the Dalaverse

Had this bookmarked from fabu for awhile: Post the hottest sex scene you've ever written. Yes! It's that easy! Flood the flist with porn! Yay porn!

Of course I didn't pick just one. Do I ever pick just one? But the first scene that popped into my head - and I guess the one I'd pick if somebody held a gun to said head...

Regarding Back Alleys and Amnesty: Will. Jack. Guilt. A wall.


There’s little else to the preamble, only sharp nips at his neck, his exposed throat. Inflaming though they are, Will manages to remember the dark purple color they’ll turn. Fingers threaded through Jack’s hair, he gives a short tug. Jack kisses his collarbone in apology before grabbing onto his waistcoat for leverage and sinking to the ground. He gets Will’s breeches open with fumbling fingers. Will lets out a gasp at the speed of it; before he can so much as move, Jack has taken him all the way in. His throat works a whore’s rhythm, tongue pressed flat against Will’s shaft. They’ve taken their time doing this before, often until somebody is jabbering senseless pleas, but Jack is clearly uninterested in such deliberation tonight. Will trembles and jerks and tries not to choke him, biting down on the knuckles of one hand to keep from making too much noise. His other hand twists into Jack’s black hair. The long white bone pokes the calluses at the bases of his fingers, making him flinch. Looking up, Jack gags once on his burden before he can adjust to the new angle. Will relaxes his grip, slides his hand down to frame one side of Jack’s face. The cheek beneath his palm hollows as Jack sucks harder, his eyes narrowed to watch Will lose every last vestige of control he has ever fought to possess. Will’s lids fall shut and he comes, stifling his own cries, fingertips stroking the soft patch of skin behind Jack’s ear.

Dazed, he is barely aware when Jack finishes swallowing and hauls himself to his feet. He captures Will’s mouth in a quick, messy kiss that tastes of rum and tears and Will’s own seed, before turning him around.

He braces himself with his arms, letting his head fall forward against the cool brick. Jack drops his own breeches to his knees and presses briefly against Will’s backside, moaning, then bares him from the waist down as well. Will is relieved when he pulls the familiar flask of oil from a pocket, though in truth he’d have let Jack take him without it. There isn’t much he wouldn’t do right now, as long as it means he doesn’t have to leave this embrace just yet.

Jack pushes into him with a few dampened fingers, not quite carelessly, but as if he finds it difficult to concentrate. His breathing is likewise impatient, restless like his hips shifting behind his hands. Will spreads his legs, saying hoarsely, “Jack, now - you can –”

With a growl Jack takes hold of his old finger-bruises and thrusts in. His first few strokes are too rough, too hasty, but he catches himself at Will’s involuntary whimper. With a shudder he goes still. Resting his cheek between Will’s shoulder blades, he reaches to grasp Will’s spent cock, closes his fingers around it like it’s a holy relic.

“All right?” His voice is hushed.

Will can only nod, chest heaving, head throbbing. Jack starts to move again, tiny precise undulations of his hips, while his open mouth melts against Will’s neck. Gradually the burn fades. Swelling again from Jack’s hand on him, Will turns his face to the side and says his name. Jack groans low in his throat, speeds up, rubs against that precious spot deep inside. Will pushes up onto the balls of his feet with each thrust, dropping down again when Jack draws back. His hands get scraped by the stone as he clutches at it, but he doesn’t feel the pain. Doesn’t feel it, doesn’t think about it, doesn’t think about anything except Jack and how this is the last time he’ll ever get to feel this way. He gave his word – his word to Elizabeth, and his body must belong to her as well, no matter that Jack has stolen it for the moment.

Commandeered, he thinks, and his burst of laughter turns into a dry sob that tears his throat. Jack wraps his free arm around Will’s waist and whispers soothing things to him. It takes him a few heartbeats to realize that he is saying just one word and that his voice is so raw and desperate he might as well be pleading. He might be praying, for that matter, but Will can’t think of a god who’d listen to either of them now.

