Harry & the Pirate III: Blancmange
Post-Epilogue "Deleted Scene"
~ Blancmange ~
Gifted with a feverish cold by his infant son upon his return from six weeks of successful pillaging and plundering on the Black Pearl, Jack lay abed with his wife one afternoon, having been persuaded to nap during the heat of the day in consideration of his fragile health. The two had indeed fallen asleep (eventually), but woke at four o'clock, groggy and covered with a sheen of sweat.
"Too hot even for a sheet!" Jack said, throwing it off them. He pulled it up again, however, when there came a light knock on the door.
"Come in!" called Harry, smiling at this sudden attack of modesty. "It's only Rachel," she said to him, having recognized the knock.
"That's what I'm afraid of. She's been givin' me the eye, y'know."
Harry gave a peal of laughter, and Jack grinned as Rachel entered the room, carrying a tray.
"Looks like you're feelin' lots better!" she smiled. "Brought you a little something to cool you off. It's a close day, and no mistake."
"Close! It's like a bloody furnace in here," Jack complained.
"Well, you just take a sip and a bite here, and I'll draw back the drapes and open the window wider. There's a little breeze startin' up outside. But keep that sheet over you: you don't want to catch a chill."
"A chill!" Jack said derisively, when she'd gone. He threw the sheet off them again. "What's she brought us?"
"Rum punch, and some of that lovely blancmange Anatole made us last night."
Harry handed him one of the drinks, and Jack took a sip. "More punch than rum here," he groused. "But at least there's ice."
"Do you want some of this?" asked Harry, picking up a dish of the soft white pudding and a silver spoon.
"No. You know I don't care for that pap. Reminds me of bein' sick as a lad."
"Oh, but Anatole has had it chilled for us. It's lovely!" She closed her eyes as she took a slow spoonful, savoring it with lips and tongue. "Mmmmm…almonds, and vanilla!"
Jack lay back, watching her sensual enjoyment with a slight smirk and eyelids at half mast. "Good?"
"Lovely!" she said again. She looked at him then, laying there, and her expression became mischievous. "I know how to cool you with it!"
As she moved up beside him with the little dish and spoon, his eyes narrowed. "What?"
She shook her head imperiously. "Hold very still!"
He rolled his eyes a bit, but lay back, resigned. She then proceeded to take a small spoonful of the pudding and placed it in a cold little mound on his chest. She paused to admire the contrast of white against bronze, then continued, placing another, and another. He started to laugh when she placed one just to the right of his navel, but she gave him an admonishing look. After that he was quite still, at least until she completed the task and began to consume her scattered handiwork, with as sensual an air as she'd used on the spoon. By the time she was finished and peered up at him with a wicked smile he was almost beyond words.
"You see?" she said. "Lovely."
He loosed his grip on the sheets and managed to say, "If that was meant to cool me it quite failed its purpose."
She crawled up, half covering him, a knee between his legs, one hand roaming lightly in a southerly direction. "I noticed."
"Oh, my God," he said, and turned, pushing her over onto her back and kissing her. "You, madam, are incorrigible."
"Incorrigible? Me?" she said, eyes wide with feigned innocence. Then she smiled. "But, of course. Don't you remember? That's why you married me."
~.~
On to Harry & the Pirate IV: The Chalice of St. Francis