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au_bingo:
Title: The Night of the Skull and Crossbones
Fandom: Wild Wild West (tv show)
Prompt: Historical: Pirates
Words: 1900 or so
Warnings: None
Summary: Discretion might be the better part of valour, but discretion was one thing Dr. Artemus Gordon had never quite managed to master.
Discretion might be the better part of valour, but discretion was one thing Dr. Artemus Gordon had never quite managed to master. If he had, he'd doubtless have a fine and profitable practice in a select part of London, rather than having to flee with his proverbial tail between his legs when scandal had threatened to destroy everything he'd done and take him to the gallows as well.
And he hadn't learned his lesson, that much was clear from his behaviour with one Bartolomeo Manzeppi - one look at those big brown eyes and chiselled cheekbones and Artie had fallen completely in lust. Love was another matter, of course, but lust was a perfectly fine substitute. If only Bartolomeo hadn't been the younger half-brother of that blowhard count, putting the shadow of the hangman's noose over Artie once more.
This time he hadn't had the same warning as before, so the soldiers who had arrived had found him delightfully in flagrante, the young captain responsible for his arrest flushing a fetching shade of red on discovering just what he and Bartolomeo had been doing - their positions had left nothing to the imagination, particularly for one like Jamieson, who had been educated in the finest of public schools where such behaviour was frowned upon but not unknown. No opportunity for Artie to plead that he was the injured party, either, as Bartolomeo had *clearly* been playing the woman's part - on this ill-starred occasion, at least - making the charge of sodomy the possession of Artemus alone.
The next few hours had passed in a blur, although Artie did have some recollection of Count Manzeppi making an appearance, his face flushed with anger as he raged at Artie's perfidy in corrupting his brother and detailed what fate awaited him.
'If only he knew,' Artie thought, and hung his head in a parody of shame, rather than laugh at the absurdity of the count's claim. If he wanted to believe Bartolomeo was an innocent led astray, who was Artie to disabuse him of the notion? 'And better men than you have tried to hang me before, my dear count.'
& & & & & & & & & &
The first Artie knew of the assault was the roar of cannonfire, the whole of the tiny ship shaking with the impact, throwing him across the room to slam against the wall. When the room stopped spinning, Artie sat against wall, waiting for the attack to be over.
After a few minutes, when the shouting was over, the door was flung open. The sunlight was unexpectedly bright, making Artie squint - there was a man in the doorway, a silhouette against the bright blue of the sky.
"Artemus Gordon?"
The stranger took a step forward into the cabin, the light from a lantern falling across his face. It was one that Artie was certain he'd seen before, though he couldn't place where or when; he stored away that mystery for now, a puzzle to be solved when he had more leisure.
"At your service, sir," Artie replied, as politely as he could manage, given the circumstances. "You'll forgive me if I don't bow, I'm sure."
He raised his manacles in mute apology, at least as far as the chain through the heavy iron staple driven into the floor would allow. At least this part of the trip had always promised to be brief, which was one thing to be said for it, as should the ship flounder he would go down along with it. If anything, life had taught him that the promised gallows was not worth the worry until the hemp was around his neck and the current situation was proving Artie's approach correct.
"And you are...?" He continued, when the newcomer just stood and looked at him, bright blue eyes sharp and assessing. Artie had a sneaking suspicion, of course; how many possibilities could there be for a potential attack on one of Manzeppi's own ships? "And it's Dr Gordon, if you don't mind..."
"Someone in need of a doctor," the man replied. "Assuming that doctor would prefer a change of location and a possibility of escaping the hangman's noose."
Artie cocked his head to one side, as if considering the offer - in fact, he was considering the man who stood before him, a compact package of muscle clad in finely-cut clothes, from the jacket bereft of any marks of rank through to the snowiest of linen shirts and a pair of fawn breeches that left nothing to the imagination, at least for a lover of men like Artemus himself.
"You appear healthy enough," Artie replied. More than healthy, in fact - the man who was currently offering him employment appeared the picture of vitality, the clothes hinting at the strength of the body beneath them, a body Artie would love to encounter in a more intimate setting. "Though I agree my appointment with the gallows does appear something I would wish to rearrange for a later date. Perhaps never?"
The only response to his witticism, poor as it was, was a curt nod. The man turned back towards the doorway, the tails of his coat unfortunately covering any view Artie might have of what he was certain would be a fine and shapely arse. Moments later, another man entered, this time much less comely but better equipped in terms of the wherewithal to free Artie from his current situation.
