Chapter Text
A hundred groschen gone in the blink of an eye. Wagered, in a drunken bet against some stupidly lucky village yokel. It seems that Lady Luck has utterly abandoned him now seeing as he can’t even win a simple bloody game of dice.
“Now that you’ve won the coin,” Hans announces, “Why don’t you buy me a round of the finest wine,” he asks, “I could really use more wine, Sylvan Red, particularly if they have any.”
“It’s my coin to do with as I please now,” the stupidly lucky yokel boasts, “I’m not buying you any wine! Fritz and I are going to find us some wenches.”
Hans lets out a snort, “Please, with those faces? No one will even want to come within a mile of you let alone take your chicken-pizzles.”
“The fuck you said about us now?” the numbskull of the pair demands, lifting Hans right from his seat as though he weighs nothing.
Hans grimaces at the choking hold he’s subjected to as his clothes are fisted in large hands. If this is his end he hopes it will be quick.
“I said,” Hans begins as he raises his gaze to look this numbskull in the eye, “No one, will take your chicken-pizzles! Not for all the groschen in the world!” he laughs drunk off the danger and perhaps his fast approaching end.
It would be much easier like this, not having to do any explaining about why he has run away.
“Hold on now…” numbskull pauses, leans in. Sniffs him deeply.
Hans holds his breath. Even through his drunken haze he can see the way the numbskull’s eyes light up, surprise then disbelief filling them as he tries to place his scent. He watches the man pull back a sickening little smirk growing on his lips when the realisation hits, “I think we have ourselves a little bitch here.”
“Watch your tongue!” Hans snarls at him straining in the numbskull’s grip. Either the second-rate herbs haven’t worked their magic at keeping his scent in check or this man’s nose is like a fucking bloodhound’s.
“Go on, you smell him Matthew!” numbskull says shoving Hans towards his friend, “Interesting little fucker isn’t he? All sweet smelling, a ripe bloody cherry for the picking.”
Hans struggles, harder this time as the one who has won his coin, Matthew, leans in towards him and draws a similarly deep breath. He wants to whimper, wants to race back to his room and get himself a weapon to run it through these two. How the hell hadn’t he thought to take his blade with him? Fuck…!
“You’re right, Fritz,” the dice man coos, a dark gleam in his eyes, “Did you want us to play with you? Is that why you tried to turn us away from the wenches?” he continues reaching out to caress Hans’ cheek, “Do you need someone to take care of you for the night? Are you lonely?”
“I do not need anyone!” Hans growls jerking away from that wandering hand.
“Aww look at him, he’s cute when he fights,” Fritz teases, tightening his grip on Hans’ collar.
Hans gasps a breath through gritted teeth, beer, stale sweat, desire rolling off the men. There’s two of them and one of him. He’s been raised and trained for battle so naturally, were he fucking armed, he could take them. But he’s been a fool and left his his weapons in his room thinking that trouble wouldn’t find him in some arse-end town.
Now the rest of the damn patrons here don’t seem to give a damn about him so he can’t count on their help at all. He can hardly stand, let alone fight…so he tries to do the opposite, tries to relax. The beginnings of a plan forming in his alcohol hazy mind.
“The both of you can’t take me here,” Hans says trying to keep his voice even, “Get your friend to unhand me and I’ll take you upstairs, alright?” he continues appealing to the brains of the two.
“Alright,” the man nods to his numbskull friend, “Let him loose now.”
The grip around his neck loosens.
Hans rights himself, then promptly swipes the clay decanter off the table, smashing it over the brute’s head. Only the man doesn’t go down as expected. He’s got a cut over his eye that bleeds down into it. With a roar, he grabs at Hans once more, makes to attack, fist raised. Instinctively, Hans turns away.
Only the blow never comes.
“Hey! That’s enough now! Lay off him, Fritz!” Henry shouts as he grabs Fritz’ arm before his friend can strike the drunken blond man.
“Henry?! He attacked us first! Didn’t you see it?”
“All I saw was a man acting in defence while the two of you taunted him to no end,” Henry argues, eyes straying to the blond, cowering under Fritz’ towering form.
Henry catches it just then, the faint scent of him, sweet like honeyed mead, but also sharp with fear. It is his scent that gives him away.
A male Omega, unclaimed…the heady addictiveness of it possessed a kind of hold over Alphas.
