Capon au Jus

by uhohEllis

Summary:

It’s 34°C. The A/C is broken. Hans won’t stop complaining.
Pavel wants to test just how much he can take before he really starts whining.
Henry is just trying to keep them all from melting.

Notes:

shout out to the pious nation cult in the hansry discord for making me think about these three 24/7, life has never been better

Au Jus
• A French culinary term meaning "with juice" — Refers to meat dishes prepared or served with a light broth, made from the fluids secreted by the meat as it is cooked.

The A/C had given out three days ago.

The heat seeped into the apartment until it was dense and airless. It wrapped around the furniture, clung to the walls, turned every breath into a conscious effort. It made each motion feel sluggish, like there was no outrunning it. Even standing still offered no relief; it pressed in from all sides, clinging to sweat-soaked skin with no remorse.

Pavel had tried opening the windows, hoping for even the slightest breeze, but all that did was let in more of the same. The poor fan in the corner tried its best to cool the air, but its low whirr only swirled the heat around the room. The blades kicked up faint specks of dust, and the uneven hum filled the space with a quiet tension.

Pavel lay stretched out across the sofa, one leg draped over the edge, the other bent at the knee against the cushion. His hair was tousled and damp against his forehead, his shirt thrown to some forgotten corner of the room. A cigarette burned low between his lips, a lazy curl of smoke slipping upward only to be shoved sideways by the fan’s weak rotation.

The air was suffocating. He hadn’t spoken in over fifteen minutes.

Hans was dying.

“God. God, it’s disgusting in here,” He whined, for what had to be the fifth time. Hans was sprawled on the hardwood in front of the couch, limbs splayed in every direction in an attempt to claim whatever patch of coolness he could find. “My thighs are sticking to the floor. This is a crime. I’m sweating like a beast.”

Pavel didn’t look at him, his eyes too heavy with heat-induced lethargy. “You were sweating before you sat down.”

“It’s worse now,” Hans groaned. “I can feel it. Everywhere. Every crevice. I am one big, wet crevice.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“I can’t think. My blood is boiling. I’m going to pass out and then you’ll be stuck dragging my corpse out of this apartment.”

Pavel tapped the end of his cigarette over the ashtray resting on the coffee table. “I’d just roll you off the balcony.”

Hans flailed one hand weakly in the air, but he didn’t bother opening his eyes.  “Disrespectful. I’m dying. You could at least show me some sympathy.”

“You’re not dying.”

“I’m wilting.”

Pavel finally glanced over. The other man had one arm thrown dramatically over his face as if he were about to pass out at any moment. His shirt hung open down to the third button, clinging to his chest in uneven patches of sweat that traced the contours of his body. The fabric, once crisp and neat, now seemed slack and defeated, much like its bearer. Nearby, his belt lay discarded in the middle of the floor, carelessly tossed aside mid-breakdown.

“You know you could take that off.” Pavel suggested, gesturing vaguely with his hand to where Hans lay despite his obscured vision. 

“My shorts?”

“Yes.”

Hans peeked out from under his arm. “Are you trying to seduce me or save me?”

“Maybe a bit of both,” Pavel said, smirking faintly. He returned his cigarette to his lips, pulling in a slow drag as the smoke rose softly around him. 

Hans groaned again, louder this time. “Henry is taking so long.”

“He’s getting your damn popsicles.”

“He could be dead. He could’ve melted in the parking lot and we wouldn’t know.”

Pavel let out a low chuckle, the sound barely carrying over the fan’s steady hum. “If he’s smart, he stayed in the store for the A/C… Maybe moved into the frozen food aisle, started a new life.”

Hans rolled onto his side with a grunt, like it took him great effort, only to collapse onto his back again, arms splayed at his sides. “Abandoning us. In our time of need.”

He gave the coffee table a feeble kick with his heel, more petulant than violent. “He hates me.”

“You say that every time he leaves the apartment.”

Hans turned his face toward the couch and pressed it into the fabric with a muffled, dramatic sigh.

The fan clicked as it completed another futile rotation, sending a warm breeze of recycled air across the room. It lifted Hans’ hair just enough to tickle his temple, and he brushed it away like it had personally offended him.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

“Ice,” Henry announced as he stepped inside, holding up two plastic bags strained to their limit, condensation already beading along the sides. “And the weird blue popsicles you like.”

Hans slowly peeled himself from the floor, his limbs heavy from the heat, moving toward the kitchen with as much speed as he could muster. “Thank God you’ve returned to us,” he said, placing a hand over his chest. “I was beginning to think I’d have to go out there myself.”

“You’d have melted halfway to the stairs,” Henry replied, setting the bags on the counter with a soft thud and beginning to unpack their contents.

Hans moved in behind him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his back. He rested his chin on Henry's shoulder as he peered at the spoils before them. “God, you did get the blue ones. And is that — wait, is that Gelato?”

Henry nodded without looking up. “Box was half off.”

Hans smiled and pressed a kiss to the curve of Henry’s neck, the skin salty against his lips. His arms slipped easily around Henry’s waist, fingers settling onto the soft flesh of his stomach like they belonged there. The shirt clung to him, soaked through from the walk, but Hans didn’t flinch. He pressed in closer, burying his nose against Henry, breathing him in.

“You’re disgusting,” Henry muttered, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the words.

