Better Than A Wife

Fic Post

2008-08-21T12:40:14Z

Hi! I've been lurking for a bit and thought I could share this.

Title: Dear Friend
Author: Princess_s
Pairing: hints of Horatio/Archie, possible hints of Bush/Horatio
Rating: PG
Warning: Set after Loyalty
Summary: Lt Bush writes to an old friend

http://princess-s.livejournal.com/57707.html#cutid1

fanfic | horatio hornblower | five times bush held his tongue and one time he didn't 4/6

2008-07-11T23:32:42Z

Title: Five Times Bush Held His Tongue 5/6
Fandom: Horatio Hornblower
Word Count: 401 this chapter / 3961 total
Characters: William Bush, Horatio Hornblower, mentions of others
Rating: G - WB/HH if you squint
Spoilers: Mix of bookverse and tv-verse in their entirety
Disclaimer: I own nothing

Summary: Just like it says on the packet. You can navigate back and forth from each chapter.

The First Time
The Second Time
The Third Time
The Fourth time
The Fifth Time

fanfic | horatio hornblower | five times bush held his tongue and one time he didn't 4/6

2008-07-04T14:28:26Z

Title: Five Times Bush Held His Tongue 4/6
Fandom: Horatio Hornblower
Word Count: 1,007 this chapter / 3961 total
Characters: William Bush, Horatio Hornblower, mentions of others
Rating: G - WB/HH if you squint
Spoilers: Mix of bookverse and tv-verse in their entirety
Disclaimer: I own nothing

Summary: Just like it says on the packet. You can navigate back and forth from each chapter.

The First Time
The Second Time
The Third Time
The Fourth time

Five times bush held his tongue and one time he didn't 3/6

2008-07-02T02:28:16Z

Title: Five Times Bush Held His Tongue 3/6
Fandom: Horatio Hornblower
Word Count: 643 this chapter / 3961 total
Characters: William Bush, Horatio Hornblower, mentions of others
Rating: G - WB/HH if you squint
Spoilers: Mix of bookverse and tv-verse in their entirety
Disclaimer: I own nothing

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay on this, I got stymied by some feedback I wasn't expecting. They're all written and just being polished now, will be up over a matter of days and complete. Feedback is rum.

Summary: Just like it says on the packet.

The First Time
The Second Time
The Third Time

Fic: A Change of Luck or Disproving Two Adages, HH/WB, NC-17

2008-04-21T18:17:46Z

Title: A Change of Luck or Disproving Two Adages
Author: fides
Pairing: Horatio Hornblower/William Bush, reference to Horatio/Archie
Type: PWP, Missing scene
Rating: NC-17
Warning: References canon character death, spoilers for Mutiny/Retribution.
Summary: Set at the beginning of Loyalty, the night after Horatio and Pellew's win at cards.
Note: I wrote this for a Zine in 2004. I suddenly realised I don't think I had ever posted it online. If I did my apologies for the repost.

"I stand by what I said before." Bush intoned, wine and the exhilaration of the evening, even if it was vicarious, had loosened his tongue more than normal. "She may not be a republican strumpet but I'd wager the daughter wouldn't mind sharing your berth."

William Bush missed the embarrassed flush his words caused in his friend for the second time that evening because he threw them out carelessly while he was shrugging from his coat and jacket.

"I'm sure you must be mistaken" Horatio Hornblower hated the stiffness he could hear in his voice even as he removed his own outer garments. He felt, all too painfully, that his experience with women was lacking, and as with all of his perceived faults, it seemed to him to be a big gaping chasm just waiting to trap him and reveal his ignorance to the world.

"Horatio, the girl worships you," William assured him blithely. "Her mother on the other hand..." He gave a fake shudder and repressed the grin that would let Horatio know he was teasing, "not the mother in law I would choose for myself but then I have resigned myself to bachelorhood." Fearing for Horatio's blood pressure as his companion tried to turn both red and white at once, Bush took pity on him, "breathe, man. I don't think you need to worry about wedding bells just yet... And you can always join the navy and run away to sea."

Hornblower finally realised he was being had and gave a weak smile.

"Cheer up." Bush clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly manner. His broad hand briefly warm through the thin fabric of Horatio's shirt. "It may never happen. You've an explanation to finish and it would go better with a celebratory toast. Do you have a bottle of something stashed away?"

"I..." Horatio stammered. He hadn't been able to afford such luxuries for some time. Indeed, he had gone without food more than a few times when the cards had been against him and his win that evening had signaled the end of one such period. He was fiercely ashamed of his poverty, and on top of the earlier humiliating reminder of his sexual inexperience it seemed a doubly devastating blow.

If William realised his mistake as soon as the words had left his mouth he gave no sign of it, just continued talking as if Horatio hadn't spoken. "...I bet the old dragon has a drop or three that she hasn't managed to drink yet." There was pure mischief in Bush's eyes, "we should mount a raid into enemy territory."

"William!" Horatio was caught between amusement and outrage at the suggestion, his ignominy forgotten.

"I suppose not," William conceded, unrepentant. "It would have been fun though."

"Like old times," Horatio agreed and felt the familiar wave of sadness wash over him. He wanted to think that all of the sadness was for Archie but he could not deny that a large proportion of that regret was for the loss of shipboard life which he associated with freedom and some resemblance of financial security.

"And here we are sharing a berth again," Bush commented, "I hope I am not putting anyone else out."

This time Horatio felt he handled the ribbing with something closer to dignity.

"Well Mrs Mason did seem disappointed by //my// continued presence."

William's laugh was a rich, velvety thing that Horatio had only heard a few times before that night. A low rumble like a twenty-four pounder being run out slowly increasing to deep crescendo.

"I would rather kiss Styles. A hit, as Mr Kennedy would say, a palpable hit." Bush acknowledged when he managed to draw breath. "I concede to you sir."

Horatio found himself laughing as well. The enormity of the night; his luck at cards finally turning and staving off disaster for another day... suddenly it all caught up with him. It felt good to laugh, and to laugh with William who was certainly a good comrade and, he would like to think, a good friend. He had few enough of those, unless one counted Maria, and none with whom he could really relax on an equal footing. He found himself laughing quietly until tears threatened. With determination he held them back, unwilling to display such unforgivable emotion.

Despite his victory, all the power of the British Navy could not have done the same for the sudden weariness that spread through him, taking no prisoners and leaving no survivors. The bleak heaviness replaced the energy that had buoyed him since the moment he had known that the winning rubber was his and Pellew's. With a start he realised that he was sitting on his bed with his head in his hands, not sure whether he was laughing or crying or both. William's arm draped around his shoulders, warm and stabilising. Horrified Horatio sought to pull himself together and felt that comfort drop away as if it understood it was no longer needed.

"I should make use of the cot having paid it for it," Bush's voice was soft and held only a hint of the uncertainty in his eyes as he regarded the rickety and very temporary structure that had been set up in Horatio's room for him. "The fleas have deserted it like rats a sinking ship so at least I know it's clean."

Hornblower studied the construction for the first time and felt his own mistrust growing as he took in the sight. "I've seen half-submerged wrecks that looked better than that," he admitted, aghast.

"At least I don't face a cold dunking when she finally goes," William reassured him breezily. He continued more seriously as he took in the consternation on his friend's face. "It's not the worst place I've slept by any means. Nor you, I expect. It's in the warm and dry. Enemy action, Mrs Mason notwithstanding, isn't imminent. It'll be fine, Horatio."

"No." Some of Hornblower's sureness and command returned to him from the dreary place it had been hiding during the long months on land. "My bed will fit the both of us. The may not be much room but it will still be more comfortable than that deathtrap."

"If you are expecting an argument from me," Bush confided, "you are going to be disappointed."

"You have never disappointed me," the words were out of Hornblower's mouth before he could stop them.

"That is settled then," Bush said quickly, "I hope you don't mind my sleeping in my shirt. I hadn't expected to be sharing my quarters tonight, let alone the bed. I packed light. Getting my pay once a month is a convenient excuse for getting away from my sisters. They fuss worse than a squadron of..."

Distracted, as Bush had intended, by this revelation Horatio forgot to feel embarrassed at his unwarranted display of emotion. Bush's voice washed over him as he quickly changed into his thin and darned nightshirt. He had no reservations about striping in front of a shipmate who had seen him naked many times before; indeed he was more ashamed about the state of his nightwear. He just hoped that in the dim light of the lamp its condition would not be noticeable.

"...I think they do it on purpose to try and encourage me to find another ship, as if that will help," Bush finished. "Neither of them has married and they are used to running the house as they see fit while I am away, which suits us all. Unfortunately, when I come back, they try and run me as well which suits none of us."

Horatio could never tell when that calm, measured voice was having him on, but on this occasion it didn't seem to matter. Horatio couldn't help but smile at the thought of the organised, competent man he knew Bush to be being chivvied for cluttering up the house by these legendary sisters; women that Horatio had never met but had heard William speak about occasionally on long nights at sea. For all he knew these two formidable women might be nothing more than part of some elaborate joke that he had not yet understood. Whatever the truth their exploits had shortened many a long hour and eased a number of circumstances that might otherwise have been strained. As it was, by the time Horatio had performed his own transformation and carefully put his clothes away William was already under the covers.

