Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Henry hadn’t said that much when he left. Not that Hans knew what the fuck to say, either.

When he had roused, Henry’s eyes had been on his face, expression unreadable in the moonlight. They had regarded each other in the semi-darkness, Hans’ hand itching to reach out and brush down from Henry’s nose to his parted, perfect lips –

He had never been so enveloped in someone else’s warmth before. Even as they did those unspeakable things together, he had never felt –

Of its own terrible accord, his hand jerked forward in a burst of energy, getting almost to Henry’s chest before he realized what he was doing.

“I should be off, I think,” Henry said, his voice gruff.

“Right,” Hans said, barely above a whisper. His hand curled into a fist.

For the second time that night, he was struck dumb by something he didn’t have the words for. But what could he say after –

“Sorry, I er, need to get around you.”

Henry was staring down at him, his palms on either side of his shoulders. Does he sound sheepish? He was hit by the tang of Henry’s sweat, along with something much softer, was it mintha ? He had caught a hint of it earlier.

There had been a moment when Henry had reared back, the firelight catching at a smattering of hair on his glistening chest. He looked down, a hazy grin playing on his lips. Hans could do nothing but pull him back –

Trying to banish that memory to some far-flung corner of his mind came with the dawning realization that Henry was still completely naked, small beads of sweat clinging to his chest. And on top of him. Feeling himself flush scarlet, he saw Henry’s eyeline sweep down Hans’ body, his own cheeks ruddy. Their eyes met again. No longer stone-faced, a riot of emotions tugged at his face.

Hans could only guess at whatever mortifying expression he was making back. “Kurva.”

Henry looked off to the side, a small chuckle escaping his lips. “You can say that again.”

After a moment, his blue eyes seized back onto Hans’. There was an earnestness in his gaze that never failed to cut straight to Hans’ core. “I meant what I said, Sir Hans. I’m coming back.”

Hans’ felt his eyebrows knot together. It was beyond a shadow of a doubt; he must look completely idiotic. Giving in, he let his hand graze Henry’s elbow. The sensation of Henry’s skin against his fingertips was akin to being set on fire. “Do you promise?”

In lieu of responding directly, he said, “When I get back, that’s when we can –” He faltered for a second, his voice cracking, “We can figure out what this is.”

For the briefest of moments, he pressed his knuckles into Hans’ cheek. Then, he slipped out of Hans’ grasp and was gone.

The breath Hans was holding came out in an agitated huff. As he pricked his ears for the sounds of Henry making his way upstairs and to his trunk, he brought his hands to his lips. They still tingled.

Just come back, Henry.

Chapter Text

Unable to see Henry on the ramparts through the opaque glass, Hans rested his head against the wall, relishing the feeling of the cool stone against his temple.

The fire had long been reduced to embers, and sleeping was all but impossible with the rumbling of his belly. Left with nothing to do but ruminate, every part of him that Henry had touched was burning with unanswered questions, chief among them –

What the fuck was that?

He had no idea what had compelled him to pull Henry back and –

And –

It was the way Henry had said, “And everything will be alright,” that had done him in. It had to be.

Because no, it wasn’t going to be alright. He was letting himself be put in harm’s way. He would do anything to help someone else, even if it meant his ruin. And he did it again and again. Running toward it with arms splayed wide, and Hans could only sit and watch from a proper distance --

In that moment, there was nothing he could do but kiss him. He tipped his head back, feeling the echoes of Henry’s lips on his. It had been so different from anyone he had been with before. The slight prickle of stubble, the roughness of his hands, the way his lips moved against his, so confident and sure.

And Kurva, it felt good. Henry felt good.

And Henry had wanted him back. They had sealed their eternal damnation with that one act, but by God, he would do anything to feel that again.  

You’ve made such a mess of me. You have to come back. You just have to.

Before he could tell himself otherwise, he pushed himself off the wall and in the direction of the ramparts.

*****

At least it’s not hot tonight.

Henry’s one bit of solace as he rappelled down a wall toward his possible demise was the cool night air. Stopping for a moment to take in a lungful of it, he tried to keep the rush of emotions at bay. He could do that, he just needed to think through things.

They had been talking. That was all. He was reassuring Hans, as he often did, saying something about how “it would all be alright –”

He didn’t remember the first kiss. He did remember the rushing sound in his ears, how suddenly he was at Hans’ door, staring at a lock. For some reason, it was so heavy in his hands. He didn’t remember breathing. He didn’t remember turning around.

But he did remember what came next.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why the fuck did I do that? 

Memories of Hans’ head pulled back in ecstasy as he tried to hold in his own need to moan shot through him like an arrow. Falling backwards for one precarious second, he flailed until he was able to gain a foothold, then glanced around wild eyed. When no torch wielding Praguers greeted him, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Get it together. You have to save every-

Hans.

You have to save Hans.

That was a feeling he knew what to do with. Whatever the fuck that was could wait.

*****

“What, did you want to say farewell before they die?” Godwin said to Hans, staring at him in a way he could only describe as piercing.

“No, I –” Trying to hide his disappointment, Hans stared into the inky blackness. “How far do you think they are by now?”

“If I was a betting man, I’d say drowning in the moat.” He saw a hint of a smile. “If anyone can do it, it’s Henry and Sam.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Hans gathered whatever meager amount of sardonic wit he had left.  “Aye. They’re both right tough bastards. Moats or not.”

Please still be alive.

He received an approving nod in response. “Ha! And to that, my friend, we’ll drink.”

“What will it be this time? Boiled hose from the men? I’m sure that would have quite the kick.”

At this point, he would take that over being trapped in his bed chamber, alone with his own thoughts.

Henry –

He shook his head. While Godwin was the most permissive member of the clergy Hans had ever met, he had to have limits. Mooning over Henry was probably at the top of that list.

“You think I wouldn’t have my own stores for a time like this? We are not going to our graves sober!”  

“What is with all the grave talk?”

“I want to be prepared in case we meet our maker tomorrow. Bottoms up!”

Without a small flourish, Godwin passed him a leather flask.  At first sip, Hans broke out into a coughing fit. “What the fuck is this?”

Godwin’s smirk tugged at his craggy features. “Just you wait.”

The next few hours passed in a haze, the lack of food and nerves making him very susceptible to Godwin’s concoction. Hans had a sneaking suspicion it was some kind of distilled spirit, possibly slivovice, although it was the cheapest slivovice he had had in a long time. “Where do you keep all of this?” he asked Godwin, one part of him realizing the room was spinning.

He rather liked it. He, however, did not like a spinning version of Godwin’s head grinning back at him. “Why do you think priests have robes, son?”

At some point later, he found himself on the ramparts. Not so gone he didn’t yell Henry’s name, he chose instead to cry out, “I’m the fucking Lord of Pirkstein and they treat me like a damned child, Henry even –”

He was drunk enough to complain about him, though.

“You know Henry’s a good lad, Sir Hans.”

The things he couldn’t admit to himself hovered in front of him in perfect little letters, mocking him. He wanted to talk about Henry. Was desperate to, in fact. Kicking at them to go away, he said, “He’s too good! He’s always off saving some nincompoop granny with her fucking cat in a tree –”

“And that’s bad why?”

“Because he’s always running off and leaving me –”

The flask in his hands was yanked backwards without any regard for the lord holding it. Whipping around to glare at the interloper, he lost his balance and had to catch himself. When he did, blue eyes were glaring at him without reservation.  “The Lord of Pirkstein will not be getting himself killed or captured this evening. Go to bed and sober up.”

“Why be such a spoil sport, Zizka?”

Hans could swear his giant moustache was also glaring at him. “Do you want an arrow to the face? You and the silver are our most valuable assets.”

“What about Godwin? He’s valuable!”  

“He isn’t the Lord of Pirkstein, is he?” Zizka said, making sure to place extreme emphasis on Hans’ title.

Hans looked over at Godwin, who shrugged.

After being taken up to his bedchamber with all of the fanfare of being dragged into a prison cell, Hans stared up at his hand as the canopy beyond swam in his peripheral vision. While he had to appreciate that the alcohol had numbed his sense of imminent doom, it was patently unfair that he was stuck in some backwater castle waiting for death while others –

Definitely not Henry, he certainly wasn’t thinking of him right now –

Were meeting it head on.

It would always be like this, wouldn’t it?

He waved his hand back and forth, seeing nothing but a blur. Most valuable asset, my arse.

The most valuable asset wouldn’t be a sitting duck whose title was to be bartered over like a wedding dowry, consequential only in name.

Instead, they would be selfless to a fault, not getting drunk to avoid responsibility and fear.  They would protect others, not themselves. They would draw people to them, a beacon of goodness and strength in spite of whatever shit life threw at them.

They would be –

Henry.

I can’t stop thinking about you, can I?   

He rolled over into the pillow next to him and caught a tiny hint of mintha. He had the immediate intense desire to both hold onto it for dear life and also throw it onto the floor. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Had he stopped thinking about him at all in the past few weeks?

Settling to shove it toward the wall, he grumbled at it in the darkness. There wasn’t a moment he could pinpoint where the horizon had shifted. He was just there one day, this person whose smile had a habit of worming its way into his thoughts, crowding out everything around it.

And then that -

Neither of them knew exactly what to do, but fucking hell, why did his hands have to feel that good? It was almost obscene how big they were, calloused in all the right places. He knew when to ease up the pressure and when to -

Kurva. This was his fault. All of it. And when, not if, he came back, Hans would give him a piece of his mind. All he had to do was fall asleep and not think about how it had happened in this very bed just a few hours ago. 

What felt like mere moments after he finally was able to close his eyes, he woke to a loud boom, the foundations around him shaking. Seconds later, the horns sounded. 

As he shot up in bed, he realized he was holding onto the pillow.

Chapter Text

“Trebuchet!”

Hans braced himself against the battlements, counting the seconds until impact. It was on four when the explosion sent a shockwave through the outer bailey, the resulting blast loud enough to make his ears ring. Moments later someone screamed, “Ladders!”

In the air was an acrid mix of smoke and something far worse, carrying the sounds of the dying and wounded along with it. To his right, men were being half-dragged down the ladders to the courtyard below, trails of blood following.

If there was ever an opportune time for Henry to show up, now would be fucking it.

He could almost imagine him appearing on the ridgeline, surrounded on either side by reinforcements on horseback. The smoke would part, and for one brilliant second a ray of sunshine would descend, surrounding his armor in a halo of light. It would be beatific, a chapel fresco come to life.

It was going to happen. It had to.

Squeezing his crossbow, he took in a rapid succession of breaths, feeling the time slow between each. Taking in one giant gulp that burned as it went down his throat, he jumped into the opening. Several arrows were pointed directly at him.

He didn’t have time to recognize there were men behind the longbows. There was only time to react. When he released the trigger, his eyes sewed themselves shut. He had learned from experience it was easier to not know if his arrow found his mark. 

Hans had killed before. He would probably kill again. It never got easier, no matter how justified. He counted himself lucky that what he had done didn’t follow him the way it did to other men, hollowing them to mere husks of pain and rage.

He felt his eyelashes begin to separate before he was thrown backward. For a second, the chaos around him blurred into an eerie nothingness. There was no yelling, no arrows above, no frantic movement around him. He tried to stand up, only to find an arrow sticking out of his chest.

The pain hit then.

*****

Henry saw the smoke billowing before he could see the turrets, the pit in his stomach growing with every passing second. He urged his horse to a full gallop as the other cavalrymen followed suit, the sound of clanking armor reaching a crescendo.

When he reached the ridgeline, whatever tiny amount of hope he had was annihilated on the spot. Two of the three roofs were on fire. One of the towers had a huge chunk of wall missing, the battlements around it blackened and cratered. And to make matters worse, a huge group of Praguers, from this distance looking more like child’s toys in red than actual people, were converging on the drawbridge.

It was as if he had been punched straight in the gut.

“Don’t worry Henry, Zizka is one wily son of a bitch,” he heard off to his right. “I’m sure he’s got a plan for this.”

He glanced to see Sir Hanush was lopsidedly grinning at him.

Unable to stop himself, he said, “What about Sir Hans?”

“Hans?” Sir Hanush looked bemused, “He’s bored in the keep, wondering where all the wine went.”

He reached over to give Henry a friendly cuff on the side, then said to his left, “Sir Radzig, I believe it’s time for you to give the orders.”

Henry could do nothing but pray that he was right.

*****

“There’s a fucking arrow in me –”

 Panic set in then, flooding Hans’ senses with the preternatural sense he would be in so much more pain in just a matter of moments.

“I can see that!”

Feeling himself begin to hyperventilate, he glanced up to see Godwin standing over him, face awash with concern. One of Hans' pectoral muscles flexed, the ensuing sting radiating all the way down the length of his arm. The expletives going off in his brain like a volley of arrows, he reached up to gingerly touch at it. The confirmation somehow made it so much worse.

“Don’t poke at it!”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Just calm down and let me –”

There was no chance of that now. “Audentes fortuna fucking iuvat. We were supposed to just deliver a letter to Trosky. None of this was supposed to happen –” He was babbling now, he didn’t care. He might as well say what he and Henry had done so he could receive some kind of –

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Godwin’s arm surge forward and pull the arrow out of him, the pressure and ensuing pain forcing him to cry out in agony. Though clenched teeth, he saw Godwin grin at him from above.

“Congratulations, your whinging just distracted you enough for me to do that.”

“Fuck – You –”

"Do you talk to your own priest like this, Sir Hans?”

As he tried to breathe through it, he heard the sound of fabric ripping. Seconds later, his chainmail was pushed aside.

Godwin let out a sigh. Was it relief? “Keep this on it.”

Surprisingly clean looking linen was pressed into the wound. The sharp ache at its touch was enough to make Hans draw in a sharp breath. “Will I –” He was almost too scared to continue, “Survive?”

“God willing, if we get through this. Masa or Katherine would make quick work of this. Do you think you can stand?”

“Fuck no.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Unfortunately for Hans, he could walk. Using Godwin as support, they managed to get to the lower bailey just as Zizka was yelling for everyone to fall back. Giving the dark spot forming near Hans’ collarbone an appraising glance, he said, “How bad is it?”

When he flexed his shoulder forward, the wound shrieked back in pain. “Never better, Zizka.”

Zizka smirked back. “Not that bad th–”

His words were cut off by a huge boom coming from the gatehouse. As small pieces of stone and mortar rained down, they heard a loud mechanical clicking.

The gate was being raised. There wasn’t enough time for them to get inside to safety.

*****

Complete carnage unfolded around Henry.

When the Praguers saw the cavalrymen thundering toward the castle, and in particular a blood-spattered Henry at the helm, most of them panicked, broke formation, and began to run. If he was able to see how many had deserted, he would have thought it merciful. But those that were left stood between him and the people he cared about most.

Hans –

Try as he might, he couldn’t stop the image of finding him in a pool of blood, still warm to the touch. The thought alone was almost unbearable.

The only way to get there was through. If that meant going through another person, then so be it.

He was so close.

*****

Hans shared one wide-eyed glance with Godwin, then looked around the courtyard. There were maybe twenty of them left, twenty-five if he included the soldiers missing limbs. Fucking hell.

He shrugged off Godwin, his shoulder screaming at the movement.

“Son –”

“I’m alright!”

Giving himself no time to consider how much he would regret this, he forced himself to draw his short sword. Had it always been this fucking heavy?

Pinpricks of light formed in his vision as something wet dripped down his chainmail, every minute movement excruciating. Somehow managing to shift his sword to his good arm, he glanced down to realize he was standing in his own blood.

The gate kept clicking upwards, the yelling beyond growing louder by the second. At the same time, Zizka was yelling for everyone to hold their ground. Men started to surge through in a sea of red, their swords drawn. One of them zeroed in on him and started to charge.  

Hans’ body tensed. He took a sharp breath in, readying himself to raise his sword. Then he heard the clattering of hooves.

This was the end. Hans knew it in his bones, some base, deep knowledge that he would die in this castle in the middle of fucking nowhere, fighting for a group of people he didn’t know existed until a few weeks ago.

And Henry was –

Was –

His face contorted into a snarl of rage as he found the last bit of energy deep within his being and thrust his sword directly at the Praguer.  Metal clashed on metal as the Praguer parried him, the sound echoing in Hans’ ears. He ignored how exhausted he was, the blood dripping from his chest and down his front, and focused on his opponent. Sweeping their sword around, the Praguer’s sword slashed at Hans’ side. He managed to sidestep in time to avoid being hit but felt his heel catch on a piece of rubble. He stumbled, his ankle twisting underneath him –

An arm shot out and caught him by the elbow.

He knew that grip, knew that hand, knew every part –

He looked up in wonderment. “I’ve got you,” was all Henry said.

Chapter Text

He got there in time.

Kurva, it was not a moment too soon.

Seeing the nasty brute who had cornered Hans split in two by one of Sir Jobst’s men, and the other cavalrymen making quick work of the remaining Praguers, Henry took the moment to look him over. He had a worryingly large spot of blood on his shoulder, was caked in dirt, and Henry was pretty sure he had just seen him twist his ankle.

But he was alive.

Keeping one hand on his elbow, their other hands clapped together. Even through layers of steel and leather, his fingertips still burned when they first touched. And oh, he liked how it felt. “Fancy footwork you have there, Sir Hans."

“Oh, fuck off,” Hans said, his eyes never leaving his.

Alive and in mostly one piece, seeing the same potent mix of triumph, utter exhaustion. They both began to grin at the same time before Hans grimaced, his bloody shoulder jerking forward.  Henry gripped at his arm tighter. That spot is getting bigger.

“I was, er – shot with an arrow.” Seeing Henry’s eyes widen in concern, Hans averted his gaze. “Godwin said if Masa or Katherine could take a look at it, I would be alright. Probably.” 

He almost sounded embarrassed. Henry’s words tumbled out before he could stop them. “I could, take a look at it, you know, if –”

“I’d – I’d like that, Henry.”

Henry’s stomach did a somersault. “Do you want to go to the field hospital, or –” 

The words he couldn’t say hovered in the air between them. Memories flooded him then, of the feeling Hans’ body pressed deep into the goosedown, his sinewy muscles a perfect complement to Henry’s bulky frame.

“My bedchamber,” he said in a whisper.

He found himself searching Hans’ eyes. They were so blue, weren’t they? Reminding Henry of an endless, cloudless sky, their depths begging him to –

“Well color me shocked you’re not in the tower, Hans,” Sir Hanush’s voice filtered into his consciousness. “Wait, have you been shot?”

Hans and Henry sprang apart.

“Yeah, Henry was going to –” Hans’ voice faltered for a second, then took on a different tone, “Take a look at it. He’s quite adept at that. It’s really good to see you, Uncle Hanush.”

He turned away from Henry to clap his uncle on the back, then winced. It was a fight for Henry not to bring his hand back.

Giving Hans a good-natured look of concern, Sir Hanush responded, “You don’t know how good it is to see you, too, Nephew. You found a good lad in Henry. Come meet me when you’re patched up, there’s some things I need to discuss with you.”

Henry squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck.

*****

“I can’t believe you’re still alive, Henry,” Hans said, meaning every word. “Saving Sam from Brabant like that –”

Henry had the good nature to blush. It first started at his neck, then crept up into his cheeks. “I couldn’t leave him with that monster, you know?”

Hans could see his blush with a level of minute detail that would make a painter jealous. While the tiny hallway did them no favors, Henry made sure to keep his hand hovering near Hans’ elbow in case his shoulder or ankle gave out. It made the hairs on Hans’ arms stand on end, as if trying to bridge the gap.

“And once I found him, I was able to get him out of there without too much trouble.” Henry continued, then rubbed at his neck, “Can you believe they just let me walk out with him on my back?”  

“You’re not a Praguer? You don’t say.”

Henry’s expression flattened to a thin line.

Getting the reaction he wanted, Hans was quick to grin back. “No, that’s incredible, but you’d think they would know their own battalion. Maybe there’s a lot of deserters? It would serve them right.”

He then shrugged, only for his whole arm and chest to spasm in pain. Fucking hell –

At once, Henry’s hand swooped in to grip at his forearm and elbow. “Let’s get that looked at,” he said, his voice low. All traces of his earlier lightness were gone, replaced with a seriousness that made the goosebumps on Hans’ arms rear back to life.

It only got worse as he watched Henry remove the multiple layers of gauntlets, bracers, greaves, his brigandine, and thick padding that made up his armor and place it in a neat pile next to him. Hans got lost in the way his hands moved, his actions painstaking and exact. The person Hans had first met was an inexperienced hothead who had never used a sword. The Henry before him now was anything but.

“Sir Hans?”

Realizing Henry was staring at him, he felt his cheeks bloom with heat.

Somehow, it made Henry flush too. “You can’t remove your helmet? Because of your shoulder?”

“Yes, exactly,” Hans said with a conviction he did not feel. When those words came with the realization that not only was Henry right, but that Henry would now be helping undress him, he turned an even deeper red.

Henry took a few quick strides to him. Now that his armor was removed, he walked with a gait that was light and nimble on his feet. He had to squat down to meet Hans’ more scrunched posture. “Let’s see what nasty work they did to you.”

Hans’ gaze traversed down Henry’s face, from his eyes, which were focused on Hans’ bascinet, down his nose. The sun had been kind to Henry, giving him a golden glow that was missing from most of the nobility. But his face – even with small flecks of dirt it was obvious he wasn’t just a commoner. He had the features of someone who people would follow into battle.

Unable to stop himself, he continued down to the indent in his cupid’s bow.

His heart was beginning to pound. At the same time, Henry brought his hands to Hans’ chin and lifted the bascinet and padding from him. Then he worked on the chainmail that was around Hans’ neck, a slight purse to his lips.

Hans’ lips were tingling, his heart a hammer in his chest. There was no way Henry couldn’t feel it. This couldn’t just be one sided, reserved for one night, then discarded and forgotten. Right?

He was so close. He could so easily reach out, just tilt his chin forward. It had been right in this spot where they had first –

“Aha!” Henry mumbled when he found the clasp, then met Hans’ gaze.

His eyes widened, then moved downwards. They stayed trained there, half lidded with an emotion that Hans couldn’t place.

He wanted it to be desire, so badly.

Henry’s head began to tilt, his lips parted open. Then he was gone, empty air where he had been just moments ago. He took in a sharp, almost pained breath, “Right, let’s – let’s –” He forced his hand through his hair. “I have to –”

“Henry!”

He stopped, Hans’ chainmail dropping from his hands. Henry was staring at him with a startled expression, and more than a little trepidation. Everything, from the vehemence, to yelling out in the first place, weren’t what Hans had wanted. He wished he could rip his name from the air and back into his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he began.

Henry interrupted him. “I know you’re injured. After last night, it’s just so – Give me a second –”  

“What?” Hans breathed. Something was flooding his veins. It felt dangerously close to relief.

“Maybe you should see Masa or Katherine.”

“I don’t want Masa and Katherine.”

The words he couldn’t say, about how he wanted him, hung on low clouds between them on the edge of a downpour.

Henry’s face grimaced. “Right, of course you fucking don’t. Well, my lord, let me get you a bath since you won’t let me –”

Before Hans could say anything in response, Henry had stormed out, the door to Hans’ bedchamber slamming in his wake.

-----

Whatever explosive combination of frustration and longing that had propelled Henry out of the room died seconds after it came.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck am I doing? He’s covered in blood and who knows whatever the fuck else and I’m thinking of –

He had been helping him, as he was supposed to, no hint of impropriety or anything untoward. Everything was as it should have been, how it always was before.

And then he realized how close they were. Even covered in grime, Hans still looked every bit the noble, with high cheekbones and fair, flawless skin. It was the complete opposite to Henry. But his lips, his lips were just so –

Kissable.

He was halfway down the hall when he realized he was going the wrong way. Denying the urge to smack the wall on his way back, he made sure to tiptoe past Henry’s door and toward the servant’s quarters.    

*****

Hans would have had his head in his hands, if he had been allowed that small dignity.

Cursing that, and his current predicament, he settled for rubbing his face with his good hand. When it came back streaked in dirt and blood, he had had it with backwater castles, arrow wounds, and most importantly, Henry.

They were so close to something. Something more than this hazy ground of unknowns where neither was willing to concede even the smallest bit. But, like everything this morning, it was somehow too much to ask. It was infuriating.

He was infuriating.

Not to mention, he was stuck in his armor, waiting around for whenever Henry decided to grace him again with his presence. Sneering, Hans tested out the weight of his armor and deduced that his brigandine was too difficult to try and take off one handed. His one saving grace that was his bascinet was off.

He glanced around the room, his gaze landing on the bed.

Might as well. It wasn’t as though he had anything better to do. It was only when he leaned against it that he felt how much the exhaustion had settled in his bones, how nice it would be to lie down. He fell backwards in a small grunt of pain. By the time his body relaxed into the goose down he was asleep.  

-----

He smelled it first, stewed vegetables and simmering meat so wonderful it forced him to open his eyes. As he did, he felt finger light touches against his calves and ankles. As the dark paneled room around him came into focus, with it came the awareness that what was touching him was Henry.

“Sorry for waking you,” he said as he pulled off one sabaton. “I was trying to make you more comfortable.”

Hans blinked himself awake, his legs prickling where Henry’s hands had just been. He glanced off to the side to see one pair of his greaves were leaning up against the bed. “Er – it’s fine. Thank you, I guess.”

It wasn’t fine. It was completely and utterly baffling, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud. “What smells amazing?” he said, the inside of his mouth feeling like it had been roughed over with sandstone.

He saw a hint of a smile. “Goulash. The kitchens are preparing a celebration feast for tonight.”

Hans tried to push himself up only to fall back, his shoulder not taking kindly to being moved. He heard himself hiss, “Goddamnit –”

“Easy there,” Henry said. “Let me finish up and then I can bring it to you.”

Henry made quick work of the rest of Hans’ armor until he got to his brigadine. He appraised Hans the same way a physician would look over their patient, with a detached, almost aloof air, then said, “I can help you lean forward.” 

Before Hans could do so much as protest, Henry had slid one hand under Hans’ back. His hand gripped the space between his shoulder blades, the heat from his palm diffusing through Hans’ brigandine and into his skin. In the air was the mix of spices and something much softer. Hans knew it instantly. He took an unsteady breath in, feeling a long shiver travel down his spine.

As he did, Henry hoisted him up. “Do you think you can hold yourself up?”

“I – I don’t know,” Hans whispered, the truth pricking at his words.  

Henry responded by leaning Hans forward and placing one hand on Hans’ sternum as the other undid the clasps. “Not too bad, right?” he said, giving him an encouraging smile.

It only increased Hans’ sense of confusion and unease, as if he had woken up in some alternate world where Henry hadn’t just blown up at him moments ago. “How –” Hearing his voice come out much too nervous, he cleared his throat. “How long was I asleep?”

“Long enough for me to eat, have a wash, go find the servants. So, two hours?”

“Two hours?!”

Henry’s grin grew, highlighting his dimples. It was then that Hans realized his face was no longer flecked with dirt. “You needed your rest. The next bit might hurt a little. Can you bend back your non-injured shoulder?”

With a little wince, he was able to bend back his shoulder enough for his brigandine and gambeson to be pulled off one shoulder, then the other. Henry was unendingly gentle, if it wasn’t for how different things were just a few hours ago, Hans would have luxuriated in the feeling of Henry’s soft fingertips on his body.

Henry grimaced when he saw what was underneath. Looking down, Hans could see why. His right chest and area underneath his collarbone was caked in dried blood, hitting him with the smell of rust. The wound itself was about a finger’s width in diameter, but he could see into the muscle. He turned away as a wave of nausea roiled through his system. “How the fuck are you able to do this?”

“It’s not easy with –” he stopped himself, glancing down, “With someone like you, but it’s gotten easier with practice. I’ll need to clean this.”

Hans was not looking forward to that. As if on signal, there was a knock at the door. A small parade of servants came in with a large wooden bucket and several steaming vats of water. As they left with Hans’ bloody clothes, they each took turns bowing at Hans. One even whispered, “Bless you, sir.”

“Not that I’m complaining, but what in the hell –”

“They were very insistent to bring it to you after seeing how you defended the castle.”

Thinking back to how the Lord of Suchdol locked himself, his family, and no one else in the deepest part of the keep when the assault began, Hans grinned. He glanced up at Henry. “Not like you, though, Henry.”  

“I’m no Lord of Pirkstein.” Grinning back at Hans, he said, “I just came in the nick of time, that’s all.”

They held each other’s gazes for a beat, Hans’ pulse jumping in his veins. Henry was the first to look away. “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered.

Giving his head a small shake, he moved to Hans’ thighs. In one fluid movement, he pulled down Hans’ chausses, leaving him in nothing but his breeches.

Hans had been good at not thinking about last night for several minutes. He had been so good, in fact, that the unexpected memory of Henry’s hands skimming Hans’ thighs as he untied his hose with clumsy, impatient hands while pushing him onto this exact bed was enough to make him flush an intense heat from his head to his feet. Trying to gain his composure, he said the only thing that came to mind, “If you wanted to undress me, you only needed to ask.”

“Oh, shut it,” Henry said, his neck a sudden, intense red.

He refused to meet Hans’ gaze as he poured some water into the tub, then laid some linen on top. The sight was almost enough to keep Hans from dreading what was to come next. Almost.

Henry helped Hans up and into a standing position, then guided him to the tub. His neck was still flushed by the time they got into the water. Hans tried to keep his eyes on that and not on what his gaping wound looked like as he moved.

“It’s better if you don’t look at it,” Henry said. “It’ll be clean and bandaged soon, I promise.”

The water being at a wonderful, warm temperature did little to lift Hans’ spirits, especially as he saw the dirt that now surrounded him. What was crystal clear water turned murky, tinged with pink. How fucking disgusting am –

As if sensing his thoughts, Henry continued, “This is why we need to do this. It’ll also give me a better sense of how I can treat it and if I need to sew –”

“No, you are not finishing that thought,” Hans said.

“Would anything else help?”

“Give me something to get knocked off my arse so I don’t feel whatever torture you’re going to call ‘treatment’?”  

“Can’t do that, Sir Hans,” Henry said, moving behind him. “At least, not right now.”

“Well then, what can we do? Sing children's rhymes?”

Hans heard something that sounded like a huffed laugh. “If that helps you. From what I’ve seen, even just talking makes it better.”

Just talking, huh? His next thought made his breath come faster. “We can talk about anything I want?” he said.

“Right now, sure,” Henry said, his voice sounding far away.

Hans was too preoccupied to notice. Keeping his voice light, he said, “So we can talk about –”

It was at that moment that warm water was thrown onto his shoulder. Hans’ next intake of breath was sharp, the pain coming to a sudden, harsh point. “What – the – fuck –” he wheezed out.

He saw Henry’s head peek around, a small but no less triumphant smirk at his features. “That is so much cleaner now, thank the lord,” he said, then prodded around the wound with a wet cloth. “I think I can use honey to close it up, too. Maybe a marigold –”

“Do you treat all your patients this badly, or just your favorites?”

“Just you,” he said, then met his gaze with dancing eyes. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

Hans could have turned it into a jest or said that he could no longer remember after being so egregiously assaulted. He could have turned it into a thousand small things. But he realized he didn’t want to, that what he wanted more than anything was to talk about what had happened.

“I want to talk about last night, Henry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Henry’s hands stopped.

Chapter Text

Henry’s heart stuttered, its staccato beats pounding in his chest. Unable to meet Hans’ gaze, he stared at the floor. 

To talk about the night before would be to lay bare everything he had been feeling for weeks, the culmination of an untold number of lingering glances, smiles, and thoughts that shouldn’t have existed in the first place. After everything that had happened today, that felt impossible to even begin to discuss, as though he was at the edge of a cliff he couldn’t see the bottom of.

