Heave To!!
Well, after a suggestion from daughtermestizo, I decided to write some Clayton/Simpson.
Title: Brave
Rating: R? NC-17? Rate for yourself.
Pairing: Clayton/Simpson
Because: We ALL know what happened after Horatio was beaten up, taken to Dr. Hepplewhite in "The Duel".
[I]“Clayton, my brave friend… It’s a wonder how brave you are with a pistol in your hand…”[/I]
In one swift motion, Simpson slapped the gun out of the terrified midshipman’s hand.
For what seemed like an eternity, Clayton watched, horrified as the gun spun through the air and landed with a clatter in the corner.
Simpson’s ice blue eyes gleamed through his coppery hair- into what seemed Clayton’s very soul.
[I]“But I know you for the coward that you really are.”[/I]
Clayton’s entire body tensed painfully as he watched Simpson tighten the whip around his fist.
He knew what was coming.
And there was no way of stopping it.
Clayton looked wildly around, hoping…[I]praying[/I] that there was someone in the vicinity that he could turn to…
And like always, there was no one.
No one.
Clayton retracted sharply as Simpson reached out for his hand, but Simpson was by far taller and stronger than Clayton was, and he soon found his wrists pinned together tightly between just one of Simpson’s hands.
“You’re going to do what I say you’ll do, you understand me?” Simpson’s voice was a dangerous hiss. Clayton felt his head swaying back and forth, starting to say ‘No’ - trying to trounce his cowardice, but with one snarl from his captor, Clayton automatically emitted a cry of defeat. It was no use, he knew that. Simpson just wouldn’t take no for an answer. Simpson’s lip curled in a sneer.
“Good man. Now. You know where to go.”
Clayton was already starting to feel sick. Turning around he led Simpson to the back of the room- where there was an antechamber-it was scarcely as big as a closet back there…but large enough for Simpson to accomplish what he came for practically every other day.
Simpson took a quick look around as he stuffed Clayton into the closet- and shutting the door behind him, turned toward the anxious midshipman.
Simpson reached out to Clayton- running a finger down his collarbone, getting nearer and nearer.
“You know perfectly well that if you wouldn’t resist it wouldn’t be so bad.” Simpson breathed into Clayton’s ear- causing Clayton’s body to somehow melt and tense all at the same time.
Clayton could see Simpson’s hollow grin in the darkness.
Clayton braced himself against the rough wall behind him- his fingernails cutting painfully into the wood as Simpson deftly undid the few buttons on Clayton’s shirt. The chill air hit his bare skin- causing it to become gooseflesh.
“Simpson…-Jack.” Clayton gasped, as a final plea.
His intake of breath was stopped as Simpson’s nails dug into his shoulder.
“Clayton, I swear, if you make one more sound I will hurt you.” There was a pause as Clayton felt Simpson’s hand slide down to the top of his breeches. Fleetingly Clayton nodded his final consent, and was pulled forward by the neck roughly as Simpson plunged his tongue down the midshipman’s throat. Whatever pleasure this sort of thing gave Simpson, Clayton hadn’t discovered yet. Simpson moved as close as Clayton though possible- he distinctly felt Simpson’s hardness rub against his upper thigh- sending waves of heat to Clayton’s midsection.
He was scared.
Feeling every bit nauseated, Clayton tried to make the best of it…for a split second there was this insane idea, this wild inspiration that if he did respond perhaps it would be over quicker…
Thinking such things were surely only a security measure...were they not?
Clayton’s stream of consciousness was stopped as Simpson broke away from Clayton for a split second, breathing heavily.
Clayton was feeling almost sick- was it from nerves? Or what he was about to do out of desperation?
[I]“Clayton, you idiot,” he told himself. “Just get it over with. Quick.” [/I]
Simpson was staring at him- utterly confused- why was Clayton just leaning against the wall there…looking…predatory?
It was now or never.
Clayton leaned forward, slowly and definitely wrapping his arms around Simpson’s neck, lazily trailing a finger down Simpson’s side. He had felt this done before. The whores were good for something, and not taking another instant, Clayton kissed Simpson with a passion he was sure could only be seen as fantasy. Clayton was trembling all over- and he pulled the taller man down do that they were kneeling on the floor.
