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Once upon a time, not that long ago really, Lord Hans Capon thought he knew all about how the world was structured and what his place inside that structure was.
Then, the tides of a cruel war had left Henry of Skalitz washed up at his feet. And everything Hans knew his life to be had begun tumbling down around him.
Hans had been upset with Henry at times throughout their acquaintance, annoyed with the peasant not understanding their respective places in the world. At some point, him explaining the whole thing to Henry had turned into an attempt to reaffirm these solid, undoubtable truths to himself.
To no avail, in the long run.
It had all begun that fateful evening in a tavern in Rattay. Hans fondly remembered Henry squaring his shoulders in that armour that he wasn’t yet used to wearing. Never before had anyone below his status dared to oppose him like this, dared to not go along with his every whim. Except for the occasional drunken fool who’d find himself in the pillory soon after.
But Henry–poor, stupid Henry– had decided to punch him in the face instead of scampering away with a ‘Yes, my lord. As you say, my lord,” which would’ve been easier for both of them.
After that Henry had continuously carved holes in the wall that should theoretically exist between a noble and a peasant such as him. And Hans knew that he didn’t even do it on purpose or to prove some point, he just did it by being himself; loyal, determined, and fucking stubborn.
And whatever remnants of that unshakable foundation Hans still had left to stand on had crumbled to dust when he found himself on his back in a tent one afternoon, with Henry above him and kissing him as if there shouldn’t be anything at all separating them in any way.
Ever since then Hans had failed to see any reason not to believe him.
Not when Henry had been the only good thing to happen to Hans as of late.
The young noble was currently sitting in a room inside Suchdol fortress, trapped in a situation which was so very antithetical to his freedom-loving nature. But then again, ever since he set out on this godforsaken journey he had barely been a free man, tossed by fate from one cage into the next.
‘We spend too little time together,’ Henry had whispered into his ear that evening at the Italian court. And oh, how right he had been. There had just been one thing after the other, leaving them barely any time to be just the two of them, let alone for them to explore their newfound passions and what it meant to both of them.
All they had time for as of late had been stolen kisses before Henry departed once more from the Den after a quick stop. Maybe a desperate tugging of each other’s cocks before exhaustion would overwhelm them again.
And then they had gotten stuck at Suchdol, and there had been even less time for any physical comforts at all.
There was a knock at the door, tearing Hans from his stream of thoughts, followed by Henry entering the small room.
Henry, who would be departing on a fucking suicide mission soon.
“I’ve come to say goodbye.”
Hans' heart almost stopped then and there. “Is it time already?”
Henry nodded as he remained standing there in the middle of the room as if he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.
“Christ, Henry.” Hans dragged a hand across his face. “Come here,” he said softly and nodded at the space next to him. And Henry immediately followed his plea, sitting down so close that their legs were touching.
Hans leaned against Henry’s shoulder, face buried against the man’s neck. He felt Henry's head settle upon his own after but a moment’s hesitation. There was no time left to pretend not to want these small comforts; this innocent, vulnerable kind of intimacy.
“I don’t want you to leave,” Hans whispered. There was a strange burning at the back of his throat which he hadn’t allowed himself to feel since he was 11 years old and his childhood pony had to be put down because of a broken leg.
His voice sounded pathetic. But he didn’t care. Not when it was Henry he was talking to. They were way past that after all that had happened.
“I know,” Henry replied, putting a hand on Hans’ thigh.
Hans sighed. “When you make it back–” He took a shaky breath, trying to convince himself of that first word. “When everything is settled. Let’s go on that trip to Constantinople. Just the two of us.”
He didn’t mention all the reasons why they couldn't just up and leave, even if they should survive this.
Both of them already know about those things; they were not worth talking about right now.
“I’d love that,” Henry replied in a low rumble.
Hans was fascinated by the way he could feel the other’s voice where his forehead was pressed against his throat.
“I want to see the alps with you,” the blacksmith added after a few seconds of silence. “I’ve read so much about them.”
“Hmmm, they sound wonderful. I'm sure we can make a detour there on the way.”
