Hornblower fic
Title: Besoin
Pairing: WB/OC, HH/WB
Rating: R
Notes: The blame the idea behind this fic is thanks to the ever wonderful quigonejinn. Many thanks and hugs and kisses to quietcontrary and quigonejinn for their beta. French lines are translated at the end of the fic. Any mistakes are my own. Strangely, they don't teach dirty French words and phrases in class.
On their last night of leave in Kingston, Bush had managed to get them thrown out of nearly every alehouse in the town. Hornblower had followed him from one establishment to the next, more than half drunk himself but not nearly as inclined to fight or pinch the barmaids.
And then Bush had dragged Hornblower into a pricey whorehouse that rarely saw the likes of sailors such as themselves. It was their last leave ‘til God-knew-when, Bush had said, and he intended to spend the last of his pounds in a respectable whorehouse. And then he had laughed at the irony in the way only a drunken man could.
Bush had immediately latched on to a French girl who he claimed was “saucy and pretty and didn’t know a word of English which made her all the better”. Hornblower was too drunk to know or care why he had followed the pair up the steps into a room complete with a bed, armchair, and a small fireplace.
The girl had looked coyly at both men, thinking they wanted to have fun all together, but then had laughed and shrugged when Hornblower shook his head and crossed his arms. She had turned towards Bush with a wicked grin and he returned it as she pushed off his jacket.
And so that was how it had come to be that Hornblower stood against one wall and Bush sat in the armchair with a lapful of French whore.
Bush sat now, his hands dangling over the arms of the chair. In the flurry of motion that had encompassed their movement to the chair, the whore had managed to remove her bodice. She was sitting, legs on either side of Bush, in a tangle of petticoats and stockings, naked from the waist up.
The girl spoke, reaching for the knots of cloth at Bush’s throat. “Je voudrais vous voir nu.”
“What’d she say, Hornblower?” Bush growled, watching the whore with fascinated eyes.
Hornblower started from the wall he had been leaning against and stared at the scene before him. It seemed an obscene request for Bush, whose trousers were currently around his knees, to make. Yet, as Hornblower watched the girl unbutton Bush’s shirt and begin to rock in a slow rhythm, he found his head whirling around the French.
“She…she said she wants to see you…” He paused and hesitated over the last word. He felt his mouth go very dry. “Naked.”
Bush laughed low and deep, clearly amused by the French girl’s forwardness. Bush’s shirt was now open at the neck and the girl had put her hands through to caress his chest. Bush gasped, his chest rising to meet her hands that traced circles on his torso. She quirked a smile, biting her lip as she spoke again.
“Again, Hornblower. What was that?” Bush asked without turning his gaze from the bouncing breasts before him.
Hornblower hesitated a moment. It seemed so very odd, even in his alcohol-tinted thoughts, to play interpreter in such a situation. Yet, there was Bush, languid and being fucked, his eyes glazed and half lidded. And here was Hornblower taking a step forward.
“She says she likes your chest. Big. Strong and broad.”
Bush only nodded his understanding and rocked a bit with the girl. She moved faster, shaking her hair from her shoulders and muttering something in low French.
“She wants to feel you…feel you deeper in…”
Hornblower shook his head. He didn’t understand the last phrase. Clearly, his French tutor had not taught him everything about the language.
Bush made a noise that sounded like he was trying to laugh.. Some things needed no interpretation. With a low growl, Bush’s head fell back against the chair. His eyes closed a moment and the girl began to moan and gasp out words.
“She likes your…”
Hornblower shrugged.
“She wants you to touch her…her…”
The fact that Hornblower could no longer understand the whore’s moanings didn’t frustrate Hornblower as it normally would. For there was Bush with his head thrown back. His white shirt was damp with sweat and clung to his heaving chest as his breath came in raspy, labored gasps.
Bush was too enchanted by the way the girl’s skin shone in the firelight to notice that Hornblower was staring. And that he had swallowed very carefully and taken another step forward.
“She likes your prick in her. It’s hot and hard and…”
Bush’s skin was glistening with his exertion. The muscles of his stomach, just barely visible amongst the flurry of petticoats, twitched and quivered as Bush thrust himself harder into the girl.
Hornblower stalked closer, bending at one point to pick up Bush’s jacket to clasp it to his chest. The long white fingers of one hand curled around the collar; the other hand pressed the jacket somewhere near his abdomen.
He continued to speak, even though at times the girl’s sounds had dissolved into nothing more than throaty moans.
“…touch all over. Your strong, callused hands over the skin with soft strokes.”
