What To Expect
Title: What to Expect (2/2)
Author: Anteros
Characters: Kennedy / Hornblower
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Part 2 of Determination, from a different perspective. I'm not sure if Horatio is getting a bit out of character here, but I see him as a gambler and a man who is prepared to take risks against the odds.
The room is unremarkable to your eye but he had been particular about it. It had to be this one. On enquiring why, he smiled slightly, cheeks colouring as he turns to lock the door.
“So no one can hear.”
You are unsure what there will be to hear and, not for the first time, you wonder that he should think of such a thing. There is so much you cannot fathom about this boy. He is as predictable as the weather, which is to say, not very. And you crave the warmth of his company like the sun. But you want more than that, you want so much more than that. You can't quite believe you are here. With him. Can't believe that you are prepared to risk everything; honour, reputation, standing, your neck even? For what? For your own vanity? No. For him for Archie.
He is standing in front of you, back to the locked door, golden in the lamplight, chin tilted up in that familiar expression of defiance. He's looking up at you with an expression that could be doubt or hope. And you are aching to touch him, hold him, and all your determined doubts and dreams of duty and honour pale into insignificance in the light of such want. You know it’s wrong, you know it’s a sin, a derogation of the laws of God and man and the Admiralty. You've read Leviticus and you know the Articles by heart, but looking at him, you can not believe, you simply can not believe that this is the road to damnation, dishonor and disgrace.
But now that you are here, you realise that you don't know what to do. Your hands are shaking and you wonder if he's noticed. You can feel the colour rising in your cheeks, a trickle of sweat runs down your back. For want of something better to do you remove your jacket and waistcoat and hang them carefully over a chair. His eyes never leave you and when you turn back to face him you catch a glimpse of something distant in his expression. He turns away from you to douse the lamp and you breath an inward sigh of relief. The darkness will hide your embarrassment and inexperience but at the same time you regret that you will not be able to see the way his eyes shine and his nose wrinkles when he smiles. You're surprised when he leaves the candle burning, surprised that you do not care that he will see you in all your ungainly awkwardness.
You’re afraid. You can’t deny it. Your heart is hammering and your stomach lurches as if the floorboards were the deck of a ship pitching and wallowing in a day old swell. You have to summon every ounce of willpower just to stand upright on the spot. You try to reason with yourself that there is nothing to be afraid of. It's just Archie, your friend. But there is no reasoning. You know fine well that if you give in to that damning urge to press your lips to his then Archie will no longer be your friend. He will be something else, you will be something else, something you don’t want to put a name to. You have heard the names, filthy names bandied about on Justinian, names cast in Archie’s direction. Names that brought the shutters down behind his eyes and that cold distant expression to his face. The memory lights a flame of anger in your chest.
He is still standing in front of you but his eyes are closed and you hear him release a long deep breath. Maybe he's regretting this. How could you possibly have believed that bright beautiful Archie Kennedy would see anything in a graceless dolt like you? Surely he is going to turn around, unlock the door and walk away. And you will be alone again, left standing here like a fool. But then he opens his eyes and he is gazing up at you with such luminous hope and determination that you don’t give it another thought. You reach your hand out, touch his cheek and then you kiss him.
Except you don’t know how to kiss and you bump your nose on his. He laughs once and you can feel your cheeks burning at your foolishness but his serious smile encourages you to try again. This time you make contact, his mouth is small, his lips smooth and warm, moving softly against yours. It feels so simple. So astonishingly easy. And you want more. You slide your hand around the back of his neck under his queue and pull him up towards you. If you can just hold him there this need never end. Your head is starting to spin, and you realise you need to breathe. You pull away from him, cheeks flaming, trying not to gasp. But as you release him he slides his hands round your waist and pulls your body to his.
"Come here Horatio."
Then before you can register what is pressing where, his hand slides down the front of your beeches over your cock. You try and fail to bite back a groan of desperation. You just want to get closer. So you cup his face in your hands and pull him up towards you and you kiss him again. Harder this time, you can feel his lips crushing against yours, his tongue sliding against them. When you release him he rests his head against your shoulder fair hair falling from his disordered queue. He smells warm. Interest, prestige and promotion be damned. Right now you have never wanted anything more than you want this man.