Over the past few weeks it had been easy to forget that the world wasn’t just this fortress. It was nice to remember that there was more to life than war.
Hans leaned back, looking at Henry’s face, lit by firelight and smiling at him warmly, sadly.
And then he leaned up, placing an achingly tender kiss onto Henry's lips.
At first it was just a soft touch, breath mingling, but then Henry leaned in, grabbed Hans’ chin, and deepened the kiss.
Henry's stubble–unshaven now for a good few days–scratched against Hans’ face. When he had first felt it, it had been thrilling, forbidden, and exciting. Now the rough feeling was a comfort; like coming home during a winter storm.
It barely even felt like a sin anymore.
Hans leaned up, pressing further against Henry and lifting his hand to card through the fine, short hair at the nape of the other man’s neck. He idly wondered what Henry might look like if he let his beard grow out, what it would feel like against his skin, what his smile would look like framed by it.
Hans decided that he would quite like to find out.
A tongue brushed against his and he felt himself being pulled down onto the bed. After that, it was an awkward, desperate struggle to get all of their limbs onto the small bed and into a comfortable position when they were so reluctant to part their lips.
Finally, they broke away. Hans throat was still constricted with emotions as he gazed down at Henry beneath him, but his lips and tongue had a pleasant tingle to them now. Not unlike the afterglow of a good, strong spirit.
Henry’s hand was moving up, framing Hans’ face and the noble leaned into it, feeling a lock of his hair come loose as he tilted his head into the touch.
“My lord,” Henry rasped full of reverence, voice strained as if scarred by the same burning that constricted said lord’s own throat.
Hans focused on Henry’s eyes. They were dark in the dim flicker of the fireplace, but still as deep and steady as he’s always known them to be. The young lord knew just how intense those eyes could be by daylight; steely like a finely forged sword.
When Hans stood up on the Trosky gallows those eyes had been his sole focus point in the mass of people that had come to see him die.
He remembered thinking that he wanted those eyes–a despair in them; a devotion that Hans hadn’t felt he deserved–to be the last thing he saw before the rope would pull taut and he’d instead be faced with the judging gaze of God.
Christ , he had almost forgotten about that stray thought, brushed off–or maybe safely locked away–the moment the rope had no longer been around his neck.
“Thank you,” Hans said in the wake of that intense memory, weak. “For always coming back for me.”
He knew he’d been an absolute arsehole, he couldn’t have blamed Henry for just giving up on him, to pursue his own agenda and leaving Hans in the dust. It would’ve saved the man a lot of trouble. Henry had a trade he was exceptionally good at and he had proven that he could find work anywhere instead of chasing a spoiled brat like Hans for some duty that was thrust upon him as a punishment.
“I’ll always be there for you, Hans,” Henry replied.
The sound of his name without any titles, rasped in Henry’s voice, sent a shiver down the noble’s spine. It wasn’t the first time he’s heard it, of course, and the titles had never sounded all that sincere from the blacksmith anyway. They had been sarcastic most of the time, pleading, when Hans had been at his worst, fond, as of late.
But the power of just his name from Henry’s mouth and how it so effortlessly made them equals held a special power over Hans.
He leaned in again, claiming those powerful lips once more.
As they slowly caressed each other, layers of clothing began to give way to wandering hands. It was a slow process, as if they had all the time in the world. Hans was only too painfully aware that they did not, but he didn’t want to rush things. Not now, not tonight.
It hadn’t been all that noticeable with the many layers of clothing and armour they had to wear every waking moment these days, but with every piece of fabric that was removed, Hans saw more and more traces of the siege on Henry’s body.
His face was too sunken, his collarbone too pronounced, there was too little mass around his ribcage…
There was too little there of the man he–
Hans choked on his breath. It almost sounded like a subdued sob. And he quickly pressed his mouth against Henry’s again in an attempt to stifle it further, to let them both know that they were still alive. He wondered if Henry could taste the salt that had invaded his mouth as he tried to hold back the sting in his eyes.
“Tell me what you used to think about,” Hans requested instead to distract himself, their foreheads pressed together, noses touching.
