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It had been some very stressful days for John.
First of all, he was pretty sure he was going actually insane cooped down here in the basement. He hadn’t felt sun or rain on his skin in over a month, hadn’t seen any natural light in over a month and, more importantly, hadn’t had more space to move than his humble abode.
Secondly, he knew something was going on outside, knew that with every passing day the dice were closer to being cast, but he couldn’t do anything about it.
Thanks to Goatskin, he knew a little bit of what was going on inside the city, but frankly, that man was an idiot. Sigismund could have taken another castle, and John would be none the wiser.
He knew he had to do something soon. But that meant sending Samuel back out and…
Well. Thirdly, Samuel was driving him insane. Most days John felt like his own mind was trying to pull him apart.
On the one hand, he wanted to see Samuel, wanted to talk to him, wanted to sit close, wanted wanted wanted like he had never before in his life.
On the other hand, on some days, even just talking to the other man made him feel like his skin was too small for his body. Some days, every smile, every quip, and every laugh was enough to make him feel light-headed and unsteady on his feet.
Frankly, it was ridiculous. It was embarrassing, it was exciting, it was exhausting, it made him want to scream, and it made him question every action around the other man, every word he said.
Hell, he even had to give up on drinking, afraid he might embarrass himself like he had done two weeks ago when he had asked Samuel to dance. And he had really underestimated how much the wine had taken the edge off of his confinement.
Not to mention that there had been significantly fewer distractions the past two weeks.
Samuel’s visits had grown more rare and shorter, and while John knew it wasn’t because the other man had grown weary of him but rather because of his increased workload, he couldn’t help the way it pulled at his heart.
Ridiculous. This kind of… yearning was not only embarrassing but also entirely uncalled for.
He wondered if this was how people usually felt around others. If this was how his page had felt around that one servant back in Mikulov.
Was this how people felt when they propositioned him? Somehow, he seriously doubted that.
How did people cope?!
“Sir John,” a voice interrupted his brooding, and he physically jumped.
“Christ almighty! …. praised be his name. You startled me, Sherlin.”
She put a plate with a bagel, some cheese and an apple on the table, a frown on her face.
“Are you sure you are alright, Sir?”
John sighed, his stomach churning uncomfortably at the sight of the food. He didn’t really have an appetite. But Samuel and his friends were kind enough to share—he really shouldn’t waste it.
“Yes, I was just thinking.”
She nodded at the letter in his hands.
“Bad news?”
John glanced down at the parchment – he had already forgotten what he had been doing.
He wished it were bad news. That would at least mean any news. The letter was from one of his acquaintances from Hungary, and it was over three weeks old.
He had considered sending a letter to his contact to see if anything happened but worried that if something had happened, a letter would only worsen the situation.
Also, why did everyone here immediately assume everything was bad news?
He gave Sherlin a smile and put the letter down.
“No, not to worry. I am just waiting on a reply from someone.”
She didn’t look convinced but nodded. She glanced over her shoulder up the stairs, pursed her lips, and then looked back at John.
“I ought to get back. But if there is anything I can do, please let me know.”
John smiled again, and it felt more natural, settling more comfortably on his face.
“Thank you, Sherlin. That is very kind of you.”
She nodded again, her green eyes filled with sympathy. Then she curtsied and walked up again, leaving John alone in the stuffy basement.
He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Maybe he would write a letter to his contact. It would at least keep him busy.
He got through exactly one line before he threw his quill down. This was ridiculous. There had to be a better use of his time than writing a letter he would never send anyway.
He grabbed the apple from the plate and started walking up and down the length of the basement.
There had to be something he could do.
He supposed he could write another letter to Jobst, but that seemed as futile as sending one to his contact in Hungary felt stupid. The margrave hadn’t replied to any of his letters so far, and it wasn’t like John knew anything new that he could tell him.
His gaze fell onto the chest at the wall where he kept all his papers, letters, and notes. He could always go through them again. Make sure he hadn’t missed anything.
It definitely beat just sitting down here.
With two bites he finished his apple and put the core back on the plate before he moved the entire plate and the pitcher with flowers to the cupboard next to the bed. Then he pulled out all the papers from the chest, spreading them over the table. This ought to keep his mind occupied at least.
