The wardroom is black as pitch save the shaft of moonlight that pierces it. No sound, no whisper falls through the air to the boards below, the heavy hush of mutiny giving way to even darker secrets.

Bush shivers, his clothes still damp from his swim, dried stiff and salty against his skin. He strips it away slowly, methodically. Jacket first then stock. His fingers still as other fingers move over him, caressing the fabric away from his body.

Waistcoat then shirt, unbuttoned trousers pushed down to mid thigh, small clothes to follow. Fingers and hands and mouths moving over him. He shivers under their slow movements, the silken brush of hair and lips and tongue.

He bites back a moan, strangling the sound in his throat as he feels moist heat at his neck, a warm kiss then sends a chill through him. Flat, rough hands slide around his waist then up his chest, fingers brushing the thick hair. He closes his eyes and leans back against the hard body behind him, tilts his head to allow the slow exploration of his neck by the questing tongue.

The hands move further up, curving over his shoulders, holding him captive. Instinct fires a struggle, until the low familiar whisper gusts against his skin.

"Look down."

Bush does as he's told, not one to claim any superiority in rank when it comes to this. The sight sends a heavy shudder through him, and he feels his pulse quicken, rushing the blood more fully to his swollen cock.

Hornblower's mouth is like art, though Bush makes no pretension of art. The sly curve, the hint of a knowing smile, the wide full lips, the strong tongue all speak art to Bush, make him a connoisseur as those same lips close hot and tight over Bush's cock.

"How does he feel, Mr. Bush?" Kennedy's voice is like a soft wind to the sail, his breath a steady counterpoint to the slide and pressure of Hornblower's mouth.

"G-good, Mr. Kennedy." He cannot look away, his gaze caught by the sight of his shaft, thick and flushed with blood, sliding in and out of Hornblower's mouth, slick and wet.

"Just good, Mr. Bush?" There is a hint of a laugh in Kennedy's husky voice. "Our Mr. Bush," he pauses as Bush groans at the sentiment, "is a man of few words, Mr. Hornblower." Hornblower's response is a low rumble that courses through Bush's skin, echoing up his cock and firing along his nerves.

Kennedy's grip tightens and he shifts his body slightly, pressing his own hard flesh to Bush's, thrusting slowly against Bush's buttocks. "Surely, Mr. Bush," his voice is soft, thready, full of promise, "this all feels better than good."

Hornblower's mouth pulls at Bush's cock, sucking hard at his length. "God," Bush breathes, his hips rocking forward to meet his parted lips. Hornblower's hands fan over Bush's hips, pushing him back against the hard press of Kennedy's erection, holding him there. "Oh…God."

"Yes," Kennedy's teeth are quick and sharp on Bush's earlobe. "His tongue, Mr. Bush, do you feel it press hard to the pulse? Feel the wet heat of his mouth around you?"

"Mr…K-Kennedy," Bush's voice is a low growl, his body acting on instinct, moving with the thrust and pull of the bodies surrounding him. Hornblower's fingers dig into his hips, the hard force of them against Bush's skin. His hips move despite the pressure, as Hornblower's mouth tightens, the hard suction pulling his lips firm as they close along the ridge, his tongue pressing the head of Bush's cock firmly against the roof of Hornblower's mouth.

Kennedy releases his hold on Bush to turn his head, a hungry kiss swallowing Bush's hard groan as his body jerks with the hard pulse of his climax, spilling hotly between Hornblower's lips. Bush lifts his hand to cup the back of Kennedy's neck, hold him against his lips as his cock thrusts hard into the resistance of Bush's buttocks, his other hand releasing Bush's shoulder to slide down and wrap around his waist.

Hornblower's mouth keeps moving along Bush's shaft, sending tremors through him strong enough to break the kiss, his head falling forward, his eyes watching Hornblower's mouth, watching the tell-tale movement of his hand as he strokes himself, his dark eyes locked on Bush's own gaze.

He trembles as Hornblower's body shudders almost in time with the soft gasp that Kennedy bites into his neck. He feels surrounded and surrendered even as the hands and lips holding him slide away. Kennedy moves around him to tug Hornblower to his feet, their lips meeting in a desperate kiss. He imagines the taste of him sliding from tongue to tongue and groans, reaches out to them and steals Hornblower's mouth away.