“I’m suffering. Be nice,” Hans mumbled. He tilted his head just enough to rest his temple against the side of Henry’s face, his eyes fluttering shut. “You smell good.”

“And you smell like laundry that didn’t finish drying.”

“Mm,” Hans sighed. “Domestic.”

Henry let out a quiet huff of laughter, cracking open the box of popsicles with a snap of cardboard. He pulled one free and held it up. “Pavel still alive?”

“Just barely,” Hans replied, peeling himself away from Henry’s back to accept the offering.

“Figures.” Henry reached back into the bag and pulled out a sweating bottle of Gatorade. He held it up with a raised brow. “You want to bring him this?”

Hans wrinkled his nose. “Only if I get points for being merciful.”

“You’ll get a thanks if he’s feeling generous.”

Hans sighed and took the bottle anyway, tearing into the wrapper of his popsicle with his teeth as he turned to leave. The hardwood floor creaked under his bare feet as he padded back to the living room, sports drink in hand, his mouth already beginning to stain blue as the ice between his lips surrendered to the heat of the apartment.

“Henry returns, bringing ice and peace offerings!” Hans declared, pulling the popsicle from his mouth with his other free hand.

Pavel didn’t move, his body slack with heat and disinterest. “If you drip on me, I’ll kill you.”

Hans tsked, stepping closer. “No gratitude.”

Then, without warning, he tossed the cold bottle onto the other man’s exposed stomach.

The reaction was immediate — Pavel jolted upright with a strangled wheeze, one hand shooting out to knock the offending item away as he swore under his breath. “You absolute shit.”

Hans smirked, settling back onto the floor without remorse as he drew the popsicle back into his mouth. He let the cold linger on his tongue.

Henry joined them a moment later, his own popsicle clenched between his teeth. “I see that the diplomacy went well,” he said, his mouth curling around the ice.

Pavel shot him a look, then cracked the Gatorade open with a twist of his wrist. He took a long pull, his throat bobbing with the motion.

Hans watched the movement with idle interest, popsicle tucked into one cheek. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Pavel exhaled hard, the bottle still halfway to his lips. “I should’ve thrown it back.”

“You’re not that cruel,” Henry cut in, taking a large bite out of his popsicle. Pavel cringed at the crunch, his own teeth aching at the thought of crushing into something that cold.

Henry peeled off his shirt with a grunt, the fabric sticking stubbornly before coming loose. His skin sheened with sweat, muscles shifting underneath — his figure was solid, but not sharp, the definition softened at the edges by comfort. Pavel didn’t bother hiding the way his eyes tracked him. Neither did Hans.

Henry stretched once before noticing, pulling the abused ice from his mouth with a raised eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” Hans said too quickly, his tongue slipping past his lips to capture a bead of syrup that had dripped onto his knuckles.

Henry grunted softly as he crossed the room, collapsing onto the other end of the couch. The cushions groaned beneath his weight, a familiar creak in the silence. Pavel’s arm slipped effortlessly behind Henry’s shoulders, fingers tracing featherlight circles along the nape of his neck. The touch was gentle — just enough to draw Henry a little closer, mindful to avoid full contact amid the heat.

Hans licked at the remains of his popsicle with excessive care, dragging his tongue slowly along the side, then glancing up just to make sure someone was watching.

Henry was.

Hans grinned, his mouth now fully tinged an artificial blue. “Something you want, Henry?”

Henry’s eyes narrowed slightly, a smirk forming  on his lips. His face was equal parts amused and skeptical, like he was quietly judging Hans’ antics but couldn’t help being entertained. “Not from that thing, no.”

Hans laughed, tipping his head back to rest against Pavel’s knee as he pulled the last piece of ice into his mouth.

“You’ve made a mess on the floor.” Henry quips.

“I am the mess on the floor,” Hans countered, his tongue brushing over his fingers in an attempt to rid them of any lingering stickiness. “I’m sweating my arse off down here you know.”

“Tragic,” Pavel murmured, bringing the bottle to his lips once more.

Hans reached up and over his own shoulder, feeling blindly against the leg of Pavel’s shorts. “You’re cold. That Gatorade is cold. Give it to me.”

“No,” Pavel said, leaning a little heavier into Henry’s side, who sat steady and unbothered beside him. “You’ve had your sugar stick. Suffer in your own way.”

“I am suffering,” Hans whined, though there wasn’t much heat behind it. “Pavel, please.”

“Beg prettier.”

Hans sat up just enough to turn his head towards them, his eyebrows raised at the command. “Excuse me?”

Long fingers wove a determined path through his sweat-damp hair, curling around a handful with ease. Pavel tugged gently, just enough to make him hiss, head tilting back a fraction.

“Begging like that won’t get you anywhere, try again.” Pavel said, his voice soft but firm.

Hans snorted, refusing to angle his head in the direction Pavel desired. “I’m not begging. I’m complaining,” he said, his voice sharp. “There’s a difference.”

Pavel hummed in thought, the pressure against Hans’ scalp persistent. 

“I’m not doing either, actually,” Hans decided, surrendering just enough to meet Pavel’s gaze. “In fact, I’m demanding. ”

From the corner of the couch, Henry watched the exchange unfold with a mix of both affection and exasperation. He didn’t interrupt, letting them spar in their usual rhythm, quietly entertained. 

The grip in Hans’ hair tightened, another pained sound slipping through his teeth at the tension. 

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today.”

