Apologies for my long absence, but it seems the Fall is when my boys speak to me, so here is just a tiny bit more.
Horatio had no sooner closed the drawer full of memories when he heard movement in the hall, and then his door opened without warning. He jumped up guiltily as Kennedy strode in wearing an odd, almost angry expression. Worse, the boy veered around him directly to the wardrobe. He was just about to begin a stammering apology, when Archie, kneeling down, pulled open the other drawer instead, extracting the robe and tossing it toward him.
"Put that on Hornblower, and get out of your clothes." His friend's motions were still abrupt and impatient, but there was a tight smile aimed vaguely in his direction, so Horatio decided that whatever Archie was feeling, he was not the cause.
"Why am I undressing, Kennedy?" Out of habit he was already obeying the boy, of course, fingers undoing his buttons and stock.
"Archie." Apparently he was not working fast enough, for the boy came at him, hands raised. Horatio immediately abandoned the top of himself to Kennedy, and began on the more dangerous lower buttons.
"Archie?" He felt very thick, but still did not understand what was happening, and found it hard to gather his thoughts with his friend so close, fingers brushing his neck as the stock was worked free. It reminded him of cold nights on the ship.
"Archie." The boy said decidedly. "You promised to use my Christian name on my birthday. And I am dressing you for the party."
"What, now? Today is your birthday?" Horatio realized Kennedy hadn't actually said the day. He'd been under the impression the family party would be the following night.
"So my mother has always said. I was born at just after four o'clock in the afternoon. So I am eighteen now, and your senior." This wasn't meant exactly to be serious, despite the flat tone. Horatio could tell by the quirk of those expressive lips, just a few inches away.
The boy peeled away his waistcoat, his jacket already gone, and was touching him rather intimately, spanning his chest, waist, and hips with quick hands. "Kennedy!" He protested as the other brushed his breech placket, pressing there with widespread hands.
"Archie," the boy reminded him, spinning him about to continue the groping around the circumference of his body. The quick measurement was punctuated by a stinging little slap on the buttocks. "You have a plump arse, Hornblower, for such a beanpole otherwise. Finish getting out of those things and I'll be back."
"You can't just— But what am I— Kennedy, wait!" The infuriating lad ignored his protests, however, and went out the door with his jacket in hand, leaving Horatio feeling flushed, humiliated, and very aware of the lingering tingle in his seat.
Kennedy had a talent for maneuvering him into situations where he could not effectively respond to the boy's outrageous behavior and presumption. Unwilling, however, to risk a fight with the imp in the Kennedy home, and on the boy's birthday, Horatio gave up trying to understand what was happening, and just finished the work of stripping down to his undergarments.
Thinking he might as well be prepared, he washed up, and even scraped a razor over the few hairs ambitious enough to shadow his jaw and upper lip since breakfast. By the time Kennedy returned, arms full of clothing, Horatio was snugly tucked into the robe, and somewhat more composed. He thought it best to speak first and prevent being overset again. "What is wrong with my own clothing?"
"Nothing, Horatio, nothing. Though your coat could do with a brushing, it still had crumbs in the pockets! I gave it to my brother's valet to handle." Archie laid the burden down on the bed, and looked Horatio up and down, nodding. The boy started for the robe sash, but Horatio was before the lad, undoing it and tossing the warm, lush thing onto a nearby chair. The room felt just a little chill in its absence, but he stood bravely tall, enjoying the blink of surprise on his friend's face. He felt awkward, truthfully, being aware of how gawkish he was in comparison to his friend's compact muscularity, but if Kennedy was determined to dress him like a doll, better to have it over with quickly.
Archie hesitated long enough for Horatio to look down at himself, wondering if he had some unsightly blemish, as his skin was prone to, or had improperly fastened his underclothes. It all seemed as normal, however, and then Kennedy was handing him a shirt in a light delicious linen.
"Try that. Mine are all too short for you." Horatio pulled it on silently, half-embarrassed at his friend's continuing close attention. "That looks well," Kennedy finally pronounced. Warm hands felt at his underarms and waist, checking the fit of the garment. It was still a touch short in the arms, Horatio thought, but perhaps that was the fashion.
"I don't understand." He did up the front but his friend took over the cuffs, not answering him. "Whose shirt is this?" This too, was ignored, setting off a wash of unease. Had one of Kennedy's brothers, embarrassed by his middle class appearance, made an offer of a loan? Robert was closer to his height, and a dandy from what little Horatio had seen. Flushing at the thought, he was suddenly quite aware of the velvet bed curtains, the fine porcelain pitcher nearby, the difference between the shirt he was now wearing, and his own shirt, of which he had been so proud at Christmas, but now seemed coarse and skimpy.
