Aids to Navigation

Title: Aids to Navigation

Author: The Ragged Rose

Rating/Pairing: Matthews/Hornblower Rating NC-17. M/M sex. Officers and crew fraternizing most explicitly. None of this should be any trouble for slash-minded, consenting, mature adults.

Summary: Post Retribution, Pre Duty story. Hornblower and Matthews have a long trip back to England in Retribution. Hornblower takes the chance to teach Matthews some new skills.

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, only the story. I took the guys off the shelf, played with them awhile, then cleaned them and put them back. No copyright infringement intended, and I make no money from this. Permission is given to print this story for personal use, provided my name remains attached. If you want to archive, please ask. Thanks!

Authors Notes: This story was started after Retribution aired, but before Duty and Loyalty. What can I say? It took me a while to get back to it. Certain details, such as Bush's presence in Retribution on the trip back, and Matthews and Styles being thrown out of work are therefore not in line with the movies. I made my choices based on my knowledge of the history of the period and wouldn't you know it? TPTB made other choices... Call it an AU, and enjoy, or know it's not necessarily canon and skip it.

Feedback: gratefully accepted, both pro and con. To: raggedrose@yahoo.com

Aids to Navigation
By The Ragged Rose

Hornblower stood on the weather side of the tiny quarterdeck of His Majesty's newly commissioned Ship Retribution. His quarterdeck, a moment he had been waiting for since he had joined the Navy. Now that it had come, he took no pleasure in it.

Automatically, his mind took in the state of the vessel, the wind and water she moved through, the men who worked on her deck. He took it all in, but all was well. There was nothing to distract him from the misery of knowing that his best friend was dead.

Already the courtroom was unreal, a memory that might have come from the pages of a cheap novel, or a bad play. Who would ever have believed that the representatives of Admiralty would order such a farce of a trial to take place? Only the few last moments at Archie's deathbed seemed real. He thought he had faced this before, at the bridge at Muzillac. He thought he had known what it was to face the death of one he cared for. Mariette's death was nothing compared to Archie's.

He wished fervently for Pellew's presence again. The time they had spent together in Kingston had healed the worst of it, or so he had thought at the time. Pellew had been the one to show him, once again, that he was still capable of loving, even after what had happened. Try as he might to will it so, those memories did not warm him now. They only reminded him of his cold and lonely cot below. Was this the emptiness of command, the isolation he had been told of so many times? He hadn’t believed it before, Pellew had never seemed to feel it, and he had certainly not let it keep them from their pleasure together. Now he knew better. Yes, Retribution was his, he was Master and Commander of her. But there was no one aboard to share his triumph. It might be years before he saw Edward again, and Archie…

Hornblower angrily turned his thoughts away as he felt the sadness and anger well up again. He had a ship to command, and over a hundred souls depending on him to get them safely to England again. He thought of the Admiralty dispatches he carried, and his Commander's commission amongst them, waiting to be confirmed. His future was assured, but he took no joy in it. It had been bought at far too high a price. The price had been paid, though, and he owed it to Archie, as well as to Retribution and the Admiralty, to so many different sources, to do his duty well.

Forward, Matthews was supervising a party of seamen turning jib halyards. Much of the running rigging aboard Retribution was old and in poor condition, and there was little new cordage to be had in Kingston to replace it, especially for one of the smallest ships and newest acting commanders. Even if the trial had not hung cloudlike over Hornblower, he would have found it difficult to wheedle much out of the dockyard there. Instead, the old lines would have to be made to do, and Matthews had been constantly on the move since he had come aboard, inspecting, replacing where absolutely necessary, and making do where he could not. Reversing a line end for end was an old trick, and a necessary one for a tiny ship and a far from wealthy commanding officer.

The sight of him lifted Hornblower's spirits. Matthews and Styles had asked to accompany him, as they had done when Hornblower had left Indefatigable. This time, it had been a positive demotion for both men. From the relative comfort of a ship of the line, they had come to sleep once again in hammocks on the lower deck. Matthews once again stood a watch, as did Styles, though they did it as officers of the watch, rather than as seamen. Styles's warrant as gunner had been all the reward Hornblower had been able to give him for his loyalty, and that was little enough. He had tried to give both men an honorable way out of the offer, but they had both refused to take it.

"If it's all the same to you, sir, we'll shift to Retribution," Styles had said. "I wouldn't want to have to spend another cruise looking at Hobbs."

Hornblower remembered the offhand words with gratitude, and a certain amount of pride. "Renown needs all the experienced standing officers she can get. Both of you will be needed there." He did not mention the fact that Matthews would be giving up a comfortable private cabin as well as a significant amount of pay by shifting to a smaller ship.

"Renown'll get along without us," Matthews said. "If you'll have us, that is, sir?"

What could he say to that? He felt his heart fill at the simple loyalty of the two before him, and hoped he had kept it from his face. "Very well then, I'll speak to your new captain about it." He allowed himself a smile. "I will be glad to have both of you."

Both of them were turning out to be godsends. Matthews had been tireless since he had first come aboard, cataloging the various weaknesses and deficiencies in sails, spars and cordage, and putting right as many as he could. Styles had done equally valuable work with the scratch crew the ship had been provided with. It was largely due to their efforts that Hornblower had been able to put to sea in good time, and good order. It was times such as these that he thought perhaps they had done too well. He longed for a problem to distract him from his melancholy thoughts.

With no sailing master, and no other officers to share the burden of command, Hornblower stood a watch, as he always had. Matthews, as boatswain, and Styles, as gunner, did the same. It was more work than was normally expected of a captain, but it still left Hornblower with far too much time on his hands, even taking into account the raw crew, and the responsibilities of navigating the vessel. Why, there wasn't even a midshipman to instruct in that--or was there? Hornblower eyed Matthews appraisingly. Not a mid, surely, but intelligent and able, and surely capable of learning such a straightforward skill as taking a noon sight at least. He mused on the possibility. It was a welcome distraction, and he began to pace the tiny quarterdeck, absorbed in the problem.

At seven bells of the forenoon, Matthews stood up and stretched himself. He put the needle and palm he had been using to stitch the two ends of the halyard together on the pinrail. The second line was ready to be turned, a job he could safely leave to the three seamen who had been helping him with this task.

