MandC: Sunshine II
Title: Sunshine II
Author: thedeepeekay
Fandom: MandC
Pairing, Characters: Jack/Stephen
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: HMS Surprise
Disclaimer: Not mine, never has been, never will be.
Length: 1908 words
Status: One-shot, sequel to Sunshine here or here.
Summary: Dusk. It is finally getting cooler. Isn't it?
Author's Note: Written for latin_cat's birthday.
No sailors of the Royal Navy were teased or seduced while researching this ficlet (damn). There was topless sunbathing on deck of a ship boat little ship, though.
As always, not beta'd. Even more, I fled the scene of my crime as soon as I was done, so I didn't even reread it myself.
Additional comment: Ohgodohgodohgodohgod kill me now.
Written: September 2009
Crossposted to:perfect_duet, here.
Sunshine II
The sun had sunken into the sea, seemingly drowning in punishment of the ordeal he had put Surprise through that day. Everybody, from the youngest powder monkey to the captain himself, had exhaled in relief as night had fallen. That had been hours ago, though, and even if the world wasn't burning anymore under the rays that had the ship drip tar as the men dripped sweat, the hot, humid air did not bring any respite.
Thus, even though the day had seen no action, Jack Aubrey sat worn under the open windows of the stern gallery, desperate for even the lightest breeze. The small flame of the single candle he had lightened and whose heat felt like that of a roaring fire to him was not bright enough to reveal the darkness of his sodden shirt, still drenched in sweat from the day, the same sweat still in never drying beads on his face. His violin lay on the bench beside him, unused; his slick fingers would not have found purchase on the smooth wood had he the strength to pick it up.
He plucked at his shirt listlessly, wincing as it clung to his skin, yearning to be rid of the offending garment, but lacking the energy to struggle out of it after barely managing to take off his shoes and stockings, as the ship's doctor entered their cabin after a last visit to the sickbay before retiring, looking more comfortable than any man had a right to after a day such as this, and, for once, with his clothes in a better state that the captain's.
"I do not know how you do it, Stephen." He heaved a sigh, the air he drew in by no means cooler than that he expelled, leaving him with the curious and unpleasant impression of not breathing at all.
"Do what, joy? Writing?" The smaller man looked up from where he was already bent over his papers, notes on some beast or the other no doubt, a good-humoured gleam in his eyes. "I do find it quite easy, one I have taken proper hold of the quill. See," he dunked the quill into the ink well in a flourish of a movement and then proceeded to scribble away at a speed that had Jack smiling despite himself. Not too long ago he thought these hands would never hold a quill again.
"Now, Stephen, those chicken scratches of yours are hardly to be called writing!" The opportunities to joke with his friend were still too rare to let even one of them pass without grasping it, no matter his mood. "No, 'tis the heat I am talking about. I know that you thrive in weather that has any Englishman groan, but this blasted heat, it leeches all strength right out of the men until they can do ought but sit and sweat. And you even seek out the sun! I would not have been surprised had your blood started to boil in your veins today while you were laying on deck." He sighed again and plucked at his shirt, plucking it from his skin with a sucking sound, only to have the cloth fall heavily back onto his chest as he let go of it.
Stephen had stopped in his writings and looked at Jack, his mouth opening as if to answer. Then that look in his eyes intensified and changed, and he deliberately let his gaze wander over Jack, his body slumped on the bench, his clothes clinging to his skin, his face wet, his trademark locks drooping. Then he smiled and stepped up to Jack. "Oh, that too, brother, is quite easy if one is doing it properly."
"You see, the trick is to not fight the heat, but to just go with it." He pulled at the taller man, until Jack followed his urging and stood.
"You lock yourself into your clothes all day like a hothouse, it is no wonder the wind cannot cool you." Stephen's hands found the hem of Jack's shirt, pushing the clinging garment up, peeling it off his body, over his chest, without all but the barest touches of skin on skin. He urged him to raise his arms and pulled the shirt off completely, letting it fall to the floor and crumble in a wet heap.
