Triangulation 3/5
Mar. 7th, 2008 02:30 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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rugbytackleTitle : Triangulation 3/5
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 parts : 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 parts : here
Triangulation
Part 3/5
Viggo
We ride out of the camp in silence, watched by my comrades and his. He turns his head once to look at his big, Irish sergeant and then we are away.
I am aware that a screen has come between us since Hogan spoke and of course, I want to explain to this man, who seems hot-headed and quick to spring to judgement, about my relationship to Teresa.
It can wait, though, until we stop for the night. For now, I need to concentrate on our path through the mountains. I do not know this terrain as well as Teresa did and I also need to consider how we are going to get into the French camp. I speak French well enough to pass for a Frenchman, if we can get hold of two uniforms.
Richard is occupied in a battle of wills with Manuel’s horse, Caballero, who resents being lent out to this upstart and gives him plenty to think about for the first couple of hours, until they reach a kind of uneasy truce. Gradually though, Richard wins the horse’s trust. I need to win his back as soon as we camp.
Finally, it is growing dark and I rein in Hidalgo, when we find a suitably sheltered spot. We hobble the horses and attend to their needs, search for firewood and make our campfire.
Sharing out our food, we eat in silence, until I deem that he has had long enough to brood. I put my hand on his shoulder and tell him that Teresa was my cousin and that was all, much as I loved her.
His eyes rake my face until he finally seems satisfied with what he sees there. He nods, acknowledging that he believes me and I go to my saddle bag to get out the bottle of brandy I brought.
With the help of the glow from the fire and the brandy, we fall into our previous easy companionship and I tell him of my Spanish childhood with Teresa and the things we used to get up to, managing to make him smile. He tells me of his childhood, which was harsh and cruel, with none of the privileges or comforts of ours. I begin to understand more about this man and admire his gift for survival.
I admire a lot more about him too, but I need to tread carefully.
Finally we get ourselves into our bedrolls to sleep, lying close to the fire and to each other. It is bitterly cold, though thankfully not snowing and sleep eludes me. He lies with his back to me, but I know that he is also awake.
I speak to him softly,
“Richard, are you cold?”
“Yes, but I’ve been colder.”
“You could come closer. If we huddled together, we could both use both blankets.”
“I’m not sure that would be proper, Viggo.”
“It would be practical and as for being proper, we are fully clothed and anyway, who else would know?”
He rolls over to regard me, then unwraps himself from his blanket and kneels up, waiting for me to unwrap myself. I do so and stir up the fire, adding a couple more branches to it.
We arrange ourselves next to each other and put both blankets over us, which makes an immediate difference. To keep the blankets in place, we have to press out bodies close together and he turns his back to me again, so that I can spoon against him.
I feel him tense and know that he can feel my erect member pressing into him, but he does not draw away. I put my arm round him and deliberately brush the front of his breeches in doing so. He is as hard as I am and he gasps audibly.
“It doesn’t seem as if there is much chance of sleep in our current situation, Richard. What would Harper do to help you?”
His whole body stiffens and he hisses at me in the dark,
“What do you mean?”
“I saw him leaving your tent last night.”
“Fuck!”
“You can trust me, Richard. I won’t tell anybody. I just wondered, as he’s not here, if I could help you.”
I slide my hand down the front of his breeches, which are a tight fit and just about manage to grasp his cock. He doesn’t move or try to stop me, so I take it that he wants this.
“Unfasten your breeches,” I whisper.
He twists his head round to look at me.
“Is this blackmail, because you saw Harper and you have something on me? Because if it is, you can be damned.”
I release his cock and withdraw my hand, letting it rest on his belly, beneath his tunic.
“No. I would never do that. It would be dishonourable. I told you that I would never tell anybody. I mentioned Harper only to indicate that I was aware of certain ……interests we share.”
After a moment’s pause, he turns to face me, so that my hand keeps contact with his body, but slides down to his hip.
“Then we can help each other.”
Sharpe
I know it’s not really a good idea, when Viggo suggests we should huddle together and share blankets and body warmth. It’s sensible of course, and he looks back at me innocently, when I search his face. I am not so sure it will make me fall asleep easier though, but I have no good argument to refuse.
As soon as we are pressed close together I feel his not so innocent, stiff cock press against my arse and I tense. I am no better state myself, that’s why I turned my back to him in the first place, but obviously to no avail.
His arm around me and a hand stroking my body lightly make things even worse. I am quite upset and curse when he tells me has seen Harper leaving my tent. I knew that it was a stupid thing to do, and it looks as if Viggo is more or less using it against me. None of this seems to depress my cock though, which jerks happily in his now firm grip.
I tell him I won’t let him blackmail me, but I relax when he assures me that’s not his intention. And damned, but that man’s hand on my skin feels good.
“Then we can help each other,” I say, while I turn around to face him, my hand sliding in between us, fumbling with his breeches. We are so close I can feel his breath over my face, and his moustache tickles my cheek. Between the two of us we manage to open our breeches and I wrap my hand around both cocks, rubbing them against each other slowly, delivering a delightful friction.
I smirk when I hear him moan, not much left of the proud Commandante now, but I gasp when his hand closes over mine, quickening the pace. He buries his face in my neck when he comes with a low growl, and I arch up once more and shoot over our joined hands.
