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The swaying visage of Sir Hans Capon of Pirkstein shuffling in a wobbly line down the main street of Rattay was, unfortunately, a rather common sight.
Most evenings would see the young Lord with a tankard of ale between his fingers, foam lining the curve of his lips as he swallowed it down in droves. His raucous drinking was always accompanied by lengthy diatribes about anything he deemed funny enough to rant about, punctuated by hefty slams to the table and giggles squeaking out of him in rapid succession.
Months ago, he used to rally any unlucky patron nearby into his musings, plonking himself down beside them with the confidence only alcohol and feudalism could provide; he hung off of them as if they were his closest companions, holding them hostage on a rickety tavern bench. He never remembered any of their names.
These days, his attention was caught solely by one person.
Much to the relief of the rest of Rattay.
“Henry!” Hans was shouting to the boy wandering along right beside him. “Henry, we should go back and have another, Christ, you drink so slowly .”
Henry, tattered red hood snug around his neck, merely shook his head at his drunken friend. “I just know how to pace myself, Sir.”
“Ooh, how sensible and righteous you are, you utter fucking bore!” He chortled, impressed with himself, hanging off of Henry’s arm like a draped shawl; yellow and bright against muted green.
Hans liked Henry. He liked him a lot. There was something impossibly entertaining about spending time with him, never mind the fact that Henry was arguably obligated to hover around Hans like a moth to a lantern. At the start, Hans had thought him a pest; mouthy and uppity, entirely too cocksure for a peasant boy with floppy hair and oversized boots.
Now, Hans took great pleasure in watching all manner of emotions pass across those droopy blue eyes; he revelled in making Henry’s face morph from that default dopiness to a range of deep and intriguing expressions. The boy had hidden multitudes, Hans wanted to carve him open and examine them all, to excavate him with his bare hands; he wanted Henry to want him to do it.
It was all a bit intense, but Hans supposed this was simply what friendship must feel like.
“C’mon, Sir,” Henry was humming into his ear, warm breath curling against the sensitive skin to make Hans shiver, “quit dragging your damn feet.”
“Don’t,” a hiccup, “don’t you order me around!”
He leant further onto the blacksmith, practically dangling from him, watching with glee as Henry’s cheeks turned a pretty pink with his frustration. So many colours, all on one man. Hans wanted to paint him in oils.
“Jesus, you’re sloshed.”
“No, no, my dear Henry. I’m squiffy but I’m happy ,” he grinned up at him, delighted by the smile that was curling onto Henry’s lips against his own wishes, “and that’s what makes me loud.”
“I can hear that, Sir.”
He sounded amused. Hans liked it when he was amused. His voice was lighter, less weighed down by reality.
He shuffled up, settling his arm firmly around Henry’s shoulders, pressing them side to side as their steps began to synchronise. “And none of that ‘Sir’ stuff right now, blacksmith’s boy. We are Hans and Henry tonight, dancing beneath the stars!”
Henry chuckled with a shake of his head, Hans felt proud of himself, “whatever you say, Hans.”
It bubbled through him, the way his name sounded on Henry’s lips; spoken sweetly, unlike what Hans was used to. It warmed him down to his toes.
They continued along the dusty road, kicking errant stones beneath their scuffed shoes as they wandered towards the lower castle. Hans had taken it upon himself to start singing, if only in the hope that Henry might laugh and speak his name again through the sound. Again, again . It took a firm punch to the elbow to get him to stop.
“Oh, join me in my chambers, won’t you, Henry? I don’t want to part from you yet.” He eventually ordered when they reached the stairs, one foot in front of the other as his booziness began to wane with the fresh air.
Henry simply nodded with a roll of his eyes, grip still firm within the fabric of Hans’ pourpoint, holding up his Lord like a dutiful soldier. The door was pushed open gracelessly, the two of them stumbling in and slamming it behind them, likely alerting the entirety of Pirkstein to their presence inside.
Hans’ room was always colder than he liked, but the heat from Henry’s body beside him was more than enough to keep him jubilant. He had painted walls, wine on his tongue, and a friend around his waist; he was more than satisfied.
“How joyous it is to be alive, eh, Henry?”
His page snorted, setting Hans down onto his bed with a thump, discarding him like a bundle of logs to a fireplace. “It’s easy to feel joyous with a belly full of grog, aye.”
“And full my belly certainly is!” Hans laughed, reaching forwards without preamble to heave Henry down onto the furs beside him. “But do you feel good? Enjoying the night?”
Damp brown hair fell messily against his sloping forehead, sticking slightly against the sheen of sweat Henry was accumulating. He had a gorgeous flush to him, like berries or poppies or some other vermillion wonder. Hans liked it, the way it made Henry glow.
