Title: Controlled
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Beckett/Jones/Calypso
Word Count: 1468
Rating: M
Summary: Exchange fic for
fairielore (I am SO sorry this took so long, I hope it's okay!)
Warnings/ Kinks: sex
So many years ago, in the pitch dark, just as it was now, on a calm night the ocean lapping against the ship, he would watch her sleep, moaning gently to himself, stark naked in a chair half across his quarters, terrified of waking her from that angelic beauty that overtook her in those rare moments of rest. If she did wake, she would scold him for not waking her beforehand and tease him for being a dirty man, unable to control himself, crawling out of bed and over to him, like some overtly sexual beast, all the while her delightful smile lit the room with an unnatural, radiant glow. Her voice was always so playful, so sweet and tender. Her teasing would provoke a rise out of him, they would fall back into the bed, their whispering and giggling evolving into kissing and a symphony of ecstatic cries, privacy be damned. It was the memory of these times that kept Jones from drowning in his own heartbreak. Better to love and have lost, or so they say. He would find himself lost in time in his mind, back in his chair, eyes closed, imagining the cold bed before him was once again home to the goddess herself.
"Calypso...." He had been thinking of nothing but her since tea with Will and Lord Cutler Beckett, he felt his face twist up in a scowl as he thought of the very name. He pushed it to the back of his mind, thinking only of Calypso’s dark, smooth skin pressing against his, as he’d been envisioning all day, so distracted from running his ship.
Her small, girlish hands wrapped around his length, stroking in tandem with his own well established rhythm. It took Jones a few moments to realize that his fantasy had become tangible. His eyes popped open audibly and his face shifted from looking up, having been lost in his rapture, to staring down at the person before him, the relaxed face twisting into a foul sneer, intent on killing the man who interrupted his solitude, had overheard such an intimate moment, the revealing of such a weakness as he could not be seen to have, not by anyone on this ship. Perhaps the last thing he expected was the one man he couldn't kill, lest his heart be opened fire on. Lord Cutler Beckett was on his knees before Davy Jones, stroking his cock alone now, since Davy had pulled away in surprise.
Beckett smirked up at Jones's shocked visage. "She's being held in bondage on the Pearl, I believe. At the mercy of the brethren court, no doubt." His Lordship was indulging today. Rarely did he get the chance to torture and torment a subordinate by himself, it didn't make for good appearances. Jones was special. He knew better than to speak to anyone of what Cutler had planned for him. He had little sexual desire toward this man, this beast, really, he was a perversion of the man he once was. The Lord truly lusted for power. Control over the man that lorded over the seas as this, that would be a heady dose just thinking of it. Being able to break Jones, make him writhe and squeal and know what was good for him, that would certainly bring Cutler Beckett to his climax, be it physical or mental.
“Get your hands off of me, you mongrel.” Jones growled out, though unmoving. He feared what Beckett might do if provoked. “And don’t ye dare speak of her.” he said, rage growing in his narrow eyes.
“A prisoner in her own, human body...” Beckett mused. “I wonder what Captains Sparrow and Barbossa will be doing with her. I don’t imagine a woman alone and unprotected on such a ship would be... safe.” he blinked slowly, still twisting a hand slowly around Jones’s manhood. The anger, rage, fear at what Beckett was saying in such a cool tone nearly broke Jones’s hardly collected demeanor.
The Lord quickly changed the topic “We are coming up on Shipwreck Cove. I could take you to see her.” he said in a cloying little whisper, leaning in and looking up at Jones with a stare that would have been seductive if there was any warmth behind Cutler’s lifeless eyes.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Beckett stood in the shadows, poised with his ornamental cane in his hand, waiting, watching the two former lovers converse before he heard her ask, her voice trembling, “Why did you come?”
“He came because I brought him here.” His voice cut through the air, as he stepped into the light, but Tia Dalma hardly looked at him, only noting Davy’s reaction to him. Her lover became more docile, looking down almost instantly. Shame in his eyes and fear in his demeanor.
“Well, what are you waiting for, Jones? Take her. Claim what’s rightfully yours before she’s released into the sea by Barbossa and his lot.” Beckett drawled.
She hadn’t lost that sparkling heat in her eyes, even when she looked at him, confused as to why he was acting in this manner. He was no longer his own master, responding to Beckett’s call. He had always been the master of his own flesh, but the ache was deep, having been drawn from his self pleasuring by Beckett’s hand, and now thrust before the woman, the deity who had been the object of his fantasy for so many years. So many years since he had touched the flesh of a woman. Any other woman would be a hallow experience, so he had not indulged. His Lordship’s slow, teasing jerking a few moments ago was the closest he had had to gratification from a partner since Calypso had abandoned him.
Jones could hardly help himself when he wrapped his arms around Calypso and pressed his lips to hers, the woman wound her arms under his and received the kiss. For a man who claimed not to have any love for her, he certainly was not devoid of passion. Beckett watched, detached from the situation but enjoying the simple fact that this was under his direction, his lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes shining in the dark.
Calypso pulled back from Jones after a moment, but he didn’t let her go, his tentacles slowly slithering up her, wrapping in her dreadlocked hair. She looked over his shoulder at Beckett pointedly. She shook her head, communicating wordlessly. She wouldn’t do this in front of another man. Davy returned her look. This was his one chance. She moved to step back, but found herself on the floor, with Jones’s lips pressed to hers again and she wound a hand in what used to be his hair, using the other to ease her skirt up. It felt like nothing, slipping back into this with him. As if they had never been apart. His clothing came off just as easily as hers, both of them too wrapped up in the moment to pay much mind to the gargoyle watching them.
“Oh... Davy Jones...” she whispered his name in her harsh accent against his ear as he entered her, his lips hardly left hers, his knees holding him on the floor, anchored between her thighs, thrusting. It was bliss about to be shattered.
The Lord’s touch was noticed immediately, the hands on his back, the movement between his legs and Jones froze. He didn’t want this. He should have never allowed it. But Lord Beckett had Jones under his control, and Davy knew he had no options.
The woman under him was confused as to why he was stopping, but he eyes widened when Davy lurched forward, his eyes closing with the unbearable sting of being entered nearly dry and with force.
Beckett’s voice came as a hiss, “Keep going, I won’t be the one doing the work for both of us, Jones.” he said, pressing in closer. Davy looked down into Calypso’s eyes, a broken man, thrusting between the bliss of Beckett’s withdrawls and entering Calypso’s warm, wet, inviting cunt, and the horror of bearing back against Beckett, who made each ravaging entry agony, untill he finally finished, far too quick for his own good. He stood and rebucked his pants, smirking.
Calypso shook her head and felt her blood boil. She would make them suffer. She would make them all suffer for what they had done to her love, broken him, made him a pet, a pawn, a plaything for the East India trading company.
Beckett had every intention of letting Davy finish at his own pace, but he quickly grew bored of watching, and ordered the man to his feet so they could depart.
Before Jones stood, he whispered in her ear. “My heart will always belong to you.”