Hornblower: Bush/Hornblower, untitled, short.
Today I ditched out on a pool party because I fail at social interaction (and didn't have a bathing suit I could be seen in), and came to Starbucks intending to work on any or all of the ten billion Pirates stories I have somewhat on the go. And (mostly) failed at that too. I swear, this was entirely unintentional.
Bush/Hornblower, 300 words.
-
His hands are rough on you.
(Of course, they would be; he is also a sailor. Of course his palms would be callused and coarse, of course they would not have the delicate smooth feel of a woman's. There is nothing womanly about him, for all his dark-haired fine-boned prettiness.)
The knowledge does not change the fact. You might call it incongruous, if you knew the word. You have watched those hands a hundred, perhaps a thousand times - watched them write and salute and wield deadly steel, watched them twist behind his back when he thinks no-one can see - know them better than your own - and you have never, not even once, imagined them on your person. Not once have you imagined them on your face, stroking down your neck and unknotting your stock. Not once have you imagined taking one of those long fingers into your mouth, not once imagined their salt taste or the texture of the webbing between thumb and forefinger.
There is, perhaps, something to be said for the unimaginative mind.
(After all, had you thought of this before, you might never have been able to look your captain in the eye again; and this, you think, would have interfered somewhat with the proper execution of your duty.)
Even now, you think he may be trying to catch your gaze. You keep it safely downcast. You watch the even motion of your chest, the rise and fall; you focus on the rhythm, on maintaining that steady breath. You are a steady man, a steady officer, and the fact that your captain is putting his rough hands on you does not change that. You are steady.
(You do not tremble - you tremble only a little - when he puts his mouth on you as well.)
-
I have actually gotten a few hundred words of various piratical stuff done, though. It's just that the writing is distributed across, as mentioned, approximately a billion different things, so I'm not making particularly fast progress on any one story. And I'm onto Hotspur now, incidentally, but will type up another few chapters of LtH flail later tonight.
Bush/Hornblower, 300 words.
-
His hands are rough on you.
(Of course, they would be; he is also a sailor. Of course his palms would be callused and coarse, of course they would not have the delicate smooth feel of a woman's. There is nothing womanly about him, for all his dark-haired fine-boned prettiness.)
The knowledge does not change the fact. You might call it incongruous, if you knew the word. You have watched those hands a hundred, perhaps a thousand times - watched them write and salute and wield deadly steel, watched them twist behind his back when he thinks no-one can see - know them better than your own - and you have never, not even once, imagined them on your person. Not once have you imagined them on your face, stroking down your neck and unknotting your stock. Not once have you imagined taking one of those long fingers into your mouth, not once imagined their salt taste or the texture of the webbing between thumb and forefinger.
There is, perhaps, something to be said for the unimaginative mind.
(After all, had you thought of this before, you might never have been able to look your captain in the eye again; and this, you think, would have interfered somewhat with the proper execution of your duty.)
Even now, you think he may be trying to catch your gaze. You keep it safely downcast. You watch the even motion of your chest, the rise and fall; you focus on the rhythm, on maintaining that steady breath. You are a steady man, a steady officer, and the fact that your captain is putting his rough hands on you does not change that. You are steady.
(You do not tremble - you tremble only a little - when he puts his mouth on you as well.)
-
I have actually gotten a few hundred words of various piratical stuff done, though. It's just that the writing is distributed across, as mentioned, approximately a billion different things, so I'm not making particularly fast progress on any one story. And I'm onto Hotspur now, incidentally, but will type up another few chapters of LtH flail later tonight.