Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Inside his modest third-floor flat, Henry stood shirtless in the kitchen. Absently drying a dish with one hand while tossing a chew toy across the room for his dog Mutt, who launched after it like a torpedo with fur.

He was sore from a recent scuffle at his job, muscular arms bearing a few bruises. Not that he minded. Working as an assistant-slash-bodyguard to Hans Capon, the famously arrogant aristocrat and media darling, required both suits and fists. Often at the same time.

Finally, he was off duty, and it was time to relax. Watch tv, jerk off, and go to bed.

Just as Henry reached for a beer, a mysterious knock came to the door.

Henry was unsure if he'd imagined it until Mutt let out a low growl, ears flattened.

"Who is it, boy?" Henry frowned, not expecting any visitors or deliveries, as he reached for the door, and opened it.

A man stood outside in the hallway. Lean, and striking. Maybe a year older or younger than Henry himself. The stranger wore a lightweight green jacket, unzipped half way to reveal his black tshirt and a thin gold chain around his neck. The Star of David hanging from the end of it. Not someone you would expect in this part of London.

The man had dark hair, cropped short, with a neatly kept mustache, and full lips. He was handsome, and for some reason, Henry thought he looked... familiar.

“Mukhl zeyn… Excuse me,” The stranger said, a thick accent shading the timbre of his voice. “I am looking for a man named Martin.“

Henry blinked, struck dumb for a moment at hearing Pa’s name spoken out loud. His heart clenched. “Uh, and who are you...?”

“My name is Samuel.” Sharp emerald eyes immediately held Henry’s gaze, the color so striking that Henry couldn’t help but notice. The man inclined his head briefly, then tried to look past Henry through the door. “Do you know where I can find Martin? I hoped to speak with him.”

Henry probably shouldn’t trust this intimidating stranger, but he did not want to talk about Martin in the hallway.

“You should come in.” Henry stepped aside so the man could enter.

Samuel murmured a quiet danken dir as he stepped inside, and Henry closed the door behind them.

Henry’s apartment was mostly clean for a bachelor -- an old couch, stacked books, an assortment of dog toys, and Henry’s weight-lifting gear near the kitchen archway.

Mutt, ever the sentinel, hovered near the stranger’s legs, growling with wary eyes.

“Don’t mind him,” Henry said, nodding to the dog. “He just doesn’t like surprises.”

“I understand.” Not frightened, Samuel offered Mutt his hand to sniff. The dog immediately stopped growling. “Gut eyngl,” Sam murmured as Mutt nuzzled his palm.

Henry watched the exchange, unable to shake the nagging feeling that he recognized this stranger somehow. Something about the shape of his face. His furrowed brow. The slant of his nose. The particular set of his jaw.

Samuel looked up, and caught Henry staring. He glanced pointedly at Henry's shirtless torso with a judgmental arched brow.

Henry blushed, grabbing a hoodie and quickly pulling it over his head.

“I’m Henry, by the way.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair bashfully. “Martin was my Pa. Well... not actually by blood. But he raised me.”

Sadness overtook Henry's small half-smile. The rest of the words stuck in his throat. The weight of them bringing the heartache back to the surface. “He died last year. Both him and my Ma.”

Samuel’s green eyes widened at the news, stunned. Eventually his mouth pressed into a tight line, and he nodded solemnly, looking away.

“I see,” Sam said, almost too quietly. “I am… very sorry.”

Henry wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a glimpse of emotion breaking through the other man's thick wall of composure. But, why? Who was this stranger?

Samuel's attention was caught by a collection of framed photos on Henry's cluttered bookshelf.

In one of the photos, Martin’s hand rested on a young Henry’s shoulder. Martin's usual stern expression was captured in a rare, soft smile.

“Is this...?” Samuel asked.

Henry nodded. “Yeah. That's me and Pa.”

Sam picked up the photo, thumb resting on the glass.

“You knew him?” Henry stepped closer behind him, looking down over Samuel's shoulder at the picture.

Samuel hesitated, a flicker of wariness crossed his eyes. “Neyn. Not exactly. I mean—I never met him.”

“Then… why are you looking for him?” Henry asked, studying the stranger with increasingly mounting curiosity.

Sam put down the photo. His accent deepened, like he was suddenly very tired, as he spoke again: “Martin was… my father.”

Henry’s breath caught. The words didn’t make sense for a moment. And then, all at once: they did. The resemblance was undeniable.

Like a photograph developing slowly. It was as clear as day.

Sam continued, each word careful, as if translating the words first in his mind before speaking: “Martin left meyn mame before I was born. She never said much about him. Only that he was a craftsman. And, that he was a good man.”

Henry stepped back until he could sink slowly down onto the arm of the couch. “Christ...” The news settling heavy in his chest.

Martin had another son? Henry had a brother... An almost-brother?

Martin had been an honest, resolute man, warm but strict. And yet the thought of Martin walking away from a son—another son—was like a sudden cold draft in the room.

“Did he know about you?”

Samuel avoided Henry’s eyes. “Neyn. I don’t think so.”

The green of Samuel's eyes dulled into a grey, but the emotion was quickly extinguished as he hid his feelings behind a cold, stoic wall again. The kind of composure that only came when someone spent their whole life keeping things tightly sealed.

Henry couldn’t help but be reminded of Martin once more: the quiet resistance to emotion, the reluctance to show any vulnerability or weakness.

“Why come find him now?” Henry’s voice came out quieter than he meant it to.

“I did not want to,” Sam’s arms folded, turning away and scowling at himself. “But, I couldn’t let it go. I just had to know... What kind of man he was.” He gave a small breath that could’ve been a laugh or a sigh. "It's a bit late for that now.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get the chance to meet him,” Henry whispered.

Sam gave a curt shake of his head, and took a long step toward the door. “Ikh gey avek. I’m not here for your pity.”

Henry got to his feet, panicked. “Wait! I didn’t mean it like that.”

They stood in silence for a long moment. Two sons in the quiet aftershock of a man who had shaped both their lives in vastly different ways.

One in presence, the other in absence.

“Look,” Henry said gently, “You want to sit down for a while? Maybe have a drink or something?” He gestured toward the kitchen. “I was just about to make tea. Or, there’s whiskey, if you want something stronger.”

Sam looked unsure for a moment, then a quirk at the corner of his mouth. “Whiskey, you say?”

-----

The whiskey warmed their bellies as they talked.

Henry had sunk into the corner of the couch across from Sam, whiskey tumbler balanced lightly in his hand, one arm slung over the back of the couch as he listened to Sam's stories.

Samuel told Henry about growing up in the synagogue, and about his grandfather Jehuda, who was a Rabbi.

There was something magnetic in Samuel's voice, a subtle intensity when he told a story about working as a translator, or a dock hand, or a night clerk at a hostel. Henry found himself watching Sam’s hands. The way his fingers moved when he spoke, the way they curled slightly around his glass.

“What about your ma?” Henry couldn’t help but ask.

“She told me that Martin loved her.” Sam flinched, clearly sensitive about the topic. “But, when my grandfather found out they were together, he did his best to drive Martin away. To marry a goy is isur de-oraisa. Forbidden."

Henry shook his head, confused about Jewish customs. "Did your mother ever marry another man?"

"No." Samuel sighed, bitterness in his voice. "Mame raised me on her own. She told everyone that she was a widow." His lips shaped into the firm line of his frown. "She worked long hours to support both of us. I spent a lot of time on my own.”

Henry swallowed thickly, “I’m sorry about your ma.”

“A sheynem danke,” Sam replied quietly. “After she passed away, I moved out. Sold what I could." Maybe it was the whiskey in his blood, but Henry thought Sam looked a little lost. "I came here to try and... I don’t know.”

Henry felt his throat tighten, “Where are you staying now?”

“A hotel. In Camden. For now, anyway. It's cheap. Was hoping to find work soon," Sam shrugged with one shoulder. "Something with my hands. I’m not picky.”

Henry’s expressive brow furrowed. “You don’t have any family here?”

“Neyn. None that I know of.” Samuel met Henry’s eyes again. “Just... you.”

The weight of that comment struck Henry harder than he’d expected.

Mutt was laying between them on the sofa, absorbing as much attention as he could get. The clock on the mantle ticked steadily on, reminding them of the hour.

Sam finished the remnants of whiskey at the bottom of his glass, and stood. “I should go.”

Henry rose with him, shoulders sagging, not even trying to conceal his disappointment. “You sure?”

Sam slipped his jacket on, and then hesitated, glancing back at Henry.

He pulled a pen from his coat pocket and scribbled a number on the back of a receipt from Henry’s side table. Sam handed it over.

Henry took it with care, as if it were more fragile than paper. “Thanks.”

Sam nodded once, resolute. “Tschüss, Henry.” And then he left through the door, and was gone. Boots echoing down the hallway.

—---

The next morning, Henry stood at the kitchen counter staring at his phone, thumb hovering nervously.

He'd typed in the number hours ago and left it sitting in his contacts under the name Samuel.

He read over the message for the third time:

Hi. It's Henry. If you’d like to talk again sometime, maybe we could get a drink?

He hit send before he could second-guess himself.

The hours stretched. Henry checked his phone compulsively while he was working, every buzz, but none were from Sam.

By mid-afternoon he was telling himself to forget about it.

Maybe Sam didn’t care about having a brother as much as Henry did. Maybe Sam never planned on answering Henry at all.

But, just before six, the screen lit up.

Sure. King Solomon Tavern. Tomorrow night, 7

Chapter Text

The next evening, Henry stood in front of his wardrobe after a shower and a shave.

He pulled out a few shirts, some too-wrinkled, some too try-hard. Settling on a jumper that made his eyes look bluer, paired with his cleanest jeans, and his least-scuffed boots. Simple. Clean. Attractive. He hoped.

He caught himself adjusting his hair in the mirror, smoothing it back, then letting it fall forward again.

Henry chastised himself. What was wrong with him? He’d just met the man. Was he just seeking Martin’s approval through Sam? And yet… he wanted Sam to like him.

Henry arrived at the King Solomon Tavern a few minutes before seven.

The pub was old, wood-paneled and dimly lit, with a worn out carpet that smelled of beer and smoke. The kind of place where everyone minded their own business.

Samuel was already there, sitting in a booth with a pint of amber lager in front of him, one arm stretched along the backrest, holding a hand-rolled cigarette in his fingers, the other around his glass. His jacket was off, revealing a charcoal sweater that clung to him just enough to show the lean frame underneath.

Henry ordered a pint, then slid into the booth across from him.

“Sholem Aleichem, Henry,” Sam lifted his beer in greeting.

“Um.. Sholem?” Henry replied, trying to sound casual. “Thanks for meeting me.”

Sam shrugged one shoulder, smirking into his cup as he took a sip. “You’re buying, meyn fraynd.”

Henry grinned, relieved that Sam was warming up to him. Friend was a good start. “I can handle that.”

“Is that so? What is it you do for a living, Henry?”

The first round of beers went down quick and Henry talked about his job, being the bodyguard-slash-assistant for Hans Capon, a wealthy socialite turned celebrity-influencer, who was born into a nobleman inheritance, with a huge estate near East Sussex, and a collection of too many racehorses.

Hans was as rich and beautiful as he was arrogant and rude.

“He pays well, I take it.” Sam raised an arched brow, tipping his glass to Henry.

“Aye,” Henry said with a grin. “Though half my job is keeping him from forgetting what day it is.”

That earned another faint quirk at the corner of Sam’s lips. “Sounds like a full time job. Does your boss let you have any time off?”

Henry scoffed, finishing his beer. “Of course not.”

Sam rubbed his thumb thoughtfully along the ridge of his jaw, studying Henry closely. “A girlfriend?”

Henry paled, the color draining from his face at the thought. “No. Hans would lose his mind if I had one of those.”

"Who takes care of him when you're not around?"

Henry leaned back in the booth, lifting his hands in defense. "Lucky for me, his Uncle hired a whole staff of people to watch over him around the clock."

Samuel just shook his head, clearly bewildered by Henry’s loyalty to such an employer. “Sounds like a circus.”

“Oh, it is,” Henry sighed.

The second round of drinks went down faster than the first. They both loosened up by the time the third round came and went.

“Are you thinking about stayin' in London?” Henry asked, feigning nonchalance about his interest in the answer.

Sam looked into his glass. “I don't know.” He glanced at Henry from under his eye lashes. “Maybe.”

Henry was flushed now, pleasantly so. The beer worked through his chest like slow-burning fuel, but Sam barely showed any signs of it affecting him at all.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” Sam spoke, breaking Henry's trance.

Henry blinked, feeling caught. “I wasn't!” But, the alcohol made it impossible to lie, and Henry winced. "Well, maybe a little." He confessed. "It's just that..." His heart did a short somersault. "You look so much like Pa." Sam’s resemblance to Martin wasn’t just in the shape of his face. It was also in his posture, the way he was sitting, the way he held himself. It was in the presence he had brought back.

“...You miss Martin a lot,” Sam said, his calculated expression remaining guarded.

