Chapter Text
The Sedletz Monastery is truly a majestically horrible place for a nobleman to be. Hans Capon would never have imagined that he would be spending the foreseeable future in such a dull place.
He was quite unceremoniously dropped off by a horse and cart (not even a bloody carriage) at the gates of the monastery and then made to stand in the yard for a whole fifteen minutes while someone went to fetch Abbot Jan.
Honestly? They should have been informed about this earlier and an arrival party should have stood guard to await his arrival instead of it being the other way around…though…
Hans frowns, he supposes this is only the beginning of all his problems. Uncle Hanush had thought to send him off for an overtly promiscuous act coupled with every other misbehaviour that Sir Hanush had looked upon in disdain. His patience had finally snapped for as it happened, Sir Hanush had received news that the butcher’s daughter, Klara, was with child and the father of the child was Hans. Since the whole of Rattay seemed to know about it, as his guardian, Uncle Hanush had to make an example of him in order to keep the faith of the people.
So here Hans is about to serve his sentence at the Sedletz Monastery…a place so far from home that Uncle Hanush no doubt hoped to leave him here discarded and likely written off from the history books. Before Hans had any more time to lament on his situation, the ‘arrival party’ finally comes to greet him.
“Ah! Sir Hans!” Abbot Jan greets with a gentle smile, “Sedletz Monastery is delighted to have you with us!”
Hans smiles back patronisingly, “It is…kind of you to have accepted my Uncle’s request on such short notice,” he says because he’s not going to tell the man that it’s a delight to be here, for it’s anything but.
“It is no matter at all. Sir Hanush was generous and kind enough to make a sizeable donation to us as well so we were more than happy to acquiesce to his request and take you in for the foreseeable future,” Abbot Jan continues as he leads Hans inside, “The way I heard it,” Abbot Jan begins in a soft tone, “you’ve had carnal relations with a butcher’s daughter and now it’s been found that the woman is with child.”
It wasn’t my fault, Hans wants to say. He hadn’t actually done the deed with Klara. In all honesty Hans isn’t even sure just how Klara had claimed to be with child, or for that matter, how the child was deemed to be his. Uncle Hanush hadn’t even investigated the matter, Hans is sure of that. He’d simply paid the butcher off to keep the man’s silence and then within the same week decided to have Hans carted away to Sedletz.
“Unfortunately, that is the case,” Hans answers with a light smile. It’s easier to lie sometimes, “Uncle Hanush wrote to you and now here I am.”
“Indeed,” Abbot Jan continues, “Your Uncle has been plain with us about your situation, Sir Hans. He wishes for you to undertake a strict life and follow the schedule of the monks in the hopes that it will curb your wanton desires and wild ways — his words not mine.”
“If my uncle wishes to rehabilitate me, I’m afraid it’s far too late for that,” Hans scoffs, “Some things are rather…ingrained in oneself.”
“I suppose we have our work cut out for us then. We will have to do our best to change that, Sir Hans,” Abbot Jan continues gravely, “Your Uncle expects results.”
“And I do not expect to be treated like a slaving peasant,” Hans continues his tone dangerously jovial.
“It would appear that an excess of life’s luxuries have clouded your judgement and impeded upon your humility towards people from all walks of life,” Abbot Jan surmises as he leads Hans down a long stone hallway, “The less fortunate peasants as you put it, work hard so that their masters, your good self, can benefit from their labours of the land.”
Hans wanted to roll his eyes at all the preaching. Of course the peasants worked hard to keep Lords like him and his uncle fed! It is what they were made for what they were simply born to do. Hans didn’t force them to work though and if things were reversed, well, he’s lucky he doesn’t have to think about that because he’s a Lord.
“At the monastery you will come to live a simpler life. You will be stripped of all your usual luxuries and frivolities and in doing so, it is my hope that you grow in spirit. Who knows, God willing, you might even wish to take up the cloth permanently after your stay.”
‘As if!’ Hans thinks as they come to stand outside a small wooden door set deep into a stone wall.
“This is your cell,” Abbot Jan tells him, “Let us get you changed out of your clothes. Your new robes and daily attire are in the chest within. Once you are done, you may leave your worldly belongings upon your desk. I shall have someone fetch them and place them in my study under lock and key.”
