whisted | for all_at_sea : if I had a heart

Jack Simpson is enjoying this.

That, more than anything, is what has Horatio Hornblower feeling so painfully trapped. There had been a terrible sinking in his gut when his own name had been called during the reaping. There had been a heavy weight that lingered even after his mother's hand was dragged from his shoulder and his father's voice had vanished from his ears. For all that had ripped something from him, the odd inevitable hadn't been so terrible. A piece of him, even now, thinks he could manage to have properly accepted it.

But then, through the haze, had come the harrowing sound of Simpson's name. That had been far too much far too fast. That had been the worst sort of death warrant; the immediate shifting of hope toward dying at the hands of anyone but his District's other tribute.

None of the rest of it had helped, of course. Being dragged far from home was excruciating. Being poked and prodded and needled and explained to, by tense displeased voices, that he somehow didn't even stand and wear his clothes correctly was torturous. Even the odd comfort of being handed into the care of his mentor was undercut by the horrific fact of Simpson standing nearly constantly beside him, practically preening with a nauseating sort of pride.

In defense of the prep team, of course, Horatio apparently doesn't know how to stand properly. It doesn't matter that his fingers grip tight to the chariot, or that all he properly has to do in the Tribute Parade is actually stand still with the faintest bit of a smile. It's just a blessing, Pellew is certainly sighing to himself, that the Capitol seems to find a tribute managing to fall off the back of a chariot faintly endearing.

(Simpson will make his life hell for it later. Thankfully, Horatio doesn't anticipate having that much more life to have to suffer through.)

It will be better, he tells himself, when they can be separated in the Training Center. It will almost be enjoyable, perhaps, to have these few days of being able to make some small amount of space for himself before Jack Simpson thoroughly enjoys killing him.

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From:

whisted

James isn't pushing him away. James isn't freezing up out of disgust or nerves or anger. If anything, James's fingers on his jaw feel almost as if they'd like to keep Horatio lingering in the kiss a little longer.

It has Horatio's heart pounding in his ears, almost loud enough to stop him hearing the pounding on the door.

That only lasts a second before he tugs himself away, cheeks burning red and tongue too tangled to make even the softest sound of apology. He can't manage much of anything at all before his proper instincts take over and he's skittering off the bed, stumbling out of the room to throw himself back into the custody of the guards at the door.

It had been a foolish thing to do. It had been an incredibly reckless gesture; more reckless still that James had kissed him back. The moment sat oddly in his stomach, half wonderful and half petrifying. It rattles oddly through his mind as he lies awake most of the night; fidgets in the back of his thoughts as the morning brings another torrent of business in anticipation of the final interview.

Pellew's fingers find the back of his neck often enough to keep him breathing. The murmured reassurances--that he'll be standing with James, not Simpson; that they'll be made to look a proper unit this time--only keep his mind whirling with confusion and guilt.

From:

all_at_sea

Horatio kisses like a phantom- one moment there, pale and beautiful and with hesitant soft lips against James' own, and the next moment he's gone, with no sign of him at all in the room aside from the slight hollow in the bed.

James might have thought he'd dreamt the whole visit, if not for Cutler's snide remarks the next morning.

But he has no time to dwell on it. He has no time to think about the sweetness of the kiss, the softness of Horatio's lips, or the warmth of them being pressed so closely together. He would have thought on it a long time if he could, about the slow heat that flowed through him at the memory, but there was no chance for a private moment of reflection.

The day goes by in a blur, until he finds himself back in the dressing room, the final adjustments being made to another exquisitely tailored suit. The man carefully fastening the jacket buttons speaks quietly, confidently, and there's something about him that James finds likeable, even if he can't put his fingers on it. Possibly it's the fact his voice, low in the bustle of the room, murmurs instructions, secrets, messages.

If James focuses, he can see tiny little wires in the fabric of his sleeve, and there is an oddly heavy weight in the back of the jacket. It's only there when he focuses on it however, and when he looks himself over in the mirror, he can't see wires nor weight at all.

Then there's a sudden excited frenzy. He's ushered out of the room, Barbara by his side reminding him of what to say and how to look at Horatio (smile at him, dote on him, talk to him and not the audience) but he doesn't need the advice. He knows what they are trying to set up. He knows what they want of him. It won't be difficult to portray himself as dedicated to Horatio.

It will be the easiest thing in the world.

Maybe that's why he isn't nervous, climbing the steps onto the stage as he and Horatio are introduced.