"Peters, see to this and then turn the flying jib halyard. Then ye can coil down and square away up forward here."

"Aye aye," Peters replied as he stood there, a hand on the line that was now free of the pin.

Matthews made his way aft, past another gang of seamen who were blacking the guns, and another who were coiling down the lines around the mainmast. After the slackness of Renown, this tiny vessel was a positive joy for all her lack of size. It seemed Mr. Hornblower could make any ship a happy one, and he didn't regret the loss of his comforts in the least. There were different sorts of comforts to be had, after all, and a man had to choose which were important to him. This task, for example, was a mighty comfort to him. It was time to go and take the watch for Mr. Hornblower while he went below to get his instruments. By now it had become a ritual. If the captain had the forenoon, Matthews presented himself a little after seven bells. He didn't understand all the rigamarole that went with the taking of the noon sight, but he'd never had the chance to watch it done so close before, even if all he did was act as a pair of extra hands. Yes, there were some things you got in small ships that you didn't get in larger ones. He mounted the few steps to the quarterdeck.

"Ah, Matthews--would you be so good as to take the watch?"

"Aye aye, sir," Matthews replied as he came to stand next to the wheel. He glanced at the slate and the traverse board.

Hornblower quickly turned over the deck to him, telling him the particulars of the watch before disappearing below to his cabin.

Matthews stood quietly, taking it all in. Never in his life had he ever thought that he'd stand here, in effective command of a ship, even if only for a watch at a time. The world was a surprising place, sure enough. He wished for a moment he could talk to the helmsman. Being alone with his thoughts was a new feeling, and a strange one. He was still getting used to it. Silence was the rule during many tasks in the Navy, and rightly so for safety's sake, but he had seldom stood alone on a deck, doing nothing and with no mates around him.

Hornblower reappeared, his cased sextant in his hand. Matthews came up beside him and was passed the small slate for recording observations. Then the instrument itself came carefully out. Hornblower looked over at the sand glass that marked the watches, then raised the sextant in his hands. He snapped the sunshades down into place and trained it on the sun, moving the mirrored arm to catch its reflection.

Matthews never tired of watching this, and of trying to figure out what exactly Mr. Hornblower was doing. For long minutes they stood there, the only movement being the small adjustments Hornblower's long-fingered hands made to the position of the mirrored arm. Finally, he stopped, and just stood there a long moment. Then he clamped the arm into position.

"Have you ever taken a sight, Matthews?" Hornblower took note of the reading he'd just taken and handed the sextant to Matthews to hold while he wrote it on the slate.

"No sir." Matthews held the instrument until Hornblower finished. When he made to hand it back, Hornblower didn't take it.

"More than time you learned how, then, don't you think?"

"Ye can't teach an old dog new tricks," Matthews said. He made no further move to give the sextant back, though. He had always considered navigation to be a mystery, a subject for officers. He had never been closer to the instruments or the possibility of instruction than he was right now, but he feared to take it. Mr. Hornblower was an odd one for sure, and he'd never felt more like a common seaman than he did at this moment, for all his warrant rank.

"You've taken on the duties of a master's mate at the least. Why should you not have some of the benefits of the rank as well?"

"It wouldn't be fitting, sir, if ye take my meaning." Matthews shifted uncomfortably as he stood before Hornblower.

"Nonsense," Hornblower returned. Now was the time for all the carefully marshalled arguments he'd been preparing. "I consider it necessary for the safety of the ship. I am the only qualified navigator aboard this vessel, Matthews. What would happen if I were to be incapacitated?" He waited as Matthews considered the statement.

Matthews thought of the possibilities. Mr. Hornblower always seemed to open up new ones. Such knowledge was above his station, and no mistake, but wasn't this why he followed the man? He'd never have credited that he'd rise this far. He admitted to himself he was mightily curious, as he was about all the aspects of life at sea. Mr. Hornblower had a point, as well. He remembered his ten days in an open boat, an endless time of sailing, rowing, and at last drifting with no idea where they were, or if they'd live or die. "If you think I'm fit for it, I'll try then, sir."

"Good man!" Hornblower stopped for a minute, wondering where to begin. He'd never instructed anyone before, at least not from the beginning, and he considered the man before him. A practical seaman, so why not take a practical approach to it all? He began with the sextant. "There's nothing complicated about a sextant, Matthews. All it does is take an accurate measurement of the angle between two objects, and all a noon sight is is a measurement of the angle of the sun above the horizon."

Matthews was pleasantly surprised by his ability to take it all in. The instrument, so complicated and unintelligible, quickly resolved itself into scales and mirrors and lines of sight. It really was nothing more than a way to tell a man where he was, the same as a compass or a hand lead. By the end of the watch, he was able to take a sight.

When Hornblower left the deck to take his afternoon meal, Matthews had time to think, and truth to tell, he couldn't help it. It seemed so simple, at least at first, an extension of the things he already knew. He thought again of the possibilities. With a skill like this, he would have a chance of making Master's Mate.

It was the next day when it happened. Hornblower took his sight at noon, then handed the sextant to Matthews. Uncertainly, he raised the instrument as Hornblower had showed him, catching the sun in the mirror.

"You must set it to zero first," Hornblower said. He put his hand over Matthews's, and pulled the index arm to the proper position. The warm feeling that rushed through Matthews at his touch could not be mistaken for anything other than what it was. He prayed that Mr. Hornblower hadn't noticed the sudden start he made, and indeed it seemed as if he hadn't. Somehow, he got through the rest of the procedure for taking the sight, grateful that he'd spent most of his watch going over the steps in his head. He wanted to get away, to hide, as soon as it was over, but that was not to be.

"The sight is only the first step, Matthews," said Hornblower. "Since Mr. Styles has the watch, I'd be obliged if you'd come below and learn how to work out our position from it." He hid his amusement at the sudden trapped look in Matthews's eyes. He'd seen it in his fellow mids often enough, and some things never changed, it seemed. The calculations were simple enough, and he was confident that a man of Matthews's years and ability would master them soon enough.

