WIP Snippet Nonsense
Oct. 29th, 2019 09:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tgarnslHornblower sat on the end of his bed, his mind spinning with drink, and cursed himself for not understanding what had passed between Bush and himself. He put his hand on his thigh, just as Bush had done, confused and intrigued by the sensation it conjured within him. He shut his eyes, imagining that the hand on his leg was Bush’s, and shivered as the hand slid slowly up to — to where? What had Bush meant by that touch? He felt as confused as a new midshipman asked to read a flagship’s signals. If only he had understood, perhaps he would not have left Bush’s room.
Perhaps it would be better to imagine their positions reversed. If it had been seduction Bush intended — and that seemed to be the most likely of prospects — how would one begin? Perhaps a light casual touch — perhaps as Bush had briefly covered Hornblower’s hand with his own. Hornblower had thought it nothing more than an appreciative gesture, but it was possible there had been more to it. Perhaps it had been a ranging shot.
And perhaps some part of Hornblower had understood what Bush meant, because he had responded by taking Bush’s hand. He did not know why he had done that, only that it had seemed the natural thing to do. A strange and sudden intimacy had fallen upon them, and taking Bush’s hand had only felt right. They were close enough already, seated beside each other on the bed like that, passing the bottle back and forth, and it had seemed proper in the moment to reach out and touch Bush’s hand. He could not say why.
Perhaps it would be better to imagine their positions reversed. If it had been seduction Bush intended — and that seemed to be the most likely of prospects — how would one begin? Perhaps a light casual touch — perhaps as Bush had briefly covered Hornblower’s hand with his own. Hornblower had thought it nothing more than an appreciative gesture, but it was possible there had been more to it. Perhaps it had been a ranging shot.
And perhaps some part of Hornblower had understood what Bush meant, because he had responded by taking Bush’s hand. He did not know why he had done that, only that it had seemed the natural thing to do. A strange and sudden intimacy had fallen upon them, and taking Bush’s hand had only felt right. They were close enough already, seated beside each other on the bed like that, passing the bottle back and forth, and it had seemed proper in the moment to reach out and touch Bush’s hand. He could not say why.
