Archive of Our Own

John groaned loudly, where he leaned over his large desk. The candles were burning low, and the slow creep of late summer into early autumn took the bright nights of summer with it. He hadn't been back to Nikolsburg Castle in what felt like an age. Strange how hiding in a basement under a tavern had felt more like home than the castle where he was born and raised. At home and cared for by a community that had been repeatedly burned by people like him. Nobles, Christians, and still took him in  

He had stayed in Kolin much longer than necessary, and found every way to delay his departure to join Jobst. Just waiting, hoping, to get a glimpse of home before he had to leave. In the end they'd been allowed a night, a few hours, almost in passing, where Samuel had still been in so much pain John couldn't even hold him. John had known when they had started this that they would most likely be ships in the night for the rest of their lives; it was included in the makeshift vows they'd exchanged in the basement. It didn't prepare him for having to leave his first and only love, his only true love, battered and bloodied, to go back to his life of subterfuge. That was months ago. 

The letters stopped making sense after a while, the papers bled together. The lines of maps mixing with handwriting and ink splotches in a new infuriating mess. Nothing that told John how to free the king and get him on the throne, as promptly as possible please and thank you. He straightened and his back cracked, stiffness had grown like rust over his spine. He pushed his hair out of his face, falling freely when not contained by his cap. It had grown past his chin now, he really needed to visit the barber before leaving. He had only really been meant to stop off at Nikolsburg to settle some affairs before setting off towards his estate in Austria, closer to their captive king. He supposed that's what was supposed to really be considered ‘home’, the land he owns, the part of the world his noble lineage had carved out for him. 

God, how John was starting to hate all of it. Hated being the queen on Jobst’s chessboard. Hated living in a world of men who looked out for themselves first and foremost. A world of pain, death and darkness.

“I told you lot, I do not wish to be disturbed!” John barked as the door whined open on its hinges. His head was beginning to pound, and the last thing he wanted was to be informed of some other duty he'd neglected or hear summons of one of his many relatives that haunted the castle with their innate chatter. 

“I hope that's not how you speak to your servants,” a familiar voice replied. That lilting melodic accent mixed with a baritone timber that spoke of the self-assuredness of a leader, a man forced to carry responsibility from boyhood.

John turned slowly, convinced he must be hallucinating from lack of sleep, or the wine finally going to his head; hell maybe he's fallen and hit his head and was currently bleeding out on the floor.

The tall figure by the door was shrouded in a dark cloak, but the silhouette cut out by the glow of the fireplace was so familiar.

“Sam?” John hesitated, voice brittle and threatening to break. 

A hand with long strong fingers, adorned with two golden rings – the twins of which sat on John's own little and ring finger– reached up and pulled down the hood. Samuel looked tired, even more tired than usual, haggard might be a more accurate description. He was unshaven, usually well maintained facial hair in disarray, his hair had grown longer, reaching his eyebrows and curling at the ends. 

“Oh god, am I dreaming? Samuel, Liebchen," John gasped, crossing the room in a half run. His hands did indeed make contact with the gaunt edges of Samuel's jaw and cheeks. “Oh my Sam, my darling, my love, my treasure! Jesus Christ be praised, you really are here!”

A tired smile flickered on Samuel's face, like he almost wanted to laugh at the declaration but simply couldn't muster the energy. His eyes were hollowed, bags under them even more pronounced than usual. “I am, as you can see.”

“But– I don't–” John exasperated, tears gathering like pearls on his waterline, “Do not mistake my confusion for displeasure, I'm overjoyed to see you, oh heavens, I was just thinking about you! It's like I summoned my very own angel.”

“You were?” Samuel asked, and he dared to be incredulous, like he didn’t believe John.

“Honestly, it may be less coincidental than you'd think,” It was so easy to fall into the old patterns of their conversations.“Since I spend nearly every minute of every hour thinking about you.” 

He still hadn't let Samuel go, fearing that he would disappear like a wisp of smoke if he did.

“It's a wonder Jobst keeps you in his employ,” Samuel muttered, one large hand coming to cover John's delicate fingers. The taller man leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on the bridge of his nose. The rasp of his facial hair tickled him.

“God, you're really here!” John whispered, breathlessly, but had the air forced back into his lungs by the millions of questions he had. “How did you get here? Why are you here? Is everything alright? Did something happen in Kolin?"

“I'll tell you, but first I need to sit down,” Samuel grunted, and John could see he was standing a little crooked, like his muscles were cramping in his legs and lower back. How many hours had Samuel spent on horseback, how little had he slept, just to get to Moravia? 

John was starting to actually worry, fearing what catastrophe had granted them this reunion.

“Oh of course, you must be tired, how incredibly ungracious of me” John fretted, letting go of Samuel reluctantly. The noble flitted about the room, pulling his most comfortable chair up by the fireplace, fluffing the pillow instinctively. He hadn't had another person –a person he truly cared for– visit his rooms before. All of John's previous trysts took place in the chambers of the other, it was a very useful excuse to have a peek at any stray papers lying around, mining a moaning body for useful information. Sex was power after all, it was hard to believe what secrets of state could slip out when wrapped up in another warm body.

“I'm afraid I've been a guest for so long I've quite forgotten how to host–” He started to ramble as his eyes drifted to half a plate of abandoned food that sat on his desk. “Are you hungry? I don't know what I have that you can eat but I'm sure–”

“John,” Samuel interrupted him, coming up close again and placing his hands in mirrored positions on John's own previously. His rings felt cool against John's cheeks, which were growing ever more feverish. 

