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The problem was that by the time Henry fought his way through the grogginess of whatever mistake he had made last night or possibly very early this morning, he was already rock hard. None of the blood in his body was flowing to his brain, which probably slowed the whole “waking up” process down, and that was a real problem because in addition to being fully erect and incredibly horny, he was stripped of his armor, gagged, and had both his hands and feet bound.
For a moment he rather optimistically thought, well, maybe he’d done this on purpose. Except there was the fact that rather relevantly to the very pleasingly distracting situation with his currently unyankable pizzle, Hans was lying on top of him somewhat haphazardly, equally bound, gagged, stripped, but not yet conscious. And similarly relevant but somewhat less pleasing, they were both lying on the floor of a covered wagon traversing exceptionally bumpy ground.
That didn’t seem like some fun scenario a bath wench dreamt up even if the outcome was, well. Good. Really good.
When whoever did this to them did this to them, they dumped Hans on him face down. Hans’s head was up above Henry’s shoulder, beyond where he could see. Henry’s face was lodged a bit closer to Hans’s armpit than he would like. More importantly, Hans’s knee had just happened to find itself between Henry’s legs, placed just so that each time the cart bounced—and since he woke up, the cart had never paused in its bouncing over whatever miserable country road they were on—his thigh rubbed against Henry’s throbbing cock, and as Henry tried to breathe—through his nose since his mouth was gagged—all he got was the smell of Hans, his fancy soaps and his musk from a night spent drinking and dicing, and that wasn’t helping at all. Or it was helping, depending on how he looked at it.
No, not helping, because this was bad. Really bad. Because… they needed to escape, probably. No, definitely. Yeah.
And Hans was still asleep somehow, and Henry was awake, he was fairly certain—though he wouldn’t mind if this turned out to be a dream, actually, a really good dream for once, but he couldn’t exactly use his bound hands to pinch himself and find out—so it was on him to get them escaped. Somehow.
The first thing to do, then, would be to move Hans off of him. He didn’t have his hands free so he’d have to just shimmy him away except… he really didn’t want to do that. He liked having Hans exactly where he was. It wasn’t just the unpredictable yet unceasing friction against his groin—though that was the main thing, really—but his weight, his smell, his everything. He’d wanted Hans this close for some time—he’d wanted Hans—and now someone had delivered him to him. Why shouldn’t he just forget the rest and enjoy this?
But no. He wasn’t some mindless animal in rut; he wasn’t going to rub himself on his friend and lord’s unconscious body. That would be wrong. Probably. No matter how good it felt. Even if the cart was doing most of the rubbing.
He had to move him.
Shifting his hips just a little brought a jolt of pleasure that had him choking on the gag. He instinctually pulled back, but that wouldn’t help, so he tentatively tried again, bucking his hips to try to push Hans away, and somehow only managing to work Hans’s leg deeper between his own. Hans’s feet were bound like his, and now their legs were wedged together, the rope of Hans’s ankles digging into Henry’s bare shin.
Fuck.
He tried to focus on the discomfort of the ropes, but it was no good. Now, not only was the cart fucking Hans for him, every slight movement he could make with his own body only resulted in him rubbing up against him.
So maybe he should just leave him. He wasn’t technically doing anything wrong, enjoying this. He wasn’t doing anything. The cart was doing all the work. And he didn’t place Hans that way. He didn’t choose this. If he had tried to move him and got off on that, then he would be doing something wrong probably. Better to do nothing at all. He bit down on his gag and focused all his willpower on not bucking his hips and fucking Hans’s leg like a dog.
No. He was thinking with the wrong head. Escape. They had to escape. He had to save Hans, not fuck him.
Maybe if he just came, them he could solve the rest of his problems. Maybe the cart would just get it done for him. It had already gotten him most of the way, and the road was just teasing him now. One good, downhill stretch bumpy enough to break an axle would do the trick, and then Henry would at last be able to think about something other than Hans between his legs.
Fuck. He caught himself moving just a little, slight rocks of his hips. It would be for Hans’s own good if Henry got off on him, and he wouldn’t even have to know. Henry could get it done, and then get them out of here.
He inhaled deeply again, and he had to stop doing that, because he’d never considered before just how good Hans smelled, and now he’d never forget it. He smelled like a man. Underneath the noble perfumes and constantly-washed, clean skin, he was a man, an incredibly attractive and frustrating and annoying and good-smelling man—
Hans moved.
Henry went absolutely still, or as still as he could manage in this god-forsaken cart, which meant his body was still bumping up against Hans, still sending jolts of unasked-for pleasure throughout Henry, driving him stupid and mad, but Hans moved again. He was waking up, and there was not a single way for Henry to hide or shrink what Hans had once called his “pride and joy.”
He could pretend to be asleep. Things just happened when you were asleep, things that maybe he didn’t need to be blamed for, and Hans could think whatever he wanted about that. Henry would be asleep, and then… and then they’d never escape this cart, or Hans would escape without him, or…
Hans shifted again, and now Henry could feel him pressing against his hip, just as hard as Henry, and the last thread of rationality in his mind broke. Hans was hard. Hans was awake and moving and each bump of the cart was a bump against Hans and he was hard.
Henry shifted to rub his hip against Hans’s cock, and Hans jerked, but not away from Henry. Henry even waited a moment before trying again, just to make sure, just the cart jostling them for a beat, keeping up that friction in Henry’s groin, friction that Hans was now alert enough to take away if he wanted, and then he moved again.
This time he heard Hans’s exhalation through his nose, a small noise in the back of his throat. He didn’t move away. He moved closer. He rocked his hips against Henry.