It did indeed keep John’s mind occupied. While, both to his pride and his disappointment, there wasn’t anything he had missed, he found a better system to organise the parchments, notes, and letters.
With strings, he started sewing connecting information together. Sometimes, he took additional notes on the map of Kuttenberg and the region.
It kept him so occupied that he didn’t even notice the time passing until Samuel strolled down the steps to the basement, wine pitcher in one hand, a plate with pancakes in the other.
“Ah, Samuel,” John called with a smile. His heart did a little jump at the sight of the other man, and he valiantly ignored it.
Samuel, for his part, stared first at the absolute mess of papers and string on the table, then at John.
“Oy vey.”
He shook his head, put the plate and the pitcher down on the bench and left without another word.
John’s smile faltered.
Had he done something to upset the other man? He couldn’t really think of anything. Had he maybe been too short with Sherlin that morning? Or maybe Samuel was just busy this evening?
Before his mind could spiral any further, though, Samuel returned with two additional pitchers in his hands.
“You,” he said as he put the pitchers down next to the plate on the bench, “need to relax. We are getting you drunk this evening.”
John’s stomach twisted, on the one hand with relief that Samuel wasn’t upset, on the other hand with anxiety.
Getting drunk around the other man sounded like the worst possible thing to do at the moment.
Samuel, ignorant of John’s inner turmoil, stared down at the table with a frown, hands on his hips.
“We are going to need to clean this up.”
“Ah,” John interjected, “I am kind of in the middle of something.”
Samuel shot him a glare, glanced down at the table again, and sighed.
“Alright. Come on, we will sit on the floor.”
He picked up the pitchers, balancing two in one hand, and walked over to the bed.
At John’s confused expression, he shot him another glare.
“Come on, you are not getting out of this. I even got the good wine. Get some cups and the plate. And the dice board.”
He settled down on the ground, putting the pitchers next to him, and leaned back against the bed frame.
When John still didn’t move, he raised a perfunctory eyebrow, and John hurriedly got up.
Alright, he could do this.
He had plenty of experience in fooling others; maintaining this charade in front of Samuel shouldn’t pose too much of a problem. He’d just drink a bit of wine to ease Samuel’s mind.
He sat down next to the other man, leaving just enough space they weren’t touching.
Leaving too much space would be suspicious, he argued in his mind. The fact that Samuel was a warm presence in the cold basement had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Samuel handed him a cup, and John took a small sip only to take a larger one a second later.
It really was the good wine; rich and flavourful, with just a hint of acidity, and fruity in the finish.
“You have been holding out on me,” he told Samuel, and the other man laughed, taking one of the pancakes.
He handed it to John before taking a second one for himself. They were greasy, staining John’s fingers, but they were still warm, and it was only then that he noticed he hadn’t eaten anything besides an apple since breakfast.
“Come on, drink. I need you at least a little bit drunk to cheat at dice.”
That startled a laugh out of John, almost making him choke on the food. He pushed at Samuel’s shoulder, coughing, and washed down the rest with another drink of wine.
“I don’t think you are supposed to tell your opponent that you are going to cheat.”
“Luckily, I have other skills to fall back on.”
The grin Samuel gave him was warm, and John could feel himself relax. Maybe the wine actually helped. He had been so nervous around Samuel the past few days, but the wine took the edge off.
John drained the rest of his cup and pulled the dice board in between them.
“Alright, show me your skills then.”
They played a few rounds, chatting about the Jewish Quarter and Samuel’s friends as they did. In between, John took small sips of wine. He reckoned that as long as he didn’t drink more than two or three cups, he should be fine.
And it was a rather good vintage.
“Mame and I went to visit Jacob and Miriam yesterday,” Samuel told John as he rolled his dice.
Two threes, one five, a six, and a one, John counted quickly before Samuel could even touch them. So far he had lost three out of their five matches, and he wasn’t planning on losing any more.
“And Bilah, their daughter,” Samuel continued, not moving to count his dice yet.
John took another sip of his wine.
“She is lovely, really, a beautiful child – she has Miriam’s eyes and hair; her only flaw is that she has Jacob’s nose – but she can scream.”
