Farewell to Hans Capon

Having found what he was looking for, Hans turned around, looked me over—and saw something in me that made him quickly walk past and return to the bed, as if he were afraid I might suddenly pull him into my mouth if he stayed within reach of my face. And I really might have, if he had lingered just a moment longer… Hans uncorked the small bottle and let me smell it—the very scent I had noticed in his room when I first walked in. “It helps distract me from heavy thoughts,” he explained. “I can see why.” “Why?” “It reminds me of the good old days when everything was simpler. The last time I saw roses was in Rattay, in the Upper Castle garden.” “Really? I didn’t even know we had roses there…” Does he not remember the errands he sent me on? Yes… back then everything was different. “I just noticed them once. Later I picked them for the bathhouse girl, Klara.” “To be honest, I don’t even remember what flowers you picked.” “And what do you remember then…?” “I remember how grateful I was that after everything, you still came with me to explain things to Hanush,” Hans interrupted. His gaze slipped over me shyly, then returned and lingered just long enough to reignite that dull, foolish urge to take this man without hesitation right then and there. “Alright, enough of that. Let’s get back to the interesting part. What exactly are you going to do with this oil?” “You’re supposed to lubricate ‘there’, and then it should go in smoothly.” Oil on oil, I suppose. I smiled—it sounded so obvious when said like that. To my shame, I was even fairly certain I knew what went where. But life had already taught me that things rarely go as smoothly as expected, so there was no need to rush. And when the body aches for touch, appetite takes a back seat—but that doesn’t mean one should stop being rational. “I’d eat it in the process, if you don’t mind.” “So that’s what this is—you’ve just come here to dine!” Hans laughed. “Maybe then you don’t even need me anymore?” “I do, I do. Lie on your stomach.” He followed the suggestion, and firm buttocks came into view. I didn’t know exactly how it worked for other men who slept with men, but my heated heart helped me understand what I wanted to do. May every detail of tonight be engraved in your sir’s memory for a lifetime… The first drop of oil fell into the hollow at his lower back. I spread it with my thumb, watching it glisten in the firelight. Then I gave in to the impulse and licked it away, tracing my tongue along his spine. Hans wasn’t looking—his face buried in his folded arms. There were no questions left. We both understood the same thing: Now or never. A few more drops landed on the skin, getting closer and closer to the desired spot. I massaged the area with my fingers, then tried it by taste. After that, I simply poured a thin stream right into the center, and immediately, carelessly, caught it with my tongue, spreading everything around. Yes, Hans and I are quite capable of being ridiculous. The floral scent, tinged with leather, made me dizzy. I began running my hands over the body offered to me, as if sculpting a figure from warm clay. Despite my admonition to proceed with caution, I was overcome with such a powerful, ungodly heat that I mentally cried out to the Virgin Mary. But it was too late to ask the heavens for help—Hans felt the same way. He suddenly turned and fell upon me in a kiss. I didn't let him pull away—I grabbed the back of his head again, pushed him onto his back, spread his legs, and pressed myself between his oiled thighs. The first attempt to enter didn’t end successfully. Then Hans guided me himself. It worked, but only briefly—he pulled away from me and let out a bitter groan through clenched teeth: “Kurva! If it starts bleeding like a bride on her wedding night, anoint our enemies with that blood when you go and bend them over!” Frozen in an awkward position, I was left speechless—what had I done? Hans took several deep breaths, and his body gradually relaxed. He touched my cheek with his palm and whispered: “It’s fine. Let’s try again.” “Maybe it’s better not to?” It was honestly amusing to imagine having to report to Hanush again—this time for having “pierced” the Sir of Pirkstein at his own request, and not regretting it in the slightest. “The fire in the fireplace will burn out soon, Henry…” And it was true: there was noticeably less light around us now. Still, I could see there was no blood. My gaze ran over the wheat-blond hair starting at his navel and trailing downward, past the delicate skin of his arousal, to the place where I had just been inside him. A sweet tension pulled in my groin. “Hans…” “Yes?” “I’m coming.” “And I’m ready for you.” The next attempt was completely different. We finally fell into rhythm. When he and I closed our eyes, the light disappeared entirely, leaving only our senses. They had been building up for a long time, simmering in their own heat before finally finding release in the form they now took. No longer sir and squire. The boundaries dissolved, leaving only two human beings. I was entering him—and he was wrapping himself around me from within. I placed my hand against his chest, over his heart, and he placed his over mine, holding it there: strong, elegant fingers over my own, a vow of love he could not speak aloud. If you survive this, you will live to hear him say it. Maybe he will even write you a love letter—this time addressed to you alone. You clearly deserve it more than anyone else. I discovered how perfectly our bodies fit together: neither too much nor too little, just enough. Natural in a way that felt almost obscene. I was ready to swear that for the rest of my days and winters I would want only this—only him—so if tonight was the last, then I had not chosen wrongly. You’ve fallen in love completely. And yes—that is no mistake. I decided to warn Hans that I was already close, just as he had warned me. He only nodded in agreement—as if he had been waiting for exactly that; then he let me lean on him, allowed me to look deep into his eyes, and I came in a sudden, overwhelming wave. The silence that followed caught me off guard. And then—words: “God, the way you come…” They unsettled me. Unsettled me as if we had not spoken for an eternity. My mind was too full: the sortie I felt completely unprepared for; the sudden realisation of how unpredictable our encounter had been for both of us; and my reckless vow to dedicate my entire life to my Sir Hans Capon. The thoughts blended into one incoherent, silent mass, and all I could do now was what I had always done best—act. With quick reflexes, I lowered my lips onto his arousal again. My mouth felt full and pleasantly tight, as if there was no need for words. Hans spoke for me instead, unable to hold back broken fragments of phrases, while I let him come again. Sharp, tangy—but still good… “Sinful”, strange, out of place, often painful—but real. That’s life, Henry. And somehow, you’re glad you lived it this way.