“Now I don’t suppose I’ll have any servants to help me to undress will I, Brother Abbot?” Hans asks hoping to annoy the Abbot into an early release from his sentence.
“One does not require servants here in the monastery, Brother Hans,” the Abbot replies patient as stone.
The title rakes over Hans skin and he feel dread course through him as he imagines himself left here to decay. His youthfulness giving way to aching bones while his waistline expands and his hair is shaved off. Hans shudders at the very image. He smiles tightly at Abbot Jan who likely thinks that Hans is trying to assimilate with his surroundings instead of mocking him.
Then Hans enters his cell, closing the door behind him. Instinctively, as is custom for him to do, Hans’ fingers move to flip the bolt latch and slide the lock into place only…he realises with quickly growing horror that there is no lock to slide into place.
There must be some mistake.
Surely they did not expect him to change his clothes like this?!
Hans yanks the door open again, taking Abbot Jan by surprise as the man’s eyes widen in apparent shock.
“Brother Hans? Is something the matter?” Abbot Jan asks in that infuriatingly calm tone of his.
Hans plasters a smile to his face, tight and placating, muscles twitching with the effort of reigning in his displeasure, “Brother Abbot, at the risk of sounding…particular…am I mistaken, or is there no lock on my door?”
“There are no locks on any of the doors on our cells,” Abbot Jan explains matter-of-factly.
Hans blinks, cold dread washing over him, head cocked to the side. He fears that he must have heard wrong, “No locks?!” he parrots stupidly unable to comprehend the very idea, “No locks…on any of the doors?!? Brother Abbot surely you jest.”
“Well we do have locks on the doors to the scriptorium an—”
“THIS!” Hans snaps and then remembers himself. He inhales sharply, exhales and starts again, “This is my personal room Brother Abbot…” he says trying for some semblance of reasoning, “Do you truly expect me to change in here with the door unlocked and no servants to assist me?”
“Indeed,” Abbot Jan replies gentle and yet firm, “This is a house of God and the brothers here come and go freely with respect for the privacy of one another. No one will intrude without due cause.”
‘He’s yanking my pizzle isn’t he?! Good Lord help me.’ Hans thinks, wishing to leave at once.
“Surely a lock would help to ensure that such mistakes do not occur?” he quips.
The Abbot’s smile is thin, bordering on sympathetic this time, “Locks encourage secrecy Brother Hans and secrecy…encourages sin.”
Hans can think of an entire litany of reasons why a lock is, in fact, essential. The first and foremost reason being that a man might desire to have privacy while undressing.
And perhaps it would be ideal as well should…certain…bodily tensions…need addressing.
Well. That would very likely be a sin too apparently.
Hans sighs dramatically, “Brother Abbot I can assure you that I am not trying to sin. I’m simply trying to take my trousers off without becoming a spectacle for you lot…or being caught with my arse out!”
“Be at peace, Brother Hans,” Abbot Jan answers seemingly amused now, “You can rest assured that our brothers are not concerned with such things. The body is a gift from God. We were born with nothing and so it is a natural state of being. Here, it matters not if one is seen unclothed.”
“Unfortunately, it matters to me,” Hans mutters with a frown.
The Abbot’s brows lift kindly, “Then that is your pride speaking. Not modesty. And perhaps, this is where your penance begins.”
Hans stares at him, utterly offended. Now apparently, it is prideful for a man to want privacy while changing his clothes.
Abbot Jan continues, “You must understand, Brother Hans, none of the brothers look upon nudity with…the earthly interest so often associated with such a state outside the monastery walls. If they happen to see you unclothed, they will neither stare nor dwell upon it. Their vows restrict them and in doing so, protect you.”
He pauses and then adds kindly, almost cheerfully teasing, “Truly, Brother Hans, no one within these walls will look upon you with desire.”
And that is precisely why Hans doesn’t know if he can survive this God-fearing place. It will be nothing but boredom and chores with not a soul to flirt with to ease said boredom. But he’s already here and there is no getting out of it.
With a groan, Hans retreats back into his cell.
“First no servants. Now no locks. Dear Lord in Heaven, what else do you intend to take from me?” he mutters as approaches the chest, finding his new attire all plain and drab.