"Do you know why we sweat, Jack?" He leaned closer, raised his head, and almost whispered into Jack's ear, "we sweat to cool ourselves. Perspiration may be caused by the odd emotionally connected condition, like nervousness, or arousal," Jack could feel his smile at this, even if he could not see it, "but its primal purpose is to evaporate and thus cool us." The doctor's breath puffed against his cheek, hot and humid as the air around them, but Jack could not help but shudder. "You see, you are cooler already."
The smaller man stood back again, the teasing in his voice almost hidden. "Ergo, it is not only the sun I expose myself to," he bent down and started to dispose of his own clothing, shoes, stockings, breeches piling up around his feet where he dropped them, "it is the wind. The breeze evaporates the sweat on my skin."
Then the whisper was back, and Jack could only stare, his hands clenching and unclenching, as Stephen reached out and undid his breeches.
"Imagine, the wind brushing over every inch of your body in a cool caress, lapping at your skin in feathery kisses."
Stephen pulled down the garment and then slowly raised his hands again, ghosting up his legs, and by God, how could those fingers could be cool to the touch in this heat, how could the skin they touched burn so hotly? He gasped as Stephen clasped his hips, his hands seemingly freezing and searing Jack, then he abruptly stood up again. The smaller man's face remained lowered, but Jack caught him flicking a glance upwards, as if to gauge his reaction. What a wretched picture he must present, red and hot, barely clinging to composure, but damn him if the flickering candle light didn't make Stephen look even more a golden heathen than he had looked laying in the sun that day, spread out on deck, limbs -
He gasped as an unexpected hand brushed his prick, the touch sudden and light and almost immediately gone again, but enough to leave him half-hard.
"Kisses too light to properly embarrass you," another quick look out of eyes that for once looked dark, bottomless, and everything but cold, "but enough to tease your nipples into hard nubs."
Stephen then trailed a line across his chest, hot, wet kisses and barely-there flicks of tongue, his hot breath cool on the wet skin, the soft flesh at the line's starting and endpoint indeed hardening under his ministrations and leaving Jack shuddering. Stephen's fingers, still cold on his hips, started to move towards the erection now growing steadily between his legs.
A loud groan from Jack surprised both of them. Stephen's startled exhale on his sensitive flesh proved to his embarrassment enough to make his legs buckle, causing the cold, wonderful fingers to move back to his hips to steady him and the hot, equally wonderful mouth to pull back, turn to the side, and erupt in laughter, that amusement still present.
"And this is why you should lay down once you have taken your clothes off."
There was also a definite tone of smugness in his voice, and even though he didn't trust himself with one of his usual witty comebacks, Jack decided he had stood there passively for long enough. He found and held Stephen's eyes as locked his own fingers around Stephen's wrists, holding him in place as he himself sat back down on the bench. Then he pulled him closer, the other man shuffling awkwardly with his clothes still bunched around his feet, until he stood between Jack's spread legs. Jack leaned back, letting go of his wrists (and, planning ahead, pushed the violin further away). Then he raised his eyebrows questioningly.
Stephen swallowed. Then he bent down and, leaving Jack confused, fumbled through his discarded clothing. Soon though he looked up again, raised his eyebrows in turn, and uncorked the familiar small vial now in his hand.
Jack swallowed.
Stephen stood again, leaning forward, their mouths barely an inch apart.
"Now, Jack," Stephen might have smirked, but he was too close for Jack to be sure, his breath warm on Jack's lips causing him to tremble as he spoke, "you know how I do it." With that he closed the distance and pressed his lips on Jack's, who was surprised to find his own mouth already open, but decided to take advantage of this. He pushed his tongue into Stephen's mouth, forceful, as if he were invading it, remembering how Stephen had once likened the way he kissed to how he fought. As Stephen welcomed him in, tongues mingling, revelling in the taste of each other, he again thought that this prize was the sweeter one by far.
