Horatio Hornblower Fanfiction: Any Port... by Sharpeslass

Two men fought the sea as lashing rain, surging waves and the moonless dark closed in on their small vessel. They battled the elements with a desperate fury, muscles straining through drenched shirt-sleeves and faces flushed with the heat of exertion – in spite of the bone chilling cold.

"It’s no use Horatio," shouted Acting Lt. Archie Kennedy, pitching his voice to carry over the raging storm. "We will never reach the Indy under these conditions. We must make for shore."

Lt. Horatio Hornblower took in the frustrated exhaustion writ large across his friend’s face. He knew that Archie’s assessment of the situation was correct. The small craft was filling with water as they wrestled with tiller and oar. There was no time allowed for bailing. In spite of their efforts the small boat drew ever closer to the sharp-edged reef which lay between them and the Indefatigable. They were not far out to sea. Were they to give up the fight, the tide and a firm hand on the tiller would guide them to shore – and consequently to heavily fortified French soil. It was soil they had been lucky to escape alive.

The pair had been sent ashore earlier that evening. They had been ordered to rendezvous with an English spy who had spent the last year under deep cover. That cover was now in jeopardy and the man needed to beat a hasty retreat.

A storm had been presaged on the wind when the young officers had set forth, but Captain Pellew was confident that all three of them would be safely aboard the Indy before it broke. For their part, Horatio and Archie had been where they were supposed to be at the appointed time, but had met with a nasty surprise.

Not only had their man been exposed, he had apparently exposed the rescue plan as well. The spy was lost for good… probably dead, but Archie and Horatio would have been safe were it not for this storm. Horatio had read the signs aright from the time they stepped onto the beach and both had affected a timely escape from danger. That escape was now cut off. Not by the French, but by the sea herself.

A return now, following the aborted reconnaissance mission, would mean at best capture and imprisonment, at worst – and most likely – death. To be shot as a spy was not high on either man’s priority list. Both had spent time as prisoners of war in the past and neither remembered the experience fondly. However their strength was clearly failing. With no anchor to hand they could not ride out the storm. If they continued to try, death would soon be a certainty.

***

Horatio and Archie made landfall without incident and thought it best to move inland for shelter until the storm abated. This coast was heavily patrolled and they wanted to do as much as possible to avoid detection. They managed to make their way to the outskirts of a small French village before they were caught and captured. The place was not devoid of a military presence but was not garrisoned as strongly as many other coastal towns. Nonetheless, a trio of gendarmes took the two exhausted sailors without much of a fight.

A man who bore the title of mayor, along with a bright republican sash, turned out in spite of the late hour to crow over the success. It seemed this remote place saw little excitement. The absurd looking fellow even dragged his young daughter in tow. (She appeared to Archie to be about nine-years of age.) As he delivered a long-winded speech, the little girl yawned. Archie fought the urge to follow suit. Horatio, on the other hand, focused with intensity upon the Mayor’s words.

They were to be transported to a larger town on the following morning and shot as spies. Tonight they would be the Mayor’s personal prisoners and responsibility. As Horatio translated sotto voce, Archie sought the child’s gaze. He smiled at her and received a solemn stare in return. He winked and she blinked back at him.

When her father finally finished speaking she tugged at his sleeve. He leaned down to his daughter and the girl whispered into his ear, her owlish eyes never leaving Archie’s face. After a moment she released her father and he straightened laughing. He made another lengthy statement in French.

"What does he say, Horatio?" asked Archie, curious at last.

"He says," Horatio’s words carried the tone Archie recognized as a symptom of tightly stretched credibility. "That his daughter believes we are very wicked men and that, as such, we deserve to be kept in a place reserved for the very wicked. Her family history apparently boasts a maiden aunt who ran mad and was locked away until her death, in a hidden room of the family home." Horatio rolled his eyes broadly. "The man plans to indulge his daughter’s whimsical sense of justice by shutting us up there for the night."

"Can you believe some people don’t care for children, Horatio?" asked Archie with a slight quirk of his lips.

***

As it turned out, the room was small but both warm and dry. It contained a massive wooden table, a few battered chairs, a large bookcase and the unexpected treat of a lit fireplace. There was a pitcher of water and a chamber pot, but no windows.

