rispacooper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rispacooper) wrote2005-01-06 11:12 pm
rispacooper) wrote2005-01-06 11:12 pm
Squee of Kittie
She says I must post. And 'tis hers. So I must.
Blessing
R. Cooper
Rated PG-13 if one must rate it.
Summary: Cuteness. That’s right, I wrote fluff.
AN: only after writing this did MissKittie explain to me the popular theory about Archie’s fits, but I’m leaving it in the original way I wrote it, out of laziness.
Also: Special mention goes out to Lex Luthor. Let’s just say he (along with Kittie) inspired this version of Archie. And well…Horatio always wanted to be Superman.
ALSO: This story belongs to Kittie. It is all hers to squee over. I have fulfilled my vow to tell the world, Kittie. The rest is up to you.
He supposed he could not blame the squire for staring at him oddly, though he did think for a moment that the man might have let him know when exactly in their conversation that his companion had wandered off.
There was a slight pull between Archie’s eyes; he hoped it was a sign of his growing temper and not a headache, though it had been some time since he had felt anything like one of his fits. But if he did have a fit now he would know exactly who to blame for it, even if he had already forbidden himself from ever speaking such blame aloud again.
The sigh left him before he could recall it, and the squire abruptly stopped speaking, frowning openly now as though remembering the stories of Archie’s many fits and falls as a child. He was not a child now, and he seemed to have outgrown his illness as much as he had outgrown his cracking voice and spotty skin, but one look in the squire’s eyes told him that, on his father’s land, with his father’s neighbors, he was still a troublesome child and no doubt would be forever even if he were to reach the ranks that Horatio aspired to.
But he wished the squire a good day and stepped aside to let the curricle pass, watching as the older man sped away to tell any one he saw that the Earl’s son was home again for a visit and looking well, if pale, and traveled with a strange companion who took no part in conversations and ran away the moment eyes were no longer on him.
Would he tell his daughters of the poor, stammering officer? Describing both the lean, fit state of the young man’s body and the poor condition of his pockets? Archie knew which would interest the young ladies more, and he frowned as the pull between his eyes grew worse.
Where had Horatio run off to now? He considered Horatio’s many possible locations to distract himself, turning around in a slow circle to look over each and every direction. The sky was blue and the roads were clear and the wind was blowing in a northwesterly direction—something that Archie found amusing even if he knew Horatio would not have understood.
With that sort of wind a man like Horatio could be anywhere, and it would do no good to stand here and ponder his direction. Lips firming, Archie stepped from the narrow dirt road and headed back toward the trees, retracing the path he and Horatio had taken not long before.
It had been too quiet at his father’s house. Only the servants in motion in halls too dark, even with the curtains drawn wide open. He and Horatio were too used to action now, routine work even on the dullest day, and he had looked from his novel into Horatio’s eyes and seen the longing to be away.
To be alone, he had thought, rather surprised at the chaste walk they had taken instead, not even touching hands.
They had walked from his father’s house out here, content to walk for miles with no destination. It was uncommonly warm today, so warm that Archie felt it in his bones and had not shivered once. Their pace had been slow and their steps small and it had not taken long for Archie to realize that Horatio had set that pace deliberately, out of concern for him, though Horatio would not speak of it.
He would not speak of anything, and instead leave the talking to Archie, which would not have not clawed at him so if Horatio had then been the one to act. It was not often they had to be together without others to observe their behavior; Horatio might have managed a kiss. And now here he was, running after Horatio, again, ready to soothe some idiotic notion Horatio had taken into his head.
The great Lieutenant Hornblower, running away from a country squire for fear of looking silly, or perhaps in fear of discovery. Some sin had shaded Horatio’s tanned cheeks red, giving his skin a particularly rich hue that had distracted Archie long enough for his speech to falter.
Staring at him so earnestly, so frightened, his mouth darkened as though he had chewed his lip, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he had tried to silently convey his misery to Archie, doubtless confused as to why Archie would stare at him so hungrily when Horatio was lost in his agony.
Archie’s own face suddenly shared Horatio’s affliction, heating uncomfortably, and he was not at all pleased to realize he had been ogling Horatio in front of Squire Kent. That was foolish and stupid, and it was no wonder Horatio had run away. He probably thought Archie had gone mad.
Archie stopped mid step, looking through the trees at the small path he had mentioned as they had passed it before, telling Horatio absently of the vicarage not far down the little trail.
