Archive of Our Own

“You know…I saw her kiss you yesterday…” Hans admits, hands curled about the tankard of wine.

The words have flowed out of him faster than he can think to stop himself. Yesterday, when he’d gone looking for Henry he’d headed first to the Miller’s to find him and there he was locking lips with Theresa. That very scene alone had made Hans feel something — a painful ache in his chest coupled with a desirous longing to kiss Henry.

God, he’s done it now hasn’t he? He’s really gone and revealed that he’d been spying on Henry. Now his only friend will leave him…and Hans will be alone, as is the usual. Only Henry raises a brow and looks at him all quizzical.

“Who do you mean, Sir?”

“The mill girl! The one who’s apparently from the same town as you?!”

Realization flits across Henry’s features and his eyes light up, “Oh, you mean Theresa? Aye, she did.”

Hans makes a grumbly little noise, stares into his tankard. Suddenly the piss poor wine doesn’t seem as appetising any longer. Why the hell had he decided to invite Henry out anyway to this stupid tavern? His plan had been to have a few drinks and then get the information out of Henry. But he seemed willing enough to offer up the information and Hans is already deep in his cups. He doesn’t even like the wine they serve here. But…he turns to look at the blacksmith’s boy sitting at his side, utterly oblivious — it’s him, has to be, he makes everything in Rattay better.

Except now, Henry hasn’t denied the kiss with Theresa. He hasn’t even bothered to lie. So surely, he must hold some sort of affection for her, right? Then again it was just one kiss. A quick peck from the likes of it. But it is enough to make that feeling rise within him — jealousy.

“You see she and I had just returned from The Broken Wheel,” Henry begins, “I took her to dinner there and she asked me to dance. I obliged simply because I thought it’d make her happy. Honestly, that kiss…well…it was a spur of the moment thing really. I wasn’t expecting it so it came as a sort of surprise. I walked her home and I was going to say goodnight when she just grabbed me and kissed me,” Henry explains hoping that it would suffice to feed the young Lord’s curiosity.

Truthfully, Henry doesn’t know why he’d given such a detailed explanation of his personal affairs. They are, first and foremost, just that affairs of a personal nature, something that the master he’s serving (albeit temporarily) doesn’t need to concern himself with. Yet, Henry had felt the need to speak plainly and tell Sir Hans everything.

In the hopes that what…? That the young lord might not misunderstand? There is nothing to misunderstand from a simple kiss. Henry hadn’t kissed back. It was too short and Theresa had been too shy to stand around after she’d sprung her attack on him. Is he hoping that Sir Hans might not get the wrong idea? Well, Henry himself hasn’t even sorted through how he feels for Theresa. He’s mighty grateful to her for saving his life. But…perhaps it ends there?

And then it dawns on him that Sir Hans had to have been watching them. He had to have seen them kiss for how else is the young master to ask him such a question?

“Hang on a second…how did you know that Theresa kissed me?”

Hans lets the question hang in the air as he tips back his head, drinks deeply while trying to buy time to answer. He decides it’s best not to reveal that he’d been standing around the yard waiting for Henry when Miller Peshek told him Henry was out for the evening. So when he’s done, he simply carries on without an answer, “I thought you said you didn’t dance either? How is it that you went dancing with Theresa then?”

‘God! You sound jealous…’ Hans thinks as he keeps his eyes downcast, admiring the deep red of his wine. How they got such swill to a luscious red he doesn’t want to know.

“It’s not a lie, Sir, I don’t dance not if I can help it,” Henry explains, “But…we’d had a few drinks over dinner you see and Theresa rather forced me into it, really. I…wonder Sir it seems like you’re ignoring my question, how did you know?”

Hans shrugs nonchalantly, “I hear things from people who hear things from other people. Now tell me…did you enjoy it? The dancing?”

“It was alright…why?”

“Nothing…!” Hans answers taking another drink of his unauthentic Sylvan Red. He’s always wanted to dance with Henry. Sometimes when he watches the commoners dancing he wishes that he could do the same, stand up with Henry and have a dance or two. “So…what happened after? You were dancing all night?”

“God no, I’m no dancer, honestly!” Henry laughs the sound making Hans feel all warm inside. He likes the blacksmith boy’s laugh. It’s always rich and deep and warm.

“Some drunken lout interrupted us while we were dancing,” Henry explains, “He made some rude comments about Theresa.”

“Ah,” Hans says holding up a finger to stop Henry there, “Let me guess, you swooped right in to defend her honour?” Hans asks his voice all dreamy-like.

“Nothing so bold Sir Hans, but I did fend him off, aye.”

“Mmm, would you ever defend my honour?” Hans asks, that warm buzz filling his head as he fixes Henry with a look.

“What?”

“Don’t pretend! You heard me…”

“Aye, of course, I’m duty bound to do so,” Henry answers meeting the young lord’s watchful gaze.

“Duty bound…” Hans scoffs, “Right…thanks to Uncle Hanush, I’m your fucking duty…” he mumbles as he downs the rest of his drink and then stands on near unsteady feet.

“Sir Hans?” Henry questions looking at the nobleman, “Where are you going?”

“Taking matters into my own hands,” Hans mutters under his breath as he strides up to one of the other tables full of drunks. He slams his hands down on the table, rattling drinks and drawing startled eyes to him. “You lot,” Hans says glaring each of them down, “Have you nothing better to do than to sit here and drone on idly while drowning your sorrows in the swill they serve?”

“Drowning our sorrows? The fuck are you on about?”

“You heard me!” Hans says raising his voice, “You’re pathetic all of you. Sitting here like pigs and…and…lazing about in my town under my protection! I should have the lot of you cast out of Rattay!”

“What the fuck did you say?”

“Are you off your damned rocker? We’re celebrating, you twat!”

“Dear Lord…” Henry sighs as he watches the group of drunks getting to their feet.

“Good Sirs, please!” Henry calls out, hurrying to intervene, “Forgive my friend. Sir Hans has had more than a couple of drinks tonight so his tongue has loosened considerably. Isn’t that right?”

Hans stares at the blacksmith’s boy in the orange glow of the sconces lighting the tavern they’re in. He wants to fight.

“I meant what I said,” Hans snaps.

