#god!!!!!!!!

I made this point in my Hans-falling-in-love post but it deserved its own because I'm still thinking about it, days later.

As this scene from KCD1 points out, Henry is the axle upon which the world turns. And he does not like that about being a video game protagonist. Nothing happens unless he makes it happen. He always has to initiate. This is a burden (and it is a burden) that is always on his shoulders.

I remember a post in the first Hansry comm (rip) that suggested that Henry looked the way he looked after Hans kissed him because Hans took away his agency, his ability to give or deny consent in that moment.

I don't read that scene that way at all (and not only because this game clearly sees some value in establishing consent in a romance scene). I've already talked quite a bit about why I think Henry reacts the way that he does and I've seen others write up wonderful posts about it as well, but:

A part of me is almost convinced that Henry was never going to make the first move. It's too risky. It could get his lord in lord in trouble. Hans has been cagey about reciprocating any of Henry's subtle romantic advances because he's been stuck in a quagmire of repression and fear.

So Hans made the decision for them both. Willingly took away the need for Henry to shoulder that burden (and the responsibility that would come with any consequences that could very well follow) and took it on himself. Equality is a huge theme for Hans in this game, and by taking the initiative, he "lowers himself" in a sense to Henry's level, removing any artifice and any protection that might have been granted to him had Henry kissed him first. Just this once, Henry didn't have to be the one to do it. Just this once, someone else made something happen in his life.

-------------

You’re wrecked.

Collapsed against the pillows, legs open and twitching, your body limp but still reacting to every slow, sinful stroke of his tongue. You don’t even have the strength to beg anymore, and you don’t need to. Vander’s not stopping.

He’s grinding into the bed now - hips rolling slow and steady, cock pressed against the mattress and rutting in rhythm with every flick of his tongue. He’s not jerking off. He hasn’t touched himself once. But the slick mess you’ve soaked into his beard, the taste of you spilling over his tongue, the way you sound when you fall apart for him...it’s all he needs.

He groans into your cunt like he’s starved, like the friction of your heat and the rub of his cock through his pants might save him. His hips buck harder, more desperate, grinding down as he licks up everything you give him and moans like he’s drowning in it.

“Fuck,” he pants, voice wrecked. “So sweet. So fuckin’ sweet - keep givin’ it to me, honey -”

You try to speak. Try to tell him you’ve already given him everything. But your voice doesn’t come out right, and it doesn’t matter anyway.

Because Vander isn’t done.

He shifts, burying himself deeper, tongue dragging in long, reverent strokes as his hips rut faster, harder, grinding like it’s your pleasure getting him off. Like the taste of you is enough to make him come again and again until there’s nothing left but sweat and slick and sound.

It’s not about his release...it’s about yours.

Vander’s rutting harder now - hips grinding into the bed with an urgency he can’t mask, his cock pressed tight against the soaked fabric of his pants, the friction brutal and perfect.

He’s panting into your cunt, mouth still working you through the aftermath like you didn’t just break apart for him. Like he needs one more taste, one more tremble, one more ragged cry just to breathe.

And then you give it to him, a helpless little gasp that leaves your body flinching under his mouth.

That’s all it takes.

He groans deep, the sound broken, filthy as his hips jerk down hard against the mattress. His whole body tenses, thighs flexing, and then he’s coming, cock throbbing untouched, spilling into his pants while his mouth is still on you.

He doesn’t pull away.

Not even as he grinds through it, shuddering against the bed, hips stuttering with the rhythm of it all. He’s still moaning, still licking, riding the wave with his face buried between your thighs like this is where he belongs.

You don’t know if he’s chasing another, or if he’s just addicted now; but the heat of it, the weight of his come soaking through his clothes, the way he worships you with his mouth even while his body falls apart - it’s almost too much to witness.

Almost.

But not quite...because he’s a good boy.

He's earned this.

hsduhgouhaoethogfdnoiaoergodfg...............she's holding your head against her dick and she narrows her eyes at you and she's like "you cant just hold it in your mouth forever, baby. gonna have to swallow at some point."