"Archie."
That brings the familiar smile of devilry that infuriates and inflames you in equal measure.
"Patience Mr Hornblower."
He moves away from you and makes a typically theatrical performance of removing his jacket but falters as he tries to untie his neck cloth. This is your chance.
“Allow me to assist, Mister Kennedy, you seem to be having a little trouble there.”
His hands are still trembling when you take them in yours and press them to your lips. You free the knot at his throat in seconds, then work your way down the buttons of his waistcoat. His eyes are closed and you're so desperate to reach his skin that you don't notice the tightness in his jaw at first and the creases that are deepening across this brow. You want to touch him, to reach his skin and you can't wait any longer. You pull his shirt off without ceremony, feeling a tug of resistance as you pull it over his head. You're breathing hard, your vision seems blurred and it takes you one frozen moment to realise what you are looking at. A perfect torso, strong curved shoulders, broad chest, narrowing to waist and hips. And over all a faint patchwork of welts and marks and scars, old and faded but still visible against his skin. You're frozen in horror, breath catching in your throat. You don't know what to do. Your instinct is to seize him, shake him, demand that he tells you. Your mind starts working feverishly. You'll hand him his shirt, tell him to cover himself, turning away so as to afford him some shred of dignity. You'll sit him on the bed and demand that he tells you who did this. You'll force it from him if you have to, and then you will find them and call them out, every last bastard who ever so much as laid a finger on him. You will see this retribution if it is the last thing you do. All these thoughts race through your mind in seconds.
He is still standing in front of you, half naked, eyes closed, hands hanging loosely by his sides. And then you remember the way he looked at you. That look that burned with such fierce hope. Is that what he sees when he looks at you? Hope? And suddenly you know what you have to do, what you want to do. You cast your own shirt off and draw him to you. You are both naked now. He feels warm and solid against you and you can feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest. You run your hands down his back, over fine ridges and furrows. You have seen the marks left by cat and cane on seaman and mid alike but you never thought to feel them here. There is something obscene in this unexpected latticework but you push that thought aside, swallowing down hard on it, determined on your course of action.
You push him back towards the bed and he moves without resistance. He bumps against the edge of the bed with a slight jolt and it's as though you've woken from a trance. Suddenly everything is strange and lucid and you have no idea what you are doing here. What are you, Horatio Hornblower, doing here, in this room, with this man? You're at a loss and you feel yourself standing there gaping dumbly in confusion.
“Ummm…Archie?”
But then he's turning you around and he's the one pushing. His hands are on your shoulders and he's pushing you down on to the narrow bed, climbing on top of you, brushing hair away from your face with light rough fingers, sending sparks trickling down your spine. He licks his lower lip nervously, once, twice and then leans down to kiss you. You feel his mouth sinking down on to yours, his tongue flickers over your lips and your hips jerk upwards without your bidding. He smiles, checks flushed and eyes shining as he pulls at the buttons of your breeches. Your heart feels like something trapped, trying to batter its way out of your chest and you suddenly recognise the feeling as fear. He's tugging at your breeches now so you lift your hips allowing him to slide them down over your thighs. He drops his head and for a moment you wonder what he's looking at and then he takes you in his mouth. You didn't know what to expect but you didn’t expect that. You look down in astonishment and see his fair head resting on your thigh, a strand of dark gold hair lying among familiar tight black curls. Then his tongue starts to move and the satin heat of his lips blots out any other thought.
When he stops you're even more taken aback than when he started. You curse incoherently and grab desperately for him. But he twists away from you stepping lightly off the bed. And before you can reorder your senses he has shed his breeches and is tugging off yours. There is nothing between you now. He is kneeling over you gazing down at you with such sheer bloody will that for a moment you are paralysed. And then he lowers himself on to you, the full weight of his body lying warm and hard on top of you. This is it. This is the moment you've been waiting for. The moment that you've dreamed of, that wakes you damp and breathless in your hammock.
