FIC: The Green Jacket

[splix]

Title: The Green Jacket
Author: Alex
Fandom: Crossover: Sharpe/To the Ends of the Earth
Rating: NC-17 overall
Disclaimer: Richard Sharpe and Edmund Talbot belong to Bernard Cornwell and William Golding, respectively. No money made, no harm intended.
Summary: Young Edmund Talbot makes the crossing to Australia in the occasional company of Captain Richard Sharpe.
Warnings: First section only: attempted sexual assault, nothing overtly graphic.
Notes: While watching To the Ends of the Earth, I was delighted to see Riflemen aboard the ship that carried the young and luscious Edmund Talbot [Benedict Cumberbatch] to his destination. Naturally, I thought of the most famous Rifleman....

Part One: A Daring Rescue
Part Two: Mal de Mer






3. War’s End


*


We had sighted a ship, heavily armed by all accounts, and Captain Anderson declared that he would not flee, but stand and defend our ship for King and country. As this is so superannuated a vessel and the number of men employed in its defense so few, it was ‘all hands on deck,’ even down to the able-bodied male passengers of an age to fight, while the women and children sheltered in the orlop. I, along with several of my fellow-passengers, was mustered to the gun deck, where I struck my head not once, but twice - good God, what ignominy! I suppose I was saved the worst of the jeering by virtue of the fact that I lay unconscious upon the floor, but the commissioned gunner, Mr. Askew, silenced the others and suggested (with a tact that upon recollection positively astonishes me) that I might return to the waist and join the boarding party. Seething and smarting from more than the blow I suffered, and with blood running down my face, I conceded this would be the wisest course of action, and climbed from the gun deck to ragged cheers which admittedly did go some distance in soothing my wounded pride, if not my wounded head.

I borrowed a cutlass and slashed the air with it, feeling quite ferocious. Jack Deverel, that devil-may-care young officer, was laughing and trembling with a hefty dose of strong drink and the excitement of battle, and the other men on the poop deck stood at the ready with pikes and swords, all a-quiver with anticipation. I myself experienced a curious giddiness that had nothing to do with the blow I had suffered, a lightness of heart and an inner voice that told me with great certainty that English courage and strength would win the day. I would have broken into song, but Captain Anderson had ordered quiet on deck. Nevertheless, I could not resist cutting the smallest of capers, and I swung my sword, imagining driving it into the soft bellies of our French enemies.

“Mind where you’re sticking that thing!” a voice hissed.

Chastened, I halted immediately, but turned to see who had addressed me with such venom. Captain Sharpe glared at me from beneath knotted brows. Evidently he had decided, for reasons obscure to me, that he was my adversary, but that made little difference to my heart; I felt it trip uneasily in my chest as I met his glacial green stare. “Captain Sharpe.” I managed to sound cool and indifferent, though I was anything but.

Sharpe recoiled. “What the devil happened to you?”

“Ah.” I touched my face and examined my fingertips. The amount of blood on them was shockingly dark and profuse, but I affected nonchalance. “I fear I’m the first victim of tonight’s impending scrape, Captain – I was deucedly impatient to shed first blood!”

Without so much as a whisper in reply, Sharpe cradled his rifle in his arms and fixed me with an expression that bespoke his utter lack of patience with my wit.

“It seems I am too tall for the gun deck.” Perhaps I would venture down there again though, I mused, as Captain Sharpe had efficiently cut me down to size.

Sharpe shifted his weapon to one arm and laid his fingers on my cheek, turning it to one side so that he could inspect the damage. My heart gave another series of uneven thumps. “Christ,” he muttered. “You’d best go below and get that looked after, lad. You’re white as a sheet.”

“Down below with the women – and miss the conflict? What do you take me for? Indeed I will not, sir.” In fact I was developing an unmerciful headache, but I would be thrice damned if I would relinquish what would almost certainly be my only opportunity to distinguish myself in battle. I had in mind my first of many addresses to Parliament: Gentlemen, I have learned that in the heat of frenzied conflict, a cool head and a strong arm is a man’s surest pathway to victory. I therefore –

“You’ll be no good to owt with a broken head,” Sharpe replied soberly.

In reply, I merely squared my shoulders and looked down my nose, a feat ordinarily easy to accomplish, but Sharpe was nearly as tall as I and not so inclined to squirm beneath a withering glare as others might have been. In my secret heart, I rejoiced; surely his words were not the reply of one adversary to another.

