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The morning air was crisp, and the keep smelled faintly of burning wood and polished stone. Hanush sat behind his desk, pouring over ledgers with his usual precision, counting coins as if his very pulse depended on it. Every groschen accounted for, every repair logged. His pride in the keep was immense, and so was his reluctance to spend money unnecessarily.
A hesitant knock at the door made him glance up.
“Enter,” he said sharply.
The servant stepped inside, bowing low. “Lord Hanush… there is… a matter in young Lord Capons bedchamber,” he said, voice wavering slightly.
Hanush arched a brow. “A matter? Speak clearly. What kind of matter?”
The servant swallowed, eyes flicking nervously toward the ledgers. “It… appears that a small section of plaster has crumbled from the ceiling caused by a leak in the roof, sir. Nothing major, I believe, but it may require repair.”
Hanush’s brow furrowed. A small section of plaster? Really? Still, the idea of any damage, however minor, pricked at his pride.
“Crumbled?” he muttered, rising from his chair. “I will see this with my own eyes. If there is damage to my keep, even minor, it will be addressed properly.”
The servant, sensing both opportunity and danger, bowed again. “Of course, my lord. I will accompany you.”
The door to the bedchamber swung open, and the servant stepped aside, eyes wide. Hanush’s gaze swept across the familiar space, landing first on the corner where Henry’s pallet lay dusty and untouched, a faint layer of neglect covering it.
“Here,” the servant said, pointing toward a pale patch near the far wall. “A small section of plaster has come loose. It should… be repaired before it worsens.”
Hanush squinted at the patch, clearly minor, just a few cracks and a section missing near the edge of the room. A trifle, really. But as he nodded, satisfied that he now understood the cause of the complaint, his eye caught something else.
In the centre of the bedchamber, standing upright and impossibly out of place,
was a full, gleaming pillory.
A fucking pillory
The wood shone with meticulous polish, the ironwork cold and precise. It seemed… wrong.
Hanush froze, a hand mid-air. His mind stumbled. Why… why would there be a pillory here? He glanced at the empty pallet, then back at the pillory. What has Hans been doing?
The servant, oblivious to his master’s spiralling thoughts, added nervously, “I… I thought you might want to see it, my lord…”
Hanush whirled toward him. “What is the meaning of this… pillory? This here… why? Who...” He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Who would put this here? Why? And for what purpose? And most importantly who paid for it?!”
The servant shrank back. “I… I don’t know, my lord. It… it may have been… here when you were away?”
Hanush’s heart thumped with a strange mixture of indignation and disbelief. He circled the pillory, his gaze tracing the smooth wood, the iron clasps, the impossibly polished surface. Whoever had built this, whoever had brought this here, had done so with care. And yet… why?
8 weeks prior
The keep was unusually quiet. Hanush had been away on summer progress for weeks, leaving them practically the entire place to themselves. For once, there were no eyes watching, no servants whispering, no rules they felt obliged to follow.
Henry lay nestled against Hans, chest to chest, the warmth of their bodies lingering from the nights earlier intimacy. Their breathing had slowed, the soft rise and fall of Hans’ shoulders grounding Henry in the calm after the storm of pleasure. Outside, the torches flickered in the hall, but here, in this bedchamber, there was only them.
Henry’s hand rested on Hans’ side, fingers tracing idle patterns over skin that still shivered from their closeness. He tilted his head, voice soft, almost hesitant.
“Do you… ever think about the punishments we’ve had?” Henry asked quietly, voice low in the post-coital calm.
Hans hummed, letting his cheek rest against Henry’s shoulder. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “Especially when I think about… the things I did wrong. Like poaching. I was… terrified back then.”
Henry lifted his head slightly,
Hans’ eyes darkened a little, remembering. “… I didn’t know what would happen. I thought they’d hang me for sure. Or worse. I… I’ve never been so afraid in my life.” He shivered slightly, and Henry wrapped an arm tighter around him.
