for all_at_sea : if I had a heart

[whisted]

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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[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."

[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."

[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.

[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."

[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."

[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.

[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.

[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."

[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.

[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.

[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?"

[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.

[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.

[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."

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[all_at_sea]

They should be sensible. They should be sensible and stop. They should at least panic and pull away, frightened of discovery. But none of that happens. If anything, they get worse.

Horatio's hand moves between James' shirt and his jacket and it's all James can do to shift and remove his hands for a second, enough to tug the jacket from his shoulders. Once it's dropped on the floor and forgotten, his hands both go to Horatio's backside, dragging the young man's hips forward.

As his lips leave a trail of pink marks against Horatio's throat, the other boy's soft noises fill hid ears.

That's why he doesn't hear the footsteps heading towards their dressing room.

[whisted]

For a heartbeat, the world is cold and terrible as James's hands pull away. It pulls the breath from his lungs to be left without the warm touch--and then keep him breathless when he forces his eyes open to see James pulling his jacket off.

They shouldn't be doing this. They shouldn't be getting distracted by this. Despite that, Horatio is fairly certain they would both fall to pieces if they weren't allowed even this much of a pleasant memory.

"J-James--"

His fingers claw to free the tails of the other boy's shirt, to get his fingers properly on the taller Tribute's lithe form. His neck arches to give James's lips more room, hips bucking sharply as he follows the motion of James's grip. His own lips fumble to press frantic kisses against the other Tribute's temple, ear, hair; whatever he can reach.

[all_at_sea]

They might both be mad. James certainly isn't thinking clearly, not when Horatio's hot breath ghosts over his eat and then his lips follow, the desperate tremble that follows is almost sublime. He can't be blamed for focusing only on Horatio, on the way their hips grind together.

Cutler rolls his eyes. Even before the door opens he can hear the soft deep breathing abd the muffled groans. If the two idiots think they're subtle, they're in more trouble than they think.

"I pray you're both still dressed," Cutler crawls as he steps into the room. There's nothing more satisfying than watching the pair of them pull apart, frustration and embarrassment evident on their faces.

"Oh my, what have I interrupted? A last hurrah?"

[whisted]

Of course they're interrupted. Of course they aren't allowed to have more than a few heartbeats of feeling completely distracted from the hell their lives have become.

Horatio's ears and cheeks and neck are all flushed a painfully bright red as he pushes at James, breath gasping unhappily from his throat as he presses the heels of his palms against both his eyes. There's another sob in his chest, this one much more unhappy and pained than the throaty noises of moments before.

"--fuck."

He should go. He should be anywhere but here. He should find Pellew and let himself forget the last few minutes in the panic last-minute advice will inspire.

He hates the idea of being apart from James.

[all_at_sea]

James feels all the blood in him freeze as Horatio pushes him away. Cutler he can deal with, Cutler he could punch. Horatio, he wants to pull close. To protect, to hide away from Cutler and Simpson and all of their ilk. But he can't do that if Horatio pushes him away.

He can only feel hurt when that happens.

But he does manage to step between them, shielding Horatio from the other boy from District 1. He knows Horatio would probably prefer to run, to get away, but Cutler is blocking the only route out. Purposefully so, if James is any judge.

He's fighting hard against the desire just to lash out, but there isn't long to wait till the arena. There's no reason in giving in and letting Cutler get what he wants.

"I had you pegged as an unscrupulous bastard Cutler, but not a voyeur. I suppose I will add it to the list."

He steps forwards, into Cutler's personal space. He's the taller of the pair of them, and he tries to use that force Cutler away, out of the room. But the other boy does not budge.

"Lady Barbara will be most disappointed, James. She's been telling everyone how you're the perfect gentleman. I'm sure you're adoring public would be very distressed to find out you only want one thing. Still, you can't blame the little slug for letting you. As long as he's useful to you, you'll let him live."

He glances beyond James, at the boy behind him, looking him over again with no small amount of distaste.

"Just be careful what you do with him. Simpson has told me some very unpleasant stories. He really does have a very amusing colloquial way of phrasing these things."

[whisted]

Horatio wants very badly to run. Every instinct he has tells him to bolt, to get away, to avoid as best as he can the menace in the doorway. He's spent so much of his life running in moments like this. He's spent so much of this last week learning to make enough space from an attacker so that he could flee. This is exactly the sort of thing he should be staying clear of and letting James handle.

It's just that it grates under his skin to see someone spitting vitriol in the face of a man as good and kind and wonderful as James. It's just that, for the first time in his life, he can't stand to let Simpson stain at least this tiny piece of himself.

James doesn't need protecting. James also doesn't need anyone to cause a scene. Neither of them need to kick up a fuss when they're so close to being thrown into the arena. Somehow, that doesn't stop Horatio from moving.

It's just too much.

Horatio has always been quick. He's quick now, stepping around James to insert himself in what minimal space exists between the Tributes from District 1. Hopefully the surprise that he's moved at all will give him the heartbeat of time he needs to bring a knee up hard between Beckett's legs.