Hands brushed like the feathered touch of an angel's wing. It was just for a moment, but fire ignited in the tips of her fingers as his wayward appendages sought hers; the tangle of limbs so familiar to the last time. He bent so close to her ear, the scruff of his beard grazing her lobe, as he nibbled at the succulent flesh. His hand traced her slender arm, from a sensual caress of the shoulder, traveling casually sweet down her arm and then tighter around her hand. Per usual, there was a sort of daring challenge to his charming eyes. A glint she knew well sparkled in those black wells of brinked insanity and lifetimes of mischief.

He was like a child. Conniving and suave, but a child all the same.

A hand slithered around her slim waist, pulling her flush against him – the push of his pistols' crafted hilt promising darker things his eyes foretold, dark wisps of recollections to duties forgone played in his eyes. She stared up at him, eyes drawn lustfully. It was a ploy; he was so easily manipulated by such silly things; like sexuality and feminine wiles. Things that came so easily to the sultry Spaniard. But slowly with each touch bolder, a hand slipping past her pantline to graze the sweet flesh beneath, she, the seducer, was being seduced.

It was a game he had played since the beginning of his days. That dominance over who would falter first. Would he be taken under or would he be the undertaker. The last time they were like this, he had won. But this time, she was aware of his charms.

"Que linda…" he breathed along the nape of her neck, the Englishmen's accent doing wonders to her native tongue. His voice was husky and rogue, a renegade through and through.

The words sounded far more compelling when he said them. Love, as it would seem, held a spell all on its own. But the fight was not over yet, and though the steady pounding of her head and heart warned her of her loss, her thoughts strayed to all that could be counted as a real gain, how through defeat she could truly come out as winner.

His mustache tickled her throat as he made his way up her tilted neck. She allowed him ample space to continue his work. She felt an odd tugging and gasped as his fingers found his doll-self in her quickly slackening grasp. Yanking her arm back, she tried to outrun his grip, but was caught in the surprisingly muscular trap.

"Caught!" he laughed and shrugged guiltily, or guiltlessly, the two notions star-crossed more often than not with the pirate captain.

Her radiant brown eyes, narrowed dangerously. But before she could lash him physically and verbally, he pointed somewhere off to her left, the look in his eye distant and scared. She quickly turned and yet her eyes were met with her father's darkened maps, moon denying them its gift of light. When she looked back she only just barely caught the sight of him scampering off, arms wildly flailing at his side as he hastened his opportunity for escape.

Oooooh, that man! She thought, unleashing a torrent of Spanish expletives that burned at the backs of his worn, leather boots.


Drunk off a bottle of Finnigan's best, air mingled with comforting scent of the salty brine and rum.

"Yo ho ho, and a…bottle o' rum." Jack Sparrow sang, stumbling due to intoxication and the shift of the tide.

He banged around below decks and found his way to the hammock, crashing and chuckling softly, a bubble of breath to his lips. Slumping, his worked bones eased in comfort, he sighed happily after his trying day. He felt an ache and, groaning, rolled to his side.


Once-Captain Sparrow flopped on his back and settled in, hat tilted to cover his crafty eyes. As his breath began to heavy, he felt an odd stirring deep within his very bones. It was a rush of tingling sensations through his marrow, each muscle tightening uncontrollably into spasmodic crunches.

What've we here?

His mouth dropped as his buccaneers pants were suddenly ripped from his legs, stunted as his worn leather boots halted their flight. He felt a rise that piqued his insatiable interest.

"Well that's peculiar," he slurred, hands moving limply to point at himself.

Phantom limbs caressed his chest as buttons and seams burst open. The stained white cotton cardigan was left in shredded tatters. He felt the sharp sting of manicured nails, as imaginary claws raked over the toned and muscular ridges of his torso. His mouth shuddered in a soundless cry.

From her corner up in the First Mate's den, Angelica Teach knew just how to get a rise from that man. She rolled onto her bed until she lay on her stomach, propped only by her forearms. Her thick brunette mane fell in a luscious wash over a single, slender shoulder.