Hans’ jaw clenched, a little disappointed that he had already won.

Pavel released him, reaching forward to offer Hans the half-consumed sports drink. Droplets of condensation gathered heavily on the plastic, falling onto Hans’ shoulder in cold little splashes that were absorbed by the fabric of his shirt.

Hans scowled, ripping the drink from the other man’s hand with a quick, sharp motion before turning away to shield the faint flush creeping up his cheeks. 

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Evening settled over the apartment, and with it, some small semblance of relief. The worst of the sun had faded, leaving the sky a bruised lavender, the last of its rays filtering through the blinds. The fan continued its fight against the stillness, and the occasional buzz of a cicada slipped through the cracked-open windows.

The three of them remained in a loose sprawl across the living room, too drained to do much more than exist. Pavel and Hans had traded places at some point. The popsicles were long gone, their sticks discarded in a sticky cluster on the coffee table.

The TV murmured quietly in the corner, its volume low enough to be ignored but not quite silent. Some old movie flickered across the screen, casting ripples of blue and gold over their bare skin. No one was really watching, but the shifting light and colour gave the room a pulse.

Hans lay with his legs stretched across the couch, his head pillowed on Henry’s thighs as fingers absently carded through his hair. Henry glanced down at him, watching his blond lashes flutter in the low light. The soft rise and fall of his now bare chest was accompanied by a faint dusting of pink, his skin still flushed from the lingering warmth of the day. Pavel caught Henry’s eye briefly, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before turning his gaze back to the screen.

Pavel’s fingers brushed the inside of Henry’s knee, barely there. “He’s fallen asleep on you,” He murmured, a quiet fondness to his voice.

Henry glanced down again, brushing a thumb across Hans’ temple. “Can’t really blame him. It’s cooler now, we can actually relax a little.”

Pavel leaned a little closer, resting his forearm on the cushion near Henry’s hip. His eyes traced the curve of scars adorning Hans’ chest briefly, the sweat of the day finally starting to dry.

“Should move him to the bed,” he said, softer this time. “More comfortable.”

Henry adjusted himself beneath Hans, careful not to disturb him too much. “He’ll complain if we wake him.”

“He’ll complain anyway,” Pavel said, already standing and reaching out. 

Henry snorted and slid one arm beneath Hans’ back, the other hooking under his knees. Together, they lifted him, awkward but coordinated — until Henry’s foot caught on the edge of the rug. He stumbled with a muttered curse, jostling Hans hard enough to knock his head against his shoulder.

Hans groaned in protest, eyes squinting open. “You traitors— I was asleep,” He grumbled, voice thick with drowsy irritation.

“You’re being upgraded,” Pavel said, shifting to take most of his weight as Henry got his balance again. “New pillows. Cooler sheets. Fewer crumbs.”

Hans muttered something too garbled to be understood, though the venom was clear enough.

They carried him between them, bumping into one doorframe on the way. Pavel nudged the bedroom door open with his foot, and Henry guided Hans down onto the bed, settling him gently in the middle.

The sheets were rumpled from the morning, but they were cooler as promised. Hans stretched his arms overhead lazily, letting out a long sigh. “Well, now I’m awake… Which is a shame, I was having the most lovely dream about you, Henry.”

Henry gave a low chuckle as he sank onto his stomach beside him, arms folding under his chin. “That so? What was I doing in this dream of yours?” he asked, giving Hans a knowing glance.

Hans rolled his head to the side to look at him, arms still outstretched, blue eyes gleaming in the dim light of the bedroom lamp. “Nothing you haven’t done before,” he drawled. “But your mouth was… exceptionally generous.”

Pavel snorted from the foot of the bed where he was idly fiddling with the strings of his shorts. “Do you ever think about anything else?”

“I was asleep,” Hans said defensively, lifting a brow in Pavel’s direction. “Besides, I blame your corrupting influence.”

Henry glanced toward the end of the bed at the other man, the corner of his mouth twitching. “He might have a point, actually.”

Pavel didn’t answer at first. He shifted up onto the mattress with purpose, crawling forward until he hovered above the blond man before him. His knuckles brushed along the edge of Hans’ jaw, then drifted down the line of his throat before curling around it, firm but not tight.

Hans’ breath caught, eyes slipping closed for a beat at the touch.

“You want us to make it up to you, your lordship?” Pavel asked, voice low, lips twisting into that sideways smirk of his. 

Hans opened his eyes again, pulse flickering just beneath Pavel’s thumb. “I wouldn’t say no.”

Henry moved in next to him, the bed dipping further under their shared weight. His chest pressed warm to Hans’ side, breath steady against the nape of his neck. A thick arm wrapped around Hans’ middle, hand splayed just above the exposed waistband of his boxers, fingers ghosting along the edge of the fabric.

Pavel leaned in until their foreheads nearly touched, his voice dropping even lower. “Ask nicely.”

Hans’ grin widened at that, defiant, eager to continue the game from earlier. “And if I don’t?” He asked. His breath was steady, but the flush blooming bright on his face betrayed him.

Pavel’s thumb pressed a little firmer against Hans’ throat, sending a subtle shudder through him. His voice dropped to a husky whisper, “Then we’ll see how patient you really are.”

Anticipation swelled in Hans' gut.

Henry’s hand slid lower, fingers slipping under the elastic and prompting Hans to tilt his hips up. Together, they eased the clothing down his legs, his shorts and undergarments bunching briefly at his ankles before being tossed aside.

