This is love: to fly toward a secret sky,
to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment.
First to let go of life.
Finally, to take a step without feet.

- Rumi

“Slow down, Archie, I fear I’ll fall,” Horatio complained, bobbing unsteadily as Archie spurred the chestnut into a run. The Kennedys owned a spacious estate outside of London, and at the moment – on the back of this beast – the endless stretch of green before them appeared nothing short of terrifying.

Gripping the reins in steady hands, Archie flashed him a devious grin over his shoulder. “Hold tight, Horatio,” he said. “A gentleman must learn to ride.”

That had been Archie’s reason for dragging him out of the stables – to prevent a repeat of that embarrassing spectacle with the horse in Muzillac – but privately, remembering Archie’s shared amusement with Major Edrington at the time, Horatio suspected Archie also greatly enjoyed seeing him frightened out of his wits.

Artemisia carried them at a dizzying speed now. Horatio could only wrap his arms tight around Archie’s waist and cling to prevent himself from tumbling off. The afternoon was calm and clear, yet they raced so fast that cool air whipped Horatio’s cheeks and hair. He clung tighter, slumping forward onto Archie’s back, chin resting on his friend’s broad shoulder.

Archie’s body was supple against him, unafraid, his heartbeat steady if not heightened in excitement. The wind tore through his hair just as wildly, blowing errant strands into Horatio’s eyes, blinding him with flecks of red and orange and yellow, a spectrum of tawny hues. But when Archie dug his heel harder into the chestnut’s flank, Horatio slammed his eyes shut, shutting out those colors and squeezing Archie’s body so desperately he could feel his friend’s broader bones as Artemisia shot off like a canon ball, bounding forward at full speed.

They were going to die. Horatio knew it, keeping his head down against Archie’s shoulder to help anchor his weight, peeking only once to see trees scattered ahead of them now – large, leafy willows rising up treacherously in a sea of green.

“Archie!” he called in his friend’s ear, and had he known how, Horatio would have grabbed the reins and brought the blasted creature to a halt before they plunged to their death into one of those trees.

But Archie did not heed him, only tossed his head and laughed, his short reddish queue slapping against Horatio’s cheek. “Horatio, are you really that scared? This is the closest you’ll ever come to flying.”

That hardly helped; Archie knew how he feared heights, and though they were not far above the ground the terror was the same. No doubt Archie could feel his heart hammering against his back, his thighs clutching tightly around Archie’s body. It was uncomfortable, with Archie bouncing against his groin as they sped along, but Horatio would not have let go for his life.

“Well, I’d prefer not to – “ Horatio grumbled belatedly, stopping short when the beast jolted and seemed to careen forward. Squeezing his eyes shut tighter in panic, Horatio nearly crushed Archie in his arms, mindless of his dignity, fearing they had run into one of those willow trees after all and would break both their necks.

But nothing happened, and after a moment, his heart still pounding, Horatio realized Archie had only drawn the horse to an abrupt stop. Still, Horatio kept pressed against Archie’s body, not trusting for a moment that it was safe to loosen his grasp.

“You can let go now, Mr. Hornblower,” Archie said a heartbeat later, amused and breathing raggedly.

Archie must not have been able to breathe, Horatio decided, and he must look ridiculous clinging like this. Yet Horatio did not trust himself to pull back without losing his balance, mindlessly groping at Archie for leverage. Only, by pure accident, he thrust his hand between his friend’s legs.

Heat wracked Horatio from head to foot, and at that moment he dearly wished the beast would throw him on his head to save him from his embarrassment. Snatching his hand away, Horatio found he needed to say something and stupidly blurted., “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –“

He bit his tongue when he realized he should not have called attention to his blunder. It was only a silly accident; there was no need to make a fuss. But then he felt an inexplicable wave of guilt when Archie turned to him, cheeks flushed and mouth twisted in a knowing smirk, as though suggesting Horatio had grabbed at him on purpose.

“I know you’re not fond of girls, Horatio, but this is rather sudden.”

Tensing at the remark, Horatio recoiled and might have fallen had Archie not gripped his arm to keep him steady. With nowhere else to go, his fingers splayed restlessly against Archie’s thigh, their bodies melded uncomfortably together, and in that position Horatio felt unfairly compromised.

“Archie . . .” His friend had no right to say what he had; he had seen him with Mariette on the bridge in Muzillac. Perhaps Archie did not know that she had kissed him – and it was true Horatio had declined to share her bed – but then Horatio thought it unworthy to be so affronted; Archie was only teasing, attempting to make light of what might have given offense to any other man.

Or was he? Horatio’s stomach turned to contemplate that question.

But Archie blinked and then a different light shone in his eyes, something bold and out of place. He licked his lips and out of nowhere asked, “How would you take it, Horatio, if I were to kiss you on the mouth?”

“What?” Of all the indecent questions . . .. Just because he had touched Archie by accident – Christ, he had bathed Archie before – did not give Archie leave to make perverse assumptions.

“If I were to kiss you,” Archie repeated, exasperated now. “You do know what that is, yes?”