“Yes, liebchen?” John asked.

“Stop talking,” Sam ordered, placing another chaste kiss on John's lips this time.

His calloused thumbs wiped away the dampness around his lover's eyes, pulling away from the kiss before John was strictly ready for it to be over. Samuel soothed the disgruntled little sigh with a kiss to John's furrowed brow. This close John could clearly see how weary and drawn his lover was, face ashen and body stiff. Something was plaguing him, yet he hadn't rushed in here like the world was coming to an end as John would expect.

“Have a seat, wait a moment, I just–” John gestured for the chair before rushing out the door. He exited with such force that he startled the poor maid sweeping the corridor. How long had she been there, had she seen Sam come in? Then again, he must've been guided here by someone, the castle could be hard to navigate and John purposely chose to be housed in the most remote quarters, he was hardly ever here anyway. 

“I wish to have a bath, please have someone draw the tub, and make sure to add sage and lavender,” John ordered, “A bring up some ale, the good one from the cellar, and some fruits and nuts,” That should be kosher enough, he'd have to look into how he was to feed Sam properly tomorrow. “And make sure to knock before you enter!”

He was sure this would fuel the castle rumor mill for days. 

“Oh yes sir, certainly my lord,” The girl curtseyed before running off, probably glad to be dismissed away from Lord John II and his eccentric ways. When he withdrew back into his room he made sure to lock the door behind him, just in case his last instruction was to be conveniently forgotten. 

Samuel had slumped over in the chair, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. He looked every bit the tragic hero of epic poems. Like Dante Alighieri or Petrarca had sprung him directly from their quills. And had not John pined for him like those great bards of yore had longed for their ladies?

“So, what's the matter, treasure? Why have you come?” John asked softly, but not mincing his words. He knew that Samuel didn't appreciate the false ingratiating speech nobles were so fond of. John knew Samuel so well by now, he knew to take up his post behind him, hand on the back of the chair. It was always easier to get Samuel to talk of certain matters if he didn't have to look John in the eye, an odd redundancy in the man, since his eyes would pierce John through when he listened to the noble speak. 

“Nothing is wrong, at least nothing of greater importance,” Samuel answered, but his voice was heavy with burden.

“Something must have caused you to rush half way across the country, beating your – no doubt still healing– body into this state, just to seek out this old fool.” John reached out to trace a knuckle along the taut line of Samuel's neck, very softly massaging the little rosette of muscles that lived there. He smiled as Samuel let out an involuntary groan.

Samuel just shook his head, sitting back up, letting John touch him, pet through his hair and knead his temples and tense jaw until he groaned and leaned his head back against John's stomach. “Can not the old fool himself be enough?”

John smiled, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. His hair was greasy, desperately needing a wash.

“I still can't believe this, how did you even get in here?” John wondered, “Did you sneak past the guards?”

The castle was heavily fortified, their garrison boasting large numbers of highly trained soldiers. The fact that Samuel had arrived without an escort, without being announced beforehand, nor John being summoned to meet him, spoke to some form of trickery.

“I showed them my ring,” Samuel holds out his hand, the signet ring bearing the Liechtenstein crest gleaming on his ring finger, as shiny as the day the replica was made. “Said I was carrying an important message for your ears only, then bribed the guard that guided me.”

“Well, I'll have to have a strict talk about routines, can't let them think they can let in any handsome stranger to ravage their lord.” 

“No, there's only one who is allowed the privilege.” Samuel produced a ghost of his usual smug smirk, but it still made John's inside flutter like bird wings.

He doesn't know how long they stayed like that, but a soft knock on the door of the adjoining room roused him. 

John gives Samuel's shoulder one last squeeze before he goes to open the door, just a crack. He's met by the bright eyes of a servant girl, and beyond her a room filled with fragrant steam. She's not being subtle about her attempts to catch a glimpse of the room that lies beyond her lord, curious about what scandalous secrets the infamous spy master hides behind him.

“The bath is ready for you, Sir John,” She informed him.

“Thank you, you may go,” He gestured towards the other door in the room, “I won't be requiring any more services tonight.”

She could barely hide her disappointment. Good to know he is still of some interest to the servant girls, they were usually the best sources of intel in any castle. She left without a fuss however, closing the door with a look back and curtsey. 

“What are you doing?” Samuel asked from behind him. 

John startled, turning to find Samuel's face inches from his own when he looked up at the man. He's frowning, a little more than what's just his neutral face. John must really be off his game, usually no one could sneak up on him, but leave it to Samuel to surprise him.

“I figured you might like to have a bath, after your long journey,” he smiled, reaching up to brush some imaginary road dust off Samuel's pourpoint, “You've just spent the last seven days on the road, after all.”

“Four,” Samuel corrected

“Jesus, did the horse survive?” John gaped.

Samuel doesn't answer the question, instead he glanced into the room, “You shouldn't have bothered the maids, it's late.”

“Sam, I spent months being a guest  in your home, at great cost on you and your people,” he stroked Samuel's moustache, which drooped at the edges, clearly not having been tended to for a while, “the least I can do in return is spoiling you when I've got the means.”

“It's not you spoiling me though, it's the staff,” Samuel grumbled.

“Yes, and they're paid handsomely for their troubles, now let me take care of you,” John clarified before steering Sam into the bath room, darting back to his desk to grab the half full pitcher of wine – because even if Samuel preferred beer, it's the one sacrifice John was not willing to make– before the steam and heat escaped.  

