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“What have you got planned for me then, my Lord?” Henry asks, watching intently as Hans sets down a small bucket on the table next to the bedding, as well as a clean cloth, before kneeling between his legs.
“Well, I was thinking,” Hans takes a deep breath, then looks into Henry’s eyes,“ considering everything you’ve done for us in the past few days alone, and for me as well, I thought I could lend you a hand for a change.” The other man shrugs.
The idea sounded much better in his head, though he does have to admit that looking at Henry now, face covered in grime, strands in his beard glued together by dried blood, he really could use the help. The siege had left its marks on them all, some more visible than others.
“Well,” Henry hesitates, his eyes fixed on a spot over Hans’s left shoulder, then down on his hand which is still loosely lying in his lap. He’s too aware of the implications of it, Hans offering to do such a mundane task as shaving Henry’s beard for him.
A servant’s duty.
Not fit for a noble.
And yet Hans is on his knees in front of him, and the sight of it alone has Henry’s hands flexing in his lap, desperate to touch.
Henry longs to flee into an alternate reality where only Henry and Hans exist. No war, no Rattay, not even Hanush, the Devil’s Pack or Jitka. Just the two of them, the moon bearing witness.
They barely had time to talk since that fated night in Suchdol, right before he had to leave on that suicide mission, small gasps and low moans the only noises shared between them.
“Let’s get you cleaned up then.” Hans offers with a smile, gently squeezing the other man’s knee before taking the wet cloth in his hand and lathering it with soap. He isn’t entirely sure how to go about it now that he’s started, so Hans doesn’t even notice how he’s holding his breath until the cloth makes contact with Henry’s skin, softly pressing against his neck.
Exhaling through his teeth, Hans makes sure to avoid the other man’s gaze as he gets to work, his other hand resting on Henry’s thigh, holding himself upward.
Hans tries his best to be extra gentle, carefully padding over the clotted blood to make way for the tender skin underneath. He can feel how tense Henry is underneath his fingertips, and yet a short glimpse at the other man’s face reveals his eyes to be closed, reveling in the feeling. Hans briefly wonders how many people ever got to see Henry like this, unguarded, vulnerable.
Continuing his way along the sharp lines of Henry’s cheekbones, Hans allows himself the luxury of studying the face in front of him. The eyes, usually so full of emotion, closed and looking peaceful, if not for the knitted brows above them that Hans tries to smooth down with the cloth. The nose, usually held high in defiance of whatever they’re facing, the small scar that marks the bridge of it. The lips, now partly hidden by an unruly beard, chapped and bloodied and still so very kissable.
Out of all the firsts they’ve been experiencing together, this almost feels more intimate than actual sex.
There is no hiding now, the light of the fireplace aiding an intimacy that makes Henry shudder and Hans’ breath hitch as strong fingers hesitantly curl around his own. Hans feels heat creeping up his neck.
“Please, I,” Henry’s tongue peeks out to wet his lips, a nervous habit, “I’m sorry,” he breathed out, his blue eyes apologetic. “I didn’t mean to just leave you like this, after.. What we shared.”
Henry takes another deep breath, visibly troubled, “I didn’t want to hurt you, but I also had to protect myself. Knowing what I had to leave behind so shortly after finally.. I couldn’t bear it, Hans.”
“It’s okay.” Hans whispers, squeezing the hand in his own, wanting to make sure the other man knows that he doesn’t fault him, only understanding too well what it had felt like to have him ripped away.
“Now let me help you shave. You do look like a hermit.” He offered then, his thumb stroking along the pulse point on Henry’s wrist.
Henry looks at him like he wants to object, alienated by the idea of someone else doing this for him, but it’s Hans, and Henry knows if there’s someone he trusts unconditionally it must be him.
At this point, Hans isn’t sure if he had overstayed his welcome, misread the signs, but when Henry settles back into his place on the bed, weight shifted slightly, Hans almost sighs with relief.
