Horatio Hornblower: Eye of the Wind

[fajrdrako_fic]

Title: Eye of the Wind
Author: fajrdrako
Fandom: Horatio Hornblower
Characters: Horatio/Pellew
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine, no claims.


Eye of the Wind

The doctor from Sheffield was talking about greyhounds. Pellew sipped his wine, replying as necessary. The music from the string quartet was delightful, far better than one might expect in an out-of-the-way port like this. The young people were dancing a cotillion, weaving and bobbing. Mr. Hornblower was laughing, struggling to dance on legs more accustomed to the deck of a ship than solid ground. His awkwardness was charming to see.

The pretty girl with him was one of Lady Carpinton's many daughters. She pulled Hornblower aside, out of the dance - clearly enough was enough. She offered him a drink - fruit punch, from local produce - and Hornblower laughed, shaking his head, and then succumbed to her persuasion and drank.

Pellew made himself look elsewhere. The girl was too young to be serious in her flirting. Hornblower was not too young at all, but inexperienced and shy with women. Pellew felt an edge of uneasiness steal over him, and pushed it aside. Had he no confidence in his finest Lieutenant, to fear the lad would tumble into infatuation, or that he would compromise and ruin the girl? Let him enjoy his dance, enjoy the experience of having a coquette on his arm offering compliments and the kind of frivolous conversation natural to these events.

Pellew supposed Miss Eleanor was not at least talking about greyhounds. He and the doctor were joined by a Welsh gentleman, a schoolteacher, and then by another Captain. The conversation drifted to the course of the war, and the cost of gunpowder.

Lady Carpinton herself came over, grasping Pellew's hand. "Sir Edward, will you indulge me in the dance? My husband is so dull, he will never ask me. I am forced to turn to my guests for mercy."

Pellew bowed. "It will be the greatest of pleasures," he said. So it was, when he saw Hornblower staring at him with an expression of surprise. Didn't know your Captain could dance so well? thought Pellew with satisfaction.

When he was seated for a hand of whist with Mr. Grant, Mr. Bennett and a gentleman from Surrey, Lieutenant Hornblower appeared at his elbow. "Captain Pellew, I have come to wish you good night."

"You're leaving?"

"Yes, sir. Forgive me; I am most fatigued. I have already taken leave of our hostess."

"Till later then, Mr. Hornblower. Good night."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Pellew watched Hornblower approvingly as he went. He'd worked hard in the past two days, that being his way, never a whimper of complaint through it. Pellew hid his pride by concentrating on his hand of cards. He knew Mr. Hornblower had made a good impression this evening, with the local authorities and the military as well as the twittering girls.

After the game, there was more talk, and some brandy, and a diverting argument about the role of the Spaniards in the war. Pellew found his mind wandering towards thoughts of comfort, and the room he and Mr. Hornblower were sharing that night. Was he feeling his age? No, it was simply getting late, and he too had endured a long day.

He thanked his hosts, and kissed Lady Carpinton's cheek, which both flustered and pleased her. Then he walked alone to the house where he and Hornblower were billeted, and up the four-storey staircase to their room. Horatio had seemed pleased to be quartered with him, but Pellew knew it was probably small compliment to himself: Lieutenant Fletcher snored and Mr. Bowles talked in his sleep.

There was a lamp lit at the bedside which Hornblower had left so Pellew could see his way. Hornblower himself, no doubt exhausted, had dressed for bed and fallen into it - or, rather, across it, the bedclothes pulled back but only partially covering him. The nightshirt had ridden up to expose a long, muscular leg, bent forward at the knee, and part of one hip and buttock. Pellew looked quickly away, wishing he had not noticed the dark shadow between Hornblower's legs.

He undressed silently, hanging up his uniform coat, folding his clothes on the chest, aligning his shoes side by side. Hornblower's undeniable good looks should not cause Pellew to forget himself.

He had, in fact, requested Hornblower as his companion in this billet and in this town, when the Governor had inquired as to their quartering. It had been an impulse of self-interest, unquestionably, but at the time it had seem harmless and sensible. Hornblower was a comfortable companion and a reliable aide as well as, Pellew hoped, a good friend. He had anticipated a day or two free of the annoyances that came of sharing quarters with most men he was acquainted with, Mr. Bowles' muttering included. Indeed, he had been looking forward to Hornblower's company with pleasure.

