Fic: Youth of Delight, Come Hither, Part 2
TITLE: Youth of Delight, Come Hither, Part 2
RATING: PG
WORD COUNT: 2300
PAIRING: AK/HH
WARNINGS: Moving vaguely in the direction of slash.
DISCLAIMER: Hornblower and characters belong to ITV and the Forester estate.
SUMMARY: Horatio has a hard enough time around Archie when his friend is sober.
IV.
It was full dark and bitter cold by the time they made it back to their room. Archie wasted no time in ordering up a real bath. His friend was so quick about it, though, when Horatio was called in for his turn the water was still quite warm. Hunger wasn't enough to make him hurry. Two months of grime and salt had accumulated despite his best efforts with sponge and basin, and Horatio was anxious to be truly clean.
Finding Kennedy in the common room after, he quickly realized his friend had passed the long wait in drinking. Archie's cheeks were a fetching pink, and the smile that greeted him when he sat down was wider and merrier than it ought to be. Horatio knew Archie liked to drink, had even saved out his share of grog more than once to cheer his friend during one of Justinian's dark nights. It never seemed to affect Kennedy, just made the boy louder and happier.
But King's Inn ale was more potent than the small beer they were used to, as he tasted for himself. Besides, drinking on shore reminded him disturbingly of Archie's disappearance, and later punishment, for drunkenness. Though he was certain that Simpson had done something to Archie, hurt the boy, Kennedy would never say. So Horatio had never been able to stop wondering what had happened, and whether spirits had played a part.
They got through the food safely enough, though Archie was outpacing his glass by a considerable margin. Kennedy regaled him with details of sails and rigging for a frigate, illustrated in tableware and napkins with considerable vigor. It was a subject his friend could expound on in considerable depth, and where his own knowledge was still quite lacking. Justinian had hardly more than sailed from one side of the harbor to the other in the whole time he'd been aboard.
By the time they reached the last few bites of pudding, though, he had begun to suspect some of the names for sails, and the conditions under which they were used had been pulled out of the ale barrel. At least he was fairly certain there was no such thing as a royal spanker. He was just about to admonish Archie for trying to have him on, when his friend switched topics to women, and completely set him aback.
Kennedy scooped up a last generous spoonful of sweet, a raisin resting atop the quivering pile. "Looks just like a lady's breast, doesn't it?"
It took Horatio several blinking seconds to adjust to the question, in which he tried very hard not to think about what a lady's breast looked like, and most particularly, his only recent experience with the same. "I really couldn't say."
"Oh come on, Hornblower, surely you've done this much at least with a girl." Kennedy's tongue was doing something extremely obscene with the pudding, and Horatio refused to look.
"I prefer not to discuss my past liaisons, Mr. Kennedy." Horatio hurriedly began gathering up their dishes. "Are you done with that? We should let the servers clear our plates." Pouting, Archie swallowed the rest of the sweet, observing him narrowly.
"You've never had any 'liaisons', have you? Not even got your hand down a girl's shift!" For some reason this announcement needed to be shared with the room. Horatio was irritated enough to kick his friend, who rubbed the afflicted shin, still grinning.
"Not everyone, Mr. Kennedy, ruts around with prostitutes." He felt bad, right after he said it. Another dark memory from their brief days on Justinian.
Archie didn't take offense though, instead leering at him over an emptying glass. "Oh, it's not that bad. You should try it. Better than getting a nice girl with child."
"I've no intention of getting anyone with child, Mr. Kennedy." Horatio was trying to find some way out of this humiliating, ludicrous conversation.
"That's the problem!" Kennedy punctuated this with a boisterous fist on the table. "You should have a woman, Hornblower! You should! Then you would never want to kiss a---"
"Kennedy!" he hissed desperately, kicking his friend again, harder, "Remember where you are!"
Archie blinked at him owlishly, apologetic, and leaned in close with the seriousness of the very drunk, stage whispering now. "I would give you the money, Hornblower. You don't know any better yet. But after, you would never want to kiss a boy again, you know."
"I'm quite certain I never want to kiss one again, now," he said, resentfully, looking around to see if anyone was paying them attention.
Some of his annoyance finally seemed to penetrate the fog of drink. "Are... are you mad at me, H'ratio? I just want you to be happy." Those huge ocean eyes were close enough to drown him, Archie's stub nose practically brushing his own. "I know a house near here, where there are very pretty girls, very pretty. They'd like you, you're pretty too."
This was not a conversation that could go anywhere safe. "Thank you, Mr. Kennedy, but I'd much rather go to bed. We both should go to bed." His sensible pronouncement was greeted with exaggerated alarm by his friend. "Don't we have to be up early?"