Once I get my breath back, I disentangle myself from him to pull some grass from the ground, and wipe us clean as much as possible. We don’t talk, I just turn my to back to him again, and this time I sleep almost immediately, after pushing away the image of Harper’s accusing face to the back of my brain. This was only once, I tell myself.
The next morning, after a meagre breakfast we are on our way early. We are both not exactly sure how far away we are from the French. Luckily the horse seems to agree with me more, and I kind of enjoy myself riding instead of walking for a change.
Early in the afternoon, when we ride up a hill, we almost stumble upon the French camp beneath us in the valley. We draw back and find a small secluded area between a few rocks, where we can wait until it gets dark. Viggo plans to go out on foot and try to capture two soldiers on piquet duty, so we can take their uniforms. Not a very detailed plan, but there’s nothing more we can do, since there’s only the two of us.
Of course it’s a dangerous mission, like all missions Hogan has sent me on, but so far it isn’t too bad. It will be great if Viggo and I succeed, and perhaps Nosey will be so pleased with me that he will grant me another promotion. On the other hand we might die, but I have managed to live so far, so I hope my luck will last.
We see to the horses, and then settle down, waiting. I’ve managed to shoot a rabbit on our way here, and since the French won’t be able to see the smoke this high up, we light a fire to cook it. Viggo goes away for a while to have a look around, and see where to go down the hill tonight.
I just sit and tend to our meal, turning the meat every now and then. By the time Viggo returns we can eat, and it’s a real treat after our small rations of the last 24 hours. We talk and take our time eating until the last bits of meat have disappeared. Despite our different backgrounds we seem amazingly at ease with each other.
We still have about an hour before it will get dark, and I rummage through my belongings looking for a piece of cloth and my bottle of musket oil. There’s a bit of a tension between us now, and I need a distraction from the thoughts I get every time I look at him. I can feel Viggo’s eyes on me, even as I busy myself cleaning my rifle, and when I finally look up he’s smiling at me. There’s a hint of a challenge in his voice when he breaks the silence.
“So Richard, now we’re fed, and you’ve cleaned your rifle, what shall we do now to bide time?”
I grin at him, pleased to know I wasn’t the only one having those thoughts.
“I don’t know, any suggestions on your side? “I ask, while he stands up to sit down beside me. He cups my face and then his hand follows a slow path down to my collarbone, slipping inside my jacket.
“Let’s forge a nice Anglo-Spanish bond here Sean,” he says, and when he starts pushing me down on my back, I go willingly.
Viggo
I wake refreshed, having slept well after our little fumble last night.
It fulfilled a need and yet left me wanting more. Now I really begin to understand what my cousin found in this man. He is rough and uneducated, it is true, but he has a kind of inner nobility and natural grace, with a sense of danger about him. A fine culo, too, I can’t help noticing as he remounts his horse, the fabric of his breeches stretching tightly over his taut buttocks.
I feel warm, in spite of the cold, misty dawn.
We ride in silence again, this time because we do not know the exact position of the French, but in the afternoon, we travel up a steep rise and see their camp nestling in the Valley below.
My powerful spyglass allows me to count the piquets they have posted and I tell Richard that I need to go and reconnoitre, to plan our path down the hillside, once it is dark. We will need to get two French uniforms to allow us to move freely in the French camp.
It will take boldness and not a little insanity, but the blood thrums in my veins at the thought of the danger and it will be even more exciting to do this with Richard beside me.
I return to find that Richard has roasted the rabbit he shot on the way here and is sitting by the fire, turning it on a spit he has fashioned from sticks. He has his back to me and sits, head bowed, exposing his neck. I can see the way his dirty blonde hair curls above his collar and his delicate ears, unusual in such a masculine man. My mouth waters.
He is still on guard and as I approach as silently as I know how, he turns in a flash, crouching, knife in hand and teeth bared, ready to fight. Magnifico!
He relaxes and smiles, when he sees me and I join him by the fire. I enjoy eating the tender meat, a more substantial meal than we have had since setting out, and I also enjoy watching him eat, his sharp white teeth tearing the meat from the bone, juice running down his chin and tempting me to lean in and lick it off.
I restrain myself with difficulty and we talk again, in whispers this time, so as not to alert the enemy below, then when the meal is over and we have cleaned or hands on the scrubby grass and drunk deeply from our water canteens, he gets a cloth and a small bottle of oil and begins to clean his rifle.
With the anticipation of tonight’s mission and the things he does to me, I am wound up tighter than a watch spring. I am sure that he is spinning out the cleaning, even though I suspect his thoughts are running like mine. I have to find out.
“So Richard, now we’re fed, and you’ve cleaned your rifle, what shall we do now to bide time?”
He grins back and asks me for suggestions. Well I am not short of those, so I cross to his side of the fire and cup his face with my hand, running the other inside his tunic.
Suddenly impatient, I push him over onto his back and he doesn’t resist me. I rest my weight on him, pressing him into the ground and grind my erect cock against his.
On an impulse, I lean in and kiss him, fiercely. His eyes widen in surprise and he frowns, so I pull my head back.
“What are you doing? I’m no wench,” he hisses at me.
