BUBONICC

Three days prior, Henry returned to the Den from an errand Zizka had sent him on. This, on its own, was not unusual, but the way Henry rode in half slumped and looking like a corpse was. He didn’t acknowledge anybody as he rode by, which was also unusual since he was rather a social creature. Instead, his focus remained ahead of him, as if all his energy was being directed to getting to where he was going. 

Upon bringing Pebbles to a stop in front of the hay trough, he dismounted, his feet hitting the ground, but his legs giving out from his weight. He’d fallen backwards onto his arse, armor clanking, the visor to his helmet coming down and snapping shut.

Hans had been sitting at one of the tables outside, lazily nursing stale ale, when he saw his squire ride in. At first, he was excited, but it flipped to confusion when he watched Henry fall.

“Already ten pints deep? Eh?” Hans laughed as he stood, sauntering his way over to Henry, who still hadn’t gotten up. “Or are you becoming a lightweight on m-” Hans cut himself off when he saw Henry lean forward and slide his helmet off. 

Henry, as pale as a corpse, looked up at his Lord with dark sunken eyes. His hair was damp and sticking to his forehead in every direction. 

“Christ, Hal,” Hans grabbed Henry’s arm and helped haul him to his feet. “You look awful.”

“I’m… I’m alright.” Henry tried to smile, but it looked weak and half-hearted. “Just need to sleep is all.” It had been a long journey, and he’d been rained on twice. He was soaked and cold. For several days.

“Come on, I’ll help you get your armor off.” Hans tugged Henry’s arm, and obediently, he followed. His steps were sluggish, and the stairs seemed daunting when every joint in his body ached.

With effort, Hans helped Henry up each step, one by one, until they reached their shared room. From there, Hans stripped off his armor to reveal the soaked gambeson beneath. He pulled the ties that held the fabric closed and helped Henry slide it off his shoulders. It hit the floor with a heavy, wet plop.

Visibly, Henry shivered in place, his white undershirt clinging to him as it, too, was soaked through. The same went for the rest of his clothing.

“Here,” Hans offered Henry a fresh, dry set of clothing, “put these on and I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Henry asked as he pulled the fresh shirt over his head, lethargically.

“To get you something to eat,” Hans said as he spun and walked to the door.

“It’s alright,” Henry shook his head, “I’m not hungry.”

That had Hans pausing by the door’s threshold. Not hungry? He was always hungry. Surely after such a long ride and getting drenched in the cold rain, a hot meal should have sounded wonderful. No?

“Henry,” Hans moved back to Henry’s side of the room, “are you sure?” Hans’ voice was soft as he reached up and cupped one of Henry’s cheeks. It was warm to the touch and rather clammy.

“Aye,” Henry responded, reaching his own hand up to place it over Hans’, but it felt weak. “Just need to lie down, is all.” Turning away from Hans, Henry went to his bed and did just that. Kneeling onto the lumpy mattress, he slowly brought himself down until his head hit the pillow. Meekly, he tugged the scratchy blanket up to his shoulder and sighed.

“Alright, but when you wake, you need to eat.” Hans rubbed at the back of his neck and chewed his lip anxiously. 

Now, here they were, days later, and Henry had not eaten nor gotten up. He’d turned away from any spoon offered to him, grimacing. The only thing he could keep down was a few sips of water now and again.

“We just have to be patient,” Katherine attempted to reassure Hans. If it had been anybody else at the Den laid up, Hans wouldn’t have paid too much mind to it, but it was Henry. He’d done his best to stay out of Katherine’s way most of the time, but he’d pace outside of their shared room, listening to Henry’s stifled coughs. Every time he asked for an update, it was always the same: they had to wait. Except that Hans was sick of waiting. 

He’d left the Den’s tavern when things were getting loud, using the opportunity to head upstairs without too much attention. Not that he was barred from visiting Henry, but Katherine insisted he rest undisturbed to save what little energy he had.

Hans grabbed the latch to their room and gently pushed the door open. He quietly let it click shut behind him before he turned and looked into the dim room. 

“Henry?” Hans heard the faint sound of blankets rustling from the other side of the room.

“Sir…” Henry’s voice was hoarse and barely audible,

Moving his way towards Henry’s side of the room, Hans grabbed a stool and sat by Henry’s bedside. He noticed the small table next to Henry’s bed, a bowl of broth, still full, abandoned, and several washcloths Katherine must have been using to dab his sweaty forehead.

