Fic Post
Hornblower, AOS, rated R.
Archie cannot remember the man’s name, but he is sure it has been mentioned. The walk from the inn back to his and Horatio’s room has sobered him up somewhat and what was previously anticipation has turned to unease.
He and Horatio had parted after supper, Horatio to play whist and Archie to an inn he has long been aware of but previously lacked the courage to visit. It is a place for men like him to meet other men with similar inclinations. He had soon met the man he is now standing with, a fellow naval man like Archie, and now here they are.
The man looks about the room in curiosity, “Are you staying here on your own?”
Archie clears his throat before replying, “No…but my friend is unlikely to return for some time.” Once Horatio was embroiled in his cards he was unlikely to be moved. The thought of Horatio brings another stirring deep in his chest. Horatio is one of the reasons he has sought to seek out ‘company’ for himself.
He cannot delude himself any longer regarding Horatio, France and Mariette is proof of that. Archie believed for a while that Horatio felt as he did, they had spent countless evenings in Spain lying beside each other but Horatio had never made an advance and Archie had not had the strength to. Archie had attributed it to Horatio’s inexperience, his sense of honour, to anything other than what it was, lack of interest. He could not spend his life pining for Horatio though, or terrified of intimacy. That is why he went to the inn.
The man has been congenial and his features are pleasing, Archie pushes away the thought that of course he has chosen someone with dark hair and eyes. He has taken a step towards Archie and Archie tries to submerge the sense of panic that is beginning to skirt around the edges of his mind, and of his stomach. The man leans forward to kiss Archie gently, tentatively and Archie can tell it is to see if Archie will reciprocate. Archie finds himself kissing the man back.
The man backs him up until they are at the bed and far from dread Archie feels excitement, an excitement he’s keen to share, he takes the man’s hand and presses it again his crotch, inviting the man to hastily find his way into Archie’s breeches and smalls. Their contact is only broken by the necessity of removing their clothing and Archie soon finds himself on his back on the bed with the man above him, his mouth and hand busily at work on Archie’s body.
Archie’s closed his eyes and all he can hear is panting; both his own and the man’s. He does not realise there’s anyone else in the room until the man’s weight is suddenly removed from him and he hears a cry of protest followed by a snarl.
When his eyes snap open Archie is confronted with the image of Horatio, having hauled the man off Archie and pushed him to the ground, striking the man. It takes Archie a moment to recover his wits but once he does he grabs at Horatio and pulls him away, “For God’s sake, Horatio! Let him up!”
The man is looking up at them both, face bloodied, Archie does not know what to say. The man does not wait for explanations; he pulls his breeches and shirt on without a word and hastily exits. Archie tries not to be offended that the man does not so much as give him a backward glance, he supposes anyone would do the same in the situation. He is still staring at the just banged door when something is thrown at him, his shirt, and Horatio proclaims, “Cover yourself up.”
Archie does so before finding his voice again, he owes Horatio no explanations for he has already made this particular confession, his preference for men, in Spain, on one of those many nights they lay beside each other. Horatio’s lack of total revulsion had been one of Archie’s main reasons for hope. “You’re back early.”
Horatio turns to him at that, eyes so wide it would be comical on anyone else, he knows with Horatio it is a gesture made in earnest, “Is that all you have to say for yourself? How could you be so foolish, Archie, that man…”
Something occurs to Archie then, “Horatio, he wasn’t hurting me, I invited him here.”
“But he could have hurt you! He could have done anything to you and it would have been down to your own idiocy! When he forced you to turn around so he could bugger you do you think he would have listened to any protests after you invited him back here?”
Archie has no reply; the anger at what Horatio has just said meets the words in his throat and chokes them off. For the first time since Horatio arrived Archie feels his own nakedness and reaches for his own breeches. He turns away from Horatio to put them on and in the process of doing so thinks, ‘to the devil with him’. He reaches for his jacket and boots next and ignores Horatio’s calls as he walks out the door.
He is not even half way down the street when Horatio’s voice echoes after him, asking him to stop, he even thinks he hears a cry of ‘sorry’ but Archie does not trust his own senses and instincts anymore, they have lied too often in relation to Horatio. He keeps walking and tells himself that it is the cold night air that is making his eyes sting.