He lays one forearm against the wall, letting the other one drop to cover Jack's at his middle. He laces their fingers together as he spills into Jack’s hand. Jack presses him forward, a final “Mine” escaping his lips before he bites down on the nape of Will’s neck.

“Yours,” Will mouths against his own sweaty arm, tasting grit from the alley wall. Jack’s hips give one last twitch. Then he doesn’t move for long, long moments. Will swallows the blood from his bitten lips.



So, I have written Jameswank...a lot. It is one of my favorite varieties of wank AND of James. Touch, Feel, and Lose with James as empath is probably top of the top - plus it has bonus Jackwank!


While he stood against the wall, fighting his puzzlement, Sparrow’s mind wandered away from matters of death. Norrington felt a great curiosity from him, a musing over somebody or something that sufficiently distracted Sparrow from his fate. The feeling warmed into sensation, grew heavier, sank from Norrington’s mind to his blood, his bones, his cock.

Lust.

Even as his jaw dropped in shock, he felt Sparrow’s thoughts throb like a heartbeat, slow and steady beneath his own. He held a hand over his mouth and dug his fingernails into mortar and brick.

If he strained his ears, he could hear it – Sparrow shifting on the hard floor, the faintest of gasps. From the way his desire suddenly spiked, he had to be touching himself. Norrington imagined him in the dark cell, head thrown back, teeth bared, hips bucking under his own caress.

Norrington had been careful never to let go in bed, and now he knew why. God, it was so strong, so much, and at the same time not enough – he needed –

He heard Sparrow moan as he slipped his hand down, beneath his coat, past his belt. He couldn’t be bothered to undo his breeches so there was hardly enough room for movement – breeches tight around his hand around his cock, as tight as Sparrow’s body might be. Norrington thought of hands held out to him, dark eyes canted up at him, promising both surrender now and defiance at some later date. He stroked harder.

Sparrow was lost in his fantasy, squirming, panting, his every response tugging on Norrington’s nerves. In a corner of his mind Norrington wondered what Sparrow saw that was so inspiring, but mostly he concentrated on what he saw – a pirate golden-tongued and bronze-skinned spread before him, beneath him, voice breaking on his name. And he would be crying out too, groaning and hissing into a sinfully decadent mouth. He could taste the man, smell his salt and tar, feel his thighs tighten and spasm as climax struck hard and true. And Sparrow would say to him –

“Commodore,” came the strained whisper from the cell, and Norrington’s vision shattered into white.



There's that wall again. Hmm....



I think it's time for some happier sex. I'm particularly fond of Jack and Norrington* fooling around in the kitchen in For Want of a Nail: "Ye didn't! Not on me table!"


“The apple, Gabriel,” Jack murmured, flicking his tongue out to come so close to the tip of Norrington’s cock that he could feel the displaced air. No blood, there was no blood in his brain at all... “A bite,” Jack was saying, “take a bite of it.”

He glanced dumbly at the apple in his hand, bruising from the force of his grip. Raising it uncertainly to his mouth, he waited for Jack to nod eagerly before he sank his teeth into it.

Norrington had always loved apples: the shine of the skin, the crisp scent, the way the meat of the fruit gave only when you applied sufficient pressure with teeth and gums. He knew Jack preferred oranges, liked to suck all the juices and spit out the pulp, but from the way his pupils dilated when Norrington bit into his apple, they might soon share a favorite fruit.

The fruit was lush from being squeezed so hard and its juice dribbled down his chin. Jack made a noise like he’d been pinched and caught Norrington’s hands, keeping him from wiping it away. He grabbed onto Norrington’s neck and pulled himself up to lick the errant juice, catching it just before it dripped onto his shirt. Norrington opened his mouth under Jack’s insistent tongue, which sought out every trace of tart and brought with it the citrus sweet of oranges.

He was never going to be able to eat fruit without blushing again, that was for damned sure.

Managing to keep himself from melting off the chair when Jack made his way back down, Norrington took no chances this time and laced his fingers though Jack’s hair, miraculously avoiding getting stabbed with anything sharp. He needed no directing, however, bending over Norrington to take him deep with a soft pleased moan. Norrington cried out at the intensity – the juice of the apple stung faintly – but the sensations were cut short once again, albeit not so drastically. Jack’s lips slid back down his shaft until he was just gently teasing the head, licking at it mockingly.

