Chapter Text
Henry shifted uncomfortably in his new coat, heavy with embroidery and trim. He grumbled under his breath, attempting, but failing to adjust his hood so that the stitching wasn't scratching against his neck. He didn't have time to break in his new boots, so his baby toes were being crushed with every step, and his fancy bi-coloured, gartered hose were so stiff he could barely bend his legs fully. Henry didn't consider himself a master of horsemanship, but he knew he had looked like an absolute oaf trying to ride to the wedding in all his stylish, brand new, and physically limiting finery. He never thought he would be pining for his plate-mail.
He stared out at the party, picking out familiar and new faces alike. Every time he saw a flash of yellow cloth or blond hair, his heart jumped a bit, only to be immediately followed with either relief, and a small pang of disappointment.
Henry was certain that he was here somewhere, but wasn't sure he was ready for that reunion yet. He sighed and kicked at some gravel.
The echo of cruel words from his neighbour in the stocks collided with images of a disarming (albeit somewhat irritating) smile as they shared stories with the medicine woman who saved their lives. He could still see Hans diving out the doorway of the cottage, no weapon, wearing nothing but a thin, tattered shirt and hose, all to protect Henry as he bled out. He had nearly died to protect his own guard. His memories of that night were all in fragments, but he couldn't forget how scared Hans had looked, how shaky his voice was when Henry had woken up briefly before the raider broke in. Up until their falling out, Henry was almost certain that his lord cared. At least a little. But then that all fell apart. Everything they'd been through, everything they'd done for each other, every time Henry had saved his stupid, noble, arse, none of it seemed to matter.
Henry felt like a piece of his heart had disappeared with his friend when he left, but he quickly dismissed that thought. They weren't friends apparently, according to Capon.
Would Sir Hans apologize? Henry almost laughed out loud at the thought. He decided that if the young lord ever said the words “I'm sorry”, he would eat his stupid, feathered hat.
Henry took a deep breath and returned to scanning the crowd. As the party churned around him, he didn't have time for revelling. As per usual, he had a laundry list of tasks at hand. He had been there for nary an hour before he had at least a half dozen people to help. He'd already danced with a girl who seemed to have been cursed with three left feet (at least she literally helped break in his boots), and rescued a young maid from bad poetry and a pathetic suitor. Both women seemed immediately taken with him, but Henry let them down gently. Because Theresa is waiting for me, he insisted to himself. Although, he was tempted to take the prettier one up on her offer by the secluded pond, if only to get his mind cleared. It probably wouldn't have worked, and he knew it. Even when the young woman smiled at him, all he could think about was a certain smug smirk. She took it well when he turned her down.
The “scourge of dancing” didn't give up so easily. He had to claim to have a terribly disfigured, and impotent manhood to get her off his scent. She had a hunger in her eyes that was unsettling. Something about it made Henry think that she would do anything to have him. He winced thinking about it. He really hoped that she wasn't the type to spread rumours. In hindsight, not the best lie for his reputation. His lips, as they often did, started moving before his mind caught up. At least it worked to scare her off, he didn't know what she would have done otherwise.
In the end, it was just another task. He had to deal with vagrants at the gate, a drunkard Master Huntsman, drunk Maldovians, a wedding fighting tourney, and now, the pièce de résistance: a missing gift. Not just any gift, no no, the gift that Henry himself had made. The fucking sword for the groom was gone and the last person to be seen with it was wearing yellow.
That was the other reason he was searching for yellow. He told himself it was the main reason.
After unsuccessfully harangueing a few hired hands and guests, Henry was stumped. He genuinely had started to question his understanding of colours. Maybe he had drank too much with the Maldovians. He had done a circle of the estate, trying to seek the sword out himself, and came up empty.
A creeping dread had begun to twist in his wine filled stomach. If he couldn't find the sword, he wouldn't be able to be introduced to the Duke, and he'd be back at square one. Well, square one minus his travelling party and the Lord he was charged with keeping safe. He supposed that was further back than square one. He'd recovered his dog and horse at least.
Henry took a deep breath, and splashed his face from a nearby trough. He dried himself with his sleeve - briefly forgetting about the scratchy embroidery and instantly regretting it.
