The Price of Freedom
Fanfiction: Pirates of the Caribbean: DMC AU
Rating: M for disturbing forced sexual content
Characters: Beckett and Elizabeth (I told you it was disturbing)
Disclaimer: Don't own them, aren't making any money
A/N: I apologize for the excess of disturbia and angst in my writing; I'll give you some fluff soon. Plot Bunny attacked me, and I'll be honest: it's not pretty. I don't usually write this sort of thing, but Plot Bunnies are rather insistent that way. This is the point where the still-innocent turn away...
"No doubt you've discovered loyalty is no longer the currency of the realm, as your father believes." He did not turn around, though he knew she stood just across the room.
"Then what is?" he heard her ask.
"I'm afraid currency is the currency of the realm." Elizabeth drew a shaky breath and he looked back to see her standing just where he'd thought she was, her hands twisted before her, a rather horrified expression on her face.
"The letters of Marque. Where are they?"
"Naturally, they're not here. I thought they might be wanted and deemed it prudent that they be moved to a more...secure location."
"Give them to me." Her voice shook rather more than was to be expected and Beckett wondered at that.
"If you're going to make demands like that, I'm afraid you need something with which to bargain. Threatening me will do you no good, Miss Swann, as dead, I'm afraid I can no more tell you where they are than anyone else." There was a rather sharp intake of breath behind him and he turned to see that she had let loose her hair; it flowed across her shoulders like watered gold.
"Ah. I see."
Elizabeth took a deep, wavering breath, the words hesitant, but determined. "Give them to me and," her voice faltered, "and I'm yours."
"I see," Beckett repeated, slower this time, looking at her closely. She was trembling, clearly fighting back disgust, but her silken hair shone golden in the candlelight, casting dim shadows on her pale and lovely face. The two looked at each other for a time and then Beckett said carefully, "The letters are locked in my desk, but they do you no good without both the key and my signature and seal." Elizabeth's eyes darted to his desk and came back. For a moment, her expression twisted as if she might cry, but then she closed her eyes briefly and nodded.
Beckett stepped closer, looking her up and down in her beautiful but dirtied dress, always his eyes coming back to rest on her pale face, her full lips that trembled with her sorrow. Slowly, his hand came up to stroke her cheek and it was only with a great effort that she kept herself from flinching away. His eyes met hers again, and she was startled by the amount of lust evident in them. He leaned in and she shut her eyes, disgusted by the feel of the lips of the man she hated against hers.
"Now," he chided softly, circling her as he spoke, "if you want to come to some sort of agreement," he trailed a hand across her collarbone possessively, "you're going to have to give me more than that." Elizabeth drew a shaky breath, closing her eyes and steeling herself. She nodded once as he came to stand in front of her again. "Everything," Beckett breathed, eagerness in his tone, and again, Elizabeth nodded, seemingly as if some power not her own guided her head up and then down.
And she was forced to let his lips claim hers again, forced to take his tongue into her mouth, forced to stand in that dimly lit stone room while he kissed her, his hands sliding through her hair and down her throat. And she could not let herself feel too much horror or disgust, because she knew that what was to come would be much, much worse.
She felt his hands against her skin as he slid her skirts slowly up over her thighs, shuddered at the chill of his rings against her bare skin. And when he slipped his fingers between her legs, she could not contain a faint, choked cry of despair.
He took her there on the floor, took what should only ever have been Will's, while Elizabeth closed her eyes, unseen tears gliding down her face to disappear into her hair. She tried not to feel him, tried to shut out his fevered panting and the feel of him against her, inside her, but even her anguished mental cries could not drown out the small sounds he made from time to time or the pain of his rough, ungentle movements. She had brought this upon herself.
She found herself praying for it to be over, for him to be done, but it seemed only to go on, while the tears ran slowly down her face. Dear God, please... She felt sick, her pained breaths fighting their way past his mouth, her blood hissing in her veins until she was sure she would die here. Please... But she bore it silently, unsure even of what she was begging for, cringing from the feel of him and shutting her eyes tighter as she sensed a change in him, as his breath came sharper and his body tensed.
It was only as he reached his point and lay still atop her, his ragged breathing gradually slowing, that she allowed the smallest of sobs to break in her throat. She had brought this upon herself.
After awhile, he kissed her jaw in an almost token gesture and got up and she could only lay discarded where he'd left her, broken, and watch as he calmly and carefully got dressed in his immaculate way, sweat shining on his skin. It was only after he had unlocked the desk drawer and was in the process of melting wax for the seal that she was able to will herself to rise, shuddering like a child in a storm, from the stone floor and rearrange her skirts. She stilled the screaming in her soul, if only for a little while, by focusing on that small red pool of wax, slowly cooling like a dying flame, blood-red and burning like her soul.
He wrote his name with a cool deliberateness, adding an arrogant little flourish on the end, and Elizabeth watched in silent horror, hearing the faint, painful gasp of her own breath, the agonizing rush of blood in her veins.
She had brought it on herself, but she had not known...She shivered, though the room was not cold, wishing there were some sound to break the agony in her skull, but there was no sound save the soft rustle of parchment catching against his sleeve and the thud of her own heart. She whimpered faintly, tasting blood as she bit down on her own lip to silence her sobs. She had brought this on herself and she must be strong.
He did not look at her as he folded the letters carefully, did not turn to see the young woman in her wedding dress that shivered, hollow and despairing, at his side, when he held the documents out. His gaze was fixed ahead as she clutched the letters, the price of Will's freedom, to her trembling breasts and quickly turned away, choked, defeated sobs clawing at her throat. But before she had fully left the room, he spoke, the faintest of satisfied smiles in his voice.
"It was good doing business with you, Miss Swann."