"Do you have a preference for side?" Bush asked as Horatio came back towards the bed, clearly willing to move at the direction of the room's more permanent resident.

"That is fine," Horatio assured him. In reality he had never shared a bed with anyone since he had been a child and had no idea as to whether he had a preference or not. It had taken him long enough to get used to sleeping on dry land in a bed that did not sway with the role of the ship. Which side of the bed he slept seemed a small difficulty compared to that. He was getting into the space William had left for him and reaching for the lamp when it suddenly struck him that maybe he should have expressed a preference. Was this just another example of his inexperience? Hand still hovering by the light he suddenly had to know.

"William, do you really think Maria likes me?"

William chuckled. The soft vibrations were easily discernible in the narrowness of the bed. "You need to get some experience off-ship," he said lightly, "yes, she really likes you."

"Off-ship?" Horatio asked confused and not wanting to dwell on Bush's disturbing confirmation.

"With women," William elaborated.

Horatio turned to look at him. The still lit lamp threw Hornblower's face into shadow and the light tangled in his hair until it seemed a halo of gold crowned his curls. It was a very confused angel that spoke with the voice of man.

"What other experience is there?"

//Damn// Bush thought to himself suddenly realising he was not so much in deep water, as a sailor he liked deep water, but rather in a sudden shallows with a strong wind blowing him him straight onto a reef. If Horatio had sounded offended, droll or even arch then Bush would have known how to answer the query but the real and all to painful honesty behind the question threw him into a quandary. How did you explain something as inexplicable as human weakness to someone who hated to acknowledge such a thing existed? Explain the need to someone who had managed to remain totally innocent of such things well into his commission? If he had held any hope that Horatio would never find out what he had alluded to then he would have strongly considered lying. Such a thing did not come easy to him, at least not to anyone who wasn't blood-related, but he gave it serious thought. Unfortunately Bush was sure that between the close relationship Horatio always developed with his crew and Horatio's intense dislike of being ignorant about anything the man was bound to find out or, more likely, figure it out for himself under some circumstance or other. This might not be the best of occasions to for Horatio to uncover one of the few realities of Navy life that somehow had managed to pass him by but it was better than most that Bush could think of. And at least this way the added knowledge that his so called friend had lied to him to further his ignorance would not compound the issue when Horatio finally discovered the truth. However having decided upon his course of action Bush was unsure how to proceed. He felt uncomfortably like a midshipman taking his first turn at the helm, sure that every touch of the wheel would doom his charge and all souls aboard to a watery grave. For the first time in his laconic life William Bush found himself at a loss for what to say.

"I'm sorry I thought..." William babbled uncomfortably and knew he was doing it. He could feel his cheeks heating under Horatio's scrutiny. "Kennedy... The two of you were so close... it's not unknown..."

An obscure passage in the navy regulations suddenly made vivid sense to Horatio and he found himself blushing bright red at the half-formed thoughts that William's words put in his head.

"But surely... regulations..." Horatio didn't know why he didn't feel as shocked as he thought he should be. There seemed a strange rightness about the idea that he and Archie had been thought of together.

"The Navy’s," Bush agreed. "And God's," he added as an afterthought of lesser importance. "But the good book also says not to kill and we do that at our country's behest, so when the men have been away from their wives and sweethearts for months or years then the regulations don't seem as important as feeling another persons touch." William wondered if he should have added the excusing 'or so I have heard' on the end or been more condemning.

"Have you..." Horatio began and then realised what he was asking and fell into a burning silence.

Bush wisely didn't answer.

"You thought Archie and I..." Hornblower braved the issue once more.

The thought 'for my sins' came to Bush but he did not give voice to it. He remembered the look on Archie's face as they had stood together and watched Horatio, naked and glistening in the sunshine, as the curly-haired lieutenant had twisted and turned under the water pumped over him by Mathews and Styles. Even now Bush was sure it had been desire he had seen in his fellow spectator. He had felt such stirrings himself under his amusement at the sight and had not faulted the other man in the slightest, it had been an impressive sight. The memory had certainly kept him warm a few nights when he had been left alone in the berth the lieutenants had shared with nothing to do but wonder where the other two were and whether they were there together.

"I didn't, as such," William hoped that that would be enough to excuse him if Horatio took offense, "but, I admit the thought had occurred to me."

"Why?" Horatio's voice was small and unsure which Bush found more disturbing than any other response he could think of. He resisted the urge to reach out. He wanted to take Horatio in his arms and reassure him, well mostly he wanted to reassure him. But he couldn't.

"A number of things." Bush confessed. "The way you acted towards each other, the way he looked at you. Some things I overheard Kennedy say to young Wellard..."

The look of hurt was plain to see in Horatio's expressive eyes, and Bush kicked himself again. He didn't want to cause this man, whom he admired so much, any more grief, yet he had laid in their course and they could not turn back from it. Horatio, himself, had felt a sense of hurt and betrayal at William's simple words that he could not quite understand. That Archie had known of such things, that Archie had know and not told him... And not only not told him but had spoken of it to another...

"Why wouldn't Archie tell me?" The dignified plea for an explanation no one alive could give cut William to the soul. He could think of many possible reasons, all to do with the rough and dirty side of Naval life, but none of which he intended to share. Archie Kennedy had loved Horatio, of that William was sure, and there seemed little doubt that he had also desired him... but the only act Archie had allowed himself to make on those feelings for Hornblower was to die for him. Bush didn't know whether to feel sad for Archie or think he was one of the luckiest bastards he had ever known.

"I'm sure he had his reasons," William told Horatio as gently as he could.

"Maybe he thought I would hate him?"

"Maybe," Bush agreed although he was fairly sure that that hadn't been Archie's stumbling block. That particular cowardice was all his own.

"I could never have hated him."

Bush's heart was in his mouth as he spoke, "I'm sure he knows."

"William?"

"Yes."

"If he had... if we had... what would we have done?"

Bush shut his eyes against the vision in front of him. He knew he couldn't look into those dark eyes and say the things that Horatio wanted to hear. But he also knew he couldn't deny his friend.

"Turn off the lamp and I will tell you," William Bush said at last.

The dark settled over them like a blanket. The only sounds that could be heard other than their joint breathing was the creaking of the house as it settled and the patter of the night rain on the shutters. Soon a damp voice would tell them all was well and a few hours after that the city would begin to wake up; baker's apprentices stoking their master's ovens before dawn could catch them sleeping. Pie men and publicans readying for the fishermen returning with their morning catch and the money they earned with it.

This was the quietest time in the city when even the beggars and whores had retired for a few hours of rest. Those who plied their trade still, thieves, burglars and conspirators, did so in silence so as not to disturb the peace they hid within. It was a time of secrets. Those who dared to breach the silence did so in a hushed voice for fear of revealing their illicit doings to the world.

"It would have been a calm night," William began at last when they had arranged themselves comfortably. "No chance of action, no concern about squall or storm. You and he would have been alone in your quarters while the rest of your bunkmates stood a mind, and probably finger and toe, numbing watch on deck." He felt Horatio chuckle at the truth of that and was reassured. "You would have been joking around as you two always did, getting up to some tomfoolery or other. Chasing each other around the room after some small item or as the result of some jest. And you would have caught Archie to wrestle the playing card from him or he would have caught you and tried to tickle you in revenge for... it would not matter. In one moment you would be laughing and then everything would have changed and he would be kissing you. Gentle at first, unsure of his welcome, ready to pass it off as another meaningless game. But then you would follow his lips as he moved away and he would know he had his answer. He would kiss you even as he freed your shirt, not just on the mouth but everywhere he could reach skin."

Hornblower shifted and Bush wondered if he should stop but a soft 'William' prompted him to continue.

"It would be dangerous to get undressed too far in case you were disturbed but he wouldn't care, too busy pulling your shirt off so he could touch you properly. He'd know you wanted to return the favour but he'd stop you before you could. There would be time for that later but for once he would be at the helm at would not be ready to give that up quite yet.

"When he loosens your leggings you let him. Let him run strong, weather-roughened hands over your skin, let him touch you and stoke you... let him reach into your trousers and stroke you there until you give yourself totally over to his touch and spill your seed over his hand. You move then, your clothes still hanging open and his closed but quickly giving way before your assault. More serious now you fall into a hammock. Yours or his, which ever is closer. You feel his weight on yours, his body hot against yours and his hardness heavy against your hip. You move together, rocking with the motion of the boat, the sway of the hammock driving you against one another in desire. Maybe you continue like that facing each other until you watch his eyes shut and his face transform in climax. Or maybe he turns you over and places himself between your thighs so he can bring himself to completion in the warmth between your legs. Or maybe he spreads..." William paused for a moment and swallowed, unwilling to follow the line of thought to it's full conclusion while confined to a narrow bed with another, especially with the company as it presently was. "There are so many maybes. And then after, when it is over you cling to each other as a sailor would cling to the wreckage after a storm and take comfort from the other's presence. After a few moments you'd have to get up and clean yourselves lest someone comes looking for you and finds you in that state but you have those few moments and you make the best use of them you can. Then you become just friends again until the next time the watches coincide for your benefit."

Horatio shifted and William had to wonder if Horatio's sudden discomfort had anything to do with his words. Or, more accurately, what kind of discomfort his words had produced.

