Archive of Our Own

Overall, Hans is very conflicted on what to think about the beginning of the spring.

Yes, it is exceptionally energising that the days are longer and warmer, the sun is shining more often, and the forests trade their solemn brown-grey unicolour for the beginnings of light green with their new buds and tiny leaves.

But at the same time, spring also means that the streets get louder and busier. Not long ago that would not have been an issue for Hans, as that just meant the end of winter boredom replaced by new merchants, bards, and travellers coming to Sasau and Rattay. He met new people, talked to them casually, learnt of new events and tales from beyond the town walls, bought new books, clothes, soaps, and more. It is true he can still do all of that even now, but he actually has responsibilities on top of that. More than he had before around this time of the year.

Two summers ago, Hanush started giving him more tasks related to managing Rattay. Hans now thinks himself a colossal fool because he had genuinely hoped that it was a sign of Hanush gradually shifting his practical rule over the town and its nearby villages from himself to Hans. But now, Hans has accepted that it was either yet another manipulative false hope to shut Hans up for a while or a move that would relieve Hanush of some of the less pleasant aspects of being a lord. Hans assumes it is a bit of both.

Nevertheless, even with King Wenceslas out of his imprisonment, Hans is still where he was when Sigismund first started raiding the villages in the region. If anything, the situation in the kingdom is getting worse.

Well, alright, back then he was at least enjoying booze on his sad and lonely days. Right now, he is just miserable with no immediate way to improve his day and mood.

“Sir Hans, our tanner’s house is almost flooded from the heightened water levels after all that snow melting,” Ledetchko’s bailiff complains to Hans from his seat in the large meeting room in Rattay’s upper castle.

Hans has been sitting at the head of the long table for hours now. Just listening to complaints and problems of his subjects that have piled up since the last autumn.

“If I recall correctly, my uncle had a dam be built not far away upstream. Has it broken already?” Hans addresses the man with an idle swing of his hand.

“That is correct, my Lord,” the bailiff answers with a well-hidden stutter in his voice. “But it is not large enough. It did not break, but it over-flowed two weeks ago. The foundation is strong indeed. Simply not tall enough. We were not given enough timber to make it higher.”

“Sasau’s woodcutters gave you a good portion of their own timber. An entire side of a hill west of your farming fields, if I remember correctly,” Hans squints at the man who is now the centre of the attention of the entire room which is filled with multiple bailiffs, lower nobles, and messengers.

“No, not quite, Sir. We were given trunks only from the loggers’ camp. I mean only from the already felled trees they had at that time,” the bailiff counters, trying hard to keep an eye contact.

This claim is concerning on a greater scheme than Hans thought.

“Then tell me where all the trees from that hill went?” Hans raises an eyebrow, fully knowing that he is being openly accusatory.

“We were—”

“I know of that hill’s deforestation very well. It was among my favourite hunting spots before we deemed it as the most convenient spot for the woodcutters and the following transport of the wood. So, do not try to tell me the trunks just disappeared into thin air,” Hans points at the man with a slightly raised voice.

The face of the said victim is almost just as red as his pourpoint, unable to properly answer due to his evident nervousness. His stunned silence at least gives Hans enough time to collect himself. With a sigh and two fingers pressed to his eyebrow, he quickly looks around the rest of the table. Everyone’s watching with either wide eyes or frowned scowls.

Great, Hanush will scold me for losing my temper at a seasonal meeting… Hans thinks to himself.

After a few moments of quiet tension, Hans addresses the Ledetchko representative again.

“Is the tanner’s business safe? His house?”

As if this was a merciful rope to grab onto when drowning, the man rapidly nods a few times.

“Yes, his family is safe and so is the foundation of his house. He simply had to move most of his gear indoors or to the front yard.”

Hans involuntarily grimaces.

“Ugh, he is working with skins and hides in the same house where he and his family sleeps?” he doesn’t let the bailiff answer his rhetoric question before he continues. “You know what? Move that poor man’s craft and family into the village proper.”

A few audible hisses of sympathy resonate across the room.

“My Lord, are you implying we let the tanner’s family live and work alongside us?”

Hans nods resolutely. “That is precisely what I am saying. But only until we get your dam fixed, mind you.”

The bailiff’s eyes widen almost comically.

“But Sir… the smell…”

Ever closer to losing his patience again, Hans raises a palm to stop the man in his tracks and leans forwards on his elbows.

“You will do just fine. Don’t you villagers store rotten vegetables outside your houses all the time anyway?”

He will never forget the disgusting smell and wet splashes of the old food hitting his face as he was humiliated by peasants in Troskowitz.  

“You can handle the stench of skins and, ehm...,” he waves his hand. “Urine concoctions, I am sure.”

At the mention of the unfortunate substance used in skin preparing, essentially everyone at the table is showing signs of disgust. Not an appropriate topic indeed, but necessary when one of the representatives of one of Hans’ villages is being stubborn.

“So, as I said, the family is to be moved elsewhere for now. And after this meeting, we will have a look at where that mysterious timber could have gone to,” he concludes with a slight frown at the middle-aged man from Ledetchko.

As expected, he swallows nervously and leans back into his seat, defeated.

“Yes, Sir Hans,” he says and quickly breaks eye contact.

“Alright… Are anyone else’s houses falling apart or getting flooded or burning down?” he raises his voice and scans the room with his eyes.

A boy Hans recognizes as the older son of the widow dealing with the horse business in Neuhof, raises his hand low in the air.

“Yes, uhm… Viliam?” Hans nods to him.

“Sir Hans and our dear neighbours. I was sent here by my mother to talk about trade from outside the region. As some of you may know, we have an incredible half a dozen stallions of varying breeds coming to our stables from Pardubice shortly after the summer solstice. We have already delt with most of the logistics, including hosting the visiting traders, but we would also like to kindly ask for your cooperation, dear lords and friends. The caravan might stop in Talmberg or Uzhitz for the night or for a mid-day rest as they will be approaching Neuhof. And because staying on good terms with Pardubice’s horsemen is, as I am sure you know, beneficial for the entire region, we would like their visit to pass as smoothly as possible.”

