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Chapter Text

Henry

For the eighth time in an hour, Henry pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows the exact amount because he counts them - along with a few measured breaths in and out - to not explode with rage at how dumb Sir Hans Capon, eventual Lord of Rattay, is behaving. It helps him keep his emotions at bay when he sees the younger man shooting an arrow with his elbow hanging at a much too low angle… and the grey hare sprinting away from the two crouching men. The arrow disappears three metres away from the former position of the hare and into the undergrowth, never to be seen again.

“Ha, those nimble creatures!” Hans exclaims, and Henry slowly breathes out of his nose. 

“My Lord, would you please keep your voice down,” he says, for the sixth time during this hunting trip. He keeps track of those too. “There could be Cumans around.”

And for the first time, Hans does not respond with a “But I have you, Henry, to save me again! My loyal and mighty servant!” but with an irritated look that seems to take in Henry for the first time since they left Pirkstein. “I don’t like how you’re behaving like a mother hen today. Do I have to punish you?”

At least he has lowered his voice. Henry feels stable enough to lift his fingers off of his nose.

“No, my Lord. I…” It’s getting harder to remain in this subservient role in front of a total dumbass. He likes Hans. He doesn’t even know why. But somehow, this unbearable conceited lazy blighter has wormed his way into his heart, and he has come to realise that he likes spending time with him. Even if he’s the servant, and Hans is the incompetent nobleman. But below that surface, Hans has shown to be empathetic and thankful, and even anxious when it comes to his future and his responsibilities despite or maybe because of his cocky attitude he regards this issue with. Henry knows that he hides his insecurities behind his big mouth and women and beer, and he can understand it. Doesn’t mean he isn’t regularly annoyed by the mood shifts and constant arrogance of his master. 

“What?” Hans inquires, blue-grey eyes narrowed as if looking for a fight. 

“I simply wish for you not to get into trouble today. Let’s just have a pleasant day out, hunt in silence and lay by the river to relax a bit after.” He doesn’t know why he says it, especially in such a defeated tone, but he instantly notices that Hans becomes stiff and his gaze a glare. 

Oh no, Henry thinks. Me and my own big mouth.

“Pleasant, my ass,” Hans exclaims, standing up to properly glare at Henry. A twig with thorns has pierced his shirt. At the latest when he’ll mount his horse he will definitely accompany this action with all the little Ouch… uh eeh, ouch… ah. Henry! … OUCH.. uh, nevermind.

Henry doesn’t know what it says about his mental state that he knows the exact protocol of the mannerisms his lord has, especially taking into account that they have only known each other for a mere four weeks. 

“You haven’t even shot one arrow on this trip. All work falls to me while you’re just sulking next to me. That is not what ouch - ah, goddamn!” Hans has found the thorns, apparently in his skin. He picks at the twig and snarls.

“Language, my Lord,” Henry says easily, standing up, too. He can’t help but feel smug about it, especially because he sounds like a mother chiding her son. 

“Fuck you,” Hans says, pulling the twig off his shirt and throwing it to the ground, and Henry laughs. He laughs out loud and notices Hans scrunching up his nose. When he finally calms down, he sees the twitch of the corners of Hans’s lips. Not that he would ever mention that.

In the distance, one of their horses neighs. Henry believes it is Pebbles.

“You do realise that I could hang you for this alone?” Hans says while they slowly make their way back to the meadow they have left their mounts at.

Henry tilts his head. “I know.”

“Good,” Hans says, turning away his face and sticking his nose in the air. 

“So, what do you say, hunt for a while longer and relax by the river after?” Henry asks once they have reached their horses. Somehow, his bad mood has lifted. 

“I don’t take recommendations from peasants, but even I have to admit those suggestions are not bad,” Hans says, one foot in the stirrups. “I may feel inclined to allow the latter. But only if you move your useless bottom for your lord for once,” he says with an eye roll that completes the choreography of gracefully mounting his horse. He gestures to the still empty saddle loops of Pebbles while he shifts his hips on his own saddle that already has a pheasant strapped to it. Not at all impressive.

Henry lifts one eyebrow and whistles through his fingers. Hans twists his face, apparently still not accustomed to the loud (and in noble surroundings probably indecent) sound. There’s movement in the undergrowth, and after a few seconds, a spotted dog appears who has something in his mouth. Mutt wags his tail upon coming nearer, dropping the item obediently. It’s a hare, a brownish one, and it’s perfectly preserved safe for the bite marks in its neck. 

Henry picks it up and holds it up to Hans as if to say “See?”, then he binds it to his saddle. He can hear Hans muttering behind his back.

“What was that, my Lord?” Henry asks, trying very hard to sound neutral but failing to keep the grin out of his voice. Mutt barks. 

“That’s cheating,” Hans says, very clearly trying hard for a neutral tone as well but Henry hears his irritation all the same. Mutt barks again.

“I’m sorry, my Lord,” Henry replies, glancing briefly at Hans before turning to Mutt who nearly bounces his whole butt with how hard he wags his tail, panting with his pink tongue sticking out. 

Henry leans down to Mutt and tickles him between the ears. “Good boy! That’s my boy!” he praises, and Mutt makes a happy sound. 

He mounts his horse then, not sparing Hans another glance when he says, “I know a place, follow me”, and spurs Pebbles on.

Hans

Good boy.

These words ring in Hans’s head, sending a strange yet warm tingle through his body, one that leaves him utterly confused. 

There are plenty of dogs roaming around Rattay, so it’s not like he hasn’t heard that phrase before. But this is the first time he’s heard Henry say it, and something about the way the man’s voice sounds around such seemingly innocent words… 

Yes, Hans might be a little attracted to this son of a blacksmith; he would be a fool not to, because he’s both easy on the eyes and - Hans will never admit this out loud ever - the way he’s unafraid to be defiant to those above his station is refreshing, especially in comparison to all the usual sycophants who like to grovel for the favours and attention of a future Lord. But while he likes plenty of things about Henry, his voice has never really been one of them. So why-

“-y Lord?” Henry calls out to him, and when he doesn’t answer immediately, he follows it up with, “Sir Hans?”

Hans blinks, only now realising that he hasn’t moved at all while Henry is already quite a good distance away. With a quick swish of the reins, he catches up.

A look of concern flashes across Henry’s blue eyes. “Sir Hans, are you-”

“You said you know of another good hunting spot, yes?” Hans says, cutting him off. “Then lead the way. We’re wasting daylight.”

There’s a brief pause as Henry visibly contemplates what to say next. Then, “Very well, my Lord.”

With that settled, the two of them ride off, and even though it’s a good day, with a gentle breeze blowing through his hair and a cloudless sky with the sun warming his skin, Hans is unable to fully enjoy it, not when his mind is still partially distracted. What exactly was the cause of that peculiar sensation? 

They reach the next hunting spot after several minutes, and when they get off their horses, Henry is quick to reach for and hand Hans his bow. Hans is about to grab it when he stops, his hand pausing in mid-air between them as a realisation hits him: If I couldn’t even shoot a damn rabbit earlier, there is no way I’m going to be able to do it now with such a distraction bothering me. 

However, a solution quickly springs to mind. He pushes the bow back towards Henry. “You do it.”

Henry’s eyes widen. “What?”

“Since you think you’re so good, you can go hunt us down some hares. And don’t think I’m letting you get help from your dog again.” Hans unrolls a mat onto the ground, and pulls out some dried meat from his horse’s saddlebag, tearing off a piece to offer it to Mutt. As expected, Mutt goes right to him, and they both plop down onto the mat. “We’re going to stay right here.”

Henry continues to stare at the two of them - at Hans in disbelief and at Mutt in betrayal. The latter isn’t bothered at all, continuing to chew on the tough piece of meat that was just handed to him. Hans, on the other hand, simply waves Henry off. “What are you still standing around for? Get a move on, and you better not come back until there are at least three rabbits hanging from your belt.”

“... Fine,” Henry says through gritted teeth, but before he storms off into the woods, he does remember to add, “Sir."

Once he’s out of sight, Hans sighs in relief. He estimates that he should have about a good hour before Henry is likely to make his way back. He turns to Mutt, “What do you think about your master, hmm?”

Mutt cocks his head at the question, his soulful eyes giving his full attention. His tongue is out, slobber dripping down onto the rough canvas of the mat, clearly wanting more food. Hans just sighs again, giving him another piece. “Great, I’m talking to a dog now.”

But as he watches Mutt chow down with his tail wagging happily, Hans can’t help but smile. Perhaps he’s spent too much time with Henry, but he’s found himself endeared by this common mongrel. He goes to give him a nice scratch on the top of his head, surprised to find that while the fur is rough, it is indeed clean. “He takes good care of you, doesn’t he?”

No answer comes of course, but Hans continues to scratch while his own thoughts drift back to the issue troubling him. 

Was it because it was a compliment? It can’t be. Firstly, it wasn’t even directed at him. Secondly, Hans has gotten plenty of compliments in his life, whether it be from his various tutors as he was growing up, or from his many suitors on his appearance. Sure, he hasn’t gotten many in recent months on account of Hanush not thinking highly of his young charge’s abilities as a lord, but the others more than made up for it. 

More importantly, even if he is seeking a compliment, he definitely wouldn’t need it from someone like Henry. He does not need that peasant’s approval, especially not with the way he’s been acting as of late. 

Time passes fast when one is deep in thought, and before Hans even knows it, he hears a rustle in the bushes. He turns just in time to see Henry step out with not three, but seven rabbits, along with a (deservedly) smug expression on his face.

What happened to the man who couldn’t even shoot at a standing target? What leaves his mouth instead is, “Show off.”

Henry’s amused grin widens as he hangs the rabbits onto the saddle of his horse. Once he’s done with that, he walks back over to them, with Mutt sitting upright, tail wagging enthusiastically at the presence of his master. 

“Oh, I can never stay mad at you.” Henry kneels down, giving Mutt some gentle pats. He briefly glances at Hans. “And you kept Sir Hans company, and I know that must not have been easy. Good boy.”

Those two words again. Another tingle, accompanied by a shiver. 

Hans pretends to roll his eyes, when really he just wants to avert his gaze.

Fuck . The words replay in his head, along with the way those blue eyes were looking at him. Fuck, this can only mean one thing.

He does want compliments, but not just from anyone. He wants Henry’s. Or more specifically, he wants Henry to praise him just like that . 

Hans feels his entire face warm up. He immediately gets up and starts making his way to his horse, wanting to get rid of the strange sensation that is getting him a little hot under the collar.

“Sir, what’s wrong?” Henry asks. “Are you alright? You looked a little flushed.”

“You made me wait so long in this heat that I’ve gone all red,” Hans says, realising his mouth suddenly feels very dry. “Take me back to the castle at once.”

“But sir, what about the river-”

“Do I need to repeat myself?” Hans finally turns to Henry with a glare. As much as a dip in the cool waters of the river sounds splendid, he needs to return home.

“... No, my Lord,” Henry replies sullenly, and is that a slight pout that Hans sees? That’s adorab-

What? NO. Hans mentally slaps himself. I have clearly been spending too much time with Henry; why else would I be thinking these things?

Combing his hand through his hair to clear his head, he waits for Henry to get ready. Then, they both ride all the way back to Pirkstein in complete silence. There’s a tension in the air between them, but neither broaches it. Even when they reach the castle grounds, Hans simply gets off his horse and heads to his room, simply throwing a “You can keep the rabbits for yourself!” back to Henry without even looking at him.

And yet, over the next few days, despite busying himself with “lordship duties” that Hanush has assigned to him and thus not having the time to meet or even see Henry, Hans discovers that such thoughts do not disappear. In fact, they develop, because he no longer wants to hear Henry merely say those words to him. 

No, he wants Henry to say them with that smug smile of his, lips just inches away from his own. Wants Henry to say them while his hands, which are sure to be rough from blacksmithing, are on him, his skin heating up from the touch. Wants Henry to say them while their bodies are intertwined, with him doing such a good job at pleasing Henry that he showers him with praise. 

Such sinful desires keep Hans wide awake at night. He’s not as shocked about the sexual attraction, but more so that it’s this exact thing that he wants, something that’s never wanted with anyone else before. That’s the problem that is making him sleepless: what exactly is it about Henry that has apparently unlocked something new within him? 

Then, he hears about the assault on Pribyslavitz; something about needing to get rid of the bandits and Cumans that have taken over the place. News reaches him about it being a huge success, with the town having been successfully recaptured, all with the help of Henry no less, the man having travelled all over to investigate the source of this particular trouble plaguing the land. 

This comes as another surprise, because Henry hasn’t said anything about it. Though, Hans supposes that it’s not something he’s obliged to talk about, nor has Hans actually asked the man about all the other things he’s been doing when he’s not following along on hunts. 

Upon Radzig’s return, Hanush throws a little victory celebration, which Hans dutifully attends. It’s a little boring, as all of Hanush’s parties tend to be, but as Radzig recounts the events which include Henry’s contributions, namely scouting and sabotaging the dangerous enemy camps as well as taking down the bandit leader all by himself, Hans finds himself delightfully impressed by how much Henry has grown, especially when it wasn’t too long ago that he could barely hold a sword. 

However, he realises that Henry is nowhere to be seen. Asking around, he learns that he’s been gifted his own room in lower Pirkstein, and it’s there that he was last seen. So, after coming up with some excuse, Hans makes his way there, also making a quick stop by the kitchen to grab a few bottles of wine and two tankards. 

He finds the door to Henry’s room slightly ajar, so he pushes it open. “Why aren’t you at the party?”

Henry, who was sitting on the edge of his bed, immediately stands up and straightens his clothes. By the candlelight of the room, several cuts and bruises are clear on his face, along with the bags under his eyes. “I… I’m a little tired, my Lord, that’s all. But if they’re asking for me-”

“Eh, it was a stuffy and dull affair anyway, you’re not going to miss anything,” Hans says as he waves it off. He then lifts up the bottles with a smirk. “ But… some congratulations are in order, so what do you say?” 

After a few seconds, Henry smiles too, sitting back down while also making space for Hans beside him. Hans takes a seat, popping open a bottle and pouring it out. They thump their tankards together, both taking a huge swig after. 

“So,” Hans says after swallowing his mouthful. “According to Radzig, you were instrumental in the success of the attack.”

Henry shakes his head. “I was just following his orders. Anyone could have done what I did.”

Hans can’t help but scoff at this display of humility. “Sure, but it wasn’t just anyone, was it? It was you who snuck into dangerous enemy territory and what, poisoned their food?”

“And burned a few caches of arrows.” 

“See, that’s what I mean! Most people probably wouldn’t have the balls to do what you did!” Hans barks out a laugh. “Give yourself some credit. You deserve it.”

Even in the dim light, he can see the way Henry blushes ever so slightly as he smiles. “Thank you, Hans… Sir.”

The pause does not go unnoticed. In fact, it is very much noticed, and along with the bashful expression on Henry’s face, Hans starts feeling a strange sensation in his chest, not too different from what he’s been feeling before. 

Oh. 

Oh no.

Could this be… do I actually like Henry?

No, that’s absurd. It’s the wine, it has to be. There’s no other explanation for it. 

And yet, there so clearly is. The man’s brave yet humble and hardworking nature has charmed him, and now, Hans wants more, in a way that is more than what might be deemed appropriate, in a way that is beyond merely physical.

But does Henry feel the same? Could he? Hans has a pretty good idea of how Henry thinks of him; could that be so easily changed?

Hans takes another large swig of the wine. No matter; this, like so many others, will hopefully be simply a fleeting moment of infatuation. So, in order to push such thoughts away for now, Hans says, “Well then, I want to hear how things played out from your point of view. Don’t you dare leave anything out; I want to know everything.”

For the next hour or so, that’s all they do: Henry relays the details of the attack as Hans listens with rapt attention, interjecting every so often with questions that seek to clarify. Though he’s free to go wherever he pleases, Hanush has practically forbidden him from participating in any large scale battles, not wanting to put his life at risk. Feeling cooped up as he usually is, he’s living vicariously through Henry’s experiences.

It also helps that as the night wears on and the bottles of wine get increasingly emptier, Henry seems to get increasingly animated as well, beginning to gesture wildly with his hands and a big grin on his face despite the exhaustion apparent in his eyes. 

At the same time, Hans slowly stops interrupting, eventually watching Henry in silence, a smile on his own face. He also starts to lose track of what Henry is saying, his alcohol-muddled mind making him only focus on Henry’s face, on those bruises that he wants to soothe away, on those long lashes… how does a man have such beautiful lashes ?

However, with that thought comes a striking moment of clarity. Hans puts the tankard aside. He’s obviously had too much to drink; any more and… Hans doesn’t want to think of what he might do if his inhibitions are lowered any further. 

He forces himself to focus, waiting for a good break in the story. Luckily, Henry is at the end, and when he’s done, he yawns, the wine finally taking its toll on his already-tired mind. 

Hans takes this chance to stand up. “I think we should call it a night here, then. I shan’t take anymore of your time. Thank you, Henry, this was much more fun than I expected. Let it be known that you make for a decent storyteller.”

Henry mumbles out a “thank you, sir” as he stifles another yawn. As he puts aside his own tankard and is getting ready for bed, Hans opens the door, feeling quite tired himself. 

But as he’s about to step out, something compels him to stop and turn around. He really must have drunk way too much, or the wine must have been stronger than he anticipated, because the words leave his mouth before he can even process them. "Tell me, just hypothetically… if I told you to answer me with 'good boy' instead of 'very good, my Lord' when we're out hunting or fighting... would that be something you consider indecent?"

"Huh?” Henry looks up at him, sleep already in his eyes. He blinks, taking a few seconds before replying, “Umm… No, if that is what my Lord wishes, then so be it."

Hans can feel his face turn red, his cheeks aflame not just because of the wine. He turns his back to Henry, and keeping his voice as steady as he can, he says, "Very well. Good night."

He does not wait for Henry’s reply before closing the door behind him, but he does not move just yet. He stands there with his eyes closed, wanting the night to cool his heated skin as the realisation of what he just did starts to set in. 

“Am I crazy? Why did I ask him that?” he asks himself softly, grateful there are no guards closeby. “And did he actually agree?”

He finds himself making his way back to his room, and with every step, he manages to calm down a little. By the time he reaches his bed, he has convinced himself of several things: He was drunk and so was I. He’ll probably think that I was joking, or he didn’t even understand what I was asking. He was already half-asleep; he’s going to forget all about it tomorrow.

He wouldn’t possibly entertain such a ridiculous request… would he?

Chapter Text

Henry

Henry’s wounds heal quickly, his troubled mind… not so much. 

He is haunted by the events of Pribyslavitz, sees Runt deride him and sees him die in front of him. At first, those flashbacks hit him every night, and after a horrible first week, he has his first good night’s sleep without remembering any dream.

Well, no. That’s not true.

That one night of Hanush’s celebration, when he had retired early to tend to his wounds and let the ringing in his ears subside, he had had a restful sleep as well. Probably because of the wine that dulled his brain and lulled him in. 

Or because of the company, because as annoying and unnerving as Hans can be, he also has a strange power over Henry to calm his nervous system, to make him come back to the present, to be… just himself.

The thought hits him when Henry rides Pebbles along a blood track that he has been following for ten minutes. They lead away from a butcher’s shop where several pieces of meat have either been stolen or marked with a hideous mix of dog feces, blood and mold. 

The current task could not be further away right now.

Henry stops Pebbles in the middle of the path he has led the horse on, a slight ascent in a wooded area, the chirping of birds his only companion besides the audible breathing of his horse who has his ears in the air. 

A vague picture appears in his mind. A memory? Too blurry to fathom, but it includes the bright eyes of Hans… and Hans sitting on his bed? No, that must have been a dream. Hans would never condescend to appear in his room, let alone be on his bed. 

Oh shit, this train of thought again.

Henry closes his eyes and breathes in and out. He listens to the song of a blackbird close by, thinks about the clouds taking his thoughts and surprisingly fast physical reactions away: The acceleration of his heartbeat; the sweat on his palms; the lightheaded feeling in his head; the twitching in his crotch.

It comes by surprise like the nightmares. The sudden and physical pull he feels towards Hans whenever he sees him. A reaction he has only ever experienced with women, but it’s without that fluttering of his heart, without the nervousness, the stuttering he hates whenever he tried to woo a pretty girl - not that that had happened very often. But he knows the sensation. 

Now, it scares him. He isn’t sure if it’s the same feeling because he has never felt this kind of grounding and irritation. He doesn’t have a problem with speaking his mind to Hans, hell, he is triggered to do so. He sometimes wants to bury his fist in Hans’s jaw but not in a jealous way like he had done with other boys when they showed teeth-clenching behaviour towards his crush.

No, he wants to fight Hans to get through that thick skull of his, to get to his core. For Hans to lose that facade of an arrogant noble and be himself: a young man lost in circumstances that scare him. 

And apparently… that has happened? Henry opens his eyes. No, he hasn’t punched Hans. But something else tingles in his memories, something important. He can’t grasp it, and Pebbles is currently busy feeding on the grass that’s growing next to the path - right next to a spot that is blood-soaked.

“Tss, Pebbles!” Henry scolds, pulling on the reins and spurring the horse on. Pebbles lunges forward, adapting a fast trot that nearly makes Henry lose his balance but he manages to grab the saddle and keep his feet in the stirrups. 

The rest of the tracking leaves Henry no space to further sink into his complicated feelings because a settlement appears in his view that has the blood trail leading right to the back of a barn. 

He finds a bled-out sheep, gets nearly run over by the farmer who’s the owner of the house and the adjacent barn, and receives a heated and frustrated explanation that he isn’t the culprit, that someone must have set him up.

Henry’s mind is spinning by the time the farmer has shown him his crops and livestock, the threat paintings made of feces and blood (that ominously look like demonic symbols) on the fences, and the heads of six white mice that apparently laid on his doorstep just two days ago.

“And why didn’t you make note of this to your headman?” Henry asks, declining yet another offer of a drink in the surprisingly warm spring weather.

The farmer explains that he was worried for his life, because someone clearly wants him out of the way - one way or another. 

Be that as it may, Henry doesn’t find any other hints or tracks while he scouts the area. Luckily, the sheep has only recently begun to stink, so Henry can stand to be close to it to examine it. But it’s fruitless. No traces of a third party, and it’s unlikely that a farmer sabotaged his own property - though not impossible. 

He heads back to Rattay later, after having promised to look into the case, the sun already low on the horizon. He is hungry, he notices, and thirsty as well.

His flask is empty. Damn.

When he descends from the wooded area, he notices the river nearby, and on a whim, he jumps off of Pebbles and dips first his head, then his flask into the cold stream. A cheer erupts out of him, half excitement, half posttraumatic stress, and Pebbles looks at him with bulging eyes while having his snout deep in the water to drink. 

Henry wipes away the water from his face and drinks as well.

And then the memory hits him full blast. 

Calmness of his room. That one squeaky wooden piece of the bed frame when laying back. Hans’s yellow shirt. Wine, sweet and expensive. Tankards. Hans’s face next to him while he listens intensely. Maybe a little too bright-eyed. 

Henry pulls a face. It seems that Hans has decided to deem him worthy of his presence because Henry “proved” himself as something akin to a fighter. That he’s not entirely hopeless, probably.

But no, it’s not that… Henry can’t grasp it. But Hans was there in his room, and he sat on his bed . 

Henry stares into the stream and absentmindedly strokes his fingers through the water. 

Curious.

What if…

No.

Hold that fantasy back for when you’re alone in your bed again, Henry.

With Radzig looking at him differently - with more respect and trust - there are more responsibilities. He is ordered to search for remaining bandits and possible connections to the Cumans, and so Henry is on the road once again one day later.

Bernard passes him as he readies Pebbles in front of the castle, saying that he shouldn’t let his sword training fall short. Henry thinks that the old man misses him and his constant inferiority, but he does not dare to say it out loud. Instead, he smiles and bows his head, promising to be ready in the early mornings more often to spar with him. That seems to be to the swordmaster’s liking because he walks away and barks at a stable boy.

Henry chuckles to himself, pats Pebbles’s neck while he hears the stable boy running past him, dust rising in the air. It hasn’t rained in almost two weeks, and the somehow always remaining sand chafes in Henry’s armpits and between his legs.

He mounts the horse to ride off into the landscape yet again, thoughts already wandering from the chafing sensation to a more pleasant one - one he has entertained last night, alone in his bed, while having his hips positioned on the same spot Hans had been sitting on, imagining…

…somehow his imagination fails him there, when it comes to anatomically correct ways of copulating with a man but he just copies his experience with women and… makes it fit with Hans. The picture doesn’t quite work but that is something that excites rather than repulses Henry’s lust. At first, he thought the desire he feels for Hans comes from a want of an inversion of power, to subdue that cocky attitude of his lordship. But the more time that passes and the more he thinks about that wine-ful evening, he notices that it’s very much romantic feelings. 

Henry sinks down on his saddle and buries his burning face in his hands and forearms. The armor pokes him in the cheeks.

Shit. 

He likes his Lord.

Pebbles stops and sighs, and man, isn’t that a truly supportive statement. 

“I hear you,” Henry mumbles from between his arms. After a good minute, he straightens his back and brushes the sweat off his brow. “As if it isn’t hard enough to look him in the eye as it is. Of course it has to be even more difficult.”

Pebbles just shakes his head, probably because of an irritating fly. 

“Henry!” A voice calls, and all the blood that has gathered in Henry’s face drops to his stomach in an instant, feeling like clay there. He turns his upper body slowly, knowing fully well with what sight he is about to be greeted with:

Lord Hans Capon, in his usual robes, on his decorated horse, accompanied by two flag bearers of Pirkstein on their grays, the young Lord wearing an overconfident grin on his face. 

Henry is right, except for the grin. Today, Hans’s face is concentrated, brows drawn together. He looks almost sullen because the seriousness on his face is so strange to Henry. 

“My Lord,” he replies automatically, and it feels stiff. Pebbles shakes his head again. 

From between the three riders, a dog appears, sprinting towards Henry with his tail wagging relentlessly.

“Next time you leave Rattay again, be sure to take your dog with you. His whining is unbearable.”

When Henry takes in the sniffing and happily strolling dog next to them he both can’t and can believe that Mutt is a menace on his own.

Still… to Henry’s ears it sounds as if it’s not Mutt who is feeling put out by being left behind. 

The sensation becomes stronger when the silence stretches and Hans makes no move to turn back to the city.

“Th-thank you, Sir, for bringing him to me. I’ll make sure his whining won’t happen again,” Henry says into the silence that seems off with them being five metres apart and being forced to talk louder over the wind. 

"You can go,” Hans speaks up, and Henry is already bowing his head and pulling the reins when he hears and sees the flag bearers turning their horses and trotting back towards the walls.

“What, you thought I meant you?” Hans laughs, and Henry rolls his eyes, more obvious than he normally lets it show. 

He turns his horse and adapts a fast gallop, Mutt barking and following along immediately.

He hears the second clatter of hooves behind him quickly, along with some badly suppressed curses. At least one “Kurva!” is directed at him, he knows it.

Henry smiles darkly and spurs Pebbles on.

They chase over the hills towards Neuhof, Hans eventually overtaking Pebbles and sprinting away with a triumphant howl. And Henry laughs again, feeling free and goofy and careless.

After making sure that Neuhof is slowly rebuilding itself after the massacre and no new threats have been appearing, Henry leads Hans and Mutt east and investigates the remains of a camp Sir Radzig had gotten note about. 

The former camp consists of a flat grassy spot, logs as chairs, and some ripped cream-colored tent material that feels cool to the touch. Hans picks up a steak knife and hands it to Henry who stands up from his kneeling position at the burnt-out campfire.

“They must have left in a hurry,” Henry says.

Hans replies with, “Certainly. I would flee too if I saw the defensive strategy of Rattay.”

Henry shakes his head. “One can’t even see the walls of Rattay from here,” he says, inspecting the remarkably stainless blade before letting it fall into the dirt. That’s when he sees the blood trail that leads towards the river, opposite from the tracks that indicate the direction which the bandits took.

They are fresh. Henry becomes attentive. 

He hears the snobby huff of Hans but indicates him to be silent with a wave of his hand. Hans makes no sound in an instant. 

They creep forward, around a bush and two oak trees, Henry noticing that the blood is still… wet. No. He stops, hesitantly pulling off his glove and touching the bark that’s painted with the liquid. It’s a mixture of blood and something else, a hint of vinegar maybe, and something that prevents the blood from drying. 

Henry inches forward, then he sees the cadaver of a deer laying against the foot of a beech. It’s relatively fresh, but it’s skinned, having symbols carved into the skin that looks grayish and sick. Its eyes are gone, replaced by red marbles, Henry notices when he comes nearer, and the antlers are decorated with moss and teeth, the latter probably the deer’s own.  

He hears Hans take an inhale when he leans closer to touch the head of the deer.

That’s when he hears a coil snap. In an instant, he feels pressure on his shoulders and head, liquid worming its way into his clothes. It stinks like the second circle of hell.

He waits for the pain to envelop his mind. But it doesn’t come. Instead, Hans laughs from a few metres away, then it transforms into gagging. “My knight…” he coughs, “... in shining armor.”

Henry feels for his head and his shoulders, noticing the despicable slick on his body, and shivers in unfiltered disgust. He slowly stands up, fights the wave of nausea that hits him. His ears ring like bells. Through the haze, he hears Mutt bark, sees the dog backing away from him, and all Henry can think is I want to do that too, oh my God.

Wordlessly, he turns to the direction of the small stream that he knows is near and doesn’t bother to remove any clothing at all. He steps into it, not caring about the very sudden coldness that creeps up his legs -  because the stench. It clouds his mind. His stomach does double flips while threatening to lose its content any second. 

Henry lies down in full armor. He feels the stones pressing into his back; the water is cold in his ears - and he closes his eyes and wishes to faint. With a massive strength of will he moves his arms up and rubs his head. He doesn’t even want to think about what he’s smelling right now, what it is that is already under his collar.

And then there’s a tapping against his left arm, and Henry slowly remembers that he is alive and has a body, and that he is lying in a small riverbed. He lifts his head and opens his eyes to see Hans nudging his foot against Henry’s arm.

“So you’re still alive,” Hans says, an unimpressed expression on his face. 

Henry lets his head fall back into the water. “Just let me die here for a moment please. Sir.”

He hears the huff of Hans despite the water around his ears. Another nudge, and Henry reluctantly pulls himself into a sitting position, the water and vile something dripping from his upper body. He begins to feel cold.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Hans sniffs. “Come on, let’s get you to the castle before you die of a cold.”

For a glimpse of a moment, it seems as if Hans wants to lean down to pick Henry up by the arms. But then he freezes, only to shake it off as if shooing away a fly on his shoulder.

Henry sluggishly comes to his feet, and Hans backs off. Henry can understand why. The stench is no longer nauseating but bad nonetheless. It smells of mold and old sweat, of blood and… feces. Henry forces his mind to think of hay flowers. 

He feels miserable when they trot back to Rattay, soaked and smelly as he is, and it is not only because Pebbles visibly fights the urge to throw him off but because the other two mammals next to him keep their distance. Especially in Mutt’s case it hurts. But he understands. He wants to be far away from his body too. 

His back and his legs hurt by the time they reach the gate because of his stiff posture and dissociated gaze to not fucking lose it. He notices that Hans rides ahead, and is surprised by the naturalness that Hans has as he waves three people away from the main square. He finds the maid of the castle when he dismounts his horse, his penetrating voice ordering her to prepare a bath. She vanishes behind the doors.

When Henry stops a gnawing Pebbles to dismount, Hans stops him with an outstretched hand and his other fist against his mouth. “You, Henry, dismount when I am behind those doors as well. I barely held on during this trip. Keep out of my sight until you have had this bath.”

“Very well, my Lord,” Henry says, voice stiff and quiet. 

Hans turns on the spot and practically flees, his face carefully neutral. The way he shuts the door shows his distress clearly, though. 

Pebbles tries to kick him when he walks away from him. Mutt is nowhere to be seen. With a sense of doom, the shame gnawing on his neck and ears, he reaches the castle doors. He shivers when he enters the bathing room. The maid has her facial features in check. But Henry can see the horror flickering in her eyes as she quickly makes an exit.

He tries not to breathe deeply while he takes off his clothes. He wants to burn them once he has gotten rid of them. It takes all of his willpower to slowly dip into the hot soapy water. Once he’s inside though, he scrubs and scratches his skin and hair until the former is red and the latter is tingling. Then he goes underwater and begins to scream, the bubbles rushing out of him, eyes squeezed shut.

When he breaches the surface and takes an inhale, he feels head and shoulders better. Henry leans back in the bathtub, exhaling slowly and closing his eyes again. Then he snaps them open. 

“I’m in the castle of Rattay, in Lord Hanush’s bath. Oh I’m damned,” he whispers and sinks lower in the tub. At least the stench is gone. And he feels warm again. 

Nonetheless, when he exits the tub to dry himself off with a towel that was prepared for him, he feels the need to be on tip-toes. And then there’s the problem with his clothes. Before he can freak out from imagining himself having to walk through the whole city with nothing but a towel around his hips, he sees a pair of trousers and a shirt made of linen as well as a pair of slippers. He dresses, internally sighing that everything fits him, and that he doesn’t look like a noble, not that he would have thought that he’d get such clothes. With a murmured thank you towards the maid that eyes him when he emerges from the room, he makes his way back outside, as unobtrusive as possible. Pebbles refuses to look at him, neighing when he pulls the reins to lead him to the stables. Mutt is still nowhere to be seen. 

Henry sighs, then walks towards the stables - alone - to ask the stable boy to take care of Pebbles. He finds him clearing the stalls, and the boy nods sharply before turning back to his task. Henry finds that he has done his part. 

Like a kicked puppy, he walks down the hill towards lower Pirkstein, somehow still feeling as if he reeks, the stench still so fresh in his nostrils. Nobody takes note of him, though, at least not more than usual. Some people greet him, and with a forced smile and a stiff tilt of his head, he nods back at them. 

Then, finally. Pirkstein. Over the drawbridge, into his room. Door closed.

He refuses to sit down on his bed, so he just stands in the room and doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

Finding Mutt to prevent him from doing devilment sounds like a decent idea. And trying to continue his investigations near Neuhof - without another trap incident, preferably. 

The rest of the day seems to be ill-fated. Pebbles refuses to leave the stall with him again, no matter how much he bribes him with carrots. What’s worse is that the stable boy looks at him with a sneer that is humiliating but proportionate when taking Henry’s futile endeavours into account.

Henry gives up after a good twenty minutes. He tries to find Mutt and spends the next three hours walking inside and outside of Rattay. He visits the mill to ask Theresa about the dog but she just shrugs her shoulders with a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry, he will show up again. That dog is a loyal thing to you.”

Henry sighs for the umpteenth time this day and thanks her.

Feeling exhausted and bled dry of any patience, he returns to Pirkstein, goes into his room and falls into his bed. After laying there for twenty minutes, he stands up to eat an apple and dried meat from his bag, noticing how hungry he is. It’s early evening, and the last time he had eaten was in the morning. He is bad-tempered. 

He has heard of bad days. Not the catastrophic ones which are life-changing, such as the day he has lost his parents and his home, but the ones that are full of bad luck. As he chews another thought hits him. Why did Hans even join him this morning? In his first focused and then stressed-out state, he didn’t think about Hans’s odd behaviour once. Hans normally doesn’t move a muscle unless it is to benefit him. And Mutt could have been kicked out with a well-placed kick of his boot. Or, if he was feeling generous, be led to Henry by one of the knights or servants of Pirkstein.

The more his stomach is filled, the more Henry feels some of his bad mood leaving him.

He should report today’s failure to Sir Radzig. He should have returned by now from his own mission. With a sigh, he exits his room - only to be almost run over by Hans. Henry ducks out of the way just in time and Hans takes a step back. He takes Henry in with a scrutinising glare before grabbing his forearms to lean forward and sniff.

Henry must be asleep. Because all of this can only be a really strange dream.

“You still reek. Can’t you commoners clean yourselves properly?” Hans demands, scrunching up his nose.

Not a dream then. That sounds too much like Hans. Unless… Henry has spent so much time with his noble arsehood that he undoubtedly can haunt his dreams as well. 

“My Lord?” Henry squeaks, feeling lightheaded when Hans’s hands wander further upwards onto his upper arms to properly shake him.

“No no, this is unacceptable for a servant of mine. We are going to the bathhouse. Now.” He lets go of Henry who stumbles on the spot, then turns around without another glance to head outdoors. 

Henry follows dumbly, wondering if Mutt feels like that when he follows him along. He decides that he has to treat Mutt a bit better, even though he doesn’t know how he could achieve that.

“Sir, I don’t think it was a good idea to use Lord Hanush’s bath tub,” Henry says once they have soil under their feet.

The sun has set, and slowly, night falls over the town. Hans sets a natural pace, goal determined. Without a look back to Henry, he replies, “You are right. It was not a good idea.”

Henry has one hundred ideas of possible punishment ready in his mind when Hans lazily adds, “Of me.”

Henry picks up his pace to walk beside him. “Of you, my Lord?”

Hans nods magnanimously while they step through the lower gate. “Why, yes, clearly you need the helping hands of a bathmaid to get that awful reek off of you. The castle’s demure girls have nothing on the bathhouse wenches. You will see, dear Henry! Their hands are magical. Even you will smell sweet after that thorough treatment.”

“Of course,” Henry says, defeat in his voice. Hopefully he will soon wake up and notice what a blatantly stupid dream he is dreaming. Maybe this is his divine punishment for entertaining sexual fantasies with his Lord late at night, alone in his bed.

He finds himself inside the steam-sated bathhouse, not one but three bathmaids for the suddenly only two customers that are one Sir Hans Capon and one Henry. He hears Hans teasing and flirting with all three of them, hears the girls’ giggles, and can’t help but clench his teeth as he undresses to comply with Hans's order to join him in the prepared bath tub. 

He sits in the tub moments later, arms braced on the rim, and notices something else than steam bubbling up, hotter, so much hotter than the soapy water around him. It’s jealousy. 

Fiery-hot and cutting like the sword that has been stolen from him, the emotion surges through his chest and jaw, making him claw his fingernails into the wood of the bathtub whenever one of the girls touches Hans ever so incidentally. He welcomes the beer that is placed into his palm. It gives him something to do while the teasing and flirting continues, and midway through the second beer, Henry notices his mouth producing more than just a few syllables, but his mood remains sour. 

He can’t figure Hans out. He can’t figure out his own damned feelings. He feels exhausted and bare, and Hans dancing on the bare threads of his soul - even if involuntarily - makes him jumpy. 

Once again, Klara bumps her hips against Hans’s shoulder, and Henry finds himself almost jumping towards her. His mouth is already open, a curse ready on his tongue, when she just turns with a washtub in her hand to empty fresh warm water over Hans’s head. Hans fakes to sputter and gasp, and Henry slowly leans back again. He didn’t realise that he had moved at all. But he notices that Hans’s gaze rests on him, for how long, he doesn’t know.

Henry sets his jaw and looks away. He feels naked in a way that has nothing to do with his physical nakedness right now. The arousal he would certainly feel when being naked in a bathtub with his equally naked Lord is non-existent right now, and to some degree, that is good.

Why does it feel so awful, then?

Chapter Text

Hans

This was a poor decision.

This is not like the first time they shared a tub together, which, looking back on it now, Hans is quite surprised by how generous he was, asking Henry to join him. Don’t get him wrong, it was a fun night all around, with both of them getting to know each other a little more, though it did end up with Henry saving him from almost being drowned by some jealous guardsman and the two of them getting a talking to from Hanush the following day.

No, this is much different because that first time, they were clothed (Hans is still not sure why they both did that). Now, they are both naked, and somehow the lack of clothing makes the tub feel smaller and the water warmer.

Hans has been successful in keeping his gaze above the waterline so far, but in doing so, his focus tends to drift to Henry’s upper body, and isn’t that a sight. 

Henry has definitely grown since the first time they met. Not that he was scrawny - he seems to be naturally stockier (not that Hans was paying attention) - but it’s clear that he’s managed to get some more meat on his bones and build up quite a bit of muscle, undoubtedly thanks to Bernard’s relentless training. 

Broad shoulders, toned arms with fading blacksmithing scars, a firm chest covered by a light dusting of body hair. Hans can’t keep his eyes off of him for long, no matter how hard he tries. 

Has he been wondering what Henry looks like underneath all his usual layers of clothes and armour? Yes.

Did he lie about Henry still reeking in order to get him naked and therefore satisfy that particular curiosity? … Yes.

Does he feel bad about it? Yes and no, but not for the reasons one might think.

Sure, he does feel a little guilty over lying, seeing as the whole smelly debacle has put Henry into a bad mood, one that he might have unintentionally prolonged through such a lie. But bringing Henry to the baths was not a wholly selfish endeavour; he had an altruistic reason too, mainly that of wanting to help the man get out of said bad mood.

He also feels bad in the sense that while seeing a naked Henry has scratched the itch, it has only made things worse for his own developing attraction. He has never really been one to resist his temptations, but to have given in to them this time and to end up in such a situation with the target of his feelings sitting naked just across from him in this small tub… why did he think this was a good idea? 

It is such regret that is likely fuelling his own actions of flirting more than usual with the bathhouse maids and taking big gulps of the lousy beer - neither as enjoyable as they used to be. He’s overcompensating, he knows, but he has to in order to distract himself from the mess of emotions tormenting him. Also, and perhaps more importantly, because Henry is glaring at him and he has no idea what that means.

Yet, the more he looks, the more he realises that Henry’s irritation isn’t necessarily directed at him, but more at the women. But that wouldn’t make any sense, unless…

Is he… jealous?

No, it couldn’t be. Hans shakes his head as he takes another large swig of beer, hoping to wash away such sad wishful thinking. 

He does, however, want to get rid of that look on Henry’s face. So, with an easy smile, he says, “Ladies, would you give us some privacy? I have something to discuss with dear Henry over here.”

They leave giggling, in a way that seems like they think the two of them might get up to something.

Hah, Hans thinks bitterly, as if that would ever happen.  

The door closes, and silence fills the room. Henry’s expression softens a little, but there’s still a harshness to it that unsettles Hans. “Something you want to tell me, Henry?”

“Nothing, Sir,” Henry says in a tone of voice that indicates anything but.

“Do not lie to me.”

A short pause, then when Henry next speaks, he does it slowly, as if choosing his words with caution “… Do you think you should still be doing this?”

“Doing what? Having fun with those wenches?” When Hans sees the twitch in Henry’s jaw, he knows he’s right. A strange fury rises up in him then, and his words come out much sharper than he intended them to, a likely effect of his inebriated state “And what gives you the right to judge the actions of your Lord?”

“I just…”

“You just what? You just want to let me know what a horrible Lord I’m going to be if I keep this up?” Hans scoffs as he sets his beer aside, because as bad as it is, he does not want to waste it. “I hear enough of this shit from Hanush and the people around town, I don’t need it from you.” 

Henry opens his mouth, but Hans does not let him speak. “What are you so upset about anyway? I’m sure you get plenty of attention from women wherever you go too, and you can have whoever you want. Or are you just upset that these bathhouse ladies only seem to be interested in me?”

“I don’t want them, I only want-” Henry cuts himself off, eyes widening in what appears to be shock at almost having revealed something he didn’t intend to. He presses his lips together into a thin line, but his blue eyes bare everything. 

The faintest of sparks lights up inside Hans. Does he dare…? He leans forward. “You only want what, Henry?”

Henry remains quiet, but his cheeks redden slightly. Hans moves in even closer, crossing into Henry’s half of the tub. “ Who do you want?”

Again, Henry says nothing. Hans swallows thickly, feeling light-headed. He shifts until their faces are just inches apart, until he can feel Henry’s breath. He finally dares to look down, seeing that the hand he’s supporting himself on is between Henry’s legs, within touching distance of the man’s cock. Despite the distortions caused by the rippling water, Hans can tell it’s nicely shaped, and that it would look even nicer if it’s fully erect.

The thought of that alone is enough to give him the strength to ask the next question. “... Do you want me all to yourself?”

But the second the words are said into the space between them, Henry immediately turns his head away. 

And Hans feels a pain that must be his heart breaking. 

Of course. What a fool I am for hoping otherwise. 

He forces out a grin and a laugh. “I’m just teasing you, Henry. Don’t look so disgusted.”

Henry whips his head back and is about to say something when Hans pulls away. Even though the water is still warm, a shiver runs through him. Standing up, he says, “I’ll take my leave first. You can stay if you lik-”

He’s unable to finish his sentence, because as he steps out of the tub, he slips. Whether it’s because of a puddle or because he’s more drunk than he realised, he wouldn’t know. He swings his arms around, trying but failing to grab onto something. Closing his eyes, he prepares for the impact of his head against the hard floor. 

Only… it never comes. He opens his eyes to discover the reason why: within seconds, Henry has somehow managed to get out of the tub and grab onto him in the nick of time. 

As the shock wears off, Hans becomes extremely aware of three things: firstly, Henry has saved him again, which he frustratingly can’t help but be grateful for; secondly, Henry’s hands are on him, with the points of contact on his bare skin feeling incredibly warm; and lastly, they are both still very much naked. All three send a flutter in Hans’s core as Henry pulls him upright. 

Hans mumbles out a “thank you” before reaching for one of the towels the maids had left behind and then his clothes. Henry follows suit, and they both get dressed quietly. Henry is the faster of the two of them, and when he’s done he says, “Let me walk you back.”

“I’m not a child, Henry. I can take care of myself.” Hans grumbles, sounding very much like a petulant child despite it. And, as luck would have it, as he bends down to grab his boots, the change in angle suddenly sends his head swimming. Ah, so it was the beer, after all .

But just like before, he does not fall. But unlike before, this time, Henry has grabbed onto his waist. 

Once he has stabilised himself, he pretends to turn away to cough out of awkwardness and having just proven himself wrong, not because his face is aflame with how nice Henry’s hands feel on him. 

Thankfully (but not really), Henry removes his hands when he’s sure that Hans is steady - or as steady as he can be while clearly drunk - but he doesn’t step aside, not until Hans has safely put his boots on. After that, Henry opens the door, and looking at Hans with a small smile, he says, “Shall we?”

Hans huffs like a child throwing a tantrum and walks out, but he lets Henry catch up, somehow already having a lit torch in hand. They slowly make their way up the hill back to the castle, and for Hans, his head feels heavier with each step, and the darkness makes it even worse, feeling as if he could stumble at any minute. (Perhaps his first order as Lord should be to implement proper paving to make the paths less treacherous.)

But he does not worry, because he knows Henry is right there beside him, with a hand out ready to catch him should he fall.

I don’t deserve you.

Eventually, they reach their destination. Hans is just vaguely aware of Henry waving away the few guards and maids who step forward to offer their help, insisting that he be the one to escort Lord Capon to his room.

When the door opens, Hans quickly rids himself of his boots and outer layers before flopping onto his bed, shifting to get into a comfortable position. He looks over just in time to see the briefest of amused smiles grace Henry’s lips. “Well… have a good night, My Lord.”

Henry turns, and Hans panics. I don’t want you to leave yet.

“Thank you, I suppose.” He blurts out before he even realises it. “I know this must be a burden on you, seeing how you hate me and all.”

“What?” Henry stops then, turning back around with a furrowed brow. “I don’t hate you.”

Hans blinks up at Henry. “You don’t?”

“… If I’m allowed to speak freely, Sir?” When Hans nods, Henry continues. “When we first met, I definitely didn’t like you, as I’m sure you didn’t care much for me either. Now… you’re still a spoiled brat that annoys me every now and then, but I don’t hate you. I never have.”

Ah, there it is again, that refreshing insolence and honesty of his that Hans has come to admire. But despite such reassurance having given him some relief, he still asks, “Even though Hanush basically forced you to work under me?”

“True as that might be, I do have enough dignity to know that I wouldn’t serve a lord I hated. I’m staying because I want to.”

“But why? I have not exactly been nice to you.”

“Because despite everything, I consider you… my friend.”

The word reverberates in Hans’s mind. All his life he’s been surrounded by people older than him telling him what to do, or those around his age but “below his station” and are therefore not to be too closely mingled with. Henry should have belonged to the latter, but it seems the supposed barrier of class and status has long since been battered down by their own stubbornness, now merely a few stones that they stand on either side of whenever they have to for the sake of “propriety”, not because they want to. 

They are slowly becoming equals, something that Hans could have never foreseen.

Yet, as comforting as it is to finally have such a companion, the word also brings with it an ache because as things stand, Hans wants to be much more than just friends with Henry. But if he acts on such desires and Henry does not feel the same, then he will lose the only friend he’s ever had. 

God, I’m pathetic, Hans thinks, but this thought is soon chased away when he watches Henry kneel down beside the bed.

Their eyes meet. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re going to be a horrible lord.”

“You’re just saying that…” Hans tries to laugh it off, thinking that Henry is simply trying to soothe his guilt over what he implied earlier. 

But there is a determination in those blue eyes that lets Hans know that that is not the case. This is quickly proven by Henry’s next words, insistent yet gentle. “No, I’m not. I don’t envy your position; I can tell it’s not been easy for you, but I know you’re doing the best you can.”

Hans swallows, unable to look away. “Henry, I…”

“You’re doing good, Hans. Trust me.”

His pulse is roaring in his ears. Henry just praised him - not in the exact way he wanted, but it’s more than he could have expected. And he didn’t use a title either, so this isn’t some passing comment a servant is saying to simply please his lord. No, this is two men sharing this one singular space in time, the remaining stones of the broken wall completely cast aside to expose vulnerabilities that the world outside of this room would not permit them to. 

It’s a frightening feeling, but Hans trusts Henry, wholly and implicitly, with everything . 

And that is more terrifying than anything else. 

But what is scarier is the fact that if Henry leaves, this moment will be over, and as shaky as the foundation will be, the wall will nonetheless go back up. They might never have this again, and maybe it’s all the beer, but right now, Hans cannot let this chance go by.

When he speaks, he hates how small his voice sounds, how he reaches out to grab Henry’s hand. “Don’t go, Henry. Stay.”

Henry is taken aback by the sudden contact, but he doesn’t move his hand away. “But it would be-”

Hans knows that Henry is going to say that it’s “improper”, but when have things ever been proper between them? Even then, Hans wants to be selfish. So, his next words almost come out as an order. “Just for tonight… Stay with me.”

A beat passes, then Henry stands up. For one horrible moment, Hans thinks he’s going to leave, but Henry simply starts taking off his own outer layers and shoes before getting onto the bed as well. They shift almost too naturally into a position where Hans’s back is pressed against Henry’s chest, the latter’s arms wrapped the former’s waist.

“Is this alright?” Henry asks, voice barely above a whisper, his lips tickling the back of Hans’s head.

Hans tries desperately not to think about how good it all feels, or about how badly he wants to go to bed like this every night for the rest of his life. He takes a deep breath, hoping that Henry cannot tell how strongly his heart is beating. “Yes, it’s…”

It’s perfect.

Henry does not ask him to finish the sentence. Instead, he simply says, “Get some sleep, My Lord.”

The return to the use of his title starts up a small ache again, but Hans ignores it for now. Henry’s enveloping presence is too good, and soon enough, his eyelids are too heavy to keep open. He falls into a deep slumber, into a dreamless but contented sleep.

~

When Hans wakes up, he’s alone in a cold bed. 

Swiping a hand across his bleary eyes, he takes a quick glance around the room. It’s empty too.

As much as he wants to pretend, disappointment unfortunately settles into the pit of his stomach. He left without even a word.

Sluggishly, he gets out of bed, washing up and changing into a fresh set of clothes before making his way to the dining hall for breakfast. There, he overhears Hanush and Radzig talking about Henry, the former asking the latter why he had sent the man out on another assignment so early in the morning. 

Oh, so that’s why he’s gone , Hans thinks quietly to himself as he eats, but each mouthful is tasteless. Trying to be as nonchalant as possible, he asks, “How long do you think he will be away?”

“Well, Henry’s a smart lad, so I suppose he will take no more than three days,” Radzig says, a fond smile on his face. 

Hans nods in response. Three days. That should be enough to both prepare himself for the next time he meets Henry face-to-face and to get the mess that is his feelings in proper order. 

But it’s much easier said than done, because he spends the entirety of this first day questioning everything that transpired the night before. Did Henry stay the night because he felt bad? Because he wanted to amuse the whims of his drunk Lord? Did he do it because Hans ordered him to and he couldn’t say no?

It’s the potential of this last scenario being true that he feels the worst about, because it would mean that he forced Henry into such a situation. He wishes he had turned around last night; maybe he could have seen if there were signs of discomfort or annoyance on Henry’s face. He certainly didn’t sound put off, but Hans knows him well enough by now to know he has a way with words. 

This line of thinking sends Hans down another spiral as he’s left wondering if that is the reason why Henry was so willing to leave Rattay at dawn. Maybe it was less about wanting to dutifully carry out Radzig’s orders and more about wanting to leave as quickly as he could in order to avoid the person who abused his power and made him do something he didn’t want to. 

Such thoughts continually plague him, causing him to mess up more than usual on whatever work Hanush has assigned him, leading to further scolding and even worse doubt. It’s a feedback loop that he can’t seem to escape, one that even his generally jovial nature can’t overcome.

The hours are long, and even though he didn’t do anything particularly physical, he is exhausted by the end of the day. It’s a relief when he can finally retire to his room for the night, and as he gets ready for bed, he hopes that sleep will chase away all the uncertainty. 

It does, but only because his mind drifts to other thoughts, ones that are troubling for a whole other reason.

He dreams of Henry in his bed, but he’s not just sleeping beside him, silent and still. No, he imagines Henry pressing soft kisses along the back of his neck, while the arms that were around his waist start to explore: one hand goes to grope at his chest, the other dipping under the waistband of his braies, wrapping around his already hard cock.

And as Henry does all of this, he whispers into Hans’s ear: “ Good boy. ”

Hans jolts awake the next morning sweating. Taking deep breaths to calm himself, his crotch feels uncomfortably sticky. He looks down, and upon noticing the dark spot, his entire face heats up from sheer embarrassment. He’s no longer a randy teenager; it has been several years since he had a wet dream, so he cannot believe that he has just had one, and about Henry no less! 

With this comes another round of guilt and shame, thus starting the cycle all over again. The next two days turn out the exact same as the first: daylight is spent worrying over what Henry thinks of him now, while the nights are spent dreaming of all the things he wants Henry to do to him.

The dreams during the third night are particularly vivid, with it culminating in him imagining Henry bending him in half, rough hands gentle on his hips as he takes him apart with that beautiful cock of his, all while lavishing praise with that husky voice. 

Hans wakes up from this dream with a raging erection, one that he takes care of with desperate fervour. He needs to get over it as quickly as possible, because Henry is supposed to return today, and he’s not sure how he’s going to face him if all the images are still fresh in his mind.

Thankfully, Lady Luck finally decides to show him some grace, because it’s only in the afternoon that Henry returns. He is at the archery range when Henry seeks him out, and he controls his expression when his eyes fall on the man, putting on a neutral smile as he sets his bow down. “Henry! You’re back. I take it that everything went well?”

“Yes Sir, it did.” There’s a strange look on Henry’s face as he starts to fidget on the spot. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Hans instinctively knows what he’s building up to. Hans takes a deep breath, waiting for the conversation he’s been dreading.

After a few awkward seconds, Henry finally asks, “Could we talk about what happened that night?”

Hans is not at all prepared to hear whatever Henry has to say. So, he defaults to doing what he does best, trying to talk his way out of this difficult situation. “Oh Christ, that night. I can’t believe how easily I got drunk from that piss they dare to call beer. If I said or did anything to make you uncomfortable, I apologise.”

“You didn’t…  and I wasn’t.” Henry’s bright blue eyes are focused solely on him, and though it’s left unsaid, it’s clear that he means the part about getting into bed together.

Hans clears his throat. “I’m glad. And you’ll be happy to know that it will never happen again.”

“But-”

“It was a momentary weakness, Henry. Just pretend it never happened and don’t worry about me.” Hans passes by him, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “I’ll see you around, then?”

He does not wait for Henry to reply, walking straight out and making a beeline for his room, almost jogging to ensure that Henry doesn’t chase him down.

I’m a coward. He ran away because he cannot bear the thought of speaking the truth and Henry’s potential reaction. Even if there is the smallest, tiniest, miniscule chance of there  being a good ending to this, the possibility of the bad is much too overwhelming for him to consider otherwise. 

But there is a silver lining to all this: Henry wasn’t upset, nor did sound like he was forced, so that’s some relief for Hans. Slightly more at ease, Hans busies himself as he always does, expecting that Henry too will soon leave Rattay again to complete yet another quest for Radzig. Some distance will hopefully do them some good.

Yet, that doesn’t happen. Over the next few days, Hans keeps seeing him around town, doing something or other. No matter how much Hans tries to avoid him or turn around the minute he spots him, Henry always shows up eventually, always within sight.

If Hans didn’t know any better, he would suspect the man of following him.

At first, he tries to ignore it. Maybe he’s just overthinking things and Henry does genuinely have some duties of his own to carry out, perhaps helping the townsfolk on the orders of Hanush.

But gradually, Hans realises that Henry is always watching him, with the two of them making direct eye contact every so often. He notices a hesitancy there too, like Henry wants to talk to him, but is for some reason afraid to do so. Hans attempts to ignore this, but it’s becoming more and more overbearing with each passing day. It’s not until one morning when he’s on his way to the tailor’s and notices Henry peeking around the corner to watch him that he’s had enough.

He storms over, voice raised. “Good God, Henry, what do you want?”

Henry is unperturbed, gaze unwavering. “I want to talk about that night.”

“Didn’t I already tell you to forget about it?”

“That’s what you wanted, but have you considered if that’s something I want?”

“What you want?” Hans asks incredulously. “I am your Lord, you are the one serving me. Should I be the one giving in to your every demand?”

