Chapter Text
Hans Capon had imagined freedom would taste sweeter than this. After breaking it off with his uncle, he thought he would have everything he had ever wanted. A chance at living his life as he pleased.
Instead, it was mostly exhausting and overwhelming. His apartment wasn’t much—two rooms, the smallest kitchenette imaginable, and walls thin enough that you could hear someone cough three doors down. He’d traded the marble floors of the family estate for peeling wallpaper in the bathroom, a kitchen window that refused to shut all the way, and a fridge which kept making a godawful buzzing sound that kept him up at night. But it was his. Well, rented. Still...
His job wasn't much better. Tedious, repetitive, laced with meetings led by assholes rivalling the calibre of his uncle, all topped off with the need of frequent, unpaid overtime. Though he had a few colleagues who at least made it somewhat bearable.
Of course there were upsides. His life was no longer narrowed down to what others expected of him. No more formal dinners with people who couldn't care less about him. No more uncomfortable glances across long tables. No more pretending not to notice the way his uncle’s eyes hardened every time he looked at another man. No more wives looming on the horizon.
Freedom, however, came with stillness. Hans was familiar with how silence stretched throughout the long halls and large rooms of the Capon manor. The isolation that came with it. Now, surrounded by a constant noise of traffic from the street, buzz of his breaking fridge, and hustle of the neighbours, he somehow felt lonelier than ever. It was a new type of silence that had lately grown deafening.
His bed felt colder as the days passed, and it wasn't just because the stingy flat owner refused to turn up the heating. Hans had tried to fill the gap in his life with someone, but as it turns out, trying to build a life from scratch takes up a lot of one's time.
Just like every day, he came back from work once it was already pitch black outside. The corridor in front of Hans’ apartment door always smelled faintly of cigarettes and boiled cabbage (he suspected his Serbian neighbours were responsible for both). Hans was wrestling with an overly heavy grocery bag and what remained of his dignity when a deep voice echoed through the hallway.
“My brother’s already carried most of the stuff upstairs, thank you.”
Hans paused mid-search for his keys. The voice was deep and husky, the kind that could read out tax law and still sound sinful. Hans wouldn’t like to admit it, but he did have a thing for these sorts of voices, unfortunately.
He braced his groceries against the wall with his knee and paused to look over at the two people who were just emerging from the stairs. A stocky young man smiled politely at the owner of this very dingy block of flats, shuffling from foot to foot impatiently as he accepted a set of keys. Dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans, both of which fit tight, accentuating just how much muscle he carried. Short brown hair, bright blue eyes, a bit of stubble, and ears that stuck out in a way Hans found absurdly endearing.
Hans pretended that he was still digging through his bag to find his keys, purely to get a better look at his apparent new neighbour. The man was about the same height, perhaps a touch shorter than himself. He also seemed to be roughly the same age as Hans. As Hans shuffled through his pockets, his gaze lingered on the way the man's shirt stretched over his broad chest, how it barely wrapped around his bulky arms. All that mass and an easy smile, eyes that reminded him of those chunky brown Labrador puppies. The man was also sneaking glances back at Hans, eyeing him up from the corner of his eye—either not caring about seeming rude, or just doing a piss poor job of being subtle about it. Then his gaze slid past Hans and his grin widened.
“Hey, Pavel!”
Hans turned to see the newcomer and he nearly dropped his groceries again. That was the brother? Pavel was taller and leaner compared to his shit-brick-house of a sibling. His hair, a little too long for neatness, brushed the back of his collar. And who the hell wore a button-up and a hoodie together anyway? Annoyingly, Hans had to admit Pavel made it work. His posture was easy, almost lazy, but his eyes were dark and sharp and, unnervingly, fully focused on Hans. Assessing him. There was just a hint of mischief as they took him in, looking him up and down, slowly and deliberately, as if appraising him. Hans could almost feel it. It made sweat prickle at the back of his neck. Then the man smirked, eyes boring into Hans', his tongue darting out briefly to wet his lips. Hans’ mind short-circuited. That had to be on purpose. He tried to read the man's expression to see if he read the gesture correctly, but the magnetic gaze was gone.
