The Wrong Trousers
Apr. 15th, 2010 11:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anteros_lmcTitle: The Wrong Trousers
Author: Anteros
Characters: Bush / Kennedy, Hornblower
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Crackfic. With added stupidity.
Notes: Right. This is going to take a bit of explaining so bear with me.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
esmerelda_t has a highly original and very tragic LKU fic, To Sail The Seven Seas, which I am rather in awe of. I won't spoil the fic if you haven't read it, suffice to say Kennedy survives Kingston, turns to piracy and many years later is apprehended by Hornblower. Like I said, it's tragic and makes me cry. However there is no fic so tragic that it can't be turned to crack. At some point esmerelda_t decreed that if Archie was a pirate the he must also be in possession of a pair of, ummm, leather trousers. And that's where the plot bunnies took hold....
The brig was lit by a single horn shuttered lantern that cast a dim tawny glow around the cell. Bush dismissed the sentry with a nod and stood silently by the barred door as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. He couldn’t help but remember other bars, another cell, another long dark night.
Bush could just make out the prisoner now. He was lying full length on his back on the low cot pushed against the far bulkhead. Legs out stretched, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed. He appeared to be asleep. Bush felt a jolt of shock. He looked so very different but somehow the same, still the same. Older certainly, they all were. His hair was longer and fairer than Bush remembered, bleached by the unrelenting Caribbean sun, with a gleam of silver here and there. His face, burned to a dark red gold and obscured by a short fair beard, had a long scar running down one cheek. But he still carried the years lightly. He looked too young. He always had.
“Standing watch, William?”
The light voice startled Bush, he stifled the instinct to jump but his hands gripped the cell bars instinctively.
“Did he send you?” The question dripped with contempt.
The prisoner turned his head and fixed Bush with a calm blue gaze. The same startling blue as English summer skies. A blue that only existed in memory.
“Kennedy…”
The prisoner had propped himself up on one elbow now. He was smiling disconcertingly.
“Come, come William. Archie, please. You and I are old shipmates after all. Old friends.”
Bush was still gripping the bars.
“I….we… thought you were dead. You should be dead.”
“I’m sure the Admiralty and more than a few good fat merchantmen would concur. But sadly I must disappoint them. I take great pride in disappointing the Admiralty William. I am, as you can see, very much alive.”
This time it was Bush’s turn to concur. Kennedy did indeed look very lively. The life of a pirate captain appeared to suit him very well. Almost as well as his outlandish attire. His shirt was conventional enough, though of a finer cut and cloth than Bush had observed in even the captains’s closet. It was worn and patched but there was no disguising the fine white silk and the traces of lace that survived around collar and cuff. Bush was vaguely scandalised to notice that the prisoner wore no stock or neck cloth and, the ties having been torn away during the furious hand to hand boarding action, the shirt hung open over Kennedy’s chest. But it was below the waist that the transformation was most remarkable. Instead of white duck breeches Kennedy’s legs were clad in long trousers of supple black leather over which were pulled what appeared to be riding boots, that even Bush could tell were of exquisite manufacture. Bush was starting to feel uncomfortably hot and was conscious of a prickling under his shirt in his heavy uniform coat. A bead of sweat ran down inside the rough wool collar of his jacket, his stock felt unbearably tight and he had an overwhelming desire to toss it off.
“I confess I didn’t expect….you. Where’s Hornblower? Did he send you down here to be my watch dog?”
The question roused Bush from his reverie.
“What? The captain? Oh he’s sulking in his cabin.”
Kennedy cocked an eyebrow and the corresponding part of Bush’s anatomy twitched in response.
“Oh, you know how ambitious he is. He thought he was top banana after being made post captain. And now you turn up not just a captain but a pirate captain to boot!”
Said pirate captain had slung one leg over the edge of the cot and was swinging one scuffed but fine Spanish boot in a highly distracting manner.
“Top banana?” the prisoner enquired with a hint of amusement.
Bush sighed. “Banana. Yes. He has this ….fruit thing. Mangos, pawpaws, pineapples, you name it. Especially pineapples. Lord if I see another ruddy pineapple…”
“Blackcurrents?” There was considerably more than a hint of amusement this time.
Bush shot the prisoner a look. “God almighty, don’t mention backcurrents, he’s in enough of a temper as it is.”
