naughtyAuthor: Laura H
fried_flamingoRating: NC-17
Category: Angst, J/E, Sex
Disclaimer: The Mouse Owns All
A/N: Inspired by the impulse to write a bit of angry J/E sex, this one seemed to grow as I wrote it. WiP at the moment but will only be three chapters long. Title from the REM song of the same name.
The first time they crashed together, the union was fuelled by anger; furious, urgent and alive.
The battle had been unexpected, but hard fought; the sound of pistol cracks and cannon fire could barely be heard above Calypso’s wrath, as the ocean pounded the edge of Shipwreck Cove. Eventually the East Indiaman succumbed to the onslaught from the guns of both the Black Pearl and the Empress, and took her crew with her to the depths; no other outcome would have been acceptable.
Elizabeth Swann watched the mountainous waves swallow the last of the bodies and then gave orders to take her ship back through the Devil’s Throat, wiping away the blood that coursed down her face from the wound along her hairline. The Empress had begun to list to starboard, the result of a well aimed cannon blasting a hole in her side. Across the water, the Black Pearl crested each swell, as if straining for flight and, in her mind’s eye, Elizabeth could see her captain throw out similar instructions.
For all the distance was short, the storm tossed sea made passage through the Throat long and arduous, but Elizabeth lashed herself to the helm, determined to let neither man nor wave shift her. Though she did not turn to look, she knew that the Pearl was close behind, enduring similar hardships.
Eventually the ship emerged from the curtain of water that poured perpetually over the mouth of the tunnel and darkness gave way to whatever vague semblance of daylight was visible through the cloudy sky. Elizabeth sagged against her self imposed bonds. She fumbled with the knots and freed herself, almost falling down the steps to the main deck in her weariness and haste to get to the dock. Though the battle was over, her heart pounded yet, a heady mix of fear, fury and exhilaration that hurried the blood through her veins.
As she walked down the gangway, she cast a glance back to where the Pearl was coming into dock. Jack Sparrow stood at her helm, sodden and hatless. He caught Elizabeth’s gaze and his eyes narrowed, brow furrowing in a hostile frown. With a word to Gibbs, he passed over the wheel and descended the stairs to the main-deck, but Elizabeth was already pushing her way through the crowd of people that swarmed across the quay, wishing to avoid the confrontation she knew was inevitable. Though her body still pulsed with unspent energy, she knew the feeling to be an illusion, a post-battle euphoria that would soon give way to exhaustion. Another argument with Jack was the last thing she needed.
He didn’t call after her, clearly knowing that she would not turn; Jack would not lay himself open to the embarrassment of a public snub, but as she made her way through the labyrinthine streets of Shipwreck City, built on wood rather than stone, Elizabeth knew that he was following her. She pushed her way through the crowd, her subjects blithely neglecting to doff their caps or tug their forelocks, for she was not that sort of king and the Cove was far from that sort of Kingdom. Eventually the crowd thinned and she reached the corridor leading to her chamber. The door was a welcome sight and Elizabeth hoped there was water inside, that she might clean the blood and grime and sweat from her body.
“Will you tail me like a spaniel hoping for scraps, Captain Sparrow? Or will you say your piece and have done with it?” She spoke without turning, effecting a glib tone, though her fingers shook and fumbled at the latch. Her heart pounded yet, still fuelled by the intensity of the battle. Yes, that. Just that.
“And what scraps might you have to offer, darlin’?” His voice was indolent and honeyed, but something cut its way through the casual words, a keen blade through velvet. At last the lock clicked and the door fell open. Not expecting the sudden give, she burst into the room, stumbling over her own feet, and was headed for the floor before a hand grabbed her elbow. The bite of his long fingers though, gave lie to his role as saviour and she didn’t thank him.
“I have no time for this,” she said, shaking him off.
“Ah, but you have time to come charging to old Jackie’s rescue, eh? Time to make me look an incompetent greenhorn in front of me crew?” Any pretence he had previously made at nonchalance had been forfeit now that they were within the confines of her chamber.
“And did you not need rescuing then? Forgive me, Captain Sparrow, for I was under the impression that it was your own imprudence that brought the East India Company to our doorstep.”
“I had it in hand.”
“You were about to be blasted into driftwood!”
His eyes blazed with seldom seen fury and he raised an accusatory finger. “Don’t ever assume me incapable, Elizabeth. Don’t ever make that mistake.”
Spinning on her heel, lips tight with words unsaid, she stalked to the bed and pulled off her sodden coat. But when she tried to remove her belt, her fingers felt like ice and refused to grip the buckle. She cursed in annoyance.
