i just want to say "thank you" to everyone who read and reviewed my other 2 PotC fics, "Pointing Something at Me" and "If it's Not". they seem to have been received really well. i plan on doing a couple more in that same style. This one is a little different in that it does not have a basis with one particular scene. i hope you like it, as it is in more Jack's PoV. it's supposed to be the lack of thought processing during their first time and the excess of thought processing during their last time. the title "The First and the Last" refers to 2 different incidents, not the same one. oh, and i have this rated T because it is not overly explicit but if i get any complaints i can change it to M.
i do not own these characters. enjoy!
She was all heat and passion as he placed an open-mouthed kiss above her heart. Panting, arching, moaning, she begged for him – him – and it was intoxicating. Her hands clambered over his back and chest, tugging at his shirt. He tore himself away from her chest to assist her but he never returned. She was gazing at him so unguarded, so openly. It was so easy to read her, to know what she wanted; her eyes were black with lust, her swollen lips parted. Her entire body seemed to be calling for him. She wanted him, only him, and he was in no position to deny her. Hungry, he attacked her lips.
He needed to push her away! His only love was the sea. His ship was the only lady with which he wanted to be forever joined. Open skies above him and deep sea beneath him, stretching as far as the eye could see. That was what he craved. Water was unpredictable: she raged, she caressed, she sang, she screamed. That was the price for adventure, for freedom. You just had to go with the tide.
His hands caressed her neck as he feasted on her mouth. It was strange thing about women. The skin on their neck was so smooth, so soft. Locked away in a convent, her skin had yet to be acquainted with the fury of nature. She had other ideas, however, and every time he would turn his head to latch onto her throat, she would mirror him so that their lips remained locked. Finally, there was nothing more for him to do than grab her chocolate waves and yank her head back. Her squeal immediately turned into a deep-throated moan as he nipped and sucked, nipped and sucked. The skin there felt even softer on his tongue, against his lips. He shuddered in sinful delight.
So why was he so attracted to this one? What was it about those brown eyes that could be so seductively warm and then, in a second, flash with bitter anger? Her wit and cleverness were enough to charm in her prey before she pounced. He knew this, he knew all of this! And yet he still played the fool, running back to her, always, unable to sustain himself without one more taste. Hot-tempered, ambitious, fiery, seductive: she was a demon, a witch, a temptstress. They had come to Seville to restock on provisions, with plans to return on the fourth day. It had already been two weeks, and he as running out of excuses.
He sucked on her breast, encouraged by her moans. Her fingers wove themselves into his hair, nails scraping through his scalp. His own fingers dipped lower, to her center. She scalded his fingers with her heat, and his ears rang from her cries of ecstasy. It was always the same word in that thick Spanish accent that caused his mind to whirl and his eyes to close, over and over: ¡Jack!¡Jack!¡Jack!
A pirate prided himself in not being held down to anything or anyone. He went where the sea took him and, unfortunately for many, the sea knew no boundaries. Women, children, a stable home – all were strangers to a man of the sea. His village was the world. Heaven for him was not a flat piece of land with a wooden house, built by his hands, sitting in the center with a fine woman minding the kitchen and five demanding children. No. 'Twas never a truer thing said than that Jack Sparrow was happiest with a blue sea, a faithful ship, and a good ol' bottle of rum.
It was like his mind was being sucked into a whirlpool. He was whispering sweet nothings into her ear. Nothing made sense. He could barely think but he felt everything: her thighs tightening against his hips, her sweet voice screaming out something in Spanish, her nails biting into his shoulders, the smell of her hair as it tickled his face, her dark eyes closing as she climbed up and up and up, reaching for something she had never seen before.
This woman here next to him was dangerous. Sentiments like this were nothing but anchors – weighty anchors that lodged themselves in really deep so as to never be pulled up again. And this one was fire, pure fire; she'd climb up the rope and eat away at the heart of him, drowning his ship in tongues of flame. He was a man of the sea, not a tamer of fire! How long would he be able to last? 'Don't play with fire'; it's what his mother had always told him. For years he had heeded her advice. So what the hell was he doing now?
" Angelica!" He whispered her name, like a prayer, as he sailed off with her. He came for her, because of her, and everything was so wrongly right. He brushed his hands over her body, sprinkling her with sweet kisses. Then he pressed his head against her chest and moaned out again, "Angelica." She smiled and brought his face back up to hers. Sweet kiss to the lips, both smiling, eyes gentle and loving.
He had to leave, had to get away. Cut her loose, throw her back in. It was her or him. He would not go to her room tonight; he would not see her in the morning. He'd take back the wheel and guide the Pearl straight out of these dangerous waters. Then he would be fine. Then he would be free. He was a man of the sea; all that he needed was some salty sea waters to douse the fire.
They had moved from the chair to the bed, where she now laid curled in his arms. He stroked her back, her hair, her face. She was still smiling, even as she slept peacefully beside him. Pressing one last kiss into her neck, he murmured her name before drifting off into sleep himself.
i am ready for reviews :]