Youth of Delight, Come Hither, Part 3
TITLE: Youth of Delight, Come Hither, Part 3
RATING: PG
WORD COUNT: 3370
PAIRING: AK/HH
WARNINGS: Emo. So much tedious emo. I could do nothing with them, stupid boys.
DISCLAIMER: Hornblower and characters belong to ITV and the Forester estate.
SUMMARY: Leave is not turning out to be very restful for Horatio.
V.
Horatio woke at regular intervals, anticipating watch bells that never came. Kennedy seemed to rest more securely, drugged by the barrel of ale the boy had consumed. More than once Horatio felt the twitch of limbs brushing against him, and startled, waited for a fit that never came, only incoherent muttering. Archie had not been plagued by that illness since the duel, Horatio thought, though he couldn't be certain, no longer sleeping near.
It was early in the morning watch when habit roused him again. It took some moments for Horatio to remember where he was; why there was the deep cushion of feathers under his left hip, and an almost silence, rather than the breathing and snoring of close-packed men. The reason for the delicious warmth blanketing him from neck to tail came to him suddenly, once he recalled his leave, and the inn.
Archie had crept closer in the night, and was now curled tight against him, arse pressed firmly into the small of Horatio's back. The sensation was unfamiliar, but incredibly soothing, relieving an ache he hadn't even been aware of. Horatio had to fight with himself not to push back into that accommodating flesh.
Sleep chased away, he tried to remain still at least, not wanting to disturb his friend. Not since early childhood, and the departure of his nurse, had Horatio shared a bed with someone. It should seem strange. Another's body, so close to his he could feel the pattern of exhalation through his skin. The boneless trust of it, to sleep shoulder to shoulder, made his eyes sting and burn until he had to raise a hand and rub them hard to keep from spilling over.
The movement must have translated itself to Archie, who stretched then, callused feet scratching gently against Horatio's calves. Not quite waking, his friend rolled prone, then turned over again, before finally settling, sprawling across most of the bed. In self-defense, not wanting to end up on the floor, Horatio flipped about, nudging closer to take back his share of the mattress.
There was not much light yet through the window shutters, the darkness lifting only enough for him to make out the barest outline of Archie's form. Instead his memory supplied the image of his friend's face, in the rare relaxation of sleep. It was a Kennedy he never saw otherwise. The pain showed through, when Archie couldn't hide behind mobile energy and jests. Asleep, Archie seemed young, seemed like someone who might actually need him. Someone he must be strong for.
Horatio could guard his friend's slumber at least. He kept watch, while Archie breathed and shifted, holding still as the boy pressed closer again by degrees, drawn to his warmth perhaps. With the fire burned out, the air had a chill. Some time later, the room had grown gray, Horatio propped on a hand turned numb, while Kennedy had tangled a leg between his, padded hip thrust into the hollow of his stomach. Horatio was wondering whether he dare move to relieve the tingling in his arm, when he realized not all of his friend was as soft and compliant as the rest.
He felt his cheeks start to burn, even as he could not keep the corner of his gaze from fixing on the slight tenting of the covers. Horatio had gathered, over the course of his school years, and then the short, but brutally instructive weeks on Justinian, that this morning problem was not uniquely his own. But it was disconcerting to be confronted with the evidence so near at hand. He found himself wondering what Archie might be dreaming of.
Thankfully, his thoughts had not quite taunted his own prick into awakening when he heard a knock at the door, sparing him that embarrassment as he extricated himself from Kennedy's grasp, and slipped quickly out of bed to go answer it. It was the coachman, who he'd met briefly the previous night. John, he thought the name was, looked at him with open curiosity, before telling Horatio that they should be on their way within the hour, if they were to make it all the way to London before full dark made the roads treacherous.
Thanking the servant awkwardly, Horatio told the man he would wake Kennedy soon, and closed the door. Glancing at the bed, he could see his friend had not roused from his leaving. He couldn't quite bear to disturb the boy, limbs akimbo and looking sinfully comfortable. Instead he lit a candle, and moving as quietly as he could, washed and dressed himself. His friend still not stirring, he retrieved Archie's clothes, even the missing button, before feeling he could delay no longer. Kneeling down with a second candle, he called his friend gently, not wanting to startle. "Kennedy, Kennedy...."