“I won’t have a rich little brat mouthing off to me like that,” one of the drunks says, knuckles cracking.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy there,” Henry placates grabbing the man’s shoulders, keeping him away from Hans, “You’re his elder. His better. Older is wiser and all that. You should know better than to fight a lordling like him, eh? So let’s not start something we’ll regret in the morning, hm?”

“I should know better than to fight a lordling?” the man spits as he draws his fist back and swings at Henry.

“Hell’s flaming bollocks!” Henry curses as he steps back very narrowly missing that fist.

Hans quietly steps back into the shadows now as he watches Henry take them on.

He has to say, the blacksmith’s boy is a power house. He’s outnumbered and yet…so ferocious. Hans watches with baited breath as Henry fights for his honour (albeit obtained through rather dishonourable means). He swings with precision and a deadliness that soon leaves the four drunks writhing in pain on the dirt. Trust a village yokel like him to win a fistfight outnumbered. It makes him feel safe to know that at least his bodyguard (as Uncle Hanush has decreed Henry to be since the hunt) is highly capable. He cannot stop smiling as he watches Henry make quick work of the drunks before turning his attention on him.

Hans smile quickly fades when he sees a rather furious blacksmith’s boy stalking over to him.

Henry is breathing heavily, knuckles bruised, bloodied. He licks his lips which as he approaches Hans now, the latter notices has split. And is his nose bleeding? His hair is all mused too and on top of it all, he’s fuming…absolutely seething. For some reason Hans feels his belly flutter as Henry closes the distance between them.

“You…” he says darkly, voice gravelly.

Hans backs up scurrying around the short end of the table as Henry advances on him. It helps to have the table between them though Hans thinks that Henry might smash it to smithereens. He looked about ready to explode.

“Henry… wait…!” Hans begins as he holds his hands out placating the blacksmith’s boy.

“What the hell was that for, huh?” Henry asks hands planted on the table as he nods over his shoulder to the felled drunks.

“Just a bit of fun, Henry, lighten up!”

“Fun,” he scoffs, “Fun?!” he raises his voice challenging the young master, “Do you have any idea how much fun this will be to explain to your Uncle?”

“They attacked me first!” Hans quips.

“You incited them.”

“And you protected me,” Hans argues, “You were doing your job. Uncle Hanush will understand,” he says with a shrug.

Henry sighs as he pushes off the table, “I’m supposed to be keeping you out of trouble Sir Hans, not getting involved in more tavern brawls.”

Hans frowns wrapping his arms about himself. So he’s a burden to Henry now too. Why can’t he ever seem to do anything right?

“Come on,” Henry says, his tone lighter now as he rounds the table, grips Hans’ arm, “I’ll take you back home.”

His touch burns so Hans tries to shake him off, “I can walk just fine on my own, thank you!”

“I’m not chancing it,” Henry grouses, “Not when you’re drunk like this.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“Right…” Henry says clicking his tongue, as Hans tries to prove his sobriety by walking in a straight line.

The world tilts and shifts like he’s on a ship. Not that Hans has even been on a ship before but he supposes this is what it must feel like, all the pitching and roiling of the waves and…oh Lord…is that the ground…?

“You’re hopeless,” Henry tuts as he slings Hans’ arm about his shoulder, “Let me wash up and then I’ll take you home,” he says as he guides Sir Hans over to the wall beside a trough of water, quickly washing the blood off before heading out of the yard of the tavern.

Hans almost feels sorry now for starting such unnecessary trouble just to prove a point to himself. Henry’s fingers feel like a brand upon his arm, burning through the layers of his clothes…he turns to look at the blacksmith’s boy in the light of the torch the latter carries as they make their way through the sleeping streets of Rattay. His lip looks a bit swollen. And is that a bruise on his jaw? Should he offer to take a look at it when they get back to Pirkstein or will that seem a bit too much for a nobleman to care?

Is it really just duty that keeps Henry beside him now? Maybe Henry’s just afraid of Uncle Hanush.

Lord knows Hans fears the man sometimes…

He bows his head now, watching their footsteps on dirt packed streets. They’re walking in the same stride, right foot first then left…then right again. It’s so silly and yet it makes Hans smile to think that they are so in tandem as to share the same walking stride. God…! Why is he feeling like this? It shouldn’t mean anything that they share the same stride or that Henry’s taking him back to Pirkstein. Yet it makes Hans feel…wanted…protected…safe even.

“Are you alright?” Henry asks now, his voice all concerned-like when Hans groans and then laughs.

“Fine, just fine,” Hans says as he tries to wriggle out of Henry’s grip. He doesn’t want those fingers branding his arm any longer. But by God Henry isn’t going to let him go. So they continue walking. Hans imprisoned at Henry’s side with an iron grip.

“Do you like her?” Hans finds himself asking, “Theresa, that is.”

“What sort of question is that, Sir?”

“Well if you intend to marry her and start a family…your liege lord would need to know so that he can prepare the adequate space and properties for you if necessary,” Hans babbles, “Weddings take months to plan, you know? Even peasant ones. You’ll need a good venue, and the invitations have to go out early and—”

“I’m not marrying anyone just yet,” Henry chuckles as he assures the young lord, “And even if I was, I should be informing my liege lord who would be Sir Radzig.”

“Yes, the same Sir Radzig who currently…” Hans begins as he taps Henry’s chest drawing the man’s attention to him, noting the flicker of something in Henry’s eyes, there and then gone in a second, “Currently…” he wags his finger at the blacksmith’s boy now, “Lives in Pirkstein,” he says with a flourish, arm outstretched to present the lofty silhouette of Pirkstein looming over them, “With me, as my guest. So I need to know too.”

“Do you now?” Henry asks, his tone almost teasing, “I would have thought that someone of your standing could care less about the marital affairs of a village yokel.”

“Well…not this village yokel,” Hans mumbles as they cross under the gate of Pirkstein.

They’re in the courtyard now and Hans doesn’t want to leave Henry’s side. So he plays it up, leaning into Henry, head upon the blacksmith boy’s shoulder, arms wrapping about the firm body of the village yokel he’s secretly head over heels for.

“Take me upstairs, Henry,” Hans whispers hiding his face now, pressing into Henry’s shoulder, “To bed.”

Henry stills at that request. It almost sounded like his lordship was asking Henry to take him to bed…which…well…is absolutely absurd. But Sir Hans has had too much to drink, so he really shouldn’t be surprised. Henry chances a glance down at the flaxen haired young lord who is fully invading his personal space, holding onto him like a leech.

