The Captain's Cabin

The Captain's Cabin

“What’s this?”

Elizabeth studied the cool metal Barbossa had pressed into her hand.

“The key to me cabin. Cold waters ahead. If yeh feel the need fer company, consider this an open invitation.” Barbossa’s grin suggested far too much as he leaned close to whisper in her ear.

Elizabeth drew back. Something Elizabeth preferred not to think on twisted in the pit of her stomach when he looked at her that way. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” She held out her hand for him to take the key back, but he closed her fingers around it and smirked.

“Don’t be so sure. When be the last time yeh felt winter?”

“England. Ten years ago.”

Barbossa nodded. “Ye’ll be needin’ something to keep yeh warm. Or someone.” Barbossa winked and crossed the deck of the Maiden’s Voyager to man the helm.

With a scowl, she shoved the key in her pocket. There was certainly no harm in holding onto it, even if she had no intentions of ever using it. It was easier than trying to convince Barbossa to take it back, in any case. Elizabeth sighed and headed below, brushing past Will, still taking his frustrations out on the rail of the ship with the knife he had acquired. Elizabeth wondered how much he had seen or heard, but he gave no sign of even noticing her.

The first week of the journey, Elizabeth was perfectly content to sleep in her hammock with the rest of the crew. She was no longer the governor’s daughter, no longer a lady who deserved special treatment. Barbossa worked her as hard as any man on the crew; she ate with them, drank with them, learned their songs and sang with them. It was fitting that she slept as crew.

But as the sun’s path stayed closer to the horizon and the nights, though shorter, grew colder, Elizabeth couldn’t help but wish for a bit of special treatment. She expected Will might want to keep her warm, but the offer never came. Rum washed away some of the pain of Jack, and eased the chill when she sat on deck, but alone in her hammock, the thin blanket did little to keep off the night’s cold and nothing to stop her tears.

She lie shivering, counted six bells, then seven. The others all swung snugly, some snoring lightly, others silent, but none tossed and turned as she did. Were men just naturally warmer? It wasn’t fair.

Elizabeth curled into a ball and wrapped the blanket tightly around her, drawing it over her head to try and keep as much of her own warmth inside. The frigid night air still snuck inside, though, and another shiver ran through her. She rubbed her hands together, puffed short breaths onto them. It didn’t help, and she certainly wouldn’t be able to sleep that way. She couldn’t even feel her feet in her boots anymore.

A tear of frustration stung her eye. She blinked, and the droplet of water clung to her eyelashes, threatening to freeze like the icebergs they’d spotted on the southern horizon. Elizabeth wiped her eye, the touch of her frigid fingertips setting her shivering again. Touching her face or her neck or her armpits might warm her hands, but it made the rest of her body so much colder.

Shoving her icy hands deep into her pocket, Elizabeth suddenly found the cold, hard metal of Barbossa’s key. Was she so desperate as to turn to him? A long shiver wracked her body and she took another breath of bitter Antarctic air. Yes, she was that desperate.

Elizabeth padded across the silent deck and slipped the key into the lock. Cotton on night watch might have noticed her, but he wouldn’t tell. The click of the lock sounded loud against the night’s quiet, but a quick glance told her none had heard. She slipped into the cabin and carefully shut the door behind her.

Another shiver ran through her, but this one was responding to the already slightly warmer air of the cabin. Elizabeth leaned her forehead against the door as she slid the key back into her pocket. Was she really going to do this? She had slept in his bed before, but he hadn’t been in it at the time. Of course, at the time, it hadn’t been so very cold. Still, he hadn’t tried to force her into anything then, when she was his captive. His sense of honor was somewhat suspect, but it was there. Considering the alternative was spending another freezing, sleepless night in her hammock, trusting Barbossa was becoming a bit easier to do.

“Captain?” A few candles lit the cabin, but there was no sign of Barbossa. She spotted a cordoned off area on the left and supposed that was his sleeping quarters. A rustling from behind the curtains told her he was present. She was confident that he would be alone; Elizabeth was the only woman on board save the witch Tia Dalma, and while Barbossa and the witch had been rather obviously intimate in the bayou shack, once they took to sea, Tia had claimed the first mate’s cabin and spent her days muttering about a king and his men, and spurning Barbossa’s advances.

Elizabeth crept across the cabin and paused at the curtains. Barbossa’s bed on the Pearl had been surprisingly comfortable, with an abundance of pillows, real sheets, and as many blankets as she needed. Most importantly, it had been warm, so very warm. Oh, to spend a night in a real bed, warm and snug. Even if it meant sharing with Barbossa. She drew back the curtain and gasped silently, hand flying to her mouth.

