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Nov. 10th, 2004 03:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsTitle: Waiting
Rating: G
Pairing: Ben/Shanks
Word Count: 300
The cold lingered, even miles beyond the winter island. His breath coiled into the chill air as dark and thick as his cigarette smoke. It was quiet, at least as quiet as a ship carrying eighty pirates could be. Even now, in the last few minutes of night, faint noises reached his ears. The cook was already starting on breakfast and one of the endless card games carried on in the second bunkroom. Sometimes he missed the silence, the absolute calm and stillness that could surround a smaller craft.
Those days were long since past. Solitude had been hard enough to come by then, and now it was practically impossible. But some habits never die, and he rose every night for a lingering smoke and a few stolen moments of peace. Nothing that anyone could begrudge him, and it was rare indeed that his little interlude was interrupted. Although sometimes he wished it were otherwise. They were all getting older, he reflected. Many of the men he’d first sailed with were gone and even the newest aboard had a year. Seasoned, they were, which would serve well in Shanks’ upcoming plot.
Was it too much to hope something as simple and wonderful as a sunrise could still pull such men to the rail? Shanks hadn’t joined him in months, not even in the weeks before they’d landed at their frozen hideaway. The captain wasn’t one to forsake the comfort of his bed, but he had always found a few nights to share before. The remains of his cigarette sank beneath the waves and he discarded his resentment. There would be time later. From behind, someone sneezed.
“’s damn cold!”
Shanks wormed under one arm, stealing warmth.
“Ten minutes, then back inside.”
He nodded, no sense letting the bed get cold.
Rating: G
Pairing: Ben/Shanks
Word Count: 300
The cold lingered, even miles beyond the winter island. His breath coiled into the chill air as dark and thick as his cigarette smoke. It was quiet, at least as quiet as a ship carrying eighty pirates could be. Even now, in the last few minutes of night, faint noises reached his ears. The cook was already starting on breakfast and one of the endless card games carried on in the second bunkroom. Sometimes he missed the silence, the absolute calm and stillness that could surround a smaller craft.
Those days were long since past. Solitude had been hard enough to come by then, and now it was practically impossible. But some habits never die, and he rose every night for a lingering smoke and a few stolen moments of peace. Nothing that anyone could begrudge him, and it was rare indeed that his little interlude was interrupted. Although sometimes he wished it were otherwise. They were all getting older, he reflected. Many of the men he’d first sailed with were gone and even the newest aboard had a year. Seasoned, they were, which would serve well in Shanks’ upcoming plot.
Was it too much to hope something as simple and wonderful as a sunrise could still pull such men to the rail? Shanks hadn’t joined him in months, not even in the weeks before they’d landed at their frozen hideaway. The captain wasn’t one to forsake the comfort of his bed, but he had always found a few nights to share before. The remains of his cigarette sank beneath the waves and he discarded his resentment. There would be time later. From behind, someone sneezed.
“’s damn cold!”
Shanks wormed under one arm, stealing warmth.
“Ten minutes, then back inside.”
He nodded, no sense letting the bed get cold.