Henry let out a long exhale, the line of his broad shoulders deflating. “Every day..." It was the first time he'd admitted that out loud. He had never really talked about Martin to anyone, and it made him feel a little lighter to say it.

Samuel was quiet for a moment. Then, his sharp gaze softened. “Tell me something about him.”

Henry blinked, sitting up straighter. “What kind of something?”

“I don’t know. A story about him.” Sam’s brows furrowed, avoiding Henry's eyes. An unspoken plea not to question the request. “Something you remember.”

Henry's eyes glazed slightly, voice drifting into memory. “He had a shop. A forge setup. Smelled like metal and smoke." A sad smile crossed Henry's lips. "Pa could shape steel with his hands, but he never used force when it came to people."

Henry did his best impression of Martin's brummie accent, "If you want to convince someone that they're wrong, Henry, try using your mouth instead of your fists."

Samuel listened, watching Henry's Martin impersonation with wide eyes. It seemed as though he wanted to ask more, but he stayed silent, turning his attention moodily to his empty beer glass.

The silence passed between them, and Henry wondered... Did Samuel regret trying to find Martin? Did he regret finding out about Henry?

“I wasn’t sure if you’d answer my text...” Henry murmured.

“I almost didn’t." Sam traced the rim of his glass with a finger tip. “But, I wanted to know more. About him.” He admitted.

Henry’s heart stuttered, emboldened by the drink warming his blood. “Then, let’s go back to mine!”

Sam looked up at him sharply, the hint of color spreading upwards from the collar of his sweater. “What? ...Why?”

“Because,” Henry explained with a boyish grin. "You need to see his favorite film. We’ll watch it at my place.” Henry grabbed his beer and finished it in one gulp, chasing away the fluttering in his stomach. “You said you wanted to know more about him. Well… Sharing my memories is the only way I know how to give you that.”

Samuel looked at him for a long time, recognizing the ache in Henry for one more moment with Martin they could share.

Sam nodded, “Alright.”

—

Mutt bounded toward them from the living room when Henry unlocked the door to his flat, barreling into Samuel’s legs in greeting.

“Hey!” Henry griped at the way his dog was ignoring him in favor of getting head scratches from Samuel instead. “What about me, Mutt?”

Sam enjoyed the affection, “I’m usually more of a cat person, but I think your dog likes me.”

Henry kicked off his boots and tossed his keys into the bowl by the door. “Your lucky Mutt is an excellent judge of character. I've seen him kill a man." Henry deadpanned, not joking. "You want another beer?”

“I think I’ve had enough for tonight,” Sam replied dryly, shrugging out of his jacket.

Henry laughed from the kitchen. “Fair.” He returned with two glasses of water instead, handing one to Sam, who took it with a quiet nod. Henry watched Sam as he drank--the way Sam's throat moved, the veins in his hand.

Sam raised an eyebrow when he caught Henry looking again, but he didn't comment this time. “What movie are we watching?”

Henry distracted himself by re-arranging the lumpy pillows on the couch, sitting down and patting the seat next to him. “Noir films were his favorite. Pa could recite the dialogue start to finish.”

Sam dropped onto the couch beside Henry, followed by Mutt who spread out across both of their laps, the dog's head resting on Sam’s thigh. “Is that so?”

Henry queued up the film with a grin, then flicked off the light, putting his green socked feet up on the coffee table.

The screen lit up the room in flickering monochrome, and they watched in companionable silence. Until Henry started making little comments, mocking the drama, pointing out the absurdities in the plot. He even made Sam laugh one time, low and quiet, at a line Henry exaggerated for effect. Henry glowed from the inside when he heard the sound of that dry chuckle.

Then Henry leaned over Sam to grab the throw blanket and pull it over both of them. Sam denied being cold, but let it happen anyway.

As the credits rolled, Henry glanced over--and found Sam asleep.

Samuel's head had dropped slightly to the side, lips parted just a bit, arms folded loosely under the blanket. The light from the screen painted soft shadows on his face, making Sam look younger, his face unguarded, unburdened by whatever weight he carried on his shoulders during the daylight hours.

Henry remembered what Sam had said about spending a lot of his childhood alone. Had Samuel wished to have a father, or a brother, or a family one day?

Sam's presence made Henry feel like his family wasn't just a memory, but instead, something solid again. And fragile at the same time.

Henry quietly turned off the TV, fetched a spare pillow and gently placed it near Sam’s shoulder. Then he dimmed the last of the lights, took a deep breath, and retreated to his room.

------

The next morning, Henry was already in the kitchen frying eggs when he heard soft footsteps behind him.

Sam stood in the kitchen archway, hair tousled, wearing the same clothes from the night before.

“Smells good,” Sam murmured.

“I made some for you, too. Sit.”

Sam obeyed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he sank into one of the kitchen chairs. Henry poured him a mug of tea and set the plate down in front of him.

Sam looked at the food, then at Henry. “No one beside mame has ever made me breakfast before.”

Henry blinked, feeling a tickling of joy in his chest. “Really?”

Sam shook his head, slowly.

Henry smiled. His head swimming. He was so glad that Sam was here, that Sam had found him. “Well. Get used to it. I can make you breakfast anytime.” A flush of heat crept up from the collar of Henry's shirt as he realized the implications of that suggestion.

Sam's brow knit, “Thank you, Henry.”

They ate in comfortable silence, interrupted only by the sound of forks and the thump of Mutt's tail as he begged for scraps at their feet.

When they were nearly finished, Sam set his mug of tea down and asked, “Would it be alright if I used your shower? Before I go.”

“Of course,” Henry replied without hesitation. “Towels are in the closet. Take your time.”

Sam gave him a look of quiet gratitude. “Do you treat all your guests like this?”

Henry grinned, “You’re not a guest. You’re family. Whether you like it or not.”

———

The bathroom door creaked open with a soft click, and Henry looked up from the sink as he finished the dishes, just in time to see Sam emerge, steam curling out behind him like mist, hair damp, face freshly scrubbed, wearing only a towel.

Henry leaned against the kitchen counter with his second mug of tea, trying to play it cool, though his eyes lingered far too long on the shirtless expanse of Sam's broad shoulders and muscled back, on the golden chain resting on his damp chest.

"Let me grab a change of shirts for you." Henry hurriedly slipped into his bedroom to find something clean for Sam to wear, rummaging around in his closet and trying not to think about Sam's naked skin, or the scar he noticed on Sam's shoulder. It looked like an old knife wound scar.

When Henry grasped the soft dark grey tshirt in the back of his closet, he froze, staring at it.

It was one of Pa's tshirts that Henry had worn for many years. It was old, but washed, and it had barely been touched in months, just hanging in Henry's closet like a sentimental token that Henry held dear.

Henry returned to the living room with the grey shirt, handing it to Sam. "Here. I think this will fit you." He kept his voice neutral, betraying none of the overwhelming feelings he felt tumbling around in his stomach. "You can keep it..." Henry offered quietly. The shirt was precious, but he was glad for Sam to have it. "It's yours."

Samuel didn't question it, nodding in thanks as he took the shirt, and went back into the bathroom to get dressed.

When he emerged again, fully clothed, and wearing Martin's shirt, Henry couldn't look away. Of course, the shirt fit perfectly on Sam.

“I should head out,” Sam said, reaching for his jacket by the door. “Need to catch the train back to the hotel. I’m still technically paying for it.”

Henry stepped forward, before he could change his mind. “Wait.”

Henry had experienced too many quiet mornings. Too many silent dinners. Walking Mutt alone.

“You don’t have to stay in that hotel, y'know,” Henry said. “I mean, you could stay here. With me. For as long as you need.”

Sam blinked, surprised by the offer. “You... you don’t even know me.”

Henry frowned, “No, but I never thought I'd ever have a brother.” He gave a determined nod, blue eyes sparkling. “But, now I do. And, that’s enough.”

Mutt pushed his head into Sam’s leg. Samuel scratched behind the dog's ears, as if buying time to think, and compose his thoughts. “I have to admit." Sam shook his head in wonder. "I did not expect to find you either... You’re sure?”

Henry's head bobbed quickly again, in earnest. “I want you to stay, Sam.” His voice trailed off, looking to the side, not quite sure how honest to be. “It's nice to have family around.”

Mutt looked between them in excited anticipation of Sam’s response.

Sam swallowed, looking torn. Faint color rose in his cheeks. “Okay… Just for a while. Until I find a different place to live.”

Henry’s smile beamed like the sun, as joyous as Mutt’s wagging tail. "Aye.. Just for a while."

Chapter Text

The door had barely closed behind Samuel before Henry swept into action.

He rolled up his sleeves and turned toward the second bedroom, the one that had become more of a glorified storage closet-slash-gym. But, now, it would be Sam’s.

He tossed the cluttered laundry into a nearby laundry bin, moved his extra exercise gear into the living room to make more space, stripped the guest bed and laid down fresh sheets. He vacuumed the floor, dusted the window ledge, and cracked the window open just enough to let the breeze clear out the stale quiet that had settled there.

It felt good to do something, to prepare. To ready a space for someone. Henry's heart was light in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

As he cleared out the dresser, Henry found an old shoebox wedged in the bottom drawer, slightly water-damaged but still intact.

Henry sat down on the bed and lifted the lid. Inside, a hundred memories looked up at him: photographs from old disposable cameras, Polaroids, yellowing prints that smelled of time and dry paper.

There was one of him as a baby, swaddled in Martin’s lap while his mother leaned over them, smiling. One of him at five, holding a toy sword while Martin pretended to be slain. Another of Martin and Henry's mother dancing in the kitchen of Henry's childhood home, laughing at something private.

Henry swallowed hard. He hadn’t looked through these in years. Gathering up the box carefully, he carried it to the living room, and placed it gently on the coffee table to show Sam.

When Samuel finally returned later that evening, he brought just one worn duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

Henry tried to sound casual despite being as excited as Mutt was when Samuel opened the door, “You made it back quick.”

Sam shrugged, dropping his bag in the living room. “The hotel wasn’t much to say goodbye to.”

“I cleared out the second bedroom,” Henry said, gesturing down the hallway. “It's yours now.”

Sam blinked, looking slightly humbled. “You didn’t have to go through all that trouble.”

“It wasn’t trouble,” Henry said quickly. “I wanted to, Sam.”

Before Samuel could say thank you, his eyes caught sight of the box on the coffee table. “What’s this?”

“Pictures of Ma and Pa.” Henry’s voice went quiet, reverent. “I figured… you might want to see them.”

Sam stepped closer and picked up one of the photos: a shot of Martin lifting a young Henry in the air, both of them laughing, sunlight catching in their hair. Sam's fingers twitched slightly as he held the photograph.

Henry looked down over Sam's shoulder, at the picture.

“He looks... happy,” Sam said, looking sideways at Henry, noticing how close Henry stood .“And you... look how small you were.”

Henry looked back at the picture, remembering Martin's voice in his head. “It’s still hard sometimes." He admitted. "I dream about him a lot.”

Sam nodded solemnly. “All my life I thought if I did not give a shit about this man, it would be easier. But, seeing him like this.” Sam tapped the edge of the photo gently. “Makes me wish...” Sam trailed off, unable to say it.

Henry understood. He touched Sam’s shoulder, and Sam didn't pull away.

———

Over the next few weeks, they found a companionable rhythm of co-existence as almost-brothers.

Sam got a job at The King Solomon tavern as a bar tender, and Henry worked long hours at Lord Capon’s beck and call, coming home late most evenings.

When Henry did have free time, he and Samuel hung out: A jog together through a misty Hyde Park at dawn. Going to the gym or walking Mutt. Sometimes they caught films at the theater down the street. Indie dramas with too many close-ups and long pauses.

Henry's favorite was when Samuel would make them both dinner, sharing the Jewish recipes his mother Sara had taught him.

Sometimes, they met at the tavern where Sam worked--that dim, wood-paneled little place with the warm beer. They drank and talked while Sam worked, including stories about their past relationships.

Henry told Samuel about his first two girlfriends, Bianca and Theresa, and how disastrous both breakups had been. In return, Sam accounted Henry with tales of the Jewish girls he had dated in his synagogue back home, and about how his mother Sara had forbidden Samuel from dating any goyim.

"So, you're not allowed to date a non-Jewish person, is that it?" Henry asked in a voice that betrayed none of his inner feelings.

"Exactly. Why do you ask?" Sam wiped down the tavern bar top, squinting at Henry, who sat on one of the stools at the bar.

Henry scrubbed a hand through his hair. "No reason. Just... wondering." He cleared his throat, which felt strangely tight. “I just remembered, there is a big fancy party next Friday. It's a work thing. Want to come?"

There was a gala event set to be held at Sir Hans’ estate, and Henry was allowed to bring a guest even though he was technically working during the event.

“Do I have to wear a tie?” Samuel grimaced.

“Yes. You can borrow one of mine.” Henry gave him the full force of his puppy dog eyes, hoping it would compel Sam to attend.

It worked. “Oy vey! Fine." Sam sighed. "I’ll come.”