Barbossa was decidedly not sleeping, and though he was alone, it was clear he was imagining himself to have company. He lay sprawled atop the blankets of the four-poster, barely clothed, hand fervently clutching the one part of his body Elizabeth had never expected to see.

He hadn’t noticed her, and Elizabeth knew she should avert her gaze, or clear her throat, or flee the cabin before he noticed her, but her feet were anchored to the deck and her eyes glued to the sight before her. She had never seen a man thusly before, for all that she had tried to convince Will to have their wedding night a bit early. She’d never managed to get him into the position Barbossa had taken up, shirtless, bootless, and with breeches pulled down almost to his knees.

And in that moment, Barbossa was beautiful. His muscles were taut beneath his skin, glistening in the candlelight. His head was thrown back against the pillows, eyes shut, brow furrowed, lips parted. His breathing was quick, punctuated by short groans. Her eyes lingered over his mouth, and for a moment, she wondered how it would feel to kiss him.

She let her eyes drift from his lips to his neck, long and exposed. His strange pendant still rested on his heaving chest. As her gaze fell lower, she noticed dark hair curling over his skin, faint at first, trailing along a thin line down his center, gathering in a mass between his legs.

For just a moment, she imagined that she was the sort of woman who would kiss him. A woman who would climb on top of him, match his every groaning breath, kiss him fiercely and let her own hands travel where his now were. She shut her eyes and tried to force the image from her mind, but when she opened them again, Barbossa was still there, and she could almost feel his skin, hot and slick beneath her fingers, her lips pressing against his neck as his hands wandered her body instead of his own.

She was suddenly aware of the sharp tingle in her stomach, and the sweet ache between her legs that usually only came when she was kissing Will. Or Jack…Elizabeth pushed that offending thought from her mind and looked back to Barbossa.

One hand clutched the blanket beside him while the other slid up and down his length, quickly, then slowing down, then a few quick strokes. Fascinating! She’d never imagined such a thing. All this time she’d waited for her wedding night, and Will had likely been doing this! How utterly unfair!

“Oh, yes,” Barbossa whispered, moaning softly as his fingers encircled his organ and slid slowly down. The tip peeked out over his thumb, pink and smooth. His hand slid lower, revealing darker skin standing at attention. Goodness, but it was rather large. She’d not had her wedding night, but she had some idea of what would happen. But the sight before her made her stomach clench a bit tighter. That was supposed to fit inside her?

Well, not that one. Not Barbossa, of course.

He hadn’t stopped groaning, and the sounds were making her head spin. His hand was hidden between his thighs now, which gave her a perfect view of his most private organ. She wondered what it would feel like, to touch him there. She wondered if he had ever imagined she would. He had wanted her once, hadn’t he?

What was his hand doing, between his thighs there? She couldn’t see it, his leg was in the way. She leaned forward, craning her neck to see, when the ship pitched and she stumbled, grabbing the bedpost to steady herself before she fell on top of him.

Barbossa sat up suddenly, noticing Elizabeth for the first time. At first he almost seemed not to recognize her, or perhaps he didn’t believe she was really there.

“What in blue blazes do yeh think you be doin’?” Barbossa tugged a blanket over himself, covering that which had so fascinated her. Elizabeth opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. “How long yeh been standin’ there?”

“I - ” She tried to remember why she’d initially come into the cabin. Had she been cold? She felt rather warm at the moment.

Barbossa frowned, again staring as if unconvinced she was real. “Were ye watchin’ me?”

Elizabeth felt her cheeks flush. “Well, you gave me a key, and I did announce my presence. It was you who failed to respond.”

“Didn’t hear yeh.”

“Obviously.” Elizabeth sighed. “I didn’t mean to watch. Do you need a moment?”

“If you don’t mind.”

She turned her back to him, rubbing her hands along her arms. It was still very cold out there, and not all that much warmer in here. His bed would be warm, and he would be warm beside her, and that was the only reason she was still here, alone with a nearly-naked pirate. Was he still nearly-naked? Her eye stretched to its corner.

He had pushed the blanket aside, and she was treated to a hint of a view of his buttocks, lifted slightly off the bed to allow his breeches to slide up into place. Had she ever found this man unattractive? Unappealing, perhaps, uncouth, unwashed, and occasionally unpleasant. Not to mention undead. But not unattractive. His back arched up slightly, and her eyes followed the line up to his chest, and neck, and eyes, staring back at her, one eyebrow quirked, and the slightest hint of a smile on his lips.

