Drummer Boy
Apr. 10th, 2011 11:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
barefoot_bardTitle: Drummer Boy
Rating: K+ (Suitable for ages 13 and above)
Disclaimers: None
Original pen-date: 4 February 2011
Summary: Show the Colours AU; A young Cross Johnson takes the King's shilling.
Author's Note: Written for the StC Kink meme.
Somehow, he suspected it was the uniform that drew the most attention. His smart new red coat with its still-spotless white facings helped him stand out even amongst other redcoats. They were soldiers, though. He was a Marine.
Cross Johnson brushed specks of dust off his coat front and resumed his stroll down the crowded street. It felt good to be home again, if only for a couple of days, and be able to display his bettered situation so publicly. That he was no more than a drummer boy mattered little. That he was part of a recruiting party mattered even less.
"Rattle your sticks, boy, or you'll live to regret it," his corporal growled. Johnson obligingly resumed his drumming, smugly pleased to note that Corporal Green had just been pulled up by the Navy officer in charge of the party for attempting to disappear into the nearest ale-house. If their efforts this afternoon were successful, or even if they weren't, the whole party would have time to indulge in ale or beer.
Johnson's drumsticks pattered away and he was hard-pressed to keep his face blank. This was good living.
Rating: K+ (Suitable for ages 13 and above)
Disclaimers: None
Original pen-date: 4 February 2011
Summary: Show the Colours AU; A young Cross Johnson takes the King's shilling.
Author's Note: Written for the StC Kink meme.
Somehow, he suspected it was the uniform that drew the most attention. His smart new red coat with its still-spotless white facings helped him stand out even amongst other redcoats. They were soldiers, though. He was a Marine.
Cross Johnson brushed specks of dust off his coat front and resumed his stroll down the crowded street. It felt good to be home again, if only for a couple of days, and be able to display his bettered situation so publicly. That he was no more than a drummer boy mattered little. That he was part of a recruiting party mattered even less.
"Rattle your sticks, boy, or you'll live to regret it," his corporal growled. Johnson obligingly resumed his drumming, smugly pleased to note that Corporal Green had just been pulled up by the Navy officer in charge of the party for attempting to disappear into the nearest ale-house. If their efforts this afternoon were successful, or even if they weren't, the whole party would have time to indulge in ale or beer.
Johnson's drumsticks pattered away and he was hard-pressed to keep his face blank. This was good living.