Title Mythical Creatures
Word Count 250
The day had been long. It had somehow contrived to be both dull and emotionally wrenching. Horatio had known of course that the days were running by, running out. But he had felt the dull thud of recognition this morning, like an icicle on the inside.
Archie had pulled him in, and spoken against the skin of his neck.
“Last day H'ratio.”
“Don't say it.” Horatio had clutched him close, close. They had not gone to breakfast immediately.
That had been 15 hours ago.
Now they stumbled up the stairs of the coaching inn, smelling of cigar smoke, and stifling giggles.
They got the door shut.
“How much have you had to drink, Archie? You smell like-- it's. It's you smell good,” Horatio said.
“Whiskey. “ Archie replied.
“Supposed to make you think of magnificent mountain vista's and remote-- Horatio, you satyr!”
“ If I'm a satyr, you are a centaur, ” Horatio said.
Archie smiled. “A centaur. I like that. Galloping through the forest with my chest all bare.”
“Not a centaur.” Horatio' brow wrinkled. “Cyclops.”
“Well, I have one eye here--”
“Umm, a centrifuge. Don't spin me-- I'll puke. Centipede. That's it. Come to bed, my centipede. Let me count your feet.”
“I was only forced to drink while I waited for you. Thought you'd never put the cards down. How much did you win, anyhow?”