He could only go forward from here, and forward meant doing another lap of the wedding and questioning everyone he came across. As Henry re-entered the main area, his stomach rumbled. With all the running around, he'd completely forgotten to eat anything. Fuck it all, the search could begin at the feast table.
Filling his pouch with pastries and quickly devouring some roast chicken, Henry immediately felt better, the roiling anxiety in his stomach settling slightly. He scanned the building and field for anyone he hadn't spoken to, even extending his search to include light beiges and oranges, but ultimately: nothing. Moving into the area where the makeshift fighting ring was set up, Henry sighed. Still no one.
He was about to leave when something caught his eye: a ladder. Shit. Henry pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to massage away the oncoming headache. How many times had he walked right past it? Maybe I do need those spectacles I found, he thought, while cursing under his breath.
It didn't matter now. Henry ascended the ladder swiftly, and at the top, he saw a flash of yellow. Of course. Of fucking course.
“Sir Hans Capon.” It was a statement, not a question, Henry would recognize him anywhere, even from the back of his head. The woman sitting at his side only gave Henry more confidence. Of course he's off flirting with some lady. Henry held back the urge to roll his eyes and scowl.
“Holy shit, Henry?” Hans stood as quickly as his drunken legs would let him. “Well, well! Looks like we both managed to swindle our way onto the guest list.” The lord hiccuped and raised an eyebrow. “How on Earth did someone like you manage that?”
The insult was woven into Hans’ words comfortably, but Henry refused to rise to it. He squeezed his eyes shut for a long blink before replying.
“I got some work with the blacksmith in Tachov. I helped him smith the blade that will be gifted to Semine himself.”
Hans laughed. “Well, it's great to know that your time as a squire hasn't dulled your smithing abilities! You're lucky you have a trade to fall back on. I on the other hand-” The lord suddenly glanced down at the woman, still sitting on the blanket and patiently sipping from a bottle while tapping her fingers on the floor of the loft. “Right. We can discuss the circumstances later. I have a lovely lady to attend to.” Hans smirked, his lips curling cruelly, his eyes gleaming. “So tragic that you can't manage that any longer,” Hans said with a wink. His expression was toying. There goes the hope that the girl wouldn't gossip.
Henry set his jaw and forced himself to take a deep breath before cutting back in.
“Sir Hans. I'm not just here to catch up. I'm looking for that very gift sword I mentioned-”
“Of course you're looking for a sword. You're always looking for a fucking sword!” Hans rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in exasperation. Then, he got a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Although, it all makes sense now! You know, if your own… 'gladius' is unable to perform…”
“Hans!”
“That's Sir Hans to you. Don't forget your place, Henry.”
Henry felt his face getting flushed with frustration. He desperately wanted to smack the smarmy, self-satisfied smile off of Sir Capon’s handsome mug. Anger was bubbling up and his mouth started moving before he could stop himself.
“Of course my lord, how could I forget? Oh, wait! Maybe, because you abandoned me after you dragged me into a brawl all because you couldn't get off your noble ass to lift some bags of flour!”
Hans scoffed, bristling. He strode over to his bodyguard and jabbed a finger into his chest. “You are lucky we're in the presence of a lady or I would- shit. She's gone.”
Henry looked down and realized Hans was right, the blanket was empty. Hans dropped his hand and deflated. He groaned and flopped back down on the ground, dejected, picking up the abandoned bottle before tossing it aside, empty. Henry couldn't help but think he looked like a kicked puppy.
Hans grabbed another bottle from behind him and pulled the cork out with his teeth. The young lord took a deep swig, before looking at it and sighing. He pushed the bottle out towards his squire, with a little bit of reluctance.
“Shouldn't let it go to waste,” Hans grumbled, patting a spot on the blanket beside him. “You seem to ruin everything, don't you Henry?”
Henry rolled his eyes but bit his tongue. He glanced out one of the loft’s small windows to the party, painfully aware of his deadline. It could wait for a little bit. He knew he couldn't say no to his lord, and the wine was especially smooth going down his throat. He needed the drink.
