Progressing Against Propriety

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of this genre, though I wish I did!

Answer to Williz's challenge on HTR :)

Darkness descended upon the world, soft and subtle, beautiful and enigmatic, the pearly-silver moon replacing the lazily golden sun in the lazuline sky. The horses softly murmured, traipsing with ethereal agility as if the weight of the carriage they drew was nonexistent. Moving along at a steady pace, the wheels bumped gently upon the supple earth forming a paved road. Twinkling lights glowed from shops and cafés; the own of Port Royal yet bustled with the passage of the hours.

Nestled within the shadowed comfort of the carriage, a seated figure, his features—dark hair bound, dark eyes, definable facial bones—illuminated by the moonlight, glanced towards his right. The glow of a street lamp cast a beam of light into the carriage window, revealing the presence of another figure, throwing her features into sharp relief. Her profile was forward-facing; some loose, rebellious curls of her hair traced across her cheeks like a caressing veil of a spider web. The carriage halted for a moment, and he took the opportunity to look at her, at her features made dim yet all the more stunning in the night. She failed to notice his glance as she uttered a scant sigh, raising her hands to unfasten the pins which restrained her locks, and the golden strands tumbled across her shoulders like spun silk. He smiled, lifting his hand, and reached towards her, resting upon her shoulder as his fingertips flicked her curls. She made a slight sound of surprise as she turned her face towards him, meeting his umber eyes with her hazel ones. He smiled, the corner of his lips rising. She returned the smile, tucking the hair which obscured her face behind her ear. He startled as the carriage jolted into movement of a sudden, dropping his hand from her shoulder in an instant as the Governor, sitting across from them, previously silent as he dozed, awoke and cleared his throat.

"Splendid ball, wasn't it? I believe it went rather well," the Governor spoke, looking towards the young woman. "Elizabeth?"

She looked towards him, her manner somewhat perturbed as she murmured, "Yes, rather well."

The Governor uttered a noncommittal sound of approval and glanced out the window.

Elizabeth glanced at the figure at her left. He was looking down at his hands, which clasped and unclasped. Yes, rather well, with all those high-bred acquaintances of her father eying them with the sharp, critical gaze of a hawk upon a juicy bit of prey. The news of their engagement had been shock enough, but ever since they had married, nigh two weeks since, scrutiny had been cast upon them in an onslaught. Elizabeth frowned, saddened by her husband's nervousness, by his undiminished fear of touching her, by his fear of even taking her hand, in the domineering presence of the Governor. They were married for heaven's sake—what impropriety could there be in a husband taking the hand of his wife?

"Will?" she whispered, ever soft, her fingers covering his fidgeting hands, and he looked at her, surprised, though his gaze softened at the wistful expression in her eyes.

The remainder of the ride was short, and neither Will and Elizabeth nor the Governor exchanged another word, though each strove to maintain a state of placid contentment in their countenances. The carriage pulled unto a gravel and cobblestone driveway, long and wide, lighted with lanterns, and the horses slowed to halt before the entrance to a mansion.

"Ah, here we are then," the Governor broke the silence, leaning to open the door of the carriage and stepping out, his eyes roving the property in appreciation.

Will followed suit, offering his arm to Elizabeth as she stepped out after him. She cast him a stiff smile, intending to lift her hand from his as soon as she stood, but he grasped it, his thumb moving in a circle against her palm, before he released her. Her smiled broadened, pleased that the power of societal propriety had seemed to loosen its hold on him.

The couple followed the Governor to the front door and inside the mansion, a mansion Will and Elizabeth well-recognized. Not yet owning a home of their own, Elizabeth remained living in her father's home; Will had been allowed to reside there as well, given a room down the hall from Elizabeth's. That room had not been disturbed yet, still pristine with the covers on the bed crisp and untouched.

As the butler took their coats, the Governor spoke. "Will, Elizabeth, shall you have tea in the drawing room or do you wish to retire now?"