She snapped her head back forwards, stealing the briefest glimpse of his still very erect manhood as he stuffed it into his breeches. She could recall a maid once referring to that particular part of a man’s anatomy as his “roger.” Considering his present state…well, it seemed this evening that Captain Barbossa had two jolly rogers.

“And what’s so funny?”

Elizabeth covered her giggle with her hand. “Nothing.”

Barbossa rolled his eyes. “You know, Miss, for a woman who claims to be disinterested in meself, yeh seem awfully interested.”

“I was actually quite interested in one of your blankets, if you would be so kind.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and held a blanket out to her. She pulled it tightly around herself, folding her arms across her chest to hold it in place. She smirked at him and drew a corner of fabric up to her cheek. “Still warm.”

He chuckled softly. “Does that satisfy, or was there something more I can do for ye?” He did have such a lovely smile, on those rare occasions when he was actually being sincere.

Elizabeth pulled her eyes from him and studied the floor. Perhaps one extra blanket would be enough. But already the warmth from Barbossa’s body was dissipating from the coverlet around her shoulders. Regardless of his recent actions, his intentions in offering her his key had been strictly honorable, hadn’t they? A bundling, that was all he’d offered, and all she was accepting, nothing sordid.

He would be warm. Her hammock was frigid. It was that simple. Her body ached to be close to his, only because he was so much warmer than she was. He wouldn’t press his advantage, wouldn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want; he was too honorable. Besides, Will would kill him if he tried anything. Or she herself would.

“Actually, I was hoping, and I cannot believe I am about to ask this, but would you mind terribly if I slept here tonight?”

Barbossa cocked his head. “Yer not expectin’ me to give up me bed, are ye?”

She shook her head. “You said you’d keep me warm.”

He smiled and turned down the covers, sliding to the far side of the bed to make room for her. Elizabeth took a deep breath and lay her blanket across the top, shivering as the cold quickly penetrated her clothing. She slipped out of her vest, tugged off her boots, and climbed between the sheets.

Oh, this was better. Her body shook as it acclimated itself to the sudden warmth. She pulled the blankets up to her chin, burrowing deep, as she used to do on chilly nights in Port Royal. Her fingers inadvertently grazed the bare skin of his arm as she settled in and he snatched her hand and held it between his own. Her instincts told her to pull back, but his hands were so very warm.

“Gods, girl, but yer freezin’.”

“I’d not be here otherwise.”

“C’mere.” He pulled her hand closer, reaching his arm out to her. When she hesitated, he rolled his eyes and tugged again. “Not gonna try nothin’. Just get the chill out o’ yeh.”

When she shivered again, he slid closer, and she allowed him to wrap his arms around her, rubbing the chill from her back. She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, and found herself resting them lightly on his chest as she curled against him, seeking the warmth he radiated. Her forehead fit neatly in the crook of his neck, and she closed her eyes and breathed in the heady scent of him. Sweat and musk, seawater and rum.

His skin was hot, almost unnaturally so, against her fingers. She could feel the slightest press of stiffness against her hip. She’d been this close to Will, and Jack; she knew exactly what that meant, and now she knew what it looked like. And yet, Barbossa didn’t attempt to slip a hand beneath her chemise. He didn’t even let his hands wander anyplace they shouldn’t. Elizabeth frowned. Jack would have tried something. Why didn’t Barbossa? Of course, it was good that he hadn’t. And that was certainly not an inkling of disappointment she felt.

As the heat from his body, blankets, and moving hands began to seep into her, her shivers slowly subsided, and her mind began to comprehend that she was not laying beside a mere heat source, but a man, a pirate. A nearly-naked pirate.

Elizabeth pushed away from him, pulling the blankets tighter around herself. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a shirt?”

Barbossa left one arm hooked around her shoulders while the other retreated. “Don’t normally sleep in a shirt.”

“Perhaps you might make a concession on my account?”

Barbossa glanced down at her, offering a suggestive smile. “Already am. Don’t normally sleep in breeches.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “You’re lying.”

Barbossa frowned. “And just how would yeh know that? Makin’ a habit of spying?”

“No. Simple deductive reasoning.”

“Care to explain?”

Elizabeth bit her lip. This was really not going to be the most appropriate turn for the conversation to be taking. But shirtless or no, if he’d intended to do something he oughtn’t, he’d have done so by now. Besides, there was surely no harm in merely talking about it.
Elizabeth propped herself up on one elbow. “When I…interrupted you, you had your breeches around your knees. If you’d intended to sleep nude, you’d have taken them off completely before you started doing…” Elizabeth searched for a proper descriptive term, but came up blank.

