Disclaimer: This fanfiction contains yaoi, as well as a bit of anachronism. Also, I’ve taken literary liberty to use the much debated teenage Hamlet (as opposed to the 32-year-old Hamlet).
Good night, sweet prince...
“Absolutely infuriating,” fumed Hamlet as he paced back and forth in the garden.
“Mm-hm,” agreed Horatio absently, absorbed in the book he was reading. The two had escaped to the private serenity of Elsinore’s gardens. The heated air was filled with the heavy scents of flowers’ perfume and the soothing sound of buzzing bees. Aged statues dotted the floral scenery, and the tranquil murmur of water falling over rock completed the idealistic escape the prince loved to employ.
“Honestly, how dull does he think I am? Does he take me for a foolish infant willing to believe anyone in authority?” The blond prince threw a hand into the air, gesturing impatiently.
“Of course,” replied Horatio, turning a page in his novel.
Hamlet paused to cross his arms and glare at Horatio. “And should you agree with me one more time, I shall take this pike and run it through your bloody head,” he said in a stern tone, motioning at a garden post.
“I shall follow you to the death, Lettie,” mumbled Horatio, brow furrowed as he adjusted his thin-rimmed glasses.
Hamlet sighed. “Ratio,” he said quietly.
No response.
“HOR—A—TI—O,” he called again, cupping his hands around his mouth. When the other still did not reply, Hamlet deftly snatched the book from Horatio’s hands and held it high above his head.
“Wha—” Horatio stood and reached for his novel, but Hamlet stepped back, just beyond his extended reach.
“Hamlet,” said Horatio, pouting crossly.
Hamlet regarded him evilly for a moment, and then caved to his friend’s pitiful face. Handing over the novel, he said contritely, but with a note of petulance, “I’m sorry. You weren’t listening to me.”
Horatio took the novel from his hands and set it to the side, placing his glasses on top. Folding his arms around Hamlet, he murmured in his ear, “You’re upset because his Majesty persuaded Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to act as spies on you, my prince.”
“It’s not that,” protested Hamlet, turning in Horatio’s arms to face him and delicately resting his hands on Horatio’s hips. “I am angered that they thought they could hide it from me, those mindless fools. I am not stupid, nor am I mad. Claudius cannot play his tricks with me.”
He turned his face to the side, glaring at the ground, as though the ground itself were at fault as well. Horatio held his chin resolutely and turned his face, bestowing a tender kiss upon Hamlet’s firmly pressed lips. He could feel the tension slowly ebb from the young prince’s body as Hamlet relaxed into the gesture, sneaking his arms around Horatio’s waist.
“Ratio,” he started as they broke apart for air, but Horatio quickly quieted him.
“Shh,” he said, placing a hand on his lips, before covering them with his own once again. Hamlet breathed a sigh through his nose as Horatio ran an inquisitive tongue along the fullness of his mouth and parted his lips eagerly. Reaching up his hands to clutch at the nape of Horatio’s neck, the young prince pushed his lover to the stone bench and straddled his waist in one fluid move.
He braced himself on his knees as he took control of the kiss in a rare display of boldness, gasping as his instinctual move to hold Horatio closer brought their clothed groins in contact.
“Hah…Hamlet,” panted Horatio, “we’re in the—the garden, my p-prince—where anyone could s-see us.”
Hamlet paid him no mind, choosing instead to deliberately increase the friction between them. “I don’t care,” he whispered fiercely, “let them see us. I don’t care.” He lavished harsh bites along the smooth column of the brunet’s neck, relishing in the throaty moan each new mark elicited.
Horatio held Hamlet’s hips tight in a bruising grip as he continued his ministrations. The blond quickly moved from Horatio’s neck to his shirt, loosening the buttons and hastily exposing his chest. With fingers trembling in anticipation, Hamlet caressed his torso, kissing his collarbone with a shaky laugh. He kept his legs firmly clamped around Horatio’s waist as he undid the buttons on his own shirt, shrugging it to the ground where it lay forgotten in a heap.
“I want you, right here, right now,” whispered Hamlet, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. He quickly kissed Horatio, not giving him a chance to reply, but an incentive to agree. He shivered as he felt Horatio’s chilly fingers dance up and down his sides with light strokes.
Horatio knew, once again, he had fallen to the blond’s charm and pushed him down onto the bench, lying comfortably on top of him. “Very well, my prince,” he said with a hint of a smirk, “as you wish.” He latched his mouth onto the young man’s neck, giving him much the same treatment he himself had earlier received. Hamlet’s body arched beneath him as he gave a low groan and snatched wildly at Horatio’s hair.
“Hamlet? Hamlet, where are you?”
The high-pitched voice reached Hamlet’s ears as if travelling through a dream, hazy and unclear. But as the cries grew louder and ever closer, Hamlet realized who it was.
“Ophelia,” he gasped in a panic. “dear God--Ophelia.”
“Nn—what?” Horatio sat up as Hamlet beat against his chest, scrambling to find their easily discarded clothes.
“Ophelia’s coming, looking for me,” mumbled Hamlet, throwing Horatio’s shirt at him and catching him in the face.
“What happened to ‘I don’t care’?” Horatio sat with an eyebrow raised, shirt still in hand and not on his body, much to Hamlet’s chagrin.
Hamlet glared at him as he fumbled to button his own shirt. “Do shut up, Horatio,” he said, but there was no real malice behind the words. “And put on some clothes, will you?”
Horatio grinned at his lover and friend. “As you wish, my prince.”
