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It was early spring—the sun peaked over the horizon, golden light beaming against the pinkened sky, its rays reaching out like the very fingers of God to chase away the frost on the ground. A cabin stood in the midst of a forest, small enough that it barely earned the title 'cabin' and in a clearing that was even smaller still; the forest began to reclaim its fallen brethren as trees grew close, one through the back end, with moss consuming the rest along with the damp in the air. It was forgotten, for a time, left to rot in its own company until one eve it was found. An old, rotting cabin in the middle of nowhere treated with the same excitement as finding a hundred groschen under your pillow.
Within its walls lay two men, entirely too close, but shielded from the eyes of God above by the cabin's protective roof. The air within was warm and heavy, the damp within the wood leeching into the air from the heat of a decayed campfire and bodies pressed. The cold of the outside stopped at the door, for it was not welcome here.
Henry sat on a bedroll, bare back pressed against the wall, rough fingers paging through a book with the delicacy of folding dried flowers. Redness kissed the tips of them, along with his cheeks and chest, warmed through skin to bone. Warmed through in many ways. Beside him lay Hans, sleeping still, breath coming slow and steady to ruffle the pages of Henry's book the way he ruffled Hans' hair. Henry looked down to the man beside him, arms crossed beneath his head as he lay on his front, mouth parted, a stream of saliva making its way down his forearm. Despite the darkness that ringed his eyes and the soreness in his muscles, there was no place in this world where he could have been happier.
Quiet as a whisper, Henry placed his book on his lap, leaning down to press a kiss to Hans' forehead. In response, he got a grunt, a groan strained and marred by sleep, a whine and a hand pressed to his face.
“How dare you interrupt my beauty sleep.” Hans mumbled shortly after, muffled against the meat of his forearm.
“I do apologise, my Lord, I just didn't think it wise to let you sleep 'til tomorrow morn.” Henry said, wearing a grin that threatened to split his face in two. Unsurprisingly, that scandalised the noble enough for him to push himself up from the bedroll and slap Henry on the bicep.
“How very dare you. You mustn't have had a wink of sleep in your life then, blacksmith.” Hans retorted, the grin on his lips cracking the stiffness of sleep from his face. Henry chuckled, bright and bubbling from the pit of his stomach and looked Hans in the eyes—blue as the cold spring sky, yet cradling the warmth of the sun. With a sigh that was entirely fond, Henry cupped the back of Hans' head, pulling him to his chest and placing a firm kiss to the top of his head.
“Go back to sleep—it's far too early for your delicate self.”
He picked his book back from his lap, holding it in one hand, as the other rested on Hans' head petting his hair absent-mindedly.
“Did you not sleep?” Hans asked, small, mouth pressed to Henry's breast.
“I did. Just woke up early on account of your noble arse pushing me out the bedroll.” Henry chided, all softness.
“You're blessed that my noble arse is in this bedroll.” Hans scoffed, moving his head up to rest against Henry's shoulder, arm slinking aver his stomach.
“Aye, I won't argue with that.” Henry replied, low with private amusement, before the hand on Hans' head moved swiftly down to grab a handful of the noble arse. Hans yelped, slightly indignant, but blooming at the edges with laughter.
A gentle slap to Henry's chest that was followed by the flat of his palm and quiet settled within the cabin once more; soft and comforting as a goose feather blanket. Sunlight sneaked through slivers in the walls, cutting through the dim and embered light inside like flashes of white feathers. The campfire was burnt to naught, ghosts of orange nestled deep within the ash. Quiet steady breathing was occasionally broken by the faint scrape of callouses along paper and the whisper of a page turning. The atmosphere was like a content sigh—the kind you sigh after hours on your feet, muscles weakened, feet blistering, and at last you sink into your favourite place beside your favourite person.
A gentle smile was on Henry's face, placid, comfortable and watched with intensity by eyes focused as a cat. The quiet lasted a scant while, broken by a long suffering sigh. Henry's eyes flickered from his book for the briefest of moments, not thinking much of it, perhaps unwisely. Hans fidgeted, hauling himself up to sit beside Henry proper, shoulder pressed to his chest and head lolling against his shoulder. Henry's eyes continued to scan the pages lazily—a personal affront, surely. Hans tilted his head as it lay on Henry's shoulder enough to peer up at the man.
“I can see up your nose.”