“Yes.” Placating, perhaps, but no less sweet to hear. “I’m having a nice time with you, Hans.”
The young lord grinned with it, slumping back against the wall parallel to Henry, wiggling his feet a little where they hung off the bed.
“Hah, now we’re only missing one thing to make it a truly perfect bout.” He felt himself warm with it, a pleasant hum in his gut.
Henry settled into place beside him, notably less sloppy but still with a tipsiness swirling around him, smoke about a forge. “What’s that?”
“Women, my friend!” Hans raised a finger and waggled it, feeling very much like a sage or a scholar. “The saying goes ‘wine, women and song’, after all.”
Henry shook his head with a tired smirk, grabbing ahold of Hans’ hand and slamming it back down, strangely authoritative. “Bit late for that now, Hans.”
“Ugh, I know, it’s one of the great tragedies of life; why must the bathhouses close?” His fingers began to tingle, sandwiched between his friend and his thigh. “Don’t they know my roaring beastie doesn’t sleep?”
“Eugh, I’m sure you can wait until sunrise.”
Hans flicked his head at him, hair falling in a haughty little tuft against his brow. “Just because I can doesn’t mean I want to.”
Henry rolled his eyes, “well, you have to. Shall I pour some water over your braies to cool your fires, hm?”
Hans wasn’t really listening, his mind starting to wander away from him, a stray dog on a winding track. “What a gift they are, though, eh? Bathhouses? I mean, the ease of it all. I’d live there if I could, surrounded by wenches and booze.”
“I think your prick would stop workin’ if you spent that much time there, Hans.” He was chuckling as he said it. The sight made something lumpy gather within Hans’ throat, which he swallowed down in his haste to retort.
“Never. I’m a monster, Henry, I can go for hours.” As if to enunciate his point, he let his hips rise and sink for a beat, creaking the bed frame as he went. “It’s why I’m endlessly popular with the ladies.”
“Mhm, nothing to do with all the money you pay them-“
“Henry! Do you doubt my bedroom prowess?”
His page set him with a withered look, though his eyes dropped down Hans’ body quicker than the snap of a branch; skimming the outline of him through his attire, peeking at the bottom of his pourpoint as if to assess his claim. Hans let his legs open a little wider; confident, smug. Henry blinked and brought his gaze back up in an instant, cheeks a faint shade of pink.
“I think you exaggerate.”
Hans gasped in semi-mock offence, shuffling closer, feeling the air around Henry meld with the buzz of his own, charging them both into the coming conversation.
“Oh, you do, do you?” He honed in, close enough to taste the pungent waft of ale as it danced around Henry’s lips. “What’s your metric, eh? Think your skills are better than mine?”
Oddly, Henry quietened at that, casting his gaze to the wooden floorboards, “it’s not a competition-“
“Oh. Oh dear,” Hans pushed in even closer, watching as Henry’s ears grew pinker and pinker, “you’re not a bad lay, are you?”
“Ahh fuck off,” shoulders hiked up, so emotive in his humble little way, “it’s nothing like that.”
“No?”
“No.”
Hans was enjoying this. Henry was a one-man show in front of him, responding so earnestly to Hans’ musings. It stoked a fire deep in his gut, the burning desire to continue to wrench any and all reactions from the sweet blacksmith sat next to him.
“How are you, then? In the sack?”
He heard him bristle. Saw his eyes widen, impossibly blue, the light of every candle dancing within the black void of his pupils. Eyelashes fanning upwards as Henry balked.
“I’m not saying-“
Hans grinned, cocking his head, watching with glee as Henry’s brows pinched with frustration. “Come now, this is a key part of camaraderie. Relay the details of your dalliances, if you’re so certain they went well!”
“Hans, it’s late-“
“I’ll tell you about mine.”
Heartbeats, steadily quickening with the game. Henry met his gaze, his mouth hanging open a little, “…I don’t want to hear it.”
He didn’t sound convincing in the slightest.
“No?” Thighs aligning with the proximity, a giddiness bouncing out of Hans like a hare freed from a cage. “Worried I outperform you?”
“You’re such a bloody showoff.” Though the redness of his skin and the lift of his lips lessened the insult.
“That wasn’t a no.” Hans could hear his own voice lowering, for reasons he couldn’t name. He was teasing him. It was fun. “How about a story for a story?”
Wide pupils, intrigued, fascinated. Locked behind bars that Hans wanted to shatter. “I can’t.”
“Aww, so stubborn.” He pouted, blowing out his lips and watching as Henry’s eyes tracked the movement. “Are you really that shy? I won’t force you-“
“It’s not that, you arse, I just-”
“Mmm?” Even closer, skin almost touching, sing-song tone. “Tell me, I won’t judge.”
