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splixTitle: Scar
Author: Alex
Pairing/Character(s): Sharpe, William Lawford
Rating: PG-13
Warning: None
Word count: 440
Notes: Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sharpe_thinking prompt table, prompt #13
Spoilers for Sharpe's Tiger
*
Sharpe lay on his stomach, his head pillowed on his torn coat. He’d given sleep up as a loss; the stench of the cell was suffocating, the night was hot and stagnant, and his back throbbed where the jetti had laid open the still-healing scars from his flogging. Mercifully, Hakeswill had ceased his litany of muttering from the cell across the corridor and had fallen asleep a few hours ago, and Major McCandless slumbered uneasily, tossing and turning in the grip of a fever. Only Sharpe and Lawford were still awake.
Sharpe lifted his head and scowled at the young lieutenant, who sat leaning against the wall, fretfully plaiting a few lengths of dirty straw. “You should sleep, sir. You’ll be no good to us exhausted if we get a chance to get out of here.” He bit his lip, knowing he’d spoken too harshly. Lawford had been patient with his familiarity while they’d maintained their cover, but Sharpe had no reason for such presumption now.
“Can’t seem to sleep, Sharpe.”
“I reckon it’s a bit nasty for you. Not used to filth like this, right?” Sharpe tried to stifle his disdain for officers who had it soft.
Lawford tilted his face upward. Even in the slanting moonlight, his handsome face was shadowed with fatigue and anxiety. “Oh, it’s not pleasant, to be sure, but I’ll survive.”
Sharpe sat up with a groan. “No point in worrying, sir. We finished our mission, best we could. Not your fault they killed the poor bugger. Your uncle’s here –“ He indicated McCandless with a wave. “Nowt to do now but wait.”
“Your back, Sharpe. It was just beginning to heal.”
“It’s not so bad.” As long as he didn’t move. “You’re not fretting over that, are you? It weren’t your fault, sir.”
“I should have confessed right away. But I thought...I couldn’t let them kill you, Richard.” Lawford’s voice trembled.
“You saved my life, sir. Thanks for that.” Sharpe reached out, mindful of his wounds, and gave Lawford’s hand an awkward pat.
“I hate to see you in pain.” Lawford grasped Sharpe’s hand.
A pleasant warmth settled in Sharpe’s belly. He moved closer, slipping his free hand behind Lawford’s head. His back flared with pain, but he disregarded it, pulling William Lawford into a brief, soft kiss.
Lawford gasped and darted a swift look at his sleeping uncle. “Sharpe!”
“Want me to stop, sir?” Sharpe gently disentangled his hand from the lieutenant’s grasp and laid it on the inside of Lawford’s thigh.
“God help me.” Lawford shut his eyes and bit his lower lip. “No. Don’t stop, Richard. Please don’t stop.”
End.
Photo courtesy of The Mighty Bean
My table is here.
Author: Alex
Pairing/Character(s): Sharpe, William Lawford
Rating: PG-13
Warning: None
Word count: 440
Notes: Written for the
sharpe_thinking prompt table, prompt #13Spoilers for Sharpe's Tiger
*
Sharpe lay on his stomach, his head pillowed on his torn coat. He’d given sleep up as a loss; the stench of the cell was suffocating, the night was hot and stagnant, and his back throbbed where the jetti had laid open the still-healing scars from his flogging. Mercifully, Hakeswill had ceased his litany of muttering from the cell across the corridor and had fallen asleep a few hours ago, and Major McCandless slumbered uneasily, tossing and turning in the grip of a fever. Only Sharpe and Lawford were still awake.
Sharpe lifted his head and scowled at the young lieutenant, who sat leaning against the wall, fretfully plaiting a few lengths of dirty straw. “You should sleep, sir. You’ll be no good to us exhausted if we get a chance to get out of here.” He bit his lip, knowing he’d spoken too harshly. Lawford had been patient with his familiarity while they’d maintained their cover, but Sharpe had no reason for such presumption now.
“Can’t seem to sleep, Sharpe.”
“I reckon it’s a bit nasty for you. Not used to filth like this, right?” Sharpe tried to stifle his disdain for officers who had it soft.
Lawford tilted his face upward. Even in the slanting moonlight, his handsome face was shadowed with fatigue and anxiety. “Oh, it’s not pleasant, to be sure, but I’ll survive.”
Sharpe sat up with a groan. “No point in worrying, sir. We finished our mission, best we could. Not your fault they killed the poor bugger. Your uncle’s here –“ He indicated McCandless with a wave. “Nowt to do now but wait.”
“Your back, Sharpe. It was just beginning to heal.”
“It’s not so bad.” As long as he didn’t move. “You’re not fretting over that, are you? It weren’t your fault, sir.”
“I should have confessed right away. But I thought...I couldn’t let them kill you, Richard.” Lawford’s voice trembled.
“You saved my life, sir. Thanks for that.” Sharpe reached out, mindful of his wounds, and gave Lawford’s hand an awkward pat.
“I hate to see you in pain.” Lawford grasped Sharpe’s hand.
A pleasant warmth settled in Sharpe’s belly. He moved closer, slipping his free hand behind Lawford’s head. His back flared with pain, but he disregarded it, pulling William Lawford into a brief, soft kiss.
Lawford gasped and darted a swift look at his sleeping uncle. “Sharpe!”
“Want me to stop, sir?” Sharpe gently disentangled his hand from the lieutenant’s grasp and laid it on the inside of Lawford’s thigh.
“God help me.” Lawford shut his eyes and bit his lower lip. “No. Don’t stop, Richard. Please don’t stop.”
End.
Photo courtesy of The Mighty Bean
My table is here.
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Date: 2010-10-20 03:17 pm (UTC)