It is dangerous in a place like this rife with hot-blooded young men who had come to spend their coin on wine and wenches. No doubt, it’s this man’s scent that’s gotten his friends here in a frenzy. The horny bastards wanted nothing more than a good tugging of their pizzles and they can damned well find some actual wenches for that because Henry sure as hell isn’t letting them lay a finger on this one.
“Leave him be,” Henry growls asserting himself now, “He’s drunk, probably doesn’t even know what he’s saying or doing. Let him go,” he says tapping Fritz’s fist balled up in the blond’s tunic, “Come on…Fritz.”
Reluctantly, Fritz uncurls his fingers at Henry’s words and they watch the blond stagger backwards, trip over his own feet and sink pathetically to his knees.
“I’m having such a bad day!” he laments, glaring up at them, “You…three…or is it…five…? I’ll take you on! I swear! Just…get me more wine first!”
“I already said there’ll be no more wine, you arse!” Matthew snaps, kicking dirt at the drunk, “The coin’s mine now!”
“Ours,” Fritz adds.
“What coin?” Henry asks, turning to Matthew.
“This idiot, wagered a hundred groschen on a game of dice,” Matthew explains, “Naturally, I won and now he’s demanding more wine be bought with my coin. He really should just crawl back to whatever hole he came from.”
“Lay off him Matthew, alright?” Henry says voice dangerously soft as his eyes sweep over the drunken blond seated in the dirt before them. He looks utterly defeated, “The coin’s not yours anyway because you cheated and you know it. Now give me back his coin.”
“What?” Matthew barks, clearly outraged, “I won that! It’s mine!”
“You won with loaded dice,” Henry reasons calmly, a ripple of anger bubbling inside him, “So it’s not yours. Give me his coin or I’ll tell the catchpole about what you did last week after dark in the Trader’s shop. I’ll tell him that some groschen ended up in a pocket it doesn’t belong in.”
Matthew glares at him features gathering in open frustration. “Fine,” he snaps dropping the pouch of coins back in Henry’s hand, “Some friend you are. Let’s go Fritz.”
Henry sighs watching the two of them take their leave.
Ma always said the two of them were trouble and true enough, they’d caused enough trouble here for the night cornering this drunken…he smells it again, that sweetness…so undeniably Omega.
A rarity.
Henry has only ever heard tales of male Omegas but to be gifted with the scent now, he understands why they have to be kept strictly under guard. Female Omegas already led to enough bloodshed as it is. If it was discovered what this young man truly presents as, who knows how bad things could get?
Besides, he’s here on a mission anyway. He needs information.
“Hey,” Henry calls softly kneeling to the drunken man’s height, “I’ve got your coin back,” he says offering a hand to the man, “Are you able to stand?”
Hans finds himself at a loss for words for a moment. He studies the face of the man looking at him all earnest and concerned-like. He’s broad of shoulder, the day’s stubble marking his jaw. He breathes and is met with a scent of forest, forge smoke and iron. A strong scent. It’s a scent that for some reason makes his throat run dry, makes his heart rate kick up a notch.
An Alpha’s scent, strong, grounding, reliable. He swallows then nods, slips his hand into the roughened one held out in offer to him.
“Well, well, my saviour,” the blond says with a tipsy little giggle as he pushes to his swaying feet, takes a step and then promptly trips into Henry’s arms.
“I’ve got you,” Henry assures catching him, feeling the press of that slighter body up against his side, the unmistakeable tremble. The young man mumbles something unintelligible and leans into Henry who scowls, at the invasion of his space, the sweet scent washing over him forcing him to take a shaky shallow breath, “You’ve got too much coin to be in a backwater town like this.”
“I know…” Hans drawls, relying on this stranger now to keep him upright.
With the danger gone, Hans is now made aware of the way his body reacts to this man holding him. He doesn’t usually let anyone get this close to him. It’s a danger, one that Uncle Hanush has taught him to live with. **
‘Keep everyone at a distance and keep your suppressants close at hand. Until I find you a suitable match, that is how you will survive for now,’ Uncle Hanush’s words echo in his mind and Hans wishes he’d thought to check that the herbs he’d bought were of decent grade.
He wished…that this man holding him would tighten his grip around his waist.
There’s a warmth coiling low in his belly now. Desire…? For a stranger? Or perhaps just a simple desire to be held, hugged, wanted…
“I can’t believe I lost it all and you got it all back for me,” Hans breathes in hazy awe, beaming at his saviour, “How very…very kind of you.”
