Just a little smutty fic I dreamed up with the potential for more chapters ;)
Set just before events in Mutiny and Retribution and featuring out favourite Gunner Hobbs (Philip Glenister)
July 1801
Portsmouth
Portsmouth was awash with sailors. They wandered down the streets and tumbled out of the local taverns. The locals rejoiced and bemoaned their presence, for though they increased revenue for the local shopkeepers and barkeeps, they also brought with them a raucous air, one that could only be explained by long months at sea, cooped up in cramped cabins with only their fellow crew for company. The city was used to them as, for centuries, it had been home to the Royal fleet. Generations of sailors had been born and raised within its walls and, like the ebbing and flow of the tides, its citizens assembled on the dockside to welcome home its sons.
John Hobbs sat slightly apart in the Black Bull Inn near the dockside, carefully supping his beer. It was all too easy, after months at sea, to become carried away with the freedoms that shore leave afforded him and his fellow sailors and, as he observed the crew of HMS Renown, he feared that this time would be no exception. The men were boisterous, high-spirited and there had been singing and dancing almost from the moment of their arrival. Randall was the ringleader, as he always was in these situations and Hobbs found himself watching his charge with a wary eye. The man had little respect for anyone or anything, particularly on board the Renown, and it seemed that the young lady sat on his lap was to prove no exception.
The city whores revelled in the return of the sailors. It meant new faces, new money, and they descended on the taverns in their droves, circling the room like a predator toying with its prey, waiting for the nod or wink that suggested business was sought.
He watched as Randall pawed at her, his hands sliding up her skirt and searching for hidden treasure while she gamely sank a quart of rum, the rosy liquid spilling down her chin and pooling in her ample cleavage. Randall lowered his head and licked it from her, causing a roar to go up from those who enjoyed his company. Moments later, he had lifted the woman up into his arms and was carrying her to the wooden staircase at the far end which led to the nearest bed. He didn't judge Randall, for Hobbs himself had had more than his fair share of women on shore leave. But he was beginning to feel, as he entered his thirty-fifth year, that there had to be more to his existence than simply bedding a woman who had also bedded most of the city.
The air in the inn was thick with the smell of cigar smoke, rum and women. It clawed at his throat, making him feel as though he couldn't breathe and so, finishing his drink, he rose from the table and made his way to the door, delighting in the cool, summer breeze that washed over him as he stepped outside. The air here was fresh, yet tinged with salt and he breathed it in, delighting in its comforting scent. Slowly, he walked down along the harbour front, glancing in turn at each ship berthed there, feeling a sense of pride that they were all dwarfed by the Renown. Hobbs loved his ship. Having served on board her for almost three years, he knew every nook and every cranny. Every sound she made told him something and he fancied that he knew her like he would know a wife. She was the fifth vessel he had served on in his time as a sailor, always under Captain James Sawyer. He couldn't imagine working for any other captain. His loyalty was unquestionable, unswerving and he knew he would follow him to his death.
As he grew closer to the Renown Hobbs saw, to his concern, a light bobbing along the deck. It was a lantern, held high by a shadowy figure who moved quickly along and then descended down towards the crew quarters. Fearing for his ship, he picked up his pace and hurried along the dockside before climbing aboard and landing silently on the deck. He paused to listen, but there was no noise, save for the lapping of the waves at her hull. Lifting his own lantern, he followed the path the figure had taken and slowly made his way down the stairs into the belly of the ship, being careful to avoid giving away his presence. He knew that there was at least one pistol in the watch room, left there no doubt by that idiot Buckland, and as he crept along the corridor, he saw the light in front of him disappear around a bend towards the captain's cabin.
Hobbs opened the door of the watch room and stole inside, easily locating the pistol which had been left lying on the table and then left, continuing to make his way down towards the captain's cabin. The door was open and, as he peered around it, he saw the lantern sat on the desk, creating an eerie glow around the room. The figure, whom he could now see was hooded, had his back to him and was rifling through the drawers in the bookcase opposite.
Hobbs stepped into the room and raised the pistol, his heart hammering in his chest. "Do not move." The figure froze. "I am armed and I will shoot you. Raise your hands were I can see them." The figure hesitated. "Now!"
"John, you surely don't mean to shoot me, do you?" Hobbs stared as the figure turned slowly towards him and he instantly recognised the amused face of the captain's daughter.
"Clara for heaven's sake!" he lowered the pistol and let out a shaky breath. "What in God's name are you doing here?"
