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endofthelinepal107 · 1 month

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henry winter - praise fucking dionysus

{a secret relationship can only stay so secret when everybody's immersed in a bacchanal. dionysus is the god of debauchery, not secrets.} 11k words

notes: kinda OC henry, henry's a virgin, the twins are NORMAL, no bunny, ngl the original draft of this is even more depraved than this one but i edited it down to make it slightly less alarming (what can i say i'm down bad for henry)

warnings: explicit(!!!) sex scenes, cursing, kinda dom/sub dynamic, mention of ritual sacrifice

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You arrived home late. There were plenty of excuses you could give. Julian had given you too much work. The book Henry had recommended to you was a slog. It was too warm to take the car. Really, there was only one reason: you were avoiding your friends. Or, more specifically, you were avoiding Henry.

It wasn't his fault.

Over the past few months, you had started to see your friend in another light. It had taken you a while to realise what the feeling was. You weren't always very perceptive about yourself. But, luckily, you had Francis and Richard, who very quickly pulled you aside and demanded to know why you were suddenly head over heels for Henry Marchbanks Winter.

Richard was the least surprised out of the three of you. He'd become friends with you and Henry at the same time, and therefore seen the two of you together in a different light to everyone else. Your other friends wouldn't have noticed how similar you and Henry were, after knowing you both so long. They wouldn't have seen the way that Henry's eyes changed when he looked at you, or how your eyes flitted to meet his when the two of you were in the same room.

It seemed sensible, distancing yourself from Henry for a bit. Maybe if you could spend less time with him, you'd be able to let your feelings fade away. Hopefully, he'd be out of sight, out of mind. So that was the plan you'd gone with. For two weeks, you'd barely seen Henry outside of Greek. If he noticed, he didn't make it obvious.

That was when Francis decided to thwart your plans. He and Richard wanted to see the two of you together. So they organised a spontaneous holiday to Francis' house in the country. The two of you would be forced into the same house for weeks. How could you possibly avoid him?

That was why you were late getting home. Because you knew that they were all waiting in your living room, chatting about the plans for the holiday. Henry's car would be parked in the driveway, behind yours. His keys would probably be in his hand, resting on the table. Everybody would still be in their coats, ready to go.

You slowly pushed open the front door.

"There she is!"

"Finally!"

You smiled tiredly, shuffling into the room. The scene was laid out just as you'd imagined it. The only deviation from your prediction was that Henry was sitting in your chair. Your eyes landed on him, resting on the comfortable seat and then his body in it. His gaze flicked to you, stayed for a moment, then settled on the glass of whisky he was nursing.

Why was he in your seat?

"Everybody okay?" You asked, walking in. There was a brief moment where you hesitated, unsure of what to do with yourself now that your designated seat was taken. Everybody noticed you fumble, glancing helplessly at Henry in your chair. Your eyes didn't meet his, but you knew he was watching you. All you could wonder was why he was doing this. He knew just as well as anyone that the chair was where you sat, every day, every night.

Francis came to your rescue. "Take no notice of him, Y/N," he said lowly, voice smooth. "Got a perfectly good seat for you right," he paused, resting his hand on your wrist and giving you a moment to move away. When you didn't, he pulled you onto his lap. "Here," he finished. His slender arms wound around your waist, head resting on your shoulder. Henry watched in silence from your chair. He and Francis exchanged looks. One was filled with smug satisfaction. The other was perfectly unreadable. Both raised the tension in the room.

"Well, I'm good, thank you," Camilla said loudly, effectively breaking the tension. Most of you looked at her with gratitude. "I can't believe Julian agreed not to give us homework over the vacation."

Charles chuckled. "Well, the request did come from his favourite student."

"He wants us to have a break," Henry shrugged. "We should just be grateful."

Richard nodded. "I'm sure he'll make up for it when we get back anyway. Let's just enjoy it while we can."

"Papen's right," Francis piped up. "We should enjoy it! So let's go enjoy it! Right, Y/N?" He had jumped to his feet by now, clutching your hands in his and pulling you close. When he saw a smile start to creep onto your face, he continued dramatically. "Let's run away to the country! We'll dine on wine and bread! We'll wander the hills under the morning sun! We'll cherish each day and go to sleep with a smile!"

An incredulous snort of laughter left your nostrils as you gripped Francis' hands. "How many drinks have you had, Francis?"

"One," he replied.

Camilla pointed at the stack of margarita glasses on the coffee table. "Five," she corrected dryly. "But I agree with the drunk. We should go now. That way we can spend as much time there as possible."

"Alright. Who's driving?" Charles asked. He stood up, throwing an arm around his sister's shoulders. You suspected it was more for balance than anything else.

Richard stood too. "Who isn't drunk?"

"I'm not."

Henry's eyes met yours for a moment before you looked away.

"Great," Francis smiled. "Y/N can drive. Henry's driving makes me feel seasick." He walked out of the house. Camilla and Charles followed. Henry stood by the window, sipping his drink while you and Richard cleared up the glasses your friends had left.

Richard’s eyes were on Henry as he spoke to you. "Francis has a plan, you know."

"I guessed so," you nodded. "Are you at liberty to tell me what it is?"

Richard looked towards you. Simultaneously, you saw Henry turn to look at him. "Actually, I sort of want to see if it'll work."

"Fair enough," you shrugged, nudging him with your elbow as you walked past to put the dishes by the sink. "It's not going to, but if it was you or Francis involved, I'd probably do the same."

Henry looked between the two of you blankly. He had no idea what you were talking about. Richard smiled. "I think we all would. We all want to see each other happy, right?"

"I don't think this is the way it's going to happen, though," you reasoned, walking back over. Before he could say anything, you nodded towards the door. "Okay, you go first, I need to lock up." You turned your head towards Henry but didn't quite meet his eyes. "You too, Henry."

Richard hummed, disappearing out of the door. Henry lingered. You went upstairs to grab your luggage. When you came back down, he was setting his glass down by the sink. "I shouldn't have taken your seat," he said suddenly, his low voice loud in the silent house.

"No," you agreed. You were a little too tired to try and please him. "Can I get past you? I need some coffee if I'm going to be driving."

Henry didn't move. "Are you tired?"

"Yeah," you nodded. You were in front of him now. "So...can you move, please?"

He looked at you, dark blue eyes staring you down. You had to look away. "I don't think you should drive. You should sleep."

"I can't sleep in moving vehicles. Thanks, though," you shrugged.

Henry shook his head. "Then you can rest. I'll drive."

"Francis said-"

You caught the end of something flashing across his face. Anger, or jealousy, maybe. "I don't care what Francis said. I'll drive." He walked back over to the table, seizing his keys from the table and marching out of the front door. You followed a few steps behind, watching awkwardly as he ordered everyone out of your car and into his. Francis opened his mouth to protest and was silenced with a surprisingly harsh glare.

"What happened?" Richard whispered in your ear, standing beside you as he waited for everyone to sort themselves out.

You shrugged. "Nothing. I don't know what's wrong with him."

"Did you tell him that Francis didn't want him to drive?"

You laughed. "I did. You can try telling him again, if you like. There's a chance you'll end up under the car instead of in it."

"I’ll give it a shot," he decided. "You know how annoying Francis gets when he's feeling sick."

You hummed. "Say it loud, so the others are listening in. Maybe it’ll make him listen." He nodded.

"Henry," he called. The tall man turned around, looking at Richard with a blank expression. "I'll drive. Francis gets sick when you drive." Before Henry could protest, an idea occurred to Richard. "Also, there's not enough seats for all of us."

Henry frowned. "Another one of us driving won't change that."

"Oh," Francis murmured from the passenger seat, smiling over at Richard in understanding. "Henry, there's not enough seats. I'm in the passenger seat. Richard'll be in the driver's seat. Camilla and Charles are in the back. There's only one seat left. You and Y/N still have to get in."

The realisation of what they were saying dawned on Henry before it could dawn on you. Richard saw this and nodded towards you. Francis continued for your benefit as Henry tried to make a decision.

"If you drive, Richard and Y/N'll have to squeeze into that one seat together. There isn’t enough space for them to sit next to each other. Richard would have to sit her on his lap." Francis spoke with a particular relish, knowing just what to say to sway Henry's decision. "If that's okay with you, then sure, drive. But if it's not.."

You finally understood what Richard and Francis were telling Henry. The last bit had been mainly for your benefit, but it still served to push Henry into making a choice. He took a step away from the car, nodding towards Richard.

"Fine." Your eyes widened in surprise. Wait, what? Before you could protest, Henry was sliding into the backseat and looking up at you. His face was shaded in the darkness of the evening. "We should leave now," he said simply. The hidden words rang out clearly in the silence: come and sit on my lap, before this gets worse.