—

The Capon estate glowed with golden fixtures, marble floors, too many mirrors, every chandelier shimmering. A crowd of wealthy people filled the main ballroom as liveried staff moved through the guests with silver trays covered with champagne flute glasses.

Sam and Henry stood just off to the side of the entrance way, watching the noble chaos unfold.

Sam took a sip of the champagne he had been handed. A little overwhelmed. "This many rich people in one room feels …unnerving.”

Wearing a black suit, crisp white shirt, and tie, Sam looked like he had just walked off the page of a magazine. His short hair neatly styled, his expression guarded as he observed the scene.

Henry looked him up and down. “You clean up nice.”

Sam's mouth twitched with an almost-smile. “You mean I don’t look like someone who works in a pub?”

Henry blushed, and checked his watch. Hans would show up soon, which meant Henry was on duty. He nudged Sam toward the crowd. “C'mon.” He weaved through clusters of laughing guests as Samuel followed.

Near the champagne table was Henry’s co-workers, the hand-picked staff that worked alongside Henry to take care of Hans Capon’s every needs.

Janosh-- Hans’ personal chef. Adder-- his chauffeur, who didn’t speak English, but understood it. Hans' manager-- Katherine, a busty woman who kept a strict time schedule on Hans to make sure the nobleman got to all of his appointments, meetings, and plane flights on time. And Zizka, Katherine’s husband, who was in charge of Lord Capon’s business deals and finances, making sure Hans didn't spend all of his money gambling or whoring.

“Everyone,” Henry said proudly, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “This is my brother, Samuel.”

Janosh smiled with a jolly glee, accent thick when he spoke. “Good to meet you, Samuul. Henry talk about you more than he talk about food, which is a lot.”

Adder, blond hair pulled back into a tie, wiggled his eye brows at Sam, “Wiedziałem, że brat Henry'ego będzie piekielnie seksowny!”

Janosh laughed uproariously at Adder's comment, and Samuel’s brow furrowed in suspicion. “What did you just say?”

Then, like he’d been summoned by the mere scent of new blood, Sir Hans Capon appeared.

Hans strolled up to his employees, beautiful as always, immaculately groomed, dressed in a suit of expensive velvet with gold trim. He looked like he just stepped out off a fashion runway.

“This must be the mysterious brother,” Hans said, extending a gloved hand. “Samuel, was it?”

Sam shook the other man's hand, firm and brief. “You must be Lord Capon.”

“Oh, please, call me Sir Hans.” Hans said toothily, shaking his hand without warmth. “I must say, Henry’s been uncharacteristically chatty about you.”

“Has he?” Sam glanced sideways at Henry.

“Indeed,” Hans said, studying Sam closely. “So… Why have you suddenly shown up, hm?”

Henry stepped in, wary of Hans’ nosy nature. “It’s a long story, Sir. Maybe another time?”

“Hmm.” Hans sipped his drink, ignoring Henry, fiery blue glare never leaving Samuel. “How well do you two know each other, exactly?”

Sam wasn’t backing down and held Hans’ gaze challengingly. “Well enough.”

Henry shifted uncomfortably, looking back and forth between them. “Sir Hans...”

“Don’t worry, Henry. I’ll play nice. Come, come." Hans tutted, tossing his blond hair. "I want to introduce you to someone. Try not to embarrass me.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “We’ll try.” They followed Hans as they cut a path through silk gowns and polished shoes, and finally arrived near the ballroom's wide impressive hearth. A cluster of young nobles stood near the fire, laughing.

One of them turned as Hans approached—a young man with beautiful caramel colored hair curled just a little where it felt around his ears. Atop his head sat an expensive looking hat, blue and floppy. His features had a boyish charm, a mischievous smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

“Sir John of Lichtenstein.” Hans said smoothly, “Meet Henry, my occasionally competent assistant. And, this right here is his brother, Samuel.”

John perked up at the introduction, his expression was unmistakably intrigued as he looked back and forth between Henry and Sam. "Brothers, you say?" He grinned. "Quite, quite."

Sam blinked, caught off guard by the man's flirtatious smile. “Nice to meet you, Sir John.”

“Please call me John." He purred, gaze locked on Sam as he shook his hand. "It’s a pleasure,” John didn't look away even as he threw a comment over his shoulder to Hans. “You didn’t tell me you had such charming friends, Hans.”

Henry's lips bowed into a frown and he coughed into his fist to break their stares away from each other. "We should probably get going now--"

“Nonsense, the party barely started! Are you drinking champagne by choice, or out of politeness?” John asked, looking at the empty flute glass in Samuel's hand.

Sam tilted his head at the question. The champagne had been handed to him when they arrived, he had not chosen it. “Politeness.”

John offered an elegant little smirk. “Then allow me to rescue you. Come to the bar, Samuel, I can recommend something better.”

Sam glanced at Henry, but Henry only smiled tightly in response. “Go ahead, Sam. Might as well enjoy yourself.”

John was pleased, extending an elbow to Sam, both gallant and oddly intimate. Sam hesitated then took the nobleman’s elbow. “Alright," And let John lead him toward the bar.

The two of them disappeared into the crowd, and Henry's jaw twitched as he watched them go.

Hans, of course, had been watching the whole interaction.

“Oh dear,” Hans voice dripped with mock concern. “Worried about your brother? ...John wont bite.”

“Shut up,” Henry drank deeply from his glass.

Curiosity flared in Hans' pale eyes. “Are you jealous?”

“I’m not jealous,” Henry said quickly, too quickly.

Hans wasn't letting it go. “You absolutely are.”

Henry refused to look at him. “Don't be ridiculous. Sam can talk to whoever he wants.”

“Mmhmm. And if Sir John of Lichtenstein happens to be a flirtatious cherub, with very, very soft hands, that doesn’t bother you?”

Henry muttered into his own empty champagne glass. “Not even slightly.” He knew Hans was only trying to rile him up.

Henry glanced back across the room, catching sight of Sam and John at the bar.

John was leaning close to Sam with a practiced tilt of his head, looking like he belonged in a portrait above someone’s fireplace, finely dressed and groomed, soft mouth and sparkling eyes that never blinked when they wanted something.

Sam’s expression was torn between flustered and intrigued as John laughed and talked. Henry wasn't certain, but he thought he spotted an actual blush on Sam’s face. The tight reserve Sam usually maintained, cracking under the handsome nobleman's attention.

“Oh, come on,” Hans muttered, no longer amused by Henry's distracted attention. “You’re going to burn a hole through that man’s back with your eyes.”

Henry blinked, turning back to Hans. “What?”

Hans gestured lazily with his glass, eyes squinted. “Is there something I should know about you two?”

Thankfully a group of other socialites descended upon Hans at that moment, dragging the blond into their conversation instead.

Henry let out a sigh. Relieved to avoid further interrogation. He needed to focus on his job, and nothing else.

Of course... after listening to Hans and the other nobles drone on and on about taxes and horse racing, Henry’s eyes wandered back over the crowd, telling himself that he was just going to check if Samuel was alright.

But when Henry's eyes roamed over the bar, there was only an empty place where Sam and John had once been.

Henry turned back to his employer. “Do you need me for anything else, Sir?”

Hans rolled his eyes, huffing indignantly. “I do need you to pick up my clothes from the dry cleaner, get the bmw washed, and since you asked, you can pick me up some more cigarettes at the store.” Hans tapped his chin with one finger, pretending to think of more tasks.

Henry leveled him with a glare, in no mood to be teased.

“Where’s your sense of humor, Henry?” Hans waved him off, sighing. “If you’re going to just brood all night, then go. Do it somewhere more scenic.”

Henry didn't argue. He slipped away from the chatty group and back toward the rest of the ballroom, eyes scanning every corner, the bar, hallway, stairwell.

No sign of Samuel or John.

The knot in Henry’s stomach twisted. What if they’d gone off together? Somewhere quiet. Somewhere private.

It’s not like Henry could really blame Sam. John was funny, smart and attractive. Seducing handsome foreigners was probably John's favorite sport.

Henry pushed out onto the big balcony. A few guests were drinking and talking, but none that Henry recognized at first.

Then he spotted it-- the soft orange glow of a cigarette, hidden behind a column strewn with ivy.

Sam, alone, was leaning on the column, a hand-rolled cigarette between two fingers. His tie was loosened, suit collar unbuttoned, cooling off from the too-humid air inside the crowded gala.

Sam spotted Henry as he approached, one arched brow lifting. “Oy himl, why do you look in such a panic, Henry?”

Henry let out an embarrassed, breathless laugh. “I was looking for you.”

“I did not vanish,” Sam said, exhaling a trail of smoke. “Just needed some air.”

Henry leaned against the column beside him, failing to look cool. “I figured John might’ve dragged you off to be alone somewhere.”

Sam gave a snort of amusement. “He tried.”

Henry glanced at him. “Really?”

Sam shrugged, tapping ash off the edge of the balcony. “He’s nice. Very talkative.”

That knot in Henry's stomach twisted bitterly. “Pretty, too?”

“Yes, he is that,” Sam added, smirking. “I don’t know how you deal with these people all the time,” He shook his head, exasperated. “These nobles speak like they’re on stage. Their smiles, their words, even the way they lean in when they talk to you—it’s like they’ve practiced it in a mirror.”

Henry nodded, offering an empathetic and lopsided smile. “Noblemen are good at using their charms to get what they want. You get used to it."

The handful of guests on the other side of the balcony returned to the party, which left Sam and Henry alone.

Noticing how drained Henry appeared, Sam looked Henry up and down. “Want one?” Sam held out another hand-rolled cigarette.

Henry hesitated, staring at the smoke and wanting to keep it like it was a precious momento, and never light it. “Sure.”

“Didn’t think you smoked.” Sam leaned in with the lighter.

Henry's hand cupped around Sam’s fingers, holding the flame in place against the tip of the cigarette.

“I don’t,” Henry admitted, taking a drag, and immediately coughing.

Sam chuckled, “Smooth.”

“I’m trying to look cool,” Henry grimaced, trying and failing to maintain some dignity.

“You might need to improve that skill,” Samuel was barely able to hide an amused smile behind his cigarette.

Henry turned pink when he caught that glimpse of warmth in the other man's gaze. His eyes lingered on Sam's face as he basked in it, and then his focus dropped traitorously to watch Samuel’s lips as he smoked.

When Henry looked up, he found the other man had caught him staring again.

But, this time, Sam didn't look away, and he held Henry's gaze.

Henry swallowed, face burning as he swayed closer, giving Samuel plenty of time to stop him.

The flicker of unspoken words passed Sam's eyes as their breath mingled, Henry inhaling the smoke from Sam's mouth.

Then, a firm hand landed on Henry’s shoulder from behind.

“Am I interrupting something?” Sir Hans popped up on the balcony, directly behind them, startling the other two men away from each other.

Hans snagged the cigarette out of Henry’s hand. “Since when do you smoke, Henry?” Hans pushed into the space between Henry and Sam, forcing them to separate farther apart.

“Are you teaching my bodyguard bad habits?” Hans puffed hard on the commandeered cigarette without offering to give it back, eyeing Samuel up and down. “I wont stand for it.”

Hans placed his hand on Henry’s chest possessively. “I need Henry to be in top condition, you understand.” Then Hans blew the smoke directly into Henry’s face, just to be a petulant bitch.

Henry coughed, choking on the smoke for the second time that night. “What do you need now, Sir Hans?” He removed the cigarette from Hans’ lips in retaliation, and dropped it to the ground to crush beneath his boot.

“Hey! I was smoking that—“ Hans complained, pouting. “I came to tell you... that Radzig is looking for you.”

Henry tensed, blue eyes widening. “He’s here? I thought he was still in Grenada for a few months.”

Hans smirked, looking between Henry and Sam mischievously. “He's back. And he wants to meet your little Sammy, too.”

Samuel's eye twitched at the 'Sammy', and Henry worried that Sam might pull out the dagger he kept hidden on himself at all times.

Henry quickly grabbed both Hans and Sam by the elbow and led them back into the party before Hans could instigate Sam's temper any further.

Back in the main ballroom, the crowd parted to make way for a handsome middle-aged man, in a dark colored suit, with a dashing red ascot.

The man sported a well groomed mustache and goatee, his eyes a charming hazel. He had the debonair confidence of someone who had never once questioned his place in the world. Clearly another nobleman.

“Sir Radzig,” Henry greeted the man, inclining his head a little. “How was your trip?”

The older man returned Henry's smile with ease, clasping Henry’s shoulder in a grip that spoke of familiarity.

“Henry,” Radzig said warmly. “It was a grand trip. You should visit one day. That is, if Hans ever gives you the time off." He looked Henry up and down, seemingly pleased by Henry's growth spurt during the last year since he'd seen him. "Still following Capon around the world to keep him out of trouble, are you?”

“Still, Sir.” Henry replied, nodding “But, I’ve brought company this time. Sir Radzig—this is my brother. Samuel.”

The nobleman's gaze shifted to Sam, suddenly softened, “So this is Samuel. The staff told me what Henry said about you.” The older man stared at Sam with something close to wonder, as if peering through the years. “You’re Martin’s boy.”