“Don’t you have a manservant to attend to that task?” Henry asks as he stands there arms held aloft because he’s unsure where to put his hands.

“Out of the question,” Hans slurs, “He’s unavailable. Probably already asleep, the lazy lout. So that’s why I’m asking you. Please?”

Henry sighs, “Suppose I find him and wake him up?”

“Hennnryyyy!” the resulting petulant whine tugs at his heart as Sir Hans continues to burrow into his chest. Somehow it makes Henry feel all protective of the young lord. He is supposed to be serving as the young master’s bodyguard so…perhaps this duty should fall to him as well — just this once, anyway.

“I won’t make trouble for you again, I promise,” Hans says as he lifts his head now, pretty blue eyes looking up at him.

Henry’s heart twists at the pleading look in Hans’ eyes. He cannot deny the young lord his request not with such a sad eyes. So with a sigh, Henry relents, “Alright, I’ll take you upstairs. Come on, then,” he says trying to extricate himself from Hans’ hold so that he can lead the way. But instead Henry feels the young lord reach for his hand, smooth fingers slipping into his own callused ones.

Henry looks down at their joined hands.

It’s surprising how well they fit together. Surprising how smooth the back of Hans’ hand is…so much so that Henry cannot stop himself from stroking his thumb back and forth across that smoothness, almost mesmerised. It’s strange how such a simple gesture raises a flicker of something in his chest, protectiveness, if he had to name it. When he raises his eyes to meet Hans’, Henry notices that the young lord has been watching him too, cheeks flushed.

“It’s dark and I didn’t want to trip…so…”

It’s as weak an excuse as any and Hans knows it. But he’s not going to let go of Henry’s hand now that he’s holding it. He’s surprised that Henry doesn’t object and more than anything he’s pleasantly delighted to find the blacksmith boy’s thumb stroking against the back of his hand.

They take their time to climb the three flights of stairs. If either one notices that the other is dragging out their time together they do not point it out. But before long they are standing in Hans’ room on the top floor of Pirkstein. Suddenly the room seems too small and Hans is overly aware of everything within, the crackle of the fire in the fireplace. The warmth of their joined hands. Henry’s presence. His own ragged breathing…excitement making his blood rush…another daringly bold request upon the tip of his tongue.

How far can he go with Henry?

Hans draws his hand away from the blacksmith boy’s callused one. Words never seemed so hard before. The question makes his heart race.

“W-will you…help me to undress?” Hans asks, keeping his eyes downcast. He cannot bear the thought if Henry were to reject him or worse…look at him in disgust.

Henry opens his mouth, about to protest. He really shouldn’t. But then Hans starts reaching to untie the hood around his neck, fingers fumbling uselessly about, addled by drink. Frustration creases that noble brow and all Henry can think of is easing the young lord’s frustration so he steps forward, “Let me get that for you,” he offers, moving to stand behind Hans now.

The ties of the hood unravel easily under his fingers and he slips the red hood off golden shoulders. Next, Henry loosens the weapon’s belt and purse about Sir Hans’ waist, leans in to take it off him. He catches a whiff of Hans’ minty scent, alcohol light about his person. He hears the soft hitch of the young lord’s breath when he lingers for longer than he should have.

Hans has never felt quite so vulnerable before as he does now. His manservant doesn’t make undressing such a…sensual…affair. Henry on the other hand steals his breath away with each touch. He finds himself turning to look at the blacksmith’s son as he hangs up his weapons belt and purse, folds his hood away tidily and then he turns, blue eyes catching Hans watching him.

For the hundredth time that night Hans feels a flicker of shameful desire coursing through him and he hurriedly turns back, staring at the mural painted walls of his room. This is a bad idea. He shouldn’t even have invited Henry out for a drink tonight. What the Devil had he been thinking? That he can…have Henry all to himself? That…that Henry would choose him?

“Do you want me to continue with the rest?” Henry asks, standing before him now.

“What?” Hans asks blinking back into the present.

“Shall I continue undressing you, Sir?”

“Naturally! Don’t tell me you sleep fully clothed, Henry?”

He chuckles, “I don’t. But you don’t need to know that.”

“Right. Of course, I didn’t need to know that,” Hans mutters as he gulps, lifts his head so that Henry can start unbuttoning his pourpoint. God, now he can only imagine Henry sleeping in nothing but his braies. Or perhaps he sleeps fully in the nude…

Hans purses his lips and squeezes his eyes shut as he hums a breath out through nose.

“Something the matter, Sir?”

“No…? Just…it’s a bit hard to breathe.”

“Shall I open the window wider for you then?” Henry offers.

“Mhmm…” Hans lets out a sigh of relief as Henry steps away from him. He shrugs out of his pourpoint, tosses it aside and then pulls his undershirt off as well, basking in the cool draft that kisses his bare skin.

Henry meanwhile catches himself staring at Sir Hans when the latter pulls off his undershirt. As expected Hans is all smooth pale skin, utterly hairless except where it mattered…a light dusting of flaxen hair curling about his navel, teasing him below the line of his hose and braies.

A pointed clearing of one noble throat later has Henry snapping out of his most recent distraction of ogling the young master.

“Perhaps…you should continue the rest yourself, Sir,” Henry suggests nodding towards Sir Hans’ still clothed bottom half.

It’s strange how all this is making him feel. He’s glad Sir Hans had asked for the window to be opened because Lord only knows how Henry felt like he had been placed in an inferno. He had been acutely aware of each of the young lord’s breaths, feather light against his cheek, his ear. And not to mention, the way Sir Hans’ breath hitches whenever Henry leans in towards him as though he expects something…more…

“Are you asking to leave when you’re not even done with your job, Henry?” the nobleman quips, one hand cocked upon his hip, “I didn’t peg you as the lazy kind…so…finish what you started will you?”

“Right then, I’ll finish up and be out of your hair,” Henry says as he steps forward only for Hans to sidestep him.

“Ah, ah, ah, not here,” he says in that teasingly playful tone.

Henry raises a brow in question watching as Sir Hans settles down upon his bed, lifting one leg out invitingly to Henry, “I’m tired of standing around, so you can start with the shoes now while I sit here,” he says wiggling his foot at Henry all come-hither like.

