Thread by @FastHankconSmut

I have this whole thing I wrote, but I do not like how it turned out at all. So instead, I’m gonna sum it all up, so I can finally get this shit I want out of my head.

✨Very cliche, FLUFF, angst

King Henry kindly awaits Connor, the difficult brat he is, to adjust to living

with him in this new place, with his new husband.

Connor only knows a horrible bastardization of what love and commitment are, and has no interest in entertaining either with Hank. Ironically, the point of their marriage was for political purposes, which Connor *refuses* to

be a part of. That’s Hank’s problem, not his. He knows that he has a better man here than he knew when Hank reluctantly gives him space after a time and no longer pushes the issue-going so far as to lie to his own half-sister, a lady of the land, to excuse his husband from

attending a dinner together and let Connor remain to his own devices.

Hank offers him to leave after some time when things don’t go anywhere for them except silent resentment and tired looks. This marriage is an inconvenient one, as far as Connor must see it, and he will gain no

benefit to being wedded to this man, so Hank understands it.

Connor is just a little bit obliged to the idea of staying, now. Not realizing he had a voice in this union as he was only a young prince coming from a place without much wealth. Ultimately, he must have no

power here, he assumes. He is shocked to hear that Hank intends to respect Connor’s feelings and wishes.

Hank has been hoping since their short little ceremony that Connor might extend the same effort to get to know him better, just to see that he is not like those other

rich, old men his mother had tried to marry him off to.

Connor is beginning to realize that, now.

Hank makes some grand gestures of good will- all an attempt to give Connor something of his own in this place that doesn’t feel like his home and bring him some balance into his

role here. Something he can know without a doubt is his and his say.

It starts with picking out the maids and cooks at Connor’s preference- he had one too many spats with the head maid for Hank to believe it was all of Connor being a spoilt ass constantly.

Especially, since the other girls seem a bit more perky around the castle than usual.

It progressed into Connor choosing their horses, the ones that they were supposed to, though would never, ride together when they left to attend political affairs. Perhaps that

was demeaning in some way since they both knew Connor wouldn’t be doing any real talking to such a thing. At least not for many years to come.

Hank decides to give Connor something he knows unequivocally will be his own. Something he doesn’t think to regret until later that

same night after thinking about the joyful look he hopes will grace Connor’s face when he finds it, and the note, as its insignificance might have Connor feeling belittled, and only capable of handling things of little to no importantance. That was a terribly morbid way

of thinking about this particular thing. But, by saying this was *his* and only his, and was about the only thing Connor had any real power over, Hank was implying he had little faith in him.

Hank hurried to Connor’s room to explain his true intentions, and that he would not

intend to leave him feeling inadequate and patronized in any way.

When he arrived to find Connor there on the floor with, hunched over the curtain of the bowed up basket and *beaming*, Hank knew he made the most insightful decision of their short, wedded life. Particularly when

the faint little yip that came from inside drew a laugh out of Connor that Hank thought he might be dreaming.

Connor begins to speak freely with him, and initiates conversation on his own. It’s always certainly a surprise when he does, and a pleasant one, as it begins to reveal

little by little who Connor really is.

Past all the frowns and distant stares is a man who loves mystery as much as math. To be a brat, he’s a calculative one, and Hank finds rather quickly that Connor’s pursuit of knowledge has left him a great deal more book smart than Hank

could ever hope to be. And, that’s....huh. Fetching in a way. Very ‘fetching’.

His love of cooking, a passion he has yet to have perfected as much as he‘d like, since his mother kept him away from the stove- he was a prince, not a chef. And, while he hadn’t made Hank any sort

of dish isolating his prowess, yet, the idea was *very* alluring to Hank. He wouldn’t admit so, not so long as they were both still walking on eggshells with Connor needing to feel as though he still had his freedom. But, it was a thought. An enticing, incredibly domestic thought

Hank was scared to think he could of missed out on all of this if he had lost his cool with him.