The boy didn't move, except to throw an arm over still-closed eyes. "Archie, it's time to be up." Even that didn't work. The small mouth twitched, but no further response.
Horatio finally reached out to shake his friend by the shoulder. He was wise enough to immediately step back out of the way, as Kennedy came awake kicking, with a swing of fists. It clearly took Archie a few moments to remember where they were, staring about and touching the bed before finally looking over at Horatio with a rueful grin.
"Sorry about that." His friend sat up, shaking a sleep-tousled head about with a fierce grimace, then slid out of the covers and began looking about for scattered belongings. Kennedy had far more energy than Horatio thought the boy would manage after being so deep asleep, and with all that beer the night before.
"Did you sleep well, Horatio? I haven't been that warm in months, and I don't remember you kicking or snoring at all. You can share my bed anytime."
Horatio felt himself flushing, and kept his gaze on the ground as much to hide the blush as to avoid looking at his friend's still prominent erection. Archie seemed completely unconcerned with the condition, which only made Horatio feel more awkward. "I slept quite well, Mr. Kennedy," he lied, shoving the clothes he'd gathered and folded into Kennedy's hands. "Your coachman's been already, I'll go down and see about breakfast while you dress."
"Oh of course! I'll be down directly, we've a long way to go before home." Reminded of the time, Archie seemed eager to be on their way. Though Horatio noticed that his friend didn't move to cast off the nightshift while he was still in the room.
VI.
The Kennedy carriage was far more comfortable than the mail coach he'd ridden to Portsmouth. Even still, after a few miles the bumping and swaying began to work their misery on his innards. Archie had made the journey several times and knew the countryside well. Horatio soon lay back against the cushions, content to listen while Kennedy rattled on about the little hamlets they were passing through.
With him such a poor conversationalist, his friend often lapsed into silence too as the miles stretched on. He even caught an unusually pensive expression on Archie's face, now and then, though the air of melancholy was generally quickly punctured by a new commentary on the comeliness of a farm girl they were passing, or the quality of the ale in a village's tavern.
They stopped some little while before noon, to rest the horses. Though it was a cold, gray day, Kennedy proposed a walk around the town, rather than staying in the inn, and Horatio gratefully accepted. He began to feel himself again as they strolled down the one main street and into the surrounding countryside. The sight of a couple cows, nosing about for uneaten weeds, and the jumbled earth of fallow fields made him suddenly homesick for Kent. Archie just seemed happy to be stretching out, even trying to coax Horatio into a race along the lane that he didn't have the energy to agree to, no matter how pleasant it was not to be confined to the bare yardage of a ship's deck.
By the time they returned to the carriage, the coachman was ready again, a cold lunch stored in a napkin for them. Even the simple fare of fresh bread, butter, and cheese, with a bit of ham, tasted like heaven after weeks of hard tack and burgoo. They ate the whole loaf between them with hardly a pause, and searched the fabric for crumbs before retiring to their opposite seats to attempt the luxury of an afternoon nap.
When his belly began to rebel again, however, Kennedy noticed immediately, and offered to read aloud. Horatio gratefully accepted the distraction. The book Kennedy had chosen for the journey was a rather lurid tale of murder and illicit romance. After a few pages, he recognized it as that Scottish melodrama Archie had begun weeks ago, while propped against his stomach in Justinian's light room. It had been their last good day, though it had seemed uncomfortable enough at the time. Horatio remembered the weight of that bright-haired head, and wished for a moment that he was laying across the other bench instead.
While Horatio had known already that Kennedy read well, his friend turned this recitation into a performance. Archie slipped without effort between several Scottish and English dialects, each character unique and the narration delivered with appropriate pomposity. Despite the risk to his insides, Horatio couldn't help opening his eyes to watch Archie.
