Warning: Contains slash and Hamlet being a perv (or, basically, himself, according to Stoppard)
Words words words: 397
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
The prompt was "pigsty".
I dedicate this to myself and anyone else who never uses their desk as a desk but rather as a place to pile stuff.
The room was dark as Hamlet crept in. He only wanted to borrow a spare quill and the desk was easy enough to locate, but he'd brought a small candle with him to supplement the faint crack of light that seeped in from the hallway because he knew that Rosencrantz's room was always a mess. And, sure enough, he counted at least half a dozen things that he might well have stubbed his toe on without the extra light.
At least the quills were easy to find (in a pilled jumble along with some stray parchment and bits of string). He was about to creep back out when a soft snore caught his attention.
Hamlet had been making these midnight forays ever since he'd realized several terms ago that Rosencrantz, in all his disorder and air-headedness, never realized he was missing anything, regardless of whether it was returned in a timely fashion or even at all. In that time, he had learned that Rosencrantz never snored, not even that time he'd caught the cold that had been going through all of Wittenberg.
He turned and aimed, as best as was possible, his candlelight towards the bed. The movement of shadows only briefly obscured what made his nerves fairly tingle with curiosity: a shape beneath the covers that was too large to be a single person and too continuous to be a pair of people sleeping side by side. Hamlet moved silently closer until he could see who the extra person was.
And almost laughed aloud when he saw that it was Guildenstern of all people, who probably put more time and effort into scolding Rosencrantz than most of their teachers combined. Not even just for academic reasons, either, but anything up to and including the length of the other young man's hair – which Guildenstern currently, even in sleep, had his fingers loosely tangled in. Hamlet made a special note of that and resolved to make some sort of comment on Rosencrantz's hair sometime, to see what would happen.
There was only one more thing he was curious about, and decided that since he was already standing so close he might as well. Daringly, he lifted up a corner of the blankets and peered under.
After a moment he smirked, returned the blankets to where they had been, and swaggered out with the "borrowed" quill in his pocket.