Samuel huffed, rolling his eyes, but he went willingly into the candlelit dim of the room. The lavish tub is filled with steaming water, filling the room with the scent of herbs. It almost made John dizzy. He'd stripped down to a tunic and hose –having not been far from giving up and trying for another few hours of restless sleep when his surprise guest arrived– and the fine fabric now clung to his back. 

He turned to Samuel, looking uncharacteristically wide eyed, like he had just come to the realisation that he was indeed in the main seat of one of the richest dynasties in all of the empire. 

“How did they fill it so quickly?” He mumbled, staring at the large basin. His gaze moved from the tub to the paintings on the walls, a scene depicting a great army marching towards somewhere. Probably led by some fictionalized version of an ancestor; not very relaxing in John's opinion.

“There's a well in the courtyard outside, so they do not have to walk far for water.” John started to undo the ties of Samuel's pourpoint, delighted that the muscles still remembered.  He stopped half way to undo Samuel's belt, placing it ever so gently on top of the chest by the window. The capital M etched into the dagger holstered there catched the moonlight, warped by the crown glass. He took the pourpoint out of Samuel's hands, shaking it out and folding it neatly. He placed it on the stool he'd designated for laundry, making a mental note to have them washed. He considered whether he should send for a tailor, have some new clothes made up for him, but John doubted Samuel would ever accept that.

“You don't have to undress me, us peasants are quite used to doing that by ourselves,” Samuel teased, sitting down on a stool. John didn't fail to notice how he grunted in pain as he bent over to take off his boots.

“I like undressing you, it’s an entirely selfish act, you just happen to benefit,” John smirked, sinking to his knees on the fur in front of the other. He took the heel of his boot in hand, dried mud and sand flaking, and pulled it off. 

Samuel’s breath hitched as he watched the display. John loved how his eyes would unfocus, like he was aroused by the sight of this powerful lord kneeling for ‘just a jewish bastard’ as he often called himself. John couldn't help but squeeze the firm muscle of Samuels calves as he undid his garters. He ignored the slight twitch beneath his fingers as he untied his hose. John wasn't looking for that sort of touch, Samuel was too tired, and they had time. 

Samuel was all leg, so his intent did nothing to stop his own arousal as those long well formed stems came into their naked glory as John peeled off his hose. The coarse dark hair over paler skin, parts of Sam that didn't see the sun as often, his faded childhood scars and his slightly knobbily knees that turned ever so faintly outwards, making him a tad bow legged, it was all mouthwatering to John. 

Less mouthwatering was the stench of days on the road, abrasive to John's refined nose. 

“Did you really ride all the way from Kolin in four days?” He asked, standing up to put away the rest of Samuel's clothes and boots. Leaving him to deal with his undergarments.

“I did, I rode to Brno first, because I had heard Jobst was there, so it stood to reason you would be there too,” Samuel sighed behind him, “You are a hard man to find, mayzele.”

Mayzele, little mouse. A fitting nickname, John often felt like the mouse of the nobility, scurrying from corner to corner, going into hiding at the first sign of threat. 

“Less so now than when I was under your protection.” John smiled wistfully, who'd think he'd remember being in hiding so fondly? “I was at Brno three days ago, ironically.”

The gentle splashing of water and a relieved groan caused John to turn back around. He didn't manage to catch Samuel before he'd fully submerged himself in the warm water, reaching him to his chest as he leaned against the sheet covered edge.

“You'd think nobles would pick a castle and stick to it.” 

John laughed, filling a goblet of rich red wine from the pitcher. A silver tray loaded with fruit and nuts, just as ordered, sat beside it.

“That would defeat the purpose of land owning, my dear,” John explained, “Beer?” 

Samuel hummed agreeably, and John filled a tankard to the brim of the amber frothing liquid. He grabs the tray with his other hand, having to carefully balance so none of the little round objects escape from the plate. He loses a plum to the battle, but the walnuts, peaches and grapes remain standing. He sat them both down on the wide plank resting across the tub before seating himself on a stool, wineglass in hand.

“Are you not bathing?” Samuel asked, head lolled back to look up at John. The water was still clear enough to let the lord take in all the miles long hills and valleys of his body.

John wrinkled his nose, taking a sip from his wine. Delicious, finally some decent wine. Not that Sedletz shit that all the Kuttenbergers raved about. “As much as I've missed feeling your naked body against mine, you're filthy, and I'd like to scrub the dirt off you before I let you into my bed.”

“You speak of me as if I were a dog,” Samuel muttered, biting into a peach. The juice dribbled down his chin, and it made John think filthy thoughts. He wiped the juice from his chin, his usual stubble having begun to resemble the beginnings of a proper beard. “Have I become that hairy?” 

“I'm more of a cat person,” John mused. It's remarkable how easily they fall back into the old comfortable dance they share, practiced steps in wellworn shoes. He twirled the ends of Samuel's moustache between his fingers, “I'd fetch you a razor, but I don't trust you with a knife right now.”

John soaked a washcloth with soap, rolling up the sleeves of his tunic before dipping it into the water. He scrubbed at Samuel's chest and shoulders, his lover still lounged back like a king in a byzantine bath. He has the peach in one hand, the other arm resting on the lip of the tub, so John got under his armpits with his cloth. He's surprised Samuel let him do this for him, that he doesn't kick up a fuss about how he's a grown man who can wash himself. Instead he allowed John to reach even deeper into the water, to clean his stomach, between his legs. Sam gasped around his mouthful of fruit, but made no movement for more stimulation. 

