Rifleman's Revenge
Title: Rifleman’s Revenge
Characters: Sharpe, Harper, Bush
Rating: Slash - bondage. If homoerotic fiction offends you, don’t click the cut.
Length: Flash - 400 words
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan-fiction created for entertainment. It is not the intention of the author to infringe on anyone’s copyright. i.e. There’s this phrase “Property of Bernard Cornwell” tattooed on Sharpe’s luscious rear. I’m just borrowing it.
Setting: In a rented room - England soon after landing.
Summary: Just some good old "Pay Back"
Author’s Note: No explicit sex scenes. A follow-up from “Kissing the Gunner’s Daughter”
“No hard feelings eh, Major?” Lieutenant Bush asked as he handed Sharpe the brandy back. It was an excellent vintage. A bottle of many that Sharpe had liberated in France, a few which ended up in Sergeant Harper’s knapsack along the way.
“None at all, Mr. Bush.” Sharpe grinned as he handed the bottle back.
A hand intercepted it and Harper took a swig before passing it on. “So, how does it feel to have land under your feet again, Major?” he asked.
“Damned fine, Harper. Damned fine.” Sharpe sighed. Shifting, then wincing slightly on the hard bench. Then again, he thought. Perhaps he did have some hard feelings. His eyes shifted over the length of Lieutenant William Bush.
“Little Willy here, showed me the way to kiss the gunner’s daughter.”
“Here now… don’t be insulting me, Major, I think I showed you there was nothing little about me.”
Harper’s sharp eyes took in the negligent way his Major was lounging on the bench. He may have looked relaxed to the uneducated eye, but summat had gone on between his Major and the Navy Lieutenant or his name wasn’t Patrick Harper.
Sharpe grinned. A little more than the baring of teeth, but Bush did not notice. He was fast on the way to being drunk. Harper looked at his Major again. Sharpe nodded ever so slightly and raising a fist, tapped the wrist with his other hand. The bottle passed back to Harper again.
“Anyway,” Sharpe continued. “He was showing me Navy traditions, so I promised to introduce him to the Rifleman’s mistress.”
“You did?” Bush reached across the table for the brandy bottle Harper held. Harper didn’t release it. Bush tugged. Harper pulled back and the Lieutenant lost his balance as Sharpe kicked his feet from under him, sprawling over the table. Before he knew what was going on, the Sergeant had his hands tied to the table legs and he could feel hands tugging his breeches down. He yelped as he felt his knees being lifted onto the table.
“Hey! I thought you said there were no hard feelings!”
Sharpe was standing in front of him, which meant that the big Irish Sergeant was…
“Musket oil, Willy. You may tell your Captain that.”
Bush howled.
“You’re being too loud, Mr. Bush.” Sharpe commented as he yanked the Lieutenant’s head up by the hair. “Let’s give you something better to do with your mouth.”
Characters: Sharpe, Harper, Bush
Rating: Slash - bondage. If homoerotic fiction offends you, don’t click the cut.
Length: Flash - 400 words
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan-fiction created for entertainment. It is not the intention of the author to infringe on anyone’s copyright. i.e. There’s this phrase “Property of Bernard Cornwell” tattooed on Sharpe’s luscious rear. I’m just borrowing it.
Setting: In a rented room - England soon after landing.
Summary: Just some good old "Pay Back"
Author’s Note: No explicit sex scenes. A follow-up from “Kissing the Gunner’s Daughter”
“No hard feelings eh, Major?” Lieutenant Bush asked as he handed Sharpe the brandy back. It was an excellent vintage. A bottle of many that Sharpe had liberated in France, a few which ended up in Sergeant Harper’s knapsack along the way.
“None at all, Mr. Bush.” Sharpe grinned as he handed the bottle back.
A hand intercepted it and Harper took a swig before passing it on. “So, how does it feel to have land under your feet again, Major?” he asked.
“Damned fine, Harper. Damned fine.” Sharpe sighed. Shifting, then wincing slightly on the hard bench. Then again, he thought. Perhaps he did have some hard feelings. His eyes shifted over the length of Lieutenant William Bush.
“Little Willy here, showed me the way to kiss the gunner’s daughter.”
“Here now… don’t be insulting me, Major, I think I showed you there was nothing little about me.”
Harper’s sharp eyes took in the negligent way his Major was lounging on the bench. He may have looked relaxed to the uneducated eye, but summat had gone on between his Major and the Navy Lieutenant or his name wasn’t Patrick Harper.
Sharpe grinned. A little more than the baring of teeth, but Bush did not notice. He was fast on the way to being drunk. Harper looked at his Major again. Sharpe nodded ever so slightly and raising a fist, tapped the wrist with his other hand. The bottle passed back to Harper again.
“Anyway,” Sharpe continued. “He was showing me Navy traditions, so I promised to introduce him to the Rifleman’s mistress.”
“You did?” Bush reached across the table for the brandy bottle Harper held. Harper didn’t release it. Bush tugged. Harper pulled back and the Lieutenant lost his balance as Sharpe kicked his feet from under him, sprawling over the table. Before he knew what was going on, the Sergeant had his hands tied to the table legs and he could feel hands tugging his breeches down. He yelped as he felt his knees being lifted onto the table.
“Hey! I thought you said there were no hard feelings!”
Sharpe was standing in front of him, which meant that the big Irish Sergeant was…
“Musket oil, Willy. You may tell your Captain that.”
Bush howled.
“You’re being too loud, Mr. Bush.” Sharpe commented as he yanked the Lieutenant’s head up by the hair. “Let’s give you something better to do with your mouth.”