“It’s no matter,” Henry says as he moves to guide the young man back to his seat at the table, “Now, I for one, haven’t seen your face around here before. So tell me, where are you really from?” he presses taking a seat opposite the blond.
Heavy-lidded light blue eyes look at him now as the young man props his head up with one hand, angular chin resting against his palm, “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
In truth it isn’t any of Henry’s business at all.
Only he’s learned from Sir Radzig — father, he tries to remind himself — that as of this morning, there’s a manhunt being conducted for an escaped nobleman and right now, this strange character with his fat purse, undeniably fine features and uppity notions spelled one thing only, nobleman.
The other thing that father had told him was that the nobleman is supposedly an Omega, highly prized. If danger were to befall him, their name would be ruined. Naturally, Henry had agreed to join in the search which had brought him to this current moment.
“I saved your coin,” Henry reminds the blond now jingling the small leather purse in front of the young man’s face as a reminder, “If you want it back, you will make it your business and tell me who you are.”
That fine face flickers from outrage to resignation and then sorrow, “You’re right,” he confesses, “I’m not from around here, but why would you care anyway?”
“Because you’re an Omega,” Henry tells him, voice low, secretive.
Hans feels his words wash over him, that focused gaze making him tremble in his seat. He’s seen enough Alphas back home, trained with them even to know how to act as one, to pass off. Perhaps it is too late but he leans back in his seat, opening up his posture to occupy as much space as possible, “I don’t know what you’re on about,” he answers, lazily staring at the infuriating stranger as if he hasn’t a care in the world. As if he were an Alpha.
“I smelled you,” the man continues, with a light chuckle as his eyes trace Hans with a certain interest in them, “Beneath the rest of the scents here. I caught a whiff of you and you can try to hide but I know what you are. An Omega. Unclaimed.”
Hans raises his chin defiantly, “And what will you do about it, stranger?”
Henry narrows his eyes, either this man is stupid or he’s just plain stubborn, “You should leave.”
“Yes, I should now, shouldn’t I?” Hans says with a simpering smile, “But then I’ll miss talking to you,” he teases, thrilled by the way this stranger’s eyes flicker with an unnamed emotion.
“Do you have a place to stay?” Henry asks, deciding it best to ignore the way that sentence makes him feel.
The drunken man gestures to the inn, “This is home for the foreseeable future until I decide where to go.”
“And, how should I address you? Do you have a name?”
“Name, schmame. I don’t care about names,” he laughs looking at Henry now with a profound sadness in his eyes, “I just…I just need to forget everything and for that, I need wine,” he says pushing his cup forwards, “Will you be a darling and get me some?”
“No,” Henry tells him, watching the way those lips part as though to protest, “No more wine for you. What you need is sleep. That’ll help you forget about everything.”
“Aren’t you curious?” the drunken man asks, seeming to change tactics now.
“Curiosity seems to get me nowhere with you. I’m afraid if I ask another question I’ll get asked to mind my own business once again,” Henry teases earning a pretty smile from the drunk.
“Very wise,” he purrs, “But I’ll tell you,” he adds as he pushes himself to his feet now, hands planted firmly on the table, “I’ll tell you in exchange for a favour. How about that?”
“What sort of favour?” Henry asks looking up into that flushed face with its fine-boned features.
He hums, laughter deep and velvet soft, “Not here,” he says trailing a hand up Henry’s bare arm, “Follow me.”
Henry feels his mouth run dry as he turns his head to watch the young man head back into the inn. Had he just imagined that? He could’ve sworn he smelled desire rolling off the stranger. Could’ve sworn those blue eyes had looked at him as though he stands a chance. A moment passes. Then Henry pushes up from his seat and follows after the man into the inn. He finds the blond making his way up the stairs, relying heavily on the wooden railing to haul himself up step after painfully slow step.
Without a word, Henry scoops him into his arms earning a surprised yelp and a look of confusion.
“It’s faster like this,” Henry says by means of explanation as he carries the young man up the stairs. He is surprisingly light and this close, Henry realises that he smells extremely good, sweet like flowers and sharp like mint. For his part, the little drunk doesn’t say anything only wraps his arms about his neck and contentedly lets Henry carry him up the stairs.
“Which one’s your room?” Henry asks.
“The one at the very end,” he replies, head tucked against Henry’s shoulder.
