Aubrey and Maturin double drabble: "Purgation"
I wrote this in March for the First Ever Dreamwidth Age of Sail Anonymous Kinkmeme, where I left it anonymous for over a month. But I thought there might be people who would enjoy it who didn't know/care about the kinkmeme.
Title: Purgation
Fandom: Aubrey and Maturin
Characters: Stephen Maturin
Rating: Teen
Warnings: None needed
Word Count: 200
Notes: The prompt was "Stephen Maturin masturbating . . . his inner voice while he does it."
It is a sin, of course. Even a crime in the navy, where it's called uncleanness and men are flogged for it. As great a crime as failing to holystone the precious decks, sure. Strange similarity in the motion, the wrist's flexion, the rubbing. The quickening breath.
Uncleanness. What folly in a word. The reasonable mind knows this too is a cleansing. Doesn't this little sin invigorate the humours and stir the blood? Doesn't it purge the mind for a while of its clouding, sullying fancies?
The ridding of excess is medicinal, and seldom so pleasant.
Stephen will spend--soon now, oh how he burns--and the lesser sin will push out the greater, scrub away the vicious inclinination of his whole being towards such an object. Such a scandalous object, ludicrous, unbeautiful, foolish, fat and scarred and no lovely creature, no quick and graceful Diana, no goddess, only plain unlearned gluttonous word-mangling lose-not-a-minute jesting smiling brave and true himself, Jack, only Jack.
Stephen wipes the emission away with a handkerchief, and there, it is gone. He need not remember it, any more than the deck's clean wood remembers its old dirt. Nothing remains but the trembling in his hands.
Crossposted at Dreamwidth (
comments); you can comment here or there.
Title: Purgation
Fandom: Aubrey and Maturin
Characters: Stephen Maturin
Rating: Teen
Warnings: None needed
Word Count: 200
Notes: The prompt was "Stephen Maturin masturbating . . . his inner voice while he does it."
It is a sin, of course. Even a crime in the navy, where it's called uncleanness and men are flogged for it. As great a crime as failing to holystone the precious decks, sure. Strange similarity in the motion, the wrist's flexion, the rubbing. The quickening breath.
Uncleanness. What folly in a word. The reasonable mind knows this too is a cleansing. Doesn't this little sin invigorate the humours and stir the blood? Doesn't it purge the mind for a while of its clouding, sullying fancies?
The ridding of excess is medicinal, and seldom so pleasant.
Stephen will spend--soon now, oh how he burns--and the lesser sin will push out the greater, scrub away the vicious inclinination of his whole being towards such an object. Such a scandalous object, ludicrous, unbeautiful, foolish, fat and scarred and no lovely creature, no quick and graceful Diana, no goddess, only plain unlearned gluttonous word-mangling lose-not-a-minute jesting smiling brave and true himself, Jack, only Jack.
Stephen wipes the emission away with a handkerchief, and there, it is gone. He need not remember it, any more than the deck's clean wood remembers its old dirt. Nothing remains but the trembling in his hands.
Crossposted at Dreamwidth (
comments); you can comment here or there.