Barbossa grunted.

“Erm…What exactly were you doing?”

He was silent for a moment. His breathing was a little more rapid than it ought to have been, his heart beating a bit harder than hers. “Ask Turner to explain it.”

“Will doesn’t talk to me.”

“Yeh can’t possibly be that innocent. Yeh must have some idea.”

Elizabeth squirmed. She did have some idea, but there was still so much she didn’t know. She should probably let the matter drop with Barbossa, but the sight of him had awakened something primal and hungry within her, and she couldn’t resist pressing just a little.

“Does it feel very good?”

“Yeh know it does.”

“Well, I don’t really know. Not really. I mean, I’ve never…that is, I’m not married, you see…”

“So? No need fer a husband when yer on yer own.” She frowned up at him. That didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t possible for a woman…was it? He shook his head, laughing softly. “Yeh really never?”

That was not nearly enough of an explanation. “Never what?”

“Turned yer own tide?”

Elizabeth’s frown deepened. “Beg pardon?”

Barbossa chuckled again. “Never weighed yer own anchor?”

Elizabeth couldn’t prevent her own laugh. “Captain Barbossa, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He cupped her cheek and pressed his lips to her ear. “Do yeh touch yerself?”

Elizabeth stiffened, breath caught in her throat. “No. Women don’t do that sort of thing.”

Barbossa snorted. “’Course they do. Everyone does. Should try it sometime.”

Barbossa withdrew his hand and leaned his head back against the pillow. One arm still curled around her, letting the warmth of his body stave off the chill. She could feel his chest move beside her as he breathed, and wondered where his other hand had gotten to. Would she even know if it slid back beneath his breeches? She couldn’t see him anymore with the blankets tucked up to their necks.

Everyone did it, did they? Did Will? Jack? Perhaps some of the men on the crew were doing so right now. Her heart raced at the very idea. And Barbossa had suggested she could too. She’d waited so long for her wedding night. Far too long. And her body ached to be touched. She wasn’t so desperate as to ask Barbossa to give her what she needed. But if she could give it to herself…

She stole a glance at him. His eyes were closed, and with the blankets covering them, he would never know. She let her fingers play against her waistband, glancing towards Barbossa’s hand on her shoulder. Could she do what he had done? Touch herself as he had, letting her own hand find her most private, pleasurable spots? He had certainly enjoyed it; his face had shown more bliss than when he stood at the helm of the ship, apple in hand and monkey on shoulder.

And the way he’d been moaning…she felt a rush of heat to her nether regions as she recalled the sound and sight of him, so perfect in that moment. Could her body feel such ecstasy? Jack’s voice came unbidden into her mind. “Curiosity…you won’t be able to resist.” She did so want to know what it felt like.

She slipped her fingers between her thighs and rested her hand over the folds of skin there. She couldn’t do what Barbossa had been doing, but perhaps if she rubbed a bit…yes that felt rather nice.

Elizabeth slid her fingers slowly back and forth. Barbossa had been moving rather fervently, but this was nice enough, soothing the ache that had begun to develop while she had watched him. Perhaps one needed to work up to such abandon. Suddenly, her middle finger slipped between her folds and met an especially sensitive bit of flesh. The skin there was soft and smooth, and the slightest motion of her finger sent a shot of intense pleasure coursing throughout her body, lingering in her breasts and the area surrounding her finger. Elizabeth gasped. That was almost unbearably good.

Barbossa’s head came up off the pillow. “By the powers, girl, I didn’t mean now!”

Elizabeth’s hand froze and she dared to meet his eyes. His eyes roved her body as though there were no blankets, no clothes, nothing separating her skin from his gaze. A slow smile spread over his face. Why did he have to look at her that way, with that smug, knowing, suggestive smile that made her all tingly inside? Damn him. How had he known what she was doing anyway? “How did you…? Never mind, I’ll stop.”

“Don’t.” Barbossa leaned back against the pillows, pulling her closer so that her head rested on his shoulder. “Just so long as yer aware that I might be watchin’.”

Her stomach tightened. He wanted to watch her? Surely he had imagined her, then, kissing him, touching him. Had he imagined touching her? Would he be picturing his own hands traveling where hers were while he watched? Imagining his long, slender fingers, that sometimes seemed more suited to holding a quill than a sword, tracing lines along her body, finding her most sensitive skin to caress? Elizabeth felt a shiver of anticipation run through her body. Yes, he did desire her. He hadn’t asked to touch her, even if he intended to envision doing so; there was no harm in letting him watch. After all, however unintentionally, he’d put on quite the show for her.

