All's Fair Part 4
All's Fair, J/B slash, AU
This section took a long time to get here - but I bring sex. R, AO, NSFW, whichever expression you prefer...
Ships were many things. Necessary of course; how else would goods and people travel across the seas? Often beautiful in their way, sitting on the sea like strange, gracious birds. Smelly; orderly when under the control of a competent captain; sadly vulnerable against the forces of nature, whether that force was a gale or the drag of barnacles against the hull. But one thing that ships weren't and never would be was spacious; and this gave Blair a severe qualm as he judged the tiny space of their cabin against all of Jim's stooped six feet in height.
Blair eyed one of the two narrow bunks, neatly edged above and below with cabinetry. "I have my doubts that I'll fit in there, let alone you."
"By ship standards it's commodious. And I travelled in far worse accommodation in the past." Jim shrugged. "If necessary, perhaps we can convince the ship's carpenter to put bolts in the wall, and I'll sling a hammock diagonally."
"All the better for me to walk into when I wake?"
Jim's hand lay on Blair's shoulder. "Think of it as an incentive to awaken more thoroughly in the mornings."
Blair grinned, and braced himself against the wall. They were only an hour out from port, aboard the brig 'Corazon de Maria', which despite the name was captained by a man with the unlikely name of Falloon. Falloon, half Irish and half Spanish had begun his sailing career when British ships were blockading Spanish ports. King Carlos had seen something in Bonaparte, even if many of his subjects were less convinced, but the end result had been increased British trade in Spain's former South American colonies. Rumour increasingly suggested that Peru, Spain's last American belonging, was soon to be no colony at all, and both Blair and Jim hoped that they might not sail into civil war.
For now, there was only the little world of the ship, where they would live for some three months, depending on the winds and the weather.
"Shall we go up on deck? We'll be out of sight of land by now," Blair asked. "And the air will surely be fresher." Even here, in the doubtful best that the 'Corazon' had to offer, the air was redolent with scent that even Blair's completely ordinary sense of smell could identify, and *not* rejoice in.
Jim nodded, and gestured for Blair to precede him. The two of them made their way up the narrow steps, hands braced against the movement of the ship, and Blair nearly tripped as they made their way out on deck. Jim steadied him and they picked their way to the edge. Blair held onto rigging. Jim leaned upon the rail and bowed his head.
"I thought that I'd be the first to grow seasick," Blair said. His tone was light, but there was an edge of discomfort in his tone, and Blair tried to banish the feelings which underlay that discomfort. If he was to indulge a fit of guilt every time that Jim was inconvenienced in some way upon their travels then he thought that he might as well find himself a hair shirt and be done with it
Jim's eyes were shut and he was silent. Then, with an effort, he raised his head and smiled. "No-one ever said that life was what was expected."
"True words," Blair said. He stared out over the sea, the wind stirring his hair because Blair saw little point in wearing a hat to see it sail overboard never to be retrieved. Blair and Jim, and the ship which held them, were the one point of darker colour in an encompassing world of steely grey and green. The sea swelled and billowed all around them, the land already rapidly receding out of sight.
Blair thought it all magnificent, and not even the beginning of queasiness in his gut could take away the shining glory of the moment. But Blair's glory was Jim's despair. Years ago, as a young soldier Jim had travelled to India, and spent much of the journey awash with grog, bolstering his waning courage with the company of the other men. The huge, featureless expanse of the ocean had, quite simply, terrified him. Somehow, Jim had nearly forgotten that, forgotten his youthful disgust with himself and the bravado that had carried him through at the time. And now, his senses only seemed to magnify everything that had distressed him then. The sough of the waves, the whistle of the wind in the rigging, the flap of the sails - every physical thing that Jim could hear, could feel, could see reminded some small, shivering part of his soul that he was helpless in the midst of a watery wasteland.
"I'm going below," he said curtly, and hurried beneath the uncertain shelter of the ship's creaking deck. Blair watched him go in surprise, but wondered again if perhaps Jim was feeling unwell himself. Determined to distract himself, Blair remained above, taking in the cool blast of the wind and watching the sailors with an interest that a disordered stomach couldn't completely quench. He entertained himself with notions of hierarchy among the sailors around him - those that were official and recognised with rank, and those that were less obvious, and determined by mysterious forces of charisma and experience. However, this game palled eventually, and his conscience pricked him at leaving Jim alone so long, and Blair made his way below decks also.
