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Nameless Sharpe crackfic

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Nov. 24th, 2007 | 06:31 pm

Written for sharpiefan as part of the Great Gift Exchange for the UNOPOBL Goes Live! moot in Germany. Inspired by a comment she made about Sharpe doing his paperwork on this laptop. Sharpe/Lawford, anachronistic (same universe as Christmas Special?), silly.


Tap. Tap tap. Click. Pause……tap tap. BEEP! "Shit!"

William Lawford buried his face in the pillow, trying to ignore the sounds and get an hour, half an hour, a few minutes more sleep. Tap tap. Pause. Tap tap tap. TAPTAPTAPTAPTAP-BEEEEEP-TAP THUMP!

It was no use. He rolled over and sat up. "What are you doing to that machine, Richard? I'm fairly sure it's not meant to make that noise."

Sharpe, pausing guiltily in the act of banging the side of the screen, transferred his glare to Lawford. "Trying to make the bloody thing work! I've done everything right and it just makes that noise at me!"

Carefully concealing a smile at his lover's outrage, Lawford slid out of bed and padded across the deep carpet to the desk. "Show me what you did." After a moment he clasped his hands behind his back to keep himself from taking the laptop away from Sharpe as he sweated and hunted for keys and jabbed at them with two angry fingers. (Taptap…pause….tap…. BEEP!)

"Ah. It – ah – doesn't like your spelling. See – those red wiggly lines…." He pointed apologetically.
"It doesn't like my…." Sharpe glared at the machine in outrage. "First Wellesley-bloody-Wellington says his clerks can't read my writing, and now this bloody thing's criticising my spelling!"

"To be fair, Richard, I don't think some of those words you're using are even in its dictionary." Or any respectable dictionary at all, he added to himself, blushing a little as he looked at the screen. "Look, if you right click on the red line…." He saw the total lack of comprehension on Sharpe's face, and sighed.

"Print it out, Richard," he said. ""I'll correct it for you by hand, and you can type it up again later."
Sharpe thought for a moment – Lawford could almost see the wheels turning in his head, and groaned inwardly – and said, "If you're going to do that, Bill, you might as well type the whole damn thing for me now."

"I can't write your report for you!" Lawford said, still a little shocked at the idea despite his long acquaintance with Sharpe.

"You wouldn't be writing it. You'd just be giving me a hand. And I could…give you a hand…in exchange," Sharpe said, grinning as he reached back to his actions to his words.

"Richard, no – oh, god – Richard – Sharpe – no, I said…." Sharpe just smirked and moved his hand faster. "For god's sake – at least hit save and print – damn it, let me…." He leant unsteadily over Sharpe's shoulder and hit CTRL+S, CTRL+P with suddenly-clumsy fingers, and let Sharpe tug him down onto the floor, no longer protesting at all.

"Oh god – Richard – Richard…."


Sharpe looked up and swore, neglecting the far better user he'd found for his mouth. "'Printer cannot be found'?" he said, outraged. "What do you mean, 'Printer cannot be found'? It's right there, you stupid fucking machine!"

"Richard! Please leave the bloody thing along and get back down here – I'll type the thing for you later, I don't care, just – please…. Thank – oh! – t-thhank you…."

In the last moments in which he could still think at all, Lawford reflected that it was only to be expected that the machine would be so shockingly disobliging. After all, it was Sharpe's laptop.
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