Fic: Claimed
Title: Claimed
Author: heather_mist
Word Count: about 1,500
Disclaimer: Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin belong to Patrick O'Brian, I have just borrowed them, with love.
Rating: R for tattooing and implied sex
Spoilers: None.
Summary Stephen fufills the terms of a bet in a way Jack didn’t expect
Author’s Notes
This story was prompted by a discussion with sidljon what to do to Jack and Stephen for the kink bingo meme she was involved in. Somehow that ended up with me agreeing to write a tattooing fic… Still don’t know quite how that happened, sidlj’s pretty wily that way..., but anyway here is fic. It can be set anywhere you like in the canon, but I’m guessing it is somewhere in the great loop year section when they were away from home a long time.
Claimed
‘No, Stephen. No,’ said Jack Aubrey, holding up one finger in warning, his back pressed firmly against the cabin bulkhead and wearing such an expression of complete disapprobation as would have instantly quelled any other member of his ship’s company immediately. Dr Maturin merely continued to look back at him calmly, his own fingers holding a long, wicked looking needle in much the same way as he would one of his little paper cigars. ‘I am as fond of a joke as the next man, fonder than many as I’m sure you would agree, but enough is enough. You are not giving me a tattoo and that is the end of it.’ Jack met Stephen’s gaze and attempted to bear him down with the force of his own glare. Stephen remained unmoved.
‘Am I to take it, then, you intend to welch on the deal Jack? Disappointing. I thought you felt as I did, that such behaviour belonged to the scrub. However, if you are content to be thought of in such terms…’ Stephen let his voice trail off, as he transferred his gaze to the needle in his hand, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows to show his surprise as he did so
‘Oh come now Stephen, that ain’t fair,’ Jack’s voice had taken on a wheedling note. ‘You wasn’t explicit, you just said if you won you intended to claim my ass as your own.’ Jack blushed pink as he said this. ‘You said nothing of tattooing the word “Mine” across it. I thought you meant something else entirely.’ Jack had bet Stephen that he would be unable to accurately use a sextant to make noon, the winner to name his own reward. Both had named the same price, but while Jack had been thinking purely physically, Stephen had apparently taken the phrase more literally. Jack rather regretted allowing Tom Pullings to instruct Stephen in the matter now.
‘Oh, I meant that too, never fear, but a more permanent show of ownership seemed appropriate, given the Navy’s ridiculous insistence on every personal item been clearly marked, and ownership claimed.’
‘I think the Navy was thinking more in the line of stockings and underwear.’
‘Let us not quibble over mere details forsooth. According to our terms that part of your anatomy now belongs to me, and I intend to mark it clearly as such; so if you would be so good as to drop your breeches and find a comfortable spot to spread yourself, we can proceed.’ Stephen gave Jack a wintry smile that brooked no refusal and waved the needle at him. Jack eyed it and pressed against the comforting bulkhead even more firmly.
‘Be sensible now Stephen, how can I go about with the word “Mine” writ large across my arse cheeks for all the world to see? How could it be explained away? I might possibly be able to pass it off as a foolish moment of drunken idiocy to Sophie, but there isn’t a man aboard who wouldn’t assume the worst if they saw it.’
‘Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you made the wager,’ replied Stephen, a trifle cruelly. He had been perfectly well aware that Jack had intentionally lost the bet, and while he was a notoriously poor loser himself, Stephen hated to be cheated out of true victory even more, and he intended to teach Jack a lesson. ‘Do you deny I have the right to do this?’
Jack hesitated. He would dearly like to say no. Oh, how dearly he would like to say no, but he was an honourable man and a bet was a bet. If he had been foolish enough not to thoroughly establish the exact terms of it, then on his own head be it. Or backside as the case may be. He sighed. ‘No, I can’t deny it,’ he replied heavily at last. ‘But Stephen, need it really be right across both cheeks?’ He looked beseechingly at his friend.
The corners of Stephen’s mouth twitched but his eyes betrayed nothing. ‘It will be exactly as I wish it to be and nothing less, so save your breath. Now, if you please…’ He waved the needle once more and with a deep groan Jack reluctantly prized himself away from the bulkhead, undoing the buttons of his breeches, and reflecting to himself that being an honourable man was far more trying than being a scrub. Then, with a reproachful look at his friend, he lay face down on the stern locker, hugging a cushion and feeling very ill-used.
Stephen set to work immediately, the sharp needle jabbing into Jack’s skin over and over again like a particularly malevolent wasp. At first it was accompanied by Jack moaning, wincing, and calling out all manner of oaths as the vicious little stinger made its tortuous way across his buttocks from extreme left to far right and to a width of at least 2 inches. Within twenty minutes Jack felt like his whole backside was aflame; after an hour he was limp and numb, almost immune to the pain of the constant tiny needle pricks. His mind wandered away from the immediate indignities of his current situation to the more worrying thought of how he would be able to explain it away to his wife, or to anyone else who chanced to see it. The process of getting the tattoo wasn’t nearly as painful as the thought of what was being inscribed so markedly into the flesh. He supposed he would have to swim in his drawers from now on, which would cause comment enough, and besides, Jack liked the freedom of swimming mother-naked. It really was too bad of Stephen; Jack would never have believed he would actually follow through on his absurd demands like this, he was sure if the situation had been reversed he would never have insisted on it. He was roused from his thoughts by a much sharper pain on the crest of his right buttock where Stephen seemed to be driving his horrid needle into the same small spot over and over again. Jack sucked in his breath and bit his lip. ‘My God, Stephen,’ he at last called out, ‘What are you about? That is most damnably sore; are you not done yet?’
