Work Text:
He really should have thought twice before returning to Troskovitz. But after the wedding, everything had spun out of control so quickly, and he left too many things unfinished, too many promises made still waiting for him.
Not that anyone would care about his reasons. His name had probably been spat out like bad ale in the tavern ever since he left. He hadn’t exactly parted on good terms.
After all, every able-bodied man from the villages and farms near the castle had been roused in the dead of night to hunt for him, Zizka, and Godwin, after their breakout from Trosky's dungeon.
An escape that had left at least one corpse behind.
Small places like Troskovitz didn't forget things like that.
But the unfinished business gnawed on his conscience, and with Hans safely tucked away in the Devil’s Den, Henry gathered Pebbles and made his preparations. He rode off, promising his lord he’d return within a week at most. Capon had pouted in that endearing way of his, but let him go all the same, knowing well enough how restless Henry grew. He even promised not to get him and Mutt into too much trouble whilst he was away. Henry could only hope. He was still quite suspicious of this new alliance between his dog and the lord.
He’d made a few stops on the way and wanted to slip quietly into the village, tidy up a few loose ends, and be gone before anyone thought to look twice.
Luck, however, wasn’t on his side.
He left Pebbles tied to the post of old Jakesh’s horse field, trusting—perhaps foolishly—that the man would remember old favours and not run straight to the guards at the first sight of him.
Henry had been careful to choose a non-market day, expecting the town to be half-empty, with everyone out working in the fields.
Instead, to his dismay, it was teeming with people. He spotted a scattering of hired hands and farm lads from all across the region—several of them from a village near Semine, if he remembered right and even a few from old Kreyzl's mill.
He ducked behind the fence at the back of the apothecary’s house and squeezed into a narrow alleyway between it and the carpenter’s shed. The space was so tight, and overgrown with horseweed and nettles, but at least his choice of armour was paying off. He’d left his steel behind in favour of leather—lighter, quieter, and far less conspicuous. A man in a plate drew attention. A man in leather might just pass for a simple traveller if no one looked too closely on the road, and blend in with the undergrowth easily.
From there, he had a decent view of the main square.
The pillory had been turned into a stage of sorts, with a desk set up in front, draped in von Bergow’s shields and banners. Trosky’s scribe, Erazim—the humourless twat— sat there scratching away at a list, flanked by a pair of guards. About half a dozen horses were tied to the trough between the Bailiff Thrush's house and Betty’s tavern, tossing their heads and snoozing in the afternoon sun. ,any of the castle's guards loitered nearby, talking and clearly waiting for something. Young lads were gathered in a haphazard line, some with nervous faces, others brimming with bravado.
The sharp crack of wooden swords carried across the square from the training pen at the rathous, where more hopeful recruits were battering each other under the eye of the older guards. It didn’t take Henry long to piece it together—Trosky’s castle was holding a recruitment drive. He swore under his breath.
It was true that Zizka’s forces had torn through Trosky’s men and their allies like a hot knife through lard, soaking the forest near Nebakov with blood, before von Aulitz had marched in with his Praguian army. But of course, it would be Henry’s wretched luck to sneak into Troskovitz on the very day they decided to fill their ranks again.
Henry swore quietly and crouched even lower, his mind racing through his options.
He could slip back the way he’d come, fetch Pebbles, and ride to one of his hideouts. He could wait a few days before returning, even if it meant being late and enduring Hans’s sharp tongue for it. Better to face Capon's scolding than a rope around his neck.
A sudden, rolling laugh carried around the corner, cutting through Henry’s thoughts. The sound was deep and pleasant—and familiar enough to make him pause. He risked a glance.
Captain Thomas had just emerged from Betty’s, clapping a guard on the shoulder with a heavy hand as the two exchanged words. Henry stared for a moment, oddly relieved to see him upright and whole. The last time they’d crossed paths, Thomas had been pale and bedridden, more ghost than soldier, still recovering from his wounds.
Now, he was on his feet, striding with purpose, here to oversee the recruitment. He had a feeling that Captain Thomas had the kind of presence that could rouse even the laziest farmer into thinking himself soldier material.
Henry sighed, low and weary, a pang of regret tugging at him. It would’ve been good to exchange a few words—if only the circumstances weren’t what they were. He was just starting to consider sneaking off when he realised, with a jolt, that Captain was no longer speaking to the guard.
The man was looking straight at him.
Henry’s stomach dropped. “Oh, hell,” he muttered under his breath.
That was when Svatya Thrush came around the corner of Baiff’s house, likely on his way back from the outhouse. He stopped short, his eyes landing on Henry straight away, eyebrows rising in recognition.
Henry swore under his breath, his stomach twisting as he began to step back. He saw Captain Thomas had broken off from his companion and started heading his way as well, closing the distance with long strides.
The two men slowed when they noticed each other, giving each other a quick, cautious look. Henry didn’t stick around to find out what they’d do next. With a grunt, he ducked into the alley, his shoulders scraping against the walls as he squeezed through, hunched over like some awkward beast. His back ached with every step, but better that than letting them corner him.
“Brilliant,” he muttered under his breath, hurrying on. “Bloody brilliant, crawling about like a rat. At least it's not through shit this time.”
The alley twisted sharply behind the apothecary's house, uneven stones threatening to trip him at every step.
He made it out to the path behind the gardens and all but bolted towards Jakesh’s barn, crouching low and darting behind every hedge and fence he could find along the way. His mind was already racing ahead—if Thomas and Svatya decided to chase him, there was no way he’d make it back to Pebbles without being spotted. The open field offered no cover, just a straight stretch of trouble with nowhere to hide.
If luck was on his side, they’d assume he’d legged it through the farmstead and wouldn’t bother poking around in the hay. Henry muttered a quick, half-hearted prayer under his breath, though he suspected God had better things to do than hide rouges in barns.
He was so close—just past the threshold—when a strong hand clamped onto his arm and yanked him sideways, shoving him straight into a pile of hay. Henry thrashed, twisting hard, and drove his elbow back into his attacker’s face with a satisfying crack.
“Dammit, Henry—it’s me!” came a pained hiss. Svatya Thrush, his face half-buried in straw, used his considerable strength to pin Henry down. “I’m trying to help!”
“How the fuck is that helping?” Henry whispered hoarsely, still trying to buck the Thrush the younger off him.
“Stop fighting me and be quiet!” Thrush hissed, his large hand clamping over Henry’s mouth as he shoved him deeper into the hay.
Henry’s nostrils flared, and he growled low into Svatya’s palm, the sound muffled to nothing. He stilled, muscles tight, ears straining for the tell-tale crunch of boots outside or Captain Thomas’s voice drawing closer to the barn.
Nothing. Just the lazy chirp of birds outside, the faint rustle of a mouse scuttling across the loft, and the hot, uneven breath of Svatya against his neck.