"I’ve been in worse prisons," Archie remarked, stripping off his shirt and dripping stockings and hanging them over a wooden chair near the fire to dry.

"As have I," Horatio assented. "But it is a prison nonetheless and we are certain to meet our deaths on the morrow if we do not find a means of escape." A slow examination of the small space revealed no such luxury, but it did uncover certain other secrets.

As Horatio probed the walls with his usual intensity, Archie regarded a sparsely populated bookshelf. The sound of his delighted laughter drew Horatio away from his fruitless search.

"Have you found something, Archie?" he asked.

"Indeed I have," answered the fair-haired acting lieutenant with a jaunty grin. He moved to seat himself atop the wooden table, holding a slim book in one hand.

"Archie," said Horatio in exasperation. "This is hardly the time for Shakespeare."

"And this," Archie replied with enthusiasm, "Is hardly Shakespeare." He had opened the volume and now perused it with a vocal exuberance. In spite of himself, and despairing of any more productive means of passing the time, Horatio crossed to look over Archie’s shoulder. His eyes widened slightly when he caught sight of the book’s contents.

It was French, but Styles himself would have had no trouble with the translation. Each page was illustrated with some of the bawdiest pictures Horatio had ever beheld. Buxom young women in various states of undress tangled in every conceivable position with apparently eager young men.

"Is that even possible?" he couldn’t help but ask, as one particularly lurid etching caught his eye.

"Oh, indeed," was Archie’s enthusiastic answer. "At least," he tempered his response, "So I’ve been told. Sadly, I have yet to encounter a woman with the right disposition to attempt that particular act." His enthusiasm dimmed. "I suppose now I never shall."

"Is that the sum of your regrets, Archie?" asked Horatio reprovingly as he moved off to stand before the fire. He resignedly stripped off his own shirt and removed his shoes, placing them next to Archie’s on the hearth.

"No, of course not." Archie had been considering Horatio’s question and his tone was now serious… even sad. "There is a woman whom I love, you see. And I deeply regret never having asked her to be my wife… or at least talking her into my bed." He shot Horatio a wicked smile. "You know, I fancy I would have succeeded had I attempted either." The smile passed away leaving a wistful expression in its wake. The carelessly held book was forgotten. "I think I would trade all my nights with all the women I have known for just one in her intimate company." He meant it and vowed silently on the spot to end his bachelor days as soon as possible if his days should suddenly prove to number past tomorrow.

One corner of Horatio’s mouth quirked upward in a wry smile. "I have never been with a woman at all, Archie." The embarrassed admission carried softly through the dim room. Archie looked up, his expression a mixture of horrified amusement, dismay and disbelief.

"What, never?" he asked, his mind reeling at the concept. "I thought certain sure that you and that French girl…" He shot his friend an apologetic look as the still fresh pain of loss presented itself in Horatio’s eyes. He continued his protestations all the same. "You spent the night with her Horatio. I know you did. We all knew you did."

"In a chair, Archie, beside her bed."

"Good God." Archie ran a hand through his wet tangle of hair and fought hard to keep a grin from his features. He knew Horatio was generally reserved and not completely at ease among members of the fairer sex. But Archie had simply assumed his friend had picked up a bit of experience at some point during their years of service. Even if his deep feelings for Mariette had prevented Horatio from abandoning the role of perfect gentleman on that occasion, Archie knew he had certainly had other opportunities.

"But the actress… Kitty Cobham?" he insisted.

"We walked, Archie." A hint of exasperation entered Horatio’s voice as he waved a dismissive hand.

"Good God," said Archie again.

"You are not decreasing my regrets on the matter."

"Good God."

"I’ve knocked you unconscious before this, Mr. Kennedy," said Horatio, now clearly nettled. "I am not entirely opposed to doing so once again." Archie ignored the empty threat.

"You should have said something Horatio." Archie sounded almost guilty over his omission to serve as procurer for his friend. Horatio fought down a smile in spite of himself and forced a tone of even seriousness.

"It is not a thing a gentleman discusses."

"But of course it is, Horatio," Archie closed the book and set it down, resting his weight behind him on his hands. "We are sailors, you perfect idiot. We discuss almost nothing else."