“I– what?” Henry asked, confused by the lack of context and leaning back a bit to look Hans in the eyes.
“Before we… Before that hunting trip. You told me you used to think about us before it happened. What were you thinking about?”
Henry relaxed, closed his eyes and chuckled. Hans dove to nose at the other man’s neck, pressing light kisses against the stubble there.
“Why are you asking?”
“I… I want to do something for you. Before you leave.” Hans’ mouth was dry. “I want to know what you want.”
Henry took a deep breath. “I imagined us both, my back to you.” He faltered. “I–”
“You can tell me everything, Henry.” Hans kissed further down the man’s throat, tasting him when his tongue darted out to wet his lips.
“I imagined you taking me, your hands around me. I thought about what it would be like if my hands on me–inside me–were yours.”
Hans’ heart threatened to burst out of his chest. So instead he bowed down to kiss Henry’s sternum, hands on the man’s waist.
“I imagined your cock inside me,” Henry rasped, bolder now, “as you told me how badly you wanted me. I was ashamed of myself to put such words into your mouth.”
Hans felt faint as he dragged his mouth over Henry’s chest, nosing at the hair there. “But I do,” he rasped, kissing the rise of Henry’s pectoral muscle. “I do want you, Henry.”
I’m sorry for not realizing it sooner.
Henry’s hand landed in Hans’ hair, gently stroking and holding onto the strands. A pleasant tingle ran through Hans’ scalp and he closed his eyes as he remembered what that action did to him back at the Devil’s Den. He sent a blasphemous prayer to God that he would have the chance to fully indulge in that feeling once more.
Hans felt faint. Both from the hunger that had been his constant companion these past weeks as well as the blood rushing south amidst Henry’s words and actions.
“I have some oil stashed away,” he mumbled.
“Keeping rations to ourselves, are we?” Henry smiled at him.
Hans laughed softly. “Forgive a man for his indulgences. It’s not much. I just kept it in case you– in case we… got a chance to be by ourselves.”
Smiling softly, Henry licked his lips. “A’ight. Get it, then. I have already said good-bye to everyone else. I’m all yours.”
“Were you hoping for this?” Hans chuckled as he inelegantly reached beneath the bed and pulled out the sacred phial.
“I was hoping to spend some time with you,” Henry said, face sobering. “One way or another.”
“You’re too earnest, my friend,” Hans mumbled, settling down next to Henry, their bodies flush.
He began caressing the other man’s legs, slowly coaxing them apart with gentle touches. His heart hammered, similarly to when he was about to take Henry’s prick into his mouth for the first time. The same insecurities plagued him now, he didn’t know how Henry had managed to do this task with such confidence during their first union. But then again, the blacksmith just had this talent for trying out something for the first time, and just seeing it through.
It was one of the many things Hans admired about him.
Hands trembling, he coated his fingers in the oil and placed his hand so his fingertips hovered near Henry’s hole.
“Ready?” He whispered. And Henry nodded.
Hans had done this to himself a few times in the past few weeks, trying to chase that feeling of Henry’s fingers on that rainy afternoon. It hadn’t been the same but he had learned a thing or two in his attempts.
This was different. He could only gauge the effect the gentle slide of his digit into the other man had by his face. And what he saw made him relax a little. Henry hadn’t yet pulled away or winced in discomfort. Instead he was looking at him with gently lidded eyes, his breath in time with Hans’ slow strokes.
Once more, Henry’s hands were on Hans’ body, warm against the chill of the room and pleasantly rough in that way Hans had come to yearn for.
“I want to take care of you tonight, Henry.” He stated. “You need your energy for the journey.”
“I should be the one taking care of you. I’ll hopefully manage to steal some food from the praguers as soon as I’m out there, while you have to–”
“Don’t… mention the fucking F-word,” Hans chuckled, pressing his thumb up against Henry’s balls and delighting in the little sigh the action drew from him. “And let yourself be taken care of for once , damn it.”