"I didn't mean to scare you," she laughed, pulling back the hood to reveal tight auburn curls piled on top of her head and glancing at the pistol hanging by his side. "I see you came prepared for a fight. Did you expect me to draw also and challenge you to a duel?"
He glared at her, annoyed by her lack of concern for the situation, "You haven't answered my question. I thought you and your father were dining with the Admiral this evening?"
"We were," Clara replied, leaning back against the bookcase, "but Father forgot his reading glasses and the Admiral is insisting on show him some tedious maps or something equally as dull," she waved her hand dismissively, "anyway, he couldn't see them, so he was going to ask the manservant to come on board and locate his glasses but the conversation with Mrs Fisher was just so tedious that I offered to come instead." She held up a small spectacle case and shot him a wide smile. "I'm rather glad I did now. Apart from almost ending up shot, that is."
Hobbs placed the pistol on the table. "I would not have shot you."
"I think you might had I turned quickly," she teased. "I think it admirable that you should seek to defend the Renown so, but I did not realise that my father had you as watchman now as well as gunner."
"I happened to be passing when I saw your light," he told her, "I would not be much of a crewman if I did not seek to discover who was sneaking on board at this hour." He held her gaze for a long moment and marvelled, as he always did, at the dark, velvet colour of her eyes, visible even in the dim light. "You were not at the docks this afternoon to welcome us home."
"Did you expect me to be?" she asked, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.
"Well..." he did not want to confess that his eyes had roamed the waiting crowds as the Renown had come into dock, searching for a glimpse of her fiery locks, and come up empty-handed.
"I wanted to be there but I was engaged at the school. Mrs Berry, the schoolmistress, wanted to talk about the upcoming fair and I couldn't get her to stop," Clara laughed. "No matter how many times I glanced at the clock she just wouldn't take the hint and I thought it would be rude simply to tell her to be quiet."
"Indeed it would have." There was a long moment of silence as they stared at each other and a memory flashed into Hobbs' mind, one he had replayed over and over during the long months at sea alone in his bed. Clara...beneath him...her face contorted with exquisite pleasure...her body writhing against his...
"Father says you only have two days before you must sail for the West Indies," she said, breaking into his thoughts.
"Oh...ah, yes," he said, pushing the thought of her out of his mind. "Santo Domingo. There is apparently an uprising of slaves and..." he broke off as Clara pushed herself away from the bookcase and came towards him. "We are tasked with...quelling it." She stopped in front of him, her face lit by the lanterns. Slowly, she drew out the buttons on her cloak and let it fall to the floor at her feet, revealing her in a gown of the most vivid blue. "Clara..."
"Do you still find me beautiful, John?" she asked quietly. "As beautiful now as then?"
Hobbs swallowed hard and tried to fight against his rising arousal. "You remain the most beautiful woman in Portsmouth," he said, his mouth dry, his eyes flitting from her face to the roundness of her breasts, pushed up by the tightness of her corset.
"And yet you wrote to me only once." Her smile faded. "Only one letter in four months. I thought I had perhaps done something to anger you."
"No, of course not!" he said hurriedly, eager to dispel that notion. "It can be difficult to maintain correspondence at sea, Clara, you know that."
"I received four letters from Father."
He turned away from her and walked over to the small window which looked out over the Portsmouth lights, willing away the pulsation in his abdomen that would be the undoing of them both. "What happened between us was wrong," he said finally, though pleasure rippled through him at the memory.
"How can you call it wrong?" she exclaimed behind him. "It was the most completely...wonderful...moment of my life!"
Hobbs flinched at her words, reminded that he had divested her of her most precious possession. There had been a ball the evening before they were due to set sail for Africa. A final hurrah before four months at sea. He knew he had consumed more than his fair share of rum that night and, armed with a courage which had previously failed him, he had taken it upon himself to tell Clara that in the fifteen years he had known her, she had never looked more beautiful than she had done that evening. Looking back now, he suspected that she too had partaken of the alcohol that evening, for why else would a young woman of her breeding arrive unannounced at his lodgings in the middle of the night and ask nay, demand, that he take her to bed?
"I should have refused you," he said, thinking back as to how little persuasion he had needed. "If your father were to find out..."
"My father is never here long enough to concern himself with what I do," she replied sourly."Besides, he places great trust in you and surely would be happy that we..."
"Your father trusts me as a man who would not take advantage of his kind nature," Hobbs said, turning back to face her. "He has been good to me for so many years, Clara. But if he were to know that I had defiled you in such a way..."
"You say it as though it were something to be ashamed of," Clara interrupted. "Is it not the most natural thing in the world for a man and woman to be together?"