“Who was she?” Henry heard himself asking.
Hans shrugged, taking the bottle back for another swig. “Not sure, actually. I just know she seemed bored and I have a plethora of exciting adventures to share.”
“Our adventures,” Henry muttered.
Hans pushed the bottle back at the other man. “Yes. Our adventures.”
Henry caught a look cross Hans’ face, so briefly he almost missed it. It reminded him of his own, seeing it reflected in water troughs right after he'd escaped from Skalitz.
The practiced smirk and haughty gaze fell back into place before Henry could say anything, but his chest ached.
“So, Henry, is it true?” Hans retracted the offered wine and drained the bottle down his gullet. He tossed the bottle away, letting it clink into one he discarded before.
Henry stared dumbly at his lord, waiting for a clue.
Hans chuckled and gestured at his squire's lap. “Your… equipment. I thought I would have known! I never noticed you having any difficulty pissing, and your voice is lower than mine, so you're not a eunuch.” Hans stood up and paced down the center of the loft, pondering in an exaggerated fashion. “Perhaps… is Henry afraid of women? Is that why you hide behind your loyalty to that… Tessa?”
“Theresa.” Henry corrected quietly.
“Whatever. The miller’s girl. But you still haven't answered my question, is it true? Have you been horribly maimed? Or is it something else?”
Henry found a bottle of schnapps in his coat and took a big sip to settle himself. “Sir Hans Capon, you’re a fucking prick.”
Hans laughed in the way that sent shards of steel into Henry's chest, and he crouched down in front of the other man. They were almost nose to nose, Henry could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“At least mine works.”
“Oh come on. You know that's just a dumb rumour. I'd be riding sideways if any of it was true,” Henry groaned. He cursed his past self for not just firmly telling that girl he wasn't interested.
“Hmmm… I'll believe it when I see it,” Hans grinned, cocking his head to the side.
“Oh shut it!”
Henry shoved Hans away from his face roughly. The noble let out a cry and stumbled back on his heels. He flailed out in front, hands grabbing at the air. Hans found purchase on the dagged edges of Henry's hood, pulling him back as he fell flat on his back, squeezing his eyes shut for the impact.
Before Hans pried his eyelids open, he could smell the wine he'd been sharing with his page. Henry had forgotten that Hans had the strength of a trained knight, despite his lithe frame. He didn't resist when grabbed, until it was too late. Tumbling forward with the nobleman, he realized that Hans had literally carried him through the woods a week or so prior.
They'd fallen face to face, Henry's arms bracing either side of Hans’ head, the nobleman's knees inline with his squire's hips. He had been able to avoid his knees hitting his lord, but was left in a straddle.
Hans let out a shaky breath, a hesitant laugh struggling its way out of his throat. “Hey, uh… Henry?”
Henry wanted to reply, but his voice caught. It was dim in the loft, but in the candlelight and thin beams of sun through the small windows, he realized he'd never noticed how bright blue Hans’ eyes were. Or how his hair fell in a warm crown, reminding Henry of a monk’s illuminated text. Or how his red hood brought out the pink in his cheeks and lips. Henry's mind spun in a liquor-fueled haze, his eyes unable to leave Hans’ mouth. He wanted to know how it would feel, to lean forward, just a little more, and shut him up. Sinful images about his best friend flooded his thoughts no matter how hard he tried to push them down.
“Henry?” Hans intoned quietly, searching the other's face, but he didn't make any effort to get out from underneath the wider man.
“Oh… sorry,” Henry mumbled, but he didn't make any move to free the nobleman. He sounded a thousand miles away. His heart was pounding hard enough that he was certain Hans could hear it.
Hans glanced around, and then sighed, seemingly resigned. “Look, I was… cruel to you, and you never gave up on our goal, on me. Even when I gave up on you- left you.” Hans turned his head to the side, focusing on a piece of hay to his left. “I'm glad we were able to find each other again. Or… I guess you found me, I didn't do much to help with that.”
Hans' cheeks were now flushed almost exactly the same colour as his hood. Henry wasn't sure if it was because of the alcohol or the words, but the warmth in his face told him he was in a similar state.