“Evidente!” I roll my hips against his hardness, making him groan.
When I kiss him again, he pauses for a moment, then kisses me back furiously. So this is something he doesn’t share with Harper and I smile inwardly.
We break, panting and he thrusts the little bottle of oil in my hand and makes to roll over onto his belly.
“No,” I say sternly, “like this. You will not hide your face from me.”
He is surprised, but he lies there and watches me, as I pull off his boots and breeches and release his swollen cock. He shivers a little, but it is not only because of the cold.
I reach out for the folded blankets and indicate that he should raise his hips, so that I can wad them underneath him, giving me the angle I need.
I stroke the silken skin of his inner thighs first and he sighs, then I need to taste him and I dip my head and lick round the head of his weeping cock, eliciting a hastily stifled curse.
Chuckling, I tear off my bandana and stuff it into his mouth, lest the noises he makes should echo down into the valley. We don’t want an audience of crapauds up here.
I pour some musket oil on my fingers and begin circling the entrance to his body, soon slipping first one finger and then a second into him. He makes muffled noises and his hips buck up to meet me.
Pulling up his long, pale legs, I put them over my shoulders and then I can wait no longer and I am surging into his body, thrusting and pounding, gripping his cock and taking him with me as I spiral to my climax, burying my head in his neck and biting down, as I come.
Mierda!
Sharpe
I snap at him when he kisses me as if I am some girl, but he just laughs, jokes with me and does it again. This time I give in to that sinful mouth, as it feels so good. I’d beat up every other man who would have the bloody nerve to try that, but with him it’s different, and I pull him in even closer, our tongues fighting a heated battle.
When we come up for air I grab bottle of musket oil, and hand it to him. Fumbling with my breeches I start rolling over, when he stops me, and almost commands me to stay as I am. I am not so sure I like this, but I seem unable to disobey, even allowing him to undress me.
He props the folded blankets under me, and as exposed as I feel, vulnerable under his eyes, I still spread my legs for him. He bends down, caressing the inside of my legs, and something inside me breaks, sending shivers up my spine.
I curse when his mouth descends on my cock, and I don’t resist when he pulls off his bandana and stuffs it into my mouth. I know I won’t be able to keep quiet, and we would make an easy target if the French should find us like this.
Thoughts about the French, the mission and the rest of the bloody world in general disappear when he starts working his slicked fingers inside me. I no longer care what I look like either when he puts my legs over his shoulders, and starts pounding into me, his hand firmly stroking my cock.
I almost choke on Viggo’s bandana when I come, but I guess that’s better than having my arse stabbed by a French bayonet. Viggo has slumped down on me, and only slowly, almost reluctantly lifts my legs and disentangles himself from me.
I clean myself and get dressed, carefully avoiding Viggo’s eyes. Now that it’s done, I feel a bit awkward, but Viggo pulls me down next to him, throws an arm over me, and we just lie there for a while. For the first time in days I feel at peace with the world and myself, and I have to fight to not fall asleep.
When daylight is fading, we get up and gather the things we need to take with us. We tend to the horses, because we are not sure how long we will be gone. Of course this mission is rather hopeless, and we are doomed to die, but I am still eager to go. Only a few days ago I didn’t care if I would live or die. Without Teresa the world seemed empty, but as harsh as it may sound, I do care now. I want to live, and I simply have to believe I will survive, and so will Viggo. I am a soldier, I’ve never been anything else, and that’s what I am good at. I can cope with death and loss, as I have coped with it before.
I follow Viggo down the path he picked out for us earlier, my eyes appreciatively resting on his backside. I grin when I tell myself that if we, when we come out of this alive it will be my pleasure to bugger him for a change. I’ve never felt that urge before, but I wouldn’t mind giving it a try with him.
By the time we are down, it’s completely dark and only the glow of the distant campfires allows us to see anything. We slowly make progress towards the camp, hiding and crouching behind bushes and rocks.
We both freeze when we hear footsteps very nearby. We just wait until we are sure it’s only one of them, and then I rise up from behind the rock and get my arm tightly around his throat to prevent him from crying out. A sharp twist and he goes down without a sound.
Viggo and I are about the same height and build, so I just undress, and put on the hated French uniform, hiding my own behind the rocks, while Viggo slides away in the dark looking for another victim. I drag the dead body behind another group of rocks, far away to not been found, and then go after Viggo, who I find already busy stripping a fallen soldier from his clothes.
A short while later we are both dressed as frogs, and I grin when I look at Viggo, the moustache really suiting the French clothes. He grins back carelessly, and for a moment it’s as if we are just two schoolboys enjoying a reckless game. His hand on my shoulder he whispers close to my ear, and then playfully nips it,
“Look at that large tent. There seem to be a lot of guards around it. I think that’s where they keep their arms, ammunition and what we are looking for. Now if we, for whatever reason, are stopped, don’t say a word. I speak French well enough to pass for one, and I will try and talk us out of it.”
For a moment our eyes lock, and then he nods.
“Let’s go. I am glad we are in this together. Good luck, Richard.”
Viggo
That was a pleasant interlude this afternoon and a fine prelude to a fight.
