Christmas Calender - day 15 - Fic - Instruments
Instruments
Author: amaraal
Pairing: Jack/Stephen
Comm: perfect_duet, Christmas calendar and also a prompt fill from 2011...
Rating: NC-17, rather abruptly
Word count: ~2000
Date: October 2014.
Warning: Some blood, minor injuries.
Prompt: Jack is watching Stephen at his work - a delicate surgery, manipulating instruments, or studying a specimen and taking notes while instructing Blakeney - whatever. Stephen is so very, very good at what he does - Jack has never appreciated how good before, perhaps, but suddenly it catches his eye and everything Stephen does becomes of great interest to him.
Summary: Handling delicate things is Stephen's second nature.
A/N: I think I missed the prompt a bit. Many thanks to nodbear, best friend and bestest beta reader ever!
Blood all over Stephen, bent over the hurt gunner. Half of his the gunner’s right leg already severed, he pressed another two strokes into the bleeding wound, bone gave way under the sharp blade. With a bloody wrist Stephen tucked up his spectacles again, sweat and blood mingling in his solemn face. Jack stood under the doorway, fascinated, still and enthralled by the accuracy with which Stephen handled the saw.
“Can I help you, Jack?” Stephen’s voice low and measured, a bit too soft for the situation.
“The battle is over.”
“So I did notice. The guns have stopped.”
“Give me the butcher’s bill, Stephen. When you’re finished here.” A nod and a glance and Jack was gone. Pale eyes watched his back as he retreated. Carefully he helped Padeen sealing the wound and went on with his work. More than two dozen men were still waiting for his help.
***
They met again in the sick bay. Stephen had hung up his bloody apron on a nail to let it dry. His long fingers were holding a saw, the blade looking like a saw-fish’s jaw. In a firm yet gentle grip Stephen washed the blood and gore away, laid it back down on the table, took the next instrument, tending to it rather gently. Jack couldn’t avert his eyes.
“Well, Stephen?” He said after clearing his throat.
“Sixteen dead, twenty-seven wounded. One will not outlive the night, a broken skull I have not much hope for, two legs and a hand I had to cut. How are you?”
Again the pale eyes, tired and bloodshot, but also caring.
“Oh, nothing. Just a few scratches. We have won. I would like to invite you for a glass of wine and maybe, if you are in the mood, play some music…?” A smile spread over Stephen’s still bloodstained face. He tucked up his spectacles once more, a smear of blood on his cheek and now on the glass, too. But his smile warmed Jack’s heart.
“With all my heart, Jack. With all my heart.”
The next evening found them together in Jack’s cabin. Jack, the tiny fiddle in hand, upright in his blue and gold dress uniform, smiling, Stephen, as always, with his face nearly touching the strings of the ‘cello, both engaged in their favourite piece of Corelli. Sweat appeared on both their foreheads and with a last winding up note Jack’s bow lost a few more of its hairs and one of Stephen’s strings cracked. It hit Stephen’s face, he dropped his bow, touched his cheek and blinked.
“Stephen! Have you hurt yourself? Joy… let me see!”
“Naa, it’s nothing, brother. Just a tiny whip… Don’t be worried. It will go, it will. Just another string and we can go on…”
But despite Stephen’s reassuring words Jack was worried and the red welt showing on Stephen’s face looked like a cut.
“Stephen!” Jack knelt beside his friend, tears had welled up in the pale eyes and the shivering hand touching the place where the chord had hit, told Jack more about his friend’s feelings than his words. Hesitantly he touched the red cheek, Stephen was startled, but didn’t hinder Jack to do so.
“Your hand is so cool, Jack.”
“It is. But it is rather cold in here. Kilick, Kilick there! Bring in a stove!” Jack cried, just to say something and distract himself from the heat he had felt a second ago.
“Which is already there! Musn’ have made such’n noise…”
The steward grumbled, two stoves in hand, hanging them up on the hooks and slurring out of the cabin again.
All this under the eyes of the captain and the doctor who stood as if frozen, Stephen still holding Jack’s hand in his own, pressing it against his cheek once more when Kilick had vanished.
After a minute that felt like an eternity to Jack, Stephen released his hand, fetched a new string and like he had done a hundred times before, changed the broken for a new one.
Fascinated Jack stared at the nimble fingers, turning the coil, tuning the string, plucking it, pressing it against the instruments neck, the short nails still bloody, but strong and shining. Then their motion stopped and, startled Jack blushed, when he felt Stephen’s eyes looking up at him.