Thinking on it now, Archie realized that while Horatio had been present during many such lurid conversations, he had no recollection of his friend ever contributing much in the way of bawdy stories. He had listened and reacted with amused tolerance – but never held forth on the topic himself. His own self-pity melted away in the face of Horatio’s plight.

Archie stared down at his bare feet for a few moments and a discomfiting thought rose unbidden to his mind. "Horatio," he ventured, not looking up. "You aren’t… I mean to say, you haven’t… You don’t prefer…"

"No!" Horatio cut off the question before it was fully framed. "I assure you Archie that it was not through a lack of desire in that direction that I failed to act. I have not yet been so desperate as to turn to what you now seem to suggest."

Archie’s face flushed. He was shamed by the obvious hurt his implications had caused to both Horatio’s pride and sensibilities.

"It is not as uncommon as you might expect," he mumbled in lame explanation. His face reddened further as he looked at his friend.

"You aren’t telling me that you’ve had such relations?" Horatio was clearly shocked.

"Not… exactly," Archie shifted in unease as Horatio raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"Not," he said deliberately. "Exactly?" Archie leaned forward, lowering his face into his hands. When he looked up, Horatio noted that his eyes were somewhat unfocused, his lips compressed and etched in white lines.

"Simpson," was his simple answer. "It was not entered into willingly, Horatio," he continued at his friend’s horrified expression.

"Archie," Horatio floundered, feeling quite run aground.

"Never mind. It was a long time ago. It is quite forgotten," Archie’s grimace gave lie to his words. Horatio crossed the room to sit next to his friend. He put a comforting hand on Archie’s shoulder.

"I never knew." So much now made sense to Horatio – so much that had seemed odd to him in Archie’s behavior regarding the late Midshipman Jack Simpson was now clear. May the man rot in hell, thought Horatio. Simpson had tormented them all while they served under him aboard the Justinian. It had always troubled Horatio that his normally strong companion had been so easily broken by the abuse he himself had been able to endure. Now that he understood Archie’s trials better his heart ached for his friend.

"It was not something I wished to be known," Archie answered tightly. In spite of the difficulty with which he had revealed the truth, Archie now felt the need to continue. "I thought myself quite ruined for a time." Again, he tried to mask his obvious pain with a light tone. "Thank God for dear Sally," he continued. A genuine smile touched Archie’s lips at the apparently pleasant recollection.

"Sally?" Horatio smiled and leaned back on his elbows. "Tell me about her, Archie." He sought only to bring his friend away from the edge of the bitter despair of the past. Archie’s mercurial nature allowed him to gratefully accept the figurative hand up from the looming pit.

Seizing on the preferred topic, he described in vivid detail the older woman who had thoroughly allayed a young Archie’s fears of a pain-filled future as catamite and whipping boy.

His description was perhaps a little too vivid. Archie had always had a way with words and a talent for tales. But coming so closely on the heels of the provocative pictures in the French book, his anecdotes were having an unexpected effect on Horatio. At Archie’s nearly tactile recounting touched on the sensations experienced while being sucked dry by a warm, wet female mouth, Horatio sat forward. It was a necessary move designed to conceal a rising arousal. Some small resentment rose with it.

"I should have liked to have experienced that at least once," he admitted with a rueful smile. There was a long pause.

"You still might."

Horatio sighed. "If you have some plan for extricating us both from this place, I do wish you would share it with me."

"I have no such plan," said Archie haltingly. "I am making an offer, Horatio." It took Horatio a few moments to grasp the meaning of Archie’s unexpected words. When he did so, and entirely in spite of himself, Horatio felt a not-unpleasant pang in the pit of his stomach and a quick tightening in his groin.

"Archie," the protest sounded weak and unconvincing even to his own ears and Archie, who had earlier and quite unintentionally noted his friend’s arousal, marked the lack of conviction in his voice. Tentatively he reached out and drew his hand through Horatio’s dark, damp curls. His palm came to rest against the other man’s cheek. Turning Horatio’s face toward his own, Archie leaned in and placed a feather light kiss on Horatio’s full lips. As he did so, he was somewhat surprised to feel an electric tingle, which seemed to course through his body at the brief contact. As he pulled away he looked into Horatio’s eyes and read the deep conflict that, had he but known it, was mirrored in his own.

