Chapter Text
Well, this is it.
Henry slowed Pebbles down from the gentle canter she had been in into a trot first and then an unhurried walk a few seconds later. The woods around the small company of man, horse, and dog were becoming ever more familiar. In just a few more turns the Devil's Den would reveal itself between the trees.
He had been on the go for over a week now, slowly infiltrating his way into Sigismund's camp with the help of Katherine. And then of course he had also gotten involved in some of the soldier's other schemes while he was at it.
Truth be told… Henry had dreaded coming back to the inn again. Which was why he was currently taking a keen interest in the local flora while Pebbles walked with her head hung low in relaxation and Mutt had the chance to stop and sniff at every tree.
The last time he was at the Devil's Den was when he had left for his hunting trip with Capon.
The hunting trip where he had fucked Hans.
Jesus Christ.
It was embarrassing, really, how little wine it had taken him to give in to one of his most shameful urges and press his lips against his lord's.
It had been a moment of pure selfishness. His addled mind had convinced Henry that he had found a decent enough excuse to feel the man's lips against his just this one time. Something which could be played off as a joke and be done with with a gentle punch on the arm.
It would've quenched just a tiny part of the wildfire raging in his soul, but he had taken the opportunity anyway.
In the moments that followed his foolishness Henry had realised just what he had done and expected to be yelled at, punched in the face, asked what the fuck was wrong with him.
What he hadn't expected was for Hans to command him to do it again.
And again.
Even then he had just waited for the noble to pull back, exclaim “Well, that was weird. Let's never speak of it again!” and walk off into the woods.
But Hans had done none of those things. Instead, he had pulled Henry closer. And then they just… hadn't stopped. It had felt too easy, too right to just keep going.
They had talked afterwards, sure. But their conversation hadn't nearly been enough to make up for the magnitude of the events that had transpired.
The day after the storm they woke up next to each other and had gone hunting in relative silence. Hans’ hand had lingered longer than necessary on Henry's back when he complimented him on a well-shot arrow and their smiles at each other were genuine. But it had been evident that neither of them quite knew how to address what they were now at the time.
Two men bound together by sin.
And then they had parted ways, Hans back to the inn, and Henry off to Sigismund's camp on Zizka's orders.
Henry had thought about that stormy afternoon a lot in the days that followed. Which was a problem because it didn't really make for a comfortable horseback riding experience.
On several occasions he had to dismount Pebbles, order Mutt to stay with her, and scamper off into the woods to take himself in hand. All because he remembered how Hans felt around his fingers.
Or he'd be in the middle of a pleasant conversation with a stranger in some tavern, only for his brain to remind him of the way Hans looked beneath him, mouth open and hair all over the place and with unbridled moans falling from his lips.
He had promised Hans that this wouldn't change his devotion to his lord, yet he was afraid to face him again. And that fact shamed him more than what they had done.
What if the other man had come to his senses and decided to have Henry sent to the gallows after all.
The main problem was that Henry would accept it without a fight. There was no chance of him repenting, even at the threat of corporal punishment and death. God would surely know how he truly felt; that he didn't regret any of it.
Mutt's excited barking made Henry look up from where he had watched the ground pass by.
They had arrived at the Den.
His dog immediately sped up, running off to find Janosh. That damned beast had learned that the man would always give Mutt a piece of sausage when he saw him.
“Hello, Bruder.”
Henry looked up at the newly familiar voice after dismounting, seeing Samuel leaning against the wall nearby.
“Hey Sam, how's it going?”
The two men fell into an easy conversation for a while as Henry took care of Pebbles.
When Henry took off his helmet and mail coif he felt the breeze against his neck, wet with sweat.
“Oh that's the stuff,” he grunted out and Samuel chuckled. “Say Sam, have you seen Lord Capon around by any chance?”
“I've seen him around, yes. But I couldn't tell you where he is right now, if that is what you're asking.” The man flicked his freshly-sharpened knife into the air and caught it with ease. “I don't think he's fond of me, exactly.”
“He's… difficult.” Henry mused as he unbuckled his chest armor. “But he kinda grows on you.”