You didn't say anything. There was a long pause as you stared at him. Then, still wordlessly, you ducked into the car. Henry's hands rested on your waist, guiding you to his lap. As soon as your back was resting against the place where the door met the car, his hands fell to his sides. There wasn't much space on his left because of Camilla, so his hand ended up wedged beneath his thigh.

Richard started the car.

Richard and Francis' plan had been a clever one. But it had one major oversight: they hadn't considered how awkward you and Henry were. They'd had a certain image in mind when they began. Something romantic, like the two of you holding hands or you leaning your head back against his chest and kissing his jaw. Instead, they got two of the stiffest people ever known to man. Henry was sitting so straight that he looked like he was experiencing rigor mortis. You were so still you looked like you were carved from stone. Both of your eyes were wide and panicked.

But, slowly, the two of you relaxed. There was only so long that muscles could stay so tense and eventually you had no choice but to loosen up. Henry melted into the chair beneath you. The curve of your back slotted into his front. Your head rested against the window. Your eyes met in the glass. Francis noticed the change and switched the radio on, giving the two of you the illusion of privacy.

Henry hummed, getting your attention. Everybody tried really hard to look like they weren't listening. "I apologise if I'm making you uncomfortable," he murmured.

"You're not," you whispered back. You turned your head to look at him. Both of your breath hitched; he was far closer than you had realised. His dark eyes bored into yours as you pressed the back of your head against the window, trying to maximise the few inches of space between his face and yours. "You make a comfortable seat," you joked, trying to alleviate the tension. Charles bit back a chuckle at the look on your face as you realised how inappropriate your remark had sounded.

Henry, with all his bookishness, wasn't well-versed in innuendoes. He didn't pick up on the crudeness of your joke. At least, not before he returned the sentiment. "I'm sure you're a wonderful place to sit too." When you looked completely uncertain, he realised how he sounded. There was a pause as the two of you blinked at each other. Then the corner of your mouth twitched. As the two of you laughed quietly in your little corner of the car, you quickly forgot about the others.

"But, seriously, Henry, you're not making me feel uncomfortable," you promised once you were calmer. He nodded. You could still see a flicker of disbelief hiding behind his eyes. Up this close, it was easier to see through the mask of indifference Henry put up. It still wasn't easy, but he was definitely more readable up close. You could see how unsure he was of where to put his hands and how to look at you when you were so near to him. You could see the fatigued twitch of his right eye and pick out each eyelash.

Your inspecting gaze didn't bother Henry too much. It gave him the opportunity to take a good look at you too. He appreciated every inch of skin, every flutter of your eyelids, every line on your lips. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," you nodded, looking up to his eyes. "You can ask me anything."

Henry felt a little warmed by your simple, genuine words. "Have you been avoiding me?"

He watched indecision flicker over your face. You considered lying to him, preserving his feelings. Then you considered telling him the truth, which you knew he'd like more. "Yeah."

"Will you tell me why?"

"I don't think so."

"Okay," Henry nodded. His eyes drifted to the hedge that was flashing by outside the window as he processed your words. "Will you stop?" You faltered. Henry filled the pause. "I want you to stop."

His words, spoken so matter-of-factly, took you by surprise. You couldn't help but nod. "Fine. I'll stop avoiding you." How could you refuse him? You'd never known Henry to be so upfront about something like that, something emotional.

"Thank you," Henry murmured. You hummed in response. The two of you turned your attention to the window, silently watching the scenery flashing by. Slowly, Henry moved his hands to hover over your lap. "Can I touch you?"

You were careful not to show how much his words affected you. "Sure." His hands rested in your lap. One of his arms shifted to wrap around your middle, fingers grasping the material at your side. Wordlessly, you dropped your hands down to rest with his. Henry turned his hand over, palm-side up. You slipped your hand into it. His fingers closed around yours.

By the time you reached the country house, it was early morning. The sky was still dark but the black was starting to melt away, slowly but surely. It took a while to get everyone's stuff in the house. Everyone opted to dump it and sort it out after some rest. You all traipsed upstairs to sort out sleeping arrangements. Francis and Richard's plan began to swing into motion again.

"So, there's six of us and five bedrooms," Charles pointed out superfluously. "Who's sharing?"

Francis chuckled. "I think the better question would be who's not sharing. Me, for one."

"Me," Richard agreed.

"Me," Camilla chimed in.

"Me," Charles nodded.

You blinked, a little too tired to catch on. Henry looked at you, then at the looks on Richard and Francis' faces. He sighed, unamused. "Oh, I see what you're trying to do."

"What? What are they trying to do?" You asked him.

He looked at you again. You could see dark circles beneath his eyes. You couldn't remember if they'd been there forever or just that night. "They're trying to get us to share a room."

"Oh," you nodded. "I don't mean to make things difficult, but I'm too tired to argue. I'm going to sit outside for a little bit." You disappeared down the stairs. They heard the front door open and shut.

Henry turned to glare at the others. Charles raised his hands in surrender. "What? She wasn't upset."

"You shouldn't try to make her uncomfortable," Henry insisted.

Camilla shook her head. "Actually, I think it's a good idea that you and Y/N sleep in the same room. I think she'd be most comfortable with you, out of all of us."

"And we all know you would be plenty comfortable with her," Francis pointed out.

Henry chose to ignore his comment. "Are you sure?" He addressed Camilla. When she nodded, Henry took a step towards the stairs. "Fine." He started to walk down.

Charles couldn't resist calling after him. "We better not wake up and find the two of you fucking on the front porch!"

"Why am I friends with these people?" Henry muttered to himself, opening the front door and slipping out.

You looked up at him from where you sat, perched on the swinging chair. "That bad?"

"Charles said.." Henry trailed off, deciding not to tell you what he had actually said. "He was just being an idiot."

You smiled. "Nothing new there, then." Your eyes flicked up and down his form. "You can come sit down, if you like."

Henry nodded, crossing the deck in a few strides. He sat down beside you. The swinging chair was too big for one person, but it was a little small for two. It was still comfortable. You were grateful to have a little warmth from his body pressed against yours. Henry had expected to feel uneasy being so close to you. However, he found that after sitting in the car with you for so long, he savoured the intimacy.

"Every time we come here," you said, voice clear in the crisp morning air. "I see you come out and sit here. I always thought that you looked peaceful out here. I thought I'd try it."

Henry glanced at you, smiling ever so slightly. "I have trouble sleeping. I wake up early. And when we're in a place like this, I feel like I should take it in. And you're right, it is relaxing."

"Blest who can unconcernedly find hours, days and years slide soft away in health of body, peace of mind. Quiet by day, sound sleep by night; study and easy together mixt, sweet recreation," you recited softly to yourself. You hadn't meant it for Henry's benefit, it had just popped into your head. You'd read it a few days earlier and the conversation made the poem spring to mind.

He looked at you. "Who is that?"

"Alexander Pope," you replied.

Henry hesitated before shaking his head. "I don't know him."

"Well, he's not Homer," you joked.

He smiled slightly sheepishly. "I read other things too."

"Like the Lexicon?" You continued to tease, liking the pink you could see tinting his ears. Henry smiled a little brighter, looking straight ahead. You hoped that this mini-holiday would be full of moments where you got to see him like that. "You know, when I found out about your obsession with Homer, it made perfect sense."

Henry was gazing up at the sky, admiring the soft pinks and oranges as the sun rose. "Mm?"

"It fits you," you nodded. "There were always a few quotes that reminded me of you. Like..." You wracked your brain. "Beauty, terrible beauty. That's just like that time you said beauty was terror."

He looked over at you. "Did I say that?"

"Yeah," you hummed. "To Julian. You really struck a chord in Richard, I think."

Henry nodded, pride swelling in his chest. Not only had he inspired a friend, but his words had stayed ingrained in your head for months. He decided to return your wordy affections in kind. "The Iliad. There's a line: Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again. Every time I read that, I think of you. Your nihilism, your philosophical pessimism. And your beauty."

"Fucking hell, Henry," you protested with a bashful laugh. "I recited a poem about grass."

He blinked in surprise, not expecting that reaction. When he saw on your face that it was more genuine than anything else he could have gotten, he smiled. He liked that you were being more open with him. He'd seen you like that with Richard and Henry, even Charles and Camilla sometimes. But you and Henry had never really been as vulnerable with each other as you were in that moment.

"You can try again, if you'd like," he offered.

You looked at him, nodding and thinking. "Okay. Give me a moment." You thought. "Okay. Some Shakespeare for you, since I can't remember any more Homer." Henry nodded, turning to face you expectantly. You cleared your throat dramatically, winking at him in your awkwardness. A smile settled on his lips. "Shy love, I think of you as the morning air brushes the window pane. And how much time of all it takes to know the movement of your arm, the steps you take, the curves along your head, your ears, your hair. For all of this, each hand, each finger, each lip, each breath, each sigh, each word and sound of voice or tongue, I would require an age to contemplate. But for your heart: your mind, your thoughts. All these, to love them all, I need at least five centuries."