Time passed with no sound of pursuit, and both men slowly eased their grip on each other. Svatya finally let go of Henry’s mouth, and Henry spat a thick gulp of saliva into the hay, shooting Svatya an uncertain, measuring look. Thrush got up and rubbed his jaw where Henry had elbowed it, growling something about a mean left hook.
“Seems the good Captain’s gone to look somewhere else,” Svatya muttered, turning to press an eye to the gap between the wooden slats of the barn wall. "Fortune sticks to your coat!"
“How the hell did you catch up to me so quickly then?” Henry asked, still eyeing his companion with suspicion.
“Hah! Slipped through old Emerich’s garden,” Svatya turned and answered, his face splitting into that cocky, self-assured smile Henry remembered all too well. “Not fast enough to avoid getting bollocked by Gerda for trampling her precious weeds, though.”
“But Henry, friend, what are you doing here? How did you even manage that? One day, I see you riding out with Von Bergow's army, like a bloody knight, and next we are chasing you through Apollonia with pitchforks? They didn't really tell us what happened, but I heard the castle men talking to my dad. " He chattered, not waiting for Henry's answer.
"And today of all days! The town’s crawling with guards for the drive. Even Captain Handsome is here—you saw." He rolled his eyes and wrinkled his nose in disgust. "We all thought he were dead, and then he rides in this morning like nothing happened. The wenches started crying all over again when they saw him."
“Yeah, I saw. Aren’t you a guard too, though?” Henry shot back, narrowing his eyes.
“Yes, I am,” Svatya hissed, leaning closer, suddenly remembering to keep his voice down. “But I also owe you a bloody big one! I’m not about to stand by and let them catch you.”
“W-what debt?” Henry asked, blinking at him.
“My sister!” Svatya whispered fiercely. “She’s left that idiot Olda and come back home now, but she told me what happened at Semine.” He turned, his eyes fixed on Henry. “What you and that pompous lordling of yours did. If it wasn’t for you two, she’d have been killed there.”
“And so,” he went on, voice low but steady, “under no circumstances can I allow anything to happen to you. Us commoners have some honour too, you know?” he puffed up his chest a bit when he said that.
Henry didn't know what to say, a rush of warmth filling him at Svatya's fierce proclamation. He didn't get a chance to answer when the wooden door on the far side of the barn swung open with a creak, and Captain Thomas stepped inside.
Henry stiffened, his first instinct to dive out and run, seeing the captain's stern frown, but Svatya moved first. The younger man planted himself squarely in front of Henry, his broad back a solid wall.
“Captain,” Svatya said, voice steady but defiant, thought did not reach for his sword. “I found him. But I’m not handing him over to you. It'll be up to the Bailiff to deal with him." Henry only hoped that Svatya's father shared his sentiment and gratitude.
Thomas raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between the two of them. For a long heartbeat, he said nothing. Henry shifted behind Thrush, unsure whether to be grateful for the man’s loyalty or furious that he was getting himself into trouble on his account.
Then the captain exhaled through his nose, like a horse, his expression softening into something almost amused. “Stand down, Thrush. I’m not here to haul him off.”
Svatya blinked, his stance loosening but not entirely. “You’re… not?”
“No.” Thomas stepped closer, turning to Henry. “If I wanted you back in our dungeon, lad, you’d already be on the way there."
"Truth is, I came to make sure you didn’t try to play the guard too well." He said to Svatya voice edged with a challenge.
Henry narrowed his eyes, wondering how much of their earlier conversation the man had overheard. He crossed his arms, still not entirely convinced he could trust him, but if he wasn't getting dragged off to the pillory, it would have to do for now.
"I'm sure glad to hear that, would be a bit daft to knock your teeth out, captain" Thrush clapped Henry on the shoulder, shaking him hard, a grin forming on his face. "Seems like you've made yourself some good friends here after all, ey?"
It didn’t take long for them to agree on one thing—Henry needed to get out of here and fast.
“My horse—Pebbles, little grey mare—she’s tied on the far end of Jakesh’s field,” Henry said, rubbing the back of his neck. “If I can get to her, I can be gone before anyone notices.”
“That wouldn't be wise,” Thomas replied slowly, catching on where Henry meant, “That field’s about to be used for the riding tests with the recruits. Although most of them cannot tell the horses' nose from their arse, I tell you. But you’ll run straight into my men if you go."
Henry let out a loud, theatrical groan, throwing his head back.
“Well, nothing to be done about it now,” Thomas said, "We’ll take care of your horse before someone spots her and suspects something. Thrush here can bring her to you later.”
“Fine, but where?” Henry muttered.
“There’s a spot in the forest just past the fields”, Svatya offered. “Where we take girls for a walk, you know it?" he winked at Henry, when he nodded and blushed. He knew the spot by the pond. "If you go around, you'll manage to slip through unseen, and I'll come find you there by the evening.”
Henry hesitated. “And what about the guards?”
“Leave that to me,” Thomas said, his tone all business now. “I’ll stir up a bit of noise with the drills. Make sure everyone’s watching there instead."
Henry cast one last look between them, then sighed. “All right. Don’t get yourselves in trouble on my account. And thank you."
Once they left, Henry wasted no time. He crouched low and slipped out the back, darting from fence to hedge, vanishing into the tangle of fields beyond.
***
Later that afternoon, Henry settled himself at the little “lovers’ spot” that Svatya suggested; he’d stumbled upon it some weeks ago, when exploring the area. It was one of those places that every lad who spent some time in the alehouse knew about, and he was sure that young Thrush himself had taken a tumble in the grass under the oak tree with more than one girl. It was a good call, with all men out playing with wooden sticks, it seemed a safe bet for the night.
Someone had been there recently—a blanket had been left folded and tucked into a hole in the tree, along with a small bundle of food and, to his delight, a bottle of beer. Not bad. He might have left his own pack with Pebbles, but he was far from uncomfortable now, and he would replace what he had taken when he got his stuff back.
He got a fire going, feeding it with a few dry twigs and watching the smoke coil lazily into the slowly darkening sky. The sounds of Troskovitz were distant now, muffled into the quiet hum of the countryside.
The sun dipped lower, turning the sky a pale gold that deepened into burning orange, and the cool breath of evening settled over the clearing. The air smelled of crushed grass and the faint, sweet tang of wild herbs. Henry stretched his legs out with a groan, content to rest and wait for Svatya’s arrival.
A sharp crack of a branch underfoot, too clumsy for an animal, startled him from his doze. He stiffened, hand instinctively going to the knife at his belt, his body tense and ready in case it wasn't a friend coming towards him.
But when the figure stepped into the clearing, it wasn’t Svatya. It was Captain Thomas.
“Nice spot. Well hidden,” Thomas greeted, stepping fully into the clearing. “I was close to giving up looking for you—all I found was a hissing badger sitting in a hedge of nettles.”
“Captain,” Henry said, startled. “I was expecting Thrush.”
