Chapter Text
Hans was flirting with the bathmaids again.
An easy smile, an effortless posture, a witty remark at just the right moment, and a perfectly timed laugh to follow. The girls at the Den were used to his charms, and Hans was used to their polite indifference.
Henry leaned against the balcony railing, watching from a distance in quiet amusement.
Hans spoke with his hands. Some grand, noble tale, no doubt. The bathmaids giggled and touched him casually, toweling him dry. The whole scene was perfectly ordinary.
A mischievous smile spread across Henry’s face. He only needed Hans to—
“Snooping, are we?”
Godwin appeared beside him. The old priest looked at him, one eyebrow raised, as if he already knew the answer.
“I’m watching the roads,” Henry said, making no effort to sound convincing. There was no point. He had been standing in the same spot for an hour.
Godwin laughed.
“You know you can see the roads better when they’re in front of you,” he said, crudely grabbing at the air in front of him.
“If you stand too close, you miss the bigger picture,” Henry said, gesturing vaguely at the crossroads below them.
“Right, well, tell me then,” Godwin leaned to look over the railing. “Anything worth chasing?”
Henry exhaled through his nose as Hans strode onto the road, smoothing his freshly cleaned shirt across his chest.
Henry’s shirt.
It was a little tight around Hans’ shoulders, a little short at his waist, but a shade of burgundy that complemented him far better than it ever did Henry. Hans had never given it back after their little half-brother act in Kuttenberg. Not that Henry ever asked. Now, Hans wore it more than his yellow, and Henry smiled every time he did.
Hans looked up, scanning the balcony until his eyes found Henry.
Henry’s mischievous smile returned. He held Hans’ gaze a moment, then he winked.
Hans missed a step.
His face went gloriously red, and the poised noble was gone in an instant.
There’s my lord.
“Looks like he had a good bath,” Godwin laughed, tapping Henry’s arm before leaning against the railing. “You’re blushing like a virgin, Lord Capon! Do tell us what they did to you, we’re eager to know.”
Hans immediately became fixated with grooming his already groomed hair, the red in his face only deepening as he approached.
“Henry!” he shouted up a little too forcefully. “Stop being lazy and get your arse down here. I need to talk to you.”
Henry laughed to himself.
Godwin clapped him on the shoulder. “Hope he doesn’t need anything too demanding.”
“Impossible,” Henry said, pushing off the railing.
Hans was waiting for him outside the side door.
“Walk with me,” he said, stepping away before Henry was fully outside. “I have something terribly difficult and extremely boring for you to do.”
Henry shook his head, smiling as he followed.
Hans thought he was subtle.
He wasn’t.
Four walks in three days was curious enough on its own. Even more curious was how much of that walking was done while lying down.
Henry chuckled to himself. He had moaned a little too loudly one night while in their room, and Dry Devil had banged on the wall shouting to "She sings nice!". Henry thought it was hilarious but Hans picked up an interest in walks.
“Where are we going today?” Henry asked innocently, coming in step next to him.
“Away,” Hans said.
“The hunting camp?”
“No.”
“The abandoned shack?”
“No.”
“Behind that one rock where you called me ‘My Knight’?”
Hans shoved him.
“And you liked it, the way you sang for me.”
Henry opened his mouth, but the burn in his cheeks made him pause.
“That’s hardly the point,” he finally said. Then murmured, “…my lord.”
Hans smiled.
They followed the road until the Den disappeared behind the trees. Henry fell half a step behind. If Hans wanted to pretend this was a walk, then Henry wanted to pretend he was still watching the road.
Hans’ hair was still damp from the bath, and the afternoon breeze carried the scent of whatever oils the bathmaids had rubbed into his skin. It smelled sharp, it smelled like Hans, and it was a shame it would be replaced by the sweet notes of dirt and sweat in five minutes.
“Have fun watching?” Hans asked.
“Aye,” Henry said. “Watching you flirt is always fun.”
“Why?”
“Cause you’re bad at it.”
Hans shot him a look. “I am exceptional at flirting.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Well, that’s because the rules for flirting with your bodyguard are different,” Hans said confidently.