The warm air licked at his exposed thighs, and he hummed against Pavel’s touch as Henry leaned into him again. An open-mouthed kiss was pressed to the junction of his neck just below Pavel’s knuckles, then another to the curve of his shoulder, slowly trailing along his heat-flushed skin as Henry drifted lower on the bed.

Pavel’s hand slipped from his throat to his chest then, fingers dragging lightly across his flesh. He swept his thumb across one nipple, watching it stiffen under his touch, before leaning in to press his mouth to Hans’ skin — exactly where Henry’s lips had been a moment before.

Hans let out a pleased sound, quiet and indulgent as his body relaxed further under the attention. His legs parted without need for coaxing, knees falling open in a lazy sprawl across the sheets, readily welcoming the bulk of Henry settling between them.

For a moment, Pavel just watched — drinking in the sight of Hans laid out bare before him. His chest was solid beneath the growing flush of his skin, twin scars curving along his ribs — old, pale marks that caught the light when he arched. Pavel’s eyes lingered there, having grown familiar with their shape, how they moved when he breathed.

Hans’ lower lip caught between his teeth as he eagerly rocked his hips toward Henry, the slight curve of his waist shimmering in the summer air. It sent a jolt through Pavel, heat pooling low as his cock stirred in response. He stepped closer then, his hands slipping beneath Hans’ arms to guide him toward the edge of the bed; lowering him until his head tilted back, his blond hair spilling over the sides, the curve of his neck vulnerable beneath Pavel’s gaze.

“Stay just like that,” He said, his fingers affectionately brushing over Hans’ cheek in passing. 

Hans hummed at the touch, a soft gasp slipping free a moment later as the rough scratch of Henry’s stubble dragged across the inside of his thigh. The contrast was startling — gentle above, sharp below — and Henry smiled faintly at the reaction, kissing the crease where thigh met hip, letting his breath linger there, warm and damp.

Hans’ shifted on the sheets.

From the way his cunt glistened in the dim light, pink and wet, there was no mistaking the truth behind his earlier claim. Slickness gathered in earnest, far more than Henry had anticipated, threatening to spill over onto the surrounding skin with every movement. Hans was aching for it already — his cock swollen and eager, throbbing in time with his pulse. All Henry could think about was getting his mouth on him.

He had to hold himself back, however. He couldn't give in just yet, not when Hans was already so close to unraveling, not when Pavel clearly meant to stretch this out for as long as they could bear.

He continued to mouth at Hans thigh, gradually inching closer to his center, stopping just shy of where he ached. He licked his own lips impatiently, dragging his fingers through the wetness and parting Hans with a slow sweep of pressure. The movement earned him a soft noise from above.

“Christ, Hans…” Henry breathed, his voice laced with awe. “You’re soaked.”

Hans tried to rut up into the touch, to redirect and catch his mouth where it was wanted most. Henry’s other hand pressed low against his stomach, anchoring him against the mattress, a silent command that held him still even as he trembled beneath it.

Pavel stepped closer now, his shorts discarded somewhere nearby, his cock thickening with arousal, the weight of it swinging lightly as he moved back into view. The sight alone made Hans’ breath catch — the frustrating stillness of Henry between his legs momentarily forgotten as his lips parted expectantly.

Pavel wrapped a hand around himself, stroking just inches from Hans’ flushed face. He remained there for a moment, close enough to taunt just out of reach, letting his presence loom over them. When he finally leaned in, it was only to let the head of his cock drag lightly across Hans’ lower lip, a soft, deliberate tease.

Hans groaned, a low, frustrated sound that vibrated in the back of his throat. He tilted his chin up, seeking him out, but Pavel held steady.

“Patience,” Pavel clicked, his smirk returning.

Meanwhile, Henry’s had run out.

His tongue flicked out in a slow, slick swipe that made Hans jolt as he tasted him. His eyes roamed over the body before him, drinking in the flushed skin, the quickened breaths, the way Hans’ hands clenched the sheets in excitement. He couldn’t see his face anymore, just the curve of his neck as his head rested over the edge of the mattress, his eyes no doubt fixed on the movement of Pavel’s hand.

Henry’s tongue glided over Han’s core at a leisurely pace, savoring every inch of his swollen clit. The taste was strong after the day’s heat, a mix of salt and musk that was so undeniably Hans. It filled his nose and coated his mouth, settling behind his teeth in a way that made him want more. He felt the tickle of short blond hairs against his nostrils as he pressed deeper. The faint trace of whatever soap Hans had used that morning now overtaken by the scent of him. It clung to Henry’s senses with each breath, thick as the day’s heat still lingering in the room. 

His mouth moved with care, each stroke determined to stir rather than overwhelm. He pressed in just firmly enough to feel Hans twitch, every pass designed to keep him suspended just out of reach from true pleasure.

Hans tensed with each soft gasp, fingers curling tighter into the fabric beneath him. Henry didn’t need to see him to know his eyes were already half-lidded, lips parted as he tried to control his breathing. He could feel it in the tension in Hans’ thighs resting on his shoulders, in the tremor of restraint held just barely in check.

A low, desperate sound spilled from Hans as Henry finally latched onto his clit.

