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Shore Leave

Author: Skud, Marna
Fandom: Hornblower, Master and Commander, Sharpe, Pirates of the Caribbean
Pairing: One for all and all for one!
Rating: Explicit sexuality
Categories: Plot What Plot, Crossovers
Date published: 2004-04-26 (also on LiveJournal)
Archive URL: http://scriptorium.infotrope.net/fiction/shoreleave.mhtml
Length: words (0 kb)

Feedback welcome by email to Skud at fanfic@infotrope.net and Marna at marna@marna.ca or via LiveJournal comments

Disclaimer: The characters in this work belong to C. S. Forester and A&E and Patrick O'Brian and Bernard Cornwell and Disney and are used without permission. Please also read this site's standard disclaimer.

Dramatis Personae (in order of rank)

Commodore James Norrington, HMS Dauntless
Major Lord Alexander "Slutbunny" Edrington, 95th Regiment of Foot
Captain Jack Aubrey, HMS Surprise
Captain Richard Sharpe, South Essex Regiment (Light Company)
Lt. Tom Pullings, HMS Surprise
Lt. William Bush, HMS Renown
Lt. Horatio Hornblower, HMS Renown
Lt. Archie "Crumpet" Kennedy, HMS Renown
Dr Stephen Maturin, FRCP, FRS, etc, surgeon of the HMS Surprise
Jack Sp— sorry, CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow, pirate

There was an imperative knock at the door. Captain Aubrey looked up to see it admit Major Lord Edrington. "Why, there you are, Alexander," he cried. "We started without you."

"So I see," replied Edrington, removing his hat. "Who is our guest?"

"My Lord," said the Captain, gesturing at the prone figure on the floor, and nearly spilling madeira from his glass, "May I present to you Lieutenant Tom Pullings, of His Majesty's Ship Surprise."

"Don't get up," said Edrington, a faint smirk crossing his features. "Oh, good day to you Maturin; Clarence sends his regards." The surgeon of the Surprise looked up, briefly, and sketched half a nod in his direction, before returning to the nipple from which he had been distracted.

Edrington shrugged off his regimental jacket and unbuckled his sword belt. "Mr Hornblower, Mr Kennedy, Mr Bush," he greeted his old companions and their new shipmate, whom he had met at their previous gathering. "Sharpe." He nodded in an offhand manner to the unshaven rifleman, casually handing him the jacket and shirt he had just removed. Sharpe looked at the pile of clothing in his arms, looked at the Major (who had, by this time, turned away), then shrugged and dropped the garments unceremoniously in the corner.

Edrington stood in nothing but his breeches, stretching; he reached his arms up and out, and rolled his neck from side to side. A lazy smile crossed his features as he examined the tableau on the rug in the centre of the room.

Archie Kennedy, golden-haired fallen angel, had his tongue in Tom Pullings' mouth, interspersing kisses with indistinct words. Norrington, naked and — Edrington grinned — wigless, lay sprawled against Tom's right side, his hands and mouth exploring the lieutenant's torso. Stephen Maturin, on the left hand side, was flicking his tongue deftly at Tom's other nipple, while Tom's white-knuckled hand gripped his shoulder.

FIFTEEN MINUTES EARLIER:

Archie leaned over Tom, with a sunny smile on his face. "Don't worry," he said, "I remember when I first brought Horatio; you should have seen the look on his face."

Horatio called across the room, from where he sat with his arms around Lieutenant Bush, their two dark heads close together and both pairs of hands engaged in the removal of their uniforms, "I assure you, sir, I quickly found myself comfortable. You are, may I say, in the best of hands."

"There, see?" murmured Archie, pressing his lips against Tom's. "There now," he continued, "Just relax. I assure you I don't bite. Nor does the Commodore."

Tom started, and glanced to his right; even as Archie stroked Tom's hair and drew him down onto the rug, Commodore Norrington was removing his wig and coat and placing them carefully on one of the chairs. The rest of his uniform followed. He knelt next to the young lieutenant — so innocent-looking a face to be marred by such a brutal scar, he thought, though it lent him a rakish, almost piratical air — and slid one hand up inside Pullings' shirt.

Tom shivered as Norrington's fingers stroked his tense chest and Kennedy's fingers brushed out his hair. His mind reeled wildly and he thought, thankfully but faintly, how glad he was that there was a floor securely behind him.

Sensation melted into sensation as his clothing disappeared and more hands, more lips, more tongues found their way onto and into his body. He felt his blood flow hot within him, fleeing his head even as his cheeks burned and a flush wrapped down his neck and chest. His initial discomfort at this strange situation was beginning to fade, but despite the warm welcome he had received and the protective, calming influence of Doctor Maturin at his side, he was nevertheless surprised to realise that little moans of delight were rising unbidden in his own throat as Archie's lips and tongue sought his mouth, as fingers brushed across his flushed chest and down his sides, as mouths closed over his nipples, sucking, nuzzling softly.

"How extraordinary it is to know a body intimately as a physician, and then to rediscover it in a carnal fashion," reflected Stephen as he knelt at Tom's side. "Sure, I have nursed him through fevers, sewn him up, pulled musket balls out of him..." (one fingertip caressed a dimpled scar in Pullings' side, eliciting a shiver) "... yet his reactions in this situation are as unknown to me as the habits of the rarest species of tropical avifauna."

Tom's chest was dusted with dark hair, tanned in a deep V where his shirt had lain open under tropical suns and clear Mediterranean skies. Stephen rested a steady, calming hand on Tom's sternum, as though quieting a nervous patient. He bent and pressed his face to Tom's skin, inhaling deeply, then extended his tongue and with equal degrees of pleasure and scientific inquiry, applied it to Tom's nipple.

Edrington smiled to himself. It didn't require a military tactician to plan this attack; with Archie at Pullings' mouth and Norrington and Maturin at either nipple, there was only one front undefended. "Once more into the breeches," he thought, and launched his assault.

Tom gave a louder, deeper moan against Kennedy's — Archie's mouth as cool hands brushed against the skin above the waist of his breeches, a shudder working through his body as the buttons were unfastened and the cloth was pushed down over his thighs.

He let out a whimper and reached out his hand to grasp the wrist of whomever was removing his breeches. They came down no further, but as Archie delivered a stream of kisses and reassurances — "Edrington doesn't bite either... well, not when he's doing this" — a wet tongue traced a soft line along what little of his hip was exposed. He felt a puff of air and heard a soft laugh, and the mouth retreated, only to follow the same trail once more, circling, exploring. He loosened his hand slightly, and as the mouth — Edrington? — claimed the newly exposed hollow and began a fast, flickering attack, the last of his hesitation evaporated in a cloud of desire. He gave over, shuddering, and felt his breeches descending just ahead of that same wet tongue.

He gasped and instinctively thrust upwards, seeking, only to find his hips caught and pinned, holding him steady for a slow, leisurely assault on his prick; tongue and lips took his measure with aching thoroughness. He could not see the man who had just expertly breached his defenses and captured him, had not even met him (unless the Captain's desultory half-introduction counted, which he doubted), yet the precision with which his resistance had been demolished and the sureness of the tongue laving his length and the fingers gripping his hips suggested a far greater intimacy.

He disentangled his arm from under the Doctor's body and reached down. Clean shaven face, hair pulled back tight and tied with a ribbon; he could make out little else, but found that he did not care.

Bush had never been able to shake the feeling that these evenings were more than a little irregular, and the sight of the young lieutenant currently pinned to the floor beneath a Commodore and the prize surgeon of His Majesty's navy, with his own Lieutenant Archie Kennedy petting and soothing their newest accomplice with that damnably skillful tongue of his, did little to alter that opinion. He had watched the scene progressing from the corner where he had huddled with Horatio, half his mind and one eye trained on the far side of the room as Horatio's slender fingers slid his clothing from his torso; the coltish young lieutenant's efforts, in this as in everything, were painstaking, methodical — and utterly endearing.

"Go over there William." Horatio's whisper was warm on his neck, and made him blink quickly as his eyes readjusted to peer at Horatio's face.

"No, Horatio, I've no desire to leave you. I'm sorry, it's just... quite a distracting scene, even by the standards of these gatherings." Bush felt his blood rising as he spoke and his concentration already beginning to waver, but his gaze, unlike Horatio's, was no longer drawn only to Archie. Commodore Norrington, so correct in his dress uniform and powdered wig, now resembled nothing so much as a satyr at his feast as he knelt over dear Tom Pullings. Bush reddened, but his tongue stole forth to lave his lower lip as he stared in fascination.

"Go, William. I'll be fine, and I will not stand in your way." As Horatio smiled and gave him a gentle shove, Bush found himself moving, almost without volition, towards the entrancing scene.

Bush crouched quietly behind Norrington, and his hands found the long planes of the Commodore's back; it was firm under his touch, laced faintly with scars, as every man in the room bore some trace of battle, Bush realised. At the thought, he shrugged off the last of his diffidence; If not now, when? He began to explore more boldly.

Norrington was briefly distracted from young lieutenant whose torso he was so freely — and enjoyably — assisting the good doctor and naturalist to explore by the sensation of callused hands sliding along his spine.

He considered leaving off to enquire as to who might be taking such liberties, but refrained. It would be unkind to risk distracting Tom and perhaps causing him to return to his earlier self-consciousness, and besides — he smiled again, reminiscently — one always found out soon enough, at these gatherings.

His skin prickled at the touch of strange hands; a strong chest pressed him closely and a faintly stubbled chin was against his neck. The ticklish scrape wrung a gasp from him, but as he half-turned to look over his shoulder he was transfixed by the sight of Edrington's hand wrapping itself firmly around Tom's prick. He watched the tip of the blond man's tongue search and flicker — catching unerringly the sensitive underside and then disappearing back inside the mouth that now slid down over Tom's straining member — until the shivering tension of the body beneath him recalled James to his former preoccupation. No sooner had he latched onto Pullings' nipple, however, than an imperative growl at his ear diverted him again.

"Well, now, Captain Aubrey." Jack Sparrow said cheerily, settling himself comfortably on the floor.