It was only once you were finished that you realised you had repeatedly said 'love' throughout your recital of the sonnet. You had just thought of the words you could think of that best described how you felt about Henry. You hadn't stopped to consider how strong those feelings were, especially when translated into poetry.

Henry was almost as surprised as you. It completely shocked him that someone could feel that way about him, even if you didn't feel as strongly as the poetry made it sound. But he found it very predictable that you would accidentally reveal the secrets of your heart by reciting a bit of poetry. He hadn't made quite the same fumble, always expert in his choice of quotation. But then he'd explained himself and had thoughtlessly called you beautiful.

"Get a room!"

The two of you peered upwards. All four of your friends were hanging out of the window above you. Francis, Richard and Camilla were trying desperately not to laugh. Charles looked a little drunk and was grinning down at the two of you.

"Honestly, your lovesick poetry's making me feel ill!"

You rolled your eyes. "No, Charles, that's the alcohol poisoning." Everybody laughed, including Henry, who chuckled at your retort. He waved them off and they all disappeared back inside. "I think I'm going to go in now," you informed Henry, slowly standing up.

"Would you mind if I joined you?"

You shook your head, holding a hand out to him. "Not at all." Henry accepted, grasping your hand firmly in his as he stood up. The two of you walked inside, hands naturally falling away from each other’s. When you figured out which bedroom had been left to the two of you, you let out a sigh of relief. Your friends had the decency to give you the master bedroom, with the largest double bed.

"I thought they'd give us the single," Henry admitted, peering out of the window before drawing the curtains.

You hummed in agreement as you sat on the edge of the bed to take off your shoes. "Same. I'm glad, though."

"Will it bother you to sleep with me?" He asked, sitting beside you. You looked at him, but he was bending over to unlace his shoes. "I can come up later to get some sleep."

You shook your head. "No, you don't need to do that. I'm fine with it. If you're not, I'll go down. We won't be on top of each other, anyway."

Henry just shook his head. He stood up again to take off his blazer, folding it over the wardrobe door. You pulled your jumper over your head before lying down. Henry turned around, adjusting his suspenders before lying down beside you.

"I can't believe it worked that well," Richard whispered.

Camilla hummed. "They just needed a push. Someone to tell them it was okay."

"I feel like we should give them the room," Charles chuckled.

You kept your eyes closed as you listened to your friends talking. You guessed they'd come to check on you and Henry and found you in your current position. You didn't blame them for gawking. The two of you had migrated to the middle of the bed. Henry was spooning you, his front pressed to your back. His long legs were tucked under yours, pushing you closer to him. His arms were wrapped around your body. Your hands were gripping onto his forearms.

"What are you doing?" Henry asked suddenly. His voice was deep and low, nowhere near its usual volume.

Richard let out a gasp of surprise while Francis answered. "Looking at a changed man, it looks like."

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" He pointed out.

Charles shook his head. "Don't pretend you haven't been pining over her for months, Henry. Dishonesty doesn't suit you."

The room was silent for a few seconds. Then Henry spoke. "Don't wake her up."

"Why?" Francis asked smugly.

Henry sighed. "Because she's exhausted. Just like everyone else. I'm just trying to keep my friend healthy."

"Uh huh," the red-head chuckled. "You're not convincing anyone, Henry."

You could feel Henry's muscles tensing behind you as he tried to keep his composure. He just wanted to shout at them all to leave the two of you alone. He wanted to be able to relish in your closeness for a while longer. They were ruining it.

"Let's go," Camilla interjected. Everyone shuffled out, Charles and Francis complaining the whole way down the stairs.

You waited a minute before humming. "Hey."

"Did they wake you up?" Henry asked, voice already a little angry.

You shook your head. "I woke up just before they came in. I didn't want to make things worse by speaking up."

He nodded. It occurred to him that you were both awake, yet you were still pressed against him. "Would you like me to move?"

"No." The response was too quick, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. Especially not when Henry's arms tensed a little, pulling you even closer. "When did this happen?" You asked, referring to your position.

Henry hummed. "I don't know. In our sleep, I think."

"It's nice," you admitted.

He smiled at the back of your head. "It is. I like being close to you." He regretted the overly-honest words immediately after he'd said them.

Before he could take them back, you answered him with a smile. "I like being close to you. Can we stay like this for a while longer? Or do you want to go down?"

"I want to stay here," Henry replied.

The two of you laid in comfortable silence for a while. You cleared your throat. "Do you mind if I take off some clothes? I'm getting all twisted in the fabric."

"Take off whatever you like," he shook his head. "I might take something off in a while."

You nodded, detaching yourself from him and standing up beside the bed. Henry watched you step out of your pants, letting them fall to the ground. You didn't notice his piercing gaze until you lifted your hands to unbutton your shirt, eyes falling to meet his at the same time. Henry winced internally when your fingers faltered. You looked at each other in silence. Then you just continued as if nothing had happened. Henry cleared his throat, looking up at the ceiling instead of at your body. Still, the curves of your figure were ingrained on the backs of his eyelids every time he blinked.

By the time you laid back down on the bed, clad only in your underwear, Henry was decently flustered. You moved back into the same position. When Henry made no move to lie against you, you turned onto your other side to look at him.

"Henry?" You questioned. He hummed, not looking at you. Your eyes narrowed. "Everything okay?" He just nodded stiffly. Your eyes scanned his body for any indication as to what had suddenly changed. "Henry-oh."

His eyes widened and flicked to yours. Your eyes were fixed to the sizeable tent quickly forming in his pants. Henry's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. He blinked at you in complete horror. Your eyes flicked between his face and his crotch. You drew in a deep breath, reminding yourself not to freak out. Henry already looked like he was about to pass out.

"Okay," you began gently. "Do you want to go into the bathroom and take care of yourself? We have the en suite."

He was still staring at you. "Take care of myself?"

"Yeah," you nodded. His expression was blank. "You know, uh.." Hundreds of different phrases danced along your tongue. You couldn't decide which one was appropriate for someone like Henry. You settled on a completely blunt one, since he seemed so clueless as to what you were telling him. "Do you want to go fuck yourself in the bathroom?"

A rose flush spread across his cheeks, unlike anything you'd ever seen on Henry before. "I..." He gulped, looking away from you. "I can't. I can't do that."

"You can't.." You frowned at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Henry squeezed his eyes shut, looking far more vulnerable than you had ever seen the stoic before. "It disconcerts me. I can't do it. I've never been able to do it." He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "I know it's…strange. But I can't."

"It's not that strange," you assured him.

He shook his head. "You're just saying that."

"I'm not," you shook your head. You moved closer to him in your eagerness. "It happens to plenty of people. It's not that weird."

Henry nodded. "That's a small comfort, then." He looked even more troubled. You only realised why when you felt his arm twitch beneath your fingers. Looking down, you saw that you had grabbed onto his arm as you'd been speaking. You quickly withdrew your hand. Henry glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. "What should I do?"

"I don't know," you shook your head. "If you can't… do that, I guess you just have to wait for it to go away on its own?"

He nodded slowly. "I can... I can do that."

"Okay," you nodded. "I'm going to lie down. I'll face away so you don't feel... observed."

Henry just nodded again, watching as you turned back over. You stared at the sheet in front of you, imagining him lying beside you. Up until that moment, when you'd thought about Henry in sexual situations, he'd always been pretty vanilla. But with him lying behind you, willing away a boner you were almost certain had happened because he'd watched you undress, your views had changed. You were beginning to see Henry in a new light, only furthered by the information about his never masturbating. Your mind slipped into daydreams of teaching him a few things right there and then, suspenders and all.

Henry's low voice pulled you from your reverie. "It's not working."

"Why?"

He turned his head to look at you, taking in the soft slope of your waist and the roundness of your ass in the simple panties. "Because I keep looking at you. And you're all I see when I close my eyes."

"Oh," you murmured, pleasantly surprised by his admission. You weighed up your options. You took Henry's apparent inexperience and naivety into consideration. Then you hummed. "You can cuddle me still, if you'd like."

Henry blinked, pushing himself up onto one elbow. "Are you sure?" He really hadn't expected you to say that.

"I told you," you shrugged. "I like having your body against mine." Both of you were aware that neither of you had said those exact words. But it was still true. Henry turned onto his side, hesitantly shuffling closer. His chest brushed yours, but he angled his hips so that they didn't make contact with you. "Henry," you said, voice low. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest. "Come on. Do it properly." He moved quickly, arms sliding over and under your body. He pulled you against him. Your ass pushed against his hard-on. "Isn't this more comfortable?"

Henry swallowed. "Not the word I'd use."