Adorable cannot even begin to describe this man. Adorably infuriating. That seems more appropriate.

“As you wish,” Henry obliges with a chuckles as he crosses over to the young master’s bed, gets down on his knees before Sir Hans and proceeds to continue undressing him.

If ever there is a moment that his heart has skipped a beat, it would be right now as Henry gets down on his knees before him. Hans most certainly did not expect any of this. He had rather expected Henry to have simply denied to finish the task and leave him alone. Yet, the blacksmith’s son is kneeling at his bedside one hand gently curling about the back of his ankle as deft fingers work the ties on his noble leather boots. Henry seems to be taking his sweet damned time, freeing one foot and then the other. When he’s done, he has the audacity to smooth his hands up his legs.

Henry finds himself getting carried away, hands wandering up Sir Hans’ hose-clad calves, marvelling at their strong yet slender shape, noticing the slightest tension in them as he continues to trail his hands up, higher, and higher still. Above him, Hans lets out a short gasp and Henry’s eyes flit upwards, meets his lordship’s eyes holding his gaze as his fingers tease about the leather buckle of Hans’ garters.

Now it’s a competition, the one who looks away first loses.

And Hans is determined not to lose. His heart is hammering away in his chest as he sits back, palms planted upon his bed, chest rising and falling with each breath. Henry is bold. Much, much bolder than Hans had given him credit for. He can feel those fingers teasing about his calve deftly working the buckle free, pulling the bit of leather off him. Then Henry’s strong fingers start to massage his calve softly, intentionally. The steady movements continue along the length of his calve and they make him sigh, draw, soft breathy noises from his lips.

“Henry…!” he warns, the name falling from his lips like some silent plea.

“It’s for circulation,” Henry replies, a slight quirk of his lips into a smirk, those eyes watching him intently.

“If you say so,” Hans mutters, licking his lips as those fingers continue their tantalising treatment of his hose clad calves.

When Henry’s done he kneels up, and Hans swears he felt a tremble course through him as the distance between them narrows…as those hands reach for the ties of his hose…

He looks away first. Squeezing his eyes shut as he tips his head back up towards the ceiling, breathing Henry’s scent in.

Henry’s fingers still in the lacings of Sir Hans’ hose. Distraction presents itself rather aptly in the exposure of the young lord’s pale throat. He’d won. Henry studies the young lord head tipped backwards. The pulse at his neck fluttering…his nipples a deep pink, teasingly budded…Nothing is stopping him from just leaning in and kissing them…or for that matter…blowing hot air on them.

One soft puff elicits a shaky whimper of a sound from the young lord’s lips. It stirs something in Henry who shuffles closer…determined to try again…

Hans feels it again, that hot breath feathering against his left nipple now. Then, a soft pressure, a kiss…? He is too afraid to open his eyes and confirm for himself because he must be dreaming. He must be…

Henry presses a kiss to the offendingly pink nipple of Sir Hans. Eyes cast upwards, watching for the man’s reaction. This time when he kisses it again, he opens his mouth to take the little bud into his mouth, sucking softly before laving his tongue over it. That does it, draws a most pleasing sound from Sir Hans’ lips. A sound which Hans struggles to quell, one hand lifting off the bed to press to his lips now, muffling his cry.

Light kisses trail across the expanse of his bared chest now and then Hans moans again when Henry takes his other nipple into his mouth, sucks on the sensitive nub…teases him with his tongue. “Herr Gott…” he whispers arching back, away from Henry. The heat of that mouth is devilish, too much for him, it obliterates all thoughts from his mind.

Henry draws back now, licking his lips, eyeing the still glistening pink nubs of Sir Hans’ pert nipples. He is shocked by his actions, by the look in Sir Hans’ eyes now as they fix him with a stare equal parts curious and cautious. Why the hell had he done that? He’d simply thought it…and then…acted upon it. He shouldn’t have, right? He’s overstepped his boundaries with the young lord.

Only Hans doesn’t seem to mind.

“What are you idling about for?” he asks, “For a simple task you’re taking damned long to complete it.”

“I suppose I’m easily distracted,” Henry says as he goes back to the task at hand. He notices now the rather prominent bulge between the young master’s legs. His own hose seems to have shrunk in size as well. “Lift your hips,” Henry instructs now, “I need to get your hose off, sir.”

Hans does as he’s told lifting his hips as Henry pulls his hose off him. He’s hard just from Henry’s sneak attack. He supposes the blacksmith’s boy must be drunk too…or he wouldn’t have done such a scandalous thing. With his hose off, Hans feels utterly vulnerable. There is nothing Henry cannot see…and Hans watches the way his bodyguard’s eyes stray to the tented material of his braies. Blue eyes look up at him and Hans wants him something bad.

“Come here,” Hans orders though it comes out more like a plea.

Henry kneels up between the young lord’s legs. He feels as Hans reaches out, grips his chin.

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” Hans says thumbing the bruise on Henry’s jaw, “I shouldn’t have started that…”

“It’s no matter,” Henry answers letting the young lord study him.

Hans leans in watching the slight widening in Henry’s eyes, the flicker of something in them. His breathing feels loud in his ears. This close, he swears Henry’s eyes looked blue-grey. Is this what Theresa had been looking at too before she kissed him? What a handsome face he has, Hans thinks as he lets his other hand cup his bodyguard’s face.

He could stare into those eyes forever and lose himself in them. Hans can feel the feathering of Henry’s breath upon his lips. He’s close enough to catch the very quick, subtle drop of those eyes as they flick down to his lips and then back up, darkening with…desire?

Hans hopes that is the case as he jumps off into the abyss, closes his eyes and pulling Henry’s lips upon his own.

Someone, perhaps him, or perhaps Henry lets out an almost tortured groan.

Hans trembles when he feels Henry invading his space, hands sliding up his bare thighs and rucking the material of his braies up. He feels Henry’s hands slide about his waist as the other man shuffles closer on his knees. Hans opens his mouth to the flick of Henry’s tongue against the seam of his lips, he moans at the feel of that tongue stroking against his while Henry leans up, shifting into a half stand.

Hans desperately angles his head upwards, not wanting to break the kiss and Henry groans into that soft mouth, hands smoothing up Sir Hans’ bared sides. He finds he wants more and the next thing he knows he’s climbing into Hans’ bed, pushing the latter back down. They’re still kissing, desperate and hungry. Henry’s letting his hands explore the young lord’s bared body, callused palms and fingers trailing up delicate ribs, thumbing the very nipples he’d sucked moments ago. He teases them again now, tweaking them between thumb and forefinger.