“Mold grows on things, too,” Sam said with a scoff.
Henry barked out a laugh. “That's true. Did I ever tell you about how I beat him up in a tavern at the beginning of our acquaintance?”
“Ha! I would pay to see that.”
“I can ask him if he's up for a re-enactment for the gang.”
If he will still talk to me.
The blacksmith gathered his loose bits of armour under his arm, threw his saddlebags over his shoulder, and said his good-byes to Samuel.
Henry had never expected to have a sibling, but falling into this brotherly dynamic with the other man had been a surprisingly easy task for both of them. Despite their initial difficulties.
There were many things differentiating them. They had a different religion, a different mother… and a different father. Even though Martin was the thing connecting them.
And yet they weren't all that dissimilar. Henry had seen that familiar spark in Sam's eyes when he talked about revenge for what had happened. He hoped it wouldn't consume the man. Henry knew firsthand how difficult it was to keep the longing for revenge just hot enough to work into a fine, dangerous blade without letting it burn a hole into his soul.
He wasn't sure if he always managed to keep the balance.
On his way through the lower floor of the dim inn he kept glancing in all directions, hoping and dreading to find that glint of yellow, that out of place noble posture, amidst the dreary interior and shady occupants.
But it was only when he made his way upstairs that he found Hans. He was sitting at the dice table with Godwin, facing away from Henry.
“Ahhh look who has come to see us! Always good to see you're still kicking, lad” Godwin greeted him.
Hans turned around sharply. And the open, relieved expression on his face instantly blew away most of Henry's fears.
“Henry! You’re back!” Hans exclaimed, reaching out to heartily pat Henry on his arm. The touch melted through the icy veneer of dread that had surrounded Henry.
Maybe things would be fine.
“Father, Sir,” Henry replied and gave each of them a small bow in turn. “It's good to see you, too.”
“What have you been up to in that camp?” Godwin asked.
“Ohh nothing much. Just that I'm a commander in the Prague militia now.” He couldn’t keep the smug smile off his face.
Hans laughed. “You’ve been gone for a week, you madman.”
“Ah you know that our Henry is a resourceful lad,” Godwin laughed.
“That he is indeed, Father.” Hans smirked. “You should see what he can do with those weird potions of his in a tight spot.” The noble laughed, eyes glinting at Henry, and Godwin raised an eyebrow in confusion.
Henry froze. Surely Hans wasn't referencing that.
“Well, that sounds like there's a story you'll have to tell me sometime.”
Absolutely fucking not.
Henry cleared his throat, feeling heat raise at the back of his neck.
“If you’ll excuse me. I was just on my way to put away some of my things,” he gestured with the armour under his arms. “And then I’ll have to catch Zizka up on the situation.”
“Of course, Henry,” Godwin said, collecting his dice and standing up. “I was just about to go downstairs in search of something drinkable anyway. Will you be joining me, Lord Capon?”
“Ah, no. I have some things I want to talk to Henry about before he goes and meets the Captain. Go on ahead, Father.”
Godwin nodded and gave Henry one last hearty pat on the shoulder which made his chainmail shirt jingle before departing to join the others downstairs.
“Oh and Godwin?” Henry called after the former priest.
“Yes, Henry?”
“If you see Janosh, tell him to stop spoiling my dog.”
Godwin grinned that lopsided grin of his, nodded, and continued down the stairs.
Which, finally, left Henry and Hans alone. They made their way towards the inn’s balcony while Hans was babbling about something or other which Henry could barely make out over his own heartbeat.
Hans is talking to me, he's joking about what happened.
Hans’ hand was suddenly against Henry’s elbow, moving up to his upper arm. There was no mistaking the intention of this touch. Not with the way Hans’ babbling had stopped as soon as Godwin was out of earshot and his eyes had focused on Henry’s, not with the thumb gently circling and making Henry’s skin burn even with the layers of fabric and chainmail between them.
He was barely breathing by the time he opened the door to their room.