Henry snorted.
“Oh? You think yourself an expert?” Hans scoffed. “For one thing, you are constantly trying my patience, which isn’t exactly—”
Henry stepped off the road and into the trees.
Hans walked a few more steps before noticing.
“Henry?”
Henry glanced over his shoulder. Hans sighed and reluctantly followed.
“Where are you going?” he asked once caught up.
“Away,” Henry echoed.
“We’re not away enough.”
“I think we are.”
Hans grabbed Henry’s shoulder, spinning him around.
“We are two steps away from the Den…” Hans started, but Henry had heard this one before.
His eyes wandered, landing on the tree just behind Hans.
Hm…
“…and anyone could hear,” Hans ended gravely.
Henry returned his eyes to Hans.
“Try to shut up then.”
And he shoved Hans against the tree.
Hans made a surprised sound as Henry kissed him. But any offense he might have taken was short-lived. He grabbed the sides of Henry’s face with hungry fingers and kissed him back hard enough to leave them both fighting for breath.
Heat cut down Henry’s spine like a knife.
“The bathmaids touching me put ideas in your head, hm?” Hans asked against his mouth.
“Not as much as you tripping over one small wink.”
Hans broke away as if burned. “I didn’t trip.”
“My mistake,” Henry said, shifting his foot closer to Hans’. “Must’ve imagined it.”
Then he hooked Hans’ ankle and pulled.
Hans stumbled, instinctively reaching for Henry. It was entirely unfortunate, however, that Henry had no intention of keeping him upright.
They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs and profanity. Hands grabbing, legs twisting, leaves everywhere. Henry wrestled one of Hans’ arms out of the way and nearly got an elbow to the nose for the trouble. By the time Hans had accepted there was no dignified way to recover from his fall, Henry was already sitting triumphantly across his waist.
“How dare you, I’ve just had a bath.” Hans huffed the hair from his eyes. He was not impressed, furious even, but the smile creeping across his lips betrayed him.
“Why did you bring me out here, then? To pick flowers?” Henry asked, running his hands up Hans’ stomach, pushing his shirt out of the way.
“I said I needed you to do something difficult. Picking flowers is hardly difficult.”
“You also said it would be boring.” Henry came close to his face. “Are you bored?”
“Yes.” Hans looked up at him with narrowed eyes, apparently forgetting he was still smiling.
“Right.”
Then Henry leaned down and put his tongue to Hans’ nipple.
A deep groan that sounded almost spiteful bloomed from Hans’ throat as Henry sucked and teased at the sensitive skin. Hans’ fingers curled into his hair and his legs wrapped around him, keeping Henry exactly where he was. Not that he was planning on moving.
Henry savored every needy movement, every unrehearsed sound. Hans only let himself go like this when they were alone, and knowing that went straight to Henry’s head faster than the finest wine ever could.
Naturally, it was also distracting.
Hans had tightened his legs. Then he heaved. The world rolled, and in a flash Henry was looking up at a man who was flushed, panting, but, most annoyingly, very pleased with himself.
“Too easy,” Hans said smugly.
“Can’t blame a man for getting carried away,” Henry chuckled, pushing against him.
Hans shifted his weight, and Henry realized that getting him off would take actual effort. He could do it, he just couldn’t think of a compelling reason to get a flushed, panting Hans off his waist.
Instead, Henry ran his hands up Hans’ thighs, wanting to grab and pull him down harder against him, but Hans was having none of it. He pinned Henry’s wrists beside his head and rubbed them down into the dirt to make the point.
“Come on, Hal,” Hans purred. “You can try harder than that.”
Henry gave him a look. A warning.
Hans ignored it. He leaned into Henry’s wrists as he lowered himself over top him, sliding his legs between Henry’s.
“Or you could yield,” Hans added flippantly. He was moving hips ever so slightly, holding his weight off just enough to tease at Henry’s already achingly roused cock through the fabric of their clothes.
It was maddening.
Hans always called him a menace. Rich coming from a man who apparently liked torture. Worse yet, Henry was already humming, but he refused to give up so easy. Henry squeezed his thighs together, pressing them into Hans’ sides.
