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).
Now cracks a noble heart...
In the chilling darkness of the early morning hours, the crown prince of Denmark found nothing but warmth in the arms of his lover. His fingers clutched desperately at Horatio’s back as he writhed against the ivory sheets, pleasure coursing through his blood like the dawning sun’s rays across the sky. Delicate caresses drifted through his short hair, trailing down the side of his flushed face. Horatio’s lips found his, a kiss filled with the fragile tenderness of a rose petal.
“My prince,” gasped Horatio. “My dearest…Hamlet!” Hamlet’s legs wrapped around his lover’s waist as Horatio thrust harder into him, one hand grabbing hold of Horatio’s own above his head, and the other reaching down between their bodies. Breaths came in short, harsh pants as each climbed higher and higher to his climax.
“Hor…Horatio,” breathed Hamlet as he flexed his hips to meet Horatio’s strokes, “give me more, harder. I can’t—I can’t stand this much—ah!”
Squeezing their joined hands, Horatio covered Hamlet’s lips, and with a particularly violent thrust, brought them both to the explosive end of their love-making. Their sweat-glistened bodies lay tangled together on the bed, the heated air finally cooling around them. Horatio lazily trailed his upturned lips down the side of Hamlet’s face, slipping out of him to lay by his side.
Hamlet turned to rest his head against Horatio’s chest, gently stroking delicate fingers against the tanned skin. He hummed happily, allowing himself a rare smile in the privacy of Horatio’s embrace. Ever since his father’s unexpected death and his mother’s hasty remarriage, nothing, not even Ophelia (especially Ophelia, he thought with distaste), seemed to make him feel joy anymore. Nothing, save for the comforting smile and calming voice of his Horatio.
“I’m glad you’ve come back to visit, Horatio,” he said quietly, tilting his head up to see Horatio’s face. “I’ve been terribly dreary since the funeral and wedding.” Hamlet frowned, even the mere memory of the events enough to sour his mood.
Horatio grinned cheekily and said, “Of course, Lettie. After all, what are best friends for?” He raised an eyebrow and poked Hamlet in the shoulder, daring him to keep the frown upon his face.
Hamlet easily gave in to Horatio’s light teasing, letting a few stray laughs escape his mouth. “Friends,” he whispered with a wink, “how laughable. If they knew just how close we are, I fear my mother and Claudius would exile you from the country altogether!”
The pair laughed, Hamlet’s deeper tones blending with Horatio’s lighter ones in natural harmony, until Hamlet clapped a hand over Horatio’s mouth. “Hush,” he said urgently.
A knock sounded at the door. “Hamlet? Is everything alright? I thought I heard a noise,” said his mother.
“I’m fine,” Hamlet called out. “I must have been talking in my sleep and I woke myself up.”
“Just as well,” said Gertrude, “for I wish to speak with you. May I come in?”
“Uh—ah—of course, mother,” Hamlet replied, frantically glancing between Horatio and the door. Finally, he pushed the other teen beneath the coverlet and piled his pillows on top of him as his mother came through the door.
The queen made her way over to her son’s bedside, carefully shielding the flame of the candle she held in her hand. Setting it down on the table, she sat next to him and lovingly caressed his brow. “You look sweaty,” she observed worriedly. “Are you sure you are alright?”
Hamlet shook his head. “I’m fine, mother,” he assured her. “Just a nightmare, that’s all.”
Gertrude nodded in understanding. “Of course,” she said faintly.
“Hamlet, I know you are still upset about your father’s death, but…please, for your sake and mine, try to lift your spirits. Claudius is eager to accept you as his son, yet you reject him so violently, and Ophelia has been telling me how distant you are as of late. I love you and want nothing but the best for you, darling.”
Hamlet bit his tongue, holding back the thousand retorts he so desired to spit out, choosing to reply with only a humble, “Of course, mother. I love you as well and thank you for your concern.”
Gertrude eyed her son warily for a moment before rising to leave the room without another word.
Hamlet sighed in relief and quickly uncovered his lover, who gasped dramatically for air as soon as he was released. “By God, Hamlet, I thought you would do me wrong by murder, so long was I underneath—”
“Horatio.” Hamlet stopped his friend’s joking with a serious tone and pleading glance.
“She wants me to accept Claudius as my new father, yet how can I? So soon after my father’s death she remarries,” said Hamlet derisively, “and expects me to follow her example and forget? Never.”
Horatio recognized the emotion behind Hamlet’s words, and, offering none of his own, simply wrapped his arms around the blond. He pulled him close, trying to convey with touch that for which words alone could not suffice. They fell asleep like that, Hamlet clinging desperately to the single solace his life had to offer, and Horatio, happy to oblige his prince.
