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Dec. 27th, 2007 10:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quigonejinnLord knows that ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
randomalia could do it better, but phantomsangel asked, and I never got her a Christmas present. So. Written in forty-five minutes!
Lieutenant Bush is not a man who easily bends to suit circumstances or environment: he is not a large man, but he is strong enough to have been a lieutenant in the Royal Navy in two wars and four quarterdecks. He wears wool in the Caribbean; he sleeps in a box just wide enough for his shoulders.
Jack Hammond, on the other hand, is somewhat newer to the sea.
...
The first sensation that Jack knows are the hands: he has never had a particular opportunity to study Lieutenant Bush's hands, and this is the first time Bush has touched him long enough, slowly enough for Jack for to note the sensation. The fingertips are rough, and Bush is touching him only with fingertips, first on the inside of the knee and now a little further up. It's the first time that Bush has ever really touched him, and it's to put his hand on Jack's thigh -- first, the fingers, thin and cool, and then the palm, which is neither softer nor warmer, only broader.
One palm slides up the inside of his thigh midway, then moves over to the other leg. Jack is about to speak when Bush takes firm hold of him just inside the knee, shifts so that he is kneeling straighter, and puts his mouth on Jack.
...
Bush's mouth is surprisingly cool. Jack plans to think through the whole thing so as to make the experience last as long as it can; he knows that he's already flushing, but he makes himself put into words the sentiment that Bush's mouth is as cool as his hands and only a little softer. If he watches Bush too closely, it'll be over, but with Bush's mouth on his cock, everything becomes pleasurable. The wall is rough through his shirt, but it still makes Jack gasp when he tries to move away from Bush's mouth. Even the cramping in his hands from holding up the hem of his shirt is starting to feel good.
Everything feels good when watching his lieutenant sucking cock with eyes wide open. Never mind how the mouth feels.
That thought comes close to doing it, especially once Bush brings his hand behind Jack's back. His fingers are cool, and Jack had been thinking about whether he ought to put one hand on the back of Bush's head to encourage him. The hand in the small of his back is better, though: the coolness, the pressure, the fact that Bush's lips are so close that they could almost kiss Jack's stomach, never mind what it feels like to be that deep into Bush's mouth. Jack makes a noise. Maybe even a series of them, accompanied by movement, and Bush pulls away.
He doesn't wipe his mouth on the back of his shirt, so it shines a little from the light in the window.
Jack isn't sure he can see clearly out that far; he's sweating hard, and with their clothes having been washed so many times at sea, Jack's shirt is perpetually damp. It only takes a little sweat, and his shirt sticks to his chest and stomach. Jack knows he's panting.
"Go on," Bush says. He moves a little, and Jack tries to close his mouth, but finds that he can't. His legs won't even move enough to tremble.
In a daze, he puts one hand around himself and looks at Bush, a few feet away, still crouching on the floor, but watching him, carefully, only a little more dispassionately than if he were thinking of taking another reef in. A flicker goes across Bush's face when Jack drags his palm over the head of his cock, and since Bush goes back to that distant watching once Jack's hand settles around his cock, Jack takes his hand and rubs his palm over the tip again though it's the last thing he wants.
"Should I do that again?" Jack says. Bush's face doesn't reveal much, and he doesn't say anything. Nevertheless, Jack only gets one more pass until he gasps and turns his face into his shoulder.
...
For his part, despite being man who easily bends to suit circumstances or environment, Bush doesn't wipe his mouth until Hammond is done.
randomalia could do it better, but phantomsangel asked, and I never got her a Christmas present. So. Written in forty-five minutes! Lieutenant Bush is not a man who easily bends to suit circumstances or environment: he is not a large man, but he is strong enough to have been a lieutenant in the Royal Navy in two wars and four quarterdecks. He wears wool in the Caribbean; he sleeps in a box just wide enough for his shoulders.
Jack Hammond, on the other hand, is somewhat newer to the sea.
...
The first sensation that Jack knows are the hands: he has never had a particular opportunity to study Lieutenant Bush's hands, and this is the first time Bush has touched him long enough, slowly enough for Jack for to note the sensation. The fingertips are rough, and Bush is touching him only with fingertips, first on the inside of the knee and now a little further up. It's the first time that Bush has ever really touched him, and it's to put his hand on Jack's thigh -- first, the fingers, thin and cool, and then the palm, which is neither softer nor warmer, only broader.
One palm slides up the inside of his thigh midway, then moves over to the other leg. Jack is about to speak when Bush takes firm hold of him just inside the knee, shifts so that he is kneeling straighter, and puts his mouth on Jack.
...
Bush's mouth is surprisingly cool. Jack plans to think through the whole thing so as to make the experience last as long as it can; he knows that he's already flushing, but he makes himself put into words the sentiment that Bush's mouth is as cool as his hands and only a little softer. If he watches Bush too closely, it'll be over, but with Bush's mouth on his cock, everything becomes pleasurable. The wall is rough through his shirt, but it still makes Jack gasp when he tries to move away from Bush's mouth. Even the cramping in his hands from holding up the hem of his shirt is starting to feel good.
Everything feels good when watching his lieutenant sucking cock with eyes wide open. Never mind how the mouth feels.
That thought comes close to doing it, especially once Bush brings his hand behind Jack's back. His fingers are cool, and Jack had been thinking about whether he ought to put one hand on the back of Bush's head to encourage him. The hand in the small of his back is better, though: the coolness, the pressure, the fact that Bush's lips are so close that they could almost kiss Jack's stomach, never mind what it feels like to be that deep into Bush's mouth. Jack makes a noise. Maybe even a series of them, accompanied by movement, and Bush pulls away.
He doesn't wipe his mouth on the back of his shirt, so it shines a little from the light in the window.
Jack isn't sure he can see clearly out that far; he's sweating hard, and with their clothes having been washed so many times at sea, Jack's shirt is perpetually damp. It only takes a little sweat, and his shirt sticks to his chest and stomach. Jack knows he's panting.
"Go on," Bush says. He moves a little, and Jack tries to close his mouth, but finds that he can't. His legs won't even move enough to tremble.
In a daze, he puts one hand around himself and looks at Bush, a few feet away, still crouching on the floor, but watching him, carefully, only a little more dispassionately than if he were thinking of taking another reef in. A flicker goes across Bush's face when Jack drags his palm over the head of his cock, and since Bush goes back to that distant watching once Jack's hand settles around his cock, Jack takes his hand and rubs his palm over the tip again though it's the last thing he wants.
"Should I do that again?" Jack says. Bush's face doesn't reveal much, and he doesn't say anything. Nevertheless, Jack only gets one more pass until he gasps and turns his face into his shoulder.
...
For his part, despite being man who easily bends to suit circumstances or environment, Bush doesn't wipe his mouth until Hammond is done.
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Date: 2007-12-30 04:59 pm (UTC)