Work Text:
“Try to keep up, peasant, you can’t lose again!” Hans barks out in a laughter over the wind rushing past his ears. His blood was pumping; his gaze dead set on their finish line of trees with the need to win was thrumming through his skin.
Henry replies back with a gruff noise that Hans cannot hear over the thundering gallop of hooves on leaves and dirt.
They had been racing more and more often these days, with the threat of adventure off yonder. Nearly every day Hans would find something to compete in: Horse racing, archery, sword duel, even an uphill sprint. Hans told himself it was to keep his spirits high and skills keen. Inside, it was this NEED to have Henry look impressed for once. Properly. It was as if Henry had gotten used to Hans winning all the time, and would say silly things like “as expected, my lord,” and “no one could beat you, my lord,” as if that was what Hans wanted to hear. And of course, Hans would just laugh, agree and brush it off, maybe put in a jab at Henry’s inadequacy while he’s at it.
It made Hans’ blood boil.
Aethon races forwards, meters in front of Pebbles, and Hans’ grip on the reigns tightens because he knows how this race will turn out. Despite that, he spurs his ride on, determinedly not looking behind him, because not only might that cost him the race, but he might also find out that even like this, his squire might not be looking at him.
And predictably, Aethon crosses the two old birch trees before Henry even has a chance to turn the bend over the lake.
“You won again, Hans, brilliant as always.” Henry’s voice comes up from behind, simple and straightforward, as Hans slows down so he can dismount Aethon, and then Hans turns on his heel to his squire.
“You didn’t even try, Henry.” He tries not to spit, tries to make it seem lighter than he feels as Henry dismounts his own steed. Hans scoffs and steps up to Henry and grabs him by one shoulder, turning Henry to face him.
“Sorry, M’lord, I really did-“ Henry starts with the apologies, then the praise about how much better Hans is, all in that accent that made Hans’ mouth twitch.
“I want a challenge, Henry!”
“I understand that, Hans, but if you want that, you should go find someone who specialises in horse-riding.”
“Surely a Lord doesn’t have to go scouring the whole of Bohemia to be able to have some healthy competition.” Hans turns away, folding his arms, evidently pouting, yet keeping an eye on Henry.
There’s a sigh from Henry. “Well, Hans, unless you miraculously get worse or I become a horse-riding champion overnight, I don’t think I’m going to win any time soon.”
And it continued like that. Hans going through the recycled selection of sports to compete in, only for him to win, only for him to get angry, only for Henry to praise him, only for him to try again and again and again.
It wasn’t even that he wanted Henry to win, he just wanted Henry to see more than just the fact that Hans won. Hans didn’t even know where the feeling came from. It couldn’t be jealousy, it wasn’t pettiness. He felt as if he was constantly being evaded or ignored by his squire despite Henry being right there! It made Hans itch and want to punch something. And worst of all, it made him think.
Lying in bed after another unsatisfying competition was where he came up with the most brilliant plan.
“Oh my dear Henry” Hans sings as he descends the steps of the Devil’s Den two at a time.
“Yes, Hans?”
Hans takes a moment to look his squire up and down, posing as critical. He always thought Henry cleaned up well; his usually unkempt hair brushed and recently trimmed, his face absent of blood or muck made his blue eyes so much clearer, and, depending on what he wore, Hans would even say Henry was handsome.
Today Henry was wearing cloth fit for a noble, even if it was a little tight around the chest. It made Hans stutter.
He cleared his throat. “Guess what time it is?”
“Well, if the past 5 days are anything to go off of, it’s Hans-defeats-Henry-in-anything-and-everything time?”
“No, Henry,” He tuts, “I’ve got a different game to play today. Still a competition, obviously, but less competitive.” Henry tilts his head in curiosity as Hans continues. “The task will be this: who can acquire the other the better thing!” Hans declares proud.
Henry blinks then laughs. “What?”
“Don’t laugh, you yokel! It’ll be fun. And don’t worry about the price as here-“ He pushes a bag of groschen into Henry’s hands “-This will be our budget. We have 5 days to get each other something. And, to make it more fun, whoever gets the other the better thing will get not only bragging rights, but free drinks!”
Hans finishes debuting his idea, putting his hands on his hips as if he just said the most wonderous speech. Henry, just looks amused, while a little exasperated at the prospect of the whole idea.