Standing, for the first time in what seemed like a week though it had only been a matter of hours, Artie felt twinges in muscles he'd never previously considered himself to possess.
"Your captain's name?" he asked, as the man who'd freed him from his manacles made for the doorway. "To whom do I owe my emancipation?"
"Name's West." The man turned back as he spoke, looking Artie up and down - the onceover was not salacious, but was certainly knowing. "Captain, to the likes of you, doctor or not. And don't you forget it."
& & & & & & & & & &
Still attempting to process this information, Artie followed the other man onto deck and a scene of utter confusion. It appeared that he was not the only bounty sought from Manzeppi's ship - it was effectively being gutted from stem to stern, with all but the bare minimum required to sail it back to its home port being removed to the larger ship against which side it was tethered.
"Your new home," his rescuer said, gesturing towards the bigger vessel with his one free hand. "Wanderer."
It was all falling into place, if reluctantly. Artie had indeed recognised the man who he'd just encountered, even if he wasn't certain West would want to remember him, or indeed if he wanted to be remembered. West had been a young lieutenant then, not so finely dressed but with all the promise of youth and a shining future in His Majesty's Navy to look forward to under the tutelage of his father's oldest friend, Admiral Loveless. The man was a genius, that could not be denied even by those who counted themselves his enemies - a lengthy list at any one time, both professionally and personally - just by trailing in Loveless' wake, regardless of any native talent he might have, West had been guaranteed a command of his own in a matter of months. Rumour had it that his time had come, so celebrations were surely in order?
Not to mention cutting a fine figure, despite his youth, in his dress uniform. A fine enough figure to catch the eye of one Artemus Gordon, even if their subsequent encounter had done little for Artie's reputation.
He had watched West work his way through dancing with a dozen or so ladies, each one returning to their respective companions with a smiling face but no offers for a later dance. Was West also one who preferred the company of men? It was not uncommon amongst naval officers, either by predilection or opportunity - the majority of their time was spent with others of their sex, with only the responsibility to pass on whatever wealth they accumulated acting as a major impetus for settling down with any of the distaff side. Close friendships were forged under the most difficult of circumstances, friendships no-one outside of the service could be expected to understand, but comforting to all concerned.
West, despite the fine figure he cut and his apparently stellar prospects in the near future, did not appear to have many male friends at this reception - when he was not dancing, he stood alone by the wall, eyes sharp across the dancefloor as he tried to look as though he wouldn't rather be any place but here. For the first time, Artie had been forced to consider the possibility that being Loveless' protege might be something of a double-edged sword. The promise of command was enough to cause enmity with one's fellows, as each might think himself more talented and therefore worthy, yet be passed over in favour of one in such good standing with the admiral.
Gradually, Artie had made his way round the room until he was standing alongside West - the punch he had consumed was stronger than he'd expected it would be, and perhaps that was partly to blame for the boldness of his actions? He'd like to give himself that excuse, in hindsight, but somehow Artie feared it was more likely that he had just taken the metaphorical bull by the horns when he was nothing like as prepared for the outcome of the conversation he planned as he'd thought beforehand.
"I understand you are to be congratulated, Lieutenant?" Artie had begun, deciding this was the best way to start up a conversation with West.
He had the plan of it all laid out in his head, statement and response in neat couplets, only waiting for West to cooperate and play his part. Some of the possible outcomes were scenarios that Artie liked the idea of very much, ones that would verify once and for all whether West was one who preferred the company of men.
"Congratulated?" West had echoed.
He had been staring straight ahead, seemingly entranced by the movements on the nearby dancefloor, rather than reacting the way Artie had expected. West's face was stony, unreadable, his eyes chips of ice. Suddenly nervous, Artie raised his glass and drank, the movement attracting West's attention when his previous words had not.
West's face had not been unreadable then, far from it. The expression had flicked across his face in a heartbeat but Artie had recognised it without any difficulty - that was a look of contempt; if it were possible, West's eyes had become even colder then, seeming to lower the surrounding temperature by a dozen degrees.
"I believe you have me mistaken for someone else," West had snapped. Before Artie could respond, West had turned on his heel and walked away, back stiff and unyielding.
Brought back to the present with a jolt, Artie found that just thinking of the coldness of West's expression as he left the assembly rooms was enough to make him shiver.