His reader's attention was thoroughly captured by the material, so Horatio was free to let his gaze linger on curving and curling lips, on the hand waving and fisting then draping across a wide forehead with a despairing sigh. The story was ludicrous, and the writing overwrought, but Horatio was sad all the same when Archie finally pleaded a sore throat and had to stop.
VII.
The skies had darkened the farther they got from the coast, accelerating as the day went on. It was raining steadily by the time the coach had entered into London proper. Despite the chill gloom Horatio cracked open the shutters and stared out at what he could, catching glimpses of towering masonry and hurrying crowds.
"I'll take you on a tour tomorrow and you can gawp about with your mouth open all you like, but only if I don't catch my death from that infernal draft."
This acid pronouncement seemed more than a little ridiculous coming from a boy who had stood watch three nights together in the heart of winter, without coming down with so much as a dripping nose. Archie was impossibly robust. But Horatio's traveling companion had also been growing steadily more taciturn and spiteful the closer the coach drew to London. As Kennedy's tone could now effectively slice a roast, Horatio elected not to argue. Better to save both their energies for whatever scene his friend seemed to be anticipating on their arrival.
Horatio slumped back on the bench, closing the window securely. "Thank you for the offer, but I have been to London before, Mr. Kennedy," he smiled, without any answer, "And I should be on my way to Kent in the morning in any case." He tried to say it gently, not wanting to rile the suddenly prickly boy.
"No, you shouldn't." Horatio didn't know what to make of this curt, petulant statement.
"I... well I have to go, Kennedy, you know I do. As soon as I can get a seat on a coach. It's too kind of your family already, putting me up for the night. Are you sure it will be all right?" Horatio could not help nervously straightening his rumpled uniform. Try as he might, he couldn't quite keep from thinking about Captain Kennedy--to his mind rather like a taller, healthier, more sarcastic Captain Keene--sneering down at him resentfully like a rat flushed out of the sewers and sprawling on the Lord's doorstep.
"Stop fizzing, Hornblower. It will be fine, they are welcoming home the prodigal son for the last time before going off to war. Probably to get myself killed. My parents will hardly complain about anything I do. And I distinctly recall inviting you to stay the week at least."
"You were drunk. You said a great many things you didn't mean." Despite the scolding, he found himself polishing a button that had managed to acquire a tarnish in the last day.
"If I was all that drunk, I'm sure I meant everything. I certainly meant to ask you on a visit. And you agreed."
Horatio looked up, confused. "I didn't actually, Mr. Kennedy."
"You did. You said you would stay for my birthday party."
Horatio had spent the better part of the day's silences, which though infrequent at first, had grown as the journey lengthened, on reviewing and dissecting every detail of the previous night. He could recall each word he and Kennedy had exchanged, as perfectly as he remembered the texture of the boy's fingertips on his throat, or the heat of Kennedy's back pressed tight against his own in the pre-dawn hour.
Horatio had said only that he might, depending on what the Earl allowed, he was as sure of that as the smell of Kennedy, all lavender and young animal. But he still didn't want to argue, so he said nothing, lost besides in trying to forget the sensation of muscled limbs stretching against his own.
"Are we ever to be friends again, Horatio? Just when I think things are better, you go stiff and cold on me. We're to serve together, and we were truly friends, once. Say that I have not ruined it forever."
The change of mood and topic roused him from his reverie immediately. He couldn't quite make out Kennedy's expression in the gloom of the carriage. The other boy was mercifully staring down, rather than at Horatio.
I thought you were my friend. I hate you. The accusation echoed in his head. No matter that Clayton claimed Kennedy hadn't meant it. No matter how Kennedy tried to pretend the words hadn't been spoken, that the incident in the hold hadn't happened. Horatio couldn't join in the pretense.
His feelings, his... affection for Archie had been violently rejected, spat on and made vile. Horatio forgave Archie. Whether it had been meant or not, said out of fear, surprise, wanting to protect him from Simpson, for any reason or none at all, he forgave Archie equally. The flaw was in him, after all.
But Horatio could not forget. Not the words, or how it felt, that moment when the sun seemed to fall out of the sky forever, or his desperation after. Better to keep his distance, if only Kennedy would let him.
