Chapter Text
Hans sits on the edge of his bed, forearms on his thighs, hands dangling between his knees. Upstairs in the room above his own, Henry is getting ready to leave. He will travel light, trading protection for speed in his desperate bid to get help.
He’s promised to come see Hans before he goes, and Hans hopes he’ll have the courage to do what he must.
They’ve come a long way since that day in the Rattay woods, and the two boys they had been, terrified and traumatized, one screaming and the other sobbing as they stood over the corpses of two lifeless, bloodless Cumans. He can’t remember now what it felt like to be that boy, the one who laughed at peasants and their silly superstitions, their un-Christian ways of safeguarding their homes and families from the legends of old, the boy who didn’t know how real the stories were, the one who discovered his life had just been saved by something he would have attempted to slay as a monster just minutes before.
The keep feels too quiet for the turmoil Hans feels. Everyone’s too exhausted, too tired, too hungry to do little more than exist. Even Henry is not immune from that, though he weathers it better than everyone else.
But not well enough for what’s to come.
He’s given Hans most of his rations, choosing to visit the stables in the dark hours of the night for the sustenance he really needs. The horses no longer shy from his presence, perhaps too weary themselves to be afraid of the predator who comes to them and takes, but never kills.
Hans takes a deep breath and rises to his feet before his courage fails him. No, he will not do as he has always done and wait for Henry to come to him.
There’s no one in the halls and the steps don’t creak under his feet as he ascends. The door to Henry’s room is open and he kneels before the chest, his back to Hans. It only takes a moment before he goes still, turning to look at Hans. Henry always knows when he’s there, even when he’s been as silent as he can be.
His eyes are unnaturally bright, glowing with the otherworldly blue light that’s been a part of him since Skalitz. Hans has never known him any other way than as he is now, and he’s grateful for it.
Hans steps inside, closes the door, and slides the bolt.
“Hans?” Henry asks, rising to his feet now. “Is everything alright?”
No, Hans thinks.
He makes his feet walk forward, carrying him unerringly toward the man who has come to mean everything to him. Henry watches him, still confused, concern knitting his brows together. “Hans?” Henry asks again.
He reaches out, one hand closing on Henry’s upper arm, the other on his shoulder. He pulls himself into Henry and does what he’s wanted to for weeks. He kisses him.
Henry’s lips aren’t cold. He doesn’t know why he expected that. They’re warm, soft, the skin around them raspy where he hasn’t shaved in a few days. Hans can’t remember the last kiss he gave a girl, but he’ll remember this first one he gives Henry for the rest of his life, no matter how long—or short—that may be.
Let it be long, and let this be the first of many. Please, God, grant him that.
Henry kisses him back. One arm slips low along Hans back, the other across his shoulders. His lips press back, opening…and then he’s shoving Hans back, staggering away from him, turning from him.
Hans doesn’t fight it. If Henry doesn’t want this, doesn’t want him, then so be it. But he couldn’t let him leave without trying, without knowing—just once—what it would be like to touch the one he loves as more than just a friend, more than a brother in arms.
Perhaps the smart or kind thing to do would be to apologize and go, remove himself from where he’s clearly not wanted, but if Henry’s going to reject him, Hans is going to make him say it. After everything, he deserves that much at least. So instead he watches as Henry rakes a hand through his hair, shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it.
When he finally does turn around, his eyes are bright, far brighter than he usually allows them to be. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he says hoarsely.
“I do. You’ve told me all the stories yourself.” And what stories they have been. He wouldn't have believed them except he's never known Henry to lie, and he'd been upset enough—at least in the beginning—that there was no pride when he recounted his exploits, only shock and fear. And as disturbing as it had been, Hans had never been afraid.
Henry shakes his head. “No. No, it won’t be like that.” He closes his eyes and when he reopens them, they’re dimmer. “It won’t be like that with you.”
“No?” That has Hans curious. “And how will it be different?”
“Because I won’t be able to let you go after.”
Hans takes a deep breath. “And if that’s what I want? Because if there’s any question, then you should know I want it more than anything.”
Between one blink and the next, Henry is on him, moving with that preternatural speed Hans hasn't quite yet adjusted to. One hand tangles in Hans’s hair, the other in his tunic, and Hans is being kissed more ardently than he ever has before.
