They fit, quiet honestly, inelegantly at best. It's partly the odd little spot they've chosen, close in by the table. It's partly the comparatively new need to get this many pairs of arms, of elbows, of tight clinging hands assembled in a small amount of space. It's warm and it's crowded and it's just a touch messy.
It's wonderful.
More than that, being clustered together like this drags caution far back from the fore. They're already here. William's lips have brushed against Horatio's hair; Archie's lips have pressed against William's pulse. Something's been fully admitted. Some piece of holding back has been completely abandoned.
Time, surely, to throw caution at least briefly to the wind.
Some plans needed long incubation. The best ones, Horatio had found, came from throwing oneself into a purpose--blindly, completely, without the faintest thought for caution and self-preservation. He doesn't have an actual plan when Archie leans closer to kiss his cheek. Admittedly, he also doesn't actually have one when his fingers scramble around to catch properly at Archie's lapel to keep him close. Horatio can't be entirely sure it even counts as a plan to squirm just enough to offer Archie a proper kiss, over-exuberant with nerves, body refusing to unstick from William's side.
William's not sure there's any way to plan for... this. In his experience, this is the sort of thing that defies all planning; one can try and try and try and think it looks perfect on paper, but it's difficult to predict the path mouths will take when wandering, or the amount of desperation in a hug, or the way the breath catches in the chest in response to something as slight (to anyone else) as a shipmate's smile.
So he has no plan, either. All he has is the way his mind and body react to the scene playing out around him, to the touching and the kissing and the closeness.
Right now, his reaction to Horatio offering a kiss to Archie is to gape as if struck on the back of the head, and to hold his breath, and to wait with an eagerness that he feels buzzing all the way to his fingertips.
Kissing Horatio properly (it's been so long) is such a blessing. It has him smiling broadly even before the kiss has even properly begun. Has him smiling even more so once they part for air.
There's another fond bump of his nose against Horatio's (an echo of a lifetime long ago, now,) before he turns to William with a questioning look in his eye. The way his head leans forward slightly is part-invitation, part-question.
"I wouldn't want you to feel neglected," he murmurs, that daring little grin still on his lips.
There's nothing like kissing a smile and feeling lips curl up against one's own. For Horatio's money, there must be nothing in the world like kissing Archie Kennedy entirely sober, either, and feeling that delicious little lift of lips.
His own smile is much more flickering, the usual uncertain twitch at the edge of his expression that threatens to break into a grin but can't always manage. Novelty comes with nerves to a constantly fretful mind.
Of course, maybe someday it won't be novel. That's a thought to keep the warm flush in his cheeks nearly as much a the brightness in Archie's eyes.
Horatio's breath comes in a shaky exhale as Archie turns to William. It's impossible not to wonder, faintly, at the probabilities of the moment. What were the odds of men of this persuasion finding each other in the first place? What were the odds of any given pair feelings devotion more than lust? What were the odds of that pair being allowed by fate and the Admiralty, even unknowingly, to move together through the fleet? How much farther did those odds jump when each inquiry involved three individuals as variables rather than two?
It's also impossible, for all his mind is whirling, not to feel a curl of genuine pleasure at the way Archie and William look at one another.
Not once did William have any thoughts of being neglected. Quite the opposite, in fact; if anything, he's felt more privileged than ever, simply to be here and watch the two men he cares for most in the act of —
Well.
Caring about each other.
He blinks, broken out of his silent, staring reverie, and looks at Archie first. Then Horatio. Then Archie again. Eventually, he's able to make himself nod, lips parting slightly. He even finds a few words.
They both look happy. Archie looks just about gleeful, and William looks overwhelmed in the most wonderful manner possible. Would it be so terrible to have little moments like this? Would it be so wrong to enjoy something for themselves?
Certainty bubbles through him. It doesn't quite stay stuck to his ribs, but it rushes around his heart pleasantly for a few moments.
The sensation is strong enough at least as the other men's lips meet. The surge of joy prompts Horatio to lean slightly forward, aiming to peck against William's cheek.
Three bodies moving together isn't quite as easy as two, of course. Maybe no one will mind that Horatio misses and winds up nipping slightly under William's jaw instead.
What William finds strange, in that moment, is how the kiss is both entirely too much and not nearly enough at the same time — it feels, when their lips meet, like the kind of kiss meant to break quickly. Like Archie's just testing the waters.
William doesn't want to be tested; he wants to be taken, to be dragged even further out of himself than he already is. He grabs a fistful of Archie's shirt, holding on tight and keeping them both in place so the kiss goes and goes.
— and that's right about when he feels Horatio's mouth on his neck, and he has to pull away from the kiss just so he can breathe.
But does such a sharp inhale count as a breath, or a gasp?
The way William grabs at his shirt earns a panic that shows in the briefest catch of his breath. Hopefully Horatio won't notice; hopefully the way Archie squeezes slightly at Horatio's side to ground himself looks more like affection. He doesn't want this moment to end just because of old ghosts that he's largely over.