Then, with a gentle push, Pavel slipped his cock past Hans’ open lips. The fullness of it made Hans stiffen, his legs flexing instinctively around the sides of Henry’s head. A faint whimper rose in his throat, muffled by the intrusion — calloused fingers traced idle patterns along his thighs, grounding him as he adjusted to it.

He opened wider, his jaw slackening to take more, lips stretching around the thickness of him. Hans’ throat tightened on the first pass and he had to remind himself to breathe. The taste of sweat and salt spread across his tongue, bitter at first, but rich underneath. There was something heady in it, something that made his mouth water. Hans adjusted the angle with a subtle tilt of his neck, swallowing him down until his throat ached.

Above him, Pavel exhaled roughly, his hands sliding up and over the curve of his chest, thumbs pressing lightly into his nipples. “Fuck— look at you,” Pavel muttered, a slight edge to his voice as the feeling of Hans’ mouth washed over him.

He shifted, his cock pressing in even farther as he braced his hands firmly against the blond’s torso, steadying himself. His fingers splayed wide, holding Hans’ body as he began to move — careful at first, testing, then gradually finding a rhythm for himself. Each movement twisted the tension in Hans’ core tighter, caught precariously between Henry’s teasing ministrations and Pavel’s growing momentum.

From his position between Hans’ legs, Henry watched them from under heavy lashes, drawn to the slow, deliberate movements of Pavel’s hips. The sight of Hans, flushed and spread, taking Pavel’s cock so readily in his mouth enticed him to pick up the pace — circling his tongue over Hans’ swollen clit with renewed focus, lapping up every twitch and shiver he pulled from him.

The mingled sounds of Pavel’s low breaths and Hans’ muffled moans sent a thrill through him, though there was a small flicker of envy growing too. A subtle ache in his jaw, longing to feel the girth of Pavel pressing against his lips. He hummed against Han’s clit, drawing him impossibly deeper into his mouth. The weight of him wasn’t comparable, but it was still pleasant — thick, plush, and perfect on his tongue.

He swirled around him once more before releasing him with a soft, wet pop, pulling back just enough to watch his reaction. The sudden loss of stimulation made Hans squirm in frustration, hips rolling in a futile attempt to chase it.

“Easy now,” Henry said, his voice soft, comforting, his face slick with the evidence of Hans’ arousal as he rose to his knees. ”You’ll get what you want soon.”

Hans' response was a desperate whine, muffled by Pavel still thick in his throat.

Pavel's rhythm deepened, his breath hitching as Hans swallowed around him eagerly. One of his hands drifted back up Hans’ chest, fingers settling over the curve of his throat — firm enough to take in the flex and flutter beneath his palm. He could feel the way his cock pressed against the column of Hans’ throat with each roll of his hips. His fingers tightened around it, the sensation addictive. The pulse there was fast, almost frantic, but Hans didn’t flinch.

“God,” he muttered, more to himself than anything, eyes flicking down to where Hans lay beneath him.

He’d held Hans by the neck before of course — fleeting moments, a hand braced possessively at the nape, guiding him down or holding him still while he took him from behind. But never like this. Never with Hans’ throat already full, already strained around the shape of him.  The moment struck him then — not just the pleasure, but the weight of it, the trust woven into every breath and motion between them. Each muffled moan around him, each tremble beneath his hand, the way Hans yielded so completely to him.

“You always take it so well,” Pavel murmured, his thumb brushing the line of Hans’ throat, not expecting a response. Hans’ answer came in a choked sound, somewhere between a moan and a gasp. The muscles of his throat flexed beneath Pavel’s hand.

Henry let Hans’ thighs fall from his shoulders and onto the mattress, his hands lingering for just a moment, smoothing over the warm skin. He leaned back on his heels as he reached for the drawer of the bedside table, wiping the slick from his face with the back of his hand. It slid open with a soft wooden rasp, and he retrieved a familiar bottle from within, its weight cool in his palm.

Pavel’s eyes tracked his movements.

His rhythm stilled, his gaze flicking to meet Henry’s. He eased himself back, gently slipping free of Hans’ mouth with a sigh, his hand brushing along Hans’ jaw in silent praise. Hans blinked up at him in confusion, his eyes glassy, tears pooling at the corners from the effort.

Pavel shifted back onto the bed, sliding in alongside him and pulling Hans up until his spine met the firm line of Pavel’s chest. A quiet sound slipped from Hans’ swollen lips, half-sigh, half-whimper, as he settled easily into the cradle of Pavel’s arms.

“Look at him… finally quiet.” Henry said, amused, the warmth in his voice softening the tease as he finally freed himself from his own shorts.

Pavel’s thumb brushed over Hans’ jaw, angling his head back to meet his gaze. “It’ll be better when he’s begging.”

“I’m not—” Hans started, then gasped as he felt Henry’s fingers, slick and warm, pressed against his hole. His head tipped further back into Pavel’s shoulder, hair sticking to his forehead. “Oh, God.”

“That’s it,” Pavel said, voice dipped in something dark and fond. “Let it happen.”

The fingers had passed directly over his cunt, ignoring it in favour of something else.

Henry knew Hans would unravel too fast if he gave in to the temptation, and that was the opposite of what Pavel wanted. Instead, he let his hand drift lower, past his center to the tight resistance of his ass. It would keep him teetering on the edge — open and filled — yet nowhere near relief.

Hans’ breath hitched, the muscles of his legs shaking as the warmth of Henry’s finger breached him. It was strange, invasive, definitely not his preference — and yet it wasn’t bad. Not exactly. 