“There’s still some time before he can slip away from his post,” Thomas explained, coming closer. “But the village's busy celebrating the castle's best and new donkeys, and half the guard is already deep in their cups. He’ll get out easily—just as I did.” He gave Henry a quick wink and unhooked a wineskin from his shoulder. “Thought we might celebrate a bit too, though for different reasons.”
Henry nodded, uncertain, fidgeting in his spot before making a vague gesture at the wooden log.
“Captain…” Henry started slowly.
“You can call me Thomas. I’m hardly your captain,” the man chuckled, lowering himself onto the log by the fire. Like Henry, he was dressed in leather that evening, having left behind the steel plate he’d worn earlier. With Zizka’s men gone, it seemed the roads and villages had grown safer, or at least safe enough.
Henry eased back down onto the ground beside the log, clearing his throat as Thomas uncorked the wineskin.
“Thomas, then,” Henry said, accepting it when the man offered. He took a sip—it was good wine, sweet and smooth, better than the sour ale Henry was used to.
"It's good—it's good to see you well," he said truthfully, and the man smiled. "Your wounds, they have healed now?"
"Healed well enough, ay", the man nodded, hand rubbing at his chest absently. "Adela finally let me out of the castle. You'd have thought she was the burgrave now, the way she orders me around," he laughed, and Henry joined him awkwardly, remembering who exactly rid Trosky of their burgrave.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but… why are you here?” He passed the wineskin back, nervous.
“Well, given how you bolted the moment you saw me this afternoon—canny move, mind you—I had a feeling I won't get another chance to speak with you,” Thomas said, his voice easy but edged with honesty. “If one of my lads had spotted you instead, they’d have raised the alarm. And then we’d be turning over every stone and poking through every hay pile in Trotskovitz until morning.” He grimaced at the thought.
“But it wasn’t them. It was you. And you didn’t raise the alarm, either,” Henry said. The question was clear, hanging between them.
“You did save my life, Henry." Thomas looked into the fire, his expression growing sombre. " You pulled me out of great darkness—when others had already given up on me.”
Henry shifted where he sat, twisting his hands uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to this sort of gratitude—he’d had more than enough of it today, and it sat on his shoulders like an awkward weight.
“C’mon, Captain,” Henry said, slipping back into formality despite the man’s easy tone. “I might’ve done it, but it was to save my lord Capon, too.”
“That’s not what Adela said.” Thomas tilted his head, his sharp eyes studying Henry. “She said you were kind to her. And you don’t strike me as someone who’d leave a dying man to rot, no matter who he was.”
Henry rubbed at the back of his neck, heat creeping up his cheeks. He kicked at a stick in the fire, sending a shower of sparks crackling into the air.
“Capon or no Capon,” Thomas continued, “you’d have helped anyway. I can see that.”
Henry scowled faintly, unsure what to do with the man’s words.
“So,” Thomas went on, with a sudden shake of his head—like a horse shaking off flies, all jovial again—“tonight seemed like my only chance to thank you properly.” He shot Henry a grin, the kind of smile that likely made maidens trip over their skirts. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “And see if I can pay you back somehow.”
“Oh—oh no, there’s no need,” Henry stammered, feeling his ears burn and the back of his neck heat up beneath the collar of his tunic. He suddenly had a new sympathy for the village girls—because the look Captain Thomas was giving him was anything but innocent. And what in God’s name was he even thinking? “Surely, not arresting me is payback enough?”
“Hah, you see, I value my own life quite a bit more than that,” the captain purred, leaning in as he handed Henry the wineskin. The smell hit him—rich wine on Thomas’s breath, warm leather, iron, and days' sweat—and it made Henry’s head swim. He took a deep swig just to distract himself.
“I'm not a rich man, I don’t have anything of value to give,” Thomas continued smoothly, “but I’ve been told I have… other talents. I’d be happy to show you some of them.”
Henry nearly choked on the wine, coughing as his blood drained from his head and rushed somewhere else entirely. He wasn’t—surely he meant… some sword skills. Right?
"What talents?" Henry heaved in a thin breath.
Thomas chuckled low in his throat, leaning back just enough to give Henry space, but not so far that Henry could breathe easily.
“Let’s just say… I’m not in the habit of offering when a man might not be keen.” His tone was smooth, almost casual, but the weight of his gaze lingered on Henry just a touch too long, daring him to look away.
He reached for the wineskin again, his fingers brushing Henry’s as he took it back. “I know what I want when I see it. Doesn’t mean you have to want the same, but… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping you might.” his smile curved, slow, “I don't think I'm wrong."
And what was Henry supposed to say to that? The captain was a handsome man—any fool could see it—and Henry would be gone in a few days, back on the road. In all fairness, he hadn’t had much time to think of his prick's needs in the past weeks, nor to share a bed with anyone…. and he, if he was honest, he was quite flattered that the captain had gone out of his way to find him.
“Alright, then,” Henry said, surprising himself with how easily the answer came to him. He leaned a little closer, heart kicking against his ribs as Thomas’s smile widened. The captain met him halfway, warm and sure.
Henry had expected the man’s beard to be rough and scratchy, but it was soft, and so was his mouth. Sweet wine lingered on his lips, and the captain kissed with confidence that made Henry's toes curl in his boots.
Without thinking, his hands slipped up, fingers tangling in Thomas’s thick facial hair. It was softer than he’d imagined, like the finest pelt, and he let out a small hum of appreciation into the man’s hot mouth. Thomas chuckled low in his throat and shifted, moving to kneel beside Henry on the outstretched blanket, one strong hand guiding swiftly to lie down.
Henry could feel the blood rushing in his ears, his whole body humming with the need to touch more. The thick leather gave him only the barest hint of the firm body beneath as he pawed at the captain’s armour, pulling him closer.
“Impatient,” the captain murmured against his lips, though the pleased curve of his smile betrayed no real complaint. He pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Henry’s mouth before sitting up to strip away some of his layers.
Henry scrambled to follow suit, fumbling with buckles and ties in his haste. Soon enough, their leathers were tossed aside, leaving only the softer underlayers between them.
In the dimming evening light, with the fire casting a warm glow, the captain looked devastating. Henry’s cock fattened with interest in the confines of his braies as he watched the man strip off his outer layers, the muscles of his shoulders and chest flexing with each movement.
A thick smattering of chest hair peeked over the collar of his loose linen undershirt, and Henry’s mouth watered as his imagination ran wild—licking down the divot of the man’s chest, biting at his pectorals, teasing his nipples. The thought struck him, almost hysterical, that he might embarrass himself like a green grasshopper and spill in his pants before he even laid hands on the man’s cock.
The captain didn’t waste time. He grabbed Henry by the hips and dragged him forward as though he weighed nothing, pulling a strangled, needy sound from Henry’s throat. His legs parted, wrapping around the man’s thighs as Thomas leaned down, kissing hot and open-mouthed along Henry’s throat, trailing lower into the open collar of his shirt.