Horatio held no strong feelings of faith that Archie knew of, had never mentioned attending service or worn a cross as men sometimes did. But he would not have gone back to the manor, not without Archie to shield him from his sister’s questions or his father’s interest. So either he was waiting for Archie up ahead or he had gone in the direction of the church.
Archie hesitated only a moment before turning toward the church, deciding to let Horatio wait for him a little longer if Horatio had in fact gone back toward the house.
His annoyance got him very quickly to the path formed of stones that led to the small church’s wide doors, but he paused on the first step, rocking slightly on the sun warmed stone, smooth and curved under his foot. Someone had planted flowers along each side. Perhaps there was a new vicar, or the same one had married and had a wife with an interest in buttercups and cardamine.
It was an old Saxon building, converted to a church a few hundred years before; cracks lined each and every wall though it still stood. As a boy, Archie had liked to imagine pagans praying here, at the small mound of earth not far behind the vicarage attached to one side of the chapel. He did not know if the pagans would have liked the flowers or not, but after a moment he bent down and picked one, a yellow buttercup that he thought would have looked quite pretty tucked behind Horatio’s ear.
There was no sign of anyone about the vicarage, so Archie held the bloom gently in the palm of his hand and pulled one of the church’s doors open, slipping inside and closing it quietly behind him.
Rays of light streamed down from the few windows that were not shuttered, but no candles were lit. Even the bapistry behind the pulpit and table was dark, and it was obvious from the faint scent of lemons and wax that though the chapel was clean, no one had been in the church itself for hours. He would have said he was alone if something had not moved in the darkness of one corner, the shape of a man appearing at the end of the very last pew on his left.
“I’m sorry, Archie.” Horatio had barely spoken and already Archie was sighing again, and then exhaling slowly once more out of irritation with himself for sighing the first time. He thought it strange that Horatio did not seem surprised to see him there, but it was not as strange as Horatio in the church in the first place, so he ignored the thought for now, walking soundlessly down the length of the pew until his friend was but a foot away and then stopping to look down at Horatio.
“The squire is a nice enough man.” Only after swallowing did he feel his voice would be level enough to give the impression of calm, but Horatio nodded easily, so Archie knew that the squire had not been the source of his friend’s anxiety.
There were some who would be amazed to know that Archie Kennedy had this much patience in his possession. But they would be equally amazed to know that Archie Kennedy, troublesome lieutenant and younger son, had on more than one occasion slept with someone as beautiful as Horatio Hornblower in his arms.
“This church is nice as well, Archie,” Horatio glanced up as he spoke, gesturing around him with a dazed air, as though he had never thought a church could be nice. Archie wondered if Horatio had expected a cathedral, and then wondered if Horatio would stop hemming and get to the point before Archie finally lost patience and asked him why he had run. “It’s very welcoming.” Horatio hesitated only a little, and looked back up to Archie, his eyes lingering this time.
“It’s supposed to be.” Archie’s mouth firmed a bit but his answer was polite, only a little waspishness escaping, just enough to make Horatio’s mouth firm slightly and his forehead furrow a bit. The streams of sunlight were far from him, and yet somehow Horatio still gleamed with light, as though the sun were simply a part of him. “Horatio…” The name slipped from him before Archie was aware he wanted to say it.
Horatio went still at the word, his eyes growing round and unnervingly serious as they focused on Archie’s face. Focused, and narrowed to nothing but Archie and Archie felt the last of his breath leave him, his chest tightening until his vision blurred and shimmered and bounced like the wavy curls of Horatio’s hair.
“Archie...” If only Horatio had not answered with that peculiar inflection that only he seemed to give Archie’s name, and always in whisper, a blessing really. If he had spoken louder Archie might have dropped to his knees right then.
To save himself he reached out, digging his fingers into the soft strands of Horatio’s hair, distracted by the brightness of the flower as it fell from his hand onto the crown of the other man’s head. It slid through the shiny mass instantly, falling until one curl trapped it, and Archie glanced down into Horatio’s confused face, his lips humming with the sudden desire to kiss Horatio even there, in the church of his forbears where anyone might come upon them.
He had not thought Horatio’s eyes could get wider, or rounder, but dark moons stared up at him now, surrounded by prettily flushed skin. Archie nearly groaned, his muscles becoming tense at the familiar sight of a blushing Horatio. He never knew whether he ought to slap Horatio for being so foolish as to blush like a girl or to lick the rosy red shame from his body one small square of skin at a time. As it was he felt himself shifting from one foot to the other, his frustration growing stronger with each moment of their hot little silence until at last he moved, the tip of one finger just touching the shell of Horatio’s ear.
