Work Text:
Then:
A mile from Semine, Henry reined in his horse and called out in a strained voice, “Hans, wait.”
Hans glanced over his shoulder at him. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to fix the bandage on my leg. It’s bleeding through,” Henry said. “Can you help me down?”
Hans dismounted and went over to Pebbles. He took hold of Henry and helped him swing down stiffly from the saddle. Henry stumbled when his feet touched the ground and Hans caught him, holding onto him until he steadied.
“Thanks,” Henry said hoarsely. He sat down on a boulder on the roadside and started to unwrap the bandage from his leg, but it was soaked through and clung to his clothes and skin.
Hans watched him worriedly for a minute then came over and knelt down next to him. “Let me,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument.
Henry hesitated then let go of the bandage and allowed Hans to tend to it. Carefully, Hans extricated it from his leg, trying his best not to tear the cut open more. The tip of Hashek’s sword had raked across Henry in a nasty way. It hadn’t done any permanent damage, thank God, but it was still a deep slash and had mangled his leg up badly. In the aftermath of the fight as they set the house ablaze and fled, Henry had done little more than wrap a bandage around it over his trousers to staunch the bleeding. Hans wished he had noticed how bad it was sooner and forced him to stop and care for it before they rode off.
“Just tie it back up. We can see to it in Trosky,” Henry said.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Hans snapped, his tone sharper than he had intended. “Let me clean the wound.”
Henry obeyed reluctantly, unbuckling his belt and tugging down his chausses. He gasped and winced as the heavy fabric brushed across his wound. “Here, give me the supplies. I can do it myself. You don’t need to trouble yourself over me, Sir Hans.”
Hans ignored Henry, too tired and frustrated to argue. Everything in Semine had gone to shit, just like every other fucking thing had. Except this was possibly worse than being arrested for poaching. They only hung you for poaching. Hans had just witnessed what von Bergow’s men had in mind for traitors. If Hashek had been given his way, he would have locked Lord Semine’s entire family in their house to slowly burn to death inside it. Hans would rather be hanged, personally.
With great effort, Hans set aside his anxious thoughts to focus on the task at hand. He cleaned Henry’s wound meticulously and bound it with a new bandage.
Hans had never tended to someone else’s wounds before, but he had been tended to enough himself that he knew what to do. It felt good to be of use. Helplessness was a sickening feeling that every fibre in his being rebelled against and yet he had felt it often as of late. Small acts of service like this were beneath him, but Hans didn’t care. All he wanted was to feel like there was something, anything , that he could do right now to hold things together while the whole world seemed to be pulling apart at the seams.
As Hans worked, Henry kept quiet. Hans had expected him to make another few protests. A squire being fussed over by his knight was hardly the way of things after all. But when Hans glanced up, he saw that Henry wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. He was staring at the violent glow of fire on the horizon, his brow furrowed and such raw pain in his eyes it made Hans uncomfortable. He felt like he had intruded on something by catching a glimpse of Henry with his emotions so naked and vulnerable in his expression.
Henry had no real reason to care about Semine. He had been friendly with the lord and his surly captain after going on some adventure with them, but both the old men had survived the fight so Henry had no reason to mourn them, nor had he any attachment to the town.
But it wasn’t Semine that Henry was watching burn right now, was it? It was Skalitz. And when his eyes glistened with tears in the glare of the firelight it wasn’t from the smoke in the air.
Hans finished cinching the bandage tight, causing Henry to snap out of his reverie and return to reality with a sharp gasp.
“There. Let’s go,” Hans said, packing up the supplies while Henry tugged his chausses back up and limped over to Pebbles.
Hans hoisted Henry back into the saddle even though it sent flares of pain burning through his body. He had strained his shoulder blocking a heavy blow in the fight and helping lift Henry’s dense, muscular body certainly was going to make the pain worse. Hans clenched his jaw and did his best to ignore it. As he tucked Henry’s boots into the stirrups, he paused and looked up at him. He wanted to say something to reassure him, but he had no idea what to say nor was he sure if drawing attention to Henry’s distress was better than ignoring it.
“You should have taken the time to bandage that properly to begin with,” Hans said. “Now you've lost a lot of blood.”
Henry nodded humbly.
“We’re deep in the shit now. I need you on your feet. Who knows what will happen next,” Hans muttered and walked back to his own horse before Henry could reply.
Their ride back to Trosky passed in a blur. Hans drifted in and out of his thoughts, his mind falling down spirals of regret and anger then stirring out of them to cast worried glances over his shoulder at Henry or at their surroundings.