"We would have stayed friends?" It was more a statement than a question.

Bush smiled in the darkness. "Yes. Nothing could come between you and Archie before, and nothing would come between you afterwards. You would fight alongside each other, closer than brothers, and fight the better for it. It would have been a secret shared between you in your off duty moment. A smile and a thought at other times to add strength to your sword arm and speed to your sails. And then when you had a moment's peace you would reaffirm that friendship with more than words."

"I can't imagine," Horatio lied at last, "it seems so strange. Would you show me?" The last was said so quietly Bush almost didn't hear it.

"Horatio?" William's voice was rough from speaking and for other less noble reasons. "Do you know what you are asking?"

Bush could feel Hornblower's gaze on him, cutting through the concealing darkness to lay him bare.

"And I know who I am asking it of. William."

"Horatio...?"

"Don't make me ask again." Hornblower's voice held a mock sternness that sent a shiver down down Bush's spine and straight to his groin.

It did not take much to bring their bodies against each other. Hardly believing he was not in some sweet dream, bitter in the waking, William reached out for the evidence of the solid reality. He knew better than to question Horatio further. When Horatio had made his mind up about something there was no dissuading him. William had never been so glad of that fact.

Horatio's lips were softer than he expected, opening under the gentle pressure that was all William dared. Hornblower may have felt he had little experience but Bush, had he wanted to think that much, could not have faulted him. It had been a while since William, himself, had been with another man but he found some things weren't forgotten easily or quickly. Horatio's gangly litheness had filled out to give him a slender but muscled physique, underfed as it was at that moment the flat plains and ridges were easily discernible as William ran his hands down the body warmed cotton. He could feel by the pull of the fabric what his words had indeed achieved. Knowing this would be the real test he caressed the hot length of Horatio's erection through the cloth.

Horatio could not hold back a moan at the touch. He knew he had to remain quiet but William's simplest touches seemed to unravel his very thoughts and under that assault his resolve stood no hope. With more instinct than intention he pushed up against William's hand, feeling as much as hearing the other man's breath hitch at the action. He repeated the move, loving the way the material rubbed against skin within William's grip. It was good but it was not enough, not by many leagues. He wanted to ask for more but words had deserted him, replaced by a need the like of which he had never felt before with such intensity. Always he had managed to push such thoughts and feelings away, dismissing them as unimportant. Now he was adrift in them and unclear what course to steer for port. But William knew, he realised. William was chart and compass to guide him though these unknown seas to the unknown shores beyond.

He helped William as much he could when the latter slid the well-worn night shirt up to his waist. The folds of the material rested uncomfortably across his stomach and we wished he could just remove it entirely. Hornblower knew himself well enough to admit he might take risks but they were always calculated ones. Should they be disturbed even now their explanations might be suspect but were believable, anyone with half an eye could see that the cot provided for his friend was not a tenable place to spend the night. However should they be naked then the best they could hope for would be ridicule and the destruction of both of their careers.

He whimpered as Bush drew his sailors' calloused fingers over the more sensitive skin that the cloth had previously veiled. Horatio knew he was not actually being teased but he was permanently impatient for the next brush of those rough but caring hands. Each time his want was satisfied his impatience seemed to increase tenfold until he swung between anticipation and delight. Finally, after what seemed like an age, William had mercy on him and took his cock in one sure hand. Horatio bit his lip to keep from crying out as he bucked into the firm grasp.

"Shhhh," the reassuring word was but a whisper in his ear and hardly audible over the rushing in his head.

The hand moved slowly, trailing sensation as it pumped his flesh. It had never felt like that when he had touched himself and he couldn't help but wonder if a woman's hand felt the same or was different again. He screwed his eyes shut the better to concentrate on the delicious feelings that spread throughout his body only to return, magnified, to pool in his belly. The wonderful attention stopped as William shifted causing the bed, as well as it's normal incumbent, to complain creakily.

"Wha..?" Horatio managed.

"Shhhh," William just said again. If he tried to explain his intentions William feared good sense would mean they would probably never come to pass.

Bush wished they dared a light but, as he couldn't see, he wanted to taste. The smooth skin, almost feminine in it's hairlessness, the firm muscle confined beneath which was not feminine at all... he wanted to feast on it as he had Horatio's kiss-drenched mouth. The first kiss he placed was on the upper thigh where it curved away from him to be rendered inaccessible by the presence of it's twin limb. Then once more again, higher this time but on the other leg, as he slowly worked his way towards his goal.

Ignorant of William's intentions but mutely encouraging Horatio spread his legs apart. With the quickness Bush normally saved for his ship-board duties, he slipped between them. Giving his fellow lieutenant the chance to object at the move Bush waited for a moment before he ran his hand once more over the too tempting flesh that awaited him. Encouraged by the lack of complaints and the soft sighing moans that blossomed at his touch he repeated the route but with his tongue. Horatio's surprised choke turned to a gurgle as William continued, his lips sliding snugly over the head of Horatio's erection, the whole coming to rest in his mouth as sweetly as a boat putting in to her home port.

Bush didn't expect Horatio to last long, he, himself, certainly hadn't the first time he had been persuaded to experience the act what he was currently performing. It had taken some persuading of his much younger self but even then he had not been as keyed up as Horatio had been before he started. Bush didn't mind. This first time it was not about long explorations. Those would happen later if they happened at all. He just wanted to make it as good for Horatio as he could.

William took Horatio as far into his mouth as he was able without choking, sucking his way back up and worrying the sensitive skin with tongue and lips as he went. He would not let himself dwell on what he would like to do to the body the writhed below him. Or what he could only wish that the body would do to him. It was enough as it was. More than he had ever hoped even if it was not more than he had ever dreamed. This was as close to heaven as Bush ever expected to come; lapping at the bitter fluid that leaked from tip of Horatio's erection and loosing himself in the taste and texture of the wonderful man whom fate had made his comrade and mutual regard had made his friend. It would be all too easy to fall in love with Horatio, Bush chided himself, as he wondered if he had not already done so. If he had not done so before William Bush knew he was lost as all his delightful work was rewarded.

"William!?" Horatio's almost surprised whisper was closer to a whimper as his oncoming climax swept over him like a sudden squall.

***

The world was a warm and sated place but only where William's hands soothed him, their touch relaxing now rather than stimulating. Hornblower reached blindly for his friend, wanting him close against him. Answering the half-formed summons William dragged himself up the the bed until their heads were once again level and kissed the still panting lips.

"You taste of the sea," Horatio whispered muzzily.

In response William kissed him again, the salt tang faded but imagined in his mouth.

***

"What of yourself?" Hornblower asked at last when his scattered wits had regrouped themselves.

The beginning of an ache in his balls told Bush that he would need to see to his own wants sometime soon but he was loathe to burden Horatio with his desires. He shrugged knowing the movement would be felt in the dark and hoped that would be enough to dismiss the issue.

"Don't be ridiculous man," the determination was back in Hornblower's hiss. In his mind William could hear that steely voice telling him to undress or to pleasure it's owner. And he would do it, enjoying it all the more for the game. The thought of Horatio ordering him to prepare himself, of spreading himself wide on his command... Bush acknowledged it was past time he took hold of himself. Preferably literally, and with Horatio's willing assistance.

At Bush's prompting Horatio turned over until he was on his side facing away from his friend and cocooned in William's arms. He could feel Bush's strength at his back, solid and dependable, and the roughness of Bush's hairier legs entwined with his own where his nightshirt was still pulled up and Bush's had never reached. Hornblower shifted back until he felt the evidence of Bush's own unaddressed desire pressing between them. His back seemed to burn with the warmth of the body that lay alongside it and he basked in the heat.

Curled against him, William reached one arm around to cradle Horatio's lax groin. The other took the weight of Horatio's body, reaching around from below to hold him close and caress the smooth chest under the thin shirt. The aborted sounds that Horatio had made... the feel of Horatio under him... it had been one of the most wonderful things Bush had ever experienced. He couldn't think of anything more arousing and he wanted to share that again, at least for a moment. He moved slowly, touching and barely touching, enjoying the time he had and the person with whom he had been allowed to share it.

Horatio smelt like a battle; smoke, sweat and adrenalin. It reminded Bush of all they had been through together, all the adventures where exhilaration and fear had combined into a heady, seductive high. His meandering fingers brushed one of Horatio's nipples. The feel of the small peak, hard against his glancing touch, made him think of the small rounded fort they had taken from the Spanish. Even then he had admired the wild-haired, daring lieutenant. Being captured had not been as big a blow as thinking his fellow officers, together as always, had deserted him and his men to their fate. Kissing away the memories on the pale throat before him, he mounted his own assault on the pinnacle. The prize a stifled gasp and a twitch that was sweeter victory than any colours dropping. He could feel Horatio's interest waking again and began to rock them both in time with each elongating stroke of his hand on Horatio's length. He was not worried about his own completion yet, he was too mesmerized by the man he had pinned to him at hip and chest. Horatio practically hung from his hands, his head lolled back to rest against Bush' cheek and offer his mouth to his tormentor and saviour. Bush's lips smothered and encouraged the small noises of desire, wanting to hear them yet fearing they would reach anyone else's ears as William pinched one nipple or the other or allowed his lower hand to slip lower still and cradle Horatio's balls before returning to the demanding erection the stood above.