He gasped into Stephen's mouth as cool, slick fingers found the hot flesh rigid against his stomach, felt his breath quicken in response to the touch. His own hands found the other's body, the skin still cool compared to Jack's own, but flushed and wet with sweat now as well. He moved his hands over the chest, stroking over the two small, hard nipples, and now it was Stephen groaning into his mouth, the hands around his prick halting, squeezing deliciously. Roamed down the sides of the lean body. Cupped the firm buttocks, squeezing, kneading, and, as Stephen conceded and broke the kiss to draw breath, turning his head to the side, he pulled the other on his lap. For a moment they sat like that, Jack on the bench, Stephen on his thighs, bodies pressed flush against each other, feeling the other's chest heave with each rapid breath, Stephen's skin still strangely cool against Jack's except for where their erections lay nestled between their bodies.
Then the candle, forgotten, sizzled and went out.
Suddenly, frantically, they pushed and pulled at each other, hands everywhere, moving bodies and humid breath, to slacken only as Stephen finally, blissfully, torturously slowly began to lower himself onto Jack, his own erection hot and leaking between their bodies, Jack's hand on it now stilled. Eventually all of him was engulfed and, with a low grunt, he began to move, in rhythmic ups and downs ever faster and faster, stirring Jack's hand on his prick back into action, the other on his back, pulling him closer again and again in time with his thrusts, his own hands roaming and petting and stroking over the broad chest, hearts racing, breaths hitching, closer, harder, faster, until Stephen's head fell back, his body convulsing around Jack's, the hand on his arched back all that kept him from falling, then pulling the slumping figure close as Jack peaked, driven over the edge by the jolts in the body around him, his own head hitting a window and rattling the pane with a quiet clink, a long, drawn-out groan accompanying jerking movements.
Then, spent, Jack sagged against the stern windows, Stephen nestled against his chest, both men trying to catch their breath. Unable, unwilling to move.
Strangely, even though Stephen was now as hot and sticky as him, the heat didn't bother Jack anymore.
Author: thedeepeekay
Fandom: MandC
Pairing, Characters: Jack/Stephen
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: HMS Surprise
Disclaimer: Not mine, never has been, never will be.
Length: 1908 words
Status: One-shot, sequel to Sunshine here or here.
Summary: Dusk. It is finally getting cooler. Isn't it?
Author's Note: Written for latin_cat's birthday.
No sailors of the Royal Navy were teased or seduced while researching this ficlet (damn). There was topless sunbathing on deck of a ship boat little ship, though.
As always, not beta'd. Even more, I fled the scene of my crime as soon as I was done, so I didn't even reread it myself.
Additional comment: Ohgodohgodohgodohgod kill me now.
Written: September 2009
Crossposted to:perfect_duet, here.
Sunshine II
The sun had sunken into the sea, seemingly drowning in punishment of the ordeal he had put Surprise through that day. Everybody, from the youngest powder monkey to the captain himself, had exhaled in relief as night had fallen. That had been hours ago, though, and even if the world wasn't burning anymore under the rays that had the ship drip tar as the men dripped sweat, the hot, humid air did not bring any respite.
Thus, even though the day had seen no action, Jack Aubrey sat worn under the open windows of the stern gallery, desperate for even the lightest breeze. The small flame of the single candle he had lightened and whose heat felt like that of a roaring fire to him was not bright enough to reveal the darkness of his sodden shirt, still drenched in sweat from the day, the same sweat still in never drying beads on his face. His violin lay on the bench beside him, unused; his slick fingers would not have found purchase on the smooth wood had he the strength to pick it up.
He plucked at his shirt listlessly, wincing as it clung to his skin, yearning to be rid of the offending garment, but lacking the energy to struggle out of it after barely managing to take off his shoes and stockings, as the ship's doctor entered their cabin after a last visit to the sickbay before retiring, looking more comfortable than any man had a right to after a day such as this, and, for once, with his clothes in a better state that the captain's.
