quigonejinn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
quigonejinn) wrote2006-11-25 05:14 pm
quigonejinn) wrote2006-11-25 05:14 pm
Entry tags:
There Could Be.
There has been an absurd lack of porn in Hornblower fandom recently.
Hornblower had never put his fingers in a man before. He had as little experience as Bush of sodomy, and the closest he had ever come was, once, when he had put his fingers in Maria. It had been done out of curiosity rather than lust; he wanted to see what sort of place his cock went into, and his impression had been that the insides of persons were wet and smooth -- wet and smooth, much like the inside of the mouth.
It surprised him, therefore, when the inside of Bush proved to be dry and tight. Whatever wetness in there came from Hornblower spitting on his fingers when a dry trial proved unsuccessful, and there were, in fact, ridges and folds. It was enormously tight, and there was a great deal of heat. Bush could not accomodate two fingers to begin with as Maria had, and even after the spitting, it was difficult to move the fingers -- there was a certain pleasure, Hornblower decided, in watching his fingers move in and out of Bush. Unexpected, but certainly there, as much as there was in listening to the short breaths that Bush was taking while he accommodated the fingers, to looking at him as he leaned against the pillows with his legs spread and a bit of a flush on his cheeks.
He still wore his shirt, but it was hitched around his waist like a woman's skirt. His queue lay on his shoulder, and Hornblower supposed it was uncomfortable to have two fingers inside. Bush didn't complain, though, and there was a flush in his cheeks. He bit his lip; he seemed to be trying to think of something, trying to ask something that he could not articulate.
Tight and hot. The sight of his fingers disappearing into Bush more smoothly than Hornblower could have imagined, and the concurrent sight of Bush breathing through his mouth while he closed his eyes more tightly. It made Hornblower lick his lips even though he knew it was not entirely pleasurable for Bush. He knew Bush's expressions well enough to tell that, but it could not be entirely painful either. Bush was beginning to toss his head a little, and the flush was greater on his cheeks. It was remarkable to see him in this state. Hornblower knew that Bush liked his hands; Bush had once told him that they were the hands of a proper captain. Earlier, he had kissed them and pressed his lips to them individually.
Now, he almost jumped off the bed.
"Ah -- " Bush kicked out with his left foot, and his cheeks had turned very red. Hornblower glanced down and saw that Bush's cock had gotten half-hard. "Do that again."
Hornblower hesitated.
"Put your -- " Bush could not finish the sentence, and some of the flush was from shame.
Some of it was from desire, too, though. He opened his eyes, and he could not bring himself to look at anything in particular. The edge of the bed, and the top of the room.
His pupils were dilated as though he had suddenly become drunk, and Hornblower felt a prickle down his back. "That way again," Bush said. It was dificult for him to form the words. "The same angle again."
Another moment of hesitation.
Bush closed his eyes and lay there. He bit his lower lip and kept his eyes closed, possibly to work up the courage to ask again, and that decided Hornblower: he did put his fingers most of the way into Bush again, and it was easy to find the place that had made Bush jump off the bed.
It was a strange thing to cause such a reaction. A bump more than anything, near where the inside of Bush turned smooth. It was easiest to find if Hornblower turned his palm so that it was toward the ceiling; his fingers were inside Bush past the second joint, and every time he slid a finger over it, Bush made noises like Hornblower had never heard anyone, man or woman, make before.
Bush had taken to gripping the headboard with two hands over his head. His hips began to jerk upward a little, arching for something. He took a hand away from the headboard, presumably to finish himself, but he could not. Hornblower had found the trick of angling his fingers as he pushed them into Bush, and it made Bush moan. He wasn't even going to try and speak; his hand was frozen in midair, and he wavered for a moment. He was not sure what to do. Should he put his hand back on the headboard? Should he bring his hand down to his cock?
Hornblower made the decision for him -- he did even harder, and this time, Bush shouted. His hips bucked upward, and he tried to restrain himself by putting one hand over his stomach, but Hornblower caught his hand and pulled it away. He put his hand over Bush's, and he watched, in fact, as Bush moaned again and spilled over his shirt and over himself. Bush could not breathe properly for a while afterwards, in fact, even after Hornblower took his fingers out; he lay on the bed, on his side, with his eyes closed and the fingers of his hand lying under Hornblower's.
