Becalmed
There's not a breath of wind, not a breath of rain. The cabin is stifling, the sheets hot on Elizabeth's bare skin. Will is lying on his stomach, his head bent, having run out of angry words. Sweat is beading in the hollow of his back. Everything that's wet tastes of salt.
Jack is propped up on one elbow on Elizabeth's other side, naked and apparently unconcerned with anything but exploring the ramifications of their truce. She supposes there's nothing better for him to do. It's not as if he can make it rain. It's not as if they've got anything to do but lie here like panting dogs in the heat.
"What about the Dutchman?" Will asks without raising his head.
"What about her?" Jack asks. There's no point in saying that she can't catch them up unless she's running before her own wind. No point in saying that she might be. Elizabeth isn't sure what there is a point to. Her eyes feel hot.
"Nothing," Will says.
"You worry too much," Jack says. He bends his head to kiss the hollow of her shoulder as if they had all the time in the world. As if this were love rather than a fragile accord. His tongue is warm and wet, exploring the line of her collarbone. She knows her bones are too sharp; she feels withered by the heat.
"I worry too much?" Will lets out a breath of laughter. They'd all be safe if they had the heart; she imagines its weight in her hand, beating against her palm. Instead she can feel Jack's breathing, feel Will's hot breath against her shoulder. Her own heart is beating too fast, and she understands why a man might want to tear his from his chest.
"You worry too much, mate," Jack says. He reaches across her to rest a hand on the back of Will's neck. Will shrugs it away angrily and catches Jack's wrist, leaving him stretched awkwardly across Elizabeth's body. Jack smiles like a cat and pulls back, not hard enough to break Will's grip but enough to test his strength.
Elizabeth can feel them straining above her. She wants out from under them, pushing against Jack until he rolls over her and into the middle, pressed suddenly against Will, naked and rocking his hips. Elizabeth tangles her hands in Jack's hair and presses him down under her body, getting her knee between his thighs from behind.
"It's all your fault," Will says, wrestling Jack roughly against him, his mouth against Jack's throat; Elizabeth's not sure if he means to kiss or bite.
Either way, Jack only smiles, his eyes half-closed. "Sure it is," he says. Elizabeth doesn't know if they're talking about Davy Jones or her or the way Will and Jack are sliding against each other, sweat-soaked and breathing hard.
Now she wants in. It's not enough to curl against Jack's back, his sharp hips pressing against her belly, his skin hot against her cunt. She makes a noise of protest, and Will looks up at her with eyes that seem bruised black. He's been burning, too. It's only Jack who seems unaltered by the heat, pressed between them with a smile that tells no secrets.
"Both of you," she says.
"Are you sure?" Will asks her, his voice raw, too close to the edge of someplace she thinks he does not want Jack's hands to take him.
"No, I'm not sure," Elizabeth says, and tugs at Jack's shoulder. He rolls over onto his back, showing them both his throat, his hard stomach bared as she climbs onto him. She's not sure if that's surrender or victory.
She presses herself down, and it doesn't hurt like the first time but like the first time she cries out, everything between her thighs throbbing. Will sits up to kiss her, leaning awkwardly over Jack to do it. Jack has his head back, something more than lazy pleasure beginning to show on his face.
Will leans down as if to taste Jack's mouth compared to hers, breathing against Jack's lips. Elizabeth grasps at Will's sweaty arm for balance and moves against Jack, grinding her hips down. The world is heat and pressure, and her breath aches in her chest.
Then Jack rolls her off him and she's between the two of them again, but now they're rocking against her rather than struggling, Will's prick hard against her thigh, Jack's fingers pressing into her where she's wet. She wraps her hand around Jack's prick and strokes him to the same rhythm, and then it's Will's fingers on her, warm and rough, and Jack's reaching over her to grasp Will's prick and stroke him with practiced skill.
Elizabeth closes her eyes, and the world is red, and she holds her breath and bears down against Will's hand and feels the world shatter, feels herself shatter, borne down under the crushing weight of the wave of pleasure, down and down. She hears Jack groan as her hand tightens around him and he spends himself messily in the sheets; he never can be quiet. Will makes no sound, but he clings to her, his face pressed against her shoulder, and shakes as if with a fever and then all at once goes still.
She can hear them all breathing hard in the sudden quiet, all rocking still with the steady motion of the waves. The air feels cooler now, the sweat drying on her skin. Will hasn't opened his eyes, as if not sure what he wants to see when he does. Jack lies back on her other side, and when she glances over he has that cat's smile again, as if he knows something they don't know.
Above their heads the sails creak, and outside the windows there's the first drumming patter of rain.