Connor is much more ‘active’ with showing his affections, too. Little brushes of nimble fingers over the back of Hank’s hand. Brown eyes looking into blue for *quite* a long

time- “Well, past your bedtime.” Henry joked, feeling hot under the collar.

“Do think me a child? I am not so dainty and frail.” He purred back.

Compared to Hank he was- this 6 foot, freckled menace.

Hank noticed that their time together had grown exponentially, to the point

that it was getting harder to say ‘goodbye’ at night.

They’d walk in the evenings and talk in low murmurs and soft tones through the courtyard. Then make there way back to bed, saying goodnight and retiring.

Hank stopped outside of his doorway and turned to face Connor.

His room came first on the long trek to bed. Connor smiled slow and soft, his face lit by the starlight behind the stained glass casting long shadows from the castles walls. His eyes glimmered like the jewels on their crowns.

The crickets singing outside in the late summer air, thick with heat and the scent of marigold, made a quiet hum they could just barely hear when they were quiet like this. Just staring, close and yet not close enough.

“Goodnight, your highness.”

“Goodnight, your majesty- sir.”

Yet, neither moved.

Hank felt it ridiculous to be so... uncertain. They knew each other now better than they ever had, and Hank *liked* knowing Connor. He was....he was quite a fine husband, indeed. And even a friend, perhaps. Hank sure felt he was. But, he had no idea

how to proceed. None at all. He knew the space between them had grown tense with something decidedly intimate.

It’s when Connor shuffles awkwardly and full of nerves that Hank thinks he knows what’s happening here. He’s shocked to say the *least*.

Hank decides it is a first kiss Connor is after. Yes, it must be- those big, doe eyes batting their lashes up at him. The reserved, shy way Connor stood there, straight and stiff with his hands behind his back, shoulders hunched and head ducked so.

It was easy to see under the glow of the moonlight that there was a blush painting his cheeks pink.

Yes. A first kiss, indeed.

Hank moved from his door to the hall and wasted no time in wrapping his arms around the smaller man at his waist and upper back and stealing

his lips away in a good and thorough kiss.

Connor returned it with vigor- so much so that the fingers lacing with the long hair at the back of his neck, pulling him down so that Connor could hike a leg over one hip had Hank almost knocked back on his ass in shock.

When he gathered himself, he quickly curled around Connor’s body, hefting his weight against him and *closer* with ease.

The *sound* his consort made.

A mewl, then a whimper. Both hoarse.

Hank wasn’t eager to release his hold on him, yet, nor end their kissing.

However, Connor was much more concerned with going further than maintaining what they had.

Hank found himself pushed into his bedroom with the door left wide open and tacked onto his bed by a man possessing only half his strength, positively devouring him.

There, at the end of July, with his room growing ever warmer between the two bodies moving together inside it, Hank found himself passionately consummating his marriage with his darling husband for the first time.

He had no idea how it would change everything.

How could he have? They seemed to be so happy- Connor had finally come out of his shell and embraced Hank and the world *together* as a whole. And, Hank had thought eagerly so.

It wasn’t immediately that Connor became more reclusive all of a sudden.

It was slow, perhaps to let Hank down gently.

A few weeks after their joining, Connor had begun to make himself scarce once more- skipping having dinner together for the third night in a row.

With his reluctance to meet for dinner came the same uncertainty to indulge in those late afternoon walks he and Hank so enjoyed- perhaps he was not so fond of them as Hank had thought. They hadn’t taken a stroll that was full of embarrassed flirting

and soft conversation in a while. And, Hank *missed* that.

He missed Connor.

As afraid of knowing the truth as he was, he finally confronted Connor about it, asking why he’d been behaving so distantly as of late. The response he got was irksome.

“Oh, I... I’m just tired is all.” He reached out for Hank’s face and cupped it in his hands, stroking a thumb over his shaggy jaw. His eyes admiring, but heavy. Like they were burdened by some kind of secret.

