Lessons, Chapter One

Something was tickling her face. She brushed at it, wrinkling her nose, then tried to go back to sleep, knowing she needed to have plenty of rest for tomorrow if she was to carry out her plan. Ugh. There it was again. Wait. What if it was an insect, or... Elizabeth gasped swatting the air in front of her, and opened her eyes to see a dark shape looming over her. "Captain Sparrow!" she protested, foolishly trying to lean back farther into the sand, as if she would escape that way. He didn't move, just sat there looking down at her. The fire had died down, but she could still see his face, possessed of an unfathomable expression and a pair of ferociously glittering dark eyes. Earlier, Elizabeth had found a sort of morose glee in being marooned on an island with a famous pirate, knowing what her escape plan was for the morning and feeling safe in knowing that they'd be rescued before long. Earlier it had all been silliness and singing and dancing and far too much rum. Now, with the realization that they truly were all alone, that no one would stand in his way should he decide to... do something that she didn't agree with, Elizabeth Swann was frightened.

He had fallen asleep for a time, and then woken up. Ragingly... well, raging. He'd looked down at the girl sleeping next to him, the most beautiful woman he'd ever had the luck to be this close to, and had firmly told himself that he would never hurt her. But he found himself reaching out and brushing sand from her face, wanting to touch that delicate skin. And so she had woken up, and now he sat staring at her, still half-drunk and very aware that they were alone here and that she was wearing a very thin gown. And that, damn it, she was a very beautiful virgin.

He was reaching out again; what would he do? One dirty hand brushed her face at the juncture of hairline and forehead. She held her breath a moment, regained it. "Wh-what are you doing?" she sputtered.

"Sand. On your face." He murmured, with none of his usual slurring.

"Oh. Well, thank you." She was completely disarmed. Brushing sand off her face? What was he thinking? He was still looking at her with that intense stare, that look that was beginning to make her feel ever-so-slightly funny. Slightly shivery, truth be told.

He was reaching out again. His fingers skated over one cheekbone, so gently, so softly. "Sand there too." He watched her swallow, wondered what she was thinking. Probably that I'm going to ravage her, he told himself. Never would. Never, never, never...

"Captain Sparrow," she began, then didn't know what to say. He certainly wasn't making any move to grab her or mishandle her, but the look in his eyes was genuinely disconcerting as was the way he was touching her; it held her captive, unable to move. She'd never had a man other than her father touch her so gently, so intimately. For it was certainly a caress, that pretense of sweeping the sand away. It was no rough brushing, but a tender, slow caress. And she found herself thinking that in the firelight, the moonlight, he was perhaps younger than she'd first assumed. And certainly more handsome, when he wasn't making ridiculous faces or saying outrageous things or being threatening... except this was a new kind of threatening, this tender gesturing of his.

He found himself reaching out again, now brushing back a stray tendril of hair. He felt her tense, felt her trying to move backward as if burrowing into the sand beneath her. But her eyes, now locked with his, didn't seem all that frightened anymore. The fright had been replaced by a wary curiosity. Interesting. He gently reached out and moved another tendril of hair and watched the way she sucked in her breath slightly. Very interesting.

He was playing with her hair now, moving it aside from her face. Too close, her mind warned, he's too close. He was alternately smoothing it away from one side of her face, and then loosely draping a curl across the other side, before smoothing it away again as if he were testing a theory. His eyes were enormous, fixed on her and she felt her breath catch. She heard her own voice weakly, so weakly protesting, "Captain Sparrow, I must insist that you..." Oh. He was tracing the curve of her cheek again, reaching up higher to smooth her brow, the hollow of the eyelid, back down again.

"Jack," he murmured to her, tracing the creamy skin of her face. So soft. He wanted to taste it, he literally wanted to lick her cheek to taste her. He told himself not to be a fool. "Call me Jack, love."

