Ferrol had not felt like a reunion at first, with Archie so bitter and despondent, as though faced with an enemy and not a friend – more than a friend – but slowly all that had melted. Archie had returned with him to their tiny cell where they would wait out the rest of the war if they were not exchanged first.
The storm they had braved rescuing the survivors of the Almaria had stirred up again. The wind howled outside, too loudly for either of them to sleep, blowing in gusts of icy rain through the window. Horatio stared across the cell at his friend on the single lower bunk; in this weather Archie could not possibly be comfortable down there.
“Why don’t you come up here, Archie?” Horatio patted the space beside him on the upper bunk. “You’re getting wet.”
The darkness made it difficult to see, but Horatio thought he spied a fleeting smile when Archie turned toward him. His smiles were few and far between these days, and tonight he had been in one of his quiet moods; Horatio was glad to snap him out of it before he drifted off into melancholy and went entire hours without speaking.
But the wind and rain must have been too unbearable even for brooding; Archie quickly sat up and slid out of the blankets. “I suppose I could,” he said, crossing the room to climb up onto Horatio’s bunk.
When Archie came close enough, Horatio could see how tired he was, his shoulders sagging and his face pale. He was still ill, in more ways than one, and had drained what strength he had regained in the rescue. Horatio inched toward the wall, offering Archie what little space he could on the narrow bunk so that he might lie down. Rest was vital for him.
“Better?” he asked when Archie stretched on his back beside him, his arms folded across his broad chest. He certainly did not look at ease, keeping to his side of the bunk as though wary of lying too close, watching the ceiling in the dark. For a long moment Horatio doubted Archie had even heard him. But eventually he sighed.
“Dryer, anyway.”
Pulling himself to his knees, Horatio looked over his friend, resting a hand against the top of his head. “Archie, are you all right?”
He knew he would have to take care of Archie until he was better – Horatio did not mind that – but he did not know how much care was wanted, especially when Archie tried so hard to pretend nothing was wrong. He had told the truth about Simpson in the infirmary at least, and Horatio had sobbed stupidly then, both out of disbelief that any man could be monster enough to do such a thing and because he had been too stupid to discern the truth for himself. Archie had accepted his attempts at comfort that night, but they had not spoken further on the subject. Horatio wondered if Archie was thinking of it now, or whenever else he fell silent and distant.
“Just cold,” Archie told him, folding his arms tighter.
“Well, damn it, why didn’t you bring the blanket?”
They had only been given apiece, and the night was colder than any they had endured yet. Archie would only fall ill again if he did not take care of himself. They needed hot baths and warm meat, but only cold wash-water and cooling soup were provided in this place. Better not to skimp on what warmth they had.
“Here.” Horatio crawled over Archie and hopped down, snatching the blanket from Archie’s bunk as well as the one from the empty bed beneath his own. Archie was sitting up when he climbed back beside him, and so Horatio wrapped one of the blankets around his body, smothering the chill. “How’s that?”
He draped the other blanket over his own shoulders, sitting behind Archie where both their feet dangled over the bunk’s edge. This close, he could see Archie clenching his jaw and feel him shivering against him. Horatio wriggled his hands free, rubbing vigorously at Archie’s shoulders and arms with the wool, soaking up the fine raindrops the wind had blown into his nightclothes.
Archie only sighed, presumably with relief, leaning back against Horatio’s chest and letting him work the water away. He fell silent again, staring down at the window where the wind and rain swept in. After a long pause he wet his lips and spoke without turning around.
“I wonder what’s happening at home. I suppose they’re all in the drawing room by the fire, my brothers and sisters. I don’t doubt they’ve forgotten me.”
“Archie . . .” Horatio’s hands halted on Archie’s shoulders. “That can’t be true, man, not of your own flesh and blood.” No doubt Archie’s family was in a state of deep grief, particularly the women, who had faithfully sent him packages at sea along with his father’s money. It was cruel of Archie not to write them and tell him he was alive.
But Archie only shook his head, and looking down at his lap he said even more quietly, “I feared you’d done the same.”
Horatio’s fingers tightened, mildly angry that Archie could think he meant so little to him. “Archie, not a day went by these past two years that you didn’t enter into my thoughts. I could scarcely go below decks without thinking of places we’d snuck off to.”
