Shakespeare one shots

Nobody needs to know

(Did you catch the reference? Did you??)

I just really wanted some nice, domestic TDB. My boys have so much angst. They need to unwind.

I haven't made Getrude a good mum in a while so I'm doing that. I really do love her when she's not partaking in Making Hamlet Even Sadder.

Smol warning: Ham has a high libido and you might not want to read this while sitting next to your grandma.

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The only thing Hamlet would forever hold against Horatio was how goddamn early he got up.

He complained about it several times daily. To anyone. Usually Horatio himself, but Ophelia, Ros and Guil, and even Laertes had often been subject to Hamlet's onslaught of tired whining.

Alas, Horatio remained dedicated to his early bird tendencies. Even when Hamlet used his most convincing tactics.

"Ratioooooo..."

"Hamlet, the whole of Denmark doesn't sleep as late as you. Someone needs to be conscious before noon, and if it's not you, I'm most qualified to run the country."

Horatio tried again to sit up in bed, but was thwarted by Hamlet's unrelenting arms around his waist.

Peppering kisses across his shoulder and collarbone, Hamlet muttered, "You're too good for Denmark. It doesn't deserve you."

Horatio sighed. "Yes, but it needs me, since it can't have you. Now, if you will please-" Horatio paused to grunt as he pushed Hamlet's arms away and sat up, "-allow me to do my job. There will be plenty of time for indulging your touch-starvation after we've made it clear to the staff we haven't died mysteriously in the night."

"Wouldn't be the first time, though," Hamlet quipped.

Horatio looked away, recalling a very different memory than the one Hamlet was suggestively smirking about.

Noticing the sudden shift in mood, Hamlet moved to situate himself across Horatio's lap, legs on either side of him. He leaned their foreheads together.

"I'm not going anywhere, you know that," he said into the small space between them.

Horatio shifted gears instantly, quirking an eyebrow. "Yes, I'm aware. You don't go anywhere until your thirst overpowers your stubbornness."

Hamlet suddenly found himself deposited to the side of where Horatio had just been sitting, frowning at the wall. "Why won't you talk to me about my own death?"

"Because you're okay now." Horatio studiously avoided eye contact, changing into something more formal than an old shirt and boxers for the day.

Hamlet tried valiantly not to acknowledge the fact that his partner was shirtless and stay focused on the point he was arguing. "Maybe, but I wasn't okay before. Three months at my bedside, and you didn't know if I'd ever open my eyes. That's traumatic to boot, and frankly, I'm not sure if you've dealt with it all yet."

Horatio, having buttoned his shirt (an action both relieving and irritating to Hamlet), turned to him, looking up through his lashes with the smile he knew damn well made Hamlet go weak at the knees, and said, "I've had enough of trauma and death. You're here with me today, aren't you?"

"I am." Hamlet stood, grabbing Horatio by the collar to pull him closer. "Much to your dismay, I'm sure."

Horatio laughed. "Always so sure of everything," he said, then pulled Hamlet into a languid kiss of love and contentment.