A/N: This was written in response to a challenge by JackySparrowsRum to write a Barbossa-centered smutfic.

Those of you who have read my Pirates of May series will recognize that this is a scene that fits into the days between when Turk awakes from his coma after the amputation, and the arrival of the Rogue Wave in Tortuga. The story of the kidnapped lady doctor that Barbossa comes to fancy after she saves his bo'sun Turk should be easy enough to follow even without having read the rest.

While those of you familiar with my writing know that I typically keep things limited to tasteful innuendo and playful insinuations, all I can say about this little oneshot is mind the rating. This is Barbossa, this is smut, and it's rated M for good reason! Ye've been warned, but I hope you find the naughty humor intended in this if you read on!


The World Loves a Spice of Wickedness ~*~


Barbossa slouched in his chair, letting his head fall against the back with a sigh of contentment that ended in a soft groan of pleasure; one arm dangled languidly while the other hand held a pewter cup of the finest black rum. He was in danger of spilling the drink as it slipped gradually from his fingers in small increments, but as he closed his eyes and moaned softly again, he was too distracted by what the fetching blonde on her knees before him was doing to give a bilge rat's arse about the rum.

Rum he could get more of at any time that he wished, but when was the last time a woman had done this for him?

None too recently.

And a woman such as this one?


Barbossa opened his eyes just long enough to glance down at the cascade of golden hair spilling across his lap and unconsciously wove the fingers of his free hand through her silken tresses, smiling to himself and letting his eyes close as his head fell back once more against the chair.

It was a dream – he knew it was, for the chances of the well-bred, educated, yet slightly naïve young physician having ever pleasured a man in this way were next to none in waking life, never mind the way she was currently sucking his cock like a seasoned Tortuga whore.

At the moment he didn't care that it was a dream, as long as it didn't end too soon and leave him lying awake, unsatisfied in both his dreaming life and his waking one. Judging by the way he was reacting as she moaned softly herself and redoubled her efforts, this dream really only needed to last another minute.

Panting like an overheated dog as she drew him closer to the edge, he was only vaguely aware of his own fingers partially crushing the cup he held, leaving the soft metal deformed and rum spilling over his hand. He dropped it at last, forsaking it to weave his wet fingers tightly into her hair alongside his other hand, trembling and gasping as she upped her tempo and that of his pulse.

"Bloody fuckin' hell," he gasped, sitting up involuntarily. His breathing became ragged for the last few seconds, and he uttered a feral, wordless snarl, even as his climax spilled from him and beyond her full lips, which were so eagerly encircling his hard flesh.

He hung his head, panting still as he rode out the wave of intense pleasure, groaning softly one last time as she gently withdrew, trailing her lips along his smooth skin.

Utterly spent, he collapsed back into the chair, savoring her soft warmth as she settled herself onto his lap and caressed his cheek.

When he opened his eyes he was looking about his cabin, dimly lit by a small shaft of morning sun, and he determined through the haze of first waking that the dream was over.

Which left him with a bit of a problem, he realized, after lifting his head from the pillow and gazing southward. Apparently his brain hadn't differentiated for his cock that it was only in the dream that he was getting blown, and his expectant member was clearly more awake that the rest of him.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, letting his head fall back against the pillow again.

This had to stop.

Not that this sort of thing didn't happen on occasion, especially after such a vivid dream, but it had been a constant and frustrating occurrence ever since she'd come aboard his ship.

He smiled wickedly to himself as he lay there. Actually, she hadn't come aboard his ship yet, but that was something he was more than willing to remedy for her if he could finagle himself the opportunity.

Which he definitely planned to do, but it was taking all the skill and restraint he possessed to this point to reel her in one small step at a time, ensuring that he gained her trust and didn't frighten her off.

Of course, he wanted her for more than purely physical reasons, which was why he was taking such care with making sure that she trusted him, but he had to admit he wouldn't be opposed to having her in his bed sooner rather than later. Perhaps then he'd then have a more appealing way to deal with the needs of the overeager entity below decks.

Urgent pounding sounded at the door to his cabin, and irritated at the amount of noise being made so early in the morning, Barbossa bade the monster below his beltline to be patient just a bit longer, and it slunk reluctantly off to slumber once more, as he dragged himself out of bed and snarled at the knocker to enter.

Turk yanked the door open and all but barged into the cabin.

"Yeh need to do somethin' about this situation!" he demanded, obviously annoyed.

"What situation?" Barbossa asked, looking over the bandages on what was left of Turk's recently mangled arm, and drawing a shirt on over his head.

"That woman!" Turk grumped.

"I assume ye mean Doctor Gray," Barbossa replied calmly as he sat and drew on his boots.

"Yeh seen any other friggin' women aboard this ship recently, Barbossa?" Turk continued grouchily. "'Course I mean her!"

"And what about her has ye so unsettled, Master Turk?" Barbossa asked, leaning back in the same chair he'd just dreamed about and folding his arms across his chest.