Henry follows the instructions, letting the man down when they reach the last room. He fumbles with the key and then after several unsuccessful attempts at opening the door, he shoves the key into Henry’s hands. Henry lets them in after one try and he’s surprised to find that the inside of the room is spartan with rather plain furniture as is befitting of an inn. There are no traces of any insignia that might give away his identity either, nothing that Henry might use to confirm that this man is the one who’s on the run.
It’s as he’s surveying the room that he’s ambushed.
Hot, sweet, wine-stained lips slant over his as the drunken young man corners him, backs him up against the closed door, kissing him desperately. Soft sounds escape his lips, breathy little whines and sighs.
Henry responds in kind before his brain can tell him to stop. He acts on instinct, kisses back and it feels like something clicks into place. So he indulges in the moment, restraint lost for a second. It’s so easy, so natural to kiss this stranger, it’s like breathing.
It is only when when he feels those fine-boned fingers tugging desperately at his weapons belt, reaching under his clothes to graze his hip, searching for the ties of his hose that Henry pulls back.
“Easy,” he husks, gripping those slim wrists, stopping eager hands in their exploration and holding the man at bay.
“Easy now,” Henry pants, senses assaulted as the blond continues to attack him, leaning in with hungry lips that move to work on his neck, kissing and sucking and tonguing his rising pulse.
Henry can smell the sweetest desire, pungent and strong, the young man’s very apparent need for him expressing itself in his scent.
‘Danger,’ is what Henry thinks. He shouldn’t be here not like this. Henry would be a fool to say that these ministrations did not make his cock swell. But he’s not about to get into trouble with a supposed Omega nobleman and one set to be married soon too!
“Hey!” Henry snaps, taking the man by the shoulders now and holding him back.
Confused blue eyes look at him. That fine boned face cast half in shadow in the dim light from the oil lamp. He’s dazed almost.
“Don’t you want me?” Hans asks softly hips arching forward, pressing into the stranger’s and feeling the satisfying nudge of his length against the stranger’s thigh.
This silly Alpha doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.
“I can’t.”
That gets him. The words spoken firmly, striking Hans like a bolt of lighting, cutting through his drunken haze. This man had kissed Hans back! He had drawn Hans closer and let his tongue plunder his mouth, eager and rough enough that Hans could’ve sworn the man wanted him too.
“Can’t?” a breathless voice speaks, a fine brow rises in question, “Are you spoken for then, Alpha? Claimed? Married?”
“No,” Henry answers truthfully.
“Well then what’s stopping you?” the drunk asks with a scathing laugh, “What, am I not good enough for you?”
“That’s not it,” Henry says gritting his teeth.
“Excellent, then I want you to fuck me, in that bed,” the drunk continues, temptingly, “I’ll spread my legs for you since you saved me from those bastards. See you’re…real easy on the eyes too…so I’m willing to let you sheathe your cock within me an—”
Henry covers that sinful little mouth.
He is breathing hard, nostrils flared, his hands and entire being trembling at the vulgar words that those pretty lips have just uttered. He knows what this little drunk is trying to do letting such words fall from his lips. Those pretty lips which are at present, pressed to the palm of his hand, open mouthed, warm, hot…
“I do not appreciate your language,” Henry says his voice low, though the vivid imagery of this stranger’s words are already ingrained in his mind. It is a tempting thought altogether to throw caution to the wind and have his way with such a willing Omega. But he isn’t just any ordinary man now. He is Sir Radzig’s son and that comes with it’s own set of rules, especially if this is drunk man is who he thinks it is.
“When I let you go, you will do well to reign in your tongue when speaking,” Henry tells the blond, “Do you understand?”
The blond glares at him. Defiance in every fibre of his being.
“Nod if you do,” Henry prompts.
The stranger gives a distinctive shake of his head and then Henry feels the wet flick of his tongue against the palm of his hand which causes him to pull back as if burnt by the heated wet lick of his tongue.
“I will do no such thing! I am not your property!” he seethes, “I have no need to listen to your words either because you are neither my mate nor my husband. You mean nothing to me!”
Henry cocks his head to the side now watching the stranger rake his fingers through his hair, clearly troubled as he sits down heavily on the bed, “Fuck…I’m sorry…” he says touching his lips, pursing them, “I-I…I didn’t mean to…” he trails off blue eyes looking up at Henry now, nearly glistening with tears, “You shouldn’t have gotten involved with the coins. You shouldn’t have saved me.”
