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The water in the tub has already gone lukewarm. Between the low murmur of their voices and the steady refilling of their cups, the room remains mostly silent, save for the lazy slosh of water against wood. They have come back from their ride just as the baths were closing, and Hans has bribed Zdena to leave them the keys, promising to clean up after. It is Henry, of course, who will be doing the cleaning, but that is a problem for later.
Now, he’s trying to focus on another tale of Hans’s recent escapades. The lord’s cheeks are pink as he enthusiastically recounts one of his last bathhouse visits.
“Then she got on all fours, and my eyes wandered right to her arse. She kept moving, and I was half drunk besides, so I didn’t see much, but I couldn’t help thinking I’d never tried it there.” He scratches his chin thoughtfully. “Apparently, it costs twice as much as regular fucking, can you imagine? Must be worth it if people are willing to pay.” Hans shrugs with a teasing glint in his eyes and tips back his wine.
Henry’s grip tightens around his cup. He opens his mouth as if to reply, but no words come. He takes a slow sip of wine, hoping the topic might shift before he has a chance to embarrass himself. But Hans isn’t ready to let go of the subject. With a satisfied sigh, he continues:
“Honestly though, I know nothing about arse-fucking. It would be embarrassing to order it and just sit there like a blockhead.”
Henry clears his throat. “I don’t know if the bathmaids would care th—”
“Oh, you’re very wrong, Henry. They care plenty. They discuss every client, every… success and failure, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they talked outside the baths too. The more important the guest, the more attention they give. And I am a lord — there’s no way I can make a fool of myself.”
“Alright… What would you have me do then, Sir Hans?” Henry’s mind races. He can already see his lord ordering him onto a bath wench on all fours while Hans sits right beside them, taking notes like a scholar. Heat creeps through him, and he masks it with a crooked smile and a joke. “Shall I go fetch a book on arse fucking for you?”
Hans throws his head back and laughs. “Do you think me so cruel as to send you on such a tiresome errand?” He swigs his wine. “Though… there is something you could do to help. You wouldn’t even have to do anything, really.” He swipes his tongue across his lips.
Henry swallows hard. “What is it, then?”
“You could, let’s say… show me your arsehole.” Hans says it as casually as suggesting a ride out or sparring practice.
Henry freezes. The words hang in the air like a dare. Hans doesn’t laugh or backtrack. He just waits. Henry shakes his head, stammering, “I— I won’t. What the fuck do you mean?”
“Oh, come now,” Hans says smoothly, leaning back, still smiling. “I only want to get accustomed to the view. I’ve never properly seen one up close. And a man’s hole isn’t all that different from a woman’s, right?”
The image of his lord staring at his arse sends Henry’s mind spinning. The water feels even colder, a stark contrast to his hot skin; the tub somehow seems too small, their limbs too close. Must be the wine clouding his senses. Right, this devilish substance had surely twisted his lord’s mind as well.
“Sir Hans… I think you’ve had enough for tonight. Let’s return to the castle — fresh air might clear your head.”
“God’s wounds, I’m perfectly sober!” Hans crawls closer, face flushed, and sits right beside Henry, resting a hand on his knee. “I’m not asking you as your lord, Hal. We are friends, yes? I just… I don’t want to lose face, or spark gossip about my inexperience.” When Henry still doesn’t answer, Hans strokes his knee and adds, softly, “Just one peek, for a moment?”
Hans’s usual demeanor is gone. For the first time, he is asking rather than ordering. And the sincerity in his eyes makes Henry hesitate, refusing almost feels rude. Besides, there is a chance neither of them would even remember this tomorrow.
Henry lets out a reluctant sigh.
“Fine.”
The lord’s face brightens instantly, the flicker of pleading in his eyes turns to playful flames. He squeezes Henry’s knee with quiet gratitude, and moves back to lean at the tub edge with a splash.
“Well, turn around! Can’t see much from this side, can I?”