“Jack,” Norrington said, feeling as though his voice would crack, “if you want any of this to be reciprocated, you’d better start...” He paused, scarcely believing he was saying this out loud. “Start sucking.”

The black eyes flashed in amusement and renewed desire, but he kept his mouth closed, his lips puckering a kiss against Norrington’s pulsing cock. And Norrington suddenly understood.

He took another bite of the apple.

Jack sucked him down again, working his throat and doing marvelous things with his tongue. His hands came up to lavish attention on Norrington’s balls, squeezing and stroking and rolling sensitive flesh in elegant fingers. The feverish swell of pleasure distracted him from Jack’s own needs, so that he was shocked when Jack pulled off and planted himself firmly in Norrington’s lap. The apple got knocked out of his hand as Jack launched an attack on his mouth, bringing a taste familiar and vaguely like saltwater with him this time, meeting the last traces of apple to join them both in a bittersweet flavor he found both appropriate and very intoxicating.

Jack’s erection was sliding against his own, his breeches having gone missing at some point, but that contact too was abruptly denied him. What the devil was wrong with –

“Cooking oil,” Jack hissed out between clenched teeth, flinging things out of the pantry until he came up with the large tin. He used a dazed Norrington’s shoulders to lever himself up on the table and then it all made sense. Norrington pressed him down, ran hands up the legs wrapping around his waist.

Watching him hungrily as he fumbled with the lid, Jack panted, “Had a mind to pound you boneless tonight, but ‘m afraid you’d break the table.”

“Are you calling me fat?” Norrington demanded, stroking the cool oil onto himself with trembling hands.

“‘Course not,” said Jack, wriggling delightedly as Norrington shoved a couple of fingers into him. “But y’are a – oooh yes, very nice – quite a sturdy boy, there, Gabriel.”

“Sturdy,” Norrington repeated breathlessly, thrusting forward – oh God –

Jack’s eyes rolled back in his head as he tightened his thighs and his internal muscles. “Blazes – yeah, sturdy...strapping, one might even say...c’mon and fuck me...”

“If you’d stop – chattering –” Norrington managed before he adjusted to the tricky angle and drove into him properly. The table shot back a few inches and they both wobbled, Jack balanced on the edge and Norrington trying desperately not to fall. When they steadied themselves again, Jack burst out laughing.

“Do it again, we’re nearly to the wall,” he said, stopping mid-chuckle as Norrington obeyed, stepping forward along with the movement of the table until it hit the wall. A moment of adjustment and he was thrusting again, hands braced on the table, Jack whipping his head back and groaning wordlessly. His back was going to be murder tomorrow, he reflected distantly. Jack distracted him from his rather arbitrary thoughts by unclenching one hand from Norrington’s bicep to stroke himself in time with the quickening pace, since there was no chance of Norrington risking his precarious balance by doing so.


*if you want the whole name explanation, it's at the beginning of that fic - this is a later chapter



But Dala, you may be saying, what about the ladies? Well, the first fic is actually the bastard stepchild of Regarding Cowrie Shells and Rum, which adds public naughtiness to the list of kinks thus far. Not to mention its wanton destruction of the reputations of cowrie shells everywhere.


“The important thing’s that it’s shaped like a woman’s body.”

Elizabeth frowns at her. “Doesn’t look very much like a woman to me.”

Humor dances in Anamaria’s eyes – humor, and something darker that Elizabeth can’t decipher. Perhaps because she’s drunk, perhaps because she’s too high-born a lady, perhaps because Anamaria’s hand is pressing against her belly, over her shirt.

“What –” she begins, but a sharp look shushes her. Her eyes widen as the hand dips into her waistband, under her thin cotton drawers. Fingers as callused as a man’s but much smaller sift through the curls between her legs. Elizabeth has been sitting comfortable and loose, but now she brings her thighs together. The contraction of her own muscles is a sweet pressure that makes her gasp.

