Archive of Our Own

“Mr. Cromwell, you have forgotten yourself!” The poison in Henry’s voice is only eclipsed by the contorted expression of anger on his face. Red pigment rises to the surface of his skin, and Thomas now realizes that he has overstepped. This time, it may cost him his head.

“Your Majesty I…” For once in his life, he is dumbfounded. His own stupidity and Henry’s volatile craze render him speechless and more importantly, afraid. His body freezes, and his mind forgets itself. Henry remains still, hand clutched to Thomas’s collar as he waits for a response from his soon-to-be former secretary.

“You would go against God, to stoop so low as to violate your own king? I am no Sodomite master Cromwell, and regardless of what you believed my intentions were, you are sorely mistaken! I do not want you near me, near my council or my castle! Leave me, before I make this transgression public and you pay with your life!”

It goes without being said, that this is a dismissal, and Thomas is only thankful it is just the two of them in the common room at that moment. No guards, no servants, just a furious king, and a minister who misread his intentions. 

Thomas, in his senses, would never think to touch Henry. He would never allow his own love (if he can call it that) for the king to precede reason. It would seem though at that time; his logic failed him.

He never expected Henry to hold him so close upon hearing of Jane’s pregnancy, he never expected their lips to be so far apart as they were caught in a silent gaze. Thomas should have left it at that, but he didn’t. His body and perhaps, his heart worked for him, and he found himself leaning into a kiss so deadly, it tasted sweet.

In return, Henry struck him, hard and then took him by the neck.

“Go.” He still holds Thomas this way, only for a few moments, until he tosses him aside. If Thomas was in more shock, he would have fallen to the floor. 

He gathers himself as humbly as he can and bows. 

He leaves and does not say a word. 

____

Thomas hasn’t ever been opposed to minor celebrations at his residence, and for Gregory he can make the exception. Rather, this is not quite for Gregory, but old comrades of his from Cambridge visiting for a while. Cromwell did offer to host them, but it is quite a shock when three friends becomes ten, which becomes twenty, and so forth. 

“We’re going to have to bring in more food.” Was all Rafe had to say when he was confronted, for then Thomas knew he had more or less been coerced into hosting a larger party at his home.

The day of the celebration Thomas mostly sticks to his room. He is not feeling well, seemingly having caught an illness from court. That illness is shame mixed with the usual stress of his life, as it has been roughly three weeks since his dismissal. It isn’t uncommon for him to grow ill off and on, though Thomas supposes this is something else. Regardless it’s the perfect excuse to be cooped away.

“The dancing, music and main celebration is in the evening Father…we would love you to come for a few minutes if you can.” Gregory had told him just an hour before sunset. 

Thomas rebukes the idea initially, as he is still in poor spirits. His family does not know the true reason for his dismissal and for the life of him, he cannot even begin to divulge. He lies, says that he and Henry cannot see eye to eye and for that, they have parted amicable. He removes himself, Richard, and Rafe from the political sphere for the boy’s own protection and its as if his presence has all but vanished at court.

Henry has not called for him, nor have any guards come to arrest him, so that is a good sign.

Regardless, Thomas does not find himself in pleasant spirits that evening, and despite Gregory’s attempt to get him to mingle with guests, he refuses calmly.

The night, however, does not go as expects.

Thomas suspects those from Cambridge are of good company and senses, but he knows anything can happen when one has had too much to drink. So as he stays locked away in his room, books in hand as he works on some cases, there are knocks on his door. Knocks followed by happy young folk busting in. A girl carried by a boy, their lips locked and kisses leading to near fornication. 

Thomas smells the alcohol before he realizes what they are to do, and despite his clear residence in his own bed, fornication is inevitable. So he clears his throat to make his presence known, and the intoxicated couple notices him.  “Sir, we beg your apologies, we did not believe this room was taken. We bid you join the festivities.” Said the young man, with the woman still giggling in his arms. Thank God, they leave Thomas to his devices. 

