| Disclaimer: No rights infringement intended Warning: Mature Adults only Dispatches - Birdwatching Author: Diamona <diamona@onthenet.com.au> Archive: Yes Rating: PG (and S for silliness) Warnings: none, unless you have some illusions about how a lot of guys think. Disclaimer: All the best characters are owned by guys with beards. Not me. Oh no. Summary: A short scene from the life of Richard Sharpe, our favourite Napoleonic Rifleman. |
Harris was admiring the view.
It had been a long march. Harris had stopped counting the miles, stopped counting the hours, and just trudged along, one weary foot in front of the other. His feet hurt, his legs ached, his arse was sore and his back just didn't bear mentioning. There were, however, some things that were just guaranteed to lift a man's spirits.
"Cor, that's nice, that is," Cooper wasn't one to let the opportunity for appreciation pass.
"Certainly is, my friend." Harris grinned approvingly. "What do you think, Captain?"
"Eh?" The Captain, striding along the line, had not been paying attention to the scenery, but he glanced over in the indicated direction. A dozen yards away a young woman stood watching the long files of men pass, a half-filled basket of herbs slung under one arm. Her peasant-style wide leather belt emphasised her slim figure and deep cleavage. As the men watched she raised an arm to brush away a stray lock of hair, and the thin fabric tightened across her breasts. Cooper groaned, and Sharpe nodded distractedly.
"Aye, that's a nice enough pair, Harris."
"A nice pair of what, Richard?"
Christ! No-one had heard the Captain's lady riding up behind them. One glance at Sharpe's rapidly colouring face revealed his mortification. Harris swung his face to the front and watched his step. One foot in front of the other.
"Tits, Miss Teresa, ma'am. Tits."
Harris gasped. Had Harper gone mad?! Sharpe seemed to think so. He swung round to stare at Harper, shock writ large on his face.
"T'was a nice wee pair of Great Tits, safe and snug in their little brown nest, ma'am. It lifts a mans soul, so it does, to appreciate the beauties of nature and of all God's wee creatures. And after a long day's march, there's not many here who wouldn't like to be burying their heads in a pillow as sweet and warm as that wee nest when they bed down tonight."
Harper grimaced up at Teresa, squinting to keep the sun out of his eyes.
"Birds, ma'am. Birds. Back there in the hedgerow."
Teresa's mouth twitched.
"Very well gentlemen, I shall leave you to your... bird-watching."
She urged her horse a few paces forward and fell into step with her lover, who was resolutely watching the road in front of him.
"Oh, and Richard..."
Teresa bent forward and Sharpe was reluctantly forced to meet her eyes. She lowered her voice, and Harris, who would in no way describe himself as a busybody, had to strain to hear.
"Perhaps I should make sure that your pillow is as soft and warm as the little birds tonight. No?"
With a clicking noise, and a deft heel, she urged her mount forwards. Sharpe was left floundering in her wake, flushing, if possible, an even deeper crimson. Looking at his Captain, Harris found his mouth twitching in amusement. There wasn't a man in the Company who didn't admire Miss Teresa, but it took a brave soul to keep up with her.
"Harris!"
"Yes, Cap'n Sharpe, sir!"
"Eyes front!"
"Yessir!"
Harris sighed. One weary foot in front of the other.