Sparrow sighed back into his pillow as he felt something silky spill onto his stomach, tickling the heightened nerves; however, as he gazed down there was nothing.

This kind of torture – so it was true…I really have gone insane! His thoughts went wild then, a roiling tumult, as they collided with feeling and imminent pleasure. He realized he ought to stop fighting and succumb to this illustrious sex goddess who dared not show her face to him. Fancy that. Well. Might as well given, eh, luv?

She smirked with a devilish charm glinting dangerously in her clear and bright spiced eyes.

"Hell, Jackie." She purred, toying with the magical doll that dangled from her fingertips. Its sewn eyes stared back at her listlessly. She would certainly have to thank her father for this – one step closer to an impossible redemption. She twirled a lock of its dyed, tweed-and-hemp-made hair.

"Oh look, I have flying hair now~" he conceded, pointing merrily at the floating string of dead cell particle. "Ha-Ha!"

Oh? Her fingers hooked below the pantline and ripped them past his knees. She clawed open his shirt and the jacket flew with it. Well… father seems keen…on…detail.

Angelica's lust flared, and her lust guided her by Revenge's hand.

Sweet kisses traced their way along his abdominals, contracting the muscles beneath with each moist action. He let out a shaky breath, eyes rolling to the back of his head. He cupped a blackened hand over his mouth as he felt the ghost of lips kiss him. It wasn't exactly his lips they kissed. He groaned as he felt something moist envelop him. Hands folded behind his head, he allowed the ghost room to work. She swirled him around, going further down his shaft with each suck. His breath hitched as she maneuvered her tongue swiftly around his head, lapping around the tip. The imaginary breath fluttered against him, throbbing and pulsating. The sensation fled him. Jack pouted. Then suddenly he felt a phantom weight settle square over his hips.

A palm pressed to his chest roughly throwing his back into the swinging bed. He could hear the faint breath of laughter, closing his eyes to the sound.

"I won't deny you Ghostie, but just," his words rolled off his tongue in a hushed whisper. "Be gentle…"

The nonexistent nails scraped down his chest, leaving only white-to-red trail as their mark – as if the Ghost spoke, Jack was at her beck and call. He would fall to her orders and will.

"Now, now, Ms. Ghostie – may I call you, Gee? I'm known for – hurk!" his words caught in his throat as he felt the being settle better on top of him, breathing out a quiet sigh only his ears could hear.

She rose rhythmically atop him and for the first few beats he could only wonder if he was drunk or not. He seldom every drank enough to be so drunk he hallucinated – more than usual. Perhaps this very well might be his first time being drunk enough – enough to figment a dream of sex. But as the fantastically phantasmal woman changed tempo, he found his breath escaping heavier; grunting in sensation. The pirate captain could tell that this was a sharper angle for his mate-from-beyond as in his mind he could hear a scream tear through those lips. Those gorgeously red lips, plump and crimson as blood – and just as warm. A scream of only the utmost pleasure, her scream mirrored in intensity to Jack's which he kept locked behind gritted teeth.

"Ah, oh, ungh," He cried out as she moved her body, gyrating on top of his. The roll of her clearly experienced hips was phenomenal. "Oh, oh, yes – uh! – I quite like that!"

Might as well talk to the lass…after all, I'm sure she doesn't get much action otherwise…though from the feeling I'd beg to put that up for some very heated discussion. The perspired man thought between breaths.

She was like a roiling wave, her body movements pleasuring every sense, every feeling. Every nerve. It was the best fuck he'd had yet; but it made him miss his girls up in Tortuga. Made him miss the velvety feel of another more. His attention was drawn back as he felt her swiftly change her position.

The plumpness of unseen breasts fell upon his own chest. Soft lips kissed the crook of his neck with intoxicating fervor, sucking on the pulsating thing that was his jumping pulse. The smell of gunpowder and eucalyptus filled his nostrils as he bounced her, focused and fierce. His mind snatched the piercing cry of the swooned Ghostie and rolled it around for a time. That sound, so familiar…

Jack kept up his pulsating, to the phantoms pleasure, but his face was lost in somber thought, stoned out to sensation.

