so. belmanoir said:
if you write callum and hugh fucking on the crab boat in an attempt to overcome hugh's phobia, i will love you FOREVER. you can make as many seaman jokes as you want! it's apparently callum who hates the puns, not me.
sort of a sequel to what i am now calling Under the Sea.
hugh/callum and, um. minor cameos from people and boats featured on the best show about crab fishing in the bering sea ever, deadliest catch. (sig hansen is the grumpy captain of the f/v northwestern. edgar hansen is one of his brothers and also the deck boss.
and also hot. if you like that kind of thing. which apparently i do!). i never much bother with disclaimers - do i need to note that this is all made up? (i would hope that was kind of obvious!)
about 1800 words. R. many thanks to the lovely zabira for beta <3. as ever i had some problems with the title. all crappitude is mine mine all mine.
Callum & Hugh Fuck On A Boat
It was 2am and the only artificial light on the Northwestern was a faint glow from the instrument panels on the bridge. Outside the cloud was low and wet, blotting out any light from the sky, though the harbour lights struggled to penetrate the murk and it was almost possible to see well enough to put one foot in front of the other.
“Jesus fuck!” A strangled curse followed the sound of scrabbling boots and a ringing thunk out of the darkness.
“Keep it down, Dillon,” Callum hissed from further along the deck, holding on to what he hoped was a solid piece of pipe. “We’re not even supposed to be here tonight. If you have to curse, try and sound like a sailor.”
Some more metallic bangs and scraping sounds followed, and then Hugh clumped carefully out of the dark towards him, cursing under his breath with every step he took on the icy deck.
“Shiver. My. Mother. Fucking. Timbers.” He grabbed the bit of rail next to Callum with one hand and Callum’s coat with the other. “That authentic enough for ya? Because I never thought I’d say this, but I am really fucking sick of seamen right now.”
Callum rolled his eyes, though it was wasted on Hugh, who was now clutching the rail with one mittened hand and trying to pull up the hood of his parka with the other.
“If you can make jokes that bad, you’re fine. C’mon, shift it. If we can get inside it'll be warmer.” He turned and headed aft.
“Hey, hey, wait up!” Hugh released the railing and lunged after Callum, immediately slipped on something unidentified and putrid-fishy-smelling and performed a frantic half-windmill that totally failed to stop him body-slamming Callum into the steel-plate wall.
“Fuuuuuck,” Callum croaked as the air was pushed out of his lungs. He blinked away the few stars that had appeared when his head hit the freezing metal and braced his feet to support Hugh’s weight. “What in the name of fuck is your problem tonight? We are doing this for you, remember.”
Hugh glared at him, though they were so close that he got a little cross-eyed doing it. “This,” he mouthed, clearly trying not to yell, “was your fucking smart idea! I’m only doing it to stop you going on and on about systems of sensitivity or whatever the fuck.”
Callum glared right back. He considered sidestepping out from under Hugh’s arm, but he knew he would only have to help him off the deck afterwards.
“It’s Systematic Desensitization, asshole. I read about it on the internet. And I am trying to help you with your lameass crab phobia so you don’t have a breakdown on the set.”
“It’s not a fucking phobia. I just hate the scuttle-y, shelly little fucks!”
“You said you were phobic. Jesus. And anyway, if you don’t have a phobia then what is your major malfunction here? The deck’s not even that slippery, but you’ve been clinging on to me like a big bald barnacle ever since we came up the gangplank.”
Hugh hunched his shoulders, and Callum sighed. He tugged him closer and leant his forehead against Hugh’s. Their breath mingled, white in the freezing air.
“Spill it, Dillon,” he said quietly, and tugged Hugh’s parka hood up. The nylon fur tickled both their foreheads.
Hugh huffed out a long breath. “I’m not being an asshole on purpose okay? I’m glad I got the role. I am. It’s just – you know. Kissing. On screen. That’s kind of a big deal, right?”
Callum nodded. “Don’t worry. If you enjoy it too much people will just think you’re a really good actor.”
“Yeah?” Hugh sounded dubious.
“Always works for me. Now can we go inside before I freeze to the wall?”
“Exhibitionist,” said Hugh. “Uh. We’re not going down into the crab hold or whatever now?”
Callum snorted. “Not phobic. Riiight. The crab go into tanks, idiot. And anyway, they offload them all when they come into port. Weren’t you even watching the DVDs last night?”
Hugh grinned. “Like that’s my fault. I got distracted. You we--rmph!” Callum slapped a gloved hand over Hugh’s mouth.
“Shhh. Did you hear something?” he whispered.
Hugh shook his head as much as he could with the hand mashed over his lower face and lifted a shoulder to indicate the hood covering his ears. Callum pulled a face and craned his neck fore and aft, but the coast seemed to be clear.
It was warm and close on the bridge, with a low comforting hum from the instrument panels just on the edge of hearing. Hugh was already pulling his coat off when Callum got up into his personal space and started to help him out of his sweater too.
“Hey now, frisky, what's the deal?” Hugh asked, muffled by the layer of wool as Callum pulled it over his head. He lifted a hand automatically to straighten his absent hair, running it over his scalp, and caught Callum's wrist in his other hand just before he lost the long sleeve t-shirt too. Callum let him hold his wrist against his chest.