"Which word would you use?"

He thought. "Arousing?"

"Why is this arousing?" You questioned. The lilt in your voice made it clear that you were fully aware of why being pressed against you with his cock already hard was arousing to Henry.

He found himself answering anyway. "You're touching me."

"Women touching you is arousing?"

Henry shook his head. "No. You touching me is arousing."

"Oh," you hummed, smiling slightly. "You can come closer, you know." Henry looked down at the minimal space between you. Then he realised what you were implying. He tightened his hold around your waist, bucking his hips up into yours. His cock nestled between your plush ass. Henry's breath stuttered slightly. You leaned your head back so that you could see him. He looked down at you. You flashed him a smile. "Are you a virgin, then?"

He blinked. "I... Yeah."

"Oh," you hummed, frowning to yourself.

Henry panicked a little, worried that whatever was happening was about to stop because of your new insight. "Why?"

"I just always assumed otherwise, I guess," you shrugged. "I figured you'd be the kind to have sensual weekend-relationships all the time. Probably with men, like the Greeks did."

He shook his head. "You thought wrong."

"Very wrong, it seems," you smiled again. Henry got the feeling that you were getting some amusement at his expense. He didn't care in the slightest. "Have you really never had anyone?"

Henry shook his head again. "I'm not exactly the romantic type."

"Aren't you?" You frowned. "I think you are. I mean, over the past few months, you've turned up at my house with flowers, you've taken me out to dinner and lunch, you've walked with me, you've studied with me. Henry, you could be very romantic if you wanted to be."

He blushed slightly. "I didn't realise I was doing all of those things romantically until recently."

"What?" You blinked.

Henry frowned. "Is that not what you were implying? That you knew I was trying to- well."

"I didn't realise that at all," you shook your head. "Is that what you were doing?" He nodded. "Oh. Well, thank you, then. Does that mean this," you gestured between the two of you. "Can continue?"

He nodded slowly. "I thought you would be put off by my inexperience."

"Actually, I think it's making me want you more," you mused. "My neck's hurting, sorry." You tilted your head back to its natural position. Henry hesitated before resting his head on your shoulder. You smiled. "Comfy?"

He hummed. "More than I was before."

"Does it hurt?" You asked.

Henry frowned. "What?"

"Your cock."

He choked on air, surprised by your bluntness. Henry was used to hearing you make crude comments and lewd jokes all the time, but they were never addressed to him. When he recovered, he answered you. "Yeah, it does. I'm used to it, though." You nodded. You'd forgotten that Henry must have had years of dealing with blue balls.

"You can use me a little, if you'd like," you suggested.

Henry processed your offer. "I don't know how to do that."

"Do you want to?" You asked. He nodded. "Okay. I'll guide you through it, okay?" He nodded again. "Have you got a good grip on me? You don't want me to move around the bed." Henry's arms tightened around you. "And now you just... move against me. Say when you need something more."

Henry moved slowly at first, trying to find a rhythm that felt good. His hips slid against your ass, cock dragging against your panties. He was still fully clothed so there was plenty of friction. It also meant that he had to press himself against you a lot harder to feel all of the sensations. Henry gripped you even tighter, using his grip on you as momentum to drag himself over you repeatedly. Wetness pooled in your panties as you felt him moving against you. His grip was tight, nearly bruising in his earnestness. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, eyes falling closed. You focused on the soft pants Henry was letting out. After a minute, he faltered.

"Can... Can I have more?" He asked in a hushed voice, as though he was asking something incredibly wrong.

You smiled to yourself at the timid question. "Of course you can." You decided to ease him into the more submissive role. "Say please."

"Please," he repeated without hesitation. He didn't seem to have really noticed your request.

You rolled over onto your front in his grip. "Move above me," you told him. He did as you asked, leaning all of his weight on his arms, pressing into the pillow either side of your head. You looked him over, smiling at the sweat starting to seep through his shirt and the heavy rising and falling of his chest. You lifted your right thigh. "Put your legs on either side." Henry followed your instructions. You dropped your leg. "Hump, Henry," you murmured.

His blue eyes were blackened with lust as he blinked up at you. He looked genuinely surprised by your words. But his legs still dropped down onto the mattress. He rocked his hips against your leg.

"No," you said firmly. He stopped immediately, looking at you again. "I didn't say grind. I said hump." Henry swallowed, nodding slowly.

He looked over your body. "Can I touch you?"

"Mhm."

His hands found your waist, flexing around your hips. When he was satisfied, he dragged his crotch up your leg, then back down again. His lips parted in pleasure. "Oh."

"Good?" You hummed. He nodded. You cleared your throat. "Henry."

He started to move faster. "Y-Yeah, it feels good."

"What feels good about it?"

His eyebrows furrowed as he shifted slightly to the left. The tension disappeared from his face when he found the angle he was looking for. "Your leg. It feels good against my.." He trailed off, unsure of which word to use. It wasn't like Henry to swear, or to talk dirty. You wanted to urge him to do it, to try and flick a switch inside of him. But then you also liked the idea of him shying away from it still.

"Say it," you whispered.

Henry let out a gasp, jaw going slack. His movements were starting to falter. "You feel good against my c-cock."

"Good boy," you praised, feeling a jolt of satisfaction when his cheeks flamed red and his eyes sparkled. "Get off, before you cum."

He sat back on his knees, looking at you in confusion. "Did I do something wrong?" The lost puppy look was surprisingly fitting on his face, a nice contrast to the hubris he usually exuded.

"No," you smiled. "I just want to draw it out. I don't want this to end so soon. Is that okay?" Henry nodded quickly, still amazed this was something you were offering him. "Are you going to keep doing what I tell you, then?"

Henry nodded again. "Anything." From the way he was looking at you, like you were Helen of Troy herself, you knew he was telling the truth.

"Stand up, then," you told him. He did as you asked. You moved to your feet too, padding around the bed to stand in front of him. Henry towered above you, but his head hung to look at you and his eyes showed only awe. It felt like you were bigger than him, not the other way around. "Look at you," you murmured. "Can see the precum on your trousers."

Henry looked down in confusion, shocked to see that there really was a wet patch spreading on the grey fabric of his pants. "I only brought one pair."

"Really?" You smiled, looking back up at him. "We better get you out of them before you make more of a mess, hm?" Henry nodded. Your hands fell to his crotch, ghosting over his hard length. You paused to rid him of his shirt, folding it roughly and throwing it on the bed. You smiled at him warmly. "Have you kissed before?"

Henry shook his head. "No."

"What do you think about it?" Your fingers worked at the button on his trousers as you spoke. You could feel him pulsing beneath your fingertips.

He watched you with bated breath. "I don't think I want someone's tongue in my mouth."

"Do you want someone's tongue anywhere?" You asked.

He nodded. "Anywhere else. E-Everywhere else. And teeth, too." You hummed with interest, storing away everything he was telling you. You pulled his trousers down his legs, falling into a squat as you pulled them from his feet. You couldn't help eyeing his cock as it sprang up in your face. He looked big.

You rose to your feet, looking at him again. One of your hands splayed across the back of his neck. You pulled him down a few inches to meet you, nudging his nose with yours. Henry's eyes fluttered shut. You closed yours too, closing the small space between you. His lips weren't too warm, a little chapped from his heavy breathing earlier. He was a sweet kisser, as you'd expected. Your lips parted and you smiled at him gently. The two of you kissed slowly, like you had all the time in the world. His mouth was a little clumsy against yours and it took your lead for him to lose that characteristic stiffness.

"Pick up your trousers." It took Henry a minute to register your request. When he did, he quickly turned around to find them, picking them up and looking at you again. "Fold them and put them by the basket, I know you want to." He smiled slightly, nodding his head and doing as you'd said. He had been wanting to sort them since they fell to the ground around his ankles.

He turned to you when he was done. "What now?"

"We're going to make Henry Winter cum," you smiled, stepping closer to him. Your chest pressed against his. Henry glanced down at your breasts, then back to your face.

He looked incredibly nervous as he asked, "Can I touch you there?"

"Not now," you shook your head. "Next time, if you want a next time."

Henry nodded rapidly. "I do."

"Next time, then." Your hands slid down over his surprisingly toned torso to his briefs. Your eyes bored into his as you slid a hand over his cock. Henry's breath hitched in his throat as you took a firm hold of him. This felt completely different to all of the times he'd tried to relieve himself, before he'd given up on sexual pleasure completely. You started to palm his erection, still staring at him, watching his reactions carefully.

When you heard the beginnings of a proper moan rumble at the back of his throat, you took your hand away. Roughly shoving his underwear down to his knees, you pressed your hands into Henry's chest and pushed him backwards. He stumbled until his back made contact with the wall. You tilted your head to press a searing kiss to his lips.