Henry drains the last of his wine and obeys, turning as instructed. His heart thuds against his ribs as he bends forward away from Hans, leaning on the wooden rim. To be seen like this, bare and open, is one thing, but what if after the great experience with women’s soft curves and smooth skin, his lord might find him coarse, or even repulsive?
The silence stretches, drawing Henry’s nerves tight, until a heavy gulp breaks it. Is Hans drinking his wine while staring at his arse? It was supposed to be a brief inspection, but Hans seems to be taking his sweet time.
“So, is this it? Can I turn back now?” Henry asks, his patience thinning. He starts to straighten, hoping this would be over, only to be pressed back down by a firm hand.
“Not yet! I just… it’s so dark in here, I’m not sure I can even see anything. Wait here.”
Henry hears the water slosh as Hans climbs out, followed by the soft thud of wet footsteps on the wooden floor. A moment later, a warm glow creeps closer. Hans sets the oil lamp on the nearby table among the soaps and fragrant oils, then slips back into the tub.
“That’s better. Only…” He nudges the insides of Henry’s knees apart with his own, widening his stance. “Yes, like that. Perfect.”
Hands land on Henry’s arsecheeks, lightly rubbing them. The blood rushing to his bowed head changes direction and goes straight to his cock.
“Christ,” Hans adds with a strained laugh, “you’re quite hairy down there, Hal.”
He continues the exploration, his thumbs stretching towards the center. “I’ll just clear the way to see better. Though I doubt wenches have as much hair there,” he chuckles, smoothing the longer hairs away from his hole.
“Actually looks rather nice,” he mumbles, almost to himself.
His touch lingers, fingers circling closer and closer to the entrance with each stroke. Henry’s breath hitches. He should say something, put an end to whatever is going on. He bites his tongue.
Slowly, Hans’s thumb finds the tender skin right around the puckered hole, brushing it gently.
“It’s so soft,” he murmurs. “Nearly as velvety as a cunt. Though I suppose it’s hard to compare, considering how wet girls get there. Do you think it would feel the same when wet, Hal?” His voice is even, if only to an untrained ear.
“I don’t know, Sir,” Henry forces out, fighting to keep his own breath steady.
“Mhm. I suppose the only way to know is to try.” A brief pause. “You don’t mind, right?”
The next moment, something warm lands directly on his hole, followed by a wet smack of lips, breaking the line of spit. Henry feels light-headed, pulse thrumming in his ears.
“Kurva,” the word catches in his breath as Hans’s thumb spreads his spit around the opening. “Looks so pretty like this.”
When Hans begins to rub directly over the entrance, Henry flinches, the muscle twitching reflexively with every pass. A shuddering breath comes from behind, and more spit joins the mess. Suddenly, the thumb pauses, then angles to prod. Time stops as Henry feels the pad going inside.
This is way past what they agreed on. His tongue bleeds between his teeth.
Hans pushes Henry’s concern down with his thumb, pressing further. As the thickest part goes in, the muscle gives way, swallowing the rest of it. The tension eases at once, leaving an unfamiliar sense of a stretch.
“Oh, Hal,” Hans exhales heavily. “Did you… did you know you had such a greedy hole? It nearly sucked me in.”
He begins to pull his thumb out only to press it back in again halfway through. As he repeats the motion, Henry finds himself anticipating the moment of relief when it slides fully inside.
“Still,” Hans goes on, thoughtful, “I can’t see how a cock would fit there. S’ so tight…”
He withdraws his thumb to squeeze Henry’s arsecheeks. “I suppose it can be stretched accordingly. See, there’s no way I’d know that just by looking.”
He gives Henry an appreciative slap and replaces the thumb with his forefinger, pressing it to the entrance. This time, friction stops him short.
“Fuck. I’m going to run out of spit at this rate — it dries too quickly.”
Hans withdraws, and by the sounds of it, starts rummaging through the flasks and phials on the nearby table, humming softly. “Hal, help me out here: marigold oil or mint one?”
Henry winces. “Definitely not mint.”
He hears the cork pop free. A moment later, a slicked finger prods at his hole. Judging by the smell and the lack of stinging sensations, the lord followed the advice. His other hand traces slow, calming circles on Henry’s lower back as the finger slides in smoothly, not stopping until it is buried deep inside.
