Dark of the Moon (30-32/37)
May. 28th, 2006 06:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dwgmYes. 37 parts and an epilogue now. Many thanks, as always, to my dear ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hereswith for judicious and eagle-eyed editing. Still PG-13. Or possibly bordering on soft R.
[30]
One more night. God’s teeth, but he’d be glad to be rid of her. To have his cabin to himself, uncompromised by the sounds, scents, and sights of winsome, helpless widow. One more night. If he didn’t go quite mad before it was over.
He was doing his best, really he was. To stay away. Avoid temptation. Refrain from simply grabbing her and having his way with her, letting his body and mind become reattuned while showing her the delights that were Jack Sparrow and Lettice Granger. She’d had a taste of the former, which would no doubt ease his way, but he wondered if she had any real inkling of the latter. Somehow, from things said and unsaid, he doubted it.
Shut up, Jack. That door’s closed.
He ground his teeth, and tightened his grip on her arm.
“Jack! Mr. Sparrow! Stop it!” She dug in her heels, wrenching to a halt.
He scowled at her. And she scowled right back. Adorable.
Shut up, Jack.
“You’re hurting me!” she hissed.
He had been, of course. “I’m sorry. Let’s just get you to the cabin, shall we? You don’t want to be topside tonight. The lads’re makin’ great inroads on the rum, already.”
“And you are, no doubt, eager to lend them aid,” she snapped, hurt and contemptuous.
“Precisely, Mrs. Granger. Now if you’ll be so good as to step this way. Or would you prefer I get Bootstrap for you?”
Her cheeks went rose pink, and her lips quivered, but she bit back whatever scathing words hovered upon them, turned on her heel and started off across the deck again. He followed along, a few steps behind, eyes sinking from the set shoulders down the straight back to linger on the sway of her skirted hips.
No harm in looking.
When they reached the cabin and he’d opened the door for her, she tried once more. “Jack…”
He cut her off. “I’ll be late, most likely. Get some sleep. We don’t want your uncle thinkin’ I’ve kept you from your rest.”
She hesitated, but then gave it up. “No. Of course not. Good night.”
She closed the door herself.
*
‘Twas wonderful how a half bottle of rum could take the edge off.
As the stars appeared, there was music again. A bit quieter than on Letty’s first evening on the Pearl, for the sound would carry on the water and they were drawing near to Barbados. The big drums were left below, but Murphy had his flute, and Jeffers his fiddle, and several of the lads were having a competition to see who could dance the maddest hornpipe. Most of them weren’t much at it (particularly when jug-bitten), and there was a great deal of laughter amid the shouts and applause. Finally, Darlin’ Robert stepped forward, whose well-known prowess was unimpaired even by excessive drink. Jack whistled and stomped and clapped by way of encouragement. The fiddle shrieked, the pipe squealed and Bob was off…and just then there was a hand laid on Jack’s shoulder.
“Ye’d best have a care for yer spoils, Jack,” came Barbossa’s gravelly purr, just audible above the racket.
“What? She’s… oh, bloody hell.” She was not below, where he’d stashed her. She’d come up on deck and was crossing toward him, bold as brass. Well, no. She looked both determined and frightened – as well she might be! He heard Barbossa’s chuckle, then general laughter as he strode to intercept her, cursing under his breath. She froze, watching him, almost gathering enough courage to face him down, but failing in the end. She turned and scurried back to the companionway. Raucous approval rang in Jack’s ears, and he grinned and bowed elaborately to the company before loping off to catch his errant charge.
But it wasn’t like that first night, after all. He went down one flight and there she was, waiting for him, half in shadow.
The voice of wisdom urged caution. This was a bad sign. Could negate his entire Sacrifice of the last several days.
But… devil take it! He shoved wisdom away with rum-induced impatience as he approached, and then the sight of her -- lips parted, breast heaving, and, when he drew close, eyes full of fear and, yes, longing – inspired him to kick it clean over the side.
“Damnation, Letty!” he growled, scolding for form’s sake. “What’d you think you were doing up there?” He caught her shoulders.
She’d put her hands up and now they plucked at his shirt. “I… Jack, I wanted you.”
“That right?” He bent his head to kiss her, releasing his grip to slip his left arm around her shoulders, intending to tip her chin up with his right hand.
But there was no need. To his surprise, she raised her face to his, arms sliding up about his neck, and spoke one word, breathless but sure: “Yes.”
If those other kisses he’d taken had been sweet, this one was far sweeter, for it was given and with her whole heart. In the midst of it, she made a little formless sound, and he started to draw back, but she’d have none of it. He let his right hand wander, and there were more sounds, but she did not pull away.