Henry nodded slowly. “I know the feeling. Not the poaching… but… I once had to run from imprisonment. A misunderstanding… it started when I took a spade. I didn’t steal it for greed, just… necessity. But it got worse, and I…” He pressed his lips together, eyes dropping to the floor. “I had to flee. I thought I’d lose everything. I hated feeling… hunted.”
Hans’ hand found Henry’s, squeezing gently. “It’s the not knowing, isn’t it? The fear… the helplessness.”
Henry gave a small nod and exhaled slowly. “Yeah. And then… Troskowitz .” His voice faltered for a moment, just a whisper. “That was worse. I hated that.”
Hans hummed in response, still catching his breath, then frowned and turned to look at Henry “Hated… what?”
“The pillory,” Henry admitted, closing his eyes for a moment. “I hated feeling… open. Exposed. Ridiculous. Embarrassed, for everything I’d done… all of it on display, like I was… nothing but a lesson for someone else to watch.”
Hans went quiet, the hum fading into a thoughtful stillness. His fingers stopped their wandering across Henry’s skin, instead tensing slightly on the sheet. He didn’t speak at first, he was thinking, remembering, feeling the echo of that night differently.
Henry’s fingers found Hans’ jaw, tilting his head up gently.
“I… I remember that too,” Hans said finally. “It wasn’t pleasant for me either. But… I think I handled it better.”
Henry laughed, pushing his nose to Hans’ forehead “Yes, yes, you’re better at everything than me.” he joked.
“I’m glad you agree.”
The next night, the keep was quiet again. Henry lay stretched across the bed, hands behind his head, while Hans sat cross-legged beside him, a book open in his lap. The fire flickered softly in the hearth, and for a long while, nothing moved but the turning of pages. The room felt warm, safe, intimate, the kind of domestic comfort they rarely allowed themselves outside of these rare, stolen nights.
Hans finally closed the book with a soft sigh and set it beside him. He rubbed his eyes, letting the quiet settle before speaking.
“Henry,” he said, voice careful, almost hesitant.
Henry raised an eyebrow, tilting his head toward him. “Hm?”
Hans shifted, flushing slightly, a faint heat rising to his cheeks. “I… I wanted to talk about… the pillory again. What we… what we discussed last night.”
Henry blinked, confused, but shrugged. “Sure. Okay.”
Hans licked his lips, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I… I didn’t… actually hate it.” The words came out soft, hesitant, almost like a whisper he was afraid to give form. “Not really. I… I hated that people were laughing. That I was… underdressed, ashamed… that everyone could see me like that.” He paused, cheeks colouring further, eyes flicking to the floor for a moment before meeting Henry’s gaze. “But… I… I actually quite… liked it.”
Henry’s brow furrowed slightly, confusion flickering in his expression. “You… liked it?”
Hans nodded, swallowing hard, fingers brushing his lips nervously. “The position… the way I couldn’t move… the thought of being… open… of having no control. It… it felt… intense. And… and I liked it.” He cleared his throat, trying to mask the flutter in his chest, biting his finger softly as he spoke. “Do you… do you think… we could get one?”
Henry blinked, and then a slow smile curved across his lips, soft but knowing. “You mean… here? In the keep?”
Hans’ flush deepened, warmth spreading down his neck and across his chest. “I… I thought… maybe. If we… wanted to… explore it… together. Privately.”
Henry shifted closer, resting a hand over Hans’ on the blanket, feeling the tremor of anticipation in him. “I… think that’s a very tempting idea,” Hans’ grin was shy but bright, the tension in his body melting as he leaned toward Henry
A week later, the decision had been made: the pillory would exist in their keep. Hans had spent hours thinking it over, turning it over in his mind, and finally resolved to commission it. But there was a problem, he could not bring himself to speak to a blacksmith about it. Not without turning bright red and stammering in a way that would have made every tutor he’d ever had incandescent with rage.
“I’m not… I’m not speaking to anyone about… that,” Hans said firmly, crossing his arms and glaring at Henry. His cheeks burned a deep, scandalous crimson.
Henry, lounging on the bed and watching him with a sly grin, raised an eyebrow. “Not speaking to anyone about… what, exactly? The replacement of a lord’s justice? That’s what it’ll look like to anyone who asks.”
