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splixTitle: Ever so slightly intoxicated
Author: Alex
Archive: No, please
Pairing: Julien Sorel/Charles Churchill - Provocateur et al.
Rating: R
Word Count: ~600
Feedback: Always treasured.
Thanks: to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sue_chose_this, whose beautiful photomanipulation graces this story behind the cut.
Note: A late trick-or-treat forizzardwizzard.
*
Charles watched Julien staggering slightly as he made his way to the cove. Matt Quintal had given him a concoction of fruit juice and rum at luncheon, and while it had gone down so easily, sweet and delicious and entirely suited to the tropical climate, the lingering effects had been more potent than Julien had anticipated. “Well, well,” he rumbled in amusement. “Three sheets to the wind and tilting.”
“I do beg your pardon.” Julien drew himself to his full height and lifted his chin. “I am not unaware of your nautical terminology and its subtler meanings, Mr. Churchill. If you are insinuating that I am in the least measure intoxicated, then I must vociferously….” He trailed off. “What is the word?”
Charles leaned back against the rock supporting him and cradled his hands behind his head. He crossed his long brown legs and smiled. “Protest?”
Julien frowned. “No, that’s not right.”
“Deny?”
“Object!” Julien raised a triumphant finger and tugged at the constricting and complicated bow around his neck. “And why, I ask you, is walking on sand so damnably difficult? Does one forget how after being accustomed to walking on a pitching deck for months at sea?” He kicked one shoe off – it flew several feet away into the sand – and as he toed off the other, he lurched forward awkwardly and tumbled onto the sand, landing on his hands and knees and raising a cloud of sand. “Merde alors….”
Charles didn’t move. “Is that nautical terminology?”
Julien spat sand and gave the unruffled Charles a withering look. “No. Scatological.”
“How much of that stuff did you drink?”
“What was it? Not much. Mango juice. Pine-apple juice? I’m not certain. Some sort of juice. It was splendid.” His figured-silk neckcloth dragging in the sand, Julien crawled toward the little grouping of trees that sheltered Charles from the worst of the sun. “It’s so dreadfully hot, Charles. Why must it be so hot?”
“Aye, it is, isn’t it? I could be wrong, lad, but it might have something to do with being close to the equator.” Charles tried to steady Julien, but his attempts failed soundly as Julien thumped down to the sand again. Gently, Charles turned him over and eased him out of his coat, then unbuttoned his waistcoat. “Then again, it could be because you’re drunk.”
“Nonsense.” A foolish grin spread across Julien’s face as Charles steadily divested him of his clothing. “I’m perfectly sober. Oh, take my stockings off, Charles. How can anyone go about with so many clothes in a place like this?”
Charles bent to kiss Julien’s throat. “I feel as if I’m taking advantage of you, laddie….”
“Oh, I wish you would….” Freed of his coat and waistcoat, Julien twined his arms round Charles’ neck. “Kiss me like that again.” He trapped Charles’ thigh between his own and arched upward, the heat and pressure of his erection grinding against Charles’. “My trousers are hot.”
“Shall I help you out of them?”
“Indeed, yes.”
Charles stripped Julien until he was entirely naked, splayed out on the sand, silent laughter twitching at his mouth. “Is that better, lad?”
“Only one thing could possibly be better, Mr. Churchill.” Julien took Charles’ hand and guided it between his legs.
“It’s worth a little sand in delicate places. Still, you might not even remember it tomorrow morning.” Charles grasped Julien’s sex and gripped gently, prompting a groan.
“If I do, you have my permission to remind me at every opportunity.” Julien wrapped his arms around Charles’ neck again, dragging him down for a kiss.
That, Charles decided, was not such a bad bargain. Not at all.
Author: Alex
Archive: No, please
Pairing: Julien Sorel/Charles Churchill - Provocateur et al.
Rating: R
Word Count: ~600
Feedback: Always treasured.
Thanks: to
sue_chose_this, whose beautiful photomanipulation graces this story behind the cut.Note: A late trick-or-treat for
izzardwizzard.*
Charles watched Julien staggering slightly as he made his way to the cove. Matt Quintal had given him a concoction of fruit juice and rum at luncheon, and while it had gone down so easily, sweet and delicious and entirely suited to the tropical climate, the lingering effects had been more potent than Julien had anticipated. “Well, well,” he rumbled in amusement. “Three sheets to the wind and tilting.”
“I do beg your pardon.” Julien drew himself to his full height and lifted his chin. “I am not unaware of your nautical terminology and its subtler meanings, Mr. Churchill. If you are insinuating that I am in the least measure intoxicated, then I must vociferously….” He trailed off. “What is the word?”
Charles leaned back against the rock supporting him and cradled his hands behind his head. He crossed his long brown legs and smiled. “Protest?”
Julien frowned. “No, that’s not right.”
“Deny?”
“Object!” Julien raised a triumphant finger and tugged at the constricting and complicated bow around his neck. “And why, I ask you, is walking on sand so damnably difficult? Does one forget how after being accustomed to walking on a pitching deck for months at sea?” He kicked one shoe off – it flew several feet away into the sand – and as he toed off the other, he lurched forward awkwardly and tumbled onto the sand, landing on his hands and knees and raising a cloud of sand. “Merde alors….”
Charles didn’t move. “Is that nautical terminology?”
Julien spat sand and gave the unruffled Charles a withering look. “No. Scatological.”
“How much of that stuff did you drink?”
“What was it? Not much. Mango juice. Pine-apple juice? I’m not certain. Some sort of juice. It was splendid.” His figured-silk neckcloth dragging in the sand, Julien crawled toward the little grouping of trees that sheltered Charles from the worst of the sun. “It’s so dreadfully hot, Charles. Why must it be so hot?”
“Aye, it is, isn’t it? I could be wrong, lad, but it might have something to do with being close to the equator.” Charles tried to steady Julien, but his attempts failed soundly as Julien thumped down to the sand again. Gently, Charles turned him over and eased him out of his coat, then unbuttoned his waistcoat. “Then again, it could be because you’re drunk.”
“Nonsense.” A foolish grin spread across Julien’s face as Charles steadily divested him of his clothing. “I’m perfectly sober. Oh, take my stockings off, Charles. How can anyone go about with so many clothes in a place like this?”
Charles bent to kiss Julien’s throat. “I feel as if I’m taking advantage of you, laddie….”
“Oh, I wish you would….” Freed of his coat and waistcoat, Julien twined his arms round Charles’ neck. “Kiss me like that again.” He trapped Charles’ thigh between his own and arched upward, the heat and pressure of his erection grinding against Charles’. “My trousers are hot.”
“Shall I help you out of them?”
“Indeed, yes.”
Charles stripped Julien until he was entirely naked, splayed out on the sand, silent laughter twitching at his mouth. “Is that better, lad?”
“Only one thing could possibly be better, Mr. Churchill.” Julien took Charles’ hand and guided it between his legs.
“It’s worth a little sand in delicate places. Still, you might not even remember it tomorrow morning.” Charles grasped Julien’s sex and gripped gently, prompting a groan.
“If I do, you have my permission to remind me at every opportunity.” Julien wrapped his arms around Charles’ neck again, dragging him down for a kiss.
That, Charles decided, was not such a bad bargain. Not at all.
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no subject
Date: 2012-04-02 09:45 pm (UTC)