Sam froze, suddenly feeling very exposed under the other man's gaze. “Yes, Sir."

“Gods,” Radzig said quietly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You look just like him. Almost the same age as the day I met him.”

Sam didn’t know what to say, so he stood still while the nobleman placed a firm, warm hand on his shoulder.

“Your father,” Radzig said, voice thick with memory, “Was one of the best men I ever knew. Brave. Honest. Foolish in all the right ways. We drank too much, we fought too often, and I would’ve followed him into hell if he asked.”

The older man gave Sam a light pat, comforting, protective, like something a father might do after a long absence. Sam blinked, surprised by the sudden tightness in his chest.

“It’s nice to meet you, Samuel.” Radzig said. “I’m sure Martin would’ve been proud to meet you, too.”

Sam nodded, swallowing emotion too large to force down like usual. His typical composed demeanor struggled to stay stoic in the wake of such generous words.

“It’s nice to meet you as well, Sir.” Sam glanced between Henry and Radzig, looking lost. “May I ask… How did you know Martin?”

“Oh ho ho, didn’t Henry tell you?” Hans chirped up from Henry's other side. Hans looked far too interested in the family drama, overly smug that he was privy to all of the information that Sam wasn't. “Sir Radzig is Henry’s father. His real father.”

Henry flinched, feeling guilty for not telling Sam about Radzig yet.

In his defense, Henry had never thought to bring it up, so distracted by talking to Samuel about Martin instead.

The unfortunate state of Henry’s noble illegitimacy was not usually at the forefront of his mind when he and Sam were together.

Now Sam was looking at Henry with bewildered confusion, a touch betrayed, and Henry opened his mouth to explain, but he was cut off by Radzig.

“It’s a long story, and I’m not sure this party is the place.” Sir Radzig lifted his hand to signal for Henry to stop. “You can tell Samuel later. In the meantime,” Radzig focused his attention back on Sam with a kind smile. “Let me know if you ever need anything, lad. I owe Martin. For many things.”

Radzig nodded to Sam, his expression still touched with nostalgia, exposing yet another wounded heart left behind by the deceased man’s absence.

Then Sir Radzig returned to the glittering crowd where a group of other nobles were waiting to speak with him.

Hans scoffed bitterly once the older man was gone. “Enough about fathers! Who needs ‘em?” He was showing signs of how drunk he truly was. Especially by the volume of his voice.

Henry knew that Hans Capon was very tender about the subject of fathers, due to the fact that Hans' own father had died when he was an infant.

“The party’s still alive, and so are the drinks!” Hans forced a wide grin to cover his foul mood, waving his glass in the air.

When Hans swayed in place as he spoke, and almost dropped the wine he was holding, Henry knew he had to do something.

Henry caught Hans around the waist, taking the glass and holding the blond up before he could drunkenly tumble into a table of guests.

Henry turned to Sam with a sigh. “I have to get him to bed before he starts climbing the drapes or challenging someone to a duel. I’ll come home after, and explain everything— about Radzig and Martin, all of it.”

Sam still looked a little dazed, but nodded firmly. “Go. Take care of him, Henry.”

Henry smiled gratefully. “Okay. See you at home, Sam.”

-----

Chapter Text

Henry got back to the apartment just after 2 AM, dragging his feet in exhaustion. His suit jacket clung to his back with sweat, and he winced at the uncomfortable feeling of the white dress shirt underneath, damp at the collar and reeking of noble perfume.

Babysitting a drunk nobleman all night was never as glamorous as it sounded.

He leaned against the door, exhaling a long, bone-deep sigh.

Mutt trotted up to greet him, and Henry crouched tiredly to offer his dog a scratch. “That's my doggy. Did Sam already take you on a walk?”

Henry tilted his head, listening for any sounds of Sam, wondering if the other man was awake. But the apartment was quiet, and dimly lit. No faint strum of music from Sam’s room, no sound of a kettle boiling in the kitchen, no shower running in the distance. He could only assume that Sam had gone to bed hours ago, and Henry buried the foolish disappointment he felt.

Strong fingers yanked at the knot of his tie in frustration, the fabric finally loosening with a sigh of relief. He itched to get out of these clothes as soon as possible, stretching his neck until a dull pop sounded in his spine. It did little to ease his pent up tension

He made a detour through the kitchen to grab the bottle of whiskey from the cabinet above the sink. Intending to drink away the soreness, and pass the fuck out. Too exhausted to bother with a glass.

He moved quietly toward his bedroom, tugging off his suit jacket, already imagining the cool pillow and the bone-deep sleep he might manage to steal before Hans inevitably summoned him the next day.

But as he passed the living room, something caught his eye, and Henry stopped in his tracks.

Sam was there, on the sofa, blinking awake against the faint light from the hallway.

Sam must have been waiting for Henry to come home and fallen asleep on the couch. He looked so casual and unguarded, sprawled out in just a shirt and boxers, long legs half-bent, one arm flung over his head. He seemed so at home, like he had been living alongside Henry forever, instead of just a few weeks.

"You're home," Sam's voice was rough with sleep. He stretched, which only pulled his shirt tighter across his chest, revealing a sliver of stomach before it settled back into place. Henry noticed that the shirt was the one he had given Sam, Martin's shirt. Henry's mouth went dry.

"Didn't mean to wake you." Henry stood frozen in the doorway like a thief caught in the act, unwilling to admit how relieved he was that Sam hadn't gone to bed.

“How did the rest of the party go?” Sam pushed himself upright fully, rubbing his eyes. He made room for Henry to sit next to him on the couch and pat the cushion.

Henry hesitated, then crossed the room. He didn’t bother to hide how tired he was when he reached the couch, and collapsed next to Sam with an exhausted groan.

“After you left, Hans decided to chase after a diplomat’s daughter, and her brother, at the same time. Then he tried to kiss a statue.” Henry unscrewed the lid of the whiskey bottle and took a drink from the mouth of it, feeling the burn. “I deserve a medal for not letting him die.”

“Your employer has some chutzpah, I’ll give him that.” Sam said, amused.

“He’s in bed now at least,” Henry muttered, tugging off his boots. The warmth of Sam’s body next to his was comforting, and Henry wished he could fall asleep right here, with their shoulders close enough to almost touch, inhaling the sleepy scent of Sam in the dimly lit room.

But when Henry looked over, he noticed Sam’s jaw was tense. The line of his broad shoulders rigid. Henry held his breath, waiting.

“Why didn't you tell me about your real father?” Samuel sounded neutral, unbothered, but Henry recognized Sam's carefully-built mask of indifference.

Guilt twinged in Henry’s chest as he remembered Sam’s confusion at the party. Henry had not intended to avoid talking about Radzig, but now he understood that it wasn’t fair to have left Sam in the dark. “I’m sorry, Sam. I… should have mentioned him.”

Samuel shrugged one shoulder, but the tension in his jaw eased a little. “Your father seemed kind.” He scratched the hair on his chin, searching for the words to describe Sir Radzig. “Like he actually meant… all of those things he said.”

“He did.” Henry sat up straighter, earnest. Hoping to assure Sam that Radzig had spoken true. “He and Martin, they were as close as brothers. Maybe closer. He loved Martin." Henry had seen a painfully familiar look of longing in Radzig’s gaze when the older man had met Samuel at the gala. "I swear, Sam. When he saw you, it was like he was seeing Pa all over again.”

Sam’s eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly smothered his reaction, packing it all up behind a firm frown. "As close as brothers... What happened?"

Henry let out a somber exhale, thinking of his mother. “My ma was a commoner. Sir Radzig wouldn’t marry her. Martin knew all of it and he chose to marry Ma instead, even though she was pregnant with me." Henry gave a wistful, sad smile, “Radzig trusted Pa to take good care of us. And he did.”

"I see." Sam nodded slowly, eyes distant. He reached between them and took the whiskey from Henry’s hand. His lips lingered against the mouth of it as he drank, and Henry’s eyes betrayed him, locked in on the curve of Sam’s lips, the way they glistened just slightly from the whiskey. Finally, Sam asked. “When did you find out the truth?”

“They never told me." Henry frowned, closing his eyes. "I found out after Ma and Pa died. That's when Sir Radzig explained everything.”

"So, we are more alike than I knew." Sam murmured, in wonder of how similar their stories were. He handed the whiskey back without a word, fingers brushing Henry’s as he passed it. “Are you mad at your real father. For not being around?”

“No,” Henry shook his head, sadness and frustration mingling hot and bitter in his throat. “Maybe… I don’t know.” Samuel didn't push for more answers, and Henry was glad.

In truth, Henry had conflicted feelings about his real father, a feeling he hoped that Sam could empathize with. In Sam's case, Martin had no knowledge that Sam existed. But, for Henry, Radzig had known about his son the entire time, and still decided to let Henry be raised by another man.

They sat in the quiet of the apartment, sharing the remnants of the bottle until it was empty at their feet, letting the solemn atmosphere dissipate with the soothing sound of Mutt snoring peacefully from his dog bed in the corner.

Henry's thoughts drifted back to the gala earlier that night, and curiosity gnawed at his gut.

He recalled how good Sam had looked in his borrowed suit and tie. Remembered Sam being escorted away by the charming John of Liechtenstein. Couldn't stop thinking about how long Sam had disappeared with John during the party.

Henry rested his head on the back of the couch, glancing at Sam from under his long eyelashes, "What happened... when you and John left the bar?" He was careful to sound casual, unsure if the thing he was trying so hard to hide was starting to show.

Samuel's eyes flicked toward him in the dim light, watching him now. More awake. “You really want to know?”

The knot in Henry's stomach tightened again, dreading the truth, and he nodded.

Sam’s gaze unfocused, remembering. “John tried to lure me into the coat room." He smirked, licking the whiskey from the corner of his mustache. "Asked me to fuck him on the fur coats."

Henry’s ears went hot instantly. The thought of Sam bending the other man over a pile of expensive mink scarves in a dark coat room was sending Henry’s blood rushing south to his dick against his will. "Did you?"

Sam took note of the way Henry's breath had sped up a little. "Neyn,” he shrugged, “I did not. I told John he was a little too drunk already… He was almost as drunk as your Capon.”

The couch creaked when Henry shifted, ignoring the way his dick twitched in his suit pants. “Did you... want to?”

Sam was observing the other man’s increasing restlessness with a curious once over. “I thought about it..." He rubbed his thumb over his lips, green eyes half-lidded. “After I told him no, John invited me to visit him at his villa this weekend instead.”

Henry's heart sank. Between his bone-deep exhaustion, and the alcohol rotting in his empty stomach, he could no longer find the strength, or the will, to hide anymore of the pining in his eyes. He had to look down before the risk of Sam noticing it.

“Are you going to?” Blue eyes focused where his fingers itched near Sam’s hand on the cushion between them.

Sam watched him for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was firm. An order. “Look at me, Henry.”

Henry wanted to refuse, but his whole body reacted to the weight of Sam's voice, something very familiar about that demanding tone, and Henry obediently lifted his head.

When their eyes met again, Henry was pinned down by Sam’s knowing gaze. It felt like the other man could see right through him.

Samuel’s voice was steady, his words carefully chosen. “Is Martin all that you see, when you look at me, Henry?”

Henry's breath caught, frozen by the blunt question. The words tangled up somewhere between his chest and his tongue. It was hard enough to parse his own thoughts when he was around Sam, and even harder to find a real answer for that question.

It was impossible not to see Martin’s eyes in Samuel’s. Impossible not to see a younger version of Pa in Sam’s every move. The way he stood, calm and commanding. Same voice, low and direct when he was serious. It made Henry’s stomach flutter in ways he didn’t want to admit.

But, it wasn’t all that Henry saw. He saw Samuel, too, for who he was, the man that Pa’s real son had become. His feelings had started as a quiet longing for a brother, manageable. Harmless, even. Just admiration and respect. Then all of it had twisted into something else, grief and loneliness and desire tangled together.

When Henry remained mute and frozen Sam’s gaze sharpened in frustration, and Henry felt his pulse spike.

“Entfer mir, Henry! Answer me!”

Henry’s tongue felt leaden, too heavy to move. How could he ever hope to explain? No matter how much he tried to bury the traitorous feelings Sam made him feel, Henry couldn’t let it go.

Henry swayed into the space between them, and brushed his lips over Samuel’s.

“Henry—!“ Sam attempted to pull back as Henry’s mouth descended upon his, but there wasn’t enough room on the couch to escape. "Wait--mmphh!”

Henry didn’t wait. He pressed forward, and kissed the breath from Sam's mouth, too far gone in his own head to stop once he’d decided on his answer.

Samuel's hand shot up, grabbing Henry’s shoulder like he meant to stop him, but the tension in his grip betrayed how conflicted he was between pushing Henry away, or pulling him in. Henry took that as permission to deepen the kiss before Sam could choose. His mouth was warm and sure, insistently prying open Sam’s lips to chase after the taste of whiskey and tobacco on his tongue.

