Summary: Aboard the Black Pearl leaving Tortuga, Elizabeth reminds Jack of something he'd rather forget.
Pairing: Jack Sparrow/Hector Barbossa
Warnings: non-con, bloodplay
Disclaimer: Not owned by me.
Original story: Love Lost by robes_of_earth
"Step into my parlor, love," Jack said, with a half mocking bow.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Not come up and see my etchings?"
Jack put a hand to his heart. "I happen to have no etchings, Miss Swann. Just like I have no dress. But me humble apartments are at yer disposal."
Elizabeth looked around the cabin curiously, at the table covered in charts, the swinging lantern, the formerly elegant screen with Jack's dirty shirt draped over it. "It looks different," she said.
"Barbossa had a lot of frou frou," Jack said. "Silver and shiny things, like a great lizard sitting on a horde." Which he had sold, of course, the first time money was a bit short. Going clean to the coast of Ephesos in search of Davy Jones' key didn't exactly pay the crew.
"And velvet," Elizabeth said. One hand strayed over the edge of the elegant table, now draped with parchment and blotters. "China and tablewear." The lantern's light caught gold in her hair. Her voice was light. "You know, I stabbed Barbossa in this room once. Unfortunately, I didn't kill him."
"So did I, me darlin'," Jack said with a smile.
"All love's lost between us now, Jack." Barbossa whispered, his face very close to Jack's, too close for anything but menace. "All affection gone."
It was, Jack thought, a funny choice of words, oddly mincing. Affection was a word that implied drawing rooms and lace, French doors opening into gardens and girls in yellow silk, not the occasional heated coupling against bulkheads, hands clinched into knots against dirty wood. But that was Barbossa for you. Rather call a strumpet "pleasant company" than what she was, a whore. Jack called a spade a spade, being one.
Barbossa leaned closer, tangling his fingers in Jack's hair, so close his lips almost brushed Jack's cheek. He reveled in this power. The Black Pearl was his, her captain his prisoner, and it did not surprise Jack in the least to see how the thrill of triumph in Barbossa's voice was more than a little sexual.
It gave him one last card to play.
"Right from the moment I met ye I knew you'd have me undone, love." Jack whispered. "You've the look of the treacherous about you." He let his voice slip into a lower key, his eyelashes brushing against his cheek, almost like a maiden wounded.
For a moment he thought he'd overdone it, but then he felt Barbossa press against him, the unmistakable hardness of his prick against Jack's thigh. Oh yes, it thrilled him. "'Tis true, I'd challenge the Devil himself fer a fine a ship as this- it's a weakness, one yeh may understand yerself, Jack."
"Aye," Jack whispered, his lips opening half an inch from Barbossa's, almost brushing against him as he turned away. He took a step and then two and three, seemingly aimlessly. The right place. Just so. He half turned and looked at Barbossa, his head to the side, looking up from lowered eyes. Jack ran his hands along the cabinetry, caressing the polished surfaces. "I do understand, as it happens. The Pearl's something unique, is she not?"
Come closer, whoreson, he thought. Come on over. Come to Jack.
Barbossa's eyes flicked up and down. Did he want it badly enough to go on, with an uncertain crew overhead? He took one step, but not another.
Jack leaned forward, his forehead against the bulkhead, hair falling forward, his left arm shielding his face, and just incidentally his right hand, a man defeated, virtue undone. He bent his left knee, knowing that it would tighten his breeches across his buttocks, and let out a sigh.
That did it. Barbossa took one more step toward him, then two. "Keep good cheer lad," Barbossa said. "I may go soft and come back fer ye."
Not quite close enough. Barbossa picked up a bottle of rum from the desk and toyed with it, his eyes never leaving Jack. At last he took a swig, then offered out the bottle. "Although -- don't hold yer breath."
There was a moment of inattention as he lifted the bottle, and that was all the opening he needed. He turned and struck at the same moment, his left hand coming wide in a misdirection of sleeve and lace, the broader movement that the eye was inevitably drawn to, his right hand and the knife snaking in.
Not quite quickly enough. The bottle struck his wrist hard, and the knife that had been meant for Barbossa's heart was deflected upwards, the tip searing a bloody gash across Barbossa's cheek, disfiguring but by no means dangerous. The knife dropped from numbed fingers. He hoped he hadn't broken his wrist.
"Go to yer fate gracefully, Sparrow." Barbossa whispered, closing, his left hand rising to caress Jack's throat. Blood welled from the gash, making a mask of diablerie of Barbossa's face. His fingers pressed just a little at the pulse point, feeling Jack's heart under his hands, his body pressing against him. "Ye'd think you could go like a man, not a whore."
"Ye play the cards you've got," Jack said lightly, everything sharp and cold. He would kill him. Not this time, but some time. He'd only ever killed one man that way, but if ever another deserved it, it was Barbossa.
Barbossa smiled, yellow teeth parted. "Only card you've ever had, quadroon dolly that ye are. Good for one thing, though." He bent his head and kissed Jack with his bloody lips, his fingers tight on Jack's throat, knee pressing between Jack's legs with painful force.
Jack did nothing, let him part his lips passively, tasting the metallic tang of blood. No passion, no reaction at all. There would be none.
Someone banged against the door. "Captain? We're set."
Barbossa grinned. "Time to go, Jack," he said, stepping back, an arrogant swagger to his step, though Jack noted he was careful not to turn his back. "We've got a long walk for you on a short plank. And a nice swim."
Jack shrugged and reached for his hat. "I could use a bit of a bath." Well, he'd not freeze in the Grand Bahamas in June. And there were plenty of islands, if they were lucky enough to be near one. Near the eastward side of Eleuthera in the night, last time he'd had the charts, before the mutiny. Couldn't be too much farther south. He gave Barbossa a careless smile. "Hope that leaves a scar."
"Something to remember you by," Barbossa said, shoving Jack ahead of him toward the door.
Until you get the bullet with my name on it, Jack thought.
"I take it you didn't kill him either," Elizabeth said.
Jack shrugged. "Obviously not." He picked up the bottle on the corner of the table and took a deep drink of rum, hardly oblivious to her distaste, letting a bit dribble out the corner of his mouth and into his beard. He held out the bottle to her. "See, me love? Alike as two peas in a pod, as I said. Both of us play the cards we've got."