With a cautious eye trained upon the door, Hans begins to undress. He hates the anxiety this no lock business gives him. Hates that he has to keep an eye upon the door and the shifting shadows beneath it every now and then.
But eventually, Hans has the horribly itchy woollen cassock upon him, the brown hood clinging to his neck like some unruly creature. He emerges to find Abbot Jan still waiting outside his doors, hands patiently clasped. It’s no wonder the man is Abbot of the monastery. He truly has the patience of a saint.
“Our robes suit you, Brother Hans.”
Hans makes a sad sob of a laugh as he looks down at the white and brown ensemble. It does not suit him at all, he would never want it to suit him. But he has no other choice save for adhering to the monastery’s rules…for now.
“Now, this will be your room during the entirety of your stay with us,” Abbot Jan instructs as he gestures to the cell Hans has just emerged from, “This wing of the monastery is usually reserved for our noble guests and the higher ranking knights of the Order. It is set apart from the other brothers’ quarters so you will not disturb them, nor they you.”
Hans glances up and down the barren hallway with doors set down the length of it.
“So…I’m to be cloistered…in a cloister,” he says dryly.
Abbot Jan’s mouth twitched ever so slightly upwards, “If you insist on putting it that way, Brother Hans, I shall not stop you.”
Hans sighs, “I prefer to be rid of this place. But since I am already here…I much prefer to make my confinement here seem less of a…punishment…”
“Acceptance will come with time,” Abbot Jan says offering a soft smile as he continues with his explanations, “Silence is kept after sunset. Morning prayers will begin at four, before dawn. All your meals will be taken in the refectory at six, twelve and seven. You’ll hear the bells for them. And as for your duties, they will be assigned to you daily.”
Hans only nods silently as he began counting down the hours.
Oh to be a nobleman, cloistered in a cloister…
“Come,” Abbot Jan says, “There is more to see.”
Hans trails behind the Abbot, taking in the stone archways. The scent of old incense and parchment lingers in the air. Everything is grey and drab with not a lick of colour. It is boring. Dull. Lifeless.
Dread fills him for this is, no doubt, exactly what Uncle Hanush had wanted for him.
“Brother Abbot, I have a question,” Hans asks arms folded across his chest.
“You may speak freely, Brother Hans.”
“Will I at least be allowed…wine?” Hans asks almost hopeful.
“You will…”
Hans brightens.
“…but only on feast days.”
Immediately Hans deflates and he makes a sound of despair, blended with rage. He curses Uncle Hanush none too softly.
If Abbot Jan heard, he doesn’t let on as he leads the way to the other parts of the monastery.
The Abbot shows Hans where the meals would be taken, where prayers were held. He leads Hans to the scriptorium full of old parchment and tomes with the brothers seated at their desks to illuminate texts. He sees the main church where there is scaffolding and workers scuttling around. And finally the Abbot takes Hans back out into the sunlight crossing the courtyard where Hans had been towards a camp of tents.
Hans decides that he likes the outside of the cloister decidedly better. At least here the weak sunlight filtered through the clouds and the drab stone walls eased into gentle greenery.
He can hear the clang of metal now, grunts of exertion as soldiers trained. Up ahead Hans spies the banner of the Teutonic Order of knights. A camp of warriors settled on monastery grounds.
“Some of our brothers of the Order have just returned from their rotation of their campaigns in Gotland,” Abbot Jan explains as they cross the ponds of water, carp swimming away from their approach, “They will be stationed here at Sedletz in the meantime for training between deployments.”
Hans attention is drawn to the training arena now where two knights circle each other in the open dirt yard all broad shoulders and dangerous stances. Their bodies are weapons themselves, lean and muscled.
As he watches, Hans finds himself particularly drawn to the younger man who moves with a dangerous precision. Every strike of his practice blade seems perfectly calculated. His strikes are clean, efficient. Hans concludes that he must be some elite member of the Order for such skills can only come with years spent away at war.
His opponent is an even older man who is spirited for his years. But Hans can tell that he is tiring from the fight.
His eyes flick back to the younger one now and Hans finds himself staring, Abbot Jan completely forgotten in favour of this stranger. His feet have seemingly come to a standstill of their own accord.