Lying on his back, arms under the covers, Henry stared at Hans with half-lidded eyes. His cheeks were a dark tinge of pink, and a now dry cloth lay on his forehead.

“Slacking on your duties, I see.” Hans tone was light as he reached over and grabbed the cloth off of Henry’s head. 

“Heh-” Henry tried to laugh, but it came out as a soft wheeze instead. “It’s nothing, Sir. I’ll…,” Henry had to take in a shallow breath, “be on my feet in no time.” His teeth chattered as he shivered.

“You’re a good liar, Henry, but not to me.” Hans tutted as he dipped the cloth into a basin and wrung it out. He folded it neatly into a new shape and draped it back over Henry’s forehead. “You still look like hell.”

“Aye, I feel like it too.” Again, Henry’s body trembled as she shivered, teeth clicking together.

Hans looked from Henry’s pale face to the sad excuse of a blanket draped over him. A second one had been added, but it didn’t seem to be enough.

Standing abruptly, Hans rushed to his side of the room and yanked the covers off his own bed. He rushed back, flapping them open and draping them over Henry.

“W-what are you doing?” Henry asked as he watched Hans pull his pourpoint off through one open eye.

“Taking care of my squire.” Hans draped his pourpoint over Henry next, kicked off his shoes, and pulled off his hose. 

“Move over.” Hans motioned as he lifted the edge of Henry’s blanket.

“What?” Henry’s brows furrowed together.

“I said move over,” Hans started to climb into bed, “do I have to order you?” He gently nudged Henry over, not that it left much more room on the twin bed.

Getting himself under the covers, Hans lay on his side and pulled Henry against him. He pressed his nose into Henry’s cheek and draped an arm over his chest. Under the covers, Hans shifted his leg over Henry’s, cradling him the best he could.

A protest was building in Henry’s chest, but it fizzled out when Hans’ body heat began to seep into him. A welcome warmth that silenced the chattering of his teeth.

“Hans,” Henry said softly, “You shouldn’t be this close, you could get-”

“Shut up, Henry.” Reaching his hand up, Hans cupped Henry’s damp cheek, pulling him even closer. 

He knew better than to argue with his Lord when his mind was made up. Instead, he took in a deep, wheezy breath and sighed contentedly. 

“Yes, Sir.” Closing his eyes, a small smile curved his dry lips as he listened to the soft sound of Hans’ breathing. 

Trapped on strict bedrest, all Hans had time to do was think, and all he could think about was Henry—that grubby little peasant who wormed his way deep into his subconscious and took root. Henry, who had risked his life and thrown himself at the Cumans just to save him without hesitation. It was something in the way Henry’s voice softened, and those stupid, fat, and sad cow eyes blinked up at him that made his heart flutter. Worse, the blasted organ continued to pound when Henry wrapped a supportive arm around his waist and helped him limp all the way back to Rattay. The entire journey home, Henry encouraged him on, one painful step at a time.

Confusion set in when Hans hesitated to be handed over to the physicians and Hannish. He’d unconsciously gripped Henry’s shoulder a little tighter, not wanting Henry to leave. Why was that? What was this pit that had suddenly formed at the thought? He’d wanted to say something, but was pulled away by the physicians too quickly. They crowded him, fretting over him, and obscuring his vision from Henry.

By the time he was bandaged up and full of foul-tasting potions, Henry was gone, and Hans was ordered not to leave. It was all right, though. Henry would come visit later, wouldn’t he? But Henry did not, nor did he the next morning or the next night. It disappointed him, and being disappointed annoyed him even more.

Worse, he couldn’t sneak up onto the battlements and watch Henry train with Bernard. Something he had secretly been doing since their fight at the Tavern. He’d convinced himself it was to learn Henry’s fighting style so he could kick his ass for sure next time. Except Hans only watched on days that were blisteringly hot, because he knew Henry took his shirt off to train.

His attention was never on the path Henry threw his fists, or the way he arched his sword, but instead on his back. Sweat-covered and glistening in the sun, Hans would swallow hard when he could see hard-cut muscle flexing. This show had quickly become a routine for him. 

One day, Hans grew bold enough to descend from the battlements and lean against the arena’s fence. From there, he heckled the peasant. He’d been cheeky about it, knowing he was annoying Henry when he cheered for Bernard. 

“At this rate, I’m going to be the one defending you!” Hans goaded while a smirk crept up one side of his cheek. He loved to see Henry’s bushy brows furrow together and that fire spark behind his eyes. The annoyance mixed with determination. 