This reminder seemed to calm Archie, "We can sleep in the carriage. I want a woman, even if you don't."
Horatio ignored what he took to be a jab. "Show some temperance, Kennedy. I'm sure there are prostitutes in London. You can wait." He tugged at his friend's arm, only to have Archie try to pull away.
"Won't need a whore in London," Archie muttered truculently, "I have friends. Friends who kiss me."
"That doesn't surprise me." But the hot flash of anger did surprise Horatio, and he dragged them both to their feet with determination. "Why would you want a prostitute, when you could have a friend? You'd much better wait. Come on now."
Archie was fairly steady, despite the vast quantities of beer, but it did require some steering to get the boy going the correct way on the stairs. Cheerful enough, as Horatio secured the door behind them, and lit candles around the room, Kennedy turned obstinate when he tried to help his friend undress.
"I can do it. Don't touch me!" Archie lurched away, so suddenly Horatio almost choked the boy on his own stock. "And don't look, either." An unsteady finger punctuated this warning.
Horatio was about to snap that he'd seen it all already, when he realized it wasn't true. Kennedy had always been careful when dressing, claiming a hatred of the cold for the boy's habit of changing under the blankets. He had always supposed it to be the truth; Archie was secretive, but hardly shy or modest in any other fashion. Their room was deliciously warm now though, no stinting on the fire for a m'lord, and he wondered.
"Fine, Kennedy, as you wish. If you fall on your arse or lose all your buttons, it will be your own fault." Horatio turned about and began to rid himself of his own uniform, far more efficiently and with better success than his friend. He soon heard the tell-tale clatter of a metal button bouncing on the floorboards. Archie was being foolish. They were both boys, and had seen enough of men in all stages of undress on Justinian, if not before. He'd seen the mid's bare arse, scars and welts together, in the worst of circumstances; there seemed no point in hiding anything now.
Except, if this was about him, his eyes on Kennedy's body, his inclinations. That damned kiss, and all the unnatural wants that Archie inspired in him. That must be it. Kennedy didn't want to tempt him. As if the boy's smile, laugh, arm tucked in his as they walked the streets of Portsmouth hadn't been temptation enough.
Or perhaps Archie thought he might lose control of himself and threaten the boy's virtue, such as it was. Though if so, why a room with only one bed, or why not ask him to sleep on the floor? Perhaps that was the plan. In fact, surely there were pillows and blankets enough to make a comfortable pallet. Horatio began to strip down the bed, tossing spare bedding to the floor.
"What're you doing?" Kennedy was in night dress now, though the gown was on wrong way about and looked uncomfortable.
"I'm making up a bed for myself."
"But there is a bed right there."
"Yes, but that is your bed, Kennedy."
"It's a big bed, H'ratio. Everyone shares on shore. And my father would have asked questions about your purse if I'd paid for two rooms."
So his relative poverty was an embarrassment to his friend. Hardly shocking, no need for it to sting. "I wasn't expecting you to." He fended off Archie, who was clumsily trying to get the pillow back on the bed. "It's fine, Kennedy."
"It's a big bed," Archie repeated, in a strangely earnest way. "We won't even be touching."
"I don't want to trouble you. I know you are a light sleeper." That was true enough. Perhaps the boy had drunk enough to relax for once. Otherwise Horatio risked injury, lying too close together.
"You should come to bed with me, H'ratio. I won't mind, because it will be you."
Horatio felt himself blushing, and knew he would be damned to Hell for the perverse interpretation his mind put on Archie's innocent offer. "Better that I don't, Mr. Kennedy."
"Sleep here with me. It's a big bed. I don't mind." Archie was trying to scoop up the blankets now, hindered by having stepped into the middle of them. The tipsy incompetence should have been aggravating. Maybe he had drunk too much himself, because what he actually felt was a mad urge to take his confused friend in his arms and kiss the boy. So much for temperance.
Instead he grabbed Kennedy around the shoulders, holding the boy firmly at a distance. There was no fear in his friend's deep sea eyes, no revulsion, nothing cold, no rejection, not even laughter or any other shield between them. Just a little lost child, almost as lonely as he.
As he had done so many times already that day, Horatio surrendered to his foolish, rebellious, heart. "I'll get it Kennedy, stop. Thank you. The mattress looks very comfortable. I'm sure I'll sleep very well." With such enticement in arm's reach, Horatio was certain he wouldn't sleep at all. "Now let's get you to bed."
He made Archie push arms back inside the sleeves, and turned the night gown around, so it was settled properly. It took a couple tries to get Archie's arms back into their sleeves, and he had to put his hands in eventually and pull the other's back out.
