A week after rejoining the Indie, they started having relations aboard ship.

Even a week ago upon their return to Portsmouth, Horatio would never have imagined committing such a transgression, although he had learned that night that Archie’s longing for him went far beyond the isolation of captivity. Still, dalliances at sea seemed an entirely different matter, one so obviously and nonnegotiably dangerous that Horatio had never even bothered to discuss the possibility with Archie aloud. But Horatio had not counted upon matters appearing different in hot blood.

Captain Pellew had informed Archie that he would promote him to Acting Lieutenant if Archie was well enough and had suggested that Archie begin preparing for his examination. Horatio had been relieved to hear it, both for Archie’s sake and for the fact that studying provided some excuse for them to be together when socializing with a midshipman might be otherwise improper for his new rank. No one had given a second thought to their cloistering themselves in one of the for’ard storerooms. The entire ship knew they were friends and it was not unreasonable for a lieutenant to help a mid with his studies. Quietude was so rare a commodity aboard ship that he and Archie could have reasonably shut themselves up in the oddest places, for as many hours as duty allowed, without suspicion. The terrible temptation of sitting shoulder-to-shoulder in the lantern light, with the memory of lying naked and tangled beneath warm blankets still so fresh, was a secretly only they knew.

That particular night had been a cold one, the air bitter still from an autumn storm sweeping across the Channel. Horatio had come down from the last dogwatch, hanging his wet cloak behind the latched door and sitting down beside Archie on the deck. His friend was so warm and dry that slipping an arm around him and pressing close to his sturdy, muscular body in the hope of absorbing his heat seemed the sensible thing to do.

Leaning against him just as heavily, Archie pushed their little navigation book into his hand and Horatio took it, flipping the pages for some halfway challenging question. Ordinarily, he would have made Archie sit further away so as not to glimpse anything in the book to assist him with the answers, but tonight Horatio was so cold he simply trusted Archie not to look.

He need not have worried. Archie rested his head against his shoulder and closed his eyes, showing little interest in the questions Horatio asked. His answers were correct, thank God, but he did not seem to be focusing. Horatio frowned. The examination board would never look kindly on half- heartedness.

“Archie . . .” Horatio lowered the book, shrugging his shoulder to jostle Archie a little. “Come on, clear your head. You’ve got to try.”

Archie’s eyes opened, blue and distraught. Horatio had grown used to Archie’s body against his, as well as the myriad emotions that could sweep over his features, yet the troubled look Archie wore now unnerved him. Readjusting to shipboard life had not been easy for Archie, though he did his best despite his health and his other troubles. He went about his duties with twice the vigor as any other man would have, no doubt anxious to disprove all Hunter had said.

Perhaps the specter of the Papillon raid still hung over him. Perhaps Archie fretted over what the men thought of him after a thing like that. He never said so, of course – Archie could be remarkably private when he wished – but Horatio was beginning to wonder if Pellew had not burdened Archie with rank too soon. There was nothing to be done about it; the ship was short an officer and Archie had seniority over the other midshipmen. Horatio would be glad to see his friend promoted, he only wished Archie could find healing first.

Whether or not Archie was aware of his thoughts, Horatio did not know. His friend gently pried the book from his hand and set it on the deck beside him. “Might we put this off until later?” he asked quietly.

Horatio nodded, turning away from the book and peering down at his friend. “Tired, Archie?” He wondered if Archie had been sleeping well of late. After weeks of sleeping in a quiet prison cell, the noises of the ship had taken some getting used to. Horatio imagined it must be worse for Archie, having been away for more than two years. In any case, pushing navigation on Archie tonight was only a waste of breath if his friend, through no fault of his own, could not apply himself to the task.

“No.” Archie paused, wet his lips and then looked down. “I – I don’t desire promotion as badly as you, Horatio.”

A frown tugged at Horatio’s mouth. Back there again, were they? “Well what’s the use in remaining a midshipman, Archie?” he demanded somewhat irritably. They had been over this in prison, where Horatio had worked hard to convince Archie that he still had a career left, that he still had reasons to live. He hated to see all that work undone in a melancholy moment. Besides, he suspected that Archie wanted promotion as much as any other midshipman, if not more, but rather believed achieving it beyond him.

