Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. I don't own Jack, or Stephen (damn!)-
they belong to the wonderful Patrick O'Brian.
Warning: Slash. Men, touching each other. And possibly doing a lot more than that.
Note: This started off quite angsty, but somewhere along the way it turned into slash. And got rather, erm, graphic. Whoops. ;-) ...Please tell me what you think!
Written for Mistress_of_the_Pen, because you rule! Love you forever, thanks always for my birthday fic. And I hope you like this, and won't be offended. ;-)
And the first line belongs to the_legendry ... ;-)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
***********~~~PLEASE~~~************
They had been two weevils on a plate, wriggling together.
They had been two instruments in harmony, two melodies intertwined.
So how, Jack wondered, had it come to this?
His best friend lay spread on the table, as he and Higgins looked on with drawn faces. Stephen was paler than he had ever been, and his hair was ruffled on his brow. He looked up with wide pupils and pleading eyes.
Jack met his gaze, and he cursed the vicious bullet that was still lodged in Stephen. It was damned unfortunate, that's what it was. Damned unfortunate.
"Could you...?" asked Stephen. He touched his shoulder slightly, an indication. Complying, Jack leant down until he was inches away from his friend's face, and with careful hands removed Stephen's shirt.
He could hear Higgins drawing in his breath in a soft rush. The wound was nasty – it glowed an ugly crimson. And yet, though he could almost smell the pain, Jack felt his eyes drawn upwards, across Stephen's chest. His smooth, smooth chest...
Why was there such an ache inside him? He had seen Stephen without his shirt before – aye, naked even. They had swum together, cooled their bodies together in the water. But now something was different; his restlessness had reached fever pitch.
"I will do this with my own hand," Stephen uttered, and his eyes were set with a grievous determination. In that moment Jack wanted to suck all the unhappiness out of his friend – his particular friend. He wanted to brush his lips on Stephen's and gently whisper; just a soft breath in the still air. Perhaps he would even touch him further. He could stroke Stephen's slim neck, in careful caresses that excited flesh.
But now Stephen called for the mirror, called for some of his damned tools, and Jack regarded him with a vicious blend of affection and pain.
The doctor probed his own wound, and he gasped. A flutter of pain reached his face as he delved further into himself, and his breathing became harder: broken.
Jack was transfixed. He felt a shudder of delight run through him, an ill- placed delight.
"Move the mirror, please." Stephen was closing on the bullet in his chest. It was sheer agony now, stabbing after stabbing inside of him that contorted his face. One betrayal of his self-imposed hurting and he could do more damage; one jolt of his hand and he could worsen his wound. He gritted his teeth and tried not to scream as he touched on the bullet.
Jack's heart pounded like canon-fire in his chest. Here was his friend, inflicting pain on himself with his bare chest upturned and his hand steady. Jack was overwhelmed with an excitement. He wanted to crush it but it rose again inside him.
Stephen's breathing was almost orgasmic now, save that it was pain he felt and not pleasure; pain, that coursed through every capillary and permeated his skin. It was one long climax of pain.
Jack felt it too, throbbing inside him. The climactic moment did not elude him. He felt sick, and there was also a sense of guilt, a hot illness that spread like Stephen's blood.
And then one clinching second. Stephen gasped, despite himself- and the bullet was extracted. He fell back as Higgins took the instrument from his hands; his energy spent. Stephen's brow was damp, glistening with the effort he had flung out.
Jack walked slowly outside. He bent over, clutching his knees, and retched.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was still some time before Stephen could get up and explore Galapagos. Obstinately, and much to Jack's dismay, he insisted on leaving his makeshift cot at the earliest moment. He emerged one day at about mid- morning, and Jack watched from an outcrop, drinking in the sight of Stephen's loose white shirt rippling in the teasing touch of the breeze.
Jack wanted to fly to him. He wanted to take his friend in a crushing embrace, and draw him in until their bodies rubbed up against each other. Wanted to savagely kiss Stephen, here in front of all.
