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“You ready?” Hans asks. Draped languidly over Henry’s sweaty back, he plants a soft kiss into his willing neck. Henry’s been fingered open, moaned and writhed on his fingers, and now Hans is aching to bury inside the same heat.
“‘S ready as I can be, I s’ppose.” Henry’s face turns to meet his eyes. “Don’ really think a man is ever ready for having a cock up his arse.”
Hans grins, setting his teeth gently into his neck. Henry’s approving hum reverberates through him. He wishes to stay here, all of him pressed against all of Henry, but he peels off. Grabbing the vial of oil, he slathers more onto his cock until it’s dripping off his tip.
“Ready?” Hans asks again, nerves tickling in his stomach as his hands settle on Henry’s hips. He’s fucked enough women to know the mechanics, but unlike them, he doesn’t only want to shove inside and selfishly chase his own release. He wants Henry to feel the same pleasure.
Henry huffs with laughter. “Yes, Hans.”
With a shaky inhale, Hans grabs the base of his cock and guides it towards Henry’s oil-slick entrance. It slips, the first couple of times, slippery as a fish as it goes between Henry’s cheeks instead. Grunting with annoyance, Hans’ brows draw together in concentration, and carefully manages to press the tip against Henry’s arsehole.
Miraculously, it breaches, allowing the blunt tip of Hans’ cock inside. Just barely — still, Henry curses; Hans groans. His fingers tighten on Henry’s hip, anchoring to keep him from driving further.
“Is it — alright?” Hans pants.
“‘S strange,” Henry’s voice comes, muffled into the pillow. His breaths are shaky, hands clenched into the sheets. “Gimme a minute.”
Hans hums in agreement, one hand soothing up Henry’s flank. He can’t keep his eyes off the contact between them; Henry’s cheeks spread, shamelessly revealing his arsehole starting to gape over his cock, rim pulsing around it like it’s unsure whether it wants him deeper or gone. The tightness is torture, and every time Henry’s hole gently squeezes, his dick throbs in response.
Hans whines, screwing his eyes shut. If he watches any longer, he won’t last. The heat in his stomach tightens imagining sinking deeper, the searing heat enveloping him fully.
Then the pressure increases, and his eyes snap open to see Henry’s hole contract, almost pushing him out, before relaxing and allowing the whole head inside.
And Hans, to his utter mortification, comes. The suddenness makes him lose balance, falling face-first into Henry’s back which he muffles a long, throaty moan into. His hips buck unwillingly, sinking just a little deeper into the delicious heat, causing even more seed to dribble from his cock. Henry is shaking, too, but with breathless, horrifying laughter.
When it’s over, his softening dick easily slips from Henry, slapping uselessly against Hans’ thigh.
“That good, eh?” Henry twists to cast a cheeky grin over his shoulder.
Hans leans into him, burying his face in the broad surface of Henry’s back again. “Shut up."
“There there, Hans,” Henry coos, mirth bubbling in his voice.
“I didn’t even get it in,” Hans moans pitifully.
Henry releases the repressed laugh, full-bodied and loud, making Hans shake. Then he twists underneath him, and Hans is pressed into Henry’s chest. “It’s flatterin’, honest.”
Hans nuzzles his burning cheeks in the soft hair grazing Henry’s chest. “Really?”
“Mmh.” Henry’s lips press to his forehead, the noise rumbling pleasantly through him. “Flattering how much you want me.”
Hans’ heart twists at that. It’s true, God, it’s true, he wants Henry so badly it hurts. “I promise to last longer, next time,” he mumbles, hand stroking over Henry’s chest, thumb grazing a nipple.
A throb against his stomach distracts him — Henry’s cock still thick and neglected between them. Henry is too gallant to bring attention to it himself, but judging from the dark color and slickness, it must be aching with pent up release. Its size and heft has always been enticing to Hans, but only after the prospect of fucking Henry came up has he considered how it’d feel inside him. The thought has some never-before used muscles twitching between his hips and his cheeks heat with the realization. Christ, maybe he should’ve asked to go first. Next time. Well, next next time.
For now, its insistent heat strengthens his resolve. Hans’ limbs are loose and aching, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get Henry off, too. The soft, needy sounds Henry made with his fingers inside him makes him shiver, even now. So he ignores his protesting muscles, and lifts off Henry, surveying him.
He glances between Henry’s thighs and breath catches in his chest. His hole is glistening, still gently pulsing, still releasing thick rivulets of seed that slide lazily down the cleft of his arse. The sight makes his mouth water. His eyes flick back up to Henry’s, which are creasing with a devious smirk. Henry’s arms move to rest languidly beside his head, body stretched into a lazy display of decadence. The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. Sudden competitiveness rears in his chest.
“I’ll show you flattering,” Hans growls as two of his fingers scoop up the sticky fluid, and presses against Henry’s entrance again. He gasps, arsehole contracting in surprise before loosening, allowing Hans inside.