There was no doubt that the clattering of metal armour hitting the wooden floor could be heard from downstairs. Henry just hoped that people would assume he had tripped and dropped everything upon entering.
Not that he had been pressed against the door by his lord the second it closed behind them and he let go of his stuff in a desperate race to touch Hans again as their lips met in a messy kiss.
So this is happening. Again.
Even without a drop of wine between us.
He pulled Hans in, one of the noble’s legs slotted itself between Henry’s thighs as they fought to be as close as possible.
“Shit, Henry. I’ve missed you so much,” Hans said into Henry’s hair. “I kept thinking ‘what if this is the time he won’t come back’.”
“I’m here, my lord.” Henry kissed Hans’ cheekbone. He could feel the soft flutter of eyelashes against his cheek.
Letting his head fall back against the solid wood door, Henry screwed his eyes shut and sighed. “I was afraid you’d have me executed if I ever showed my face here again,” he whispered.
“Never,” Hans grabbed Henry’s head to underline his words. “Look at me, Henry.”
The blacksmith followed his lord’s order and met the bright blue eyes, mere inches from his face.
“They’d have to execute me, too. I’d never throw you to the wolves for something we both wanted.”
Something we both wanted.
Henry breathed deeply, a thousand weights falling off his chest. Then, he planted the chastest kiss they had shared since that initial drunken peck on Hans’ lips.
“I've missed you, too,” Henry said quietly. “I couldn't stop thinking about... about–”
“About sodomizing your lord?”
“...Aye.”
They chuckled into the miniscule space between them.
“I couldn't stop thinking either,” Hans then said, a new hunger flaring up in his eyes when he looked up at Henry again.
He kissed Henry, open-mouthed and messy, before grabbing the man by the shoulders and pulling him away from the door.
The blacksmith let himself be guided as he focused on Hans’ teeth against his bottom lip and tongue against his own.
The edge of a bed pressed against his legs and suddenly him and Hans were falling.
Their combined weight plus the chainmail still on Henry made the bed creak to a worrying degree. But it held itself together and Henry quickly found his breath again after it had been knocked out from the impact.
Hans looked down at Henry from where he was now straddling the man’s thighs.
“Christ, how I couldn't stop thinking.” His pupils were blown wide, a grin on his face. And then he licked his lips before saying, “Henry, I want to suck your cock.”
Henry’s mouth fell open, eyes widening. “Oh,” he breathed. Whatever he had expected to come out of Hans’ mouth next, it hadn't been that. “Are you sure?” he asked a second later.
Hans laughed, running a hand through his hair which had become disheveled in their fall. “Quite sure, my faithful companion.”
Henry scrambled backwards up the bed and propped himself up on his elbows. Hans took it as a sign of confirmation and moved his hands to fiddle with Henry's hose.
“Hans, wait!”
Hans stilled. “Is– is something wrong?” His eyebrows were drawn together, his face suddenly full of doubt.
“I… shit. It's just that I haven't had a bath in over three days. And I've been sweating buckets in that armor.” He cleared his throat. “I'm just afraid that… right now there aren't ideal conditions for what you want… down there.” He pointed at his crotch.
Hans’ face fell even further and he removed himself from Henry, sitting on the other side of the small bed.
“I'm– I'm sorry if I misread you. I thought you wanted–”
“Jesus, Hans.” Henry followed the other man to his side of the bed and cradled his face. “I want. What I don't want is for you to faint from my… peasantly odour as soon as you pull down my breeches.” He couldn't quite keep the laughter out of his voice. “I think that would quite ruin the mood.”
Hans visibly relaxed. The man let out a breath and smiled up at Henry, placing his own hand on the one still cradling his jaw.
“It's nice of you to consider my noble sensibilities in this matter.”
Henry scoffed. “I just want it to be good for both of us.” He leaned in to kiss Hans.
When had the feeling of those lips against his become so addicting? So normal?
“Give me a few hours. I'll take a bath, talk to Zizka about what's going on, and eat a bite.”
He sat back, looking at Hans. “Meet me after dinner and I'll gladly let you do with me as you please.” Henry found his voice dipping lower and growing more husky with that last statement.