Simpson uttered a groan form the back of this throat as he pushed Clayton backwards so that he was laying on top of him.
Simpson broke away from the hold Clayton had on his mouth- just enough time to deliver a bite on Clayton’s shoulder.
Clayton’s body lurched against Simpson’s, in shock, and to his dismay as their groins touched, Clayton felt everything give way.
Clayton was as hard as the wood they were now laying on.
What the bloody hell?!
Clayton tightly clawed into Simpson’s back- his fists gathering up the flimsy white shirt as Simpson chuckled suddenly.
“I knew you’d warm up to me.” he growled softly.
Clayton’s chest tightened as Simpson slowly and boldly started a burning trail of kisses and nips down Clayton’s collarbone, ending up down at Clayton’s side- right above the hip.
Clayton gasped as Simpson kissed in that part of his torso- the jumble of nerves there sent shivers to all ends of Clayton’s body- like surges of liquid heat and it was probably the most exhilarating thing he had felt in a long time…he thought miserably.
He gasped as Simpson’s large hand trailed down to Clayton’s groin and- it resting here- toying with everything Clayton was feeling at that instant.
This was entirely different than what he knew Simpson was capable of-oh god no, please..- Clayton thought fleetingly as Simpson slowly unbuttoned his breeches.
“Simpson…” Clayton groaned- and Simpson looked up.
“Shut it.”
“Jack.”
“What?!” Simpson hissed.
“Take…just take it all off. Get it over with, for God‘s sake.”
Simpson looked disbelievingly at Clayton- the midshipman’s eyes were glossy- almost glazed over in desire and fear- and he was moving his hands down Simpson’s back in a wild manner- almost like he had no control over them.
It was true. What had Simpson done to him? His hands were tingling- he could feel them distinctly- but they were moving wildly, tearing and ripping at Simpson’s shirt. The fleeting motions were almost overbearing on Simpson- It just caused him to ache for satisfaction more. However, what was Clayton playing at?
He didn’t know whether to laugh or...feel…. scared.
“I’m going to do this my way, Clayton,” Simpson growled.” And none of your antics are going to stop me.”
Clayton’s body suddenly became very cold under Simpson’s harsh blue stare.
“A-antics?” Clayton stammered. His arousal was still not waning.
“Antics.”
Simpson suddenly ripped Clayton’s breeches off him. The chill air hit Clayton’s skin like ice, and he gasped, but Simpson’s big hand clamped over his mouth, hard enough that it nearly choked him.
“As usual, you will not scream, you will not make any sound. Understood?” Simpson panted, his breath hot on Clayton’s face. Clayton shivered in revulsion suddenly at the flicker of Simpson’s tongue against his skin.
Clayton’s quickened breathing didn’t stop as Simpson reached down and undid his own breeches, revealing what was the source of many of the midshipman’s discomfort on that ship.
There was no doubt that Simpson was ready to just take Clayton right then and there.
And he was.
Simpson grabbed Clayton’s shoulders and roughly turned him over- so hard that splinters went into his bare chest. Wincing, Clayton dug his fingers to hold between the floorboards- bracing himself. He was a fool for thinking that his plan would work.
Nothing ever got by Simpson.
Nothing.
Clayton shut his eyes hard as Simpson’s shaft slammed against him, trying to take Clayton, and with an internal scream, Clayton felt Simpson inside him.
It was too difficult to say anything anyways, as Simpson had a hold of Clayton’s shoulders, pinning him to the floor.
Simpson moved with haggard breaths, his panting growing steadily faster as he reached his climax- Clayton felt like he was about to faint…Simpson raking his nails into Clayton’s back-
Finally with disgust Clayton felt Simpson spill his seed into him- and slump against Clayton in exhaustion.
Clayton felt Simpson slide out of him and stand up, grabbing his breeches in the process. Clayton turned achingly around, and Simpson was standing there, glowering in the dim light.
“Whatever you were meaning to do, Clayton, you didn’t get a way with it. Not this time. Not ever.” Simpson hissed, as he picked up Clayton’s shirt and wiped his mess on it.
Throwing the shirt in Claytons face, Simpson put on his breeches and retreated from the little room, leaving Clayton curled up on the floor, only his haggard breathing and aching body to be mindful of.