“I'll need to enquire about more food for you,” John noted, out loud to himself, “I know there's a kosher butcher in town, and maybe I could get a Jewish cook–”

“There are Jews here?” Sam looks surprised. Maybe less so that his people exist here –they exist in most places– but that they are prominent enough for John to know of them.

“Oh, yes, quite a few actually, why? did you think you were my first one?”

“No I just– you never told me.” 

“It didn't come up, I told you I'd had dealings with Jewish communities in the past, Nikolsburg is one.”

“Well, that's something atleast,” Sam muttered, slumping forward to grab his mug of ale. “Maybe my stay here will outdo the last castle I was at.” 

They both fall silent at the mention of Suchdol, and as Sam leaned forward John carefully cleaned his back, maneuvering around the scars there. The whip marks were still an angry red, they looked painful, restricting his ability to move freely. They passed over his back and onto his right shoulder, the top of his arm. The sight made John's gut clench with uncharacteristic rage. John didn't often turn to violence, but he wouldn’t have hesitated to personally put Vauquelin Brabant on the rack in the dungeon. It'll take weeks still until Samuel will be fully healed. John wondered what he’d have to do to convince Samuel to let the castle physician see him. 

“You're not going to be happy when I tell you I'm making a run for it again, soon.” John rubbed soap into his lover's hair, until it lathered and the strands felt soft again, making sure to get behind his ears. “To my estate by the Danube in Austria.” 

He saw Samuel's shoulders tense again, his sharp jaw ticking as he clenched his teeth, but he didn't say anything. John washes the soap from his hair with fresh water.

“Take me with you,” Samuel blurted out.

“What?”

“I said take me with you, to Austria, to wherever you're going,” Samuel almost sounded pleading, “Let me come with you.”

What a wonderful thought, a wonderful impossible thought. 

“But what about your people? The community in Kolin, your mother?” John asked, seeking Samuel's eyes, searching for jest. “Your newly found brother, even!”

Samuel rolled his eyes dramatically, like even the mention of the Skalitz blacksmith pained him. It's amazing how quickly those two became just like honest to god blood brothers, who'd spent their whole life together. John and his own brother were nothing like them, and they had shared blood. 

“Psh! Henry, he has fucked off somewhere with Capon,” Samuel scoffed, snatching the cloth from John to scrub his legs, “scheming on how to avoid a wedding.”

“Well there's something to be said about the loyalty between a squire and his knight,” John chuckled.

“That's one way of putting it,” Sam grunted, and there's a thousand layers to that statement that John would love to dig into, but Samuel's face fell like a stone in water.

“I – I've not been my best, since after everything…” He trailed off, that single noun holding a lifetime's worth of suffering, “our people are used to hardship, we adjust accordingly but I–” 

He stumbled his way through the words, so unsure of himself, like he didn’t trust his own knowledge in what his mouth would say next.

“Mame was the one who scolded me for how I've been picking fights, that I wasn't eating, wasn't taking care of myself, that even zayde was worried.” He stared at the water that was growing ever more murky with soap and dirt, as his hands rested in his lap. His grandfather's worry must weigh heavily even on Samuel's strong shoulders. Rabbi Jehuda held Samuel to high standards, but it seemed he often forgot about his grandson's well-being in the process.

“I've been a useless schlump, a mess– eventually I realised I just couldn't do it anymore,” He forced out, more fragile than John had ever heard him. 

“Do what, Libeling?” John prompts gently, a guiding hand to a man of few words from a man of many.

“Live without you, "He whispered, voice cracking like a log on a fire, quickly covering his face with his hands "I-- I do not know how" . 

Oh, he's crying, Samuel – the man who is fueled by rage and spite alone, a man he'd originally thought might be made of stone– is forcing back tears. Just like his voice the dam of Samuel's tears broke, rolling down his cheeks into the bath water. He made no sound beyond a wavering intake of breath, no pitiful sobs or wails, graceful even here. 

“Oh my love, I feel quite the same, I've been miserable without you,” John assured him, wrapping his hands around Sam's face, his brushing Samuel's pressed to his eyes. “I wake up every morning waiting to see your face, hear your voice, but your people need you, your family. As much as I wish to keep you for myself, I can't take you from them.”

Samuel lived to serve, to be reliable, but would rather die than accept the shame of himself relying on someone else. That a man like that would leave his people– the people who leaned on him– because he could no longer stand on his own, it was almost too world altering to believe.

“You're my family too, meyn neshome,” Samuel sniffled, and he let his hands drop, finally turning his face towards John. His eyes were shiny, frozen over lakes just beginning to thaw.“That's what Mame said, ‘go to him, serdtse, don't be like me, don't douse your flame for the good of the wood.'”

Sara always had a way with words, a woman wise beyond her relatively modest age. No one was held in higher regard by Samuel, and of course no one else could have given him permission to follow his heart.

“Sam,” John whispered breathlessly, eyes widening in astonishment. 

“She reminded me there are others who can do what I did, now, there are more of us,” Samuel has gathered momentum, rushing through his arguments, like he feared John would refuse him. “But no one else can achieve what you can, and I can help you, protect you while you do it.”

“I'm– I don't know what to say.” John was tearing up now too.

“Yes,” Samuel suggested, “that could be a start.”