Horatio’s chest tightened in cold panic. Archie was not teasing.

“Yes, but –“ Horatio knew very well what kissing was, even if Mariette had been his only real experience of it – he had kissed Archie before, when he was sick in prison, but only briefly and never on the mouth – but remained nonplussed by the question. Now that Archie had spurred Artemisia into a brisk trot, only the most logical answer came to mind. “I suppose I’d be frightened that you’d knock us both to the ground not looking where we’re headed.”

Archie only laughed, leading Artemisia along, and Horatio thought – hoped – that would end this absurd conversation. Horatio closed his eyes again though they were not going very fast, keeping his arms around Archie’s waist. It suddenly seemed unfair to blame this indecency on Archie when Horatio’s head spun shamefully with thoughts of kissing him. Those thoughts spawned disjointed, random images, memories of himself with Mariette, only Mariette turned into Archie in his arms.

He had imagined kissing Archie before, in the way one fancied ridiculous things on the verge of sleep. He had thought it nothing but loneliness, that perhaps he needed a woman like the other men. But then in France he had met a woman – good and beautiful – and still when he had taken his mouth from hers he had seen Archie’s face. Guilt and shame had burned him up afterward, shame to wonder if her blue eyes and tawny hair had not been what had attracted him above all else, to have endangered her not only to protect Archie and his men, but for some worse, more sordid purpose.

But with Archie so close, Horatio could not escape wondering now, or those tumbling mad images. He opened his eyes, confronted with Archie’s fair golden hair, soft cheek, and strong shoulders, a dawning sense of something inside him that tingled and stirred against his will.

Captive to that surge of affection, Horatio absently pressed his mouth to Archie’s cheek, just like he had often done in Spain after tucking his sick friend into bed. But Archie did not smile sleepily as he would then; he tensed in Horatio’s hold and quietly asked, “What’s that for?”

Abashed of his own stupidity, Horatio ducked his head, casting his eyes to the ground. “Saving me in Muzillac, I suppose,” he said back, cheeks flaring, hoping that would suffice as an answer.

It did not. He could feel Archie turning to look at him, his eyes intense and knowing despite the lightness of his voice. “Not because I’m handsome?”

Horatio gulped, not expecting that. “I suppose you are handsome, Archie.” It was not in his nature to lie, but nor was it in his nature to elaborate – if it were he would have said that he found Archie bewitchingly so. Sometimes Horatio found himself looking upon the women Archie called pretty, thinking they did not compare.

Archie was still peering at him; Horatio could feel his eyes burning the top of his head. After a moment, Archie dropped his attempt at light-heartedness and very flatly confessed, “Horatio, I don’t think it’s a crime not to care for girls.”

Startled, Horatio looked up. That certainly went against all he had been taught,; even sodomites married, or so he had heard. “But it is to prefer men, Archie,” he reminded firmly, obliged to discourage Archie from this talk. All the laws said so, ashore and at sea, in England at least – their French enemies had repealed such laws in the name of freedom from the Church.

“Not in my book,” Archie retorted quietly, his hand coming to rest over Horatio’s, closing warmly. Flutters swirled inside Horatio’s belly like feathers; they had never held hands before. He had never held hands with anyone but his mother as a child. The gesture felt indecent now, burning his cheeks, perhaps because he was reminded of Spain, of Archie reaching up for that first cup of water, fingers a-tremble against his own. He saw him lying in that bed again, filthy yet beautiful, and suddenly found the image curiously erotic, Archie’s touch sensuous in his memory.

“And what about this?” Horatio asked roughly when Archie’s hand tightened, absently drawing Horatio’s hand over his chest, as though asking to be touched in his quiet, unassuming way.

“I can’t claim that I mind,” Archie murmured without looking at him, not letting go.

“I should hope you would do more than not mind, Archie.” He did not want Archie to think him another monster, like Simpson. Surely the attentions of another man were the last thing Archie wanted; he had worked so hard to rebuild himself since returning from prison. But all this was irrelevant – these thoughts of who wanted what; they should not even be touching like this, even considering it.

Instead of answering, Archie continued guiding his hand as though intent on proving something – that Horatio was wanted, that the sky would not fall if Horatio did touch him; God only knew. Horatio only knew that his hands wanted to touch, and that his relief at having his touch welcomed made it difficult to contemplate anything rationally.

His hand moved over Archie’s chest, where his friend’s heart pounded, feeling hard, sturdy muscle beneath the layers of cloth. Archie was breathing fast, biting his lip, his body dangerously hot as though wracked by fever. Horatio was causing something to happen to his friend and he knew it, and for fear of it tried to tug his hand away, but Archie’s grip became unbreakable. Once again, by accident in the struggle, Horatio’s hand fell into his lap, eliciting a sharp, “Ah!” when his palm brushed between Archie’s legs.

Archie was . . . hard, his body pushing involuntarily against Horatio’s hand, imprinting his rigid length into Horatio’s palm. Horatio froze, an ache rising in his own body despite how he wanted to shake free of it. “This is absurd,” he breathed out, astonished and confused at what had come over them so suddenly.