To be continued! :P
au_bingo:Title: The Night of the Skull and Crossbones
Fandom: Wild Wild West (tv show)
Prompt: Historical: Pirates
Words: 1900 or so
Warnings: None
Summary: Discretion might be the better part of valour, but discretion was one thing Dr. Artemus Gordon had never quite managed to master.
Discretion might be the better part of valour, but discretion was one thing Dr. Artemus Gordon had never quite managed to master. If he had, he'd doubtless have a fine and profitable practice in a select part of London, rather than having to flee with his proverbial tail between his legs when scandal had threatened to destroy everything he'd done and take him to the gallows as well.
And he hadn't learned his lesson, that much was clear from his behaviour with one Bartolomeo Manzeppi - one look at those big brown eyes and chiselled cheekbones and Artie had fallen completely in lust. Love was another matter, of course, but lust was a perfectly fine substitute. If only Bartolomeo hadn't been the younger half-brother of that blowhard count, putting the shadow of the hangman's noose over Artie once more.
This time he hadn't had the same warning as before, so the soldiers who had arrived had found him delightfully in flagrante, the young captain responsible for his arrest flushing a fetching shade of red on discovering just what he and Bartolomeo had been doing - their positions had left nothing to the imagination, particularly for one like Jamieson, who had been educated in the finest of public schools where such behaviour was frowned upon but not unknown. No opportunity for Artie to plead that he was the injured party, either, as Bartolomeo had *clearly* been playing the woman's part - on this ill-starred occasion, at least - making the charge of sodomy the possession of Artemus alone.
The next few hours had passed in a blur, although Artie did have some recollection of Count Manzeppi making an appearance, his face flushed with anger as he raged at Artie's perfidy in corrupting his brother and detailed what fate awaited him.
'If only he knew,' Artie thought, and hung his head in a parody of shame, rather than laugh at the absurdity of the count's claim. If he wanted to believe Bartolomeo was an innocent led astray, who was Artie to disabuse him of the notion? 'And better men than you have tried to hang me before, my dear count.'
& & & & & & & & & &
The first Artie knew of the assault was the roar of cannonfire, the whole of the tiny ship shaking with the impact, throwing him across the room to slam against the wall. When the room stopped spinning, Artie sat against wall, waiting for the attack to be over.
After a few minutes, when the shouting was over, the door was flung open. The sunlight was unexpectedly bright, making Artie squint - there was a man in the doorway, a silhouette against the bright blue of the sky.
"Artemus Gordon?"
The stranger took a step forward into the cabin, the light from a lantern falling across his face. It was one that Artie was certain he'd seen before, though he couldn't place where or when; he stored away that mystery for now, a puzzle to be solved when he had more leisure.
"At your service, sir," Artie replied, as politely as he could manage, given the circumstances. "You'll forgive me if I don't bow, I'm sure."
He raised his manacles in mute apology, at least as far as the chain through the heavy iron staple driven into the floor would allow. At least this part of the trip had always promised to be brief, which was one thing to be said for it, as should the ship flounder he would go down along with it. If anything, life had taught him that the promised gallows was not worth the worry until the hemp was around his neck and the current situation was proving Artie's approach correct.
"And you are...?" He continued, when the newcomer just stood and looked at him, bright blue eyes sharp and assessing. Artie had a sneaking suspicion, of course; how many possibilities could there be for a potential attack on one of Manzeppi's own ships? "And it's Dr Gordon, if you don't mind..."
"Someone in need of a doctor," the man replied. "Assuming that doctor would prefer a change of location and a possibility of escaping the hangman's noose."
Artie cocked his head to one side, as if considering the offer - in fact, he was considering the man who stood before him, a compact package of muscle clad in finely-cut clothes, from the jacket bereft of any marks of rank through to the snowiest of linen shirts and a pair of fawn breeches that left nothing to the imagination, at least for a lover of men like Artemus himself.
"You appear healthy enough," Artie replied. More than healthy, in fact - the man who was currently offering him employment appeared the picture of vitality, the clothes hinting at the strength of the body beneath them, a body Artie would love to encounter in a more intimate setting. "Though I agree my appointment with the gallows does appear something I would wish to rearrange for a later date. Perhaps never?"
The only response to his witticism, poor as it was, was a curt nod. The man turned back towards the doorway, the tails of his coat unfortunately covering any view Artie might have of what he was certain would be a fine and shapely arse. Moments later, another man entered, this time much less comely but better equipped in terms of the wherewithal to free Artie from his current situation.