Initially those thoughts had brought shame, and then longing, and then something heavy and oppressive that he could not understand. Archie had haunted him, even on that plague ship with Bunting, who also grieved for the loss of his dear friend – the maggot in their pasts that would happily devour their futures. It was insulting to hear that Archie could believe otherwise. At the very least, did Archie think he felt no remorse at all for striking him on the head with that tiller? Guilt had haunted him more than anything.
“It’s a new year, Horatio,” Archie brushed off the subject with what Horatio assumed was false cheer. “Perhaps things will be different, for both of us.” He looked up this time, turning to give Horatio a small smile over his shoulder. Dear God, Archie’s moods of late were as variable as the winds at sea. But he was right; it was the first of January, nearly three years since they had met. It had rained that day as well. The memory pained him, but Horatio was glad to hear Archie speak of new beginnings.
“Aye.” Horatio took advantage of the moment and began running his hands over Archie’s shoulders, stroking up and back over the broad curves through the blanket. “I endeavor to lead you into no further misery,” he said dryly. God knew Archie had suffered enough at his hand, struck during the Papillon raid and then sent back to prison in the name of his honor. It was a wonder Archie did not despise him. But Horatio could not even bear the thought; he leaned closer and put his cheek to Archie’s. “Do you remember how we used to kiss?”
Archie tensed, but Horatio slid his arms around him from behind before Archie could edge away, drawing him back against his chest. It hurt, the way Archie had behaved as though he had forgotten, as though it had never happened, until Horatio had begun to wonder if Archie’d had a woman in England all along and that dalliances between men really meant nothing to him or were at best a thing of youth to be put aside now that they were older. Archie had never said anything of the kind, but when their reunion had not been joyful as it should have been Horatio began to wonder if Archie was ashamed of those old affections, particularly in light of Simpson. The fear of being shut out, of being lumped with something brutal and disgusting had hurt worse than seeing Archie weak and sick. Worse still, Horatio feared being left behind in another despairing suicide attempt. That Archie had even considering doing so had hurt most of all.
“Yes . . .” Archie finally said, without moving closer or pulling away. He was so still. Horatio swallowed, attempting to gather the courage to continue.
“Do you remember how we wanted each other?” He leaned down and pressed his lips to Archie’s jaw, kissing gently there. The gesture felt painfully tentative compared to the abandon of their youth, when they had crouched below decks with their hands tangled in one another’s hair, both so eager. Archie did not even turn to face him now, to kiss his mouth as he had so often done before. He simply sat there.
“You were afraid,” Archie reminded him after a moment, in the same quiet voice. Horatio supposed the subject was awkward for him too, particularly if their illicit relations were something he would rather put behind him, yet the remark stung; Horatio could never abide being thought of as a coward. But it was true; he had feared the consequences and they had in truth done little more than kiss, despite how Archie had asked for more.
“Indeed, and I resented it,” he conceded. “It would have been nice to know I’d made you happy once, eh Archie?” He forced a smile, but his bitterness echoed through his words. He had done Archie so much harm, from saving Simpson from the sea to leading Archie back here; one bright secret moment could have made all the difference where his conscience was concerned, God and the Articles be damned.
Archie shook his head again, his voice choked. “Horatio, it isn’t like that.” Like what? Horatio frowned. Archie could not claim that he had done anything but hate him these past years. Horatio refused to believe it.
But he wanted to believe it, and that making love with him could change things, showing what he felt in a way his words and other actions had not. He had to know there was some hope for them, that this great gap of two years could be bridged, and that they might regain the closeness they’d had before
“Archie, look at me.” He cupped his friend’s cheek in one hand, turning his face toward him. Archie’s eyes went wide, shining in the moonlight, and he swept his tongue over his lips, nervous too. Horatio swallowed, taking a little comfort in that. “I’ve missed you.” The plain words sounded odd and inadequate – pined and mourned was more like it – but they were the only words that came out.
“And I you.” Archie seemed to brighten nonetheless, turning all the way to face him. “I must be in love with you; I’ve gone half mad.”
Horatio’s chest tightened. He had thought receiving his commission to be the highest honor in the world, but there was nothing solemn in his heart now. He felt giddy and elated. “I feel the same. I’m certain of it.” Some might call that a sin, but he had no time for the superstitions of men and hoped Archie did not either. If there was a god, He had brought them together knowing what was in their hearts.
“What?” Archie tilted his head, his lips curving into a mischievous smile. “No portside mistresses?” He snuck a hand free of the blanket, reaching up to touch Horatio’s cheek.
