Stung
Title: Stung
Author: Anteros
Characters: Archie Kennedy, Horatio Hornblower
Rating: R
Notes: Fluff! I wrote this ages ago but have only just got round to typing it up. Thought it might do as a belated birthday present for mylodon :) Also this is the closest I'm ever likely to get to writing tentacle porn ;)
Indefatigable, off Ushant, 1793
It was just gone two bells first watch when Hornblower descended to the larboard berth. The dim lights were still burning around the cockpit, and most of the Indefatigable’s young gentlemen were engaged in a raucous game of cards, which the unfortunate Cleveland appeared to be loosing. Kennedy had already slung his hammock and retreated with a book to its relative haven of peace and quiet. He looked up as Hornblower entered, acknowledged him with a nod and continued reading, however he was interrupted moments later by a voluble, and entirely uncharacteristic, string of profanities from his shipmate. Hornblower had already removed his jacket and hung it on a crooked nail protruding from the bulkhead, but he appeared to be having unusual difficulty untying his neck cloth. He continued to swear furiously as his fingers fumbled clumsily with the knot.
“What’s the matter there Hornblower?” Kennedy enquired without looking up from his book. “Hands numb? Cold up top tonight is it?”
“Yes…no…oh damn it!” Hornblower left off struggling with the stubborn knot, shook his fingers and crammed them into his mouth. He had Kennedy’s full attention now.
“What the devil is wrong with you Horatio?”
“Got stung,” Hornblower mumbled through a mouthful of fingers.
“You got what?!” Kennedy laid his book aside and sat up in his hammock to peer more closely at his shipmate.
“Jellyfish,” mumbled Hornblower, still sucking his fingers furiously. “Got stung by a jellyfish.”
“Jellyfish? What in heavens name have you been up to? It’s a bit late for fishing!”
“Wasn’t fishing,” replied Hornblower with as much dignity as he could muster. “I was on the lead.” He had removed his fingers from his mouth and was regarding them miserably.
Archie choked back a snort of laughter. “The lead? What in God’s name…? Horatio, it may have escaped your notice, but we are sixty odd miles west of Ushant, I really don’t think we are in immanent danger of running aground.”
Archie was rocking with laughter, his hammock swinging wildly, though he appeared to be in no danger of loosing his balance.
“I was practising,” replied Hornblower sniffily, two spots of colour blooming on his cheeks.
“Highly commendable of you Mr Hornblower, but it isn’t it a little dark for practising on the lead?”
“I wanted to see if I could learn the marks without looking. Mathews said he’d teach me.”
The lead line was marked at regular intervals with different knots and rags and a good leadsman could read off the marks in the pitch dark by touch alone. Kennedy himself knew them all by heart though he had no recollection of purposefully setting out to learn them.
“And did you? Learn them I mean.”
“No. First cast snagged the chains, and the second caught one of these infernal creatures. When I pulled the line in it was covered in horrible bits of stinging tentacle.” Hornblower pulled a grimace of disgust. “Stung my fingers and then I couldn’t feel a damn thing.”
“Rarely has an officer of his Majesty’s Royal Navy suffered so in the service of King and Country.” Kennedy nodded gravely.
“All right Archie!” snapped Hornblower irritably. The two spots of colour on his cheeks blossoming into scarlet. “There’s no need for sarcasm.”
“I’m sorry Horatio,” Archie sounded genuinely contrite, but he hadn’t stopped grinning. “Here, show me.”
Archie held out his hands and Horatio gingerly placed his own in them, palms upwards. Hornblower had been at sea barely six months and in that time he had learned the ropes faster than anyone Archie had ever met. What he lacked in experience he made up for in studious dedication. He applied himself diligently to the most menial task, and was not too proud to learn from the men. However despite his rapid acquisition of knowledge and skill, the rigours of the service had taken their toll. His slender frame had proved to conceal surprisingly tough wiry strength, but his hands were still those of a landsman; soft, pale and tender. And now his long slender fingers were marked all over with angry red welts.
