"My head is weary, yet I cannot sleep," Hamlet whispered, true fatigue apparent in his voice. He wanted Horatio to take the burden off his shoulders. He wanted him to take all the pain and suffering and turn it to love and healing. He wanted his mind to be clear. "Help me my friend."
Horatio didn't know what to do. He was torn between his love for his friend and his duty as the Prince's companion. Between passion and duty. Not only was it sacrilege to be homosexual, it would be blasphemy for him to do stuff to royalty - wanted or unwanted.
"I can't. I'm sorry," he said, going against his heart. "That kiss was in the past, and that's where it will stay."
"So you put your duty before your heart?" Hamlet interrogated in disgust. He snapped his head up. Horatio sighed. He reached up for the boy's head and pushed it lightly so it rested on his shoulder again.
"I don't mind comforting you as a friend," he stated. He let his hand linger there for a while, running his fingers through the soft white hair. "Remember, I'm your friend first and a servant to the Prince second."
"Then why won't you love me?" Hamlet sounded like a frightened child. This scared Horatio. Maybe Hamlet had sunk so far into the depths of insanity that he couldn't think straight at all. Gone were the random rants of nothing but something at the same time. 'He must be tired from all that thinking and plotting. All the scheming and inaction... All the revenge and hate must be seriously draining his energy,' he thought to himself, moving so Hamlet's head fell into his lap and he was cradling him with his arms.
"Just rest," he told the Prince. He smiled down at him.
What happened next startled Horatio probably as much as it startled Hamlet; their lips met. Horatio's eyes were wide as he let Hamlet's tongue intrude his mouth. Slowly, very slowly, he closed his eyes, enjoying the passion that bloomed like Spring between them. He ran his hands across Hamlet's hair and down his neck.
As sudden as it had happened, they had stopped. Hamlet collapsed back onto his friend's lap, running his moist tongue across his tingling lips. His cold eyes met Horatio's warm ones and he smiled.
"What was that?" Horatio cautioned. The Prince must be in the wrong state of mind. He was worried about what he would do next.
"It depends what you'd call it. In your language it would be called a kiss; a pash; playing tonsil-hockey; call it what you like. But to me it is called proof," Hamlet said, sitting up and facing Horatio with the tension of a cat about to pounce. Horatio knew this look well enough. It meant trouble.
"Proof of what?" he asked, watching Hamlet closely.
"Proof that you feel more than loyalty towards me. Proof that it's passion you feel and even if you are too stubborn to give me yourself, I can take it from you and you would be willing."
"I thought you liked girls," Horatio spoke, edging slightly away. He was certain that he knew what Hamlet was about to do and didn't want it to happen. If it happened it couldn't unhappen and anything could happen. He had to re-ponder this thought before he could understand what it meant.
"But girls are a waste of my time." Hamlet crawled closer so that his face hovered over his startled friend's face. "Let's try it. Let's have a little intrigue..." he whispered, laying his body on top of Horatio's. Horatio fell back, shocked, but he didn't struggle; somehow he wanted this. He stared quietly up at Hamlet's cold eyes and mean expression. Did he really care about him if it wasn't meaningful?
Hamlet's mind was whizzing. Nothing made sense to him anymore. He was frightened of himself. But one thing was clearer to him than anything else: he wanted his friend to comfort him, to love him and make him feel better. He felt tears spring into his eyes and he put his lips onto Horatio's, drawing in a long kiss and willing himself to stop being so weak. He was draining Horatio of his strength and courage and was absorbing it. He clasped Horatio's wrists and pushed his arms above his head. He then proceeded to undress him, still kissing him hard.
Feeling light-headed now, Hamlet wrenched apart their kiss, sitting back on his knees and staring down at the panting boy. He completed taking off his jacket and unbuttoning his pants silently, while fixing Horatio with his mean steely-eyed stare. Horatio felt like a mouse hypnotised under a snake's glare. He didn't want to protest or move because Hamlet could strike, but just to lay there while the obscene boy committed several atrocities against him... If someone found out about this, they could say that Horatio - who was the only person that Hamlet trusted - took advantage of the unstable Prince and he would be hung without a second thought.
"Hamlet? Are you sure...?" Horatio started, placing a hand on the Prince's chest, pushing him back.
Hamlet knocked away his friend's arm. "Ssh. Sometimes it's better if you just... act. Some of the greatest, most passionate acts were done in the moment and not thought about. This is one of... those things," he whispered, touching and stroking Horatio's naked body. He liked the way he could control the boy with just a touch of his fingers. It fulfilled his desire for something he was in power of, because his own life and destiny wasn't his own anymore.
"Have you ever done this before?" Horatio asked nervously. He didn't want to be hurt. His heart was beating painfully fast in his chest. Maybe what Hamlet said was right... But he didn't want it to hurt.
"Sort of," Hamlet breathed into Horatio's ear. "I did it with Ophelia... But I guess doing a guy is different?" he said it as a question. But before he could launch into the philosophy and complications of 'doing it' with a guy, Horatio kissed him back.
"Just like you said... No more thinking... Just plain acting," Horatio explained to the shocked Hamlet, panting slightly. He had chosen to go with his passion and let the Prince do what he wanted to his body. After all, this is what he wanted deep down.