“Of course, Viliam. They must be welcomed as most esteemed guests,” Hans agrees wholeheartedly. Most people in the room nod.

Sir Divish of Talmberg clears his throat.

“We would be more than glad to welcome them in our fortress should they wish to rest either on their way to or from Neuhof. But please, tell me, do you have any estimates on the nature of this caravan? How many representatives of the other stud farm are you expecting?”

Respect where is due to the boy. He is shaking slightly yet does not make a fool of himself as he addresses the volley of questions from a nobleman.

“We are expecting up to twenty men in total, Sir. Including half a dozen arch—”

Hans’ breath quietly hitches. He is about to clean his throat in warning, but Sir Divish gives Viliam subtle, yet firm raised eyebrows.

“Uhm, twenty men in total,” the boy repeats himself as a way of finishing.

Warmth and calm returns to Hans’ spine. This boy probably not older than seventeen summers was clearly explained the dangers of telling a room of not fully trusted people details about a valuable guarded caravan in a conflict-troubled kingdom. What’s more, he understands these dangers and seems to know how to work with them. Hans needs to remember to keep an eye on this boy in the upcoming years. More smart allies with no ulterior motives due to their lack of blue blood will be useful.

Hans himself has a very good idea how many heavy armoured knights and archers are escorting the caravan, so he is satisfied with Sir Divish and Viliam making a silent agreement with curtly nods that they shall discuss the specifics in more privacy later.

“Unfortunately, the repair works on Uzhitz’s church are still blocking one half of the main road. However, I will personally encourage the men to move in haste to clear out the road before the solstice,” Uzhitz’s new priest chimes in.

And this is how continues most of Hans’ afternoon. Listening to complaints of the people he will one day rule over and trying to solve them in the most pragmatic ways that won’t keep anyone angry, hungry, or humiliated. Well, nobody from his law-abiding allies, at least. Naturally, this one new bandit camp north of Pribyslavitz, that Hans did not know about until this meeting, received a very fast death sentence by the name of sending Henry and his men there.

Uttering Henry’s name out loud even in such a formal context seizes Hans’ heart. A quick glance at the window tells him that the sun is setting soon. Despite this meeting taking place in the upper castle, Hans knows that the relative quiet coming from the outside is deceiving. Since on the other side of the complex, a tourney is now taking place. Quite a big one at that. The opening tourney of the season, and of the year, takes three days in total. Hans was there in the courtyard this morning when Hanush officially opened the event, he himself a symbolical appearance because who else but Henry could be Hans’ champion.

Although Hans will get the opportunity to watch the finale of the tourney—to where he is convinced Henry will fight his way through—the day after tomorrow, he still wishes he could be right there, right now and watch his secret beloved proudly as he demolishes one man after another. Whether it is with a below average axe he had never held in his hand before, or his father’s sword with a cold glint and an intricate hilt that perhaps the entire region knows from a mere glance by now.

Still, no matter how tedious and boring such a long meeting can be, Hans cannot afford to daydream. He sighs and takes a sip of his red wine, steeling himself for at least one more hour of local diplomacy and smaller ruling decisions.

Hans focuses his gaze on the parchment in front of him for what feels like the tenth time. He is not sure if it is the questionable handwriting or the time of the day that’s making it difficult to properly grasp what in the hell this monk from Sasau means by the locals “losing themselves on the way to God”? Is he saying there are heretics in Sasau? Or that the main road to the church is blocked and people get lost in their attempts to try find a way around?

Wait, but the church in Sasau is right there on the main street. There is no road leading to it. It is right on the road!

And either way, what does Rattay have to do with this? Isn’t this a problem for the Church’s inquisition?

“Ugh,” he groans in frustration and bangs his head against the desk, barely avoiding damaging the letter with his forehead. “Sweet Mary, what are you punishing me for?”

Despite the dull ache in his back and the press of the hard wood against his face, he has to fight the urge to close his eyes. He knows that if he closed them now, he would fall asleep and none of this bureaucracy would be resolved until morning. Or until noon, with how tired he feels.

With an inhale so deep even his neck arches, he pushes himself up from the desk. The parchment is still looking at him distastefully, all ugly and boring and only pretentiously innocent, just like most monks and priests Hans has met in his life.

He shuffles in his chair and starts reading it from the beginning again, hopeful he will join the threads of what this monk wants from him.

“Spectabili generoso domino Johannes— yeah, yeah, blah, blah, whatever,” he grumbles to himself.

His eyes quickly skip the introductions.

“Bene quiden hic valemus, divina clementia protegante, sed quaedam res est quam—”

“You’re up late.”

Hans jerks so hard his elbow hits the protruding ridge of the desk.

“Ow! Fuck!” he hisses, the opposite hand instinctively grabbing at the painful spot.

By the time he recovers, Henry is in front of the desk.

“You should be locking your door. You didn’t even notice me entering. What if there was an assassin? You would be dead by now,” Henry points out with an unblinking scowl.

Hans makes a point of shaking out his arm in an attempt to return feeling into it. Thankfully, the sensation akin to getting stung by dozens of ants is fading quickly.

“Good evening to you, too, Henry,” Hans rolls his eyes.

“My apologies for behaving so rudely, my gracious Lord,” Henry grins and bows.

“Someone is still in a chipper mood,” Hans observes out loud, unable to hide some of the annoyance from his voice.

From paying half attention to the letter in front of him, he can see Henry’s smile drop. A large figure clothed in a red woollen shirt moves in the corner of Hans’ vision, but he doesn’t fully register it until heavy hands grab his shoulders from behind.

Hans barely reacts and yet Henry still hums thoughtfully.

“You are so tense.”

Hans scoffs.

“Tell me about it. Those idiots wouldn’t stop pestering me with the simplest issues that didn’t need my input at all and when something important did come up, we couldn’t agree on anything as if everyone in the room except for me was paid to prolong the meeting until even whores went to bed. And then I had to come back here to have a look at these—”

Strong calloused hands press firmly into the muscles in Hans’ shoulders. It hurts at first but as he sighs, his own body concedes slightly, which allows Henry’s touch to become much more pleasant.