Hornblower inhaled sharply, realizing his own breath had become labored.
At some point, Bush had turned his gaze from the whore and now his pale blue eyes were locked with Hornblower’s. His head was pressed back into the wing of the chair, his mouth slack and panting.
“You’ll never find anything like this. Never again. You can travel to the far reaches of the world and never be more happy, more hard and aching than you are at this moment. Remember that.”
Hornblower’s breath caught in his throat. Bush had squeezed his eyes shut for a moment; his teeth chewed at his bottom lip. When Bush opened his eyes again he began moving his hips faster and the girl cried out, her back arching in the firelight.
Blue eyes met brown and Hornblower clasped the jacket all the more closer. The whore was still moving, and spoke again in a husky voice. Hornblower swallowed and twisted his fingers in the wool of the jacket before speaking.
“That’s right. Faster, just like that. Your prick is so hard now you can hardly keep yourself. ”
Bush growled deep in his throat and Hornblower had to swallow back a sound of his own. He staggered back and steadied himself against a post of the large four-poster bed.
“Dieu!” The exclamation from the whore made Bush pant and arch against the chair until his hipbones caught the light and the girl had to grasp the back of the chair to keep from falling from Bush’s lap.
“Christ, yes…” Bush gasped as his eyelids fluttered against his flushed cheeks. With a shuddering cry, he came as his muscles first tensed and then relaxed back into the chair.
Hornblower collapsed against the bedpost, felt a wetness spread through his breeches. The girl rode Bush for a moment longer, licking her lips in a gaudy sign of pleasure. Bush’s chest was heaving from air; he raised his gaze slightly to catch Hornblower’s again. After a long silence, the girl eased off Bush with a lingering kiss, then collected her few things as if she were treading around a house with a sleeping baby. She stood, eyed the two officers for a moment.
“Je vois que les deux officiers n’avaient pas besoin de moi.”
She smiled a funny smile that Hornblower didn’t see. His eyes still held Bush’s and his fingers still clutched the jacket as the girl huffed a laugh and left the room.
He didn’t need to translate her last words.
Translations:
Besoin = Need
Je voudrais vous voir nu. = I'd like to see you naked.
Je vois que les deux officiers n’avaient pas besoin de moi. = I see that the two officers had no need of me.
Pairing: WB/OC, HH/WB
Rating: R
Notes: The blame the idea behind this fic is thanks to the ever wonderful quigonejinn. Many thanks and hugs and kisses to quietcontrary and quigonejinn for their beta. French lines are translated at the end of the fic. Any mistakes are my own. Strangely, they don't teach dirty French words and phrases in class.
On their last night of leave in Kingston, Bush had managed to get them thrown out of nearly every alehouse in the town. Hornblower had followed him from one establishment to the next, more than half drunk himself but not nearly as inclined to fight or pinch the barmaids.
And then Bush had dragged Hornblower into a pricey whorehouse that rarely saw the likes of sailors such as themselves. It was their last leave ‘til God-knew-when, Bush had said, and he intended to spend the last of his pounds in a respectable whorehouse. And then he had laughed at the irony in the way only a drunken man could.
Bush had immediately latched on to a French girl who he claimed was “saucy and pretty and didn’t know a word of English which made her all the better”. Hornblower was too drunk to know or care why he had followed the pair up the steps into a room complete with a bed, armchair, and a small fireplace.
The girl had looked coyly at both men, thinking they wanted to have fun all together, but then had laughed and shrugged when Hornblower shook his head and crossed his arms. She had turned towards Bush with a wicked grin and he returned it as she pushed off his jacket.
And so that was how it had come to be that Hornblower stood against one wall and Bush sat in the armchair with a lapful of French whore.
Bush sat now, his hands dangling over the arms of the chair. In the flurry of motion that had encompassed their movement to the chair, the whore had managed to remove her bodice. She was sitting, legs on either side of Bush, in a tangle of petticoats and stockings, naked from the waist up.
The girl spoke, reaching for the knots of cloth at Bush’s throat. “Je voudrais vous voir nu.”
“What’d she say, Hornblower?” Bush growled, watching the whore with fascinated eyes.
Hornblower started from the wall he had been leaning against and stared at the scene before him. It seemed an obscene request for Bush, whose trousers were currently around his knees, to make. Yet, as Hornblower watched the girl unbutton Bush’s shirt and begin to rock in a slow rhythm, he found his head whirling around the French.
“She…she said she wants to see you…” He paused and hesitated over the last word. He felt his mouth go very dry. “Naked.”