Dimly she recognized a voice screaming in the back of her mind, her sensible, ladylike Miss Swann voice that cried out that she must not, must not call this scoundrel by his first name and that she certainly must not respond to what he was doing to her. "Jack," she found herself whispering back. She felt hot, flushed, slightly dizzy. She found herself staring at his mouth, the curve of his lips, wondering what it might be like to... Absolutely not, she told herself. You should be saving your first kiss for someone special, someone...

"You're staring," he murmured.

Drat. "Am not," she countered. Oh yes, that was frightfully mature, Elizabeth.

"Dare I hope that you might perhaps be wondering whether I am going to kiss you?" he drawled, the corner of his lips twitching in a smile. He violently hoped she was. He didn't think to actually kiss her, she'd certainly never allow it, but it was certainly entertaining to imagine it.

"I most certainly am not!" she protested, "And you are far too bold. And far too close. And I'll thank you to..." She broke off as he gently reached out to trace her bottom lip. Fascinated, she found herself speechless.

"I'll bet you've never been kissed, Miss Swann," he smiled down at her, "And I'm certain you've never been touched by a man." So bloody beautiful.

"Of course I haven't. Been touched, I mean," she was whispering; why was she whispering? This was far too dangerous a game to be playing.

"Oh, so you have been kissed?"

"Well... yes."

"By whom, might I ask?" His fingers were now trailing slowly down the side of her neck and she jumped, letting out a soft gasp.

"By... by..." She couldn't think while he was touching her like that. "By a boy..." She realized she was trembling, saw that he noticed it.

"As I thought. You've never been really kissed." He slowly ran a fingertip across her collarbone, saw her eyes flutter half-shut. Stop this, Jack, his mind warned him, you're going too far for the both of you. But he was powerless to stop when he saw her slowly lick her lips, the image burning itself into his brain. He continued to trail his fingers across her skin.

She felt almost drowsy, her limbs so heavy, so limp. That one finger tracing across her collarbone made her breathless. She looked up at him, feeling his soft breath near her face. Yes, alright, he's filthy. I'm sure the swim in the ocean didn't do a thing for that. But there's really nothing wrong with his breath other than rum. Maybe kissing him wouldn't be so bad. No. I can't possibly be considering this, I must be drunk. Before she knew what she was doing, her mouth opened, "You... you could kiss me."

Amazed, he rocked back a little, then hurried to cover his surprise with a slow smile. "Why, Miss Swann. I'm surprised at you. Kissing a pirate, really." And oh, he wanted to... but how serious was she?

She could feel herself blushing, but she felt oddly committed. She wanted her first real kiss. Jack was certainly handsome under that layer of dirt and sarcasm, he was a known rogue and scoundrel, he'd certainly know how to do it well and... And you just really want to kiss him, don't you? Want to see how it will feel. "Well, you seem to imply that I'm somehow lacking for never having been properly kissed. So... go ahead."

Dear God. She really was asking for it. Her lips were even pursed slightly, readying for a kiss. He was torn between the desire to laugh and the desire to ravage her. Damn. He was never any good with these moral dilemmas, awful at making such decisions. If she'd been a Tortuga girl, he wouldn't hesitate. But she was very young, very beautiful and very pure. He found himself running his fingers down the column of her neck again, and she made a soft noise in her throat. Almost a purr. And he felt himself shudder for wanting her. Not sure this is a good idea.

It felt good. Too good. She was thoroughly enjoying the touch of his hands on her, found herself making soft little noises as he made a feather-light trail up her neck and to her earlobe. Intakes of breath that were almost sighs. Oh yes. She was ready to be kissed by him. "Well?" she whispered.

Nervous. He was as nervous as a powder monkey with a lit fuse. This was a first. He found himself pulling away from her, picking up her bottle of rum and taking a long drink. "Alright then. I'll give you a kiss. And then I want you to go to the other side of the fire and get to sleep." Yes, keep it light, he told himself, like an uncle or a family friend or... Just one little kiss.