Yet, the glimmer of affection that Hank had come to recognize was

still there and looked promising, trying to urge Hank to trust him. Hank wanted to, *badly*, so he tried to put it out of his mind when Connor insisted the evenings just felt so long these days with all the fuss of festivals and harvests happening.

Connor’s odd behavior didn’t

improve exactly, but it at least had progressed in a way that Hank could handle better. He was becoming more involved with him, again.

In that sweet, timid fashion Hank had come to be most ardently infatuated by and missed, Connor asked him with lowered lashes and stained cheeks

if he could take Hank’s bed. The bigger man was surprised by the request, but his desperation to have Connor’s company again had him quickly overlooking the suddenness and agreeing to it. At last, under less than stellar circumstances, they were sharing a bed.

It was intimidating. They lay awkwardly at opposite ends of the bed, stiff and over dressed. It should be pathetic in a way, but Hank decided that the sex they’d had was born of the passion and lust they shared at the time, fueled by their recent enamor with one other.

Considering everything, Hank could assume Connor simply didn’t feel the same way, now- why ever that had changed. It left this step in their relationship an uncomfortably foreign one. This mildly intimate act became rather trifling, leaving Hank on edge in his own bed when he

knew he should be *enjoying* his darling’s proximity.

Hank couldn’t help doting on him when he woke in the mornings to find Connor lying out on his pillows, a cold foot pressed against Hank’s back all night.

It made him think about the time Connor snuck his pinkie over to touch

Hank’s and twined them on the walk back to his bedroom that fateful night. The skin on skin when they locked their fingers again, and then when they moved together in the dim room, naked and shivering with want.

However, whatever there was of Connor’s need to be near, it did not

seem to extend outside of the bedroom. He didn’t wish to leave the confines of either of their rooms when he could help it. Just as he’d done when he’d first arrived there. He was always insisting that he was just too tired to, even after a full night’s rest.

Despite their shared space, Hank could not help feeling they were growing more distant.

Before Hank could think of doing something drastic, like offering Connor another outlet from this marriage, he received a letter from his sister, telling him that her

husband had passed away- along with her wealth. She’d need somewhere else to stay with her farm being sold, at least until Hank could get her set up someplace quiet and close. He wouldn’t settle for anything else, despite her insistence

she keep her distance- for independence reasons. He’d need to either send a horse for her, or go get her himself, and....well, with Connor’s recent emotional absence in his life, Hank didn’t see why he shouldn’t go. Connor probably wouldn’t miss him while he was gone.

Well, maybe the warmth he provided the young prince who liked to stick his cold feet under his clothes.

On the morning he was set to leave for, he decided to personally cart a breakfast for them to eat together up to their bedroom in the hopes that he could have one last moment

together to remind him what he had to come home to before he left. A little moment to be alone with the first man he’d wanted to share his ‘nest’ with.

Connor stumbled out of the washroom, hair ruffled and flopping over a brow, as Hank set out the platters. His brow furrowed and

his jaw set a little straighter. Connor was not well at all.

“Connor, are you...”

“I’m so sorry...but, I don’t think I can eat that.” Connor’s voice came out hoarse, leading Hank to the realization that he was sick in there.

Fear grips his heart, panic spreading

through his chest.

“You’re ill.” Hank wonders if all of Connor claiming to be tired all the time had been a sign. And then if Hank should have taken it more seriously.
“I’m not going today.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re sister will be all alone.” Connor cleared his

throat, sore from all the exertion of emptying his stomach. He shuffled into bed, again, burrowing beneath the covers.

Hank was quick to protest, but just as he opened his mouth, Connor interjected. He was completely certain about this- Hank must go.

“It’s nothing serious, I feel fine. Just tired.”

There it was, again. Always tired. Always feeling weak.

“You need a doctor.” Hank implored, no less upset by his husband’s confidence.

Connor turned his head towards him on the big, quilted pillow, making him

seem smaller and meeker.