“I was saving my rascal friends,” Henry answers as he stands before the young man, “You are clearly troubled.”
Hans lets out a sad laugh, “Trust me, if you were in my shoes you would be troubled too,” he confesses, “You see I’m to be married,” he half-sobs that horrendous word, “I’m to be married to some…” a wave of a pale hand, “…some Sir What’s-his-name-a-lot from where ever the Fucktown he’s from.”
‘Sir?’ Henry’s eyes widen as he picks up that first vital clue. If he is to be married to a titled man of some standing…then perhaps…he might be the one Henry has been searching for.
“Are you a lord?” Henry asks now.
The blond laughs, a sad choking sound, “So what if I am? Do you wish to extort me for more coin to buy your silence? Is that it?” he demands, “Well you can have at it,” he says, “Take my whole damn pouch of groschen. I don’t care. Just…please…” he begins again opening his mouth as though to ask for something only to trail off.
Henry raises a brow, “Please what?”
He averts his eyes now, “No, it’s stupid.”
“If it’s making you think this deeply, I wouldn’t say it’s stupid,” Henry reasons gently.
“I…really appreciate that you saved me…” the drunk says, “And I…well…I really would like for you…to…you know…” he continues before trailing off apparently shy now as he pats the empty space in the bed beside him, inviting Henry to join him upon it.
Heaven help him, but this stranger is really trying his patience.
“I don’t even know your name,” Henry tries, yet another tactic at avoiding this man’s request.
He needs something concrete and a name would allow him to draw a proper conclusion seeing as there are no other crests or insignia about this room.
“There’s no need for names,” the stranger says, “It’s not likely that we’ll ever meet again. Now come, here before I loose my patience with you.”
“You are drunk,” Henry states, resting his hands on his knees now, leaning down to study the blond, “I don’t sleep around with drunks. That’s my rule.”
The blond pouts, glaring up at him with a dangerously cute scowl, “Which is why I’m asking you for a favour,” the stranger says, “You seemed like an upstanding sort…and for once I…I wanted to be the one to choose…someone…”
Light blue eyes plead with Henry now, “Will you not even allow me one night of good fun? I only ask for a night of freedom then…if you wish you can take me to the catchpole. He’ll know how to reach my Uncle. Either way you stand to benefit…no?”
Ah. The Uncle. Yes, Henry had been briefed that much by his father to know that there was an Uncle something, a close relation of the target whose name Henry forgets.
“Alright,” Henry concedes, watching the way those blue eyes light up in delight, “But you said you wanted one more drink, aye?”
The stranger nods, “Aye, it wouldn’t hurt to have another drink.”
“Wait here then,” Henry tells him, “I’ll pour you one and then we’ll…get down to business, hm?”
“Alright,” the blond whispers, offering Henry a soft smile.
Henry goes to the decanter in a corner of the room. He flips the lid open to reveal red wine which he pours into a tankard. Only, he adds a small vial of Lullaby potion into it, swirling the contents about before bringing it back to the blond.
“Drink up then,” Henry instructs, feeling those smooth fingers brushing against his. The scent of the blond’s desire flaring in the room.
The young man drinks deeply of his wine before crooking a finger at Henry while he lies back in bed.
This time Henry goes as he is called, taking the cup from the young man and putting it aside.
He settles on the edge of the bed, watching pretty blue eyes blink up at him, silently questioning why he doesn’t come closer. Before long they will no doubt be struggling to stay open.
Soft fingers reach for Henry’s hand. They guide him to the ties on the front of the blond’s tunic.
Henry leans in close, playing the part of the willing lover. Very slowly, Henry pulls the end of one of the ties, watching it unravel, fabric shifting over flesh and drawing a soft sound from the man.
The potion needs to work faster. Henry thinks as the blond reaches for him, drawing Henry in closer. His eyelids starting to droop now…
Henry watches as the stranger struggles to keep his eyes open. He smells the tang of panic as the blond’s limbs no doubt start to feel leaden. Henry feels that slim hand press against his chest, trying to push him back before falling dead away.
Henry sits back now, heaving a sigh of relief as the young man sleeps.
The crisis is averted.
He has found Sir Hans Capon, the runaway Omega nobleman who has an entire garrison of guards currently conducting a manhunt across the land in the hopes of returning him safely to Rattay for his wedding.
Henry has secured the target.
Now he need only hand Sir Hans over to the guards and let them take the sleeping young man back to Rattay where he belongs.
- TBC -