He leaned toward her and she lifted her face, closing her eyes. She felt his warm breath just above her mouth and then... a pressing of lips. Firm, and... he'd pulled away. She opened her eyes to see him leaning back. "Th-that's all?" she asked him, puzzled.

"That's all you get, I'm afraid." Good man, Jack, he thought, that was nothing at all. No harm done to either of you. Even if you do want to kiss her silly. Even if she is looking at you with the most blatant invitation you've ever seen.

"That was... well, that was like a goodnight kiss from my father!" She felt incredibly, stupidly frustrated and, strangely, almost hurt.

"As it should be. I'm old enough to be yours. Now go to bed like a good girl." He grinned at her, amused by her indignation. Age be damned. You know you want to. You know you want to kiss her again. Go ahead. No, on second thought, don't, bad idea. Oh, come on, why not? He was at war with himself. Wonder who'll win, he thought, stupidly.

The wretch. How dare he touch her like that, get her to ask for a kiss and then... that? Fine, then. Change tactics. "Oh, I see. You could have just said you didn't want to kiss me. I know I seem like a child to someone as experienced as you," she looked up at him, deliberately dropping her lashes and licking her lips. She let her head drop back a little, exposing her neck, and saw his eyes take on a new gleam.

"I never said I didn't want to kiss you," he answered, softly. She was practically begging him to. Do it.

"I thought my first real kiss should be from someone who knew how, that's all," she told him, laying back in the sand. Would you please just kiss me, she thought furiously.

"Oh, I know how alright. I just don't usually kiss little girls." Tit for tat, missy. Teasing could go both ways.

It worked. She narrowed her eyes and sat up, "I am not a little girl, I am twenty years old." she hissed.

"Well, well. My mistake," he grinned. "But young women usually have had at least one real kiss by your age."

"If you weren't such a coward, I would have."

Right. The gauntlet had been dropped. He involuntarily clenched a fist. "Cowardly, is it, Miss Swann? Well. I'll have to prove you wrong, then." He leaned over her slowly, saw her eyes go wide as he deliberately put on a fierce expression. Kissing she wants, kissing she shall have.

He looked absolutely terrifying, she'd gone too far with her last shot. He leaned over her, so slowly, and began to thread the fingers of one hand in her hair. "Afraid?" he asked her.

"Not of you," she weakly shot back. He took his time, staring into her eyes as he lowered his face, watching her emotions change from fright to expectation as he ran his free hand down her neck again. She let out a slight gasp and it was the fuse to the keg, he had to taste her.

He lowered his mouth to hers and slowly brushed his lips back and forth. Oh my. That is rather nice, she dimly thought. He began to press his lips more firmly against hers, moving slightly, and she thought she heard him say something, make some noise. She meant to answer, found that her lips had parted and suddenly felt the tip of his tongue brush her own.

He knew he'd made a sound in his throat, holding back was killing him. He did not, however, expect her to part her lips. Oh yes. He softly curled his tongue over hers, not pushing, just a slight taste. So sweet. He felt her shiver and suddenly pulled away. He absolutely could not take much more of this.

Oh, no. He'd stopped. It had been so shocking, the touch of his tongue, but it had turned her blood to fire. And she wanted more. "Is that all?" she heard herself say, voice throaty, slightly out of breath.

"It had better be," he told her, not looking at her. "There. Your first kiss. Now go to sleep." He didn't mean that last bit to come out so desperate, didn't want her to hear the need in his voice.

"Show me more," she said, before she could stop herself. She wanted to learn more about these exciting new feelings, and who better than this pirate to teach her?

"Absolutely not." He growled, "No more lessons."

"Why not?"

