Title: Apricot
Author: Lacy
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Pairing: Elizabeth Turner/Will Turner
Rating: R
Summary: Will and Elizabeth engage in married conduct; Jack voyeurs.
Disclaimer: I have no claim over these characters or the fine actors who play them. I do not profit nor do I mean any harm.
Notes: 497 words for the http://www.livejournal.com/community/pirates500 "Longing" challenge. The end is a bit abrupt as I quickly ran over the limit and had to hack two paragraphs to get it to fit at all.
Apricot
He must have been insane, allowing the pair of them on his ship so soon after their wedding. And he definitely shouldn't have given up his cabin to them. No, that was the worst idea he'd ever had.
He knew what they were doing before he even took the stairs to his quarters. Yet he went anyway, ripe apricot held loosely in his hand. Elizabeth was a woman, through and through. She'd brought a crate of fruit with her on board, citrus and peaches and apricots. To prevent scurvy, she'd said. She was mothering his crew. It annoyed him to no end.
They hadn't shut the door. He was sure that was Elizabeth's doing. Will would never have been so careless, especially where it concerned the act in which they were involved. The woman was treacherous and seductive. She'd turned dark eyes on Jack more than once, even over the shoulder of her husband as she embraced him. No doubt she was luring him, leaving a sliver of candlelight pouring into the corridor at the base of the stairs in case he happened down them.
He leant against the door frame, daintily, flickering images in burnt flame across the shiny surface of his eyes. She still wore her petticoats, her corset, hair barely tumbling down her back, wisps worked out of the intricate twists of loose plaits. Will had fists full of her skirts, holding them at the top of her bunching thighs as she took him, back arching, breasts bulging from her bodice as she breathed.
Jack couldn't see, not properly, the connection of the two hidden beneath Elizabeth's skirts. But the sounds were intoxicating, the gasping and the movement, and Jack felt his face go briefly flush before all his blood drained down. His fingers twitched, clenched around the forgotten fruit in his palm. He ran the pad of his thumb over the skin, soft like the curve of a woman's cheek. Will's voice was thick and deep and Jack's body reacted most of all to that, to the parting of his lips and the arching of his pelvis.
His thumb broke the skin, tip pressing into juicy flesh, sticky. Elizabeth trembled, gasp catching. He pursed his lips and released a slow breath through his nose, thumb pressing deeper, fingernail scraping the hard pit at the center. Elizabeth cried out, juice ran into the hollow of his palm. She tossed her head back, body shaking, his grip tightened, her fingers wrapped around her husband's wrists, he allowed himself an open mouthed inhalation of cool air. A moan in the back of Will's throat, pulp and juices soft and wet against his skin, the sound of damp flesh meeting, excess trickling from between his fingers.
She collapsed against her lover. He stole into the shadows. He'd never had want for pleasurable company, could be in the warm and moist of a woman's grasp whenever he wished it. But he could not have this. Whatever it was.