He could not say that, though, not with the boy looking so small, curled into a corner. "Of course we are friends, Mr. Kennedy. You are a very good friend to me, as you always have been."
His perfunctory tone had not gone unnoticed. Horatio was fixed with a pale, level stare. "Not always at all, not even mostly."
How did one weigh a handful of nuts tucked in his pocket, against a few crude jibes at his expense? Fingers spelling out jokes and dreams versus a fist in the face that revealed a nightmare? Which meant more, the gaze turned away while he was beaten, the callousness that urged another man to die in his place, or the limbs wrapping his so he would not fall, and a scarf, tucked about his neck with tender care?
It was a calculus too complex for Horatio to unravel. "We have both made mistakes, perhaps."
"Perhaps. But can't we leave those behind us now? Justinian was a foul place. It made everything twisted and confused. Can we not start over?"
Horatio could not help but feel this was another veiled reference to his intemperate kiss, and made a stiff reply. "I am very glad to serve with you, of course, and I know I shall rely on you in our first weeks, as I already have. But surely you can think of more reasons than I to confine our association to our duties. We were thrown together, Mr. Kennedy, on Justinian. It will be different in our new posting. We will both, I hope, find company that is more congenial to our spirits."
Kennedy made no answer at first, just stared at him, before laughing harshly. "More congenial company. I wonder if you have any notion of how you sound, Hornblower. I thought you were still mad at me about Clayton, But this is about that business in the hold! Do you still think I honestly care about you kissing me? Good God, I'm not that much a hypocrite."
Horatio took some time to untangle this mess of reasoning, for he did care--very much--about Clayton, and he didn't know how to reconcile that with his feelings for Archie, pure or impure. Precisely because it was so alluring, so easy, to fall back into their old closeness, they had to part. It was best for both of them. He was just drawing breath to say so, more bluntly, when Kennedy kissed him.
It was firm, and sudden. Horatio was more aware of the strong hand wrapping the back of his neck, holding him still, than the pressure of lips. He felt the puff of warm air against his skin, and then it was over, Archie pushing him back to arm's length.
"There. Now you may hit me, and we shall be even, and we can put this all behind us."
Horatio had just enough grasp of his senses to protest that. "But you said... I don't care about your fists, you said you hated me."
"Then hit me twice, for being a damned liar, Horatio. I'll pay whatever penance you ask," Archie had the nerve to grin at him. "Even kiss you again if you like. Only say that we can be true friends again, and you forgive me."
Horatio was tempted enough that his hands clenched. Not because Archie had convinced him with this nonsense, but because he was so angry. There was mockery in Kennedy's expression, as if these last weeks were just a joke gone wrong, and not the most important and devastating events that had ever happened to him.
The maddening boy just sat there, waiting, apparently unconcerned as to what he might do. And in the end he could only cram back into the corner of the bench, as far from Archie as he could get, and snarl, impotently. "I don't understand you at all, Mr. Kennedy."
"Really? I think I'm being uncommonly clear." The boy slowed down, enunciating carefully. "I am very sorry for almost everything that happened on Justinian, Mr. Hornblower. But we are free of her now. And while you might very well find someone among our new comrades that is more sober and mathematical and kind and far less trouble than I have been, I cannot as easily replace you. So, I will do anything to keep you, and if you can't comprehend why, it's only because you understand yourself even less than you do me."
Horatio didn't know what to make of this little speech at all. Archie hardly seemed sincere. However pretty the words, the boy's whole manner was still flippant, as if his compliance was already taken for granted. It was all enough to make his head ache. His lips had begun to tingle, besides, and he found himself rubbing them with the back of his hand. The motion of the coach, now starting and stopping frequently because of the city traffic, was making him queasy, too, and when his mind began to catalog his growing miseries, his eyes began to sting as well.
"We are almost home, Hornblower. You'll see I have some worth as a friend then. But you'd better let me re-tie your queue. It's gotten disarranged somehow, and you want to make a good impression on the Earl."
Horatio hardly cared, now, but he obediently turned anyway, and let deft fingers pull out the ribbon and smooth his hair.