Henry had imagined kissing Sam a thousand different ways, in quiet moments, in his bed at night, while cooking breakfast, while folding laundry. But nothing had prepared him for the reality. The softness of Sam’s lips. The way his body fit, hot and solid and familiar, against his own.

Henry was so lost in his own head, he wasn't thinking coherently as he pushed Sam backwards onto the couch, following with his body to press him into cushions under him.

But when Sam's back hit the couch, it snapped him out of his shock, green eyes widened. He finally broke from the kiss, throwing his head back and escaping the scrape of Henry's teeth on his lips and tongue.

"Oy, wait!" Samuel gasped. His fingers tightened roughly on Henry's shoulders to hold the other man back from attacking his mouth again. "Mi ata hoshev she'ata!” Sam locked one leg around Henry’s thigh, and with a hard shove, flipped Henry’s bulky frame. Pinning Henry under him instead.

"What do you think you're doing, bistu meshugge?” Sam panted, straddling the other man's waist. The fighter inside of Sam determined to maintain the upper hand, clearly not used to being manhandled, or kissed with so much forcefulness, reclaiming control before Henry could eat him alive.

Henry’s chest heaved, breathless and flustered by the way Sam had flipped him with his formidable strength. He was still tasting Samuel on his lips, still reeling from the feel of his mouth, the way Samuel had yielded for one wild, beautiful moment before pulling back.

Henry’s stomach tightened like it always did when a rejection was coming. He was aware that his communication skills needed work. The handful of ex-lovers he had in his life had told Henry that he didn't always know when to stop, or how to keep a check on his own strength.

Henry swallowed guiltily. He knew he had pushed Sam without gauging his reaction first and he tried to steady his breathing, trying not to let the shame drown him. “I’m s-sorry, Sam. I... shouldn’t have.”

Sam leaned his hands on Henry’s chest, fingers curling in the wrinkled fabric of Henry's buttoned dress shirt. Calm on the outside, though he shifted to get a little more comfortable, and blushed when he felt Henry's stiff length beneath him.

“You are sadly mistaken...” Sam finally spoke, green eyes narrowed. Henry could see the storm flickering behind Sam's stoic walls, fighting a barely contained inner-battle. "...If you think I take direction from anyone. Even you."

Henry’s heart hammered, and all he could do was stare. He had been sure, absolutely sure, that Sam was about to punch him for what he had done.

But now, Henry understood. Sam wasn’t rejecting him. He was making it clear that he did not submit to anyone. After all, Sam was probably accustom to lovers who were smaller than himself, soft and pretty. Not someone who looked like Henry, a match to Sam's build.

Henry could feel the heat from Samuel’s palm through his shirt, his pulse thudding under it like a drum. Henry's hands flexed on Sam’s hips, barely able to control himself. He wanted things he hadn’t let himself want in a long time.

“That’s not a problem.” Henry promised, his voice trembling with newfound courage. He wanted Sam on Sam's terms.

With a firm grip on the other man's waist, Henry rolled them over again, using Sam's weight against him as momentum to flip them, and press Sam into the cushions once more.

"Oy Henry! Did you not hear what I said--?” But Samuel’s protest died in his throat when Henry slid down to kneel on the couch between Sam’s legs. One large hand slipping under the hem of Sam's shirt, dragging it upwards so that Henry could kiss along his stomach.

"Ah...!" The muscles of Sam's abdomen tensed and relaxed under Henry's lips as each hot breath coasted slowly lower, savoring the warm skin just above the hem line of Sam's boxers.

"Hu elohim," Sam gasped when Henry's mouth skidded down, teeth scraping Sam's half-hard cock through the fabric. "Fuck," Sam breathed, a mix of urgency and wonder laced his voice.

Henry’s lips felt numb, either from the whiskey or the adrenaline, as he rubbed his mouth against the material covering Sam's growing hardness. Saliva soaked through the cloth, tracing the shape of Sam's body through the thin boxers, until the other man grew to full stiffness under the warm pressure of Henry's tongue.

When Henry's teeth caught on the outline of Sam's cock for the second time, Samuel hissed. "You... use a lot of teeth, ahuv."

"S..sorry." Henry murmured, teeth retreating apologetically. He blushed hot as he pulled away just enough to lick his lips, tucking warm fingers under the waistband of Sam's boxers. He felt the shiver run through Sam when he hungrily slipped the material down.

Sam’s cock was heavy and thick, throbbing in time with his pulse as it sprang free. Henry reverently circled his fingers around it, his touch deliberate and slow like he was memorizing every inch of flesh. He squeezed the thickness, making Sam breathe out shakily on a groan, Henry's calloused thumb caressing upward to drag the sound out longer.

Despite the glaze of lust in Henry's eyes, he maintained just enough focus to examine Sam's body curiously. Studying the difference in the way Sam's cock was cut, unlike Henry's.

Sam's fingers slid into Henry's hair, feeling the soft strands as though he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

Unable to hold himself back, Henry leaned in, compelled to continue his studious examination through taste. Tongue laying along the scalding hot skin. Testing the shape and give of the tender exposed edges, tracing them with his lips, taking his time to savor each spot that made Sam's cock flex on the way up to the plush head. His stubbled mouth scraped against the sensitive underside, and he kissed away the beard burn that he had left behind.

"Gott helf mir..." Sam hissed, trying to keep his eyes open to watch. Focused on the slow, methodical exploration of Henry’s mouth.

Henry's cock throbbed at the rough timbre of Samuel's groans, hunger overwhelming him. He pulled Sam between his lips, and finally sucked.

"Oy himl." Sam breathed in sharply, his head thrown back on the couch. Using the fingers in Henry's hair, he held him in place, encouraging him to suck harder.

Henry allowed Sam's hand to guide him, obeying immediately when Sam nudged the tight circle of Henry's lips farther down.

Moving the head of Sam's cock carefully passed his palate, Henry struggled on the thickness only a little until it reached the back of his throat, and settled there.

Henry turned pink at the loss of air flow, just long enough for it to make his vision blurry, and his dick jerked painfully in his too-tight suit pants.

When Henry's throat finally convulsed in need for breath, Sam let Henry pull his head back up. Panting, and still a little dizzy, Henry dragged his lips through the shiny mix of saliva that his throat had coated along Sam's length. The slight ache in his wind pipe made Henry harder than ever before, relishing in the stretch that Sam had left behind.

When he finally caught his breath, Henry was able to lick his swollen lips clean.

Before Henry could return to the task, the grip in his hair tightened, and Sam pulled him upwards. "Kum aher."

Henry followed eagerly, dragging himself up over Sam’s body until he could see the dark pit of arousal reflected in Sam’s eyes. The carefully constructed walls had started to slip down, and Henry was desperate to see more of how his touch was affecting Sam.

Henry swayed forward to kiss him again, but Samuel stopped him. He held Henry’s head back by the grip on his hair, just enough that their lips brushed.

“You like being told what to do, Henry?" Samuel breathed against Henry's mouth.

Henry’s heart stuttered. Those words making the tension burn hot and bright in his gut. He nodded once, eyes half-lidded. Desire mixing with something else. The promise of relief for an ache that needed to be soothed. An itch that needed to be scratched.

“Not here,” Henry panted. “My room.” They were almost falling off of the couch already, the space not big enough for what Henry needed. He practically dragged Samuel up from the couch as he stood, both of them needing to catch their balance when they got to their feet, arms and legs still tangled, chests bumping together.

Desperate not to let the contact end, Henry leaned in to kiss Samuel again. The taste of Sam and whiskey still lingering faintly between them. For the first time, Henry didn’t have to hide what he felt and he kissed the other with all the want that he had kept buried inside of him since they had met.

Sam responded instantly, fingers digging into the back of Henry’s shirt, matching Henry’s urgency with a heat of his own as Henry tugged him through the living room. Past the dim kitchen. Toward the bedroom.

Their kiss turned messy as they bumped into the narrow wall, Henry’s back hitting it with a soft thud. The hallway seemed longer than it ever had before. Their lips parted just enough for breath before crashing back together. All that existed was the heat of Sam’s mouth, the feeling of being wanted in return. No more hesitation, no more waiting.

Samuel backed Henry into the bedroom door, chest to chest, and Henry fumbled blindly behind himself to twist at the door handle, unable to wait for one more moment.

Henry managed to get the door open just as he felt a warm, furry shape nudging at his calf.

Mutt sat politely at their feet, tail thumping against the floor. He had woken up and followed them down the hallway, completely oblivious to the moment unfolding.

Henry pulled back breathlessly to blink down at the dog, keeping his hand latched to Sam’s shirt. “Mutt, stay. Outside.” Henry said firmly. “You’ll forgive me tomorrow.”

Mutt tilted his head, confused, then laid down in the hallway with a betrayed sigh as Henry closed the door.

Henry searched for the light switch in the darkened room, trying to reach it without letting go of Sam, who was still pressed against him.

“You just rejected the one soul who loves you unconditionally,” Sam teased, teeth grazing Henry's neck, making his head spin.

Henry’s cheeks flushed with heat, "He'll live." His fingers found the switch and a soft amber glow spilled into the room, painting them both in muted gold.

Henry wanted to admire the way Sam looked in that moment, flustered, lips swollen from Henry's bites, green eyes dark.

Henry barely noticed his shirt being unbuttoned until Sam’s fingers brushed against his skin, slipping between fabric and warmth. Henry swallowed hard as the shirt opened one button at a time, each slow reveal making his skin feel hotter beneath Sam’s eyes.

“Breathe, Henry,” Samuel said, placing a palm flat over Henry’s chest. "So tense."

Henry looked down, “I’m fine,” He mumbled bashfully. Sam leaned in to kiss his collarbone, his shoulder, the hollow of his throat, soothing Henry's nerves. Henry melted into the touch.

Sam's lips quirked, reaching for Henry's belt loop. "Shh, leibkeit. Relax." Sam tugged him a little closer by the leather as he unbuckled it, easing Henry’s belt open.

Henry gasped, hips shifting involuntarily. It was a strange kind of freedom, giving in, letting Sam lead. Henry felt safe in it, grounded by the certainty in Sam’s hands. He couldn't stop watching Sam’s fingers, the precision, the confidence, his touch grazing Henry’s waistband and toying with the button.

Henry shivered, reaching for Sam’s shirt-- Martin's. Careful not to rip, or tug too hard, on the precious, worn-thin material. He pulled the shirt upward, his knuckles grazing Sam’s skin, and letting the fabric slide over his head. The amber light spilled across Sam's chest, catching on the gold star of david necklace around his neck, the sharp lines of his muscle, the curve of his flat stomach.

Henry couldn't help but reflect on the times he had touched himself with shameful longing twisting in his gut, thinking of Sam just like this.

Before Henry could reach out and touch more, Sam pushed him backwards. "On the bed."

Henry backed up until he could sink down onto the edge of the mattress, left only in socks, his cock painfully hard and too big to stand up under its own weight. It flopped to the side, leaking in excitement.

Sam used his knee to spread Henry’s legs and push him firmly backwards. The sheets feeling cool against Henry's overheated skin as Sam followed him, and Henry’s breath caught as their bare skin touched, chest to chest.

Having Sam in his arms now felt forbidden, achingly so. Like something Henry wasn’t sure he deserved. He slid his hands up Sam’s ribs and around to his back to feel the muscles there, distracted by the way Sam was aligning their hips and grinding Henry's painfully hard erection against his own.

But, it wasn’t enough. Henry reached urgently for the bedside table. His arm was just long enough to get inside the top drawer, and fumble blindly until he found what he was looking for.

Sam took the bottle of lube from Henry’s hand, inspecting it with an arched brow. The bottle looked relatively unused, barely a drop missing, and Henry had to admit that it had been a long time since he’d actually brought anyone back home.

He never had time to go on real dates, and the few times he tried to use a dating app for a quick hookup had ended in disaster with no relief. Henry reckoned that the bottle of lube had probably been sitting in his drawer collecting dust for months, maybe longer.

Sam leaned in, his breath warm, facial hair tickling Henry's ear. “Have you ever done this before?” Sam asked, concerned now that Henry was more of a novice than he had assumed prior.

Henry nodded urgently, eager to convince Sam that he had no qualms with this position.

“Aye. The first boyfriend I ever had… He—” Henry felt his cheeks prickle with heat, forcing the rest of the words out. “He... didn’t like to bottom.”

“First boyfriend?” Sam sounded curious despite the raspy growl edging his voice, fingers glistening with the fragrant oil as he slid them between Henry’s thighs. “You only mentioned ex-girlfriends.”

Henry's face burned hotter, lost in the firm pressure of Sam’s touch as two of his fingers found their goal. Not pushing in, just caressing until the sparks in Henry’s gut had ignited into an all consuming flame. It dragged a groan from Henry’s throat as the pressure increased, Sam's strong fingers testing the give of Henry’s body with each circle.

“It was someone I met at church when I was young. We were both choir boys.” Henry lifted his hips for more when Sam’s fingers spread, prying him open. It had been ages since Henry had been on the receiving end, and he was glad for the ease of the oil to compensate how tight his body felt.