“Archie!” Panic raised Horatio’s voice to a shrill whisper, echoing through the empty building and reminding Archie of just where they were. Nonetheless, he kept his finger where it was, noting with both pleasure and annoyance that Horatio did not move away from him. “You must not look at me like that, Archie.”
He would have thought it an order if Horatio had not trembled, looking at him almost as if he were frightened.
“But we’re alone now, Horatio.” Archie smiled to make light of his words, only too happy to leave the church and find another place where they might also be alone. His body agreed with him, his prick growing hard at just the thought of seeing Horatio laid out naked before him, in a thick grove of the forest perhaps, or a dusty garret in his father’s house. With Horatio location did not matter.
The hurried, hidden little shiver that took Horatio’s body at his words startled Archie back into silence for a long moment, knowing it was the sign of some internal battle that Horatio had lost. But there was no mourning in Horatio’s gaze, only holocausts burning at his insides as he fought to keep still. A familiar agony burned at him from Horatio’s eyes, and perhaps because he felt it in himself, Archie could not stop himself.
He tried Horatio’s name again, rolling onto his heels at the determined way Horatio’s squeezed his eyes closed, his face nearly glowing now as his embarrassment increased.
“What is it?” Honest alarm had him reaching out, curving his hand around Horatio’s jaw, wanting the dark eyes to reopen. With another shiver, they did, unfocused and scorching hot with some need that slithered down to Archie’s cock.
“You don’t even have to look at me, Archie!” Tremors ran under Horatio’s skin as he spoke, soft amazement at some inner revelation leaving him seemingly unaware of the need now making itself known in Archie’s breeches.
“I don’t?” Very little patience remained, he was close to throttling Horatio if his friend did not make his point soon so they could leave the church and fuck as desperately as they needed to. Months of groping beneath covers and thrusting against hipbones and thighs until they could finally be alone and now Horatio chose to be embarrassed.
“You have only to speak, Archie, and I…” For the first time Horatio’s blush actually began to look uncomfortable, his skin so hot it ought to have burned Archie’s hand. “…And I want you.” He frowned the moment Archie’s hand fell away, Archie watched him, saw the colour fade from Horatio’s cheeks and the fierce shudder as anxiety returned. “I’m sick, I am sure of it, Archie. And that man knew, I am certain…” he continued talking, stumbling over words and halting only when Archie finally regained his tongue.
“I’ve only to speak?” he said the words again slowly, unsure of Horatio’s meaning. Guilt-stricken eyes stared back up at him, and he could feel himself smiling, knew it meant Horatio would be afraid but could not stop his mouth from turning up. “Horatio?” He made the name a question and stared intently at the impossibly quick flutter of Horatio’s long lashes, the delicate quiver that raced down the straight back.
He remembered once, his hand over Horatio’s chest, his body arching up as Horatio had stroked him, and how he had not been able to stop himself from speaking. Only Horatio’s name, but the heart under his palm had spiked upward, wild somewhere underneath Horatio’s ribs.
“Horatio,” he said it again, his eyes growing dry and hot as he watched Horatio’s lips part, a soft little murmur slipping past. The muscles in his stomach tightened, icicles racing down his spine at the way Horatio blushed and squirmed and yet still had not moved.
“I want to kiss you, Horatio.” It was a whisper. Archie had meant to seem teasing, but his voice had not played along, becoming low and thick as only lovers in bed were supposed to speak.
They had rarely known each other in the comfort of a bed, but his knowledge of Horatio’s body was better than some husband’s to their wives. Another man might not even have noticed the hands curling into fists at Horatio’s knees, unclenching around the cloth when Horatio evidently thought Archie had grown silent.
“I would like…” He spoke too loud, for the church he lowered his voice, leaning in until he filled Horatio’s vision. “…To slide my tongue into your mouth.”
The force of Horatio’s back against the pew was enough to knock someone’s forgotten prayer book to the floor. Before the echoes had quieted Archie was speaking again, only a little shocked at himself. He did not think there was much he would not do for Horatio, or to Horatio, if he were honest. And his cock wanted, he wanted, to see Horatio now, bothered and needy for him, even if only for a moment.
“Would you cry out, Horatio? Or gasp?” Perhaps he was shocked; a stinging he had never expected burned his cheeks and neck. His cock felt no shame however, twitching in response to Horatio’s strangled cough, his breath fast and even and a match to Horatio’s quick little pants.
“Archie?”
It was torment suddenly, to hear Horatio’s confusion and yet feel his trust, the warm quivering body directly before him, waiting to see what he would do, and Archie grunted, meeting Horatio’s eyes with a frown.