It had started innocently enough, though. They were sparring outside in the dead of summer, as they were oft to do. Both of them were breathing heavily, their chests heaving. Hans threw off his tunic to mop off his brow, the sweat dripping down his hair. His body glistened in the late afternoon heat. Henry caught himself watching the way he pulled his hair from his face, the muscles in his arms straining with the effort. 

And he kept noticing things. The way he would cock his head when he was listening, the upturn of his lips when they would see each other.  Small quips that only seemed to be between them. 

He liked how it felt. Even if he stayed up late thinking about it, it would remain as a desire he would never name. It could have remained locked deep within him forever and that would have been just fine. 

But then Hans kissed him, and everything he had chosen not to act on surged from him in a torrent. 

“I don’t know what there is to say,” he said at last. 

“Can you try?” 

For one tortuous second, he glanced up to Hans. Seeing his bright blue eyes trained on him with an unsettling, almost manic intensity was enough to convince him how much of a mistake that was. 

“Hans –”  He felt his face squeeze into a grimace. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I’m not good with this, you know that.” 

“The lovesick girls that you leave in every town beg to fucking –” 

“They’re not you!”  

Now he had done it. His hands flew to his face as he counted the myriad of things he would rather do than whatever the fuck this was. At this point, he would rather shovel himself out of a pile of shit. 

He felt fingertips against the backs of his palms, so soft he wasn’t sure they were even there. “I’m not good at this, either.”

But his wound. Against his better judgement, one eye cracked open. He found Hans was looking off to the side. “Did you just touch me?” 

“I –” Hans sighed, then met Henry’s gaze. A flush was creeping up his cheeks, “Yes, I did. I’m sorry if you didn’t –”

“Did it hurt to reach out at all? Are you okay?” 



“That’s what you’re worried about?” Hans said, arching an eyebrow.  

“You were shot with an arrow, how could I –” 

He sputtered. “Is this how we get through this? You just focus on my injury and not on me?” 

Henry shrugged his shoulders. It was easier to focus on what was right in front of him rather than the bigger things that loomed in the distance. In this case, much easier. He glanced back at Hans’ chest. It did need honey. And a bandage. “It does need dressed,” Henry said. 

As he moved to get up, he saw Hans’ eyebrows knot together, first in sadness, and then in disappointment. Henry’s jaw clenched. Making sure to turn away, he said, “I don’t – I don’t know what we do after – after what happened, Hans. I don’t know how to make this better or make it – go away.” 

He really needed to get control of his breath. 

“Do you want it to go away?” 

He said it so softly. Much like his touch earlier, a part of Henry couldn’t believe he said it at all. Henry’s eyes seized on Hans. 

More often than not, Henry said the wrong thing. In most instances, he could live with it. It was always in service of something greater, and even if he fumbled his way through it, he was able to get to the right answer. He had no idea what the right answer to this was.

He thought back to the untold number of times he had pushed down the tiny, but insistent feeling that something was blooming between them, something bigger than friends or even being equals. He thought he could put in a locked chest and keep there for eternity. He wasn’t sure if there was a chest big enough for what had happened since last night. 

More than that, it was the look on Hans’ face, caught between hope and resignation, begging him to say the way he felt. 

No.

Henry could see it clear as day. He was begging him to say he felt the same.   

So, he did the only thing he could. He leaned down, and he kissed him.

*****

At first, Hans was too surprised to do anything but sit there in mute shock as Henry’s lips met his. They started out so gentle, more of a question than a declaration, but as Henry tilted his head, Hans found himself responding. This is what he couldn’t stop thinking about, this overpowering feeling of rapture and disbelief that filled every crevice in his soul. His lips parted, and he felt Henry’s tongue asking for entrance, his deep groan following after. As if they were made to be there, Hans moved his hands to wrap around Henry’s shoulders and into the wavy mess of his hair – 

It was then that his shoulder announced its presence. His head tumbled forward, his face caught in a grimace. “I’m going to cut off this fucking –” 

Henry moved to hold Hans’ chin and neck in place. Was he hiding a smile? He was certainly blushing. “I need to get the honey.” 

You need to kiss me like that again. Hans kept that thought unsaid, still feeling the echoes of Henry’s nose pressed into his. As he took in a shaky gulp of air, he realized there was a smudge on Henry’s face that wasn’t there before. 

A smudge he caused.

Biting back embarrassment, he stroked his knuckles against Henry’s cheek, seeing his blush deepen. “I – I think I got something on your face,” he said, his own face flushing with heat.  

He saw an eyebrow crease as he watched him, then locked onto something to the right of his eye. Keeping one hand on Hans’ neck, he moved to pour more water into the wooden tub. Then a wet cloth was dabbed at his cheek and brow. As he moved, his gaze swept up from Hans’ chin ever so slowly.  

He had never been cared for like this. Hell, he had never been touched like this. There was a marked contrast between the strength of his grip on Hans’ jaw and the delicate way he was brushing the cloth on his face, his fingertips as soft as silk. 

When their eyes met, Henry’s was almost black, his pupils dilated against a sea of deep blue. And the look in his eyes – 

Hans’ next breath sounded like a strangled yelp. 

“Are you cold?”   

Hans shook his head. Unable to say much of anything, he just stared at Henry and willed himself to calm down. 

Henry maneuvered him out of the tub and into thick linen blankets. It didn’t end there. After applying the honey, which was so much less painful than he was anticipating, if very sticky, and having both his ankle and chest wrapped in linen bandages, Henry propped him up on a small mountain of pillows and then brought him his food.

It was, in every sense of the word, overwhelming. His hands were everywhere – on Hans’ chest and shoulder to apply the honey, then wrapping the linen around his side and shoulder. He would stabilize him by holding him up, one flat palm on his back while the other deftly completed his task. And at each stage there was some small touch or lingering glance that would leave Hans in a state of perpetual breathlessness. 

The way his hand grazed his side as he tied the linen. How his eyes raked down Hans’ chest and stomach as he was appraising his work. The flex of his palm on his back. The feeling of his fingertips gripping into his calf as he wrapped his ankle. 

He longed to ask if this was intentional, but if their previous conversation was anything to go by, the only good possible ending was them kissing again. While that was something Hans would welcome with open arms, there was also the possibility he could push them further apart in the same breath. It also didn’t answer what had set both of them onto this path to crash into each other in the first place. 

So, he tried a different tack. While Henry had his back turned to him, Hans called out, “You’re being incredibly attentive, almost as if you think I couldn’t do any of this on my own. I’ll have you know that hurts my heart, Henry.” 

He heard a small chuckle. “I am but your lowly, humble servant.” 

It was when he came over to him with a spoon in one hand, and a bowl of steaming goulash in the other that Hans had had enough. “No, I’m not that injured.”

He was not being spoon-fed by Henry.  

“Says the Lord who was waited on hand and foot by a small army.” 

Fixing Henry with a level glare, he said, “Whatever my uncle has poisoned your mind with isn’t true. I was never spoon fed as a child, and I certainly was never waited on hand and foo—” 

His words were stopped by Henry shoving the spoon into his mouth. A wonderful medley of flavors danced along his tongue. He had stop himself from moaning. When did anything ever taste this good? 

“Delicious, right?”


Taking the spoon with impatient, grabby hands, it took him a bit to get the words out with all of the onion and meat in his mouth. “My god, who made this?” 

“Apparently it’s the same cook?” 

Thinking back to the surly woman who chased anyone out of her kitchen with a broom and ruled over their dwindling supplies with an iron fist, Hans said, “There’s absolutely no way.” 

“It was difficult getting this for you, let me tell you.” 

Hans stifled a laugh. “Well, thank you for risking life and limb.” He blinked, the reality of his words overtaking him. “Really Henry, thank you. For all of this. And everything else you’ve done. Jesus.” 

Meeting Hans’ gaze head on, he said, “I’m here to take care of you, Sir Hans.” Adding a side grin, he said, “I did swear to it, and all.” 

There was that earnestness that never failed to knock against Hans’ chest.

Henry glanced down, seeing Hans’ cleaned bowl, “I should let you rest. Especially before your big talk with Sir Hanush, whatever that’s about.”

That would have normally sent Hans into a long-winded diatribe. But seeing Henry lean forward to pick up his plate and turn away, something about it felt so wrong in a way he couldn’t –

Before he knew what he was doing, he had reached to grab at Henry’s arm.  He turned back, a quizzical indent in his brow. He had seen this exact tableau the night prior. His voice faltering, he said, “Do you – want to stay?”  

Henry sighed. The rejection was plain on his face.“Hans, I just got you bandaged, I don’t –” 

“Not –” Hans had to fight to keep his voice level, “Not that. Just sleeping. Together, but not – ah, fuck –” 

He couldn’t put the words together in a way that conveyed what he wanted. It seemed so simple in his head, he just wanted Henry here. Why was that so hard to say? Such a stupid – 

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, but –” Henry said, then rubbed at the back of his head. 

It was the “but” that gave Hans the tiniest measure of hope. He also wasn’t walking away. 

“—I guess if I stayed, I could make sure your wound doesn’t start bleeding again.” 

Still not quite believing his eyes, he watched Henry unbutton his cotehardie and clamber onto the bed. 

Chapter Text

“No —"



Henry was awoken by soft mumbling to his left. Blinking himself awake, the fairest of sights greeted him. 

He had no idea what time it was or how long they had slept, but what he did know is that he felt much more rested than he had in days. The sun was still filtering through the wavy glass, creating a hazy, soft warmth that filled the room. And the bed he found himself in — 

Kurva. 

Hans’ narrow face was softened by sleep, or perhaps it was how he was laying, curled on his side, one arm stretched out toward Henry. He looked more comfortable than he had all day. Glad to know the marigold decoction I added worked. 

Some of his hair had fallen into his forehead as his rhythmic breaths filled the space between him. “No, Mutt can’t have ale," he muttered, a slight frown creasing his features.

Henry grinned to himself, feeling the wonderful pull at his cheeks. He dreams about Mutt? 

Does that mean he dreams of — 

Me — 

Instead of pushing the thought away, he let it fill the hollows of his chest, the nervous thrill following right at its heels. 

It was a new feeling, allowing it to run unchecked his veins. And he didn’t hate it. 

That kiss had proven that what was between them was real, tangible thing, and with it crumbled the last of Henry’s remaining willpower to resist. He wanted to give in so badly, be close to him, touch him, and kiss him. He wanted to stay and do what they had done last night again, and again — 

And then he would see his wound, a ring of red on an otherwise pristine linen bandage, and everything from the past day would come rushing back. 

He hadn’t told anyone about Von Aulitz yet. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, but, like talking to Hans about the night before, he just didn’t know how. Some things were too painful to try and unearth without time’s ability to heal. Somehow, he knew that when he was ready, Hans would be there. 

The thought made the grim, determined line to his mouth soften. Glancing down, he saw Hans’ hand twitch inward. 

Almost as if he was beckoning Henry. He stared at it, his own hand tingling in anticipation. It wouldn’t hurt him just to intertwine their fingers, feel his soft, uncalloused palms in his much rougher ones.

But it also might wake him up.

His daydream soured, he thunked his head against the bed hangings, then slumped down. Willing sleep to come back, he tried to picture an wide expanse of field near his old home in Skalitz, a breeze wafting through the — 

He saw the sky tinged with smoke, the terrified screams of — 

For fuck’s sake, not again. At least he hadn’t had one of those nightmares that left him shaking and gasping for breath for several months. 

He tried again, trying to think of someplace very, very far from Skalitz. 

Miskowitz. Just as the sun was giving its last hurrah before it would set behind the buildings, it would reflect into the pond below in an untold number of golden reds and oranges. Henry’s first thought was that he wished Hans could be there to see it, too. 

He had wished Hans was there for so much of what he had seen. 

He let his eyes open. 

He didn’t want to wish anymore. 

Tentative at first, trying not to shake, he reached out his hand and brought his fingertips up Hans’ palm. His own hand blazed at the touch, he didn’t think he had ever been as aware of the deep lines and calluses in his own. Using gentle, but deliberate movements, he interlaced their fingers together. 

Hans had never been burned by a piece of white hot metal, had never hauled firewood for hours on end until his hands were covered in splinters. His fingers were long and thin, not knobby at every joint. 

He felt Hans’ hand flex outward. For one heart stopping second he braced himself for Hans to open his eyes, his mind racing with what awful excuse he could come up with — 

He shifted, then squeezed back, letting out a small sigh at the same time. 

Their hands, like them, could not have been more different. Yet, in that moment it could not have felt more right. 

*****

It was Hans’ aching hand that roused him from sleep, feeling like branches had been shoved between his fingers. When he saw why, he would have cut down the tree himself. 

Somehow, while asleep, they had ended up holding hands. While Hans stared down, marveling at the strength in Henry’s hands, he could not stop himself from continuing upward. The tie to his shirtsleeve had come undone, revealing a forearm flecked with scars and burn marks. And the muscle underneath — 

He was fighting himself not to reach out. 

Fuck me, Henry.

It must be from the smithy. Hans hadn’t seen anyone who looked like that from all of his fencing and sword lessons. He remembered the first time he saw him forge a blade, the precise timing needed to hammer the glowing metal into the correct shape. It was mesmerizing, the strength and control he had, so in tune with his work he didn’t notice Hans watching him from across the courtyard. 

At least, that’s how Hans tried to justify it. It wasn’t the way his bicep looked as he held the hammer aloft, or how effortless he made it look that kept him up that night. 

He didn’t have to justify it quite so much now. Grinning to himself, he felt Henry’s hand twitch in his. Without thinking, he stroked his thumb back and forth, realizing seconds too late what he had done. 

Don’t — 

He saw Henry’s eyelashes inch apart, then blink several times in rapid succession. 

Goddammit. Even with their kiss, Hans still had no idea quite what to expect. The worst parts of him reared up, perversely excited at the prospect of having to witness another slamming door. Meanwhile, Henry’s gaze traced from their entwined hands up to Hans’ startled expression.

Then he squeezed. Disentangling their fingers, he wrapped his hand around Hans’. “Do you know what time it is?” 

God, his hand is so warm. Hans’ grin was back. Unsure if he should hide it, he glanced around, realizing he hadn’t cared a whit what was happening outside his bedchamber. It was quite a bit darker than it had when they had fallen asleep, long shadows casting through the thin windows. “No idea,” he said.

As he turned back, the breath caught in his throat. Henry had one hand behind his head, the sleep still heavy on his eyelids. He was here, in his bed, looking more at peace than he had in weeks — 

“How does your shoulder feel?” 

“Er —”  He had forgotten he had a shoulder wound at all. Blushing, he glanced down. “It seems fine?” 

Henry chuckled. “Can you try to move it?” 

He rotated it back, feeling only a muted sting. “That’s so much better, Henry. Who knew that sticky syrup would be the answer?” 

“Maybe the person who helped you?” Henry said, arching an eyebrow. 

His immediate reaction was a dangerous thought to have. Feeling the nerves settle in his chest, he took in a centering breath, then glanced back at Henry. We are holding hands, so maybe — 

“Is there any way I can say thank you?” 

His voice came out as a low whisper. 

Henry’s hand clenched down so hard it hurt Hans’ knuckles. He squeezed his eyes shut, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Hans, I— How the fuck am I supposed to answer that?” 

By kissing me. As he thought it, he was staring at Henry’s lips. The thought of being just mere moments from that was almost too much to bear. Please — 

Please want this as badly as I do. 

Hans raised himself up to his elbows, feeling an intense amount of gratitude his shoulder didn’t give out. He leaned toward Henry, murmuring at the same time, “By being alright with what I’m about to do.” 

By the time his eyes closed, Henry’s lips were on his. 

*****

There was a way Hans would glance at Henry, brimming with mischief and more than enough self confidence, where Henry knew, with every fiber of his being, that what about to happen he had no control over. Regardless of his own feelings on that matter, inevitably Hans would somehow take the reins and steer them into whatever ridiculous situation he had concocted. It was equal parts maddening and intoxicating that Hans had this hold on him he couldn’t shake. 

Loath as he was to admit it, he didn’t find it maddening this time. 

When their lips met, Henry was still cautious. There were so many unknowns, where this was leading, if Hans’ body could handle it, if Henry could handle it himself — 

He pushed his lower lip into his, trying to tease it out. Then Hans moaned, and whatever tenuous bit of resistance Henry was holding onto snapped. 

He let go of Hans’ hand to cup his jaw and neck, delighting in the way his skin felt against his fingertips, biting at his lip in the same breath. He heard Hans’ deep groan, felt the hungry way his tongue pushed between his lips to collide with his. Before he had the thought to, both of them were parallel to the bed. 

Hans made a move to wrap his arms around Henry’s shoulders to bring him closer. While the realization of what that could mean made a delicious wisp of anticipation curl its way through Henry’s body, he was cognizant enough to keep Hans from reopening his wound. He stopped his hand and pulled it between their chests. 

“Let me touch you,” Hans panted out, his other hand squeezing into Henry’s bicep. 

“Not with that hand,” he said. 

He saw Hans’ dark eyes widen, then pull his chin back toward his. Hans then rose up, taking Henry with him. When his good hand started to thumb at the hem of Henry’s shirt, Henry felt that little wisp of anticipation grow into an bonfire. Only breaking contact to throw his shirt off, he was surprised that Hans’ lips found his neck. 

“Hans —”  he found himself moaning out. 

He tried to bring his chin back down, only for his soft lips to turn into a bite. The next sound that came out of him could hardly be called a moan, for it had to be one of the least attractive sounds he had ever —

Then Hans sucked.

“You’ll — fuck—”

The eyes that met his were almost black, with a grin that revealed pointed teeth. “I’ll what, Henry?” 

“You’ll leave a mark— ”

Hans’ grin widened, gaining a self satisfied quality, “Maybe that’s the point.” 

The urge to make him regret those words was a necessity at this point. He lowered both of them back to the bed, then leaned over him. When Hans tried to wrap his arm around his waist, Henry pulled it over his head and pinned it in place, intertwining their hands. Waking up to them still holding hands had been enough to make him giddy, but this —

“Oh, so I can’t touch you at all, can I?” 

Instead of responding, Henry kissed down his neck. When he heard Hans’ sharp intake of breath in the hollow above his collarbone he knew he had found his mark. He bit down. Hard.

“Wha —“ 

Opening his eyes, he saw the red outline of his teeth. “Was that too hard, I can —“

“Do it again.” 

Always one to please, Henry went back up his neck, alternating bites and his tongue. He wasn’t sure, but he had a sense there could be an even more sensitive spot. Once he got to Hans’ jaw, he knew. 

Hans’ breath was coming in rapid gasps, his mouth contorted into an oh of pleasure. He was straining against his hand being pinned, the other clawing into the goose down.

He doesn’t always want to be in control, does he? 

The realization giving him a shiver of satisfaction, he continued along his jaw. 

“Henry, you — you win, okay? Please let me —“ Henry stopped him by nipping at his flesh. Hans shuddered, then said in a shaky voice, “Touch you, Please —“ 

“I was told to do it again,” he murmured. “Do you want me to stop?” 

There was a silence, then a small, tortured, “No”. 

Fully grinning, he came to the spot where Hans’ jaw met his ear. With gentle teeth, he pulled at the skin, using his teeth and lips to suck. 

“Please — please — fuck—" 

Henry reared back. To see Hans like this, his lips red and bitten, pleading for him — 

Kurva. 

It fulfilled some deep seated desire he didn’t even know he had. Leaning down to kiss him again, he let go of Hans’ hand to feel him rake his fingers down his bicep and forearm. His hand just brushed the drawstring of Henry’s breeches. 

Oh. 

“May I?” He whispered. 

It was the tone of his voice, so tentative and unsure. His eyes shot open, the reality of what they could be doing a straight shot to his heart. 

“I want to make sure it’s what you want, Henry.” 

“Of course, I —”  His eyebrows constricted, “Wait, do —” 

Underneath him, Hans broke out into a low laugh. “I wouldn’t have been begging like some whore on the street if I didn’t.“ 

Henry shook his head, his face flushing a deep crimson. To try and hide it, he dropped his head to Hans’ shoulder. 

“I guess, I don’t know what you like,” he said, his voice tapering off to something much softer. “Last night, it happened so fast. And this is — different, you know?” 

Henry did know. He took a deep breath in, getting hit with the scent of Hans’ skin. He smelled like laundry that had been hung out to dry in a meadow, fresh and clean, the complete opposite of himself. Trying to get another hint of it, he kissed Hans’ collarbone. 

It happened to be that spot. Hans’ reaction was immediate. His next breath hitched his ribs in, his shoulder blades pressing inward. So Henry did it again. He arched his neck, giving him better access. 

Henry trailed kisses up the column of his neck. When he got to his jaw, Hans turned his head, meeting him with his lips once again. As he did, his hand curled around Henry’s, and slowly brought it to rest on his erection. 

Henry’s next breath came out as a ragged gasp.

“I want to do it together,” Hans whispered, then stared straight into Henry’s eyes. They were so bright, far more than the waning light in the room around them. He looked almost nervous, but more than that, like he was desperately trying to convey something more than what he was saying. 

He brought Henry’s hand underneath the drawstring to his breeches. Hard, intense desire greeted him. Feeling his heartbeat begin to pound against his ribs, he curled his hand around him and pumped up and down. 

Hans’ eyes dilated, then fluttered closed. He let out a moan, his hips rocking upward.

Henry's own erection was pulling the linen of his breeches taut. He guided Hans’ hand to him. 

Fuck, here goes. 

His heart was a drum in his chest now. 

We’ve done this before, he tried to reason with himself. 

Once, a voice sniped back. 

Trying to distract himself, he did what he knew he was good at and slammed his lips back onto Hans. It was an odd, nerve-wracking feeling, still somewhat bewildered they were kissing at all, all the while trying not to be completely focused on the fact that any second Hans would touch him. 

And then he did. 

His palm was smooth as he wrapped around him, and so warm. He understood Hans’ reactions, it was amazing and new and — 

Hans constricted his grip on Henry’s tip. Henry’s groan turned into that breathy, embarrassing sound he had just discovered and could not hate more. “Hans —" he croaked out.

Hans bucked again in his hand. Realizing he was supposed to be doing something, he started to stroke up and down. They were both going faster now, Hans’ breath going in time with it. “Harder,” he breathed.

When Henry squeezed just a little bit, he saw through half lidded eyes Hans tip his head back and moan. “Fuck, that feels so good —"

He grinned, feeling it melt into open mouthed pleasure as Hans increased his rhythm. 

Henry tried to match it, getting lost in how he felt along the way. Whatever he did was reciprocated by Hans and vice versa, somehow heightening and intensifying every movement. It was overwhelming and all encompassing, every part of him here in this moment. 

It felt amazing. 

He was close, starting to throb. A part of him never wanted it to end, the other part of him was desperate for it. He wasn’t so sure about Hans, though. With the last bit of coherent thought he could muster, he leaned over and kissed Hans’ neck as they both went faster and faster.

“Henry, I’m going to —"

He barely heard Hans cry out. He felt himself thrust hard into Hans’ hand before he came to a shuddering stop, biting into Hans’ neck to stop his yell. For that moment, everything whited out into pure bliss.

He tumbled downwards, finding the crook of Hans’ neck.

Every part of his body felt right. 

*****

Hans was having trouble forming coherent thoughts.

Henry’s nose was pressed into his neck, his erratic breaths filling Hans’ ears. As he turned his head, Henry kissed him, a hazy, enraptured smile on his lips. 

Somehow, this was all real. 

“We’re going to hell for this, aren’t we?” Henry murmured. 

It was worth it. More than worth it. “Wasn’t that going to happen anyway?” 

Henry snorted, the exhale hitting his neck. The feeling giving Hans a little shiver of pleasure, he added, “Besides, you’re still here, so it can’t be all bad, right?” 

Henry’s smile widened. “It’s not bad, Hans.” 

The two of them eyed each other, only inches apart. Henry’s eyes were so soft and gentle in that moment, hinting at more days and nights just like this. Seizing his chance, Hans asked, “Henry, do you want to stay —“ 

A strong rap at the door hurtled them back to the present. Henry jolted upright, his gaze no longer peaceful. He looked terrified. “Fuck, I need to —” 

“It’s okay, I can —” 

“Sir Hans?” Came an insistent voice from outside. 

Goddammit. Hans jumped out of bed, trying to not turn a deep shade of red when he realized his breeches were stained. Throwing on the first pair of hose he found, he sent a silent prayer of thanks that the door opened inward, shielding anyone from looking inside. He ran one hand through his hair, and opened the door in what he hoped was mild annoyance. “What?”

Okay, he was more than just annoyed. 

A man in his uncle’s livery took one look at him, particularly his bare, bandaged chest, and paled. Bowing deeply, he squeaked, “If you could meet your uncle, Sir Hanush of —” 

“I know his title.” 

“Of course, you do. Sir Hanush was sure you were awake. I’m so, so sorry. I’ll —”  Bowing again, he scurried away. 

Hans felt his shoulders droop. Shutting the door with finality, he tried not to groan. “Sorry about —” 

His words froze in his mouth. Henry was already dressed. 

Fuck.

Chapter Text

Whatever minuscule amount of patience Hans had for this meeting with his uncle had long disappeared by the time he found his uncle’s rooms. The rosy tinged glow that had permeated his being was gone when he saw Henry dressed, ducking his head to avoid Hans’ gaze. At least the day was not over yet. 

When he walked in, the attendant who had knocked on his bedchamber jerked upward, then made a conscious effort to make himself look as busy as possible. What a fucking — 

“Ah, one of our heroes of the hour,” Hanush said warmly, then stood from his desk. “Jacob told me you were still resting. It did you some good.” 

Hans had never bothered to learn his name. Proven right in that initial assessment, he gave Jacob the deepest of death glares, then swept his eyes back toward his uncle. Dressed in the deep red brocade trimmed in gold thread, he looked every bit a feudal lord. “Uncle Hanush,” Hans said, walking over to shake his hand. He was surprised when his uncle caught him in a gentle hug.

“Not too tight, I know,” he said. “It wasn’t too bad, I hope?” 

Hans shook his head, smiling all the same. “Henry took good care of me.” 

Even choosing his words with extreme care, it was still almost impossible to get out with a neutral expression. He hoped that he had a polite smile on his face, and not the deep blush he had at even the briefest thought of Henry’s care. 

“I’m not sure what he told you, but what he did — I can’t imagine the strain he was under. Carrying that Jew through who knows what dangers —” 

His brother, not just a —“Yes, he did mention. It’s very admirable.” 

“Sir Radzig was amazed he was alive at all,” he said, passing Hans a knowing glance. 

“I assume everyone is very glad he is in one piece.” Get to the point.

“Henry was so worried about you, too. I was trying to tell him if anyone had survived, it was you, wondering where all the wine went!” He said, his laugh ringing out. 

Long used to his uncle’s teasing, he gave him a tight lipped smile. Wait. Unable to stop himself, he said, “Henry was worried about me?” 

“He kept insisting we increase our pace. He needn’t be, but it’s a testament to your bond.”

Hans’ eyes scanned the room, not seeing a single thing. Before he could stop it, his forced smile bloomed into something much softer. He was thinking about me, too. “I will admit, it was pretty dire at the end. Hen — You all came at the right time.” 

“You did well, Nephew.” He walked over and clapped Hans on the bicep.“It makes me all the more excited to give you the good news.”

“Good news?” 

“Yes!” He clapped his hands together, “Your wedding, I —”

“My what?” 

“Don’t jest. Remember, to Botschek’s niece. Jitka, I think is her name. We’re still agreeing on a dowry, but we’ve both —”

His uncle’s voice faded into the dark paneling around them. The room was starting to sway, the candles around him becoming blurry and indistinct. He shot out his hand to grip onto something, anything to keep him upright. “My what?” He repeated dumbly. 

“I know Botschek’s not much of a looker, but I’ve met her and she’s very pretty. She’s twenty two, still of childbearing —”

That snapped him out of it. “What if I don’t want —”

“I know you like your booze and your women, Hans, but it’s time you’ve settled down. Besides, it’s not like those things have to end. You just have to be a bit more discreet, if you catch my meaning.” His uncle said, leering up at him. “And who knows, maybe she’ll be the one to force you to — grow up a little.”

His eyes seized on his uncle. “Grow up? I need to grow up?! How the fuck was defending this castle —”

Hanush’s once jovial face face darkened. “You will not speak like that to me, Nephew.” 

At the corner of the room, he saw his uncle’s attendant freeze. Hans squeezed his eyes shut, letting out an enraged breath. 

His uncle sighed, “This isn’t how I wanted this to go. Hans, you know I’m right. You do need to grow up. You’ve needed it for a long time. But, I do think you can handle more responsibility. That’s why, when you get married,” he said, making sure to place careful emphasis on the word when, “Rattay will be yours.” 

Hans dropped onto the desk with a muffled thump, feeling like the wind was knocked out of him. “What?” 

“Your actions here proved you can handle a lot more than I ever thought possible.” 

He didn’t know how waiting around doing nothing while everyone else risked their lives could be considered an action, but —

Rattay would be his? After all of this time? Even though it was supposed to be mine from the start — 

“So this is extortion, is it, Uncle?” 

“Think of it as encouragement,” Based on his tone alone, he knew his uncle was smiling again. “You weren’t ready before. But if you can show me you can do this, I will know you will be.” 

“When?” Hans breathed, simultaneously dreading and desperate to know the answer.

“About a month. I still need to iron some things out with Botschek.” 

He walked to the great hall in a daze, his mind mulling over the different possibilities. He knew he should want this, that he should want to jump at it for all of his might. This was his one real chance to finally prove himself to his uncle, to — 

And yet, when he walked in to see Henry standing in the middle of the hall, the candlelight flickering around his wide shoulders as a semicircle of people congratulated and joked with him, his heart plummeted straight to the pit of his stomach. 

What he wanted most of all was right in front of him.

*****

“Good lord, Henry. How much sleep have you gotten since yesterday?” Zizka said, eyeing him over his very, very full tankard. 

“Enough,” Henry said, trying not to blush. 

If only they knew how well rested Henry really was. 

“Are you sure you don’t need more? And maybe a wench, I’m sure Katherine would be more than up for —”

“Don’t speak for her like that,” Henry chided, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt he was blushing now. 

“Thank you, Henry,” Katherine said from behind him. Henry turned around to see her glaring daggers at Zizka. “Also, I’m not a wench.” 

As she said that, she brought a pitcher of wine to his glass, giving him a genuine smile. 

A smile Zizka noticed. “When did that become a bad thing to say?”

“When it came out of your over-mustached mouth.” 

“He doesn’t need a wench, he just needs some ale,” the Dry Devil proclaimed, sloshing some of his own around. 

In his other hand was a cup for him. He took it with a slight nod of thanks, now with two fists full of alcohol. 

Every time Henry looked down, his ale cup never emptied. Someone would pass him another one or refill his, their kind words overflowing in his ears as much as the ale. It was almost enough to distract from the fact that they were a hair’s breadth from getting caught. 

Almost. 

It didn’t matter what he had done for everyone, or even how Hans saw him, he would always be the blacksmith’s boy from Skalitz, or at most, the secret bastard of Sir Radzig. Who the fuck was he to think that whatever happened between Hans and him would stay in that room? 

Then, he saw him standing in the entrance, the candlelight glinting on his annoyingly perfect hair, eyes so bright they could be jewels. And like a moth to a flame — how could he stop? 

When their eyes met, the people and bickering and movement faded to indistinguishable blobs. They both took a step forward to the other. It was enough to see that Hans was upset, his eyebrows just on the cusp of knotting themselves together. He felt his hand open and begin to reach out, saw Hans’ gaze trail down, then his eyebrows intertwine together — 

“Henry, do you have time for a word?” 

It wasn’t Hans who spoke. Henry jerked to the left to see Sir Radzig was standing off to the side, a small smile on his lips. 

