Pirates of the Caribbean, Elizabeth/Barbossa, learning, the voice of experience
He was filthy, but she wasn't much better.
And when he touched her, smiling, she could taste the sea in the back of her throat. And when he pushed inside her, not quite gentle but not needing to be, she went to her toes, fingers white-knuckled around the hilt of a knife, hands pressed against the the table, his coat falling around her with his front pressed to her back. He didn't smell like death, which she'd more than half expected, and he rocked against her with the rhythm of the sea and put his lips to her ear.
"Never put yourself at the mercy of another's honor," he purred, voice an amused rasp, fingers tight around his wrist, nails digging into her skin, and Elizabeth gasped in an unsteady breath. "And never--" shoved up against her, making her shake, body tight and slick around him and he was certainly feeling it now, wasn't he, uncursed and warm in the icy spill of moonlight, "--expect honor from a man here, my fine lady, it'll keep ye alive longer."
He smelled like smoke and gunpowder and he kept her as still as he wanted her, tight against his body. Elizabeth bared her teeth in a silent snarl, pushing against him, and her own voice was low and husky. "I think I've learned that lesson, Captain." A small sound slipped between her teeth, low and trembling, as he thrust against her.
"Not well enough." He drew the backs of his fingers up her body, over the minimal curve of her breasts, and she was reminded of the way he'd held an apple once, that same slow, visceral appreciation. "You're young," he whispered, voice harsh against her ear, breath against her skin, "you'll learn."
She'd learned enough to fight back sounds as she came, arching hard into his body, but he still breathed out a laugh that felt like triumph.