“I,” a glower, annoyed red cheeks, prettier than the girls Hans was dreaming of, which was an entirely unorthodox thing to think, “I haven’t yet. That’s all.”
A pause.
A breath.
Holy fuck.
“Holy fuck.”
Henry groaned immediately, thumping Hans on the thigh. “Oh, shut it-”
He could scream from the rooftops; God, Henry was so damn interesting. “You’ve seriously never had a single girl? Ever ?”
“No, not all the way, are you happy now?”
“No, I’m fucking devastated. On your behalf! Good God, Henry, how are you alive ?” His mind was racing with hundreds of thoughts, hundreds of questions, hundreds of visions of what Henry was missing. “I’d have croaked years ago if my pizzle wasn’t tended to at least twice a week!”
“Lord, what a bloody wordsmith you are.” Despite his words, there was the tiniest curl to his mouth, as if he couldn’t help but be entertained by Hans’ flailing and flapping.
It made him bark out a laugh. “Explain yourself!”
Henry shrugged, rustling the torn little hood nestled against his collarbones, fiddling with a fray in his hose. “I just haven’t wanted to yet.”
“ What ?” It was as if the man were from another plane of existence. “You haven’t wanted to?”
“I know it’s hard for someone who thinks with their cock rather than their head to understand.” Henry suddenly jabbed, a surprisingly confident grin working onto his lips as Hans gaped at him.
Jaw like a hinge, though the notches of his spine were tingling with humour, “the insolence! How dare you!”
He pulled himself up, eye to eye with Henry, leaning into him with an egregiously heavy sigh. It billowed out of him like a gale before he began to tut, rhythmic, the tapping of a tree bird.
Henry rolled his eyes. “What now?”
“I just pity your poor prick, Hal, I really do. He’s neglected .”
Henry snorted, undoubtedly against his own will. Hans bloomed a little with it. “My prick is fine, thanks. I can handle it on my own.”
A flash of it; thick, callused fingers shimmying into secondhand braies, tugging and fumbling beneath the fabric until everything grew sodden with sticky stains and sweat.
Hans shook his head at the thought.
“A woman’s hands are better, believe me.” He stated, if anything just to dislodge the prior vision from his mind. “And you can’t forget the intoxicating dance of it all; two partners bound for each other, pushing but pulling all at once-“
“Ah, how poetic.” Henry huffed, smiling a little at him, mocking.
Hans prickled, with what he did not know. “You wouldn’t understand, it’s beyond you.”
He heard the other swallow, saw him shuffle against the furs, conceding something. Thinking, whirring away to himself. Hans was never enraptured by things so small, and yet he could count each freckle as Henry made his move.
“Fine.” Haughtier, blue eyes trained on the skirting boards. “Tell me how you do this ‘dance’, if you’re so good at it.”
Ooh.
A challenge?
Fire began to broil; his heart quickened with it, an exciting spark swimming through his veins as his pulse thrummed with the need to prove himself, to win , to make Henry admit he was, in fact, damn fucking good at it.
He flicked his hands out, raised his eyebrows with a wink and let the act wash over him.
“It starts before you’re even near her, that’s rule number one. A lonely but willing damsel across the room, just aching to be wooed-“
Henry balked at the stance, a disbelieving grin on those pink lips, “getting into character, eh?”
“Hush, hush; I’m setting the scene, you troglodyte.” Hans cleared his throat, before laying his gaze onto Henry with a newfound heaviness, a lidded thing, a hazy thing. “Eye contact is paramount. You want her to know you see her, that you’re watching her constantly, taken by her before you really take her, get me?”
Henry’s eyelashes were long. They batted whenever his pupils moved from one side to the other. Hans could see a tiny bead of sweat clinging to one, reflecting the candlelight as it held. Captivating to look through, curtains before the blue.
“Right, and after you’ve stared her down like a rabid animal?”
Hans grinned, inching closer. “That’s when I start to touch her, if she’s been watching me back - which, let’s be honest, she always has. Fleetingly, though. I brush her hair from her face, or trail my fingers down her wrists as I talk to her, doesn’t even matter what she’s saying.”
He felt his own twitch with the desire to demonstrate, keen performer that he was. Henry’s sleeves were rolled up, hairy arms sun-kissed and freckled. Hans’ skin so clean and unblemished.
“It’s all about slowly getting closer,” he leant in, “you want your breath to mix with hers, to taste her flavour in the air. Sets the mood, you know?”
The bed creaked as they swayed a little, Henry sliding closer to the wall with a small exhale. A puff visible within the chill of the room. “I think you’re full of it.”