“I want you too.” His blood seemed to thicken to hear himself say it, heavy and pounding. His grip on Horatio’s jaw tightened a fraction, and then his thumb was sliding down, slipping between the parted lips and he could feel the groan in the other man’s mouth. It was so hot he wanted to push another finger inside, his prick inside if Horatio would allow it, and he licked his lips, already knowing he was going to speak. “I want you to suck me, Horatio…Your mouth around my prick.”
The words were rough, ending harshly as Horatio’s tongue curled around his thumb. “Would you?” he had to ask even when the answer was obvious, when Horatio’s hands were no longer on his legs but down, flat and hard against the seat of the wood pew, pushing him up slightly as his mouth sucked gently against the pad of Archie’s thumb.
“God, Horatio.” Archie threw his head back for a moment, in bliss just to imagine Horatio’s mouth on him, and then he had to look back, observing the lines of tension around Horatio’s shoulders. “I would suck you, Horatio, after I had stripped your uniform away.”
The lean body moved, a sudden flood of motion toward Archie, Horatio’s heart loud enough to give them away if anyone had been home in the vicarage.
“It would be worth dying, to see you naked even before the crew.” The Spaniards would say that they would burn for this, but he could not imagine flames hotter than what licked his skin now, urging him on. “But just for me, your legs spread, Horatio, your knees bent…”
His own were too heavy, weight down by his pulsing hot blood. He was going to fall if he continued, collapse onto Horatio’s trembling body, and take him here in the church. And then he was gasping, his breath ragged as Horatio slid his legs apart for him right there, and the straining cloth of his breeches revealing just how close Archie was to having his desire satisfied.
“First…” He could not speak for a moment, his throat too dry, his mind working too fast for a clear sentence to emerge. Then he swallowed, impatient, watching the beautiful form of Horatio’s body, tense and still and waiting for him. “First I would touch your chest.”
Yes, he could hear the familiar quickening of his lover’s breath, and knew Horatio had not lied to him. He had only to speak and Horatio was his for the taking.
He could not stop himself from lowering a hand to his prick, grabbing himself so hard he arched into his own hand. Heavy eyes watched him, and he squeezed the hard flesh, almost tasting Horatio’s want.
“Wha…What then, Archie, damn it?” Desperation raised Horatio’s voice, loud and an inch away from pleading. His eyes were so wide, so dark next to the single flower, hanging loosely near his temple.
“And then…” One more moment, Archie promised himself, one moment before they regained their senses enough to do this elsewhere. But Horatio made no attempt to move from his seat, and every noise seemed absorbed by the whitewashed walls now, hushed by the shadows around them. Welcoming, Horatio had said, and Archie then felt himself struggling to remember the words to deny that, to remember any words at all.
Horatio’s teeth worked at his thumb now, nibbling sharp distractions until Archie blinked, and uttered some garbled response that had almost the sound of English, lost once more in the intense heat of Horatio’s tongue swirling over his skin. And then it was gone, and he was gasping, trying to focus on the beautifully frowning face staring up at him.
“Archie…” If Horatio thought to complain now, Archie would kill him, church or no. Instead he felt warmth at his sides and a pull and abruptly found himself in Horatio’s lap, his knees hitting the pew hard but with a pain he knew he would only feel later. At his weight, Horatio merely groaned, and then Archie had his hands on the back of the pew, his legs tight around Horatio’s thighs as he arched over him. He could touch all of Horatio at once and still be unsatisfied. As though Horatio held the same torment in his heart, he leaned his head forward, straining until his lips were at Archie’s neck.
“Now, Archie?” Hands were slipping buttons free on his coat even as Horatio begged softly, and Archie thought of reminding Horatio of exactly where they were; of the danger they would be in should anyone stumble in just now. He turned his head to avoid the trap of Horatio’s eyes as he tried to be rational and shivered at the whisper of fragile petals against his face.
So much beauty in one place could only be a blessing, he thought, gazing closely at the texture of Horatio’s skin, the colour and heat of it as Horatio sought to please him, fingers seeking downward with a careful eagerness. It was worth any risk, and he knew Horatio shared his thought, no amount of fear preventing him for touching Archie now, repeating his name in gentle murmurs close to his ear.
“Yes, Horatio,” Archie agreed as his eyes closed, his lips pressed to Horatio’s mouth, the church converting the rest of their words to silence.
The End
Except for what I imagine afterward, which is between me, Kittie, and whichever Deity claims that church.