Hans draws the finger out and this time, pours the contents of the phial directly onto the entrance. Collecting the dripping oil with two fingers, he immediately tries to push both pads back inside.
Henry feels like he’s going to tear from just those two fingers. There is no way a full cock could fit in there without causing serious injury. His own softens from the strange sensation, and as the digits continue to push further, he lets out a pained sigh.
“Shit, does it hurt?” Hans’s voice carries genuine concern, even as he keeps his fingers inside. At least he stills.
“Aye, doesn’t feel good, that’s for sure,” Henry manages through clenched teeth.
Hans withdraws immediately, pulling Henry upright by the shoulder. “Sakra, I had no idea. I’m so sorry! I… I got carried away.”
As Henry turns around, he sees Hans’s worried face, and his irritation fades. The noble opens his mouth to say something else when Henry stops him. “It’s alright, I’m fine. It just… felt really odd.”
Hans slowly nods. “Should we call it a night then?” he asks reluctantly, swallowing thickly.
He is still kneeling, his chest heaving. Henry lowers his gaze and sees Hans rock hard, his cockhead swollen and red. A flush of shameful pride rushes through Henry — he is the cause of that. Well, his arse is.
“So was the show to your liking, my lord?” he asks coyly.
“Yes,” Hans replies carefully. “Thank you. I feel much more confident in this area now.”
There is something restless flaring within Henry, and before he can stop himself, he blurts out: “But are you sure you know everything you need now? Your reputation reflects on me as your squire, so I wouldn’t want to be the target of sneers.”
Hans furrows his brows. “What do you…?”
“I’m saying we don’t have to leave now. If you perhaps wanted to,” Henry pauses and gestures vaguely, “practise more.” Like a lit match, the flicker of desire returns to his lord’s eyes.
“You’re right. If—if you’re sure that is.” Hans bites his lower lip, anticipating the final confirmation.
“I am, aye.” Henry nods with certainty and stands up. “I’ll bring some hot water then.”
The buckets are in the next room, warming by the fireplace. As he walks there and back, he feels the persistent stinging in his arse — it’s like Capon’s fingers are still there. He hopes the sensation fades before morning, otherwise, how could he look his lord in the eyes while still feeling his touch inside him? The image sends a wave of goosebumps rippling along his legs. Henry empties the buckets into the tub and quickly rubs at his thighs, chasing away the thought. As he gets back into the bath, the fresh steam rises around them, and he lets out a long, heavy groan, leaning with his back against the edge.
“I need a few minutes. Warm water should help relax the muscles,” he explains to Hans, who’s surely waiting for Henry to take his previous position right away.
“Take as many as you need, of course.” Hans shifts his weight, his eyes tracking the steam as it clings to Henry's skin. “In the meantime, here is something else for relaxation.” He lifts the wine pitcher in demonstration and refills their cups.
They sit opposite each other, drinking and attempting to chat. Just like the beginning of the evening, only now Hans’s eyes linger. His lips are redder, both from the wine and the way he worries them with his teeth. As the laughter from a joke one of them made dies down, Hans’s gaze grows heavier. The noble hasn't even laughed that hard, yet his chest continues to rise and fall in a fast, jagged rhythm.
Henry’s face gets hot. He clears his throat. “I reckon we can continue with the, uhm, practice, Sir.”
Hans almost jumps at the statement. He gets on his knees again, reaching for the oil phial. Henry takes a deep breath and turns around, spreading his thighs as wide as the tub allows. The very next second, a warm hand cups his left arsecheek and kneads it lightly. Hans pushes it aside and pours the thick liquid right in the crack. With a loud thud, he returns the phial onto the table and brings his fingers to the tight ring of muscle to softly massage the oil over it for a while.
Shame washes over Henry when he realises that unlike the first time, as Hans’s pads go over the very entrance, it reflexively opens slightly on its own. He can’t help a muffled whimper at how exposed and obscene he must look. Hans’s heavy breathing between small water splashes of his movements only proves this.