RATING: PG
WORD COUNT: 3370
PAIRING: AK/HH
WARNINGS: Emo. So much tedious emo. I could do nothing with them, stupid boys.
DISCLAIMER: Hornblower and characters belong to ITV and the Forester estate.
SUMMARY: Leave is not turning out to be very restful for Horatio.
V.
Horatio woke at regular intervals, anticipating watch bells that never came. Kennedy seemed to rest more securely, drugged by the barrel of ale the boy had consumed. More than once Horatio felt the twitch of limbs brushing against him, and startled, waited for a fit that never came, only incoherent muttering. Archie had not been plagued by that illness since the duel, Horatio thought, though he couldn't be certain, no longer sleeping near.
It was early in the morning watch when habit roused him again. It took some moments for Horatio to remember where he was; why there was the deep cushion of feathers under his left hip, and an almost silence, rather than the breathing and snoring of close-packed men. The reason for the delicious warmth blanketing him from neck to tail came to him suddenly, once he recalled his leave, and the inn.
Archie had crept closer in the night, and was now curled tight against him, arse pressed firmly into the small of Horatio's back. The sensation was unfamiliar, but incredibly soothing, relieving an ache he hadn't even been aware of. Horatio had to fight with himself not to push back into that accommodating flesh.
Sleep chased away, he tried to remain still at least, not wanting to disturb his friend. Not since early childhood, and the departure of his nurse, had Horatio shared a bed with someone. It should seem strange. Another's body, so close to his he could feel the pattern of exhalation through his skin. The boneless trust of it, to sleep shoulder to shoulder, made his eyes sting and burn until he had to raise a hand and rub them hard to keep from spilling over.
The movement must have translated itself to Archie, who stretched then, callused feet scratching gently against Horatio's calves. Not quite waking, his friend rolled prone, then turned over again, before finally settling, sprawling across most of the bed. In self-defense, not wanting to end up on the floor, Horatio flipped about, nudging closer to take back his share of the mattress.
There was not much light yet through the window shutters, the darkness lifting only enough for him to make out the barest outline of Archie's form. Instead his memory supplied the image of his friend's face, in the rare relaxation of sleep. It was a Kennedy he never saw otherwise. The pain showed through, when Archie couldn't hide behind mobile energy and jests. Asleep, Archie seemed young, seemed like someone who might actually need him. Someone he must be strong for.
Horatio could guard his friend's slumber at least. He kept watch, while Archie breathed and shifted, holding still as the boy pressed closer again by degrees, drawn to his warmth perhaps. With the fire burned out, the air had a chill. Some time later, the room had grown gray, Horatio propped on a hand turned numb, while Kennedy had tangled a leg between his, padded hip thrust into the hollow of his stomach. Horatio was wondering whether he dare move to relieve the tingling in his arm, when he realized not all of his friend was as soft and compliant as the rest.
He felt his cheeks start to burn, even as he could not keep the corner of his gaze from fixing on the slight tenting of the covers. Horatio had gathered, over the course of his school years, and then the short, but brutally instructive weeks on Justinian, that this morning problem was not uniquely his own. But it was disconcerting to be confronted with the evidence so near at hand. He found himself wondering what Archie might be dreaming of.
Thankfully, his thoughts had not quite taunted his own prick into awakening when he heard a knock at the door, sparing him that embarrassment as he extricated himself from Kennedy's grasp, and slipped quickly out of bed to go answer it. It was the coachman, who he'd met briefly the previous night. John, he thought the name was, looked at him with open curiosity, before telling Horatio that they should be on their way within the hour, if they were to make it all the way to London before full dark made the roads treacherous.
Thanking the servant awkwardly, Horatio told the man he would wake Kennedy soon, and closed the door. Glancing at the bed, he could see his friend had not roused from his leaving. He couldn't quite bear to disturb the boy, limbs akimbo and looking sinfully comfortable. Instead he lit a candle, and moving as quietly as he could, washed and dressed himself. His friend still not stirring, he retrieved Archie's clothes, even the missing button, before feeling he could delay no longer. Kneeling down with a second candle, he called his friend gently, not wanting to startle. "Kennedy, Kennedy...."