Jim sat curled on the bunk, a book in his hands; it was an atlas of South America, and the dim light of the cabin was hardly a barrier to Jim's sight. There was only so much that could be fitted into their personal luggage in the small space. Cards and dice were also stowed away where they might be reached.
Blair smiled. "I believe that the uncomfortable portion of our adventure has begun."
"Queasy, are you?"
"Just a touch," Blair admitted. He squatted by the edge of Jim's bunk. "And you?"
"The wind was cold." Jim shrugged. "You forget that this has no charm of novelty for me."
Within a day or so, any charms of novelty had gone overboard with the contents of Blair's stomach, and he lay miserable in his own bunk, pale and sweating, with Jim keeping morose and silent company with him much of the time. Jim's silence did not prevent him offering Blair such care as was possible, and Blair was too sick to want any more than the warmth of Jim's hand steadying his head as he took a sip of ale or water anyway.
Jim found some comfort (and much needed air) by going above deck at night. Somehow, the ocean around him didn't overwhelm him so much when he couldn't see it, but the strain of what even Jim had to admit to himself was continual fear told upon his temper. There were no explosions, but Jim folded in upon himself, stowing his speech and his energy as tightly away inside himself as he could, and almost welcoming it when his old enemy, the tendency to fall into trances, made its return for the first time in years.
Blair, at first distracted by his own frailties, noted these things but was not immediately concerned by them. But as his body grew used to the movement of the ship and Blair's usual health and enthusiasm returned, he was encouraged to take note once more of what was happening around him. What he saw happening to Jim worried him, and one night he followed Jim out upon on his nightly sojourns in the dark.
Jim sat towards the stern, wrapped in a coat which was never truly dry, any more than most items on the ship ever were. Blair sat beside him, shivering in the chill.
Jim gave him one brief glance, then shut his eyes and concentrated upon the feel of the air in his lungs. "You should go below where it's warmer."
"Warm only by comparison," Blair replied. "Why can you not sleep?"
Jim's voice issued out of the dark. "How should I know?"
"Because it is you who are not sleeping," Blair said in tones of great reasonableness. He was grateful for the dark and the chill and the need to keep out of the way of any others who might come up on deck for the excuse to huddle close to Jim. He curled himself into a ball, his hands wrapped across his knees, the deck hard under his buttocks. "You must surely have some idea. Is it your senses?"
A shrug was his only reply.
"You sleep somewhat during the day, but that's hardly unusual when the sleep becomes disordered." Blair was almost speaking to himself, and Jim made no answer. He was not about to tell Blair that he feared the water about him the way a child feared the monster under the bed. He couldn't even pretend to himself that it was some rational fear, that of drowning or shipwreck. It was not.
"It's some peculiarity of the travel, Sandburg," Jim said at last. "I see no point in worrying about it."
"I do worry about it," Blair said. His throat was tense, and his hands gripped tightly enough to whiten his knuckles. He knew that Jim was evading the discussion, but he didn't know why, and his busy brain threw up reasons left and right why that might be.
Jim had no answers for him. "If I have become a night-owl, then so be it. Get back to bed and your own rest."
"It's hard to rest without you," Blair said, as low as he might. The habit of caution was with them always, but it was harder here, in this place surrounded by strangers, where there was little privacy. When they rested in their cabin Jim and Blair could both hear the noises of the ship, the sailors, the few other passengers. If they could hear, especially Blair, then they could be heard. Blair longed suddenly for the bedroom of the London house, with its solid bolt upon the door, and the big bed, where he might whisper in Jim's ear or talk aloud as he pleased. Or not talk, also as he pleased, but simply enjoy Jim's body spread out for him.
Blair was a warm bulk in the dark next to Jim. There were occasional lanterns on deck but the light they gave was feeble. Blair's yearning lust was a flare in the dark, something that Jim discerned as light or heat as much as scent, and Jim turned his head towards him, and leaned to whisper, "Go below."