Sam blinked, fingers paused mid-stretch, “You were a choir boy?”

Henry hid his face with both hands, a mixture of vulnerability and embarrassment coloring his voice. “Aye, not a very good one. Can we please talk about this later.” He shifted his hips to encourage the other man to continue. “Please. Don’t stop, Sam.”

Sam didn’t push for more answers, reassured that Henry was not inexperienced.

Henry gasped when Sam’s lips trailed down the curve of his jaw, stubble catching faintly on skin, pressing his fingers into Henry again, adding another alongside the first two.

The oil smoothed the aching pressure, wearing down the clenching muscle until it yielded, soft and greedy. But Henry only wanted more, wanted it faster. The lingering soreness of his over-stretched throat reminded Henry of how thick Sam’s cock was, and he knew he needed to be patient.

By the time Henry’s body was open enough, his knees were trembling, cock bobbing uselessly against his stomach with each panted breath. “Can’t wait anymore.” Henry begged.

Sam had mercy on him and gently removed his fingers. “You've been waiting long enough. Roll over.”

He nudged Henry’s hip and Henry obediently flipped onto his stomach, recalling that the position felt good in the past.

But, as soon as he turned to face his pillows, Henry regretted the decision. He wanted to see Sam so badly, and now he couldn’t.

Before he could turn back over, one of Sam’s strong hands was on his hip, his cock dragging through the oil. Just measuring himself against Henry’s tender, well-stretched entrance, lining himself up.

Sam knocked Henry’s knees farther apart with his own, and Henry’s momentary resistance melted, unable to protest when the desire for more was burning a hole straight through him.

His chest relaxed into the mattress, focused entirely on the wide stretch of Sam’s cock as he slid smoothy into the bruising heat, both of them groaning in unison.

The pressure was overwhelming. Sam was quite thick. It felt like too much, but the burn reminded Henry instantly of how good it could be, and he let himself drown in the sensation. Giving up thoughts in exchange for the blissful lull of an empty head.

Samuel’s fingers, still slippery from the oil, traveled around Henry's hip. He grasped Henry’s neglected erection, and squeezed tight, sliding down to choke him at the base.

Henry’s body opened farther at the jolt of pleasure, allowing Sam to slide in deeper. The mix of pain and pleasure making Henry blindly clutch at the mattress as the cock inside of him re-shaped his body to make room.

Sam felt somehow impossibly bigger the deeper he pushed. Warming Henry from the inside out, chasing away the lonely, needy chill deep inside of him.

The first hard thrust made Henry see stars, dick twitching in Sam’s tight grip. Henry couldn't even hear himself making noise until Sam chuckled breathlessly against his ear. “So loud, Henry.”

Samuel tilted Henry’s hips up farther, using the leverage to pick up the pace. The change of speed and the angle stroked directly across that spot inside of Henry that made him drool into the pillows. His toes curled, feeling the tug of sharp pleasure in his gut immediately, winding tighter by the second.

“Wait.” Henry panted, pushing himself up onto his hands, “I’m close.”

Sam growled against his neck, wrapping a strong arm around Henry's chest, and pulling Henry’s hips back towards him. “That’s the point, zis lebn."

Henry wanted to turn over, desperately, but every time he tried to push back, Sam maintained control, dictating the rhythm.

Henry finally caught his breath, voice breaking on a ragged moan. "Sam..." His fingers reached back to grip at Sam's hip, needing more than just the sweet rolling waves of pleasure he was sinking under. "Wait..."

Sam slowed down, breathless, and allowed Henry to roll over.

Henry collapsed on his back, grateful, sweat shining on his skin, cock red and leaking against his stomach.

"Beser?" Samuel asked, green eyes radiating warmth.

"Aye, better." Henry wanted to bask in the glow of that gaze, and finally be with Sam without the stoic guarded walls in the way.

When he pressed up on his elbows, desperate to get closer, Samuel pushed him gently back with one hand on his chest. Hooking his thumbs under Henry's knees to bend them against his shoulders, Sam angled himself and slid back inside with a slow, agonizing push. The glide was easier this time, Henry's body eager to receive and Sam captured Henry's broken gasp with his mouth, leaning down to bite Henry's bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth.

When Sam started to thrust again, Henry lost sense of time, lost himself entirely in the feel of the other man knocking relentless against that spot inside of him. Every swipe of Sam’s tongue against his, every slow drag of lips and teeth, sent shivers down Henry's spine. The grip of Sam's fingers around his aching erection, twisting on each upstroke, made Henry's body jolt with unstoppable pleasure, balancing precariously on the knife's edge.

"Come fir mir, Henry." Sam scraped his teeth over Henry's ear, and Henry came abruptly, hot against his stomach, making a mess of himself, and Sam's hand.

Sam didn't slow down, but his hips lost their rhythm when Henry's body tightened. Each contraction pulling another ragged groan from Samuel until he was burying his face in Henry's shoulder as he lost the tightly-maintained control of himself.

The heat and the pressure of Sam coming inside of him, mixed with the lingering taste of Sam on his lips, made Henry slip under a thick fog of bliss, thoughts abandoning him.

-----

Henry slept for hours.

No bad dreams. No alarm in his head telling him to brace for danger. No half-waking in the middle of the night to check the time, or scan the dark. The kind of sleep Henry hadn’t felt in years.

Like something inside him had finally been allowed to go off duty.

As he re-surfaced, Henry felt the sheets, warm and tangled around his legs. The faint scratch of stubble against his neck. An arm slung loosely over his stomach. The faint ache in his body that reminded him exactly what had happened last night.

He soaked it all in. Still and safe, in a way he wasn’t used to. A stupid dopey grin on his face that refused to be subdued.

Henry turned slowly, careful not to disturb the arm slung around him, and rolled onto his back to see Sam’s face.

Samuel's eyes were closed, dark lashes casting faint shadows across his cheeks. Lips still swollen from their kisses, parted with deep even breath. His hair was a mess, flattened on one side, wild on the other from Henry's fingers in his hair. The sharp edges that defined Samuel while awake were softened, making Sam look almost boyish in sleep.

Then something caught his eye. There, just above the curve of Sam’s shoulder, was the scar that Henry had seen the first time he'd seen Sam without a shirt. A pale, jagged line against the warm tone of Sam's skin, short and uneven.

Henry’s brows drew together. He knew enough about injuries to recognize a knife wound that hadn't healed properly.

He lifted a hand carefully, brushing his fingers along the edge of it.

Sam stirred at the soft touch, green eyes opening slowly, blinking away sleep. "Gut morgn."

Henry gave a faint, guilty smile, his cheeks heating up when Samuel pressed closer, tightening his arm around Henry. "Good morning." Henry whispered, letting his fingers hover over the scar again.

“That’s from a long time ago.” Sam gave a soft grunt, his voice gravel-thick. Knowing exactly what Henry wanted to ask.

Henry pulled his fingers away from the old wound, feeling caught, but unable to deny his curiosity. “Looks like someone tried to kill you.”

Sam huffed a breath, warm against Henry's neck. “They tried.”

"What happened...?"

Sam exhaled like he'd been holding it in for a long time, and it made Henry wonder what else Sam had been through that he had never told him.

"I was just coming back from helping meyn mame at the shul. I saw one of the kids from our synagogue being harassed. Two thugs, they weren’t from our neighborhood, they started in on the kid. Calling him names, pushing him around... The hate. The ignorance." Sam shook his head, scowling. "I don't know what their plan for the kid was, but when they grabbed him, I had to do something before anything else could happen.”

Henry held his breath when Sam paused to brush his hand down Henry's stomach, feeling the hair there, still matted and sticky from the night before.

“One of them pulled a knife when I told them to leave the kid alone, but I didn’t see it. Not until it was in me. After that, they ran away, the cowards." Sam sighed.

Henry felt a chill prickling at the back of his neck at the thought of Sam facing two thugs on his own, getting stabbed in the process. His concern mixed with the swelling of admiration and respect for Sam that he couldn't deny. Sam was a protector, a hero.

Sam continued, eyes glazing slightly in memory. “I didn't want meyn mame to worry. So I told the paramedics I tripped on a piece of rebar. Lied straight through my teeth. Didn’t want her to hear about what actually happened.”

Henry stared at him, stunned. “You stubborn bastard. You could’ve died.”

Sam chuckled, rolling over onto Henry, pressing him down into the mattress with his weight. “Aren't you putting your life at risk every day to protect your Capon? I think that makes us both stubborn bastards, eh? ”

Henry blushed at the fondness directed at him in Sam's eyes, and he immediately slid his hands into Sam's hair, dragging him closer for a kiss. "Aye. You might be right about that."

----

“Henry, are you even listening to me?”

Henry was still daydreaming and dopey-eyed when he made it to work later that afternoon.

Standing around on a fancy golf course with Hans while the nobleman was lining up his next shot on the back nine, Henry stood a few yards away with the golf bag slung over his shoulder. Smiling to himself like an idiot.

He had barely noticed the weight of the clubs today. Normally he tracked Hans’ every move like clockwork, anticipating which iron he’d want, when to offer water, how to angle the umbrella just so during longer waits.

But today?

Today Henry was useless.

He’d been replaying last night in his head on a loop since the moment he rolled out of bed. Sam’s breath against his neck. Sam's hands on his hips. He had been staring off into the distance with a dreamy smile on his face when Hans finally tried to get his attention.

“Hello? Earth to Henry.” Sir Hans snapped his fingers in Henry’s face, “You’ve been out of it all day. What the hell is going on with you?”

Henry blinked. Hans was staring at him, one eyebrow arched sharply over his sunglasses. Henry's shoulders straightened stiffly, feeling caught. “Apologies, sir. What were you saying?”

Hans studied him for a moment longer, then moved close, digging through the bag on Henry's shoulder. “You’re distracted.”

Henry cleared his throat, looking away sheepishly. “Just tired.”

“No, you’re glowing,” Hans muttered, pulling out the club he wanted and inspecting the grip. “Like you're in love or something.”

That shut Henry up.

Hans glanced at him sideways when Henry stayed silent, then back down the fairway. “Christ. You slept with someone.”

Henry stiffened. How did Hans know? Henry felt his ears going hot as he tried to think of an excuse to no avail.

Hans exhaled through his nose, scowling bitterly as he set up his next shot. “Well. Good for you, I suppose.”

His heart still galloping, Henry said nothing while Hans teed off again, the ball slicing gently toward the hole.

"Like I was saying, I’m going on a trip,” Hans returned, moving closer to slip his club back into the bag a little harder than necessary. “A business trip.” He poked at Henry’s chest with a smirk. “And you’re coming with me.”

Henry blinked, slow to parse the words. “A... trip, sir?”

“Just for two weeks,” Hans wiggled his finger under Henry’s chin. “Don’t look so upset, Henry. You usually love going on an adventure.”

“Two weeks? …I… Of course, Sir.” Henry had been on countless business trips with Hans, but this time Henry’s heart sank at the news. Henry had never had someone waiting for him to return home before.

Two weeks. Away. Without Sam. After everything that had finally changed between them. It was more upsetting than Henry would have thought.

“Sir…” Henry cleared his throat, trying to sound neutral, and forcing the request out before he could second guess himself. “Can I bring Samuel?”

Hans’ jaw flexed, eyes narrowing at the question. He searched Henry’s face like it was a puzzle, looking for clues. Eventually, his expression smoothed back out into a smug look of indifference. “I thought you might say that.”

Henry’s shoulders sagged, deflating in the wake of Hans’ unspoken refusal.

But then, Hans surprised him: “Yes.” The blond nobleman sighed dramatically, turning on his heel and stalking toward their golf cart on long legs. “Sam can come, too.”

The surprise hit Henry like a physical blow, and he almost tripped over his feet as he followed Hans to the golf cart, climbing into the passenger seat next to him.

“Really?” Henry was so relieved he almost hugged his employer, but he restrained himself, and settled on a beaming, puppy dog smile instead. “…Thank you, sir.”

Hans waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Don’t thank me. If your precious brother is coming, he's going to be put to work, too. ”

---

-----

Coming up next: Hans has a devious little plan to break up the almost-brothers.

And, if that fails, Hans' back-up plan: the forbidden threesome. >:D

Chapter Text

“Where are we going on this trip exactly?” Sam called out through the steam, muffled by the hiss of the shower.

Henry stood at the bathroom sink in nothing but his briefs, lips foamed with toothpaste, watching the reflection of Sam showering in the mirror as it fogged.

"Well... I'm not sure. Actually." Henry could see Sam through the glass shower door, tall and broad-shouldered, Sam's hand braced on the tile wall, head bowed beneath the stream. "Hans was... sort of vague about the details. But. He did mention a wedding.”

"A wedding?" Sam’s scoff carried easily over the sound of the water. "I thought you said it was a business trip."

Henry lost track of the conversation, his attention focused on the water sliding down Sam's spine, over the taut lines of muscle, the narrow dip of Sam's waist.

