Horatio Hornblower Fanfiction: Wine and Memory by Jedishampoo

Summary: Archie and Horatio re-explore something they thought they’d forgotten. This is a direct sequel to sharpeslass’s story "Any Port in a Storm" http://www.jedishampoo.com/fanfiction/hh/port.htm. My first slash in this fandom, and only the second slash I’ve ever written. Feedback desperately appreciated, please be honest, I can take it (hell, I've written in Lord of the Rings, I can take anything)!

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Horatio stumbled into the junior lieutenant’s bunk looking quite terrible.

Archie glanced up from his bottle of wine and his book as the door opened. He’d been paying more attention to the former than the latter—his need to unwind was great. But at the bedraggled entrance of his friend he put both aside.

"I think ‘bedeviled’ is as good a word as any, Archie," Horatio said in a faint voice. He removed his hat and coat and headed for his hammock across from Archie’s, then reconsidered and plunked his rear onto the window seat. His wet head fell back against the glass.

"What circumstance brought you finally to this conclusion?"

"None in particular." Horatio sighed and closed his eyes. "I’ve been relieved for an hour’s watch. The good captain is asleep."

"Yet still he sees our loyal hearts," Archie grinned. "Rum for all!" He grabbed the bottle and tried to ease himself out of his hammock. Either overindulgence in spirits or a sudden squall caused the room to sway before his eyes, and Archie had an idea he knew which. He placed his bare toes with care upon the wooden deck and treaded a few slow steps to join Horatio. "You should sleep as well."

"Can’t," Horatio mumbled, opening and shutting his bleary eyes only briefly as Archie sat down beside him. "I’d never reawaken."

"Wine?"

"God, no."

"Fine." Archie put the bottle to his lips and choked down another gulp. He considered forcing a drink down Horatio as well; he really did look terrible. The skin under his eyes held a purplish, bruised look, and the rest of his face was paler than usual. Even his nose was white. Usually Horatio’s nose reddened at the first hint of sun or, lacking that, a light breeze on deck.

What ailed his friend was exhaustion, and Archie knew it. Their mad captain’s behavior was taking a toll not only on their peace of mind, but on their bodies and their very lives. Beating Wellard twice had been nothing short of viciousness. And having an officer on continuous watch was nothing less than a death sentence.

"Murder," Archie decided after a few moments’ thought, and then realized he’d said it aloud.

"You can’t kill the captain, Archie," Horatio replied in a bleary voice.

"Wasn’t planning to," Archie said, and then wrapped his dulled but bitter thoughts around the concept. "More’s the pity. What are we to do? We can’t leave. We’re surrounded by miles of ocean and a drunken crew that won’t listen to an order we give. Soon we’ll be going into battle with that same useless crew, and a madman orchestrating the whole bit like a hellish shymphony. By the way, won’t Hobbs or some other toady report you?"

Horatio took his friend’s rant and subsequent change of subject in stride. "I think Dr. Clive had a word with Mr. Buckland, who then told me to rest and report in a hour, sharpish."

"After telling you to stand firm!" Archie coughed out a harsh laugh. "Fortunate for you that Buckland would follow anybody, even that drunken fool, Clive."

"Where did you get that?" Horatio opened his eyes and stared pointedly at the bottle.

"Clive."

"Ah." Horatio closed his eyes again.

Archie took another drink in the few moments of ensuing silence. "So what are we going to do?" he finally asked.

"There is nothing we can do, short of mutiny or murder. I suppose we just wait until one or all of us is dead."

"So defeatist, Horatio."

"With no recourse, such as you have."

"No," Archie said and saluted him with the bottle. His pity for Horatio extended to cover himself as well, and so he took another drink. It wasn’t rum and he almost missed the customary burn, but it tasted good and insinuated itself with a fine glow into his blood nonetheless. Now if only it could impart that glow onto their general circumstances, all would be well.

His own watch wasn’t for another ten hours. Poor Horatio, thought Archie, looking at the man next to him. He looked pathetic, and …defeated had been a good word for it. It was something of a novelty.