A smile, quickly smothered, flashed across Sharpe’s face. “Well, you look a right terror covered in all that blood. If the Frogs don’t run screaming at the sight of you, they’re made of tough stuff and no mistake.”

Did I feel a glow at this most knightly of accolades? I must attest that I did. “I’m positively sanguinary, Captain Sharpe.” I waited for his laugh, but none was forthcoming. Clearly he was more used to blunt speech than subtle bon mots. I tried again, eager to win his approval, eager for more conversation, even upon the advent of battle. “May I beg some advice? How best to dive into a throng of savage Frenchmen? I presume you have vast experience with that…ah…sword of yours.” Beyond the fencing lessons that are the mainstay of any gentleman’s education, I had little knowledge of swordplay, and the cutlass in my hand was shorter and broader than the needle-slim, delicate rapiers to which I was accustomed.

“Not much,” he replied with a shrug, and nodded down at his rifle. “This is what’s always worked best for me, sir. But when I’ve got to use the sword, I swing low and hard, and the devil take the hindmost.”

I was near to asking him for a demonstration – truly, I was almost as shameless as Zenobia Brocklebank! – but at that moment Lieutenant Summers approached. “Captain Anderson’s compliments, Mr. Sharpe, and can you join us on the quarterdeck?”

I stepped away and bowed slightly. “The quarterdeck!” I murmured with a touch of envy. “The sanctum sanctorum, to be sure. Well, I shall not detain you, but instead wish you good fortune in the battle to come, Captain.”

“Aye. Good luck to you, lad – Mr. Talbot.” Sharpe nodded, and walked away with the lithe grace of a great cat. I watched surreptitiously, and a hot blush came to my face as I admired the fit of his uniform, a set of garments that had seen far better days, patched and tattered as it was, and yet it suited him as no finer raiment would. Dazed, I touched my hand to my head again, wincing at the pain and the blood plastering my hair to my scalp. The headache had got far worse, and I thought I should faint, but steeled myself and made my way to the defended larboard side to wait for the mysterious ship to approach.

I had written my letters, and said my farewells. I was ready to lay down my life. I glanced up and saw Captain Sharpe on the quarterdeck. He stood poised and alert, and seemingly without fear. He looked down at me and nodded coolly. I clenched my jaw and brandished my sword, ready to prove myself.

The opportunity did not come. A blinding shower of sparks dazzled my eyes, and a roar greeted us from the approaching ship. The ship was the Alcyone, bringing news: Napoleon had been soundly beaten, and withal had fled to Elba. The war had ended!

I could scarcely credit my own ears with hearing the news correctly. Only the reactions of those near me gave answer to my confusion. I saw Jack Deverel curse and bury the blade of his sword in the larboard rail. I saw the pike-men lift up their weapons and give a shout as with one voice, great, deep huzzahs that seemed to shake the very boards beneath my feet. I saw another blinding flash of brilliance, and a veritable rainstorm of coruscating sparks showering downward. I saw Sharpe’s Chosen Men rise to their feet and embrace each other, laughing and shouting with the rest. In the tumult, I sought Captain Sharpe, but I could not find him.

But let me now think of peace, and how best to conduct myself in a world that has utterly changed in a moment.


*


I have not troubled to note the disposition of the crew since the announcement of the end of the war, but I can say with a great deal of assurance that the passengers, at least, are much eased in their minds. A general lightness of heart has pervaded all gatherings since the Alcyone has come and gone, and even the most irascible tempers have cooled to benignity. Such was the mood at dinner one evening, a repast of salt beef and pickles and the inevitable hard-tack biscuit. (One might as well gnaw boot leather; I am confoundedly tired of this fare and must remind myself that we still have months to travel. But oh, for the soft, warm heart of a loaf of bread, with sweet butter! Or a handful of fresh summer peas, delicate and sweet in a simmering wine sauce! Sometimes I dream of these temptations and awaken with an aching belly).

Captain Sharpe sat among us this evening, a welcome change, as he generally prefers the company of his Chosen Men. Naturally, the ladies surrounded him as bees gather near a phlox-bush, and he repaid their simpers and smiles with soft replies and an expression of abashment that quite melted their hearts, as they scarcely allowed him to eat whilst they plied him with questions. I could not hear his words myself as I had Mr. Pike on one side of me and the starched Miss Granham on the other, and they persisted in carrying on the most ludicrous of conversations. At length the meal was ended; the ladies went one way, the gentlemen another, and Captain Sharpe made a leisurely exit toward the waist.