He smiled fondly at Hank through his exhaustion, a fragile little thing, and Hank finally came to understand that he hadn’t lost Connor in the way he’d imagined he had.

He let his insecurity and doubt eat away at him, until he was sure that

the Connor he was coming to know, and was quite fond of, had left, despite him telling Hank the simple truth of it all along. Only now Hank was worried that he would lose him anyway to whatever sickness had befallen him.

It seemed Hank was doomed to live his life in constant worry over this one.

“Connor, I am absolutely *not* leaving you like this.” Especially now when he wanted more than ever to gather him up and kiss him once more.

“You might as well. I’ve been sick for what feels like ages.”

One day short of 5 weeks, exactly. He’d been paying careful attention.

“Well, it’s getting worse!”

Hank could only feel like a fool. He should have taken this more seriously- he should have listened to Connor instead of his doubts.

The prince rolled onto his side, away from

his overwhelmingly worried king, and hiked the covers higher.
“It must be food poisoning.”

The truth was, he was more than a little perturbed by all of these changes. At the same time, Connor didn’t feel particularly ill- not with some sickness or disease.

His body wasn’t adjusting exactly, but it was...’handling’ it. It was difficult to explain.

Hank knew right and well the chefs in their kitchen were of the highest quality, and would certainly not let their prince go on getting sicker by the day because of their cooking.

Hank would have their head if they did- seeing Connor like this, Hank was hard pressed to think rationally or calmly.

“Well, why did you have them cook you something different every meal from what they had planned?” Hank couldn’t help giving into the idea that the cooks had

scrambled to make his highness another dish on the spare of the moment each day and had cut some corners to make it happen, if only to indulge himself in some sort of answer to all this.

Connor wet his lips, though Hank couldn’t see it. He felt very pampered and spoiled

asking that of cooks...but, so few things seemed to upset his stomach, lately. It made his neck burn with shame and regret- but, he just couldn’t help it. His stomach reacted so violently.

“I suppose my tastes have changed.” He hummed weakly below the covers.

Then found his voice, again, in an effort to convince Hank to keep his sister from being laid bare and off the streets.
“It shall pass, I’m certain. Now, make haste and you may be back to me sooner.”

Hank scowled. He wasn’t going to bargain on Connor‘s well-being.

Knowing that his husband had not lost the will and want to be close with him, again, Hank desired more than *anything* to stay home and be close and make up for all the strange looks and awkward conversations on his end.

He couldn’t believe his prince was this strong headed with

with his own health on the line- perhaps there was much he had yet to learn about him.

The trip was expected to take two days to get there and back again, but Hank was going to do his damnedest to make it in one. It was ultimately up to his sister and what she could handle

in her state. However, he would not leave Connor without the staff on hand, working closely to keep an eye on the prince, and a doctor. He attempted to stay until he’d heard the diagnoses, but with the day slowly getting away from him, it strained the likelihood that he would

return before late tomorrow.

He usually enjoyed the ride, when he had a chance to leave the castle. It was hard enough with everything he had to keep tabs on to get out these days, but with Connor suffering at home, Hank was terribly upset about it all.

The horse Connor’d chosen for him, a big brown, sturdy gal, even seemed to be missing her mate back home the further they traveled from them. Their horses were stabled together and given royal treatment, making them a couple of peas in a pod.

And, Hank was simply projecting.

He was looking anything and everything to be upset about leaving his husband for.

It was late evening on the lake by the time he reached his sister, head full of distraction and heart aching. He didn’t have the decency to offer his condolences in person about James’ passing.

Sarah seemed perfectly amused, however, when he explained they must hurry to return to his ill spouse.

“Of all the people you forgot to tell about your marriage, your closest living relative was one of them?”

“I’m a busy man. I can’t think idly about love and romance with a kingdom to run. I’m surprised you didn’t hear it through all your gossiping.”

“If I did, I wasn’t convinced. Surely my brother would tell me himself about this ‘love’ life of his.”