“I suppose that’s only fair. Though I can’t imagine you can see much through all these blankets – ” He pushed the covers down to her knees. “Now I’m cold.”

“Warm yerself up.”

She moved her fingers again, setting her flesh alight. Her breasts tingled. Should she touch them too? She slipped her free hand beneath her shirt and let her fingers graze a nipple. Her body stiffened. Ah, but that was good too.

“Don’t be shy, girl.” Barbossa’s voice was a velvet whisper in her ear. “If something feels good, let it out.”

She nodded, pressing her finger again against the sensitive nub she had found between her legs. So good. She let her voice creep into her exhale, recalling Barbossa’s loud groans. Amazing! It felt even better when she made her pleasure known.

She rocked her finger slowly back and forth, moaning softly in rhythm with her fingers. Barbossa’s hand slid along her arm, sending shivers through her body. His fingertips grazed the side of her breast and he paused, pressing lightly against her skin. She didn’t have enough hands for two breasts and her nether region. “Yes. Barbossa, yes.”

He groaned into her ear as he took her nipple between his finger and thumb, rolling it gently. She would never have thought to do that, but it was delightful. “Yeh wet down there?”

Wet? She was beginning to sweat a bit, but she was certainly not wet. “No.”

“Reach a little further.”

She furrowed her brow, sliding her finger between her folds, rubbing at the skin there, until she found her opening. She was positively brimming with slick, sticky fluid there. “Find it?”

She didn’t trust her voice, and simply nodded as she dipped her finger into her own wet heat. “Circles,” he whispered. She tried it, circling her finger around her opening, then back to her new favorite area.

“Oh!” Her stomach clenched and lifted her involuntarily into a half-sitting position. “Oh, that’s too much!”

“Nay, not enough. Yeh didn’t come yet, did ye?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know...how will I know?”

“Ye’ll know. Keep going.”

Elizabeth sank back against Barbossa and let her finger slowly swirl around her most sensitive area. Barbossa leaned his head against hers and she noticed his hand drift toward the buttons of his breeches. She could see him bulging against the fabric as his fingers curled into himself.

It must ache to be so constricted. If he unbuttoned, pushed his breeches down as he had before, it would surely feel better for him. And being thus freed, surely his hand would stray there, stroking his organ into increasing firmness. He’d discovered her presence much too soon; there was more pleasure to be coaxed from his body. He’d been so captivating before. How would he look now, beside her, so very close to her? She had to know. “Barbossa,” she whispered.

“’Lizbeth...I can’t not.”

“I know. Please. I want...”

“What do yeh want?”

She could scarcely breathe. “To see you again.”

He unfastened his buttons so quickly she was surprised he didn't rip any of them off. He pushed them down a bit, freeing himself and she watched, utterly transfixed, as his hand wrapped around his length. He released a low groan as he slid his hand slowly from the tip to the base.

Elizabeth all but forgot her own fingers as she watched Barbossa. He was as firm as he’d been before, and now, up close, she could see him so much more clearly. Every nuance of color, every curve, every dark hair was clear to her. And now, she could see as his hand strayed lower, cupping his bollocks. He stood at attention, just slightly curved towards his body, and Elizabeth felt a tremor rock through her body.

Her eyes drifted upwards. His stomach was tight as his hips lifted just slightly in rhythm with his fist. She might have expected a man of his years to have gone soft, just a bit, but there was nothing soft about Barbossa. He worked his ship as hard and as often as any crew member did, and Elizabeth knew now how much exertion that required. He had earned every taut muscle, every callous, every scar.

His hand moved again, holding himself much like he held the spokes of the helm. And with that thought, she was certain she would never look at a helm the same way again. His elegant fingers curled around his length, and she crooked her own finger against herself. His were a gentleman’s hands, but as rough and practiced as any sailor’s.

“Tell me, Miss Swann. Yeh wanted to see me.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Does this satisfy, or was there something more I can do for ye?”

Her heart raced as a thousand suggestions of what he might do for her, how he might satisfy her, ran through her mind. “No. I mean, yes, it satisfies.” She swallowed thickly. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“You wanted to watch me. Are you…satisfied?”

She felt Barbossa’s eyes on her. It should have felt wrong, dirty somehow, but it didn’t. It felt…delicious. She wanted him to like what he saw, wanted so much for him to want her. He would do no more than look, and perhaps touch her just a little, she would allow no more, but oh to make him want her… She glanced to his face as his eyes traveled her body, still clothed, but close enough for him to be able to follow her curves and contours.