Bush felt that this itself was enough to get him off, just the glide of the sweat-dewed skin against his own groin and the knowledge that he was having this effect on the normally very proper Hornblower. But then Horatio shifted slightly and everything slid into line. Startled William nearly lost his rhythm as his erection nestled along the cleft of Horatio's buttocks. He was unsure whether the act had been deliberate one on the part of his friend or just happy chance and that concerned him slightly. It had never been his intention to take things any further that night. Even should they both wish it, which was not granted, Bush knew they were not in a position to do so without some type of oil to ease their way. Other than the lamp, whose thrice-reused dregs were stained and contaminated with floating flecks best unidentified, they had none. He certainly would not risk either his own or Horatio's well being with the like and he had no intention of cutting corners for what would be Horatio's first experience of such things. His mind decided that whether Horatio's act was intentional or not didn't matter even as his body ignored his deliberation and slipped surely along the groove. Horatio pressed back further, truly trapping William's erection betwixt the firm mounds that hugged the shaft between them and William's own body. It was Bush's turn to muffle the moan that wanted to burst from his throat. It was too good to last and yet he wanted it to go on for ever.

Horatio twisted slightly more to lock their mouth's together, startled but pleased by the unexpected frisson that William's cock brushing against his anus gave him. He had not expected that and his quick mind filed it away for later consideration. But then there was no time or place for such deliberation as the tendrils of sensation wove a net around them both and together they spiraled up into oblivion.

***

When at last they came back to themselves they disentangled their limbs slowly. They both found themselves reluctant to break their embrace even to perform the necessary absolutions or to rearrange themselves for swiftly approaching sleep. Like a seaside town that has come through a gale, they huddled together and drew comfort from the other's presence. The morning was soon enough to see what damage the storm might have wrought. Moving no more than necessary they ended up slightly less sticky, but with William's larger figure still wrapped around Horatio's slimmer build and their night clothes still rucked up so that they could share as much skin as was possible.

"Is it always like that?" Horatio asked drowsily. Surrender did not come easy to him - even when it was sleep that had him out gunned and surrounded. He wanted to fight it for a few moments more and knew without asking that his comrade would fight besides him.

"No," William admitted, wondering how much more to say. It was definitely not the time to explain to Horatio what good chance and very possibly a an easier victim had saved him from. Equally it would be wrong to leave him with a clearly distorted view if for no other reason than Horatio's own safety. "That was something special," William added at last. He felt the words were inadequate but hoped that Hornblower knew him well enough to read into those few words the ones he could not say.

Horatio seemed satisfied with his response only asking "and in the morning?" with a calm, curiosity that held none of the threat of a father with a shotgun or wailing accusations of betrayal that were always a fear after a night with a woman unless money or a ring had changed hands. It was just a request for information and no more, but still Bush found it necessary to give the reassurances that had not been asked for.

"Then we will be friends," William smiled against Horatio's shoulder and somehow knew that there was an answering smile somewhere in the darkness, "and you will report to Pellew as ordered and I will take care of what I need to in town. Then when both our chores are done we shall meet again at the dock..."

Horatio settled heavily but contentedly in William's arms finally giving in to the sleep that called to them both.

"...And maybe we can look forward to a time when our watches will once more coincide?" William finished with a soft wistfulness, murmuring the words as much in dreams as to the man in his arms.

If there was to be a reply it would have to wait until the next day for neither of the sleepers could have made it or heard it.

Mutiny on ITV3 tonight!

2008-04-15T08:55:33Z

For anyone in the UK - ITV3 (that's on Freeview, I think channel 11) is repeating the Hornblower TV movies on Tuesdays at 10:05pm. Today is Mutiny - here's the Radio Times link - so we get the arrival of Bush (hooray).

I'm sure that you all own it already, but I thought you might like to know.

Fic: Wm Bush and his Sisters

2008-02-22T17:21:45Z

Rating: Child Friendly ( I apologize)
Canon: between movies Retribution/Loaylty; book Lieutenant Hornblower after Bush's been payed of Renown and before CH XVIII... Written after reading Lt. No spoilers, really.
Summary: Some weeks of idle and the life in Chichester Cottage.
READ IT HERE

A drill on watercolor with Wm Bush.

2008-02-04T15:37:14Z

Lieutenant William Bush by ~rum-inspector on deviant ART

Five times bush held his tongue and one time he didn't 2/6

2008-01-09T02:02:53Z

Title: Five Times Bush Held His Tongue 2/6
Fandom: Horatio Hornblower
Word Count: 590 this chapter / 3961 total
Characters: William Bush, Horatio Hornblower, mentions of others
Rating: G - WB/HH if you squint
Spoilers: Mix of bookverse and tv-verse in their entirety
Disclaimer: I own nothing

Archived: This fic can also be read on HornblowerFic.com, if you prefer.

Author's Note: This is my first ever posted HH fic, so I'm suitably nervous.

Summary: Just like it says on the packet.

The First Time
The Second Time

fanfic | horatio hornblower | five times bush held his tongue and one time he didn't

2008-01-08T04:51:40Z

Title: Five Times Bush Held His Tongue 1/6
Fandom: Horatio Hornblower
Word Count: 443 this chapter / 3961 total
Characters: William Bush, Horatio Hornblower, mentions of others
Rating: G - WB/HH if you squint
Spoilers: Mix of bookverse and tv-verse in their entirety
Disclaimer: I own nothing

Archived: This fic can also be read on HornblowerFic.com, if you prefer.

Author's Note: This is my first ever posted HH fic, so I'm suitably nervous.

Summary: Just like it says on the packet.

The First Time

x-posted to hornblower_fic

Little Black Book of Wm. Bush

2007-11-05T13:12:11Z

Ficlet
(inspired by a line from
Hornblower: Ship of the Line)

The Little Black Book.

Mr. William Bush is the first lieutenant in His Majesty's ship Sutherland, under the command of Captain Horatio Hornblower.
His written duty is to take command of the ship if something should happen to his captain. His every day duty, however, is to maintain the ship in the finest condition. He carries out that duty, with the help of a little black book.

He carries his little black book (it is the size of a bicorne hat cut flat to make a rectangle) with him wherever he goes. He has it with him in officer's mess and when he climbs up the mizzenmast. The book weights two stones. One of them granite.

The book is filled up with names. The names represents people who have done serious crimes towards the ship's wellbeing. Offences as hideous as being 2/100sec too slow (or fast) in gathering the sails, having too many creases on their hammocks or being stupid enough to smile when the first's feeling down.
Some names occur more often than others; there is only seventeen out of the whole ship's crew (minus the highest officers) whose names aren't there. Fourteen of them because their names are impossible for him to spell. That is a reason enough to mark them down anyway. It is an obvious offense towards His Majesty's Navy to have a name too difficult for His Majesty's Officer to pronounce.

He has even written down Hornblower's name. It might raise an eyebrow if the captain should ever read the book, to find a page filled with "William Hornblower". But if you've ever been a young girl you find nothing strange in that page whatsoever.

Captain Hornblower wishes to be the most feared man aboard. After all, he is the Captain, whom men shall both adore and fear.
He has a long way to go to beat William Bush. Amongs the ordinary crew they have a word for him.

Petty-little-nitpricker.

Below decks, they only like him when he's drunk. He then dances with the book and is easily lured into writing down imaginary names that Hornblower, the day after, does not find that funny at all.

The little black book is even more feared than quartermaster Harrison's cane. For the cane may dance on your butt once and then be forgotten while once you have your name on the black book it'll be there forever. Cane has no memory. Bush has a slippery mind. But his book remembers EVERY NAME.

The book went missing and remained so for a fortnight. The whole ship was searched and names were put down to his memory - it was characteristic of him to forgot every single one before one can say Jack Robinson. The whole ship was searched again. And again. And again. It wasn't until he demanded the ship's timbers to be torn apart when captain's steward Polwheal stepped out and handed him the little black book. He did not tell where he had found it. Bush was ready to put Polwheal in to his book when "ha-hmm" from Hornblower standing demandingly behind Polwheal put him back to his place and he put down his own name instead (which irritated Hornblower later when Bush was demanding punishments for himself). It never occurred to his mind that searhing the whole ship never applied to captain's quarters. It was as obvious to his mind as the setting of the sun that Hornblower should have nothing to do with the missing of his little black book. Hornblower only said Ha-hmm.

ART POST: william bush

2007-10-11T18:07:16Z

Title: William Bush, relieved
Rating: G

New fic!

2007-10-03T10:27:15Z

Evenin' all.

I finally have a new Bush fic completed. Get it here, over on c_e_n_o

Yup, right here

Lieutenant Hornblower Computer Game

2007-08-26T19:14:04Z

Good Evening! I joinded this lovely group for the love of the lovely Wm and I hope this is Bush enough to distribute. I made a little game based on a chapter in Lieutenant Hornblower that was left out in the movies. Bush is the main character, obviously.

Game is in my journal

Video: The World's Strongest Man

2007-08-25T08:14:14Z

Hello!
I made another fanvid and thought I'd post a link here. :)

Song: The World's Strongest Man
Artist: Scott Walker
Pairing: HH/WB

Follow me to my journal.

fic: A study in decomposition

2007-06-23T14:34:59Z

Title: A study in decomposition.
Timeframe: Sheerness.
Rating: G.
Inspired by this art by black_hound. I hope she doesn't mind.