Blessing
R. Cooper
Rated PG-13 if one must rate it.
Summary: Cuteness. That’s right, I wrote fluff.
AN: only after writing this did MissKittie explain to me the popular theory about Archie’s fits, but I’m leaving it in the original way I wrote it, out of laziness.
Also: Special mention goes out to Lex Luthor. Let’s just say he (along with Kittie) inspired this version of Archie. And well…Horatio always wanted to be Superman.
ALSO: This story belongs to Kittie. It is all hers to squee over. I have fulfilled my vow to tell the world, Kittie. The rest is up to you.
He supposed he could not blame the squire for staring at him oddly, though he did think for a moment that the man might have let him know when exactly in their conversation that his companion had wandered off.
There was a slight pull between Archie’s eyes; he hoped it was a sign of his growing temper and not a headache, though it had been some time since he had felt anything like one of his fits. But if he did have a fit now he would know exactly who to blame for it, even if he had already forbidden himself from ever speaking such blame aloud again.
The sigh left him before he could recall it, and the squire abruptly stopped speaking, frowning openly now as though remembering the stories of Archie’s many fits and falls as a child. He was not a child now, and he seemed to have outgrown his illness as much as he had outgrown his cracking voice and spotty skin, but one look in the squire’s eyes told him that, on his father’s land, with his father’s neighbors, he was still a troublesome child and no doubt would be forever even if he were to reach the ranks that Horatio aspired to.
But he wished the squire a good day and stepped aside to let the curricle pass, watching as the older man sped away to tell any one he saw that the Earl’s son was home again for a visit and looking well, if pale, and traveled with a strange companion who took no part in conversations and ran away the moment eyes were no longer on him.
Would he tell his daughters of the poor, stammering officer? Describing both the lean, fit state of the young man’s body and the poor condition of his pockets? Archie knew which would interest the young ladies more, and he frowned as the pull between his eyes grew worse.
Where had Horatio run off to now? He considered Horatio’s many possible locations to distract himself, turning around in a slow circle to look over each and every direction. The sky was blue and the roads were clear and the wind was blowing in a northwesterly direction—something that Archie found amusing even if he knew Horatio would not have understood.
With that sort of wind a man like Horatio could be anywhere, and it would do no good to stand here and ponder his direction. Lips firming, Archie stepped from the narrow dirt road and headed back toward the trees, retracing the path he and Horatio had taken not long before.
It had been too quiet at his father’s house. Only the servants in motion in halls too dark, even with the curtains drawn wide open. He and Horatio were too used to action now, routine work even on the dullest day, and he had looked from his novel into Horatio’s eyes and seen the longing to be away.
To be alone, he had thought, rather surprised at the chaste walk they had taken instead, not even touching hands.
They had walked from his father’s house out here, content to walk for miles with no destination. It was uncommonly warm today, so warm that Archie felt it in his bones and had not shivered once. Their pace had been slow and their steps small and it had not taken long for Archie to realize that Horatio had set that pace deliberately, out of concern for him, though Horatio would not speak of it.
He would not speak of anything, and instead leave the talking to Archie, which would not have not clawed at him so if Horatio had then been the one to act. It was not often they had to be together without others to observe their behavior; Horatio might have managed a kiss. And now here he was, running after Horatio, again, ready to soothe some idiotic notion Horatio had taken into his head.
The great Lieutenant Hornblower, running away from a country squire for fear of looking silly, or perhaps in fear of discovery. Some sin had shaded Horatio’s tanned cheeks red, giving his skin a particularly rich hue that had distracted Archie long enough for his speech to falter.
Staring at him so earnestly, so frightened, his mouth darkened as though he had chewed his lip, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he had tried to silently convey his misery to Archie, doubtless confused as to why Archie would stare at him so hungrily when Horatio was lost in his agony.
Archie’s own face suddenly shared Horatio’s affliction, heating uncomfortably, and he was not at all pleased to realize he had been ogling Horatio in front of Squire Kent. That was foolish and stupid, and it was no wonder Horatio had run away. He probably thought Archie had gone mad.
Archie stopped mid step, looking through the trees at the small path he had mentioned as they had passed it before, telling Horatio absently of the vicarage not far down the little trail.
Horatio held no strong feelings of faith that Archie knew of, had never mentioned attending service or worn a cross as men sometimes did. But he would not have gone back to the manor, not without Archie to shield him from his sister’s questions or his father’s interest. So either he was waiting for Archie up ahead or he had gone in the direction of the church.
