JASMINE ALLEY: THE BILL SLASH FICTION

Jasmine Alley : The Lockup : kel : Back to the War

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.  I just worship at the Mitchell shrine.
TITLE:      Back to the War
FANDOM:     When the Boat Comes In
PAIRING:    Jack/Billy, Jack/Matt, ish
RATING:     PG, angst
CHRONO:     Sometime round Ladies, Women, Sweethearts and Wives
SUMMARY:    Shortie inside Jack’s head
FEEDBACK:   Of any and all stripes welcome
THANKS TO:  no names, no pack drill

COMMENTS:   Happy Christmas Sinistral -- sorry it’s not one of your preferred
            pairs but it fits the "angst" criteria [g]. See, the thing is, one of these days
            I’ll get round to telling you what happened when Fitz met Billy Seaton ;-)


===============

Back to the War
by kel

===============


There were times when Dolly’s complaisance made him angry, times like now; he
coped with it using sex. Something they both enjoyed, including the distress.

When he fucked her from the front, when he was gentle, and loving, and the man
she thought she’d married, he’d think of Billy. On his back, legs and lips
parted like the boy-whore he was. Loving it, loving Jack.

When he was angry, he’d turn her face-down, think hard about other times he’d
not known who he was. Her large, white, soft body angered him; just like her
brother, and he’d come thinking of Matt, round and soft, redfaced and gasping
without finesse against Joe Routledge, or some other poor bastard who’d let
them. Up against the sandbags, hell going on overhead and Paddy Boyle, who’d die
rather than touch a man, on lookout.

No subtlety, Matt. No idea what he was doing; mindless, animal rutting,
something that he did because Jack did. Never thought it through.

Alpha and omega, first and last; Jack’d take first turn and third; after Matt,
after Charlie sometimes. Sergeant’s privilege, and he paid for it well. That’s
Jack, they’d say. Greedy.

Gentle first time round, a little harder last, Joe slippery with Matt’s
leavings, and well away on brandy. Press him against the sandbags, take his
time, let Joe have his turn under the guise of selfish pleasure. Nobody else
cared whether Joe enjoyed it.

Make him come against the dirt and canvas, hold him quietly; then carry on well
past the point. Until it hurt, until Joe couldn’t stand it,

...Jack you’re hurting me...

And that’d be it. Over, finished, back to the war.

//Jack, you’re hurting me.// He hated himself sometimes for needing Dolly to say
it. For being grateful Billy saw the bastard he was, and stayed away; and that
he hadn’t married Jessie, just in case.


=== © arjuna 2003 ===


	Jasmine Alley : The Lockup : kel : Back to the War
		DISCLAIMER: Not mine. I just worship at the Mitchell shrine. TITLE: Back to the War FANDOM: When the Boat Comes In PAIRING: Jack/Billy, Jack/Matt, ish RATING: PG, angst CHRONO: Sometime round Ladies, Women, Sweethearts and Wives SUMMARY: Shortie inside Jack’s head FEEDBACK: Of any and all stripes welcome THANKS TO: no names, no pack drill COMMENTS: Happy Christmas Sinistral -- sorry it’s not one of your preferred pairs but it fits the "angst" criteria [g]. See, the thing is, one of these days I’ll get round to telling you what happened when Fitz met Billy Seaton ;-) =============== Back to the War by kel =============== There were times when Dolly’s complaisance made him angry, times like now; he coped with it using sex. Something they both enjoyed, including the distress. When he fucked her from the front, when he was gentle, and loving, and the man she thought she’d married, he’d think of Billy. On his back, legs and lips parted like the boy-whore he was. Loving it, loving Jack. When he was angry, he’d turn her face-down, think hard about other times he’d not known who he was. Her large, white, soft body angered him; just like her brother, and he’d come thinking of Matt, round and soft, redfaced and gasping without finesse against Joe Routledge, or some other poor bastard who’d let them. Up against the sandbags, hell going on overhead and Paddy Boyle, who’d die rather than touch a man, on lookout. No subtlety, Matt. No idea what he was doing; mindless, animal rutting, something that he did because Jack did. Never thought it through. Alpha and omega, first and last; Jack’d take first turn and third; after Matt, after Charlie sometimes. Sergeant’s privilege, and he paid for it well. That’s Jack, they’d say. Greedy. Gentle first time round, a little harder last, Joe slippery with Matt’s leavings, and well away on brandy. Press him against the sandbags, take his time, let Joe have his turn under the guise of selfish pleasure. Nobody else cared whether Joe enjoyed it. Make him come against the dirt and canvas, hold him quietly; then carry on well past the point. Until it hurt, until Joe couldn’t stand it, ...Jack you’re hurting me... And that’d be it. Over, finished, back to the war. //Jack, you’re hurting me.// He hated himself sometimes for needing Dolly to say it. For being grateful Billy saw the bastard he was, and stayed away; and that he hadn’t married Jessie, just in case. === © arjuna 2003 ===

(c) Watching Since Woodentop 1996-2007