Bush laughed low and deep, clearly amused by the French girl’s forwardness. Bush’s shirt was now open at the neck and the girl had put her hands through to caress his chest. Bush gasped, his chest rising to meet her hands that traced circles on his torso. She quirked a smile, biting her lip as she spoke again.
“Again, Hornblower. What was that?” Bush asked without turning his gaze from the bouncing breasts before him.
Hornblower hesitated a moment. It seemed so very odd, even in his alcohol-tinted thoughts, to play interpreter in such a situation. Yet, there was Bush, languid and being fucked, his eyes glazed and half lidded. And here was Hornblower taking a step forward.
“She says she likes your chest. Big. Strong and broad.”
Bush only nodded his understanding and rocked a bit with the girl. She moved faster, shaking her hair from her shoulders and muttering something in low French.
“She wants to feel you…feel you deeper in…”
Hornblower shook his head. He didn’t understand the last phrase. Clearly, his French tutor had not taught him everything about the language.
Bush made a noise that sounded like he was trying to laugh.. Some things needed no interpretation. With a low growl, Bush’s head fell back against the chair. His eyes closed a moment and the girl began to moan and gasp out words.
“She likes your…”
Hornblower shrugged.
“She wants you to touch her…her…”
The fact that Hornblower could no longer understand the whore’s moanings didn’t frustrate Hornblower as it normally would. For there was Bush with his head thrown back. His white shirt was damp with sweat and clung to his heaving chest as his breath came in raspy, labored gasps.
Bush was too enchanted by the way the girl’s skin shone in the firelight to notice that Hornblower was staring. And that he had swallowed very carefully and taken another step forward.
“She likes your prick in her. It’s hot and hard and…”
Bush’s skin was glistening with his exertion. The muscles of his stomach, just barely visible amongst the flurry of petticoats, twitched and quivered as Bush thrust himself harder into the girl.
Hornblower stalked closer, bending at one point to pick up Bush’s jacket to clasp it to his chest. The long white fingers of one hand curled around the collar; the other hand pressed the jacket somewhere near his abdomen.
He continued to speak, even though at times the girl’s sounds had dissolved into nothing more than throaty moans.
“…touch all over. Your strong, callused hands over the skin with soft strokes.”
Hornblower inhaled sharply, realizing his own breath had become labored.
At some point, Bush had turned his gaze from the whore and now his pale blue eyes were locked with Hornblower’s. His head was pressed back into the wing of the chair, his mouth slack and panting.
“You’ll never find anything like this. Never again. You can travel to the far reaches of the world and never be more happy, more hard and aching than you are at this moment. Remember that.”
Hornblower’s breath caught in his throat. Bush had squeezed his eyes shut for a moment; his teeth chewed at his bottom lip. When Bush opened his eyes again he began moving his hips faster and the girl cried out, her back arching in the firelight.
Blue eyes met brown and Hornblower clasped the jacket all the more closer. The whore was still moving, and spoke again in a husky voice. Hornblower swallowed and twisted his fingers in the wool of the jacket before speaking.
“That’s right. Faster, just like that. Your prick is so hard now you can hardly keep yourself. ”
Bush growled deep in his throat and Hornblower had to swallow back a sound of his own. He staggered back and steadied himself against a post of the large four-poster bed.
“Dieu!” The exclamation from the whore made Bush pant and arch against the chair until his hipbones caught the light and the girl had to grasp the back of the chair to keep from falling from Bush’s lap.
“Christ, yes…” Bush gasped as his eyelids fluttered against his flushed cheeks. With a shuddering cry, he came as his muscles first tensed and then relaxed back into the chair.
Hornblower collapsed against the bedpost, felt a wetness spread through his breeches. The girl rode Bush for a moment longer, licking her lips in a gaudy sign of pleasure. Bush’s chest was heaving from air; he raised his gaze slightly to catch Hornblower’s again. After a long silence, the girl eased off Bush with a lingering kiss, then collected her few things as if she were treading around a house with a sleeping baby. She stood, eyed the two officers for a moment.
“Je vois que les deux officiers n’avaient pas besoin de moi.”
She smiled a funny smile that Hornblower didn’t see. His eyes still held Bush’s and his fingers still clutched the jacket as the girl huffed a laugh and left the room.
He didn’t need to translate her last words.
Translations:
Besoin = Need
Je voudrais vous voir nu. = I'd like to see you naked.
Je vois que les deux officiers n’avaient pas besoin de moi. = I see that the two officers had no need of me.