Triangulation 2/5
Mar. 6th, 2008 09:59 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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rugbytackleTitle : Triangulation 2/5
Pairing : Sharpe/Viggo, Sharpe/Harper
Rating : NC-17
Summary : Sharpe is send on a mission, and this time Harper can't go with him.
Warning : AU, crossover
Authors :![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mooms (Viggo & Harper) govi20 (Sharpe)
Disclaimer : Sharpe and Harper belong to Bernard Cornwell, not to us, which is a shame. Written for fun, not for profit and indeed all dirty lies !
Previous part : here
Pairing : Sharpe/Viggo, Sharpe/Harper
Rating : NC-17
Summary : Sharpe is send on a mission, and this time Harper can't go with him.
Warning : AU, crossover
Authors :
mooms (Viggo & Harper) govi20 (Sharpe)Disclaimer : Sharpe and Harper belong to Bernard Cornwell, not to us, which is a shame. Written for fun, not for profit and indeed all dirty lies !
Previous part : here
Triangulation
Part 2/5
Sharpe
It’s getting late, more snow is falling and our Spanish guests stay with us for the night. We set up a few extra tents, and an hour later, I finally crawl into my bed. Compared to yesterday I feel so much better, and I wonder what has lightened my mood.
Maybe it’s just the getting back to normal army life again, the march today and the companionship between the men and me. Well, whatever it is, I am grateful. I turn round, and bury my face in the pillow, sinking away in blessed sleep. Just before I do, I think of the sharp angles on the face of that Spanish leader, those eyes, and the way Patrick reacted to him, and then I sleep.
When I step out of my tent next morning to relieve myself, there’s a white blanket of snow covering the ground. There’s a cold wind almost freezing my balls off when I open my breeches and I curse. There’s a chuckle behind me, and I look over my shoulder. It’s Mortensen, obviously run out of his tent for the same reason.
“Good morning Commandante,” I say, fastening my breeches.
“Viggo,” he says with a grin, “my name is Viggo. Can I call you Richard or do you want me to address you as Major Sharpe?”
I look at him and nod in acceptance. “Richard is fine by me. Cold day, isn’t it?”
“It is. But I have seen worse. Manuel and I were talking last night about riding along with you for a few days, to look out for hiding places, would you allow us ?”
“Of course,” I say, “it will be nice having more company,” and I mean it. He’s quite a character and I wouldn’t mind getting to know him a bit better. After all Wellington always tells us to bind with our allies.
The grey eyes look over my shoulder and the grin is back.
“Your sergeant has just stepped inside your tent. I think he spotted us, and he does not look pleased at all. He seems to dislike me for some reason.”
I smile back at him. “Don’t take it personal. Harper is sometimes a bit over- protective, thinks he needs to cover my arse all the time.”
In my tent I find Harper sitting on my camp bed, cradling a steaming mug of tea in his hands. He looks gloomy, and his ‘Good morning, Sir’ is barely audible.
“What’s the matter, Pat? Ramona kicked you out of her bed last night?”
“No Sir,” he says, “though I wouldn’t put it beyond her at the moment. She’s very moody, so she is.”
“It must be hard for her having two big bellies in one bed,” I tease him, but he doesn’t laugh like he normally would.
“I don’t trust him Richard,” he says suddenly, “be careful with him.”
“Who,” I ask, although I know very well who he’s referring to.
“The new Commandante. I don’t like that man, there’s something about him. And he’s not even a proper Spaniard.”
I interrupt him sharply. “You’re here and you’re not a proper Englishman, are you Pat? His men trust him, Teresa trusted him, that’s good enough for me. Now I’ll have no more of this nonsense. He and his men will ride with us for a few days, and I want you to behave. And that’s an order, is that understood?”
“Aye Sir,” he says and he stands up to walk out. I sigh and lay a hand on his shoulder.
“Come on Pat, he’ll be around for just a couple of days, and he seems nice enough to me.”
“If you say so Sir,” he says and then he’s gone.
It’s a cold and grey day, and not an easy march. The King’s shilling is not enough for most of us to have decent boots, even though Harris does his best to keep mine in shape a little at least. Still the snow is seeping through, and all in all it’s miserable. I spend a long time walking next to Viggo’s horse, we talk, and at least that’s distracting. I can still feel Harper’s eyes burning a hole in my back, but I ignore that.
Hours later I am in my bed and finally warm, when I hear someone come in. It’s too dark to see a face, but the big silhouette gives him away.
“What is it Pat, can’t you sleep.” I whisper?
“I just wanted to know if you are still cold. I’ve brought some brandy.”
I accept the bottle and sit up a little, allowing the blanket to drop down while I drink.
His eyes glitter in the dark, and I feel his hand gliding over my body. My eyes close, and I arch into the grip of that big calloused hand. It’s good, but it’s not enough.
I reach out to grab the little bottle of musket oil from the floor, and press it into Harper’s hand. I roll off the bed, slide out of my clothes and kneel in front of the bed, bracing myself. The bed won’t carry us both, not when we’re fucking, and this will have to do.