Horatio did not take the offer lightly, nor did he pretend to himself that it was something Archie wanted for himself. He recognized that Archie loved him… as a friend. Also that he felt a deep debt of gratitude toward him. He knew that, through the proposed act, his friend would be making a sacrifice for him, but also that he would feel it worthwhile if it allowed Horatio to experience something he himself had so enjoyed.

In spite of its inherent indecency, Horatio felt there was something sweet and almost even innocent in the proposal.

"My dear, dear friend," he stammered. He did not wish to belittle the gesture with condemnations but felt the need to speak his mind on the matter. He did not consciously acknowledge the inherent need to convince himself. "I am afraid it would be quite wrong."

Archie gave a shaky laugh, built only in part on relief. "Yes… Yes. You are quite right of course."

A sudden tender affection for his friend mingled with Horatio’s long frustrated desires and transmuted, in the crucible of impending death, into something altogether new. He stared transfixed at Archie’s flushed, high cheekbones as he stammered on. "Forgive me, Horatio. I did not…" Archie’s words were stifled as Horatio abruptly pulled him close and returned his tentative kiss with a bruising fervor. The impulse to do so had hit Horatio like a sudden bolt of searing lightning… striking reason from his usually analytical mind.

Archie, though startled, responded. He parted his lips and allowed their tongues to mingle, stroking frantically against one another. Emboldened by his newfound recklessness Horatio pressed Archie back onto the table, falling across him so that their damp, bared flesh slid together. Eyes tightly shut, Archie groped blindly for Horatio’s erection and found its impressive length. He grasped at the swollen member through the man’s breeches, eliciting a surprised gasp from Horatio.

This was entirely outside of Archie’s experience. His role with Simpson had been exclusively that of victim. He had never sought to deliberately bring the man pleasure – had never touched or kissed him. But he knew himself. He knew from his experiences with women and from stolen moments of self-gratification what things felt good. Thus, even through a clinging layer of fabric, his firm strokes worked to maddening effect on Horatio.

Horatio pulled away briefly, scrambling backward to stretch his half-naked body out full on the tabletop – passive, pale and strangely vulnerable. Archie crawled after his friend, lying on his side next to Horatio’s prone form. They did not meet one another’s eyes as they renewed their hard frantic kisses and allowed their hands to roam.

Horatio’s long fingers brushed through the dusting of hair on Archie’s chest, passing lightly over one nipple. The nub hardened immediately at the contact and, intrigued, Horatio concentrated his efforts on that portion of his friend’s body. Archie groaned into his mouth and bucked his hips, pressing himself against Horatio’s long, muscular thigh. Archie’s hand left Horatio’s throbbing sex to fumble at the fastening of his friend’s breeches.

Horatio’s mind protested but his body quivered in anticipation of the impending touch upon his bare skin. Freed, his full length sprang forth and Archie’s slightly calloused fingers wrapped themselves around him. Horatio raised his hips, thrusting into the caress and shoved his own breeches down to mid-thigh. He turned on the hard surface of the table to fully face his friend, his lips still hotly pressed to Archie’s own. Sliding a flat palm down Archie’s taut abdomen, he dipped his own hand into Archie’s trousers and felt the hardness within, pressing against his questing fingers with a trapped urgency. He withdrew his hand and, clutching at Archie’s hip, freed the straining organ from the confines of his clothing.

"Horatio," Archie groaned as Horatio’s palm fastened around his thick engorged member. For long minutes they lay, kissing and grasping at one another with sweat slicked hands. Finally, with no small effort, Archie pulled himself from Horatio’s unpracticed but passionate embrace. He pressed his friend onto his back and rising to his knees divested him of his clinging trousers. His own remained open about his hips as he moved down the surface of the table to confront his friend’s raging erection.

Horatio’s member was slightly longer than his own, he noted, though not quite so thick. Where Archie’s boasted a slight upward curve, Horatio’s was quite straight. A pearl of moisture had gathered on its tip and Archie pushed out a tentative tongue to gather it up. It was not unpleasant, salty and slick… but quite unlike the taste of a woman.

