(Did you catch the reference? Did you??)

I just really wanted some nice, domestic TDB. My boys have so much angst. They need to unwind.

I haven't made Getrude a good mum in a while so I'm doing that. I really do love her when she's not partaking in Making Hamlet Even Sadder.

Smol warning: Ham has a high libido and you might not want to read this while sitting next to your grandma.

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The only thing Hamlet would forever hold against Horatio was how goddamn early he got up.

He complained about it several times daily. To anyone. Usually Horatio himself, but Ophelia, Ros and Guil, and even Laertes had often been subject to Hamlet's onslaught of tired whining.

Alas, Horatio remained dedicated to his early bird tendencies. Even when Hamlet used his most convincing tactics.

"Ratioooooo..."

"Hamlet, the whole of Denmark doesn't sleep as late as you. Someone needs to be conscious before noon, and if it's not you, I'm most qualified to run the country."

Horatio tried again to sit up in bed, but was thwarted by Hamlet's unrelenting arms around his waist.

Peppering kisses across his shoulder and collarbone, Hamlet muttered, "You're too good for Denmark. It doesn't deserve you."

Horatio sighed. "Yes, but it needs me, since it can't have you. Now, if you will please-" Horatio paused to grunt as he pushed Hamlet's arms away and sat up, "-allow me to do my job. There will be plenty of time for indulging your touch-starvation after we've made it clear to the staff we haven't died mysteriously in the night."

"Wouldn't be the first time, though," Hamlet quipped.

Horatio looked away, recalling a very different memory than the one Hamlet was suggestively smirking about.

Noticing the sudden shift in mood, Hamlet moved to situate himself across Horatio's lap, legs on either side of him. He leaned their foreheads together.

"I'm not going anywhere, you know that," he said into the small space between them.

Horatio shifted gears instantly, quirking an eyebrow. "Yes, I'm aware. You don't go anywhere until your thirst overpowers your stubbornness."

Hamlet suddenly found himself deposited to the side of where Horatio had just been sitting, frowning at the wall. "Why won't you talk to me about my own death?"

"Because you're okay now." Horatio studiously avoided eye contact, changing into something more formal than an old shirt and boxers for the day.

Hamlet tried valiantly not to acknowledge the fact that his partner was shirtless and stay focused on the point he was arguing. "Maybe, but I wasn't okay before. Three months at my bedside, and you didn't know if I'd ever open my eyes. That's traumatic to boot, and frankly, I'm not sure if you've dealt with it all yet."

Horatio, having buttoned his shirt (an action both relieving and irritating to Hamlet), turned to him, looking up through his lashes with the smile he knew damn well made Hamlet go weak at the knees, and said, "I've had enough of trauma and death. You're here with me today, aren't you?"

"I am." Hamlet stood, grabbing Horatio by the collar to pull him closer. "Much to your dismay, I'm sure."

Horatio laughed. "Always so sure of everything," he said, then pulled Hamlet into a languid kiss of love and contentment.

When the kiss had gotten considerably more heated, and Hamlet's deft fingers were beginning to undo the work Horatio had put into the buttons on his shirt, there was a knock on the door. Horatio pulled away and Hamlet huffed in annoyance.

"We'll continue this later," Horatio whispered against the shell of his ear, then had the audacity to nip it gently. Hamlet breathed out heavily through his nose and flopped back onto the bed to bury his red face into the silk pillowcase.

Horatio answered the door. He exchanged words with the person who had knocked, but Hamlet's mind began to wander and he didn't catch any of it. Wander, of course, to Horatio.

Specifically the panting, moaning Horatio that fell apart under Hamlet's fingertips and stared up at him with pupils so dilated that his irises were nearly gone. The Horatio that Hamlet hadn't seen in a dreadfully long time due to the perpetual full schedule of royalty.

"Your mom's coming over for dinner tonight, apparently," Horatio said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Hamlet laughed mirthlessly on the inside. Perfect timing to make his point.

"Is she now?"

Horatio hummed in confirmation, pulling a clean shirt from the closet and tossing it in the general direction of the bed.

"So that gives us how much time?" Hamlet asked instead of catching it.

He cocked his head to the side at Horatio's quizzical glance.

"... Dinner, Hamlet. We've got eight or nine hours."

As Hamlet's wolfish grin slipped easily onto his face, Horatio's eyes widened in realization.

"Any other obligations?" Hamlet asked nonchalantly, stretching out his legs. He preened internally when Horatio's eyes followed the movement.

"Not that I'm aware of," Horatio responded carefully.

"Are you sure? No physics classes to rush to at ungodly hours of the morning?" Because he had to.

