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).
And flights of angels...
It was a beautiful day outside, yet Horatio inexplicably found himself indoors, in the library, to be precise. “Leave it to Whittenberg to assign me work on leave," he grumbled quietly to himself, though he needn’t have bothered keeping his voice down. He was the only soul in the vast castle library, with naught but the dusty shelves and their equally dusty contents for company.
He turned pages in silence for another few minutes, resigned to his fate of another afternoon wasted, when the doors to the library creaked open, and someone joined him in his solitude.
As he rounded the corner, he saw it was Hamlet, as Horatio had hoped. “You look somewhat happy,” he remarked, removing his glasses.
“Ophelia and I are no longer seeing each other,” Hamlet said, strolling casually into the alcove and throwing his jacket over the back of an armchair. He slumped into the same chair, propping his head up on his hand.
“And?” Horatio waited patiently for the rest of the story.
“Her father,” continued the blond prince, “urged her to stop seeing me. Commanded, really. And Ophelia, the obedient dolt, followed him to the letter.”
“So…you’re upset that she broke the relationship, not you,” tried Horatio.
“A tad,” admitted Hamlet, “but that’s not what honestly irks me. Polonius, as well as Claudius, were spying on the entire encounter. They used her as a means to gauge my behavior in light of recent events.” The blond prince sat back and smiled coldly.
Horatio noticed the subtle change in Hamlet’s demeanor, and slowly closed the books on the table. “And no doubt you concealed the true nature of your emotions,” he said, “and that is why you are here now.”
“Of course I concealed my emotions,” scoffed Hamlet, resting his face on the palm of his hand. “I played madness like a well-strung violin. I will not reward Claudius for his treachery and cunning. He is nothing to me.”
“And Ophelia?” Horatio felt a small smile creeping across his face.
“What of her?” Hamlet returned Horatio’s sly smile, and the two shared a moment of understanding that considerably lightened Horatio’s day. No more of Ophelia meant more time with Hamlet to himself, something that never ceased to please him.
“I see,” he murmured, turning back to his studies, trying to hide his excitement.
Though his flaw was inability to act (and also the reason why Horatio was superior in their relationship, much to his own annoyance), what he lacked in action, Hamlet made up for in observation. This being so, Horatio didn’t stand a chance as Hamlet slowly rose and made his way over to the desk.
“So,” he said casually, perching against the edge of the table, “I suppose that means we would have more time to spend together, right, Horatio?”
“Of course, Lettie,” replied Horatio, glancing at him for a moment before turning the page in his book.
“And with more time, we could do more things,” continued Hamlet, sneakily edging closer until his leg was situated next to Horatio’s book, just outside his field of vision.
Horatio knew he couldn’t keep his attention focused on his text, not with Hamlet so nearby and so tempting, so he closed the book with a heavy thud. “Yes, Hamlet,” he answered slowly.
“Things…like this?” Hamlet slipped from the edge of the table down to Horatio’s lap, straddling his hips easily. He leaned forward and, draping his arms over Horatio’s shoulders, drew him into a languid and passionate kiss.
“Hmm,” said Horatio as they pulled apart. “Or this.” He deftly worked his hands underneath Hamlet’s shirt, gently caressing the muscles of his torso before hastily unbuttoning the garment. Hamlet let his head drop back in ecstasy as Horatio leaned forward and bit his nipple, soothing the initial sting with a couple smooth strokes of his tongue.
Hitching gasps of pleasures escaped the young prince’s mouth as Horatio continued to worship his body with his mouth. Hamlet’s back arched into Horatio’s harsh bites as he clutched frantically at his hair, mad with desire. “Ratio,” he panted, “please. God, I love you.”
With a dramatic sweep of his arm, Horatio knocked all of the books off the table in front of them, breaking contact with Hamlet to stand up. Hamlet locked his ankles around Horatio’s back and grabbed his face for a bruising kiss, barely detaching for the necessary moments of air. Horatio impatiently climbed onto the table, laying Hamlet out beneath him.
It was all heat and lust as Hamlet worked on removing Horatio’s shirt, never breaking eye contact with the other teen. As soon as the shirt was torn away from his shoulders, the brunet hungrily dove down for another kiss, fumbling with Hamlet’s trousers all the while. He was finding it rather difficult, with Hamlet continually thrusting up at his hand and moaning, “Please, God, please, hurry up, Ratio.”
Nearly sobbing with frustration, Horatio tore through the buttons, only noticing out of the corner of his eye as they flew off into some dark, distant, and most likely dusty corner. Hurriedly peeling the tight pants away from Hamlet’s body, he almost came instantaneously as Hamlet’s hand automatically wrapped around his erection.
“Finally,” he moaned with a relieved sigh, his face relaxing into delight.
“Finally,” echoed Horatio, averting his eyes as he tried to regain control of himself. “Christ in heaven above, Lettie. I want you—I need you.”
Hamlet’s fingernails cut into the skin of Horatio’s shoulder, etching tiny half-moons into his flesh. “Take me,” brokenly groaned the crown prince, eyes squeezed shut and mouth slightly parted. “Now, Horatio, please. I’m yours, always yours.”
Horatio captured Hamlet’s drying lips in his, devouring his keening cries, wishing to the depths of his heart that they could always be this way. Always be together, through good times and terrible, always feel this sense of completeness, always feel loved. There was nothing more he could ask for than to see Hamlet’s face, whether in joy or anger, in passion or asleep. They were one mind, one heart, forever.
“Always mine,” he whispered back.
