I finished The Mauritus Command and wrote this little ditty! Consider it my headcanon for Jack & Stephen's dynamic behind the fancy words.
Peculiar Instances of Care
A Master and Commander Fanfic
Jack was alight tonight. Not only had he a son—an extraordinary son, a wonderful son, a Godsend of his name—but he was to see him and Sophie and the girls—a bright future was once again ahead. The disappointment of losing the Commodore rank, of not leading the charge to achieve Mauritius mattered but little in his mind. All was fully amended with Admiral Bertie's toast, the old Admiral's promise to send Jack to England with news and letters both.
He was floating as if atop waves on his way to his quarters—he had been provided rooms in the Government House as a sign of courtesy and testament to his former rank. Stephen's rooms were right beside his, easy as kiss your hand to cross over to. They had just breakfasted together that morning, not minding manners or tidy undress—they were not be considered alive before coffee in any case, to anyone who knew their ways. Stephen was escorting him to his bed as it was, and Jack was trying to eye him unsuscipiously, though the success of his endeavor was questionable against the Queen's own spy.
For his friend was not so merry as he could have wished. Jack was very pleased at dinner to see Stephen take wine, both his own numerous allotments and the abstinent Governor Farquhar's. With the conquerment of Mauritius and La Reunion completed, naval matters were out of Jack's mind and the latest command for Admiral Bertie had further turned his thoughts to home. Not all was well. Stephen was out of sorts for some reason. His pale visage gave him away. The wine would make him more amendable.
"Steady, steady, joy," the pale Stephen reminded, tugging at Jack's left arm and pulling it around his own slight shoulders. The Doctor however was nearly as wobbly as the Captain, and as a result they staggered around the final corner, the doors to their rooms side by side.
"Nearly there," Jack crowed, triumphant. He tripped to the wall, pulling Stephen to him, on impulse steadying the Doctor by putting hands on thin hips. "Nearly there," he repeated.
"We are here," Stephen corrected. He tried to step back, but Jack's hands tightened. He wanted—he thought it was needed.
Jack drew a breath in attempt to sober himself. "Stephen, my dear fellow," he breathed, putting a forehead to his. "Are you quite yourself?"
Stephen went still and drew a sharp breath. "Jack…."
"Because if you are not, if you wish…." Jack did not have words after this, so he let his ending trail lamely, the wine so clouding his speech. In their place, he kissed Stephen's forehead.
Stephen was not a handsome man to be sure, but he was beautiful to Jack. Their long friendship had impressed it on his mind, perhaps made it necessary. While carding fingers through Jack's yellow hair, Stephen had once observed that the Service was uncommonly unreasonable in one particular instance: men, pressed from the comfort of their wives and homes, were expected to be completely celibate for months—years—at a time. The Admiralty took strides for enforce the neglect of human touch, which was completely unhealthy for the human physique and was often an impeccable physic for those under emotional sufferance. Especially for those with an as amiable a nature as Jack. And so they had come to an arrangement.
Jack only hoped that Stephen would indulge in it for this night. His symptoms—the Doctor had taught the Captain the symptoms—screamed from his complexion and manner. Perhaps this latest bout had begun near Captain Clonfert's death, if Jack stretched his memory back rightly. That might have been the tipping point.
Jack's hopes were answered. Stephen kissed him full on the lips, and judging by the passion in the gesture, the Doctor was in dire straits. With a pang, Jack was reminded that old Stephen had no Sophie or children awaiting him at Ashgrove. He pulled the Doctor closer to him, trying to provide as much human contact as possible, humming when he received a nip on the lips in thanks.
After a round two minutes of ministrations, Jack pulled away and suggested, his voice surprisingly hoarse, "Bed, my plum."
Stephen nodded eagerly and strode to Jack's door, opening it and pulling the Captain in by the coattails. Within a moment, the door was locked tightly, and they were undressing. Jack provided Stephen with an overlarge nightshirt before throwing on his own. "Someday," Stephen muttered as he threw his over his head, "they will invent more comfortable britches."
