Hornblower Fic: A Few Glorious Seconds
Plot bunnies ahoy! I've had this idea since last night, but despite the fact that I don't really had time to write fic I had to write this to the detriment of Genetics.
This is my first slash story, so please be gentle. =)
TITLE: A Few Glorious Seconds
WORD COUNT: 500
PAIRING: Hornblower/Bush
RATING: R, Slash
SPOILERS: Flying Colours
DISCLAIMER: Hornblower belongs to CS Forester. This is purely for my own enjoyable and I do not derive any profit from it whatsoever.
NOTES: Not beta'd, so forgive any grammatical errors please! I've always wanted to write a piece on the consequences of events in Flying Colours (which Bush fan doesn't have their own "version"?) and so this is mine. We all know how good Hornblower is at maintaining a blank mask and hiding his emotions, but in Flying Colours he is not the only one with demons.
***
He is asleep.
Bush knows it, had felt how the rhythm of Hornblower’s hot breath caressing the base of his neck had changed from the erratic and the desperate to a steady throb that sent shivers down his spine. Not unlike detecting the subtle changes in the wind by wrapping a firm hand around a backstay. Feeling the pressure. The vibration.
The warmth. Hornblower’s angular body wrapped protectively against his own, every curve, every plane fitting snugly. The fire in the grate still burnt, but with a reduced passion, thus allowing the December chills to creep into the room. Despite this, his woollen blanket only covered their entangled bodies up to the chest where it fluttered almost imperceptibly with their every breath.
He wonders why Hornblower did not leave tonight, as he does every other night, hence ensuring that their engagement remains wrapped in a canvas of secrecy. But Bush was not stupid. He knew where his Captain went afterwards, knew that he another bed warmer. Someone prettier and softer. Someone who knows how to love and be tender. Someone not deformed by the ugly scars of war. Someone whole.
But tonight was different. For the first time in many long nights Bush found himself filling his lungs with Hornblower’s scent; a scent mixed with the musky remnants of their exertions. Found himself enjoying the comfort that only another body can bring. Found that despite having fallen asleep, Hornblower’s fingers were still entwined in his as at the moment of their climaxes.
Bush shifted his hip slightly and Hornblower murmured softly in response, his sleeping face creasing into a frown. That was another thing. Usually, Bush knew, it was Hornblower who had difficultly sleeping. It was Hornblower who often had to deal with insomnia, seasickness and a myriad of conflicting thoughts that precipitated his famous moods. He, however, could sleep at a drop of a hat.
So when came the first night of sleeplessness, he had briefly wondered what the problem was before laughing at himself and at his stupidity. The worst thing was that the pain and the doubts didn’t leave with the passing of the night. It shadowed him in the rooms of the house and followed him to the barn where he and Brown worked on the boat. At night, after dinner, it settles by his ear during Hornblower’s torturous evenings games, whispering cloyingly.
His eyes sought out the crude wooden appendage lying on the floor just within reach, discarded at the height of their fervour. The rough wooden grains along its length stood out in the dim amber light, ugly and misshapen. He shudders, seeing his fate engraved in those lines. How ironic that having worked with timber all his life and knowing their secrets intimately, it has now become an undeniable extension of himself.
Bush realised a while ago that he really doesn’t mind that Hornblower had left him every night for a woman. For, these brief moments of intimacy that his Captain had wanted to share with him were more than enough to wipe out all the agony. And for a few glorious seconds, he can pretend that all is right with his world.