"Only if you follow me," Blair murmured. He was filled with hope - hope that he and Jim might enjoy each other, after a gap caused by tiredness and illness, and hope that he might get more information out of a well-fucked Jim.
Both hopes were as transparent to Jim as a pane of glass, and he said aloud, in a voice of almost long suffering, "Can you doubt it?" Jim willed that the emptiness of fear in his gut be filled with the warmth of sex. It was a better solution than drunkenness, if not perhaps so very different in its workings.
The workings of sex in a small cramped cabin were immaterial to Blair, and a welcome distraction to Jim. Blair cursed as he saw that the lamp had gone out, but Jim cut short the complaints with a hand over Blair's mouth, even as he shut the door behind them.
"Our captain wouldn't appreciate that you left a lantern unattended, Sandburg." The rebuke was teasing, but genuine, and Blair shrugged in half-apology. He was too aware of Jim so close against him to care that much.
"And we don't need the light if we're to sleep, do we now?" Jim spoke on, hardly caring what he said while his hand held still to Blair's mouth. Blair shook his head. He might have enjoyed some light, but Jim's voice and Jim's hands held all his attention there in the dark. He put a hand upon the wood around him, and let it guide him down to the floor in that same dark, afraid that the pitching of the ship would see him fall, and Jim followed him down, his hands reaching for Blair's clothes, and his mouth seeking Blair's.
All was done by touch, Jim straddling Blair as he sat on the floor, the small space silent except for the rustle of breath and discarded clothing. At home, either home, Blair delighted in lighting a candle, or drawing back curtains to let the moon illuminate whatever there was to see. They'd made love without light before, but in this strange place there was an added eroticism to blind exploration. Blair wished only for speech, but he couldn't trust himself not to misjudge and say something that would carry. When Jim carried Blair's finger to the cleft of his arse cheeks, knowing that Blair would understand, Blair's breath hitched in surprise and anticipation. Jim didn't often make the offer, and there were times when Blair drove himself near crazy with the wish to ask. But he asked as seldom as Jim offered, because he so often hoped for the gift freely given.
Jim knew the place of every item they had stowed away. He tore himself away from touching Blair long enough to find some concoction of beeswax and herbs that could be innocently explained, and pressed it into Blair's hands. Jim was all efficiency for a few moments while Blair's hands undid the lid and lifted out a sharp-sweet scented glob of cream. Jim's task was spread their empty clothes to cushion their knees, and to lean himself against the edge of the bunk, his head leaning against his hands. He shivered when Blair's finger pushed into him. "Make it last," Jim whispered.
Blair smiled. There were harder things to have asked of him than that, and he leaned his cheek against the warm, smooth skin of Jim's back while he played: slow, languorous touches; quick, jabbing movements that were still carefully judged; kisses against Jim's skin that tasted of sweat. Finally, kneeling beside Jim, Blair whispered in his turn, "Now you can have my cock. And I can make that last, too." His breath flowed across Jim's skin like wind over the sea, and Jim shivered, but said nothing, not when Blair entered him; not through all the long, slow fucking that Blair had promised. Jim shut his eyes in reflex. There was nothing to see, but the body demanded that there should be no distractions to sensation. Blair's hand searched across Jim's belly and groin, to find Jim already stroking himself. Blair nodded in satisfaction, and the only sound was breath, passing in and out of mouths that strained not to speak, not to moan. Jim was half bent across the bunk-side, and Blair had locked his hands upon Jim's shoulders, close to his neck, his cheek once again laid against Jim's skin.
"Do you need more?" Blair whispered. His own need seemed to him to bleed out in his sweat, through his hands and the skin of his whole body as well as his cock. He wanted to come - so much. Jim shook his head, and changed the stroke of his hand. He'd lingered long enough, and in that small, dark room, Blair could smell the scent of release at last, and with his face wracked with effort, took his own. They stayed pressed together, but eventually they had to move, despite the complaint of aching muscles and the discomfort of cooling flesh.
Blair's hands now pushed Jim into the bunk, and dragged blankets around him. "Sleep, for God's sake. And be prepared to explain yourself when you wake." Jim sighed, but made no promise. He listened as Blair took the one wide step that would cross the space between the bunks, and nestled under his own coverings.