They glanced at one another, and Elizabeth said, "No thank you, Father, we are both rather tired."

"All right, then," he smiled. "Good night, dear." He kissed Elizabeth on the forehead. "Will," he nodded, and shook his hand. "I'll see you two in the morning, then."

"Good night, Father."

"Good night, Governor Swann."

They ascended the staircase, Elizabeth shaking her head in vehemence at a maid who offered to run a bath. They reached Elizabeth's room and they entered, securing the door behind them.

"Ah," Will broke the silence as the latch turned to lock the door.

Elizabeth glanced towards him, the gleam in her eyes mirroring her sentiment.

"Tired?" he questioned as he shrugged off his vest and took Elizabeth's gloves, placing them on the dresser.

She sighed and looked down, aware of the discomfort caused by pressure of her bodice. "Just a bit." She looked up again, into his eyes, and smiled. "Thank goodness we're home."

She then moved to the bedside table, removing her earrings, and then sat down upon the bed, taking off her heeled shoes and stockings so that her feet and legs were bare. Will remained by the door, watching her, her figure illuminated by the several candles burning in the room.

"Yes, thank goodness," he replied, letting out a long breath withheld.

Elizabeth returned to him in a swift movement, just as swift as she had moved to remove her affects.

Their eyes met, their smiled broadened, and in that instant, the pretense was dropped.

Will gathered her within his arms and kissed her, feeling her pulse quicken as he brought his hand to rest against her neck. She sighed, easing her fingers through his dark brown locks, and nestled close against him, until both broke from the kiss. She wrapped her arms about his neck, laying her head against his shoulder as he embraced her, his grasp firm and protective about her hips. After a moment, his hands loosened, and she stepped back a bit. Her eyes, large as cat's eyes, gleamed a brilliant gold as she gazed at him, her lips rosy and smiling. He chuckled, the sound deep and lovely, as he pressed his lips to hers again, this time gently, briefly. The scarce bristles across his jaw, the slight mustache, grazed her skin, sending a shiver down her spine, and her fingertips moved to touch that jaw, to linger over his fine features.

"Mmm," he sighed at the touch of her hand and murmured, "I need to shave."

She laughed, an involuntary shiver passing through her once more as the bristles scratched against her palm with the movement of his jaw as he spoke.

"Don't," she answered before moving away from him. "Shall I run a bath? I suppose I shouldn't have sent Marianna off."

"If you wish," he responded with a smile.

She eyed him with curiosity in her look. He was rolling up his sleeves, and then he removed the loose tie which bound his hair, the curled strands falling across his neck.

"Will you help out of this?" she asked, drawing her hair over one shoulder, and stood with her back to him.

"Of course," he replied, and she felt his fingers untying the laces of her gown in deft execution. She sighed as his hands brushed across the top of her shoulders, pushing down the sleeves of the heavy gown, and it fell from her body, pooling in a heap of golden material at her feet.

She let out a relieved breath and did not have to ask him as he undid the lacing of the corset, and it too fell from her and unto the floor, leaving her in a light chemise.

"Oh, thank God," she murmured, pressing her hand to her chest as she breathed. "I'll be thrilled when this season is over.'

"Well my dear, it wasn't a complete disaster," Will responded, attempting to perceive the ball in a positive light.

Elizabeth turned around to look at him, her expression haughty.

"It was merely…"

"It was a complete disaster, Will," Elizabeth insisted, her hand still at her chest. "I don't know why these people can't seem to get into their heads that we are married. Married, for heaven's sake! They needn't look at us as if we're some disgrace, some scandal."

Will shook his head, and on impulse, pulled her against his chest, backing up into the bed. She gasped, her potential words silenced as he nuzzled his face into her neck, absorbing the sweet scent of her perfume, before kissing her full on the lips, his arms wrapped about her waist. She melted into his embrace, feeling at once utterly safe, utterly protected, utterly cherished. She felt her pulse quicken, felt a surge of love course through her, and returned the kiss with passion, only breaking away to whisper against his lips,

"I love you."