“Henry… I'm sorry.” Hans choked out as he met Henry's eyes for a moment before glancing away again.
Henry played the words over in his head a couple of times before he fully internalized their meaning. He still couldn't really believe it, and absently realized he should be chewing on fabric and peacock feathers.
“I… I'm glad you're safe, Hans- Sorry. Sir Hans.” Titles felt a little silly when he was a hair away from his lord's chest, but he didn't want to spark another argument. “I was worried about you. You were right, really, I have a trade to fall back on, you…” Are almost entirely useless without your status, his mind quipped, but it didn't feel right to vocalize.
“I was hunting,” Hans answered without turning to look at the other man. “It's all I'm really good at, other than fighting and riding. I figured it was a quick way to make money, and the gamekeeper is a drunk idiot, so he had no idea.”
Henry shook his head and let out a low chuckle. “Really? Poaching? You're a lucky bastard.”
“Audentes fortuna iuvat,” Hans replied with a smirk, getting his hands underneath himself and pushing up into a sitting position. “And it's good to know you are at least somewhat intact and… able to stand at attention.” He gestured towards his guard’s lower half with a snicker, but he stared a little too long.
Henry retreated back quickly to sit on his heels shoving his hands awkwardly in his lap. Despite being stiff fabric, his hose were thin and more importantly, not joined at the crotch, making it hard to hide anything. He wasn't sure there was anything he could say either. Oh, sorry, you just looked really pretty under me, my lord, and apparently my body has decided to react to the impure thoughts I was having about kissing you. Sure. That would go over as well as a square wheeled cart.
Hans didn't seem to expect a reply. Instead, he followed Henry's retreat, pushing forward until he was practically straddling his guard this time. He grabbed Henry's arms and moved his hands to the floor so the blacksmith could brace himself sitting back, although Hans kept his own hands holding his wrists, not letting him move away. The lord gave his guard enough space to unfold his legs before settling into his lap.
Henry was almost afraid to breathe. His drunken mind was convinced that if he moved at all, everything would shatter apart. He was painfully aware of every inch of contact, the hands gripping his wrists, the legs caging his thighs, and the body pressing against his own. He could feel himself getting stiffer every second, and he really hoped he wasn't imagining the bulge pressing against his own.
“Shall I let fortune favour me?” Hans asked quietly, leaning in to whisper directly into Henry's ear.
Henry shuddered as warm breath tickled his face. He caught Hans' gaze and locked eyes as the nobleman leaned back slightly. Henry nodded slowly, staring as intently as he could, hoping that Hans would understand the permission being given.
The young lord smirked. There was a part of Henry that expected this to be it. Hans would get up, laugh in his face and tease him for ever believing in the ruse. Or maybe there would be that look of disgust, the look that said you were less than human. He was ready for both outcomes.
What Henry wasn't ready for was for Hans to release his wrists, loop his arms around his neck, pull him forward and gently press their lips together. It was hesitant and stiff, neither man moved much, afraid to ruin the precarious moment. Hans pulled back after what could have been an hour, but was likely a few seconds.
“Hah, you're… you're drunk my lord,” Henry gasped quietly, giving his friend an out.
“I am. So are you. Perhaps we won't remember any of this tomorrow. Is that what you want?”
Henry felt like his face was on fire. He shook his head after a moment, not able to meet Hans' eyes, afraid of what he would see. He wasn't sure if he was more afraid of seeing hatred or lust in the nobleman's expression.
“No, no, you're right,” Hans continued, seeming to ignore any response. “This is clearly some flight of fancy, some impulsive romp. Because that is definitely something I'd risk everything on.”
Hans' words dripped with snark. He shifted his hips forward just a little, and Henry let out a stifled groan at the friction.
“You may have learned to read and to act somewhat properly in court, but sometimes you're still so incredibly slow,” Hans continued, rolling his eyes. He sounded annoyed, but his gaze was soft, a small smile pulling at his lips.
“I- You, uh- Are you sure?” Henry stumbled over his words, his mind not able to focus on anything except for every point of contact between their bodies. All he wanted was to find Hans' mouth again, or for his lordship to move his hips again.
