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FIC: Trapped [triple drabble]
Title: Trapped
Author: Alex
Pairing/Character(s): Sharpe, John Lavisser
Rating: R
Warning: Dubcon scenario
Word count: 300
A dual-purpose triple drabble, written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sharpe_thinking prompt table, prompt #22, and for the August challenge for whither_then.
John Lavisser is a character from the book Sharpe's Prey. He's half-Danish, angular, blue-eyed. Feel free to imagine whomever you please; I tend to imagine a half-Danish fellow named Viggo. :)
Had Richard Sharpe been asked, he would have assumed that John Lavisser’s hands would be soft, the pampered hands of an aristocrat, protectively sheathed in kid and bathed thrice daily in cream. He was surprised, therefore, to discover that the whispering touch of Lavisser’s fingertips down the length of Sharpe’s naked thigh was roughened by callus.
Sharpe flinched and struggled, but the leather reins that held him lashed to the saddle block were too secure to dislodge. His toes scarcely brushed the sawdust-strewn wooden floor; his muscles trembled with the effort of holding himself upright. He snarled at Lavisser through the lace-trimmed silk handkerchief wadded into his mouth and held in place with a metal bit and reins that smelled of horse.
“Come now, Richard. Quench that fire in your eyes. I promise I’ll only keep you here for a short while. What if I vowed I wouldn’t allow the Frogs to lay a hand on you? Hm?” Lavisser stroked Sharpe’s backside, briefly cupping its lower curve. “You’re sweating. You needn’t be afraid of me.”
The contrast between the gentleness of Lavisser’s caresses and the faint, abrasive scrape of his fingers maddened Sharpe. He writhed on the block, slipping on the sweat-slicked leather of the saddle, but his frenzied thrashing was inadequate to free himself. Lavisser’s hands carefully, stealthily insinuated themselves between his legs and stopped.
“Oh, Richard...I might have guessed.” Lavisser leaned down, bringing his lips close to Sharpe’s ear. “This isn’t quite as objectionable as you pretend, is it?” His hand drifted, brushing softly over Sharpe’s backside, curling round his cock. “Liberate those trapped sensations, Richard. They’re holding you prisoner, not I.”
Sharpe closed his eyes, shutting out the triumph on Lavisser’s angular face. He wouldn’t give in, not if Lavisser killed him.
But oh, those roughened hands....
End.
Photo courtesy of The Mighty Bean
My table is here
Author: Alex
Pairing/Character(s): Sharpe, John Lavisser
Rating: R
Warning: Dubcon scenario
Word count: 300
A dual-purpose triple drabble, written for the
sharpe_thinking prompt table, prompt #22, and for the August challenge for whither_then.John Lavisser is a character from the book Sharpe's Prey. He's half-Danish, angular, blue-eyed. Feel free to imagine whomever you please; I tend to imagine a half-Danish fellow named Viggo. :)
Had Richard Sharpe been asked, he would have assumed that John Lavisser’s hands would be soft, the pampered hands of an aristocrat, protectively sheathed in kid and bathed thrice daily in cream. He was surprised, therefore, to discover that the whispering touch of Lavisser’s fingertips down the length of Sharpe’s naked thigh was roughened by callus.
Sharpe flinched and struggled, but the leather reins that held him lashed to the saddle block were too secure to dislodge. His toes scarcely brushed the sawdust-strewn wooden floor; his muscles trembled with the effort of holding himself upright. He snarled at Lavisser through the lace-trimmed silk handkerchief wadded into his mouth and held in place with a metal bit and reins that smelled of horse.
“Come now, Richard. Quench that fire in your eyes. I promise I’ll only keep you here for a short while. What if I vowed I wouldn’t allow the Frogs to lay a hand on you? Hm?” Lavisser stroked Sharpe’s backside, briefly cupping its lower curve. “You’re sweating. You needn’t be afraid of me.”
The contrast between the gentleness of Lavisser’s caresses and the faint, abrasive scrape of his fingers maddened Sharpe. He writhed on the block, slipping on the sweat-slicked leather of the saddle, but his frenzied thrashing was inadequate to free himself. Lavisser’s hands carefully, stealthily insinuated themselves between his legs and stopped.
“Oh, Richard...I might have guessed.” Lavisser leaned down, bringing his lips close to Sharpe’s ear. “This isn’t quite as objectionable as you pretend, is it?” His hand drifted, brushing softly over Sharpe’s backside, curling round his cock. “Liberate those trapped sensations, Richard. They’re holding you prisoner, not I.”
Sharpe closed his eyes, shutting out the triumph on Lavisser’s angular face. He wouldn’t give in, not if Lavisser killed him.
But oh, those roughened hands....
End.
Photo courtesy of The Mighty Bean
My table is here
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Well, what that says about me, I dare not speculate.
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“Liberate those trapped sensations, Richard. They’re holding you prisoner, not I. So very true and what a great line.
He snarled at Lavisser through the lace-trimmed silk handkerchief wadded into his mouth and held in place with a metal bit and reins that smelled of horse. OMG...
Feel free to imagine whomever you please; I tend to imagine a half-Danish fellow named Viggo. I am with you...
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Thank you!
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i've been away and i haven't much time to check stories, working my way backword and the first i see is this nice little treat. thanks!
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Oh boy, is my imagination working overtime.
'But oh, those roughened hands....'
Soft voice, rough hands - a perfect recipe for mayhem.
Thank you, better late than never. : )
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a perfect recipe for mayhem
What a splendid way to put it!
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