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The first time it happens is…enlightening, to say the least.
It’s been two months since Horatio first laid eyes on Hamlet, and he’s no less captivated by him now than he was then. Hamlet is an enigma, in every sense of the word. Some days, he’s loud and boisterous, spouting witty remarks and wearing his emotions on his sleeve. Others, he’s quiet, his reactions hidden behind a careful mask of indifference. Even with how much time Horatio spends at his side, he still finds it hard to know what he’s thinking on those days.
Perhaps that’s how he didn’t see it coming.
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern have retired by this point, leaving the library empty save Horatio and the prince. Horatio is dutifully working on his essay for class, but even so he can feel the cool gaze on the back of his neck, never faltering. He doesn’t worry about it though; there have been many nights like this. Nights where Hamlet doesn’t say a word, but instead chooses to watch Horatio work. It’s been going on like this for nearly an hour now, and he wonders how Hamlet has not gotten bored yet. Horatio himself is considering turning in for the night, when something odd happens.
“Horatio.”
It startles him. Hamlet never, never breaks the silence that he creates. Horatio glances up at him, eyebrows creasing with concern.
“My lord, is something the matter?”
Hamlet tilts his head, looking thoughtful. His gaze never leaves Horatio.
Horatio waits as the silence stretches, and begins to wonder if Hamlet somehow didn’t hear him. He’s just considering repeating the question, when Hamlet speaks again. “Would you walk me back to my room?”
It’s such a simple question, yet it’s strange Hamlet would even bother asking–it’s not like they wouldn’t be heading in the same direction anyways, and Horatio always makes sure Hamlet gets back safely before retiring to his own dorm.
“O-Of course, my lord,” Horatio responds, biting back a remark on his strange behavior. Hamlet doesn’t say anything else, only nodding and grabbing his lantern, and they depart in silence. Horatio feels disquieted, flickering his gaze back to Hamlet every few moments, but the prince continues down the dark hall without faltering, his face cast into half-shadow by the lantern.
The next surprise for the evening is Hamlet stopping Horatio from going back to his room, instead beckoning him into the prince’s own. Dutifully, he follows Hamlet into the little dorm, still infinitely more luxurious than Horatio’s. Hamlet shuts the door, then walks over to his desk to set the lantern down. Horatio doesn’t know why, but feels tense all over, his heart thudding against his ribcage.
Hamlet walks back towards him, pale eyes boring into Horatio’s soul. His steps are slow, steady, driven, and the look he’s giving Horatio makes him feel like a caged animal. Even with the short distance, it feels like an eternity before the prince is back in front of him.
Nimble fingers slip up to Horatio’s jaw, caressing and tilting his head downwards. Horatio’s pulse quickens under Hamlet’s touch, his cheeks going flush even as he fights to keep his expression neutral. Hamlet’s gaze is lidded, dark eyelashes stark against porcelain skin.
“Horatio.” Again, his name, this time whispered like a prayer. Horatio, afraid of what will come out if he opens his mouth, simply inclines his head to indicate for the prince to continue. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
True to his word, Hamlet’s lips find his in a matter of seconds. They move softly against his mouth, coaxing Horatio to relax. Slowly, he does, letting his eyes fall shut and leaning further into the kiss.
He can feel Hamlet’s lips quirk upward, just slightly, before he pulls away entirely. Horatio releases a soft sigh, opening his eyes. Hamlet has a little half-smile, and his cheeks have taken on a bit of color. His hand still cradles Horatio’s jaw carefully, the cold metal of his signet ring pressing into Horatio’s warm skin.
“Come here,” Hamlet says as he guides Horatio back to his bed. Horatio sits on the edge, and is treated to a lapful of prince in response. He feels himself grow warmer.
“My lord–”
“Shhh.” Hamlet grips Horatio’s shoulders. “You worry too much, my dear friend. Relax.” He gives him no time to respond, leaning forward to capture Horatio’s lips again, this time more insistent.
Horatio tentatively pulls him closer, wrapping his arms around Hamlet’s thin waist. He really should eat more, Horatio thinks, but the notion is lost when he feels Hamlet’s sly tongue press against the seam of his lips. He gasps, and Hamlet takes the invitation to lick into his mouth. The hands on his shoulder’s slip down to clasp behind Horatio’s neck, allowing Hamlet to lean even further into him so almost his whole chest is pressed against Horatio.