“Got the keys, Henry?” Pavel called out towards the man standing at the top of the stairs.
“Aye, thank you again Mr. Polní.” Henry smiled at the crabby old man before him, though his eyes still strayed towards Hans at times as his brother joined his side.
“Right, don’t forget that the bins get taken out every Wednesday. If you leave anything next to them, they will not take it out and it will stink up the whole street, so don't be lazy and put it away properly.”
Hans could do without hearing more lectures about the garbage disposal schedule (it was him who left the bags next to the bins, not bothering to dirty his hands with it, only to keep finding them there week after week until the flat owner had to put up a sign warning all tenants to take out their trash properly).
Not willing to relive some of the less glamorous memories of his first weeks attempting to live on his own, Hans swallowed and made a move to get inside his apartment to escape the creaky voice of the old grumpy flat owner. He could not however resist taking another glance towards his new neighbours only to find them both staring right back at him. Henry shot him a small, polite smile, then turned his gaze back to Mr. Polní, nodding his head to show he was paying attention. On the other hand, Pavel raised his brows at Hans, nodding his head and flashing him a grin that somehow did not seem all that friendly. Hans wasn't sure what to do with it, so he just nodded back and shuffled to get inside his flat.
After shaking off his coat, unpacking the groceries, Hans quickly gave up on actually using any of them to cook. He was exhausted, ready to plop on his squeaky couch, watch a show and pass out early. A comfortable night at home with some takeout, that’s exactly what he deserved. Today was long, but not terrible. The addition of two new hot neighbours had improved Hans’ mood significantly.
Hopefully at least one of them was gay.
He hadn’t escaped his plush yet suffocating life just to discover the joys of morning commutes, unpaid overtime, and spending evenings with his own hand for company. God knew his love life could only go up from here.
He’d had his slutty phase, of course. The first month living on his own had been a blur of flashing lights, tangled limbs, unmade sheets and unfamiliar faces. Men who never called back. But then again, Hans hadn’t either. That was freedom for him, at the start. Before the money dried up, the label of a newbie at work wore off, and the exhaustion and emptiness set in.
Now he had to budget and look at labels. Now he had to actually pay attention during meetings led by idiots. Now it was just him. Though he had made progress on some fronts. He had a second hand couch (price: free, if you didn’t count the state of Hans’ back and a few bucks he gave the neighbour's son who helped him drag it upstairs) If he kept it up at work, perhaps he could get promoted and get rid of some of the more asinine parts of his job. He had made acquaintance with two colleagues. It wasn't quite a friendship yet, but it was better than nothing. A little banter during coffee breaks definitely helped with the ever increasing need to yell at his employers. And with the addition of two new hot neighbours right within his reach, maybe his bed would not be so lonely for much longer.
When the delivery arrived, Hans took a chance to peek at the new names at the bells downstairs. There they were. Flat 32, right next to his own. Pavel and Henry. Same surname. The brothers. Maybe he should introduce himself later, he thought. Test the waters. The amount of eye contact with both men seemed like a promising start. There literally wasn’t anything for him to lose.
Feeling marginally better, Hans carried his dinner upstairs and flopped down onto his sagging couch which croaked unpleasantly under his weight. With a (work) laptop balanced on his knees, a cup of steaming soup in his hands, he was set for the evening.
He was halfway through his dinner and an episode of a cheap Netflix flick when a sudden loud dull thud came from the wall behind him, startling him so much he almost choked on a noodle.
What the actual hell was that?
He frowned, turning down the volume on his laptop. Another thump, harder this time. He hurriedly put the container with his dinner down before he dropped it.
Were they mounting furniture or something?
Before he managed to turn around to scowl at the wall, there it was, a third thump. Then another. Coming in a steady rhythm.
Probably mounting a TV or something.
The banging continued while Hans’ scowl deepened. He reluctantly reached back for his dinner, determined to not let these nocturnal renovations ruin his night.