John reached out and wound his arms around Samuel, using all his strength to haul him into a tight embrace, too overcome with emotions to account for Samuel's still healing body or the fact that he's getting soaked.

“Yes, a million times yes,” he exclaimed, pressing against the wet skin of Samuel's neck, letting his tears mix with the drops rolling off Samuel.“I can't believe you'd do this for me!”

Long arms wrapped around him in return, a heavy head nosing into his hair as Samuel leaned on him.

“It's just as much for me, without you I was no good anymore,” Samuel whispered, voice still brittle,“I love you too much.”

Samuel wouldn't often say it aloud, he showed his love through actions, through service and devotion. John could count the times he's said it using only his ring-ladened fingers, even less in Czech. This odd language that isn't quite either of their native tongue– neither of them growing up speaking it– though they both master it. A little clumsier on Samuel's part, but John suspects that's more out of a refusal to conform than anything else. 

“My love, my beautiful beautiful man!” John sobbed, because he had never been a pretty crier, “I love you so so much Sam, I can't even wrap my head around it, you're the love of my life.”

John tugged Samuel even closer, kissing him soundly. John didn’t understand why he hadn't spent the whole evening kissing this man, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words between them were a waste. He was giddy with the thought that they had time, that Samuel would stay. 

“Come, let's get you to bed,” He said with a tearful little laugh, wiping his eyes with one hand and supporting the heavy mass of Samuel's naked body leaning on him with the other. He was limp like a sack of flour, 

John poured the remainder of the clean  warm water over Samuel, removing the last of the soap before he guided his lover out of the tub. The bath and the tears had wrung him out like a rag. He remained docile and distant as John dried him off, like he was far away in thought, or maybe too tired to think at all. He dressed Samuel in a fresh pair of braies and his finest silk chemise, thinking it's sure to be kind on his scars. 

John unfolded the covers of the large four poster bed, letting Samuel get comfortable first. His tan skin glowed against the rich crimson of the bedding, stretched out on his side along the fine silk, just as John always thought he deserved. The billowy material of the chemise still clinged to his muscles, outlining the ridges of his taut stomach and pronounced chest. Samuel watched as John stripped down to his braies, his light eyes tracing every soft curve that came into view.  John had never necessarily been insecure about his looks, but no one had ever made him feel as desired as Samuel. His lover followed each movement as John slid in next to him, closing the heavy drapes behind them. The light of the lanterns on the other bedside cast Samuel in shadow, making his features appear even more statuesque, carved from marble and painted golden.

“We've never had such ample space before,” John said, rolling closer until he could lie on his back beside Samuel, head pillowed on a strong bicep, “hope you don't mind if I end up crowding you, I'm so used to sleeping coiled around you like a snake.”

Samuel's gaze was intense – even more so than usual– from where he looked down on him. His eyes were almost glowing in the shine of the candles, that light green that had John mystified from the first time he saw them. John had once seen a rare gemstone in the same colour.

“John,” Sam softly called into the space between them before he pressed his mouth to John's again. The kiss was deep and intense, it didn't  take long for their tongues to migrate to the other's mouth. Samuel made a sound that could maybe be considered a whimper, but John would never tell him that.

“I need you,” Samuel gasped between wet kisses.

“Really? But you're exhausted,” John's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He really hadn't expected anything beyond falling asleep next to each other tonight, and that would still be the sweetest treat John could imagine. He'd thought he'd never get to lay his hands on Samuel again, so any touch was a blessing, every word shared a miracle.

“...Please,” Samuel whispered after a long pause. Samuel seldom begged, especially not with such fragile desperation in his entire body. Like he desperately needed John to indulge him. 

Like he needed to be close, to be cared for.

“Oh, liebchen” John whispered, stroking the hair out of his lover's face. “Don't you worry, I'll take care of you.”

John kissed him again, and again, all over his face. His sharp jaw, his pronounced cheekbones, his nose. His eyes were still a little puffy from crying, so John kissed each closed eyelid in an attempt to heal through love alone.

“What do you want, Sam?” He murmured into his ear, one hand on the side of his face, the other tracing those mouthwatering abdominal muscles, which clenched and rippled under his tickeling fingers.

“I– could you fuck me?” Samuel asked, not demanded, as he usually did. 

John's hand had moved up to his hip. There was another scar there, under the fabric. Not as deep as the other's, but still horrific. 

“Are you sure?” John asked, running his finger beside the scar, not on top, to not cause any pain. “You're still in a pretty bad state.”

Samuel gasped at the friction, but not the kind of gasp that told John to stop, that it was painful.

“Please I– I need to feel you,” He pleaded, pressing his forehead against John's, “please John.” 

John suppressed a little shiver, trying really hard not to think about how much he liked Samuel begging for him, his touch, his body. It could make any man sinfully proud. 

“Alright, of course,” John agreed reverently, kissing Samuel's neck and down his sternum, “anything you want my darling boy.”

Samuel whined, higher in his throat than usual, like he's been truly desperate and now finally all his wants are coming true. He didn't suffer being called a boy in day to day life –he and John were only perhaps a few years apart– but here, spread out under John's soft hands he'd allow it. John took one of his nipples into his mouth, nibbling and sucking through the fabric of the chemise, making Samuel arch into him, hands digging into John's long hair to keep him at his breast.

“Can you lay on your back? Or does it still hurt?” John wondered, delighting in the shiver from his warm breath against silk-covered sensitive flesh.

