Captain Archibald Haddock loves Tintin. It's a statement of fact, as commonplace as saying that the sky is blue. He has lived nearly two decades longer than the boy, and no other has held his heart so thoroughly. As a sailor, the blood in his veins saltwater, he used to joke he was married to the sea. He traveled, in and out of ports and bars where he met women who were ultimately nothing more than a nights fancy. In his wake he left no broken hearts, because the women of seaside towns knew that to love a sailor was to fling one's heart into a stormy ocean. The burly, strong armed and calloused handed men were fun, but like a songbird they weren't suited to a gilded cage.
Sailors were a wild breed, content to be blown about by the stiff, salty wind. They weren't meant to be tamed.
And indeed, in his youth he'd felt that wanderlust strongly. It pulled at him, irresistible and insatiable. Then he took to the bottle, and after that he felt that he had no home but the sea.
Then he met Tintin. A red headed angel that popped unexpectedly into his life through a porthole. The boy didn't give him the pitying gaze he was so used to. Contrary, the boy looked at him with an endless patience, as if the thought that he was broken goods hadn't ever crossed the boys mind.
The day he met Tintin was the day he began living again.
His friend has expectations of him, knows he's capable of great things and not the drunkard everyone else saw. For a long time, he simply humors the boy. Tintin goes places, and he follows, as loyal and obedient as Snowy. He feels the need to protect the boy, who was not nearly as delicate as he looked. The lad is thin boned and lean, but there is a quickness about him. His arms, although slim, are wiry with muscle. His physique is strong and slender from a career of story chasing and near escapes. What he lacks in stature, he makes up for tenfold in intelligence. He is not just smart, he is exceptional. He sees things, takes in the smallest details and keeps track of the information until he pieces together a grander picture. The boy is brilliant.
Being Tintin's full time friend allows Haddock to share every adventure with him, and he is amazed the boy hasn't already met a premature end. With Tintin, it seems there is danger lurking around every corner.
When they aren't traversing the world, thwarting schemes or saving friends, they take residence in Marlinspike Hall. The lazy afternoons in the countryside do not irk him as they might have years ago. He merely thinks he has outgrown his wanderlust, left it behind with the alcohol soaked nights, but he realizes the reason he does not miss the sea is because it has been replaced.
Tintin is his sea, the mistress who he has staked his love to. Unattainable; close enough to touch but if he submerses himself he will surely drown.
Tintin is his dearest friend. He would die if it would ensure the others safety. He knows Tintin feels the same way, and it terrifies him.
The thought of the child coming to harm protecting him, an old sea dog, makes his fists clench. It is him who is meant to be the protector. He is built to take a beating, and he will get back on his feet after a pummeling. Haddock would fight to the death to protect Tintin.
If he were to cause Tintin harm… he'd never forgive himself. But Tintin would. He would forgive any mistake the Captain made. Haddock knew this because in was the history of their friendship. He was prone to angry blunders, fits of yelling when Tintin pleaded for silence. He himself had endangered the lad more times than he cared to admit. On their adventure to the moon-he still isn't sure it wasn't all a crazy dream-he had left the rocket, foolishly untethered. Tintin came to his rescue, and for his astronomically stupid stunt he received a stern talking to. In his delusion he risked all their lives, and Tintin's concern stayed on his safety.
The boy is an angel and he is a miserable retch. An old, alcoholic salt. Tintin had saved him from his own self-destruction, but the boy is the reason he is drinking now.
He covets the young reporter, longs to take him in his arms and press him close. He likes to pretend his love is pure, a harmless unrequited desire based solely in emotion. This, he knows, isn't the case. While he loves Tintin dearly, would do anything the boy asked of him, he can't deny his fantasies about the youth.
He dreams of smooth skin, a smattering of freckles on his cheeks and shoulders. He knows that those slim shoulders are freckle scattered because Tintin's nightshirt once slipped off his shoulder and Haddock had been unable to look away. He dreams of strawberry colored lips parted around moans, a breathy voice calling his name. Begging. Those are his vanilla imaginings. When he is alone in his room, back propped up on his pillows and erection raging between his legs, he pictures Tintin in more compromising ways. The boy in his fantasies is eager, but inexperienced. He writhes beneath Haddock's ministrations, arching into his touch. He is a blushing virgin, all shy glances and muffled whimpers. As Haddock reaches for the small bottle of oil on his bedside table, Tintin's hand lands on his knee.
He slides down on the mattress, between Haddock's legs, and tentatively runs his fingers along his girth.
"Let me…" He says, flattened tongue licking a line on the underside of his cock. He teases the head with kitten licks and then takes Haddock into his mouth.