"Wrap your hand around mine," you told him, pressing your chest against his firmly. "And look at me." He did both things, looking down at you as his chest heaved. His hand fixed to the back of yours.

You slid your hand down his body again, this time without underwear obstructing your access to his cock. Your fingers brushed over him with a featherlight touch before you took him into your fist. Henry's hand squeezed yours painfully hard and didn't relent. You didn't mind. You started to pump your hand around him, adjusting your ministrations when he had a slightly different reaction. He started to let out soft sounds, more audible than his pants.

"Sweetheart," you whispered. "I want to hear you."

He swallowed what sounded almost like a whine. "O-Okay. Please.." Henry trailed off.

"What?" You asked.

He let out a moan, hips bucking into your hand. Your free hand pushed his hip back against the wall. "Sweetheart. Will you call me that again? Or something like that. Please."

"Yeah," you nodded. "Don't move unless I tell you it's fine, okay, baby?"

Henry let out a breathy moan. "Y-Yeah." His mouth hung ajar as he looked down at you. He caught his breath enough to let you know where he was. "I'm going to-to-"

"Say my name," you murmured. "Say my name when you cum, honey."

His head lolled forwards, forehead pressing against yours. You opened your mouth slightly, inhaling every one of his breathy moans. "O-Oh.." He looked completely debauched, barely able to keep his eyes open as you gave him his first orgasm. Henry let out a cry, muscles tensing and his whole body shuddering. "Y-Y/N!"

"There it is," you hummed. "Good boy, Henry. Let go." His cum spurted across your hand in hot ropes. His body continued to shudder against yours as you supported his weight. He was as heavy as you had guessed he would be and it was quite an effort to hold him steady until he came to his senses. When he did, he swallowed, tongue darting out across his lips. His dark eyes fluttered open and he gazed at you for a moment, looking stunned. Your eyes flicked between his. A small smile crept over his hard line of a mouth and he opened his mouth to say something. Then he stopped, face falling.

"Henry?" You frowned.

He staggered forwards, catching you off guard. You barely had time to catch him. "I've got a headache," he muttered, clutching onto you for balance. His eyes squeezed shut.

"Is it my fault?" You worried, helping him to the bed. His briefs were still around his ankles, so you leaned down and pulled them all the way off.

Henry shook his head. "No, I could feel it coming on anyway."

"What can I do?" You asked.

He gestured weakly towards the window. "Pull the curtains all the way, please. I think I'll just sleep a bit more."

"Okay," you nodded, doing as he asked. When you turned back around, he was laying in bed. You pulled the duvet above his waist, giving him some semblance of dignity in case someone walked in. "Do you have medication?"

He nodded. "In my suitcase." That was downstairs still. You moved around, getting dressed as quietly as you could. After a quick trip to the bathroom to make sure that you didn't look like you'd been doing anything sexual, you grabbed Henry's stained pants and wandered downstairs.

You'd hoped to be able to do what you needed to without being noticed, but Richard and Francis were sitting in the kitchen. They looked up as you walked into the room. Both grinned, but Francis was the one that spoke. "How's Henry? Bedridden from pleasure?"

"Bedridden," you nodded. "He's got one of his headaches."

Richard winced, remembering the one time he'd walked into Henry in the middle of one of his headaches. "I hope he's alright."

"Me too," you agreed. You picked up his suitcase, putting it down on the counter. As you opened it, you put the trousers down beside it. You found the medication. While you were pouring out a glass of water, Francis leaned forwards and inspected the trousers. He spluttered when he found the stain in the crotch, genuinely struggling to wrap his head around what he was seeing. You turned, sighing and snatching it from his hands.

Francis stared at you in disbelief. "What are you doing, washing Henry's trousers?"

"He only brought one pair," you replied, taking them over to the sink and rubbing away the stain. "Honestly, Francis, you're very childish sometimes."

Richard smiled. "Did you two..?"

"We're talking about Henry, Richard," you pointed out, hoping that you could get out of the situation without lying.

You were halfway up the stairs when Francis called after you, "You totally did!" You smiled, shaking your head as you slipped back into the bedroom.

"Henry?" You asked. He grunted, lifting a hand in acknowledgement. You hung the trousers over the radiator to dry out. Then you sat beside him on the bed. "Oh, love," you cooed, seeing the sweat beading on his brow. "You don't look too well."

He shook his head. "It's not as bad as usual."

"I got you your medicine," you informed him.

Henry tried to lift his head, wincing in pain. You shuffled closer, on your knees. You rested a hand behind his head. Henry didn't speak as he opened his mouth. You gave him the pill, then helped him sip the water. He leaned back down, catching your hand in his. You brought your other hand up to brush over his forehead, absently smoothing away his forehead creases.

The two of you sat there for a while before Richard walked in. You looked up at him, mouth falling open in dismay. This felt somehow worse than if you'd been caught earlier. Henry, who you'd thought was asleep, spoke. "What, Papen?"

"Francis wants..." Richard looked between the two of you again before taking a step back. "I'll tell him that you're busy."

You smiled when you saw the genuine smile on his face. He was happy that the two of you were happy. "Thank you, Richard." You nudged Henry.

"Thank you," he muttered, sending you a weak smile when you glared at him playfully.

A few hours later, the others were getting restless. They'd planned a bacchanal for that evening. Francis and Camilla were making the robes, adjusting sheets to make an approximation of a toga. When you'd gone downstairs earlier to find something for you and Henry to eat, you'd found Charles and Richard wandering around in theirs already. Yours and Henry's were the only ones yet to be fitted. All of the supplies had been gathered. They didn't want to leave without you, and they needed Henry's knowledge. So they had been waiting.

Charles burst into the room. "I'm fed up with waiting," he declared.

Francis and the others came in shortly after. "I thought you had a headache?" He asked, seeing Henry sitting beside you. He had recovered impressively quickly. It really hadn't been as bad as usual. The position the others found you in was only really compromising for Henry. You were reading, sitting with your back against the headboard. Henry was lying perpendicular to you, his head in your lap. He wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing. You'd heard footsteps approaching the door and quickly covered his bottom half with the sheets.

"He did," Richard supplied. "I came up earlier and he was genuinely sick."

Camilla stared. "Is Henry naked?"

"You two did-"

You cut Francis off. "Henry got too hot."

"Too hot for you to resist, sure," Charles hummed. You sent a glare his way.

Francis sighed. "Look, whatever. We'll delve into you and Henry and your promising sex life tomorrow. For now... the bacchanal. Camilla and I need to fit you into your robes."

"Alright." You stood up, gently patting Henry's forehead as you did so. You walked over to Francis and Camilla. She was unfolding a sheet.

Francis was a little happier now that you were standing in front of him, ready to be made into an Ancient Roman. "We're doing makeup in a minute, too."

"On everyone?" You asked.

Camilla nodded. "Yes. Just redder lipstick on you and me."

Francis' fingers started to deftly unbutton your shirt. Henry sat up quickly, eyes flicking between the two of you. The sudden movement caught all of your attention. Everybody blinked at him. Henry cleared his throat, clutching the sheets to his lower half and looking away. You smiled slightly to yourself.

Francis rolled his eyes. "I'm starting to regret pushing you two together."

"Nothing's happening," you sighed.

You met Henry's eyes for a split-second before you looked away. Francis continued to undress you. You didn't bat an eye. It wasn't the first time you'd all attempted a bacchanal. Last time, Francis had been in a rush to get all of you in robes before the sun set, Camilla doing people's makeup at the same time. He'd stripped you down to your underwear then, too. Now, you supposed that making Henry jealous had played a role in that.

Henry cleared his throat again. "Francis." The red-head looked up, nodding slightly and walking over to Henry. He leaned down as Henry whispered something to him. Francis came back looking amused, yet bewildered.

"Yeah, you'd better undress yourself," he told you, cracking a grin. "I'd like to keep my hands."

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at Henry. He just shrugged. You undressed quickly until you were standing in your underwear. Henry watched you from the bed with undivided attention. Everybody was too amazed by his obvious adoration of you to be annoyed with him. There wasn't any sexual tension in the room anyway, because you were focused on recovering the lost time in preparation for the bacchanal.

"Okay, I'm ready," you said, pushing the straps of your bra down. Camilla appeared in front of you, Francis behind as they wrapped the sheet into a robe like everyone else's.

Charles whistled. "Underwear! Gotta go all natural for the Ancients!" You laughed, slipping your hands under the robe and pulling your underwear off. Again, you didn't bat an eye. Henry gripped the sheets with white-knuckles.

"Let me do your makeup quickly," Camilla pulled you towards her. You stood still in front of her as she drew on your eyeliner and dark eyeshadow. Then, true to her word, she painted your lips with the brightest red you'd ever seen in lipstick.

Francis looked over at Henry. "Your turn, Winter."