Henry still couldn’t believe he was even allowed to look. Ever since they'd kissed on the couch a week ago, Henry had made a habit of crawling into Samuel’s bed after work when he got home, and Sam had welcomed him every time. Waking up naked and worn out in Sam’s arms every morning had been a blissful, nightmare-less, week. He'd gotten better sleep in the last few days than he could remember getting in a very long time.

"Henry?" The silence alerted Sam, or he had developed a second sense for Henry’s gawking, because he turned his head to catch Henry's wandering eyes with a knowing smirk on his lips. "Get in here."

Henry choked, biting down on his toothbrush, his dick jumping at the order. The commanding tone Sam knew Henry liked. Henry peeled out of his briefs quickly, ditching the toothbrush, and reaching for the shower door. Steam spilled out warm and thick when he pulled it open, and climbed in.

There was barely enough room for two, but Sam stayed beneath the spray with his head bowed slightly, water coursing down his neck. Henry's fingertips trailed over Sam’s ribs as he pressed his chest to Sam’s back, letting the water soak into his hair when the water ran over both of them.

Sam made a sound like a purr that reminded Henry of a big cat, at the touch of Henry's large hands, calloused palms resting on Sam's waist, thumbs grazing bare skin.

“It is a business trip, I swear." Henry promised, "Apparently Hans wants to impress some nobleman who is going to be at the wedding. He said something about an important meeting.”

“We’re flying across the country so your employer can schmooze another rich arsehole?" Sam sounded somewhere between teasing and genuinely curious. "...Sounds like trouble.”

"Knowing Hans, it probably is trouble." Henry’s hands slid around, up Sam’s chest, wanting to feel more and match the steady rise and fall of his breathing. "That's why I have to be there. It's my job to protect him. Where he goes, I go. Doesn't have to tell me the reason."

Sam turned his head just enough to glance at him, water dripping down the sharp lines of his face. His voice firm and protective.

“Have you ever considered that you're too loyal for your own good?”

Henry watched Sam's lips as he spoke, feeling his heart clench. There was something in the way Sam said it, faintly possessive, that sent a shiver down Henry’s spine, behind his ribs. It felt good, hearing a small hint that Sam worried about him.

"Don't worry about me. I've seen my share of danger." Henry buried his face against Sam's neck, inhaling the warmth, the realness, the familiar scent of him. "This time, if I need backup, you'll be there, too."

"Frankly, I'm surprised that Hans granted your request." Sam hummed, reaching back over his shoulder to run his fingers through Henry’s damp hair, Henry's lips grazing the edge of his jaw, then his throat, scratching Sam's wet skin with his stubble. "I don't think your Capon likes me very much."

Henry closed his eyes for a second, leaning into the touch of Sam's fingers in his hair. "He will, Sam... He just needs to get to know you." Henry's muscles were sore from packing, from stress, from the nervous excitement of the trip ahead, but the moment Sam touched him, all of it blurred into the background. "Thank you for agreeing to come.”

"I’m joining you because you asked." Sam huffed, "And, because you looked like a sad puppy when you thought I might say no."

"I’ll make it up to you," Henry's touch moved down Sam's stomach, feeling the muscles tighten under his fingers.

"Oh yeah? How...?" Sam's breath caught when Henry's fingertips dug into the meat of his thigh and pulled Sam's hips back.

Henry perked up at the sound of Sam's barely concealed gasp. Sam had told Henry that he had never let anyone top him, but Henry had not given up hope that he could warm Sam up to the idea of letting Henry show him how good it could be. The heat of Sam leaning back against him was dizzying, and it made Henry's cock throb harder than it had any right to.

"I can think of a few ways." Henry grazed his teeth over the back of Sam's neck, just to hear if he could make Sam's breath get ragged. Sam had rarely let himself be undone, rarely gave anything away. But Henry could feel Sam's self-control starting to slip...

Before Henry could demonstrate his prowess in topping, Sam twisted in Henry's arms until they were face to face. Pinning Henry firmly against the warm tile instead.

“Maybe we should just stay home instead.” Sam suggested, teeth grazing Henry’s lower lip, and Henry had to blink the water from his lashes just to see Sam's flashing green eyes so close. Henry lost all thought when Sam's hips pressed firmly against his, feeling only the delicious pressure trapped between them.

“Hans will tear my head off if we are late.” Henry muttered, half a groan, half a warning, already knowing they were pushing their luck with time. But, with Sam's strong fingers wrapping around both of their lengths, slick and tight, it was hard to recall why he would ever try to stop this.

Sam smirked, "Hans can wait."

------

After dropping Mutt off to stay with Hans' manager Katherine while they are away, the taxi brought Henry and Sam to the airport gate.

A modest but sleek private jet sat waiting on the tarmac. The yellow and black trim along the fuselage was faded, but the colors still matched the Leipa crest emblazoned on the side.

The jet looked a bit worn down, like it had seen more elegant years, but Henry already knew the story. The aircraft had once belonged to Hans’ father before his death. Technically, it still belonged to Hans’ uncle Hanush, but Hans was allowed most privileges when he needed them.

The nobleman was already waiting, stood at the base of the boarding stairs and flipping through his phone, an open-collar silk shirt, sunglasses perched on his blond head.

Hans' blue eyes lit up when he saw them approach.

“Henry! Ready to go on an adventure?"

Henry smiled sheepishly as they grew closer, trying to hide the worry that still lingered in the back of his mind. “You still haven't told me much about where we are going, Sir.”

Hans grinned, waving his hand dismissively. “Don't worry your pretty little head about the details, Henry. We'll talk more about it once we're on board.”

Out of the periphery of his vision, Henry saw Samuel's arched eyebrow.

Hans turned his eyes to Sam finally, his expression cooling a few degrees.

“Samuel,” he said flatly. “So glad you decided to join us.” Not cold enough to be an insult. Not warm enough to be friendship.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Hans.” Sam’s tone was equally neutral, though he gave a sharp, tempered smile.

"That's Sir Hans." Hans leveled Sam with an icy glare. "Try not to forget."

Henry looked nervously between them, clearing his throat loudly.

"Thanks for letting Sam come along."

Hans' chilly expression broke into a dazzling smile, “Of course! Anything for you, Henry." Hans reached out and pat Henry affectionately on the shoulder, his fingertips resting on the back of Henry’s neck. "Plus, an extra pair of hands wouldn’t hurt. This is a very important trip, afterall.”

Hans turned to Samuel. "I hope you're prepared to work. This isn't a free ride." Hans gestured toward his luggage, an arrangement of expensive leather suitcases. "Grab a bag. Let's get a move on." He turned toward the stairs that led up to the jet without looking back to see if his orders were followed, he knew they would be.

Sam watched Hans climb the stairs and disappear into the plane, turning back to Henry with a pinched brow.

"He can't carry his own bags?"

"Don’t waste your energy." Henry scoffed, the idea of Hans hauling luggage ludicrous. "That man will never carry anything,” Henry gave Sam a sheepish look as he obediently grabbed two of Hans’ suitcases, which weighed even more than they looked, and carefully balanced his own duffel across his other shoulder.

Sam muttered something that Henry couldn't translate before hefting Hans' other heavy bag with a grunt and following Henry up the stairs.

Inside the jet’s cabin, the leather lounge seats were plush but aging, with thick, retro-looking carpet covering the floor. A bottle of amber liquid was sitting in a crystal decanter on the island counter that acted as a minibar. The jet was clearly old, but it had history, expensive history.

The jet doors sealed behind them with a hiss, and Hans immediately claimed the central seat of the lounge, which was more like a couch, sprawling comfortably across it while Henry and Sam finished storing all the bags away.

Hans patted the cushion beside him when they were done.

“Henry. Sit."

Henry hesitated only a heartbeat before obeying, sliding into the seat next to him.

"Samuel..." Hans waved a hand casually in the air to get Samuel's attention next. "Henry told me you've been working at a tavern. Which means you must have experience making drinks...” Hans gestured toward the gleaming minibar stocked with expensive bottles.

A flicker of irritation flashed in Sam’s usually stony composure. “Don’t you have flight attendants for that?”

“Why would I hire more staff to help when I have you and Henry?” He gave a sweet, diplomatic smile. “Pour me something strong. Brandy or whiskey. Make one for yourself, and Henry, too. If you don’t mind.”

It wasn’t really a request.

Henry stiffened, watching Sam’s jaw clench for half a second as he turned toward the well-stocked minibar to pour their drinks. This already wasn’t going well.

Henry glanced back at Hans, trying to sound casual despite the uneasy tension.

“Who are you meeting at the wedding?”

Hans exhaled dramatically, as if Henry's question itself was exhausting. “I need to have a meeting with Von Bergow. He hasn't been answering any of my phone calls, but I know he'll be at the wedding. I just need to corner him and--”

Sam returned, interrupting Hans, and setting three glasses of alcohol down on the small table beside Hans with a little too much force, the amber liquid sloshing.

Sam's voice sounded calm, too calm. “Anything else you need, Sir Hans? Want me to shine your shoes before we land?”

Hans picked up his glass, smiling as though the tension didn’t touch him at all. He swirled the liquid, taking a slow sip, lifting his foot to wiggle his expensive leather loafer at Sam. “If you're offering..."

Henry could see Sam's temper building in the pinch of his brow, the tension sparking between the two men making his stomach knot.

Henry cleared his throat quickly, “If you only need to have one meeting with Von Bergow, why are we going for two weeks?"

Sam restrained himself by grabbing his own glass of alcohol and finding a seat nearby. Henry swallowed, pulling the collar of his jumper away from his neck, but it did nothing to relieve the stifling atmosphere in the cramped space.

“Ahh. You see, Henry. That's the problem!" The blond nobleman turned to Henry with a tight, annoyed smile. "My Uncle Hanush has decided that this is the perfect opportunity for me to win the heart of lady Jitka." Hans stopped to sigh for dramatic effect. "She's going to be attending the wedding as well, and dear Hanush has given me two weeks to get engaged. Or else."

“Wait..." Henry blinked. "What?”

Hans groaned and let his head loll against the back of the chair.

“Yes. Hanush says getting married will ‘strengthen the family’s holdings’ and keep my name ‘in respectable circles’ or whatever noble nonsense Uncle is obsessed with this month."

Henry was stunned. He couldn't imagine Hans getting engaged. Henry knew Hanush had been frustrated about Hans' increasingly wild bachelor behavior, but a forced engagement? “I thought you didn’t believe in-- I mean, you’ve always said marriage is a trap.”

“It is a trap,” Hans snapped, then softened his tone, swirling the alcohol in his glass bitterly. “Tell that to Hanush. He’s been breathing down my neck about ‘securing my future.’ Apparently, gambling and sleeping around doesn’t count.”

Sam smirked over the rim of his drink, finding humor in the smug nobleman's dismay, “Are you going to do it?”

Hans scoffed. “No. Absolutely not! I will never get married.”

Henry wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or worried by that news.

“...Then what are you going to do?”

Hans sat up and put his drink down, “That's where you come in. My dear Henry.” The blond gave a slow, mischievous smile that made Henry nervous. "I promised Hanush I would be on my best behavior, but Uncle can't blame me if Lady Jitka thinks I'm unavailable."

"Unavailable... Sir?" Henry gulped, the tone of Hans' voice making him worried.

“Yes." Hans purred, watching Henry's reaction. "Jitka will loose interest when she sees me at the wedding with ...a boyfriend.”

Henry froze. Maybe the air pressure in the jet was messing with his ears. “A... a boyfriend?”

Hans nodded cheerily, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Jitka won’t want me if I'm obviously with someone else. And, who better than you to play the part?"

"Me?" Henry’s heart skipped, he could feel his ears burning already.

"It's a simple performance. Just a little theater, for appearances." Hans’ mouth spread into a grin and he leaned back, his long legs stretching out casually in front of him. "But... if you don’t like the idea of acting, Henry …We thankfully have Samuel here to help out.”

Hans let the words hang before turning, gaze landing squarely on Sam. “...Perhaps Samuel could play the role instead?”

Sam's head whipped up, face flushed a deep, sharp red, his posture snapping rigid. He almost dropped the glass of alcohol he'd been nursing. “You can’t be serious.”

Hans smirked, amused. “Of course I’m serious. The two of you will be at my side anyway, fetching drinks, keeping me safe, glaring at people for me. Why not make it useful? We just have to decide which one of you looks better on my arm.”

Henry’s mouth went dry. He looked helplessly at Sam, who looked like he’d just swallowed something bitter.

Hans chuckled, reaching into the breast pocket of his silk shirt. He produced a box of cigarettes and flicked it open with a flourish.

"Some of the wedding guests might already know Henry is my bodyguard. But you…” Hans’s smile turned wolfish, eyes sliding down, appraising Sam. “You’d be a perfect mystery. People would believe it without a doubt. That is... if you think you're up to the charade, Samuel.”

Hans held the box out to Sam, a peace offering. Sam eyed the cigarettes, then plucked one out without breaking Hans’ gaze. Hans clicked open his gold lighter, the flame catching with a snap. First he lit his own cigarette, then leaned forward, lighter poised just before Sam’s lips.