This section took a long time to get here - but I bring sex. R, AO, NSFW, whichever expression you prefer...
Ships were many things. Necessary of course; how else would goods and people travel across the seas? Often beautiful in their way, sitting on the sea like strange, gracious birds. Smelly; orderly when under the control of a competent captain; sadly vulnerable against the forces of nature, whether that force was a gale or the drag of barnacles against the hull. But one thing that ships weren't and never would be was spacious; and this gave Blair a severe qualm as he judged the tiny space of their cabin against all of Jim's stooped six feet in height.
Blair eyed one of the two narrow bunks, neatly edged above and below with cabinetry. "I have my doubts that I'll fit in there, let alone you."
"By ship standards it's commodious. And I travelled in far worse accommodation in the past." Jim shrugged. "If necessary, perhaps we can convince the ship's carpenter to put bolts in the wall, and I'll sling a hammock diagonally."
"All the better for me to walk into when I wake?"
Jim's hand lay on Blair's shoulder. "Think of it as an incentive to awaken more thoroughly in the mornings."
Blair grinned, and braced himself against the wall. They were only an hour out from port, aboard the brig 'Corazon de Maria', which despite the name was captained by a man with the unlikely name of Falloon. Falloon, half Irish and half Spanish had begun his sailing career when British ships were blockading Spanish ports. King Carlos had seen something in Bonaparte, even if many of his subjects were less convinced, but the end result had been increased British trade in Spain's former South American colonies. Rumour increasingly suggested that Peru, Spain's last American belonging, was soon to be no colony at all, and both Blair and Jim hoped that they might not sail into civil war.
For now, there was only the little world of the ship, where they would live for some three months, depending on the winds and the weather.
"Shall we go up on deck? We'll be out of sight of land by now," Blair asked. "And the air will surely be fresher." Even here, in the doubtful best that the 'Corazon' had to offer, the air was redolent with scent that even Blair's completely ordinary sense of smell could identify, and *not* rejoice in.
Jim nodded, and gestured for Blair to precede him. The two of them made their way up the narrow steps, hands braced against the movement of the ship, and Blair nearly tripped as they made their way out on deck. Jim steadied him and they picked their way to the edge. Blair held onto rigging. Jim leaned upon the rail and bowed his head.
"I thought that I'd be the first to grow seasick," Blair said. His tone was light, but there was an edge of discomfort in his tone, and Blair tried to banish the feelings which underlay that discomfort. If he was to indulge a fit of guilt every time that Jim was inconvenienced in some way upon their travels then he thought that he might as well find himself a hair shirt and be done with it
Jim's eyes were shut and he was silent. Then, with an effort, he raised his head and smiled. "No-one ever said that life was what was expected."
"True words," Blair said. He stared out over the sea, the wind stirring his hair because Blair saw little point in wearing a hat to see it sail overboard never to be retrieved. Blair and Jim, and the ship which held them, were the one point of darker colour in an encompassing world of steely grey and green. The sea swelled and billowed all around them, the land already rapidly receding out of sight.
Blair thought it all magnificent, and not even the beginning of queasiness in his gut could take away the shining glory of the moment. But Blair's glory was Jim's despair. Years ago, as a young soldier Jim had travelled to India, and spent much of the journey awash with grog, bolstering his waning courage with the company of the other men. The huge, featureless expanse of the ocean had, quite simply, terrified him. Somehow, Jim had nearly forgotten that, forgotten his youthful disgust with himself and the bravado that had carried him through at the time. And now, his senses only seemed to magnify everything that had distressed him then. The sough of the waves, the whistle of the wind in the rigging, the flap of the sails - every physical thing that Jim could hear, could feel, could see reminded some small, shivering part of his soul that he was helpless in the midst of a watery wasteland.
"I'm going below," he said curtly, and hurried beneath the uncertain shelter of the ship's creaking deck. Blair watched him go in surprise, but wondered again if perhaps Jim was feeling unwell himself. Determined to distract himself, Blair remained above, taking in the cool blast of the wind and watching the sailors with an interest that a disordered stomach couldn't completely quench. He entertained himself with notions of hierarchy among the sailors around him - those that were official and recognised with rank, and those that were less obvious, and determined by mysterious forces of charisma and experience. However, this game palled eventually, and his conscience pricked him at leaving Jim alone so long, and Blair made his way below decks also.