He wants William to grab at his shirt like that; to maybe take it off him at some point. He wants Horatio to kiss him until he forgets he's ever suffered. He wants this, and that's all the difference in the world.
That's enough, really, to have him shifting all the closer to the both of them, grinning at the soft sound William makes.
"A-- very good plan of attack, Mr. Hornblower," Archie purrs softly.
And then, well. As with all of Horatio's good plans, it's best just to follow. So the next time Horatio presses a kiss to William's neck, Archie's going to be ducking in to mirror the gesture on the other side.
The next time comes quickly. There's something genuinely wonderful, after all, about having William's breath come stuttering like that. There's something properly giddy about feeling Archie squeezing closer instead of pulling away.
So the next kiss comes with a certain eagerness to it. The next kiss captures something like a nervously pleased laugh against the other man's skin.
And if his hand on Archie scrambles down to give a squeeze at Archie's hip reassuringly, that's hopefully all right.
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no subject
It's wonderful.
More than that, being clustered together like this drags caution far back from the fore. They're already here. William's lips have brushed against Horatio's hair; Archie's lips have pressed against William's pulse. Something's been fully admitted. Some piece of holding back has been completely abandoned.
Time, surely, to throw caution at least briefly to the wind.
Some plans needed long incubation. The best ones, Horatio had found, came from throwing oneself into a purpose--blindly, completely, without the faintest thought for caution and self-preservation. He doesn't have an actual plan when Archie leans closer to kiss his cheek. Admittedly, he also doesn't actually have one when his fingers scramble around to catch properly at Archie's lapel to keep him close. Horatio can't be entirely sure it even counts as a plan to squirm just enough to offer Archie a proper kiss, over-exuberant with nerves, body refusing to unstick from William's side.
no subject
So he has no plan, either. All he has is the way his mind and body react to the scene playing out around him, to the touching and the kissing and the closeness.
Right now, his reaction to Horatio offering a kiss to Archie is to gape as if struck on the back of the head, and to hold his breath, and to wait with an eagerness that he feels buzzing all the way to his fingertips.
no subject
There's another fond bump of his nose against Horatio's (an echo of a lifetime long ago, now,) before he turns to William with a questioning look in his eye. The way his head leans forward slightly is part-invitation, part-question.
"I wouldn't want you to feel neglected," he murmurs, that daring little grin still on his lips.
no subject
His own smile is much more flickering, the usual uncertain twitch at the edge of his expression that threatens to break into a grin but can't always manage. Novelty comes with nerves to a constantly fretful mind.
Of course, maybe someday it won't be novel. That's a thought to keep the warm flush in his cheeks nearly as much a the brightness in Archie's eyes.
Horatio's breath comes in a shaky exhale as Archie turns to William. It's impossible not to wonder, faintly, at the probabilities of the moment. What were the odds of men of this persuasion finding each other in the first place? What were the odds of any given pair feelings devotion more than lust? What were the odds of that pair being allowed by fate and the Admiralty, even unknowingly, to move together through the fleet? How much farther did those odds jump when each inquiry involved three individuals as variables rather than two?
It's also impossible, for all his mind is whirling, not to feel a curl of genuine pleasure at the way Archie and William look at one another.
no subject
Well.
Caring about each other.
He blinks, broken out of his silent, staring reverie, and looks at Archie first. Then Horatio. Then Archie again. Eventually, he's able to make himself nod, lips parting slightly. He even finds a few words.
"Yes, ah — of course."
no subject
"Very well, then."
So he'll be leaning in to steal a kiss from William, squeezing at Horatio, still.
no subject
Certainty bubbles through him. It doesn't quite stay stuck to his ribs, but it rushes around his heart pleasantly for a few moments.
The sensation is strong enough at least as the other men's lips meet. The surge of joy prompts Horatio to lean slightly forward, aiming to peck against William's cheek.
Three bodies moving together isn't quite as easy as two, of course. Maybe no one will mind that Horatio misses and winds up nipping slightly under William's jaw instead.
no subject
William doesn't want to be tested; he wants to be taken, to be dragged even further out of himself than he already is. He grabs a fistful of Archie's shirt, holding on tight and keeping them both in place so the kiss goes and goes.
— and that's right about when he feels Horatio's mouth on his neck, and he has to pull away from the kiss just so he can breathe.
But does such a sharp inhale count as a breath, or a gasp?
gay.
He wants William to grab at his shirt like that; to maybe take it off him at some point. He wants Horatio to kiss him until he forgets he's ever suffered. He wants this, and that's all the difference in the world.
That's enough, really, to have him shifting all the closer to the both of them, grinning at the soft sound William makes.
"A-- very good plan of attack, Mr. Hornblower," Archie purrs softly.
And then, well. As with all of Horatio's good plans, it's best just to follow. So the next time Horatio presses a kiss to William's neck, Archie's going to be ducking in to mirror the gesture on the other side.
bro.
So the next kiss comes with a certain eagerness to it. The next kiss captures something like a nervously pleased laugh against the other man's skin.
And if his hand on Archie scrambles down to give a squeeze at Archie's hip reassuringly, that's hopefully all right.