"Aye aye, sir." Matthews followed Hornblower below. It surely had been a moment's madness, a passing impulse brought on from being so long at sea. God knew, he'd worked so hard in port getting the ship ready that he hadn't had time to think of a woman, let alone buy the favors of one. He calculated how long it had been as he descended the ladder. Longer than any man should be asked to go without, he decided. It had been so long since he'd touched anyone, it was just bad luck that it had been Mr. Hornblower. By the time they entered the tiny cabin, he was sure of it, and ready again to take up the opportunity he had been granted.

Hornblower pulled the almanac and a large slate from his chest and set them on the table. He sat, motioning for Matthews to do the same. This was one of the moments of the day he loved, where he could turn his mind over to mathematics. Pure and beautiful, they translated his world into ordered predictability. Sharing it with Matthews was annoying and satisfying, all at the same time. He wondered if the man would see the beauty in the task, or simply view it as something to be gotten through.

"The sight you took cannot be used, of course, Can you tell me why?" Hornblower waited, wondering how much Matthews had remembered from the previous day.

"Aye, sir. 'Twere taken after noon."

"Yes, and why is that important?"

Matthews didn't hesitate. "The sun's crossed the meridian, sir. It’s stopped rising, and it’s going down now."

Hornblower nodded. Not bad for one day. The details could wait. "A sight must be reduced before it can be of any use to us, Matthews. The almanac here contains tables for doing that." He picked up the slate, and wrote the raw sight on it, then showed Matthews how to correct the error of his instrument, pull the proper information from the book, and do the simple calculations necessary to arrive at an accurate position.

Matthews watched the process apprehensively, getting more and more lost as he went. When Hornblower pushed the slate across to him, he was forced to admit his ignorance. "Sir, I never did learn to figure, except in me head."

Hornblower hid the shock he felt at that admission. He had counted on Matthews having at least elementary mathematical knowledge. For a moment, he considered giving up the project. The face of the man before him kept him from that course. "All right then, we shall teach you to do so. Have you ever figured on paper? How do you report your stores to the Navy Board?"

"Well sir, all that takes is a tally. If I keeps track of it all as it goes out, and I know what I had to start, I can find out what we used, rightly enough. I can write it out all right."

Oh my God! Hornblower knew then and there that he had to make sure Matthews learned this! It was only luck that had so far saved him from serious trouble. Sooner or later such practices would surely cost him his warrant.

They spent the rest of the watch studying mathematics.

****

At dawn the next day, Hornblower took himself and his sextant on deck. It was deserted, save for Styles and the helmsman. The morning air was crisp and refreshing, and Hornblower found himself glad that Matthews's education had made this extra set of sights necessary. The mathematics lesson had gone far better than he had anticipated. Though Matthews was not yet ready to reduce a sight, he showed a talent for the subject and a good natural grasp of it. He was far easier to instruct than a bored midshipman.

However, there as only one sextant on board. Hornblower cursed his profligacy, and Bush's talent for encouraging it. Their shore leave together in Kingston had been expensive, as well as exhausting. He smiled at the memory, but kept his mind on the task at hand. He should have purchased a spare instrument in any case, just in case. In a ship of the line, every officer owned one, but here in the sloop, his was the only one aboard. If Matthews was to learn to take sights, he would have to have practice, and until Hornblower was assured of his accuracy, his figures could not be trusted. The problem was serious, but luckily, the solution was relatively simple. The sun was not the only means of determining latitude. The North Star provided another means of doing so. However, two sights were required, one at dawn, and another at dusk, and a few simple corrections. In this way, Hornblower could make allowances for instruction, and know where his ship was. He'd back it up with the noon sight every other day, and his first purchase upon going ashore would be a spare sextant.

He took out his instrument from its case, and turned north.

***

Seven bells in the forenoon again. Matthews was beginning to dread it. Right on schedule. Mr. Hornblower appeared, sextant and slate in hand. Today he handed the case to Matthews, and retained the slate.

"Sir?"

"Take the sight, Matthews, if you please." He looked at the sand glass as Matthews set the case on the deck and opened it.

***

Matthews lay in his hammock, but sleep refused to come. His mind was filled with unwelcome thoughts, dangerous thoughts. The touch of Mr. Hornblower's hands as he passed him an instrument. The pleasure on his face as he answered the questions his captain put to him. Matthews tried again to turn his mind to the calculation he'd learned today. All that filled his mind was the warmth of Mr. Hornblower's hands on his.

He gave up. It was an old, old problem, with an old, old cure. He took himself firmly in hand.

****

Styles pulled himself over the top and swung his burly body inside the shrouds. Matthews looked up at him from where he sat, his back against the mast. "Afternoon, Styles."

Styles leaned back against the topmast shrouds. "Mr. Hornblower's in a rare mood today,"

"Is he now?" Matthews stared past the foremast, out to sea.

"Aye, he's fit to wear a rut in the quarterdeck, he's walked it that much." Styles looked out to sea as well. "I'm thinking he should've taken more time ashore while he had the chance. More to be had there than drink."

"What're ye driving at, Styles?" Matthews leaned his head back and looked up at the sky. He could see it coming sure enough. They were barely a month away from shore and he was at it again.

"Been a long time for both of us, and no mistake. Longer still for him."

Matthews chuckled. "Ye never think of aught else, do ye?"

"There's some of us who never seem to think of it at all." Styles sat down in the top with a thump. "You, usually. But unless I miss my guess, it's different this time."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Matthews got to his feet.

"You're thinkin' o' things ye can't do, and it's tearing ye up, Matty."

Matthews froze inside, but didn’t allow it to keep him from replying. Of all things for Styles to open his eyes to! "Of course I'm not! D'ye think I'm daft?"

"I think you're lonely, and we both know why," Styles said.

The impulse to strike Styles caught Matthews by surprise, but he resisted it nevertheless. "There's not a one of us aboard what isn't, Styles." He turned in the top, leaned against the topmast shrouds and looked out over the empty ocean. He felt his customary calm return. "No more than any other man far from home."

"Ye've got no home, Matty, 'cept this ship. Nor do I." Styles smiled. "All we has is ourselves and our mates."