‘Very nearly joy, very nearly. There! You are done.’ Stephen only just restrained himself from affectionately patting the crimson cheeks beneath his hand. ‘A very neat job even if I do say so myself. He looked with great satisfaction upon the dear naked backside before him. ‘Should you like to see?’
‘No. It is bad enough that everyone else will be to see it without I have to look at the vile thing too,’ muttered Jack, but nevertheless Stephen unhooked the shaving mirror from behind the quarter gallery door and insisted Jack admire his handiwork. Unwilling, and with a sullen look on his face Jack gave a cursory glance over his shoulder, stared, frowned and looked again more searchingly. Although both cheeks were indeed very bright pink, not a trace of the shameful word could be seen, and Stephen was smiling at him wickedly. ‘What…?’
‘As you pointed out you could hardly go about with such a word emblazoned so prominently, but nor could I allow you to get away with such flagrant cheating, so I tattooed you without ink - for the most part at least: all the pain but none of the permanence. However you will not sit comfortably for at least a day I should imagine, so let that be a lesson to you not to make foolish bets nor to attempt to skew the results, or the next time I really will do it.’
Jack smiled back partly from pure affection but mainly from pure relief and then frowned inquisitively. ‘”For the most part” you say; so what have you actually written?’
In reply Stephen pointed to a small dark mark on Jack’s right buttock, the spot where he had concentrated his needle at the end. The skin surrounding it was particularly inflamed, and it took a great deal of squinting for Jack to make out a tiny heart with the initials J and S neatly inscribed on either side. ‘I doubt very much whether your Sophie will ever see it, but if she does it should not cause her offence. And as it is not so very unusual for a sailor to have a tattoo of his wife or sweetheart’s initials, particularly when he has been away from home as long as we have, I feel sure the mark, if it were noticed at all, would cause no comment aboard either,’ replied Stephen complacently.
‘No, indeed!’ Jack paused and then added: ‘It is perhaps fortunate, then, that my wife and my sweetheart share the same initial, isn’t it?’ His blue eyes twinkled as they met Stephen’s, who returned the smile and with great determination began to unbutton his own breeches…
Author: heather_mist
Word Count: about 1,500
Disclaimer: Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin belong to Patrick O'Brian, I have just borrowed them, with love.
Rating: R for tattooing and implied sex
Spoilers: None.
Summary Stephen fufills the terms of a bet in a way Jack didn’t expect
Author’s Notes
This story was prompted by a discussion with sidljon what to do to Jack and Stephen for the kink bingo meme she was involved in. Somehow that ended up with me agreeing to write a tattooing fic… Still don’t know quite how that happened, sidlj’s pretty wily that way..., but anyway here is fic. It can be set anywhere you like in the canon, but I’m guessing it is somewhere in the great loop year section when they were away from home a long time.
Claimed
‘No, Stephen. No,’ said Jack Aubrey, holding up one finger in warning, his back pressed firmly against the cabin bulkhead and wearing such an expression of complete disapprobation as would have instantly quelled any other member of his ship’s company immediately. Dr Maturin merely continued to look back at him calmly, his own fingers holding a long, wicked looking needle in much the same way as he would one of his little paper cigars. ‘I am as fond of a joke as the next man, fonder than many as I’m sure you would agree, but enough is enough. You are not giving me a tattoo and that is the end of it.’ Jack met Stephen’s gaze and attempted to bear him down with the force of his own glare. Stephen remained unmoved.
‘Am I to take it, then, you intend to welch on the deal Jack? Disappointing. I thought you felt as I did, that such behaviour belonged to the scrub. However, if you are content to be thought of in such terms…’ Stephen let his voice trail off, as he transferred his gaze to the needle in his hand, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows to show his surprise as he did so
‘Oh come now Stephen, that ain’t fair,’ Jack’s voice had taken on a wheedling note. ‘You wasn’t explicit, you just said if you won you intended to claim my ass as your own.’ Jack blushed pink as he said this. ‘You said nothing of tattooing the word “Mine” across it. I thought you meant something else entirely.’ Jack had bet Stephen that he would be unable to accurately use a sextant to make noon, the winner to name his own reward. Both had named the same price, but while Jack had been thinking purely physically, Stephen had apparently taken the phrase more literally. Jack rather regretted allowing Tom Pullings to instruct Stephen in the matter now.
‘Oh, I meant that too, never fear, but a more permanent show of ownership seemed appropriate, given the Navy’s ridiculous insistence on every personal item been clearly marked, and ownership claimed.’
‘I think the Navy was thinking more in the line of stockings and underwear.’