"Captain Sparrow," Aubrey returned, friendly enough for all he'd been the least welcoming of all of them the first time Jack had appeared at one of these gatherings, when Aubrey and James had nearly come to blows — or worse — over the question of whether or not "whore-begotten pirate best suited for the gallows" was a suitable way for a gentleman to describe another gentleman's particular friend. "A glass of wine with you!"

Sparrow checked any impulse to decline in favour of the bottle he carried. Olive branches in this crowd were as valuable as olive oil, and a good bit rarer. He nodded respectfully at the ruddy-faced giant beside him, and accepted the proffered glass, grinning cheerily at Sharpe where he sprawled comfortably against Aubrey's side.

Sharpe grinned wickedly in return, and Sparrow chuckled in response; the pirate approved of the rifleman's attitude, and they'd got on like a house afire since their first meeting, which had begun over the squirming body of a certain Commodore and wound up with them sprawled in the middle of the floor finishing off every drop of liquor in the place and singing rude songs about the Royal Navy over the feeble protests of several half-conscious members of same.

"Lovely night, innit?" said Sparrow, nodding at the expanses of skin before them, eyes lingering on James before shifting appreciatively to Stephen, attending deftly to the prone newcomer; the man had hidden depths, no question about it. "You're a lucky man, Captain, if I may be permitted to say so."

"As are you," returned Aubrey, gallantly enough as he nodded vaguely in the direction of James' kneeling form and drained his glass, then erupted suddenly with a hoot of laughter. "Ah, your Commodore is ambushed, I believe — am-Bushed, indeed, sir! Ha, ha, ha."

The three men laughed as they drained their glasses, and if Sparrow's amusement at the dreadful jest was accompanied by a discreet eye-roll, Aubrey did not appear to notice.

The glasses now being empty, Jack made so bold as to produce his rum, which was accepted with every evidence of enthusiasm. They watched appreciatively for the length of a glass, Aubrey and Sharpe amusing themselves — and Sparrow, who was sorely tempted to start soliciting bets — with a muttered running tactical analysis of the play between Bush and James until the pirate, catching a conspiratorial glance from Sharpe and seeing the two military men grow ever more confidential, began to cast about for a reason to be elsewhere. The sharp-featured, dark haired man who had pushed Bush towards James and was now sitting alone, staring entranced at the scene before him, caught Jack's eye.

"Excuse me, gents," he said, rising gracefully, and departed.

"Commodore Norrington." The low voice so close to his ear made him jump. "Might I request your assistance in other quarters?"

James shuddered slightly; as the beard scraped again he gasped with the effort of preventing his teeth from closing sharply. He made a mental note to — discuss — with Mr Kennedy the dangers of making rash promises on behalf of others.

The scrape of beard was replaced by a warm, lazy tongue on James' vulnerable nape. "Tell me, Archie," he thought, as he felt his hips shift back to meet the other man's, "do you think you will find it difficult not to bite?"

"He's not so bad, that one. Clever, for all he doesn't have the sort of education you'd — well, clever, at any rate, in his way. Gave Norrington a run for his money, I hear." He sighed, vaguely noticing the way Sharpe's sprawling form had eeled closer as they talked, enjoying the contact. "I never seem to strike the right note at these things, Richard; no hand at the sort of talk they hand out and if I go to make a joke, well..."

Sharpe grinned up at him and moved closer yet. "Nothing wrong with your conversation. And wit, well, it's like drink, isn't it? You can fancy it up if you like, and some seem to like it that way, but it's the same old punch that you're getting either way."

Jack stared at him for a minute, then gave out a great bark of laughter and said "Oh, very good, sir, very good. I must remember that one, and tell Stephen next time he accuses me of low buffoonery."

Jack Sparrow sauntered over towards the intent young officer, and dropped himself casually at his side. Horatio turned his head to smile at him briefly, and Jack favoured him with a flashing golden grin.

Horatio rarely took his eyes from Archie, Jack saw, and regarded the flushed, nervous face before him with a mixture of sympathy and a slightly predatory interest that would probably, he thought to himself, have shocked the life out of the younger man had he seen it.

"Never gets old, does it?' he said softly. "Seein' it from outside, like."

"He's so beautiful," said Horatio, distantly. "they both are." At the lewd appreciation in Jack's answering murmur, he straightened self-consciously, and added, "Of course, he's an excellent officer, too."

"Which one?" asked Jack, grinning.

"Well, of course, from all I've ever heard, Commodore Norrington is a man any of us would be glad to be under. I mean —"

"Aye, I've heard that too", Jack replied, straight-faced.

"But I meant to say," Horatio, continued, blushing furiously, "both Lieutenants Kennedy and Bush. Fine officers."

"That they are," Jack murmured, leaning closer to his companion. "I seem to be surrounded — again — by fine naval officers." His words tickled against Horatio's ear, lips a mere breath away, and he grinned at the lad's faint shiver. And I'd like t'be surrounded more closely yet.

Horatio stiffened slightly, then relaxed. He'd not known what to make of this man when they'd first encountered one another at a previous gathering. Every pirate he'd ever come upon had been a murderous criminal and filthy and lice-ridden to boot. He'd rapidly grown accustomed to this one, though, and if the man's constant clowning had amused him, the tenderness with which he had seen him regard the Commodore when he thought no-one observed him had quite disarmed him.

Indeed, Horatio had found him to be surprisingly clean, and not at all murderous, at least in the present company. As for criminality, well, the laws of the sea did not apply in this place — a situation for which, upon consideration, he was immensely thankful. Thus, when the pirate moved behind him to get a better vantage of the entwined men who held them both transfixed — and not incidentally to trail warm kisses down his neck — he only sighed and leaned back into the caress, never taking his eyes from the scene before him.

Sharpe and Aubrey were making prodigious progress on the bottle, though neither was much the worse for it.

"Where'd you get that one?" asked Sharpe, reaching out and touching a puckered scar on Jack's chest.

"French boarding axe, in the year five. Thirty-six gun frigate, came up on us out of nowhere at dawn, with the weather gage, and — I can't tell you the story if you distract me, you know."

Sharpe waved it off and continued tracing his hand over Aubrey's chest. "Never mind. I wouldn't know the weather gage from my prick."

Jack snickered. "Similar, at times, really. At least in effect. Never mind it, then." He reached out a hand to the younger man's thigh and contemplated the collection of old injuries there. "I know you infantry like to travel light, sir, but that's a damned odd place to keep a map of the Peninsula, all the same."

Sharpe grinned and noted from the corner of his mouth, "Peninsula's over a bit, there, actually; that's more what you might call the Mainland area," as he continued his casual exploration, grazing a nipple as he slid his hand down further.

"What about this one, then?"

Bush's breath hissed through his teeth as Norrington's hips ground against him. Tightening his arm around Norrington's chest, he pulled him upright and close against him. His lips and teeth found the soft point where the Commodore's neck met his shoulder; he bit sharply. "Commodore Norrington — James. Now. I believe Tom is in capable hands. And I believe I would like to be."

"Would you now," Norrington breathed, as he turned and raised his eyes to the Lieutenant's. "I can hardly refuse such a gracious request."

He brought his hands to rest on Bush's lean flanks and drew them slowly up his sides, letting his short nails scrape against tender skin and smiling appreciatively as Bush shivered and shifted. He brought his lips to Bush's collarbone and began to explore, tongue flickering over the sensitive hollows to be found there. Bush's head fell back and his hands tightened under the combined assault of Norrington's warm mouth and his clever hands pinching and rolling Bush's nipples between callused thumb and forefinger.

Jack Sparrow smiled as he felt Horatio relax beneath him, slipped one hand lightly under his loosened shirt, then ran his tongue lightly across his ear. Horatio's mouth opened in an almost soundless gasp, and he shuddered against Jack, seeming not to notice that he did so. Emboldened, Jack moved his hands lightly up Horatio's sides, fingers dancing in time to his teasing tongue.

He tugged lightly at the lobe with his teeth before tracing a line of gentle scrapes and nibbles down that elegant throat, enjoying the small, breathy sighs, and closed his teeth sharply on the soft skin just above the collarbone.

Bush's hands gripped Norrington's haunches, pulling their groins sharply together. Norrington smiled as they rocked backwards and he felt Bush overbalance slightly. Seizing the opportune moment, he leaned into the motion, riding the other man down until they lay sprawled together, his legs snugly between Bush's. Bush grinned up at him and licked his lips, and their mouths met at last. James lifted his head. "You did say that you desired to be in capable hands," he growled. "And having gotten you between said hands, I find," he punctuated hs words with a long slow grind of his hips that left Bush moaning, "I find I'm rather minded to keep you there."

Bush trailed one hand up Norrington's back to find the spot at his nape that had produced so delightful a response before and stroked it, using his short fingernails to scratch lightly. As he felt the arching response, he slid one leg over the Commodore's and twisted, heaving him up and... almost over. He fell back, panting, as Norrington pinned him. "There is, I admit, a great deal to be said for the element of surprise," Norrington said, renewing his assault on Bush's collarbone between sentences, "but I think you will find that position and preparedness generally take the day in the end."

Sharpe lifted his mouth from Aubrey's hip, where he'd been idly exploring another intriguing scar, and grinned at the expression on Jack's face as the larger man traced one of the lines on his back.

"You were flogged?"

"Oh, Aye. Two hundred strokes, for something I didn't do." His brow furrowed, then cleared. "Which is almost funny, really," he continued, "when you come to consider some of the things I have done. You seem to have managed to keep a whole back yourself, though."

"Just a couple of musket balls and that damned Turkish pike..."

"Aye, well," said Sharpe gruffly, sitting up and reaching for his glass, "I suppose that's another one of those benefits that comes with being an officer and a gentleman born."

Jack chuckled, a little shame-faced. "I started as a midshipman, and I hope to finish an Admiral, but I had my day before the mast, all the same. Six months for stealing the captain's tripe and keeping a black woman in the cable tiers."

Sharpe turned, his expression clearing as he laughed and looked Jack in the eye. "Christ, Jack, you never... the cable tiers? The things you seamen will do for a bit of muslin."