Huffing in annoyance, Henry asks back, “Why do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

“Bring up the fact we are a lord and servant.” Henry takes a step closer. “I thought we were past that.”

“You think that just because I allowed you to address me without my title one time that we’re now equals?” Hans scoffs, crossing his arms. “That’s awfully presumptuous for a peasant such as yourself.”

He knows how awful he’s being to Henry, but he can’t control it; this defense mechanism of his is overriding any rationality.

Henry sighs, as if defeated. “Why are you like this?”

“This is who I am, Henry. Who I’ve always been. I don’t need your approval,” he says, but on the inside he’s thinking: Stop this. You’re going to drive him away.

“Then what about that request you made?”

“What are you talking about?”

“That night, when you came to my room to celebrate the raid on Pribyslavitz. Before you left, you told me to call you a good-”

Hans’s body reacts before he’s even aware of it. Arms up, he plants his palms against Henry’s chest and shoves. Taken by surprise, Henry falls, hitting the ground with a loud grunt. 

“What the fuck was that for?” Henry has raised his voice too, and if the townspeople around them weren’t looking before, they are surely paying attention to them now. 

“I-” Hans stammers, cheeks warm from both frustration and embarrassment. He’s been so preoccupied with what has transpired these past nights that he’s almost completely forgotten about that night in particular, when he made that ridiculous request. He makes a quick mental note that late nights with alcohol and Henry are a recipe for disaster. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! You were falling asleep, how the hell would you remember what I said?”

Henry opens his mouth, ready to rebut when a shout thunders across the town square. “What in the Lord’s name are you two doing!”

Both of them turn to find Hanush stomping his way towards them, looking absolutely furious. As Henry quickly gets up and dusts himself off, Hans mentally prepares himself for yet another round of berating. 

When Hanush reaches them, they speak at the same time. “Uncle, I-” “Sir Hanush, we-” 

But the old man just shuts them up with a wave. “Save it! I have enough on my plate as it is, I do not need the two of you fighting like children and causing more trouble!”

He leans in closer, lowering his voice to warn, “Now, the two of you better settle whatever squabble this is like adults. I don’t care how, go on another hunting trip for all I care, but I do not want to see anything like this ever again. Do you understand me?”

Henry bows with a “My apologies, Sir.” while Hans lowers his head and mutters “Understood.” Hanush heaves a deep sigh, shaking his head with disappointment, an action that Hans has become far too familiar with. He watches silently as Hanush eventually walks away, with the townsfolk also returning to go about their business. 

Once Hanush is out of sight, Hans turns, meeting Henry’s gaze. There is anger in those blue eyes, but also a sadness that tugs at Hans’s heartstrings. And yet, for as many things as he wants to say, the only thing that comes out is, “I should go.”

And he does. He leaves, and Henry does not follow.

He is not upset by this, however, as he needs the alone time to calm down, to decompress, to think about his next move. 

They’ve never fought like this before. Sure, there was that almost-fist fight from just shortly after they first met, but this was different. Hans can already feel that metaphorical wall separating them slowly being rebuilt, and if he doesn’t do something soon, there will be no tearing it down again, and he will have lost his only friend for good.

But what should he do? A simple apology will not suffice; the things he said to Henry are coming back to him, and he is repulsed by how vile he sounds. Mere words will not be enough to make up for it.

Wait… Hanush mentioned a hunting trip, didn’t he? As predictable as it may be, looking back now, Hans realises that those hunting trips with Henry were indeed times where the two of them got closer. Being out in nature was certainly a factor, but Hans suspects it’s likely to do with the fact that while they were out hunting, they were both momentarily free of their responsibilities - Hans from the scrutiny of his uncle and the townspeople, Henry from the duties given to him by Radzig. 

It’s settled then. He will ask Henry to join him on another hunting trip. The only problem now is that he’s not sure if Henry will agree, seeing how he treated him during their fight earlier

But Hans is nonetheless determined to try. So, after dinnertime, Hans makes his way to Henry’s room. He gives the door a few knocks, hoping that the man is inside and is willing to hear him out. 

The door opens and when Henry sees that it’s him, his eyes widen slightly before quickly settling into something resembling passive annoyance. “Yes, Lord Capon?”

Henry does not move away, nor does Hans ask to be let in. He’s more than happy to remain outside the threshold, the tension between them already almost unbearably awkward from out here. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning to go hunting. Would you like to join me?”

“Am I going to be pushed onto my arse again? Or am I just going to be ordered around without you listening to a word I say?” Henry asks tersely, and while it certainly stings, Hans does not call him out on it. He deserves such treatment. 

“… I’m sorry for what I said. I was simply…” Hans trails off. This is not the time to discuss such things. “I think the fresh air will do us some good, so what do you say?” 

Henry spends a few seconds just looking at him, studying his face. As much as Hans wants to turn away, he forces himself not to, meeting Henry’s steady gaze, hoping that the man can sense the sincerity in his search for forgiveness. 

Henry sighs. “We leave at dawn as usual?”

“Of course.” Hans has to fight the urge to smile in relief. “I’ll see you at the stables then.”

He’s about to leave when something comes to mind. He turns back to Henry and says, “Oh, and don’t bring your dog with you. Just you and me, we’ll see who’s better.”

Hans does allow himself to smirk a little at that last part, to which Henry does show the barest hint of a smile as he nods. “Very well, My Lord.”

Hans finally relaxes. “Have a good night, Henry. I’ll see you in the morning.”

After a slight bow and a reciprocal “good night”, Henry closes the door. Hans starts his walk back to his own room, steps already feeling lighter. Though part of him dreads the awkwardness that is sure to still be present tomorrow, he is still optimistic that they’ll be able to talk it out.

Hopefully, they’ll be able to go back to how things were before. Their friendship is more important than anything else. If Hans has to convince himself that that is all he needs, then so be it.

Chapter Text

Henry

Mutt has returned.

That’s the only thing that lifts his spirits. Other than that, it seems that Rattay has turned upside-down in a matter of three days. 

The baker and the farrier have increased their prices, the stable boy smirks dirtily at him whenever he thinks Henry isn’t looking, Sir Radzig seems unhappy and is tight-lipped towards him, and then there’s Hans who treats him as if he is air. Or worse, as if he’s the dirt under his soles. It’s hurting him in ways that are unknown to him. And he doesn’t even know what he did wrong. 

What’s worse is that the three days didn’t bring any new information, just a fight with two bandits, three dead leads, and a sunburn on Henry’s neck that now itches and peels. 

But Mutt happily wags his tails next to him in his chamber the next morning. Somehow, this dog always finds a way to sneak through the legs of the people and manages to end up in Henry’s room. 

Henry manages only a small smile before he bends down and pats Mutt on his head. The wagging continues. 

“So at least you’re not resentful, that’s good to know,” Henry breathes. He dreads the promised hunting trip today, not only because he will have to cope with Hans’s newfound cocky attitude but with his unbearable fast heartbeat and blossoming feelings. He has longed for him for three whole days only to be met with a cold shoulder and a cool and aloof stare. And a shove. Which hasn’t hurt at all. But the intention did. And it has summoned an anger inside Henry that is new to him. 

Despite his anger, a different Hans has visited him in his dreams. One that laid down with him, that smiled into his kisses, that moaned his love in his ear, that opened up for him to be connected with Henry by heart and by flesh. It leaves Henry jittery and anxious, angry and yearning. 

Mutt notices the change in his master’s pose. The wagging stops, Mutt’s head cocks instead. 

Henry sighs. The tension stays.

“What shall I do, Mutt?” he asks, surprised by his own voice: it’s shaky, equally because of rage and fear. “This man… I don’t even know what he does to me. How do I…?” He trails off, staring at a point on the ground. 

Mutt gives a short whiny sound. It forces Henry back to the present. He stands up, pats Mutt’s flank and says, “I’m sorry, boy, you can’t come with me today. But if you stay quiet, you can be here until I return. How does that sound?”

Mutt doesn’t seem to understand him but he wags his tail again. Well, at least someone’s excited. 

He is late, he knows, while he walks uphill towards the stables. To some extent, it fills him with a grim satisfaction to see the yellow gambeson of Hans already waiting. 

Hans’s facial expression looks like how Henry feels. Sour and not at all amused. The noble has his arms crossed in front of his chest, his horse is standing calmly by his side, reins and saddle in position. 

It’s the sneer that builds in Hans’s face upon seeing Henry that makes Henry say what’s on his tongue, “Guess you kicked the stable boy to saddle your horse? Too noble to do it yourself now, are you?”

Hans jumps, arms and hands flexing. “I don’t take any comments from a blacksmith’s son who can’t even make his appointments on time,” he replies in an instant but it sounds so genuinely hurt that it causes Henry to pause.

Henry drops his gaze to the ground, anger leaving his shoulders like steam out a kettle. “I apologise,” he says, into the songs of the morning birds, “I was ou-”

“Don’t bother,” Hans spits while fastening the saddle straps, not meeting his gaze, and this time it is Henry who jumps. He earned that, he knows. 

With his head hanging low, he retrieves Pebbles from the stables to saddle him and bring him into position next to Hans who is already high on his horse and pointedly looking over Henry’s head.

Henry sighs quietly, mounts Pebbles who gnaws on his mouthpiece (still! That one is already the third kind that Henry has tried). Silently, they ride towards the forest, the atmosphere between them thick and icy where there was once laughter - only one week ago.

God, why does he behave like a child around Hans? And why does Hans behave like a child as well…?

Oh. Oh.

It hits him like an army of Cumans.

The world suddenly spins furiously around him.

All this time? No way. That would be… 

So them.

Henry pinches the bridge of his nose. Pebbles neighs. They have stopped. Hans is already an arrow’s shot away. 

It is when Henry lowers his hand that Hans seems to realise he has lost his servant. He turns around and shakes his head in such a derisive gesture that it makes Henry’s blood boil. 

Maybe he has read it all wrong. He hopes so, and simultaneously, he doesn’t. It’s so complicated to sort out his thoughts when butterflies have made themselves a permanent home in his stomach, and now flutter their wings furiously.

It gives him nausea. Maybe he should ride back, leave Hans and his cocky attitude to go hunt together while he figures out his stupid crush that doesn’t seem to lessen. Even with his infuriating personality, Henry can’t get enough of Hans. Hell, it is this fucking personality that drives him towards this noble who is somehow so different than the others.

Henry groans. He has had this train of thought so often, always circling back to the point that it’s hopeless for them. A commoner and a noble? The laughter of the next decade if even one person in Rattay would notice.

Henry could cry. Just break down on his horse and shed silent tears of undecidedness and longing and fury.

He tells himself to man up. Not to run away from this situation that could help restore some peace and friendship between them. To soothe his rapid heartbeat by being near Capon and maybe sharing the same headspace again.

It’s the thought and hope for that that makes him push his heels in Pebbles’s flanks to trot next to Hans. The future Lord of Rattay has the corners of his lips pulled downwards, and from below his eyelids he takes Henry in as aloofly as the first day they met.

Henry’s heart sinks.

“Listen,” he hears himself say, mouth dry, “I’m sorry for just now. I’m not feeling like myself lately. Especially around you.” The last sentence is out before he can stop it.

Hans’s eyebrows shoot upward. Hery prepares for a sneer because of his words, but it seems that the quiet tone makes Hans pause and think about the true meaning. 

“I accept your apology,” Hans says after an even longer pause, words neutral and very clear. “Come on then, let’s not waste any more morning sunlight. I know a spot for hunting hares.” He clicks his tongue and spurs his horse on.

Henry can’t help but smile while he follows his Lord. “You? Know a spot? What has happened to Hans Capon during the last week?”

He worries for a second that Hans could take that the wrong way, but the haughty smile that appears on his face makes Henry breathe out relief.

“Well, I kept busy and explored the woods while you were away on boring business. Initiative, Henry! You should try that too, you incorrigible bastard.” With that, he buries his heels in the flanks of his horse and gallops away.

Henry laughs as he chases after Capon. It’s not the same as before. But it’s a start. At least Henry tells himself that.

They come to a stop on a small path that diverts from a farmer’s land, the blossoms of its apple trees peeking through the fresh leaves of the forest around them. Birds are chirping, the sun is temporarily shadowed by a cloud, and the warming spring soil smells like home.

Hans dismounts and grabs his bow, nodding towards Henry when he follows suit. He is quiet, Henry realises as they walk into the undergrowth. Soon, Henry sees a little clearing that’s slightly downhill. It's a good vantage point that oversees the clearing while keeping the both of them nearly invisible to prey. Henry taps Hans on his shoulder in silent appreciation, and it seems that Hans grows a bit at that. He covers it up by clearing his throat though.

They kneel there, arrows ready, and watch as the sun slowly climbs higher in the sky. It’s getting warmer too, and soon Henry notices sweat trickling down his nape, right over his sunburn, settling uncomfortably between his shoulder blades. He tries to ignore it but the harder he tries the stronger the sensation becomes.

The moment he decides to lay his bow down and reach for his shirt to take it off he feels a jab in his ribs. Henry, in the middle of pulling his shirt over his head, stumbles and lands on his knee. It hurts.

“You fucking bastard, right when a rabbit appears. Can’t you stay low for once?” Hans hisses. 

Henry sees red. He yanks his shirt away, scrambles to his feet and glares at Hans, chest heaving. Hans glares back. In the distance, Henry can see said hare sprinting away. “Me?” he explodes, “How dare you say that when you are the one constantly fidgeting and being a gigantic arsehole to me? ‘Henry, here’, ‘Henry, there’, ‘Henry, bring a piece of cloth to dab away my tears of bitchery’!” 

Now it is Hans who jumps to his feet, only to throw his bow to the side. The bushes protest in the cracking of their twigs. With his forefinger like a dagger in front of Henry’s chest, he narrows his eyes dangerously. “How about you shut your peasant mouth or I will teach you some important lessons about what it means to be an adult in this world.”

Henry lets out a cold chuckle, opening his hands to his side in an implication of a bow. “Oh, so like shoving your servant to the ground in the middle of fucking Rattay? Very mature indeed, my Lord .” He glares at Hans. “My God, you’re such a child.”

Hans recoils, and immediately, Henry feels regret like an ice-cold punch in the chest. There is a moment of crackling tension between them, both their chests heaving with fury, both their glares icy and heated alike. 

Then Hans licks his lips, gaze never leaving Henry’s, and says, very lowly, “Teaching you a lesson it is then.” He steps nearer, and for a fraction of a moment, Henry is certain that he will kiss him, that he devours him with unbidden hunger, but it is a punch in the gut that hits him instead.

Henry groans, more out of surprise than pain, but the pain follows immediately. He stumbles backwards, notices how his arms and back are getting scratched by twigs and thorns, and he feels wild frustration coming up inside him. He is going to lose Hans, he realises with fear, and it is out of training and muscle memory that he raises his arms in defence rather than out of active will. Hans isn’t bothered by that at all. He kicks Henry’s bruised knee, and this time, Henry screams out before he falls to the ground, having lost his balance. In desperation, he grabs onto what he can touch of Hans, ripping his gambeson and making the noble crash down on top of him.

Hans is fast. He twists in Henry’s grasp and comes to rest on his thighs, pinning him down with his weight and a forearm that is pressed onto Henry’s Adam’s apple, making it difficult for Henry to breathe. 

“You’re just a stray dog in the streets of Rattay,” Hans pants heavily from above him. “While I’m the future Lord of this city.” His words spit venom but his face is contorted in a way that is unfamiliar to Henry. 

Henry’s heart beats fast. They stare at each other, much longer than necessary, or allowed.

Henry gathers all of his courage. Through constricted airways, he says, “I may be only that, but I am yours.”

Hans’s eyes shoot open. The pressure lifts off of Henry’s neck marginally. “What,” he demands, voice breathy, before he gets his face and tone back under control. “Henry, explain that immediately. That is an ord-.”

Henry grabs Hans’s head on both sides, leans up, and kisses him.

Hans’s lips are firm and plump, but soon, along with the surge of heat that travels upwards into Henry’s head, they melt and become pliable and soft. There is a sigh or a huff when their tongues connect. He doesn’t know; Henry’s hearing blanks out after that. It’s the wet glide of their mouths against each other that fills his mind completely; the taste of Hans is intoxicating - too much and not enough at the same time. 

Henry realises that he can breathe freely again when Hans backs away, whose breaths are laboured and loud in the otherwise still too dull space around them. The noble has a strange expression. His blonde hair is partially in his face but it doesn’t lessen the surprised and - is that… a sensual…? - look in his eyes. 

“... an order.”

“Huh?” Henry blinks up at Hans, belatedly realising and comprehending the words from the man above him. 

“You heard me, Henry.”

Oh no. His face is slowly becoming distant again. Quick.

“My Lord,” Henry begins thickly, not knowing if the tongue in his mouth even belongs to him or if he has gifted it to Hans - like everything he’d offer and give to and for him. “I mean it. I belong to you. You might not know it but I do. Not by status. But by heart. You’re… fuck. You’re the most important person to me.”

Hans’s face does something complicated. His eyebrows twist and furrow, then they relax. His nose lifts in a sneer, then freezes as if he has a sudden urge to sneeze. His lips quiver like the surface of water in a strong breeze. “If you’re taking the piss out of me, Henry, I swear-!”

Henry brushes his thumb over Hans’s lower lip, and Hans stops immediately, blue-grey eyes alert and focused against Henry’s that try to hold the gaze but flicker. He feels safe and in life-threatening danger at the same time, agitation spiking high inside him while every muscle in his body feels like relaxing and succumbing to the weight on top of him that feels so fucking right.

“I desire you,” Henry says, breathless. He lifts his gaze up to Hans’s inquiring gaze. “I’m yours.”

Hans grabs Henry’s stray hand, and after a long moment, he brushes off the other one that is still holding onto Hans’s head. “I don’t know where this is coming from. I can’t… no, this can’t be. You- You’re mocking me! You’re mocking my feelings!” Hans struggles to his feet and flicks Henry’s hand away. He does it with so much force that it hits Henry’s face, and the realisation that he just punched himself startles him out of his drugged-like state. 

Hans is already picking up his bow and turning away, a deep anger in his movements that hurts like a thousand Cuman swords. Henry lifts himself up on his elbows. 

“Hans,” he calls out.

The noble stops, his back towards Henry, chest rising and falling; and it seems that it was the name that made the other man freeze rather than the pleading tone that escaped Henry’s throat.

Hans doesn’t move anymore, just stands there, gaze straight ahead, the bow in his grip so tight that his knuckles stand out in a white colour. 

Henry comes to his feet, his knees small and weak like reeds. The scratches on his back and arms sting but the sensation is distant. The ice-cold blow of loss on the other hand hurts like a bitch. But there is something else that makes him walk towards Hans, a… flutter - which increases when he notices that Hans doesn’t move away when he comes nearer. 

There is a moment in which neither moves, and Henry feels the heat from Hans’s upper body, realising only as of now that his own is bare. 

“I’m not mocking you,” he says, his palm coming up to rest on the side of Hans’s neck, and there is a shudder through Hans’s whole rib cage that he physically feels when Henry dares to step so close that their torsos connect. 

“Tell me, then,” Hans says, voice shaky and barely above a whisper, as he leans into the touch of Henry’s hand that feels much too hot. The noble arches his back against Henry, his soapy hair brushing along Henry’s nose and jaw as it comes to rest on his right shoulder, the weight of his head so damn perfect that it hurts.

Somehow, Henry knows what he means. Like a heavenly sign. Henry brings his lips close to Hans’s left ear and closes his eyes. “Good boy,” he murmurs. 

The shiver that runs through the noble almost crashes into Henry’s jaw when it climaxes in the head that rests on his shoulder. But the moan that comes from the mouth makes Henry’s knees sink in. He catches himself by holding onto Hans’s arms, a strangled noise escaping him. Hunger replaces the coldness in his stomach, and it doesn’t take long until he has gathered his senses to turn the man of his desires in his grasp and crush their lips together again. 

This time, it is Hans who surges against Henry, who wraps his arms and hands around Henry’s neck to make him forget to breathe, let alone that he exists. Hans’s body is firm and strong against his own, so well-known yet so unfamiliar in its intensity, in its drive, in its determination. The very prominent erection that presses into the flesh of his groin is enough to make Henry’s blood drop into this part of his body too.

It’s true. He likes you. Sexually. Romantically. Oh. Oh God.

“Henry,” Hans pants into the crook of Henry’s jaw, his tongue and lips working some kind of forbidden magic there because it makes Henry nearly come right then and there.

“My Lord,” he replies, sounding as wrecked as he feels.

Hans catches his jaw with a hand then. Henry feels his eyes fly open at that. He doesn’t remember closing them. The future lord scrutinises Henry in a way that is both hot and irritating. His pants feel too tight. He wants Hans’s hand around his cock instead of against his jawline.

“Do you do this because you feel forced?” Hans asks. And despite the familiar decisiveness that the question is filled with, Henry notices the uncertainty - the vulnerability - in the big eyes of a still very young and oh thank God truly empathetic man. 

Henry wants to wreck him. And himself while he’s at it.

It’s this intense lust that compensates for his own insecurity when it comes to being with a man. “No. On the contrary, I’m willing to-”

“Don’t,” Hans says. “I don’t want to hear that you’d go into every siege for me, that you’d die for me. Because that is what a servant would do, voluntarily or not.”

Henry closes and opens his mouth, feeling the heat coming from Hans’s tight grip. “But I’m-”

“Don’t!” Hans repeats with force. Oh how Henry could slap this stubborn and idiotic man right now, and then fuck him until he’s a drooling mess. He’s weak for this kind of behaviour, always has been. For more reasons than the obvious ones. But these reasons are on the table now, creating a tension between them that strains their pants and necks. 

“How can I convince you, then?” Henry pleads.

This seems to make Hans realise something. His gaze becomes sober. “You can’t,” Hans finally says as he lowers his hand. 

Henry notices his cock screaming at him. “Horseshit,” he presses. Then he lunches forward and kisses Hans. His mouth opens up for him, their tongues connect once again while their dicks brush against each other, but he can feel Hans backing away, escaping from the connection and the intensity of it; and that’s where he loses it. Out of a sudden urge, he lowers himself to pick Hans up by the hips.

There’s a yelp, and then Hans is on his shoulders. Henry stomps out of the undergrowth right across the clearing to the other side, where oak trees still cast shadows on the otherwise sun-warmed grass. 

“Oi!” Hans slaps a hand on Henry’s back while Henry unerringly follows his determined path. “What? Henry! Let me down this instant!”

“No,” Henry says, shrugging the half-heartedly struggling Hans into a more comfortable position, “Stop behaving like you are goddamn compelling me to desire you.” Hans swears at that but Henry stays ironclad. As soon as they reach the shadowed area below the oak branches, Henry flips Hans down onto the ground, bringing his body weight half on top of him to press him into the soil, their positions from before now almost reversed. This time, it is Henry who looks down angrily, and it is Hans who looks up, surprised and a bit intimidated.

Henry’s cock finds that so hot. 

He inhales sharply. “You want the truth? I’m in love with you. I spent the last four days trying to figure out how to woo you and tell you all the things that are in my mind and in my dreams, and that no, you are not a fuck-up, and yes, you are going to be an amazing lord, and yes, those affairs you have with random women hurt my very soul.” It’s out. Something that could cost him his head if Hans feels inclined to report this incident. Henry doesn’t know where his bravery comes from, especially now that his heart flutters like a caged bird on the verge of being slain by a cat. He swallows and watches Hans. Who just stares.

Birds chirp. Leaves sway in the wind.

Henry feels Hans’s grip on his bicep and his naked back like a vine.

“I’m a fool. Tell me that we’re feeling the same way,” Henry whispers.

Slowly, Hans nods, although it is still wary, and Henry releases a sigh. He closes his eyes. The relief he feels is momentary. “I don’t know how I could possibly convince you.” He hates that his voice is quiet and thin.

“I do,” Hans says, and his voice is rich, steady and grounding. So is his hand that guides Henry’s hand from his sternum downwards, over his gambeson and his girdle right to his crotch, where he presses Henry’s palm confidently on his dick.

It’s rock hard.

“Show me,” Hans adds, and then he pulls Henry down by the neck. Forgotten is the itch of the sunburn there. Gone is the slight pain where the thorns have nicked his skin.

Now, there is only the feeling of soft and wet flesh against his mouth, of hard and dry flesh against his hand, and Henry moans into Hans’s inviting body, feeling picked up by the other man after having felt so lost lately. He wants Hans; oh how he wants .

He lets Hans guide his hand into his pants, and the sensation of finally feeling the skin of Hans’s cock without any barriers is like a choir of angels in Henry’s spinning head. His cock is hot and smooth, and when Henry runs his fingers up and down it elicits sharp sighs out of Hans in between their kisses. He feels pressure against his groin, and then there’s a deft hand inside his own pants, wrapping around his length. Henry sputters into the kiss.

“Let me…” Hans says, fumbling with Henry’s pants, and Henry watches the noble loosening his remaining piece of clothing. He notices how beautiful the flush on Hans’s high cheekbones is, watches how the swollen lips tighten in concentration, takes in the way Hans’s eyes widen - pupils dilating even more - when Henry feels the slight breeze around his heated cock.

He sighs when Hans touches him again, almost reverential this time. He explores his length, his balls and his scrotum, his groins and the hair from his pubic bone up to his navel with curious and hungry and careful fingers. He swirls thumb and forefinger over the glans and gathers the precum there. “Interesting,” he murmurs. 

Henry grunts in response, eloquent words having left him the moment Hans puts his undivided attention - and both his hands - to work on him. The next thing he knows, he’s on his back, cool soil against his skin and his pants torn down to his knees. His cock stands erect and proud against his belly, and Hans’s eyes are trained on it like a cat’s on an especially juicy mouse in the shed.

Without looking, he loosens his gambeson and shirt and pulls both over his head. His fair muscled skin stretches beautifully in the spring light. Henry licks his lips, his left hand already seeking connection again, wandering upwards from Hans’s knee to his hip, and the noble swats the hand away with a “You deliberately preventing me from pulling off my pants?”, and Henry sputters something again before he moans into the next kiss - because firstly, Hans now lays half on top of him and secondly, his left hand now rests on Hans’s arse, and it feels… Henry doesn’t even know what it feels like. 

“I haven’t pursued any of those affairs since we’ve been to the bath house,” Hans says, grinding his cock in the recess of Henry’s hip. Henry’s eyes flutter in ecstasy. “And I haven’t thought about anyone else since that day,” he adds, sighing when he strokes his hand up and down Henry’s length. 

Henry blinks up, panting. “But tha-”

“No. You idiot. The first time. Our first time in the bath house together.”

Oh. Oh .

Henry pulls Hans down. The kiss is fiery and inexperienced and perfect . 

“Do you want me to-” “Is it okay if I-”

They look, noses and elevated breaths only a hand’s width apart, and smirk at each other, so strangely softly that it’s just… right.

“Yes, go ahead,” Henry says, adjusting Hans’s grip around him and nodding quickly when Hans tests the new angle with a questioning look.

“And yes,” Hans replies to Henry’s original question, lifting himself a bit off and exhaling strongly through his nose when Henry wraps cautious fingers around his length. “Yes, like that,” he says with a shudder when Henry begins to stroke him. 

Their eyes find each other again, and for a few moments, that’s all they do. Look. Breathe. Running their hands over the foreign yet somehow familiar skin. 

When Henry grips a bit tighter, a moan spills from Hans’s perfect lips. It’s so hot in Henry’s ears that he groans himself, feeling the sensations of an orgasm rapidly arising: the electric feeling in his flanks and lower belly, the burning in his cock, the sweat on his brows, the shivers in his thighs.

“Hans,” Henry moans, “oh God, you feel so…” Words fail him. Again. 

“Yaa…” comes the drawn-out reply, from a Hans Capon who has his brows furrowed and his lips loose in concentration and lust, and - oh - that’s what Hans looks like during sex, Henry realises. He gapes at Hans, tries to soak in every detail, and notices himself involuntarily falling over the edge.

“I’m coming,” Henry chokes out with a moan. Then the orgasm pulses through his veins, and with a light and wonderful tingle in his head, he feels Hans stroking him through it, watching him with rapt attention.

He’s so hot with his eagle-like stare, piercing a helpless Henry to the ground with it. He doesn’t even blink when Henry’s rapid breathing slows down a bit, and he still doesn’t look away when Henry focuses solely on bringing Hans pleasure.

Still laying on his side, hand braced next to Henry’s head and his other around the softening length, he lets Henry work and explore at this angle, only shivering slightly whenever Henry flicks his palm over his glans. 

“The things I want us to do…” he finally says, low and clear.

“What are you thinking of?” Henry asks, giving Hans’s cock a squeeze. The noble briefly closes his eyes at that and hisses in pleasure. When his eyes snap open again, there is a determined and fucking hot self-assured hardness in them. “You…,” he begins, and his voice is so soft in comparison to his stare, “...wrapping those blunt lips around my cock…”

Henry pushes Hans on his back and comes up to his knees. He runs his hands down Hans’s flanks in silent reverence and lowers his head towards said body part. He stops to look up for Hans’s consent, and when he sees, feels, and hears the moan and the hand in his hair and the sudden flush on Hans’s face, he brings his knees to either side of Hans’s legs and applies first a hand and then his mouth on the jumping length. 

Hans nearly screams when Henry’s lips wrap around it, tongue testing and pressing into the glans. Then he puffs out air in short and laboured breaths. “Oh hoooly… oh fuck, how come that feels so glorious? Henry… Henry…” He repeats the name like a prayer, his fingers tight but not uncomfortable against Henry’s scalp. 

The stretch between his lips is new, having only ever tasted swollen and wet vulva lips and the bean in the middle, and the times he did have the opportunity to learn how to pleasure a girl were too little to actually learn anything of substance.

There is a pang of insecurity in his heart. But then he reminds himself where he is: deep in the woods, on his knees, having received an orgasm by the noble whose cock is now pressed against his flattened-out tongue. Oh to hell with being insecure.

He lifts his lips off with a pop and sees that the flush on Hans’s face has spread to his neck and right down to the muscles of his chest. He’s the hottest human Henry has ever seen. That Henry is the one currently seeing the noble this vulnerable and open only adds to the fuel in his beating heart. 

“What else?” Henry asks, lips and mouth wet with saliva. 

Hans doesn’t hesitate. “Your hands grabbing my thighs to keep them from shaking. To come down your throat.”

Henry’s ears burn from the dirty words Hans so casually lays upon him. “Yes,” he manages, grabs each of Hans’s strong thighs with his hands, and sucks Hans back into his mouth. 

“Shit, yes . Good lord, that is…-bout to come,” Hans pants.

Henry has his eyes wide open to watch Hans furrowing his brows and arching his back slightly, practically feeling the climax approaching in the tension of the muscles below his palms. But when the first spurt of cum hits his throat, his neck suddenly spasms- he coughs and stops his rhythm while Hans irrevocably comes. Sperm hits Henry’s cheek, and he helplessly and awkwardly pops his lips back on Hans’s dick, but that is when Hans’s back relaxes on the ground, and he breathes hard but final, dick already softening. 

Henry comes up and nervously licks his lips. His lord’s come tastes surprisingly neutral, with just a hint of bitterness. A different kind of bitterness settles in his stomach, though: awkwardness. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he starts.

Hans raises his head and shakes it with noble fervour. “Shut up,” he says, an incredulous laugh somewhere in that order.

Henry can’t understand that sentiment. Shame burns in his throat. “I can’t. I ruined this- I mean your… you know.”

Hans grips his bicep and yanks him up to his face. Henry, completely surprised, nearly smashes his head into Hans’s jaw but manages to regain his balance with his hands next to Hans’s shoulders at the last second. 

“What-”

“Would you do as you’re told for fucking once?”

“What?” Henry frowns at him.

Hans just chuckles, and for a terrible moment, Henry thinks that he is laughing down at him.

But Hans’s eyes are bright and joyous when he calms down enough to speak. “Oh Henry. That right now? It was the most amazing head I ever received. I don’t care about the end. We’re, well…” he hesitates for a second, looking sheepish and… is that a possessive glint in his eye? “Was this your first time going down on a man?”

Henry nods after a moment of stunned confusion. 

Hans visibly relaxes at that, and now Henry is sure that he sees a proud possessiveness in Hans’s demeanour. To negate that he finds it hot would be an outright lie.

“Good,” Hans purrs. Then his face softens as he runs a hand over Henry’s cheek. “You’re magnificent,” he says quietly, almost like a revelation.

Henry feels his heart bleeding warm honey inside his chest.

“We’ll practise that, though,” Hans says, patting the cheek. Ah, the familiar Hans is back. Henry shudders at the sensation of cum spurting from his cheek, then he rolls his eyes- and stops midway; looks at Hans who still smiles smugly. 

“Are you saying we are going to do it again?” he asks, cautious and not daring to hope any further. 

Hans blinks at him. “Did you think this was a one time thing?”

Henry nods and shakes his head at the same time. His neck muscles protest. 

“You dumb bastard,” Hans laughs. “Manhandling me? Coaxing me, a silent fellow during intercourse, to ramble all kinds of things while sucking me off? Telling me that you’ve fallen in love with me? Oh you poor little man. I’m never letting you go.”

Henry feels like crying. 

“Now, now, don’t give me those puppy eyes. Let’s clean up, I’m starting to feel really uncomfortable. Not in your arms, though.” He sits up, or at least tries to, because Henry doesn’t move.

There is so much going on in his mind and heart right now that he feels he is about to explode any minute. But there are no words. Nothing to express the love and adoration and devotion he feels for this man. He wants, oh he wants to let Hans know that there won’t ever be-

“Henry?” Hans asks with a raised eyebrow. 

Henry recoils. “I-uh, yes, my Lord. Apologies,” he says. He averts his gaze, breaks the tension, retreats- or tries to, because Hans still has his bicep in his hand and holds him like a fortress. 

“I’m in love with you too, Henry,” he says, “if you haven’t noticed that.” His voice is soft and wonderful, transporting the most amazing words Henry can imagine. 

“Okay,” Henry says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He feels so dumb. And so fucking happy.

“That doesn’t mean you get to ignore my orders. Up, up!” Hans makes a flicking motion with his hand, and this time, Henry hurries to obey.

He helps Hans up, and without any tension or awkwardness, they fix their underwear and pants, rubbing stains off into the grass and leaves. Hans finds his shirt and gambeson and pulls both over his head.

Silently, they make their way back to their hunting spot, where Henry grabs his shirt to put it back on and finds Hans’s intense gaze on him.

“What?” Henry asks.

Hans just tilts his head and picks up both their bows and quivers. “Just regretting that you must put on a shirt.”

Henry grins.

Chapter Text

Hans

Any attempts at continuing the hunt quickly end in failure.

It’s not surprising, really. Not when Hans can’t stop looking at Henry, at his strong arms that lifted him up like it was nothing, at his rough hands that held him down so firmly, at his lips that were pressed against his own then wrapped around his cock mere minutes ago. Though the evidence of their little romp in the forest has been wiped away, he can still see the streaks of his cum staining the man’s cheek. 

But what really causes a flutter in his belly is that in the few moments that he does manage to tear his gaze away long enough to focus on his bow, he turns back to find Henry already looking at him, a smile on his face that spoke of relief, joy, and adoration. 

Such emotions are swirling about in Hans as well, especially the first. Gone are the tension and guilt and anxiety that weighed down on his poor heart. Now there is only lightness, because not only does Henry reciprocate his feelings just as intensely, but they’ve just acted on said feelings in a way that he could have never expected in a hundred years. 

Henry said that he’s in love with you, and then he sucked you off in the middle of the forest, is the main thought that has been at the forefront of Hans’s mind for the past half-hour or so, one that brings with it a swelling of giddy joy in his heart and a pooling of heat in his groin. 

And though he would very much like a repeat of that, or perhaps to even return the favour, he is still rational enough to realise that what they just did was very risky. There is no telling what the consequences would be if someone caught the future Lord of Pirkstein and his servant with their hands down each other’s pants, or worse, with their mouths around each other’s pricks. 

Well… if Hans is being honest, that’s not his biggest concern as to why he resists the temptation. 

He wants more than just Henry’s hands and mouth pleasing him. He wants the man’s cock - the hard and girthy member he had his hand around earlier - inside him, and call him a snob, but he does not want that to happen with his bare arse in the dirt and where there’s the chance that someone might stumble upon them. 

So, yes, he is willing to wait.

Eventually, the two of them realise that continuing the hunt would be fruitless, so they make the decision to pack up and return. The ride back is silent, tense for a whole other reason; there is almost an awkwardness in the air between them, the reality of what they just did only now hitting them. Not out of regret and shame, thankfully, but more out of embarrassment for having essentially skipped over the courting phase and so easily giving into their base desires. 

That doesn’t stop them from stealing glances at each other though, exchanging bashful smiles and chuckling whenever their eyes meet. If Hans is right - and he’s sure that he is - Henry is likely also wanting more once they reach the castle.

Good, because he wants to as well. Almost desperately so.

After what feels like a shorter ride than usual (Hans figures that they both must have unconsciously made their horses go faster than usual in an effort to get back as quickly as possible), they finally reach the stables. Once the stablehand leads their horses away and is out of earshot, Hans takes a step closer to Henry. With warm cheeks, he says, “Do you want to-”

“Ah, you two are back. Perfect timing!”

They both turn to find Hanush making his way towards them. Hans silently curses as he composes himself while Henry gives a quick bow. If Hanush notices the charged energy between them (which is unlikely), he does not mention it. Instead he simply continues. “Henry, my dear boy, Radzig wants to see you. He’s waiting for you upstairs.”

“Of course, my Lord.” With another bow, Henry starts walking away. But not before he gives Hans a look, one that so clearly says: Yes, I want to.

Hans once again has to control his expression, especially when Hanush next asks him sternly, “I did not hear any bickering. Can I take it that going on another hunting trip was useful for getting the two of you to stop fighting?”

Oh, we fought, but it led to something much more fun, so yes, it was tremendously useful. What Hans says instead is, “It was, Uncle.”

“Though I see that the two of you returned empty-handed. No luck today?”

“We were…” Distracted , is what Hans’s mind initially supplies rather unhelpfully, along with images of Henry and all the erotic things they got up to. “We spent most of the time… working things out. Clearing the air as it were, so you can be rest assured, Uncle, that what you saw yesterday will not happen again.”

“It better not,” the old man warns, crossing his arms. “If you have a disagreement, you need to settle it like men, not like children.”

We definitely settled things like men, Hans thinks as he nods, struggling to fight back a smirk. Thankfully, he spots Henry, but upon seeing the frown on the man’s face, the glee he was feeling immediately starts dissipating.

The reason for such a frown is quickly revealed when Henry returns to them. “Sir Radzig wants me to handle some matters in Sasau.”

Now, it’s disappointment that Hans has to struggle to not let show. Luckily, Hanush is distracted and doesn’t notice. Instead, he simply claps Henry on the shoulder. “As I suspected. You’ll do fine, lad, just be careful.” 

He walks away then, as oblivious as before, leaving the two of them alone. A beat passes before Henry speaks, “I need to leave soon if I want to reach Sasau before nightfall.”

It’s left unsaid (because it can’t, not here), but those sincere blue eyes reveal the true message. I’m so sorry.

Hans does not blame him. They are, after all, two men at the mercy of the whims of fate. Hoping that his own eyes are able to convey such a message, he says, “When will you be back?”

“It will take a few days, but no longer than a week.” Another beat, then, much softer, “I promise.”

Hans nods, forcing a small smile. He turns to leave, but he’s stopped by a hand around his elbow, holding him in place. He looks at Henry in surprise, the man taking a quick look around before stepping closer than what might be considered appropriate. “I’ll come back as soon as I can, and when I do, we’ll…”

A faint blush grows on that handsome face, and Hans can’t help but smile - for real this time. “I know. Just stay safe, alright?”

“I will.” Henry smiles back before releasing his hold and moving away, not wanting to push their luck any further. He collects his horse and gets on it, taking one last look at Hans before riding away. 

Once he can no longer be seen, Hans lets out a huge sigh. It looks like he has to wait a little longer then. 

However, as he’s about to head out of the upper castle grounds, a sudden realisation brings him to a halt. For all his desires about wanting to have sex with Henry, he’s not actually sure how they’re going to do it.

… Okay, well, he obviously knows how sex between two men occurs. There are only two places on a man where a cock can enter, and where he so desperately wants Henry’s is not his mouth. And yet, the thought of the other… he can’t help but feel somewhat intimidated by the notion of it.

Not that he’s completely clueless. He’s heard tales from the more vulgar of the bathmaids and their lewd recounts of customers who wanted something “different”. There was also that one guest Hanush had several years ago, another Lord or knight, Sir something or other. An eccentric and rather bawdy fellow who proudly boasted about bedding both men and women, the former especially. Hans was still in his mid-teens then, by all accounts a child and thus was quickly ushered out of the room when the stories began. But he stayed, peeking through a sliver of the semi-closed door, catching every detail about how two men would go at it. The rest of the guests and servants all laughed along - most of them uncomfortably - but he listened while a strange but not unwelcome feeling swirled around his groin. The next few days after that were filled with confused thoughts, but he eventually figured out what that meant. 

So, yes, he does know how it’s going to happen, but he’s going to need to prepare for it.

He quickly decides that he will not be asking anyone in Pirkstein, lest the townspeople gossip and it somehow travels all the way back to Hanush. He needs to get out of Rattay entirely to be safe. 

He jogs to his room, where he changes into the most drab and inconspicuous clothing he has, namely an old grey shirt and black pants. After that, he requests for a horse that is not his own, hoping that anonymity will be his cover. With all that done, he starts riding to Ledetchko, where he knows there is a herbalist woman who lives in the forest quite a distance outside of the town. He once overheard the bathhouse maids say that she is whom they visit for supplies, especially ones that are required for the more “adventurous” of acts. 

A short ride in the balmy afternoon later, he trots his horse up a narrow dirt path and comes to a stop at the sight of a small hut. He dismounts and walks over to the old woman who is sitting by the fire. She smiles a toothy grin as she looks up at him. “Hello young man, what do you need?”

Suddenly, Hans feels extremely self-conscious about the entire thing. He gives an awkward cough before saying, “I heard that you sell a special type of oil…”

“Oil?” The woman raises an eyebrow at him. “We sell many types of oils and concoctions here, boy, you need to be more specific.”

“Well, umm…” His cheeks are uncomfortably warm as he tries his best to phrase his response without being too crude. “The oil that is used for a certain type of… intercourse.”

There is a pause as the old woman tries to process what he just asked. Then, a grin pulls at her lips. “Ah, that oil. Why didn’t you just say so?” She walks to her hut, where Hans can see her rummaging around. “How many do you need?”

Oh. That’s something he hasn’t considered. He wants to say just one, but what if he and Henry go through it much quicker than expected? He doesn’t want to waste time riding all the way back here to pick up some more. And yet, neither does he want to buy too many and come off as some kind of sex fiend. So, after some minor hesitation, he says, “Three, please.”

“Oh my, you’re an energetic fellow, aren’t you?” There is clear amusement in her voice, one that makes his face feel even hotter. When she returns, she hands him the flasks and he hands her the groschen. After she pockets the money, she asks, “Is this going to be your first time using it?”

Hans nods, feeling even more awkward at the fact that he didn’t even get the chance to pretend that he’s buying this for someone else. However, there is some comfort when he notices that there is not a hint of judgement or disgust on her face. There is only understanding as she says, “Well, my main piece of advice would be that you can never use too much, only too little, so don’t be afraid to be generous with the amount. And take your time. Patience is key if you want it to be enjoyable. Thinking about it now, I actually have some implements that might be useful, if you want-”

“No, thank you!” Hans quickly cuts her off, completely mortified by this interaction (albeit one that has actually been quite educational). He needs to get out of here before he explodes from embarrassment. “This will be all!”

Before she can say anything else, he dashes back to his horse, stuffs the flasks into the saddlebag and mounts up. Whipping the reins, he rides back to Rattay at record speed, the entire journey accompanied by the constant clinking of the flasks.

Upon reaching the castle, he grabs the flasks and walks away before the stablehand approaches him. Thankfully, there is also no one in the way on his path to his room, though he’s pretty sure that he is acting highly suspicious as he keeps glancing around. Still, he does not care about that at all, not when he manages to store the flasks safely in one of his personal chests and is able to leave feeling a little more relieved.

It’s not until it’s well into the night several hours later, when everyone is asleep save for the few guards on duty, that Hans returns to his room, locks his door and pulls out one of the flasks. He uncorks it, giving it a tentative sniff - no strong smell, only a faint floral scent that he can’t place. 

After setting the flask on the table beside his bed, he changes into his nightwear and gets into bed. As he does all this, there’s a slight tingling under his skin, one that’s been there since his and Henry’s trip to the forest. Though he’s been distracted from it a few times over the course of the day, it’s never gone away, coming back in full force now that he’s alone. At this point, it’s become more of an itch that he’s desperate to scratch. 

But since Henry isn’t here to help him, he has to do it himself. 

Lying comfortably on his back, he pulls down his braies and wraps a hand around his cock. Giving it a few firm strokes, his mind easily wanders back to this morning, where the memories of Henry’s rough hand then warm mouth quickly make him fully hard. 

While usually this would be enough, tonight it is not. The itch is deeper inside, and there is only one way to satisfy it. 

Turning onto his side, he reaches for the flask with his free hand, dipping two fingers into the oil. After making sure that they’re well-coated, he then reaches behind himself, and at the first touch of his fingers against his hole, a full-body shiver runs through him, as do flames of both desire and shame. Both sides battle it out against each other, but it is the former that wins. 

Taking a breath, he presses a finger in. 

This strange new intrusion forces a gasp out of his lips. There is some resistance, but thanks to the oil, he’s able to gradually press all the way in to the third knuckle. Such a sensation is so foreign that the flames in his belly die down a little, so focused as he is on this completely new experience. 

Then, gently, he starts pumping his finger in and out of himself. Eventually, he starts stroking his cock again too, trying his best to match the rhythm. As expected, he’s a little uncoordinated, but the stimulation from both ends quickly has him biting his lip to hold back a moan. It’s finally starting to feel good, the fire raging once more.

And yet, it’s not enough.

Pausing for a moment to prepare himself, he slowly presses in a second finger. 

Immediately, the stretch from just the tip of an additional finger has him gasping and wincing in both pain and pleasure. He stops moving, trying to calm himself down. However, his body remains tense, and for a brief second, he wonders if he should just stop. 

But then, he remembers why he’s doing this. He imagines that, instead of his own fingers, it’s Henry’s that are pressing into him, preparing him to take his cock. 

Another memory instantly resurfaces, one that Hans would have swore was a dream if it wasn’t so vivid: Henry whispering into his ear this morning, the two words he’s been wanting to hear for weeks. 

“Good boy.”

That is all it takes to help him relax enough to press the second finger in. Not all the way - he knows he needs more time and preparation for that - but he does manage to reach just slightly past the second knuckle. 

He moans at the stretch, stroking himself a little harder to get through the discomfort. That passes as well, and soon, he’s moving his fingers in and out with shallow thrusts, all the while imagining Henry doing so as he lavishes words of praise on him.

“You should see how well you take my fingers, my Lord. I’ll bet you will look even better with this tight little hole of yours stretched around my cock.”

He wants to curse at his imagination, but how can he when it supplies him with such delicious filth that riles him up, that feeds right into his deepest desires, that gets him so much closer to the edge?

“Henry,” he moans into his pillow, feeling himself starting to drool into the fabric below. He wants that man so badly that it’s overwhelming, the lust flowing through his veins like molten metal. 

Somehow, through this haze, he suddenly recalls something that visitor had said during the party all those years ago, about that special spot inside that will have a man seeing stars in an instant. So, he tries, bending his fingers ever so slightly the next time he pushes in. He brushes across a small bump, and quickly figures that that must be what he’s looking for. So, taking another deep breath and changing the angle, he presses against it.

“Fuck!” he cries out, his body twitching as if it’s been struck by lightning. He does it again, gentler this time, and another surge of pleasure runs through his body. He continues as he speeds up the hand around his cock, both adding to the mounting tension deep inside.

It builds and it builds, and barely a minute later, it snaps.

With one final perfect thrust of his fingers, he comes with a groan. The climax knocks the wind out of him, gasping as he strokes himself through it, his cum spilling over his hand. 

Coming down from his high, he slowly pulls his fingers out of himself, feeling a strange new sense of emptiness. The thought of wanting to be filled by something else makes his body tingle in a way different from before - in a way that excites and thrills and is seeking for more. 

But more will have to wait for several days at least.

Hans is not a man to just waste the days away, however, and is able to put the time to good use. With each night that passes with Henry having not returned, he uses it to practise and prepare, to get himself used to the stretch. He eventually is able to press two fingers all the way in, and before long, two becomes three. 

Pleasuring himself every night this way to the thought of Henry feels horribly indecent, but any of the initial shame dies away by night five. At this point, he feels so desperate that if Henry doesn’t return soon, he’s going to ride all the way to Sasau to bring him back himself.

Thankfully, in the afternoon of the sixth day, as he is hiding from the sun and watching the grounds of the upper castle from one of the walkways, he hears the sound of galloping hooves in the distance, noticing the horse’s familiar grey coat when he looks out the gate. He watches as Henry rides in, trying his best to hide his relief over seeing the figure he’s been keeping an eye out for over these past days.

He takes his time going down the stairs and towards the stables; the last thing he wants is to give away how excited he is. When he gets there, the stableboy has already taken the horse away, leaving Henry standing there by himself. Their eyes meet, and oh how Hans has missed those beautiful blues.

“Henry!” Hans greets him, struggling to not grin even wider than he is now. “You’re back-”

Hans has barely sounded out the last word when Henry immediately cuts in. “Sir Hans, if you would allow me, could I visit your bedchamber later this evening? I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”

At first, he’s taken aback at the formality of the statement. They haven’t seen each other in a week, and this is how Henry greets him?

But then he notices the redness of Henry’s cheeks that isn’t caused by the heat and the hungry look in those blue eyes. He realises that the way Henry spoke - a little stilted and awkward - sounded like he had been rehearsing the words - badly - for some time. 

Hans almost snorts in amusement. Oh you silly man, how I adore you .

“Of course, if you insist.” And because he wants to tease, once he makes sure no one is looking, he softly and quickly caresses Henry’s chin with the tip of a finger. “I’ll see you tonight. Don’t keep me waiting.”

He walks away then, and it’s only when he’s already taken a few steps that he hears Henry make a noise, one that can only be described as a strangled gasp of barely held back arousal. Hans does laugh at that, the pleasant tingle returning in anticipation. 

After five and a half days of waiting, these next few hours are nothing, though there is some comfort in knowing that Henry is somewhere close by. He goes about the rest of the day as normal, feeling physically lighter at the thought of what’s to come. And when the sun has set and the town is blanketed by the darkness of night, there is a knock on his bedroom door.

He opens it to find Henry, but before the man can even open his mouth to say anything, he pulls him in, shuts and locks the door behind them, and reaches for the sides of his face to smash their lips together.

After a second of surprise, Henry starts kissing him back, hands coming up to hold his waist to pull him in closer. Hans sighs against Henry’s lips, relieved at finally having his body against his once more. When they break apart for air, he says, feeling a little light-headed, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Henry beams, hands still firmly on him, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Hans grins, enjoying Henry’s honesty. “Oh really? What did you think about?”

“Kissing you… amongst other things,” Henry says, his blue eyes taking on an edge that sends a shiver down Han’s spine. 

“Glad to hear that I wasn’t the only one.” Hans moves one of his hands from Henry’s jaw to his scalp. As he runs his fingers through that thick brown hair, he notices that it’s a little damp. “Did you take a bath before coming over?”

Henry’s cheeks turn a light red at the question before he answers, “I wanted to make sure I smelled good… for you.”

Hans is not even sure what to say to that, so he just shakes his head and laughs with joyous disbelief before capturing Henry’s lips again. And while he could have kissed Henry for the next hour, he would very much like to move on, especially when his own hardening cock is rubbing ever so deliciously against Henry’s bulge. 

“Henry,” he gasps out against the man’s lips.

“Yes?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Henry pulls back at that, and Hans sees hesitation there. Cautiously, Hans asks, “Unless that’s not what you want? Because if you prefer the other way around-”

The hands that are on his waist squeeze to stop him. “No! No, you have no idea how badly I want to, it’s just…” Henry’s face flushes a shade deeper. “... I don’t really know how .”

Hans is unfazed by that. After all, Henry has had less time and fewer opportunities to learn compared to him. The lack of experience is not a turn off at all; in fact, he finds it much more thrilling that they’re going to be each other’s first, excited by the prospect of teaching Henry about this very intimate act they’re about to experience together. “Don’t worry. I’ll guide you through it.”

“You’ve done this before?” Henry’s eyes widen in surprise, but Hans can see the beginnings of jealousy there too, and doesn’t that just send a flutter in his belly and a shot of heat straight to his cock. So, Henry has a hidden possessiveness in him, Hans thinks. G ood to know… and definitely something to explore later on.

“Only with myself. I’ve been spending these past few nights figuring out what to do in order to prepare for this.” He frots against Henry’s crotch, causing the man to grunt at the friction.

Jealousy placated, Henry asks, “Did you think of me while you did it?”

Hans smirks at him. “Who else?”

This time, it’s Henry who kisses him, tongue pushing past his lips to lick up into his mouth. Hans opens up to him with a moan, letting him take control in this moment. But even so, as distracted as he is, he manages to walk them towards the bed. When he feels the bed frame hit his calf, he breaks away from the kiss and pushes Henry down to sit on the mattress. 

“Wait here.” He hurries over to the chest and grabs a flask from within. Opening it, he places it on the side table, knowing that curious blue eyes are following his movements. He does not address the question that must be on Henry’s mind; he will get to that soon enough. For now, he reaches for the first button of his gambeson.

But just as he undoes it, Henry stops him. “Wait, allow me.”

Obliging, Hans moves to stand right in front of Henry, who stares up at him with intense adoration. Then, slowly, Henry works on the buttons, never looking away once. When they’re all undone, Hans lets it fall off his frame and onto the floor below. Once that’s gone, Henry now pushes up his inner shirt, which he quickly pulls off and tosses aside too.

Hans does not care if his clothes get wrinkled. He can’t, not when Henry starts pressing light kisses on his now shirtless torso. Henry is still sitting on the bed, so most of the kisses are concentrated around his abs, each one placed with reverential softness. The gentleness of it all has Hans blushing, but he does not turn away. He runs a hand through Henry’s hair once more, as if needing an anchor to keep him from floating away from pure elation. 

A kiss right below his navel sends him shuddering, and Hans can almost see Henry’s brain work to make a mental note of this sensitive spot. The man then moves even lower, pressing another soft kiss right where the line of his left hip dips below the waistband of his pants, sending yet another shiver.

Taking this as a sign to move things along, Henry starts working both Hans’s pants and braies down at the same time. Wanting to make things easier for him, Hans also toes off his boots and kicks them aside. But he doesn’t rush; Henry is taking his time, pulling down the articles of clothing deliberately slowly, pressing a kiss to every new inch of skin revealed. 

When Hans’s cock springs free, Henry ignores it in favour of continuing to kiss down his thighs. His lips can’t reach any lower than his knees, so he chooses to just pull the pants and braies down all the way, letting Hans step out of them.  

Now that Hans is fully naked, Henry gives him a long and appreciative once-over. Rough hands travel gently over the back of his legs, coming to rest on his arse. Giving both firm cheeks a shy squeeze, Henry breathes out, words like a prayer. “You’re beautiful, my Lord.”

The touch, the compliment, the use of his title; it’s almost too much and they haven’t even truly begun. Hans has to look away this time, because Henry’s eyes are baring his soul and to continue looking into them would mean getting lost and falling harder than he already has. Trying to bring some levity to the moment, he says, “You sure know how to flatter a man, don’t you? Now move over a little; I need some space.”

Henry does that, removing his hands and shifting more towards the end of the bed. Hans climbs onto the mattress, getting into a comfortable position on his back. Henry’s gaze never leaves him, and Hans has to fight the urge to cover himself up. He reaches for the flask, but just as he’s about to put his fingers into the oil, he decides to ask, “Do you want to try?”

Henry nods enthusiastically, and Hans can’t help but chuckle at the eagerness. He passes the flask to Henry. “Pour some of this onto your fingers. Don’t skimp, make sure you use enough.”

The man nods again, following the instructions. Hans’s cock twitches at the sight of Henry’s fingers, coated in oil. They’re about to be inside me .

When Henry’s done, Hans takes the flask back and puts it aside. Then, he spreads his legs open a little wider, which Henry instinctively understands as the invitation it’s intended to be. The man moves to kneel between his legs, and Hans suddenly feels terribly exposed as he’s greeted by the sudden reminder that Henry is very much still fully clothed compared to him. 

Yet, that is a problem that, if everything goes according to plan, will be remedied soon enough. So, pushing aside the self-consciousness for now, Hans continues. “Whenever you’re ready… two fingers.”

He watches the way Henry’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He nods again before placing one of his hands on Han’s thigh, holding him with a gentle firmness that keeps them both centred. With eyes full of focus, he slowly presses his fingers in.

Oh dear God in heaven . Hans throws his head back with a moan. The almost week-long preparation could have never prepared him for this, for the feeling of Henry’s fingers inside him, stretching him open. It is so damn different, but he should have known, given that Henry’s hands are larger and rougher than his. It already feels so damn good, but there’s still more to come.

“Move your hand, Henry,” Hans instructs, but it comes out more as a whine. “ Please. ”

And so, Henry does, building up a slow but steady rhythm, pistoning his fingers in and out. There’s the loud squelch of oil, and Hans’s ears are burning from the obscenity of it. He can feel his own cock dribbling some pre-cum onto his abs, so he wraps a hand around the base of it - he refuses to come so soon, not when they’ve only gotten to the fun part. 