Fuck. His first inclination was panic at how much his father may or may not have seen. Giving Hans a small, apologetic smile, he was led off to a dark alcove and tried to look at ease. 

“I see they’ve been thanking you the best way they know how,” Sir Radzig said, tilting his head toward his two different containers of alcohol. 

“It’s very kind of them, even if I don’t know what to do with one.” 

“Oh, that’s an easy answer. You just drink it, son.” 

“If you want to get drunk,” Henry mumbled. He did not trust himself in any capacity not to make a complete ass of himself this evening. 

“Probably not after the night you had, I presume?” 

Remembering Hans’ lips on his neck, he felt himself turn beet red. Henry tried to swallow, only to choke on his own spit. Taking a huge swig of ale, he saw bemused eyes over the rim of his cup.

“If you’re anything like me, which it very much seems like you are, you are terrible at taking any sort of praise, so I will keep this short. Sir Hanush and I are very proud of what you did last night, Henry. Me, especially.” 

Oh— Suddenly having no idea what to say, he stumbled out, “Thank you, Father.” 

Sir Radzig beamed at him. “I think it’s high time we get to know each other better. As, er — father and son. Hanush wants your help for something, I’ll leave Hans to explain that. But after that, I would like you back with me for a time. If you want to, of course.” 

What? He must have blinked several times because when he looked up, he saw Sir Radzig cock his head. “I’ll let you think on it. Sir Hanush and I are leaving in the morning. Come see me off, okay?” 

“Of course.” 

Sir Radzig clapped him on the shoulder. “You want to head back, Henry?” 

He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I think I’ll go outside for a bit.” 

Henry saw Sir Radzig’s pleased grin as he headed toward the Great Hall. 

*****

Hans watched the entrance to the Great Hall. When Sir Radzig reappeared without Henry, he knew that Henry had heard the news. It was hard enough seeing him walk away in the first place. Kurva, why couldn’t I be the one — 

He needed wine. Now. Spying Katherine with a large pitcher she seemed to be guarding, he lifted it from her hands in one smooth movement and tried to locate the nearest cup, though at this point he would have guzzled it straight down from the source. 

“Excuse me,” he heard from behind him, “Who said that was yours?”

“Me?” He said, ignoring her squawks in protest. 

However, Katherine was persistent. Following him as he went up and down the long  table, she whined, “That’s the only wine pitcher!” 

“And that’s my problem why?” 

“Because I hate ale.”

When Hans continued to ignore her, she planted herself in front of him and gave him the brunt of her massive, cajoling, puppy dog — 

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Help me find a cup.” 

She grinned, then pulled one from her pocket. 

Of course she had taken it. No wonder he couldn’t find any, she probably had the entire set in her skirts. Rolling his eyes, he poured himself the largest amount he could, and then downed it in one gulp. 

Katherine pulled the pitcher far away from him with a slight glare. “How’s the shoulder?” 

Whatever Henry did must have worked wonders, because he could barely feel it. He raised it see her appreciative glance. “Henry worked on it, right?” 

He nodded, wondering if it was possible to grab the pitcher from her and take off running. 

“Someone is awful quiet for having just helped save the castle —” 

Letting out a harangued sigh, he studied the cup in his hands. It was cheap earthenware pottery, the sides worn in from use. “My uncle is forcing me to get married in a month.” 

“Married?!” A voice boomed over him. “Well, that calls for more ale!” 

From Katherine’s scowl, it had to be Zizka. “That idiot is going to break his arm or shoot his eye out tonight, mark my words.” Turning back to Hans, she said, “I take it you’re not thrilled about this?” 

“How could I be? I’m —” 

Losing Henry — 

Now that he had allowed the thought, it seemed an inevitability. Henry wouldn’t want to stay in Rattay, tied down to dull grey castle walls. And if Hans had to contend with a wife, Henry would never come back to his bed. He eyed the wine pitcher again, weighing his options. He hadn’t tried begging yet. “Can I please have the wine?” 

Watching him for a moment, she slid it over. “I’m always so surprised by you lot.”

“You lot meaning —“ 

“Men,” she said, letting out her own sigh. “You have no idea how much choice you have, and yet you squander it by feeling bad for yourselves.” 

Dropping his chin to his arm, he said, “It’s not that simple, Katherine. I don’t get a choice. Not if I want —”

He stopped himself, feeling his eyes squeeze shut. 

Everything else I’ve always dreamed of. 

He was surprised when he heard the sound of liquid pouring into ceramic. Cracking one eye open, he saw Katherine giving them both more wine, then stared at him with her unnervingly large eyes. This time they were sympathetic. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

What — “No! It’s just the loss of — er — freedom and being forced to do something I don’t want to.”

It sounded pathetic and fake to his own ears. 

“Must be some girl if you’re thinking about her all the way in Suchdol.” 


“There’s not a girl!” 

An image came to him unbidden of the way Henry would tip his head back then he was in the sun, letting the light and warmth drench his face and body. 

Goddammit. Stop thinking about him. 

“For someone who talks about fucking girls constantly, I haven’t seen any around since I’ve met you. And that’s been, what? Four months?” 

“Because I haven’t had the chance —”

His voice trailed off. Right? 

When was the last time I had — 

Fuck. 

Unable to say any of this, he glared at Katherine. She placed the cup in front of his face, unfazed. “Tonight’s not the night for that, though. It’s for celebrating. We’re all alive, right? We can figure out the rest tomorrow.” 

With that, she clinked her glass to his and took a sip.

It wasn’t for celebrating, though. Not tonight. 

Knowing he needed to find Henry, he took one last cupful and stood up from the table. 

*****

The air was cool against Henry’s face, providing a balm against the battle that was being waged inside him. He hadn’t been back in Skalitz since he tried to bury his parents. He knew that going back would mean having to face that head on. 

And Hans — 

But not going would mean losing the chance to get to know his real father. 

It would just be for a couple of weeks, right? 

And he and Hans would get the time before that together, whatever that meant. But the thought of that ending, even if for a few weeks — 

He tipped his head back, staring at night sky. The moon was almost full that night, nestled in a blanket of twinkling stars. When Henry was a boy, he would lay down in the meadow near the forge, and fall asleep counting the stars, wondering what life had in store for him. 

He never would have guessed in a millennia it would have been any of this. 

“Why are you always doing that?” A voice called out. 


In spite of himself, he grinned, knowing that voice as well as the back of his own hand. 

“It’s in the middle of the night, and here you are like it’s a fucking midday in June just enjoying the air —”

Still with his head back, he turned it to watch Hans try and make his way over to him, then stumble, muttering “fucking mud —” 

He was tipsy, that much was sure. 

He called back, “Helps me think.” 

“Oh good, you can do that for the both of us then, because I sure need it after this fucking monstrosity of an evening.” 

Very tipsy. “Everything alright?”

Hans stared at him as if he had grown three heads. “You know I’m not okay, Henry. You know that none of this is — is okay —”

Is this about my father? “Hey, hey,” Henry said, putting a placating hand up, “What’s going on?” 

“The wedding, the —”

“What wedding?” 

“Mine.” 

Henry took a step toward him. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“But you and Sir Radzig, didn’t he —”

“He wants me to spend time with him.” His hands just grazed Hans’ elbows. “Hans, talk to me, please. Your wedding?” 

“My uncle is forcing me to get married in a month. I thought that’s what you and Sir Radzig —” His tone was flat, without emotion. His eyes were searching the swaying meadow around them, never landing on anything. Then it crumpled into so much pain and uncertainty. “Goddammit,” he whispered. 

Henry felt his legs sag then, as if he had been punched straight in the gut. “What?” 

“Apparently they’re still arguing over the dowry and that’s why I still have some time. Or something. I don’t fucking know, I stopped listening.” 

Unable to watch the lost, faraway look in Hans’ face, his gaze centered onto a small plant at his feet. 

After a moment, he felt Hans’ hand brush his arm. “What — what should I do, Henry?” 

Henry took in a deep breath, trying to center his thoughts. Against everything telling him the opposite, he looked back at Hans. A lock of his hair had fallen into his forehead, his eyes a tortured mess of emotions. 

The words he wanted to say were right in front of him. Say no. Say you can’t. Say — 

“He said if I go through with this, he’ll finally let me have Rattay. It’s too much, Henry, I can’t do —” 

Henry knew in that moment that he could never say how he felt. He seized Hans’ arms, hoping his voice wouldn’t quaver. “Yes, you can, Hans. This is what you’ve wanted your whole life, right?” 

He ignored how much a part of him screamed to say the opposite. 

“Not like this, not after —”

Even with Hans leaving the rest unsaid, he knew what he meant. “What’s happened between us doesn’t matter like that does, Hans.“

“You know it does, Henry, you know this —“ 

“And you know I’ll still be around, I’ll —” 

“Not like this!”

It was his words that made Henry comprehend that their bodies were pressed together, each exhalation hitting the other’s lips. He could smell a hint of wine. 

“Do you really want me to do this?” Hans whispered, his gaze traveling down Henry’s nose. 

His lips were wine stained, too, and oh, so close — “Hans. You know that’s not fair.” 

“Then stop lying, please —”

“What the fuck do you want me to say? Don’t get married? Give up on everything just because you came in my hand, that’s not how this fucking —“ 

“Is that how you feel?” 

“I —”

Realizing that he was gripping Hans’ arms, leaning down to brush his lips to his, he jerked backward. He tried to take in a shuddering breath, only to feel it violently rejected. 

He knew that if he looked at him, he would say the truth. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry, Hans. I can’t do this.” 

Before his body could force him to stay, he took off toward the castle. 

*****

Hans watched Henry walk away, his heart dragged along with it. 

There’s my answer, he thought miserably to himself.

He knew he should have expected this. He knew he shouldn’t feel like something precious had been shattered into a thousand pieces, leaving him wondering how he was supposed to clean it up alone. 

Pulling his hands down his face, he pressed his fingers into his eyes until he saw stars. When his fingers came back wet, he swiped at his eyes with impatient movements and forced himself to walk back to the castle. Every step made him wonder if he would see Henry, what he would say — 

It doesn’t matter now. 

As he made his way back to the castle, he heard yelling from the great hall. Knowing he was in no shape to deal with whatever alcohol fueled fiasco was unfolding, he quickly made his way to the staircase and down the long connecting series of hallways to his bedchamber. 

He was just to the lock that separated him from his bed. As he was in the process of throwing it open, a shadow crossed his peripheral vision. “Hans, wait —”

Fuck. He stiffened, very aware there may still be some streaks on his cheeks. Ignoring the urge to check, he kept his eyes trained on the lock. 

“Can I —“ Henry sighed, “I know I have no right to ask this, but can I come inside with you?” 

“What could you possibly have to say that you haven’t made abundantly clear, Henry?” He said, his voice far angrier than he meant it to come out. 

“That I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have walked away like that. I know you’re upset —”

His eyes swiveled to Henry’s. “You have no idea what I’m feeling.” 

Henry’s gaze traced down from Hans’ eyes to his cheeks, then widened. Hans knew then just how terrible a job he had done.

“Oh, Hans. Fuck, I’m so sorry. Please —”

His hand reached out, Hans ignored it. “Don’t —”

“Oh perfect, you both are already here!” 

Goddammit, Uncle — Why — 

“Sir Hanush,” Henry said, stepping in front of him. “What an — er, unexpected surprise.” 

Is he protecting me? What the fuck — 

Giving himself two seconds to swipe at his cheeks and compose himself, Hans whirled around. “What do you want, Uncle?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Nephew.” In a much more polite tone, he said to Henry, “I’m betting he told you the news?” 

“Yes. We were just — discussing it.” 

“Discussing is one way of putting it,” Hans said. 

To his left, he saw Henry’s hand curl into a fist.  

“As you can tell, Hans isn’t the most pleased with the news, but I’m sure he’ll come to agree to it, in time. Which is why I need your help.” 

Could this day possibly get any worse? “Uncle, I really don’t think that’s necessary. You’ve won, okay, you don’t need to —”

“What do you need, Sir Hanush?” Henry interrupted. 

Do I not exist? Why are they both talking over me like I’m a child? 

“Make sure he makes it to the wedding day, even if you have to drag him kicking and screaming. Sir Radzig agreed, but I want to make sure you would like —”

“You give him the choice but not me?” 

“Hans! Enough!” Glaring at Hans, his expression morphed into kind joviality to Henry. “What do you say, Henry?” 

“Absolutely, sir.” 

“Do I have any say in the —”

“No, Hans. You do not.” Ignoring his incensed stare, his uncle reached out to shake Henry’s hand. “Thank you so much, Henry. Your help is invaluable. Sir Radzig and I will be leaving tomorrow. We expect you both to be there to send us off, alright?” 

Hans was too filled with rage to answer.

“Of course, sir. I hope you have a pleasant rest of your evening,” Henry intoned next to him, receiving a beaming smile in response. 

The second his uncle had turned the corner, Hans ripped open the door and slammed it in Henry’s face. 

Chapter Text

Henry pressed his forehead into Hans’ door. He had two options - keep knocking until Hans became so infuriated he was forced to open the door, or wait outside until he finally opened it. He had to leave sometime, and Henry was nothing if not patient. 

Still, save the few seconds after Hans had stomped inside and latched the door shut with a resounding clang, Henry hadn’t heard a single sound. No light spilled from under the door, either. It had been a while since Hans looked that upset. The look in his eyes — 

“Hans, please,” he said through the door. “Can we please talk about this?” 

Nothing stirred. 

Henry let out a sigh, then turned to lean up against the wall next to his door. “I’m not leaving until we talk about this. I know you can hear me. So please, can I see you so I can apologize?” 

Still nothing. 

Dammit, Hans. Letting himself slide down the wall until he was sitting, he let the back of his head rest on the door. A servant came by to snuff out the candles along the walls. Trying not to blush, he gave a small wave. They just shook their head in bemusement and continued on their way. 

Once the last candle in the hall was extinguished, darkness settled over that corner of the castle.  Save the odd creak from the wooden floors, it was silent. Somehow, it made it easier to sort through his thoughts.“I’m sorry about tonight,” he said. 

When he received nothing but silence, he kept talking. He spoke in bursts, sometimes letting the silence stretch before beginning again. “You’re right, I don’t know what you’re going through, but I want to know, okay?”

“And I want to apologize for walking away. That was not my finest moment. I didn’t realize how much you were — hurting. And I was hurting, too, but that doesn’t make up for my actions. Or lack of them, I guess —“ He thunked his head against the wood. “Fuck. At any rate, I’m sorry, Hans.” 

His eyes closed just as there was a click from the door. He sprang upwards to see the door had opened the tiniest bit, a pair of narrowed shiny blue eyes staring at him. His cheeks glistened. 

“Oh, Hans,”  Henry said under his breath. “Can I come in?”

“It’s may, not can.”  

He had to hold back his grin. “Did you open the door just to tell me that?” 

His expression flattened, he retreated back. 

“It’s only a jest, I would really love to come in.” 

Hans hesitated, his brow creasing. “Do you promise not to leave? No matter what?” 

Henry’s jaw clenched. He looked so fragile there, somehow, as if the wrong words might shatter him. “I will never do that again, okay?” Tentatively, he brought his hand to wipe at his cheek. “You’ve had a pretty difficult day, haven’t you?” 

His eyes fluttered shut when they touched. “Why are you —“ He stopped, then brought his hand to stop Henry’s. “Just come in, I guess.” 

Not sure if he was gaining or losing ground, Henry could do nothing but follow him inside. 

*****

Now that Hans had let Henry in, he had no idea what to do. He hunkered down near the bed, wrapping his arms around himself. At least it was dark enough that Henry would have to squint to see his posture. 

“Let me get the fire going, okay?”

Dammit. “Suit yourself,” Hans mumbled. 

Once it roared to life, he turned to Hans with a gentle, pleased smile. “Better already, right?” 

His heart started to thud in his chest. In that moment, he hated it. “Not really.” 

When Henry’s expression fell, he rubbed at his eyebrow and face, feeling the wet remnants of his tears on his cheeks. It was a fight not to curl into a ball. “What do you want, Henry?” 

Even in this light, the concern on Henry’s face reached out between them. “To talk to you, Hans. Will you let me explain things?” 

“What is there left to say?” He found himself saying. “You and my uncle —“

“Not me, Hans.”

“Then why did you say yes to helping his plans?” He said, his tongue twisting over the words in disgust. 

Henry took a series of light steps toward him. Hans could see his chest rise and fall. “So I could — could stay with you, Hans. I wasn’t sure if you would let me, otherwise.” His face gaining a shy hint of a smile, he said, “You haven’t been this mad since — Trosky?” 

“I have a pretty fucking good reason,” he muttered.

“Which is also why I have to stay, so I can make sure you forgive me.” 

At the bottom of his vision, he saw Henry’s hand come to his chin. When his thumb touched him, he felt the lower half of his face start to tingle. His first inclination was to melt into it, but he had refused to say — 

Before Hans was fully cognizant of what he was doing, he had wrenched his head away. “Please stop touching me,” he said. 

His hand disappeared from view. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

Hans tucked his head closer into his arms. He hated so many things — how he sounded, how he was acting, but he couldn’t stop. The wound kept being wrenched open again and again. He didn’t know how to convey how much he hurt, that he felt so adrift in a sea of unknowns completely on his own.  

“Can you tell me what you’re thinking? Maybe I can, you know — help.” 

Henry’s voice was soft. It only heightened Hans’ confusion. “Oh, I don’t know, let’s go back through the day, shall we?” He snarled out. 

“Hans, I know this day has been awful, but it’s not —” 

“It wasn’t made any easier because of you, I can fucking tell you that,” Hearing his voice raise, his head fell into his hands. 

“It’s okay if you’re angry,” he whispered, far too close to be anywhere but right next to him. He could see through his arms a shadow underneath his arm. “I deserve it a bit.” 

“Why are you so close to me, why are you —”  

Doing this — 

“Because you said I can’t touch you, Hans.” 

“But you said —” 

“What did I say?” 

His voice was so gentle, it was coaxing every single little hurt out of Hans, much as he wanted to hold on.“You said you didn’t want —”  He stopped himself just in time.

“What did I say I didn’t want, Hans?” 

“You said you didn’t want me,” he breathed, the pain unfolding and expanding from him in a wave. Bringing his face away of his hands, Henry was kneeling right next to him, his hands just inches from Hans’ hips. 

“When did I say that?” 

“In the field, you —“ 

“That’s not what I said.” 

“You said you couldn’t do this, that what — whatever this is isn’t —“ He stopped, then grimaced. “But you keep touching me and it — it makes no sense —” 

“I said that what this is isn’t worth you giving up on the dreams you’ve had since you were a child. Not only is it your birthright, but leading Rattay is something you’ve always wanted, right?”

“But —”

“I’m not worth that, Hans.” 

Yes, you are — “Henry, my uncle is only doing that to make sure he gets what he wants, nothing more. He wouldn’t have offered it up, otherwise.” 

“That doesn’t matter. It gets you closer to what you want, too.” 

What if what I want is right in front of me? Unable to articulate that, he just said, “But —” 

His voice was a despondent whisper. 

“I know this isn’t how you wanted things to turn out. But it’ll be okay. And I’ll — I’ll still be here.” Henry paused, then met Hans’ eyes, “However you want me, okay?” 

His eyes were so clear, so sure. Hans’ next breath was sharp. He knew it was never going to work, and yet — “You know what you’re saying, right?” 

He saw Henry swallow. “And you know much better than me that these marriages are more political than anything. Besides, we have the next couple of weeks, don’t we?” 

In full view of Hans, he set his hands on Hans’ thighs, his look asking for as much forgiveness as permission. Slowly, he clenched into the muscle, then rubbed them back and forth. “We both need some sleep. May I stay tonight?” He said, putting careful emphasis on the word ‘may’.

Don’t smile. Hans looked away, trying to not feel how much his legs were burning at that one little touch. “Okay.” 

The gentle, hopeful smile that lit up Henry’s features could have been painted in the most magnificent church in Rome, and it still wouldn’t have done it justice. 

*****

Henry was the first to lay down. He still wasn’t sure if Hans would change his mind, and the further he was away from the door, the further Hans would have to drag him out. 

Watching the fire crackle for a moment, he couldn’t help but notice the lines of Hans’ shoulders as he washed his face and underarms from an ewer, his pale skin gleaming in the firelight. After, he brought his hand through his hair and down to the nape of his neck, the muscles in his back constricting and releasing with the movement. He wasn’t big like Henry, but he was every bit just as muscular — 

“Did you say something about Sir Radzig wanting to spend time with you?” 

“Er —” Feeling like he was being shaken awake, Henry blinked several times. He was able to hinge back his slack jawed expression before Hans turned around.  “Yes. He must have known about your — predicament, because he was saying Sir Hanush had asked for my help first.” 

Hans’ head lolled back in exasperation, “So it was decided from the start, wasn’t it?” 

“Your uncle does seem to enjoy being the puppet master, doesn't he?” 

“And strangling me in the process.” 

The urge to throw out his hands and hope Hans would fall headlong into him was a strong one. Having no idea if he would, Henry just sighed. “Maybe this is how you get away from it? By getting out from under his thumb?”

“And I do that by forcibly being married to someone I’ve never met?” 

Henry considered, “I mean, you are at the age where marriage makes sense.” 

“But you’re not married! Can you imagine me with a wife? Or worse yet —” A disgusted grimace came over his face, “A child —”

Imagining Hans with a miniature version of him running around was terrifying. And knowing how that would come to happen —

A dark cloud must have passed over his expression because Hans’ expression fell. “Sorry, I — fuck. I never thought this would happen this fast.” 

“I know,” Henry whispered. Trying to buoy himself back above the rising tide of hopelessness, he said, “We should get some sleep. Some things don’t seem so bad when you’ve had time to rest on it.”

Hans fell onto the bed in a heap, bringing up a small cloud of his smell with it. It enveloped Henry wholly, somehow everywhere around him — in the bedlinen, the pillows, even the air above them near the canopy. All at once, he wanted so badly to bury himself in Hans’ neck and become one with it. Not now, fuck — 

Taking a shaky breath in, he glanced over to his right to see Hans was watching him. “Er —”

Was he blushing? It was hard to tell. Tentatively, Henry reached out his hand, having no idea if he would reach back, or better yet, come closer — 

Hans’ hand reached back and moved up his fingers to his palm, the touch so light Henry wasn’t sure he would believe it was happening if he wasn’t watching it. He barely dared to breathe.  It was when Hans wrapped his hand around Henry’s wrist that he let out a sigh of relief. 

“Are you going to take up Sir Radzig on his offer?” 

Henry’s next breath was deeper as he considered. On his exhale, he said, “I’d be a fool not to. Getting the chance to know him would be —” 

He left the rest of the sentence unsaid. Hans understood, anyway. “You should go, Henry. When would it be?”

“After your wedding, I think?”

Henry saw a shadow of a frown cross his face before he tried to hide it. “Of course, it is.” 

“It’ll just be for a few weeks. And then you’ll be back in Rattay anyways, right?”

“Do you promise you'll be there?” 

There was that word again. It knocked again his chest with a thud, whispering that there were too many unknowns. But, like every promise he had made, no matter how scary or outlandish had always come to pass. Hans was the one constant in his life, the one thing he would always come back to. “Yes,” he whispered. 

Hans looked down, but not before Henry saw a tiny, beautiful smile bloom on his face. Henry bridged the gap and wrapped his free arm around him. “You know, I’m pretty nervous about it. I have a feeling I will have to go back to Skalitz.” 

Hans didn’t move away. If anything, he tightened his grip on his arm. “You are?”

“I haven’t been back since — since I tried to bury my parents. And Bianca.” 

“Oh —” Hans said, then pressed the tiniest of kisses into Henry’s collarbone. Henry felt every single bit of rounded flesh against his skin, the shivery thrill that dashed after it. He pulled his head back, daring to hope he would do it again. His lower lip just touched his skin, then stopped. “Well wait, wasn’t there another girl? Theresa or something?” 

“Theresa lived in Rattay after — what happened.” Henry cocked his head, “Do you keep a ledger of every girl I’ve ever been with?” 

Hans sputtered. “No! I just — remember you mooning over her, that’s all.” 

“I wasn’t mooning, I was —”

“You were, trust me. If there was a flower on the road, you would have picked the petals off, wondering with each one if she loved you or not.” 

Henry’s hand clenched into Hans’ side. “That was definitely not —”

Shooting up a drowsy grin to him, Hans said, “Whatever happened with her, anyway?” 

As he spoke, he started to settle into Henry’s body. Henry adjusted the cadence of his voice to be low and soft, “I realized we weren’t meant to be. I don’t think I could have given her the life she wanted. She wanted to stay and start a family and I — didn’t.” 

Those were the words he had said to her. So why did they feel so hollow now? Why did the real reason he left feel like it was — 

Hans mumbled out, “It’s probably for the best, having two romances tied to a tragedy —” 

“Hans —” 

Hans let out a laugh that was muffled into Henry’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. As terrible as it sounds —” Hans’ words were becoming more slurred, “God, how are you so warm?” 

He hadn’t meant to say his name out loud. That can’t be. It’s not because of that. It’s — 

“I have to be weirdly happy about it, right? You wouldn’t be here right now, otherwise.” 

In any other context, what Hans said would have sent Henry’s heart soaring. Hans was nestled into his body, he wasn’t upset anymore, if anything he seemed content. Everything should have been right, except — 

The way things had ended with Theresa could have not been worse. He remembered her tears, the way she had screamed at him to never come back. At the time, the sight had torn him to pieces but the ending somehow felt predestined, like a tapestry he had already seen. His reasons were selfish. He knew that. Waking up in a new place every morning, the tumbledown nights in taverns, and helping people along the way fit him in a way that settling down never could. There was no room for Theresa in that. 

But Hans — 

He had thought it so easily before. Now the words dug under his skin, pricking him with what they really meant. 

There would always be room for him. He was the only one he would come back to. He did it time and time again, without a second thought. 

And he was getting married to someone else. 

He cradled him closer to his chest, listening to his breaths even out. 

Chapter Text

Hans woke up surrounded in Henry. From the thick arm that was wrapped around his waist, all down his side, and underneath his head was cocooned in Henry’s warmth, the sound of his heartbeat in his ear. Tilting his head with the slightest of movements so as not to wake him, he caught sight of Henry’s wavy hair curling around his temples in the dawn light, his mouth slightly parted as he breathed in and out. 

He should have let his body heat and soft breathing lull him back to sleep. Instead, he tried to memorize him in his entirety, unable to stop thinking about the morning he would have to wake up to somebody else. 

When Henry’s breathing started to deepen, his hand flexing into his side, Hans watched his thick eyelashes separate to his deep blue eyes. They reminded Hans of when a lake’s shallows gave way to its depths, reflecting back the sky above. He watched the inky blue get swallowed up in their black center, and then slowly constrict back until they focused on him. 

He couldn’t have looked away if he tried. “Good morning,” Hans whispered.  

Henry rubbed the sleep from his eyes, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “Have you been watching me long?”

Hans shook his head, lopsidedly grinning all the same. 

“Good,” Henry said, his voice a deep rumble, then pulled him back toward his chest, wrapping both of arms around him. 

There was something about the way it felt to be enveloped in Henry’s arms that was soothing and exhilarating in equal measure. Every sensation still felt new but the gentleness in the way he held him whispered to Hans to melt into his arms. He was so close to doing so. 

He felt his eyes flutter closed, he took in a deep breath, inhaling the woody scent of his skin mixed with the mintha soap he used. Fuck, he smells so good. “We need to get up, my uncle’s awful attendant will probably be here to ruin things in just a —”

Henry’s nose nuzzled into Hans’ neck. He felt Henry’s chest rise and fall, the brush of his lips to his neck. It was akin to an electric shock. His whole body tensed as he let let out a low moan. “Hen —”

“Just for a bit longer.” 

Unable to argue with that, Hans grabbed Henry’s chin and tilted it toward his face. Like the rest of him, his jaw was solid and strong, prickling Hans’ fingertips with the hint of morning stubble. And the way he kissed — 

He found himself on his back, Henry on his hands and knees above him. Finally able to twist his hands into his hair, he adored the way it curled around his fingers. His hands followed the nape of neck down the valley between his massive shoulders. He dug his nails into the skin, hearing Henry groan. 

He could feel Henry’s desire for him pressing into his pelvis, just as his was straining to meet Henry, but neither made the move to do anything more. His hand burned with the thought and yet he couldn’t reach down, desperate for the sensation and yet also paralyzed by it. So he stayed wrapped around him, mapping out the muscles in his shoulders and back, trying to convince himself this was enough. 

When they came up for air, Henry pressed a single kiss into his bandaged shoulder. “I need to check this, make sure it’s healing properly.” 

The glance that swept up towards Hans was filled with unspoken longing. Knowing they were feeling the same thing, Hans reached out to brush Henry’s’ cheek. As he did, he saw the dark circles that weren’t there the day before. His finger traced them as he tried not to feel a deluge of sadness and self-contempt. “I’m sorry you didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” he managed to say. 

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” Henry said, then pulled himself forward to rest his forehead on Hans’ shoulder. 

I can’t see how that’s true. 

They stayed like that for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. 

*****

Henry studied his jaw in the polished metal mirror before him, a straight razor in his right hand. Noticing a spot he missed, he flicked the blade along his skin with careful, practiced movements. Shaving was an annoying, albeit necessary part of his day, but he would be lying if he didn’t appreciate the chance to be alone. 

There was too much happening all at once. Between everything with Hans, his father, not to mention battling time itself the day prior — 

He needed a moment to himself. Desperately. 

Surveying his chin with his hand and determining it was good enough, he splashed his face with water, catching a flash of his face in the mirror. The resemblance between him and Sir Radzig was obvious now. Same square jaw and strong nose, but his eyes were every bit his mother’s. 

When he was younger, she would twirl away a stray curl and say seeing his eyes was like looking into a mirror. 

He couldn’t stop the thought. He never could, just as he could never stop the rush of grief. When it wasn’t as intense as it usually was, that somehow hurt in a different way. 

His conversation with his father had been succinct and simple, although his genuine smile at hearing Henry’s “Yes” filled him with a warmth he hadn’t felt since his parents were alive. Henry had assumed that part of him had died with them. To feel it beat in his chest again, even if for a moment — 

It whispered that maybe there was a future where that didn’t define him anymore.

But who am I without it? 

Refusing the urge to look at his reflection one more time, he turned on his heel and headed toward the great hall. 

He spied Hans the moment he entered. He had seen him hundreds, no, thousands of times, and yet he was rooted to the spot, suddenly aware of the space his arms and legs were occupying. Hans met his gaze mere seconds after, his expression changing into a beatific smile — 

Why the fuck didn’t I kiss that mouth until he begged — 

“Henry, perfect timing!” 

He was cuffed on the shoulder by someone with so much force he had to catch himself. Sputtering, Henry glared up to see it was Kubyenka, who just grinned back. “I was just telling Hans here —”

Katherine and Godwin whipped around to smile at Henry. Katherine added, “Sir Hans, don’t want to offend the Lord of —”

“Sod off, Katherine,” Hans said. 

“Too late for that, Sir Hans,” Kubyenka said, his free hand already with a tankard of ale. He shepherded Henry toward the table. “Especially as congratulations are in order!” 

Seeing an open spot next to Hans, Henry walked towards it at a very normal, not at all desperate gait to get there first. Once he sat down, he said to Hans, “I take it they heard the news.” 

“Unfortunately,” Hans grumbled in-between bites of a roll, then narrowed his eyes at Katherine.

As he was doing that, Henry was unable to stop his hand from reaching out underneath the table just to brush his leg. Hans’ eyes exploded for a moment, darting to his before rooting back to the table, high points of color forming on his cheeks. 