It had been like this for too long, the constant baiting and taunting between them, ever since he had returned from his futile and foolish search for the Aqua de Vitae. Something had turned his sin-black eyes to lead and, though Elizabeth knew not the reason for his change in temperament, she had borne the brunt of this ugly transformation. The fire between them was different now, not enticing like it once was. That excitement had gone, replaced by a new kind of heat, one that was laced with an acid edge of spite and enmity. Their conflict was never ending, their barbs designed to wound deeply and Elizabeth had felt the lash of his invective more often than pleased her; there were slivered cuts on her heart that said the same. The only thing of which she was now certain was that she hated Jack Sparrow with every ounce of her marrow.
“I needn’t assume anything when the evidence of your ineptitude is there for all to see. Tell me, Jack. Does your ire spring from the fact that you and your ship quite clearly needed rescuing out there or is it perhaps that the person doing the rescuing was the helpless little chit whom you once had to pluck from the ocean?”
His jaw worked and his eyes narrowed. “Should’ve let you drown that day. Wish I had.”
“So you’ve said on many an occasion.” On the nightstand there was a jug of water and she splashed it into the bowl. If she could not bathe while he was here, she would at least wipe this damn blood from her face. The chill of the water however, did little to dampen the burning that still pulsed through her and, though she knew it folly, she could not resist one more gibe.
“If I irk you so much, you should tried feeding me to a sea beast. I can vouch personally for the tremendous satisfaction that comes from watching the bane of one’s existence swallowed whole and dragged to the depths.” She turned back to face him, wishing to relish the expression that her taunt might etch upon his face. She was not disappointed. Later though, when she considered the words she uttered next, Elizabeth thought that perhaps she should have left it there, let it rest, she’d said enough. And yet… “You know, sometimes it seems that I can still hear the Pearl splinter and I fancy that it sounds like the crack of bone. It never fails to make me smile.”
In three strides, he was in front of her, kicking away a chair that barred his path. His hands gripped her shoulders, shoving her backwards and she grimaced in pain as her spine collided with the edge of the nightstand. There was a crash and she realised that the jug had fallen to the floor. He was so close to her that she barely saw the flash of silver between their bodies, but even through her waistcoat and shirt she could feel the press of the dagger against her stomach.
“I should kill you,” he said, his breathing coming in ragged bursts.
“You’re too weak,” she sneered, not knowing from where her vitriol stemmed. Jack’s hand snaked up and grabbed her hair, yanked her head back and the blade appeared at her throat. Her eyes closed as he pressed against her, thinking, thinking what to do next and it was then that she realised he was hard. Heat pooled along her chest, down between her breasts, through her stomach and, oh god, between her legs. “Let me go.” But the thickness of her voice betrayed her and, when she summoned the courage to look, black eyes were ravaging her face, her lips, her body. An arrogant smile played upon his mouth and she felt the urge to smash those lips against his teeth, to draw blood and watch him spit it out. She wondered how his devil’s beauty might look when marred by bruises, how those fine bones would feel against her knuckles.
But when her fingers closed it wasn’t into a fist, but rather around the wrist of his knife hand. Nails dug in and his hold relaxed; the blade fell with a clatter to the floor. She didn’t release his hand, but instead pulled it downwards, splayed her fingers over his and pressed them between her legs, guiding him to the spot that throbbed with need. Jack required little guidance and, when his fingers began to move urgently, a feral groan was wrenched from her throat.
Elizabeth pulled at his coat, at his shirt, his belts, too eager and impatient to focus on one garment at a time. She wanted to claw at him, to feel his skin pucker under her fingernails and watch red ribbons spring from his flesh. She hated him. She wanted him. Eventually he was divested of all but his breeches and she reached her hand inside, took his length in her hand and stroked. Jack gasped against her neck. “Faster,” he said. “Hold tighter. Yes, like that.”
He let go of her hair and, while one hand continued it’s furious kneading between her thighs, the other pulled at the buckle of her belt. A growl issued forth however, when the fastening proved just as stubborn for him as it had been for her.
“Leave it,” she hissed, too impatient to worry about the state of their dress. What she needed did not require languorous shedding of clothing and soon this flame would be quenched.. “Leave it. Just touch me.” But as she spoke, both his hands stilled in their endeavours and he stepped back. Elizabeth cried out, inarticulate in her frustration.
“Can’t let this happen,” he rasped, a tempest raging upon his face. “Can’t let you…”
“Can’t let me what?” she spat. Anger burned in her, vying for dominance over desire “Don’t you dare, Jack Sparrow. Don’t you dare paint me wicked in this.”