“It's… manageable,” Samuel grunted, already making a start at turning over, but John stopped him with a gentle hand on the back of his neck.

“So no,”John surmised, because by now he could read Samuel like an open book, and manageable might as well be anything from slight discomfort to agonising pain, and nowhere on that scale sat well with John.

“I'd have you ride me,but I think you've had quite enough of that, so I'll ask you to lay on your stomach.” 

John kneeled on the bed, carefully guiding Samuel by the shoulder. He grabbed one of the tightly stuffed featherpillows and slid it under Samuel's hips. John chased a shiver up Samuel's spine with a finger, pulling the chemise up along his back. He didn't make any move to remove it though, finding he liked seeing his lover draped in his clothes.

“Good lord, you're beautiful,” John cooed as the wide expanse of Samuel's back came into full view, “I can't believe this is all mine.”

“It is a little more battered than when you acquired it,” Sam mumbled into the sheets. “I hope my scratches will not diminish my value.”

John sensed unusually badly hidden worry beneath Samuel's standard sarcasm. He bent down to place a kiss between Samuel's shoulder blades, gentle, sure not to do anything to aggravate the damaged skin.

“It's perfect, a reminder of how strong my treasure is,” He cooed, kissing his way down along Samuel's spine, hands coming round to continue teasing his chest over the silk,”how brave.”

Samuel's form quaked from shivers and quiet muffled whimpers. He gasped as John's hands squeezed over his covered cock, barely even half hard, body still too exhausted to rise to the occasion as eagerly as usual. Well, that could be amended.

John hooked his fingers in the back of Samuel's borrowed braies, pulling them down just enough to expose his backside. Samuel’s whole form was corded sinewy muscle and his tight arse was no different. John moved further down the bed, spreading Samuel's legs as wide as they would go with the waist of his underwear trapping him and placing himself between them.

He wasted no time in sucking a few marks into Samuel's cheeks, smiling at the red blooms his lips left behind. Samuel gasped and arched underneath him, put on display by his raised hips, face buried in his arms.

John took two ample handfuls of each cheek and spread them wide, feeling Samuel tense beneath him as he let his breath ghost down the crack, making his intentions clear.

“Should I stop?” John asked, pulling his face back just an inch. They hadn't before, and John knew it was an act some found simply too hedonisticly depraved to swallow. That was one of the reasons John liked it, how wrong it felt, how dirty, it made it all the more titillating.

“I just didn't know those comments about you being an arse licker were literal,” Samuel replied, and John could hear his smirk in his voice.

“Mm, I promise this is not how I gained the reputation,” John grinned, kissing Samuel's tail bone lovingly, “Shall I proceed? Or should I alter course?”

“... Continue.”

John couldn't help but smile at Samuel's played up neutrality, like he couldn’t feel the anticipational clench in his thigh muscle. Samuel always put up a fight before he gave John the reactions he wanted. He kissed his tailbone again, before slowly tonguing his way down to the seam of his arse, into the crack. Sam smelled freshly of herbs and soap, and that underlying scent that was just his own. 

John's hands moved to smooth his hands over Samuel's quivering thighs, soothing until he felt his lover relax.

“Good boy,” he praised and was rewarded by a guttural groan, followed by a desperate mewl. John returned the gift he’d just been given by finally putting his lips on the furled ring of Samuel's entrance. 

He splayed his tongue wide and flat over the pink little muscle, running It up and over a few times, until he's hearing weak pants and off-bitten whines from the man below, so he moved on to sucking kisses.

“Fuck, John!” Samuel whined beneath him, still muffled amongst the pillows and bedding. 

“Do you like it?” John asked, absentmindedly wondering if Samuel could feel his words as much as he heard them, “Feels good doesn't it? I've been wanting to eat you out for so long, libchen.”

“Got in himmel, do not say such things!” Sam said in a frustrated groan, but he rocked his hips back against John's face, “your tongue is too wicked,I can’t– “ He was cut off by another stifled moan.

“Can't what, Sam?” John hummed, going back to alternating between kissing and running the point of his tongue along the rim.

“I can't– Oh god– I won't be able to be quiet,” He mewled.

So many nights spent together where that was their primary concern. Not that John and Samuel ever particularly cared if people looked at their ‘close bond’ with suspicion, but being overheard would cause some embarrassing questions that they'd both agreed they'd rather avoid.

“You don't have to worry about being heard here, Liebchen, this part of the castle is deserted at night,” John encouraged, “ Let me hear how good you feel darling, your moans are like music.”

And with that, he finally let his tongue dip past the ring using his thumbs to spread Sam even wider, letting him dive deeper. 

“Fuck,” Samuel moaned, back arching beautifully. One hand came to grasp at the back of John's head, pulling him impossibly closer, until John was slowly fucking him with his tongue 

“Please, John!” Samuel keened, hips bucking and grinding against the pillow below. John knew from experience that the fine weave of the satin wouldn't offer him any satisfactory stimulation.

John ignored his lover's pleading, continuing to tease him open slowly, getting his hole nice and wet with his drool. He was almost convinced he could fuck Samuel like this, no oil, no further preparation, but that wasn't what his Sam liked.

