by Charley Hart

FEEDBACK to Charley

For Selene ....

Suffolk
December 1806

Horatio glanced up nervously at the dark skies. Small grey clouds ran before the wind, and the first scattered drops of rain pattered against his hat. He had already mentally calculated the time it would take for the storm to reach full force before reminding himself that he was not at sea and need not worry about navigating his ship through it.

He banged the heavy iron doorknocker loudly. Archie Kennedy's home had loomed like an enormous monumental tomb against the darkening sky. Horatio knew that Archie's father had bought the house from the heir of a local lord, and it looked to be more than two centuries old, its stone walls covered with dark green ivy and damp brown patches of moss. Horatio rubbed his hands together against the chill. There was something decidedly uninviting about Kennedy Manor.

The door creaked opened at last, and a dour-faced servant raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" he demanded, rather rudely.

Horatio frowned. "I am here to see Mr. Kennedy."

Without reply, the servant opened the door and Horatio deposited his card in the man's outstretched hand. Leaving Horatio shivering in the foyer, he stalked off down the hall.

The sombre interior dampened Horatio's spirits. The room that he could see beyond the hallway was all but devoid of decoration. Dark curtains shadowed the windows, and there was a distinct musty odour that betokened a lengthy failure to air out the rugs. He wondered how Archie could bear living in this sepulchral house.

Eventually, the tall narrow-faced servant returned. "The master will see you in the parlour," he said, with a perfunctory bow in Horatio's direction. "This way."

Horatio hoped the rest of the staff was not so lacking in manners. He strode into the parlour, eager for the sight of his friend and lover. But it was not Archie's fair hair and blue eyes that he beheld. The man standing beside the fire was somewhat stocky, with a dark, unruly mane and beady black eyes. He glared at Horatio. "I cannot imagine what you might want of me, Post Captain Hornblower."

Horatio cursed his absent-mindedness. "I do beg your pardon, sir. I should have said that I had come to see Lieutenant Kennedy. The fault is entirely my own. You must be Archie's brother."

"I am Phillip Kennedy," the man snarled, obviously disinclined to acknowledge the relationship.

Horatio recalled the ill treatment Archie had told him he had suffered at the hands of his older brothers, and he did not bother to suppress the extreme distaste he felt for this man. "Then if it is not too inconvenient," he returned, an edge in his voice, "may I see him?"

Phillip nodded sullenly in the direction of the servant, who had remained standing in the doorway, and Horatio followed him out, wondering how such a family had ever produced Archie. Horatio was convinced that what Archie had told him he suspected years before

-- that he was a bastard -- was the truth.

He was led to a set of doors made in the French fashion, beyond which he could see the remains of a garden enclosed by a high brick wall. Tiny rivulets of water trickled down the intricately etched panes. "Somewhere out there," the servant said shortly.

"In the rain?" Horatio asked, stunned. But the servant had already strutted off, leaving Horatio to open the doors for himself.

Archie was sitting on a bench, his cloak pulled tightly about him. He had not bothered with a hat, and his blonde hair was soaked, streaming in dark gold tendrils down his cheeks. At Horatio's approach, he looked up, shock registering on his features.

"Horatio? What are you doing here?" He blinked water from his eyes.

Horatio tried to read the emotions behind the question. Was Archie happy to see him, or simply surprised that he had come unannounced? "I might ask the same of you," he replied. "What are you doing out here in the rain? For God's sake, come inside."

Archie hesitated a moment before slowly getting to his feet, taking a last look at the devastation around him. This had once been a well-kept formal garden. The remains of boxwood hedges were still obvious in the untidy rows of dead brown matter. Most of the open areas had gone to daisies. Horatio noticed that Archie was holding a handful of them, their soggy heads drooping solemnly like mourners at a funeral.

"Archie, please come inside," Horatio urged, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Giving him an unfathomable look, Archie allowed himself to be led through the doors.