“The world is absurd,” Archie answered even more breathlessly, still holding Horatio’s hand, pushing against it once more as though no longer in control of his body. Horatio squeezed the hard flesh by reflex, as if it were his own in the dark of his cabin and not his friend’s out here in the open. Something happened then; Archie began to shudder, and when his head rolled back and he cried out, Horatio realized he had unwittingly brought his friend to climax.

A long, surreal moment passed with Archie slumped back against him, putting uncomfortable pressure against Horatio’s own heated loins. Doing his best to ignore it, and still stunned by what he had caused to happen, Horatio concentrated on the fact that Archie would not be able to handle the reins in this state, though Artemisia had stopped trotting.

“I think we should sit down,” he suggested quietly.

Archie did not argue; he led Artemisia to the nearest willow tree, securing her bridle and sinking to the ground. Sinking down beside him, Horatio found he could not take his eyes from his friend as Archie leaned back against the trunk and caught his breath. He presented a vividly arresting picture, with his tawny sunlit hair, apple cheeks flushed with passion, and his half-closed but sparkling blue eyes – the embodiment of the youthful golden beauty the Greeks often praised.

Horatio swallowed. Archie was the one for poetry, not he, and he was beside himself whatever the case. He tried to clear his head in order to make sense of what had happened, forcing himself to look at Archie rationally and ask the logical question.

“Why hasn’t this come up before?”

There had been plenty of opportunity, Horatio reflected. They had spoken of loving one another in Spain and Archie had on more than one occasion lain next to him and read poems of male love, but had never mentioned anything physical. Horatio had always assumed Archie might believe acting upon those affections would taint the purity of what they had, and Archie believed in God, of course. Horatio had never thought Archie would allow anything like what had happened a moment ago.

Archie did not appear very shocked by the turn of events, but matter-of-fact if not tired. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and sighed. “I suppose I couldn’t come to terms with it on top of everything else. I tried not to think about it, until . . .” Archie did not finish and Horatio frowned. Until when? Archie had seen him with a girl or he had almost died on that bridge? That made some sense, did it not? “Was I dishonest?” A hint of worry entered Archie’s voice.

What could Horatio do but shake his head? Though if Archie had harbored desires for him he would like to have known; it might have been easier for his conscience to bear. “No more than I. I feel as though I’ve been running from you all this time.”

Straightening away from the trunk, Archie looked up at him intently. “What do you mean?”

Clearing his throat, Horatio forced himself to meet his friend’s eyes. He scarcely possessed the courage, but saw no use in pretending anymore. “I’ve loved you for a long time, Archie. I’ve told you. I . . . I did not realize how much my body loved you as well.”

He waited for the protests and warnings, even the outrage at being the object of criminal desire. None came. Archie’s lips parted, for once at a loss for words, before he quickly recovered himself, putting a hand on the green ground and leaning toward Horatio in a strange onset of conviction.

“Horatio . . .” Archie’s voice was suddenly soft, so soft that Horatio melted stupidly inside, having never heard his own ridiculous name spoken with real tenderness before. He blinked and then Archie was there before him, mere inches away, reaching up a hand to his cheek.

Archie’s fingers felt even softer on his face than they had on his hand earlier, though they were rough and calloused from duty. Horatio leaned instinctively into his touch, perhaps out of some memory of Mariette, closing his eyes and leaning his head down toward his friend’s.

Horatio did not expect Archie to kiss him. Somehow he had imagined relations between men to be far baser, like wild animals. But Archie kissed him; Horatio had never imagined that a man’s mouth could feel so soft – softness belonged to women, to Mariette, he had thought – or that the small hand on his cheek could ever be so implacably commanding. There was something freeing in the way Archie took control of him, saving him from having to think anymore. Around him the world spun and spun, and whether or not it broke apart in the face of this iniquity, Horatio could not bring himself to care; there was only Archie, anchoring him against spinning with it as their lips slid together.

“Have you ever done this before?” Horatio whispered against Archie’s warm mouth when they had to breathe, wondering where Archie had come up with the notion of kissing. He did not think Archie a sodomite – he had seen his friend with women – but perhaps . . . . Perhaps it was a foolish question that only revealed his own ignorance. There was no reason why men would not enjoy kissing, now that he thought about it.

Foolish or not, Archie answered it anyway. “You could say I’ve had something that might be termed an encounter.” He leaned close to nuzzle his cheek against Horatio’s, another coy gesture that surprised him, in a pleasant way.

Still, Horatio felt even greater embarrassment at his query, considering its implications. “At the theatre?” he asked, not wanting Archie to think he had meant Simpson, that he considered Archie complicit in that crime. That, and he felt an uncharacteristic need to continue talking, as though talking would keep what they were doing at bay.

But Archie showed no interest in talking; he gave a perfunctory nod before his fingers tightened on Horatio’s jaw, bringing their mouths together a second time. Archie’s mouth was surer this time, though his lips had not lost their silken, yielding quality, and drawn to the warmth he offered, Horatio could only slip an arm around his friend’s back to both steady himself and bring Archie closer.