I hear the rustle of clothes, and feel his warm breath on my back when he starts preparing me quickly. Patrick is a big man in every possible way, and I bite back a cry when he starts working in his cock, but we both know I can handle it.
Soon he’s fucking me seriously, and I put my face in the blankets to muffle the noises I make. Patrick’s hand closes around my cock, stroking it and I jerk.
But it’s not Patrick I think of when I finally come.
Harper
The Spanish partisans are to stay with us tonight and although they tell us they are happy to sleep in the open, we put up the spare tents. To be sure, they are hardy men, but it is starting to snow again and they may as well take shelter, when we have it.
I keep my eyes firmly on that Commandante of theirs. I can’t be putting me finger on what it is about the man, but I just don’t trust him. Richard seems to be impressed by whatever they are talking about and glares at my disapproval.
We sleep, finally and in the morning, I see that man follow Richard into the trees, when he goes to take his morning piss and I hear them laughing together.
Grouching at Ramona, and making her eyes flash, I take my tea and a mug for my Major and wait for him in his tent. When he arrives, his mood seems lighter and though that should cheer me up, it makes my mood worse.
He tries to josh me out of it, but I am having none of it. I tell him that I don’t trust the man. It’s not even as if he is a proper Spaniard.
His eyes snap and he answers me cuttingly, telling me that I’m not a proper Englishman, but I’m here. He’s angry with me and he tells me that the Commandante and his men will be riding with us for a while, ordering me to behave.
“Aye, Sir”, I say bitterly and get up to leave.
He lays his hand on my shoulder in a conciliatory way, speaks softly and calls me Pat, telling me this man seems nice and will be around only a couple of days. Nice is it? I keep my distance and answer him formally, turning on my heel and leaving, before I say something we will both regret.
As I moodily return to my tent, I pass the Commandante’s camp fire and he looks up, his mouth curving into a smile. He knows I see through his smarm and he is quietly laughing at me. Arse!
The march today is miserable, cold and snow on the ground. Richard marches ahead, walking by that man’s horse and keeping up a conversation with him. The men are silent and fearful of my bad mood. Even Hagman doesn’t sing today.
I am still morose, when we pitch camp for the night and even Ramona’s soup can’t raise my mood.
“What in God’s name is the matter with you, Patrick?”
I decide to be honest and seek her support.
“Sure it’s that new Commandante who’s taken Teresa’s place. There’s something about him I don’t trust. I’ve tried to warn Richard, but he doesn’t see it.”
She doesn’t see it either. Says he seems a proper man to her and like Richard, tells me that Teresa trusted him and so should I.
To hell with the lot of them, I think savagely, seizing the brandy bottle and when Ramona is snoring that night, I slip out of our tent and into Richard’s.
He’s not asleep yet and I ask him if he is still cold, offering the rest of the brandy. He sits up to drink and the blanket slips down. He is wearing his shirt and breeches and I can’t resist running my hands across his chest and down to his waist.
I slide my hand down and grip his erect cock, intending to bring him off, but he stops me and presses a little bottle of gun oil into my hand. I am surprised, as we don’t usually chance this in camp, with the chosen men and others so close and the risk of getting caught.
The army may turn a blind eye to the odd fumble, but this could get us both hanged. God save me, even knowing that, I couldn’t turn him down.
He twists and shucks off his breeches, kneeling at the foot of the bed and I quickly wrestle with my own breeches and free my swollen cock. I prepare him with speed , listening all the while for any footfalls outside and soon I am sheathed to the hilt within him, fisting his cock and trying not to shout out, when I come.
He has his face buried in the bedding and doesn’t make a sound. I feel fierce and powerful, when I come. He is mine. I can give him what he needs and it isn’t this weird stranger with the beguiling smile.
Viggo
I like this man, Sharpe. He is straightforward and honest, a simple man, but clearly brave and I can tell that he has the respect of those they call the “Chosen Men”.
They are a scruffy and apparently undisciplined bunch to the casual eye, but I am too experienced in dealing with fighting men to be fooled. These men would go to hell and back for Sharpe.
That big sergeant, too. It seems that there is a powerful friendship going on there, which transcends their relationship as officer and sergeant. I know that to be unusual in itself, let alone a close friendship between an Irishman and an Englishman.
Sharpe and I talk on the march and I find him to be uneducated, yet intelligent, eager to learn and ask sensible questions. He confides in me that it was his ambition to become an officer, but it is harder than he ever imagined. Having been raised from the ranks, he is looked down on by the officer class as not being a gentleman and the men were at first suspicious of him, because they saw him as not being a “real” officer.
I don’t think that he has confided this in many people and I am pleased and flattered. It is good that we will travel with them for a few days and I am looking forward to getting to know him better.
All the while, I feel the sergeant, Harper watching us. I am not sure how to gain his trust yet, but I admire his fierce loyalty.
