Fic: Sunshine
Wheeeeeee! Didn't we all have a great time over at mandc_watch yesterday? Aren't we all so much in love with our fandom right now? :D You know, someone really should post something, to keep this high going.
*waits* *waits some more* ... Fine. Here you go.
Title: Sunshine
Pairing, Characters: Jack/Stephen
Rating: PG - Nothing explicit, but definite lusting
Spoilers: HMS Surprise
Disclaimer: Not mine, never has been, never will be.
Length: 959 words
Status: One-shot, possibility of a sequel should the muse strike
Summary: Jack is hot. And it’s not only because of the sun.
Author's Note: Written for my flist, several days ago during a burst of early summer, and originally posted at my fic journal, here.
As always, not beta'd.
EDIT: Now with sequel, here!
Sunshine
Jack Aubrey didn’t even blink as another drop of sweat started its voyage down his scalp, his usually bright, curly hair had turned into warm, heavy strands that seemed to block any breeze more effective than his hat ever could hours ago. It passed his hairline and trickled down his already glistening temple, down his cheek. He turned his face into the wind, felt it push and pull at his skin, cooling the bead now trailing down his neck. Still though the breeze, refreshing as it felt on his hot skin, wasn’t strong enough to dry his skin, evaporate the drop before it reached the sodden collar of his shirt, adding another bit of sweltering wetness to the once-airy garment plastered to his chest, to his back. More sweat ran down his body in hot rivulets, the cloth of the shirt, light enough most times, seemingly, cruelly, impenetrable to the breeze, blanketing him. Sweat soaked into his breeches, causing them to cling most uncomfortably. His feet swam in his shoes, little squelching noises accompanying each of his steps as he restlessly paced the deck.
The Surprise was burning under the Mediterranean sun, her sailors cooking in their clothes, the heat leeching all live out of them, leaving them listless and lethargic.
It was not this heat though which was troubling Jack. Yes, he was afflicted by it same as everybody else - sadly his rank didn’t protect him from such incommodiousness, but he had learned to bear the elements stoically, to ignore sun, rain and ice and concentrate on his duty. He had never learned to stand on deck and ignore this kind of heat, though. The one that made him want to burst into action, to rush towards it and do something about it, bury himself in it.
Jack Aubrey did not yearn for some shade to slump under and not move from until dusk.
What he yearned for was lying on deck, in the one corner he carefully avoided in his pacing, the same corner that kept drawing his eyes to it, again and again and again.
There on deck lay Stephen.
Not by the side, not in the shadows, but in a spot chosen for optimum exposure to the sun, and coincidentally, to the eye. Not a thread covered his body. The very picture of a heathen shamelessly worshipping his god, lying on the altar of the sun, naked, dark limbs spread to not miss a single one of his rays.
So utterly relaxed and at peace, his body stretched out on deck effortlessly and smooth, so unlike the haunted, broken creature he had been when they left England, had been since Mahon. It warmed Jack’s heart in a way no amount of sunshine ever could. And it warmed another part of his body even more effectively.
Stephen lay on deck supine, limbs almost spread angled, unintentionally, innocently submissive and inviting, open. His short, dark hair tousled in wet spikes that begged to be smoothed, begged to be mussed up even more. He almost seemed to be sleeping, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling slowly, no hitch in his breathing indicating he noticed the men moving noisily around him, the only movement a constant back and forth of one finger, a small movement, rubbing over the hot wood of the deck, following the grain, caressing, tenderly, sensually, a cares Jack could almost feel on -
He swallowed, his mouth almost painfully dry, pulled his eye off the resting figure of his friend, and willed the heat raising from between his legs to subside.
The heat and the sun helped Stephen with the aches and pulls he carried in his joints, the ones Jack heard every morning in Stephen’s groans when he laboured to rise from the cot, saw in the halting, jerking movements when he struggled to put on his clothes. He would gladly take these pains upon himself and suffer hem in his friend’s stead, but that he could not do. What he could do was to ignore decorum and the dignity of a ship of the Royal Navy, and grant Stephen this simple remedy. The men knew their doctor to be an odd bird and accepted his eccentricities, and Jack saw the way his friend benefited from what he had called the sun’s healing powers in every twist of his hands…
One of which was now not resting on deck anymore, but lazily trailing up and down one side of his stomach, over the brown skin, sliding smoothly through the sweat glistening on it, making Stephen’s whole body gleaming in the sun, most deliciously, inviting to be licked, up went the hand, ghosting over a dark, hardened nipple, down again, past his navel, slowly following the line of sparse hair that -
“Are you quite alright, Jack? You look flushed.”
Jack blinked, and found himself standing next to Stephen, his shadow cast over his face, Stephen looking up at him. He tried to swallow, but found his mouth too dry.
“Oh, it’s nothing, Stephen, do not worry.”
“Are you sure? You do look rather hot. Maybe you should go and sit in the shadow for a moment or two, your English constitution is not suited to this weather. And, I beg you, brother, drink something. Water, not coffee or grog. If you do not rehydrate properly, the sun can become quite dangerous.”
He closed his eyes again, one hand now lying still on his chest, the other on deck, that finger still rubbing the grain, ever so slowly.
Jack Aubrey eventually managed to swallow. Then he turned and found some shade to slump under and not move from until dusk.
