A/N: Content warning: Spice, drunkenness and forcible kissing with questionable consent. I will apologize for my boys, because they don't always feel ashamed when they should.
Considering the amount of wine and port his friend had already consumed, another drink seemed entirely unnecessary, but Horatio found himself trailing into Archie's larger, warmer room anyway. The fire was boiling briskly, and candles were lit everywhere as well, rendering the room fluid with light and shadows. Archie had changed for bed as well, and bronze hair caught the flames, draped loose about the shoulders of a padded silk dressing gown.
Between the impish nose and cheeks flush from wine, and the sleepy smile being aimed in his direction, Horatio wasn't sure he'd ever seen Archie looking more like a cherub. His stomach fluttered nervously as warm hands pushed him down to rest on the wide soft bed, already cluttered with boxes and bags. He had no time to ask about them though, for Archie clambered up beside him to sit tailor style, cupping a cut crystal glass full of amber liquid. "So what do you think of the Kennedys, now that you've met them all?"
"They're very kind." He thought that was the safest thing to say. Truthfully they were more than a little overwhelming as a group, with their clash of accents and energetic manners. Not at all what he expected of the nobility, but alien to him nonetheless.
"We're all noisy beasts, except— except John and mother. And Kitty. She likes you very much. Mother does. I don't know about Kat. Anne too. I knew they would." Kennedy rambled. "But you aren't to even think about Anne, father would never allow it, and I would be desperately jealous." This befuddling warning was punctuated with a poke in the chest.
"I wouldn't dare, and she is too old for me, besides." Making a joke of it seemed best. His feelings for Miss Kennedy were warm and confused, but the thought of more than friendship had not crossed his mind, for several reasons.
His friend scowled at him over the rim of the glass. "Scarce over a year, that's nothing. You do fancy her, of course? Every man who's ever met my sister falls half in love im-mediately! And you've been here three days already." Why should Archie be offended that Horatio hadn't conceived a passion for a sister he wasn't allowed to pay court to anyway? It seemed to be taking familial pride a bit too far.
"She's lovely, Archie, and if I had a sister I would wish her just the same, only a little less pretty." Horatio tried to smile, but Kennedy was looking at him narrowly, still affronted. "But my affections are already engaged." The stare continued, until Horatio blurted out what he was truly thinking. "By her brother."
Horatio could not have said what he expected the reaction to be to such a proclamation, but however Archie did not provide it. The boy only looked away, expression changing to something weary, or even bleak. "You don't mean that," was the flat response.
Horatio knew not what had possessed him to actually say it. Still, his honor would not let him pretend it a falsehood. "I do. But I don't intend to speak of it again, forgive me."
Kennedy only shrugged, and looked down. Seeming to rediscover the glass, his friend took a quick drink, grimacing a little, and then another longer one. Horatio had seen the same expression on Clayton, nursing from that silver flask like a beloved enemy.
"You should stop. You're going to have a miserable headache in the morning as it is." Horatio put his hand out to take the temptation away, but Archie lurched aside, hunching over it protectively.
"I have highland blood in me, Scotch is like mother's milk to us. All it does is make— make me melancholy."
"We can't have that either. It is your birthday after all, you should be happy." His logic did not seem to convince his friend, who took another defiant swallow.
Horatio felt desperate with Kennedy in such a mood. It was too close to the black skulk of Justinian. He wanted the happy Archie from dinner back, full of light and puckish laughter.
Fretful at the hard liquor, which he had not seen Captain Kennedy offer to the younger men, Horatio at last spotted the source of the spirits. A bottle rested on the bedside table, a green plaid ribbon tied into a loose bow about its neck. He was relieved to see that no more than was in Kennedy's glass could be missing.
Kennedy noticed his gaze. "It's from Arch. Brought it down with him, and smuggled it past father. Medicinal. Have no fear, I shall only tap this one." Archie pointed at it a little unsteadily, then leaned closer to 'whisper' confidentially. "There are two more in my sea chest, I'll not even broach until we're on the Indefatigable." The boy sat back up, looking smug. Horatio did not like to think about Archie consuming the entirety of even one bottle alone, or what ills he might be medicating, but it was not an argument to attempt.