He then stood, holding her, and lowered her to the bed, gazing upon her, his fingers stroking her cheek.

"You needn't listen to those people, my darling, you needn't heed words said or unsaid. For we are married, and I have you here and now, and that is all that matters."

Elizabeth emitted a sharp sigh, feeling a heady pressure from within her heart, and held out her hand, beckoning him in earnest. He sat down on the side of the bed with his back towards her, and removed the bothersome adornments of his vesture. He felt Elizabeth's fingers tracing a pattern across his back, and turned to her as he removed his shirt, tossing it away before he lay beside her. She arched up towards him on instinct, kissing him fervent abandon. He groaned, easing his fingers through her hair, and his lips traveled down her jaw to her neck and collarbone, his hands removed from her hair and seeking beneath her chemise, pushing the thin material aside. Elizabeth moaned as his roughened fingertips brushed against her legs and then rested against her abdomen, her ribs.

"Oh, Will," she whispered, her head back, her eyes closed. His touch was soft, caressing, gentle.

"Are you hurt? Did the corset hurt you?' he voice was deep and soft, concerned.

Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open. His hands continued to massage her ribcage.

"No, no I'm all right," she answered, slightly breathless. It failed to matter how many times he did this, how many nights after the ball they would return home, and after she was undressed, he would touch her, examine her for any sign of pain caused by the tightness of her stays. It failed to matter, for each time was like the first, and the feeling within her was indescribable.

"Are you certain, darling?"

"Yes," she muttered, warmth spreading through her as tears pricked her eyes.

He looked up, his hands halting in their movement, and said, "Don't cry, darling."

Yet it was just those words which caused the salt to burn against her cheeks; it was just the tenderness of his expression as he flicked the wetness away with his fingertips that made her realize how loved she was, and she could not help but succumb to her emotions under his touch. Had she made the mistake of marrying the Commodore, had she bent under the will of societal propriety….Norrington would never have done this, never. Never would he have cared for her as William Turner did.

She swallowed, extracting herself from him as she pulled the chemise over her head and her body felt gratified by the cool air. Her eyes locked with his and he enveloped her in a soft embrace, kissing the areas where his hands had been.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he revered her.

Tears, sparkling diamonds upon her lashes, glimmered upon her cheeks, and she kissed him deep then, sinking into the sublimity of silk and cotton and lips and skin, the heady sensations, the singular and mesmeric presence of her husband, rending her senseless on every facet save for the conviction of the love which burned in an undying flame, increasing in heat and brightness, too potent to ever ebb into a wisp of smoke.

The possibility of a bath was long forgotten, the pain of propriety vanishing altogether as lightness ascended upon the world, bright and palpable, striking and luculent, the lazily golden dawn sun replacing the pearly-silver moon in the lazuline sky.

Heat from the sun's rays permeated throughout pale gray clouds, sunlight intermixing with drizzles of rain to form colourful mirages of light, the moist emissions pattering and streaming through the glass apertures and crevices, glancing off hanging mirrors and crystal vases garlanded with carnation and lilac, simulating continued, extended, hazy ribbons of kaleidoscopic colour. A golden clock with swinging pendulum emitted tintinnabulations. The mansion was beginning to stir and awaken, the servants already preparing breakfast in the early hour.

