Family Resemblance, Persuasion, Admiral Croft/Captain Wentworth, NC-17
Title: Family Resemblance
Author: aryas_zehral
Novel/Adaptation Persuasion.
Characters/Pairing: Captain Wentworth/Admiral Croft
Rating: NC-17/18/NSFW
Notes: Written for oxoniensis's porn battle 11. Prompts were: alcohol, loss, care. Not sure which Persuasion it is specifically.
They had lost a ship today. They had rescued only a handful of the souls, wretched men half drowned and badly injured, before having to retreat. The French ship had them out-gunned but it was not as swift on the waves. Once certain that they were free, that repairs were under way and the injured being seen to, Captain Croft had retreated to his cabin and, it seemed, a bottle. He was slumped in his chair, the bottle itself in his hand, half empty; he had quite given up on using the cup, swigging it straight from the bottle. Lieutenant Wentworth stood before his Captain's desk considering the man before him. He had come to update him on the situation before retiring. Instead he found rheumy haunted eyes contemplating him.
“Sir,” he began, trying to order his words best, “Sir, repairs to the rigging are well on their way although they have had to stop for the night due to the light, and -”
“You look like her,” the Captain stated, apropos of nothing, confusing the younger man.
“Pardon sir?”
“My Sophy. You look like her,” the Captain was looking at him with such intensity that Wentworth found himself fighting the urge to fidget.
“She is my sister sir,” Wentworth ventured with a smile. “It would not be unexpected that there be some resemblance.” He tried for a light tone, ignoring the voice in his head that was contemplating what could have happened had this been one of the voyages she had come along on. Wentworth often, at least in his own mind, questioned the Captains policy of allowing Sophy to voyage with them. A day like today made that questioning all the more fierce.
“Yes. Your sister. My wife. Any more days like this and neither of us may see her again.” The Captain's eyes had drifted to the bottle in his hand. “She would be all alone. And it would be my fault. Both of us on the same ship, going off to sea, riskin' our lives. It's reckless.”
Without conscious decision Wentworth found himself kneeling before the Captain. “Sir.” He reached out to take the bottle. The Captain held firm and Wentworth did not wish to be either unfeeling or insubordinate in his attempts to wrest the bottle from the man's hands. “Captain, perhaps it would be best if you were to retire for the night? Sleep such morbid thought away.”
The Captain's eyes drifted from the bottle to Wentworth's face, looking at it contemplatively. The bottle became loose in his hands and Wentworth was able to take it easily. He twisted and put in in the cabinet behind him. As he turned back to face his Captain he was startled to find the Captain's hand on his hair, stroking. Wentworth's breath caught in his throat at the light sensation. His mouth felt dry.
“Soft. Like her hair. You look so like her.”
“Captain I do thi- “his lips fell silent as fingers pressed themselves, firm but drunk-clumsy, to his lips. The Captain gazed at Wentworth's mouth, and Wentworth could see his eyes track the movement of his fingers as he ran their tips along Wentworth's bottom lip. Wentworth's lips burned at the contact, his stomach clenched, as his lips parted with the ghost of a sigh. “Captain.”
“So full. Red. Like hers.” His Captain's finger slipped into Wentworth's mouth, at first tracing the shape of the space between the lips before sliding forward, past teeth, to run the pad of his finger along Wentworth's tongue. He pulled it back slowly, Wentworth felt his lips dampened with his own saliva, before pushing it back in. His lips never left his finger and Wentworth saw his Captain draw in a shaky breath. With startling clarity Wentworth realised the movement was not unlike that he had heard some ladies of the night provided: stimulating men with their mouths. Wentworth's face flushed, heart pounding, as he identified the look on the Captain's face as desire; he was sure he reflected it back. Wentworth did not know what he should do.
“Beautiful. Like her,” the Captain whispered, seemingly unaware that he had spoken let alone aware of the turmoil his words caused his younger companion. Wentworth gasped, involuntarily closing his mouth around the invading digit and swallowing. The Captain moaned but Wentworth did not react to the noise, his mind shocked as it envisaged his beautiful, proper sister kneeling before her husband as he was now. Perhaps even here, on one of their previous voyages, her eyes twinkling as she sucked on the finger in her mouth or- oh God- his shaft, her lips- red, he remembered the Captain's words- stretched to accommodate him. With shame Wentworth felt his mouth water and his manhood swell at the thought of taking his Captain in his mouth. He groaned, his tongue undulating round the finger in his mouth, his eyelids fluttering shut.
“Frederick.” The sound the Captain's voice saying his name brought him back to the present as the fingers withdrew from his mouth. He parted his eyelids, watching the retreating fingers, following them as they moved to the buttons on the fall-front of the Captain's breeches. The cloth was strained and Wentworth could clearly see the outline of the tumescent rod beneath. He wanted to look up, to ask the Captain what he was doing. He wanted to look away, stand, and walk out of the cabin, to escape from such ungodly behaviours. He wanted to reach out, his hand itched with desire, and help his Captain reveal himself. He did none of these things, frozen in ambivalent need. His breath was shaky with anticipation as the last of the buttons was undone and his, his cock- Wentworth thrilled at the illicit word- freed itself from the restraints of the clothing. Wentworth watched as his Captain took hold of himself, languidly stroking. He took in a faltering breath.
