Word Count: 1315
Genre: het, missing moment/alternative version
Summary: Elizabeth finds herself remembering more than she wants to…
Disclaimer: not mine, no makey money. I just do it for perverse funsies.
Warnings: umm…zombie!erotica? 0_o
Notes: okay, I finally bit the bullet – Barbossabeth goes up a notch!
Special 'Thanks': to all the depraved people in LJ land who encourage me. This is my ‘secret’ shame. I mean, I don’t even really like Elizabeth, and here I am puppeting her against me lovely captain under the façade of harassing her…
Elizabeth sat in the chair beside Tia Dalma’s worktable, watching the dark-skinned woman going about a charm that was supposedly going to protect them on their journey to rescue Jack. She drew her knees up under her chin, listening to Pintel and Ragetti arguing about ghosts.
‘But we ain’t dead no more.” Pintel had said, frustration in his voice. “So how can we be ghosts?”
Ragetti raised the eyebrow over his working eye. “Not that kind of haunting-” he replied, “Look, all I’m sayin’ is-”
“We are all of us haunted by one ting or anudder.” Tia interupted, dropping copper coins into a wooden bowl filled with blood and seawater. She wound a red string around a crab claw and added it to the bowl, stirring it.
“Yes. ‘Zactly.” Ragetti replied, as if in disbelief someone finally understood him.
“Even you?” Elizabeth asked Tia, watching Barbossa and Will glaring silently at each other across the room out of the corner of her eye. Tia laughed. “Aye girlie, even meself.”
Elizabeth frowned slightly, struggling against her own ghosts.
“I’m not so sure- I can’t think of anything…” she lied, ignoring the misty visions of Jack grinning in her mind.
Barbossa crossed the room, dragging his hand lazily across Tia’s’ shoulders as he passed her. “I can think of at least one ghostie yeh’ve had inside yeh…” he said, grinning at her and putting an arm around Tia’s waist. Elizabeth blushed furiously, resenting the publicity of his insinuation. She stood up and bustled outside, dumping herself in a rotting cane sofa on the corner of the veranda. She closed her eyes and tilted her head toward the swamp breeze, cool against the heat of her flushed face.
She couldn’t help thinking back, now that Barbossa had so kindly reminded her, of that night in his cabin after their dinner. She had been full of bread and meat, and more than a little drunk on the strong wine that Barbossa had filled and re-filled her goblet with.
“Do you enjoy praying upon me?” she remembered saying, holding her breath in fear against the closeness of his body. “Aye I do,” he whispered back to her (she could hear it still now, the low growl of pleasure in his voice). “And in my situation I take what I can get in the way of enjoyment,” he had added. “Bein’ that nothin’ won’t ever satisfy me until Cortez is replayed, I tend t’ grasp at every little…opportunity.”
Elizabeth breathed in hard and shuddered a little, repressing the blood stirring in her from the memory of it- the mixture of arousal and repulsion that still churned in her now as he had run his hands over her- rough skin of his palms whispering against the purple silk of that borrowed dress. But though she concentrated so hard she though her skull might burst, she couldn’t forget what had happened….
“You’re lying.” She gasped. “About the curse- I don’t believe you.”
Barbossa chuckled. “Don’t yeh now?” he grinned. He grabbed her by the waist and swung around so that they stood in a pool of moonlight coming through the window. As if a magic lantern had been lit, Barbossa’s solid form melted away in the cold blue light, and bones shone where skin had been, his eyes glinting in their hollows, his bare ribcage rising and falling with his breathing under a shredded waistcoat. Elizabeth baulked and tried to tear away from him, but his skeleton fingers held her fast.
“Seein’ is believin’, so I’ve heard…” he whispered, and leaned in to kiss her. She grimaced as his dry teeth dragged across her tightly shut lips. Barbossa swung her round again, out of the moonlight, and as he did so his kiss became more human. His lips were dry from years of thirst, and his tongue too large and forceful for her delicate mouth, but none of these things made her pull away. She wanted to break free -it repulsed her to think that they were standing there, his undead body pressed upon hers- but the chemicals in her mind and the blood pulsing in her lower body mutinied against her thoughts, and she opened her mouth, kissing back.
Barbossa gripped her like steel- one hand resting on the small of her back, the other searching for a gap in her skirts. He found it; a tear in the side, and his rough thick fingers wove their way through the underskirts to the bare skin of her thighs.
Elizabeth let out a low hollow cry- years of exploring her own body under the covers in the quiet of the night had taught her where the pleasure lies most, but having someone else touch her there- and not just anyone else, a filthy, swaggering, undead pirate captain- she buckled, her whole body consumed by a low buzz that ached through her bones and made her want to dig her fingers into his shoulders and draw blood- though for passion or hatred she could quite say. Barbossa pulled his hand out from her skirts and caught her.
“Yeh best be lyin’ down, I think…” he said in her ear. “Can’t have yeh swoonin’…”
“It’s the wine…” Elizabeth protested, covering her actions. “And this dress…it’s too tight.” Barbossa chuckled throatily and lifted her up, carrying her to the bed. He dumped her on the soft mattress and lay over her, propping himself up with his arms either side.
“Have yeh never had someone but yerself touch yeh before Missy?” he whispered, his tone inferring he knew the answer.
Elizabeth shook her head. “I’m a lady in more than one respect.” She said proudly, her words slurring. Barbossa nodded.
“I can teach yeh things...” he whispered hoarsely, “an’ touch yeh in ways yeh young mind never thought to wonder on…” he bent his head and kissed her throat, dragging his lips across her fair skin. She arched against it.
“Not much fun for you though is it?” she sighed, looking up at the tattered canopy above. “I mean, not being able to feel…”
Barbossa laughed. “Ten years I’ve had the get used to th’ loopholes in the heathen curse, Miss Turner.” He said, forcing a gap between her legs with his knee. “The only fleetin’ pleasures I get these days are in sight and sound.” He came to his knees, unlacing her bodice. “But I’ll see yeh face as I work at yeh, and I’ll hear yeh cries in response to me touch. No Miss Turner, I won’t feel nothin’ -but I’ll sure as hell enjoy the show.”
Elizabeth shook her head, wishing for the third time that day that her mind would forget things that happened while she was drunk. She screamed at herself for re-living the thrill of his hands on her still-developing breasts, his orders to sit like this, lift her leg here and push down there…she shivered. The cool breeze across the swamp waters was turning icy, and the candlelight was starting to glow from other huts- blurs of warm light in the creeping fog. A creak came from behind her and she looked up to see Tia standing in the doorway.
“Find dem ghosties den have yeh, gerl?” Tia asked, crow feathers clutched in her hand. Elizabeth swallowed.
“Come inside now, mah child.” The witch purred. “Swamp fog no good for lungs as young as yers…” Elizabeth nodded and stood up, Tia stepping back to let her in. The witch smiled knowingly at her as she passed. “keep dem toughts in yer head fer lonely times,” she whispered. “but don’ never be ashamed o’ dose who give dere love to yeh. Good men or bad- Tia can tell yeh, dere’s nutten’ like the passions of a haunted man...spirited in more den one way!”
Tia laughed heartily at her own joke, and Elizabeth ducked inside, her eyes meeting Will’s briefly on her way.