Neither of them had much experience with sodomy, but after this, Hornblower was quite decided that there could be pleasure in it.
Hornblower had never put his fingers in a man before. He had as little experience as Bush of sodomy, and the closest he had ever come was, once, when he had put his fingers in Maria. It had been done out of curiosity rather than lust; he wanted to see what sort of place his cock went into, and his impression had been that the insides of persons were wet and smooth -- wet and smooth, much like the inside of the mouth.
It surprised him, therefore, when the inside of Bush proved to be dry and tight. Whatever wetness in there came from Hornblower spitting on his fingers when a dry trial proved unsuccessful, and there were, in fact, ridges and folds. It was enormously tight, and there was a great deal of heat. Bush could not accomodate two fingers to begin with as Maria had, and even after the spitting, it was difficult to move the fingers -- there was a certain pleasure, Hornblower decided, in watching his fingers move in and out of Bush. Unexpected, but certainly there, as much as there was in listening to the short breaths that Bush was taking while he accommodated the fingers, to looking at him as he leaned against the pillows with his legs spread and a bit of a flush on his cheeks.
He still wore his shirt, but it was hitched around his waist like a woman's skirt. His queue lay on his shoulder, and Hornblower supposed it was uncomfortable to have two fingers inside. Bush didn't complain, though, and there was a flush in his cheeks. He bit his lip; he seemed to be trying to think of something, trying to ask something that he could not articulate.
Tight and hot. The sight of his fingers disappearing into Bush more smoothly than Hornblower could have imagined, and the concurrent sight of Bush breathing through his mouth while he closed his eyes more tightly. It made Hornblower lick his lips even though he knew it was not entirely pleasurable for Bush. He knew Bush's expressions well enough to tell that, but it could not be entirely painful either. Bush was beginning to toss his head a little, and the flush was greater on his cheeks. It was remarkable to see him in this state. Hornblower knew that Bush liked his hands; Bush had once told him that they were the hands of a proper captain. Earlier, he had kissed them and pressed his lips to them individually.
Now, he almost jumped off the bed.
"Ah -- " Bush kicked out with his left foot, and his cheeks had turned very red. Hornblower glanced down and saw that Bush's cock had gotten half-hard. "Do that again."
Hornblower hesitated.
"Put your -- " Bush could not finish the sentence, and some of the flush was from shame.
Some of it was from desire, too, though. He opened his eyes, and he could not bring himself to look at anything in particular. The edge of the bed, and the top of the room.
His pupils were dilated as though he had suddenly become drunk, and Hornblower felt a prickle down his back. "That way again," Bush said. It was dificult for him to form the words. "The same angle again."
Another moment of hesitation.
Bush closed his eyes and lay there. He bit his lower lip and kept his eyes closed, possibly to work up the courage to ask again, and that decided Hornblower: he did put his fingers most of the way into Bush again, and it was easy to find the place that had made Bush jump off the bed.
It was a strange thing to cause such a reaction. A bump more than anything, near where the inside of Bush turned smooth. It was easiest to find if Hornblower turned his palm so that it was toward the ceiling; his fingers were inside Bush past the second joint, and every time he slid a finger over it, Bush made noises like Hornblower had never heard anyone, man or woman, make before.
Bush had taken to gripping the headboard with two hands over his head. His hips began to jerk upward a little, arching for something. He took a hand away from the headboard, presumably to finish himself, but he could not. Hornblower had found the trick of angling his fingers as he pushed them into Bush, and it made Bush moan. He wasn't even going to try and speak; his hand was frozen in midair, and he wavered for a moment. He was not sure what to do. Should he put his hand back on the headboard? Should he bring his hand down to his cock?
Hornblower made the decision for him -- he did even harder, and this time, Bush shouted. His hips bucked upward, and he tried to restrain himself by putting one hand over his stomach, but Hornblower caught his hand and pulled it away. He put his hand over Bush's, and he watched, in fact, as Bush moaned again and spilled over his shirt and over himself. Bush could not breathe properly for a while afterwards, in fact, even after Hornblower took his fingers out; he lay on the bed, on his side, with his eyes closed and the fingers of his hand lying under Hornblower's.
Neither of them had much experience with sodomy, but after this, Hornblower was quite decided that there could be pleasure in it.