Pierce the Ear of Grief

But Tia Dalma just shook her head. “Him at peace.”

Elizabeth started shuddering at that, and her sobs grew louder. Will knew there was no real comfort for her loss; all he could do was gather her up in his arms and take her somewhere to grieve alone (or as alone as possible aboard the Pearl), and away from the sight of the endless dead in boats. He looked at the others. “She shouldn’t be up here.”

“You can take her to my cabin,” Jack appeared, pushing through the group that had followed Will in his rush to Elizabeth. “The captain’s cabin is probably the best place for her at the moment.”

“Thank you, Jack,” Will saw Barbossa glare at Jack, undoubtedly because the other captain had called the captain’s cabin his, but he did not argue the point, and Will was thankful for that. The last thing he and Elizabeth needed at the moment was that eternal argument.

He followed Jack down to the captain’s cabin without saying a word, cradling Elizabeth close in his arms. She was still sobbing against his neck, but more quietly now; even through her grief she was aware of her surroundings, tightening her arms around his neck when he dropped a kiss on her head.

“Tell Elizabeth I’m sorry about her father,” Jack spoke in a low tone as he opened the door to the cabin.

Will nodded as he carried Elizabeth into the cabin. It was surprisingly spacious, given the size of the Black Pearl. “Thank you, Jack,” he said again.

The eccentric captain gave a slight bow. “Holler if you need anything,” he said before closing the doors to the cabin, leaving the couple in privacy.

Placing Elizabeth on the bunk, Will gently removed her shoes, leather armour, and weapons belt in an effort to make her more comfortable. She did not respond to the administrations, but when he stepped back to put her weapons down her hand flew out to grab his own. “Don’t leave me,” she begged.

“I’m not leaving you,” he assured her, sitting on the edge of the bunk after he put her weapons down. “I’m right here.”

“Hold me?” she whispered brokenly through her tears. “I feel so cold, so alone.”

“You’re not alone,” he reassured her, squeezing her hand. Quickly he divested himself of his boots, vest, and weapons, then climbed onto the bunk beside her, drawing her into his arms. She curled into him, burying her face in his neck, and continued sobbing softly. Will felt so helpless—all he could do to comfort her was to stroke her back and murmur soothingly into her hair. He had to fight to control his own grief at the Governor’s death, a good man who had allowed his daughter to court and marry the blacksmith son of a pirate even though he was far below her station in life. The older man could see that the two loved each other, and in the end that was enough for him.

“It’s not fair,” she mumbled into his neck.

“No, it’s not,” he replied. “Beckett has a lot to answer for. Our wedding, your father…” Will trailed off, not wanting to hurt her even further.

Elizabeth was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Do you still consider me your fiancée? Do you still want to marry me?”

He was about to reply straight off with a simple ‘of course’ but forced himself to pause a moment. He knew it was their recent awkwardness and his suspicions about her and Jack which prompted the question, and he knew that they were issues that needed to be resolved before they married. But he also knew that he loved her, always will, and that he did still want to marry her.

He tilted her head up so that he could look into her brown eyes. “Yes, I still want to marry you, if you’ll have me. As we’re on a ship, we could go out there right now and get Jack, or even Barbossa to marry us; but I’d rather wait. Wait until we’re back, and everything’s settled, and I can marry you properly.

She smiled though her eyes shone with tears, and leaned up to kiss him on the lips. But the smile faded as she lay her head back down on his shoulder. “Do you think we’ll ever get back?” she asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“I still remember Father asking me if I was dead. I said no, but how can we be sure? We are in the land of the dead, and we don’t know how to get back. Maybe we can’t get back. Maybe we’re already dead, maybe we doomed ourselves to the Locker when we tried to rescue Jack…”

“Shh,” Will put his finger to her lips to shush her, and sat up, pulling her up with him. He took her hand and placed it beneath his shirt, over his heart, and held it there so she could feel his heartbeat, which quickened at her touch. “Feel that? Do you feel my heart? It proves that I’m alive, that we’re alive. Here,” leaving her hand on his chest, he took her other hand and slipped it inside her shirt and over her heart so she could feel it beating as well. He swallowed, trying not to think about the fact that his hand was in close proximity to her creamy breast, which he knew from experience was smooth and soft to the touch.

Quick as a flash, Elizabeth slid her hand out from under his and moved her other hand up his chest to the back of his neck to bring his head down to hers. Their lips met in a passionate kiss, and she opened her mouth under his so their tongues could duel. Without him realising it, this movement made Will’s hand, the one resting above her heart, to slide down and cup her soft breast, making her moan.

The moan jarred Will back into reality. He broke the kiss, breathing hard, and moved his hand back up to rest at her neck. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Shh,” it was her turn to place a finger on his lips. “Don’t be sorry. I didn’t mind. In fact…” she took his hand and slid it back into her shirt. “I don’t want you to stop.”