The art of kissing is not something that Horatio has much expertise in, but Hamlet seems to have no such issues, turning Horatio soft and pliable almost embarrassingly quickly. He pulls back, catching Horatio’s bottom lip between his teeth before sliding away to mouth along the shell of Horatio’s ear. Horatio makes a quiet whining noise when Hamlet gently bites the lobe, and he’s treated to a low chuckle.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Horatio?” Hamlet asks in a teasing tone. He leans down further to nip at his neck, pausing to press a gentle kiss to Horatio’s thrumming pulse. A shiver runs up his spine at that, and he is rendered useless of speech for a moment.
“I–yes, my lord.” Horatio’s voice shakes more than he would like. Hamlet hums softly against his throat, sounding pleased.
“Good.” Hamlet runs a hand down Horatio’s chest. “May I remove this, Horatio?” he asks, toying with the end of his doublet, just barely tugging at one of the laces. Horatio swallows, his throat suddenly feeling too dry.
“Y-yes.” Hamlet pulls back, smiling. The image of a beast appears in Horatio’s mind, poised to slaughter its defenseless prey. Horatio feels that he’s about to be eaten alive.
Well, worse things can happen.
Hamlet makes quick work of the doublet, immediately followed by his undershirt. With his chest exposed, the prince leans down further, trailing kisses and soft bites along his way. He stops right at Horatio’s heart, listening to its beating.
“Have you ever slept with a man before?” Hamlet suddenly asks, and Horatio feels himself grow impossibly warmer at the question.
“I…no, I haven’t–n-not with anyone.” And Hamlet glances up at him, his smile growing sharper.
“Really?” His hand runs up Horatio’s arm, squeezing his bicep in an almost possessive manner. “Would you be amenable to changing that tonight?” His eyes glint. “With me?”
And oh god, how is Horatio supposed to respond to that? How is he supposed to look the prince in the eyes and tell him about the countless nights spent in a restless stupor, the image of nimble fingers and pale eyes taunting him? How is he supposed to admit that this is what he’s been dreaming of since the first time he saw Hamlet, that he would be much more than amenable to making Hamlet’s musings a reality? That he wants Hamlet more than he’s ever wanted almost anything, with an intensity that continues to startle him every moment the prince is around?
He settles for wrapping himself tighter into the prince, leaning into his shoulder so he doesn’t have to look him in the eye, and whispering a muffled “yes” that he hopes doesn’t sound too desperate.
Those hopes are quickly dashed when Hamlet’s laugh, tinkling like bells, rings close to his ear. “Eager aren’t you?”
Horatio’s saved from answering by Hamlet pulling away to stand up. The whine that rises in his throat is nothing short of desperate, which Hamlet seems to find even further amusing. He leans forward, still giggling, to slide a hand along Horatio’s jaw.
“I just need to get undressed my dear. I won’t be far.”
Any further complaints Horatio might’ve had melt at the words my dear on Hamlet’s tongue, and he relaxes, allowing himself to partake in the sight of Hamlet undressing. He does it gracefully, of course; nothing the prince does is anything short of graceful. But still, there’s the slightest edge to his motions, a sort of tightness Horatio has never seen from him before. His stomach jumps at the realization of what it is: Hamlet is nervous.
He’s never seen Hamlet nervous before– embarrassed, anxious, excited, sure, but never nervous. Horatio almost refuses to believe that’s what he’s seeing, but his suspicions are confirmed when Hamlet looks him in the eyes after dropping his last article of clothing.
In his gaze has the usual air of confidence that follows him wherever he goes, a product of royal breeding. There is also arousal in the dilation of his pupils, in the flush of his normally pale skin. But hidden among his features, impossible to spot if Horatio hadn’t spent hours carefully mapping this very face, is fear.
It occurs to Horatio that, no matter how intimate they have gotten, this is the first time he’s seeing Hamlet as he is, with no title or pomp to guard him. Hamlet has not just bared himself physically to Horatio; he has bared himself in the most intimate of ways, showing Horatio the core of his very soul.
And he’s afraid, perhaps, that Horatio won’t like him this way.
But Hamlet is more exquisite than any person has right to be, and Horatio wishes desperately to show that to him.
