the Dalaverse

Short H/A ficlet, mild NC-17 as I finally beat the smut into submission. Will post it everywhere I possibly canto communities later (DONE)


Portrait of the Artist As a Young Man



On his first shore leave since before he’d been taken prisoner, Archie supposed he was being a bit of a stick in the mud. He’d just spent months cooped up in a dingy little cell with mainly Horatio for company. He ought to have been out enjoying the many pleasures of Portsmouth, wildly spending what little money he had, carousing from the moment he opened his eyes until he collapsed where he stood.

Problem was, he had discovered during those later months of captivity that being cooped up in a tiny room with Horatio was preferable to...well, most anything else, really.

Horatio stirred, turning over and thus facing the opposite wall. Archie scowled at the back of his head. Now he would have to start over again. He gathered his supplies and dragged the chair to the other side of the bed. The sun was gaining in the sky, he noted with pleasure – he had thought the dawn light would perfectly highlight Horatio’s coloring and angles, but it was weak enough to make his eyes hurt.

Although Horatio had not been disturbed by the faint glow coming through the window, it seemed the scrape of chair legs across the floor did the trick. He blinked, awake at once and wary in the gloom, relaxing when he saw it was only Archie.

“What are you doing up at this hour?” Horatio groaned and flung a hand over his eyes before he could receive an answer.

Archie grinned. Normally Horatio was able to hold his liquor, but last night’s Spanish brandy had proven a better match than a Spanish sword. “Sketching you,” he replied matter-of-factly.

Horatio made a face. “Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful,” said Archie, amused by the dark blush coloring Horatio’s cheeks.

“So’s the Indy,” Horatio muttered, keeping his grip on the sheet as Archie reached out to tug it back down his torso. “Go down to the docks and scribble to your heart’s content. Or,” he added with a wicked twist of his mouth, “our good proprietress, how’s that for a worthy subject?”

“The woman is forty-five if she’s a day,” Archie retorted, giving up the struggle over bedclothes and dropping back into the chair with a pout. “Anyhow, it isn’t me she’s been making cow eyes at since we’ve been here.”

Horatio apparently considered the battle won, for his face melted from put-upon to cheerily lustful. “I can think of only one way to soothe your obvious jealousy.” Propping himself up on one elbow, he arched an eyebrow in suggestion.

So far Horatio’s attempts to school Archie in cards had been unsuccessful, but he had applied some lessons to other areas of his conduct. He balanced the sketchbook and pencil on the arm of the chair, his eyes never straying from Horatio’s as he lifted the hem of the shirt he’d thrown on. By the time it was sent sailing across the room, his bluff had more than worked. Horatio was looking at him with slowly darkening intent, hips shifting restlessly beneath the tented sheet.

“Close your eyes,” Archie whispered. Horatio obeyed, merely smiling this time as Archie drew the sheet down to his thighs. He rubbed his cheek against the pillow like a cat seeking a warm touch, mirroring the motion with one hand on his stiffening cock.

Archie swallowed hard. Of all the virtues, patience had never been the one that came easiest to him. He weighed the instant gratification of leaping forward against the prospect of forever capturing Horatio in a rare moment of abandon, not to mention having outplayed him for once. In the end, that was the deciding factor. He picked up his pencil.

When Horatio opened his eyes, frowning a little, Archie already had the rough outline done.

“You little scamp!” Horatio exclaimed, moving to cover himself again. Archie’s hand shot out to grab his wrist.

“It will only take a moment. Please?” He trained the most pathetic expression he could conjure up on Horatio. It didn’t fail him now any more than it usually did.

Horatio sighed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, very well.”

Tongue clamped between his teeth, Archie fiddled with his composition but ultimately stopped in mid-stroke. Though Horatio had complied with the impulsive request, his body language had turned stiff and uncomfortable, worlds removed from the slinky creature that Archie found so inspiring. That wouldn’t do at all.

“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully, tilting his head to one side.

“What?” Horatio wanted to know, voice nervous.

Archie scooted closer. “It’s your mouth,” he said. “Giving me trouble as it so often does. Perhaps if I...” And he reached out, slowly so as not to startle him, brushing fingertips over his full lips. Brow furrowed in exaggerated concentration, he propped the pad against his drawn-up knees and pretended to make alterations.

“Not quite sufficient.” He let his arm fall, support himself as he leaned forward to kiss him. It started out quite innocent, soft and light, but then Horatio’s hand came up to grip the back of his neck and he succumbed to the pressure of questing tongue. For a moment he forgot himself, because that was what kissing Horatio was like. Eventually, however, he became aware that the pencil was prodding him sharply in the belly, and he pulled back.

Horatio lifted his head, wanting to follow, but Archie held out his hand. “Don’t. Move,” he said, mock-sternly. Eyes sleepy and content, Horatio pursed his reddened lips and lay back as Archie directed, resting mostly on his side, hands open and loose. The rasp of soft lead on paper was the only sound for awhile.

“I don’t recall your buying art supplies,” Horatio finally said, trying not to move his mouth too much.

“On Wednesday,” Archie confirmed, smoothing out the shadows beneath Horatio’s body. “I snuck away from you for a bit.”

“We should go out again,” Horatio mused aloud. “I have a new uniform to buy before we return to the Indy.”

“It can wait,” said Archie, suddenly afraid of what sort of recriminations might possibly result from this morning. Horatio didn’t like being outmaneuvered.

