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If there was one thing Tintin did not expect to come out of the evening, it was this.
For months now, he's felt guilty, puzzled by strange thoughts, feelings that are new to him. It's been troubling, to say the least -- enough so to make him nervous when talking to the Captain, afraid of betraying something that's still a mystery to him, one he's never had the chance to solve.
Of course, he's tried to resist it. He's told himself that the jealousy -- keenly felt on nights like these, with all the people surrounding them -- is absurd. That it won't do to wish for more of the Captain's attention, to wish it were just the two of them as usual (and really, since when does he mind having people around?), to selfishly monopolise Haddock's time. Indeed, sooner or later he should start thinking of moving out -- not because he wants to, but because it's unfair to impose on Haddock's hospitality and friendship, especially considering these bizarre, irrational thoughts he's been having.
And then, after the party was over and the guests gone, a moment of openness, a realisation and a hope. And it was enough, and now he's kissing the Captain as they mount the stairs, one giddy step at a time, both of them torn between the inability to break apart and the hurry to get somewhere more comfortable.
Once they've reached the end of the stairs, however, Haddock breaks the kiss, glancing down the hallway. "I suppose Nestor has gone to bed," he mutters.
"I'm sure he has," says Tintin. Sensing the Captain's hesitation, he decides, for the second time that evening, to take action. He takes Haddock's hand and nods towards the master bedroom. "Can we --?"
It wouldn't really matter if Nestor saw them, he thinks giddily as Haddock pulls him into another fierce kiss. It would be a bit embarrassing, perhaps, but Nestor would never do or say anything that might harm the Captain. Marlinspike is the safest place on Earth, and right now, as they kiss their way through the door and towards the large, old-fashioned bed, Tintin would not be anywhere else for the world.
They fall onto the bed in a messy heap of arms and legs and mouths. Clothing disappears, garment by garment, until they're both naked and Tintin is lying on his back, the Captain pinning him down and kissing his neck with a thirst that could make the finest bottle of whisky jealous. Tintin arches against him, pulling him closer.
"Take me," he breathes against Haddock's ear. "I want to know what it's like, to feel you inside me."
The Captain shivers, as if he were the one who has never done this before. He touches Tintin's cheek, the gesture soft and hesitant. "Tintin, are you sure -- I can't promise it won't hurt."
"It doesn't matter. I trust you." Tintin kisses the palm of his hand, as sure as he's ever been of anything. "I've trusted you with my life, so many times... Do you really think I wouldn't trust you now?"
"Right," says Haddock, voice suddenly brisk, though his eyes are suspiciously shiny. "We'll need something slippery, hold on..."
While Haddock rummages through his bathroom, Tintin wriggles on the bed, nerves alight with anticipation and adrenaline. It's happening, it's happening, and he almost can't believe it; he pinches his arm to make sure he's awake, he touches his face, his belly. Then, unable to resist, he touches his own throbbing sex, letting out a moan as his fingers close about it.
Haddock returns just then, stopping in the doorway as if frozen to the spot. "Blistering barnacles," he mumbles, voice choked.
Too far gone to care whether he's going about this the right way (and is there even a right way to go about it?), Tintin spreads his legs without a word, hoping this might spur the Captain into action -- and sure enough, Haddock throws himself at him with the force of ten thousand thundering typhoons, kissing him again, even wilder and hotter than before. Tintin returns the kiss ardently, then lies back, watching Haddock open the small tin of vaseline he brought with him. Though his hands are trembling, he manages to generously coat his fingers. His other hand moves to Tintin's hip, but then he stops, swallowing. "It's still not too late, you know. To change your mind."
A mixture of desire and impatience and tenderness wells up in Tintin's chest, making him groan. "Oh, Captain, please, just get on with it!"
Haddock frowns; then he grins. He moves to rest on his knees between Tintin's thighs, sliding his hand between them. "This might hurt a bit, just try to relax..."
A finger, then two -- it feels more strange than uncomfortable, really. Tintin takes a deep breath, expanding his lungs the way he learned many years ago, releasing his breath as his body grows less tense. He locks his gaze in Haddock's, the love and adoration he sees there almost enough to make him sob -- but he knows he won't, because then the Captain will think he's hurting Tintin and withdraw immediately. So he smiles instead, nodding as Haddock whispers, "All right?"
The fingers are withdrawn after another minute and two, and Tintin bites his lip, his heart hammering as Haddock positions himself. Their eyes meet again, the Captain leans down for another kiss -- a long one, gentle at first, and then deepening as Haddock breaches him, slides inside.
It's amazing. The ache, most acute at first, doesn't matter; indeed, it adds an exhilarating edge to the bliss, a sharp reminder that this is real. Haddock kisses his throat, moving; Tintin wraps his legs and arms about him, thrusting upwards. In tandem, he thinks, together, the way it has always been, the way it shall always be. No words are spoken now, no words are needed. Haddock moves faster, tilting his head upwards. Their mouths meet. The pleasure's expanding, like the world's most beautiful balloon that sooner or later will pop, escaping a joy that's so intense it's almost painful.
The kiss, the thrusts, everything becomes more urgent as the heat mounts and Haddock moves a hand between them to caress Tintin right where he needs it the most. The pleasure pops, then, the world explodes, Tintin cries out and spends himself in spasms so strong they leave him breathless. A moment later, Haddock follows, face buried against Tintin's neck, his weight crushing Tintin to the mattress, and it's the loveliest thing Tintin has ever felt.
They lie there for some minutes, spent, exhausted. Then Haddock pulls away, flopping over onto his back. Reluctant to let go, Tintin curls up against him, wondering dizzily whether this is all a dream, after all -- a vivid hallucination caused by mysterious drugs. It could happen. Professor Calculus has been conducting some suspicious experiments lately.
Better make the most of it, then.
He rubs his cheek against Haddock's shoulder, closing his eyes. "Thank you," he murmurs, drowsy with warm happiness, his limbs heavy.
Haddock's arms enfold him, rubbing his back with slow motions. When the Captain replies, his voice is strangely thick. "I'm the one who should be saying that."
Tintin smiles. He could fall asleep like this; indeed, he suspects he will. It's the safest he has ever felt. "Let's both be grateful, then."