Hans blinked, aghast. “I am not being labelled a pervert!” He straightened his shoulders, voice rising slightly in mock indignation. “You… you will do it. You, Henry. Go and… and order it. Make all the arrangements,” he handed Henry a large bag filled with silver coins, “Here. Take this. Use it all for I care but - I… I cannot.”
Henry snorted, shaking his head with a laugh. “Of course. The lord is commissioning a pillory. Very sensible. Much more believable than some strange commoner wanting one for themselves.” He leaned back against the pillows, smirking. “And I get to be your emissary in this… delicate matter. Lucky me.”
Hans waved him off, still flushed, but there was a hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Do not… do not make fun of me. Just… go.”
Henry rolled his eyes, standing and stretching dramatically. “Yes, sir. Your humble servant shall go forth and secure the… ‘furniture replacement.’” He said with a roll of his eyes, earning a scoff and a sharp glare from Hans.
By mid-morning, Henry had visited the blacksmith’s shop. He handed over the coin Hans had provided, described the specifications, sturdy oak, polished, iron clasps and hinges, and made the excuse that a lord was having the piece replaced after years of wear. He tried to keep his tone formal, businesslike, though the corners of his lips threatened to twitch at the absurdity.
The blacksmith, a seasoned man who had worked for the keep for decades, only nodded, accustomed to strange requests from lords and nobles. “No trouble. Will have it ready for delivery in a fortnight.”
Henry grumbled softly as he signed the receipt. “A fortnight. Two whole weeks until Hans gets to see his precious… contraption.”
Back at the keep, Hans was pacing nervously, every now and then peeking out the window toward the town. “Did you… did you order it?” he asked when Henry returned, voice tight with anticipation.
Henry leaned against the door-frame, smirking. “All arranged. Paid. Ordered. To be delivered in a fortnight. Your precious furniture will arrive as requested, my lord.”
Hans let out a relieved breath, cheeks still red, and muttered, “Good. I… I just… I cannot have anyone know. Not anyone. Only us. Only… you and me.”
The day finally came. The morning air was brisk, the keep unusually alive with the sounds of clattering hooves and shouting men carrying something large through the gatehouse. Hans had been pacing ever since the first clatter of wheels reached his ears, hands fidgeting, cheeks impossibly red.
Henry leaned against the door-frame, arms crossed, smirking as he watched Hans’ every twitch. “Relax, Hans,” he said, voice teasing. “It’s only a piece of… furniture. Nothing to faint over.”
Hans spun on him, face flaring. “I am not fainting! I am… I am… anticipating… the arrival! It is… it is a delicate moment!”
Henry laughed softly. “Yes. The delicate moment when your private contraption is delivered for your… enjoyment.” He shook his head, still grinning, as he stepped toward the sound of the men approaching.
Outside, the blacksmith and two assistants guided the pillory onto a large cart. The polished oak gleamed in the morning sun, the ironwork catching the light, and Hans visibly froze. His hands clenched at his sides, and Henry could see the blush creeping up his neck and over his ears.
“Is it… that big?” Hans whispered, voice trembling slightly.
Henry chuckled, taking Hans’ hand and squeezing it. “It’s perfect. Solid oak, iron fastenings… and yes, it’s imposing. You wanted it to be serious, didn’t you?”
Hans swallowed hard, voice faint. “I… I suppose. I… yes. Serious. Very serious. For… private… matters.”
The cart rolled into the courtyard, men grunting as they carefully carried the pillory up the steps and into the bedchamber. Hans followed closely, peering around Henry’s shoulder, eyes wide. The moment the pillory was set down in the centre of the room, it seemed to dominate the space, gleaming and immovable.
If the blacksmith and assistants wondered why it was being put into a bedchamber they didn’t ask. They simply took their coin and left without another word.
Hans froze again, glancing nervously at Henry. “It… it’s… here. It’s actually… here.” His voice was almost a whisper, and he shifted from foot to foot, clearly torn between fascination and mortification.
Henry grinned, stepping closer, brushing a hand along Hans’ arm. “Yes. Here. Yours. All yours. We can… explore it whenever you like.”
