Bicycle
by Rhi

Fandom: PotC
Rating: R (implied sex)
Pairing: J/W/E
Summary: Third in the ‘A Woman’ universe…god, I need to think up a better title for that. Regarding escape.

Spoilers/Warnings: AU. You don’t like it? Turn back!
Disclaimer: All characters sorta belong to Disney. Kinda. I’ve made them into Victorians, so what can I say? I’m not making any money off of this.
Author's Notes: For fridayfiction. Prompt: use the word bicycle at least once, over 300 words (from Sheana). 334 words.

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The wheel of the bicycle turns as Jack Byrd spins it, index finger delicately touching the rubber tire and dragging downwards. Elizabeth is tempted to flush, all things considered—she remembers what he did with that same finger last night, in a similar fashion.

She doesn't quite succeed; an unladylike blush rises in her face, and she is determined not to let either of them see. Will Turnbull does, however, and promptly places a kiss on her glowing cheek. His fingers were elsewhere that evening, but they were not too far away.

They are in a boxcar, heading for Asheville, North Carolina and other points south. Small towns, like Northampton, but places that are warm more days of the year. Lizzie expects them to stay no longer than a month or two, and she can feel the temperature rising, can almost sense each lessening degree of latitude. The heat thrills her during the day, and at night she’s never cold, despite the lack of sunlight.

Elizabeth has abandoned her skirts for the time being, wearing some trousers that (she believes) make her look ridiculous, but which Will and Jack assure her are necessary for the sort of travel they are doing. She’s forced to agree, picturing herself dragged under the rails by her skirts as she grabs hold of the door of yet another open boxcar. That alone is enough to make her wear the trousers; the fact that both her companions constantly look at her as if they want to remove them is another reason, one that she won’t admit.

This boxcar has only a few bicycles in it, ones that are slightly damaged—a bit rusty, a bit bent—which are being sent to the south for reasons unknown to any of the three vagabonds that are riding with them now. As Jack sends the wheel spinning again, Elizabeth wonders if any of them will go north again.

She decides she doesn’t know, and settles down in the blankets, next to Will.

FIN


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