“Is everything all right, Jack? You look pale…”
“Nothing, Stephen, nothing, I assure you. Shall we…?” Stephen nodded once and again beautiful music filled the cabin. Stephen smiled, imagining the steward grinding his teeth.
***
“No, no, no, Lord Blakeney. You mustn’t press so hard. Here, let me show you. The quill’s tip will spread too wide and your drawing… will get ink stains all over it. So, there… Better?”
The fair head bent down over the paper. The doctor was right, as always. He sighed. Drawing with your left when once you had been used to only use your right… Pink tongue sticking out of his mouth he began to draw the beetle again. This time without the pressure. Stephen had noticed and tried to making it more comfortable by placing a book under his arm.
When Jack entered the small room he frowned. Stephen sat, one leg on his knee, a keel in his left hand a knife in his right, sharpening another feather for Blakeney. All his pressure has led to a high amount of quills he needed for his work. The sharp knife stopped in mid-motion and Stephen examined Jack’s face with curiosity and amusement.
“Can we be of help?” He asked finally, when Jack said nothing, simply staring at his hands, licking his lips, then blinked.
“If you can lend me Mr Blakeney. He will be needed on deck.” Jack’s smile appeared, bright and warm, letting Stephen’s heart make a jump of joy.
“Of course. Mr Blakeney, captain’s orders…”
“Oh, sir!” Cried Blakeney, putting aside the quill with a vehemence that it fell from the table and vanished under it. Grabbing his hat he huddled out unceremoniously, squeezing his thin figure through the small space between Jack’s body and the door frame. Watching his action Stephen had to suppress a smile and Jack licked his lips again, eyes downcast.
“Stephen… I would dearly like to show you something tonight. On deck.”
“On deck, Jack? Tonight?”
“Yes, the moon is in its last third. I have a new glass, a magnificent piece of craftsmanship. Would you like to take a look? You can see Saturn in the distance with all his rings…”
“With all my heart, soul. With all my heart.”
***
That evening on deck, in the dim twilight, the two men stood motionless, Jack’s broad frame protecting the doctor from the icy wind, who, the glass in both hands, stood there, swaying a little, touching Jack’s belly now and then, trying to steady his hands.
“Where is it, Jack?”
“Further towards the east, Stephen. Can you see him?” Jack’s deep voice made Stephen tremble. With slightly shaking hands he said:
“No. Where?”
“There.” Jack said, taking the glass away from him, taking a short glance and cupping Stephen’s hands with his own, he pressed his belly closer against his shivering form. Stephen said nothing, then he nodded.
“Impressive, Jack. Can we go back inside? You know I don’t like the cold. I’m a lizard. I’m fit as a lithosperm in the sun. Jack?”
He had turned round, face tilted up he gave Jack a pleading glance, a look Jack couldn’t ignore nor quantify.
“Of course, Stephen, of course… joy…” He whispered under his breath. They returned to the warmth of Jack’s cabin.
***
The cabin was warm, but not overly so, welcomed them, the dim light causing shadows to be cast everywhere. Stephen picked up the bow, sat down and tried to play the last part of their new found Corelli passage, but his hands were shaking so vehemently, that Jack, who had poured them two glasses of a fine Madeira, turned round, noticed his friend’s trembling hands and uttered a sound of both disbelief and concern.
“Stephen! You can’t play like this. Here! Drink! It'll warm you up.” Stephen sat his ‘cello aside, a glance of thankfulness adorned with one of his rare smiles on his face, he took the proffered glass and emptied it in two large gulps.
“Jack, you are my saviour. I’m still feeling cold…”
“Here, joy. Take a second one.”
He watched in awe when Stephen drank the second glass of the sweet wine, a blush appeared on his cheeks. Jack couldn’t decipher the expression on Stephen’s face. Instead he knelt down in front of him, took Stephen’s hands into his own and placed them against his chest. So near, slightly trembling still, Stephen stared into the blue eyes, he blinked several times; none of them spoke. Jack tilted his head, and kissed Stephen’s hands, the long, pale fingers.
“Your fingers are made of ice, Stephen. Come! I will warm you… in my cot…” Befuddled, Stephen was drawn into a tight embrace, Jack urged him into his small ,bed, and there, half beside, half on top of Stephen, undressed the smaller man undressed himself and held him close to his wildly beating heart.
It was Stephen who placed a light kiss on Jack’s forehead first, following his heart, his need, felt Jack’s heat under his touch.