It was a clear night and the velvet sky above them was stitched with a thousand stars, casting the fields and forests outside the halo of torchlight in soft shadows. It would have been beautiful in other circumstances. Hans would have loved to have lain on the sweet-smelling summer grass beneath these stars with a girl in his arms, or maybe just to sit beneath them with Henry, passing a wineskin back and forth and laughing about something stupid. That would have been nice too – maybe in some ways even more so.
It seemed like an eternity since Hans had felt carefree like that. He wondered if he would ever feel that way again.
Trosky was quiet when they rode in. They dropped their horses off in the stable and went up to the courtyard, Henry leaning on Hans’s shoulder as he limped. It was an arduous walk up the sloping paths and many stairs in the tower, but Hans kept an arm around Henry’s waist to steady him and they made it at last to Hans’s guest chamber where they ate a silent and weary supper, polishing off every crumb of food left out for them and scrounging about the cabinets for bottles of wine.
While they drank, Henry picked a book off the shelf and perused it, sitting at the desk in the corner of the room and hardly paying attention to Hans.
As the candles began to burn low and the bottle of wine ran dry, Hans looked over at Henry and said, “It’s quite late.”
Henry did not look up from his book. “Mhm.”
Hans waited expectantly. Henry had been given lodging in a room by the smithy, as befit his station. It was not his place to stay in the noble guest chambers, and even if some exception were to be made, there was only one bed. Limping down the stairs would be significantly easier than going up them and after resting his leg for the past hour while they ate and drank, Henry should be recovered enough to make the trek on his own.
“We should get some sleep,” Hans tried again.
Henry did not even respond this time.
Hans frowned. Henry had not turned the page in several minutes. He wasn’t absorbed in his reading. He was staring blankly down at the book with a faraway look on his face.
Even though his exhausted body protested every movement, Hans got up and walked over to him. He perched on the edge of the desk and stared down at Henry until Henry looked up and met his eyes.
“You need rest if you want that potion to do its job on your leg,” Hans told him.
“I’m… not tired yet. Can-” Henry seemed to think the better of whatever he had been about to ask and said instead, “Do you want to have more wine? There’s another bottle.”
“No. What I want is to sleep,” Hans said bluntly.
Henry floundered for a second then pulled his composure together. His expression hardened in a way that was painful to watch. He nodded respectfully. “My apologies. I will leave you to rest, Sir Hans.”
He set down the book and stood up stiffly from the chair. Hans had done nothing wrong, and yet he suddenly felt a keen stab of regret. He reached out and caught Henry’s hand on an impulse. “Wait.”
Henry’s whole body tensed at the unexpected touch, but Hans didn’t notice for a moment. He was distracted by how cold Henry’s hand was and the fact that it was trembling slightly. Without thinking, Hans cupped it in both of his to warm it. He realized after a second what he was doing and let go.
Shifting uncomfortably, Henry said, “What’s wrong?”
“If there was a witness we don’t know about and word reaches von Bergow tonight before we have time to tell him our story… Well, it could be dangerous for me. Maybe I should have my bodyguard stay close in case of any foul play. I trust von Bergow and that bloody chamberlain about as far as I could throw them,” Hans said.
Something stirred in Henry’s expression – a brief flash of relief betraying itself in his eyes, a vulnerable gap in his armor. It was only for an instant but it was enough for Hans to know he had guessed correctly at why Henry lingered. He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts and memories. To be honest, Hans didn’t particularly want to be alone either even though he did not have the energy for conversation or company.
“I could stay a while longer,” Henry offered. “I would like to finish the book while we are here.”
Hans smiled faintly at him. “I was just going to nick it for you when we left.”
Judging by the concern that leapt into Henry’s expression, he thought Hans was being serious.
“After poaching and treason, what’s a bit of petty theft?” Hans added.
As he realized Hans was teasing, Henry relaxed and exhaled a tensely held breath. He didn’t quite smile, but his expression softened and the rigidness in his shoulders eased.
“Get some rest,” Henry said gently. He sat back down at the desk and opened his book again while Hans retreated to the bed and eased his sore body down onto the mattress with a deep sigh and a grunt of pain.