I drained the dregs of the wine in my glass and followed him. Have I no shame any longer? Has the sea swept me clean of all decency and decorum? I neither know nor care, for I now – but I am getting ahead of my tale. I followed the man as if I were an eager puppy and saw him at the starboard rail, holding fast to a line and gazing out at the moonlit sea. I hesitated – rarely do I go where I am not invited – but in the end decided to approach him. I stood beside him, and he glanced at me, acknowledging me with the barest nod of his head.

That night the wind had freshened, and we moved at a considerable speed. Ploughing through the water now, though, was invigorating, even delightful, and I rejoiced that I no longer suffered from the mal de mer. Captain Sharpe, naturally, had not suffered from it at all, and he too appeared to relish the sensation of movement. The wind blew his fair hair back from a clear brow, and the moonlight, which turned the sea to the most refulgent silver liquid, an ocean of mercury, if one can imagine it, gave a glint to his eye that seemed both enticing and dangerous, a tempting combination to anyone. And yet I fancied a discontentment in his posture, a restlessness that he strove to conceal.

“A fine view,” I murmured.

Sharpe looked out onto the sea with a remote expression. He tilted his head to one side, as if considering whether or not the view was indeed fine, and whether or not it would be prudent to remark upon it, and then finally conceded the point with a brief inclination of his head. “Aye. It is that.”

“As a soldier, I expect you’re weary of looking at nothing but water. I dare say you’ll be relieved when at last we reach our destination.”

A shrug lifted Sharpe’s shoulders. “I reckon I will. Won’t you, sir?”

“Yes,” I replied. “But I am trying to make the most of this adventure. I have kept a diary for my godfather detailing everything that has happened thus far, and now that it is full, I find myself continuing to make observations. It has become a habit.” I paused to glance at him, and then continued, “For instance, I have noticed that you seem a trifle low this past week, Captain Sharpe.”

He gave me a thunderous frown, then sighed. “Aye, I reckon I have. Sorry for it, sir.”

“You needn’t apologise to me, Captain. In point of fact, I hope you will consider me a friend.” I coughed, and was glad for the darkness that hid the sudden flush that rose to my cheeks. “In further point of fact, I wish to convey my own heart-felt apologies for anything I might have said that has caused offence to you. I know I have not always been…as kind as I could be.”

Sharpe smiled. “That’s all right, lad.”

I was heartened by his smile. “Is it the prospect of peace that has you dejected, Captain? Were you hoping for further skirmishes?”

He gave me a narrow look, and I feared I had over-stepped myself yet again. When will I find the correct tone with the man? Each time we meet I feel as if I have a great fool’s cap on my head. At last he sighed. “Nay, it’s not that. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

That rankled; I was no mere child to be disregarded so. “You might be surprised, sir. Not all facets of the human condition are a mystery to me.” A broad smile tugged at his mouth, and he shook his head. Truly, if I were not so fascinated by him….

“I’m a soldier. Have been since I were a nipper even younger than yourself. It’s all I know.”

“And…you fear the elimination of your livelihood.”

“That’s it.”

I strained to solve the conundrum. “But surely, Captain, we have a standing army. Could not a place be made for you there?”

“Aye, I reckon it could, but what would I do? Push papers about, train recruits –“ He shook his head. “That’s not for me. I’m – fighting’s all I know, lad.” He leaned forward upon the rail, looking desperately unhappy.

Determined to ease his distress, I ventured another solution. “Perhaps once we reach Australia you can find suitable employment. Possibly I can be of some assistance in that regard. I understand some of the native people are troublesome.”

“They were there first,” Sharpe pointed out.

“Yes, but – they have attacked English settlements unprovoked.”

Sharpe snorted. “Oh, aye. Unprovoked.”

I held my temper. “Another occupation, then. Farming? A smithy, perhaps? Some other trade?”

His only answer was a deep, heavy sigh, brimming with impatience and dismissal.

I struck the rail. “Damnation, man, I’m only trying to help.” Before either of us could say another word that might arouse too-heated emotion, I turned and strode toward the ladder, then took refuge in a maze of wood, rope, and canvas. I lifted my head, let the wind cool my burning face, and attempted to banish the abject misery that had taken hold in my heart. If Captain Sharpe was above friendly commiseration or advice, that was his affair! Let him wallow in self-pity.

A hand fell on my shoulder. “Lad.” I jumped, and he stroked his hand down to my elbow, as if he were gentling a horse. “Sorry. I know you meant well.”