There were a thousand reasons for him to stop; but at that moment, with her hand guiding his to her breast, he could not think of a single one. All he was aware of was the softness of her breast beneath his hand, the thudding of his heart, and the stirring in his loins that Elizabeth’s proximity and her kisses caused. Gently squeezing her breast, he slid his other arm around her waist, and bent his head to hers again, capturing her lips with a passion that was only hinted at previously. Part of his mind was concerned that he was being too forceful, but far from protesting, Elizabeth curled her hands into his hair to hold his head to hers.

Without breaking the kiss, Will gently laid her back, moving so that he was half lying on top of her. With this change of position both hands were now free to roam over her body, and he trailed them up to frame her face as he kissed her deeply. When breathing became an issue, he broke from her lips to place gentle kisses all over her face and down her neck, trailing his hands back down to her waist. Leaving one hand to span her tiny waist, he slowly inched the other up her torso under her shirt, skimming her ribs (which he could probably count if he had a mind to it, she was that thin) to cup her breast again and roll her nipple.

Her hands had not been idle throughout all this. They had moved down his back to pull his maroon shirt from his breeches and slide underneath. She traced the scars on his back from the flogging he had received aboard the Dutchman; it had been long enough now that they had healed nicely, and her touch caused pleasure, not pain. However, when his hand cupped her breast again, she gasped and stopped her ministrations, letting out a soft moan when he rolled her nipple.

Grinning, Will made his way back up to her lips. “Shh,” he whispered after kissing her briefly. “I don’t think you want to bring the others in here.”

Elizabeth bent her head upwards to kiss him again. “No,” she whispered back. “But I don’t want to stop, either.”

“We should stop,” he told her ruefully, wondering how they went from his consoling her to this. But he kissed away the sudden pout she produced at his words. “But I don’t want to stop either.”

“Then we don’t stop,” she withdrew her hands from under his shirt to curl them in his hair again and draw his head down to hers for a long, deep kiss. “In fact, I think that this,” she fingered his shirt, then slipped the top button from her shirt, “and this should come off. It will be much easier that way.”

Startled, he sat back, pulling his hand out from under her shirt, but keeping the other on her waist. He was suddenly reminded of all the reasons why they should not be doing this: they were not married yet, Jack, Barbossa, and the rest of the crew were just outside the door; Elizabeth was grieving for her father, it was hardly the best time for a romantic interlude. “Elizabeth…”

“It will be just like that time in the smithy, remember?”

“How could I forget?” It had been a lovely afternoon shortly before they were due to be married, and they were out for a walk when a sudden downpour erupted. They made their way to shelter as soon as possible, but by the time they got to the smithy they were soaked through. The thoroughness of this soaking necessitated the removal of their clothes; and as the elaborateness of Elizabeth’s dress and undergarments meant she needed help extricating from them, he had gotten to see far more of her than was appropriate. Desire burned in both of them, and what began as innocent kisses soon escalated into something far beyond anything either had experienced. The only thing that stopped him from taking her then and there was his suggestion that they should save it for their wedding night.

But that wedding night never happened, due to Lord Cutler Beckett instigating a series of unfortunate circumstances which led them to his point. And despite knowing that it was wrong to continue, that doing so would be taking advantage of her grief and confusion; he did not think he had the strength to stop this time. It had been hard enough to stop that day in the smithy, but then they had the certainty of their wedding night to look forward to. There was no longer that certainty in their lives. The only thing he was certain of at that moment was that he loved her so much that it hurt. Was it wrong to want to take what comfort they could in each others arms?

So when Elizabeth took advantage of his silence to slowly push his shirt up his chest, he did not stop her. He helped her by pulling it off when she reached his armpits and could move it no further, and leaned over her again, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. Shifting so that one of his legs was between hers, he broke the kiss to look intently at her, memorising her features in the flickering candlelight. “I love you, Elizabeth Swann.”

Placing a kiss at the hollow of her throat, he bypassed the top buttons of her shirt to focus on the bottom ones. Slowly slipping the wooden buttons through the loops, he placed warm kisses on her belly. Slow kisses, open-mouthed kisses, following the path of bare skin up her chest, enjoying the way she shuddered beneath him. Her breathing grew ragged and shallow, and her hands tangled in his hair, accidentally untying the piece of material which held it back. This meant that occasionally he had to blow strands of hair out of his mouth as he kissed his way upwards, the sensation of which made her giggle softly.

Smiling, Will lifted his face from her stomach to give her a quick kiss. “Maybe I should stop. You’re starting to get a little loud there.”

Her fingers still tangled in his hair, she drew his head down to hers for another quick kiss. “Don’t you dare.”

He leaned back to look at her, taking in her form. In the dim, flickering candlelight, with her modesty protected by only the one button still closed over her breasts, he thought she looked ravishing. Resting his hand over the single closed button, he asked, “Do you want me to continue?”

“Let me put it to you this way,” she said softly, slipping one hand from his neck to rest on his. “If you don’t continue, I may have to take matters into my own hands.”