Archie hesitated only a moment before turning toward the church, deciding to let Horatio wait for him a little longer if Horatio had in fact gone back toward the house.
His annoyance got him very quickly to the path formed of stones that led to the small church’s wide doors, but he paused on the first step, rocking slightly on the sun warmed stone, smooth and curved under his foot. Someone had planted flowers along each side. Perhaps there was a new vicar, or the same one had married and had a wife with an interest in buttercups and cardamine.
It was an old Saxon building, converted to a church a few hundred years before; cracks lined each and every wall though it still stood. As a boy, Archie had liked to imagine pagans praying here, at the small mound of earth not far behind the vicarage attached to one side of the chapel. He did not know if the pagans would have liked the flowers or not, but after a moment he bent down and picked one, a yellow buttercup that he thought would have looked quite pretty tucked behind Horatio’s ear.
There was no sign of anyone about the vicarage, so Archie held the bloom gently in the palm of his hand and pulled one of the church’s doors open, slipping inside and closing it quietly behind him.
Rays of light streamed down from the few windows that were not shuttered, but no candles were lit. Even the bapistry behind the pulpit and table was dark, and it was obvious from the faint scent of lemons and wax that though the chapel was clean, no one had been in the church itself for hours. He would have said he was alone if something had not moved in the darkness of one corner, the shape of a man appearing at the end of the very last pew on his left.
“I’m sorry, Archie.” Horatio had barely spoken and already Archie was sighing again, and then exhaling slowly once more out of irritation with himself for sighing the first time. He thought it strange that Horatio did not seem surprised to see him there, but it was not as strange as Horatio in the church in the first place, so he ignored the thought for now, walking soundlessly down the length of the pew until his friend was but a foot away and then stopping to look down at Horatio.
“The squire is a nice enough man.” Only after swallowing did he feel his voice would be level enough to give the impression of calm, but Horatio nodded easily, so Archie knew that the squire had not been the source of his friend’s anxiety.
There were some who would be amazed to know that Archie Kennedy had this much patience in his possession. But they would be equally amazed to know that Archie Kennedy, troublesome lieutenant and younger son, had on more than one occasion slept with someone as beautiful as Horatio Hornblower in his arms.
“This church is nice as well, Archie,” Horatio glanced up as he spoke, gesturing around him with a dazed air, as though he had never thought a church could be nice. Archie wondered if Horatio had expected a cathedral, and then wondered if Horatio would stop hemming and get to the point before Archie finally lost patience and asked him why he had run. “It’s very welcoming.” Horatio hesitated only a little, and looked back up to Archie, his eyes lingering this time.
“It’s supposed to be.” Archie’s mouth firmed a bit but his answer was polite, only a little waspishness escaping, just enough to make Horatio’s mouth firm slightly and his forehead furrow a bit. The streams of sunlight were far from him, and yet somehow Horatio still gleamed with light, as though the sun were simply a part of him. “Horatio…” The name slipped from him before Archie was aware he wanted to say it.
Horatio went still at the word, his eyes growing round and unnervingly serious as they focused on Archie’s face. Focused, and narrowed to nothing but Archie and Archie felt the last of his breath leave him, his chest tightening until his vision blurred and shimmered and bounced like the wavy curls of Horatio’s hair.
“Archie...” If only Horatio had not answered with that peculiar inflection that only he seemed to give Archie’s name, and always in whisper, a blessing really. If he had spoken louder Archie might have dropped to his knees right then.
To save himself he reached out, digging his fingers into the soft strands of Horatio’s hair, distracted by the brightness of the flower as it fell from his hand onto the crown of the other man’s head. It slid through the shiny mass instantly, falling until one curl trapped it, and Archie glanced down into Horatio’s confused face, his lips humming with the sudden desire to kiss Horatio even there, in the church of his forbears where anyone might come upon them.
He had not thought Horatio’s eyes could get wider, or rounder, but dark moons stared up at him now, surrounded by prettily flushed skin. Archie nearly groaned, his muscles becoming tense at the familiar sight of a blushing Horatio. He never knew whether he ought to slap Horatio for being so foolish as to blush like a girl or to lick the rosy red shame from his body one small square of skin at a time. As it was he felt himself shifting from one foot to the other, his frustration growing stronger with each moment of their hot little silence until at last he moved, the tip of one finger just touching the shell of Horatio’s ear.
“Archie!” Panic raised Horatio’s voice to a shrill whisper, echoing through the empty building and reminding Archie of just where they were. Nonetheless, he kept his finger where it was, noting with both pleasure and annoyance that Horatio did not move away from him. “You must not look at me like that, Archie.”