Jim sat curled on the bunk, a book in his hands; it was an atlas of South America, and the dim light of the cabin was hardly a barrier to Jim's sight. There was only so much that could be fitted into their personal luggage in the small space. Cards and dice were also stowed away where they might be reached.
Blair smiled. "I believe that the uncomfortable portion of our adventure has begun."
"Queasy, are you?"
"Just a touch," Blair admitted. He squatted by the edge of Jim's bunk. "And you?"
"The wind was cold." Jim shrugged. "You forget that this has no charm of novelty for me."
Within a day or so, any charms of novelty had gone overboard with the contents of Blair's stomach, and he lay miserable in his own bunk, pale and sweating, with Jim keeping morose and silent company with him much of the time. Jim's silence did not prevent him offering Blair such care as was possible, and Blair was too sick to want any more than the warmth of Jim's hand steadying his head as he took a sip of ale or water anyway.
Jim found some comfort (and much needed air) by going above deck at night. Somehow, the ocean around him didn't overwhelm him so much when he couldn't see it, but the strain of what even Jim had to admit to himself was continual fear told upon his temper. There were no explosions, but Jim folded in upon himself, stowing his speech and his energy as tightly away inside himself as he could, and almost welcoming it when his old enemy, the tendency to fall into trances, made its return for the first time in years.
Blair, at first distracted by his own frailties, noted these things but was not immediately concerned by them. But as his body grew used to the movement of the ship and Blair's usual health and enthusiasm returned, he was encouraged to take note once more of what was happening around him. What he saw happening to Jim worried him, and one night he followed Jim out upon on his nightly sojourns in the dark.
Jim sat towards the stern, wrapped in a coat which was never truly dry, any more than most items on the ship ever were. Blair sat beside him, shivering in the chill.
Jim gave him one brief glance, then shut his eyes and concentrated upon the feel of the air in his lungs. "You should go below where it's warmer."
"Warm only by comparison," Blair replied. "Why can you not sleep?"
Jim's voice issued out of the dark. "How should I know?"
"Because it is you who are not sleeping," Blair said in tones of great reasonableness. He was grateful for the dark and the chill and the need to keep out of the way of any others who might come up on deck for the excuse to huddle close to Jim. He curled himself into a ball, his hands wrapped across his knees, the deck hard under his buttocks. "You must surely have some idea. Is it your senses?"
A shrug was his only reply.
"You sleep somewhat during the day, but that's hardly unusual when the sleep becomes disordered." Blair was almost speaking to himself, and Jim made no answer. He was not about to tell Blair that he feared the water about him the way a child feared the monster under the bed. He couldn't even pretend to himself that it was some rational fear, that of drowning or shipwreck. It was not.
"It's some peculiarity of the travel, Sandburg," Jim said at last. "I see no point in worrying about it."
"I do worry about it," Blair said. His throat was tense, and his hands gripped tightly enough to whiten his knuckles. He knew that Jim was evading the discussion, but he didn't know why, and his busy brain threw up reasons left and right why that might be.
Jim had no answers for him. "If I have become a night-owl, then so be it. Get back to bed and your own rest."
"It's hard to rest without you," Blair said, as low as he might. The habit of caution was with them always, but it was harder here, in this place surrounded by strangers, where there was little privacy. When they rested in their cabin Jim and Blair could both hear the noises of the ship, the sailors, the few other passengers. If they could hear, especially Blair, then they could be heard. Blair longed suddenly for the bedroom of the London house, with its solid bolt upon the door, and the big bed, where he might whisper in Jim's ear or talk aloud as he pleased. Or not talk, also as he pleased, but simply enjoy Jim's body spread out for him.
Blair was a warm bulk in the dark next to Jim. There were occasional lanterns on deck but the light they gave was feeble. Blair's yearning lust was a flare in the dark, something that Jim discerned as light or heat as much as scent, and Jim turned his head towards him, and leaned to whisper, "Go below."