Horatio gave him a withering look. “Archie, we cannot stay in here forever.”

“I didn’t say forever,” Archie argued. “I only meant for the duration of leave. Besides, we go out.”

“Nipping downstairs for a bite to eat and an ale hardly counts,” said Horatio primly, conveniently forgetting that it was he who tugged a half-dressed Archie back into bed most mornings. Archie proceeded to ignore him for the next few minutes, concentrating on his drawing.

“There!” he declared when it was finished, or as finished as it ever would be – he couldn’t quite capture that come-hither look spark in Horatio’s eyes as well as he would like. Horatio immediately sat up and held out his hand. Archie indulged him, taking the opportunity to shimmy out of his breeches.

Studying this latest portrait before flipping through the earlier attempts, his brow knit, Horatio said, “These are really quite good, Archie. I didn’t know you could draw this well.”

“Oh, now you’re interested in my art.” He launched himself onto the bed, removing the sketchpad to the chair.

“I was looking at –” Horatio protested, trailing off into a squeak as Archie set about easing the frustration of having to sit with his legs pressed together while Horatio got to be naked and relaxed. He was quiescent soon enough, curving languidly as Archie fitted the length of their bodies together. They played their little game of who would be sent scrambling for the oil first, each determined to make sure it was the other. Sometimes neither lasted that long, but today it was Horatio who hissed a curse and pushed Archie’s hands away, seeking the little vial under the mattress.

Since he’d had the upper hand already, it would have been graceful to concede the way, but Archie was not in the mood for grace. He wrestled Horatio back down, smothering laughter against his neck as Horatio tickled him in retaliation.

“Horatio – stop – stop it – I’m going to spill!”

“So soon?” Horatio purred smugly.

Archie swatted him. “The oil, you rascal.” He shook his head with a scolding tsk. “And you’re supposed to be so gifted. This great –” Warming the slippery oil in his hands, he readied himself with a gasp. “Bloody...” An answering noise from Horatio, higher in pitch, as Archie worked fingers in and out of him. “Prodigy...oh God...”

There was no breath for teasing or laughter when he pushed inside. He fought down the urge to thrust blindly, watching Horatio’s face. There was that faint surprise in his open mouth, astonishment that something so clandestine could feel so good. Of course it didn’t always, as Archie was only too aware, but he was bound and determined that Horatio should never know the details. This was nothing like – like before. It was about belonging, true, but never possession, never pain.

He found what he was looking for as Horatio bit his lip and nodded. Motion slow at first, the creak of the bedsprings steady and quiet beneath them. It wasn’t long before Horatio began to squirm, needing greater friction, his long legs flexing over Archie’s shoulders. Archie rolled his hips harder, leaning down to trap Horatio’s swollen cock between their bellies. Horatio’s hands came up to his face to hold him there.

“Archie...” His eyes were half-closed and impossibly dark, long lashes quivering against Archie’s nose. “Oh – oh – ”

Archie kissed him, feeling the harshness of his own breathing dissolve into Horatio’s shudders. “My dear, my darling,” he whispered, “my own Horatio – that’s it, yes –”

With a hoarse cry, Horatio suddenly clenched tight around him. Archie relished the hot splash of his seed as he always did, knowing that no one else had ever done this to him, no one was trusted enough, only me, only me –

He thrust strongly once more, twice, before he spent himself to the sound of Horatio gulping in air as he came back down, arms and legs still wrapped around Archie. He let his head drop heavily onto Horatio’s breast, listening to the rapid beat of his heart within his ribs.

After a moment, Horatio patted his arm gently and said, “You’re squashing me.”

“Sorry,” Archie mumbled, barely responding as Horatio rolled him over. He immediately nestled close again, at which point Horatio sighed loudly and brought an arm around him.

Kissing Archie’s brow, he nodded to the forgotten chair. “You can’t keep those, you know.”

“Why not?” said Archie indignantly, lifting his head from Horatio’s shoulder and blowing sticky strands of hair out of his face. Horatio obliged by stroking it back from his face. “I made them, they’re mine. Why shouldn’t I get to keep my own art?”

Horatio shook his head, serious again. “It’s too dangerous, Archie. What if someone were to find them among your things?”

“It’s not as if they’ve got ‘Wanton Buggery Committed Upon This Person By the Undersigned’ written on them,” Archie protested. He reached for the papers, pursing his lips as he studied the nude sketch on top. Horatio’s flushed erection was rendered with particularly careful detail. “Well...”

“They’re lovely,” said Horatio, prying the drawings from his fingers, “but they’re hardly worth a death sentence.”

Archie heaved a mournful sigh, settling back into his arms. “I suppose you’re right,” he said grudgingly. It would have been so nice to have a reminder, though, during those long days and nights when they couldn’t find a moment of privacy. He supposed his imagination would have to serve him instead.

“Are you going to burn them?” Horatio wanted to know.

“I could,” said Archie, then, very slowly as he contemplated the ceiling, “or...”




“Here’s the rent from them two boys what left this afternoon, May.”

The innkeeper, busy wiping down tables, took the small paper package. They had been nice tenants for the week or so they were here, especially that dark one. She’d always had a weakness for men with curly hair.
She counted the money twice over before she noticed the paper in which it had been wrapped.

“Somethin’ wrong, love?” her husband asked, hearing her startled exclamation.

She folded the paper quickly and tucked it into her bodice. “No, Pat, nothin’ at all.”