#bansry

my first bansry piece back in june🥺 i was so in love with this ship. still love them tho 🌼

Hello, hello! I return to share what I am working on. This time it's a RIDICULOUS pillory cuckoldry fic where I bring Black Bartosch back! I cannot get enough of that man, nor can I of using him to make Hans and Henry get over their homophobia. It's okay to be gay guys! Fun fact I wanted to post this for Sensual March as prompt fill 'Witness' but didn't have time to write it. And last but not least I wanna play a bit of tag... how about @ladystephaniesduck, @rainandhotchocolate, and @exploring-in-space <3

“What part of ‘let me handle the explanation’—”

“Oh don’t start.”

“—was actually so unclear to you?” Hans finished anyway, glowering down at the wooden platform below him as his only view.

Hans chewed at his lip. He was in a vile mood, but he desperately did not want a repeat of the fight they had the last time they were in the pillory. The words Henry had cut him down with. The aching weeks of loneliness that followed. Then again, this time it really WAS Henry’s fault they were stuck here.

High above in the maiden tower the Trosky bells began to chime, signaling the hours. Hans did not bother to count them; the fading pinks of the sun beyond the horizon had long since told him how late it had gotten.

Henry sighed next to him. “At least the last of the onlookers went home.”

“And took their rotten turnips with them, thank Christ.” Hans tried again in vain to shake his hair free of the last of the spoiled vegetable. The smell was cloying and sour in the worst possible way.

A clear, richly toned voice hailed from the encroaching dusk. “You alright there, Henry?”

“Bartosch!” Henry’s exclamation was entirely too cheerful, and Hans felt himself tense on instinct.

//

Bartosch turned his head to the other side and Hans watched Henry catch the man’s eye. A shy smile spread across his lips as he looked at Bartosch and Hans felt all that burning rot in his gut churn anew.

“Henry,” Bartosch said now in a low, near singsong way. “I thought while you were unable to make our engagement due to… well, being tied up at the moment… that I might bring our engagement to you.”

Hans watched Henry’s eyes go wide and surprise crawl across his face into something else, almost like… desire? Then it was gone, replaced by an embarrassed flush of his cheeks. “Bartosch, erm…” Henry’s eyes darted to Hans. “This clearly isn’t the time?” His deep blue eyes were imploring.

“Nonsense,” Bartosch said, standing and going closer to him. He crouched again, but this time he was on the other side of Henry, his face intimately close, that same smug smile playing on his lips. “It’s a beautiful night, dark, quiet, and we have a once in a lifetime opportunity before us. We can’t pass that up.” His dark brown eyes lifted and met Hans’, and Hans shivered in response to it, his body tingling. What was Bartosch talking about? There was a thing that Hans could guess but did not want to even think lest he somehow gave birth to it.

Then, as if it had come unbidden all the same, Bartosch plucked Henry’s chin with his fingers and pulled him into a kiss. //

“So quiet tonight, Henry…” Bartosch hummed out suddenly, his voice breaking the tension. “Could it be you don’t want to show your lord how much you enjoy this? Need we give him more of a display?”

No. Hans hissed in, mind rebelling from the notion in his horror, his need to disbelieve. His body, wretched cursed disobedient thing it was, trembling with feverish excitement, a sickening need to—Heaven save him—to witness.

Henry, meanwhile, let out a strangled gasp as Bartosch’s boots scraped on the slats of wood, followed by the sound of him tugging on his belt. “We- we shouldn’t.”

Shouldn’t. Not couldn’t, not even a mustn’t. No hint of don’t.

The anticipation was torture.

***

This is the next day from the last peek I posted, skip a bit. But this is Hans first 'more' than friendly thoughts about Henry while Henry is currently forging the sword for the Wedding.

Hans is eagle-eyeing him from here, 😂

{Past noon, Hans was beyond tipsy. 

“Well done! Your father taught you well.” Radovan announced. Henry beamed with pride as he presented the sword. And soaked in compliments from the villagers gathering to see his work.

“Would he prefer to stay here? Happier being a smith?” Hans grumbled into his cup.

“You could open a shop in Kuttenberg at this quality.” Radovan patted him on the shoulder, like a proud parent. 

Henry scratched his head, as he does when he’s nervous. Only Hans would know that, who else here even knew him the way he did. He’ll build Henry a true forge back at home, not this shoddy shack with an anvil. Hans’ personal swordsmith, with housing fit for a noble. 

“Henry belongs with me!” He’ll yell at that fool before they leave for Rattay. “In my service,” He should add, we don’t need the locals to get the wrong idea. 

“Well, we are ready for the Wedding, just in the nick of time, too. On the morrow, just before noon. Don’t be late, or I'm leaving without you.” Radovan sheaths the sword, taking it into the house with him. 

Henry removed his apron, throwing it over the fence before doing the same with his tunic. Going to the trough of water, he splashes it on his face, scrubbing the grime off. Little beads of water dripped down the newly grown beard, falling onto his chest. Henry grabbed a rag, wetting it and taking it to his body next. Hans followed that piece of fabric over every contour of muscle. 

The wine had to have gone to his head. And it’s been days since Hans had been with anyone. There’s no other reason to be looking at him like this. 

Like what? 

What are these thoughts? 

getting ready, party time

Bansry rly had me in a deathgrip back in June, and there was a whole thing about puppy Henry..😂