The knight Hans finds his eyes drawn to has his hair cut short in a practical undercut for a man of his profession. His beard is neatly trimmed, skin bronzed from years of training and campaigning. His muscles shift beneath skin littered by slivers of scars as he fights and Hans’ mouth opens in awe as he watches the knight pivot raising his arm to block his sparring partner’s blow.
Sunlight slides perfectly across the curve of his back. It accentuates the taut, lean lines of his waist, highlighting his powerful stance. Sweat trickles down the valley of his spine and for a second Hans wonders what that might taste like. He wonders what it might feel like to lick his tongue down that spine…wonders what noises this man would make for him…because of him…
Hans inhales sharply at the intensity of his thoughts, a desirous heat hitting him like a blow in his guts.
This man is different from any butcher’s daughter or tavern brawler that much he’s sure of. He’s a far cry from any other small town flirt that Hans has had the pleasure of toying with in the past. This man is on another level of interesting altogether and Hans is already intrigued.
He had come here expecting bald old monks, fat from good food and dull from boredom with their prayers and their chants. He expected to see quiet, obedient monks shuffling around in woollen cassocks not…this…
Two shirtless knights battling under the sun in full view of everyone in the courtyard.
Now that is certainly a treat.
He wants to ask the Abbot who the younger man is.
“As you can see our warrior-brothers are not bound to the modesty of the rest of us monks,” Abbot Jan calmly explains, utterly oblivious to the hungry stare in Hans’ eyes, “Their training is rigorous and they wake at dawn to practice for strength must be maintained when one fights for the good of our Heavenly Father.”
Oh aye, Hans can definitely see that these knights stood apart from the monks. He lets out a soft hum of appreciation glad that they are maintaining their strength. Glad that they are putting their bodies on display. Glad that he can be distracted even for a moment. He barely hears Abbot Jan continue his speech about some holy war over the hammering of his own heartbeat.
“They will be stationed here until spring next year.”
The young knight moves again in a sudden, brutal strike, arm flexing, torso twisting. Hans eyes the way his muscles tighten beneath sun-warmed skin. The older man staggers back and Hans’ knight delivers the finishing blow in a clean strike.
“Bravo!” Hans calls, clapping enthusiastically, the sound ringing sharp against the stone walls.
The Abbot pauses, lifting a hand toward the sparring men in greeting, “These two are of great importance at Sedletz,” he says calmly, “Brother Henry and Brother Ludolf,” he gestures to each respectively.
At their names, both men turn and nod in greeting.
They cross the yard with an easy confidence, vaulting the low fence as though it were nothing at all. It is such a casual display of strength that makes Hans stand a little straighter, jut his chin out just a bit more despite himself.
Brother Henry. That is the warrior whom Hans had been staring at.
He feels his stomach flip now as Brother Henry approaches, half dressed. Hans reminds himself to keep his eyes strictly above that tapered waist.
Up close, handsome is not nearly enough to describe this ruggedly good looking man. There is a stillness to him, a disciplined restraint that sits rather uneasily in his being. Henry has such expressive blue-grey eyes, far too expressive for a soldier Hans thinks. They look sorrowful, heavy with the grief of having witnessed far more death than Hans probably ever has in his entire noble life thus far.
Nothing about him is soft or careless. It is clear the man has been trained for war. In short, he’s at the other end of the yardstick, someone completely different from Hans…and Hans finds he cannot look away.
“Brothers, I’d like you to meet our newest addition to the monastery,” Abbot Jan says, drawing their attention to Hans who felt suddenly like he was being inspected.
“This,” the abbot continued, “is Sir Hans Capon. He has been sent to us at his uncle, Sir Hanush’s guidance to…address certain indiscretions involving a woman.”
Hans winced at the Abbot’s words, “Just to clarify…I was accused of putting a child in her belly. Her father claimed that I’d sown seed where I most certainly did not!” he bites defensively as though he needs to explain because he doesn’t want this Henry thinking the worse of him for some reason.
Abbot Jan raised a hand, silencing any further explanation from Hans.
“Nevertheless, this matter requires deep reflection,” he states calmly, “Brother Hans has been sent here to repent and to atone for his excesses in life. He is to learn humility, discipline…and live a life untroubled by indulgent desires.”
