Advent Calendar Day 18: Fiction--The Eye of the Beholder
TITLE: The Eye of the Beholder
AUTHOR: Ashley-Pitt
GENRE: Slash
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: 432
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters, nor am I making any money from them. I borrow them once in awhile, but put them away tidily.
A/N: This is my first attempt at a Jack/Stephen story. I hope I do them justice.
Sleep would not come to Stephen this night. As with most nights. But tonight he dare not take his draught.
For Jack had said that soon after dawn they would overtake the enemy frigate. Stephen knew that if he were to drink it now, he would be wool-headed and thick fingered when the wounded arrived in his sickbay.
No, he thought better to be exhausted than inept.
He lay for a bit longer, mentally dissecting every beetle he had ever met.
Finally, he sighed and got up from his bed. Perhaps staring out the stern gallery windows at the phosphorescent wake would entice Morpheus to visit him.
He padded softly across the cabin. Just then Jack gave a mighty snore.
In the dim lantern light, he could see Jack in his bunk.
Stephen moved closer. Jack slept with the wild abandon of a child; dead to the world, arms and legs sprawled.
Stephen noted with clinical pleasure the only slightly paunchy belly and the still muscular thighs.
Jack's hair, unclubbed for sleep, framed his head like a golden mane.
Or a halo, thought Stephen. This antithetic thought caused him to croak his odd laugh.
Jack’s eyes opened and he fixed them on his friend.
“Brother what is it? Are you ill?” For even in his deep sleep, Jack had perceived no change in the wind or alteration in course.
“ I am sorry Jack. I could not sleep. I was going to the window to gaze at the water. I stopped to look at you.”
“Oh, did you collect something amiss?”
“No, on the contrary, I find your body to be quite beautiful, from a medical and naturalist's point of view.”
“Ain’t I a work of art?”
“Sure, you are no lissome David; perhaps more of a Rubens.”
“A Rubens all splintered and holed by cannon shot?”
Stephen moved closer and gently placed his fingers on the puckered scar on Jack’s thigh.
“This wound has healed well. These scars tell the story of your life, Jack. Never to be sanded or holystoned away.”
Jack reached down and grasped Stephen’s hand. He moved it to his lips. Turning it over, he kissed the palm and said, “I find you beautiful also.”
“Deck there!” a sudden call from above broke the moment. “Enemy frigate off the larboard bow.”
Jack sprang to his feet. “Damn, he is early.”
Hastily he pulled on his old uniform and buckled on his sword. He strode across the cabin.
Stopping at the door, he turned and with a gleam in his eye said, “We will continue our discussion of Art later, Doctor.”
AUTHOR: Ashley-Pitt
GENRE: Slash
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: 432
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters, nor am I making any money from them. I borrow them once in awhile, but put them away tidily.
A/N: This is my first attempt at a Jack/Stephen story. I hope I do them justice.
Sleep would not come to Stephen this night. As with most nights. But tonight he dare not take his draught.
For Jack had said that soon after dawn they would overtake the enemy frigate. Stephen knew that if he were to drink it now, he would be wool-headed and thick fingered when the wounded arrived in his sickbay.
No, he thought better to be exhausted than inept.
He lay for a bit longer, mentally dissecting every beetle he had ever met.
Finally, he sighed and got up from his bed. Perhaps staring out the stern gallery windows at the phosphorescent wake would entice Morpheus to visit him.
He padded softly across the cabin. Just then Jack gave a mighty snore.
In the dim lantern light, he could see Jack in his bunk.
Stephen moved closer. Jack slept with the wild abandon of a child; dead to the world, arms and legs sprawled.
Stephen noted with clinical pleasure the only slightly paunchy belly and the still muscular thighs.
Jack's hair, unclubbed for sleep, framed his head like a golden mane.
Or a halo, thought Stephen. This antithetic thought caused him to croak his odd laugh.
Jack’s eyes opened and he fixed them on his friend.
“Brother what is it? Are you ill?” For even in his deep sleep, Jack had perceived no change in the wind or alteration in course.
“ I am sorry Jack. I could not sleep. I was going to the window to gaze at the water. I stopped to look at you.”
“Oh, did you collect something amiss?”
“No, on the contrary, I find your body to be quite beautiful, from a medical and naturalist's point of view.”
“Ain’t I a work of art?”
“Sure, you are no lissome David; perhaps more of a Rubens.”
“A Rubens all splintered and holed by cannon shot?”
Stephen moved closer and gently placed his fingers on the puckered scar on Jack’s thigh.
“This wound has healed well. These scars tell the story of your life, Jack. Never to be sanded or holystoned away.”
Jack reached down and grasped Stephen’s hand. He moved it to his lips. Turning it over, he kissed the palm and said, “I find you beautiful also.”
“Deck there!” a sudden call from above broke the moment. “Enemy frigate off the larboard bow.”
Jack sprang to his feet. “Damn, he is early.”
Hastily he pulled on his old uniform and buckled on his sword. He strode across the cabin.
Stopping at the door, he turned and with a gleam in his eye said, “We will continue our discussion of Art later, Doctor.”