From:

whisted

It's easier to focus when he hears James's name ringing in the air beside his own. It's easier to to shut everything out when he can see James moving into place, wrapped in the sharp lines of the same heavy suit weighing him down as well. It's easier to breathe knowing that all he actually has to do now is make his way to James.

Pellew's voice is like a buzz in his ear even as he takes his first step forward--look to James, hold hands properly, make more of this than it is. What an odd thing to think about as he steps into the overly bright and infinitely deafening room.

Hadn't he already made it more than it is?

His breath comes shaky until he blinks the stage lights from his eyes. It smooths instantly as soon as James comes into view on the other side of the stage. He almost stumbles as he moves to meet the other Tribute, feet too eager and mind too exhausted to do anything but rush to meet James.

His fingers are reaching out before they're close enough to meet. There's a strange heat in his arm as they sweep closer together.

For a heartbeat, he almost thinks he's imagining the sparks.

From:

all_at_sea

James should be blinded by the studio lights. He should be deafened by the noise around him- the applause and the announcement but all he can see is Horatio, all he can feel is the way his own mouth becomes a brilliant smile as he reaches out for the other's hand.

Just as promised, as their fingers slide together, grasping tight to each other, there is a sudden flash. It's slightly blue, jumping out and earthing itself in the stage, radiating out from the pair of them. It's beautiful, albeit brief, and prevents James from gathering Horatio into his arms.

He'd like to, it's his natural inclination, but Horatio looks so wide-eyed and startled that James doesn't think pulling him into an embrace now, in public, would be the best idea.

As it is, he just manages to say (or mouth, really) you look very handsome before some of the fuss dies down and Caesar is at their side, still clapping.

"Wasn't that simply shocking, everyone? What an entrance boys, what an entrance! Come on, come and sit down. What a week you've had, haven't you? A week of new experiences and surprises?"

From:

whisted

It's much easier to breathe deeply when their fingers are tangled together. It's much easier to let his smile, small but genuine, flicker back onto his lips as James grins through the flash and sparking. It's much easier to stand a little taller with the older Tribute murmuring through the din.

His fingers stay clinging tight to James's as he moves to sit. His attention stays half-stuck on the other young man. Thank goodness they're meant to look foolishly in love--it comes strangely easy.

"Certainly-- quite a few new experiences. I think we've been-- very lucky, having each other to-- work through them with."

From:

all_at_sea

James fingers gently squeeze, support and adoration and pride all out into that one small gesture. Horatio has answered the question well, although there is a small knowing smile on the face of the man interviewing them.

"My sources tell me that you've been virtually inseparable all week. And that you were given permission to do something unheard of in the history of the Hunger Games. You were allowed to visit each other in the evenings, isn't that so?"

There's a gentle murmur from the audience, a soft "awwww" that gives James a moment to think.

"We were, and we'd like to thabk the Gamemakers for allowing us to do so. When Horatio and I are together, the world seems to make more sense."

That isn't a lie at least. There are still so many things that don't make sense, but at least Horatio helps him see them more clearly.

"Is that how you feel Horatio? When you're with James do the clouds part and the way becomes clear?"

From:

whisted

Thank goodness James is there. Thank goodness the taller boy and his calm, steady voice are at the ready to take the next question while Horatio processes.

He can feel his cheeks turning pink. He can feel the tips of his ears already burning warm, even as he forces himself to focus on the hand squeezing his. He's amazed that his voice comes out even partly even as he forces himself to start fumbling through an answer to the direct question.

"Being with James makes me... happy."

It's that simple. It's that quietly honest.

"And I think, when you're happy, you-- do better. I think we'll both do better because we've got someone to help us remember to breathe properly."

From:

all_at_sea

James' head ducks for a moment, to try and hide the smile from the cameras, from Horatio, from Caesar. Whether Horatio is saying this just for the audience, or whether he really means it doesn't change the bubbling warmth that spreads through James. It's happiness, pure and unsullied, and he's only ever felt it once before.

That was last night, when Horatio pressed their lips together.

He has to remember to breathe properly now, so Horatio's hand still holding his is a blessing. It grounds him, and he manages to focus on what is being said, something about them capturing the hearts of Panem. How they have managed to do such a thing, he has no idea, but he is sure Matthews and Pellew, and possibly Barbara, are all involved to a greater and lesser extent.

"We're lucky to have each other. Neither of us expected... this to happen. Any of it. But Horatio makes me a better man; he's the strongest and bravest person I have ever met. I will help him in the Games however I can."