As he continued to finger Henry open, Hans’ free hand kept exploring the blacksmith’s body. Every little scar was a story for him to explore. With some of them he knew where they came from–an arrow wound he got when fleeing Skalitz, the torture wounds from Trosky–others he didn’t know the origin of. He wanted to be familiar with them all in due time.
Henry, following his lord’s orders, had leaned back, closed his eyes, and thrown his arms over his head.
Hans studied how his eyebrows pulled together, his mouth opened slightly, when he hit just the right spot. He wanted to dream of that face for the rest of his life.
Once three of Hans’ fingers slid in and out of Henry with ease, he removed his hand and pressed the clean heel of it against the man’s hip. “Turn over,” he whispered.
Henry nodded, swallowing, and moved to kneel on the small bed. It was obvious that he didn’t quite know what to do with his upper body in this unfamiliar position, but eventually he settled with his arms crossed on his pillow and head resting on top of them in a way that let him glance back at Hans.
“‘S this good?” he asked.
“I think so, yes,” Hans said. His brain had stopped working at the sight, even more lightheaded now than the hunger had already made him.
Henry’s legs were slightly spread to hold his balance, his ballsack and hard prick hanging down beneath his oil-slickened hole.
It was an obscene image, but Hans wanted to see it immortalised in a beautiful church mural. For now, it would have to live in the cathedral of his mind; his alone to worship.
He never would’ve thought that such a sight could turn him on this much. And before setting out on this godforsaken trip, he would’ve confidently stated that it absolutely couldn’t. But then again, he also would’ve denied ever wanting to be on his knees with a prick in his mouth, yearning for the feeling of a man’s stubble against his cheek, or the touch of masculine, rough hands against his skin.
Hans wasn’t even sure if those things would be true for any other man besides Henry. By God, he just wanted Henry. He couldn’t care less about anyone else, male or female, at that moment.
Gripping the man’s hips, Hans carefully got into position behind him, and slowly pushed forward.
Henry gasped.
“Different from fingers, isn’t it?” Hans asked with a smile in his voice.
Henry laughed hoarsely. “Fuck, it sure is. Hold on a moment.”
Oh and how Hans wanted to hold on to this moment. He reached out to gently run his fingers along Henry’s spine, finding more scars for him to map.
Slowly, they moved onwards, Hans gently rolled his hips, ever deeper when Henry gave him permission. And soon he bottomed out, his balls pressed against Henry’s body, and he shivered.
“God, Henry,” he said. Those two words were interchangeable to Hans at that moment. He didn’t care if it’s blasphemous, he didn’t care for an eternity in hell because Henry’s presence in his life has made it less of a living one.
Henry let out a pleased grunt beneath him. “Keep going,” he rasped after a moment.
And Hans did, leaning forward and pulling out again just to push back, the slide of skin against skin leaving them both breathless.
All of his life Hans had thought of romance and love to be the pursuit of something. The longing after a beautiful maiden who had caught his eyes and who he’d flirt with and court until he had her. Only to jump to the next one who caught his attention the morning after.
Now he knew that it was the desire to keep something, someone in your life instead. The longing to bestow upon someone the same happiness that that someone had brought him.
Over the past few weeks at Suchdol Hans had whispered the stray verses of any love poem he could remember to himself. When he was alone in bed, when he was on the ramparts in the dead of night, into his horse’s mane when he was longing to feel her run free beneath him again. With Henry laughing by his side.
He had used those verses, once upon a time in a different life, to woo wenches. Now they all felt as if they had been written about his dearest friend instead.
Sometimes, he’d laugh to himself when the poem would be very obviously about a fair maiden, and then continue whispering to himself altered versions that described the man who had stolen his heart instead.
Hans leaned forwards, pressing himself against Henry as fully as he could while still giving his hips room to move. With his chest against the other man’s back he pressed kisses to the arrow scar on his shoulder, the nape of his neck where he could feel the short hairs tickle him, and between his shoulder blades.
‘I want to make you feel loved’ Henry had said that day in the hunter’s camp. And by God had he fulfilled that promise, showing Hans what it meant to have a partner who truly cared for you. Now, Hans wanted to return the favour, pour everything he had allowed himself to feel since that trip into each and every roll of his hips.