He is clumsy at first. It takes a moment for him to find a rhythm, but when he does he dives deep, his cheeks hollowed. Wet, sucking slurps fill Haddock's ears over the roar of blood. Any self-control he'd had flies out the window and he grips the back of Tintin's head.
His hips buck and Tintin is forced to take him into his throat, choking as Haddock comes. Tintin swallows around him, looking up at him through his lashes, and those pink lips are still stretched around him.
He comes into his fisted hand, and when the pleasure fades he is left with guilt.
For a while these fantasies are enough to sate him. And then he finds himself staring at Tintin, looking at his friend and imagining what it would feel like to defile him. It would be easy, he thinks. Tintin is so small compared to him. If he grips those wrists in his hands they might snap. He could easily pin the boy beneath his weight, have his way with him.
These thoughts terrify him. They are the thoughts that plagued his mind earlier today, and they are the reason he drinks now.
He sits in one of the mansions many rooms he supposes is meant to be a study. The curtains are drawn. He has gone through a bottle of whiskey and is starting on a second. Before he'd met Tintin, this would have been a normal day. Now, he's sloshed off it.
He hears the rapping of knuckles on hardwood and Tintin's voice calls through the door.
"Captain? May I come in?"
Haddock grunts in reply and Tintin takes it as a yes. He stops in front of the man, hands on his hips, the line of his lips tugged into a frown. "Captain, you're drunk." He says plainly.
Annoyance flashes through Haddock and he growls, his melancholy turning to anger.
"Leave a man to his drink," he warns, fingers curling into the arms of his chair.
Tintin's eyebrows twitch and his arms cross. He takes a breath and his expression softens.
"Captain, something's been bothering you. I'm here if you need to talk about it. Or if you need help." He smiles, that sincere, sunny smile, and Haddock can't stand it. He surges to his feet, his mind incapacitated but his body still able.
"Why are you doing this to me, lad?!" He grabs Tintin's shoulders harshly.
"Captain!" Tintin cries, more shocked than afraid. "What are you talking about?"
Haddock doesn't let him go, but his anger disappears. Tears sting his eyes and his nose wrinkles.
"Why do you torture me so?" His voice is broken now. Before Tintin can formulate a response Haddock's mouth is over his, smothering and demanding. His arms, strong from a life of a sailors toil, constrict around the boys waist. He drags Tintin with him as he sits, the red head left awkwardly straddling him. Haddock fondles him, his kiss unrelenting. His fingers grasp the backs of Tintin's slender thighs and move upwards to his rear, squeezing.
Tintin is so shocked he doesn't immediately react. For a few beats he merely lets the Captain grope him. Haddock mouths him aggressively and he jolts to his senses. He pushes against the man's broad chest and Haddock grips him tighter. Tintin doesn't want to hurt his friend, but he also doesn't want the man to do anything he'll regret when he's sober.
His arm pulls back and swings down in an ark, striking the Captain's ear. It is enough to make the man's grip loosen and Tintin scrambles off the chair, falling to the floor.
Haddock pants, staring at Tintin with widened eyes. The realization of what he's done seems to dawn on him suddenly and his face reddens with anger.
"Get out," he thunders. Tintin jerks, for the first time fearful of his companion. He stumbles to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him as he runs for the door.
It slams behind him.
Tintin leans against the closed door, his heart hammering. His mind is racing. He is not mad at his friends actions, as he distantly thinks he should be, but cautiously hopeful. He is not a man easily enamored, and to be frank he didn't feel the near constant arousal peers his age felt. He'd experienced the act of sex and had not thought much of it. After a few more disappointing escapades, coupling with both genders, he realized the problem was where his heart lay.
While others could have physical love without emotional connection, he couldn't. And Archibald Haddock was the person he loved most, that he knew. He hadn't considered taking their relationship to a physical level, because he didn't know the other thought about him that way. The older man, he'd thought, perceived him as a son. A youth to mentor and protect.
He could deduce now that was not the case. What Haddock said indicated he'd been experiencing qualms for sometime, which meant the kiss wasn't a random occurrence caused by the alcohol. Tintin felt certain that, had anyone else been in the room, they would not have been assaulted so.
Having this knew information is quietly thrilling, but he knows he must wait to make an advance on the Captain. Haddock is surely in a foul mood right now, and the haze of inebriation will be worsening his state. So he does what the man asked of him and leaves, determined to confront the matter in the morning.
Dear God, he had attacked Tintin. The boy had done no wrong and he forced himself on him. Dread curls in Haddock's stomach and he feels that he might be sick.