Hans lets out a long exhale again, this time out of frustration.

“These letters and documents that ‘require your attention as soon as possible, Hans.’ Damned Hanush, I bet he barely even worked today.”

As Henry is massaging his shoulders and the sensitive spots where they meet his neck, Hans’ head feels way too heavy all of a sudden. As if Henry was reading his mind—or, because Henry knows him through and through—he presses himself even closer to the back of Hans’ chair. At this point, Hans doesn’t fight the need to let his head fall backwards, right into the warm wool and the sturdy torso underneath it.

“Right now, I am trying to decipher this overly poetic Latin text of some monk from Sasau I have never heard of before,” he tries to explain with a weak wave towards the long letter on the desk.

Henry’s large hands never stop working in circling and squeezing motions. Only when a thumb presses to the knots on the back of his neck does Hans realize his legs had fallen slightly to the sides, as if he did not know at all how a nobleman should sit. If he had just a bit more energy left, he would do something about it.

“But what concerns me more is that there is an obvious case of corruption in Ledetchko as a lot of timber just disappeared into thin air when we had their dam built. And I can’t even begin to comprehend just where did that damned wood go? If the bailiff had gotten a new house built, everyone would have noticed. If he had sold it to someone outside of the region, we would have noticed the transport, wouldn’t we?”

Still wordlessly, Henry glides a warm palm up Hans’ neck. The gentlest rubbing of his fingertips against his throat feels like the sweetest caress. Hans sighs, some of his tension leaving him with it. He sinks even deeper into his chair and only then does Henry start stroking Hans’ neck. Despite how large and potentially deadly Henry’s hand is as it reaches anywhere it wants across Hans’ slender neck, he still arches backwards, giving Henry even more space. Hans buries his head into Henry’s abdomen and lets his eyes close.

The man behind him has always been able to so effortlessly ground him in any situation. It truly should be a little concerning how well Henry knows him. At times, it is infuriating when he uses this knowledge to see right through any pretences and walls Hans builds around himself, but most times, it just feels incomprehensible and ungraspable in the most correct of ways. Hans tried so hard in the past to put some logic, some science, into his pondering about the bond they have.

He failed every time.

And so, these days he simply effortlessly welcomes the bone deep feeling that he will never feel as freely himself and as loved as when he is in Henry’s presence.

“Hmm,” Hans hums thoughtfully after a deeper inhale. “You didn’t go to the baths.”

To make sure he is not imagining it, he turns his head to the side to get his nose closer to the soft wool of Henry’s shirt.

Even through clothes, or perhaps from Henry’s hands, he can smell probably the most familiar odour of them all: Henry’s masculine sweat combined with leather and a fresh sharp hint of nettle. When Hans is surrounded by this, it usually means they are after a battle and they are both safe, unharmed, yet again. Now, though, it is a welcome homecoming after hours of being surrounded by the smells of burning candles and of many different kinds of different people’s ointments all clashing in Hans’ nose with no harmony whatsoever.

“Aye. The kids dragged me for a couple of drinks right after the last round ended. I barely had enough time to get out of my armour,” Henry complains but it doesn’t have much bite.

Hans chuckles into the fabric. “Kids? You are only twenty-four yourself.”

“Yet one might think I am two decades older with how they wanted to celebrate just the first day of the tourney. Drinking after the ‘grand finale’ I can understand, but today?”

Hans nuzzles ever so self-indulgently into the hand now cupping the side of his jaw. He smiles into it.

“You, not desiring to drink with fellow squires and knights? I am most puzzled.”

Henry’s leather boots creak as he leans down, his own lips closer to Hans.

“Maybe I just ’desired’ to come back to my Lord as soon as I was able.”

As if trying to prove what Hans already knew anyway, Henry kisses the side of his neck. And then again, softer this time.

“Let’s get you to bed. I know you are exhausted,” Henry’s beard scratches Hans’s sensitive skin as his lips are moving. Despite the familiarity of it, it tickles Hans enough that his whole body tenses just for a moment.

“No, I cannot. Not yet. I need to write a reply to this monk first,” Hans’ more rational part of his mind supplies. “Or at least think of what to do about… whatever it is that he is complaining about.”

He tries to make a point by readjusting himself in the chair, eyes opening to address the letter again, but he’s quickly halted by Henry who readjusts his grip on Hans’ shoulders.

“No, you won’t work on this tonight. I bet you can barely read anymore. It’s midnight. You should rest.”

Has he truly been here for so long? No wonder his mind feels dull around the edges.

“Isn’t it what you say, too? ‘Things always look better in the morning’. Let it be for now.”

Hans groans at the thought of consequences of giving up.

“Hanush will kill me if I don’t deal with this. It is apparently very urgent,” he waves lazily towards the desk, but even he can hear the weakness in his voice.

“So, you will do it urgently early in the morning. I will wake you when I’ll be preparing for the tourney. Alright?”

The thing is that this idea doesn’t sound half bad when it is Henry uttering it. Hans thinks he would have figuratively slapped himself with guilt if he was the one to think of postponing his responsibilities for the thousandth time. He tries to be better, more competent now, after all. However, that is as great a challenge as moving mountains when Henry is throwing Hans’ own words at him and weakening his stubbornness with a persuasive tone and a warm hand on his skin. Both feel so much more comforting than the thin ice he has to venture across when deciding fates of others and activities of his lands. There, one mistake and the ice can crack under his feet.

But here?

Here, venomous snakes won’t come at him with treacherous fangs when he shows his vulnerabilities.

Here, Henry doesn’t tease him for getting persuaded so easily when Hans simply nods once against Henry’s abdomen.

Here, dry parchment and wet ink are replaced by the dry scratch of Henry’s facial hair and by the wetness of his mouth as he kisses Hans deeply, passionately, on Hans’ lower lip.

Here, the fake smiles and dishonest formalities do not bitter his heart anymore when the deep appreciative rumble in Henry’s chest, as Hans lets his tongue in, is the most earnest, genuine thing he heard today.