The boy didn't move, except to throw an arm over still-closed eyes. "Archie, it's time to be up." Even that didn't work. The small mouth twitched, but no further response.
Horatio finally reached out to shake his friend by the shoulder. He was wise enough to immediately step back out of the way, as Kennedy came awake kicking, with a swing of fists. It clearly took Archie a few moments to remember where they were, staring about and touching the bed before finally looking over at Horatio with a rueful grin.
"Sorry about that." His friend sat up, shaking a sleep-tousled head about with a fierce grimace, then slid out of the covers and began looking about for scattered belongings. Kennedy had far more energy than Horatio thought the boy would manage after being so deep asleep, and with all that beer the night before.
"Did you sleep well, Horatio? I haven't been that warm in months, and I don't remember you kicking or snoring at all. You can share my bed anytime."
Horatio felt himself flushing, and kept his gaze on the ground as much to hide the blush as to avoid looking at his friend's still prominent erection. Archie seemed completely unconcerned with the condition, which only made Horatio feel more awkward. "I slept quite well, Mr. Kennedy," he lied, shoving the clothes he'd gathered and folded into Kennedy's hands. "Your coachman's been already, I'll go down and see about breakfast while you dress."
"Oh of course! I'll be down directly, we've a long way to go before home." Reminded of the time, Archie seemed eager to be on their way. Though Horatio noticed that his friend didn't move to cast off the nightshift while he was still in the room.
VI.
The Kennedy carriage was far more comfortable than the mail coach he'd ridden to Portsmouth. Even still, after a few miles the bumping and swaying began to work their misery on his innards. Archie had made the journey several times and knew the countryside well. Horatio soon lay back against the cushions, content to listen while Kennedy rattled on about the little hamlets they were passing through.
With him such a poor conversationalist, his friend often lapsed into silence too as the miles stretched on. He even caught an unusually pensive expression on Archie's face, now and then, though the air of melancholy was generally quickly punctured by a new commentary on the comeliness of a farm girl they were passing, or the quality of the ale in a village's tavern.
They stopped some little while before noon, to rest the horses. Though it was a cold, gray day, Kennedy proposed a walk around the town, rather than staying in the inn, and Horatio gratefully accepted. He began to feel himself again as they strolled down the one main street and into the surrounding countryside. The sight of a couple cows, nosing about for uneaten weeds, and the jumbled earth of fallow fields made him suddenly homesick for Kent. Archie just seemed happy to be stretching out, even trying to coax Horatio into a race along the lane that he didn't have the energy to agree to, no matter how pleasant it was not to be confined to the bare yardage of a ship's deck.
By the time they returned to the carriage, the coachman was ready again, a cold lunch stored in a napkin for them. Even the simple fare of fresh bread, butter, and cheese, with a bit of ham, tasted like heaven after weeks of hard tack and burgoo. They ate the whole loaf between them with hardly a pause, and searched the fabric for crumbs before retiring to their opposite seats to attempt the luxury of an afternoon nap.
When his belly began to rebel again, however, Kennedy noticed immediately, and offered to read aloud. Horatio gratefully accepted the distraction. The book Kennedy had chosen for the journey was a rather lurid tale of murder and illicit romance. After a few pages, he recognized it as that Scottish melodrama Archie had begun weeks ago, while propped against his stomach in Justinian's light room. It had been their last good day, though it had seemed uncomfortable enough at the time. Horatio remembered the weight of that bright-haired head, and wished for a moment that he was laying across the other bench instead.
While Horatio had known already that Kennedy read well, his friend turned this recitation into a performance. Archie slipped without effort between several Scottish and English dialects, each character unique and the narration delivered with appropriate pomposity. Despite the risk to his insides, Horatio couldn't help opening his eyes to watch Archie.
His reader's attention was thoroughly captured by the material, so Horatio was free to let his gaze linger on curving and curling lips, on the hand waving and fisting then draping across a wide forehead with a despairing sigh. The story was ludicrous, and the writing overwrought, but Horatio was sad all the same when Archie finally pleaded a sore throat and had to stop.
