I love this pairing. I love your awkward, stammering, food-loving, crafty Horace and your twinkling, cryptic, seductive, even-more-crafty Albus. I love that the sweetness is edged with a darkness that makes me wonder just a bit about Albus's motives (all he feels is an unpleasant gurgle in his gut that has nothing to do with the wand spearing his stomach. Because Horace knows that curse. And Horace knows who else knows it. [And Albus knows that Horace knows].) Perhaps most of all, I love that beautifully-written ending with those well-placed moments of awkwardness and humor that remind us just how perfectly imperfect this relationship is.
"You'll get hair stuck in your teeth," Horace protests weakly. Ahaha. Love that "weakly" and the whole image.
As lips latch onto his mustache, Horace surrenders, warmed by the feel of a cold toe surrounded by rough wool digging into his leg. Superb image.