Henry loved it. 

Kubyenka said, “I always thought it would be Henry to get married first. The way the fucking girls follow him around, I was sure one of them would —” 

“Hey —” Henry interjected, then shot a smile in Hans’ direction, “I thought this was about the husband to be.” 

Hans’ eyes narrowed. It only emboldened Henry. Pretending to look confused, he clenched into the muscle of Hans’ thigh. When his whole leg jerked upward,  Henry had to bite his lip to stop his grin.

“We’re trying to convince him to stay at Devil’s Den before wedded bliss forces him to —”

“Don’t all of you have anyone else to torture?” Hans grumbled, shooting an elongated glare at Henry. “Where’s Zizka, Janosh Uher, anyone —” 

“Not Jan,” Katherine said with a tight lipped smirk, “Because he shot his fucking eye out.” 

“What?” Henry and Hans said at the same time. 

“Don’t know how you both managed to sneak off right before,” Godwin said, “But you were lucky bastards. We had to drag him out.” 

“Is he, you know, okay?” Hans said. 

Katherine rolled her eyes. “Masa’s tending to him. He’ll be fine once he stops crying.” 

Henry shot a disbelieving eyebrow Katherine’s way, “I mean, it is his eye —” 

“And it’s entirely his fault, so he won’t get a drop of sympathy from me. Asking Hynek to shoot an apple from his head —” 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” 

“Language!” Godwin chided, “And from someone about to enter an eternal union with Christ in holy matrimony —” 

Hans turned his ire to Godwin. Groping for Henry’s hand, which he was all too happy to accept, Hans said, “This is your fault! You’re the one who brokered this whole ridiculous farce of a —” 

“It saved our lives,” Godwin said. 

“Did it?” Hans hissed back. 

“Why are you so sad, I’ve heard she’s quite the lovely young woman.” 

Hans was now staring into the table and refusing to meet Henry’s or anyone else’s glances. Giving his hand a small squeeze, Henry said, “You don’t have to stay at the Devil’s Den, Hans. You could go to Kuttenberg, or any of the other small towns.” 

He hoped his true meaning was clear. We could go anywhere you want, just the two of us. 

Hans’ eyes shot up to his as he stroked the underside of Henry’s palm. “Kuttenberg might be nice,” he said in a much quieter voice.

“Perfect! We will meet you there in a few weeks,” Kubyenka said, “And be sure to give you the best send off you won’t remember.” 

“Men and their fucking stag parties, I swear.” 

“You’re invited too, Katherine.” 

Hans’ shoulders fell. “Do I get any say in —” 

“Nope,” all of them said in unison. 

*****

“Were you trying to kill me?” 

Henry’s sheepish, but no less thrilled grin told Hans everything he needed to know. 

They were outside in the stables, ostensibly to check up on their horses. As Henry held up an apple for his horse, he fixed his stupidly mesmeric eyes onto Hans. “I thought you wanted me to touch you.” 

Heat flushed Hans’ cheeks for what must have been the thousandth time that day. “Not in fucking pub—”  

His words were stopped by the smirk that was building on Henry’s features. Narrowing his eyes to slits, he turned toward his own horse. 

Taking a few sniffs of the apple on his outstretched palm, Aethon snorted and jerked his head away. Meanwhile, Henry’s horse Pebbles was stretching her neck for Henry to scratch into it. 

Goddammit, Aethon.

Weighing the odds of if there were was a horse trader nearby, he jumped when he felt fingertips caress his elbow. “Do you really want to go Kuttenberg? We — I mean, you and I, assuming if you want me to —” 

An elated grin broke out over Hans’ features. He turned toward Henry. “I want you to assume, too.” 

Henry’s gaze shot to his, neck tinged pink, and then studied a wooden beam with an intense amount of focus. He squeezed his eyes shut, then looked at Hans again, his teeth just biting into his lower lip. 

Kurva, how Hans wanted to reach out to him. Settling for digging his nails into his palms, he said, “I didn’t really get to see Kuttenberg much. It would be nice to see it with — just you.” 

“I know of some places that are more private, too,” Henry said, his voice a low rumble. 

The look in Henry’s eyes had Hans counting the number of ways they could get back to his room, Henry’s, anywhere where they could be alone. Fuck, he would take being thrown into the grass at this point. 

But they were alone now. He knew it was a terrible, reckless idea, but he couldn’t stop his hand from shooting out and pulling Henry toward him. Henry’s eyes widened, then swept around before he leaned down, the exhale puffing against Hans’ lips. He felt the warmth of Henry’s mouth, his head tipping back back as he melted from — 

A loud whistle emanated from near the stable’s entrance. They both dashed apart, Hans’ heart a drum in his chest. Henry shared one terror struck glance with Hans, then stepped forward between whoever was at the entrance and him. 

Henry, no, you don’t —

Making it a point to stand next to him, they both saw a stablehand who was loudly whistling as he eyed the hay piles for the horses. When he saw them both staring him down, he stopped. “Oh, begging your pardon, sirs,” he said, then tipped his cap. 

Jesus Christ. All of the air in his lungs coming out in a huff, Hans said, “Should we get ready to leave now, or —” 

“Now, definitely,” Henry said, his eyes never leaving the stablehand. 

*****

The tension only left Henry’s shoulders once they clattered across the drawbridge and toward the open countryside. As the fields gave way to the open expanse of meadows he found he could breathe better. The sky was a brilliant blue, clouds only hovering near the hills. Mutt kept up with their pace, his tail wagging back and forth and he lept through the fields. Slowing down to a trot, Henry allowed the sunlight and country air to inundate him, pulling his head back to welcome it with open arms. Kurva, it felt so good. 

“I know you’re not thinking, so seriously, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Breathing, you should try it sometime.” 

Knowing Hans was rolling his eyes, he shot him a lopsided grin. 

Perfection greeted him, taking his breath with it. Hans was handsome to begin with. Hans illuminated by the midday sun, surrounded in a halo of soft greens, the light dancing off of his hair and eyelashes was a category unto itself. More than that, it was the way Hans was looking at him, as if he was seeing all of him — 

It hit him with all of the intensity of an arrow straight into a bullseye. Grabbing onto his last bit of sanity the way a drowning man would grab onto a rope, he said, “We can’t, Hans. Not here, not where —” 

He gestured to the dusty, well travelled road around them. Hazily, he could see Mutt in the distance, sniffing at a rock. 

“Oh that? That’s easy.” 

No, it’s not. “Do you have a selective memory about this morning?” 

“You have way too little trust in me, you know?” 

“Pretty sure I’m the only one seeing rea—“

His words were stopped by Hans’ horse flying down the lane at a full gallop. It was followed by his no less thrilled laugh.

*****

Hans didn’t have to look back, he knew that Henry’s horse would be right at Aethon’s heels. Curling his head forward, he urged Aethon with a heel to the ribs. The wind whipped at his face and hair, the meadows a green blur as he sped past. 

Henry yelled, “What the fuck, Hans?” 

Hans could do nothing but grin. Spying a path that ran parallel to some forest, he veered Aethon off to a hard right. The trees grew in clumps, the light only able to filter through their branches. Weaving back and forth, he managed to clear several smaller logs. Branches scratched at Aethon’s flanks. Long used to this, he threw an irate whinny in Hans’ direction, still deftly avoiding colliding with a tree. 

It was a breathless, breakneck speed. Knowing who he was being chased by was like an electric shock to his veins, pushing him to keep his heel into Aethon’s ribs. His muscles strained beneath Hans, he knew he couldn’t keep this up forever. But oh, how he wanted to. 

Up ahead, he could see through blurry eyes that the trees gave way to a small meadow, untouched and pristine, a large fallen tree trunk blocking the entrance. His grin stretching from ear to ear now, he murmured to Aethon, “You think you can do it, my shining boy?” 

Pulling himself as close as he could he felt Aethon’s body tense, then spring forward, his back legs taking the brunt of the force. For those brief moments, it felt like they were soaring through the air until his front legs slammed into the ground below, throwing Hans back into his saddle. 

Letting out a whoop of pure exhilaration, Hans looked back to see Henry’s horse Pebbles leap over the tree trunk with just as much power as Aethon had. He didn’t realize he was on the ground until he felt its solidness underneath his boot as he pounded the steps between them. 

“Are you mad? I nearly face planted back there! And your shoulder still needs to heal!” 

He got to Henry’s side just as Henry dismounted his horse, his hair windswept and unkempt. Before Henry could open his mouth to continue to retort, Hans was kissing him. He was enveloped in the scent of the country air that clung to Henry, with just hints of his scent underneath. 

God, he wanted Henry underneath him. Now. 

“Hans —“ 

Hans pulled back to see Henry’s eyes were nearly black. “Do you want to?” 

Henry gave a single, reticent nod as Hans just pulled his head back toward his.

*****

Multiple expletives were going off in Henry’s head. In the span of ten minutes he had to chase Hans through the middle of a forest, missing a tree by what felt like a hair’s breadth in the process, Pebbles had stomped away the second he was out of the saddle, he had no idea where Mutt was, and to top it off, Hans was kissing him with so much force he was losing track of why he was mad about any of that in the first place — 

It was all too easy to get lost in his current. Tilting his head, his hands found Hans’ low back in the same breath. He squeezed into the fabric of his doublet, feeling the solidness of his body, his tongue pushing in between Hans’ lips to meet his. 

A low moan rippled from him just as Hans started to pull Henry toward the ground, his hands scrabbling at his cotehardie. Wondering why they have so many fucking buttons, he started to work on the top ones in tandem with Hans, then only broke contact to throw it and his undershirt to the ground. Hans’ doublet was next. Henry knew what was waiting him below that, he just brushed his hand across the front of Hans’ hose. 

Henry heard Hans’ deep groan, then his hand grabbed his and pulled it away. Henry’s eyes shot open to see Hans was staring at him with dark, almost mischievous eyes. “I want to focus on you,” he whispered. 

“Wait —“ 

It was too late, they were already sinking to the meadow. As the smell of crushed flowers wafted around them, Henry found himself on his back. He saw the beginnings of a smirk on Hans’ features before he smashed his face back to his, wrapping both of his hands around Henry’s head. 

He was cocooned in him, in this meadow, a perfect bubble away from prying eyes. Hans’ body was a veritable utopia for him to discover, all hard angles and lean muscle in a way he had never felt before. His hands found Hans’ waist, then began to feel up and down his back, just grazing the rise of his ass. Hans’ next breath was sharp, he thrust his hips into Henry’s, pushing him further into the ground. Giving in to his desires, Henry squeezed into the muscle. 

Hans’ whole body tensed, a deep moan coming out of his throat. “We’re supposed to be focusing on you,” he murmured into his lips, his next kiss more of a bite.

“Trust me, this is just as good for me as it is —” Hans moved to his jaw, nipping at the flesh. The words in his mouth rearranged into a breathy, “Fuck.”

Moving down the column of his throat, he bit into the indent in-between his collarbones, then trailed kisses down his chest. Henry’s back was arched, his breaths coming out as low moans, every part of him trying to feel the way his lips moved on his skin. Hands clenched into his waist just as he kissed below Henry’s navel, the tie of his — 

Wait. Henry’s head shot up. “Hans, what are you —”

The way Hans was looking back at him, his hair falling into his face, one corner of his mouth curving upward — All of it was far too dangerous. “Using my mouth, Henry.” 

“That’s — that’s not —” 

His mind refused to think. it was spiraling on that one thought, what it might feel — 

Hans’ grin deepened, “How else do I get you back for earlier?” 

“This is very different, and you know —” Hans bit through his hose onto his hip. “That — ” he finished in that awful, strangled voice he was being more and more acquainted with. 

“Do you want me to stop?” 

“I — I —”  His breaths were coming as sharp gasps, his heart thudding with the idea of that. “No,” he managed to get out.

He saw the flash of Hans’ canines before he kissed at the tie of his hose, then undid them with fast, almost jerking movements. Is he nervous, too? 

No sooner did the thought come than it was replaced with the knowledge of what was about to happen. Henry found he was helping Hans, his hips raising to let Hans tug off his hose and breeches. The sudden onslaught of the meadow air and little caresses from the flowers on his bare legs was an outright assault on his senses. 

“Fuck me,” Hans breathed.

Henry drew his knees toward him, some unconscious need not to be so exposed. “We don’t have to, we can —” 

“Henry.” 

It was his tone that forced Henry’s eyes to snap back to Hans. Hans wasn’t looking back at him at all, instead at what was directly in front of his face. If Henry wasn’t bright red before, he was now. 

It was then that Hans kissed the base. Henry threw his head back, all of his embarrassment and anticipation coalescing into an almost pained moan. 

Just as he had trailed kisses down his body, he now trailed kisses up his shaft. It was so soft, every little touch exploding outward. Henry clawed at the flowers and plants on either side of him, pulling up the stalks into his fists, just as Hans licked. Henry was gasping now as Hans’ warm, soft mouth surrounded his tip. The flowers weren’t enough in his hands, he needed to feel him, his body, anything. 

He found his shoulder first. Squeezing into the muscle, Hans started to suck. Henry's body tensed, his back arching, everything in his body trying to feel more of Hans’ mouth. Just as the thought connected with his synapses, Hans slowed down. His hand wrapped around the base of his shaft and started pump up and down in tandem with the suction, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted — 

“Faster,” he found himself saying. 

His hand moved up Hans’ nape and wound its way into his hair. He felt the tension leave Hans’ neck as he started to control his movement. He wasn’t fully aware of what he was doing, just that it felt so good. Through half lidded eyes, he glanced down to see Hans was watching him, his mouth filled with him —

It was quite possibly the most erotic thing he had ever seen. His eyes rolled into the back of his head. “Fuck — Hans, I’m going to— ”

He loosened his grip on Hans’ hair, expecting him to pull away. Instead, Hans moved forward, taking as much of him into his mouth as he could. When he came, it wasn’t dignified. He cried out as every muscle in his body clenched and then let go. His legs wrenched forward, his toes curling. It felt like an avalanche of euphoria and release, overtaking him completely. 

Chapter Text

Hans was winded. Moving away to swallow and try to regain his breath, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He wasn’t sure how the idea had started, probably a childish need to one-up anything Henry did tenfold, but the way Henry felt in his mouth, his moans, the way he looked as he came undone — 

God, that was incredible. He had to stop himself from biting his knuckle.

“You didn’t spit it out?” 

Hans glanced to see that Henry was trying to look at him in horror, but what was coming out was a dazed expression. He grinned back. “All in all, it wasn’t that bad.” 

It wasn’t bad at all, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud. 

Any attempted glare from Henry was made moot by the rosy glow that was building over his cheeks. He threw out an arm for Hans to land on. When he did, Henry pressed several kisses into his jaw. “You’ve done me in completely, you know that?” 

What about all the girls you’ve done this with? 

Hans didn’t know where the thought had come from. Feeling himself blush, he kissed Henry’s arm. Henry’s euphoric smile back gave a voice to the need to stay in this perfect moment as long as possible, far away from questions like that. “We can rest here for a bit, if you want.” 

He tried not to sound too eager. When Henry nodded, his gaze half lidded, Hans moved in for a kiss, only to pull back before they touched. 

“It’s far too late to be shy now.” 

Hans cheeks flushed with heat. “It’s what I, er, swallowed.” 

Henry’s glow ruddied. He regarded him for a moment, then leaned back in. “I think I can handle it,” he murmured, then pressed his lips to his. 

Hans’ heart did somersaults in his chest as he returned it, trying to ignore what pricked underneath the surface.  When Henry broke apart from him, Hans let him settle his weight into the meadow. Henry’s eyes closed moments after, still a stunned smile on his lips. 

Hans’ eyes traveled down his strong line of his nose and chiseled jaw to his neck, and the smattering of hair across his chest. Had Theresa or Bianca, or any of the girls he had met along the way kissed down his chest? He continued down his body, still having to suck in a breath when he saw how beautiful every part of him was. When would someone else see him like this? 

He knew his questions were unfair at best, completely hypocritical at worst. He was the one getting married, for god’s sake, not to mention Hans had seen enough pretty girls sleeping next to him to fill a tavern. He always had walked away unscathed, unconcerned with their feelings. With Henry, though — 

The thought of him doing this with someone else hurt. Knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had done this before somehow made it worse, as if Hans' every action was just one of many. 

He curled into Henry’s side, feeling the tendrils of an emotion he couldn’t name wrap its way around his heart. 

*****

Henry felt something tap against his arm, and another one on his calf. With his dawning consciousness came another one, and then another. He opened his eyes only for a water droplet to ping against his forehead, the sky above low and grey. Turning, he saw jewel blue eyes staring at him. 

“It’s raining,” they both said at the same time, then turned various shades of pink, shooting grins at one another.

Hans jumped up first, throwing Henry’s hose to him. By the time he had managed to shrug them on it was an outright downpour. While Hans made a mad dash to his horse, pulling a cloth out of his saddlebag, Henry was attempting to put on his undershirt. Pulling on a sleeve to see it was clear against his skin, water dripping from one end, he started to laugh. When he looked over, Hans was laughing, too. 

Spying Pebbles and Mutt both glaring at him from the trees that ringed the meadow, he dodged puddles in soggy boots to reach them. They were drenched, dark eyes equal parts miserable and livid. “Oh, what a poor doggy,” he said, starting to reach over to pet Mutt. 


When Mutt bared his teeth at him, he heard Hans’ chortle behind him. “I don’t think I’ve seen such a miserable wretch,” he said, handing him the cloth.

After wiping his face, Henry said, “You’re one to talk,” motioning over to Aethon who was eying his master with murderous intent, his mane plastered to the side of his neck. 

“Aethon? Just give him a moment to dry out.”

Aethon snorted, then pawed at the ground. “See, he’s fine.” 

Giving Hans a dubious nod, Hans’ grin widened. As he did, a drop of water dripped down his chin. The cloth in his hands took shape and weight, feeling more like a paperweight than a something scrunched between his fingers. Squeezing it once, he then brushed it down the curve of Hans’ cheek. He could feel the heat radiating off of him in waves. 

Ah, fuck it.

Tilting his hand until his knuckles felt the soft warmth of his skin, he lingered at his chin. “There,” he whispered, then met Hans’ impossibly blue eyes. 

Hans’ next breath sounded like a shaky gasp. “That — That’s not fair,” he said.

Henry didn’t know what to make of the tingly elation that was prickling his skin, outpacing the clinging uncomfortable cold of his shirt by leaps and bounds. “After what you just did to me?” 

Hans still had the good nature to flush. Henry’s next thought had the cloth feeling like a fucking cannonball. Bringing it back up to the other side of Hans’ face to keep his fingers from shaking, he leaned down to his ear and murmured, “When can I do that to you?” 

Hans’ eyes flew open as he stared down at their feet. “I —”   The blush on his cheeks growing, he eked out, “Goddammit, Henry.” 

Fuck, he’s adorable. Letting himself grin, Henry pressed the cloth into his face to soak up the remaining water. The fact that Hans still let him was a joy in and of itself. “What are we going to do with this rain? I don’t know if we can get to Kuttenberg today.” 

Hans was eyeing him back suspiciously, trying to divine if Henry had laid out any other traps for him. 

“I’m pretty sure Miskowitz is close. And they have a tavern, so we can get dry.”

“Only if you promise not to make me any redder than I already am,” Hans mumbled under his breath. 

Henry pulled his hands back and held them up in mock surrender. It only made Hans glare harder. 

*****

Hans watched Henry coax his horse and dog through the rain, trying not to laugh. It was ridiculous that a man whose shoulders filled the doorways he entered, a head taller than most around him, turned to putty around animals. By the time they made it to Miskowitz, Henry was practically carrying Mutt. “He doesn’t like his ears getting wet,” Henry said when he saw Hans watching him.

“Right.” 

He was pretty sure that during the siege Henry would save some of his rations for Mutt. He also took to sleeping in the stables to make sure no one tried to butcher the horses.

He knew then, just as he knew now, that maybe wasn’t ridiculous at all. Maybe it was kindhearted. And endearing. And the littlest bit charming. And maybe on those nights, he would take the very long route to his bedchambers so he could catch a glimpse of him in the lantern light, his voice low as he talked to the horses. 

Not now. He had just managed to stop blushing. 

Blinking himself out of his focus on his cheeks, he glanced around. In the gloom, Miskowitz wasn’t that much to look at, just a collection of small cottages and half timbered houses around a pond. 

By the time Henry had found suitable stables and sausages for Mutt, quite the endeavor considering his exacting standards, the sky had turned to a dark grey, the rain still coming down in sheets. Feeling the wet seeping into to his bones, Hans was never so grateful to spy the sign for a tavern in the distance. 

When they walked in, it was packed with people all jostling for warm ale and a spot to dry out. They eyed the rich, albeit sopping wet fabrics of Hans’ clothes with disdain and apprehension, but the second they saw Henry next to him, their expressions changed. Several waved to him. One person in an apron made a determined course toward them. “Henry! To what do we owe the pleasure?” 

“Zdeslav!” Henry said, reaching out his massive hand to shake his, “Just traveling through to Kuttenberg. We got caught in the rain.” He gestured to Hans, “This is my lord, Sir Hans Capon.” 

“Sire,” Zdeslav said, giving him the barest excuse for a nod. Hans had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. 

To Henry, Zdeslav said, “Quite the storm for this time of year, I don’t envy you. Are you looking for lodging?” 

“If you can manage?” 

“For you, absolutely.” He grinned at Henry, but his smile vanished when he met Hans’ gaze. “Unfortunately, it’s the same room you had last time. Probably not up to the standards of a lord.” 

These fucking small towns in the middle of nowhere. The fact that Hans was expected to continue his polite smile made it all the worse. 

“Nonsense!” Henry said with a congenial smile, “Sir Hans can rough it with the best of them.” 

“I can?” Hans said, feeling one confused eyebrow raise. Just how bad is this going to be, Henry? 

He had the mental picture of a dusty pantry with a single blanket. Knowing Henry he would have thanked them profusely.

“Well, it’s one bed, so one of you will probably have to sleep on the floor.” His strong look to Hans indicated who he thought should sleep where. 

“I’m sure we can figure out a way to manage,” Hans said, his front teeth biting into his lip to hide his massive grin. That wouldn’t be a problem. Not at all. 

As he was led back into the rain his earlier excitement plummeted to the floor. The word “room” was being generous. It was barely a shack with a tacked up sheet for a door. At this point, he would have taken the pantry. “What the fuck is this?” He hissed to Henry. 

“At least it’s dry?” 

“Henry!” 

Henry grinned. “I don’t think they have many options with how many people are here, Hans. Be grateful we have any place at all. Now, we need to get out of these wet clothes.” 

A hard rap on the doorframe only increased Hans’ irritation. Shooting Henry a death glare, he saw Henry guffaw. 

“Yes?” Henry called out. 

Zdeslav appeared, carrying several blankets and pillows. “I thought you might need these.” 

“Zdeslav, this is perfect! Thank you,” Henry said, reaching over to take one and mop at his face and back of his neck. His glance met Hans’, “See how dry we’ll be now, Sir Hans?” 

“It’s very kind of you,” Hans said in between clenched teeth, his glare turning icy. 

Zdeslav was oblivious. “Oh, think nothing of it. I know my son will be happy you’re here, Henry. You know he still wants a rematch?” 

Rematch? 

Henry clapped him on the shoulder. “Probably not this time, we’ve got a lot to get to in Kuttenberg.” He let his gaze rake down Hans’ body before focusing on Zdeslav. “But give him my regards.” 

Hans tried to look away. He really did. He tried to think of anything other than the way Henry’s warm breath puffed against his neck as he asked when he could do that back. His hand flew back to the wall, feeling the rough hewn timber scrape against his palm. Because somehow, they were stuck in a fucking shack with even less privacy than in Suchdol. Goddammit — 

“Of course. Did you lads — er, begging your pardon, sir —”   

Realizing he should be saying something and not in the throes of devising how he could drag Henry back out into the rain, Hans said, “It’s completely fine,” in a voice that was at least two octaves too high. 

Henry raised an eyebrow in Hans’ direction. Luckily Zdeslav was again, completely oblivious. “Did you come back from Suchdol?” 

Henry nodded. 

“God bless you both,” he said, giving Hans a genuine smile. “There’s been several thefts, even just a few days ago. Everyone has been so scared of what could happen after Mezholes was raided. And then with the siege —”   He crossed himself,  “But it seems like Sigismund’s army is gone now, God willing.” 

“The Praguers left thanks to Henry,” Hans said. “He was the one who got reinforcements and saved us.” 

“It was everyone, certainly not just me.” Henry said, rubbing the back of his head. “Hans fought very bravely, too.” 

Zdeslav shared a knowing smile with Hans. “I had a feeling you were involved. Stay as long as you want. There’s stew in the tavern waiting for you, too.” 

“Zdeslav, that’s very kind but not needed. We’d prefer to pay.” 

“I won’t take no for an answer after what you’ve done for us, lad,” Zdeslav moved toward the doorframe before he turned around. “Henry, and er — Sir Hans. Thank you.” 

The moment the sheet was pulled back to the door, Henry rounded on Hans, unbuttoning his cotehardie at the same time. “Don’t talk about me like that, it makes me —”  

“Because the truth is such a bad thing, especially when you saved —”  

Henry threw down his cotehardie with a surprising amount of force. “Stop saying that. It’s a lot more complicated than that and you know that!” 

Hans didn’t know. At all. Reaching out to his arms, he said, “Henry, what are you talking about?” 

“I —”   He blinked at Hans’ hands grasping his bare biceps, seemingly composing himself, “You know I hate when people go out of their way to do things for me. It makes me feel —”   He frowned, “Uneasy.” 

Because a free shack is such an altruistic gesture. Keeping that unsaid, Hans said, “Like you do for everyone else?”

“I do not. I bet he’s going to tell other people about it,” Henry said, then groaned.

“And that is bad why?”

“Because they’re going to bother us,” Hans should have realized the way Henry was standing over him, his head dangerously close to his ear. “And I really wanted to repay your — encouragement.” 

His words travelled down Hans’ neck, a cascade of goosebumps following. it was a fight not to pull his lips down to his. “We can’t do that anyways, you know that. Not here, I would —”   

He stopped himself just in time. Henry’s hands reached out for Hans’ waist then traveled down to his bum. Hans’ head tipped back. “You’d what, Hans?” 

His hands were so big and warm on him. He squeezed, creating little sparks of pleasure that radiated outwards. Letting out a small moan, Hans said, “I’d be too loud.” 

Hans felt Henry’s teeth against his skin. “I’m sure you can be quiet,” he murmured, and bit down. 

Fuck. Hans shuddered in and out, his hands clawing uselessly against Henry’s arms. He didn’t know how to respond, he felt like he was losing track of his sanity. Seeing the awful blanket for a door flutter out of the corner of his eye, he forced oxygen in and out of his lungs. “That’s not — that’s a bad idea — we’ll get caught, we’ll —”   

“Okay,” Henry whispered. He kissed the same spot he had just bit, then took a step back.  Hans’ hands were shaking with the need to pull him back. Forcing himself to instead pull down on his doublet, when his fingertips came back wet he realized he was still in soaking wet clothes. Fucking great. 

“Can I help you take that off?”

“Absolutely not,” Hans sniped back. 

Hearing a small chuckle, Hans scowled. He knew he was being watched as he unbuttoned the front of his doublet, his hands clumsy and unfocused as he tried to breathe. When he finally was able to rip it off, his undershirt following, he glanced up to see Henry had propped himself up against the wall, smirking. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Hans’ eyes were reduced to slits. “Don’t you have anything else to do?” 

Henry cocked his head. “Now that you mention it —”  

His eyes were dark. Too dark. He moved toward his saddlebag, then turned back to him with honey and linen strips. His smirk was turning into a full fledged grin. 

“Oh no, you are not —”   

“Your bandage needs to be changed. It’s wet,” he said, putting careful emphasis on the word. 

Hans looked down to see that it was, in fact, soaked through. Worse yet, he saw a small little ring of blood. Goddammit. 

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he sat crosslegged on the bed and kept his eyes trained on the doorframe, ignoring the anticipatory hum that was building in his body at the thought of Henry within mere inches of him. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw a hulking shadow sit behind him, the thin mattress underneath them dipping from his weight. His suspicion mounting, he felt the tiniest caress on his back. It couldn’t have been more than a fingertip. His breath hitched in, his shoulder blades jerking together. “Henry, ”  He growled out, turning to glare at him. 

“Sorry,” Henry said, staring at something below him. However, his voice could not be less apologetic. If anything, he sounded thrilled. “I’m going to untie it now, okay?” 

Hans’ heart was beginning to pound, every nerve in his body attuned to any possible touch. The knot for his bandage was near his side. He felt fingers pull at it, then saw Henry’s hand start to unwind the bandage around him. 

Henry’s body curved around Hans’ side as he stared at his wound, then dabbed more honey into it. “Despite your best efforts, it looks like it’s healing.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Henry didn’t even look back at him. A clean, bright white linen cloth was pressed into it. Wincing slightly, he heard Henry’s sympathetic exhale, followed by a new bandage being wrapped and tied to his side. Loath to admit this did feel better, he kept his gaze trained ahead of him. When nothing else happened, he squinted. 

That couldn’t just be it.

Right? Not after all of this build up. 

Why am I feeling disappointed? 

It was at that moment Henry’s head appeared over his shoulder, his arms surrounding his sides. Ah, there it is.

That thought was overtaken just as quickly by how overwhelming it was. All of his back and arms were ablaze in the feeling of Henry’s skin. He tried to take a shaky breath in, only to smell Henry’s scent mixed with the rain. His eyes fluttered shut, his head lolling back. Henry nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

That stupid, awful blanket was his last line of defense. “We don’t have a fucking door, Hen —”   

Henry kissed his neck, stopping his words. “No one will be out with the rain. I’m going mad, Hans, please.” 

“Whose fault is that?”

Henry pressed his mouth into Hans’ ear. “Yours,” he hissed, then bit down onto his earlobe.

Hans gasped, his back arching. Turning his head, Henry’s lips were on his in an instant and God, there was no reason it should be this good — 

He moaned into Henry, letting his mouth muffle the sound. His hand found the curve of Henry’s neck, feeling the line of his jaw that could have been carved from marble. He started to move upward to turn around but instead found himself on his knees, Henry pressing into him from behind. 

Fuck — 

Every part of him was on fire. 

He felt Henry thrust once. They moaned together, his heart starting to pound again. “My hose — do you want to —”   

“Yes.” 

He didn’t know where the question came from. What he did know was that his heart was stammering in his chest. He started to undo the laces only for Henry to yank them down, then press a bruising kiss into his lips. Before he could question where this was going, he undid the laces of Henry’s. Watching him kick them off, Hans got back on his knees, unable to stop staring until Henry came up behind him. His erection slid effortlessly into the curve of his bum. 

Knowing somehow that he was supposed to squeeze his thighs together, he heard Henry’s moan in his ear. Henry thrust again. With nothing between them, he could feel every exquisite bit of his length around him and into the muscle of his legs. 

This should have been wrong. Everything about it was, and yet, it felt so fucking good, like this was how it was always supposed to be. Henry’s hands clenched into his hips as he did it again and again, his quiet moans filling Hans’ ears. He still wanted more. “Kiss me,” Hans found himself saying. 

As soon as he asked, there Henry was, kissing him with so much force Hans was almost breathless. He started to meet the way Henry rolled his hips, the pleasure at how their bodies met creating little goosebumps that traveled up and down every place they were touching. 

One of Henry’s hands left his hip to wrap around Hans’ erection. It was immediate, intense bliss, the likes of which he had never felt before. A strangled moan escaped Hans’ lips before he fell to his arms to try and stifle it. “Henry, don’t. I’ll come, I —”

“What if I want you to?” 