He prays the rest of the night is quiet until once again, there is a tap on his door not ten minutes after his first intrusion. It is a girl, by herself, tears in her eyes. She looks toward the bed to see Thomas, who seems just as shocked as her.

“May I stay? The music is too loud, and my intended has left me for another. I do not wish to be here. I thought he loved me.” Thomas has no time to agree or protest. The girl, whom he decides to call Anne, simply sits on the bed and cries. It would not have been odd, if she did not decide to sit next to Thomas. Thomas forgoes his work for a moment to simply pat her on the back. He supposed he can give Anne a lecture on how men are foolish, and how they do not realize they’ve lost something important until it slips from them. However inwardly, he finds himself like Anne, discarded and unsure. So he simply rubs her back as he has no room to speak.

This lasts an hour until she is in better spirits.

“Thank you.” She says and she slips away through the door.

Thomas can swear he hears her scream as if she is caught off guard, or perhaps, it is the crescendo of music in the common area. Regardless, partially in fear of another intrusion, he decides he will either venture downstairs for a bit of food or move rooms altogether. The kitchen itself is not connected to the main corridor or common area. He can slip away undetected. Not that he dislikes conversation with Gregory or Rafe but in this moment, he wishes not to be spoken to. 

He whisks himself out of bed and gazes at his figure in the mirror. He wears his loose nightshirt and finds trousers to accompany it. He steps from his room and is indeed appalled by the loud music downstairs. He is beginning to believe Gregory underestimated the full scale of this party, though that does not concern Thomas. He rushes through the corridors, and arrives at his destination.  The kitchen is unmanned, and he takes a roll and some ale and then once again, he is on his way to his bedroom. Thomas has decided that he’ll stay, he’ll simply lock the doors to ward off any unwanted guests.

However, when he reaches the bedroom floor there is something strange….at the end of the hallway.

Thomas has no oil lamp with him, simply his roll and ale. His roll of bread for a moment hangs haphazardly out of his mouth, so he takes it in his hand to speak.

“Who is that?” 

There is a figure, a tall figure at the end of the corridor, though they remain still. In the darkness, Thomas cannot see though he supposes it is just another one of Gregory’s guests. So he ignores it, continues to eat his roll and heads back to his room. He wants to sleep after that, work can wait. He prays that when he wakes the next morning, this party will be over.

Thomas has his mind set to sleep and figures the night will go smoothly.

Except…it does not.

He feels a grip upon his arm, and the surprise causes him to drop his ale and bread in shock. He knows this is an intruder by the grip, and whomever it is may wish to bring him harm. He first suspects it is the figure standing at the end of the corridor but does not wait to ask questions. As exhausted as Thomas is, he was once a mercenary, a soldier, so taking out this silent phantom will be nothing to him. 

That is until he turns quickly, striking his opponent across the face and then…he stops.

“Majesty–”

It is Henry. In the flesh. This cannot be real.

Thomas feels his heart skip several beats, as the expression on the King’s face is unreadable. 

“I did not intend to strike you I–” He panics, for this is the king, and by harming him Thomas has committed treason.

“Silence.” 

Henry commands, his grip upon Thomas’s arm quickly exchanged for a grip upon the former secretary’s neck.

“You thought you could run from me without me giving chase?” He sneers.

My Lord, you commanded me to leave. Thomas begs his lips to keep those thoughts to himself, he does however respond.

“I only did what His Majesty commanded of me I–” His voice trembles.

The grip on his neck tightens, and Thomas does not know Henry’s intentions.

“My Lord,” He begins to grow nervous. “I am your humble servant I…”

“You have ruined me.” Henry spits back. 

Thomas does not know what that means, and he does not have time to inquire. Not only does Henry push him against the wall, hand still clasped on his neck, he kisses him. It is not anything like the chaste kill that Thomas had initiated weeks ago. No, this one is filled with lust, anger and passion. Thomas now realizes the gravity of the situation. Even as Henry releases his hold upon Thomas’s neck, Thomas realizes that he is trapped.