"Only if you follow me," Blair murmured. He was filled with hope - hope that he and Jim might enjoy each other, after a gap caused by tiredness and illness, and hope that he might get more information out of a well-fucked Jim.
Both hopes were as transparent to Jim as a pane of glass, and he said aloud, in a voice of almost long suffering, "Can you doubt it?" Jim willed that the emptiness of fear in his gut be filled with the warmth of sex. It was a better solution than drunkenness, if not perhaps so very different in its workings.
The workings of sex in a small cramped cabin were immaterial to Blair, and a welcome distraction to Jim. Blair cursed as he saw that the lamp had gone out, but Jim cut short the complaints with a hand over Blair's mouth, even as he shut the door behind them.
"Our captain wouldn't appreciate that you left a lantern unattended, Sandburg." The rebuke was teasing, but genuine, and Blair shrugged in half-apology. He was too aware of Jim so close against him to care that much.
"And we don't need the light if we're to sleep, do we now?" Jim spoke on, hardly caring what he said while his hand held still to Blair's mouth. Blair shook his head. He might have enjoyed some light, but Jim's voice and Jim's hands held all his attention there in the dark. He put a hand upon the wood around him, and let it guide him down to the floor in that same dark, afraid that the pitching of the ship would see him fall, and Jim followed him down, his hands reaching for Blair's clothes, and his mouth seeking Blair's.
All was done by touch, Jim straddling Blair as he sat on the floor, the small space silent except for the rustle of breath and discarded clothing. At home, either home, Blair delighted in lighting a candle, or drawing back curtains to let the moon illuminate whatever there was to see. They'd made love without light before, but in this strange place there was an added eroticism to blind exploration. Blair wished only for speech, but he couldn't trust himself not to misjudge and say something that would carry. When Jim carried Blair's finger to the cleft of his arse cheeks, knowing that Blair would understand, Blair's breath hitched in surprise and anticipation. Jim didn't often make the offer, and there were times when Blair drove himself near crazy with the wish to ask. But he asked as seldom as Jim offered, because he so often hoped for the gift freely given.
Jim knew the place of every item they had stowed away. He tore himself away from touching Blair long enough to find some concoction of beeswax and herbs that could be innocently explained, and pressed it into Blair's hands. Jim was all efficiency for a few moments while Blair's hands undid the lid and lifted out a sharp-sweet scented glob of cream. Jim's task was spread their empty clothes to cushion their knees, and to lean himself against the edge of the bunk, his head leaning against his hands. He shivered when Blair's finger pushed into him. "Make it last," Jim whispered.
Blair smiled. There were harder things to have asked of him than that, and he leaned his cheek against the warm, smooth skin of Jim's back while he played: slow, languorous touches; quick, jabbing movements that were still carefully judged; kisses against Jim's skin that tasted of sweat. Finally, kneeling beside Jim, Blair whispered in his turn, "Now you can have my cock. And I can make that last, too." His breath flowed across Jim's skin like wind over the sea, and Jim shivered, but said nothing, not when Blair entered him; not through all the long, slow fucking that Blair had promised. Jim shut his eyes in reflex. There was nothing to see, but the body demanded that there should be no distractions to sensation. Blair's hand searched across Jim's belly and groin, to find Jim already stroking himself. Blair nodded in satisfaction, and the only sound was breath, passing in and out of mouths that strained not to speak, not to moan. Jim was half bent across the bunk-side, and Blair had locked his hands upon Jim's shoulders, close to his neck, his cheek once again laid against Jim's skin.
"Do you need more?" Blair whispered. His own need seemed to him to bleed out in his sweat, through his hands and the skin of his whole body as well as his cock. He wanted to come - so much. Jim shook his head, and changed the stroke of his hand. He'd lingered long enough, and in that small, dark room, Blair could smell the scent of release at last, and with his face wracked with effort, took his own. They stayed pressed together, but eventually they had to move, despite the complaint of aching muscles and the discomfort of cooling flesh.
Blair's hands now pushed Jim into the bunk, and dragged blankets around him. "Sleep, for God's sake. And be prepared to explain yourself when you wake." Jim sighed, but made no promise. He listened as Blair took the one wide step that would cross the space between the bunks, and nestled under his own coverings.