Barbossa smirked. “Can’t see near enough of yeh.”

The hand that had caressed her breast slid down and tugged her chemise up, and she shivered as the cool air of the cabin met her stomach. A small voice in her head whispered that she should stop him, but she couldn’t fathom why. He only wanted to see her. She could see so much of him, and felt a surge of pleasure with every stolen glance. It was only fair to offer him the same.

She nodded slightly and he pushed the thin fabric up just over a breast and cupped it, massaging gently. There simply weren’t enough words to describe such glorious sensations. She sighed into his neck and she felt his nose in her hair, his voice husky in her ear. “So beautiful.”

He really thought her beautiful? She hadn’t felt beautiful, truly beautiful in so long…since her wedding day, in fact. Since then she’d worn only breeches and boots, and not even Jack’s flirtations had made her feel like a beautiful woman.

But whether in a gown or breeches, she was the same underneath, and Barbossa liked her. Surely he’d been with countless women; he’d seen naked flesh, breasts, legs before. If he thought her beautiful, it must surely be so. Would he find the rest of her beautiful as well? She undid the top button of her breeches and followed his eyes as they focused on her hand. She offered a coy smile. “Perhaps you’ve seen enough?”

Barbossa hissed in her ear. “Little minx. Yeh know damn well that ain’t true. I’ll not force yeh, but it’ll feel better if you take them off. Make things easier.”

Elizabeth smiled. Such a delightful juxtaposition of pirate and gentleman he was. She had known, or believed at least, that he would force nothing upon her; else she’d never have come into his cabin in the first place. And her hand was feeling a bit constrained within her closed breeches.

Elizabeth undid the remaining buttons and slipped the trousers off. “It’s a bit cold.”

Barbossa sat up a bit and pulled the blankets back up over most of their legs. “Stay close.” The bed wasn’t terribly big, and with his arm wrapped tightly around her, it was near impossible to do otherwise.

She spread her legs to accommodate her hand and was suddenly and acutely aware of the press of Barbossa’s hip, thigh, and knee against her leg. So warm. His head leaned against hers as he stretched towards her. He was looking closely then. Good. She wouldn’t have to feel the least bit guilty, then, if she watched him. Intently.

She rubbed her middle finger against her folds and released a sigh of pleasure, smiling to hear his low groan and see his fist begin pumping again. She closed her eyes as her fingers swirled and rubbed, the pleasure growing more intense with each moment. She could almost imagine it was Will touching her this way. Or Jack. Or…

Barbossa? She should not be thinking of Barbossa touching her there. She should be thinking of Will, of course, or Jack, that was safe; Jack was dead. And yet it was Barbossa who was here, right here, very much alive, with one hand on her breast, the other busily pleasuring himself. Barbossa whose body was so dangerously close to hers. What if they were to trade hands for just a bit? Could she touch him that way? Could she let him touch her?

She imagined it for just a moment, his hand sliding up her thigh to caress her folds. He wouldn’t be shy, either, and he would surely know just how to touch her. How would he touch her? Could she entice him to tell her?

“You’re right. It does make things easier.” She circled a finger around her opening then stilled her hand, waiting to see if he would offer a suggestion.

His breath was hot on her ear. “Slide yer finger fore and aft.” She did, pressing gently between her folds against the soft, wet skin that sent such ripples of sweet agony through her body. “A little lower.” Another wave of hot liquid pooled at her opening. “Inside.”

Of course. She wouldn’t have thought to do that, but it made perfect sense. She slowly dipped her finger into the hot slickness she had discovered at her opening. She got as far as her first knuckle; sliding slowly in and out felt so good, she found little reason to go further. But Barbossa’s manhood was a fair bit longer than her finger, and if he was to fit inside her, she had best try fitting a bit more of her own finger first.

Not that he was going to be inside her.

He could be, though, her mind insisted on pointing out, so easily. It would require so little effort to roll on top of him, or pull him onto her. His chest would press hard against hers; his arms would hold her so tightly as he entered her, sliding easily into her soft, slick channel. It was what their bodies were meant to do, after all.

But no, she would wait for her wedding night for that. Her wedding night with Will, not Barbossa, who was Captain of this ship, and could in fact perform a marriage right here…right now.