The kiss only intensifies, and Henry pins Thomas’s wrists to the wall above him with one hand. 

The other hand is not so modest. 

Henry’s hand snakes its way beneath Thomas’s thin night shirt, rubbing against the cold, clammy skin. Thomas gasps, attempting to break the kiss for only a moment. He needs to breathe, he needs to speak to Henry. It is only when Henry’s hand trails down to his trouser, tugging on the loose buckle, does Thomas find his strength.

“My Lord, not here.”  He begs, he pleads. It is evident in his expression he has accepted his fate. Thomas is already aware of the inevitably. The king has made up his mind, and if he is here of all places, then his desperation shows no bounds. He is angry, starved and furious that he even had to look for Thomas. Thomas would be a fool to deny him now.

Thomas leads him into the first room they can find, and he only hopes it is his.

Regardless, Henry closes the door behind them and does not hesitate to lock them in. Thomas feels his heart sink, as he realizes his hypothetical escape is no longer possible. Henry is upon him again, the kisses growing in hunger, turning to bites upon Thomas’s neck and collarbone. He tries to bear the king’s weight, but eventually, he is pushed far enough to hit the bed with the back of his legs and ungracefully he goes tumbling backward. 

Henry climbs on top of him.

Thomas inwardly clenches as he feels Henry rip his nightshirt and it slips uniformly down his shoulder, exposing the skin. Again, bite marks on the collar bone, shoulder, and chest.

“Oh God…” Thomas breathes as Henry’s hand explores the skin beneath his trousers. Thomas only now realizes how warm he was down there, and how Henry’s very touch quickens an erection.

“What did you expect Crumb, hmm?” Henry speaks in a quiet volume, yet his tone is filled with an undeniable lust. “After what you pulled that day?” His lips rest upon the lobe of Thomas’s ear and he kisses before starting back with the neck.

“I thought my feelings toward you to be misplaced, and I fear I’ve misread your intentions.” Thomas manages.

“As did I.” Henry breathes. “But it seems, I was mistaken or perhaps, you’ve cast a spell on me.”

“I am not a witch.”

“It does not take a witch to enchant a man. Master Secretary, you have your ways.” Thomas is silenced with another kiss and for a moment, Henry sits up. It is only to pull off Thomas’s trousers and discard them upon the ground. Now Thomas is exposed. As if his illnesses did not make him feel cold already, the sudden warmth surrounding his swelling member seems to dissipate as fresh air breathes between his thighs.

Henry then works on himself. He does not disrobe as unceremoniously as Thomas did (or rather as Thomas was forced to do) and pulls down his trousers to the point where his own member is exposed. Thomas is not surprised by the length nor the girth. He has seen Henry unclothed in the past, whether it be when they were away from court at an estate, or in the middle of a hunting party, and he happened to catch the king changing.

Back then, it meant nothing, now, it means everything.

Henry strokes himself, and to Thomas’s alarm, he grows larger. 

He then bears down upon Thomas again, though he does not enter him just yet. He continues to kiss and prepare him, yet Thomas is not sure how he can brace himself for the king. 

“Perhaps, I have always harbored these feelings for you Thomas.” He speaks between kisses. “I have always coveted you and your body. I just did not know how to…” Thomas gasps as Henry presses upon him harder. Unintentionally, he feels Henry’s member brush against his thigh, and he is a victim of the ecstasy that runs through his veins. 

“These nights without you, these weeks in which I have dreamt of you, desired your kiss…yet you ran. You left your king broken.”

“Forgive me majesty.” Thomas silently pleads. 

“You will pay with your body.”

