oh god i need to stick to ships.

[quigonejinn]

Snippet from the Horatio Hornblower alternate reality fic that will never get written out entirely. The notion is that Bush and Hornblower are working together fixing up some dude's house on a fancy resort island during the off season. It's all atmospheric, and Hornblower is all mysterious.





Who keeps water in the refrigerator on the middle of winter?

There's only one cup in the cabinets -- fancy frameless hinges in tight-grained oak fine enough to build boats out of. Everything else was long packed away. Hornblower apparently needed a cheap place to stay; they were willing, to a degree, and Bush watches Hornblower pour.

Only after Bush had a cup, two cups, gotten water in him to make up for the dehydration of so much heavy drinking, does Hornblower get some himself. The house is completely silent, and Bush watches the water spill a little over Hornblower's lips. A little down his chin, some more down throat while he tilts his head back. It makes Bush thirsty all over again to watch Hornblower drink like that, but they're both drunk, and there was probably a living room out there somewhere in the darkness. Probably several of them, if the outside of the house was any kind of reflection of the inside, and all of that notwithtanding, once Hornblower was done drinking, Bush gets down on his knees and backs Hornblower against the counter.

Full ogee edge on the counter, Bush remembers. He'd also have been willig to bet his life that every cabinet in the kitchen was fancy frameless, but that looks like an inset bevel right over there. It's been years since he's done any fancy cabinet installation.

He shuffles on his knees a little closer to Hornblower, and Hornblower lets out a gasp.

"Oh Jesus," Hornblower says. He sounds a little frightened, like it's suddenly hard for him to breathe. "Oh Jesus."

He's still looking at Bush, though, and he doesn't do a thing as Bush sticks a hand in his own back pocket and takes a wad of cash out, reaches up and puts it on the counter. A whole winter's pay lying up there. Hornblower could double what he's earned these past months right there, but his eyes don't leave Bush for a second, not as Bush gets back down, not as Bush undoes his fly.

That face is still as difficult to read as ever, but Bush gets down on his knees. He gets Hornblower's dick out with his fingers, touches his mouth to the tip at almost the same moment, and from that point on, there are sounds from Hornblower like he's going to die.

They get louder when Bush puts his tongue on the slit up front, somewhat lower when Bush moves his head back and forth. Hornblower puts his fingers in Bush's hair and gasps like it feels good for him, and when Bush lets go of Hornblower's hips enough so that Hornblower can actually move a little, Hornblower starts to call his name -- it echoes around the big still kitchen and the even bigger house beyond. Hornblower doesn't thrust so much as push, just an inch or so at a time, until he's all the way inside Bush's mouth, until he has his dick in so deep that it's actually in Bush's throat. They both know it. Hornblower is looking down at him, full-on, and the only noise that Bush can make is this low sort of hum in his throat.

"Oh Jesus," Hornblower says, for the third time, and he comes so hard that his knees go. In fact, he practically falls on top of Bush.

...

In the morning, Bush wakes up on his back in what he guesses must be Hornblower's bed. He still has his pants on. His shirt is on the floor and almost even folded -- Bush recognizes Hornblower's attempt at folding clothes, and he puts his shirt on again. It smells like last night's drinking, and this is clearly the spare bedroom, where Hornblower sleeps. The bed is the only furniture on the floor. Clothes, shoes, everything.

There are a bunch of garbage bags with clothes sticking out of the top, and Bush picks his way, barefoot, through the house until he gets back outside. When he gets to the driveway, he goes out to the truck, and he sees that Hornblower is sleeping in there. The window is cracked open, and Hornblower has his coat on, as well as the blanket from the kit in the back that Bush keeps in case the truck ever breaks down somewhere or if, for some reason, he needs a place to stay and can't get anything else.

Hornblower is buried in it up past his chin, and he's sleeping in the driver's seat.

Bush knocks on the window. "You want to come in?"

No response from Hornblower -- dead asleep, maybe cheek leaned against the glass, and Bush stands there for a moment, not entirely sure what he ought to do. It's a brisk morning, after all. He thinks about it, and then he walks back to the house, makes sure that the garage door isn't locked, that they can get back in, and then he goes back out on the driveway. The blacktop is cold enough to make the bottoms of his feet ache, but he walks over and gets in on the pasenger's side.

Eventually, Hornblower's hand creeps over the bench in between, and Bush puts his fingers over Hornblower's palm. Bush doesn't mention the blonde boy and girl, Hornblower's age, whose photographs appear over the fireplace in the living room.

Archie for the boy. Barbara for the girl, it seems, from the frames. Good looking each of them, similar enough to be brother and sister. Bush doesn't mention them, and he also also doesn't mention the photograph on the refrigerator of Hornblower standing in between them, darkhaired and smiling, dresed like them and at ease, at some kind of barbecue. Bush knows now, though, that Hornblower didn't leave the lights off in the kitchen the night before entirely for Bush's comfort.

Still. They sleep in the driveway until the sun gets too bright, and at that point, Bush suggests they go into town, find a diner that's open so that they can get breakfast. Hornblower agrees, and Bush lets him drive again.

Comments

[randomalia.livejournal.com]

*______*

I was all prepared to enjoy the cabinets and Bush possibly in jeans, possibly in a truck, and I did, but then you added such deliberate, hot sex and mystery and. Yes. Bush being the instigator/active one is so intriguing.

[quigonejinn.livejournal.com]

It's kind of odd, yeah, but I was trying to think of HH and WB without the structures of Navy life and in a situation where HH isn't being impelled to action by that big giant brain of his, and yeah.

Ahaha. Man. The stupid shit that I do and that you're nice enough to be pleasant to me through. XD

[thehappyreturn.livejournal.com]

I like the matter of fact tone, unexpectedly hott. Yes, that's hot with TWO Ts! It reminded me a lot of BBM, somehow.

[quigonejinn.livejournal.com]

Working class gay men!

Or something. XD I'm glad you got a kick of out of this. It's a definite guilty pleasure fic.