, he took her hand into his, tracing the thin lines on the inside with his thumb. His hands were rough and dirty – like hers, she suddenly realized. And she smiled at him and when he smiled back, the look in his eyes was no longer deep and unfathomable but all honesty and truth.

He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers and it was like no one had ever touched her before. For everything that had happened between them or between her and Will just faded behind the inconceivable intimacy of his lips ghosting over her fingertips.

All of a sudden, it was not enough anymore to just study his face; she needed to touch him, needed to feel what her eyes had already taken in. So she gently moved away from his grip, curiously running her fingers across the beard stubbles that covered his chin, tracing his jaw line before bringing her other hand up, repeating her actions. She watched in silent wonder when he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, lips slightly parted and she couldn’t help but touching them again, brushing his lower lip with her thumb.

But as much as she would have liked to devote herself entirely to that wonderful mouth of his, there were other parts of his face, undiscovered yet, that called for her attention. Like those aristocratic cheekbones, too pretty for any man and completely out of place in a pirate’s face. But right here and now, he was more than just a pirate – he was the son of an Indian princess and she was surprised at how she could ever have thought that he was anything other than perfect.

And those lashes … no, they were definitely not wasted in that face of his, she decided. His face was not flawless, though. The kohl smeared around his eyes did a good job in hiding all the small lines that surrounded them and she briefly wondered about his age He was older than Will and James, probably closer to her father’s age than to her own. Strange how she had never thought about it, actually. But then, she still didn’t care. The lines were part of him as was the scar that went just through his right eyebrow or the sore on his jaw line. And she didn’t mind about any of those …

Her hands traced his cheekbones, brushing over his temples, and suddenly, the moment she touched the edges of the scarf, his eyes flew open and he staggered backwards, keeping himself out of her reach.

“No!”

“Jack,” Elizabeth cried, astonished. “What’s wrong?”

“No, no, no …,” he replied, back to smiling but with the panic still visible in his eyes. “The scarf stays on.”

“Why? What on earth have you hidden beneath there? A treasure? A particularly nasty bunch of spiders?” she chuckled, pretending to be amused. Though she sincerely hoped he didn’t ruin a moment like that, just for amusement.

“As it is – no! But I’m afraid you won’t find out since – as I already said – the scarf stays on.”

He reached around his head to grab the knot as if to ensure she wouldn’t be able to rip it away. A strange gesture, even for him, and there was still fear in his eyes.

“Believe me,” he continued, his voice soft and pleading, “you wouldn’t want to know anyway.”

“No …,” she replied, lying. “I would not.” And smiled. He wouldn’t go back into hiding, she wouldn’t let him. But today, he had revealed more of himself than she ever would have thought there was to reveal. The scarf was still part of his legend and she would allow him to keep it just a little longer. For tonight, it didn’t matter.

Leaning forward, she tentatively brushed her lips over his and she felt his hands tangling in her hair, pulling her into an almost violent kiss and she knew she was acting as his rum, a simple device to drown the past in a few moments of precious drunkenness. It was all crudity and edges, teeth and blood, and she would never have thought that a kiss could be like that, not a way to express love or lust, but an act of brutal honesty and sheer desperation. And she was grateful he’d shown her, grateful because it was what she needed, what she’d longed for ever since they’d entered this house. Exorcism.

His hand wandered over her back and came to rest on her hips, pulling her to him in a rhythm that matched the strokes of his tongue and she could feel him hard against her groin.

“Told you I wanted you,” he said breathlessly, pulling back from the kiss and directing his mouth to her throat, sucking and nibbling until she feared her legs might fail her, and she clung to him as if he was the only thing separating her from a yawning abyss. He urged her backwards until she could feel the bed pressing into the hollow of her knees, but before she could fall, he quickly flipped her round and suddenly, he was lying on the edge of the mattress with her on top, straddling him.

“Jack,” she gasped, only to be completely lost again when he slightly pushed his hips up to direct her attention to what exactly she was sitting on.

When his hands came to rest upon her buttocks, pressing her down into his crotch, her mouth flew open and she gasped for air while the pooling warmth between her legs turned into a throbbing ache, causing her to shift impatiently.

“Eager, are we?” Jack chuckled, his hands moving across her hips and to the waistband of her breeches.

“I’m …,” she stuttered. “I’m … still wearing my boots.”