Each time like the last…each girl the same – except for her. Why her? She was no different than the others, save for perhaps a few less communicable diseases. Her assumed virtue was still a hot debate within the confines of his mind.

"I can't believe this is happening. You're probably just a fat old wench needing a good romp from ol' Jackie, eh?" he muttered under his breath.

She obviously heard, slapping him hard enough to leave an imprint and spin his head to the point he saw stars pop in his lidded vision. There was a trailing track of blood from where her nails bit into his scraggly scruffed cheek. He could almost visualize the gorgeous visage of the woman; arms crossed, still straddling him immobile with her hips and glare. He rubbed his sore cheek, raw and tender, with dirt-crusted hands.

"Sorry then, luv, I'm sure you were the prettiest girl at the ball. Now then," he smiled in his characteristically suave, devils man grin. "Shall we get back to it?"

He could feel the bubbling resistance but soon the two found their steady rhythm again. Only now she had a punishing taste to her, each roll, every jive, all the bounces had an attacking edge to them. Stretching his arms wide roughly, she clawed at the tender underflesh of his arms. Sparrow growled, but it was lost in a wave of motion, constricting his throat to incredulous moans. She was vigorous in her task and soon her pace picked up to match the racing staccato of their hearts. His, at least.

He let himself release, his fluids nowhere insight as he was plunged hilt deep within her in a final thrust. A mouth crashed down on his muffled his screams. She softly moaned into him, tongue working as smoothly as her sinuous hips. Then suddenly she was gone.

Jack opened his lust-lidded eyes at the coolness of a body missing atop his. The dirty white hammock was soaked through with sweat and body fluids. He rested his head back with a sigh, fondling himself after the work out lazily. Another breath escaped his lips. He continued his effortless stroking, staring up at the boarded ceiling, bent by years (centuries, more like) or foot traffic and ocean ravaging. It was stained from all the stormy seas Queen Anne's Revenge had plundered, fought with, and overpowered.

He was right below the First Mate's cabin.


His eyes closed for the last time that night with a numbing feeling spreading within him, uncoiling like a West Indies rattler snake.

Sparks shot through his muscles and tendons, each ligament and bone. A feeling close to a purified cleansing – which had indeed been tried on him. Oh those were the days back in the brothels of Castillo – washed through his entire being. An idea stole into his flitting mind faster than the scurvy comes up a man's bowels. He glanced down at himself; bare, uncovered, and ready.

I hope I have some juice left in me still! He thought as he banged his way around the cabins, ship groaning and moving as if in protest, hands grasping his pants up his legs.

A thin, filmy sheen of perspiration coated the she-pirate. A light sheet covered her lower body up to her lower back, the dip of skin as flesh met bone. The rest of her was laid bare. She breathed heavily into her pillow, softly panting and wishing the goose-feathers were of a thicker, meatier consistency.

How she could have fallen in love with that mangy, vile, filthy, brute! But she had, and there was no helping it. She had been tracking the man until the ends of the earth under the guise of wanting his head. Her father bought that façade as she reconnected with her long lost Padre. It could be held up to him, but nothing could fool the quickening beat of her heart the moment she heard that voice. See that flash of his grin. Even the taste and acrid burn of rum on his tongue was wanted, needed, yearned.

She exhaled out her nose deeply. The piratess lay on her stomach, back glistening, and allowed the pale moonlight to caress away her tireless work. She moaned and settled deeper into the feather down mattress. And just as she was about to let sleep take her, sweep her away from reality and the dinginess of it all-

-the door slammed open with a crashing bang.

Perched precariously on the crows nest, a clergyman feebly struggled against his hemp bonds, groaning with the calm tides.

"Evenin' to you, Philip," Jack mumbled under his breath, with a flippant wave as he passed.