It wasn’t always easy for Hans to fall asleep. His active mind was usually too distracted by endless tangents, daydreams, and anxieties to ever quiet much. Tonight, though, he drifted off within minutes. Maybe it was the weariness that permeated him to the bone that did him in, but maybe also it was the steady reassurance of Henry’s presence. They weren’t safe – far, far from it – but Hans nonetheless felt a sense of security that enveloped him like an embrace. He surrendered to it and peace wrapped itself heavy and warm across his tired soul.
He woke sometime later to find the room cast in darkness, lit only by one last flickering candle flame. He glanced over at Henry and saw him slumped across the desk. Hans rubbed the sleep from his eyes and got up, walking quietly over to check on him. He looked desperately uncomfortable, his big frame cramped in the hard wooden chair and his head pillowed only by the book that rested forgotten on the desk, a bit of drool on its pages and a trickle of blood as well from a cut on Henry’s cheek that had been torn open slightly in his sleep.
Hans reached out and brushed the errant strands of hair off Henry’s brow. “Henry,” he whispered.
His friend stirred with a faint groan but did not wake.
Hans’s heart ached with a feeling he could not name. He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but he could not ignore the emotion that tugged at him. He reached down and wrapped his arms around Henry, lifting him up to his feet.
Henry stumbled and blinked blearily at Hans, not fully awake. “Where…”
“Come lay down, you big idiot,” Hans said, half-carrying, half-dragging him over to the bed.
He lowered Henry down onto it and took off his boots, then tucked a blanket over him. Mumbling something incoherent, Henry nestled into the pillow and slipped back into peaceful oblivion.
Hans put his hands on his hips and stared down at him, wondering what to do next. Even if his practicality could have overcome propriety enough to justify sleeping next to Henry, there wasn’t room on the bed to do so and if he cramped Henry too much, he wouldn’t be able to stretch out his injured leg, which was important to its recovery. No, Hans would have to sleep elsewhere.
With a sigh, he went over to the bench and settled down onto it, spreading a blanket over himself and resting his head on the small throw pillow. The bench was too short for him and his long legs hung off the end awkwardly. The hard wooden planks with only a thin cushion over them made his shoulder ache something fierce and he suddenly regretted his irrational fit of generosity.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” he muttered, shifting back and forth trying to find a position that wasn’t excruciating. A nobleman sleeping on a bench while a peasant took up the bed? It was absurd – more than absurd. It was downright offensive. If anyone found them like this, they would think Hans mad.
Maybe he was. Hans couldn’t fathom why he was allowing this. It made no bloody sense, and yet he could not bear to watch Henry suffer when there was something he could do to alleviate it. The thought of Henry being in pain was unendurable.
Falling back asleep was impossible and Hans gave up after a while. He got up and stretched his stiff limbs, then picked up the book Henry had been reading and lit a fresh candle. He was several pages in when he heard Henry mumbling in a fearful tone and tossing and turning restlessly.
Hans paused and watched him for a moment, waiting for him to settle, but Henry’s distress only grew. Reluctant to wake him, Hans instead took the book over and sat down next to the bed. He cleared his throat and started to read aloud in what he hoped was a comforting tone.
To his relief, the idea worked and Henry soon calmed. Hans continued to read aloud until his voice was hoarse and his eyes so tired the words blurred on the page. Through it all Henry slumbered deeply in a much-needed rest no longer fraught by dreams, and for some reason that mattered more to Hans than anything else in the world.
Now:
“It was that night we burned Semine down,” Hans said, his voice hushed and sincere, his face hidden in the crook of Henry’s neck where it was easier to confess the small and intimate things that a man would usually leave unsaid.
It was a night for confessions – rain pattering, hearth glowing, old wounds aching, and honeymead sweet on the tongue and heady in the mind.
“Why that night?” Henry asked.
“I knew I cared about you before then, and even that I was drawn to you in ways I shouldn’t be. But that night was when I realized I loved you, or rather that…” Hans struggled for words for a few moments then said, “That this was what loving someone felt like. I don’t think I’d ever really done it before. I thought I’d been in love, but it was just flowery feelings, it wasn’t…”
Henry pressed a kiss into Hans’s hair. “Wasn’t what?”
“I’m not sure how to put it into words. I guess… I wanted to take care of you, even though my shoulder hurt like hell and I was so tired I couldn’t think. I was surprised I could feel that way about someone. The fact it was you that I felt that way for was the least surprising bit, I think. If I were to love anyone in this world, of course it would be you.”
Henry did not reply and a stab of anxiety struck Hans that he might have just said something overly sentimental and made a fool of himself. Hans lifted his head from Henry’s shoulder and pulled out of his arms. They both turned onto their sides to face each other and Hans’s breath was stolen away by the look of complete and utter adoration in Henry’s eyes.