Something wakes me in the night and I find it hard to get back to sleep again, because of the cold. I try, but am finally resigned to the fact that my bladder will not let me rest and I reluctantly pull on my boots and my greatcoat and crawl to the flap in the tent.
As I am about to go outside, I hear a rustle of canvas and a scuffle of boots nearby and freeze. I peek cautiously out of the tent and see the bulky form of Harper hurrying away from Sharpe’s tent as quietly as he can.
I smile thoughtfully. So that is the way of it!
Waiting until Harper has disappeared into his own tent, I slip outside and piss, then return before my balls freeze and huddle back into my bedroll.
Now I cannot get back to sleep because of the images in my head and I feel myself swelling beneath my clothes.
I don’t blame Harper one bit. Right now, I would love to share my bedroll with his green eyed officer. But what a chance they are taking! To have a liaison here in the camp, where my eyes might not have been the only ones to see! That smacks of not only bravery but something else – desperation, devotion? I do not know, but I long to find out.
No wonder Harper has no love for me. He sees me as a rival for Sharpe’s attention. And he is right. I am.
While I am musing, my hand has slipped down to my groin and I take myself in hand, thinking of how I am going to get him to myself.
I come, biting my hand to keep silent and drift off to sleep and pleasant dreams.
Morning brings an unexpected visitor, but one known very well to the partisans.
Major Hogan is said to be an engineer, but we know full well that he is an Intelligence Officer and we have worked with him many times, bearing a mutual respect.
He eats a hearty breakfast and then calls Sharpe and me to a private meeting. It seems that he has a mission suitable for two men and he wants us to set out immediately.
Hogan takes an enormous noseful of snuff and sneezes explosively. We recoil a little and he produces a handkerchief the size of a flag, then settles down to tell us what he wants us to do.
It seems that a French engineer has designed an instrument to enable their gunners to find the target more accurately and swiftly. It is based on mathematical principles of triangulation and is called “Le Triomphe”, so assured are they that it will give them victory.
We are to slip into their camp and steal one, so that Hogan and his engineers can test and copy it.
Well, it seems that fate is on my side and I will be getting that time alone with Richard Sharpe! Of course, this being one of Hogan’s missions, there is also a high chance of death, but we must all die one day and I like a challenge, if it means we can drive the French from this land.
The business over, we share a toast with Hogan to the success of our mission and he turns to Sharpe and asks him how he is bearing up after the death of his wife.
Richard hangs his head and mutters something incomprehensible, then Hogan turns to me and commiserates with me for her loss,
“I am sorry for your loss also, Commandante Mortensen.”
Richard jerks his head up and his eyes narrow as he looks at me suspiciously.
Hogan’s manner has made it clear that Teresa was more to me than just one of the partisans. Damn the man! Now Richard is misunderstanding the relationship between us, but before I can explain, he has turned and swept out of the tent.
Sharpe
The next morning I feel sore, but in all the right places and I stretch myself while getting up. Of course this was a stupid thing to do, as much as I needed it, and we are very lucky not to be caught. I wonder why Patrick went along with it; he must have needed it as much as I did in his own way. I won’t let it happen again though, not in the camp anyway.
When I step outside – no Harper bringing me my tea this morning – I am surprised to find that old bastard Hogan by the campfire. He laughs and talks with the men, eating his breakfast as if he is starving and calls me ‘dear boy,’ while he claps my back. He behaves like a visiting, friendly uncle, but I know better than that. Still, I like the bastard. I can’t help myself.
There’s been a tent set up for him, and after breakfast Viggo and I are wanted for a meeting in there. We follow him inside, and sit around a small table with a map already spread out over it. After suffering one of his famous sneezing fits – I hate that poncy snuff thing – he informs us of a special mission he intends the two of us to prepare for.
It sounds dangerous enough, sneaking into the French camp and stealing one of their new inventions, but danger has never kept me from doing anything, and Hogan knows it. Besides, it will give me some time alone with this intriguing man Viggo, and I am not averse to that.
I hear myself stammer when Hogan turns serious, and asks me how I am coping with Teresa’s death. I just don’t feel comfortable talking about it, and I am glad when he lets me off the hook. To my astonishment he turns to Viggo, and talks to him in a way that lets me know there has been more between Teresa and this man than I knew. Anger flares up and I turn around and take my leave,
I instruct Patrick about taking over control when I am away, waving away his plea to take him with me, all the while thinking about Teresa and Viggo. Were they once lovers? And if so, why did Teresa never tell me that? I feel betrayed, and the worst thing is I don’t know who I am angrier with, him or her.
The French camp is at considerable distance from here, which means Viggo and I will both go on horseback. I am glad; I wouldn’t much like walking behind him on horseback right now. In fact I would prefer to go not at all, and I curse inwardly at Hogan who sees us off, his face innocent and blank. Patrick is there too, and our eyes lock for a minute, then we’re off.