Hans arches off the bed at that, feeling Henry’s hands teasing his nipples, squeezing his pectorals. Touch starved as he is, Henry makes him moan, makes him whine, such embarrassingly needy sounds escaping from him. He can’t help the way his body reacts to Henry’s touch, can’t help himself as he ruts against Henry’s leg, rubbing his hard cock against Henry.

Thrust after thrust, its a needy, almost desperate rocking that they establish. Henry isn’t any better as he takes pleasure in the friction of rubbing his still clothed cock against Hans, swallowing those noises as their tongues continue to do battle.

Hans feels a bit light headed now, he can hardly breathe but by God he doesn’t want to stop kissing Henry. Only he feels a light push against his chest now and then another, slightly harder one. Hans doesn’t want to let go and so he leans in after Henry a soft whine of protest escaping his lips as Henry holds him at bay now.

“Henry no…don’t… don’t stop.”

Those blue eyes search his troubled and almost scared even. And a cold dreadful fear strikes Hans, wakes him up properly. He’s gone and been foolish once again, absolutely, horribly foolish this time to be rendered near naked and on his back in his braies under Henry. He quickly drops his hands from around Henry’s neck, turning away from the man still hovering over him.

“Hans..? I—”

“Get out,” Hans says softly, “Just go, please.”

“Wait, I can explain.”

“I don’t want to hear it Henry. Go. Now!” he barks.

Henry scrambles back, out of the young master’s bed.

Hans for his part throws an arm over his face, listens to the sound of Henry leaving him, the door to his chambers closing behind him. A pained laugh escapes his lips, one that evolves into a sob of frustration. Then he’s curling up on his side in shame and embarrassment. He shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have asked Henry to take him upstairs especially not when he’s decidedly drunk.

Henry leaves Ratty with his head still buzzing with thoughts of Hans. He takes a slow walk back to Miller Peshek’s under the light of the moon and stars. First there had been the fight, instigated by Sir Hans. Then that walk back to Pirkstein which ended with Hans burrowing into his chest, asking to be taken upstairs. And then…undressing him…

Henry should have stopped at walking Sir Hans back. He should have watched from the courtyard as Hans ascended back up to his chambers. He should not have joined him…should not have kissed him…

Sir Hans Capon had kissed him and it felt like the world had shifted, like something had changed.

Why the hell doesn’t he recall feeling like this when Theresa had kissed him?

Come to think of it…Henry can’t quite recall his kiss with Theresa it was all so…quick. And now that he thinks about it, it seemed just a sort of confirmation that Theresa liked him enough to do that. It seemed like a passing fleeting thing like ‘oh that’s what it’s like to be kissed’. But just now, with Sir Hans…

There was a tension thick as all hell in the air. A strange, searing desire. Henry wanted to kiss back. But at the same time, it was also a shock that he had wanted to kiss Hans. Or for that matter that Hans had invited him to his chambers, asked him to undress him and then kissed him. He must’ve been drunk out of his mind. Had Henry gone along with his…

He can almost imagine it, the way Sir Hans would feel under him, legs parted for him. The noises he would make, the way he would hold Henry. How Henry would hold those perfect calves, pushing the lordling’s legs higher, just so he can thrust deeper…

“Jesus…”

He’d always thought that Sir Hans was inclined towards women. He never shut up about boozing at the bathhouse with the wenches. He was always telling Henry how he would much rather traipse off to the bath house and have an evening of fun and revelry than spend time training with him under Captain Bernard’s care.

‘You should come with me.’

After the first time when Henry had woken up drunk out of his mind with a bad hangover, he’d declined. He’d thought Hans the kind to party hard. But this…? Hans had wanted him and Henry had been willing to give of himself…that’s what scared him. The ease in his actions towards Sir Hans, it was almost second nature.

Henry lets himself quietly into the house now, undresses down to his braies and lies in his bed thinking of Sir Hans. He feels almost sad to have made the young master look so hurt, a quiet broken look filling pretty blue eyes. He would run back and apologise though he doubts that Hans would want to see him, his lordship hadn’t even allowed him to explain himself.

Across the distance in his noble bed, Hans isn’t finding himself under the spell of sleep. Instead he’s ensnared in Henry’s spell, thoughts of the blacksmith’s boy floating through his mind.

All his life, his reputation in Ratty had been built centrally around his rakish charms as a notorious skirt chaser.

It’s mostly a cover, all this over the top proclamations for charming the skirts off women in the bath house, the boozing and all that went with it. In truth, Hans does enjoy the fine wines and the bathhouse but…he finds himself looking at the male servers instead while the bathmaid’s are getting him off. It was Sir Hanush’s great idea. His Uncle had devised such a plan and now, perhaps it has worked only too well for Henry to react as he had this evening.

Had there been hatred in Henry’s eyes? Had he looked at him with contempt like the vicar once had? He wouldn’t be able to bear it.

No, he needs to forget about Henry.

But that’s easier said than done because the blacksmith’s son is…unfortunately…rather memorable.

When he was sixteen, Hans remembers having a particular conversation with his mother.

‘First kisses are meant to be either a fiery rapture or utterly disappointing. You’ll know then if you’ve found your true love or not.’

However, Hans has quickly come to learn that for a man of his standing, true love is just utter horseshit. He’s more likely to be married off to some other noblewoman like a pawn in someone’s grand game. Alliances by marriage are all the rage these days after all, followed closely by being held hostage.

Then again, this kiss with Henry, this was something else altogether. Just thinking about him brought back the feeling of the gentle pressure upon his lips, made him recall the way Henry kissed him back fervently, eagerly, pushing him back down into his bed…surely he hadn’t dreamed it right? Could it really have been only the cause of the alcohol? That was highly likely, Hans hadn’t been counting the number of cups he’d imbibed. All he knows now is that he wants to taste Henry again, wants that mouth back on his all hard and insistent, tongue plundering his mouth till he moans.

The very thought makes Hans tremble, a delicious shiver making it’s way up his spine.

“Hans, are you quite alright now, boy?” Sir Hanush asks, “You’ve been staring into space for the better half of this morning! Your breakfast’s practically untouched.”

