PART 7
By Lizard
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Horatio lays motionless in his cot, arms rigid at his sides and forces his breathing to soften so that he may listen to his friend's gentle intakes of air. The faintest grey light of dawn leaks in through the barred cell window, allowing him to vaguely make out Archie's shape opposite him. Although the quiet seems serene to an outsider, no such serene thoughts are going through Horatio's mind. Disturbing images of something he dares not name even to himself flash before his eyes. Quick snatches of the nightmare he had yesterday following his encounter with Archie and his forefinger - he tries half-heartedly to grasp at them and identify them, but he knows he cannot. Should not. He continues to lay there, still as a statue, remembering with self-disgust and confusion the state he was in when he awoke; feet and hands cold because of the blanket he had kicked off in his sleep; sweat trickling down the sides of his head and dampening his back making his shirt stick uncomfortably; and most notably of all a raging erection lifting his nightshirt up several inches away from his body.
Horatio ponders once again about Archie's actions yesterday. What could have got into the man? Was he just showing his friendship? A way of forgiving me for my ridiculous and unfounded outburst? Questions, questions, and more questions. No answers. And he dares not question himself, or try to find a reason for his own actions, or lack thereof. If one were to ask him why he had stayed so perfectly still as Archie had...*explored* his face, he will not know what to say. All he is aware of is that every sensible part of his brain had seemed to shut down, leaving only the most raw of senses functioning. Breathing in Archie's scent, his flavour. Hearing the thick silence around them being broken by their slightly laboured breaths. Seeing Archie's innocent blue eyes darken into something not so innocent, and far more enticing. Feeling that smooth fingertip glide languorously over his face. The only sense that had not been played with was taste...
That thought brings such an image to Horatio's mind that he swiftly turns on his side and draws his arms and legs inwards tightly, shutting his eyes in a hope that he can drive away such confusing and...sinful thoughts. What is happening to him? Can it be that he is...*attracted* to Archie? He had heard stories of men being sexually involved - most shocking of all were the rumours he had heard of Jack Simpson and Archie. But he is not like that base, self-serving monster! He would never dare to harm his dear friend in such an unclean and selfish manner!
Perhaps the lack of female companionship has...made his body turn to intimacy with men? He cringes at the vile thought, disgusted at his uncontrollable sexual urges. My best friend needs my care and attention most of all at this difficult time, and what do I do? I...I am...I cannot even say it to myself.
Horatio's inner turmoil continues for another few minutes, though to him it seems like torturous hours. Finally he comes to a decision - he will approach Archie and ask him as coolly and calmly as possible what he had meant by his actions the previous day. He rehearses what he will say to him, determined not to let anything alert Archie to what his own reaction had been. But not yet - he will not ask Archie that day, it is too soon. He might unwittingly lose control, and...he did not know *what* he might do, but Horatio could feel that palpable tension on the verge of coming to fruition, a black swirling mass of emotion and feeling that he dreaded; and yet was thrilled by.
Coming to the conclusion that he would ask Archie about the matter tomorrow, he unwinds from his scrunched-up position on his cot to a slightly more relaxed state, drawing the blanket up to his chest and putting his hands behind his head. As if pulled by some invisible magnetism, he turns his head to look at Archie's back as he lays peacefully in sleep. A little more sunlight now trickles through the window, tinting that familiar blonde hair a bright golden-brown in places, making it stand out in comparison to the drab grey blanket covering the rest of his body. Horatio remains motionless and unconsciously contemplates the aesthetic beauty of those strands of shining hair, mussed up with sleep. Imagining what it would feel like to run his fingers slowly through it...
This is the last thought to pass through Horatio's mind before he closes his eyes and dozes off.
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