Seeming to take that as an invitation, Archie’s hand found Horatio’s thigh, fingers moving upward – not obscenely, but suggestively enough that Horatio’s body shuddered. He could feel the pressure of Archie’s fingertips through his trousers, so unbelievably close to reaching that ache that had far from dulled. Just the thought sparked a hot flood of sensation in Horatio’s groin and suddenly he understood what had overtaken Archie earlier. Horatio’s body shook despite how he released Archie’s mouth to grit his teeth and fight it, and then a moment later a telltale awkward stickiness dirtied the inside of his trousers.

Shame crept up instantly when the tide ebbed, anger that his body had betrayed him in that way. Horatio wanted to get up and wash himself in a stream if he could find one, apologize and perhaps drown out of sheer mortification. Archie had taken his hand from his leg and was stroking his shoulder gently, helping the shivers to calm. The fact that Archie was still willing to touch him gave Horatio enough courage to look up.

A small smile curved Archie’s lips, the smile of one wickedly delighting in a secret. It was a secret that went both ways, Horatio tried to remind himself, looking to Archie and feeling suddenly both guilty and elated, as though they had gotten away with theft. Easier to treat it a secret, Horatio decided, to tuck it away in their minds. Doing his best to collect himself, Horatio glanced about and in a stern voice reminded,

“We’re in the open, Archie.”

Archie blinked as though seeing their surroundings for the first time, though he was not a reckless man by nature. “Good God.” Shaking his head, he took his arm from around Horatio’s shoulders. “Come on,” he said, standing up and dusting off his trousers.

He pulled Horatio to his feet and helped him onto that damned horse again. They raced back the way they came at an unsettling pace, but Horatio was too caught up in fearing what they were rushing toward to fear the ride itself.

**

With Archie’s family eager to spend time with him, he and Archie did not have much chance for privacy over the next couple days. Horatio was glad for the space to think over what had happened, though he would not admit – even to himself – that he was avoiding Archie. In any case, it was not out of anger toward his friend, only that he felt it unfair to meet him again without some sort of solution, though to what, Horatio did not know.

They did meet in the garden one night, when Horatio had walked out past midnight in his dressing gown to clear his head. He had been surprised to see Archie there, not to mention dangerously delighted, and Archie had sensed and seized upon that weakness. They had kissed again, on the mouth, throwing that same spell over their bodies. Archie had ended up pinning Horatio against the wall, frantically rubbing their bodies together until a sound from the servants’ quarters had sent Archie wisely darting off, leaving Horatio’s thighs damp beneath his nightshirt. That was all his thoughts and contact with Archie seemed to come to of late, a sticky mess between his legs.

What should he do? The question plagued him through the night afterward, and the day that followed. Should he take a pistol to his head, unfit to share the world with honorable men with this sickness in him? Horatio tried to imagine what he would do if Archie did such a thing, but somehow Archie’s desires were not the problem.

His lust was like an infection, an addiction, to the point where he could not think of Archie without a lascivious thought springing to mind. Horatio began to wonder if he should not just indulge in that lust to the fullest, satisfy his body’s curiosity and be done with it. Only a week remained before their leave was up; he had to take hold of himself before resuming his duties.

The Kennedys held a dinner the next night, and when it grew very late and Horatio was ready to retire, Archie stopped him in the hall and began tugging him toward his room, eager to slip away before anyone could take notice. Horatio caught the hungry glint in his friend’s eyes as Archie secured the heavy door, as well as his frantic impatience as he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the chaise. Horatio stood with his hands at his sides, frozen as Archie approached him, misgivings mounting all over again as much as Horatio suddenly wished to shut them out, to shake free of them like chains. Rebellious notions rioted up inside him. He did not want to hurt Archie or anyone,; was that not enough to make what he did want acceptable? He knew this was a crime, but against whom? What business of the world’s was it what two men did together?

Archie flung his arms around him without warning, leaning up to crush their mouths together, ravenous and perhaps mildly drunk, on fire now. Horatio fell forward into his arms as though someone had pushed him, like he had been standing on the edge of a cliff for years now and had finally been forced to jump before he had finished weighing the benefits and consequences of doing so. But the leap was not so terrible, not when the arms around his neck were strong and securing, and instead of plummeting headlong into unknown calamity, Horatio felt a flying elation as he met Archie’s mouth, heart beating fast.

They stopped to breathe, and Archie’s arms left his neck then, hands pushing off Horatio’s jacket and then hastily loosening his stock. Horatio’s entire body went rigid, so intensely still he was almost burning, his blood racing through his veins. His palms were sticky, as though he stood on the brink of murder or some other unthinkable atrocity, and all he could do was stare at his flushed-faced friend and ask, “Archie, what are you doing?”

Tugging the stock free at last, Archie peered up at him with a small measure of surprise. “It’s customary to undress for the act, Horatio.” An amused smile tugged at his small mouth and in the face of it Horatio’s panic crumbled momentarily, almost able to believe they were only in the midst of simple mischief and not unspeakable iniquity. But then Archie’s words fully registered and Horatio’s nerves flared all over again.