"I'm not wearing any clothes," he deadpanned.

Richard snickered. Charles laughed. "I don't think you've worn an item of clothing since last night, Henry."

"Can I have the sheet?" You asked, taking it from Francis. You walked towards Henry. The others watched, biting back laughs as you replaced the sheet of the bed with the makeshift toga. You managed to pull it around his body like a cloak. "Stand up, love."

Charles jeered, "Love!"

Henry did as you asked without question. He pulled you back when he saw that you were going to lead him over to Francis to fix the robe. "If the bacchanal works, we'll lose all inhibitions." He spoke in a conspiratorial tone.

"Yeah," you nodded. "Isn't that the point?"

He shook his head. "I don't want to... do things with the others."

"Oh," you hummed in understanding. You thought. "I won't do it, then. I won't do the bacchanal."

Henry nodded. "Will you stop me from doing anything with the others?"

"If you consent to that now, completely sober and under no influence," you nodded. "Because it could get violent. It's a bacchanal after all, right?"

He nodded, taking a step closer to you. He seemed to have forgotten about your friends because he leaned closer. "Do whatever you need to do. I don't want to do anything with them."

"Should I stop you from doing things with me, too?" You questioned.

Henry shook his head. "I don't want you to. But if I make you uncomfortable, yes."

"Okay." You turned to your friends as Henry walked over to Francis and Camilla, getting his sheet fixed and his eyes painted. "I'm not going to take part in the bacchanal."

Charles hummed. "Why?"

"I think it's important that we have someone sober and sensible there, just in case. We haven't had a successful one of these yet, but if we do, crazy things can happen. I'll be able to prevent anything too serious. Also, I can tell you about what fools you've made of yourselves tomorrow." You added the last part with a smile, hoping that they'd forget about how Henry had whispered to you.

Richard looked at you. "It's not because Henry just asked you to?"

"No," you lied. "We've all read about the ritual madness. I just want it to be safe for everyone."

Charles hummed. "I think," he said dramatically. "I think that Henry asked you to make sure he didn't do anything with anybody else. But if you want us to think otherwise, because you somehow think we're all going to buy that you two aren't fucking, then sure. You're being safe." You were genuinely surprised by how well Charles guessed your conversation. Still, you shook your head and made sure to keep your expression impassive.

"Y/N," Camilla called. You looked over at her. "You do Henry's lips." You opened your mouth to protest, not wanting to support their beliefs. She shook her head. "It's not because of that. I need to get in the bathroom and do my own."

You nodded, taking the lighter lipstick from her. Henry stood in front of you, dark eyes boring into yours. "You suit the eyeshadow, Henry," you complimented him.

"When monarchs and nobles bled, guillotines and flags turned red, those revolutions were jealous of the red of her lips," Henry recited to you with a smile. You smiled back at him, pleased by the warmth you could see returning to his eyes after a day of sickness. Your hand cupped his jaw as you swiped the lipstick over his lips. You dropped the stick, using your thumb to smooth it organically. Henry pressed a light kiss to your fingertip as you pulled it away.

You turned to follow the others out of the room. Thankfully, they'd been talking and hadn't witnessed your moment together. The six of you made your way down to the kitchen. You were charged with carrying the wine while Henry brought the speaker. Your fingers traced over the ribbed glass bottles. Then you all journeyed out into the countryside.

They'd chosen a good night; the air was still warm, the ground dry. You walked for only half a minute before stopping. The group couldn't be too far from the house in case of an emergency. The speaker was set in the middle of a circle that the six of you formed. You handed around the wine, not taking a single sip yourself. Henry caught your eye from across the grass, nodding slightly. You knew what he was saying; remember what you promised me. You nodded back. I will. He tipped his head back and drank. You leaned forwards and pressed play on the speaker. The Dionysian ritual began.

It was madness. True, complete and utter madness. You were thankful that you'd chosen to not take part in the ritual. It had started slow at first, with your friends looking drowsy and absent. Then it escalated suddenly. Now, you were scanning the marshes for Henry's white robe. You caught sight of him, finally, and rushed over to him.

He was walking quickly, stumbling over tufts of grass and sticks. He didn't notice you at first. You followed his intent gaze, seeing that he was walking towards Camilla, who was lying beneath a tree.

"Oh, no, you don't," you mumbled, catching his wrist.

Henry whirled around on his heel, staring at you. It took a few seconds for recognition to set in. His reddened lips parted and a sweet, toothy smile pierced the dusk. He looked like a purer version of himself, freed of hauteur and ego. "Y/N," he whispered. "Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N," he chanted your name like a prayer, taking steps towards you.

"Hey, Henry," you smiled, catching his hands in yours. He was holding a half-full bottle of wine. "Feeling a little woozy?"

He was still smiling. "Lie down with me."

"What?"

He yanked his robe off, laying it on the grass. Henry fell to the ground, rolling onto his back and staring up at the night sky. You blinked before laying beside him. He looked at you. "I love you," he declared. Your mouth fell open.

Henry smiled, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. He moved onto his front again, leaning on his elbows. Suddenly he was on top of you, looking down at you. He reached over and picked up the bottle of wine, taking a long swig. Then he was sliding down your body until his head was level with your crotch. He sent you another grin before disappearing underneath your sheet. You moved onto your elbows in surprise. This was the debauchery that you had all known bacchanals would bring, but seeing it in Henry was something entirely jarring.

His lips pressed against the insides of your thighs as he felt his way around. You knew he had no idea what he was doing, so you were surprised when he licked a wide stripe over your pussy. You gasped, falling back against the sheet beneath you. He gave an experimental prod of his tongue into your hole before changing his mind. His lips moved upwards, lapping at your juices.

You moved your hands to his hair, tugging the robe out of the way. Henry hummed when you tugged his head higher. His lips fastened onto your clit. You let out a cry when he gave a harsh suck.

"Fuck, Henry."

He took note, continuing to do what he was doing. Even without being able to see his face, it was obvious Henry was completely focussed on his task. He ate messily, sloppily. The abandonment of any of his rigid manners made it oh-so much better. Your body melted into the grass, eyes fluttering.

"Oh, christ," you whispered.

Henry’s head lifted to examine your expression. The bottom half of his face glistened in the moonlight. His eyes were darker than usual as he moved up your body, lips finding yours. Your eyes rolled at the sweet taste of yourself and wine on his lips. His hand snaked between your legs, fingers clumsily finding your clit and drawing firm patterns that you were sure he didn’t know felt so good. He pressed kisses to your lips repeatedly. Your mouth fell open as you panted. He didn't stop kissing you, just moved his targets to around your mouth instead.

When you came, Henry lifted his hand to his lips and licked away every drop. Watching him treat your body like something to be venerated and treasured turned you on more.

"Henry," you whispered. He looked at you. "I want to have sex with you.”

He jumped to his feet, grabbing the wine in one hand and your wrist in the other. You clutched your sheet around your body as you ran with him through the grass. Henry stopped once you were close enough to the speaker to hear the music properly. Then he laid down in the grass, looking up at you with earnest expectedness. You wished that you were a painter, so that you could commit the masterpiece in front of you to an oil canvas and hang it proudly in a gallery.

"Ruin me," he whispered, looking up at you with wide eyes. Dionysus’ perfect old Roman.

You stared down at him in disbelief. Then you moved to straddle him. "Sit up, sweet boy." Henry did as you said. You took the wine from his hand, pressing the neck of the bottle to his lips. His eyes didn't leave yours as he chugged the alcohol. You pulled away a few seconds after it became too much. Wine trailed down his chin.

Henry watched you. "Cover me in it," he murmured, kissing your lips. You licked the wine away from his chin.

"I want you inside me first," you told him. Your hand found the base of his cock. Slowly, you slid him inside you. It took you a moment to accommodate his size. The whole time, Henry was sucking at your neck. Once you were used to the feeling of him inside you, you moved his head so that you were looking into his eyes. He looked back at you. You trailed kisses along his neck, leading upwards to his jaw. You kissed the junction of his jaw before sucking a mark there. Part of you felt like this was some messy, depraved dream, and you wanted to leave a mark to prove it was more than that. Henry's hands lifted to grab your hips. You took his jaw in your hand, pushing his head back. "Close your eyes, Henry," you told him.

Henry's eyes fluttered shut. You tipped the wine bottle, watching the stream of red disappear into Henry's hair before it flooded his face and shoulders. His jaw jutted outwards as he gasped. You watched hungrily until the bottle was empty. You pressed kisses to Henry's lips as you swiped the wine from his eyes with your thumbs. They opened and he grinned at you.

Finally, you started to move, rocking your hips against his. Henry laid flat on his back, pressing his feet to the ground so that he could buck his hips up into yours. He hadn't forgotten about your clit, which he had only just discovered the existence of. His thumb moved from your hip to your clit, rubbing circles there as the two of you gasped and groaned.

