Pairing/Characters: Barbossa/random whore
Word Count: 747 I think
Rating: let’s say NC17
Genre: erotique ^_^
Summary: Barbossa visits a ‘house of ill repute’
Disclaimer: Mouse = ownage.
Spoilers: If you ain’t seen ‘em both yet, you don’t deserve to be protected!
Warnings: Only if Nice!Barbossa frightens you
Notes: I based this on my thoughts about the curse, about how a man like Barbossa who clearly enjoys the finer things of life (pirating was probably just about the most hedonistic thing you could do back then) would deal with not being able to find fulfilment in anything. I decided he’d adapt himself to enjoying the act of watching others enjoy themselves- he clearly enjoyed watching Elizabeth eat that night on the Black Pearl.
Special Thanks: To Geoffrey and his apple! Joy!!
Barbossa leaned against the heavy oak and cracking leather of the old chair. The room was dark save for a few fat candles burning low in their holders by the bed. Downstairs the sounds of fighting, gambling and singing could be heard. Drunken men and women were spilling out into the streets, shouting at each other and kissing in the shadows.
“Right then, m’lord, sorry to keep you.” A woman said suddenly, appearing in the doorway and carrying a lantern.
“No need for apologisin’.” Barbossa purred, kicking his boots off. “I’m happy to wait for the deliverance of such angelic a form as yourself.”
The woman smiled shyly and placed the lantern on the table. She came toward him slowly, tugging at the lace on her bodice.
“Kind of you to say…” she murmured, sitting on his knee. He kissed her cheek and she grinned.
“You’ve always been so nice to me, ever since that first night...” She said, smoothing the linen of his shirt against his chest. Barbossa lifted her head with his finger under her chin and smiled.
“Never fall in love with a pirate, darlin’. Especially an undead one.”
She smiled and kissed him. Barbossa enjoyed it, but he felt nothing. The curse sucked out all sensation; he couldn’t feel a thing, not the softness of her lips nor the wet warmth of her tongue. She unlaced his tunic and began to do what whores did best, while he leaned back and studied the patterns on the ceiling.
‘I always mean t’ask,” she said, tracing her fingers on his bare chest, “all them scars- I’ve never seen so many on one body. Where d’you get ‘em all?”
Barbossa sighed and fished around in his memories. “Hard to say exactly where each one was born, but a few do have special meanin’.” He sat up straighter and removed his shirt completely.
“This one-” he dragged a finger down a thread thin, 14 inch gash down the side of his stomach- “looks terrible, but ‘twas only a minor wound. This one, this one, those three little’uns and that round one there were all quite serious- well, they would’ve been, had I been alive at the time I was inflicted with ‘em.”
The girl murmured a noise of understanding and kissed the places he’s indicated.
“This one here, this long thin crooked one- Jack Sparrow gave me that one.”
“That good-lookin’ pirate you were ‘ere wiv last time?” she said, kissing that part too.
Barbossa laughed and pushed her red hair back from her face. “Yes, that’s him. You’ve a good memory there, lass.”
She shrugged and ran he hands over his bare stomach. “I’ve ‘eard the other girls talkin’ about him. A right charmer they say he is, and a proper gentlem’n- till he spots unuvver lady.”
“Aye- or another gentl’man…” Barbossa murmured gently as she returned to her task.
“D’you say somethin’ then?”
“No lass, just a sigh. Keep on.”
He let her do what she wanted, bending him into all kinds of positions and into all hours of the night. She writhed and wriggled like a serpent, and he was entranced by the actions.
He always asked for her when they visited this port- the other women were so rough and ungracious; grunting and bouncing for no more than a few minutes and then they were over- wether they’d grown used to the fact that their customers usually only needed a few minutes or it was as much as they could bear themselves- Barbossa didn’t know, but it didn’t matter really. What he really wanted was the experience of watching a woman enjoy herself.
Although the curse had taken his sensations, it couldn’t take the pleasure of the show. As the years had gone by and the hunger for fulfilment had baked inside him, Barbossa had adapted himself, twisting his ideas of satisfaction from a mere experience of the flesh to the more etheric principles of the voyeur. If he were a religious man he would have considered it a spiritual evolution of sorts- but he wasn’t. He just called it surviving.
He ran his hands absently up her legs as she sat straddled on him. She stopped moving suddenly.
“Here, I got something for you- I remembered from last time...” She looked absently around the room again. “Toss me that bag by your ‘ead.”
Barbossa reached up beside him and found a small purse. He passed it to her and she pulled out a large ripe red apple.
“Nicked it from the kitchen as soon as I ‘eard you were in port.”
The girl polished the fruit on her thigh, before bringing it up to her mouth for a sharp crisp bite. Barbossa laughed, and for one brief moment, he almost felt fulfilled.