“I can’t think, Elizabeth. Can’t think when I’m near you. Don’t know if I despise you or… or…”
Fear flared in her belly at his unfinished sentence and she knew that she couldn’t let it hang there. Let this be about something else, she thought. Let it be easy. Make him hate me. Let it be as easy as that. So she stalked forward and cupped him through his breeches, running the ball of her palm along his still hard cock. Jack’s eyes closed, his head falling back, hand clutching at her shoulder
“And what of this, Captain Sparrow?” she whispered in his ear, determined to provoke him, no matter what. “Shall you rely on your own blackened fingers to bring release? For if that is your intention then speak now and I shall seek another to warm my bed tonight. In fact, I’ve heard that your father has the stamina of a man 20 years his junior.”
Jack’s movements were like quicksilver and in one fluid motion he had spun her, throwing her face first toward the table on which her books and charts were strewn. She fell upon it sending leather and paper floor. The few items left upon it’s surface were quickly scattered with a sweep of Jack’s arm and then he was behind her, his hands tugging frantically at her breeches, pulling them down and off. Elizabeth wrestled with her wet shirt and waistcoat, peeling them from her skin, pulling them up and over her head, leaving only the stubborn belt hanging around her middle. She could feel Jack press between her legs, pushing himself against her centre and felt that she might break from the anticipation. His fingers bunched into her hair once more and he pulled her back until his lips met her ear.
“What is it you need from me, Lizzie? The fight or the fuck? We needn’t separate the two, y’know. Let me show you how they can collide.” He drove himself into her with such force that she cried out and would have fallen upon the table had he not still held her hair. Tiny needlepoints stung her scalp and the pain was exquisite, only serving to heighten the sensation that burned where Jack thrust himself into her. His other hand slid round, across her belly and lower, fingers returning to that spot, slick with lust. “How long have you been wet, Lizzie? Since I followed you here? Or earlier, perhaps. Since the battle. The fury of it drenches you, doesn’t it? Do you feel that…?” A thrust, hard and vicious. “Inside of you? You’re my battle, Lizzie. God help me, but I stiffen at the very sound of your voice. I need to rid you from my life.” He drove himself in again and she was close, so close. “I don’t want you, Elizabeth. Do you hear me?”
But she didn’t want to hear this, couldn’t listen to it. She needed one thing from him. She wanted him to slam into her, to pound her until thought had fled and reason was forfeit, until she lost control and broke around him. Sensation, that’s all. Nothing deeper.
“Jack,” she hissed. And perhaps he understood for he withdrew and hooked his arm around her waist, lifting and dragging her to the wall. The weathered wood gave slightly has he hurled her against it. And then he was inside her once more, only this time all words were forsaken and his hips worked against hers with fury and ardour. He hooked his arm behind the crook of her knee and lifted her from the floor, pinning her against the wall as he drove his cock into her again and again, until she thought he might rend her body asunder.
Frantic, primal cries issued from both their throats and she was unsure which voice was hers or where each breath came from. Elizabeth dug her nails into his back, feeling something trickle over her fingers, but knew not if it was Jack’s blood or his sweat. The cold buckle of her belt cut into her flesh, the pain matching the bite of Jack’s teeth at her shoulder.
“Can’t hold… Lizzie…” Jack’s voice was strangled and she knew that he was close to release.
“Help me, Jack,” she begged in fevered gasps, and his hand slid between their bodies, the tips of his fingers rubbing, coaxing her to fruition as the rocking of his hips grew faster. In the maelstrom of her mind, words swirled and spun. Hate broke apart, dashed and wrecked upon hidden rocks that lurked below the surface, like shark’s teeth, and she was loathe to name whatever was left in its place. With a final wild cry, she clutched him to her body, shuddering as she fell from the sky. Jack pulled out, gasping a curse, and spilled his heat between them.
They stayed that way until the chill of the room began to cool the sweat that clung to their bodies, Jack with his forehead upon Elizabeth’s shoulder, she with her hand clutched around the back of his neck. It was her whisper that first broke the silence.
“I want you gone.” His only visible movement was the slight tensing of his shoulders. Then, without looking at her, he pushed himself from the wall and bent to gather his clothing. With no further words, Jack pulled on his breeches and boots, before striding, shirtless, out into the hallway, taut muscles in his back the only proof of his anger before the door slammed behind him. He would not return to Shipwreck Cove for three months.
TBC...
~~~
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