angst & horniness™️ here

And yet, whenever his squire did end up looking into his eyes, there was something rather apologetic about how Henry’s eyes widened and his mouth opened out, yet with no words springing forth.

Something was clearly troubling Henry and making him as nervous as it was making him meek all out of the sudden. Something untold – which was waiting to be.

And something that seriously started to cross Hans more and more by the second.

Which is why, eventually, when Hans found himself incapable of ignoring the unspoken tension any longer, he turned around and halted, crossing his arms and blocking his squire’s path for good.

“Alright, Henry – out with it. I can see you’re… ready to burst if you don’t tell me whatever it is right here and now.”

“I—uh… what?” Henry froze in his tracks, as though he had just discovered he was being hunted by a pack of wolves. “What exactly… makes you think I have anything I want to say, hm?” he asked and hummed, which had Hans merely roll his eyes at best.

He scoffed.

“You have one chance to say whatever it is right now. If not, then don’t. But you’ve got to stop acting so strangely. You’re usually not like this – and it’s driving me mad!”

There was a short pause where Hans expected Henry to say something – anything in return – but as the short pause turned into a somewhat medium one, and then finally into a painfully long one, Hans scoffed and rolled his eyes once more.

“Nevermind, then. Let’s just get going,” he grumbled and turned right back around.

But it was at the exact moment when his lordship’s back was turned that Henry got the courage to speak up – at last.

“It’s just that… about the other night,” the young man began, gently and ever so carefully, as though he had needed to ease into whatever he was going to say somehow, which unfortunately made Hans all the more curious to actually hear whatever it was. Hans turned back around to face the man as Henry continued: “Hans, do you… remember anything? About our time at the baths?”

Confused, Hans raised one brow at him. “You mean how I was nearly drowned and you had to save my sorry arse? The very thing that’s got us into this trouble? Yes, Henry, I don’t think you have to remind me again. I may have been drunk out of my bloody mind, but I was still there, too, you know?”

“No, that’s…” Henry fidgeted with his fingers as he shook his head. “That’s not what I meant.” The man stepped closer all too slowly before he took both of his lord’s hands into his. Without even asking. He just did. And Hans let him. “I meant… after, my lord. Do you remember what happened after?”

After?

Perhaps, Hans thought, there was far too much irritation aimed at the captain in his voice, yet the ghost of the fight between him and his uncle was still heavy on his mind – in a way Hans thought he had barely survived the encounter by the skin of his teeth. It lay heavy on his heart and nerves just as much, as it was quite obvious, but perhaps, that too was something that needed to be remedied.

So Hans drew in a deep breath, and held it in there for a brief while, before he finally let it escape, with his voice intent to be calmer. Gentler. “Listen, Bernard. About this robber… I heard some rumours,” he said, only as loud as he absolutely had to be with the wind blowing against his words.

“About his being a relative of mine, and Milota’s?” Bernard asked.

“Something like that,” he replied, and from behind, he could see the captain’s shoulders shrug.

“We have the same great-grandfather, Urban, Baron of Oleshna. Wolflin belongs to a distant branch of my family, which… Well, let’s just say they bring no honour to our name.”

“But I heard Wolflin of Kamber was hanged somewhere in Silesia after plundering the bishop’s estates?”

“I heard the same,” Bernard agreed. “Only… well, I’m sure you’ve heard what they say about the Kamberg branch of my family?”

“That they’re cursed?” Hans chuckled; he’s always found that rumour rather humorous. “Now, Bernard, don’t you think I’m a little old for fairy tales?”

Bernard let out a puff of air, nigh mimicking the ones his galloping steed had huffed. “Think what you like, but I heard it from my grandfather, and he never paid attention to old wives’ tales,” the man said, somewhat with his own air of irritation now, something Hans certainly had wanted to avoid – another fight.

“I meant no offence, Captain,” he said, and quietly sighed, before he went on: “Tell me all about it, then. After all, there’s no smoke without fire, and I never heard about the Kamber clan from a member of the family.”

