Scrunggly Signed Out - Look Elsewhere

Oh. Hans bites back a laugh: Henry looks so sincere that he couldn't possibly giggle at him while he's being so vulnerable. But it's such a simple, easily given request. He can't believe Henry has managed to work himself up so much over it.

"Is that all?" he drawls. "It would be my pleasure, believe me."

He leans back, slings a leg over Henry's hips so he's straddling him and holds himself sure and straight-backed: the stance he takes while riding. Henry peers up at him. He's frowning.

"Hans--"

Hans squeezes his thighs, gripping Henry between them, and spits into his palm. "Yes?"

Henry opens and shuts his mouth a few times. "...nothing."

⚔ ⚔ ⚔

Afterwards, both sweaty and spent and Henry sporting some stinging, red marks across the plane of his back, they lie tangled together on the bed, sleepily taking each other in.

Henry swallows. He's going to have to explain sooner or later, he knows. May as well be now, when Hans is too blissful to feel too embarrassed about the whole affair. And it's not like Henry is disappointed: any thoughts of what he'd really had in mind had been banished as soon as Hans had sunk down on him. But still: he's going to have to tell him.

"Hans..."

Hans looks at him through lidded eyes. "Hmm?"

"Look, don't take this the wrong way, but--"

Hans's eyes snap open properly. "But what?"

Shit. Careful steps. "When I said... when I asked if you wanted to try, you know... being on top?"

"...did you not enjoy yourself?"

He looks fucking alarmed, now.

"No! I mean: yes, it was... it was great. Brilliant. Really," Henry quickly clarifies. "It's just... that wasn't what I meant."

Hans frowns. "What? But... I was on top. What are you on about?"

Henry chews on his lip. He's aware - quite painfully aware, sometimes - of how inexperienced the both of them are at laying with another man. He tries to remember what Bartosch had told him that night in Trosky Castle, after Henry had made an arse of himself when he hadn't been able to answer his questions about preferences.

"Right," he says, "But the thing is, what I meant - what that means - is that wanted to know if you wanted to, well, you know. Give rather than receive. That's what that means. Being on top."

Hans frowns. Then his eye go wide.

"Oh. Oh. Oh, Jesus Christ, Henry--" he bursts into peals of laughter then quickly slaps his hand over his mouth to smother them. "And when I-- you must have thought I was insane. I should have realised. And you should have said something!"

Henry shrugs. That, he cannot deny.

"I was going to," he says, "but you did that thing with your legs, and, well. I figured I'd ask again another time. Didn't want to put you off."

Hans snorts with poorly constrained laughter. "God, Henry. Didn't want to put me off. Really." He moves closer and kisses him. Henry can feel him smile against his lips. "So what you were really asking, my dearest friend, is if I can fuck you in the arse for a change?"

Henry feels himself blush. "...yes," he says.

Hans rolls his eyes and places a firm hand to Henry's bare hip.

"I'd love to," he says, eyes dark and sparkling. "But Christ Above, Henry, really."

"What?" Henry protests, trying to ignore the feeling of his cock already twitching back to life.