John loved how Samuel would make him feel like nothing more than a conduit for the other’s pleasure, made him feel used and dirty in the best way. Pushing him to his limit, Samuel would fuck John until he had to choke back his screams, had him spill all over himself without even a hand on his cock. Samuel loved putting John in his place, and John loved being put there. However, Samuel himself needed gentleness when he finally gave up the reins. Samuel needed sensuous touches, being teased to the brink slowly; slowly, until his eyes turned shiny and he lost his words. All while being told how beautiful he was, how good he was, how he was loved beyond comprehension. John would etch his devotion into every nook and cranny, every inch of skin, from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head. John worshipped Samuel, and he'd gladly go to hell for his idolatry. 

John plunged his tongue as deep as he could one last time before withdrawing, giving the swollen rim a farewell kiss. He trailed down to suck on Samuel's sack instead, lavishing attention on the heavy stones, on the sensitive skin between them and his arse. Samuel's frantic gasps and whines were worth dying for, but he himself was growing impatient. After all, he hadn't had any company but his own hands for months now.

“I've tested the soundproofing myself, oh if you only knew how incapable of control I become when I touch myself to the thought of you,” John commented, getting up on his knees again leaning over Samuel –keeping an inch or so between them– to whisper in his ear, “I can't believe God has returned you to me.” 

“God didn't do it, I did,” Samuel's voice is wet and shaky, but he still stubbornly turns his face to meet John, eyes glazed over, “Because I needed your cock inside me again.”

“Oh well, if it's just my cock you want, maybe I'll commission a wooden phallus to scale and send you back to Kolin,” John teased, face still pressed to Samuel's.

“At least that would be quicker than when trying to get the real thing,” Samuel grumbled, but he didn't refuse John's kiss, not even wrinkling his nose at where it had just been.

“So eager, don't worry liebchen, you'll get what you want,” John smiled, reaching behind him for the little vial of oil on his bedside table. It had gotten so frequently used these past few days he hadn't even bothered to hide it. There was just enough content left for another use, then he'd have to find some more. He placed the oil between their bodies, pushing Samuel to lie on his side again.

“But I also know how patient you can be, how good,” He continued, the sweetness in his voice holding none of the artifice that met anyone but Sam, “and he who waits for something good never waits too long, especially when the heart has grown so fond due to distance, isn’t that right?”

He uncorked the bottle one handed, movement practiced, and drenched his fingers in the slick liquid. He let his hand climb the mountain of Samuel's narrow hips, descend over his arse to find its way back to his hole. 

“Sakra, do you ever shut up?” Samuel gasped as John's ringfinger played with his already pliant rim.

“Do you wish me to?” John asked evenly.

“No,” Sam groaned and pressed his forehead to John's shoulder, arms coming to clutch at the softness around his waist.

“Thought so,” John answered cheekily. Like he would ever give up the effect his voice seemed to have on Samuel. He sunk his finger in until the metal of his signet ring met flesh. Sam took it easily so John took pity on his poor lover and let his middle finger join in as well. 

“You've been indulging, I can tell.” John stated as he thrust his fingers in and out lazily, spreading his fingers every now and again.

“Not– Just by myself, when I could move enough, no one else.” Samuel panted. 

John didn't know why he was so pleased to hear Samuel had not slept with anyone since they parted. Of course he wouldn’t, Samuel was faithful down to the bone, he would never stray, no matter how unconventional the union he'd joined was. Samuel would've probably forced himself to be content with celibacy for the rest of his life, if he couldn't see John again. 

“And what did you think about?” John prompted,pressing himself up on one elbow to take more of Samuel in.

“What do you think?” Samuel grunted, still putting up a bratty resistance.

“Placate me, I'll give you what you want if you tell me,” John tempted, teasing the tip of his pointer, not letting it slip in.

“You, of course, what else?”

Sam moaned desperately, burying his face back in the sheets. John hadn't expected him to continue, but it seemed Samuel was being generous with his words this evening. “Your body, how soft it is, like you have never done a day's work in your life, never gone hungry. Your words, the way you talk to me, your smile. I missed your smell, your touch, mayn got -- everything about you.”

“Oh my sweet boy,” John whimpered, “I'll make sure you never have to miss me again”

A sound frighteningly close to a sob ripped from Samuel, but it seemed to be one of relief rather than sorrow or pain. John gave him his reward, piercing him with three fingers, making sure to crook into that one precious gland– but not straight on, merely grazing past it, just how Samuel liked it.

“Please just fuck me John, I beg you– I'm ready, I can take it, please!” Samuel rambled, cock jolting and twitching where it strained, red and sensitive against his stomach.

“Alright, my love, anything for you.” John kissed the nape of his neck, damp with sweat now, but not the stale days old kind, the kind that smelled of their lovemaking. He swiftly removed his own underwear and settled himself behind Samuel, tugging until he had Samuel's hips in his lap. John wasn't strong enough to move Samuel on his own, but he became so pliant like this, shifting with him like water.

John lined himself up, rubbing the head of his cock against the entrance. It never stopped being mesmerising, the fact that he had this privilege of seeing Samuel like this, with all his walls down.

“You're being so good for me Sam, so patient,” John soothed, petting up and down Samuel's flank, “I've never known anyone as perfect as you, so lovely.”

He pressed himself closer to Samuel, and his cock entered him easily. John wasn't particularly well endowed, but he knew how to use what he had. He rocked his hips slowly, sinking in just a hair more each time until the points of his hips met Samuel's arse.

For a second John allowed his own pleasure to wash over him, to focus on the tight clutch of Samuel's body. It spread a bone deep relief through his whole body, one he only now realised he had been chasing for months. 