Jack's eyes sparkled with pleasure as he reminisced. "True enough, and worth it, too, even at the price."

"Six months for keeping a woman aboard? You should have joined the army; could have had as many as you wanted. They even do your laundry."

"Well, there's always Killick."

Sharpe snorted, and almost choked as madeira went up his nose. "Didn't I meet him? Jesus. I don't care what they say about the Navy, but I won't believe that."

"Well, no. His heart belongs to the silver, anyway, I believe."

"Christ. You get some odd ones, you do. Well, there's nowt queerer than folk."

At Horatio's startled jump, Jack said, patiently enough "Pretty a sight though that may be over there, lad, I'll be needin' a fraction more of your attention meself. Unless," he drew back a fraction, "unless yer wantin' to sit this one out?"

Horatio flushed. "I — I beg your pardon, sir," he replied with courteous attention, leaning back against Jack. "I intended to suggest no such thing."

Jack sighed inwardly. Skittish, awkward, and much more innocent than he had expected. But heartbreakingly beautiful, and after all, Jack thought to himself, it would certainly make for an interesting challenge.

Archie covered Tom's moans with his mouth, enjoying the sensation of strong hands tangled in his hair, which was rapidly coming loose from its pigtail, as was Tom's own.

He pulled back for a moment for a better view. Tom's eyes were almost closed, his mouth open and red-lipped, his head flung back carelessly, throat exposed; such a rapid change, thought Archie, smiling gleefully at his part in the transformation, from shy obedience to wanton licentiousness.

Blinking lust-glazed eyes, he looked around the room. Ha, Horatio looked like falling to Jack Sparrow's charms at any moment. Archie grinned widely at his friend, who sent him a shy smile in return. Bush had been closely engaged with the Commodore for some time already; Archie had heard their low growls, and did not even try to get their attention.

Archie turned his head. Beside him, Stephen was curled against Tom's outstretched body, gazing intently at Edrington's bobbing head and stroking Tom's side. Archie shifted and wrapped his arm around the doctor's small frame, pressing his hand flat against his belly.

"Let him have it, square in his bloody arse." Sharpe glanced over at Bush and Norrington briefly, and snickered. "Shot him I mean."

Jack laughed. "You're a hard man, Sharpe," he said, then flushed a bit, but Sharpe's grin only widened.

"Now that you mention it, Jack —" he reached over and gently fisted the larger man in the arm while casually nudging Jack's hand over to his waiting member — "I don't know about you, but my rifle could use a good polishing."

Bush laughed roughly, snaking his arms around Norrington's back to pull him down towards him. He licked a long swipe across the Commodore's neck, unwilling to allow the expanse of exposed skin to go neglected, before sinking onto his back. He let out a soft whoosh of air from his lungs as he sprawled inelegantly against the rug. Norrington pressed down against him, returning his lick; Bush closed his eyes as he enjoyed the Commodore's insistent tongue.

"You know Commodore," he said in a low voice, blowing a few stray hairs from his face, "I am glad of your commitment to your fellow officers in situations like this one."

"Lieutenant Kennedy, the dear creature," thought Stephen, "shows no signs of the difficulties which plagued him earlier in life. Indeed, had he not consulted with me in my medical capacity I should never have suspected he had experienced such mistreatment as a young midshipman. Such a sanguine temperament, he might almost be a younger Jack; yet there is a touch of sweet melancholy in his disposition which I admit I find extremely beguiling."

Stephen clasped the hand that pressed against his abdomen, lacing their fingers together for a moment. His pale eyes were fixed on Tom's virile organ as it was repeatedly occulted and exposed by the motion of Edrington's mouth. Beneath his cheek, he felt Tom's abdominal muscles tense, his breathing become more shallow and rapid. Behind him, Archie moved against his back. Stephen unlaced his fingers, and reached back to stroke Archie's thigh.

"James," corrected Norrington, and chuckled. "I try to treat them as I myself would wish to be treated," he rejoined. "But you know, when I was an eager young lieutenant..." Bush was quiescent for the moment and Norrington judged it safe to reward him a little. "I admit, what I so often needed more than anything was," — with a quick movement he wrapped his hand around Bush's shaft — "a firm hand." Bush gasped and thrust his hips towards Norrington, who smiled with pleasure at the response he had elicited.

Tom felt Archie and Stephen draw away from him; they were still within arm's reach, Archie's hand, blessed anchor, was still entwined in his hair, but for the most part they had abandoned him to Edrington's ministrations.

For his own part, he was utterly lost in the battle between his own shyness and aching awareness of propriety and the hot, slick mouth that engulfed him; he squirmed and bit his lip, conscious of every sound that escaped him, wondering desperately what sort of spectacle he was making of himself. He kept his eyes shut tight in an attempt to drive out all thought of the crowd of people surrounding him, even — Oh, God — Captain Aubrey watching. He felt his assailant pull back so the skillful tongue could circle the head of his prick, then engulf him once more and suckle him strongly, and Tom could do nothing but groan and clutch blindly at the rug.

"James..." Bush had another dry sally ready on his lips, and would have essayed it if the rhythmic movement of Norrington's hand had not made him reluctant to do anything but moan breathlessly and let his head loll back. But despite his distraction, he recognised that this pleasure was also a game; thankfully, he had enough of his mental capacity remaining, tenuous though it was, to know how to even the odds.

Jack shivered, convulsed, and let himself sag into Sharpe for a moment before recalling his duty and resuming the rapid, almost harsh motion the rifleman seemed to prefer. A moment more, and Sharpe grinned fiercely and spilled into his hand, shook his head as if recovering from a blow, and reached casually for his shirt. He considered it for a moment, shrugged, and made a long arm over to where he had dumped Edrington's clothes earlier.

Jack raised an eyebrow at this casual appropriation, but accepted the shirt with a shrug and tidied himself briskly while Sharpe located the glasses and poured a generous slosh into each.

"Christ, that was a bit of fun," said Sharpe, "God bless the ladies, but they always seem to think it's going to come off if they're not careful."

Jack flushed and nodded briefly, adding, "Still, we would be in a sad fix without them. There's nothing finer than coming home to them after a long commission. After you've spent a month in the doldrums with a shipful of a couple of hundred men, and nobody but the gunner's wife to relieve the sight of them all, it's fine to see a sweet smile in a pretty face, and a fine plump figure as well."

Sharpe nodded. "Even if they do run us around like the devil; you fight with a man and you think you know him through and through, seen him with the fury of battle on him looking like the devil himself and then one day some tiny thing in petticoats shows up and suddenly he's the meekest of lambs."

Jack grinned.

"Aye. Besides," said Sharpe, "you wouldn't think it to look about in here, but by God, most men are ugly enough bastards. The doctor though... Jack Sparrow was right; you're a fortunate man."

Jack nodded, and raised his glass. "To particular friends."

"Particular friends."

"Do you have... I mean to say..."

Sharpe grinned. "Aye. Patrick. Sergeant Patrick Harper. You'd like him; he's a good man."

"Oh." Jack glanced at the discarded shirt again and cocked a speculative eyebrow. "I thought you and Major Edrington..."

"Hah! Aye, well, there's a story there. Pass me that bottle."

Bush let his hands drift, ever so casually, to Norrington's hips, and took hold, digging into his flesh with a firmness he knew must be just this side of painful. He pulled him closer, moving against him with a steady conviction. He made a particularly strong thrust and Norrington turned his head, exposing the nape of his neck; with decided speed and purpose of movement, Bush latched his lips onto the skin just below the hairline, his tongue and teeth joining the fray. He felt Norrington tense and then slacken against him, and smiled. "You are a most worthy opponent, James."

"And us with another 50 miles to march the next day, in the rain, mark you, and him up on his bloody horse sneering down at me, and that toffee-nosed voice of his — 'Captain Sharpe seemed not to be moving quite right this morning and had I slept poorly, perhaps lain on something hard?' — and grinning down at me every chance he got the entire live-long day. Smug bloody lobster."

Jack laughed, and toasted Sharpe with the last of the bottle, which he had shared out between them, and noted "Well, Captain, there is that about the Navy; no women, but no damned mud, either." At Sharpe's rueful acknowledgement he went on, "and as to Edrington, well, damn me if he doesn't deserve a reprisal. If there is any way in which I might assist, I am entirely at your service, sir."

Sharpe shot Jack a wicked, tight-lipped grin, then rose to rummage in the pile of white-and-blue clothing on the floor. Jack looked at him enquiringly. "If I know you," said Sharpe, "there's a rigging knife here somewhere. Ah!" He straightened up, and brandished the leather-sheathed blade he had found. "Come up through the hawse-hole, didn't you? Not such a gentleman that you'd forego the tools of your trade."

He slid the knife out of its leather sheath, and tested the blade with his thumb, grinning. "You can have this back later," he said.

Archie spooned against Stephen's back, nuzzling at his neck. "I hope I don't presume too much, Doctor?" he asked.

"Never in life, my dear," Stephen murmured in reply. He closed his eyes, and sighed softly as Archie's fingertips trailed down the line of dark hair that bisected Stephen's abdomen and came to rest at the fold of his hip.

Archie smiled. "Why do we never have surgeons like you on any of our ships?" he asked, rhetorically. Hepplewhite, Clive, he could not imagine either of them folded in his arms and appreciating his caresses. Archie pushed the very idea from his mind with a mental shudder, and returned to the matter at hand.

Stephen's body was cool to his touch, and smelled faintly and sourly of sweat. Archie nibbled experimentally at his neck, and heard Stephen's breath hiss through his teeth. He nipped again, lightly, then followed it with a wet kiss, tasting the salt of Stephen's skin, while at the same time the fingertips which had been stroking his hip trailed between Stephen's legs and brushed teasingly through the coarse hair at the base of his prick.

Stephen responded with an infinitesimal movement of his hips, and what might have been a whimper had he not bitten it back. Archie laughed softly — he knew very well what sort of discipline caused a man to choke back such noises, but they were not in the midshipmen's berth now, nor indeed aboard any ship — and ran one lazy fingertip up the underside of Stephen's member.