“Ouch,” said Archie, wincing in sympathy. He ran his thumb gently over one of the welts and Horatio flinched.
“Sorry Horatio, didn’t mean to hurt you. Don’t worry though; I used to get stung by the little beasts all the time when I was a boy. When me and my brothers played on the shore we used to throw the bloody things at each other! Can you imagine? Our father did not approve. Our nurse knew just the thing to cure the stings though.”
“What’s that?” Horatio asked cautiously. As the son of a doctor he was naturally sceptical of the cures of old wives and nursemaids. Though he had to admit that the fierce stinging had ebbed away somewhat now that Archie was gently cradling his throbbing hands.
“Butter!” replied Archie. “She used to spread butter on the stings. Worked a treat every time.”
“Butter?” scoffed Hornblower. “Fat lot of good you are Mr Kennedy. And your nurse! Where are we going to find fresh butter sixty miles off Ushant? You’ll be telling me next you have a milk cow and a dairymaid stowed in your dunnage!
Kennedy looked somewhat crestfallen. The Indefatigable was six weeks into an eight week cruise and supplies were indeed running low. If there had been any fresh butter aboard would have belonged to the captain’s personal stores, or the wardroom mess.
“I could ask one of the lieutenants?” Archie suggested helpfully.
“Huh,” said Hornblower sulkily, “Even if the wardroom did have any butter, it would have gone rancid long since. I think I’d rather the sting than the smell. Honestly, you’re no more help than Matthews.”
“Why? What did he suggest?”
The spots of colour flared on Horatio’s cheeks again. “He told me to piss on the stings. Have you ever heard anything more ridiculous?”
“Oh,” said Archie despondently, “That was going to be my next suggestion. Wait though!” His face brightened suddenly. “There’s once last cure that never fails to work!”
“What?” asked Hornblower sulkily.
“Kiss it better!”
And before Hornblower could gather his wits about him, Archie had pressed his fingers to his lips for a swift gentle kiss. Horatio was too surprised to respond until the berth suddenly erupted in a storm of shouts and derision. Horatio snatched his fingers away and blushed scarlet to the ears, assuming that the raucous jeering was at his own expense. His mortification was such, that it took him several moments to realise that his messmates were paying him not a blind bit of notice.
“Sounds like Cleveland’s just lost his spirit ration!” Archie nodded over to the rowdy group of midshipmen at the far end of the berth. He was still laughing when he turned his attention back to Horatio. “Told you it would work,” he grinned triumphantly.
“What?” Horatio was still too stunned to think straight.
“My cure. It worked. Don’t you deny it!”
“Don’t be ridiculous Mr Kennedy!” Hornblower retorted, regaining his composure.
“Yes it did! Judging by the colour of your ears, you forgot all about your stinging fingers for a moment there!”
As if to prove the point Horatio flushed scarlet again.
“See?” laughed Archie. He seemed to have had enough sport at his companions expense though.
“Come on Mr Hornblower, let me give you a hand there. May I?” Archie had slid down from his hammock and was gesturing politely towards Horatio’s throat. He lifted his chin and allowed Archie’s quick clever fingers to free the knot in his neckcloth and open the top buttons of shirt and waistcoat.
“Just tell me when to stop…” Archie smirked as he worked his way down to the next set of buttons. Somehow Horatio managed to regain his wits for long enough to swat Archie’s hands away, undo the rest of his buttons and struggle into his nightshirt unaided, however he accepted Archie’s help to sling his hammock.
Horatio’s hands were still smarting as he climbed into his hammock, but he had to admit that Archie’s cure had worked. He had indeed taken his mind off the pain, and for the brief moment when his fingers had been pressed to Archie’s warm lips he had forgotten everything else besides.
The berth was growing quieter now. The cards stowed away for another night, the winners laughing jubilantly, the losers cursing.
Kennedy yawned extravagantly from the hammock next to Hornblower’s.
“How’re your hands now Horatio?”
“Better thank you Archie. Still sore, but better.”