Henry wasn't a virgin, this wasn't his first encounter. He had spent groshen on extended bathhouse services and taken women to his quarters for the night along his travels. Despite that, Hans Capon had him tongue-tied like no one else. Not even Theresa. Maybe it was the illicit nature of it, maybe it was something deeper. Regardless, Henry realized his loyalty went deeper than just performing his role as a bodyguard to his closest friend. He also realized he already knew that.
Hans didn't respond. He pulled his hood off and began deftly undoing the buttons of his pourpoint. Henry watched, mesmerized. The yellow top fell away and a chemise followed quickly after. Henry couldn't help but stare, mouth slightly agape. It wasn't the first time he had seen his lord’s bare chest, but in the dim, warm light, his training and efforts were on full display. Hans' muscles were lean and strong, carefully carved to perfect proportions with his long torso. Henry shifted to sit without bracing, leaning up against a hay bale, freeing his hands to wander slowly across the nobleman's skin. He moved with the same care he gave to the most expensive and rare of metals. With every touch he was testing the waters, part of him still expecting Hans to stop him any moment. His heart raced in the same way it did when he was trying to pick a lock quietly in the dead of night.
It felt wrong, calloused fingers tracing lines along soft, unmarred flesh, but Hans leaned into the touch instead of away. He returned the gesture, reaching out to cup Henry's face in his one hand. His fingers teased at brown locks, and his thumb brushed against stubble. Henry's face was mostly smooth; he had stopped by the barber before the wedding, but as the afternoon dragged on, a shadow was forming along his chin and jaw.
Henry let his hands fall to the shorter man's waist, pulling him closer, a craving building for his lips. Hans smirked into the kiss as their mouths found each other. They began somewhat stiff and tentative, but any hesitation melted away swiftly as nerves started to fade.
Hans rolled his hips to settle in as they fell into a deeper embrace, eliciting a muffled groan from his guard. Henry a pang of embarrassment at the outburst, but when no ridicule came, lust took over from embarrassment. He chased the friction, bucking his hips up. Hans gasped quietly, and redoubled his efforts, grinding desperately. Their movements were awkward and misaligned to start, moving out of sync and without rhythm. Henry grabbed Hans' hips, and held him still for a moment, then guided him slowly. They fell into a less frantic pattern, letting their bodies find a gentle cadence together.
Henry started fumbling with his own coat, buttons not cooperating. Hans paused, pulling away for a moment, just long enough to roll his eyes at Henry's clumsiness and take over. He deftly shucked the buttons, and pushed the coat over Henry's broad shoulders. His fingers lingered over the muscles, built from years of hauling, hammering, and now fighting. Hans reached between them and pulled his squire's tunic up and over his head, throwing it onto the growing pile of clothing on the loft floor.
The lord stared intently, silently, taking in every inch of Henry's body. He reached out and softly traced rough scars that crisscrossed his tan skin. His fingers ran through a thicket of chest hair, across Henry's pecs, and down his abs. Henry wasn't sure what his lord was thinking, but he trembled slightly under his almost tickling touch. Suddenly, Hans leaned back in, and placed his lips on Henry's collarbone. He kissed the tender skin, his tongue followed, and then without warning he bit down and sucked hard. Henry gasped, weaving his fingers into straw coloured tresses, gripping. Hans made a muffled sound when his hair was pulled, but if anything he was more determined than before. He sucked on Henry's collar, drawing out gasps and small moans. When he was satisfied he pulled away with a pop. A dark oval was left in his wake, a mottled, reddish bruise forming on his bodyguard. Henry could barely see it out of the corner of his eye, but he felt it.
“Don't worry, your shirt will probably cover it,” Hans whispered, biting at Henry's ear lobe, grinning.
“Probably?” Henry questioned.
Hans smiled wider, shrugging in the laissez-faire way that normally drove Henry insane. Instead of replying, he pulled the blacksmith into another kiss. This time their chests pressed together, Henry could feel Hans' heart beat against his breast, and took comfort in knowing it was galloping in time with his own.