Here, with Henry, things are simple and true.

No pretence, no careful wording, no political chess.

If only that weren’t true for his life with Henry outside of this door as well, however. Here, in his quarters in the middle of the night, with other guards spread thin due to the guests who need protection, too, Hans and Henry can be as greedy with their words and touches for each other as they desire. But the moment they are in public, it is the thin ice again. This time, they are both walking on it.

Hans can usually handle walking it carefully on his own when he’s dealing with other nobles, bureaucracy, and handing down judgments to criminals. With Henry right next to him as well? That added weight has the ice creak with deep invisible cracks all the time. Hans still hasn’t learned how to properly battle the anxiety the sounds are giving him. But then again, isn’t it a testament to how simple things are between him and Henry when Hans is sure to his core that were one to fall into the freezing water, the other would get him out, own warmth be forgotten?

Henry’s sigh fills up the room.

“You are thinking too loudly,” he kisses Hans one last time before putting a little distance between them again. “What’s on your mind?”

You. How terrified I am to take one wrong step and doom you for the love you hold for me. But also how I am unable to shake off the dichotomy of wanting to rule these lands but hating the burden it is putting on my mind, Hans thinks sadly.

What gets out of his mouth, however, is: “Nothing of importance right now, my dear.”

Henry hooks his fingers under Hans’ chin and tilts it up, so he is forced into eye contact. Henry’s head cocks just the slightest bit to the side, clearly deciphering whatever mess is raging through Hans’ mind right now. It is dark and ungodly late, yet Henry’s eyes still shine with his sharp wit and determination born out of his fierce need to protect and to care for.

Hans’ heart truly never stood a chance.

“What do you need from me tonight?”

Oh, sweet Henry, always so willing to break his back to do anything Hans asks of him.

“No more politics today. No more making decisions in other people’s lives. No more issuing commands that come bite me in the arse later,” Hans summarizes simply. The burden of lordship responsibilities got too heavy hours ago. He shakes his head for good measure. “Make me forget everyone and everything else from beyond this room. Make me forget how difficult it is to make decisions.”

The hold Henry has on Hans’ chin becomes tighter.

“Very well, then,” he says slowly, seriously.

His eyes are unblinking as determination sets in that captivating blue colour.

“On your knees.”

Blood in Hans’ core fires up instantly.

Henry confidently steps away from the chair but grabs the back of it to help Hans pull it to make more space for him as his knees hit the wooden floor. Hans doesn’t take his eyes off of Henry while he is sitting down comfortably on his heels.

Henry makes a quick work of everything Hans has on his desk. Whatever fits in size and shape, goes to the empty spaces in the library shelves. Everything else, candles in iron holders included, goes to the thick windowsill.

Finally, Henry leans back against the desk right in front of Hans. He is almost nonchalant about it.

“Nobody will bother us till morning. The next guard is on the other end of the hallway. Do not worry about the other people in the castle tonight. Do not worry about anything, alright?” Henry pets the top of Hans’ head gently, reassuringly.

“Yes, yes, I—” Hans gulps. “Fuck, I need a break, Henry. All those people staring at me, waiting for my reactions to the region’s problems, most of them waiting for an opportunity to judge or doubt me. All these documents, just waiting for me to dictate lives of others just with ink and a seal. It’s too much… What if I fuck up? I do not want the people to suffer or to think I am—”

As he is well on his way to distressed rambling, his throat tightens, but so does the hand in his hair. Firm yet painless.

“Shhh. I know. I know. No more of that tonight, understood? Now, I am the one making decisions and giving commands. Just listen to those. I will make you feel so good,” Henry promises lowly.

The corners of Hans’ mouth raise in a small smile.

“As you always do,” he has no shame to admit because it is the truth as clear as day. Remembering this constant alone manages to let Hans swallow freely this time.

“Nothing less for you,” Henry muses. “Alright. Help me get my hose off, will you?”

It is not worded as a command, not yet, more like a cheeky question, but Hans throws himself at the task regardless. Watching Henry in his full plate armour or expensive clothes meant for true nobility is always pleasure for Hans’ eyes, but nothing rivals getting it all off so Hans can feast upon the bare skin.

As Hans’ clever fingers are undoing the laces on Henry’s waist and crotch, he can also see Henry removing his shirt with a simple pull over his head. Hans doesn’t think there has ever been a time when his breath didn’t hitch at the sight. He pauses his own undressing of Henry, hands frozen at the waistband. All just to appreciate the man in front of him.

Thick brown hair is peeking from underneath the hose, but it does not stop there. Hans’ gaze follows the trail up, up, across the lower belly, the hard-earned muscles on the massive torso, all the way until the line of hair becomes a whole bush again on Henry’s muscular pecs. All of that crowned with his short well-kept beard and a refined face that has most women in Rattay, single or married, sigh dreamily.

Hans is convinced Henry is the personification of masculinity. Desire has never come to Hans so easily as when he sets his eyes on the strong broad body in front of him. As far as Hans is concerned, he does not get to see this nearly often enough.

“Now why did you stop?” Henry scolds him with a smirk.

Hans almost shoots back a retort himself, but the vision of the composed calmness of such a powerful body makes him moan instead. Henry is unbelievably gorgeous.

“Christ, Henry,” Hans groans to himself, partially in disbelief, and finishes undoing Henry’s hose and braies in a few more practiced tugs. As he pushes them both halfway down Henry’s thighs, Henry has a momentary mercy on him and steps out of them the rest of the way, now fully naked. When Henry settles back to his previous seat, leaned against the desk, what greets Hans is a very familiar cock that is, however, to Hans’ dismay, not rock-hard yet.

“Come on, get it nice and eager,” Henry encourages.

Hans twitches forwards, but stops himself, unsure if he wants his hands on it first or his mouth.

“Here,” Henry replies, clearly recognising Hans’ dilemma. He grabs his cock with the hand that is still not gently settled in Hans’s hair. “Give it some kisses first.”

Blood rushes to Hans’ own hose at the obscenity of Henry’s words. The repeated old realisation that he yet again loves Henry talking to him like this has him openly whimper. God, Henry ruined him for anyone else. Nobody will ever come close.