Hans scowls, his gaze flicking instinctively to Henry. He notices that the other man’s expression didn’t change. There is no judgement, no amusement. Nothing whatsoever that hinted that the Abbot’s words had landed at all. And perhaps that’s worse for even as the Abbot spoke of restraint and purity, Hans felt said desires stirring…reaching for this man who stands before him broad-shouldered, quiet, and utterly unreadable.
“It’s good to meet you, Brother Hans,” the older knight, Brother Ludolf, greets as he moves to clasp hands with Hans in greeting, “You will find no judgement here for your transgressions.”
Hans blinks, nods as he lets go of Brother Ludolf’s hand. Somehow he had expected mockery and he’s not sure how to reply to this kindness so he remains silent.
“Brother Ludolf is the Order’s senior knight,” Abbot Jan continues, “He leads the military contingent while they are stationed here at Sedletz.”
Then he turns to the other man, “And this is Brother Henry, one of our most adept fighters most recently returned from Gotland. I’m told that he joined us after the raid on Skalitz some years back or so I’m told. He is a blacksmith by trade, and a true warrior in every sense of the word.”
‘A blacksmith?’ Hans thinks, automatically tagging on the word, ‘Peasant.’
The association comes completely unbidden, an ingrained and immediate reaction in a lifetime of learned distinction.
Henry inclines his head once in greeting.
And Hans waits…
He expected Henry to step forward, to offer his hand as Brother Ludolf had. He had hoped for a slight brush of callused skin, the closure of the distance between them in some small ritual of greeting.
But Henry does not move. He remains where he is, posture straight, hands utterly still. Instead the knight bows, a stiff, respectful motion that prevented any further connection between them.
“Sir Hans,” Henry says and somehow his title lands heavily this time.
“Henry,” Hans returns simply, the name catching in his throat, foreign yet warm upon his tongue. He feels something warm and foolish sink inside him. It is quickly met with irritation for why should he, a nobleman, care if Brother Henry deigned it worthy to clasp hands with him or not?
And yet…Hans knows the exact reason why…because he had wanted — desperately — to take Henry’s hand in his…
He had wanted to feel the calluses. To feel Henry’s strength when his hand closed about Hans own.
Most importantly, Hans had wanted to see what kind of feelings sparked in him when Henry met him, skin against skin…even if it were only for a heartbeat.
Hans feels heat rise to his cheeks once more and he averts his eyes from Henry.
“Before I forget,” Abbot Jan continues, paying no heed to Hans’ internal war, “Brother Henry will assist in getting you acclimated to our routine. He knows our rules, our discipline, and our expectations better than most, so I do believe that he will satisfy your every need and curiosity. The man is most capable indeed and most unaffected.”
Hans raises a brow, amusement at that statement curling his mouth into a smirk, “Is that so?” he murmurs.
‘We’ll certainly see about that,’ he thinks for desire is already snaking its way into Hans’ chest for this knight.
Henry’s expression didn’t flicker at Hans’ smirk. His grave stoniness didn’t even falter at the implication of the Abbot’s words that Henry would ‘satisfy every need’ of Hans’.
The knight simply answers, “Yes Abbot,” and that was that.
So this is the paragon that Abbot Jan has trusted to guide Hans. The unaffected, utterly immovable Brother Henry of the Teutonic Order.
This is the man who is supposed to correct him, to guide him…and certainly not…tempt him.
Hans cannot help but to fixate upon the Abbot’s words that echo in his head, ‘He will satisfy your every need.’
Hans cannot deny that right now, he needs this man in a manner that is certainly most unholy. That desire thrums under his skin. And the worst part so far? Henry’s apparent disinterest only seems to have sharpened Hans’ attraction to him.
Perhaps it’s the boredom speaking, but there is definitely something intoxicatingly heady about the way Brother Henry is all stoic, refusing to be impressed. No doubt hiding something under that supposedly quiet control. Hans would bet a hundred groschen that there has to be something that makes him tick. And he is determined to find out what it is.
He can already feel it, the urge to tease and toy with Henry’s severe composure. He wants to see the knight’s mask crack, wants to see just who Brother Henry really is beneath all this propriety.
Call it curiosity, call it fascination or perhaps even something even softer like…attraction…for Hans has never felt so strongly for anyone else before.