“What about you?” 

He heard Henry’s exhaled smile. “I’m spent, thanks to you. I don’t think I can right now.” 

Hans turned beet red. He stuffed his face into the mattress to try and hide it, desperately trying to not breathe too deeply in case it smelled disgusting. One massive hand planted itself to his left before a series of featherlight kisses were traced down his spine. He found he was following them, trying to angle his back to meet his lips. 

“Can I please touch you?” Henry mumbled into his skin. 

“It’s may, not —”   

Henry’s lips turned into teeth. Letting out a groan, he glanced up to see he was smiling down at him. To see every glorious angle of him from below, his bronzed body glistening in the firelight as the sounds of rain hit the roof — 

He was thoughtless, weightless even, as he curved around to kiss him. He saw Henry’s lips quirk up before he jerked Hans’ hips back into his erection, Hans’ mouth becoming slack jawed with how it felt as he thrusted. Letting Hans stay on his hands and knees, he curved around him, the heat from his chest searing into Hans’ back. Then Henry’s hand found him, and he began to pump up and down in tandem with his thrusts, squeezing with just the right amount of force. 

It was impossible not to wonder how it would feel if he was inside him, how much more intense it could — 

His breathing reduced to small pants, he felt the wave start to overtake him. Tumbling down into the mattress, he moaned out, “Henry, I’m — I’m — Fuck —”   

To try and muffle how loud he knew he was going to be, he yelled into the mattress. The pleasure coursed through him with all of the intensity of an explosion detonating as he bucked forward into Henry’s palm. He saw stars, his breaths coming in shuddering gasps. 

He felt a kiss pressed into the nape of his neck. The shiver down his spine mixed with the aftershocks, causing him to continue rocking his hips forward. He mumbled out, “Sensitive —”  

A very satisfied grin wound its way through Henry’s features. “Oh, I know.” 

“Is this how you felt today?” 

“Yes,” he murmured, then leaned down to kiss him. “I need to wash my hand, okay?” 

Hans’ blush back was sluggish, his mind almost not registering it at all. He was smiling at least, he knew that much. “Will you come back?”

“How is that even a question?” 

*****

Henry rubbed at his hand, bits and pieces hitting him at all once. He was still hard, still — 

There was no reason that should have felt the way it did. He had lied when he said he was spent, he had felt it begin to build within him, but denied it, desperately wanting to give Hans a tenth of what had been given to him. The anticipation of what it would feel like was almost better than having it happen twice in one day, anyway. 

Glancing back to Hans, he saw his chest rise and fall, breaths still coming in erratic gasps from a body that practically glowed. His eyelashes swept upwards, the intense blue of his eyes rooting Henry to the spot. “It’s not that bad, is it?” 

Realizing he needed to respond, he shook his head. Hans’ smile was soft as he beckoned him back. Henry grabbed a blanket first, then felt in the inexorable pull to fall headlong into him. Does he have any idea how good he smells? 

Somehow made stronger by the rain, he nudged his nose into Hans’ collarbone, letting himself be overtaken by it.

“I don’t think I need a blanket with you around,” Hans mumbled.  

“You can be the judge of that in the —”   He stopped himself, feeling his heart bottom out toward his stomach. 

“In the what?” Hans asked.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “The winter.” 

Hans pulled him closer, the rapture on his face quieting. He reached out to brush his hand across Henry’s face. “I’d like that,” he whispered back. 

How? Henry wanted to yell back. How is any of this going to be — Instead, he felt his eyebrows knot themselves together. 

“I’m going to finally be the true Lord of Pirkstein. If anyone can sneak through their own castle, it should be me.” 

Against everything telling him not to, Henry grinned. 

“Maybe I could even have you in a connecting room, so I could always —”  

“Yes, because your wife would love the idea of you spending your nights with me in the next room. Right.” 

The mischievous glint was back in Hans’ eyes. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, and besides, maybe she would want to watch —”   

Henry turned red as a beet. “You are foul.” 

“You mean to tell me that with all the women you’ve wooed, none of them have been just a little bit, you know, off?”

“Who do you think I’ve fucked? No, no one has ever remotely —”   He squinted, thinking, “Wait, what have you done?”

“You first.” 

Henry found it impossible to look at him. “I — came on a girl’s tits once.” 

“That’s it? You sweet, simple —”   

“While her father was downstairs.” The rest tumbled from him in a mortified torrent, “I couldn’t go all the way with him there, but her tits were big and he was asking her something and —”   

“You came while her father was talking to her?” Hans started to laugh, “Oh Henry, you dog.”

He didn’t know if it was possible to be any more red than he was in that moment. “Your. Turn.” 

“I’d like to ask several follow up questions —”  

“Not happening.” 

“You are no fun.”

“And you’re stalling.”

Hans gave him a very pointy grin. “My uncle was brokering a deal with some guild member and they brought their entire fucking family with them, who knows why. But that included a very fair maiden.” Hans put his hand to his heart, “I saw her from the window and was instantly —”  

“You wanted to fuck her right away, didn't you?” Henry said with a dull voice.

Hans ignored him. “She was a bit older than me, clearly had done this before. We got to talking while they were discussing — whatever they were discussing, and one thing led to another, and I was up her skirts with my — mouth — on some end table somewhere —”   

Shaking his head, he saw Hans’ grin continue to widen. “She was moaning so much, and shoving me up there, I could barely breathe. And she er — came, but she really came, if you get my meaning, so my entire face was covered in it —”   

“I do not need to know this.” 

“Yes, you do. It adds to the story, Henry. Where was I?”

“Covered in that.” 

Hans laughed. “Right. I had just given her the best moment of her life.” Ignoring Henry’s incredulous eyebrow, he continued, “But then she was suddenly silent. Her hand kind of pushed me away, and —”   Hans swallowed, Henry could detect a subtle flush creeping up his neck, “My uncle was standing right there.” 

Henry covered his face with his hands, letting out an incredulous laugh. “Fucking hell, Hans.” 

“You have no idea how mad he —”   

Loud voices rose above the sound of the rain. Hans clenched down onto Henry’s hand, his trembling slightly. For once, Henry didn’t share his sentiment. For all its rough edges, he felt more at home here than he had ever had behind stone walls.“It’s okay,” Henry whispered, “No one is going to come in.” 

“It was stolen, Martin! Parsnips don’t just—”   

“Not in the rain. We just got here.” 

“Not to mention, they sound pretty —”   He tried not to chuckle, “Distracted with their conversation.”

Hans hissed back, “We are naked, though.” 

Kurva, we are, aren’t we? Using it as an excuse to pull him closer, he felt Hans’ leg curl with his. Hans still wasn’t softening into him, though. Giving him a reassuring smile, he said, “People just don’t barge in on other people like that. Door or no. And this is pretty common for us peasants.” 

Hans glared back, still poised to jump at any moment. 

“First it was the dried figs, but you found those. Don’t you think you’re just misplacing —”   

“They’re not delusions! I swear that usurper Sigismund was —”  

“Not so loud, Klara. Can we go inside? Please?” 

Their voices receded into the rain. “See?” Henry said. 

Henry’s relief was palpable when Hans laid his head on his chest. “Did she say something about Sigismund?” He mumbled. 

“I only heard parsnips. But they’re gone now. And the parsnips, apparently.” 

“Yeah, I mean —”   He frowned, “Well —”   

“Well what?” 

Hans rolled onto his stomach, his body nestled in-between Henry’s legs. Henry tried to hide the overjoyed expression that was threatening to overtake his face. He focused on resting his hands onto the small of Hans’ back. He seemed to be too deep in thought to fully notice. “Didn’t the innkeeper —”  

“Zdeslav.” God, the dip in Hans’ back felt so smooth underneath his fingertips. He could stretch his fingers just the tiniest bit — 

“Doesn’t matter. Didn’t he say something about thefts?” 

Grateful for his big hands for once, he flexed his pinkies outward. He could feel the beginnings of Hans’ perfect, very available bum. He said, “Yes, but I’m sure those were happening when Sigismund and the Praguers were making everyone’s lives miserable.” 

“But her food was just stolen. If she’s complaining about it right now she must have found it today, possibly within a couple of hours —”   

Without making any sudden movements, he rotated his wrists so his hands were more than within squeezing distance. “She sounded slightly loony, Hans, I don’t think —”  

“But what if some of Sigismund’s men are still here?” 

His hands stopped. “That’s not possible. My father saw to that.“ 

“There’s always the chance that a few managed to get away. And they’d need food, right?” 

“They’d have to go through open meadows. In bright red, no less. I don’t think they could just do that. Someone would have seen them and told us or just dispatched them themselves. Unless —”   

“They stole along the way,” Hans said, finishing his thought. Planting both of his hands on either side of Henry, he looked deep into his eyes, “There’s also the forest we, er — discovered. They could be hiding out there.” 

Henry groaned. He saw his future, and none of it included being naked with Hans in this bed. “We can ask around in the tavern, I guess,” he mumbled. 

Hans’ shot him a satisfied smile. “I finally get to go on one of those adventures you’re always leaving me out of!” 

“It’s probably nothing but a mad old crone. Also, I do not leave you out. You’re just always — occupied.” The word he was thinking of was not something he should mention if he wanted Hans to stay happy betwixt his legs. 

Hans still knew, anyway. “No one is left to kidnap me. And besides, I do have a pretty great bodyguard,” he said, his eyes sweeping up Henry’s arms. 

Erik’s still around. Feeling his jaw flex in his cheek, he smiled ruefully back. “I guess.” 

“How did your arms get so big, anyway? It couldn’t just be to fondle my arse when you think I’m not paying attention.” 

Henry reddened. “That’s not —”   

“You can just ask, or better yet —”   Hans rose up, his eyes darkening. Henry saw Hans’ front teeth press into the swell of his lower lip, his gaze lingering below his nose. “You could just kiss me, you know.” 

Dumbfounded, Henry could do nothing but follow Hans’ lead. 

Chapter Text

If Hans was sure one of thing that evening, it was that Henry was going to be the death of him. Yes, their clothes were on. And yes, they had managed to get outside of that god-awful shack. So why was he glancing back to the door of the tavern, counting down the moments until Henry was all his again and he could lavish him with kisses until they were breathless? 

The last few weeks had been a spiral of his name and the way he smiled, and now he had to contend with his body and all the ways it made him feel. The only logical answer was that it was somehow all Henry’s fault. His lips and gigantic, warm hands, and perfect — 

He really needed to not think about this in public. As if somehow sensing Hans’ inner turmoil, Henry appeared in the doorway from the kitchens. As he walked toward the corner they had found, the crowds parted around him in a subconscious deference to his height and size, although he was stopped a couple of times by people calling out well wishes.

Feeling himself scowl, his eyes narrowed even more as he caught the determined gait of a barmaid behind him, two cups of ale in her hands. He has one bowl for me, you — 

Henry directed her to their table with a congenial grin, pointing to Hans. He slid him over a bowl of stew, his excitement palpable. It put Hans on edge. “Sir Hans, this is Lea. She’s a barmaid here.” 

First names, huh — 

She was pretty in that country way, all fresh air and slightly mussed hair. Is this what Bianca — “The pleasure is all mine, Lea,” Hans said, in the most civil tone he could muster. 

“Good evening, sire,” she said with a slight dip of her head, then turned back to Henry. “You were saying I could be of some help to you? I would really love to help you, Henry.” 

I knew it. Feeling Henry’s gaze on him, he glanced up only to be swallowed up by the deep blue of his eyes. “I was thinking if anyone might know about the goings-on here, it would be her.” 

He’s doing this for me. He clenched his jaw in his cheek, feeling an oncoming rush of self contempt. Busying his hands with anything in front of him, he spooned himself some stew only for the wonderful mix of meat and leeks to melt in his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed. 

“Delicious, right? Reminds me of home. I was so excited when I saw it.” 

That’s why he was — 

“It’s great,” he eked out. 

“I helped make it,” Lea said, a note of triumph in her voice. “I always help with the stew.” 

Of course she did. He saw Henry’s dawning smile, his heart continuing to plummet to his stomach. “Has anyone been here recently who was, you know, a bit different? Someone who stood out?”

“Besides you?”

Hans’ hand squeezed onto the cheap spoon with so much force he felt the handle dig into his skin. “Yes, besides us,” he interjected. 

She was too busy eyeing Henry from under her eyelashes, but then frowned as she mulled over Hans’ words. “Now that you say something, yes. Yesterday. Some men came in who were a bit odd. They were flashing a lot of coin, but they weren’t from ‘round here.” 

That got Hans’ attention. A lot of coin — “How many were there? Did they say anything about where they were going?” 

“There were about five of ‘em? And not really. I mean, I think one —”  she glanced at Henry, “Took a shine to me. He was asking when I worked.” 

“When are you working next?” Henry breathed.

Hans wanted to rip the joy off her face. “Oh! I’m — I’m here all the time! I have tomorrow off, actually. My mum’s — it doesn’t matter. But I’ll be back on Saturday! Maybe I will, you know, see you?” 

“Maybe,” Henry said, smiling at her, “You’ve been a great help, Lea,” Henry said. 

She positively melted, her hand inching forward on the table. Hans reached out for Henry’s hand near his thigh. He could feel the hint of fabric, then realizing what he was doing, clenched his hand into a fist. He wasn’t sure if he hated her or himself more in that moment. What the fuck is happening to me?

“Maybe you could, tell me about Suchdol Castle and your adventures the next time you’re in? Uncle Zdeslav had so much to say, but more than that —”  

Henry’s smile faltered. “You don’t want to hear about that,” he mumbled. 

Hans did reach out then, rubbing his thumb on Henry’s. “Lea!” He said, with so much force she jerked to attention, “I’m sure we’ve taken up more than enough of your time.” 

Her face soured in Hans’ direction. “I mean —”  

He tried not to smirk back. “I’m sure you have patrons you need to assist, right?” 

She wilted right in front of his eyes. “Yes, sire.” 

“I’ll be sure to speak to the proprietor —” 

“Zdeslav,” Henry interjected, a little color back in his cheeks. He felt a nail pinch into his thumb. 

Hans grinned in Henry’s direction. “Right! Whatever his name is, I’ll be sure to speak to him and thank him for your time.”

“Thank you, sir, I guess.” She sneered toward the table, then looked in Henry’s direction, the hope wanton on her face. 

Henry was staring at him, his eyes hard. Then they swept back toward her, all graciousness. “I hope you have a good evening, Lea,” Henry said. 

“You too, Henry,” she said, then sighed and got up to leave, her shoulders drooping.

The second she was out of earshot the pinch turned into a hard squeeze. Hans had to hold back his yelp. “Did you have to bring her station into it like that, Hans? She was helping us.” 

“Yeah, helping,” Hans took another heaping spoonful of stew. “This is delicious, who knew commoners could —”  

“Hans!” 

He grinned back before catching his reflection in his ale, seeing a smile that was strained at the edges. That feeling was back, blackening more of his heart with it. 

*****

“You know, I’m amazed they gave us water at all,” Hans said, bending over an ewer to wash his face.

In the midst of scrubbing his teeth with a rough linen cloth, Henry could do nothing but glare at him. Between the constant snide comments about the tavern, the barmaid, and now their room, Hans was getting on his last nerve. Once he had rubbed in his tooth powder with his tongue, he glanced over his shoulder to Hans. In a clipped tone, he said, “What is your problem this evening? This place isn’t that bad, and you know that.” 

He saw the warning flash in Hans’ eyes. “Henry, I’m tired. I really don’t want to talk about —“ 

“No. You’ve done nothing but complain this entire evening about the tavern and Zdeslav. You lived in the fucking woods, I don’t get why —“ 

“I’ve been merely pointing out —”  

Henry interrupted him, “Not to mention that poor barmaid, Lea —“ 

Hans took an incensed step forward. “Of course, you bring her up!“ 

“You were so rude to her, Hans, for no —” 

“There was a fucking reason!” 

“What?” He spat back at him. 

“Because — Because she was —“ His face seized into a frustrated grimace, “I don’t know how the fuck I’m feeling, I —” He trailed off, then sagged onto the bed, “I said I didn’t want to talk about this.” 

Letting the silence settle into his anger, Henry took a hard look at Hans. He had the same expression, keeping his gaze toward the floor. “We need to, though. It feels like you’re insulting me, Hans. I don’t get why.” 

His eyes shot up to his, his brow furrowing, “Why would you think I’m insulting you?” 

He gestured around to the strewn rushes on the floor and simple wood beams. “This is how I grew up. I mean, we had a door, but my pa made it by hand. I know lords typically stay with someone of equal —” 

“Don’t put it that way, please,” Hans’ head found his hands, “Fuck, I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean any of this.” 

Henry walked over to him. “What is this about?” He asked, his voice much softer.

Hans squeezed his hands together, then rubbed the side of his palms into the bridge of his nose. Realizing he was standing over him, Henry sat down next to him and waited until he spoke. 

“I know it isn’t fair, but it’s hard not to want you all to myself. And we get here and I can’t be the way I want to, and I have to see you with —” his jaw was a ball in his cheek, stark against his fair skin, “Other people."  

There’s no — Gently, Henry asked, “Are the other people that one barmaid?” 

“You can use her name, you seem to know it rather well.” 

Henry knew exactly what he was feeling, then. How does he not? He’s had to have felt this before. 

He thought back to all the times Hans had some girl in his bed he couldn’t remember the name of, how he seemed to keep them at all arm’s length. His eyes widened in spite of themselves, nervousness and hope sprouting to life deep within him in equal measure. He had the sudden urge to kiss him again and again, to tell him it was okay, that he wouldn’t be like this with anyone — 

And then he remembered. Feeling himself crumple inward, he focused on what he could say. “Lea doesn’t matter. We don’t have to stay, we can leave tomorrow morning. Or even —“ Still hearing the patter of rain against the roof, he said, “Tomorrow would probably be better.” 

“Wouldn’t want Mutt’s ears getting wet,” Hans muttered. 

Knowing Hans was smiling, Henry clenched his hands around Hans’ and brought them away from his face. There was uncertainty in those perfect eyes, and something much softer, the beginnings of something he understood with every part of his being. 

The desire to kiss him reared back to life, a palpable, intense force in his veins, overwhelming all other rational thought. He pressed a kiss into one of Hans’ knuckles, hoping it would satiate it the tiniest bit. Instead he felt as though he had only been given a single drop of water after weeks of thirst. Hans’ long eyelashes laced together, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “Henry, I want —“ 

I want it, too, Hans. I wish — 

Hans stopped, then swallowed. The slight tremble to his words disappeared. “I want to stay and figure out what’s happening here. With you. Before we run out of chances, you know?” 

Oh, how Henry knew. 

*****

When Hans awoke the next morning, his nose was shoved into Henry’s neck, one arm draped over him. Henry’s log of an arm was resting on his side. Besides the heady scent of Henry’s skin, which he was apparently desperate for even in sleep, the smell of yesterday’s rain lingered in the air. He had never woken up like this, entwined in someone else in the unhurried morning light. 

Something had shifted between them the night before, something real and tangible, yet he understood it even less than what he had been feeling. They were closer than ever, and somehow, never further apart, as though they were separated by an impenetrable stone wall. At least he could figure out what that was.

Thanks Uncle Hanush, I hate you, too. 

Henry must have felt him stir, because a kiss was pressed into the top of his head. No one had done that before, either. His insides reduced to mush, he tried to gather his voice. “Ah—”

That was the antithesis of what he wanted. Henry, his voice still groggy with sleep, mumbled, “I’ll get up and get us some food. You rest.” 

Making a valiant attempt to ignore that his forehead was still tingling, he said, “No, Hen. I can. I woke us —“ 

Hen? What the fuck? Why did I — 

Dread raced through him as the next thought overtook his confusion. Don’t notice, don’t notice, don’t — 

He was already grinning against his temple. “That’s okay. We can go together, then, Hans,” he said, emphasizing his name. It almost seemed like he was wrapping his tongue around it. 

Goddammit. 

He kissed between his eyebrows then, Hans continuing to liquefy, then slipped out of his grasp. As Hans stared up into the rafters, he tried to stop his furious blush that was building over his features by tracing the small cobwebs in the rafters. There were less than he was expecting. Come to think of it, what he was laying on was much softer than he expected, too. Blinking down hard, he said, “You know I don’t hate it here, right?”

“I know.” 

Henry was kneeling in front of his saddlebag, not glancing back at him. A single shaft of light had broken through the opening between the curtain and the doorframe, casting his exposed back in a warm glow of light. It accentuated the deep canyon that ran between his shoulders, leading to the nip of his waist. Below that was obscured by the tie to his breeches, but he could see the indent at the base of his spine — 

“ —Glad we stayed.” 

Hearing Henry’s voice filter into his consciousness, Hans forced out the first word he could. “Oh?”

“There’s something I wanted you to show you. If you want, of course?”

He flexed his hand outward. Hazily, Hans said, “I guess, only if you —”

“I promise it’s really nice at sunset, when all the colors —” Henry stopped, then looked back at Hans, “It’s nothing.” 

Something about his tone — Hans brought himself upright, shaking himself out of his fantasies in the process. “We should.” 

“Really?” 

He heard it again, that slight lilt of hesitation Hans had only heard when Henry was genuinely excited about something. “You said it’s really nice, right?” 

“I mean, I think so,”  Henry said. He had stood up now, a hopeful smile blooming on his face.

“Then we have to,” Hans said. He tried to smirk back, knowing he was mirroring his joy instead. 

Henry could stop Hans dead in his tracks with a single glance. And when he looked like this, so pleased and happy with him — 

Hans would do anything to see it again.

Chapter Text

Hen, huh?

There was no small amount of happiness that was wrapping itself around Henry that morning. He felt it brush against him when he watched Hans put on his doublet and caught his blush when their gazes met, and again when Hans rubbed his fist down his thigh as they were eating their breakfast together. He wasn’t used to surrendering to anything, especially to a feeling, but if it was with Hans —

He had been doing that since the start, hadn’t he? 

Unable to stop himself, he glanced sidelong at Hans, who was about to take a swig of water from his cup. “Didn’t take you for someone who used pet names.” 

Hans choked mid-swallow, turning a violent shade of red in the process. Sputtering, he swept the deepest of death glares in Henry’s direction. 

“Hans isn’t the easiest to shorten but there’s always —”  

“Please stop.” 

“Han?” 

“No.”

“Hansie?”

“Henry!” 

He started to laugh behind his toast, seeing Hans’ glare turn positively murderous. “I can work on it.” 

“You can stop being such a jackass —”  

“Good morrow, gentle sirs!” Zdeslav’s voice boomed from the entryway. “I see my wife got you set up.” 

“She certainly did,” Henry said, beaming at Hans first, then at Zdeslav. Hans continued to stare at him through slits where his eyes had been. “This is great.” 

“She makes the best rye between Suchdol and Kuttenberg. She was very excited to bake for the two of you, I must say. You should have heard her this morning, talking nonstop about how Suchdol’s heroes were in her kitchen!” 

Henry’s effervescence evaporated. “I’m really not —” 

“And so humble, too!” He wagged a playful finger at Henry, “No one can stop talking about it!” 

What about what I’ve done? Would you call me the hero if you knew I was no different?  

For one terrible, gut twisting moment, he was no longer sitting on a long bench with Hans, but back in that awful room, seeing Von Aulitz’ fevered eyes. He squeezed his own closed in a feeble attempt to shut out the image, nausea and regret turning his toast into bile in the pit of his stomach. Not now, not when I — 

“It’s very kind, Zdeslav,” Hans said, his thumb nudging Henry’s thigh. “All of this is. Before we repay you, which we are absolutely meaning to do." 

Can Hans tell? Can Zdeslav — He felt Hans grasp for his hand, then interlace their fingers together. 

“That’s not needed, sire,” Zdeslav’s conciliatory, but insistent voice cut in. 

“We can figure that out later,” Hans said with a unconcerned hand wave, meanwhile his other gave Henry’s a hard squeeze. “Actually, there is something you can help us with.” 

“Anything, sire.” 

Henry tried to focus on the way Hans’ hand felt, the weight solid and real in his own. He heard Hans say, “We heard something about thefts?”

“Klara got her hooks into you, didn’t she?”

Hans gave a generous smile, his thumb rubbing back and forth over Henry’s. That felt good, that he could anticipate and center himself on. Hans said, “We did hear about her, yes. But there were others?” 

“Yes —”  Zdeslav’s shoulders sagged. “It’s really nothing for you both to concern yourself with. Especially if you’re headed to Kuttenberg.” 

“Henry is quite good at figuring out these little mysteries, aren’t you, Henry?” Hans said, shooting him a reassuring smile. 

“I wouldn’t say good,”  Henry found himself mumbling. His breathing was starting to even out. 

“Nonsense,” Hans said, his voice gentle. His gaze lingered on Henry for a beat, then swept to Zdeslav. “Was anything of note stolen? Clothes, supplies, that kind of thing.” 

“You know, it’s funny you mention it. Petr —”  he glanced up at Hans, “He’s the tailor here, he said that some of his mending was stolen a couple of days ago or thereabouts. And Vlasta had her comfrey herbs taken. It’s all so odd. Normally, when something is stolen it’s some stupid kid or an opportunist who’s passing through. Maybe it’s just rotten luck with Sigismund, but god willing, he’s gone for good.” 

“Klara had something stolen yesterday, though?” 

“She’s —”  Zdeslav grimaced, “You know the type, I’m sure, sire, every village has one. I wouldn’t put any stock in anything she says.” 

“Where does she live?” 

“You really want to visit her?” Seeing Hans frown, he added, “I mean, I’m not questioning you, sire.”

Giving him a tight smile, it softened when he glanced at Henry. “I think it would be good to pay her a visit. What do you think?”

Anything that extricated him out of this conversation and got him in the fresh air was more than good enough. He nodded, seeing Hans’ smile widen. “It’s settled, then,” he said, squeezing his hand once more. 

“So I take it you’ll be staying for a bit, then? Now that the storm has passed, there’s another room available.” 

Hans shook his head. “For a few days probably. Thank you for your continued hospitality, but that’s not needed.” Hiding his mouth from Henry with his hand, he said to Zdeslav in a conspiratorial whisper, “Between you and I, I think Henry prefers having me on the floor —“ 

That catapulted Henry back into his seat and out of his thoughts. What the fuck, Hans? Turning a brilliant shade of crimson, he stuttered out, “That isn’t —”  

Zdeslav was too busy guffawing. “You’re not who I thought you were, Sir Hans. I can see why you and Henry are such good friends.” 

“We are definitely that,” he said, his smirk reserved for Henry alone.

*****

Klara’s house was a two story half timbered cottage on the outskirts of the village, taking only a few minutes to find. Out of the rain, Miskowitz was quite picturesque. A gentle breeze rippled through the reeds and across the surface of the pond, not a single cloud reflected from the sky above. Hans trailed Henry as they walked up the path to the door in companionable silence, watching him out of the corner of his eye. 

At least he seemed to be breathing easier now that he was outside. It was obvious something wasn't right. Painfully so. Thinking through what Henry had told him, nothing seemed to fit his visceral reaction. Was it Brabant? 

He shook his head. He was saving Sam, there would be no way he would have any qualms about that. A large, vocal part of him wanted to come out with it and just ask, but the other more even-keeled bit of him wanted to wait for the opportune moment. 

Mostly, he was hoping Henry would just tell him. They were friends — dear friends. Best of friends. Friends who didn’t keep things from each other, and, even long before Henry had left some kind of indelible mark on him, stayed up late into the night just to make the other laugh. 

So why can’t you tell me about this, Hen? 

“Do you want me to do the talking?” Henry said, his hand poised to knock. 

I want that more than anything right now. Please talk to me, Henry. His smile more tenuous than he wanted, “Grannies tend to adore you, so probably?” 

Henry curled his lip in Hans’ direction for the briefest of moments before rearranging itself to a polite smile. He rapped on the door, calling out, “Hullo? Klara? Martin?” 

Martin — Wasn’t that Henry’s dad’s name? 

Seeing Henry’s face fall, Hans got his answer. Feeling himself frown, too, he had almost gotten to Henry’s elbow when the door opened inward, seeing a suspicious face squinting out. She softened when she saw Henry’s affable face on her doorstep. “Yes?”

For her part, Klara looked just as Hans expected, grey hair askew, a bit of flour on her apron.

“Good morrow, Klara. Zdeslav er — sent us. I’m Henry,” he said. “This is my —“ 

“Associate. Hans,” Hans interjected, tilting his chin down. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, madam.” 

Henry’s eyes widened at Hans in confusion. 

“Why would that good for nothing Zdeslav need me?” 

There it is. 

He saw the corners of Henry’s lips twitch upward. “Actually, Zdeslav was doing us a favor. We wanted to ask about the thefts and he was kind enough to let us know where you lived.” 

“I told my husband it was only a matter of time before someone took me seriously!” 

“Well we are certainly those people,” Henry said, smiling back, “Could we come inside?” 

“Why?” She said, suspicion clouding over her deep worn expression. 

“We wanted to know what was taken, and also look around your —“

“Why would I trust you?” She said, glaring at them, “How can I know you aren’t the thieves?” 

Impatience cutting through his tone, Hans interrupted, “Madam, Henry and I were defending this region at Suchdol —“

“Oh, you’re that Henry!” She motioned for them to enter, “Come in! The town can’t stop talking about you, boy! And you, er — Harold —“ 

This old hag. “Hans.” 

He regretted his earlier attempt to try and make her more at ease.

“Right, right,” she said, her tone miles away. 

“Associate?” Henry hissed in his ear as they both had to duck down to enter. 

“Too late to change it now,” Hans whispered back. 

“But your clothes —“

“I doubt she can see,” Hans said under his breath as his eyes adjusted the gloom of the cottage. Or hear, come to think of it. 

It was cleaner than he was anticipating, although still quite small. A low fire was flickering in the back corner, a lump of dough resting on the table in front of it. All along the wall were upside-down drying herbs. Leading them to it, she said, “You caught me as I was making this week’s bread. Rye, It’s my husband’s favorite.” 

“That’s quite all right,” Henry said, “We heard your parsnips were stolen?” 

“And my dried figs, too! I’ll bet Zdeslav didn’t tell you about that because I found them, but they were stolen! Mark my words!” 

Hans had to stop his snort. 

Henry said, “Er — right. When was this? For the parsnips in particular?” 

“Yesterday. The door to my larder goes to the outside, you see, and I had come from my shopping, I always do my shopping on Thursday. The stalls were being very stingy, I have no idea why. I was arguing with Cecilia for what must have been an hour —“ 

Hans felt his eye twitch. Get on with it, you old — 

“So it took me a lot longer to get home, but when I did, the door to my larder was open! After my figs were taken, I was very wary. I found my Martin in the fields and we went to look around, and I found my parsnips were gone!” 

Unable to stop himself, Hans said, “That was smart, madam. Could you show us where your larder is?” 

Before we both die here listening to you whinge — 

Her rheumy eyes swept up to Hans, “I wasn’t done with my story, Hubert.”

“Hans.” 

“Right, Herman. Where was I —“ 

Is she doing this on purpose? 

Looking for any form of assistance to his left, he glanced at Henry to find he was looking at the rafters, his teeth digging into his lip. He saw the blue of Henry’s eyes meet his, then snap back, a tiny grin forming in the process. Oh, you’re going to get it — 

“—Oh right, my parsnips had been stolen. Martin and I looked everywhere, and couldn't find them. Now, you wanted me to show you the larder? It’s on the backside of the cottage, away from the afternoon sun.” 

That’s it? The irate huff that came from his body had all the frustration of a yell. Seeing Henry’s grin continue to grow, he glowered at him. 