Just in view now. The door. That door leading to –

She was softly snoozing now, a quieting calm about her. She rolled her bronzed shoulder with a soft moan of appreciation as the tension fled with each circular movement. The door barely made a sound as he entered. His silhouette was framed darkly against the navy backdrop and silver of the moons light. He could simply stare. She looked as peaceful as he remembered, if only a little more winded. As angelic as the day he met her in Madrid. He rested his head on his forearm against the chipped frame.

Walking over, his boots clipped on the boards, each panel muted the sounds fortunately. He crawled over her silken beige covers, mouth finding the curve of her back. His bristled upper lip itched at her back like a nagging thought. He turned her over and the beautiful sight of full breasts graced his sparkling eyes. He trailed feather-light kisses along her abdomen until he got to her breast.

"Mmm, Jack," she moaned softly, arms stretching above her head. Her chest rose appealing before him, like the crest of a wave along a sandy shore.

With one hand, he rotated the soft mounds, while flicking his tongue out to lavish the other with his focused attention. Jack slowly took the sheet away from her…and his heart nearly stopped in his chest. His breath came out shallowly as he gazed at her beautiful body, exposed to him – so vulnerable – like so many years ago. She still looked like the bronzed goddess he had bedded on the pure white sheets at the brothel. Ah, no. That was allegedly a monastery.

"We musn't!" her voice was hushed but urgent as she placed a determined hand on the bare chest above her. "What would the Sisters think if we did this?"

His eyes gleamed with lustful assurance, his wanton hands demanding her sweet and succulent flesh.

"And what would your mind think, if we don't?"

She was so gorgeous, her mouth puckered with her full lips just begging; Take me, take me now, they called. In sheer seconds all of his privateer's clothing had been ripped away. Hungrily he grabbed her by the hips, coming ever closer and kissing her forehead, he entered.

Bright brown eyes snapped open in a gasp. Above her was Jack – and he was no mere apparition. In one hand, he held both hers high above her head like a prisoner. The other was by her breast, her covers fisted in his grip as he used his strong muscles to balance himself.

"You know," she grunted, giving equal force back at him. "This would be considered rape."

The misguiding man grinned down at her as if that were a sort of inside joke.

Scoffing, he replied with deft arrogance, "Then why are you humping back, luv?"

That same charm. She glared exhilarated toffee eyes at him. With a sharp twist of her hips, she flipped them both; jack smashing against the wall roughly. Angelica settled him back evenly on the bed.

"My bed, my rules." The 'r' rolled off her tongue in an unintentionally sensual trill.

Jack hissed at the sound, his ears enjoying it as much as his other aroused anatomy. "As I recall, that's not how it went down in my bed," he twirled a lock of her raven hair, sniffing in deep the eucalyptus and oil wafting from it.

She growled, nails digging into his raised pectorals. He stared down the line of her body poised above him. He bucked his hips with a cocky smirk, eyes challenging and watched her face change from anger to ecstasy. She threw her head back, arm clinging his sides as he shouted her pleasure. She looked down at him then, eyes glazed in heated desire. She made her way down his body, greeting his face with a kiss. It started slowly, but quickly picked up its pace, hot and heavy and messy like the roiling motions of his hips.

"Ah, ah, oh!" she moaned into his neck, breathless.

"So much better this go arou—ungh." He grunted, licking his lips in concentration. His voice was gruff and guttural. "So good so good so good. O-oh!"

She brought her body up, rearing high above him. He cupped her breast as she moved for him. Jack cursed; eyes squinted in the excruciating throw of sensation. His voice strained as he released for the second time that night. Angelica wasn't finished so he held out longer for her sake. His strong hand cupped her bubbled ass, lowering her back to lay on top of him for a better position. She whimpered at the sharper angle of his penetration. His hand traced the line of her muscular thigh lightly, caressing the silken skin with tough fingertips. She moaned, nibbling on his ear lobe. The pirate's hand, a touch so soft, grabbed her below the knee, roughly bringing her leg to wrap around his waist. He pushed in deeper, a forceful claim that thrust and pushed deeper and harder with each exert.