He’s turned and Henry walks him backward until his knees hit the edge of the mattress, and then he guides him down, hands still holding him, his mouth still on Hans’s. Henry doesn’t stop kissing him, even as he begins shoving the tunic up Hans’s body. He finally moves back only because his has to in order to tear the garment off, and when he returns he buries his nose just under the hinge of Hans’s jaw and breathes deep. Hans squirms a little at that because it is August and it’s not like there are real baths available, but Henry just moans quietly.
He slides down Hans’s body to work the ties on his hose and braies and in moments Hans is completely bare, not even sure when he lost the low boots he’d been wearing. Henry, still fully clothed, kneels up on the bed between Hans's parted legs, looking down at him. His eyes glow brighter as he takes in the sight before him. “The things I would do to you if I had the time,” he breathes. Then his expression tightens with resolve. “The things I will do to you when I return.”
"Anything," Hans breathes.
"You shouldn't offer me that," Henry says. His hands curl over Hans's knees and slide just past to the inside where his thighs begin. and he pushes them farther apart, spreading Hans wide. It's a shockingly vulnerable position, and Hans's cock is so hard it aches with every beat of his heart. "Unless you stop me, I will make you mine."
"I want that." He sits up as best he can, reaching for the ties on Henry's clothing. "Hal, please. Do it. Make me yours."
Henry's eyes glow and his hands grip hard enough that Hans knows he'll have bruises in the morning. "I am Christ in the desert," he says lowly, "and I will not last 40 days." He closes his eyes and turns his head again, breathes so deep his entire body moves with it. "Not tonight," he replies, looking down at Hans again. "Not now, not when I can't guarantee that you'll be safe. It would destroy me to misjudge and take your life."
"When you return?" Hans asks.
"Why are you so eager to die?" Henry huffs.
"But it's not dying, is it?" Hans presses. "You're not dead." He tugs on Henry's garments and Henry lifts his arms to let him pull his gambeson and tunic off. "You breathe," Hans says, placing his hands flat on Henry's chest. "Your heart still beats. You are alive."
"But I'm different." He places his hands over Hans's, hold them there, rising and falling as he breathes, just as Hans pointed out. "I can't…I don't know how to explain it properly. It will change you. I'm not the same Henry who fled from Skalitz. I'm alive, yes, but he died." He closes his eyes for a long moment and takes a breath. "And I will do that, someday, I promise you. But not now. Let me enjoy you as you are."
"Mortal," Hans says. "Frail."
"There is a sweetness in that," Henry says quietly. "I envy you for it. I didn't have it long enough, and didn't know to treasure it before I lost it."
"Do you regret it then?" he asks. "What Radzig did."
"No." Henry's gaze sweeps down Hans's naked body. "I wouldn't be here otherwise. But don't ask me to take your humanity from you now." He shifts back, moves off the bed to rid himself of braies and hose, and then climbs back on, levering himself over Hans. "I swear to you, I will make you mine, but not before you've had a chance to live."
"I'll hold you to your word," Hans says and reaches out to pull Henry down into a kiss.
Hans has never been with a man. He's heard enough to know what two men could get up to together, but he also knows they don't have the supplies or the time to do what he's most curious about. Whatever his lack of experience is, Henry doesn't suffer from the same thing. Perhaps later he'll be jealous of who Henry learned with, but for now he's just grateful they're both not fumbling about with complete inexperience.
Henry uses his hands to map out Hans's body, fingertips and palms gliding over his skin. He follows his hands with his mouth. Down Hans's throat and over his shoulders, and then along his arms and to his hands. Henry pauses and then deliberately makes eye contact with Hans as he sucks Hans's first two fingers into his mouth. Hans hopes this is a prelude of what's to come, and that Henry looks at him the exact same way when it's a cock in his mouth and not fingers.
Infuriatingly, he stops at Hans's hips and moves back up to repeat the process. Hans squirms a little and then feels Henry's laugh on his skin.
"Impatient," Henry chides.
"We don't have all night," Hans complains and then goes silent when he realizes how true that is.