“Well, none,” Archie conceded, fidgeting with his cuff and averting his eyes. He then lowered his voice and confessed, “When they read the Articles today I didn’t want to be in the Navy at all.”

Yes, the Articles were read each Sunday, and after spending more than a year at sea before his capture, Horatio failed to see why they should trouble Archie now. “Archie, discipline is the core of –“

“You know what they forbid, Horatio.”

Archie stared straight into his eyes this time, his gaze livid with anger or panic – some strong emotion that Horatio could not quite define. A swirl of cold tightened inside Horatio’s chest. Archie had spoken too quietly to be heard beyond the door, of course, but he wished nonetheless that Archie would be silent on the subject. He could not bear feeling like a filthy deviant and saw no reason to discuss what they did ashore now.

“You knew the risk,” Horatio whispered back, hoping that would settle the matter.

But for Archie, it was not sufficient. He frowned down at himself again, continuing to worry his cuff. “That isn’t the point, Horatio,” he said. “It hardly seems fair that the only joy in my life should be labeled a hanging offense.”

Horatio sighed. “Archie, it’s a ship of war. If men were free to neglect their duties for animal pleasure God only knows what would happen.” Punishment may be strident, but the Articles had their purpose. Many offenses demanded the noose – contempt for one’s superiors, cowering in battle – and perhaps none merited death in and of themselves, but when one considered the effects of disobedience and distraction on an entire crew, what choice did the Admiralty have but to stamp out such things before they became epidemic and endangered hundreds of lives?

But once again, Archie could not put the matter to rest. “Drunkenness on duty isn’t a hanging offense, nor is stowing a woman aboard.”

“Yes, but –“ Horatio made to argue that both were typically only problems confined to port. The trollops were always put ashore and the drunkenness from shore leave passed before a ship went out to sea – spirits were well regulated aboard ship and women were forbidden. But Archie stopped him before he could say as much.

“Don’t you understand, Horatio? I’ve seen enough of the evil that men do to know that what we have should not be counted among it. An entire ship could look the other way for Simpson, and yet if we were under suspicion there’d be a hundred ratings running to Pellew claiming they’d caught us at this or that.”

Horatio flinched, he did want to even entertain the prospect of being caught. The thought of Pellew knowing turned his stomach. Yet Archie looked so overwrought, so overtly persecuted that Horatio instinctively put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently through the worn wool of his coat. “Archie, there is nothing in the Articles that can forbid me to . . . to feel as I do.”

He faltered on the last bit, but that did not seem to make a difference. Archie lifted his head and met his eyes, disarmed. “And how’s that, Horatio?” he asked softly.

“Archie . . .” Horatio cupped his friend’s cheek, stroking the clean-shaven skin with his fingertips. His affection should be obvious by now, though perhaps he should do more to fight it given the danger – Archie had warned him in Portsmouth that he must cultivate an interest in women at least for appearances sake. But he did not want to fight it, and though his duty was dear to him, his heart softened and he found himself longing for those quiet moments in the dark of their cell when reassuring Archie was as simple as kissing or touching him.

Archie must have longed for those moments too. His eyes closed and he leaned into Horatio’s caresses, features softening. Horatio brushed the hair out of his eyes with his free hand, shining deep copper in the lantern light, and when Archie’s lips parted involuntarily at the touch, caution fled from Horatio’s mind.

The next thing he knew his mouth was on Archie’s mouth, and if a death sentence were not enough to stop him from kissing Archie then Horatio wondered what would. Archie’s hand tangled in the back of his hair, crushing their mouths together, no doubt famished for the contact after a long, lonely week in the midshipmen’s birth, or perhaps desperate to break through the barriers of rank forced upon them.

His wet, slippery tongue pushed through Horatio’s lips, and what remained of his reason crumbled with the sharp anticipatory pleasure singing through his body. He slid an arm around Archie’s back, cradling his head with the other hand, lowering him down to the deck and sliding on top of him.

Archie immediately tensed under him, features freezing. “No,” he said hoarsely, pushing at Horatio’s shoulders.