Hans rolled his eyes, feeling foggy, a cloud dispersing within his head. “I knew you wouldn’t appreciate my art.”
“I have actually done all of this before, Hans.”
“Hm, have you?” He sat up, enjoying the small inch he had on Henry, using it to stare down the slope of his nose. “Then you know what comes next, eh?”
“You kiss her, ‘course.”
The bluntness made him smile.
“Mhm, you can. But you have to match her pace with it; if she’s fast, you go fast.” Henry blinked, a languid press of his eyelids, as if he were dazed. “Or, you go nice and slow. I like that more, makes it last so much longer. Her mouth on mine, making her pant with it.”
Henry swallowed at that.
Perhaps it was his preference, too?
“Fine,” His blacksmith’s voice had dropped lower, weight in the lake of his tone, swimmable, “then what?”
Hans had to picture it. A phantom of a woman settling onto his lap, her thighs spread across him as she leant in close, her lips pressed firm into his own as he raised his hands. Hovered them where her hips would be, slid them up to the curve of her waist, flicked a brow over at Henry who was tracing the ghost of her with his eyes.
“Take a guess.”
He felt the stirrings of real heat where the mirage of his girl sat, smirked with it, letting the drunkenness morph with what his imagination was providing, solidifying her against himself as Henry watched.
“She’s already on you,” Henry mumbled, a little tremor to it, “you’re skipping ahead.”
“Oh, am I?” He squeezed his hands together, mimed pulling up fabric inch by inch, letting his mirth wash over him. “This where you need details, hm? A bit lost now?”
“Sod off.”
“What am I doing, then?”
Henry flapped in the direction of his act, the bumps of his knuckles stained with red. The room was cold, after all. “Lifting her skirts.”
“Mm, good lad, very astute.” He teased, shooting Henry a wink which he slapped out of the very air. “She’ll be writhing by now, slippery like a snake-“
“Eugh, don’t say it like that.”
“-her head falling back, neck bared to me.”
His page slumped against the wall, the pale of his throat stretched for Hans to see. Glassy eyes peeking over the curve of his cheeks. He was breathing heavily, matching Hans’ tempo.
“You g’nna kiss it?”
The suggestion fizzled down him, his tongue growing wet within his mouth. “Is that what you would do?”
“Yeah, I mean- If it’s there.”
“…She’d like that.”
His throat felt tight as he let his head slump forwards slightly, feeling oddly barren. Henry’s neck looked thick, Adam’s apple bobbing with a laden gulp.
Affected.
“You’re still clothed, Hans.” He muttered, pointing dismissively at his yellow pourpoint. Like an arrow to the chest, fired without warning.
Did Henry want him to-? “I…”
“The girl would’ve started undressing you by now, don’t you think?”
Trying to catch him out.
“Well, yes, if she’s bold.” Hans suddenly felt stifled by the clasps running up his chest. “Though, I suppose I do tend to go for girls with a bit more oomph to them.”
Henry smirked at that, voice heavier than lead. “Oh yeah? You like them mouthy? Talking back to you?”
It made him shiver, how much he liked it. Henry had him read like a book. “Perhaps. Makes it more fun.”
“Mm,” blue to blue, observing, heated, “I think I like that, too.”
“Yeah?”
“…Yeah.”
A strange truce, though neither knew what the battle was.
“It’s hot.” It wasn’t, the logs cold within the pit, slips of wind sneaking through the gaps in the windows. But Hans’ blood was pumping fire through his veins, burning him raw with a quiet intensity. “I’m hot.”
Henry’s red cheeks were testament that he felt similarly. The lad let out tiny chuckle, a challenge in his eyes, piercing, “let the girl get to her task, then.”
Hans moved on instinct, his hands lifting from his invisible maiden to the tight fabric at his throat, taking the top clasps between his fingers as he began to unfasten himself. “I suppose it’s only fair. Sex is an exchange, after all.”
“Ah, how wise.” Henry muttered, watching as pale skin was revealed button by button, stopping midway down his torso. “I’m sure the women swoon when you describe it such a romantic way.”
“Fuck off, at least I’ve been inside them. Unlike a certain someone.” He waggled his fingers at Henry after pulling his pourpoint open at the chest, letting his clavicle breathe. “Which, if you recall, is the entire point of my bawdy tale in the first place.”
Tipsy eyes skimmed across Hans’ breastbone, over every bump and ridge, charting a map, “yeah, yeah; wouldn’t want you to forget the very real girl on your lap, would we?”
The mouth on him. Pink and obstinate. Hans watched as it slid between Henry’s teeth for a bite, popping back out a shade darker.
