![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
FIC: Carolina
Genre; rps
Rating: If I do more, adult, for now, teen.
Pairing: Ben Browder, Jurgen Prochnow
I know, it's a strange combination. But I have my reasons. This is for my bestest buddy. You know who you are, although you'll not likely see this for a few days. Drive safely! :)
It's a typical North Carolina Spring day; cool, sunny and damp from the rain clouds that swept through and away in a half hour's time. The beach is nearly deserted, the tourist season hasn't quite started yet. It's mostly Ben; numerous cat calling seagulls and the beached remains of jellyfish. These he avoids carefully. It's not the clear ones has to be nervous of, but the deflated sacks of the ones still containing poison. Home is a half hour walk down the beach and he'd just as soon do it without hobbling himself.
He walks down past the remains of a lighthouse. Its useless tower sticks up out of the water, a casualty of one hurricane too many. The striped paint it was given while still in use, clings desperately in odd patches. It's a tourist magnet and the local tourist association has voted, every time the measure to restore it comes up, to leave it as it stands. The tourists find it more charming that way.
His attention on the lighthouse and not on his feet, now that he's long past the jellyfish, he winces as he steps on something hard. A hermit crab. With a soft exhalation he bends to pick it up and carry it to the water's edge to see if it's still alive and will poke its claws out of its shell. It takes a few seconds for the critter to get over its fright, but then, there, elegant legs extend as the crab tries to swim through the water and back into the sand. Gently Ben lets go and watches it float down and burrow in, quickly buried by sand and tide. He sighs and turns back to shore.
"You seem to have made and lost a friend in the space of a single minute, yes?" A man asks him in an accent that he immediately recognizes as German and with a hint of something else. In a few years, after he's been to drama school in London, Ben will recognize that the man speaks English as taught by Britons and not American English. Accent aside, the man interests Ben. He appears to be in his early forties, only a mere hint of gray in his hair. His eyes are piercingly blue and familiar.
It takes Ben a moment, but then he realises where he's seen this man before. "I know you," Ben says with a certain amount of youthful triumph. "Das Boot, right?"
Delighted, the man smiles and winks. "Allow me to correct you, my name is Jurgen, not Das Boot."
Ben rolls his eyes, not unkindly, and shakes his head. "Man, my Dad tells jokes nearly as bad."
Jurgen nods his head and sweeps his hand in a gesture encompassing the beach. "Will you walk with me while I strive to do better in this English I do not speak so very well?"
"You do fine," Ben admits, "but I wouldn't mind some company while I walk home."
"Very well then..." Jurgen pauses, waiting for the handsome young man dressed only in a worn pair of jeans to tell him his name.
"Oh, yeah, sorry. I'm Ben," he says and walks toward Jurgen, extending his hand as they draw close.
Jurgen shakes it firmly, searching out Ben's expression for that thing that only a like-minded man would know he was looking for. He smiles slowly as Ben colors ever so slightly. Excellent.
"Tell me about yourself, as we walk," he commands imperiously.
And that's just what Ben does. And only with a slight amount of the attitude that might have gotten him spanked at one time. Not that Ben has to concern himself with such things as he walks with this kind German man. Together, under the swiftly warming Carolina sun.
Genre; rps
Rating: If I do more, adult, for now, teen.
Pairing: Ben Browder, Jurgen Prochnow
I know, it's a strange combination. But I have my reasons. This is for my bestest buddy. You know who you are, although you'll not likely see this for a few days. Drive safely! :)
It's a typical North Carolina Spring day; cool, sunny and damp from the rain clouds that swept through and away in a half hour's time. The beach is nearly deserted, the tourist season hasn't quite started yet. It's mostly Ben; numerous cat calling seagulls and the beached remains of jellyfish. These he avoids carefully. It's not the clear ones has to be nervous of, but the deflated sacks of the ones still containing poison. Home is a half hour walk down the beach and he'd just as soon do it without hobbling himself.
He walks down past the remains of a lighthouse. Its useless tower sticks up out of the water, a casualty of one hurricane too many. The striped paint it was given while still in use, clings desperately in odd patches. It's a tourist magnet and the local tourist association has voted, every time the measure to restore it comes up, to leave it as it stands. The tourists find it more charming that way.
His attention on the lighthouse and not on his feet, now that he's long past the jellyfish, he winces as he steps on something hard. A hermit crab. With a soft exhalation he bends to pick it up and carry it to the water's edge to see if it's still alive and will poke its claws out of its shell. It takes a few seconds for the critter to get over its fright, but then, there, elegant legs extend as the crab tries to swim through the water and back into the sand. Gently Ben lets go and watches it float down and burrow in, quickly buried by sand and tide. He sighs and turns back to shore.
"You seem to have made and lost a friend in the space of a single minute, yes?" A man asks him in an accent that he immediately recognizes as German and with a hint of something else. In a few years, after he's been to drama school in London, Ben will recognize that the man speaks English as taught by Britons and not American English. Accent aside, the man interests Ben. He appears to be in his early forties, only a mere hint of gray in his hair. His eyes are piercingly blue and familiar.
It takes Ben a moment, but then he realises where he's seen this man before. "I know you," Ben says with a certain amount of youthful triumph. "Das Boot, right?"
Delighted, the man smiles and winks. "Allow me to correct you, my name is Jurgen, not Das Boot."
Ben rolls his eyes, not unkindly, and shakes his head. "Man, my Dad tells jokes nearly as bad."
Jurgen nods his head and sweeps his hand in a gesture encompassing the beach. "Will you walk with me while I strive to do better in this English I do not speak so very well?"
"You do fine," Ben admits, "but I wouldn't mind some company while I walk home."
"Very well then..." Jurgen pauses, waiting for the handsome young man dressed only in a worn pair of jeans to tell him his name.
"Oh, yeah, sorry. I'm Ben," he says and walks toward Jurgen, extending his hand as they draw close.
Jurgen shakes it firmly, searching out Ben's expression for that thing that only a like-minded man would know he was looking for. He smiles slowly as Ben colors ever so slightly. Excellent.
"Tell me about yourself, as we walk," he commands imperiously.
And that's just what Ben does. And only with a slight amount of the attitude that might have gotten him spanked at one time. Not that Ben has to concern himself with such things as he walks with this kind German man. Together, under the swiftly warming Carolina sun.