Hans’ fingers twitched nervously, brushing over the edge of the polished wood, eyes fixed on the iron clasps. “I… I suppose… I… I’m ready… I think. Maybe…” His flush deepened, but there was a small, almost thrilled smile tugging at his lips.
Henry leaned down, pressing a quick, teasing kiss to Hans’ temple. “Whenever you’re ready,”
Hans nodded, exhaling shakily, and finally allowed himself to touch the pillory more boldly, tracing the wood and iron with a mixture of awe and anticipation.
Hans shed his clothes, the fabric whispering against his skin as it pooled at his feet and was kicked aside. The expensive clothing left like rags in the corner of the room.
His body, lean and sculpted from years of shared adventures, was a canvas of desire, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, and between his thighs, his cock already stirring with half-hard arousal.
"Can I...” Hans asked softly, his voice so low it sent a shiver down Henry's spine, laced with the vulnerability of trust, “Would you – Fasten me in? Please?”
Henry's breath hitched as he reached to open the pillory, its polished wood cool under his fingers, the metal hinges gleaming ominously. He guided Hans into position, the device's stocks closing around his wrists and neck with a satisfying click, exposing Hans’ perfect body to the room's sultry air.
Hans' skin flushed and prickled with goosebumps, his body arching slightly in submission, a soft moan escaping his lips that spoke of deep-seated longing and the electric thrill of surrender.
Henry stepped from behind the pillory to walk in front of Hans. His fingers touching Hans’ chin and tilting his head up so their eyes could meet. Hans was already trembling, his eyes blown black from arousal as he looked up at Henry and smiled softly.
“Is it everything you wanted?” Henry asked, rubbing his thumb across the seam of Hans’ lips, dipping his digit inside for Hans’ to suck on. Hans moaned, nodded and spoke around Henry’s thick thumb.
“Lets use your mouth for something else…” Henry said as he began to strip, first his tunic then his breeches and finally his braies. Standing naked in the afternoon sunshine he looked like a Greek god, all sunkissed skin and dark hair. Henrys cock was fully hard, flushed and the skin of his foreskin rolled back. Henry stroked himself in front of Hans’ face, watching as the other man whined and extended his tongue to taste.
“Christ, you’re starving for it…” Henry moaned, using his thumb to rub the spend from his tip and feed it directly into Hans’ tongue.
“Please…” Hans begged, cheeks already flushed crimson, “Please Henry…”
“No.” Henry tutted, “What did we say before?”
Hans hesitated, licking his lips in nervousness before he opened them again, “Please, Sir.”
“Better.” Henry smiled, tilting his hips to allow the tip of his cock to slip into those plush, swollen lips. Hans moaned, eyes slipping shut and Henry stilled his hips, refusing to move until Hans opened his eyes again.
Henry started a slow rhythm, pushing in slow until halfway down his shaft and then stilling to allow Hans chance to breathe. Hans shifted his legs, tried to get comfortable and choked on the cock pushed against his soft palate. Henry chuckled, pushing inside further until Hans gagged and spat, eyes slamming closed as he tried to swallow and breathe.
“Good… So good.” Henry moaned, pulling out until just the tip was in Hans’ mouth.
Hans already looked ruined. His lips swollen, chin covered in spit which dripped in threads down to the floor, Hans’ cock harder than Henry had ever seen it dribbled copiously in strings.
Henry knew Hans was still thinking. Could see that he was still entirely too composed although aroused beyond measure. He set about to change that, giving his cock long strokes then pulling out and telling Hans to stick out his tongue which Henry slapped with his cock, a smile on his face.
“God, if I knew this would keep you this quiet id have invested in one months ago…” Henry smiled kindly but leaned down to kiss Hans, chasing the taste of his cock on Hans’ tongue and lips.
Henry's hands trembled as he traced across Hans’ smooth pale skin, over his ear, down his neck, the side of his ribs, down his quivering belly and then the curve of Hans' back, his fingertips lingering on the dip of his spine before venturing lower. He never touched Hans’ cock leaving it throbbing faintly between Hans’ slightly shaky legs.