Barely a grunt in acknowledgement. Hans pouted, kissing his teeth slightly and sighed like a man barely keeping himself together. After a short moment of consideration, Hans leaned up to press a kiss to Henry's jaw, trailing soft pecks along his skin and poking his nose into the soft flesh of his neck. He turned, pressed the briefest of kisses onto Hans' forehead before looking back to read once more. Hans looked up at the man who was seemingly so engrossed in his book that he daren't spare a moment to give his Lord some attention. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, mouth twisting into another pout.
“What are you reading?” Hans asked, nudging his nose against Henry's neck once more.
“Book about herbs.” He replied, leaning his head slightly against Hans'.
“Is it interesting?” Another question like a poke.
Henry shrugged. “It's informative.”
A beat of silence. Hans raised the hand curled around Henry's middle to press two fingers against the man's lips. The softest of pecks graced his fingertips; yet his eyes remained, steadfast, eating up the book like a beggar's first meal. Hans squinted. He raised his hand once more, the tip of his index finger slowly tracing the dips and curves of Henry's ear. The man recoiled from the sensation slightly, trying to tuck his head against his shoulder when Hans huffed and poked him in the hole of his ear.
“Christ alive, will you—” With a grunt, Henry dropped the book cover up onto his lap. “Can I help you with something?”
“It's like I'm not even here! I never thought the day would come where someone finds a book more interesting than me.” Hans lamented, dramatically draping himself across Henry's lap. He looked down at Hans, brow stern but mouth betraying him, trembling in poorly restrained amusement. Hans kept his indignant eyes but his mouth stretched into a menacing smile.
“How could I possibly forget you're here when you're poking and prodding and kissing me every few seconds?”
“You're complaining about me kissing you now?”
“I'm not complaining, I just— I'm reading.”
“Yes. But I want you to pay attention to me.”
Henry huffed a laugh, no longer able to school his expression into anything other than exasperated fondness. “You're a menace.” He chuckled, light as a feather. The sunbeams through the cabin spread behind him like wings. “And what is it you'll have of me, my Lord.” He added, breath curling across Hans' jaw like a finger.
With more effort than he would admit, Hans jerked his head away in self-pitying elegance, crossing his arms over his chest. “No. No it's fine, I see how it is, you'd rather spend this beautiful morn with a book than with me. I'll simply sit here and wither, waste away from lack of attention.”
Henry folded, hands over his face warm from the inside out, shaking his head. “You're so irritating!” He said, a laugh consuming his words almost to imperceptibility. It made something bloom in Hans' chest with such ferociousness he could choke on it.
“Irritating?!” Hans gasped, head snapping back to lock eyes with Henry. “You're so cruel to me. First you ignore me, then you insult me?”
Henry lulled his laugh back to a rumble in his chest, leaning forwards and wiping his eyes before curling his arms around Hans' waist, pulling him against the sizzling heat of his skin. “Enough, come on. Kiss me.”
Hans dipped away, half heartedly pushing at Henry's chest. “Why should I do that? You're being awful.”
“Kissing you is the least awful thing I do.” Henry said, breaking down Hans' defences that had the integrity of sand, lips already capturing the tender laugh that spilled from his mouth. Henry's hand travelled skywards, along the ridges and valleys of Hans' back, flying higher and higher 'til it nestled among strands golden as the sun. Lips moved together without an ounce of urgency, languid and savouring, spilling warmth through them like reclining into a hot bath. Hearts hammered and chests kissed. They split, and neither of them could be sure if it had been a minute or an hour.
“And kissing me,” Henry murmured, hand still buried in Hans' hair and lips still close enough to taste his breath, “is the least irritating thing you do.”
Hans laughed against Henry's lips, looking into eyes that held all the blues of a rolling stream.
“You just wouldn't know charm if it sat next to you and poked you in the ear.”
Henry chuckled fondly, picking the book up once more, earning a huff from Hans and a roll of eyes in response, before dog-earing the page and folding it shut.
“You have my full attention the moment I see you, whether I want to give it you or not.”
“I'll take that as a compliment.”
The wood of the cabin creaked, like arms tensing, closing around something cherished. There were gaps in the walls, the roof was caving, the door was hanging on its hinges but in this moment they had found this cabin a haven. An eddy of air, an exhale, and the steam from the warmness leaked out into the coolness of the outside. Beyond rotting walls, for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.