Only monuments are monolithic; only dead heroes achieve that solid uniformity.

Bush is made of various things: a net of little wrinkles around his eyes, fading suntan, patches of grey in his hair. A blotch of ink on a finger. Eyeglasses on a cord around his neck; another pair in a drawer of his table. The mental note not to forget where the spare item is put. The rustle of papers and meticulously controlled handwriting are also Bush, but so are the memories of gunfire and storms, and winds.

Not everything of him is stored in his table, or in this room. A part of him is made up of female voices, and birds chirping in the trees, and the smells of the garden, and endless tea-times with his sisters. Another part is miles away, in another country past the Channel, and it’s lost beyond recovery to a surgeon’s saw. He’s partly made of French wood, and it knocks provocatively on the English wood of the floor every time he walks. Through him, the French have finally set foot on the British soil, if only by proxy. And each night, when he goes to sleep, he becomes more composite when the artificial leg is put to a separate rest by the bedstead.

He is also composed of a harsh voice and commands; of captains’ fortunes and failures; of gains and losses. Like every naval officer, he’s cemented whole by the Articles of War and washed apart by the seven seas and a few occasional inland rivers. He is the Battle of Trafalgar and small towboats dragging old warships to their last harbour.

Quite rough fabric is this officer W. Bush.

And Hornblower? Hornblower is made of knighthood, and peerage, and captaincy, and estates. Of wives, and fine ladies, and dead children. He is a sum of numbers and stratagems, court-martials and stories told in the Naval Gazette. He is created by the ships in his command, and his first lieutenants, and stewards, and midshipmen, and a stray canon-ball on the quarterdeck. He is the total of long limbs and awkward uniform, of prize money and debts, of perpetual seasickness and disguise.

When Hornblower’s nature is finally decomposed, he would be probably reduced to the three proposals he has made in his life. Two are to the women he married; but the third one, the only one made diffidently, is to Bush to be his first lieutenant.

Since the Hotspur they both know that this is the only arithmetic that will always be true.

Duty screen caps

2007-05-18T20:19:35Z

I've posted a few screen caps from Duty in my journal, here. There are only fourteen of them, but the selection is fairly Bush intensive. *g*

(Note: you'll need to be logged in to LJ in order to see them.)

God Help Sailors

2007-05-14T14:22:30Z

God Help Sailors

Music: Requiem Mass in D minor (K. 626), Lacrimosa, W.A. Mozart
Run time: 3:49
Xvid Compression

Based on the Horatio Hornblower novels of C.S. Forester.

The drabble, God Help Sailors by idler_1814 is one of the most amazing 100 words ever written in the Hornblower fandom. So I boldly asked the author if I could try to put visuals to her words, and this is the result.

God Help Sailors. 320x240. 25MB.
God Help Sailors. 720x480. 43MB.

You can leave your hat on

2007-05-08T15:03:40Z

Well, I did another video and thought I'd share...
It's set to "You can leave your hat on" by Joe Cocker and features not only Lt. Bush, but most of the main characters.
Follow the link to my journal if you like.

But more importantly I need encouragement or a bloody good reason why I need to continue with The Commodore and then read Lord Hornblower. I read spoilers, so I know what's gonna happen and I guess that's the reason for my slow reading at the moment, while I read, for example, Flying Colours in two days. I just don't want it to happen and well, not reading it in the first place seems like a way to stop it from happening... so, please tell me there are some really important scenes I'd miss if I didn't read on!
I'm sure there are, I just need to hear it from someone else... :)

FIC - To Save a captain - part 5

2007-04-27T10:51:06Z

Rating: NC17 for m/m
Pairing: HH/WB
Disclaimer: Not mine. No harm intended

Please read disclaimer.

All the parts can be found at my lj here

*g*

x-posted to hh_slash

Fic: To Save A Captain - part 4

2007-04-18T12:43:28Z

Title: To Save A Captain - part 4
Rating: NC17 m/m
Pairing: HH/WB
Summary: set at the end of Loyalty

To Save A Captain - part 4

x posted to hh_slash

*g*

AU fic: Braindamage, HH/WB, HH/Napoleon

2007-04-09T17:57:57Z

i'm not a spammer. seriously, i'm not; but the subject of AUs came up in the previous post, which promptly made me remember i wrote one not too long ago...almost a month from now O.o

Title: Braindamage
Fandom: Hornblower
Pairing: HH/Napoleon, HH/WB
Rating: R
Warning: brainsex, physiology, weird terms; cyberpunk AU.
A/N: written for the hurt/comfort challenge, prompt: neurological disorder

this way to the fic.

Fic - To Save A Captain - part 3

2007-04-04T22:36:41Z

Universe: Hornblower
Rating: NC17 for m/m
Pairing: HH/WB
Summary: Set during Loyalty. They are back in England, Horatio has reported to his findings to the Admiral, and has been given shore leave for one night.

Note: Thanks to munchkinofdoom for the edit. *g*

To Save A Captain Part Three

Previous parts -
Part One
Part Two

*g*

x post in hh_slash

Fic: ... And A Following Sea. Bush. (G)

2007-04-02T14:16:51Z

Title: ... And A Following Sea
Author: dukesfreers (aka iansmomesq)
Rating: G
Characters: Bush, Bush's sisters, (with mention of Hornblower)
Basis: After Lt. Hornblower; Right before Hornblower and the Hotspur
Summary: The man of war suffers a sort of starvation during times of peace, and it is not unusual for him to crave conflict like a body craves water.
Challenge: "Fair Winds and A Following Sea"
Comments: Thanks as always to quigonejinn for the beta-fu. Inspired by a response to a request by black_hound in my "Five Things" meme having to do with Bush's passing the time in Chichester during the Peace of Amiens. I claim nothing. I own nothing of this, and I just like to play in Forester's sandbox now and again.

Originally posted to aos_challenge

There was a time when war was war and peace was peace. Life was either tranquility or torment -- never the twain had met. In those simpler times, men of peace found it difficult to live during wars. Men of war found life intolerable during times of peace. Truly, the man of war requires conflict, needs to feel fear. Without it, the man of war suffers a sort of starvation. His nerves atrophy without the life-confirming din of artillery, without the sting of gunpowder, without the sickly-sweet smell of death.

William Bush was a man of war, and he knew it to his very depths. He found it nearly impossible to explain to his sisters why he missed the sea as he did. He observed that the times, changeable as they were, brought no variance or hardship to the women of the Bush family. Regardless of peace or regardless of war, whether Bush was home or at sea, at least the sisters could count on half of Bush's lieutenant's pay. As time went on and the peace remained, Bush, despite his simple, forgiving nature, wondered, quite uncharitably, if his sisters cared whether the money was brought by courier or by Bush himself. As long as the money came in, it seemed, the women were satisfied.

When he first arrived home, his sisters treated him like an honoured guest. As time went on, however, Bush's sisters sunk into a level of familiarity and comfort with their only brother such that he became yet another common fixture of daily life. Bush thought himself churlish to think so, but he wondered if his sisters began to begrudge his presence at the cottage as yet another mouth to feed. When the carriage landed him in town after his monthly visits to Portsmouth, Bush would use part of his collected pay not for a visit to the alehouse, but to purchase a small supply of eggs, butter, and tea. His sisters' eyes always lit up at these trifles more than the sight of him. He laughed at himself with the thought that this melancholy -- so uncharacteristic of him -- must have been the product of sharing a berth aboard Renown with Hornblower for so long.

Hornblower.... Bush sighed, and pulled a crooked smile. He imagined Hornblower -- captain into Retribution. Hornblower was a lucky bastard, Bush thought, and no matter how hard Bush tried, he simply could not begrudge Hornblower his commission. If it were anyone else, if it had been any other lieutenant junior to him -- Roberts, or Kennedy, rest his soul, Bush would have been furious and deeply wounded. But, this was Hornblower. Hornblower... and Bush could not find a shred of jealousy in his body for the man's fortune. Bush had it in his mind that Hornblower was still at sea despite the peace -- that he was probably out in the Mediterranean somewhere, picking off privateers and earning prize money hand over fist while Bush remained landlocked and in near poverty. "For he's a jolly good fellow...."

So, it was no wonder that Chichester Harbor drew an attraction for Bush. The man, in essence, was bored. The life he was used to, the life he had lived since his father had died, and since Bush was eleven years old was, for the near future at least, gone. It amazed Bush how much his mind worked when otherwise unoccupied. He had suspected that Hornblower thought him unimaginative. Bush had an imagination, he did, but it simply was not as quick as Hornblower's, or as readily available given all of the external stimuli of Naval life. When there were halyards to run, reports to write, and men to oversee, there was no room in Bush's mind for imagination or self-reflection.

It was a cold February morning when Bush kissed his sisters good bye, packed a small kit-bag, and left, yet again for Chichester en route to Portsmouth. He had his uniform on, so his older sister, Emily, smiled brightly at him and adjusted his neckcloth as he left. "We shall see you in three days, William," Emily had said.

"Three days, yes, but perhaps more if this weather continues."

Emily waved. "Fair winds, William."