Wentworth had seen the equipment of other men before. Life on board made it near impossible not to do so. But never had he seen one so close before. There had never been a cock, swollen, red, at eye level with him in the past. He could not conceive what to do in this situation, his mind hazy, although he could not help but compare it with his own. It was thinner than his own but longer. It curved gracefully and it was leaking pre-cum from its tip. Wentworth's tongue darted out to wet his dry lips at the sight of it. From somewhere above him the Captain groaned. Wentworth did not glance up, enthralled.
The Captain's left hand, so far uninvolved in proceedings, joined its partner, the fingers reaching out to swipe the fluid from its tip. Wentworth's eyes tracked the fingers as they moved to his mouth, closing his eyes on contact as his tongue tentatively tasted the fluid. It was saltier than he expected, reminding him of the sea he had dedicated his life to. He swirled his tongue tip round the fingers, removing all trace of the fluid, a part of him missing the taste when it was gone. Opening his eyes, fingers still in his mouth, he looked up at his Captain. His eyes were black with lust and Wentworth found himself smiling suddenly. With his left hand he reached up, wrapping the fingers round the Captain's wrist, and pulling the digits from his mouth. Captain Croft looked disappointed until Wentworth's right hand reached out and took hold of his dick. The skin was smooth, hot, and though the ridges of his veins were different the sensation was both familiar and unfamiliar to Wentworth. He shuffled forward, closer, wetted his lips as he considered the object in front of him, pausing. This was a situation he had never expected himself to be in, that no good Christian man should be in, and yet his concern was not, he was amused to note, for his soul but rather on how to do this well.
“Frederick, you do not have to,” Captain Croft offered, his voice breathy.
“I know.” With that he leaned forward, pressing his lips to the head in a parody of a chaste kiss, before turning his head, smearing pre-cum on his lips, on his cheek. Parting his lips he licked, laved, his way down the shaft, humming softly. The Captain shifted in his seat, his hand visible in Wentworth's peripheral vision as it hovered, clenching and unclenching, as if it wished to reach out and touch him. Wentworth smiled, moving back to the head and parting his mouth further and, with determination, enveloped the Captain's shaft in his mouth.
Author: aryas_zehral
Novel/Adaptation Persuasion.
Characters/Pairing: Captain Wentworth/Admiral Croft
Rating: NC-17/18/NSFW
Notes: Written for oxoniensis's porn battle 11. Prompts were: alcohol, loss, care. Not sure which Persuasion it is specifically.
They had lost a ship today. They had rescued only a handful of the souls, wretched men half drowned and badly injured, before having to retreat. The French ship had them out-gunned but it was not as swift on the waves. Once certain that they were free, that repairs were under way and the injured being seen to, Captain Croft had retreated to his cabin and, it seemed, a bottle. He was slumped in his chair, the bottle itself in his hand, half empty; he had quite given up on using the cup, swigging it straight from the bottle. Lieutenant Wentworth stood before his Captain's desk considering the man before him. He had come to update him on the situation before retiring. Instead he found rheumy haunted eyes contemplating him.
“Sir,” he began, trying to order his words best, “Sir, repairs to the rigging are well on their way although they have had to stop for the night due to the light, and -”
“You look like her,” the Captain stated, apropos of nothing, confusing the younger man.
“Pardon sir?”
“My Sophy. You look like her,” the Captain was looking at him with such intensity that Wentworth found himself fighting the urge to fidget.
“She is my sister sir,” Wentworth ventured with a smile. “It would not be unexpected that there be some resemblance.” He tried for a light tone, ignoring the voice in his head that was contemplating what could have happened had this been one of the voyages she had come along on. Wentworth often, at least in his own mind, questioned the Captains policy of allowing Sophy to voyage with them. A day like today made that questioning all the more fierce.
“Yes. Your sister. My wife. Any more days like this and neither of us may see her again.” The Captain's eyes had drifted to the bottle in his hand. “She would be all alone. And it would be my fault. Both of us on the same ship, going off to sea, riskin' our lives. It's reckless.”
Without conscious decision Wentworth found himself kneeling before the Captain. “Sir.” He reached out to take the bottle. The Captain held firm and Wentworth did not wish to be either unfeeling or insubordinate in his attempts to wrest the bottle from the man's hands. “Captain, perhaps it would be best if you were to retire for the night? Sleep such morbid thought away.”
The Captain's eyes drifted from the bottle to Wentworth's face, looking at it contemplatively. The bottle became loose in his hands and Wentworth was able to take it easily. He twisted and put in in the cabinet behind him. As he turned back to face his Captain he was startled to find the Captain's hand on his hair, stroking. Wentworth's breath caught in his throat at the light sensation. His mouth felt dry.