Archie was hot to the touch, and watching him silently, with an unnerving intensity, as he performed this simple service. Kennedy continued the singular focus as the boy climbed obediently under the covers. Horatio felt that sapphire stare, even after he put the bed back together, blew the candles out, and crawled in beside Archie.
It was large, wide as three berths. There was room, if he did not sprawl, not to touch. Though there was a heat like banked coals only inches away, and it was hard not to shift closer. He turned his back firmly on those watching eyes, and tried to school himself to sleep. The bed seemed suffocatingly soft and oddly still after weeks in a hammock.
He had only just managed to fall into a doze when Archie's voice roused him again. "Will you stay in London with me, a few days at least?"
The request was startling enough to bring him fully awake, and make him turn back over. Archie seemed serious, but if that was the ale talking or not was impossible to say. "I can't do that, Mr. Kennedy. I must go on to Kent, to see my father." Truthfully, he expected a long, lonely month once he got there. His father preferred books to conversation, and was often gone about his work besides.
Kennedy seemed to read his thoughts. "He will not miss you. You should stay with me, H'ratio. It will be my birthday, and there will be a party." Rough fingertips grazed his neck, then latched onto the collar of his nightshift before patting clumsy strokes of warmth down his chest. Horatio tried to edge away, but those insistent fingers held him in place. "You should stay for my party," Archie insisted. "It's for my birthday, you know. There will be a lovely pudding."
His friend sounded so anxious about it, Horatio felt his resistance melting already, as absurd as it was to think of being the house guest of an earl. "We'll see, Kennedy. Your family might not want me to stay."
"No one will care. They will all like you better. The Old Man because you are so smart, and mother because you look so fine in your uniform, and Anne, and... and they will put me in the carriage to Kent, and keep you instead."
Horatio had no idea what to make of this nonsense, and finally dislodged the boy's grip and turned his back again. "You are very drunk, Mr. Kennedy, and I am very tired. You should try to rest, as I am." For a few seconds, he thought his friend would obey him.
Then a hand shook him, trying to be gentle. "You must call me Archie, when it is my birthday."
"Yes, Kennedy, I will." He let himself put his own hand over those lingering fingers. Surely there was no harm in that. "Now go to sleep."
Wondrously, Archie quieted under his touch, and they both fell into a strange, uneasy slumber.
RATING: PG
WORD COUNT: 2300
PAIRING: AK/HH
WARNINGS: Moving vaguely in the direction of slash.
DISCLAIMER: Hornblower and characters belong to ITV and the Forester estate.
SUMMARY: Horatio has a hard enough time around Archie when his friend is sober.
IV.
It was full dark and bitter cold by the time they made it back to their room. Archie wasted no time in ordering up a real bath. His friend was so quick about it, though, when Horatio was called in for his turn the water was still quite warm. Hunger wasn't enough to make him hurry. Two months of grime and salt had accumulated despite his best efforts with sponge and basin, and Horatio was anxious to be truly clean.
Finding Kennedy in the common room after, he quickly realized his friend had passed the long wait in drinking. Archie's cheeks were a fetching pink, and the smile that greeted him when he sat down was wider and merrier than it ought to be. Horatio knew Archie liked to drink, had even saved out his share of grog more than once to cheer his friend during one of Justinian's dark nights. It never seemed to affect Kennedy, just made the boy louder and happier.
But King's Inn ale was more potent than the small beer they were used to, as he tasted for himself. Besides, drinking on shore reminded him disturbingly of Archie's disappearance, and later punishment, for drunkenness. Though he was certain that Simpson had done something to Archie, hurt the boy, Kennedy would never say. So Horatio had never been able to stop wondering what had happened, and whether spirits had played a part.
They got through the food safely enough, though Archie was outpacing his glass by a considerable margin. Kennedy regaled him with details of sails and rigging for a frigate, illustrated in tableware and napkins with considerable vigor. It was a subject his friend could expound on in considerable depth, and where his own knowledge was still quite lacking. Justinian had hardly more than sailed from one side of the harbor to the other in the whole time he'd been aboard.
By the time they reached the last few bites of pudding, though, he had begun to suspect some of the names for sails, and the conditions under which they were used had been pulled out of the ale barrel. At least he was fairly certain there was no such thing as a royal spanker. He was just about to admonish Archie for trying to have him on, when his friend switched topics to women, and completely set him aback.
Kennedy scooped up a last generous spoonful of sweet, a raisin resting atop the quivering pile. "Looks just like a lady's breast, doesn't it?"