She realizes she is clutching the shell between thumb and forefinger, so tightly it’s leaving tiny imprints. Anamaria catches her hand when she tries to release it. The curtain of her hair falls as she leans forward, obscuring her face and the way she licks her lips from anyone but Elizabeth.

“Don’t you want me t’ show you?” Anamaria’s voice creeps into her ears, smooth like the back of the shell in her palm and rough-edged like the flat side.

Elizabeth looks out into the tavern, her cheeks going pink. It’s one thing for Will to have his sordid little tryst in an alley, but –

“No one’s payin’ us any mind,” Anamaria whispers. Her breath is hot against Elizabeth’s neck, her fingertips splayed along the trembling muscles of Elizabeth’s thighs. Staring down at the cowrie shell, she lets them slide apart.

“See...the cleft here...” One long stroke down, left of center, along a crease of soft flesh. Up the other side, and now it’s soft moist flesh, and Elizabeth suddenly understands. She runs her thumb lightly over one serrated edge. Anamaria repeats the motion, this time separating her fingers so she can push the folds apart.

Heart hammering within her ribs, Elizabeth bites back a whimper. Her nails are too short to fit far into the hollow of the shell, but Anamaria seems to get the idea. With a short chuckle, she presses one finger up and in, spreading Elizabeth wide with the others.

Her head slumps onto the other woman’s shoulder. The air in the room grows heavier, damper, harder to inhale. Anamaria pushes a second finger into her, sliding deep and then pulling both out again to rub wet circles.

“Turn it over.” Her lips press against Elizabeth’s brow and her fingers plunge back in, and this time Elizabeth can’t quite keep from making a sound. It fades away into the din of drunken men and women. She can’t make her body obey, so Anamaria turns the shell over for her. The other side isn’t purely white, Elizabeth realizes; the shell is thinner here, so she can see the darker interior.

Anamaria slides one thumb over the pearly swell while her other thumb furrows up between Elizabeth’s clenched thighs. It presses down, hard, where Elizabeth thinks there must be strings anchored to run outward in all directions, because her entire body goes into a spasm. The cowrie shell wobbles at Anamaria’s wrist as she pulls that hand up to cup Elizabeth’s breast, the heel of her hand rasping coarse linen over a peaked nipple.

She twists herself beneath the hands, beneath the body that is now mostly shielding her from view, and she buries her cries in Anamaria’s neck.

“That’s it, pretty little one,” the other woman breathes as she moves her hand faster. “Come for me ‘stead of your straying man. He don’t know how t’ care for you proper, anyway.”

Elizabeth tries to recall how it hurt to see Will with another, but it seems like someone else’s memory she only heard about. And then Anamaria is crooking her thumb, twisting her knobby fingers, and Elizabeth grips the edge of the table as she pushes down. Pleasure glows beneath her skin, rippling outward till she is bucking in Anamaria’s grasp, biting down on salty-smoky flesh. She finds Anamaria’s hand at her waist and grinds the cowrie shell into her wristbone.



If that doesn't satisfy you, we can always throw Jack back into the mix (like he'd complain?). Half of the 'Honey and the Moonverse' is Anamaria/Elizabeth/Jack, and in Kindling For the Flame the intreprid trio invents a new raindance.


All the heat in the room shoots low in her body, dragged by Anamaria’s twisting hand. Elizabeth rolls her head on her neck, then throws it back in annoyance as the knot in her hair comes loose and sends its damp weight tumbling down her back. She draws back to fix it; Anamaria clucks her tongue and spins her around to do her the favor, conveniently leaving Elizabeth free to behold Jack. He’s still leaning against the door, but now he’s completely nude – unfair; how does he always manage to beat them to it? – tugging at his cock in a slow, deliberate manner in keeping with the languor of the day. Elizabeth grins and crooks a finger at him, sighing in appreciation as Anamaria lifts her hair up to lick wide swaths across her neck. Hooded eyes as sultry as the air in the cabin, Jack steals up to her, hips leading. He follows Anamaria’s lead and keeps his hands to himself as he kisses her, though he tilts forward so that the heat of his erection presses against her belly.