However, he can only hold on for so long, so he has to keep things moving along. “Add another finger.”

Though Henry’s eyes are dark with lust, he still manages to be concerned. “Are you sure?”

While Hans does genuinely appreciate him asking, right now, he does not want any more delays. As a result, the words come out a bit meaner than he wanted them to. “Yes, damn it. If not, you won’t be able to stick your cock in me, so just do it!”

Perhaps in retaliation for the rudeness, or maybe because he wants to move things along as quickly as possible too, Henry pushes in a third finger a little harder than before. Whatever the reason, Hans doesn’t care. Instead, another moan escapes him as he closes his eyes in pleasure. Henry’s fingers are thicker, and so the stretch is definitely more than what he prepared himself for. 

But that’s not all he needs to instruct Henry on, so taking a breath, he says, “You should feel a bump, you can try pressing against it if you want.” 

Henry does, and with a crook of his fingers, he sends an explosion of sparks down all of Hans’s nerves. Eyes flying open and body convulsing, Hans gasps, “Oh shit!” 

Henry immediately stops, the lust overtaken by worry. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

Hans can already feel Henry start to remove his fingers, so he reaches for Henry’s hand that is on his thigh, giving it a soft squeeze. “No, you didn’t,” he laughs, feeling a little breathless already. 

Henry visibly relaxes. “So, this-” he gently presses again, eyes darkening once more as Hans shivers. “-is what I should be aiming for?”

“Yes, but not every time, you heathen.” Hans swats playfully at Henry’s forearm. “You’re going to make me come.”

“Isn’t that the plan?” Henry is grinning now, and Hans rolls his eyes, even though he’s glad to see Henry is comfortable enough to tease. 

Two can play at this game , Hans thinks before saying, “Not yet. Not until it’s your cock that’s stretching me open.”

Blue eyes now fully blown with arousal, Henry begins moving his hand again. Even though he’s going at a slightly fast pace, Hans can tell he’s at doing so at an angle that deliberately misses that spot. Not to say that this isn’t pleasurable; far from it, because the fire continues to grow, and Hans once again has to give his cock a few strokes to relieve the tension.

“I apologise for making you wait, my Lord, and for making you have to do this by yourself these past nights. But don’t worry. I’ll be here to help you from now on.” Such seemingly innocent words, but the way Henry says them… it’s pure filth, a sensual promise of more. Hans didn’t even know Henry had in him to say such things, but now that he does, he feels almost feral in his desire for the man. He wants, needs more. Now .

“That’s enough,” he gasps out. “I’m ready.”

Wordlessly, Henry takes his fingers out, watching for a moment with hungry eyes at the way Hans’s hole clenches at the sudden emptiness. He gets off of the bed and begins stripping down, an act that Hans greatly enjoys observing. Unlike that time in the forest, he now has the time and space to fully take in Henry’s body in all its glory. His eyes are drawn to the muscles formed from hard labour, the abs that he wants to dance his fingers across, the strong thighs that keep the man steady. 

Then, the last article of clothing, the braies, are pulled down, revealing a gorgeous and very erect cock. Though he’s seen it once before, Hans can feel himself salivate at the sight of it. He briefly wonders if he should take it into his mouth and learn what Henry’s cum tastes like, but decides against it. He can save that for another time. 

That’s going to be inside me. His heart speeds up at the mere thought of it.

Henry returns to his place between Hans’s legs. Before Hans even says anything about it, Henry reaches for the flask again, this time pouring a good amount onto his cock. As he puts the flask back aside, he uses his free hand to stroke himself, coating his prick with the shiny liquid in a horribly sinful display.

Once satisfied, Henry shifts forward a little, pulling Hans partially onto his lap while also stuffing a pillow under him. All the while, Hans is incredulous in the best way possible. He’s always known that Henry is a fast learner, but he never could have known that it would apply here too. To see Henry place so much importance on his comfort without even needing to be instructed, Han’s stomach flutters. 

Still holding onto his cock, Henry gently rests it against Hans’s hole, the contact immediately making both their breaths hitch. Henry’s other hand goes back to where it previously was on Hans’s thigh. Their eyes meet, and though Henry doesn’t say anything, Hans sees the question in his gaze. 

There’s only one thing he could be asking for, and Hans’s heart swells with emotion when he realises what it is. 

Even though they’re already at this stage, he’s waiting for permission. He’s still making sure that Hans wants this. 

And what else can Hans do but nod in affirmation?

“Let me know if it’s too much,” Henry says. Slowly, even slower than he did with his fingers before, he presses in.

“ Holy…” The two syllables leave as a choked gasp, with every inch that Henry presses forward making him more and more breathless as if the air has been knocked out of his lungs. Hans’s hand flies up to Henry’s arm, gripping hard onto the man’s bicep, stopping him from moving any further. 

No, he was wrong. This is what he could have never prepared himself for.

It’s not so much the stretch that he has to get used to, though it certainly plays a part; it’s the heat . The pure, raw sensation of another man’s, specifically Henry’s cock inside him that he can barely comprehend, a lustful haze clouding his mind at this truly, extraordinarily new sensation. He’s not even sure he breathes until Henry bottoms out with a groan, filling him more than either of their fingers ever did. 

Releasing his hold on Henry, he hisses out an order. “Start moving.”

“I can’t.” Henry sounds totally wrecked, voice rough with unrestrained desire. “You’re too tight, my Lord. You have to relax.”

Hans’s face warms up even more at Henry’s words. Turning his head to the side, he slings an arm across his eyes, embarrassment compelling him to break eye contact. He whines, “Give me a moment. And just use my name, Henry.”

For a few seconds, nothing happens. Then, his arm is being pulled away, followed by a warm hand cupping his cheek, turning his head back. By the time Hans opens his eyes again, Henry’s lips are already on his. 

Like before, Hans instantly melts into the kiss, losing himself in the warmth and taste of Henry’s mouth. This seems to do the trick because, while he’s still kissing him, Henry is able to pull out slightly, leaving just the head of his cock inside him before driving all the way back in with one solid move.

The moan forced out of Hans causes him to break the kiss, but Henry doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, while he continues to thrust at a steady and even pace, he also begins pressing open-mouthed kisses all over the places he couldn’t reach earlier: Hans’s jaw, neck, shoulders, chest. The movement is a little all over the place, but the haphazard nature of it that is clearly fuelled by a desperation for more just makes it so much better. 

And if that isn’t enough, Henry pays particular attention to his nipples, taking them into his mouth and teasing, biting, each time earning a soft gasp. Just as he finishes teasing the left one, he glances up through dark lashes. “Is this okay?”

“More than,” Hans sighs in pleasure and incredulity over how Henry’s treating him. From this angle, Hans can see that his own body is now fully flushed, skin tinted a light red, no doubt a reaction to both the exertion and Henry’s attentiveness. “You’re doing so good, Henry. Don’t you dare stop.”

Henry takes this pause in his journey of kissing every inch of Hans’s skin to rest his forehead against Hans’s sternum to whisper, breath hot against already heated skin, “ Beautiful . So beautiful, Hans.”

The juxtaposition of the adoring praise against such a carnal act sends Hans’s head spinning. How does Henry know exactly what to say at this moment, even when they are this deep in the throes of passion of their very first time? 

Ironically, Hans finds his own words failing him now, his mind far too overwhelmed by everything. Unable to trust himself to form a coherent response, he chooses to reach for  Henry, hands on both sides of the man’s face to pull him back up and recapture his lips in another kiss. 

Henry does stop then, savouring the kiss just as much as Hans is. Despite being distracted by Henry’s tongue in his mouth, Hans is just about aware of Henry’s other hand grabbing his right leg, and pulling it so that it wraps around his waist. This causes a change in angle, with Henry’s cock now brushing right up against that sensitive spot inside him. 

“Henry,” he gasps, because his thoughts are filled with nothing but the man in front of him. “ Henry.”

“What do you need, Hans?” Henry asks, voice trembling. “I’ll do anything for you, my Lord. You just have to tell me.”

Devotion. Pure and utter devotion. In those words, in those blue eyes, in the hands that are holding him. Like he is hopelessly lost and is searching for a direction, a purpose, a salvation that only Hans can provide. 

Hans almost cries. 

Yet, despite the intensity of it all, he feels safe. He trusts Henry wholeheartedly with his life, with his soul, with his heart. He uses one hand to hold on to the nape of Henry’s neck while moving the other arm to wrap around the man’s broad shoulders, fingers digging into the solid muscle. He clenches around Henry’s thick cock. “ Fuck me harder.”

A beat passes, then: “As you wish.” Henry draws his hips back and thrusts in, their bodies meeting with a loud smack. 

“ Yes ”, Hans groans. Closing his eyes, he relishes the slide of Henry’s cock in and out of him, the slap of skin against skin, the bed creaking below them. Henry going faster and harder now also means that he’s going deeper than before, and Hans can’t help but whimper a little at the pain-pleasure of it, at how much he’s enjoying the way Henry’s cock fills and stretches him. What was strange just minutes ago is now the most addicting thing he’s ever experienced. 

It’s very likely Henry is feeling the same way too, because between grunts he says, “Being inside you- I’ve never felt anything like it. Hot- tight- I never want to leave.”

There’s that praise again, running over Hans like rich honey. Henry’s a natural at it, and Hans can’t wait to see what other filth he’s able to extract from the man’s sweet mouth. The words go straight to his cock, which aches to be touched since it’s currently only receiving stimulation from being rubbed between their two bodies. He reaches down and begins stroking himself, using the steadily leaking pre-cum to coat his hand. And because he doesn’t want to let Henry feel as if he’s doing all the talking, he manages to muster enough focus to moan out, “You’re so big, Henry… filling me so well.” 

Henry seems to be as susceptible to praise as he is, because once he hears those words, his rhythm falters. He regains it quickly, but mutters as he does so, “I can’t- I’m close.”

There’s just the smallest hint of embarrassment in his voice, which Hans assumes must be due to the fact that they haven’t been doing this for very long. But again, this is not something Hans will begrudge him, not when it’s their first time, nor when he’s feeling close to the precipice himself. 

“I know. It’s okay,” Hans tells him. His next words leave before he can stop them. “Come inside me.”

Henry makes a noise similar to the one from this afternoon, a choked sound of barely contained lust at the back of his throat. “Are you sure?”

This is yet another thing he hadn’t given prior thought to. Unlike his times spent with the bathhouse maids, there is no risk of pregnancy between two men, so that isn’t a concern here. He knows it will be messy, and he’s regretting having not done enough research to see if there might be any adverse side effects on his body if they were to go through with it. (Not that there are really any readily available sources he can anonymously get information from, but the point still stands.)

And yet, all he can think at this moment is: to hell with the consequences . His need for Henry has only grown in its ferocity, and he will take more of him any way he can.

“I’m sure,” Hans affirms, tightening his grip on Henry’s shoulders. “Fill me with your seed, Henry. Claim me. ” 

“ Fuck ,” Henry whimpers. His hips stutter, but he reaches for Hans’s waist to steady himself. He continues thrusting, now at an offbeat rhythm that causes the head of the cock to graze over that special spot each time. The pressure builds and builds, but Hans is determined not to let go, not until he sees the look on Henry’s face as he comes undone.

He does not have to wait long, because a minute later and with one final hard snap of his hips, Henry buries his cock deep and comes with a loud moan.

One more thing Hans could have never, ever prepared himself for: the feeling of cum - Henry’s cum - spilling into him and coating his insides thoroughly. Hans wonders if he’s just imagining it, or if it’s simply because it’s his first time ever experiencing something like this, but, with how much Henry is coming, it feels as if Henry has held back on touching himself this entire past week, saving it for this moment. Somehow, Hans knows that he’s right and that Henry has done just that, because of course he would, the romantic sod. And it has made all of this that much more intense, a feeling that is permanently seared into Hans’s memory.

The heat and filth of it has him reeling. It feels so good, and so right . This sensation alone, combined with the way Henry’s expression is one of pure ecstasy, has him teetering right at the edge.

But it’s not enough. He just needs a little more. The hand he has around his cock moves much more fervently.

Having closed his eyes to hone in on the last bit that he needs, he doesn’t even realise that Henry is moving until he feels a warm hand replace his own around his prick. His eyes shoot open to find Henry staring right at him, eyes still dark with arousal. Henry’s other hand goes to his nape, holding his head upright so that he can press their foreheads together. Despite having reached his own climax, the man is also still rocking his hips gently into him. 

“ Henry, ” he whines. Unable to bear the direct and intense attention, Hans closes his eyes again. Unfortunately - or fortunately, considering the circumstances - he cannot close his ears, and is thus subject to Henry’s skilled tongue. 

“That’s it, my Lord.” Henry’s voice rumbles low and rough into the space between their lips. “Come for me.”

And just like that, he tumbles right over the edge with a cry. His hand flies back to Henry’s neck, needing something else to ground himself before he gets lost in the bliss that is surging through his body, wave after wave of ecstasy that he never wants to end. 

Henry continues stroking him through his orgasm, and strangely enough, it is this point of contact that slowly brings him back to himself. He blinks as his mind clears, and that’s when he sees Henry smiling down at him. 

“I’ll help clean up,” Henry says and slowly pulls out. Almost immediately, there’s the feeling of cum dribbling out of his hole, his body involuntarily clenching to try and keep it inside of him to stave off the emptiness. It is this that Hans feels has truly brought him to the pits of depravity - and he absolutely revels in it. Especially when Henry is staring in aroused fascination.

Henry is so captivated by it that he doesn’t move, eyes trained on this filthy sight. Hans laughs breathlessly, face warm from the attention. “Not to distract you, but I am starting to get a little sticky here. So, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Right, I just…” Henry swallows, taking a few more seconds before he tears his eyes away. He hops off the bed and over to where Hans had prepared a pitcher of water and a few small towels. As Henry wets the towels, Hans notices with great delight at the red lines made by his nails across the man’s back, his own possessiveness making itself known at this mark that he has unintentionally left behind. 

Henry returns to sit beside him and starts wiping up the mess. The cool dampness of the cloth has Hans shivering a little, but not as much as Henry’s gentle touch over his sensitive inner thighs and his even more sensitive spent cock. 

However, even after he’s done, Henry doesn’t move. Instead, his hands next go to rub soothingly over the skin of Hans’s waist and hips, the places where they had held onto so tightly just minutes ago. He does so with a kind of scrutinising gaze, as if he’s inspecting these places for any signs of bruising. 

“Henry, what are you doing?”

“I want to make sure I didn’t hurt you.” When Henry looks up, Hans is floored by the sincerity he finds there. How did I get so lucky?

“Oh, you… come here.” He pulls Henry down to lie next to him. On their sides, they are now face-to-face with their legs intertwined. Hans cups a hand to the side of Henry’s face, and as he caresses a thumb over his flushed cheek, Henry nuzzles into his palm. 

God he’s adorable. 

With a shy smile, Henry asks, “Was everything okay?”

“Okay? Henry, you were fantastic. It was a hundred times better than I could have expected.” Hans makes sure he’s looking right into those blues as he says this so that Henry knows he isn’t just trying to make him feel better. “But what about you? Did you enjoy yourself?”

Henry nods, the smile widening. “I think ‘enjoy’ would be putting it too simply. That was… you were… fuck, I don’t think I can describe how incredible it was.”

“You know, it’s important that you have fun too,” Hans says as he affectionately pinches Henry’s cheek. “You don’t always have to focus all on me.”

“But making you feel good is what excites me.” Henry turns to press a soft kiss onto Hans’s palm. This sends another shiver down Hans’s spine. Henry has always been eager to please, so to see that same eagerness still hold true when it comes to sex? Hans knows that he’s in for many more marvellous nights of unadulterated pleasure. 

“If that’s the case,” Hans says, moving his hand down to Henry’s chest, running his hand over the dark hair there. “I wouldn’t mind if you were a little rougher with me.”

“But I don’t want to-”

“I know; you won’t.” He rests his hand right over where Henry’s heart is, feeling it beating strongly. “You could never hurt me… not unless I want you to.”

“What do you m-” Henry doesn’t get to finish the question, because Hans pulls him into a kiss again. This conversation can be saved for another day; Hans doesn’t want to have what is sure to be a lengthy discussion over their much deeper desires at the moment. Right now, he simply wants to memorise the way Henry’s lips feel against his.

Henry kisses him back in kind, using a hand to make an exploratory journey over his back before eventually coming to rest on his arse. Like before, he gives the taut muscle a squeeze, though one that is much firmer and purposeful than the previous time.

Hans chuckles at his lack of restraint. “You seem to really like my arse, don’t you, Henry?”

“Well, it is a very nice arse.” Henry grins, eyes shining even in the dim light.

“Why, thank you. Not to boast, but I am very proud of it,” Hans says with a cheeky smirk. “... You know, it belongs to you now too.”

A look crosses Henry’s face, one that seems to be indicative of a conflict between feelings of bashfulness and possessiveness. “Hans, I-”

Hans presses a finger to Henry’s lips, stopping him. He knows what he’s going to say, and he won’t let him. He will not let the man’s insecurities get the better of him. “Since that first time you stepped into a tub with me, I have never wanted anyone else. Why would I, Henry, when you’re all I’ve been thinking about? So, believe me when I say this: I’m yours as much as you are mine.”

A second passes as Henry processes what he said. Then, with a bright smile, the biggest he’s seen on his face since they first met, Henry says, “I love you.”

The tingling sensation returns, but it’s different. Now it’s warm, all-encompassing, radiant. For the second time this night, Hans wants to cry over just how much he feels for the man in front of him. 

“I love you too,” he says back, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. And to make sure he doesn’t actually cry, he continues with, “Now, let’s get some sleep, shall we? It’s been a long day.”

He goes to blow out the candles by his bedside when he sees that Henry is just staring at him. “Unless… you had something else in mind?” he asks, worried that the man might actually want to go back to his own room after all this.

“N-No, of course not!” Henry shakes his head, and to make sure there aren’t any doubts about that, he places the covers over the both of them before pulling Hans’s body closer against his. “I’m staying here for as long as you let me.”

“Good. I wouldn’t have let you leave anyway.” Hans smiles as he shifts in Henry’s grasp, getting into a position where he can rest his head on Henry’s chest, the steady heartbeat thrumming in his ear. Warm and safe and content, he yawns. “Goodnight, Henry.”

As he closes his eyes and succumbs to the draw of slumber, he hears Henry’s voice, soft and adoring. “Goodnight, my Lord.”

Chapter Text

Henry

He has his first restful sleep in two weeks. The first week has been filled with nervously jerking off or being infuriated with Hans - sometimes both at the same time. The second was occupied with his deeds in Sasau and the strict prohibition of any activity of self-pleasure.

Not that Henry has had any thoughts about that during that week. He was full of concentration, adrenaline, and fear. 

Not so much about being spotted and killed but to be held in that monastery and never to return to Rattay and Hans again. Thinking about the latter especially in that awful wooden bed with almost no cushions and looking out of the small windows made his heart clench. 

It had set things in perspective. 

Mostly about the fact that being the personal subordinate of a young lord isn’t being a slave; being in that monastery was, under the always watchful eyes of monks who just used God’s word to support their own power and abusive behaviours. As far as Henry is concerned, nothing in this monastery had proven to him that God is really near, nor did he get the feeling that the monks are holier than the common folk or nobles.

And just thinking that in the middle of the night, when the longing for Hans and his tongue, his hands, his flanks, and his cock nearly drove him mad, he realised that he didn’t get struck by a lightning or the fist of God. Being in the monastery and the slave of this doctrine felt… just pointless.

Being with Hans doesn’t, though. It fills him with satisfaction of more than one kind, a joy that radiates deep into his limbs and head, and a sense of safety. As he lies on his back, holding Hans in his arm and noticing the lord’s breathing becoming deep and slow, he thinks his heart will burst out of his chest and wake the easily irritable man. He doesn’t care. 

His whole torso sings in pleasure. His pelvic floor still tingles from the recent lovemaking.

He feels like he could take over the whole world. So this is love, hm?

It is what lets him drift off into a soft slumber that finally feels restful and soft, just like Hans’s hair that he has kissed just before closing his eyes for the day. 

Three deliberate knocks startle Henry awake. “My Lord?” comes through the door, a high and young voice. 

From the depths next to Henry, something moves. A growl emerges from the sheets. “What?” the future Lord of Rattay demands. 

Henry notices with a start that if the door suddenly opens, their delicate situation would be obvious even to a blind person. He stretches the covers over his stomach as if that’d help, then stops the motion once his brain catches up.

“My Lord, you wished for me to wake you at the ninth hour. Shall I prepare breakfast for you in the dinner hall or in your room?” the voice answers, and Henry notices that it’s Mary-Ann, one of the maids of the house, thankfully still from behind the closed door. 

Hans flays his hand in the air, and Henry quickly brings his limbs to safety to not be slapped. “I don’t remember giving you this order. But alas. Prepare breakfast in the dinner hall. Send Peter to search for Henry, he’s gone to the miller, and I wish to have breakfast with him to discuss strategies. Don’t disturb me again until then,” Hans replies, in such a definitive tone that Henry briefly wonders if he really has gone to the miller, only to realise his foolery one long moment later and internally congratulating Hans for being the charismatic man that he is. 

“Very well, thank you, my Lord,” Mary-Ann says reverently, then turns on the spot. Her steps vanish.

Hans turns to his other side to face Henry, and the little lines on his forehead and between his brows suddenly vanish like shadow in the sunlight. His whole face lights up, a warm glint appears in his eyes, and with a cautious but certain movement, he reaches out and touches Henry’s collarbone to trace the skin there. 

“Quick thinking, my Lord,” Henry whispers, not daring to speak any louder. He wonders if people had heard them yesterday night, but he knows about the thick walls and the isolation of Hans’s vast room this high in the castle, so he relaxes.

“Hm? Oh, that. Pff. Nothing. I established a strict policy in this city not to enter my bed chamber uninvited. My hair could be a mess.” He looks at Henry’s face and studies it with a cool demeanour. “Or a beautiful man could be there, and I intend to keep him for myself only.” His infamous smirk appears on his face then, proud as he is.

Henry can’t help but grin, brushing his fingers over Hans’s chin and jawline, relishing how Hans closes his eyes halfway at that. “And were there any women you hid like that too? By sending the old house keeper to search for them?”

He means it in jest but Hans opens his eyes and regards Henry with a long look. The tracing of Henry’s chest stops. “No. This was the first time. I’ll take it as a compliment for thinking that this trick has given me more time with girls. Because of course, it is genius. Nonetheless, I never intended to spend more time with them in the morning. They had to leave at night once we were done. Does that answer your question to your satisfaction?”

Henry swallows drily and nods.

They exchange a long look.

Then Henry asks, breathless, “Can I kiss you?”

Instead of answering, Hans surges forward and melts their lips together. Henry sighs into the kiss, opening his mouth and welcoming Hans’s sharp and skillful tongue against his own. Hans is so warm, Henry realises. And so firm and wonderful in his whole physique. He loves the way his erection is pressed against his hips, and then suddenly against his groin when Hans rolls half on top of Henry, kneading one pec with one hand and sneaking the other down Henry’s flank towards his ass to grab the muscles there. 

Henry moans into the kiss. “You didn’t even tell her which mill to go to,” he speaks against Hans’s lips. 

The noble chuckles lowly while finding great interest in Henry’s neckline and throat. “But my dearest, that’s the trick. If she searches for you at Peshek’s, you simply were in Kohelnitz or vice versa. You’re clearly not completely awake yet.”

Henry just laughs incredulously at that, shaking his head slightly at Hans’s repartee and the last sentence. “I am, apparently.”

“Let’s change that then,” Hans says matter-of-factly, and Henry kisses Hans with both hands on his cheeks. He feels Hans’s intention to crawl downwards on his body, but he stops him with the grip around his head.

Hans does stop. Their gazes meet.

“Are you okay? How does your arse feel?” Henry wants to know.

“Pretty amazing,” Hans replies easily, that slight smirk back on his lips. “A bit sore and that is what makes it feel so magnificent.” He squeezes Henry’s arse as if to prove his point.

That makes Henry think. “Would you like to try it the other way around then?”

Hans laughs at that, a joyous and free sound that reverberates in Henry’s ribs as Hans sits up on top of him, stretching his long limbs. “When I said I’m not interested in your hairy arse,” he begins, “I outright lied, but I really do want you to explore mine a bit more before we try it this way. Because that was… well.” There is a very healthy flush on Hans’s cheekbones which seems to delight Hans more than it does Henry. 

“More than happy to,” Henry replies with a breath, and Hans bends down to kiss him again, to suck his brain right out of his skull. When they break, he is breathless as Hans trails down his throat and down his pecs. “What, right now?” he asks, delighted and incredulous. 

“Of course, I’m willing to claim my price for this coup de maître,” Hans murmurs into Henry’s skin, following the line of hair that leads down towards his navel and lower. 

Henry draws air inside his chest, feeling lightheaded. “What?” he asks in a breathy voice.

“French.”

“I know you’re about to do that but what did you say?” 

Hans looks up at that, his eyes glistening above the rising and falling stomach, and barks out a laugh to which Henry just lifts his head off the pillow and stares, a deep question mark behind his eyes. He feels a bit stupid as if he has just missed a very important point. 

“You magnificent man,” Hans says, shaking his head and trying to hide the truly happy smile on his lips. He presses a kiss on Henry’s lower belly, right next to the tip of his cock, and Henry draws in his second sharp breath.

“Coup de maître, a masterstroke,” Hans explains, now bringing his lips to the junction where the glans meets the shaft and kisses the skin there, open-mouthed and wet . Henry hears a low whine and realises it comes out of his own throat. This man is going to drive him mad, he knows this by now, it’s just a question of time, and he doesn’t even dare to bet that it’s going to take a longer while. He seriously thinks that he’s going to be a drooling mess by the end of the year. Henry finds himself not caring one bit about that prospect. 

“But I will follow that order too,” Hans continues, almost conversational, while taking Henry in hand and stroking him leisurely. The sparks of lust that travel upwards in Henry’s head are nothing short of amazing. 

“An order, my Lord?” Henry tries, letting his head fall back into the pillows and his hand find a way into Hans’s soft hair, fingertips coming to rest on his scalp. “That was not my intention, Sir.” He licks his lips in pleasure when Hans’s lips kiss along the length of his erection.

“I know. Indulge me, though. And…” he hesitates for a second before pushing his tongue to let the words roll off of it, it seems. “...praise me while I pleasure you, will you?”

“Hans…” Henry replies in lieu of more coherent syllables. “Oh fuck,” is what his mind supplies when Hans bends his cock upwards to take it into his mouth like it is the tastiest dessert he’s ever had. His eyes flutter while his cheeks get filled, and the sight is so hot that it makes Henry’s eyes roll back into his skull. He remembers Hans’s request after relishing the wet glide of the mouth around his length for a few seconds, then he bends his fingers to get a grip in Hans’s hair which makes the young lord moan in the back of his throat.

“You feel ssso amazing,” Henry hisses. It’s intoxicating. Hans is intoxicating. The way he snaps his gaze towards Henry, the sharp grey-blue eyes so open and heated. It’s not only different from the other four times he had the pleasure of being sucked-off - it’s a whole new experience.

There is devotion in every of Hans’s movements, whether it be the lick of his tongue over Henry’s glans, the nibble right below the corona of it (which is so orgasmic that Henry can’t believe his own body) or the strokes of Hans’s slender fingers at the base of his shaft.

“Use your hand like this,” Henry says and gently guides Hans’s fingers to a different angle. “A bit less firm of a grip. Oh fu- Yes , that’s it,” he gasps, and Hans smiles around his dick.

He’s curious. And so complacent that Henry feels helplessly drawn towards this man. “I love you, Hans,” he mutters then, scratching his nails softly over Hans’s scalp, and Hans hums to that while his face flushes even more. His high cheekbones are soon tainted with a lovely red. Henry is sure his own face looks similar.

Hans doesn’t stop nor hurries in his movements. He watches Henry slowly losing it, and soon, it becomes too much for Henry to maintain eye contact. He forces his love- and sleep-drunk tongue to work. “I can’t look at you this long, my Lord, for you… are making me come with your intense gaze and your pleasure alone. I… I don’t even know what to say except for that you make me feel things I haven’t felt before… ever. The way your mouth feels around my length…”

Hans suddenly gags, then pulls his face off of Henry. He is panting. Saliva still connects his lips to Henry’s glistening cock. He is the most erotic thing Henry can imagine. 

“Fuck me again,” Hans says, out of breath and glorious. His hair is a mess, his chest is heaving and flushed, his lips are red and wet. His gaze, though, is piercing Henry to the mattress.

“O-okay,” Henry produces, then watches as Hans reaches for the nightstand again to acquire the flask. His torso is on perfect display for Henry who can just stare and wonder. The defined pecs with short blonde hair on them, the abs that stretch with his movements, the slight curve of his waist that is most often hidden under his noble clothes, the slender and long cock standing out from between the sharp hollows of his groins.

However Hans can have the confidence to coat his fingers in front of Henry’s watchful eyes only to reach behind him and press them inside himself, Henry can’t even begin to fathom. Especially when the huff of arousal that escapes the noble becomes evident to him and he opens his eyes to find Henry’s slack face - and smirks with one corner of his mouth. 

Out of nowhere, Henry has to grab the base of his cock and press down into his muscles to stop himself from coming. The waves of pleasure subside as quickly as they have arisen, along with a choked sigh that feels and sounds more like a valve releasing pressure. “Oh fuck, that was close,” he gasps out after a few measured breaths. 

“This arousing for you?” Hans teases, the bastard. The smirk has spread to the other corner of his mouth. Taking into account the obscene and definitely not obvious movement of his right hand that is still hidden behind and… oh God, inside Hans, Henry really doesn’t feel bad about almost coming involuntarily. 

“You, my Lord, are the most arousing thing there is,” Henry says without shame.

Hans, on the other hand, suddenly stiffens. His movements inside his arse stop, and for a horrible moment, Henry thinks he has fucked up again; cock still in his hand, Hans’s knees on either side of his thighs, he feels a bit lightheaded with lust - and also anxious that this soft fragment of time could be over with as much as a snap of two fingers.

But it’s a whole different story that unfolds. A shiver runs from Hans’s thighs up to the crown of his head, Henry can see it. “Say that again,” Hans produces in a strange voice. His pupils are so big that there’s almost no blue left.

Henry feels his breath hitch. He strokes his cock two times before saying, with emphasis on every syllable, “You, my Lord, are the most arousing thing there is.”

Hans’s cock becomes a shade redder. It jumps in the air. Then there’s Hans’s free hand - oh what a wonderful addition - that wraps around it and strokes it roughly. “Again,” Hans pants. Saliva drips from his lips and lands on Henry’s stomach. 

Henry can just stare at Hans’s face, twisted in pleasure and concentration, and feels like a man drowning in a siren’s song. Back when he was a child, a Polish man who claimed to be an ex-sailor visited Skalitz. He was told many tales about sea creatures, and he remembers nearly all of them. The tale of sirens now snaps into his mind, monsters who lure men to their death by being overwhelmingly beautiful in voice and body, and suddenly, it makes sense. All of it. Except that Hans is no monster. And so real. “You, my Lord, are the most arousing thing there is,” he says, again, watching in awe as Hans loses it.

“Fuck, Henry…” is somewhere in between Hans’s unintelligible low moans. His eyes roll back into his skull while he strokes himself, his brows furrow as if in deep concentration, his jaw becomes slack. And then thick stripes of cum spurt from his cock and land - blistering hot - on Henry’s chest and stomach.

All on its own, Henry’s left hand comes up to the back of Hans’s neck and presses him down to himself. Hans follows willingly, almost as if drugged, and they lose themselves in a searing kiss that melts Henry’s lips while the semen on his skin slowly cools down. 

When they part, it is only for a hair’s width between them. Henry can feel his lips brushing Hans’s as he speaks.

“I love you.”

Instead of answering, Hans makes a soft noise that almost sounds like a huff, then Henry feels his cock being held and stroked by a warm and oily hand that guides it to an equally warm place. “Love you too,” Hans replies, almost as if distracted but Henry soon realises that it is just his blissed-out voice: soft, lost, surfing waves of distant oceans. He stays connected to the present though, physically so. By lifting his hips up and slowly letting Henry inside himself.

Henry feels the edges of his vision becoming fuzzy. Again, he has to concentrate on not coming. So, he uses what has worked best before. He speaks. “Hans. I don’t know how I could possibly…” he hiccups and loses his thought. 

Hans sinks deeper, so slow and oh so perfect it almost hurts. Henry has to force his hips to remain still, to let Hans adjust to the stretch without as much preparation as the night before; otherwise Henry’s almost-pain will turn into a real one for Hans. And Henry would rather walk through the fire of a siege than let that happen. He knows that this thought is pathetic. That doesn’t make it any less true.

Hans presses his forehead against Henry’s. “I got you,” he says, eyes slowly gaining focus again. They are so close to Henry’s… so close…

“I’m close. Si- Hans, stop!” Henry exclaims. Hans stops immediately, and only the fast and erratic breaths of Henry can be heard in the room. The turmoil in Henry’s groins lessens a bit, but the burning remains. It hurts like trying to remove a restive splinter. Henry laughs it off and presses a soft kiss on Hans’s waiting lips. “I… I really am a lousy teenager when it comes to you. Ah, I feel like a fool.”

A fool that’s dick-deep in Sir Hans Capon. Good Lord.

Hans shifts his hips and suddenly bottoms out. Henry feels the whimper crawl out of his open mouth. Hans is so tight. It feels better than any girl he has ever laid with. “You’re my fool, Henry. And I care for you. What do you need?”

Henry lifts his gaze to Hans’s intense eyes and finds himself at a loss for words. “I- I. My Lord.”

“Use my name, Henry,” Hans says, “I might be your lord but we’re equal in this bed. Tell me what you need.” He rolls his hips, more out of necessity to get into a more comfortable position but it sends just another wave of pleasure through Henry’s body. “Yesterday you said I was too tight to move; what about today?” It’s a serious question, and Henry does his best to answer it equally seriously. His tongue feels dry.

“It’s okay. Just do it slowly… without clenching down. And… kiss me?” Henry holds his breath at revealing the last bit, a tiny request of much more than just a physical connection. Hans’s face softens despite having Henry literally inside of him. Deliberately and softly in equal measures, he melts their lips back together again. “Of course,” he breathes in between the slides of their tongues, and Henry just lets go. He feels the rocking of Hans’s hips on his own, loves the way Hans’s seed becomes sticky and present on his skin. 

“I love that you just came all over me,” he says in between their kisses, his hand coming up to squeeze Hans’s arse and slowly progressing to feel for the conjunction of them both. Hans seems to sense his plan because he laces his fingers with Henry’s and guides them to their destination with a certainty that knocks Henry’s breath out of his lungs. The tight ring of muscles that moves over and around his oversensitive flesh is both primal and otherworldly.

“Uh… Henry. You make me weak,” Hans says, kissing him again, almost shy this time. “Will you come inside me again, like yesterday?”

“Whatever you wish, Hans.” Henry means it. He brushes over the strong thighs and looks at the man.

Hans sighs while bouncing up and down. “I love that you’re both an incorrigible loudmouth and a devoted servant to me. And to me only. Fuck, I shouldn’t find that so hot. I shouldn’t.”

“Yet here we are,” Henry manages in between heavy breaths.

“We are,” Hans confirms, his voice not nearly as stable as the words would normally hint at. He nods magnanimously and Henry feels laughter and arousal bubbling inside him in equal measures.

Hans moves faster, his body all masculine muscles and strength. When their bodies meet in the middle, there is a dull smack that reverberates deep in Henry’s pelvic floor, and soon, he feels his third orgasm by and with Hans arising with a shattering power.

“I’m coming,” Henry grunts, digging his fingers in Hans’s thighs.

Hans hisses in pleasure at that. “Yes, scratch me. Come for me.”

Almost involuntarily, Henry’s fingernails dig deeper into Hans’s skin and drag down his thighs while his other hand feels the pumping of his own hips and cock into Hans’s welcoming warmth. It’s everything and more than what he needs. He comes with a groan that is quickly silenced by Hans who plunges his tongue in his open mouth. 

They kiss, all wet and sloppy, while Henry feels his cock pulse deep inside Hans, his body alight like standing on a meadow during a thunderstorm.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Hans mumbles against Henry’s lips. Henry almost misses it. His breathing is loud in his own ears. “Fuck, aren’t you the hottest stallion in this city.”

Henry feels his cheeks heat up. At the same time, warm pride and smugness spread inside his chest, making his collarbones tingle. “I expect you to ride me more often than your own horse from now on.” 

He pumps his hips back upwards inside Hans, and the lord gives a strangled moan which Henry kisses right off the top of his mouth. 

“I take this position is to your liking, then?” Hans asks breathlessly once their lips disconnect. 

Instead of answering, Henry flips them around and guides his half-hard cock back inside Hans with a push of his hand before diving down and hugging Hans tightly. “It is,” he confirms, slowly and shallowly thrusting his hips against Hans. The penetration quickly lessens but Hans doesn’t seem to mind at all. He cards his fingers through Henry’s hair and presses soft kisses on the junction between his neck and shoulder. 

“You feel amazing. Sex with you is…” Hans trails off.

Silence settles.

But Henry understands. He hugs Hans tighter and burrows his nose in the pillows. “I want to stay here with you all day,” he says. 

“I’m afraid I’m already waiting for you at the breakfast table because you were held up by a messenger from my uncle.”

“A classic,” Henry replies and lifts himself off of Hans who has the decency to look disappointed too.

“Are you awake, then?” Hans grins up at him while Henry slowly extricates himself from Hans. He looks down to the point where they had been joined just moments ago, and feels great satisfaction in himself. 

“I can’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t be after having had a taste of that,” he sighs, then he extends his hand to feel for the now empty entrance of Hans. He traces a finger over the muscle ring that contracts at the touch, and Hans shudders pleasantly at the sensation. 

“Do you like that your seed is inside me?” Hans whispers, clearly self-complacent but still so soft, making him a perfect paradox. And he’s on display for Henry. For him only.

Henry nods. His tongue feels very weird in his mouth. “If I hadn’t come a few minutes ago, I’d burst right now, you know that?”

Hans laughs at that, a noble and rich sound that would normally make his blood boil in irritation - right now it has the same effect, but out of helpless arousal.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m going to give you a cloth now and clean myself at the tub. And then I’ll hopefully be able to walk straight when I join you at the dining table.” Henry stands up from the bed to walk to said tub and dunk a new washcloth into the cool water.

“You will wait for a bit, Henry, after I leave this room. Count to 200 and then you will be able to sneak out unseen.”

Henry twists his face at that. He is turned away from Hans so that he can’t see the grimace. Henry knows that it’s the best for them to do it like that but he knows that this hide and seek game can firstly, go on for only so long until someone in Rattay is going to notice, and secondly, will be a pain in the arse until then and well after if things head south. Be as it may, it’s going to be exhausting. But Henry has never been a man who recoils when things get difficult and exhausting.

“I will,” he confirms, then turns to Hans who is still lying in bed, torso propped on his elbows and gaze lost in the opposite wall. He then accepts the cloth with a short nod. 

Somehow, it is as Hans has said. In bed, they are equal but outside of it, there still is the stark reality of their unlikeness, of their different ranks.

They are friends despite that. They are lovers independent from it. 

The realisation settles warmly in Henry’s chest. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise but Hans’s plan proves to be successful. When it comes to really important things, Hans is a master strategist with a nonchalant grandeur that makes others not even think once about the things he wants to hide, let alone twice.

His former romantic affairs have been the talk of the town, along with all the other things like brawls and petty crimes. He didn’t even have the will to hide the former and deny the latter. To be a secret that’s worth fighting and being Hans’s best self for is something that makes Henry all googly-eyed while he sits opposite to Hans at the long table. He forces his gaze down on his plate to cut the sausage with his knife. In his periphery, he can see Hans smirking warmly at him but when he looks up, Hans is playing with his cup of diluted wine in an aloof manner and only occasionally bats an eye towards Henry to signal that he’s still listening. 

Hans wants to know about the events of Sasau. He lets Henry talk about the monastery and doesn’t press when Henry only vaguely describes the reasons behind his infiltration. He asks about the daily routine of the monks and Henry’s chores, and furrows his brows when Henry tells him about the conversations he had about celibacy and the lonely lives the novices have to live from now on. Hans lets Henry explain his escape via boat with his target.

“...and when I finally held the reins of Pebbles in my hands I dashed through the lands to come back to your-” Henry is on the verge of standing up but stops himself by pinching his own thigh below the table. “...generous abode, for I now relish the freedom of Rattay and my place as your loyal servant even more than before.” He maneuvers his tongue around these words for them to come out quite casually and obedient but Hans looks at him with scrutinising eyes.

“I hope so,” he says slowly, and his voice does not hint at appreciation nor a warning. Henry tries a smile that quickly vanishes when Hans doesn’t reciprocate. Damn, Hans can be a tough nut to crack in public. I wish I knew how to do that. 

The prices of the merchants in Rattay have stayed the same. But once again, everything seems different. Nature is brighter, the clapping of hooves more melodic, the chatter of children and adults warmer. The whole world around Henry seems… so alive.

He knows it’s because of the butterflies he’s feeling inside his stomach. They are fluttering right up to his lips so he can’t fight the smile that is plastered to his face like a hickey. Hans hasn’t left any evidence of their lovemaking on Henry’s body. But Henry has, he remembers when he blocks the next hit of Bernard. It would make his cheek aflame and his cock stiff if he wasn’t currently busy fighting off an extremely vicious Bernard in the ring today. But the thoughts arise nonetheless. During his strike that aims towards Bernard’s jaw, he thinks about his cum being inside Hans’s guts. It spurs on a possessiveness that is unknown to him. Bernard blocks, then shoves him back with a force that nearly sends him to the ground. But his training pays off, he stabilises quickly and raises his sword again. Sweat trickles down his neck and back, making him think about the exertion of pumping his hips against Hans’s. At first, it scares him how much he wants to do it again and again, to practically breed the noble until his pretty face is red and debauched, his eyes unfocused and his arsehole gaping and full of his seed. 

It’s a fantasy , he tells himself while he steps forward for his next hit. His sword clinks against Bernard’s. And that’s perfectly fine. It doesn’t help though that the words of Hans echo through his head, now so much more real and so much more intriguing. 

“If that’s the case, I wouldn’t mind if you were a little rougher with me.”

“But I don’t want to-”

“I know; you won’t. You could never hurt me… not unless I want you to.”

Good Lord. Henry runs a hand over his too hot face. Hans wants this, he even told him that. Not the exact amount and dimension of what “being rougher” means but Henry suddenly is very willing to find out. Slowly, of course, but absolutely willing. 

Bernard is still not overly satisfied with his training. He tells him that once they have finished their practice when Henry is finally able to take off his helmet which feels like it’s melting on his too hot head. But Henry notices the longer look that Bernard regards him with, something like respect in there. 

As he walks to the river side to enjoy the late afternoon sun and to cool down his still too riled-up body, he realises that he wants to feel Hans inside him too. Preferably sooner than later. He doesn’t know how often they are able to make nights together happen. But there still are the hunting trips. To be pressed against a tree with his chest and cheek, feeling Hans behind him like a bulwark while he thrusts inside his lower belly is such a powerful image that Henry needs to sit down between the reeds and breathe a few times to make the sudden dizziness go away. It’s a bit much at first and he realises that not everything has to come true at once but it’s the sheer amount of possibilities and sexual wonders that are yet to be explored that it makes his head spin and his heart swell with unbelievable joy. 

He fidgets with the hems of his shirt and thinks of the next time they can be together and alone. Hopefully, it will be soon.

But business comes first, as always.

Henry feels for the dice in his pocket he has gotten from Pious who is over the hills and far away by now, hopefully.

He doesn’t know if he should tell Hans about those missions in detail, now that they’re more than friends. But his loyalty to Sir Radzig and Sir Hanush remains no matter the connection with Hans and that… is mandatory for Henry.

He clenches his fist around the dice and decides to head to the bandit camp right now. Better sooner than later.

Henry can’t wait for the moment he has his arms around Hans again. He had been a touch-starving man in the monastery and now that he has had not only a taste but the whole buffet in front of him, he can’t even bear one night alone. At least this first night after their first night. And morning. 

The visit to the bandit’s little camp was a success. Even lying about Pious’s body rolled easy off of his tongue, and the bandits were convinced at last to have a new and fully committed bandit on their side. 

They agreed to take Henry to the big camp tomorrow by the 7th hour. 

Hanush was immediately in favor upon hearing that, Radzig seemed troubled but agreed. They both were pleasantly surprised by his achievements.

Not bad for a blacksmith’s son. 

But this isn’t what keeps him awake at his hour. He lies in his bed, the wind slightly rattling around his room, the barely full moon shining through it. It is the thought of last night, of Hans’s eager and strong hands, of his addicting lips and cock, of the way they both fitted so well to each other and Henry’s cock inside Ha-

Henry moans at the rush of images in his head. His hand, formerly slowly stroking his cock, is now pumping it. He longs for Hans’s body warmth, for his sharp tongue that pierces through his skull and makes his brain go sluggish and bright. It’s almost more erotic than thrusting inside his tight oily hole - almost. Because seeing and feeling Hans taking him, seeing his arse gaping and clenching after having spilled inside is… orgasmic.

Henry comes with what sounds like a gurgle in his ears, his free hand coming up to catch the sperm that’s practically shooting from his cock like arrows from a bow. 

As the waves subside, he lets his head fall back onto the pillow and briefly closes his eyes. His breathing slows down. “Fuck, Hans…” he says into the empty room. 

He then sits up, cleans himself with water from the carafe, and goes back to bed. His thoughts are still running in his head. Not all of them are because of sorrows. Many are because of…

Hans loves me, he realises, and smiles dumbly into the darkness of the room. His noble arsehood loves me. Me, an uneducated village boor.

This thought and the memory of Hans’s lips on his own makes him drift off into sleep.

Silence greets him when he sneaks into the room he had sneaked out of almost 24 hours prior.

But there is a figure in the bed, and the sheets on top of it are softly rising and falling in the dim light of dawn. 

Henry walks nearer, then he stops right in front of the bed, suddenly unsure. He watches Hans’s sleeping silhouette. He is sleeping on his side, facing Henry; his hair is all over the place, and his mouth is slightly ajar. He looks both ready to fight and peaceful like this, and Henry involuntarily smiles at that. 

He kneels down beside the bed and bows his head. Somehow, it feels so right to do it. Now more than ever. 

The clinking of the sword is what makes Hans take a deeper breath in before he opens his eyes and looks at Henry.

“My Lord,” Henry murmurs. 

Hans doesn’t reply. He takes Henry’s light armor in for a long moment, then he extends his hand to card his fingers through Henry’s hair. It’s such a soft gesture that Henry sighs at it. Hans’s warm fingertips send pleasant tingles through his head. 

“You shouldn’t sneak in like that, I could’ve killed you with my dagger,” Hans says matter-of-factly.

Henry chuckles at that and leans into the palm that now cups his cheek. “Of course, my Lord.”

“You were lucky I was distracted.”

“By sleeping, Sir?” Henry smiles despite his jest.

“Now, now, no need to be insolent,” Hans replies while he leans forward and catches Henry’s lips with his own. 

The kiss is warm and wonderful.

“Come back soon,” Hans says when he leans back on his elbow. “I mean it.”

“I know.” Henry begins to stand up but hesitates at the last moment. “I love you,” he adds. It’s making his heart clench in beautiful pain.

There is silence. And then there’s an unbelievably soft smile on Hans Capon’s face. “I know,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion. 

Henry leans forward and kisses Hans. 

After a long moment, he tears himself away from the connection and stands up. 

When he mounts Pebbles and exits the city into the vast landscape of Bohemia in the morning light, he feels like nothing in the world could ever harm him.

Chapter Text

Hans

Henry has not returned.

Normally, this wouldn’t worry Hans. Henry is usually gone for several days at a time when he goes to carry out Radzig’s orders. 

But this time it’s different. Ever since their relationship shifted into something romantic - which actually isn’t too long ago, now that Hans thinks about it; has only a week passed since Henry kissed him for the first time? - Henry has taken to informing him on how long his adventures out of Rattay will take. Like yesterday, for example, Henry mentioned needing to investigate a large bandit encampment in Vranik. 

“If all goes well,” Henry had said to him after having reported back to Hanush and Radzig, “I shall hopefully be back by sundown.” 

It’s now deep into the night, and there are no signs of Henry. 

Of course, there is the possibility that Henry might have simply underestimated how much time he needed. Or perhaps he has gotten side-tracked on the way back, that considerate nature of his compelling him to help a stranger in need. 

But something in Hans’s gut tells him that this is not the case. 

Yet, there is nothing he can do. Firstly, and most importantly, he has no idea where this bandit camp is, and trying to trek through the heavily forested lands this late at night is certainly not going to make finding it any easier. Secondly, to go rushing in alone would spell doom for both himself and Henry. And lastly, what if he goes into the camp and it turns out Henry was actually on his way back to the castle? That would definitely cause more trouble for everyone, and he definitely does not need another stain on his already less-than-stellar reputation. 

Worry coagulates like a thick paste in the pit of his belly, an unpleasant and heavy weight that fills him with unease. He tries to sleep but his mind will not shut off, all the worst what-ifs playing over and over. He then paces around his room, hoping to burn off this nervous energy, but he becomes even more restless. When he gets tired, he returns to bed, but the worries come back all the same.

Tossing and turning. Walking endless circles around the room. The cycle repeats and continues. All the while hoping that there will be a knock on the door and Henry will be on the other side of it, safe and sound. 

The hours creep by painfully slow, and Hans feels increasingly useless with each passing hour. Why can’t he be brave enough to just go out and commit acts of bravery like a lord should? Henry certainly is, and he’s just a humble son of a blacksmith who is carrying out such courageous acts out of duty, despite knowing - or maybe, more often, not even knowing - how much danger he could face. 

Fear also accompanies such a thought. An unforeseen consequence of falling in love with Henry: as the servant of a lord, Henry will always be in harm’s way first. Even if he isn’t, that too-noble-for-his-own-good idiot will put himself there anyway, and there is nothing Hans can do to stop him. 

For the first time, he is confronted by the very real possibility of losing Henry.

He cannot imagine it, nor does he want to. Even considering it, this briefest of moments, sends a stabbing pain through his chest. 

No. He is alive and well. I know he is. 

He has to be.

By the time the first light of dawn shines through the window and the first crow of the cockerel reaches his ears, Hans has only managed to get about an hour’s sleep in total. Despite his exhaustion, he is unable to rest, but he needs to do something before he goes mad from inaction.

Once he hears the servants up and about, he does not wait for Mary-Ann or any of the others to call on him, deciding instead to head down to the kitchen himself. He forces down a buttered roll and a small cup of milk, knowing that he has to eat something now because his appetite is only going to worsen if Henry still does not show up.

After that, he orders for the private bath to be prepared. It’s one of the few things that is always able to calm him, so he’s hoping that it will give him some respite, no matter how small.

Not bothering to let it cool down, he gets into the scalding water, watching his skin turn pink from the heat. It burns, but once he gets used to it, he sinks lower until only his head is above the water. He takes a deep breath in, letting the steam and humidity work its magic.

But after a while, his mind wanders back to Henry. More specifically, he starts remembering the two times they shared a tub and how badly he wishes Henry is here with him. Now that they’re together, they no longer have to just sit at opposite ends while keeping their hands to themselves. 

What’s more, now that they’ve had sex, this opens up so many more possibilities for what they can get up to in the tub. 

However, Hans keeps his hands where they are. While he would be more than able to imagine these possibilities, he is not in the mood. It wouldn’t feel right anyway, not when he has no clue about Henry’s whereabouts.

So, he sits with closed eyes, focusing on the gentle lapping of the water as he prays for Henry’s safety. He’s not sure how much time has passed when he notices his skin starting to prune and wrinkle, deciding then to give himself a quick scrub before stepping out to get dried and dressed.

Upon leaving the room, he happens upon Radzig, whose eyes meet his. The older man gives a wave before jogging over. “Ah, Sir Hans, you might be interested to know that Henry has returned.”

What! It takes everything in Hans to control his expression, but even then he’s sure that some of his excitement and relief shows through. “Finally,” he says, trying to sound as annoyed as he used to be by Henry’s antics. “He told me that he would be back yesterday; what took him so long?”

Radzig frowns. “He was captured by the bandits, and he only managed to escape late last night. He just arrived less than an hour ago - the poor boy had to walk all the way without shoes.”

“Oh?” Hans is somehow able to hold back the flood of distress that wants to pour forth. “How is he?”

“He was quite badly beaten up, but even when I offered to call the physician, he refused,” Radzig says as he shakes his head. “He’s a stubborn one, but maybe you can get through to him. Last I heard, he wanted to return to his room.”

“I’ll go check on him.” And because he wants to make sure he keeps up the facade, he adds, “Can’t have such a good servant wasting away without proper medical attention.”

“Of course.” A knowing look crosses Radzig’s face. Hans panics: does he know? It wouldn’t be surprising - the man is much more perceptive than his uncle. But will he tell Hanush if he does? And what does he think? Radzig’s next words cut off his train of thought. “Take good care of him, alright?” And with a small smile, he walks away. 

Oh God, he knows. But Hans will worry about the implications of that later. Now, he has a much more important task at hand. 

He makes his way to Henry’s room at a brisk pace, even though every fiber of his person wants to run. When he gets there, he gives a few knocks before opening the door, finding Henry lying on his bed in dirty underclothes. 

“Sir Hans!” Henry starts, pushing himself up with a wince, the cuts and bruises clear on his face. 

Hans knows that there must be worse injuries underneath the clothes, so though he is relieved to finally see Henry, his concern for the man’s well-being far outweighs any other emotions. “Wait here and don’t move. I’ll be right back.” 

Hurrying to the kitchen, he rummages through the shelves where he knows the cook stores several healing concoctions for emergencies. Retrieving various ointments and poultices along with some clean rags as well as a flask of water, he then picks up a few of the buttered rolls he had earlier, tossing all of the items into a spare basket before returning to Henry. 

“Shirt off,” Hans orders as he shuts the door behind him. 

Surprised by the sudden reappearance, Henry squeaks out a confused “My Lord?”

“I can’t take care of your wounds through your shirt now can I?” Hans sits down beside him. “Come on, then, strip.”

Perplexed but in too much pain to object, Henry gingerly pulls off his undershirt. When he drops it to the side, Hans’s heart immediately aches. Spots of black and blue mar his skin, while red, angry scratches fill the spaces in between. 

Oh what did they do to you? He wonders, a surge of fury rising up in him. Yet, he knows the attackers will get their comeuppance soon enough, so he directs this fury elsewhere. “Did you really think you could just sleep all this off?”

“It’s worked before.” Henry shrugs noncommittally, earning an eye roll from Hans.

“You stubborn fool,” he sighs with no malice behind the words before gently working the salves and balms he gathered onto the injuries. “Tell me what happened.”

And so, Henry does, starting all the way from when he first entered Vranik. Hans only half pays attention, focused as he is on helping Henry. But in the moments he glances up to make sure he’s not hurting the man anymore than he already is (while he hopes that Henry will stop and let him know, he also knows that Henry will likely try to push through the pain in order to not be more of a bother), he manages to catch the key details, the two most important being that Istvan Toth is the mastermind behind of all the trouble plaguing the Lords of Leipa, and that Radzig is Henry’s real father. 

The latter is certainly the biggest revelation, but it somehow makes sense. Radzig had no reason to take in some inexperienced young lad as his page; sure, the blacksmith was a loyal and hardworking man, but that could not have been the sole factor. 

Hans studies Henry’s face after he reveals this fact. There is still shock in those blue eyes, as is to be expected, but there’s almost an acceptance too, as if he already had the same realisation that Hans just did, though it’s clearly still taking him some time to fully come to terms with it. 

Saying nothing, Hans continues working on Henry’s injuries, knowing that it’s best to let Henry figure out his feelings about this earth-shattering discovery on his own. 

So, he goes about in silence, letting the man continue his story, now on the part of the great escape. But it’s not until he’s moved to Henry’s chest, the site of a particularly large and nasty bruise, that he realises that Henry hasn’t said anything for a few minutes. He looks up to find him staring with a small smile and wonder in his eyes. 

“What, didn’t expect the great Sir Hans Capon of Pirkstein to be a healer?” Hans asks with a smirk.

“You said it, not me.” Henry smirks back, and Hans gives him a light pinch on his arm, making sure it’s on an unharmed patch of skin.

“Excuse you, I’ll have you know that I had a very extensive education. And as boring as the lessons were, I picked up enough to be able to help injured soldiers in battle should there be a lack of physicians.” He hasn’t had many chances to put such knowledge into practical use, but he’s glad that he still remembers enough.

“And I’m grateful for it.” Henry continues directing that awfully affectionate and amazed look at him, and he can’t help but blush self-consciously.

“Then why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, choosing to direct his attention back to the bruise.

“You taking care of me like this… I can’t help but think of my mother.” Henry’s voice turns wistful as he continues. “No matter how mad she would get, she would always patch me up whenever I got hurt, or after I got beat up in a fight. In fact, just hours before Skalitz was destroyed, she cleaned up my wounds just like you’re doing now. With gentle hands and unwavering focus.”

Hans glances up to see a sad but nostalgic smile pull at Henry’s lips. Is this the first time Henry has brought up his mother? And in combination with the recent discovery of his true parentage, Hans is not sure if Henry’s had enough time to mourn the loss of his past life, to fully grieve his parents whom he cherished. 

A small part of him smarts at the thought of having such an adoring mother and a man who took on the role of a father for a child who wasn’t even his. Hans can barely remember his own father, and while he has a handful of good memories of his mother, most of his upbringing was left to tutors and maids before he was whisked away to be under Hanush’s watchful eye. 