Finally, he made her stop. He said, soft against her lips, “Letty…”
“I shall never see you again, after tomorrow,” she whispered, rather fiercely, and she kissed him, at length, ending it by nipping gently at his lower lip.
He smiled his delight. He murmured, “Housing a vixen in my cabin!” and she smiled too. Once more: “You’re certain?”
She pulled on his hair. “Be quiet.”
He gave a small chuff of laughter, then did as he was told.
[31]
In later years, moments of that night would return to Letty…
The desperate longing, something so physical that she’d wondered at the time if she were falling ill, or perhaps going mad. Longing that had overwhelmed her anger and, finally, her fear too, driving her from the cabin to find him. Her agitation at her inability to express what she felt, even to herself, and then her utter relief when her unthinking, instinctive reply, I wanted you, was interpreted with such astonishing accuracy.
The rush back to the cabin, Jack’s hand gripping hers, pulling her along, the sounds of fiddle and pipe fading behind them. Her impatience at the delay as he lit the lamp. A brief awkwardness, then hands pulling at ties, at buckles, at fabric, trying not to tear in their haste, not always succeeding. Excitement. Embarrassment. Shock. Fascination. And pride. That he’d thought her beautiful, all of her, head to toe. That she had so obviously made this man want her, his desire equal in measure to her own.
The startling differences between Jack and her late husband. Skin, deep gold, not unmarked, yet lovely both in itself and in contrast to her own fairness; a lithe, strong body that begged to be touched everywhere, in every way. No voluminous nightclothes between them. No silent rucking up of her gown, or clumsy weight upon her, or wet kisses, or fumbling, gripping hands.
And no pain.
That had been a revelation. That she could be so caught in need that, in spite of their haste that first time, she was ready for him. More than ready. Slick heat and a strangled howl had met his touch, and, though his obvious intention was to gentle her, ease her into the way of it, it was she who wouldn’t have it, she who lost herself. A babbling stream of whispered praise and oaths. The feel of him, his trembling intensity combined with his failing efforts at restraint.
Restraint be damned!
And damned it was, most thoroughly, to the music of their combined cries.
Thank Heaven for the covering noise of fiddle, pipe, and pounding feet, far above them.
*
Satiation had been remarkably brief. But she’d given way to him after that, trusting him, letting him take the lead, slowly, surely.
How strange it was, she remembered thinking. How strange… and how perfect.
[32]
Predawn darkness. Post-rum muzziness. Sight was impaired, but scent and touch were not, and memory returned in startling, scattered fragments. The warmth lying all along his side was Letty’s. It was her nakedness moving sleepily against his own. Her hand that drifted over his chest, then lower, over his stomach, lingering shyly.
The voice of wisdom might raise another belated protest, but his body knew no such ambivalence. He turned toward her, caught the questing hand and moved it lower still, to its improper destination, and found her lips with his own. She murmured approval beneath his kiss.
He smiled. “Again?”
“Yes.”
*
TBC
hereswith for judicious and eagle-eyed editing. Still PG-13. Or possibly bordering on soft R.[30]
One more night. God’s teeth, but he’d be glad to be rid of her. To have his cabin to himself, uncompromised by the sounds, scents, and sights of winsome, helpless widow. One more night. If he didn’t go quite mad before it was over.
He was doing his best, really he was. To stay away. Avoid temptation. Refrain from simply grabbing her and having his way with her, letting his body and mind become reattuned while showing her the delights that were Jack Sparrow and Lettice Granger. She’d had a taste of the former, which would no doubt ease his way, but he wondered if she had any real inkling of the latter. Somehow, from things said and unsaid, he doubted it.
Shut up, Jack. That door’s closed.
He ground his teeth, and tightened his grip on her arm.
“Jack! Mr. Sparrow! Stop it!” She dug in her heels, wrenching to a halt.
He scowled at her. And she scowled right back. Adorable.
Shut up, Jack.
“You’re hurting me!” she hissed.
He had been, of course. “I’m sorry. Let’s just get you to the cabin, shall we? You don’t want to be topside tonight. The lads’re makin’ great inroads on the rum, already.”
“And you are, no doubt, eager to lend them aid,” she snapped, hurt and contemptuous.
“Precisely, Mrs. Granger. Now if you’ll be so good as to step this way. Or would you prefer I get Bootstrap for you?”
Her cheeks went rose pink, and her lips quivered, but she bit back whatever scathing words hovered upon them, turned on her heel and started off across the deck again. He followed along, a few steps behind, eyes sinking from the set shoulders down the straight back to linger on the sway of her skirted hips.
No harm in looking.
