Alternate title: The one where the author, who is not attracted to dicks in the slightest, spends a lot of time writing about dicks and thus makes themself willingly uncomfortable in order to gift you all a gratuitous blow job scene. (You're fucking welcome. (I'm never doing it again. (Yes I am.)))

That's it that's the content warning have fun

(Also I have no fucking clue what era this is, we can blame Agatha Christie for it because I listened to her in the car with Mother Dearest and now my writing is ~lovely~)

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To visit Castle Elsinore, Hamlet had said, will be a positively horrid. For you. For me it will be thoroughly amusing to watch you flounder, stammer, and in general be out of your element. I shall commit to memory the look on Mother's face when she sees you - which coming from me is not an insult, mind. It's merely that I'm not sure she has ever seen a person with skin any darker than a week's tan. A pity, yours is rather lovely. Even so...

He had gone on in such a way for the entire length of the walk from his and Horatio's favorite dining spot to the dorm building, and would have continued had Horatio not brought his speech to a merciful end with a polite but firm, "I should love to accompany you as always, my lord," which had satisfied the prince into blessed silence.

The train ride from Wittenberg to Elsinore was unusually quiet, filled with lots of reading, staring out the window with melancholy, and murmuring out of earshot of the other passengers about possible romantic (and most likely sexual) endeavors. Hamlet was particularly ardent about the potential of a bearskin rug, though Horatio was hesitant on account of itchiness and difficulty of cleanup. For the most part, the expansive bed was their main target, luckily equipped with curtains in case any unfortunate staff should wander in unannounced.

When they finally arrived on the royal grounds, Hamlet landed his expensive boots on the road with a satisfying crunch, immediately bracing for impact as a flurry of pastel silks barreled into him. Horatio rolled his eyes fondly and stepped out of the carriage.

"Hamlet! Prince Hamlet, dear heart, you must introduce me to your company! Is he from Wittenberg? How did you meet? What's his name?" The flurry of pastel silks then turned and smiled at him apologetically. "Do forgive me, sir, I should have been addressing you from the beginning. Hamlet has such a tendency to ramble on, I'd have never gotten anywhere asking him. By what appellation are you denominated?"

"By Horatio, good lady," said Horatio, already feeling as though he would begrudgingly get along with this new, equally talkative Dane. "Charmed, I'm sure, to meet my lord's Ophelia."

Lady Ophelia tightened her hold on Hamlet's shirt as she giggled, which would have had Horatio reeling with jealousy had Hamlet not been looking at her with such unabashed affection. I have brought this entirely upon myself, he thought. He said she would be here. I knew we would have to hide. I can bear this for his sake.

But while Ophelia was very definitely and heavily flirting, she and Hamlet exchanged expressions of what looked far closer to amusement than lust. He expected this of Hamlet, who had confessed his lack of feelings for his fiancé, but assumed she would be unaware of this issue. However, Ophelia's bedroom eyes only became apparent when her brother (who scoffed at Horatio and had yet to look at him since) or her father (who squeaked at Horatio and was far too interested in his home life) were present.

Horatio spent a large amount of daily processing ability trying to solve this mystery, and it must have been more obvious than he hoped because both Hamlet and Ophelia quickly noticed. After a banquet, at which Queen Gertrude got very red in the face from wine and even redder at seeing her only son in the company of a "peasant bastard," the lord and lady unceremoniously grabbed Horatio by either sleeve and manhandled him into the nearest empty bedchamber. He would have made a remark about the innuendo had both of them not started talking very loud and very fast at the same time.

"-I would never have shown such blatant interest in you if she had true feelings for me, I'm rude but I'm not a monster-"

"-he's such a dunce, I can do so much better than him anyway, not that I'm trying to jab at your taste in men but honestly-"

"-swear to you I'd never hurt you like that, even if I was really engaged I wouldn't bring you here to meet her and pretend we were nothing more than- than roommates-"

Horatio, silently thanking God for giving humans two hands, reached up to place each of his over their mouths. They promptly shut up.

"Right. I believe I understand, but just in case, tell me the entire thing again from the start. Coherently, if it's not too much trouble."

Both exhaled loudly. Ophelia nodded to Hamlet.

"The reason I told you we would have to be cautious here is due to the king and queen, not to Ophelia. I thought I told you that our engagement is a farce but I must have forgotten. I have no desire to marry Ophelia, nor do I have any wish to husband her in the traditional sense. We are engaged because neither of us sickens at the idea of marrying the other, not out of love. My heart, sweet Horatio, belongs entirely to you."

Ophelia pretended to gag. "I may not sicken at the idea of being your wife but I certainly do at your endearments. You're even worse in person than you are through your letters. I will leave you now and pour poison in my ears so as to never hear Hamlet speak again. Good day; go forth and copulate."