The captain’s hands worked deftly at the ties of Henry’s hose, his fingers quick. Sliding lower with a surprising grace for a man of his build, he let one hand map the shape of Henry’s chest through the thin fabric, while the other freed his cock from the confines of his pants. It sprang up, hard and flushed, like a fresh trout breaking the river’s surface, the tip already wet.
Henry let his head fall back, taking deep, steadying breaths as he gazed up at the last streaks of orange painting the sky through the canopy of trees.
That was when they heard it—a sharp snort of a horse, far too close for comfort.
“I see you started off without me,” Svatya Thrush drawled, his voice carrying an edge as he appeared at the clearing’s, Pebbles’ reins in hand and a scowl carved across his face.
Thomas pulled back, stiffening, head whipping around to face him. He rolled back to a crouch, brushing stray bits of grass from his sleeves, though not before Henry felt the loss of warmth where the captain’s mouth had just been, pressed hot against the hollow of his navel.
Svatya’s gaze darted between them, his jaw tightening—how much did he see?
“All good, Henry?” he asked, voice low and sharp, as if ready to tear Thomas apart and claim his teeth after all, if the answer wasn’t to his liking.
Henry, still half-reclining on the blanket, scrambled to sit up and cross his legs to make his prick a bit less obvious, forced words out of his mouth.
“I—yes. I’m good. Better than good, actually.” He cleared his throat, rubbing his heated up cheek. “Not exactly how I thought you’d find me, mind.”
Svatya’s expression eased, but only slightly.
“Hmph. Well, shame on me for taking my time. Looks like the captain here beat me to you.” He tilted his head, smirking. “Still, you could change your mind, dear Henry, if you are looking for someone to give you a night you won’t forget.” he made a vague gesture at himself, inviting.
Henry stared at him, dumbfounded. Has everyone been sniffing rosemary today?
Thomas rose, slow, the easy and playful smile from earlier gone from his face. “Thrush,” he said, his tone carrying a warning. “You are all bark and no teeth."
Svatya stepped forward, his grin turning wolfish. “What’s wrong, Captain? Worried I might be the better man?”
“Try me,” Thomas said, his voice low but laced with steel. The captain closed the gap between them, rolling his shoulders as he stepped closer to young Thrush, the movement pulling his shirt taut across his broad chest.
Svatya had no mind to back down. He straightened to his full height, jaw set, chin lifted, the stubborn tilt of his head making his neck and shoulders stand out in the firelight.
The two of them squared off, glaring at each other like rutting stags. From where he sat on the ground, Henry felt his brain misfire and his forgotten cock twitch between his legs. Good Lord, that’s a lot of muscle.
The first shove came from Svatya—a testing nudge against Thomas’s shoulder—but the captain didn’t budge. He just pushed back, slow and solid, like he was making a point with every inch of his frame. The tension crackled between them, and Henry’s treacherous eyes followed the flex of Thomas’s forearm.
Pebbles snorted sharply, pawing at the ground. Henry opened his mouth to stop them before a real brawl broke out, the words spilling out before he could stop himself.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he groaned, frustrated, “If you both want me, can’t I just… have you both?”
The effect was immediate. Thomas froze mid-step, fist still curled in Thrush’s collar, while Svatya’s mouth actually fell open.
Henry tilted his head, watching their stunned faces, and a slow, wicked grin crept across his lips. Oh well, if he must be a fool, let him be a big one. “Well?”
Thomas was the first to recover, glancing between Svatya and Henry.
“Works for me,” he said, s sharp grin returning with a glint that made Henry’s gut twist in a very pleasant way.
Svatya blinked, then barked a laugh. “Full of surprises, Henry,” he said, shaking his head. “Aye, why not. Let’s see if you can handle it.”
“Oh, I can handle it,” Henry muttered, his eyes shamelessly raking over both of them now—Thomas with his square, solid shoulders and that infuriating grin, Svatya all bulky strength and cocky swagger—as though he couldn’t decide which meal to start with.
Svatya went to tie Pebbles to a nearby tree, and Henry’s gaze lingered on his arse. He caught Thomas watching him watch Svatya, which only made him grin wider.
“Oi, Thrush,” Henry called as the younger man came back. “Bring me the side satchel, the one with the red stitching.”
“Why?”
Henry leaned back on the blanket, smirking. “I’ve got a feeling I’m going to need it."
They returned to his side, Thomas settling between his legs as before, and for a split second, he wondered how his night had turned into this.
Thomas’s mouth was harder this time—possessive, almost claiming—and Henry groaned against him, feeling those strong fingers dig into his sides like they meant to hold him, firm enough to leave marks. It sent a thrill through him, sharp and dizzying, and he clutched at Thomas’s shoulders, licking into the captain's mouth.
Then Svatya joined them. He’d barely blinked before Thrush had stripped off his jerkin and tossed it aside, the firelight catching across his broad shoulders and the sprinkle of hair on his chest. Any coherent thought in Henry's head fizzled like flame on wet tinder.
Svatya slid in behind him, solid and warm as a stone oven, his chest pressing against Henry’s back. Big, rough hands found his waist, one slipping under the hem of Henry’s shirt, fingers spreading over his stomach like he had every right to be there. Henry sucked in a sharp breath, feeling heat pool low in his belly.
He wasn’t a scrawny lad himself, but between the captain’s strength in front of him and Svatya’s bulk behind, Henry suddenly felt caught, pinned—and entirely fine with it.
Svatya’s hand tilted his chin, pulling him away from Thomas’s mouth. Captain growled low in his throat and snapped his teeth near Thrush's fingers, the sound playful but with a dangerous edge to it, claiming and not entirely sure about wanting to share.
“Hah, should’ve known there's be competition for you,” Svatya murmured against his mouth, his voice warm and rough. "You are a right flame."
And then Svatya kissed him, and Henry’s thoughts properly derailed. His kiss was different from Thomas’—still confident, but with a rough, unpolished hunger, as if he’d sooner bite than let Henry think he wasn’t wanted. There was a wild sort of heat in the way he kissed, an eagerness that made Henry whimper into it.
Thomas returned to his neck, worrying the skin there between his teeth, the scrape of his beard against Henry’s collarbone sending sparks skittering down his spine. Henry gasped at the sensation, his fingers clenching in the blanket below.
At the same time, Svatya’s bold hands slipped under his shirt and hiked it up, rough palms dragging across his chest, fingertips raking through hair before finding his nipples—already perked up. He rolled them lightly between his fingers, testing, teasing.
Henry moaned into Svatya’s mouth at the sudden surge of sensation, and Svatya laughed softly into the kiss, his teeth catching playfully at Henry’s lower lip in return.
His hips bucked instinctively, but there wasn’t far to go—Thomas was still between his legs, and Henry found himself grinding helplessly against the man’s groin, desperate for friction. It felt like a siege, the two of them working him over from both ends, pulling him apart slowly, delightfully.