Really? Couldn’t it have waited for tomorrow? Don’t they have other things to unpack?
Then came the moan.
Hans froze, chopsticks stuck halfway to his mouth. That voice. Deep, rough, rumbling right through the wall. The voice from the hallway. The fingers of Hans' free hand dug into the sofa cushion, knuckles turning white.
“Oh, for fuck's sake,” he whispered.
Another moan rang through the room, full of thick, syrupy pleasure. Another rhythmic thud. In sync. Hans hadn't moved an inch, sitting petrified as the noises poured into his living room. With each beat coming in faster. Louder. There was no mistaking what it was or who it was. His new neighbour (the one with the stupidly perfect biceps) was very clearly and enthusiastically railing someone right against the wall behind Hans’ couch. And the sounds he was making were practically tickling the back of Hans' neck. Shaky fingers came up to cover his face.
This isn't happening.
But the sounds were unmistakable. He squeezed his eyes shut, fingers massaging the bridge of his nose, trying to will his imagination away. It didn’t work.
He could see it perfectly clearly. Henry pressing someone up against the wall, strong hands holding them up with little effort, fingers digging into soft flesh as he lost himself in pleasure. The tempo was relentless. Chasing raw release. The kind of sex that left bruises and didn’t apologise for them.
Hans groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. As soon as he’d let himself think about actually dating someone for once, this happened. His luck was rotten.
The rhythm coming through the wall picked up. Whoever was with Henry went completely unheard, either completely silent or too quiet for Hans to hear, but Henry more than made up for it. Gasps, groans and small, breathless whimpers that felt like a punch straight through Hans’s self-control. Every thrust accentuated by a sound torn out of Henry’s throat that only proved how good it felt. A whine, a moan, small, choked back groan. Voice steadily growing hoarse with effort, broken up by heavy intakes of breath.
Hans’ pulse thudded in his throat, he could feel blood rushing in his ears. His body was responding to the siren's call coming from the other room. His cock stirred in his jeans as the sounds of Henry enjoying himself grew even louder. Hans was not enjoying himself. But his dick didn’t care for details.
Fuck, Henry sounded good.
But those sounds weren't for him. Hans refused to entertain the pathetic fantasy that they could be. Trying to stop his imagination from getting out of hand, Hans tried to imagine Henry was doing a lacklustre job at pleasing his partner. Perhaps he was selfish, leaving the other person unsatisfied and quiet. Unlike Henry, they were completely non-vocal. Although Hans thought he could hear a pant or a puff of breath overlapping with Henry's moans here and there. If not for that and the banging, he'd think Henry was enjoying himself all on his own.
Somehow, it didn't seem to do anything to calm him down. His dick strained painfully against his jeans, so much so he had to adjust himself.
“Brilliant,” Hans muttered. “Absolutely brilliant.”
He slammed his laptop shut, stood up, and stalked into his bedroom like a man fleeing a crime scene. Headphones. Volume up. To the max. Lukewarm dinner be damned. He was not going to be the kind of pathetic pervert who got off to his neighbour's sex life in the absence of his own. Deciding against eating the rest of his dinner hunching over the kitchen sink, he tentatively returned to the couch and resumed his show. He thanked God that his headphones were sturdy enough to block out the noise and that whatever was happening in the neighbouring flat wasn't strong enough to rattle the walls. That he might have not survived.
It almost worked.
He drowned the sounds with an overtly loud action movie while he shovelled his lukewarm food down. As tempting as it was to tear off his headphones and check on Henry (and his stamina), he resisted, opting to finish the movie without interruptions in an act of impeccable self-control. And then, to wipe any remaining memories of what his ears bared witness to, an episode of The Great British Bake-off, though he mostly yawned his way through it. When he finally pulled the headphones off nearly an hour later—there it still was.
They were still going at it?! No, surely not, they must have just started another round. Fucking hell. Typical.