John laughed, leaning back against the bed.
“Jacob’s nose isn’t that bad. It fits his face.”
The bridge of his nose was a bit wider than usual, but it worked well with the rest of his face - complemented his eyebrows and eyes.
Samuel gave him a look.
“It does not fit a baby’s face.”
John grinned, acquiescing.
“How old did you say she is? Two?”
Samuel nodded morosely and started counting his dice.
Two fives and a one. He rolled the dice again. John stared at the three dice he had put to the side. Hadn’t there been only one five? He couldn’t quite remember.
“Almost two years. She was born the winter before last.”
John looked up from the dice and took another sip of wine. It had started to taste more spicy, a more refreshing note to it.
“Maybe she is teething.”
Samuel shot him an incredulous look at that.
“Babies start teething at 6 months.”
John laughed again, the whole thing feeling more and more ridiculous.
“I apologise, I admit I don’t know much about children.”
“I thought you have a little brother.”
“Ah yes, dear Henry. But when he was born, I was already old enough to have other duties, like sword training or Latin.”
He took another sip of wine and let it linger on his tongue before swallowing. There was definitely a note of ginger to it that hadn’t been there before.
“To nobility, children only become relevant once they can talk. Until then, someone else takes care of them.”
Samuel sighed and rolled his eyes.
“You nobles and your nursemaids. Maybe some of you would be less insufferable if they had been hugged more as a child. Come on, it is your turn.”
John raised his cup at that before throwing his dice. He certainly knew a few nobles who would have profited from more hugs as children.
Samuel took the cup from him and refilled it.
Three fours, a one, a six, and a two.
John grinned and put the three fours and the one to the side before rolling again.
Samuel whistled, and John laughed, pushing another two ones to the side before collecting all his dice and rolling again.
“Mazel Tov.”
“Why do I feel like you are making fun of me?”
“Because I am still winning,” Samuel replied with a smirk while John gathered another two ones and a five before passing.
Truth be told, he couldn’t say much to that. Despite his insistence he wasn’t going to lose another match, he had lost track of their scores two turns ago.
He leaned back against the bed, cup in hand, and watched Samuel roll his dice.
“So, what about Jacob and his daughter?”
“Nothing. I was just impressed by how loud such a small creature can be.”
John smiled and drank from his cup.
“Do you and your mother visit them a lot?”
Samuel sighed and also leaned back against the bed, dice forgotten. John could feel the heat radiating from his shoulder, close enough by now that they were almost touching.
“Not as often as I should. Mame visits more often. She helps with Bilah sometimes when Miriam needs some time for herself.”
“Your mother is very impressive,” John replied wistfully. “It seems like the whole quarter relies on her. And she is always so kind.”
Samuel snorted and leaned in conspiratorially, his shoulder pressing into John’s in the process.
“Trust me, she is very scary when she is angry. You are just lucky you have not incurred her wrath yet. And that you have not seen her play dice,” he added almost like an afterthought.
“She plays dice?!”
“Oh yes, last week she basically robbed Joel Meir blind. I don’t know why he keeps coming back. His wife will have his hind someday.”
John laughed, excitement bubbling in his chest.
“Oh, I have to play against her.”
“Trust me, you do not. She will eat you up.”
“Please,” John scoffed, “I’d say I have enough practice playing against you to at least stand a chance.”
“You do not. She will distract you with stories, and you won’t even notice you are losing until you are down to your braies. Who do you think I learnt playing dice from?”
“She taught you?”
Samuel shifted his weight, turning slightly towards John.
“When I was still a yung kind, she would use dice to make me do chores I did not want to do.”
“Elaborate?”
Samuel drained his cup and put it back down to turn completely towards John, resting his weight on the arm that was leaning against the bed.
“I used to hate washing the dishes, so every time I refused to do the chores, mame offered to play for them. If I won, I would not have to do them, and if she won, I had to do both the washing up and swipe the floors. Of course, she always won.”
John could imagine it clearly. A younger Samuel, sitting in front of Sara, eagerly rolling his dice, only to grumpily swipe the floors afterwards.
The thought sent him into a fit of giggles for some reason.