Actually, the more Archie thought about it, it was pretty damned worrying. Horatio was never defeated. He was always the one who could explain away any situation, or develop a plan to outsmart any enemy. Now he was nearly dead on his feet. Archie couldn’t even dress and join him on deck to keep him company, because he’d made the poor decision to get drunk. Surely Horatio would fall asleep on watch, and Archie would wake to find his friend dangling from the yardarm as an instruction to them all.

A small snore interrupted his dark thoughts. Horatio should lie down for a bit, Archie thought. He grabbed his shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. Horatio was like a rag doll in his hands, lifeless already. After a moment, though, he awoke with a snort and looked at Archie in sleepy surprise.

"Time for bed," Archie told him.

"No, I told you."

"Then speak, and keep me company in this dark hour."

Horatio gave him a tired half-smile. "I can think of nothing to say."

He sounded as if he meant it. That was a thought more infinitely worrying than any that had come to him before, but Archie couldn’t bring himself to speak it aloud, to joke about it. Always Archie had looked to his friend for comfort. Now it seemed Horatio was the one who needed comforting. Yet what could he offer in the way of comfort or clever plans? Where could he lead that Horatio would perforce follow?

Archie realized his hands were still clenching Horatio’s shoulders. He looked into his friend’s dark eyes, trying to discern whether Horatio’s maudlin mood stemmed from circumstance or mere exhaustion, but as usual those eyes revealed nothing. The smile was still there, Archie noticed, as his eyes were drawn to Horatio’s lips.

He felt an odd, sudden tug at his heart, followed by an even odder flicker of desire in his belly. It was quite unexpected and he would have jumped in surprise, but the room spun about him again and he held on to stay upright.

God, but he must have been at sea a long time, he thought, If Horatio was starting to look good. Yet Horatio was very handsome. He always looked good, just not in that way.

Except once, and Archie had been the one to lead then… If he was to comfort his friend, he could lean forward a scant few inches, and--

"Archie?" It was a whisper.

He dared a glance up. In the ill-lit room Horatio’s dark eyes were inscrutable as ever, but the brows were drawn together in concern, marring the white forehead.

Archie licked his lips nervously and tore his gaze away. He knew he had to shatter the moment, before memory and the wine in his system did something very foolish. But profound intimacy surrounded them like a sphere, encompassing his fingers on Horatio’s shoulders and the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, and the tired and achingly vulnerable look of confusion in Horatio’s eyes.

A sudden will of muscle released his grip. He slid to the floor next to Horatio’s legs, leaning his back against the window bench.

"Oh, Horatio, what shall we do?"

Above him, Horatio’s stilled heart jumped to life again. Whether it was from relief or disappointment he did not know. It had been to him an odd moment, a miasma of almost-sexual tension, and then it was gone.

Fatigue was creating ghosts in his mind, when all his friend needed was comfort. Horatio felt a twinge of shame at his mistake. He followed Archie to the floor and put a consoling arm about his shoulders.

"Archie—what is it?"

Oh Hell, thought Archie. Breaking that moment was apparently easier thought than done. Within the comforting circle of his friend’s arm, he leaned those scant few inches that had tantalized him earlier, and pressed his lips quickly to Horatio’s.

Those full lips were still cool from the night air, but the inside of his mouth was warm and inviting.

Oh Hell, thought Archie again. When had Horatio opened his mouth? Passion or poison had dulled the passage of time, and Archie had not been aware that things had progressed that far until they actually had. Yet he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy kissing Horatio again, as he’d often wondered if he would. Again came that little tingle, that small shock of recognition and desire trickling through his veins. He raised a hand to caress Horatio’s pale cheek, to strengthen the contact, but suddenly Horatio pulled away.

"Wh-why?" was all Horatio asked. He hadn’t yet asked himself the same question, but was waiting to hear his friend’s answer before making his own excuses. He did know it had taken a great strength of will to back away.

