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tgarnslI knew there was a drabble kicking around my WIP folder.
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They found a pleasant little island to spend the night and while Brown fussed about setting up camp — or what could be called camp — Bush and Hornblower walked to the far side.
It was cool in the dappled shade, the greenwood alive with birdsong, the rush of the river soothing and constant. Paradise could not be more pleasant.
They sat by the river beneath a tree for some time, both uncertain of what to say. What could be said? The reality of their situation reasserted itself with each passing mile; Bush was missing a leg and Hornblower had surrendered his ship. Consequences of unknowable magnitude awaited them should they ever return to England, and neither tried to think about it for too long — for once in their life they were only too ready to live in the present.
There was also the matter of what passed between them in Graçay. Their unspoken covenant to never discuss the events of the last few months had yet to be breached, but Hornblower feared his weakness and cowardice would ruin him in the end.
Bush yawned and rubbed his face, unable to disguise his fatigue. He had spent much of the afternoon rowing, taking pleasure in his newfound strength, and was worn from his exertions. Hornblower felt a surge of tenderness in his breast at the sight of it.
“Lie down and put your head in my lap,” he said. Bush hesitated, as Hornblower had known he would.
“Sir?”
“Lie down, rest your head.” It was not a request.
There was a pause, and then Bush obeyed, laying his head on Hornblower’s thigh. Idly, Hornblower ran his fingers through Bush’s hair, behind his ear, down the curve of his jaw. Bush closed his eyes in pleasure, allowing the imposition, as he allowed anything that Hornblower might ask of him. It was not proper for a first lieutenant to lie with his head pillowed on his captain’s lap, but so very little of what they had done in the prior months had been proper, it didn’t seem to matter now — for just a moment the small measure of peace they had found in Graçay was restored to them.
Bush’s breathing was steady and even now, and Hornblower realised that he had fallen asleep. Leaning back against the tree Hornblower closed his own eyes; if there was any trouble Brown would find them.
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They found a pleasant little island to spend the night and while Brown fussed about setting up camp — or what could be called camp — Bush and Hornblower walked to the far side.
It was cool in the dappled shade, the greenwood alive with birdsong, the rush of the river soothing and constant. Paradise could not be more pleasant.
They sat by the river beneath a tree for some time, both uncertain of what to say. What could be said? The reality of their situation reasserted itself with each passing mile; Bush was missing a leg and Hornblower had surrendered his ship. Consequences of unknowable magnitude awaited them should they ever return to England, and neither tried to think about it for too long — for once in their life they were only too ready to live in the present.
There was also the matter of what passed between them in Graçay. Their unspoken covenant to never discuss the events of the last few months had yet to be breached, but Hornblower feared his weakness and cowardice would ruin him in the end.
Bush yawned and rubbed his face, unable to disguise his fatigue. He had spent much of the afternoon rowing, taking pleasure in his newfound strength, and was worn from his exertions. Hornblower felt a surge of tenderness in his breast at the sight of it.
“Lie down and put your head in my lap,” he said. Bush hesitated, as Hornblower had known he would.
“Sir?”
“Lie down, rest your head.” It was not a request.
There was a pause, and then Bush obeyed, laying his head on Hornblower’s thigh. Idly, Hornblower ran his fingers through Bush’s hair, behind his ear, down the curve of his jaw. Bush closed his eyes in pleasure, allowing the imposition, as he allowed anything that Hornblower might ask of him. It was not proper for a first lieutenant to lie with his head pillowed on his captain’s lap, but so very little of what they had done in the prior months had been proper, it didn’t seem to matter now — for just a moment the small measure of peace they had found in Graçay was restored to them.
Bush’s breathing was steady and even now, and Hornblower realised that he had fallen asleep. Leaning back against the tree Hornblower closed his own eyes; if there was any trouble Brown would find them.
no subject
Date: 2019-11-13 06:10 am (UTC)Also: what passed between them in Graçay??
(But mostly: !!!)
no subject
Date: 2019-11-13 06:24 am (UTC)Also: what passed between them in Graçay?? What do you THINK passed between them??
no subject
Date: 2019-11-13 06:03 pm (UTC)C'mon, he's thinking back fondly to Graçay, referring to it as a time of peace instead of a time of torment... And somehow whatever happened at Graçay led to this moment. Of course I want the DEETS!
(btw, do you also have umpity Graçay fics in various stages, or is that just me?)
no subject
Date: 2019-11-13 07:52 pm (UTC)And yes I do. So many versions.
no subject
Date: 2019-11-13 07:59 pm (UTC)