She turned to lead them back toward the front door, then stopped. When she glanced at Henry, there was a calculating glint in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. “It’s not very often we get strapping young men here. Both of my sons were called back to the lord, you see.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Hans was too busy not letting his growing agitation show. Is this what Henry has to deal with every time he wants to ask a fucking question? 

“Quite alright. The lord giveth and the lord taketh away.” She smiled sadly, then glanced up at Hans, her eyes full of a concerning amount of satisfaction, “And the lord hath giveth me some sacks that need to be hauled.” 

“Absolutely not. We are not —“ 

Henry had his hand over his mouth. Hans had a sneaking suspicion it was to hide his laugh. 

“Henry, tell her we are not doing that!”

Henry rubbed his hand down his lips and chin, then stared at him. Hans could tell that Henry was trying to keep a straight face. He was failing miserably. “I think this is a great idea, Hans.” 

Klara beamed at Henry. “I knew what everyone was saying about you wasn’t misplaced, Henry. Halfdan needs some —“

“My. Name. Is. Hans!” 

Raising an eyebrow, Henry said, “Those sacks aren’t going to haul themselves, are they, Hans?” 

Hans’ eyes shot from Klara’s to Henry’s, seeing twin looks of wicked delight. 

*****

Something is wrong with me. 

Something definitely was, and yet Henry couldn’t stop the lopsided smirk that twisted its way up his cheek, nor the smug posture he adopted as he leaned up against the side of Klara’s cottage, arms crossed, watching Hans remove his hood and doublet. Just at the edge of his vision was a cart, filled with several sacks of flour. 

“I see how it is,” Hans said once he was down to his linen undershirt, then scoffed. “You’re not going to help at all, are you?” 

“I don’t see a lord around to order me to do it for them, do you?” 

Hans’ mouth fell open, the sapphires in his eyes ablaze in pure, unadulterated rage. It only made his smirk travel to the other side of Henry’s face. 

He would help. Eventually. There was no reason Hans to know that now, though. “Let me know if you need pointers!” He called out to his retreating figure. 

Hans, not looking back, extended his middle finger into the air. 

Once he made it to the cart, Henry saw him test the weight of the sack, then throw it onto his shoulder. He staggered the ten or so paces over to Henry, then threw it to a heap at his feet. He was already breathing heavily, a piece of hair falling into his forehead. His gaze moved from the sack of flour up to Henry, the anger bursting to life in his eyes once more, then spun around on his heel. 

By the fourth, his shirt was turning translucent in the afternoon sun, beads of sweat forming at his temple. Once he got back to the cart, he pulled his hands through his hair and stretched his neck and shoulders, then shot a quick glance back at Henry. Henry could see the flush of his skin underneath his shirt, how his body moved, soft lines and hard angles all at once — 

He had to touch his fucking hair, didn’t he? 

Henry forgot why he was leaning against the wall. He forgot most of everything in that moment, except the thudding of his heart. 

He was back in time where they were sparring and all he could see was him, the last resounding clang of hammering a perfect sword he didn’t know he was making in the first place. His mind went further back, to the first time he had said only his name. It had been Hans’ fault, as it always was, when Henry was so mercilessly teased he blurted his name out. No sir, no lord, just Hans. Hans had only grinned, then continued as if nothing had happened. 

But Henry —  His heart had pounded, his tongue completely useless in his mouth, so aware of the space his body took up, unwieldy and awkward and here, just for him. It was all there, all so obvious.

All the nights he had stared into the dark and convinced himself it wasn’t his laugh or his body, that he could just notice and it would somehow be enough. And the worst part was that he was right. No matter how this feeling grew inside his chest, no matter what Hans said or how he kissed or how perfect his body fit to Henry’s, none of it mattered in the end.

He could never be his. This could never grow past its confines and escape into the light. It would remain behind closed doors, secret and fleeting, and somehow that would always have to be enough. 

The spell broken now, he took a shaky breath in, then stomped out to help him. 

Chapter Text

Hans watched Henry saunter toward him, unable to stop his arms from crossing. When his shirtsleeves felt wet under his palms, followed by the dawning realization that all of his body was drenched in his own sweat, he had half of a mind to walk in the opposite direction and never look back. “Happy?” Hans said, shooting a testy eyebrow up. 

It stopped once he saw the look in his eyes. For one moment, there was so much pain it almost overtook Hans with it. Then it was gone, masked by a hard smirk. “I was going to help you finish up, but you seem to have this down without me.” 

The morning came rushing back to him, how little he seemed to understand about this person he thought he knew better than anyone else.  “No, Hen, I —” 

His expression soured. Goddammit.

Henry’s lips continued to tease upward, the blue in his eyes like an bottomless pool that pulled him deeper every time he so much as glanced at him. Hans did not enjoy the little jolt of exhilaration that raced up his spine. Tilting his head to the side, Henry said, “Yes, Hans?” 

This is all your fault. Feeling a cavalcade of expressions force themselves across his face before it settled into exasperation, he glared back. “Why do you have to be so infuriating?” 

“I can think of a few good reasons, many of them your doing,” Henry said, before his eyes swept to the cart. “Looks like you have three left?” 

“No thanks to you.” 

Henry swung one onto his shoulder as though it was no weightier than a bolt of silk. It landed with a muted thump, some flour puffing into the air. “Two now. Could you add another one?”

Seeing Hans’ slack-jawed expression, Henry’s smile was genuine this time. “I’m the son of a blacksmith, not you. I’m pretty impressed, I thought you were going to give up after one, Sir Hans.” 

Sneering in response, Hans still did as he was told. Hoisting one on top of the first, he was equally awestruck and bewildered by how Henry balanced it, wrapping his arm around to rest his hand on the second. His forearm bulged, golden skin contrasting against the unbleached linen. For one wonderful, torturous moment Hans remembered that same forearm planted over him the night before, the veins snaking down the muscle as he panted in his ear — 

His next breath more of a shudder, he took a hard step away and made sure to turn away from Henry as he struggled with the last of the flour sacks. Finding his doublet in a carefully folded pile off to the side, he shrugged that back on, hating every moment of the fabric pressing on his skin. The wound in his shoulder stung as he stretched back, too. 

Klara was waiting for them to finish, her gnarled smile from ear to ear. “Look at you two!” She said, holding up two cups of water. “I wasn’t sure how Martin and I were going to manage this. The Lord must have answered my prayers by sending Henry and — and —"

"It's Hans," Henry interrupted. 

"Right, Hans." 

Hans took an incensed breath in as he drank the entirety of the cup in one gulp. Still not feeling his thirst in any way abated, he snatched the one from Henry’s hands, drank that down, too, then followed them to the side of the house. “It’s the door around the corner. No thieves would help us like you both have, so I trust you won’t steal my figs. Let me know what you find!” 

With a thrilled wave, she took back her cups and headed back towards her cottage. 

No one in their right mind would help you except us. Rolling his eyes, he took a step forward only to be yanked back with enough force he stumbled backward, smacking straight into Henry’s chest. “What the fuck?”

He heard Henry’s chuckle as his eyes dragged themselves upward to meet Henry’s. They were crinkled at the edges. “Er — sorry. I wanted to see if I could see any footprints in the ground before you and I walked all over it.” 

The fact that Henry had caught Hans by his lower back hadn’t escaped his notice. He had to feel how sweaty Hans’ doublet and hose were. Turning an exquisite shade of red, he shot upwards and out of his hands, then made a exaggerated, sweeping gesture for Henry to go first.

Henry sputtered as he walked past, then peered around the corner of the cottage. Hans followed suit, using this as an excellent opportunity to rest his hands on Henry’s sides, pinching ever so slightly, as he looked around him. Of course, he would be completely dry, without a bead of sweat on him. At least Henry’s shoulders lurched. “You’ve made your point,” Henry grumbled. 

“Whatever can you mean?”

Henry huffed in his direction, then focused on the back of the house. It was shaded by a row of beech trees, a latched wooden door leading to a small add-on to the cottage. From the rains yesterday, the path up to the larder had turned into pure mud. The only thing that Hans could make out were two deep grooves that had been worn into the ground. “Could that be from a cart?” He said, pointing. 

“Probably Klara’s,” Henry said under his breath, “Can you stay here for a moment?” 

Going around Hans, he used light steps to head toward the path. He knelt down, a slight frown on his features. “That’s odd,” Henry said, before his glance seized up to him. “There’s only three sets of footprints here. How many men did Lea mention?”

“Five? But wait —“ His head cocked, “Aren’t two of those Klara and Martin?”

“Exactly.” Henry looked back toward the footprints, “I can see Klara’s, they’re much smaller than the other two. That means Klara was right, someone else was here. But — if there were five, why would only one person be here?” 

“Maybe they split off to steal different things?” 

“Possibly. You’d think they would want a lookout, though.” 

Hans glanced around him, seeing nothing but an incomprehensible mash of prints and smudges in the ground. “How did you learn all this anyway?” 

“You know when I had to infiltrate Sigismund’s camp to steal that cannon?” 

When Hans nodded, he continued, “I sort of got caught up in a murder that I — figured out. One of the ideas I had was to look at ground around where the poor wretch had gotten killed.” 

Hans stared at Henry in shock. “You figured out a murder? As in caught the murderer and everything?” 

“I mean, I think I did. He seemed pretty guilty in the end.” He said, shrugging. 

His shock continued to grow at Henry’s nonchalance. “You had to deal with a murderer in an enemy camp and you’re talking about this like it was yesterday’s breakfast? Weren’t you scared? I would have been terrified.“ 

Henry cracked a grin. “Maybe that’s why I only went and not you.” 

Pretty sure it has everything to do with the fact you don’t have a last name. Anger bubbled in him, but so did something he rarely felt. Shame. 

Henry continued, "Even if I was scared, it wouldn’t have mattered, you know? Not when everyone was counting on me.” 

Hans’ hand curled itself into a fist, the only physical expression he allowed himself. “And you’re okay with — with all of this?”

He had failed at keeping his voice from quavering, but he didn’t care. What else have you seen, Henry? 

“I don’t think I have much of a choice, but yes,” Henry said, his voice so soft it caught Hans off guard. 

Why, he wanted to yell back, knowing that whatever answer he received back wouldn't be enough. He knew now that he should have questioned more why someone like Henry was so willing to throw himself in the churning morass of other people’s ambitions, knowing he was nothing but a pawn. He glanced back at him, seeing the way the sun filtered through the leaves to dapple his face as he kneeled down. It was, well, graceful. And beautiful in a way that made his knees weak. 

He found himself desperate to fall in front of him and pull his beautiful body to his, to tell him that he didn’t have to do any of this ever again, that whatever had happened he was there — 

I will always be here. If only you’d let me. 

Instead of pushing the thought away, he let it course through him. Please let me be here. 

Please. 

*****

There was an intensity to Hans’ expression that Henry couldn’t quite place, that brought life to his sapphire blue eyes. It made him wonder what he could have possibly said to warrant such a reaction. 

“…Not when everyone was counting on me.” 

He had seen Hans’ nose crease at that. Was that such a bad thing? He didn’t think it was. If anything, it was often good. His whole life in Skalitz had been decided for him the second he had been born, a routine that was as comforting as much as it was stifling. But he only knew that once his eyes were opened to how much bigger the world could be, a world where his actions carried an importance he never knew was possible. It made him eager to take on anything and everything he could so he didn’t become a dead weight to those around him. So why did the look in Hans’ eyes make his chest tighten? 

Why was this feeling so familiar? 

The first to look away, he sought out whatever he could to avoid Hans’ gaze, alighting on the door to the larder. With a determined gait, he strode toward it, realizing two steps too late he should be seeing if both sets of larger footprints he saw also did the same. 

Oh, fuck it. Hans was right. Something was off about all of this, and ruining a set of footprints wouldn’t change that. 

The door didn’t seem broken or tampered with in any way, with just a simple latch to keep it closed. Back home, it was much more surprising when someone had a lock than when they didn’t. Coming to Suchdol Castle and finding out Hans’ bedchamber had its own bolt was helpful in a way he never would have — 

Does Pirkstein have — 

Stop.

Simultaneously snarling and blushing at his own thought, he threw open the door to feel Hans’ presence at his back. “Ever seen a peasant’s larder before?” Henry said, expecting a snarky response or jab to the ribs. 

Instead, Hans’ voice was quiet. “Is this like what you had in Skalitz?” 

Henry’s eyes widened, taking in the larder with it. Tiny, crammed with all manner of drying goods and earthenware pots and pitchers. A butter churner took up one corner, the other side had multiple baskets in a line. With his sharp breath in, he smelled drying vegetables and herbs, and the slight musty smell of the dirt floor. “Yeah,” he mumbled, the words to say more a mash of consonants and vowels on his tongue. 

Swallowing to remove that awful feeling, he saw an empty space on the floor and a drying rack above that looked out of place in the disorganized clutter. The drying rack had been picked clean, his suspicions growing when the only empty space on the floor was right below it. He could even see the indent in the floor for the basket’s bottom. “I think we found our missing food,” he said, pointing to both.

“I see an old crone’s mess,” He heard in his right ear. 

Ignoring the shiver from Hans’ breath on his jaw, Henry said, “Look for what isn’t there.” 

“Oh! Right. Er, so there was something on the drying rack that isn’t there anymore? And down there was — something else?” Hans said, the lilt of a question unmistakable. 

Henry sputtered, then tried to give Hans room to stand next to him. It was a tight fit, they had to stand shoulder to shoulder. “I think they may have taken the basket and whatever was in it —“ 

“Parsnips?” 

“—Right. Then picked whatever was on the drying rack and taken the basket with them,” he said, tracing the path the thief may have taken with his words from the basket to the door. Considering the twine was stained pink, it was most likely some kind of meat. Quite the prize for whoever came across it. 

“So they could only take what they could carry,” Hans said, “That makes sense if it was just one of them.” 

Henry nodded, chewing on his lip. He touched the twine of the drying rack, his fingertips coming back with salt. Definitely meat. Now to see if it made them careless. He glanced sidelong at Hans. “Could you step back?” 

“Sure?” 

Once Henry could no longer feel Hans’ heat radiating into his upper arm and shoulder, he dropped down to his hands and knees. It was quite a bit mustier so close to the ground, but he could at least see around the stacks of baskets and boxes. The packed dirt floor didn’t seem to have any footprints in it. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Looking,” Henry mumbled. 

He started with the empty space where the basket should have been, gently moving away the other baskets around it. No little identifying bits or bobs revealed themselves besides a small spider and one sad, trampled bit of sage. He moved further back, following both of the walls that ran parallel to him with his hands. As he moved backward, he caught sight of small curved knife hanging from a knob, the metal glinting in the light specked with dust. Out of the corner of his vision was also Hans’ boot, pointed straight at him. Unable to stop, he continued up the line of his hose, desperately trying to avoid any lingering gazes anywhere around his groin, and to his chest and face, seeing that he was staring at — 

Is he staring at my arse? 

“Like the view?” He said, hoping the smirk that he shot up at him didn’t give away how his heart was thudding in his chest. 

Hans flushed a deep, intense red that flared up his neck and cheeks. “I mean, usually, I’m — ah — underneath you, so this is not a way I’ve seen you —“ 

And now Henry was blushing. Like a total fool. A parade of images he never wanted to think about when he couldn’t do a single fucking thing about them sprinted through his mind — 

Kurva. 

His head jerked away from Hans’ blushing face and once again toward the curved knife. Something, tiny and insignificant, was on the ground below it. He snatched at it with fingertips that shook for reasons he refused to think about, feeling a tiny scrap of fabric. He stared at it, his hands now shaking for an entirely different reason.

The fabric was red. 

Chapter Text

It was just an unassuming scrap of fabric in his open palm, no bigger than a button. And yet it burned when it touched Hans’ skin. It was that unmistakable blood red, the color that had starved him for weeks, shot arrows at him, and was far too close to ending up with a sword in the gut. And it was here. “What do we do?” He found himself saying. 

“We find the fucking bastards first,” Henry said, an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there since the siege.

When Hans glanced up, the light in Henry’s eyes reminded him of the way steel would catch the light. He realized how much he had not missed either. “How, though? We can’t just search through every — Wait, is this something Mutt could track?” 

“I don’t think he could pick up any smells from something this small. And with the rains I doubt he could track it well,” Henry said, then grimaced. “I should go feed him and try, anyway. I’ll meet you back at the tavern.” 

Before Hans could so much as brush his arm, he snatched the fabric away and was already out of the tiny larder, the door banging in his wake. Hans leaned against the cluttered shelves, his hands gripping the rough edge.

None of this was how it was supposed to be.

After letting Klara know that more than just her parsnips had been taken and receiving profuse thanks to Hugh in return, Hans headed back to the tavern. Alone. His shoulder ached, in tandem with his heart clenching and seizing as he thought about that sharp edge in Henry’s voice.

He had first noticed it the night that everything had changed, when Henry had said he would take on that horrendous mission. It was hard and unflinching, determined as much as resigned. There was no warmth in it. The others in the room had acquiesced as easily as a weighted dice falling to the right number. But Hans, Hans had hated it. It wasn’t gentle, or teasing, or the untold number of things that made Henry Henry. When he finally found some of the meagre words that were screaming at him to do something, stop this, stop Henry from doing everything alone — 

Then and only then did Henry come back. So why now — 

The pain in his shoulder was much worse now. He stretched it back to relieve some of the pressure, then cried out as a wave of searing agony tore through his wound and down his arm. Spots in his vision appeared and then fizzled out.

Henry’s bag — Breathe — 

He didn’t know how he got through the courtyard to their room. His doublet was wet with more than just his sweat, each step reverberating through his body. Refusing to think about what that meant until he could his hands on some kind of pain reliever, he somehow made it to Henry’s saddlebag. When one halfhearted attempt to raise his shoulder made him clench down so hard he bit into his tongue, he let it hang uselessly at his side and used his other to pry Henry’s bag open. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Henry, “ Hans tried to turn around, it was a fight to keep himself upright. He saw the blood drain from Henry’s face. “My shoulder, it’s —”   

Before he could finish, he was in his arms. 

*****

This is my fault. This is my fault. This is my fault — 

The words were in a loop in his head as Henry wrenched Hans’ doublet open, barely registering that the buttons had snapped off their threads in all directions. He had seen the blood on Hans’ doublet, but when he saw the bandage — 

He didn’t think it was possible to hate himself more than he did in that moment. “I’m so sorry, I —”  

“Henry, this isn’t —”  

“Yes, it is! Fuck, I — I shouldn’t have made you haul those —”   

He saw the barest hint of a grin before Hans’ face seized into a painful grimace. “You didn’t make me do anything. How bad is it?” 

Henry gingerly unwound the bandage and pulled away the compress, then cringed. He was wrong. The depths of his self hatred could go much, much further. The scar tissue that was starting to form had been torn apart, the wound just as angry and big as when he had been hit with an arrow. “I think I might have to sew it this time.” 

“No, I am not —” Hans tried to force himself forward, only to jerk back, “Fuck —”   

His breaths were coming in erratic gasps, the sapphires in his eyes awash in pain and fear. “Hans, I need you to listen to me, okay?” 

Hans’ gaze flicked to his. Hoping his expression back was reassuring and not terrified, he said, “If I don’t sew this shut, it will continue to get worse. And I need you here with me.” 

When Hans’ lips teased upward just the tiniest bit in response, he took that as a good sign to continue. “I have something that should help you feel a lot better, you probably won’t feel anything at all.” 

“What’s the downside? There’s always a downside with these —”   

“You will probably sleep through tomorrow.”

Hans groaned. “But the fucking Praguers —”  

“That can wait.” 

“At least tell me if Mutt —”   

Henry shook his head. “He couldn’t track it. But more importantly than that, I need to fix this, and you need to heal. This will help with that.” 

“Will you stay here?” 

There was that lilt to his voice, so small and unsure. “Yes, of course. I just need to get some things, though.” 

He realized his free hand had wound its way through Hans’. Breathing a sigh of relief that it wasn’t his injured side, he disentangled their fingers. He didn’t know who had reached out first or how their hands had met, but he did feel the loss of Hans’ warmth as acutely as if he had taken his hand and shoved it into an icy stream. He still turned away, trying to figure out where that phial — 

Hans let out a quiet, whimpered exhale. Hans, no. “Hey, hey, hey,” Henry shushed, curving his palm around Hans’ cheek.

“It felt better when I could — I could feel you, but then you weren’t  —”   

“I’m right here,” Henry said. “I’ll always be here.” 

Hans stared up at him, the fear just softening enough that Henry could see some of the tension leave his face. He wasn’t sure what came over him next. It wasn’t a conscious desire, or thought, even. He was staring back at him, unable to believe that Hans was smiling. 

A lock of hair had fallen onto his forehead. Curling his fingertips to trace along Hans’ temple, he pulled it back with the lightest of fingertips. And then he was kissing him. It was as soft as he could make it. Still, he swell of his lips felt every curve of Hans’, how, for that one moment, his smile deepened — 

He was even treated to a gentle blush that suffused through Hans’ cheeks when he pulled away. “See? I’m not going anywhere.” 

A furrow appeared on Hans’ brow. Seizing the opportunity, Henry kissed it away, then murmured, “I promise I will be right back, okay?” 

When Hans gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod, he launched himself at his saddlebag and poured out the contents, looking for his medicinal supplies. When he found the small leather case he was looking for, and in particular that phial filled with a cloudy, amber hued liquid, he jumped up and back to Hans. “You still with me?” 

“Barely.”

“I will take that as a yes. I need you to take this.” When Hans’ eyebrows came together in an unspoken question, Henry continued, “It’s a theriac. It has opium, liquor —”   

“Jesus, no wonder you said I would sleep —”   

Henry grinned in agreement, then uncorked the phial. “It also has honey in it, so hopefully it won’t taste too bad.” 

Holding out his good hand, Henry watched him as he downed it in gulp, his expression turning to a disgusted grimace. “What else was in that? Death?” 

“I’ll have you know I made that,” Henry said as he moved the phial off to the side. Shifting so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand reached out to Hans. 

Squeezing down with a surprising amount of force, Hans said, “Could you — could you say you’ll stay again? I know it’s ridiculous, but it —”   He blinked down hard, “I don’t know why I’m like this —”   

“I can do a lot more than that. I could tell you about the time I had to sew my own leg —”  

“Anything but that.” 

Henry grinned. “How about why I know any of this in the first place?” 

“Because you had to?” 

“It’s because of my mum, actually.” 

“Really?” 

Henry nodded. Not knowing if Hans’ lessons included daily life of the average peasant, he said, “I think a lot of mums know about herbs and that kind of a thing. Although, I feel bad because I was always injuring myself. My pa, too, I probably learned it from him.”

“Henry, wait.” Hans started to shift back and forth, his face contorted, “If it’s too hard to talk about this, we can find something else, it’s not —”   

There were some instances, isolated though they may be, where Hans was one of the most considerate people Henry had ever met. He did not expect one of those times to be when he was in the middle of being drugged. Fighting the immediate urge to kiss him again, he rubbed his hand across Hans’ knuckles, “It’s okay. It’s nice to talk about them, sometimes. Also, I will tie you down if you don’t stop moving.” 

Earning a scowl in response, Henry’s grin was back. “I broke my arm when I was younger. And my pa was always having accidents at the forge, burning himself and whatnot. We must have driven my mum mad. There was one time where she was patching up my pa and yelling at him the entire time. He was trying to get back on her good side for weeks.” 

Henry’s smile at the memory was genuine. 

“How did you break your arm?” Hans said, his voice starting to slur. 

Almost there. Lowering the timbre of his voice, he said, “I fell out of a tree. Once I was out of a sling, she started to teach me about what herbs would help which ailments, and what to do if I injured myself. That was probably in the hopes I would spend my time on the ground and not dangling from a branch somewhere.” 

“Henry!” He said, trying to open his eyes. They only made it about half way. “No wonder your mother —”   

“How else was I going to see the whole valley?” 

“By standing on a — a —”  Hans’ eyes fluttered shut as his hand lost its grip, falling open next to him. 

Waiting a few beats, Henry gave his hand a hard, almost painful squeeze. When he didn’t stir, Henry let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, then allowed himself to glance down at Hans’ chest. Though the wound was bigger, it didn’t appear to be any deeper. It didn’t reopen when he was hauling the sacks, Henry knew that much. 

It was after, somehow, when Henry was so taken aback by the thought of the Praguers that he dashed out and left Hans on his own. He had rushed back once he saw Mutt refuse to sniff it more than once, but he still hadn’t been there — 

No wonder he kept asking if I would stay. 

He pulled out a small container containing an alcohol and vinegar mixture, his needle, and soap.

It was going to be a long night. 

*****

Hans was floating. Everything was soft, everything was warm. It was a wondrous world of the in-between, where he wasn’t sure if he was awake or dreaming. Sometimes, he would try to move or open his eyes, feel something more under his fingertips, only to be cradled back to oblivion. 

“ — Going to get something to eat, I will be back.“ 

Something pressed against forehead, something he loved. He would feel a slight prick to wake up, to breathe in more of that intoxicating, woody smell. Then it would happen again, and he would nestle back into weightlessness, his whole body tingling. 

*****

Once he left the little hut they shared, Henry let his head fall back against the outside wall. He tried to breathe in the crisp night air, taking in the stars above him. Hans was mostly in one piece again, thank God for that, but the past couple of hours had been a gauntlet he would be glad to never witness again.

His hand had shook when he had initially inserted the needle. It had never done that before, not even when he sutured his own wound shut the first time. Try as he might, his thoughts would meander back to the same place. How could I have have forgotten — 

Well, he knew the answer to that. Admitting it to himself was an entirely different issue. 

Was it worth it? Watching Hans like that? 

He thunked his head against the wall so hard he felt it reverberate through the wood. No, it was definitely not. Fuck. 

“Everything alright, son?” A kind voice called out.

He jolted up, seeing Zdeslav standing off to the side. “Hans — Sir Hans was injured today. Well, he got injured during the siege, but it’s re-opened and —”   

He squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Is he alright? Does he need a physician?”

Henry shook his head. “I was able to stitch up his wound, I think. He’s resting now.” 

Zdeslav placed a hand on Henry’s arm. “Quite the one man show you are. Anything I can do?” 

“There is a little blood on one of the sheets —”  Henry clawed his hand down his face, the reality of what had happened continuing to hit him over and over, “I’m sorry. I was going to take them to the washing spot tomorrow and use lye.” 

“If a little blood worried me, I wouldn’t be an innkeeper. I’ll come by with clean blankets. And Henry,“ At this, Zdeslav made sure to look at him in the eyes, “I’m sure he’s going to be fine, son.  Anything else I can do?”

“You said there was an herb woman?” 

Zdeslav smiled, “Vlasta is her name. What do you need? I can get it for you.” 
 
“You really don’t need to. I can —”  

“You need to learn to accept help from others. What is it you need?” 

Gnashing his teeth together, Henry said. “Crushed up poppy. And marigold. And maybe some nettle?” 

Zdeslav ticked them off his fingers. “Poppy, marigold, and nettle. Got it. Anything else?” 

Feeling himself droop, he said, “If you have another kettle I could borrow. I dirtied the other when I was cleaning my hands.” 

“Of course. We have a tub you can use, too, so you don’t have to use the washbasin outside. It’s in our private quarters.” 

He knew arguing would be useless. “Thank you,” Henry said, his voice halting, “Really. I don’t know how I can repay this kindness.” 

“After what you both did, I should be thanking you. Some food and rest will do you good.” Giving him one strong squeeze on his shoulder, Zdeslav then pushed him in the direction of tavern. 

Inside was quieter than he expected, just a handful of people over mugs and steaming bowls. His own stomach rumbling, he made a beeline for the kitchen and helped himself the biggest bowl of soup he could ladle. Finding a shadowed corner of the tavern, the moment he sat down, he sighed, the weariness hitting him like an anvil. He wondered if he could just sleep the next 24 hours with Hans, maybe that would help this all-encompassing feeling of exhaustion — 

He trudged his way through dinner, scrubbing down his hair and face at the washbasin outside, and heading back to the tavern to grab some broth in case Hans was coherent enough to want to eat. When he arrived, the blankets he had stripped at the end of the bed were gone. In their place was a neat bundle of blankets with dried herbs on top. Zdeslav —

Hans was just as he had left him, only with one arm dangling off the edge of the bed. His face was relaxed, placid even, dark eyelashes pressed to his pale cheeks, chest rising and falling. 

It would have looked like a scene out of a knight’s tale if it weren’t for the giant bandage that now crisscrossed his chest. Feeling himself sigh, Henry walked up and placed Hans’ hand back on his stomach.  He was surprised when that hand grabbed at his fingers. 

Hans’ eyelashes fluttered. “How — it go?” He slurred out. 

There was a hum in his veins at the sound of his voice. Kneeling down, he caressed Hans’ face. “You did well, Hans.”

“I did?” 

“Really well. I’m so proud of you. How are you feeling? Does anything hurt?” 

“No, everything — good — So good —”   

Grinning to himself, he said, “That makes me feel better. I was pretty worried about you.” 

As he spoke, he kneaded his fingertips into Hans’ jaw just a little bit more. A smile tugged at Hans’ face, his eyelashes fluttering again. “Love it — when — you touch me —”   

Henry jerked back, his hand coming to a sudden halt. He felt it begin to tremble. “You love it?” 

“So much —”   

Henry tried to swallow. He tried to think of anything but that word as his heart expanded and crashed against his chest. His hand hovered inches away, his fingertips trying to reach out back to Hans’ face. “I love it, too,” he whispered. 

Clenching his hand into a hard fist, he said louder, “I need —” God, his voice needed to stop shaking. “I need to make a bed for me. I’m still here, I —”   

I’ve always been here — 

No. Hans was not of his right mind. It wasn’t much more than rambling. It couldn’t be. So why —

“Stay here, Henry. Please —”   

His hands seized air as an untold number of disjointed thoughts crashed into him. “Hans — you need your rest, not me taking up —“ 

“Need — you —”   

Henry shrank back from the bed, feeling tears prick at his eyelashes.

*****

It tapped against Hans’ consciousness, the nagging sense that he needed to open his eyes. But it felt so nice to just be, experience every sensation through a deep fog. He had the awareness that he was talking, that his face was being touched in a way he adored. But his eyelashes were heavy against his cheeks, the clouds he found himself on pulling him down as much as they helped him float. 

He could stay this way for little while longer. Right? 

The warmth disappeared, taking some of the rosy glow that surrounded Hans with it. 

“ —I’m still here, I —”   

That tone — 

As though seeing a ray of sunlight cut through an overcast sky in the distance, he could only make out hazy outlines and shapes, their colors muted. But it felt important in a way he couldn’t quite fathom. He pushed down against what was underneath him, feeling his arms sink further into its embrace. 

“Hans — you need your rest, not me taking up —”   

He heard that. More cracks of light appeared in the soft, pastel world around him. It was the voice he knew almost as well as his own, the way it would emphasize certain syllables and stumble over others. It was the first voice Hans wanted to hear in the morning, but more than that — 

It was in pain. 

Henry — 

He wanted to yell that wasn’t true, that he needed him right here. He clawed at the bed he was on, the words dying at the edge of his tongue. 

*****

Henry couldn’t remember the last time he was this tired. He was curled away from Hans on the floor, the distance between them so painful each breath was a jab to the ribs. The more he tried to move away, the more he felt the threads that connected them pull taut against his back, begging him to come back. 

He curled into a tighter ball, willing the darkness to overtake him.

——

Everything was bathed in blood and shadow. He was at its center, sitting in more of a throne than a chair, chest exposed to show a seeping, festering wound. 

It was a throne built on death. 

He was staring off into the distance. “I remember everyone I killed,” he said, his low, gravelly voice ringing through his ears. He then fixed his piercing eyes onto Henry. “Don’t you? I only did what I had to do.” 

Henry’s rage hit him then. “By slaughtering innocent people? By slaughtering my parents?” 

