Work Text:
Singapore rebuilds itself before her return. Fire might spread quickly through buildings of wood and reed, but water is ever-present in Singapore, and that night the mist had thickened into rain by dawn. Chen Shu has seen four fires and two battles consume the city, and Elizabeth Swann’s campaign was the least of them. There are always more wood and reeds in Singapore, and the sea washes away old ashes.
So when the ship with black sails arrives, and the rumors start, Chen Shu isn’t worried. Rabia says that’s because smoking as much opium as Chen Shu does makes one incapable of worrying, but Rabia is prone to exaggeration. The only ones truly concerned are the Dutch and the English; the white men finger their pistol hilts and stick close together.
“More so than usual,” Rabia adds. She’s back from the market, her basket full of water spinach and sambal. The scent of the chili cuts through Chen Shu’s drowsiness, and she stretches and opens her eyes. Rabia stands in the doorway to their small room, shaking her long hair loose from a cotton cloth. The sun is bright, even indoors, and Chen Shu is tempted to cover her eyes and go back to sleep, but she can tell by the ingredients that Rabia is worried. Left to herself, Rabia eats chicken or fish; she only avoids meat when she wants Chen Shu’s company. “As though we needed more trouble.”
“They’re always trouble,” Chen Shu says, coming to her, and though Rabia’s lips thin in dissatisfaction, she says nothing. They sit side by side to sort the water spinach, cleaning the leaves and snapping the stems. Chen Shu enjoys this, the fragileness of the long, wet leaves in her hands, their contrast to the tough, stringy stems, so like music and the flute from which it emerges.
After a time of silence, Rabia says, “They say Jack Sparrow’s with her.” Chen Shu glances at her, but Rabia’s eyes are firmly focused on their task, her fingers not pausing as they move across the water spinach.
“Ah.” Chen Shu pauses, and laughs. “And last year, they said he was dead.”
“And now,” Rabia says, not laughing, “they say he was.” They look at one another, Chen Shu unable to find words. Finally, Rabia scoffs, shaking her head. “Not that I believe it.”
The house opens at dark, and the first customers arrive shortly thereafter. Business will continue till dawn, when first light begins to show the stains and wrinkles. Twilight is brief today; the early, bright sunlight fled at the approach of haze and darkness. With night comes tiny, flickering lights: the opium lamps, providing little illumination but abundant scent, sweet and resinous and tempting. Chen Shu and Rabia wait by a window at the back of the house, watching the ships on the harbor. Chen Shu only smokes after the customers have left, and Rabia avoids it entirely. The ships fade with the light. They all look the same to Chen Shu, but she knows Rabia can read more from the arrangement of masts and sails, the profile of hulls. But if she learns anything, she doesn’t share.
As the night deepens, the house grows crowded. Rabia doesn’t leave the window, though, and no one asks for her. Chen Shu knows she should get up, get to work, but she’s reluctant to abandon Rabia. There’s nothing to see outside other than darkness and, here and there, the yellow smear of a far-off lantern. Below them, the sea washes against the house’s stilts: small, deepening waves as the tide moves in. Inside is the noise of conversation, loud laughter, soft languorous murmurs. Once, a voice rises in a song Chen Shu knows and she joins in, but the singer breaks off after only a few lines.
It’s late when they arrive. Chen Shu hears Li Yu talking to someone by the door; the new voice catches her attention, speaking Mandarin with a heavy Western accent, low in both timbre and volume, the words nearly burr-edged. But it’s Rabia who recognizes it. Her head turns, and Chen Shu sees the briefest look of surprise on her face before Rabia smoothes her features. She stands and moves purposefully down the hallway, sticking to the deepest shadows against the right wall, and Chen Shu hurries after.
It's Jack Sparrow, and he's not alone. A slender figure, dressed in similar clothes, stands behind him. The other looks about with the curious expression of someone new to Singapore, or brothels, or both. Rabia halts, and they watch as Sparrow and the other moves into an alcove; the two press together. Sparrow's fingers curl around the chin of the shorter man, lifting up his face, Sparrow's fingers dark and ragged against the other's fair skin. Sparrow leans into him, using his body to push the other against the wall, and says something in English. The scene could be aggressive, but there's something in Sparrow's manner that speaks of caution, of care, and it is the shorter one who seems to be in control. Sparrow's free hand steals its way up the other's body, touching hip and waist and ending at chest, where it cups a breast- and Chen Shu realizes the shorter figure isn't a man at all. The woman tilts forward, nearly offering herself to Sparrow's hands. Their faces are nearly touching, eyes intent on one another, and the woman's teeth flash in the darkness, bared in a fierce grin before she speaks. Sparrow responds in a quiet, amused rumble.
