Fish, old bread, fish guts, rum.
Apr. 25th, 2007 02:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
keire_keFor ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ravensilver, who wanted 1x2 angst with a happy end. I'm not sure how I did with the angst part, but the happy end is there! This plotbunny was following my for a while. It's actually a songfic, based on a shanty (which always struck me as kinda slashy. Long story).
It probably wouldn’t help, me knowing where he’d come from. Frankly, I’d rather not know. He’d just showed up, one dreary morning, as we were living Liverpool, and signed on for the trip. He had exactly jackshit on him, not even a spare shirt. He must really like fishing, I thought. Freak. Of course, that’s not true – I thought he must’ve killed someone in a bar fight, some ten minutes ago, someone he kinda liked. He looked absolutely miserable, in his greyish sweater and dark pants, and equally colourless hood hiding his hair and face. He looked a lot like I had, once upon a time.
Then he looked up and saw me, watching him. Yeah, I’m rambling on, but a sight I was not either – clothes just as old, though probably better kept, and just as colourless. Like everyone else on board Mary Ellen. Fishing boats sure as hell ain’t Parisian catwalks.
He was still looking at me, but now that I could see his face I knew why. He was my age. My height, roughly, and similar built, which altogether meant young, small and wiry. Not the common type of fisherman.
“What are we now, a pretty boy parade?” the bosun asked behind me, following my gaze. “Get to work!” Normally I’d snip back at him, but this once I let it slide. He had a point. The guy was pretty. Me, I know I was. Didn’t mind most of the time, only when I had to make a particularly vicious point of proving to the gruff undersexed sailor types that pretty and longhaired does not a girl make. Guys on Mary Ellen scarcely needed my explanations, ‘s why I liked her so much. Yeah, I can look after myself, have since I was a kid. Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to have a safe haven.
This guy down here had none.
“Maxwell!” first mate bellowed, snapping the register closed. “You have a spare bunk, you’re taking him in.”
Funny, how one bellow changes your whole life.
Heero Yuy was my bunk mate, from then on. Let me tell you, in terms of gruffness, he was a born sailor. I can’t say I minded, whole life spent on some-or-other cutter taught me to deal. Except you couldn’t very well deal with a guy who’d bark and grunt at you during the day and crawl into your bunk at night, to fuck your brains out.
Not that I was averse to sharing my bed with him. Hey, fishing ain’t exactly a prime kind of job, stinking of fish after days on dry land doesn’t attract many people. And I don’t like whorehouses much. Long tragic tale of woe, my lack of a sex life.
So there it was, the wonderful life of Duo Maxwell, full of fish, old bread, fish guts, rum, fish innards, stale water, some more fish, and a hot fuck every night. I was happy. Happiest I’ve ever been, I think.
Until Mary Ellen turned back to good ol’ Liverpool. “Hey, Heero,” I asked one night, a couple days before we were due back in harbour. “Is there gonna be anyone waiting for you?”
He didn’t answer, not verbally. All I got was a vague grunt and the sensation of another sweaty body moving against mine. It lasted for a couple of seconds, then he settled again.
“Anyone? Girlfriend? Family? Friends?”
Nothing. I was on the verge of falling asleep again, when I felt, rather than heard, his voice. To this day I’m not sure he was talking to me.
“I ain’t got no one.”
We docked in Liverpool two days later. That day, a damp, dreary English day, was the last time I saw him. I left Mary Ellen shortly after, when it became obvious he wasn’t coming back. She was home, for a short time, old, rusty, stinking home, but I found that after Heero left something went with him. She wasn’t much of a comfort anymore. So I went and found a new ship – a million Mary Ellens in England alone, and I was a handy guy to have onboard. Didn’t have no trouble finding a new ship.
I can’t say I’ve forgotten him. Couldn’t. But life kept me busy. So imagine the heart attack I suffered when I, the newly appointed bosun, walked onto the bridge of – dunno, she might’ve been a Mary Dolores, or Mary Cecile – and found him, bent over a worn map.
“Sir.” Captain he was now. Imagine that. He was straightening, working out the kinks in his back, and turning to me. “Still no one waiting for you?” I asked, forgetting for a moment that I was here to inform him that the ship was in a good enough condition for full speed ahead.
He smiled at me. First time I saw him smile.
“No. Not anymore,” he said.
ravensilver, who wanted 1x2 angst with a happy end. I'm not sure how I did with the angst part, but the happy end is there! This plotbunny was following my for a while. It's actually a songfic, based on a shanty (which always struck me as kinda slashy. Long story).It probably wouldn’t help, me knowing where he’d come from. Frankly, I’d rather not know. He’d just showed up, one dreary morning, as we were living Liverpool, and signed on for the trip. He had exactly jackshit on him, not even a spare shirt. He must really like fishing, I thought. Freak. Of course, that’s not true – I thought he must’ve killed someone in a bar fight, some ten minutes ago, someone he kinda liked. He looked absolutely miserable, in his greyish sweater and dark pants, and equally colourless hood hiding his hair and face. He looked a lot like I had, once upon a time.
Then he looked up and saw me, watching him. Yeah, I’m rambling on, but a sight I was not either – clothes just as old, though probably better kept, and just as colourless. Like everyone else on board Mary Ellen. Fishing boats sure as hell ain’t Parisian catwalks.
He was still looking at me, but now that I could see his face I knew why. He was my age. My height, roughly, and similar built, which altogether meant young, small and wiry. Not the common type of fisherman.
