Title: On Going Home,
Rating: R for real smut
Word Count: 1441
Disclaimer: I did not invent this
On Going Home, Chapter 16
“ Horatio, what are you doing to me?” Archie quavered.
Horatio took his mouth from Archie's, (and oh the grief of smooth heat removing,) and looked down at him. Horatio's dark eyes were smiling. He looked very pleased with himself. “This,” he said. “And this.” He demonstrated again, helpfully.
Archie found himself reflecting on the sensations he imagined a rock must have, detached from its accustomed mountainside, rolling, bouncing, gathering speed. Did the little rock say: 'What have I done now?' and 'What have I started?' Was the little bouncing rock exhilarated? Was it afraid?
“Landslide.” Archie muttered.
“What?” Horatio pulled back, mouth swollen, eyes blinking.
“Nothing,” Archie said. “Kiss me more.”
It had been six days since they had arrived here – in the coach, in the dark, in the rain. In six days Archie's world had been remade – a lava island, rising hissing from the sea. Parts of himself that he had thought dead, were red hot, clean and new.
“---That has such people in it.” Archie gasped.
“Nothing. Please, Horatio.” Horatio was pulling Archie's shirt free now, and everything was tugging exquisitely all the way down.
“Nothing, you say.” Horatio's brows drew down. He did smile a bit though, as Archie's body arched forward in response.
“Nothing, you say, Archie. And yet you keep on about landslides, and strange people. I think we should find better use for your mouth.” Horatio moved forward for another kiss, but Archie shook his head. He pushed gently back, until Horatio was against the blue painted wall, beside the crowded bookcase of his childhood. He almost knocked down a little-boy's room painting of a boat.
“Want you this way.” Archie said, and dropped to his knees. This was the last barrier. Fear and hatred, of this, was there in memory. He could feel it there, and he knew he always would. But he didn't feel debased now. Archie felt exalted. He was in his own skin, entire. This was Horatio, and kneeling here was an act of love.
“Want you like this.” He pulled the warm length of Horatio free, and rubbed his face against it like a cat. Horatio moved forward, but Archie pushed him back gently again. He eased Horatio's trousers down, and helped him step out of them. Horatio was thrusting already, helplessly.
Archie slid his hands up Horatio's hard thighs. The warm skin was intoxicating. Archie could hear Horatio's breathing, high above his head, and his voice “ah, ah, ah,” soft and lost.
“Love you,” Horatio gasped. His hands settled on Archie's shoulders. “Archie, Archie.” Archie moved slowly. He could do this in his own time. Horatio certainly needed no rushing. Archie knew some ways to hurry this process, but he would never use them again. He didn't want this to end.
He threaded his fingers through the fine black curls, lifting Horatio's cock free, steadying it. “So hard now, Horatio,” he marveled. “You are so hard.”
He swirled his tongue slowly over the moist exposed tip. Horatio was gulping air now -- arching forward and subsiding over and over and over. Still he made no move to force Archie's head. His hands on Archie's shoulders, were only to steady himself.
“Oh. Now.” Horatio's voice was almost a sob. But Archie didn't stop. He hooked an arm around Horatio, and pulled him closer to the center of heat. He gave a final firm slide, over that sweetly sensitive ridge, and felt Horatio clench and let go.
Archie sat back on his heels. He loved the sight of Horatio like this. He loved the wildness in his eyes, the power in his grip, his voice calling. And afterward, was beautiful to see too. Horatio seemed to come back from so far away.
Horatio opened his eyes at last. He seemed startled to see Archie grinning up at him.
“Come up here, Archie.” Horatio said. He pulled Archie up and to him. “I would never have you kneel at my feet.”
“I don't mind.” Archie said. “I liked it.”
“Really?” Horatio looked baffled and pleased.
“Yes, really. You are beautiful.”
“No.” Horatio hung his head like a bull-rush.
“Oh yes.” Archie said. “I should know.” Horatio's face was blazing.
“Take me to bed Horatio.”
The bed was soft and flat. And they had one more day, one more day of soft and flat. One more day of quiet, and naked, and sliding skin, and imperfectly muffled cries. Archie intended to make the most of it.
“Beautiful.” He said, and Horatio was under him. “Beautiful, yes, yes.” And Horatio was kissing Archie, and moving with him, and all the world was moving. Archie was a little rock, tumbling into a new world, And it had to do with this, this wonder and this feeling. And it was the future, before him, and Horatio under him, and all as clean as a red lava island fresh from the sea.
Archie wanted it to last. He wanted to do this forever, but Horatio was drawing him forward, and he was at the best place now, and Archie's head was dropped, his mouth open. He could hear his own shudder and groan. And he tried to wait, to slow, but he couldn't. And Horatio was cradling him, surrounding him as he gave way completely.
He panted a moment, alone in the blackness, coming back to himself. His heart began to slow, and he slitted his eyes open. He was rewarded with a blurry view of Horatio's chin. Not unpleasant, but a little south of what he wanted now. Archie wiggled his body up, until his blue eyes came level with the soft brown.
He and Horatio were naked. They were curled face to face like parentheses. Under them, soft and flat, the bed of Horatio's childhood.
Horatio reached over Archie and pushed the heavy hair off his neck. The cool air felt delightful. Archie shivered a little. Horatio kissed him between the eyes. Archie had had almost a week to consider now, and he still thought that Horatio's kisses were the softest thing he had ever felt. Even at the peak of passion Horatio's mouth was soft.
“Archie.” Horatio said, as if Archie's name alone was the answer to a question.
“Hmmg?” Archie said. He rolled over, belly down, into a patch of diffuse sunlight. No need to hide his scars now, no need to hide anything. His secrets were safe now, in Horatio's keeping.
He let his eyes shut, just for a little while. Not sleeping, not really, just floating a little. He was a tumbling little rock, resting, just for a moment, in a place of soft flat safety.
He could hear Horatio burrowing around in the shelf beside the bed. The shelf was full of boyish debris, rocks and sticks, a very old deck of cards, small drawings, marbles, things like that. Archie understood. Boyhood leads to an accumulation of such things. Archie had kept his in a little box, made of pasteboard. He had carried it back and forth in the family coach, Scotland to London, season after season. But he was not able to be a boy anymore. Boyhood was gone. Simpson had taken it. Taken it by force, as he took and forced Archie. Four years gone now. Archie's box for treasures was gone too, wherever such things went.
Archie felt Horatio sit up, and heard him give a breathless little laugh.
“Archie,” he said, “Look what I found.”
Archie sat up too. “What is it?”
Horatio handed the little thing over. It was a carved wooden man, smooth and dark with handling, about the length of Archie's palm.
“Well,” Horatio said, a little sheepishly, “I called him friend.”
“You had a doll Horatio!” Archie smiled.
“No!” Horatio pretended outrage, trying to snatch the wooden man back. Archie evaded him easily.
“He's not a doll.” Horatio protested. “He's a little wooden man. I didn't play with him really. But when I was younger I used to – ha'hm – tell him things.”
“Oh.” Archie said, “So he knows all your secrets.” He held the little doll up to his ear, widening his eyes dramatically.
“Archieee.” Horatio said. “You know all my secrets already. “
“Well,” Archie said, “Now you can call me friend.”