“Me, too, luv,” he grinned, the gold of his teeth reflecting the candlelight. “But no need to put them off, right now. But if you insist on shedding some clothes …”

He started tugging at her shirt and she froze momentarily when she felt one of his hands slide inside, coming to rest on her stomach. Warmth, a wonderful warmth was radiating from his body, and she watched him from behind flittering lids while his fingers drew small circles around her navel. She shivered at the touch of cold metal when his rings met her skin, the back of his hand brushing over her ribs, travelling higher, still higher, and she realized he was going to touch her breasts, the mere thought of it sending sparks down her body and right into her loins. Her hips pressed down on their own accord and when she did that, Jack’s eyes flew shut and his mouth opened in a silent gasp.

“Do that again,” he whispered, and she did, bending over to stroke his face, sweaty in the heat of the Caribbean night while she ground her hips into his. He pulled her down until she was lying flat on his chest, and then both of his hands found their way underneath her shirt and onto her bare skin, gripping her sides and stroking up and down while her body slid over his. It felt nice, really nice, and oh … she knew the feeling, had experienced it a dozen times during those forbidden moments when she’d secretly touched herself, and she wriggled her hips, trying to find the spot again … and again …. She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face against his throat, his braids leaving strange textures on her cheek while her lips trailed across his skin, and she didn’t even care to stifle the moan that emitted from her mouth when his hands gripped her buttocks and drove her against him.

His hips came up to meet hers, his hands guiding them into a faster rhythm, and she blindly clutched his shirt while the pleasure was steadily building, spreading from the dampness between her legs into every single corner of her body until even her brain seemed rendered useless, devoted to nothing but what was happening between them, then and there.

“Luv,” he whispered into her ear, “Please let me take off your shirt.”

He wrapped his arms around her and sat up, pulling her with him and Elizabeth slowly opened her eyes and looked into his, clouded with desire and something else, something she wouldn’t allow herself to think about, not just yet, but it made her trust him and she lifted her arms so he could pull the shirt over her head.

Tossing it carelessly across the room, he reached for her shoulders and held her away from his body, lowering his eyes to her bared breasts and stomach. It felt as if something was ripped open, something she’d been taught to hide for nearly all her life, something she’d been ashamed of, and now Jack Sparrow, a pirate of all people, was looking at it with unveiled curiosity, causing her cheeks to redden in embarrassment. Most likely, she wasn’t what he would have termed a pretty wench, too skinny and boyish to catch his eye in a Tortuga alley, but there was nothing but admiration and need on his face when he placed his hands on her breasts, her flesh almost pale against his weathered fingers.

She wanted to look, wanted to savour the picture, but her eyes closed in passionate bliss when his hands wandered over her body, spreading across her lower back while his mouth descended upon her breast. And when she thought she would die from the torturing pleasure of it, his tongue darted out, circling her nipple until her fingers tangled in his hair to pull him closer, urging him to do something she couldn’t even name.

“Don’t stop!” she whispered, her voice hoarse and foreign in her own head.

“Not going to, luv.” And she felt him grin against her body, his beard tickling her skin when he returned his attention to where she needed it, drawing her nipple between his teeth and biting down lightly. She moaned in earnest then, arching her back to push herself further into his mouth, and he took hold of her hips, pressing her down against that manly part of his, already hard and waiting for her.

Please … oh, please …

She couldn’t tell whether she was really begging him or if it was just her addled brains, but it was quickly becoming too much, him touching her in all those forbidden places and the maddening dampness where she needed him most, that place his hands hadn’t explored, yet, though they were close now … so close, resting on her thighs while he licked his way over to the breast still weeping for his attention. His thumbs started to stroke her through her breeches, drawing closer to her centre but never quite arriving there, and the world faded into a mere agglomeration of heat and colours in which her body didn’t exist but for the purpose of surrendering to the sweet delirium he was subjecting her to.

He kissed his way up to her throat, roughly, his teeth scraping over her skin, and she marvelled at the pain, digging her nails into his shoulders while he dragged his lips across her jaw-line and against her ear.

“Time to take our boots off,” he breathed, shoving her off him and for a long moment, she couldn’t move, just lay there while her body retrieved its contours, leaving her with the painful awareness of an aching sensation spreading from her loins into every single fibre of her being. She turned to her side and reached for his body, only to find he was gone. Panicking, she heaved herself into a sitting position and found he was standing in front of the bed, already bereft of his boots and shirt which seemed to form the grotesque heap on the floor right next to him, and just about to take his breeches off. A small voice inside her head told her to look away because a young lady wouldn’t dare to watch something that was to happen in chaste darkness and underneath several layers of blankets, but the desire to see him was too strong for her to overcome and she gave in to the pleasantly naughty feeling of witnessing this entirely forbidden and yet strangely intoxicating ceremony.