“We're, uh, reprogramming you. Replacing a bad association with a good one, you know? Like, if you try to stop smoking you have to get new automatic associations for all the times you’d have wanted a cigarette?”
“Well, I can see you’re the expert on that. When did you give up again?”
Callum scowled. “Shut up and cooperate. Principle’s sound.”
Hugh opened his mouth to protest, but shut it again when his brain caught up with the implications of the sweater thing. Then he opened it again. “Oh, I get it. You're reprogramming me with sex? You think a quickblowjob in the captain's chair and my tiny little lizard brain will go, 'Fishing boats? Sex! Crabs? Sex!’ Gotta say, I'm a little hurt that you think I'm that simple. Plus, what if I wind up with some kind of fetish?”
“You can add it to your collection,” Callum said impatiently. “Anyway,” he leaned closer and let his mouth brush Hugh's ear, “I had a bit more than a blowjob in mind.”
Hugh shivered happily, leaning into Callum and sliding his hands under his dorky sweater to rest on his sharp hipbones. His voice was thick with amused arousal. “What, no blowjob? Man, this reprogramming really sucks.”
Callum nipped at his neck. “Oh, there'll be a blowjob. You're going to suck my cock till I'm good and hard, then I'm going to fuck you up against the depth indicator.”
Hugh shivered harder, pulled Callum closer, rubbing against him and kissing down his jaw. “Promises, promises,” he growled. Getting fucked was always good, but getting fucked in strange and unusual new places was high on his top ten Favourite Fun Things To Do With Callum. Even if they were on a boat. Pausing with his mouth against Callum's stubble he snorted. “So, we're dispensing with the rum and the lash and going straight to the sodomy?”
“If you really want your ass whipped I'm sure we can improvise. I saw some pieces of rope outside.”
“Shut the fuck up and make me suck your cock.”
“Yes cap'n,” Callum smirked and started unfastening his belt. Hugh maneuvered him towards the battered leather chair and pulled his own t-shirt off as he got down onto his knees. He leant forward and mouthed at Callum’s fly then tugged the zipper down with his teeth.
Callum mmmmm’d and let his head fall back.
Hugh hooked a finger into the fly and then stopped. He snickered.
Callum didn’t move his head. Still looking at the wheelhouse ceiling he sounded a little impatient. “What? In case you didn’t notice, it’s about minus ten out there.”
“Hey, I’m not judging here,” said Hugh cheerfully. “But you should warn a guy. Cozy thermal long johns, Cal. Just not what I was expecting.”
“If I went commando in this weather you’d be bitching even more.”
“Because little Callum would be littler than usual?”
Callum lifted his head and made a face at Hugh. “In this weather little Callum might break off. And that’d be a tragedy.”
“For both of us.” Callum was emphatic.
Hugh tilted his head and pretended to think about it. “Yep. Okay, I’ll give you that.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be giving me something else?” Callum hinted, shifting his hips.
“Mmm hmm. And just as soon as you give me the operating instructions for your sexy new underwear I’ll get right on it.”
In his hiding place in the second gear locker at the back of the bridge Edgar Hansen leaned against two spare survival suits and a deflated buoy and adjusted himself thoughtfully in his off-duty oilskins.
Through the door he could hear the low, rhythmic grunts as Rennie made good on his promise. Dillon really shouldn’t be hanging on to the radar plotter like that, but it would probably hold. The settings were definitely going to be getting as thoroughly fucked as he was, but that couldn’t be helped.
Edgar considered the situation. On the one hand, Sig had been annoyingly accurate in his assessment of the off-duty habits of actors and would probably refuse to let the subject drop for at least a week. There was $50 and a carton of Canadian cigarettes riding on the issue to boot. On the other hand, that was big brother's sacred captain’s chair that had just been used and abused. Edgar smirked to himself and wondered how often he could work “Thar he blows!” into casual conversation before Sig threatened to fire him.
If nothing else he figured that Daniel guy would appreciate it.
The noises from the bridge were getting more urgent. Edgar stopped contemplating the best way to annoy Sig and put his eye back to the small gap in the door frame and his hand back into his pants.
“So,” Callum mumbled against Hugh’s hot neck. “How do you feel about crabs now?”
Hugh laughed a little shakily. “As long as you didn’t just give me some? Pretty damn good.”
Callum kissed his ear. “You want a cigarette?”
“Nah,” said Hugh. “I really did give up this time.”
“’Kay,” said Callum. “Should I offer one to him?” He indicated the cupboard door.
There was a sound that might have been someone banging their head on a bulwark, followed by a muffled curse.
Hugh grinned. “I don’t think so. He already got a free show. C’mon. Let’s go get something to eat.”
“I should have let you swallow. That would have kept you going till breakfast."
Hugh cuffed Callum round the head and shrugged into his coat in one movement.
“Solid food, asshole. Now move.”
“You want to get crab sticks?”
Inside the locker Edgar rubbed his head and sighed. Could have been worse, he thought. At least they hadn’t made any salty seamen jokes.
fic: RPS C6D hugh/callum
so. belmanoir said: