Hornblower fic
Oct. 9th, 2011 04:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
donnaimmaculataI've got heaps to proofread and half a dozen of articles to write by Tuesday, but it's Sunday and I woke up with a fully-formed Hornblower fic in my mind that I've just written up. These seamen, as I won't tire to say, ate my brain*.
If you've seen Hornblower, it might be enough if I say that it's Jack Simpson/Archie Kennedy non-con. This is something that is heavily implied in canon and, in fact, when I commenced my fic reading binge, I was very surprised at the lack of Simpson/Kennedy non-con fics. It would never have happened in the HP fandom, which turned out a plethora of epics on the strength of the Snape/Black handshake in GoF alone!
*For the time being, these flings never last.
If you've never seen Hornblower, I would greatly advise to do so:
The Royal Navy. It's for everyone.
In the first episode, it is very heavily implied that Young!Archie had been sexually abused by Evil!Jack. I mean, look at them:
This is Archie. He sure rocks the Navy uniform like a rocking thing.
Archie is very pretty and very chatty.
Until Jack appears.
Who is Evil.
And even has an evil hand.
And looms over Archie threateningly.
"It's been a long time," he says, whilst stalking towards poor petrified Archie. "Jack's missed you boy." (I'm not making this up, this is totally canon.)
Poor, petrified Archie is very scared.
Very, very scared.
But fear not! There is also the dashing hero, and he will come to the rescue of his future boyfriend!
This is Horatio. He is normally much more formally attired (although he sure gets nekkid a lot in the series).
Anyway. Evil!Jack threatens poor, petrified Archie, and the plot bunny of doom wouldn't let go. So there it is:
TITLE: Jack’s Boy
AUTHOR: Donna Immaculata
RATING: NC-17, very much so
PAIRING: Simpson/Kennedy
WORD COUNT: 1700
WARNINGS: Simpson. Non-con. Not pretty.
DISCLAIMER: These characters are not mine. The sick mind is.
SUMMARY: Not much of a plot, just my take on the Simpson/Archie situation and an attempt to explore Archie’s descent into the state of panicky enthrallment that he displays at the sight of Simpson in The Duel.
NOTE: I should say that I know nothing about life in 18th century Royal Navy. I take at face value the assertion Susanne Stark makes in Female Tars: Women Aboard Ship in the Age of Sail: “When ships were in port, women in skirts contributed to the atmosphere of pandemonium aboard ship, where the decks were filled with people "drinking, dancing and fornicating."”
Jack’s Boy
The first time it happened, he hadn’t even known it was possible.
Oh, he had heard the phrases “buggery” and “sodomite” being thrown around quite freely, both in the Royal Navy and, before that, in the heady-scented world of Drury Lane. But at that time, he had not worried himself with figuring out what, exactly, these words denoted; he had been too engrossed with finding his way around the bodices and petticoats of the delightful ladies who liked a young lad with a quick wit and an even quicker smile.
And so, when Jack Simpson surfaced from the shadows and, without any preliminaries, pushed him face-down onto a table; and when, even before he could so much as make a startled sound, the wind was knocked out of him by the sudden weight on his back, he didn’t know what was happening.
He didn’t know what was happening even when his breeches were yanked down, when steamy breath burned against his cheek, leaving a foul, cooling sheen of moisture there, and when a hand that was too strong to be human pressed his neck and face against the wood.
He didn’t understand why, suddenly, there was so much pain, much more than it was possible to endure. The side of his face rubbed against the rough wooden surface of the table with every shove that happened much further below. His hands gripped the edge so tightly that splinters lodged themselves under his nails. Lacerated by salt water, these little wounds caused him pain even long after everything else had abated.
And then, quite suddenly, it was all over. The weight lifted and he could breathe again. With the ability to breathe, sensation returned with a force that almost rendered him insensible. A symphony of pain reverberated across his body. His face burned as though his skin had been grated off, and his face wasn’t the only place that burned. But he forced himself to focus on it, because it was so much easier.
“You’re mine now,” a voice from the shadow. “Jack’s marked you, boy.”
Then – nothing.
Archie was still, willing his heart to stop racing and his head to stop pounding, because surely, these sounds would be heard, must be heard across the ship, like cannon shots in the night, and he couldn’t have anyone notice them. Notice him, here, like that. That must not be.
He unclenched his hands, whimpering deep in his throat, mindful not to let any sound out. Don’t let anyone hear you. Heat and cold burned him equally now, and he shivered, like a man in the grasp of fever. He was quite alone, no ghosts looming in the shadows, and with trembling fingers he buttoned himself up again.