“Lady Sara, a dice shark, I can’t believe it.”
“You better do. She will rob you blind, and you have a lot more to rob than Joel Meir.”
He raised his cup.
“I will drink to that.”
The look Samuel gave him could only be described as fond, and John’s stomach tingled pleasantly. His how manyth cup was this? Samuel had only refilled it once, so it should be his second one.
“Here, eat your pancakes,” he told John and handed him the plate. John picked it up, and Samuel put the plate back down to refill his own cup again.
The pancake had cooled down by now, but it wasn’t any less greasy. There had been a cloth to wipe his hands, but he had forgotten it at the table and didn’t feel like getting up, so John opted for licking the grease off his fingers.
“You know, Sam,” he told the other man, “you are very kind to me.”
Samuel’s cheeks and ears were tinted red, John noticed, not without some smugness.
Good to know he could still drink him under the table.
“What do you mean?” Samuel asked, voice gruff.
“This. You really didn’t have to do all this just because I have been feeling a little bit down. Anyone else would just have left me to my own devices.”
He leaned his head against the mattress, and Samuel snorted.
“I feel leaving you to your own devices is the most dangerous thing anyone can do. Also, Sherlin was worried sick about you.”
John sighed, his limbs feeling pleasantly heavy, like his muscles were incapable of feeling stress.
“I did tell her I am fine. Are you done with your turn, by the way?”
“Believe it or not, Sherlin is smarter than she looks.”
Samuel picked up his dice and rolled them again. John had the sneaking suspicion that he had actually been done with his turn, but he also didn’t care enough to point it out.
“And she looks plenty smart.”
“I will drink to that,” Samuel mimicked him and raised his cup.
John followed suit and drank, the wine warming his limbs even more, easing the tension in his shoulders.
Dimly, he was aware that he should probably stop drinking. The wine had already started to soften the edges of his mind, making his thoughts pleasantly fuzzy and malleable.
Either his tolerance for alcohol had seriously taken a hit by his abstinence in the past weeks, or Samuel had sneakily refilled his cup while he hadn’t been looking.
Somehow, he suspected it wasn’t the former.
Although, maybe he should have eaten at least a bit before drinking.
But the truth was that he hadn’t felt this relaxed in weeks, even before he had his revelation about Samuel.
Sigismund and the war felt like a distant memory, irrelevant for the present. The wine was good, there was a slight flush to Samuel’s cheeks, and John felt pleasantly warm. Even the floor was comfortable.
“Your turn,” Samuel told him and leaned back against the bed, their shoulders brushing.
John didn’t move besides turning his head towards the other man.
“Be honest, are you cheating?”
Samuel’s grin was a little lopsided, a sure-fire indicator that he had also drunk more than usual.
“I do not think I am supposed to tell you that.”
He wasn’t slurring, but the wine had softened the edges of his voice.
John giggled and tilted his head further, eyes getting stuck on the corners of Samuel’s mouth.
His lips were stained red by wine.
He licked his suddenly dry lips and managed to get out an only slightly slurred “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
When he managed to drag his eyes up to Samuel’s again, he saw Samuel wasn’t looking. His eyes were fixed lower, and he wasn’t grinning anymore, his lips slightly parted.
Want coiled tightly in John’s stomach.
Hm. Dangerous.
He noticed how close they were, both of them having leaned in the course of the conversation, but the cautious part of his brain had been sufficiently numbed by now.
Samuel’s eyes finally dragged up, meeting John’s. The candlelight was drawing shapes into them, making them look darker, deeper than usual.
John couldn’t look away.
“If you keep looking at me like that,” Samuel whispered, voice raspy and low. John glanced down at his lips, wanting to see how they formed around the words.
“I am going to do something we will both regret.”
John dragged his eyes back to Samuel’s, wine making his mind both sluggish and providing an unknown clarity.
“Who says I’d regret it?”
A suffocated groan was the only warning he got before Samuel surged forward, crashing his mouth into John's. A sound got stuck between his throat and mouth as their teeth clicked against each other.
He supposed it probably wasn't the best kiss, more desperation than anything else, but it was perfect.