"I do not know how you do it, Stephen." He heaved a sigh, the air he drew in by no means cooler than that he expelled, leaving him with the curious and unpleasant impression of not breathing at all.
"Do what, joy? Writing?" The smaller man looked up from where he was already bent over his papers, notes on some beast or the other no doubt, a good-humoured gleam in his eyes. "I do find it quite easy, one I have taken proper hold of the quill. See," he dunked the quill into the ink well in a flourish of a movement and then proceeded to scribble away at a speed that had Jack smiling despite himself. Not too long ago he thought these hands would never hold a quill again.
"Now, Stephen, those chicken scratches of yours are hardly to be called writing!" The opportunities to joke with his friend were still too rare to let even one of them pass without grasping it, no matter his mood. "No, 'tis the heat I am talking about. I know that you thrive in weather that has any Englishman groan, but this blasted heat, it leeches all strength right out of the men until they can do ought but sit and sweat. And you even seek out the sun! I would not have been surprised had your blood started to boil in your veins today while you were laying on deck." He sighed again and plucked at his shirt, plucking it from his skin with a sucking sound, only to have the cloth fall heavily back onto his chest as he let go of it.
Stephen had stopped in his writings and looked at Jack, his mouth opening as if to answer. Then that look in his eyes intensified and changed, and he deliberately let his gaze wander over Jack, his body slumped on the bench, his clothes clinging to his skin, his face wet, his trademark locks drooping. Then he smiled and stepped up to Jack. "Oh, that too, brother, is quite easy if one is doing it properly."
"You see, the trick is to not fight the heat, but to just go with it." He pulled at the taller man, until Jack followed his urging and stood.
"You lock yourself into your clothes all day like a hothouse, it is no wonder the wind cannot cool you." Stephen's hands found the hem of Jack's shirt, pushing the clinging garment up, peeling it off his body, over his chest, without all but the barest touches of skin on skin. He urged him to raise his arms and pulled the shirt off completely, letting it fall to the floor and crumble in a wet heap.
"Do you know why we sweat, Jack?" He leaned closer, raised his head, and almost whispered into Jack's ear, "we sweat to cool ourselves. Perspiration may be caused by the odd emotionally connected condition, like nervousness, or arousal," Jack could feel his smile at this, even if he could not see it, "but its primal purpose is to evaporate and thus cool us." The doctor's breath puffed against his cheek, hot and humid as the air around them, but Jack could not help but shudder. "You see, you are cooler already."
The smaller man stood back again, the teasing in his voice almost hidden. "Ergo, it is not only the sun I expose myself to," he bent down and started to dispose of his own clothing, shoes, stockings, breeches piling up around his feet where he dropped them, "it is the wind. The breeze evaporates the sweat on my skin."
Then the whisper was back, and Jack could only stare, his hands clenching and unclenching, as Stephen reached out and undid his breeches.
"Imagine, the wind brushing over every inch of your body in a cool caress, lapping at your skin in feathery kisses."
Stephen pulled down the garment and then slowly raised his hands again, ghosting up his legs, and by God, how could those fingers could be cool to the touch in this heat, how could the skin they touched burn so hotly? He gasped as Stephen clasped his hips, his hands seemingly freezing and searing Jack, then he abruptly stood up again. The smaller man's face remained lowered, but Jack caught him flicking a glance upwards, as if to gauge his reaction. What a wretched picture he must present, red and hot, barely clinging to composure, but damn him if the flickering candle light didn't make Stephen look even more a golden heathen than he had looked laying in the sun that day, spread out on deck, limbs -
He gasped as an unexpected hand brushed his prick, the touch sudden and light and almost immediately gone again, but enough to leave him half-hard.
"Kisses too light to properly embarrass you," another quick look out of eyes that for once looked dark, bottomless, and everything but cold, "but enough to tease your nipples into hard nubs."