True enough, Matthews thought, though he said nothing. Our mates, and our thoughts. More than enough to keep a man content, or eat him up inside. Which was it to be for him? He'd seen it happen so many times before. He remembered Sawyer. Thoughts of his officers, and his own growing weakness had done for him. Bunting, whose bitterness and grief had done for him long before Mr. Hornblower's bullet had finished the job. He smiled. Thoughts of Mr. Hornblower wouldn't take him down. They'd keep him awake at night, make his yard as stiff as a belaying pin, but he was man enough to handle it. "Our mates is what keeps us, Styles. Fair or foul. Ye've always been a good mate to me, but there're things a man has to keep to himself."

Styles was silent beside him. For a long time, they both looked out, at one with the emptiness around their ship.

"Fair enough," he said at last. "I've got eyes, and I can't help usin' 'em. But a man's got a right to fret himself into fits if he likes." He smiled sympathetically at Matthews. "We'll be home soon enough, and what say we go ashore when we gets there? A willing woman's all ye need, Matty."

"Aye, that we will, Jonas." He chuckled. “It’s been long enough, at that.” This was a passing madness, and one that would fade as soon as he had other ways of easing himself. He turned to look Styles in the eye. "Thank ye."

Styles met the gaze, still smiling. "No more than ye've done fer me a time or two." He grasped a shroud. "I'm layin' low. See ye on deck." He swung around the shroud he held till he stood on the edge of the top and was facing the rigging. He stepped down onto the ratlines under the wooden platform and climbed down the futtock shrouds. The top bounced a moment, then settled back to roll with the ship.

****

Hornblower woke with his hand around himself. He snatched it away. He hadn't woken like this since Indefatigable! He put it back, unable to deny himself. It might even make things easier, he reasoned. Surely Matthews would notice how tightly he kept himself in check eventually, and wonder why. He sighed as he thought of how those calloused hands had felt on top of his. He wondered how they would feel upon his throat, his belly, his straining cock.

Matthews woke in a tangle of blankets. The aftershocks of pleasure were just dying away, and he could feel the warmth and dampness on his belly. He sighed, and reached up to put his hand on the deckhead above to stop his hammock from swaying. Styles snored twenty or so inches away from him, oblivious. Matthews lay back and stared at the wood a foot above his head. The dreams were coming regular now. He couldn't deny he enjoyed them, the evidence was there on his belly, true enough, but he feared them. Mr. Hornblower was an officer. There was only one place this path led, and no mistake. He wished miserably that he'd never left Renown. He'd had a place there, one that he could keep for good if he minded himself proper. A cabin to himself, all night in every night. No beautiful young officers invading his sleep, what there was of it.

He rolled over on his side, automatically shifting in the hammock to stay in the middle of it. He cursed softly as the wet pool, drawn by gravity, slid down his belly and soaked into his trousers yet more. He'd been too proud to take a rag to bed, though he’d woken like this so many times lately. 'Might as well admit it, you silly old bugger. Ye've got him wrapped round yer heart right enough.' He prayed they'd reach England before he did something stupider than he already had done.

Hornblower, too, rolled on his side, his breathing loud in the tiny cabin. The evidence of his shameful act coated his guilty hand, spattered his blankets. Tears squeezed through his closed eyelids, both for his weakness and for the fact that the fire he felt for Matthews had not diminished.

***

Matthews watched the last of the sand run out of the glass. The ship’s boy who stood beside him turned it, then scampered forward to strike eight bells. Behind him a seaman was winding the dripping log line back onto its reel and Styles was quietly sending his men to relieve the watch on deck. All was as it should be. Matthews carefully copied the current course and speed onto the slate before pulling the pegs from the traverse board.

Styles stopped for a moment on his way aft to laugh at something one of the seamen said to him, then climbed the short way to the quarterdeck. “Got all you need?” he asked. He looked curiously at the figures, and tried to relate them to the positions the pegs had occupied on the traverse board when Matthews had filled him in on the details of the watch just past. Letters and numbers were still a mystery to Styles, but he could use the tools of his trade well enough. He didn’t envy Matthews the task of translating pegs to marks on the slate, and from there to whatever esoteric place those figures went. “You stand relieved.”

“Then you’ve got the deck, Jonas.” Matthews clapped his friend on the back, picked up the slate and went below.

After the sun on deck, it seemed darker below than it really was. Matthews waited a moment for his eyes to adjust before going to the table. The rough log lay on top of the chart. He moved as quietly as possible, mindful of Mr. Hornblower, asleep in his cot on the other side of the tiny cabin. Even with three of them to stand watch they had to catch their rest where they could. Four hours on and eight off was luxury, in theory, but the needs of the ship also had to be seen to. And Mr. Hornblower was taking extra time to give him a chance he doubted any other officer would.

Matthews was determined to be worthy of it. He had used every spare moment to become as proficient as possible in the tasks Hornblower had set him. The foundation was already there, after all. Matthews had long been able to box a compass and read the marks on a log line, but the mechanics of recording such information had been beyond him until now.

Quietly he sat and lay the slate down before him. Transferring the figures from one slate to another no longer terrified him, but it was a task he did slowly and carefully. He wiped the binnacle slate clean and set it down, then pulled the rough log aside to look at the chart beneath. He studied the pricks and lines on its surface, and puzzled out their meaning as best he could. He was beginning to understand how the columns of figures they brought down from the binnacle were distilled into the knowledge of where they had been. The chart, which had been such a mystery the first few times he saw it was now resolving itself into a picture of the sea they sailed on. The power it held was in no way diminished by this new understanding, and he was beginning to understand why Mr. Hornblower loved this art so. He brushed his calloused fingers gently over the small neat figures and precise marks and felt his heart fill. He may have thought himself too old and too slow to learn such things, but Mr. Hornblower had never believed that to be so. He’d never made Matthews’s lack of schooling seem to be a failing, and he had a knack for seeing when he’d lost his student. All he seemed to want was attention, effort and steady progress, and Matthews could supply those things easily. More quickly than he could credit it, the art took root in him and he began to learn for the love of it, and not just to please Mr. Hornblower, or to better himself.