Aubrey crouched by Stephen and Archie, and bent to whisper. "Stephen, my dear, I am sorry to intrude, but may I borrow Mr Kennedy for a moment?"

Stephen's eyes sprang open, and he looked questioningly at Jack's open expression. He caught the look of mischief, and saw with resignation how it was mirrored on Archie's face. "Oh, very well," he sighed, "No doubt you are planning something terribly nautical and fascinating; but do bring him back soon, for all love."

If Edrington had been able to smirk with such a mouthful, he would have done so. Pullings was such an obedient, dutiful lieutenant; no doubt he had attended on his Captain's orders. Well, no matter how much Edrington heard of naval traditions, he was yet to discover a midshipman or young lieutenant who couldn't learn a thing or two from a man in regimentals.

Like this, he thought, shifting the angle of his neck and swallowing Pullings' yard deep into his throat. Tom jerked beneath his hands and moaned deeply, bucking hard against Edrington's wickedly restraining hands as the blond man's throat worked him relentlessly and then pulled back to tease and lick, pumping with one hand until Tom gave a high, choked cry and began to spend in Edrington's mouth.

He was about to lift himself away when he felt a strong hand wrapped around his queue, pushing him back down onto Tom. He spluttered, almost gagging; he had not meant to swallow it all, but he was held firmly, and had no choice.

The voice was rough, its accent uncultured, and the speaker was startlingly close to Edrington's ear. "Are you done? Sir."

The tone of the honorific was unmistakable. "Sharpe," said Edrington, wincing slightly at the pull against his nape.

"I told you I'd repay you, My Lord."

Edrington, trapped, spoke into Tom's crotch. "Debt of honour?" he asked, attempting to make his voice light.

"Something like that."

"Splendid," Edrington drawled.

"Shh, Tom, watch," whispered Archie, helping the shaking lieutenant to shift himself aside. "Sharpe's got a surprise for Edrington. This'll be fun!"

"Hngh?" Tom tried to sit up, and failed; he settled instead for rolling on one side and staring in unfocussed wonderment on the Major's sudden change in fortune.

"You'll be alright, won't you?" Archie shifted impatiently, licking his lips. "The Doctor's right here. I'll be back." With that he bounded away to take up a post next to Captain Aubrey, holding Edrington to the ground.

Jack Sparrow hummed under his breath.

"What's that?" asked Horatio.

He left off his exploration of the lad's neck to prop his chin on a tanned shoulder. "When duty calls me I must go, to stand and face another foe," the pirate sang softly.

Horatio looked at him, puzzled.

"King George commands and I obey, over the hills and far away. What, lad, you don't know that one? Ah, well, wasn't singing it for you, was I?" He leered and jerked his head towards Sharpe, leaning over Edrington with a wicked glint in his eye.

"I don't think they can hear you."

"No, well," Jack shrugged, reached for his rum bottle, and raised it to his lips. "... we always are ready, steady boys steady..."

Horatio snickered, then leaned forward and captured Jack's mouth with his own, coming away with a small mouthful of rum. "Stealing a pirate's rum right out of his mouth, eh?" said Jack as Horatio pulled away to swallow. "Y'er a bold one when y' get going."

He swigged again, and leaned forward to feed more rum into Horatio's waiting mouth.

As they traded rum and kisses, Jack ran his free hand across the younger man's back, sighing appreciatively at the feel of tentative hands exploring his own scarred one, tracing a line here and a furrow there, meandering and learning, relaxing slowly until Jack was able to urge him forward into a close embrace.

James drew in a deep lungful of air, clearing his head, then grinned against Bush's throat. He shifted his hand lower, teasing briefly where thigh met groin before settling in to exert a steady pressure in a spot that he knew from experience would drive the man mad if he'd any inclination at all to be fucked.

"Practice," he purred as he sank sharp teeth into the same hollow of Bush's neck that he had explored so thoroughly earlier. He felt Bush's hips snap against his hand. "Years and years of practice. Comes of dealing with pirates. After all... I can hardly keep him shackled all the time, now can I?"

"Rather caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, isn't he, Captain Aubrey?" Archie's eyes shone with glee as he held Edrington's shoulder down against an indignant jerk. Jack's face crinkled with mirth.

"I'll take that as a compliment," remarked Sharpe, carefully pinning Edrington's legs with his knees, and reaching for the rigging knife. "You know what it is with you officer types, Edrington?"

"You're an officer yourself, Sharpe, though one would hardly suspect it at times."

"Kind of you to say so, sir. But I think we both know that's not what you'd say to your mates at your fine St James club. No, the thing about your type is that you've come to assume that you have a God-given right to be on top. And the thing about men like me, who've been pulled up from the ranks, is that we know what it's like to be underneath, to spend our days marching through the muck while you bastards ride around on your damn horses looking down your noses at us. And we've learnt a few tricks while we were down there." As he spoke, one hand grasped Edrington's hip, thumb digging into the small of his back, while the other snaked between his legs and under his body and groped at what it found there.

Jack set the bottle down and wove gentle fingers through the dark, curly hair, stroking and playing at the nape of his neck as his other hand encouraged Horatio's hips into a steady rocking motion against his thigh.

He gasped as he felt a tentative, questing hand begin to smooth its way from back to arse, and grinned reassuringly at Horatio's startled retreat. "It's alright, luv, it's alright." He dropped a quick kiss on his shoulder before continuing, "Just consider it all your personal sea to chart; please yerself and you'll just about please me."

Horatio still seemed uncertain, but moved his fingers slowly over Jack's backside, rocking his hips up more firmly. A shiver of pleasure flickered in Horatio's brown eyes at the sensation, and his body began to relax and tense rhythmically.

Jack sighed in pleasure, but growing frustration made him shift his hips, brushing his stiff member against the soft skin of Horatio's belly in what he hoped was an encouraging manner.

Horatio brought his other hand slowly up along Jack's arching back, tracing slowly over a scar, brushing the tips of his fingers over it repeatedly.

"Captain..." said Horatio tentatively, "Would it be too great a liberty if I were to..."

Jack chuckled. "I've seen most of it and probably done too much of it, mate. Hard to shock. And ye may take all the liberties y'please." When Horatio still hesitated, he raised an enquiring eyebrow. "Well?"

There was a soft clink as his hand brushed a trinket in Jack's hair, and he glanced at the older man curiously. "What are these? Or... do you mind?"

Jack briefly considered minding. That in particular wasn't a liberty he normally cared to encourage, but — "No," he said gently. "I don't mind. And they're, well," his hand found an old mark on Horatio's shoulder and stroked over it, "same as this, really."

"Oh," Horatio said, softly, and explored further, testing the springy feel of the locks and fingering a few more objects as he smoothed his way to Jack's neck. "This?"

Jack looked down, almost cross-eyed. Horatio was holding a gleaming gold button between finger and thumb.

"It's his", he said, nodding towards James. "From a... worse time than this."

The lad nodded, solemnly. His fingers slipped up along Jack's shoulder and down his arm, tracing the scars there, as his other hand worked slowly around to find Jack's prick. At Jack's sudden leap, he smiled shyly and began to explore, tentative, circling and stroking, until he finally wrapped his hand around him and began to work him gently.

Jack moaned appreciatively and let his head fall forward onto Horatio's shoulder. "Ah, luv, that's fine, that is," he mumbled as his lips travelled appreciatively over a sharp nub of bone and wandered towards the younger man's neck.

Horatio shivered at the feel of Jack's breath and tongue against his throat and shifted his hips restlessly. At the motion, Jack eased his hand slowly over Horatio's hip, pausing to ask "Alright, luv?"

Horatio hesitated, then nodded, biting his lip as Jack's hand closed warmly around him.

With a slightly sulky expression, Stephen wrapped his arms around his folded legs, drawing himself up into a tight parcel wrapped around his neglected member. He sat with his chin on his knees, watching the scene that unfolded before him, where Jack and Archie held the Major down as Sharpe tormented him.

"Few species of mammals, I find, do not exhibit such behaviour; battles for dominance are seldom more marked than among the primates; yet I would far prefer that mankind did not behave in the manner of brute beasts. So many times have I seen this indecent immoral reprehensible struggle for superiority, which cannot help but corrupt and defile all who involve themselves in it. Even the Revolution in France, in which I believed so passionately..."

A soft giggle from behind him interrupted his thoughts. He turned and saw Tom propped on one elbow, dishevelled and relaxed, watching Edrington's attackers in amusement.

"Tom, my dear, would you care for some water?"

"Oh, yes please, doctor." Tom had hardly realised how dry he felt. He sat up as Stephen poured a glass and handed it to him, then drank deeply. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure, joy," said Stephen with a faint smile. Tom blushed.

Norrington gasped and slumped against Bush, who paused to examine his handiwork: livid toothmarks adorned the Commodore's neck and shoulder. Norrington reached out to touch Bush's neck in return, where a dark bruise was already rising on his collarbone, and smiled.

For a long moment, Bush was content to lie with Norrington in an undignified heap, limbs tangled together and hands roaming slowly over exposed skin. Bush smiled to himself as he followed Norrington's line of sight, murmuring appreciatively low in his throat as he watched Jack and Horatio twisted around each other like the strands of a cable, tanned skin and dark hair shifting and turning, and flashes of two bright smiles, one gold and one white.

Norrington chuckled, and called over, "You know, Sparrow, for a pirate, you seem to show very little talent — or even inclination — for staying out of the hands of His Majesty's Navy." Jack's head turned and he grinned lazily back at Norrington, then gasped as Horatio's busy fingers found an especially sensitive spot.

"James... ?" The vague question went unanswered as Norrington gazed, transfixed, at the other pair. Bush did not fancy himself the brilliant tactician that Horatio was, but he knew a prime opening when he saw one. He had no intention of letting this one go: a quick twist and a sudden shift of his upper body and a strong levering up of his free arm and the advantage had shifted. Norrington was pressed back against the rug, Bush's sturdier frame over his and supported only by one strong arm resting on the floor beside his head.