Hank figures he could have chosen his words more carefully. Connor and Hank did not love each other, though sometimes it seemed like they were *very*, *very* close to. Maybe with a little more time- ultimately, Hank believed it was up to Connor to decide.

Silence stretched on between them, while she sat there, silently judging her brother’s strange demeanor. He was moody for sure, and quite unsettled. That didn’t mean she’d be making this trip with the shroud of night approaching and the threat of bandits lurking to come

put and slaughter the man with gemstones on the collar of his shirt. The hoard of men surrounding every side of them with their swords and brute force weren’t enough to make Sarah consider they act so carelessly.

“We need to stop for the night- just until it’s light, again.”

“There’s no time for that, Sarah. Connor becomes sicker every day.”

“Oh?” But, Sarah was already scouting for an inn to take refuge in. She knew this place well enough, but the darkness made it difficult.

The last thing she was going to do

was have Hank, as much as liked to, forgo his own safety in order to go see this mystery man lay sick in bed. She was sure he could wait until morning.

“If he‘s so ill, why didn’t you just send a horse after me?”

“He insisted I not leave you stranded.”

“Well, he can’t be all that bad off then, can he?”

Hank looked back and glared at her, blue eyes piercing through the darkness.

“You know that mother was the same way. Always waving us away when she was in no position to do such.”

“So, this is about your guilt for mother?”

“This is about my husband straining himself as he becomes more exhausted and weak while I’m away!.“

Hank’s outburst left another uncomfortable silence between them before she drew to an interesting conclusion.

“Well... You *do* care for this one it seems.”

Hank drew his mouth in a line and bit his cheek.

“Of course, I do. He’s my husband.”

One he was only becoming more smitten with, even out here so far away from him- it felt far, anyway.

Perhaps he should tell Connor as much when he returned.

Sarah watched the way his shoulders tensed, the lines in his back becoming uncomfortably stiff looking.

She insisted on that inn all the same in the effort to keep them both safe. Hank digressed, feeling terribly restless the whole night and refusing to get an ounce of sleep in.

As did anyone else who requested an audience with the king and a chance to gloat about him passing through in their quaint little tavern.

“Don’t look so burned, brother. We’ll be off again in the morning.”

“Early morning.”

Sarah nodded.

“So be ready to leave as soon as the dawn breaks.”

She nodded, again, thinking about how interesting it would be to meet this man Hank was so fretful to return to.

Hank continued to refuse to sleep, even after their little talk.

He nagged at her when she wasn’t in her boots yet by the time the rooster crowed, and the stars had barely vanished from the early morning sky. She managed to ignore him long enough to get downstairs without breaking a leg while he hurried her along.

He almost dragged her out and pulled her up onto her horse when he felt she hadn’t come quick enough.

Sarah let him fuss with about that, too, and knew she should be a little thankful he hadn’t broken out into a full on gallop on the way back.

She promptly reminded him when the hills came into view that he would have to show her where to settle once they arrived, or at least have his maid do it, before he went running through his castle, back into the arms of this mystery man who was so sick apparently, he’d shuffled

Hank out the door to fetch her.

Maybe his spouse was more sensible than he was. Or maybe they were a couple of fools, trying to make it.

Hank could feel his heart race when the window of their bedroom and sweeping balcony came into view. Connor should be inside there, waiting.

He would bury himself in Connor’s chest, wrap his arms around that slender waist, and breathe. He’d make sure Connor had whatever meal he desired. He’d make sure he rested however much he wanted, and more. He would admit his failure to be humble and confident in there marriage

and swear to Connor it would never happen, again. He’d spend more time calling him ‘darling’ and ‘tart’ before bed, and even let him hike his cold hands under his warm undergarments.

A day and a night away, and Hank was on the knife’s edge of losing all his sensibilities.