Hornblower groaned in his sleep and the bedding rustled in the cot. Matthews stayed where he was, and was glad when his officer didn’t wake. Being in this cabin while Mr. Hornblower slept was a comfort. It was as close as he would ever come to the man, and it would probably not last longer than this passage. Whether they stayed with this ship or not, there would be a master’s mate or a midshipman to instruct. This time would not come again. When he was sure his officer was asleep again, Matthews rose and went over to the cot. The handsome face was relaxed and smooth and more than anything Matthews wanted to kiss those full lips, to keep his captain safe from harm. He didn’t dare, of course, but he couldn’t keep one hand from gently smoothing back the dark curls from the wide forehead. Just then, the first bell of the watch was struck.

The dark eyes opened and Matthews jerked his hand back.

“Is it time to get up, Matthews?” Hornblower blinked. The large brown eyes were momentarily veiled in dark lashes and his hand fastened on the side of the cot.

“No sir--the watch has barely changed. I’ve just copied out the figures from the last watch. I’m sorry to have disturbed you, sir.” The last thing he had meant to do was to wake his officer. What had he been thinking?

“No, no--it’s just as well.” Hornblower looked aft at the bright sunlight streaming in the stern windows. “I hadn’t meant to sleep so long.” He swung his long legs over the side of the cot. “I don’t suppose there’s any hot water to be had?”

“I’ll see if Cook has any, sir--“ Matthews scooped up the slate and disappeared.

Hornblower looked after him thoughtfully. He could have sworn he’d felt a hand brush his cheek. He shook his head. Surely it was no more than a product of his imagination.

***

Hornblower snapped the telescope shut. A small smile quirked one corner of his mouth. Yes, the land the lookout had sighted was the Lizard, and it was as perfect a landfall as any captain could have hoped. One sextant, a man to instruct, and he had still brought them home safely, and as he had expected.

It was small comfort in the end. Hornblower was glad that he had been sent to Portsmouth rather than Plymouth. The Peace had indeed been signed, and he found himself on the beach almost as soon as he turned in his depatches. His promotion to commander was not to be confirmed, and he would be joining the growing ranks of out of work lieutenants awaiting a berth. At least he would be spared the expense of traveling between the ports.

***

Hornblower was piped aboard, but he hardly noticed the honor, other than to automatically give and return the required courtesies. He immediately went straight to his cabin, where he sat for a time, paralyzed. What was he to do? The words of the Admiralty despatch echoed in his mind. “Your promotion cannot be confirmed, now that a state of peace exists between England and France. You are relieved of command, effective immediately…”

So he must pack his bags and depart Retribution forthwith. There would not even be the dubious comfort of his lieutenant’s half-pay to sustain him. Every penny of the extra allowance he had been enjoying as a newly-promoted commander must be repaid before he would receive anything from the Clerk of the Cheque.

How would he survive all those weary months? What did he know apart from his trade? The peace would throw hundreds of officers out of work; they would glut the ports and haunt the corridors of the Admiralty. They would choke the ranks of the merchant navy. What chance did he, a doctor’s son of no particular distinction, possessing no influence have of getting a berth?

Mechanically, he got up and began to put his meager belongings into his sea chest.

***

“Matthews, may I have a word with you?” Hornblower’s tone was quiet, but its intensity hinted at something momentous.

“Aye, Captain, “ Matthews replied. He set down his tankard and followed his captain out of what passed for a wardroom in Retribution. Inexplicably, he saw a shadow cross the handsome face at the mention of his rank.

Together they made their way back to the stern cabin. As Matthews followed Hornblower inside, he knew that he had been right. Something was badly wrong. Mr. Hornblower didn’t have much to call his own, but the cabin had never looked so bare as it did now. The sextant case was gone from its place by the stern windows. The cot swung from the deckhead, empty of bedding. The worn bookshelf next to the door was empty. The table, where Matthews was accustomed to see a slate and the chart, the one covered with calculations and the other with the prickmarks of the dividers that told their day’s run, was bare. In the center of the cabin, Hornblower’s battered sea chest sat lonely and out of place.

“Sir,” he said uncertainly, “what’s going on?”

Hornblower could no longer hide his despair. “I’m not to be confirmed as commander, Matthews. I’m to leave Retribution immediately.”

“Leaving, sir?” Matthews groped for something to say, some way to set things right, as they had been before. “But it’s the middle of the night!”

At that, Hornblower smiled shakily. “It’s not even the middle of the first night watch, Matthews. Hardly the middle of the night.” He turned to stare out the stern windows, his hands coming behind his back. Matthews saw how they trembled before he clasped them firmly together. “You’re to retain your position as boatswain, and Styles will remain as gunner. You’ll be in effective command, in fact. Retribution is to be laid up in ordinary.”

“Where will ye go, sir?” Matthews could think of nothing else to say. Mr. Hornblower, leaving like a criminal under cover of darkness? The man who had against all odds seen Renown not only accomplish what she’d been sent to do, but come into harbor with prizes as well was to have what he’d justly earned snatched away just like that?

“I don’t know.” It was said calmly, simply. For Hornblower had no idea. All he knew was that he must leave the only home he had. He turned and saw the bereft face of the man before him. It had never occurred to him until that moment that his departure might be painful for anyone else. He forced himself to smile, then opened his sea chest. “I expect I’ll go to London and apply for another berth. The peace will never last.” After all, what else did a newly unemployed lieutenant do? He felt the frozen numbness ease somewhat, now that he had a course of action to follow. He pulled a stone bottle from the chest. “Fetch a couple of cups from the wardroom, would you, Matthews? We can at least drink to old times before I go.”

“Aye, sir.”

Hornblower looked about the empty cabin. At least all that he owned could be put in a single sea chest still. Even if he had nowhere to put it.

He sat down at the table, still his for a moment longer, it seemed. He ran his hand over its well cared for surface. Idly, he hoped the next captain would appreciate it, as he had. A small, cramped little space, but it had been his first real command.

Matthews returned with the cups and a tray of food. “Ye haven’t eaten, sir, at least not since you came aboard.”

Hornblower looked at the food with a vague distaste. “I’m not hungry, Matthews.”