“Love,” he whispered, and Jack kissed him, kissed him, till he could hardly breathe anymore, tears welled up in his eyes, he felt the strong arms around his skinny form, Jack’s breath against his skin, his scent, his taste…
He licked at the salty skin, felt Jack’s hands exploring his body. Something very soft growing, becoming bigger, large, hard and warm between his thighs.
“Jack,” he moaned again, feeling the heat rising up in him, too. So long. It had been so long when last time he had indulged in this kind of action. So sinful, so despicable, so good.
“Jack…” He ground his pelvis against Jack’s, and Jack growled deep in his chest.
“Joy,” he whispered, “Joy… ride me…” Stephen spat in his hand and started working on the large member, rubbing up and down, eliciting more growls and moans out of the captain’s throat. He grinned, tickling the balls, pulling at the pubic hair, blond as Jack’s hair, tiny circles with his thumb over the shining glans until it glistened in an angry red.
He placed himself over the straining cannon, slowly he let himself sink, felt broad hands cupping his butt-cheeks, spreading him wide, supporting him, Jack’s big body all heat and soft skin.
Licking his fingers, Stephen started to stroke himself. Jack’s hardness filling him to the brink, he felt like drawn into an ocean of heat and lust. When he opened his eyes he saw Jack staring intensely at his dick and his hands, his long fingers.
“Joy…” He whispered and rocked Stephen sitting on his groin, feeling astonishing big balls pressing against his belly, into his curly hair. Stephen said nothing. He was lost. Stroking himself and riding Jack at the same time made him weak and helpless.
“Jack, oh Jack.” He said under his breath, when suddenly he came, long, powerful strains of semen landing on Jack’s breast and belly, hitting his throat and face. Both were breathing harsh and fast, their union satisfying beyond words.
Stephen sank into Jack’s waiting arms, closing his own around Jack’s head, stroking his hair and neck. A purring sound from the big man was the last thing he heard. In an instant Jack was asleep. Stephen grinned to himself, drew the sheets around them, pressed himself closer against the warm skin, yawned and joined Jack in his sleep. The last thing he noticed was how very warm it was every time they were together. The last thing he saw were his own hands in Jack's big paws. With a satisfied sigh he let himself succumb to sleep.
End
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all of you!!!
Author: amaraal
Pairing: Jack/Stephen
Comm: perfect_duet, Christmas calendar and also a prompt fill from 2011...
Rating: NC-17, rather abruptly
Word count: ~2000
Date: October 2014.
Warning: Some blood, minor injuries.
Prompt: Jack is watching Stephen at his work - a delicate surgery, manipulating instruments, or studying a specimen and taking notes while instructing Blakeney - whatever. Stephen is so very, very good at what he does - Jack has never appreciated how good before, perhaps, but suddenly it catches his eye and everything Stephen does becomes of great interest to him.
Summary: Handling delicate things is Stephen's second nature.
A/N: I think I missed the prompt a bit. Many thanks to nodbear, best friend and bestest beta reader ever!
Blood all over Stephen, bent over the hurt gunner. Half of his the gunner’s right leg already severed, he pressed another two strokes into the bleeding wound, bone gave way under the sharp blade. With a bloody wrist Stephen tucked up his spectacles again, sweat and blood mingling in his solemn face. Jack stood under the doorway, fascinated, still and enthralled by the accuracy with which Stephen handled the saw.
“Can I help you, Jack?” Stephen’s voice low and measured, a bit too soft for the situation.
“The battle is over.”
“So I did notice. The guns have stopped.”
“Give me the butcher’s bill, Stephen. When you’re finished here.” A nod and a glance and Jack was gone. Pale eyes watched his back as he retreated. Carefully he helped Padeen sealing the wound and went on with his work. More than two dozen men were still waiting for his help.
***
They met again in the sick bay. Stephen had hung up his bloody apron on a nail to let it dry. His long fingers were holding a saw, the blade looking like a saw-fish’s jaw. In a firm yet gentle grip Stephen washed the blood and gore away, laid it back down on the table, took the next instrument, tending to it rather gently. Jack couldn’t avert his eyes.
“Well, Stephen?” He said after clearing his throat.
“Sixteen dead, twenty-seven wounded. One will not outlive the night, a broken skull I have not much hope for, two legs and a hand I had to cut. How are you?”
Again the pale eyes, tired and bloodshot, but also caring.