"And a following sea," was Bush's habitual reply. ... and a following sea... and a following sea... It was the "following sea" part of the traditional goodbye that seemed unlikely.

The walk from the family's cottage to the town square seemed to Bush longer than when he made the trek during the summer months. Perhaps it was the wind, perhaps it was the snow seeping in through his worn boots to soak his threadbare stockings. At least he still had his coat, which, other than his sword, was one of the few possessions remaining to him that he did not have to sell or take loan upon.

Just like every other day, when the weather was fair, Bush walked straight to the quayside. Just like every other day, he sat upon the small, stone parapet from the city walls, reached in his pocket, and pulled out the breakfast Anna had folded into a napkin for him. Just like every other day, he paid no heed to the grease dripping down his chin as he bit into the sausage and followed with an eager bite of hard, nearly stale, bread. Bush eyed the nearby tavern, licking his lips with the longing for a tankard of beer, but he knew -- he could not afford it.

Just like every other day, Bush watched the merchantmen -- watched the loading and unloading of the ships, heard the shrouds humming in the wind, the boards creaking, the men grunting, and the waves lolling, and he licked his lips again with the longing for the taste of the sea. Just like every other day, Bush allowed his gaze to rove over the men. In the summer months, they worked bare-chested and glistening with sweat, but now they were huddled in oilcloths, peacoats, and sou'westers. The captain of one of the ships wore a heavy woolen coat -- Bush shivered against the inadequacy of his own and wriggled his toes against the creeping freeze within his boots.

Bush smiled. He picked a green spot off of his bread, took a bite, and wondered how many of the men from the merchant ships he could press into service if war had broken out again. There was an advantage in the winter months for working press-gangs, being on the hunt, so to speak. The cold and the bulk of clothing made Bush's prey slower, easier to snare, easier to catch, and easier to haul aboard a waiting ship and into His Majesty's Service. Bush counted the men on the shore. He counted the men on the Lady Lorraine docked in front of him, on the unfamiliar East Indiaman to the left, and the sloop, Wanderer to the right. His smile broadened into a lascivious grin with the thought that he could have pressed at least four hundred men -- enough to sufficiently man a good-sized frigate -- and he knew not a single man would escape him.

Hornblower entered his mind again. He knew Hornblower would have had no difficulty in manning Retribution. He imagined Matthews, and heaven forfend, Styles, would have been on his crew, and it was most unfortunate that Retribution was too small a vessel to warrant the need for a lieutenant. If only Renown had captured a frigate that day in Samana Bay. Bush shook off the thought and nodded resolvedly. Renown did not take a frigate, and Hornblower was aboard a mere sloop, and there was no place for Bush there. There was no place for Bush in the Navy. There was no place for Bush at home.

The carriage rolled into the town square. Bush paid the driver and said, curtly, "Portsmouth." Bush climbed into the carriage, and squeezed himself next to four other Naval officers. He settled in, placed his bag upon his lap and closed his coat tighter around him. He resigned himself to a long, silent journey, for none of the officers ever spoke. In all honesty, Bush had no desire for conversation, and it was likely the same with the other officers. For, what was there to discuss other than memories of war and memories of glory, all of which were too painful to recall in the absence of the promise of more. So much to look forward to -- one or two nights of cheap, noisy lodgings, humiliation in front of an uppity Admiralty clerk, and a return trip, complete with butter and eggs and tea for his sisters.

Yes, Bush thought. I could press four hundred men -- if someone would only give the order.

ltbush @ 2007-04-01T16:31:00

2007-04-01T09:34:50Z

I’ve been lurking for a while on this comm so thought I would de-lurk with the attached story. This was directly inspired by the comments section to a story posted by aka_centimetre2”>, go here for that story and subsequent comments.

X-posted variously. Thanks to golly_politely for concrit.

Title: Distress Signal
Author: What_evil_lurks
Pairing: none in particular: Bush
Type: gen fic
Rating: umm NC17 ?
Warning: err - violence & proposed non-con, accidental channeling of nasty versions of characters from other fandoms…
Summary: While on shore leave Mr Bush steps out for a quiet drink. Someone has a different plan for him.

Distress Signal

The arrival of new customers to the crowded tavern prompted Bush, as was the custom, to move away from the hearth and let the latest arrivals warm themselves in the place he had left. Others had done the same for him, when he had earlier made his way in from the cold snowbound Portsmouth night. When he entered, his gaze had quickly swept the tavern. Its customers were almost all working men: labourers, porters, butchers, bakers, a few sailors, all visiting the tavern for a refreshing ale and some convivial conversation, as was he. He noted two other uniformed officers, one of whom he knew slightly, and nodded to them. The serving girls were kept busy carrying trays of food and tankards of ale, and dodging the odd pinch. On leaving the hearth Bush managed to snag a small empty table and settled himself into a chair, drinking deep from his tankard and leaning his back against the wall to better observe the lively crowd.

As his gaze wandered over the throng, one man made a point of catching his eye, leaning back with a challenging yet subtle invitation. The man was big and roughly dressed - coarse-looking, but Bush supposed some women might consider him appealing He reminded Bush of that fool Randall who had jumped ship at Santo Domingo, and paid the ultimate price for doing so. The resemblance was more one of size and arrogant demeanor than looks, for this man had darker brown hair and lighter eyes, but the same know-it-all expression. Bush allowed his gaze to casually pass over to the next man, and the next, not wishing the man to read any response into his look.

* * * * * *

The tankards of ale that Bush had consumed inevitably made their presence felt. He rose and carefully elbowed his way through the crowded tavern to the door leading outside to the privy.

Outside the air was cool and clear, especially by comparison with the indoor fug of smoke, ale, and noisy, hardworking men. A full moon, silvery-pale, cast strong light and dark shadows across the small yard, which was surrounded on three sides by a tall stone wall. Dirty, crushed snow lay in small muddy mounds within the yard. High double gates led through to a larger outer yard, bounded by the same lofty stone walls. Bush made his way over to the small necessary, realizing as he did that he was somewhat drunker than he had thought. Convalescence from the wounds he had sustained on the Renown at Samana Bay, compounded by an unexpected bout of fever during their surprisingly quick voyage back to England, had left him weaker than he would like to admit. He also found himself more susceptible to the effects of drink, despite being well on the mend.

He rapped on the closed wooden door of the privy, to be answered by slurred but readily understandable words. “I’ll be in ‘ere a while” came from within.

“As you were, man,” Bush answered. Despite providing a privy, there wasn’t a tavern owner in the world unaccustomed to men pissing up against a wall, and Bush slipped through the gates to stroll along the soft powdery snow of the outer yard. Another set of open double gates guarded the far end of the yard, with a sturdy shed ensconced just within them in one corner. Halfway down the right-hand wall Bush found a spot he liked, and rested one hand casually against the cold stone while undoing his trousers and flipping out his prick with the other. Ahhh, there was no over-estimating the pleasure of a good long piss.

There came a brief flare of light and sound from the tavern as someone else exited the back door. The man did not even bother with the privy, but instead headed straight down the yard to make himself comfortable next to Bush, casually unbuttoning buff-coloured trews and streaming against the wall, the sour smell of urine rising warmly in the cool air. A quick casual glance at the man’s face showed that it was the fellow who had been eyeing him earlier, and Bush felt a rising wariness. He took his left hand off the wall and stood straighter.

“Must you piss here, man? You’ve got the whole yard to choose from,” he said irritably.

“I like a bit of company when I piss,” the man replied, sociably laying a heavy hand on Bush’s shoulder. From the man’s build and the faint but unmistakable aura of flour that clung to his clothes, he was a miller. “No need to be unfriendly, now.”

Bush roughly shrugged the man’s intrusive hand away. Fortunately, Bush’s call of nature was nearly finished. He did not like the vulnerability of being caught literally trousers-down (or at least undone) and cock in hand. He was sure he had not misread the invitation in the man’s earlier look. “No need to be friendly either.”

“Come on now,” the other man chided, “I saw you looking at me afore.”

That confirmed Bush’s suspicions, and he decided to make the situation plain, before there could be any misunderstanding whatsoever. Giving his cock a quick shake, he tucked it back into his trousers and rapidly buttoned them up one-handed. “It was you who were looking at me. If you think I am interested, you’re mistaken.”

The big man grinned unpleasantly. “And you’re mistaken… if you think I care whether you are interested or not.” Doing up his own trews, he side-stepped quickly to block Bush’s path back to the tavern. Bush sighed inwardly. He did not doubt his ability to handle the man – he had come by his reputation as a fighting man honestly. But Bush had come out of his lodgings for a few quiet drinks and some casual conversation, and did not want to end the evening with a brawl in defense of his … honour.

“Get out of my way.” Bush used his most authoritative voice. Most men responded instinctively to the tone of command.

“Make me.” The miller grinned again, no more pleasantly than before. Clearly he did not see Bush as much of a challenge when it came to scrapping. He was about to learn the error of his ways.

Bush decided the quickest way to end the situation would be a good hard kick to the man’s balls. He was by no means above fighting dirty if the situation warranted it, and the man could hardly maintain any kind of lecherous intent if he was lying on the ground clutching his privates.

Suddenly the miller’s glance flickered beyond him. “You lot took your time.”