“And we can’t just compete as normal because…?”
“Because I’m bored! I need something new, Henry. I can’t keep winning in feats of strength or agility. This will be so much more unique as well.”
“Right… and, how will we determine who got the ‘better gift’?”
“Oh don’t worry, blacksmith’s boy, we’ll be able to tell”
“Right.”
“Then let’s not waste any more time, yes?”
6 hours into the competition, Hans realised how naïve he had been. Getting something for Henry wasn’t difficult per say, as he could truly just buy Henry whatever newest thing was in fashion amongst peasants or blacksmiths like the finest silk, or the strongest sword, but nothing seemed right! None of those things seemed like they would make Henry look at Hans. He searched through Kuttenburg’s stalls over and over, till his ears got numb with the noise and his eyes glazed over from the same looking trinkets and doo-lallys. Hans needed something extravagant, but simple, impressive, but not too much. Something Henry would love. And that thought drove Hans insane.
He kept imagining it. The moment he would give Henry the-whatever-it-will-be. Henry will gape at the item, and then at Hans, his face will flush like it does whenever Henry gets embarrassed or caught off guard, and Henry will stumble over his words. Hans will push the item into Henry’s hands, and Henry will look at him. Finally look at Hans. Just the sheer amount of ‘perfect’ the item will be will make Henry look. Hans would jest and call Henry a name, and Henry would try and give the gift back, pushing it back into Hans’ hands and then Hans will insist, grabbing Henry’s wrists, and then it would finish with them together in the b-
Hans wakes up with a start on the second day. Sweaty and hot. His legs tangled up in the thin sheet, half his body splayed off the mattress. And… a problem. In his braies.
He stares in the darkness across the room and at the empty bed that belongs to his friend who was currently god-knows where. Friend. F. R. I. E. N. D. Not only did he wake up hard from a dream of his friend, but of his MALE friend. He didn’t know what felt like the heavier sin.
Sure, Henry was handsome. There was no denying it, the man could have any woman in the country if he so wanted. And that tight feeling in Hans’ chest whenever Henry was talking to some girl, or when Henry went off to the baths was because HANS wanted to have the girl, or wanted to go to the baths really very badly. Hans LOVED baths! Even if that feeling was the same feeling every time Henry wouldn’t look properly at Hans after every competition. Every driving force that pushed Hans to get Henry to look at him was out of the need to impress his squire, out of Lordly duty – to show that he’s capable. The whole reason he was doing this gift-competition was because he just was bored. He wanted some fun.
That’s all.
Hans rubs his face with both hands, groaning, and comes up with his two options:
1. Fall back asleep with a hard-on (Very difficult to impossible)
2. Deal with the problem (morally questionable)
Hans reasoned that as long as he didn’t picture his squire while doing the deed, it would be ok.
The second day was much the same as the first. Hans went to every shop he could find across the Kuttenburg region, but nothing screamed Henry. No matter. He still had 3 days to find something. But the day was already waning and Hans felt like if he was so amazing like Henry often said, he would have been able to find something worthy of the squire already.
The third day, Hans tried to make something instead of buying it. He thought this was a wonderful idea. How hard could blacksmithing be anyway? He can picture the moment Henry gets a gorgeous divine ethereal sword made by Hans himself. What better way to get Henry to look at him?
Turned out that blacksmithing was a lot harder than he thought. He kept burning the metal (and himself) and finding the right swing without missing the blade was harder than he’d like to admit. He had never put in so much manual labour and didn’t even process how it would look for a noble like him to be swinging away at the anvil until some peasants barked at him in laughter, Hans’ face flushing red hot like the coals in the forge.
Ashamed and aching, Hans abandoned the forge.
So maybe blacksmithing wasn’t his artistic speciality, so what? There are other art forms and still half the day. So, Hans attempted drawing. He’d capture Henry’s essence in a page for all to- bin! Bin! Bin! He cannot embarrass Henry with these vile attempts at his likeness! Painting turned out much the same, only with a lot more mess, and Hans getting more and more frustrated. Hans could write, so he could write Henry a lovely poem! He sat at a desk for over 2 hours, scratching away with a quill, but for some reason every verse he put onto the page seemed like it was written for some dewy-eyed village girl that Hans was trying to woo. All “The blue of your eyes gives me the strength to conquer dragons. Your kindness is beyond anything I could fathom.” Completely NOT for Henry. So he gave up poetry.