“Fine, then,” Matthews said equably. He sat down in his accustomed place and picked up the bottle.

Hornblower felt the weird sense of normalcy settle over him further. Between the realities of life aboard a tiny sloop and the lessons, it wasn’t at all unusual for Matthews to bring food for one or both of them to the cabin. He leaned his head back against the bulkhead for a moment as Matthews poured.

“I expect there will be rejoicing on the lower deck,” Hornblower said.

There would be none here, Matthews thought. “They’ve a few days work to do, sir, if we’re to be laid up. Wouldn’t it be better for you to stay and see it done?”

“You can see to that, Matthews.” It was a boatswain’s job anyway, sending down yards and stripping a ship to the tops. “I’ve been relieved of command, remember?”

“I’m sure they never meant to send you off without you first made arrangements ashore, sir.”

Perhaps not, but I need to be gone, Hornblower thought. He took another drink. It was pleasant to sit here one last time, with a man like Matthews, but he did not want to face the dawn at all, much less the men he had commanded short hours ago. Matthews looked as stunned as he felt, Hornblower realized as he looked at his companion, really looked for the first time since entering this cabin.

“I expect you’ll be master’s mate soon,” Hornblower said. “You’ll be an asset to any ship you sail in.”

“It won’t be the same, sir.” Matthews refilled both their cups.

“No.” Hornblower picked up the refilled cup and took a small sip. Finding an inn for the night wouldn’t prove too challenging, but he didn’t intend to do it drunk.

“I’d not have a chance at it if it wasn’t for you, sir.” Matthews was surprised to see Hornblower’s eyes drop to the tabletop.

“That’s nonsense, Matthews.” Hornblower was uncomfortable with such open hero worship. His face flushed as other, less pure thoughts surfaced. Had he taught the man all he had out of a wish to see him advance, or simply to keep him nearby, to have some form of companionship on the long passage to England? He took another drink, to cover his discomfort.

“Is it?” Matthews saw Hornblower’s face color, but gave no outward indication. What did the lieutenant have to be ashamed of? He turned over ways of keeping Hornblower aboard until day. Portsmouth was no place to wander at night with a chest to look after. And why was he so set on leaving now? “No one else ever took the trouble. You do that for any man who shows promise, Mr. Hornblower. It was a rare compliment you paid me when you did.”

“Do you think that was the only reason I taught you?” Hornblower felt light headed, and almost reckless enough to tell Matthews the whole truth. Almost, but not quite. It would do the man no good to know his captain had spent most of the cruise lusting after him.

What other reason could there be? “I don’t care why, sir. You did it. And at the least I don’t see the need for you to leave in the middle of the night, as if you’d done something wrong. At least you should take your leave of the crew. I’m glad you at least took your leave of me, sir. I wouldn’t have felt easy in my mind if you hadn’t.”

Hornblower sighed. Matthews was right, as usual. There was a price to pay after all for encouraging his companionship over the long passage. He had laid himself open without even realizing it. The simple speech touched him in a way no other had. He didn’t deserve such absolute loyalty, but now he had to live up to it. There would be no quiet escape. “You’re right.”

The broad smile his words brought to Matthews’s face amazed Hornblower. All he had really done was to accept a bed for the night, when he had none, and to make an empty speech to a restless crew. One last duty before facing a cold and friendless future. It had been so different when he’d last seen Portsmouth. The world had opened up before him, and Archie had been by his side. He felt tears prick his eyes at the thought of his friend, now lost to him and fought to regain his composure before Matthews could see. How life had changed. The man sitting next to him was the closest thing to a friend he had in Portsmouth. Right now it was better to think on the living than to mourn the dead.

Matthews was amazed to see Hornblower blink rapidly. It had been too much, too soon between what had happened aboard Renown and the sudden loss of the only life the man had known. Matthews well knew what it was like to have the world jerked out from under him. It had been the thing that had sent him to the Navy. He hadn’t truly gotten his legs back under him until Mr. Hornblower. He cast frantically about for something to cheer Hornblower until he could do the same. His eyes fell on the rum bottle. Dutch courage was a start, at least. He leaned over to grab the bottle, and unthinkingly put his hand on Hornblower’s forearm for balance. He felt a shudder pass through the other man’s body, a familiar heat pass through his own. It was all he could do to sit back and pour as if nothing had happened.

The heat of Matthews’s touch burned the tears away, for which Hornblower was grateful, but all it had done was replace one naked feeling with another. He wanted to hide himself away until this damnable weakness had passed and he was himself again, but there was no escape now. He watched the rum gurgle into the cups and welcomed its warmth against the back of his throat. The fact that Matthews also drank deeply barely registered.

“A lot of water’s passed under us since we met, sir,” Matthews began. “A lot more will before we’re done. This isn’t right, sir, to take your command like this, but things will look brighter than they do right now in time. If all we can do now is share a glass or two, that’s good enough for me. About time we did, I say.” He refilled the cups again. “Let’s drink to the ones who won’t be sailing home again and to the ones we’ve yet to meet.”

Hornblower forced himself to smile and pick up his cup. “To absent friends.” He could say no more. The names of the dead clogged his throat and he drank to clear it. His eyes dropped to the table. God, all he needed was to become a maudlin drunk in front of Matthews. His eyes swam with tears again. “I think it’s past time we were both abed.”

“Let me make your cot up then, sir.” Matthews drank the rest of his rum and went to the packed chest, pretending not to see his officer’s loss of composure. He pulled the folded bedding from it and began to make the bed. At the least, he wouldn’t be sending his officer ashore tonight. Another pair of hands joined him at his work.

“You don’t have to do this, Matthews,” said Hornblower. “You’re not a servant.” A subordinate, perhaps, according to the laws and customs of the service, but a man who had taught him much, and one he’d be proud to claim as an equal.

“I’d make up a bed for any of my mates,” Matthews answered. “I’m proud to serve you, sir.”

Hornblower felt a smile find his lips. “Even Styles?”

Matthews laughed. “Who’d need it more?”

Their eyes met in perfect understanding. As the moment stretched Hornblower knew he should look away, but he couldn't do it. Far more than friendship shone from them. He knew his own eyes mirrored what he saw.