Half an hour later, Archie had coaxed a fire into being in the hearth in his room, and Horatio had shed his sodden cloak and coat. Archie shook his hair out in front of the flames. He had not bothered to tie it back.

The room was cramped and poorly ventilated. The small fire fought bravely to ward off the chill that clung to the stone walls. The furnishings were sparse -- an old bed, a small table on which sat a stack of books, a wardrobe which was missing one of its doors, and against the north wall, Archie's sea chest.

"It is good to see you again," Horatio said, moving closer to the warmth of the fire and to Archie.

Archie had barely spoken since his arrival. "Yes," he said. "It is good to see you, too."

Horatio sighed. "I -- hoped to talk you into joining me. I have the Lydia now, and we sail in March."

"I had thought to remain with Edward," Archie said listlessly. "But nothing could be arranged before he was ordered to depart. So I am awaiting transfer to the Antonia."

"If it is a matter of making arrangements with the Admiralty --"

"I can make my own way," Archie said shortly, staring into the flames.

"I do not doubt it." But he did. The change in Archie since Horatio had last seen him was shocking. He looked like a beaten man, his shoulders slumped, his eyes almost vacant and devoid of their once bright enthusiasm. He looked all too much as he had when Horatio had first come to know him, when Archie had been at the mercy of Jack Simpson. "Is that truly your desire, to serve aboard the Antonia?" Horatio went on, fearing that he would receive an affirmative reply.

But Archie said nothing.

"You should not have come here, Archie."

"I had nowhere else to go."

"You could have taken a room."

"And paid for it with what, my impressive credentials?"

The rain had begun to beat furiously against the windows. His heart heavy and his hopes dashed, Horatio reached for his cloak. "I should be going." He knew he needed to remove himself before he lost his composure entirely.

"Not in this storm, surely," Archie said, quickly glancing out the window.

Horatio touched his shoulder, and he turned to face him. "I have weathered far worse than this," he said softly.

Archie smiled a little at that. "I suppose we both have."

"Goodbye, Archie." Horatio turned to go, embarrassed that he had let his voice break. It had been a mistake, coming here, wanting to put things back as they were aboard the Indy. One cannot go back, he knew that. His own career had advanced steadily, in spite of numerous obstacles fate had thrown his way. And he was poised to take command of a frigate, as he had always dreamed of doing. And Archie … what would become of him? Horatio bit back tears of grief as he reached for the door handle. Archie would be fine, he told himself. He had survived greater obstacles than Horatio had. He would make First Lieutenant, perhaps Captain himself someday.

"Horatio, wait."

He turned, not really wanting to prolong this farewell. He looked at Archie, his eyes questioning. Horatio knew he should go. This had been a fool's errand, to think that he could recapture the past, after more than two years of separation. He had no idea what had happened to Archie during those years. At first, he had written faithfully each month. But as time passed and there was no reply, his letters grew more infrequent. He dedicated himself to his career, trying to push Archie from his mind but never quite succeeding. "I did not come here to cause you grief," he finally said, still standing in the doorway.

"I know," Archie said. "If only …" He looked down, his hands in his pockets. "You cannot go out in this. Tomorrow morning will do just as well."

A sudden icy blast rattled the window panes. Archie was right, no sane man would travel in such weather, and no sane coachman would carry him. "Very well," Horatio said, dispensing once more with his cloak.

"I shall have something sent up for us," Archie said quickly. "I cannot bear the thought of going back down there." He inclined his head towards the door that led to the stairs.

Archie had warned him not to expect a sumptuous repast, but he shuddered at what was placed before them on the table. The soup was cold and flecked with congealed grease. The bread was stale, and the beef over-boiled and tough. He was sure that the master of the house did not dine on such fare. Why Archie tolerated this sort of treatment was beyond his comprehension.

"Apologies," Archie murmured, toying with his spoon.

"Please don't," Horatio said. "It is hardly your fault."

They sat for a long time in silence, reluctantly taking a few bites of the unpalatable supper.

