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Hans hears him before he sees him.
Footsteps on the creaky wooden floorboards on the walkway outside. Of course, it is only past midnight. Any of the others might still be milling about.
But this steady and solid stride can only belong to one person.
The door to their room opens and shuts, the lock quietly bolted. Though he continues to keep his eyes closed, he senses the presence standing over him, watching as he lies in bed. But there is no fear, no need to cover himself up - Henry’s watchful gaze is warm, a blanket all on its own.
Though it must be said that the first time Hans woke up to find Henry standing by his bed and staring at him in the dim light of their room, he did nearly throw a book in the man’s face after releasing a rather indignified yelp that somehow did not wake up the whole inn. As he was about to scold Henry for being a creep, Henry apologised and, with all the tenderness in the world, said, “I just like to make sure that you’re safe.”
Any annoyance was immediately placated after that.
So forms their routine, even more so now that they’ve returned to the Devil’s Den after having survived Suchdol. While Hans is stuck waiting in the inn and thus cannot travel too far, Henry, being his usual hardworking self, leaves for days on end to explore the Kuttenberg region, helping out wherever he can while also ridding the land of crooks and bandits. But when he eventually returns - and he always does - it’s often well into the night, so he quietly makes his way to the room, and without fail he will check in on Hans first before going to bed himself.
Just like he is now, and even though Hans still has his eyes closed, he knows that Henry is smiling, lips upturned in that signature way of his, both charming and affectionate. Next comes the sigh. A little release of breath, relieved to see his liege lord - his lover - alive and safe and asleep.
Depending on how tired Henry is, this might be the end of it. If he’s exhausted, Henry will head straight to bed after. More often than not, however, he will do something more.
And it seems like tonight is no different, because Hans feels a hand brush lightly over his hair, followed by a gentle stroke of fingers along his cheek. Still half-asleep, Hans moves towards Henry’s touch, naturally seeking out his warmth.
A soft chuckle, full of fondness. Travelling from Henry’s lips to Hans’s heart. It is a heavenly sound, one that Hans knows is accompanied by that endearing little shake and duck of his head that Henry always does.
Oh, how beautiful it is to be loved.
Henry pulls away wordlessly, surely worried that doing anything more will wake up his dear Lord Capon. With much softer footsteps, he walks towards his bed on the other side of the room. In the near distance, there are then the sounds of careful but unavoidable rustling of clothing and clinking of metal, Henry trying his best to do the impossible task of removing his multiple layers of clothes and armour as silently as possible.
As for Hans, though he has gotten used to the noise, he slowly rouses from his slumber as a memory resurfaces, that of the first time he arrived at the Devil’s Den, when Henry told him that the two of them had this room all to themselves.
Zizka must have had an inkling back then about their true feelings for each other because he let them have this corner room and didn’t force them to share it without anyone else, even though that meant some of the others had to sleep on the cold floor with the thinnest of hay bedding. Zizka had said something about not wanting to disrespect a nobleman, but when they first met, there was a knowing look in his eye.
To this day, Henry swears that he didn’t tell Zizka anything, but it must have been obvious enough.
Regardless of the reason, they have been granted the luxury of a private room all to themselves. Not only was he surprised by how spacious it was, but also by the strange placement of the beds. Henry had sheepishly admitted that he had taken the inner bed without really thinking about it, but now that Hans was here, he was also more than happy to switch. He was the bodyguard after all, so he should be the one closer to the door in the event of a sudden attack.
Yet, as much as Hans appreciated the gesture, he was happy with the bed by the door. He could easily escape should anything happen, like say the collapse of a roof…
The incident at Nebakov was still fresh in his mind back then, and though Henry had said nothing, by the look on his face it was clear that he understood. Since then, Hans has gotten over the worst of his fears, and Henry has offered again, but he insists on staying. It’s closest to the windows and the exterior walls, and it is through them that he can wake to the crow of the cockerels in the morning and listen to bird songs throughout the rest of the day.
If he must stay inside, then at least let it be near to nature.
So, they sleep on opposite sides of the room… or at least that’s what the others think. Because though the room is only so big, the distance between the beds feels vast. Those first few nights in the Den, Hans found himself unable to look away from Henry’s sleeping form, hopelessly pinning away for the man he thought he could only never have. Hours spent pushing down his yearning to make way for slumber. So near yet so far.