Afterwards, Richard avoids looking at me almost shyly, blushing charmingly, when he catches my eye. He is a man of fascinating contradictions. When he lay under me, spreading himself wantonly and meeting my passion equally, who would have expected he would blush like a maiden afterwards?
He is utterly captivating and I pull him down to lie beside me, throwing my arm round him and enjoying the warmth of his body. He doesn’t resist me, so I think that our activities were as satisfying to him as they were to me. We do not speak, but are comfortable together.
As dusk falls, we prepare and set off down the path, me leading and him following. The French custom is to change the guard at nightfall, so by the time we reach the camp, the new contingent will be on duty and it will be hours before anyone misses any of them.
All my senses are heightened and my body tingles with anticipation. We are going into danger and possible death, but it is exhilarating and although we have just met, there is nobody I would rather have by my side at such a moment than Richard.
Moving as silently as we can, we soon come upon the first sentry and Richard snaps his neck before he can make a sound. While he hides the body and dresses in the uniform, I glide off into the darkness and find my own soldier, a garrotte of fine wire in my hand.
My target is taken completely unawares, as I thrust my knee into his back, whip the garrotte around his throat and twist. There is a soft hiss and I lower him quietly to the ground, losing no time in stripping him and putting on his uniform.
So far so good. That was childishly simple. I have heard that Sharpe has a reputation among the men for being lucky and that is valued more by them than courage or fighting skills, although he has those in abundance. Maybe he is going to be my lucky charm on this mission.
We grin at each other, once we are dressed as perfect Frenchmen.
As we approach the camp, my eye falls on a tent, larger than the others and set back a little. It is heavily guarded. It would be my guess that it is where our prize is to be found.
I whisper in Richard’s ear to point it out and remind him to remain silent if we are challenged. I will try to talk our way out of things. One final look into his eyes, a wish for luck and we are away.
It is evident, without us talking of it, that we need a diversion in order to be able to get at that tent and we have brought a supply of grenades with us. We stride confidently about the camp, keen not to attract attention by any hesitation.
The men are gathered around their campfires eating their evening meal and drinking Spanish brandy, about which they are making coarse remarks and unfavourable comparisons with their cognac. Cerdos!
They will be driven out of Spain and will wish they had stuck to drinking their own piss before we are finished.
We pass a tent, from inside which we hear laughter and the clink of fine crystal. The officers are also dining, it seems.
Having made a circuit of the camp we slip around the back of the tents and plant a series of grenades, with long fuses, twisted around an even longer master fuse, so that we have to light only that one. Richard takes particular satisfaction in putting a row of grenades behind the officers’ tent. He has apparently suffered from not being considered aristocratic enough and this is revenge on all officers, British as well as French.
Our preparations complete, we crouch close together in the trees and I light the fuse.
I hold my breath, aware of Richard’s body pressed close to mine from shoulder to thigh.
With a deafening bang, the first grenades explode, throwing a shower of orange and red sparks against the dark blue velvet curtain of the night sky. The next follow, and the next, soon starting a series of fires.
There are cries of,
“Les bombes incendies“, “De l’eau, de l’eau”, “Au secours”, “Nous sommes attaqués”.
Men are running in all directions and in the smoke and confusion we head for the big tent. As we hoped, some of the guards have run to help with the fires, leaving only two. We take one each, killing them silently, while they are distracted by the fires and slip inside the tent.
As we guessed, this tent is used to store ammunition and guns, so they will be anxious to keep the fires well away. We hurriedly look around, our task made easier by the light from the flames and my eyes fall upon a table with some charts and a narrow, polished wooden box.
Indicating to Richard to keep watch, I take out my knife and force the catch. The lid springs open and I see a kind of brass frame with a compass inset and various markings engraved around the edge. This must be what we are seeking and I snap the lid shut and stuff the box inside my tunic, tugging at Richard’s sleeve to tell him we have our prize.
I slash open the back of the tent and we set the last grenade then set off at a run away from the camp before the ammunition goes up.
We have nearly reached the trees at the foot of the hill, when we hear a rough shout. At least one of the sentries has remained at his post and I turn as he fires. Something punches me hard in the chest and I fall backwards, just as I see that he is not alone and his compatriot also fires.
The sky lights up in a blaze of hell and the two men disappear, then the noise and the shockwave of the explosion hit us. The ammunition has blown up.
I call to Richard and start to crawl away into the trees as quickly as I can. My chest feels as if somebody is sitting on it, my ears are ringing and it is hard to breath, but I know that I am alive because the bullet hit “Le Triomphe” in its box and was deflected. I laugh at the irony and turn to make sure that Richard is still with me.
He is crawling after me and his breathing is laboured.
“Richard, we can stand now that we have the cover of the trees and hurry back to our camp. The mayhem we have caused will keep them too busy to follow for a while.”
He looks up at me, his face white and taut with pain and with horror, I see the blood seeping through his French uniform.
TBC
Part 3/5
Viggo
We ride out of the camp in silence, watched by my comrades and his. He turns his head once to look at his big, Irish sergeant and then we are away.
I am aware that a screen has come between us since Hogan spoke and of course, I want to explain to this man, who seems hot-headed and quick to spring to judgement, about my relationship to Teresa.