"Archie." He looked up at the shuddering whisper. Horatio had thrown one lean forearm across his forehead. His dark-lashed eyes were half-closed and he appeared drunk with sensation. "You need not do this."

The somehow typically-Horatio protest brought home to Archie just who it was lying naked and panting before him. Rather than causing him to recoil, the knowledge served to somewhat lessen his reservations. They had been through so much together, after all. He owed Horatio his life. And finally, the odd sense of power he now felt over his usually so self-possessed friend alternately touched, amused, frightened and aroused him. He felt almost like an older brother… albeit from a very disturbed family.

So Archie, while somewhat daunted by the task at hand, remained committed to his course of action.

"Do be quiet Horatio," he murmured, parting his friend’s legs with strong hands. "I am trying to concentrate."

Horatio obediently fell silent. Only his ragged breathing and the crackling of the dying fire disturbed the quiet of the room. He shut his eyes as Archie grasped him with one hand and slowly slid the swollen head of Horatio’s shaft between his parted lips. He used one hand to gently cup Horatio’s testicles as he pumped at his friend with the other. His tongue described wet-hot, languorous circles around the engorged tip of Horatio’s sex. Horatio cried out wordlessly in response.

One strong slender hand fell to tangle in Archie’s hair and Horatio thrust upward violently with his hips as he reflexively pressed down on the fair head positioned between his thighs, forcing himself more deeply into Archie’s warm, torturous mouth. Archie completely released his hold on Horatio, catching himself on the tabletop as his friend’s involuntary reaction caused him to choke and gag.

He removed Horatio’s hand from his head and gently placed it at his side. He thought wryly that through this experience he was at least gaining a new appreciation for the several female companions who had somehow coped with the exact same maneuver from him while catering to his needs.

Horatio allowed his hand to lie where Archie had placed it, but now clutched convulsively at the wooden surface beneath him. Released from the warm, tight enclosure of Archie’s mouth and the slick pressure of his questing tongue he felt an unreasonable physical despair. He fought for breath and gave voice to strangled words.

"Please, Archie. Don’t stop now."

"Patience, Horatio," answered Archie, blinking his watering eyes. "Remember, I am new to this also." In spite of the gentle rebuke, Archie wasted no further time on words. Instead he turned his attentions back to his friend’s now clearly desperate need for release. He redoubled his efforts, taking Horatio more deeply into his mouth and throat.

It was not an easy task but Archie drew him in completely. Horatio’s jagged cries urged Archie onward and provided him with a startlingly pleasurable vicarious thrill. The awareness of the effect he was having on Horatio kept Archie hard and aroused as he worked his best friend into a state of incoherent bliss. His own untended erection ached fiercely and he could not help lowering a hand to stroke himself as he increased the pressure and pace of his ministrations.

It did not take long. Horatio gave a loud startled cry and once again his hands closed on Archie’s head and the nape of his neck. This time Archie let his friend have his way. He felt and tasted Horatio’s climax, swallowing in gulps as Horatio emptied himself with several frantic jerking thrusts into Archie’s contracting throat.

Archie felt Horatio go limp beneath him, his hands falling loosely to his sides. He only whimpered slightly as Archie pulled away slowly and deliberately, scraping his teeth gently against Horatio’s now flaccid but highly sensitized flesh.

After releasing Horatio, Archie sat back, wiping his mouth and streaming eyes. He desperately wanted a drink of water… or preferably brandy. Horatio lay unmoving except for the heaving of his chest and the visibly erratic flick of a pulse at the base of his pale throat.

"Horatio?" Archie whispered hoarsely. He got no answer. With a resigned sigh he stretched out on his back next to his friend and began once again to stroke at his own unsatisfied flesh. He shamelessly allowed the memory of Horatio’s impassioned responses to fuel his own desire. He was nearing his own release when he felt Horatio’s hand close over his own.

"Let me," Horatio demanded softly. Archie let his hand drop away. He was afraid at first to meet Horatio’s gaze. He knew his friend well and feared that, pleasure past, his earnest shipmate might be experiencing shame and even some resentment toward himself. But when he looked hesitantly into his friend’s eyes he detected not a hint of remorse.