Then came that magnificent night in Suchdol. Fear and desperation giving way to confession, to soul-baring vulnerability. Now or never. He needed Henry to know, consequences be damned. A brief moment when he finally learnt what Henry’s lips tasted like, only to be replaced by pure panic. What have I done? I just fucked this up, didn’t I? I’ve pushed him away for good.
All these doubts, erased in a second when Henry walks back to him with such purpose, such determination, stepping into his space with not a hint of hesitation. Warm hand on his waist, another cradling the back of his head. Their lips locked, never parting for more than a second, even when Henry leads him to the bed. Awkward but grateful hands pulling away at each other’s clothes, becoming ecstatic and relieved at the first touch of bare skin. Sighs and moans and smiles as they explored the most intimate parts of one another, as Hans felt Henry’s weight and heat against him, as Henry’s arms bracketed him on either side, keeping him safe as he always does.
My loyal Henry.
Though they were both starving, a different, much more fervent kind of hunger consumed them that night.
And later, when they were both spent, lying in each other’s arms, exhausted but blissed out and adored, Hans made a vow to himself right then and there: if Henry was to come back alive, he would want to experience this, over and over again for as long as he could, for as long as Henry would let him.
So, unless they were both too tired to do anything other than fall dead asleep, they would always end up together in one of their beds. If Hans was still awake when Henry returned, he would invite the man into his bed. Tonight, it seems like it will have to be the other way around.
Even in the low light, Hans knows the way. He has memorised the exact number of steps, the slight turns he has to make to avoid the various pieces of furniture. This short route, this gap that lies between them, Hans could walk it in his sleep. Even blind he would know the way, drawn so strongly as he is to Henry, guided instinctively by their bond.
When he gets to Henry’s bedside, the man is already lying down. His eyes are closed, but even so, he too knows very well the natural flow of this bedtime ritual of theirs. He shifts closer to the wall while spreading his arm open invitingly, creating a perfect Hans-shaped space.
Like all the times before, Han’s heart is so full of adoration that it feels like bursting. Without a moment’s delay, he climbs onto the bed and into Henry’s waiting embrace.
He nestles into Henry’s side, one arm going in the gap between Henry’s shoulders and the pillow while the other slings across his broad chest. The bed is by no means large, barely able to fit two grown men so it’s already a bit of a squeeze, but Henry draws him in closer anyway, arm curling around Hans’s back, holding him. Protectively. Lovingly.
All of this is done silently. No words need to be exchanged, no discussion is needed to be had over what’s comfortable or what’s not. After that night in Suchdol, all the pieces fit into place, both literally and figuratively. They know all the ways their bodies slot together perfectly - in more ways than one.
With the two of them being adults in their prime, it’s no surprise that for many of the nights they spend together, it ends with sex. Ever since their return to the Den, they have defiled every single surface in this room - each one multiple times. It gets especially intense when Henry returns after a long time away; once, Henry had been gone for almost a week and a half, and when he got back, they could barely keep their hands off of each other long enough to go to their room, tearing each other’s clothes off the second the door was locked behind them. By the next morning, they had made a full tour of the walls, floor, beds, and table, no flat surface that they didn’t fuck on or against. When they finally emerged for breakfast, it took everything in them to hide their thoroughly satisfied grins, and even then they were sure they didn’t manage it very well, getting strange looks and side glances.
At this point, they are sure that everyone knows about them. Godwin and Samuel certainly do while it’s very likely that Zizka, Katherine, and Musa do too, but they can’t say for certain about the rest of the Devil’s Pack, though they can be pretty observant when they want to. At the very least, the Dry Devil himself, poor Hynek who sleeps right against the shared wall, definitely knows by now - Hans and Henry can only keep themselves so quiet when in the throes of passion after all, and the beds of this inn also creak rather loudly when under duress.
Luckily for the old man, tonight is no such night. Henry has only been away for three nights this time, and Hans’s ever-present lust for him is not as demanding in its need to be satiated. Tonight, he is satisfied enough with the simple intimacy of lying in bed with the man he adores.
“I missed you,” Hans whispers sleepily, his usual greeting whenever Henry returns.
“Me too,” Henry says, breath tickling Hans’s nose. “What did I miss while I was gone?”
Life with the Devil’s Pack is never a bore, and Hans recounts some of the highlights from their usual antics: Janosh holding an impromptu cooking lesson, Katherine being the ultimate winner after several rounds of strip dice that left the men in their braies - and for one poor passing traveller, even less than that - and Kubyenka getting so drunk one night that he stumbled down the stairs and fell right onto Godwin.
