A/N: THIS CHAPTER IS DEFINITELY RATED M 'cause author has no self-control; it most likely will be the only one, but I'm still changing the overall story rating as well. (You know, I've been wondering, doesn't this technically count as underage? I mean Hamlet's around 17 not quite 18, whereas Horatio's about 21, so…)
Also, I'm sorry about the huge break. Writing is being difficult with me, and it's been a long while so I'm afraid continuity may suffer for it. I'm kind of absorbed in video games and classes right now ('cause loser loner here) so I'm not sure how much more active I'll be. But I'm in the process of writing the next chapter. Not gonna promise anything but the wait shouldn't be as long.
You guys can try bothering me at any time, on this account or on my tumblr, url: forevertruantlydisposed. (I may or may not be trying to discreetly build up a HamHor playlist there, if you're interested in something like that.)
-caelumdeity

5.

Hamlet grins brightly, never tiring of the sensation of backing Horatio onto the bed, or any nearby surface really. He loves hearing Horatio gasp his name and mutter words, sweet and obscene, in his ears like he's exalting a deity. He especially gets a thrill when Horatio starts responding in earnest, throwing the rest of his reservations on the floor to lie with their clothes, and simply encompassing Hamlet in everything that he is.

Today, though, today Hamlet is searching for something more, and he'll be damned if he lets himself get distracted again. He lets out a slow breath as he backs away and pulls at the hem of Horatio's jeans.

"I can't get them off with you on me," Horatio smiles up at him, fingers dancing under Hamlet's shirt, stroking his sensitive abdomen.

Hamlet huffs and raises himself and splays his hands over Horatio's chest, but doesn't move much more than that, giving him a challenging look. "What about now?"

Horatio's smile turns into a grin. "If I knee you in the ass it's not my fault," he simply states as he wiggles out of both his pants and underwear for good measure and manages to kick them off onto the floor. Before Hamlet can lay back over him, however, Horatio pushes him gently but firmly. "Don't think I don't know what you're trying to do."

Hamlet doesn't even try to deny it, simply shifting his weight and looking at Horatio plaintively. "Why don't you want to do it? I think we've put off talking about this long enough."

Horatio sighs, sitting up and nervously petting Hamlet's stomach, looking off at a point just over his shoulder. "It's not really that I don't want to it's just…I don't exactly have the best track record."

"What? How bad could you possibly be when everything else we do is amazing?"

He frowns and looks at Hamlet from the corner of his eye. "The, uh, the last time I tried it didn't work out too well."

Hamlet frowns in confusion and tilts Horatio's head to face him. "What?"

"He said it was hurting too much so we stopped and he broke up with me a week later," Horatio mutters quickly, eyes still avoiding Hamlet's.

Hamlet stares at him for a moment, trying to hold in his laughter of disbelief. "Oh God, 'Ratio," he sighs, nuzzling his neck for a moment before placing his hands on Horatio's shoulders and insistently looking him in the eye. "If you were even half of what you're like with me when you were with him, I'm pretty certain that that wasn't the issue. It's that other half I'm worried about." When Horatio makes a protesting noise, Hamlet comforts him with a quick kiss. "You have to admit, as perceptive as you are you can be really horrible at emotions. Emotionally stupid, you could say." He gives Horatio another, deeper, kiss and subconsciously lowers his voice. "There is no way I could possibly let you go over something stupid like that." He suddenly brightens again. "If it's not absolutely perfect, so what? Why do you think 'practice makes perfect' is such a hackneyed saying?"

Horatio takes a deep breath. "You're sure?"

"Positive." Hamlet bumps their foreheads together. "I trust you." When Horatio still looks hesitant Hamlet gives him a sly smile and slides his hands lower. "You want to, too, right? I promise that I'll tell you if we need to stop."

Horatio swallows thickly and Hamlet can feel his hands inching up underneath his shirt. "I don't have condoms."

Hamlet tilts his head. "It should be fine, right?"