But this isn’t about him. 

“She sounds like a wonderful woman,” he says, to which Henry nods. Then, because he doesn’t want to add on emotional pain to the physical pain that Henry is currently experiencing, he adds, a little teasingly, “Though I’m sure she, as much as I am now, would rather we not be compared to each other. Especially not with what you and I are.”

A long pause passes before Henry asks, “... What are we, then?”

Hans stills, and neither does he look at Henry. Yes, what are they exactly?

Strangers who became quick mutual annoyances. 

Unwilling lord-and-servant soon after, but even that contentious dynamic swiftly turned into a rather good acquaintanceship. 

Then, a fragile, blossoming friendship, one that he so deeply feared would be torn apart, only to discover that they were both hiding what they truly wanted.

So many labels, but there is only one word that can properly describe what they are now.

Hans meets Henry’s gaze. “We’re lovers, aren’t we?”

Henry’s cheeks flush a brilliant red, accompanied by a beautifully warm smile. “I like the sound of that…” He reaches for Hans’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “... Very much.”

Hans can’t help but blush too at the abundance of adoration directed his way. He reaches for the rolls and hands them to Henry. “Here, eat this while I finish up, I’m sure you’re starving.”

Releasing his hold with a “thank you”, Henry starts chowing down, allowing Hans to work on the last of the injuries without distractions. (Not that they were bad, but Hans simply wants to get this done and have Henry cleaned up as quickly as possible, and he can’t do that with the man’s stupid handsome face and stupidly good use of words getting in the way.) 

It takes some time, but Hans soon applies the last bit of ointment. He knows that Henry would probably fare a lot better if a proper physician attends to his wounds, but for now he’s done his best, and he’s pretty proud of himself. He gathers the flasks back into the basket, and turning to Henry with a smile, he says, “All right, I’ve done what I can. Now, get some sleep, and I’ll be back in the evening to check on you again.”

He gets up and is about to reach for the door when two strong arms wrap around his middle, quickly followed by a broad chest pressed against his back. Then, Henry rests his chin on his shoulder. Henry’s voice is soft against his ear. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Hans replies, but Henry doesn’t let go. Instead, the hold gets a little tighter, and Henry starts pressing light kisses along the side of his neck, causing him to shiver. He releases a breathy and amused chuckle at Henry’s lack of subtlety. He wants to give in, but there are other priorities that they should be concerned with. Though it’s with no real conviction that he says, “You’re hurt, Henry. You should get some rest.”

He feels especially pliant when he’s unable to hold back a pleased sigh as Henry kisses a particular sensitive spot. His own hands hold onto Henry as he melts into the man’s touch, letting himself be carried away by the gentle intimacy.

He’s so lost in the sensations that he barely registers when Henry next speaks up, lips having moved to the other side of his neck. “You were all I thought about.”

“Huh?” Hans mumbles, trapped in a daze by how nice Henry’s lips feel.

“When I was held captive. Lying on that dirty ground all bruised and bloody, I felt like death. Every part of my body wanted to simply give up and give in. But I couldn’t, because I had to come back to you, my Lord. The thought of you kept me going, and carried me all the way back to the castle to ensure that I would see you again.” 

Each word drips with reverence, seared into the column of Hans’s neck. Oh, what great fortune has smiled down upon him, blessing him with such a man. He breathes out. “And here you are.”

Henry’s lips curl into a smile. “And here I am.”

“I was terrified,” Hans confesses, but there is no shame. “For the first time, I had to think of what would happen if I lost you.”

“But you didn’t lose me. And you won’t. Not ever. I will always be here for you. No matter what may happen, I will fight like hell to be by your side. On my life, I swear this to you.” A vow of pure devotion that could send even the holiest of angels into tears. Yet, Hans holds strong, because he will not cry now, not when Henry is also gently frotting against him, the man’s growing erection oh so obvious. 

There is really only way this interaction can end, but Hans has always been rebellious, so despite how much he so badly wants , he manages to put forward one last piece of resistance. “You need to get some rest,” he repeats, managing to make it sound more authoritative than before.

“And I will, I promise.” Henry rocks his hips forward, pressing his bulge directly against the cleft of Hans’s ass. “But my Lord, please let me defy your orders this one time.”

This one time? Hans wants to laugh, but instead he reaches up to card his hand through Henry’s hair. Pulling him away from his neck, he tilts his own head back and brings their lips together in a fiery kiss. 

The next minute is a bit of a blur, the passage of time lost in a haze of passion. Hans is just barely aware of deft fingers making quick work of removing his clothes, Henry just pulling back ever so slightly to let them fall to the ground. Once that’s done, Henry’s lips return to his neck, but this time they go to the nape, then down the length of his spine, soft open-mouthed kisses pressed onto skin as he makes his journey southward.

All the while, Hans has one hand braced against the door, the other pulling on his own hardening cock with short slow strokes to give himself some relief. He’s biting on his lower lip, knowing that there are several guards in the courtyard on the other side of the door, along with various servants that are sure to be milling about. This is why he invited Henry to his room for their first time: he can’t be as loud as he wants to here.

But when Henry places a kiss right at the base of his spine, the shiver it causes allows a gasp to escape. Then, he hears Henry ask, voice rough with desire, “My Lor- Hans, will you allow me to try something?”

Hans just nods, physically incapable at the moment to ask for more details but also putting his faith in Henry so completely that he knows he doesn’t need to. 

Upon gaining the permission he sought, Henry reaches up to grab the firm globes of Hans’s ass, kneading them and spreading them, exposing him. A puff of warm breath, and before Hans can even react to that , there's a wet glide of what is unmistakably a tongue over his hole.

“Fuck!” Hans cries out. He clamps a hand over his mouth immediately after, because Henry licks again and again, over and over, each one eliciting whimpers that he can barely suppress.

There’s a pause, and Henry asks, hesitantly eager, “Do you like that?”

Hans nods again, because he does not trust that actual words will come out. 

“Then I think you will like this too.” Only a fleeting second of anticipation passes when Henry, despicably amazing man that he is, presses his tongue past the ring of muscle and into Hans.

The moan that leaves Hans is long and loud, hand having dropped back to his cock as he feels ecstasy shoot straight up his spine and to each of his extremities. He strokes himself a few more times, but it does not bring relief. How can it, when Henry is licking up into him and tasting him like a man starved. 

“Henry, this is…” he whines as a bunch of words float through his mind. Dirty? Obscene? Sinful? All of the above and so damn good? Only a whimper comes out, because all he can think about right now is how he wishes for there to be a mirror so that he can watch as they engage in this filthy act, as Henry’s face is buried between his arsecheeks while his own face is contorted in pure bliss. 

Before it can become too much, Henry pulls away. There is the pop of a flask being uncorked, followed by the sound of liquid being poured and the squelch of what must be said liquid being spread around on a hand. 

Just as he feels Henry’s slick fingers circling his hole, Hans warns, “Slowly. Unless you want me to come right now.”

“Do you want to?” Henry asks, both smug and sincere.

“Not yet.” Hans twists his head back as far as he can, just about managing to catch Henry’s gaze. “Not until you’re fucking me.”

“Of course, but you have to be patient a little while longer.” Those blue eyes darken, and Henry pushes in two fingers slowly, gradually building up a slow rhythm as requested. “I need to make sure you’re ready to take my cock.”

Hans moans, closing his eyes as he tries his best to time his strokes with the movement of Henry’s fingers. “You have a very dangerous tongue, you know that?”

He can hear the smirk on Henry’s face. “As do you, my Lord. The noises that come out of your mouth, I don’t think I’ve heard anything sweeter.” 

“Christ, Henry.” How this man so easily produces such suave lines, he has no clue, but it’s certainly both a blessing and a curse. “That thing that you did with your tongue… where did you learn it?”

“I’ve done something similar with women before, though not many times. It’s not the same, I know, but just now, looking at you, I had the overwhelming urge to try, so I did.”

There is no jealousy to be felt over Henry’s past sexual encounters. There’s no need to, not when Henry’s words bring with them a fresh reminder that he is Henry’s first experience with a man, and he is determined to be the only. They are each other’s first in so many different ways, with what just occurred another, and that is something no one can take away from them.

He’s mine, Hans thinks, possessiveness washing over him. And I’m never letting him go.

“I’m ready,” Hans mumbles a short while later. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”

“Okay,” Henry breathes out, removing his fingers. There’s the rustle of fabric, and Hans turns back to see Henry pulling his braies down and kicking it away, revealing his already very erect cock. Henry pours more of the liquid - which turns out to be one of the oily salves that Hans had brought over - onto his member, using a hand to coat himself with slow strokes that bring out a few groans of pleasure.

Then, with one hand on Hans’s hip, he guides himself to Hans’s hole and pushes in, not stopping until he’s buried to the hilt.

Pressing his mouth into the bicep of the arm that he has braced against the door, Hans moans, vividly feeling every inch of Henry’s cock. The exhilarating stretch is something he’s sorely missed, even though it’s only been slightly longer than a day since they last had sex.

He feels Henry’s forehead resting between his shoulder blades. “I’m going to move now.”

In response, Hans simply whines a “Yes”.

Henry starts, slowly at first, gradually building up to a pace where every thrust has their bodies meeting with a solid smack. The hand on Hans’s hip grips firmly, while he moves the other arm to wrap around Hans’s chest, fingers digging into the flesh of his side, holding him steady as he fucks him.

All Hans can do is to keep moaning into his own arm. It’s barely muffled, because Hans can’t control his volume. He doesn’t want to, not when Henry is making him feel this damn good. Any sort of self-restraint is hanging on by a thread, and every single part of his brain that is still somehow rational is trying desperately to keep it from fraying any more than it already has.

But of course, it’s as if Henry has read his mind, because the next words out of the man’s mouth are pure filth, made even more obscene by how husky his voice is. “If only you could see yourself, how well you’re taking me. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of such a beautiful sight.”

And just like that, the thread snaps. 

“Henry,” Hans moans. It echoes in this tiny room, and he can only hope that the door is thick enough to insulate any sound. Especially now that he’s no longer able - nor willing - to control himself.

The man answers the call instantly, returning to his full height. The hand that was on Hans’s hip goes up to his jaw, tilting Hans’s face back so that Henry can kiss him. 

The angle is a little uncomfortable for his neck, but that’s yet another thing he doesn’t care about right now. Henry’s cock is pounding into him and Henry’s tongue is in his mouth - these are much more important matters to preoccupy himself with. 

“You’re being quite loud,” Henry says when he pulls away, his hand remaining on Hans’s jaw.

“I thought you like hearing me?” Though he’s being thoroughly ravished, Hans still has enough presence of mind to tease when he needs to. 

“I do. You know I do, but…” The uncertainty in his voice juxtaposed against the fact that he’s still thrusting - though he has slowed down slightly - makes Hans feel a little delirious. But he understands Henry’s concerns; after all, he just had the same ones a few minutes prior.

Yet, for now, he does not care. 

“I will try to keep my voice down, but I will not shut up.” He pushes his hips back, earning a delightful moan from Henry. “I want you, Henry, and I want you to hear how much, how badly I desire you so that you never forget.”

A beat, then, the hand returns to Hans’s hip, holding tighter than before. Henry speeds back up, returning to the pace he has set before. He punctuates his next sentence with a particularly hard thrust. “I won’t, ever.” 

And it seems like Hans has unknowingly given Henry the permission to let loose as well. He groans, loudly, against the back of Hans’s neck, lips and breath hot against the sensitive skin. Over and over again, he presses wet kisses onto Hans’s nape, timing each one with a snap of his hips.

Henry’s sudden fascination with his neck is not lost on Hans, despite most of his mental faculties focused on how well he’s being fucked. “... You want to mark me?”

“Hans,” Henry groans, the name coming out thick with lust but noticeably laced with shame. He wants to, that is abundantly clear, but he does not dare make such a request.

But Hans is more than happy to help voice it for him.

“You dare to leave a love bite on your Lord?” he asks teasingly, feeling particularly smug when he hears Henry whimper at the question. I will take that as a yes, then, you insolent bastard. It shouldn’t be this arousing, the thought of Henry leaving a hickey that might risk exposing the true nature of their relationship. Yet it is, and there is nothing more that Hans could want. “Do it. Mark me. Let everyone know that I’m yours.”

There is no pause, no wait this time. Henry simply whispers Hans’s name again before pressing his lips to a spot just right below where his collar usually starts, pulling a tiny bit of skin between his teeth and biting .

Hans hisses at the sting, but it is quickly soothed as Henry lavishes the mark with a soft kiss. The contrast with the hard meeting of their bodies makes him shiver.

Then Henry does it again, once on the right side of Hans’s neck, then another on the left. Three marks, three lovely bruises that are sure to fully blossom within the hour. With one last kiss, Henry pulls back slightly, and Hans doesn’t have to turn around to know that the man is observing his work. 

“So beautiful, Hans,” Henry breathes out, that reverential tone never failing to send a flutter through him. “You’re…”

“Say it,” Hans says, half plea, half order. “I know you want to. Let me hear it.”

Something seems to change within Henry at these words. Pressing his entire torso along Hans’s back, he also tightens the grips he has around Hans’s chest, holding their bodies even closer together. So much so that Hans is sure that that is Henry’s rapid heartbeat he can feel against his back. 

Then, with a voice low and rough with hunger, Henry says, almost a growl, “You’re mine.”

Hans’s response tumbles all too easily from his lips. “I’m yours.”

Things get infinitely more intense after that. Henry’s thrusts become more shallow as he attempts to keep their bodies flush, but he does speed up to compensate. As for Hans, the hand that he was using to stroke himself flies back up again, only this time it’s to grab onto Henry’s arm that is around his chest. 

He wants to anchor himself, but he also wants to increase his points of contact with Henry.

Not that there isn’t enough. In fact, it’s more than, with Henry’s pressed against his back. Henry is broader than him, not by a lot, but the difference is still obvious, none more so than right now as he is enveloped by Henry’s solid chest and strong arms. It is not stifling in the slightest; far from it, as Hans feels nothing but safe and loved in Henry’s embrace, as he did all the previous times Henry has held him. 

But it is incredibly warm. As a (adopted) son of a blacksmith and having grown up near a forge, Henry seems to burn warmer than the average person. It might be partially caused by their bodies’ exertion, but to Hans, it somehow feels even hotter than the bath water from earlier. 

However, while the water relaxed him, this heat does the exact opposite. It adds to the fire raging inside him, a flame that seems to increasingly melt away his verbal capabilities. All that leaves his mouth now is Henry’s name, the two syllables gasped and panted. He’s not even sure why he’s calling out for Henry when the man’s presence is overwhelming, both physically and mentally, but some part of him just wants, needs more Henry.

In contrast, Henry’s speech has not worsened at all, reacting just as Hans knows he would. “I’m here, my Lord. Hans . I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

I know, Hans thinks, losing him in the comforting knowledge that Henry’s oath of fealty undoubtedly goes beyond just that of a servant. It is a devoted promise, a love that he thought only existed in fairy tales and myths. Yet, here he is on the receiving end of it, but this isn’t a dream. No, it is beautifully real, and it is his reality.

So consumed by both lust and adoration, Hans is reduced to just moans and gasps as he lets Henry take care of him. Henry, too, is also moaning in pleasure, their combined voices filling the room. It’s only a few minutes later that Henry groans, “I’m close… Can I…?”

Hans knows what he is seeking permission for. He grabs harder onto Henry’s forearm, feeling his nail dig into the skin. “Please.”

Having gotten Hans’s consent, Henry’s rhythm begins to falter, thrusting into Hans at an irregular beat. He’s panting now, the erotic sound pushing Hans closer to the peak. But he wants Henry to come first, wants to be alert as he feels Henry come inside him.

So, as close as he is, he holds on, waiting with heated anticipation. Thankfully, it happens soon enough, and with a final hard thrust of the hips and a groan, Henry spills into him.

Hans knows he will never get tired of this feeling, of Henry’s cock twitching inside him as his cum coats his insides. The sensation has him whimpering, now right at the edge of his own climax. He’s almost there, and the needy cry leaves him before he can even process it. “Henry, help me- I need-”

He chokes on a gasp, because Henry’s hand that was on his hip wraps around his cock, stroking it firmly. “I’ve got you,” comes the reply, ragged and breathless but sincere all the same.

Hans closes his eyes as he savours the roughness of Henry’s warm and tight grasp. And only now does he realise that Henry is still inside him, thrusting gently, seeming to push the cum even deeper, now truly marking him from both inside and out. 

The thought of that, combined with the stimulation from both ends, is all it takes.

“Fuck, Henry, I-” He never finishes the sentence, cut off by his orgasm striking him like a solid whack to his chest, leaving him gasping as the shocks of pleasure run through his body. He comes with a long, drawn-out moan into Henry’s hand, which continues to stroke him through it, seemingly intent on coaxing out every last drop. 

Even as the waves of euphoria slowly subside, the fog of lust still heavily clouds his mind. He’s not sure how long it takes for him to fully settle down, but it does take a while for him to realise that Henry is calling out to him. “Hans, you alright?”

Hans blinks a few times. The fog clears slightly, and only now does he feel Henry nosing along the sharp line of his jaw, then nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

“Christ, Henry. I think I’ve indulged you too much,” Hans says in mock annoyance, tilting his head to the side to give Henry better access. “You’ve become far too bold.”

“Isn’t that what you like about me?” Henry asks, the smirk clear in his voice and obvious against the neck. He even follows it up by pressing his lips to the love bite he had left behind.

Hans shudders at the touch, but he powers through it. “Cheeky fucker,” he chuckles before playfully elbowing Henry. “Now come on, let’s get cleaned up.”

Slowly, Henry releases his hold and pulls out. Still feeling a little wobbly in the knees, Hans remains braced by the door, hearing Henry retrieve the leftover clean rags as well as the water. 

However, the noises behind him suddenly stop, and Hans glances over his shoulder to find Henry standing there, eyes transfixed on something. Hans is about to open his mouth to ask, but then he feels cum drip out of his hole and down his thighs. 

Ah, so that’s what it is.

And because he really does love riling Henry up, he leans forward on his arms a little more, arching his back and pushing his arse out. He throws Henry a sultry look to seal the deal. “You like what you see?”

He feels like a depraved whore, what with him presenting himself despite having just been utterly debauched and the evidence of their lovemaking still staining him. But it’s all worth it when Henry’s mouth drops open slightly, those blue eyes visibly darken, the veins in Henry’s arm pop as his hand clenches around the rags. He releases a deep breath, sounding strained when he says, “God, Hans. If I wasn’t in pain, I would take you all over again.”

Hans’s mind clears in an instant. Oh fuck, that’s right, Henry’s hurt.

Only now does he remember the whole reason he came down here to Henry’s room in the first place. His vision refocuses, seeing and remembering the bruises and cuts on Henry’s face and body. 

Standing back upright, he tries to ignore the guilt nagging at him from having likely aggravated Henry’s injuries. “I knew I should have stopped you. Sit down.”

“But-” Henry tries to object, but when Hans pulls the rags out from his hands, Henry fails to hide a wince. 

“Sit your arse down, Henry. That’s an order.” Hans glares at him, and he obeys. After cleaning himself up and getting dressed as quickly as possible, Hans takes a seat beside him, checking over his wounds worriedly. “You should have said something, you idiot. Now look at you!”

“I know, I know, but I could not resist.” Henry smiles sheepishly, taking one of Hans’s hands in his and weaving their fingers together. “I missed you too much. I could not bear being away from you a moment longer.”

How is Hans supposed to resist something as charming as that? He huffs, though he doesn’t pull his hand away. “Well, now that you’ve had your fill, will you finally get some rest?”

“I will, but only if you lie here next to me.” Those soulful blue eyes are even harder to say no to, and Hans internally curses at his own weak resolve when it comes to Henry. 

But as much as he wants to, Henry’s bed is just too small for both of them. Yes, he could probably lie on top of Henry, but he will not do that to an injured man. “Squeezing onto this tiny bed of yours is not going to do either of us any good.” 

He doesn’t want to leave either, so he thinks of a good compromise. Dragging the stool that’s in the corner of the room over, he takes a seat beside the bed. “But I will stay here with you… just to make sure you fall asleep, of course.”

“Of course,” Henry grins. With some painful maneuvering, he lies down with his head turned towards Hans. He smiles so affectionately that Hans can’t help but reach forward, rubbing a thumb gently over a dark bruise on his cheek. “I’m alright, Hans. Really.”

“I know,” Hans smiles back, though his heart still aches. He moves to card his fingers through Henry’s hair, softly massaging his scalp. A sense of relief and fondness wash over him as Henry starts to drift, struggling to keep his eyes open. “Get some sleep. I’ll be right here.”

Henry nods before burying his head into his pillow, and the last thing he mumbles before he falls asleep is “I love you.”

With a full heart, Hans leans forward, resting his chin on his crossed arms on the mattress, face inches away from Henry’s. He studies it, noticing that some lines have disappeared with slumber, making the man look younger - or more precisely, his age. 

It strikes Hans at random times such as this, the fact that Henry is only a few years older than him, having been forced to mature in a short amount of time due to horrific circumstances. Yet, in the time he’s known Henry, the man has never seemed scared; a little out of his depth occasionally, but never afraid, always willing to face things head on.

Ironically, it’s Hans who is terrified. A fear that far outweighs any of the anxiety he felt when he still believed Henry wouldn’t reciprocate his feelings. A fear borne out of a realisation that if he were to lose Henry in any way, it would utterly devastate him. And this is only the beginning; as their love for each other deepens, the loss will only become that much more excruciating. With the world they live in, death is very much a possibility, one that is increased tenfold for someone like Henry. 

Was this a mistake? Should I have let him in?

The softness of Henry’s hair brings him back to himself. He continues to play with it, unable to stop himself from smiling as Henry begins to snore. These ground him, and they are what he focuses on. 

Eventually, Hans finds himself feeling sleepy too. The worry of last night and this morning, plus the exertion from their reunion must have finally caught up to him. Making himself comfortable, he closes his eyes, fingers still threaded through Henry’s hair.

No, he thinks as sleep takes over. If I didn’t let him in, I would have never gotten to experience this.

~

Hans wakes with a start. 

Yawning, he sits up while also making sure that his movements don’t wake Henry. Thankfully, Henry is still deep asleep, body not having moved at all. The poor man must be seriously exhausted.

Realising that it’s probably best to give Henry some proper peace and quiet to recover, Hans gets up as silently as possible. Then, pressing a light kiss to Henry’s forehead, he whispers, “I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.”

Again, as quietly as he can, he leaves, making sure to fully shut the door behind him. Looking up at the sky, he sees that the sun is significantly lower than when he arrived. Judging by this, no more than three hours have passed. It will be awkward to explain to anyone why he spent so much time in Henry’s room, but being in a much better mood than he was this morning, he pushes aside that concern for now. 

However, even such pleasant feelings are quickly dampened when he notices that the castle is abuzz with activity. Guards are running about, preparing horses and armour and weapons. 

This is never a good sign, so he searches for an explanation. Luckily, he finds Captain Bernard, who is currently shouting orders to a group of soldiers. “Captain, what’s happening?”

“Did Henry not tell you?” Bernard turns to him with a deep furrow between his brows. “We’re going to attack Vranik tomorrow night and get that bastard Toth. Sir Radzig and your uncle are already making their way there. Henry is to ride to Talmberg this evening to inform Sir Divish and join them in the raid.”

“Today?” Hans can’t hold back his shock. Henry had told him that the Lords were planning on attacking Vranik at night for the best strategic advantage, but he didn’t mention that it was going to be this soon. Immediately, Hans’s concern is for Henry. “But Captain, Henry is still recovering. He is in no shape to fight.”

Bernard’s expression softens ever so slightly, a foreign look on the usually-stern man’s face. “I understand, which is why Sir Radzig wanted me to only wake him once everything is prepared. I can give him another hour, maybe two at most, but we do need him; he’s the only one who knows the layout and weaknesses of the camp.”

Hans panics internally, because he knows that no matter how much pain Henry is in, he will carry out his duty and fight. And in such a condition, who knows whether or not he’ll make it out alive.

Trying to think of a solution, he says, “Then, I shall join you. I’m sure you will need all the available-”

Bernard reaches out a hand to stop him. “Lord Capon, your uncle has given orders that he wishes for you to stay here in the castle. We still need to leave some forces behind in case of an ambush, and he wants you to be in charge of the defences should that happen.”

Damn it, Hans internally curses. Damn you, Hanush. Why now, of all times?  

Once again, there is nothing he can do. Hoping that his true feelings do not show, he manages to grit out a “Very well.” Satisfied, Bernard returns to barking orders at his men.

Hans wants so badly to return to Henry, but if Henry truly is going to be part of the attack - and Hans is sure that he will be - then he needs all the sleep he can get. Going back will only disturb him and potentially make things worse. 

He refuses to let his worst fear come true. And if that means walking away and letting Henry regain the strength he needs to head into yet another fight… then so be it.

Fuck. Hans forces himself to start walking back to his room, where his armour awaits. Each step hurts, making him feel more useless and pathetic. 

Why can’t I protect him?

Chapter Text

Henry

Bernard stands right in front of his door when Henry opens it.

His body is aching but it seems that nothing is broken. Just badly bruised. He shouldn’t have indulged in Hans’s pliant body, he knows it, but the heat of the moment and the softness of Hans’s touch and love before and after was… intoxicating. He still can’t wrap his head around the fact that they are lovers. It makes him giddy with a happiness that is so stark in contrast to the labour he has to face.

And yet, it doesn’t bother him. 

Love has made him strong and resilient in a way that has nothing to do with his physical training.

Bernard doesn’t know it but the look he gives him is appreciative and a bit sympathetic when he informs him about the mission to reach Talmberg before the sun has set. Henry nods dutifully, scrubs his face in the trough, and prepares Pebbles. Hans is nowhere to be seen, and for the first time in their relationship, Henry is glad about it.

Seeing Hans’s face and stoic body language on the stairs while he watches him leave would make this harder than it already is. Henry pulls the saddle tighter around Pebbles and grits his teeth. He wants to serve, with all his heart, but for the first time there is a tear in it that pulls him towards Hans’s chamber and into his bed sheets to never to emerge from them again. To serve only his Lord, with body and soul; and to hell with Bohemia.

But he doesn’t give in. Neither does Hans, Henry thinks as he hears about Hans staying behind to defend Rattay if necessary, and this is the final push that makes Henry breath into his bruised chest and mount Pebbles. He rides through and out of Rattay, not looking back. 

The ride to Talmberg is filled with scenarios of Rattay being attacked and how to convince Sir Divish if he doesn’t believe Henry. The latter is soon proven unnecessary as Divish almost ardently encourages Radzig’s plan. He sees Henry grimacing as he invites him to sit down to eat dinner, and with a knowing look, he orders him to go to sleep right after filling his stomach. Henry wants to object but Divish is adamant. 

So Henry dutifully eats bread, cheese and grapes, and washes it down with watered wine before being led to a freshly prepared ornamented guest room with a real feather bed to sleep in. Henry tries to argue with the maid that this noble guest room certainly is not suitable for a man of his standing but the maid only shakes her head knowingly and wishes him a good night’s rest. 

Henry sighs, then winces when his bruises and cuts make notice of themselves. He undresses, washes himself in the little tub that has warm water in it, then lays down on the spacious bed that is heavenly soft and soothing to his body. It’s nothing compared to Hans’s bed, especially as there is no Hans next to him right now, and he misses his lord with a strength that is keeping him from dozing off. He wants to feel Hans’s grounding fingers in his hair again, misses the way he tends to his wounds with focused and benevolent movements. He wants to go to sleep knowing that Hans is keeping watch over him. He wants to feel protected. It is a vulnerability that he hasn’t allowed himself since Skalitz.

But now things have changed. He now has a living and breathing father. He now has a noble lover whom he trusts his life with.

Henry sighs into the pillows and allows the tears of loss and gain and pain to finally fall.

The regiment of riders that emerge from Talmberg are a sight to behold. Heads turn when they ride across the lands, some of the people even waving to them. Henry manages to restrain himself from waving back but he smiles, adrenaline and pride working inside him. They make their way to Vranik, Henry guiding them there.

The soldiers and noblemen of Rattay are already there, having established a camp of their own with a direct view towards the fortified bandit camp.

Everything happens in a blur then. Henry is busy with checking his armour and weapons, only to be busy with listening to the nobles and learning attack plans and strategies later on; and suddenly, the sun is almost setting and they are on their way inside the bandit’s camp, the sound of the horns still in Henry’s oversensitive ears. 

It’s bloody, it’s straining. His body aches but he manages to stay off any new cuts and bruises while his enemies fall to the ground in front of him. 

At first, he doesn’t realise that Istvan Toth isn’t here anymore, but he is the one who finds the letter in his abandoned tent. The following quarrel between his… father and Hanush is not lost to him, and somehow, it reminds him of Hans and himself. Henry braces his gloved fists on his hips and looks into the already brightening sky, a deep voiceless sigh worming its way out of him.

So this is my life now, he thinks - standing amongst corpses of enemies and thinking about his undoubtedly dutiful lover whose trenchant words he misses.

Once again, they leave in a hurry, arriving head over heels in Talmberg in the early morning sun, only for Radzig to get captured by Toth and for Divish to get shot in the shoulder.

Henry steps forward when the question arises who would try and rescue the hostages at night, a strange yet familiar loyalty burning in him. Radzig, his father, being captured has ignited a sense of protectiveness and closeness in Henry, making it the only logical decision for him. The nobles don’t object, somehow sensing what is working through the young man. He is grateful that they don’t say a word about it.

A camp is built in the valley below Talmberg. And when the sun sets, it seems that Lady Luck has granted Henry a bit of her grace, because when he looks up from sharpening his sword, a familiar horse with an even more familiar figure on it rides towards camp, accompanied by two flag bearers.

Henry’s heartbeat accelerates. With trembling hands, he puts the grindstone away and leans away from his blade to not cut himself with it. He already feels drunk on emotions when Hans, clad in dark and form-fitting robes, dismounts and takes a quick look around before being greeted and led into the tent of the discussing lords and advisors. 

He has met Henry’s gaze from across the busy square, briefer than what would be considered obvious but longer than necessary to just recognise his servant. Henry feels his pulse in his jaw. The look was far away and without anything in both body language or facial expression that hints at approval or even any friendly feelings - but Henry knows. He knows it as sure as night follows day. 

I love you , was in this gaze, wholly and truthfully.

Henry stares at the flapping of the tent and remembers to breathe, turning back to his sword again, having to remember how to sharpen it.

The arrival of Sir Hans Capon of Pirkstein causes a buzz in the camp. 

People run around. Chatter arises. And while Henry tries to remain subtle and inconspicuous while not really paying attention to what he’s actually doing, fate has a different idea. Bernard comes stomping to him and nearly hauls him to his feet by words alone. Only a few blurry moments later, Henry stands in the tent of Divish, and Hans is just one arm length away.

There it is again, this physical pull. Henry has to use nearly all of this focus on not tilting towards Hans, to keep his limbs and his torso by his own side. His heart wants to jump out of his chest and into Hans’s arms to be held and caressed. 

Somehow, Henry manages to notice the main points of the discussion the lords have, and he is relieved that they only spare a few glances his way and don’t speak to him; or worse, want him to talk. 

Hans is left out of the discussion too, but he seems at ease at that, a truly unusual attitude from him. He has his arms braced on his hips, weight shifted on one leg, and looks at the nobles around the table who have their arms against their chins except for Divish who has his arm in a sling and looks a bit ill. But Hans has a slight smile on his face and a soft but attentive look in his eyes. He doesn’t look over at Henry but Henry knows that he is taking him in, with the same soft attention he is regarding the meeting with.

Then Hanush turns to leave and waves for Henry to follow him. 

The sun is setting quickly and Henry is once again briefed on how to perform the stealth mission. While he changes his armor for subtle black fabric, he tries not to think about Radzig as a hostage but fails. The anger it provokes only spurs him on. 

When he steps out of the tent with his belongings, he feels determined and focused. 

The sun has set, and night has taken its place. Someone else takes a place: Hans, who suddenly stands next to Henry right before his departure to Talmberg’s walls. That Hans wants to accompany him only filters through when the young noble says, “Besides, who else will keep this hothead from raising bloody mayhem?” and turns his body to smile smugly at Henry.

Before Henry can do anything about it, a smile spreads on his face. With a soundless huff, he shakes his head at Hans who practically beams at him with those beautiful blue eyes that reflect the torch light around them. I’m your Lord, Henry, his gaze says - steady, unwavering - and I provide for you. Always will.

He is the relieving anchor of reliability for Henry’s tense state.

Oh Henry wants to kiss him. 

They are going to save the hostages, he is certain about it. 

I must stop being hopeful about missions , Henry thinks. Radzig and Stefanie are elsewhere, Hans suddenly was the voice of reason to Henry’s hot stubbornness, and the mission ended with alarm bells ringing and an arrow that sunk deep into Hans’s bottom.

“Kurva!” Hans hisses for the fourth time. He’s on Henry’s shoulders and somehow now of all times has the urge to babble over the angry sounds of the bells and the shouts of soldiers in the background. “Can’t you handle me a bit more gently, you yokel?” Hans whines, and Henry groans deeply while making his way along the wall back to the ladder. 

“Shh!” Henry snaps again, and Hans just sighs in irritation or pain. 

Henry can feel warm liquid on his right hand where he holds on to the back of Hans’s thigh, and tries to hurry as silently as possible. 

He manages to get to the ladder, the soldier below still holding on to and stabilising it. They nod towards each other, and with swift but cautious movements, Henry begins his descent with a now barely moving Hans on his shoulders. 

“This could have been more successful. But at least we freed the hostages,” Hans says with a breath.

“My father and Stefanie are still in there,” Henry picks up his argument from earlier while setting one foot after the other and down towards the grass.

“And we will free them,” Hans says, in a final tone. Henry sets his jaw.

It’s the last thing the young lord says during their way back. He has fallen asleep, as Henry confirms with a long look to his shoulder. Two soldiers of Divish offer to carry the noble but Henry violently shakes his head and nearly shows his teeth at them. They retreat quickly with a murmured “Very well.”, and Henry feels both ashamed and on the edge, like needing to punch the first one that gets too close to Capon, or to punch Capon himself. He is between chairs for this one.

But there is clarity in his movements too, a certain buzz in his step because he knows: Hans is going to be well. He fell asleep on Henry’s shoulder despite the wound in his arse. And he has saved them both from being overwhelmed and killed. Henry knows this despite the rage that still works inside of him. Hothead that he is. 

Henry could both laugh and cry and scream. But he doesn’t. With a focused gaze, he walks back towards the camp silently, bloody mayhem behind his back; his lover, his nuisance, his saviour safe and alive on his shoulders. 

“Look who’s here to check in with my glorious arse,” Hans says with a grin from his bed. “I would stand up to greet my loyal friend but it so happens that this is unwise as of now.”

Truly, the sight of Hans laying on his side in fetal position is horribly wrong. But he grins mischievously and lifts the light blanket off of his lower body to reveal his arse that is wrapped in bandages. 

“You look like an infant,” Henry says, barely able to keep the grin off his face. Hans just scoffs but doesn’t deny it.

Henry comes closer and sinks down on his knees once he’s made sure that no one is around the tent Hans has occupied. Then he extends his hand and rests his fingers on his lord’s cheek. “Hans,” he breathes, a weight suddenly lessening inside his chest.

Something softens and widens in Hans’s eyes at the address. “Kiss me,” Hans says, whispers almost. So Henry does. He leans to Hans and finds the lips he has come to adore so much. The kiss tastes like the sweetness of the first bite of a cherry in the late summer, of sun beams, of a gentle touch on his scalp. 

Hans smiles slowly and wholly at him when they part. “I missed you.”

Henry knows what he means - this, the quiet naturalness of them both together. He closes his eyes as Hans cups his cheek and strokes his thumb over his cheekbone. “Me too,” he says on a long exhale. “You know, I wanted to kill you when you started objecting to me in the castle.”

Hans’s hand wanders upwards, then his fingers run over Henry’s scalp, scratching gently. “Mmh-mh. And now?” the noble asks non-committedly.

“Now I don’t.”

“We’re both alive, so you still have a chance,” Hans replies just as easily.

Henry snorts, then bridges the gap between them and kisses Hans again, hungrily this time. With desperation and a silent prayer in every movement of his lips, of his tongue. I’m yours. I’m utterly yours.

“Aye, someday I will take it,” Henry says, sighing against Hans’s lips like a starving man who just drank from a source of water - to Henry, the only source there is.

“So who’s the buffoon?” Hans asks, certainly referring to the mutter under Henry’s breath atop the walls. So he heard him. Of course. His voice, though, is soft. 

Henry looks at him, enjoying the domestic movement of Hans’s thumb on his cheekbone. “You. Getting shot in the arse? Peak buffoonery.”

“I have to grant you that,” Hans amends with a generous wave of his arm. 

Henry catches the hand gently and nudges his head in the direction of Hans’s hips. “Now. Tell me, how are you feeling?”

The noble wants to quip, Henry sees it in the way he twists the corners of his mouth upwards, and he squeezes the hand. Hans stops short, then thinks for a quick moment and licks his lips. “Hurts like a bitch, to be honest,” he says instead of his remark. “Quack says that the arrow’s tip didn’t hit any important vessels or bones but there’s always the risk of an infection and… have you seen the swelling? I can compete with the wenches!” 

“Sounds reasonable to me,” Henry says, “at least what the doctor said.” He takes another look at the bandaged body part of his lover and nods. “But yes, let’s get you to a bottom comparison competition. You’d win first prize.”

“Please,” Hans scoffs and braces his upper body on his elbow. “Me? I’d win first prize even without that swelling. Tss.”

Henry nuzzles the knuckles in his hand. “You would, my Lord,” he says, half in jest, half in doubtless admiration. 

Hans sighs then, and Henry looks up to find Hans looking at a far away point before snapping back to Henry’s gaze. “As much as I hate to say it, I’m afraid this means we have to pause our… adventures for a while. I can’t even ride a horse in this state, how could I ride -”

“I-I get it, Hans. No need to yell it around,” Henry says quickly, muffling Hans’s suddenly very loud mouth with his free hand. Hans draws his brows together and glares at Henry. 

Then a chuckle breaks free. Henry doesn’t know who starts it, but suddenly, they are both laughing, up to the point where Hans accompanies his laughter with little ouch ouch noises and gasps for breath. 

They calm down a good minute later, Henry idly running his fingers over the skin of Hans’s braced forearm and Hans wiping tears of pain and laughter from the corners of his eyes. That’s when Henry says quietly, “But… maybe, uh, we’ll soon have the chance to do it the other way around… if you wish, of course.” He bites his tongue, the words in his mind having sounded much better than this cheap something that has left his mouth. 

But not to Hans, it seems. His lord tilts Henry’s head up with two gentle fingers under his chin and smiles at him. “I do wish that, Henry,” he says back quietly, evenly. Then, Henry sees him swallow. 

They share a long look, and Hans’s gaze grows darker every second that passes. 

“The thought of being the first inside you feeds something in me…” he says in a strange voice, fingertips running slowly over Henry’s chin and jaw. Henry shivers from the sudden shift, from the power that’s transported through the light touch alone. He feels subdued by it. It sends lightning bolts down to his cock and balls. A gasp leaves his lips, and he presses down onto his crotch to ease the frightening arousal that’s suddenly there like a whip’s crack. “... something carnal,” Hans has rambled on, and then his sharp gaze clicks downwards, only to refocus on Henry’s wide eyes again. Hans licks his lips and swallows again. 

There is a heated pause between them, a pause in which Henry feels like throwing himself onto the ground like Mutt does when Henry glares at him. Yet, it’s not the same. The sensation of being reduced and deified at the same time is addicting from the first look alone. “I am a greedy and mean man when it comes to you, Hal,” Hans says, and his voice blends softness with the sting of a wasp.

Slowly, very slowly, Henry raises his arm and takes the hand that caresses his face into his own. He checks if Hans is looking at him but of course he does, with his eagle-like stare, unwavering, his focus solely on his most loyal servant. Henry locks his gaze with him while he kisses the warm palm of Hans, the lord’s fingers almost involuntarily flexing around his jaw again. It creates goosebumps right down to his collarbones. “I am just the same about you,” he says. “My Lord.”

“Say my name,” Hans breathes.

“Hans,” Henry replies, revealing the name into the palm of his lord’s hand.

“My full name.”

“Sir Hans Capon,” Henry says, voice almost a whisper, almost.

“ Good boy .”

Henry almost chokes. Taking a deep breath, he focuses on staying upright. His eyes flutter. Once again, he is right on the edge, without even touching himself, and it feels both disgraceful and glorious.

“You’re making me come, Hans,” Henry says in between another set of short breaths.

The reply is a very sly smile that works its way into Hans’s features. He watches while Henry regains his composure and rearranges his too tight crotch, then he says, “I love that I have this effect on you.” It’s immeasurably more gentle than his voice from before.

Henry gives a short chuckle, resuming the forlorn activity of stroking his fingers over Hans’s forearm. “Who else but you?”

Hans sighs at that - content, exasperated, who knows. “Come here, you yokel, kiss me. I can’t move that much.” 

Henry obliges happily, pressing his lips onto Hans’s. It’s an unhurried and chaste kiss, and Henry feels a rest of wetness on Hans’s lips from when he has licked them before. 

When they part, the wish to share something with Hans arises in Henry. He thinks for a moment, fumbles with the words inside his head, decides to speak, then. “I have always been… an eager man when it comes to climaxing,” he begins, looking at his idling fingers instead of Hans’s eyes. “I have… to concentrate on holding back rather than forcing it but with you it’s… even more of a challenge.” He stops, rethinks what he just said, and feels embarrassment working its way up to his cheekbones. “That sounded dumb,” he says flatly. 

Hans chuckles and extends his hand to card his fingers through Henry’s hair again. 

Henry puffs out his breath. At least his erection is gone now.  “Well… I hope you take that as a compliment.”

Hans is still laughing quietly. “I do. Thank you.” He watches his fingers vanish in the thick curls of Henry, then he purses his lips, a thought forming behind those pretty bright eyes. Henry waits, just shifts his weight onto the other knee and enjoys the simple care he receives from the other man. “I wonder how many times I can make you come,” he says, almost conversationally. 

Henry feels his head melting away. He is hard again in a second. “Oh God Hans ,” he moans, biting back the volume his body wants to yell out. The whisper that comes out hurts in his throat. 

Hans smiles but his pupils are blown wide and his breaths are short and fast. “Good,” he says. “Good. Going to plan that.” 

The servant of Sir Hans Capon walks away as gracefully as possible, head held high, chest puffed out, left hand on the pommel of his sword. Nobody takes note of him more than usual but he feels that some people can see the lines of sweat rolling down his neck from an exertion that seems disproportionate to the fact that he’s just been conversing with his master. But maybe Henry is just overthinking things. His mind is still running circles like a caged boar with rabies. 

He mounts Pebbles with the mission to check if everything is in order with the people across the lands as building a trebuchet already is a hearsay in the air. 

His first and foremost mission is to get that edge off of him that Hans has planted so clearly in his head. 

Henry hates and adores this wicked tongue of his lord. He knows he’s fallen into depths he cannot climb out of easily - if he even wanted to. He doesn’t because the feelings he has for Hans feel so right in a land that has so many wrongs, with his own nightmares and hot-tempered emotions that often stand in his way, with his fears and sorrows and constant fight for survival. Hans is there. Being the soft or hard hand Henry doesn’t want but needs. The exception is his body, something that Henry wants nearly all the time. 

He can barely hold it together until he reaches a quiet place in the woods near the fields of Talmberg, where shadows and bushes hide him from even the most curious eyes. He lets Pebbles graze on the weeds that grow next to the field of cabbages and squeezes between two rocks that are higher than the crown of his head. The little hideout has been used before, most likely as a secure place to camp and sleep before moving on. It has enough space to lay on the ground outstretched in both directions but that is more than Henry would need.

He sinks to the ground, back against the solid stone, and loosens his hose and braies to give his already reappearing boner relief. He sighs when he wraps his hand around it. A sigh that soon turns into a moan when he begins to stroke it. He could have been more open about his sexual drive with Hans from the very beginning but the few times they had sex there wasn’t the time nor the place to tell him that he wasn’t done after the first orgasm, especially when he saw how content and relaxed Hans was after just one - honestly always perfect and overwhelmingly great - round. 

But now that the conversation has shifted towards this topic and Hans being the clever devil that he is, worming his tongue inside the depths of Henry’s brain and licking his most hidden desires and urges that have been lying dormant and sometimes obscure even to Henry himself - Henry feels like exploding. 

So he does. After just a few seconds of stroking the painfully hard erection, he feels an orgasm shattering through him. He gasps at the suddenness of it, images having only just arisen behind his eyelids. He strokes himself through it, milking out the last drops of his seed, then deflates against the rock behind and the soil below him and stares at the patch of sky above him. Clouds pass by, and Henry notices his rapid heartbeat and his breaths slowly calming down. 

“Damn you, Hans,” he murmurs. “You’d win first prize in any competition if I had my way,” he adds after a few seconds. “Not that I’d ever tell you that.” 

A few raindrops start to fall, he hears it in the rustling of the leaves but his spot in the hideout stays dry. Henry closes his eyes and lets the images of Hans flow freely inside of him.

Hans, chest bare but hose and garters still on his strong legs, fingers deep inside Henry and stroking him through his first orgasm with an oil slick hand. The squelching sounds he conjures make his cock stir again. Then: Henry on his back, Hans standing behind his head and bending over him, pressing his cock inside Henry’s mouth upside down while Hans teases the second orgasm out of him. For the third time, Henry imagines Hans using just the seed of his first two climaxes to finger him again - maybe even the whole of his five fingers inside him? Hard to picture it but definitely intriguing. Henry takes a deep breath, lets his own fingers ghost over his cock where he imagines Hans’s more slender but not less sturdy ones to pleasure him.

Oh, the Hans in his daydreams is stradling Henry now and Henry is pressed face down into the mattress of his lord’s soft bed. His wrists are on his back, held by two strong hands, while his arse is getting plowed with that long noble cock; and all Henry can do is take what his lord has to give to him. He is shoved into the mattress by the powerful thrusts of Hans, a hiss or a snarl from that mouth accompanying each one while Henry just groans helplessly into the pillows and… comes from that penetration alone. Oh fuck yes.

Henry snaps his eyes open and lets the waves of pleasure culminate in the stream of cum that leaves his throbbing cock. Shit. That hits the spot in his brain. He shivers from the filthy pleasure, noticing with great interest and a bit of disbelief how quickly the puddle of his semen on the ground has grown. Yes, to give Hans everything he has to offer, both in mind and flesh, is a truly intoxicating thought. To be marked by Hans the way he has marked his lord from the inside and on the outside on his neck. And to give him the last drops of his seed to either be swallowed or used as a natural lubricant to bury his fourth erection in Hans’s arse as his lord rides him again makes him purse his lips and produce a high moan.

He knows it will be a while until Hans can ride him, let alone a horse again, and even the other activities he now vividly has in mind will happen later than sooner, as a wound of this extent has an effect on his whole capability. But Henry has always been a man who wants . Regarding this point (and many more), Hans and him are just the same.

Pebbles has grazed for over forty minutes by the time Henry reemerges from the hideout but he still seems miffed when Henry mounts him and reminds him of his duties as a transportation subject.

At least he will be busy until that trebuchet is finished, he thinks. And maybe it will be interesting to experience an impatient Hans when it comes to sex . A dark part of Henry’s brain grins at that thought.

Camp has moved to a spot above Talmberg to have an excellent view of the captured castle, and indeed, an uncertain engineer has been assigned to plan and execute the construction of a trebuchet if Istvan won’t listen to reason - or bargain. 

Henry is busy too as he notices a turmoil inside him that clearly comes from having the enemy with his fath- Martin’s - sword and his real father in tangible proximity. So he takes every mission he can get, rides to farmers and quarrymen and a pastor to seek and/or offer help. He feels impatient and restless.

But as it turns out, Henry’s impatience has nothing on Hans’s . 

While the young lord visibly enjoys the sun shining on his currently too pale skin during the first two days, he becomes irritated and fidgety by day three. Henry sees his yearning look whenever he leaves camp for yet another mission, and wonders if it’s the impossibility for them to express open displays of affection in this cramped situation they are in right now. Henry can speak for himself that this is yet another thing that stings in his heart.

But no, it seems that Hans is very much fine with dropping sentences of affection when they sit outside together on the evening of day three while the base of the trebuchet next to them is being finished. Hans is deft in the way he puts his words as they teeter right on the edge of sounding ominous to people around them but could be just the young lord’s way of expressing his undying thankfulness for being rescued (once again). It’s pure skill how he weaves true love confessions in his usual empty fuss.

Thank you for hauling me out of there.

“Anything for you, my Lord,” Henry replies without a second thought, then feels the blush spreading on his face. He quickly turns his face into the low sun and closes his eyes halfway to have an explanation ready if anyone’s watching.

In his periphery, he sees Hans look at him for a long moment, his eyes becoming both wide and narrow, even though Henry can’t explain how that is possible. 

“Right,” Hans says, voice carefully neutral. 

After this evening, the impatience of Hans is physically palpable whenever Henry is in camp. The more the swelling goes down while the wound is healing, the more restless the noble becomes. Henry sees him grooming Aethon - his horse’s name, he finally knows it - until the coat glistens in the sun, sees him watching and irritating the farrier while he puts new shoes on the warm blood, and sees him pacing around camp and discussing strategies with Hanush and Divish, apparently in such a heated way that he is thrown out of the tent on day four, as Henry gets to know later that night when he returns from the lumberjacks.

He finds Hans bent over papers on the table in his tent, not even looking up when Henry enters. Blonde strands of hair have fallen into his face, and the braced pose with both of his hands curled around either side of the table creates mouthwatering muscle lines of Hans’s lean and strong upper body. 

“Yes?” he says harshly.

Henry clears his throat, and only then does Hans look up. The lines on his face lessen in the blink of an eye; then they return, as does Hans’s gaze back to his papers. “My Lord,” Henry begins. 

“Ough, you want to tell me about yet another mission that was successful and so important for our siege against Talmberg? Please go ahead, it’s not that I’m starving for something to do myself.”

“Actually, I fell into a pit today, got laughed down by two bulky lumberjacks and tore my belt on a low hanging branch but didn’t notice it until I was three acres of field away. Let’s say I didn’t find every groschen I lost. And I couldn’t find my dagger either as Mutt was busy fucking a bitch and didn’t react to any of my Heel commands,” he tells him drily.

Hans fights the grin on his face, Henry can see it, and feels great satisfaction somewhere below his stomach; it’s of a warm and light nature instead of this fiery destructive one called schadenfreude. It feels amazing to have that sensation, to turn this shitty day into something that can brighten the one of his lover, as little as the effect may be. “Isn’t that something?” Hans says melodically, a tease already in his voice. His pose relaxes to a flirty cock of his hip.

“Aye, could have been better. But I was thinking about dragging you with me tomorrow. Can’t have you going on that poor farrier’s nerves anymore. I’m afraid he’ll burn a horseshoe on your forehead while you sleep. Or outright kills you with his hammer, that too.”

Hans is laughing now, the rich deep sound Henry has come to love. “Of course. And what were you thinking of, dear Henry?”

Henry rolls his shoulders. “I found those strange symbols again we encountered near Neuhof a few weeks ago. Same mixture of all kinds of unspeakable things, leading to another big symbol on a rock. Kind of looked like a circle with… runes or mazes in it.”

Now Hans looks genuinely interested and focused. Gone is the playful attitude, replaced by a lord’s cool head. “Show me,” he orders, putting papers away and producing a clean sheet and a piece of charcoal. He turns up the oil lamp and bids Henry closer, “Can you recall the symbols you saw?”

Henry can, and soon, they’re both looking at the drawing of … something. Hans has his hand on his chin, deep in thought.

“That looks like nordic symbols,” he says, pointing at a string of what can be words. “Or at least it could be, if it’s not your horrible handwriting.”

“Thanks,” Henry says flatly, eyes staying focused on Hans’s hand tracing the symbol.

“But what would Norsemen be doing here in these parts? They are strong and fearless warriors, it doesn’t make any sense that they come down here to… what, skin prey and smear feces on doors?”

Something in Henry clicks. “Maybe a local band is using them to mislead people? To cause chaos and trouble?”

Hans tilts his head from side to side. “Possible. But why use these symbols when only a few people understand where they originate from? To fear something you must at least have heard of it.”

“I don’t think children have heard of monsters under their bed before fearing them. Their brains make up all kinds of things. Just as they do when we’re adults.”

Hans side-eyes him, a smirk on his lips. “Do you have nightmares, Henry? Still scared of the monsters under your bed?”

It’s a tease, Henry knows it, but he can’t help but be dead serious about it. He hesitates for a moment, and he notices that Hans notices instantly. “Yes to the first question,” he says slowly, “And I’m more scared of the real monsters that hide in the skin of normal looking human beings.”

Sympathy flickers over Hans’s features, along with a dash of embarrassment that vanishes as quickly as it came. But the sympathy stays. “I understand,” he says quietly. He extends his hand and brushes Henry’s padded forearm, only to stroke it downwards and link their bare fingers loosely together.

The touch creates goosebumps on Henry’s arm. 

“I’d love to come with you on this trip tomorrow,” Hans says, turning towards Henry. The light of the oil lamp flickers. Outside, the faint steps of soldiers can be heard. Hans leans closer. “Thank you.”

Henry entangles their fingers even more, bringing both their hands up to his mouth and kissing Hans’s knuckles. “I reckoned you need a bit of a distraction,” he says, releasing a breath.

“No. Yes. But thanking you was not for that alone,” Hans says, watching Henry caressing his hand like it’s a most delicate flower. “But for everything you give to me, for being such a bloody righteous man, for sharing your heart and your thoughts with me. I like being…” he trails off then, hurt and trust inside him fighting over the next words. “... precious to someone.” His voice is only a whisper. Tears are making his eyes glassy. “To you, Henry.”

Henry cups Hans’s cheek and leans in with all his soul. Their kiss is desperate and beautiful, and Henry feels walls and dams breaking away inside Hans. The young noble sobs into the connection of their lips but hugs Henry closer, and Henry willingly comes. Will always come. Will stay. 

“I know,” Hans says, voice thick, foreheads connected, mouths a finger’s width apart. “I know.” Henry doesn’t immediately get what he’s referring to. Then it hits him that he must have said his thoughts out loud.

“Good,” he adds into their shared breath, steady and slow in contrast to Hans’s shuddering inhales.

“I love you, you dumb bastard,” Hans whispers. 

“I know that,” Henry whispers back, not trusting his voice right now. Hans understands. He can feel it in the way he squeezes his hand, in the way he cups Henry’s cheek, where a tear rolls down and is welcomed by Hans's thumb. 

“Stay the night, Henry,” Hans says, his voice both a plea and a statement that he already knows it’s impossible.

It breaks Henry’s heart to hear his lord so small. “Soon,” he says with closed eyes, to confirm himself too. “When this is over, we’ll get lost in the woods for a few days, only us two in a cabin, and we’ll hunt and fuck and cuddle.” 

“Good,” Hans says. “Good,” he repeats quietly. 

They stay like that for a few more breaths, silently, calmly, each one a pillar for the other. It doesn’t need more than that to be everything.

Henry watches Hans falling asleep later, a hand on his flank, under his shirt, stroking the warm skin there.

When he leaves, he blows out the oil lamp. 

The sun is hidden away behind stormy clouds when they ride off, a strong breeze making Henry’s eyes water. It’s cooler than expected, and he is glad for the dark gambeson he has under his chainmail.

Hans sits strangely on his horse. But that is no wonder. He has his back arched and turned to the right, his right leg is in front of the saddle pads to give his arse more room. Despite it all, Hans leads Aethon like he was born in the saddle, with sure and direct orders from his left thigh and foot, reins loosely in his left hand. His right hand though, is often used to brace himself on the saddle when Hans thinks Henry’s not looking. 

But Henry notices every move of Hans, notices all the details, especially the ones Hans wants to hide. 

He doesn’t tell him that. He knows how to watch over his lord while preserving his dignity. It comes as naturally as breathing by now.

“So where is the spot or trail you told me about?” Hans inquires from behind.

Henry’s only hint at annoyance is a silent puff of breath before he says, “Right up that hill, between the rocks that look like men with tall hats.” He has told Hans this information three times already but he gets why Hans is asking: to distract himself from the pain he’s having. So it’s only natural for Henry to calmly reply to this question as if it was the first time. 

Hans makes Aethon go faster and overtakes Henry. 

“Ah, there they are, I almost missed them due to your poor description,” Hans calls out from the front. 

The rocks have been in perfect sight for five minutes. And they look like two men with hats. Have been, all the time.

Henry breathes in and out and shakes his head.

They stop at the meadow that’s surrounding the rocks on the front, a trail leading into the forest next to them. Henry watches Hans dismount gingerly, accompanied by little oofs and ouchs and one heartfelt kurva . 

“Christ, my arse feels worse than that bowel irritation I had after having you up my arse,” he says, stretching his right leg.

Henry feels spit in his airways. His face is aflame in a second. He coughs, then a shrieked What? leaves Henry’s too tight throat.

Hans looks up to him with an annoyed expression. “What, did you think your cum inside me just poof - vanishes magically?”

Henry begins to sputter, and Pebbles below side-eyes him while shifting his weight. “I-well, n-no, my Lo- what, of course not,” he produces, then takes a deep breath and feels reprimanded by Hans’s very cool stare. He- ah, he should have given this another thought but… shit. That didn’t cross his mind. He didn’t exactly ask Bianca about what she experienced after sex. And now he feels like an arsehole. Righteously so.