Kennedy had risen from his cot and sauntered over to lean against the bars of cell. The leather of his trousers creaked slightly against the iron work. He was inches away from Bush now. Bush’s throat was getting awfully dry. He was still gripping the bars but his palms were slippery with sweat.
“Why’d you do it? Bush’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “Why didn’t you send word, why didn’t you let us know? Why turn to…to this?” Bush attempted a grand gesture to sweep Kennedy’s entire disreputable personage, instead he managed to flap towards his nether regions.
Kennedy smirked appreciatively. “Why?” he asked incredulously. “Why? My dear William isn’t it obvious? I am free. I come and go as I please. I can sail where I want, under any flag I choose. I am my own master, I choose where to go, who to fight for….what to wear.” He was leaning close in to the bars now and had dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “No more baggy arsed breeches or girly buckled shoes for me. No more jackets that smell like wet dog. Have you seen these trousers William?” Kennedy ran his hand down one leather thigh. Bush swallowed audibly. “And these boots? Finest Spanish leather, from Cordoba, William. Worth a kings ransom, or at least a couple of merchantmen!”
Bush was starting to fidget. Sliding his hand distractedly up and down the bars of the cell. Kennedy leaned in against the bars, Bush could feel his warm breath against his cheek. “Wouldn’t you like to cast that uniform aside, William? Don’t you want to feel free, even just for one night?”
“But the captain…”
“The captain need never know William. My lips are ….sealed. You have my word as a gentleman and pirate.” Kennedy lifted his hand with a flourish and placed it on his breast.
Bush swallowed again. “But I can’t….the Articles of War…but just once…if no one ever knew…I’ve…I’ve always wanted to know what it would feel like…” He paused, there was no going back. “Dammit Kennedy give me those trousers.”
The prisoner nodded in graceful assent and retreated to the bunk where he slowly pulled off one boot and then the other. Without further ado he slid the black trousers down over his hips. Bush’s knees almost gave way at the sound the leather made as it rasped over his tawny thighs.
“You know William, you’ll have to come in here if you want to put them on…”
Bush had the cell door open in a trice and was fumbling with the buttons of his breeches, watched appreciatively by the prisoner who was reclining again on the cot with the white silk shirt only barely concealing his modesty and decency. If indeed he had any.
Shoes, hose and breeches were discarded in short order and Bush had just drawn the leather trousers up over his knees with an audible groan when a familiar cough interrupted proceedings.
“So, a mutinous assembly! Or something more disreputable perhaps? I expected nothing better of you Kennedy!” Kennedy somehow managed to simultaneously smirk and pout in response. “But you, Bush! All those years I trusted you….”
But for the first time in all those years, Bush was not listening. His attention was entirely taken up by the leather trousers into which he was attempting to wriggle his arse.
Hornblower was pacing the brig incandescent with fury, glaring at Bush and the prisoner.
“Dammit to hell! I am the captain around here. This is my ship. And may I remind you Mister Bush that, as captain, that prize is mine! Now hand over the booty.”
Kennedy sat up on the cot and crossed his arms sulkily. “I can tell you right now Horatio, the days when you could get your hands on my booty are long gone!”
Hornblower rolled his eyes. He was almost dancing with rage. It may have been a foxtrot or possibly a quickstep. “The trousers you brigand, the trousers! Hand them over now!”
Kennedy and Bush looked at each other incredulously.
“Don’t be ridiculous Horatio, they’ll never fit you,” Kennedy snorted. “You’re far too tall!”
“I am not!” fumed Hornblower, rather spoiling the effect by drawing himself up to his full height. “I’ll have you know I am only 5’11”. I’m not that tall!”
The two shorter men gazed up at him sceptically.
“Anyway, I am the captain, I wear the trousers around here! Hand them over, or you two will be the worse for wear.” He looked down his long nose at Kennedy and sniffed disdainfully. “Although one can hardly imagine anything worse than what you are wearing now.”
Bush reluctantly peeled the leather trousers off, handed them over and stood, his shirt tail between his legs, forlornly watching his longed for prize depart with the captain. Kennedy however was entirely unperturbed. “Don’t worry William, he’ll never get into them and remember, we still have the boots! Savvy?”
Prize of a top banana for the first person to spot the bit I plagiarised from CSF ;)
Author: Anteros
Characters: Bush / Kennedy, Hornblower
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Crackfic. With added stupidity.