He could always carve something, but Hans had already whittled several little things for Henry, and it just felt slightly like a cop-out.
Hans finished the day without anything to prove how much effort he put in. Nothing was good enough for him, let alone for his squire. He felt the frustration creep up his aching limbs as he felt like he had failed. A handmade gift would have been so lovely, and would have definitely made Henry look at him. Failure ate away at him while he slept, with the pressure of the deadline clawing at him.
“How’s the search going, Hans?” Henry’s head raises from his book when Hans enters their shared room the morning of the fourth day of their competition.
“Wonderfully! I’ve got your gift already!” Hans strolls in as he pushes as much confidence into his words as possible. Liar. “And don’t bother asking what it is, you’ll find out soon enough.”
“Impressive, Hans. I’ve been struggling a bit to find something, but I think I’ve narrowed it down. I’ve been going all over to find-“
“Oh shut up, Henry, don’t spoil the fun.” Hans interrupts him, saying something about keeping the discussion to a minimum, when really Hans was getting flustered that Henry was putting so much into the silly game that he had organised. He didn’t think Henry would take it seriously for some reason.
“We should keep the explanation for when we reveal the items, don’t you think?”
Henry closed his book and put it to the side. “I suppose, yeah, we should.”
With that, Henry started explaining some adventure he went on a few days prior. Hans just listened, leaning back on his bed and closing his eyes, making hums when needed. Trying to take a moment away from the fact he hadn’t at all gotten Henry’s gift yet.
Listening to Henry’s voice, Hans started thinking back to just how much thought Henry was putting into this whole gift competition idea. Hans opens one eye and looks at Henry.
He looks at Henry.
And Hans realises that the tight feeling in his chest whenever Henry talked to a woman or went to the baths – the same feeling Hans got when Henry wouldn’t pay attention to Hans in the way Hans wanted, and the feeling that Hans wouldn’t find a good enough gift for this man- was not jealousy or pettiness or anger or anything like that. It was something far stronger and more dangerous. Hans bolted upright suddenly midway through one of Henry’s tales of defeating Cumans.
“Hans? Everything alright? Surely this story isn’t that compelling?” Henry teases.
Hans feels his face flush bright red, feels his words die on his tongue and his hands feeling out of place. “I just…remembered something” He says non-committedly, and exits to the balcony, through the loft, down the stairs and out to the open, leaving Henry confused at his sudden departure.
Holding his chest tightly, he held on to one of the rotting beams of the building.
Love was something maidens felt, something old wives giggled about and something between a man and a woman. It was something fanciful and far too hopeful. And definitely NOT something that happens between a noble and his squire. Hans’ heart was pounding, his blood was running hot, his words weren’t working, his limbs felt weak all at the thought of Henry, and all of those things were symptoms of either a fever or love, and Hans was pretty sure he wasn’t sick.
Henry was his SQUIRE! Not some noble girl he could sweep off her feet. He had seriously thought that those feelings were just a need to prove himself in front of Henry, nothing more! But with his mind in turmoil at the thought of those blue eyes, he realised that he didn’t want just want Henry to be impressed, but to look at Hans the way Hans looked at Henry. Which now Hans is realising is longing. He longed for Henry. And the more he entertained that thought, the more powerful it grew. He couldn’t help where his mind went; straight to the gutter. He imagined Henry bare and flushed and imagined the sounds that Hans could rip out of him when they touched, the soft groans while Hans would bite his skin.
If Hans was red before, he was a tomato now.
He of course had heard of men who lay with men, and they were sinners. In the Devil’s Den, about half the jokes were about sodomites. But surely to lay and to love were different? And if he and Henry WERE to lay together then it would be with love. And how could the Lord expect Hans NOT to start to feel these sinful thoughts about his squire when they were always in such close proximity? If he were a woman then it would be second nature to fall for Henry. And, maybe, maybe if no-one knew about the love Hans felt for his squire, maybe the Lord also would not know? Hans desperately held on to any source of rational thinking he could, else he falls into a chasm he wouldn’t be able to crawl out of.
He took nearly 15 minutes against that beam, probably looking insane just standing there clutching at his chest, which still threatened to burst.