Thomas knows what that means, and he tenses for what is to come. Henry spreads him, and roughly takes one of Thomas’ legs to angle him. He pulls Thomas closer and then, he enters him. Thomas thanks God that Henry is already wet from sweat and pre-seed, but that does not at all make the initial entrance easy. He clenches the sheets as Henry pushes through and holds back a moan as he positions himself all the way.

“There Crumb.” Henry coos. “You can breathe.”

He cannot though, at least, not steadily. Henry begins at a soft, gentle pace and once again, Thomas is thankful. The king moves his hips in a repetitive motion, managing a deepness with every thrust. Thomas bears it for a while, adjusting to the sensation of a much larger man inside of him; God he has not felt this in years. He cannot stay focused as inch by inch, Henry brushes harder into his spot of pleasure.

He bears his head back into the pillow and Henry chuckles. 

Thomas too, feels his release coming soon. An electrifying sensation builds up through his shaft to the length of his member and it is only a matter of time before he empties. Henry however, firm yet soft, takes hold, his thumb resting upon Thomas’s tip but not giving any way freedom.

“Majesty?” Thomas begs, he looks up, eyes pleading. 

“So soon Crumb?”

Henry jolts his hips harder, this time the gentleness Thomas was afforded moments before seems to have vanished. Thomas squirms under Henry as the king bears his full weight, pushing violently and roughly. It has been years since Thomas has had a man, and the abrupt force causes the sensitive skin to throb and to his worry, bleed. 

He bites back a cry of pleasure and pain as Henry rubs against his tip, though tears begin to glisten down his cheeks.

“You are not allowed until I say so, no, not after what you did to me. Not after you left me alone,” Henry pushes harder, the bed shifts. “You think yourself so special a king must chase, hmm?”

“N…no…” Thomas can only speak in a hushed tone; in fear he may yelp. “It…was not my intention–”

“Well you have gotten what you wanted.” Henry pushes into him harder, and this time, Thomas does not hold back a moan. It is so much louder than he wants, and at this moment he is grateful for the music that swells floors beneath them.

“And you have ruined me, you have ruined me!” Henry pushes with anger now and Thomas moans again. Head pushed into the pillow, hips adjusting to the king’s brutish pace.  

He feels he himself is close, God he has been for minutes now. He must release or he fears he will pass out, so he begs.

“Your majesty I must…”

“You must what?” Even in the dim light, Henry’s eyes shine down upon Thomas, giving some sense of sanctity about the king. That dissipates when he once again, thrusts. “What must you do?”

Thomas feels stinging tears gather in his eyes once more. “I need to release, please…”

“It is only because you look so beautiful beneath me, that I will allow it.”

And he does. Henry releases his thumb upon Thomas’s cock and naturally, the older man ejaculates. Thomas groans as a wave of agony and ecstasy rips through his body while he slightly arches. He cannot even imagine how much of a mess he looks now; shirt torn, thighs spread open, prick moist from his own seed, the king lodged so deeply inside of him…he prays that Gregory or the others do not think to check on him.

“You are beautiful.” Henry whispers, hands trailing down Thomas’s chest to his stomach. “And you should be grateful you cannot give me sons. If you could…” He moves his hips roughly again, and Thomas suddenly remembers the pain he is in. “I would lock you up and never let you free. But…”

For a moment, just a moment, Henry pulls out.

Thomas has the brilliant idea to roll off of the bed and sprint to the door, but he fears Henry would kill him and certainly, it would excite the king’s hungry appetite, so he lays there and allows Henry to continue with him. Henry leans down as he takes a leg, and gently kisses one of Thomas’s inner thighs. This tender action from Henry shocks Thomas, but he remains silent, grateful at the pause in action he is afforded. 

“If it were to be my will, I could whisk you away now. I could take you, make you mine. Jane is already full with my son and heir. She has her purpose, but you do not yet have yours. And it is to pleasure, me. You have long forgotten your place by my side Thomas, maybe this night will allow you that remembrance. What if I keep you in confinement, and come to you when needed? You will have what you want and desire, you just need be ready for me when I command. What about that, hmm Crumb?”