When they reached the cabin and he’d opened the door for her, she tried once more. “Jack…”
He cut her off. “I’ll be late, most likely. Get some sleep. We don’t want your uncle thinkin’ I’ve kept you from your rest.”
She hesitated, but then gave it up. “No. Of course not. Good night.”
She closed the door herself.
*
‘Twas wonderful how a half bottle of rum could take the edge off.
As the stars appeared, there was music again. A bit quieter than on Letty’s first evening on the Pearl, for the sound would carry on the water and they were drawing near to Barbados. The big drums were left below, but Murphy had his flute, and Jeffers his fiddle, and several of the lads were having a competition to see who could dance the maddest hornpipe. Most of them weren’t much at it (particularly when jug-bitten), and there was a great deal of laughter amid the shouts and applause. Finally, Darlin’ Robert stepped forward, whose well-known prowess was unimpaired even by excessive drink. Jack whistled and stomped and clapped by way of encouragement. The fiddle shrieked, the pipe squealed and Bob was off…and just then there was a hand laid on Jack’s shoulder.
“Ye’d best have a care for yer spoils, Jack,” came Barbossa’s gravelly purr, just audible above the racket.
“What? She’s… oh, bloody hell.” She was not below, where he’d stashed her. She’d come up on deck and was crossing toward him, bold as brass. Well, no. She looked both determined and frightened – as well she might be! He heard Barbossa’s chuckle, then general laughter as he strode to intercept her, cursing under his breath. She froze, watching him, almost gathering enough courage to face him down, but failing in the end. She turned and scurried back to the companionway. Raucous approval rang in Jack’s ears, and he grinned and bowed elaborately to the company before loping off to catch his errant charge.
But it wasn’t like that first night, after all. He went down one flight and there she was, waiting for him, half in shadow.
The voice of wisdom urged caution. This was a bad sign. Could negate his entire Sacrifice of the last several days.
But… devil take it! He shoved wisdom away with rum-induced impatience as he approached, and then the sight of her -- lips parted, breast heaving, and, when he drew close, eyes full of fear and, yes, longing – inspired him to kick it clean over the side.
“Damnation, Letty!” he growled, scolding for form’s sake. “What’d you think you were doing up there?” He caught her shoulders.
She’d put her hands up and now they plucked at his shirt. “I… Jack, I wanted you.”
“That right?” He bent his head to kiss her, releasing his grip to slip his left arm around her shoulders, intending to tip her chin up with his right hand.
But there was no need. To his surprise, she raised her face to his, arms sliding up about his neck, and spoke one word, breathless but sure: “Yes.”
If those other kisses he’d taken had been sweet, this one was far sweeter, for it was given and with her whole heart. In the midst of it, she made a little formless sound, and he started to draw back, but she’d have none of it. He let his right hand wander, and there were more sounds, but she did not pull away.
Finally, he made her stop. He said, soft against her lips, “Letty…”
“I shall never see you again, after tomorrow,” she whispered, rather fiercely, and she kissed him, at length, ending it by nipping gently at his lower lip.
He smiled his delight. He murmured, “Housing a vixen in my cabin!” and she smiled too. Once more: “You’re certain?”
She pulled on his hair. “Be quiet.”
He gave a small chuff of laughter, then did as he was told.
[31]
In later years, moments of that night would return to Letty…
The desperate longing, something so physical that she’d wondered at the time if she were falling ill, or perhaps going mad. Longing that had overwhelmed her anger and, finally, her fear too, driving her from the cabin to find him. Her agitation at her inability to express what she felt, even to herself, and then her utter relief when her unthinking, instinctive reply, I wanted you, was interpreted with such astonishing accuracy.
The rush back to the cabin, Jack’s hand gripping hers, pulling her along, the sounds of fiddle and pipe fading behind them. Her impatience at the delay as he lit the lamp. A brief awkwardness, then hands pulling at ties, at buckles, at fabric, trying not to tear in their haste, not always succeeding. Excitement. Embarrassment. Shock. Fascination. And pride. That he’d thought her beautiful, all of her, head to toe. That she had so obviously made this man want her, his desire equal in measure to her own.
The startling differences between Jack and her late husband. Skin, deep gold, not unmarked, yet lovely both in itself and in contrast to her own fairness; a lithe, strong body that begged to be touched everywhere, in every way. No voluminous nightclothes between them. No silent rucking up of her gown, or clumsy weight upon her, or wet kisses, or fumbling, gripping hands.
And no pain.
That had been a revelation. That she could be so caught in need that, in spite of their haste that first time, she was ready for him. More than ready. Slick heat and a strangled howl had met his touch, and, though his obvious intention was to gentle her, ease her into the way of it, it was she who wouldn’t have it, she who lost herself. A babbling stream of whispered praise and oaths. The feel of him, his trembling intensity combined with his failing efforts at restraint.