He felt something stirring in his loins, but he quelled it. He had to put a stop to this! It was preposterous. And anyway, Stephen was in no state for anything. He needed rest, Jack told himself.
Yet Stephen in his turn was surprisingly energetic. Helping himself around the islands, and ignoring the crew's attempts at cricket, he absorbed his interest in the birds and the reptiles, the insects and the mammals. Even Jack could not dissuade him from walking several miles in one day. Needless to say, this made for a quick recovery.
"My dear," said Jack, after they had spent almost four days on the islands, "I think you pay uncommon attention to that gull."
"This is no gull," Stephen corrected absent-mindedly, engrossed in examining the curved bill. He stood not a metre away.
"Never mind what it is!"
Stephen raised his head at last, a look of cold confusion creeping over his face. He had no notion as to why Jack had snapped at him, for his thoughts had been elsewhere, and now he regretted his inattentiveness. There was nothing he liked less than to anger his friend, yet clearly he had just done so – the reddening of Jack's cheeks told the story.
"Jack, I apologise. I have barely acknowledged you, my dear, shameful creature that I am."
Jack's reply was almost silent. He could hold back no longer. He grasped Stephen, who blinked in surprise. Jack was upon him in seconds, taking his kiss with a swiftness that sated him. Stephen tasted Jack's mouth on his, felt the roughness that excited him in some strange way. He dropped the wooden box from his hands, heard it patter on the ground as Jack pulled him closer, hands wandering.
At last they drew apart, and the doctor was glad of it; for moments later Bonden came running up, panting and flushed with the heat of exercise.
"Sir, the men want to know if you will bat for us."
"Why most certainly. I should be most pleased. Just one moment, then; hold on." Bonden stood attentively.
Jack bent over to whisper mischievously in the doctor's ear. "Are you yet recovered?"
"Yes, Jack, yes: I am quite all right. Why do you ask?"
Bonden eyed them curiously. What were they whispering? he wondered. This secrecy was more'n a little suspicious. He wished he were closer.
"I ask," Jack whispered again, "because I would like to lay you on the floor and open you."
Even Stephen Maturin could not remain impassive to this.
His eyelids fluttered as an image rent his mind: he could see Jack's body pressing on his. He could see them both on the cabin floor.
Jack gave his friend a secret glance before leaving with Bonden. Stephen watched them marching back towards the crew.
"Do not be so sure that I will prove cooperative!" the doctor called after Jack, a twinkle in his eye.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----
That night, they made sail. Jack was busy all evening, guiding them out to sea, making sure everything on the Surprise was as it should be. The ordering of the frigate gave him much to do. There was something comforting about the response of the sails; the men at his beck and call; the azure blanket of the ocean stretched out before him.
It was nigh on eleven before he stopped. Running a hand through his long yellow queue, he turned and made to leave the deck.
He opened his cabin door, and looked around. Everything was still.
So quiet.
Too quiet.
SMACK!
Stephen had shot out from behind the door and grabbed him, pushing him against the wall. He could feel his hands pinned back as Stephen kissed him wildly. He felt a whirl of excitement and arousal, a swirling of promised delight, entwined with his friend.
But Jack was the stronger of the two, and his muscles prevailed; soon it was Stephen up against the wall. Now Stephen's eyes were begging – he was opening his mouth, Jack realised, and he was pleading something.
"Please, Jack. Please let me do this to you."
"Do what, my dear?"
"Do this." Stephen slid a hand up Jack's thigh, and the captain felt the pleasure in his abdomen, felt himself hardening. For a moment he submitted, and Stephen pressed his advantage, unbuckling Jack's trousers and pushing them to the ground. He cupped his long hands around Jack's erection and held; held until Jack could no longer try to still himself.