‘Let us not quibble over mere details forsooth. According to our terms that part of your anatomy now belongs to me, and I intend to mark it clearly as such; so if you would be so good as to drop your breeches and find a comfortable spot to spread yourself, we can proceed.’ Stephen gave Jack a wintry smile that brooked no refusal and waved the needle at him. Jack eyed it and pressed against the comforting bulkhead even more firmly.
‘Be sensible now Stephen, how can I go about with the word “Mine” writ large across my arse cheeks for all the world to see? How could it be explained away? I might possibly be able to pass it off as a foolish moment of drunken idiocy to Sophie, but there isn’t a man aboard who wouldn’t assume the worst if they saw it.’
‘Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you made the wager,’ replied Stephen, a trifle cruelly. He had been perfectly well aware that Jack had intentionally lost the bet, and while he was a notoriously poor loser himself, Stephen hated to be cheated out of true victory even more, and he intended to teach Jack a lesson. ‘Do you deny I have the right to do this?’
Jack hesitated. He would dearly like to say no. Oh, how dearly he would like to say no, but he was an honourable man and a bet was a bet. If he had been foolish enough not to thoroughly establish the exact terms of it, then on his own head be it. Or backside as the case may be. He sighed. ‘No, I can’t deny it,’ he replied heavily at last. ‘But Stephen, need it really be right across both cheeks?’ He looked beseechingly at his friend.
The corners of Stephen’s mouth twitched but his eyes betrayed nothing. ‘It will be exactly as I wish it to be and nothing less, so save your breath. Now, if you please…’ He waved the needle once more and with a deep groan Jack reluctantly prized himself away from the bulkhead, undoing the buttons of his breeches, and reflecting to himself that being an honourable man was far more trying than being a scrub. Then, with a reproachful look at his friend, he lay face down on the stern locker, hugging a cushion and feeling very ill-used.
Stephen set to work immediately, the sharp needle jabbing into Jack’s skin over and over again like a particularly malevolent wasp. At first it was accompanied by Jack moaning, wincing, and calling out all manner of oaths as the vicious little stinger made its tortuous way across his buttocks from extreme left to far right and to a width of at least 2 inches. Within twenty minutes Jack felt like his whole backside was aflame; after an hour he was limp and numb, almost immune to the pain of the constant tiny needle pricks. His mind wandered away from the immediate indignities of his current situation to the more worrying thought of how he would be able to explain it away to his wife, or to anyone else who chanced to see it. The process of getting the tattoo wasn’t nearly as painful as the thought of what was being inscribed so markedly into the flesh. He supposed he would have to swim in his drawers from now on, which would cause comment enough, and besides, Jack liked the freedom of swimming mother-naked. It really was too bad of Stephen; Jack would never have believed he would actually follow through on his absurd demands like this, he was sure if the situation had been reversed he would never have insisted on it. He was roused from his thoughts by a much sharper pain on the crest of his right buttock where Stephen seemed to be driving his horrid needle into the same small spot over and over again. Jack sucked in his breath and bit his lip. ‘My God, Stephen,’ he at last called out, ‘What are you about? That is most damnably sore; are you not done yet?’
‘Very nearly joy, very nearly. There! You are done.’ Stephen only just restrained himself from affectionately patting the crimson cheeks beneath his hand. ‘A very neat job even if I do say so myself. He looked with great satisfaction upon the dear naked backside before him. ‘Should you like to see?’
‘No. It is bad enough that everyone else will be to see it without I have to look at the vile thing too,’ muttered Jack, but nevertheless Stephen unhooked the shaving mirror from behind the quarter gallery door and insisted Jack admire his handiwork. Unwilling, and with a sullen look on his face Jack gave a cursory glance over his shoulder, stared, frowned and looked again more searchingly. Although both cheeks were indeed very bright pink, not a trace of the shameful word could be seen, and Stephen was smiling at him wickedly. ‘What…?’
‘As you pointed out you could hardly go about with such a word emblazoned so prominently, but nor could I allow you to get away with such flagrant cheating, so I tattooed you without ink - for the most part at least: all the pain but none of the permanence. However you will not sit comfortably for at least a day I should imagine, so let that be a lesson to you not to make foolish bets nor to attempt to skew the results, or the next time I really will do it.’
Jack smiled back partly from pure affection but mainly from pure relief and then frowned inquisitively. ‘”For the most part” you say; so what have you actually written?’
In reply Stephen pointed to a small dark mark on Jack’s right buttock, the spot where he had concentrated his needle at the end. The skin surrounding it was particularly inflamed, and it took a great deal of squinting for Jack to make out a tiny heart with the initials J and S neatly inscribed on either side. ‘I doubt very much whether your Sophie will ever see it, but if she does it should not cause her offence. And as it is not so very unusual for a sailor to have a tattoo of his wife or sweetheart’s initials, particularly when he has been away from home as long as we have, I feel sure the mark, if it were noticed at all, would cause no comment aboard either,’ replied Stephen complacently.
‘No, indeed!’ Jack paused and then added: ‘It is perhaps fortunate, then, that my wife and my sweetheart share the same initial, isn’t it?’ His blue eyes twinkled as they met Stephen’s, who returned the smile and with great determination began to unbutton his own breeches…