Again, Hans padding down Henry’s face with the wet cloth to prepare it for the shave, as well as applying the shaving soap turns out to be another quiet moment, at least until Hans rises from his position between Henry’s thighs.
“Okay, I fear we’re gonna have to do this differently, I can’t reach your face in the right angle like this.” He pauses a moment, tapping the handle of the razor against his lips, thinking.
“I’m gonna have to sit down next to you, like this,” He flops down next to Henry instead, the bed creaking a little under the weight as Hans pulls one of his legs underneath him.
“There, this could work.” Henry huffs in response.
“Just make sure to be careful with the blade. We haven’t cheated death several times just for you to cut my throat.”
Hans’ hand briefly touches his own neck, like he can still feel the noose tightening around it. It almost feels like a lifetime ago now.
The razor Hans uses is his own, a neat little thing, gleaming in the light of the fire, the handle made from the antler of a deer Hans had hunted himself. Compared to the dagger Henry usually uses to trim his beard, this is just another stark reminder of the social rift between them, one fit for a noble, the other for a noble’s bastard.
“Oh, ye of little faith, Henry of Skalitz. I’m always careful.” Hans grins at him, taking the other man’s face into one hand as he lets the weight of the blade press against wet skin.
“That’s why I’m pointing it out.” Henry smiles back between strokes. “I know you too well.”
“Hush now, or I’m really going to slice your annoying face in two, Henry.” Hans rolls his eyes before continuing his work.
He makes sure to keep slow, even strokes, changing the direction of the blade here and there to match Henry’s beard growth. Once Hans reaches the neck, he places his hand on the side of Henry’s jaw. His fingers feeling the rushed pulse underneath, he takes a moment to glance up into the other man’s face.
Eyes glazed over, Henry stares down at Hans with hooded lids, his lips slightly parted to stay comfortable while Hans pulls at his sensitive skin, being extra careful just like he had been with the soft area along Henry’s throat.
Henry can’t remember the last time he had his guard down like this. Openly placing his life in Hans’ hands, no questions asked. They’ve faced death before, more times than Henry can be bothered to count, and Henry shouldn’t feel so at ease with a blade pressed to his throat, but it’s Hans, and for the first time Henry realises there might be more to life than just trying to get by.
That there’s joy to be found in small moments, gentle touches and whispered words. That this could be a life, against all odds.
The sound of the razor scraping away at unruly whiskers and their shaky breaths being the only noises they can hear, it feels like the whole world has quieted down around them, until nothing else existed anymore.
“Alright, I’m done.” Hans announces then, trading the razor for the wash cloth yet again as he proceeds to wipe off any loose beard hairs or shaving soap residue, while his other hand settles back into that space right underneath Henry’s jaw, like it always belonged there.
Hans is awfully close now, his hot breath warm against Henry’s irritated skin as he makes sure that the other man really is as clean as he could get.
“There you go.” He whispers, suddenly very aware of how little space there is left between them as he lets the wash cloth sink into his lap.
This moment was probably already bound to happen as soon as Hans joined Henry in their room at the Devil’s Den earlier in the evening, all confidence and good intentions.
It still knocks the wind out of Henry’s lungs all the same as warm lips suddenly press on his, the hand on his neck tightening its grip, fingertips pressing into the sensitive spot right behind his ear.
Suddenly, there is no hiding in the small confined space of the room, illuminated by the flickering light of the fire. The raw intimacy that built between them overpowering Henry in a way that made his head spin, cornering him, his reason battling his desires.
Henry had hoped to use the opportunity to properly talk to Hans about everything, but maybe they don’t even have to, no declarations or grand gestures, just Hans caring for him and Henry letting it happen for a change.
Everything feels so different this time, yet oh so similar. With Hans, every moment, every caress, feels like the first time again, like Henry can’t believe he actually gets to experience this, gets to keep Hans for now, numbered as their days might be.
Every day the sun rises and Henry offers up a new piece of himself to Hans, who does the same in return. It comes naturally to them, too, like breathing.
Hans genuinely cares for him, wants to make sure he is alright, gets on his knees for him, ready to throw caution to the wind against his better judgement.
