[Fic] Sea Chest
Jul. 31st, 2019 01:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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hmsloop_hotspurI wanted to write a little something for Sanguinity, who has had a tough couple of days of adulting. So I asked for a prompt and then sat down to just get something out. This is that "something". It's not much, it's not reviewed/beta'd, and is really just for fun. The prompt was What's in Bush's Sea Chest.
Title: Sea Chest
Pairing: HH/WB
Rating: G
Notes: set vaguely in Sang's Tegmore 'verse. Hornblower isn't married to Barbara, he lives in a country house, Tegmore, and Bush has finally been convinced to come live with him more or less permanently.
Bush had returned to the dockyards to oversee the retrofitting of a ship of the line. Although he was nearly a year-round resident of Tegmore these days, happily spending afternoons with Richard and Hornblower, his duties did still occasionally call him away. He would never experience the life of an Admiral, meetings and missives and heavy decisions but precious little sailing. Except for the little boat they both cared for so much that they would launch out of the sheltered little cove on bright summer mornings.
Hornblower shook himself out of his reverie. Ashamed to have caught himself actually missing Bush as he stood on the threshold of Bush's bedroom and study at Tegmore. The room was bright and sunny, facing east and the curtains pulled back as they always were. Hornblower glanced towards the bed and for a moment his coward's mind flashed back to the morning of Bush's departure. Hornblower had joined Bush in bed and had crawled down his body and sucked Bush until he had come gasping and clutching at Hornblower. He thought of Bush's warm, strong, body laid out on the linens.
He forced himself to stop before he got to his own scrawny broken one and turned towards where Bush's sea chest sat tucked under a low window that overlooked one of the gardens. This is why he was here. Bush may live with Hornblower here at Tegmore, may have allowed his life to remain entwined with Hornblower's, to exist side by side, as if a wife might, to share Hornblower's bed and he shared his own with Hornblower's. But he still maintained his own space - a study and a bedchamber - and although Hornblower was always welcome, it was still Bush's space. It was a piece of Bush that existed wholly, but also separately, within Tegmore. Hornblower was surprised to realize that he had never been in the room without Bush.
But he was here at Bush's direction. He clutched the hurriedly scribbled note sent express. Bush had forgotten his ledger and had written Hornblower to send it as quickly as possible. Hornblower smiled, Bush had been hurried, they had lingered too long in bed, it was an uncharacteristic oversight, but Hornblower could not bring himself to regret the delay.
He knelt and opened the sea chest.
It was only about half full. Bush had embraced life at Tegmore and he dressed in well-made by simple clothes. Those were tucked away in his small dressing room. His naval clothes, white trousers, stockings, shirt, waistcoat, and blue coats all missing. Those had been packed away by Hornblower's valet and not forgotten.
There were a few embroidered kerchiefs, extras Hornblower knew, that had been stitched by the careful hand of Bush's youngest sister in delicate flower and basket motifs. There were a few oilskin wrapped items that he didn't dare examine and could not recall seeing before, but he supposed they very well could hold Bush's delicate instruments he favored aboard his own ship - compass, spyglass, sextant - or other sailing implements. There was a bible, but Hornblower knew Bush was not a particularly religious man and he was quite sure it was only opened to be read from on Sunday mornings as part of Bush's duties as captain.
Surprisingly, there was a novel tucked away, one Hornblower was startled to discover was a copy of the one that was a favorite of his. Although he didn't ever recall sharing this bit of of himself with Bush, but perhaps he had seen it on Hornblower's side table in his bedroom more than once and had procured his own copy and read it. Although it was a gross violation of Bush's privacy, Hornblower couldn't help himself and carefully lifted it out.
He opened it and was startled as something fell from between the cover and first page. It was a dried pressed flower. Hornblower was startled to remember the flower vividly. He had picked it during a walk they had taken during Bush's first days at Tegmore and he had twirled it between his fingers before turning to Bush and tucking it into his buttonhole in a fit of absolute sentimentality that he was embarrassed about now. Even more so knowing that Bush had kept it. He put the book back, uncomfortable to know that Bush had apparently understood the moment for what it was and had returned the feelings.
Feelings that Hornblower preferred not to show at all, even to Bush. It pained him to know that he had them at all and he loved Bush most of all for simply understanding and never expecting anything more. Ledgers. He was there for a ledger book.