But he hadn’t asked, and she wasn’t about to offer. She focused on her finger, pressing slowly further into herself. She was hot and slippery, almost like licking her fingers after a good meal, but tighter, and so much more pleasurable. Every stroke sent a wave of smoldering desire up into her stomach and down her thighs. “Barbossa?” she sighed.

“Yes.” He drawled the word breathily, sending shivers down her spine.

“What were you thinking about, before? While I was watching you?”

She felt his lip twitch against her hair. “Woman,” he grunted.

Obviously. Elizabeth grinned. “Who?”

“Not tellin’.”

Her stomach tightened. There could only be one reason for him to be secretive about it. “Was it me?”

“That what you want to hear?”

Of course she’d want to know that he’d been thinking of her, that he desired her. Didn’t he realize it would be alright to tell her? “The truth, Barbossa.”

“Not you.”

“Oh.” Well, really that was good. It wouldn’t be appropriate for him to be fantasizing about her. But then, it wasn’t appropriate for her to be in his bed, either, and what they were doing was about the furthest from appropriate as she’d ever gotten. “Have you ever thought of me?”

Barbossa breathed into her hair, once, twice. His fingers twitched against her breast; his other hand slowed but didn’t stop. “Might have done.”

Elizabeth grinned again. He did want her. Had he thought of her touch, her kiss? What did Captain Barbossa want? “And what did you imagine?”

His voice was barely a whisper. “Imagined you’d broken the curse. What I’d have done to yeh, once we got back to the Pearl.”

Elizabeth slid her finger in and out, matching the rhythm of his hand as it slowly sped up. “And what would you have done?”

“Taken yeh back to me cabin. Ripped that dress right off yeh. Then I’d have touched yeh, everywhere. Yer shoulders. Yer neck. Breasts, stomach, hips. Yer feet, yer thighs.” Elizabeth ran her free hand down her stomach and against her thighs as he spoke. “And then right there between yer legs. Would have made yeh spread them wide so I could see.”

She spread her legs a bit wider. “Like that?”

He moaned into her hair. “Perfect. Then I’d have kissed you, everywhere me hands had just been.”

“Even here?” Elizabeth lifted her hips slightly.

“Especially there.”

“Really?”

“Aye. Could do it now, if ye’d care to try it?”

Elizabeth turned her head. He was so close, close enough to kiss, but he wanted to kiss her elsewhere. No, that would be too much. It was one thing when they each kept their hands more or less to themselves, but if he started kissing her…“I don’t think I’m quite ready for that.”

“S’alright. It’ll feel good when y’are.”

“What next? After you’d kissed me?”

Barbossa pulled her closer. “I’d have licked yeh and sucked yeh, till yeh were wetter than the ocean and softer than the petals of a rose.” For something so vulgar, he managed to make it positively poetic. But then, how could anything that felt this good possibly be vulgar?

Elizabeth closed her eyes and let Barbossa’s words wash over her as her fingers continued their ministrations. It was perfectly safe to imagine him doing these things to her, even if she had no intentions of actually letting him do them.

“Then, when you were good and ready, I’d have climbed on top of ye, kissed yer mouth, and thrust this inside o’ yeh.” Elizabeth didn’t need to open her eyes to know what he intended to put inside of her. It would have filled her so much, more than her finger could have, stimulating every part of her.

“I’d have rocked back and forth, sliding in and out, fuckin’ yeh slow and deep.” She felt her head tilt back as she thrust her own finger slowly in and out of herself. Something wonderful was building and intensifying.

“Only slowly?” His hand was moving considerably faster than slowly. So was hers, and she couldn’t bear to stop it.

“At first, aye. But faster, once yeh got used to it. Then faster, deeper, harder. As much as you could take.” She moved faster, feeling his hips moving next to hers. She dared another glance. His hand moved more furiously now, as much as it had earlier. Her own fingers were flying, and she let herself moan into his neck the way he had. It was too much, too intense, she needed to stop, but she could never, ever stop. Just a bit more, a bit faster, her body shook, but she needed more, just a bit harder –

The world exploded into a thousand pieces, shattering in her vision as she gasped and convulsed. There was nothing in the world but this moment, her body shuddering in release, and Barbossa beside her, his arm around her shoulders anchoring her as she rode out the storm. His name rang in her ears – had she spoken it in her moment of bliss?

Gasping, she peered through her haze at him, his face smiling gently at her. All rational thought was lost to her, and he was so close, his lips parted, his eyes piercing her with their soft intensity. She’d thought of kissing him from the moment she walked into his cabin; she couldn’t resist any longer.