I am riding Manuel’s horse, an ill tempered stallion, and for a while he and I have a bit of an argument about who’s riding who here, but I’ve always had a hand with horses, so I win. It also keeps me from talking to Viggo, and that’s good because I don’t feel like it at all. He seems to understand and keeps a distance. In fact the first words we exchange are when it gets dark and we need to camp for the night.
I untie the bedroll on the saddle and we both start looking for wood to get a campfire going. I take care of my horse and then sit down staring at the fire while Viggo takes care of his horse.
He sits next to me while we eat in silence. I flinch when he suddenly puts a hand on my shoulder, and his voice breaks through my thoughts.
“Teresa was my cousin Richard, nothing more that that. I maybe should have told you from the beginning, but I somehow just didn’t. I loved her very much as a relative, but there was nothing between us if that’s what you think.”
I turn my head to look at him, and I find I believe him. It’s an honest face; it’s hard to believe this man would ever tell lies. Unlike you, you cheating bastard, I say to myself.
I nod, not sure what to say, but I feel better when he gets to his feet and fetches a small bottle from his saddlebag. We share the bottle between us, and manage to fall back into conversation quite easily.
It’s very cold again and we decide on getting some sleep. No tents this time of course, and we lay out our bedrolls next to each other. I am not what you would call a blushing flower, but something about him lying so close to me, huddling even closer for warmth, makes me feel flushed.
‘Stop it,’ I tell myself sternly. “Just think about the mission. You’re still upset over Teresa, and it’s making you see things that aren’t there. You’re going to do what’s expected of you, and you’ll live or die. If you survive, you’re going back to pick up your life again. If you’re horny – like you are right now – there’s always a woman to find, or Patrick.”
But it takes a long time to fall asleep, even though I turn on my other side, looking away from him. I don’t want to look at that strong profile surrounded by firelight any more, don’t want to think about how that lithe, but strong body would feel under my hands.
But despite my turned back I still know he isn’t sleeping either.
Harper
I avoid Richard the morning after our little assignation, feeling a bit shy. It’s not the first time he has let me fuck him. It’s always been that way between us, with him under me. It’s what he seems to need sometimes, but we’ve been careful before and never taken such a foolhardy risk in the camp.
He seemed to need it more than usual last night and I didn’t resist. Truth be told, I could never resist giving him whatever he asked me, but last night, I wanted to claim him, remind him that I can take care of him.
Mother of God! That devious bastard, Hogan, has arrived with the dawn and is tucking into breakfast. What does he want this time? Whenever he puts in an appearance, it means trouble for us. I always told Richard that he’s the type of officer who’ll get you killed on purpose.
Sure, I’ve enough to worry about with this new Commandante slinking about, without having to watch his back, because of that owld divil.
I sit with Ramona by the fire and scowl across at Hogan, who waves to me cheerily and raises his mug of tea.
“What is it now, Patrick? You’re muttering again.”
“You know that Hogan, Ramona, so you do. He’s slipperier than a box of oiled eels, that one. He’ll be after sending Richard on some fool’s mission that’ll get him killed.”
“You said he needed a battle. Maybe a dangerous mission will get his mind off things. He’s lucky, Pat, he won’t be killed. Anyway, he’ll have you to look after him and you had better not go getting yourself killed. I won’t allow it!”
I feel better to think that she’s maybe right and I kiss her gratefully, but Hogan drags Richard off to a private meeting and takes this Mortensen with him, so I am not party to any of the discussions and I pace up and down in agitation, until Richard emerges and comes to talk to me.
I am dismayed to find that I’m not to accompany him. He’s to go off alone with this partisan, who I wouldn’t trust farther than I could spit. I argue, but he will have none of it. Hogan has issued his orders and as a matter of honour, Sharpe will do his best to carry out the mission.
My only consolation is that he himself seems now to have shifted in his attitude to El Commandante. Something has changed and I crow a little to myself. I want to tell him again to be careful, but I bite my tongue, judging that in his present mood, my words will not be welcomed.
I get my orders and resign myself to the fact that I will have to stay behind. I don’t have to like it, though. They are to go on horseback and Manuel lends his mount to Richard. I have no choice but to watch them saddle up and leave. As they ride out from the camp, Richard turns and our eyes meet for a moment. I know that he can read in mine the warning I could not speak.
I watch them out of sight and turn away, almost colliding with Hogan’s belly. I had not noticed him standing close behind me.
“Sure he’ll be fine, Patrick, me boy, There’s no reason to fret. They’ll be back in no time.”
“Sir!” I say, not trusting myself to say more.
“Viggo will take just as much care of him as you would, Patrick. Or is that what you’re afraid of?”
I stare at him, then look hurriedly around and see to my relief that nobody else is within earshot.
Adopting the blankest expression I can muster, I say,
“I don’t follow your meaning, Sir. Sorry Sir.”
He claps me on the back and replies,
“I think you do. Can’t have him brooding, Pat. He needs a diversion. By the way, when are you planning to make an honest woman of Ramona?”