He took in the sensations of their slow union, the way the low fire caught all of the rough edges of Henry’s body, the man’s smell in his nose.
Unable to hold back any longer, a stray tear escaped Hans’ eyes, ran down his nose, and landed on Henry’s back.
“Fuck,” he said, voice breaking and his rhythm faltering.
“Hans,” Henry said, reaching back. “Hold on, Hans. I want to see you.”
The lord settled back onto his haunches, removing himself so Henry could turn over. As soon as the other man was settled he leaned forward again, entering him once more and leaning forward for a kiss which now definitely tasted of tears.
“Christ, Henry. I can’t stop thinking about how much I fucking love you,” he said with a chuckle, breathless in his admission and more tears falling from his eyes.
“Me neither, Hans,” Henry replied, smiling, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Wrapping his arms around Henry, Hans held onto him best he could as he tried to find his rhythm again. He wanted to make Henry feel good, make him sigh and groan with pleasure, even as tears continued to fall from his nose. It was the most pathetic he had ever felt during sex. Even his first few times were more elegant and poised than this.
Henry’s strong arms were around him, one leg hooked behind him in an attempt to pull Hans ever closer with each desperate thrust. They were moaning into each others’ skin now, the bed creaking beneath them with the force of the emotions Hans wanted to convey.
Selfishly, perhaps, he wanted Henry to feel him when he left. He remembered that lingering feeling the day after Henry had taken him and how it sent a shiver down his spine each time he focused on it.
Leaning down, he bit a mark into Henry’s shoulder, drawing a deep groan from the man beneath him. Then he moved to his neck, his chest. Everyone should know that this man was taken, loved. But most of all Hans wanted for Henry himself to have these reminders.
“Please, Hans, touch me,” Henry practically begged.
The noble leaned back just enough to put a hand on the other’s prick and his strokes joined the rhythm of his thrusts.
Their bodies were wet with sweat and tears and oil, and the slick noises between them kept increasing in intensity as they neared the conclusion of their union.
“I love you,” Hans gasped against Henry’s throat as his climax barrelled into him. “I love you, I love you, I–” he was cut off, choking on his words, and thrust his hips forward one final time before stilling, only his hand continuing to move over Henry’s length.
“Fuck, Hans,” Henry gasped. “I love you, too. You have no idea.”
Hans' body was protesting at the exertion when he had no nutrients to back it up. He felt a burning in his stomach, fearing he might faint for a moment. Which would really be the last thing he needed right now when he just wanted to take in the sight of Henry at the peak of his ecstasy.
They caught their breath between shared kisses, both unwilling to part from the other.
“I hope Sam won’t comment on me walking funny during our mission,” Henry said once he let his head fall back with a grunt.
Hans reached up to wipe his eyes and laughed wetly as he said, “Shut up.”
Henry chuckled at him, chest still heaving.
He was a beautiful sight to Hans, lying in his bed with his short hair going every which way and with fresh marks of Hans’ making decorating his upper body. He’d much rather see that than the many scars that indicated a life almost taken.
The mood sombered between them, both knowing their time was up.
“I need to get ready,” Henry uttered the inevitable.
“I know,” Hans sighed and stood up.
The noble helped the blacksmith clean up, fastening buttons and belt buckles with neither of them caring to comment on the absurdity of his actions, given their positions.
As if any of that fucking mattered between them.
Once Henry was presentable again, Hans took his head into his hands and pressed a kiss to Henry’s forehead, nosing the short, soft hair above it.
“Farewell, my beloved Henry.”
“I’ll be back, my love.”
The sound of this new title lit a spark inside Hans.
It wasn’t all that different from the way ‘my lord’ had sounded from Henry’s lips as of late.
After a few last moments of silence, Henry picked up his father’s sword and fastened it to his belt.
The last step; a finality to it.
Hans leaned against the wall and Henry turned to leave, smiling at him one last time before closing the door.
And Hans was alone.