“What are we now, a pretty boy parade?” the bosun asked behind me, following my gaze. “Get to work!” Normally I’d snip back at him, but this once I let it slide. He had a point. The guy was pretty. Me, I know I was. Didn’t mind most of the time, only when I had to make a particularly vicious point of proving to the gruff undersexed sailor types that pretty and longhaired does not a girl make. Guys on Mary Ellen scarcely needed my explanations, ‘s why I liked her so much. Yeah, I can look after myself, have since I was a kid. Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to have a safe haven.
This guy down here had none.
“Maxwell!” first mate bellowed, snapping the register closed. “You have a spare bunk, you’re taking him in.”
Funny, how one bellow changes your whole life.
Heero Yuy was my bunk mate, from then on. Let me tell you, in terms of gruffness, he was a born sailor. I can’t say I minded, whole life spent on some-or-other cutter taught me to deal. Except you couldn’t very well deal with a guy who’d bark and grunt at you during the day and crawl into your bunk at night, to fuck your brains out.
Not that I was averse to sharing my bed with him. Hey, fishing ain’t exactly a prime kind of job, stinking of fish after days on dry land doesn’t attract many people. And I don’t like whorehouses much. Long tragic tale of woe, my lack of a sex life.
So there it was, the wonderful life of Duo Maxwell, full of fish, old bread, fish guts, rum, fish innards, stale water, some more fish, and a hot fuck every night. I was happy. Happiest I’ve ever been, I think.
Until Mary Ellen turned back to good ol’ Liverpool. “Hey, Heero,” I asked one night, a couple days before we were due back in harbour. “Is there gonna be anyone waiting for you?”
He didn’t answer, not verbally. All I got was a vague grunt and the sensation of another sweaty body moving against mine. It lasted for a couple of seconds, then he settled again.
“Anyone? Girlfriend? Family? Friends?”
Nothing. I was on the verge of falling asleep again, when I felt, rather than heard, his voice. To this day I’m not sure he was talking to me.
“I ain’t got no one.”
We docked in Liverpool two days later. That day, a damp, dreary English day, was the last time I saw him. I left Mary Ellen shortly after, when it became obvious he wasn’t coming back. She was home, for a short time, old, rusty, stinking home, but I found that after Heero left something went with him. She wasn’t much of a comfort anymore. So I went and found a new ship – a million Mary Ellens in England alone, and I was a handy guy to have onboard. Didn’t have no trouble finding a new ship.
I can’t say I’ve forgotten him. Couldn’t. But life kept me busy. So imagine the heart attack I suffered when I, the newly appointed bosun, walked onto the bridge of – dunno, she might’ve been a Mary Dolores, or Mary Cecile – and found him, bent over a worn map.
“Sir.” Captain he was now. Imagine that. He was straightening, working out the kinks in his back, and turning to me. “Still no one waiting for you?” I asked, forgetting for a moment that I was here to inform him that the ship was in a good enough condition for full speed ahead.
He smiled at me. First time I saw him smile.
“No. Not anymore,” he said.
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no subject
Date: 2007-04-25 01:44 pm (UTC)How you can turn GW into a sea story is absolutely incredible!
Yes, it counts. ^^ Loved Duo's mindvoice in this. The cadence of it certainly fit the surroundings. And Heero being his usual reticient self. Love the ending! They made it, after all. :)
Thank you. It's just perfect. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-04-25 03:02 pm (UTC)*huggles* Happy you like! I really love the song, and the plotbunny was just begging to be written.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-25 03:21 pm (UTC)I loved the idea of them being rough and tumble sailors...not much different from being rough and tumble space pilots, ne? XD It was beautiful, and I loved all the sailor-lingo peppered throughout the story. It made it work even better, not to mention make it that much more believable.
Thanks for the great read, Keiran-chan!
no subject
Date: 2007-04-25 03:46 pm (UTC)Sailing is a lot like being in space, I imagine. The spaceships are called ships for a reason. *grins* I have a thing for big bodies of water.
Thank you. *hugs*
no subject
Date: 2007-04-25 08:27 pm (UTC)*has the sudden strange image of Duo in a sailor suit* XD My brain is so weird sometimes.
You're welcome. Thanks for writing this. *hugs back* And it's good to see you around again. ^____^
no subject
Date: 2007-04-25 10:57 pm (UTC)Sailor suit as in funky pants and even funkier cap, or sailor suit as in "I shall punish you in the name of the celestial body I can't recall at the moment"? XD
^______^
no subject
Date: 2007-04-25 08:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-25 10:54 pm (UTC)Thank you! *hugs*
no subject
Date: 2007-04-26 01:32 am (UTC)*hopes for more*
no subject
Date: 2007-04-26 10:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-26 05:50 pm (UTC)I loved it. I think it was the first sailor 1x2 story I ever heard and now I want a sequel so bad! *begs*
Awesome fic ;D
no subject
Date: 2007-04-26 06:24 pm (UTC)Thank you!
Also? Your icon is cuteness.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-26 06:55 pm (UTC)piratessail-related...they are sexay ;DAnd thanks!~♥
no subject
Date: 2007-04-26 10:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-09 09:20 pm (UTC)space and the sea have a lot of similarity
indeed, that's one thing i learned from my StarTerk universe.
no subject
Date: 2007-09-09 09:28 pm (UTC)They definitely do. I myself am in love with the sea, so space is relatively easy to imagine. ^____^