Hornblower remembered then the other items strewn across the coverlet. Some still had bits of ribbon attached, or like the books he had chosen with Anne, were gifts he knew had been bought for the occasion. Thinking that they might make a good distraction, he picked one up. "Your family is quite generous, it is like New Year's and St. Nicholas's Day together."
"They are all worried. Worried it'll be the last they s-see of me. My last birthday." Archie laughed louder than the hour required. "Even Robert told me, he paid for a cask to be sent on to Portsmouth. And mother has insisted on new- new boots to go with the uniforms. Says my feet have grown too." The other mid concentrated bleary eyes on what Horatio had in his hand. "That is from Maggie, dear thing." Horatio assumed Archie meant the sister, not the sister-in-law. It was a little sewing case, embroidered painstakingly with a K over blue waves. The inside had flaps of different fabric, each with several needles securely fastened, threaded already with sturdy strands of white, blue, and black. "The lads on the Indefatig-gatible will tease me, I suppose." The prospect didn't seem to alarm Kennedy.
"It's quite thoughtful. Is this from her as well?" A soft cotton bag held more needles, and spools of thread, as well as a few buttons, and patches that looked cut from uniform coat and britches.
"Mm? No, that's from Mary, my mother's maid." If there was something odd about servants giving gifts to their masters, you would not know it from Archie's manner. The boy took both and tossed them toward the foot of the bed with a carelessness that Horatio found shocking. He had not had such homey presents since his nurse had been dismissed when he turned eight.
Worried that Kennedy might begin flinging all the gifts off the bed, Horatio rescued an expensive looking wooden box, flat and latched, that when opened, revealed a lovely paint set. "Oh Archie! You shall be able to make a fine record of our adventures with this!" Even knowing himself to have no talent for it, Horatio found the contents alluring.
But Archie merely shrugged, unimpressed. "Kitty always buys me paints, I think it's all she remembers about me. 'Alex fancies he's an artist.'" This seemed unfair; in Horatio's estimation, all the female members of the family seemed quite devoted to Kennedy. And it seemed a very fine kit, with many brushes and pots, a sharp knife for trimming, and a case of compartments to keep it all tidy even in rolling waves. "As it happens, Si— my last set was ruined. Suppose I can use them." Archie leaned over to close the box, then took another quick gulp of amber liquid. "The journals— there are journals, I think, are from John."
Only Kennedy could find a sad tale to pair with a magnificent present. Horatio suppressed the urge to sigh and carefully set aside the supplies on a nearby table, though not before admiring the binding on the books and the quality of the paper. Returning to the bed, he plucked up something small, hoping it would be less provoking.
It was a little pasteboard box, decorated with a rose that had been cut from an advertisement. It was filled with small white objects the size of peas, with a sweet, floral scent. Unsure, he looked up at Kennedy, who put the Scotch down long enough to lean over and pluck up a couple. Archie popped one in, rolling it about the mouth, then came at Horatio with the other. "Open, H'ratio." A touch unnerved at the sudden proximity, Horatio parted his lips obediently. He felt the pressure of fingers against them and then a taste of sugar and rosewater on his tongue.
"Confits," Archie explained, crunching down, and smiling, hardly pulled back at all, and watching Horatio intently to no obvious purpose. "To sweeten the breath." The smell of anise, Scotch, and roses wafted to him. Horatio found he was blushing and could not say why. He did not ask who had given Archie the candy, and Kennedy did not offer.
To break the tension of that sapphire stare, Horatio plucked up the last gift he could see. It was a fat little canvas bag, with a faint chemical stink. It mixed oddly with the licorice flavor still in his mouth. Opening the top at Kennedy's nod of permission, he found it mysteriously full of blackened fabric, which had already smudged the interior of the sack. "That is from Joey, one of the junior footmen." Archie smiled with a drunken fondness that made Horatio's heart squeeze in foolish jealousy. "When he was just the bootboy he taught me to shine my shoes. So I'd still look my best, you see. When there was no one to do it for me."