The room seemed to pulse with their shared heat, the scent of Hans' arousal mingling with the waxen aroma of candles. Positioning himself behind, Henry parted Hans' cheeks gently, revealing the tight, furl of Hans’ entrance that tensed in anticipation.
His tongue darted out first, a tentative flick that made Hans gasp, the salty taste of skin igniting a fire in Henry's core. He delved deeper, licking with slow, deliberate circles, savouring the way Hans' body responded, muscles clenching, hips pressing back for more. Each lick was a symphony of sensation, the wet glide of Henry's tongue against the sensitive rim sending waves of pleasure through Hans, who whimpered and strained against the pillory, his cock throbbing but unable to be reached. As Henry's tongue withdrew, leaving Hans' rim slick and throbbing with residual heat, he paused for a breath, his hands gripping the firm globes of Hans' arse, feeling the muscles twitch beneath his palms.
With a deliberate firmness, Henry raised his hand and brought it down in a sharp smack against Hans' right cheek, the sound echoing like a thunderclap in the candlelit room. Hans froze still for a second but then sagged forward, gasping, his body jerking against the pillory, the impact blooming into a stinging warmth that spread across his skin, turning it from pale to a flushed crimson.
“Keep still.” Henry insisted, spitting onto Hans’ buttock and then rubbing the spit in to make the skin wet which he followed with another strike, alternating cheeks, each slap deliberate and rhythmic, his fingers digging in slightly to knead the reddening flesh afterward, savouring the way Hans' moans morphed from surprise to eager pleas.
The air filled with the sharp scent of sweat and the faint, musky tang of their shared desire, Henry's cock straining painfully as he watched the marks of his handiwork emerge, a visual testament to their unbridled passion and the desperate need for order in Hans’ mind.
Hans’ legs wobbled, he attempted to steady himself, his legs much like a foal attempting to stand. Henry smiled at it, watching as each move of a leg caused Hans’ cock to move and throb, craving any sort of pressure to rut against. Henry stopped that at once, giving Hans’ a hard slap against the back of his thigh right below his buttock, right over his arrow scar.
“Oh… Oh…” Hans’ panicked, trying to look down at himself, at his twitching cock which pulsed another thin skein of pre-spend down to the floor.
“I hope you’re not too close already…” Henry warned, trailing his fingers over hot skin. Starting at Hans’ arse but going under, cupping his stones and then a large hand stroking up until he could feel the precome against his fingers, “You’re soaked, boy. Absolutely drenched for me… just like I like it.”
Henry pushed his musky fingers into Hans’ lips, then gave another two hard slaps with his other hand across the bloomed red of Hans’ buttocks. Hans’ eyes rolled, his legs trembled, Henry thought for a brief moment that Hans’ had already reached his peak but instead Hans took a deep inhale and continued to suck on the digits.
Emboldened by Hans' arching back and the way his legs trembled, Henry slid his fingers along the cleft of Hans’ arse, tracing the wet, sensitive entrance he'd just teased. He pressed one finger inside slowly, feeling the tight ring of muscle resist at first before yielding with a shuddering exhale from Hans.
"That's it… Clever lad." Henry murmured, his voice thick with affection and lust, as he worked his finger deeper, twisting and curling to open him further, the slick heat enveloping him like a velvet glove. Henry removed his fingers from Hans’ mouth and walked behind him, Hans was unable to see any part of him, and he tried to track the movements by sound alone.
Henry helped by spitting. He pulled open Hans’ buttocks and spat directly against the small hole now puffy. Hans moaned, legs going weak once more as Henry used his fingers to push the spit into the hole, spreading it over heated flesh. Hans pulsed with every thrust of Henry's finger, and soon a second joined the first, stretching and preparing him with careful precision.
Henry wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t going to fuck Hans with spit alone but Hans didn’t know that. Silently, Hans poured oil into his hand and then spat again, using the oil alongside the spit to make Hans wetter, the noises indecent as he moved his fingers in and out, scissoring them, widening the hole.
