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And now for something other than a food rant...
Title: A Captain's Whim
Rating: PG
Word Count: 819
Pairing: Shanks/Ben
Bored hazel eyes tracked the path of a fat droplet of water as it progressed down the windowpane. As it slipped down the slick glass, it gathered heft and speed before it finally hit the wooden edge that held in the thickly glazed material. The drop burst, shattered on the impact, spraying out miniature duplicates of itself that took the much longer journey down to the planking below. And even as this happened, another drop of rain dripped onto the top of the window from the eave and started the process all over again.
Shanks watched for another six times, bringing his observations to a total of twenty-four drops, before he knocked his heels together and sighed. Loudly. When this brought forth no reaction from the man busily working at the nearby desk, the man tried again. This time his sigh was accompanied by a large puff of air that stirred the red strands of hair falling across his forehead. Just for extra emphasis, he also performed a belly flop, letting his elbow give out. That managed to disturb the large striped tabby who flicked an irritated tail across his face and gave him a patented cat-glare. As for the room’s other human occupant, there was only a minute pause in the movements of the quill across parchment.
“I,” the captain decided to announce with a dramatic flourish that was interrupted when he hit his cat, yelped, and got a scratch. “I…am hideously tired of rain.”
“I,” came the dry tones from Ben as he kept on writing, “am simply exhausted from listening to you whine about it.”
“I imagine,” he added when Jameson yowled and, fed up with Shanks’ poking, stalked off the bed to seek relative sanctuary in the closet, “that the entire crew is in a similar state.”
“Meh. If it’d just stop raining I wouldn’t have to complain anymore.”
“I’m sorry captain, but unfortunately the heavens are free of your commands. Just as well, given your pronounced sense of irresponsible whimsy.”
That was as much opening as Shanks was going to get. There was always work to be done, even if the captain decided to ignore most of it. If he didn’t pick up on the clue, well, it wasn’t Ben’s fault his captain could be stupid. Besides, the first mate had a pair of earplugs conveniently stashed in his pocket if he couldn’t get Shanks to stop his complaining.
There was a long pause while the redhead padded, barefoot and wearing only one of Ben’s shirts, over to the window to stare out across the damp, gray expanse of his ship. Even the waves were dull; gray ocean, gray sky, with gray mist in between blurring the borders between it all. Shanks raised his hand to the glass and felt the chill of the world beyond. The sudden Grand Line hurricane had passed over long ago, but they had ended up trapped in the seemingly endless rain clouds that spun off from its disintegrating spiral. At least, despite all the water, the seas were calm and his men could stay mostly dry below deck.
“Ah,” he said at last, turning to raise a scarred, divided brow. “And are my whims truly that awful?”
All he got in response was a noncommittal noise and the sight of the first mate adding yet another piece of paper to the stack that had steadily grown in the ‘finished’ pile. Shanks sauntered back across the floor of his cabin - the captain’s cabin, he reminded himself – and draped himself over Ben’s back. His lone arm curled underneath Ben’s, fingers gently grasping the man’s wrist and pausing him in his work. A moist heat flickered lightly across the shell of the first mate’s ear; teeth carefully nipped at his earlobe. There was a pause while Ben fought to get his own tongue working.
“Not always,” he said eventually.
“Mmhmm. So – come to bed?”
Despite being phrased as a question, there was no missing the underlying command. Firmly hiding the smile that threatened to ruin whatever burgeoning ideas the captain’s brain was fermenting, Ben let the oversized gull feather fall from his hand. Twisting his neck and hand, their fingers tangled and meshed as he returned the oral attention. Pulling away once he was satisfied that the pale column of Shanks’ throat would sport a spot of purple, the larger man simply nodded his agreement and allowed himself to be tugged across the short distance from his chair to the bed.
Rain thrummed softly in continued waves against the roof, poured down the windows, and the light crests of the sea slapped in dull bursts across the hull. A cocoon of wet and abstractly noisy silence seemed to shroud the small room. Shanks was quiet at last with his mouth securely occupied with another’s. And Jameson, that long-suffering cat, was finally able to get a feline-proper, three hour midday nap.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 819
Pairing: Shanks/Ben
Bored hazel eyes tracked the path of a fat droplet of water as it progressed down the windowpane. As it slipped down the slick glass, it gathered heft and speed before it finally hit the wooden edge that held in the thickly glazed material. The drop burst, shattered on the impact, spraying out miniature duplicates of itself that took the much longer journey down to the planking below. And even as this happened, another drop of rain dripped onto the top of the window from the eave and started the process all over again.