"What penalty would be appropriate for ignoring a fellow officer in time of a close engagement?" enquired Bush, with a sardonic lift of his eyebrow.

He did not allow Norrington time to form a quip, or indeed any response at all, before unleashing his broadside. He tangled his free hand in Norrington's loosened hair, and drew his head closer to assail his lips. He growled into Norrington's mouth as he felt the Commodore's hips grind against his, and a hand stealing down his back. "There'll be no quarter if you behave like that, James."

"I'm not known for asking any," Norrington answered, clamping his hand onto Bush's backside and grinding again, harder, shifting. Ah, there, he thought, as Bush's eyes widened. Norrington pressed his advantage, letting his fingertips drift into the sensitive cleft of the other man's arse, brushing teasingly, as his free hand slipped between them and played along the sweet curve of Bush's hipbone.

"Damn your impudence, sir!" gasped Edrington, struggling against the palm that pressed into him through his breeches; inwardly he cursed his damned traitorous prick, which seemed bent on defeating his best efforts by straining to bridge whatever slight gap between himself and Sharpe he was able to create.

"I don't know why you bastards always say that," said Sharpe, shaking his head. He gave vent to a nasty snicker as he contemplated the twisting form beneath him for a moment longer, then dragged his hand back from Edrington's prick until it was cupping his ballocks not-quite painfully, and twisted a thumb into a sensitive spot just behind. Edrington stiffened and made a strangled sound. Sharpe grinned, let go, and grasped the band of Edrington's breeches, just below the knee, and used the sharp rigging knife to slit the fabric halfway to the waistband.

"God damn you, Sharpe! What are you doing?" Edrington bucked and writhed, but Jack and Archie had him pinned at one end, and Sharpe at the other.

"Don't move, sir. Could be dangerous." He ran the back of the blade up the back of Edrington's thigh; Edrington froze, tense as a spring.

"A sharp action, sir!" said Jack, and chortled. Sharpe glared at him, and even Archie shot him a look of equal parts amusement and disgust. Only Tom, somewhere behind Jack's back, sputtered.

Knowing when to surrender was one of the hidden talents of a good officer, and much as the dim part of Bush's brain still functioning at normal capacity continued valiantly to attempt to regain the advantage, the greater part of his brain and the entirety of his lower body was demanding a full and unequivocal capitulation to the Commodore's questing hands and continually moving hips.

"Christ, James..." Bush's head dropped as he lowered the last of his weight onto Norrington and latched onto a tender spot of his shoulder. "The day is yours, Commodore. Send your boarding party before I burn the vessel myself."

Horatio stiffened in Jack's arms, and his hand paused in its work. Jack's eyes dragged half-open and as he languidly followed the direction of his gaze, Horatio said, "Poor Major Edrington!"

Jack opened his eyes wider, and as he took in the scene, he grinned wickedly. "Lucky Major Edrington, I'd call it. Just look at 'im dance, there."

Horatio continued to stare dumbfounded at the two Army men, but Jack caught the quickening of his breath and sped up the motion of his hand a little, hoping to nudge the lad's memory a little, you were doin' somethin', time t' get back to it maybe, 'ey?, but Horatio was frozen, wide-eyed, seemingly ignoring an increasingly frustrated Jack, who at last said more roughly, "Lad, he's enjoying every second of that; haven't you found out yet that some men do?"

"Bite straight through the hull and sink us, more like," James growled, rolling atop him and fumbling with one hand for the bottle of oil. He nudged the other man's knees wide, then let go of him briefly to unstopper it. Eyes wide, Bush watched him cover himself in the stuff; Norrington smiled. Ready and entirely willing, he could not resist dawdling a moment longer to teasingly clean his hand on Bush, using the last of the slick stuff to glide his fingers down Bush's stiff prick and lower, drawing increasingly urgent sounds from him as he massaged and petted, enjoying how he squirmed and opened himself wider at the touch of slippery fingers tracing from thigh to thigh, slowly urging his legs higher along James' flanks.

Sharpe's knife slid up the back of Edrington's leg, slicing his breeches up to the waistband. Edrington spat out a steady stream of curses, but held still, even as Kennedy's hand idly roamed his torso, tweaking first one nipple then the other, and wandering apparently aimlessly over his belly until his prick ached for him to move, to chase after it. He bit his lip as the teasing hand was withdrawn, then harder as he felt fabric parting to allow cool air to wash over his exposed buttock.

As Sharpe pushed away the fabric and exposed Edrington's thigh and buttock, he saw the Major shiver once, then relax. Sharpe grinned. With a glance of warning at Kennedy and Aubrey, he bent over Edrington's arse and sank his teeth deep into the flesh.

Edrington bucked, yelping in outrage, and the two men at his shoulders snickered appreciatively and held him fast as Sharpe rose to inspect his work, running a ragged fingernail over the tooth-marks darkening on Edrington's pale skin, drawing a stifled groan from between clenched teeth.

Bush's hands dug painfully into Norrington's back as he lifted himself bodily from the floor to cling with limbs and teeth, until Norrington relented and pressed him down again. He brought a hand to his prick to guide himself, then slipped inside Bush and began slowly to fill him.

Norrington felt Bush surge against him; his eye reflexively snapped up to meet the Lieutenant's. As the tight, hot sensation and the rough sound of Bush's pleasure overtook him, his gaze drifted further with the arching of his back. Suddenly he froze; Bush cried out in protest as Norrington began slowly to withdraw.

Norrington grinned down at his outraged expression, and, leaving him entirely, said in a silky tone, "Change of plans, I fear." He drew him to a sitting position and began to turn him about as he continued, "I assure you, you will appreciate this."

Norrington grinned as he knelt up and pulled Bush onto him. He slowly worked himself back into the man's arse, and wrapped his other arm around Bush's chest, pulling him up and back so he sank down fully onto his prick. Norrington held him there with a forearm laid firmly over his thighs, and waited for the long, shuddering moan to subside, and breathed into Bush's ear, "Open your eyes, William, for I shall show you a wonder."

Bush's eyes flickered open and then widened as he took in the sight of Edrington, shaking under the razor-sharp rigging knife that was even now sliding over his arse as Sharpe carefully finished slicing his breeches apart and tossed them aside. He grinned; between bursts of truly filthy cursing — the pretty lordling had clearly rolled through an interesting gutter or two in his time — Edrington was mouthing frantically at Archie's thigh, leaving a trail of little marks and straining to reach — Oh, wicked Archie.

"Now," breathed Norrington, "Have you not wanted to see that since the day you first laid eyes on the good Major-my-Lord?"

"Yes, actually," Bush managed. "But James, before God, some mercy, or do you mean to leave me primed and waiting as he is?"

"Not on any account, Lieutenant," said Norrington, shifting in a way that made Bush's vision dim for a moment. "Any amount of mercy, as much as you can bear, for as long as you can bear it," he continued, releasing his grip on Bush's thighs and sinking sharp teeth into his shoulder as Bush, freed, began thankfully to move on him. "If you call this mercy," he added, and thrust deep.

Horatio answered him hesitantly, "Well... yes. But how —" he tried again. "Captain Sharpe —"

Jack bit down on a heartfelt sigh, resigned himself to an evening almost totally unlike the one he had been thinking on so fondly, and regarded Horatio patiently. "Look over there, luv." Horatio slowly turned his head to see Bush and Norrington, moving together strongly, both staring in fascination at the scene before them. As Horatio watched, Bush licked his lips in a way that made Horatio gasp, and Norrington chuckled and nudged him with his chin, teasing.

"Good men, both of 'em, aye?" said Jack softly. "Sharpe, too. Give their lives for you, any of them, and never take a thing they're not offered. It's a game to them, and not so different than the one we're playin' here, at that. The ones it's not a game for, they're another matter altogether, and ye'll know 'em before ye ever get near their bed, lad, if ye pay attention." Horatio looked at him soberly; Jack nodded, emphatically, and added, softly, so softly that Horatio had to lean in to hear him, "So, play with me, lad, go ahead," and captured his lips for a long, deep kiss.

Tom wrapped his arms around the doctor, who was still sitting folded in on himself and showed signs of returning into a deep study, and rested his head on Stephen's shoulder.

"I mean it, doctor. Thank you," he said. "I am not such a blockhead that I can't tell it was you who invited me."

"Really?" asked Stephen, "And here I was thinking it was Jack who suggested that I ask you."

"The Captain?"

"I don't take orders from the other one," replied Stephen a trifle testily, glancing at Sparrow and Hornblower. Nor from Jack Aubrey, if I am honest, he admitted to himself, but that is neither here nor there. He unfolded slightly, and leaned back against Tom, reaching up to caress his jaw.

"How is your injury?" enquired Stephen, reaching back and running his fingertips along the scar that crossed Tom's face, and probing expertly at the point of the jaw.

"It pops sometimes. It's nothing." As if to demonstrate, Tom opened and shut his mouth; Stephen heard a distinct clicking sound. When he turned to examine Tom's jaw more closely, he found his mouth intercepted by Tom's soft lips.

Edrington was ready the next time: he tensed as the knife cut through the other leg and the fabric was pushed aside, but he would not cry out; he had heard Jack and Archie laugh, and would be damned if he would hear it again.

He waited, his arse bare to the room. His skin twitched in anticipation; go on, man, get it done — but the bite did not come. Instead, a faint movement of air brought up goose-flesh, which was followed by a light, almost ticklish touch running from the back of his knee to his hip. Sharpe's fingers began to circle lazily on his arse, and he shook, still forcing himself to silence, until the sudden scrape of fingernails at the base of his spine made him arch reflexively, and as his hips went up, teasing fingers trailed down the cleft of his arse and he whimpered and collapsed, shaking. The bastard had him; he was done for.

Sharpe was on him in an instant, covering his body and pinning him down. His hand wrapped around Edrington's queue, and he yanked back his head and spoke in a low snarl in his ear.

"I've been dealing with your kind for years, Major. Don't think I don't know how to handle you." He ground his crotch into Edrington's bare arse, to drive his point home. Edrington squirmed back against him, spreading his legs slightly.

