so there'd be those moments when Bush hauls Hammond off to one side to make sure he learns his signals or knows his duties, and it would be there, between them.
The intensity of that memory, man. I can only imagine -- all that warm naked skin when Hammond is almost constantly cold and miserable and thirsty, and it's highlighted by the fact that now, whenever he sees Bush, it's always when he's dressed to the nines as a proper lieutenant should be.
Though. Man. There's this line in LtH, I think, where Bush thinks about how, as a middie, he often got sent by the lieutenants in the wardroom to the galley to heat an iron up so that they could iron out their neckcloths. I can imagine that some other middie usually has the job, but for some reason, on some morning, he's unavailable. And Hammond gets handed the iron in the corridor and told to do it, and he gets it heated up and puts the rag wrapped around the handle after it's heated and then runs it back to the wardroom -- and there's Bush, impatiently waiting at the wardroom table with only his shirt on, no breeches, no stockings, just the shirt, though the coat is on the table, too, and his shoes sticking out of the front of his cabin.
The white shirt. Bush's black neck cloth in front of him. The hot iron in Hammond's hand. The light from one the windows in the side of the ship making Bush's shirt look almost translucent.
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branchandroot
EDITED FOR MORONICITY
Date: 2006-04-11 03:59 am (UTC)AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHH HOLY FUCK! HOLY FUCK!
The intensity of that memory, man. I can only imagine -- all that warm naked skin when Hammond is almost constantly cold and miserable and thirsty, and it's highlighted by the fact that now, whenever he sees Bush, it's always when he's dressed to the nines as a proper lieutenant should be.
Though. Man. There's this line in LtH, I think, where Bush thinks about how, as a middie, he often got sent by the lieutenants in the wardroom to the galley to heat an iron up so that they could iron out their neckcloths. I can imagine that some other middie usually has the job, but for some reason, on some morning, he's unavailable. And Hammond gets handed the iron in the corridor and told to do it, and he gets it heated up and puts the rag wrapped around the handle after it's heated and then runs it back to the wardroom -- and there's Bush, impatiently waiting at the wardroom table with only his shirt on, no breeches, no stockings, just the shirt, though the coat is on the table, too, and his shoes sticking out of the front of his cabin.
The white shirt. Bush's black neck cloth in front of him. The hot iron in Hammond's hand. The light from one the windows in the side of the ship making Bush's shirt look almost translucent.