His hand clenched down on something. Looking down, he realized it was a dagger’s hilt. His face contorted into a howl of pain as he plunged it deep into Von Aulitz’ chest.

But it wasn’t his scream he heard. Hans’ vacant, beautiful blue eyes stared back at him, inches from his face.

*****

Every move Hans made brought him deeper into its undertow. He was falling backward now, desperately trying to find any handhold or purchase, the pastel around him a blur of muted pinks and yellows. His limbs swung wildly in all directions, just as he heard a soft, unmistakable — 

Whimper — 

With every bit of energy he could muster, he heaved himself upward to grab at one of the shafts of light that formed above him, body screaming at him with the effort. 

His eyes shot open to darkness. With it came the sensation of sweat and the stranglehold of blankets. No warmth melted into his body, there was no deep and measured breathing next to him. Feeling his own next breath hitch in his lungs, through sheer will alone he forced his head to turn off to the side. As he did, he realized his arms and legs were numb. 

Even blinking was a Herculean effort, his eyelashes wanted to sew shut every time they touched. He focused on the darkness, seeing the outline of something darker than everything around it. 

He could swear that outline was shaking. 

He knew, then. 

Getting up was an impossibility, but the need to be with him overtook all rationality and common sense. As he did the last day of the siege, he forced himself to count, letting the seconds stretch between each. 

One — two — three — 

With a sharp intake of breath on the third, he used the momentum from his head to roll forward and off the bed, landing with a dull thud. Luckily, somehow, his hands still knew to break his fall. When the only sensation he received back was numbness, he could not be more appreciative of whatever Henry had put in that concoction he made him drink. He was starting to get feeling in the form of intense tingling in his fingertips. His forearms came next, followed his elbows and upper arms. Once he could start to feel his feet again, he pried himself forward. 

He pressed his hand to Henry’s back just as he heard Henry’s sob. 

*****

Henry cleaved his way out of sleep, one name on his lips. 

He was too late. He knew it. The visage of Hans’ lifeless face spun before him, getting more and more grey with each pass. He could somehow taste the coppery tang of Hans’ blood in his mouth, he felt himself cry out — 

When his eyelashes finally were able to break apart, he felt a soft warmth spreading from his back outward. He jerked over to see concerned, beautiful eyes staring at him, far brighter than the shadows that clung to both of them. 

He’s okay. He’s okay. He’s – 

The relief rushing through him was just as powerful as the adrenaline that had come before it. He pulled him into his body as deeply as he could, breathing in the smell of his neck and skin. His weight and warmth were  — 

Hans was here. With him. On the floor. Henry recoiled with so much force he practically launched himself toward the wall. “How are you — Why aren't you —“ 

He crumpled inward, away from the umpteenth awful thing he had put Hans through in the last two days. 

He felt a hand grope for his. “Please, Henry, don’t — shut me — fuck —“ 

Henry’s face squeezed together as he fought his way through mortification and shame. Hans was a crumpled mess, barely able to hold his head up.

Everything hit him all at once. How Hans had been able to hear whatever sounds he had made, see the pain he hadn’t hidden well enough, and force himself onto the floor. 

Just to console me. 

This was the bottom of his self loathing. It had to be. This feeling could not get any worse. “Does anything hurt?” He eked out.

“No, Henry, for fuck’s sake —“ 

It was Hans’ exasperation that snapped him out of it. At least partially. Pulling Hans into his lap, he patted at Hans’ chest with shaking fingertips. When nothing felt wet, he let out a deep sigh, his shoulders falling. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled. 

“Don’t — apologize,” Hans said, his voice muffled into Henry’s collarbone.

Unable to stop himself, he leaned forward, back toward Hans’ neck and that scent he loved ever so much. He knew that if he couldn’t get out the words now, he might never be able to. “That night, we —“ His eyes squeezed shut, “The night before the battle, I found Von Aulitz at the camp.” 

Hans’ body tensed. “Henry, what –”

“I killed him, Hans.” 

Hans’ hand grabbed onto Henry’s wrist, and tried to squeeze. Henry barely noticed, focusing too much on what was about to pour out of him. “He was about to die from what the Dry Devil did. But I still stabbed him with a dagger. He remembered my parents. He said he always remembers who he —“ His voice broke then, “Who he kills —“ 

Something wet and heavy fell down his face. “He was telling me that he only did what he had to. That I’m not any —better —”

“Oh, Henry.” 

He was so tired of carrying this weight. 

Henry pressed his face deep into Hans’ neck, letting the wracking sobs course through his body. He didn’t know how long he was there until they turned to shudders, following the rise and fall of Hans’ chest. Hans’ hand stayed on his wrist. Hans said, “I’m so sorry. I can’t — move my arms really well, but I — want to — so badly, right now —“ 

Unable to stop the tiny, barest excuse for a laugh that escaped his lips, Henry grabbed Hans’ wrists and brought them up for him. He was still surprised when Hans used his thumbs to brush at Henry’s cheeks. “You are better. So much better. I promise.” 

“Besides Toth and Runt, I’ve never — killed anyone like that before. I’ve never intentionally taken —“ 

His breathing was starting to increase again. 

“Hey,” Hans murmured, “It’s okay.“ 

“How? How is any of this okay? I murdered them. Von Aulitz had daughters and a wife and —“ 

Henry’s words were stopped by Hans’ hands curving around his face. “Those men had a choice. You didn’t.” 

“What?” 

“You were brought into all of this because of them. They killed your family and tortured you in every way possible. Not the other way around.” 

“But I could have stopped —“ 

“No. You couldn’t.” It was the vehemence of Hans’ words that made Henry meet Hans’ gaze. “None of this is your fault. You aren’t Sigismund, or Von Aulitz, or especially Istvan fucking Toth. You were put in situations that couldn’t be won without ending someone’s life.” 

“Hans —“ 

“And we put that pressure on you. Zizka, my uncle, even me — We never questioned the cost of what we were asking you to —“ 

“That’s not —“

“It is true, Henry. Do you even want this?” 

“I want to be with you. I want to help —“

“That’s not the same! We threw you to the fucking wolves every goddamn day and somehow expected you to be fine with it. You’re such a good person, Hen. There’s a reason everyone here knows your name, and it’s not because of what you did at Suchdol. It’s because of you. You bring out the best in everyone around you. You make me want to be so much better —“ 

Henry crushed Hans into his chest, realizing several beats too late what he was doing. He loosened his grip only for Hans to haul himself upward, staring directly into his eyes. “I will never be able to repay you for everything you’ve done for me. But l will fight for you. And I will find a way to be here for you as much as you’ve been here for me. So let me, please. Let me be here. I know it’s hard to find the words, sometimes. That’s what I’m good —“ 

Henry kissed him, then, every feeling and impulse coalescing into one singular desire.

He wanted to show Hans, even if just for a moment, that he loved him. 

Chapter Text

There were a handful of kisses Hans knew he would remember until the day he died. 

His first, tipsy outside of the tavern in Rattay after he had snuck out of the castle. No, he did not know her name but he did remember the way her hair caught the lantern light, looking like strands of spun gold. There was the much less chaste version, when a kiss from another barmaid turned into something far more, as she had fallen to her knees soon after and gave him what could only be described as a religious experience. He should have really tried to remember her name better. 

And then there was the spot reserved for Henry, where the first fumbled brush of their lips had sent his heart into a series of somersaults he still hadn’t recovered from. 

But this. It was almost pitch black, his body still hadn’t regained full feeling, and he couldn’t even bring his hands up into Henry’s hair, and yet — 

Everything, from the way Henry’s lips moved against his to the heat that radiated off of him, said, for possibly the first time in his life, how much his words and actions mattered, how much he mattered. It was a warmth he had never felt before, starting in the center of his chest before it leapt outward to his fingertips. He melted into it, into Henry, into how all of it made him feel. 

They leaned more and more into each other, each touch adding to his already tingling body until they were pressed together and Hans’ skin was on fire. One of Henry’s hands followed down the length of Hans’ back to clench into his hips. They moaned together, Hans arching his back to angle himself deep into Henry’s lap. 

That he could feel, every exquisite — 

Their eyes opened at the same time. 

“We should —“

“Stop,“ Hans finished for him, then laughed, wiling his thudding heart to calm down.

“Can I carry you back to the bed?” 

“Will you stay if you do?” 

The shine from Henry’s eyes disappeared into the darkness, only to dazzle Hans mere moments later. He saw a brief flash of white teeth. “Only if I can check your bandages first.” 

They were both smiling now. 

*****

“Do you think you can hold onto my neck?” Henry murmured to Hans. 

“Er —“ 

“Just for a moment, while we get up. I’ll have one arm underneath you.” 

“You cannot be serious.” 

Henry grinned as he tensed and forced himself upward, Hans’ added weight causing him to grunt. It wasn’t quite as easy as he was hoping, but the feeling of Hans’ entire body pressed up to his front, his arms clasped around Henry’s shoulders, made his pa’s insistence he haul all that firewood day in and day out more than worth it. Wrapping his other arm around him, he took a moment to breathe in, the realization hitting him that all of this was more than real — 

His heart stammered in his chest from far more than the physical exertion.

“How the fuck?” 

Grasping for anything to say, he stumbled on, “All that herb picking, you know.“ Hans sputtered into his ear, as Henry continued, “You still feeling alright?” 

Hans nodded his head into Henry’s shoulder. Henry sat down on the bed in a such a way that Hans wouldn’t have to leave his lap, convincing himself it was because of the amount of opium in Hans’ system. He fumbled one handed with the lone tallow candle and tinderbox while the other stayed glued to Hans’ back. When he finally got it lit, he gave the barest glance at Hans’ stitches to confirm nothing had ripped or looked discolored, and lowered them back toward the bed. 

Hans settled his head in the crook of Henry’s shoulder. “So you can’t leave,” he said, shooting him a small, almost tentative grin. 

“I’ll be here. I promise.” 

For a moment, Hans’ grin froze as he studied Henry’s expression before his whole face lit up, his eyelashes heavy. “You can’t take it back,” he mumbled. 

Henry waited until Hans’ breaths began to even out, then wet his fingertips to snuff out the candle. He stared into the rafters above them both. 

I don’t know if I can ever leave, now. He kissed the crown of Hans’ head, breathing in deeply the scent of his hair. 

I love you. 

The words careened and ricocheted through his veins. But what was the scariest part was how little he hated it. 

*****

Hans spent the next several hours drifting between in and out of sleep, never quite able to get out of bed. He would feel Henry stir, only to be unable to keep his eyes open. When he would come to, he would hear Henry’s soft snore. But what was constant was how warm and comfortable he was, the tenderness with which he was held and touched. 

He had no idea what to make of it. The whole evening, from finding Henry on the floor, to that kiss — 

What the fuck is any of this? 

When he finally shook himself free of sleep’s grasp, he found himself splayed out with Henry curled at his side. Blinking several times at that sight, he glanced around at the deep golden hue of the room. He had no idea how long they had slept, but it did seem to be far past mid-day. His mouth was dry, caked with the taste of stale herbs and alcohol. Trying to swallow, he brought a hand up his greasy face and even worse hair.

Great. 

Stretching his shoulder back and forth and feeling only a muted sting, he glanced down at his chest. There wasn’t much to see, his collarbone to his nipple were covered in multiple layers of thick linen. His mind filling in the gaps with all sorts of horrifying images, he sneered and pushed himself up to a seated position. When that wasn’t as grueling as he anticipated, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. 

At the same time, a hand groped for his. Hans glanced back, his next breath catching in his throat when Henry hazily smiled at him. He knew he shouldn’t want to be the first thing Henry saw when he woke up this much, that to give in would only make it worse when it was no longer possible. But he yearned for it, nonetheless. He wanted Henry’s tousled hair and bad nights and everything in-between to be all his, to not have to share any of him with anyone else — 

It was an awful, doomed thought to have. It still ran havoc within him, turning his insides to jelly. 

“How are you feeling?” 

Hans shrugged, watching Henry’s smile widen. “Can’t be too bad, then, if you can do that.” 

He found himself smiling back. “I’ll feel better once I get a bath, I think. Not sure if this godforsaken town has a bathhouse, though. Or if I can walk that far.” 

Henry’s head curled on the pillow as a mischievous glint entered his eye. “I know of a way. You want my help at all?” 

God, how he wanted it. Anything you can give me — 

His cheeks burned as he caught Henry’s glance, then looked away. On the surface, he hoped Henry didn’t notice. But one small, vocal part of him hoped he could see all of it, every little way he was making Hans come apart. 

*****

Henry watched Hans out of the corner of his eye, as he surveyed the neat line of stitches. Hans’ hair was once again falling into his face. His hands itched with the need to pull it back. If he were in any way honest with himself, his hands itched with the need to do much more than that. 

“How is it?” Hans asked. 

Though his hulking hands nor his nerves had done him no favors in the candlenight, his work on Hans’ shoulder could have been a lot worse. The stitches in Hans’ chest were neat and precise, no bigger than the size of a single groschen. He remembered when his mum had showed him how to sew the first time, how she had “oohed” and “aahed” at his messy stitches. He didn’t know why her eyes had glistened as she thumbed over his work. “You know, your father’s stitches looked just like this when I taught him, too.” 

“Pa’s?” 

“Something like Pa’s,” she said, then pulled him close to her side. 

He understood now. Blinking several times, he focused back on Hans. It appeared to be healing well, with only a small greenish bruise forming around the sutures. “Why don’t you look at it?” Henry said, smiling down at him. 

Hans’ eyebrow curved inward in reticence. 

“I promise it’s not that bad.” 

His crystal clear blue eyes narrowed, then lowered themselves to his chest. A matter of moments later, his brows furrowed to a scrunched point. “You did this? This looks like a surgeon’s work, Henry.” 

Liking the praise far more than he was willing to admit, Henry mumbled, “I can be pretty good with my hands, sometimes,” then shot a shy glance Hans’ way. 

“Too good,” Hans murmured back, his gaze piercing directly into Henry’s being. They both blushed, Henry once again noticing that his hair was still — 

His next exhale got lost somewhere in his chest. He cleared his throat, making sure to look off to the side. “There’s a poultice that should be put on, but I was figuring we could do that after our — er — your bath.” He was tripping over his words. Feeling his cheeks grow warmer, he continued, “You should also wear a sling. Just for a couple of days.” 

Hans’ lip curled. “Really?” 

“Keeping your arm in place will help it heal faster.” 

“But, how am I supposed to wear anything other than an undershirt?” 

Henry let out a harangued sigh. “That is what you’re worried about?” 

*****

Much to Hans’ chagrin, Henry was able to finagle him into wearing a sling. After being led to the tavern and wolfing down enough food for two men, he was ushered into Zdeslav’s private quarters. 

In one tucked away corner was their bathing room. While somewhat surprising they had one at all, it fit the shabby, functional sensibilities of a rambling country cottage. It was a little niche of a room, dominated by a large wooden tub in the center and a stone hearth behind. Someone, probably Zdeslav’s wife, had poured water into the tub, filling the small space with rising steam and the residual heat of the fire. Two steps in and Hans was already sweating. Reminded once again of how dirty he was, he was very appreciative to see the little packet of soaps Henry had brought. 

There was just one big, glaring question. He has to be joining me, right? It stared him in the face as he watched Henry vent the only window and walked back, as he bent down to help Hans take off his hose —

Goddammit. Was it really necessary to feel every single tug on his thighs and calves? Hating his useless arm as much as he hated his burning cheeks, he was then treated to Henry removing his sling and pulling up his shirt. His touches, so soft and gentle, never lingered, never hinted anything beyond concern. 

This had to be leading to more, though, there was no way he would just do all of this and not expect — 

Hans found himself in the tub, steam still rising off the surface. The water was a wonderful temperature, not hot enough to scald, but still warm enough to prickle at his skin. Glancing off to the side, he saw Henry shrugging off his own shirt. 

But he didn’t tug off his hose, instead walking up to the side and kneeling down behind him. “Can you move forward and I’ll help you lean back? That way you won’t get your stitches wet.”

A memory came to him unbidden of him alone in a massive bed, shivering. A warm washcloth was on his forehead and there was a bowl of warm soup was off to the side. Servants went in and out, but no one stopped, no one wrapped their hand around his face, no one ever — 

Cared.

Until he met Henry. 

Strong hands grasped at his shoulders and neck and lowered him back. When his eyes focused, he saw those wonderful blue eyes crinkle at the edges. “I’m going to pour some water over your hair, alright? I mean, I’m sure you’re used to it. Let me know if I do something wrong, as I know you are very particular —“ 

“No one’s done this before, Henry.” 

The words leapt from his mouth before he could stop them. Henry’s hands stopped, his gaze no longer smiling. “No one has ever washed your hair before?” When Hans said nothing, he continued, “Not girls you were sweet on?” 

Hans shook his head. 

“Even when you were sick and your mum —“ His words stopped, “Servants, I — I’m sorry. Do you want me to stop?” 

“No. I — I mean, you can keep going. If you want, of course.” 

Henry’s eyes widened, sympathy and something much softer filling his expression. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. 

When his eyelashes met, he heard Henry’s soft voice. “Do you remember your parents at all?” 

He felt one of Henry’s hands leave his back, only for warm water hit his forehead and scalp. A shiver cascading down his spine, he murmured, “Not really. I have a hazy recollection of my mother telling me a bedtime story? But that’s about it.” 

He remembered only an instant, of being nestled into her shoulder, her long flowing hair the same color as his. He remembered the warmth in her voice, how safe he felt. The realization that it was the same as how he was feeling now made his eyes shoot open in tandem with his pulse. Henry lopsidedly grinned, holding a wedge of soap in his free hand. “I really need you to close your eyes for this.” 

“Ah,” Hans said, his voice more of a strangled squawk than anything else. Still, he did as he was told. 

“I promise it will be over before you know it. You know, my mum used to do this for me when I wasn’t feeling well.” 

“I wouldn’t let anyone do this to me.” 

“Well, I feel so honored.” 

Hans grinned just as Henry began to massage his hair, the scent of his favorite soap filling the air. The pressure of Henry’s hands made the tension leave his neck and head. Feeling himself sink deeper into Henry's palm, he said, “You can ask my uncle about it, I’m sure he would love the chance to wax poetic on how awful I was to the servants.” 

Henry started to rub in concentric circles near the nape of his neck. Hans let out a soft groan, he heard Henry’s exaled smile in approval before a companionable silence stretched between them. “I doubt you were awful, Hans.” 

“I bit one of them, Henry. She probably still has the scar.” 

Huffing out a laugh, Henry’s hand stopped on his nape, then slid back up to the crown of Hans’ head. Using his fingernails to delicately scrape at his scalp, he made his way to Hans’ forehead before his hand pulled away. Hans’ eyebrows furrowed as he fought to keep his eyes closed. He was dreading the water being poured on him again. He didn’t want this to stop, wanted time to stop for just a bit longer — 

He winced when the water hit him. The disappointment filling the hollows in his chest, he heard a bucket fill with water, then gently pour down the nape of his neck. “Just a little more,” Henry murmured. “Need to make sure all the soap is out of my lord’s hair.” 

For a few precious minutes, Henry’s hand was back in his hair. Hans tried to memorize it, all the ways his hand would curve and gently tug at his hair, his other hand holding him up. But mostly, he tried to memorize how he felt, that for a few moments he felt just as safe and protected as he had ever been. 

“All done. Not too terrible, right?” 

Hans opened his eyes to see Henry staring down at him. There were tiny flecks of green and teal in and amongst the lake of deep blue in his eyes he hadn’t seen before.

“Thanks for not biting me. But — more than that. I know I didn’t grow up in a big castle, but I would have been pretty scared and lonely if I had, I think. And if I didn’t have my parents —" Henry sighed, “I’m really sorry you had to go through that.” 

For one heart stopping moment, he searched Henry’s eyes, seeing that bright, unnerving intensity that was so sure, so —

He jerked upright, muttering out, “I know everyone doesn’t get as charmed of an upbringing as I had.” 

Henry cocked his head, a small frown teasing his features down. “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard, you know?”

That feeling he couldn’t name pricked at his chest. No, it stabbed at him, screaming at what was right in front of him. And he was falling straight into its heart, willingly, without knowing what he was doing or what he would find at the bottom.

Chapter Text

R — 

Botschek is going to fuck this deal over if he doesn’t get his head out of his arse. Please stop me before I commit a murder.

H

P.S. The wine here is shit. Bring some of Rattay’s finest, because we’re going to need it. 

Radzig stared at the letter in his hands, resisting the urge to roll his eyes back into his head. Based on how quickly it arrived, he guessed Hanush had only been there a few hours before sending some poor, hapless attendant on his fastest horse. 

He frowned, mulling over his options. Not that he had that much say in where Hanush sent him, but it wasn’t like Rattay had that much going on at the moment, and he always got a good laugh out of seeing him red faced and on the verge of yelling. He would also like to see what kind of woman had been ensnared into Hanush’s plans before her own unwitting husband-to-be got the chance.

An image of Hans’ horror struck face swam through his mind. Get used to it, son, Radzig had wanted to say. 

It was the thought of son that made him think of Henry. He had tried not to for so many years, as it would inevitably lead to thoughts of — 

Her. 

Those days were long since past. 

“Your orders, sir?” One of his attendants, a capable young man named Jan, prompted. 

Radzig let out a soft sigh. “We head to Kunstadt. With wine requested, apparently.” 

“I’ll have your trunk packed within the next few hours. I will also see what I can do about bringing a cask from the cellar.” 

“Make it two.” 

Jan gave a short, stiff bow, then turned to leave.

“And Jan —“ 

“Sir?” 

His hands drumming on the table, he made a decision. “Alert the chamberlain that my son will be coming back with me in a few weeks time. Rattay’s burgrave, too.”

Jan blinked several times, then nodded. “Consider it done.” 

Once Jan left, Radzig leaned back in his chair, letting his head tilt up to the painted rafters. It should have been done a long time ago.

*****

That Saturday was nothing short of beautiful, the kind of morning that hinted days like this would soon in short supply as fall forced its way in. The sun sparkled on the surface of the pond, the air alive with the sound of cicadas and bees. As Henry watched Mutt leap in and out of the reeds that surrounded the pond’s edge, he tried not to be too aware of Hans next to him. 

The evening before had passed much as the day before, in a haze of sleep, only broken up by short snippets of conversation and eating. While Hans needed the rest, his eyelids sewing themselves shut moments after he would lay his head back, Henry would be lying if he didn’t, too. It wasn’t everything, but each time he woke up he would feel some of the jagged edges of the pain that had formed in the pit of his stomach break away, the weight on his chest a little lighter. He knew who to thank for a lot of that, too. Sneaking a sidelong glance, Henry caught the lightfooted, confident way Hans carried himself, how the sun seemed to love his hair almost as much as he did —

“You really think the tailor here can fix this?” Hans grumbled, cradling his gold doublet to his chest with his slinged arm, “This velvet came from Prague, you know.” 

All his rosy thoughts disappeared in an instant. Letting out a groan, Henry asked, “Who are those Greek gods you prattle on endlessly about?”

“Er, why?” 

“So I know who to blame for having you in my life.” 

“Oh, who to thank, you mean?” A dimple formed in Hans’ cheek. “Ares would be one, definitely. He’s the god of war. Dionysus, he’s the god of wine and debauchery —“ 

“The perfect god for you, not —“

Hans ignored his interruption, “Hermes, perhaps. He’s the god of travelers. And maybe Aphro —“ He shot a look Henry’s way, his brow furrowing. 

“Who?” 

“It’s nothing,” he said, then increased his pace, not meeting his gaze. 

Henry wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn he saw a subtle flush creep up his neck. It doesn’t seem like nothing. 

Having to outright jog to keep up with him, Hans still beat him to the tailor’s. He ripped open the door to the shop as he threw a smirk in Henry’s direction, only to have his face smooth over in a matter of moments later. 

The shop could have been replicated in any number of villages and cities across Bohemia, and wouldn’t have looked out of place. Carefully folded bolts of fabric were laid on shelves behind a long counter, most of a practical nature - muted greens, mustards, and navy hues. Here and there were mended garments. The sooner they could get this over with, the better. 

“Good morrow, gentlemen! My name is Petr, I run this humble tailoring establishment.” 

Sweeping his golden doublet over the counter, he shared a horror struck glance with the tailor. Henry had to stop his eye from twitching. “Sir Hans Capon. Petr, my doublet was ruined by —“ 

Henry cleared his throat at this, seeing Hans' glare back at him. “Ah, someone. Do you think it’s something that could be saved?” 

Petr held it aloft for a moment. “First, might I say how elegant this design is.” 

“I know!” 

Henry’s eye did, in fact, twitch. Putting an elbow on the counter, he said in a clipped voice, “Don’t you just have to sew some buttons back on it?”

Encountering twin expressions of dismay, Henry held back his groan and turned back around, entertaining himself with feeling the fabrics that surrounded him. They were all various types of linen and wool. Boring linen and wool. 

“Do you have all of the buttons, sire?”

“All but one.” 

Hans had brought it up no less than five times this morning. Hearing a commiserative sigh between both of them, he wondered if he should just make his leave and end this odd form of torment. He was just about to turn toward the door when he heard, “I think you might be in luck.” 

Peter produced a small box, then rummaged around in it on the counter, pulling out all matter of buttons. “I had this trader from Kuttenberg come in recently. He only had one, but it was too pretty not to —“ 

Hans was leaning over it with him, the anticipation plain on his face. 

Once again reminded why Hans had to be the person who had carved his own annoying, stupid place right in the dead center of Henry’s heart — 

Hans and the tailor both exclaimed at the same time. “That’s —“

“It!” 

“I know it’s not an exact match, but I doubt anyone would be able to tell. Until you can get back to your personal tailor, I can put it closer to the bottom. And the other tear shouldn’t be too difficult to fix.” 

“Henry, come look!” 

Hans’ eyes — 

This is why. 

They were brighter and more beautiful than anything in that store by a mile. He was rooted to the spot as the fabrics and low light of the storefront faded to wisps of colors, the only thing in vivid, stark relief Hans’ exultant expression. He felt his wonderstruck smile, his feet carrying him to be right next to him, just brushing his back ever so slightly with his fingertips. Now that he had admitted it, it seemed impossible that he had gone this long — 

Hans’ shoulder lurched inward. “Hen — Henry, can you see a difference between these?” 

Two buttons were placed into his palm, Hans’ long fingers somehow managing to caress his skin in the process. His gaze flicked from Hans’ raised eyebrow and testy look in his eyes, to the tailor’s interest in what he was about to say, to the buttons themselves. They were both polished brass, both — the same?  “Is this a joke?” 

Both Hans and Petr grinned. “Petr, you’re a lifesaver, truly.” 

Henry felt the snort come up his throat, along with his terrible, halfhearted attempt to try and hide it behind a cough. The heel of Hans’ boot was ground into his foot. 

“It’s not everyday I get to work with fabric of this calibre. I’d say this will take me about a couple of days. Do you have a budget I need to —“ 

Hans waived a dismissive hand. “Not for this doublet. Do whatever you need.” 

Good fucking lord, Hans. 

“I understand,” Petr said, “It is a work of art. Anything else I can help with, Sir Hans?” 

The ease with which Petr said that made Hans puff up. In part so he didn’t have to continue to witness two people fawn over clothing, Henry butted in, “Yes. We heard there was a theft here recently?” 

The tailor sneered. “Yes. The only mending stolen was a brown linen cotehardie. I feel bad for Kristan’s mother. He’s growing like a —“ He glanced up at Hans, “Excuse me, you probably don’t want to hear about this. I promise I will keep this under special lock and key.“ 

“Oh, I trust you. You know your quality —“

“The theft.” Henry interrupted, “Was it a break-in?” 

“From my washing line outside. They also took some hose. Those fuckers —“ He trailed off, his complexion ruddying. 

“You think there was more than one?” 

“You know the trader I mentioned? He said something about seeing a fire burning at Mesoles and a group of men. Wanted to know if we were trying to rebuild,” He said, then blinked down hard. 

Mesoles? He had helped an old woman with a chest of heirlooms out there. It had been razed by Sigismund’s — His eyes widened as he stared down at the counter. It was the perfect spot, especially if they knew about it because —

Because they had burned it to the ground themselves. 

Petr continued, “It has to be bandits. And no one from ‘round here would steal Kristan’s clothing, they all know how many cotehardies the lad has gone through.” 

“Did he mention how many men he saw?” Henry said, trying to keep his voice level. Based on the way Hans was staring at him, he was failing on all accounts. 

“He said he saw five or six?” 

Henry sucked in his next breath, sweat prickling at his underarms. He couldn’t not go and check it out, but with Hans’ arm in a sling — 

Fuck.

“Petr, you’ve been an excellent help,” Hans’ smooth voice intoned. “We’re at the tavern if you need anything else.” 

“I’ll let Zdeslav know when I’m done,” Petr said, “Thank you for trusting me with it.” He glanced down at the doublet with almost awestruck reverence.

If Henry wasn’t miles away, searching his memories for everything that old woman had told him about Mesoles, he would have scoffed. Feeling Hans pull at his elbow, he didn’t realize he was walking outside until he was yanked off to the side. 

Wasn’t there a tunnel? Maybe I could have Mutt stay near one entrance and —

“Henry.” 

What if they know about it, though? From what he could remember, there wasn’t a lot of tree cover — 

“Henry!” 

It was only when his back smacked into a hard wooden surface, knocking the wind out of his lungs that he breathed in. “Care to let me in on whatever nonsense is currently happening in your head?” 

Swallowing, he stared straight into incensed blue eyes. “It’s not nonsense. I’ve been to Mesoles, and I was thinking through how I could sneak up on —“ 

“What about me?” 

Henry’s jaw clenched. He said, “Hans, you know you can’t go. Not with your injury.“ 

Henry found himself trying to gesture at Hans’ sling but Hans’ weight was pressing into him, keeping him from moving. 

“Like hell I’m letting you do that on your own,” Hans said. 

“Your arm is in a sling!” 

Hans’ face was inches from him, his eyes boring straight into his. “I could still help, you know that. Don’t say I can’t.” 

“I can’t fight five men on my own, I’m not that —“ 

“I can use a shortsword left handed, Henry!” 

His hands started to ball into fists. He found it near impossible to think, fighting the intense urge to shove Hans off of him. “Hans, I can’t — I can’t worry about you dying at the same goddamn time! Let me go!” 

“No! Henry, for fuck’s sake, just listen to me!” 

Both of their breaths were coming in short gasps. Henry was caged in Hans’ smell, in his mesmeric eyes, in all of him — 

“Please.” Hans broke eye contact for his gaze to travel down Henry’s face. His voice softened, becoming a tortured whisper, “Before I do something — Really —“ 

His head tilted, Henry finding himself doing the same, their lips just brushing in the middle. It was so soft, and yet exploded through Henry like a firework, jerking him backward.

Hans’ eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck.“ 

Henry felt himself sag, if he hadn’t been up against a wall he would have staggered back. He turned his head to the side, with it the realization they were on the backside of someone’s house with nothing but trees in front of them. At least Mutt was sniffing something on the edge of the grass, unconcerned with everything around him. Hans glanced at him, then let out a relieved sigh. “I don’t think anyone saw. I know that was stupid.” 

“You fucking think?” 

A warning flashed in Hans’ eyes. “Just let me speak, alright? I’ve had to watch you go off on your own every goddamned time, Henry. Do you know how scary that is?” 

“This is different!” 

“No, it’s not. How you feel now is how I’ve felt for fucking months. But you do not have to kill everyone you come across —“ He tilted his head back, groaning, “How is that your first conclusion?”