His heart ached with love. He cradled Henry’s face in his hands and kissed him with a fierce tenderness – his mouth slow and gentle but intent with the overwhelming passion of years spent yearning for affection.
I didn’t think love like this existed, Hans thought. But he had said enough sentimental things tonight and words could never contain his feelings anyways. They could only be expressed by hands on bare skin, smiles between kisses, and bodies tangled together, pressing closer, closer, and closer still.
Hans’s breathing started to quicken as they intertwined and their kisses grew heated, longing giving way to the boundless ache of needing. When he rested his hand over Henry’s chest, he could feel how fast his heart was pounding. Hans laid his palm flat against his skin for a minute, enjoying the intimacy of his heartbeat. He pulled his mouth away from Henry's lips to nuzzle his neck instead then he slid his hand downwards. It was satisfying to feel Henry’s chest hair against his fingers and to leave trails of red on his skin as he scraped it slowly with his nails.
A groan rumbled in Henry’s throat and Hans kissed his neck more intently. He moved his hand down across Henry’s stomach, pressing his fingers into his skin to feel the ripples of muscle beneath the thick cushion of flesh. There was nothing more attractive than how solid Henry was. Hans loved every curve, ridge, and plane of his body. He loved the weight of it crushing him when Henry pressed him down against the bed and he loved the steadfastness of it under him when Hans sat atop his hips.
Henry rested his leg over Hans’s hip and pressed closer. Hans lifted his head to capture Henry’s lips in a kiss, licking the sweetness of the mead from Henry’s tongue and reveling in the way it made him moan. Hans slipped his hand between Henry’s legs and massaged his strong thighs, drawing a beautiful noise somewhere between a gasp and a whimper from him.
Hans smiled against Henry’s lips. He loved that sometimes when he touched him, it was like it was for the first time again and Henry reacted with the same passion, desperate and yet almost reverent, as if it was all too good to be true, as if he had waited a lifetime for it. It made even the simplest of pleasures profound.
“I love you,” Henry whispered, “more than anything.” He cupped Hans’s cheek in his hand and pressed a worshipful kiss to his lips. “I’m so-” Another kiss. A quaver in his deep voice, gruff with emotion and impossibly gentle. “I’m so lucky you love me.”
Hans could not speak; he could only act. He slid his hand upwards slowly from Henry’s thighs and Henry pressed into it, hard and aching with desire. As Hans closed his fingers around his cock and rubbed his thumb across its head, Henry let out a long groan. He bucked desperately into Hans’s grip for a minute then caught Hans’s wrist and tugged his hand away so that he could grind against him.
The sound of Henry’s noises of pleasure and the soft panting of his breath had already caused arousal to coil in Hans’s body, a spool of heat low in his belly and a throb of anticipation. Hans pushed Henry onto his back and moved on top of him, rolling his hips along with the rhythm he set and gasping at the sensations of pressure and friction that set his body alight.
Henry’s hand wandered to Hans’s arse and he squeezed it suggestively. “Do you want me like this?” he whispered.
“Tonight what I want is for you to lie back and relax and let me spoil you,” Hans replied, resting his brow against Henry’s and savoring the heat of his breath upon his lips. “Please.”
“I already feel quite spoilt,” Henry said.
“Not enough. I intend to make you as spoilt as I am. I want you absolutely insufferable.”
He laughed softly, pushing his hips up to rut against him harder. “Then what will we do with each other?”
“Kill each other, I imagine,” Hans answered. “But I’ll take that risk.”
He moved down between Henry’s legs and took his cock into his mouth, lavishing it with his tongue then closing his lips around it and sucking. He tasted the drip of arousal on it and heard Henry give a long, low moan. Hans looked up at him and watched in affectionate delight as Henry sighed and relaxed into the pillows, his brow furrowed in pleasure and his lips parted as he panted for breath.
Happiness spread through Hans as Henry reached down and caressed his head, whispering, “You’re so good to me.”
Hans paused for a second. “Oh come off it. I’m not nearly good enough to you.”
“Hans…”
“Sshh.”
Hans closed his eyes and focused once more on what he was doing.