“You are thinking too loudly again,” Henry warns, but it remains kind. Reminding, not scolding.

Hans downcasts his eyes a bit.

“I know, I just…” he sighs in defeat. “I’m sorry. I want this, I promise.”

Henry coos. “No, no, it is alright, love. I know your mind is way too clever and active to silence it easily.”

Whatever warmth Hans’ rapidly hardening cock can spare travels to his cheeks to form a surely visible blush.

“Let me help you and talk you through it. We need to have your mind forget its burdens, that’s all,” Henry ponders out loud, always so kind and guiding.

He reaffirms his grip on both his cock and Hans’ hair and strokes himself once, twice, before bringing the tip closer to Hans’ mouth. He doesn’t let Henry repeat himself. Instead, he focuses on the piece of Henry offered to him. He gives the fat cockhead a very slow wet kiss, eyes turned upwards to watch Henry’s reaction.

“Mmm, you little tease,” Henry pants. “More, come on.”

And so, Hans wraps his lips around the tip, not sucking yet, but dragging his mouth back and forth. He pushes his tongue against the slit. Salty and bitter. Just like he loves it. He moans at the taste. It is loud even to his ears. Two more self-indulgent licks like that and Henry’s exhales come with deep shudders.

“Fuck, I waited way too long for this,” punches out of Henry’s lungs.

More of his cock is pushed into Hans’ mouth immediately afterwards. It is not exactly surprising, but Hans still gives him a judgmental raised eyebrow.

“Do not get all cheeky with me,” Henry complains and pushes forwards again. He just barely tickles the back of Hans’ throat.

Oh, this is delicious, he thinks on a whine.

Henry’s enormous chest shakes with a chuckle.

“I thought so.”

Hans whines again, just for good measure. Still not taking his eyes off of his beautiful Henry. Hans’ mouth drops open with heavy pants as he voluntarily takes the initiative and starts bobbing his head back and forth. Henry’s cock is reliably getting just as hard as Hans prefers it. He can already feel the large veins on his tongue.

“Fucking hell,” Henry groans above him. It only encourages Hans to speed up. “Yes, that’s it. Show me what that mouth can really do. Get some more spit there.”

Hans gives him a restricted nod and gets up to the task. With renewed vigour, he lets Henry’s cock fall out of his mouth completely but replaces it with his hand. As he purposefully swallows and collects more wetness in his mouth, he gives Henry’s foreskin a few teasing pulls. When he wraps his lips around the head again, that’s when he is in one of his most familiar territories. This is old practice that he knows he’s great at and one of the many that can absolutely undo Henry. His cock is gliding so easily up and down Hans’ tongue now. It’s an exceptionally welcome heavy, warm weight that tastes more and more like his spit the more bobs he’s doing. Even the outside of his mouth feels wet at this point, but Henry hasn’t redirected him just yet, so he continues blowing him in a steady, long rhythm.

Forwards, backwards. Forwards, backwards.

An upward press of his tongue here, a faintest scrape of his teeth there.

Henry truly is a genius. It is so easy for Hans to fall into the repetitiveness of what he’s been doing reliably for a few years now.

“So good for me, my love. God,” the desk creaks when Henry’s free hand grabs at it for more support.

“Mhm,” Hans agrees happily, preening under the praise.

“Hold still now,” Henry tells him, voice deep.

No ‘alright?’, no ‘can you do that for me?’ No questions or presented dilemmas. Only a simple command. So much simpler than Hans’ everyday life.

Hans digs himself even deeper into his heels and straightens his back, waiting for Henry to do whatever he wants with him. He swallows with difficulty around the hard veiny cock in his mouth. Henry didn’t tell him to let go nor did he pull out of Hans’ mouth on his own, after all, so he stays put.

“Look at you. Behaving so well for me,” Henry grunts almost breathless.

Henry pushing himself from the desk to stand upright is all the warning Hans gets before his hair is pulled almost painfully and Henry bucks his hips forwards. Hans whimpers at the blunt force against the back of his throat initially, but he claws at his own thighs to get used to the intrusion, as always.

Shortly after, Henry picks up a proper pace of fucking Hans’ mouth. He gags and moans at first, but Henry strokes his cheeks, not slowing down.

“Relax. Open up your mouth for me, you know how,” Henry’s husky voice resonates in the candle-lit room.

Almost as if out of instinct, Hans relaxes his jaw even more. He did not even realise it was still a bit tense.

“There you go,” Henry huffs, throat audibly tight from pleasure.

That’s from where Henry finally builds up a steady rhythm. Pounding into Hans’ mouth and back. Forwards, backwards. Forwards, backwards. Just like before. But now, Hans doesn’t have to do anything. Only stay still and keep his mouth and throat relaxed.

That is all he has to do to make Henry feel good. The man’s lustful groans above Hans and his cock grinding back and forth on Hans’ tongue and continuously violating the back of his throat are all the sensations Hans wants to feel right now. Even his own erection is forgotten under layers of cloth.

Hans closes his eyes from this utter bliss. The vision was soon to be distorted from sneaky tears anyway.

Henry never pulls out completely, just keeps shoving his cock into Hans as if he never wanted to get his tip out. That thought punches a noise out of Hans that he cannot bother to even try to recognise. But he does realise that he cannot stop the chain of constant whimpers and deep little moans when Henry starts going even deeper. Fluid is trickling down Hans’ throat. It is tickling him in places nobody else than Henry can nor has ever done nor ever will reach. Hans absolutely loves how far he can take Henry without gagging uncontrollably, but the pre-cum and saliva Henry is pushing deeper and deeper into him with every swing of his hips, has Hans choking out wet coughs and gurgles that he cannot control.

“If only,” Henry pants. “You saw yourself now. Ugh, spit half across your face, all happy with mouth and throat full of… fuck. Full of unwashed cock.”

Hans doesn’t have it in him to argue, to retort. Not even non-verbally. He only moans, loud and long, and twitches forwards just a little.

“Take it, then. Be a good boy for me,” Henry growls.