“Look, Hans, sorry, I didn’t think about it at all. Was it… painful? I’m sorry about that. We shouldn’t have-”

“Nonsense,” Hans interjects with a wave of his hand, then he massages his right flank. But his irritated expression softens a bit. “We will do it again, that’s for certain. I deeply enjoyed it. It was… just a new experience to relieve my guts of something different than usual.”

Henry dismounts and rounds Pebbles. His cheeks still burn, not from embarrassment but shame. “I see,” he says to Hans quietly, two arm lengths apart, not daring to show any other signs of closeness. 

Hans huffs out a laugh, and Henry sees a glint in his eyes before the noble looks away and nudges his head towards the trail. “You’re about to live through the same when we’re done with this bloody siege, so let’s not waste any breath on explaining and apologising.”

Now Henry’s whole face burns. He shouldn’t find it so hot that Hans says such things without even blushing, demeanour cool and almost aloof. The memory of Hans asking him to be rough with him snaps into his consciousness, along with the sweet promise of Hans making him come and come again. 

“ Kurva ,” Henry says to Hans’s back. And Hans… Hans seems to understand without even looking at him because he laughs, his lean back shaking with it. And Henry knows he’s bathing in it. 

Henry is a mess for him. A loyal dog who would follow him to all of hell’s circles. He doesn’t have to look far to find one of those; his eyes snap to it all on their own accord. Hans’s still swollen but wonderful arse and what’s between those cheeks…

Hans crouches down and touches something. Henry nearly walks into him. They are deep into the woods by now, not far from the symbol on a mossy rock.

“Look,” Hans murmurs, and Henry tears his gaze towards the thing his lord means. It’s right in the middle of the trail, on what looks like a red napkin, full on display, waiting to be found. It’s a skull. A human one. A child’s. 

A shiver runs through Henry. 

“Kurva, these savages,” Hans says.

“Let’s find those bastards,” Henry replies, a deep cold rage working through his guts. That skull hadn’t been here yesterday. Seeing it here on display is a warning. A very clear one. Henry is determined to purge whoever put it here off of earth’s surface.

“Easy now, Henry,” Hans says, not looking at him, voice not chiding but clearly distracted, looking at the skull, and then hesitantly reaching out his fingers to -

“Don’t touch that! It could be inflicted with dark magic!” Henry interjects, and his voice is ringing in his own ears. Shit, every prey in their proximity must be running. 

“No, I think it’s…” Hans starts again in this very strange distracted voice. Is he already bewitched? Drugged? Did the physician give him a potion before they departed? Henry’s thoughts are reeling by the time Hans has straightened himself with a contorted face. “Show me the symbol,” he demands and waves his hand for Henry to lead the way. 

Henry swallows, suddenly very unsure about the decision to take Hans with him. He seems so small in his gambeson and hood, so vulnerable without full armor, with just his sword on his hip. He shakes the thought off while he walks them towards the symbol. Hans is a skilled fighter. Just because we are lovers doesn't suddenly make him weak. Get a grip. 

“Uhm. And where’s that symbol?”

“Sir, we aren’t even there, just w-” he stops cold, because when he looks up from the ground he has burned his gaze in, he notices that they are indeed standing in the little soil clearing below the beeches where he has found the markings. The rock as tall as Rattay’s walls is… clean, except for the moss that grows on top and near the soil. “It’s gone,” Henry observes dumbly.

Hans squints his eyes. “And you’re sure that it was here?”

“Certain, my Lord.” Henry brushes his fingers over the surface and notices the traces of charcoal and… red on it. It has been washed away with water, possibly even brushed off. Must have been the people who painted it in the first place, and they left a child’s skull. “Let’s look for any hints or clues,” Henry says. Hans nods. 

They search counter-clockwise without even talking about it. A part of Henry would have found it endearing but the space they are looking at is so small that it just feels off. And to turn every leaf and twig would be a pointless mission.

When Henry has made a full circle, he stops at the rock again and glares at the stone surface as if it would spit out some answers this way. 

He feels Hans’s presence behind him as he comes close - too close for a friendly encounter. Still too far away in Henry’s opinion. He can feel Hans’s body warmth, and feels the way he inhales to speak. 

“Let Mutt search for tracks,” Hans says, voice a deep vibration in Henry’s back even though they are not touching. “Maybe the skull has some scent on it.”

“Did you touch it?” Henry says and turns around. Hans is indeed standing close, and his gaze flickers from Henry’s neck to his eyes. Henry feels hot under his collar.

“No, and even then, shouldn’t your dog know my scent by now?” 

“I just thought… I was worried that it could have bewitched you,” Henry amends under the inquiring gaze of Hans. 

“Bewitched?” Hans begins to laugh mid-word but it falters and stops. His eyes grow dark. “Henry. The only thing… or man who has bewitched me is you.”

Henry closes the gap between them, his heart is pounding in his chest. He bets that Hans can feel it despite the armor and padding he is wearing. Hans’s body is warm and firm, as always. And as always, Henry gets lost in it. In him. In those blue-grey eyes from slightly above, in the lips that purse a bit in anticipation of a reply- or of a physical answer.

“Aye, Mutt can distinguish your scent,” Henry begins, wrapping his right arm firmly around Hans’s waist and grabbing him by the belt, the impulse of it not disturbing Hans’s firm stance and his expectant expression in the slightest. Henry is weak for that. He leans his head forward and hovers just a hair’s width over the skin of Hans’s Adam’s apple. “But there’s only me who truly knows your scent.” 

Hans makes a wounded noise when Henry presses his lips on his throat, the impulse to bite him there like a bulldog in a dog fight almost overpowering. 

“Say it,” Hans orders, and now Henry gives a strangled moan.

“ Good boy ,” he says against Hans’s neck; feels the heat of blood there, both in his lips and in Hans’s very skin. 

“Fuck,” Hans grabs the back of Henry’s neck and presses his head against his collarbone. Henry can smell the faint sweat of Hans, the fabric of his gambeson, the light musk that’s always accompanying him, and the earthy hint of Chamomile, no doubt coming from the treatment of the wound. 

Henry opens his mouth to say how much he longs for Hans, how much he wants to have him inside himself, to give his body for his lord’s satisfaction; to tell him about his fantasies that have gone farther and bigger than anything he has ever dared to dream of before, to tell him how he jerked off in the woods and in his bed thinking about him–

Mutt barks sharply, and Henry abruptly tears his lips away from Hans. “What is it, Mutt?” he asks, panting, swallowing his excess spit. 

Then he hears it, the stomping of hooves, the rustling of armour. Murmured voices that don’t even attempt to be hushed. 

“Our horses,” Hans says sharply and backs away with determined movement. He draws his sword, and his nose imitates the upward motion when he levels his gaze straight ahead through the woods.

Hans is right. The noise is coming from the direction where they have left their mounts. No doubt they are rummaging through their stuff at this very moment. “Our bandits?” Henry says, drawing his sword too. It makes a metallic sound, then the sword lays balanced and heavy in his right hand, an elongation of his arm, as familiar as swallowing by now. 

"Only one way to find out,” Hans murmurs and starts moving. 

The woods clear quickly due to their firm steps, and five men in worn gambesons of different colors search their saddle poaches. Their weapons are in good shape but their armour is incomplete. A missing coif here, a missing visor on that bascinet there, one of them only in soft shoes despite plated legs and a shiny cuirass around his torso, and various other combinations on the men. Bandits, no doubt, but they don’t seem like folk that hide in the woods to paint Norse symbols and to kill and desecrate animals with some kind of pagan rituals or witchery.

They look like common fuckers from the streets. Mutt appears next to them and growls at the bandits. His voice doesn’t carry far. It sounds thin in the strong wind.

“Oi, what do you think you’re doing?” Henry barks at them, stepping into the light and into the blowing wind.

If the bandits are surprised, they don’t show it. Almost leisurely, the closest one, who is rummaging through Pebbles’s saddle, turns to them, a slow grin on his face as he cocks his head. “What’s it look like? Taking what’s been abandoned.”

“Nothing’s abandoned. That’s our horses and our stuff, so get a move on or you’re going to regret it,” Hans speaks up, his voice clear and piercing. A lord’s voice. 

The grin deepens, like an ugly wound on the pockmarked face. The other four who are standing around Aethon or close by are now coming nearer, hands already on their swords and hammers. “Oh yeah?” the first one replies, taking the axe on his belt in hand with a swift motion. “And who says that? You, you stuffed little goose?”

“Watch your tongue, arsehole, you’re talking to a noble,” Henry spits.

The coifless bandit shrugs. “Even better,” says the pockmarked bandit and shows his missing teeth, “Going to get a good ransom for you then. Shouldn’t be hard to capture this little petal– oough.” The sentence ends in a gurgle because Hans is suddenly in front of him, slicing his sword through his armpit in an upward stroke. The bandit staggers backwards, a hiss and a few droplets of blood spilling from his body. 

“Kurva, get them!”

Henry suddenly has three madly grinning men in front of himself, while Hans struggles to fend off the sharp and brutal blows of the pockmarked bandit. It doesn’t have any finesse but the sheer force is what makes it hard for Hans. Especially now that the fifth one grabs Hans’s bow from Aethon’s back. 

“Fuck!” Henry says, blocking a blow and counter attacking with a kick of his boots that sends one of the bandits to the ground with a groan. “Hans, he’s got your bow!” The next strike and a dirty laugh from the left. Henry slides his blade around the attack and stabs the tip of his blade into the unprotected neck. A gurgle, but the man doesn’t fall to the ground, just grips his neck and bares his teeth. Fuck, no artery hit.

“I see it,” Hans replies, blocking another blow from above and trying for a low strike. But then he staggers, and Henry realises with hot and cold fear that Hans is not fit to fight. His lover has become so good at hiding his injuries and pain that even Henry forgot it once they entered the woods.

Henry has to watch helplessly as the axe hits Hans’s hip. Then he has to block another attack that nearly slices open his cheek and nose.

The growl of pain pierces through Henry’s skull nonetheless. Hans is hit. Hans is hit , repeats in his head, true horror now spreading into his limbs. 

With a battle cry, he pierces through the chain mail and right into the man’s chest. But he just laughs and aims for Henry one, two, three times in quick succession. He has to focus all of his skill and experience to not get sliced open or beaten down, two against one that he is, so he can’t see Hans. But he hears him behind his back. His breath is coming in quick and heavy puffs, a groan among them sometimes, especially right before metall hits metal or wood. 

Henry notices his arms and legs getting tired. He doesn’t even have his full armor on, yet the constant blocking and dodging makes his muscles as hard to control as sand running through fingers. It spikes the horror inside him, and fuels a fury that is unknown to him. 

The bandit next to Aethon draws the bow. 

“Hans!”

But Hans is already on his way, jumping forward and back into Henry’s field of vision, aiming for the archer with his sword outstretched as if shouting the order to attack on a battlefield. Never has Henry seen something more gracious and epic in a fight–

until Hans lands on his right leg and it just gives way. He is in the middle of falling when the arrow leaves the string.

“HANS!” Henry screams, blindly swinging his sword. The swing is too long, leaving him open, and promptly there is a boot that hits the back of his knee and makes him fall over. With a shock that travels through his hands, he stops his fall, sword clattering away. 

But there is no final sword strike, no sharp pain through his back or his neck. On the contrary, the three bandits around Henry suddenly back away, one of them spits in Henry’s direction, and the pockmarked bandit leans down towards Hans.

Hans is laying on the ground, and he is coughing, oh my God, he is coughing , that means he’s alive. 

“Kurva, don’t you… dare… lay your… hands on me,” Hans coughs, trying to wriggle away and get his knee up to hit the bandit. But he just kicks him in the flank, almost languidly, and Hans cries out.

Henry sees red. He grabs his sword, jumps to his feet and right in front of his lord, boots first, and rams his elbow in the ribs of the bandit. He staggers a few steps away but turns around quickly. Four men are now standing in front of Henry, various weapons and nasty grins drawn.

“You bastards,” Henry pants, sword held high and pommel close to his cheek. “You want him? Over my dead body.”

“Such a brave loyal servant,” the pockmarked bandit scoffs, rolling his wrist and his hammer with it. “Interesting though. No ‘his Lordship’ or ‘Sir’, eh? Like a fucking commoner. Did you just say that so we’d try to ransom rather than kill him? Argh, believed that shit for a second. Kurva.” He motions for the archer to shoot a second arrow, no doubt now aiming for Hans’s heart. Something dawns in Henry. He shuffles his feet into a wider stance and breathes out.

These aren’t common bandits . They are deserters . Trained in fighting. Deadly. Henry has underestimated them. They are just making fun of them, having known from the very beginning that these two young men, one of them injured, wouldn’t have a chance against five former soldiers.

Henry grabs for the last straw.

“You don’t know about Sir Hans Capon of Pirkstein and Leipa, future Lord of Rattay?” Henry asks through gritted teeth, the hissing and coughing of Hans behind his back making his body burn in distress.

“Stop the lies, boy,” the one with the missing leg plates sneers. But the pockmarked bandit, obviously the leader, holds up his hand, a dawning realisation now on his face.

Something unintelligible comes from behind Henry, something with “Lies”, “fuck”, and “noble” between grunts, coughs and wheezes. 

“There is a noble of that name,” the leader says slowly, gaze on Hans and then back to Henry. “And he does look like that rat.” Maybe it’s the vulnerability that seeps through his eyes even though he tries to hide it, maybe it’s the overly distressed twitching of his jaw, maybe it’s the fucking pull that seems to physically push Henry off balance when it comes to his lord - whatever it is in the end, the man perceives it. Henry sees it click inside the man’s mind, and he feels the blood from his face splatter to the ground.

Oh. Oh no.

“Ah, you’re not only licking his boots , eh? Sucking his cock too?” the leader laughs, and the others join in, a nasty dissonance that travels through the wind around them. “Sakra. And lemme guess - he’s the bitch that spreads his legs,” he sing-songs.

Henry grips his sword tighter. The wind gets stronger, levelling the tall grass around them. “ Not one step closer ,” he says.

“Or what?” the pockmarked bandit laughs, extending his hands and tilting his head. “You’ll suck us off too? Go ahead, you cu-”

Henry attacks. He stabs his sword from below, aiming for his chin, but the deserter is faster than expected. He dodges the attack, but the blade hits his armored shoulder. The shriek of metal on metal cuts through the air.

Henry cries out and puts all his force in a follow-up sidewinder from the right.

He knows he is inferior. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care for his person being insulted. He can be accused and prosecuted for the worst of the worst sins. But no one, no one lays a hand on Hans. Not even verbally. Not in the slightest.

He wants them all dead. He wants them begging for death.

A hit. Blood that taints the cut of the chain mail on the upper arm. A wounded noise. And Henry craves for it, like a bloodhound on a fucking trail. “I’m going to piss into your gargling mouths,” he snaps, blocking the brutal counter attack of the leader with a groan. 

His arms are shaking after. He is panting heavily. Hans behind him doesn’t cough anymore. Henry doesn’t even dare to look behind him. Because you have to focus on the front, Henry. Just the front. He raises his arms again, spitting saliva from his foaming mouth.

The archer has the bow ready, his arrow is aiming right for Henry’s heart. Calm and certain. Henry stills. Everything seems to slow down. His heart squirms like a caged animal, as if it knows that it’s about to be pierced. Cold sweat breaks out, making him shiver despite the heat of the fighting. Wild irrational certainty mixes with his cold realisation that he’s never going to make it. Maybe I can block the tip with the blade, and then I can fend them off for a few more minutes, just a bit more, just endure a while longe– 

A horrible scream pierces through the air. High-pitched, otherworldly, so long that it makes Henry’s ears bleed. The horses rear up, true terror in their wide eyes, and sprint away. Even Mutt flees, his white fur zig-zagging through the grass and off behind the two rocks. The archer is thrown off balance but all of the bandits jump violently. And then they all freeze as if on command, eyes going wide in horror.

Henry can hear it. The breaking of countless twigs and branches behind him. Like a giant bear ramming his way through the woods.

“Oh holy Virgin,” Hans gasps softly. 

Something growls next to Henry, then it evolves into a full-blown ear-shattering scream. Henry feels his brain shatter.

The bandits come back to life, but once they remember how to use their legs, they turn around and run across the meadow as if the devil himself is present to collect their souls.

Henry is certain if he isn’t so far off. Slowly, he turns his too-stiff neck. 

A monster stands next to him, about one and a half of his height, clad in fur and dirty rags that seem to bleed out of every possible pore, hiding paws or hooves or feet below a layer of muddy cloth. It’s hunched over, and in the middle, a pair of five long claws emerge from the depths of the beast, their metallic surface glistening in the light of the day. On its shoulders, it has a snout and black feathers around where eyes should be. The sockets are holes without any life in them. The head turns to Henry in a grotesque tilting motion. 

Never before has Henry seen a non-human monster of his nightmares come to life. Cold dread makes his body motionless. He doesn’t breathe.

For a long moment, the monster just stares at him, and Henry is certain that a jaw with teeth as long as his fingers will open and rip his head and shoulders off his torso.

“Sweet Jesus,” Hans mumbles, and for the first time, Henry wishes that Hans would just shut up.

But the monster doesn’t seem to take notice of him. It stares at Henry a while longer, then it turns around and shuffles back into woods, the rustling sound of chains accompanying every second step. After a few breaths, the figure is already retreating into the woods. 

It is as if he’s being hit with the projectile of the trebuchet. He jerks violently, then he suddenly knows how to use his limbs again. 

He lets go of his sword, turns around and falls to his knees next to Hans, hands already on his lover, preparing for them to be bloodsoaked in no time. But Hans is already on his side, propped on an elbow, and there is no puddle of red below him or on his yellow gambeson. 

“Hans,” Henry says, not knowing where to look and what to do at first.

“Kurva, what… was that?” Hans says with a glance towards the trail behind them.

“Our rescue,” Henry says, reaching out to Hans’s face to cradle it but stops the motion, instead placing his hand on his chest out of helplessness. “Hans, you’ve been hit. I thought…”

Hans looks up to him, a new cough working its way up his throat. “Fucker… hit my flank. But with the blunt… side of his hammer… makes breathing fucking hard.”

Horror images of Hans choking on his own blood snap into his mind. Now he does cradle Hans’s cheek. “Blood?” Henry asks tersely.

“What? No. Just bit… my cheek,” Hans produces. As if to prove his point, Hans spits out pink liquid. But he’s speaking the truth. No bloody foam on his lips, just dirt. The white in his eyes is still clear and not bloodshot.

Henry breathes in for the first time - at least it feels like it. “Can you stand?”

“We can only know if we try it,” Hans replies soberly and extends his arm. Henry grabs him by the upper arm and slings his other one around Hans’s shoulders and neck. He brings Hans to his feet, and he sways a bit before stabilising. 

“You okay?” Henry murmurs, head and lips close to Hans to be perceived against the wind that’s tugging on their clothing. Here, he can feel the body warmth of Hans, and it’s comforting to know him standing and safe. After making sure he is stable, Henry bends down to pick up his sword. 

“What about that beast?” Hans asks when Henry has it sheathed away, clearing his throat and spitting yet again. He holds his flank, right below his ribs, and so far, Henry has to believe him that it has been a blunt hit. His gambeson isn’t torn and there is still no blood leaking from below it, so with gritted teeth he counts that as a win.

“I don’t think that should be our concern right now, my Lord,” Henry says when Hans leans away from his servant, clearly wanting to walk back into the woods. Henry tightens his grip around Hans’s shoulders and arm, and Hans looks very slowly at him. Now that he’s hunched over, they are on eye level. Nonetheless - Henry feels like being stared down. 

“It is our concern. That is what we came here for. Now help me get to this birch tree, then go and grab my bow. Otherwise I fear it will be lost.”

“But-”

“ You heard me. ” 

Henry winces, then grimaces and puffs his breath out. “As my lord wishes,” he murmurs through his teeth. Hans nods, and together, they make the ten steps to the targeted birch. Hans then leans his upper body against it and gestures for Henry to bring him his bow. 

When he returns and hands the piece of wood over, Hans nudges his head towards the forest behind him. “Let’s see if we can find that… thing.”

“And what?” Henry all but yells, arms extending in an irritated and tired gesture. “Get ourselves killed for good because that right now wasn’t enough? Hans, if you think-”

“Quiet, Henry,” Hans cuts in, pointing his finger at him. “Kurva, why do you always try to make decisions for me, hm? Just because I’m injured doesn’t mean my head doesn’t work properly. Fucking hell. You do as I tell you.” He is out of breath from this explosion, his hand flying to his injured flank. Then another thought hits him before Henry can even form coherent words to reply to this bullshit. “Or don’t! Don’t, for all I care. But don’t bother me with your fussing around.”

“Fussing?” Henry sees red for the second time. “If you didn’t notice, my Lord, it is my fucking duty to protect you. And I did just that, mere moments ago! Forgive me for trying to talk you out of running into the next death trap!” He can’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. 

Hans, on the other hand, visibly calms down. He regards Henry with a cool look. “I get that,” he says after a few seconds, in which Henry’s breathing is all that comes through in the tension between them. The three words make him freeze for a moment.

“What?”

“I get that,” Hans repeats. “No point in denying the obvious. And I thank you for doing your duty, Henry. But right now, I’m not asking as your lord but as your lover to search for that beast with me. I’m certain it is the answer to your long search and our late night discussions. Let us close that chapter. Together. Like we planned.”

Henry is taken aback. He blinks a few times, draws his breath in, opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. The anger inside him vanishes like water through a bucket with a hole. “Yes,” he eventually says, clumsily working his tongue around it. “Right.”

“Will you take care of me? I’m… not as fit as I’d like to be, as you know.”

Henry swallows. How can he say no to that? When Hans looks at him with this controlled and certain expression, with that much vulnerability and trust in his eyes? Sometimes Henry wonders if Hans knows how much power he holds over Henry and uses it precisely to bend him in whatever way he wants… or if doesn’t know it at all, love-drunk bastard that he is, and just jumps right into Henry’s heart with everything that he has and is, no matter the consequences. Henry assumes the latter, and his heart is leaping towards Hans. “Alright. I will. Of course, that is,” he says in a thin voice and steps closer, wrapping his arm around Hans’s back and noticing how Hans immediately leans against Henry. For support, for safety.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. Nothing a nobleman would say. Not like that.

Henry leans in and kisses Hans on the lips. Hans mirrors his movement. Their lips briefly melt around each other, then Henry turns his head and takes the first tentative step - when he stops again, freezing in place. 

Hans looks up, and both of them now stare at the beast that suddenly stands right in front of them, between bushes and a beech tree, the branches hanging just above the creature.

“Fuck me,” Hans says. “How did–?”

“Sh!” Henry makes. And blinks. Nothing happens for a long moment. Only the branches sway in the strong breeze that goes through the leaves. 

“Uh, greetings , forest creature,” Hans begins, gesturing for a bow. Only that this almost makes him fall over - if it weren’t for Henry who tightens his grip reflexively. 

The beast cocks his head, and then the whole body shakes with what both men soon realise must be laughter. It emerges from the depths of the fur and cloth and sounds… very much human. 

Henry and Hans exchange a quick look.

Then the beast reaches out his long claws, under which two very human hands appear that have the claws bound to them with bandages. The hands travel upwards to the head to grab both sides of the snout and tear the head off the torso. Below it, there is a very human head, one that still chuckles with as much contentment Henry as ever seen on a woman’s face. She has silver hair and creases on her face, but despite her age, she is wiry and muscular as far as he can tell from her neck and shoulders alone. Henry has never seen her before but Hans next to him suddenly jerks.

“You! You are the hag who sold me the-uh…” He hesitates only for the blink of an eye before he adds, “What are you doing here?”

“And why did you save us?” Henry follows up.

The woman shakes her head and chuckles again. “You boys should see your faces. Truly a sight to behold. Most of the men just run away when they see my ol’ Mara of the Woods as I like to call her.” She pats the costume as if it was a beloved pet. “Well, I know you’re very curious about all of this, but I reckon young Sir Capon needs some ointments and rest before returning to Talmberg so follow me if you will.” She turns around then, and now Henry sees the broad stilts she is walking on. The chain that he has heard before is gone though, and so the old woman walks almost silently along the narrow trail. 

“Can we trust her?” Henry asks quietly when Hans nudges him to follow her.

“Yes,” Hans says after a moment of contemplation, setting one foot in front of the other. He is limping badly, and his breath is laboured after just a few steps. “She’s the one that… sold me our oil.”

Henry wants to ask what any fucking oil has something to do with them- until it suddenly clicks. His insides suddenly feel like mud. “Oh,” he produces, then the mud transforms into fire that licks over his whole face. “Uh.”

“Can’t get worse than that,” Hans says with a breath, then sets his chin high and proud. 

Everything feels unreal to Henry. A part of him wants to throw Hans off of him and laugh his guts out, another just wants to sink to the ground and sleep for twelve hours. “Right,” is what leaves his mouth instead, and his legs carry on. They walk for about five minutes, and on the way, they pass the skull and the red napkin that the woman picks up from the ground. 

When they reach a rocky area in the middle of the woods, the woman leads them between two of them through a narrow path; and there a camp with a fireplace, wood and a sheltered place to sleep greets them. The woman gestures for Henry to let Hans down on a chopped trunk piece, and Hans sinks down gingerly, weight only on his left arsecheek. 

“So what about that child’s skull? It’s yours, isn’t it?” Henry asks once he has straightened and rolled his head. He isn’t in the mood nor the state to fight but he could take on this old woman if she even looks at Hans the wrong way. It’s not a good day for Henry to be patient. His benevolence has worn off for the day. 

“Ha, you silly boy. Do you think I’d carry around a real skull?” the woman asks delightedly while throwing two logs into the embers. 

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Henry says tersely but it is Hans who holds up his hand and makes him stop in his pacing that he has… apparently adapted. Henry blinks two times.

“The skull is a fake one,” he tells Henry. “I wanted to tell you that right away but we got distracted. It’s made of resin, am I right?” 

“You are, Sir,” the woman says and inclines her head. She rummages through a sack below her shelter and retreats to the fireplace with a flask in her hand. 

Henry notices the shape of the flask and feels strangely reminded of the one on Capon’s nightstand. “What was that for?” he asks, meaning the skull, mostly to distract himself from the vivid images that arise in his mind.

“To distract you from finding me that easily,” the woman replies as if it was the most basic thing in the world, then looks up to Henry to shake her head. “No matter who was looking for me, I knew I wouldn’t come out of it alive, whether it be bandits or the royal guard for all I care. And I knew you were looking for me too, on behalf of that butcher Toman. Come on, lad, use your brain.”

“That doesn’t explain anything,” Henry protests while Hans cautiously pulls up his gambeson and reveals his injured side. How Hans can so easily trust this woman is beyond Henry. It makes him furious.

“Henry,” Hans warns lowly, and Henry shuts his mouth with an audible pop. He leans against one of the rocks that forms a barrier around the camp, arms crossed, and watches as the herbalist applies the concoction on Hans’s skin which already begins to bloom in a patchy reddish color. Henry notices his eyes being fixated on the bruise, his anger working around his guts and chest in a stream that continuously lessens.

“No cuts and no lacerations, that is good,” the woman hums, then screws the flask shut with the cork. “Let that dry for a moment, then you can adjust your clothes again.” So Hans does, dutifully holding up his gambeson while another cough shakes him. When he spits it out, it’s clear. Henry breathes out. No blood. Still. That is good. Why does he still feel his own skin crawl? It’s not the anticipation of a new attack, nor is it some kind of feeling that the woman wants to harm them - especially Hans - but something is keeping him from calming down. He can’t put his finger on it.

He notices Hans not meeting his gaze, even when he’s finished adjusting his clothes. 

“Good woman, pray tell, what is your name and what are you doing in these woods? And why do you practise pagan rituals?” Hans asks while the old woman takes off her costume piece by piece to fold it in a dry spot next to the rock. 

“Kind of you to ask, Sir Capon,” she begins with a smirk, “Lora is the name. You mean besides providing herbs and potions for the good and less good people of the kingdom? Defending this piece of God’s country from people who dare to disrupt the laws and orders of our king Wenceslas,” she says half grimly, half proudly. “I heard about the rising numbers of bandits roaming the streets and even villages ever since our king was captured. Bandits and Cumans plundering, murdering, raping… nobody cares that they are occupying our woods too, making it dangerous for old women like me to make a living. So I decided to put the fear of God into them.”

“What, by dressing up as some Norse God? Do you want to insult our heavenly Lord, woman?” Hans asks. 

“On the contrary, Sir. I want to serve our Father by doing my part to keep his country safe. By horrifying the men who horrify good citizens. And what frightens mankind? Things they don’t understand.” Her voice has slowed down at the last two sentences, and she looks between Hans and Henry. The air is pregnant with subtext. Henry shuffles his feet but doesn’t avert his gaze when the woman looks at him. Hans stares into the fire.

“And have you been successful so far?” Henry asks.

“Oh yes, I managed to make Mara a real threat. Even the villagers around here started to talk about her, along with the note that the monster only seems to attack bad folk - and overly curious pages.” She smirks at Henry who feels a shiver run through his whole body, the memory of the hideous liquids still very fresh in his nose and on his skin.

“Aye, I remember. Never need that again,” he says, shifting his weight onto his other foot. The herbalist laughs, and against his will, a chuckle of his own begins somewhere in the corners of his lips.

“What’s your name, lad?” Lora wants to know, the laugh still in her expression.

“Henry, servant of Sir Hans.” He bows in a way that seems to delight the old woman. Well, she has just seen them kiss. It’s obvious that they are more than just lord and servant. As if to prove his point, Lora nods knowingly and smacks her lips.

The fire comes to life again. The cracks of the wood echo quietly in the little hideout. Lora picks up a metal pot and puts a greasy substance in it along with some herbs she fished out of a little chest. Henry watches as she places the pot in the low fire. The fat dissolves slowly into a liquid mass.

“What about the butcher - Toman, you called him? Or the farmer with the bled-out sheep? They aren’t exactly bandits by your definition,” Henry continues, now feeling more at ease than before. 

“Indeed, my boy,” the herbalist says, stirring the pot with a spoon. “Not bandits per se. But bad people, nonetheless.”

“How so?” Henry asks, ever inquisitive, and follows the wave of Lora’s hand to sit down by the fire. He settles onto the cool soil, close to Hans who is still staring into the fire. The tension grows, Henry notices. He wonders if Hans is once again trying to appear healthier than he is. But Hans is not pale, quite the contrary. His cheeks are flushed, his gaze concentrated. No cold sweat on his forehead. Maybe he is just deep in thought or listening intently.

Lora sits down by the fire too. Only now Henry notices that she is dressed in a simple linen shirt and a hose. For a second, it is odd to see a woman in a man’s clothes but then the practicality and the natural way she moves with them suddenly make perfect sense to Henry.

Lora is silent for a while, and the camp is quiet for a long moment. “Men,” she says eventually, her gaze hard.

“I’m sorry,” Henry says, not knowing and exactly knowing what he’s apologising for. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You don’t have to be, and you didn’t.” Her voice is softer now, and Henry believes her. They are silent for a while longer.

Eventually, Henry breathes in and asks the question that burns inside his mind. “Lora, you not only saved our lives but treated Hans too, and I… can’t thank you enough. But why did you help if you didn’t want to be involved in the first place? Why help us and my lord right now?”

A knowing smirk appears on her face and makes the shadows in it retreat. Her dark eyes get warmer in the blink of an eye. “I’m not going to lie, Henry, if it was just you I would’ve left you at the mercy of those men. I didn’t want to get involved. This little camp here is my favourite and now I have to pack my things and find a new spot. But you weren’t alone. I recognised Sir Hans from his recent visit to my hut.” She stops there.

“That… still doesn’t explain why you saved our lives,” Henry says eventually, wondering if he has missed the point. Hans is still not participating in the conversation but he doesn’t seem feverish nor stunned. He still doesn’t meet his gaze. It appears that he decides to listen for once. Henry doesn’t dare to call him out on it. 

“Well, apart from the words I heard when you arrived it doesn’t take a soothsayer to read that you are the other one involved in Sir Hans’s purchase.” There is the knowing smirk again. “And I don’t want to see true love die. Not when I can help it. Call it sentimentality.”

Henry scratches the back of his neck. “That easy to see, even before the kiss, eh?” he says, feeling heat on his cheeks that doesn’t have anything to do with the growing fire. He wonders if other people, especially the ones of Rattay and Talmberg, noticed their change in relationship as well.

Lora seems to read his thoughts. She waves her hand. “No worries, young Henry, it’s women’s intuition. I’m certain your noble male associates can’t even distinguish superficial friendship from a trade agreement, let alone the difference between a servant’s devotion and true love.”

“You speak strange words,” Henry admits after a moment. “True yet strange words.”

Lora smiles and pours the concoction into yet another flask. “I get that a lot. Well, used to. Why do you think I live in the woods?”

Henry smiles back and nods. “I understand.” And after a moment, he adds quietly, “Thank you, goodwoman. How can we ever repay you for saving our lives?”

Lora smirks like a cat in the sun and hands him the still warm flask. “By buying your supplies only from me.”

Henry blinks and hesitantly accepts the flask. “Uh, is that…?”

Now Lora laughs openly, with a hand on her belly. “Oh, you filthy little man. No, this is the ointment for the bruises. For the other kind of oil - and some implements - you must come visit my hut.”

Henry feels his cheeks being aflame by now. He hears Hans chuckle but doesn’t dare to look at him. Henry clears his throat instead. “Right. Er, about our payment - I meant more like groschen or getting rid of the bandits roaming around. I can help you with that.”

“What? I can do that myself!” She stands up and points her finger at Henry. “No. You just promise me to be loyal customers from now on. I don’t want any other compensation. And if you fail to keep that promise, Mara will hunt you down.”

Henry stands up and hurries to make a bow.

They find their three companions just over the opposite hill from the two rocks. They are grazing on the blooming meadow as if nothing in the world has ever happened to them. Mutt wags his tail and comes running to them. “Silly doggy,” Henry says and shakes his head. Hans just huffs out a quick laugh.

He has been silent except for the order to leave Lora’s camp, once again thanking her and giving her his word as a nobleman to adhere to their part of her terms. Then he waited for Henry to wrap his arm around him again and support him walking out of the camp, wishing Lora all the best and God’s guidance. She began to pack the second they set foot out of the camp.

From then on, Hans has been silent. Henry helps him walk to Aethon and lets him grab the saddle and reins. “You alright? You've been awfully quiet ever since we set entered that camp,“ Henry inquires with his hand still on Hans’s shoulder. 

Hans throws him a look. “Let us ride back first, I’m going to… tell you on the road.”

Henry is not satisfied by this cryptic reply but decides to let it be. Mutt barks happily once they click their tongues to get the horses moving. Hans’s body is even more hunched over and twisted than before. Henry feels his heart clench when looking at his lord and lover like that.

It takes a few minutes before Hans finally speaks. “I was indisposed. Still am,” he begins, even more cryptically, voice very quiet but clear. Henry spurs Pebbles on to ride next to him to not miss any word his lord says. “Seeing you fighting and protecting me has… ignited something in me. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d do to you if we were alone in my chamber.”

Henry expected anything. From bad hunches, the revelation of some severe pain in a different body part Hans has not yet voiced out loud, to saying that he doesn’t see any future between him and Henry - but sexual fantasies wasn’t among it.

Hans takes in a deep breath and promptly coughs. “So. Yeah,” he adds lightly to hide his tiredness and gloss over his embarrassment, “Nothing wrong with me except for my ravaging fantasies of pinning you down and fucking all of that blazing hot glory and devotion out of you.”

Henry nearly falls off Pebbles. Just like that. He tenses his muscles and manages to get stability in the stirrups.

Hans throws him a look. The widening of his eyes tells Henry that it was not his intention to talk dirty to Henry. “Jesus Christ,” he says, surprised and a bit taken aback. “You alright?”

“I don’t think so,” Henry gasps. Pebbles snorts below him. “I really don’t.”

Hans takes another long look at Henry, clearly troubled, then he looks ahead again and draws in a deep breath. “I will see to it that we make that happen, then,” he states, voice aiming for calm and controlled but failing horribly.

“I don’t think this is possible in your state,” Henry says from somewhere in his body while his mind is occupied with a dull nausea.

“Sakra, let me decide that,” Hans sniffs with his chin in the air and spurs Aethon on. 

It doesn’t last long, though. 

Once they reach the camp near Talmberg, Hans almost falls from his saddle, and it is only with the help of two hired hands that Hans manages to get his lord into his tent and onto his bed. His eyes are drooping by the time Henry unfastens Hans’s belt and lays his sword to the side. Once Hans’s head hits the pillow, his eyes close for real, and he is asleep within seconds. 

Henry looks around, making sure that no one is there to see them. With the audible hustle of the camp around them ever-present, he kisses Hans on the lips and leaves the tent.

Chapter Text

Hans

The trebuchet is finally completed, and Hans watches as Henry launches the first shot. 

All the men at camp hold their breath as the arm of the machine swings in a huge arc through the sky, sending the projectile into the air. It flies across the air at a terrifying speed, slamming into the wall of Talmberg with a bone-shaking boom. Cheers erupts, but Hans notices a frown on Divish’s face. Unsurprising, considering that they’ve had no choice but to destroy his home. 

The plan is to bombard the castle for a few days, or until Toth decides to surrender. Whichever comes first, Hans overhears Robard tell Henry to use this time to finish up any outstanding business he might have. So, when Henry walks over to him, he asks, expectantly, “Where are you heading off to now?”

Instead of a frown - one that Hans has come to anticipate seeing whenever Henry has to leave his side - a mischievous smile pulls on his lips instead. Voice thankfully covered by the creak of the trebuchet, the crack of the castle wall, and the shouts of soldiers, he says just loudly enough for Hans to hear, “Actually, I was thinking that we could go somewhere together.”

Holding back his excitement, Hans simply raises a brow. “Oh? Do you not have any other duties to complete?”

“I do, but none are as important as my duty to serve my Lord,” Henry says with a smirk, “who I think is once again getting restless from inaction.”

It’s true. The injuries he sustained from their run-in with the bandits took more out of him than he expected, his condition further aggravated by the still-recovering arrow wound in his arse. As a result, he’s been stuck recuperating at the camp just like he was before, itching to do something, anything. 

But what makes it worse this time around is that the memory of Henry fighting like a beast to protect him is still so fresh in his mind, along with the heat in his groin, the burning desire to take Henry and fuck that brave man senseless. 

So yes, Hans desperately wants to get out of camp, if not to finally have sex with Henry after many long days, then at least to go and burn off this energy that has had nowhere else to go. Though he’s still a little sore, he feels more than up for a day out with Henry. It’s the perfect time to do so too; with everyone else busying themselves with preparations to take back Talmberg, they’re unlikely to notice the two of them sneaking off together.  

“Observant lad, aren’t you?” Hans allows himself to flick a quick heated look towards Henry. “Where do you have in my mind? Somewhere far away from all this noise, I hope.”

The insinuation is clear enough: to go to where no one will disturb them. Sex or not, Hans just wants to go someplace where they can be alone and by themselves, where they can leave behind their titles and responsibilities for just a little while.

Henry doesn’t falter, seeming to have already anticipated such a question (and its implications). “Well, we still have not gone for that dip in the river. I know a great spot, so what do you say?”

That sounds perfect , Hans thinks. Keeping his expression controlled, he simply says, “Wait for me by our horses. I’ll be there shortly.”

In contrast, Henry does not attempt to hide his grin as he bows. “Of course, my Lord.”

Henry leaves, and Hans gives himself a few minutes before getting up. He takes his time packing a bag and walking over in order to avoid suspicion, but with each step it gets harder and harder to stop himself from smiling. By the time Henry comes into view, he just gives up entirely. 

“All packed?” Hans asks once he’s close enough, giving Aethon a nice pat on the neck. 

“Yes, my Lord, I just need-” Henry is cut off by a bark. Both men turn to see Mutt bounding towards them, the dog coming to stop between them with his tail wagging wildly behind him. Henry kneels down to give him a few scratches before looking back to Hans. “I apologise, Sir Hans, but is it alright if Mutt comes along? I think he’s been feeling a little cooped up too.”

With two pairs of such soulful eyes staring up at him, how can Hans refuse? He rolls his eyes playfully. “He can join us, but only because I’ll never hear the end of the whining if I say no… and I don’t mean him.”

Henry laughs, a bright sound that warms Hans’s heart instantly. He turns to Mutt, “You hear that, boy? Why don’t you thank Lord Capon for his generosity?”

Hans scoffs at the sarcasm, though he is not immune to the dog’s charm. He bends down when Mutt pads over, petting him as he looks up adoringly. Huh, like Master, like dog, I suppose.

“Alright, let’s go then.” Giving Mutt one last scritch behind the ears, Hans gets onto his horse. “Lead the way, dear Henry.”

With a flush and a smile, Henry gets onto his horse and off they go, riding past towns and well-known roads at full gallop, the wind in their hair and the sun on their faces. Hans truly cannot stop smiling now. Even though some parts of him are still aching, the pains fail to even register because it feels just too damn good to finally be free. 

Eventually, Henry leads them down a side path, stopping at where a large willow tree stands with its branches hanging partially over the river. Leaving the horses at a patch of grass near the bank, they make their way over to the willow, pushing past its drooping branches to arrive at a nicely shaded area with a gentle incline into the river, with just enough gaps between the leaves to let in some slivers of sunlight. 

Perfect.

“Oh my, Henry, how did you even find such a place?” Hans asks as he sets his pack down. When he receives no reply, he turns around to see Henry with an inscrutable look on his face. “What, are you not going to tell me?”

The man smirks, looking way too proud of himself. “I have to have some secrets if I want to keep surprising you.”

“Smartarse,” Hans amusedly chides, but so too does he smile at the reminder, at the promise of more, of a future - their future, where they’ll still be together. 

Speaking of, he does not want to waste what precious hours they have today, so he starts stripping down to his braies, with Henry following suit. Once they’ve folded their clothes and placed them aside, they head down to the riverbank. 

Dipping his toes in, Hans is delighted to discover that even with the warm sun overhead, the water is refreshingly cool. So, he wades in, sighing happily with each step into the river. When he reaches the deepest part - where the water comes up to just below his chin - he holds his breath and submerges his head in completely, enjoying the silence and the chill for a few seconds. When he reemerges, he springs up from the water with a gasp and a laugh, already feeling reinvigorated despite having only been in the river for mere minutes. 

However, he also quickly realises that he’s in the water alone, turning to find Henry watching him endearingly, sitting with Mutt at the bank with only his feet in the water. Hans waves him over with a smile, “What are you waiting for, Henry? The water is perfect!”

Henry rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “You might not know this, Hans, but I don’t actually know how to swim, so I’m fine with staying here.”

“It’s not that deep!” Henry is that little bit shorter than him, so the water might reach his face, but even so, that’s nothing to worry about. Teasingly, he continues, “What, the brave Henry who infiltrated a camp of bandits and Cumans, who escaped capture with nothing but his wits, is scared of swimming?”

He punctuates the last part by gleefully splashing Henry. Henry quickly retaliates, and Hans laughs again as the water hits his face. But as he runs a hand over his eyes to wipe them dry, he does notice the slight hesitation in Henry’s eyes. Doing away with the teasing, he decides to say instead, “Don’t worry, I’ll be right here, I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

After everything you’ve done for me, this is the least I can do.

Henry is thankfully convinced by that, and with a warm and trusting smile he gets up, slowly walking into the water. Once he’s close enough, Hans takes him by the hand to guide him until the water comes up to their chests. “How are you feeling? This isn’t too bad, right?”

“Not bad at all.” Henry smiles, blue eyes impossibly shining impossibly bright with the way the sunlight is hitting them. “And I always feel wonderful whenever I’m with you.”

And what else can Hans in response to that but step forward, hold Henry gently by the jaw, and kiss him?

Normally, he would have hesitated. They are out in the open, after all, and though they are far away from civilization, if Henry could have found this place, someone else might possibly chance upon it too. Someone might stumble upon them, and that is a risk he knows neither of them are willing to take. 

Yet, at this moment, he does not care. He doesn’t want to. All he wants is to kiss his lover, and kiss him he does, opening his mouth to Henry’s inquisitive tongue as the man pulls him closer by the waist. 

It feels like a dream; it tastes like freedom. 

Gradually, the kiss deepens, becoming more passionate, hungrier, their breaths and heartbeats speeding up. Hans feels the unmistakable firmness of an erection poking against his hip, while his own is growing steadily. Henry is the first to pull away to ask, voice rough, “Do you want to…”

“Maybe, but not yet, and not here.” While he might currently be unopposed to kissing Henry in broad daylight, having sex is a whole other matter. He’s the furthest thing from a prude, but he also does not feel particularly comfortable with doing so in the middle of a river, where if someone were to catch them, there would be absolutely no way of explaining their way out of it. “For now, I just want to keep kissing you.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” Henry says, and with a grin he leans back in to press their lips together once more.

But the kiss grows sloppy and ever more insistent, as do their desires. Hans finds himself unable to stop from frotting against Henry, who in turn is sliding his hands down Hans’s back to rest them on his arse. 

In reciprocation, Hans reaches down. “Henry,” he mutters, and his fingers dip below the waistband of the man’s braies, searching to wrap around-

A loud bark rings out. The two of them instantly pull away from each other. Hans feels a swell of embarrassment at the realisation that Mutt has probably been watching them this whole time. More crucially, however, he also starts to quietly panic: did Mutt spot someone approaching and is alerting them? Or is the stranger - or strangers - already here?

But when they both turn to look at the dog, it is clear from his behaviour that the bark did not come from a sense of danger. In fact, he is whining now, pawing and looking pointedly at Henry’s bag. 

“Oh.” Henry coughs awkwardly, clearly able to understand Mutt much better than Hans. “I think he’s hungry.”

The fear of being discovered gone, Hans releases something between a sigh and a laugh of incredulity. “Of course he is,” he says, unable to believe that dog’s perfect sense of timing. 

“I… should probably go give him something.” Henry bows in apology, already making his way back to the riverbank. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be right back.” He goes, Hans watching as he chides Mutt, though not too severely. 

Hans contemplates actually waiting for him to return. But he is almost uncomfortably hard now, and he would really like to deal with it, preferably with Henry’s help.

So, he leaves the river too, walking over to Henry, who has just put down a large piece of what seems to be cooked lamb. Henry looks up just in time, mouth open to ask why Hans hasn’t stayed in the water. But Hans never lets him form the question, instead taking his hand and pulling him back towards the willow tree. Just as he’s about to push past the branches, he turns his head towards Mutt, saying, “Take your time eating, I just need to borrow your Master for a moment.”

Obviously, there’s no way to know if Mutt understands, but even if he does, he shows no indication of it, already busy chowing down on the lamb. Henry, on the other hand, has caught onto Hans’s intentions immediately, and with face flushed red he quickly says, “Stay out here when you’re done, boy!”

Back under the shade, Hans walks them over to the trunk of the tree, which he promptly pushes Henry’s back onto. The man releases a soft “oof” at the contact, and Hans quickly captures it as he smashes their lips together again. The kiss becomes much more fervent than before as they’re now hidden away from sight, safe to give in to and act on their carnal desires. 

Hans is enjoying the feeling of Henry’s solid chest pressed against his, those strong arms holding him, and especially that bulge rubbing against his own. Fuck, he thinks, being with a man truly is so different, but for all that is holy does it feel incredible. 

Then there’s Henry’s voice too, low and husky and breathless as he asks, “Hans, if you want, we could…”

He trails off with a moan, but Hans knows what he’s asking, and why he sounds a little shy. It’s the promise, the wish, the desire that Hans had voiced about wanting to fuck Henry. And he wants to, oh he wants to so badly ; he even brought along a small vial of oil in anticipation. But he has since then given it some thought, and even though this is a lovely spot, much like how he thought about his own first experience, he does not want Henry’s first to be outdoors.

“I would love to,” Hans mutters hotly into the side of Henry’s neck, then moving to whisper into Henry’s ear, “But when I do finally take you, I want it to be while you’re spread out on the lush sheets of my bed. Because you deserve nothing but comfort, my dear Henry, and as your Lord I will not provide you with anything less, even when I ravish you.”

Henry’s entire body shudders, and Hans grins at how it feels against his own. “Besides, it will take some time to prepare you, and I think neither of us have the patience for that right now.”

“What if… what if I said I already tried to?” Henry’s face is now fully red, a heat radiating off of him that Hans can feel against his own cheek.

“Are you saying you practiced fingering yourself?” Hans asks, pulling back to meet Henry’s gaze, unable to stop a surprised but thrilled smile from forming. 

“That night, after we returned from Lora’s. What you told me… I couldn’t get it out of my head, so I snuck a flask out from your tent later that night and then I… did it the way you showed me.” Though he still has a bashful look on his face, there is some heat behind those eyes too, one that is enough to tell Hans that while, like him, Henry might have found it strange at first, he ended up enjoying it too. 

“You never fail to surprise me, Henry, though I will still insist that we wait till we have a proper bed under us before we go any further,” Hans chuckles fondly, especially when Henry tries to hide his disappointment. However, he also does not want to keep him waiting, nor can he really wait that much longer himself. “But… I do have an idea, and that first requires us to get out of these wet clothes.”

That is quickly dealt with, seeing as they only have their braies on. Following that, Hans then quickly fishes out the vial of oil before returning to Henry, who looks at the vial with anticipatory intrigue. 

“Turn around for me, handsome. Brace yourself against the trunk, make sure you’re comfortable,” Hans croons, surprising himself by how easy the words come. It has a similar effect on Henry too, as he visibly swallows before doing as instructed. And damn, isn’t that a sight, Henry’s defined back muscles flexing as he gets into position.

And that arse. Hans always knew that Henry had a great arse on him, but in the times that they’ve had sex, he’s never been focused enough to observe and appreciate it fully. 

Until now.

He reaches a hand forward to caress the firm globes of muscle, the contact eliciting a twitch from Henry and a choked gasp. Wanting to know what other sounds he can draw out of the man, he gives a teasing squeeze, and he’s rewarded with a lovely moan.

Oh, I am going to ruin you.

“Your legs, keep them together.” Hans pats Henry’s hip. “Your thighs especially.”

Henry does so, and the sight of those tantalisingly strong legs has Hans work fast to open the vial and pour the oil onto his cock. He gives it a few strokes, both to coat it fully and to find some relief. 

“I’m going to start now.” When he receives a nod, he steps forward, and ever so slowly, he guides his cock between Henry’s thighs, pushing forward until his chest meets Henry’s back.

“Oh fuck,” Hans moans. It feels so different from a hand, but neither does it feel like how it is to be inside someone. This is a completely new kind of warmth and tightness, and goddamn, it is incredible. But pushing through the lustful mind fog, he releases a shuddering breath and asks, “Does this feel alright for you?”

Henry groans in pleasure too, and Hans watches with fascination as the tip of the man’s ears go red. “Hans, this is… I… kurva- please move.”

Holding onto Henry’s hips, Hans starts thrusting, enjoying the wet slide of his cock between two firm thighs, feeling the drag of Henry’s balls along the top of his shaft. Odd, yet so good. This is not something he’s done before, but another thing from the tales of that knight all those years ago that must have subconsciously stayed with him, with him having only remembered it now that he’s been presented with the perfect opportunity. 

He doesn’t even try to hold himself from expressing how amazing it feels, and neither does Henry, their moans and gasps mixing loudly, the two of them so implicitly trusting their seclusion as to throw all caution to the wind. 

But as pleasurable as it currently is, there is still more that they can do. So, Hans reaches for one of Henry’s forearms, pulling it away from the trunk and downwards. “Touch yourself, Henry. I’ll help you.”

It takes a second for Henry to process the words, but when he does, he wraps a hand around his cock, with Hans placing his own hand around his. And though it is Henry who moves, Hans is one who gently controls the pace, making sure it matches that of his thrusts, much like Henry did for him that afternoon when Henry returned from Vranik.

He tries, though he knows he’s a little sloppy with the rhythm considering how his head is mostly occupied with chasing pleasure. Thankfully, Henry is enjoying it immensely, with the sounds that leave his mouth getting louder, and his cock steadily leaking onto the ground below. 

Hans rubs a thumb over the tip, feeling the way the pre-cum gathers over it, hearing the way it slicks up Henry’s length. Grinning smugly against the back of Henry’s neck, he asks, “You’re liking this, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Henry almost immediately blurts out, breathless. “Oh fuck, I’ve fantasised about this.”

“You’ve imagined me fucking you against a tree?” When Henry nods, Hans plants a wet kiss to his nape. A thrill runs through him, as does curiosity. “What else have you fantasised about?”

“I-” Henry is strained, trying his damnedest but all that comes out is a whimper. 

Hans tightens his grip, both on Henry’s hip and cock. “Focus, Henry. Tell me: what have you imagined your lord doing to you?”

After releasing a shaky breath, Henry finally says, the fantasies almost fighting to come out from his deepest depths. “I want you to spread me open with your fingers. Use my throat as a simple sleeve for your cock. Milk my cock dry with that wicked mouth of yours. Pin me down and fuck me until I can no longer think straight. Ride me like your personal stallion until I can’t come anymore and I’ve bred you fully. Take me in whatever way you want until I’m a mess and my mind is filled with only you.”

Hans didn’t think he could get anymore aroused. But here is, with Henry’s words fuelling the already raging flame inside him. It’s feral, this possessiveness that he suddenly feels surging within him, this desire to fulfil all of Henry’s wishes and take care of him as a rightful lord should. 

“My, my, Henry, you’ve thought about me a lot, haven’t you?” Hans asks teasingly, a rhetorical question because the answer is clear enough.

Yet, Henry answers it earnestly, as he does almost everything else. “Of course, my Lord. Whenever I am not occupied with anything else, you are always at the forefront of my mind. Your spirit, your soul is so effervescent and radiant that to think of anything else would be a shame.”

It’s a different kind of arousal that swells within Hans this time, one driven by the incredulity over how Henry is able to say all these things, at how he’s able to conjure forth such devotion despite his compromised state. 

“Christ, Henry,” Hans moans, the movement of his hips stuttering for a moment as he’s floored by Henry’s response. “You keep talking like that and I might have to fuck you properly.”

Henry gasps. “Hans, I- I don’t think I’ll last much longer.” 

“Don’t hold yourself back.” Hans moves his lips to the shell of Henry’s ears, where he whispers lasciviously, “If you’re already enjoying yourself this much, think about how good it’s going to feel when I’m inside you.”

Henry moans at that, another full-body shiver taking over him. He starts moving his hips too, backwards to seek more contact with Hans, but also forwards for stimulation, thrusting his cock into the tight circle of his fist. Their noises start to amplify: their panting, the smack of their bodies, the slickness of both their cocks; all of it loud and filling the space - their private space, here underneath the tree. 

Having been pent up for days now, Hans can already feel the coiling tightening in the pit of his belly. The tension is building, and in a brief moment of clarity, he realises that he might come before Henry, from nothing other than the man’s strong thighs working his cock. 

Fuck, that thought alone pushes him right up to the edge. He speeds up and closes his eyes, focusing on the sounds and sensations, to the overwhelming presence that is Henry, strong and solid against him. 

“Henry, I-” What he wants to say, he has no idea, but it does not matter, his own voice cut off by a choked gasp as his climax hits him. He comes hard, moaning loudly into Henry’s ear as he spills forth days’ worth of sexual frustration, feeling some of it coat Henry’s thighs. But even with all the euphoric bliss running through his veins, he doesn’t lose focus, still moving his hand, pumping Henry’s cock with long and tight strokes.

“That’s it, Henry.” He says once he’s aware enough, hearing Henry’s shallow breaths that he now knows are a sign of how close he is. Nibbling the tip of Henry’s ear, he purrs, “Let go.”

With a groan, Henry comes, cum spurting over both their hands. His entire body convulses with ecstasy, but Hans does not let go, holding him and stroking him through it, keeping him steady as the man tenses and relaxes at the same time. It’s not a surprise to find that Henry must have been pent up too, taking about a full minute before settling down.

Once Henry’s breathing has steadied, Hans steps away from Henry, who immediately turns around and slumps with his back against the trunk. Only now does Hans see that handsome face beautifully flushed, with blue eyes still a little glazed over and hair sticking to his forehead from sweat. 

Henry is still blissed out of his mind, and Hans knows the best way to keep it going.

Lifting his hand up to his mouth, Hans slowly licks up the cum that covers it, all while maintaining eye contact with Henry.

Blue eyes widen, then darken. Even though he just came, Hans sees Henry’s cock give a twitch of interest. When Hans swallows, Henry releases a low, guttural “Fuck.”

Then, because he really does love to test all the ways he can push Henry, he reaches for Henry’s hands and does the same, licking it clean. Not only that, but he takes two of Henry’s cum-stained fingers into his mouth and sucks , closing his eyes as he swirls his tongue to savour the slightly bitter taste. 

“Holy shit, Hans,” Henry hisses. Hans opens his eyes and is greeted by the sight of a horribly aroused Henry who has such a intensely hungry gaze that Hans wouldn’t mind being the one pinned against the tree and having the man fuck his brains out next.

Hans lets go of Henry’s fingers with a loud and purposeful pop. With the most licentious and smug grin he can, he says, “I can clean up your thighs the same way if you want.”

Henry laughs then, a breathless but nonetheless affectionate sound. “You are insatiable.”

“What, as if that isn’t one of the things you like about me.” Hans smirks, taking a step forward, still holding onto Henry’s hand. “And I am serious about that offer.”

“And as irresistible as that sounds, right now all I want is to wash up, then enjoy the peace and quiet with you.” Now it’s Henry’s turn to bring Hans’s hand to his mouth, but all he does is press a kiss to his knuckles, a move so soft and out of place considering what they’ve just done.