He had not intended to become aroused at the sight of Hornblower sleeping. God's sake, he'd seen him asleep often enough - and had seen him naked as well, in the course of events, a great deal more naked than this. True, there had been many others about. True, he had even then admired Hornblower's lean and fine-muscled body. But he was not a simpleton or a child, to lose control as he was so perilously near doing.

He had not expected his body to ambush him in this fashion. Perhaps if he had been wiser he could have anticipated it, and prevented it. By requesting Bracegirdle as his roommate? Whatever unwise stirrings he might feel towards Lieutenant Hornblower, he was not so far fallen to madness as to need to go to such measures. Hornblower would never know his thoughts; they harmed no one; even his momentary shame at his sudden arousal gave the matter more bearing than it warranted.

He put on his nightshirt and went to the bed. He looked down at the fine body enticingly displayed before him - oh, Horatio, he thought, laughing at himself, if only you could know the madness you provoke!

He doused the lamp, and tried to find a space for himself in the bed.

But Hornblower, sleeping, was taking up three-quarters of the space and Pellew preferred not to wake him. He moved gingerly into what space he could, and found himself still near the edge of the mattress. He shifted, and found Hornblower's face pressed against his arm. Horatio's leg lay against his leg. He moved a little, trying to fit himself into a comfortable position, but that only increased the contact. Well, he had no intention of going without sleep. Gently wrapping an arm around Horatio, he pulled his head onto his shoulder, where it fit comfortably and made it possible for them both to sleep.

Pellew relaxed into the luxury of darkness and silence.

Out in the bay, his Indefatigable waited for his return. Tomorrow, the business here would be concluded, and they would be on their way again. Tonight, he had only to sleep.

Every breath he took brought him the sweet scent of Horatio's sleeping body, pressed against him in utter languor. A stray breeze from the open window blew a strand of Horatio's hair across his cheek, and he smiled at its sea-blown aroma. He remembered how Horatio had looked in the moment before he had extinguished the candle: a wanton innocent, but young though he might be, most fully a man.

He missed the movement of the ship. Life on land was never the same, though it offered its luxuries - ample space, for example. Except in this particular bed. He wondered if Horatio, tall, long-boned, sometimes suffered from the cramped spaces of the ship. He had never known him to complain. Horatio never complained unless at injustice. Pellew loved him for it.

There lay the madness of it. How could a man sleep, when the one he loved lay unknowing against him, filling his senses with sweet thoughts? Such a pleasure he might never have again. He turned his head, his nose tickled gently by Horatio's hair. He longed to stroke that hair - but must not; it would wake Horatio and put an end to this reverie.

He felt the urge to touch that sleeping face. One finger - one finger only. That would not wake him. The skin of his cheek was cool to the touch, though Horatio was not cold. It must be that Pellew was warm, and so he was: hot and bothered. It was all he could do not to take Horatio in his arms as he wished to, to kiss and touch and -

No. Dangerous to think of that.
vHe was hard now, his cock aching. He could do nothing about it in this bed. To get up would mean leaving Horatio's warm touch - unthinkable. So he lay still, and soon the ache in his privates subsided to something less painful though possibly more intense. Two fingers lay gently still against Horatio's face. He could feel the moist warmth of Horatio's breath on his collarbone where his nightshirt had shifted under Horatio's head.

It was a moment of dangerous and delicate beauty. Pellew's heart ached as much as his cock did for the creature in his arms: a man like many others, but with a sensitivity and courage far beyond the average, and intelligence, too, and a kind of instinctive honour so fine that Pellew had never seen its like. He had survived Simpson and the Fire Ships and the Spanish and the French. Pray God he would survive more. If he lived - and he would - he would be the pride of the service.

It was not pride alone that made Pellew long to caress the sleeping face, touch the warm skin, devour and possess the vivid body. No, not pride. How could it be that he felt no shame, to so desire a man who knew nothing of it, a sexually inexperienced young man, a man, moreover, entrusted by Fate and duty to Pellew's care and mentoring?