Now both his hands are in Hans’ hair. From there, Henry seems to almost lose himself in pleasure. His assault is so blissful for Hans, too. He surrenders to it without any fight whatsoever. Even his ears register the contrast created by the sounds of Henry’s grunts and pants, and Hans’ gargling. He has no plans to keep quiet now of all times.

Suddenly, Henry pushes so deep that his pubic hair brushes against Hans’ nose. As he keeps returning to it in a rhythm, Hans is met with a new sensation: how matted and fragrant the hair is. Something in Hans is screaming to get closer. It’s a selfish instinctual need. He writhes in his kneeling position. Not in pain, but to get Henry even deeper, just to press his face against the hairy abdomen.

“Aw, you needy little thing,” Henry chuckles on a laboured breath, just like always reading Hans so well.

Henry spreads his hands open across Hans’ head, calloused fingers brushing the back of his neck as well and pulls Hans close. His hips meet him halfway. Hans happily lets himself get positively impaled. The very base of Henry’s cock forces his lips to open even wider than before and his nose gets pushed right into the thick bush of hair covering Henry’s crotch.

Henry’s stomach noticeably flexes and Hans opens his eyes to try to watch. Even if his sight wasn’t so blurry with shameless tears, he would not see much. His face is almost flush with Henry’s abdomen and his chin is pressing against Henry’s balls. Henry keeps him like this, leaning forward over Hans’s head.

For a few moments, there is quiet.

Henry is trying and failing to catch his breath.

Hans is not trying to do much at all. He can barely feel his own body.

“I’m close, Hans. Fuck,” Henry moans.

One more small pull of Henry trying to get even deeper inside Hans’ throat is all it takes for him to come with such a deep groan Hans might as well feel it vibrating in his head. The cock filling Hans up so nicely is pulsing between his lips and salivating cheeks, but he cannot taste the white salty bitterness running down his throat. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Hans realises he cannot let anything go to waste. To not risk his body gagging Henry’s seed out, he tries to swallow. He does not manage very well, but Henry loves it, if the uncharacteristic deep whimper is any indicator, and that is all that matters to Hans.

With a hiss and a bit less energy, Henry begins to pull his softening cock out of Hans’ mouth. A pang of longing shoots through Hans’ chest. He wants it back; he demands on a whine. No pulling out, just Henry, Henry, Henry in him.

“Shh, shh, shhh. I know,” Henry pants and strokes Hans’ face gently. “You just need to breathe.”

But Hans doesn’t care about breathing. That is a hinderance. A blockade on his way to taking everything his Henry has to offer. He tries again to return Henry’s cock deep into his mouth.

Henry pulls out completely, leaving Hans’ mouth agonizingly empty. Not even the head to wrap his lips around. Hans wants to chase the glistening spit-covered cock again, but the tight grip on his hair won’t let him.

“Henryyy,” he sobs. Has to pant with his mouth ajar to let out any words at all. “P-please.”

“My dearest, look at you. So eager and hungry for me. But I won’t let you hurt yourself,” Henry explains and runs his fingers through Hans’s hair slowly. His chest is shining with sweat and quick breaths that are slowing down with every blink Hans does through the salty tears.

Hans squeezes his eyes tight. Unsure if out of shame or sadness or because of the stinging in them.

“Please! I need— I…” Hans tries to say but he just gets stuck on his coughing and crying. Speaking hurts. His throat is scratchy and uncomfortable.  

What even does he need?

Is it permitted to ask for anything? Henry told him to only listen to his commands. That only he decides what Hans shall do.

Hans blinks up at the man in question, mind foggy. Everything apart from Henry is irrelevant. The room might as well be on fire. The person that means everything to him is only studying his face quietly for a moment, pondering and reading something.

The strong hand in Hans’ hair pushes him a bit lower, forcing his back to slouch. Henry pulls him closer but also does not feed Hans his cock again. Before he knows it, Hans’ mouth and nose are face to face with the hair above Henry’s dick again.

“Sniff,” Henry commands simply.

From there, he lets Hans do the work. Hans is eager to comply. He pushes his nose deep into the coarse dark hair and takes a long inhale. Sweat, sodomy, and traces of leather and steel fill Hans’s nostrils. Tiny hints of fresh sharp nettle and birch. All of that strongly supported by the undeniable, unique musk that is Henry’s and Henry’s only. The musk that has gotten irresistible when Henry’s body changed from a boy to the mountain of a man that he is now.

Scents of home, safety, and freedom. Hans sighs.

“Lower,” Henry says, a supporting hand on the side of Hans’ neck. His other hand grabs his own recently spent cock.

Hans thoughtlessly spreads his bent legs wider so he can reach a bit lower on Henry’s crotch. He ignores Henry’s fist and settles on the balls that Hans has now access to. What Hans finds this time is a bit different. The hair all around is darkened up, almost black, by glistening liquids. Hans runs his nose and closed lips against the upper part of Henry’s ballsack. More sweat, more musk, more leather. Hans inhales deeply again, letting the heavy pervasive scents invade his senses. They make Hans’ pulse speed up and his mind and back melt.

“Go on. Start kissing them,” resonates another simple, firm order.

It is not difficult or unnatural at all for Hans to graze his lips against the lovely pair of large hair-covered balls that always, always, give Hans’ holes so much cum that he is near bursting. He moans when he finally realises that the coarse hair is wet and matted with drool. His own must have trailed down here when Henry was fucking his face. He licks at it a random spot with a perversion of a few open-mouthed kisses. Thick coarse hairs scratch at his lips and the smell of both old and new sweat is pushing deep into Hans’ nose. His lips basically all by themselves move to Henry’s other ball as well. It deserves attention too, just like all of Henry does. Hans raises a hand to cradle the back of Henry’s sack as he is kissing the sensitive skin slowly and deeply. Hans’ old drool mixes with new unrecognisably. He hums his appreciation when the salty taste of Henry’s masculine sweat still remains dominant on his tongue.

Henry grunts above him.

“Such a sinful mouth. So beautiful. All for me,” he breathes.