Menace.
“This is where you need to listen, Hal.” Control laced into his tone as he opened his thighs wider, crowding Henry into the corner between headboard and wall. “Because I’d take her with my fingers next.”
It was fun to watch Henry’s brows rise.
“Hell. Okay.”
The image of it played in Hans’ head; lightly tanned legs, brown hair, strong against his hand. “First I’d have her suck on them. Easier that way, helps them slide right in.”
Henry’s mouth was open a little. Pink tongue, white teeth. Hans’ skin itched for the sensation, his mind scrambling his visions and his reality.
“And once they’re in?”
“Obviously I move them, you dolt.” He chuckled as Henry bristled, kicking his leg into Hans’, warmth into warmth. “Otherwise it’s pointless for them to be in there.”
“I know that. I mean details.”
“Alright, alright, eager beaver.” Something wicked flooded him, an idea he should run from. Alas, boldness was in his blood. “Give me your hand.”
Henry held it up startlingly quick.
His flesh was rough as Hans took ahold of it, curling the thick fingers into a loose fist, feeling the bumps of the bones and the thrum of his pulse. Fast, insanely so.
Without preamble or time to reconsider, he turned his own hand up and promptly pressed two fingers into the space between Henry’s curved thumb and forefinger, sliding into his enclosed palm, sword to a sheath.
“Christ, are you-?”
“Yup, you’re my wench for today, pal.” He said it with a grin, starting to flex and curl his fingers within Henry’s hand, showing his technique with precision.
However, Henry didn’t look convinced.
“Bit… rough, ain’t it? Don’t think a girl would be very impressed-”
Hans felt like withering away. “God’s wounds, Henry, she would be wet . I’m very good at getting the ladies excited for me. Your hands can’t replicate that.”
A frown. “…I reckon they can.”
“They can’t .”
“No?”
“No!”
At that, Henry clenched his fist around Hans’ fingers, pulling them up with a boisterous yank. He had a competitive smirk on his lips, releasing his hold only to reattach at the wrist.
“You’d get her to suck ‘em, you said?”
“I, yes, what are you-“
Hans could hardly withhold the startled gasp that fell from him as Henry leant forward and took those fingers straight into his mouth. His maw was hot with the heady remnants of alcohol, tongue damp as it slid up and around Hans’ skin, coating his digits thoroughly with a warm wetness. It felt bizarre, pooling in his gut deep enough to make him sink.
Henry stared into him through it, smirking around his hand. Arrogant. Smug.
Hans suddenly balked with the realisation that Henry was now fucking winning .
Which, of course, was not permitted.
In retaliation, he bent his free fingers down, haphazardly shoving them into Henry’s mouth alongside the others, four soldiers in a strong line. He felt Henry suck determinedly on them for a firm two beats until he spluttered and released Hans’ entire platoon, conceding the fight.
A string of saliva trailed between them as Hans barked out a triumphant laugh.
“Thought you could shock me, you hungry beast?” His nails were coated, dribbling down to his wrist. He found he didn’t care.
Henry’s face was damp as he let out a husky chuckle, “just following your expert technique, master Capon.”
Deep within his ribcage, Hans could feel his heart thrum against the bones, exhilarated by whatever this mad competition was. “Well, I admit you did the job, however sloppily. I mean Christ, Hal, look at your chin . Dribbling like a dog-“
Henry shoved him, wiping the evidence away with his sleeve before holding his fist back up, raising an arched brow. “Now show me proper.”
It took no goading; with a dramatic flick of his wrist, Hans slid his fingers straight back in. The newfound slickness was a notable improvement, a satisfied smile stretching on his face now that he could finally show off his real skills. The cavern of Henry’s hold was his to trace, curving against the ridges of the rock as if to search for gold encased within.
The focused pinch of Henry’s mouth was evidence enough that he could tell the difference.
“See?” Cocky, proud of himself, voice richer than wine. Hans couldn’t help himself as he leant in and whispered, “imagine how fucking good this’d feel inside, Hal.”
A visible shiver shot down Henry beside him; his legs sliding together, spine snapping rigid for a beat before it loosened up again. Vividly picturing his girl. Must be.
“Hah,” and Lord, his friend sounded so wobbly, “how long do you…?”
Hans allowed himself a final curl of his fingers before he slid them back out, moving to pat the top of Henry’s fist like a proud mentor. “Until she’s shaking with it, my friend. But you don’t want that to be the end, otherwise you’ll miss out on the grand finale.”
Remembering that tidbit made something trickle downwards, that familiar tingling sensation between his legs that he knew oh so well. A quiet rush starting to flood him.