He's heavier than you expected and you can feel sheets of muscle tensing under your fingers as you run your hands down his back. He moans long and low, an unfamiliar sound. You can hardly breath for the heat and the weight but you want him closer. You slide your hands over hard tight buttocks pulling him in. His cock is rubbing against yours as you press your hips up against him. You grip him tighter and pull him down hard. Then you're vaguely aware of his body stiffening as he pushes himself up away from you. Focusing, you see a shadow flit across his eyes, open mouth closing, lips pressing into a thin tight line. And you know you're loosing him.
"Archie. Archie!"
You don't know what else to do, you keep repeating his name, to keep him here, to anchor him here with you. The shadow passes as it came and you feel the tension leave him. His eyes are shining again, cheeks flushed, lips parting. You move your feet up the bed cradling him between your thighs. You still don't know what you're doing, if this is right, but you don't care, all you want is to feel him sliding against you. You thrust up towards him and this time he pushes down with equal determination. You're aching for release; heat and pressure almost beyond bearing. He rocks his hips against you sliding the length of his cock against yours, you can't hold on any longer and the next slide sends a wash of fierce heat rushing over you, swallowing you in a moment of shining darkness, blotting out everything but the weight of his body as he shudders and collapses on to you with a cry.
There are still spots of light swimming before your eyes as you regain your senses. The first thing you're aware of is a feeling of perfect contentment that you did not believe could exist in this earthly world. You didn't know what to expect, but you didn't expect this feeling of joy and relief. There is still fear lurking there to be sure but right now you don't care.
Archie's head is lying against your shoulder, his face obscured by a fair tousled curtain. As you exhale a deep breath, the hair ruffles against his cheek and he lifts his head. The expression on his face seems to mirror what ever it is you feel, what ever it is that you can't put a name to. This sense of wonder.
You smile.
“Archie?"
He smiles down at you in return and you feel that familiar leap in your chest as you notice again the way his nose wrinkles.
"Horatio."
He moves his weight to roll off you but you slide your arms around his waist and hold him tight. And you want to believe that if you can just keep him close then no harm will come to him. You know that is foolish, you are at war and any day might be your last. But because you both determined to make this choice there is a permanence to this moment will endure beyond all others.
He lays his head on you shoulder again and you close your eyes.
Author: Anteros
Characters: Kennedy / Hornblower
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Part 2 of Determination, from a different perspective. I'm not sure if Horatio is getting a bit out of character here, but I see him as a gambler and a man who is prepared to take risks against the odds.
The room is unremarkable to your eye but he had been particular about it. It had to be this one. On enquiring why, he smiled slightly, cheeks colouring as he turns to lock the door.
“So no one can hear.”
You are unsure what there will be to hear and, not for the first time, you wonder that he should think of such a thing. There is so much you cannot fathom about this boy. He is as predictable as the weather, which is to say, not very. And you crave the warmth of his company like the sun. But you want more than that, you want so much more than that. You can't quite believe you are here. With him. Can't believe that you are prepared to risk everything; honour, reputation, standing, your neck even? For what? For your own vanity? No. For him for Archie.
He is standing in front of you, back to the locked door, golden in the lamplight, chin tilted up in that familiar expression of defiance. He's looking up at you with an expression that could be doubt or hope. And you are aching to touch him, hold him, and all your determined doubts and dreams of duty and honour pale into insignificance in the light of such want. You know it’s wrong, you know it’s a sin, a derogation of the laws of God and man and the Admiralty. You've read Leviticus and you know the Articles by heart, but looking at him, you can not believe, you simply can not believe that this is the road to damnation, dishonor and disgrace.
But now that you are here, you realise that you don't know what to do. Your hands are shaking and you wonder if he's noticed. You can feel the colour rising in your cheeks, a trickle of sweat runs down your back. For want of something better to do you remove your jacket and waistcoat and hang them carefully over a chair. His eyes never leave you and when you turn back to face him you catch a glimpse of something distant in his expression. He turns away from you to douse the lamp and you breath an inward sigh of relief. The darkness will hide your embarrassment and inexperience but at the same time you regret that you will not be able to see the way his eyes shine and his nose wrinkles when he smiles. You're surprised when he leaves the candle burning, surprised that you do not care that he will see you in all your ungainly awkwardness.