He would have thought it an order if Horatio had not trembled, looking at him almost as if he were frightened.
“But we’re alone now, Horatio.” Archie smiled to make light of his words, only too happy to leave the church and find another place where they might also be alone. His body agreed with him, his prick growing hard at just the thought of seeing Horatio laid out naked before him, in a thick grove of the forest perhaps, or a dusty garret in his father’s house. With Horatio location did not matter.
The hurried, hidden little shiver that took Horatio’s body at his words startled Archie back into silence for a long moment, knowing it was the sign of some internal battle that Horatio had lost. But there was no mourning in Horatio’s gaze, only holocausts burning at his insides as he fought to keep still. A familiar agony burned at him from Horatio’s eyes, and perhaps because he felt it in himself, Archie could not stop himself.
He tried Horatio’s name again, rolling onto his heels at the determined way Horatio’s squeezed his eyes closed, his face nearly glowing now as his embarrassment increased.
“What is it?” Honest alarm had him reaching out, curving his hand around Horatio’s jaw, wanting the dark eyes to reopen. With another shiver, they did, unfocused and scorching hot with some need that slithered down to Archie’s cock.
“You don’t even have to look at me, Archie!” Tremors ran under Horatio’s skin as he spoke, soft amazement at some inner revelation leaving him seemingly unaware of the need now making itself known in Archie’s breeches.
“I don’t?” Very little patience remained, he was close to throttling Horatio if his friend did not make his point soon so they could leave the church and fuck as desperately as they needed to. Months of groping beneath covers and thrusting against hipbones and thighs until they could finally be alone and now Horatio chose to be embarrassed.
“You have only to speak, Archie, and I…” For the first time Horatio’s blush actually began to look uncomfortable, his skin so hot it ought to have burned Archie’s hand. “…And I want you.” He frowned the moment Archie’s hand fell away, Archie watched him, saw the colour fade from Horatio’s cheeks and the fierce shudder as anxiety returned. “I’m sick, I am sure of it, Archie. And that man knew, I am certain…” he continued talking, stumbling over words and halting only when Archie finally regained his tongue.
“I’ve only to speak?” he said the words again slowly, unsure of Horatio’s meaning. Guilt-stricken eyes stared back up at him, and he could feel himself smiling, knew it meant Horatio would be afraid but could not stop his mouth from turning up. “Horatio?” He made the name a question and stared intently at the impossibly quick flutter of Horatio’s long lashes, the delicate quiver that raced down the straight back.
He remembered once, his hand over Horatio’s chest, his body arching up as Horatio had stroked him, and how he had not been able to stop himself from speaking. Only Horatio’s name, but the heart under his palm had spiked upward, wild somewhere underneath Horatio’s ribs.
“Horatio,” he said it again, his eyes growing dry and hot as he watched Horatio’s lips part, a soft little murmur slipping past. The muscles in his stomach tightened, icicles racing down his spine at the way Horatio blushed and squirmed and yet still had not moved.
“I want to kiss you, Horatio.” It was a whisper. Archie had meant to seem teasing, but his voice had not played along, becoming low and thick as only lovers in bed were supposed to speak.
They had rarely known each other in the comfort of a bed, but his knowledge of Horatio’s body was better than some husband’s to their wives. Another man might not even have noticed the hands curling into fists at Horatio’s knees, unclenching around the cloth when Horatio evidently thought Archie had grown silent.
“I would like…” He spoke too loud, for the church he lowered his voice, leaning in until he filled Horatio’s vision. “…To slide my tongue into your mouth.”
The force of Horatio’s back against the pew was enough to knock someone’s forgotten prayer book to the floor. Before the echoes had quieted Archie was speaking again, only a little shocked at himself. He did not think there was much he would not do for Horatio, or to Horatio, if he were honest. And his cock wanted, he wanted, to see Horatio now, bothered and needy for him, even if only for a moment.
“Would you cry out, Horatio? Or gasp?” Perhaps he was shocked; a stinging he had never expected burned his cheeks and neck. His cock felt no shame however, twitching in response to Horatio’s strangled cough, his breath fast and even and a match to Horatio’s quick little pants.
“Archie?”
It was torment suddenly, to hear Horatio’s confusion and yet feel his trust, the warm quivering body directly before him, waiting to see what he would do, and Archie grunted, meeting Horatio’s eyes with a frown.