Horatio pulled his hands free and started to undo the buttons again. "There is nothing the matter with my clothes, Kennedy! I know mine is not as fine as your uniform– " in truth, though made of dearer cloth, months of Kennedy's careless laundering and Simpson's predations had erased this advantage. "But surely it is no disgrace to your family that I wear my own to your party?"
"No disgrace to my family, but it is to me," Archie snapped, pulling Horatio's hands away again. "Stop that and put this on." The boy held out a pair of breeches.
Horatio ignored them, stepping back and drawing himself up to his full height, fighting with himself not to return the petulant tone. "I am sorry that my purse doesn't extend to a finer wardrobe, Mr. Kennedy. But my father is just a country doctor and this is what I can afford, and I do not need your charity." He said with what he hoped was dignity.
His friend scowled at this rebellion, and caught him by the front of his borrowed linen before Horatio could step farther away. His shirt was shaken until he looked down into snapping blue eyes that bore into his own uncomfortably. "Hornblower, I don't give a rat's arse that you don't have money. There's nothing wrong with you, your father, or your damnable clothes. But they are all you brought. You'll be sitting across from me tonight, and I don't want to spend my birthday supper staring at a bloody Navy uniform! So stop puffing, button up, and put on the blasted breeches."
And with that, Horatio's rising anger was punctured like a pig's bladder.
"I see, Ken— Archie." He corrected himself before his friend could glare harder, and took the breeches from him. "If that is the reason..." Horatio felt small again as he slipped them on, his frustration with his friend churlish and unkind. Of course, with what had happened, Kennedy had no love of naval things. In fact, after all he had heard from Anne, on top of what he had witnessed on the Justinian, Horatio wondered that the other boy was taking a new commission at all. Given Kennedy's infirmity and clear unsuitability, the boy surely would have been excused from service, even in the exigencies of wartime.
Horatio recalled Miss Kennedy's reference to her brother's second assignment, arranged so soon after returning from the boy's tragic first. And how her father had sent Archie off again to the Justinian despite the new affliction and other issues from the midshipman's voyage to India. If Archie had been given no choice about whether to put to sea again, it would explain much of the boy's poor discipline and resentful temperament. Exiled from his family and placed in company with the likes of Simpson, with ill health and no vocation.
Surely things would be better on the Indefatigable. Archie had been so merry, that day aboard her in Portsmouth, all knowledge and eagerness for battle. This morning in the library proved that the boy's love of ships and sailing had not been utterly extinguished. Naturally the change, and the chance to serve under a fine captain in defense of their nation would restore the passion for their duty and life at sea for both of them.
They had only to get back to it, and for that he must first navigate this evening between his mercurial friend and the uncertain temper of the earl. He attended to settling and fastening the breeches. They were a fine gray broadcloth, a good length, but the waist, even buttoned, was loose. He must look ridiculous, and those demanding hands were wandering about him again, testing the waistband, pulling on the front placket, smoothing over his buttocks as well. His guilt at provoking his friend began to fade under his irritation at being treated like an object and the distracting awareness of each impersonal touch.
"Not bad, but you're too skinny, Horatio." The boy undid the fasteners, and from somewhere produced a needle, already threaded. "Don't move, I don't want to prick you," Archie warned, then reached inside the waistband and played with the fabric, pinching and making a few quick stitches. Horatio sucked in his stomach and stood still as the same treatment was done to the other side. He had not realized the boy was deft with a needle, but of course, they all had to make or mend their own clothes on the ship, and Archie had been sailing, and mending, a good many years now.
His friend's fingers were inside the breeches now, slipping down outer and inner thigh, tugging the fabric of the smalls and the tails of his shirt to lie better under the snug fit of the garment, and oh God, brushing his cock in the process. He willed his body to be dead, cursing his inclination to make salacious every innocent, helpful gesture. He ought to be grateful that Kennedy was so willing to do him this service, to even be near him. To trust him not to misinterpret. Horatio closed his eyes as Archie tugged at the waist, now far more close, fastening it and then running a hand across the front, checking the fit. Surely only seeing that all lay as flat and tight as fashion required.
Before he could pull back from the overfamiliarity, the boy was done. Now Archie was holding up two waistcoats. One was a lovely rich blue embroidered with vines and flowers. The other a dull red, but silk, with silver buttons cast in the shape of a tudor rose. Neither were from the room's wardrobe. "The red, I think. I see enough of you in blue." Archie handed the object to him.
"I am not allowed my choice?"
"No. It's my birthday." The imp smirked, batting Horatio's hands away, and the lovely buttons—there were suddenly a great number of them—slowly slipped into place.
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