He looked up at the room where Henry was now. What did Henry think of sodomy? What a stupid question with an obvious answer, Hans berated himself for even entertaining the idea. He could just outright ask Henry, command to know his position on the matter! That was an even stupider idea.
And only when looking up, in the midst of having his mini crisis, did Hans remember the due date of the competition. The weight of the unchosen gift, now combined with the fact that Hans was dealing with some complicated feelings did nothing to ease the avalanche. Instead, he realised how much more important this gift was now. His face bloomed with red once more as he realised that his whole acknowledgment of his feelings was caused by him wanting Henry to look at him. And Hans was even more determined now to get Henry to look at him.
He had spent the first half of the day coming to terms with his feelings, as he did not want to waste time that he did not have. The rest of the day, he came up with the most wonderful gift he could.
The dawn of the fifth day, Hans entered the Devil’s Den with the biggest grin plastered on his face he could muster without showing how nervous he was. He hadn’t seen Henry since the morning before, and didn’t know how his nerves would react to the man, so he opted to use his bravado as a shield.
Henry was talking to Kubyenka on one of the tables, with the latter gesticulating dramatically, clearly telling some sort of riveting tale. But Henry’s attention immediately moved to Hans as he approached, looking at the blond with expectation in his eyes.
“AND THEN I KILLED THE BASTARD!” Kubyenka shouted, laughed, and despite it being 8am on a Tuesday, chugged down one whole beer, spilling the liquid down his chin. “Ah, that’s the stuff. Really gets you ready for the day. Oh, look who we have here, Sir Hans Capon himself! You want in on the story, huh?”
“Sorry, Kubyenka,” Hans laughs, “Maybe another time, but I need to speak to my squire.”
“Whaaat?! But we were in the middle of-“ Henry puts his hand on Kubyenka’s shoulder as he stands, letting the drunkard know that that was that.
“Maybe another time, Kubyenka, but the whims of my lord are the priority, else I get an earful.”
Kubyenka grumbles and shoves Henry playfully towards Hans. “I’m not letting you off that easily next time.” He threatens while trying to get the last drop from his drink.
Hans shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and heads upstairs, knowing that Henry will follow.
Being alone with Henry felt so much more suffocating than what Hans remembered, even from the previous day. Hans is sweating, trying to keep his cool, all while telling himself over and over ‘I’m Hans Capon of Pirkstein for fuck’s sake, I’ve got the confidence of God on my side.’ But seeing Henry here, and being in such proximity with him was sending all kinds of thoughts through his poor brain.
“So, Hans, competition’s over. Do you want to reveal your gift first?”
“No, no of course not Henry, don’t be daft. Save the best for last, yes?”
“Already assuming your gift is the best? Pretty confident of you, even for you Sir Hans” The title rolls sarcastically off Henry’s tongue, making Hans clear his throat as Henry continues. “I do have to say, this one was more difficult than our usual physical competitions. A lot more thinking and mulling over whether it would be suitable for you, Hans.”
There Henry goes again, telling Hans about how much effort he put into the gift.
“Well, stop faffing about and show me what you got already! Keeping your Lord waiting, pah!” It’s easier for Hans to hide behind his shield when his cheeks threatened to flare up.
Henry nods and turns to his chest by his bed, digging around.
Hans becomes itchy. His skin starts burning. Just the idea that Henry has gotten him something, the fact that he spent 5 days thinking about Hans made him feel lightheaded, even if this whole competition was Hans’ idea in the first place. Henry had never looked at, let alone thought about Hans for that long during one of their competitions, Hans told himself. And Henry would always give praise that felt empty, undeserved.
Henry turned around holding something in both arms wrapped in a long cloth. It was long and thin, and Hans felt amused and a little foolish to say that he should have predicted that Henry would make him a sword.
Hans slowly takes the item by what he can safely determine is the hilt and unwraps the blade. What’s underneath is truly beautiful. Masterfully crafted with a dedication that Hans knows Henry put into every swing. And after trying smithing himself for a few hours, Hans has a new appreciation for the art. He examines closer. The pommel is engraved with “Sir Hans Capon, Lord of Pirkstein and best friend of Henry of Skalitz.” Just that extra little detail makes Hans feel warm. He looks up at Henry from the sword, but henry is digging in the chest again.
“I sort of got you a handful of other things, Hans.”
Hans blinks, face flushing as he realises that he didn’t even have enough time to thank Henry for the sword before the lad was taking out gift after gift after gift.