“Act?” Horatio parroted stupidly, wary of what Archie had in mind, that perhaps they should stop to give whatever it was due consideration before they made a terrible mistake. Then again, Horatio was tired of considering and some part of him failed to see the use in fighting anymore.

Drawing back, Archie frowned. “Don’t you think it’s time? I keep thinking on it.”

He looked so rattled, so on the verge of heartbreak, that Horatio hastened to nod. “Yes, of course. I only . . . Carry on, Archie.” He only did not know what Archie wanted, he meant to say, but his tongue was tied, torn between Archie’s desire to indulge and his own to resist. But it was easier simply to do as Archie wanted and besides, at twenty-one was it not high time he made love with someone? Someone who mattered, and not some pox-ridden doxy like the other men.

Archie’s hands worked quickly in stripping off Horatio’s waistcoat and then tugging up his linen shirt. He was in such a hurry that Horatio wondered if his impatience was not all passion, but fear of losing his nerve. Surely this was awkward for Archie too; Archie was only making a more gallant job of it. Whatever the case, Horatio raised his arms and allowed Archie to pull off his shirt, relieved by the cool air on his hot skin and comforted by the fact that there was hardly any novelty in seeing one another naked.

Still, it was unsettlingly odd to be undressed in a moment of passion, to know that his clothing was only an inconvenient barrier between Archie and the body he desired. Being desired was even more unsettling. A torrid blush rose in Horatio’s flesh as Archie’s eyes overtly caressed his newly bared chest, his face, alerting him to the possibility that Archie might crave consummation of some kind. Despite how disconcerting that thought should have been, Horatio only wished he were not standing there like an ignorant bride on her wedding night. He did want very much to fulfill Archie’s wishes.

Clumsily, he brought his hands to Archie’s stock. “Might I . . .?” Horatio did not finish, but was relieved when his friend nodded.

Undressing Archie was a gentler process, because although he had undressed Archie before in prison, Horatio’s hands were unsteady now. He made clumsy work of Archie’s waistcoat – distracted, excited by the rise and fall of Archie’s chest against his hands, his rapid heartbeat – and when it came to lifting away Archie’s shirt, Horatio felt a shudder in his own body. He sought Archie’s skin, so close to what he wanted, running both hands over the sculpted muscle of Archie’s chest, the soft coat of hair. Archie may as well have been Apollo or Gabriel for all the amazement Horatio felt at being allowed to do this, carnal but reverent all at once.

Archie’s eyes fell closed and he leaned his head back, his soft pink mouth parting with a quiet groan. Horatio lost his will then, or the better part of his reason, slipping one hand up against Archie’s back and the other under his fine, square jaw, bringing their mouths together.

He stroked Archie’s cheek and his strong supple neck as their mouths locked, feeling Archie’s wild pulse under his fingertips, his body hot and yielding in Horatio’s arms. Never had Horatio dared to dream his sordid longing would ever get him this far; he had expected to be spurned and reviled, not reciprocated or desired. Horatio no longer knew what he was thinking when he guided Archie backward and bore him down onto the bed.

Sinking down onto Archie’s body, he pushed his tongue through those pliant lips in a moment of unimaginable boldness, groaning when Archie’s sweating palms began traveling down his back, fingers slipping daringly into the waistband of his trousers. Horatio jerked at the sensation, involuntarily thrusting down onto the hard length pressing against his belly. Pulling his mouth away, Archie moaned deeper then, his eyes widening as though shocked by the sensation. He shifted his legs to bring their bodies closer together, creating a moment of unbearable friction, and it was then that Horatio’s head stopped spinning, considering their position and what it meant.

Thinking immediately of Simpson, Horatio rolled off Archie’s body. Although he hoped Archie would account that crime an entirely different thing, Horatio would not have him think he meant to hurt or force him. Beyond that, Horatio did know what he wanted, or rather what he dared do.

“This shouldn’t be so easy,” Horatio lamented against Archie’s shoulder, their arms still wound around one another. For God’s sake, this was a man’s body against his. This was a hanging offense; he should be petrified.

Archie’s fingers halted in unfastening the laces at the back of his breeches – an action which did not alarm Horatio at all, though he supposed he had always hypothetically accepted that Archie would take charge in a moment such as this.

“Why not?”” Archie’s eyes met his on the pillow, blue and warm and calming. “We’ve known each other a long time.”

Looking down at their tangled, half-naked bodies, Horatio shook his head. “Yes, but not like this.”

“Shh.” Archie kissed his forehead and then took Horatio by the shoulders, easing him onto his back. Horatio did not resist, unsure of what he would be resisting, but instead tried to lie calm with his hands at his sides. It was easier to fall prey to the seduction. The entire matter seemed more harmless that way.

His friend sat up, finishing the buttons on Horatio’s breeches and smalls, and then pushing the cloth over his narrow hips. Horatio kept frozen as his body was bared and his arousal with it, but once he lay naked with Archie kneeling between his thighs something seemed to change.

