"Therefore shall a man leave his father's house, and cling to a wife..." The
priest at the front of the chapel droned on, barely audible above the buzz
of the flies. The hot June sun beat on the colored-glass windows, and red
and gold splotches of light littered the cool stones of the floor.
"Damned thing must be made of goat hair," muttered Jack Sparrow, scratching
at the scarlet bodice laced around his torso. His mass of scraggly black
hair was disguised beneath a peach-colored mantilla, and his manylayered
petticoats were several lovely shades of a pale ivy-green. In short, he
resembled the contents of a brothel's washline, which coincidentally, was
precisely the source of his current accoutrements.
It was unusual, in that Captain Jack's appearance rarely had so great
a correlation to his actual state of existence.
Several ells down the pew's length, an elderly auntie glowered at him. Jack
dipped his head in a curt nod and an insincere smile, mostly obscured by the
black and gold lace fan before his face. "Hmph!" the indignant oldster
sniffed the air, and her face expressed the strong displeasure at the aroma
she encountered. Jack's smile blossomed up into his eyes belatedly, amused
at her discomfiture.
The music crescendoed abruptly, and the bride and groom dashed down the
aisle without any of the usual decorum of a post-nuptial retreat. Craning
his neck for a better look, Jack let the fan drop slightly, and his mustache
made a brief appearance from behind the wobbling lace of the fan.
"Oh...oh dear..." the formerly indignant oldster murmured to herself, and
hurriedly averted her eyes.
Jack made an expeditious escape, down the outside aisle, and out through the
sacristy and into the back garden. The roses, peakéd and mildewed in this
tropic clime, formed at least enough foliage to hide Sparrow from the prying
eyes of the crowds making their way to the wedding reception. Jack peered
around corners and searched for a path of escape, unhampered by the presence
of more invited guests. Shame he couldn't stay for a tipple and
smooch with the bride
(and a smooch
with the groom, to be truly fair),
but still, he'd managed to see the wedding, and that was enough, this day.
Jack saw an opening. He dashed, skirts tumbling and tossing in his wake, for
the freedom of the dockside and the commandeering of a some small vessel, to
reach the rendezvous with the Black Pearl...
Jack was blindsided by Commodore Norrington, who had backed suddenly out a
doorway into his path, likely in his own attempt to avoid the myriad awkward
situations presented to him by this celebration.
Bugger, thought Jack. Now I'm for it.
Jack and James plummeted to the stone flags in a tumble of ivy-green
petticoats and gold brocade. Hearing the commotion, the honor guard of
Marines came pelting over.
Pitching his voice falsetto, Jack said, "Please sir, play along with a girl
for her honor's sake?" and with that, the black and gold lace fan was held
before the faces of the Pirate and the Commodore, as despite encumbering
skirts, Jack curled strong thighs around James' waist and firmly snogged the
man lying above him.
The redcoats, so hastily approaching, checked their progress, and suddenly
discovered other pressing duties required their attention; duties that did
not include interrupting their commanding officer in a bit of hanky panky
with an obviously willing partner, at the wedding of his former fiancée.
Slightly stunned from the blow, James managed, just barely, to disentangle
his lips long enough to whisper to his assaulter. "Madam! Release me!"
"Mmmm... rather not, actually," a sultry voice replied. "I don't know 'bout
you, but I found that quite an enjoyable pastime, all things considered..."
But Jack had forgotten, in the heat of the moment, to disguise his voice.
"Sparrow?" Norrington managed to sputter out, before his mouth was once
again plundered for the treasure within.
The freshly minted Mr. and Mrs. William Turner crept into their nuptial
bower very nearly silently, in hopes of preventing anyone from noticing
their absence from the still-raucous festivities going on in the ballroom
"Did we manage it?" Will asked, a gleam in his eye, as he turned the inner
key in the lock again.
"I believe so, darling, though why they would have tried to lock us out of
our own quarters, I don't understand. Just one of those wedding day pranks,
I suppose. Luckily, I can pick any lock in this household!" replied
Elizabeth, replacing a significant-looking hairpin in her coiffure. Her
voice shifted to a lower register, "You're all mine, now, every inch of
you," as she boldly ran a perfectly manicured hand down his chest, lower,
lower and slower, exploring the waist and the breeches and the growing
mystery there. Not that the contents of a man's breeches was entirely
outside her experience. But Will's breeches, they were most certainly new
Will grasped Elizabeth's waist, and lowered his face to her bosom. Working
his tongue down into the cleft there, he found the strings of her bodice,
tucked them up into his teeth, and tugged to free the strands from their
That was the easy part. There followed several minutes of struggling and
heaving and wrenching and a few tiny rents in the fabric of Elizabeth's
bridal ensemble. Eventually, however, Elizabeth and William stood together
in only the smallest of their smalls, and those seemed reluctant to part
with their respective skins, just yet.
Suddenly shy, Will reached for his bride's hand, and gestured with his chin
towards the bedchamber. Elizabeth was no more at ease than he, which was
likely the reason that neither of them noticed the trail of clothing already
leading to the boudoir.
Once they entered the doorway, however, there was no mistaking the scene
"James?" Elizabeth addressed the figure leaned against the headboard, wig
askew, legs splayed, eyes closed, mouth open in ecstatic abandon.
"Jack?" Will said simultaneously, to the bare arse-end of the Pirate, which
was all that rose above the rumpled covers that obscured much of the
Commodore's nether regions, although the rhythmic vertical motions showed
that it was quite likely that Sparrow was unable to reply to the query in
his current position.
The noise next heard within the room was something akin to an "Aauugghh" and
also had structural roots in an "Aaiiieee" and also a bit of an "Ooooohhh!"
It was unclear how many voices contributed to the cacophony. Certainly no
more than four.