Bush risked a quick look back over his shoulder. Fuck! There were three of them now – the soft snow had masked the footsteps of the miller’s two friends. They had clearly circled around the building and come in through the rear gates – an unpleasant metaphor that did not escape Bush. They were also big men, roughly dressed, one tall and thin but with a sinewy look to him. The other was not so tall as the ringleader, but easily as broad, and solid throughout. Bush had no intention of ending up used and bloody, face-down in the snow, but three might well be too much for him to manage, given his weakened state. Still, it wasn’t in him to give up without a fight, and a little good luck and momentum might yet see him through.

“Got ‘im warmed up for us have yer, Dusty?” the tall gangly one sniggered.

Fools. Less talk, more action. Bush slid one hand into the waistband of his trousers – through old habit he kept a worn but always-sharp rigging knife there. He likely would not have used it if his only opponent had been the miller, but he had no hesitation in arming himself given the change in odds. In a moment it was in his hand. He did not warn, or threaten, but moved with the quick action of a striking snake. He slashed at the miller’s chest. The man leaped back unharmed, faster than one might expect from one so large. Bush pressed forward, but the man moved steadily backwards out of range. He reached one large hand behind himself, and when it came back into view, there was a knife in it, big enough not to be dwarfed by his large paws. From the way he held it, he knew how to use it. The sight was enough to make Bush pause to re-assess his tactics.

This just kept getting worse.

“Come on then lad,” the miller taunted, moving forward now that he was suitably armed. “I like a man with a bit of spirit – just makes it all the sweeter when he’s on his knees in front of yer. Ain’t that right, lads?”

“Yeah, bit o’ spirit.” The gangly man clearly though it was his task in life to snigger. At least they had not jumped Bush from behind, though he did not doubt they would pitch in once the fight stopped going their friend’s way. A little subterfuge might throw them off their guard, and if he could take out that big bastard with the knife it would give him a better chance of dealing with the others.

“Gentlemen,” he backed to the wall, so at least they could not get at him that way, his empty hand thrown out placatingly. “This is a little extreme, don’t you think?”

“We like it that way,” the third man suddenly spoke, his voice low and rumbling.
“Yeah, nothin’ like a bit of rough and tumble before… a bit of rough and tumble!” the tall man jeered.

Bush allowed his shoulders to sag, looking down at the ground, giving the impression of a man reluctantly gearing himself up for surrender. He took a slow deep breath, then with all the volume his voice possessed, shouted, “Renowns, to me!” It couldn’t do any harm, and might trick the men into thinking he would have company at any moment, distract them. As he shouted, his voice cracking, he pivoted towards the miller, leaping forward as he did so. He slashed furiously at the man’s knife arm, aiming for the area inside the elbow, where tendons and blood vessels and the mechanics of the arm were vulnerable.

Caught off-guard, the big man still managed to move fast enough that Bush’s stroke missed the area he was aiming for. Instead it cut a long shallow slash along the man’s forearm. Bush grabbed the man's wrist and jerked him with all his weight to the wall, banging the arm with the knife repeatedly against the stone. He heard sudden movement behind him, and grunted as he took a painful punch to the kidneys. Bush jabbed his elbow back hard, connecting solidly with the second attacker’s face. There was a satisfying crunch of elbow against bone. He had little time for self-congratulation as the miller’s free hand gripped his wrist. They grappled for a moment, hands wrapped tightly around wrists. The miller’s superior strength and height told as he managed to twist Bush’s hand back so far that it automatically opened. The rigging knife fell to the ground, useless. Bush took a leaf out of Styles’ book; dragging the man towards him, Bush head-butted him as hard as he could. A kiss in the Liverpool style was the only sort the miller would be getting from him tonight. The man dropped his hands, staggering back dazed as his own knife fell to the snow.

Bush dared not stoop for the knife and risk being pushed to the ground. He was muzzy himself but pressed the attack, throwing his weight behind a right cross that struck a glancing blow to the big man’s chin. He ducked a roundhouse right that would have clocked him hard had it connected. Stepping in more closely he pounded the miller vigorously in the breadbasket, one two one two, hard damaging jabs to break the man’s wind and slow him down. A smashing right from the miller confounded him and sent him reeling backwards into the arms of one of the man’s henchmen. Strong hands gripped his arms and held him, open and vulnerable, twisting wildly to get free, to no avail.

The miller’s smile was fast becoming a particularly disagreeable sight. The man clenched his hefty fists and lifted them, and Bush had no doubt that he was in for a solid beating.

“Don’t mess ‘is face up too much, Dusty…yet,” his captor suggested, holding on tightly, despite Bush’s furious writhing. “You know I like ‘em pretty.”

“Don’t we all, Spivvo, don’t we all. ‘Sides, we’ve got a use for that mouth – don’t want it bleeding just yet.” The miller’s gaze ran over Bush as though deciding where to hit him first.

“Damn you…Bastards,” Bush cursed them hoarsely, defiantly, still wriggling as madly as a cut snake.

“You’ll be singing a different tune soon, feller-me-lad.” The ringleader clearly made up his mind as to just which part of Bush would be the first to feel the weight of his fists, and stepped forward. The man holding Bush braced him against the coming blow.

Suddenly there came two familiar voices, calling out with intent.

“Sir!” Styles!

“ ‘ang on sir, we’re coming!” Matthews!

There was a shooshing of running feet on the powdery snow. Bush had never been so pleased to hear Styles’ voice before, accustomed as he was to telling Styles to shut it. He stamped down hard on the foot of the man holding him, taking advantage of his attacker’s dull surprise to wrench himself free.

“Take them, men!” He commanded in a cracked voice, launching himself at the miller, in full confidence that Matthews and Styles would make short work of the other two.

Bush pounded furiously at his opponent, hard smashing blows to the man’s face and torso, taking in return some punches brutal enough to daze him. He lurched, but did not abandon the attack. Ducking Bush’s punishing right, the burly miller played to his own strengths and grabbed Bush in a powerful and crushing bear hug, pinning his arms by his sides and tightly constricting his ribs until he could barely breathe. Bush had no chance of breaking free. Instead he used what little lateral movement his forearms had, grabbed the man’s jewels with one hand and squeezed with all the strength he could muster. The fellow’s inwardly-drawn whimper would have been music even to Hornblower’s tone-deaf ears. The man fell to his knees, dragging Bush down with him. The tight embrace was now cursory, rigid, with no real strength to it. Bush readily broke free and strained up onto his feet.

The miller slumped, moaning quietly, one shoulder against the wall, and Bush grabbed him double-handed by the throat. With a fierce delight he repeatedly banged the man’s head against the wall, again, again, feeling the solid meaty thwack of bone against stone, his teeth bared, the dark blue of his uniform sleeves standing out against the paleness of wall and snow.

“Sir?” he barely heard the cautionary voice, so absorbed was he in his frenzy. “Sir!” A hand plucked tentatively at his sleeve and he threw it off without thought, then resumed slamming the miller’s head roughly against the rock. The man’s head sagged in his hands, eyes already rolled up and closed, but Bush saw no need to stop.

“Sir,” the voice was urgent now. Someone moved into his field of vision. Someone he knew, someone he should give attention to. Matthews. That was it, the man’s name was Matthews. Bush blinked for a moment, frowned, the movement of his arms slowing. Matthews bravely laid his hand back on Bush’s sleeve. “Leave ‘im sir – he’s done.”

Bush heard the words, but for a moment they were just a garble of sound. Then they resolved themselves into a coherent sentence. He saw the sizeable smear of blood the man’s head had left on the wall, the man’s torso only kept upright by Bush’s hands around his throat, and without concern wondered if he had killed him. But no, beating steadily beneath his hands was the man’s pulse, slow and strong as an ox. Bush dropped him, and the man slid sideways to the ground.

“Thank you Matthews. A corpse would have raised difficult questions.” God, was that his voice, husky, scarcely audible, yet measured, barely a trace of the tumultuous rage that was still subsiding.

Don’t let the men see you like this.

“You’d best put yer hands in the snow sir – they’re bleeding.”

Bush nodded to Matthews – it was a sensible suggestion. The iciness of the snow would slow the bleeding, and lessen the swelling and bruising that was bound to occur. And it gave him the perfect excuse to pause, rest, regain himself, without it being obvious to the men. Stepping well away from his now-unconscious assailant, Bush leaned his back flat against a buttress and unhurriedly slid down into a crouch, clenching his hands into loose fists and pressing his knuckles into the cold snow. He noticed a faint tremor in his hands, but knew from experience it would not last long. He also suspected that one, possibly two, of the fingers on his left hand were broken. Nothing that a tight bandage and a few weeks wouldn’t fix. His breath came in rapid deep heaves.

Control yourself, man.

He was dimly aware of Styles brutally kicking one of the downed men in the guts, and Matthews frowning, impatient, remonstrating with Styles. Good man. He was not entirely sure which one of them he meant.

Breathe. Slowly. He made a conscious effort to rein in his breathing, the swift and heavy panting gradually changing to something more normal, his heart taking longer to slow down to its usual solid thump.

Matthews came over to him, scooping up a bit of clean snow as he went, and offered it to him solicitously. Bush’s brow wrinkled as he looked up at Matthews. What was the man on about?