VII.
The skies had darkened the farther they got from the coast, accelerating as the day went on. It was raining steadily by the time the coach had entered into London proper. Despite the chill gloom Horatio cracked open the shutters and stared out at what he could, catching glimpses of towering masonry and hurrying crowds.
"I'll take you on a tour tomorrow and you can gawp about with your mouth open all you like, but only if I don't catch my death from that infernal draft."
This acid pronouncement seemed more than a little ridiculous coming from a boy who had stood watch three nights together in the heart of winter, without coming down with so much as a dripping nose. Archie was impossibly robust. But Horatio's traveling companion had also been growing steadily more taciturn and spiteful the closer the coach drew to London. As Kennedy's tone could now effectively slice a roast, Horatio elected not to argue. Better to save both their energies for whatever scene his friend seemed to be anticipating on their arrival.
Horatio slumped back on the bench, closing the window securely. "Thank you for the offer, but I have been to London before, Mr. Kennedy," he smiled, without any answer, "And I should be on my way to Kent in the morning in any case." He tried to say it gently, not wanting to rile the suddenly prickly boy.
"No, you shouldn't." Horatio didn't know what to make of this curt, petulant statement.
"I... well I have to go, Kennedy, you know I do. As soon as I can get a seat on a coach. It's too kind of your family already, putting me up for the night. Are you sure it will be all right?" Horatio could not help nervously straightening his rumpled uniform. Try as he might, he couldn't quite keep from thinking about Captain Kennedy--to his mind rather like a taller, healthier, more sarcastic Captain Keene--sneering down at him resentfully like a rat flushed out of the sewers and sprawling on the Lord's doorstep.
"Stop fizzing, Hornblower. It will be fine, they are welcoming home the prodigal son for the last time before going off to war. Probably to get myself killed. My parents will hardly complain about anything I do. And I distinctly recall inviting you to stay the week at least."
"You were drunk. You said a great many things you didn't mean." Despite the scolding, he found himself polishing a button that had managed to acquire a tarnish in the last day.
"If I was all that drunk, I'm sure I meant everything. I certainly meant to ask you on a visit. And you agreed."
Horatio looked up, confused. "I didn't actually, Mr. Kennedy."
"You did. You said you would stay for my birthday party."
Horatio had spent the better part of the day's silences, which though infrequent at first, had grown as the journey lengthened, on reviewing and dissecting every detail of the previous night. He could recall each word he and Kennedy had exchanged, as perfectly as he remembered the texture of the boy's fingertips on his throat, or the heat of Kennedy's back pressed tight against his own in the pre-dawn hour.
Horatio had said only that he might, depending on what the Earl allowed, he was as sure of that as the smell of Kennedy, all lavender and young animal. But he still didn't want to argue, so he said nothing, lost besides in trying to forget the sensation of muscled limbs stretching against his own.
"Are we ever to be friends again, Horatio? Just when I think things are better, you go stiff and cold on me. We're to serve together, and we were truly friends, once. Say that I have not ruined it forever."
The change of mood and topic roused him from his reverie immediately. He couldn't quite make out Kennedy's expression in the gloom of the carriage. The other boy was mercifully staring down, rather than at Horatio.
I thought you were my friend. I hate you. The accusation echoed in his head. No matter that Clayton claimed Kennedy hadn't meant it. No matter how Kennedy tried to pretend the words hadn't been spoken, that the incident in the hold hadn't happened. Horatio couldn't join in the pretense.
His feelings, his... affection for Archie had been violently rejected, spat on and made vile. Horatio forgave Archie. Whether it had been meant or not, said out of fear, surprise, wanting to protect him from Simpson, for any reason or none at all, he forgave Archie equally. The flaw was in him, after all.
But Horatio could not forget. Not the words, or how it felt, that moment when the sun seemed to fall out of the sky forever, or his desperation after. Better to keep his distance, if only Kennedy would let him.