His thoughts drifted momentarily to how the dream had started with Madeline sitting in his lap in this very spot, her arms wrapped tightly about his neck as she kissed him hungrily. He'd had the cup of rum in one hand, and the other was casually fondling a firm breast, and she'd pressed herself against him harder and moaned against his mouth when he'd managed to slip his hand inside her dress and began running his thumb back and forth across a deliciously responsive nipple...

"...we get to Tortuga!" Turk was saying.

"What?" Barbossa asked, emerging from his distraction.

"She says I'm not fit enough to go ashore when we get to Tortuga!" Turk repeated impatiently.

"I reckon she'd know best," Barbossa replied absently.

"Yeh can't mean that!" Turk interjected, clearly becoming more upset. "Do yeh know how long it's been since I've properly bedded a wench?"

The same amount of time as himself, Barbossa figured. It had been even longer since he'd had a woman pleasure him in other ways, which was probably the reason for the dream he kept considering. He thought again about how she'd gently removed his hand from her dress and slipped from his lap, dropping to her knees on the floor between his. His hopes of what she might be up to were realized when she'd smiled at him sweetly and gone to work undoing his breeches and then gently tugged them open.

"Well, I'll tell yeh how long it's been," Turk continued.

Barbossa knew just how long, and how hard it had been by the time her delicate fingers had started teasing with feathery strokes, and he'd sunk back in his chair in sweet surrender to let her have her way with him.

"Too friggin' long!" Turk said, completing the answer to his own question

"Aye, tell me about it," Barbossa said in a commiserative manner, "but if those be the doctor's orders, than I reckon I'm not about to contradict what she thinks is best for what's left of yer bloody carcass."

Not in a million years, he thought, if there might be some remote chance she might actually wrap those lovely surgeon's fingers around his cock the way she'd done in his dream. Of course, being a surgeon, she probably preferred a more anatomically precise word than cock, but if she preferred penis to cock, or phallus to prick, he didn't really care, as long as it was his anatomy she was wrapping those sensual lips around.

"Yer the fuckin' captain - yeh could override her!" Turk said, a measure of panic slipping into his words.

Oh, how he'd like to override her.

Barbossa shook his head. "Oh, no. I'm not sayin' anythin' that'll lessen yer chances of getting' back to bein' anythin' close to useful again, ye great bloody ox."

Turk opened his mouth to reply, closed it, opened it to try again, and then shut it once more as a look of suspicion replaced the look of horrified disbelief. He narrowed his eyes at his captain as he spoke.

"Yeh don't want to make her mad, 'cause yeh think it'll lessen yer chances of gettin' under her skirt, don't yeh?

Barbossa took on a wounded expression. "Here I am, worried about yer health and welfare, and ye accuse me of bein' concerned with naught but chasin' a piece of arse."

He purposely failed to mention that he also didn't want to jeopardize his chances of getting her in the brig and playing the game of Captured Randy Pirate Captain and Oh So Naughty Admiral's Daughter that his unconscious brain had come up with two nights ago.

"I think there might be other parts of her besides her arse that yer concerned with as well," Turk said accusingly, starting to grin. He knew Barbossa well enough to know almost exactly what was on his best friend's mind. "I might have missed a few days, but I've been awake after me injury long enough to see the way yeh look at her."

Barbossa smirked a little. "And just how might that be?" he asked.

"Like a starvin' man starin' across the room at a feast," Turk replied.

Which was only fair, Barbossa thought, knowing the way she'd feasted on him in the dream. He rolled his eyes at his bo'sun, trying to dismiss his accusation, but Turk spoke up again before he could say anything.

"Don't yeh roll yer eyes at me, Hector. I've known yeh too long. Yer after that sweet little thing, an' yeh know it!" He yanked out a chair and sat down, tired after getting worked up so soon after his devastating injury. "Bloody hell. Since I've been conscious again I've seen yeh friggin' holdin' doors fer her and pullin' out her chair and shit."

Barbossa gestured at him dismissively again. "'Tis merely the proper way to treat a proper lady, Turk."

He smirked to himself in his mind. But proper ladies didn't swallow and like it, now did they?

"And since when does a rogue like you concern himself with how properly a lady should be treated?" Turk demanded, the grin on his face undiminished.

Barbossa scowled. "Since she saved yer pathetic arse and has behaved in an honorable way aboard me ship, that's when."

"So, she means nothin' to yeh?" Turk asked skeptically.

"She's nice enough, and like any other pirate aboard this ship, I'd not kick her out of me bunk, but..." Barbossa shrugged indifferently.

"I see," Turk said, appearing thoughtful for a moment. "So, yer sayin' that it doesn't matter to yeh that she's out on deck at the moment laughin' and flirtin' with Bellamy?"


Turk chuckled deviously as he stood, knowing he'd gotten the reaction he was seeking by the unhappy look that had just crossed Barbossa's face. "We'll discuss later how yer gonna take my side in the shore leave matter, so I don't inform yer proper lady that she has a notorious pirate lord lustin' after her sweet little cunny-warren."