The rubbing stops, and the hands retract from his backside. After a beat, the fingers return, newly slicked up.
Hans slides in the first one fairly easily. To ensure there is no strain, he works it in and out with a steady rhythm. With the excessive amount of oil, the intrusion doesn’t hurt at all. On the contrary, without the distraction of pain, now he can notice wet, squelching sounds that accompany every slide of Hans’s finger. He has to bite his lip to stifle a moan at the lewd noises and the unexpectedly pleasant sensations.
“I’m going to try two now,” Hans warns, his breath hitching as his fingers stretch their way into Henry’s tight opening.
He stops as the first knuckle goes in, his free hand moving to pat Henry’s back. “Everything alright, Hal?”
Henry gives an affirmative answer, and Hans sinks in deeper. The moment the widest part of his knuckles enter, the sting returns. Henry hisses through his teeth, and Hans immediately slides back just enough to ease the pressure.
"It doesn’t hurt as much this time, but it’s hard to ignore,” Henry says.
“Uhm, I might have an idea on how to relax you more,” Hans says, audibly gulping, then adds, “I’ve never done this to another man, but it can’t be that difficult.”
He moves closer so that the sides of their thighs are almost flush, and stretches his arm around Henry’s hips.
Henry looks down, and there is no mistaking his lord’s intent. Still, he jerks at the first touch of Hans’s palm on his cock. He hadn't noticed when Hans managed to oil it up as well, but the hand slides smoothly from the base to the tip, which he circles with a thumb once before going back down and up again. It takes Henry a few seconds to fully stiffen under the soft touches.
Two fingers of Hans’s other hand remain two knuckles deep inside Henry, but he can forget about them for now and enjoy the attention in front. Each stroke of Hans’s hand sends waves of heat traveling down his body, and he bites into his lip, trying to keep his mouth shut to not let out any sounds.
This has to be a dream: his lord pleasuring him, and at his own suggestion, no less. The same hand that is holding him now, earlier that day had swung a sword, drew a bow, touched its owner’s face. Hell, maybe it even squeezed his lord’s cock this morning. The same hand. So slick and warm, up and down. A vision surges into his mind of Hans kneeling before him, his mouth stretched around him. The same mouth that’s quick to throw jests and orders at Henry, now wide open, pink lips pulled tight as he diligently works him. Slick and warm, up and down. Henry's hips stutter, meeting the lord’s hand halfway.
Reality surges back as something blunt presses against the side of his thigh. With his leg pinned directly between Hans’s, he has no doubt what exactly it is. Hans rocks his hips in a small, testing motion at first, but every time he slides forward, the grind of his cock against Henry’s leg grows bolder.
Chasing his own pleasure, he begins deliberately pushing into the meat of Henry’s leg, their bodies glued to each other, the friction of wet skin burning. The pace increases as Hans shamelessly pants into the heat between them. Then the rhythm of the thrusts fractures, and tightening his grip on Henry's prick, Hans lets out a strained moan. He pulls away immediately, yet doesn’t let go of Henry’s prick, only slowing the motion of his hand.
A shaky exhale hitches in Hans's throat, and as if suddenly remembering his other hand, his fingers twitch and move inside Henry once more. First, Hans just works the same familiar length of the digits back and forth. Then he tries driving in the widest part.
To Henry’s surprise, the lord’s tactic seems to work. The pain in his arse is dulled by the pleasure of stroking his cock. Finally, Hans pushes the rest of the two fingers in. It feels… fine. Full. At least while they rest inside. But as Hans draws them out and thrusts them back in, the knuckles catch against the sensitive rim, leaving a slight burning sensation with every pass.
“Can you stay still for a moment?” Henry asks as Hans buries his fingers as deep as they would go and stops there. Unfortunately, he stops the motions of the other hand as well, letting go of Henry’s prick.
“Let me get used to it,” Henry explains.
“By all means,” Hans replies and shakes the hand that had previously been stroking him. “Jesus Christ be praised, I was already starting to lose sense of my wrist. Even wielding a sword isn’t as tiresome.”