"Y/N," he moaned. "Please, don't stop." You watched him, feeling his strong body tense beneath your fingertips. He let out a cry that was loud enough for anybody out of the grass to hear. "Y/N!"

"So, where's loverboy?"

You looked over at Charles. All of your friends were sitting around the dining table, making their way through breakfasts that you'd prepared for them. They were all drowsy, but not too hungover. "Charles, don't make me take back your breakfast."

"Okay, okay," he chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. "But, really, where is Henry?"

Francis hummed. "Speak of the devil. Morning, Henry."

"Morning," he replied. You had already turned around to plate up food for him, so you didn't see what all the others did.

Camilla gasped. "Henry, what's happened to you?"

"Are you hurt?" Richard frowned.

You turned around in confusion, eyes widening when you saw him. "Oh, Henry," you murmured, placing the plate down on the table. "Love, you look like Satan."

"I don't feel that hungover," Henry frowned. Charles laughed. You grabbed Henry's hand, pulling him to the bathroom in your room. He looked in the mirror. "Oh."

You chuckled. "Yeah." His hair was stained a reddish-brown from the wine the night before. To make matters worse, his face was still covered in trails of maroon.

"What is it?" Henry frowned.

You blinked. "You don't remember?"

"No," he shook his head. "Did you stop me?"

You nodded. "Yeah, but we did stuff. You asked me to do that." You gestured towards his face.

"To... cover me in blood?" Henry frowned. “Was it some kind of ritual sacrifice? A lamb, or something?” He didn’t look as concerned by the prospect as he probably should have.

You shook your head. "It's wine."

"Oh," he nodded. "Of course." He looked in the mirror for a few more seconds before he shook his head slightly. His eyes flicked between yours. "Will you help me wash it out?"

You smiled. "Sure. Strip off, get in the tub." Henry did as you asked, naked and in the bath within seconds. You switched on the shower, holding the showerhead in your hand as it warmed up. Henry watched you with his constant and once again unreadable gaze.

"What did we do? Last night?"

You shrugged, starting to massage his head. "We had sex. You gave me oral sex. I rode you and covered you in wine."

"I see," Henry mumbled to himself. "I wish I remembered."

You hummed. "I'm sure we can do all those things again when you're not completely out of your mind."

"When we go home, after this," Henry began. "Do you intend for us to just return to normality? Or can this- can we continue?"

You smiled. "I'd like it if we did. Especially if we spend our time doing what we've done this holiday."

"It is the Greek and Roman way," Henry pointed out, tilting his head back.

You pressed a kiss to his lips. "It is."

He hummed against your lips. "Praise Dionysus."

"Praise fucking Dionysus."

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks to anon for asking me to edit and publish this one. i'm so sorry about how depraved it gets lol i swear i toned it down from what it was originally. there's a critical shortage of henry winter content on here though so as far as i'm concerned it's god's work.

F <3

#henry winter #henry marchbanks winter #henry winter x reader #tsh #the secret history #donna tartt #francis abernathy #camilla macaulay #charles macaulay #richard papen

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sketches4mysw33theart · 4 months

Text

To Indeed Be A God

The title has almost no bearing whatsoever on the writing, I'm just obsessed with the Dead Poets Society right now.

Pairing: Henry Winter (The Secret History)

Summary: A drowsy morning at the country house with Henry Winter involves a row around the lake, a breakfast picnic, and falling asleep in the boat.

Warnings: Google translated phrases, please let me know if these are wrong!

Check out my previous Henry Winter piece!

I awoke to a throbbing in my head, a contrasting harmony to the soft twittering of birds floating in through the open window. I couldn’t resist the groan that forced its way from my mouth. It felt as though my head was being split open repeatedly, like a misguided executioner was standing at the head of my bed and swinging an unsharpened axe.

It was several moments before I moved at all after I had rolled over, my body feeling scarily heavy yet weightless at the same time. I had little desire to so much as breathe manually, let alone open my eyes and face the merciless joy of the sunlight.

As I lay there, eyes closed firmly, hands grasping the thin silk duvet, flashes of the previous night came to me as though through a camera’s lens.

The dinner, a large affair to mourn the passing of the twin’s beloved dog. The wine sloshing in the Abernathy’s prized crystal wine glasses. Those same glasses raised in multiple toasts and clinking together like blood-soaked moths in the candlelight. Charles at the piano playing melodies of sweet summers past. The bottle of Bourbon passed between us without a care for tumblers. Francis plucking Camilla from the armchair she had curled herself up in to stumble around the library in a clunky dance. Bunny’s face, lined with confusion and acidity, watching us all through rolling eyes. Richard’s reflection, gaping at the chandelier-lit room through dazed eyes, as I stared out of the window, looking for stars but finding only my own distorted face.

And Henry, tall and proud and stoic and quiet. Him I could picture clearly, as sharp and focused as a still life portrait. He’d drank as much as us, more, yet he’d never fizzed over like we did. Only watched from the sofa as we exploded like fireworks, flashing reds and yellows reflected twofold in the whites of his eyes through his glasses.

Then, me falling into place beside him, head spinning in dizzying circles even as I laid it back on the plush sofa cushions with my eyes shut, light popping behind my eyelids.

Then, him whispering to me, the soft, cold anchoring of his deep voice, but either I couldn’t tell what he was saying, or I was not in tune enough to listen.

Then, I was there, waking up in bed.

I opened my eyes when the pounding in my head began to lessen, allowing the bird song to wash over me rather than suffocate me. The thick curtains were open, weak sunlight creeping across the oak floor and furnishings, lighting them up like whisky. It was cool, that early morning chill before the last of the lingering summer heat could settle in again.

I watched the floor for several minutes, praying for my headache to cease. Of course, praying never did anyone much good. Henry would be disappointed.

I didn’t have a clock in the room I stayed in during nights at the country house. Francis’s great aunt, whose room that used to be, couldn’t stand them. She felt they made her rush.

Still, I could guess it was early. There was no noise. Francis wasn’t singing in the kitchen as he made breakfast, Charles and Camilla weren’t bickering meaninglessly in the depths of the house, Bunny wasn’t honking his laugh at some ridiculous jibe. There was nothing except pure tranquillity.

I knew of one other person, for certain, who would be up so early. That was motivation enough to get out of bed. Still, it was a struggle. My body fought it as I sat up, pushed myself to my feet, scrabbled through my bag for clothes, and checked myself over in the mirror to make sure I looked presentable.

Finally, I exited the room, closing the door with a soft click behind me. The hallway was quiet, eerily so, and I paced down it, focusing on the soft, luxurious carpet against my bare feet over the pounding of my head.

On the stairs at the end of the hallway, Francis was curled up, still fully dressed, like a small child unable to stay conscious on a drive back from the beach, snoring obnoxiously and fiercely cuddling a near-empty bottle of whiskey. His overcoat tails were tangled between his bent legs, pale, slender ankles poking out conspicuously from his half pulled-off socks. In the country house, this was not an uncommon occurrence.

I clambered over him, trying not to catch his limbs or face with my foot. As though sensing my presence as he slumbered, Francis uncurled his body, spreading himself out across several steps and out of the way of my bare feet. Smiling, I leant down to pat him gently on the cheek, careful not to disturb him. He looked incredibly peaceful, for once.

I left Francis on the stairs, snoring in the shadows of the half-shuttered windows, and headed towards the library. There was a fair chance Henry would be there and, if not, I would likely spot him on my way over.

As expected, it did not take me long. Henry valued the morning hours, the weak light illuminating the thick pages of his books, the quietness of a dawn tainted only by the songs of the birds.

He was sat outside, of course, fully dressed, a suited silhouette through the ornate glass doors, a splatter of ink against the canvas of autumn. Although I pushed open the doors as softly as I could, his head shot up as soon as it began to squeak.

“Good morning,” he said, with a smile. “Drink up.” A slight gesture of his hand brought to my attention a full glass of water and a sleeve of ibuprofen sparkling in the cool, creeping light.

“Good morning,” I mumbled, fumbling with the package in my desperation to push out two of the pills. When I managed to do so, I swallowed them quickly with a large gulp of water, which I drained gladly straight after.

Once I’d swiped at my lips, I took the few steps to his seat. Standing behind him, I rested my hands on his broad shoulders and bent down to press a kiss to his cheek. I caught the smile on his face, which did little to lessen the furrow of his brow.

“How’s the translation going?”

This question elicited a heavy sigh from him. “It’s all wrong, unfortunately. The verbs won’t translate well, and these sentence structures are ridiculously tricky.”

“Boreís na to káneis éfkola agápi mou,” I breathed into his ear, bringing my fingertips to his sharp shoulder blades. You can do it easily, my love.