There were ribbons for Bush's queue, an elegant and functional dining service for two. Bush was not a rich enough captain to furnish a dinner party, but he could host a guest without embarrassment. There was a packet of letters written in a fine feminine hand, from his sisters, Hornblower knew. There was a needle and thread and Hornblower smiled as he remembered Bush's adequate hand at sewing and mending and the care he had taken with a pair of crocheted gloves he when he had been a lieutenant and Hornblower a new captain.
Another packet of letters startled Hornblower as he recognized his own hand. Bush had kept every note or letter Hornblower had ever sent him. Hornblower once again burned with embarrassment. Bush deserved better than a single pressed flower and a few hoarded notes. But Hornblower had no idea what better even was. Bush would be embarrassed if Hornblower replaced his things with finer versions. Or newer ones at least.
Under it all was the ledger. It must have slipped down as Bush was rummaging in the chest at some point as it hadn't been with the others that Bush had managed to pack along with his officers uniforms. It was wedged between a cup and a small wooden box that would unfold to hold an ink and quill, Hornblower knew. Overlooked, but not lost. Hornblower snatched it out and rose, closing the chest. It was too much to be here in this room, rifling through Bush's things, without Bush there to soothe him. He hurried from the room to his study where he rang for the house's butler and issued instructions to get the ledger to Bush as soon as possible if not even sooner. The man nodded seriously and departed and Hornblower sat at his desk. The study was on the north side of the house, never capturing direct sunlight, yet still managing to be well lit most of the day. The curtains were pulled back and Hornblower looked out across the dale that he knew would eventually drop in a steep cliff to the sea. He caught the barest scent of the salt air on the breeze and he couldn't help but smile. It was almost as if Bush had managed to understand what he needed and calm him all the same, despite not being there.
He missed Bush and missing him always left him out of sorts and back in his old ways. Perhaps a walk to the sea would do him good. His duty had been discharged and he had no interest in reading the latest updates from the admiralty. Years of practice and dedication had taught him that his mind did best when applied to something else entirely when it started its spinning a skipping it had been doing earlier. He rose, and stepped through the tall windows and outside. Bush would return soon enough and maybe, just maybe, Hornblower would be brave enough to pick a flower from their garden and press it into his buttonhole. Then, perhaps Bush would then press it into the pages of a novel. And then there would be no need to say the words that burned inside Hornblower's breast, because they would both know.
Title: Sea Chest
Pairing: HH/WB
Rating: G
Notes: set vaguely in Sang's Tegmore 'verse. Hornblower isn't married to Barbara, he lives in a country house, Tegmore, and Bush has finally been convinced to come live with him more or less permanently.
Bush had returned to the dockyards to oversee the retrofitting of a ship of the line. Although he was nearly a year-round resident of Tegmore these days, happily spending afternoons with Richard and Hornblower, his duties did still occasionally call him away. He would never experience the life of an Admiral, meetings and missives and heavy decisions but precious little sailing. Except for the little boat they both cared for so much that they would launch out of the sheltered little cove on bright summer mornings.
Hornblower shook himself out of his reverie. Ashamed to have caught himself actually missing Bush as he stood on the threshold of Bush's bedroom and study at Tegmore. The room was bright and sunny, facing east and the curtains pulled back as they always were. Hornblower glanced towards the bed and for a moment his coward's mind flashed back to the morning of Bush's departure. Hornblower had joined Bush in bed and had crawled down his body and sucked Bush until he had come gasping and clutching at Hornblower. He thought of Bush's warm, strong, body laid out on the linens.
He forced himself to stop before he got to his own scrawny broken one and turned towards where Bush's sea chest sat tucked under a low window that overlooked one of the gardens. This is why he was here. Bush may live with Hornblower here at Tegmore, may have allowed his life to remain entwined with Hornblower's, to exist side by side, as if a wife might, to share Hornblower's bed and he shared his own with Hornblower's. But he still maintained his own space - a study and a bedchamber - and although Hornblower was always welcome, it was still Bush's space. It was a piece of Bush that existed wholly, but also separately, within Tegmore. Hornblower was surprised to realize that he had never been in the room without Bush.
But he was here at Bush's direction. He clutched the hurriedly scribbled note sent express. Bush had forgotten his ledger and had written Hornblower to send it as quickly as possible. Hornblower smiled, Bush had been hurried, they had lingered too long in bed, it was an uncharacteristic oversight, but Hornblower could not bring himself to regret the delay.