Without the pleasurable distraction, Henry needs to dull his senses with more conventional means. But from his position, he can’t grab the wine pitcher himself, not even considering the fingers in his arse.
Feeling he probably doesn’t have much to lose, he dares: “Can you get me some wine? I’ve grown quite thirsty.”
He expects at least a jest, if not another rant about their places in the hierarchy. Instead, Hans says calmly, “Of course, Hal. Where is your cup?”
He quickly finds it along with the pitcher, reaching for them with his left hand while the other remains buried two fingers deep inside Henry. Finally, he holds out the cup, and Henry straightens to take it — despite Hans’s favorite jests, he isn’t a dog to drink on all fours.
The sensation of something being inside while he moves is odd, but Hans seems determined to keep his fingers there. As Henry takes the first sip, the fingers slide outward, only to drive back in to the hilt the moment he swallows. He coughs once but continues drinking the wine, ignoring Hans’s advances. While Hans seems to be doing the same: continues his advances, ignoring Henry’s drinking.
Soon he begins brazenly fucking Henry with his fingers, mirroring every gulp of wine with a slick thrust. By the time the cup is drained, Henry is out of breath, no strength to even wipe the remains of wine trickling down his chin.
“Oh, you’re done already?” Hans chuckles and takes the empty cup from Henry’s trembling hand. “Must have been really fucking thirsty, eh?”
He leans back to put it away, and at that moment, a jolt of beautiful pleasure strikes Henry from the inside, and an unrestrained moan tears from his throat.
Startled, Hans drops the cup, which clatters to the floor, instantly forgotten. “Sakra, what is it? Does it hurt again?”
Henry can barely think after that strong feeling, let alone speak. He only manages, “No. Felt good. Do it again.”
“But I didn’t… Shit, alright,” Hans groans, partly in excitement, partly in frustration. He tries to find that same position, his fingers hooking slightly as they sweep against the velvety walls. When he finally angles his hand a little forward and pushes his fingers inside, Henry jerks, and another high sound escapes him.
“Ahh, fuck. Right there.” His head lolls back, lips parting in pleasure.
Overjoyed, Hans carefully pushes Henry’s shoulder blade, guiding him to bend forward once more. With the new discovery, he starts hitting the sweet spot with quick, precise movements. All thoughts vanish from Henry’s head. He can only hear his own “ah, ah, ah” behind the fierce heartbeat pulsing in his ears.
“How does it feel, Hal? Tell me,” Hans demands between his own short broken breaths.
Wonderful, Henry thinks, but the word dies in his throat. All he can manage is a guttural, muffled groan as the pleasure peaks.
The lord’s free hand, which had been resting on his back, suddenly slips lower, and quick splashes of water follow right after. Henry feels the climax approaching as the image of what Hans is doing appears in his mind.
“Fuck, I—I’m close,” he gasps out as a warning.
Hans stills at once. Henry barely keeps himself from crying. The fingers slip out of him and both hands settle on the small of his back.
“I got carried away again. Sorry.” Hans’s voice is shaky as he rubs Henry’s back in a way that’s meant to be reassuring, but feels like torture. “I mustn’t forget I’m only doing this for research. I still couldn’t possibly fit my cock into such a tight hole. Well, even if I did, I suppose the pressure would be so overwhelming I’d burst right on the spot, making a laughingstock out of myself… Can you imagine?”
Henry can. And he hates how it makes him feel.
“Do you see now why this is necessary?” Hans continues, squeezing Henry’s arsecheeks for emphasis. “I want to learn how to properly stretch it.”
He pours more oil onto his puckered opening and swiftly shoves the same two fingers inside. This time, Henry barely feels a flinch of discomfort.
Satisfied with the smooth entry, Hans prods with a third finger. He pushes past the muscle ring with some strain, but any discomfort is eclipsed by the lingering aftershock of the tremendous pleasure along with the numbing warmth of the wine.