It can wait, though, until we stop for the night. For now, I need to concentrate on our path through the mountains. I do not know this terrain as well as Teresa did and I also need to consider how we are going to get into the French camp. I speak French well enough to pass for a Frenchman, if we can get hold of two uniforms.
Richard is occupied in a battle of wills with Manuel’s horse, Caballero, who resents being lent out to this upstart and gives him plenty to think about for the first couple of hours, until they reach a kind of uneasy truce. Gradually though, Richard wins the horse’s trust. I need to win his back as soon as we camp.
Finally, it is growing dark and I rein in Hidalgo, when we find a suitably sheltered spot. We hobble the horses and attend to their needs, search for firewood and make our campfire.
Sharing out our food, we eat in silence, until I deem that he has had long enough to brood. I put my hand on his shoulder and tell him that Teresa was my cousin and that was all, much as I loved her.
His eyes rake my face until he finally seems satisfied with what he sees there. He nods, acknowledging that he believes me and I go to my saddle bag to get out the bottle of brandy I brought.
With the help of the glow from the fire and the brandy, we fall into our previous easy companionship and I tell him of my Spanish childhood with Teresa and the things we used to get up to, managing to make him smile. He tells me of his childhood, which was harsh and cruel, with none of the privileges or comforts of ours. I begin to understand more about this man and admire his gift for survival.
I admire a lot more about him too, but I need to tread carefully.
Finally we get ourselves into our bedrolls to sleep, lying close to the fire and to each other. It is bitterly cold, though thankfully not snowing and sleep eludes me. He lies with his back to me, but I know that he is also awake.
I speak to him softly,
“Richard, are you cold?”
“Yes, but I’ve been colder.”
“You could come closer. If we huddled together, we could both use both blankets.”
“I’m not sure that would be proper, Viggo.”
“It would be practical and as for being proper, we are fully clothed and anyway, who else would know?”
He rolls over to regard me, then unwraps himself from his blanket and kneels up, waiting for me to unwrap myself. I do so and stir up the fire, adding a couple more branches to it.
We arrange ourselves next to each other and put both blankets over us, which makes an immediate difference. To keep the blankets in place, we have to press out bodies close together and he turns his back to me again, so that I can spoon against him.
I feel him tense and know that he can feel my erect member pressing into him, but he does not draw away. I put my arm round him and deliberately brush the front of his breeches in doing so. He is as hard as I am and he gasps audibly.
“It doesn’t seem as if there is much chance of sleep in our current situation, Richard. What would Harper do to help you?”
His whole body stiffens and he hisses at me in the dark,
“What do you mean?”
“I saw him leaving your tent last night.”
“Fuck!”
“You can trust me, Richard. I won’t tell anybody. I just wondered, as he’s not here, if I could help you.”
I slide my hand down the front of his breeches, which are a tight fit and just about manage to grasp his cock. He doesn’t move or try to stop me, so I take it that he wants this.
“Unfasten your breeches,” I whisper.
He twists his head round to look at me.
“Is this blackmail, because you saw Harper and you have something on me? Because if it is, you can be damned.”
I release his cock and withdraw my hand, letting it rest on his belly, beneath his tunic.
“No. I would never do that. It would be dishonourable. I told you that I would never tell anybody. I mentioned Harper only to indicate that I was aware of certain ……interests we share.”
After a moment’s pause, he turns to face me, so that my hand keeps contact with his body, but slides down to his hip.
“Then we can help each other.”
Sharpe
I know it’s not really a good idea, when Viggo suggests we should huddle together and share blankets and body warmth. It’s sensible of course, and he looks back at me innocently, when I search his face. I am not so sure it will make me fall asleep easier though, but I have no good argument to refuse.
As soon as we are pressed close together I feel his not so innocent, stiff cock press against my arse and I tense. I am no better state myself, that’s why I turned my back to him in the first place, but obviously to no avail.
His arm around me and a hand stroking my body lightly make things even worse. I am quite upset and curse when he tells me has seen Harper leaving my tent. I knew that it was a stupid thing to do, and it looks as if Viggo is more or less using it against me. None of this seems to depress my cock though, which jerks happily in his now firm grip.
I tell him I won’t let him blackmail me, but I relax when he assures me that’s not his intention. And damned, but that man’s hand on my skin feels good.
“Then we can help each other,” I say, while I turn around to face him, my hand sliding in between us, fumbling with his breeches. We are so close I can feel his breath over my face, and his moustache tickles my cheek. Between the two of us we manage to open our breeches and I wrap my hand around both cocks, rubbing them against each other slowly, delivering a delightful friction.
I smirk when I hear him moan, not much left of the proud Commandante now, but I gasp when his hand closes over mine, quickening the pace. He buries his face in my neck when he comes with a low growl, and I arch up once more and shoot over our joined hands.
Once I get my breath back, I disentangle myself from him to pull some grass from the ground, and wipe us clean as much as possible. We don’t talk, I just turn my to back to him again, and this time I sleep almost immediately, after pushing away the image of Harper’s accusing face to the back of my brain. This was only once, I tell myself.
The next morning, after a meagre breakfast we are on our way early. We are both not exactly sure how far away we are from the French. Luckily the horse seems to agree with me more, and I kind of enjoy myself riding instead of walking for a change.