"I don’t know," Archie said. And he didn’t. He felt a small moment of shame at his inexplicable desire and daring. But they were still so very close. Horatio had not removed his arm, nor had he pulled away too far. Archie was lonely and drunk, his lips cold, bereft, and he was willing to chance it again. But, as ever, Horatio’s dark eyes revealed nothing of the thoughts behind them.

It took but a few moments for memory and wine to fight with caution and win. Archie leaned forward once more, this time using his hand as he’d wished to before, cradling those soft curls in his fingers and holding Horatio still while his lips searched for the answer.

Horatio lent himself to the moment, which soon stretched out to a very pleasant many. He could do nothing else. Weariness had numbed his brain and he hadn’t been allowed much time for thought, and Archie’s lips were soft, and the tongue in his mouth was relentless and amazingly arousing.

None of it felt odd, as he’d thought it might. Though memory and time had tried for years to convince him that the night in France had been a fluke, Horatio had never regretted it. But he’d had many years to wonder if Archie did.

And their situation now was nothing less than precarious. Reason soon forced itself through the haze of fascination and fatigue to prick at his thoughts with an insistent small worry. He pulled back again, to voice it aloud.

"We can’t do this now. Especially not here."

"Why not?" Archie was still maddeningly close; his boyishly handsome face hung a mere inch away, lips quirked at the corners. Horatio could feel the heat of his breath as he spoke.

"So we can be hung for sodomy before we’re hung for mutiny?"

"Sodomy! Hah!" Archie laughed, genuinely amused. "Getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you Horatio?"

"You know what I meant." Horatio’s already-flushed face reddened further. Archie thought he looked immeasurably better with some color in his cheeks. "What would someone think if they were to enter?"

"No one will enter, you dunderhead. It’s our bunk. And listen," Archie said, and pulled his hand from Horatio’s cheek to wave it about the room. Strains of music floated about the ship, and though muted through the window and walls, still gave evidence of the drunkenness and dancing and preoccupation of the men. "All are busy."

Then with a sudden playful impulse he pushed Horatio to the floor and rolled them both across the small room, saying ouch the whole way as the wooden floor rose and fell to knock them about. The wall halted their roll and they landed in the shadow of their hammocks. Archie crawled on top of Horatio with a release of breath and looked about. They were hidden from the door. His grin as he looked down on Horatio was purposefully smug.

"Now we won’t be seen," he finished, and kissed the trapped Horatio again, leaving them both breathless.

Archie really couldn’t explain his sudden and quixotic desire to make love to Horatio. In vino, veritas-- he wondered for an instant if he’d always been secretly attracted to his friend. The true answer was no but at the moment he might have said yes. It felt wonderful; the danger had something to do with the excitement, he was sure, along with the sense of control, and the opportunity to surprise the ever-reasonable Horatio. He deepened the kiss, leaving Horatio no time to breathe, burrowing into the warm lean frame beneath him.

The simple fact was that he wanted to, and there couldn’t be anything so very wrong in it. There was no one he trusted more. Horatio would not damn him or reveal a thing-- he’d never spoken a word about what had happened in France all those years ago. And there was no doubt that Horatio was enjoying this as much as he. His friend’s long fingers dug painfully into his shoulders, and he could feel the mad beating of Horatio’s heart even through the fabric of their shirts and Horatio’s waistcoat.

Yet again, though, Horatio’s hands on Archie’s shoulders pushed away, with little strength behind them but enough for Archie to notice nevertheless. What now? he wondered.

"Archie, you’re drunk." Horatio found it hard to breathe, but he managed to form and whisper the words he knew he must. He could see the near-empty bottle and taste the wine on Archie’s lips. Perhaps Archie had never regretted that incident in France. Yet tomorrow, might he regret doing this? In retrospect, with no sacrifices to offer, no impending death to frighten them or drive them to do something unexplainable? "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Horatio." Archie gathered what little sense was left in his brains, and focused it with force on the man beneath him. "This is the only time I will ask, I swear it. If you want me to stop, I will."