Chen Shu doesn't know English, but Rabia does. Whatever is happening here will be clearer to her, but already Chen Shu knows Rabia isn't going to tell.
"He asked for you," Li Yu says behind them, and Chen Shu spins guiltily to face him. Rabia turns more slowly; she seems calm, but there's a distance in her eyes, the same pre-occupied stare as when she prays. "Both of you." Li Yu's gaze shifts from Chen Shu to Rabia, After a moment, she nods.
They’ve done this before, which is good, as now there’s no time to prepare. The house has a special place for this: two rooms, separated by a large pane of glass. Li Yu had it imported for just this purpose at great expense. It’s one of the largest windows in Singapore, and the glass is clear and smooth as porcelain, with no bubbles or ripples to mar the view. On Rabia and Chen Shu’s side, there are dozens of lanterns, filling the room with a golden glow nearly as bright as the day, ridding it of all shadows. The other side of the window is currently hidden by a velvet hanging, but they’ve only just sat on the chaise when it drops away, revealing Sparrow. He's still a handsome man, dark kohl rimming his eyes, irises warm as cherry wood. The beads and coins he was always so superstitious about still hang in his hair, reflecting the light in sharp glints. He wears a pleased smile, and his body is loose-limbed; he looks like a satisfied man. It's the way he tends to look when he's at this house; perhaps the way he tends to look everywhere. Chen Shu wouldn't know. But there are differences: more lines at the corner of his eyes, less arrogance in his smile. Chen Shu looks to Rabia to see what she thinks, but Rabia doesn't even seem to have glanced at the window. Rabia was always certain there was something special about Sparrow; she let him closer to her than she did with most people. Chen Shu remembers how he used to make her laugh, the softness in her face after he'd spent a night with her. Her anger and ill-hidden grief when they'd heard about his death.
Now, behind the glass, Sparrow moves to the woman, lying beside her and pulling her against him, his hands unfastening her clothing. Rabia leans forward, taking up the belt of Chen Shu's robe, her mouth recalling Chen Shu's attention. She stares straight into Chen Shu's eyes as though there was nothing else in the world to see. Her eyes are brown in the lantern light, the yellow flames revealing matching tones of amber in her eyes, the lashes long and soft as charcoal dust. Chen Shu gives her the lead, startled by Rabia's sudden intensity; to escape, she closes her eyes as she feel her robe slip from her shoulders, the cool air on her breasts, her hair falling against her bare back. She frees her arms from the sleeves and leans back, Rabia following so that the kiss never breaks. Despite everything, Chen Shu can feel her pulse beginning to quicken; she turns her face away, feeling the blush on her cheeks. Rabia kneels above her, removes her own shift; Chen Shu feels the body-warmed satin against her thighs before it slides to the floor. Rabia drifts fingers across Chen Shu's belly, her shoulders, her sides. The lightness of the touch makes the air catch in Chen Shu's throat, and she reaches up, needing her hands on something, finding her fingers clumsy as she strokes Rabia's neck. When she glances up, Rabia is still staring at her; the passion in her expression makes Chen Shu's heart throb and sends a sharper pang low in her belly, but she knows it's not her Rabia is seeing.
In the next room, the woman who must be the pirate king, Elizabeth Swann, is nude. Her skin is remarkably pale, particularly in the places the sun never sees. Her hair is loose, strewn across the cushions; the lantern-light turns a few strands to gold wire. Her eyes seem golden, too, such a pale brown, and they are wide and fixed on Chen Shu.
Rabia moves over her, knees to either side of Chen Shu, and her hands now are firmer, more insistent. She cups Chen Shu’s breasts, thumbs drawing circles around the nipples until they begin to harden, until Chen Shu aches for more. As if she knows, Rabia turns her hands, uses her fingers, coaxing the nipples to peaks. She is gentle, using no pinches, no nails, but her concentration gives her that same rough force. When she finally lowers her mouth to the breasts, the hot wet heat forces a gasp from Chen Shu, her back arching as sudden and tight as a tuned bow. Her hands find their way to Rubia’s head, fingers clenching in the dark, thick curls. Rubia rides Chen Shu’s body’s movements, her tongue following the natural rhythm of those waves in a way that makes them hit harder, until Chen Shu thinks she might shake apart. She hears murmurs from the next room, the English words ragged and full of shushing sounds. She can’t tell if her voice is joining them.
Her pulse pounds between her legs, urgent, and she presses her thighs together, embarrassed. This isn’t at all professional. They aren’t meant to really be seducing one another, just putting on a show. But Rabia is overwhelming her, and Chen Shu doesn’t know how to stop it. Or if she wants to.