"You know I've had just about every whore on the Peninsula; it was only a matter of time before I had you. My Lord."

"Whore? Then I'll make sure this is the most expensive fuck you ever have, Sharpe," Edrington managed, stung into speech at last, if only to distract the bastard from the — God, whorish, yes — way he was shamelessly grinding back into him, seeking more sweet pressure.

Sharpe only laughed. "I'll be sure to get every bit that it's worth, then."

Edrington bit down hard on a plaintive moan. Well, that was just terribly clever, wasn't it, Alexander?

It was a sweetly tormenting position he was in, trapped between too many pleasures, pulled by so many senses. Physically, Bush thought dimly, dropping his head back to rest against Norrington' shoulder, it was quite wonderful; as they grew used to one another their thrusting fell into a steady rhythm and he smiled as he wrapped his hand around his prick.

But it was growing taxing, the way that the pull of his desire to close his eyes, bury his face in Norrington' neck, and let the man continue to fuck him mindless warred with his gleeful urge to miss not one moment of Sharpe's sport with that smug slut Edrington.

It was too much, this divided attention. Ungodly pleasurable as it was to feel James filling him from aft, holding him securely and uttering husky praise in a low silken whisper that shivered on the back of William's neck, satisfying as it was to watch Edrington twist as Sharpe played him, the two together had him overwhelmed.

And yet it wasn't enough. William's body was taut as rigging under full sail, and his low moans rose as steady and plaintive as the wind in the stays. He twisted and arched back, shifting his weight left and right, fighting to straighten his legs, to move from his near-sitting position, needing more, needing to be properly shafted so badly he was hissing in frustration.

Horatio listened, entranced, to the variety of sounds Jack was making. It was fascinating, really, and once he'd gotten his courage up, astonishingly easy, if utterly outside his previous experience. Archie, bless his heart, was like having a puppy jump onto your bed; you petted him to calm him down. And Bush — Horatio was still a little intimidated by Bush. But this man, who he'd once found so fearsome, curled himself pliantly against Horatio and let him do as he would, and seemed to find it all, as he had predicted, good.

He bit his lip as he abandoned his fascinated tracing of a tattoo whose subject matter probably ought to have made him blush — would have done, he though, glancing around the room, not too long ago — to trace a path to a nipple and circle it experimentally, fascinated by the softness of the man's skin between the marks. Emboldened by Jack's whispered encouragement, he let his fingers graze the tip and smiled at the immediate response, repeating the gesture and then trying a gentle pinch, and staring in wonder at the play of expression he elicited.

Aubrey, roused from his appreciation of young Kennedy's angelic face and devilish grin by a look from Sharpe, cast about for what was required. He spied the oil bottle over by Norrington and Bush. "William," he said, "the bottle stands — Oh, never mind."

Assured that Richard and Archie did not require his strength for the moment, he got to his feet and crossed the room to where the bottle lay, pausing awkwardly and casting about for some polite thing to say to Norrington, as William was clearly in no case to be social. Seeing the intent expression and small frown on the Commodore's face, he stalled, hesitated, and settled for reaching for the sweaty hank of hair which had fallen over Norrington's eyes and now clung to his cheek, tucking it carefully back behind one ear. Norrington glanced up and smiled, briefly but sweetly; Jack retreated with the oil, feeling obscurely satisfied at his successful negotiation of this fine point of etiquette. He handed the necessary bottle to Sharpe, who thanked him with a nod.

Sharpe glanced at Archie long enough to see that with Jack's departure he had hauled Edrington into his lap, where he seemed securely enough held with his face turned to one side, mouthing desperately at the fingers Archie was amusing himself by dipping teasingly between his contorted lips. Taking his hands from Edrington's hips, he opened the bottle, considered a moment, shrugged, and poured a generous measure into his hand, allowing a quantity of the slick stuff to drizzle over Edrington's arse before he set the bottle aside and slathered the bulk of it onto his own stiff prick. Ready, he pulled Edrington to him with one hand, working the oil into the man's eager arse with the other, laughing as he whimpered and shimmied, trying shamelessly now to work his way onto Sharpe's busy fingers.

Archie looked wickedly at Sharpe and bent down to say sweetly in Edrington's ear, "Perhaps if you were to ask nicely? It's always worked rather well for me."

Edrington stiffened momentarily, shooting a filthy look up at Archie, and redoubled his attempts to crawl back onto Sharpe, hissing as he realized that the taunting fingers had been withdrawn, and moaning as they were replaced by the blunt head of Sharpe's prick, teasing into him with agonizing slowness.

Sharpe steadied him and amused himself with a few more short thrusts before saying to Archie "I'll just take that from you, with my thanks, shall I?" With that, he snaked an arm under Edrington's prone form and hauled him back and onto him in one swift motion, snarling in satisfaction as the man cried out.

Archie stood, stretched his cramped legs, and threw a laughing look in Edrington's direction. "See how the mighty have fallen!"

"I've never seen a smoother boarding action," replied Aubrey. He searched for a further pun, but the perfect words eluded him.

"You are too modest by far," said Archie, turning his sparkling blue eyes to the Captain. "We read all about the Cacafuego in the Naval Gazette. I kept the article in my sea-chest and read it, oh, dozens of times at least. Horatio read it too; he admires you greatly, you know. We all do."

Jack turned red to the roots of his hair. "Well, there ain't any more prizes like that in the Mediterranean these days. It's all blockades and convoys."

"What a pity," said Archie, the pink tip of his lip appearing at his lips, "I always dreamed of joining in one of Lucky Jack Aubrey's actions." With that he stepped closer, stopping mere inches from from Jack, and looked up into his red, weather-beaten face. His expression, though outwardly respectful enough to pass muster on the quarterdeck, conveyed a certain wide-eyed invitation that was impossible to mistake.

Jack opened his mouth, shut it again, and looked past Archie's ear to where Stephen sat.

"Mr Kennedy," he said. "Mr Kennedy!" — for at this point, Archie had applied his mouth to Jack's collarbone — "I am... mindful of the compliment you pay me, but I must — ah — fulfil my duty to Dr Maturin. I promised he would have you back again."

"Ah well," said Archie in mock-resignation, drawing away with one last press of his lips, "A naval officer is always at the beck and call of duty, as Horatio never ceases to remind me. Come on, then," he said, taking Jack by both hands and drawing him along, "You must watch to make sure I perform my duty properly. You know you can't trust these young officers not to shirk if you don't watch them close."

Jack laughed, but let himself be led by the young lieutenant. "Don't let Tom hear you say that," he warned.

Bush slumped back onto Norrington, shaking. "James," he gasped, "James, I — you — ". He felt Norrington start as if he'd been roused from a trance.

"William... yes, it's all right, just... help me, now, just a little..." Norrington tightened his arm around Bush's chest, lifting him to bring him down onto the rug.

Bush moaned in relief as he found himself free to thrust back, finally, shafting himself roughly before Norrington could move into him. Hearing the sharp intake of breath as he caught him off guard, he did it again.

Norrington's arm tightened convulsively around Bush's chest. He crashed down against him, barely stopping himself from sprawling flat atop him and crushing the breath from him.

Tom leaned forward slightly, supporting Stephen's reclining form against his chest. Stephen was entirely absorbed in the embrace, to the exclusion of the events unfolding nearby.

"Tom is of a far quieter temperament than the commonality of naval officers," reflected Stephen as Tom's tongue explored his mouth. "Though not lacking in courage, he has neither Jack's high-blooded drive nor the liverish, choleric disposition I have so often seen in the service; his vitality is altogether — ah, yes," he interrupted himself as he heard, or rather felt, a slight click in Tom's jaw, "that is surely a slight misalignment of the mandibular joint; I must examine it — examine it professionally — later." For now, however, he did no more than cradle Tom's cheek in his hand, and flick his own tongue past Tom's lips.

Tom's kisses were gentle but firm, his lips mobile and expressive. His tongue flicked in counterpoint to Stephen's, tracing the contours of his mouth and inviting reciprocation. "What a pity he is not musical," Stephen thought.

Just then he felt a touch on his knee. He turned, blinking, and saw Archie crouching before him, with Jack standing close behind looking self-satisfied. "I told you I'd bring him back to you," said Jack.

"Well, I am pleased to know that you consider such a promise to be binding," replied Stephen.

"Upon my honour, Stephen!" said Jack, looking indignant. "I think I can promise you no Admiralty orders to interrupt your pleasures this time, at least. You may enjoy him as long as you wish."

Sharpe swatted Edrington's hand aside from where it groped towards his prick and said harshly against the sweaty, shaking back beneath him, "You'll bloody well wait if I say you wait. My." — a sharp yank on Edrington's queue — "Lord." At the moment, anyway. "Understand me?"

He slowed his steady, hard rogering of the man enough to let him collect the wits to nod before, satisfied that the point had been made, he wrapped his own hand around Edrington's shaft and began to pump in a rough counterpoint to the rhythm his hips were setting, holding back, taunting, until Edrington's cries became shrieks and he gasped, "Christ. Bloody do it, would you? Perishing bastard. Just..." and choked off the words as Sharpe stopped dead and held him, waiting.

"Bastard?" he said, conversationally.

Bush had his head back now, gasping, driving himself against Norrington's almost frantic thrusts. Norrington reached desperately around and found Bush's prick, working him as he plunged, working against time, burying his face in his neck, chanting encouragement and nonsense until even that gave way before the gathering in his groin to a low, feral growling. As Bush bucked and tightened beneath him, crying out and shaking with the force of his release, Norrington was lost, frantic, shuddering and yowling shamelessly until at last it was over and he slid bonelessly to the floor, one arm draping itself limply over Bush's heaving ribs. He mumbled something into Bush's shoulder and closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the other man's soothing warmth.

Tom shifted and loosened his grasp on Stephen, as if to relinquish his position to Archie's prior claim. "Don't stop, Tom," said Archie with a conspiratorial smile, "I'll just take up where I left off." With this, he curled up next to Stephen, resting on one elbow, and with his other hand stroked one fingertip along the underside of Stephen's shaft. "Which," he added, "was just about here."