Thomas wasn’t in a rush. He followed the path Svatya’s hands had cleared, his mouth trailing down Henry’s torso. He licked at Henry’s nipples, still caught between Svatya’s fingers, being pinched and teased.
When his lips closed over a spot just beside his navel, giving it a soft bite, Henry broke away from Svatya’s kiss with a shaky moan, his hips twitching in response.
Thomas only hummed and nosed lower, one hand already at Henry’s waist, undoing the last of his hose. The other made quick work of tugging off his boots, stripping him with the kind of practice that spoke volumes about how the good captain spent his free time.
Behind him, Thrush busied himself with Henry’s throat, licking and nipping at the sensitive skin below his ear. The scrape of teeth, the warmth of his breath—it sent shivers down Henry’s spine. He could feel Svatya’s cock hard against his back, a solid weight through layers of fabric, and the sheer size he could sense of it made something in his stomach flutter with excitement.
Then Thomas looked up at him and grinned—cheeky, smug—and gave him a wink that Henry felt down to his toes. The captain took him in hand, thumb brushing along the shaft before he leaned forward and wrapped his mouth around the head.
Henry’s whole body jolted. It felt like the air had been knocked clean out of his lungs.
“Hells,” he hissed, eyes fluttering shut as heat and wet enveloped him—Thomas’s mouth silky and hot, a smooth glide that made Henry’s thighs twitch. It was so good. Like the best cunt in the bathhouse, but better, with the control of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
He thrashed slightly, hips jerking forward instinctively, only to be held in place—one of Svatya’s arms locked across his chest, and the captain's hand pinning him down by the hip. He was grateful for it, really, because he wasn’t sure he could keep still on his own.
Behind him, Svatya let out a low, appreciative breath, voice rough against his ear. “Fuckin’ hell…” He was watching too, the sight in front of them: Thomas lowering his head slowly, working more of his cock into that perfect mouth, his lips stretched wide, eyes gleaming in the firelight.
“Man of many talents, our captain,” Svatya murmured into Henry’s ear, voice pitched low and rough with something that tried for mocking and landed closer to awe. “Do they teach that at the garrison?” he tried louder.
Henry might’ve laughed if he weren’t so focused on remembering how to breathe.
Thomas didn’t answer—not with words at least. Instead, he rolled his tongue over the head of Henry’s cock, circling it with care, then dragging the tip of it across the slit.
Henry swore sharply, thighs trembling where they bracketed Thomas’s head. His breath caught as he let his head fall back against Svatya’s shoulder with a solid thunk, overwhelmed.
Then Thomas pulled away, Henry’s length slipping from his lips. He wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb, smug and rose to his knees.
“You’ll find out soon enough, Thrush,” he said with a smirk, voice rough.
Henry’s eyes dropped automatically to take in the new view—Thomas’s breeches were tented, and there was no doubt about how hard he was.
“Since you’ll be joining us in a few days,” Thomas added, casually.
“I guess I will,” Svatya replied easily, his arm still slung around Henry’s middle. Then he turned his head slightly and looked down at him. “But what i wanna find out now…"
Henry, panting and flushed, shifted forward, reaching to free himself from the weight of Svatya’s hold.
“What do you want, Henry?” Svatya asked again, voice steady but low.
Henry hesitated, just for a moment. His fingers brushed over Thomas’s belt, wanting to pull him closer. He sat back on his heels, cross-legged, trying to put a name to the thoughts and desires spinning wild through his head. There were so many.
“Lose your clothes first,” he said, voice hoarse.
The men didn’t question it. In seconds, whatever remaining clothes were discarded without ceremony. Henry watched, breath held, as they stripped down with an ease that should’ve been illegal. Probably was, depending on which parish you asked in.
Fuck, he thought, eyes dragging over them. They were—gorgeous.
Thomas was thick through the waist, broad all over, a man who ate well and trained hard. Dense hair covered his chest, rich and dark, running in a thick trail from his collarbone to his groin, curling down over heavy thighs. The scars from where the captain got hacked across the chest stood out clearly, pink but healed, giving him an even more dangerous look. His cock stood proud, flushed and fat, the kind that could make a maiden—or lad— question the sinful nature of the man.
Henry swallowed hard. Then he turned to look at Svatya.
The man had already rolled his braies down those muscular thighs, bearing his pale ass, letting his cock spring free—long and girthy, the sort of thing that made Henry’s breath catch.
Right. He knew what he wanted now.
“I want your cock in my mouth,” Henry said to Thomas, blunt and clear, feeling a bit unhinged and desperate, making such blunt demands. But he also wanted it, and it burned hot in his veins, ridding him of any good sense.
The captain opened his mouth to protest, brow furrowing. “Shouldn’t I be the one doing the favour—”
“And you,” Henry interrupted, turning to Svatya with a nod toward the satchel discarded near the blanket. “Check the pouch. There’s a jar of oil in it.”
The guard tilted his head, intrigued—questioning, looking a bit like Mutt did when Henry talked to him at length.
“You ever put your fingers in a lass?” Henry asked, trying to explain. He didn't know how often Thrush dallied with men, or was he the type to just jump at any occasion, like now.
Svatya blinked, then nodded dumbly.
“Well, it’s like that,” Henry said, voice matter-of-fact. “Only my arse don’t get wet like a cunt does, so we need oil.”
That seemed to make Thrush pause. “You want my fingers up your arse?” he sounded a touch unsure.
“No,” Henry said, flushing. “I want your cock up my arse. But you’re hung like a bloody horse, so fingers first, so you can actually get it in.”
Thrush stared at him for a second, face going slack with surprise, mouth moving like he was mouthing words, repeating what Henry said.
“And that feels good?” he managed eventually, tone dazed. His face settled into something between stunned reverence and open lust. Henry didn’t bother hiding his grin.
"Aye, it feels really good," he said, and Svatya seemed to take his word for it because he reached out for the discarded satchel.
“Now that’s a good recruit,” Captain Thomas commented from where he moved to sit on the log again. Henry turned to glance at him—Thomas was lounging back, one leg stretched out, slowly stroking himself, hand dipping down to palm his sack.
Henry shifted forward, crawling towards him on his knees, lips parting as Thomas fed him the head of his fat cock, the salty tang of sweat and faint trace of leather flooding his mouth— but even that taste only spurred him on. His hands steadied on Thomas’s thighs, and he started with teasing, gentle licks across the head. The weight on his tongue felt divine, and before long, he took Thomas in deeper, a soft hum of pleasure vibrating through him.
Captain groaned softly and guided Svatya’s hand to Henry’s hip.
"Start with one, Thrush. It takes a bit of time," he rasped, fingers threading through Henry's hair, and nudging him gently to swallow more of his cock.
The other man leaned in, fingers gliding over Henry’s back, as he fumbled with the jar of oil. Svatya found Henry’s entrance with an oil-slicked finger, thick and rough with sword calluses, and Henry moaned around the length in his mouth, drooling on the captain's cock as his mouth fell open at the intrusion.