“Give me a reason to yield, then,” Henry said.
Hans smiled wickedly, and Henry almost regretted what he had said.
Almost.
“As you wish.”
Hans finally bore his weight down, the pressure a sweet relief. But it only lasted for a single moment as Hans started to roll his hips, agonizingly slow.
Henry straining against the injustice, pressing the back of his head into the ground. He wanted to grab those lazy hips and force them to move at a more acceptable pace, but Hans was still holding his wrists down. All Henry could do was arch up against him in protest.
“Cruel,” Henry said through gritted teeth.
“Yielding already?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Good.” And Hans dropped his head and bit Henry’s neck.
A noise escaped Henry's lips that might have been a word had it not gotten stuck in his throat. This always happened when Hans bit him, and Hans was not shy when it came to using his mouth. Henry always tried to cover the choked-off sound with a more intentional one but Hans noticed every time.
“Do it again,” he said, against his ear.
Not a request.
Henry might have found something clever to say if Hans had given him the chance. But Hans kissed him. Hard. As if trying to steal the next broken sound directly from his lungs. Then Hans bit his lip, and Henry gave him exactly what he wanted.
Hans hummed his satisfaction.
The ache was only getting worse. Henry twisted, pressing his heels into the ground, chasing the little movement Hans granted him. Anything to feel more.
“Cheating?” Hans asked with an edge, though his breathlessness somewhat ruined the effect.
Henry only grunted.
Hans found that response lacking, and he stopped moving altogether.
Henry threw him a glare.
“You’re always so quick to respond, but when I have you, you can barely speak.”
“Hans,” Henry groaned.
“Oh, he remembers words now. I could hold you here all day, you know? Until you manage to muster up enough words to form a sentence begging me to let go.”
Now Henry was properly annoyed. He held Hans’ gaze, those blue eyes so certain and unwavering. Henry certainly wasn’t going to beg. But then he remembered who he was talking to, and his expression softened into something almost pleasant.
“And I could lie here and look up at you all day until you beg me to stop, my lord.”
Henry winked.
Hans froze.
His cheeks started to blazed and the corner of Henry’s mouth curved.
Then Hans’ eyes went dark.
And he snapped.
Henry barely registered his wrists being released as hands caught his ribs. By the time thought caught up, he found himself on his stomach with Hans straddling his thighs.
Henry went still.
This is different.
Hans grabbed his hips and pulled once, dragging Henry back against him.
Henry braced for whatever snide comment was to come, but there was only silence. Their breathing was heavy in the sudden quiet.
After what felt like too long, Hans leaned over and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of Henry’s neck, causing him to shiver.
One kiss became two, then two became too many to count. Hans’ lips wandered from his neck to his ear, then across the side of his face until Henry could no longer tell where one kiss ended and another began. A hand slid under his shirt and traveled slowly up his back, fingertips tracing scars before a rough palm settled warm against his skin.
Somewhere along the way, Henry had forgotten how to breathe.
This is very different.
Hans started to move his hips again.
Slowly at first, until he found a spot that suited him best. An impossible rush of heat ran down Henry’s spine as he felt the hard press of Hans’ cock at his tailbone, the thin fabric of their hose doing little to dull the sensation.
Hans started moving in earnest.
Over and over.
Each movement massaging Henry’s cock between the ground and his stomach. The ground was almost too unforgiving, but Henry couldn’t deny the needy sounds he was already making.
Hans’ breathing grew more ragged behind him, a faint sound escaping with every exhale. Henry turned his head as far as the ground allowed, dirt scraping roughly against his cheek. All he caught was a mess of hair, now damp with sweat, and one arm braced beside him.
Then something tightened in Henry’s chest.
Hans was fucking him face down against the forest floor. The tip of his cock now pressing against his arsehole.
And Henry found himself pushing back to chase the feeling.
Sweat prickled across his skin at the realization and in the heat of it all he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. He wanted to feel, he wanted to touch, so he threw an arm back and grabbed whatever part of Hans he could reach, fingers digging into fabric and skin, pulling him closer.