Horatio had never noticed Kennedy taking that much care with shoes or any other part of the uniform. Though to be fair, few had, on Justinian. "He has the new boy save the rags that are too full of bootblack. Saves me time. Just grab and a quick rub." Kennedy mimed this clumsily. "It does for ordinary service. Can't be bothered with more." Archie took the bag from Horatio, and with a touch of pique, threw it over the shoulder in the direction of the brass-plated sea chest, missing, of course. "Suppose I will want to make a good impression on the Indy-fatigigable."
It was rather clever, Horatio had to admit, if a bit slapdash. "Your staff seems very attentive." He was quite aware that Kennedy had not shifted back, still close enough to feel perfumed breath on his neck.
"Oh, aye. We've had many of them since we first came to England. Mother hates disruption, and treats them all well, so they stay. As much family as any of us."
It was odd to think his friend and all the older siblings were actually colonials, as were both the earl and countess. Only Lady Anne had the American twang. Captain Kennedy had a touch of a Scottish burr and a great deal of what Horatio thought of as a navy dialect in the way the lord shaped words and bit them out, dropping unneeded letters. The children sounded as British as anyone, save that young Lord Kennedy had apparently embraced the brogue more completely, as would befit a future laird of Scotland. And Archie, of course, had a slippery accent that shifted up and down the social classes more than back and forth across the ocean.
Hornblower thought about that phrase, 'hates disruption' and all it must entail. To have been forced to flee your homeland because of war, and defeat. "Do you miss America?"
"Phht." Archie waved a hand dismissively. "Was scarcely five, don't 'member much." Kennedy seemed indifferent to the question, stooping over to grab the crystal glass again, but then forgetting it to paw around the bed and Horatio's person as if searching for something.
"Where is your token of af-fection, H'ratio? Have I misplaced a gift?"
The unexpected question, even said in a tipsy, whimsical fashion, shamed Hornblower instantly. He didn't want to say that he had been too poor to get Archie anything, especially when the boy had spared him the expense of the coach. But he had been so worried about his finances. It seemed mean and stingy now, with his whist winnings in his pocket, and even the servants managing to bring Kennedy a present. "I.. I'm sorry, Archie. I... didn't know what to get you." Better to seem thoughtless than poor.
"Hmm." The sound trilled near his ear. "You are damned rotten at understanding just what I might want. Odd you know. Usually quite observant." The hoarse near whisper deepened, "Given your earlier dec-laration, an ap-propriate offering just occurrrrred to me. I shall provide a hint, H'ratio." The drunken boy closed eyes and pursed lips, inches away.
Horatio truly did not understand at first. By the time he was analyzing and discarding the idea that Archie wanted to be kissed, he had exhausted Archie's patience. With a little growl his friend snatched his nightshirt to pull him close. Then that pink, wet, alcoholic mouth was on his, insistent, opening him. Horatio felt the breath draw out of him in a fit of vertigo. He thought he would fall over before he was released, every nerve in his body tingling, and completely confused about what had just happened.
"Kennedy!" His friend had sat back with the most cat-like expression, all slit-eyed and sly, with him the mouse. Horatio could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
"Archie. You promised to call me Archie on my birthday." Kennedy was leaning in again, dangerous, flushed.
"Archie, I don't think..."
"Don't think." Archie tipped the cut crystal against his lips. Relieved it was only the glass, and fixed by that intense blue gaze, Horatio took an obedient mouthful.
No sooner had the liquid started to burn, though, than Kennedy was on him again. Archie's tongue, hot and probing, forced its way in to taste the Scotch. Stricken, Horatio swallowed the liquor down, felt the fumes hit the back of his throat even as a conflagration started in his belly. He began to cough, his eyes watering, and Archie ceased the assault on his mouth, trailing lips down to run moist along his jaw, sucking gently.
Horatio felt as if he'd been lit on fire. Burning lungs combined with the scorching path Archie was carving on his skin. He could make no sense of this amorous attack, only that he was inadequately prepared to be sieged. He meant to pull away, intended to push Archie away, but his muscles would not obey him.
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