Pirates of the Caribbean Oneshots

Brethren Court (4)

Nine Pirate Lords stood gathered around a long table under the flickering light of a candle-filled chandelier.

At a gesture from the woman at the head of the table, they seated themselves, a low murmur of talk gradually filling the air.

Roxanne Sparrow sat patiently, permitting the idle chatter for a few moments before calling the Court to order and asking the first of the Lords, Captain Jonathan Rhodes, to give his report.

On the balcony above the hall, Roxanne's husband idly strummed an old Irish tune on the guitar he held gently in his calloused hands, his broad fingers, now marred with arthritis, caressing the strings with a reverence born from a deep love of music.

His dark eyes were soft and gentle as they rested on his wife, then moved to their son, seated near the end of the table with his booted feet resting on the edge of it.

Jack's posture, from the battered tricorn shading his eyes to the lazy subconscious movement of one hand, said all too plainly that he would much rather be elsewhere.

Edward Teague lifted his gaze briefly from the hall to ajust the tuning of his guitar, then returned to watching the meeting.

Jonathan, his sun-bleached blond hair now liberally streaked with grey, was in the middle of reporting, his clipped English accent carrying clearly though Teague didn't particularly care what he was saying.

He was now concentrating on the frets of the guitar, his foot tapping lightly against the lock of the chest where the Codex was kept. He could empathise with Jack; there were several things he'd rather be doing than sitting observing this meeting, waiting for someone to breach the Pirate Code or disrespect his King.

Hector Barbossa sauntered in after the meeting had gotten underway, giving an arrogant nod to Roxanne as he sat down.

Jack glared at him but said nothing, resettling his tricorn to hide his expression.

Roxanne's shoulders tightened, her head lifting just slightly, but otherwise she hid her annoyance well, gesturing for the meeting to continue.

Teague rolled his eyes, letting out a quiet scoff, his fingers momentarily aggressively picking the guitar strings. He'd never liked Barbossa, finding him too arrogant, and his disregard for the Code was unbelievable.

"Should've shot him ages ago," the Keeper muttered to himself, scowling as he continued to play.

"Should've shot who?"
A shadow fell over his shoulder, and he glanced around to see his daughter standing there, a bottle of whiskey dangling from her long fingers, rings glimmering in the light.

"Hector. I hope you're intending to share that bottle."

Rowan grinned slightly, her hazel eyes dancing playfully.

"Suppose I will. Why are ye thinkin' about shooting Hector?" She sat down, uncorking the bottle.

"Cause he's a prick, and there's nothin' happening down there, so I'm bored," Teague replied simply, idly wondering if it was time to start thinking about retirement.

"Is 'being a prick' a good enough reason for somebody to be shot?" Rowan asked while taking a drink.

"Yes, though justifyin' it to your mother might be difficult."

They sat in silence apart from the guitar, passing the whiskey between them, while he kept half an eye on the meeting, most of his focus on his guitar.

Rowan eventually kissed his cheek and disappeared, leaving him the whiskey. He adjusted the guitars tuning, turning his attention back to the meeting at the same time.

An argument had broken out, if the shouting and pounding of fists on the table were anything to go by. Teague sighed, already guessing that Hector had started it by baiting Roxanne until her temper rose. By the sounds of it, most of the Lords were having petty squabbles of their own now.

"Definitely gettin' too old for this shite," Teague muttered under his breath as he set his guitar down and stood up, drawing the pistol from its place at his hip.

He leaned on the railings for a few seconds, observing with the pistol in his hand.

Hector stood with his back to the balcony, hands on his hips, the ostrich feathers on his hat trembling as he moved his head indignantly.

Slowly, Teague cocked the pistol and aimed carefully.

The hat sailed across the room as the gunshot stunned everyone into blissful silence.

Hector, wide-eyed and white-faced, glanced at him.

"The next shot will go straight through your skull. Get the fuck out."

Teague didn't raise his voice; he didn't need to. There was a quiet tone of authority in his words, effectively backed up by his fixed, dark stare and the smoking pistol still in his hand.

Even Hector wasn't going to argue with a pissed off Code Keeper, and he left without a word.

A flick of Teague's hand dismissed the rest of the Lords, and he made his way to Roxanne.

"That wasn't necessary," she said quietly as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"But fun nonetheless," he countered, giving her a kiss. "That meeting wasn't going to accomplish anythin', and I was seriously fed up watching grown men squabbling like dogs over a bone."

Laughter danced in her eyes as she swept a silvery strand of hair out of her face.

"My Keeper is getting more impatient in his old age," she murmured, covering his lips in a gentle kiss.

"Your Keeper has simply developed an even lower tolerance for arseholes."
He nuzzled her ear, then her neck, nipping her skin playfully.

"You never tolerated them in the first pla-ah, don't."
A sharp gasp escaped her lips as he ruthlessly nipped his way down her neck.

Her coat was slid off and discarded as the nips continued, getting lower. His eyes were dark, burning with desire, hands busy removing clothing.

Both nude, he grasped her hips and lifted her, laying her tenderly down onto the meeting table.

"Permission, my King?" he murmured against her lips, eyes softening again as he looked her over.

"I cannot believe we're ending a meeting like this," Roxanne muttered.
"Permission granted."

"It's not the first time."

He kissed her, hot and heavy as he slowly teased, toying with her.

"Bastard. Cruel, wicked-" she cut herself off, a deep moan coming from her throat as he stopped teasing, getting on with what he so wanted to do.

Her knuckles were white as she gripped the table's edges, whimpers of pleasure escaping her lips.

He smirked, seeing her like this and knowing he was the cause of it as his hips dropped again.

"Bastard," she growled softly again as she kissed him roughly, one hand pulling his dreadlocks.

He caught her wrists, stretching her arms behind her head and shifting himself to draw his tongue over her nipples.

Roxanne's toes curled, and another low moan came from her lips. He smirked against her skin, his tongue wandering higher, up to her collarbone, slowly up her neck.

She was helpless under him, rocked by his movements and powerless against the workings of his mouth.

When they had both had their fill of the activities, he gathered her into his arms as he lay on his back on the table.

"I don't think that's a bad way to end a meeting."

She chuckled tiredly, laying her head on his chest. "I love you."

"Love ye too, Asthore."
He tenderly kissed her head as they both succumbed to the gentle embrace of sleep.