Samuel's mouth tasted like wine, and John's heart soared when he felt Samuel's hand run through his hair, pushing off his cap. He dragged his hand from Samuel's cheek, where it had somehow ended up, to his neck, dragging him impossibly closer.
Samuel went without any resistance, his hand falling from John's hair to his waist, and John gasped into his mouth. Somewhere behind Samuel there was a sound of metal hitting the floor.
Samuel's mouth left his, and John whined, tried to pull him back, but Samuel was insistent. He pressed his lips to John's neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses as he wandered as far down as John's collar allowed.
John let his head fall back, hitting the edge of the bed.
"Fuck."
Samuel hummed appreciatively, hands tugging at the buttons of John's pourpoint. John reached down to help him, but Samuel chose that moment to bite down, and John made a noise he hadn't known he was capable of making.
Samuel kissed the place softly, almost like an apology, then wandered lower, apparently having managed to get at least the first few buttons undone.
John dragged him back up by his nape and nipped at his lower lip as punishment. A needy, low sound escaped Samuel as he deepened the kiss. His lips were soft, pliant, and John wasn’t sure if that was also because of the wine or something else entirely.
He could feel Samuel’s hands wander lower as he opened the rest of the pourpoint’s buttons. A second later, the heavy garment was pushed off his shoulders and discarded somewhere to the side. Samuel wasted no time, pushing his hands under the tunic John wore under the fine silks, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
John scraped his scattered mind together long enough to loosen the ties of Samuel’s gambeson, breaking the kiss to get a particularly stubborn knot open. Samuel helped him get the gambeson off before diving in again with a bruising kiss, pushing him back against the wooden frame of the bed.
Right. The bed.
John pulled insistently at Samuel’s tunic, and he leaned back, looking at him questioningly. His hair was mussed, his pupils blown, lips swollen red and his tunic half off his shoulder from John's pulling.
God, what a vision.
"Bed," John managed to get out before he forgot what he had been thinking. He nodded his head back, and Samuel seemed to have understood.
He hauled John up by the front of his tunic and kissed him when they were on their feet, like he couldn’t help himself.
John shoved his hands under Samuel's tunic, running them up his back and taking the fabric with him on the way. His skin was warm and smooth, save for a few ridges on his shoulder. He ran his fingers across them, over the shoulder blades, forgetting why they had gotten up in the first place for a moment.
Samuel pressed in closer, and John tried to take a step back to regain his balance, but the back of his calf caught on the edge of the bed, and he more fell than anything else onto the mattress, taking Samuel with him.
Samuel umphed as he landed heavily on John, barely managing to catch himself on an elbow and his knee, only inches away from kneeing John in the groin.
John couldn't help himself; he laughed, something dangerously close to elation making his heart sing.
Samuel looked disgruntled, but his face softened after a moment, and he leaned in to kiss John again, softer this time. His endeavour was slightly hindered by the fact that John was still giggling, grinning against his mouth, but Samuel was nothing if not persistent.
After a moment he deepened the kiss, shifting his weight as he did, and oh.
His thigh was now pressing against John's groin, the most delicious pressure.
John groaned into his mouth, laughter forgotten, and Samuel pressed in even closer.
He rolled his hips experimentally, and John gasped, throwing his head back with a broken moan. Samuel used the chance to leave a trail of wet kisses over his cheek to his throat, biting down at his neck. It hurt, but the pain was dulled by heady pleasure.
Samuel's hand sneaked around his thigh, guiding his leg around his waist. John followed suit without much thought, mind stuck on the pressure bearing down on him and the pull in his stomach.
Samuel ground his hips down again, more forcefully this time, and John subconsciously tightened his leg around his waist, back arching.
Whatever position Samuel had repositioned them in, it seemed to work. Another roll of his hips, and he moaned into John's neck. John could feel the muscles in his back working as he moved his hips, fingertips pressed hard into his skin.
"Sam," John gasped, and Samuel pulled him into another kiss, the rest of whatever John had wanted to say forgotten between the movement of heavy lips and wet gasps.
At the back of his mind, he was aware that they were wearing too many clothes. Samuel's tunic was hanging off loosely from one shoulder, and John's had somehow ridden up, exposing his stomach.