He laughed. “Óchi ótan eísai étsi, den boró.” Not when you’re like this, I can’t.

I hummed humorously, spreading my massaging fingertips along his taut shoulders. Spread out before us was the house’s garden, as pure and fierce as Eden, coming swiftly to life in front of my eyes. The sun was just emerging, lingering in the far east like God, watching His creations come to life as on the seventh day. Henry was watching it too, finally relieving himself of his books in favour of the glitter of the autumnal flowers, Gomphrena and Didiscus and Goldenrod.

It wasn’t often I was up early enough to catch Henry on mornings like this. Despite our circumstances, we never shared a bed during our stays at the country house, primarily because Henry didn’t want to disturb me during our short vacations, or so he said. But also, because, I believe, he was rather shy about our activities around the rest of the Greek class. They knew, of course – we were never as subtle as we thought - but, still, there was something prudish lying within Henry. Or perhaps it was possessive. Not that it matters now, I suppose.

“Let’s go to the lake,” he said, suddenly, startling me from my observance of a large bee bumbling its way drunkenly through a flowerbed.

“Now?” I questioned, surprised. Henry enjoyed the mornings because of the quiet solitude they offered him, the time to be alone with his books and his papers. Things he valued even more, I think, than me.

“Would you like to?”

I was still sleepy, even more so after taking the ibuprofen Henry had laid out. Still, I could picture how lovely it would be: the drowsy, sun-laced walk through the dandelions and uncut grasses, the heady smell of nature flourishing around us, the somniferous sound of waves lapping at the gently rocking boat, the mesmerizing feeling of floating on air.

“Yes,” I said, “I would, actually.” Henry was always confidently persuasive. Eerily so. Not that I would have needed much persuading, really. I just liked to think there was something magic about him.

He sighed, stretching out his aching limbs as he got to his feet. Pre-emptively, he removed his jacket and folded it meticulously, leaving it on the seat of his chair. “Good. Perhaps we should take breakfast with us?”

It was a wonderful idea, and we slipped back inside to prepare a breakfast picnic: a full bottle of orange juice, a half-full stoppered bottle of champagne left over from the previous night, a package of strawberries, a selection of pastries bought from Camilla’s favourite bakery on our way to the country house the previous morning, and a packet of large blueberry muffins.

With our breakfast packed in an old wicker basket, we set off into the morning sun, meandering through the budding flowers and tall grasses, clasped arm in arm. It wasn’t a particularly long walk to the lake, but we lingered meaninglessly on the way, I to admire the nature and wildlife, and Henry to momentarily relieve his arm of the picnic basket and watch me with a smile when he thought I couldn’t see him.

Eventually, we made it, and eagerly hopped into the lonesome boat oared at the makeshift jetty, picnic basket still in hand. Considering it was so early, Henry was alive with vigour, and rowed eagerly, pushing us quickly to the centre of the lake. He had been somewhat withdrawn over the last few weeks, particularly during our days at the country house, so seeing him come to life among the falling birch leaves was a gift.

We covered one lap of the lake at a fairly quick pace, talking about our latest classes, Julian’s theory of Dionysiac architects (which was, essentially, that the secret language they spoke was more akin to modern day English than any other language throughout history), and the startling resemblance that morning of the pond and surrounding countryside to Jan Brueghel the Elder’s ‘Odysseus and Calypso’ - one of my favourite paintings.

Henry slowed as we began our second lap of the lake, and I watched his concentrated expression in the water’s reflection.

“Aren’t you tired?” I was feeling a little peppier now, despite the rhythmic sound of the waves lapping gently at the boat, and I knew Henry had been up significantly longer than I had. “Can I take over?”

“No, you don’t have to do anything.” I was still watching him in the warped shine of the water, and he caught my eye through the fairy-dust covering of birch leaves. “Just sit right there and look like you do.” A smile flittered across his face briefly, and I shook my head, laughing.

“If you say so,” I said, still laughing. Henry rowed on and began to fill the silence with his stream of thoughts on Heraclitus’ ideas of opposites, and how the philosopher decreed Hades and Dionysus as the same God, a belief Henry was strongly against. Occasionally he’d break his speech to mumble a suggestion for his translation, which he no doubt tucked away into another corner of his mind for later.

At some point, I lay back across the seat of the boat, head coming to rest on the lip, one hand stretching over to trail in the lukewarm water. Francis had said once that one of the neighbours had seen leeches in the lake, and Bunny always swore blind that there were water snakes in there. Yet, still, we all went out on it as often as we could, swimming and fighting and trailing our hands through the ripples.

Listening to Henry speak tantrically and feeling the warm water kiss my fingertips was as delicious and satisfying as being carried in Charon’s boat across the rivers separating the worlds of the living and the dead. I wanted it to last forever. The best kind of purgatory. Psuche.

But eventually, we did come to a stop, once Henry, with some difficulty, had managed to turn the boat and situate it towards the centre of the lake. I sat up and stretched, groaning at the creak of my bones.

As I heaved the picnic basket up on to the seat, Henry balanced the oars properly, wiped at his brow, and rolled up his sleeves, eying the cutlery and plates I was laying out. He must have been starving.

I looked to him to ask if he had any preference for pastries as I began doling out them onto our plates, but the question died on my lips when I saw a constellation of bruises flowering in a strange pattern along his freshly revealed arm. They were fresh, a shocking purple tinted with red.

“Henry,” I exclaimed, croissant held in one frozen hand. “What in God’s name have you been doing?”

He furrowed his brows at me, following my eye line quickly. I saw him flounder for a moment, but in a flash, he was as composed as the Queen’s Guard.

“Don’t fuss, it’s nothing. I fell in the garden yesterday morning, those damn dogs left more garbage on my front path. Is that for me?”

I believed him, of course. It was a perfectly sensible answer, and certainly not the first time something like that had happened. If only I’d known...

I gave him the croissant, and finished plating up the food as he poured two Mimosas into the old teacups we’d packed, using far more champagne than orange juice. We ate in a comfortable silence, broken sporadically by random thoughts and anecdotes; we were both slipping into fatigue once more now the sun was fully risen, not too warm against our skin, and the inebriating smells of flowers and the birch trees were reaching out to us, woody and smoky like winter night’s gone by.

Four Mimosa’s later (between us), we had finished our breakfast, and were lying, nearly unconscious, in the boat, which was very slowly bobbing its own way around the lake once more. Henry was stretched out completely, arms acting as a pillow, and I was tucked in on my side next to him, resting my head on the broad stretch between his shoulder and chest.

God knows how long we stayed there in the boat, moving listlessly without direction or need, bumping lightly against the bank until one of us made the effort to lift a foot and push us away, listening to the birds' tweet and fly above us, feeling the gentle caress of the birch leaves across her skin, hearing the soft intermingling of our breaths just over the gently lapping water as it granted us passage, seeing the shades of light and dark through the shield of our eyelids. Zoe. The divine life of God.

When we were roused, the air, the very nature around us felt different, alive, charged. The sun was crawling towards the centre of the sky, but several dark clouds were on its heels. Hours must have passed.

I came back to life first, awaking as though from death’s sleep, drowsy and confused. What came to me, however, was the distant call of my name, the familiar cadence of the voice. Francis. It was Francis.

As his shouting got closer and slightly more frantic, I pushed myself up with one hand braced against the smooth wood of the boat’s sole, using the other to first wipe the sleep from my eyes and then shield them from the sun.

Francis was on the far bank, heading towards the small jetty, and waving his arms as though welcoming in a plane. He was, I noticed with some amusement, still wearing the same clothes he was in when I’d stepped over him that morning. I waved my free hand at him, and he shouted my name again. “Are you insane? We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Is Henry with you? It’s gone 12, you know.”

I couldn’t muster up the energy to respond to him, but I did lay a hand on Henry’s shoulder to shake him awake. With a bit of resistance, he came to, and sat up in the same sluggish manner as me, stretching out his arms, back, and neck.

Francis called to him now. “Henry? Henry! Bring the damn boat in, will you? Julian’s coming to dinner tonight, and I need everything to be ready.”

Henry waved his fingers at him, a dismissive acknowledgement, a king sending away a disobedient courtier. Finally, he opened his eyes, landing his gaze directly on me. He smiled, pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth so quickly I did not have time to respond. “Piso ston politismó,” he said lowly, a melancholy look setting in his features. Back to civilization.

He situated himself carefully on the seat while I stayed where I was watching him like I was at the feet of one the post-Socratics. He picked up the oars once more and started rowing us back to bios. Back to life.

#dead poets society #the secret history #tsh donna tartt #henry winter #camilla macaulay #bunny corcoran #richard papen #francis abernathy #charles macaulay #donna tartt #imagine #the secret history imagine #henry winter x reader #julian morrow #dark academia #charles and camilla #dark academia books #odysseus

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