“Mhm,” Hans agrees again with an idle nod. Eyes still closed, mouth still making out with Henry’s balls. He is not even sure which part of Henry’s comment he agreed with. Perhaps all of them.

“Fuck,” Henry whines highly. Not far from Hans’ sensitive ears, Henry starts jerking himself off.

Hans attempts to grab Henry’s entire sack from behind just in order to stroke it carefully, pulling at it up and down while the front is positively drenched in Hans’ saliva by now. Henry’s reaction is to speed up his stroking, a pride that makes Hans borderline ecstatic.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Henry groans. “You can do a bit more, though. Be a good boy and suck on them.”

Hans whimpers at the tone of his command but does as he is told: opens his mouth wider and presses the circle of his lips to the bottom of Henry’s tight balls. Taking yet another long sniff of the earthly, animalistic, unwashed smell, Hans sucks whatever he can into his mouth. He whines unhappily as he remembers that his teeth are too pointy for him to even try put more of the sack between his lips. So, instead, he uses his tongue to lap and tease. Henry above him is moaning so sweetly.

But even that soon becomes deaf to Hans’ ears as worshipping Henry’s body is the only thing that matters.

Hans raises his other hand to grasp at the tight buttocks. Just to push himself tighter into Henry’s crotch.

Suddenly, Henry shifts and a lazy half opening of his eyes tells Hans that Henry put a leg on the chair. Hans is incredibly delighted as now he can get even lower under Henry and even deeper into the thick expanse of hair leading all the way through Henry’s arse crack.

Somewhere there, Hans gives the back of Henry’s balls long broad licks. He hums happily, as the wrong and uncleanliness of it all tastes better than any other feast could. Hans has absolutely no idea how much time he spends clawing at Henry’s arse and changing where he is sucking and licking at Henry’s hairy balls and where he is cradling and stroking them.

But he doesn’t need to know. He doesn’t need to know anything now, only Henry. Henry, his Henry, and his large body, his strong muscles, his dominant musk, his thick hair, his Henry that would never hurt him.

Hans is simply so fucking content with where he is right now.

Henry’s dark crotch becomes distorted and barely distinguishable as Hans’ eyes roll to the back of his head. He shudders on an unbound moan.

He is right where he decided to be. It is perfect and other-worldly, and he wants it, needs it, to never end.

It feels like he is in the middle of their favourite secluded meadow where he can do the best thing in the world: lay in the soft grass with Henry and watch the blue summer sky as they are holding each other, their bodies and minds melting not just from the warm sunrays but also from the calm that not even the best poets could describe.

Hans faintly hears a muffled shout that would be out of place in any of his few precious memories from this meadow. There, nothing is ever muffled. It is their haven, their sanctuary, where they can be their true selves. Hans can almost feel the arm Henry has around his shoulders in his memories, as they are talking in quiet peace to each other. But this hand is rubbing at his shoulder from above instead, not curled around Hans. It almost sounds like someone is shushing a horse somewhere.

But then, a large hand presses Hans’ face to the side where he meets sweaty skin. Salty, heavy, and familiar. Hans sniffs at it. Something is missing, however. There is no soft breeze or smell of many different wildflowers. Only burning wax and still air.

Out of nowhere, something is pressed against his lips. Hans expects an apple or a piece of bread that Henry would feed him as a snack on their fake hunting trips. But then, a cold metallic… ridge? It is a… goblet? A deep voice is encouraging him to drink, so he tries to, even if his mouth struggles to comply. His lips hurt, he realises. A hand tilts Hans’ head to let him drink. He gets only a few careful gulps in because his throat is scratchy and uncomfortable like a fresh wound rubbed raw. Hans shakes his head angrily until the offensive goblet disappears.

Then, his body is definitely being moved. He is not happy with this course of action as he wants to just lay down in the grass.

“Henry,” he whines, dissatisfied, immediately calling for his knight that always makes everything right. Surely, he can fix this, too.

“I know, I know. Just hold on a bit.”

So it is Henry whose neck vibrates with use against Hans’ cheek.

Well, then Henry should not manhandle him anymore like this and—

“Here,” Henry grunts.

Oh, Hans is laying in a soft bed now. His stiff legs like that much more than the grass. He stretches lazily, his knees and shoulders popping satisfyingly. The attempt to open his eyes with an idle hum is difficult. It takes him a few watery slow blinks to put the vision of the meadow back to his most treasured memories.

The first thing he sees is Henry leaning over his legs and undoing the straps on Hans’ shoes.

Hans would marvel loudly at the way the muscles of the naked man are flexing, but he does not have the energy for much more than keeping his eyes half-open. He also doesn’t want to return to the pain in his throat.

When Hans’ shoes are out of the way, Henry gives his feet a few quick yet firm squeezes. The toes and ankles too pop softly and the stiffness Hans didn’t even realise he had, gets considerably better.

Henry finally looks up. The beautiful bright smile surrounded by a brown beard makes Hans involuntarily melt even deeper into the bed.

“There you are,” Henry exclaims softly. The crinkle in his eyes is similar to how he looks at Hans after battle when he sees he is uninjured or after a mission when they meet again after some time apart.

“Hmm,” Hans hums to let Henry know he is getting back to his room and is leaving the sunlit summer behind. He clears his throat with difficulty. “C’mere.”  

Though he is now fully aware that the surroundings are much darker and more angular, Hans still has eyes only for Henry who takes two long steps to reach for Hans’ pourpoint. For how massive his fingers are, he is quite effective at quickly undoing the buttons keeping the moderately warm fabric together.

Hans only sighs dreamily and lets Henry do all the work of removing his clothes. But when the calloused hands come to the collar of Hans’ coat, he chases them with his lips.

Henry wordlessly complies and cups Hans’ face gently. Pressing a kiss, then another, to the centre of the palm, to the side of the thumb, is like a need to him. With his eyes drifting shut blissfully, he thinks he can feel his chest rumble with satisfaction from Henry stroking his face so sweetly and warmly.

But then, Henry removes his hand to pull Hans’ coat from his shoulders. That decidedly does not sit well with Hans, and he lets Henry know as much with a petulant whine and a scowl targeted at Henry’s eyes.