Not only a handcrafted sword, but a dedicated sheath that Henry seems to have also made, a new riding cloak that – what a surprise – Henry had learnt to embroider, a collection of whittling tools with personalised engravings, and a beautifully bound book combined with a quill.
Hans gapes. He’s usually not speechless, especially in front of Henry, but each gift is not only practical but also personally dedicated towards Hans himself, let alone most hand-made. How could one man know how to do so many things, and so well as well!? Hans could not help the stammer, the stutter, the gobsmacked expression on his face as he considered and compared what he had to offer to his squire.
“Henry…”
“I knew you wouldn’t do with something ordinary or purely ornamental, so I made sure each had a purpose. And now, any time you use one of these items you can remember me. Even if we’re far away, whether you’re protecting yourself” he gestures to the sword, “or just enjoying some free time” now to the whittling tools, “I can be there with you. In a sense, anyway. I hope I didn’t overdo it… I suppose I went against the rules, as you did say “item” singular, not plural. So would you consider me disqualified?”
In the time Henry was explaining himself, Hans still had his mouth agape like a fish.
“Henry. Thank you. This is- I don’t even have the words.”
“It’s your turn now, Hans. Don’t keep your squire waiting!” Henry beams warmly, with just enough tease to slap Hans out of his stupor.
Oh shit. It’s his turn. Hans’ heart starts absolutely pounding, beating faster and faster, hammering on his ribcage and ringing deeper than the toll of the gallows. Not to mention the utter anxiety that spikes through his spine as he processes and compares how many simply amazing gifts Henry got, and what Hans was about to give. In comparison, it was utterly foolish for Hans to think he could win this. Not to mention everything else that was on the line with what he would open and bare to Henry. His own bravado, cockiness, overconfidence once again would be his downfall, but for he had nothing else to present, he had to commit.
“Close your eyes, Hal.” His throat felt drier than a desert plane.
“What? You didn’t close your eyes when I gave you my gift”
“Just close your eyes!” Hans’ nerves started to get the better of him; his words cut through harshly, and Henry frowned, nodded and closed his eyes.
Before he could think too hard, Hans gave Henry the gift.
Hans’ lips press softly, hesitantly and for only half a second to Henry’s.
In that half second, the world was far too quiet and far too loud. Hans could hear everything and nothing, his head was deafeningly quiet and his heart was deathly loud.
And Henry pulled back, eyes wide.
Henry was looking at Hans.
But not with longing.
No.
Henry looked at Hans as if he had seen a ghost, as if hell had frozen over, as if Hans was a criminal and Henry had just witnessed Hans murder in cold blood.
Reality came unforgivingly crashing down like an ice bath onto Hans’ body as he realised what he had done. Not only had he thought that kissing his squire was a charming and welcome idea, but that it would suffice as a gift, especially in comparison to the several invaluable irreplaceable items Henry just gave him. He was a fool. He was a mentally sick, sinful fool.
So Hans fled.
He bolted down the stairs even when he would have rather jumped off the window and broken all his bones. He fled past a drunken Kubyenka who was calling after him, “Capon! Back to listen to the tale, eh?” He was so in his own mind that he didn’t even see that he knocked over the Dry Devil, who cursed him, ironic as it is.
All Hans could do was run. He needed to leave, find a church, pray for forgiveness, beg the Lord himself, forget Henry, forget the stupid gifts and his bold assumptions. He took Aethon faster than he ever has, spurring the beast on. Faster and faster, past river and trees and hills, all while pathetic tears welled up in his eyes.
Before he could even process the sound over the ringing in his ears, the sound of hoofbeats catching up behind him was too close.
“HANS”
And Hans risked the look behind him. Henry was catching up on Pebbles, closing the distance that Hans so desperately had created between them. He had never seen Henry ride so fast, not in any of their races. And Henry was looking at him. Right at Hans as if Hans’ soul were the two old birch trees past the bend.
He regretted looking back almost instantly, praying that Aethon outruns Pebbles like every other time, that he could lose Henry like every other time.
Of course, it is this time that Henry wins one of their competitions.
Pebbles took to the offroad, gaining speed after an elegant leap over a rock, overtaking Aethon and completely blocking the way. It wasn’t Aethon’s fault that he got scared, throwing Hans off the horse and onto the dirt path underneath.