“Bastard,” was all he could muster.
Title: Brave
Rating: R? NC-17? Rate for yourself.
Pairing: Clayton/Simpson
Because: We ALL know what happened after Horatio was beaten up, taken to Dr. Hepplewhite in "The Duel".
[I]“Clayton, my brave friend… It’s a wonder how brave you are with a pistol in your hand…”[/I]
In one swift motion, Simpson slapped the gun out of the terrified midshipman’s hand.
For what seemed like an eternity, Clayton watched, horrified as the gun spun through the air and landed with a clatter in the corner.
Simpson’s ice blue eyes gleamed through his coppery hair- into what seemed Clayton’s very soul.
[I]“But I know you for the coward that you really are.”[/I]
Clayton’s entire body tensed painfully as he watched Simpson tighten the whip around his fist.
He knew what was coming.
And there was no way of stopping it.
Clayton looked wildly around, hoping…[I]praying[/I] that there was someone in the vicinity that he could turn to…
And like always, there was no one.
No one.
Clayton retracted sharply as Simpson reached out for his hand, but Simpson was by far taller and stronger than Clayton was, and he soon found his wrists pinned together tightly between just one of Simpson’s hands.
“You’re going to do what I say you’ll do, you understand me?” Simpson’s voice was a dangerous hiss. Clayton felt his head swaying back and forth, starting to say ‘No’ - trying to trounce his cowardice, but with one snarl from his captor, Clayton automatically emitted a cry of defeat. It was no use, he knew that. Simpson just wouldn’t take no for an answer. Simpson’s lip curled in a sneer.
“Good man. Now. You know where to go.”
Clayton was already starting to feel sick. Turning around he led Simpson to the back of the room- where there was an antechamber-it was scarcely as big as a closet back there…but large enough for Simpson to accomplish what he came for practically every other day.
Simpson took a quick look around as he stuffed Clayton into the closet- and shutting the door behind him, turned toward the anxious midshipman.
Simpson reached out to Clayton- running a finger down his collarbone, getting nearer and nearer.
“You know perfectly well that if you wouldn’t resist it wouldn’t be so bad.” Simpson breathed into Clayton’s ear- causing Clayton’s body to somehow melt and tense all at the same time.
Clayton could see Simpson’s hollow grin in the darkness.
Clayton braced himself against the rough wall behind him- his fingernails cutting painfully into the wood as Simpson deftly undid the few buttons on Clayton’s shirt. The chill air hit his bare skin- causing it to become gooseflesh.
“Simpson…-Jack.” Clayton gasped, as a final plea.
His intake of breath was stopped as Simpson’s nails dug into his shoulder.
“Clayton, I swear, if you make one more sound I will hurt you.” There was a pause as Clayton felt Simpson’s hand slide down to the top of his breeches. Fleetingly Clayton nodded his final consent, and was pulled forward by the neck roughly as Simpson plunged his tongue down the midshipman’s throat. Whatever pleasure this sort of thing gave Simpson, Clayton hadn’t discovered yet. Simpson moved as close as Clayton though possible- he distinctly felt Simpson’s hardness rub against his upper thigh- sending waves of heat to Clayton’s midsection.
He was scared.
Feeling every bit nauseated, Clayton tried to make the best of it…for a split second there was this insane idea, this wild inspiration that if he did respond perhaps it would be over quicker…
Thinking such things were surely only a security measure...were they not?
Clayton’s stream of consciousness was stopped as Simpson broke away from Clayton for a split second, breathing heavily.
Clayton was feeling almost sick- was it from nerves? Or what he was about to do out of desperation?
[I]“Clayton, you idiot,” he told himself. “Just get it over with. Quick.” [/I]
Simpson was staring at him- utterly confused- why was Clayton just leaning against the wall there…looking…predatory?
It was now or never.
Clayton leaned forward, slowly and definitely wrapping his arms around Simpson’s neck, lazily trailing a finger down Simpson’s side. He had felt this done before. The whores were good for something, and not taking another instant, Clayton kissed Simpson with a passion he was sure could only be seen as fantasy. Clayton was trembling all over- and he pulled the taller man down do that they were kneeling on the floor.
Simpson uttered a groan form the back of this throat as he pushed Clayton backwards so that he was laying on top of him.