“You could try asking Heppelwhite for some surgical spirits to rub on them, that’ll toughen them up.”
“Another of your “cures” Archie?”
“No, not this one. This one really does work.” Archie yawned again. “Anyway, don’t worry, another few months and you’ll have hands as hard as mine.”
One of Kennedy’s hands appeared over the edge of Horatio’s hammock. Archie’s hands were actually rather small and fine, but they were sailor’s hands never the less. There were hard callouses at the base of each finger and on the ball of his thumb. A broad silver scar ran across the palm of his hand and his fingertips were marked with blue black smudges of ingrained gun powder.
Horatio ran his finger lightly over the scars and callouses of Archie’s palm.
“Rough.” His voice was low and hoarse.
“Alas so,” Archie sighed theatrically, “how could I ever be tender with a lover with hands like these?”
The small rough hand withdrew from Horatio’s hammock and moments later the berth lights were extinguished.
Hornblower lay still and silent in his hammock, listening as the clamour of the berth dwindled and Archie’s breath slowed and deepened as he subsided into sleep. His hands were still tingling, but not from the painful stings, it was the memory of the momentary warmth of his shipmate’s lips pressed against his fingertips that set his blood racing and his heart pounding in his chest. And as he drifted out to sleep, Horatio’s dreams were filled with the tender caress of small rough hands and warm lips that lingered on his fingertips.
Note
When I was a kid, sister and I used to help our father set and lift salmon nets. Netting salmon is illegal but poaching is a venerable island tradition ;) Lifting a net is a bugger of a job at the best of times but when it’s caught a shoal of jelly fish it’s a nightmare. Our hands were invariably so cold that we never felt the stings until we got the boat in and got back to the house. Oh and we did used to throw jelly fish at each other, but only small dead ones that didn’t sting. What can I say? We grew up in the Outer Hebrides, we had to make our own entertainment!
“How could I ever be tender with a lover with hands like these?” is stolen from an archaeologist I worked with once. He was bemoaning the state of his hands after a particularly tough excavation!
Author: Anteros
Characters: Archie Kennedy, Horatio Hornblower
Rating: R
Notes: Fluff! I wrote this ages ago but have only just got round to typing it up. Thought it might do as a belated birthday present for mylodon :) Also this is the closest I'm ever likely to get to writing tentacle porn ;)
Indefatigable, off Ushant, 1793
It was just gone two bells first watch when Hornblower descended to the larboard berth. The dim lights were still burning around the cockpit, and most of the Indefatigable’s young gentlemen were engaged in a raucous game of cards, which the unfortunate Cleveland appeared to be loosing. Kennedy had already slung his hammock and retreated with a book to its relative haven of peace and quiet. He looked up as Hornblower entered, acknowledged him with a nod and continued reading, however he was interrupted moments later by a voluble, and entirely uncharacteristic, string of profanities from his shipmate. Hornblower had already removed his jacket and hung it on a crooked nail protruding from the bulkhead, but he appeared to be having unusual difficulty untying his neck cloth. He continued to swear furiously as his fingers fumbled clumsily with the knot.
“What’s the matter there Hornblower?” Kennedy enquired without looking up from his book. “Hands numb? Cold up top tonight is it?”
“Yes…no…oh damn it!” Hornblower left off struggling with the stubborn knot, shook his fingers and crammed them into his mouth. He had Kennedy’s full attention now.
“What the devil is wrong with you Horatio?”
“Got stung,” Hornblower mumbled through a mouthful of fingers.
“You got what?!” Kennedy laid his book aside and sat up in his hammock to peer more closely at his shipmate.
“Jellyfish,” mumbled Hornblower, still sucking his fingers furiously. “Got stung by a jellyfish.”
“Jellyfish? What in heavens name have you been up to? It’s a bit late for fishing!”
“Wasn’t fishing,” replied Hornblower with as much dignity as he could muster. “I was on the lead.” He had removed his fingers from his mouth and was regarding them miserably.