“My apologies, Uncle. My mind is…preoccupied…”

‘With thoughts of Henry…’ Hans thinks with a sigh as he spoons a mouthful of pottage into his mouth.

“Do you not want to know why I’m here?” Sir Hanush asks pointedly.

‘Not really.’

“Please, enlighten me,” Hans says, trying for a smile.

“I heard that there was a brawl at the tavern which you and Henry visited last night.”

“Ah…that was my fault,” Hans answers, sullenly poking at his pottage.

Unbeknownst to him, Sir Hanush’s eyes widen at Hans’ admission, that’s certainly a first. Usually, his ward is rather prone to blaming others.

“Come again?”

“It was my fault,” Hans answers, louder this time, more adamant.

“Well…what happened?” Hanush asks now, keeping his tone light.

Hans lets out a sigh, “I insulted a patron while I was drunk and Henry was only defending me when the man attacked me. So it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t start a fight. I did.”

“Hans, I’m sure I’ve told you many times before that you really need to watch that tongue of yours. It’ll get you in trouble one day and then you’ll be sorry.”

He’s already sorry now. There’s no need to wait for this one hypothetical day to arrive. Suddenly the pottage seems all blurry. Hans sniffles, that familiar burn in his nose and eyes. He can’t lift his head or he’s sure Uncle Hanush will see his tears gathering.

“Clearly the fight’s not what’s bothering you, boy,” Hanush grouses, “So spit it out, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Hans insists, “Just a bad hangover is all.”

“Pardon my intrusion, sirs,” a guard interrupts now as he enters the dining hall, “There is a young man in the courtyard looking for Sir Hans. He says it’s important. Should I bring him up here?”

Hans stiffens in his seat. Surely…it couldn’t be Henry now, could it?

“A mystery visitor?” Hanush asks, “Who the hell is he? Give us a name, man!”

“Uhm…it’s uh…Sir Hans’ new bodyguard? I think?”

Hanush scowls, “You think? Is it, or is it not? It’s your duty to find out! Go on!” he waves the guard out, attention going back to his ward whose eyes are reddish-pink. It’s evidence enough that Hans had been crying. He’ll wring the neck of whomever it is who made his ward cry.

Before long the guardsman is back, “My Apologies Sir Hanush, it’s a young man by the name of Henry.”

“Henry? Well send him up then!”

“NO!” Hans half-shouts, earning a shocked look from Sir Hanush who raises a hand and stops the guard from leaving.

“Tell him…tell him I’m not in,” Hans instructs.

“Of course, Sir Hans,” the guardsman obliges as he takes leave of their dining hall.

“What’s this about then?” Hanush asks, “Are you having a fight with the lad again?

“It’s not a fight uncle…” Hans mumbles.

“Not a fight you say? Then why aren’t you going down to see him?” his Uncle presses, “Why hide away and pretend you’re not here to receive him?

“I’m not in the mood for visitors, alright?” Hans snaps and then he frowns, “My apologies, I’m going to my room,” he says pushing his chair back and excusing himself from the dining hall.

Sir Hanush watches his ward leave. Raising a spirited young man like Hans was never going to be easy and in truth, Hanush knew he had his work cut out from him the moment his cousin, Hans’ mother, told him about the lad’s wild free spirit. He knows the boy is interested in Radzig’s son (even though Henry doesn’t know of this fact yet). But judging from the way things stand this morning, he wonders if his ward is feeling guilty for something. Why else would Hans deny to seeing Henry? The latter always seemed to put a smile on Hans’ face after all.

Patting his kerchief to his lips, Sir Hanush rises from his seat. He’ll see what he can do for his ward, perhaps it’ll earn him a few points in favour with Radzig as well, or so he hopes anyway.

Hanush finds the Radzig’s boy pacing in the courtyard when he descends the stairs of Pirkstein. Henry is so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t stop until Hanush stands right in path. Then he jumps.

“Sir Hanush…?!”

“Paying a visit to Radzig are we?” Hanush asks.

A nervous laugh, “Not at the moment actually.”

“Good, because Radzig’s not in anyway,” Hanush replies, “So what exactly do you want here?” he asks noting the way the boy looks about the courtyard as though trying to fathom what hole Hanush crawled out of.

Henry certainly hadn’t expected to find Sir Hanush of all people here at Pirkstein.

“Your answer, boy?” Sir Hanush prompts now.

“I…uh..I came to check on Sir Hans,” Henry explains trying to remain calm, “I didn’t know you were here, Sir Hanush.”

“And why wouldn’t I be here?” Hanush asks narrowing his eyes at the boy just for good measure, it’s always better to appear fiercer than one needs to be.

“I didn’t see your horse in the courtyard and…well…you’re usually in the Upper Castle, aye?”

“Oh aye,” Hanush nods, “But you see, I heard some interesting news this morning. About a brawl in a tavern. So I came to pay my ward a visit.”

“But Sir Hans isn’t in…?”

“Answer me this Henry,” Hanush begins changing the topic expertly as he hooks an arm about the boy’s shoulder, steering Henry across the courtyard, “What really happened last night?”

“Last night?” Henry parrots, “Well…Sir Hans invited me out for drinks last night. We got drunk and I sent him home afterwards.”

“And there were no fights at all?”

“I got into fight,” Henry answers almost immediately, “You know how it is, with us yokels. A bit of booze and we fly right off the rails.”

“Ah, but you’re not just any yokel…” Hanush says clapping Radzig’s boy on the shoulder. Goodness knows the two of them are trying to cover for each other. And Hanush can guess at why they’re doing that.

“Do you know when Sir Hans might be back, sir?” Henry asks, worry evident in his eyes.

Hanush turns the boy about face, “Go up those stairs, and head to his chambers. My nephew’s at home. He’s just in hiding at the moment.”

“Oh…” Henry says stepping towards the stairs.

“And Henry…?”

“Don’t make him cry again.”

Hans paces the length of his room. It would be utterly boring to remain trapped in here for the rest of the day. But if he wants to leave, he’s going to have to find some other way that doesn’t involve taking his horse and riding out of the courtyard.

‘Oh God! My horse!’