He could not say that, though, not with the boy looking so small, curled into a corner. "Of course we are friends, Mr. Kennedy. You are a very good friend to me, as you always have been."
His perfunctory tone had not gone unnoticed. Horatio was fixed with a pale, level stare. "Not always at all, not even mostly."
How did one weigh a handful of nuts tucked in his pocket, against a few crude jibes at his expense? Fingers spelling out jokes and dreams versus a fist in the face that revealed a nightmare? Which meant more, the gaze turned away while he was beaten, the callousness that urged another man to die in his place, or the limbs wrapping his so he would not fall, and a scarf, tucked about his neck with tender care?
It was a calculus too complex for Horatio to unravel. "We have both made mistakes, perhaps."
"Perhaps. But can't we leave those behind us now? Justinian was a foul place. It made everything twisted and confused. Can we not start over?"
Horatio could not help but feel this was another veiled reference to his intemperate kiss, and made a stiff reply. "I am very glad to serve with you, of course, and I know I shall rely on you in our first weeks, as I already have. But surely you can think of more reasons than I to confine our association to our duties. We were thrown together, Mr. Kennedy, on Justinian. It will be different in our new posting. We will both, I hope, find company that is more congenial to our spirits."
Kennedy made no answer at first, just stared at him, before laughing harshly. "More congenial company. I wonder if you have any notion of how you sound, Hornblower. I thought you were still mad at me about Clayton, But this is about that business in the hold! Do you still think I honestly care about you kissing me? Good God, I'm not that much a hypocrite."
Horatio took some time to untangle this mess of reasoning, for he did care--very much--about Clayton, and he didn't know how to reconcile that with his feelings for Archie, pure or impure. Precisely because it was so alluring, so easy, to fall back into their old closeness, they had to part. It was best for both of them. He was just drawing breath to say so, more bluntly, when Kennedy kissed him.
It was firm, and sudden. Horatio was more aware of the strong hand wrapping the back of his neck, holding him still, than the pressure of lips. He felt the puff of warm air against his skin, and then it was over, Archie pushing him back to arm's length.
"There. Now you may hit me, and we shall be even, and we can put this all behind us."
Horatio had just enough grasp of his senses to protest that. "But you said... I don't care about your fists, you said you hated me."
"Then hit me twice, for being a damned liar, Horatio. I'll pay whatever penance you ask," Archie had the nerve to grin at him. "Even kiss you again if you like. Only say that we can be true friends again, and you forgive me."
Horatio was tempted enough that his hands clenched. Not because Archie had convinced him with this nonsense, but because he was so angry. There was mockery in Kennedy's expression, as if these last weeks were just a joke gone wrong, and not the most important and devastating events that had ever happened to him.
The maddening boy just sat there, waiting, apparently unconcerned as to what he might do. And in the end he could only cram back into the corner of the bench, as far from Archie as he could get, and snarl, impotently. "I don't understand you at all, Mr. Kennedy."
"Really? I think I'm being uncommonly clear." The boy slowed down, enunciating carefully. "I am very sorry for almost everything that happened on Justinian, Mr. Hornblower. But we are free of her now. And while you might very well find someone among our new comrades that is more sober and mathematical and kind and far less trouble than I have been, I cannot as easily replace you. So, I will do anything to keep you, and if you can't comprehend why, it's only because you understand yourself even less than you do me."
Horatio didn't know what to make of this little speech at all. Archie hardly seemed sincere. However pretty the words, the boy's whole manner was still flippant, as if his compliance was already taken for granted. It was all enough to make his head ache. His lips had begun to tingle, besides, and he found himself rubbing them with the back of his hand. The motion of the coach, now starting and stopping frequently because of the city traffic, was making him queasy, too, and when his mind began to catalog his growing miseries, his eyes began to sting as well.
"We are almost home, Hornblower. You'll see I have some worth as a friend then. But you'd better let me re-tie your queue. It's gotten disarranged somehow, and you want to make a good impression on the Earl."
Horatio hardly cared, now, but he obediently turned anyway, and let deft fingers pull out the ribbon and smooth his hair.