Horatio looked at him, at his friend’s flushed face, at the tendrils of golden hair that escaped their ties to fall about his cheeks. He looked at the friendly and aroused earnestness of Archie’s eyes, and felt the warm shoulders beneath his fingers, heaving ever so slightly. Archie didn’t look like he was being taken advantage of. "No," he said simply, unable to think of any other reply that would be anything but the truth.

"Well, then," Archie said with a tiny smile of triumph. He took a moment to admire the picture Horatio presented in his submission, to brush out of his face the tendrils of dark hair damp from seawater and sweat, before clasping his flushed cheeks and leaning in very slowly to press his lips against those below. Horatio moaned into his mouth. Apparently he was no longer pretending to be anything but aroused.

And apparently he had learned something in the intervening years since they’d last been so close. Nowhere near as unschooled and hesitant as Archie remembered, he slid his tongue against Archie’s with an ease born of practice and passion. Archie felt long fingers slide down his back and under his shirt, clutching at the skin of his ribs.

Archie stretched into the touch, feeling the ache grow in his abdomen as Horatio’s legs curled about his, forcing them even closer. The breastbone pressed against his still thumped wildly with the hammering of Horatio’s heart, and the flat muscled chest and slightly stubbled cheeks beneath Archie’s lips as he pulled them away all reminded him that this was not a woman. But at the moment Archie could have cared less. He licked his way down to the swell of jaw below Horatio’s ear, pushing his tongue into the hollow to taste the frantic pulse beating just beneath the skin.

Horatio’s form beneath him shivered. Intrigued, Archie did it again, and found it quite amusing to be rewarded with the same reaction, along with a catch of breath in his ear. Horatio made the loveliest noises.

After a bit Archie gave up on this torture and dragged his lips back to capture the gasps in his mouth, while sliding a hand down to capture the erection he could feel pressed against his belly, giving him ample proof of his skill.

Horatio gasped again as he felt the hand move down, the anticipation unbearable but the touch even more painfully so as Archie’s strong fingers traced hard at his cock through his trousers. Without thought he raised his hips from the floor to meet it, both ecstatic and ashamed at the acute pleasure that touch produced. His heart seized with care for his friend, and for his willingness to offer him tenderness and gratification despite the dangers of doing so. Archie was pulling at the fastenings to his trousers now and the desire bit him so sharply he couldn’t stand it.

But the shame wouldn’t go away, or the memory of how kind Archie had been to him all those years ago without much in the way of recompense or reciprocation. If Horatio had ever been asleep he was awake now, and he was not going to let Archie do all the work again.

"Wait," he finally managed to mumble, grabbing Archie’s wrist to stop the torment. Without further warning he heaved, throwing Archie onto his back and rolling to straddle him and maintain their switched positions despite Archie’s struggles. He took a deep breath and gripped Archie’s hands at his sides, where they could do no further damage. "Let me try."

"What?"

"Let me try," he repeated, and released Archie’s hands to pull open his breeches. Since Archie’s gift to him years ago he’d experienced this particular pleasure many times, and had always secretly wondered if he could accomplish the same task satisfactorily.

"Horatio, you don’t need to do this," Archie said, knowing exactly what Horatio was proposing. Archie wasn’t sure how he felt about that. If there was one arena in this friendship where he had more experience and control, it was this one. But he couldn’t deny his craving for it, roiling about his insides.

Oh, well, he thought, and let his head drop to the wooden floor and his eyelids close. He felt air on his stomach and thighs as his breeches were yanked down past his bent knees—hateful, swirling air that tortured his cock with cold breaths. Then he gasped as long, warm fingers closed about to protect it.

The fingers began to squeeze and stroke, and then a warm, wet mouth closed over the end, sealing it from the hateful cold air. Dark colors swirled behind his constricted eyelids, and the wine coursed through his veins to his head and positively dizzied him. He was in a strange and marvelous place where there was nothing but color and sensation and the wonderful slow touch of fingers and tongue on his most sensitive, aching skin. He lay perfectly still to quell the dizziness, and breathed slowly with it for several minutes. Then the sensation stopped.