Stephen then trailed a line across his chest, hot, wet kisses and barely-there flicks of tongue, his hot breath cool on the wet skin, the soft flesh at the line's starting and endpoint indeed hardening under his ministrations and leaving Jack shuddering. Stephen's fingers, still cold on his hips, started to move towards the erection now growing steadily between his legs.
A loud groan from Jack surprised both of them. Stephen's startled exhale on his sensitive flesh proved to his embarrassment enough to make his legs buckle, causing the cold, wonderful fingers to move back to his hips to steady him and the hot, equally wonderful mouth to pull back, turn to the side, and erupt in laughter, that amusement still present.
"And this is why you should lay down once you have taken your clothes off."
There was also a definite tone of smugness in his voice, and even though he didn't trust himself with one of his usual witty comebacks, Jack decided he had stood there passively for long enough. He found and held Stephen's eyes as locked his own fingers around Stephen's wrists, holding him in place as he himself sat back down on the bench. Then he pulled him closer, the other man shuffling awkwardly with his clothes still bunched around his feet, until he stood between Jack's spread legs. Jack leaned back, letting go of his wrists (and, planning ahead, pushed the violin further away). Then he raised his eyebrows questioningly.
Stephen swallowed. Then he bent down and, leaving Jack confused, fumbled through his discarded clothing. Soon though he looked up again, raised his eyebrows in turn, and uncorked the familiar small vial now in his hand.
Jack swallowed.
Stephen stood again, leaning forward, their mouths barely an inch apart.
"Now, Jack," Stephen might have smirked, but he was too close for Jack to be sure, his breath warm on Jack's lips causing him to tremble as he spoke, "you know how I do it." With that he closed the distance and pressed his lips on Jack's, who was surprised to find his own mouth already open, but decided to take advantage of this. He pushed his tongue into Stephen's mouth, forceful, as if he were invading it, remembering how Stephen had once likened the way he kissed to how he fought. As Stephen welcomed him in, tongues mingling, revelling in the taste of each other, he again thought that this prize was the sweeter one by far.
He gasped into Stephen's mouth as cool, slick fingers found the hot flesh rigid against his stomach, felt his breath quicken in response to the touch. His own hands found the other's body, the skin still cool compared to Jack's own, but flushed and wet with sweat now as well. He moved his hands over the chest, stroking over the two small, hard nipples, and now it was Stephen groaning into his mouth, the hands around his prick halting, squeezing deliciously. Roamed down the sides of the lean body. Cupped the firm buttocks, squeezing, kneading, and, as Stephen conceded and broke the kiss to draw breath, turning his head to the side, he pulled the other on his lap. For a moment they sat like that, Jack on the bench, Stephen on his thighs, bodies pressed flush against each other, feeling the other's chest heave with each rapid breath, Stephen's skin still strangely cool against Jack's except for where their erections lay nestled between their bodies.
Then the candle, forgotten, sizzled and went out.
Suddenly, frantically, they pushed and pulled at each other, hands everywhere, moving bodies and humid breath, to slacken only as Stephen finally, blissfully, torturously slowly began to lower himself onto Jack, his own erection hot and leaking between their bodies, Jack's hand on it now stilled. Eventually all of him was engulfed and, with a low grunt, he began to move, in rhythmic ups and downs ever faster and faster, stirring Jack's hand on his prick back into action, the other on his back, pulling him closer again and again in time with his thrusts, his own hands roaming and petting and stroking over the broad chest, hearts racing, breaths hitching, closer, harder, faster, until Stephen's head fell back, his body convulsing around Jack's, the hand on his arched back all that kept him from falling, then pulling the slumping figure close as Jack peaked, driven over the edge by the jolts in the body around him, his own head hitting a window and rattling the pane with a quiet clink, a long, drawn-out groan accompanying jerking movements.
Then, spent, Jack sagged against the stern windows, Stephen nestled against his chest, both men trying to catch their breath. Unable, unwilling to move.
Strangely, even though Stephen was now as hot and sticky as him, the heat didn't bother Jack anymore.