"You are a child compared to me," he protested.
"You did not say that before," she said, moving closer to him again. Standing a whole head taller than her, he looked down into her upturned face. The deep, dark eyes, the full red lips, the clear alabaster skin marred only by a collection of freckles at the base of her throat. She placed her hands gently on his chest and drew them up to his shoulders. "I do not believe that is what you truly think," she whispered.
Hobbs fought hard against it, but he knew he was lost. There was no-one to pull him back, no-one to remind him of the guilt he would feel later. They were alone, totally alone, on board a ship that no-one would think to board for another full day. Lifting his hand, he placed it against her cheek and she turned her face into it, her breath warm on his hand. With his thumb, he slowly traced over the contours of her lips, causing the blood to rush to them. Then she parted her lips and took his thumb in her mouth. Sucking gently on it, she raised her eyes to his again and the action caused him to strain harder against the constriction of his underclothes and believe, for a fleeting moment, that he may come without ever touching her intimately.
Dragging his hand away from her, he replaced it with his mouth, his lips moving strongly over hers, his tongue forcing her lips to part again so that it could plunge repeatedly into the warm wetness of her mouth. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her closer to him, the crush of her breasts against his chest only serving to increase his excitement. Clara moaned appreciatively at, what he assumed was, the hardness of his manhood pressing against her and he moved his hands to her hair, dragging the neatly arranged pins from it, causing it to fall down around her shoulders. Grabbing a fistful, he pulled her head back so he could see her. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright with unspent desire, her mouth red from the ferocity of his kiss. Taking a breath, he kissed her again, even more fiercely than before, all the time pushing her back across the cabin until her back met the edge of the bookcase. Then, pulling her head back again, he feasted on the flesh at the base of her throat, kissing, sucking, biting, running his tongue along the length of her collarbone causing her to shiver against him.
"John..." she gasped above him as his fingers found the light cords at the front of her dress and valiantly began to loosen them. He worked at speed, used to the pressure of heavy and fast-paced work under the watchful eye of superiors. Within minutes, the cords had slackened enough for him to pull down the front of her dress and reveal the lace bodice underneath which held her breasts tantalisingly pert and thrust upwards, as though begging for him.
With a growl of approval, he pulled one cup down roughly and, wrapping his hand around the curve of her breast, pulled it upwards towards him, exposing her hardened pink nipple which he immediately slipped into his mouth. Clara groaned again as he suckled at the flesh, periodically pulling back and running his tongue lightly over it before flooding it again with the full force of his mouth. With his free hand, he exposed her other breast, his fingers pinching and squeezing the opposite nipple before giving it its fair share of attention from his mouth.
"Please..." she whimpered, her fingers knotting in his hair and holding him tightly to her chest, "please..."
Lifting her roughly upwards, he deposited her on top of the chest of drawers, his hand going under the hem of her dress and pulling it up so that it bunched around the tops of her thighs. With expertise gained from years of such conquests, he found the delicate fabric of her knickers and found, to his unadulterated delight, that there was already a slick wetness there. Keeping his eyes on her flushed face, he pushed them to one side and slowly eased two fingers into her warmth. Clara gasped once, twice and then let out a sharp cry as he moved further. Instinctively, she parted her thighs wider and he slid his thumb upwards to find her hot, sensitive core. As he grazed over it, she bucked against his hand and, reaching forward, gripped the top of his shirt tightly in her fingers. He began to move his fingers slowly inside her, gradually increasing the pressure moment by moment. As she thrust her hips against his hand, he bent and closed his mouth over her nipple again. Harder and faster she moved against him, groaning with careless abandon.
"Yes...please...God, yes..."
Just when he felt that she was close to exploding, he withdrew his fingers, causing her to meow in frustration. Lifting his head, he saw a resentment in her eyes that only made her look more desirable.
"My turn," he whispered, pulling her forwards off of the chest of drawers and back into his arms before pressing her up against the adjoining wall and plunging his tongue deep into her mouth again. As she made to wind her arms around his neck, he gripped her right wrist and pushed her hand down towards the button of his trousers. Sipping it free, he guided her hand inside to where he was waiting, hard, pulsating, desperate for her touch. She gripped him easily, as though she were a woman of the world rather than one tasting sexual pleasure for only the second time in her life. "Up and down..." he gasped, tearing away from her mouth briefly.
Slowly, she began sliding her hand along his length, gaining pace and confidence with each movement. "Like this?" she mumbled against his mouth.
