eglantine_br (eglantine_br) wrote,
eglantine_br
eglantine_br

Scars and All 2

Title: Scars and All,2

Author Eglantine_br

Rating R, for smutty smutty smut.

Word Count 1369

Spoilers None

Disclaimer I did not invent them

 

 

 

 

Scars and All 2

 

 

 

The hand was gentle. It was slow, it was taking the last of the fear away. Archie gave a shivering sigh. The sadness, the regret and defeat would take longer to fade.

 

“I'm sorry Horatio. I'm sorry about the pig-tail steps.”

 

 

He felt Horatio's head shake. He felt, against his cheek, the twitch of Horatio's smile.

 

“Those steps will be there next year. They are made of stone, right?”

 

This time Archie nodded. “They are.” His voice felt small and tired.

 

“Well,” said Horatio. “I expect the steps will be there in a hundred years – maybe two hundred. And sailors will still be coming into port. So there is plenty of time.”

 

There seemed to Archie to be a flaw in this argument. But Horatio's hand was warm, against his naked back. It was stroking now, softly from Archie's shoulder, down, all the way down, to where his bare skin went into his trousers. The other warm hand, held Archie's shoulder, and pulled him close. Horatio's hands felt good on him. They always felt so good.

 

“We have hours yet. It's not even noon.” Horatio said. “I'd be happy to just stay here. We could send for more food later.” Horatio's voice was questioning. He was unsure, ready for rebuff.

 

Archie pulled back to look into Horatio's face. The brown eyes were sad. There was a crumple in the brow. The pain had been Archie's for years. Now it hurt them both.

 

Archie pressed a kiss between Horatio's eyes. The skin there was so soft.

 

“I'd like to stay here.” He said. “Will you take me to bed ?”

 

“Are you sure you want--”

 

“Horatio.” Now Archie's hands were stroking, moving. “I know what I want.”

 

“I hate him. I hate that he hurt you Archie.”

 

Archie knew that they would have to speak of it someday. Horatio could be damnably persistent. But Archie was nothing if not stubborn. And today he was not going to talk.

 

The bed was big and white and flat. The feathers were soft around them, and the sturdy door shut. The room smelled of nothing. But Horatio's skin smelled so good. It was the smell of pleasure now, and Archie was rising hard in response.

 

He reached out and tugged at Horatio's shirt. Horatio pulled it off, and heaved it over the side to the floor. Archie sighed against the heat of his skin. Horatio rolled into the curve of Archie's arm, bringing the arm to his mouth, and lifting an eyebrow in inquiry.

 

“Yes, oh please.” Archie said faintly. He held his arm out, the pale underside exposed. Horatio brought his mouth down in a sucking bite.

 

Archie felt his body curl, like a worm on a fishhook. Horatio gave a buzzing growl, and Archie groaned. Horatio waited a long heartbeat, Archie could feel his that long mouth smiling, even as it tormented him. Horatio relented. He was kind even in play. The slide of his mouth followed soft, soft. Horatio's mouth was the softest thing Archie had ever known.

 

Horatio was tucked into Archie's embrace now, kissing warm up the join of chest and shoulder. There was sturdy muscle there, hard won and healthy, from five years of climbing and pulling and lifting, as Archie grew from boy to man. The skin was alive there, agonized by the touch, and Archie groaned again as the searching mouth followed the curve of his underarm.

 

Horatio's neck was bent forward, the back of it exposed, pale and pure, where his queue had fallen aside. Archie set his own mouth there, nuzzling the small soft hairs. Horatio endured it for a shivering moment, then turned, his eyes huge in the shadowed room.

 

He looked at Archie, and the gaze between them was as strong and taut as a mooring line. “I'd be lost without you.” Horatio said. And his voice broke just a little. Archie drew him down, to give comfort back.

 

“I'm here now.” Archie said. “So glad you brought me back.”

 

“What's it like?” Horatio's voice was tiny.

 

“What's what like?” Archie kept his hand caressing – working trouser buttons now.

 

“When you leave your body. Does—does it hurt?”

 

How to explain?

 

“It doesn't hurt. Its --- cold.”

 

And that would have to do. But the crumple was back, in Horatio's brow, because of course, he felt the lie. And it was a lie, though he had answered direct. It did not hurt the body, it came from the body being hurt. It came when the pain and fear were too big, and there was no safe room inside for Archie. Of course it hurt. It was what hurt was. But Archie was damned if he would speak of it. They would make love, and they would sleep, and they would return to the ship. No more talk.

 

Archie had the best distraction of all, in his hand now. Horatio was thrusting helplessly, against the stroke of Archie's palm. The trousers went over the side, and Archie's own, discarded with one handed impatience. Now they were naked together, all warm and sliding skin. Horatio rolled to the side, to touch in return, and the goodness of it, rolled and reflected like light in a room of mirrors. They kissed, dazedly, between whimper and gasp.

 

Horatio rolled back, and drew Archie above him. He was wide eyed, arched with need. He fumbled for the nard, and Archie took it from him. Simply holding the little stone bottle, made Archie drip in anticipation.

 

“Not just yet.” Archie gasped.

 

“Oh, no... all right.” Horatio could barely speak. He was way beyond sense. All to the good, said the last faint voice of the strategist in Archie. Then the cool little voice was lost, in the flare of pleasure, as Archie brought his mouth down, where he most wanted it to be.

 

He loved the feel of Horatio's prick in his mouth. He loved the clean skin of it, the slide of soft skin, and the hard core underneath. He loved how Horatio could not keep quiet when he did this, how he called out nonsense, as his thighs shook, and his hands opened and shut.

 

Horatio thrashed under him, and he stopped a moment, to make it last. He wanted this, and the other too.

 

“Oh Archie – doing this to me?” Horatio said, from far above.

 

“Yes, Horatio. That's right. I'm doing this to you.” Archie smiled as he lowered his face again.

 

But soon enough, he was sliding up, and Horatio was still hard and wanting, panting pressing the nard into Archie's hand.

 

“Yes, Honeybee.” Archie assured. It was cool when he put it on himself, but he let it warm, before he put his hand to the tender, innermost parts of Horatio. It was never easy to be careful when he was dazed with need himself. But Archie knew that he would rather cut his own throat than cause Horatio pain, by rushing. Horatio had never given his body to anyone else. Not so much as a kiss. Only only ever to Archie.

 

Teeth clenched, Archie slid forward. Horatio was looking at him, with those eyes, and all the trust in the world, and he pulled Archie forward and down, and stroked his face, and kissed, and something did something, and drew a groan from Archie, and something again, and it was better. It was better and better, and Archie was the broken thing, lost and found, and crying out, in the circle of Horatio's arms.

 

Sweat was drying, and prickly cooling. Still damp, in the dips of belly and collar bone. They were staring at the ceiling. Hard to stop touching, even once the madness passed.

 

“Are you sleepy?” Archie asked.

 

“Mmmh, maybe a little.” Horatio said.

 

Archie felt his own eyes shutting. He was tired.

 

“Have a little rest, Archie.” Horatio said. “We've got plenty of time.”

 

“Plenty of time, Horatio.” Archie agreed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tags: archie/horatio, fiction
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