Stephen froze and drew in his breath. As Archie's fingers encircled his rapidly engorging member, Tom's mouth shifted to behind his ear, and pressed warm kisses up his levator scapulae. He could feel the warm tickle of breath on his ear, and he let out a low moan.

"Jack," he said in a slightly strangled tone, knowing the Captain was still close at hand, "My dear, I believe I will forgive you for dragging me away from those lineolated parakeets last week."

Archie chuckled, and began to stroke Stephen with consummate skill and long, even strokes. "Lucky Jack," he quipped, before devoting his full attention to the task at hand.

Stephen lay against Tom, with his eyes half shut and his mouth slightly open; only his rapid, shallow breathing betrayed the degree of his arousal. He gave the faintest of moans as Archie's thumb ran across the sensitive head of his organ, slickly spreading the clear fluid that beaded at its tip.

"Doctor — Stephen —" said Archie, without ceasing his dexterous attentions, "Might I ask you for a favour?"

Stephen's voice was faint, almost distant, as he replied, "Anything, joy, anything at all."

"Will you bugger me?"

Stephen's eyes shot open wide, and met Archie's surprisingly innocent gaze. "Oh, with pleasure, my dear," he said, "Nothing would please me more."

Jack twisted as Horatio's long fingers stroked over his ribs and explored the planes of his stomach, lingering just inside the curve of a hipbone. He gasped as he brought his straining yard against the back of the hand that so innocently tormented him, and tried very hard to regard William Bush's obviously sincere, if largely wordless, appreciation of James' considerably more direct approach to these matters, which had been teasing at the edge of his concentration for some time, as an exceptionally fine compliment to Jack Sparrow's taste in men rather than an excellent reason to hate the bloody bastard purely because he was getting a proper dose of what Jack, at the moment, wanted most in the world and saw no hope of procuring.

He let his head fall back and moaned helplessly. Patience. Liberties. Promises. And truly, he didn't want to scare the lad, nor yet push him into anything; but somewhere, he was quite certain, the heathen gods were laughing at him.

Aubrey stood and cast about for the oil bottle. Sharpe had placed it here, had he not? He could hardly interrupt him; instead, he walked around the rutting soldiers, peering in every direction.

"Oh." Archie had the bottle in his hand, and was offering it to Stephen, even as he lay back with his head in Tom's lap, lifting and spreading his knees. Jack shook his head, his blue eyes twinkling at the young lieutenant's excellent grasp of tactical manoeuvres.

Bending to place a kiss on Stephen's forehead, Jack lowered himself to the floor beside Tom, where he was sure of a good view of the upcoming engagement.

When Horatio wrapped his hand softly around Jack's shaft and began to explore him methodically, carefully, thoroughly, and so damnably, inexorably gently, Jack groaned and began to compose an impassioned speech on the topic of the vital importance of looking below the surface, on the matter of things not always being what they seems, on the many many ways in which appearances could be deceptive and — how was he going to work this in? — on the many many fine, upstanding qualities of one Captain Richard Sharpe, most specifically and urgently being that clear grasp of the notion that circumstances altered cases, that for instance Sharpe would bloody well throw you onto your face and fuck you into the floor until you'd screamed yourself raw — and on the matter of distracting noises, he wasn't sure which was likely to be in worse case come morning, Edrington's arse or his throat — if you made it clear that this was what was required — and just as he felt he might finally have put together a case that he was quite certain would suffice to persuade almost anyone of the superiority of that sort of kindness over the sort that teased and promised and then looked at you all big eyes and sweet smile and for the love of Christ petted you like a bloody fucking kitten, Sharpe did something that silenced Edrington briefly and Jack drew a long, shaky breath and then another — yes, good, fine, might just manage to stand this after all. He opened his mouth to offer a gentle suggestion or two, and as he began to speak Horatio shifted the hand which had continued to torment his nipples around to his back and began to trace slow, lazy circles across the upper slope of his arse just as Jack heard the familiar, unmistakable wild music of James Norrington losing — abandoning — his last vestige of self-control, and he was lost.

Jack's hands tightened on Horatio's shoulders as he fell against him, whimpering and shuddering, moving wantonly, terrified that he would panic him but unable to do anything except mouth his shoulder desperately and shake until the sounds began to subside.

Horatio's eyes widened and he reflexively tightened his grip, starting at the lost-sounding yowl Jack gave as Horatio's fingers bit into his arse, but realizing just in time that if he let go now, the man might fall, probably would fall. He began, instead, to shift his hand downwards, seeking a better grip, Jack twisting under his hands until he somehow ended up holding him hard, fingers curling along the inward slope of his arse. He cautiously tried loosening his grip, and Jack's head came up as he cried out in protest.

Horatio stared, stunned, as their eyes met; how had he done this to the man, roused this stark, burning need? The craving in Jack's face — oh, God, his eyes — had none of the flash and drama of Sharpe and Edrington's coupling; this was a stiller, deeper thing, like a man bent on facing inescapable punishment while his body revolted from it and cried out for escape. And how had Jack — even now, he had demanded nothing, had not even asked, had been gentle and undemanding, true to his word. He had promised, he had kept his word, and he was suffering for it, at Horatio's hands.

He felt a hot rush of shame; shame and something else. It was his plain duty, now, to relieve the man's suffering, no doubt of that, but, he realized, it was more than that. He had brought him this far, and now he was on fire to see the end of it, to see Jack come apart, to share his sweet relief when the thirst was finally quenched.

Jack bit back a stream of filth as Horatio's hand left his aching, leaking prick to grasp his jaw and bring his face level with the younger man's, but as he opened his eyes Horatio was staring at him in wonder and fascination and — Jack closed his eyes in blessed relief for a moment — finally, with a sure, answering flame of desire and he gulped air and said, "Please luv, I know I said I'd not push but oh please"

Horatio nodded and said, "Jack, show me what you want."

Jack pulled on the strong shoulders as he melted onto the floor. As the weight came down and the smooth body pressed into him he sobbed with relief and began to writhe shamelessly up into the sweet pressure, gasping and cursing and oh, god, bringing his hands down onto the man's arse and pulling it into him, dimly feeling bone grinding and wanting more, wanting everything. Horatio moved on him and he felt himself taken by a dark, sweet undertow and thought dimly of sliding into the warm southern seas late at night and the climax took him like drowning, like being pulled deep beneath the waves until as he could bear no more he burst through into soft, warm air and he was floating, clinging to Horatio as he would to a floating spar in an empty sea, drifting, content.

Archie's tongue flickered between his lips, and he squirmed and tilted his hips at Stephen's touch. First one oily finger then another penetrated him, and he wriggled impatiently. Tom, stroking his shoulders, simply smiled at his puppyish enthusiasm.

At last the Doctor finished his preparations, and Archie reached out, grinning disarmingly, to grasp Stephen's hips and draw him in.

Stephen, with great gentleness and precision, pushed his member into Archie's inviting arse. Archie welcomed his full length at once, with a cry that was almost a squeak. Stephen would have paused, allowed him to become comfortable, but Archie did not wait, and began to move under him, rocking his hips and opening himself wide as if to swallow Stephen whole.

"Sure, you are an impatient creature," said Stephen wonderingly, entranced by the young lieutenant's libidinous locomotions as much as he was transfixed by the embracing warmth that gripped and pleasured his prick.

"First shore leave in months," Archie said, panting. "Please, Doctor!"

Stephen began to thrust, his face displaying intense concentration, probing carefully at first then, discovering a stroke that made Archie bite the tip of his tongue as it appeared between his teeth, settled into a steady rhythm. Archie wrapped his legs around Stephen's waist, and lolled his head back with a blissful expression that caused Tom to bend down and kiss him deeply.

Horatio blinked, and tried to recover his composure. It was not an entirely easy task with an armful of still-shuddering pirate. He regarded the man's face with trepidation and delight; so fierce a moment ago, and now so soft, and covered in the most delightfully idiotic grin. It had been almost frightening, feeling the man come apart like that, and yet — he shuddered — seeing what he had done to Jack, watching the wild, mindless hunger take him over, had left him achingly aroused. He pressed a tentative kiss to the end of the man's nose and Jack's eyes flew open; he really did have the most beautiful eyes, Horatio thought, especially when they were still a little wild, a little lost. He smiled back at him, feeling an odd exhilaration that reminded him powerfully of the way it felt when every cannon in a broadside fired perfectly; accomplished, and at the same time as though he were swept up in something infinitely more powerful than himself.

Aubrey absentmindedly toyed with his prick as he surveyed Stephen and Archie's coupling. Kennedy was undoubtedly beautiful, though not entirely to his taste; but Stephen, dear Stephen, from his quietly deliberate application of the oil to the furrow in his brow as he rocked against his partner, was a wonder to behold.

Did Stephen always concentrate so hard? Yes, he supposed he did, though Jack had seldom seen it at this remove, nor contemplated the extent of his self-discipline. The revelation was almost as surprising as the first time he had seen Stephen wield a sword; he pushed the thought away, and concentrated instead on Stephen's face.

Jack grinned up at him, and Horatio smiled in self-conscious delight as he felt a clever hand trace its way from his nape to his hip, meandering and teasing as it went, drawing a shiver as it found the soft skin behind his ear, making him moan as Jack stroked over his nipples, only to giggle as a curious hand poked gently into his navel before moving on to the curve of his hip and finally coming to rest wrapped firmly around his shaft, stroking firmly as Jack rolled onto his side and said into Horatio's ear, "Well, now, I do believe that it would be your turn, would it not?"

Horatio looked away, shyness returning in a rush, and stammered "you... you don't have to, really, I —"

Jack rolled his eyes, silencing him, and said firmly "Luv. Haven't you figured it out by now? I want to. And I mean to, and I am in fact a pirate and therefore very much in the habit of getting what I want, especially where pretty things left lyin' around all regardless are concerned, so y'might as well make up yer mind to it, right?"