The maid Marianna passed by William Turner's room without a glance. She had learnt of its vacancy within two days of Mr. Turner's arrival to reside in the mansion. As she reached the room of her charge, Elizabeth Swann—nay, Turner—she considered knocking, lifting her hand, but quite decided against it. 'Twas dawn, Mr. Turner was not yet back in his room to keep up the appearance of him having been there all along, and the sound of silence offered the presumption that the couple slept still. Marianna lowered her hand and continued down the hall, opening drapes as she did so. She would return in an hour, as the Governor would expect them to breakfast at the usual time. But supposing they still slept? Should she disturb them? Were she to follow the Governor's instructions, she would have disturbed them already. Were she to follow Mrs. Turner's instructions, she was to go to the breakfasting room at the usual time, finding the Governor seated as usual at the head of the table, newspaper in hand. She was to explain that Mrs. Turner was feeling a little unwell, not fit enough to come down to breakfast, but would be better by the afternoon. What of Mr. Turner? He had left for the smithy early, remembering some urgent orders that need be filled before noon. She would not be questioned further, no, for the Governor respected his daughter's privacy and trusted Marianna to stay with her until she was fit to come downstairs. He did not question Will's presumed sudden disappearance, for the lad was hard-working, and if not in the company of Elizabeth and himself, he was at the smithy.

Marianna ruminated over the details as she peered out the large hallway window. It was not the first time she would cover for her mistress, nor, she presumed, would it be the last.

On the other side of the door, the slumbering forms of Will and Elizabeth Turner were completely oblivious to the world beyond their own. The room remained shrouded in darkness, the drapes closed against the morning. A muffled clattering sounded in Elizabeth's ears, and her eyes opened. The day had begun downstairs. It was still early; her mind was heavy and fuzzy with sleep. As her eyes began to close, her gaze fell upon the figure of her husband, his broad back to her. She smiled, filled with excitement and satisfaction that she was not alone, that he had not gone to his room for propriety's sake.

In the dimness, she reached out her hand and touched his shoulder. He murmured an incoherent nothingness and turned to his other side, facing her, and with his eyes still closed, his arms wrapped tight around her body, keeping her back flush against his chest. A purring sigh escaped her throat as she felt his warm body against hers, and she nestled against him, slipping her fingers through his, and closed her eyes, succumbing to sleep that was light and hazy. At intermittent moments, she felt the shifting of his chest, the movement of his fingers against hers, until he rolled away from her, and she lay on her back, floating in and out of sleep for perhaps moments, perhaps hours. Like a reassuring breath, she heard him, a soft sound, the soft utterance of her name, and he drew close to her, his arm dashing across her waist as he pressed his lips to hers in a languorous kiss, his dark eyes heavy-lidded as they bore into hers.

"Ah…Will," she whispered as he broke, and he peppered kisses along her collarbone and between her breasts, his hands kneading the length of her torso. He sighed, resting his head against her shoulder, and then looked at her again, a deep, penetrating look.

As he gazed into her eyes with that expression of intensity, a vehement gleam, she felt a deep-ingrained weight within her heart, heavy and secure, well-embedded, transcending past her being and through her soul.

"Elizabeth," he whispered, his quiet voice laced with desire intermingled with reverence.

She looked at him, studying him, and was overpowered by his presence, somewhat frightened by it, and she wondered what he would do, whether he…

He pressed his lips against hers, firm, and his teeth grazed her lower lip. His hands floated across her chest, against her arm, and he grasped her wrist, at first brushing his lips there, and then biting it. Biting her skin in assured gentleness, as if claiming her for his own.

Elizabeth's heart burst and she felt that ingrained weight within to a degree almost painful. She was consumed with love for him. He was to her a lover, a best friend, a father, and a son. He was everything, everything that mattered anymore. Her heart, her soul, belonged only to him. She curled close against him; drawing her fingers across the mark he left upon her skin, she worshiped the heavens for allowing her such proximity to pure, unadulterated bliss, such proximity to unimaginable, unparalleled love.

As she drifted back to sleep, feeling Will's soft breaths against her hair, she made up her mind to thank Marianna, to give her due payment for her service of insincerity to the Governor.

For so long had Elizabeth thought, 'Oh God, if only we were married…'

Now she thought, 'Oh God, if only we had a house of our own…'

Steady, steady, they progressed against propriety, starting with lounging in the sanctuary of a bedroom together. Against propriety.