TBC
Part 2/5
Sharpe
It’s getting late, more snow is falling and our Spanish guests stay with us for the night. We set up a few extra tents, and an hour later, I finally crawl into my bed. Compared to yesterday I feel so much better, and I wonder what has lightened my mood.
Maybe it’s just the getting back to normal army life again, the march today and the companionship between the men and me. Well, whatever it is, I am grateful. I turn round, and bury my face in the pillow, sinking away in blessed sleep. Just before I do, I think of the sharp angles on the face of that Spanish leader, those eyes, and the way Patrick reacted to him, and then I sleep.
When I step out of my tent next morning to relieve myself, there’s a white blanket of snow covering the ground. There’s a cold wind almost freezing my balls off when I open my breeches and I curse. There’s a chuckle behind me, and I look over my shoulder. It’s Mortensen, obviously run out of his tent for the same reason.
“Good morning Commandante,” I say, fastening my breeches.
“Viggo,” he says with a grin, “my name is Viggo. Can I call you Richard or do you want me to address you as Major Sharpe?”
I look at him and nod in acceptance. “Richard is fine by me. Cold day, isn’t it?”
“It is. But I have seen worse. Manuel and I were talking last night about riding along with you for a few days, to look out for hiding places, would you allow us ?”
“Of course,” I say, “it will be nice having more company,” and I mean it. He’s quite a character and I wouldn’t mind getting to know him a bit better. After all Wellington always tells us to bind with our allies.
The grey eyes look over my shoulder and the grin is back.
“Your sergeant has just stepped inside your tent. I think he spotted us, and he does not look pleased at all. He seems to dislike me for some reason.”
I smile back at him. “Don’t take it personal. Harper is sometimes a bit over- protective, thinks he needs to cover my arse all the time.”
In my tent I find Harper sitting on my camp bed, cradling a steaming mug of tea in his hands. He looks gloomy, and his ‘Good morning, Sir’ is barely audible.
“What’s the matter, Pat? Ramona kicked you out of her bed last night?”
“No Sir,” he says, “though I wouldn’t put it beyond her at the moment. She’s very moody, so she is.”
“It must be hard for her having two big bellies in one bed,” I tease him, but he doesn’t laugh like he normally would.
“I don’t trust him Richard,” he says suddenly, “be careful with him.”
“Who,” I ask, although I know very well who he’s referring to.
“The new Commandante. I don’t like that man, there’s something about him. And he’s not even a proper Spaniard.”
I interrupt him sharply. “You’re here and you’re not a proper Englishman, are you Pat? His men trust him, Teresa trusted him, that’s good enough for me. Now I’ll have no more of this nonsense. He and his men will ride with us for a few days, and I want you to behave. And that’s an order, is that understood?”
“Aye Sir,” he says and he stands up to walk out. I sigh and lay a hand on his shoulder.
“Come on Pat, he’ll be around for just a couple of days, and he seems nice enough to me.”
“If you say so Sir,” he says and then he’s gone.
It’s a cold and grey day, and not an easy march. The King’s shilling is not enough for most of us to have decent boots, even though Harris does his best to keep mine in shape a little at least. Still the snow is seeping through, and all in all it’s miserable. I spend a long time walking next to Viggo’s horse, we talk, and at least that’s distracting. I can still feel Harper’s eyes burning a hole in my back, but I ignore that.
Hours later I am in my bed and finally warm, when I hear someone come in. It’s too dark to see a face, but the big silhouette gives him away.
“What is it Pat, can’t you sleep.” I whisper?
“I just wanted to know if you are still cold. I’ve brought some brandy.”
I accept the bottle and sit up a little, allowing the blanket to drop down while I drink.
His eyes glitter in the dark, and I feel his hand gliding over my body. My eyes close, and I arch into the grip of that big calloused hand. It’s good, but it’s not enough.
I reach out to grab the little bottle of musket oil from the floor, and press it into Harper’s hand. I roll off the bed, slide out of my clothes and kneel in front of the bed, bracing myself. The bed won’t carry us both, not when we’re fucking, and this will have to do.
I hear the rustle of clothes, and feel his warm breath on my back when he starts preparing me quickly. Patrick is a big man in every possible way, and I bite back a cry when he starts working in his cock, but we both know I can handle it.
Soon he’s fucking me seriously, and I put my face in the blankets to muffle the noises I make. Patrick’s hand closes around my cock, stroking it and I jerk.
But it’s not Patrick I think of when I finally come.
Harper
The Spanish partisans are to stay with us tonight and although they tell us they are happy to sleep in the open, we put up the spare tents. To be sure, they are hardy men, but it is starting to snow again and they may as well take shelter, when we have it.
I keep my eyes firmly on that Commandante of theirs. I can’t be putting me finger on what it is about the man, but I just don’t trust him. Richard seems to be impressed by whatever they are talking about and glares at my disapproval.
We sleep, finally and in the morning, I see that man follow Richard into the trees, when he goes to take his morning piss and I hear them laughing together.