Hans reached between them again, blindly untying the strings on his joined hose and breeches, before going to Henry's. He moved with some hesitation, silently asking for permission. Henry replied by placing his lord's hand directly on the ties.
“Mm, I suppose I'll get my proof after all,” Hans quipped against Henry's lips, smirking.
Henry made a noise of derision, eliciting a chuckle from his lord.
Hans pulled back, and studied his squire's face. He finished with the ties before asking, “How did this rumour come to be? I couldn't begin to imagine its origin when I heard it from one of the local maids.”
Henry grimaced. “I… uh… I guess I started it.”
Hans raised an eyebrow, a laugh sitting on his tongue, holding it in. “You started the rumour that you have a mangled penis?”
“I… I was trying to turn this girl down, she stomped all over my feet and then propositioned me. She wasn't really taking no for an answer, so…” Henry shrugged.
A single chuckle bubbled up and escaped Hans' lips before he regained composure.
“That's a likely story, Henry. But I think I'll still find out for myself.”
With that, Hans dragged his hand down Henry's stomach, tracing the path of hair disappearing under his braies. He pushed the fabric out of the way, and freed Henry's cock. It was thick, and heavy, flush with arousal. Definitely bigger than he had expected.
“Well then,” Hans murmured, eyes locked, taking in the size. “Doesn't look… maimed. But appearances can be deceiving, maybe it's a function issue.”
Henry squirmed under the scrutiny. His heart was beating heavily in his chest. All he wanted was for Hans to stop staring and to touch him, but he couldn't breathe a word.
“Let's find out, shall we?” Hans smirked again, with a weak laugh, but his voice wavered with uncertainty and nerves. His hand shook slightly as he wrapped his fingers around Henry's length. He let out a low groan instantly at the contact.
Hans stared intently as he worked, slowly moving his hand up, trying to remember what he'd liked done to him. He swiped his thumb across the tip, knowing that he was sensitive there. A strangled moan told him that Henry was the same. He glanced up, meeting Henry's desperate gaze. Hans decided he was feeling benevolent today, maybe it was the wedding atmosphere. He leaned in to quickly kiss his guard, and then started stroking him in earnest. He moved from tip to base and back again, slowly ramping up the speed, focusing on the tip every time he returned there.
Henry threw a hand in front of his mouth to muffle the moans he could no longer hold back.
“Sakra, Hans…” Henry gasped, his breathing getting faster and heavier.
“I am still your lord,” Hans teased, palming over the tip, feeling the slick of promised release. “And you will refer to me as such. Even now.”
He grinned widely, watching the big and tough blacksmith's boy fall apart under his touch. He slowed to an agonizing crawl while he waited for Henry to say the magic word.
“My lord… s-sir… please,” Henry begged, as desperate as a starving man seeing a feast just out of reach.
“Good lad, Henry,” Hans whispered into his ear, nipping at the shell of it as he resumed the pace.
Henry moaned loudly, his hand barely stopping the sound. He felt the pleasure rising, getting tighter.
“God… I'm close, please,” He pleaded, his hips pushing into the touch. His eyes were unfocused, face completely flushed, breathing fast and heavy.
Hans was completely lost in his task. The way everything he did made the other man fall further apart was more intoxicating than the schnapps. He paused to spit into his hand before resuming his movement at a faster pace. He wanted nothing more than to see Henry completely give in to him.
“Kurva… Hans-” Henry's voice devolved into a moan as he shuddered and came hard, his body curling forwards. His head crashed into Hans' shoulder, panting into his bare skin. He weakly placed a hand around his lord's, groaning as he pushed it away, his cock becoming painfully sensitive through the aftershocks.
Hans wiped his hand off on the blanket on the ground, and moved to the side, wrapping his arms around his guard, who suddenly seemed much smaller than before. He ran his hands slowly along Henry's back, gently massaging the hard muscles. He decided he wasn't going to punish the lack of title, this time.
“Feel good?” Hans asked in a whisper.
He felt Henry nod against his shoulder as an answer.
“Good. Once you've regained your strength, I have a quest for you.”
