PART 6
By Lizard
The following day, the atmosphere in that dimly lit cell is as strained as ever, if not more so. Rallying his spirit like the good sailor he was, Horatio tries to lessen the palpable tension with light, inconsequential conversation, even a joke here and there. But it is no use - contrary to its purpose, it only makes the two men even more aware of their difficult predicament. Archie racks his brain to find some way of alleviating it, even slightly - they were, after all, living together in this cell and it would only make each other's company harder to bear if the seemingly unbreakable silence that had permeated the cell for the past two days was not breached.
In an attempt to cover up a particularly awkward moment of quiet that evening, Horatio bluntly says, "I believe you are becoming too lazy for your own good, Archie. It's time you had some exercise to strengthen your legs." Without further ado, he reaches a hand out towards Archie to pull him up off his cot. Archie hesitantly takes it and, grasping Horatio's arm with his other hand, he is pulled up from the cot and set unsteadily upon his legs; hoping beyond hope that he would not betray himself. Living in the same room was bad enough, this close proximity would be torture. He straightens his back as much as he can and, using Horatio's shoulder as a support, begins to slowly walk around the room.
'You see, Horatio, I am not as lazy and weak as you would have me be. Have my legs stood the test?' Despite his bravado, he is genuinely in some discomfort, and Horatio wisely ignores this self-assured statement and slides his arm around Archie's waist. He is dismayed to feel how thin his friend has become from lack of nourishment and unconsciously he hugs him closer to his body as he anticipates their pending escape from the prison. His fingers spread over the flesh on Archie's side and rub slightly, instinctively seeking to give and receive as much body heat as possible. A burgeoning warmth begins in Horatio's chest, which he decides to call contentment.
Archie feels another emotion entirely. Panic. The stroking fingers on his side seem to make his skin all over his body even more sensitive. With the arm around his waist, there is nowhere else to place his own arm but across Horatio's back. He continues to walk stiffly along - his muscles causing him a little pain, his insides causing a different pain as they roil around within him. As a consequence, Archie grips his friend's shoulder sporadically, hoping it will somehow stop him from doing anything he might regret, though his abdomen burns with the urge to touch further, stroke, caress, *feel*...Silently he curses Horatio for being so solicitous.
Horatio is no less worried than ever - the tight grip his friend had on the flesh of his back was surely signalling that he had had enough exercise for one day. He breaks the heavy silence with the words, "I think that's enough walking for you, old man. You deserve a rest." He turns his head to smile encouragingly at his friend, only to see his eyes closed in what seems to be relief. He gently leads Archie back to his cot where he sits down upon it with a small sigh. Horatio hovers over him, wondering what he can do next to keep silence from overwhelming them again as it so often does. Spying the comb on the little table between their cots, he whisks it up and says in the semblance of a teasing voice, "Come along, Archie, I shall tidy up that mass of hay upon your head. Just because you are sick does not mean you may look like an animal."
Archie's strained face suddenly splits with a slightly too wide smile. "I'm surprised you are not looking your usual well-groomed self, Mr Hornblower; especially with the Duchess in residence." A spark in Archie's eyes at this last comment thankfully goes undetected. "And besides, who are you to complain? At least I have an excuse for looking beastly." Without a reply, Horatio sits down beside Archie on his cot and begins to restore some order to the messy blonde hair. Archie sits as still as possible and watches the furrow of concentration on his friend's brow. His nostrils flare as he breaths in his scent. At that moment, Horatio looks down into Archie's eyes and he starts at the darkened and dilated pupils. Wondering what on earth could have gotten into his friend, he tries to open his lips to speak. But he cannot - that warmth of contentment in his chest now rises in temperature and he feels suddenly light-headed. Whatever was about to happen was undoubtedly a wickedness of some sort to hold his attention upon his friend in such a manner. Despite a growing anxiety at the back of his mind, he still stares deep into Archie's eyes. Out of the corner of his field of vision, he sees Archie's fingers gripping the bed-sheet in the same manner they had gripped his shoulder. Notices the faint glimmer of sweat on the golden skin of his forehead, the slight tightening of the muscles around his mouth - caused by his exertions earlier, no doubt, Horatio says to himself briskly. Even as he thinks this, his hand holding the comb falls back onto his lap.
Archie watches the shifting emotions upon Horatio's face. Everything suddenly seems to be in sharp focus - he concentrates his gaze on the short stubble on Horatio's chin. The dark curly hair laying messily on his forehead and over his ears. The sharp angles of his cheek bones, further accentuated with the lack of good food; creating shadows below his eyes. And those eyes...those deep brown eyes darkening with an indescribable emotion - Archie dares not call it lust. He doubts whether Horatio himself knows what he is feeling. But Archie cannot help himself - the urge to make contact is too much to hold back. Lifting his hand, he touches the skin beneath his friend's eyes with the tip of his forefinger, noticing the tell-tale signs of weariness there. Moves to brush over his left eyebrow; the soft hairs tickling slightly, but Archie rigorously stops his finger from jerking lest he break the magic that is holding Horatio so still and complying. The finger glides down the smooth cheek to the dip in the centre of Horatio's upper lip, then down to touch the lower one. The lips part involuntarily, the tiniest of gaps allowing his warm breath out to bathe that forefinger.
A sudden sharp clanging and squealing sound shatters the fog around the two men as a faraway un-oiled gate is roughly opened and shut. Their hearts leap in alarm and start pounding in their chests. Archie drops his finger quickly down to his side, amazed that Horatio has allowed things to proceed as far as they had. Horatio snaps his head down to look at his hand limply holding the comb in his lap. He suddenly grips it hard, the teeth of the comb biting into his palm. Standing up with renewed vigour partially fuelled by his still furiously beating heart, he makes a general comment about their cell looking more of a pig sty than it already was and potters around the cell setting things straight. Always making sure his gaze is averted.
Archie remains sitting for a while contemplating this new development. After some fierce internal debate, his old caustic sarcasm saves the day and allows him to see the humour in the situation, and one corner of his lips lift in a reluctant smile. Archie swivels round to lie down on the cot, thinking about what Horatio's response to his actions might signify.
When Horatio next dares to throw his glance in the direction of the cot, he sees his friend lying on his side, turned away from him, seemingly fast asleep.
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