Instead, Horatio increased the pressure of his fingers and bent to kiss Archie’s slightly parted lips. Just a few of Horatio’s long even strokes had Archie moaning into his mouth. He came hard and almost painfully, spilling his seed over his friend’s pumping fist. Horatio dropped down again onto his back, trailing a drenched and sticky hand to rest across his hairless chest.

Both men lay breathing hard for long minutes.

Horatio spoke first. "Thank you," he said. "That was…" He waved one sweaty hand helplessly, at a loss to find the right words.

"Yes… well." Archie’s voice came out sounding slightly stilted. "It was my pleasure." He grimaced down at the sticky mess coating his abdomen and thighs. "Evidently."

"I couldn’t have enjoyed it if you hadn’t." Horatio sounded subdued, apologetic. His normally expressive face was inscrutable.

"I rather doubt that," came Archie’s wry reply. "I’m not altogether sure you would even have noticed." The familiar teasing tone broke the tension and to Archie’s relief Horatio allowed himself a rueful smile.

"You may be right," he admitted. "What were we thinking, Archie?"

Archie grinned at his friend. "We weren’t. Perhaps the spirit of that girl’s mad relation does haunt this room," he mused, sitting up to swing his legs over the table’s edge and sliding to the floor. "Should we blame spirit or flesh?"

"Both," said Horatio, rising also and casting about for his clothing. "Neither."

"But still friends?" asked Archie with a smile. He looked up from buttoning his now dry shirt.

"Of course," said Horatio seriously, mustering as much dignity of expression as possible for a man with his breeches around his ankles. Archie laughed at the sight, but his next words were slightly despairing.

"Oh, Horatio. I want to go home."

"To the Indy or to England?" Horatio finished dressing and leaned back against the table.

"Any port in a storm."

"Was that a double entendre?" Horatio frowned.

"I suppose it was," Archie reflected. "But quite unintentional." Fully dressed now, both men curled up in a corner of the room and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

***

They were awakened not long after by a sudden scraping noise. They turned toward the source of the sound and watched dumbfounded as the large bookcase began to slide sideways against the far wall. A small form stood in a formerly hidden doorway, illuminated against the darkness behind her by a single pale candle.

Archie and Horatio exchanged baffled glances. It was the Mayor’s young daughter.

"Suivez-moi," she said clearly. Unquestioningly Horatio and Archie followed. They moved in silence for the better part of an hour, first down a narrow flight of stairs and then through a tunnel that dripped darkly and smelled of the sea. They finally emerged into a cavern fronting the shore.

The girl gestured at a small boat resting on the sand. The storm had passed and the night was clear. A full moon hung above them, reflecting on the waves.

"My aunt was not mad," said the child in softly accented English. "She was English, like you… and a witch." She raised her chin as if challenging them to question the claim.

"Indeed?" said Horatio, taken aback but striving to give no offense to their small rescuer. She glanced at him dismissively and trained her gaze on Archie.

"She foretold that you would come here, Monsieur. So now I free you and when I am older, you will come and find me and I will let you marry me." Archie struggled with everything he had to maintain a solemn expression. He knelt on the sand in front of the girl.

"I promise that I will not forget you." He took her small hand in his and placed a kiss on its back. The child pulled a face and wiped her hand on her skirts.

She was still very much a child, thought Horatio, in spite of her romantic fancies. Both men bowed at her and climbed into the small boat. The Indy was a speck on the horizon, but Archie felt sure its captain paced the deck awaiting Horatio’s return. Horatio always managed to turn up, though this time out it had clearly been Archie’s presence that had aided their escape. He smiled to himself at the thought.

"What will you do now?" Horatio interrupted his thoughts as they rowed into the gentle breeze. The sun was just coming up and the dawn’s light glinted off of Archie’s golden hair. Archie shot a questioning look at his friend. "It seems," explained Horatio. "That you have committed your future to two different women." Archie flashed a bright grin.

"I have plenty of time," he answered. "But first, Lieutenant, there are a few lady friends in Portsmouth who I think would be most eager to make your acquaintance."

"I look forward to it, Mr. Kennedy," replied Horatio with a smile and put his back into the task of rowing.

End: Thanks for Reading!

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