“Come, let us resume out tour of the other buildings, Brother Hans,” Abbot Jan says and Hans turns purposefully, intent to play this game with Henry.
As he walks off, Hans chances a glance back over his shoulder catching Henry staring after him. He grins, teasingly, hungrily.
He’ll sink his claws into Henry soon enough, God willing.
Henry hadn’t meant to look after Brother Hans…truly…
Yet as Sir Hans and Abbot Jan left the training yard, Henry’s eyes couldn’t help but stray after the bright shine of his blond hair. The plain white and brown garb of the monks do not suit Sir Hans at all. It swallows him whole, sways about what must decidedly be a slighter more delicate form.
Sir Hans has a confidently proud stride. He also has a deviously sharp tongue at least that is what Henry has learned so far from this interaction. Most importantly, Hans has a boyishly carefree smirk that tilts his rosebud lips up at the corners and…does something to Henry…
The Abbot had deemed him unaffected, had painted Henry in such a stoic portrait that now as he watches Sir Hans leave, Henry knows he will have to uphold that image. For the sake of propriety. For the sake of noble Sir Hans…whose reputation must remain…spotless…
“Henry?” Brother Ludolf nudges him with an elbow, “You alright?”
Henry nods, tearing his eyes away from Hans now, “Aye…” he says tightening his grip upon the practice sword.
He has dealt with nobles before. Henry has served them with humility and precision. He has protected them in battle. But none of them have ever looked at Henry the way Sir Hans had.
Clear blue eyes had gazed at Henry openly. They had dragged over Henry’s topless form, raked over his skin in a teasing manner. Sir Hans had looked at him with interest instead of simply glossing over him as just another warrior.
That had made Henry’s pulse stutter.
“Another round?” he asks motioning back towards the training arena.
“Let me call you a replacement, Henry. I’m fear you’ve got me beat for today.”
Henry nods in agreement as he launches himself back into the training arena.
He’ll focus on the fight, the discipline of his blade, the steady rhythm of his breath…
He would not think of Sir Hans’.
He would not…think of how the nobleman had smirked at him.
He would fight his next opponent, take his dinner, say his prayers and hope that he will not see Sir Hans Capon again before dawn.
As night covers the monastery in a blanket of darkness, Hans slips out of his cell.
Earlier today while he was on a tour of the monastery with Abbot Jan, the man had showed Hans to a private bathing room. It’s a soaking pool really, sunk into the floor of a decoratively tiled room. It is full of steam and scented oils. Fresh linen washcloths stacked neatly on a short wooden rack at the edge of the pool.
In all honesty, Hans had not expected this. He had rather expected a simple basin and jug for their daily ablutions. Not a fully kitted bathing complex complete with a polished wooden screen to shield the bathers from whomever was entering.
It is a small luxury amidst the otherwise drab experience that Hans has had thus far within the stony walls of this monastery.
Abbot Jan had said that the bath was usually used by guests of noble birth in the evenings.
So for Hans, that naturally means that he’s just gained his own private bathing complex for his personal use for as long as he stays at Sedletz Monastery.
He strips down with relief and scoops lukewarm water from a large trough over himself before padding over to the pool. Cautiously, Hans dips his toes into the pool of water and a wonderful warmth greets him. He feels his sour mood lift at once as he slips into the pool, letting himself sink into the warm water. Hans feels his muscles loosen, tension draining from him as the water laps at his collarbones.
Steam rolls off the surface of the water, fogging the air in the tiled room.
Hans smiles leaning back in the water. He lets himself float on his back, eyes trained upon the tiled ceiling, content to float there till his skin turns wrinkly. For the first time since his arrival this morning, he feels truly alive and much like a nobleman once more. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be stuck here but at least now, at the end of the day Hans knows that he will have something to look forward to.
Hans closes his eyes, utterly content. The muffled sounds of water dripping surrounding him.
Then all of a sudden, he hears the sound of the door to the baths opening, creaking on old moisture worn hinges.
Hans’ eyes snap open as he freezes, listening for a moment.
Footsteps signal the presence of someone else and Hans inelegantly splashes about as he stops himself from free-floating upon the water’s surface.