“Very well,” Bernard obliged as he spurred his horse. “At home, we always spoke in whispers about our Kamberg relatives. When Wolflin’s father, Wilhelm, came to visit…”—the man cleared his throat in discomfort—“I’m almost ashamed to say it…”

“You can rely on my discretion, Captain. Carry on.”

“Well, the servants were so afraid of him that they went and hid in the barn. Father had them whipped, but even then they wouldn’t go near Wilhelm. They were afraid he’d curse them – and I couldn’t blame them.”

Hans squinted, partially due to the story, but also partially because of the way the sun fell into his eyes as they took around a bend. “Why’s that?”

Bernard cleared his throat once more. “Uncle Wilhelm’s face was so badly disfigured, folk would cross themselves when they saw him. I was afraid of him myself as a boy.”

“Was he wounded in war?”

“No. He was born that way. You see, his mother, Countess Barbora of Hagwitz, didn’t want to marry Wilhelm’s father – my grandfather’s brother. And she never wanted to bear his children. So when she fell pregnant, they say she went to a witch to get rid of the child. Only she ended up having quintuplets!”

“What? All at the same time?”

It was Henry who had suddenly spoken up from behind the two; the young man had rather gasped, but Hans certainly couldn’t say he didn’t share the shock.

“Jesus Christ!” Hans said, shaking his head, and felt his bones chill at the mere thought of having to push out five whole babes.

What a world…

He usually saw them smiling all happily in the dream, saw them greeting and taking him into their open arms with both pride and joy, before they usually turned towards a strange young boy who’d come into view by his side. A boy who usually looked a little different in each version of the dream, but a boy who his parents would open their arms for just as widely.

And somehow deep down, each time, right before Hans would wake up, it was as though he could always tell that that young boy was his own son – a son who had come from a far and distant future. A future that looked bright and happy and filled with warmth.

That first recurring dream of his was just as much of a happy dream as it was a sad one, however. Terribly so.

It was happy because, while immersed in it, Hans always felt rather warm and hopeful of what was to come in his future. Light. And yet, it was naturally also a sad dream, because once he would eventually be taken out of it, Hans could never help but cry. That was, for a future life and a son that was utterly unreachable and lost forever.

Perhaps it would be surprising to hear that, despite what his latest adventures with medicines and poisons may have suggested, Hans did in fact think that he would rather enjoy becoming a father one day. Because in the end, what sort of nobleman didn’t enjoy the thought of continuing his mighty dynasty with a strong and fit heir?

If Hans were given a normal and moral life, unlike the one he was stuck with, then he might have even considered having a child in the next couple of years ahead. However, that was of course only if Hans had enough luck and charm to have fallen in love and be happily wed to a suitable noblewoman by then in the first place.

Hans wasn’t a badly looking fellow per se, after all. He shouldn’t have had that much of a problem with the ladyfolk. And in fact, he didn’t; the ladies quite fancied him. But alas, as he was now, stuck in the life of a sinner, the most he was given instead were nightly visions and whispers of such a family, as well as… the other recurring dream which seemed to have come in tandem with his foretold future family: and that was the fairly recent dream of him and his squire, Henry, usually locked in an eternal carnal dance of the flesh. Or to put it in more precise terms – he kept dreaming of the two having sex almost every second night.

And, oh, how Hans despised his mind for tormenting him with such vulgar dreams.

For more times than he would ever admit, even under arduous torture, Hans had made himself spill with his cock in hand, thinking about those wicked dreams, and had hated his very own flesh afterwards every single time he did it, since Hans naturally was well aware how utterly shameful and degrading such fantasies and actions were.

And as for what Hans thought of himself for it? Well… Perhaps it wouldn’t be too far from what his uncle, Hanush, had thought of him.

Hans was a walking disgrace dressed as a nobleman; that’s what he was. A foul creature of the night. A lazy and drunken layabout. A bloody sodomite.

Someone who was destined to burn in Hell by no other fault but his own, and yet, he was also someone who still had the gall to ask God: Why?

Why must you curse me so, my Lord? What did you do it for?