Disclaimer: These characters are not mine (no matter how much I wish!),
they belong to Patrick O'Brian. This fic is influenced by the movie. My
apologies to Paul Bettany and Russell Crowe. this isn't your fault ;-)
- ******
Stephen Maturin felt dirty.
He could feel it all over him. The sensation of his most private desire had spread, until it covered every inch of his skin, permeated every pore. He looked down at his hands, his surgeon's hands. This was not something he could treat. He couldn't cut off the rotting part of him, or wipe away the stains of his mind. It went much deeper than that.
His eyes lingered on Jack; Captain Jack, who was slowly fingering a pistol. Stephen watched him running his fingers over the long, hard barrel. The sight made his skin prickle. Out here on the deck, in the blazing, merciless sun, he was sweating.
Stephen ran a hand over his damask brow, inhaling deeply. He was unable to say what was making him perspire. It could be the heat, or it could be. well, something else.
-
Later that day he lay in isolation on his bed, ignoring the noise he could hear streaming through the walls. The hearty laughs of the sailors meant nothing to him now - not a welcome noise, not even an irritation. He had become something else altogether, he knew. Enveloped by thoughts, by desires, he turned on his side.
He wished he could dream. Dreaming made everything so detached, and yet so elucidated. He knew what he felt, then. He wanted to dream once more of things he knew he should not - Jack's hands, peeling off his shirt, Jack touching him. His desire was heightened every day spent on the ship.
These musings were interrupted, as a head poked through his door, and a raucous voice shouted "The Captain wants to see you, Doctor!". Nervously, Stephen got up.
-
Jack was sitting down when Stephen arrived. He wiped his palms together as his friend entered. "Well, Stephen, d'you care for some music?"
"Well, certainly, if it pleases you, Jack."
"And what do you mean, if it pleases me? Does it not please you?"
"No. I meant."
"Or would you prefer a different kind of entertainment?" Jack asked.
Stephen flinched. Had those words had an undertone? Was he right in supposing that Jack could - no, no, he was idiotic. He was stupid. He was reading into something that had never been intended. Stephen felt his desire stir up inside him, painfully.
"I am sorry, Jack, for I feel faint," he said, taking a seat on the stool in the corner of the cabin.
"Perhaps I can help," Jack replied. Stephen stood up. Slowly, ever so gradually, Jack walked over to him. His boots made no sound on the floor.
"Let me touch you," Jack said. Stephen's head was a whirl of delusional excitement. Was he dreaming this, perhaps, he wondered?
The closer Jack got, the more certain Stephen became that he was, in fact, wide awake. In the very second that Stephen realised what Jack intended, he was swept forward into the arms of his friend. Stephen let passion consume him, let himself taste the lips of his friend; and he knew, then, that he was not insane. This was the most adequate, the most rapturous thing he had ever felt.
As he felt Jack's hands creeping lower and lower, Stephen exhaled.
He felt clean.
- ******
Stephen Maturin felt dirty.
He could feel it all over him. The sensation of his most private desire had spread, until it covered every inch of his skin, permeated every pore. He looked down at his hands, his surgeon's hands. This was not something he could treat. He couldn't cut off the rotting part of him, or wipe away the stains of his mind. It went much deeper than that.
His eyes lingered on Jack; Captain Jack, who was slowly fingering a pistol. Stephen watched him running his fingers over the long, hard barrel. The sight made his skin prickle. Out here on the deck, in the blazing, merciless sun, he was sweating.
Stephen ran a hand over his damask brow, inhaling deeply. He was unable to say what was making him perspire. It could be the heat, or it could be. well, something else.
-
Later that day he lay in isolation on his bed, ignoring the noise he could hear streaming through the walls. The hearty laughs of the sailors meant nothing to him now - not a welcome noise, not even an irritation. He had become something else altogether, he knew. Enveloped by thoughts, by desires, he turned on his side.
He wished he could dream. Dreaming made everything so detached, and yet so elucidated. He knew what he felt, then. He wanted to dream once more of things he knew he should not - Jack's hands, peeling off his shirt, Jack touching him. His desire was heightened every day spent on the ship.
These musings were interrupted, as a head poked through his door, and a raucous voice shouted "The Captain wants to see you, Doctor!". Nervously, Stephen got up.
-
Jack was sitting down when Stephen arrived. He wiped his palms together as his friend entered. "Well, Stephen, d'you care for some music?"
"Well, certainly, if it pleases you, Jack."
"And what do you mean, if it pleases me? Does it not please you?"
"No. I meant."
"Or would you prefer a different kind of entertainment?" Jack asked.
Stephen flinched. Had those words had an undertone? Was he right in supposing that Jack could - no, no, he was idiotic. He was stupid. He was reading into something that had never been intended. Stephen felt his desire stir up inside him, painfully.
"I am sorry, Jack, for I feel faint," he said, taking a seat on the stool in the corner of the cabin.
"Perhaps I can help," Jack replied. Stephen stood up. Slowly, ever so gradually, Jack walked over to him. His boots made no sound on the floor.
"Let me touch you," Jack said. Stephen's head was a whirl of delusional excitement. Was he dreaming this, perhaps, he wondered?
The closer Jack got, the more certain Stephen became that he was, in fact, wide awake. In the very second that Stephen realised what Jack intended, he was swept forward into the arms of his friend. Stephen let passion consume him, let himself taste the lips of his friend; and he knew, then, that he was not insane. This was the most adequate, the most rapturous thing he had ever felt.
As he felt Jack's hands creeping lower and lower, Stephen exhaled.
He felt clean.