He listens to the footsteps, slow, sure and then from around the polished wooden screen, Henry walks right into the baths.
Hans nearly inhales water as he sinks down into the pool, submerging himself up to his chin.
Henry doesn’t seem to have noticed him yet as he starts stripping down, back turned to the pool. He pulls his tunic off hurriedly to reveal that same muscular back that Hans had stared at earlier today. Then Henry starts on the ties of his chausses and braies, his movement efficient, confident. Like he’s stripped down to nothing many times in front of watching eyes.
Hans tries…desperately…to keep his gaze steady and respectable. Tries to think holy thoughts but the moment the fabric slides downwards, Hans feels his breath leave him.
The two pale moons of Henry’s behind are indeed a stunning revelation, so startlingly fair as compared to the rest of his sun tanned back and shoulders. Hans feels desire coil inside him, feels his breath catch on an inhale, sharp and incriminating.
Before he can even look away, Henry turns.
And Hans for the love of everything holy, snaps his eyes up towards Henry’s face like a guilty peasant caught stealing bread.
Henry for his part has only just noticed Hans’ presence and he lifts a brow. Curious, calm and utterly unbothered as Abbot Jan had prophesised. As if stepping naked into a bath beside a disgraced nobleman is something completely ordinary.
“G-Good eve…” Hans managed, trying for casual, but landing somewhere closer to strangled and breathless.
Henry offers a polite nod, “Good evening, my lord,” he greets sinking into the pool after he’s washed himself with the water from the trough.
Hans felt the water lap about his shoulders, heated waves making his already warm body feel even hotter. He watches Henry walk towards him from the other end of the pool, advancing upon him as his heartbeat kicked up. Hans feels panic flash through him for there is nowhere for him to escape to. Unless he gets out of the tub but that would mean Henry would see him entirely naked…which while it excited him…also makes him feel horribly ashamed and utterly wanton.
“H…Henry what…are you…?” his voice comes out breathless and strangled as Henry closes the distance between them…leaning in…
Hans closes his eyes a fraction, vision dimming as though he were waiting expectantly to feel something. Only Henry isn’t reaching for him.
He reaches past him…for the stack of washcloths behind Hans.
The realisation should have steadied him but it doesn’t as he sits there upon the stone ledge in the pool of water. He can feel Henry’s nearness wrapping about him like the steam curling into the air. Their bodies do not touch. There’s barely a whisper of skin and yet when Henry moves, Hans swears he feels a phantom warmth against his skin.
Hans eyes flick to the tanned column of Henry’s neck, eyeing the way the water droplets slide down his neck to the broad plane of his chest.
Henry draws back ever so slightly. Storm blue gaze meeting Hans’ own light blue eyes. Henry is so close that Hans can see the faint flutter of the pulse in his throat. He shrinks back, tiles pressing into his skin, forces himself to swallow before his speaks, “So…you were just…” he gestures to the washcloth in Henry’s hand.
“Getting what I needed, my lord,” Henry supplies politely.
Before he can stop himself Hans asks, “Is…this…normal? For monks to share a bath together?” his voice is soft, barely a whisper which of course, Henry picks up at such a distance.
Henry doesn’t move any further as he answers, “I am not a monk,” he answers quietly. “I am a knight of the Order and you are a nobleman sent here for penance. We do not live in the same way the monks do.”
Hans wishes Henry hadn’t said that.
He wishes that he’d asked something else, anything else. Something that didn’t warrant an answer that made his stomach dip or quicken his already racing heart.
Then Henry leans in again.
It seems almost closer this time, heat radiating off Henry’s body and seeping into the air about Hans. He felt Henry’s breath brush against his cheek…so dangerously close now…
From the corner of his eyes, Hans watches Henry’s hand reach for the row of glass bottles on the shelf. The tinkle of the scented bath oils sound too loud in the small, steamy room.
Either Henry is doing this on purpose…or he is truly and maddeningly immune. Hans cannot decide which is worse but this time as he inhales Henry’s manly scent, desire stirs low in Hans’ belly. His breath catches as he feels his arousal shift beneath the waters. His heart jolts to life, panic bolting through him.
He absolutely does not want Henry to notice this!
Saints above…especially when Henry is right there, just a breath away from him.
He has to get out.
