Hornblower, slash, HH/AK (of course)
The Indy was too small for love. But a prison cell just a few paces long, and fewer wide, would be room enough.
They would wait until night, of course. As the sun's heat receded and the night breeze stole between the window's bars, they would turn to one another and he would be free to let his fingers slide into Horatio's curls, to pull those beautiful lush lips against his own.
Horatio would be surprised, but not dismayed. They had been this close before, when Horatio had slipped bonelessly into his embrace, with Hunter hovering like a damned duenna. Horatio's head had rested against his face, his exhausted body relaxed in a trusting embrace. Hunter might not have noticed it; it might have meant nothing to Horatio--but Archie's whole body had tingled with the closeness."Is whispering nothing? Is leaning cheek to cheek?" Horatio trusted him. Horatio loved him.
And Hunter was gone now.
Hunter was gone, and they were alone. Better still, they were heroes, and the guards were no longer worried about los Ingleses escaping.
They could touch. They could kiss. They could sleep naked, to keep their newly-washed uniforms clean.
As though their uniforms had anything to do with it.
He was lost. He had looked into Horatio's eyes, and drunk his damned water, and somehow he had given up ownership of his soul. He would live. He had to live, as long as Horatio needed him. And if Horatio was determined to go back to prison, then there was no alternative to going with him. They would away to prison, and sing like birds in the cage. Better than staying on the Indy, in some ways. They would never, aboard ship, have the privacy to peel off shirts and breeches and touch one another. They could not stand so close, or kiss...
The cannon's BOOM! broke Archie's reverie, and his beautiful fantasy dissolved in the gun's acrid smoke. Horatio was not his lover. Horatio was a dutiful commissioned lieutenant in His Majesty's Navy, who would never think of violating Article XXIX with a subordinate.
Horatio was a man of honour, who had given his parole.
Horatio was steering them back to prison.
And there they would not sing.