Henry would know for sure that something’s up when he sees Aethon in the yard and then he’d come here and that wouldn’t be any good. He’d better send for a servant to take his horse out to graze or something! No, but if Henry’s already here in the yard, then…it would be too late. Perhaps he should send for a servant anyway and order them to chase Henry away. Yes, that’s a much better plan and perhaps the best way to avoid embarrassment and to forget about Henry.

Though just as Hans swings his door open, he stops, finding Henry standing there, one hand raised as though he were about to knock on his door.

“Sir Hans…”

“Henry…”

In the daylight the bruise looks even worse. It makes Hans feel terrible once again.

“May I…come in, sir?” Henry asks tone cautious.

“Didn’t the guardsman turn you away? What the Devil are you doing here?” Hans asks trying to channel his Uncle Hanush.

“Your Uncle said you were in hiding. He sent me to talk to you.”

Hans raises a brow at that, “Uncle Hanush…sent you…? He must certainly be in a good mood,” he says as he takes a step back now, Henry following him into his room.

“And what of you? Are you in a good mood, Sir Hans?”

Hans crosses his arms over his chest, eyeing the infuriating object of his desires, “Why are you asking me that?”

“Last night—”

“I don’t know what you’re on about. Last night was all a blur really,” Hans says waving his hand about and then going to the window to stare out at the scenery because he can’t lie and then look the man he’s lying to in his blue eyes.

Henry frowns, this is going to take some work and he doesn’t know just how to bring it up without getting thrown out once again.

“Last night you invited me out to drink with you,” Henry begins, “Then you started a fight and I defended you. After which you asked me to take you home.”

Hans listens, all the while acutely aware of Henry’s eyes upon him.

“When we reached the courtyard downstairs, you asked me to take you upstairs and undress you.”

Hans feels his cheeks heat at the very mention of that.

“Then—”

“I’ve heard enough!” Hans snaps as he turns around to find Henry has closed the distance between them somewhat. He remembers the way the blacksmith’s boy at looked at him last night in bed. The way Hans had felt rejected.

“Why did you spy on me and Theresa?” Henry asks.

“I did no such thing,” Hans insists.

“You were spying on me Sir Hans, admit it. You were spying on me that night and you got jealous so you decided to create a similar night between us. Am I wrong?”

Hans clenches his fists at his side, “Yes. I was spying on you. And pray tell me, what the fuck is wrong with that? I am — or will be — the Lord of Rattay soon enough and I need to know what you’re up to if you’re to be my bodyguard. And having witnessed what I have that night, it seems to me that you were up to no good, cavorting with wenches after dark!”

“Cavorting with wenches?” Henry snarks, incredulous, “Theresa, is no wench! She’s a proper woman and a right gem. But you would know about wenches, wouldn’t you, sir? You’re the one whose always traipsing to the bath house to indulge in women and wine, no?”

“You fool! Those wenches are a sorry recompense for the man I truly want!” Hans snaps as he rushes at Henry, pushing him up against the door. A blow for a blow. God! Even when they argue Henry knows just where the hell to hit. How to make him explode. He wants to beat some sense into the man but he’s unable to raise a finger to hurt him.

Henry clocks it then, the fear in Sir Hans’ eyes which belies the blatant desire beneath as light blue orbs flick down to his lips before meeting Henry’s eyes again. Hans seems to contemplate something, seems to want to say something, but in the end he utters a soft curse and steps back, letting go of Henry.

“My apologies,” Hans says as he steps away from Henry, “Please just leave me be. I don’t think I can see you for now.”

“Sir Hans?”

“Goodness, will you just go away Henry? I don’t want to see you!” Hans half-growls, turning away and shutting everything out as he closes his eyes because all he wants to do it to kiss Henry again. He wants Henry in more ways than one. He wants the blacksmith’s boy to push him down in bed and have his way, take his liberties with him. He wants Henry to hold him late into the morning when he can’t sleep at night. He wants Henry to fight for him and stand by him. He wants Henry.

“If you ask me, I couldn’t stop think about you last night, Hans,” Henry confesses, voice soft, “I couldn’t stop thinking about the way you kissed me and how…how I kissed you back. Your lips were soft and your tongue was such a tease,” he continues stepping closer to Hans’ back now, “I thought of your body as well,” he says hearing a soft, notable gasp from the blond standing before him.

“I thought of your pale skin and how I wanted to kiss every inch of it. I thought about how it might feel if I were to lie with you,” Henry says placing his hands gently upon Hans shoulders now, drawing the nobleman back against his chest, “I thought about your perfect calves and how I would hold them up, spread your legs apart and fuck you.”

Hans stiffens, the hairs on his neck standing as he takes Henry’s scandalous confession, cheeks turning shades redder by the second.

“I imagined the way you’d whine for me, moan, beg for me to go faster,” Henry continues, lips by his lordship’s ear now as he lets his hands, shift, maketheir way down the nobleman’s arms, fingers intertwining with his hands, “But then I told myself that perhaps you were drunk and that’s why you acted the way you had. I thought you were playing games with me because you’re out of my league Sir Hans.”

“I’ll have you know that I don’t play games,” Hans says as he turns now to face Henry, “Especially not with you…well…not always anyway. I didn’t know if you’d…feel the same way about me. When I saw you kiss Theresa, I thought…I was done for. So I thought I’d…try to push you, see how far you’d go…and you surprised me.”

“I surprised myself,” Henry says as he gazes into the nobleman’s eyes, “When you kissed me it felt like the world had shifted,” he continues caressing the young master’s cheek, “I don’t know what it is or how to describe it but, it feels right to me.”

“So…what are you saying?” Hans asks as he feels Henry’s other arm wind about his waist, drawing him in.

“Might I be permitted to kiss you again, Sir Hans?” Henry husks, leaning his forehead against the nobleman’s.

Hans swears he must be dreaming. Perhaps he’s not even woken up this morning. All words have left him and he gapes silently at Henry.

“If I’m wrong then…”

“No! You’re not wrong,” Hans says as he grips Henry by his waist now, stopping him from pulling away, “You keep surprising me is all.”

Henry laughs at that, a warm velvety rich sound that makes Hans smile and blush.

“You haven’t answered my question yet, sir.”

“Right…of course,” Hans is all flustered, “The answer’s yes. And I don’t want you calling me sir when we’re alone like this. It’s just Hans now.”

“As you wish, Hans,” Henry whispers as he leans in to kiss the young lord once more.

