Afraid To Call It Love
By

Warnings: Excessively sugary. Will rot your teeth. Then again, it's that time of year...
Disclaimer: If I owned them, they'd spend more of their time like this.

The beach might have belonged to Defoe's castaway, its sand was so virgin.

The ships at harbour not far to the east, the sugar plantations inland--none could be seen from this sheltered cove. Even their picnicking ground had fallen out of sight as they walked: turning his head, Bush could make out no sign of the faded red blanket, or of their tumbled pile of waistcoats, jackets, and shoes.

Behind him, Hornblower was still carrying Kennedy pickaback, and it was no doubt a testament to the extent of his passenger's recovery that the dogged young lieutenant was labouring a little under the effort. Leaning forward, Kennedy watched his friend's look of determination with a quizzical smile on his face, while Hornblower--all too aware of that satirical gaze--fought a losing battle against an answering grin. The moment Hornblower's glower cracked, Kennedy beamed and ducked his head, murmuring something into the young man's ear that caused him to lose his composure even further.

"Oh, very well, then, get off," he laughed, shaking his head in exasperation.

"Not a moment too soon," chided Kennedy, as he eased slowly down from Hornblower's back. "You were huffing like a steam engine."

"And you," replied Hornblower with a frown, "look none too steady on your feet. What is the matter?"

"The matter," said Kennedy, dropping carefully onto the sand and stretching out on his back with a grimace, "is that you are the joltingest ride I have experienced since that time we travelled to London by Mail coach." He spoke lightly, but it was clear that the afternoon's exercise had wearied him, and not an instant passed before Hornblower was in a crouch beside his friend with a hand to his forehead.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," protested Kennedy. "I'm just catching my breath." Seeing that Hornblower's eyes had strayed down to his chest, he sighed impatiently and pulled his shirt over his head, in a dramatic gesture that would have been more effective had he not tangled his wrists in the sleeves while doing so. "See for yourself. Nothing's reopened. I'm perfectly well."

Wincing a little as he always did when looking at Kennedy's scar, Hornblower leaned in and checked it intently, even sniffing the skin a little, although the time for that test had passed weeks ago. Kennedy watched him, meeting his eyes when he was finished, communicating whatever it was the two spoke of to each other in their silences. Apparently satisfied, Hornblower smiled a little and shifted his gaze to Kennedy's left side, where an earlier rest in the sand had left a sprinkling of silvery grains in his hair, along his cheekbone, dusting his calf. Hornblower reached out to brush them gently away, and Bush suddenly realized that he was holding his breath, unwilling to disturb the tableau by reminding the two friends of his presence.

He shouldn't have worried. Kennedy responded to the touch by wriggling the rest of the way out of his shirt, batting Hornblower's hand away, and flicking fingerfuls of sand at him, and the moment deteriorated into an impromptu arm-wrestle, which Kennedy gave up in disgust when he realized that his opponent was putting no more than a token effort into it. He turned his sand-barrage towards Bush then, catching him completely off guard, while Hornblower shook out his shirt in Kennedy's direction, and sat back on his heels.

"We'll rest here awhile, then."

"I shall," said Kennedy with a sudden smirk, wrinkling his nose as he brushed sand from his face, "but I'm afraid you and Will cannot."

"How is that?"

"Why, Mr. Bush," he replied in mock surprise. "Surely you have not forgotten your promise to us last night."

Bush felt the blood drain out of his face, then return in a rush. "You're not serious."

"Oh, but I am. You promised very solemnly, did he not, Horatio?"

Now Hornblower's mouth was quirking as well. "Most solemnly, Mr. Kennedy. Not only did you swear to me that you would, Mr. Bush, you also assured Mr. Kennedy that he could watch."

"I was in my cups!"

"You were of sound enough mind to give your word," frowned Kennedy, sitting up a little. "I hope you do not intend to break it now."

"But...but..." Bush was feeling more than a little desperate. "Here? Now?"

"What better occasion?" continued Kennedy, irrepressibly, as Hornblower got to his feet, brushed himself off, and circled around behind Bush. "You didn't mean to wait until we were back in England, did you? Under the eyes of the whole fleet? Look about you, Will. You could not ask for greater privacy for your first time."

"His second, technically," corrected Hornblower, as he tugged Bush's shirt over his head.

"But his first, willingly," amended Kennedy with a shrug.

"I'm not willing at all!"

"You said you were, last night."

"I...we.."

"Yes?" responded Hornblower imperturbably as he stripped himself down to his smalls, displaying the stark whiteness of skin below the neck that unmistakably indicated a fellow officer.

"We'll burn," protested Bush lamely.

Hornblower snorted. "It won't take that long," he scoffed.

"Not unless you are very backward about it," added Kennedy, staring pointedly at the trousers Bush was still wearing.

"I don't suppose I could leave these on?" he ventured.

"You'll hardly be presentable afterwards if you do," answered Kennedy, exchanging a look with Hornblower as the two clearly enjoyed Bush's discomfiture.

Bush sighed. "Once that heals, Kennedy, you had better watch out," he muttered as he shucked down to his underclothes.

"Once this heals, I'll be joining you," came the quick reply. "Just try to stop me."

Bested but defiant, Bush stood before them, chin up even as his heart pounded in anxiety. "Well, go on then, Hornblower. How do we begin?"

And, at that, his friends finally relented. "Don't look so anxious, Will, like a man on his way to the gallows," said Kennedy soothingly. "You'll enjoy it, I promise you. And you couldn't ask for a better teacher."

"Is that so?"

"Mr. Kennedy exaggerates," said Hornblower, modest as always, "but, to tell the truth, Will, if I could teach him how to swim, I have no doubt I can teach you.

"Now, the key to the breaststroke, you'll find, is in the timing..."

~~~

Those of you who caught the Martha and the Muffins reference in the title will have seen the end coming a mile away. For those of you who aren't familiar with the song "Swimming," here's an excerpt:

We talk of parks and simple places,
Sense the thickness of the air.
Highly strung like nervous guitars
My fingers make waves in you.

We're afraid to call it love,
Let's call it swimming...

;-)