Despite how rewarding it was to watch her once hellion of a brother do a bit of suffering, Sarah didn’t make him wait any longer to see his husband when they arrived. She hurried close behind him while he led her to her quarters and tried not to fuss about her struggle to keep up

He had a room made for her in the other wing of the castle, overlooking the fields of the countryside. It was one of the biggest rooms he could offer her and definitely one of the most scenic. It was meant for the prestigious and royal when either’d come to visit- which Hank

didn’t intend to ever use, unless under extreme circumstances. He was a bit opposed to them having guests, and, thankfully, Connor was all too eager to agree they spare themselves the trouble whenever possible.

Sarah didn’t even get to thank his majesty once inside before he was

rushing past the maids bringing in fresh linen and offering to take her dirty clothes. The urge to stick her head out the door and tell him be careful not to break something as he practically sprinted off to see his prince was strong, but she stifled it. She’d save her jabbing

for later when he knew his husband was safe.

Hank wished there wasn’t so much space between them- even this little bit stretched on for what felt like miles. He needed to be close again, he needed to have Connor in his arms. To tell him he missed him and yearned to be home

every second he was away.

He burst through the door to their bedroom, realizing belatedly that if Connor were inside sleeping, he’d have given him a heart attack. But, Connor was nowhere in sight.

“Sweetheart?” Hank looked around the room from where the bed lay empty

with its sheets pulled down.

“Connor.”

Connor wasn’t here, he would have said something by now- unless something was wrong.

“Connor!”

What if he’d been far worse off than they‘d known? What if he’d fallen irreparably ill while he was away, and he-

Hank couldn’t help the waver in his voice. It grew sharper every time he called for his prince .

He looked over the washroom and went pale when he saw Connor’s undershirt lying on the floor. The maids had not been in there to clean.

Why hadn’t anyone told him something had

happened to his husband as soon as he’d arrived? It was of the *highest* priority.

He ran out of the room and into the hall where a woman waited patiently with her hands folded in front of her for Hank’s attention. Clearly, she was more than a little frightened by his

outbursts, as Hank had never lost his cool in front of one of the staff. He would have preferred to keep that way, but he could not help the panic rising in his chest.

“Your Majesty.” She squeaked.
“The Prince is in the kitchen-“

Hank didn’t stay to thank her, he could

do that later. Right now, he just needed to see that his love was *well*.

If Connor was as ill as Hank’s delusion born of their brief time apart had made it to be, he worried he would find him in a terrifying state. He’d carry him back to bed himself and keep him there until he

was fit enough to hold a spoon for himself, again. He’d never been so anxious in all his life, every step towards the kitchen seemed to drag on for eternity.

He stopped beyond the kitchen archway and found it practically empty, save for one of the chefs stirring with his back

turned to him. Still no Connor to be found.

Suddenly Hank heard rummaging and a muffled curse behind the door of the pantry that’d been seemingly left open.

“Connor?” Hank said with his voice embarrassingly hoarse.

The shuffling stopped and out came

Connor, eyes going wide, then soft, as they settled on Hank. His arms were full of tins he’d stuffed with fennel of all things- which Hank would later confiscate from him once he knew, lest he sustain himself on nothing but that for the next 8 months and ruin his diet.

Hank was there upon him in an instant, hands coming up to cup at his hips and pull, smushing Connor to his chest and letting out a pleased growl from his throat.

“Hank!” Connor yelped then struggled out of his hold. At Hank’s sheepish look as he quickly drew back his

hands, Connor felt a stab in his chest.

He knew he must explain.

“Not so rough.” He murmured, voice sweet like honey. Connor’s brown eyes studied the small space between them on the floor, feeling heady and light at the same time. Oh, there had been so much that’d

happened while Hank was away.

Hank cleared his throat. The urge to grab at him again, and spin him around came back tenfold, as Connor offered him a shy little smile, but Hank knew he’d acted abruptly. Not at all suitable for a prince.

“Of course...I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”

“You must...” Connor said more to himself, hoping Hank wouldn’t hear him.