From:

whisted

It doesn't matter that they've done it by the simple, natural twisting of their own hearts. It doesn't matter that they've done it by some degree of truth and some degree of words and actions being twisted by others into a half-true narrative.

All that matters is that the audience is practically cooing over something they'll be able to maintain easily through the Games. All that matters is that they've captured something in the popular imagination--something that might inspire even simple scraps of assistance while they fight for their own survival.

The flush in his cheeks is brighter as he forces himself to let out a nervous little laugh. At least he has a good excuse to look solely at James for a moment, grounding himself slightly.

"Strongest? I don't think 'strongest' is right."

Maybe Caesar will let them be distracted by each other for a moment. Maybe they'll be able to catch their breath by letting the world narrow down to each other.

From:

all_at_sea

James' thumb strokes gently, softly, over the skin of Horatio's hands. Hands that have been burnt by sun and bitten by cold, skin scarred by knives and covered in flour in his mother's kitchen.

Horatio is undoubtedly the strongest and bravest person in the world, that strength is more than wielding heavy clubs or drawing bows, but James can't explain those things now. Not here. He can't explain that Horatio grew up in the shadow of Simpson and never gave up, he watched the most important person in his life die on a screen and still carried on. He faces unknown hardships every day, and yet he still laughs, and smiles in ways that make James' heart skip beats.

"I think it is."

It's quietly spoken, meant only for Horatio, but they're wired up to microphones, and those private words don't stay private. The look in James' eyes, utterly awed and completely adoring, is solely for Horatio.

"And you lend that strength to other people although I don't think you know it."

From:

whisted

If he just looks from the shoulders down, Horatio can see the ghost of a young Peacekeeper. There's something sharp in the other Tribute's shoulders, something solid in his build; something dangerous in the movement of his body, even here under these bright lights and wrapped in this fine fabric. The young man holding his hand could imagine killing another human being--would kill another human being dispassionately before the end of the Games.

But that's not James.

James is the boy with fairly pointed features smiling at him now. James had seen the pathetic scrap of a Tribute from District 11 and offered an olive branch. James had dragged him from the sea of people and held him gently, the way a person might hold a nervous bird. James is holding his hand now and looking at him with the absolute earnestness of a man who properly sees the person before him.

James is the man he kissed. And James thinks he's strong.

"O-Oh." Horatio leans just slightly. He doesn't actually press his forehead to the taller Tribute's, but the impulse is apparently clear even from the audience--another audible 'aw' rushing over the crowd. "To-- you, I hope."

They can't ignore Caesar forever. The flush is brighter as he forces himself to look back to the Games' host, fingers clutching tighter at James's.

"We make a good team. We make-- each other better. And we're both entirely grateful for that."

From:

all_at_sea

Caesar is aw-ing too, both encouraging and copying the audience. "That is beautiful, isn't it ladies and gentleman? Never have I seen two young people so obviously in love."

James feels his face heat up a little bit at the word, and he's not entirely sure that Horatio will like having that thrown around the room. It might be accurate to describe how James feels, at least as far as he understands the term, but it's difficult having it thrust at you.

Unaware of James' discomfort, Caesar moves in his seat, shifting closer to the pair, and theatrically lowering his voice.

"Did it start with the dance?"

James shakes his head just a little. "The dance helped. But I already thought he was cute." Not just cute, but beautiful too, sparking a reaction in James that felt like fire. The same reaction he'd felt at the kiss.

He really wanted to kiss Horatio again. But not here, not for an audience, not for the Capitol. Somewhere away, where it was just them.

From:

whisted

'Love' is a big word. 'Love' is a word that had, until this week, been such a singular and painful thing.

It sets Horatio's skin burning a bright red as his attention drops briefly to the ground. His fingers tangle a bit tighter in James's, seeking the other young man's pulse against his skin.

A deep breath helps keep him steady. "I'd say the dance just... solidified it. Made it feel real."

That's partly real. It's also partly a matter of concealing something real.

No one else had to know about the kiss. No one else had to know that his lips had been all but tingling since the night before. No one else had to intrude on the fact that this might actually be love.

From:

all_at_sea

Love is a frightening word. Love means something more than the sum of its parts, it means dedication and self-sacrifice and teamwork. It means realising their individual weaknesses and celebrating their strengths.

This is what he and Horatio already have, to some degree.