Henry just kisses him again, and then this time when he works his way across Hans's body, he lets his teeth down to tease a little. Hans shivers at the twinned lines that drag across his skin. Sharp, dangerous, but controlled by someone who will never hurt him.
"Like that?" Henry asks and Hans nods, threading his fingers into Henry's hair to guide him toward one of his nipples. Henry hums and does as he'd bid, taking the peaked bit of flesh into his mouth. Lips and tongue first, sucking a little to raise it more, and then following with his flat human teeth.
Hans's breath hitches, his back arching. "More," he sighs. It wasn't painful, not at all, just a little bite that magnifies everything he feels.
Henry pulls off, cocks his head a little as he looks at Hans. "More?" he repeats and lets his tongue dart out to touch against the tip of his fangs.
"Yes."
Keeping an eye on his face, Henry lowers his head again. He starts with a broad, flat swipe of his tongue and then sucks hard before ever so carefully using his fang and his bottom teeth to catch Hans's nipple between them.
Hans can feel the sharp pinprick of pain, not quite drawing blood, but so very close. The feeling is completely new, the headiness of the thrill of danger making him want more. "Harder," he demands.
But Henry, damn him, pulls off. "Any harder and I'll actually bite you."
"And if I want that?"
It's intoxicating watching the way the light in Henry's eyes intensifies, the way his nostrils flair, and how he licks his lips. "You're playing a dangerous game," he warns.
"Not so dangerous," Hans challenges. "You've told me yourself how good it is for the others. I want that, too." He pushes up, forcing Henry to give ground, and wraps his arms around Henry's neck. "Please?" he pleads, kissing the side of his neck.
"Spoiled little lordling," Henry mutters, but he dips his head, too, nuzzling along the side of Hans's neck before he gently drags his teeth across Hans's skin.
Hans gasps, shivers a little in anticipation, but no bite follows. Henry laughs at the little whine he makes. "Not there," Henry shushes him. "Not where others can see. We have other options." He pauses, and Hans hears the breath he draws. "There's one I've not tried yet."
"So I could be your first?" Hans asks archly.
"You're my first for a lot of things," Henry says cryptically and then he plants a hand in the center of Hans's chest. "Be a good boy and you'll get your reward."
It shouldn't be possible for his cock to get any harder, and yet it does. Every partner he's ever been with—no matter how coy or flirty she had been—had always remembered his station. And among others, Henry does as well, but alone, in private, he'd cast off the trappings of lord and servant a long time ago. Between the two of them, they have been equals, Henry teasing him about his title just as Hans teases him about picking turnips. But now this? Henry asserting himself, taking control, putting himself above Hans and now Hans is the one who must obey?
It's odd how sometimes you can find something you never know you wanted, and it changes you forever.
"I'll be good," he promises and it's very clear from Henry's sudden stillness that he might be discovering the same thing.
"You're always good," Henry says, dipping his head back down to Hans's chest, and that good cuts right to the core of him.
Henry lowers his head to Hans's other nipple, the one that's been neglected so far. It receives the same treatment the first had, Henry playing with it while Hans does his best not to squirm impatiently. But this time, when Henry takes it between his teeth, he doesn't stop, just increases the pressure until the ache blooms into a bright point of pain.
His breath stutters and Henry pulls off. Together, they watch a fat drop of blood bead where Henry's fang had pierced him. Then Henry leans in to lick it off.
It's not much, little more than a crumb would be for Hans, but Henry moans as he tastes it. He seals his lips around Hans's nipple and suckles at it, pulling what little blood can be had from a wound so small. It might be blasphemy, but Hans is taken by the urge to do this again and again, to feed Henry with his body and blood, to be a Christ to his most devoted disciple.
When Henry pulls off, Hans's nipple is peaked and flushed dark, aching from the bite and Henry's mouth on him. Henry pants like he's been running. "Delicious," he murmurs and bends back down to the same thing again on Hans's other side. He bites harder his time and Hans comes with a sharp, shocked sound.
With a speed that leaves Hans dizzy, Henry abandons his chest to slide down Hans's body. He licks where Han's has spilled across his belly, tongue swiping through the fine hairs to chase every last drop, moaning the same way he had for Hans's blood.