Archie choked back a snort of laughter. “The lead? What in God’s name…? Horatio, it may have escaped your notice, but we are sixty odd miles west of Ushant, I really don’t think we are in immanent danger of running aground.”
Archie was rocking with laughter, his hammock swinging wildly, though he appeared to be in no danger of loosing his balance.
“I was practising,” replied Hornblower sniffily, two spots of colour blooming on his cheeks.
“Highly commendable of you Mr Hornblower, but it isn’t it a little dark for practising on the lead?”
“I wanted to see if I could learn the marks without looking. Mathews said he’d teach me.”
The lead line was marked at regular intervals with different knots and rags and a good leadsman could read off the marks in the pitch dark by touch alone. Kennedy himself knew them all by heart though he had no recollection of purposefully setting out to learn them.
“And did you? Learn them I mean.”
“No. First cast snagged the chains, and the second caught one of these infernal creatures. When I pulled the line in it was covered in horrible bits of stinging tentacle.” Hornblower pulled a grimace of disgust. “Stung my fingers and then I couldn’t feel a damn thing.”
“Rarely has an officer of his Majesty’s Royal Navy suffered so in the service of King and Country.” Kennedy nodded gravely.
“All right Archie!” snapped Hornblower irritably. The two spots of colour on his cheeks blossoming into scarlet. “There’s no need for sarcasm.”
“I’m sorry Horatio,” Archie sounded genuinely contrite, but he hadn’t stopped grinning. “Here, show me.”
Archie held out his hands and Horatio gingerly placed his own in them, palms upwards. Hornblower had been at sea barely six months and in that time he had learned the ropes faster than anyone Archie had ever met. What he lacked in experience he made up for in studious dedication. He applied himself diligently to the most menial task, and was not too proud to learn from the men. However despite his rapid acquisition of knowledge and skill, the rigours of the service had taken their toll. His slender frame had proved to conceal surprisingly tough wiry strength, but his hands were still those of a landsman; soft, pale and tender. And now his long slender fingers were marked all over with angry red welts.
“Ouch,” said Archie, wincing in sympathy. He ran his thumb gently over one of the welts and Horatio flinched.
“Sorry Horatio, didn’t mean to hurt you. Don’t worry though; I used to get stung by the little beasts all the time when I was a boy. When me and my brothers played on the shore we used to throw the bloody things at each other! Can you imagine? Our father did not approve. Our nurse knew just the thing to cure the stings though.”
“What’s that?” Horatio asked cautiously. As the son of a doctor he was naturally sceptical of the cures of old wives and nursemaids. Though he had to admit that the fierce stinging had ebbed away somewhat now that Archie was gently cradling his throbbing hands.
“Butter!” replied Archie. “She used to spread butter on the stings. Worked a treat every time.”
“Butter?” scoffed Hornblower. “Fat lot of good you are Mr Kennedy. And your nurse! Where are we going to find fresh butter sixty miles off Ushant? You’ll be telling me next you have a milk cow and a dairymaid stowed in your dunnage!
Kennedy looked somewhat crestfallen. The Indefatigable was six weeks into an eight week cruise and supplies were indeed running low. If there had been any fresh butter aboard would have belonged to the captain’s personal stores, or the wardroom mess.
“I could ask one of the lieutenants?” Archie suggested helpfully.
“Huh,” said Hornblower sulkily, “Even if the wardroom did have any butter, it would have gone rancid long since. I think I’d rather the sting than the smell. Honestly, you’re no more help than Matthews.”
“Why? What did he suggest?”
The spots of colour flared on Horatio’s cheeks again. “He told me to piss on the stings. Have you ever heard anything more ridiculous?”
“Oh,” said Archie despondently, “That was going to be my next suggestion. Wait though!” His face brightened suddenly. “There’s once last cure that never fails to work!”
“What?” asked Hornblower sulkily.
“Kiss it better!”