"I saw Hector last month," Horatio said suddenly, hoping to brighten Archie's mood.

"How pleasant for you. I have not seen him for more than two years." Archie dropped the spoon idly on the table and pushed the bowl away. He eyes were downcast, as they had been so often since Horatio arrived; looking down at something that wasn't there.

Horatio sighed. "You can imagine how difficult it is with the war on. He cannot simply abandon his duty for the pleasures of the flesh."

"Apparently he did it for you."

"I was coincidentally in Gibraltar," Horatio said, exasperated.

"Coincidentally."

"Yes," Horatio said sharply, instantly regretting his harsh tone. It seemed that no matter how hard he tried, he could not lift the cloud that had descended over Archie's spirits. "He gave me something for you. I brought it with me." He placed a small, smooth pebble on the table.

"What is that?" Archie asked, eyeing it curiously.

"It's a pebble," Horatio said, smiling. "Of the sort one can find anywhere. Hector said to tell you that he thought of you when he picked it up."

Archie frowned. "I cannot imagine why a pebble would remind him of me."

"He said you'd say that. And to tell you, that is just the point."

Meeting Horatio's twinkling eyes, Archie reluctantly let a smile play across his face.

"He does care for you. Perhaps more than you realize," Horatio told him, his voice soft.

The servant did not return to collects the remains of the supper, and Archie pushed the little table out of sight against the far wall. He tossed another log onto the fire, sending sparks dancing across the floor tiles.

Horatio considered how slowly time seemed to pass within these walls. Archie had put the chair before the fire for him, and pulled his sea chest over to make a seat for himself. All of Horatio's efforts at making conversation received only a brief answer, or a cursory nod of the head.

Lulled by the warmth and the sheer tedium of the evening, Horatio yawned.

"I suppose we should go to bed," Archie said.

"Goodnight, Archie." Horatio shivered slightly under the threadbare blankets. Archie had given him a nightshirt that was too short and too big in the shoulders, and he had finally dispensed with it entirely, in spite of the damp chill. He consoled himself by considering that a night like this would be even more uncomfortable aboard ship, with the raging waves threatening to toss him out of bed onto the floor.

"Goodnight, Horatio."

Horatio lay there for long minutes, thinking. Archie could not have changed so much in so short a time, he told himself again and again. It had to be this place, the home where he had never been cared for, the family who had never loved him. It -- and they -- were draining the life from him as surely as if they had cut open his veins.

He turned on his side, watching Archie's still form in the subdued moonlight that managed to make its way through the sheets of water that poured from the skies. An occasional flash of lightning highlighted the gold of his hair and the paleness of his face.

Horatio reached out and stroked the somewhat tangled tresses that lay across the pillow.

"Don't. Please."

Horatio withdrew his hand. He tried to close his eyes, but he could not deny himself the sight of the man to whom he had given his heart. He contented himself with keeping his sad vigil, waiting for Archie to fall asleep.

"Horatio …" Archie's eyes were still closed, his breathing low and steady.

The sound of his voice startled Horatio. "Yes?"

"It was the foolishness of youth," he murmured.

Horatio felt his stomach tighten. "Foolishness? Is that what you call seven years of our lives?" His tone was close to anger, and he hadn't meant it to sound that way. "You loved me once," he added.

"I still do," Archie said softly.

"Then -- why? Why didn't you answer my letters?"

A pained expression crossed Archie's face. "I wanted to, Horatio. I didn't know what to say. And now I -- I have lost myself."

"Your career has been a success," Horatio said, his voice pleading.

"Of modest proportions."

"Archie, we cannot all be -- "

"We cannot all be Horatio Hornblower," came the immediate reply.

"Is that what this is all about?" Horatio had raised himself on one elbow. He put his right hand on Archie's shoulder, and when there was no objection, he stroked his arm.

Archie closed his eyes again and descended into silence.

"It means nothing without you," Horatio said forcefully.