I contained the shiver that fought to escape, afraid he would take it as a sign of repulsion when in fact it was anything but. “Captain Sharpe, I seem to end up wrong-footed every time we speak. I accuse myself of believing you to be a simple creature, and most evidently you are not. I ask your forgiveness yet again.”

Sharpe gave a dry chuckle. “I’ll take that as a compliment, sir. You’re a right prickly one.”

“So I am led to understand.” The ship heaved, and I clung to a line. “I know they call me Lord Talbot below.”

“Do they?” Sharpe inquired innocently.

“Oh, come now, you know they do. I’m not, of course. I may be addressed as Mr. Talbot, or Esquire, if you prefer, but Lord Talbot…no, I fear that is far in the future, if at all.” I attempted a laugh. “I suppose I deserve it, but I have only tried to conduct myself as a gentleman ought. I know now that many concerns of my class do not figure prominently on a ship. That has been made abundantly clear to me.” I faced him, still clinging to a line and endeavouring to see his face in the moonlight now veiled by clouds. “I am not so…overbearing, am I?”

Slowly, he shook his head. “Nay. You’re all right, lad. Green yet, that’s all.”

“Not so green,” I whispered, and with more daring than I can credit, I reached out and touched my fingertips to his cheek, half-expecting a blow.

What happened instead nearly undid me. He grasped my arm with one hand and the back of my head with another, and drew me into a kiss that – how do I speak of it? It transcended any kiss I had experienced before. It was brutal and tender at once, demanding and generous, but not chaste. Oh, God! Not chaste at all. I tasted the wine on his tongue, felt the roughness of his masculine face, and pressed myself against him so that he might feel the effect he had upon me.

It worked only too well. I felt his hand between my legs, at first questing, then touching with unerring skill, and I thought I would release then and there. I pressed harder and wrapped an arm around his neck, still steadying myself by clutching a line as the ship heaved to and fro.

Sharpe came to his senses first and detached himself from me. “Christ, lad,” he whispered, “the crew’s everywhere.”

“Where?” I pleaded. “Where can we go? My cabin – the walls are so thin. There are families so close….”

“Mine.” He turned and made his way across the boards, disappearing down the ladder. I followed on suddenly shaking legs, glad for the darkness that concealed my arousal and my no doubt scarlet visage. I had the misfortune to encounter Mr. Brocklebank and Mr. Prettiman in an argument; they attempted to detain me, but I brushed past them with a mutter and followed Sharpe to his cabin, a sorry hutch even smaller and more ill-fitted than mine. We were fortunate; no one disturbed us or noted our progress. He closed the door behind me, and in the darkness I heard him struggling with fabric.

“What are you doing?” I asked foolishly.

“Tying the bloody door shut.”

“Ah. Well done.” I waited, pressed up against the wall, listening to his harsh breaths and my own. At last the task was complete and I did not so much hear as feel him move closer to me.

I have mentioned a young man prior to this. What we did I will not recount, but I was fairly well-convinced that we gathered clumsy yet thorough experience in our youthful fumblings. But Sharpe…Sharpe laid his mouth upon mine and unbuttoned my trousers, and when he caressed me I knew that my own experience paled before his. His thumb brushed back and forth over the head of my cock, his hand moved up and down with aching slowness, and before I knew it I was groaning aloud, so that he was obliged to kiss me deeply to silence my cries. In moments it was over, and I felt a wave of faintness that nearly overcame me. It was only by the greatest exertion of strength that I remained standing, or rather, leaning against the wall.

Gradually I realized that Sharpe was unfulfilled, and timidly my hand slipped to his woollen trousers. I struggled with the unfamiliar fastenings and eventually found what I sought. I was not so skilled as he, but I was ardent, and gratified to hear his breath coming harsh and ragged in the darkness, and to feel the evidence of his satisfaction.

He leaned close to me in the darkness, and at length kissed me again, most tenderly and with exceeding intimacy. “You’d better go back to your cabin, lad.”

I bit my lip. “Yes. I suppose I had.” Whereupon I fastened my trousers and departed with haste and stealth, finding my way back to my own hutch easily. I sank onto my bunk and fell into the most restful sleep I have yet experienced on this voyage.


*


To-day in the passenger saloon, Captain Sharpe smiled at me during breakfast. It was a smile of great complicity.

I am very happy.



*




To be continued in Part Four: Between Wind and Water