Henry’s tone was that of a fascinated pupil, rapt yet shaken all at once. “So show me.”
It felt almost otherworldly to acknowledge the other’s presence beside him as his own body stirred to life; a forbidden person, warm and physical, tangible and panting.
Fuck, he was starting to feel drunk with it, even more so than with whatever wine was still washing around in his bloodstream. It seemed his blacksmith didn’t even realise the state he was in either, gazing over at Hans with open hunger painted clean across his face. Lost in the story.
The sight had Hans’ braies tightening. He pulled his clothes down further and swallowed. The heat of the room was getting to him, the performance seeping into his bones, melting the marrow and turning him weak.
Henry noticed his pause, his face scrunching into a frown, still awash with thirst even through his flippant tone.
“Hans?”
“Yeah- Right, uh,” stammering, stupid, “well, by now all your clothes will be off, ease of access to where it matters.”
His groove had been thrown, distracted from his fantasy by the very real and very enraptured Henry next to him. He needed to reclaim his stance.
“Ah. Letting it hang out in the open?” Henry asked, suddenly grinning. “Aren’t you normally hiding somewhere public? I’ve heard your endless bragging about that.”
He couldn’t help but snort, the glee of a pig in muck. “In the case of sneaking around, you’re staying clothed. But right now I’m in my girl’s room, the door is locked, and my prick is free to fly, alright? The ladies always like to get a good long look at it, anyhow.”
“Pssh,” Henry smirked, his eyes dipping to Hans’ crotch with the tiniest flick, “I’m sure it’s not all that impressive.”
Offence smashed into Hans as his mouth fell open in disbelief, gaping over at Henry who looked very amused with himself. “I’ll have you know my pizzle is prized .”
“Mhm, sure, sure.”
“I’m serious! I’ve had some very good feedback-“
A laugh burst out of Henry at that, sudden like canon fire; his teeth were bright sparks beneath the candlelight, face lit up something wonderful. Hans normally liked when girls would laugh like that in bed with him, enjoying her joy in tandem, but this was something entirely different.
“What, did you make them give you a score out of ten?”
“Oh, come off it, I just meant they’d inform me-“
“Christ, they did!” More laughter, leaning back into the wall, smiling at Hans like sunshine to dandelions, gold to gold. “God, you’re ridiculous, you ask for a cock review after-“
“They’re always highly complimentary, Henry!” Humour, so much of it, a lovely sound but too much, too much for his flustered chest. “You know what? I’ll fucking prove it, you knobhead, look here-“
The rustles of fabric echoed through the chamber, Henry’s chortles stopping short as Hans yanked his pourpoint up to let his braies breathe free in the ice of the room. A semi-firm imprint stood out beneath the white; long and slightly pink through the sheen. His pride and joy, and the ladies’ delight, resting against his thigh.
Everything slowed to a stop.
“…Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘ oh ’. I don’t call it a beastie for nothing.”
Henry didn’t respond.
Because he was staring .
Transfixed almost, pupils inking blue into black, tracing up and around Hans’ length as if he were committing it to memory. Rapturous attention, heavier than steel and twice as sharp. Hans felt his heart quicken beneath the weight of it, pressure building in his stomach; pressure building lower and lower and lower , nothing he could do to stop it.
Henry could see.
Henry was watching it happen.
There was naught but the quiet passing of loaded breath as a heady standstill stretched between them; the calm before the storm, an impasse set to break.
Somehow, Hans managed to venture on.
“…So, uhm, she’d take ahold of it,” he whispered, starting again, noticing his page’s shoulders hitch, “pull it out and stroke all the way up.”
Henry’s fingers twitched. Hans couldn’t think about that.
“Right.”
“Sometimes I show them how I like it,” sweat slipping down the ridge of his chest, “if they’re, y’know, less experienced.”
Or completely new to it.
Hans noted the pink staining Henry’s cheeks, the way his ankles had come to cross where they hung off the bed. Boots still caked with the dust of Rattay’s paths, too wide around the width of his shins.
“And… how do you like it?”
They should stop. This should stop. This intoxicating challenge between them, the goading of a beast close to breaking its cage. Hans didn’t know what it would mean, his head flooded with hazy desire as he glanced down at his prick and saw it try to jump against his braies.
He shouldn’t.
“Hans?”
He shouldn’t .
“…You really want to know?”
His thigh was cramming Henry into the corner by now, warm along the length of their legs, shoulders together, tight, everything, so damn tight.
Henry let out a nervous huff and nodded.
Hans decided that was that.
He let his fingers skim the top of his braies, curl beneath them, slowly pushing the fabric down. Stalled a little, preparing himself, drunk with the insanity of the situation as he let the weight of responsibility fall from his shoulders. Further and further away from sense, until finally his cock sprung free.