Hank did hear and looked perfectly abashed for his behavior. It was gone in an instant, though, when he couldn’t help but finally smile at the

fact that he was with his husband, again, and, for a brief moment, had even held him.

“I’ve just been away for so long.” Hank’s voice was so low and rough, it was practically a purr.

Connor flushed . Hank hadn’t been gone for all of two days- not even that.

Yet, he sounded like he’d been so affected by it.

His face grew warm and pink, his throat constricting. Hank had at least been gone long enough not to *know*....

Telling him didn’t sound entirely ideal. Despite their union, they had only indulged their marriage

‘physically’ once, and Hank had been a little on edge with him since. Connor supposed it was his own fault for not recognizing the signs sooner and....well, he couldn’t help feeling ill and tired all of the time. All he could do now was explain to Hank why that’d been and hope

there was a pleasant outcome to it. If nothing else, he’d have a gift from all this that any royalty would be happy about.

“I have something I need to tell you.” Connor looked towards Hank’s chest, lashes fluttering. Telling him didn’t seem possible with his attention

upon him like so, but-

“Excuse me, your highness.”

Both men turned to a man with an apron tied around his waist. He looked hesitant to interrupt them, but Connor had been *most* insistent before that he be alerted when his lunch had been prepared.

“Your meal is ready for you. I can bring it to your room if you wish.”

Connor nodded vigorously, eager to be rid of him. However, the chef then turned to Hank and apologized for not having made him anything, as well.

“No, it wasn’t necessary. I couldn’t eat right now with all this excitement.”

Connor gave a little smile despite the splotchy flush feeling it would burn him alive.

If only Hank *knew* just how *exciting* it was. Oh, dear...

Maybe, he should tell him later when he’d gather a bit more courage.

Or perhaps in a few months when the weight had started to add on.

Or maybe he should just surprise him after he’d wet the sheets with his water one night and was feeling the

first clutch of pain in his gut, and-

“You need to eat!” Hank snapped him from his thoughts with a hand on his shoulder.
“Let’s get you back to bed, dearest.”

“Oh, I...”

Connor let himself be led away, tins of fennel left on the wrong shelf in the pantry in all his worry.

Maybe the doctor could just tell Hank when he came back to do a checkup. Or the maid that had been in the room to gather their laundry and promptly left, dirty close forgotten, as soon as the words were out of the doctor’s mouth. Connor didn’t blame her, if he could run

away from the truth, he would, too.

Connor wasn’t sure what would happen to him- to *them*. He didn’t think Hank was capable of anything but kindness and love, but...Connor was not able to think rationally about it, at the moment. He feared the worse, as illogical as that

might be, but his mind would only let him assume such. Perhaps it was an instinct, some way to preserve and protect them.

Hank pulled his shoes off for him and moved him into bed, carting the tray the chef had prepared over and poising it on a small wooden table- treating Connor

like he hadn’t just walked his way there just fine.

“You need your strength- what did the doctor say, love?”

Hank hurried to sit by him on the bed looking stiffer than Connor’d ever seen him in their bedroom before.

Connor took one look at the soup in front of him

and lost his appetite. Well, now there was no way around it. He was pinned there under Hank’s heavy gaze, monitoring his every move. The prince swallowed, wishing he had something to busy his hands with, and-

“Love?” Connor said suddenly with a little jolt.

Had Hank said that just now? Was it all the hormones putting his head in the clouds?

Hank stared back, eyes darting over Connor’s face in question, and making the smaller man worry he’d indeed imagined it. It took Hank a moment to realize what he’d said, but then he immediately

felt the need to backtrack.

“Yes, I...”

‘Meant it simply as a pet name with no overwhelmingly sentimental connotations whatsoever’. A fine lie. Hank felt very warm all at once.

“I think it expresses my feelings for you quite accurately.”

‘Love’ was an adequate way of expressing his feelings?