Thrush began sliding his finger slowly, testing and a bit unsure, then growing confident quickly and adding a second. His hand stilled for a long heartbeat, then began rhythmically pumping—soft at first, then firmer, as he found the spots that drew the best responses out of Henry. His other hand trailed down to Henry's belly, and a loose ring of oily fingers wrapped around the length of Henry's own cock, stroking him at languid speed.
He swallowed around the captain's cock, shifting to take a bit more in, humming around it as his cheeks hollowed, heart pounding in his ears. Thomas’s breath came harder, and he let out a soft curse as Henry deepened his sucking again. Henry’s eyes fell closed, lost to the wave built behind his tight hole and the pressure around his cock, and the weight on his tongue.
Henry revelled in being like this, full, held, watched, and tended to. No need to issue any commands or tell anyone what to do anymore; he simply surrendered to the moment, heat building slowly inside him.
Then everything clicked. Svatya’s fingers curled inside him just right, and Henry’s body reacted in full. Senses swam, breath stuttered, saliva pooled, and with one last hum around Thomas’s head, Henry came, spilling over the ground and Thrush's hand, tightening around his fingers, as stars sparked behind his eyes.
He stayed still for a moment, the three of them tangled together in half-light and fire-warmth. Thomas stilled, his cock twitching before he pulled himself free, giving Henry space to breathe as Svatya’s hand slowed, fingers curling with the last remnants of oil
It was all a bit fuzzy for a moment. Henry’s whole body buzzed, nerves still sparking as Thomas withdrew from his mouth, and Svatya’s fingers slipped free from his slick hole. The absence hit harder than he expected—a hollow ache that made him whimper softly, unthinking.
He barely noticed them moving him until he was gently laid on his side, cheek pressed against the captain’s chest, coarse with hair and warm like a hearth. Svatya settled behind him, one strong hand petting lightly down his side, anchoring him. Henry let out a satisfied little sigh, body slack and humming.
“Bit much?” Thomas murmured, thumb brushing the corner of Henry’s lip, wiping away a string of spit with surprising gentleness.
Henry blinked up at him, eyes heavy-lidded. “Give me a bit,” he slurred, “and I can go again.”
Thomas snorted, amused, stroking a hand down Henry’s back.
“We are virile young men, Captain,” Svatya chimed in brightly, though his cock was clearly doing the talking for him—hot and hard, nudging insistently between the cleft of Henry’s arse. Henry shifted, lifting a leg slightly, rubbing back against it with a soft, needy motion.
The friction drew a groan from Thrush.
“You sure?” Svatya asked, but his voice had an eager edge to it, “We’ve got all night~”
Even so, he stretched out to grab the jar of oil again, fingers slick with anticipation.
Henry didn’t wait a beat to spur him on, “Please,” he breathed, voice wrecked and open, not caring how desperate he sounded. Thomas chuckled low at that, making Henry flush as the sound vibrated through him.
Henry could hear it—the wet sound of Svatya palming his cock, slicking himself up with oil, generous and thorough. The memory of his size made Henry shiver, goosebumps rising along his spine. His body was still loose from the fingers and his peak, but even so, his breath caught when Svatya grabbed his thigh, hand firm on the meat under his knee, lifting his leg and spreading him open.
He felt the press of the firm head of Svatya’s cock nudging against his entrance, testing.
“Go slow on him,” Captain Thomas murmured, fingers combing lazily through Henry’s hair, his tone indulgent. “Horse.”
“I have fucked before, Captain,” Svatya snapped back, though it lacked any real bite, sounding a bit thin as his voice faltered slightly as he began to push in, slow and cautious, his breath hitching.
“So I’ve heard,” Thomas laughed. "Tales of your exploits have reached the castle, Thrush."
"Pot-kettle", Svatya bit out, sweating.
The head breached him, and Henry arched into Thomas’s chest with a gasp, cutting their bickering. The stretch just shy of too much—but exactly what he needed. His hands scrabbled against the captain’s hip, grounding himself.
Svatya swore under his breath and froze there, prick barely past the rim and both of them panting like horses after a fast gallop—one from pressure, the other from restraint.
“Good lad,” Thomas murmured to them both, still petting Henry’s hair. “Take your time. He’ll let you know when he’s ready,” but Henry was already making an impatient noise and biting his pectoral, making Thrush laugh, then hiss, then swear as it made him sink deeper.
"Or be another stubborn donkey." Thomas bit out, exasperated, rubbing at his bitten chest.
Svatya tried moving slowly after, each shallow thrust burying more of his cock into Henry—inch by inch, slick with oil, stretching him open. Henry gasped softly with each movement, the burn delicious, just shy of overwhelming.
Every push made a sound spill from him—a breathless moan or a gasp—muffled as he buried his face in the crook of Thomas’s neck, panting wetly against his skin. The captain’s hand had wandered lower, fingers resting at Henry’s navel, then sliding down to wrap around his cock, stroking himself slowly as he watched the younger men move.
“Oh fuck,” Thrush breathed. “Oh.”
He bottomed out, his balls finally flush against the back of Henry’s thighs. “Oh, this feels…”
“Yeah,” Henry gasped, barely coherent, his hole fluttering helplessly around the thick cock lodged deep inside him. When Svatya began to draw back, Henry’s body chased it, hips canting backwards in a desperate, instinctive push for more.
“Hah, greedy,” Thrush muttered, and then grinned—grabbing Henry by the hips and guiding him onto his knees.
Henry followed the motion eagerly, now perched over Thomas. He looked up at Henry with dark, heavy-lidded eyes, the image of restraint, even if the hand on his cock sped up.
“You have no idea,” Henry panted, chest heaving as he settled into place, fully bracketing the captain beneath him.
In this new position, Svatya found his rhythm easily, bracing himself and driving into Henry with deep, powerful thrusts. Each movement sent a jolt through Henry’s body, the angle now sharper, more direct, and Henry keened at the sensation.
He began to move in tandem, rocking back to meet each stroke, breath catching as Thrush withdrew nearly to the tip, only to slam back in, thick and unrelenting. Their bodies collided with a wet sound, and the young guard choked on a groan, voice cracking as Henry’s inner muscles clenched tight around him.
The stretch was delicious—and Henry bore down, gasping as the pressure hit something deep inside, a sweet pulse that made him cry out. It drove him lower, pushing his chest down onto Thomas’s body.
Henry let his arms give out, collapsing fully against the captain, who welcomed the weight with a pleased hum.
He could feel himself hardening again, his cock swelling fat between his legs, twitching as it rubbed against Thomas’s stomach—where the man’s hand still worked his own length. It took only a small shift before Thomas adjusted his grip, fingers wrapping around them at once.
Svatya’s thrusts forced them to grind together, Thomas’s hand stroking slowly, loose, letting the younger man dictate the rhythm.