Soon, Hans is working all three fingers deep within him. He twists them, testing the give of the muscle, and to Henry's surprise, it feels good somehow, even without pressing that sensitive knot. God, how he wants him to do it again. It’s a shame Hans has other plans.
He pulls his fingers out and sighs satisfactorily. “I reckon it’s ready now.”
He follows it with a sharp, playful slap against the damp skin of Henry’s arse, and begins testing the progress: one finger in and out, then two, then three. The glide is almost too smooth — Henry takes it well, serving his lord as he ought. Like a good squire. No — like a good whore. The resentment from the thought beads at the tip of his neglected cock.
“Though I still don’t know if I wouldn’t come right away,” Hans murmurs as he reaches forward, and tenderly strokes Henry’s hair before rubbing the nape of his neck. “If I could… try to make sure… maybe only the tip?”
Henry’s heart hammers against his ribs. He knows the right response. The one that can allow a small chance for them to laugh this off tomorrow and pretend the night’s fleeting desires hadn't corrupted their blooming friendship. To not cross the line without a way back. But. His tongue lies heavy in his mouth, not even trapped between the teeth now, its wounds healing in the pool of drool.
After a beat of silence, Hans persists with a low plea. “Please, I just want to know how it feels at the entrance. May I, Hal?” He asks while drawing slow torturous circles around Henry’s rim with his thumb.
Henry’s self-control gives in. “Mhm.” He knows if he tries to speak, his voice would tremble, or worse, he would whimper.
At the confirmation, Hans swiftly pulls Henry to him by the hips and aligns his cock. A fresh slick of oil runs over his entrance. A moment later, the head of Hans’s cock pushes against his rim. It feels significantly larger than his fingers, but the stretch holds.
As the head slides fully inside, Hans lets out a low moan, and Henry uses all his willpower to suppress the groan threatening to escape his throat.
Hans withdraws a little and presses back in, mumbling something Henry can’t make out, as his cock slowly pushes deeper into Henry. The burning sensation returns with a new force, pain mixing with the pleasurable heat and anticipation.
With about half of his length buried, Hans stills. He strokes over Henry’s back once again as if steadying, not clear whether it is himself or Henry. “Christ Almighty, I can’t stop now. I have to go through with this.”
He drives deeper, caressing Henry’s thighs and the swell of his arse. “I’m grateful you’re with me in this. Fuck, you truly are the best—” he thrusts one final time with a grunt and bottoms out, “—friend I’ve ever had.”
If not for the struggle of trying to stay relaxed while holding Hans’s entire length within him, Henry would laugh at the ridiculousness of the confession. To think he’s been worried this might ruin their friendship. Carefully bracing his head against the wooden rim, he lets out a long, shuddering exhale.
The lord groans with pleasure and squeezes Henry’s hips harder. His ragged breath is quick and loud. As it starts to even out, he slightly pulls out and thrusts right back home, sending Henry’s eyes rolling back into his skull.
After a few more careful thrusts, Hans picks up the pace, his panting growing louder with each slap of his balls against Henry’s arse.
“You’re so good! Fucking hell, your arse is perfect.” With these words, Hans grabs his arsecheeks and spreads them further apart. Henry feels him get even deeper this way, and can’t resist a short, but still a whimper, at the overwhelming fullness.
Hans seems to catch it. “You like it, huh? Moaning like a common bath wench on my cock.” He pounds harder. The wine and pent-up arousal loosen his tongue completely, erasing the barrier between his thoughts and his tongue. “Kurva, you’d make a fine one, Hal. I’d lose all my groschen coming here to have you like this every day.”
Henry lets out a high, thin moan at the words. If his lord let himself go, perhaps there is no point in resisting anymore.
After thrusting particularly hard, Hans leans over Henry, pinning his hand against the tub's edge. Chest flush with Henry’s back, he pants into his ear. “I’m almost there, Hal. You’ve been so good.” Putting his other hand on Henry’s chest, he squeezes it. “Shit, it’s even better than I imagined.”
He drops his head onto Henry’s shoulder, his mouth open, lips swiping over the wet salty skin with every word. “Have you... wanted this, too?” his voice turns to a desperate whisper, “...with me?”