The captain saw the bruise on his cheekbone and his bloodied mouth the next day, bitten raw by his own teeth, and he ordered a dozen lashes to teach him that midshipmen of His Majesty’s Navy did not brawl. Archie submitted to the discipline, his mind reeling with one prayer only, don’t let them see, don’t let them notice, don’t let them know. He didn’t want to be hanged, not for this.
The second time it happened, he felt every motion of it. Jack held him much more gently, pressing him against a soft pile of signal flags in the storeroom instead of rough wood, and he murmured and whispered into his ear, calling him his boy, his good little boy, whilst forcing himself slowly into Archie.
The slowness was unbearable. The slowness of the fuck – as soon as he had allowed this word to enter his conscious mind, he could not stop thinking it, repeating fuck, fuck, fuck in his head over and over again and biting his lips lest it should escape him; in a small, rational corner of his mind, he knew that that would delight Jack to no end.
The slow, lazy motion of Jack’s hands on his back and neck. Jack didn’t bother holding him fast, like he had done before. It was as though he knew that Archie wouldn’t fight back.
The third time, he fought back, with fists and kicks and teeth. The world had closed around him, like sea water, muffling everything and leaving only a rush in his head, but despite all that, he could still hear Jack’s low, delighted laughter, hear the words whispered in his ear, deformed endearments that made his stomach turn, and feel Jack’s hands roaming his body. One hand, perversely familiar by now, curled lightly around Archie’s throat, applying just enough pressure to let him know that crying for help would be futile.
But Jack knew Archie wouldn’t cry.
“You’re on fine form tonight, Archie, my boy,” Jack purred, licking Archie’s ear and rubbing his body against Archie’s. “So full of fire, so vicious... Do you really wish to prolong my pleasure so much? Someone’s bound to come in here at some point, do you want him to see you like this? As Jack’s little whore? Time’s ticking, boy, tick-tock-tick-tock...” Jack lifted the pressure of Archie’s body just enough to flip him over, like a dead fish, and shoved his hand down Archie’s breeches. Archie felt him slip a finger inside. The sensation was odd, but not painful. He should be grateful. And perhaps he was. Perhaps the feeling of gratitude that overwhelmed him was what made him sick to the stomach. It pushed aside the fear and the humiliation and made it almost... bearable.
Jack pulled him up by his hips, forcing him to his hands and knees like a dog, and kissed him on the nape of his neck. When he entered him fully, it almost didn’t hurt. Archie screwed his eyes shut and sank his teeth in his own hand to stifle any sound.
The fourth time was the worst.
Archie knew what was coming. He had been bracing himself for this ever since Jack had whispered: “You’re not on watch duty tonight, my boy” in passing, hours ago. He had followed Jack almost willingly and didn’t try to run as the man approached him, backing him up against the wall until Archie was trapped. Jack smiled down at him, stroking his face, his hair with the hand that was marked by a pirate skull.
And then, the feather-light touch ceased and the hand became the brutal vice one again, pushing Archie’s head down, forcing him to his knees, until his head was level with Jack’s crotch. A new kind of panic began to rise in Archie’s stomach like bile. He knew all about that, even though, until then, he’d always been on the receiving end. Jack’s smile turned into a smirk as he looked down at Archie from hooded eyes. “That’s right,” he said softly, “you know what to do, boy.”
The stink of the man hit him even before Jack had fully exposed his flesh to him. The blend of unwashed skin and animal lust choked him as forcefully as the prick that was thrust deep into his mouth. Jack held him by the hair, and Archie couldn’t do anything, couldn’t even pretend he was doing anything to Jack, because Jack was fucking his mouth harder and faster than he had ever fucked Archie’s arse.
When he threw up, later, he threw up Jack’s seed.
The fifth time was even worse.
Jack had left him alone for a longer time than usual, and hope had begun to bud in Archie’s heart. He had become too sure of himself, too cocky, he knew that the moment he caught Jack’s eye.
They had come back to Portsmouth, and the ship pulsated with life. Shore boats came and went, carrying supplies, men and women alike. The men, after having been deprived of female company for the best part of a month, were crazed with lust. The air vibrated with song and laughter, and whores plied their trade shamelessly below deck. The sight and sound of the frantically fornicating couples was enough to drive every boy distracted and, quite despite himself, Archie could not look away. Amidst that Dantean pit of sin, he suddenly spotted a couple that made his breath hitch. A sailor, reunited with his wife whom, as Archie knew, he had married just before the Justinian had left Portsmouth. Oblivious to the world around them, they gazed into each other’s eyes. The woman was sitting astride her husband, her hips moving gently against him as he held her around the waist. Archie couldn’t look away.