Hans whimpers when he feels one of Henry’s hands in his hair, tightening their grip in an attempt to bring them even closer together. The other hand finds leverage gripping where his ass meets his thigh, lifting him up and into Henry’s lap like Hans’ weight means no more to him than a sack of flour.
An easy display of Henry’s strength, distracted as he is by Hans’ lips on his, eagerly catching every single breathless moan.
“Hans,” Henry tries to bring them both back to reality, “this isn’t safe, anyone could just come in here at any moment.”
Henry’s words don’t exactly match his actions though as he just holds on to Hans’ thighs even tighter, grinding their hips together.
“They’re all asleep by now surely,” Hans gasps, hands shaking from urgency as he tries to unfasten Henry’s braies, cursing under his breath.
“Fuck, I can’t believe your recklessness turns me on, it usually just drives me mad.”
“I can tell it always does both,” Hans grins as he finally gets his hands on Henry’s cock, curving against his belly, making the other man gasp.
Henry quickly catches Hans’ wrists, bringing his hands to his own face, pressing Hans’ fingers against his freshly shaven skin. “You have no idea what you do to me, Hans. How much you mean to me, I-“
Henry’s blue eyes grow dark, a storm on the horizon. Hans knows he’s going to be swallowed by the waves.
“I know exactly.. how you feel, Henry,” Hans whispers, keeping one hand resting against the side of Henry’s face while the other moves back down between them, making quick work of the fastenings of his own braies.
Hans gasps when he brings their erections together, rough but longing to be as close as possible. His eyes never leave Henry’s as he collects the beads of precome with a practiced move of his thumb, trying to ease the glide of his hand.
“I’ve never known a feeling quite like this,” Hans continues, bringing their heads together until their foreheads are touching, “it’s consuming me, Hal.”
A visible shudder runs through Hans, bottom lip trembling with the weight of his confession. For the first time, Hans is at a loss for words.
Henry joins Hans’ hand around their cocks, fingers brushing against each other, his other hand wandering to Hans’ neck, pressing against the soft skin of his nape.
Hans closes his eyes at the touch, melting against Henry’s body, his own strong thighs against his grounding him.
They’re building a steady rhythm now, both their hands moving together in deliberate strokes, Hans rocking his hips in what can only be described as a slow and sensual display of emotion.
Bringing their lips back together, Henry sighs into the kiss, searing heat coiling in his core and making his fingers tingle where he buries them in Hans’ hair.
“I hope you know I’ll never get enough,” he admits eventually, breath hitching when Hans twists his wrist just so, fingers tightening around the base of Henry’s cock.
“Good, because I’m not done with you, not even close.” Henry doesn’t need much light to know Hans is grinning, and he also knows how to humble him.
Henry looks down between them, the sight of their erections pressed together between Hans’ long but strong fingers almost enough to make him come.
Hans watches Henry, oblivious to what he is doing, until Henry opens his mouth and lets a long string of saliva fall from his lips, landing on the head of Hans’ cock and immediately dripping down, easing the glide of Henry’s fingers with a wet sound.
“Sakra!” Hans swears as Henry picks up the pace immediately, and then he just feels every little thought slipping away from his brain until Hans is reduced to moans and gasps, both hands now grasping onto Henry’s shoulders as they share every breath between them.
Eyes squeezing shut, Henry is long past the point of being aware of his surroundings, praising and thanking Hans between sloppy kisses, how good he’s taken care of Henry and how much he wants him to feel good now, too.
When Hans finally comes, painting Henry’s hairy chest in liquid white, Henry follows him straight after, just like with everything else.
And when they whisper I love you ’s into the air still charged with the heat of what they just shared, neither of them dares to breathe, lest the moment crumbles into dust.
Using the discarded cloth from earlier, Hans tries to clean up the mess the best he can in their shared dazed state before giving up eventually, sinking into Henry’s warm embrace.
They’re here, and they’re safe, and for a moment that has to be enough.