In the end, Henry always struck harder, faster, and with purpose. Bernard would call the match, and Henry would stop, chest heaving and sweat dripping from his brow. He’d always steal a glance at his Lord as if to say, "Did you see that?" His gaze didn’t linger, as he would turn back to Bernard, who was critiquing him. It twisted something inside Hans’ chest, as he was mesmerised by Henry’s hard stare. 

Yes, look at me.

Days later, when Hans was at the archery range practising, he could have sworn Henry was staring at him. His squire was standing a few feet to his left, pretending to listen to Bernard drone on about arrow types. 

Shirtless, Hans drew his bowstring back, causing his arm and back muscles to flex tight. He held his arrow for a few seconds longer than usual, muscles straining a little longer for Henry to see. Or at least that is what the little voice in the back of his mind was telling him. Henry could have also just been staring at his hands and bow to figure out his technique. The thought disappointed him, and he was puzzled by that. Why the hell did it matter so much to him that Henry look at him?

Now, in bed, having allowed his mind to wander, Hans shifted uncomfortably. His groin was warm with a dull pulse. His braies felt all too suddenly tight, and he grit his teeth. When he reached his hand below the covers, his fingertips grazed his half-erect cock through his braies. He squeezed slightly, his face starting to burn.

Why was this happening? Why was Henry doing this to him?

Biting his lower lip, Hans pulled the string of his braies and slid them down just enough to free his cock. It throbbed, and a thick bead of pre-cum oozed free.

“Fucking hell.” Hans exhaled harshly before taking his cock in hand, stroking slowly. His thumb grazed his swollen cock head, swiping at the fresh beads of fluid to make the glide a little easier. 

He wondered what it would be like if it were Henry’s hand. His palm must be rough, his fingers calloused. He groans and closes his eyes, Henry appearing behind his lids.

Above him, stupid fat sad cow eyes stare down at him, long lashes blinking slowly. His skin prickles when he thinks of Henry’s lips on his neck, his teeth on his skin. He wonders whether Henry has soft lips and what they would feel like against his.

Squeezing his cock hard, Hans stroked a little faster. He huffed out a whine, body shivering as he imagined Henry’s lips against his own. He’d imagined how Henry must feel if he were over him now, pressing their groins together. Would he be heavy? Hard? Gentle? It was hard to say, but all Hans could focus on was what it would feel like if his squire was grinding against him.

“C-Christ-” Hans whimpered, his cock throbbing as he set a steady pace. 

He wondered what Henry would sound like when he groaned. Was it deep and raspy? Soft and light. Both? Why the Hell did he want to know so badly?

Lower lip wobbling, Hans’ legs shifted as he felt climax twisting in his guts. His laboured breathing became shaky, and he turned his face into his pillow to muffle his groan.

He wanted Henry’s hands to run down his chest, his stomach, his everything. He wants to be pushed down, held down in a way that he has never been before. He wants to know how Henry’s hard cock would feel against his blazing skin.

“F-Fuck Hen-” Hans chokes into his pillow, climax causing him to stiffen. He whines through clenched teeth, his hand shaking as he tries to ride out the sensation as long as he can. 

He felt hot cum hit his palm, and didn’t care that it spurted out to land on his sheets. All that mattered was the image in his mind's eye of Henry squeezing him, stroking him through it all.

When the pulsing stopped and Hans’ body relaxed, he sagged into the mattress. He open mouth panted into his pillow, eyes half lidded as he tried to catch his breath. 

“What the actual fuck is happening to me?” Hans whispered as he released his softening cock. He brought his palm up to his face, observing the mess, his mess, Henry’s mess. “Ugh.”

With some effort, Hans pulled up his braies and sat up. He stood on shaking legs to get a cloth to wipe himself down. He listened to the crickets outside for a while before allowing himself to lie back down. 

He’s tired now, and sleep tugs at his eyelids.

***

A knock against his door pulled Hans from his slumber. He’d half heard the first knock, and then abruptly sat up when he heard the second.

“H-Hold on!” He looked out of his window; it was daytime. “Just a moment!” Throwing the covers off, he stumbled from his bed. Pulling on a pair of hose, Hans then pulled on a shirt and turned towards the door. As he approached, he stroked his hair, attempting to tame the bedhead down. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” He didn’t actually, but that didn’t matter as he swung the door open. “What the hell do you wa-” Hans stopped, eyes widening as he stared at Henry.

“Sir?” Henry asked after an awkward silence. “I came to see how you were recovering.” Henry tilted his head as he watched Hans snort and turn his back to him.

