PART 8
By Lizard
Archie watches Horatio as he drags in the bucket of cold water they have been given to bathe with into the centre of the cell. "There you are, my friend," Horatio says briefly. "You may bathe first while I make our beds." He pushes the bucket to the end of Archie's cot where he can reach it and throws a rag onto his lap to clean with.
Archie thinks for a second. "Think I'm going to need some help from you, though," he tells his friend. Concentrating so hard on not betraying his lack of composure, Horatio doesn't notice the careful, almost tentative tone in Archie's voice, and he nods his head straight away without thinking. Only when his friend looks back at him intensely for a moment does he realise what a dangerous situation he has let himself fall into. With a nervous twitch to his lip, he says half-jokily, "Well, I shall always be nearby, anyway," waving a hand expansively to point out their imprisonment.
Archie smiles. "I know," he replies at length. He quickly looks down, busily loosening the ties on his shirt. His fingers quiver slightly with restlessness as he does so, and his heart once again begins thumping wildly. Taking up the cleaning rag, he wets it and starts to wipe it over his chest, deliberately spending more time on doing so than that action might warrant, flicking his gaze up to Horatio as he does so. Their eyes meet briefly before Horatio quickly turns away. Archie sees this and is mildly amused. When he had been completely bed-ridden, Horatio had been untroubled by the sight of him in a state of undress. They had often chatted away happily while he lay on his cot completely naked beneath his blanket, and not a flicker of discomfort would show on Horatio's face. Archie found this uncharacteristic shyness very endearing.
Horatio quietly smoothes the blanket upon his cot in a rhythmic fashion, but in his mind he is roundly telling himself off. What idiotic filth has taken over your brain, you fool? For heaven's sake, he's only taken his shirt off! You have seen him thus an immeasurable number of times, and even *more* of him than perhaps you would be willing to recall. Damn this accursed cell! If only he were able to get away from Archie for just a moment to gather his thoughts together, then surely he'd find a way to resolve the matter. What folly had he ever committed that the gods thought to punish him with this...attraction? Could they not at least have the decency to wait until they had escaped before sending this demon his way? At least then he would be able to flee to a safe place where he might contemplate rationally. Suddenly feeling silly at his ridiculous thoughts, Horatio turns round smartly towards the other cot just as Archie looks up once again.
Archie licks his lips nervously. "Would you mind washing my back now, Horatio? My arms are somewhat fatigued and I don't think I can reach all parts of my back; not without a brush, anyway." Stopping his speech before he babbles on ceaselessly, he swivels to the side on his cot so that Horatio might sit behind him. Attempting to clear his dry throat, Horatio bravely strides forward and settles on the proffered seat. Forcing himself not to think, he plunges the rag into the bucket of cold water and hesitantly begins to wash Archie's back.
Horatio holds his own back uncomfortably stiff and bites his lip hard to prevent his hand from shaking, ordering his body not to feel any pleasure at the sight of his friend's skin and shoulders. Still unhealthily thin from illness, the shoulder blades stand out sharply. Horatio notices the sparse light freckles on his back. The very faint line of little brown hairs that travels from the nape of Archie's neck, along his back and down where it is cut off from sight by his trouser waist. Bringing his gaze back up to the back of that blond head, Horatio notices how delicate the neck is - slender and smooth and *perfect*. Imagines what it might be like to run his fingers down that neck, over the thin shoulders and along those arms. All coated in that beautiful unmarred golden skin. A hot, swirling sensation begins in the pit of his stomach at the thought. Horatio unconsciously moves the cleaning rag across his friend's body as his imagination dictates, the touch of the rough cloth becoming slower and more caressing.
Archie's eyes are closed in quiet enjoyment, but he suddenly becomes alert at the change in Horatio's movements. Tensing his muscles as he feels Horatio's cold fingers touching the top of his right shoulder. Realising the other hand is still scrubbing his back gently, Archie quickly tells himself not to be such a ninny. Horatio isn't making a pass at you, you daft fool! He is just holding you so that he can wash you properly. But a treacherous little voice at the back of his mind reminds him of what had happened two days before. The look in Horatio's eyes, the lips parting at his light touch. Suddenly, all of his thoughts turn to liquid as Horatio's hand starts to stroke his upper arm and shoulder softly. Oh, that feels so *nice*. Archie's head dips a little as he draws in an unsteady breath.