In a mad scramble, Hans pushes to his feet, flustered as he tries to dodge Henry while getting to the edge of the pool.
In his haste, his foot skids in the water upon the smooth tiling and Hans grabs desperately for something, anything as his world tilted and he slipped.
Henry catches him instantly, one strong arm banding about Hans’ waist to steady him. He pulls Hans towards him, against the solid wall of his chest. The impact is a soft, wet, breathless splash.
Hans gasps. Thankful he hasn’t dashed his brains on the floor.
Henry inhales sharply in response now with Sir Hans pressed up against him. He has his hand splayed out against his lordship’s bare hip to keep him upright. That’s when Henry felt it, the softly hard brush of his lordship’s desire pressing against his thigh.
Hans freezes, stiffening in Henry’s arms as though by being still, it will erase the way his half-hard cock brushes against Henry’s thigh.
Henry feels something like lightning strike him, silent and searing. He bites the inside of his cheek, feels Hans shift, a soft roll of hips as he thrusts into Henry and gasps.
Henry’s grip tightens before he can stop himself, a light squeeze of Sir Hans’ bare hip, encouraging…intimate…
Hans recovers, hurriedly extricating himself from Henry as he scrambles for some semblance of dignity. He runs a hand back through damp blond locks as he feels Henry release him, slow, reluctant almost.
Distance granted, Hans can feel his brain start to work and he lets his mouth curl up in a smirk, “It seems Abbot Jan was wrong,” he breathes, “You’re not quite as unaffected as he believes you to be, aren’t you?”
Henry doesn’t answer, jaw set tight. Hans sees a muscle tick and he knows that he’s hit the mark.
“I simply wished to ensure your safety, my lord,” Henry answers his tone strangled.
“Mm. Of course you were,” Hans purrs, steam curling about them.
“My apologies, your lordship,” Henry says again this time his voice even once more but he would not meet Hans’ eyes. He takes one step back then another, acting like a man who’d been burned.
Hans watches the knight set to work with his washcloth, back turned towards him now as he rigidly cleanses himself, water lapping away.
Hans rises from the water in a smooth, easy motion.
From the other end of the pool, Henry hears his lordship leaving, imagines rivulets of water coursing down pale skin and he forces himself to stare firmly at the opposite wall, scrubbing at his skin.
He hears the rustle of fabric, and Henry is helpless as he felt his resolve wavering. He turns ever so slightly and catches a glimpse of Hans’ body.
Hans Capon is all smooth pale skin, pink nipples, a sufficiently well-endowed shaft…
Henry’s breath catches because what he’d felt just now against his thigh is real. Sir Hans’ cock stands half-hard.
Then Hans shifts, bends to grab his clothes and Henry feels his own arousal stir as he’s presented with the view of a perfectly shaped and maddeningly pert arse. It’s the kind that sculptors would try and fail to capture in their marbled statues. The kind that looked almost peach perfect.
It has been ages since Henry had felt such an aching need. Years since he’s indulged because ever since he’d joined the Order and taken his vows of chastity, he’d never felt the need so strongly.
He understands now that Sir Hans Capon is temptation embodied in human form and he would do well to steer clear of this man…unless he wishes for trouble.
That night, as Hans leaves the private baths, pulse still racing, he wonders if Henry had caught a glimpse of him. He’d made sure to bend over on purpose for Henry. Made sure to put himself on display as he dressed once more under the coarse wool robes. It was his small, wicked offering to Henry, one which he pretended was purely accidental, just a part of him getting dressed.
He doesn’t know that Henry had taken in every moment like a starved hound. He doesn’t know that Henry had been left aching and hard in the waters of the pool long after Hans had left.
He does know, however, that Henry could be shaken. He’d seen the way storm-blue eyes had gazed at him while they were in the pool. He’d felt Henry’s strong, callused hands tightening upon him.
And Hans wants desperately to be the one to cause Henry to falter again.
He pauses at the threshold of his cell now looking into his tiny little room with its beeswax candle burning in the corner. It gutters as Hans closes the door behind him, sinks back against the wood, skin still warm from the baths.
This place is supposed to cleanse him, supposed to baptise him in humility and make him repent.
Instead, he has been baptised in something far more dangerous tonight.
Desire.
- TBC -