And before Hornblower could gather his wits about him, Archie had pressed his fingers to his lips for a swift gentle kiss. Horatio was too surprised to respond until the berth suddenly erupted in a storm of shouts and derision. Horatio snatched his fingers away and blushed scarlet to the ears, assuming that the raucous jeering was at his own expense. His mortification was such, that it took him several moments to realise that his messmates were paying him not a blind bit of notice.
“Sounds like Cleveland’s just lost his spirit ration!” Archie nodded over to the rowdy group of midshipmen at the far end of the berth. He was still laughing when he turned his attention back to Horatio. “Told you it would work,” he grinned triumphantly.
“What?” Horatio was still too stunned to think straight.
“My cure. It worked. Don’t you deny it!”
“Don’t be ridiculous Mr Kennedy!” Hornblower retorted, regaining his composure.
“Yes it did! Judging by the colour of your ears, you forgot all about your stinging fingers for a moment there!”
As if to prove the point Horatio flushed scarlet again.
“See?” laughed Archie. He seemed to have had enough sport at his companions expense though.
“Come on Mr Hornblower, let me give you a hand there. May I?” Archie had slid down from his hammock and was gesturing politely towards Horatio’s throat. He lifted his chin and allowed Archie’s quick clever fingers to free the knot in his neckcloth and open the top buttons of shirt and waistcoat.
“Just tell me when to stop…” Archie smirked as he worked his way down to the next set of buttons. Somehow Horatio managed to regain his wits for long enough to swat Archie’s hands away, undo the rest of his buttons and struggle into his nightshirt unaided, however he accepted Archie’s help to sling his hammock.
Horatio’s hands were still smarting as he climbed into his hammock, but he had to admit that Archie’s cure had worked. He had indeed taken his mind off the pain, and for the brief moment when his fingers had been pressed to Archie’s warm lips he had forgotten everything else besides.
The berth was growing quieter now. The cards stowed away for another night, the winners laughing jubilantly, the losers cursing.
Kennedy yawned extravagantly from the hammock next to Hornblower’s.
“How’re your hands now Horatio?”
“Better thank you Archie. Still sore, but better.”
“You could try asking Heppelwhite for some surgical spirits to rub on them, that’ll toughen them up.”
“Another of your “cures” Archie?”
“No, not this one. This one really does work.” Archie yawned again. “Anyway, don’t worry, another few months and you’ll have hands as hard as mine.”
One of Kennedy’s hands appeared over the edge of Horatio’s hammock. Archie’s hands were actually rather small and fine, but they were sailor’s hands never the less. There were hard callouses at the base of each finger and on the ball of his thumb. A broad silver scar ran across the palm of his hand and his fingertips were marked with blue black smudges of ingrained gun powder.
Horatio ran his finger lightly over the scars and callouses of Archie’s palm.
“Rough.” His voice was low and hoarse.
“Alas so,” Archie sighed theatrically, “how could I ever be tender with a lover with hands like these?”
The small rough hand withdrew from Horatio’s hammock and moments later the berth lights were extinguished.
Hornblower lay still and silent in his hammock, listening as the clamour of the berth dwindled and Archie’s breath slowed and deepened as he subsided into sleep. His hands were still tingling, but not from the painful stings, it was the memory of the momentary warmth of his shipmate’s lips pressed against his fingertips that set his blood racing and his heart pounding in his chest. And as he drifted out to sleep, Horatio’s dreams were filled with the tender caress of small rough hands and warm lips that lingered on his fingertips.
Note
When I was a kid, sister and I used to help our father set and lift salmon nets. Netting salmon is illegal but poaching is a venerable island tradition ;) Lifting a net is a bugger of a job at the best of times but when it’s caught a shoal of jelly fish it’s a nightmare. Our hands were invariably so cold that we never felt the stings until we got the boat in and got back to the house. Oh and we did used to throw jelly fish at each other, but only small dead ones that didn’t sting. What can I say? We grew up in the Outer Hebrides, we had to make our own entertainment!
“How could I ever be tender with a lover with hands like these?” is stolen from an archaeologist I worked with once. He was bemoaning the state of his hands after a particularly tough excavation!