Horatio shook his head, his skin heating despite himself. “Did you suppose for one moment that I would think to replace you? I didn’t even try.”
Archie said nothing, only continued to stroke his cheek, his expression turning tender. Instinctively, Horatio leaned into his touch, closing his eyes and nearly shuddering with relief when Archie’s mouth found his. It was like taking nourishment again after a famine. He remembered how hungrily Archie used to kiss him and found it was his turn to do so now. His fingers threaded in Archie’s hair, pulling him closer, his other arm sliding around Archie’s back so that he would not slide off the bunk.
When they could not breathe anymore, Archie pulled back, looking up at him with bright eyes. “You’re not frightened now?”
Horatio shook his head again, wrapping his arms around Archie’s waist and sliding back against the wall, pulling Archie with them. “I should hope I know better than to take good fortune for granted, Archie.” They had not been brought back together in such an unlikely fashion for him to be skittish.
Sliding both arms around Horatio’s neck, Archie found his mouth again, kissing him as though to grind away all the distance and uncertainty of the past years. Horatio parted his lips for Archie’s tongue, signifying surrender, and after a long giddy moment of exploring his mouth, Archie’s arms tightened, pulling Horatio down on top of him on the bunk in a surrender of his own.
A hundred lurid thoughts swam through Horatio’s head – all the things he longed to do to the panting, throbbing body beneath him – but he remained crouched over Archie on all fours, unsure of what Archie wanted. Archie took the matter from him, gathering the hem of his own nightshirt and slowly peeling it back, revealing the bare flesh of his thighs above the line of his stockings and then his loins and his swollen manhood curling back against his stomach.
Horatio looked up into Archie’s face, waiting. Archie pulled him down flush onto his body. The heat overwhelmed him, Archie’s hard flesh against his flesh where he lay nestled between Archie’s legs. He could not resist sliding a hand to Archie’s hip, running his palm up the back of his thigh. Archie quivered and they began to rub together, his breath hot against Horatio’s neck.
“Remember how we wanted to bugger each other?” Archie panted in his ear, clutching his shoulders tight as their bodies found a rhythm.
Horatio nodded, stilling to catch his breath. “I promised to do what you wanted.”
The memory of that night inflamed them both; they ground together more urgently, heaving and clutching, until Archie finally whispered, “Put it inside me.”
Horatio could not help but chuckle against Archie’s mouth, his blood too hot for embarrassment by such bluntness now. He kissed behind Archie’s ear and muttered, “Put it inside me,” attempting to roll onto his back and pull Archie on top of him. He could feel Archie hard against his belly and could only remember the pleasure they had discovered once as mids, though never with Archie inside him. He wanted that now; he had always wanted that. But Archie held him fast against his body, keeping him where he was.
“I asked first.”
“Greed is a sin,” Horatio retorted, nuzzling at his warm, supple neck.
Archie snorted. “So is buggery.”
They kissed again to silence one another. Horatio’s tongue slipped between Archie’s lips, tasting the heat inside him. Archie’s hold loosened and they moved together gently now, gliding where they had begun to sweat. Horatio groaned with the friction, a pleasurable ache building between his legs. Archie’s loins were so hot beneath his own, silky and pounding, and he was even hotter in the cleft of his arse, where Horatio’s cock slipped and pressed, begging to be inside him.
It would have been easy to do it, grit his teeth and push inside. Archie wanted it. But they could not, not tonight anyway. “We don’t have any oil or ointment. I promised it wouldn’t hurt.” That promise was more important than his promise to give him pleasure. Simpson had hurt Archie enough.
In the darkness, he saw Archie nod in understanding, yet Horatio could still sense his disappointment. No doubt Archie thought him a coward again, too afraid to take the risk. But Horatio would make it up to him. He would ask for a salve from the Commandant or something like it and give Archie what he wanted soon enough. For now he must relieve Archie’s dissappointment a little, as well as his own.
Rolling slightly to one side, Horatio began mouthing down Archie’s neck. Archie tipped his head back, exposing his throat. Horatio kissed there too, one hand roaming down Archie’s chest, brushing the gold hair there and gently caressing a nipple until Archie curved up from the bed and quivered. Horatio paused in his kissing to smile at him.
“I never got to touch you the way I wanted,” he murmured, his hand creeping down to Archie’s belly and then lower, until he dared to curl his fingers around Archie’s hard prick, squeezing the length as his hand moved tentatively up and back. “Does it feel good?” he leaned close and asked.