“Oh, nothing. Just a few scratches. We have won. I would like to invite you for a glass of wine and maybe, if you are in the mood, play some music…?” A smile spread over Stephen’s still bloodstained face. He tucked up his spectacles once more, a smear of blood on his cheek and now on the glass, too. But his smile warmed Jack’s heart.
“With all my heart, Jack. With all my heart.”
The next evening found them together in Jack’s cabin. Jack, the tiny fiddle in hand, upright in his blue and gold dress uniform, smiling, Stephen, as always, with his face nearly touching the strings of the ‘cello, both engaged in their favourite piece of Corelli. Sweat appeared on both their foreheads and with a last winding up note Jack’s bow lost a few more of its hairs and one of Stephen’s strings cracked. It hit Stephen’s face, he dropped his bow, touched his cheek and blinked.
“Stephen! Have you hurt yourself? Joy… let me see!”
“Naa, it’s nothing, brother. Just a tiny whip… Don’t be worried. It will go, it will. Just another string and we can go on…”
But despite Stephen’s reassuring words Jack was worried and the red welt showing on Stephen’s face looked like a cut.
“Stephen!” Jack knelt beside his friend, tears had welled up in the pale eyes and the shivering hand touching the place where the chord had hit, told Jack more about his friend’s feelings than his words. Hesitantly he touched the red cheek, Stephen was startled, but didn’t hinder Jack to do so.
“Your hand is so cool, Jack.”
“It is. But it is rather cold in here. Kilick, Kilick there! Bring in a stove!” Jack cried, just to say something and distract himself from the heat he had felt a second ago.
“Which is already there! Musn’ have made such’n noise…”
The steward grumbled, two stoves in hand, hanging them up on the hooks and slurring out of the cabin again.
All this under the eyes of the captain and the doctor who stood as if frozen, Stephen still holding Jack’s hand in his own, pressing it against his cheek once more when Kilick had vanished.
After a minute that felt like an eternity to Jack, Stephen released his hand, fetched a new string and like he had done a hundred times before, changed the broken for a new one.
Fascinated Jack stared at the nimble fingers, turning the coil, tuning the string, plucking it, pressing it against the instruments neck, the short nails still bloody, but strong and shining. Then their motion stopped and, startled Jack blushed, when he felt Stephen’s eyes looking up at him.
“Is everything all right, Jack? You look pale…”
“Nothing, Stephen, nothing, I assure you. Shall we…?” Stephen nodded once and again beautiful music filled the cabin. Stephen smiled, imagining the steward grinding his teeth.
***
“No, no, no, Lord Blakeney. You mustn’t press so hard. Here, let me show you. The quill’s tip will spread too wide and your drawing… will get ink stains all over it. So, there… Better?”
The fair head bent down over the paper. The doctor was right, as always. He sighed. Drawing with your left when once you had been used to only use your right… Pink tongue sticking out of his mouth he began to draw the beetle again. This time without the pressure. Stephen had noticed and tried to making it more comfortable by placing a book under his arm.
When Jack entered the small room he frowned. Stephen sat, one leg on his knee, a keel in his left hand a knife in his right, sharpening another feather for Blakeney. All his pressure has led to a high amount of quills he needed for his work. The sharp knife stopped in mid-motion and Stephen examined Jack’s face with curiosity and amusement.
“Can we be of help?” He asked finally, when Jack said nothing, simply staring at his hands, licking his lips, then blinked.
“If you can lend me Mr Blakeney. He will be needed on deck.” Jack’s smile appeared, bright and warm, letting Stephen’s heart make a jump of joy.
“Of course. Mr Blakeney, captain’s orders…”
“Oh, sir!” Cried Blakeney, putting aside the quill with a vehemence that it fell from the table and vanished under it. Grabbing his hat he huddled out unceremoniously, squeezing his thin figure through the small space between Jack’s body and the door frame. Watching his action Stephen had to suppress a smile and Jack licked his lips again, eyes downcast.
“Stephen… I would dearly like to show you something tonight. On deck.”
“On deck, Jack? Tonight?”
“Yes, the moon is in its last third. I have a new glass, a magnificent piece of craftsmanship. Would you like to take a look? You can see Saturn in the distance with all his rings…”
“With all my heart, soul. With all my heart.”
***
That evening on deck, in the dim twilight, the two men stood motionless, Jack’s broad frame protecting the doctor from the icy wind, who, the glass in both hands, stood there, swaying a little, touching Jack’s belly now and then, trying to steady his hands.
“Where is it, Jack?”