Horatio snickered helplessly, then gasped as a warm mouth began to follow the trail blazed by Jack's fingers earlier, attacking his flesh with a controlled ferocity that was both unnerving and reassuring, but most of all irresistible. He moaned, and gave over, falling back to allow Jack better access and surrendering under the onslaught of sensation, almost whimpering with the intensity of Jack's mouth latching onto him, sucking, licking, one hand curving under to cup him as the clever mouth brought him higher and higher, devouring, crying out as the other hand found a nipple and rolled it slowly between finger and thumb.

Wild incoherent sounds of muffled encouragement were pouring out of Jack, and Horatio heard his own voice rising to meet them. His hips began to snap forward and he made to still himself; but Jack was relentless, urging him on with hands and mouth, taking him deeply and driving him on, until the sensation was frightening, almost unbearable and he began to twist and thrust into the welcoming mouth, gasping out wordlessly, feeling himself tense and arch. Then there was a brightness behind his eyes and a ringing in his ears and pleasure bursting from him until he he came apart and he was falling, no, flying, until he landed safely in Jack's arms, still shuddering as he felt strong arms enfold him.

He smiled at the feeling of a gentle hand in his hair as he buried his face against Jack's chest and let himself stay there, safe and warm.

Edrington groped for the remnants of his shattered wits and tried again, "Sharpe, damn you, Sharpe, I..." and groaned as Sharpe's hips and hand began to move again, in a slow, broken rhythm that left him twisting and turning, desperate, until he heard the rifleman say, "Do you remember, Major, the advice that the Lieutenant was so kind as to give you earlier? Let's see some of those fine, gentlemanly manners you're so proud of, My Lord; we're all waiting to hear it, aren't we? Go on, teach us a lesson, then; let us hear you come the gracious lord, shall we?"

Archie gasped as Stephen's belly pressed and rubbed against his prick. He had been rod-hard almost every moment since he had arrived, and no matter how much he enjoyed helping others — especially when it offered the kind of sport it had this evening — there was nothing to compare to the hot friction that rubbed him in time with Stephen's own prick as it filled him and taunted him by almost — almost, but not quite — pressing against that spot he had learnt to love so well.

He squirmed himself down, seeking, used to fierce, quick fucking, furtive and quiet, bemused by this slow, thorough exploration; but the doctor's pace remained gentle and steady and after a bit he sighed, relaxing into the spreading sensation.

He continued to shift and seek, however, wrinkling his nose in concentration, until Stephen, divining his need, pulled slowly back, slid gently down his body and resumed his slow, gentle thrusting at precisely the right angle, smiling as the sensation drew from Archie more squeaking gasps, settling back into the same steady, rocking pace.

Archie's head was spinning; the slip-and-press of this measured fucking, the drawing out of every sensation, the feel of Tom's lips against his, was, he thought muzzily, something he could get used to, very easily.

At last, though, he began to stir impatiently once more, snapping his hips and making impatient noises in the back of his throat, clutching Tom's forearms fiercely, and the doctor smiled down on him with, he thought, the most incredible sweetness, before speeding his pace slightly and shifting to allow Archie to slip his hand between his body and Stephen's to grasp his yard. He stroked in counterpoint with Stephen's thrusts, and as the doctor plunged into him, gave a series of squeaks that ended in a full-throated cry as his hips bucked and he shot a white stream across his chest.

Stephen's rhythm faltered momentarily, but he too was close to the edge; he embraced Archie closely, almost convulsively, smearing Archie's seed between them and burying his face against Archie's neck, emitting stifled noises as he brought himself to his own shuddering conclusion.

Jack saw Stephen falter, saw the momentary indecision and the determination to continue, and recognised Stephen's strangled grunts as the harbingers they were. He increased the rate of his strokes, tugging harder as he watched Stephen's neck and shoulders tense then convulse, and heard his muffled cry as he spent.

Stephen was done, but Jack was not; he felt pressure building behind the base of his shaft, and kept up his work at it as his eyes traced the line of Stephen's back, over the curve of his buttocks, until his gaze travelled past Stephen and encountered Edrington, teeth bared, spitting curses as Sharpe buggered him with gleeful ferocity.

"Oh, ha, ha," he thought to himself, "A lobster in hot water!" He increased the pace with his hand, remembering Sharpe's earlier direct, no-nonsense approach and the palm which had been as calloused as his own. Sharpe fucked without caring who paid him attention, but he undoubtedly knew that he had an audience; Jack could not help but imagine what that forceful personality must be like in battle; could not help, for that matter, wondering what sort of man this Sergeant Harper might be.

With that his attention returned to Stephen, who had raised his head from Archie's chest, and was staring at Jack with pale-eyed intensity. Their eyes locked, and Stephen's mouth twitched in a smile of recognition as he watched Jack's face and, out of the corner of his eye, Jack's hand.

Edrington shook his head, frantically; he would not, he would not say it. He was not so shameless; he would not openly beg to be ridden harder in front of this company or any other. Sharpe's hand left his hip and fisted in his queue once more, yanking him tight against his groin and holding him spitted there until he heard himself say "Please?"

The hand on his hip tightened and pulled at him as Sharpe loosed his hair enough to plunge into him again with blessed ferocity. He screamed as he felt the pulsing and he was spilling himself into the callused hand, jerking wildly with the sensation and before it was even over Sharpe was wiping his hand on Edrington's back and seizing his hips to shaft him harder, fiercely. It was too much, this ruthless pounding on his tender flesh, too close to pain, and it seemed to go on and on, until finally his struggles to escape were stilled by a shout of triumph and Sharpe fell forward onto him, crushing him into the floor and gnawing his shoulder heedlessly.

Jack cursed softly, and then chuckled. Horatio, stirring, looked up at him inquiringly, and he said "Look over there again, luv, I've been caught out."

Horatio glanced over to see Norrington staring at Jack with a peculiar burning intensity that should not have been possible, he thought, so soon after what he'd last seen the man doing, and asked, "What do you mean, caught out?"

Jack sighed, trying to sound put-upon, and said "It means, he knows bloody well that I was starin', and why, and it'll be dinner off the mantelpiece for me, sometime soon, luv."

"Oh?" said Horatio, and then, "Oh." And turned crimson as he caught Bush's knowing eyes on him. He shivered, and then smiled up at the pirate.

Edrington cracked open a bleary eye and rolled over to lie on his back, casually letting one arm fall onto Sharpe's belly and grinning at the small, surprised grunt.

"Fuck me," he said. "What I wouldn't do for a drink."

"From your lips to God's ears, mate," he heard Sparrow call from somewhere past Sharpe, and a bottle skittered across the floor, coming to rest by the rifleman, who fumbled with the cork — Edrington smirked; he wasn't the only one, at least — and passed it over with no comment but a lewd chuckle.

"Thank you, Sparrow," he drawled. "I'll be sure to think of a way to —" Sharpe and Sparrow were both roaring now, and he looked from one to the other, trying to summon a suitably haughty expression, but just then Sharpe caught his eye and he could not repress a snort of laughter which led to another, and another and then — oh, hell, tattered remnants of his dignity be damned — he was sprawled across Sharpe's heaving chest, holding onto the rum for dear life, and giggling helplessly.

Archie moved beneath him, with a faint sigh. "Shhh," said Stephen, brushing some of Archie's hair out of his eyes, "Look."

Archie turned his head, looking with unfocused eyes past Tom's knee to where Captain Aubrey sat with his forearm pumping furiously, and smiled.

Jack's eyes never left Stephen's as, with a score of hard, intent strokes and his mouth wide open in a rough cry, he spent.

"Lieutenant Bush looks like that when he fires a broadside," whispered Archie in Stephen's ear.

"So does Jack," replied the doctor in a confidential tone, "But, pray, never tell him I said so."

Edrington vented a final snicker and rolled off of Sharpe, wiping his eyes.

"I do not even wish to contemplate," he drawled "what I am going to have to do, and to whom, in order to acquire a pair of breeches so that I can make my way home tonight. Remind me to thank you properly for that later, Sharpe, would you be a good chap?"

"Here." Sharpe dragged himself up, reached out for the pile of clothes on the floor, and tossed a wadded bundle of cloth to Edrington, who unfolded it to find a clean, intact pair of breeches. "I stopped by your camp before I came here. Had a feeling you might be needing a spare pair."

The corner of Edrington's mouth twitched, but he did not reply until he had put on the breeches, buttoned them, and tucked in his shirt. His hand encountered a damp, sticky patch on the linen, and he pursed his lips in a moue of distaste and shot a look at Sharpe, narrowing his eyes at the other man's nonchalant grin.

"Captain Sharpe," he said, "You will oblige me by attending my tent tomorrow at six o'clock."

"Aye, sir," replied Sharpe with a chuckle.

Horatio had been taking this in, wide-eyed, from where he was curled beneath Jack Sparrow's arm. He glanced at Sharpe, at Bush, and then, following Bush's look, over at Archie, who was smiling angelically at Bush in a way that betokened trouble.

"Jack?" he said.

"Yes, luv?"

Horatio bit his lip, then smiled up at the pirate. "That mantel of yours? Is it a fairly large one?"

Norrington called lazily from beside Bush "It's my mantel, actually. And," — Jack snickered as he saw that the Commodore was also regarding Archie speculatively — "it can serve two, in a pinch. If they are friendly."

Horatio flushed crimson.

"So, Tom," asked Aubrey as he sat behind him, combing his fingers through the Lieutenant's hair as he prepared to braid it, "Will you join us again next time? I know it ain't quite what you're used to. Not at all the sort of thing, though I dare say..."

"Leave off, Jack, for all love," said Stephen, seeing that Tom was unable to answer while his Captain prattled on.

"Captain, I have had a wonderful time. Really." Tom spoke softly, colouring slightly, though Jack could not see it. "I would be honoured to return, if I were to be invited."

Jack grinned, and tied off the braid with a firm knot in the black ribbon. "I shall see to it myself! And perhaps we could, well, you know." He stumbled to find the words he needed.

"I would be delighted, Captain," replied Tom with a smile, and clasped his hand.

The Attic Gallery (Hornblower)
Two Evil Monks (Hornblower)
lakurima.net (Master and Commander)
The Sharpetorium (Sharpe)

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