“Your mouth’s bleedin’ too sir.” Bush suppressed a flesh-creep at the second mention of bleeding mouths that evening, and mutely opened his mouth to allow Matthews to gently place the snow within. He moved his jaw and tongue to push the snow between teeth and lips, tasting the familiar ferrous tang of blood. Up until then he had barely been aware of the injury, just as one was hardly conscious of a small distant hum until it ceased.

“Were they trying to rob you, sir?” Matthews inquired curiously.

“Something like that, Matthews,” Bush spoke carefully around the icy and uncomfortable snow. He did not miss the puzzled look Matthews and Styles exchanged.

“Should we get the Watch, sir?”

“No,’ he replied hoarsely, “We’ll handle this ourselves. Styles!” Ah, that was something more like, a bit of briskness informing the subsequent order. He nodded towards the hut at the end of the yard. “There’s bound to be some line in that shed – take a look.”

“Aye, sir.” The big curly-headed man turned to make his way towards the shed, flipping up the collar of his pea-jacket against the cold night air as he went.

“And Styles, see if there aren’t some pickets or stakes, anything like that.”

“Sir.” Styles continued on his way, glancing back over one beefy shoulder as he acknowledged the order.

“And a mallet.”

Styles paused for a moment, turning to give Bush an oddly cheerful yet longsuffering look. “Right you are sir.”

Styles was nearly at the shed when Bush spoke again.

“And Styles? Do try the handle of the door before you put your shoulder to it.”

Styles’ ever-quick and easy grin flashed briefly in the moonlight.

Bush pushed his back against the cold stone buttress and stood, spitting out the bloody snow. It was time to stop lazing when there was work to be done. He walked over to where the tall gangly man lay moaning and slowly moving in the snow, the only one of the trio still conscious, and barely, at that.

“Matthews, help me with these men. They’re to go outside in the lane.” He bent to take hold of the man’s ankles.

“Aye, sir. But Styles and me can take care of that. You rest, sir,” Matthews suggested.

Doubled over, he could not glare at Matthews, at the tone of kindly concern in his voice. His own voice muffled, Bush said firmly, “I’m not an invalid, Matthews.”

“Course not sir.” Matthews hurried to the prone man’s head, tucking his hands under the man’s oxters. Despite the man’s counter-point slow writhes, it was short work for the two naval men to half-drag, half-carry him out into the lane and drop him on the dirty snow. He was not yet capable of crawling away. As Bush and Matthews turned to re-enter the yard they were met outside the gates by Styles, a length of line looped over his shoulder, a bundle of two and a half foot barrel staves under the opposite arm, and a sturdy hammer clutched in one big hand.

“Will these do, sir?”

“Admirably.” Bush took the hammer and beckoned for Styles to make a pile of the rest on the ground. Bush picked out four of the staves, made a second smaller heap of them, and began to bang one deeply into the snow banked up against the outside wall, unhindered by the small injuries to his hands He did not bother to order the two sailors to drag out the two remaining men – they had the task well in hand.

By the time they returned, Matthews dragging one man by the feet in short surges and Styles carrying the miller over his shoulder as effortlessly as a sack of corn, Bush had four staves embedded in the snow, forming the corners of a six-foot square. He waved Styles over and with a quick gesture indicated for Styles to put the miller in the middle of the square. Styles readily dropped the man, showing less heed for the man’s well-being than if he really were a sack of grain. The man moaned as he began slowly to rouse.

“Strip them.”

“Sir?” Twin astonished voices spoke as one.

“You heard me.” Styles and Matthews exchanged glances, but said nothing further. There was no arguing with Lieutenant Bush when he used that tone. “Drawers and all.”

Stripping three large, heavy, groggy men was not easy work, but eventually it was done. The men’s clothing was tossed in an untidy heap against the wall. While Matthews and Styles followed Bush’s orders, he himself lost no time in using the remaining barrel staves to form another two sets of four-squared pickets. By the time the other two lubbers had been dragged one by one into the middle of a square each, they were conscious enough to protest. By the time the naval men had skillfully tied them, spread-eagled and naked, hand and foot, to the banged-in barrel staves, they were conscious enough to damn the sailors, their eyes, their ships, and their mothers. Their curses fell upon deaf ears.

Once finished, Bush, Styles and Matthews stepped back to assess their handiwork.

“That’s a nice set of knots there, sir.” Matthews nodded towards the man Bush had tied down. The miller.

“Thank you, Matthews,” Bush’s reply was quiet and smooth. “I fancy I have not quite lost the skills I gained as a midshipman.”

In a low voice, Styles asked, “You really mean to leave them out here in the snow, sir?”

Bush was surprised that for once it was Styles who was the voice of reason. “Yes,” he replied, and for the second time that night barely recognized his own voice, so ugly was the tone. Styles flicked his head upwards in a short nod of acceptance, wary of Bush’s mood.

Bush stepped forward, his shoes flicking up the loose snow as he moved.

“You men!” he addressed the three former assailants, ignoring their threats of vengeance, some of which were, in a literal sense, physically impossible. “You are quite well tied, I assure you. You have three choices – try to free yourselves, lie here until you die of exposure, or call for help. With any luck, someone might even hear you.” His lip curled back in a calculating sneer. “Of course, should that someone be a man you have served as you tried to serve me tonight, you might not wish to find yourselves bound and at their mercy…”

Bush turned to Styles and Matthews, who immediately replaced their looks of sudden comprehension with laughably innocent expressions. “I believe our work here is done, men. I don’t know about you, but I have worked up quite a thirst. Shall we?” With one hand he indicated the dark lane, and the seamen fell into step beside him as he crunched through the dirty ruts of mud and snow, shouts of vindictive anger falling into the night behind them.

Once they were out of earshot, Bush said soberly to the other men, “I am greatly indebted to the pair of you.”

Matthews shook his grey head, replying, “There’s no debts between shipmates, surely sir.”

“Still, if you’re feeling that grateful sir…you can always buy the drinks,” Styles chipped in with a quick grin. “Though don’t know what it’ll do for our reputations, sir, bein’ seen drinking with an officer. Not the thing at all.”

Bush suppressed a smile of his own at the two men’s characteristic replies. “I daresay if my reputation can stand it, Styles, yours will bear up under the strain. Still, I am grateful to you both.” He held out his hand, and after momentary surprise, Styles took it in his own calloused and steadfast grip, shaking hands firmly. Matthews followed suit, clearly feeling slightly less of a need than had Styles to crush Bush’s hand with the strength of his grip.

The three men strolled on down the quiet lane, when Styles continued, a cheeky gleam in his eye, “Surprised you needed our help sir, given there was only three of them. Thought you’d just surround them.”

Matthews made a “tch” at Styles, but Bush found he did not mind the humour. “Unfortunately I find myself still in convalescence mode, Styles.”

“You’ve never opened up them wounds I hope, sir,” Styles replied in sudden concern, a reprise of the somewhat proprietary manner he had adopted from time to time after discovering Bush injured on the deck of the reclaimed Renown.

“No,” Bush replied firmly, although he thought there might be some minor tearing. They were not bleeding through his shirt, at least. “They are coming along well. Clive did an excellent job.”

Styles muttered, very quietly, “Well at least he was good for something.”

“Stow that, Styles,” Bush replied without heat, more as a matter of form than anything else. He did not wish to think about how much easier things would have been on the Renown if they had been able to sway Dr Clive to the officers’ assessment of their captain’s mental state. He changed the subject quickly. “It was good luck that you were within earshot.”

“Aye sir,” answered Matthews, picking up the new subject just as quickly, steering them away from dangerous waters. “We were just ‘eaded for the Blue Boar when we ‘eard yer. ‘Course we’re on the Retribution now, sir, she’s in for careening, but when we ‘eard yer shouting, “Renowns,” we pricked up our ears mighty quick I can tell you. Styles says to me, that’s Lieutenant Bush, and we were running off down the road quick as our legs could take us. ”

Bush doubted Styles had said anything so succinct as that. More likely, “that’s that bloody bastard Bush.” It had indeed been good fortune for him that Matthews and Styles were nearby, and that he had seen fit to loose off a shout. The Navy being what it was, and men being what they were, he had had no shortage of unlooked-for advances from other men throughout his career. However this was the first time that anyone had actually tried to rape him since he was a pale-faced midshipman of fifteen, and, as the bo’sun of his first ship had put it, “too pretty fer yer own good”. As on this occasion, he had defended himself so fiercely that the attack had failed completely.

His thoughts dipped back to the three men he had left tied in the snow. He felt no remorse for his actions - it was a suitable retribution. Their attack on him had a smoothness that spoke of repeated practice. He was sure that he was not the only man they had assaulted in such a manner. Their own speech had confirmed as much. They had little fear of reprisal, unless the victim could band together enough friends to enact payback. And who would admit to being the victim of that particular type of attack, even, or especially, to his friends? The miller and his friends had even less to fear from the law. What man would stand up in court and have the courage to accuse them; to give evidence of the acts to which they had subjected him; be willing to endure the whispers and doubts and pointed fingers that such accusations would garner him, for the rest of his life.

As he walked down the quiet lane with his former shipmates, Bush thought it fit to thank God for his own carrying voice, and Matthews and Styles’s loyalty.

* * * * * * *

finis

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