“Oh, Christ,” Henry groans, turning his face into the pillow. Hans only hums in agreement, pulling out again to push more seed back into Henry. He’s already slick and loose, but something about the abundance of fluid is tantalizing.
Henry’s thighs spread, feet hitching on the mattress. Hans presses his face into a knee, mouthing at the taste of his clammy skin, as he begins rhythmically fucking his dear squire with his fingers. If the slick of oil sounded indecent before, the added spend turns it obscene. It has Hans’ cock filling with surprising new warmth. The effect Henry has on his libido should scandalize him.
“Fuckin’... the sound,” Henry hisses. His face has flushed even darker, droplets of sweat beading on his forehead.
“Like a woman’s,” Hans agrees, grinning when Henry’s arsehole clenches down on him. He glances down to focus on his work, face drawing into a focused pout. Instead of thrusting, he turns to slow, languid strokes, finger curling into Henry’s prostate. Henry releases a loud whine, which he muffles by shoving the pillow into his face. The desperate attempt to stay quiet charms Hans, but he wants more of his lovely noises.
“Hen—ry,” he says in a teasing sing-song. “Henry. Look at me.”
Henry makes a grumbling complaint, pushing his face deeper into the pillow. Hans’ fingers still inside him as a reproach, threatening to withdraw entirely when Henry’s hips try to rock his fingers back to that spot of blinding pleasure.
“Look at me,” Hans insists, voice lowering. While Henry usually grumbles and rebels against his commands, he’s learned it works wonders in bed.
Henry finally obeys, and his face strikes Hans like a war hammer. Skin glistening and flushed all the way down his chest, and those deep blue eyes hazy under fluttering eyelids. His lips kissed a dark red open around his pants, tempting Hans to forego his efforts and shove his now fully erect cock inside.
Instead of waxing poetry over Henry’s beauty, Hans muses, “If this is how my fingers make you feel, I’m not sure you could even handle my cock.”
“Fuu—u—ck,” is all Henry can say, word broken into a whine as Hans keeps indecently pressing into his sweet spot.
Hans shifts to almost lie fully between his legs, so he can mouth at the inside of his thigh. He’s already learned of Henry’s particular sensitivities, and is taking full advantage of it. One of Henry’s legs snake around him, heel pressing into the small of his back. Being trapped under even such a small portion of his weight has Hans’ stomach warming pleasantly.
Every time Hans’ teeth dig into his flesh, he makes sure to press his fingers hard into him. Hans is weak for that particular blend of pain and pleasure, and it seems Henry is, too, as he swears and whimpers with each bite. Hans’ tongue does broad, apologizing laps over the indentations of his teeth.
Henry moans his name, hand coming to Hans’ head. Not to coax him anywhere, simply acknowledging his hard work. His fingers brush the hair off his forehead, and Hans glances up, preening in the intent focus in Henry’s eyes.
Not breaking the contact, Hans moves his face into Henry’s crotch and plants a chaste kiss to the root of his cock. It jumps in response, and pre-cum dribbles down the length. Henry whines, hips jerking against him. A victorious smile spreads on Hans’ face, one he nuzzles into Henry’s groin to inhale the potent scent. Hans never expected to find himself craving the smell of another man’s skin, but now it makes his cock twitch impatiently where it’s pressed into the mattress.
After his indulgence, he again mouths at the base of Henry’s cock. Small licks, teases, spit-slick lips lavishing it with attention. Henry’s stomach is heaving as he pants, enticingly on display from the arch in his back.
“Oh, Hans, do it properly, suck it, please,” Henry whimpers, the usual surprising eloquence on him turned into a begging ramble.
“Uh-uh,” Hans tuts. “You’re not gonna spend in my mouth. You’re going to spend on my fingers alone, and make a mess of yourself.”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” Henry’s eyes screw shut, chest heaving. “You— dirty-mouthed— fucking— ”
Hans never hears exactly what he is, as another firm press to Henry’s prostate has his words trailing into a moan. “At least I don’t take the name of our lord and savior in vain.”
“Y-you’re my only lord,” Henry groans. The words have Hans’ stomach twisting pleasantly. He prefers Henry to drop the titles, but occasionally, he uses them in just the right way to please. The blasphemy he ignores. The Lord would frown at their sin either way; who is He to complain about the added disrespect to His name? Besides, Hans is secretly pleased at being revered so highly, even if it damns both their eternal souls.
“Mine,” Hans growls with a sharp thrust of his fingers.
“Yours,” Henry gasps, no hesitance in being possessed.
Satisfied with the deliriously needy state of him, Hans sits back up, planting one hand by Henry’s waist to keep himself steady. The leg slung around Hans’ back falls limply to the mattress, spread obscenely wide. Henry whines at the loss of attention to his cock, but eyes him eagerly, even when Hans increases his speed and Henry’s eyelids are fluttering, so close to give in to pleasure.
