Faithful

Disclaimer: I don't own them, don't sue me.
Warning: Jack's not quite his normal, happy acting self.
Notes: Not betaed.
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Jack closed the door of his cabin and leaned against it. HIS cabin. HIS Pearl. He hadn’t been able to say that in ten very long years. While Captain Sparrow considered himself an optimist, he’d have been lying if he claimed never to have experienced doubts he would someday find himself again in control of the Black Pearl.

She felt steady against his shoulders, though still moving gently beneath his feet.

Glancing around the large room, Jack was saddened to notice all the changes. What had once been an elegant, if eclectically decorated, chamber was now very dark indeed. Gone were the soft velvet covered seats and blankets. There were no more decorative candle sticks and wall sconces that Jack had painstakingly picked out over the course of numerous raids. The wood of the very ship itself lacked in shine and luster. Indeed, it appeared that there was nothing which reflected light.

Jack liked sparkly and shiny things. He knew it was silly and unnecessary but it was one of the indulgences of being Captain – he could decorate the Captain’s cabiwevewever he saw fit. He had done just that and the effect had been nothing short of stunning. It took only one candle or lantern to light the massive (well, relatively speaking of course, this was a ship after all) room as there had been so many shiny objects to reflect and multiply the light.

Even now he could remember his ritual on stormy nights: lying in bed and lowering the wick of a hanging lantern so that only the smallest of flames still burned. The brilliance of even that tiny flame shone and lit over all the reflective surfaces in the cabin, both decorative and functional (for even the drawer pulls on his chest were shined to perfection). Jack used to lie in bed and imagine he was on deck, laying in the open, looking at the stars, even as he heard the rain outside beating down mercilessly upon the deck. Yet the effect was more than just mimicking looking up at the stars. It was as gh hgh he was surrounded by them, as though he was lying in the sky amongst the very heavens.

But Jack wasn’t the same man as ten years ago and the new darker part of his mind had a considerable harsher view of his earlier eccentricities. ‘So loving of treasure you had to be surrounded by it didn’t you?’ sneered an inner voice, its tone rough. ‘Lot of good it did you though, eh? Stupid, stupid, trusting … wrong! You couldn’t have cared less about such poetry as creating the heavens could you? No, you just loved the sparkle and glitter of pretty things. Only reason you ever thought it was like being surrounded by the night sky was because you were drunk every time you laid there you damn fool.’

Silencing the inner voice, Jack tried to picture his cabin as it had been, back when it reflected the light of a single flame a thousand times. The stunning red wood walls of the room had seemed to dance and glimmer in the light of a flame, lacquered to a nearly reflective point.

Now, however, it was as though the room had been painted in flat black and brown. Nothing caught the light of the lantern on the table and it gave the room a dark and shadowy look that unnerved Jack more than he’d be willing to admit to aloud. He would have thought that everything was covered in a thin layer of dust, for that’s how it appeared, but when he ran a finger over the nearest planking it didn’t come back darkened. No, Barbossa, the sick bastard, had seen fit to not only stop oiling the walls and furniture, but he’d also painted over sections in a flat, dull paint. What had possessed him to do such a thing Jack would never know. It was just more evidence of how truly evil the man had been, Jack decided.

He wanted to apologize to the Pearl right then and there, wanted to run his hands over her walls, in a soothing way and tell her as though she was an injured lady, that he’d, ‘save her from all the damage done to her but that nasty, awful man.’

But he’d long since learned to curb his habit of talking to the ship … at least under most circumstances.

Sparrow finally moved away from the door he’d been leaning against. He moved about the cabin, training his long fingers over the now dingy walls, across the backs of heavy, grotesquely carved, chairs that were not his (and would be sent to Davey Jone’s locker first thing tomorrow morning). He looked at maps and half rotten apples strewn across the table, at several terrible (not to mention bloody and vicious in nature) paintings which would also be joining the chairs come first light.

Finally Jack came to the bed, his foot bumping against the bottom. He sighed looking down at it. He felt old and exhausted suddenly as the past week or so’s events caught up with him. There was no reason to pretend all was going to be better tomorrow. In all the ways that counted it already was. But after 10 years of forcing himself to think a certain way, it seemed his mind had finally decided that was enough. If it he had the Pearl back there really was no need to force himself to be optimistic and driven. Though he’d been elated earlier when he finally took the wheel of the Pearl in his hands, now all Jack could see was how she’d been changed for the worse. He wondered if he’d ever be able to get her back the way she should be, the way she deserved to look and run.