“Aw, but come on, Hans, you cannot sleep like this,” Henry chuckles and does not stop manhandling Hans to remove his clothes.

Hans hates that Henry doesn’t have his hands on him properly, so he is not helping Henry at all as a sign of protest. Somewhere, in the side of his half-closed vision, he notices Henry shake his head.

And then, he is completely gone from beside the bed.

Hans’s eyes widen even more with panic.

“Henry, no, no, come back, please,” he croaks out painfully. He is pleading before he can even comprehend where Henry has gone off to.

Tears return to Hans’ eyes.

Was he not being good for Henry, after all?

What did he—

“Hey, hey. Easy, Hans,” Henry rushes back and runs a comforting hand through Hans’ hair.

He makes a noise of relief that is probably close to a sob.

“I just need to put your clothes aside and blow out the candles. I will be back with you right away,” Henry reassures him, but it still doesn’t sound acceptable to Hans.

“No, no. Stay,” he whimpers.

Henry kneels down and now their faces are mere inches apart. His blue eyes bear into Hans’ own as he wipes the tears from Hans’ face with his thumb.

“I’ll be back before you know it. I promise you,” Henry vows, voice unshaken and steady.

And that is the thing, isn’t it? When Henry makes a promise, he does not break it. Especially when he swears something to Hans.

That is Hans wholeheartedly certain of.

He nods once, jerkily.

Henry presses a quick kiss to his forehead and steps away from the bed. His departure leaves Hans with cold empty air. He rolls to the side and hugs himself. Anything to battle this absence of Henry for a while. The room gradually darkens until only black and dark blue remain.

Behind him, the bed creaks under a new weight. A hand comes up to Hans’ own, gently untangling the grip made on his own stomach. He lets Henry do that and especially likes that idea when Henry presses himself to the entirety of Hans’ back. Mostly dried up hair of Henry’s pecs rubs against his shoulder blades. Hans sighs in relief. Henry always comes back to him.

“My treasure,” Henry presses two kisses to the back of Hans’ neck as he begins idly running his left hand across Hans’ chest. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Hans grunts out without having to even think of the answer.

Hans can feel Henry smile.

“No wonder. You were so, so perfect for me. Worked so hard to make me feel utterly amazing.”

Did he?

“I—But you only—” Hans looks above his left shoulder but stops himself as he’s fishing in his blurry memory. Henry coming once is not an achievement at all.

“Hmm, you were so lost in pleasure I think you hardly even noticed you finished just before I did for the second time. You are always so beautiful when you come apart like that,” Henry praises warmly.

Hans is glad Henry cannot see him that well. He bets his cheeks redden up with embarrassment. If he isn’t red as an apple already. Coming in his hose is something that he had done multiple times before, but doing so without even realising it might be a first.

Henry raises his hand for Hans to see the deep tooth mark across his own fist.

“This is what you made me do, you heathen.”

Henry drops it back again so he can resume running his outstretched palm across Hans’ skin.

Hans smiles at the humorous accusation.

“God, Hans, you were so ruined down there, face all red and wet, that I simply couldn’t help but come so hard that I had to bite my hand not alert the entire castle as I—” Henry stops himself. Even his hand stills.

“As you what?” Hans frowns despite his exhaustion.

“Well, let’s just say some of my come might’ve landed on your pourp—”

“What?!” Hans’s eyes open up wide, his body springs up from the bed to sit in search of his expensive coat.

But a sharp pang pain lets him know that despite his young age, his overworked back did not appreciate that suddenness after such a long day.

He hisses; his pursuit immediately abandoned.

“Woah, woah, careful,” Henry draws out with soothing and supporting touches on Hans’ back. “It is nothing. Let’s lay back down.”

“Yes, ugh,” Hans rasps out through scratchy throat and moves down, but fortunately, Henry helps him the rest of the way.

This time, Hans turns to his other side, so he is facing Henry. For a while, they are both silent. Henry is clearly waiting for Hans to say something as they are looking into each other’s eyes.

Endless devotion, loyalty, and love. Warmth that the colour blue should not emit. Caretaking and defying the odds. That’s what Hans sees Henry do every single day and tonight was no different.

Hans is proven right immediately when Henry pushes Hans’ sweaty hair from his face. One of the smallest gestures Henry does for him, but still inseparable strokes of the grand painting.

“Thank you. For everything,” comes to Hans’ mind and tongue easily.

Not many more words could better define what Henry deserves to hear from him every single day. Suddenly overwhelmed by the importance this man has in Hans’ life and heart, Hans wraps himself tighter around Henry’s body: chests pressed together, arms hugging each other’s torsos, legs tangled like vines. Hans lets his eyes fall shut again as he presses his face into the crook of Henry’s neck. The bulkier yet shorter man sighs. It sounds a lot like defeat. Most probably, he wants to tell Hans once again that he should stop thanking him. Hm, perhaps he—

On his ponderous inhale, the smell of heavy salty sweat kicks Hans’ nose like a horse.

“Ugh, you stink,” Hans groans with disgust.

Henry has the gall to laugh.

“You mean ‘we’. You’re not exactly a garden flower yourself,” Henry manages in the middle of all his laughter.

Hans grumbles. “We should have a wash.”

Henry scoffs. “This late? No way. I wiped us both quickly as much as I could for now. We will go to the baths during the day.”

Hans is too tired to fight, so he admits bitter defeat with a sigh.

“Very well. But you’re getting my clothes and the bedsheets washed, too,” Hans lists his conditions and yawns. His cheek brushes Henry’s beard in a way Hans loves. He even nuzzles closer to it.

“As you wish. Anything for you,” Henry reassures him and gives the top of his head a kiss.

“Hmm…” Hans just hums, bone deep exhaustion tethering him into the mattress. “Good.”

He lets his body still completely. His long and tiresome day is finally over. After a few silent moments, Henry whispers:

“Good night, Hans.”

“G’night, Hal,” Hans mumbles back weakly.

That’s all it takes. No formalities or polite curtsies.

Things are simple with Henry, after all.