Hello!
Hey guys! I'm new 'round here, and pretty new to the AoS online community in general, and I'm loving every minute of it! I bring teh fic.
Fandom: Horatio Hornblower
Title: Ally
Pairing: William Bush/Captain Sawyer noncon
Rating: PG13/R
Spoilers: Mutiny, i suppose.
Hope you enjoy it! Unbeta-ed, so there might be some mistakes - hopefully not too many. Comments are crack! ^___^
Ally by aka_centimetre2
Lieutenant William Bush is not surprised when he is first called to Captain Sawyer’s quarters. He knows that he did not make a good account of himself when he first came aboard, and is ready to withstand whatever punishment the captains perceives as fit. He is a sailor, he knows his duty. But he is not ready for Sawyer’s hand which descends so amicably on his shoulder in the quiet of the captain’s cabin, the glass of port, and the fact that the captain’s neck cloth is untied and disheveled.
Renown is not a happy ship; Bush could tell that from the moment he stepped on deck. Now the waves toss the ship of the line gently as they travel southwest, and Captain Sawyer’s tread is unsteady as he ambles his way over to Bush, a smile which does not quite reach his eyes plastered like a scar across his mouth.
“You and I, we are similar, are we not, Mr. Bush?” he asks. The lieutenant can smell the port on Sawyer’s breath, far too strong to be the effects of one glass alone.
“Sir?”
“You are honest, Mr. Bush,” the captain breathes. Bush almost starts as he feels sweaty fingers fingering his jaw line. “I saw it immediately. You are loyal, my dear lieutenant. You will obey me to the end, will you not?”
Bush stands now, trying not to flinch as he sees that the captain’s eyes are unfocussed. “Sir, with all due respect, I believe you need to rest. Shall I call Dr. Clive?”
“Hang Dr. Clive,” the old man croons. Bush takes a step backwards. The smile is fading from the captain’s face, replaced by something Bush would rather not name or think about. “You will not refuse me, Mr. Bush. I know you, you see. You would never disobey a superior officer, would you?”
Bush can feel Sawyer’s clammy hands shaking as they fumble at Bush’s waistline, and the jar as his back fetches up against the bulkhead. “Sir - ”
The strangled gasp escapes his lips before he can stop himself, and Sawyer’s clouded eyes clear faster than he would have imagined possible as he glares into Bush’s own wide blue orbs, his fingers resting so disconcertingly on the lip of Bush’s navy trousers.
“You have something to say, Mr. Bush?” he murmurs, leaning forward so his hot breath mists on Bush’s ear - the lieutenant barely suppresses a shudder, and then swallows. All he can think of is that he is currently pinned to the wall by one of Nelson’s own. Nelson’s own, Nelson’s own, Nelson -
“No sir,” he whispers. “Nothing, sir.”
The hands immediately plunge downwards, and Bush has to grip the edges of the bulkhead as he is turns around and shoved face-first into the wood. He can almost hear the captain’s toothy smirk as he leans in closer and mutters, “I didn’t think so.”
When he makes it back on deck later his uniform is as immaculate as ever, hat peaked back to front, and the mask has slipped back into its customary place. He hasn’t even been gone long enough to draw attention. But when Mr. Hornblower lifts tired eyes from where he is standing on watch, a spark of curiosity dancing within them, Bush can feel the edges starting to fray. It is not a comforting feeling.
Sawyer is more insistent this time, fresh off his second beating of Wellard, the request for Bush to attend to him sharp and harshly uttered. Bush tries to outmaneuver without seeming to obvious, but once again manages to find himself with his behind against the edge of the polished wooden table in the captain’s cabin.
“You are less courageous without your little lieutenant friends, are you, Mr. Bush?” Sawyer whispers in his ear. “You think to escape me, do you?”
The events in the wardroom earlier flash to the forefront of Bush’s mind. The easy camaraderie between Hornblower and Kennedy had taken him by surprise, and he remembered the flash of sudden steel which ran through him. Sir, with respect -
“No, sir,” he mumbles, unsure what else would be safe to say. “Never, sir.”
“Don’t lie to me, Mr. Bush. It doesn’t become you,” Sawyer growls.
A few moments later Bush finds himself swallowing, trying not to gag in sight of his tyrant, and his chin is quickly jerked up from the captain’s breeches to look Sawyer in the eyes.
“You will not be defying me again, will you Mr. Bush?”
Bush is about to answer no, but a tap from outside the cabin door distracts him. One glance is sufficient to distinguish Hornblower’s pale face, mouth slightly open and eyes wide in an uncharacteristic expression of surprise. An instant later it is gone, and Bush is suddenly very conscious of the surface of the deck hard beneath his knees.
When he emerges out onto the deck, Bush sees nothing of Hornblower except his rigid figure standing stiffly by the rail of the quarterdeck. As he is in an unusually self-pitying mood, Bush fancies in the recesses of his increasingly black mind that Hornblower seems to be shaking slightly.
The wardroom is deserted, and Bush instantly knows why. He knows where they are, too, but he hesitates in the doorway, one foot on either side of the threshold.
He stands still for a moment. Swears under his breath.
Then he grabs a lantern from where it sits on the sideboard of the wooden room and leaves, trotting quietly and rapidly down the companionways to the hold.
They didn’t keep a good enough lookout. He finds then within a few minutes, and his stomach lurches imperceptibly as they stand to greet him, their faces filled with suspicion and fear. A few phrases and tentative words are exchanged. The sigh of relief shudders through him, and he strains not to let his shoulders droop in premature relaxation. I’d be very glad if you’d allow me to join you.
Archie finds himself speaking in anger before he can stop himself, his voice probably louder than is strictly necessary or safe for the darkened hold. “And how do you expect us to trust you, Mr. Bush?” he hisses, jutting out his chin in his characteristic expression of anger. “You’ve been the captain’s pet since you came on board - what makes you think we’d accept you out of hand?”
The distinguished lines around Bush’s eyes tighten, and Kennedy sees out of the corner of his eye that Horatio has blinked and is shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. When the second lieutenant speaks again, his voice is very level and quiet.
“I owe nothing to Captain Sawyer,” Bush says. Archie fancies that the one adjective that would describe the despair in Bush’s voice would be numb. Bush’s eyes flicker towards Horatio, and Buckland turns curiously as he notices the shift in attention.
“I believe Mr. Hornblower can bear witness to this.” These words are calm and cool, as though commenting on the weather or the state of the halliards amidships. Horatio looks up, his mouth slightly open, and then he turns to Archie.
“He tells the truth, gentlemen,” he mutters quietly. Kennedy can see a blush spreading around his ears. “He is our ally.”
Bush comes silently forward to perch himself on a wooden crate, exchanging the briefest of glances with Horatio as he rests his hands against his knees. His white stockings gleam even in the darkness of the hold.
Archie can see the question rising to Buckland’s lips, but the first lieutenant does not speak. He himself is confused as hell, but it shall have to wait for later - they have a ship to commandeer. And since when has he ever doubted Horatio’s word?
x-posted like WOAH