‘Well of course you can, you idiot! You’re just exhausted and sober and we both know that’s not a good combination on anyone, especially not you. Get some sleep and in the morning you’ll be all ready to start in on restoring her. Stupid whining bastard…’ the inner voice trailed off.

Jack sat down heavily on the side of the bed. Still looking around the room, Jack realized that it probably was just the terrible reminders the room’s present condition was in that was making him feel so down. And, he was indeed sober and more tired than he could be remember being in years. There was something about nearly hanging that always left him depressed afterwards. He knew he should be elated. Not only did he survive, he’d also regained the Pearl. No, the darkness of the room and the let down after the past week was surely to blame.

Tiredly, Jack stood and pulled all the blankets from the bed. He dropped them on the floor and plopped down on the bed. After a moment’s hesitation, Jack scooped up the blankets, cursing their former owner as he tried to carry them as far away from his person as possible, and took them out of the cabin. He tossed them over the side of the ship without a second thought and returned to HIS cabin without talking to anyone on deck.

Jack flopped down on the stripped bed, boots still on, full dressed. He’d long since become used to sleeping fully clothed and it no longer bothered him in the least. He lay on his back, with his head at neither the head of the bed nor the foot but rather sideways across. It wasn’t quite big enough to lay perfectly in that position, his feet hung slightly over the edge, but Jack didn’t care.

Sighing deeply, Jack finally totally relaxed for the first time in a very long time. And he would probably have fallen into the dreamless sleep of the exhausted were it not for his eyes cracking open to take one last reassuring look around.

Reassuring to see he was finally where he belonged? Yes, but to see the sorry state HIS Pearl had been reduced to made Jack again miserable. Grumbling and rolling over on the empty bed, Jack curled up on his side, facing the wall, avoiding looking at the rest of the room. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the soothing movements of the ship, the rocking motion lulling him into a doze.

Jack sleepily reached out a hand to run against the lacquered, smooth wall. He felt rough, cracking paint over abused wood instead. Huffing aloud Jack sat up, a very surly expression on his face. It was then that it occurred to him that his bed was not against the wall it used to be.

Though the bed appeared to be built into the flooring for stability, it was in fact free standing. Jack rolled off the bed and turned it (with some considerable effort), back to its former position, still in the corner but facing a different direction. The corner provided stability when the sea became rough, and though it would appear to make more sense to keep the longer side against the inner wall, in reality it was better that the head rest there, the length stretched long the outer wall instead. Jack had learned that position was best the hard way, though it would appear Barbossa had never figured that out.

‘Bastard deserved to be tossed from the bed every night,’ grumbled Jack’s inner voice.

Jack dropped back onto the bed. He was no longer laying sideways across the bed as it was now facing the correct direction. Closing his eyes again Jack breathed deeply, feeling unaccountably better for having made the simple change. As he started to drift off again, his hand, seemingly of its own accord drifted to run along the wall. This time it felt just as it should under his fingers, smooth and rich. Clearly this part of the wall had not been painted over as it had been covered by the headboard when the bed had been moved by the former occupant.

Jack’s let the back of his fingers trail along the smooth wood. The back of his fingers and knuckles slowly moved over the delicately textured surface in a parody of a lovers caress.

Jack’s hand abruptly stopped its travels. Rolling over to face the wall, he looked to confirm what his fingers had felt. Jack smiled, his look loving and lavacious all at once.

“You’ve been faithful to me haven’t you, Pearl?” Jack asked, looking at the only section of untouched wall in the cabin.

Twelve years ago Jack had discovered a natural knot in the wood of the wall there. The dark marking had bothered him so thatd bed been ready to take a knife to it to cut it out. The area hardly showed but it had irritated him to see the dark spot in his gleaming red wood. But when he inspected it further, Jack had discovered that despite the lacquered finish on the wall, the knot was removed with little more than a push of his fingers. The chunk of darkened, gnarled wood was removed easily leaving a surprisingly smooth natural hole.

Though he couldn’t say exactly how the idea had first occurred to him, (though he suspected a considerable amount of rum was likely involved) at some point he’d come to discover that the hole was a pleasantightight one. With the use of a small amount of oil, he’d come to realize that the angle was ideal and this love would never cheat on him.

And, by all appearances, she indeed hadn’t.

