12th of July, 193-, Calais
Tintin shifts on bed cautiously. This hostel is … well … hmmm … errr … there probably is not a decent polite way to describe this hostel. But Captain was right, no one would certainly question them here. More probably, they will not even notice them. Plus, it is cheap. He needs to save all possible funds, automatons are sensitive to whims of weather. And to salt water. And to hard impacts. But, great snakes, this bed is going to fall apart any minute. That is another thing, bed, one bed, in room for two. What the crumbs was the receptionist thinking? Was it even receptionist? More importantly, was it even a human being? She … he … it withered them with a look, wrong, with a Look, and then shoved the key to Captain unceremoniously.
Captain himself is … interesting man. At first, Tintin thought that he is just ordinary sailor, but he was quickly proved wrong. And beg your pardon, this is something which does not happen on daily basis. That man does not only know all the stuffs you would expect from any mariner, but knows a lot about technology AND he can navigate a lifeboat to shore without any tools. That is amazing. Furthermore, there are hints that he is properly educated, if only in side-remarks like: "Come on! Nietzsche was idiot." during their pointless chatter. He must have read it to come into such conclusions. The same as Tintin's owns, matter-of-factly. Besides, he does not ask unnecessary questions. He has a stockpile of entertaining stories which he could narrate in absolutely gripping fashion. And on top of that, he is good looking. Tintin's mind wandered off to Captain's broad shoulders and strong arms. Oh, how he wish those hands to wrap around … What the f*ck?! You dirty thought, get out of my head!
Archibald returns, hair still damp from shower, but once again dressed in his anti-summer clothes.
"I need to make a phone call." Tintin forces own eyes away from the man, fighting back a violent blush threatening to conquer his face.
"Rather not at the desk, huh?"
"No."
"There's a public phone nearby. Come."
12th of July, 193-, Brussels
The telephone is buried underneath stacks of files, folders, papers and evidence pieces. That is why it takes so long for detectives to notice it is ringing. And even longer to actually find it.
"Interpol, Brussels Headquarters. Thomson speaking."
"Thomson! God to hear you again."
"Tintin!" Thomson mouths It is him at his colleague.
Thompson throws the files away and attempts to steal earpiece from his co-worker. After small struggle, they end up side by side, heads pressed together, earpiece between them, so they both could listen and talk to their younger friend.
"Good God, boy, we were worried about you." "Are you uninjured?" "Where are you?" "What did you got onto this time?" "Do you need help?"
"Stop!" Tintin laughs, his voice sounding somewhat dull. "I am sorry, I am fine, in Calais, I do not know properly yet and yes."
"In Calais?" Both detectives ask in unison. "How did you got to English continental coast?"
"That is rather long story. I will tell you later." Tintin interrupts their outburst of questions. "But, you were right, crew of 'Karaboudjan' really do smuggle opium."
"We didn't found any traces of it."
"Because they made a secret room for it in … where again? … aha, in main stockroom. You need to tell this to police in Brest."
"Yes, count on it." "Who is there with you?"
"Captain." Tintin says simply. Then he adds, realizing that his friends do not know anything from past four days. "Archibald Haddock. He helped me a lot and he is innocent, so … would you leave him out of it?"
"Is that the help you needed?"
"No. Could you, please, give me all information you have about 'Tournesol Factory' and man named Cuthbert Calculus?"
The famous detectives look at each other, silent with astonishment.
"Detectives?"
"Tintin, you must be a clairvoyant."
"Yes, boy. It is clear that you are a voyager."
"What?" Tintin is used to their somewhat strange expressions, but this time, he could not decipher it.
"Professor Cuthbert Calculus is chief engineer in 'Tournesol Factory'."
"He had been kidnapped few days ago."
12th of July, 193-, Calais
"Calm down, will yer?"
But Tintin simply could not. He is missing something. He does not see the whole picture. So he paces to and fro, a thing which always helps to sort out his thoughts. Archibald is sitting on bed, puffing on his pipe. Milou, knowing its master's habits, is laying underneath window, safely out of way.
"I just simply do not get it!" The ginger reporter retorts. "Why did professor Calculus sent me all his blueprints? Who could have kidnapped him? Why for?"
Captain puts his pipe on the night-table as he rises up. He stops the boy by placing his hands on Tintin's shoulders. "Wow wow wow." Archibald turns him gently to face him. "So many questions."
"I am reporter. Asking the right questions is my job."
Captain's hands are warm. Tintin closes his eyes, leaning unknowingly to the embrace.
I can not concentrate. Why I can not concentrate?
The ginger opens his eyes again, only to be taken aback by intensity of Captain's stare. His eyes are wonderful. Not exactly green, not blue, not grey either, somewhere between. Like sea itself. He could drown in them right now. Without thinking he reaches up, entwines his hands into Archibald's sweater while crushing their lips together. Captain responds immediately, kissing him hungrily back, embracing Tintin tightly.
Think, Tintin, think!
Archibald presses his lips to Tintin's neck, slowly yet determinedly nipping his way down to collarbone. The ginger reporter moans, tilting his head back. Captain slides his arms under Tintin's buttocks, hoists the boy up, recapturing his lips. Tintin returns the kisses, wraps his legs around Captain's waist, not able to suppress his moans. All coherent thoughts escaping his mind. He could vaguely feel that Archibald lays him gently down to bed, his hands roaming all over Tintin's body.
I am missing something.
Tintin presses himself tightly to Archibald, clutching him, surrendering to the stronger man who is kissing him passionately. No, not just kissing, he is worshipping him.
Something important.
Captain's hands gently brush against his thighs and he feels the tingle in his abdomen. His legs spread apart on theirs own, allowing better access to the other, demanding more friction. His breath is hitching, whole body shudders with anticipation.
Who would profit most from fall of 'Tournesol factory'?
Archibald's hands snake theirs way under Tintin's polo shirt. Caressing him, thumbs rubbing in small circles, aiming upwards with torturous slowness. He kisses his earlobe, gently nipping it, eliciting a loud moan from the boy.
Oh. "Oh!" Of course. "I got it!" He pushes Captain away, sitting abruptly.
"Wh…?"
"We need to go to Malbork."
"What? M-Malbork? Now?!"
"We are already late!" Tintin shoots to his feet. "Professor is in grave danger."
"But …"
"We have no time for 'buts'. Hurry."
Archibald looks at Milou, as if the little automaton could know the reason behind its master sudden change of mood.
"Captain, hurry!" Tintin grabs his hand, tugging him up. He claps the cap firmly on Captain's head, who is puzzled beyond possible. Then, with a silent giggle, he tiptoes, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of Archibald's nose. "You know," he smiles at Captain seductively. "There will be plenty of time during the journey to Preußen."
Author's notes
x I don't have anything against Nietzsche, I just needed some famous 19th/20th century philosopher and he came to my mind immediately.
x Calais and Brest are ports (in French) on English continental coast. Actually, original version of Captain's curse "Thundering Typhoons" is "Tonnerre de Brest" [Thunder to Brest].
x Oh, come on! Tintin is a workaholic.