He opened his eyes and looked down.

"I do hope I’m not putting you to sleep, Archie."

"Good God no! It’s lovely."

"Are you sure?" One of Horatio’s eyebrows was cocked in doubt.

"I swear it." What Archie would swear was that Horatio could be so stupid sometimes.

"All right." Horatio still looked slightly miffed, but he bent his dark head again to the task. The wonderful warmth and sensation returned, more painful for having been withheld those few, throbbing moments.

And Archie found that watching made it all the more arousing. Whether the fingers or wide mouth pressed harder he couldn’t tell, but the sight of Horatio’s dark curls between his legs was suddenly and unbearably erotic. He gasped in shock as a wet tongue hit a particularly sensitive spot.

Archie lifted a hand from the floor and twined his fingers in those soft, sweaty tendrils of hair, not pushing or forcing in any way but simply resting there. He gasped again.

Horatio took his free hand and grasped at Archie’s thigh for support. It was an awkward position but not uncomfortable or unpleasant, and the new vocal appreciation from Archie made his own gut ache with sympathy.

But his friend was his concern now, so he decided to work even harder, taking more of Archie’s cock in his mouth. He savored, it, the taste, and the hot, dry, velvety-smooth feel of it. With a sudden need to breathe he inhaled deeply around the firm flesh. Archie moaned louder and his hips rose, which so amazed Horatio that he tried it again.

"Done this before, have you?" Archie’s shaky but teasing voice came from somewhere above his head.

"Hardly," Horatio replied, then took a deep breath and put his mouth around the flesh again. He wanted so badly to take his time, to please his friend. But the doctor’s, and thus the captain’s, wrath if Horatio returned late for watch would be brought down upon both of them. He had to hurry. He took Archie deeper into his throat and sucked hard, several times, and as Archie gasped for breath he did it several times more, until Archie shivered beneath him. The warm fluid of his release filled Horatio’s mouth. Horatio felt quite satisfied at a job well done, and--

"Ach-coff!" he said, not meaning, to, and pulled away to swallow quickly. He felt somehow as if he had been rude. His eyes watered and he took a few moments to wipe them.

He opened them to see Archie’s smiling and sweaty face and the bottle of wine. "Here," Archie said, waving the bottle.

Horatio took it gratefully and upended it. The spirits burned away the stickiness, but the fumes crawled into his nose.

Archie simply laughed at Horatio’s screwed-up face. The man was quite dear to him, but he had no head or taste for spirits at all. "Come here, Horatio," he said, holding out an open hand.

"No, I have to go back on watch," Horatio said, and tried shakily to stand, making it only to his knees.

Archie, feeling quite relaxed and happy and without guilt, admired the picture his friend presented. Horatio was still mostly dressed, in white shirt, waistcoat, neckcloth, stockings and breeches, with an erection quite visible through the front of them.

"You’ve got a few minutes." Archie rolled to his knees and pulled up his trousers, then reached out a hand again, this time grasping Horatio’s wrist and pulling him back beside him. "Come here."

"Archie, I can’t--" he began, but at the moment Archie was stronger and pulled Horatio back to the floor against his chest. One white-clad arm wrapped around his waist, effectively trapping him.

"Be still," Archie whispered into his ear, and bent his head to trace his lips along Horatio’s jawline.

Again, that warm mouth sent chills racing down Horatio’s spine, only to return with a throbbing craving he’d almost forgotten. One of Archie’s hands, the one that wasn’t holding him pressed so tightly against his warm chest, pulled at his neckcloth. Horatio tried to form words, to say No, I’ll need that…

But Archie’s gentle lips and tongue traced a relentless reproof against his throat, and no words would come. Then the neckcloth was gone and Horatio tried to make a grab for it, then a demand, but the tongue was trailing down to his shoulder and it took every scattered thought just to breathe.