Henry’s touch was patient, exploring with gentle, measured movements until the tension began to ease. The stretch of a second finger was far more insistent, the pressure deepening as something flickered low in his groin. His body struggled to make sense of it.

Henry’s voice cut through the strain of it, low and steady. “Breathe, Hans...”

Hans grit his teeth, trying to focus on the command, to relax into it. His chest lifted with a deep, uneven inhale.

Henry moved with purpose now, curling just slightly, brushing somewhere deeper that made Hans jolt. A broken sound slipped from him, surprised and strangled, and Henry stilled, just for a moment.

Hans’ breath stuttered, his hands fisting helplessly in the sheets at his sides. Behind him, Pavel hadn’t moved, his presence a steady weight at Hans’ back. His hands drifted from Hans’ jaw and down his chest, settling low on his stomach. He brushed over the swelling of Hans’ cock, still hard despite the strange sensation of Henry’s fingers.

He stroked it in light, slow movements — enough to offer distraction, not enough to provide relief. Hans let out a moan, rolling his hips forward involuntarily at the touch, driving himself further onto Henry’s knuckles.

Henry took the cue and began to move again with purpose, steadying Hans’ leg as he pressed in a third. Hans’ whole body tensed as the stretch turned from bearable to a dull sting, just for a second. His hips twitched, breath slipping out through his nose in a controlled exhale.

His body clenched tight around the intrusion, but Henry’s other hand was already there, thumb rubbing softly into the top of his thigh, wordless reassurance in the face of what he was asking. 

Pavel leaned in, breath warm against his ear. “Still with us?”

Hans gave a small, shaking nod, jaw clenched, his cunt dripping and empty. He was pulled so tight around Henry’s fingers and yet somehow, the fullness of it was doing almost nothing for him — and they knew it. That was the point. 

Henry’s hands stayed on him, steady as ever, even as Pavel moved behind them. Lean arms hooked beneath Hans’ knees, lifting his legs and spreading them wide, settling him deeper into Pavel’s lap, pushing Henry further inside. The movement left him open, exposed, and Hans’ skin burned with the vulnerability of it.

Pavel’s cock was hot, still wet with his saliva against the small of his back, grounding him even as the anticipation bubbling in his core began to surge. Henry carefully withdrew his fingers, the sudden emptiness making Hans shiver. His hole fluttering at the absence, stretched and twitching, slick with lube and arousal.

Henry didn’t speak. He just reached for the bottle again, working it over himself with slow, practiced motions. The sound of him preparing was loud in the quiet room, accompanied only by his own soft grunts, obscene in what it promised. He stroked himself once, twice, then guided the head of his cock down, lower — pressing it carefully against Hans’ rim.

Hans’ thighs trembled where Pavel held them, and he blinked hard, trying to stay focused on the way Henry’s hand never left his flushed skin.

“Easy,” Henry murmured, leaning in close. “You’re ready.”

And then he pressed inside.

The head slipped past with a slow, thick push — burning, blunt, deep. Hans cried out, his body clamping down instinctively, then gave, trembling hard in Pavel’s grip. The stretch was worse than the fingers, opening him wider, pressing deep into his core. 

Henry stopped halfway, letting Hans adjust, one hand smoothing down his thigh, the other now anchoring his hip. Pavel’s grip didn’t loosen, keeping his legs parted, leaving him nowhere to hide from the growing pressure. 

It wasn’t his first time taking a cock this way, but usually he already had one of them filling his cunt, motivating him through the intrusion, keeping him focused on what felt good as they rubbed against his insides in the most pleasant way. This was different — the heat building in his gut had nowhere to go, nowhere to crest. It just burned, hotter and hotter.

Henry bottomed out with a sigh, his grip firm on Hans’ trembling hips. Hans didn’t know what to make of the feeling. His cunt was untouched and dripping, clenching uselessly around nothing,  completely unsatisfied. The slick of it dripped down and over his skin, mixing with the lube where Henry pushed into him.

“You did it,” Pavel said, his voice distant in Hans' ears. “All the way in.”

Hans whimpered, voice strained. “F-fuck…”

Then — carefully — Henry drew back.

Not far. Just an inch. Just enough to feel the pressure shift, to watch Hans’ lips part in a moan, his lashes fluttering, his arms straining slightly where they gripped Pavel's biceps. He sank back in just as slowly, rolling his hips in a controlled grind, watching the way Hans’ body tensed and loosened around him.

He wanted to touch more of him, to press his mouth to the sweat-damp skin of Hans’ chest, taste the sharp salt where it gathered on his sternum. He settled for brushing his thumb just above the base of Hans swollen clit, feeling the way it twitched beneath his touch, desperate and neglected. 

“You’re doing so well,” Henry murmured, the words barely a breath. “So damn well.”

And Hans let out another keening sound that went straight to Henry’s groin.

Hans could feel the way Henry’s cock almost brushed the sweet spot of his cunt though the walls of his body. It was dull, but it was there — and he tried to pull as much pleasure from it as he could, rolling his hips against Henry in search of a better angle.

From behind, Pavel observed them with something sharp and hungry in his eyes.

He watched the way Henry moved — slow , respectful, but with a quiet sort of focus. The way his brow furrowed in concentration, how his mouth parted with each shallow thrust, the way he watched Hans’ body take him, almost swallow him, like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Pavel’s grip on Hans’ thighs never wavered. He held him open for it, spread wide and pliant, but his eyes were on Henry.