Restraint be damned!
And damned it was, most thoroughly, to the music of their combined cries.
Thank Heaven for the covering noise of fiddle, pipe, and pounding feet, far above them.
*
Satiation had been remarkably brief. But she’d given way to him after that, trusting him, letting him take the lead, slowly, surely.
How strange it was, she remembered thinking. How strange… and how perfect.
[32]
Predawn darkness. Post-rum muzziness. Sight was impaired, but scent and touch were not, and memory returned in startling, scattered fragments. The warmth lying all along his side was Letty’s. It was her nakedness moving sleepily against his own. Her hand that drifted over his chest, then lower, over his stomach, lingering shyly.
The voice of wisdom might raise another belated protest, but his body knew no such ambivalence. He turned toward her, caught the questing hand and moved it lower still, to its improper destination, and found her lips with his own. She murmured approval beneath his kiss.
He smiled. “Again?”
“Yes.”
*
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-05-29 04:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-29 04:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-29 12:11 pm (UTC)I wondered if Jack would be able to behave himself, I honestly never thought Letty'd be the one to knuckle under her baser instincts first... and to such great effect! ;-)
I'm utterly charmed by these chapters.
Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-29 01:20 pm (UTC)Had to be sort of a mutual thing, or Jack would just have gone on stoically resisting and being ill-tempered.
So happy to've charmed you! Thank you so much for reading and commenting.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-29 02:46 pm (UTC)The big drums were left below
*pouts* Yes, they do have to be careful. Besides, too much of Jack dancing to those drums might make
Letty'smy brain implode. (*debates whether "too much of" and "Jack" - doing anything - is really a possibility*)jug-bitten
Oooh! I like that one. *attempts to distract
Barbossa's always got an eye on what's Jack's, doesn't he? And though you don't say it, I'm sure he's right behind Jack, dripping his oily thoughts directly into Jack's ear.
he grinned and bowed elaborately to the company before loping off to catch his errant charge
Fabulous! Ever the showman is our Jack, and you've captured that incredibly well.
Woo-hoo, look at take-charge Letty!
I really like how you added the glow of treasured memories to their night together. You continue to amaze me - having what is, essentially, reallyhotsex in your story without being particularly graphic. Such a light touch, and truly lovely, as always.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-29 08:59 pm (UTC)I was hoping to keep this PG-13, and almost succeeded. I'm glad you feel I've conveyed the reallyhotsex adequately. After all that build up it would be a shame to tone it down too much.
I've just written 36 & 37 this morning, so just the epilogue to go now, and maybe I'll get that done tonight. It's been a long haul, six months, for such a short fic -- It's only about 26,000 words total. That's only a little over the length of The Christmas Guest, which I wrote in about five days. But it's kept me sane (more or less) through a very stressful half year.
Thank you for your lovely, detailed comments. I'm so happy to know you're enjoying the story!
no subject
Date: 2006-05-29 10:22 pm (UTC)Perhaps (just perhaps now) mention of drums and Jack in the same chapter may have influenced me a bit. Sort of predisposed my thinking. *sporfle*
It's been a long haul, six months, for such a short fic
Six months? It's honestly been that long? Am happy that it's been good for you to write it because it's definitely been a "safe zone" of welcome relief when certain others have been driving us to nail biting and cowering under blankies, *looks significantly at
no subject
Date: 2006-05-30 05:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-29 09:30 pm (UTC)Oooh! I like that one. *attempts to distract
We can tag-team her on this. You distract her with chocolate, I'll grab the word while she's not looking. Because I want it bad.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-29 10:25 pm (UTC)Sounds good, we can share - I'll get started baking the chocolate chip cookies. Since you're grabbing it, you get to use it first ('sides, I don't have a need to have anyone drunk at the moment).
no subject
Date: 2006-05-30 01:39 am (UTC)Any leftover cookie mix? I do like it raw.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-30 11:43 pm (UTC)Leftover? Ha! Never happens in this house. Shall have to mix up some fresh for you.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-29 03:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-29 09:03 pm (UTC)*many hugs*
no subject
Date: 2006-05-29 09:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-29 09:37 pm (UTC)She gave in! Of course she gave in, who wouldn't give in? But so beautifully. I am most relieved for them both.
As above, I love 'jug-bitten' and you should expect to see it soon in an Impverse near you. And the threat in “Ye’d best have a care for yer spoils, Jack,” came Barbossa’s gravelly purr, just audible above the racket. That was good, reminding the reader of her inherently dangerous situation. Because danger is spicy!
