A/N: Damn… I've missed good ol' Sparrabeth! Anyway, this is a one-shot, and it takes place right after the 'Curiosity' scene, and I guess it's AU, since Jack stays on the ship. Either way, enjoy!
Don't Let It Slip
Jack Sparrow is absolutely furious.
Most people that have seen him angry at this point would probably be pretty agreed with each other about how he acts then: Bitter, dogged, his warm, smoldering eyes, that usually are like two black suns, turn into harsh, grim lumps of coal. But the thing is that he's usually pretty easy on everything.
But that isn't the case now.
He is furious.
He slams the door to his cabin open, it rattles into the wall behind, he storms into the room, his jaw clenched and those harsh, grim eyes standing out from his face, he picks up a stack of maps and throws it into the wall, he walks up to his clustered desk, sweeps everything down from it, books, rum bottles and navigation instruments lands on the floor in a loud bang and a cloud of dust.
He pauses, listens to his own ragged breathing before he lifts his ring-dressed fists and bangs them into the empty wooden surface with all his force.
And then he stops again, puts two fingertips against his closed eyelids and bares his teeth, allows a frustrated, animal growl escape his throat.
Yes. It really was close.
He was so close, so awfully bloody close to get everything he wants. Everything.
He could've had everything.
Because that's what she is.
Jack suddenly realizes this as he tries to calm his heavy breathing and stares down at the mess he's made with a black gaze.
She's everything. Elizabeth is everything. Maybe not everything he wants, a greedy soul like his constantly thirsts for more, constantly hungers for more wealth, more women, more rum, but she's still everything.
She's small and pure and innocent, she's powerful and strong like a flashing, mighty thunder goddess when she has a sword in her hand, she's…
At the next thought, Jack sinks to his knees, not as much out of surrender as out of frustration, and leans his forehead against his arms, folded on the table, quickly straightens up, rubs his eyes with his fingertips. He's so bothered, so desiring, so living right now, he feels every eyelash against his fingers, every heartbeat that sends blood, pulsing, hot, boiling, burning through his veins.
Elizabeth is a deceitful, traitorous little vixen, a treacherous little fairy that dances over his deck on light little feet, beautiful to look at, terribly beautiful, but he knows as well as the next man that that beauty, that dancing little fairy can dance him away from knowledge and sense, he can get too busy looking at those batting eyelashes, those parted, luscious lips, to notice that she dances outside of the rail, keeps floating in the air in front of him, and laughs cruelly when he tries to follow her out in that open, dangerous thing and then falls straight into the water, straight into the misery.
He doesn't love her.
It's not just something he tries to convince himself. He really does not love her.
But he wants her.
Jack grunts, frustrated, and scrapes his nails over his cheekbones.
By God, he wants her. Every boiling heartbeat tells him that, every cell in his body screams for her, after that soft, pale skin, naked against his own…
And he was so close. He was so damn close to get her. She was there, in front of him, open, waiting, tried to pretend to be in control, even though he saw confusion in her honey eyes, how it was mixed with playfulness, with the newly awakened, blooming lust of a young woman.
Jack's masculine growling turns into a childish whimper as that memory comes back, the memory from just a few minutes ago that he still relives so clearly that it might as well could've taken place right now.
Her hoarse whispering tickling his ear, her soft, tanned skin caressing his hand, her words, so teasing and still so serious, so dreadfully serious: You're going to want it…
Yes. He wants it. He wants her. Conscience and Will and engagements can go wherever the hell they wanted, he wants her. And he's never let anything he wanted, at least not something he wanted so badly that he could feel it like a fire in every single part of his body, slip between his fingers before.
But since you're a good man, I know you'd never do anything to disrespect my honor…
Honor. Right. She has no honor. She's a pirate, that's exactly why he would've kissed her.
Yes. He would. If that black spot, that bloody goddamn black spot, hadn't appeared, he knows he would've kissed her, he would've grabbed those slim shoulders and coax that fierce, take-what-you-want-and-give-nothing-back-pirate she really was out of her, he'd pour his compassion and his want into her with his lips, teeth, tongue, and that good man she tries to make it seem like he was would go even deeper down into his subconscious and never wake up again. He would've done that because he knows it's best for her, because he knows there's nothing left for her in Port Royal.
But it's too late now. Only about ten minutes, and still way too late.
Elizabeth is on that island. She's on that island with Norrington, and she's looking for that heart. For her own profits. Or Will's.
Jack buries his face in his hands with a moaning. Too late…
What he wants…
And it's too late. The moment's gone.
Steps from light little fairy feet dressed in pirate boots she's found in the rum cellar. Steps. Elizabeth's steps.
Going for his door. Jack gets up.
She's going towards his cabin, and the frustrated fire inside him gets different, gets sparkling, lustfully joyous, because suddenly, he knows.
He knows why she's coming here. She might not know, but he does.
And he also knows, in some way, he knows that nothing will interrupt them this time. No black spots, no Will, no Davy Jones, nothing. It will happen.
He draws in a shaky breath.
It will happen.
And now, she opens the door. He can't read her face, but he knows. He knows why she's here.
"I heard all this noise when I got into the longboat," Elizabeth says and steps into the room. "What are you doing?"
Jack grins lightly. And for the first time since he met her, he doesn't want his eyes to show his own teasing, enticing glint. Instead, he wants then to glitter with the raw, itching, burning lust he feels by seeing her. Here. In his cabin.
And by knowing that she'll soon be stretched out on his bed, naked, writing, moaning. And there's nothing she can do about it.
"Jack?" Elizabeth repeats with that little smile playing in the corner of her mouth. "Is everything alright?"
Jack's smile gets wider.
"Everything's great, love. Come in, if you please, and close the door behind you."
Wow… If this hadn't been a one-shot, there'd be SMUT ahead! But either way, REVIEW like crazy!