Then he goes for the source, holding Hans down by his hips and sucking the head of his cock into his mouth, chasing the remnants of Hans's ecstasy. Hans grabs for his head, not sure if if wants to pull Henry off or push him back down. Henry takes the choice from him, sinking down, swallowing around Hans's still hard cock.
"Oh, fuck!" Hans cries out, fingers twisted into Henry's hair as he simultaneously fights to get away and get closer. "Christ, Henry! Henry!"
His lover takes pity on him them, letting Hans's cock slide out of his mouth with a lewd little popping sound. Hans sags back, panting. "Jesus, Hal," he curses, finally letting go of Henry's hair so he can throw an arm over his eyes. Henry's weight settles over his legs, his face resting close enough that Hans's can feel his breath ghosting over damp flesh, but mercifully far enough away that he doesn't feel like he's going to lose his mind.
"It cannot taste that good," Hans mutters when he can finally draw a real breath. One night of curiosity had been enough to answer that question for him.
Henry hums thoughtfully. "It's fine, usually, though it can vary," Henry says and Hans wonders how many people he's been with to have an opinion on how come tastes. "But like I said, you're delicious."
Incredible that that's what makes him blush. "Are you still going to…?" He leaves the question hanging.
"Drink of you?" Henry murmurs. "Yes, I said I would. But I think not before I drain you another way." He pushes back up onto his elbows. "Gonna put you in my mouth again. Want to watch you come this time. And then, if you're good and give me what I want, I'll give you what you want."
"You can have everything," Hans breathes.
Henry stops as he's moving and looks up at Hans with a smile so soft that Hans unexpectedly finds himself blinking back tears. "I already do." And then he doesn't leave Hans much time to think about that because he swallows him right back down to the root.
Merciless is the only word for how Henry goes after him with a single-minded intent. Henry does breathe, but it becomes very clear he doesn't need breath like a normal man does. He leaves Hans's cock buried deep in his throat as he swallows around it and his fingers stroke the sensitive skin around it and fondle his balls. It's maddening and exhilarating and Hans claws at his shoulders and arms, whatever he can reach, while Henry holds him down and takes what he wants. And he watches Hans the whole time, eyes looking up the length of Hans's body, two points of blue glowing in the dim light.
He must sense when Hans is close because he pulls back, just the head of Hans's cock resting on his tongue as he sucks, one hand wrapping around the shaft to move in short strokes. Hans spills again with a cry that might be Henry's name, but he's not sure. Henry swallows as he does, spilling not a drop, humming with pleasure and eyes closing like like it's the finest wine or water in the desert.
He goes on even after Hans stops coming, past the point where it becomes too much. He whines, but tries his best not to fight it, to be good like Henry asked. And when Henry finally releases him, he sighs and slumps back into the bed. Moving back up, Henry captures his jaw and turns his head so he can kiss Hans, deeply enough that Hans can still taste himself just a bit on Henry's tongue. It's depraved and filthy and Hans wants more, even though he still can't see the appeal of it otherwise.
It's only when Henry kneels up that Hans realizes he's still hard, that he hasn't come at all yet despite bringing Hans off twice. He goes to sit up, but Henry shakes his head. "No, stay where you are," Henry tells him. "Just…put your hands above your head." Hans does so, feeling the way his torso stretches out. He doesn't quite know what Henry wants, but he guesses and lays one wrist over another, like they might be if he were bound.
Henry's grin tells him he's guessed correctly.
Shuffling a bit, Henry sits back on his heels between Hans's spread legs. Hans can only imagine the sight he makes, laid out before Henry like a sacrifice or feast, or both. Henry swipes his fingers over the head of his cock, collecting some of the fluid beading there and then wraps a fist around himself. Like just minutes before, he keeps his eyes on Hans as he strokes himself.
Hans isn't sure what he should do. Henry says nothing further, seems to want Hans just as he is, content to simply look his fill. So Hans returns the favor, watching the length of Henry's cock disappear and re-emerge from his fist, the way the muscles of his abdomen tighten and relax, how he bites his lower lip, letting his fangs peek out. Fangs that Hans hopes will soon be put their their true purpose.