It’s the same as last night, Hans is pressed up against him, lips soft against Henry’s own. He feels the way the nobleman melts into his arms, lips parting for Henry on a languid moan as Hans winds his arms about his neck, hands threading into his hair. Henry loses himself again in their kiss, the heat of Hans’ mouth, the way their tongues dance together, sliding against each other. It’s the utter neediness as Hans presses against him that makes Henry groan. He doesn’t want to stop and neither does Henry but he has to hold his lordship back.

“Need to breathe,” he whispers hearing Hans own ragged breathing.

“Sorry,” Hans sighs, cheeks flushed, “I got carried away.”

“Aye, I can tell. You liked that a bit too much I think,” he teases.

Hans is in awe of it, the smile on Henry’s lips, the joy bubbling in his chest, “You’re…not angry with me?” he asks all innocent-like.

“Why would I be?” Henry asks, “I’m surprised and honoured that you would kiss me. And if it eases your fears, I’ll tell you how much I enjoy kissing you.”

“Someone’s got a silver tongue huh,” Hans teases back, blushing.

“Do you suppose that’s good enough a replacement for someone born with a silver spoon in their mouth?”

“Henry!”

The man in question laughs, “What will you have me do, Hans?”

“I…I want to continue from where we were last night,” Hans says softly noting the darkening in Henry’s eyes.

“And where exactly were we last night?”

“Right here,” Hans says walking them back to his bed, pushing Henry down as he sits astride his bodyguard, “I want you to wrap me up in your arms and make love to me. That’s what I want, will you do it?”

“Aye, of course. For you, I will do anything.”

It’s the way Henry fills him that has Hans gasping on a silent, open-mouthed plea as he grips Henry’s arm, wound about his chest all possessive-like. Intimacy in Hans’ case had more often than not always been a lie, his afternoons and evenings with bathmaids were nothing compared to this. They were nothing compared to the way Henry moves within him, thrust after gentle, earnest thrust. Their bodies rocking together, moving in tandem, to a rhythm they have set.

Then Henry goes particularly deep in one stroke and Hans arches against Henry’s body, hips undulating back to meet Henry’s thrust. He grips his bodyguard’s arm tight, “Heavens, Henry! You’re so deep,” he whines, his free hand fisting in the sheets.

“You’re so tight,” Henry gruffs and Hans keens head tipping to the side as he lets Henry nose the joint between his shoulder and neck, inhaling his scent and kissing him over and over.

Henry can hardly control himself at first when Hans was still adjusting to him. But now, with the nobleman’s tightness about his cock, those eagerly writhing hips working back onto him, Henry swears he will become an addict. He shifts just then, lying on his back taking Hans with him. He grips the nobleman’s legs just behind his knees, spreads them wide open now as Hans struggles against him in protest.

“Henry! You can’t…not like this…!” he says feeling Henry’s strong chest behind him, “If someone comes…”

“No one else is here, save for us,” he husks.

“But the servants,” Hans whispers, hooking an arm about Henry’s neck, lips brushing against his grizzled cheek, whispering in his ear, “If they come here…”

“They won’t,” Henry assures with a thrust, “If you’re quiet.”

Hans whimpers, biting his lower lip in an attempt to stifle his breathy cries. He cannot help it for Henry is so good, “Oh…fuck…that’s it Henry,” he whispers, his body trembling when Henry hits a sweet spot inside him. He can feel the ripple of lightning in his veins, feel the way Henry drives home into him again, “Aye, right there…just like that…” he whispers encouragingly, “Right there…keep at it my dear…”

Henry feels the welcoming flutter of Hans’ insides about his cock, holding onto him tighter now, “Fuck…Hans…” he grunts, turning his head to capture the young lord’s lips, swallow his moans, “M’ nearly there,” he rasps, nosing against Hans’ neck again, he loves the scent of the young master right here. He loves the way Hans lets him kiss his skin. Henry cants his hips quicker now fucking up into the young lord’s tight heat with an urgent fervour, the slap of flesh on flesh filling the room. He can feel Hans’ arm about him, squeezing him closer, those eager hips writhing down on him, meeting him as they continue to ride, faster and faster, both equally desperate for their release.

Hans feels it moments later, the tightening in his bollocks, the way his belly flutters with each stroke of Henry’s cock. He’s close too and he lets his free hand shift to curl about his prick now, stroking himself in time to their fucking. He is leaking with desire, all that pent up need seeping from him. It isn’t long before he reaches his climax, seed torn from him on a loud cry which Henry promptly swallows kissing him with an open mouth, tongues dancing and mating as they ride out their orgasm together.

Henry continues to rock slowly into Hans as the last of his seed paints the nobleman’s insides. He enjoys the feeling, the fresh slick of his still-warm seed pushed deeper inside Hans, marking him for Henry’s own. Hans himself is dazed and jelly limbed as his body sparks with desire, his entrance all tender now as Henry rocks into him. He pushes back against Henry’s chest gently, tries to get away from him.

“Enough,” he whines, “Henry I can’t…I’m too sensitive now…”

Henry only hums, kisses him softly as he spoons against Hans, stroking the nobleman’s taut belly, “How is it that you feel so good with my seed inside you?” he husks hearing Hans’ breath catch in his throat.

Hans did not expect Henry to be this much of a dirty talker. But damn he’s good. It makes Hans feel the head of desire rising again inside him.

“Give me a moment and we can go again,” Hans whispers.

“Agreed,” Henry obliges as he shifts, pulls out from Hans’ oversensitive hole.

Hans feels it immediately, the emptiness that follows Henry’s leave, the way his body flutters to adjust to the missing size of his bodyguard’s cock. He watches in a daze as Henry kneels up in his bed, he can hardly move as he lies on his back, his legs still feel like jelly as he closes them now under Henry’s hawk-like gaze.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy now, Sir Hans.”

“Shut up!” Hans chides, batting at Henry with his foot making the man laugh as he catches him by the ankle, drawing Hans’ legs about him.

“You make a pretty picture like this,” Henry husks carding blond locks away from that angelic face.

Hans leans into that callused hand, legs pressing against Henry’s sides, keeping him prisoner, “Flatterer.”

“Instigator,” Henry says softly with a tender smile as he leans in to kiss the man he serves. Perhaps if Hans hadn’t pushed him, he wouldn’t have known just how deep his affections ran for this infuriatingly handsome man.

- END -