Ficlet: Widow's Comfort
May. 4th, 2009 08:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trinitydayTitle: Widow's Comfort
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Characters: Elizabeth, Anamaria (Elizabeth/Will)
Word Count: 713
Written for:![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
mmom (Merry Month of Masturbation) Day 4
Author's Note: Adult, as you might have guessed from the above, though not very graphic at all. Probably anachronistic, since I found it difficult to research the history of dildos.
She's four months gone when she runs into Anamaria, finally over being sick but just starting to be desperate in that way only Will could help her with.
The darker woman lets Elizabeth sit down next to her with a thin-lipped nod. She looks wary, but Elizabeth doesn't blame her. They have a rocky history, and Anamaria is bound to have heard the stories by now, to know that Elizabeth is now more powerful, more dangerous than the pampered governor's daughter Anamaria had once tried to sell out to save her own skin.
The offer of rum still makes her stomach queasy, so Elizabeth declines. Anamaria notes this.
"There is a woman I know, on the island. She's good. The girls that go to her, none of them get sick. She'll take care of you."
Elizabeth lays a protective hand over her stomach, covering the swell that's still hidden by her clothing. "I don't need anyone to take care of me," she lies. She needs Will there, by her side. She needs her husband to have her and to hold her.
Anamaria doesn't back down. "It's a hard life at sea, for any woman. A babe will make it harder."
"I'm a hard woman," the Pirate King says.
That answer satisfies Anamaria, who looks at her with something closer to respect now. "She can also help you when your time comes."
"Thank you," says Elizabeth, who these days only knows surgeons who could sew up a bullet wound and saw off a gangrenous limb.
She hesitates, not sure she should ask this. "She's helped you?"
Anamaria doesn't take offence. "Aye. Saved me when others said it was too late. No one could save the baby."
"I'm sorry," Elizabeth says.
"Why?" Anamaria's eyes flash. "It was long ago. I don't need a man in my life, babe or no. I take care of myself, too," she finishes, rudely.
Once, Elizabeth would have flushed at that. Before that, she wouldn't have understood. Now, just simply says, "It's not the same." She unconsciously curls her fingers.
Anamaria takes note of that, too. "Not on their own. Haven't you a carved whalebone? You didn't bring home ivory from China? No widow's comfort?"
"I'm no widow," cries the woman whose heart has been cut out.
"Nor am I," Anamaria tells her. "My man never married me."
"Mine did," Elizabeth says fiercely, "and he's out there, waiting for me."
"It isn't being unfaithful. It's better than using a whore." Elizabeth can't help herself; she blushes. Anamaria smiles at this. "More satisfying than just using your fingers for ten years."
Elizabeth isn't used to having a female to talk to about these matters. Her society friends in Port Royal were too proper to bring it up. Her maids too frightened. Pirates were almost uniformly male. Tia Dalma had made a few crude jokes, but even before her true identity had been revealed, Elizabeth was never fully comfortable around the chained goddess.
She lets Anamaria talk her into it, lets Anamaria lead her through the market until they find a stall with a variety of ivory and lacquered wood from the Orient, and leather from Italy. The dildo she picks up is jade and costs more than her share of the last raid.
That night when her crew is still ashore, she returns to her cabin.
Her breasts are swollen and sensitive, so even though she loves the feel of Will's callused hands fondling her, she only flickers a thumb over a nipple once, twice, before going further down. She lingers there for longer, paying it some attention before reaching for the device Anamaria recommended.
It doesn't feel like Will, who was warm and supple. It's cold and hard, but not in the right way. She misses the heat of his breath as he kissed her neck, the strength of his hands holding her close. She doesn't have the patience to mimic his rhythm, replicate the way he liked to tease, slowing down when she's close, making her beg for completion.
She remembers their day on the beach as she fucks herself. Anamaria was right; it is better than just her fingers.
It can never be as good as Will, but for those long nights away from her husband, it helps.
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Characters: Elizabeth, Anamaria (Elizabeth/Will)
Word Count: 713
Written for:
mmom (Merry Month of Masturbation) Day 4Author's Note: Adult, as you might have guessed from the above, though not very graphic at all. Probably anachronistic, since I found it difficult to research the history of dildos.
She's four months gone when she runs into Anamaria, finally over being sick but just starting to be desperate in that way only Will could help her with.
The darker woman lets Elizabeth sit down next to her with a thin-lipped nod. She looks wary, but Elizabeth doesn't blame her. They have a rocky history, and Anamaria is bound to have heard the stories by now, to know that Elizabeth is now more powerful, more dangerous than the pampered governor's daughter Anamaria had once tried to sell out to save her own skin.
The offer of rum still makes her stomach queasy, so Elizabeth declines. Anamaria notes this.
"There is a woman I know, on the island. She's good. The girls that go to her, none of them get sick. She'll take care of you."
Elizabeth lays a protective hand over her stomach, covering the swell that's still hidden by her clothing. "I don't need anyone to take care of me," she lies. She needs Will there, by her side. She needs her husband to have her and to hold her.
Anamaria doesn't back down. "It's a hard life at sea, for any woman. A babe will make it harder."
"I'm a hard woman," the Pirate King says.
That answer satisfies Anamaria, who looks at her with something closer to respect now. "She can also help you when your time comes."
"Thank you," says Elizabeth, who these days only knows surgeons who could sew up a bullet wound and saw off a gangrenous limb.
She hesitates, not sure she should ask this. "She's helped you?"
Anamaria doesn't take offence. "Aye. Saved me when others said it was too late. No one could save the baby."
"I'm sorry," Elizabeth says.
"Why?" Anamaria's eyes flash. "It was long ago. I don't need a man in my life, babe or no. I take care of myself, too," she finishes, rudely.
Once, Elizabeth would have flushed at that. Before that, she wouldn't have understood. Now, just simply says, "It's not the same." She unconsciously curls her fingers.
Anamaria takes note of that, too. "Not on their own. Haven't you a carved whalebone? You didn't bring home ivory from China? No widow's comfort?"
"I'm no widow," cries the woman whose heart has been cut out.
"Nor am I," Anamaria tells her. "My man never married me."
"Mine did," Elizabeth says fiercely, "and he's out there, waiting for me."
"It isn't being unfaithful. It's better than using a whore." Elizabeth can't help herself; she blushes. Anamaria smiles at this. "More satisfying than just using your fingers for ten years."
Elizabeth isn't used to having a female to talk to about these matters. Her society friends in Port Royal were too proper to bring it up. Her maids too frightened. Pirates were almost uniformly male. Tia Dalma had made a few crude jokes, but even before her true identity had been revealed, Elizabeth was never fully comfortable around the chained goddess.
She lets Anamaria talk her into it, lets Anamaria lead her through the market until they find a stall with a variety of ivory and lacquered wood from the Orient, and leather from Italy. The dildo she picks up is jade and costs more than her share of the last raid.
That night when her crew is still ashore, she returns to her cabin.
Her breasts are swollen and sensitive, so even though she loves the feel of Will's callused hands fondling her, she only flickers a thumb over a nipple once, twice, before going further down. She lingers there for longer, paying it some attention before reaching for the device Anamaria recommended.
It doesn't feel like Will, who was warm and supple. It's cold and hard, but not in the right way. She misses the heat of his breath as he kissed her neck, the strength of his hands holding her close. She doesn't have the patience to mimic his rhythm, replicate the way he liked to tease, slowing down when she's close, making her beg for completion.
She remembers their day on the beach as she fucks herself. Anamaria was right; it is better than just her fingers.
It can never be as good as Will, but for those long nights away from her husband, it helps.