Early in the afternoon, when we ride up a hill, we almost stumble upon the French camp beneath us in the valley. We draw back and find a small secluded area between a few rocks, where we can wait until it gets dark. Viggo plans to go out on foot and try to capture two soldiers on piquet duty, so we can take their uniforms. Not a very detailed plan, but there’s nothing more we can do, since there’s only the two of us.
Of course it’s a dangerous mission, like all missions Hogan has sent me on, but so far it isn’t too bad. It will be great if Viggo and I succeed, and perhaps Nosey will be so pleased with me that he will grant me another promotion. On the other hand we might die, but I have managed to live so far, so I hope my luck will last.
We see to the horses, and then settle down, waiting. I’ve managed to shoot a rabbit on our way here, and since the French won’t be able to see the smoke this high up, we light a fire to cook it. Viggo goes away for a while to have a look around, and see where to go down the hill tonight.
I just sit and tend to our meal, turning the meat every now and then. By the time Viggo returns we can eat, and it’s a real treat after our small rations of the last 24 hours. We talk and take our time eating until the last bits of meat have disappeared. Despite our different backgrounds we seem amazingly at ease with each other.
We still have about an hour before it will get dark, and I rummage through my belongings looking for a piece of cloth and my bottle of musket oil. There’s a bit of a tension between us now, and I need a distraction from the thoughts I get every time I look at him. I can feel Viggo’s eyes on me, even as I busy myself cleaning my rifle, and when I finally look up he’s smiling at me. There’s a hint of a challenge in his voice when he breaks the silence.
“So Richard, now we’re fed, and you’ve cleaned your rifle, what shall we do now to bide time?”
I grin at him, pleased to know I wasn’t the only one having those thoughts.
“I don’t know, any suggestions on your side? “I ask, while he stands up to sit down beside me. He cups my face and then his hand follows a slow path down to my collarbone, slipping inside my jacket.
“Let’s forge a nice Anglo-Spanish bond here Sean,” he says, and when he starts pushing me down on my back, I go willingly.
Viggo
I wake refreshed, having slept well after our little fumble last night.
It fulfilled a need and yet left me wanting more. Now I really begin to understand what my cousin found in this man. He is rough and uneducated, it is true, but he has a kind of inner nobility and natural grace, with a sense of danger about him. A fine culo, too, I can’t help noticing as he remounts his horse, the fabric of his breeches stretching tightly over his taut buttocks.
I feel warm, in spite of the cold, misty dawn.
We ride in silence again, this time because we do not know the exact position of the French, but in the afternoon, we travel up a steep rise and see their camp nestling in the Valley below.
My powerful spyglass allows me to count the piquets they have posted and I tell Richard that I need to go and reconnoitre, to plan our path down the hillside, once it is dark. We will need to get two French uniforms to allow us to move freely in the French camp.
It will take boldness and not a little insanity, but the blood thrums in my veins at the thought of the danger and it will be even more exciting to do this with Richard beside me.
I return to find that Richard has roasted the rabbit he shot on the way here and is sitting by the fire, turning it on a spit he has fashioned from sticks. He has his back to me and sits, head bowed, exposing his neck. I can see the way his dirty blonde hair curls above his collar and his delicate ears, unusual in such a masculine man. My mouth waters.
He is still on guard and as I approach as silently as I know how, he turns in a flash, crouching, knife in hand and teeth bared, ready to fight. Magnifico!
He relaxes and smiles, when he sees me and I join him by the fire. I enjoy eating the tender meat, a more substantial meal than we have had since setting out, and I also enjoy watching him eat, his sharp white teeth tearing the meat from the bone, juice running down his chin and tempting me to lean in and lick it off.
I restrain myself with difficulty and we talk again, in whispers this time, so as not to alert the enemy below, then when the meal is over and we have cleaned or hands on the scrubby grass and drunk deeply from our water canteens, he gets a cloth and a small bottle of oil and begins to clean his rifle.
With the anticipation of tonight’s mission and the things he does to me, I am wound up tighter than a watch spring. I am sure that he is spinning out the cleaning, even though I suspect his thoughts are running like mine. I have to find out.
“So Richard, now we’re fed, and you’ve cleaned your rifle, what shall we do now to bide time?”
He grins back and asks me for suggestions. Well I am not short of those, so I cross to his side of the fire and cup his face with my hand, running the other inside his tunic.
Suddenly impatient, I push him over onto his back and he doesn’t resist me. I rest my weight on him, pressing him into the ground and grind my erect cock against his.
On an impulse, I lean in and kiss him, fiercely. His eyes widen in surprise and he frowns, so I pull my head back.
“What are you doing? I’m no wench,” he hisses at me.
“Evidente!” I roll my hips against his hardness, making him groan.
When I kiss him again, he pauses for a moment, then kisses me back furiously. So this is something he doesn’t share with Harper and I smile inwardly.
We break, panting and he thrusts the little bottle of oil in my hand and makes to roll over onto his belly.
“No,” I say sternly, “like this. You will not hide your face from me.”
He is surprised, but he lies there and watches me, as I pull off his boots and breeches and release his swollen cock. He shivers a little, but it is not only because of the cold.