Notes: Right. This is going to take a bit of explaining so bear with me.
esmerelda_t has a highly original and very tragic LKU fic, To Sail The Seven Seas, which I am rather in awe of. I won't spoil the fic if you haven't read it, suffice to say Kennedy survives Kingston, turns to piracy and many years later is apprehended by Hornblower. Like I said, it's tragic and makes me cry. However there is no fic so tragic that it can't be turned to crack. At some point esmerelda_t decreed that if Archie was a pirate the he must also be in possession of a pair of, ummm, leather trousers. And that's where the plot bunnies took hold.... The brig was lit by a single horn shuttered lantern that cast a dim tawny glow around the cell. Bush dismissed the sentry with a nod and stood silently by the barred door as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. He couldn’t help but remember other bars, another cell, another long dark night.
Bush could just make out the prisoner now. He was lying full length on his back on the low cot pushed against the far bulkhead. Legs out stretched, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed. He appeared to be asleep. Bush felt a jolt of shock. He looked so very different but somehow the same, still the same. Older certainly, they all were. His hair was longer and fairer than Bush remembered, bleached by the unrelenting Caribbean sun, with a gleam of silver here and there. His face, burned to a dark red gold and obscured by a short fair beard, had a long scar running down one cheek. But he still carried the years lightly. He looked too young. He always had.
“Standing watch, William?”
The light voice startled Bush, he stifled the instinct to jump but his hands gripped the cell bars instinctively.
“Did he send you?” The question dripped with contempt.
The prisoner turned his head and fixed Bush with a calm blue gaze. The same startling blue as English summer skies. A blue that only existed in memory.
“Kennedy…”
The prisoner had propped himself up on one elbow now. He was smiling disconcertingly.
“Come, come William. Archie, please. You and I are old shipmates after all. Old friends.”
Bush was still gripping the bars.
“I….we… thought you were dead. You should be dead.”
“I’m sure the Admiralty and more than a few good fat merchantmen would concur. But sadly I must disappoint them. I take great pride in disappointing the Admiralty William. I am, as you can see, very much alive.”
This time it was Bush’s turn to concur. Kennedy did indeed look very lively. The life of a pirate captain appeared to suit him very well. Almost as well as his outlandish attire. His shirt was conventional enough, though of a finer cut and cloth than Bush had observed in even the captains’s closet. It was worn and patched but there was no disguising the fine white silk and the traces of lace that survived around collar and cuff. Bush was vaguely scandalised to notice that the prisoner wore no stock or neck cloth and, the ties having been torn away during the furious hand to hand boarding action, the shirt hung open over Kennedy’s chest. But it was below the waist that the transformation was most remarkable. Instead of white duck breeches Kennedy’s legs were clad in long trousers of supple black leather over which were pulled what appeared to be riding boots, that even Bush could tell were of exquisite manufacture. Bush was starting to feel uncomfortably hot and was conscious of a prickling under his shirt in his heavy uniform coat. A bead of sweat ran down inside the rough wool collar of his jacket, his stock felt unbearably tight and he had an overwhelming desire to toss it off.
“I confess I didn’t expect….you. Where’s Hornblower? Did he send you down here to be my watch dog?”
The question roused Bush from his reverie.
“What? The captain? Oh he’s sulking in his cabin.”
Kennedy cocked an eyebrow and the corresponding part of Bush’s anatomy twitched in response.
“Oh, you know how ambitious he is. He thought he was top banana after being made post captain. And now you turn up not just a captain but a pirate captain to boot!”
Said pirate captain had slung one leg over the edge of the cot and was swinging one scuffed but fine Spanish boot in a highly distracting manner.
“Top banana?” the prisoner enquired with a hint of amusement.
Bush sighed. “Banana. Yes. He has this ….fruit thing. Mangos, pawpaws, pineapples, you name it. Especially pineapples. Lord if I see another ruddy pineapple…”
“Blackcurrents?” There was considerably more than a hint of amusement this time.
Bush shot the prisoner a look. “God almighty, don’t mention backcurrents, he’s in enough of a temper as it is.”
Kennedy had risen from his cot and sauntered over to lean against the bars of cell. The leather of his trousers creaked slightly against the iron work. He was inches away from Bush now. Bush’s throat was getting awfully dry. He was still gripping the bars but his palms were slippery with sweat.
“Why’d you do it? Bush’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “Why didn’t you send word, why didn’t you let us know? Why turn to…to this?” Bush attempted a grand gesture to sweep Kennedy’s entire disreputable personage, instead he managed to flap towards his nether regions.