It started with a low rumbling that could be heard from within Suchdol’s tower. It was different from the thudding of the battering ram. It was like a thunderstorm rolling in; an unstoppable force of nature.
Then, Hans realised what it was.
Horses.
A fuckton of horses.
“The reinforcements are here,” he whispered, mostly to himself, before letting out a breathless laugh.
When he spotted Henry in the courtyard his armour was glinting in the sunlight in a way that would make any legendary hero blush with envy. Hans dropped his sword and ran up to the man, pulling him close in a desperate hug.
He didn’t care who was around to see them. He needed to feel Henry, alive and solid against him.
“You made it,” he laughed in disbelief.
“I told you I’d be back… my lord.”
Hans heard the undertone, the implication of his other, new title. The one only Henry got to use.
He pulled back and greeted Henry with the broadest smile he had allowed onto his face in many weeks.
They were interrupted then, by Mutt barrelling at Henry with excited barks and a tail wagging so hard that it nearly threw the dog off balance.
You and me both, buddy, Hans thought to himself.
One by one the rest of the devil’s pack came out of the woodworks to greet Henry with hearty shoulder pats and rough laughter. Hans stood back with a smile, letting the man have the hero’s welcome he so thoroughly deserved.
The two men were walking through the empty village of Suchdol. After Hans had had his fill of food and drink he immediately also got to have his fill of unpleasant conversation with his uncle.
He couldn’t fucking believe this. All of these ordeals and he still wasn’t a free man.
What was the point of being a fucking noble if he was reduced to a pawn in this game of political chess.
At least he had Henry by his side. Henry, who was patiently listening to Hans ramble on before slinging an arm around the young lord’s shoulder. Their armor was clanking together as they walked and Henry gently, subtly, guided Hans towards one of the empty buildings.
And Hans let himself be guided, his dramatic sighs at his predicament stifled and instead replaced by a fond one.
Once inside the building, dark and sheltered from views, Hans got pulled into a kiss.
“Fuck Hans, I’ve missed you,” Henry said, the full extent of his emotions on display now that it was finally the two of them again.
“I’ve missed you too, Henry.”
He leaned up and against Henry to kiss him deeply, thoroughly. Henry’s armor-clad hand cradled his jaw, finely crafted metal pieces softly clinking together within the tender movement.
Eventually, their kiss melted into a hug that neither of them wanted to let go of, even with the edges of their armor scraping together. In the rubble of this tormented village they were each others’ solid ground.
“Maybe we could just run away from all of this,” Hans said into Henry’s shoulder, a conclusion to his earlier rambling complaints.
"You know I’d follow you anywhere, my love.”
Hans would never fully get used to those words on Henry’s tongue. He didn’t want to. He wanted to feel that thrill down his spine each time he heard Henry’s low voice direct them at him.
The running away thing was meant to be a joke, but even to Hans’ own ears it barely sounded like one. The thought of the two of them in some solitary cottage where no one knew them, knew Hans’ name or titles, knew his responsibilities and what he was running away from…
It was a naive thought, maybe. Hans knew very well that his cage was a gilded one, but it seemed like the perfect solution to Hans’ wrung-out mind. He was so fucking tired after all that had happened.
Henry squeezed him tighter before pulling back. “I’ve got to meet up with my father now.”
Hans nodded, realizing he’d just been staring off. “I’ll see you later, then. I can’t wait to leave this place behind.”
“And remember, Hans,” Henry smiled, eyes glinting in the dim light, past the grime on his face. “I care about you. I love you. No matter what happens, I’ll be by your side.”
Hans relaxed, feeling tears well up in his eyes again. This man was going to be the death of him.
“I know,” he said, softly. “And the same is true for me.”
As the gentle clanking of armour marked Henry’s departure, Hans was once again alone.
Except not really. As long as Henry was somewhere out there, Hans would never be truly alone.
He smiled to himself, and sank down towards the floor, finally relaxing after weeks of constant tension.
His future was equal parts set and up in the air, but he knew now what it was like to be loved.
And that alone would see Hans through whatever God had yet to throw at him.