Henry lifted his head and Hans stood up, bracing a hand against the short, sloped roof of the loft.
“Will you lend me your mouth?” Hans asked with a practiced smirk, but the flush in his face betrayed his anxiety.
Henry grinned like an idiot, drunk on liquor and pleasure. “Of course, Milord,” he slurred with a little bow that looked more like a nod. “It would be my honour.”
Hans felt blood run to his face and his cock in equal measure. He ripped his gaze away from his squire and used his free hand to finish undoing his own breeches, letting them fall to his ankles. He was almost painfully hard, reddish skin against blond curls. He was similar to Henry in length, but much less girth, Henry admired him all the same. Hans reached down and put his hand under Henry's chin, guiding him up onto his knees and bringing his head forward.
Henry put his hands on his lord's sides, dropping from his ribs to settle at his hips. He looked up at Hans, his lord's expression slipping from confident to nervous and desperate. His breathing quickened as Henry moved his face close enough for him to feel his breath on his cock. Henry gave it a chaste kiss, eliciting a gasp from the knight. He kissed along its length, from base to tip, letting his tongue flick out occasionally, teasing. He was doing his best to mimic the most talented bath maids he'd encountered.
“Henry… stop messing around,” Hans tried to say with a growl but couldn't muster the sound. His words came out more like begging than a threat.
Henry nodded. Without warning he slipped the tip between his lips and Hans moaned. He covered his mouth briefly, before deciding that his free hand would be better served gripping the brunet’s hair. His fist closed around a handful of Henry's tresses, holding tightly, pulling just roughly enough to give him control over his head if he wanted it.
Henry made a muffled noise, but he didn't resist. It was his liege, and he had no desire to deny him. The prickling on his scalp and the knowledge that his lord could push and pull him in any way he liked made his body feel fuzzy. He felt like he had just downed another bottle of wine. He was tempted by some distant part of his mind to tease until he drove Hans mad enough to push his head down and use him, but he feared he would throw up if he didn't work slowly, especially with all the alcohol moving through his system.
Hans tightened his grip, and Henry glanced up through his eyelashes before gently taking in more of his lord's length. He could still fit an entire hand around what was below his lips, and he could already feel the tip against the back of his tongue. He knew from experience that if teeth got involved it would be painful and ruin the mood. He focused on keeping them back, using his lips to cover them, trying to be as vigilant as his inebriated mind would let him. His heart raced, and he steeled himself, determined as always to succeed at his task. Henry pulled back, lapping his tongue as he went, before sinking down again. He tasted like bathhouse soap and sweat. A spear of jealousy pierced Henry's heart for a moment, imagining Hans enjoying the services of a bathhouse wench, and he found renewed strength. He continued to take in more length with every bob of his head.
His tongue worked clumsily as his head moved up and down, picking up speed as he got more comfortable with the heaviness in his mouth and the way that Hans' cock hit the back of his throat. There were a couple of pauses, when Henry felt a gag coming on, and his throat spasmed around his lord's girth, but he continued with the same enthusiasm when the feeling passed. Despite the small panic it caused, Henry took a twisted joy in how Hans gasped when he gagged.
Hans was mesmerized by the sight of his squire's lips wrapped around him. He had no idea what devil had possessed him to let things get this far, but he still yearned for more. The warmth and sensation of someone sucking him off was familiar, but something about his only true friend being the one on his knees in front of him made everything feel heightened. Despite the voice in the back of his head screaming to stop this disgusting act, it simply felt right. His heart pulled towards Henry in ways he would process later.
Henry upped his pace suddenly, earning a breathy moan in return. He smiled as much as he could without risking contact with his teeth, and made a contented sound that came out as a hum. His throat vibrated with the hum, netting him another desperate moan. I need to do that again, Henry managed to think through the haze.
Henry continued at the same tempo, getting more comfortable with the feeling and movement. He was absolutely drunk on his own past pleasure, the drink, and the effect he was having on his lord. He began to set a proper rhythm, humming one of the tunes he tended to whistle when smithing. It works for timing hammer strikes, why not now?