When he did, there was Jack. Standing across the room, in the shadows, watching Archie with a knowing smile that twisted his lips. Jack merely inclined his head and Archie felt his body set itself in motion, pulled towards Jack like a puppet. It had been inevitable. The sight of all those people must have inflamed Jack, certain sure, and the sooner he could quench Jack’s desire, the better. Archie walked stiffly towards him, his legs and his mouth going numb already.
Jack surprised him again. Instead of the vicious rutting Archie had expected, he took him in his arms and kissed him on the neck. Archie’s chest was so constricted his vision began to blacken out again due to lack of air. Jack’s hand slid down Archie’s chest and stomach in the effortless, familiar way that Archie despised and came to rest against Archie’s groin.
Archie groaned. He was still half-hard, arousal still lingering in that one part of his body that Jack had as yet not violated. Jack had known, of course, the effect the open display of lust that was going on everywhere on the ship would have on Archie’s body, just like Archie had known the same about Jack. “What’s that, boy?” Jack breathed. “A moan? Yes, moan for me, Archie, moan for Jack.” And he slithered down Archie’s body, dropped to his knees, opened Archie’s breeches and took him in his mouth. Archie’s head fell back against the wall with a thud. It took only a few minutes until he spent, his hips thrusting desperately against the heat of Jack’s mouth. When he slid down the wall, his numb legs unable to support him any longer, the man’s parting words echoed in his ears. “Yes, you truly are Jack’s boy now.”
The End
If you've seen Hornblower, it might be enough if I say that it's Jack Simpson/Archie Kennedy non-con. This is something that is heavily implied in canon and, in fact, when I commenced my fic reading binge, I was very surprised at the lack of Simpson/Kennedy non-con fics. It would never have happened in the HP fandom, which turned out a plethora of epics on the strength of the Snape/Black handshake in GoF alone!
*For the time being, these flings never last.
If you've never seen Hornblower, I would greatly advise to do so:
The Royal Navy. It's for everyone.
In the first episode, it is very heavily implied that Young!Archie had been sexually abused by Evil!Jack. I mean, look at them:
This is Archie. He sure rocks the Navy uniform like a rocking thing.
Archie is very pretty and very chatty.
Until Jack appears.
Who is Evil.
And even has an evil hand.
And looms over Archie threateningly.
"It's been a long time," he says, whilst stalking towards poor petrified Archie. "Jack's missed you boy." (I'm not making this up, this is totally canon.)
Poor, petrified Archie is very scared.
Very, very scared.
But fear not! There is also the dashing hero, and he will come to the rescue of his future boyfriend!
This is Horatio. He is normally much more formally attired (although he sure gets nekkid a lot in the series).
Anyway. Evil!Jack threatens poor, petrified Archie, and the plot bunny of doom wouldn't let go. So there it is:
TITLE: Jack’s Boy
AUTHOR: Donna Immaculata
RATING: NC-17, very much so
PAIRING: Simpson/Kennedy
WORD COUNT: 1700
WARNINGS: Simpson. Non-con. Not pretty.
DISCLAIMER: These characters are not mine. The sick mind is.
SUMMARY: Not much of a plot, just my take on the Simpson/Archie situation and an attempt to explore Archie’s descent into the state of panicky enthrallment that he displays at the sight of Simpson in The Duel.
NOTE: I should say that I know nothing about life in 18th century Royal Navy. I take at face value the assertion Susanne Stark makes in Female Tars: Women Aboard Ship in the Age of Sail: “When ships were in port, women in skirts contributed to the atmosphere of pandemonium aboard ship, where the decks were filled with people "drinking, dancing and fornicating."”
Jack’s Boy
The first time it happened, he hadn’t even known it was possible.
Oh, he had heard the phrases “buggery” and “sodomite” being thrown around quite freely, both in the Royal Navy and, before that, in the heady-scented world of Drury Lane. But at that time, he had not worried himself with figuring out what, exactly, these words denoted; he had been too engrossed with finding his way around the bodices and petticoats of the delightful ladies who liked a young lad with a quick wit and an even quicker smile.
And so, when Jack Simpson surfaced from the shadows and, without any preliminaries, pushed him face-down onto a table; and when, even before he could so much as make a startled sound, the wind was knocked out of him by the sudden weight on his back, he didn’t know what was happening.