Hot air rises, she remembers, and drops to her knees to see if it’s true. She can’t really tell, distracted as she is by the cock bobbing hopefully in front of her face. Well, if he wants attention, he’ll have to put up with her hands on him, because otherwise she won’t be able to keep her balance. He doesn’t seem to mind the sweaty fingers locking on his hips, so she flicks out her tongue, slicks him from base to head, and blows on the wet stripe. Jack hisses and grabs wildly at empty space; Anamaria’s hands dart out to catch his. She holds him steady as Elizabeth mouths him with wetted lips.

“That damned mouth o' yours,” Jack mutters, jerking and breaking off into a whimper as she retaliates with her teeth.

“Never can shut up, can you, Sparrow?” Anamaria’s voice is lazy with amusement. She’s in a nice enough mood not to bite when Jack kisses her – at least, not hard. Elizabeth glances up at them, seeing Anamaria take firm hold of a few wayward braids and twists. She decides it doesn’t violate the rule, as she’s not touching his skin precisely. Nor do his hands on her own head, because they’re gentle and light and trembling faintly. They’ve got him well-trained, she thinks with pride.

She lets Anamaria distract him up top while she nudges his legs further apart. Pulling slightly back, she opens her mouth wide to slide her own fingers in, stroking him neatly. Jack wriggles delightedly. Quick as she can, Elizabeth withdraws her fingers, drags her nails over his balls, and reaches back to press a damp fingertip against the entrance to his body.

From the sound of it, he nearly chokes on Anamaria’s tongue. She snickers, looking down at Elizabeth’s antics. There are few things she likes better than to see Jack Sparrow driven up the wall.

“I really...regret...teachin’ you that trick,” he pants, his hands curling into her hair as she pushes past tight muscle.

“No, y’ really don’t,” says Anamaria, leaving Jack gasping like a dying fish in order to kneel gracefully behind Elizabeth. She runs her hand, flat-palmed, up and down Elizabeth’s back until it is slippery with sweat, and then she slides it into Elizabeth’s breeches and between her thighs. The added moisture isn’t really necessary, Elizabeth thinks at first, but then Anamaria touches her and she realizes that the beads of sweat have become cool – blessedly cool, and no doubt as salty-sweet as Jack’s flesh in her mouth. She tightens her throat around him and thrusts another finger in. He’ll never want for the touch of a man, that’s for damned sure, not after she goes shopping during their next jaunt in Singapore.

He’s moaning and swearing raggedly now, one hand braced against the wall and the other tangled up in the knot of her hair, which he lifts to the side. Anamaria’s lips melt against the back of her neck, rubbing in time with the fingers moving in and out of her, over the little bundle of nerves to which fever is being driven in cresting waves.

“Go on,” Anamaria murmurs against her nape, and Elizabeth knows she’s not urging her to climax because her callused fingers keep the same pace. First come, first served, then – or the other way around, more accurately.

She hums low in her throat where Jack is sunk as deep as she can take him, and she twists mercilessly into him at just the right spot. He squeezes his sweaty hand on her shoulder as he yells obscenities and finds his release. Elizabeth swallows greedily, for Anamaria is nodding in approval and her hand stars moving faster. Forgetting about the game, Elizabeth releases Jack and arches her spine until she can lean back against the other woman. The hands switch so quickly she can hardly tell, the dripping one snaking around to smear patterns over her breasts. Jack, slumped on the floor after he succumbed to shaky knees, bends down to lap her clean again. Elizabeth shudders between them, the tongue rasping over her sensitive nipples, the fingers plunging into her cunt and working her harder, faster –

Turning her head, she meets the open mouth at her ear and lets Anamaria swallow her cries as she comes.



Well, that was a trip down memory lane!

I realize I did pick FIVE here, but if I've missed one of your favorites, do let me know. What can I say, I enjoy pirate porn.

Someday soon, I hope to make use of this icon for brand new shameless smut. What's another word for 'engorged'?