He tasted a lock of hair that had fallen by his mouth; let it lie on his lips. He lowered his head to touch his cheek to Horatio's brow, and as he did so, Horatio moved in his sleep, re-settling himself further onto Pellew's chest.

Pellew froze.

His fingers were no longer against Horatio's face. They felt empty and alone. He let the hand lie lightly on Horatio's back. This was a pleasure that brought its own price: the joy of proximity was mixed with the pain of longing. So be it. It was right that the price should be high, because the moment was priceless.

Horatio shifted his head again, but not to move it away. His nose rested now against Pellew's throat. His breath tickled slightly, and Pellew found himself smiling in the dark. Never had he felt a physical sensation so delicate and yet so exciting to his senses.

Horatio moved again, and this time his head lay on Pellew's breast. He liked the feel of it, the weight of it heavy against him as his breath moved, the warmth of the cheek palpable through the cotton cloth of Pellew's nightshirt.

Horatio moved his head, very slightly, pressing it harder against Pellew's chest. He pressed again, as if rubbing his face against the cloth, and Pellew found his mouth open in silent wonder as a great wave of pleasure radiated from his nipple, which lay close under the pressure of Horatio's cheekbone, swelling and hardening, radiating to his head, his heart, his cock. Whatever the lad thought he was doing, it was an excruciating pleasure. Oh, God. Horatio was half-awake, and driving him mad.

He thought he heard, briefly, the rush of Horatio's rich laugh, but there was no sound, only impression.

Pellew knew the exact moment Horatio came truly awake. As he realized what he was doing; his body froze, and he made to move away, but Pellew tightened his arm around his shoulders, unable to let him recoil. "Horatio?" he said, and waited for an answer: apology, explanation, confusion - he must have been lost in a dream, and unaware.

But Horatio did not speak. He moved his head again, ever so slightly, and by some twist of fortune his lips were now against Pellew's, so lightly it was less than the touch of his hair had been when it strayed in the breeze.

Horatio expelled a breath on what might have been a word. Breath so lovely that Pellew moved infinitesimally to press his lips against the source of that loveliness, to make a tentative touch a kiss, a caress. He tasted Horatio's lips with his tongue, and the pleasure of the taste almost made him groan.

This could not be. He pulled his mouth away from the invitation, and turned his face away. Horatio, unseasoned, young, surely had no idea what he was doing to Pellew. For him it was, what, a bit of sleepy sensual play? Possibly he had not even thought that far. Pellew knew... believed... that Horatio was a stranger to sexual experimentation and excess alike. He himself suddenly felt old, used, jaded. His life had been neither promiscuous nor chaste. There had been too many encounters that began well and went nowhere, too many encounters that should never have begun.

Horatio did not know the pitfalls. He had no idea of the chasm of sensuality waiting for his fall. Pellew could not find the will to push him away as he pressed closer, slipping his leg over Pellew's, running his hands over his chest. He put his head back on the right nipple, whilst his right hand unerringly found the other in the dark, and began to press and rub and twist with fingers so deft that Pellew for a moment could not think at all.

Unbearable. Irresistible. Pellew reached out to touch him, and encountered his chin; his mouth; touched them lightly. And Horatio, possessed by demons, took a finger in his mouth and began to suck.

Pellew almost cried out. His cock responded, his body jerked, and he pulled his finger out of Horatio's mouth as if it had been burned. The utter naturalness of Horatio's responses made him all the more dangerous. Young, sensual, inexperienced, he could have no notion what emotional fires he was playing with. How could he know that his Captain loved him with a passion surpassing anything he had ever known? Pellew had gone to some lengths to hide the fact from him.

"Sir?" said Horatio, his voice low.

Pellew could not read the tone. He put his mouth against Horatio's hair, kissing his head, needing the touch - oh, dear God, this was not pulling away. A good man would find a way to escape the lure of this exquisite beauty.

Pellew said, into his hair, "Why are you doing this?"

"You intoxicate me," said Horatio simply.

Pellew closed his eyes. Lust was so easy for the young. So visceral, so natural. Instincts close to the surface, along with trust, and the naive belief that things work out.