He didn’t know what was happening even when his breeches were yanked down, when steamy breath burned against his cheek, leaving a foul, cooling sheen of moisture there, and when a hand that was too strong to be human pressed his neck and face against the wood.
He didn’t understand why, suddenly, there was so much pain, much more than it was possible to endure. The side of his face rubbed against the rough wooden surface of the table with every shove that happened much further below. His hands gripped the edge so tightly that splinters lodged themselves under his nails. Lacerated by salt water, these little wounds caused him pain even long after everything else had abated.
And then, quite suddenly, it was all over. The weight lifted and he could breathe again. With the ability to breathe, sensation returned with a force that almost rendered him insensible. A symphony of pain reverberated across his body. His face burned as though his skin had been grated off, and his face wasn’t the only place that burned. But he forced himself to focus on it, because it was so much easier.
“You’re mine now,” a voice from the shadow. “Jack’s marked you, boy.”
Then – nothing.
Archie was still, willing his heart to stop racing and his head to stop pounding, because surely, these sounds would be heard, must be heard across the ship, like cannon shots in the night, and he couldn’t have anyone notice them. Notice him, here, like that. That must not be.
He unclenched his hands, whimpering deep in his throat, mindful not to let any sound out. Don’t let anyone hear you. Heat and cold burned him equally now, and he shivered, like a man in the grasp of fever. He was quite alone, no ghosts looming in the shadows, and with trembling fingers he buttoned himself up again.
The captain saw the bruise on his cheekbone and his bloodied mouth the next day, bitten raw by his own teeth, and he ordered a dozen lashes to teach him that midshipmen of His Majesty’s Navy did not brawl. Archie submitted to the discipline, his mind reeling with one prayer only, don’t let them see, don’t let them notice, don’t let them know. He didn’t want to be hanged, not for this.
The second time it happened, he felt every motion of it. Jack held him much more gently, pressing him against a soft pile of signal flags in the storeroom instead of rough wood, and he murmured and whispered into his ear, calling him his boy, his good little boy, whilst forcing himself slowly into Archie.
The slowness was unbearable. The slowness of the fuck – as soon as he had allowed this word to enter his conscious mind, he could not stop thinking it, repeating fuck, fuck, fuck in his head over and over again and biting his lips lest it should escape him; in a small, rational corner of his mind, he knew that that would delight Jack to no end.
The slow, lazy motion of Jack’s hands on his back and neck. Jack didn’t bother holding him fast, like he had done before. It was as though he knew that Archie wouldn’t fight back.
The third time, he fought back, with fists and kicks and teeth. The world had closed around him, like sea water, muffling everything and leaving only a rush in his head, but despite all that, he could still hear Jack’s low, delighted laughter, hear the words whispered in his ear, deformed endearments that made his stomach turn, and feel Jack’s hands roaming his body. One hand, perversely familiar by now, curled lightly around Archie’s throat, applying just enough pressure to let him know that crying for help would be futile.
But Jack knew Archie wouldn’t cry.
“You’re on fine form tonight, Archie, my boy,” Jack purred, licking Archie’s ear and rubbing his body against Archie’s. “So full of fire, so vicious... Do you really wish to prolong my pleasure so much? Someone’s bound to come in here at some point, do you want him to see you like this? As Jack’s little whore? Time’s ticking, boy, tick-tock-tick-tock...” Jack lifted the pressure of Archie’s body just enough to flip him over, like a dead fish, and shoved his hand down Archie’s breeches. Archie felt him slip a finger inside. The sensation was odd, but not painful. He should be grateful. And perhaps he was. Perhaps the feeling of gratitude that overwhelmed him was what made him sick to the stomach. It pushed aside the fear and the humiliation and made it almost... bearable.
Jack pulled him up by his hips, forcing him to his hands and knees like a dog, and kissed him on the nape of his neck. When he entered him fully, it almost didn’t hurt. Archie screwed his eyes shut and sank his teeth in his own hand to stifle any sound.
The fourth time was the worst.
Archie knew what was coming. He had been bracing himself for this ever since Jack had whispered: “You’re not on watch duty tonight, my boy” in passing, hours ago. He had followed Jack almost willingly and didn’t try to run as the man approached him, backing him up against the wall until Archie was trapped. Jack smiled down at him, stroking his face, his hair with the hand that was marked by a pirate skull.