"Yes..." he groaned, moving his lips to her throat, "yes....Clara..."he broke off suddenly as she sank to the floor in front of him. For a fleeting moment, he thought she had collapsed but, seconds later, he felt warmth close around him and, looking down, saw that she had taken him into her mouth and was gamely sucking him as she had his finger. He reached forward and gripped the edge of the bookcase to steady himself as waves of pleasure coursed through him. He groaned loudly as she cut short the movement and held him steady in her mouth for a long moment before resuming. "Clara..." he breathed, his fingers finding their way to her hair and gripping it tightly, unconsciously pushing and pulling her to and from him in time with her own movement.
His release was imminent. His body started to shake and he knew that within seconds he would be ready to spurt. Just then, however, Clara withdrew from him and raised herself back up to her feet, her eyes bright with mischief. "Two can play at your game, sir," she said on his look. "And I have had many months to teach myself."
"You..." he groaned, in desperate need of release. Grabbing her to him, he kissed her again, passionately, violently, dragging her across the room to the small bed in the corner. They fell onto it together, the wood creaking under the unexpected weight. Pushing her skirts up again, he gripped the top of her knickers and pulled them roughly down over her thighs. "I do not think," he said as she gasped in surprise, "that you will have any need for me to be gentle."
"No," she replied breathlessly, reaching up to draw him down to her, "but I have need for you."
Pushing her thighs apart, Hobbs raised himself up slightly, allowing her to push his trousers down over her buttocks, take hold and guide him into her. As he slipped easily into her wetness, she groaned loudly, arching her back towards him, her breasts spilling out of the bodice yet again. His mouth couldn't resist the tenderness of her flesh and he bit down mercilessly on one eager bud.
"Yes..." she gasped, closing her eyes as he began thrusting in and out of her, "John...yes...more...ahh..." Interlacing his fingers with hers, he pulled her arms over her head, pinning her to the bed as he continued to ravish her.
"Look at me, Clara," he begged, lifting his head from her breast, his hips jerking into hers. "Look at me." She opened her eyes, deep dark pools of unspent desire. "You are...so beautiful..."
"Harder..." she groaned, clenching her teeth, the word drawn out, "please harder..."
His body felt as though it were being pushed to the limit, as though no encounter had ever been as deep or as passionate. The first time had been pleasurable, but this encounter far exceeded any expectation he may have had.
"Please..." she whimpered, "oh God, don't stop..."
But he would have to, there would need to be an eventual release from the sweet agony. Hobbs lowered himself down so that his body lay prostrate against hers, Clara raising and curling her thighs around his back to compensate. He continued to thrust, long, eager strokes, the feeling of every part of them connecting pushing him on.
Pulling her fingers from his, Clara clutched at his buttocks, pulling him further inside her. "Clara..." he gasped her name, "darling Clara..." She cried out again then the white heat overcame him. He felt himself jerk finally and then unload inside her. As he looked up, Clara's face went bright red, she arched herself towards him and then let out a guttural moan as she reached her own orgasm and then slumped down into the bed, her breathing laboured.
His movements slowed and eventually stopped and he slid gently out of her, rolling over so that they lay facing each other. Hobbs watched her, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the redness on her cheeks, her hair in a cloud around her head, the sleepy look of spent desire in her eyes and thought, yet again, that she had never looked more beautiful.
"Are you all right?" he asked softly, reaching out and tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear. "It wasn't...I wasn't...?"
"Ever the gentleman," she replied, reaching forward and kissing his lips lightly. Then, as she had done before, she pulled herself up out of the bed and retrieved her knickers from the floor. He watched, mesmerised, as she gracefully slid them back on under her skirts and then turned to the nearby mirror to fix her hair.
"Going somewhere?" Hobbs asked, willing her to return to him.
"I still have to take my father his glasses," she said. "He'll be wondering what's taking me so long."
Hobbs pulled himself off of the bed and walked up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and kissing the back of her neck, "You shall tell him that you were pleasurably detained."
Clara turned in his embrace. "So I shall," she said, as his mouth found hers and his tongue slid gently inside. After a moment, she pulled back. "I should go before the search party arrives." Bending, she lifted her cloak from the floor and re-fastened it around her. "Good night, John," she said softly.
As she turned to leave, Hobbs grabbed her wrist, pulling her back round to face him. "I have to see you again," he said forcefully, all sense of doing what was right leaving him instantly.
Clara smiled, "And you shall, my love. You shall."
With that, she lifted the lantern and slipped through the door into the darkness. Moments later, the sound of her footsteps died away and Hobbs was alone.