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Mar. 24th, 2005 02:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsTitle: Mattress Troubles
Rating: G
Pairing: Shanks + Ben
Word Count: 300
There were three possible reasons why his back was so sore. He could have strained it hauling beer barrels, except they hadn’t made landfall to re-supply in nearly a month. A nerve could have gotten pinched fighting, but they’d encountered only friendly vessels recently. Or, perhaps, it could have something to do with his sleeping arrangement. “Are you,” he asked finally, after over a week’s worth of stubborn pain. “Have you had that dream where you fight kangaroos recently?”
Shanks gave him The Look, the one he himself so often received. “No. Why?”
“My back. I’m having trouble with it. I though maybe you were punching me in your sleep again.”
“Nope.”
“Hmm. Maybe it’s the bed. I thought I felt something under the mattress the last few nights.”
“Could be.” Shanks grinned brightly. “I’ll go see.”
That night, the bed seemed to have gained a few inches.
“Mattress looked a bit thin on your side. I tossed another one on so you should sleep better.”
Ben hoped so, but in the morning pain had spread up into his shoulders. Shanks had been most solicitous, ushering him off to a warm soak while he saw to the bed. Two more nights the bed grew thanks to the captain’s efforts and two more mornings did Ben wake up aching. Torn between the pain of lifting up mattresses or suffering in a hammock, he finally decided to check out the problem himself.
“SHANKS!!!” Twelve bottles of various sizes were on the floor; they’d previously been stuffed under the bed. “Why?”
“Only safe place to hide ‘em. Two more weeks ‘til land, and this is practically all the booze left!”
“And my back?”
“Sorry.” Contritely, “Didn’t think ya’d notice.”
“I won’t now.” And he grabbed four bottles and went to find a hammock.
Rating: G
Pairing: Shanks + Ben
Word Count: 300
There were three possible reasons why his back was so sore. He could have strained it hauling beer barrels, except they hadn’t made landfall to re-supply in nearly a month. A nerve could have gotten pinched fighting, but they’d encountered only friendly vessels recently. Or, perhaps, it could have something to do with his sleeping arrangement. “Are you,” he asked finally, after over a week’s worth of stubborn pain. “Have you had that dream where you fight kangaroos recently?”
Shanks gave him The Look, the one he himself so often received. “No. Why?”
“My back. I’m having trouble with it. I though maybe you were punching me in your sleep again.”
“Nope.”
“Hmm. Maybe it’s the bed. I thought I felt something under the mattress the last few nights.”
“Could be.” Shanks grinned brightly. “I’ll go see.”
That night, the bed seemed to have gained a few inches.
“Mattress looked a bit thin on your side. I tossed another one on so you should sleep better.”
Ben hoped so, but in the morning pain had spread up into his shoulders. Shanks had been most solicitous, ushering him off to a warm soak while he saw to the bed. Two more nights the bed grew thanks to the captain’s efforts and two more mornings did Ben wake up aching. Torn between the pain of lifting up mattresses or suffering in a hammock, he finally decided to check out the problem himself.
“SHANKS!!!” Twelve bottles of various sizes were on the floor; they’d previously been stuffed under the bed. “Why?”
“Only safe place to hide ‘em. Two more weeks ‘til land, and this is practically all the booze left!”
“And my back?”
“Sorry.” Contritely, “Didn’t think ya’d notice.”
“I won’t now.” And he grabbed four bottles and went to find a hammock.