Grouching at Ramona, and making her eyes flash, I take my tea and a mug for my Major and wait for him in his tent. When he arrives, his mood seems lighter and though that should cheer me up, it makes my mood worse.
He tries to josh me out of it, but I am having none of it. I tell him that I don’t trust the man. It’s not even as if he is a proper Spaniard.
His eyes snap and he answers me cuttingly, telling me that I’m not a proper Englishman, but I’m here. He’s angry with me and he tells me that the Commandante and his men will be riding with us for a while, ordering me to behave.
“Aye, Sir”, I say bitterly and get up to leave.
He lays his hand on my shoulder in a conciliatory way, speaks softly and calls me Pat, telling me this man seems nice and will be around only a couple of days. Nice is it? I keep my distance and answer him formally, turning on my heel and leaving, before I say something we will both regret.
As I moodily return to my tent, I pass the Commandante’s camp fire and he looks up, his mouth curving into a smile. He knows I see through his smarm and he is quietly laughing at me. Arse!
The march today is miserable, cold and snow on the ground. Richard marches ahead, walking by that man’s horse and keeping up a conversation with him. The men are silent and fearful of my bad mood. Even Hagman doesn’t sing today.
I am still morose, when we pitch camp for the night and even Ramona’s soup can’t raise my mood.
“What in God’s name is the matter with you, Patrick?”
I decide to be honest and seek her support.
“Sure it’s that new Commandante who’s taken Teresa’s place. There’s something about him I don’t trust. I’ve tried to warn Richard, but he doesn’t see it.”
She doesn’t see it either. Says he seems a proper man to her and like Richard, tells me that Teresa trusted him and so should I.
To hell with the lot of them, I think savagely, seizing the brandy bottle and when Ramona is snoring that night, I slip out of our tent and into Richard’s.
He’s not asleep yet and I ask him if he is still cold, offering the rest of the brandy. He sits up to drink and the blanket slips down. He is wearing his shirt and breeches and I can’t resist running my hands across his chest and down to his waist.
I slide my hand down and grip his erect cock, intending to bring him off, but he stops me and presses a little bottle of gun oil into my hand. I am surprised, as we don’t usually chance this in camp, with the chosen men and others so close and the risk of getting caught.
The army may turn a blind eye to the odd fumble, but this could get us both hanged. God save me, even knowing that, I couldn’t turn him down.
He twists and shucks off his breeches, kneeling at the foot of the bed and I quickly wrestle with my own breeches and free my swollen cock. I prepare him with speed , listening all the while for any footfalls outside and soon I am sheathed to the hilt within him, fisting his cock and trying not to shout out, when I come.
He has his face buried in the bedding and doesn’t make a sound. I feel fierce and powerful, when I come. He is mine. I can give him what he needs and it isn’t this weird stranger with the beguiling smile.
Viggo
I like this man, Sharpe. He is straightforward and honest, a simple man, but clearly brave and I can tell that he has the respect of those they call the “Chosen Men”.
They are a scruffy and apparently undisciplined bunch to the casual eye, but I am too experienced in dealing with fighting men to be fooled. These men would go to hell and back for Sharpe.
That big sergeant, too. It seems that there is a powerful friendship going on there, which transcends their relationship as officer and sergeant. I know that to be unusual in itself, let alone a close friendship between an Irishman and an Englishman.
Sharpe and I talk on the march and I find him to be uneducated, yet intelligent, eager to learn and ask sensible questions. He confides in me that it was his ambition to become an officer, but it is harder than he ever imagined. Having been raised from the ranks, he is looked down on by the officer class as not being a gentleman and the men were at first suspicious of him, because they saw him as not being a “real” officer.
I don’t think that he has confided this in many people and I am pleased and flattered. It is good that we will travel with them for a few days and I am looking forward to getting to know him better.
All the while, I feel the sergeant, Harper watching us. I am not sure how to gain his trust yet, but I admire his fierce loyalty.
Something wakes me in the night and I find it hard to get back to sleep again, because of the cold. I try, but am finally resigned to the fact that my bladder will not let me rest and I reluctantly pull on my boots and my greatcoat and crawl to the flap in the tent.
As I am about to go outside, I hear a rustle of canvas and a scuffle of boots nearby and freeze. I peek cautiously out of the tent and see the bulky form of Harper hurrying away from Sharpe’s tent as quietly as he can.
I smile thoughtfully. So that is the way of it!
Waiting until Harper has disappeared into his own tent, I slip outside and piss, then return before my balls freeze and huddle back into my bedroll.
Now I cannot get back to sleep because of the images in my head and I feel myself swelling beneath my clothes.
I don’t blame Harper one bit. Right now, I would love to share my bedroll with his green eyed officer. But what a chance they are taking! To have a liaison here in the camp, where my eyes might not have been the only ones to see! That smacks of not only bravery but something else – desperation, devotion? I do not know, but I long to find out.
No wonder Harper has no love for me. He sees me as a rival for Sharpe’s attention. And he is right. I am.