The fabric of his hose felt oppressive, but at the same time the pressure of Samuel's rolling hips was delicious, leaving John's mind in a haze and unable to string together more than one thought.
He let one hand run down Samuel's back, following the knobs of his spine down to his hips and then his ass. He tightened his grip, trying to pull Samuel closer, and the other man's hips stuttered as he moaned into John's mouth.
"Off," he muttered, and it took John a moment to understand the word. The hand not on John's thigh was running over his stomach, leaving a trail of heat in its path and pushing his tunic up, and oh, so that was how it had ridden up.
Samuel leaned back when John didn't react, now both hands busy untying the string of his tunic.
John whined at the loss, rolling his hips up against Samuel's, and the other man's hands faltered. His eyes fell shut, mouth open, brows slightly furrowed. John repeated the motion, eyes transfixed on Samuel's expression, on every minuscule twitch.
It took a moment for Samuel to gather himself again, but when he did, he frowned at John, one hand pressing his hips to the mattress.
"You are evil," he told him, voice rough and low. John valiantly tried to push his hips up again, but Samuel's hand was a vice. His fingers dug sharply into the meat of John's hips, and a small part of his brain hoped it would bruise.
"I try my best," he replied breathlessly as Samuel's other hand deftly loosened the string of the tunic. He urged John to sit up and then pulled the tunic off over his head before immediately diving in again, lips insistently pushing against John's and opening easily when John returned the kiss.
He could feel Samuel's hands run over his skin, down his sides and over his lower stomach, fingers tracing the new scar and leaving sparks in their wake, little bolts of lightning. His tunic was hanging loosely enough to brush against John's skin.
"Unfair," John complained against his mouth, hands pulling at Samuel's tunic. Samuel huffed, a mixture of fondness and annoyance, before he leaned back just far enough to pull his tunic off as well.
Different from John, he was lean and wiry, almost too skinny if it weren't for muscles built up through years of physical labour.
John ran his eyes over his frame and reached out with one hand, running it down from his ribs to his flank. There were some thin white lines running over his arms and a wider one right under his ribs. He carefully traced it with his thumb, and Samuel huffed. John could feel his chest expand under his hand.
"If you are done, make yourself useful."
John dragged his eyes back up to Samuel's face. There was a dark flush dusting his cheeks, bleeding all the way down to his chest, and when he noticed John staring, he scowled.
He nodded down at John's hips, where his fingers were tracing the waistband of his hose, and John's breath got stuck in his throat.
Yeah, he could help with that.
Loosening the ties didn’t take much effort, and all John actually had to do to help was raise his hips as Samuel pushed his hose and braies down. He wandered down John’s body as he pulled the hose off his legs, leaving soft kisses on his way before settling at a spot on his inner thigh.
John wasn’t entirely sure what that spot in particular had done to offend, but he wasn’t complaining.
Samuel’s teeth were sharp, nipping at his skin just barely strong enough to sting, only for his tongue to soothe the spot immediately after.
Breathing heavily, John let his legs fall open further, head arched back and one hand on Samuel’s nape, just where his short hair met his neck. He could feel Samuel’s stubble chafe against the tender skin and wondered if it would leave a mark.
Samuel bit down, harder than before, and John couldn’t help the moan that ripped from his throat, muscles in his legs jumping.
“God, Sam, please.”
He didn’t really know what he was asking for, just that he needed something, but luckily, Samuel seemed to understand.
He let go of John’s thigh in favour of moving up again, his body settling easily in between John’s legs, and John realised that he somehow had managed to lose his pants as well.
“Don’t blaspheme,” Samuel told him before kissing him again, effectively shutting out any thoughts or replies he could have had on the matter.
John hooked his leg over his waist without Samuel’s guiding hand this time. It was fisted in John’s hair, and he rather liked it there.
He rolled his hips up, using his leg as leverage, and Samuel ground down with a heavy groan in response. He let his head hang, with a furrow between his brows, his mouth leaving John’s, but John would have none of that. He dragged him back up by his cheek and tightened his leg around his waist, urging him for the love of god to just move.