Henry tipped his head forward, catching the captain’s mouth in a messy kiss. Tongues brushed, and Thomas hummed, satisfied, his beard scratchy against Henry’s flushed cheek.
It felt so good—too good—and it was tipping Henry into that lovely edge of madness, pleasure curling through his spine like smoke. Svatya’s panting breaths behind him, the steady slide of his cock deep inside, the sweet friction of Thomas stroking them both.
He clenched down around Svatya’s length, just to feel it better, to claim a bit of space back for himself as the slick girth drove in and out with ease. Still, it wasn’t quite what he wanted. He wanted…
“More,” Henry gasped, tearing his mouth from Thomas’s, panting hard. “I want more. Fingers.”
Thomas cursed beneath him, the word hissed through his teeth. Svatya echoed it behind him, low and disbelieving.
“You sure?” Thrush asked, though his fingers were already trailing down—stroking the stretched rim of Henry’s hole where he was split wide around his cock. The touch was soft, making Henry twitch. Sparks flared right to his core, sharp enough to make his cock jerk in Thomas’s grasp.
“Yeah,” Henry groaned, voice wrecked. “I want it. I wanna take you both in.”
He felt Thomas go still beneath him, then a slow, wicked smile curl against his neck.
“Fuck, Henry, that's—” Thrush’s voice cracked, alarmed, and then he pulled out with a wet sound, leaving Henry suddenly empty and making a desperate noise of protest.
He craned his head back, breath coming in sharp pants, just in time to catch Svatya leaning back on his heels, eyes squeezed shut and one hand gripping the base of his cock like a lifeline. His chest heaved with effort, trying to not fall apart right there.
Captain Thomas snorted, far too pleased.
“Good Lord, Henry,” Svatya groaned, blinking rapidly. “I almost fucking spent right then.”
“Hungry dog, you are,” Thomas said, pulling at Henry’s hair roughly with affection, turning his head back to face him. “Did say you could handle us, but we’re not looking to split you in two just yet.”
Henry's face flushed deeper, lips swollen, eyes dark and wild.
“I want it.”
Thomas’s expression shifted, hunger darkening the humour in his smile. “Alright, then. It's your backside.”
He let go of both their cocks, sliding lower beneath Henry, adjusting his posture. With an easy hand, he lined himself up beneath him, the broad head of his cock nudging between Henry’s slick cheeks.
“Take this first,” he said, voice thick. “You hungry mutt. So Thrush can catch his breath.”
He shot the younger man a smug, sideways glance—every bit the winner—as Svatya glared back.
Henry sank down onto the captain’s cock, a pleased sound slipping out of him as the thick length filled his stretched hole once more. It wasn’t as long as Thrush’s, but it was broader, and the girth alone made his breath catch in his throat. He took it all in a single greedy movement, the slick slide easy from the oil and the earlier fucking, but still enough to make Thomas hiss under him as he was swallowed whole without warning.
“Oh, heavens and hells,” the captain groaned, as he adjusted to the sudden tight heat.
Henry rolled his hips a little, feeling the weight of Thomas inside him, the stretch right, but not quite enough. It was good, so good, but the hunger in him had only grown sharper. He reached for the jar of oil, discarded in the grass.
His fingers dipped, and he sat back up, letting Thomas’s cock slide just to the tip and stay there, holding him open while he reached behind himself. He found the rim of his hole, still spread around the captain’s cock, and teased it with his slick fingers, easing one in beside the girth already lodged inside him. He bit his lip, pushing it deeper, and lowered himself at the same time, taking Thomas in.
The stretch now was real, wide and full, and Henry tilted his head back with a soft moan, riding him slowly. His breath came in short bursts as he looked down at Thomas, who was watching him with a dark, reverent gaze, his large hands steady on Henry’s hips, letting him move how he pleased, holding him like something precious and wild.
Henry smiled lazily at him, drunk on sensation, his body singing with pleasure. He shifted his shoulder, trying to get the right angle to work in another finger, but before he could, a familiar warmth pressed close behind him again.
Thrush, back at his neck, breath hot and lips pressing open-mouthed kisses at his skin, slow and possessive. Henry shivered, cock twitching against the captain’s belly as the younger man kissed along his throat, fingers brushing his side, back in place, ready to pick up where he left off.
“Lord above, but this is so stupid and hot”, Thrush muttered between kisses at Henry’s neck, voice low and tight. His oiled hand slid down, fingers wrapping around the base of the captain’s cock. He angled one thick finger to follow, pressing gently, coaxing Henry open a little more.
“Say if it’s too much,” he breathed against Henry’s ear, but Henry only shook his head, breath caught on the edge of a gasp. "Or punch me."
“Almost… perfect,” he managed, voice hoarse as Svatya’s finger finally slid in alongside the captain’s cock and his own. The stretch made him tremble, the burn exquisitely slow.
A strong arm came around his chest as Svatya shifted closer, settling in behind him, anchoring him against the broad wall of his chest. Henry felt the wet patch at the small of his back where Thrush’s cock pressed against him again—and the thought of it inside him too made his head spin.
They slowed down together, guiding him gently, carefully, letting him take everything in his own time. Thomas stayed buried deep, and the slow drag of their knuckles—his own and Svatya’s—over his stretched entrance made Henry shudder in place, the friction igniting his nerves on every pass. His cock hung between his thighs, hard and leaking, all but forgotten in the swell of sensation.
“Christ, look at you,” Thomas said, breath caught in his chest, his voice thick. He hadn’t moved a muscle, holding himself perfectly still beneath them, though the tension trembled in his thighs. It was costing him everything not to move, not to buck into Henry’s tight heat.
“You’re a sight to behold, Henry.”
That made Henry’s ears burn, and he dropped his gaze, blinking slowly before turning toward Thrush, who met him easily for a kiss—swift, sweet, and entirely too fond.
“Please… I’m ready,” Henry stammered into his mouth as he sank down again onto the captain’s cock. A pleased shudder broke through him.
Svatya tightened his arm around Henry’s waist, pressing his head into Henry’s shoulder as he panted thickly. His other hand moved to sweep Henry’s fingers away from his entrance, then slipped one oiled finger gently inside, checking and stretching.
“Fuck,” he panted. “Fuck… alright.”
“Lean over,” Thomas instructed, voice low. Henry shifted onto all fours, leaning over him. Captain's steady hands supported his chest, peppering kisses along his forearms, pressing little marks wherever he could reach.
Henry held his ass out to Thrush, displaying himself fully vulnerable—ready.
“Make sure he’s very wet for this,” Thomas added, his tone firm. Svatya’s face flickered briefly pale before he nodded, seemingly grateful for the instruction.
“And go very slow,” the captain continued.
Svatya exhaled sharply, reaching for the jar. This time, he poured oil directly onto Henry’s presenting hole, letting it drip, before coating his cock. “This isn’t gonna last long at all,” he murmured, voice trembling ever so slightly.