And they were alone.

"Are we quite sure the Lady Ophelia is entirely human?" wondered Horatio. "She has an air about her, I cannot describe it."

"I do not see why the humanity of my oldest friend concerns you when your prince stands before you in dire need of affection."

"Dire, surely."

"Surely."

By the damn near evil glint in the prince's eye, Horatio knew he was about to get himself into something that may require him to cook up a flawless cover story in the near future. With such practice as was required by his daily life, he'd gotten quite good at it. Hamlet stalked up to him, reminiscent of a snake that had spotted prey, or perhaps a tiger.

"Horatio, my dearest darling. Whose room do you suppose we're about to desecrate?"

A tiger, then, for certain.

"I suppose I don't know, my lord. I was hardly given time to observe my surroundings as I was stolen away. The scene almost resembled that of a book you told me about once..."

Horatio had to fight to keep his breathing at a normal human pace as Hamlet's pale, almost spidery hand snuck faux-innocently from Horatio's waistband up to his collar, tugging experimentally at the fabric to see what would expose another sliver of skin.

"Oh? Tell, me love, which book was that? I tell you about a great many." Hamlet's lips brushed Horatio's ear, and he shivered. "Remind me, would you?"

"Y-yes. Of course. It must've been," it was getting incredibly hard to keep his focus, "the one in which a village man met a warlock," Hamlet's wandering mouth was highly distracting, "and the warlock took a liking to the man, and offered to teach him magic," how was he supposed to make up a story when there was hot breath and a hint of teeth against his neck, "b-but the warlock had l-less- mmh- pure intentions, and in invitation he sank to his knees- ah!"

Hamlet nipped the skin of his throat quite harshly and lifted his head to raise a judgemental brow. "Balderdash, to put it gently. You are a great many wonderful things but a good storyteller is not one of them."

"Shut your awful mouth. I am trying to put you in a mood and I only possess so much cognitive ability when you are within a certain distance of me. Scoundrel, you and your irresistible wiles both."

"Why, my dear, I believe you wanted to make use of my awful mouth. Shutting it would be horribly contradictory to your goal."

"I'm not sure if I want your awful mouth on me, now you've used it so much to insult me. Perhaps I should wander back to the party, looking lonely and desperate, and see if I can pick up someone more polite to- woah! Control yourself, at least give me a moment more to finish telling you about the pretty stranger I wouhaaaaah- mmmfuh- fuck, Hamlet~!"

In spite of his curiosity as to how far Horatio would have taken the joke before his faithfulness kicked in and made him feel awfully guilty, Hamlet did in fact know when to stop talking and get down to business. Business, in this case, being getting his lover very aroused very quickly and subsequently taking him completely apart, all in the space of about an hour against the wall in a room of unknown occupation. Exciting events, banquets; Hamlet liked them quite a lot.

After wasting a lot of time simply nosing around the fabric at Horatio's groin and mouthing at the growing tent, Hamlet finally began tackling the god-awful mess of buttons. The trousers did wonders for those gorgeous legs, but they were a trial and a half to navigate.

When the demon clothing was finally undone, still held up between the wall and Horatio's ass but open in the front, Hamlet was presented with what was probably his favorite sight in the world. (A lie; Horatio's face when he came, that was his favorite, and also well-organized bookshelves, but this was a close third.) He leaned forward, bestowing a series of gentle kitten licks from the tip to the neat curls at the base, and felt Horatio's hips respond to each one with an aborted thrust, trying so hard to get more friction but still endlessly polite. Damn.

Switching tactics, he moved decievingly slow back to his first position, then dove quite suddenly and took almost all of Horatio's length into his mouth. Horatio made a sound above him like a man who had forgotten how to breathe. It was incredibly gratifying. Hamlet smirked around the girth stretching his lips, bobbing his head fast and pulling more delightful noises from deep in Horatio's chest, breathless little "ah, hah, hm" sounds that fought their way around the hand he'd plastered over his mouth.

Hamlet heard a gasp, assumed it was Horatio's reaction to a fancy move of his tongue; felt the tugging at his hair, assumed it was Horatio attempting to ground himself; heard the desperate "Hamlet!" in Horatio's scratchy, sexy, having-his-brains-blown-out voice. The slam of the door and the retreating footsteps, on the other hand, were impossible to justify, and Hamlet pulled off the length in his mouth to look up at Horatio's terrified expression.