"Get out," Barbossa snapped, despite the fact that Turk was already halfway out the door, chuckling to himself as he went.

"Damn," he swore to himself. Was it that bloody obvious that he wanted her, or did Turk just know him that well?

Deciding that the reason he followed hot on Turk's heels had to do with the fact that he needed to check their heading, and nothing to do with him being concerned that handsome young Bellamy was getting a little too familiar with his kidnapped lady doctor, Barbossa perched his hat upon his head as he strode out on deck.

Sure enough, there across the deck was that blasted Bellamy, talking to Madeline and even worse, saying something that made her laugh. Making a supreme effort, he kept his pace casual as he crossed to where the two were conversing.

"Good morning," he said pleasantly.

Knowing he shouldn't be standing around idle in front of the captain, Bellamy wisely excused himself and headed below deck.

"Oh, good morning, Captain," Madeline said back with a brief smile.

Barbossa noted that her eyes flashed away from his just a touch too quickly, giving away that he clearly still made her a little nervous. If she ever had any idea of how much he wanted to pin her against the mainmast a few feet away and rip the buttons off her bodice with his teeth, she'd probably be more than a little nervous.

She spoke with him for a while, at last excusing herself to go and see to a crewmember who had cut his hand the night before. Barbossa watched her go, surreptitiously eyeing the subtle way her skirts swayed with her hips until Turk's elbow caught him firmly in the ribs, startling him out of his musings about parting her from her dress.

"Stop droolin'," Turk said with a chuckle, earning himself a glare that might have caused another pirate to take a large step back before he continued on.


The vivid dreams continued to plague Barbossa as they reached Tortuga, brought on, he was sure, by the close proximity they'd shared in the past few encounters; May working in silent concentration as she translated the Latin on Morgan's map, with him stealing occasional sideways glances at her cleavage as she leaned over the chart next to him.

Once or twice she'd brushed against him as she'd reached forward for the ink or quill, her breast grazing his arm in the most innocent and unintended way, and he was glad she didn't realize, as he felt her enticing softness and caught the scent of her hair, how close she'd come to joining the map on the table while he had his way with her.

The dreams were starting to interfere with anything in the way of restful sleep, with as much as they were causing him to bolt awake during the night, drenched in sweat and as randy as dog around a bitch in heat.

Even Turk had raised an eyebrow at one dream, once Barbossa had finally begun confessing his apparent obsession to his long time friend.

Last night's vivid dream had been one of the worst, and had involved him grabbing her roughly from behind, hiking her skirt and shagging her bare-arsed where he'd thrown her across one of the ship's guns. It had also been one of those rare enthralling ones when he'd imagined her liking things rough, and he'd been only too happy to comply when she'd begged him to take her hard, grabbing her hips and driving her mercilessly against the cannon.

Turk let out a low whistle. "Quite the vivid imagination yeh have there, Cap'n."

"Ye've no idea," Barbossa said. "'Tis drivin' me mad, and I've not slept properly in a week because of these blasted dreams waking me. I've no idea what to do to stop it."

"I think yeh just need to take matters into yer own hands, Hector," Turk offered.

"Like I haven't be doin' that enough lately," Barbossa said with exasperation.

Turk grimaced. "That is not what I meant, and thanks so much fer puttin' that image in me head."

"Apologies," Barbossa muttered from where he pressed his palms to his eyes and heaved a frustrated sigh.

"What I meant is it's time yeh stopped fuckin' around and started...well," Turk hesitated and then shrugged, "fuckin' around."

Barbossa looked mildly exasperated. "And how do ye propose I do that? The lass is scared to death of me. And as much as most of me thinkin' concernin' her has been done below decks rather than above," he added, with a meaningful glance at his lap, "ye know I'd not do aught to harm her."

Turk grinned. "So, what's it worth to yeh to know what she said when she changed my bandage?"

Barbossa made no attempt to hide his surprise. "She spoke about me?"

Turk nodded. "Said you was 'a bit intimidating, I suppose, but on the other hand, really rather intriguing,'" he replied, imitating May's precise manner of speaking.

A sly grin slowly crossed Barbossa face. "She thinks I'm intriguin', does she?"

"And she said yeh could be quite charmin' –fer a pirate of course," Turk added with a laugh.

"Well, then it's time I showed the lass just exactly how charmin' I can be." Barbossa rose from the table and headed for the door, pausing and then retrieving his hat from the table. "Can't ferget this," he said with a roguish grin, and he strode out to find the lady doctor, perching the plumed hat upon his head at a jaunty angle.


A/N: The title is actually a quote from the works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) U.S. poet

Cunny-warren is an actual outdated term for cunt from the 18th century and seemed exactly like something Turk would say.

While feedback is always appreciated, for those of you who are voting to determine the outcome of this little duel, vote under the Barbossa's Lovelife thread at the Broken Compass. Freedom will do the tallying, and only votes on the thread will count.

Special thanks to Freedom, for beta-reading for me as usual, but also for holding my hand along the way and convincing me that not only could I write something naughty, I could actually post it! :D