Shining with sweat and slick; it was all too obvious, too revealing. The telltale ache of shame should’ve churned within his gut, the desire to stop, to hide, to forfeit this game and hand the blacksmith his crown.
But how could he run when Henry was looking at him like that ?
Drunk, as if he were in some kind of trance, staring up and down the length with his mouth drifting ajar. Something so loaded in his eyes, the desperation of a creature starved; Hans had never seen him like this, not in all the time he’d known him.
It was taking all his strength not to preen beneath the attention.
Another pause stretched out as he let Henry drink him in, forbidden ale dripping down his throat to make him swallow.
Until finally Henry whispered, nearly a whine in the restraint of it, “…show me, then.”
Something slammed back into place, a sudden and insane confidence crashing over Hans like a damning wave. He slid back into the shoes he knew so well, staring straight into Henry’s eyes as he took his cock into his fist.
“Watch.”
He began to work himself, putting on the exact show he would provide the bath girls as they scrubbed at his shoulders from behind, water lapping around him as he lavishly played beneath the surface. Climbing the length, thumbing the head, a full performance all for one person to see.
Henry’s hands were twisting the furs on the bed, thighs pressed together, clasped in a vice. Those pretty lashes damp with sweat.
Hans decided to tease, throwing his head back a little, to become what he knew he could be, “I always tell her if she’s doing well; make her feel pleased about herself.”
“Yeah?” Weightier than the grip of a sword, sweeter than its sting.
“Mmm, I tell her she’s doing good,” and he couldn’t think about why he leant into Henry then, their heads so close, his voice beside his ear, “so fucking good, Henry.”
Crazed by the way it made him shiver.
Something spellbinding in the honesty.
“…You touch her, too?”
Hans raised his eyebrow with a shaky laugh, “I trace her arms, caress her face, squeeze her legs-“
His spare hand drifted across the gap between them, brain a whirling fog as he let one nail skim up the length of Henry’s thigh, watched as the muscle jumped in its wake.
Henry’s eyes were so lidded, his tone so low. “She likes that?”
More fingers, pressing down, gripping the leg hard and firm, making him jolt.
“You tell me.”
Henry’s entire body twitched, chest heaving in waves. Hans couldn’t explain what was so addicting about it, all he knew was that he wanted more , wanted to drink him down faster than mead and revel in the afterglow until the sun returned to banish sin from the sky.
He wanted to show him everything.
“And eventually, when we’re both getting desperate for it, I’d finally lay her down,” he said, practically plastered against Henry’s side by now, mouth by his neck, honed on his heartbeat, “spread her legs in front me.”
Holding tight around his thigh, he slowly opened Henry’s legs and watched as those bunched braies pulled taught over his crotch with a hypnotic stretch. Henry was achingly hard under there, thick and straining against the fabric.
All because of Hans .
“Hah… And then?”
Willed forwards by intentions he could never name, Hans pressed his lips against the warmth of Henry’s throat, squeezed at his leg hard, pictured the grooves he was blossoming beneath the hose. Caught up in the moment, in the scents, in the sweet sound of Henry’s tunic rustling with the rise and fall of his chest.
Hans spoke straight into his skin, hot and possessed by an impossible feeling as he continued to stroke himself beside him, “I think you know exactly what’s next, Hal.”
Henry shuddered, one of his hands flying up to Hans’ hair, tangling into the strands, “ you’re meant to be the expert-“
“Mm, but I want you to say it.” What was he doing, what was he doing . “I want you to tell me what she wants.”
“She, I,” scrambled, starting to buck up into his braies, rolling his hips as Hans grinned into him, kissing into his pulse, “I don’t know what-“
“I think you do, blacksmith’s boy.” Henry squirmed at that, a beautiful sight. Hans’ words were falling from him faster than he could think them through, crazed with it. “Look at you, you want it as much as she does, don’t you?”
“Oh, fuck off,” Henry laughed through a whine, every inch of his neck coated with a wild redness.
“That’s not quite the right answer.” He teased, smiling against the skin as he felt Henry pull at his hair with abandon. “Come on, try again for me.”
“ Christ , Hans-“
“Say it. Say what she wants, say what you want.” His fist working himself close to the edge, senses overwhelmed with the humble pleasures of his friend, everything growing and growing, the pair of them shaking with it. “Tell me. Picture it, picture me.”
Henry was practically writhing against the bed, fisting Hans’ hair enough for the strands to sting, thrill in the sensations of it all. Hans could hardly breathe as he watched him, but moved his palm from Henry’s thigh to grab beneath his chin.