Kennedy smirked appreciatively. “Why?” he asked incredulously. “Why? My dear William isn’t it obvious? I am free. I come and go as I please. I can sail where I want, under any flag I choose. I am my own master, I choose where to go, who to fight for….what to wear.” He was leaning close in to the bars now and had dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “No more baggy arsed breeches or girly buckled shoes for me. No more jackets that smell like wet dog. Have you seen these trousers William?” Kennedy ran his hand down one leather thigh. Bush swallowed audibly. “And these boots? Finest Spanish leather, from Cordoba, William. Worth a kings ransom, or at least a couple of merchantmen!”
Bush was starting to fidget. Sliding his hand distractedly up and down the bars of the cell. Kennedy leaned in against the bars, Bush could feel his warm breath against his cheek. “Wouldn’t you like to cast that uniform aside, William? Don’t you want to feel free, even just for one night?”
“But the captain…”
“The captain need never know William. My lips are ….sealed. You have my word as a gentleman and pirate.” Kennedy lifted his hand with a flourish and placed it on his breast.
Bush swallowed again. “But I can’t….the Articles of War…but just once…if no one ever knew…I’ve…I’ve always wanted to know what it would feel like…” He paused, there was no going back. “Dammit Kennedy give me those trousers.”
The prisoner nodded in graceful assent and retreated to the bunk where he slowly pulled off one boot and then the other. Without further ado he slid the black trousers down over his hips. Bush’s knees almost gave way at the sound the leather made as it rasped over his tawny thighs.
“You know William, you’ll have to come in here if you want to put them on…”
Bush had the cell door open in a trice and was fumbling with the buttons of his breeches, watched appreciatively by the prisoner who was reclining again on the cot with the white silk shirt only barely concealing his modesty and decency. If indeed he had any.
Shoes, hose and breeches were discarded in short order and Bush had just drawn the leather trousers up over his knees with an audible groan when a familiar cough interrupted proceedings.
“So, a mutinous assembly! Or something more disreputable perhaps? I expected nothing better of you Kennedy!” Kennedy somehow managed to simultaneously smirk and pout in response. “But you, Bush! All those years I trusted you….”
But for the first time in all those years, Bush was not listening. His attention was entirely taken up by the leather trousers into which he was attempting to wriggle his arse.
Hornblower was pacing the brig incandescent with fury, glaring at Bush and the prisoner.
“Dammit to hell! I am the captain around here. This is my ship. And may I remind you Mister Bush that, as captain, that prize is mine! Now hand over the booty.”
Kennedy sat up on the cot and crossed his arms sulkily. “I can tell you right now Horatio, the days when you could get your hands on my booty are long gone!”
Hornblower rolled his eyes. He was almost dancing with rage. It may have been a foxtrot or possibly a quickstep. “The trousers you brigand, the trousers! Hand them over now!”
Kennedy and Bush looked at each other incredulously.
“Don’t be ridiculous Horatio, they’ll never fit you,” Kennedy snorted. “You’re far too tall!”
“I am not!” fumed Hornblower, rather spoiling the effect by drawing himself up to his full height. “I’ll have you know I am only 5’11”. I’m not that tall!”
The two shorter men gazed up at him sceptically.
“Anyway, I am the captain, I wear the trousers around here! Hand them over, or you two will be the worse for wear.” He looked down his long nose at Kennedy and sniffed disdainfully. “Although one can hardly imagine anything worse than what you are wearing now.”
Bush reluctantly peeled the leather trousers off, handed them over and stood, his shirt tail between his legs, forlornly watching his longed for prize depart with the captain. Kennedy however was entirely unperturbed. “Don’t worry William, he’ll never get into them and remember, we still have the boots! Savvy?”
Prize of a top banana for the first person to spot the bit I plagiarised from CSF ;)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-04-16 08:00 am (UTC)Is there a story there do you think? Perhaps a night of amour planned with lashing of blackcurrent jam...and Horatio going mental when he got in cause it was blackcurrent
I shall repeat what I said earlier in the week, I love how this starts out like a serious fic and decends into farce while still managing to retain a simmering sexual tension between Bush and Kennedy.
no subject
Date: 2010-04-16 09:23 am (UTC)Definitely. You can write that one! Hmmmm one does wonder why Horatio get's _quite_ so hysterical about blackcurrent jam!