He liked seeing him like this.

Henry wasn’t as loud as Hans, yet his body said everything that Pavel needed to know. The way his hands curled firmly around Hans’ waist, the steady flex of his hips as he began to fuck him deeper — like he meant it, like he needed it.

Pavel leaned forward slightly, lips brushing Hans’ ear.

“Feel him?” he murmured, voice low. “He’s giving it all to you.”

Hans groaned, the sound hoarse, head lolling back against his shoulder once more. Pavel smiled, his lips pulling to the side as he felt Hans’ body start to yield further in his arms.

The head of Pavel’s cock brushed low against him, beneath the stretch already occupied by Henry’s thickness. The press was careful, deliberate, and Hans’ eyes flew open, panic and arousal crashing into each other all at once.

“No— wait— ” he gasped, voice breaking as his hips bucked.

Henry didn’t let go, but he stilled deep inside him, his hands tightening around Hans’s hips. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes when he looked up at Pavel — not doubt, exactly, but something protective and hesitant, like he was weighing the risk, asking without words if this was too much.

Pavel met his gaze with something steadier. “It’s alright,” he said, voice low and reassuring as his teeth grazed Hans’ shoulder. “You can take us.”

Henry exhaled slowly, his grip softening just slightly. And then — the pressure doubled.

Pavel pressed in cautiously, tight alongside Henry, the resistance immense despite the copious amount of lube, slick, and spit that coated them. Hans’ body strained, squeezing, trying to close around what couldn’t be denied. It burned. It seared . And still — he took it. Inch by inch, until both of them were inside, pushing the limit of what he could hold.

Hans sobbed, writhing between them, his arms clambering for the support of Henry’s body, nails dragging across skin. Sweat coated his flesh now more than it had the entire day, his chest heaving, his cunt so wet it was almost humiliating.

“Good,” Pavel growled against his ear. “You’re doing so fucking good.”

They didn’t move.

Hans could barely breathe, completely split open, his body wrapped tight around both of them. Every muscle trembled with the effort of holding on. His jaw clenched, a thin whine slipping past his teeth as his head fell forward against Henry’s shoulder, completely overwhelmed by the fullness of it.

Henry held him close, hands steady on his hips, his own breath shallow with restraint. His eyes searched Hans’s face, his body, waiting for any sign for them to stop. But after a moment he felt it — the subtle way Hans’ arms relaxed around him, the soft exhale that brushed against his throat. Henry’s grip eased, just slightly, his lips brushing Hans’s temple.

He was the first to shift — just the smallest flex of his hips, a testing motion. It sent a wave of sensation rolling through Hans so sharp he gasped, legs twitching in Pavel’s grip. Then Pavel rocked forward in response, subtle and slow, the slightest push that deepened the pressure until Hans could feel them moving against each other inside him.

“Fuck—” Hans choked, his hips twitching helplessly. “I can’t—” 

“You are,” Henry whispered, and leaned forward just enough to mouth under his jaw.

The glide was so tight, almost unbearable. Each of Henry’s shallow thrusts dragged along Pavel’s cock, forcing them to grind against each other. Hans could feel everything; the friction, the press, the tension in his core building again with nowhere to go. It was like being filled past the point of comprehension. It was too much to chase, too much to resist — just sensation, devouring and directionless.

Pavel moved with Henry now, their rhythm unspoken but seamless; a careful, grinding pace that kept Hans trembling and helpless in their hold. One would press in as the other eased back — never giving him relief, never leaving him empty.

Hans whimpered again, his throat dry, lips parted. “Please— God, please— ”

An amused chuckle rumbled in Pavel’s chest as he leaned forward to mouth at the nape of Hans’ neck. “There it is.”

Henry’s laugh was low and breathy, tinged with disbelief, his lips brushing along Hans’ jaw and shoulder. There was still worry in his touch, a hesitance in the way his hands held Hans steady — but beneath it, his own restraint was starting to give way.

“Not yet,” Pavel said, and Hans could swear he heard the smile in it.

They both pushed deeper, together this time — synced and thorough. Hans sobbed, his whole body arching against them, legs trembling in Pavel’s hands, his lungs struggling to catch a proper breath.

His cunt ached — truly ached now — with the need to be touched, filled, claimed. It pulsed helplessly between his legs, soaking every inch of skin between them, ignored and burning with want.

“Please,” he rasped again, voice high and thin. “Please, I need— I can’t—” His hands scratched at Henry’s back. “Please, my cunt, fuck , I need it— I can’t come like this— please—”

Henry shuddered, biting back a groan against Hans’ throat. Pavel only tightened his grip, breath uneven against Hans’ ear. They kept going, that same focused rhythm driving deeper with each shift of their hips, every inch of them filling Hans in a way that still wasn’t right .

The way Hans squeezed around them was almost maddening, slick and stretched, flexing with every thrust like his body still couldn’t believe what was happening. Pavel could feel Henry’s cock moving against his own, both of them surrounded completely by an impossibly tight heat that seemed to pulse around them

“Fuck,” Pavel hissed, head dropping forward until his forehead rested against Hans’ shoulder. “Feel that? Feel him—”

Henry only groaned in answer, his hips grinding forward again, the motion dragging their cocks deliciously against each other. He could barely think past it — barely breathe. His vision blurred as his pleasure climbed higher, the drag, the pressure, the sound of Hans growing louder with each movement, completely helpless between them — it was too much.