Archie groaned, pushing himself tighter into Horatio’s hand. “I’d forgotten what pleasure was like.”
Yes pleasure, he had promised Archie pleasure, both before and while he took him. He wanted to give it now. “There was something else you wanted, Archie,” he said in Archie’s ear, and then slid down between Archie’s legs to make clear what he meant. He could hear Archie breathing faster above him, aroused and expectant, spreading his thighs a little. Horatio smiled that Archie would be so trusting, smiled to be wanted so, and carefully put his mouth to Archie’s erect flesh.
He tasted salty, but not unpleasant. Horatio brushed his lips tentatively over the moist tip, without the slightest knowledge of what to do, only encouraged by the fact that Archie did not tell him to stop. He nuzzled the underside with his long nose, planting a kiss along the length of him, and then moved back up, knowing he had to do the job in earnest.
Archie cried out when he closed his lips around the head and began to suck at him. Then he sat up. “Wait.”
Horatio lifted his head, fearing he had done something wrong. But Archie only curled around so that his head was near Horatio’s lap. He reached out, lifting up the hem of Horatio’s nightshirt and taking him in hand, stroking the pounding flesh with his fingertips. Horatio sucked in a breath; he had never been touched there by anyone but himself and Archie’s gentle fingers felt wonderfully exquisite.
But then Archie leaned closer, warm breath tickling Horatio’s thigh. Silky wet heat scorched the tip of Horatio’s cock and them a playful tongue. Horatio nearly jumped, the pleasure singing through his body, but then he understood what Archie meant for them to do and followed his friend’s lead.
Archie swallowed the length of him and Horatio did the same. They suckled at each other, hungry and eager, giving and taking pleasure in a rhythm that was perfectly matched at first but then became rushed and erratic as though they were racing to bring the other off first.
They reached their limit more or less at the same time. Horatio tried to pull away to keep from spilling in his friend’s mouth, but Archie’s grip on the back of his thigh was too tight. He was not sure he could have withdrawn himself from the sweet heaven of Archie’s mouth in any case, and spent himself in spasms just as Archie spilled over in a warm, salty rush down his throat.
Horatio felt drained and sluggish when every drop of pleasure had been wrung from him. He rolled onto his back in his corner of the bed, catching his breath, his vision dusted with bright dizzy flecks. Archie was breathing just as heavily, but did not lie down beside him. Horatio patted his knee where Archie knelt on the blankets and grinned up at him.
“Don’t ever claim you’ve no head for tactics, Archie.” He had never thought they could take pleasure together without one being inside the other. But then again he was wholly ignorant when it came to matters of the flesh.
Archie chuckled. “I suppose I have my uses.”
“Enough of that,” Horatio chided; he could not stand to hear Archie disparage himself. “Come and get warm,” he suggested instead, straightening the rumpled blankets and spreading them one on top the other. Three ought to keep the cold out well enough. He climbed under them and pulled the edge back for Archie to do the same.
Settling in behind him, Archie slid his arms around Horatio’s waist, curling tight against his back. “Do you mind?” he asked after a moment, cuddling closer and kissing the back of Horatio’s neck just above the collar of his nightshirt.
Horatio shivered with the delicate caress, his body tingling still from the sweet hot ecstasy of Archie’s silky mouth. He had never dreamed anything could feel so wonderful. But the warmth of Archie’s body against him now felt deliciously wonderful in its own way. “Of course not,” he said, taking up Archie’s hand and holding it against his chest, over his heart.
Sighing, Archie laid his head against the back of Horatio’s shoulder, the rhythm of his breathing even and relaxed. Horatio thought he would drift off right to sleep, but after a moment Archie began running a light hand over Horatio’s chest, quoting softly in his ear.
“’I have bought the mansion of a love. But not possessed it,” he murmured. “’And though I am sold, not yet enjoyed.’”
Horatio caught Archie’s hand and squeezed it. “We will, Archie,” he promised, unfamiliar with the lines but understanding exactly what Archie meant. “I just want it to be good.”
“It’ll be good.” Archie sounded so certain, wrapping his arms tighter. “I love you.”
A surge of warmth swept through Horatio’s body. “I love you.” He brought Archie’s hand to his lips and kissed it and then drew the blankets up to his chin, covering them both. The wind and rain could blow in with as much force as it might. He was warm in his lover’s arms again, at peace for the first time in years.