Thomas does not know how to respond to that, but he is not dumb enough to reply with a simple ‘Yes, your Majesty’. That is a death sentence.

Henry then bites Thomas’ thigh, managing to both leave a mark and throw him back into his present reality.

Thomas cannot focus clearly as Henry flips him around. He clumsily lands on his stomach, and despite his exhaustion knows half-heartedly it is expected he prop himself up on his knees or at least, he thinks. Henry is already upon him again, lifting his shirt as he kisses the small of his back. Thomas gasps the sensation of tenderness somewhat foreign in this space.

In a swift movement, Henry takes hold of Thomas’ hips, steadying him again.

His cock once again drives itself into Thomas’ aching walls, and this time, Henry has no mercy. Thomas supposes the king is angry, and it is only now that he truly realizes the severity of his transgression against the king.

Henry is mad because he did not make the first move, Thomas realizes, as Henry pounds him into the mattress. This is where anger comes from.

It has all been a blow to his pride. 

When Thomas advanced on Henry weeks ago, he courted Henry. He dared to switch the roles in which Henry was so used to, the roles in which Henry allowed. Henry was the one who gave chase, Henry initiated things, it was never the other way around.

Thomas knows that now.

This is about reclaiming his pride and dignity. This is about Thomas learning his place.

Somewhere in that thought, Thomas is screaming. He is screaming out loud. The music crescendos downstairs and he knows that no one will come to his aid. Henry does not stop, and he pushes deeper in fury. Hot tears stream down Thomas’s cheeks but he knows it amounts to nothing. Henry perhaps does not see Thomas, but another soul to be claimed by him. Even when Henry releases his seed in Thomas, that does nothing to soften the strength of his thrusts.

Thomas clutches, his own body reacting to the orgasms that claim his mind. 

The last thing he remembers is Henry’s seed spilling between his legs. 

____

“Father, has your fever broken?” 

The voice, followed by the touch is enough to terrify Thomas. He sits up and quickly makes sure he is covered from the waist down underneath the blanket. He can still feel the coolness of Henry’s slick between his thighs, though Henry is not here. 

His eyes rest on Gregory and for some reason, Thomas feels like he wants to cry. 

“I…I don’t know.” He speaks quietly. “Gregory, where am I?”

“You are in my room I…I was looking for you, to bring you food.” Gregory is as innocent as always. “Father you are…are you hurt, did you fall? Did you sleepwalk and end up here?”

Guilt courses through Cromwell’s body as he realizes that he and Henry have desecrated his son’s bed. He looks around still, to see if he can find Henry, but he is nowhere to be seen. Then Thomas worries, yet hopes the previous hour was a dream. A fever dream, and that he was only wrought incapacitated by a vivid hallucination.

Gregory speaks.

“His Majesty came to visit! None of us expected it! Lord Suffolk was there as well. He claims they were simply passing by.”

Thomas feels his heart turn to ice. 

“We did not even realize the King came upstairs to visit you, he said he found you in here asleep. He feared someone had come in and hurt you…you’re bruised, your shirt is torn. Apparently, there were drunkards who came to your room. I told him you’ve been known to sleepwalk during your fevers, however. He sat here with you for an hour to make sure you were safe.”

Thomas gulps. “Where has his majesty gone.”

“He has left, father. He says he expects to see you in court when you are well. He hopes soon.” 

Thomas bites back a sob, but Gregory seems to notice it. “Father?” He asks.

“It is nothing, my sweet boy.” 

Gregory is taken aback by the overt tenderness and Thomas cannot help but feel unworthy of his son’s innocent presence.

“May you bring me some fresh trousers and a clean shirt from my room?”

“Yes, father.” Gregory stands, and out of fear, Thomas reaches for him. However, he lets him go and Gregory vanishes. 

Thomas waits for him to shut the door, and his head falls to his hands.

What has he gotten himself into?