Henry’s body hummed—nerves taut, eyes fluttering shut, heart pounding. “That’s okay,” he whispered. “I just want to feel it… even for a bit.”
Svatya braced himself and took a deep breath like a man about to dive into cold water. With care, he lined the tip of his cock against Thomas’s shaft—and the slick rim of Henry’s hole.
Henry’s nerves sparked with heat and uncertainty—a brief flicker of worry that this might truly be too much. Neither Thomas nor Svatya could claim to be average in size. It was a lot to take. But then the slick warmth of oil and the trail of moisture loosened his rim, easing the pressure. With a gasp, the head of Thrush's prick slipped beneath the ridge.
“Oh, Captain,” Thrush laughed above him, sounding a bit like a jovial drunk. “What a sight you’re missing. He actually did it. What a hero.” His tone was slurred, awed. Thomas' didn't feel the loss, looking into Henry's slack face.
“You good, Henry?” he asked, hand hovering at Henry’s side. His finger trailed down Henry’s spine, grounding him.
Henry felt himself trembling under the weight and the intensity, but he nodded weakly, head woozy with the shift. His vision flickered as Svatya pressed deeper.
“With words?” Thomas prodded him, voice rough with care. “Just… steady.”
“I’m… getting there.” Henry’s tone wavered—weak but certain.
“Good,” Thomas said. “Keep going.” His hand curled around Henry’s thigh, firm and encouraging.
Henry moaned low, limbs shaking, eyes still half-closed. This was everything—a tangled, aching perfection made of trust and raw promise.
Svatya began to move—small, careful thrusts at first, just the barest grind of hips—pushing deeper into the tight heat of Henry’s body. He slid in slowly, inch by inch, until his cock pressed alongside Thomas’s, where it was already buried deep. Henry pressed fully against the captain’s chest, breath hitching, a helpless moan escaping as the twin thickness filled him at last.
Every shallow movement rubbed Thomas’s cock against the spot inside him that made his vision flash white, while Svatya’s own length settled deeper, heat blooming around it. It was overwhelming—perfect.
The weight of them inside him, the pressure and stretch and slow drag made his head spin.
Thomas’s hand slid down his belly, firm and possessive, resting over the swell of Henry’s stomach. He groaned low in his throat when he felt the shape beneath—the bulge of both their cocks shifting inside the tight heat.
That was enough.
Henry cried out, and another release surged through him from the inside out. It started deep, where the pressure coiled and burned, and rushed outward like fire in his blood. His body wanted to clench down, to tighten around them both, but there was no space left—he was stretched wide, full to bursting.
Behind him, Svatya swore, voice cracking. His thrusts lost rhythm as he drove deep one last time, cock twitching, pulsing heat inside him. Henry felt it, hot spurts filling him. The sensation made him moan again, dizzy and wild with it.
He floated there for a breathless moment, trembling, skin hot, the blissful warmth of it all settling over him like a heavy blanket. The world narrowed to the heat inside him, the hands on his hips, the deep, grounding weight of their bodies pressed to his.
Thrush’s cock slipped free, leaving Henry’s hole to twitch and flutter as it closed around the sudden gap. Immediately, Thomas slid deeper, rocking his hips upward into Henry’s yielding warmth. The trusts turned feral and frantic, and Thomas’s breath ragged as he held Henry by the hips, chasing his peak. With a guttural growl, he emptied into him, his seed mingling with Thrush’s deep inside.
Thomas panted heavily, still moving, ready to wring out the last drop of pleasure from Henry's body before they all stilled. Henry let out a pleased sigh, head heavy and stomach warm.
"How's the donkey?" Thomas asked, voice rough in the quiet of the evening.
“I’m greaaaaaat,” Henry slurred. His body felt numb but alive—tingling, bruised, and completely exhausted. The impressions of their hands pressed into his sides, his chest, against his thighs, covered him like a well-earned blanket.
He shifted carefully and rolled off the captain's chest, keeping their spent inside until he had enough sense to slowly untangle himself and wash off—but it would be a while before he could think about that, let alone move.
Thrush lay spread out mostly on the grass beside the blanket, chest heaving.
“Well, that was dog’s bollock,” he declared, voice rough but bright with disbelief. “Can’t believe you actually did that. Dorothy’s girls won’t even let you come between their thighs—unless you pay extra.”
Thomas snorted beside them.
“Real charming. But it certainly was something else,” Captain Thomas groaned, stretching and shifting so Henry could sink back onto his chest. The heat from beneath calmed and grounded him. Behind him, Thrush rolled next to Henry, grass stuck to his sweaty sides and ass, and plastered himself tightly over his back. Henry let himself melt into their warmth, limbs slack with satisfaction.
“I reckon you’ve ruined fucking for me, mate,” Svatya muttered low, voice hushed into Henry’s hair. “At least a bit. How do you top that?"
Thomas chuckled softly against Henry’s ear. “Lord, you’ll be one handful, won’t you?”
“Two, maybe,” Svatya winked, glancing away with a lazy grin as he absently waved at his spent cock. Then he resumed petting Henry’s ribs—light touches that felt ticklish but comforting. His wide blue eyes fluttered open slowly and landed between the two of them, contemplative and still a bit amazed.
The three of them lay together in that tangled, comfortable pile—Thomas and Svatya bickering gently, but it stayed light, the earlier bite gone.
Then Henry’s stomach growled—sharp like a roar of a hungry bear in spring. Svatya peeled himself off his back and pushed up with a laugh.
“There’s food by the saddle,” Henry mumbled, groaning softly as he sat up, joints protesting. He felt the pull to stretch, but also the unmistakable ache in his back and thighs.
“Sure thing!” Svatya called, already halfway to Pebbles, hopping into his braies on one leg as he staggered off toward the tree.
Captain Thomas helped Henry upright, one hand firm at his elbow. As he stood, a warm trickle slid down the inside of his thigh. He swore, grabbed the shirt nearest to hand, and waddled awkwardly toward the pond.
Thomas followed at an easy pace, eyes amused but gentle. “Seems like we barely got a chance to repay our debts.”
“Oh, you’ve paid plenty,” Henry muttered, crouching by the water to wet the cloth, swiping it over himself half-heartedly before giving up with a hiss and stepping into the pond proper. The water bit into his calves like cold iron.
He shivered. “Not many men I’d trust to try something like that. And fewer still I’d enjoy it with. So—thank you.”
Thomas knelt at the water’s edge, elbows on his knees. “The pleasure was very mutual.”
Henry grinned over his shoulder. “Stay until dawn, keep me warm through the night—and we’ll call it square.”
At that moment, Svatya returned with the saddlebag, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Sure thing. You just tell us what you’ve been up to since you fled the castle with half the region chasing you.”
He tossed the bag down and smirked. “Though after tonight, we might be chasing you, too.”