The Hans from one month ago would have probably felt offended at the refusal. How dare he disrespect my wishes, decline my generous offer of sexual service, would be something a younger him would think. Yet, here and now, though he has the same healthy libidio, he understands where Henry is coming from. They can always sneak off to have sex, but it is rare that they have such a moment to just be themselves with neither of them needing to sneak around or rush off once they’re done. So, as much as he would like to continue fooling around, he would much rather prefer to fully enjoy this special occasion. 

Hans walks them both out past the willow branches and back to the river, where they see Mutt licking his muzzle and wagging his tail when he spots them. Hans does not want to think about the possibility that Mutt actually understood them and stayed away in order to give them some privacy. He probably took a while to eat; either that or he and Henry were done much faster than they thought. The dog couldn’t be that smart… could he?

Ignoring that for now, Hans focuses on cleaning himself up, including a quick splash of water to his face and a rinse of his mouth. Beside him, Henry does the same, paying most attention to scrubbing his thighs clean. 

A flash of heat shoots through Hans at the very recent memory of being between those thighs. Then, another thing resurfaces. “So, was that everything you fantasised about?” 

“Almost. For one thing, your cock wasn’t inside me, though it was still fun regardless” Henry says this in such a matter-of-fact way that Hans can’t help but smile. “And there was another thing…”

“Oh?” Hans raises an eyebrow. “What else?”

Henry doesn’t reply to that. Instead, he closes the gap between them with a single step. Then, with a hand on Hans’s waist, he leans in and presses their lips together. 

As with all the times before, Hans melts into the kiss and opens up to Henry’s touch. Passionate but brief, they pull apart, and Hans says, “You should have told me that’s what you wanted, I could have easily remedied that.” And because he can, he also adds with a wicked grin, “And you should have definitely told me before I washed my mouth; I would have let you taste yourself.”

Henry shakes his head amusedly. “You don’t know what you do to me, do you?”

“I have an idea,” Hans says fondly. He reaches for Henry’s hand once more, lacing their fingers together. “Now come on, let’s dry ourselves off and get the food. I’m starving.”

They do just that, returning to the riverbank to grab their packs where they’ve each brought along a small towel and a fresh set of clothes, but they decide to only pull on a new pair of braies for now, both in agreement to stay shirtless to fully bask in the midday warmth. After that, they pull out whatever food they have: a few pretzels, some cheese, and a couple of slices of dried meat. 

As they set it all out, Mutt trots over but does not badger either of them to feed him. Seemingly still full from the lamb, he’s content with just lying down next to Hans, who gives him a few pats on his belly before digging in.

They eat in comfortable silence, and with how much energy they’ve already used, the food goes down quickly. Sated, Hans decides to lie down, resting his head in Henry’s lap, the man’s firm thigh making for a particularly comfy pillow. With a full belly, the gentle fingers of his lover carding through his hair, and a warm dog curled up next to him, Hans finds himself dozing off. Though he tries to continue his conversation with Henry, eventually his eyelids feel too heavy to keep open, so he stops trying, knowing that he can afford to take a little nap. 

After all, Henry will keep him safe. 

He’s not sure how much time has passed when he feels a tickle at his nose. He swipes it away, keeping his eyes closed and nuzzling into Henry’s lap to try and fall back asleep. And it works, though only for a short while, because he soon feels another tickle on his cheek

He opens his eyes just in time to see Henry pick away whatever it was, smiling sheepishly down at him. “My apologies, my Lord.”

With a yawn, Hans sits up. “What are you doing?” he asks, rubbing a hand across his face before turning to find in Henry’s hands working on intricately weaving a crown of blue and white blossoms. Hans’s eyes widen in awe. “Where did you learn to do that?” 

“I taught myself. You see, I was gathering so many flowers and herbs that it was becoming a right mess in my bag, so I needed to come up with a better way to manage them. I started tying them together, and slowly but surely, I learned how to weave them, like this.” Connecting the two ends together, he then lifts up the completed crown with a proud smile.

“Well, aren’t you talented,” Hans says, impressed. 

Henry blushes at the praise. Then, he scoots a little closer. “Do I have your permission to put this on you, my Lord?”

Oh, this crown is for him? Hans had thought that Henry was simply making it to pass the time, but he’s not about to refuse such a lovely gift. So, he leans forward slightly, and Henry places the flower crown around his head.

When he moves back upright, Henry looks at him and says, “Beautiful.”

Now it’s Hans’s turn to blush. The reverence, the awe in that single word and in those blue eyes; he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it, but neither does he want to. And with how much Henry makes him feel, he wants to ensure that Henry feels the same too, so he asks, “Can you teach me how to make one?”

“I would love to.” Henry picks more of the tiny flowers that surround them, and once he gathers enough he starts instructing, with Hans listening to his every word. Or he tries to at least, because while he works, Henry occasionally reaches over to help, and he can’t stop staring at the man’s hands. 

Hands scarred and calloused from working at the forge, so used to hammering hard steel but now crafting such a fragile thing.

Hands that have been bruised and bloody, swinging a sword to kill and maim dozens, yet here gentle with these delicate blooms.

Hands of someone who’s had a tough life and who by all accounts should have been hardened by everything they’ve faced, but still continues to embrace the world with warmth and empathy.

To have been cared for, protected by, held in so many different ways by these hands… Hans feels like the luckiest man alive.

It takes some time for him to get the hang of the pattern, but eventually he makes the last weave. Holding it up for inspection, he notices some of the flowers are misaligned with a few petals accidentally crushed, as well as some gaps in the weaving. With such a messy final appearance, he can’t help but frown. It’s not even Henry’s fault; he was a great teacher, while he was the one who got distracted, so he can only be disappointed in himself.

Henry must sense this, because he smiles and says, “It may be a little rough around the edges, but its beauty is still undeniable.”

Hans can’t help but roll his eyes. Of course Henry would say something like that to cheer him up. Yet, his frown disappears despite the sappy line, because it’s clear that Henry isn’t just talking about the flower crown.

“If you like it so much, then here,” Hans says in mock annoyance before resting the crown around Henry’s head. Once it’s on, Henry beams at him, and God , he looks so precious that Hans just wants to kiss him silly (which he plans to later). For now, he says, “Now we’re both beautiful.”

“I agree.” Henry smiles fondly, eyes sparkling with mirth. Hans is just about to lean in to kiss him when he suddenly says, “Oh, there’s another thing I’ve been learning that I could teach you.”

He gathers some fallen willow tree leaves and begins weaving them too. “The leaves are long enough, but they’re not as flexible as the flower stems, so I’ve only been able to get it to the size of a ring.”

As Henry works, Hans watches him with a kind of quiet contentment, smiling at how engrossed his lover is in this craft. It’s one of the few things that Hans has seen him do that has no larger utilitarian purpose; he’s doing this simply because he likes to, and it’s endeared him even more. 

“Add one tiny flower to the top of it… and there!” Henry holds it up just as proudly as he did for the flower crown, presenting it to Hans. “May I?”

Hans nods, and not really thinking about it, he puts his left hand forward. Henry pauses, and it’s only after about a second that Hans realises. “Oh, well, I-”

Henry does not let him stammer through whatever it is he wants to say. Instead, he holds his hand in his own. With a voice full of nothing but sincerity and adoration, he says, “Excuse my impertinence, Sir Hans, for I am just a lowly blacksmith’s boy and a bastard son of a lord, but I am also a fool who is hopelessly devoted to you and wants to stay by your side for the rest of my life… if you would have me.”

What Henry is truly asking for… Hans’s heart is so full that it’s close to bursting. It feels so unreal, and yet, the rapidity of his heartbeat against his chest is so visceral that it has to be. When Hans gives his answer, the words come out as a whisper of barely contained joy, “I would.”

With a huge smile and a shaky hand, Henry slides the ring onto Hans’s fourth finger.

Despite how light it is considering it’s only made from leaves and a singular flower, it feels heavy. Heavy with Henry’s devotion but also with the illicitness of what it represents. 

Yet, Hans loves it all the same.

Deciding that Henry should experience it too, he quickly says, “Give me a minute” and starts making a ring too, trying his best to replicate what Henry did. Like the crown before, it ends up more unrefined than he would have liked, but at least it holds its shape and ultimately, it’s the emotions put into that count.

So, he reaches for Henry’s hand. Staring into those blue eyes, he says, “What about you, my sweet Henry? Would you have me, a spoiled noble brat who asks himself everyday how Fortune was so kind as to have blessed him with the most stubborn and defiant man he’s ever met, yet one so loyal and loving that he’s the only one I could ever want, ever need for my whole life.”

“I would,” replies Henry with the same amount of reverence that only a man like him could muster. Hans slides the ring onto his finger, and when it’s secure, he presses their lips together, a kiss to seal this union.

Because there is no doubt that that is what has happened. Their words are unmistakable as vows, and Mutt has been witness to this whole thing. It is surreal for many reasons, but mainly because despite how real it feels, this can only ever be a secret between them. 

Hans is very aware of what awaits him in the future. He is the next Lord of Pirkstein, after all, and as is the fate for all young noblemen, he will one day be betrothed to some other noble's daughter or niece in order to guarantee an alliance. Once they get married, it is then part of their duty to produce several children, or at the very least one son to ensure an heir to the title. So long as he does that, he will be “allowed” to have affairs with whomever he likes, though it might affect his reputation (but when has that ever stopped anybody?). And if said affair partner happens to be a man, well, the townspeople would probably turn a blind eye to it so long as that relationship doesn’t impact their lives in any way. 

But Hans does not want that. He does not want Henry to be just someone on the side that he runs off to whenever he has an itch to scratch. He never ever wants to treat Henry like that, because Henry definitely deserves so much better. What he wants more than anything is for their relationship to be recognised officially, publicly, for all of Bohemia… maybe even beyond.

Yet, what he wants cannot be. A love like theirs, it is not allowed in this kingdom nor elsewhere. Only in secret, never out loud and in the open.

Even so, what can never be taken away from them is how they feel. And right now, it is very much real . Here, in this little sanctuary of theirs underneath this willow tree, they have bound themselves to each other, forever and always - by their vows, by their rings, by their devotion to one another. Unbreakable, undeniable. They do not need the ceremony nor the law; they only need each other, their bond having already been sealed with their first kiss and all the ones that came after.

Including this one, with Hans cupping Henry’s face to hold him close, to try and convey all these thoughts through his lips. 

However, he is certain that Henry already knows, and that he feels the same way too. 

When they pull apart, they almost immediately break into nervously elated chuckling. Hans rubs this thumb gently over the curve of Henry’s cheek, watching as the man’s eyelashes flutter at the touch. “I love you.”

Henry nuzzles into Hans’s palm, turning to press his lips right above where the ring rests on his finger. “I love you too.”

The rest of the afternoon is spent in giddy joy, time lost to kissing, several rounds of fetch with Mutt, more kissing, dipping their legs into the cool water of the river as they bask in the sun, some more kissing, cloud watching while cuddling, and even more kissing. While it did get a little hot and heavy at some points, it never went any further, the two of them more than content with being in each other’s presence.

No, “lost” is the wrong word. “Spent” yes, but not “lost”. No, these hours they were with each other was time gained, each moment a memory that Hans will cherish not just in the tough days to come, but forever and always. 

Oh how he wishes he could freeze time and live with Henry here in this idyllic dream forever.

But they are only human, and time moves on as it does for all.

Judging by where the sun is in the sky, they will have to start the ride back soon if they want to make it back to camp before sundown. So, it is with great reluctance that they start getting dressed and packing up (though not before they get another long kiss in).

When they return to their horses, they make the decision to stow the flower crowns away. Other than the obvious reason, it would also be to ensure that they won’t blow away in the wind should they need to ride fast. As for the rings, while Henry reluctantly decides to take it off, Hans keeps it on, though he does transfer it to his right index finger. It would be less conspicuous on him, he figures, as compared to Henry, but really, it’s more that he is adamantly against taking it off. 

And so with that settled, they return to Talmberg, the ride mostly silent due to their unwillingness to put an end to such a lovely day away from their troubles. The peace and quiet they’ve enjoyed for most of the day eventually gives way to chaos and noise, the cry of soldiers and the thunderous crash of projectiles being hurled into the castle getting louder as they get close to camp.

Thankfully, it’s also dinner time when they arrive, with people scurrying about in such a way that no one really pays them any attention. They dismount and gather their things with no one being any the wiser. 

Dinner passes uneventfully as well, with Hanush and Divish updating the two of them about what has transpired. As expected, the bombardment has been going on all day, which also means that Istvan Toth has not yet surrendered. The plan is to go for another full day of attack, and if that fails to get the rat out of hiding, then there would be no choice but to stage a full on assault. The two older men then remind them to be on high alert tomorrow, as anything can happen.

As the night wears on, Henry continues to sit across from Henry at one of the tables. For anyone passing by, it would appear as if they are just talking about strategies and what to do should there be a fight. They are discussing such matters, but it’s more than that. 

Unable to do much else here at camp, they are enjoying being close to each other, relieved that they at least had a day out together before it all potentially goes to shit. Every so often, when they’re sure no one is looking, one of them (usually Hans, being the bolder of the two) reaches over to graze the other’s fingers with their own, with even the occasional squeeze of the other’s hand. Under the table, their feet brush against one another’s, these small points of contact enough to keep them going.

When Hans finally retires to his tent for the night, the last thing he does before getting into bed is to place the flower crown and the ring on his makeshift bedside table. The crown he puts down gently, making sure not to damage any of the precious flowers that Henry weaved together so diligently.

Pulling the covers over himself, he picks up the ring, holding it between two fingers to observe it under the glow of the candlelight. Such a simple, rustic thing, yet it carries the weight of Hans’s heart, of the love and promise between him and Henry. Just thinking about what happened earlier fills him with an exuberance that he never wants to stop experiencing.

With the petals of the blossom at the top a blue that reminds him of the eyes of the ring’s creator, he presses it softly to his lips before putting it away, hoping that his beloved on the other side of camp will receive this one last kiss for today.

Chapter Text

Henry

It seems that the old lords of the country are right about the fates and turns of war. Or sieges, to be more precise.

The prospect of exchanging hostages didn’t convince Istvan the next day, high on the walls of Talmberg, to move one finger. Erik, between the rough arms of two soldiers, was standing proud and tall. But Henry has seen the look Istvan and Erik exchanged. Has seen what is hidden for almost all people around them. But Henry knows what the look meant. And the swaying of Erik after Istvan refused the proposition. Erik’s face was stoic and proud, even when he was led back to the tent he is held in, but Henry saw the betrayal in his eyes, the glaze in them that would soon become silent tears in solitude. It is love that is between them - was between them… Hmm... Henry doesn’t know.

He knows what Erik is going through, even though he does not want to. He does not want to feel sympathy for someone who is devout to the man he hates with all his heart. But he sees the similarity, sees the source of the devotion Erik has for Istvan. And he can’t help but admit, in his bed, deep in the night, that he would do everything for Hans. Even accept him turning away from Henry, accept Hans’s manipulation, accept his betrayal. 

With nothing really to do the rest of the day, Henry watches the castle with Hans by his side, both of them silent most of the time, lost in their own thoughts. They talk about strategies and decisions of the lords but it becomes evident that no one is any the wiser as to what to do now. It seems to be inevitable that they are going to attack Talmberg, to dive head first into man-on-man combat, and hopefully be able to come out of it alive. 

Sorrows and fears have Henry in their grasp, well into the evening and into the night, when he finally lays down in his bed. He squeezes his eyes shut and breathes in through his nose and out of his mouth. Yesterday was amazing, a treasure in the ways and turns of their precarious time. But as sure as day follows night, night follows day, once again the harsh reality of everything comes crashing down on him. He could lose Hans tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow. He could die in the attack if Hanush or Divish decide to order one this minute. Hans could be taken captive as well. Hans could be lying in his tent, throat cut.

Another breath. 

Another listening to the quiet buzz that never really stops in the camp.

Another breath.

He turns in his bed, and his hectic eyes find the circular thing that is new among his belongings next to his makeshift bed. He reaches out and strokes his fingers over the delicate flowers Hans has woven together. Then his fingers find the ring, and his heart skips a beat as warmth spreads in his chest. He has taken it off before washing away the dirt and sweat of today’s adventures, not only to spare it from getting wrecked but also to prevent an overly curious page of Hanush from noticing. But now, he is on his own, and he takes it in hand slowly, turns to lie on his back, and holds the ring in front of his eyes. In the dim light, he turns it between his fingers. His racing thoughts calm down at that. There is a warm pulsing in his chest, radiant like a little sun, when he slips the greenish thing over his ring finger. It begins to fall apart already, Henry can feel parts of it falling on his chest, but it does not matter right now. 

He notices his eyes scurrying around his finger, trying to take in everything he can in the low light, and can’t help but feel both incredibly lucky and reminded of his and Hans’s dangerous love that can fall or be torn apart at any time. Like nature that is bent into something that is not supposed to be. Like willow leaves woven into a ring. 

But if it feels so right, how can it be wrong? If God has created men in his own image, how could Hans and he and Lucas -... maybe even Istvan and Erik - be punished for loving another man? 

Henry doesn’t find an answer, no matter how much he twists and turns the ring on his finger.

God does not reply. God does not strike him down.

Henry just lies there, again all alone with his overthinking mind and his longing for a man he cannot have. At least not officially. But deep below the willow tree, they became one, and promised each other their hearts.

A sudden smile creeps into his face and eases the worry lines. There was another person in his family that was just the same. Like mother like son, eh? he thinks, a complicated but affectionate feeling swirling inside him. He misses his Ma, misses his Pa, while his father is held behind thick walls that seem just as impenetrable as the barrier that makes their new relationship as father and son even more strange than it is. Radzig doesn’t want to push him away, quite the contrary, as he always seems to want him around when something important happens. But he keeps him at an arm’s length too. And then there’s the man he wishes to hold and to be held by - whom he has to keep at an arm’s length himself.

Henry turns to his side again and pinches the bridge of his nose. He should stop thinking about it. It won’t make his life easier. He is between a peasant’s and a noble’s life, a real bastard, and it seems fated that trouble finds him. That doesn’t mean that all trouble is bad. The one named Hans turned out to be the light in his life.

His eyes are still trained on the ring of his outstretched arm and hand, and with that image in his mind, he feels his eyes shut and sleep lull him in, dark and all-consuming.

“Loose!” 

The bellow of Divish still rings in his ear while the clatter of swords and the hisses and cries of the men swinging them erupts all around him. Henry has his teeth clenched, only to release them with a howl as he slices his own sword across the neck and face of one of Istvan’s men. The man doesn’t make a sound as he slumps to the ground, the broken walls of Talmberg framing the grotesque scenery. Maybe his last ragged breaths succumb to the noise of battle. Henry will never know.

Soon he finds himself on the drawbridge, and then, finally, in the inner courtyard.

We are winning , Henry realises with a surge of fire in his veins, kicking his heavy plated foot into the groin of a bandit. He howls, and then a blade pierces through his torso, the tip silvery and glistening. The man is being pushed to the ground, sword gliding free, and Hanush is there, regarding Henry with a grim glare. Henry turns around, in search of new attackers, but silence is what greets his ringing ears. In the distance, one of their soldiers pierces an enemy through the heart. 

Silence. Until the door of the castle opens and Istvan appears, Stephanie in front of him. 

Henry watches the reunion of husband and wife with mild satisfaction, waiting for his father to finally appear, and his rage erupts once more when Istvan laughs at him with Radzig’s sword in hand. It is thanks to Robard that Henry doesn’t lunge at him and rips his fucking throat out.

Father , is what pounds in Henry’s mind once Istvan leaves Talmberg, and despite holding his head high, Henry can see through the veil of seething hatred that Istvan has his tail tucked between his legs.

If you hurt one fucking hair of him I will crush every single bone of yours. And I will relish every sob and cry and whine and beg you produce.

But it doesn’t come to that. Radzig’s figure stands tall in the softly swaying meadow that is graced by the rays of an evening sun, and he looks up to Henry when he comes galloping towards him with fire in his body and eyes. 

His rapid breathing calms down upon hearing Radzig’s composed voice, and the flickering images of seeing yet another parent slain and drenched in their own blood get soaked into his subconsciousness, thickly, like ink on paper. 

The averted horror will haunt him in his dreams, Henry knows this, but right now reality is present, and Radzig smiles one of his very small smiles at Henry. He is alive. Not one hair is bent out of place. 

Henry breathes out. 

It feels strange to share a horse with his father but Radzig sits unperturbed and proud in the saddle when Henry glances behind himself, lord-like and distant despite the closeness they share. Henry can feel his body warmth on his back when they ride off, listens to him talking about having wanted to teach Henry how to ride a horse, and wonders once again why his father never married. But that is a question that is going to be asked later. Or never. 

“What is on that left hand of yours?” Radzig inquires.

Henry jerks violently out of his train of thought. “Ehm, nothing, si-, Father. A… gift from a friend. It’s falling apart, really, I didn’t think it would survive the battle at all.” He looks at his now bare hands around the reins, and truly, the willow leaves hold on to his finger like resin on a bark. Kurva, he should have left his gloves on. 

“I asked what it is, not where you got it from,” his father says, his eyes nor voice hinting at either annoyance or amusement. 

“Uhm. A ring. It’s supposed to be a ring,” he explains, voice quiet. He feels the blush spreading on his cheeks, and he is so thankful that he is sitting in front and can hide his expression.

“On your left hand? Seems pretty serious with this… friend ,” Radzig says.

Henry decides to use a trick that often worked before: acting dumber than he is. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” he says. 

“Of course not.” Now there is a knowing tone in his father’s voice, sharp like the blade of his lost sword. Henry bites his tongue and says nothing. 

The ride back to Rattay is silent, but after the initial unease that had Henry in its grasp, the tension flows out of him. If there is something Henry excels at, it is reading the emotions of the people around him. That perk comes in handy now as he notices that his father doesn’t hold a grudge, with as close as they are. 

He is just in deep thought, far away in spirit and mind, and Henry wonders if he’s thinking about his late mother. But he doesn’t dare to ask him about her. He feels like he has no right to ask, no matter how much the questions about the relationship between his Ma and Radzig are burning under his tongue and between his teeth. He holds back, partly because Radzig has a way with words as well and knows how to shift a conversation back into Henry’s field, into Henry’s very heart and dangerous play. Right now, they have a truce, a silent one at that, and Henry decides to keep it that way.

Only his father obviously has a different idea. When they enter Rattay through its lower gate, Radzig shifts. When they come to a halt in Pirkstein’s courtyard, he dismounts swiftly, but his voice and words are calm and well-perceivable when he lets go of the horse he has sat on for the last thirty minutes. “Just keep out of trouble, son.”

Henry, who neither expected nor comprehends the words at first, pulls the reins and makes the horse prance involuntarily. “Sir?” he asks, more out of habit than the need to address his father formally. 

Radzig doesn’t look at him but the way he is rectifying his gambeson and belt seems a bit drawn-out, something that is probably only perceivable for someone of his own blood. It is then when he says, “There are many forms of prosecution I can pull you out of, my boy, but there are issues in this world that even men like myself are powerless to solve. So I’m asking you to be careful. Keep out of trouble.” With that, he walks away, not sparing Henry another glance, his tone even and friendly as if he just had a talk about the weather and the upcoming sword tournament in Upper Rattay next week.

Henry sits dumbfounded on the horse for a second before he recollects his expression. He dismounts and hands the horse to the stable master for him to care for the newest addition to the stables. 

The full realisation of what his father said comes a few minutes later. He knows, Henry thinks, not really sure if he should feel relieved or intimidated. He is certain that his father won’t report him to the other lords or the king himself - but it is clear that Radzig sees the danger that originates from his relationship with the noble son of Rattay, not only because of the difference in their respective ranks but also with them both being men, too. Radzig knows far more of the convictions and condemnations mankind has in store for men like Henry. 

What he still doesn’t know is if his father is not reporting him simply out of the prospect of losing his only son or a real understanding of the situation Henry is in. Of true love. 

Maybe Henry should have asked him about the relationship with his mother when he had the chance. At least for today it is too late.

He looks down at his left hand when he enters his room and notices with both a heavy and a light heart that the ring is still there. It is only a few willow leaves that are clinging to his skin due to sweat and dirt, not at all resembling or counting as a ring, but that doesn’t matter. Carefully, Henry plucks the remaining green from his finger and places it on his nightstand, a little pile of the grand promise that Hans gifted him before kissing him. He gifted him his heart yesterday. His soul. Even his body, even though he most likely needs to use it for different labours in the future, like producing an heir. Still, the promise stands, like a true wedding vow. Maybe the most genuine one Bohemia has seen (or not seen) in a long time.

And Henry feels light-headed with happiness. 

He listens to his father’s words, though. When he hears the forces of Rattay return to the city in all its glory, he isn’t there. He is out in the fields but sticking close to the walls to hear the shouts of the townspeople when the horses and foot soldiers and lords arrive with fanfare. He scouts the fields with Mutt, plays fetch with him, all the while his mind and his eyes always circle back to the high walls of Pirkstein that are lingering in his periphery. It is after sunset, when the fires are lit and the windows of Pirkstein are cast in an orange glow, that Henry returns to his designated place in the courtyard of the castle. 

The closer he gets to his room, the more his heart aches for Hans. He opens his door, closes it, lights the oil lamp, already wondering how he is going to be able to spend well-deserved and needed time with his lover when his eyes snap to a piece of paper that is on his nightstand, carefully placed under the remains of the former ring. 

Henry’s heartbeat accelerates. With a barely controlled tremor, he plucks the letter from the surface.

After the tenth bell. My room.
Te amo. 

He presses the letter to his heart, a truly feminine gesture. But for the first time, he understands why love-smitten maids do this silly thing - when he feels like fainting this very moment. A sigh worms its way out of his chest. It’s not necessary for him to have learned the Latin words before as they are as clear as Czech to him. Nonetheless, his tongue forms the words silently, probing them on his taste buds and declaring them rich and fulfilling to his very core.

“Miluji tě,” he says into his silent room. Outside, the bells ring for the ninth hour.

A soft knock marks his presence once the tenth bell becomes silent. He doesn’t wait for a reply but opens the door and slips into the room that belongs to the future lord of Rattay.

Hans is nowhere to be seen, at least for the first few moments, but then Henry spots him sitting by the hearth, upper body bare, gaze lost in the lazy flames. The fire casts a bronze tone on his skin which also reflects in his bright eyes. 

“Did you eat?” Hans asks once the door is closed and they are finally… alone. 

“I did.” 

Hans nods, still looking into the fire. He then stands up, silent like a cat, the light hose he is wearing stretching around his long legs, the light licking over his sculpted muscles and the erect nubs on his chest. Henry can’t help but be mesmerised by the beauty of his lord.

Hans looks at him, a calm yet yearning expression on his face. “Strip,” he says into the silence. And Henry obliges. 

With deliberate carefulness, he removes his belt, his tunic, and then his hose and his braies, letting all of it fall to the ground around him like a flower that sheds its petals in late summer.

All the while, Hans’s gaze is locked onto his every move. His eyes have a hungry glint, multiplying the flickering flame that reflects in his irises. He doesn’t step nearer, not even when Henry is standing naked in his room. They look at each other, tension crackling in the space between them, and Henry notices his cock already filling with blood from the stare Hans regards him with alone.

“Come here.” Hans’s voice is quiet.

Henry swallows and steps into his lord’s reach. A hand cups his face and the back of his neck, then the flowery perfume of Hans fills his nostrils when the taller man leans in and captures his mouth and tongue for himself. 

A sigh escapes him, lost in the wet sucking sounds of their lips. His cock, now fully hard, vanishes in the folds of Hans’s hose, and the lord steps closer to let it press against his clothed one. “Are you alright?” Henry asks after a shuddering inhale into the little space that it created. But Hans shakes his head and turns Henry in his grasp so that he feels the heat of the fireplace on his front, eyes snapping open only to look into the flames and not at Hans anymore. His lord has moved behind him, hands roaming over his stomach and his chest as he presses his front against Henry’s broader back and places his lips on the hairline of his nape. Henry shivers despite the warmth that soaks through his skin from both front and back. His hands reach behind and find Hans’s thighs, kneading the muscles he can reach.

“No talking. At least not right now. I waited too long for this.”

“For what, my Lord?”

An exasperated huff from behind. Then teeth that are not quite biting into the muscles of his neck. It stings, nonetheless. Henry smirks. 

“Don’t play the naive wench, Hal.”

“I’m not playing, you do. Like ordering me around. And look, we’re talking!” He doesn’t know where the sudden playfulness comes from but the irritation it causes in Hans delights Henry a great deal.

Now the teeth do sink into his muscles and Henry winces for a second. “Ouch,” he says without bite. 

“I told you repeatedly that I will not tolerate any insolence coming from you,” Hans replies harshly before licking over the bruised skin like an immediate apology. Ah, he is a man full of contradictions, and Henry loves him for every single one of them. 

A chuckle breaks free. Henry has to actively refrain himself from bowing down (which would only shove his arse in Hans’s manhood). “Of course. Apologies, Sir.”

“Do not address me like that in our chamber,” Hans growls.

“ Our chamber?” Now Henry is interested. He tries to turn around but is held by the strong arms of his lover, allowing him only a look over his right shoulder to catch a glimpse of Hans’s eyes. Their gazes meet for a moment, and the fire dances in Hans’s dark pupils while he has his lips pressed on the flesh of Henry’s shoulder in a prolonged caress. 

It takes a moment for Hans to reply. Henry lets him, instead looking back into the fire and feeling the man behind him rethinking his obviously sudden exclamation. Henry hears the rustling of clothing, feels the fabric being pulled away from his own skin, and finally has the heat of Hans’s lower body leaned against his own, now fully enveloped by the naked skin of his lover. Henry’s lips leave a low groan when the hard flesh of Hans’s lust presses between the globes of his arse as if their anatomy was made solely for that.

“ Our chamber,” Hans confirms, his voice a breathless and low murmur in Henry’s ear. “In which I’m going to take you. Tonight for the first time, and countless to follow.”

Saliva splatters on the floor with a too loud splash. Henry’s jaw hangs loose, tongue too big for his mouth. His head is liquid, daring to loll down on his chest if it wasn’t for Hans’s left hand that gently grips his jaw and brings his head back to rest against Hans’s shoulder, exposing his throat to the warmth of the fireplace. Hans’s other hand leaves behind a trail of molten fire as it slithers down Henry’s stomach and over the hair of his groins before fingertips touch and probe the base of his shaft. Then the full of the five fingers wrap around his erection, warm skin on even hotter skin. 

Henry feels his eyes roll back into his skull, a huff of helpless arousal sent to the ceiling. “I’m yours, Hans,” he says, voice thick and foreign in his mouth.

“And I’m yours,” Hans replies immediately, then he kisses the side of Henry’s exposed throat, tilting his hips into the crease of Henry’s arse rhythmically and pushing against his hole with just enough momentum to make Henry growl and moan already. 

“Before you ask, yes, I wish for you to make that fantasy of yours true tonight,” Henry says, his hand joining Hans’s on his cock, adapting an almost lazy stroking if it wasn’t for the lust that traveled through the connection of skin on skin on skin, dragging the foreskin up and down with a delicious friction that leaves Henry craving and enjoying while rutting back against Hans’s tall frame. 

“I hoped you’d say that, dear Henry” Hans murmurs into the skin next to his throat like a prayer. He suddenly lifts his hips off of Henry’s lower rump and instead places the hand that was on Henry’s jaw mere seconds ago in the crease and right against his entrance, circling the muscle ring with careful but certain fingers.

Henry releases a broken moan. “Oh Christ, that is a very sensitive area of me,” he gasps, lifting his head off of Hans’s shoulder to properly shake it. 

Another huff from Hans, this time more fond than exasperated but not lacking of the latter entirely. Of course not, how could he? He is Hans Capon after all. “Everything on that bloody body of yours is sexually sensitive. Christ, how can you even -”

The rest is lost because Henry has grabbed the base of Hans’s neck and pulls him in for a rough kiss that is more teeth than lips and tongue but neither care about that. Panting, Henry breaks away to say over his shoulder, “So, are you going to fuck me or not?”

Hans doesn’t reply. He shoves Henry around, steps behind him again and pushes him into the direction of the bed where Henry willingly falls onto, legs following with maybe a bit too much vigour on the mattress. 

When Hans follows to kneel on the mattress between his lover’s legs, Henry is already musing with a hand on his chin, pointedly not looking at his lord’s naked glory that truly is a glory of its own. “Hm. If you are unsatisfied with me reacting to every touch of you then I have to find someone who appreciates that special perk about my body.”

There is a finger stabbed into his breastbone quicker than a dagger would. “Don’t you fucking dare. I will personally flay you and feed your fucking skin to Mutt,” Hans snarls, his eyes ablaze with the genuineness of the declaration. Henry doesn’t doubt it for one second.

Henry gives Hans a lazy smirk when the lord harshly pulls Henry’s hips up onto his thighs.  “Ah, no worries,” he rumbles, reaching for the flask that is conveniently already on Capon’s nightstand (as if he planned that beforehand, who could have known), “I’m almost certain that I’m just this way with you.”

Hans bows down, an unimpressed eyebrow raised as he scrutinises Henry from above, and it would have been a lie that he finds that unbelievably hot. His flushed and thick cock that is currently trapped between their two stomachs proves this. Still, Henry doesn’t need to make this easy for his lord. “Almost? How curious,” Hans says. His tone is cold, icy almost, but his cock too betrays his aloofness. It twitches where it is pressed against Henry’s perineum and balls, and Henry bites back the moan that already vibrates in his chest. “Best to convince you fully, no?”

“If my lord wishe– oh kurva ,” Henry gasps out loud when an oil-slicked finger suddenly is inside him. He doesn’t remember Hans taking the flask out of his loose grasp nor him dipping his fingers in it but now there is a fucking finger of his lover up his arse and it feels simply amazing. His pelvic floor sings in ecstasy at the attention it’s getting, the stretch and pressure exquisite and arousing in a way that is so different and yet similar to the sensation he experiences when Hans works his dick. 

“Hmpf, you should see your face, love,” Hans says into the sudden silence, a smug grin playing around the corners of his mouth but not fully developing, no matter how long Henry looks while the muscles of his face consider themselves strangers in his body. With big eyes, he sees how affected Hans is by his own simple action and the sight Henry must be right now; hips on top of Hans’s lap, soles planted on the mattress, chest moving, face slack and flushed, hands moving in idle circles on the sheets, cock erect and jumping on his stomach, ballsack around Hans’s dick and directly next to it a finger in his body warmth.

Henry gets why any remark has died on Hans’s lips.

“Care to reconsider your ‘almost’ from before?”

Ah, nevermind. Henry didn’t calculate on the sharp-tongued lord of Pirkstein. “Nah, not yet,” he huffs out, voice already rough around the edges.

Now the smile on the noble’s face breaks free: a derisive curl of his lips with a deep vulnerable affection in his grey eyes. Henry pulls him down with both of his hands on his neck and kisses him. The kiss is sweet and unhurried, the slides of their tongues accompanied by yet another stream of little sighs and hums whenever Hans moves his finger inside Henry. It’s not much of a movement with the angle Hans’s hand is in but Hans seemingly knows that pressing against the tight muscle ring with the knuckles when he’s fully inside is something that makes Henry feel sparks in his lower body. His arse seems eager to suck Hans in, and righteously so as it has waited long enough to be granted being filled by pleasure.

Hans shifts back up to get more room to move his hand and Henry sighs with a full body shudder. “My, that good?”

“Mm-hmm,” Henry replies, finding and stroking his hands over the sides of Hans’s thighs and knees. 

“Good. I want to tease that first orgasm out of you. You nearly burst from even that bit of jerking off before. So I’m sure you can come with just this little stimulation.”

“So it doesn’t suffice to have me at your mercy, eh? It has to be work on my part, too?” Henry says, smile crooked and head tilted.

“I always have you at my mercy,” Hans says gruffly, still moving his finger in and out of Henry, now with a wider range of motion. Henry can’t even be mad, it feels sickeningly good. “And currently, I’m the one working; you open.”

Henry barks a laugh at that. “Finger me properly, then.”

“As you wish, my dearest,” Hans replies, voice honey-like and genuine, something he would deny if Henry called him out on it. He doesn’t; doesn’t need to. His back arches off the mattress in sweet pleasure when two fingers stretch him open, the feeling foreign but addicting from the very start. 

“Kurva, why didn’t we do that sooner? Why did you have to keep that all for yourself? You feel different to when I tried this myself,” Henry gasps out, surprised that a part of him really is a bit put out.

Hans chuckles. “Because, you yokel, you can easily experience the worst pain you ever had in bed if we were to follow your hot-headed excessive virility. Oh and, told you so. ” 

Henry blinks up at him. “What,” he croaks.

In response, Hans crooks the fingers inside him and massages the spot that had Henry gasping for air. It’s nothing short of amazing to feel the sensation going straight into his head and into his cock like a strong drug. “Fuck,” he swears, rocking his hips against Hans fingers, a fine layer of sweat already covering his skin. His face feels hot, his cock even hotter. He wants to jerk himself off but decides to let Hans decide what’s best.

“Yes, there you are,” Hans croons, quickening his pace and placing his other hand on Henry’s perineum, pressing his knuckles into the swollen tissue there too. 

Henry feels as if he’s being taken by a thunderstorm. Blood rushes through his ears like thunder, and his whole body jerks as if being hit by lightning again and again, almost as if being exorcised. A low whine comes out of his throat, and then the need to form words, “-- close… fuck , how-?”

Hans flicks his wrist one, two times over the tip of Henry’s jumping cock, and that makes the taut bowstring of his orgasm snap the arrow from its anchoring. Searing hot like molten iron, it flows through his pelvis, and Henry moans protractedly while fisting the sheet, vision flickering in his skull.

As the waves continue to rattle through him, his eyes make their way back to their designated place, only to find his lover’s mouth that forms a perfect little “o”. He twitches in the last wave of arousal, then Henry closes his eyes and lets his head fall back into the pillows with a dull thump.

“Did you just come?” he hears Hans ask, voice dead-serious, and Henry feels like laughing, light-headed and mirthful.

“I did. Can’t you tell?” he replies easily, dragging in another relieving breath into his chest that feels wide and tingling after the thunderstorm.

A short hesitation which piques Henry’s interest. “Uhm. I can’t,” Hans admits.

“Wait. What? How so?” Now Henry cracks his eyes open, looking at his lover quizzically. He is still connected to Henry with two fingers, although the movement of them has stopped. The erection of Hans is momentarily gone. 

“Well. Ahem. You didn’t come .” Hans gestures to Henry’s cock which lies hard and dry save for the puddle of precum on his stomach. Henry blinks dumbly. 

“I-uh. I– I did come,” Henry protests, then wraps his hand around his dick to confirm with a breath of relief that this body part works the way he is used to. No numbness or pain, just pleasure and heat while he feels his foreskin glide up and down, following his hand movements obediently. Huh, at least one thing that obeys without snarky remarks, so unlike the two men that are the source of it all.

Hans swats his hand away, but he chuckles while he does it. “Come off it, I believe you. This was just an interesting orgasm. How come your cock is still hard? Do you think you can come again?” Hans has started jerking him off with skilled fingers while talking, and Henry can immediately breathe an honest “Christ, yes.”

A sly and very self-complacent smile spreads on Hans’s handsome face. “Oh, we are going to have fun tonight, Hal.”

“As long as you fuck me,” Henry replies, feeling his balls tighten already, his voice not as steady and seductive as he would like it to be. He sounds lost and reduced, something he knows by now that Hans greatly enjoys. He doesn’t need to look at him. But when he does, he finds Hans’s eyes bright and hungry, a sign of his lord’s lust that is louder than a moan from him, but his mouth twitches in disdain. 

“We’ll see about that, taking into account that you already got your way with how much we have been talking despite my wish not to,” he says with a displeased curl of his upper lip, and Henry groans, both in arousal and exasperation.

He squirms in Hans’s lap, but his lord holds him in position, widening his knees and pumping his lover’s cock faster. Henry buries his hands in the pillow under his head, tossing his head in a frantic attempt to slow down the rapidly building arousal inside himself. “Ach, fuck you ,” he spits at Hans without venom, the throbbing in his gut bordering on painful.

“Oh you will. Soon again ,” Hans says imperiously, spine straight and gaze dark from high up above.

Fuck. Hans knows which threads to pull to lay Henry’s soul completely bare. The images arise together with a buck of his hips, unable to stop their flow: Hans, riding Henry, throwing his head back like he would on Aethon; Henry, pressing his bratty, handsome, flushed lord into the mattress while filling his hole with his seed; Hans, laying on his back, sprawled on his desk with a feral snarl on his lips, while Henry has his arms locked around his thighs and makes the desk and Hans quake with his thrusts. 

His mind blanks out in an orgasm that makes him shake like a leaf in a strong wind. 

“Yes, Henry,” Hans hums, far too calm in the storm that has Henry in its grasp. He almost misses Hans’s soft murmur. He hates and loves it, wet gasp after wet gasp leaving his dried out lips while he tries to collect his shattered brain. 

“Fuck you,” he repeats, weaker this time, but maybe it’s just the dullness in his ears that makes his voice feel muddy in his throat. He sees Hans smirk lopsidedly. His hand lets go of Henry’s spent cock and reaches for his stomach, swiping a lordly hand over his skin, gathering the glistening drops and streaks of semen from his body hair.

“Everything to your liking, then?” Hans says, conversationally. 

“No,” Henry replies.

It makes Hans stiffen immediately, his light blue eyes under loosened strands of hair on his forehead wide and vulnerable in a second as they snap to search for any kind of discomfort or harm he could have done to his most beloved. It’s so sweet that Henry almost bends upwards to cup his cheek with a soft hand and an even softer pout on his own lips. Almost. 

He, too, knows which threads to pull, and which to push .

“Coat your noble pizzle with my cum and fuck me, Hans. I mean it.” 

Hans blinks, his horror melting away in the heat of Henry’s gaze, and with deliberate slowness, he rises to his knees and stares down at his lover. His upper lip shivers, then transforms into a displeased smile. “You know, Henry ,” he begins slowly, but abruptly pumping his fingers in again which makes Henry suck in a breath, “you’re still awfully insolent for my taste. What became of the village boar who didn’t know his way around the city people, who tripped over his own feet?”

“He was even more insolent than the one you have your fingers in right now,” Henry pants out. His arse feels full and wide. Every glide of Hans’s firm fingers creates sparks in his lower body, just like heated steel does when he hits it with his hammer. He feels as if he’s being molded and shaped into a different form, too. 

Hans scoffs, head tilted to the side, gaze lost in the memory. “Christ, it was a lot easier to subdue him verbally. But no , he had to be such a quick learner and become eloquent and sharp-t– oof. ” 

It is Henry who is now looking down at him. A sling of his ankles around both knees, a swing of a looped arm around Hans’s chest, along with a well-placed push - and Hans’s back hits the mattress, blinking up at Henry with an open mouth, both hands raised and glistening with different liquids, and it looks so hilarious that Henry has to grin. 

“You were saying?” Henry probes. His insides feel empty , however that sensation is possible. His arse cheeks glide smoothly with the oil between them while he shifts to press one knee between Hans’s thighs, careful not to bruise his voluptuous balls that are squeezed to the front from between his legs.

Hans sniffs. Ah, has he regained his composure then? A shame. “I was, in fact, going to continue both my highly generous compliment and that sinful thing with my fingers but after your undignified interruption of both I don’t feel inclined to do either.”

Henry laughs out loud, practically guffawing at the ceiling before looking down at Hans and shaking his head while he’s at it. “You fucking liar, especially about the second one,” he says fondly.

“I’ll have you know that it was my idea in the first place,” Hans sniffs, very adamant in his hard stare.

Henry shifts his weight to wrap one now free hand around Hans’s beautiful cock, the touch awakening an erection with an almost violent twitch of the length. Hans’s eyes grow a shade darker and he bites his lower lip. Other than that, he stays in his weird Jesus-like pose, both water and wine in his hands, Henry thinks, an image that he leaves for his own to enjoy. 

“I could slap your face with both of my hands,” Hans adds, eyes narrowing while Henry almost casually strokes his cock with all the time in the world, flicking his wrist ever so absent-mindedly over the tip, eyes still trained on Hans who fights very hard to retain the upper hand. Quite literally.

Henry knows he is playing a dangerous game. It’s very clear that Hans wanted to be in control tonight. Too bad he has chosen such a stubborn lover. Henry, in Hans’s position, would have slapped at least one hand on Hans’s body already, just for good measure. But having arse-touched oil or cool seed on his own face , or both at the same time - uh, a rather unpleasant experience, for sure. 

“You could,” he confirms, straightening on Hans’s long body and creeping higher with his knees so that they come to rest right next to his lord’s waist, body weight partially on Hans’s stomach. His hand is still working Hans’s cock behind his back. It is already ramrod and hot to the touch again. He leans down, right between Hans’s extended hands, and it looks as if he succumbs into a welcoming embrace. But the hug never comes, instead Henry’s mouth comes down right next to his lord’s ear, breath hot against its shell that it makes Hans shiver. “But as a most loyal page with solely the best in mind for his only lord and master, let me give him the necessary nudge towards the direction that he will find most pleasurable.”

“ Kurva ,” Hans half hisses, half whines. Henry licks the shell of his ear, and that is when Hans seems to lose it. “Alright, you stupid bastard,” he practically spits. Then Henry feels a hand wrapping around the cock he is so diligently working, and he lets go with a grin to brace his arms next to Hans’s head.

The oily hand of Hans grabs Henry’s hip, hard and unyielding, guiding him straight on Hans’s body again from which Henry has slanted off to the side. So that means that Hans has his cum-coated hand around his own prick right now. Henry hears the wet squelch and feels his blood burn hot on his cheekbones, arousal pumping through his guts. It feels so right . 

“You know,” Henry begins, while Hans mutters and sputters all kinds of curse words, mouths and eyes so close to each other but neither connecting right now, with as buried as Henry is right now in the crook of Hans’s shoulder. “I jerked off in the woods, imagining the exact same fantasies you’re fulfilling right now,” he breathes, sounding just as wrecked and smug as he is. Bent over Hans, about to be taken by his lover for the first time - it’s both frightening and arousing. It all mixes in Henry’s head and makes his whole body tingle. 

Hans makes a needy sound and presses Henry downwards on his body, intention clear without any words. Henry follows willingly, but even without his help he is sure that his lord would have simply manhandled him into the desired position. A part of Henry finds that so hot. He straightens on Hans again, their gazes meet, a silent exchange in their eyes: 

A nod that is reciprocated. The ghost of a smile on both of their faces. Hans holding his cock erect at the base, Henry lifting above it.

The tip nudges against his entrance, and he shivers from anticipation. 

He sinks down. His body gives way.

Past the muscle ring, so easily that Henry wonders for a moment if he did something wrong, having expected at least a bit of discomfort or pain. But what welcomes him is the sensation of being stretched open and filled, his muscles adapting along the glide. 

“ Kurv - aaah,” Henry groans, his jaw somewhere in the middle of the word losing all the muscles that normally hold it. 

Through half-lidded eyes, he sees Hans’s impossibly wide ones. He looks like he is just witnessing a miracle or God’s grace itself. His pupils are so big that no blue is left, and the fire reflects two perfectly round eyes that are fixated to Henry’s figure, as if nothing else exists but him.

Henry releases a voiceless sigh and sinks deeper. It’s so different from everything he had experienced on his own, and yet, it is exactly how he had imagined it, alone in the woods and in his bed. Different because Hans is right there with him, breathing in every little lost sound and shift Henry makes while remaining perfectly still, his usually so flippant and never-resting lips now slack, not even a quiver running through them. His hands are a grounding presence both under Henry and on his leg, right on the joint between his hip and his thigh. Different because he imagined stops and laughter and maybe even shared embarrassment but instead, silence fills the chamber, and it seems that the fire, too, respects the new authority as no crack or sizzle is to be heard. And Hans slides into Henry smoothly. Like a newly forged sword in its designated sheath. A shuddering breath expands Henry’s chest.

“ Hans ,” he produces, mouth dry, voice choked, a question somewhere in the name.

“I’m here,” comes the low reply, so clear in the quietness of the room.

Henry’s arse touches the knuckles of Hans’s hand. “Fuck,” he moans. 

“You’re - I, you -” Hans begins, trails off, then lifts his hand off of his erection when Henry nods at him curtly. 

Deeper he sinks, and both men moan at the shared sensation.

It’s almost a content sigh when Henry bottoms out. He lifts his suddenly very heavy head to look at Hans again. He doesn’t know when he has lost his gaze, when exactly his head has decided to tilt sideways. Everything in him feels drunk on sex.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hans finally says, words almost gruff as if he has to make himself heard after being disregarded many times.

A breathless laughter bubbles out of Henry. “Hans Capon complimenting me?” he says, then licks his dry lips. 

“If you would have just let me– Sakra! ”

Henry has tilted his hips, shifting Hans’s cock inside him, and Hans twitches violently at that, his eyes shooting daggers of want at him that seem to melt him. The heat reaches his groin, and his own cock stirs into half-hardness again. “Fuck me, Hans.”

Hans’s eyes roll in exasperated arousal. “When will you… stop telling me what to do?” he huffs out - then snaps his hips up. 

Henry sees stars behind his eyelids. A crazy smile blossoms on his face. “Never. You- uh promised me- uh just that, by the river, two days- uh ago. Until death- uh do us apart.” The smacks of Hans’s hips that shoot upward make Henry’s voice crack repeatedly while now he has an important point to make. But he gets it done.

“You just have to be a bloody natural at everything, even talking romantically while taking a cock up the arse for the first time,” spills from Hans’s lips, tone both disbelieving and bordering on hysterically pleased. His face is debauched, strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, cheeks and nose flushed, his ears beet-red. He has never looked more beautiful.

“You’re not frugal with your compliments today, Hans,” Henry points out, grabbing onto his lover’s pectoral and using it as a leverage in order to do his part in this mutual union. Hans shows him his teeth in return, then tightens his grip on both sides of his hips, whether to ground Henry or himself is unknown. They establish a rhythm, a giving and taking of undulating movements, and everything falls into place. Henry’s eyebrows shoot upward. “Fuck, it does feel like riding a horse!” he exclaims.

Inexplicably, Hans throws his head back into the pillows and laughs out loud. “Christ’s wounds, Henry! Out of everything I expected you to say, that was not among it! Sakra, I should have calculated with that brain of yours.”

Henry grins crookedly, lifting himself higher on Hans before rolling down on him again with a tilt of his hips, much like he does when Pebbles gallops between his thighs. Other than that, nothing comes close to this sensation despite Henry’s claim. And it is addicting like everything else he does with Hans. 

He speeds up, aware of the effect it has on a not yet come Hans. He twitches in the movements of Henry’s hips sometimes, moans protractedly when they are connected so deep that it doesn’t go any further, and after the fifth of those sweet sweet sounds out of the noble’s mouth Henry remembers that it is his own cum that adds to the oil for their joining. It’s enough to make his cock fully hard again. He wraps his hand around it, pumping it with a loose grip, and notices with great satisfaction that Hans’s gaze wanders from the point of their connection to his balls to his cock to his abs to his pecs to his face and back repeatedly.

How he can last so long is a mystery to Henry. He would have exploded two times already.

“How does it feel?” Henry asks, finding it hard to work his tongue. His arse feels loose now, and so does his mouth. “How do… I feel?” 

Hans covers the hand on his chest with his own and smiles up to Henry. There is a sweetness in his expression that doesn’t seem to fit the way he looks - flushed, sweaty, carnal - but it does. It does. 

Henry’s own gaze snaps towards the curl of fingers around his hand, then to Hans’s handsome face again. His breath is laboured, his rhythm still strong, the glide still intoxicating, his fingers around his erection still arousing. 

“Like more than I ever dreamed of, my love,” Hans says. And Henry… Henry whines to that, feeling vulnerable - now, of all times - and his rhythm stutters. A more determined expression evolves in Hans’s still wide eyes. “Lay down. Let me take care of you the way you want.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Henry says. 

“I know.” It’s said without smugness or pride, just a quiet acknowledgement in the rustling and turning of them on the mattress. Hans slips out of Henry in the process. It gives him time to fully take in the glistening length that has been pumping inside him, and will soon be again. 

The saliva that was formerly lost to him now comes flooding back into his mouth, almost overflowing his tongue and teeth. He snaps his lips shut and swallows.

Hans leans his long and muscular frame over Henry while he bends his lover’s legs, his sweat and musk filling Henry’s nostrils, the sweetest perfume there is for him. The noble’s eyes are still dark. Flames dance in them. He is gone too, as Henry can confirm when Hans guides his cock back into Henry’s welcoming warmth, into his own personal fire that he stokes with his poker. A moan spills from Hans’s plump lips when he is sheathed inside, low and high-pitched at the same time. The light of the fireplace licks over the stretch of his muscles under soft skin while he moves in and out of Henry. First cautiously, as if to test the waters again, then firmer, with longer and surer pushes, and it squelches each time he pulls almost out of Henry and back inside.

“You feel wetter,” Hans huffs out. “How’s that possible?” 

“Don’t know,” Henry replies, wrapping his hands around the back of his lover, his blunt nails digging into the muscles that slither under his touch, needing to touch him, be closer still. “But it’s fucking hot that you’re taking me with my own cum.”

A broken sigh comes out of Hans, and the future lord lets himself be dragged down into the embrace of his peasant, their mouths finding and engulfing each other. Hans’s tongue is hot to the touch, usually such a sharp tool that tends to cut the people around him, now a pliant and plump thing for Henry to suck on, to gasp against, to slide around. “You were wetter after a while too, y’know,” Henry murmurs into the sex-loaded air between them.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Hans has found a bit of his snark again, as surprising as it is. Henry can’t help but huff out a short laugh, sweet and genuine. His chest feels like bursting from happiness and cock .

“Let me have some secrets, my Lord,” Henry says fondly, kissing Hans’s lips again. He gasps when Hans shoves his cock deep inside, making their bodies and sweat smack loudly. He has hit that spot inside Henry with the shove, and his dick that is currently trapped between their stomachs takes great interest in it, becoming stiffer once again.

“Secrets, huh… How about you tell me about your little fantasies in the woods?” Hans aims for controlled and lordly, certainly leisurely too, but fails horribly with how flushed and panting he is above Henry. 

“Why, is my peasant arse not enough for you to come? Need me to tell you filth, too?” Henry says, and he does not know where that crawled out from. He wonders briefly if he just pushed too far - but his lover just laughs once with a big breath of air that flows over Henry’s sweaty face like a summer breeze and shakes his head. 

“If you only knew how much I’m trying to hold on right now,” he breathes, wheezes almost. 

Henry cups both arse cheeks of his lord - oh Christ, they are perfect even with the arrow-shaped scab he spares - and clenches his pelvic floor hard. Hans sways above him, hanging on by a thread. “And why is that?” the blacksmith asks sweetly.

“Shove your stupid questions up your arse,” Hans replies, a bit miffed, but his smile betrays him greatly. “ Ha ha , yes, I’m up your arse right now - droll , Hal.”

Henry, one the verge of saying just that, closes his mouth again and grins up at Hans. 

His lord looks at him with great interest, searching for something in his face while still rocking inside and out, his movements shallower now but not less intense. 

The jest falls away, and leaves behind the ever-present and always underlying love and devotion they have for each other. Henry sneaks a hand up to Hans’s beautiful face and strokes his thumb over the cheekbone

“Something bothering you, dearest?” Henry says quietly. Hans flinches, just for the blink of an eye, but Henry sees it. Something simmers below the surface, a fear, but Henry is there. Will be there. Will not let go.

“Let go, you’re safe with me,” Henry murmurs, cupping his jaw and bringing their foreheads together.

A shuddering sigh works its way up Hans’s entire chest, as if he vomits a heavy burden. His eyes flutter shut as he melts into Henry’s touch, and it is just then that Henry notices how soft Hans actually is now that another layer of rampart has been torn down in the matter of just a few seconds. It leaves behind… Hans . Handsome thoughtful wanton Hans. “ Henry ,” Hans whispers, the name like a prayer. “Kiss me.”

Henry obeys in an instant. He tilts his head and pushes his lips against Hans’s, softly, inquiring, supporting, but Hans is having none of it. He bares his teeth and sinks them in Henry’s bottom lip, his tongue and mouth licking and sucking at it. Henry groans. It doesn’t stop there; Hans claims Henry’s mouth as if it’s a castle to seize. And Henry lets himself be conquered, pressed into the pillows, eyes falling shut, taking everything his lord has to offer and offering everything in return. He bends his legs a bit more towards his chest while wrapping both his hands around his lover’s back again and in return, a hungry hand comes to rest in the hollow of his knee and on his ribs, squeezing both with a firm and loving and hungry grasp.

A low growl erupts from Hans’s throat, not unlike Mutt when he senses danger but right now, there is only Hans that is dangerous in the secludedness of their chamber, and Henry feels himself falling for it, being weak as a hare that is trapped under a wolf. “Do it, mark me,” Henry gasps, throwing his head back.

And Hans bites down into his breast muscle, right below his collarbone, the familiar possessiveness like a kick in Henry’s head. 

“I’m your first, and your last,” Hans pants against his chest hair, voice wrecked. He pushes into Henry brutally. He hits the spot in his arse, scratches that itch in Henry’s brain, fills everything that isn’t whole inside his patchy soul.

“I am,” Henry cries out, violently dragging his nails down Hans’s entire back, and Hans howls.

He snaps his hips against Henry’s, and then he is coming, Henry can feel it in the twitch of his cock, the squeeze of his balls against his perineum, grunting, sweating, magnificent mess that Hans is, wild eyes locked with Henry’s before he dives down to pour even more saliva and love into the man that he claims with every thrust of his spilling cock.

The waves of his pleasure go on for a long time, at least it feels like it. Their sweat slickens the movements of every limb that almost desperately grasps and grips anything they can reach. Henry guides Hans’s mouth back towards his own and kisses him as if he was drowning, the sounds wet and loud in his ears that seem to be more sensitive than ever. The kisses are sloppy. Tongues dart out into the void. Cheeks get wet. Neither of them care.