Those feelings which had begun to blossom in his chest but had been unacknowledged bubble up again, and it's an effort not to lean in towards Horatio and just kiss him now. Kiss him and pull him tight and just stay like that. Although perhaps not exactly like that. James suspects that Horatio is far more innocent than he is, but he wouldn't have minded if they had had time for a few more kisses last night.

He can still feel Horatio's lips against his, perfect and soft, and ever so distracting. It's a miracle that he can still follow the questions being put to them.

"And tomorrow you have to face another very real thing. The Games. I heard that you'd been given special permission to meet in the evening to discuss your plans and tactics." There's a brief pause and a knowing glance towards the audience before Caesar's attention is on them again, "That's never happened before. And I know you won't tell me if I ask- but have you got everything planned out? Everything ready?"

He looks between them, prompting them. The unspoken question on his lips is obvious- only one of you can come out of the Games, who is it going to be?

"We've... made our plans." James says. "But you're right Caesar, we aren't going to tell you what they are."

From:

whisted

Nothing sobers the mind quite like a reminder of the Games. Nothing dampens this briefly pleased sparking of emotions like the unspoken truth that, no matter what they call this, it ends with the Games.

Shifting closer to James is entirely unconscious, but it keeps Horatio breathing. Having James speak first helps push Horatio's thoughts back in the direction they need to be.

"Just that we're hopeful."

That hits the same soft spot, surely. That makes them look like a pair of star-crossed lovers, clutching at the scraps they're given as they fight to hold onto their love.

That, hopefully, is something to soothe his parents so many miles away, watching their screen the way he had watched the year before.

From:

all_at_sea

James' hand lets go of Horatio's as the younger Tribute moves in closer. The lack of contact lasts only for a second, before James' arm is wrapped around Horatio. He didn't like the question either, he doesn't like the way it pulls the floor out from under their happiness. They can't be happy, not with the Games looming over them. No matter what reassurances Barbara may offer.

There are one or two more gentle questions, easier and less heartbreaking, which is almost certainly a good thing. James finds it hard to think with Horatio closer to him, so close that he could just lean in a little further, tuck himself up against James' shoulder. James could lean down, kiss his hair, hold him tight.

He has to gently unhook his arm when the applause starts, but he reaches for Horatio's hand again. He doesn't want to spend a moment away from him, a moment not touching him. They don't have very much time now, hardly any, and James doesn't intend to waste any of it being away from Horatio. If they try to take them off to separate dressing rooms, he'll refuse- but thankfully no one attempts it.

In fact, they're taken to an empty dressing room, and left alone while everyone else bustles about. The quiet, empty space is a little like heaven.

James shuts the door behind them, breathing freely for what feels like the first time in days, and then pulls Horatio to him, hugging him close.

From:

whisted

James is there. Even in the brief moments of shifting, James is infinitely present beside him. That makes it easier to breathe through the last few questions. That makes it possible to fumble his way through a few more soft responses.

Horatio follows that possibility almost blindly, fingers tight around the older boy's until they're finally--amazingly--locked away from the world. Maybe it will only last a heartbeat. Maybe someone will burst in without warning.

His body doesn't seem to care. It's infinitely easy to throw himself into James's arms again; to find the place where he can burrow in snugly and immerse himself fully in the sensation of JAames being just beside him.

"That was-- okay?"

From:

all_at_sea

They might not have long, James is acutely aware of that, but there's a rush of joy and exhilaration from coming out of those interviews, a feeling of triumph almost, and no small joy at having Horatio close by him.

"That was wonderful, you were wonderful." He says, his hands smoothing down Horatio's back, catching on his hips. The smile on his face is bright and wide. He can't help being proud of them, of Horatio, he can't help feeling a little shiver when he remembers that Horatio thinks he's brave and strong. It just makes him feel alive.

As alive as the kiss last night made him feel.

He doesn't hesitate, but ducks his head down, pressing a kiss to Horatio's lips, the butterflies cascading through him.

From:

whisted

It's amazing how quickly things change. It's amazing that it's only been a week, and already the sensation of James's hands on him feels so much more like the friendly sensation of Archie catching at him than the petrifying dread of Simpson grabbing at him. It's amazing that all through the morning he had been terrified of having ruined things the night before, and now here was James's lips ducking down to meet his.

The noise on Horatio's lips is a faint sort of sob, arms twisting up to pull properly around the taller boy's neck. They'll be fine if they can just have a moment, surely. They'll manage if they can just grasp something wonderful for a few seconds before they're thrown into a nightmare.