Hans himself let out a groan at the renewed assault on his eardrums. Henry sounded wrecked now. Raw, raspy, constantly gasping for breath in between groans. The kind of noise a man made when he forgot to care about anything else but his own pleasure.
Hans laughed, letting his head fall back on the headrest. It came out hollow and died fast as the sounds Henry made felt close enough to taste. The ache they left behind stayed settled right beneath his ribcage.
Closing his eyes, Hans let himself slip for a moment. He let himself want. To be just a little further back, behind that wall, pressed up against it, spread open and fucked into oblivion so thoroughly that the sorry state of his life did not matter anymore. The fact that whoever Henry was with went silent made it easier for Hans to imagine it was his place to respond to Henry in kind.
The want spread through him like poison, bringing heat to his cheeks, tingles of excitement to his loins. This time, Hans had no strength left to fight it. He got up to walk up to the bathroom, the chorus of sin following his footsteps. He left the door wide open. The sound came through faint, but it was still enough to make his gut tighten. Something shameful coiled in his chest but he chose to ignore it. Instead he started stripping, listening to the sinful sounds of Henry unravelling. It almost felt like each article of clothing removed was rewarded by more wanton, pleading sounds, as if encouraging Hans to keep going. And it was too easy to give in to the fantasy of Henry calling for him.
Steam filled the room as he stepped under the spray. The water ran too hot and the pressure was too weak. It didn’t matter. He braced a hand against the cool tile and let his head fall back as his other hand slid down across his chest to his aching cock. He could lie to himself and say it was just to take the edge off, to sleep better, but the door left ajar spoke for itself. He wrapped a hand around himself and let Henry's sweet noises fuel his imagination and carry him under.
It could be him pinned to that wall, hearing the noises Henry made right next to his ear alongside the hot, damp breath on his neck. Those strong arms caging him in, holding him close as Henry would rut into him with reckless abandon. As he stroked himself, Henry’s moans only amplified the pleasure that spread throughout his belly. Every single sound was going straight down to Hans' dick. Fuck, it was something. To hear the near frantic tempo, the intensity. That man wasn't holding anything back.
How Hans would take it if he had the chance. God, he would take anything Henry would give him. He'd take it all. He'd let Henry break him and he'd thank him for it. All while letting him hear just how good it felt in turn. He'd let it all out, just like Henry did, primally, without any restraint—vocalising every burst of pleasure just to let Henry know how good he was fucking him. He'd scream his lungs out for Henry.
His hand moved faster. It was pathetic, yet it felt so good.
The feeling of closeness was almost real as the sounds from the other apartment turned nearly to cries. Hans knew Henry must be close and he himself could not last much longer. So he did not fight it when it came. He shuddered against the tiles, muscles locking against the onslaught of blinding pleasure, knees nearly giving out beneath him as he spilled into his hand.
The water washed it away before he could catch his breath. Body still thrumming with pleasure, he just stood there, panting, as the sounds from the other apartment faded too.
They had finished together, huh.
Pleasant, full-bodied satisfaction spread throughout him, the afterglow making his body sing, yet mentally he felt like he hit a new low. He turned his face towards the ceiling, letting the water hit his face, and laughed again, quiet, high-pitched and miserable.
He finished his shower in haste and when he finally collapsed into bed, his chest felt heavy. As he wrapped himself in the blankets, trying to keep warm, it became apparent the cold ran deeper. He just felt so empty. The silence gnawed once again. And his bed felt colder than ever.
He’d wanted freedom so he could love who he wanted. Instead of love, or even the mere prospect of a romantic involvement, life was laughing right back in his face. He angrily turned to another side.
Maybe the other brother was single.
And gay.
And also interested in Hans.
And better in bed.
The way he’d looked at Hans. With intent and indulgence. Like a man who’d already decided something and was waiting for Hans to catch up. He could fall asleep thinking of that look, the smirk, and the way Pavel licked his lips. It helped to soothe the way shame burned right under his skin. Before sleep could take him into its welcoming embrace, a low moan brought Hans back.
Then another one, louder, more desperate.
No fucking way. Not again.