Hans closed his eyes and hummed. “What a promise.” He then sighed dramatically. “Alright, my friend. You take care of yourself while I writhe in agony, alone with my sinful thoughts, for just a while longer.”
Henry rolled his eyes.
Every muscle and joint in Henry's body sighed with relief as he sunk into the hot, steaming water.
The man took in a deep breath, savouring the herbal notes of whatever soaps and oils the bathmaid had thrown in before he entered the tent.
He had forgone the service of a maid this time, requesting just a hot bath and some peace to wash himself. The prospect of what was to come later that day was enough to leave Henry aching between his legs, even as the rest of his body finally relaxed.
And he didn't want some poor wench to try and coax him into a more expensive service at the sight. Not when Henry's mind was full of nothing but blue eyes, high cheekbones, and blond hair.
‘Henry, I want to suck your cock.’
He twitched again beneath the water's surface. If only he weren't in a tent which was semi-private at best with an opening that had people passing by regularly.
“By God, I won't survive until dinner at this rate,” the blacksmith mumbled to himself. No, if his brain didn't shut up soon he'd be dead in a ditch, done in by the mental image of Capon taking him in his mouth before he could even get to the real thing.
Mutt, who had been resting next to the tub, lifted his head to look at Henry while his tail lazily hit the ground in a slow rhythm.
Henry reached out to scratch the dog behind his ears.
Maybe he should've let Hans just pull him out and have his way with him. But he had felt really grimy, with sore spots where his armor had dug into him, despite the best efforts of the padding underneath.
And Henry wanted to be at his best for Hans.
Shit, he still couldn't believe that what happened in that hunting camp wasn't just a one time thing. It should've been. They had both been drunk and there should've been regrets and denial. For both their sakes.
Yet here they were, falling into each other again at the first opportunity and planning to commit this sin again. And Henry could not be more excited.
“Your owner's a bloody fool, Mutt.”
The dog barked, though Henry couldn't say if it was in agreement or protest.
He sighed before dipping his head beneath the water's surface.
After the bath, when Henry finally felt human again, he got dressed in a green shirt and the same dark blue hose he wore during that fateful hunting excursion.
Talking business with Zizka helped in calming down Henry somewhat and the early evening after the strategy meeting passed surprisingly normal.
He savoured the hearty meal in front of him. As much as the Devil’s Den was a shady shithole their food always hit the spot whenever Henry had the chance to stop by long enough to indulge in it. The cook deserved a heartfelt thanks the next time Henry saw her.
As he slowly made his way through the food on his plate other members of the pack came and went at the table around him.
News about his adventures in Sigismund's camp spread fast and everyone wanted a piece of gossip (or ‘intel’ as some insisted) about how things were in the enemy's army.
At some point Hans joined them, sitting down next to Henry who was engaged in conversation with Adder and Janosh at that moment.
It almost felt like a normal conversation within Zizka's gang; Wild anecdotes and laughter, interspersed with insults.
If it weren't for Hans’ leg being solidly pressed against Henry's and his hand sometimes dipping below the table to caress his thigh.
That man really was out to kill him. He hoped the others would interpret it as Hans scratching a bothersome mosquito bite on his own leg over and over again, should they notice anything.
“Alright, lads,” he stated after he had savoured the last piece of sausage from his plate despite Hans’ best efforts to drive him mad. “I'm quite knackered after my time on the road so if you'll excuse me, I'll try and get some shut-eye.”
Hans stayed behind. Which was prudent, Henry supposed. They couldn't be seen clambering back to their room together again. He could hear him beginning the tale of the time they went to the baths together back in Rattay.
Christ that felt like an eternity ago now. Henry could scarcely believe it was still the same summer he and Hans met.
As Henry made his way up the stairs, his heartbeat started to speed up with excitement. He felt as he did when he walked into the ring at the Kuttenberg tournament, adrenaline thrumming in his veins.
Once he entered the room he softly closed the door behind himself, sat down on his bed at the far end of the wall, and took a deep breath.
And then, he waited.