Standing, for the first time in what seemed like a week though it had only been a matter of hours, Artie felt twinges in muscles he'd never previously considered himself to possess.
"Your captain's name?" he asked, as the man who'd freed him from his manacles made for the doorway. "To whom do I owe my emancipation?"
"Name's West." The man turned back as he spoke, looking Artie up and down - the onceover was not salacious, but was certainly knowing. "Captain, to the likes of you, doctor or not. And don't you forget it."
& & & & & & & & & &
Still attempting to process this information, Artie followed the other man onto deck and a scene of utter confusion. It appeared that he was not the only bounty sought from Manzeppi's ship - it was effectively being gutted from stem to stern, with all but the bare minimum required to sail it back to its home port being removed to the larger ship against which side it was tethered.
"Your new home," his rescuer said, gesturing towards the bigger vessel with his one free hand. "Wanderer."
It was all falling into place, if reluctantly. Artie had indeed recognised the man who he'd just encountered, even if he wasn't certain West would want to remember him, or indeed if he wanted to be remembered. West had been a young lieutenant then, not so finely dressed but with all the promise of youth and a shining future in His Majesty's Navy to look forward to under the tutelage of his father's oldest friend, Admiral Loveless. The man was a genius, that could not be denied even by those who counted themselves his enemies - a lengthy list at any one time, both professionally and personally - just by trailing in Loveless' wake, regardless of any native talent he might have, West had been guaranteed a command of his own in a matter of months. Rumour had it that his time had come, so celebrations were surely in order?
Not to mention cutting a fine figure, despite his youth, in his dress uniform. A fine enough figure to catch the eye of one Artemus Gordon, even if their subsequent encounter had done little for Artie's reputation.
He had watched West work his way through dancing with a dozen or so ladies, each one returning to their respective companions with a smiling face but no offers for a later dance. Was West also one who preferred the company of men? It was not uncommon amongst naval officers, either by predilection or opportunity - the majority of their time was spent with others of their sex, with only the responsibility to pass on whatever wealth they accumulated acting as a major impetus for settling down with any of the distaff side. Close friendships were forged under the most difficult of circumstances, friendships no-one outside of the service could be expected to understand, but comforting to all concerned.
West, despite the fine figure he cut and his apparently stellar prospects in the near future, did not appear to have many male friends at this reception - when he was not dancing, he stood alone by the wall, eyes sharp across the dancefloor as he tried to look as though he wouldn't rather be any place but here. For the first time, Artie had been forced to consider the possibility that being Loveless' protege might be something of a double-edged sword. The promise of command was enough to cause enmity with one's fellows, as each might think himself more talented and therefore worthy, yet be passed over in favour of one in such good standing with the admiral.
Gradually, Artie had made his way round the room until he was standing alongside West - the punch he had consumed was stronger than he'd expected it would be, and perhaps that was partly to blame for the boldness of his actions? He'd like to give himself that excuse, in hindsight, but somehow Artie feared it was more likely that he had just taken the metaphorical bull by the horns when he was nothing like as prepared for the outcome of the conversation he planned as he'd thought beforehand.
"I understand you are to be congratulated, Lieutenant?" Artie had begun, deciding this was the best way to start up a conversation with West.
He had the plan of it all laid out in his head, statement and response in neat couplets, only waiting for West to cooperate and play his part. Some of the possible outcomes were scenarios that Artie liked the idea of very much, ones that would verify once and for all whether West was one who preferred the company of men.
"Congratulated?" West had echoed.
He had been staring straight ahead, seemingly entranced by the movements on the nearby dancefloor, rather than reacting the way Artie had expected. West's face was stony, unreadable, his eyes chips of ice. Suddenly nervous, Artie raised his glass and drank, the movement attracting West's attention when his previous words had not.
West's face had not been unreadable then, far from it. The expression had flicked across his face in a heartbeat but Artie had recognised it without any difficulty - that was a look of contempt; if it were possible, West's eyes had become even colder then, seeming to lower the surrounding temperature by a dozen degrees.
"I believe you have me mistaken for someone else," West had snapped. Before Artie could respond, West had turned on his heel and walked away, back stiff and unyielding.
Brought back to the present with a jolt, Artie found that just thinking of the coldness of West's expression as he left the assembly rooms was enough to make him shiver.
To be continued! :P