Jack soon felt the doctor's lips on his, felt Stephen's tongue slide into his mouth as he was pulled towards the floor. They lost their remaining clothes on the way down, shedding their jackets as they shed their inhibitions.
"See how you excite me, my dear?"
"Hush, Jack, hush." Stephen pressed the captain into the floor, rubbing parts of him. Jack had gone far enough for his desires to reclaim him, and he let out a moan as he felt Stephen spread his legs. In a sudden movement Stephen slid a finger into him, probing, and Jack gasped harder. He could feel himself becoming engorged. Lust for Stephen had been brewing in him for some time – now to feel his friend upon him was like ecstasy.
His lips parted in a rush of stimulation as Stephen penetrated him.
A powerful heat ran all though the doctor. He was deliberate with each thrust, pushing himself with every sinew until he felt Jack shudder beneath him. In his mind, he sensed that this was power; that he needed to be on top. He made a rhythm as he moved inside Jack, biting his lip as he moved his hips upward and felt the sweat on his mouth in a salty trickle.
Jack felt the force of Stephen, and he cried out. His friend smiled, panting, increasing the pressure.
"I want to have you, Jack."
"Then indulge yourself."
After long minutes, Stephen drew himself out of Jack. He turned his friend over and pressed his lips to Jack's neck, slowly moving downwards. Jack shivered and gasped.
"Stephen!" he cried.
"Mmmm?"
Lower, still lower his mouth moved. Jack felt his navel being fingered slowly, as Stephen drew lines around it with his tongue.
"You are so clever," Jack said, the words coming out between wavering breaths. Each touch of Stephen's fuelled the fire inside him. He could do nothing but shut his eyes as a fresh wave of gratification ran through his body.
With gentle strokes, Stephen moved lower, between Jack's legs at last. Joy flushed his once-pale cheeks, as he felt his friend's convulsions beneath him. Letting his hands lie flat on delighted skin, Stephen leant forward, opening his mouth in one breath, and wrapped his lips around Jack.
"Please!" Jack cried, his body shot with ecstasy. He breathed the long exhalation of a climax in the half-dark.
Warning: Slash. Men, touching each other. And possibly doing a lot more than that.
Note: This started off quite angsty, but somewhere along the way it turned into slash. And got rather, erm, graphic. Whoops. ;-) ...Please tell me what you think!
Written for Mistress_of_the_Pen, because you rule! Love you forever, thanks always for my birthday fic. And I hope you like this, and won't be offended. ;-)
And the first line belongs to the_legendry ... ;-)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
***********~~~PLEASE~~~************
They had been two weevils on a plate, wriggling together.
They had been two instruments in harmony, two melodies intertwined.
So how, Jack wondered, had it come to this?
His best friend lay spread on the table, as he and Higgins looked on with drawn faces. Stephen was paler than he had ever been, and his hair was ruffled on his brow. He looked up with wide pupils and pleading eyes.
Jack met his gaze, and he cursed the vicious bullet that was still lodged in Stephen. It was damned unfortunate, that's what it was. Damned unfortunate.
"Could you...?" asked Stephen. He touched his shoulder slightly, an indication. Complying, Jack leant down until he was inches away from his friend's face, and with careful hands removed Stephen's shirt.
He could hear Higgins drawing in his breath in a soft rush. The wound was nasty – it glowed an ugly crimson. And yet, though he could almost smell the pain, Jack felt his eyes drawn upwards, across Stephen's chest. His smooth, smooth chest...
Why was there such an ache inside him? He had seen Stephen without his shirt before – aye, naked even. They had swum together, cooled their bodies together in the water. But now something was different; his restlessness had reached fever pitch.
"I will do this with my own hand," Stephen uttered, and his eyes were set with a grievous determination. In that moment Jack wanted to suck all the unhappiness out of his friend – his particular friend. He wanted to brush his lips on Stephen's and gently whisper; just a soft breath in the still air. Perhaps he would even touch him further. He could stroke Stephen's slim neck, in careful caresses that excited flesh.