“Soft. Like her hair. You look so like her.”
“Captain I do thi- “his lips fell silent as fingers pressed themselves, firm but drunk-clumsy, to his lips. The Captain gazed at Wentworth's mouth, and Wentworth could see his eyes track the movement of his fingers as he ran their tips along Wentworth's bottom lip. Wentworth's lips burned at the contact, his stomach clenched, as his lips parted with the ghost of a sigh. “Captain.”
“So full. Red. Like hers.” His Captain's finger slipped into Wentworth's mouth, at first tracing the shape of the space between the lips before sliding forward, past teeth, to run the pad of his finger along Wentworth's tongue. He pulled it back slowly, Wentworth felt his lips dampened with his own saliva, before pushing it back in. His lips never left his finger and Wentworth saw his Captain draw in a shaky breath. With startling clarity Wentworth realised the movement was not unlike that he had heard some ladies of the night provided: stimulating men with their mouths. Wentworth's face flushed, heart pounding, as he identified the look on the Captain's face as desire; he was sure he reflected it back. Wentworth did not know what he should do.
“Beautiful. Like her,” the Captain whispered, seemingly unaware that he had spoken let alone aware of the turmoil his words caused his younger companion. Wentworth gasped, involuntarily closing his mouth around the invading digit and swallowing. The Captain moaned but Wentworth did not react to the noise, his mind shocked as it envisaged his beautiful, proper sister kneeling before her husband as he was now. Perhaps even here, on one of their previous voyages, her eyes twinkling as she sucked on the finger in her mouth or- oh God- his shaft, her lips- red, he remembered the Captain's words- stretched to accommodate him. With shame Wentworth felt his mouth water and his manhood swell at the thought of taking his Captain in his mouth. He groaned, his tongue undulating round the finger in his mouth, his eyelids fluttering shut.
“Frederick.” The sound the Captain's voice saying his name brought him back to the present as the fingers withdrew from his mouth. He parted his eyelids, watching the retreating fingers, following them as they moved to the buttons on the fall-front of the Captain's breeches. The cloth was strained and Wentworth could clearly see the outline of the tumescent rod beneath. He wanted to look up, to ask the Captain what he was doing. He wanted to look away, stand, and walk out of the cabin, to escape from such ungodly behaviours. He wanted to reach out, his hand itched with desire, and help his Captain reveal himself. He did none of these things, frozen in ambivalent need. His breath was shaky with anticipation as the last of the buttons was undone and his, his cock- Wentworth thrilled at the illicit word- freed itself from the restraints of the clothing. Wentworth watched as his Captain took hold of himself, languidly stroking. He took in a faltering breath.
Wentworth had seen the equipment of other men before. Life on board made it near impossible not to do so. But never had he seen one so close before. There had never been a cock, swollen, red, at eye level with him in the past. He could not conceive what to do in this situation, his mind hazy, although he could not help but compare it with his own. It was thinner than his own but longer. It curved gracefully and it was leaking pre-cum from its tip. Wentworth's tongue darted out to wet his dry lips at the sight of it. From somewhere above him the Captain groaned. Wentworth did not glance up, enthralled.
The Captain's left hand, so far uninvolved in proceedings, joined its partner, the fingers reaching out to swipe the fluid from its tip. Wentworth's eyes tracked the fingers as they moved to his mouth, closing his eyes on contact as his tongue tentatively tasted the fluid. It was saltier than he expected, reminding him of the sea he had dedicated his life to. He swirled his tongue tip round the fingers, removing all trace of the fluid, a part of him missing the taste when it was gone. Opening his eyes, fingers still in his mouth, he looked up at his Captain. His eyes were black with lust and Wentworth found himself smiling suddenly. With his left hand he reached up, wrapping the fingers round the Captain's wrist, and pulling the digits from his mouth. Captain Croft looked disappointed until Wentworth's right hand reached out and took hold of his dick. The skin was smooth, hot, and though the ridges of his veins were different the sensation was both familiar and unfamiliar to Wentworth. He shuffled forward, closer, wetted his lips as he considered the object in front of him, pausing. This was a situation he had never expected himself to be in, that no good Christian man should be in, and yet his concern was not, he was amused to note, for his soul but rather on how to do this well.
“Frederick, you do not have to,” Captain Croft offered, his voice breathy.
“I know.” With that he leaned forward, pressing his lips to the head in a parody of a chaste kiss, before turning his head, smearing pre-cum on his lips, on his cheek. Parting his lips he licked, laved, his way down the shaft, humming softly. The Captain shifted in his seat, his hand visible in Wentworth's peripheral vision as it hovered, clenching and unclenching, as if it wished to reach out and touch him. Wentworth smiled, moving back to the head and parting his mouth further and, with determination, enveloped the Captain's shaft in his mouth.