“I want you too.” His blood seemed to thicken to hear himself say it, heavy and pounding. His grip on Horatio’s jaw tightened a fraction, and then his thumb was sliding down, slipping between the parted lips and he could feel the groan in the other man’s mouth. It was so hot he wanted to push another finger inside, his prick inside if Horatio would allow it, and he licked his lips, already knowing he was going to speak. “I want you to suck me, Horatio…Your mouth around my prick.”
The words were rough, ending harshly as Horatio’s tongue curled around his thumb. “Would you?” he had to ask even when the answer was obvious, when Horatio’s hands were no longer on his legs but down, flat and hard against the seat of the wood pew, pushing him up slightly as his mouth sucked gently against the pad of Archie’s thumb.
“God, Horatio.” Archie threw his head back for a moment, in bliss just to imagine Horatio’s mouth on him, and then he had to look back, observing the lines of tension around Horatio’s shoulders. “I would suck you, Horatio, after I had stripped your uniform away.”
The lean body moved, a sudden flood of motion toward Archie, Horatio’s heart loud enough to give them away if anyone had been home in the vicarage.
“It would be worth dying, to see you naked even before the crew.” The Spaniards would say that they would burn for this, but he could not imagine flames hotter than what licked his skin now, urging him on. “But just for me, your legs spread, Horatio, your knees bent…”
His own were too heavy, weight down by his pulsing hot blood. He was going to fall if he continued, collapse onto Horatio’s trembling body, and take him here in the church. And then he was gasping, his breath ragged as Horatio slid his legs apart for him right there, and the straining cloth of his breeches revealing just how close Archie was to having his desire satisfied.
“First…” He could not speak for a moment, his throat too dry, his mind working too fast for a clear sentence to emerge. Then he swallowed, impatient, watching the beautiful form of Horatio’s body, tense and still and waiting for him. “First I would touch your chest.”
Yes, he could hear the familiar quickening of his lover’s breath, and knew Horatio had not lied to him. He had only to speak and Horatio was his for the taking.
He could not stop himself from lowering a hand to his prick, grabbing himself so hard he arched into his own hand. Heavy eyes watched him, and he squeezed the hard flesh, almost tasting Horatio’s want.
“Wha…What then, Archie, damn it?” Desperation raised Horatio’s voice, loud and an inch away from pleading. His eyes were so wide, so dark next to the single flower, hanging loosely near his temple.
“And then…” One more moment, Archie promised himself, one moment before they regained their senses enough to do this elsewhere. But Horatio made no attempt to move from his seat, and every noise seemed absorbed by the whitewashed walls now, hushed by the shadows around them. Welcoming, Horatio had said, and Archie then felt himself struggling to remember the words to deny that, to remember any words at all.
Horatio’s teeth worked at his thumb now, nibbling sharp distractions until Archie blinked, and uttered some garbled response that had almost the sound of English, lost once more in the intense heat of Horatio’s tongue swirling over his skin. And then it was gone, and he was gasping, trying to focus on the beautifully frowning face staring up at him.
“Archie…” If Horatio thought to complain now, Archie would kill him, church or no. Instead he felt warmth at his sides and a pull and abruptly found himself in Horatio’s lap, his knees hitting the pew hard but with a pain he knew he would only feel later. At his weight, Horatio merely groaned, and then Archie had his hands on the back of the pew, his legs tight around Horatio’s thighs as he arched over him. He could touch all of Horatio at once and still be unsatisfied. As though Horatio held the same torment in his heart, he leaned his head forward, straining until his lips were at Archie’s neck.
“Now, Archie?” Hands were slipping buttons free on his coat even as Horatio begged softly, and Archie thought of reminding Horatio of exactly where they were; of the danger they would be in should anyone stumble in just now. He turned his head to avoid the trap of Horatio’s eyes as he tried to be rational and shivered at the whisper of fragile petals against his face.
So much beauty in one place could only be a blessing, he thought, gazing closely at the texture of Horatio’s skin, the colour and heat of it as Horatio sought to please him, fingers seeking downward with a careful eagerness. It was worth any risk, and he knew Horatio shared his thought, no amount of fear preventing him for touching Archie now, repeating his name in gentle murmurs close to his ear.
“Yes, Horatio,” Archie agreed as his eyes closed, his lips pressed to Horatio’s mouth, the church converting the rest of their words to silence.
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Yes, Horatio, indeed.
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My GOD that is hot.
(and deserving of blasphemy *g*)
Wow, just WOW
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*speechless*
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*is happily dead*
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thank you
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That ball of flame that just flew past your head? My panties. Wow.
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Nancy