“Christ…” is what Hans finally says, a weak and exhausted sound. He blinks at his lover when he lifts his head off of Henry’s chest, his sweat-soaked hair falling into his face again. They don’t resemble blond at all right now.

“Still Henry, I’m afraid,” he replies, licking a stripe on the long line of Hans’s neck, tasting the salt there. The bite on his chest pulses faintly. Everything feels loaded and heavy. 

All that comes out of Hans is a weak chuckle. He reaches for the water pitcher on the nightstand and with shaking hands, he manages to bring it to his lips and drink right out of it. Water splashes from his lips and lands on Henry, the droplets cold on his heated skin. After four greedy gulps, Hans breathes in again and hands the pitcher to Henry who braces himself up enough to drink too. 

“Are you alright?” Hans inquires, a lazy smile on his face. No, not a smile, it’s just the sight of Hans being completely relaxed and spent. It is so unfamiliar that Henry needs a few moments to really take it in, his own heart softening with it. 

“I am,” he says. “Very much so.” 

Now Hans does smile. It’s like a sunrise over endless flower-kissed meadows, and Henry is almost certain he can see the shadow of the flower crown he had made for him on his head. Hans is his mighty warrior, beauty in every pore of his being. All that Henry can do is stare, stunned by the presence of the man in front of him and still inside him, softening quickly.

“I’m pulling out, yes?” Hans asks with a flick of his gaze before he shifts his weight and himself out of Henry. Henry sighs, the pressure and the slick warmth of Hans’s body now gone; a welcome relief in the heat that surrounds him.

Hans looks tired, not that Henry can deny him that after the events of the last days. There still is the sickly green bruise on his flank and of course the arrow wound of his arse, the former now clearly visible while the lord stretches his limbs. Henry prepares for Hans to come crawling up to him and bury his face in the crook of Henry’s shoulder, marking the end of their lovemaking, but something else happens. Henry is in the middle of putting down the pitcher on the nightstand when he sees Hans’s hand slide deftly between his arse cheeks and immediately, two fingers breach his barely closed hole and scissor their way inside.

Henry chokes on his last gulp of water. “ Oh –kurva! You’re– you’re going to stain the bed!” he hurries to spit out between coughs, barely managing to put down the pitcher properly.

Hans has a dirty grin on his face. Oh no. He sits almost casually on one end of the bed, one hand braced and fisted in the blanket that is just a heap after their activities. He lifts his arm and throws the blanket right in Henry’s face. It hits his nose and open mouth, and now he has the taste of soap, sweat and perfume on his tongue. Great. 

“As if I’d give a damn about the bloody sheets right now,” Hans says, his eyebrows high on his forehead and a toothless grin on his face that screams “haughty fucker” so loud that the people in Merhojed must hear it. Henry wants to slap it off his face in an instant. “Mary-Ann is going to take care of that tomo… row…” Mid-word, the tension in Hans’s awful expression falls apart like the hatch of the gallows. His face becomes slack, mouth and cheeks drooping while his eyes widen.

The anger in Henry fizzles out, replaced by the fear that something of his body must have shocked Hans. He braces himself on his elbows while he feels as if his lower body is liquid; a strange sensation that makes him self-conscious when the expression on Hans’s face doesn’t change; and he doesn’t speak. “We don’t have to continue, you know, no press-”, Henry finally stutters out just as Hans murmurs, “Oh. Oh fuck”, lost and distant.

“What, what is it?” Henry wants to know, fighting the sudden urge to shift upwards and withdraw from the intrusion of Hans’s fingers.

“I mean, you did tell me how hot it is but this… is beyond…” Hans trails off, shaking his head before looking up at his lover. “Henry, you fucking feed my possessiveness over you.” Henry blinks, then realises what Hans must mean.

He feels the wetness out of his hole, spread open by the fingers of Hans, and a part cringes from the sensation, foreign and uncomfortable as it is. Hans, on the other hand, seems to be watching another miracle, his breaths once again shallow and his cock heavy and spent between his spread legs. There is the flush again, spreading from his cheeks down to his chest, and Henry finds with a breath of relief that it’s not repulsion that works in Hans.

Immediately, another part of Henry takes control: the proud one that knows exactly how precious and sinful he is for his lover. He doesn’t have to think far, the images of Hans stretching his lean body contentedly, semen dribbling out of his hole, are etched in his mind. To be able to reciprocate the same string of images for Hans right now feels… angelic, in lack of a better word. If he burns in hell for that sacrilege, so be it. He would do it for his lord. Like everything else.

Henry lets out his breath and does exactly that - stretching on the mattress. Hans clearly doesn’t know where to look; his throat bobs up and down while his eyes scurry over Henry’s face and muscles and then back down between his legs. Curious, ever curious Hans, extricates his fingers slowly then, and a squirt of come leaks out along with it, trickling down Henry’s cleft and into the sheets. He shudders, feeling claimed and loved and dominated. His cock stirs, half-hard.

Hans lifts his fingers in front of his face, watching the glistening liquid between and on them as he moves them, and Henry watches from his position, both their spend in the hands of Lord Hans Capon of Pirkstein.

He then lifts his gaze up to Henry. With deliberate intent, Hans opens his mouth, tongue darting out to meet his coated fingers. He pops them inside his mouth, lips sealing shut behind them, and all that Henry can do is moan helplessly. 

With great pleasure, Hans sucks his two fingers clean, then smiles generously as he lets them fall from his mouth.

“Christ…” Henry gasps, gripping his own cock.

“Still Hans, I’m afraid,” the noble says.

Henry really can’t laugh right now. There is heat inside him again, yet he does not dare to spur Hans on. He knows the last few days have taken their toll on his lord, and so he sits up, catching Hans’s hand and stroking the knuckles gently. “Hans, we really don’t… have to continue, you know? You look awfully tired, my love.”

Hans sends him a genuinely confused look. The wood in the fireplace cracks. “What? I do?” he gives back, his brows forming a frown. 

“Yes.”

They exchange a wordless conversation, and Henry finds in Hans’s bright and open eyes nothing but deep devotion and care for his page, something he would not speak out loud, at least not yet. Maybe in the future, maybe when Henry has learned to speak his heart a bit more eloquently, too. 

“I’m not that tired, be assured. I still want to conduct my little experiment.” With a well-placed hand on the bite mark, he pushes Henry back onto the mattress, and Henry yields after initial hesitation. He is not really convinced but his cock betrays him in the way it jumps and grows in his own grasp. “Hm. Did you actively try this yourself sometime? What was the highest amount of orgasms in one go?”

Henry tries not to flinch at the expression. He breathes out and stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t understand the obsession of Hans with his high virility but there are many things Henry has yet to discover and come to like. Maybe this adds to that as well. “Three,” he says to the ceiling. 

He hears Hans gawk at that, and then there’s Hans’s head in his vision, leaning over him, blanking out the ceiling. “What. Are you yanking my pizzle?” he asks briskly. 

Henry feels uncomfortable. Very. Why is his cock so hard, then? Damn Hans. Damn Hans and this inexplicable spell he has on Henry.

“No,” Henry finally says. “You remember the story in the woods I bega–”

“So you are telling me,” Hans interrupts, and he’d be just his old self, pompous and mock-scandalised, if it were not for his wide eyes and the way he licks his lips repeatedly, “that you had your little fantasy ride while the trebuchet was being built and what, walked into the forest and came three times in a row?”

Henry nods hesitantly, feeling a blush creeping up his jaw and settling into his molars. Hans watches every little expression like a hawk. “Sounds about right. It happened after you told me this… wish of yours in the tent. I rode off and –”

“Jesus,” Hans breathes, then his gaze flicks down to Henry’s hard length. It jumps at the sharp attention, whether it be out of surprise or arousal Henry can’t grasp. “I don’t know if I want you to fuck me right now or make you come with my hands and mouth alone until you’re screaming my name.” 

Henry gawks. His guts do something very complicated, almost like nausea, but they are definitely intrigued by Hans’s newfound curiosity. “What,” supplies his body eventually. Henry gets a hold of himself and tries again, “Hans. If you really want to go through with your experiment tonight, I really wish for you to not overexert yourself. I will fuck you wherever you like and in every position you want in the near future but–”

“Really?” Hans is suddenly sitting on Henry, his cock trapped under his lord’s pelvis. Henry grits his teeth to not moan out loud. “Let me hear you, dearest,” Hans murmurs, almost absent-mindedly, and Henry lets the moan spill from his lips like a relieving sigh. “You mean it?” Hans inquires, shifting his hips, “my stallion?”

Henry grips Hans’s hips so tight that it must be uncomfortable. But Hans doesn’t even flinch. Fuck him, this is yet another thing that makes Hans so hot to Henry, to not be perturbed by his growing physical strength and the way he moves and gets a hold of the leaner man. Hans is not weaker than him, not by chance, but even he admitted once that Henry is of a sturdier build, and wielding a hammer for a whole day is something else than wielding a longsword for twenty minutes tops in a tournament.

“I mean it,” Henry confirms, so genuine that it surprises him.

Hans drags his balls and his soft cock over his page’s hard one. Kurva. “Good, I’ll hold you to that,” he says, a dark gleam in his eyes while he releases Henry from his trapped state. Henry shivers. “And now shut up, not another word from you except for moans and my name,” he adds with a well-known accusatory finger pointed at Henry.

Henry nods, the coiling in his gut starting to become a thunderstorm again. Hans and that damned mouth of his. He is almost overwhelmed already when Hans nudges his thighs apart to settle between them, one hand picking up his erection from his stomach and guiding it upwards, right into the heat of the waiting mouth there. Henry can feel his eyes rolling into his skull, vision blacking out momentarily, but the sounds come through: A moan, muffled by his flesh, the slick-slick-slick sound of the saliva around his length while Hans bobs his head up and down. His wayward hair strands sway in the movement, and Henry extends one hand to swipe them back on Hans’s head, gripping tight there, eliciting yet another moan out of the noble. His ears are red again, his lips plump, coated with saliva and devotion, bringing both as an offering to the shrine that is Henry’s cock. 

He wants to say something, he wants badly , like with everything when it comes to his lord. But he bites his tongue, willing to please as much as getting his way. Maybe even more so, not that he’d ever say that out loud to Hans. He’d never hear the end of it.

Back slightly arching off the bed, he lets Hans prod all the hidden treasures. A kiss next to his navel, a slow circle with his finger around the muscle ring of his arse, a knuckle pressed against the spot right below his balls. A palm fondling them, and then a tongue and a mouth that envelops both at the same time. All the while a deft hand strokes his erection, and Henry can only groan and hiss and whimper quietly to it. 

He feels his balls tighten, feel his head clearing out, ecstasy flooding his lower abdomen and his chest. He feels hot all over, pulse beating rapidly in his neck and chest. Every lick of Hans, every twist of his lips around his cock: it’s like a well-practised dance that Hans is performing. Where did he learn that in this short amount of time? Not once does he graze his teeth over Henry’s heated skin, not once does he lose the cock when he sucks around the glans. Henry grips the sheets next to his hips tight and feels his legs kick out.

“That’s it. Show me how much you love me,” Hans says with a pop off his dick before diving down again. The moan that order produces out of Henry paints the noble’s beautiful cheeks a shade redder. 

Two glides of Hans’s wicked throat and Henry is done for. He feels his lower body explode in a burst of heat. His cock convulses, shooting cum into the wetness that is Hans’s mouth. Something sizzles in his head, and maybe it’s his brain that is getting fried.

But his mind becomes clear once again, and through half-lidded eyes, he sees his own heaving chest and behind it, a feline Hans who straightens from his cock and opens his mouth. Glassy cum coats his tongue and his lower teeth, slowly flowing towards Hans’s bottom lip. Henry’s cum. 

Henry huffs, it sounds like a whine. He lifts his hand to touch Hans’s tongue with his fingers, to push the cum further into this skilled throat but Hans is faster. He closes his mouth, fingertips now only meeting lips, and swallows protractedly. “Three,” Hans says, voice sounding so used that Henry needs a moment to understand the number.

Oh no, he should have known. Hans’s little experiment is to break the record that Henry never established. He opens his mouth to tell Hans that this is a stupid idea and an even more stupid attempt to prove himself, but he stops himself at the last second. Hans has his eyebrows raised in displeased expectancy, and Henry closes his mouth deliberately, a frown between his brows.

A smile works its way in Hans’s handsomely exhausted face. “Finally learning manners, are we?” he says smugly. 

Henry shows him his middle finger.

But Hans must have expected it because his hand shoots forward like an arrow, gripping his wrist, and then he pulls Henry’s hand towards himself and sucks the finger into his mouth. 

Henry’s jaw falls open.

“On your knees, Hal. And still, no fucking word from you,” Hans says gravely, guiding the trapped hand down his lips and chin, leaving behind a trail of slickness, and lower, over his throat. There it stops, as does Henry who is on the verge of shifting into the position his lord desires.

They look at each other. Hans has a complex glint in his eyes. “Squeeze,” he orders, and Henry can feel the vibration of the word against his palm and fingers. 

Henry’s heart skips a beat.

He flexes his fingers, pressing them into the soft tissue around his lord’s throat. Hans’s eyes flutter. Oh . Bull’s eye… Henry suddenly remembers to blink. 

“Knees, now,” Hans breathes, and if his voice sounded used before, now it sounds destroyed . Scratchy, husky, sex-loaded.

Henry’s head swims. He turns on the bed and comes to his hands and knees. His arse feels molten. He feels debauched, wobbly. Behind his eyes there is a slow pulse, and Henry wonders if he should be worried about it but Hans’s presence and warmth lulls him in as his lover covers his thighs, his arse, his back with the whole of his body, his breath warm against Henry’s ear. Henry’s eyes drift shut, his head tilts to the side, and there is a hand that catches his jaw, just like at the beginning of their fuck session… how many hours… days… ago?

He shudders when a finger enters him, pushes deep inside, molding against the rim of his entrance. He exhales slowly, rocks his hip against it, seeking more connection. He doesn’t know if he can come once again this evening but he is willing. So willing to do everything for his lord.

He hears Hans make a sound that could be a sad laugh. “How come that no matter how hard I push, you still stay? You don’t run away?” comes the murmured clarification on Henry’s shoulder, tightening his grip around the chest he’s holding.

Henry releases a huge sigh. “’m not in the right state o’mind to discuss deep thoughts right now… sorry...” He doesn’t know if the words come out at all.

“Henry,” Hans murmurs against his ear.

“Mmmh,” makes Henry.

“I love you,” says Hans. 

“Mmh,” makes Henry.

“Good,” says Hans. Then he bites down on Henry's shoulder. 

He cries out, almost falling into the mattress, but a strong arm holds him tight against a chest. He hears oil squelching in the movements of the finger inside him, and the constant glide against that damned area inside him makes his damned guts melt. He doesn’t feel his cock, is it still there…?

A tongue that licks over his shoulder, then teeth sink into his skin again, gentler this time. Skin, then movement around his prick again. Henry hisses, hips stuttering. 

That fucking heat, he can’t stand it, it consumes him. Blistering hot sparks roam inside his body, and his mind feels… bliss. It focuses only on breathing. In and out, and Henry goes with the flow. Forge. Air to stoke the fire. Breathing. Melting iron into a sword. Sparks that fly when a hammer hits steel. 

He groans, jaw lost and clattered away, saliva flowing freely from his bottom lip. He feels it, doesn’t see it. Eyes closed, too heavy to open them.

Strokes on his cock, finger that thrusts in when the stroke is on his tip, then they retreat, then they push and pull forth again. 

A voice from far away… Hans… right… “...good?”

He thinks he nods. Maybe says something.

The fire inside him grows, licks every pore of his being, licks away any thought that lingers in the depths of his mind. His steel is hot, almost burning, and Hans takes it to the anvil to hammer it into the desired shape. 

He’s the longsword in Hans’s hands, his very own blacksmith.

The only one he bends for.

Lava erupts in his lower body, like blood would out of a wound, and his soul loses anchoring for a moment.

Then Henry is back, inhaling harshly, while his cock is stroked by a firm grip. He is drooling into the pillows and into the sheets, both saliva and semen on different ends. He is coming, he realises belatedly. The pleasure that has him in a chokehold lasts and lasts and lasts while his cock leaks and leaks and leaks. He hears Hans panting wantonly, so close to him, his heat, his scent, his firm body, and Henry thinks that he has Hans’s name on his lips. But if he’s screaming or murmuring or thinking it, no one knows.

Eventually, the sensations fade out, and with a full body shudder, Henry collapses. Only slowly, he feels the world around him again, notices the soaked sheets, his own deep and neverending breaths, the heat of the man that was above him and now shifts to be next to him. Henry sees a face appear in his blurry sight from where his head had fallen cheek first. His jaw is back where it belongs.

“...ry? Are you alright? You bastard, answer me!”

Henry moves his numb lips. “Four.”

Hans stares at him, then he wrestles Henry to the side to capture his mouth in a bruising kiss. Henry grins, making the kiss sloppy and stupid.

“Fuck, you spooked me for a second there.” Real concern appears in Hans’s expression, and he swipes his - messy - hand over Henry’s cheek.

“You spook me all day long,” Henry replies with a huff, his limbs too heavy to both wipe his cheek and properly hug his lord. “And night.”

“Funny, Hal.”

“I know.”

Another bruising kiss. Teeth clatter against each other.

“Am I allowed to speak again?” Henry says against Hans’s bottom lip.

“No. Never again,” Hans replies.

Henry licks over the lip, then hums. “Pity. Okay then.”

Hans smirks lopsidedly and sits up. Cautiously, he makes his way over Henry’s figure to the fireplace. Henry turns his heavy body around to watch him put two logs into the low fire. When did it burn down this much? He blinks at the sight of Hans shoving the logs around in the fireplace, and wants to quip about why he isn’t sent to feed the fire for his noble but doesn’t find the strength to do so. He feels heavy and sunken into the mattress, and his whole body tingles. Whatever spell Hans has cast on Henry, it works.

And apparently, in their chamber, the roles of their ranks don’t apply.

Hans straightens in all of his glory, puts his hands on his hips, and his arse is on perfect display. The arrow wound forms but a black dot on his cheek. And is that… Henry narrows his eyes. Yes, red scratch marks on Hans’s back, from his shoulders all the way down to his hips. He turns around a moment later but stops in his step when he sees Henry’s expression.

“What is it?” Hans says immediately, coming down next to the bed on one knee. “Are you hurt?” Again, genuine concern is in Hans’s eyes. So Henry extends his hand and swipes the stubborn hair strands away from his forehead again.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Hans looks like he is ready to throw some fists. At Henry or someone who dares to threaten his squire both; Henry is sure about it.

He smiles quietly. “I’m not.” 

Hans stares at Henry for a moment longer, finding no signs of discomfort, only heavy bliss, and the sharp expression around his eyes softens again. Henry nudges his head. “But your back? Is that okay?”

“Mh?” Hans makes and turns his head over his shoulder to look down his long back. “Oh. Ah, I knew that’d leave a mark.” 

“Shit, sorry.”

Hans seems delighted. “What for? I told you I wanted you to be rougher with me.”

“Does that include choking you? That… was a new one.”

Hans grins at that while blushing again. He bends forward to kiss Henry, softly swiping his fingers over the bite marks he left, first the one on his chest, then his shoulder, then his nape. “And me biting you is so far off, hm?”

“Never said that I liked that.”

Hans holds up a finger and wiggles it. “Ah, my dear, you don’t have to say that out loud for me to know it.”

Henry laughs, a deep slow sound that originates somewhere below his navel. “So, are you satisfied with the results of your experiment, my Lord ?” he asks when Hans tugs his head under Henry’s chin with a tired sigh.

Hans makes a non-committal hum. “Broke your record. Adequate, I’d say,” he says in the cockiest tone he possesses. 

Henry wraps his heavy arms around Hans and pulls his upper body closer to the mattress and himself. “As long as my Hans is happy,” he hums, of course feeling very happy himself. His eyes drift close for a moment. He needs to relieve himself, both sides, to be precise, and have at least one good scrub before he considers to lay down in the desecrated sheets again but right now, all he can do is lie here, with the love of his life in his arms, and breathe.

“I am,” comes the soft reply, along with even softer caresses of his ribcage and the side of his neck. Henry smiles.

They lie like that for a while, and Henry lets himself be petted, be loved, be held by his lord that serves him as much as Henry does for Hans; but never in public, never to be known by other people. Just them both. But it’s enough. Henry knows this. 

After a long while and when the unpleasant sensations of Henry’s body become impossible to ignore, it is Hans who first moves as if he senses his squire’s needs. He extricates himself from the embrace and stands up, extending a hand to Henry which he accepts. It feels good to have support when he comes to a sitting position and then to his feet. The world spins around him but there is Hans, arm firmly around him and hands clasped together. 

“Easy there,” Hans murmurs.

“You know that’s not possible with me,” Henry replies, already feeling his usual self trickling through again.

“True that, incorrigible bastard.”

Henry tilts his head up to kiss him, and Hans gladly accepts, humming into the kiss. Then Henry lets go of his lover and staggers towards the door. 

“Oi, don’t you want to put on some clothes before you traumatise the guards?” Hans teases. 

“Hm…” Henry makes and remembers that, indeed, there is something called clothes in this world.

“Oh my, what did I do to you?” Hans says but he sounds content and tired while heating a pot of water on the stones of the fireplace. He dunks a cloth in it while watching Henry getting dressed clumsily. “Go,” he says with a chuckle once Henry has a shirt and his braies on, “and don’t fall down the stairs. I’ll prepare everything else.” 

Indeed, when Henry comes back later, having more than once stumbled over his own feet which nearly made him fall face first against the outhouse seat, there are new sheets draped over the mattress, and the pot with warm water is in the tub. Hans sits on the brim of the tub, his night clothes already on, and a part of Henry is sad that he has no naked Hans anymore.

“Come here,” he says to Henry. Henry follows. “Strip.”

“Did you rehearse that?” Henry mumbles and obediently lets Hans take off his shirt. 

“You’re a cunt,” Hans says with a sniff. “A reeky one at that.”

“Aye. The cunt that wants to know how you managed to pull off all of… this. How long was I gone?” He dips a cloth into the warm water and begins to wash himself. It’s a relief on his sticky skin.

“Longer than I liked. I began to wonder if you fell down the outhouse.”

“Aye, not far off.”

“Wait, really?” Hans laughs. 

Henry nods and swipes the cloth down between his groins. “And I admit, it is strange. The… how did you put it? The bowel irritation .”

Hans chuckles and stands up to stretch his arms and neck. “You know, Henry, you can trust your lord sometimes. Even he can say wise words.”

Henry scoffs incredulously and once again, there is fabric that is thrown at him, this time a cloth against his shoulder. Henry grabs it before it hits the ground and dries himself off. “I love you,” he says, gentle.

“I love you too. Come to bed, will you?” Hans says, already sinking down on the bed and pulling the sheets over his body. 

“Of course,” Henry replies. “Do you mind if I stay naked? My clothes aren’t exactly–”

“I insist.” 

Of course. Henry lays down next to Hans and immediately, two arms wrap around him and pull him impossibly closer. Hans presses a soft kiss on his forehead.

“But honestly, how do you know how to change sheets?”

“Don’t mention that ever again or I will make you do it from now on, no matter how exhausted you are from my superior skills.”

“Apologies, his noble arsehood.”

“Good, I see you’re finally learning.”

Henry feels sleep lulling him in, but he needs to say something important before his mind blanks out. “Hans?” 

“Hm?” 

“I’ve never felt safer than in your arms.”

A feather-light kiss and the scratch of a beard on his cheek. “Sleep then, my Lancelot.”

He ought to ask him what he means later. Right now, sleep lays a heavy blanket on his body and his eyes, and he succumbs to it with a full heart and a full soul.

Chapter Text

Hans

The dust has settled, but everything has changed.

It’s been a week since Talmberg has been recaptured, and though the land is recovering, everyone has also become immensely aware of the threat that looms over the horizon. No longer can they afford to stand idly by and watch as a war breaks out.

This is exactly why Hans volunteered himself to visit von Bergow to aid the discussion over an alliance with the League of Lords. He wants to help - he needs to, and not just because he wants to prove himself (though that is a major factor). Rattay will be his one day, and he can only take care of his people if the right ruler is on the Bohemian throne. 

Thankfully, Jobst deemed it a good idea, which no doubt convinced Hanush to agree to it too. What’s more, he even managed to get Radzig to allow Henry to accompany him - as his personal bodyguard no less! 

Although he is filled with excitement at the prospect of finally being able to do something as a lord should, the weight of responsibility over such a task is not lost to him. This alliance, if successful, will be invaluable in turning the tides and changing the odds in their favour. So, as simple as the delivery of a letter might sound, he knows he cannot mess this up. 

Which is why, despite initially saying that they’ll leave immediately, Hans makes the decision to head out in the morning instead. “If we leave now, we won’t have many hours of daylight for safe travelling,” he says to the men who have been selected to be a part of his retinue. “So, rest up for tonight. We’ll ride out at an hour past dawn.”

The men nod and bow and shuffle away, leaving Hans and Henry alone. The latter turns to the former, asking, “So, last night in Pirkstein before this big quest. Do you have any plans for how you want to spend it?” 

“Oh, you know I do.” Having become an expert at checking for any onlookers, Hans only has to do a quick scan of his surroundings before he leans in to whisper, “My room, at the ninth hour. I have a surprise for you; don’t be late.”

“No letter this time?” Henry’s face flushes a pretty pink, but there’s also a cheeky smirk that Hans would kiss right off him if he could. 

“I only did that because you disappeared and I had no way to contact you.” He teasingly stabs an accusatory finger to Henry’s chest. “Besides, I can’t do that all the time; you would get bored of it.”

“I would never.” Henry winces in mock pain before grinning. “And if it’s anything like the last surprise, then I might even be there early.”

Hans chuckles, stepping away before anyone has the chance to notice the inappropriate closeness. “Don’t be too early. I need time to get things ready.” 

“Oh, now I am definitely intrigued. Could I get a hint? Is it going to be anything like last time?” Henry waggles an eyebrow, and Hans knows that the filthy memories of what they got up are running through his head. He’s sure of it, because the same is happening for him too. 

“Hmmm...” Hans puts on an overly dramatic deep-in-thought expression, purposefully drawing out the sound and watching with glee as Henry rolls his eyes. “Yes and no.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Henry asks, sceptical yet anticipatory.

“I’m not telling you any more, so you’ll just have to wait and see,” Hans says, laughing at the exasperated sigh that leaves his lover. “Patience is a virtue, dear Henry. I’ll see you later. Remember, the ninth hour, and not a minute later.”

“I know.” Henry bows. “See you tonight, my Lord.”

They part ways then, both of them needing to pack for the long journey ahead. But for Hans, he does actually need to spend some time getting ready. Like Henry said, it’s their last night before things might change on an even grander scale, so he needs to ensure that tonight goes according to plan.

And if it does, well… He’s in for a long and satisfying night.

~

Flames crackle gently in the fireplace, casting a warm glow across the room. A trace of woodsmoke wafts in the air, made faint by the night breeze from the open window, the slight chill dancing with the wisps of steam rising up out of the filled tub. 

Hans is currently relaxing in said tub, eyes closed as he soaks in the hot water. There's a pleasant tingle across his skin that’s not just caused by the heat.

The evening bell tolls. He starts counting down the seconds. One… two… three…

He only has to reach ten when there’s a knock on the door. With a smile, he calls out, “Come in.”

The door opens, and Henry steps in, eyes widening at the sight in front of him. “What’s this?” he asks, closing and locking the door behind him.

Hans spread his arms open in a welcoming gesture. “It’s been ages since we had a bath together, so I thought we could enjoy one more before we have to leave.”

Henry takes a step closer. “But what about the wine? I recognise that bottle; I think I’ve only ever seen your uncle bring it out once, and even then he was unwilling to pour out more than a glass for each guest. So, what’s the special occasion?”

“Why, we’re celebrating you, dear Henry.” Hans reaches over the rim of the tub to where the wine is on a small table. He pours it out into the two goblets he has prepared, taking a long sip from one of them. “It was thanks to you that we recaptured Talmberg, saved Lady Stephanie and your father, and chased Istvan Toth out of these lands.”

“But he escaped, and he took father’s sword with him.” A frown and a furrowed brow appears on Henry’s face, making it clear that such thoughts have been troubling him for the whole week.

“I know, but we need to celebrate every single win we can get.” Hans is more than aware that Henry will not stop worrying about such matters, but he still wants to distract him from them for as long as he can, to get him to see the silver lining. “How about the fact that I managed to convince my uncle to not only let me be in charge of getting the letter to Trosky, but to also bring you along as my bodyguard? I’m finally tasked with something important, Henry! I consider that a win, don’t you?”

“I do.” Henry does smile at that, a clear sign that he’s excited about both their new roles.

Hans reciprocates the smile, lifting the other goblet towards Henry. “So, what are you still waiting for? Join me!”

But Henry does not move. Instead, he continues to stand there, arms folded and an eyebrow raised. “We have a long ride tomorrow, don’t you think we should have an early night in?”

“Henry, I swear to God-”

The man barks out a laugh before Hans can complete his empty threat. “I’m just joking. Give me a minute,” Henry says, that stupidly handsome grin across his lips as he starts removing his clothes. 

Hans continues sipping on the wine, watching over the rim of his goblet as more of that gorgeous body is revealed, with the lines of defined muscles made even more alluring by the low firelight. By the time Henry is completely naked and is stepping into the tub, Hans has almost finished his drink.

Once Henry is seated comfortably, he grabs his goblet and takes a long draw from it, eyes closed to savour both the wine and the warmth of the water. As for Hans, he refills his own before doing the same. And for a few quiet minutes, that’s all they do: sips and sighs interspersed with occasional heated glances exchanged across both sides of the tub.  

Henry is the first to break the silence. “So.”

Hans smirks at him. “So?”

“I take it that you didn’t invite me up here just to join you in the tub,” Henry says as he sets his goblet aside.

“Oh? And what did you expect?” Hans tilts his head to the side in a faux-innocent manner, knowing full-well what Henry wants. 

“Well, I imagined…”

“Yes?” Hans now puts his own cup away, wanting to direct his full attention towards teasing his lover. “Tell me, Henry, what else did you expect me to have planned?”

“... A kiss, at least? We’ve barely had any time for each other all week.” It’s true; after that first night they returned to Pirkstein, Hans has been tasked by Hanush with handling several matters about town, whereas Henry has been going all over to help deal with various crises that emerged in the aftermath of Istvan’s ploy. If he wasn’t away overnight, he would return so exhausted that he would just fall dead asleep in Hans’s arms. The past couple of days have been slightly better, but even then they both remained busy, with the two of them only able to sneak in a quick kiss or two before needing to part ways again. 

Yet, Hans wants to laugh at the simplicity of the request. The man obviously wants more, but for him to ask for a mere kiss? It’s so damn adorable that Hans cannot resist teasing him.

“Why didn’t you say so?” Hans leans forward, watching with delight as Henry closes his eyes and purses his lips in anticipation. But of course, he will not give him the satisfaction this soon, so when he’s about an inch away from Henry’s lips, he swerves his head instead to Henry’s cheek, planting the kiss with a loud smack. 

When he pulls away to return to his side of the tub, he laughs heartily at the sheer disappointment in those blue eyes. “There! A kiss, just like you asked.”

“Hans…” The name comes out as something between a sigh, a chuckle, and a plea. A look crosses Henry’s face then, amused and annoyed yet desperate over being denied something he’s been greatly looking forward to. 

“Can you blame me for teasing you when you always have the best reactions?” While a part of him wants to feel bad for doing so, he also knows that Henry’s desires run deeper than a kiss, so it is less sympathetically and more provocatively that he asks, “I apologise. To make it up to you, could I offer you something else? Maybe something like… this?"

Hans stretches his left leg out towards Henry. With the tub being smaller than the ones at the bathhouse, they are seated closer than the two times before, so he’s able to rest his ankle on Henry’s shoulder. He raises an eyebrow invitingly, waiting to see what Henry will do next.

He is not disappointed. 

With a devilish smile of his own, Henry turns his head to place a soft kiss to the inside of Hans’s ankle. Then, his lips travel upwards, soft against each inch of calf, moving closer with every kiss. Eventually, Henry moves close enough to drape Hans’s knee over his shoulder, the blacksmith’s rough hand holding onto his thigh. The kisses continue, now open-mouthed, wet, sucking gently on sensitive skin. 

Just as a shiver takes over Hans, Henry presses his mouth to the meat of Hans’s inner thigh and bites.

“Fuck,” Hans hisses, light-headed as he sees Henry place another delicate kiss to the circle of teeth marks already developing. “Alright, that’s enough, Henry,” he orders mildly, hand reaching up to the man’s chin and jaw to turn his head away. Henry does not resist, turning to meet his gaze. Flames dance in those blue eyes, a desire that is also reflected in that smug grin. 

Hans glides a thumb across Henry’s bottom lip, pulling down on it slightly. What a sinful mouth, Hans thinks. I can’t wait to make full use of it.

But that will come soon enough. Instead, he says, “Being greedy, aren’t you?”

“When it comes to you? Always. I can never get enough of you. Wouldn’t want to either.” As if to prove his point, Henry grips Hans’s thigh just a little bit harder as he shifts even closer, forcing Hans to splay his legs open a little wider to accommodate him. He’s almost in Henry’s lap at this point.

It feels like a game almost, Henry challenging him to finally make a move. And as tempted as he is, he will not give in. At least not yet; not until he carries out what he has planned. 

“Sweet-talker,” Hans hums, stroking his fingers along Henry’s stubbled jaw. “But since you want more, then you’ll be happy to know that you’re right. I want to do a lot more with you than just sit in this tub. What I want is to make full use of tonight, and I want nothing less than to be thoroughly well-fucked by that lovely cock of yours.”

Pure arousal darkens Henry’s expression. “That can be arranged,” he rasps. Under the water, his other hand goes to Hans’s other leg. 

Before that hand can go higher than the knee, Hans stops him. “Eh, but not here,” he says as he slowly pulls himself away from Henry’s grasp. “We’re going to need to wash up after we’re done, and I would rather keep the water clean.”

He steps out of the tub, and already anticipating Henry’s question, he adds, “You can stay. You’ve only just gotten in, after all, while I’m starting to prune up. Just join me whenever you’re ready.”

After grabbing a towel and drying himself off, he walks over to this bed, arranging the pillows and covers how he wants them. The entire time, he does not need to turn to know that Henry’s hungry gaze is tracking him - he can feel those blue eyes warming his skin with their intensity. As such, each movement he makes is deliberate, bending this way and turning that way, putting on a show to accentuate the lines of his body.

It’s no surprise that he soon hears the sloshing of water behind him, followed by the rustle of a towel and the padding of feet towards him. He sits down on the edge of the bed just in time to see Henry, standing there in all his naked glory. 

He does a slow once-over of his lover’s body, making sure Henry can see how fully he’s appreciating this delicious sight presented to him. When he’s done, he looks up, asking with a smirk and fake-surprise, “Done so soon?”

“I didn’t want to keep your Lordship waiting,” Henry smirks back, this back-and-forth between them as easy as breathing now. He takes a seat beside Hans. “And besides, like you said, we’re still going to need to clean up after we’re done, so why take any more time?”

“Impatient as always,” Hans chides, but before Henry can refute, he leans in to finally give him a proper kiss.

Henry deepens it almost immediately, wicked tongue pushing past his lips to lick up into his mouth. And though he still has things planned, Hans opens up to Henry, letting himself relish the heat and taste of Henry’s lips that he has so sorely missed. The few stolen kisses they had throughout the week are nothing compared to this.

As much as he’s enjoying his breath being almost literally stolen away, when he feels Henry start to try and push him down towards the mattress, he pushes back and pulls away. A chuckle escapes him when he sees the confusion colouring Henry’s face. “Before we get started, I have another surprise for you.”

He pats the centre of the bed, gesturing for Henry to shift over. Once he does, Hans explains, “Seeing how virile you were the other night, I thought of finding a way to keep up with you so that I don’t leave you unsatisfied.”

Henry cheeks go red, surely remembering his completely debauched and euphoric state at the end of their previous tryst. “Oh, you don’t have to do that, Hans, I’m fine-”

“Shush, let me finish.” He smacks Henry lightly on the arm before continuing. “I went to Lora to see if she had anything, and she gave me this.”

Hopping off the bed, Hans makes his way to the nightstand. From beside the flask of oil he had prepared, he picks up a vial that is only just ever so slightly bigger than his pinkie. With it safely in hand, he climbs back onto the bed, kneeling beside Henry. Holding the vial with two fingers, he swishes the liquid around in front of curious blue eyes. “Its main component is some Buck’s Blood potion but with a little added something so it works even better for… intimate moments.”

He uncorks it, taking a sniff. Underneath the usual ingredients, he detects hints of honey and strawberry. He brings it to his lips and downs it in one go, running his tongue over his lower lip to savour the tartness. “So, Henry, I want you to make me come as many times as you did that night.”

Henry inhales sharply. His knuckles turn white as he grips the sheets in his fists. “Christ, Hans, I… yes, I can do that.”

“I know you will. And don’t you dare hold back either. Feel free to come whenever and wherever you like-” Hans walks his fingers up Henry’s torso, up from his navel to his sternum where he gently pushes him onto the mattress. “-though most preferably inside me.”

“ Kurva ,” Henry groans, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes.

Loving the effect he has on his dearest, Hans grins. His eyes immediately go to Henry’s cock, noticing that it’s already almost fully erect despite having not been touched. That gives him a brilliant idea as to how to get things started. “Lora also said it could take a few minutes for the concoction to take effect, so while we wait…”

As seductively as he can, he slinks down to lie comfortably between Henry’s legs. Wrapping a hand around the man’s cock, he gives it a few slow strokes, watching as Henry throws his head back with a moan, eyes fluttering shut. 

Though he’s satisfied with such a reaction, it is definitely not enough. So, keeping his hand firmly around the base, he takes the head of Henry’s cock into his mouth. 

He’s rewarded with a string of curses from Henry. But this too is not enough. Swirling his tongue, he pays extra attention to the glans and tip, the first beads of pre-cum a sudden shock of saltiness to the sweet aftertaste of the potion that still remains. 

Once he thinks he’s lavished enough attention there, he starts licking up and down the length of Henry’s shaft, while his other hand moves to tease Henry’s balls and perineum. Each move elicits a gasp, a whimper, a shiver, all of which is like kindling to the fire that is building in his groin.

On one particularly languid swipe of his tongue from base to tip, he hears Henry call out to him. Rough, hungry, breathless. “ Hans .”

Just his name, but something within him changes. Hans can feel it, a heat that starts spreading out from his core, pure molten gold that reaches out to every inch of his being. Rich and warm, it breeds an ache of desire that grows exponentially, insistent in its ferocity. 

And there’s only one thing that can settle it. 

The tiniest part of his mind that is still functioning logically realises that the potion has finally kicked in. The rest of his mind, however, has only one other focus: more Henry .

So, without even thinking about it, he takes the whole of Henry’s cock into his mouth in one go. 

He hears a moaned “fuck”, but it’s muffled by the blood rushing in his ears. As if his body is dulling his other senses so that he can focus on moving his head up and down, on the delicious bitterness of pre-cum, on the velvety slide of Henry’s thick cock along his tongue. 

He loses himself in the filthiness of it all. Working Henry with his mouth like an utter whore, it should be debasing, but the thought of it only sends a thrill down his spine.

Eventually, something manages to break through his concentration. A hand carding through his hair, followed by Henry’s voice. “You look so beautiful with your lips stretched around me.”

The praise, such obscenity said in such reverence, sets Hans’s nerves alight. He moans around Henry, the vibrations of which cause Henry to react in turn, moaning too while pulling ever so slightly on Hans’s scalp. Feeling that tug, Hans manages to pull himself off of Henry for just long enough to say, “Then make me choke on this big cock of yours.”

Hans knows that he’s made his desire about wanting Henry to be rougher with him more than clear enough, especially during that night a week ago. And while Henry did try, it’s also obvious that he’s still a little hesitant about it, this precious man so worried about hurting him. Hans loves him for it, but right now, he does not want that kind of protective Henry; he wants, needs the Henry who gives in to his base desires and just goes for it.

To prove this to him, Hans doesn’t wait for Henry’s response. Instead, he simply takes Henry into his mouth again, pressing all the way forward until his nose is buried in the dark hair at the base. His gag reflex instantly works up, but he forces himself to stay there for a few more seconds before pulling off with a gasp just in time to see Henry’s eyes almost roll to the back of his head.

“You liked it, right?” Hans asks, to which Henry blinks at him a few times before nodding. “Then do it.”

With that order, he returns to bobbing his head, hollowing out his cheeks to increase suction. Then, as he goes down, he feels the hand on his head press down too, forcing the cock even deeper into his throat than before. 

Fuck yes.

And so it goes. Hans continues to set the pace, but Henry changes it up every now and then with a firm press of his palm, moaning as the tight heat of Hans’s mouth envelopes his prick. 

As for Hans, he’s delirious with how cock-drunk he’s become. Henry’s cock sliding in and out of his mouth is all he cares about, the weight and heat on his tongue, the girth of it driving him crazy each time it hits the back of his throat, not to mention Henry’s musk that he breathes in whenever he’s made to take it all the way down. He hears himself gagging around it, feels himself drooling from the corner of his lips. 

So sinfully dirty, and he’s loving every second. 

At one point, he briefly returns to mouthing and licking along the length of the shaft, only because he wants to say something. With his mouth preoccupied, he’s slurring his words. “Your cock tastes so fucking good, Henry.” 

The man huffs out a breathy chuckle. “Still talking even with your mouth full.”

Somehow, it comes across as both an amused and degrading comment, and it’s the latter that strikes something with Hans. It shouldn’t be this arousing, and yet, he can’t help but whimper.

“I’m close. Do you want me to come down your throat?” Henry asks, and Hans, so desperate for it, can only moan out a needy “please” before wrapping his lips around Henry’s cock once more. 

Continuing to work Henry’s cock, he soon feels the tell-tale signs of Henry’s incoming climax: short and shallow breaths interspersed with groans, as well as the squirming of his hips. As much as Hans would like Henry to thrust up into his mouth, he would prefer much more for Henry’s first orgasm of the night to be accomplished by only his mouth. So, he places one hand on Henry’s thigh, the other on his hip, holding him down.

There’s a long and moaned out “fuck” before Hans feels pressure on the back of his head. He lets himself be pushed, hard , all the way down, and before he can even prepare, the first spurt of cum hits the back of his throat. 

Hans resists the urge to pull back - not that he would have been allowed to anyway, not with how firmly Henry is holding him. Instead, he closes his watering eyes as he swallows around Henry’s cock, savouring the way it tastes and twitches, jaw aching around it in the most delicious way possible.

It’s only after he’s sure that he’s milked out every last drop that he pulls off with a cough. He does not wipe away the tears at the corner of his eyes, nor the drool running down his chin. No, he keeps his mouth slacked open, still connected to Henry’s cock by a string of saliva. He stares up, making sure that Henry is looking right at him, at his face of utter debauchery and filth.

A tiny voice inside him tells him that he should be ashamed.

That voice is immediately drowned out when Henry, with blue eyes still glazed over with bliss, sighs, “Beautiful.”

It’s the juxtaposition of the softness and carnality that sends a pulse right through to his groin. It's only now that Hans remembers what the ultimate goal of tonight was meant to be: Henry is supposed to be the one making him come, not the other way around, and with a raging erection that hasn’t been given attention, he needs to rectify that now.

So, not bothering to give Henry more time to recover (though he already knows by now how strong the man’s libido is), he crawls up Henry’s body and sits to straddle his stomach. Grabbing Henry’s pecs with both hands, he kneads the firm and defined muscles, enjoying the way they feel under his fingers. “You know, nothing can beat a good pair of heavy breasts, but these aren’t too bad at all.”

Having already recovered from his high, Henry smirks up at him. “I agree,” he says, a hand reaching up for Hans. 

But Hans does not let him. He stops him by holding onto his wrist. “Good,” he grins. “Because I bet yours will make a comfortable seat.”

He shifts forward then, putting his weight onto Henry’s chest. His other hand goes to his own straining cock, giving it a few tugs right in front of Henry’s face. The man’s eyes are trained solely on it, and when his tongue darts out to lick his lips, Hans knows that they both want the same thing.

All he needs to say is, “Open.”

Henry does, and Hans gets an instant rush. What an obedient dog you are, my love.

With a steady hand, he guides his prick into Henry’s waiting mouth, moaning as Henry takes all of it.

For a few seconds, Hans does not move, wanting to get used to the feeling, afraid that doing anything more will have him coming right then and there. But the roaring hunger inside him is demanding, and he can only deny it for so long. Thus, one hand reaches for the headboard of the bed, the other cards through Henry’s hair, fingers pulling tightly but not painfully so on the dark strands. Once he has a firm grip on both, he starts thrusting. 

“Oh God,” Hans whimpers as he fucks Henry’s mouth. How he’s missed this, the wet heat, the slickness of Henry’s saliva coating his cock, the way the man just takes it with lustful blue eyes staring up at him through thick lashes. Too irresistible for his own good. 

Not wanting to hurt him, Hans keeps a steady pace; not too hard, but just enough that Henry gags slightly with every other snap of his hips. Henry starts to drool a little too, saliva and pre-cum coating that plump red bottom lip. Noticing this, Hans can’t help but smirk, almost lecherously so. “So willing to talk back to me earlier, and now look at you. You’re just as cock-hungry as me.”

With his mouth busy, Henry obviously cannot respond verbally. What he does instead is to cup Hans’s arse, giving both cheeks a firm squeeze, as if trying to get him even deeper.

This does spur him on, but it also gives him another idea. He pulls at Henry’s hair, getting the man to look up at him. When their gazes meet, Hans says, “Spank me.”

Henry’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. Again, Hans can see that hesitation, knows that it’s there, which is why he didn’t voice this desire as a strict order. In all honesty, he doesn’t expect Henry to follow through with it, so his focus returns to the movement of his hips and the heat of his lover’s mouth.

So, when Henry’s hand leaves his arse, he fails to process what’s happening until the palm hits his left buttock with a solid smack. 

“Oh fuck!” he cries out, the sting sending a shock straight to his groin, the tightness there already growing rapidly. As he shudders out a moan, he glances down to find a telling glint in Henry’s bright blues. Cheeky little shit is finally starting to understand. 

Yet, he can tell that Henry wasn’t using his full strength. This time, the words do come out as an order. “Again. Harder. ”

No waiting this time. Henry removes his hand, then brings it down with the same force he uses with his hammer at the forge, but instead of the clink of metal there is only a smack of palm against skin, loud enough to echo in the room.

“Yes,” Hans half-sighs and half-hisses, pain instantly turning to pleasure. With how hard Henry was, he wouldn’t be surprised to see a red outline of Henry’s large hand perfectly imprinted on his arsecheek. In fact, that’s exactly what he wants, another mark left on his body of who it belongs to.

Then, after a few soothing rubs, Henry takes his hand away again. Hans braces for another impact, but it never comes. What happens instead does give Hans a full body shudder, because Henry has moved his hand to trail between the cleft of Hans’s arse, fingers circling teasingly around his hole.

Hans can barely control his body. Bracing himself fully against the headboard, his hips start moving erratically, all sense of rhythm lost to the conflict between driving forward into Henry’s skilled mouth and pushing back to seek more contact there, hoping to get those rough fingers inside of him even though he knows Henry will wait to get the oil before delving any deeper.

Henry takes it all in stride, not minding the irregular rhythm one bit. Not faltering at all, he continues to suck diligently on Hans’s cock as he traces around that sensitive ring of muscle, a feat of multitasking that Hans absolutely cannot comprehend right now.

Strangely enough, though Hans finds himself right at the precipice from this dual stimulation, he suddenly gains a brief moment of clarity. He bends down a little, making sure Henry meets his eyes with a sharp tug against his scalp. He hears his own voice, hoarse from arousal and from Henry earlier, asking “Ready to take my cum down your throat, Hal?”

Henry nods, a simple gesture made obscene by the cock in his mouth. The sight of this alone has Hans teetering; all he needs is a few more hard thrusts to fall. 

And fall he does, watching Henry’s face as he comes with a gasp that turns into a long moan, orgasmic ecstasy mixed with slight awe at how much has changed since their first sexual encounter in the forest. The man barely had any clue what to do, and now look at him: taking cock and cum in his mouth without batting an eye.

Hans slowly returns to his senses, but the fire inside him does not fade away. The heat continues to radiate from within. When he pulls his softening cock out, he finds it already giving a twitch of interest, due in no small part to the fact that Henry then sticks his tongue out to show him the cum - his cum - that’s collected on it. And once he’s sure that Hans sees it, he swallows with a deliberate gulp, licking his lips afterwards with a big grin, looking for all the world like the cat that got the cream. 

“Good lord, Henry.” Hans breathes out incredulously, in disbelief over Henry’s shamelessness but also of how awfully aroused he already is again. “You are one brazen bastard.”

Henry’s hands return to Hans’s arse, holding him gently this time. “That’s what you love about me, isn’t it?”

“Unfortunately,” Hans sighs, earning him a pinch on his left arsecheek. He scowls teasingly at Henry, who only laughs, bright and earnest and all too incongruous with what they’ve just done, especially with his spit-and-cum-wet lips. But even this brief reprieve is much too long, and Hans’s hunger is burning strong once more. 

He leans down again, this time getting low enough for his face to be inches away from Henry’s, the man’s warm breath against his as he says, “And it’s because I love you that I now allow you to do whatever you want to me.”

“Really?” Henry asks, and Hans has to stop himself from shivering at how quickly those blue eyes darken with pure desire once again.

“You heard me.” He gets even closer, until his lips are a finger’s breadth away from Henry’s. “You have your lord’s permission to do whatever you want to him, so long as you make him come three more times with that cock of yours. What do you say?”

What Henry does next happens too fast. One second Hans is straddling Henry’s chest, the next he’s lying face down on the bed with Henry holding himself about him.

Just as he realises how effortlessly Henry has manhandled him, Henry whispers hot and husky in his ear “Anything to please you, my Lord.”

Then, starting with a press of his lips to Hans’s nape, he starts making his way down with kisses, just like that time after he escaped from Vranik. But unlike that time, he’s not in as big of a rush. He’s taking his time now, going down the line of Hans’s spine, deviating from his path often to press open-mouthed kisses to various spots all over his shoulders and his back. 

A part of Hans wonders if Henry is going deliberately, almost torturously slow because he wants to give him time to recover. Hans wants to tell him not to bother - his cock is already halfway hard, helped by how it’s currently rubbing against the sheets - but he doesn’t say anything. He just sighs in bliss into the pillow under his head, enjoying the almost delicate way Henry is kissing him, each touch of those warm lips sending a blossom of sparks under his skin.

When Henry gets to the base of his spine, the man’s hands cup his arse once again. Another kiss on the left, but then a longer, softer one lavished on the right. The slight ache that follows it immediately lets Hans know that Henry is focused on the arrow wound. It has healed up nicely in the days since, but the scar is still prominent. And though he cannot see Henry’s expression, and nor does Henry say anything, the kiss is more than enough to convey a deep worry that persists. 

It is a short period of calm… then Henry asks, “Do you want me to do that thing with my tongue?”

Damn this smug prick, he already knows my answer. “I said ‘whatever you want’, didn’t I? So, you don’t even have to ask; just get on with it already,” he huffs, more annoyed over having to wait than anything else.

“Now, now, patience is a virtue, my Lord.” Henry throws those words back to him, and Hans can hear the stupid grin in his voice. “I just wanted to make sure, but since you’re so insistent…” With no warning, Henry tightens his grips and spreads Hans’s arsecheeks apart. Hans only has a second to think about how exposed he feels when a broad tongue licks across his hole before pressing in.

“Oh fuck, Henry…” Hans moans into the pillow as the man’s sharp, eager tongue explores, this one dirty act feeling more sinful than anything else. To be on the receiving end of something that feels so forbidden, Hans is immediately fully hard. 

Just like before, his hips move on his own accord, downward to get more friction for his cock but also backwards to get Henry deeper. But such attempts are quickly stopped too, because Henry holds him down, pinning him to the mattress. Hans cannot move, he can barely squirm, completely at Henry’s mercy. 

And it’s not just that that has Hans burning with arousal. Henry also seems to be more confident of himself compared to the first time. While he was previously a little more messy and unsure, now he seems more intentional, more of a deliberate pattern to the way his tongue moves both across and inside Hans’s entrance. This, combined with how Henry is holding him, makes it abundantly clear: he’s the one in control now, and Hans can do nothing but let himself be taken apart and put back together again for the rest of the night.

Yet, stubborn as he is, Hans will not relinquish everything over to him just yet. He blindly reaches behind with one hand, managing to get his fingers through Henry’s hair. He pulls on it slightly, trying to get his attention. 

Henry ignores him at first, more than content with keeping his face buried between his lover’s plump arsecheeks as he sates his appetite. In fact, Henry only pushes his tongue further in at Hans’s actions, which in turn cause Hans to falter, to momentarily lose himself and his train of thought.

But he persists, pulling again. Henry relents, but only marginally, tongue now only licking across Hans’s hole and occasionally his perineum. Hans quickly takes this chance to gasp out rather brattily, “I’m going to come if you keep going, and I remember explicitly telling you that I only want to do so with you inside me.” 

“I know, but this part of you tastes far too good. I can’t help myself,” Henry says, words slightly garbled since he’s not bothering to stop what he’s doing.

“Hmm, the way you enjoy it, I might have to try doing it to you someday.” Hans might be unfamiliar with such an act and unsure about doing it himself, but he’s not above reciprocating. If Henry’s amenable to it, he wants to learn this alternate way of using his tongue to get Henry to come.

“I’d like that, though the experience might be different, seeing as you have a much lovelier arse compared to me.” Henry widens his grip, Hans feeling those thick fingers dig into the solid globes of muscles. The licking stops; a hot breath of air against his right cheek. Then, right next to where the arrow scar is, into his firm flesh, Henry bites down hard.

“Kurva,” Hans gasps, the searing pain running right through him to fuel the flames of lust. “My arse already belongs to you. You don’t have to mark it anymore.”

“But how am I supposed to resist?" Henry croons, kissing the bite softly. “Something, someone so exquisite, what else can I do but leave a mark to make sure it’s real… and it’s mine?”

This man and his words, such romantic filth, straight through Hans’s ears to both his heart and his groin. Hans is pretty sure that Henry could talk him to completion if he wanted, but he does not (at least not tonight). “I know what you can do,” he says, desperately irritated. “Get your cock inside me and fuck me until I can only moan your name.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Before Hans can call him out for his sarcasm and insolence, Henry is already reaching for the flask that awaits on the bedside table. 

There’s the familiar pop of the cork, followed by the slosh of the oil as Henry pours it onto his fingers. Some of it drips into the cleft of Hans’s arse, and Henry uses the opportunity to spread it, tracing lightly around the ring of muscle. Hans can’t control the way it flutters and clenches in anticipation. 

“Look who’s being greedy now,” Henry rumbles darkly, no doubt with a smug grin on that handsome face. 

“You- Oh fuck !” Hans cuts himself off with a gasp, because before he can finish his original statement, Henry presses in two fingers all the way to the third knuckle. 

Henry begins pistoning his fingers in and out, the squelch of the oil sounding louder and more obscene than usual. The itch inside is so close to being scratched, but only Henry’s cock can reach that - and therein lies the dilemma, because Hans knows that he needs to be prepared, yet his patience is wearing dangerously thin and his own cock is starting to strain painfully hard. 

To attempt to speed up the process, Hans pushes his hips back to get Henry’s fingers in deeper. Almost immediately, however, Henry’s free hand holds him down again, even harder than he did before, completely stopping him from moving “Oh no you don’t. You told me that I could do whatever I wanted, and what I want is to return the favour.”

Hans must have made a sound of question to that - with his mind fogged with lust it’s hard to know what he’s in control of anymore - because Henry continues, elaborating, “I want you to give yourself over to me and allow me to do all the work, as a good squire should for his lord. Will you grant me the pleasure of doing that, Sir Hans, and let me take care of you in ways only I know how?”

Ah, so that’s what he means. Scary, to give control over so unreservedly, especially in a space so vulnerable as this. It’s a tiny thing that flitters about in fear somewhere in the pit of Hans’s stomach, and yet, he quashes it. Ignores it in favour of his absolute and unwavering trust in his lover. So, with a deep breath, he nods. 

“Thank you,” Henry sighs in both relief and pleasure, then presses a third finger in.

Hans moans into the pillow, grasps the sheets, squirming as Henry works him open, stretching him with those rough and thick fingers that tease over that special spot inside him. Henry doesn’t avoid it completely, putting just enough pressure on it to send little shocks down Hans’s nerve but not enough that it leaves him wanting .

That craving for more manifests as whines, sounding so needy that his ears burn. Thankfully, they do the job of convincing Henry, who finally pulls his fingers out after a while, though leaving behind an emptiness that Hans clenches around.

“You’re ready.” Not a question, not seeking to check; no, a statement, definitive and sure. Hans shivers at how Henry is basically telling him that he’s going to move on to the main event, no more waiting. There’s the sound of the oil again, which Henry is pouring onto his own hard-again cock. 

Hans holds his breath in anticipation of feeling it at his entrance. What Henry does instead is slide it between his arsecheeks. The head of his cock catches occasionally on his hole during the upward strokes, and each time Hans can only whine some more, in both frustration and desperation.

After about a minute of this cruel teasing, Henry then uses one hand to pull on Hans’s left buttock to fully expose him, the other goes to the base of his own cock to slap it a few times against Hans’s twitching, waiting hole. When Henry speaks, it is with barely restrained desire. “Tell me how much you want this.”

