[A mistake has been made, and it was not the mistake of engaging in this conversation at all.
The mistake was attempting to walk between decks while reading Archie's messages — if only to keep the thing from beeping so aggressively — and, for some reason, not expecting... that.
So Bush stumbles right down a short flight of stairs.]
[That first ping, oddly, has more of its own tone to it. He can feel himself being tugged away from his own thoughts, like the nip of a pup's teeth setting a younger whelp in line.
And then, well.
How is a person supposed to think about anything at all but--]
Bush stares at his phone like he suddenly doesn't understand what it is or how it works or what the symbols on it mean or what the English language even is. Archie's response rings with a sense of finality, of the conversation being finished now that they've all reached this strange, mutual understanding.
He has no clue what to say. Should he say anything? Should he —
He should get up, for starters.
— that done, he looks at his phone again, at the past two messages, and briefly thinks he ought to seek the two of them out. Continue this in person, maybe. It's an important discussion, after all, vital to their... sense of camaraderie, or... something.
Bush looks at the messages again, then types:] For what it's worth, I don't think that would count as a "properly poor decision."
[Just.
Putting that out there.
For reference, and also to let them both know that while he has learned a great deal during the course of this conversation, he is no closer to figuring out how to become a bad example.]
[U G H new text get out of here he's trying to linger back further up in the chain. Stop making him scroll to the bottom.
Except that it does give him pause to ponder.
The academic exercise of being teased (fondly, affectionately, in a way that pricks pleasantly under his ribs) by friends (confusing, terrifying, cherished) is one thing. The absent consideration of... well. The chance to dream fondly in brief hours of sleep about the content of several pieces of this conversation certainly makes it worthwhile.
But.
This is the beginning of properly poor decisions, spelled out with (infuriating non-ghost smileys!!) more than sufficient clarity to be properly understood.]
Archie.
[
Wait, that solves nothing.]
William, honestly.
[Yes. Good. Compellingly argued. They'll see reason now.]
Wouldn't this be the most useful lesson in making poor —
Bush's brow furrows. Is there really a need to continue on with this under the cover of such a silly thing? Whatever Horatio had intended for this conversation to be when he initiated it is all but a ghost now; what they've been left with is a truth Horatio can try to caution his way out of all he likes, but there's an impossibility in coming to un-know a piece of information.
And then comes Archie's reply, another set of words Bush reads a little too far into, thinking the man is scrambling for compromise in the name of satisfaction.
But it isn't just that, is it? The feeling in his chest answers that question like the clear ring of a bell and tells him what hasn't yet been literally spelled out. For Horatio's sake, maybe it should be.]
I don't think it's wise to take half-measures when dealing with feelings, Horatio.
He's missed something, and that requires scrolling back up to scrutinize what he's missed--then, fairly quickly, gives up, because this isn't something he has a matter of hours to agonize over.
This, apparently, is a matter of emotions. More than that, this is a matter of Mr. Archie Kennedy and Mr. William Bush's emotions.
And that's as crucial, surely, as learning to read the wind before it changes. That requires the same actual, sharp attention as sighting before a long shot. It's not the sort of thing that comes in any way naturally to the twists and turns of his brain, but then neither had working the signal books at first.
Clipping a passing midshipman to send his compliments to Mr. Bush and will he please come here is easier than actually typing. Still, actually typing is almost certainly necessary.]
That being the case, I shouldn't think this the proper medium for addressing them, then.
He's rather about to give up on getting anything but a few kisses and maybe a quick tumble next shore leave, when William's text comes in, pointed and entirely correct. The few moments it takes for him to just stare adoringly at the words give enough time, apparently for Horatio to respond.
Well. This wasn't quite a conversation he was prepared to have just yet, but if it happens...
You two gentlemen do know where I'm at.
Alternatively.
Or I suppose I could meet you somewhere.
Maybe it will come to nothing. It might be nice, at least, to get it off his chest and have it aired out between them.
