Title, On Going Home Chapter 23
Word Count 1192
Disclaimer I did not invent them
On Going Home, Chapter 23
He was coming back from that far away.
Archie could feel the heat of Horatio's hand, rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades. He dropped his head against Horatio's chest. The heat and the heart sound were like a lifeline, reeling him to safety.
He drew a deep shuddering breath.
Horatio's soft mouth dropped down to nuzzle the top of Archie's head. So, so soft. Horatio's arms tightened around Archie, and the smell of home safe surrounded him, wool, and warm, and beloved sweat. He butted his head against Horatio, pushing under his chin like a cosset lamb.
“Archie, Archie.” Horatio's mouth closed on the edge of his ear, licking the curve of it, making him shiver.
“He's alive Horatio.”
“Believed he was dead.” Archie gasped.
“I know. Me too. But I'm going to kill him.”
Horatio had never killed anyone. As far as Archie had seen, he had never committed a single act of violence. But his voice was implacable. Archie knew that they had to talk about Simpson, and soon. He had to make sure that Horatio did not simply commit a public strangulation, and end by being hanged for murder. He had to talk about it, sensibly, with real words, and logic. But he could not summon it now. He could only seem to summon up small sounds and gasps of want.
Horatio's hands were up under his shirt, finding the scars of that long ago flogging --of that night. That night, had been one of the early ones, when he still cried. He had still imagined then, that pleasing or pleading or logic or struggling, might help. Before he learned to go away. That night had hurt and hurt. Simpson had bloodied his back, beat him until he vomited with the pain. Then he had moved the hurt inside, a hurt so huge, there was no room for anything else. And no part of Archie had found refuge, within or without. Nowhere to flee. He dreamed of it, sometimes still.
But Horatio's hands were loving there. Loving everywhere. The slide of those gentle hands was so good. Horatio made Archie feel clean. It felt so good to be clean. And along with clean, was the heat and tingle of want. “Please, yes.” He heard himself say, as the shirt lifted off. He let his lips find Horatio's arched throat, and they buzzed, as he felt, under them the thrill of Horatio's moan.
“Slowly tonight.” Horatio said. His voice was dazed, and the sound of it felt as good in Archie as a touch.
“Slowly, all night.” Archie gasped.
They undressed each other, dreamily, dazedly. Wide eyed and soft mouthed. Archie felt drunk. Horatio pressed against him. The touch of skin made Archie gasp. The heat of him was so good. Archie could feel his balls clenching, but slow, he wanted it slow.
Horatio was sliding down. His hands were on the soft flesh under Archie's arms, caressing there, as Archie lay back, and drew Horatio above him. The heat of him, oh, it was maddening. Horatio's soft mouth was working, licking and kissing, and rubbing, down the center line, Horatio was so soft, there, there, on Archie's pleading mouth, his neck, his sternum. Horatio's mouth went down, below the ribs to where it was better than ever. The center, the center of him, and Horatio's fingers in his lower hair, and the mouth, soft all around. His mouth was around Archie's rigid rising, and there was the suck of it, and the tongue, and he arched to it, and cried out in frantic protest as it was taken away.
Horatio came up again, sliding along Archie . And Archie heard himself cry out again. His head tossing, his own mouth seeking, want had gone to roaring like surf in his ears. He fastened his mouth on Horatio's shoulder in a gasping sucking bite. Horatio's hair was damp, and falling free to cover them both. Horatio's dark eyes and mouth were enormous.
Horatio rolled to the side, and the cool air flooded Archie's skin. He felt himself rise up in goosebumps.
“Slow you said.” Horatio gasped. His brow was crumpled, his mouth swollen. He looked like he was about to cry. They reached across the space, frantic to be touching. Horatio's fingers were in Archie's mouth, Archie's hands entwined in Horatio's hair. Their legs and feet were caressing like arms and hands.
“I didn't know, I didn't know.” Archie said. Urgent nonsense, but Horatio seemed to understand.
Horatio was rolling with him, bringing Archie over him. Horatio was arched under him, pulling him down. He was looking at Archie, “Please Archie, now.” He said. His mouth was soft, and his brow was crumpled. He had the nard in his hand.
Archie nodded. His fingers were gentle on Horatio, gentle inside him, where Horatio was hot and small.
Archie was over him, and his Horatio's breath was sweet against his neck, and he was inside, but slow, tremblingly slow. There was time to feel the sweat and flex between them. There was time to caress with feet and legs., for Archie to kiss his mouth, to hear the small sweet sounds between them. He could feel Horatio's prick, rubbing up, weeping sweetness against their straining bellies.
Horatio's hands were on his back, on the scars there, and the look on Horatio's face was winding Archie up inside, slowly, but good, so good. Archie could feel the peak coming, pleasure coming up his thighs, pooling in the center of him. It drove him forward, gasping, forward and up, up and down, to the unbearable sweetness.
The madness had passed. He felt, from far away, Horatio rolling him sideways, kissing his limp hands, and drawing a blanket over his prickling sweat cooling skin. There was a careful huff sound, as Horatio blew the bedside candle out. That seemed to Archie, the sound of home.
He woke in the dark. This was not the sudden lurch awake in fear, but a slow rising, to awareness. Horatio was curled toward him, white and dark, face, hair, sheets. Archie smiled to himself. The awake Horatio was a cuddly being. He welcomed Archie to his soft places, neck, belly, inside his legs. Asleep, Horatio was all of knees and elbows. Unless Archie could cup behind him, it was like sleeping with a huge grasshopper.
Archie gently moved an elbow out of his face, and stretched out. The little room was dark, and warm. It smelled of wood. The sounds from the common room downstairs were gone. It must be very late. Still fully night, though. The window was dark as the rest of the room. Archie felt himself smiling. Time to think a little, doze a little, in the blessed warm, and not alone.
Morning would come. He would not fight it. In the morning he would see what he and Horatio would do next, say next. The future was coming. But Archie was not alone.