Yet Hornblower knew the bitterness of life. He had seen and felt, to some considerable extent, the cruelties of Simpson. He had seen the results of bad command. He had seen, in some cases, mankind at its worst - the interior of a Spanish prison could be no pleasure garden, and they had put him in the oubliette. Yet he had survived, and lost nothing of himself there. Was it possible?

"Ah, lad." Sensual intoxication - oh, yes, Pellew knew the feeling. One of many forms of madness. How to save Horatio from this? How to save himself? Did he even want to? Was the anticipation of pain to come not a kind of cowardice in itself? Was he rationalizing lust? He said aloud, "Am I leading you to sin?"

That amused Horatio. "No, sir. I think it was my doing entirely. Are you distressed?"

Distressed? He ought to be. That might give him resolution. Instead he was overcome with love, and pleasure, and an excitement that radiated from heart and groin in equal measure. He almost laughed with joy, but Horatio had moved his leg over Pellew's cock and he was caught up in a deep jolt of sensation.

His breath came back. So be it. This was worth any price, this gift Horatio brought him. To deny it was to deny the power of love.

It was no longer difficult to move away from Horatio, just for a moment, to pull his nightshirt over his head and toss it to the floor. With the gesture he was free of restraint and guilt. This was Horatio, whom he loved above all men, coming to him for the experience of love. He must not disappoint him. He must not belittle this with hesitation or guilt: it was time for the heart to prevail.

Horatio pulled off his own nightshirt, and threw himself on Pellew, all energy and long limbs. His cock was long and hard, pushing itself against Pellew's thigh, his groin, his own cock. An insistent and powerful tool which Horatio had not learned to use or control.

Pellew wrapped his arms around him. His hand captured the lovely arse he had admired earlier, caressing, massaging, warming muscle and skin, moving it enough to stimulate ever so slightly the hole within, a source of pleasure that so far Horatio probably knew little of, though he must have wondered about it. Horatio shivered in pleasure and Pellew kissed him on the lips, holding him, keeping his mouth open, letting one hand roam Horatio's back while the other played with those perfect buttocks.

It was Horatio who pulled his mouth away from Pellew's, and bent to kiss his neck. He ran his fingers and mouth across the belly and chest, kissing, licking, sucking. He nuzzled his breastbone and then sucked, for a moment, on an earlobe. He dropped his head again and licked Pellew's chest, found a nipple, and began to suck it, not gently this time, but fiercely, roughly, possessively.

What did he have here? Pellew wondered. His young midshipman - Lieutenant, now, he must not forget - his young officer was now a man and learning about life with a speed and thirst that was alarming. He had turned to Pellew for love - his captain, guide and hero - and Pellew feared where this new sensuality would lead him; to whatever different beds and other men. The thought was unbearable, its pain startling. When had he grown so possessive of a man he had no right to touch?

Yet Horatio had given him that right, and he was going to use it to the fullest. He lifted and turned Horatio onto his side and held him tight. Horatio threw his leg over Pellew's waist, bent at the knee, with the heat of his cock pressed against Pellew's belly. Pellew could tell by Horatio's breathing how far he had gone. It was time to pull him back from the heights, or this would be over. He kissed Horatio's face, touched his hair - that hair, so thick and long, flowing through his fingers like dark sea-water, elusive and fragrant. He licked his cheek and followed the line of his jaw to his ear, caressing it with his tongue.

The change in sensation had calmed the lad, but only slightly. Pellew nipped at his earlobe and smiled to hear Horatio groan, stifling the noise with the back of his hand. Then he put the hand on Pellew's nape, moving gently through the flow of untied hair.

Pellew whispered, "Do you always wake in the night in such a state?" He could feel his own breath echoing from the ridges of Horatio's ear, let his tongue linger at the threshold of touch.

Horatio tensed. He tried to pull away. Had he read criticism in the comment? Pellew cursed himself silently for having said the wrong thing.

"Sir, I - "

Pellew tightened his grip. "For God's sake, don't pull away now!" Had the young fool thought he meant an insult - to imply that he might molest whatever man he found himself with? Nothing had been further from Pellew's thought. Whatever alarm Horatio felt must have dissipated, for he relaxed again as Pellew pulled him back into his embrace. "Come back here - yes, that's better. I know you do not do this lightly, lad. I was teasing."