Perhaps it was because Horatio had imagined such scenes before, torturing himself at night with Archie so close in their cabin, or perhaps Archie was right; they had known one another for so long and so well that this was a thin line to cross – they had crossed it long ago, in their minds, unbeknownst to one another. Or perhaps it was simply Archie’s untroubled demeanor about the entire business – no doubt what he might have seen or done at the theatre had opened his mind. It did not matter; Horatio only knew that when Archie leaned down toward him again his belly fluttered with anticipation instead of fear.

Stretching beside him, Archie started a hand down his chest, questing and hot, driving Horatio’s heart to a mad rate. He had never been touched this way before. Archie’s fingers brushed over a nipple, sending a piercing stab of pleasure down into Horatio’s gut. Rolling his head back, Horatio bit his lip against the unexpected sensation, but only for Archie’s mouth to descend upon his neck, over the curve of his shoulder, until it seemed Archie meant to overwhelm him before Horatio even had a chance to raise a hand and give back as good as he got.

He tried – albeit clumsily – sliding his fingers up Archie’s ribs and pulling him closer onto his body. He stroked the back of Archie’s neck, pleased to draw a shiver, and feeling daring and encouraged, kissed Archie’s shoulder too, even opening his mouth and sucking the skin a little, tasting the salt of Archie’s body with his tongue.

That only seemed to increase Archie’s lust. He started suddenly down Horatio’s chest, strewing kisses like flower petals in a strangely tender fit of affection. Archie’s mouth moved to the same nipple he had caressed a moment ago, and nothing in the world could have prepared Horatio for the shocking sensation of Archie’s hot, quick tongue teasing there; his body curled, his thighs opened, and he groaned low in his throat.

But when Archie strayed from that tender spot, kissing further from Horatio’s mouth and closer to his cock, Horatio’s reserve bubbled up again. He grabbed the back of Archie’s neck to stop him.

“Well don’t debase yourself,” he snapped without meaning to.

Lifting his head, Archie stared at him, anger flashing briefly in his eyes. Horatio swallowed, feeling foolish, but let the order stand. A man who submitted to another was thought to be less, and he did not want to make Archie less.

“I’m not,” Archie insisted after a moment. “It’s only you, Horatio.”

How that changed things, Horatio did not understand, but for Archie it seemed to, his gaze warm yet determined now. That gaze never left him as Archie’s fingers curled around Horatio’s hard flesh, exploring the length of him so torturously gently that Horatio shifted and bit hard into his lip to keep from demanding more. He had never been touched there, save by his own hand in the most perfunctory of ways, and Horatio was fairly certain he had never been so hard or ached so excruciatingly.

Shutting his eyes in pleasure, he was caught off-guard by Archie’s fingers tightening, and then his mouth – wet, slippery, and unbearably hot – capturing and sheathing him. Horatio thrashed on the sheets, thighs trembling when Archie began to suckle him, his body arching and straining as though controlled by puppet strings.

“Oh god, that’s . . . “ Horatio caught a hand in Archie’s hair. The sweet pressure was too overwhelming; his balls felt like they would collapse, like he would burst from the inside at any moment. He could not do that to Archie in good conscience. “Archie.” Horatio tugged at the back of his friend’s neck, but Archie did not seem to hear him; his lips tightened, and barely suppressing a moan, Horatio’s body betrayed him, shuddering wildly and spilling before he could stop it.

Archie pulled back too late, coughing and breathing hard, and despite how Horatio longed to bolt from the room in shame, he made himself sit up and see to his friend.

Sitting up at the foot of the bed, Archie rubbed at his eye, cheeks red as though something were burning him, the remnants of a sticky white mess on his mouth and nose. Horatio hung his head, almost sick and wanting childishly to cry, but knew the least he could do was help clean Archie up before the stuff dried.

Grabbing a corner of the turned-down bedsheet, Horatio put an arm around his friend and began wiping at his face. “Archie, I’m sorry. I tried not to,” though not hard enough, evidently. “I’ll fetch you water at once.”

“It’s all right,” Archie answered quietly, obviously not wanting to draw attention to the matter. Horatio realized his friend was more embarrassed about it than he and instinctively drew Archie closer.

“You’re very dear to me,” he made himself say, because Archie was and because Horatio never wanted him to feel like a whore. That seemed to draw Archie out of his awkwardness; he lifted his head and searched Horatio’s face with a weighing look in his eyes.

“Well if you didn’t want me to do that, then what do you want, Horatio?”

It was an honest question, and a practical one, yet Horatio colored and suddenly never felt so exposed in all his life. That was absurd; his lusts were plain now – there was no more shrouding them in the honorable guise of platonic friendship – and Archie gave no cause for embarrassment. He could have rendered the same service as Archie had to him and rightly called it even, but the simple fact was that he did not know how and in his clumsiness did not trust himself not to hurt Archie by accident. Even then, that would be avoiding a truth that had plagued him for a long time, a sort of fancy he had done his best to shy away from. But now he owed a debt of sorts and it might be justifiable this once to pay it in that way.