That worked. He feels like his stomach's climbed its way into his throat as a result, but that worked, so it almost cancels out.]
Since you already suggested it, Archie, I think the lieutenant's quarters will do just fine. I'm on my way.
[It's ridiculous, this fluttering nervousness he's suddenly feeling. They're all on the same ship, for God's sake — he's not been far from the lieutenant's quarters this entire time, and Horatio could just be right around the corner.
But something about the closing in of proximity has triggered this response in him. He said it himself: context. Approaching either of them before came as naturally as breathing, but now, in light of this conversation...
William has to remind himself to breathe as he places one foot in front of the other.]
[The absent brush of hands is one thing. The odd stolen kiss is another. The careless abandon of drinking his thoughts quiet just for a little while, tucked somewhere safely away from prying eyes, is yet a third.
Beginning to put words to what it means when Archie's lips twitch or Bush's eyes crinkle, however, seems far beyond capacity.
And yet.
His feet are moving before he's fully finished reading the last sentence. There's William, just a few strides ahead of him. There's the promise that Archie is just beyond the next door. ]
--Mr. Bush. [His fingers catch briefly, entirely unconsciously, at the other man's elbow.] Mr. Kennedy--
[That's still where they start, isn't it? Even if they're about to lock themselves away for something he doesn't understand and doesn't trust will work, they have to start somewhere.]
Archie is at least largely clothed as he waits in the wardroom, though he's letting his jacket and hat hang on a chair while they're at leisure.
"Horatio," he greets with a smile and only a touch of nerves for the uncertainty, "William. Perhaps it's best we block off the door before we begin any conversations?"
Even through the thick fabric of his uniform, Horatio's fingers feel — again, suddenly, in this new light — heavy and electric, and what William is having trouble understanding is how Horatio can mister them both so easily and how Archie can look so relaxed.
He looks between the two of them, then nods without a word and moves to ensure they won't be interrupted by anyone barging in.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Clear enough, Will? Horatio?
Surely, surely even Horatio can imagine the wicked little grin.
1/3
The mistake was attempting to walk between decks while reading Archie's messages — if only to keep the thing from beeping so aggressively — and, for some reason, not expecting... that.
So Bush stumbles right down a short flight of stairs.]
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[Coming to you live from the floor, it's This Guy.]
1/3
And then, well.
How is a person supposed to think about anything at all but--]
2/3
3/3
Which is, admittedly, now incredibly crystal clear.]
Infinitely clear, Archie.
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Another mission he can count as accomplished, then.
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That's it, from the both of them?
Bush stares at his phone like he suddenly doesn't understand what it is or how it works or what the symbols on it mean or what the English language even is. Archie's response rings with a sense of finality, of the conversation being finished now that they've all reached this strange, mutual understanding.
He has no clue what to say. Should he say anything? Should he —
He should get up, for starters.
— that done, he looks at his phone again, at the past two messages, and briefly thinks he ought to seek the two of them out. Continue this in person, maybe. It's an important discussion, after all, vital to their... sense of camaraderie, or... something.
Bush looks at the messages again, then types:] For what it's worth, I don't think that would count as a "properly poor decision."
[Just.
Putting that out there.
For reference, and also to let them both know that while he has learned a great deal during the course of this conversation, he is no closer to figuring out how to become a bad example.]
mwahahaha 1/at least 2
2/3 jk
(Yes, men, you should probably be afraid of where this is going.)
3/5 why this archie
4/5
5/5
....;)
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Except that it does give him pause to ponder.
The academic exercise of being teased (fondly, affectionately, in a way that pricks pleasantly under his ribs) by friends (confusing, terrifying, cherished) is one thing. The absent consideration of... well. The chance to dream fondly in brief hours of sleep about the content of several pieces of this conversation certainly makes it worthwhile.
But.
This is the beginning of properly poor decisions, spelled out with (infuriating non-ghost smileys!!) more than sufficient clarity to be properly understood.]
Archie.
[
Wait, that solves nothing.]
William, honestly.