Horatio's fingers spread to get a firmer grip upon his arm before resuming their stroking. Archie shivers slightly, both from the cold air and from the irresistible sensation of Horatio's fingers sliding over his skin. The hand holding the rag now glides up his spine to the nape of his neck. Round to the side under his ear - he unconsciously turns his head a little to encourage further contact. Realising that Horatio was sure to pull back now, Archie waits disappointedly for the hand to withdraw. His eyes suddenly fly open in startled delight when Horatio brings his arm round to the front. Archie feels the rough cloth scrape slightly, knowing it requires wetting again, and not giving a damn. Just hoping that his friend will not wake from whatever trance he is in and stop his ministrations.
The skin on the underside of Horatio's arm and on the side of Archie's shoulder rub against each other as the hand holding the rag skims across the front of his shoulders. Bumping over the collarbone. Down the middle of the chest to the navel. Archie feels a burning urge growing, starting from where the rag has touched his belly, inching downwards until it coalesces in the form of an uncomfortable erection. He welcomes and regrets this new addition, hoping it would not distract him from the pleasure he was experiencing. The rag slides back up the middle of his chest where it starts to rub in circles. Archie's lips part, allowing his quavering breaths to rush out more easily, and his eyes slip closed. The rag suddenly grazes over his left nipple, causing an intense, slightly painful thrill. A small deep groan escapes from Archie's open mouth.
Hearing the sound, Horatio drops his hands and the cleaning rag in shock. Oh god, oh god, what the hell was he doing? He had lost control, gone absolutely irrevocably out of his mind. He starts to stand, ready to dart away. But he is kept in place when Archie spins around and grasps his wrist. Both men look at each other, their eyes betraying a mixture of thrilling excitement and fear. Horatio looks down at the hand holding him fast, detachedly noticing the contrast between Archie's pale brown skin and his own white-pink hand.
"Archie?" he whispers, looking for all the world like a startled rabbit as his gaze flicks up to meet his friend's. Unable to bear the stifling tension between them any longer, and without allowing rational thought to influence his actions, Archie Kennedy seizes his best friend's face and presses their lips together.
Though the meeting is very brief, the response the kiss evokes is explosive. Not trusting himself to move, Horatio fixes his eyes upon his friend once more, breathing heavy and quick, throat dry, palms starting to sweat and brain struggling to wrench its owner back to reality. Horatio hoarsely repeats, "Archie?"
No less affected by the kiss, Archie slides down slowly over Horatio's neck. Deliberately taking his time so that he would be able to remember the texture and suppleness of the skin there and the pulsing blood vessel on the underside of the jaw. A comfortable emotion settles in his breast - relief. A growing confidence as he realises that Horatio still hasn't removed himself from his hold. At length, when he has had his fill of the sight of his friend's flushed face and the feel of his neck, Archie slowly brings his gaze back to meet Horatio's.
"Yes, Horatio?" he replies, making his voice suddenly husky. With his fingers still on his friend's neck, Archie feels the shifting of muscle as Horatio swallows. The faint clicking noise of this action seems to echo around the little cell with all the startling clarity of a shattered pane of glass.
"What did you do? What are we doing?" Horatio stutters mindlessly, forcing himself not to do anything that might indicate to Archie the immense pleasure the gentle touch upon his neck is inflicting.
"I kissed you, Horatio," Archie states boldly, refusing to let Horatio tear away his gaze. Moving his face slightly closer, he quickly looks down at the lips so close to his own and back up to the dark brown eyes. "And I liked it," he whispers.
Horatio swallows again, panic and confusion filtering through his lust-filled mind, jolting his brain back to working order. With a start, he rears his head back to a safe distance, allowing Archie's hands to fall from his neck. He stands quickly, uncaring of stepping on the long-forgotten cleaning rag he had dropped on the dirty stone floor. Surreptitiously he lifts his right hand and touches his fingers to his lips for a moment, before he catches himself in the act and drops his arm down to his side once more. His heart thumps so hard in his chest as to cause actual physical discomfort. Still reeling with confusion, Horatio opens and closes his mouth several times. But no sound comes out. Unable to bear and further ordeal, he unsteadily returns to his cot.
Frustrated and disappointed, Archie tries unsuccessfully to calm his beating heart and arousal with a deep breath. Shutting his eyes briefly in resignation, he bends down to pick up the cleaning rag. Forcing the events of the last few moments from his mind, he dips the rag back into the bucket of water and resumes taking his bath.
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