Hans let himself be pulled and laid his chest against Henry’s back. He weaving an arm under Henry, holding him around the shoulder, keeping him still as much as he could.
It all became too much as Hans started biting at his neck again.
“Shit, I—” Henry exhaled, his breath catching before he could get the rest of the sentence out.
“That’s right,” Hans panted against his ear. “Fucking yield to me.”
And Henry had no choice but to obey.
He cursed as everything tensed, a weak, broken cry escaping him. Almost a whimper.
But Hans wasn’t done. He chased his own end. Faster now, unrelenting, each movement pressing Henry’s spent cock into the ground harder than before. Everything was too sensitive and the feeling becoming painful.
“Hans…” Henry whined.
Barely a sound against the ground.
A pathetic plea.
“Christ, Hal,” Hans said thinly, then thrust forward one final time. He groaned into Henry’s back, and Henry couldn’t help but mirror the sound.
Then there was stillness.
Henry’s breath came hard and loud against the ground. Behind him, Hans was heaving, his full weight heavy against Henry’s body.
“Jesus Christ, Hans.” Henry’s voice was weightless.
Hans didn’t respond. Instead, he immediately climbed off.
When Henry finally gathered his wits enough to roll onto his back, Hans was standing off to the side, vigorously brushing his shirt off. The dirt and foliage refused to budge.
“Don’t worry about it,” Henry said, still trying to catch his breath. “We can wash off in a stream again.”
“No, I…” Hans looked up, but couldn’t hold Henry’s gaze.
Henry frowned.
Hans caught the look and straightened in an instant.
“We’re leaving,” he said.
“Alright.” Apparently, Hans liked that shirt even more than Henry thought.
Hans took a few steps toward the road before stopping and turning around. He stood over Henry and held out a hand.
Henry took it.
Hans pulled him to his feet, then immediately went to work brushing the forest from his clothes. The front, then the back. Short, hard swipes, as if the dirt itself were responsible for all this mess.
When he was satisfied, Hans reached for Henry’s face.
Henry braced, expecting the same treatment his clothes got.
Instead, Hans’ fingers softened against his cheek, causing something warm to stir in Henry’s chest.
Once.
Twice.
Three times Hans brushed his thumb across Henry’s cheek.
Then he dropped his hand and turned toward the road.
The Den was alive with travelers. Horses crowded the stables, and voices carried from the tavern below, but Henry slept soundly all the same. Face down across the seam where two beds had been shoved together, hugging a pillow because there was no reason not to.
That was until Hans burst through the door.
“Henry!”
Henry’s head popped up, drool wet on the side of his face.
“Wha—”
“Get up, I need you!”
Henry squinted until his eyes focused. Hans was standing in the doorway, a book held in his hand.
Lord above...
“What time is it?” Henry mumbled, wiping his face against the pillow.
“Two,” Hans said, walking towards the bed.
Henry’s eyes jumped to the window. It looked dark.
“…in the morning,” Hans added.
“Oh, fuck off,” Henry dropped his head back down.
There was silence.
Then the mattress started to shift.
Henry squeezed the pillow.
A hand smoothed across his bare back.
Henry squeezed the pillow harder.
Fingers curled around his side, and Hans yanked hard, flipping him onto his back.
Henry greeted him with a scowl.
“I need a flower,” Hans said, already wearing that familiar, persuasive smile.
“A flower?” Henry said incredulously. “Hans, if you want me to gift you flowers, just ask.”
Hans scoffed. “I don’t want any of your weeds. I need a moonflower.”
Henry’s brain was too heavy with sleep. He was one more vague answer away from turning over and falling asleep again.
“Can’t this wait till morning?”
“Moonflowers only bloom at night,” Hans said, as if it was obvious.
Henry looked at the book in Hans’ hand. He was gripping it so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. Whatever this was, Hans had already made up his mind.
Henry threw the pillow aside. “Alright, Capon.”
Hans’ face lit up as though there had ever been a possibility Henry would say no.
“Don't bother putting clothes on,” Hans said, smacking Henry’s thigh. “We’re going swimming.”
Henry’s stomach dropped.