He tipped Henry’s head up and to the side, locking their gazes head-on, intersecting lines of shaking navy as their gasps mixed in the space between them.
Both on the brink.
Hans gripped his face firmer, nose to nose as his restraint finally ran dry, a wild idea brimming beneath his surface about to burst out of him and ruin him entirely.
“Hal,” and, fuck, did he burn with it, “say it and I’ll show you, Christ, I’ll fucking give it to you -“
Henry slammed his spare hand over his own mouth before Hans could even get the final words out. His eyes screwed shut, his hips bucked up from the bed, and a beautiful muffled moan seeped through the gaps in his fingers as Henry spilled straight into his braies.
From no touch at all.
“Oh, Hell, Henry, Henry,” holding him through it, watching him shake, feeling something loaded flood him to the core as Hans‘ entire being broiled inside himself, “my God, look at you.”
Henry only managed a shudder, letting his hand fall to whine a weak and blissed out, “ Hans .”
It barely took any more strokes before Hans followed suit mere moments later, dirtying his clothes as he spent himself with a shout, honed on his friend like a flower to the sun; looping the sound of his name on Henry’s lips like a mantra as he spilled, his phantom girl merely a footnote in the face of his page glowing beside him.
Henry was panting, eyes unmoving as he watched Hans through it all, his mouth open and heavy in the aftermath.
Laden breaths, tandem chests rolling next to each other, the spark of something insane flitting through the air faster and deadlier than the sharpest bolt. Hans knew he had been hit with it, the cavern behind his ribs aching in seeping serenity as he gradually came down from his high.
They were quiet after.
It was a long while before Hans finally let himself speak, the words dancing around a disbelieving little smile.
“All that and I didn’t even get to fuck her, you utter spoil sport.”
Henry blinked before his lips curled into a snort, whacking Hans weakly with his palm. Candles and moonlight melding on his skin, brighter than anything Hans had ever seen. Barring the grin on his face, perhaps.
Christ, he liked Henry. He liked him a lot. It was starting to eat him whole.
“Whose fault is that?” Red, red ears, red neck, red cheeks, everything, burning lovely and red. Embarrassed, elated, or both at once. “You and your damn stories.”
Hans felt his cheeks ache, sparkling over at him as hundreds of tales began to flit within his mind; adventures he could take him on, visions he could weave into his blacksmith’s reality. A new addiction filtering into his blood.
Perhaps they should’ve felt more ashamed, more shocked, but only giddiness painted their tired little chuckles as they allowed themselves to rest shoulder to shoulder.
“Sort of defeats the whole purpose of a performance if I miss the final act, though.”
Henry was slumped into him, soft and spent and so, so sweet. “Aye, well, I’m sure your one-man show will run more than once.”
Crossing a bridge, setting down stones. Solidifying ecstasy with shaking sinful hands. “And… Would a certain blacksmith desire a spot in the audience?”
“What?” Something shy crossed Henry’s face at that, a startled little glint in his eye. “You’d want to-? Again?”
The feeling bubbled into Hans, popping against his skin, making him flush and stutter out, “I, well. I mean. You didn’t even see the main feature! I’d be a pretty piss poor teacher if I didn’t help you with the full thing, wouldn’t you say?”
“Uh-huh,” Henry’s nerves were shifting into a quiet fondness, it had Hans’ chest aching something wild, “how very noble of you.”
“Well, of course! We are talking about me, after all; noble as they come.”
“Mhm, humble, too.”
“Oh, shush Henry.”
A giggle, softer than the sheets they were sat on. Hans liked it, the way it made his cheeks warm, how open and boyish it was. A sound he never heard much of before.
“Eugh,” Henry mumbled after a pause, pulling at his ruined braies, “I should go and change.”
Immediately, “no, no, stay! Just, y’know, borrow some of mine.”
Henry blanched, “you’d grace me with your Lordly undergarments?
“I am a benevolent and charitable soul, we know this. Plus it’s late, we can deal with it in the morning.”
Truly, he didn’t want him to go. It was becoming a very common sentiment. He hoped he wouldn’t get caught in it.
Henry’s warm smile was reassurance enough, though. “Alright, alright. I’ll get you some too, and new hose, what with the mess you made.”
“Just hazards of the craft, my friend!”
So comfortable. So easy. Everything Hans never knew he wanted. He watched Henry wander over to his wardrobe, hair all damp, the back of his neck slowly returning to its normal hue, and felt something stir deep within him.
The start of something fun.
“And… Hal?”
The start of something ridiculous.
“Yeah, Hans?”
The start of something new.
“…Rate my pizzle on a scale of one to ten?”
“Oh for God’s sake -“