It took Horatio several blinking seconds to adjust to the question, in which he tried very hard not to think about what a lady's breast looked like, and most particularly, his only recent experience with the same. "I really couldn't say."
"Oh come on, Hornblower, surely you've done this much at least with a girl." Kennedy's tongue was doing something extremely obscene with the pudding, and Horatio refused to look.
"I prefer not to discuss my past liaisons, Mr. Kennedy." Horatio hurriedly began gathering up their dishes. "Are you done with that? We should let the servers clear our plates." Pouting, Archie swallowed the rest of the sweet, observing him narrowly.
"You've never had any 'liaisons', have you? Not even got your hand down a girl's shift!" For some reason this announcement needed to be shared with the room. Horatio was irritated enough to kick his friend, who rubbed the afflicted shin, still grinning.
"Not everyone, Mr. Kennedy, ruts around with prostitutes." He felt bad, right after he said it. Another dark memory from their brief days on Justinian.
Archie didn't take offense though, instead leering at him over an emptying glass. "Oh, it's not that bad. You should try it. Better than getting a nice girl with child."
"I've no intention of getting anyone with child, Mr. Kennedy." Horatio was trying to find some way out of this humiliating, ludicrous conversation.
"That's the problem!" Kennedy punctuated this with a boisterous fist on the table. "You should have a woman, Hornblower! You should! Then you would never want to kiss a---"
"Kennedy!" he hissed desperately, kicking his friend again, harder, "Remember where you are!"
Archie blinked at him owlishly, apologetic, and leaned in close with the seriousness of the very drunk, stage whispering now. "I would give you the money, Hornblower. You don't know any better yet. But after, you would never want to kiss a boy again, you know."
"I'm quite certain I never want to kiss one again, now," he said, resentfully, looking around to see if anyone was paying them attention.
Some of his annoyance finally seemed to penetrate the fog of drink. "Are... are you mad at me, H'ratio? I just want you to be happy." Those huge ocean eyes were close enough to drown him, Archie's stub nose practically brushing his own. "I know a house near here, where there are very pretty girls, very pretty. They'd like you, you're pretty too."
This was not a conversation that could go anywhere safe. "Thank you, Mr. Kennedy, but I'd much rather go to bed. We both should go to bed." His sensible pronouncement was greeted with exaggerated alarm by his friend. "Don't we have to be up early?"
This reminder seemed to calm Archie, "We can sleep in the carriage. I want a woman, even if you don't."
Horatio ignored what he took to be a jab. "Show some temperance, Kennedy. I'm sure there are prostitutes in London. You can wait." He tugged at his friend's arm, only to have Archie try to pull away.
"Won't need a whore in London," Archie muttered truculently, "I have friends. Friends who kiss me."
"That doesn't surprise me." But the hot flash of anger did surprise Horatio, and he dragged them both to their feet with determination. "Why would you want a prostitute, when you could have a friend? You'd much better wait. Come on now."
Archie was fairly steady, despite the vast quantities of beer, but it did require some steering to get the boy going the correct way on the stairs. Cheerful enough, as Horatio secured the door behind them, and lit candles around the room, Kennedy turned obstinate when he tried to help his friend undress.
"I can do it. Don't touch me!" Archie lurched away, so suddenly Horatio almost choked the boy on his own stock. "And don't look, either." An unsteady finger punctuated this warning.
Horatio was about to snap that he'd seen it all already, when he realized it wasn't true. Kennedy had always been careful when dressing, claiming a hatred of the cold for the boy's habit of changing under the blankets. He had always supposed it to be the truth; Archie was secretive, but hardly shy or modest in any other fashion. Their room was deliciously warm now though, no stinting on the fire for a m'lord, and he wondered.
"Fine, Kennedy, as you wish. If you fall on your arse or lose all your buttons, it will be your own fault." Horatio turned about and began to rid himself of his own uniform, far more efficiently and with better success than his friend. He soon heard the tell-tale clatter of a metal button bouncing on the floorboards. Archie was being foolish. They were both boys, and had seen enough of men in all stages of undress on Justinian, if not before. He'd seen the mid's bare arse, scars and welts together, in the worst of circumstances; there seemed no point in hiding anything now.
Except, if this was about him, his eyes on Kennedy's body, his inclinations. That damned kiss, and all the unnatural wants that Archie inspired in him. That must be it. Kennedy didn't want to tempt him. As if the boy's smile, laugh, arm tucked in his as they walked the streets of Portsmouth hadn't been temptation enough.