“Hans— fuck— I’m cl— I wanna— I need to—”
“So do I,” Hans says. He leans over Henry, whose jaw tilts to meet his gaze. “I want to see you come. Feel you clenching on my fingers.” Henry’s eyes screw shut, whimpers escaping his lips pressed together. Hans presses his face into Henry’s neck, so sweat-soaked it stains his own skin. The pulse underneath is thrumming, rapid like a hare's, strong as a horse's. What a marvel it is, to have Henry alive and well and wanting him. He mouths over his throat, feeling it jump under the touch. “And next time, you’ll do it on my cock.”
With a long, wanton moan, Henry’s back arches impossibly, shoving Hans’ knuckles into the bed and pushing his fingers deeper. Hans can tell he’s close by the stuttering rhythm of his hips tilting and rocking himself onto Hans’ fingers. Dear lord, he’s never looked more beautiful.
Hans can’t resist kissing him, open-mouthed and greedy. “This is when I would bury deep inside you and come,” he breathes over Henry’s mouth.
And Henry shatters. His trembling thighs clamp around Hans’ body, giving his hips leverage to buck desperately. A brief moment where Henry is almost still, almost silent, only short, disbelieving gasps growing in pitch and volume, before the orgasm crashes into him.
“Fuckfuckfuck, Hans, fff—mmmh,” Henry babbles incoherently as he rides through the tremors. Hans withdraws just enough to witness his undoing. The seed doesn’t dribble shyly from his cock, it shoots long, sticky ropes all over his chest. Fuck, Hans is sure he’s never spilled such an indecent amount before. The sight makes him grin with pride.
When his body finally slumps back into the mattress, Henry is shaking all over, gulping down breaths. His glistening arsehole is still pulsing greedily around Hans’ fingers, like it wants more. Hans could simply bury inside him now, surely with the stimulation and the amount of fluids his cock would slip right in, bottoming out without issue. Henry, however, looks too wrecked to survive another round.
Next time.
Instead, Hans slips his fingers out and wraps them around his own aching cock. Only three fast strokes, and he’s spilling with a long whine, aiming between Henry’s legs. Spills on his thighs, his cock, his arsehole, all twitching with every drop that falls. The arm holding him up trembles, begging him to collapse into Henry’s welcoming arms, but first, he wants to survey his handiwork.
Blinking his suddenly heavy eyelids open, he trails his eyes over the boneless body sprawled beneath him. Henry’s own seed has sprayed all over, coating his stomach all the way up to his clavicles. And between his legs, Hans’ mess — bruises and bites strewn across his hips and thighs under the glossy coat of his seed. Not to mention the little pool of it seeping into the mattress as it leaks from his hole.
His eyes finally come to Henry’s face, covered by one hand. His breath is loud, chest hitching in a worrying way.
“Hey,” Hans whispers, gently removing Henry’s hand, revealing eyes screwed shut, tears at the corners. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Henry breathes, interlacing their fingers. “Just — that was a lot.”
Hans hums sympathetically, wiping away the tears. He wants to curl into Henry’s body, but remains uncertain whether that, too, would be a lot. “Too much?”
“Jus’ perfect,” Henry mumbles, eyes finally blinking open, glassy and hazy. “C’mere, you.”
Despite the sticky mess, Hans finally allows himself to cover Henry’s body with his, nuzzling his face into his neck. Henry’s arms slowly come around him, one hand idling up and down his back. They lie in silence for a long while, their breaths slowing.
“The mouth on you,” Henry says finally, with a small huff of laughter. “Christ, you rival the filthiest of bathwenches.”
“Mmm,” Hans hums, a devious grin overtaking his face. “Seemed you liked it.”
“I did,” Henry agrees. “Didn’ really believe it’d be good for the… receiving party, but you’ve already got me eager for the rumored next time.”
The praise makes Hans warm and giddy. “I’m glad.” His hand finds Henry’s jaw, thumb grazing his stubble thoughtfully. “Seeing how much you liked it… I’m curious.” The admission has his heart throbbing nervously.
The hand on his back stills. “Aye?”
“Aye,” Hans mirrors.
Henry turns into his palm to kiss it chastely. “Good. I’d like to.”
Hans hums, stroking the sweaty hair off Henry’s forehead, before rolling off him with an impatient sigh. “Now fetch a rag. I’m sticky.”
Henry scoffs, rudely nudging an elbow into his side. “You’re sticky? Unbelievable.”
Despite the complaint and continued grumbling, he obliges, cleaning himself off before returning to Hans, who languishes in the slow, gentle wipes. He’ll never grow tired of the gracious devotion Henry treats him with. The fondness of his voice even as he mutters spoilt brat. The way he finally collapses next to Hans, strong arms folding him into warmth and safety.
Even the way within minutes Henry’s snoring directly into his ear. How Henry manages to make the most annoying habits endearing is a mystery to Hans; one he hopes is never unraveled. All he hopes for is to hold safe the precious secret between them forevermore.