But now Stephen called for the mirror, called for some of his damned tools, and Jack regarded him with a vicious blend of affection and pain.
The doctor probed his own wound, and he gasped. A flutter of pain reached his face as he delved further into himself, and his breathing became harder: broken.
Jack was transfixed. He felt a shudder of delight run through him, an ill- placed delight.
"Move the mirror, please." Stephen was closing on the bullet in his chest. It was sheer agony now, stabbing after stabbing inside of him that contorted his face. One betrayal of his self-imposed hurting and he could do more damage; one jolt of his hand and he could worsen his wound. He gritted his teeth and tried not to scream as he touched on the bullet.
Jack's heart pounded like canon-fire in his chest. Here was his friend, inflicting pain on himself with his bare chest upturned and his hand steady. Jack was overwhelmed with an excitement. He wanted to crush it but it rose again inside him.
Stephen's breathing was almost orgasmic now, save that it was pain he felt and not pleasure; pain, that coursed through every capillary and permeated his skin. It was one long climax of pain.
Jack felt it too, throbbing inside him. The climactic moment did not elude him. He felt sick, and there was also a sense of guilt, a hot illness that spread like Stephen's blood.
And then one clinching second. Stephen gasped, despite himself- and the bullet was extracted. He fell back as Higgins took the instrument from his hands; his energy spent. Stephen's brow was damp, glistening with the effort he had flung out.
Jack walked slowly outside. He bent over, clutching his knees, and retched.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was still some time before Stephen could get up and explore Galapagos. Obstinately, and much to Jack's dismay, he insisted on leaving his makeshift cot at the earliest moment. He emerged one day at about mid- morning, and Jack watched from an outcrop, drinking in the sight of Stephen's loose white shirt rippling in the teasing touch of the breeze.
Jack wanted to fly to him. He wanted to take his friend in a crushing embrace, and draw him in until their bodies rubbed up against each other. Wanted to savagely kiss Stephen, here in front of all.
He felt something stirring in his loins, but he quelled it. He had to put a stop to this! It was preposterous. And anyway, Stephen was in no state for anything. He needed rest, Jack told himself.
Yet Stephen in his turn was surprisingly energetic. Helping himself around the islands, and ignoring the crew's attempts at cricket, he absorbed his interest in the birds and the reptiles, the insects and the mammals. Even Jack could not dissuade him from walking several miles in one day. Needless to say, this made for a quick recovery.
"My dear," said Jack, after they had spent almost four days on the islands, "I think you pay uncommon attention to that gull."
"This is no gull," Stephen corrected absent-mindedly, engrossed in examining the curved bill. He stood not a metre away.
"Never mind what it is!"
Stephen raised his head at last, a look of cold confusion creeping over his face. He had no notion as to why Jack had snapped at him, for his thoughts had been elsewhere, and now he regretted his inattentiveness. There was nothing he liked less than to anger his friend, yet clearly he had just done so – the reddening of Jack's cheeks told the story.
"Jack, I apologise. I have barely acknowledged you, my dear, shameful creature that I am."
Jack's reply was almost silent. He could hold back no longer. He grasped Stephen, who blinked in surprise. Jack was upon him in seconds, taking his kiss with a swiftness that sated him. Stephen tasted Jack's mouth on his, felt the roughness that excited him in some strange way. He dropped the wooden box from his hands, heard it patter on the ground as Jack pulled him closer, hands wandering.
At last they drew apart, and the doctor was glad of it; for moments later Bonden came running up, panting and flushed with the heat of exercise.
"Sir, the men want to know if you will bat for us."
"Why most certainly. I should be most pleased. Just one moment, then; hold on." Bonden stood attentively.
Jack bent over to whisper mischievously in the doctor's ear. "Are you yet recovered?"
"Yes, Jack, yes: I am quite all right. Why do you ask?"