While I am musing, my hand has slipped down to my groin and I take myself in hand, thinking of how I am going to get him to myself.
I come, biting my hand to keep silent and drift off to sleep and pleasant dreams.
Morning brings an unexpected visitor, but one known very well to the partisans.
Major Hogan is said to be an engineer, but we know full well that he is an Intelligence Officer and we have worked with him many times, bearing a mutual respect.
He eats a hearty breakfast and then calls Sharpe and me to a private meeting. It seems that he has a mission suitable for two men and he wants us to set out immediately.
Hogan takes an enormous noseful of snuff and sneezes explosively. We recoil a little and he produces a handkerchief the size of a flag, then settles down to tell us what he wants us to do.
It seems that a French engineer has designed an instrument to enable their gunners to find the target more accurately and swiftly. It is based on mathematical principles of triangulation and is called “Le Triomphe”, so assured are they that it will give them victory.
We are to slip into their camp and steal one, so that Hogan and his engineers can test and copy it.
Well, it seems that fate is on my side and I will be getting that time alone with Richard Sharpe! Of course, this being one of Hogan’s missions, there is also a high chance of death, but we must all die one day and I like a challenge, if it means we can drive the French from this land.
The business over, we share a toast with Hogan to the success of our mission and he turns to Sharpe and asks him how he is bearing up after the death of his wife.
Richard hangs his head and mutters something incomprehensible, then Hogan turns to me and commiserates with me for her loss,
“I am sorry for your loss also, Commandante Mortensen.”
Richard jerks his head up and his eyes narrow as he looks at me suspiciously.
Hogan’s manner has made it clear that Teresa was more to me than just one of the partisans. Damn the man! Now Richard is misunderstanding the relationship between us, but before I can explain, he has turned and swept out of the tent.
Sharpe
The next morning I feel sore, but in all the right places and I stretch myself while getting up. Of course this was a stupid thing to do, as much as I needed it, and we are very lucky not to be caught. I wonder why Patrick went along with it; he must have needed it as much as I did in his own way. I won’t let it happen again though, not in the camp anyway.
When I step outside – no Harper bringing me my tea this morning – I am surprised to find that old bastard Hogan by the campfire. He laughs and talks with the men, eating his breakfast as if he is starving and calls me ‘dear boy,’ while he claps my back. He behaves like a visiting, friendly uncle, but I know better than that. Still, I like the bastard. I can’t help myself.
There’s been a tent set up for him, and after breakfast Viggo and I are wanted for a meeting in there. We follow him inside, and sit around a small table with a map already spread out over it. After suffering one of his famous sneezing fits – I hate that poncy snuff thing – he informs us of a special mission he intends the two of us to prepare for.
It sounds dangerous enough, sneaking into the French camp and stealing one of their new inventions, but danger has never kept me from doing anything, and Hogan knows it. Besides, it will give me some time alone with this intriguing man Viggo, and I am not averse to that.
I hear myself stammer when Hogan turns serious, and asks me how I am coping with Teresa’s death. I just don’t feel comfortable talking about it, and I am glad when he lets me off the hook. To my astonishment he turns to Viggo, and talks to him in a way that lets me know there has been more between Teresa and this man than I knew. Anger flares up and I turn around and take my leave,
I instruct Patrick about taking over control when I am away, waving away his plea to take him with me, all the while thinking about Teresa and Viggo. Were they once lovers? And if so, why did Teresa never tell me that? I feel betrayed, and the worst thing is I don’t know who I am angrier with, him or her.
The French camp is at considerable distance from here, which means Viggo and I will both go on horseback. I am glad; I wouldn’t much like walking behind him on horseback right now. In fact I would prefer to go not at all, and I curse inwardly at Hogan who sees us off, his face innocent and blank. Patrick is there too, and our eyes lock for a minute, then we’re off.
I am riding Manuel’s horse, an ill tempered stallion, and for a while he and I have a bit of an argument about who’s riding who here, but I’ve always had a hand with horses, so I win. It also keeps me from talking to Viggo, and that’s good because I don’t feel like it at all. He seems to understand and keeps a distance. In fact the first words we exchange are when it gets dark and we need to camp for the night.
I untie the bedroll on the saddle and we both start looking for wood to get a campfire going. I take care of my horse and then sit down staring at the fire while Viggo takes care of his horse.
He sits next to me while we eat in silence. I flinch when he suddenly puts a hand on my shoulder, and his voice breaks through my thoughts.
“Teresa was my cousin Richard, nothing more that that. I maybe should have told you from the beginning, but I somehow just didn’t. I loved her very much as a relative, but there was nothing between us if that’s what you think.”
I turn my head to look at him, and I find I believe him. It’s an honest face; it’s hard to believe this man would ever tell lies. Unlike you, you cheating bastard, I say to myself.
I nod, not sure what to say, but I feel better when he gets to his feet and fetches a small bottle from his saddlebag. We share the bottle between us, and manage to fall back into conversation quite easily.