Whenever it had been someone else’s lips around his cock during a casual tryst, he had always thought it must be a rather unpleasant or even slightly demeaning act to perform. When the image crossed his mind of being the one on his knees, no matter how curious his fantasies of men were, he never imagined he would enjoy this. He had been astonished to discover that it was not a demeaning act at all, but rather the most intimate way he could express love. Maybe it wouldn’t feel that way with a stranger, but with Henry, Hans found it satisfying beyond words. Sex when there was a mutuality of pleasure was good, of course, but there was something very precious to him about moments like this when his attention was focused solely on Henry’s enjoyment and not his own.
“Fuck…” Henry said, his voice gruff and breathless. His fingers tangled in Hans’s hair. “If you keep going, I’ll come.”
Instead of stopping, Hans continued with even more passion, quickening his rhythm and taking his cock as deep into his throat as possible without choking on it. Henry cried out and gripped his hair tighter, causing Hans’s own body to throb with arousal.
He reached underneath Henry’s arse and teased the rim of his hole, rubbing his fingertips in circles around the sensitive skin while he pleasured Henry’s cock with his mouth. The combination of the two tipped Henry over the edge and he cursed loudly as he reached his first climax of the night. Come flooded Hans’s mouth and he swallowed it eagerly, licking every drop from Henry’s cock before releasing him.
He gave Henry no reprieve, though. As soon as he lifted his head, Hans took hold of Henry’s hips and turned him over onto his stomach. He grabbed the bottle of oil and slicked his fingers with it then slipped one inside Henry’s arse, stroking gently at the spot that made him gasp and shiver with pleasure.
It was certainly enjoyable to be the one sprawled comfortably on the pillows while Henry dutifully fucked him. Hans would never waste breath denying that he enjoyed the way Henry’s loyal service extended to the bedroom as much as it did the battlefield. But tonight Hans’s heart was very full of the same desire to take care of him that he had felt that night in Trosky when he had forfeited sleep and comfort and found in the sacrifice a strange, deep contentment.
He wasn’t very good at putting words to the feeling and saying pretty, sweet things to Henry. He knew how to speak love to women with poetry and flattery, but to a man he did not know how to break through the instinct to keep talk of emotions at arm’s length out of bravado or humor. He tried his best sometimes, as he had tonight. He knew Henry liked it when he was sentimental even though he was awkward about it too. But in the end, Hans always fell back on actions over words.
Hans had not been raised to take care of others and because of it any act of service, whether it was something trivial like cooking a meal for Henry or something more significant like lavishing him in pleasure in bed, was one of the ways he tried to show his love, hoping what he did for Henry could make up for what was oft left unsaid.
“Fuck,” Henry groaned. “Take me.”
“How?”
“On my back.”
Hans slipped his fingers out of Henry, drawing a yelp from him, and Henry rolled over while Hans slicked his cock with oil. His face was flushed and there was a hazy, hungry look in his eyes as he watched Hans. Christ, he looked so beautiful.
Henry gripped his thighs, holding his legs spread in place as Hans lined himself up and slid the tip of his cock past the sensitive rim of muscle, loosened enough to take his width but tight enough that it made him see stars as he entered him.
“Good God, Henry…” he moaned, pushing in further and marveling at how fucking incredible it felt to be inside him like this. So overwhelmed with the feeling, he went a little too deep too quickly and had to stop himself when he heard Henry give a muffled whimper of pain.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
Henry nodded. “I can take it.”
Despite his assurances, Hans still moved slower and more carefully, drawing out the intimate process as long as he could before they both succumbed to impatience. Once he was fully sheathed in Henry, he paused and just breathed for a minute, his eyes shut as his own ecstasy distracted him.
Then he remembered that it was not about him right now and he had wanted his focus to be on Henry. He would need to deny himself his own desire for a while so that he could draw out Henry's. He wanted to see Henry drunk on pleasure like he so often was – incoherent, overwrought, satisfied in ways he had not fathomed to be possible.
“Fuck… Fuck!” Henry cried as Hans began to move, thrusting in and out of him in a carefully building rhythm. “You feel so good.”
Hans smiled. He couldn’t help it. “Only the best for my Hal,” he teased and leaned down to kiss him, delighting in the way he moaned into his mouth.
Ever since their reunion in Suchdol, they had made love a truly shameful amount of times, natural lust for each other only made more keen by the feelings of affection that grew by the day. And still Hans could not get enough. Still it made him marvel each time, lighting up his body from head to toe with euphoria and choking his throat with emotion.
Henry wrapped his legs around Hans’s waist, drawing him in closer, pleading silently for more. Hans gave him everything he wanted, fucking him harder and faster until his muscles ached and his heart pounded.