"R-right. Yeah, I'm not sure what I was thinking…"

"We'll go slowly," Hamlet promises, kissing Horatio softly and pushing his hands even lower.

Horatio finally nods, leaning in to reattach his mouth to Hamlet's neck, gently grazing his teeth against Hamlet's skin. At this point the only thing stopping him from making stupid comments is the fact that Horatio is all over him again, even if it is tentatively, and Hamlet focuses on relieving Horatio of that lingering worry.

Hands roam over bodies without bounds and clothes are slowly, almost tortuously so, peeled away and cast aside. Horatio ravishes Hamlet's neck, a favored spot of his, and Hamlet can't exactly complain between the gasps and whines. It's as if Hamlet can feel Horatio's change in demeanor, and when Hamlet's pulling is met by Horatio pushing against him they end up flipping over. There's a pause and Hamlet opens his eyes curiously only to have to contain some laughter at the shocked expression on Horatio's face. Before Horatio can think about it for too long, Hamlet slides his glasses off and while he's busy adjusting Hamlet places the glasses on the bedside table, exchanging it for the tube he knows is hiding in the drawers, and slaps it down into Horatio's open palm. "Do you want to do it or do I have to?"

"Fuck," he eloquently whispers, coating his fingers carefully but as quickly as possible. When Horatio looks up again, gray green eyes dark and face flushed, Hamlet nods before he can say anything else.

It's a little excruciating, telling his body what his mind already knows, and Hamlet discovers it's definitely not the same as trying it out by himself. He wants to say something, to get Horatio to go just a little bit faster, even though he knows he can't and that this is important, especially if he wants Horatio to ever trust himself with this again. The one time Hamlet does start to panic, when he's sufficiently physically prepared, he shoves away the thought in annoyance as soon as it appears; it's definitely not something either of them needs, and it's definitely something he doesn't regret ignoring.

Hamlet relishes the feeling, brings Horatio closer to him and presses his head back into the pillows as Horatio continues lavishing his neck with attention. If it were under any other circumstances, Hamlet would say something about the river of words flowing out of Horatio's mouth whenever it isn't otherwise occupied, but as it is, Hamlet is kind of glad he can't really form any sort of intelligent thought. He enjoys the feelings of protection and trust and love, of Horatio embracing him so completely and purely, as much as he enjoys the pleasure of it. When their eyes happen to meet, Hamlet is a little surprised to find a hint of a similar experience in Horatio's eyes and groans quietly, eyes fluttering shut almost immediately after as he's completely overwhelmed, clenching tightly to every part of Horatio that he can.

When Hamlet comes back to his senses, Horatio is whimpering into his neck, clenching his waist. "Hamlet, I—I need to—I'm going to—"

Hamlet is aware enough to realize that Horatio's trying to pull away and interrupts him, holding him physically as he breathlessly snaps, "Don't you dare go anywhere."

Horatio chokes out a word that sounds sort of like "but" before cursing quietly and kissing him soundly. Hamlet responds just as fervently, riding on the unadulterated affection and contentment thrumming through his body.

Their kisses gradually become slower and tamer, to the point where they're more a simple brush of lips than anything substantial.

"God, Hamlet."

Hamlet gently shushes him, running his hands through Horatio's hair before settling his arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer, prompting a low whine. "Can you honestly tell me you have the energy to clean up right this second? Thought so. Now let me bask, damn it."

"'Lettie."

"What now?"

Horatio presses a thumb to a rather prominent mark on Hamlet's neck and Hamlet starts. "Sorry."

"For what? You know I like it," Hamlet mutters, still intent on reveling in the after-glow for as long as he can.

"It's a little high on there, though."

"Stop worrying; it's fine. Now stop talking or I'll make you."

Horatio sighs but kisses him on the forehead. "Don't forget you have to go home tonight."

"'Ratio!" Hamlet whines.

Horatio laughs, giving him another kiss in apology, pulling the covers over them the best he can, settling his arms around Hamlet and resigning himself to a nap.