Angelica's breath caught. He shoved again, harder and more punishing in his final exertions. She screamed her bliss and desire to the black night. He felt her go, a convulsing feeling around his cock, her walls tight and contracting. Angelica fell on top of him, crashing down on his chest and remained there. Panting and regaining their breath, Angelica simply felt the rise and fall of his chest.

Unbeknownst to him, Jack was running a soothing hand over his lovers bare back, tracing the dips and curves of her taut muscles. He breathed in deeply, inhaling strong scents of herbs and spikes. She put her hands, palms down, under her stomach. Rolling them upwards, hands a layer between him and her, she felt his stomach all the way to his arms and caressing his chest along the way. The captain rubbed his cheek against hers, coarse mustache nipping at her soft flesh.

"I love you," he breathed, entering her ear in a whisper of tired truth. She pushed up on his chest, rolling off of him and turning away. She snagged the edge of the blanket and wrapped it around herself snugly. His chest suddenly felt cold.

"You love me because I jus' gave you the best fuck of your life." Her accent was thick – thick with sensuality, hitting him in all the right places – but he could hear the berating tone of it.

Glowering down at his covered crotch with a look of irritation and confusion, he gave a mental chide of, Not right now, and set off to his business.

"Well that," he grinned slyly, grabbing her ender the cover by the waist and pulling her to him fluidly. "But also," he burrowed his face in the dip of her shoulder and neck. "Because it's true."

She twisted her head to glare up at him, attempting to shrug him off. He only clamped around her harder, feet entwining with hers.

"What do you want, Jack?" the anger ran out of her voice, exasperation in its stead.

His name on her tongue…

"Say it." His voice was low, charming, trying to seduce a response.

"No." If she said it, it was over. He would have won that last bit of reserve she had left. The one thing he hadn't taken yet. He had her love. But her pride was all hers. For the moment.

"Say it back." He persisted, kissing along her jawline.

She jabbed her elbow into the pirates stomach, but they both knew it wasn't meant to harm.

"Shut up, Jack." She pleaded, a hurt in her voice.

He abandoned his post behind her and twisting his upper body around her, he stared deeply into the pained coffee depths of her eyes.

"I wasn't just some midnight lay, luv. I know the feelings you've been carting around since our fateful night in Madrid."

She couldn't bear to look at him. Her teeth dug into her lower lip as she averted her gaze from his. Damn him. Attacking her at her weakest. But that was just like him. And that was exactly why she loved him. She wouldn't have played it any better.

He rested his head between her breasts, tenderness over sexuality.

"Let me hear you say it," His voice was pained as hers. "Just once…" No one had ever said those words to him. He had left home to scavenge the seas as soon as he was old enough. That was at the age of nine. He'd never heard those words from his hardened and code-strict father. Never from his lost mother, whatever truly happened to that woman? None of the Maidens of Pleasure at Tortuga or the ones he stopped to shag along the way ever said it. Only screaming declarations that meant nothing and were as feeble as a Caribbean breeze. Now, ol' Jackie wanted those words, and he wanted them said now. He wasn't going to threaten or stab or connive his way, coerce the words from involuntary lips. He wanted them to come of true emotions and of a woman's own volition. He wanted them to flow free from Angelica.

Laying on her back, she shot daggers into his piercing stare, lifted above hers.

"I. Love. You." She ground out, breaking inside to be so open with a man who would turn on her at the primest of times for him. "Are you happy now?"

Flopping back to his original place, he let out a sigh of contentment.

Yes. And for the first time, there was no trickery or lie, no good or bad outcome from it. No calculations, no cunning or conning. Captain Jack Sparrow was happy – truly, if only for the moment. Angelica shifted, curling up against his side. Looking down at her with an uptilt to his head, he noticed how calm her beauty could be. She was usually caught in the fiery rage of anger and betrayal or the throes of wild and passionate fucking. He had yet to see her so…serene.

He wrapped an arm around her protectively and let the darkness around him close his eyes.

Good Night.