Jack caressed the Pearl’s wall, teasingly letting a finger trace around the edge of the hole. Smirking devilishly, Jack rummaged around his various pockets with his other hand. He’d amassed an astounding amount of small, highly portable (though not necessarily highlyuabluable) items while away from HIS Pearl, and his many pockets were littered with trinkets, coins, shells, keys (to what eHE wHE wasn’t sure) and just plain junk. Fortunately, somewhere in his travels Jack had liberated a small container of special oil and it was thankfully intact.

Pulling the small cork stopper from the cut glass bottle with his teeth, Jack removed his hand from the wall. He could hear the ship groan response when he pulled his fingers away.

Pearl was always talking, making sounds, it just took knowing what to listen for.

Dropping the now empty bottle onto the floor by the bed, Jack moved his left hand back to the wall. He let his fingers circle the opening then slowly work their way inside, just the tips at first. He pressed against the wood, circling around completely as he worked his long fingers deeper and deeper with each plunge, his thumb brushing against the outside softly.

With his right hand, Jack opened his breechers and rubbed the oil over his rapidly hardening shaft. He matched the movements of both hands: just light finger tips at first slowly moving to harder touches and rubbing. Finally Jack was lightly squeezing his cock rhythmically in his one hand while the other ran slick fingers repeatedly into the smooth hole.

Moving closer to the wall Jack placed his head at the opening. With just the tip in, Jack moved to flatten his oil slicked palms against the wall.

“MY Pearl,” Jack said, his voice rough with need yet quiet with sincerity. He slowly pushed his cock fully into the opening. It was still a very tight fit, almost unbearably so, but when his hips connected with the wall Jack, threw his head back and moaned aloud at the feeling.

On the deck, two crew members exchanged confused glances ae she ship suddenly groaned and creaked loudly.

Jack heard HIS Pearl, heard her respond to his movements. He thrusted into the hole, his body mashing against the wall. His fingers scrapped against the wall’s surface, desperately grabbing at anything to clutch in his hands. He pounded into the wall so hard that his hips ached at the repeated knocking against the wood yet Jack was helpless to stop. He could feel bruises forming there as he drove mercilessly into the opening, could feel his cock gliding against the inside. The smoothed, yet textured wood inside the channel rubbed against the length of his cock, every variation inside sng wng waves of erotic sensation through him.

And just when Jack swore it couldn’t get better he felt his Pearl respond. The slight rocking motion he’d been relaxing to before slowly increased ever so slightly. Moments later, each thrust Jack made was countered with a rocking push against him.

On deck the same two crew members exchanged still more confused looks as the Pearl began to rock more than could be accounted for in relatively smooth waters.

The wood of the Pearl began to swell slightly though there was no storm coming. The pressure around Jack’s cock increased until it held him so tightly and the rocking was so strong that it was all Jack could do to hold on. His fingers madly scrapped against the wall, his hips crashing against the side in his deep yet short thrusts. The Pearl held him so tightly he could barely pull out yet he kept ramming in small, harsh thrusts.

Jack panted, his eyes squeezed shut as the pressure around his cock threatened to drive him mad. With even more force the Pearl rocked against him, fucking him back.

Though his eyes were closed, Jack could see the room, a million little reflections of light, like all the stars in the sky had been trapped inside, sparking on every wall, on every decoration, on every textured grain of wood: his sparkling beauty.

Finally Jack could take no more and he grunted as his release came. The Pearl groaned and slowed her rocking. He felt the Pearl squeezing him over and over, milking the last of the cum from him.

Jack withdrew from the hole easily after a few moments. He remained on his side, running his hands soothingly over the smooth wall in front of him. His breathing slowed and the last tremor went through his sated and exhausted body. Jack took a deep breath and let it slowly.

“Yer still mine, Luv. I’ll see yer fixed up beautifully again. Tomorrow we dock in Tortuga. I’ll get supplies, clean off the paint, shine the walls in ‘ere. The decks’ll be cleaned, I’ll get you new sails and you’ll be good as new,” Jack whispered.

The Pearl creaked quietly. Jack knew she was pleased.

With one hand still trailing lazily along the wall, Jack sleepily muttered, “My beautiful Black Pearl.”

His last tho bef before falling asleep was that in addition to cleaning supplies, furniture and new sails, tomorrow he’d also need to pick up some more special oil.

On deck the two crew members threw up their hands in confusion, still baffled as to why just moments ago every rope on the Pearl had unaccountably tightened then suddenly gone slack. At least the rocking had stopped, though there was a soft creaking noise that sounded ever so slightly like a woman softly giggling in delight.

END