Or perhaps Archie thought he might lose control of himself and threaten the boy's virtue, such as it was. Though if so, why a room with only one bed, or why not ask him to sleep on the floor? Perhaps that was the plan. In fact, surely there were pillows and blankets enough to make a comfortable pallet. Horatio began to strip down the bed, tossing spare bedding to the floor.
"What're you doing?" Kennedy was in night dress now, though the gown was on wrong way about and looked uncomfortable.
"I'm making up a bed for myself."
"But there is a bed right there."
"Yes, but that is your bed, Kennedy."
"It's a big bed, H'ratio. Everyone shares on shore. And my father would have asked questions about your purse if I'd paid for two rooms."
So his relative poverty was an embarrassment to his friend. Hardly shocking, no need for it to sting. "I wasn't expecting you to." He fended off Archie, who was clumsily trying to get the pillow back on the bed. "It's fine, Kennedy."
"It's a big bed," Archie repeated, in a strangely earnest way. "We won't even be touching."
"I don't want to trouble you. I know you are a light sleeper." That was true enough. Perhaps the boy had drunk enough to relax for once. Otherwise Horatio risked injury, lying too close together.
"You should come to bed with me, H'ratio. I won't mind, because it will be you."
Horatio felt himself blushing, and knew he would be damned to Hell for the perverse interpretation his mind put on Archie's innocent offer. "Better that I don't, Mr. Kennedy."
"Sleep here with me. It's a big bed. I don't mind." Archie was trying to scoop up the blankets now, hindered by having stepped into the middle of them. The tipsy incompetence should have been aggravating. Maybe he had drunk too much himself, because what he actually felt was a mad urge to take his confused friend in his arms and kiss the boy. So much for temperance.
Instead he grabbed Kennedy around the shoulders, holding the boy firmly at a distance. There was no fear in his friend's deep sea eyes, no revulsion, nothing cold, no rejection, not even laughter or any other shield between them. Just a little lost child, almost as lonely as he.
As he had done so many times already that day, Horatio surrendered to his foolish, rebellious, heart. "I'll get it Kennedy, stop. Thank you. The mattress looks very comfortable. I'm sure I'll sleep very well." With such enticement in arm's reach, Horatio was certain he wouldn't sleep at all. "Now let's get you to bed."
He made Archie push arms back inside the sleeves, and turned the night gown around, so it was settled properly. It took a couple tries to get Archie's arms back into their sleeves, and he had to put his hands in eventually and pull the other's back out.
Archie was hot to the touch, and watching him silently, with an unnerving intensity, as he performed this simple service. Kennedy continued the singular focus as the boy climbed obediently under the covers. Horatio felt that sapphire stare, even after he put the bed back together, blew the candles out, and crawled in beside Archie.
It was large, wide as three berths. There was room, if he did not sprawl, not to touch. Though there was a heat like banked coals only inches away, and it was hard not to shift closer. He turned his back firmly on those watching eyes, and tried to school himself to sleep. The bed seemed suffocatingly soft and oddly still after weeks in a hammock.
He had only just managed to fall into a doze when Archie's voice roused him again. "Will you stay in London with me, a few days at least?"
The request was startling enough to bring him fully awake, and make him turn back over. Archie seemed serious, but if that was the ale talking or not was impossible to say. "I can't do that, Mr. Kennedy. I must go on to Kent, to see my father." Truthfully, he expected a long, lonely month once he got there. His father preferred books to conversation, and was often gone about his work besides.
Kennedy seemed to read his thoughts. "He will not miss you. You should stay with me, H'ratio. It will be my birthday, and there will be a party." Rough fingertips grazed his neck, then latched onto the collar of his nightshift before patting clumsy strokes of warmth down his chest. Horatio tried to edge away, but those insistent fingers held him in place. "You should stay for my party," Archie insisted. "It's for my birthday, you know. There will be a lovely pudding."
His friend sounded so anxious about it, Horatio felt his resistance melting already, as absurd as it was to think of being the house guest of an earl. "We'll see, Kennedy. Your family might not want me to stay."
"No one will care. They will all like you better. The Old Man because you are so smart, and mother because you look so fine in your uniform, and Anne, and... and they will put me in the carriage to Kent, and keep you instead."
Horatio had no idea what to make of this nonsense, and finally dislodged the boy's grip and turned his back again. "You are very drunk, Mr. Kennedy, and I am very tired. You should try to rest, as I am." For a few seconds, he thought his friend would obey him.
Then a hand shook him, trying to be gentle. "You must call me Archie, when it is my birthday."
"Yes, Kennedy, I will." He let himself put his own hand over those lingering fingers. Surely there was no harm in that. "Now go to sleep."
Wondrously, Archie quieted under his touch, and they both fell into a strange, uneasy slumber.