“And guess what? Yesterday, your brother asked for my help composing a letter to that Liechtenstein fellow.”
“Oh?” Henry asks, and Hans doesn’t have to look to know that Henry is smirking. “He must finally be warming up to you then. Either that, or he is truly desperate. Did you tell him about how you needed my help to recite simple poetry to that Karolina girl?”
Hans huffs, which earns him another chuckle. Choosing to ignore that last comment, Hans continues, “You should have seen his face, Henry. He was so forlorn that it was almost unbearable.” Samuel’s expression is vivid in Hans’s mind: at first indignant but resigned while asking for help, then becoming so wistful and full of longing, a look so incongruous with his usual stoicism that it became truly disconcerting. Not to mention the phrases that he had Hans help him craft - Hans wouldn’t have thought of Samuel being a romantic, and that made it all the stranger.
“Go easy on Sam. You know how badly he misses Liechtenstein.” Henry’s voice is light, half amused and half earnest. “And he deserves some sympathy. Not only was he forced to watch you and I dance around our feelings for each other like the fools that we were, but now he has to watch us be lovesick fools instead. Don’t forget, without him and Liechtenstein, I wouldn’t have been able to save you from Maleshov, so helping them write their love letters is the least we can do.”
Something flutters in Hans’s chest. “Yes, well…” he trails off, choosing not to answer, struck by the reminder of their almost identical situations: a commoner-turned-bodyguard and a nobleman, disregarding the rules of societal hierarchy and religious scripture to fall into a forbidden romance.
While he has to admit that Samuel and Liechtenstein make for a good couple (but not something he would ever admit to either of them), he’s much more focused on his own relationship with his beloved blacksmith’s boy.
“What about you?” He asks, deciding to change the topic. “Anything exciting happen during your travels?”
This is part of their routine too, Hans wanting Henry to recount tales of his adventures, the man always seeming to end up meeting the strangest of people, visiting the most interesting of places, and getting himself into some particularly peculiar predicaments. Usually, Henry would be more than happy to oblige, eager even to regale everything he’s experienced, a spark in his beautiful blue eyes as he paints a vivid scene with that now learned mouth of his while Hans hangs on to his every word.
But it seems like this will not happen tonight, because the man just shakes his head.
This happens sometimes, when Henry feels like he doesn’t have the energy to complete a story but will gladly recall it in the morning once he’s gotten some sleep. Now however, there is something beyond just simple tiredness that’s making him uncharacteristically sullen.
“What’s the matter?” Hans asks, pulling himself in closer.
A long sigh, Henry’s chest falling under Hans’s arm. “On the way back, some bandits ambushed me. I got rid of them, of course, but the last fellow… it wasn’t until I had already run my blade through him that I realised he was just a young lad. Barely an adult, maybe not even… He looked not too many years younger than us.”
Henry trails off. Hans waits silently, eyes trained on Henry’s frown, on the furrow that forms between his brows. He recognises this particular look, a sadness in his expression that reflects an anguish stewing away inside.
Another deep sigh is released before he continues. “I had to ride aimlessly for a bit after that, to clear my head. That’s why I returned late.”
“I understand,” Hans says. “... Do you want to talk about it?”
A heavy pause. Then, “Not really.”
Hans nods. He does not push further. Nights like these don’t happen often, but when they do, he has learned that it is best to let it be. Henry will usually tell him everything eventually, after he’s gotten his thoughts and feelings about a particular matter in order.
Even if he doesn’t, Hans already knows what this particular weight on his soul is.
Due to horrible circumstances, Henry has been forced to grow up and become a warrior, and though he is undoubtedly proud of how far he’s come, there are moments when he regrets having to become a killer. Henry tries his best to avoid bloodshed, but if left with no other choice, he will do his utmost to be the one who comes out on top.
Still, every life that he does take, even if it is that of the enemy, ends up weighing heavily on his conscience. To him, each one is a step closer towards becoming like the bloodthirsty brutes that razed Skalitz to the ground.
And this poor fellow he just mentioned… Hans can’t help but think that why his death has affected Henry so much is not only because of how upsetting it is for someone so young to be forced to commit banditry and thus end up with his rather short life tragically cut short. It is also likely to be due to the fact that in another life, if Henry hadn’t been so lucky and if things had turned out a lot differently, he could have very well ended up a bandit like the boy too. A bandit who’s now dead and lying cold on the dirt, with no one to mourn him, much less bury him and give him his last rites.