His eyes kept seeking out the figure lying on deck in the sun.
*waits* *waits some more* ... Fine. Here you go.
Title: Sunshine
Pairing, Characters: Jack/Stephen
Rating: PG - Nothing explicit, but definite lusting
Spoilers: HMS Surprise
Disclaimer: Not mine, never has been, never will be.
Length: 959 words
Status: One-shot, possibility of a sequel should the muse strike
Summary: Jack is hot. And it’s not only because of the sun.
Author's Note: Written for my flist, several days ago during a burst of early summer, and originally posted at my fic journal, here.
As always, not beta'd.
EDIT: Now with sequel, here!
Sunshine
Jack Aubrey didn’t even blink as another drop of sweat started its voyage down his scalp, his usually bright, curly hair had turned into warm, heavy strands that seemed to block any breeze more effective than his hat ever could hours ago. It passed his hairline and trickled down his already glistening temple, down his cheek. He turned his face into the wind, felt it push and pull at his skin, cooling the bead now trailing down his neck. Still though the breeze, refreshing as it felt on his hot skin, wasn’t strong enough to dry his skin, evaporate the drop before it reached the sodden collar of his shirt, adding another bit of sweltering wetness to the once-airy garment plastered to his chest, to his back. More sweat ran down his body in hot rivulets, the cloth of the shirt, light enough most times, seemingly, cruelly, impenetrable to the breeze, blanketing him. Sweat soaked into his breeches, causing them to cling most uncomfortably. His feet swam in his shoes, little squelching noises accompanying each of his steps as he restlessly paced the deck.
The Surprise was burning under the Mediterranean sun, her sailors cooking in their clothes, the heat leeching all live out of them, leaving them listless and lethargic.
It was not this heat though which was troubling Jack. Yes, he was afflicted by it same as everybody else - sadly his rank didn’t protect him from such incommodiousness, but he had learned to bear the elements stoically, to ignore sun, rain and ice and concentrate on his duty. He had never learned to stand on deck and ignore this kind of heat, though. The one that made him want to burst into action, to rush towards it and do something about it, bury himself in it.
Jack Aubrey did not yearn for some shade to slump under and not move from until dusk.
What he yearned for was lying on deck, in the one corner he carefully avoided in his pacing, the same corner that kept drawing his eyes to it, again and again and again.
There on deck lay Stephen.
Not by the side, not in the shadows, but in a spot chosen for optimum exposure to the sun, and coincidentally, to the eye. Not a thread covered his body. The very picture of a heathen shamelessly worshipping his god, lying on the altar of the sun, naked, dark limbs spread to not miss a single one of his rays.
So utterly relaxed and at peace, his body stretched out on deck effortlessly and smooth, so unlike the haunted, broken creature he had been when they left England, had been since Mahon. It warmed Jack’s heart in a way no amount of sunshine ever could. And it warmed another part of his body even more effectively.
Stephen lay on deck supine, limbs almost spread angled, unintentionally, innocently submissive and inviting, open. His short, dark hair tousled in wet spikes that begged to be smoothed, begged to be mussed up even more. He almost seemed to be sleeping, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling slowly, no hitch in his breathing indicating he noticed the men moving noisily around him, the only movement a constant back and forth of one finger, a small movement, rubbing over the hot wood of the deck, following the grain, caressing, tenderly, sensually, a cares Jack could almost feel on -
He swallowed, his mouth almost painfully dry, pulled his eye off the resting figure of his friend, and willed the heat raising from between his legs to subside.
The heat and the sun helped Stephen with the aches and pulls he carried in his joints, the ones Jack heard every morning in Stephen’s groans when he laboured to rise from the cot, saw in the halting, jerking movements when he struggled to put on his clothes. He would gladly take these pains upon himself and suffer hem in his friend’s stead, but that he could not do. What he could do was to ignore decorum and the dignity of a ship of the Royal Navy, and grant Stephen this simple remedy. The men knew their doctor to be an odd bird and accepted his eccentricities, and Jack saw the way his friend benefited from what he had called the sun’s healing powers in every twist of his hands…
One of which was now not resting on deck anymore, but lazily trailing up and down one side of his stomach, over the brown skin, sliding smoothly through the sweat glistening on it, making Stephen’s whole body gleaming in the sun, most deliciously, inviting to be licked, up went the hand, ghosting over a dark, hardened nipple, down again, past his navel, slowly following the line of sparse hair that -
“Are you quite alright, Jack? You look flushed.”
Jack blinked, and found himself standing next to Stephen, his shadow cast over his face, Stephen looking up at him. He tried to swallow, but found his mouth too dry.
“Oh, it’s nothing, Stephen, do not worry.”
“Are you sure? You do look rather hot. Maybe you should go and sit in the shadow for a moment or two, your English constitution is not suited to this weather. And, I beg you, brother, drink something. Water, not coffee or grog. If you do not rehydrate properly, the sun can become quite dangerous.”
He closed his eyes again, one hand now lying still on his chest, the other on deck, that finger still rubbing the grain, ever so slowly.
Jack Aubrey eventually managed to swallow. Then he turned and found some shade to slump under and not move from until dusk.
His eyes kept seeking out the figure lying on deck in the sun.