Can also be read here at my ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6195559
Title: What Can You Do When You're a Drunken Sailor?
Summary: Pellew and Bracegirdle find themselves in a state of considerable inebriation after a rather nice dinner. Drink and curiosity can lead you down a very interesting path.
“I am drunk”, he mused distantly as he made wavering steps across the floor,the panels rising up to meet him despite the calm waters. The room tilted at an odd angle whenever he moved his head in one particular way. Might be a good idea to sit down, before he went and made a fool out of himself. Not that his current companion would have any reason whatsoever to be mocking, his first lieutenant was just as drunk as he was.
The room was a bit too warm for his liking, and making his shirt begin an attempt to cling to his back. Pellew made a brave attempt at removing his coat while seated in a somewhat slumped manner, a string of muttered curses slipping past his lips. His movements were halted by a quiet chuckle from Bracegirdle, who were leaning on the table to stop his unsteady swaying from becoming too noticeable. He gave his amused first lieutenant a firm look, softened by mirth and drink alike. “Oh stop laughing and give me a hand” He grumbled without much heat. Squirming in his seat in a quest to make the coat slide from his shoulders. Smiling softly at Bracegirdles unsteady stroll across the floor. “Certainly Sir” he murmured, his voice noticeably slurred.
Drink-impaired or not, Bracegirlde did as requested. A firm, yet gentle grip on the lapes to his coat, and his coat was not as much removed as he was pulled closer to the lieutenants portly frame. He chuckled, fighting a dizzy spell when he tilted his head to look into Bracegirdles eyes. “Effective” he commented dryly. “My apologies” Bracegirdle said, a smilie tugging at the corner of his mouth as he renewed his attempt to help Pellew out of his coat.
Despite the odds being against them, the two of them managed to have the coat removed. It ended up on the floor somewhere, and Pellew is vaguely aware that he should be more concerned about that. All his focus is taken by Bracegirdle's fumbling with his own coat, the mechanics of buttons momentarily lost to him. He laughs gently, reaches over to place his hands over his lieutenant's. “Allow me, before you tear something” he says in a low voice. “That would probably be for the best” Bracegirdle says with a small nod. With the button dealt with, he turns around to let Pellew pull the coat from his shoulders, ending up pulling Bracegirdle to lay across his lap in the process, and it joins the captains coat on the floor somewhere.
They both laugh quietly, dark brown eyes locked with light blue. And despite the heat of the room Pellew does not mind the warm weight of Bracegirdle across his lap. It's rather comfortable.
Bracegirdle's normally neat braid has begun to unravel. Strands of dark blond is falling over his shoulder, and for some reason he could not help finding the sight captivating. He reached out, twirling the strands around his fingers without second thought. Bracegirdles's eyes widen, just a fraction, but he remains still, allowing Pellew his quiet exploration. There is no sound besides their twinned breathing, and the familiar sounds of the ship some-place beyond. Pellew smiles softly at the way his lieutenant is laid across his lap, his blue eyes kind and inviting and a slight flush caused by heat and drink colouring his features. He needs to touch that too. Bracegirdle's eyes flutter closed when Pellew cups his cheek, his breath tickling the inside of Pellew's wrist. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. There is a tightens blooming in his abdomen due to all of this, terribly familiar, and not meant for a situation such as this.
He casts a look across Bracegirdle's reclined form. Beyond being slightly rumpled, his uniform is impeccable. A precise fit to his portly frame, across his thighs, his chest, and the gentle swell of his stomach. He smiles teasingly, picking at the buttons of Bracegirdles waistcoat, stretched somewhat tight across the lieutenant's soft belly. “The dinner was to your taste I take it?” He asks, a bit teasing, but mostly fond. Bracegirdle's blush deepens, warm red spreading over his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. But his eyes are still locked with Pellew's. He chuckles. “I have no complaints” he says, tone a hint sheepish. “Evidently” Pellew murmurs fondly, absent-mindedly picking at the buttons under his fingers. This is not what they should be doing. He thumbs them open one by one, until he can fold the waistcoat to the side, only the shirt between his palm and Bracegirdle's inviting warmth.
Bracegirdle's eyes are so very blue. Open, inviting. He curls his fingers into Bracegirdle's shirt, eyebrow raised in a silent requested, tugging experimentally at the fabric. His lieutenant nods, his eyes mischievous, almost challenging. Go on, please do go on. With some encouragement the shirt is pulled out of the way. Heart beating, breath laboured and his lieutenant's eyes like the sky in summer, Pellew slowly slides his hand up under the shirt, palm flat against Bracegirdles stomach. He swallowes, gently curling his fingers to create an experimental caress. Bracegirdle smiles softly, and he looks up at Pellew with hooded eyes. Nodding minutely as if to say “Do go on” Pellew lickes his lips, allowing his caresses to grow more insistent. It's the drink, he thinks quietly.
It must be the drink.
He pushed his hand further up, deep heartbeat and warm skin under his palm. Further down again and there is the pleasant give of an ample belly under his hand. He smiles languidly, caresses in broad circles, observes how Bracegirdles eyes goes from summer sky to ocean in a storm. He chuckles, stretches out further, a pleasant hefty weigh against Pellew's thighs. Strands of dark blond unravelling from black ribbon. Pellew places his hand lower, strokes his thumb down the fine path of hair that goes down Bracegirdle's belly and into his breeches. Bracegirdle draws in a breath.
It must be the drink.
His Lieutenant makes a sound half-way between a gasp and a moan. By now his hand is too far down. Bracegirdle is well aware of that too. His eyes have become apologetic, for how he is reacting to Pellew's touch.
Pellew removes his hand slowly, and Bracegirlde sitts up straight, hastily tucking his shirt back into his breeches. He turns around to look at Pellew, and he is still blushing. From drink, from the heat of the room, from something else entirely. The both flounder in the suddenly oppressive silence. Moving around each other gingerly to retrieve their respective coats, looking at each other out of the corner of the eye. Bracegirdle looks down before looking up to meet Pellew eyes, they are standing perhaps a little too close. “I should take my leave” he says in a low voice. It sounds loud in the silence of the room. Pellew nods shortly. “Of course, of course” he murmurs. He dares to meet Bracegirdles eyes again. “Until morning Lieutenant” He says. Bracegirdle smiles a little. Whispering a hasty “Night Sir” before backing out the door.
Pellew drags a hand across his face. Damn it all! The other hand he places at the fastening to his breeches, feeling a flash of shame.
Tugging them open and sliding a hand inside, knowing his First Lieutenant will be doing the same.