“Gonna—” Henry gasped, voice cracking as his hips stuttered.

“S’okay,” Pavel growled, his own thrusts growing more erratic. “Let go.”

Henry’s fingers dug into Hans’ hips, blunt nails leaving faint marks in the soft skin. With a final thrust, he spilled inside him, his cock pulsing deep within the grip of Hans’ body. The rush pulled a rough groan from his throat as he trembled and stilled, pressed flush against them as the last waves of pleasure shuddered through him.

The feeling of it — the added warmth of Henry’s release, the twitch of his cock — tipped Pavel straight over the edge.

With a sharp inhale and a low, guttural growl, he came too, grinding hard against Henry’s length, pressing them both deeper into the heat. His arms locked tight around Hans’ legs, keeping him pulled open as he spilled alongside Henry, the both of them completely buried to the hilt.

They stayed there for a breathless moment, bodies locked and trembling.

Over Hans’ shoulder, their eyes met, half-lidded and glassy. Pavel reached out, curling a hand around the back of Henry’s head to pull him into a kiss. It was messy, breathless, almost possessive. Henry let it happen with a soft sound in the back of his throat, one hand still planted firmly on Hans’ hip. 

The air between them was suffocating once more — thick with sweat, come, and the heady stench of sex rather than summer. Pavel could feel the thick spill of it seeping out around them, dripping heavy down Hans’ thighs.

Hans whimpered — soft and broken— his body limp between them, somehow completely spent and still aching.

Henry’s hand found him without hesitation, steadily stroking over his clit— no teasing, no pause. Hans gasped, his whole body jolting at the direct stimulation.

It hit fast. 

He cried out, his back arching hard as his orgasm finally tore through him — sudden, overwhelming, and violent. His body clenched down hard, muscles flexing almost painfully, his hole still stretched wide, still full of them.

Henry didn’t stop his hand until the spasms faded, guiding him through the waves. Hans sagged between them, wrecked and panting, the tension finally freed from his limbs. There was nothing left but the warmth of satisfaction and the steady thrum of their breath around him. Pavel held him close, arms firm beneath his thighs, mouth brushing the side of his face in praise.

When it passed, they finally let him breathe.

Henry was the first to move, his grip soft as he drew back. Hans shivered as the thick drag of his cock was pulled free. Pavel followed shortly after, leaving him raw and sore in his wake. Hans’ body twitched at the loss, a mess of lube and come following after them, sticky and slow. 

The pressure had finally eased, though the heat of them still lingered everywhere. Pavel let Hans settle back into his lap, one hand sliding up to cradle his chest, holding him close as if to soothe the sudden absence.

Henry leaned in close, brushing damp hair from Hans’ temple, his brow furrowed with quiet concern. “Are you alright?” he asked softly, voice barely above a whisper. 

“You’re shaking,” he murmured again, not quite hiding the guilt in his voice. “Was it too much?”

Hans gave the smallest shake of his head, eyes still unfocused but soft, his lips parting as if to reassure him — though no words came out.  He nuzzled into Henry’s touch, his skin warm and flushed.

Henry swallowed hard, pressing a kiss to the edge of his brow. “You did good, Birdie.”

Pavel didn’t speak, he kept Hans drawn close against his chest, hands tightening in quiet agreement. 

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

The sun had finally gone down.

The pleasant warmth of the aftermath had come and gone, replaced with the lingering density of the summer day. Hans had managed a shower with Henry’s help, grumbling the whole time, the humidity clinging to his skin long after he stepped out. Pavel had tried to salvage the sheets, but eventually gave up, tossing a towel over the worst stains before stealing the last cold drink from the fridge.

Now they lay scattered across the bed, the heat still looming over them, slowly cooling as the night air drifted in from the open window. They were too warm to curl together, but close enough to feel the steady rise and fall of each other’s breath.

Hans lay on his back, his body still tender and damp, his wet hair fanning over the pillow. Henry was beside him, turned on his side, one thick arm thrown loosely across Hans’ stomach. Pavel stretched out on the opposite edge, a hand resting near Hans’ shoulder, his knuckles occasionally brushing over skin, their bodies cautiously toeing the line between affection and suffocation.

“This is torture,” Hans muttered, eyes closed, his voice slurred with sleep.

No one answered right away. Outside, a car rolled by in the distance, its tires whirring over the asphalt.

Hans shifted again. “I can still feel it,” he mumbled, not quite a complaint, more like a truth he didn’t know what to do with.

Pavel gave a soft laugh. “You should.”

Henry’s fingers flexed lightly against his stomach, his voice low and tired. “Sleep, Hans.”

“I’m trying,” Hans murmured. “But it’s too fucking hot.”

“Then don’t think about it,” Pavel said, already halfway to unconsciousness.

Hans huffed quietly, but didn’t speak again.

The night held steady around them, long shadows stretching across the room in silence. No one reached for anyone. In the quiet, with their breathing slowed and the weight of the day finally worn off, comfort found its way between them.

Notes:

hangorious modern au has me in such a chokehold — i set out to write smut and instead i wrote 2k worth of domesticity
at least the couch wasn't the victim this time

thanks for reading pookies, i love you MWAH

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Tangled Together