I love how this starts out like a serious fic and decends into farce
And as I said earlier in the week it took quite a bit of effort to get it to sink so low ;)
a simmering sexual tension between Bush and Kennedy
*whistles innocently*
no subject
Date: 2010-04-16 07:07 pm (UTC)*lol*
This is hilarious, especially Horatio! Poor boy, it's such fun to make fun of him!
no subject
Date: 2010-04-16 07:25 pm (UTC)talk of simmering sexual tension made me impatient.
It has that effect..... ;)
Oh and do read To Sail The Seven Seas too. It's brilliant. But you might want to have a box of tissues or a stiff drink ar hand.
no subject
Date: 2010-04-17 10:11 am (UTC)Nah, it takes more than a single pirate to scare me away! ;)
It's just that lunch breaks have been cancelled until further notice, so when something new is posted it may take a while before I can read it...
no subject
Date: 2010-04-17 10:30 am (UTC):O You're not working down the same salt mine as
no subject
Date: 2010-04-17 06:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-17 08:30 pm (UTC)Is this in any way related to the fact that you enjoy reading about Pirate!Archie in leather trousers?!
no subject
Date: 2010-04-17 09:13 pm (UTC)(Gods, can you imagine Horatio in those?? That's the stuff of nightmares!)
no subject
Date: 2010-04-17 09:40 pm (UTC)You and
She has already dreamed up a weird time-travel AU whereby Pirate!Archie travels forward in time to kidnap Bartholomew who, starved of lamb chops, chews a hole in the infamous leather trousers to produce a garment just like the ones you have so thoughtfully posted. You'd have to ask her about it.... ;)
no subject
Date: 2010-04-17 07:08 am (UTC)this is great- in technical praise I can only echo our friends above
Reading this on train and have just had wheelchair and self manhandled fairly inefficently - and at a quite ridiculous hour for a Saturday but therefore immensely cheered as now likely to be considering the possibilities of leather trousers and various crew members for all of tedious conference day.
Edward says he is too old for that sort of thing, he'll have
Mylodon calling him 'thunderthighs' again. But he undoubtedly has views on the wearing of them by others..
only beign offloaded at other end still to face...ah well, onward and upward!
Arghh ! ghastly to discover I am still in " fnarr" mode. must snap out of forthwith.* assumes face of studied seriousness*
no subject
Date: 2010-04-17 10:14 am (UTC)Impossible. Can't be done.
Glad Pirate!Archie provided some entertainment for an otherwise tedious journey. Train travel can be enough of a hassle without inefficient manhandling!
he'll have Mylodon calling him 'thunderthighs' again.
Ha, yes, that comment did make me laugh.
Safe travels and good luck with the "serious face" ;P
no subject
Date: 2010-04-17 01:18 pm (UTC)This whole fic is brilliant, but this line made me burst out laughing! Hilarious story, and like esmerelda_t said, the way it starts more seriously and slides into the realm of comedy is awesome! Really entertaining.
no subject
Date: 2010-04-17 08:22 pm (UTC)*sigh* there goes my reputation as a serious angst ridden fic writer ;)
So glad you enjoyed this although I can only aspire to the heights of silliness you achieve in your vids!
no subject
Date: 2012-02-19 01:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-21 10:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-10-09 06:02 pm (UTC)I really laughed when I read it.
But I do not understand this dialogue! :(
“Top banana?” the prisoner enquired with a hint of amusement.
Bush sighed. “Banana. Yes. He has this ….fruit thing. Mangos, pawpaws, pineapples, you name it. Especially pineapples. Lord if I see another ruddy pineapple…”
“Blackcurrents?” There was considerably more than a hint of amusement this time.
Why are they talking about blackcurrents and various fruit? What is CSF?
no subject
Date: 2015-10-10 08:20 pm (UTC)Why are they talking about blackcurrents and various fruit? What is CSF?
CSF is CS Forester and "He was dancing with rage" is a direct quote from Mr Midshipman Hornblower.
There is a hilarious scene in Hornblower and the Hotspur where Hornblower has a ridiculous tantrum about blackcurrent jam:
And the exotic fruits come from Lieutenant Hornblower:
So you see, Hornblower really does have a bit of a thing about fruit! XD
no subject
Date: 2015-10-11 08:27 pm (UTC)Now I understand everything.
It's a charming story. And it would be a very good movie.
Now Jamie would have been a true pirate captain.))
no subject
Date: 2015-10-11 10:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-10-29 10:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-11-08 12:19 am (UTC)