He couldn't believe she was asking. Couldn't she tell his control was barely hanging on? No. She was too inexperienced to realize. Interesting how the Commodore had never kissed her, he certainly had acted as though she were his property. The Turner lad hadn't kissed her either, apparently; maybe he was a eunuch? If either of them had kissed her, damn it, Jack might not be in this position now. But then again I might, he thought, she certainly is a passionate girl. Not to mention damnably curious. "Because, dearie. Men such as myself tend to get carried away with young women such as yourself. You are young, you are a virgin, you are not mine to kiss. I've been very good so far, very well behaved, wouldn't you agree?"

"Very," she told him, smiling faintly.

"And if I continued to kiss you, I might not continue to be so well-behaved." Bit of an understatement, that.

She considered a moment. "I trust you." And she meant it. For some stupid, ludicrous reason, she trusted him not to harm her.

He groaned aloud at that. "My dear Miss Swann, you absolutely do not know what you are playing at."

"So teach me," she whispered. She realized that this was partially the rum talking, but she so badly wanted another kiss. She'd never have this opportunity again, never be so free again. The thought made her cold, and she desperately wanted to be warm again.

"Teach you." He repeated, turning to face her. "To what end?"

"Well... so that... well, so that I know how!" She was now blushing, and hated it.

"You want me to prepare you for your future husband, is that it?" His lip curled a little.

Thoroughly exasperated, she cried out, "Jack Sparrow, do you want to kiss me or not?"

There was a pause. They both looked at each other a moment, considering. Slowly, Elizabeth sat up. She got to her knees and edged towards him until she was only a foot away. "Please?" she breathed.

That did it. He reached out, putting one hand on her waist, the other on her chin. "Alright. But don't cry about this tomorrow." He slowly brought her face up to his.

"Absolutely not," she breathed. "What do I do?"

He willed himself to go slowly. "It's nice to do this," he brushed his lips softly, lightly across hers, "as you already know."

"Yes... and...?"

He gently sucked at her lower lip, heard her soft sigh. "This isn't bad, either," he heard his voice shake, cursed it.

"Oh, yes... and...?" She was melting into him; he was doing dizzying things with his mouth. And she still wanted more.

He reached up with his thumb, gently pulling her lower lip down a little, and slowly ghosted his tongue across her lips. When she softly moaned, he broke. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, tasting her completely. She was like nothing he'd ever had. Inexperienced, maybe. Fast learner, definitely.

She felt her body go limp as he kissed her more fiercely, until he was holding her up in his arms. He broke away from her mouth as she gasped in air, and ran his tongue down her neck. "Yes," she heard herself whimper. Oh yes, this was what she'd always wanted. When she'd listened to the housemaids talk of their suitors, when she'd spied on them kissing behind the carriage house, and had felt her insides turn shivery, this was what she'd wanted to experience. Not the dull press of lips from stable boys or blacksmiths. This burning feeling, this inner fire. I'm alone on an island, kissing a pirate... a pirate who is... oh my..."

He was laying her back in the sand, running his hands down her sides, down to her slender hips. He was lost in her, had no thoughts of who she was or where they were, only that he wanted her more than reason. But when he blindly reached up, unthinkingly caressing her breast, and when she arched and gasped, memory and reason came back with a vengeance. He remembered she was a virgin with a rather powerful father and a very stern Commodore who would not be well pleased with Jack Sparrow should he go too far. He tore himself away from her, with a muffled curse and became very absorbed with watching his hands shake in the firelight. Got to go. Got to go around this damn island and take care of it myself.

She lay there, gasping. When he'd touched her breast, all rational thought had fled from her mind. Never had she been touched like that, never kissed like that. And instead of having the sense to be afraid for her virtue, she wanted more. Wanton. Absolutely shameless, Elizabeth! And still she wanted more. "Jack," she whispered.

"Don't," came the strangled reply, "speak another word. I'm going to go take a walk, and I want you to sleep. Kissing lesson over, you earned top marks, good night." He stumbled to his feet, quickly turning away so she wouldn't see the bulge in his breeches.