Their hands were closed over the same blanket, and Matthews gently tugged it away from Hornblower and dropped it on the deck. He slowly slid his hands up unresisting forearms. No fear clouded those dark eyes, only astonishment and the beginnings of something more. Matthews let his hands travel up the firm upper arms. The fine officer’s shirt was soft under his calloused seaman’s hands. The hair that curled around the high forehead was even softer as his hand traveled up a smooth cheek and buried itself. Matthews watched Hornblower’s eyes fall momentarily shut as he leaned into the caress. He felt the lean body shiver.

They found themselves in each other’s arms then. Neither of them knew how they had gotten there, nor cared. Their bodies pressed together hungrily, drinking deeply of the warmth even through the layers of clothing.

Matthews felt Hornblower’s fingers wind through his hair, and leaned eagerly forward as they bid. The full lips were softer than he’d dreamed and they opened under his. He fell into wetness and warmth. He retained just enough self-control to let his officer set the pace, hoping he’d be able to stop if asked, knowing that this was impossible and loving it all the same. He felt the long fingered hands find their way under his jacket and tug his shirt aside. His breath came loud and rough as they met his bare flesh. He wound his arms around Hornblower and heard the other man hiss as their groins met, sparking pleasure through him.

Hornblower was lost. The expanse of Matthews’s sturdy body was a treasure lying against him, the warmth of his well-muscled back filling his hands. Their relative ranks, the reality of the service, the penalties of following such forbidden desires were lost in the solid joy of having what he’d craved, of desire met and returned in full measure. He felt Matthews’s breath catch in his throat as he pulled loose the tie at the back of his trousers, slipped his hands inside to cup the firm buttocks. He felt his own waistband loosen, felt his shirt pulled aside. Then rough hands were roaming the length of his back, awakening his flesh as they went. He dove again into the welcoming mouth, muffling the sharp sounds that threatened to betray him. Matthews flung his head back as he pulled their groins together again and Hornblower sucked and bit at his exposed throat. Matthews’s flesh tasted of the ship, of smoke, tar and tallow, old storm seasoned canvas and the sharp grassy tang of new manila. Matthews’s own scent underlay it, something familiar but never experienced in this way. It was life to Hornblower, his hunger for it only sharpened by the knowledge that it would be taken from him tomorrow. The strong body in his arms tensed and ground against him as he kissed the weather-roughened flesh of neck and face. Fingers, nailless and strengthened by fisting canvas to bucking yards dug into his back and he could feel Matthews holding back his sounds of pleasure lest they be discovered.

Reality returned, but a reality changed by this new awareness of passion not only stirred by the other, but shared as well. Hornblower raised his head and drank in the sight of the weathered face, eyes closed in pleasure, breath coming hard and fast. He took hold of Matthews’s shirt and slowly pulled it away. As the man in his arms came back to himself he let his own upper garment whisper to the deck.

Hornblower’s face was transformed, softened by passion and a soft smile that reached inside Matthews. It seemed to mirror the love that had grown within him for this man, and Matthews knew then that he was lost. Folly it was, but it was his for tonight. He pulled the bedding from the cot and spread it over the checkered canvas. He glanced up and made sure that the quarterdeck scuttle was closed.

“Matthews--“ Hornblower hesitated as he watched the seaman work. Suddenly everything was too real, and too much to ask of a man who was even now serving him. “Why?”

Matthews shot the bolt and turned to see the hesitation in his captain’s eyes. “I could ask you the same, sir. All I know is that what’s between us is true, and grown stronger day by day. If you want to stop right here, I’ve had more than I ever expected.” The words came hard, and Matthews cursed himself for breaking the spell between them. He waited, the words like a hand outstretched. Hornblower smiled, impish, and open, and relief flooded Matthews.

“I didn’t know you felt it too,” he said simply.

Matthews smiled back. “I took care to see that you didn’t, sir. I thought it was only being so long from shore. I never thought you’d have me.” He reached for Hornblower’s hands. One after the other he brought them to his lips. “I’ve loved you a long time, sir. I never expected you’d feel the same.”

“We’d be disgraced for this. Hanged. If we stop now you’d be safe.” Hornblower didn’t know what possessed him to say such things, but he had to.

Matthews continued to kiss the hands he held. “Safe and happy aren’t always the same, sir.” He turned the hand he held so he could press his lips to the palm. “You say the word and this goes no farther.” Another kiss, where the palm joined the wrist. He felt Hornblower shiver. “Let me love you, sir. Just this once?”

“Yes...” Hornblower was drowning in those eyes, in the touch of those lips. They traveled up his arm, stopping to trace the inner curve of his elbow, nuzzling against his bicep. He let them trace their way down his chest and across his stomach. He felt his trousers unbuttoned, felt his manhood spring free and brush against Matthews’s cheek. He was dizzy with it, with wanting what he’d dreamed about for so long. “Oh God...” He managed to keep from crying out as he felt Matthews’s lips close around him, but he felt his knees grow weak as his cock was surrounded with wet warmth.

Matthews let Hornblower’s cock go as he felt the man’s knees begin to give out. He kissed the trembling belly and guided his partner down to the blankets. One-handed, he caressed him from thigh to chest as he freed himself from his own clothing. He lay down and gave himself up to the pleasure of flesh at last pressing against naked flesh. Hornblower’s arms wound about him.

Hornblower wrapped his leg around Matthews, pulling them more tightly together. Their erections slid heavily together, wrenching stifled groans from both men. They kissed greedily as the heat between them grew, hands roaming everywhere they could reach.

Matthews slid down Hornblower’s body, tasting every inch of exposed flesh. He learned the flat stomach, felt thighs toned by the constant waltzing roll of the ship tense under his lips. He ran his thickened fingertips over the softness of inner thigh. Hornblower whimpered as he whispered them across his scrotum, pressed gently at the flesh between them and the entrance to his body. He licked one finger and circled the puckered hole with it. He felt Hornblower’s body lift, his legs spread as he pushed it slowly inside.