Clearing his throat, Horatio ducked his head, color rising to confess the words on his tongue. “There is something, Archie. It may well be wrong, but I’ve imagined you having me.”

“Having you?” Archie’s hand found his knee, fingers tense. “In what way?”

Horatio’s mouth firmed; he would have thought it obvious. “In the way that is forbidden, Archie.” He sounded more irritable than he meant to, still unable to meet Archie’s eyes.

He expected the suggestion to be greeted with anger – they were talking buggery after all – and perhaps Horatio even hoped it would be in order to quell the fixation and affirm once and for all that it was base of him. But Archie’s hand gentled on his knee, even caressing a little. “You want that?”

Horatio hung his head even further at the word “want”, his body on fire with shame now. “I suppose it’s filthy of me. I don’t mean to compromise you.”

All the laws of God and man condemned intercourse between men as a great abomination, and although Horatio could find no logical reason to see it as such, even the thought of coercing Archie into something perceived as filthy was reason enough not to do it. Therein lay the unsolvable dilemma: he saw no inherit harm in having physical relations, yet did not see any benefit worth risking the penalties of doing so. A few moments’ pleasure hardly stood up to reason.

Mindful of his discomfort, Archie put an arm around Horatio’s back, drawing his head down against Archie’s wide shoulder. “I was surprised by how soon is all,” he said, patting Horatio’s hair gently. “We might wait.”

The giddy delight at the suggestion that they might continue as lovers tricked Horatio into looking up. “For what? One of us to die or spend another two years in prison? I want to give myself to you, Archie, everything I have. I’ve wanted that for a long time.”

It was perhaps the most frightfully compromising thing he had ever uttered, but it was the truth and Archie deserved that much. He had considered offering himself to Archie in Spain, knowing that men often had relations when there were no women about and that Archie had been very lonely. It would be recompense, Horatio had told himself, because it had been his fault Archie had ended up there in the first place. But he had pushed the thought aside once he had learned the truth of Simpson, not wanting to make that matter any worse. Still, the idea had lingered. He had considered the classics and how they spoke of relations between man and boy, but that had made him think of Simpson again and the terrible damage done, disgusting him. He had even wondered if giving himself to Archie would not restore his friend’s manhood somehow, a sort of reversal of what Simpson had done – it seemed a fair enough thing to do after saving the bastard from the sea only to torment Archie anew.

Archie did not seem concerned with debts or justifications; he cupped Horatio’s cheek in one hand, kissing him deeply on the mouth, and all at once Horatio felt less in the midst of a mortifying bargain rather than an intimate – albeit forbidden – moment with his beloved. At first, Horatio shied away from the salty taste of his own release still on Archie’s lips, but once Archie’s hand started down his body it ceased to bother him.

Warm fingers splayed over his chest, making their way down between his legs again, gently stroking and encouraging. Horatio blushed to feel himself harden against Archie’s clever fingers, realizing that Archie intended him to take pleasure in what was to come. He did not see how that was possible, but let Archie stroke him anyway, caught up in kissing him, his body overwarm and pounding.

In the end, Archie took him by the shoulders and guided him down onto his hands and knees. It was an absurd position – with his backside bared and raised to the cold air like some shameless animal in heat – but Horatio supposed this was how such things were done. Crouching behind him, Archie leaned close to his ear, kissing there as he rubbed down Horatio’s arms, trying to soothe him.

“You’ll stop me if it hurts?” he whispered, licking coyly at the corner of Horatio’ s jaw. Closing his eyes against the ticklish sensation, Horatio nodded. “I think it’s supposed to feel good,” Archie went on. By his prattling, Horatio could tell that he was nervous. “I read it in a book once. It must be forbidden for a reason.” Horatio did not see how it could feel good, but withheld his judgment. It did not matter whether it felt good or not; he needed Archie to have him, to know him in that way.

“I trust you, Archie,” he finally said, gathering enough courage to lean back and rub his cheek against his friend’s.

Kissing the corner of his mouth – all he could reach – Archie’s hands moved gently down Horatio’s shoulders, smoothing along his ribs. “Try to relax,” he whispered, taking one hand away and doing something Horatio could not see.

Horatio tried, but it was not easy with the tingles rushing through his body – not all nervousness, but a hot, anticipatory excitement as Archie’s hands continued down. He could feel the head of Archie’s cock pressing into his balls, Archie’s hot breath in his ear, and his furry chest against his back. Then Archie’s hardness slipped out from his thighs as his hands dropped past Horatio’s hips, gently cupping his arse.

Archie warmly kneaded the flesh there, sending strange sizzling currents through Horatio’s groin, until Horatio wondered if this might be pleasurable after all. He tried to breathe evenly as he felt himself being opened, attempting to follow Archie’s advice in staying relaxed. His efforts proved in vain; the wet head of Archie’s cock pressed between his buttocks and Horatio tensed all over, fingers curling into the sheets. What followed was a painfully humiliating moment of Archie rubbing some sort of cream into his anus. Only the most convoluted brand of pride prevented Horatio from demanding they stop and crawling under the blankets; no doubt Archie had felt the same when he had spilled all over his mouth.

