quigonejinn

Years before, Hornblower had seen Bush have it done to him: it had been Kingston, the last morning of Bush's leave, and Hornblower stood in the hallway and watched through an open door as Bush stood with his arm against the wall, breeches down around his knees, and an open window on the far side. There had been a girl behind him, working at him with her tongue, and Hornblower had been expecting to see a girl in front, too, if only to catch Bush in her mouth, but no, only Bush's hand. He was working at himself until he gave himself over to it.

Morning sun. The Palisadoes in the bay beyond. Hint of a tropical day in the air, and Bush getting one last round before he was due back on ship, so he had his shirt hanging around his cock. His hips pushed against bare air, and he had moaned over and over as the girl worked her tongue deeper and deeper into him.

It had left an impression.

The Nonsuch was out on the harbor, now, waiting for the morning. Hornblower had Bush on his back with a pillow underneath him; Bush's cock was slick from Hornblower's mouth having been on it a little earlier, and Hornblower's mouth was now working a little below. In his mind, in all the times that he'd imagined this before, Bush had been against the wall and Hornblower had behind him, but aat the exact moment, Hornblower hadn't quite been able to make himself do quite that -- now, the bed, with Bush's legs drawn up and spread wide to give Hornblower plenty of room. Bush had almost fallen off the bed when Hornblower's tongue had first touched him there, and then, when Hornblower had kept his mouth there, kept Bush lying flat on his back, Bush made a noise and hardened to the point that worried Hornblower that it would end too soon.

Hornblower had to draw back. A little after that, when Bush made as if to put a hand on his cock and help his commodore out of the situation as soon as possible, Hornblower had reached up and held that wrist. He put it against Bush's stomach; they eventually moved it so that it was pinned behind Bush's back. Hornblower's fingers had been around Bush's wrist; they had slipped down a little, and Bush was gripping his fingers now. It made the position awkward, strained Hornblower a good bit, but Bush had reached the point where he had even lost the ability to make noise.

He could only pant through his mouth. Even when Hornblower decided that Bush was loose enough for the attempt and had actually worked his tongue inside, Bush had only managed to catch his breath, arch a little. He was sweating and gasping, and when Hornblower raised his head up for a bit of breath himself, he could see that getting fucked in this manner had made Bush harder Hornblower had ever seen him -- Bush tasted like the sea, in fact, even down there.

Salt water mixed with much of the fresh water here; the tub that had brought up for him had contained an admixture. Hornblower was to take the Nonsuch in the morning; Bush had only come to give one last assurance than everything was in order, but Barbara was away, and Hornblower had coaxed Bush out of his clothes and into the tub and out again, onto his back. He was gasping, now, sweating with one hand lying underneath him and the other on his knee so that Hornblower could fuck him harder.

Hair and heat and the sound of Bush, eager and desperate and as out of control of himself as he had even been when young. The taste of Bush, too, and the smell of him. Hornblower was holding onto him as hard as he could manage and still keep his balance. Hornblower hardly noticed that the foot brushing against his side was made out of wood; Bush finally managed to make a noise, a gasp, as a warning, and instead of moving away, Hornblower moved his mouth back up to catch Bush in his mouth as he came.

He was just in time -- it was somewhat bitter, a little sour. Quite hot, too, but Hornblower swallowed it, licked his lips and then, as Bush watched from above, licked up what that he had missed from Bush's stomach. Afterwards, Bush leaned his head against Hornblower's shoulder, closed his eyes and rested for a long moment. Despite the possibility of Barbara coming back, Hornblower almost fell asleep himself.

The girl in Kingston had not done any of that, but that had been Kingston.

They were captain and commodore now.

Rather obvious line lifted from