“Further towards the east, Stephen. Can you see him?” Jack’s deep voice made Stephen tremble. With slightly shaking hands he said:
“No. Where?”
“There.” Jack said, taking the glass away from him, taking a short glance and cupping Stephen’s hands with his own, he pressed his belly closer against his shivering form. Stephen said nothing, then he nodded.
“Impressive, Jack. Can we go back inside? You know I don’t like the cold. I’m a lizard. I’m fit as a lithosperm in the sun. Jack?”
He had turned round, face tilted up he gave Jack a pleading glance, a look Jack couldn’t ignore nor quantify.
“Of course, Stephen, of course… joy…” He whispered under his breath. They returned to the warmth of Jack’s cabin.
***
The cabin was warm, but not overly so, welcomed them, the dim light causing shadows to be cast everywhere. Stephen picked up the bow, sat down and tried to play the last part of their new found Corelli passage, but his hands were shaking so vehemently, that Jack, who had poured them two glasses of a fine Madeira, turned round, noticed his friend’s trembling hands and uttered a sound of both disbelief and concern.
“Stephen! You can’t play like this. Here! Drink! It'll warm you up.” Stephen sat his ‘cello aside, a glance of thankfulness adorned with one of his rare smiles on his face, he took the proffered glass and emptied it in two large gulps.
“Jack, you are my saviour. I’m still feeling cold…”
“Here, joy. Take a second one.”
He watched in awe when Stephen drank the second glass of the sweet wine, a blush appeared on his cheeks. Jack couldn’t decipher the expression on Stephen’s face. Instead he knelt down in front of him, took Stephen’s hands into his own and placed them against his chest. So near, slightly trembling still, Stephen stared into the blue eyes, he blinked several times; none of them spoke. Jack tilted his head, and kissed Stephen’s hands, the long, pale fingers.
“Your fingers are made of ice, Stephen. Come! I will warm you… in my cot…” Befuddled, Stephen was drawn into a tight embrace, Jack urged him into his small ,bed, and there, half beside, half on top of Stephen, undressed the smaller man undressed himself and held him close to his wildly beating heart.
It was Stephen who placed a light kiss on Jack’s forehead first, following his heart, his need, felt Jack’s heat under his touch.
“Love,” he whispered, and Jack kissed him, kissed him, till he could hardly breathe anymore, tears welled up in his eyes, he felt the strong arms around his skinny form, Jack’s breath against his skin, his scent, his taste…
He licked at the salty skin, felt Jack’s hands exploring his body. Something very soft growing, becoming bigger, large, hard and warm between his thighs.
“Jack,” he moaned again, feeling the heat rising up in him, too. So long. It had been so long when last time he had indulged in this kind of action. So sinful, so despicable, so good.
“Jack…” He ground his pelvis against Jack’s, and Jack growled deep in his chest.
“Joy,” he whispered, “Joy… ride me…” Stephen spat in his hand and started working on the large member, rubbing up and down, eliciting more growls and moans out of the captain’s throat. He grinned, tickling the balls, pulling at the pubic hair, blond as Jack’s hair, tiny circles with his thumb over the shining glans until it glistened in an angry red.
He placed himself over the straining cannon, slowly he let himself sink, felt broad hands cupping his butt-cheeks, spreading him wide, supporting him, Jack’s big body all heat and soft skin.
Licking his fingers, Stephen started to stroke himself. Jack’s hardness filling him to the brink, he felt like drawn into an ocean of heat and lust. When he opened his eyes he saw Jack staring intensely at his dick and his hands, his long fingers.
“Joy…” He whispered and rocked Stephen sitting on his groin, feeling astonishing big balls pressing against his belly, into his curly hair. Stephen said nothing. He was lost. Stroking himself and riding Jack at the same time made him weak and helpless.
“Jack, oh Jack.” He said under his breath, when suddenly he came, long, powerful strains of semen landing on Jack’s breast and belly, hitting his throat and face. Both were breathing harsh and fast, their union satisfying beyond words.
Stephen sank into Jack’s waiting arms, closing his own around Jack’s head, stroking his hair and neck. A purring sound from the big man was the last thing he heard. In an instant Jack was asleep. Stephen grinned to himself, drew the sheets around them, pressed himself closer against the warm skin, yawned and joined Jack in his sleep. The last thing he noticed was how very warm it was every time they were together. The last thing he saw were his own hands in Jack's big paws. With a satisfied sigh he let himself succumb to sleep.
End
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all of you!!!