Hornblower Fic: Lieutenant, Captain and the Telescope
TITLE: Lieutenant, Captain and the Telescope
CHARACTERS: Bush
RATING: PG-13, Slash
WORD COUNT: 250
NOTES: Originally written for following_sea's CrackMeme back in February, in response to the following request: "Bush/Hornblower + Telescope".
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He couldn’t help it.
He blamed the peace; the continuous, insufferable attention his sisters doted upon him and the endless line of eligible young girls they tried to set him up with.
He blamed the inadequacy of a lieutenant’s half-pay in providing for enough whores often enough to rid himself of this burning desire that flamed within him.
He blamed the circumstances in which they were reunited, the ridiculous sleeping arrangements provided by the Masons and his damned friend’s ignorance of the effect his general presence had on this helpless lieutenant.
And he blamed himself many times over on accepting this position aboard the Hotspur, under the command of a newly married Hornblower; a position that guaranteed proximity to his captain at each passing bell.
It was an intimacy that allowed him to catch every motion of his captain’s movement. Every step he took. Every word he spoke. Every motion he made with his long and delicate fingers; plotting a course, eating a meal, writing a letter, gripping a stay, fiddling with his telescope…
And he imaged they were directed at him. Imagined those bony phalanges gripping him like the gripped the smooth metal surface of the telescope. Imagined them sliding over him like they slid over the telescope whenever Hornblower extended it or collapsed it. Imagined Hornblower looking at him with the same intensity and passion as he did through the lenses of the telescope whenever they spot a vessel or landmark of interest.
He couldn’t help it. William Bush could only blame himself.
CHARACTERS: Bush
RATING: PG-13, Slash
WORD COUNT: 250
NOTES: Originally written for following_sea's CrackMeme back in February, in response to the following request: "Bush/Hornblower + Telescope".
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He couldn’t help it.
He blamed the peace; the continuous, insufferable attention his sisters doted upon him and the endless line of eligible young girls they tried to set him up with.
He blamed the inadequacy of a lieutenant’s half-pay in providing for enough whores often enough to rid himself of this burning desire that flamed within him.
He blamed the circumstances in which they were reunited, the ridiculous sleeping arrangements provided by the Masons and his damned friend’s ignorance of the effect his general presence had on this helpless lieutenant.
And he blamed himself many times over on accepting this position aboard the Hotspur, under the command of a newly married Hornblower; a position that guaranteed proximity to his captain at each passing bell.
It was an intimacy that allowed him to catch every motion of his captain’s movement. Every step he took. Every word he spoke. Every motion he made with his long and delicate fingers; plotting a course, eating a meal, writing a letter, gripping a stay, fiddling with his telescope…
And he imaged they were directed at him. Imagined those bony phalanges gripping him like the gripped the smooth metal surface of the telescope. Imagined them sliding over him like they slid over the telescope whenever Hornblower extended it or collapsed it. Imagined Hornblower looking at him with the same intensity and passion as he did through the lenses of the telescope whenever they spot a vessel or landmark of interest.
He couldn’t help it. William Bush could only blame himself.