Archie sensed his friend’s struggle to speak and vowed to halt it, forcing Horatio’s head around so he could kiss him again. He’d missed those lips and that desperate mingling of tongues and he pressed the kiss deep, breathing only Horatio for several minutes. But the position was too awkward to hold and he had to release it, trailing his lips down to taste again the sweat of Horatio’s hair behind his ear and against his nape.

Without mercy he shoved his hand into the front of Horatio’s breeches to grasp at the still-straining erection. Horatio gasped aloud and jerked backwards, so suddenly that Archie almost bit him. He blew softly against the glowing skin to soothe the hurt, then kissed it as his hand stroked the hot, dry flesh below. Frantic moans vibrated against his lips at Horatio’s throat.

One of Horatio’s hands clenched at Archie’s bent thigh, almost echoing his earlier, desperate bid for something to hold onto. Archie had to warn him, "You’ll need to let me know…"

Horatio gave a moan that might have been a yes. Then there was nothing but the sound of Horatio’s breathing as his head fell back against Archie’s shoulder. Archie found and kissed the fluttering pulse again, dimly hoping that he would not leave a noticeable mark. His hand still stroked the smooth cock in his hand.

After a few moments he distinctly heard Horatio whisper, "Archie…"

"Mmm," Archie agreed, then scrabbled on the floor, trying to grab Horatio’s neckcloth from where he’d dropped it earlier. He barely made it in time, catching Horatio’s seed as it spilled in his grip.

Horatio’s head lolled against Archie’s shoulder for a few moments while they both caught their breath. Then he glanced down at his neckcloth, crumpled on the floor below. "I needed that," he said, managing to sound quite indignant even as his voice cracked in his throat.

Archie laughed for fully half a minute, overcome with the wonderfulness and silliness of it all. "I have plenty," he finally said. "Idiot," he added.

"You’d better." The moment was comfortable. Horatio didn’t want it to end, but knew it must. He crawled to his feet and began searching about the cabin for bits of his uniform.

Archie let the laughter ebb away, then forced himself to his feet as well. He found his sea-chest and pulled out a starched cravat, waving it at Horatio with a rueful smile. "I do apologize, Horatio."

"Why?" Horatio asked. Why now, was what he wondered, feeling suddenly and inexplicably embarrassed. He turned to look in the mirror, both to wrap the neckcloth and to hide his troubled face from Archie’s keen blue gaze.

In the mirror he could see Archie seated once more in his hammock, examining the empty wine bottle for a moment before setting it on the floor. "I’m afraid that I have tired you out."

Horatio snorted in relief. Was that all? "Archie, I’m afraid that I’ve never felt more awake than at this moment. I’ll be fine." He turned to look his friend in the face. "We’ll get through this, you’ll see. I’ve been thinking…"

"What have you been thinking?" Now that was the Horatio Archie remembered. Confident, calculating, always coming up with some clever plan or another to save the day. Almost the complete antithesis of his friend. Archie was struck by the thought that this whole interlude was an allegory for their careers and friendship so far: Horatio cautious, weighing every situation, and Archie heedless, allowing emotion to rule his every thought and deed.

He wondered briefly whether he would ever have the time or patience to devise a truly wonderful plan—one that would put every brave act of Horatio’s in the shade. A spectacular redemption with an audience of admirals and captains as witnesses.

Probably not.

"Let me think some more before I say anything," Horatio said and shook his head. "We’ll wait and see what happens tomorrow. Perhaps we’ll be lucky; the Captain does love to give the Sunday sermon. Perhaps this rotten crew will feel the urge to work hard and thus redeem their souls. Then perhaps all will be too tired to get up to any mischief."

"You’re dreaming, Horatio." Archie watched Horatio in the mirror as he settled a bicorne on his head. Despite his words earlier he looked more fatigued than ever, and Archie resolved immediately to join him on watch tomorrow night. He wanted no morning hangings to ruin his day. Or his life.

"No, no. I’ll think of something…" but the voice was preoccupied.

"Just stay awake, Horatio. That’s all I ask," he said, but Horatio was gone.

End: Thanks for Reading!

Write to Jedishampoo