In fact, Hans doesn’t just think it. He’s sure of it.
It’s exactly for this reason that, with the arm he has along Henry’s shoulders, he reaches up to run his hand through Henry’s hair, nails scratching gently against his scalp. This always soothes him, and soon, he does, muscles slowly relaxing.
Ironically, it’s at this moment that Hans tenses, suddenly realising something. “Did you get hurt when they attacked you?”
“A few cuts and bruises, but nothing serious.” Henry says, all too casually.
That makes Hans’s heart ache. Due to the cruel nature of the world they live in, the two of them, Henry especially, have become far too desensitised to violence and pain. He has seen Henry survive the worst - the absolute terror he felt in that moment, dragging a half-dead Henry through the woods while pleading for him to not give up and praying to God not to lose his only friend, is forever ingrained into his memory.
It was the spark that eventually led to his desperate confession in Suchdol, and it is what causes him to sit up in an attempt to check for himself if Henry is simply downplaying his injuries. “Where, let me see-”
But he’s immediately pulled back down and more snuggly against Henry’s side. “I’m fine, Hans, really.”
Hans huffs. Of course the person he’s fallen in love with is as stubborn as him, if not more so. Henry will not relent, so Hans gives in but does not give up. With his other hand, he runs it up and down the side of Henry’s body, gliding over whatever he can reach.
Over these nights together, he has mapped out the contours of Henry’s body, has committed to memory every dip, curve, and line of firm muscle and soft flesh. He’s memorised every sensitive area that, with a touch, will have Henry moaning, gasping, sighing. But he’s equally as aware of all the places Henry’s been hurt. Even without looking, he knows where to go, fingers tips tracing over the bumps of scars both old and new. While there are some from his childhood and earlier life, they are few in comparison. Far too many are from the past weeks, starting from the day Hans decided to ask his retinue to make camp for the night at that damned lake.
He’s brought out of his thoughts by Henry speaking, a low rumble that Hans can feel against his chin that he has on Henry’s shoulder. “I can hear you thinking.”
Hans doesn’t say anything, just makes a sound. Part acknowledgement, part prompt to get Henry to elaborate. He doesn’t look at Henry, instead staring blankly at the wall on the other side of Henry, waiting.
“Hans.”
He hums, finger softly pressing against a long scar along Henry’s ribs. It’s fairly new, one he got while helping Hans escape Maleshov.
“Hans.” Henry repeats again, much more firmly.
Finally, he looks up, finding those stunning blue eyes looking right at him.
Below those eyes is a smile. Tinged with an underlying sadness, but still warm, comforting, loving. “I’m alright, my Lord. I promise.”
Flushing a little at the use of his title (one that has transformed into more of a term of endearment), Hans returns the smile, but it’s small. Tight. Still concerned. “I know, it’s just…” He moves his hand to place it over Henry’s left pec, where he feels the familiar and steady beat of his heart. A kind and loyal heart, one that belongs to a man who so often puts the needs and safety of others above his own. Losing his parents in such a brutal way has shook him to his core and has made him dutiful to a fault - he will do whatever it takes to protect those he cares about.
Hans has seen it firsthand, and though he is beyond grateful, it also terrified him to see Henry put himself between him and the attackers. Henry is his bodyguard, yes, but he is now also his lover.
Tragically, Hans knows that devotion goes both ways: Henry loves him more than anything, but that also includes his own life.
That constant, low-lying fear makes itself known again, the same that always appears when Henry mounts Pebbles and disappears over the horizon for unknown amounts of time. Even when Henry is back and in his arms again, it never really disappears.
He cannot lose Henry. He cannot even fathom such a horrible reality, because to do so would be to imagine a pain so excruciating that he’s sure he’ll never recover.
But what makes this all infinitely worse is that Henry feels the same about him. Henry is more than willing to lay his life down and sacrifice himself, ready to die so that Hans may live. It’s already been proven once, and that was before. Now, he has no doubt that Henry has only become even more determined to make sure no harm befalls his love.
And being as obstinate as he is, not even a direct order from his lord will change his mind.