“Pfft, like I need checking up on?” A dopey smile smeared across Hans’ face. He cleared his throat and turned back around. “Well, I’m fine. Bored actually. We should,” Hans paused, “maybe go for a ride?” Anything to get the Hell out of this room and out with Henry.

“Are you feeling well enough fo-”

“Of course I am! What are you now, a sawbones?” Hans scoffed as he grabbed his pourpoint and shoes and put them on. “Let’s go!” Hans rushed to the door, grabbing Henry’s wrist as he passed by. 

            Hans grabbed every which way, palming stones and slimy submerged wood, but never flesh. Dread came in waves when his chest convulsed, his body begging him to take a breath. 

            Come on! Please! Please!

            Another muscle contraction, and Hans bared his teeth. He lunged forward, one hand grabbing sand, and the other making contact with skin—a shoulder.

            Grabbing Henry’s arm, Hans kicked off the bottom of the lake, launching himself and Henry upward. With Henry’s dead weight, the momentum vanished, leaving Hans to tread water with exhausted legs and one arm.

            Higher and higher they climbed until Hans could finally see the water’s rippling surface. It seemed miles away while the urge to inhale water was front and center.

            I’m not going to make it.

            The overwhelming need for air took over, and Hans felt his mouth open against his will. His lungs pulled hard, drawing in a hard breath that Hans gasped out as he and Henry burst from the water’s surface. He coughed, some water still sneaking by, making him gag. Regardless, he flailed his free arm forward, tugging their bodies to the Lake’s edge.

            “Henry! Fuck-” Hans spotted the broken arrow that was protruding from Henry’s shoulder. The arrow that caused Henry to sink almost immediately. 

            Yanking the broken shaft and head from bleeding flesh, Hans tossed it to the side and continued to drag them further up to dry land.

            “Hold on, Henry! I’ve got you!” Stumbling forward, Hans dropped Henry on his back and fell to his hands and knees. “Henry?” Hans coughed, pushing sopping wet hair from his stinging eyes. “Henry?” 

            Eyes closed, Henry’s face was flat, hauntingly peaceful even. He remained there, unmoving, not breathing.

            “Henry?!” Hans half shouted, “Come on, you fucking bastard! You have to open your eyes.” Hans reached down and cupped Henry’s cheek, slapping him a few times. 

            No result, Henry remained still.

            “No,” Hans whispered, “no no no-” He sat up, looking to his left and right for any possible help, but they were alone. “Fuck!” 

            Blood pooled under Henry’s right shoulder, trickling between the sand and gravel that left a trail back towards the water.

            “Henry!” Hans shouted, grabbing Henry by the shoulders and shaking him. “Jesus Christ, Henry! You can’t do this to me.” Voice cracking as he shouted, Hans continued to shake his squire. “You can’t fucking do this to me.” A molten coil wrapped itself around Hans’ throat, and he let out a choked sob. “You can’t leave me like this! Please, you can’t leave me-” Thick tears burned hot trails down Hans’ cheeks. “Please, Henry.” Hans pressed his forehead into Henry’s. Sobbing through clenched teeth, Hans dug his fingers into Henry’s shoulders and lifted him. Instantly, he slammed him back down, then lifted him again. “Henry!”

            Upon Henry’s back hitting the ground a third time, water sputtered from his lips and down his cheek and neck. He gasped, jerking in place as his body sucked in a harsh breath. He coughed again, water again bubbling up his throat and out of his mouth.

            “Henry?!” Hans crumbled, his hands sliding over Henry’s blood-soaked back and smearing it as he yanked him upward. Hugging Henry close, Hans rocked him. He slid one hand up the back of Henry’s neck and through his soaked hair.

            “Thank fucking Christ, you’re alive.” Sniffling and hiccuping, Hans struggled to keep himself from falling into pieces. 

            “H-Hans?” Henry’s voice was hoarse, gravely, and wet. 

            “I thought I-,” Hans whispered, pressing his nose against the top of Henry’s head, “I thought I lost you.” A living nightmare that would have been, to surface without Henry. “We can’t stay here.” Hans cleared his throat and struggled to stand on burning legs. “Come on, get up.” Tugging Henry by his good arm, Hans helped him stand. “They’re still going to be looking for us.” One foot in front of the other, they trudged side by side towards the treeline. “We-,” Hans panted, “we have to find someplace to hide.” Blood from Henry’s shoulder ran rivers over Hans’ arm. “We have to stop the bleeding.” Half-dragging Henry, Hans pulled them into the trees. “Come on.”