He knelt and opened the sea chest.
It was only about half full. Bush had embraced life at Tegmore and he dressed in well-made by simple clothes. Those were tucked away in his small dressing room. His naval clothes, white trousers, stockings, shirt, waistcoat, and blue coats all missing. Those had been packed away by Hornblower's valet and not forgotten.
There were a few embroidered kerchiefs, extras Hornblower knew, that had been stitched by the careful hand of Bush's youngest sister in delicate flower and basket motifs. There were a few oilskin wrapped items that he didn't dare examine and could not recall seeing before, but he supposed they very well could hold Bush's delicate instruments he favored aboard his own ship - compass, spyglass, sextant - or other sailing implements. There was a bible, but Hornblower knew Bush was not a particularly religious man and he was quite sure it was only opened to be read from on Sunday mornings as part of Bush's duties as captain.
Surprisingly, there was a novel tucked away, one Hornblower was startled to discover was a copy of the one that was a favorite of his. Although he didn't ever recall sharing this bit of of himself with Bush, but perhaps he had seen it on Hornblower's side table in his bedroom more than once and had procured his own copy and read it. Although it was a gross violation of Bush's privacy, Hornblower couldn't help himself and carefully lifted it out.
He opened it and was startled as something fell from between the cover and first page. It was a dried pressed flower. Hornblower was startled to remember the flower vividly. He had picked it during a walk they had taken during Bush's first days at Tegmore and he had twirled it between his fingers before turning to Bush and tucking it into his buttonhole in a fit of absolute sentimentality that he was embarrassed about now. Even more so knowing that Bush had kept it. He put the book back, uncomfortable to know that Bush had apparently understood the moment for what it was and had returned the feelings.
Feelings that Hornblower preferred not to show at all, even to Bush. It pained him to know that he had them at all and he loved Bush most of all for simply understanding and never expecting anything more. Ledgers. He was there for a ledger book.
There were ribbons for Bush's queue, an elegant and functional dining service for two. Bush was not a rich enough captain to furnish a dinner party, but he could host a guest without embarrassment. There was a packet of letters written in a fine feminine hand, from his sisters, Hornblower knew. There was a needle and thread and Hornblower smiled as he remembered Bush's adequate hand at sewing and mending and the care he had taken with a pair of crocheted gloves he when he had been a lieutenant and Hornblower a new captain.
Another packet of letters startled Hornblower as he recognized his own hand. Bush had kept every note or letter Hornblower had ever sent him. Hornblower once again burned with embarrassment. Bush deserved better than a single pressed flower and a few hoarded notes. But Hornblower had no idea what better even was. Bush would be embarrassed if Hornblower replaced his things with finer versions. Or newer ones at least.
Under it all was the ledger. It must have slipped down as Bush was rummaging in the chest at some point as it hadn't been with the others that Bush had managed to pack along with his officers uniforms. It was wedged between a cup and a small wooden box that would unfold to hold an ink and quill, Hornblower knew. Overlooked, but not lost. Hornblower snatched it out and rose, closing the chest. It was too much to be here in this room, rifling through Bush's things, without Bush there to soothe him. He hurried from the room to his study where he rang for the house's butler and issued instructions to get the ledger to Bush as soon as possible if not even sooner. The man nodded seriously and departed and Hornblower sat at his desk. The study was on the north side of the house, never capturing direct sunlight, yet still managing to be well lit most of the day. The curtains were pulled back and Hornblower looked out across the dale that he knew would eventually drop in a steep cliff to the sea. He caught the barest scent of the salt air on the breeze and he couldn't help but smile. It was almost as if Bush had managed to understand what he needed and calm him all the same, despite not being there.
He missed Bush and missing him always left him out of sorts and back in his old ways. Perhaps a walk to the sea would do him good. His duty had been discharged and he had no interest in reading the latest updates from the admiralty. Years of practice and dedication had taught him that his mind did best when applied to something else entirely when it started its spinning a skipping it had been doing earlier. He rose, and stepped through the tall windows and outside. Bush would return soon enough and maybe, just maybe, Hornblower would be brave enough to pick a flower from their garden and press it into his buttonhole. Then, perhaps Bush would then press it into the pages of a novel. And then there would be no need to say the words that burned inside Hornblower's breast, because they would both know.