Heather Layne (heatherlayne_n) wrote in piratechallenge,
Heather Layne

Challenge #20

Title: Her Game
Author: heatherlayne_n
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Elizabeth...?
Word Count: approx. 1,440
Rating: mild PG-13
Genre: Gen, angst-ish
Summary: Challenge #20 = Jack needs rescuing
Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit.
Spoilers: For DMC, barely. I don't know when this would take place. Perhaps after AWE, though since I haven't seen anything about that movie, there are no spoilers for it here.
Warnings: Messy eating
Notes: I started this before work today, and finished it later at night. Sorry it wasn't in in time for the actual deadline of Challenge 20.

Captain Jack Sparrow surveyed his crew, sprawled about as they all were, resting through the hottest part of the day. The crew of the Pearl was unused to the break, always working their allotted shifts no matter what the time of day or night, since the ocean breeze always kept them cool enough, but here on the island where they had stopped to stock up on water and whatever meat and fresh fruit they could find, even standing up right now seemed like a mighty poor idea. So they lounged in the shade just at the edge of the beach, where sand began to blend messily into leaves and trees and vines, and sipped cool water they'd gotten from the little stream that flowed into the sea, and munched drowsily on whatever odd native fruits grew here.

Jack sat a little apart from the rest of them, and further down toward the shore, alternating between sips of the amazingly fresh, cold water (a novelty, in the life of a sailor, when all your water was months old and came from mouldy casks in the hold) and, of course, rum, which he had snuck ashore in a small flask and kept secreted away in his striped sash. The sun was absolutely blinding on the ocean, and he was glad, as always, for the kohl he wore smeared round his eyes; it helped with the glare at least a little. Other than the soft pounding of waves on the beach, and faint animal noises from the jungle behind him, all was quiet.

All was not, however, peaceful. Jack found his eyes being dragged again and again to a very interesting spot ten or so yards to his left, and a little behind him. A spot just under the canopy of a squat, leafy tree. A spot just against its trunk. A spot occupied by Miss Elizabeth Swann. Will lay flat on his back next to her, eyes closed and hands clasped over his chest, dead asleep from all the work he'd done in the morning. Good lad, hard worker. Lovestruck dolt if he ever saw one, but Jack didn't hold that against him. But it wasn't young William who held his attention. It wasn't even, exactly, Miss Elizabeth Swann that did right now. It was more the area of her mouth, precisely, and even more specifically her lips and tongue. And her pale white hands, and her delicate wrists. And the fruit juice simply dripping down all these places.

She held a piece of fruit in one hand, and her knife in the other, and had been carving off generous hunks of the thing for some time, slipping them between her full lips, sucking the juice from them, clamping her lips closed around the slivers. He had no idea what kind of fruit it was--hard, greenish skin with brown patches (natural, not from bruising)--and a soft yet fleshy red-orange succulence inside. He'd tossed it to her unthinkingly before they all settled down for their siesta, but he'd never dreamed it would cause him so much trouble later on.

Licking, sucking, slurping; it was all quite unbecoming of a lady of her station, but then, she didn't appear much like a lady anymore, not in her breeches and blousy shirt, with her wild hair tangled about her face. Nor was she in her station, or that one which she had been born to, anyway. She had a new station now, of Pirate Princess, though no force in heaven or earth could make him tell her that's how he thought of her now. Or maybe Warrior Pirate Princess. The girl was a good hand with a sword, and fierce in battle, with her lovely lips stretched into a frightening grin as she hacked and slashed and thrust.

Ooh. Better to not think about thrusting. No, he was just watching, that was all. Dripping, oozing, gushing. Sticky-sweet fingers tinged with sea salt. Sugary juice covering the creases in her knuckles. Lick them clean as he lay her down in the sand, his tongue between her fingers, across her palm as he....

No! No, no, and no. Mustn't think such thoughts as those. He turned to look out at the ocean once more, concentrating on the steady monotony of the waves. He took another swig of his rum. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Fruit juice and sweat on her neck, grit in her hair and inside her breeches where.... No! A thousand curses on that damned girl! She strutted around like a boy, no, like a man, as if the breeches and boots made her one. She had no idea how very much of her was woman beneath the ragged shirt and beat-up tricorn and dirt and grime, no idea what she made him think about, (him and most of the crew, if he thought about it, which he didn't, because he didn't want to think about his men thinking about Lizzie, no matter what Lizzie thought of them, or what she thought about him for that matter, and why was he calling her Lizzie now, where had that come from?). "Bugger," he cursed under his breath.

He had just started to make his wobbly way to his feet to putter off down the shore, walk it off, when the sand to his left shifted, and a little of the sun was blocked out. "'Ello, luv," he drawled, immediately in character. He had to play a certain part with Elizabeth, had to come on as leering and lusty so that she would shun him and keep to young Will as she should.

"Care for a bite?" she asked, her mouth full.

He went all hot, then all cold, within the span of a second, and his eyes widened. Then he realized she meant the sticky bit of fruit she held out in front of his face. "Er, uh, I'm fine, thanks, luv."

"No, try it, Jack. It's the most amazing thing I've ever tasted." Ecstasy shone in her eyes as she held the piece closer to his lips. The scent was clingy, almost overly sweet. "It really is quite excellent."

Jack reached up gingerly to take the fruit with two fingers, wondering how long she would have to crew a pirate ship before she would lose her lovely lady's diction and enunciation. However, before he could pluck the slice from her hand, she slipped it between his lips, a long, warm sliver of it. It slid over his tongue and he pressed it against the roof of his mouth, feeling the flesh practically melt in his mouth. However, all of that was lost on Jack when the tips of her finger and thumb pressed against his lips. He looked over at her with just his eyes, a comical gesture given the way the rest of his face was frozen perfectly still.

"Told you," she whispered, her voice low and more gravelly than he'd ever heard it. He swallowed the fruit without even tasting it, instead lingering on the salt-sweet taste of her skin. He licked his lips, and she wiped away a dribble of juice from the corner of his mouth using the soft pad of her thumb. Elizabeth's eyes never broke from his gaze until she dropped her hand and shifted to stare out to sea. "Will we be sailing in the morning, Captain?"

"Aye," Jack said with a nod.

"So we will make our beds here on the island tonight?"


She looked at him again, and this time he turned his head to meet her gaze. "Thank you, Captain." The tip of her pink tongue darted out to lick at the stickiness of the juice, then she stood and brushed the sand off her breeches. "We should get back to work soon," she called over her shoulder as she marched back to still-sleeping Will.

"Aye," breathed Jack, turning once more to the sea and the Pearl anchored not far out. It was a dangerous game this girl was playing. Elizabeth was using him, taunting him, teasing him. Building up to something, he was sure, keeping her cards close to her vest, waiting for the opportune moment, just as he had taught her. She had all the bargaining chips, she knew the numbers displayed on the dice beneath his cup, while he hardly knew a damn thing about her. And Lord help him but he wanted to play her game so badly it made him ache, even though he knew he would lose if he started.

"God save me," he muttered, then sprawled back on the sand, covered his face with his hat, and tried to fall asleep.
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