They said at the same time, equally gravelly and shocked: "Fuck."

~~~

Horatio felt the beginnings of a headache. His entire situation was highly stressful and terrible for his nerves.

The guest who had unfortunately walked into her room as Hamlet and Horatio had been utilizing it, an aging noble with a sagging face painted in powders and creams, stood before him nodding stiffly in confirmation to everything King Hamlet murmered to her. Queen Gertrude was just behind him, weeping obnoxiously, blowing her nose every thirty seconds into a handkerchief, and Claudius stood beside her, patting her arm consolingly and saying, "He's still just a boy, dearest Gertrude, he may yet refine his romantic tastes. Why, just earlier I saw the Lady Ophelia! She's quite a lovely creature and I can't imagine our Hamlet couldn't learn to love such a girl. There, there, my queen. He'll become a true young man in his own time."

Again: headache.

The throbbing behind his eyes was such that he only half-heard the order bellowed by King Hamlet, registering too late that "we shall hold him in the dungeons until further discussion" was very, very bad and his migraine was the least of his worries.

Two guards came up behind Horatio on either side, jostling him terribly as they took hold of his arms, and he cried out when the steel-toed boot hit him in the back of his knee to bring him down off his feet. To be dragged to the dungeon. God. This was not how he'd imagined his winter holiday.

Then the door banged open loudly and dramatically at his back, and there was only one person who would do it like that. Hamlet was panting slightly, presumably having run through the corridors to the hall from the room they'd had him locked in, and Horatio almost laughed - did they truly believe Hamlet couldn't pick a lock?

The prince took no time to recover from his sprint. He schooled his face into a cold, furious scowl, clenching his fists and keeping every stride deliberate. To the guards, he gave a distasteful glance and waved his hand. "Release him."

Hesitantly, they did. Horatio got to his feet carefully, trying not to put weight on his kicked knee and rubbing at his arms where there would surely be bruises forming in swirls of blue and purple. Hamlet's eyes softened briefly in concern, then hardened back to steel as he turned to his parents.

"Horatio is my guest to the winter gala, and I shall not allow anyone to harm him. If a punishment must be dealt, you must deal it to me. He is perfectly innocent."

"But Hamlet!" exclaimed Queen Gertrude, now dabbing at her wet eyes and picking up copious amounts of makeup with the handkerchief. "This boy forced you! You would never commit such vile acts, my sweet son!" She finished with another sob, prompting Claudius to switch from patting her arm to rubbing up and down in small motions, giving Hamlet a look of utmost disappointment.

(Horatio had to suppress an eyeroll. They were worse than the shitty acting troupe he and Hamlet had seen the year prior, all too much emotion and not enough pay for the scriptwriter, which was hopefully the explanation for the foul dialogue.)

Hamlet growled low in his throat, which would have been very sexy in any other circumstance. "He forced me into nothing, he would never. It was my idea in the first place, mother, and I will not allow him to be punished for my foolishness and impudence." He paused there for a brief nod at the noble, who was still holding herself stiff as a board and looking as though being present at this discussion was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. "I again implore you: either allow us all to forget this... awkward incident, and let us all catch up on lost sleep, or inflict your retribution on me alone."

King Hamlet raised a hawkish brow, parting his downturned lips to bark something surely terrible, but Queen Gertrude spoke faster. "Oh! I am horribly fatigued, all this excitement is detrimental to one's health, you know!" (Yes, Horatio and his migraine knew very well.) "I will absolutely not allow my son to be put in the dungeouns! Not for a second. So there!"

And with that, the queen, followed by a doting Claudius, a grumbling king, and a traumatized noble, fled into the corridor on the opposite side of the room, tailed by two thoroughly embarrassed guards at Hamlet's signal. The heavy doors swung closed with a resounding clunk that echoed off the high ceiling of the hall.

And they were alone.

Before Hamlet could get a single word out, Horatio placed a finger on his lips, which he for once had the good sense not to suck into his mouth. Horatio leveled him with a smoldering glare.

"Your sinful lips are not touching anything lower than my jaw until we are safely back in the privacy of your single dorm at Wittenberg. You can save me from every stray student and campus dean in Europe a thousand times, but your father is a force to be reckoned with. It is a miracle we made it out relatively unscathed this time. I will not be taking any more chances."

Hamlet nodded in that obedient, calm way that meant he did not agree in the slighest and would absolutely be doing the opposite and could not be stopped. A second later, he betrayed this by the smirk that tried very hard to beat his willpower and twist his face.

Horatio's migraine worsened, so he turned away from the source of all his problems and strode with the last of his dignity to his hitherto unused guest room. He would play at anger for the moment, until Hamlet began to think he was truly upset and would be more agreeable to the setting of the new ground rule: No sex in anyone else's room.

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Uh,,, hi? I feel like it's been forever

Did you like? Should I stop writing smut? Should I write more? Horny bastards, of course I'll write more! Wouldn't be Shakespeare without the occasional dick. Unfortunately for me, because I'm the one who has to write about them... *shudders*

Anyway!

Erm!

I should sleep!

Watch out for the next update, my dearest darling faeries, and may you never, ever get caught for anything at all.