Samuel seemed to get the hint, hips shifting, first tentatively and then with more purpose as he found a rhythm that worked. John arched up against him. The drag of skin against skin was perfect, albeit a bit uncoordinated at times.
Samuel’s lips were soft against his, barely maintaining the kiss as he moved against John, pressing down heavily. John couldn’t blame him – there was little space in his own head for anything but the surging pleasure, the pressure building slowly but steadily in his lower abdomen.
A particularly heavy roll of Samuel’s hips caused him to press right against John, and his hips stuttered for a moment. Inspired, John snaked one of his hands down and gripped them both, running the heel of his hand over Samuel’s length as he did.
“John,” Samuel gasped against his mouth, voice breaking on his name. John felt the sudden urge to look down, to see that it was really him who had gotten Samuel like this, but there was little space to manoeuvre on the cot as it was. He opted for dragging Samuel into another open-mouthed kiss instead, one arm slung around his neck.
With every move of his hips the pressure in his abdomen mounted, fraying the edges of his mind, and when it peaked, John stumbled over the edge of its precipice with a startled moan.
The climax hit him unprepared, leaving a buzz in his limbs, his fingers trembling where he pressed them hard against Samuel’s skin.
Through the haze in his mind, he felt Samuel’s hips stutter before he too stilled, muscles locked up and face pressed hard against John’s neck with a hoarse groan.
John was still gathering the scattered parts of his mind when Samuel slumped over him, moving just far enough to the side that he was half-draped over him. His arm was splayed over his stomach, his breath hot against John’s neck.
John was still trying to breathe through the buzzing in his limbs when the severity of the situation caught up with him. A cold wave of panic crashed over him, his heart beating somewhere outside of his chest.
God, what had he done?
There was no way he could go back to treating Samuel as he had before, not after this. Not after knowing the warmth of his skin and the press of his fingers, the softness of his lips.
John swallowed thickly, an entirely different kind of pressure twisting his stomach into knots.
He had managed to ruin the one honest, true friendship he had. Typical.
What was he supposed to do now? What were they supposed to do now?!
His mounting panic was interrupted by Samuel moving, dragging himself up slightly. He kissed John, soft at first, but when he didn't respond in kind, more insistent. He was still warm, one hand on John's cheek, thumbing under his eye, his legs tangled with John's.
With a sigh, John relented and kissed back. Bit by bit, his heart calmed down again and the warmth returned to his limbs. After a moment of hesitation, he ran a hand up Samuel's nape, running it over the short hair and leeching warmth into his cold fingers.
Samuel hummed, a soft vibration against John's lips, and John's heart fluttered.
Samuel shifted his weight, breaking the kiss, but he stayed close. John's eyes blinked open, and he wasn't sure when exactly he had closed them. He saw Samuel reach for something on the ground next to the bed, and a blink later he could feel the drag of a cloth on his stomach.
Part of him hoped that Samuel hadn't grabbed his tunic—he really didn't have that many down here—but a larger part was grateful that Samuel at least had enough of his wits about him to think to clean them up.
He was tired, all of a sudden, and closed his eyes again. Samuel settled down, half-curled around him, with an arm thrown over his waist. John sighed and leaned into him. He put a hand on his arm and thumbed the skin softly.
They stayed like that for a moment before Samuel broke the fragile silence.
"So, what now?" he asked, and John hesitated. He opened his eyes again.
"Well, personally I could go for some food," he said after a moment, feigning nonchalance. His heart jumped nervously, but when he searched for the panic he had felt earlier, it was gone, smothered by a tired kind of contentment.
"John," Samuel admonished him, and John swallowed heavily.
Alright then.
“I want,” John started and then stopped.
‘You,’ his mind supplied, but he couldn’t say that, could he?
I want you to stay.
I want to kiss you again.
I want anything you’d be willing to give.
He definitely couldn’t say that. That was just desperate.
"If you'd be willing," John finally told the ceiling, not daring to look down at Samuel yet. "I'd like for this to continue. I... I care about you."
There was a short moment of silence, and John chanced a glance at Samuel. He had turned his face up to look at John and looked exceptionally smug.
John rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Oh, shut up."
"I did not say anything," Samuel said, somehow managing to sound even more smug than he looked.
