( as much a title, it seems, as crown prince. something feels intrinsically changed upon hearing wilhelm claim him though, and simon flattens lean fingers against his chest before hooking them around his waist, drawing him into a hug. for some reason, it always feel more passionate than a kiss between them — dropping his head down on wille's shoulder and breathing in the vague scent of his soap on his clothes, something rich and cashmere, drawing his lips against the small bit of skin between shoulder and neck. his fingers draw lazy, cursive figures against his spine, thinking that every moment when his hands are on wille is so amazingly peaceful, that anything could be going on outside the four walls of wille's bedroom, and simon wouldn't bat an eyelash.
after a beat he snorts a laugh, pulling his head back enough to nip at his jaw. )
That's a relief, since everyone already thinks that. ( it's not a criticism — simon was already in it for the long haul with wille, committed to two years of secrets before the title of boyfriend got brought into play, so it's just ... boosting the timeline, a little. for the first time, he's not actually bothered by the media knowing his name and seeing his face plastered everywhere, because it's in it together with wilhelm, not bearing the weight alone. it doesn't feel heavy when they're together, wrapped up in each other, simon lifting on his toes to press their noses together. he grins, bright. ) No one's gonna start calling me "consort", are they?
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( as much a title, it seems, as crown prince. something feels intrinsically changed upon hearing wilhelm claim him though, and simon flattens lean fingers against his chest before hooking them around his waist, drawing him into a hug. for some reason, it always feel more passionate than a kiss between them — dropping his head down on wille's shoulder and breathing in the vague scent of his soap on his clothes, something rich and cashmere, drawing his lips against the small bit of skin between shoulder and neck. his fingers draw lazy, cursive figures against his spine, thinking that every moment when his hands are on wille is so amazingly peaceful, that anything could be going on outside the four walls of wille's bedroom, and simon wouldn't bat an eyelash.
after a beat he snorts a laugh, pulling his head back enough to nip at his jaw. )
That's a relief, since everyone already thinks that. ( it's not a criticism — simon was already in it for the long haul with wille, committed to two years of secrets before the title of boyfriend got brought into play, so it's just ... boosting the timeline, a little. for the first time, he's not actually bothered by the media knowing his name and seeing his face plastered everywhere, because it's in it together with wilhelm, not bearing the weight alone. it doesn't feel heavy when they're together, wrapped up in each other, simon lifting on his toes to press their noses together. he grins, bright. ) No one's gonna start calling me "consort", are they?