“God I missed making love to you,”  He moaned to the ceiling. “You feel so good, so hot and soft. Is it as good as you remember, liebling?”

“Uhu,” Sam answered wordlessly, with a mindless rocking of his hips and gasping whines floating up from the sheets. His fingers are digging into the sheets and his side profile revealed an open mouth and closed eyes.

“And so tight, fitting around me like a scabbard to a sword,” He planted his knees more firmly on the bed, going in deeper, “like you were made for me.”

A loud cry answered him, as well as some slurred words John can't make out. 

“What was that, liebchen?” John asked, running a hand down under Samuel. To his surprise Samuel heaved his heavy body up until he's entirely in John's lap, back to chest. The sweatdamp silk is maddening against John's heated skin. 

“Just for you,” Sam moaned, combing his fingers through John's hair.  “Only you get to have this.”

John groaned and pressed his chin to Samuel's shoulder, rutting up into him at a lazy pace, more just grinding deep inside him than thrusting, but he made sure to brush past the most sensitive spots on every roll of his hips. Samuel let out another loud cry, head tipping backwards over John's shoulder in turn.

“Yes, only me,” John whispered in his ear, clutching one hand around Samuel's waist, the other places right over his heart. “Because you're mine, my most treasured, my heart.” 

Samuel tilted his head to seek out John's lips, until their panting breaths were mingling into the headiest perfume. They kissed, but it was all tongue and spit. Samuel was heavy in John's embrace, doing little to hold himself up except his strong legs rising just a little in time with John. 

“You're my bashert, ba’ali,” Samuel's voice shook through him like a tambourine. 

Now, John could understand a vast amount of Yiddish–even if he never quite let on just how much– it's so close to his own German that he never struggled, but his Hebrew was dreadful.

“Your destined?" He translated.

“My fate, my chosen one, my soul mate.”

“Oh…” John sighed, feeling his heart flutter, like it was falling impossibly deeper into the depth of love. “What does the other one mean?”

“Ba'ali–” Samuel mumbled, and whatever the word was it seemed to shake Samuel from his daze enough to be embarrassed,”It means my master– or owner– but also it's… it also means husband, my husband.”

“Oh!”John gasped brightly.

“Is that–” 

Samuel didn't get to finish his sentence, John angeling him forward until he could fuck up into him with surer, more determined movements. Samuel had to scramble to catch himself and hold himself up on all fours.

“My husband,” John bent over him, chanting in his lover's ear, wrapping a hand around Samuel’s straining cock. “You're my husband.” 

It felt so true, so undeniably right, he kept one arm wrapped around the other but pressed the other on top of Samuel's on the bed, so that their shared rings made a sweet chime as the gold clinked. They were as married as two men could be, maybe not in the eyes of any church, not wed in any synagogue, but he knew his soul would forever be intertwined with Sam. 

“Oh god, I am, I am– fuck John!”  Samuel had tears in his eyes again, drawing stripes down his flushed face. 

Fluid dripped down John's fist as he stroked him, tight and even just how he knew his husband preferred. The inner walls wrapped around John's length tightened rhythmically, signaling that the other was close, and greedily dragging John with him. 

“I love you, my husband,” John moaned, still right up against Samuel's ear, finger on the bed intertwined, “I love you, let go for me.”

“I love you!” Samuel shouted and spilled into John's hand. 

John pumped himself deep inside a few more times, vice tight and delicious, but he still had the presence of mind to pull out just before he came. His seed splattered across Samuel's back, probably irreversibly ruining the chemise. John couldn't bring himself to care as he crashed into the bed on his back, going utterly boneless in the post orgasmic bliss. 

He vaguely registered Samuel doing the same, collapsing down beside him, face once again buried in the soft mattress as they caught their breath.

“Did you mean it?” John asked the ceiling after what felt like hours. Judging by the fact that it was still pitch dark outside that was probably an exaggerated estimate. 

“Yes,” Sam answered, voice gravelly and shaky but still carrying its usual weight. "I can not believe God would put us on the same path, unless he meant me for you.”

John turned his face to the side, meeting bloodshot green eyes with blown pupils  under an unruly mop of light brown hair, half his face still in the pillow. Samuel rolled to his side, facing John, a large hand coming up to rest on his naked chest, playing with his sparse chest hair.

“There's a phrase from Shir Hashrim,” Samuel continued, ‘Ani L’dodi V’dodi Li,’ it means–”

“‘I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine,’” John interrupted, providing the translation as well as the next line “He feedeth among the lilies.’”

Samuel looks on, soft smile on his face. John can't tell if it's from amusement, annoyance or pride. But John has already started so he continues.

“‘Thou art beautiful, O my love, as Tirzah, comely as Jerusalem, terrible as an army with banners.’ song six, verse four. ” 

Samuel quirked a disbelieving eyebrow, but he's still smiling. 

“The Song of Solomon was always my favourite,” John shrugs. All those years spent studying with monks and priests seemed to have left at least some impact.

“Did you mean it?” Samuel asked back, guarded.

"Of course I did! I do, I’d never lie to my husband.” John answered, and he was completely serious. “I am completely and wholly yours, In sickness and in health, til death do us part.” 

“Didn't think I'd ever be at the receiving end of goyim wedding vows,” Sam chuckled. 

“Well then, you may now kiss the bride,” John laughed, in a way he hadn't since the basement of king Solomon. He leaned in to kiss the pained groan his joke caused from Samuel, intertwining their fingers, rings making music between them.