You’re afraid. You can’t deny it. Your heart is hammering and your stomach lurches as if the floorboards were the deck of a ship pitching and wallowing in a day old swell. You have to summon every ounce of willpower just to stand upright on the spot. You try to reason with yourself that there is nothing to be afraid of. It's just Archie, your friend. But there is no reasoning. You know fine well that if you give in to that damning urge to press your lips to his then Archie will no longer be your friend. He will be something else, you will be something else, something you don’t want to put a name to. You have heard the names, filthy names bandied about on Justinian, names cast in Archie’s direction. Names that brought the shutters down behind his eyes and that cold distant expression to his face. The memory lights a flame of anger in your chest.
He is still standing in front of you but his eyes are closed and you hear him release a long deep breath. Maybe he's regretting this. How could you possibly have believed that bright beautiful Archie Kennedy would see anything in a graceless dolt like you? Surely he is going to turn around, unlock the door and walk away. And you will be alone again, left standing here like a fool. But then he opens his eyes and he is gazing up at you with such luminous hope and determination that you don’t give it another thought. You reach your hand out, touch his cheek and then you kiss him.
Except you don’t know how to kiss and you bump your nose on his. He laughs once and you can feel your cheeks burning at your foolishness but his serious smile encourages you to try again. This time you make contact, his mouth is small, his lips smooth and warm, moving softly against yours. It feels so simple. So astonishingly easy. And you want more. You slide your hand around the back of his neck under his queue and pull him up towards you. If you can just hold him there this need never end. Your head is starting to spin, and you realise you need to breathe. You pull away from him, cheeks flaming, trying not to gasp. But as you release him he slides his hands round your waist and pulls your body to his.
"Come here Horatio."
Then before you can register what is pressing where, his hand slides down the front of your beeches over your cock. You try and fail to bite back a groan of desperation. You just want to get closer. So you cup his face in your hands and pull him up towards you and you kiss him again. Harder this time, you can feel his lips crushing against yours, his tongue sliding against them. When you release him he rests his head against your shoulder fair hair falling from his disordered queue. He smells warm. Interest, prestige and promotion be damned. Right now you have never wanted anything more than you want this man.
"Archie."
That brings the familiar smile of devilry that infuriates and inflames you in equal measure.
"Patience Mr Hornblower."
He moves away from you and makes a typically theatrical performance of removing his jacket but falters as he tries to untie his neck cloth. This is your chance.
“Allow me to assist, Mister Kennedy, you seem to be having a little trouble there.”
His hands are still trembling when you take them in yours and press them to your lips. You free the knot at his throat in seconds, then work your way down the buttons of his waistcoat. His eyes are closed and you're so desperate to reach his skin that you don't notice the tightness in his jaw at first and the creases that are deepening across this brow. You want to touch him, to reach his skin and you can't wait any longer. You pull his shirt off without ceremony, feeling a tug of resistance as you pull it over his head. You're breathing hard, your vision seems blurred and it takes you one frozen moment to realise what you are looking at. A perfect torso, strong curved shoulders, broad chest, narrowing to waist and hips. And over all a faint patchwork of welts and marks and scars, old and faded but still visible against his skin. You're frozen in horror, breath catching in your throat. You don't know what to do. Your instinct is to seize him, shake him, demand that he tells you. Your mind starts working feverishly. You'll hand him his shirt, tell him to cover himself, turning away so as to afford him some shred of dignity. You'll sit him on the bed and demand that he tells you who did this. You'll force it from him if you have to, and then you will find them and call them out, every last bastard who ever so much as laid a finger on him. You will see this retribution if it is the last thing you do. All these thoughts race through your mind in seconds.
He is still standing in front of you, half naked, eyes closed, hands hanging loosely by his sides. And then you remember the way he looked at you. That look that burned with such fierce hope. Is that what he sees when he looks at you? Hope? And suddenly you know what you have to do, what you want to do. You cast your own shirt off and draw him to you. You are both naked now. He feels warm and solid against you and you can feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest. You run your hands down his back, over fine ridges and furrows. You have seen the marks left by cat and cane on seaman and mid alike but you never thought to feel them here. There is something obscene in this unexpected latticework but you push that thought aside, swallowing down hard on it, determined on your course of action.