“Well, you are good at that,” he mused, lifting her hand to his lips. “But I don’t think I’ll let you this time.” He slipped the last button from its loop, and dropped a kiss in the valley between her breasts. “You are so beautiful, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth shifted so that he was now resting between her legs. “I love you too, Will Turner,” she softly returned the declaration he made earlier, lifting one hand to trace the contours of his face, from his passion-darkened brown eyes, down his cheek to his moustache-covered lips.

Will turned his head to kiss her palm, and then leaned up on his elbows to look down at her. With her shift in position, he was aware that they were lying in a much more intimate way, and he instinctively knew that they were at the point of no return. Looking down into her eyes, he silently asked permission to continue. The steadfast look in her brown eyes, and the tracing of her fingers over his lips was all the permission he needed. He bent his head to capture her lips in a thorough kiss before breaking it to trail kisses down her neck to her breasts. He then took one in his mouth, kissing and suckling; one hand spanned across her ribcage, the other trailing down to the waistband of her loose-fitting pants. Her breathing grew ragged again, and he could feel her chest heaving beneath him; but she seemed to be biting back her moans. Which was good—he seriously did not think that he had the energy to stop again to warn her to be quiet.

At the sound of knocking at the door they both froze. “Will, Miss Elizabeth, are you all right in there?” It was Mr Gibbs.

Breathing heavy, Will stopped what he was doing and looked down at Elizabeth. “Do you think that if we’re quiet he’ll think we’re asleep and go away?” he asked in a whisper.

The knocking continued, somewhat louder than before. “I don’t think he’s going away,” Elizabeth replied.

Will sighed. “Hold on a moment,” he whispered. Getting up, he paused to regain his breath and to grab his shirt from where it had earlier been discarded. Putting it on, he went to answer the door, opening it a crack.

“Thank goodness,” Gibbs said. “I was beginning to think something terrible had happened in there.”

Will could not quite follow that reasoning, but decided that it did not matter. “Elizabeth was sleeping,” he lied. “I actually nodded off myself. I think it best not to disturb her.”

There was a look in Gibbs’ eyes that told Will that the older man suspected that something else had been going on, but he made no comment. “Aye,” was all he said. “I’ll tell the others not to disturb you. Is there anything else you’ll be needing?”

“No,” Will replied. “It’s just time she needs now.”

“Aye,” the pirate said again. “Well, I’d best be leaving you alone. Goodnight, Will.”

“Goodnight.” Will closed the door again, and leaned back against it, letting out the breath he had been controlling. He was still breathing heavy from his earlier activities, and had thought it best not to let it show to Gibbs.

“Will?” Elizabeth called softly from the bunk.

“Just a moment,” he called back. He needed a moment to calm down. Gibbs’ intrusion was a timely reminder of why he could not let things get out of hand. He really did not want their first time to be a silent, clandestine union in a borrowed captain’s cabin with the danger of being interrupted; and he knew that when she had a chance to think about it, Elizabeth would not want it this way either. Besides which, to continue now would be essentially taking advantage of her grief, and he certainly did not want to do that. It was simply not the time. But it had not been easy to stop.

“Will?” she called again.

Taking a deep breath, Will made his way to the bunk. “I’m sorry,” he apologised, sitting on the edge of the bunk and stroking honey strands of hair back from her face.

She frowned. “For what?”

“For getting so carried away. I shouldn’t have done that. It’s the last thing you need at the moment.”

“Listen to me, Will Turner,” Elizabeth sat up, oblivious of the fact that her shirt hung open. “You don’t need to apologise. I needed that. I needed to feel that I’m still alive. I needed to know you still loved me.”

“Oh Elizabeth,” he leaned in to kiss her softly. “I will always love you. But it’s not the time for us to get carried away.”

She nodded reluctantly. “I know. Will you still hold me?”

“Of course.” He swung his legs up on the bunk, and started to lie down when she stopped him.

“Could you take this off again, please?” she indicated his maroon shirt.

“Elizabeth…”

“I just want to hear your heart. Please?”

Unable to deny her, Will complied, lying down shirtless and drawing her into his arms. True to her word, she lay her head on his chest, her ear pressed over his heart. He was acutely aware of the fact that her shirt was still open, and her bare breasts and belly was pressed against his side; but he controlled the feelings that evoked in him. Elizabeth was lying calmly next to him, with no apparent desire to continue their earlier activities, and he did not want to push her.

“He said he was proud of me,” she spoke softly after a while. It had been so long since she last spoke that Will had thought she was asleep.

“Who did, your father?”

He felt her nod against his chest. “He said he was proud of me, but how can he be? I’m a pirate, far from the well-bred society girl he raised me to be.”

“We’re both far from the people we were raised to be,” he replied. “But that doesn’t mean your father can’t still be proud of you. You’re a strong woman, Elizabeth, and your father knew that. And I believe that he would rather see you as a pirate and alive than on the end of a hangman’s noose courtesy of Lord Beckett.”

She smiled and kissed his chest. “Thank you, Will. I think Father would be grateful to know that you’re here looking after me.”