Bonden eyed them curiously. What were they whispering? he wondered. This secrecy was more'n a little suspicious. He wished he were closer.
"I ask," Jack whispered again, "because I would like to lay you on the floor and open you."
Even Stephen Maturin could not remain impassive to this.
His eyelids fluttered as an image rent his mind: he could see Jack's body pressing on his. He could see them both on the cabin floor.
Jack gave his friend a secret glance before leaving with Bonden. Stephen watched them marching back towards the crew.
"Do not be so sure that I will prove cooperative!" the doctor called after Jack, a twinkle in his eye.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----
That night, they made sail. Jack was busy all evening, guiding them out to sea, making sure everything on the Surprise was as it should be. The ordering of the frigate gave him much to do. There was something comforting about the response of the sails; the men at his beck and call; the azure blanket of the ocean stretched out before him.
It was nigh on eleven before he stopped. Running a hand through his long yellow queue, he turned and made to leave the deck.
He opened his cabin door, and looked around. Everything was still.
So quiet.
Too quiet.
SMACK!
Stephen had shot out from behind the door and grabbed him, pushing him against the wall. He could feel his hands pinned back as Stephen kissed him wildly. He felt a whirl of excitement and arousal, a swirling of promised delight, entwined with his friend.
But Jack was the stronger of the two, and his muscles prevailed; soon it was Stephen up against the wall. Now Stephen's eyes were begging – he was opening his mouth, Jack realised, and he was pleading something.
"Please, Jack. Please let me do this to you."
"Do what, my dear?"
"Do this." Stephen slid a hand up Jack's thigh, and the captain felt the pleasure in his abdomen, felt himself hardening. For a moment he submitted, and Stephen pressed his advantage, unbuckling Jack's trousers and pushing them to the ground. He cupped his long hands around Jack's erection and held; held until Jack could no longer try to still himself.
Jack soon felt the doctor's lips on his, felt Stephen's tongue slide into his mouth as he was pulled towards the floor. They lost their remaining clothes on the way down, shedding their jackets as they shed their inhibitions.
"See how you excite me, my dear?"
"Hush, Jack, hush." Stephen pressed the captain into the floor, rubbing parts of him. Jack had gone far enough for his desires to reclaim him, and he let out a moan as he felt Stephen spread his legs. In a sudden movement Stephen slid a finger into him, probing, and Jack gasped harder. He could feel himself becoming engorged. Lust for Stephen had been brewing in him for some time – now to feel his friend upon him was like ecstasy.
His lips parted in a rush of stimulation as Stephen penetrated him.
A powerful heat ran all though the doctor. He was deliberate with each thrust, pushing himself with every sinew until he felt Jack shudder beneath him. In his mind, he sensed that this was power; that he needed to be on top. He made a rhythm as he moved inside Jack, biting his lip as he moved his hips upward and felt the sweat on his mouth in a salty trickle.
Jack felt the force of Stephen, and he cried out. His friend smiled, panting, increasing the pressure.
"I want to have you, Jack."
"Then indulge yourself."
After long minutes, Stephen drew himself out of Jack. He turned his friend over and pressed his lips to Jack's neck, slowly moving downwards. Jack shivered and gasped.
"Stephen!" he cried.
"Mmmm?"
Lower, still lower his mouth moved. Jack felt his navel being fingered slowly, as Stephen drew lines around it with his tongue.
"You are so clever," Jack said, the words coming out between wavering breaths. Each touch of Stephen's fuelled the fire inside him. He could do nothing but shut his eyes as a fresh wave of gratification ran through his body.
With gentle strokes, Stephen moved lower, between Jack's legs at last. Joy flushed his once-pale cheeks, as he felt his friend's convulsions beneath him. Letting his hands lie flat on delighted skin, Stephen leant forward, opening his mouth in one breath, and wrapped his lips around Jack.
"Please!" Jack cried, his body shot with ecstasy. He breathed the long exhalation of a climax in the half-dark.