“What the fuck do you think you’re running away from!?”
Hans had only ever heard Henry use that tone once. And that was towards Istvan Toth, and when he heard it then, he promised to never be on the receiving end of that barrage.
“You can’t expect to just do something like that and just leave without talking about it!”
Hans tried to reply, but he was still recovering from the fall off horseback which pushed the breath out of his lungs, but Henry took this silence as complacency, and he leans over Hans, grabs him by the scruff of his collar and leans in.
“Talk. Now.”
Hans finally has control over his breathing again, but now it wasn’t his physical self that was struggling to form words, it was that the words themselves couldn’t form in his mind.
“I-“ He started, looking down at the ground in shame. “You should just pretend it never happened.” He tried to laugh, put some ‘Hans’ back into the words, but the laugh came out self-deprecating and pathetic.
“I won’t forget it; now talk. I won’t leave you alone about this till you give me some kind of explanation. And don’t you dare claim it was a joke.”
Hans bristles at the demand his squire makes of him, but can’t bring himself to use his position in this moment, so tries his best to make sense of the mess his mind is in.
“I’ve…been having thoughts.” His voice comes out quiet and low and broken. “about you, Henry. Every time we’re together, I just wanted you to look at me. All of those competitions, you never look! It always felt like you were ignoring me, which I know you weren’t, but no matter what I did, how impressive I was, how skilled, how many times I won, it felt like you weren’t seeing me properly! So, I kept trying over and over and over again.” While starting the words were difficult, they now tumbled out of him messily and too fast, while his face burnt and his eyes blurred.
“All I wanted was your attention. And then yesterday when I ran out of our room it was because you were thinking about me! You were giving me attention! And I finally realised that after all this time these feelings were of- of” He stammered on the word. “Of a love for you! Because what else could it be!? And then this whole gift-competition thing was so stupid! I struggled so damn hard to find something that you might like that I ended up deluding myself that a kiss from Hans Capon would be worthy of you! And I’ve gone and ruined it. I ruined everything. I’m a sinner and a horrible, horrible human being, and an even worse friend. I will make my way to the gallows and you will never have to be disgusted at my presence again.”
After it all came out, Hans felt dried up, wringed out and left bare. He didn’t dare look into Henry’s eyes. He felt that maybe he had been a tad bit dramatic at the end, but it was truly how he felt.
Then there was a hand on his cheek and gentle blue looking into his own.
“Hans.”
Hans braced himself for admonishment of the worst kind.
“You’re an idiot.”
Hans blinked. “Huh?”
“Come on, let’s get back to the Den, or at least to a camp. We can cook something.
“H-huh?”
Henry helped Hans up, who was more than a little confused, and a bit wary that he didn’t get verbally stoned to death or shamed or even comforted. Instead, they walk along the dirt path, leading their horses by their reigns in silence between them.
Henry leads Hans off the path slightly, where there’s a small camp behind some thicker shrubbery.
In the time that it took to get to the camp, tie off their horses and start a fire, Hans had come to the conclusion that Henry hated him and was just being nice about it. They were going to sit down, eat some stew, and then Henry would rip the bandaid. Maybe they could still be friends after this? Or was that hoping too much? Perhaps Henry was just being polite because he knew that regardless of his hatred towards Hans, he would still have to serve as his squire. Maybe Henry would kindly suggest they never see each other again. That thought stabbed through his heart so painfully he thought he might lurch. The only thing Hans knew for certain was that Henry hated him.
Mid-spiral, Henry hands Hans a bowl of stew. It’s not bad looking for an impromptu stew, but Hans could not stomach it even if he tried. He stirs it round and looks deep into the depths of the stew, and it does nothing to comfort him, especially as he can feel Henry’s stares.
“This place is cute, isn’t it?”
Ah, so that’s how their relationship will be now. They won’t talk about it, just go through the motions of polite conversation and pretend the kiss never happened.
“s’pose” was all Hans could offer to the small talk. Hans hated small talk. But it’s better than no-talk.
“I found this place when riding from Grund. Helps clear my head. And it’s secluded, so no-one can see what I get up to.”
Hans makes some non-committal noise of agreement, not really listening. Instead mourning the loss of easy conversation and back-and-forth banter.
“Even in broad daylight, people can’t see behind the bushes.”