Drawing back, Horatio stared down at him. “What?” he whispered. If they were going to do this, they could not afford to make a sound or take too long.

Wetting his lips, Archie looked down at his own prone body and then up at the dirty storeroom around him. “Not that – here, I mean.”

For a moment Horatio blinked, puzzled, but then he looked around too and slowly understood. Simpson had hurt him in places like this aboard Justinian. Horatio’s chest tightened in familiar anger, but he only gently ran the back his hand across Archie’s cheek, hoping to soothe him. “Archie, I don’t want that,” Horatio murmured, because he did not. He had only had Archie twice, and though they had both taken pleasure in it, he preferred to leave that only for when Archie asked.

Color crept into Archie’s cheeks. “Oh,” was all he said, as though ashamed of his small panic. He should not be; it was perfectly understandable. Horatio continued stroking his cheek until Archie’s features relaxed and his arms wrapped around Horatio’s shoulders, drawing him down onto his body. They hardly had time to linger, but Horatio allowed himself to soak up the warmth of Archie underneath him for a moment, until Archie quietly nuzzled his cheek and whispered, “You do know all you’re risking?”

The question sobered him, but Horatio nodded – disgrace, death, or a severe flogging at best. Then why was he doing it? He hardly know; he knew only that he was not himself tonight and that he was drawn to Archie’s body somehow. Perhaps his inclinations were a sickness. Perhaps he was unfit to be aboard a ship of war with this lascivious disease inside him. But there was nothing to be done for it; he did not have the self-discipline to stop himself from wanting this.

His mouth melted once more into Archie’s, their lips sliding together until Horatio felt Archie curve up against him, heart beating fast where their chests pressed together. Encouraged, Horatio let his lips glide along the handsome line of his friend’s jaw while his fingers tripped down Archie’s body, opening trouser buttons and the smaller ones on his drawers beneath.

Archie groaned softly when Horatio took his hard flesh in hand, and mindful of their circumstances Horatio sucked gently behind his ear and whispered, “Think you can stay quiet?”

Instead of answering, Archie seized a fistful of his hair and sought his mouth again. His kisses deepened when Horatio’s fingers began to play along the length of him, exploring that smooth, pounding flesh from its thick base to its swollen head, wet in his arousal. Horatio knew he had to go about this gently, had to do everything gently with Archie so that he never startled him or appeared to make demands.

When they pulled back to breathe, Horatio took a good look at him, flushed from his fondling and breathing hard. His blue eyes were glazed over, but Archie’s wits had not yet entirely left him. He leaned close against Horatio’s ear and said, “I shouldn’t let you do this.”

Horatio would have agreed, had his senses been with him, but that strange need to please Archie was too strong. “Stop me at any time, ” he answered dryly,

Archie nodded, and then looked up at him through fluttering lashes. “Horatio, could you . . . could you do it with your mouth?”

The quiet request brought color to Horatio’s cheeks, but he found himself nodding, his heart wrung by Archie’s shy hesitation. If that was what Archie wanted then he should have it; after all, Archie had been more than generous when it came to intimacy, despite how difficult it must be for him to give his body and his trust

“Close your eyes,” he said, and then moistening his lips, Horatio bent his head, wrapping his mouth around the hot, silky length of his lover.

He had always thought this act would repulse and debase him – until he had tried it in Spain at least – but this was only Archie, whom he had bathed and dressed and fed, whose flesh had become as familiar as his own flesh. He almost liked the hot salty taste of him, the firm thickness of Archie’s cock against his lips, the thrumming beneath the skin, and the heavy, rapid breathing declaring the pleasure he gave. Archie deserved pleasure, needed to be convinced of how cherished he was, and if Horatio had to debase himself to do so than so be it.

Archie did not last long, twisting under him and clenching a fist in Horatio’s hair, choking out a whispered “Oh God” as he shuddered and spilled into Horatio’s mouth, daring to call on that deity who condemned his doing so as an abomination. Horatio let him slip limply from his lips when the last salty drop of pleasure had been wrung from him, and Archie sank back onto the deck, rasping and momentarily paralyzed, his red-blonde hair a mess and his shirt wrinkled.