What?
Henry doesn’t have an answer, or any coherent thoughts — he isn't even sure if he has heard correctly or if it’s a trick of his drunken mind. Instead, he shifts his weight with effort, pushing his hips back against Hans’s cock.
As they begin to move in a shared, frantic rhythm, the pleasure grows. With Hans lying flush against his back, Henry feels every breath tickling his neck. If he turns his head just so, he can catch the heady scent of the wine on the noble's breath. He wonders if he could taste it, too, if their lips met. He’d only need to arch his back a little and wait for Hans to reach him halfway.
Instead, Henry only swipes his tongue over his own lips, tasting the same wine, and letting himself pretend he knows what it’s like to kiss Hans, so there is no need to actually find out.
A loud groan pulls him out of his head as Hans drives deep and halts, the thudding of his ribcage reverberating against Henry’s back. Possessive hands roam his body, palms sliding over his arms, chest, and thighs before settling on his shoulders. Using them as leverage, the noble rises, lifting one leg and bracing it against the rim of the tub.
As Hans withdraws, he swiftly drives back in, and a searing jolt of pleasure goes through Henry. He lets out a broken cry and grinds back with newfound vigour. With all the mercy of a true lord, Hans uses the new position to hit the pleasurable spot with every single thrust.
Henry moans without shame, as if this very feeling is being fucked out of him. When Hans’s movements lose their rhythm, turning desperate, Henry reaches down, wrapping a hand around his cock to match Hans’s pace. There is no way to tell if it's the strokes along his length, along with the rhythmic squeezes of the cockhead, or his lord pounding against that pleasure point that makes him leak more. The sensations mix, pushing him over the edge from both sides, his vision drowns in all colours at once. They swirl in a whirlpool and finally turn a blinding white as Henry comes hard into his hand. Trembling convulsions rack his body, and he grips the tub’s edge to stay upright.
In a moment, he hears a guttural groan from behind, and the hot pulse of Hans’s release spills deep inside him. Shudders continue to hit his body, the pleasure vibrating through him as his arsehole squeezes around the cock buried inside of him with every fading wave.
Hans tiredly lowers himself on top of Henry, mindlessly drawing circles around his chest, his fingers tangling in the hair there. His palm slides lower, gently brushing over the lower stomach before coming to rest on his hip. Slowly pushing himself off, Hans withdraws his limp cock, the release following along with the movement in a sticky string.
“Fu-uck,” Hans curses in a low whisper.
His thumb returns to Henry’s opening once more, as if it belongs there, and circles the ring. A quiet whimper escapes Henry from the oversensitivity, which makes Hans chuckle.
Finally, Henry turns around. He can’t help a hiss at the stinging as he sits opposite his lord. He dares a shameful look at him and sees the warmest smile on his face.
“You did good, Hal,” he nods, eyes full of gratitude. Then he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He opens them with a newfound energy, declaring: “What a night… Well, let’s clean this up now.” He pointedly stares at Henry.
“Right, on it, my lord,” Henry grumbles as he stands from the tub to fetch clean water. He feels the remains of the night trail from his arse, matting the hair on his leg.
-
They sit dazed in the newly warmed tub, washing away the sweat and other fluids in a heavy silence. Suddenly, Hans raises his head.
“I’m fairly certain that felt good for you, Hal. But then why would the bathmaids charge so much for it?” He frowns, lost in thought. “I suppose not everyone cares to provide such pleasure, though. But now, thanks to you, I know the trick of it. They might even give me a discount, if not something more.”
“Right,” Henry chuckles. “Show them that master strike you learned.”
Scrubbing his neck with a cloth, Hans averts his eyes. “Well, it’s not as if I’ve completely mastered it just yet. Might be beginner’s luck. Certainly, I’d get a better idea of how it works from the other side, eh? What do you think, Henry?”
“Aye, that may be just what you need.” Henry lets out a heavy sigh of exhaustion, but the prospect of taking his lord next time certainly helps him find the strength to get out of the tub and clean up before going to his bed in one piece.