Henry gets back from an intense battle and immediately pulls Hans into his room for some privacy. Henry is immediately roughly tearing at clothes, frantically kissing, rushing his hands over Hans' body. Everything is happening so fast, and Henry mumbles how desperately he needs Hans. Hans is pushed to sit on to the edge of the bed, and Henry kneels in front of him. Hans is concerned because Henry's isn't acting like himself. His eyes are far away, hidden in unspoken horrors. His hands are not delicately worshipping Hans like they always used to. Hans gently takes Henry's face with both hands and forces him to slow down. His thumb drags across Henry's cheek, soft eyes staring down at the man. He asks if everything is okay. And in that moment of calm, in the reprieve from the echoing voices that haunt Henry's mind, everything goes quiet when he stares into Hans' eyes. And Henry crumples, crying into Hans' lap while Hans consoles him.
i will say i see this a bit more as hans behavior tbh? henry has more experience with non-sexual intimacy, and even if he wouldn't outright ask for comfort, i think he'd more be the type to steal away with hans and then just hold him for a while without talking, letting hans yap like usual but not being able to concentrate on what he's saying. henry's there, but he's not there. he doesn't notice a few tears slip out of his eyes, doesn't really notice anything at all. but hans notices, feels the wetness on his shoulder, and he turns around, pulls henry into his arms, tucks henry's head under his chin. and then henry breaks down. not all at once, like a dam breaking. more like the flood after the spring thaw, accumulating and growing until his breaths are heaving and choking and he's sobbing more loudly than he ever has, and hans doesn't know what to do, hans has never known how to be soft, but he tries, he clutches henry to his chest and tries to tell him it'll be okay, but how will it be? henry has always seemed so unbreakable to him, so solid and sure, as constant and reliable as the sun rising in the east. what is hans supposed to do when it starts rising in the west? because that's how it feels, seeing henry fall to pieces so thoroughly. but god dammit he tries, and it's that herculean effort, that bending of himself against his own nature, that comforts henry during his most vulnerable moments. because henry knows that hans is knife-sharp and jagged, so it's all the more meaningful when he tries not to be, when he tries to be gentle and soft. how much must a bed of thorns love someone, to try to be as soft as lambswool?