How could he? How could he lay a hand on the precious lad? Tintin had been forced to hit his ear to escape Haddock's hold, and if he hadn't freed himself what more would he have done? The boys face is burned into the backs of his eyelids. Confusion, fear, a doubt in his eyes that had never been there before.
He takes a swig of amber colored liquid to squash the crushing guilt he's feeling. He is a monster, a dirty old man who took advantage of his sweet friend. If Tintin hadn't wriggled free, would he have slammed him down onto the floor, ripped his clothes off and violated him? Was he that drunk, that he would have raped the one person who always believed in him?
Haddock finishes off his second bottle and somehow gets to his bedroom, where he blacks out. Gone to the world, he can't feel the gaping maw of self-hatred inside of him.
He wakes up to a splitting headache. Haddock doesn't move for minutes, the effort too herculean. Finally he sits up. He is on his bed, dressed in his clothes from the previous day, and on his nightstand is a glass of water.
He drinks it, the cool substance cleaning the cottony feel in his mouth. In the back of his mind he knows something is off-wrong, somehow-but it isn't until after he's showered and dressed that the memories return.
He had been two sheets to the wind and he'd manhandled Tintin.
Terror strikes his heart. Is the boy in the manner, has he fled forever? He dashes from his room to find out, and to apologize a thousand times if Tintin remains in his home. Rounding a corner he almost runs into the person he's searching for.
Tintin blinks, rears back, and smiles at him.
"Good morning, Captain. It's good to see you're up."
For a moment all Haddock can do is gawk at the boy. He doesn't seem wary of him, as he'd expect him to be. Tintin is acting as if nothing happened. But it did happen, and he must take accountability.
"Tintin, I'm so sorry. Blistering blue barnacles I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" he struggles to say it. "Kiss you. Please, lad, can you ever forgive me?"
Tintin's head cocks to one side and he smiles again. "Of course, Captain."
What?
"You… forgive me?" Haddock wants forgiveness, but he hadn't thought it would come so easily. He feels like he should be made to suffer, penance for his crime. Tintin speaks again before he can voice these thoughts.
"We do need to have a talk, however."
He stiffens, and then forces himself to relax. Tintin is right, they can't pretend that night didn't happen, although he wishes they could.
"Yes, of course, you're right."
Tintin grabs his hand and leads him to the library where he writes his stories. It is moderately sized, bookshelves stretching to the ceilings. Elongated windows let in afternoon sunlight and overlook the woods surrounding Marlinspike Hall. Tintin sits him down on a couch, hand not leaving Haddock's.
The boy looks at him seriously, hazel grey studying him, and he can't help but notice the conniving gleam in those eyes. It is the fleeting sparkle that signals that his mind is working something over, has cracked a puzzle. His thin lips purse and part again, and Haddock can't help but remember those lips against his.
"Captain," he says abruptly. "Do you love me?"
Haddock sputters. "Well, yes, of course I love you lad. B-but that's not-"
Tintin interrupts. "Are you in love with me?"
For that, Haddock can't muster a reply. Not deterred, Tintin closes the distance between them and kisses the man. It is a gentle, chaste kiss. No clashing teeth or invading tongues like last night. He lingers, pulling away after he's met with no response.
He watches the Captain, scrutinizes him. The lack of reaction doesn't scare him, as he's sure the man is frantically trying to process what's going on. Tintin decides to spare him some agony and takes the lead.
"Because I love you, Archibald Haddock. I love you more than anyone else, and if I'm causing you pain I need to know. If you need me more in your life or not at all I need to know. If you want me to leave," he meets the man's gaze straight on. "I will. I won't stay if my presence harms you."
He prays his friend won't ask him to go, but if he does he'll do so. He will rent a new apartment and pick up the broken pieces of his heart, Snowy at his side.
"Lad…" Haddock's voice is thick, and wetness shines in his bloodshot eyes. He lurches forward, capturing Tintin in a hug. "Please, don't leave me. Don't leave this old fool of a man."
Tintin returns the embrace, relief sweeping over him. "I won't," he promises. Minutes trickle by and Tintin rights himself. He sits on Haddock's lap and takes the man's face in his hands, the kiss they share long and sweet. There is no whiskey on Haddock's tongue, no forceful touching. Contrary, the older acts like Tintin is made of glass.
His large hands settle on the lad's narrow hips and he feels his blood swirling downwards.
"Perhaps we should continue in the boudoir, mon cher." Tintin suggests. The words leave his mouth and Haddock scoops the smaller into his arms, carrying him as if he weighs nothing.