Simpson broke away from the hold Clayton had on his mouth- just enough time to deliver a bite on Clayton’s shoulder.
Clayton’s body lurched against Simpson’s, in shock, and to his dismay as their groins touched, Clayton felt everything give way.
Clayton was as hard as the wood they were now laying on.
What the bloody hell?!
Clayton tightly clawed into Simpson’s back- his fists gathering up the flimsy white shirt as Simpson chuckled suddenly.
“I knew you’d warm up to me.” he growled softly.
Clayton’s chest tightened as Simpson slowly and boldly started a burning trail of kisses and nips down Clayton’s collarbone, ending up down at Clayton’s side- right above the hip.
Clayton gasped as Simpson kissed in that part of his torso- the jumble of nerves there sent shivers to all ends of Clayton’s body- like surges of liquid heat and it was probably the most exhilarating thing he had felt in a long time…he thought miserably.
He gasped as Simpson’s large hand trailed down to Clayton’s groin and- it resting here- toying with everything Clayton was feeling at that instant.
This was entirely different than what he knew Simpson was capable of-oh god no, please..- Clayton thought fleetingly as Simpson slowly unbuttoned his breeches.
“Simpson…” Clayton groaned- and Simpson looked up.
“Shut it.”
“Jack.”
“What?!” Simpson hissed.
“Take…just take it all off. Get it over with, for God‘s sake.”
Simpson looked disbelievingly at Clayton- the midshipman’s eyes were glossy- almost glazed over in desire and fear- and he was moving his hands down Simpson’s back in a wild manner- almost like he had no control over them.
It was true. What had Simpson done to him? His hands were tingling- he could feel them distinctly- but they were moving wildly, tearing and ripping at Simpson’s shirt. The fleeting motions were almost overbearing on Simpson- It just caused him to ache for satisfaction more. However, what was Clayton playing at?
He didn’t know whether to laugh or...feel…. scared.
“I’m going to do this my way, Clayton,” Simpson growled.” And none of your antics are going to stop me.”
Clayton’s body suddenly became very cold under Simpson’s harsh blue stare.
“A-antics?” Clayton stammered. His arousal was still not waning.
“Antics.”
Simpson suddenly ripped Clayton’s breeches off him. The chill air hit Clayton’s skin like ice, and he gasped, but Simpson’s big hand clamped over his mouth, hard enough that it nearly choked him.
“As usual, you will not scream, you will not make any sound. Understood?” Simpson panted, his breath hot on Clayton’s face. Clayton shivered in revulsion suddenly at the flicker of Simpson’s tongue against his skin.
Clayton’s quickened breathing didn’t stop as Simpson reached down and undid his own breeches, revealing what was the source of many of the midshipman’s discomfort on that ship.
There was no doubt that Simpson was ready to just take Clayton right then and there.
And he was.
Simpson grabbed Clayton’s shoulders and roughly turned him over- so hard that splinters went into his bare chest. Wincing, Clayton dug his fingers to hold between the floorboards- bracing himself. He was a fool for thinking that his plan would work.
Nothing ever got by Simpson.
Nothing.
Clayton shut his eyes hard as Simpson’s shaft slammed against him, trying to take Clayton, and with an internal scream, Clayton felt Simpson inside him.
It was too difficult to say anything anyways, as Simpson had a hold of Clayton’s shoulders, pinning him to the floor.
Simpson moved with haggard breaths, his panting growing steadily faster as he reached his climax- Clayton felt like he was about to faint…Simpson raking his nails into Clayton’s back-
Finally with disgust Clayton felt Simpson spill his seed into him- and slump against Clayton in exhaustion.
Clayton felt Simpson slide out of him and stand up, grabbing his breeches in the process. Clayton turned achingly around, and Simpson was standing there, glowering in the dim light.
“Whatever you were meaning to do, Clayton, you didn’t get a way with it. Not this time. Not ever.” Simpson hissed, as he picked up Clayton’s shirt and wiped his mess on it.
Throwing the shirt in Claytons face, Simpson put on his breeches and retreated from the little room, leaving Clayton curled up on the floor, only his haggard breathing and aching body to be mindful of.
“Bastard,” was all he could muster.