"Lightly, sir?" A flash of anger, denial in the firm, low voice. "Never - "

Pellew kissed his throat and Horatio lost the thread of words. He began to tremble again - ah, good! The brief change of mood had only made him needier, his cock hot and dripping against Pellew's skin, leaving a sticky trail where it touched, trapped between their bodies. Horatio tossed his head and moaned as Pellew trailed his hands over his back and arms and head, fingers tracing the features of his face with firm and knowing touch, lips sucking his exposed throat.

So vulnerable, thought Pellew, and strong with it. There was no fear in Hornblower now, nothing but a surrender to the needs that had overcome him as he clutched at Pellew's back, thrusting not just his cock but his whole body against Pellew's, grinding nipples against nipples, breathing in gasps.

For a moment, his frenzy almost pushed Pellew into climax. Not yet, thought Pellew, not yet! This must not end.

But Horatio had reached the point of no return. "Captain!" he gasped, overcome by the spasms of release. Pellew held him, stroking his frame. He whispered, "Yes, lad, feel how good it is, feel what love is," into his neck as he kissed it.

At last, Horatio lay still. Pellew rolled onto his back, keeping his arms around Horatio. He was a dead weight now, and Pellew let him lie, treasuring him in his arms. His own arousal was a sweet torture, made all the greater by Horatio's heavy breath against his shoulder, the loose fall of those limbs which had just used - and squandered - energy so freely. He felt the tickle of Horatio's closing eyes, the damp heat of his mouth as he opened it against Pellew's skin. Pellew's cock twitched in appreciation.

Of all the men in the fleet, Horatio had turned to him for love. Of all the men in the fleet, this was the only one he wanted. How could he have become so fortunate?

Horatio moved sleepily. His hand wandered towards Pellew's cock, and Pellew, shocked, stopped it by grasping his wrist. The other hand, moving slowly towards him, he caught in his other hand, holding both of Horatio's hands from him. Why in God's name did Horatio think he must carry on, when clearly all he wanted now was rest? That he should think sex with Pellew a necessary, distasteful task - unbearable! He wanted Horatio at any price, but not that. Not that.

He said harshly, "Horatio, you don't need to service me."

"I wish to."

"I have no respect for men who abuse their subordinates." Simpson was not the only one he had met of that stripe. He wished he could drum every one of them out of the service.

Horatio's voice filled with amusement. "This is no abuse, sir." He said it as a schoolteacher might correct a child's foolishness. "This is love. You know it as well as I do."

Aye, God, of course he did. He let go of Horatio's wrists and pulled him close, wondering that such a combination of tenderness and arousal could so consume him. "It is, isn't it?" he said. "God help me, Horatio, I've loved you since that day you first stood up to Simpson."

Horatio's lips brushed his face. "And I have loved you since that day you shot him for my sake."

Pellew took a deep breath. So long ago. The midshipman he had seen such promise in, the lad who would not break despite Simpson's brutality and the blindness of the system which allowed it. His throat burned to think of the mad courage of that duel, and Horatio so young and proud, as afraid to kill as to live or to die. And yet, in the end, not afraid at all.

"Really?" he said aloud, sure it could not be. As long ago as that.

"No," said Horatio, his voice warm with humour. "In truth, I loved you before that, but that was when I came to know it."

He had done nothing to deserve it. Killing Simpson, that had been an act of expediency - ridding the King's fleet of a villain - and an act of self-serving anger as much as it had been a saving of Horatio's life. He cupped Horatio's face in his hands, remembering the youth he had been, thinking of the man he had now become in four years. Wherever you go, he thought, whatever you will become, you are with me now, and mine.

He kissed Horatio's lips, slowly and deeply. For how long had he wanted to do this? Those full, mobile, expressive lips, that betrayed his feelings more often and more quickly than even the wide and speaking eyes. He held him tight, but Horatio moved against his body, dipping his head, kissing him so the hair fell across his body and the hands wandered freely. Pellew let his hands loosen and fall away. Horatio found every sensitivity of Pellew's body, traced every scar, kissed and caressed him until Pellew thought he would explode from this alone.