But then Archie took his hand away, and now that Horatio had been primed he supposed he was properly serviceable. Archie held his hips this time and with a muffled grunt started to push into him.

It burned. Horatio’s eyes watered. His body felt like an old weakened fortress, laid siege to, breached, and unable to withstand the strain. On a purely physical level he could not believe, as Archie pushed in further, that Archie would really fit. It did not matter; Horatio would have torn out his own heart just to make room for him inside – he hardly seemed to need it now anyway when all sensation suddenly centered around that hard, pounding flesh squeezing inside him.

And then he did not even mind the burning, not when something stronger and more acute rose up to drown it. Horatio could see it all in his mind, a ring of fire and then a bright glowing spot little more than an inch beyond. Hungry to close that distance and reach that winking gem of sensation, he pushed back against Archie’s hips, fists clenching, mouth falling open in a white-hot rush of pain.

The pain faded, overthrown by a wave of heat so strong it could have shaken the Indie. Horatio trembled under it, reduced to a whimper, euphoria flowing up his spine like an opiate. His mind fogged and he buried his face in the pillow, sweating all over and panting, “Oh God.”

His body moved, but his senses moved faster, racing toward something like Artemisia through that field, something that would not be contained or held back, His head was spinning with some high, soaring feeling, his heart hammering too wildly for his ribs to hold. It felt like racing across that bridge in Muzillac all over again, leaving behind something he mourned yet had only hollowly wanted, where clinging to Archie was the only way to survive. Here, in this bed, they burned a bridge with their bodies, yet Horatio could not find the grace to mourn this time, caught up in the heady rush, freed by the pleasure at hand.

Archie only felt slippery inside him now, hot, his hand sneaking down between Horatio’s legs, seizing his cock now as rigid as a mainmast. The added sensation broke through what remained of Horatio’s control; the torrid pleasure shot out of him, over Archie’s fingers in a release that shook his body like an earthquake.

When it was over, Horatio was surprised to find himself still on his hands and knees, ridiculously certain that he had soared a mile. He collapsed onto his side with Archie flush against his back, arms around his waist, and for a long moment only their combined gasping and the pounding of Horatio’s blood filled his ears. He could still feel Archie inside him, soft but warm, as well as a slight burn and stickiness where his friend had entered him. But at the moment Horatio was too exhausted to care about either the mess or the soreness, his limbs numb and heavy and his skin itching with sweat.

The dead weight against his back moved a moment later, and Horatio felt Archie pop out of him. Archie lifted his head and called quietly, “Horatio . . .?”

Too drained for embarrassment, Horatio turned to him as though drawn, slipping an arm around Archie’s back and pulling his friend against him, wanting comfort in the aftermath. “Shh,” he murmured, stroking Archie’s gold hair, damp and disarrayed.

Curling limply against Horatio’s side, Archie complied for a little while, but eventually he tensed in Horatio’s arms. He began making patterns on Horatio’s chest, fidgety and anxious. “Was it good?” Archie asked quietly, without raising his head.

Coloring at the question, Horatio nodded. “Yes, Archie. It was . . .pleasantly catastrophic.” That was almost an understatement; he had never thought his quiet, stoic body capable of anything so intense. Horatio understood now why the act was forbidden, particularly on a ship of war; a taste of that pleasure, and poorly disciplined men would want nothing else.

“You won’t regret it?” Archie was still not soothed, still drawing idle shapes with his fingertips. Horatio caught his hand and squeezed it gently.

“Of course not. I’m more relieved that you don’t find me to be a lecherous pervert with obscene designs upon you.” Archie laughed, but did not answer, closing his eyes. When he remained silent for too long, Horatio squeezed his hand again and asked, “What’s the matter, my dear?”

Opening his eyes, Archie blinked and lifted his thoughtful blue gaze to Horatio’s face. “You’re right,” he said. “This shouldn’t have been so easy. After falling from grace, as it were, a man shouldn’t feel so peaceful.”

Smiling down at him, Horatio ran a hand through Archie’s hair. A moment of peace was worth more than gold considering their violent, war-weary lives, and by that same token the pleasure was worth it too just to escape his own head. Perhaps, for the sake of sanity, there might be benefits to indulging every now and then.

“It hasn’t been nearly as frightening as horseback riding,” he replied dryly. There was no reason either of them should have been frightened, not of one another anyway; lying like this, Horatio felt that they were one body, one being. He wished he could tell Archie that, but still feeling giddy and relieved, he only said, “We’ll be careful, Archie. I’d never risk your life carelessly, despite your best efforts to endanger mine on that damned beast of yours.”

Archie chuckled, unapologetic – proving once and for all that he had indeed enjoyed giving Horatio a fright days ago. But after a moment he settled down against Horatio’s chest and promised, “We’ll go more slowly next time.”

Whether he meant horseback riding or other things, Horatio did not know. But it did not matter; he was safe with Archie either way.