I liked the contrast with poor ol' Brian, too. Good thing he's dead, he'd be mortified! Serves him right. Wet sloppy kisses, ugh.
He turned toward her, caught the questing hand and moved it lower still, to its improper destination 'Improper Destination', an excellent phrase!
Thank you poppet, you've put me in just the right (writing) mood!
no subject
Date: 2006-05-29 10:00 pm (UTC)You may certainly steal 'jug-bitten', which, as I told
Am thrilled to know I've put you in a writing mood. Still checking for appearance of alledged sequel, several times a day.
So happy you enjoyed this. It's virtually complete, I've only to write the epilogue now. Two more posts to go. Thanks so much for commenting -- I really really appreciate it!
no subject
Date: 2006-06-08 12:50 pm (UTC)As usual, wonderful job of getting in poor Jack’s beleaguered head as he tries so hard to be good without going mad. :D
letting his body and mind become reattuned while showing her the delights that were Jack Sparrow and Lettice Granger. She’d had a taste of the former, which would no doubt ease his way, but he wondered if she had any real inkling of the latter.
I love the idea of this, that he wants to show her pleasure that he’s pretty sure she doesn’t know she can have or give.
And that tense, hurting, sniping little scene where he tries to lock away temptation and she gives up and does it for him is very well done.
Then it’s off to the rum for Jack—the elixer of life for him. Lovely description of this more subdued party as well.
“Ye’d best have a care for yer spoils, Jack,” came Barbossa’s gravelly purr, just audible above the racket.
He’s always got an eye out, doesn’t he? And great description of his voice and sarcasm. He’s always pushing Jack.
She was not below, where he’d stashed her.
Like a particularly noxious piece of cargo!
Raucous approval rang in Jack’s ears, and he grinned and bowed elaborately to the company before loping off to catch his errant charge.
He’s got to save face, keep up the reputation. No two-bit female is going to get the best of him.
Love his little conflict with himself, still trying to be wise for both of them when all he wants is some glorious stupidity. And there she is heaving her breast again—he’s a goner.
He shoved wisdom away with rum-induced impatience
Ha!
And I love her being honest with him, just telling him she wants him, and then going after what she wants. Very nice characterization.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-08 01:06 pm (UTC)Was watching Don Juan Demarco again last night. Really, how could Letty, or anyone, resist?
Thank you so much for commenting in such detail, again. So good of you!
I'm trying to finish up editing CtB13 this morning. I hope to send it soon. Sorry it's taking so long. Minor disasters occuring here and there, impacting my time. I already told you it's great, of course. But you knew that.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-08 01:16 pm (UTC)How indeed?! He is just so beautiful in that it ought to be illegal. But it is so telling that she is surprised and delighted that he cannot resist her either. Lucky girl!
I'm sorry to hear about the minor disasters. I hope everything is becoming okay again. No worries about CtB13. I shall be out of town this weekend and won't be online much. Do you want CtB14 before I go? Do you think my action/adventure story can possibly survive 15 pages of J/A H/C/S with the S standing for EXTREME SNARK?
no subject
Date: 2006-06-08 01:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-08 01:12 pm (UTC)Very lovely, sweet, and sensual as well as hot sex, my lady. I like the effect of starting it off as a memory, giving the sense that this will be all right, that Jack’s being unwise and Letty’s being forward is not going to be something to regret.
Then the whole phrasing and pacing of their awkward fumbling undressing and the multitude of emotions Letty is experiencing is so perfect. The form and sentence structure highlights the emotion.
Then that comparison between Jack and her former husband. No wonder she wants Jack—that difference between light and unashamed sensuality and dark clumsy fumbling. Good grief!
And I love how eager and forward she is, here. How Jack lets her set the pace. And this line The feel of him, his trembling intensity combined with his failing efforts at restraint. has to be the hottest in the whole story. I shall just admire it for a moment.
Restraint be damned!
And damned it was, most thoroughly,
Ha! And wonderful. You capture all the ecstatic love-making without the gory details. I do admire your light touch.
And that she’d given way to him after that, trusting him, letting him take the lead, slowly, surely. is so romantic and sensuous and perfect just as she says.
As for the morning after, I love Jack waking up next to her and the sensory details he experiences and that little bit of shyness still in her. Poor wisdom doesn’t stand a chance. And of course that improper destination is too wonderful. Beautiful work. My hat is off to you.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-08 01:29 pm (UTC)Exactly. And putting it from her pov as a memory too. You sort of know in advance that everything turned out all right for her. Plus it's just easier to keep it PG-13 that way. Or almost. *G*
So happy to've warmed up your morning!