Although often a fairly quiet lover unlike Hans himself, Henry had become untethered from all self-consciousness or restraint tonight and heedless cries and curses were punctuated by delicious whimpers and deep, guttural groans of pleasure.
By the time Henry reached his first climax, he was utterly lost. He sprawled out without a hint of grace across the bed, arms flung above his head, mouth open, eyes shut tight. He jerked and shuddered as relief swept over him and Hans fucked him through it in a relentless steady rhythm, drawing it out as long as he possibly could and rendering Henry so overwhelmed that his noises of pleasure silenced and he lay limp and ravished, a faint smile on his lips.
Hans slowed to a pause and kissed him – not roughly, despite the desire still aching in him, but with a deep and lingering sweetness. He pulled out of Henry gently and turned him over onto his side then knelt behind him.
Henry gasped in shock as Hans entered him again. It was easier this time, his body relaxed from pleasure and relief, and Hans knew he would be able to fuck him even harder without fear of hurting him.
Gripping Henry’s waist with one hand and holding his legs in position with the other, Hans began to roll his hips, thrusting into Henry at a swiftly growing pace, breathless but determined. Henry cried out and seized hold of a pillow, burying his face in it.
“Hans…” Henry pleaded. “I don’t know if I…”
“Sshh, yes you can,” Hans told him. “Let me give you one more.”
Henry clutched at the pillow so hard his knuckles went white. His breath came in ragged gasps and his legs trembled as he hung on for dear life, relinquishing himself to Hans and trusting he would not be hurt.
No matter how intent he was on pleasing Henry first and foremost, it was getting difficult for Hans to hold back the distraction of his own desire, especially when Henry lay so pliant beneath him, exquisitely and wholly his. As each wave of pleasure drew Henry closer and closer to his limit, Hans could hardly bear it, and when Henry began to whine and buck his hips back to push Hans as deep as possible into him, he all but shouted a string of curses and fucked him for all he was worth.
Henry moaned frantically into the pillow and at last Hans could endure it no more. Thought gave way to instinct, awareness only to being, and his attention narrowed to the vivid and intimate confines of his own pleasure. What Henry cried out as he reached his peak, Hans did not know. He was too far gone. All he knew was that it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard and that the relief that flooded his senses as his own desire crested and released was sweeter still.
For a moment, there was only warmth and the fullness of it, then slowly he became aware of the world once more. He pulled out of Henry and lay down beside him, his exhausted body heavy with satisfaction. But he only let himself rest for a few breaths, then he dragged himself up and out of bed to grab a washcloth from a basin of warm water upon the side table.
Henry didn’t speak or make any movement. He lay still on the rumpled sheets, head buried in his arms, his body quivering and shining with sweat. Hans smiled faintly and returned to him.
Gently, he cleaned away the mess of their lovemaking from Henry’s body, pressing kisses here and there across his clean skin. When he was done, he set aside the washcloth and set to work massaging Henry’s back and shoulders.
A long, muffled groan came from Henry and he melted under Hans’s touch, mumbling something unintelligible.
“What was that?” Hans asked.
“I love you.”
Hans leaned down to kiss the back of Henry’s head with a breathless laugh. “I’m sure you do right now.”
“Always.”
“Always?” he teased. “Are you certain? I can think of a few times an exception might be reasonably made.”
“Always,” Henry repeated. He lifted his head from his arms at last and looked over his shoulder at Hans with a hazy smile and the warmest look in his eyes.
Hans caught his mouth in a kiss. He lingered tenderly on Henry’s lips for a few minutes then pulled back. He finished his massage and lay down, gathering Henry into his arms so that his back was pressed against Hans’s chest.
“Is my Henry satisfied?” he whispered as he nuzzled his neck with kisses.
“Yes,” Henry answered, taking Hans’s arms and wrapping them tighter around himself.
“Good. God knows he’s earned it.”
“I’m not sure what I did to deserve such happiness.”
Hans could think of a hundred things without hardly trying. He nipped Henry’s neck and said, “Fuck off with your humility. You know exactly what you’ve done. You’re a fucking hero.”
Henry chuckled. “My, how quickly your tune changes. You were being so sweet with me a second ago.”
“Then you said something infuriating.”
Henry rolled over to look at him. “Do you still love me or was that the last straw?”
“I still love you,” Hans promised. Heart aching with affection, he kissed the smile on Henry’s lips. “But don’t push it.”