Hans' knees started to buckle as the pleasure built. The added vibrations made the sensation impossibly strong. He realized absently that he was really gripping Henry's hair, hard. And that Henry was whimpering slightly when he tightened that grip. He likes it. Hans mused, smirking internally. On the outside, he was a moaning, cursing mess. The pulling seemed to motivate the blacksmith, making him up the pace, finding all the most sensitive spots with his tongue.
“Fuck… more of that,” Hans groaned, his eyes rolling back. “Henry… I'm close…”
Henry hummed in response. He maintained the speed, refusing to back off. Instead he shifted his hands lower and back, cupping Hans’ muscular ass, giving him more leverage.
The nobleman's willpower was completely covered by the fog of lust. He pushed Henry's head down and dragged him back up. His guard didn't complain, he just made a low, rumbling moan and let his liege guide him.
“Hen-ry…” Hans choked out. “I'm going to-”
Suddenly the lord stiffened and shuddered, holding Henry's head down as far as he could go. Henry choked, breathing as much as he was able through his nose. The lack of air only increased the hazy effect.
He didn't pull away when Hans spilled onto his tongue and down his throat. His mouth filled with salty, slightly bitter liquid in waves, and while he wasn't sure about the taste, he gulped it down without thinking.
Hans released his grip and pushed Henry away gently, wincing as everything became too tender. Henry fell back onto his heels, and Hans slid down to the ground, fixing his braies with shaky hands first. He had just enough presence of mind to not want to sit on a rough wooden, hay covered floor with his bare ass.
“Lord above, how did you- where did you learn how to do that?” Hans breathed. He sat for a moment then abruptly looked over to his guard with an eyebrow raised in jealous suspicion. “Have… have you ever done it before? With… someone else?”
Henry laughed. He shook his head, smiling at how offended Hans seemed by the idea.
“Beginner's luck I guess.”
Hans scowled, but his face broke into a grin before long.
“You could threaten the existence of bath maids entirely with that mouth, you know that?” He said with a lopsided smirk.
Henry rolled his eyes. “Uh huh? Well, your hands put every bath maid I've visited to shame. Better muscles too.”
Henry leaned forward and grabbed his lord's bicep, making a show of tracing its curve and squeezing it before throwing his hand up to his forehead and falling back dramatically in a swoon. Hans laughed and pulled him back by the arm. He yanked a little too hard and Henry, playing up being as limp as a doll, let himself be dragged beside his Liege. He leaned on Hans, infected by giggles.
The two laughed together freely, joyfully, for the first time since they'd ridden into Trotsky.
As they slowly settled back into a comfortable silence, Hans put a strong arm around Henry, holding him at his side.
“I'm really glad we both made it here. I… uh… I'm sorry I was being a prick before. I'm just… I-”
Henry took Hans' free hand and met his eyes. “I'm glad I found you again too.”
His smile was so genuine and soft, Hans felt his chest tighten. Despite everything, all the scars and callouses, every fight and insult, Henry somehow still found the ability to be gentle. Hans had noticed it before, in how his squire stopped to collect flowers and nettles with the same measure of delight, and in how his face relaxed when petting Mutt or praising Pebbles. Now, that gentleness was his, and for a short moment, his alone.
Henry's placid expression washed away any remaining guilt from how he'd left things after being in the stocks. He'd regretted it the moment he stepped off the wooden platform, but his pride refused to let him turn around. All he could do was thank the Almighty above that he was given another chance. Not that this was the reunion he had expected.
“They're still waiting for me to find that sword, you know?” Henry mumbled.
Hans chuckled softly. “I can point out who took it. Although I think he tossed it into the pond.”
“Ugh, of course he did. It's always something.”
“And you always figure it out.”
Henry huffed and snuggled in closer.
“They can wait a bit longer,” Hans said. He smirked. “Your lord commands it.”
He felt Henry sigh and grumble against his chest, but he stayed out. The noble was right, the party and sword could wait. Plus Henry didn't mind delaying getting redressed in his uncomfortable finery as long as possible. He was comfortable here, and in this moment, nothing mattered but him and his lord. They'd have to talk properly later, figure out what any of this meant, but for now, they had each other and this quiet moment together.