Hans attempted to push himself back, trying to chase Henry’s fingers to get more, quicker, deeper, harder and Henry stilled his hand then Henry kicked Hans' legs wider with his foot, the sudden movement forcing a wider stance that exposed him completely,
“Ah!” Hans choked, his stones drawing up tight in anticipation. The emotional undercurrent of their bond surged through Henry, a fierce protectiveness mixed with adoration, as he positioned himself, his own arousal demanding satisfaction.
“I’m going to fuck you with nothing but my spit…” Henry commented, “And I’m going to fuck you hard. What do you say?”
“Y-Yessir…” Hans babbled, nodding and then flinching when he hit his chin on the wood, “Please, sir”
Henry took his throbbing cock in hand, the cool air a stark contrast to its heated skin. He aligned himself, giving the wet rim a few passes with his tip, catching the rim and pressing just gently before taking it back out, teasing, pausing for a heartbeat.
“Please… Please… Please Henry… Please…” Hans repeated over and over, spit leaking from his lips, a pool of precome between his feet on the wooden floor.
With a slow, inexorable push, Henry breached him, tiny movements at a time, the tight heat enveloping him as Hans cried out in a blend of pleasure and surrender. The sensation was electric, every ridge and pulse of Hans' inner walls gripping him as Henry began to thrust, the room alive with the symphony of skin slapping against skin and the shared rhythm.
Hans shifted his feet, trying to bring himself further up to press that spot inside him. Henry slapped his arse again, hard and buried himself to the hilt, pushing slightly harder against the wood of the pillory and making Hans go on his tiptoes.
“I didn’t say to move…” Henry growled, hands burning a brand on Hans’ hips, “You will take what I give you. You will get what you earn… nothing more.”
Hans whined deep and low and wounded, shifting his legs wide again back into the position they were in previously. Henry chuckled softly, “Good lad.”
Hans couldn’t help the whimper that escaped him. If anyone had dared to call him a lad in the past Hans would have had them whipped.
When Henry did it, it felt like salvation.
Henry's thrusts deepened, the rhythm quickening from languid exploration to a primal, unyielding drive, Hans' body rocked forward against the pillory, his cries echoing off the candlelit walls like desperate prayers.
Each powerful stroke sent shock-waves through him, Henry's thick cock stretching and filling him completely, the slick heat in his stretched hole making every press glide with exquisite friction. Hans arched his back further, his muscles clenching around the invasion, the sting of earlier slaps amplifying the pleasure as Henry's hips snapped forward with increasing force.
“I’m going to come… Henry… Sir…” Hans panicked, hands clenching in their restraint, he slammed his eyes shut and tried to push back the climax, whimpering and desperate.
Henry took pity and slowed his thrusts, keeping away from the spot which sent sparks up Hans’ nerves. He gentled his strokes a little, hand running along Hans’ sweat soaked back. He wasn’t ready to end it just yet.
“M’sorry. Sorry… I tried and…” Hans continued to speak, the words a rush.
“You don’t need to be sorry,” Henry whispered, leaning down to kiss and lick Hans’ salt slicked back, “I like that you feel it. Can you feel me?” he asked, tensing his muscles and making his cock jump inside of Hans’ hole.
“Y-eeees. Yeees I can feel it.” Hans moaned, shivering deeply.
“Does it feel good? Knowing that a peasant is fucking this noble arse?” Henry asked, giving Hans’ buttock a gentle nip, “That you’re being taken apart by a man of no material means?”
Hans whimpered again. Head nodding, this time not caring that he hurt his chin. Beads of sweat trickled down Hans' spine, mingling with the cool air, and his voice broke into ragged gasps.
In that raw vulnerability, Henry leaned in close, his breath hot against Hans' ear, his hands gripping the pillory for leverage as he pounded deeper.
"What if they were watching, My Lord?" he growled with emphasis on the title, his words laced with a teasing edge of humiliation that sent a thrill straight to Hans' core. "All the townsfolk, seeing their proud lord taken apart like this… fucked raw by a lowly turnip picker. You'd love it, wouldn't you? Everyone seeing you beg and break for me."