There was hardly a gap to close between them. Her lips found his easily, tangled with them, his tongue swirling around hers like it might have, had she allowed him to kiss her elsewhere. She couldn’t touch him with her right hand, but her left she tangled in his hair, opening her mouth to him. His lips were hot and wet and she pressed hers hard against them, barely breathing as aftershocks of pleasure rippled through her. His tongue pulsed in and out of her mouth and she whimpered as she clung to his neck, his body hot and restless beside her.

He took her hand and guided it down his chest, his stomach, lower. She gasped as she felt him close her fingers around his considerable hardness. “Please.” She couldn’t say who spoke the word.

And now, she was the sort of woman who would kiss him. Kiss him and touch him, and she was touching him, holding his most private organ in her hand. She stared in fascination as she explored this new part of him.

Until very recently, she would have had no idea what to do with a man if she held him there. If he had ever imagined her touching him there, he knew what it felt like now. Perhaps the next time he was alone, he would think of her with a memory, instead of an imagined dream. This was certainly giving her a fond memory for the next time she was alone.

His skin was hot and seemed eyelid-thin against the firmness beneath. There was a ridge along the underside and she ran her thumb down the length of it, eliciting a deep moan from Barbossa. His hand on her arm slid up and down as he held her against his side. She moved her hand towards the tip, pink and bulging atop his mast. The skin there was different, and she touched him lightly there, winding a slow circle around the small droplet of clear fluid that peaked at the very tip.

Her own wetness had felt so good; would his? She brushed it with her thumb, swirling it lower as her fingers closed around him again. “Fuck, Elizabeth, but that’s good.”

Emboldened, she curled her hand around him as she’d watched him do, recalling his earlier rhythm. A few slow strokes, then more quickly for a moment, then slowly again. “Yes,” he whispered, breathing in time to her strokes. “Yes.” He squeezed his eyes shut every time she slowed down, exhaling louder each time she sped up.

He suddenly covered her hand with his own again. “No more teasin’. So close.” He guided her hand up and down, slowly at first, then faster, his fingers covering hers until she found his rhythm. His head fell backwards as his breath came faster and harder, his hand around her shoulders gripping her tighter. He fondled his bollocks as she stroked and watched his fingers cupping them as he had her breast. He withdrew his hand suddenly, reaching for his handkerchief on his nightstand. “Don’t stop.” She hadn’t realized she’d slowed her motion, but she increased her pace at his breathless command.

He held the handkerchief against the tip as his hips thrust upwards. “Gonna come, coming.” His voice was barely a whisper, and then she felt it between her fingers as he threw his head back and growled. His “yarrgh” was no whisper, and she stared in fascination as she felt his convulsions against her palm. Two fierce contractions, then another, then they grew fainter, not so unlike the sensations she had just experienced. Something hot and sticky rolled over the backs of her fingers. His seed? That explained the handkerchief.

She turned back to watch his face as it contorted in pleasure, his eyes rolling skyward and lips parting to pant a few desperate breaths as his body stilled beneath her hand.

Barbossa grinned at her. “Can let go now.” Regretfully, Elizabeth withdrew her hand, bringing it close to her face to examine the milky substance on her fingers. So strange, that from this thick, sticky fluid might spring a child, if she took it within her, as she would when they…but they wouldn’t be doing that. In and of itself, the substance was rather distasteful, but when she considered it as evidence of Barbossa’s pleasure, the pleasure she’d given him…Elizabeth smiled faintly at her hand. She had called this forth from his body, by the very hand on which it now pooled.

Still, it might have been nice to find a cake of soap.

Barbossa removed his arm from around her shoulders to mop up what the handkerchief had missed. He noticed her movement, and what he had left on her, and caught her hand in his own. “Apologies, Miss.”

He found a dry corner of the handkerchief and gently wiped it along her fingers until most of his essence was gone. “Thank you.”

Her eyes locked with his for a moment. There was so much to thank him for. He seemed to understand her intentions, and he nodded. “Thank you, Miss Swann.”

She smiled and pulled her breeches back on, straightening her shirt. He followed suit, and when he was satisfied and buttoned up, he pulled the blankets back up and she nestled against his chest, not minding his lack of shirt in the least.

“Warm enough now?”

“Yes, quite. Thank you.”

“If that’s what it takes to warm yeh up, yer welcome anytime, Miss Swann.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Perhaps.”

“Ah. I warn yeh, though, it’s gonna get colder before it gets warmer.”

Elizabeth nestled closer and he gave her a squeeze before relaxing his arms around her. “Then I suppose I had best hold on to that key.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and she sighed into his neck. “Aye. That yeh should.”