Shanks watched for another six times, bringing his observations to a total of twenty-four drops, before he knocked his heels together and sighed. Loudly. When this brought forth no reaction from the man busily working at the nearby desk, the man tried again. This time his sigh was accompanied by a large puff of air that stirred the red strands of hair falling across his forehead. Just for extra emphasis, he also performed a belly flop, letting his elbow give out. That managed to disturb the large striped tabby who flicked an irritated tail across his face and gave him a patented cat-glare. As for the room’s other human occupant, there was only a minute pause in the movements of the quill across parchment.
“I,” the captain decided to announce with a dramatic flourish that was interrupted when he hit his cat, yelped, and got a scratch. “I…am hideously tired of rain.”
“I,” came the dry tones from Ben as he kept on writing, “am simply exhausted from listening to you whine about it.”
“I imagine,” he added when Jameson yowled and, fed up with Shanks’ poking, stalked off the bed to seek relative sanctuary in the closet, “that the entire crew is in a similar state.”
“Meh. If it’d just stop raining I wouldn’t have to complain anymore.”
“I’m sorry captain, but unfortunately the heavens are free of your commands. Just as well, given your pronounced sense of irresponsible whimsy.”
That was as much opening as Shanks was going to get. There was always work to be done, even if the captain decided to ignore most of it. If he didn’t pick up on the clue, well, it wasn’t Ben’s fault his captain could be stupid. Besides, the first mate had a pair of earplugs conveniently stashed in his pocket if he couldn’t get Shanks to stop his complaining.
There was a long pause while the redhead padded, barefoot and wearing only one of Ben’s shirts, over to the window to stare out across the damp, gray expanse of his ship. Even the waves were dull; gray ocean, gray sky, with gray mist in between blurring the borders between it all. Shanks raised his hand to the glass and felt the chill of the world beyond. The sudden Grand Line hurricane had passed over long ago, but they had ended up trapped in the seemingly endless rain clouds that spun off from its disintegrating spiral. At least, despite all the water, the seas were calm and his men could stay mostly dry below deck.
“Ah,” he said at last, turning to raise a scarred, divided brow. “And are my whims truly that awful?”
All he got in response was a noncommittal noise and the sight of the first mate adding yet another piece of paper to the stack that had steadily grown in the ‘finished’ pile. Shanks sauntered back across the floor of his cabin - the captain’s cabin, he reminded himself – and draped himself over Ben’s back. His lone arm curled underneath Ben’s, fingers gently grasping the man’s wrist and pausing him in his work. A moist heat flickered lightly across the shell of the first mate’s ear; teeth carefully nipped at his earlobe. There was a pause while Ben fought to get his own tongue working.
“Not always,” he said eventually.
“Mmhmm. So – come to bed?”
Despite being phrased as a question, there was no missing the underlying command. Firmly hiding the smile that threatened to ruin whatever burgeoning ideas the captain’s brain was fermenting, Ben let the oversized gull feather fall from his hand. Twisting his neck and hand, their fingers tangled and meshed as he returned the oral attention. Pulling away once he was satisfied that the pale column of Shanks’ throat would sport a spot of purple, the larger man simply nodded his agreement and allowed himself to be tugged across the short distance from his chair to the bed.
Rain thrummed softly in continued waves against the roof, poured down the windows, and the light crests of the sea slapped in dull bursts across the hull. A cocoon of wet and abstractly noisy silence seemed to shroud the small room. Shanks was quiet at last with his mouth securely occupied with another’s. And Jameson, that long-suffering cat, was finally able to get a feline-proper, three hour midday nap.
no subject
Oh, and:
His lone arm curled underneath Ben’s, fingers gently grasping the man’s wrist and pausing him in his work. A moist heat flickered lightly across the shell of the first mate’s ear; teeth carefully nipped at his earlobe. There was a pause while Ben fought to get his own tongue working.
Now I have a very pleasant idea for my Rain picture for Fanart 100! X3333 *inspired once more*
no subject
“I,” came the dry tones from Ben as he kept on writing, “am simply exhausted from listening to you whine about it.” I love your Ben.
I’m sorry captain, but unfortunately the heavens are free of your commands. Oh, would that be scary.
Shanks was quiet at last with his mouth securely occupied with another’s. And Jameson, that long-suffering cat, was finally able to get a feline-proper, three hour midday nap. <3 <3 <3
no subject
And, god, Shanks being the boss of the universe would scare the crap out of me!