In an effort to remedy Archie’s untidness, Horatio brought his hand up, combing the tawny strands into place with his fingers and then moving down, tugging on the hem of his shirt and smoothing out the wrinkles with his free hand so that no one would see them and wonder what the two of them had been up to. Archie lay still all the while, as if the very life had been drawn from him. Horatio smiled, vaguely pleased, but knew there was little time to indulge in the afterglow. Anyone who happened by would expect to hear them murmuring of navigation, not languishing in sated silence.

“Archie?” he called, reaching up to stroke his friend’s hair again until it shone neat and smooth and coppery in the lantern light and Archie’s breathing slowed to normal.

He would never forget the look in Archie’s eyes when he opened them, his head angled to one side, his lips slack and parted. Horatio never imagined anyone would ever look at him with such dazed affection, such adoration. But Archie’s pride seemed to have left him too, as well as the bitterness and the barriers he had put around himself these past years; he wet his lips and drowsily murmured, “Horatio, I’d die for you.”

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Horatio could do nothing but shake his head, seize Archie by the shoulders and help him to sit up. “Tuck your shirt in,” he ordered gently, nonplussed for anything else to say. He wanted to crush Archie against his chest, profess his love and need for him, but perhaps the fact that he had just risked everything to please him spoke that better than his own clumsy words ever could.

Whatever the case, Archie nodded, stuffing the wrinkled hem of his shirt back into his trousers and making quick work of fastening the buttons. When he was done, he leaned close again, nuzzling his soft, flushed cheek against Horatio’s cheek, starting a hand down his chest. Horatio’s heartbeat faltered in warm anticipation, but he managed to take hold of himself, catching Archie’s hand and holding it before it could creep any lower.

Glancing down, Archie’s features sank to be refused so. “Don’t you want -?”

“Later, Archie,” Horatio brought his friend’s smaller hand to his lips and kissed it – Archie liked that. “I fear we’ve risked too much.” He wanted Archie, but how would it look, an officer taking pleasure from one of his juniors? Archie had already suffered enough humiliation.

“Well, all right, Horatio.” Archie wriggled his hand away, clearly disappointed. Horatio drew a breath, disappointed too but determined to combat the desire in his body. They would find a warm bed someday soon enough, some place where rank could be put aside for the night.

Sighing, Horatio took up the discarded navigational book beside him. Dwelling on what could not be now was hardly productive. “Now back to your exam, Archie. If nothing else consider the raise in pay and the fact that we might share quarters.”

The latter was most important to him. He did not like Archie down in the midshipmen’s berth where his doubts might get the better of him and he might stop eating all over again or throw himself overboard in the night. In the shadow of Simpson, the Papillon raid, and two years of captivity, Horatio supposed he could not comprehend how Archie had managed not to do so. There was something else, too; it was unsettling to hear Archie call him “sir” before the others. It left him feeling filthy and awkward considering the truth of their relationship, and he knew it was a source of secret humiliation for Archie, no matter how Archie might deny it.

But Archie was smiling now, if not lazily, his small mouth curved into a perfect bow. His eyes sparkled too, under half-closed lids, and some of the rich, excited color still brightened his cheeks. He chuckled softly and said, “Fine enough motives for me, Mr. Hornblower.”

Horatio nodded and opened the book in his lap, relieved to see Archie in good spirits again. “All right, then.” He began flipping the pages, pausing to read one, keeping his other arm around Archie all the while simply to feel the warmth of him.

After a moment, Horatio felt Archie’s head drop onto his shoulder, his breathing slow and calm. Horatio did not even have the chance to pose a first question before looking down and realizing that Archie was asleep.

Shaking his head, Horatio set the book down again, wrapping both arms around Archie’s body, telling himself he would let go the instant he heard so much as a peep outside the door. Perhaps holding him like this was wrong. Perhaps he should have woken Archie and demanded he concentrate on his studies. But Archie was tired, tired of a career that had caused him nothing but pain and tired of trying so hard. No one could ever accuse Archie of not trying.

Horatio sighed, knowing he had to be patient. Promotion was all very well, but for Archie there would have to be something else first. He only hoped his clumsy affection could provide at least a little of the healing Archie so desperately needed.