Right, so they would come first. It just made sense. Come first, figure out how to escape the best prison of Henry’s life second. Or not. He didn’t really care about that part anymore.
Hans groaned in the back of his throat, and the one alarm bell Henry had left starting ringing. He pulled away from Hans, his head freed now, and looked toward the front of the cart to see if their captors heard them. He didn’t any movement up there, but then Hans pressed his leg harder between Henry’s thighs, and Henry decided didn’t really care if they killed him so long as they let him come first.
He rutted against Hans’s leg with abandon, pressing his nose against Hans’s neck and inhaled deeply. Hans angled his face to try to meet Henry’s. He thought Hans was trying to kiss him, and he eagerly joined him in that doomed effort, their noses pressing against each other, but their gagged mouths not really getting the job done. God, Henry wanted to taste him, his tongue pressing into the miserable fabric jammed in his mouth.
Hans, apparently had the same idea, though it took Henry a stupidly long time to understand it. He dug his chin into Henry’s cheek so sharply it hurt, but then—he was pushing down, pushing on the gag, Henry opening his mouth as wide as he could to help him, and bit by bit he got it just enough where Henry could spit the thing out.
He panted for moment, stretching out his mouth and enjoying his freedom, and Hans looked at him with wide, wild eyes, nodding. My turn, he was demanding, and Henry used his teeth to pull the gag away.
The moment he was free, Hans’s lips crushed his. His tongue, too, and they both had dry mouths but he didn’t care. He’d been worried for a moment Hans would turn his attention to escaping, but getting his mouth free only led him to ride Henry harder.
Without the gag in his mouth, Henry had to remind himself to be quiet. It was not easy. The cart stuttered over a particularly rough patch and they both groaned into each other’s mouths. It was definitely loud enough for their captors to hear, but not even that thought was enough to pull Henry away from Hans’s lips. He’d hear some exclamation of, “what the fuck?” and really, would they be in a bigger quagmire than they already were?
No exclamation came, and the thought thudded away under the press of Hans’s leg. He was close. He was so close. He’d been so close for so long. A few more thrusts against Hans’s leg and one exceptionally well-timed bump in the road, and Henry was coming in his braies. He bit down on Hans’s collarbone to stop himself from moaning. By the time he blinked the stars out of his eyes, Hans had stopped moving, too.
“My hands,” Hans hissed in his ear. “Use your teeth.”
Henry would have gladly bitten Hans anywhere he liked, but when Hans finally got himself turned around to offer his hands to Henry, it occurred to him he meant the rope. Henry bit at it inexpertly, but thankfully their captors didn’t use any particularly tricky or fancy knots, and though it rubbed his lips rawer than Hans’s stubble, Henry got his hands loose, though not before pressing a kiss to Hans’s palm.
Hans quickly sat up to untie his feet, then climbed on Henry to get his hands free. “We’ll jump off together,” he whispered in Henry’s ear, “When we see a thick copse to hide in. We’ll have to lose them in the forest.”
Henry got his feet untied and glanced fruitlessly around the cart for his armor or weapons, but their would-be kidnappers were smart enough to not keep them with them.
He considered creeping to the front and seeing if he could find anything sharp to quickly end them with, but Hans grabbed his hand. If they hadn’t been heard humping each other back here, them silently hopping out the back probably wouldn’t noticed, either. Probably.
“Now,” Hans hissed, squeezing Henry’s hand hard. They jumped out and despite having been bound for hours, they both managed to stay upright on the landing before sprinting for the trees. Henry strained his ears to listen for pursuers, but none came. Odd, that. He would have expected some of the crew of whoever captured them to have been riding alongside the wagon. But maybe their captor was alone. He really had no idea. He wasn’t sure if he had heard hoofbeats coming from the sides. He really hadn’t paid any attention.
After a few moments of silence, the two of them peered out from behind a bush and watched as the solitary cart rumbled onward until it was out of sight.
Hans straightened up. “What the fuck was all of that about?” he demanded.
Henry, unable to stop himself from staring at Hans’s naked chest and overly aware that his braies were still wet with his spend, didn’t know how to answer what had overcome him. “Oh, umm.”
Hans glanced at Henry, then raked his eyes over him until they landed on the offending wetness. “Not that,” he hissed. “Them. Who the fuck were those guys?” Hans’s voice was doing that high pitched thing of when he was really miffed. “I think they drugged us.”
“I have no idea,” Henry muttered. He rubbed his head. He wasn’t sure if he’d been drugged. The whole thing felt very… odd. Dreamlike. He still had no notion of how they ended up in that cart, and he had no idea where they were going, either. Or where they were now.
He looked down at his naked body again. They took all his armor. That was nice armor. He felt like he should be angry about this, though he wasn’t. He was really more interested in the red mark blooming on Hans’s collarbone where Henry had bitten him earlier. Maybe it would turn purple.
“Should we go after them?” Henry asked.
“With what?” Hans asked, hands stretched out. “Nothing but our cocks?”
Henry flushed. Sure, it was meant as an insult to his intelligence, and yeah, chasing after whoever they were would have been a stupid idea, but just hearing Hans say that word when he had just—when they had just—it wasn’t exactly on purpose, but it wasn’t not on purpose and fuck, he would do it again right now in these woods if Hans asked or even looked at him directly. He would love nothing more than for Hans to get his cock out.
Out of the corner of his eye, Henry glanced at Hans just in case. Hans was looking at him directly, his own cheeks flushed and flushing harder as Henry kept his gaze on him.
Henry swallowed.
It wasn’t like they could make their situation worse at this moment.
“Fuck it,” Henry said, taking two steps forward and then his lips were on Hans’s again.