He got up on his elbows, dragging himself up so he was face to face with John again.
"But for the record, I also care about you."
He kissed John softly, a stark difference from the hurried kisses earlier, only slightly hindered by the fact that John was grinning.
After a moment he gave up again, letting himself fall down, half on John, half on the narrow bed. His arm snaked around John, just below his ribcage, and he let out a content sigh when John ran a hand through his hair.
"Sleep first. I will get food later."
John tried very hard to stop grinning like an idiot, his cheeks already hurting from the rare strain. The candle was casting flickering shadows over the ceiling, bathing the room in a comfortable low light.
Part of him knew that this would be a problem, make things unnecessarily complicated. They would have to be very careful, not to mention that his time in Kuttenberg was limited anyway. He had no idea what would happen once Jobst decided to send him somewhere else.
But the panic still refused to come back.
For now, all he wanted to do was curl up with Samuel and sleep. Not think about the future.
He settled down deeper into the mattress, resting his head slightly against Samuel's.
"As you wish."
John woke up after what could have only been a few hours, feeling slightly disoriented.
"Go back to sleep," a voice told him as John tried to blink the sleep from his eyes.
Samuel was sitting on the side of the bed, pulling on his gambeson. The movement had probably woken him up.
"I will be back with some breakfast in a bit."
He leaned down and dropped a kiss on John's forehead. John managed to mumble out an affirmative before sleep reclaimed him.
The next time he woke up, he felt more rested. Ironically, the room was darker than before.
With a yawn, he glanced at the candle. It had almost burnt down entirely. Usually, Sherlin would have been down with breakfast by now.
John fished for his tunic and hose from the bed. It seemed like Samuel had grabbed his own shirt to clean them up, much to John's luck.
He had just gotten up when the door to the basement opened and Samuel entered with two plates.
He looked surprised when he saw John.
"You are up."
John shrugged, lighting the candle on the table.
"Evil never sleeps."
Samuel snorted and kicked the door shut after him.
"I brought food."
Together they settled at the table. Instead of the usual breakfast, Samuel had brought two plates with small fried fishes and a piece of bread.
"You are my tester today, whether it is good enough for guests. It’s the recipe from Sherlin’s relatives," Samuel told him when John picked up his fork.
"Am I not a guest?" he asked, and Samuel grinned at him.
John's chest filled with warmth, and he had half a mind to blame it on the food.
But it was... nice. Being able to sit here with Samuel, without any walls up. Hell, he wasn't even dressed.
To be honest, John couldn't remember the last time he had been able to spend time like this with anyone, before Samuel and the Jewish quarter.
Usually, every conversation he had was like a duel. Every word sharp with intention, and if you didn't want to get hit, you had to have your defences up.
Samuel gestured with a piece of bread at him.
"How is it?"
John couldn't even bring himself to tease.
"It is very good, Sam."
Samuel tried to hide his smile by taking a bite of his bread, but John saw it anyway. Affection swelled in his chest, and he cleared his throat.
"Speaking of Sherlin, what did you tell her?"
Samuel waved his concerns away.
"She recently got a sweetheart, I just told her to take the mornings off."
"And she didn't think it odd that you give her the mornings off only now."
Samuel shrugged.
"Well, she hasn't exactly told anyone she found a sweetheart. I pretended I only learnt of it yesterday."
John couldn't help the grin that pulled at the corners of his mouth.
"You are a sly one."
"I learned from the best."
They ate together in comfortable silence for a moment before John leaned forward conspiratorially.
“And who is her sweetheart?”
Samuel scoffed, but it was fond. He gave John a pointed look.
“But you are not a gossip.”
John feigned offence.
“I am simply asking because I am worried about her safety. What if he is a bad man?”
Samuel shook his head and took another bite of the bread – clearly delaying his reply out of spite – before he answered.
“It’s the baker’s son.”
The pieces fell together so suddenly, it took John a moment to actually see the entire picture. Once he did, he couldn’t help but break out into loud laughter.
Samuel startled, looking worried for a moment.
“What?”
John shook his head, still giggling.
“Nothing, nothing.”
Sleepwalking, my ass.