I reach out for the folded blankets and indicate that he should raise his hips, so that I can wad them underneath him, giving me the angle I need.
I stroke the silken skin of his inner thighs first and he sighs, then I need to taste him and I dip my head and lick round the head of his weeping cock, eliciting a hastily stifled curse.
Chuckling, I tear off my bandana and stuff it into his mouth, lest the noises he makes should echo down into the valley. We don’t want an audience of crapauds up here.
I pour some musket oil on my fingers and begin circling the entrance to his body, soon slipping first one finger and then a second into him. He makes muffled noises and his hips buck up to meet me.
Pulling up his long, pale legs, I put them over my shoulders and then I can wait no longer and I am surging into his body, thrusting and pounding, gripping his cock and taking him with me as I spiral to my climax, burying my head in his neck and biting down, as I come.
Mierda!
Sharpe
I snap at him when he kisses me as if I am some girl, but he just laughs, jokes with me and does it again. This time I give in to that sinful mouth, as it feels so good. I’d beat up every other man who would have the bloody nerve to try that, but with him it’s different, and I pull him in even closer, our tongues fighting a heated battle.
When we come up for air I grab bottle of musket oil, and hand it to him. Fumbling with my breeches I start rolling over, when he stops me, and almost commands me to stay as I am. I am not so sure I like this, but I seem unable to disobey, even allowing him to undress me.
He props the folded blankets under me, and as exposed as I feel, vulnerable under his eyes, I still spread my legs for him. He bends down, caressing the inside of my legs, and something inside me breaks, sending shivers up my spine.
I curse when his mouth descends on my cock, and I don’t resist when he pulls off his bandana and stuffs it into my mouth. I know I won’t be able to keep quiet, and we would make an easy target if the French should find us like this.
Thoughts about the French, the mission and the rest of the bloody world in general disappear when he starts working his slicked fingers inside me. I no longer care what I look like either when he puts my legs over his shoulders, and starts pounding into me, his hand firmly stroking my cock.
I almost choke on Viggo’s bandana when I come, but I guess that’s better than having my arse stabbed by a French bayonet. Viggo has slumped down on me, and only slowly, almost reluctantly lifts my legs and disentangles himself from me.
I clean myself and get dressed, carefully avoiding Viggo’s eyes. Now that it’s done, I feel a bit awkward, but Viggo pulls me down next to him, throws an arm over me, and we just lie there for a while. For the first time in days I feel at peace with the world and myself, and I have to fight to not fall asleep.
When daylight is fading, we get up and gather the things we need to take with us. We tend to the horses, because we are not sure how long we will be gone. Of course this mission is rather hopeless, and we are doomed to die, but I am still eager to go. Only a few days ago I didn’t care if I would live or die. Without Teresa the world seemed empty, but as harsh as it may sound, I do care now. I want to live, and I simply have to believe I will survive, and so will Viggo. I am a soldier, I’ve never been anything else, and that’s what I am good at. I can cope with death and loss, as I have coped with it before.
I follow Viggo down the path he picked out for us earlier, my eyes appreciatively resting on his backside. I grin when I tell myself that if we, when we come out of this alive it will be my pleasure to bugger him for a change. I’ve never felt that urge before, but I wouldn’t mind giving it a try with him.
By the time we are down, it’s completely dark and only the glow of the distant campfires allows us to see anything. We slowly make progress towards the camp, hiding and crouching behind bushes and rocks.
We both freeze when we hear footsteps very nearby. We just wait until we are sure it’s only one of them, and then I rise up from behind the rock and get my arm tightly around his throat to prevent him from crying out. A sharp twist and he goes down without a sound.
Viggo and I are about the same height and build, so I just undress, and put on the hated French uniform, hiding my own behind the rocks, while Viggo slides away in the dark looking for another victim. I drag the dead body behind another group of rocks, far away to not been found, and then go after Viggo, who I find already busy stripping a fallen soldier from his clothes.
A short while later we are both dressed as frogs, and I grin when I look at Viggo, the moustache really suiting the French clothes. He grins back carelessly, and for a moment it’s as if we are just two schoolboys enjoying a reckless game. His hand on my shoulder he whispers close to my ear, and then playfully nips it,
“Look at that large tent. There seem to be a lot of guards around it. I think that’s where they keep their arms, ammunition and what we are looking for. Now if we, for whatever reason, are stopped, don’t say a word. I speak French well enough to pass for one, and I will try and talk us out of it.”
For a moment our eyes lock, and then he nods.
“Let’s go. I am glad we are in this together. Good luck, Richard.”
Viggo
That was a pleasant interlude this afternoon and a fine prelude to a fight.
Afterwards, Richard avoids looking at me almost shyly, blushing charmingly, when he catches my eye. He is a man of fascinating contradictions. When he lay under me, spreading himself wantonly and meeting my passion equally, who would have expected he would blush like a maiden afterwards?
He is utterly captivating and I pull him down to lie beside me, throwing my arm round him and enjoying the warmth of his body. He doesn’t resist me, so I think that our activities were as satisfying to him as they were to me. We do not speak, but are comfortable together.
As dusk falls, we prepare and set off down the path, me leading and him following. The French custom is to change the guard at nightfall, so by the time we reach the camp, the new contingent will be on duty and it will be hours before anyone misses any of them.