Hornblower was panting now, one arm pressed tightly against his mouth as he felt himself breached. Matthews lay between his legs, his mouth doing things Hornblower’s dreams had never showed him. It flitted up his shaft, then drew a testicle inside it before moving on to stroke up the fold where leg met torso. Hornblower slid down, impaling himself on the questing finger as far as he could, wishing it were more. He felt it twist inside him, opening him further, brushing against that electric place deep inside him. His body was on fire, his cock aching to be touched. He jammed his arm harder against his mouth as he felt it withdraw, felt Matthews get up.

“What--“ He could still feel the ghost of it inside him, could still feel pleasure sparkling through him. He opened his eyes to see Matthews at the table, looking back at him. He was beautiful standing there, naked in the lamplight, his thick cock jutting out from his body. The light fell over the contours of his body, every inch shaped by the sea and the work he did. Hornblower remembered watching him in the rig, graceful and sure as he became one with the fabric of the vessel. This was a different man, though. One whose eyes were wilder, whose body seemed to radiate heat. He watched him spread something from the tray of food over his manhood, watched it glisten in the sherry colored light. How had he missed the earthy sexuality of that face? Every line of it glowed with heat as Hornblower watched him stroke himself. His cock was shining wetly from tip to root now and Hornblower’s breath caught in a sigh as he watched Matthews pull back his foreskin and anoint the exposed head. Matthews shuddered as he did this, and Hornblower half expected to see him spend himself right then. He kept himself from reaching for his own swollen cock by main force. He wanted to come with Matthews buried deep inside him.

Matthews felt Hornblower’s eyes on him, watched them fill with lust as he touched himself. He’d never thought of himself as handsome, had never been looked at so hungrily before. He began to perform, watching Hornblower’s face. The man was beautiful by anyone’s lights, but never more so as he was now. His tongue darted out to moisten dry lips, his fingers trembled as he refused to touch himself. As his stomach muscles tensed, visible across the cabin, Matthews nearly lost control and he had to pull his hands away from himself. There was only one place he wanted to spend himself, and he didn’t intend to lose control of himself like a fourteen year old mid with his first tart. He took the small bowl of ship issue butter with him when he crossed the room, feeling those eyes, feeling his impatient yard sway back and forth.

Hornblower’s hands reached for him as he lay down, stroking his belly, sending sparks of pleasure up his spine. He grabbed them, and pressed them against his chest before sliding down out of easy reach.

“I want to touch you...” The grin on Hornblower’s face told Matthews he knew exactly how hard it was for him to keep from spending right there.

“Do you?” Matthews ran his oily hands over Hornblower’s nipples, saw his teeth snap shut as he fought to keep quiet. “An old man like me?” He circled Hornblower’s cock with one finger and watched it jump, watched the man fight for silence. “I think I know what you want.” He spread slickness over his fingers, then slid down between Hornblower’s legs. The puckered hole was looser now, inviting him to ravage it further. His fingers slid in easily, the tight passage drawing him in. Hornblower’s belly muscles jumped beneath his cheek, his legs spread further as he opened to the touch. He felt hands tangle in his hair, the hard cock heavy against his cheek. He kissed it from root to tip, resisting the urge to take it all in his mouth. As he rolled to his knees, he hoped he’d last long enough to matter. He took himself in hand and slowly pushed himself inside.

Hornblower’s head twisted on the bedding as he felt Matthews cock enter him. It was slow, so slow he could feel every inch of his arse loosen to its assault. He tried to move forward, but felt Matthews’s hands on his hips restrain him. When he opened his eyes, Matthews’s face was transformed. His eyes locked with Hornblower’s, an open mouthed smile on his lips. As Hornblower’s muscles tightened on him, he shuddered, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. He couldn’t trust himself to speak, couldn’t do more than continue his slow assault. He watched Hornblower’s face change, watched him taken by sensation and he almost spent himself right there as he realized that it was his doing, his cock buried nearly to the hilt in this beautiful, passionate young man. As his belly finally met Hornblower’s trembling backside he stopped, his hands still on Hornblower’s hips, his chest heaving as he fought to last just a little longer.

Hornblower’s hands came to rest on top of his, then went to his rock hard cock. His eyes fluttered shut as he trailed long fingers up his shaft. Matthews felt the tight arse contract around him as he began to thrust. Once he started, he couldn’t stop. Harsh groans were forced from him, and he felt each thrust to his toes. Hornblower’s hands were on him, on his own cock, then at his mouth. He cried out as Matthews sucked them inside, as he thrust hard into the body beneath him. Hornblower’s eyes opened wide, shock and overwhelming pleasure shining from them as his body jerked, his cock spurting hard and strong against his belly. Matthews buried himself to the roots as the tight passage vibrated around him, his own orgasm tearing through him like lightning. On hands and knees he stayed there, his body shuddering, his cock trying to bury itself even deeper in Hornblower’s body. At last he could withdraw and fall trembling to the blankets. Hornblower turned and wrapped him in his arms. They clung to each other until sleep took them.

***

Matthews stood on the quarterdeck, watching Hornblower’s boat recede into the distance.

Styles came up to stand beside him. “Peace at last. Strangest peace I ever saw.”

Matthews turned to look at him. “How so?”

“We’re here and he’s thrown up on the beach.” Styles jerked his head at the boat. “All these years I’d give anything to be ashore again, and here I sit. Warrant and all. No sense to it.”

“World’s turned upside down and no mistake,” Matthews agreed. In more ways than one, he thought to himself as he remembered the night before.

“Glad you both saw reason,” Styles remarked.

“Saw reason?” Matthews asked. “Seems to me there was precious little reason involved. Scatter the Navy to the four winds, never mind waiting till we see if the Peace will hold.”

“Who said anything about the Navy, mate?” Styles smirked. “You know the wardroom is right below the captain’s cabin.” He laughed as the blood drained from Matthews’s face. “It’s nothing to me, Matty, and I know no one else was in there to hear, but a ship is like a drum. That was a right proper pounding. Just one thing I’d like to know. Did you give it to him, or did he do you?”

Matthews felt his face go beet red. “Never you mind, mate.” He stalked to the hatch and disappeared below.

A lovely morning indeed, Styles thought. If the men working on deck wondered what he had to smile so, they weren’t asking.

END