Archie sighed. "Don't be absurd. You were a hero as a midshipman. You'll be an Admiral someday. Your destiny and mine … have gone their separate ways."

"No!" Horatio was breathing hard, his emotions wavering between grief and anger.

"Do you think you can change things just by commanding that it be so?" Archie shot back.

Horatio took a deep breath. "If necessary, Archie. If -- " He leaned over and claimed Archie's mouth, forcing his tongue inside. Archie's arms resisted briefly, but the opposing tongue did not. Archie moaned a little as the kiss deepened, as Horatio let one arm glide down Archie's side, stroking and massaging. He was almost on top of him now, his other hand lost in the tangle of blonde hair. He broke the kiss. " -- necessary."

The next kiss was as soft and tender as the first had been brutal and needy. "Please don't leave me, Archie."

Horatio wrapped his arms around Archie's still form, his cock hardening as it brushed against Archie's. "It has been so long …" he breathed. "Tell me you do not want me, Archie," he whispered, nuzzling Archie's neck. "Say that you do not want my body and I shall stop."

He felt Archie responding beneath him, his hips thrusting upward, his breathing becoming heavier. He pulled at the ties of Archie's nightshirt until he had it open, and moved down to gently lick at the exposed nipples, sucking them into firm peaks. "Say it," he demanded again, pulling the material up over Archie's hips and straddling him. He bent down and took the erect cock in his hand. An audible sigh escaped Archie's lips as Horatio's hot breath wisped across the head, just before his tongue began to lick slowly up and down the shaft. He could feel the tension in the leg muscles as he stroked and kneaded the thighs.

"Love me …"

It was only a whisper, but it ignited every nerve in Horatio's body and he brought his lips down on the hard cock, taking it all in. Archie moved rhythmically with him, his hands gripping the bedding till his knuckles whitened.

Horatio pulled away suddenly, and Archie cried out in dismay. But Horatio was already on his knees, inviting his lover to take everything. He closed his eyes, and heard the rustle of the sheets as Archie moved into position. He felt sturdy arms grasp him from behind, and savoured the feel of the dripping cock pressed against his waiting opening. With one swift motion, Archie was inside him and an inexpressible joy that he had not known for so long enveloped him. Dimly, he was aware of the sound of their harsh panting, and the creaking lamentations of the ancient wooden bed. He pushed back frantically against the thrusting cock, feeding the starving need he had for Archie's love. And Archie took him just as desperately, as if he could not go deep enough into the beloved body. Somewhere outside a storm raged.

Sated, they clung to each other.

"I cannot live without you," Horatio said softly.

"You could."

"I will not." He covered Archie's mouth with his own, preventing any further argument, until he had to break away to breathe. "Come with me tomorrow, come away from here. I will find a way to get you an appointment to the Lydia."

Archie turned his head into Horatio's shoulder. "I kept all your letters. I have them in my chest."

Horatio held him in his arms until they both slept.

It was late morning before Horatio awoke. The sun was still hidden by grey clouds, but the torrent had dwindled to a soft drizzle. He put out his arm and felt the warmth of Archie's body still clinging to the empty place beside him in the bed.

Instantly alert, he pushed himself up and surveyed the room, but there was no sign of him. Dressing hurriedly, he went downstairs, passing a few servants whose hostile glares put him off asking any of them where Archie might have gone. Instinctively, he returned to the double doors that led to the ruined garden.

Archie seemed to sense that he was there, and was not startled as Horatio put his hand lightly on his shoulder. "You must leave this behind you, Archie."

Archie only nodded.

"You will come with me?"

"Yes."

Horatio tightened his grip on Archie's shoulder. "Promise me that whatever happens, you will never come back to this house."

Archie shook him off and walked a few steps away, reaching down to pluck a handful of soggy daisies. He stared at the melancholy little bouquet, then looked up at Horatio, his eyes questioning.

Horatio shook his head.

Archie dropped the flowers into a puddle and followed him back through the doors to collect his belongings.

THE END

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