He deposits Tintin onto his bed gently and moves to lie beside him. Tintin grins, freckled cheeks glowing pink. He straddles Haddock again, bolder now. He nibbles the sailors earlobe and whispers, "I won't break."
Haddock lies stiff, heart pounding hard in his chest. He wants Tintin, has wanted him for a long time, and now that the boy is willing he is having doubts. Does Tintin know what their doing, is he aware of what their actions would mean?
Sensing his hesitation, Tintin halts. "If you don't want to, we can wait, Captain." He says kindly. In their proclamations of love he got swept up in the momentum, that his friend might not be ready for sex hadn't occurred to him. Usually much more thoughtful, shame burns Tintin. "I apologize for my forwardness, I haven't even asked if you're okay with this."
He moves to dismount the man, stopped by firm hands. Haddock sits up.
"I want you lad, more than you can imagine." He pauses to gather his thoughts. "I don't want to rush you into anything. I don't want to hurt you."
Tintin nods, and then nuzzles his cheek against the Captain's beard and neck. The action sends more blood south.
"I've had sex before, with men and women, but it was simply physical release. Captain, I love you. If we do it now or if we wait, I'll be happy just to be with you."
The reporters lean body is pressed against Haddock's and the man makes his decision.
He flips them over, looming over his lover. He takes the lead with a hungry kiss and Tintin's arms loop around his neck. It doesn't take a lot to make the lad wriggle and arch into him. Pulling away he yanks the boys sweater off, admiring the sight of alabaster skin. Suppressing a smug grin, Haddock moves his mouth to Tintin's flat chest. He sucks the buds of his nipples, drawing the most wonderful moans from the youth.
Whining, Tintin pulls at his navy blue sweater. Haddock obligingly removes it, chuckling at the boys amazed expression.
"See something you like?"
Instead of answering Tintin skims his hands along the Captain's sides, sending a shiver down his spine.
"Marvelous." Tintin murmurs. Haddock's frame is built for power, layered with hard muscle and calloused flesh. Dark hair covers the expanse of his chest and soft middle. He goes to unbutton the Captain's slacks, earning a squawk.
In moments they are both naked. Haddock rubs Tintin's length, pleased to hear the boy suck in a sharp breath. He ducks and takes Tintin's arousal in his mouth. Frantic fingers take purchase on his shoulders, Tintin's hips involuntary thrusting. Haddock's holds him in place and continues to suck.
Becoming more vocal, Tintin isn't sure he will last. Before he reaches the tipping point Haddock stops. Breathing heavily, the sailor asks if he wants to go further. Flushed and panting, Tintin nods dumbly.
Haddock retrieves a glass bottle of oil from his nightstand and slicks his member. Using his oiled digits he prepares Tintin. Two fingers scissor the lads tight ring of muscle, and he works in a third. He takes his time, wanting to thoroughly stretch his lover. Fingers pushed into the knuckle, he hits the boy's magic spot. Tintin gasps, curling forward to recline on his elbows.
Haddock grins and tells him to lie down. He lines his cock up to the boys entrance.
"If you want me to stop, say so. This will hurt."
Tintin nods and he slowly presses in.
Tintin had been with other men in this way, but it had been years ago. The pain is sharp and burning, but he grits his teeth, features twisting. The Captain stops when he's sheathed, brushing away the tears Tintin hadn't felt.
Haddock waits for him to get used to the feeling, moving only when Tintin says it's okay.
The first few thrusts are shallow and uncomfortable for the boy. Soon the tingling returns to his pelvis and he shifts to meet the Captain's hips.
Haddock brushes against that spot again and an embarrassing whimper worms out of Tintin's mouth. He aims for that spot again and mouths Tintin's throat. Tintin mews, head flinging to the side. His nostrils flare, the smell of tobacco, musk, and sea salt filling his nose. It is a unique smell that belongs to the Captain.
The man continues to snap into Tintin, grasping his dripping arousal in his hand. He pumps Tintin's cock as he thrusts. The friction is his undoing, and the boy cries out as he comes. Ramming in three more times, Haddock's member twitches and he empties his seed in his lover.
They lay panting, sweat glistening on their bodies. Tintin rests his head on Haddock's chest, listening to his thundering heartbeat. Haddock's arm wraps around his shoulders and squeezes.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" He asks.
Tintin feels the swell of love and leans up to press a lightning fast kiss on Haddock's cheek.
"Not at all, mon cher."
"...you're…" Haddock stammers nervously. "Tintin, I love you so much. You're sure you want to spend your life with an old man like me?"
Tintin immediately says, "I've never been more certain of anything."