When Rabia lifts her mouth from Chen Shu’s breast, the cold air brings a sob to her lips. Rabia’s hands trail down her thighs, guiding her knees apart, and then her long fingers move slowly back up. The pads of Rabia’s fingers are rough on her sensitive inner thighs, and it sends shivers through her body. Rabia’s mouth is still on her skin, teeth marking the flesh over ribs, then hips. It feels like there isn’t enough air in the room, and Chen Shu knows her mouth is open wide- undignified, unlovely- but she can’t help it. Rabia’s fingers reach her innermost place, and Chen Shu’s hips abruptly hitch up, nearly jolting Rabia’s chin.
Rabia looks startled, then laughs softly, looking down as she does. It's the first time she's looked away since this began, and Chen Shu feels it like air to a drowning sailor. Rabia kisses the crease of Chen Shu’s leg. “I'm not being kind to you,” she whispers, though there's no guilt in her voice. "I could-"
“No,” Chen Shu says, and keeping her voice low is almost too difficult. “No, it’s fine. Don't stop.” Please, she doesn't say.
Rabia watches her, and for a moment Chen Shu knows that Rabia is looking at her, seeing her, but then Rabia's gaze drops again and she glances to the side- not all the way to the window, but enough for Chen Shu to know where her heart is. It's like that, Rabia looking away, Chen Shu still feeling cold in her own awareness, that Rabia moves her hands. She presses her thumb against the folds of Chen Shu's body, and this time Chen Shu can bear the touch without flinching. She can feel her own wetness on her thighs, in the way Rabia’s fingers slide against her.
It's softer now; Chen Shu feels less like a doll shaken in angry desire. But she's still trembling, her mouth dry, her body needy and moving of its own volition, hips rolling up as Rabia’s fingers stroke her. Rabia breathes against her, and Chen Shu can feel that hot, warm air on her, and the wanting makes her head fall back so she can't see anything except the ceiling; a moment later, when Rabia's tongue reaches her, she closes her eyes.
Rabia drags the flat of her tongue against Chen Shu in long, slow licks, circling her center, pressing hard. But it’s not enough, and Chen Shu wants to beg for more, wants to plead; she is holding onto her dignity with her last reserves. She does not whimper, but Rabia can probably sense it, in the way Chen Shu’s thighs are shaking, the quick pulse of her hips, her panting. Rabia moves a little faster, and little harder, and like a wave, it crashes over Chen Shu.
For a moment, she can only ride the feeling, the release that rocks through her. But this isn’t her time, and as soon as she is catching her breath, she is sitting up, pushing Rabia back to exchange places. She risks a glance at the window; the woman is kneeling over Sparrow, her mouth working on him. Sparrow himself is mostly hidden beneath her and the shadows, but Chen Shu sees one arm curled around her waist, strangely intimate for such a half-glimpsed gesture. Black ink marks his skin in multiple images, and he seems like any other customer who comes to the house. But Chen Shu has heard the stories told about him, and averts her eyes.
Rabia easily surrenders the lead, allowing Chen Shu to press her back against the chaise, matching her kisses, twining her arms about Chen Shu’s neck. But for all of Rabia’s movements, the way her thighs spill open, the drift of her hand against Chen Shu’s side, the rise of her breasts as she arches her back, Chen Shu can tell that she isn’t flustered, not the way Chen Shu was. This is still a performance for her. Chen Shu wants to awaken the same fever in Rabia; she gives this effort more care than any customer has ever bought, she uses every skill she has, and Rabia’s response is beautiful to watch, all quivering limbs and gently mussed hair, her long lashes fluttering as she writhes upon the chaise. But her eyes never move in the direction of the window.
When she has finished- or artfully created the illusion of doing so; Chen Shu cannot tell and is not sure if she wants to know- they wait, allowing the customers to view what they have bought for a little longer. The woman and Sparrow couple hungrily, rocking against one another like animals. Sparrow bites her shoulder and she curves into him, her body straining eagerly. Her lips and cheeks are red with the blood beneath; her chin high as she twists to seize his mouth in a wild kiss. She grasps him, pulls him against her, her mouth still wet and slightly open. He shudders in release, burying his face in the hair that falls free over her shoulders, rough as a lion’s mane.
Rabia’s arm is balanced on Chen Shu’s thigh, and she lies languid, her eyes nearly closed. Chen Shu wonders what the pirate king’s lover has told her. Perhaps she knows, and doesn’t mind. Perhaps she knows, and has come here deliberately. Rabia has still acknowledged neither of them. Chen Shu strokes Rabia’s wrist, uncomfortable with these thoughts. The pirate king’s eyes meet Chen Shu’s through the glass, staring unselfconsciously, and it occurs to Chen Shu that perhaps Sparrow is not the one to long for.
After a moment, Swann is distracted by her lover, and Chen Shu and Rabia leave, blowing out the lanterns as they go. With each flame extinguished, the rooms drop a little more into darkness, finally disappearing altogether.