"Mmmm," Jack agreed before pushing Stephen gently backwards onto the bed. "We can only hope." He climbed on the bed, marveling at the open man before him, the thin cloth hiding precious little. He leaned forward, Stephen blinking up at him. His eyes were indeed clouded with alcohol.
Jack leaned down now. With even regularity, he rubbed his face against Stephen's, letting their slight shadows of beards intermingle. Stephen sighed with pleasure. Jack nipped his neck in approval before lifting the man's nightshirt to his chin and letting his hands wander as they willed across Stephen's thin chest. Though the same naval fare seemed to enlarge Jack, it diminished Stephen, who was like a bird with his food, despite Killick's scoldings. Jack thumbed at the Doctor's nipples, watching in slight amazement as they grew upright and hard, just as Sophie's did. Perhaps….
He had not done so before on a man's body, but, putting risk to the wind, Jack encased Stephen's left nipple in his mouth and sucked. Stephen started in surprise and bucked upward. Despite himself, Jack giggled in the most unmannish manner.
"Jack, where on God's earth did you learn—"
"Sophie's breasts were tender during her pregnant term. I fully exploited this fact."
Stephen only gasped in response as Jack immediately sucked again, rolling his tongue around the erect flesh. "You are nearly as responsive as her," Jack remarked into Stephen's skin. He let go, however, and began to rub the side of his face against Stephen's skin, once again letting his hands wander. He smelled the collarbone. He licked at the base of Stephen's ribcage and left a kiss at his sternum. He scratched a might on the shoulder. Precious, precious. This man was precious.
Filled with inspiration at this thought, Jack rose and looked Stephen in the eye. Dark it may be, but Stephen's eyes shone muddy vulnerable. "You are precious to me," Jack said, meaning every word.
Stephen's eyes seemed to fill teary at Jack's proclamation, and soon they were kissing again, a heat and passion building inside Jack that he pressed down. Stephen had contrived to wind his legs around Jack's hips and seemed determined to suck Jack's soul out through his lips. Jack responded in kind, a wine and wildness taking over. When he pulled back for want of breath, Jack peppered Stephen's neck and shoulders with more kisses as the man beneath him gasped and clawed at Jack's back. Jack felt the heat and passion ride within him, but he pushed it down again.
Instead, Jack kissed down and up Stephen's upper body once more. He then lay down beside Stephen and proceeded to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. Stephen mewed appreciably, and when Jack raised a hand to blindly cup his face, Stephen nuzzled back into the touch. The tips of Jack's fingers stroked Stephen's hairline, inching a bit upward to get more into the scalp. Stephen shivered.
They stayed like that for a dozen breaths or more, Jack gently scrapping Stephen's short, stiff hair. When Jack found himself drifting to sleep, he dug his face further into Stephen's chin and whispered into the skin, "I tire, love."
"Thank you," Stephen said. He rolled onto his side as well and gave Jack a soft, languid kiss.
Jack lost track of how long it lasted, sleep's attractive fingers digging into his mind and further blurring his thoughts. Stephen was the one to pull away though, and he obliging set himself into Jack, tangling their legs together and letting Jack wrap an arm around him.
Jack loved this position as Stephen felt so utterly safe from the world when like this—utterly his—and the Doctor would tinker with his blond arm hair as if they were 'cello strings. When the Doctor began this usual play, Jack kissed the back of his head, rubbing against it. Not wanting to sleep quite yet, Jack tried to pick up the thread of conversation, "Thank you for the last time." Stephen merely nodded before going back to tapping out something like Mozart on Jack's arm.
For they had done this many times—it was not quite routine—but it was saved for whenever the one sensed the other needed it or one recognized the need within himself. Jack was willing except during times of utterly pressing naval matters, and Stephen was willing as a rule. Jack knew they were peculiar, if not explicitly strange, but he always felt much improved after a session of Stephen's rapt attentions. During the time when they had been set to duel aboard the Polycrest, it had been near unbearable, the comfort most needed when it was out of reach.
As it was, Jack hummed a space of the tune Stephen played on his arm before falling directly to sleep.