Sam held still long enough for Hans to spark the tip, inhaled, and exhaled a slow stream of smoke before answering.

“Can’t say pretending to be with you is at the top of my list.” Samuel's lips pressed into a thin line, his usual stone face cracked by the unmistakable flush in his cheeks.

Hans raised a blond brow, amused.

“You should be flattered. Most people would kill for the privilege to enjoy my company.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Most people don’t like being ordered around like lapdogs.”

Henry opened his mouth, panic flashing across his face. The image Hans had planted: Samuel with Hans at the wedding, hand on his arm, maybe even pretending to kiss him. It stung hot and sharp in his chest, or maybe it was just the fact that he was now inhaling double the amount of second-hand smoke.

Henry coughed, "What happens when word gets back to Hanush and Radzig about this?”

Hans waved his hand. “Don’t worry about that. After the wedding is over, we can tell them we broke up. By then, Jitka will already be engaged to someone else, and I’ll be off the hook."

“Until the next unsuspecting woman your Uncle finds for you...” Sam mumbled, “You should just tell your Uncle no.”

“And inherit nothing? Be disowned?” Hans gave a sarcastic snort, grabbing his drink again. His gaze flicked between Henry and Sam like a predator considering new tactics.

“You’re both overthinking this! I just need one of you to pretend at the public events. Hold my arm. Smile. Make it convincing. That’s all." Hans turned to Henry with exaggerated fondness, reaching out to rest his hand gently on Henry's wrist. "It’ll come naturally, Henry. You’re always doting on me anyway." He looked at Henry like he was something he’d purchased and kept in excellent condition. His gaze lingered a beat too long, appreciative, proprietary.

“That’s my job,” Henry wanted to say more but Hans’ expectant gaze made the words stick in his throat. Loyal dog--that’s what he was to Hans. Loyal enough to roll over for anything, even if it meant tearing himself in two.

Henry glanced back at Samuel, but Sam was avoiding his eyes now. Instead, Sam only lifted his drink to his lips, and finished it in a large swallow. Henry winced with guilt.

“Don’t worry. You don’t have to answer right this second. We’ve got a few days until the wedding." Hans leaned back again, smug, cataloging every detail of Henry’s fluster and Sam’s discomfort. "But I expect the two of you to sort it out before then.”

Sam muttered, “Unbelievable,” under his breath.

The cabin lights dimmed and the pilot announced they should prepare for take off.

Hans lifted his glass again, satisfied. “Good. Now that we’re all on the same page, relax. Enjoy the flight. We’ve got time.”

-------

They arrived at the Semine Fortress resort, the air full of rich people and commoners alike arriving early for the wedding. Coordinators and wedding planners drifted in and out of the main entrance, decorating and setting up signs, preparing for the event a few days ahead of time.

Hans adjusted his hair and sunglasses as he climbed out of the taxi that dropped them off, Henry and Sam trailing behind him, weighed down by Hans’ luggage.

Without warning, Hans looped an arm through Henry’s elbow, then hooked his fingers in Sam’s sleeve, tugging them both in close.

“Stay tight,” Hans murmured under his breath, his smile a mask of charm for the crowd. “Make me look important.”

Henry felt the heat of Hans’ grip and the weight of eyes flickering toward them. He scanned the surrounding for threats like instinct demanded, while still carrying two bags in one arm, ready in case anyone tried to approach. Samuel let himself be pulled along, though his jaw tightened, staying where Hans wanted him, close, obedient for now.

Conversations lulled as Hans swept inside the main entrance with his entourage in tow. Smug and radiant beneath the fancy lighting, he led them through the lobby like he owned the place. A few people recognized him, whispers, double-takes, a few smiles offered in hope of acknowledgment. Whenever someone strayed too close, Henry angled his body, politely steering them off without a word. Sam's sharp eyes throwing a flat look at anyone who lingered too long in Hans’ path.

Hans basked in it all, letting the attention wash over him like warm sunlight. His hands were free, no luggage, no burden, and he strolled with his usual confidence with the two men at his side like a natural extension of his presence. He stopped to speak with the front desk, to collect the room key, just as a flash of silk at the far end of the lobby caught Henry's eye.

A woman in a silk dress with long red hair was sitting at the lobby bar, an expensive looking bag over one elbow, and a fancy drink in front of her. She was surrounded by a few other guests who appeared to be nobles, but she seemed distracted from their conversation, glancing around the lobby every so often.

When Hans spotted her, he jumped back, pivoting quickly without warning and nearly knocking Henry into Sam.

“Hurry, get in the elevator,” he hissed, grabbing their arms.

Sam grunted as Hans shoved them forward. “Careful,” Samuel snapped, stumbling under the weight of Hans' heavy bag. “You want me to drop your precious clothes?”

Henry instantly steadied him, catching the strap before it slid from Sam’s grip. Their eyes met briefly, Sam exasperated, Henry apologetic, but together they hauled the luggage toward the bank of gilded elevators.

Hans herded them inside, jabbing the button with a forceful finger. The doors slid shut and Hans leaned back inside the elevator wall, exhaling in triumph. “That was Jitka at the bar. I don't think she saw me.”

Samuel sneered. “Nearly broke my ribs shoving us in here.”

Hans’ blue eyes narrowed at him in return, “I’m sure you’ll survive." .

Henry shifted awkwardly in the confined space, trapped between the two men who were silently glaring daggers at each other.

Thankfully the elevator chimed, opening into the private landing that led to their suite. Hans strode out first, already restored to his usual smug composure to unlock the door.

Inside, the massive hotel room had a large balcony, a gleaming kitchen with marble counters, leather lounges scattered with silk cushions, a huge jacuzzi bath tub in one room, and three separate bedrooms. Definitely above Henry's pay grade, but he should have known that Hans would pick a luxurious suite instead of a small, modest room.

Hans walked in while tapping through something on his phone. “The master bedroom is mine, obviously. You two can take your pick from the others.”

Henry's muscles ached slightly from hauling bags all day, but he ignored it, taking in the view from the large windows. Sam approached at his side, lowering the heaviest bag with a thud, and rolling his shoulder with relief. His eyes lit up despite himself as he looked out onto the view from the balcony.

“Not bad,” Samuel mumbled.

Hans glanced back at them, smirking at Sam’s grudging approval. “I call the bath first." Hans moved toward the massive bathroom, brushing a hand along Henry’s arm as he passed. "Henry, call room service, order us something to eat. You know what I like."

Hans started unbuttoning his silk shirt, tossing it carelessly over the nearest chair as he kicked off his shoes. Heading in the direction of the giant sunken tub.

"Yes, sir." Henry nodded, watching him go.

“Oh, and..." Hans called over his shoulder, "I’ll need someone to run down to the spa and confirm my massage appointment for tomorrow. Then I expect both of you to be well rested and refreshed in the morning. Hopefully Von Bergow will arrive sometime tomorrow, and I can speak with him.”

The sound of the bathroom door shutting behind Hans left the suite in a sudden, echoing quiet.

Sam stepped into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, running a hand through his hair.

“Oy. Your boss,” he said flatly, “is exhausting.”

Henry half-smiled, though it was weary. “You get used to it.” He wasn’t sure if that was a comfort or not.

Samuel shook his head, still tense from being shoved around. “Not sure I want to." His face was unreadable, though Henry knew him well enough to see the stiffness in his shoulders.

Before Henry could move closer. Sam grabbed his own bag, and turned sharply, walking off down the hall. “I’ll go figure out the bedroom situation. Let me know when Hans wants his toenails polished."

Henry reached out quickly enough to catch Sam's wrist, gently but firmly, holding him back. He knew he had a few minutes off-duty while Hans was preoccupied. Not long. Just enough.

Henry swallowed, sour guilt lodged in the back of his throat. “Sam... I-I didn’t know. About all of this. I swear."

Sam gave him a long, measured look, green eyes sharp. He huffed a laugh without humor.

“It's fine. You think I’m gonna let a spoiled noble get under my skin? Please. I’ve dealt with worse.”

Henry didn't believe him. He recognized the careful way Samuel kept his expression cool. It wasn’t indifference. It was armor.

Before Henry could speak, Hans’ voice echoed from inside the bathroom interrupting them, sharp and impatient. “Henry! Come here!”

“Go on,” Sam untangled himself from Henry’s hold, and backed away toward the bedrooms with his bag. "His royal bubble bath awaits.” Sam said, not looking at him anymore.

Henry moved to follow Sam, wanting to argue, or apologize, or explain, but Hans’ voice came louder this time. Petulant. Demanding. Stopping Henry in his tracks. "Henry! I need you!"

And Henry turned toward the sound of duty calling him.

———

Later that night, the darkened suite was finally quiet. Hans had been fed, fussed over, and tucked into his grand bed with the curtains drawn.

For a moment Henry stood in the empty hall between the bedrooms, holding his breath as though Hans might suddenly lurch back out demanding more attention. But only Hans’ snores drifted out faintly from behind the closed door. Thankfully, the nobleman had had so much wine with his room service dinner, he probably wouldn’t wake up anytime soon.

Henry turned and padded barefoot down the corridor toward the bedroom that Sam had chosen. The door was shut, but a sliver of light spilled out beneath. Henry hesitated, then tapped gently before pushing the door open just a crack and peeking inside.

Samuel was stretched out on the hotel bed, his long frame propped against the headboard, a book open in one hand and headphones pressed into his ears. The sight tugged at Henry’s heart, ordinary, private, so unguarded, it felt like an old nostalgic memory he couldn’t place.

Henry slipped in, shutting the door softly behind him. Sam’s eyes flicked up and he tugged one headphone free, raising a curious brow. “Aren’t you worried someone might notice if you are sleeping in my bed?” Sam murmured, his voice low.

Without a word, Henry crossed the room and crawled into bed beside him, tucking himself against Sam’s side and resting his head against Sam’s chest. He exhaled at the contact, feeling the steady rise and fall of Sam’s breathing under his cheek.

Sam didn’t push him away. He set his book aside on the nightstand and slid his hand into Henry’s hair, petting him gently, the way one might soothe someone who’d come in from a storm. The quiet hum of the music leaking from Sam’s headphones drifted into the space between them.

“I’ll mess up the sheets in my room…” Henry started, then trailed off, embarrassed by how desperate he sounded. Henry shut his eyes as Sam’s fingers traced through his hair. “I’ll make it look like I slept there.”

Sam’s chest rumbled under Henry’s ear. “And what if his highness comes looking for you, hm?” he said softly. He bent his head, brushing a kiss against Henry’s temple before settling back again.

“I’ll get up early,” Henry felt overwhelmed with gratitude, for the stillness, for the quiet accepting warmth of Sam's arms. “I'll sneak out in the morning before he wakes up.”

“Henry..." Sam said softly, his tone tender but firm. He tilted Henry’s chin up, forcing him to meet his gaze in the dim light.

Henry searched Sam’s eyes. He saw the frustration there, the fatigue of putting up with Hans’ arrogance all day. Henry was torn between leaning in and kissing Sam just to break through that wall, desperate to bridge the distance that had been gnawing at him since the flight.

Sam took a breath, "Do you really think this is right? Lying to this Jitka person? Letting Hans hide behind you instead of handling his own mess like an adult?”

Henry opened his mouth, then closed it again. Sam wasn’t wrong. Either of them pretending to be Hans’ boyfriend was only enabling Hans to run away from his problems, rather than face them.

Samuel shook his head at Henry's silence, like he was trying not to say something he’d regret. "You’ve got a big heart, Henry…” he said finally, “And it makes you too easy to use.”

The words hit deeper than Henry wanted to admit.

“Hans isn’t like that. He’s just...he’s misunderstood, that’s all." Henry closed his eyes, burying himself in the warmth of Sam’s chest. For a moment, the guilt and jealousy and exhaustion all blurred together. “He's been a really good friend to me during the last year. He’s in a tough spot with Sir Hanush pressuring him to get married. …We're just helping him out.."

Sam's stern expression softened at the sound of Henry's distress, and his thumb brushed the short hair at the base of Henry's neck. “It’s fine. I get it. I’ll ...help. However you need me to.”

Henry’s chest swelled with emotion. He was so grateful, he couldn't contain it, and he pushed himself up higher, finding Sam’s lips in the dim light. "Thank you."

Sam’s breath caught in surprise, but his hand curled behind Henry’s neck, pulling him in for another one. Henry kissed him a second time with more need until Sam’s stiff tension melted away, letting Henry take and cling. The kiss was needy, almost desperate, and Henry moaned at how good it felt, sliding his hands under Sam's shirt.

“....What about noise?" Sam gave a quiet laugh against his lips, but it was unsteady as Henry's hands hooked into the fabric and pulled Sam's shirt up and over his head. "You're not exactly good at being quiet.”

“I won’t make a sound,” Henry whispered, kissing the corner of Sam's mouth, then his jaw. Sam tilted his head back as Henry’s lips grazed the line of his throat, his grip tightening in Henry’s hair.

———

Up next: sharing a hotel room, what could go wrong? ot3 threesome smut is coming <3