“They’re Praguers, what the fuck else could I —“ 

“We could tell the bailiff, or even Zdeslav or whatever the fuck his name is. We could send a letter to my uncle. We could just fucking leave and let someone else worry about it. We could do a thousand things that don’t involve you torturing yourself alone,” he said, jabbing his finger into Henry’s chest. “So here is what is going to happen. I’m going to go with you. You are going to let me, and you are not going to try and run off the moment you get the chance.” 

“Hans —“ 

“Do I need to command you?” 

Henry’s eyes seized on his, his chest and face suddenly hot. “What did you just say?” 

He saw the regret flash across Hans’ face, but it didn’t stay. His expression hardening to a sneer, he said, “As your lord —“

“I’m not your chambermaid, Hans.” 

Before Hans could say anything further, he forced Hans off to the side and stalked away, snapping for Mutt to follow him. 

Chapter Text

There was nothing worse than Henry’s retreating back.  He couldn’t peel his eyes away, watching him and Mutt until they made their way to the corner of the lane. He was far enough away that he couldn’t make out his facial expression, but when Henry glanced up at him, he could still feel it pierce straight through him, reducing him to nothing.

Henry shook his head, then turned and left. 

Slamming his fist into the wall, Hans let the pain reverberate through his arm and into his chest, hoping that in doing so it would somehow clear his mind. He was inundated with justifications for his actions, anger, and frustration, but all of that paled in comparison to how much it hurt. It was Henry who refused to see his own hipocrisy, not him. It was Henry who had forced Hans to use the words that would win him everything or lose it all. 

An image of his eyes floated in front of him. He could see how they widened in surprise, then lowered, his face becoming drawn and dark. Hans knew that expression all too well, had see his uncle’s version an untold number of times. His teeth gnashed together, insides churning with far more than ire. 

To think how the day had started, after that bath and all its warmth to waking up being so enveloped in him. He didn’t think he had ever slept that much, and through it all Henry was there. It was too idyllic, too perfect to be believed, he should have known something was bound to snap. 

Wine. That’s what he needed, and maybe he would be waiting, and they could —

Stop.

He still tromped toward the tavern, wondering with every step if he would see Henry. Once he stepped inside and realized he was the tallest one there, and worse yet that barmaid was looking around him, he had had it with this tavern, Miskowitz, and this whole fucking farce of an afternoon. 

“Sir Hans!” 

Seeing Zdeslav’s kind face, he tried to arrange his face into a polite smile. “Zdeslav.” 

Of course, it would be his luck to run into the person he wanted to see least. 

“Where’s your devoted shadow, sire?” 

Of course, he would bring up Henry. Hans’ laugh was hollow as he scrambled for what to say. “He had to, uh — bring his dog back the stables.” 

“Ah, Mutt, right! Well this is a perfect time to talk to you alone, then.” Drawing close to Hans, he pointed his finger at the sling, “How is the injury?”

“It’s fine,” he said, moving up and down his elbow, “It’s my shoulder. This was Henry’s idea to keep it in a sling so I don’t move it, but I’m sure he’s just being overbearing—“ he sneered, “As per usual.” 

The truth of his words needled at him. Overbearing, impossible to reason with, exasperating — 

Zdeslav cocked his head, his eyebrows drawing together. “Isn’t it best you listen to his advice?” 

The smile fell from his face like an apple dropping from a tree, replaced with a look he had perfected over many years. “Isn’t it best you mind your own business?” 

He had come to expect the nervous smile back, the way their teeth were bared in a defensive, embarrassed way. Zdeslav ducked his head, his hand coming up to rub at his scalp. 

Hans smirked. Thought so. 

However, Zdeslav’s eyes moved back up to his moments later. And held his gaze. “When it’s for someone like Henry, and you saw how he looked that night, I think you’d understand, sire.” 

Despite his best efforts, Hans flinched in response. Worse still, Zdeslav saw it. 

Zdeslav continued, “He doesn’t strike me as the type to get worried unless he has a reason to. Henry’s a very good lad. Far better than most around him. It’d be a shame to take someone like that for granted, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Hans’ mouth opened to retort, but no words made their way out of his mouth. Instead, he stared down at Zdeslav, feeling his face contort into a grimace. Zdeslav jutted his chin out in defiance, gesturing to a dingy, disused corner of the tavern. “I’ll have Lea come bring you some food so you don’t have to ladle it yourself. Give my best to Henry, Sir Hans.” 

Chastised and browbeaten, his jaw was a ball in his cheek as he started to turn around. One thought rose above it, making his eyes squeeze shut. Before he could stop himself, he called out, “Two —“ 

Zdeslav’s hand touched his arm. “Two what?” 

“Two bowls. Have her bring two bowls, so I can bring one for — for Henry.” 

He saw a hint of a smile flit across Zdeslav’s face. “Very good, Sir Hans.” 

Hating this interaction more than he thought possible, he still waited in the awful corner Zdeslav pointed out. A few minutes later, Lea appeared with a tray of two bowls and a cup of mead, chattering away to Hans about what Henry was up to and if she could bring Henry his bowl personally. With one icy look in her direction, she shirked away, muttering her apologies. 

He had also seen this an untold number of times. The dinners spent alone, staring down an empty cup in a tavern filled to the brim with the voices of others. What was different was how he failed to not snap his head up every time he saw movement at the doorway, feeling so alone he could barely breathe. 

Or perhaps it was this way all along, and he never realized until there was someone’s absence that made it impossible to ignore. 

*****

In a methodical fashion, Henry emptied everything out of his saddlebag, taking careful stock of what decoctions and medicines he had. On the bed was two sets of near-black linen clothes, leather bracers, padded chausses, and a small assortment of daggers wrapped in old fabric. 

He had dyed the bracers and clothing himself. He found doing this before any sort of reconnaissance helped narrow his mind to only the next couple of hours in front of him, the equipment and decisions that would keep him alive. 

Two nighthawk potions, four marigold dedoctions, a wad of linen strips, three daggers — 

He flicked the edge of one to make sure it was sharp enough to draw blood. He thought back to when he and Hans stayed up late one night throwing this exact dagger into a practice dummy, making bets on who could get them the deepest. They had shared a jug of wine, Henry hoping that somehow time would slow for this one night so he could enjoy the smile on Hans’ face just a little — 

No. He adjusted the phial of the nighthawk potion. Two nighthawk potions, four marigold dedoctions  — 

The image of his tipsy, lopsided grin was overlaid with his sneer. 

He adjusted the phial again, making sure to line them up in a neat row. Two nighthawk — 

“Do I need to command you?” 

He slammed his hand into the side of the bed. For fuck’s sake. 

Where the fuck was the Lord of Pirkstein, anyway? Did it even matter? 

He sighed, eyeing the nighthawk potions for what must have been the seventeenth time, then stood up to throw off his shirt. No, it doesn’t. 

Not after Hans said the one thing he knew would hurt above all else. 

*****

Seeing the candlelight shine through the curtain, Hans jerked back, only righting the soup in his hand once it started to drip down. He did not throw it into the grass, much as multiple insistent thoughts were suggesting, and instead waited for the thudding pulse in his ears to die down. 

When it didn’t, he squared his shoulders, and tried to saunter in. By the time he got to the curtain, his hand holding the soup was shaking and he had the absurd notion of if he should knock. 

Knock on what, a fucking piece of fabric? This is my own room — 

He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and tried to figure out what he was going to say. Once he sidestepped the curtain and ducked his head in, all of his half formed thoughts were obliterated on the spot. 

Henry was dressed in almost all black, one foot planted on the bed. As he tightened one brace, his elbow was propped up on his leg. Hans could see the muscles in his calves and thighs straining against the fabric of his chausses, the way the bracers molded to his forearms — 

As Henry’s attention moved from his arm to Hans, his arm fell then snapped back, hand clenching into a fist. Hans watched all of it, mouth agape, the only thought coming to him that he wasn’t sure he had ever seen Henry in black before. 

He would have remembered if he had. 

“Er —“ was all he could manage. 

Goddammit. 

Every part of him wanting to melt into a puddle and disappear, he watched Henry’s face cloud over, his leg dropping from the bed. “How good of you to show up, Sir Hans. Have a pleasant evening?” 

It was as though he had been slapped, all of the loneliness and consternation and frustration flooding his senses at once. He must have frowned because he saw a hint of something come across Henry’s expression, then level back to the same dispassionate stare. 

“I —“ he knew from that alone he was the edge of breaking down, “I brought you something to eat, Henry.” 

Before he could see his reaction, he turned around to shove the plate onto the small table, watching his hands tremble. If you could have just listened for one fucking — 

It was then that he felt something press against his back. Lurching around, his eyes grew wide to see Henry’s hand clenching into black linen right in front of him. “These are for you. Are you coming or not?” 

He moved his focus from the hand to the person behind it, still with the same maddening, indescribable expression on his face. He snatched the shirt and hose from Henry, then stalked off to the opposite side of the room to change. It was only when he was facing the wall that he took a shuddering breath in. 

It was much harder to change one handed that he was willing to admit, but his pride wouldn’t let him ask for help or take off his sling. Not when he had the preternatural sense Henry was watching him. Instead, he struggled out of his hose and into Henry’s, cringing with how loose they were on him. He was in the process of finagling his left arm to the right spot to shrug his sling off when it was lifted off of him, the area around him growing dark. 

“I can do it myself,” he spat out, “I’m not fucking useless.” 

As brief as it was, his shoulder felt the radiant heat of Henry’s hand as though it was the first bit of sun after a long, grey winter. It seemed to linger for a beat, Hans fighting the urge to fall and hope that Henry would catch him. What had to be the most terrible part was how Henry stood behind him, saying nothing. 

What did his face look like behind him? Not knowing whether to scream, cry, or mirror Henry in all of his inert, silent glory, Hans kept his eyes trained in front of him, his imagination filling in the gaps. He saw the deadened, neutral look slowly change to the much more raw, visceral disappointment that was plain in every curve and shadow that crossed Henry’s face earlier that day, pieces of him cracking in the process. 

As he did, he felt a tug at the hemline of his shirt. “Keep your arm in one spot, I will move around you,” Henry’s low voice rumbled in his ears. 

There was an oncoming rush of the cool night air against his skin, the hair on his arms standing on end. It made him even more aware of Henry behind him, how he manuevered the shirt around his injured shoulder and down his arm. He couldn’t have been more than a more inches behind him, the sound of Henry’s slow breathing hitting his ear with the force of a gale. His chin bobbed down to his chest. 

Something brushed against the hair on his nape, he couldn’t make it out what it was. Oh, but how he could feel it, the funny things it did to his heartbeat and stomach. His lower lip quivering, he whispered, “What is this?” 

It was Henry’s knuckle that was touching him, the joint bent so only the tip was against his skin. 

“You tell me, Sir Hans.” 

Hans winced. He didn’t know if it was Henry’s touch or his words. “Stop calling me that, please." 

The knuckle extended to the length of his finger, then stroked down Hans’ neck. He heard his own gasp, his body leaning into Henry’s touch to chase the burn. Henry said, “It’s what you are, isn't it?” 

“Not when it’s just us, you know that,” he said, his voice breathless. 

“Then why the fuck did you say it earlier?” 

His fingertip traveled down the valley of Hans’ spine. He let out a whimpered moan. “Because you wouldn’t listen to me, Henry. It was the only thing I could think of —“ 

Henry’s hand disappeared from his back. Jerking forward, Hans braced himself for what he might find, his feet still twisting back toward Henry anyway. “I know what I did was wrong.” 

He came to an abrupt stop when he saw Henry’s eyes. The deep blue was on the edge of a downpour, filled with so much hurt and anger. It transcended mere disappointment. Henry was livid. “You held me down, kissed me in public, and then said that. I thought we were past that, Sir Hans. I thought you were past that.” 

Hans stepped closer to him, his own rage building within him. “Stop! You know it’s not that simple!” 

“Yes, it is. It’s so much worse than just being wrong. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Me? What about what you just did, Henry? You are far from some innocent little —“ 

Henry groaned, his hands contorting into fists, “Because I want to kill you right now!” 

“If that’s how you try to kill people, I have fucking news for you —” Realizing they were face to face again, more than within striking distance, Hans pulled his head back, “Give me the shirt.” 

Henry also bucked back. “I don’t know if I want to, anymore.” 

“For fuck’s sake, you are such a fucking insufferable —“ 

Henry threw the shirt straight at him. Only catching it as it collided with his face, Hans pulled it down to glare at Henry. “Get. Out.” 

“With fucking pleasure.” 

Henry stomped outside, the curtain billowing in his wake.

*****

Henry paced back and forth, He had the foolish hope that being outside would settle his rage until he could stomach the sight of him. Right now, the mere thought made a vein in his forehead bulge. Running a rough hand down his face, he took an incensed breath in.

He’s the fucking insufferable one.

His face squeezed together, as though he had bitten into a lemon. Hans was the petty one. Hans was the one prone to explosive bouts of anger. Hans was the one who decided to throw a cannonball at him by bringing up their differences in station. Hans also had one of the most beautiful backsides he had ever — 

Wondering why his own thoughts were thwarting his efforts to calm down, he threw his head back, letting the cool night air wash over him. He needed to be thinking about Mesoles, and how to somehow keep them both alive, not how Hans looked wearing his fucking hose and nothing — 

Stop. Thinking. About. Him. 

He knew it was a fool’s errand to even attempt to at this point. 

“Having a pleasant evening?” 

Henry felt his lip curl, the vein in his forehead roaring back to life. “I was, before your lordship insisted on —“ 

“Let’s just get this over with, alright?” 

Henry glanced at Hans out of the corner of his eye. He had managed to get into Henry’s shirt, although the collar looked a little big around his neck. Smirking a little at that, he turned to continue his more frank appraisal of him in the waning twilight. Only one hand peeked out from his sleeves, the other shirtsleeve hanging off his shoulder. Underneath his shirt, Henry could detect the hard line of Hans’ arm. 

He had listened about the sling. Remembering the soup that was left untouched on the table, Henry felt the tiniest wisp of regret curl through him. Before he could think better of it, he grabbed the extra dagger he kept tucked in the back of his belt and handed it over.

“What an honor. I didn’t know I was allowed to participate in this evening’s activities.” 

As he did, he caught a glimpse of a metal hilt glinting from Hans’ hip. His regret curdling into exasperation, he groaned out, “Hans —“ 

He realized two seconds too late he hadn’t added any honorifics. Seeing Hans’ smug smile back, Henry stared him down. “It’d be quite the shame for you to die tonight, sire,” he said, his tone dripping in sarcasm. 

Hans cocked his head, his expression lacking any warmth. “I’m sure you’ll protect me.”

“Only if your lordship commands me to,” Henry responded, a perfect mirror to the way Hans was looking at him. 

*****

Their walk to the stables was one of a heavy, oppressive silence that weighed down Hans. He hated it, just as he hated the way Henry was acting. The way the sounds would come out of his mouth, it sounded so foreign, so forced, so —

Distant. 

They were many things, some far more infuriating than others. Distant wasn’t one of them, especially when he was in Henry’s fucking shirt. The moment he had put it on, he had staggered back, Henry’s smell and way that the shirt was worn in hitting him all at once. He had the same thought then as he did now. What are you doing to me, Henry?

As he rubbed over his covered arm and collarbone, each minute movement carried with it a hint of mintha or Henry’s sweat. His spine still tingled, too. Grimacing, he glanced sidelong at Henry to see he was doing the same. Once their eyes met, they both sneered then pointedly looked in opposite directions. 

This is your fault. 

Having the terrible idea to say it out loud, he was in the midst of testing fate and opening his mouth when he saw the dark outline of the stable gate come into view. Right behind it was Mutt, his tail wagging so hard Hans was pretty sure he was creating his own dust cloud behind him. 

“There’s a good doggie!” 

Realizing that was the first time he had heard Henry sound happy in several hours, it was made even worse by his elated grin as he jogged the distance between them to Mutt’s barks. Henry threw open the gate to crush him into his chest, each moment like a barb to Hans’ chest. 

Hans wanted to be told he was good. He wanted that smile for him and him alone, to know that everything was going to be okay, that there was no chasm too big between them. It was so stupid that he was comparing himself to a fucking dog, feeling so insignificant and small — 

“What?” Henry’s voice snapped at him, hurtling him out of his reverie. 

Hans’ face crumpled. He couldn’t stop it, instead letting the silence stretch until it engulfed him. 

Distant. 

He didn’t look back as he walked up to the stable, curling inward to protect himself from how awful this night was becoming. 

He was inside when he realized he had only one working arm to get onto his saddle.  

*****

Henry wasn’t sure what he wanted, but it certainly wasn’t that. One moment, he was feeling a little better. Yes, every little interaction they had was infuriating, and yes, he couldn’t still stand to look at Hans except in tiny bursts. However, he was outside and moving, Mutt was waiting for him at the gate, his excitement infectious — 

He could breathe again. Then he saw Hans staring at him and something in him cleaved. It was obvious that he was about to say something awful again, the stings and arrows that only he could inflict. 

But he was wrong about that, wasn’t he? The words to call him back, to say his name, to say anything were on the tip of his tongue, but as he opened his mouth, nothing came out. He could count on one hand the times he watched Hans walk away, a jagged crack forming down his heart all the same.

Mutt pawed at him and let out a low whine. Scratching between his ears, he then threw him a couple of sausages. “How do I fix this, Mutt?” He said. 

Mutt was too preoccupied with his dinner to do much more than cock his head in Henry’s direction in-between bites. Henry watched him, his eyebrows knotting themselves together. 

He could only delay the inevitable for so long. Commanding Mutt to wait at the gate, he made the way to the stables to find Hans had one foot in his stirrup, his arm flung over Aethon. He was trying desperately to climb up. If Henry had seen this in any other context he would have burst out laughing. 

Before the thought had made its way through his body, Henry legged it the rest of the distance to hoist him up. “I can do it,” Hans wheezed out, “I’m not completely dependent on you —“ 

This is why I didn’t want you coming with me. Keeping that thought unsaid, he mumbled, “I know that. How did you manage to get the saddle on?” 

Hans didn’t respond, instead letting out a little hiss of displeasure when his hands squeezed into Hans’ hips. He could feel the warmth of his skin underneath the linen, how much he wanted more — Henry had to keep his teeth from gnashing together. “This is just to help you up, alright?” He said, his words as much for him as they were for Hans. 

“I said, I got it!“

“Fucking hell, Hans.” With a concentrated burst of energy, he shoved him upward. “You are the most impossible —“ 

“Trust me, the feeling is mutual,” Hans spat out once he was in his saddle. 

Flexing his jaw several times, Henry shared an exasperated glance with Hans’ horse, then located his own saddle hanging over the stall next to Pebbles. 

The next half hour ride was met with the same tense stillness. His recollections were fuzzy at best, but Henry followed the road until he came to the treeline, then hugged the forest’s edge until it started to thin out, using Mutt as his scout. All the while, he kept one eye on Hans, alert for any minute changes to his expression. While Hans’ frown stayed etched into his features and he only looked at Henry to know where to direct Aethon, he didn’t look like he was in any pain. It was the one bright spot of an otherwise miserable, long ride. 

Once Henry heard the soft babble of a brook, he slowed to a crawl and led them into the trees. Spying a spot that was relatively untouched, he pointed and said, “Here.” 

By this point, the last remaining light was a smudge on the horizon, the hills and trees bathed in inky shadows. He could still see Hans’ expression, as upset as he was, as clear as if it was midday. 

Feeling himself groan, he jumped off of Pebbles, then held out his arms, having no idea if Hans would accept it or not. 

*****

Hans felt his mouth twist in indecision, mirroring the way his stomach was tying itself into knots. This night, this day, every part of this whole stupid goddamn interlude was supposed to be the last hurrah before he was forced to give up everything — 

Give up Henry — 

Instead, he was forced to endure feeling no bigger than a grain of dust under Henry’s boot, while Henry just looked on, stonefaced. He couldn’t even get on or off his own fucking horse without him. But by God, did his body betray him. Bending down, he leaned toward him and swung his leg over Aethon, trying not to notice how strong Henry’s hands were, how much he wanted to crash into him. 

As soon as it began, it was over, the thud of his feet on solid ground cascading through him as though he had been dropped. His mouth continued to twist as he stared down. He should be able to wrap his arms around him now, feel his hair and the solidness of his shoulders. More than anything, he wanted to feel like he had that right, not that it hadn’t been ripped from him, leaving his limbs hanging awkwardly at his sides. 

“We should get going,” said Henry, his voice gruff, then snapped his fingers for Mutt. “Heel!” 

Hans swallowed and followed them both. It was getting dark enough he couldn’t see more than 30 paces in front of him, the remaining light almost gone from the horizon. They seemed to be following a stream, he could hear the way it bubbled around the rocks. “Do I get to know what we’re doing, or are you planning on keeping me in suspense all evening?” 

Henry’s figure stopped, then turned around. Hans had the immediate urge to look away, to not know what he had ruined this time. When something was pressed into his hand, he jerked back Instead, not knowing what to expect. it came back smooth and cold, nestled into the center of palm. 

“It’s a nighthawk potion, it’ll help you see in the dark,” Henry mumbled. 

“Did you take it, too?” He said back, hating how pitiful he sounded. 

“Not yet. It’s not dark enough, yet.” 

“Well then, why the fuck wouldn’t I —“

Henry interrupted him, “Because I am used to this.” 

I wish you weren’t. Watching the dark liquid swirl in the phial, he handed it back to him. Let’s get this fucking thing over with. “Could you uncork it, please?” 

Henry’s exhale sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “You don’t take it. You sort of, pour it on your eyes. The way the stopper is, if you hold it upside down a few drops will come out.”  

Hans’ eyes shot open. “Oh, fuck no —“

“It’s made with belladonna. You can’t drink it. I’ll help you, alright?” 

Not knowing if this was going to help or make it so much worse, Hans stared at Henry, not bothering to hide the terror that was making its way across his features. “How the fuck can you put it on your eyes but not drink it?” 

In doing so, he saw the first genuine smile on Henry’s face that entire evening. “Some things just work that way, Hans.” 

His eyebrows joining together, he held his gaze for a beat. What was reflected back, if for a moment, was the reassuring, gentle Henry he knew. Of its own accord, his hand reached out to brush him on the arm. Once he felt the hint of fabric under his fingertips, he snatched it away, hoping there was some possibility that Henry hadn’t seen it. His cheeks flushed scarlet with the knowledge of how foolish that was. 

“Tip your head back. It won’t hurt.” 

“Says you,” Hans grumbled, still doing what he was told. 

When the out of focus phial was held only a few hair’s breadths away from him, he recoiled, his eyes squeezing shut. With only one arm to right himself, he stumbled backwards a bit. 

“You have to stay in place, Hans. And keep your eyes open.” 

Growling, he tipped his head back again. This time, Henry gripped the back of his neck. “Just so you don’t fall,” he murmured. 

Henry was touching him — really touching him this time, callouses pressed into his nape, his hand so warm it almost burned. His breath shaky from more than the phial held above his eye, Hans tried to focus beyond it. In doing so, he was staring straight into Henry’s eyes. 

They were darker in this light, but still every bit as bottomless, now looking more like the night sky that would soon be surrounding them. And for the first time in several hours, they weren’t hard at the edges.

In an indistinct, fuzzy way, he saw something drop toward his face. He chased it with his eyelashes, more than tears pricking at the inner corner of his eye. Henry was right, though, it didn’t hurt. “Almost done,” he whispered. 

Hans didn’t want it be over. He had the feeling once it was, Henry would spring apart from him and the distance he so hated would rear its ugly head. “Henry,” he whispered, just as the droplet hit his eye. 

“Yes?” 

He squeezed his eyes shut. “We’re going to to be —“ 

He blinked them open, only to be blinded. Everything was bright, the antithesis of how it was a moment before. Henry’s teeth were almost translucent white as he grinned down at him, his eyes reminding him when the sun would sparkle on a lake’s surface. His normally golden skin was alabaster. “You’ll get used to it soon enough.” 

Not if you look like that. He was a Greek statue come to life. It was almost too much. 

Henry’s hand released from his neck, squeezing the smallest bit before doing so. “Stay close to me.” 

Henry crounched low to the ground, staying close to the embankment. His steps were surefooted but light, he seemed to more glide forward than tromp through the patchy grass and mud. Mutt, too, would fan out in semicircles about 10 paces out, his focus always on Henry. They were both in sync with one another and their surroundings, a dance they had memorized by repeated practice. The thought gave Hans pause. “How many times have you —“ 

Henry held his hand up to stop him. On the other side of the stream was the ruins of an outbuilding. 

Henry ducked lower, surveying his surroundings, before pulling out the other nighthawk potion. Hans saw him tip his head back, twist his hand twice, then blink several times. There was no hesitation whatsoever, every movement so fluid and natural. 

He watched on in silence, trying to remember all the missions Henry had been sent to in the dead of night, how he had done most of them alone. Had he learned all of this by doing, or had someone taught him? He stared at Hans for only a moment, it was enough for Hans to see how dilated his eyes were, two massive black holes overtaking the sea of blue. “Do I look like that, too?” He asked, his voice a hesitant whisper. 

Henry nodded. “It’s the nighthawk,” he said, then turned back. His focus was no longer on Hans. He seemed to be in a constant state of analyzing the area around them for movement, following Mutt to the treeline, then back. 

There were a series of ruined buildings coming up to the left. A sheer wall rose up, but wasn’t met with a roof, instead jutting up straight up to the sky. Next to it was an old fence with huge gaps leading to a center courtyard. At one point, this would have been quite the farmhouse.

They were entering some tall grass. Henry used that to his advantage, blending himself into it and moving as it swayed. 

Hans couldn’t see a single fire or lantern in the distance. He was so focused on that he almost didn’t notice he was entering a stream until he heard a soft splash, the water filling his boot. But Henry did. Whipping around, he stared Hans down, bringing his hand to his lips, before turning back on his heel. Hans’ shoulders drooped, the upset little turn of his mouth back, and with it all the feelings he had managed to hold at bay flooded his psyche. 

He didn’t want to be here, miserable and now with a soggy foot, following someone who thought of him as nothing more than a hindrance. The stupidest part was it was all done with the best of intentions. Everything he said, how he had acted — he wanted to be useful to Henry, wanted to make good on his promise that he would be there, even if Henry had to be dragged into it. Was it such a bad thing, to want to protect the person who had protected him? 

There was a break in the fence that led to what once was a large courtyard. Henry glanced about, then urged Hans forward. He almost didn’t want to. He felt a weight on his chest, pressing him down with how he had gone about things in the worst way. He was so stupid, so, so —

Henry’s hand shot out to stop him from moving forward. There, in the distance, was a tiny beacon of brilliant white light. It was moving perpendicular to them at a fast clip, their footfalls echoing in the still night air. Pulling Hans by the shoulder, he ducked to the closest wall then tilted his head ever so slightly to peek out. Hans leaned back, the weight getting worse. As he did, he felt the wall shift. He turned toward Henry, who was bracing himself on it, snatching him away with his free arm just as a little bit of charred plaster broke away. 

It couldn’t have been more than a hairline crack that formed as tiny fragments broke away and sprinkled to the ground. The light from the distance stopped, then shone toward them. Before Hans fully understood what was happening, he was being pulled on as they ran down a series of overgrown steps. He didn’t even know where they came from or where they were going, only that they were going down. 

An old cellar appeared in front of him, a long corridor snaking into the distance. It was bright down there — too bright. He could make out how the tunnel was only a few handspans above his head, the width big enough for one person. His lungs burned, the ceiling and craggy sides reaching out. They came closer, starting to twist toward him, pulling at his clothes.

The weight on his chest was a vise now, making it impossible to breathe. His hand shot out to keep himself upright as he heaved. He had failed, again and again, and he was doing it now, he was failing Henry — 

“—We’re okay, now. Wait, Hans, are you —“ 

He heard Henry’s voice as he fell to his knees. The rocks in the floor dug into his palm. “Just leave me, I know I’m —“ 

Useless —

He needed to breathe. He tried to, but every time he did it was rejected, the damp, musty earth filling his nostrils. He had the horrible thought that he was going to die down here, all the times he had cheated death calling in his debt. When the noose was cinched around his neck, the light had shone down on him then, blinding, just as it was now. 

“It’s the tunnel, isn’t it? Oh, Hans, I’m sorry.” 

Something dry and cool curved around his cheek, making him realize how clammy he must be. “Leave me, please. Henry, I can’t —“ 

“That’s not happening.” 

“But I’m ruining everything —“

“No, you’re not.” Henry’s thumb stoked his jaw. “Can you open your eyes?” 

The last thing he wanted was to pry his eyelashes apart. 

“I’m right in front of you. It’s just you and me.” 

The nausea rose again from the pit of his stomach. That was part of the problem. “But you’re so angry —“ 

Henry’s soft voice carried over to him. “I’m not. And besides, that doesn’t matter. Not right now, at least.” 

“Yes, it — I’ve ruined —“ 

“Hans, look at me.” 

His tone carried more authority this time. Gritting his teeth, as he swallowed he forced his eyes open to a world of sparkling blue. Henry’s blue.

“There you are,” he whispered, with a lopsided, hesitant smile. His hand stroked behind his ear. “Everything’s okay. No one is chasing us. Do you think you can get up?” 

“The walls, they’re —“ 

His eyes fluttered shut as he tried to block it out, the way the sides of the tunnel would warp and reach out for him. 

“Hey, don’t do that. What did I say?” 

“That it’s just — you and me, but —“ 

“No buts. I’m going to help you up, alright?” 

Before Hans could protest, he felt strong hands grip his upper arms and haul him upward. His knees gave out on the ascent, he found himself clinging to Henry with one hand, the other curling into a hard fist in his sling. His body, his mind, it was all worthless, wasn't it? 

“I’ve got you, don’t worry,” Henry murmured into his hair, as he held him tight. “I figured you would like it better off the ground. Can you tell me what you’re feeling? It’s not your wound, is it?” 

Hans shook his head. “I can’t breathe —“

“Follow what I do, okay?” 

Henry’s chest expanded, his inhale long and measured. He held it for a beat, then blew it out of his mouth. “Now, you do it.” 

Hans took one hesitating breath in, filling his lungs with the smell of Henry’s skin and the outdoor air that clung to him. Finding that much easier to take in than the smell of damp, musty earth, he breathed in several more times, his nausea abating a little. Henry’s hand started to rub small concentric circles into the small of Hans’ back.

He was touching him as if nothing had changed between them at all. It only made him more confused. “Why are you doing — all of this?“ 

The hand on Hans’ neck traveled to cup his cheek. As it did, Henry pulled away to look at him. “Why wouldn’t I, Hans?”

Henry’s skin wasn’t quite as dazzling, instead blending into the shadows that had started to appear. It did not make it any easier to get out his words. “Because we got into a fight, and you don’t want me here — because I can’t do anything right —“ 

He trailed off, his breathing beginning to intensify once again. Henry’s eyebrows constricted as concern started to overtake his face. “I don’t think this is the right time.” 

“Hen—“ 

“For now, Hans. We need to make sure you’re okay, and then we need to make sure we stay alive. But I promise we’ll talk about things.”

“You do?” 

“Yes.” 

He did promise. He gave one short nod, breath still stuttering. The moment he did, Henry was embracing him. The stiffness and tension in his body evaporated, his fists uncurling when they met Henry’s shoulders and chest. The more he surrendered to it, the better he felt, his head resting in the crook that seemed made for him. 

“To answer your question, the reason why I’m doing all of this is because I care about you. So much more than you realize. Tell me what helps, I need to help you.” 

That got him to breathe. Sounding to his ears no different than a yelp, he searched the darkness to find the words to reply. “This — I mean —You —“ His mouth was dry suddenly, but he had to force the words out, “You — You help, Henry.” 

He was rewarded with a kiss at the base of his ear, before Henry smiled into his neck, mumbling, “I’m glad, Hans.”