From:

all_at_sea

The sob, what little of it is audible, would have made James' heart break. But the tug of Horatio's arms around his shoulders makes him realise that this is something Horatio wants, and so he does not pull away. His head tilts slightly, the kiss still lingering, his own fingers tightening on Horatio's hips.

They hardly make any noise. The door is shut tight, and beyond there's no sound, no hurrying feet or voices. They have a little longer. James could let go of Horatio, reach out with one hand and lock the door, but he doubts Horatio will like it.

Besides, that involves letting go of Horatio, and that isn't what James wants to do. He does remove one hand, momentarily, and let his fingers rest on Horatio's cheek, ever so gentle.

"I meant it," He murmurs, pulling back a little, still smiling. "You really do look handsome."

From:

whisted

"So-- d'you."

James always looks handsome. More than that, James's arms always feel safe. James's fingers smoothing at his skin feel like a prickling thrill as he leans into the touch at his cheek.

Nothing's trapping him. No one's demanding anything of him. James is simply there, warm and wonderful and so easy to push up slightly onto his toes and kiss again.

They'll have to break apart soon enough. No need to waste time with talking when they can bask in a few more moments of warm contact.

From:

all_at_sea

The next kiss is just as agreeable as the others, and James can't help but make a happy, soft groan of a noise, pressing himself closer to Horatio, against the lithe lines of the other Tribute's form and feeling the thud of his heart against James' own. It's a wonderful thing, and it makes James kiss back a little deeper than he might otherwise have done, his hand slipping down from Horatio's hip to the curve of his ass.

It's probably too much, it's probably where Horatio will push him away and tell him he's pushing his luck. And he'd be right. He should stop now, before either of them get carried away, before they get interrupted. But he doesn't want to go to the Games without this, without knowing more of Horatio, without having traced the shape of him and pressed himself close.

He doesn't want to die with only the chastest of kisses between them, without any hint of more, about what could have been. He doesn't want to lose this moment when he feels so alive and happy and so proud and joyous, he wants to share that with Horatio if he can, through that kiss and through that hesitant touch. He wants them to be as together as they can be, as any two people can be.

From:

whisted

It's startling, admittedly, but it's a wonderful sort of startling.

Horatio's instincts are instantly in competition. One foot takes a half-step back, nervous and fretful. Both arms pull tighter around James's shoulder, his body arching closer against the taller boy's eagerly. It's a strange moment of balance, of uncertainty and breathlessness.

There's a mewl on his lips as his second foot moves as well, trying to catch himself even as he tugs James with him. One arm untangles fretfully from the taller Tribute, hand waving to find the wall not far behind him. It'll be better if he doesn't have to hold himself up. It'll be better if he can get himself leaned against the wall with James close and warm.

It's possible, in the moment of confusion, that his teeth come down hard on James's lower lip.

From:

all_at_sea

For one so small and slight, it's impressive that Horatio manages to tug James with him. Or maybe the pair's balance is centred on him, and James has no choice but to move. Either way, he does, pressing Horatio back into the wall, bumping up against him. The sudden sharp movement, hip against hip, feels wonderful, heady and hot.

James doesn't even mind the bite. It hurts, makes his breath come out as a gasp, his fingers closing tight on Horatio's ass in reaction. Perhaps it is a moment of confusion, perhaps he should step back and catch his breath. But even as he thinks it, the kiss starts again, even more heated than before, moving down from Horatio's pink mouth to the pale expanse of his throat.

How much time do they have? Not long, not nearly long enough to find any sort of satisfaction in this, to find any blissful conclusion. And yet he doesn't want to stop, not while there is more chance to caress Horatio's skin, to bring his hand down from Horatio's flushed cheek down his chest, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

From:

whisted

James is moving with him. James is grabbing his ass and kissing his throat. James is pressing close so their bodies move together, wonderful and warm and sending sparks flying up his spine as Horatio gasps softly for air.

His hand leaves the wall to tangle in James's hair. For a moment, all he can do is cling, body squirming to be somehow closer to the other young man's, a whimper catching in his throat.

They'll be caught, a piece of him know. They'll be found like this and dragged apart--or, worse, recorded exactly as they are. For all they've played to the cameras, for all they've blustered with the word 'love' in the last half hour, this moment should stay exactly as it is.

This moment feels real.

His fingers tremble as they move from James's shoulder. They grope downward blindly, feeling for purchase beneath the other Tribute's jacket as his eyes squeeze shut.