And then, the feather-light touch ceased and the hand became the brutal vice one again, pushing Archie’s head down, forcing him to his knees, until his head was level with Jack’s crotch. A new kind of panic began to rise in Archie’s stomach like bile. He knew all about that, even though, until then, he’d always been on the receiving end. Jack’s smile turned into a smirk as he looked down at Archie from hooded eyes. “That’s right,” he said softly, “you know what to do, boy.”
The stink of the man hit him even before Jack had fully exposed his flesh to him. The blend of unwashed skin and animal lust choked him as forcefully as the prick that was thrust deep into his mouth. Jack held him by the hair, and Archie couldn’t do anything, couldn’t even pretend he was doing anything to Jack, because Jack was fucking his mouth harder and faster than he had ever fucked Archie’s arse.
When he threw up, later, he threw up Jack’s seed.
The fifth time was even worse.
Jack had left him alone for a longer time than usual, and hope had begun to bud in Archie’s heart. He had become too sure of himself, too cocky, he knew that the moment he caught Jack’s eye.
They had come back to Portsmouth, and the ship pulsated with life. Shore boats came and went, carrying supplies, men and women alike. The men, after having been deprived of female company for the best part of a month, were crazed with lust. The air vibrated with song and laughter, and whores plied their trade shamelessly below deck. The sight and sound of the frantically fornicating couples was enough to drive every boy distracted and, quite despite himself, Archie could not look away. Amidst that Dantean pit of sin, he suddenly spotted a couple that made his breath hitch. A sailor, reunited with his wife whom, as Archie knew, he had married just before the Justinian had left Portsmouth. Oblivious to the world around them, they gazed into each other’s eyes. The woman was sitting astride her husband, her hips moving gently against him as he held her around the waist. Archie couldn’t look away.
When he did, there was Jack. Standing across the room, in the shadows, watching Archie with a knowing smile that twisted his lips. Jack merely inclined his head and Archie felt his body set itself in motion, pulled towards Jack like a puppet. It had been inevitable. The sight of all those people must have inflamed Jack, certain sure, and the sooner he could quench Jack’s desire, the better. Archie walked stiffly towards him, his legs and his mouth going numb already.
Jack surprised him again. Instead of the vicious rutting Archie had expected, he took him in his arms and kissed him on the neck. Archie’s chest was so constricted his vision began to blacken out again due to lack of air. Jack’s hand slid down Archie’s chest and stomach in the effortless, familiar way that Archie despised and came to rest against Archie’s groin.
Archie groaned. He was still half-hard, arousal still lingering in that one part of his body that Jack had as yet not violated. Jack had known, of course, the effect the open display of lust that was going on everywhere on the ship would have on Archie’s body, just like Archie had known the same about Jack. “What’s that, boy?” Jack breathed. “A moan? Yes, moan for me, Archie, moan for Jack.” And he slithered down Archie’s body, dropped to his knees, opened Archie’s breeches and took him in his mouth. Archie’s head fell back against the wall with a thud. It took only a few minutes until he spent, his hips thrusting desperately against the heat of Jack’s mouth. When he slid down the wall, his numb legs unable to support him any longer, the man’s parting words echoed in his ears. “Yes, you truly are Jack’s boy now.”
The End
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-10-09 04:49 pm (UTC)This, however, is quite, quite perfect. Poor little Archie.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-09 04:56 pm (UTC)Poor little Archie indeed. He needs a hug (and some serious therapy).
It didn't help, however, that our Stupid!Cat was called Archie and that I therefore giggled through some of the more poignant scenes, when Horatio was saying Archie's name.
Didn't you say something about a Clayton fic the other day? *pokes* *but in a friendly way*
no subject
Date: 2011-10-09 05:07 pm (UTC)Oh yeah, it's short and not very good though (which I'm sure I also warned you about!) It was for a prompt comm, and every word was like pulling teeth as I was so blocked at the time, but it got things moving again. Here.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-09 05:14 pm (UTC)I ♥ Archie. I just wish he had a different name.
Yay, thank you for the link. I ♥ Clayton, too. There was an air of dignity and quiet despair about him that appealed to me a lot. During my reading spree, I came across a post of someone comparing him to Remus, and I agree.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-09 05:27 pm (UTC)Yes! I think Remus is the perfect comparison, I wish I'd thought of it before.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-09 05:30 pm (UTC)And it always comes back to Remus in the end!
no subject
Date: 2011-10-14 09:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-15 12:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-18 12:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-18 10:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-21 02:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-21 02:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-21 02:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-21 03:11 pm (UTC)Jack is shamelessly evil. He scared the bejeezus out of his fellow seamen like whoa.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-21 03:13 pm (UTC)