You push him back towards the bed and he moves without resistance. He bumps against the edge of the bed with a slight jolt and it's as though you've woken from a trance. Suddenly everything is strange and lucid and you have no idea what you are doing here. What are you, Horatio Hornblower, doing here, in this room, with this man? You're at a loss and you feel yourself standing there gaping dumbly in confusion.
“Ummm…Archie?”
But then he's turning you around and he's the one pushing. His hands are on your shoulders and he's pushing you down on to the narrow bed, climbing on top of you, brushing hair away from your face with light rough fingers, sending sparks trickling down your spine. He licks his lower lip nervously, once, twice and then leans down to kiss you. You feel his mouth sinking down on to yours, his tongue flickers over your lips and your hips jerk upwards without your bidding. He smiles, checks flushed and eyes shining as he pulls at the buttons of your breeches. Your heart feels like something trapped, trying to batter its way out of your chest and you suddenly recognise the feeling as fear. He's tugging at your breeches now so you lift your hips allowing him to slide them down over your thighs. He drops his head and for a moment you wonder what he's looking at and then he takes you in his mouth. You didn't know what to expect but you didn’t expect that. You look down in astonishment and see his fair head resting on your thigh, a strand of dark gold hair lying among familiar tight black curls. Then his tongue starts to move and the satin heat of his lips blots out any other thought.
When he stops you're even more taken aback than when he started. You curse incoherently and grab desperately for him. But he twists away from you stepping lightly off the bed. And before you can reorder your senses he has shed his breeches and is tugging off yours. There is nothing between you now. He is kneeling over you gazing down at you with such sheer bloody will that for a moment you are paralysed. And then he lowers himself on to you, the full weight of his body lying warm and hard on top of you. This is it. This is the moment you've been waiting for. The moment that you've dreamed of, that wakes you damp and breathless in your hammock.
He's heavier than you expected and you can feel sheets of muscle tensing under your fingers as you run your hands down his back. He moans long and low, an unfamiliar sound. You can hardly breath for the heat and the weight but you want him closer. You slide your hands over hard tight buttocks pulling him in. His cock is rubbing against yours as you press your hips up against him. You grip him tighter and pull him down hard. Then you're vaguely aware of his body stiffening as he pushes himself up away from you. Focusing, you see a shadow flit across his eyes, open mouth closing, lips pressing into a thin tight line. And you know you're loosing him.
"Archie. Archie!"
You don't know what else to do, you keep repeating his name, to keep him here, to anchor him here with you. The shadow passes as it came and you feel the tension leave him. His eyes are shining again, cheeks flushed, lips parting. You move your feet up the bed cradling him between your thighs. You still don't know what you're doing, if this is right, but you don't care, all you want is to feel him sliding against you. You thrust up towards him and this time he pushes down with equal determination. You're aching for release; heat and pressure almost beyond bearing. He rocks his hips against you sliding the length of his cock against yours, you can't hold on any longer and the next slide sends a wash of fierce heat rushing over you, swallowing you in a moment of shining darkness, blotting out everything but the weight of his body as he shudders and collapses on to you with a cry.
There are still spots of light swimming before your eyes as you regain your senses. The first thing you're aware of is a feeling of perfect contentment that you did not believe could exist in this earthly world. You didn't know what to expect, but you didn't expect this feeling of joy and relief. There is still fear lurking there to be sure but right now you don't care.
Archie's head is lying against your shoulder, his face obscured by a fair tousled curtain. As you exhale a deep breath, the hair ruffles against his cheek and he lifts his head. The expression on his face seems to mirror what ever it is you feel, what ever it is that you can't put a name to. This sense of wonder.
You smile.
“Archie?"
He smiles down at you in return and you feel that familiar leap in your chest as you notice again the way his nose wrinkles.
"Horatio."
He moves his weight to roll off you but you slide your arms around his waist and hold him tight. And you want to believe that if you can just keep him close then no harm will come to him. You know that is foolish, you are at war and any day might be your last. But because you both determined to make this choice there is a permanence to this moment will endure beyond all others.
He lays his head on you shoulder again and you close your eyes.