Henry's left hand is clamped tight to Hans's right thigh, just above the knee, and the pressure increases as Henry's other hand picks up the pace, jerking in faster, shorter strokes as Henry chases his own release. "Hans," he says as he comes, more of a sigh than a cry, ropes of spend splattering across the long line of Hans's body. He shudders, bending forward, hand still tight upon Hans's thigh.
"You're incredible," he says, once he has his breath up and sits back on his heels.
"I didn't even do anything," Hans laughs.
"You were good for me." He reaches forward, rubs a bit of his seed into the skin of Hans's belly. "And now, for your reward."
He urges Hans to sit up more, shoulders against the headboard, and then pushes his thighs wide as he settles between them, much the same as he had when he was sucking Hans's cock. He noses along the crease where the top of Hans's left thigh meets his hip, sniffing deeply. Then he looks up. "This will hurt at first," he says carefully. "But then the pain goes away and it should feel very good. If it doesn't, tell me." His thumb strokes over a small patch of skin. "I'm not trying to hurt you, but some pain is unavoidable."
"I can handle pain," Hans reassures him. "I'll be alright."
Henry nods and takes a deep breath. When his lips part, his fangs are longer behind them, longer than Hans has ever seen. There is a moment of blind animal fear, of the prey caught in the snare, but he tamps down on it. This is his Hal, and he will not be afraid of him.
It does hurt, two small daggers piercing into tender flesh and then pressing down. Henry's hand on his thigh and arm across his belly hold him in place, but Hans still has to fight his own instincts to not kick out.
After a minute, though, the pain fades. For moment it feels almost numb, and then warmth blossoms under Henry's mouth, spreading out, flowing up to his head and down his limbs. His cock even gives a valiant twitch, and he vows to himself to someday get Henry to do this as he comes.
He drifts in the euphoria of it. He feels when Henry sucks, when he swallows, hears the small obscene sounds he makes as he feeds, and the thought that his blood is now inside Henry, that he's made a joining of their flesh leaves him breathless and giddy. Reaching down, he pets over Henry's hair, threading his fingers through hair that has grown longer and begun to curl as the siege wears on. He wants this every day, to give of his very self, to be the sustenance that gives Henry life.
He's not sure how long Henry drinks for. He doesn't care. He floats there, hands in Henry's hair holding him close, as near to pure bliss as he's ever been.
Finally, Henry pulls off, panting and gasping, his mouth red. Hans feels more of his blood trickle down the crease of his groin. "Christ," Henry breathes. "Christ, Hans." He shakes his head, laughing, clearly infected by the same giddiness Hans is. Looking back down, he shakes his head again. "Fuck, just let me…."
He places his mouth back on the wound he made and laves his tongue over it, and when he lifts his head again, the wounds no longer bleed, though they remain red. "They'll heal," Henry assures him. "In a day or two."
Hans hums. He doesn't care. Let the wounds stay, let them scar, that way he'll have Henry with him always. Henry glances back out the small window and curses softly under his breath. "I need to get going. I don't want to."
"But you have to." Hans nods. "I know. Come here." Henry moves up toward him and Hans reaches out, wipes a smear of blood from the side of Henry's mouth and then offers him his sanguine stained fingers. Henry takes them into his mouth, licking over and between them. Hans giggles again. Oh, he loves this man.
"Come back quickly," he says.
"As quickly as I can." With reluctance, he rises from the bed and drags his clothes back on as Hans watches from the bed. "Be careful while I'm gone, alright?" He bends down to kiss Hans, copper and iron strong on his tongue. "I need you to be waiting for me."
Hans nods again, yawning loudly.
"Are you alright?" Henry asks softly, brushing his hair back.
"Yes," Hans answers sleepily. "Just tired." And he is, pleased, satisfied, but bone-tired. Henry kisses him again, whispers a goodbye and a goodnight against his cheek, and then slips out the door. Hans watches him go, the door closing quietly behind him.
He lies there in the stillness and silence for a bit longer. He should get up, clean himself off. Henry's spend is drying on his skin and he can feel the small rivulets of blood growing tacky. He just needs a few more minutes to rest and then he'll get up. It would be easier if he wasn't so tired.
Just a few more minutes.