Hans' face flushed crimson, not just from exertion but from the erotic shame Henry's words evoked, his cock twitching untouched between his legs, dripping steadily onto the floor. He moaned louder, his body twisting in the restraints as he tried to angle his hips, gasping out fragmented pleas.
“The bailiff would come out, watch us. Perhaps he’d tell the town crier to proclaim how dirty you are…” Henry continued, building the fantasy, “That this high born Lord, with his jewels and brocade loves nothing more than choking on his squires cock…”
Hans audibly whimpered, another pulse of precome dripping.
“Or maybe I’d tell him about how if I do this…” Henry pushed in again, deep and brutal against Hans’ prostate, “Sometimes you piss yourself.”
“Oh…” Hans said simply, skin going a flame red and eyes rolling back.
“There we go…” Henry chuckled, “That’s the spot isn’t it? Just there?” he dragged his cock against it again, twisting his hips to make it more prolonged, “
“Maybe id finish on your face once we’re done… in the town square. Id pull out of your arse and make you suck me after, clean me off. Then id come across those pretty lips, that high cheekbone, just cover you in me. In my scent. Id mark you as my own. You might be my lord…” Henry began moving again, knowing this time Hans would explode, “But I own you.”
Hans' world exploded in a blaze of sensation, his prostate sparking like lightning hitting a tree, and he cried out in unrestrained ecstasy, his body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over him. It started low in his spine, radiating outwards, stronger and deeper than a regular climax. Hans shouted, eyes rolling as he rode the wave out. The orgasm was dry at first, Hans simply shaking through the prostate stimulation alone but Henry reached under, used his two fingers to push across Hans’ frenulum and he was undone.
He came hard, his cock pulsing violently, ropes of come splattering the wooden floor beneath him in huge ribbons that landed audibly with a shrick noise. His muscles clamped down on Henry in rhythmic spasms that drew a guttural groan from them both.
“Fuck. You’re so perfect Hans. So fucking good…” Henry rambled, his thrusts becoming brutal. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed, his vocal grunts and growls stifling in the room, “I’m going to fill you up...”
Hans whined low in his throat, barely able to keep upright as Henry pressed in hard and then stilled, going up to his tiptoes as he fucked his climax into Hans’ pliant body. He groaned low, breathed hard through his nose as he got lost in the vice-like grip of Hans’ insides as he chased his own peak. With a final, deep surge, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock throbbing as he emptied himself inside, the hot rush of his release filling Hans with warm pulses, his cock throbbing so much that they could feel it between them.
Hans shuddered through the aftershocks, his body limp in the pillory, their shared breaths mingling in the hazy air, the room now silent save for the faint drip of wax and the tender whispers that followed, reaffirming the unbreakable thread between them.
Henry carefully stepped back, reaching for the base of his cock as he gently pulled out. Hans made a wounded noise of displeasure which made Henry huff a laugh. Leaning down, Henry kissed Hans’ shoulder blade and then watched as his come slowly began to drip from Hans’ gaping hole.
Henry kept Hans there for a few moments beside him, hands gentle but firm as he helped Hans out of the pillory.
Hans’ muscles were floppy, and his body was slack in places, the telltale signs of Hans floating away to that safe space he went to after a rougher fuck, lingering in the way his eyelids fluttered and his lips parted slightly.
“Easy,” Henry murmured, voice low and steady, as he guided Hans to the bed. He made sure every movement was careful, controlled, so Hans wouldn’t stumble or strain himself. When Hans was finally lying down, Henry adjusted the blankets over him, tucking them snugly around his body.
Hans’ eyes fluttered open briefly, soft and unfocused, just long enough to give Henry a small, helpless smile before they drifted closed again. His cheeks were flushed, lips parted, breathing shallow but calm.
“There,” Henry whispered, pressing a hand to Hans’ shoulder and then moving it to rest lightly across his chest. “I’ve got you. All of you. You’re safe. Just relax.”
Hans let out a small, contented sigh, nuzzling against Henry’s hand. He made no move to protest, no attempt to shift, his mind and body still caught between exhaustion and the gentle haze of his orgasm.