Archie cannot remember the man’s name, but he is sure it has been mentioned. The walk from the inn back to his and Horatio’s room has sobered him up somewhat and what was previously anticipation has turned to unease.
He and Horatio had parted after supper, Horatio to play whist and Archie to an inn he has long been aware of but previously lacked the courage to visit. It is a place for men like him to meet other men with similar inclinations. He had soon met the man he is now standing with, a fellow naval man like Archie, and now here they are.
The man looks about the room in curiosity, “Are you staying here on your own?”
Archie clears his throat before replying, “No…but my friend is unlikely to return for some time.” Once Horatio was embroiled in his cards he was unlikely to be moved. The thought of Horatio brings another stirring deep in his chest. Horatio is one of the reasons he has sought to seek out ‘company’ for himself.
He cannot delude himself any longer regarding Horatio, France and Mariette is proof of that. Archie believed for a while that Horatio felt as he did, they had spent countless evenings in Spain lying beside each other but Horatio had never made an advance and Archie had not had the strength to. Archie had attributed it to Horatio’s inexperience, his sense of honour, to anything other than what it was, lack of interest. He could not spend his life pining for Horatio though, or terrified of intimacy. That is why he went to the inn.
The man has been congenial and his features are pleasing, Archie pushes away the thought that of course he has chosen someone with dark hair and eyes. He has taken a step towards Archie and Archie tries to submerge the sense of panic that is beginning to skirt around the edges of his mind, and of his stomach. The man leans forward to kiss Archie gently, tentatively and Archie can tell it is to see if Archie will reciprocate. Archie finds himself kissing the man back.
The man backs him up until they are at the bed and far from dread Archie feels excitement, an excitement he’s keen to share, he takes the man’s hand and presses it again his crotch, inviting the man to hastily find his way into Archie’s breeches and smalls. Their contact is only broken by the necessity of removing their clothing and Archie soon finds himself on his back on the bed with the man above him, his mouth and hand busily at work on Archie’s body.
Archie’s closed his eyes and all he can hear is panting; both his own and the man’s. He does not realise there’s anyone else in the room until the man’s weight is suddenly removed from him and he hears a cry of protest followed by a snarl.
When his eyes snap open Archie is confronted with the image of Horatio, having hauled the man off Archie and pushed him to the ground, striking the man. It takes Archie a moment to recover his wits but once he does he grabs at Horatio and pulls him away, “For God’s sake, Horatio! Let him up!”
The man is looking up at them both, face bloodied, Archie does not know what to say. The man does not wait for explanations; he pulls his breeches and shirt on without a word and hastily exits. Archie tries not to be offended that the man does not so much as give him a backward glance, he supposes anyone would do the same in the situation. He is still staring at the just banged door when something is thrown at him, his shirt, and Horatio proclaims, “Cover yourself up.”
Archie does so before finding his voice again, he owes Horatio no explanations for he has already made this particular confession, his preference for men, in Spain, on one of those many nights they lay beside each other. Horatio’s lack of total revulsion had been one of Archie’s main reasons for hope. “You’re back early.”
Horatio turns to him at that, eyes so wide it would be comical on anyone else, he knows with Horatio it is a gesture made in earnest, “Is that all you have to say for yourself? How could you be so foolish, Archie, that man…”
Something occurs to Archie then, “Horatio, he wasn’t hurting me, I invited him here.”
“But he could have hurt you! He could have done anything to you and it would have been down to your own idiocy! When he forced you to turn around so he could bugger you do you think he would have listened to any protests after you invited him back here?”
Archie has no reply; the anger at what Horatio has just said meets the words in his throat and chokes them off. For the first time since Horatio arrived Archie feels his own nakedness and reaches for his own breeches. He turns away from Horatio to put them on and in the process of doing so thinks, ‘to the devil with him’. He reaches for his jacket and boots next and ignores Horatio’s calls as he walks out the door.
He is not even half way down the street when Horatio’s voice echoes after him, asking him to stop, he even thinks he hears a cry of ‘sorry’ but Archie does not trust his own senses and instincts anymore, they have lied too often in relation to Horatio. He keeps walking and tells himself that it is the cold night air that is making his eyes sting.