[Yes. Good. Compellingly argued. They'll see reason now.]
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What?
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[Not that there is a good, safe time or place. Also not that the little '...' isn't still working furiously.]
I should imagine there must exist a half-measure in poor decision making which comes short of oceanic cliff pounding.
[Listen: this is the one time a half-measure makes sense.
Let it happen.
The half-measure. Not the shipboard sex. Obviously.]
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A fair point, Mr. Hornblower.
It's teasing and not hurt that brings about the return to the last name, clearly. C l e a r l y.
Well. I suppose I *am* open to alternative explorations that satisfy those conditions.
So maybe both half-measures and something like shipboard sex, perhaps?
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But.
Wouldn't this be the most useful lesson in making poor —
Bush's brow furrows. Is there really a need to continue on with this under the cover of such a silly thing? Whatever Horatio had intended for this conversation to be when he initiated it is all but a ghost now; what they've been left with is a truth Horatio can try to caution his way out of all he likes, but there's an impossibility in coming to un-know a piece of information.
And then comes Archie's reply, another set of words Bush reads a little too far into, thinking the man is scrambling for compromise in the name of satisfaction.
But it isn't just that, is it? The feeling in his chest answers that question like the clear ring of a bell and tells him what hasn't yet been literally spelled out. For Horatio's sake, maybe it should be.]
I don't think it's wise to take half-measures when dealing with feelings, Horatio.
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He's missed something, and that requires scrolling back up to scrutinize what he's missed--then, fairly quickly, gives up, because this isn't something he has a matter of hours to agonize over.
This, apparently, is a matter of emotions. More than that, this is a matter of Mr. Archie Kennedy and Mr. William Bush's emotions.
And that's as crucial, surely, as learning to read the wind before it changes. That requires the same actual, sharp attention as sighting before a long shot. It's not the sort of thing that comes in any way naturally to the twists and turns of his brain, but then neither had working the signal books at first.
Clipping a passing midshipman to send his compliments to Mr. Bush and will he please come here is easier than actually typing. Still, actually typing is almost certainly necessary.]
That being the case, I shouldn't think this the proper medium for addressing them, then.
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Well. This wasn't quite a conversation he was prepared to have just yet, but if it happens...
You two gentlemen do know where I'm at.
Alternatively.
Or I suppose I could meet you somewhere.
Maybe it will come to nothing. It might be nice, at least, to get it off his chest and have it aired out between them.
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That worked. He feels like his stomach's climbed its way into his throat as a result, but that worked, so it almost cancels out.]
Since you already suggested it, Archie, I think the lieutenant's quarters will do just fine. I'm on my way.
[It's ridiculous, this fluttering nervousness he's suddenly feeling. They're all on the same ship, for God's sake — he's not been far from the lieutenant's quarters this entire time, and Horatio could just be right around the corner.
But something about the closing in of proximity has triggered this response in him. He said it himself: context. Approaching either of them before came as naturally as breathing, but now, in light of this conversation...
William has to remind himself to breathe as he places one foot in front of the other.]
yes hello this is comment #69 /BLOWS KISSES
Beginning to put words to what it means when Archie's lips twitch or Bush's eyes crinkle, however, seems far beyond capacity.
And yet.
His feet are moving before he's fully finished reading the last sentence. There's William, just a few strides ahead of him. There's the promise that Archie is just beyond the next door. ]
--Mr. Bush. [His fingers catch briefly, entirely unconsciously, at the other man's elbow.] Mr. Kennedy--
[That's still where they start, isn't it? Even if they're about to lock themselves away for something he doesn't understand and doesn't trust will work, they have to start somewhere.]
beautiful :'|
"Horatio," he greets with a smile and only a touch of nerves for the uncertainty, "William. Perhaps it's best we block off the door before we begin any conversations?"
Or whatever else may occur, for that matter?
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He looks between the two of them, then nods without a word and moves to ensure they won't be interrupted by anyone barging in.
"That should do it."
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gay.
bro.