Henry brushed a strand of hair from Hans’ forehead, fingers lingering for a moment. “Shh… just rest, Hans. No one’s going anywhere. No one’s watching. You can just… be here.”
He adjusted the pillows behind Hans’ head, making sure his neck was supported, and then shifted closer, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll stay right here. I’ll hold you. That’s what I’m for.”
Hans murmured something unintelligible, lips curling into a faint, sleepy smile. Henry chuckled softly, brushing his thumb over Hans’ cheek, careful not to wake him too fully.
Henry felt himself soften and begin to leak. He reached for linen from their bedside table and cleaned himself off one handed, unwilling to let go of Hans for even a moment. He carefully shifted Hans so he could put the linen under him, catching any spend that was destined for the sheets.
Minutes passed in comfortable silence. The firelight cast a warm glow across the room, and Henry simply stayed with him, hand resting lightly on Hans’ chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart.
Finally, Henry let himself relax a little too, drawing in a deep breath. This was the moment he cherished most: Hans, completely unguarded, vulnerable, and yet utterly trusting. Safe space or not, he could feel the depth of that trust radiating from him, and he vowed to guard it carefully, always.
“Sleep well, Hans,” Henry whispered, brushing his lips across Hans’ temple one last time. “I’ve got you.”
Morning light crept through the narrow windows of the bedchamber, pale gold against the stone walls. The fire had burned down to soft embers, leaving the room comfortably warm but quiet in that heavy, slow way mornings sometimes had.
Hans was still in bed.
Not entirely by choice.
He shifted slightly and immediately winced. His legs ached in a deep, stubborn way, the sort of soreness that felt as though he had spent the entire previous day in full armour, charging a field again and again. When he tried to sit properly, a sharper protest from his arsehole made him grab one of the pillows and wedge it carefully beneath himself.
“God’s wounds,” he muttered under his breath.
Across the room, the pillory stood exactly where it had been left the night before, solid oak, polished, unmovable. In the daylight it looked even more ridiculous sitting there in the middle of a noble bedchamber, like some strange piece of civic furniture that had wandered in from the town square and refused to leave.
Hans stared at it.
Just… stared.
The door creaked open and Henry stepped inside, a small bundle of letters tucked under one arm. He paused when he saw Hans propped up in bed, blanket around his waist, gaze fixed squarely on the pillory like a man contemplating a battlefield.
Henry’s mouth curved into a slow, amused smile.
“Morning,” he said casually.
Hans didn’t look away from the contraption. “Morning.”
Henry crossed the room and dropped the day’s mail onto the small table beside the bed. “How are you feeling?”
Hans shifted again.
Regretted it instantly.
“Sore,” he admitted stiffly. “My legs feel like I’ve spent the week jousting. And I can barely sit without this pillow.”
Henry chuckled under his breath, leaning a hip against the table. “Strange. I can’t imagine why.”
Hans shot him a narrow look.
Then his gaze drifted back to the pillory again.
A thoughtful silence followed before he spoke.
“…Henry.”
“Yes?”
Hans gestured vaguely toward the wooden structure. “What are we going to do when Hanush comes back?”
Henry followed his gaze and hummed thoughtfully.
“That,” Hans continued, “is rather difficult to explain.”
Henry tilted his head, considering it with exaggerated seriousness.
“Well,” he said eventually, “perhaps he’ll think it’s a giant coat rack.”
Hans barked out a laugh despite himself and immediately grabbed his hip with a groan.
“Henry...”
“What?” Henry grinned.
“Shut up.”
Henry laughed softly, pushing away from the table and wandering closer to the bed.
“We don’t have to worry about that for a while,” he said. “Hanush isn’t due back yet.”
Hans glanced at him.
Henry folded his arms and nodded toward the pillory.
“And besides,” he added with a mischievous glint in his eye, “we intend to get our use out of it before he returns.”
Hans looked back at the pillory.
Then at Henry.
A slow smile crept across his face.
He shifted slightly in bed, testing his aching legs again.
“…You know,” he said thoughtfully, “they’re not really that sore after all.”
Henry’s grin widened.