All my senses are heightened and my body tingles with anticipation. We are going into danger and possible death, but it is exhilarating and although we have just met, there is nobody I would rather have by my side at such a moment than Richard.
Moving as silently as we can, we soon come upon the first sentry and Richard snaps his neck before he can make a sound. While he hides the body and dresses in the uniform, I glide off into the darkness and find my own soldier, a garrotte of fine wire in my hand.
My target is taken completely unawares, as I thrust my knee into his back, whip the garrotte around his throat and twist. There is a soft hiss and I lower him quietly to the ground, losing no time in stripping him and putting on his uniform.
So far so good. That was childishly simple. I have heard that Sharpe has a reputation among the men for being lucky and that is valued more by them than courage or fighting skills, although he has those in abundance. Maybe he is going to be my lucky charm on this mission.
We grin at each other, once we are dressed as perfect Frenchmen.
As we approach the camp, my eye falls on a tent, larger than the others and set back a little. It is heavily guarded. It would be my guess that it is where our prize is to be found.
I whisper in Richard’s ear to point it out and remind him to remain silent if we are challenged. I will try to talk our way out of things. One final look into his eyes, a wish for luck and we are away.
It is evident, without us talking of it, that we need a diversion in order to be able to get at that tent and we have brought a supply of grenades with us. We stride confidently about the camp, keen not to attract attention by any hesitation.
The men are gathered around their campfires eating their evening meal and drinking Spanish brandy, about which they are making coarse remarks and unfavourable comparisons with their cognac. Cerdos!
They will be driven out of Spain and will wish they had stuck to drinking their own piss before we are finished.
We pass a tent, from inside which we hear laughter and the clink of fine crystal. The officers are also dining, it seems.
Having made a circuit of the camp we slip around the back of the tents and plant a series of grenades, with long fuses, twisted around an even longer master fuse, so that we have to light only that one. Richard takes particular satisfaction in putting a row of grenades behind the officers’ tent. He has apparently suffered from not being considered aristocratic enough and this is revenge on all officers, British as well as French.
Our preparations complete, we crouch close together in the trees and I light the fuse.
I hold my breath, aware of Richard’s body pressed close to mine from shoulder to thigh.
With a deafening bang, the first grenades explode, throwing a shower of orange and red sparks against the dark blue velvet curtain of the night sky. The next follow, and the next, soon starting a series of fires.
There are cries of,
“Les bombes incendies“, “De l’eau, de l’eau”, “Au secours”, “Nous sommes attaqués”.
Men are running in all directions and in the smoke and confusion we head for the big tent. As we hoped, some of the guards have run to help with the fires, leaving only two. We take one each, killing them silently, while they are distracted by the fires and slip inside the tent.
As we guessed, this tent is used to store ammunition and guns, so they will be anxious to keep the fires well away. We hurriedly look around, our task made easier by the light from the flames and my eyes fall upon a table with some charts and a narrow, polished wooden box.
Indicating to Richard to keep watch, I take out my knife and force the catch. The lid springs open and I see a kind of brass frame with a compass inset and various markings engraved around the edge. This must be what we are seeking and I snap the lid shut and stuff the box inside my tunic, tugging at Richard’s sleeve to tell him we have our prize.
I slash open the back of the tent and we set the last grenade then set off at a run away from the camp before the ammunition goes up.
We have nearly reached the trees at the foot of the hill, when we hear a rough shout. At least one of the sentries has remained at his post and I turn as he fires. Something punches me hard in the chest and I fall backwards, just as I see that he is not alone and his compatriot also fires.
The sky lights up in a blaze of hell and the two men disappear, then the noise and the shockwave of the explosion hit us. The ammunition has blown up.
I call to Richard and start to crawl away into the trees as quickly as I can. My chest feels as if somebody is sitting on it, my ears are ringing and it is hard to breath, but I know that I am alive because the bullet hit “Le Triomphe” in its box and was deflected. I laugh at the irony and turn to make sure that Richard is still with me.
He is crawling after me and his breathing is laboured.
“Richard, we can stand now that we have the cover of the trees and hurry back to our camp. The mayhem we have caused will keep them too busy to follow for a while.”
He looks up at me, his face white and taut with pain and with horror, I see the blood seeping through his French uniform.
TBC
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Date: 2008-03-07 02:01 pm (UTC)It's wonderful. Harper is going to kill Viggo for Sharpe getting hurt. (I might hlep him!)
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Date: 2008-03-08 02:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-07 02:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-08 02:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-08 02:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-08 02:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-08 02:37 pm (UTC)It's curious, in that without Harper I'm finding it difficult to place your Viggo's voice, I think because I've never seen Alatriste or read the original novels, but it's an action-packed plot and the French will be on the warpath and after them soon! thanks for posting.
no subject
Date: 2008-03-09 10:05 am (UTC)"He is still on guard and as I approach as silently as I know how, he turns in a flash, crouching, knife in hand and teeth bared, ready to fight. Magnifico! "
I like the way you're writing Sharpe's character into the story so well; the century they're in and the fighting spirit are all coming across so well.
It's also rather telling that they're both still concerned with 'what Harper would think' . . .