When he kissed the tip of Pellew's cock, if was all Pellew could do not to ram himself into that sweet mouth. He pulled back and said, sounding harsher than he meant because his voice would not obey him, "Stop now if you will. Any more and I swear I will be unable to stop myself."

Horatio's voice in the dark was gentle and sincere. "I would never wish you too. My body is yours."

Oh, God. Full permission . . . . Horatio knew what he was saying, what he was offering, knew what brutalities men were capable of offering in the name of sex, and yet - despite all, was offering Pellew everything. Despite the gulf between them of age and position, despite the laws of man and the commands of God, despite common sense and self-preservation, Horatio was abandoning all defenses. "Trust," whispered Pellew. Something he had himself seldom achieved with anyone.

An even as he said it, Horatio, trusting, was running his lips down the length of Pellew's cock, sucking his balls, exploring the skin with his tongue and lips.

No, thought Pellew, fighting the sensations surging through him, not yet, not quite yet, just a moment or two longer. He pulled Horatio up against him, feeling the swollen hardness of his erection - oh, dear Lord, the energy of youth! He pulled Horatio's legs up around him, touching him, easing him, judging his reactions and his readiness. Horatio's breathing was increasingly loud, more and more erratic. He wished he could see Horatio's face, but he could imagine it: the eyes wide with wonder, the mouth slightly open, the hair fallen over his forehead in curling strands.

Who would have dreamed Horatio was so responsive? "I will die of pleasure," he murmured.

"Many times, I hope," said Pellew. It was almost too late to delay, he was in a state like pain it was so exquisitely extreme. But of all things he did not want to hurt Horatio, so he rolled over and reached for the lamp on the table, a hand on Horatio's chest to support himself. Best not to overturn the lamp in the dark . . . yes, there it was. . . he was able to tip the edge and feel the cold oil run over his hand. Just the thing. He dripped it on his cock, covering it with oil.

"Sir?" asked Horatio, who had not seen what he had done, and had not guessed.

Pellew had no breath to explain. "Move closer," he said, pulling Horatio up against him as he settled back on the bed, half sitting, pulling Horatio on top of him, a leg to either side of him, impossibly long legs, so beautiful even invisible in the dark, and between them, the inviting cleft, the delectable hole. He ran his oiled finger around it and Horatio almost undid him by making a wild, guttural sound, moving against him without control as if to force the finger inwards.

Pellew said, "That's it, lad," and his cock found its own way in. Horatio hissed; a sound of pleasure, surprise, strain, desire. His hands gripped Pellew's shoulders with the strength he might use to pull himself up the ropes, and Pellew welcomed it. There was no need for self-control now; with Horatio on top, he could hardly hurt him, and he thrust to his fullest extent, and again, and Horatio's mewing sounds were drowned out by the roar of his own veins. He touched Horatio's face, meaning to be reassuring, but Horatio needed no more reassurance than a gale needed as it ripped through the ocean. Here, they were together. Here, they were equals.

Pellew came, exultant with it; easing, he reached for Horatio's cock and needed only a touch to trigger his release.

Peace came over them. A quiet room, filled with quiet breathing. Horatio said nothing about what he felt, and Pellew wondered if he had hurt him after all, if he should have been more careful. This was no jaded libertine of easy traffic: this was a man newly come to manhood, a virgin whose experience had been, at best, theoretical. "Horatio?"

"Sir?" He did not sound distressed. Rather the contrary.

"Are you - well?"

"I am floating in the heavens," said Horatio lyrically. He moved his face against Pellew's, soft stubble and dimples against Pellew's cheek. "Are you content, Sir?"

Content? "Hardly that, Mr. Hornblower," said Pellew tartly, "When I am at my wit's end to think of a reason to give to everyone tomorrow as to why I am so blessedly happy of a sudden. How am I to wipe this smile off my face, hmm? Tell me that."

It was his best Captain's voice, and it had no effect on the rightfully self-satisfied lieutenant. "There is no remedy," he said, with deceptive candour. "You will simply have to stay in bed."

And if that wasn't self-serving, Pellew couldn't think what was. The smile warm on his face and invisible in the dark, he settled his lips against Hornblower's ear. "Insolent braggart," he drawled, and held the man warmly in his arms till morning.