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Strike Your Colors by Miss Kittie (R)
Fandom: HORNBLOWER
Pairing: Horatio/Archie, Bush/Wellard implied
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
misskittie79
Author Website: Sacred & Profane
Why this must be read:
Strike Your Colors is set during the dark days of Mutiny, as Horatio and Archie struggle to come to terms with what is happening aboard the ship (not limited solely to the problem of a mad captain), and their own changing relationship. Miss Kitty's writing is rich and descriptive, with an unusual cadence, and contains many lines that have stuck with me long after reading. The greatest feature of this story, however, is the characterisation, which is absolutely spot on in all instances (with the possible exception of Bush, but he doesn't actually appear in person). This is a sometimes melancholy, sometimes giddy, sometimes painful look at just how beautifully Horatio and Archie complement each other.
Wellard shook his head, and then slowly raised it. Archie bit into his lower lip; the eyes that stared back at him were no longer melting and terrified, but bold and almost wild. The soft melody of his voice did not falter as he spoke. "The Captain doesn't think much of me, sir, neither do the men. It may be that you and Mr. Hornblower do not either, but I beg you, sir, I could not bear disgrace. I will find a use on this ship and I am willing to use any means, any means at all to do so." He raised his hand into the air again. Archie froze to feel it settle on his chest, through the wool of his coat. A chill night, and yet the warmth bled through the layers of coat and vest and shirt. "Any means at all," Henry Wellard's voice was low, thick as cannon smoke, but steel hard with determination, his eyes soft and rich.
Good god, Archie cleared his throat. It was all he could do to step back, bring his own hand up to stop that hand on his chest where it was. His fingers wrapped around the smooth wrist, thumb curling into a palm not yet rough enough from a sailor's labors. Those hands would be soon enough, that smooth face lined from the sun and wind and perhaps tears if he kept on this way. A small gasp escaped the other man, a puff of air between them, dark eyes going wide at the small touch until it seemed they could hold no more emotion, not fear, not desperation, not even their strange glow of want. The boy was too eager at this game. Archie pulled Wellard's hand away, but did not let it go.
"Don't be so quick to sell your soul, Mr. Wellard," he did his best to force his mouth into a weak smile. "You will find that you miss it someday. It is a rare friend who will retrieve it for you."
Strike Your Colors
Pairing: Horatio/Archie, Bush/Wellard implied
Author on LJ:
misskittie79Author Website: Sacred & Profane
Why this must be read:
Strike Your Colors is set during the dark days of Mutiny, as Horatio and Archie struggle to come to terms with what is happening aboard the ship (not limited solely to the problem of a mad captain), and their own changing relationship. Miss Kitty's writing is rich and descriptive, with an unusual cadence, and contains many lines that have stuck with me long after reading. The greatest feature of this story, however, is the characterisation, which is absolutely spot on in all instances (with the possible exception of Bush, but he doesn't actually appear in person). This is a sometimes melancholy, sometimes giddy, sometimes painful look at just how beautifully Horatio and Archie complement each other.
Wellard shook his head, and then slowly raised it. Archie bit into his lower lip; the eyes that stared back at him were no longer melting and terrified, but bold and almost wild. The soft melody of his voice did not falter as he spoke. "The Captain doesn't think much of me, sir, neither do the men. It may be that you and Mr. Hornblower do not either, but I beg you, sir, I could not bear disgrace. I will find a use on this ship and I am willing to use any means, any means at all to do so." He raised his hand into the air again. Archie froze to feel it settle on his chest, through the wool of his coat. A chill night, and yet the warmth bled through the layers of coat and vest and shirt. "Any means at all," Henry Wellard's voice was low, thick as cannon smoke, but steel hard with determination, his eyes soft and rich.
Good god, Archie cleared his throat. It was all he could do to step back, bring his own hand up to stop that hand on his chest where it was. His fingers wrapped around the smooth wrist, thumb curling into a palm not yet rough enough from a sailor's labors. Those hands would be soon enough, that smooth face lined from the sun and wind and perhaps tears if he kept on this way. A small gasp escaped the other man, a puff of air between them, dark eyes going wide at the small touch until it seemed they could hold no more emotion, not fear, not desperation, not even their strange glow of want. The boy was too eager at this game. Archie pulled Wellard's hand away, but did not let it go.
"Don't be so quick to sell your soul, Mr. Wellard," he did his best to force his mouth into a weak smile. "You will find that you miss it someday. It is a rare friend who will retrieve it for you."
Strike Your Colors