Hank promptly shut his mouth and turned his face away. What a mess he was making. Hiding would only make it worse, however, and he forced himself to be ‘brave’, again. He looked back in Connor’s large, brown eyes, almost

glinting despite there being a lack of any candlelight, and the windows drawn.

“I hope that doesn’t make things uncomfortable for you- for us.” Hank begins, voice careful.
“I’ve been very stressed about our time apart, and I don’t just mean my recent absence. I...after we,”

Hank swallowed, noting that Connor was now leaning closer to him.

“After we...’joined’ that night, you started to become...distant. I was foolish. I didn’t believe that it was the sickness you proclaimed it to be, even though you’d plainly told me so. I thought we were drifting apart, because of what we’d done, and...”

Hank turned his eyes on his hands in his lap. He resisted the overwhelming urge to fiddle with his nails he’d bitten to the quick the night before to quell his worry. It hadn’t worked.

“I think the distance has made me realize that my missing your presence is because I care much more than is perhaps appropriate of me.”

Ironic, considering they were married, yet that meant nothing. Hank hadn’t won him over with professions of love, or the promise of

eternal happiness. He hadn’t rode in on a white horse and brought a bounty of coin or flowers for Connor’s hand- not that Connor would care for such.

It was possible, but unlikely, that Connor might feel the same way. Hank had done little still to woo him.

He gathered the courage within him and decided to make this right. He’d give Connor the things in this union he deserved to have, Hank’s humility was a start.

“I know I’m being rather forward, your highness, but in short, I think I love you-“

“Hank.”

Connor held a hand up to stop him. His voice sounded almost choked as his eyes began to water. Valiantly, Connor fought them back so he could level Hank with a look the olde Roman has only seen once before- on the night of their consummation.

“There’s been a very unexpected consequence of our said ‘joining’.”

Connor’s hand moved out towards Hank’s, palm up, quietly beckoning for him to reach out. Hank did, moving to lock their fingers together, until Connor grabbed him by the wrist and turned his hand down, settling

it over his stomach.

Hank looked up to see Connor smiling a touch wider, trying desperately to clamp down on the feelings bubbling up inside of him. When Connor continued to stare, hand adjusting itself on Hank’s wrist and holding him there, the bigger man went stiff, eyes wide.

“What sort of consequence- what did the doctor say?”

Connor sucked his lower lip between his teeth and lightly bit it. It didn’t stop the smile from practically splitting his face. His eyes were shining like constellations.

Hank looked down at his hand, curling his fingers

over Connor’s belly, staring intently.

“You’re...with child?” His voice was hoarse and piercing at the same time.

Connor blushed. The soft look on his face twisted for a moment. Now that Hank was here, now that he *knew*, the reality of what they’d made came crashing back

over him, drenching him like ice cold water, all over again.

“Yes.” He should have nodded. His voice sounded far too faint to be his own.

He could see Hank swallow, his fingers tightening over his stomach protectively. He looked down towards Connor’s abdomen, again, and the

young prince could feel his stomach do a flip. Warmth filling up inside his chest. Though it was impossible to see yet, he knew what Hank was looking for.

While anticipating Hank’s arrival home, some of that morning’s sickness had been nervous puking.

Connor dreaded this moment as much as he’d longed to see his husband, again, and now, he felt utterly foolish for ever thinking he had any reason to worry.

Hank’s thick voice cut the tension into ribbons as he finally opened his mouth to answer, his lips curling in a smile.

“You have our babe inside you?” Their was a lilt in his tone, light and airy.

It was all Connor could do not to cling to some dignity, instead of throwing himself against Hank’s chest.

It was a simple observation- it shouldn’t make his tummy squeeze and knot just hearing him say it.

“Yes.” He said, again.

Hank could do little more than stare in wonder, his eyes shining. The hand on Connor’s stomach began to rub over it, as if trying to feel

for the tiny life growing inside, and Connor could melt.

“Our baby.” He murmured curiously. He looked like he could hardly believe it, and Connor didn’t blame him. He didn’t think he would himself, until he had their baby in his arms.