Hans looks over his shoulder, gazing at Henry with the most wanton look he can manage. The inferno inside him burns away any sense of shame. “Fuck me with that glorious cock of yours, Henry… please. ”

Henry grins, hungry and smug. Blue eyes dark, almost feral, possessive. 

“Good boy,” he growls, pressing in his slick cock until he’s buried to the hilt. 

The stretch of being filled and the filthy praise knocks the wind out of Hans’s lungs. He’s gasping into the pillow, unable to catch his breath as Henry doesn’t give him time to get used to it; he just starts moving, pulling out almost all the way before thrust right back in again, their bodies meeting with a solid smack, again and again, relentlessly. 

This is the roughest Henry’s ever been with him, and his head is swimming with how incredible it is to just be taken so punishingly. Though he adores the shy Henry that constantly seeks reassurances, this version of Henry is awfully attractive too, with a quiet confidence that seems to exude from his very being.

This version of Henry is also the only one that would say, with neither hesitation nor shame, “If only you could see yourself, Hans. How well this tight hole of yours is taking my cock.” 

Hans is drooling again, not caring that the fabric is getting damp under his cheek. How can he, when Henry is saying such things?

He doesn’t stop there either. “It’s like your arse was made for me. If I could, I would just stay inside you forever. You would like that, wouldn’t you? To be my personal cockwarmer so that I can keep you stuffed full with my cum?”

“Christ, Henry.” Hans moans into his pillow, the words like shocks to his system, more fuel for the raging flame. He needs to know who Henry has been speaking to, who he’s been learning such filth from because it certainly isn’t him. And if Henry is saying all of this naturally… then Hans considers himself an even luckier man.

Even though each drive of Henry’s cock into him is already so damn good, he can’t help but want more. Henry’s hands are not him any more, they are on the bed on either side of his body, palms flat and arms flexed, anchor points to hold steady. If he wanted, Hans could just get on his knees and push his hips back to meet Henry in the middle, to get him even deeper, harder. He could just do it, Henry’s not stopping him.

Yet, he refrains. He stays down, save for the frotting of his leaking cock against the sheets. Let me take care of you. Henry’s promise rings in his ears, and so, he lets him. 

Right on cue, as if Henry can read his mind, or it’s simply that his thoughts are reflected in his body language, Henry says, voice smooth as silk despite how he’s panting, “That’s it, my Lord. Just lie there and take it. I’ll make you come soon, don’t worry.”

It’s these words that keep him pinned down, whimpering and moaning as Henry plunges that thick cock in and out of him, ramming over that perfect spot. Hans feels like he’s suffocating, jaw slacked open from pleasure that he’s basically breathing in the fabric of the pillow, but also because arousal is running wild under his skin, like a compress against his chest because it’s been building and building with no place to go just yet.

Even though the heat is all-encompassing, he feels the tension in his groin that grows with every snap of Henry’s hips, the tell-tale tightening that lets him know he’s almost there. He moans, words half-slurred into the pillow. “I’m close.”

Somehow, Henry hears him. He asks, “Do you want to touch yourself?”

“No,” Hans breathes out. “I want to come only by your cock.”

Henry punctuates his answer with a particularly hard thrust. “Good.”

Henry continues his brutal pace as he drives into Hans, who feels like he’s going to be fucked into the mattress and break the bed. But the bed is strong (albeit creaking noisily), and so is he, though he knows that walking tomorrow will hurt like a bitch, as will riding for a full day.

Perhaps he hadn’t thought this out all that thoroughly. 

This is a problem for later Hans, however, as the Hans of the present only cares about chasing his second high of the night, with Henry’s hard thrusts forcing his own hips to grind down, giving his neglected cock the stimulation it so badly needs.

When Hans finally comes, it is with a cry, unable to voice anything else as pure ecstasy explodes within him, radiating out from where he and Henry are connected to the ends of every nerve. He frots into the wet spot of his own cum that has formed below him as his fingers claw at the sheets so hard he’s certain that he’s tearing them. 

But still the fire within him does not die down, the embers reigniting almost instantly.

“That’s your second,” Henry says once he hears Hans’s breathing settle. With a grunt, he adds, “And with the way you’re clenching around me, I’m about to get there too.”

Still slack with bliss, Hans does not even attempt to move. He just lies there, letting Henry use him to chase his own pleasure, each press of his cock bringing out a whimper from his sensitive body. 

It doesn’t take long, and Henry soon groans, “Going to come inside you.” A statement, and yet Hans understands the implicit question. It seems like that part of Henry never truly goes away, and for that, Hans is eternally grateful. So, he makes a hum of agreement, of consent, and that’s all Henry needs.

With one final snap of his hips and a guttural moan, he buries himself deep inside Hans and spills into him, a sensation so hot and filthy that Hans blacks out for a moment. 

When he comes to, it’s to the slick sounds and the drag of Henry’s cock in and out of him. He blinks a few times before realising. “You’re still hard.”

Henry, with his dark hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, face flushed from exertion, and blue eyes still glassy with lust, grins smugly at him, the smile all lopsided and strangely adorable considering the circumstances. “It seems so.”

“How is that possible?” Even with the potion having ignited this ever-present fire, Hans still requires some time to recover. And yes, Henry has a strong libido and short refractory period to match, but this just seems ridiculous. Not that Hans is going to complain; the feeling of Henry’s still hard cock staying inside him while coated with Henry’s own cum is too deliciously obscene to not enjoy.

“You do this to me, my love,” Henry sighs, a hand returning to touch Hans, running gently down his back. “It’s like I said: I can never get enough of you.”

His hand then comes to a rest on Hans’s arse, where he gives it a familiar squeeze. “And you’ve only come two times so far. So, it seems like my body knows that I have to keep going so as to not disappoint you.” Both hands now go to his hips, pulling. “Up on your knees for me.”

Hans does as he’s instructed, but with a euphoria-clouded mind, he’s unsure as to what is the intention behind it, a “huh?” leaving his lips rather involuntarily.

“Have you forgotten? I promised you that I will fuck you wherever you like and in every position you want, but since you’ve left the decision-making up to me…” Strong arms come to wrap around Hans’s chest, pulling him upright until his back is flush against Henry’s solid chest. “This is how I want to fuck you next.”

Hans has only just processed how easily Henry is able to move him however he wants when a rough hand wraps around his already semi-hard prick. Hans watches with wide eyes as Henry strokes him slowly but firmly around his sensitive member. It takes a moment - Hans is not surprised, considering that his personal record is only two orgasms, and back then it took him much longer than that it just did - but the heat eventually returns in full force, and he’s erect once more.

“See, you’re just as eager as me,” Henry murmurs as he glides his thumb over the pink head of Hans’s cock. “But I’ll go slower this time. We’re only halfway, I don’t want to tire you out too soon.”

And so he does. Hans grabs onto Henry’s forearms as the man moves, unrushed and deliberate, every thrust of his hips pushing his cum deeper into Hans, claiming a place that is already his, wholly and unequivocally. 

But that’s not the only place Hans wants Henry to mark him. He tilts his head to forward, exposing his nape. “Henry…” he calls out, knowing that his lover will understand.

Henry is there in an instant, nosing down the entire length of Hans’s neck then licking back up. Hot breath against soft skin, he mumbles, “Is this where I marked you the last time?”

Hans nods, remembers seeing the hickeys in the mirror that night, running his fingers over the bruises left behind. “They faded away far too quickly.”

“Then let me make sure this one lasts,” he grins before biting down, hard .

Hans’s entire body twitches, forcing out a pathetic whimper. The way Henry just bit him is not like before, a tiny nip between the teeth. No, he did it just like he did his thigh and his arsecheek, as if taking out a huge chunk of meat, strong teeth digging into tender flesh. If Hans were to touch it, he knows he would feel distinct indents in his skin. 

It’s not just this either. Where the previous bites were small, this one is pretty high up his neck. A hood can cover it, but only barely. Henry is playing a risky game, yet Hans only wants him to keep going, a glutton for the pleasure that comes with pain. “More,” he gasps out.

As Henry laps at the bite, the arm that was around Hans’s chest reaches up to clasp around his throat. The fingers prod gently, exploratorily, finding their place in the angles and divots. They dance along and around his Adam’s apple, a delicateness that hides another search for permission.  

Hans’s own words come back to him. You could never hurt me… not unless I want you to.

“Choke me, Henry.”

No response. Only a beat, then a squeeze.

His vision go white. His body tenses, instinctively so, at the erotic pressure around this delicate area.

But he quickly relaxes, goes pliant. This is Henry, there is nothing to be afraid of.

A wave of ecstasy flows through him then, aroused by the strength, the control Henry has over him. How easily this man could subdue him if he didn’t hold back. He is no lightweight himself, what with his years of combat training, but he’s hardly had any real life practice whereas Henry not only knows how to fight, but the years of blacksmithing have instilled in him a natural fortitude and vigour that cannot be beat. 

Despite Hans’s early claims, Henry is clearly not a dumb brute. He knows how to wield his power to great effect. When he relaxes his grip around Hans’s throat, he does not simply let go. He can feel how Hans’s body is almost limp with pleasure, so he continues holding, not squeezing but grabbing firmly enough to keep Hans’s back pressed against his chest, his hand possibly the only thing keeping his upper body upright. 

When Hans comes back to himself, there is still a satisfying pressure on his throat, with a thrilling ache as his neck is being pulled on, head forced to tilt backward as Henry places wet open-mouthed kisses, sucking languidly along the exposed column of his neck. 

This, combined with Henry’s other hand still stroking him and the thick cock still driving into his slick hole, Hans starts rambling, words come rushing forth in a flood of incomplete sentences. “Hal- Henry- you are- that was too good- fuck- how are you this good- mmm - don’t you dare stop.”

Henry presses his nose into the hollow of Han’s neck. He inhales, and Hans can feel the man’s smug smirk against his skin, followed by a husky chuckle. “Still talking even with my hand around your throat. The great Sir Hans Capon really seems incapable of shutting up.”

That manages to cut through the haze of lust. Managing to sound peeved, Hans huffs through separate breaths, “I thought you like it when I’m noisy.”

Henry places a kiss right below his jaw to placate him. “Oh don’t get me wrong, I love hearing all the sounds you make for me, my songbird.”

“Songbird?”

“Yes, because you sing so beautifully, lovely songs only I get to pull out of you.” To prove his point, he does a sharp thrust into Hans, and is instantly rewarded with a breathy moan. “So let me hear you, Hans. Let the whole kingdom hear you.”

Hans glances to the side, recalling then that the window is wide open. Though his room is high up in the tower, noise still travels, and he hasn’t been holding himself back. Their sounds of pleasure might not pass through the door and walls, but they could very well carry out through the window and down to the few guards that patrol at night, or to the odd servant or townsfolk still scurrying about. Pirkstein might find out what their lord sounds like in the throes of passion as he’s fucked senseless by his squire. 

But Hans does not care. 

Throwing caution to the wind (and right out the open window), Hans lets go. He cries, wails, howls, whines, moans; all manner of noises interspersed with “Henry”, “fuck”, “more” and various other singular words, travelling up his throat and out his panting mouth, vibrations picked up by the fingers that are still wrapped around his neck. 

The whole time, Henry ravishes kisses and bites all over his neck and shoulders, each one both motivation and reward for every sound Hans produces. After one particularly needy whimper, he nibbles on the shell of Hans’s ear as he hums, voice like rich honey. “Good boy, my Lord.”

Four words, straight into the fire, that all too familiar tightness intensifying. His third climax of the night is fast approaching, but unlike his second, he wants more before he gets there. “ Henry ,” Hans keens at the lavished praise. “Touch me.”

“I already am,” is that smug bastard’s reply, along with a slight squeeze of his hand around both Hans’s throat and cock. 

Hans chokes out a gasp at the dual sensations, but he powers through long enough to say, “No, not there. I want…” What does he want? He has no clue how he was intending to end that request, so consumed with wanting more Henry that his mind draws a blank. His body feels like one entire bundle of nerves just set alight with arousal, in the process of being so well-fucked that he probably can’t even name a part of himself if he tried.

Thankfully, Henry is there to help. “Do you mean here?” The fingers leave Hans’s neck, that arm returning to its position across Hans’s chest. Henry cups Hans’s pec, digging into the muscle while squeezing his nipple between two fingers. 

Hans barely has time to even gasp at that when Henry removes the hand he has around Hans’s cock. “Or here?” he asks as he tenderly scratches his nails across the patch of skin between Hans’s crotch and navel. 

A full-body shiver overtakes Hans. He can almost hear the gears turning in Henry’s head in reaction. 

A second passes. The man then places his palm over that spot. “Kurva… I can feel my cock reaching deep inside you, right here.” He presses down firmly. “Maybe I’ll take that potion one day and just keep fucking you until this part of you swells with my seed.”

The mental image of that fills Hans’s mind, so vivid in its obscenity: the curve of his belly as Henry pumps him full of cum, claiming him so utterly that his body irrevocably changes. Hans hates his imagination, but he hates how much he likes this fantasy even more. Fiery arousal and shame burn through him, and he moans, loud and wantonly. 

“Henry, that’s…” Again, he trails off, having started the sentence with no idea how he wants to end it.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Henry thrusts hard and deep, hip bones digging into Hans’s arse. “Fill you up so much that anyone who even looks at you knows that you’re mine.”

Another choked gasp. Too much. This is too much. He needs to stop Henry before he can continue spouting such erotic sin. 

And there’s only one surefire way he knows how.

Hans’s hand flies up to grab Henry by the hair. Pulling him forward, he turns his own head back and smashes their lips together. 

It is not so much a kiss as it is a mess of teeth and tongue and slobber. Another connection, another part where they are joined, where they can still taste themselves on each other’s tongue.

Feeling as if Henry is sucking the air right out of him, Hans is the first to pull away. Tongue lolling out of his mouth, several strands of saliva still link him to Henry. They are severed as Henry licks his lips. Hans is unable to tear his gaze away from blue eyes glinting with something dark, something that spoke of a profound and almost alarming hunger.

He was wrong. Henry is no mere dog. He is a wolf, a sublime predator, a ravenous beast that has gotten his teeth and claws into his long sought after prey. 

And for Hans, he was already feeling like one of those stags that he hunts for, in the sights of a skilled hunter. But now, Henry has deemed him something else, a songbird, now trapped by these strong arms around him and that broad chest against his back.

But this is not his usual glided cage, nor is it a prison. Here, there is no fear, no need to escape… only a desire to be eaten alive. 

“Yours.” Because no one has ever made him feel this way, nor will anyone else ever will. “I’m yours.”

“Good,” Henry growls, then dives in to capture his lips once more. 

Hans loses all sense of time passing, only knowing the taste of Henry’s mouth, the warmth of Henry’s hand, the stretch of Henry’s cock filling him. The fire inside grows slower this time, insistent still but not as much as before, so Hans lets himself enjoy the slow build as Henry takes and takes and takes.

Eventually, Henry says, with a rumble that resonates in Hans’s core too, “Ready to take my seed inside you again?”

As if Hans would ever refuse. He whines needily, nods desperately, clenching in anticipation. Henry hisses, then chuckles at the sudden tightness. “Insatiable little thing, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you want.”

Several more solid thrusts. Hands that grab even harder. Then, with a guttural moan, Henry bites into the meat of Hans’s shoulder and comes.

A blossom of heat radiates out from where Henry spills deep inside him, pooling in his crotch. Hans reaches for his cock, stoking it almost too fast as he feels himself right back on the precipice for the third time. He closes his eyes, honing in on the tight circle of his fist, as well as the way Henry continues to rock into him, coating his insides with more cum.

He’s close. So fucking close. He just needs that little push, why can’t he find it? Frustrated, distressed, he cries out the only thing he has on his mind. “Hal, I-”

Henry immediately answers his call. A hand wraps around the one he has around his cock, the other back up to tease along the skin of his throat. Another hot press of lips against his nape. “Sing for me, my sweet Hans.”

And with one final tug of his cock, Hans comes with a shout. His entire body quivers as his third climax overtakes him, the flames of euphoria licking over every inch of him, a bliss that is drawn out by how Henry is stroking him through it while also remaining buried inside him. Hans feels himself go weak in the knees, literally. It is all so much; he’s just broken his own record, and he is tired. His body wants to slump forward, but he’s not even afraid of falling face first on the mattress because Henry still has him.

Henry will always have him. 

As the last of the tremors wear themselves out, Hans is just about aware of Henry slowly pulling out of him before gently lowering him down onto the bed, turning him around so as to lay him on his back. Hans welcomes the softness of the mattress below him, but so too is there an emptiness, accompanied by the slickness of Henry’s cum dribbling out of him. 

These are little complaints for now. He needs a break; though arousal still simmers below the surface, the fire has died down significantly, his body needing more time before giving in to that raging inferno once more. 

This must be obvious, because Henry does not make any further moves either. Once he’s sure that Hans is in a comfortable position, he gets up off the bed and walks over to the table where there is a pitcher of water waiting. He pours out two cups, bringing them back over and handing one to Hans, who takes it and downs all of it in five big gulps.

When he’s done, Henry sets the cup aside for him before smiling shyly. “How was that? I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“My sweet Henry, you were exquisite.” Hans reaches for Henry’s hand, threading their fingers together. He is not above flattery, but with Henry, he always speaks the truth. “And you were the perfect amount of rough. But that filthy mouth of yours, my God. Where did you learn to say such smut?”

“Nowhere. Seeing you, touching you, fucking you… it all just came out without me even thinking about it,” Henry says, so genuine that Hans almost wants to hate him for how talented he is on this front too. But he can’t, not when such skill brings him such benefits. Still, Hans wants to kiss that - rightfully - smug look off of his face when he continues, “I guess you bring out the best in me.”

“Of course I do,” Hans humphs, raising his nose haughtily. This gets a lovely warm laugh out of Henry which Hans can’t help but smile at. “And you’ve given me plenty of ideas as to what I can say to you the next time I fuck you.”

A dark look passes briefly over Henry’s blue eyes. “I look forward to it.”

Something hot rolls around in the pit of his stomach. But he ignores it for now, still too worn out at the moment. Instead, he notices that Henry’s eyes are darting to his shoulders and neck with a hint of worry. To placate him, Hans adds, “Though I will say that I might not be able to match your penchant for biting me. Not that I don’t enjoy your bites - I do, thoroughly - but you seem to like doing it to me so much that I’m afraid I can’t satisfy you the same way.”

“Don’t worry.” Henry grins widely. “Your biting comments are more than enough, my Lord.”

Hans’s mouth drops open, shocked (and slightly aroused) by the absolute gall of this man. “You impertinent wretch, come here!”

He shifts to make space as he pulls Henry down to lie down beside him. Once he’s within range, Hans pinches both of Henry’s cheeks playfully hard. Henry “ouches” and “ows” through hearty laughter, all while that huge grin is still on his face. 

Eventually Hans lets go, keeping his right hand there to rub a thumb soothingly over the pinched-pink skin. Henry’s smile softens, nuzzling into Hans’s touch. 

“My Henry.” Hans sighs contentedly. “My dear Sir Henry.”

Henry chuckles at the name. “I’m not a knight, Hans.”

“I know that, but you might as well be, with how loyal and brave and kind you are.” He means every word of it. With all the things Henry has done out of duty, and all the other wonderful things he’s done simply out of the goodness of his heart, he is more than deserving of such a title. Definitely more than some of the some of those good-for-nothings that abuse the power of their rank to exploit those below them. “I swear, if Radzig doesn’t legitimise you, I will knight you myself when I become Lord of Rattay.”

“Hans…” It’s clear in Henry’s tone that he thinks Hans is joking while also not seeing himself as worthy. Hans hates that Henry fails to see himself the way he sees him: as an incredible man who started from nothing and survived the worst to become what must be the best version of himself.

“I mean it, Henry. Most importantly, you are a knight to me.” Hans tilts Henry’s chin up to make sure they are looking right into each other’s eyes. “My knight, my protector, my friend, my love… my husband.”

The smile drops off Henry’s face then, more out of surprise than anything else. “What?”

“You heard me.” Just a word, but saying it out loud feels like a transgression of the holy order. A word, two in fact, that only women should be using, but yet here he is, speaking it into existence. The first time it came out before he could stop it; now, he is deliberate, tempting Henry to join him in sin. “The rings might be gone and though there was no priest, we exchanged our vows, didn’t we… husband?”

Henry’s expression changes into something indescribable. He leans in. Voice wavering, just barely above a whisper, he commands. “Say it again.”

Hans smiles. The words now confident, assured. “You’re my husband, Henry… as I am yours.”

A second passes. Then Henry surges forward to kiss him.

Hans is more than happy to accept his love, letting himself be turned onto his back willingly as Henry moves on top of him. The man is heavy, but it’s a welcome weight on his chest, and Hans throws his arms around Henry’s shoulders as he kisses him back. He is downright giddy with happiness, smiling against Henry’s lips.

He quickly becomes dizzy with something else, because Henry pulls away to start kissing and nibbling his way southwards. Jaw, neck, collarbones, sternum, pecs - a quick detour to suck at Hans’s pert nipples - abs, navel. Every inch a press of lips, a nip of teeth; each one a mark of love and devotion and possessiveness on fair skin, each one bringing out another pleased gasp or sigh.

Hans’s cock is already beginning to show signs of interest by the time Henry reaches it, but Henry leaves it alone for now, choosing instead to get teasingly close. It’s only after he hears Hans whine that Henry decides to move on.

Spreading Hans’s legs apart, hunger takes over Henry’s expression, utterly voracious as he takes in the lewd sight of Hans’s hole with his cum leaking out of it. 

Henry’s tongue darts out over his lip, and for a second, Hans thinks that Henry is about to lick clean his own cum out of him, the thought of such a filthy act like the encouraging blow of bellows to a flame. When a finger touches him instead, Hans relaxes in relief, but also with some anticipation;  perhaps it’s a desire that Henry will be happy to fulfill someday. 

But that conversation is for another time, as Hans’s focus returns to Henry’s finger circling his hole, gathering up the cum and pushing it back inside. Hans moans at the intrusion, his abused hole sore after two rounds of such passionate sex. 

“I know you’re still sensitive, but I don’t think we want all of this to go to waste.” Henry pushes a second finger in. “We need as much of it as possible to make sure we get an heir.”

Hans’s eyes that were going half-lidded shoot wide open. “A what?”

Henry remains unaffected, continuing his ministrations with his fingers as he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing, “It’s my duty as your husband, isn’t it? To help you produce an heir.” 

The fire explodes into a full inferno in an instant. Arousal swirls around wildly with incredulity. He wonders if he simply misheard Henry, but what the man says next simply confirms it. 

Turning his head, Henry bites again into the meat of Hans’s thigh. A soothing kiss to the bite as usual, but his words are anything but. “Oh Hans, imagine how you would look heavy with our child.”

“Henry.” What is he saying? Why is he saying this? Why… why do I not want him to stop?

“It would be such a strong babe, with us as its fathers.” Henry turns his head, doing the same with Hans’s other thigh. He breathes out against heated and bitten skin, sounding like he’s lost in a dream. “Boy or girl, it does not matter. I would teach them how to both forge and handle a sword. You would teach them how to hunt. Oh they would be so smart, like you, my love; inherit your sharp tongue too.”

Hans covers his face with his hands, cheeks burning with humiliation over this fantasy. Not because of how wrong it is, but because his imagination supplies him with this alternate world, where there’s a child running about with dark blond hair, blue eyes, face a mix of his features and Henry’s - a child he carried. 

But this cannot be, not least of all because they are two men. It could never happen, yet to think about it, to enjoy thinking about it is to be in defiance of all that is holy. “Henry… this is- this is blasphemy.”

“Yet the thought of it excites you all the same.” Henry smiles up at him deviously, running a finger along the length of Hans’s already hardening cock. 

Hans removes his hands at the tease, watching with bated breath and head heavy with impossible desires as Henry pushes himself upright, kneeling between his legs and holding them apart. With a steady hand, he guides his own cock to Hans’s entrance, tip resting right on the ring of muscle. “I’m afraid that this is one of the things I cannot provide for you, my Lord, but I promise you I’ll keep trying.”

And with that, he presses in all the way.

Hans lets out a cry, body still tender and yet thrilled that Henry is filling him, the ache of emptiness having been chased away. Slinging his forearm over his forehead, he watches as Henry readjusts his grip on his thighs before starting to move his hips, languid and deep thrusts that stoke the flames of desire within.

“You’re so wet down here, Hans,” Henry hums with delight. “If I keep fucking you like this, there wouldn’t be any more need for the oil. I could just slip inside you and it would fit like a glove.”

There’s the filth again, and as much as Hans enjoys the way it sets his whole body aflame, he wants something else. Somehow, though they are connected in the most intimate of places, his lover feels too far away, too distant. 

“Henry,” Hans calls out. “I need you.” He does not say any more, because he knows his lover will understand, will always go to him when beckoned. 

And Henry goes, but not before he moves his hands to the underside of Hans’s thighs to push them upwards and slightly further apart, making space for his broad body as he bends down, forcing Hans to bend with him. 

Hans feels like a piece of metal, red-hot and malleable, shaped anew in the forge of their passionate love by Henry’s skilled hands. Yet, it is Henry’s sword that is fully sheathed inside him, solid and strong, a piece of art that is only wielded by the finest warrior. So Hans lets himself be folded in half as he meets Henry with a kiss, cupping the sides of Henry’s face to hold him there, to leave his sighs and moans in Henry’s mouth as he swallows up Henry’s own. 

When he does let Henry go, one hand cards through Henry’s hair, the other goes to his own prick. He strokes it weakly, the skin feeling raw from so many orgasms with one more on its way. 

Henry watches him do this, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. Like a worship, he breathes out, “You’re doing so good, Hans.”

“Use the word, Henry,” Hans sighs. “I want to hear you say it.”

Again, no elaboration is necessary. With a deep breath and a smile, Henry says, “My lord husband.”

Hans keens when those blessed words reach his ears. He scratches his nails along Henry’s scalp. “More.”

“More of what, my love? My words, or this?” He punctuates his question with a thrust and a swivel of his hips, forcing out a groan from Hans. “Because I will gladly give you plenty of both.”

“You’re so fucking deep, Hal.” Hans speeds up the hand he’s using to touch himself, as he braces for the obscenity that he knows is about to spill forth from that wicked mouth. But nothing could have really prepared for what Henry says next. 

“I have to be if I want my seed to take.” 

Christ, he’s going back to that again. Hans doesn’t even bother to hold back the absolutely wanton whine that leaves him, a spike in his arousal at returning to this sinful fantasy. Such a reaction only spurs Henry on, and he doesn’t stop. 

“Don’t worry, my Lord. Even when you’re round with my child, I’ll keep fucking you.” Henry grunts, a primal sound. “Keep you dripping with my cum and marking you completely.”

“Hal-”

“Then maybe Hanush will stop bothering you about all those flings you have with the bathhouse maids, because he’ll realise that you’ve been sleeping with me, your peasant page.” His hands dig harder into Hans’s thighs. “But I’m not your page anymore, am I? I’m your bodyguard now, trusted with protecting you. If only they knew what I was actually doing with this heavenly body of precious Lord Capon.”

Because Hans cannot help himself, he finds himself saying back, “And what exactly are you doing, dear bodyguard?”

“Bedding you like a good husband should.” Henry is speeding up now, the bed below them creaking with every sharp snap of his hips. “And it wouldn’t just be Hanush, would it. The whole of Pirkstein will know how well I take care of you. Maybe they’ll be less critical of you once you provide them a future heir.”

There’s a feral look in Henry’s eyes now; not as wild as before, but still intense enough to keep Hans speechless as he continues. “Let’s not forget that I’m of half noble blood. Not everyone will be happy with it, but our child would still have the right to inherit the title of lord or lady. If you can provide a legitimate heir, you wouldn’t have to be married off someday. You could stay mine, and only mine, forever.”

Hans nearly balks at the reminder of his certain future. But the fear and disgust when confronted with that reality is overshadowed by this alternate reality presented by Henry. Yet, as beautiful as it is, such a world is simply not possible - certainly not in their lifetimes, at least. To try and ground himself, he has to deny it. “I’m already yours, my love, but as powerful as you are, even you can’t change how the world works.”

“Perhaps, but like I said, I’ll never stop trying.” Another deep thrust, a slight change in angle, one where he hits right up against that sensitive spot inside Hans. “And if it doesn’t work, then maybe it’ll be in me where your seed takes hold.”

A flood of images, vivid and impure. The wildfire is already blazing with the thoughts of himself carrying their child, but to imagine bending Henry over and fucking him until it takes, until he’s the one growing with the product of their union? It’s like a damn lightning strike, a jolt straight down his spine and to every extremity. 

“Oh fuck,” Hans cries out in pure arousal. He works feverishly on stroking his cock, feeling as if his blood is at its boiling point, the pressure building up inside him immense. He’s ready to burst at any minute.

A deservedly smug smirk appears on Henry’s face upon seeing such a reaction. He’s breathing heavily from the exertion, but it doesn’t affect his ability to spew forth such blasphemy while making it sound like the greatest of prayers. “I’m close too, but I want to feel you clench around me while I breed you full. How does that sound?”

Hans whines again, and he loves-hates the effect Henry’s words have on him. It’s too much, and he’s spoiling him, really, but what else can he do but give in to the only person who treats him this well? “Yes, Hal. Please… make me come.”

“Of course, my Lord.” Henry does everything all at once: he grips onto Hans’s thighs hard enough to bruise and pushes them even further apart, he undulates his hips in a way that gets his cock somehow impossibly deeper, and most crucially, he kisses Hans again, soft and slow, so contrary to everything else yet the most perfect thing out of them all.

It’s an overload of his senses from every angle, and Hans is utterly consumed by the unstoppable force that is Henry. He quickens his hand, going fast enough that it’s just starting to hurt. Again, he doesn’t care, not when he’s right-

His orgasm hits him like the solid whack of a mace to his chest. Fire and lightning travel all across his body, the electrifying heat pulsating in waves all throughout his body. He’s not even sure if he’s making any sounds anymore, with everything that leaves his lips captured by Henry’s tongue. 

As he’s vaguely aware of his own cum spurting onto his chest, there’s also an ache as the entire area around his pelvis tightens. There’s another pain, one of fingers digging into the muscle of his thighs. One more thrust, two, three, and Henry’s comes inside him once more.

Henry collapses onto him but not completely, still holding himself up slightly so as not to crush him. It’s a comforting weight nonetheless, and Hans finds himself settling down much easier with it. Regaining more control over his body, he gently runs his hand over Henry’s nape, the man moaning into his ear as he shudders through the tail end of his climax.

Eventually, the lips against his ear turn into a smile. With a breathless chuckle, Henry says, “And that’s number four.”

Hans laughs too, shaking his head. He had completely forgotten that that was the whole point of tonight, of why he even drank that damn potion in the first place. Regardless, the fire has been extinguished, only smouldering embers left in its wake, the glow of which will die out soon enough too. He is thoroughly satisfied - in more ways than one.

“You did a good job,” Hans says as a purposeful understatement, laughing again when Henry pulls away to direct an offended look at him. “You did! In fact, you were so good that I don’t think I can walk tomorrow, much less ride, so you better take responsibility.”

“It was you who wanted this, so am I really to blame here?” Henry says back, to which Hans retaliates with a tug on his ear. “Alright, alright. I will… You know I’m always here for you.”

“I know.” Hans’s heart is light with contentment and affection. “You take such good care of me.”

“As a husband should. But save the praise for later. Let’s get you cleaned up first, shall we?” With an adoring smile, Henry pulls out slowly. Again, he’s fixated by the mess of their lovemaking, but with his hunger sated he does not dwell as long, taking only a few seconds before getting up. He wets a small towel before returning, wiping down Hans as best he can, the both of them knowing that Hans will have to properly clean himself out later.

For now, Hans is content with Henry’s care and attention. He’s too tired to move anyway, so he lies there and lets Henry do the work; he’s not above being spoiled by Henry every once in a while. When Henry’s done, Hans gives him the sweetest smile he can. “Carry me to the tub?”

Henry raises an eyebrow, but before he can say anything, Hans cuts in. “Or do I need to remind you that you’ve fucked me so hard that I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for the next few minutes, probably even the next hour?”

With an amused roll of his eyes, Henry scoops him up and carries him over with such minimal effort that Hans can’t help but flush at this show of strength. 

Being lowered into the water, Hans is pleased to find that it’s still pretty warm despite how long it’s been. He’s even more pleased when Henry joins him, and they’re in the exact same position they started this night with. Only this time, they are both tired and blissed out after four orgasms each, the tension having been dealt with thoroughly.

Or so Hans thinks. Because as Henry scrubs him with a washcloth, caring hands gently moving his arms and legs this way or that, gazing over each limb and smiling coyly whenever he comes across a mark he left behind, something stirs deep inside him. 

He didn’t think it was possible, but the embers reignite. Only a tiny flicker of flame in his core, but he can tell that it will grow even bigger, incomparable to those before. He is so drained, and yet, he is still starving for more.

“Henry?” he calls out, voice sounding small. Maybe he can resist. They do have a long day tomorrow, the rational part of his brain supplies, and the both of them really do need as much rest as they can get, especially after what they’ve already done throughout the night. He should just ignore it and sleep it off.

But then Henry looks at him with those enchanting blue eyes and a charming grin. “Yes?” is all he says, and that is more than enough. 

There is no way to ignore this.

So, Hans does not reply. He simply surges forward, climbs into Henry’s lap, and kisses him. 

He can feel that Henry is shocked, though he kisses back, opening up warmly as he always does. After a few seconds, familiar hands come to rest upon him, one of his back, the other on his arse.

Taking this as a sign to keep going (not that he would have stopped), Hans presses forward with his own hands on Henry’s shoulders until he has Henry tilting his head back to keep kissing him. It’s probably starting to get uncomfortable for Henry, but Hans is too lost to really notice, and neither does Henry voice any concern, so they continue, mouths slotted together perfectly.

It’s only when Hans starts grinding his hips down against Henry’s that the latter speaks up. “Hans,” he calls out against insistent lips, only for it to be instantly swallowed up. Henry tries again, but to no avail. For Hans, he does not even register it as a name, simply a sound that Henry is making, a sound that is only making it harder to kiss him. Stop talking Henry, let me kiss you, you idiot, can’t you see you’re distracting me, you’re just getting in the way of-

“Hans.” This time, a bit more force. Henry pushes him away slightly. They are both panting, lips kissed-red and shiny. “Talk to me.”

Though his thoughts are heavily clouded by this thick fog of lust, he does notice the worry and confusion in Henry’s eyes. He forces himself to calm down, even though the fire is very much wanting him to get on with it. “I need you, Henry.”

“And you have me.” There is no doubting that, but when Henry stays silent with that expectant look on his face, Hans realises that Henry can’t read his mind all the time. 

His head feels like it’s filled with honey, words swimming through the thick syrup in order to form his thoughts. Even then, Hans can only say, “I need you inside me again.”

“But Hans-

“Just one more time.” Hans knows it’s selfish. They’ve already been pushed past their limits, and Henry especially has been going at it through his sheer stamina and libido alone. And while he has plenty of both, it’s clear that he’s tired too, having done most of the physically demanding work. 

Yet, the flames of desire are back with a vengeance. Hans’s whole body is aching, but the ache inside yearns all too keenly. A craving so carnal that it overrides any exhaustion. He begs, beyond desperate, beyond caring about debasing himself. “I feel so empty, Henry. Please. ”

An all too long beat passes before Henry finally says, “Okay, but it might take me a little while before I’m ready. You have to be patient. Can you do that for me?”

Hans nods frantically. He presses a kiss to Henry’s jaw, murmuring against the rough stubble there. “You’re far too good to me.”

“Anything for you, my Lord.” Henry hums all too affectionately, nuzzling his cheek against Hans’s. “And while you wait, perhaps this will be enough to fill you up for the moment?” Two fingers circle around then press into Hans, sliding in with absolutely no resistance. 

Hans whines at the sudden intrusion. He’s sore, no doubt about that, but the fingers offer enough of a stretch to take some of the edge off of his desperation. However, even as Henry starts pistoning his fingers in and out, Hans feels the need to do something, unsurprising as patience was never really his strong suit. So, reaching between their bodies, he wraps a hand around both their cocks and strokes them together. 

It’s no surprise when he finds Henry already somewhat hard, providing much needed encouragement for his own still soft prick. When he runs a thumb over both the heads, Henry shivers, a twitch that causes his fingers to bump right up against that special spot.

An eruption of stars bursts behind Hans’s eyes. The heat that was pooling in his groin spreads outwards once more. He finds himself unable, unwilling to wait any longer. While he pushes his hips back to try and get Henry’s fingers deeper into him, he quickens his hand, trying to work Henry to full hardness as fast as he can.

Greed is clearly getting the better of him, because Henry’s other hand squeezes his waist as he hisses, “Slow down, Hans.”

Hans whines again. “I can’t, Hal. I need you so badly.”

“I know, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” He presses another finger in, and Hans whimpers at the stretch that is still not enough. “I’m almost there, you can tell, can’t you? Just move your hand nice and slow for me.”

Somehow, the instruction breaks through, and Hans follows, slowing down to a much more moderate pace. Henry nods, so he keeps going, stroking their cocks together, feeling Henry growing firm in his palm.

“That’s it. Good boy, Hans.” 

Those two words again. An undignified noise bubbles its way out of Hans’s throat, a sound so foreign that he doesn’t even recognise it as coming from himself. He pleads, “Henry.”

“Okay… okay.” Henry breathes out, removing his fingers. Taking it as his signal that he’s ready, Hans works fast. Immediately, he moves to properly straddle Henry’s lap before reaching for Henry’s cock. He guides it to his hole, and not wanting to wait a second longer, he lifts himself up then sinks down all the way, till his arse makes contact with Henry’s hips.

“Yes,” he cries out in relief, throwing his head back in pure elation. His hands return to Henry’s shoulders. Once he’s gotten a stable grip and his knees are planted firmly on either side of Henry, he starts moving, bouncing on Henry’s cock and moaning like a shameless whore.

“Christ, Hans, it’s like you’re in heat,” Henry says, voice tinged with awe and arousal. “What in God’s name did Lora put in that potion?”

Oh, right. Unlike Henry, who he’s pretty sure could go on forever, he is only like this because of that concoction he took. He’s completely forgotten, with this unadulterated lust that consumes him beginning to feel like his natural state, barely able to remember a time when Henry wasn’t filling him with his cock or cum or both. To be driven to this state… yes, what the hell was that potion, indeed.

Whatever the actual ingredients were, they must have combined to make the sweetest ambrosia known to man, because what else can explain the warm radiance of what feels like golden ichor running through his veins. Or perhaps it is burning brimstone, the flames from the depths of hell where he will be dragged down to for his hedonism, or more likely, the mortal sin he’s partaking in right now.

Either way, it does not matter. Just as it is right now, no matter what might come or where they might end up, Henry will be right by his side through all of it.

The question remains unanswered, because Hans is so focused on feeding the fire that all his other “unnecessary” faculties like speech seem to shut down, allowing him to concentrate on the movement of his hips and riding Henry like the hung stallion that he is.

But regardless of how much he wants, it’s clear that the night has already taken its toll on his body. His entire lower half is aching so bad that it’s starting to burn, and not in a good way. His thighs are shaking from the overexertion. He tries to power through it, but he can only sustain it for so long, and on one particular downward thrust of his hips, his knee slips, smacking against the side of the tub.

Try as he might, he just cannot push himself up again. Desperate and defeated, Hans hates how he cannot stop the whine of frustration. “Henry, help me, please, I-”

He doesn’t even need to finish his plea when strong hands reach for his legs. Henry pulls at them gently, having them wrap around his waist. He then cups Hans’s arse, fingers gripping firmly into the globes of muscles. “Hold on to me,” is all he whispers before he lifts Hans up and pulls him back down hard onto his cock. 

“Fuck," Hans curses, a long drawn out groan. His arms fly up to wrap around Henry’s shoulder, legs tightening around his waist, holding on as he lets Henry take care of him. 

I know, sweetheart. I’ve got you.

Only now does Hans clock this new term of endearment. Unexpected but charming nonetheless, one that underscores just how much Henry is doing for him. He was meant to do most of the work, especially after the previous two rounds, and yet here they are, with Henry continuing to exert himself despite how worn out he must be too.

Part of Hans knows he should feel bad about this, but it’s hard to do so when Henry is fucking him so well, the slide of that cock in and out of him so damn delicious that he can’t really find it in him to feel sorry. 

The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak, he thinks. 

His speech must truly be affected by the lust, because he unknowingly says this thought out loud. Why else would Henry grin against his ear and growl, “Aye, but this is some lovely flesh indeed.”

A spark of thrill runs down Hans’s spine. There’s that feral Henry from before, and as arousing as it is, Hans also comes to a very satisfying conclusion that this Henry only really appears when it comes to pleasing him. This roughness, this possessiveness, this dominance; Henry only truly displays it all when he knows his lord will enjoy it.

Hans might have been the one to unleash this wolf, but he is also the one that has tamed it.

And he knows exactly what to do to rile up this wild beast. He claws at Henry’s back, excited over the red scratches that will surely form, knowing that Henry also loves being marked as he does marking. “It feels so fucking good when you’re inside me, Henry. You’re so fucking big.”

“If you’re trying to flatter me… it’s working.” One hand on Hans’s arse grips harder, while the other glides over to where they are joined. Henry gently runs a finger over the ring of Hans’s hole. “And even though I’m big, as you say, I think I’ve fucked you enough that you can probably take more of me.” With that, he presses in that finger alongside his cock.

Hans gasps at this new stretch, nails digging hard enough into Henry’s skin to surely draw blood. But the finger retreats as quickly as it appeared, hand going back to the other arsecheek. “I shouldn’t tease you too much; I think you’ve already taken enough of me tonight.”

“No. Not enough.” Hans shakes his head, using his legs to pull himself even closer to Henry. “One more time.”

Henry releases a tired but amused chuckle. “Yes, one more. Whatever you want, I serve to please you, my dear lord husband.”

With that, Henry attacks his neck and shoulders with open-mouthed kisses, teasing the skin with caring sucks and nips. Alongside the claiming bite on his nape and the various other bites, there are sure to be a myriad of hickeys come daylight. Henry truly is thoroughly marking him in a way that there can be no doubt whatsoever.

“I’m yours, Henry,” He sighs into his lover’s temple, as the thought of it has him reaching a hand down to start stroking at his cock again, angling it just so that the head rubs up against Henry’s abs. “My Henry… my brave, strong blacksmith’s boy.”

“I’m yours too, as much as you are mine.” Henry murmurs, breath hot against Hans’s Adam’s apple. Even with such sweet words, he is relentless, lifting Hans up and down with strong arms at a steady rhythm, driving in so perfectly deep inside.

Hans can only hold on for the ride, but it doesn’t even feel like his own body anymore. So overstimulated and sensitive, his soul is floating somewhere in the aether above, amazed as he watches someone who is him making love with this handsome man who’s come to mean the world to him. 

And yet, the fire that is engulfing him from the inside pulls back down. As does Henry’s next words, moaned with gentle rumble. “You feel so good around me, Hans, I don’t think I can last much longer.”

Hans reaches up to grab the back of Henry’s neck, scratching the sensitive skin there and feeling Henry shudder under his touch. “Inside me, Hal. I only want to come after you’ve filled me back up again.”

Henry half-whimpers, half-laughs. “I love that mouth of yours, as I do every other part of you.”

Such a sappy line that Hans can’t help but chuckle. “I love you too, you romantic cretin.”

A soft interlude, both of them slightly giddy from both tiredness and arousal. But then, Henry pulls him down particularly firmly, causing the two of them to moan. 

“-’m close,” Henry gasps, arm muscles straining as he speeds up, the water around them sloshing even more than before.

Hans tightens his hold. Leaning in, he pulls the shell of Henry’s ears between his teeth, tugging on it with a bite. “Come for me, husband. Breed me. ”

With one final flex of his arms, Henry comes with a whimper of Hans’s name as his face contorts in bliss. His cock twitches, and there’s that all too glorious sensation of his cum spilling into Hans. 

The ache subsides, and the fire blooms. Hans strokes himself desperately, painfully fast. A tightness, a tension in his muscles, much like when he pulls back on a bow string, arrow nocked. The bow string is being held taut for almost too long, the muscles in his arm and hand aching - the arrow is begging to be released, he only needs to find his target.

And barely a minute later, he does. 

He lets go. The arrow flies, right after Henry into the abyss of pleasure. His entire body quivers, a torrent of immense euphoria taking over him, so overwhelming that it drowns everything out. 

When he comes to, the first thing he senses is Henry calling out to him, his voice so far away. He blinks to regain some awareness, next realising that he’s completely slumped forward onto Henry, mouth open as he drools onto the man's shoulder.

“Hans?” Henry calls out again. Feeling the grounding beat of Henry’s heart against his own, it only takes a few more seconds to return to himself. When Hans wipes his chin and sits back upright, Henry sighs in relief. “You scared me.”

“What, you think you fucked me so good that I lost consciousness?” Hans smirks, pushing his sweat soaked hair off his forehead.

“Well, I did fuck you good enough that you came dry.”

“Huh?” Confused, Hans follows Henry gaze downwards. His own hand is still around his cock, but there is no mess, the water around him still clear. “Oh Christ. But I got one out of you too, so don’t be too smug.” That grin remains, and Hans just rolls his eyes. “But I will give it to you, you’ve tired me out completely.”

“So have you,” Henry smiles. He releases an exhausted sigh, running his hand along Hans’s back. “We’ve broken both of our records, huh?”

“Hmm,” Hans nods. “Remind me to tell Lora that she needs to weaken that potion. I don’t even have any energy left to move.”

“Me neither…” He trails off, and slowly, the two of them just drift into a comfortable silence, enjoying being warm and satisfied in each other’s arms. It’s not until the water becomes too cold for their liking that they finally decide to get out. 

And it’s not until then that the both of them realise that Henry is still inside Hans.

Sheepishly, they do a quick wash, not wanting to use the soon-to-be… unclean water. Once that’s done, they slowly, achingly extricate themselves from each other’s grasp, with Henry pulling out and Hans shivering again as the cum drips out. Now that the fire has completely, finally died out, it feels awkward almost, to just be sitting in the water as he tries to get out as much of the cum out as possible, with Henry watching with attentive eyes. It is a highly erotic act, Hans supposes, but he and Henry are both too tired to really feel anything else. 

Once he’s as clean as he can get, Hans gets out of the tub with help from Henry’s steady hand. Both feet on dry ground, he takes a tentative step. A dull ache and slightly shaky, but nothing too bad; the true pain will likely only kick in come morning. 

As Henry is getting out of the tub himself, Hans walks over to the table where he laid out the towels and fresh pairs of braies for the both of them. Grabbing a fresh towel, he dries himself off and is about to turn around to offer Henry one when two hands appear on either side of him, palms flat on the table as an all too familiar broad chest presses against his back, bracketing him against the table. 

Henry starts pressing lazy kisses to where he has left marks, lavishing particular attention to the large bite he left on Hans’s nape. Hans hums before asking, “Pleased with your handiwork?”

“Very,” Henry says, the smile audible in his reply.

“You know, with where you’ve bitten me, I think calling you my husband isn’t enough. That spot, right there? In animals it’s a mating bond.” Hans pauses, giving Henry a second to understand what he’s implying before saying it outright. “So, Henry, you’re not just my husband, you’re also my mate… in both senses of the word.”

Henry chokes out a gasp that quickly changes into an incredulous chuckle. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

He’s said that before - one week ago to be exact. And back then, Hans simply agreed, taking it as the teasing remark that it was meant to be. But tonight, it’s different. Despite both his physical and mental exhaustion, the memories of everything that has transpired since they first met are clearer than ever. They run vividly in his mind, particularly ones where Henry sacrificed himself and put himself in harm’s way. 

Especially all the times Henry did so to save him. 

The anxiety he felt upon waiting for Henry’s return from Vranik, as well as the fear that went through him when Henry put himself between him and that group of bandits, they combine and coalesce into a dread that settles in the pit of his stomach. 

Their bond has deepened in so many ways tonight, and Hans cannot, will not imagine anything breaking it. To even contemplate it… no. 

“Don’t say that.” The words come out rough, despairing. 

Henry senses the shift, and he’s quick to try and placate him. “Oh, no, I didn’t-”

“I mean it.” Hans turns around. He gently grabs Henry by the chin, holding him so that he doesn’t look away. “Don't you ever die for me. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if you did. If there should ever come a moment where the worst happens, I want you to live for me.”

“Hans, I-”

“Promise me, Henry.” Please.

Silence. Hans sees himself reflected in those blue eyes that bare Henry’s soul. More silence. A deep sigh. Then, apologetically, “... You know I can’t.”

Hans’s heart breaks before Henry even continues, the man’s words already confirming what he knows to be true. “If something happens to you, there would be nothing worth living for… You are my whole life. So if that means I have to give up my life to protect yours, I would do it, over and over again.”

He can only release a long, shuddering breath. Sweet, kind, loyal Henry is dutiful to a fault, and that is - and likely will be - his fatal flaw, stubborn idiot that he is. What kind of person would so willingly give up their life for someone else… for someone like him?

Well, it seems that Hans has found, and fallen in love with, such a person. And in a case of beautiful tragedy, this person loves him back fiercely and devotedly with all his heart, loving him more than his own life.

So, what else can Hans do but smile, acceptingly and affectionately. “... You are a lovesick fool, you know that?”

Henry leans in with an equally fond smile, pressing their foreheads together, softly rubbing his nose against Hans’s. “I’m your lovesick fool, my dear Lord Capon, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Hans has never seen the ocean, but he imagines it’s what he finds in Henry’s eyes that are staring into his with pure adoration. A bright blue that reflects that of the boundless sky above, yet hiding a depth that only those with the strongest determination are able to explore and discover its secrets.

He has done so, and what he’s found has made him happier than he thought he would ever be. 

Fighting back the urge to cry over how much he feels at this moment, Hans chooses instead to bring Henry in all the way and kiss him. Just a simple touch of lips, but enough to convey volumes.

And when they pull apart, Hans says, “Let’s go to bed.”

They get dressed and fall into bed, unworried about the still-lit candles and the dirty sheets. Bodies too tired, spirits too sated, such discomforts are easily ignored. Right now, all they really want, need is each other and to rest.

Yet, sleep does not come immediately. Henry lies on his back, hand around Hans’s waist. Hans has curled himself against Henry’s side with his head on his shoulder, fingers tracing lazy patterns into Henry’s chest hair. The two of them just lie there, not talking, just breathing, taking in each other’s warmth and scent. After a few minutes, Hans is the first to speak up.

“Henry.”

“Yes, my Lord?”

“Do you know how to forge a ring?”

“No, but I figure I could learn. Seems straightforward enough.”

“Okay.” Hans does not continue, and Henry understands all the same.

“... When we get back from Trosky, I’ll get to work on them,” he states simply, but the message is clear. 

“Okay,” Hans says again, this time unable to hold back a smile. Despite this rush of pure joy, the pull of slumber is far too strong. He yawns. “Goodnight, Henry.”

Henry yawns too. Already sounding half-asleep, he mumbles, “Goodnight, Hans.”

The snores follow almost immediately after, the rise and fall of Henry’s chest a soothing rhythm. Hans closes his eyes as he feels a light breeze blow through his hair, a gentle caress that leads him into the land of dreams. 

~

Hans wakes up to the first light of dawn streaking in through the window.

At first, he wants to pull the covers up over his head in order to fall back asleep. But when he blinks and the man across from him comes into view, he no longer wants to look away.

There is Henry, illuminated by this early morning light. The sun casts a warm glow over his sleeping frame, creating lovely shadows that define the lines and dips of his body and handsome face. With as gentle of a touch as possible, Hans runs a finger down the sharp bridge of the man’s nose, holding back a laugh as the tip of it twitches like a bunny. Henry still stays asleep though, for which Hans is relieved; after such a long and vigorous night, he needs all the rest he can get. 

He probably needs some more sleep too, but his mind has already started up for the day. He does allow himself one more little luxury however - he presses closer to Henry and nuzzles into the crook of his neck, giving himself a few lazy minutes to just take in the man’s warmth and scent.

But the sun persists in rising, and so must they. Hans still takes his time, pushing himself upright while his aching joints and muscles groan in complaint. Once in a sitting position, he takes a long moment to just look at Henry. So young and peaceful without the weight of the world on those broad shoulders. A brave warrior, who feels safe enough to fall into such deep slumber in his - no, their bed. 

Though Henry is right there, Hans cannot help but smile wistfully as he looks upon his lover. 

Past the threshold of the door is a world where they have to return to being a nobleman and his page-turned-escort. That is all they can be, with their close friendship already pushing the boundaries of propriety. So, is it any wonder why Hans wishes, just like he does every time they spend the night together, that they could just stay in this room forever, where their vulnerabilities and love lay wide open for each other to see?

This wish has never come true all the previous times, and neither will it now. So, it’s with some resignation that Hans gently shakes Henry awake. “Hal, time to wake up.”

“Huh… wha…” Henry mumbles, right into the pillow.

Hans manages to steel himself against how adorable sleepy Henry is. “Come on. We need to get going soon, or else the others will start wondering where we are.”

Henry finally cracks open his eyes. Though they are still bleary with sleep, he looks up at Hans and with an easy smile he says, “My angel.”

Another pet name, really? Hans blushes. “What are you talking about so early in the morning?”

Reaching up, Henry takes a few strands of Hans’s hair between his fingertips. “Your hair… it’s like a halo of golden sunlight.”

Either Henry is still half-asleep or love has truly made him blind, because no one has ever said something so flattering about his bed hair. Still, Hans feels his cheeks flush even redder at the compliment. 

Reluctantly, he pulls Henry’s hand away, though he holds it in his own. “Alright, you smooth talker. If you can say such sweet things, it means you’re awake, so let’s-”

He is cut off by Henry suddenly moving to wrap his arms around Hans’s middle. With his face smushed up against Hans’s side, Henry is basically pouting as he asks, “Can we stay like this for a little while longer?”

“Oh, so who’s the spoiled brat out of the two of us now?” Hans teases, but he doesn’t push Henry away. How can he say no to this even more adorable Henry? So, he cards his hand through Henry’s thick hair, softly massaging his scalp as he did all the times before. “How are you feeling?”

“Aching muscles aside, I feel incredible,” Henry says, nuzzling his stubbled jaw against Hans’s ticklish skin. “You?”

“Same, but it might be worse once I stand up.”

“I’ll help you.” 

Hans doesn’t doubt that, but Henry’s assistance won’t last for long. Once they leave this room, Hans has to push through the pain on his own. “Thank you, but you won’t be able to help me ride my horse. Now that is going to be the real challenge.” 

“You rode me just fine last night.” The biggest smug grin tugs at Henry’s lips, and it feels so out of nowhere that Hans reacts instinctively by smacking Henry lightly on the arm.

“For that smartarse comment, I’m going to make you get out of bed now.” He then pulls Henry’s arms away from himself. Henry pouts again, but Hans resists. “Seriously, Hal. I don’t want to be late for my first ever official task, and I certainly don’t need Hanush to think me irresponsible before I’ve even begun.”

Immediately, Henry’s whole demeanour shifts. “Of course,” he says, getting off the bed and helping Hans get up too. 

Hans is right, because the entire area around his hips is almost screaming with an intense ache. He is truly grateful for Henry’s help as they walk over to get washed up, followed by a quick mouthful of the marigold decoction that he always has stored in the room. 

As the pain subsides for now, they start helping each other into their respective armour (Hans went to the local armourer yesterday afternoon to get a new set for Henry, explaining that he wanted his bodyguard to look his absolute best. He then had it delivered to the room under the guise of wanting to inspect it first). Every piece, strap, buckle, all of it is placed and tightened with caring hands. Done in a comfortable silence, they make sure that each other’s armour is secured safely, an intimacy that can only occur between two men.

But even though it is simple light armour that is suited for travel, each layer they add on makes it feel like the distance between them grows, despite standing only inches apart. 

Once everything is on, Hans gives Henry a once over. He is stunning in this new armour, looking every part the official escort of a noble lord, someone worthy of standing by his side - not that he wasn’t already, but that was merely in Hans’s eyes. Now, everyone will see it.  

“Fantastic,” Hans says, earning a smile from Henry. “Now, you go down to the kitchen and tell the cook that I ordered you to get some more food for the trip while I’ll go straight to the stables. Hopefully the others haven’t been waiting too long.”

He turns towards the door, but a hand on his forearm stops him. Then, he’s being turned around and there’s the light clink of their cuirasses touching as Henry leans in to kiss him.

Perfectly soft and passionate, but Henry pulls away before they get too distracted. With sparkling blue eyes, Henry says, “I love you, my Lord.”

Oh, Hans realises, how have we gone the whole night without saying it? So, he quickly remedies that. “I love you too, my dear knight.” 

With a beautiful smile, Henry opens the door and disappears down the hallway. Hans counts to 200 before leaving too, making his way to the stables. The rest of the men are in fact there, but thankfully they are still in the midst of getting the horses ready, so they make no comment on the fact that their lord is slightly late. 

However, Hans does notice them exchanging whispers when they see him. Even Oats is giving him a look as he leads Aethon over. Hans wonders if they can tell that he’s had multiple rounds of sex the night before. Is the post-orgasm glow actually a thing? He ponders, Or perhaps I’ve just never had good enough sex until now.

No matter. Hans ignores their hushed gossipy chatter as he gives Aethon a quick brush. Besides, they’ll be happy to have their lord in such a great mood, especially when the cause of it is coming along too.

Now, if only he can figure out a way to sneak Henry into his bed (or vice versa) when they set up camp or sleep in a tavern over these next few nights without any of the men finding out, then this good mood will continue and carry him through the long journey ahead.