(The first time with William had been so rushed and fumbling. There had been too much to drink and too little thinking. Every gasping second of delirious joy had weighed like a sharp reprimand in the morning.
Healing from that, setting things right again, had taken time. The nerves still prickled in the back of Horatio's mind that maybe the bones hadn't actually set right, that things really wouldn't be the same if he ever saw the other lieutenant again.)
For a moment, Horatio squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on the certainty of Archie beside him. This is different. This is better. This is the actual luxury of time, of space, of being able to sort through the nervous way Archie's hand at his elbow pleasantly twists his stomach.
[ Archie has rushed into things with more than one person, caught up in a shared connection or a few too many pints. All in all it doesn't worry him. It isn't in him to dwell on those moments of mutual pleasure.
And he likes to think he's past dwelling on the other experiences. ]
I'd be more worried about that if I were a French clipper. [ And even then, he'd be quite willing to put himself in those capable slender hands.
But it does touch something in him that Horatio is worried about this, about doing it right.] So long as... we both say what we're thinking, I doubt we can go wrong.
It's a simple enough thing. It's something most people would manage with barely a thought, shifting whatever it was inside them that stopped the constant rush of words everyone else was apparently walking around holding back.
Other than Horatio, anyway. Really, that was pure speculation, given how infrequently the constant low-level panic howling in his head ever crystallized into actual words.
In its own way, all the same, it's a comfort to know that the slight cant of his head and arch of his brow have meaning to the man across from him. Archie knows every exasperated look, ever flicker of contentment--and, embarrassingly, every slight twinge of discomfort and fear and self-loathing. Archie has been reading the soft 'hm's and 'mm's since nearly the first day they'd met.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2019-07-31 11:31 am (UTC)[This is new. This is different.
(The first time with William had been so rushed and fumbling. There had been too much to drink and too little thinking. Every gasping second of delirious joy had weighed like a sharp reprimand in the morning.
Healing from that, setting things right again, had taken time. The nerves still prickled in the back of Horatio's mind that maybe the bones hadn't actually set right, that things really wouldn't be the same if he ever saw the other lieutenant again.)
For a moment, Horatio squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on the certainty of Archie beside him. This is different. This is better. This is the actual luxury of time, of space, of being able to sort through the nervous way Archie's hand at his elbow pleasantly twists his stomach.
They can get this right.]
I'd hate you to think I'd... rush this.
no subject
Date: 2019-08-05 12:49 pm (UTC)And he likes to think he's past dwelling on the other experiences. ]
I'd be more worried about that if I were a French clipper. [ And even then, he'd be quite willing to put himself in those capable slender hands.
But it does touch something in him that Horatio is worried about this, about doing it right.] So long as... we both say what we're thinking, I doubt we can go wrong.
no subject
Date: 2019-08-08 02:16 am (UTC)It's a simple enough thing. It's something most people would manage with barely a thought, shifting whatever it was inside them that stopped the constant rush of words everyone else was apparently walking around holding back.
Other than Horatio, anyway. Really, that was pure speculation, given how infrequently the constant low-level panic howling in his head ever crystallized into actual words.
In its own way, all the same, it's a comfort to know that the slight cant of his head and arch of his brow have meaning to the man across from him. Archie knows every exasperated look, ever flicker of contentment--and, embarrassingly, every slight twinge of discomfort and fear and self-loathing. Archie has been reading the soft 'hm's and 'mm's since nearly the first day they'd met.
(Maybe that's enough.)]