“Come here,” he says softly, taking initiative for the first time tonight, or perhaps for the first time ever in his relationship with the prince. Hamlet shifts, ever so slightly, but steps forward until he is standing a scant few inches away from Horatio. Horatio takes his hand, guiding him to sit down beside him. “Lie back.”
Hamlet does as instructed, scooting back until he can comfortably lounge against the excess of pillows resting against the headboard. Horatio makes quick work of the last of his own clothes, then follows, leaning over Hamlet so that their eyes are parallel. He runs his hand gently up the prince’s body, stopping above his heart to feel its fluttering pulse against his palm.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers into the silence. Hamlet shivers gently against him, but the look of fear has left his eyes. Horatio, feeling suddenly rather bold, leans down to kiss at his neck. “Ever since we first met, you’ve been all I can think of. Sweet prince,” He places a gentle kiss behind his ear. “You have no idea what you’ve done to me.”
Hamlet gasps when Horatio runs a hand lower, grazing over his pelvic bone. “Horatio–”
“What do you want, Hamlet?” The use of his given name causes the prince to whine, leaning up into Horatio’s featherlight touch.
“Touch me. Please.” And Horatio, unable to say no to the prince under normal circumstances, is helpless to deny him.
Predictably, Horatio does not last long once he gets a hand around both of them. That can be attributed not only to his lack of experience, but also to the person lying beneath him. Horatio considers apologizing after he finishes, but Hamlet very quickly follows, muffling a cry against Horatio’s shoulder, his nails digging harshly into his back.
Later, perhaps minutes, perhaps hours, the two lie together in bed. Hamlet has pillowed his head against Horatio’s chest, presumably asleep. Horatio runs his fingers through his hair, a warm feeling burning along his skin. He has never felt so at ease before.
Hamlet shifts, turning so his lips are against Horatio’s collar. Not asleep then. Horatio tries to sit up so he can see the prince’s face, but Hamlet whines, clinging to him.
“My lord–”
“Please Horatio,” Hamlet mumbles against his chest. “Surely, after all that happened this evening, you agree that perhaps just ‘Hamlet’ will suffice?”
“My lord,” Horatio insists, because really, he can’t afford to make a habit of calling Hamlet by his name lest he accidentally does it in front of someone important. “Is something the matter?”
Hamlet doesn’t respond for a long moment. Horatio would almost think he didn’t hear him if it weren’t for the minute tensing where Hamlet’s arms meet his torso. Horatio waits. Hamlet has broken form by speaking into self-imposed silence once this evening, and he is ever so curious to see if it will happen again.
Finally, after what feels like ages, but in reality is likely just a few minutes, Hamlet moves, propping himself up on Horatio’s chest. “Of course everything is perfectly fine,” he says with a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and his eyes don’t quite reach Horatio’s.
“I…” There are a million things Horatio wants to say, to try to coax out bothering him, but none of them are sufficient in the face of Hamlet’s wit.
Besides, it’s not what their relationship is. Hamlet has always been in control, always drawing things out of Horatio, never the other way around. Tonight perhaps was an exception, but it doesn’t mean that anything about their dynamic has changed.
Horatio, as usual, chooses to be a coward and defer to his more logical thoughts. “I should probably leave now before anyone has a chance to see me.”
“Right.” Hamlet’s face is neutral, but Horatio could swear there’s a hint of disappointment lingering in his voice. Horatio squashes the urge to pull Hamlet back down as he moves off of him, instead getting up and redressing.
“You’ll come with me to the library again tomorrow?” Hamlet asks as Horatio is finishing lacing his doublet.
“Of course, my lord.”
“Very well. Good night Horatio.” And just like that, Horatio is back in the dark, empty hallways. Alone.
He makes his way into his dorm as quietly as possible–heaven knows who might still be awake–and tries not to feel any regret that his prince did not kiss him a final time before he left.
Dear God. His prince. That simply wouldn’t do at all if he hoped to maintain any semblance of sanity. Hamlet was not his in any way, nor could he ever be. Regardless of what they had done this evening, Hamlet was still as unattainable to Horatio as the sun in the sky. The events of the day were simply an anomaly, a one-time occurrence that Horatio would hold dearly in his heart, but never speak of with Hamlet again. Horatio repeats this to himself with what is almost bitterness as he falls into a fitful slumber, his dreams only more vivid now that he knows the feel of the prince.
Yet, despite it being a one time thing, Hamlet takes him to his dorm again the very next night.