Another non-committal noise escapes Hans’ mouth. He puts his bowl down. No use pretending he’s hungry. No use pretending he’s interested in the conversation either, and so he lets himself start imagining he was someone else. Someone who thought before acting impulsively.
“Hey. Did you hear me?”
Hans blinked out of his daydream, looking to Henry, who was now seated right next to Hans on the wooden log. Close. Too close.
“Pardon?”
“I said, no one would see if two men kissed behind these bushes.”
What?
Huh?
What?
“Huh-?“
Henry’s mouth was on his, and electricity sparked Hans to life like a shock through his body. Hans didn’t even know what to do, his mind blanked out while Henry started moving his mouth, started pulling Hans closer, started- Hans pulls off Henry this time.
“Why are you kissing me?!”
Henry is shocked at the sudden outburst “What do you mean ‘why am I kissing you?” because YOU kissed me earlier!”
“You pulled away that time!” Hans’ voice reaches an octave he didn’t know he could achieve, shrill and confused.
“Because I was shocked, ok!? That didn’t mean I didn’t like it!
“You- You liked it?”
“Of course I liked it, you ass! Why do you think I brought you into a camp surrounded by woods and kissed you again?” Henry rubbed his face taking a deep breath.
“I thought you hated me!”
“I don’t hate you, quite the opposite in fact.”
“You never said anything.” Hans gaped.
“Neither did you.”
“You should tell your Lord things.”
“You should tell your squire things.”
“You never looked at me.”
“Well forgive me for not having hearts in my eyes every time we rode on horseback.”
“You- oh for fuck’s sake!”
Hans was at his limit, frustrated, elated, his brain was a mess, but Henry said he liked the kiss, Henry had said he liked Hans, so Hans pulls Henry into a rough, messy, needy, desperate, perfect kiss. Their teeth clash, their noses squash against each other’s but it is divine. Hans feels that electricity in his bones thrum all the way from his head to his toes. His heart is beating out of his chest, and as he pulls Henry closer to kiss more, he feels Henry’s heart beating against his own.
He loses air and pulls away to gasp and take in everything, and to look at Henry. And Henry is looking back. Not with hearts in his eyes, but with that same look Henry would give Hans after every competition, after every duel. Maybe Henry hadn’t been ignoring Hans whenever he’d win. Maybe Henry had always been looking at Hans, but Hans just didn’t know what the signs were. Maybe Hans is bad at reading Henry’s emotions. Because now, that exact same look, it looks like hunger. And a shiver runs down Hans’ spine.
“How long?” Hans pulls Henry back into a much softer, slower kiss than before as he lets Henry think about the words.
“Bit hard to pinpoint exactly when, but definitely before we headed to Trosky” Henry says, struggling to speak while his lips are occupied. “And you?”
“No fucking clue. It just transpired.”
Henry laughs against Hans’ lips, and Hans uses this opportunity to push his tongue into Henry’s mouth. The noise Henry sighs out makes Hans’ blood flow south. Hans pushes himself close to Henry, adjusting their position to try and get more comfortable. Turns out that’s very hard on a bumpy, uneven wooden log, and Hans’ hand slips from his support, and Hans and Henry nearly fall backwards.
“Sakra!” Hans curses while Henry laughs.
“I didn’t say the place was practical.”
Hans looks around, and points to the bedding under the tent.
Henry’s face flushes, his teeth bite at his bottom lip and he moves to sit on the bedding, looking up at Hans.
“Hopefully we don’t slip and fall here,” Hans crawls on top of Henry, pushing him to lie down gently, boxing the blacksmith between his arms and legs.
Henry looks up, nervously, at Hans who is just absolutely flummoxed at the sight of the man underneath him.
“You’re so cute.” Hans lets slip, and Henry’s face goes pinker
“M’ a lot of things, but I didn’t think ‘cute’ was one of them,” Henry mumbles, turning his head away.
“Look at me.”
Henry moves his eyes slowly back to Hans, looking at him.
“Yeah, like that. Don’t stop looking at me. I have to know this is real.”
Hans brings his hand to cup Henry’s cheek, feeling the stubble there, caressing the skin. He then leans down and starts kissing Henry’s face; his nose, his cheeks his chin, his forehead. It’s all disgustingly sweet, and makes Henry shiver.
“Those gifts you gave me,” He says between kisses, “I love them. Every one of them.”
