fic: master and commander: The Lesser of Two Weevils
Title: The Lesser of Two Weevils
Prompt: rain; 030. Missing Scene
Summary: In which Calamy is almost drunk, Blakeney is a little depressed, and some proprieties are perhaps forgotten. Peter Calamy/Will Blakeney
William Blakeney sat at the table in the midshipmen's berth, an unfinished letter in front of him. He stared, without reading, for a long time. The even, flowing script was almost as unfamiliar as the feel of the pen he held in his left hand. His only hand, now.
Boyle and Williamson had long since grown tired of his brooding and left, following the strains of music drifting down from the forecastle, so Blakeney was surprised when a hand settled on his shoulder and Peter Calamy's face appeared next to his own. "How was supper with the Captain?" Blakeney asked as Calamy settled beside him.
Calamy's face was flushed and glowing from wine. "He spoke of Lord Nelson," he said, "and he played a horrible pun on the Doctor." Calamy caught and held Blakeney's gaze, and Blakeney felt like blushing himself. Calamy always had that effect on him: like he wanted to scream, or run away, or both.
Calamy cleared his throat and shifted. His hand stayed on Blakeney's shoulder. "What are you doing?" he asked, leaning in to look at the letter. Blakeney stiffened.
"A letter," he said, eventually. Calamy's hand tightened on his shoulder.
"How's it coming?" he asked, and his voice was so blessedly normal, so like the myriad of other conversations the two of them had had previously, that Blakeney had to swallow around a lump in his throat. He glanced sideways at the boy next to him. Calamy's eyes were calm and steady on him, and he was smiling like he didn't care how long it was taking Blakeney to answer.
"Blakeney!" Boyle appeared in the circle of lanternlight, Williamson close behind him. "Calamy!" he cried gleefully. "So you're done, then?" He kept talking over any reply Calamy may have tried to make. "You two should be on the fo'c'sle, not sitting here like lumps on a log. It's just what you need, Blakeney, to get you --" Williamson elbowed Boyle quickly and shot him a significant look. Boyle nodded. "In any case, you'd better hurry, it looks like rain," and then they both turned and clattered back up to the forecastle, chattering excitedly.
"Want to go with them, Will?" Calamy asked. Blakeney looked at the paper in front of him, and listened to the faint fiddles and cheers. He dropped his pen onto the table.
"Please," Blakeney said, decisively. Calamy looked pleased. As he stood up from the table, his hand slipped off Blakeney's shoulder and down, lingering warm and sure in the curve of his back.
Notes: Not really funny, despite what the title may seem to imply. I'm also sure that my overtired, feverish brain had a good reason for choosing that as a title, but I sure can't remember. And I tend to get stuck on titles.
But it's not bad. I like it better than Heard the Owl Call, so that's good, then.
Prompt: rain; 030. Missing Scene
Summary: In which Calamy is almost drunk, Blakeney is a little depressed, and some proprieties are perhaps forgotten. Peter Calamy/Will Blakeney
William Blakeney sat at the table in the midshipmen's berth, an unfinished letter in front of him. He stared, without reading, for a long time. The even, flowing script was almost as unfamiliar as the feel of the pen he held in his left hand. His only hand, now.
Boyle and Williamson had long since grown tired of his brooding and left, following the strains of music drifting down from the forecastle, so Blakeney was surprised when a hand settled on his shoulder and Peter Calamy's face appeared next to his own. "How was supper with the Captain?" Blakeney asked as Calamy settled beside him.
Calamy's face was flushed and glowing from wine. "He spoke of Lord Nelson," he said, "and he played a horrible pun on the Doctor." Calamy caught and held Blakeney's gaze, and Blakeney felt like blushing himself. Calamy always had that effect on him: like he wanted to scream, or run away, or both.
Calamy cleared his throat and shifted. His hand stayed on Blakeney's shoulder. "What are you doing?" he asked, leaning in to look at the letter. Blakeney stiffened.
"A letter," he said, eventually. Calamy's hand tightened on his shoulder.
"How's it coming?" he asked, and his voice was so blessedly normal, so like the myriad of other conversations the two of them had had previously, that Blakeney had to swallow around a lump in his throat. He glanced sideways at the boy next to him. Calamy's eyes were calm and steady on him, and he was smiling like he didn't care how long it was taking Blakeney to answer.
"Blakeney!" Boyle appeared in the circle of lanternlight, Williamson close behind him. "Calamy!" he cried gleefully. "So you're done, then?" He kept talking over any reply Calamy may have tried to make. "You two should be on the fo'c'sle, not sitting here like lumps on a log. It's just what you need, Blakeney, to get you --" Williamson elbowed Boyle quickly and shot him a significant look. Boyle nodded. "In any case, you'd better hurry, it looks like rain," and then they both turned and clattered back up to the forecastle, chattering excitedly.
"Want to go with them, Will?" Calamy asked. Blakeney looked at the paper in front of him, and listened to the faint fiddles and cheers. He dropped his pen onto the table.
"Please," Blakeney said, decisively. Calamy looked pleased. As he stood up from the table, his hand slipped off Blakeney's shoulder and down, lingering warm and sure in the curve of his back.
Notes: Not really funny, despite what the title may seem to imply. I'm also sure that my overtired, feverish brain had a good reason for choosing that as a title, but I sure can't remember. And I tend to get stuck on titles.
But it's not bad. I like it better than Heard the Owl Call, so that's good, then.