Horatio rolled his eyes fondly. "Not anymore. PhD achieved, and Wittenberg feels like a lifetime ago."

Bright eyes fixed on Horatio, laid out as alluringly as possible, Hamlet said, "Then get over here."

Abandoning all hope of getting anything done that day, Horatio obeyed. As soon as he was within reach, Hamlet pulled him down among the sheets and rolled them over to straddle him. Lips met, hot and heavy, and neither of them remained coherent long enough to remember to lock the door.

~~~

Later, after many hours of sex/cuddle/doze/repeat, with the occasional soliloquy on Hamlet's part, Horatio checked the time and cursed.

"What, how quickly do we need to be presentable?" Hamlet grumbled against Horatio's neck.

"Thirty minutes, maybe forty-five," Horatio answered, getting up with little resistance from Hamlet.

He pulled on boxers and jeans, ignored the dismayed little sound Hamlet made, and held back a shriek as he looked in the bathroom mirror.

"Hamlet," he hissed, tentatively poking one of the dark bruises on his neck. It ached a bit.

The man in question waltzed over to unashamedly nuzzle against the smattering of marks.

"They're gorgeous on you, if it makes you feel better."

Horatio just about melted then and there, because there was no way in hell he was putting up with Hamlet's stupidly hot post-sex rasp and the fuck-me stare he was giving him through the mirror when his soon-to-be mother in law was coming over.

"D'you remember how Ophelia used to cover these up?" he asked instead of voicing his thoughts.

Hamlet hummed. "A lot of concealer and a lot of time." He put his hands up in surrender when Horatio shot him a scathing look. "In my defense, you'd bite at my neck like a vampire too if I made the noises you do."

"I do bite you, I'm just smarter about where. Take a look in the mirror and contradict me."

Ah, Hamlet thought. Chest. His face went a shade darker. And thighs.

"... Point taken."

Horatio nodded, reeling him in to kiss him sternly. Hamlet kissed back in apology.

They dressed quickly, joking and snickering briefly about the mixed fabrics that would secure their place in hell after some very non-hetero activity.

Gertrude arrived at precisely six o'clock. Thus began the most stressful meal Horatio would ever endure.

Of course, Hamlet The Fucking Prick was no help, giving him bedroom eyes over the table and biting his lip like it was the dinner.

Gertrude, as per usual, was delighted to see the both of them, and buzzed happily about their engagement whenever there was a break in conversation. It was a lovely distraction from the borderline pornographic look her son gave Horatio every time she wasn't watching.

A few minutes into dessert, he slipped. He was explaining inter-molecular forces and how humans were the same way, needing bonds with other humans, and damn was he bad at talking without his hands.

He was cut off mid-sentence by Gertrude's exclamation of "OH!" He was confused for a split second before the mortification set in.

Gertrude shot up from her chair and was instantly at Horatio's side, pulling at his collar to see the extent of the damage. Horatio's face burned.

"Hamlet!" she hissed after a very tense moment, much in the same fashion as Horatio had done. "The poor boy's practically covered in the blasted things!"

Horatio bit back a He's got more in favor of preserving any dignity he might still possess.

At Hamlet's awkward shrug, Gertrude scoffed and ruffled Horatio's hair. "Look how nervous he is! You're adults now, and I'm very happy you're in love, but Christ, Hamlet! Just because you can't keep it in your pants doesn't mean your fiance should be subjected to covering up the evidence all through dinner!"

She emphasized her point with a whap on the back of Hamlet's head, earning an "ow!" Horatio cackled. Served him right.

Gertrude flitted around the dining hall, stacking dishes out of habit and collecting her coat. Hamlet slouched in his chair like a petulant child and blushed bright red, while Horatio thanked his lucky stars that the queen was so very motherly to him.

She pecked both of them on the cheek in goodbye, and just as she was almost out the door, she turned and called, "Hamlet, remember: now, after dinner, is the appropriate time to seduce him. Not before."

Horatio laughed, but cut himself off when he saw that Hamlet was eyeing him like a piece of meat again.

"Mom said." Hamlet smirked at his use of the ancient phrase that every child had said to their siblings at some point.

"No, Hamlet," Horatio laughed breathily. He kissed the indignant blonde on the temple and promptly retreated to the shower to wash away an evening of sex and stress.

If he muttered a quiet "unbelievable" when Hamlet joined him in the shower several minutes later, it wasn't heard over the water.

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I do not know what prompted this

I'm so tired

Goodnight, my faeries. Buy concealer that matches your skin tone, even if, like me, you must instead buy white acrylic paint because no company makes concealer light enough for your vampire skin.