Henry’s heart beats a strong rhythm against Hans’s palm. While Henry might be satisfied with just checking on Hans in his sleep, Hans is not as easily comforted. That’s what these nights are for, whether it be having Henry under him or above as they give in to their most carnal desires, or simply lying next to each other as they are right now; it’s for him to touch, to hold, to know that Henry is alive and safe and with him still.
“You know I love you, right?” He hates how small he sounds, so unlike the first time they exchanged those three words.
It was the night after the siege on Suchdol ended, their reunion one that quickly moved beyond simple pleasantries and hugs once they had the cover of night and the privacy of their room. No longer were they desperate and famished and tired; it was filled with relief and joy, tinged with a bit of denial over Hans’s impending nuptials.
After, when they both collapsed back onto the bed sweaty and satisfied, Henry said those three little words. Hans had frozen at first, unfamiliar with hearing them directed at him. But then, a beautiful, different kind of warmth spread through his being as he realised Henry’s complete and utter sincerity. He couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face - not that he would have wanted to - and said it back to Henry, repeating it over and over again as he kissed him silly, somehow able to fall asleep later in a giddy state of happiness.
Since then, Hans has been more open, more eager to say it, sometimes even daring to do it when there are other people around (albeit it quietly). While occasionally it’s to tease, most of the time he simply cannot and will not hold back on expressing his feelings, especially now that he’s no longer afraid.
As for Henry, he’s easily and adorably flustered at the attention he gets, but he is less vocal in expressing his affections. Still, Hans knows and feels his adoration all the same. And in those moments when Henry does it say, it means so much more, often leaving Hans a flattered, blushing mess.
However, right now, when Henry replies with an “I do”, it is not enough. Hans pushes himself up again, this time succeeding in leaning over the man, their faces just an inch apart. From this angle, Henry looks like a dream, handsome face and thick brown hair cushioned by the pillow beneath him. But he will not be distracted, not when Henry looks up at him in concern, which Hans hates seeing, hates being the cause of. There are so many things he wants to say, several of which he’s said before, but there is one that he knows will encapsulate everything.
“Henry… I love you.”
He is merely repeating, yes, but it is different. More assertive, hopeful, determined, an outpouring of emotions contained in three syllables.
Bright blue eyes blink up at him. Like the sky, they seem infinite, yet able to bear this man’s soul.
A release of breath, one that he feels against his own lips.
The hand that is on his side gives the gentlest of squeezes.
“I know.” Henry tilts his head ever so slightly up, brushing the tip of his nose against Hans’s. “I love you too, Hans.”
Hans finally smiles then. I know, he thinks, because he does. Oh, how he knows what it is like to be loved by this man, and all the blessings and fears that come with it. To be vulnerable, to be laid bare, to have his fragile heart exposed. Henry has seen him at his worst and yet despite all of it, or maybe because of it, he stays.
Henry will always love him, for as long as he is able.
It is scary, but Hans decides to focus on the solace that he finds instead. He cups Henry’s jaw and moves in to kiss him.
Instantly, Henry’s lips part to welcome him, to embrace him as he already has with his heart and body. Such a sweet taste, one that Hans always finds himself getting very easily lost in, despite having already memorised it along with so many other aspects of Henry.
In truth, it’s not a conscious effort anymore. He just knows all these about his lover now, and they come to mind as naturally as breathing.
The kiss is passionate but slow, languid. Though time waits for no one, in this quiet peace they’ve found for themselves in this room, in this bed, it feels like no time is passing at all. For these nights spent together, there is no world outside waiting to tear them apart. Here, Henry is his world as he is Henry’s, and they care for nothing but each other.
After a while, they eventually pull apart, feeling no need nor rush to go any further tonight (though it’s more than likely they’ll pick up where they left off in the morning). Hans lies back down, returning to his place beside Henry, nuzzling in even closer. Henry does the same, readjusting his grip on Hans’s flank to hold him more securely, while his other hand goes to hold gently onto Hans’s arm across his chest.
With a yawn and a soft kiss pressed to the bridge of Hans’s nose, Henry says, “Goodnight, my Lord.”
Fully loved and cherished, Hans whispers back, “Goodnight, my dear Lancelot.”
Perhaps there is only one way their story can end, destined to suffer a tragic fate like the two knights of the tale. Hans can’t be sure, but he has Henry, his love for the man and the man’s love for him.
To love and be loved so wholly, this is all he knows with absolute certainty, and for now, that is all he needs.