“Even the book? I swore you would tell me that I was calling you illiterate.”
Hans attacks with a bite to Henry’s neck, which is rewarded with a gasp and a slight push.
“Hans!”
“Even the book.” He keeps attacking Henry’s neck, the first bite causing Hans to grow hungry with each gasp and groan that follows. Henry’s neck is soon peppered with red blotches and teeth marks, and the noises started leering more towards whines and whimpers.
“I’m gonna look a mess!” Henry pulls on Hans’ hair.
“You’re always a mess: you’re a peasant.” Hans starts undoing the ties to Henry’s tunic, and when they’re open, looks down at the blacksmith.
It was a sight to behold. Flushed from his face down to his chest, with red bitten lips and a pout on his face, Henry was lying there so perfectly for Hans. He was even panting slightly, and if all those facts combined didn’t show how aroused the squire was, the firmness straining in his trousers was a dead give-away.
“Holy…”
“Shut up”
“You look so good, Henry. I knew the village maidens easily fell at your feet, but this is just beyond that.”
“Shut up!”
“You look ripe and just about ready to-“
“HANS!” Henry’s hands were covering his face, but could not hide how even his ears were red now. Hans nudges Henry’s hands away, wanting to see his squire’s face as another whine escapes him. Hans can only grin, but takes pity on the poor thing, and runs his hand down the hairy chest in front of him, which results in another soft noise. The noises were truly the best part, Hans concluded.
“I’ll make you feel good, Hal. I promise.”
With that promise out in the open, Hans leans down and starts kissing and sucking at Henry’s pecs, giving direct attention to the hardened left nipple. Hans found that when he nibbled, Henry would buck against Hans’ thigh, as if trying to get some semblance of release.
“P-please… Hans”
Hans kept going at the nipple.
“Hans!”
Hans moved on to the right one, in which Henry released a moan while biting into his fist.
“F-f-fuuu-“
Hans slowed, and looked right at Henry, dead in the blue. It was a delicious sight. He couldn’t help but drag his fingernails down Henry’s body, down his navel and then cup the bulge in his trousers.
“Please.” Henry looked at Hans, begging with his eyes.
“Alright, Hal.” Hans hums. Hans himself was egregiously aroused and hard, his own erection painfully obvious. He did want to focus entirely on Henry, but he was growing impatient, so he lined his own bulge with Henry’s and pushed, grinding down.
Both Hans and Henry moan.
He grinds down again, looking dead into Henry’s eyes.
“Look at me, Hal” Hans starts to form a rhythm, rubbing their clothed cocks together, listening to each breath and noise from Henry, who seems to be struggling to keep his eyes open.
Growing into a desperate rutting, Hans leans down and starts to kiss Henry. It’s sloppy, wet and filled with moans. And it starts to get too much, the need to have his skin against Henry’s was too strong. He parts for a second, which leaves Henry whining, gripping the material underneath him as he rips off his own trousers and braies, then scrambles to do the same to Henry, who very helpfully lifts his hips to let it all come off. And as soon as they were both bare, Hans pushes their cocks against each other’s holding them in one hand as he sits on top of Henry.
“You better not make me beg” Henry’s voice was rough from moaning so much.
“Don’t worry, not this time.” Hans starts stroking them together, and moves his hips at the same time, all while giving complete eye contact to Henry. Who seemed to get flustered and overwhelmed by not only the sensations but the intensity of the moment.
It once again started slow, but very quickly grew desperate and rough and harsh, with Hans trying his hardest to hold on, while it seemed that Henry was equally trying not to come first. They pant into each other’s mouths, swallowing each other’s breaths, making a silent bet on who would win this competition.
Henry’s moans grew higher and louder and Hans smirked as he had an inkling that Henry was close. But he himself was barely holding on, trying to endure and win, despite how good Henry felt against him, despite how badly he wanted to come. He was on the brink of collapse, when Henry started quaking and moaning underneath him, painting his own chest white and gripping Hans’ forearm so tightly. Watching Henry come led to Han’s own climax.
Hans collapses to the side of Henry, not wanting to make more of a mess than they already did. He buries his nose into his squire’s hair and takes in what just happened, before smiling softly.
“I won.”
“As expected, My Lord.” Henry says after a moment, and looks at Hans. The same look after every competition they ever had.