It’s very cold again and we decide on getting some sleep. No tents this time of course, and we lay out our bedrolls next to each other. I am not what you would call a blushing flower, but something about him lying so close to me, huddling even closer for warmth, makes me feel flushed.
‘Stop it,’ I tell myself sternly. “Just think about the mission. You’re still upset over Teresa, and it’s making you see things that aren’t there. You’re going to do what’s expected of you, and you’ll live or die. If you survive, you’re going back to pick up your life again. If you’re horny – like you are right now – there’s always a woman to find, or Patrick.”
But it takes a long time to fall asleep, even though I turn on my other side, looking away from him. I don’t want to look at that strong profile surrounded by firelight any more, don’t want to think about how that lithe, but strong body would feel under my hands.
But despite my turned back I still know he isn’t sleeping either.
Harper
I avoid Richard the morning after our little assignation, feeling a bit shy. It’s not the first time he has let me fuck him. It’s always been that way between us, with him under me. It’s what he seems to need sometimes, but we’ve been careful before and never taken such a foolhardy risk in the camp.
He seemed to need it more than usual last night and I didn’t resist. Truth be told, I could never resist giving him whatever he asked me, but last night, I wanted to claim him, remind him that I can take care of him.
Mother of God! That devious bastard, Hogan, has arrived with the dawn and is tucking into breakfast. What does he want this time? Whenever he puts in an appearance, it means trouble for us. I always told Richard that he’s the type of officer who’ll get you killed on purpose.
Sure, I’ve enough to worry about with this new Commandante slinking about, without having to watch his back, because of that owld divil.
I sit with Ramona by the fire and scowl across at Hogan, who waves to me cheerily and raises his mug of tea.
“What is it now, Patrick? You’re muttering again.”
“You know that Hogan, Ramona, so you do. He’s slipperier than a box of oiled eels, that one. He’ll be after sending Richard on some fool’s mission that’ll get him killed.”
“You said he needed a battle. Maybe a dangerous mission will get his mind off things. He’s lucky, Pat, he won’t be killed. Anyway, he’ll have you to look after him and you had better not go getting yourself killed. I won’t allow it!”
I feel better to think that she’s maybe right and I kiss her gratefully, but Hogan drags Richard off to a private meeting and takes this Mortensen with him, so I am not party to any of the discussions and I pace up and down in agitation, until Richard emerges and comes to talk to me.
I am dismayed to find that I’m not to accompany him. He’s to go off alone with this partisan, who I wouldn’t trust farther than I could spit. I argue, but he will have none of it. Hogan has issued his orders and as a matter of honour, Sharpe will do his best to carry out the mission.
My only consolation is that he himself seems now to have shifted in his attitude to El Commandante. Something has changed and I crow a little to myself. I want to tell him again to be careful, but I bite my tongue, judging that in his present mood, my words will not be welcomed.
I get my orders and resign myself to the fact that I will have to stay behind. I don’t have to like it, though. They are to go on horseback and Manuel lends his mount to Richard. I have no choice but to watch them saddle up and leave. As they ride out from the camp, Richard turns and our eyes meet for a moment. I know that he can read in mine the warning I could not speak.
I watch them out of sight and turn away, almost colliding with Hogan’s belly. I had not noticed him standing close behind me.
“Sure he’ll be fine, Patrick, me boy, There’s no reason to fret. They’ll be back in no time.”
“Sir!” I say, not trusting myself to say more.
“Viggo will take just as much care of him as you would, Patrick. Or is that what you’re afraid of?”
I stare at him, then look hurriedly around and see to my relief that nobody else is within earshot.
Adopting the blankest expression I can muster, I say,
“I don’t follow your meaning, Sir. Sorry Sir.”
He claps me on the back and replies,
“I think you do. Can’t have him brooding, Pat. He needs a diversion. By the way, when are you planning to make an honest woman of Ramona?”
TBC
no subject
Date: 2008-03-06 10:58 am (UTC)But it’s not Patrick I think of when I finally come.
He is mine. I can give him what he needs
and it begins!
no subject
Date: 2008-03-06 09:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-06 03:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-06 09:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-06 06:12 pm (UTC)Looking forward to the next chapter - thank you!
no subject
Date: 2008-03-06 09:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-06 11:55 pm (UTC)And it was more than worth the wait. The characters are spot on. I can hear it in my head in all the right voices.
And I can't wait to read more!
*HUGS* Thank you for writing this!!!
no subject
Date: 2008-03-07 12:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-07 01:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-07 02:34 am (UTC)“Viggo will take just as much care of him as you would, Patrick. Or is that what you’re afraid of?”
Poor Patrick.
no subject
Date: 2008-03-07 12:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-07 01:17 pm (UTC)“Viggo will take just as much care of him as you would, Patrick. Or is that what you’re afraid of?”" Oh that Hogan's a 'stirrrer' !!
I love the way you're captured the voices in this one; you can just hear them thinking too much!!