[Standing there on the front steps of the school, with a wooden lectern the only defense between him and a row of cameras and hundreds of pairs of eyes, Wilhelm had felt for a moment that he was tilting over the edge of a precipice. His heart beat in the base of his throat, sweat slicked his palms, and the lurching in his stomach threatened the upheaval of his lunch. But Simon's presence, pressed into his awareness like the sun at one's back, assured him that everything would be okay. He had to pitch himself headlong into the unknown. Whatever happened from that point forward, he would not be alone. He could not be made to take back his truth.
It was out there, and it was beautiful. Him and Simon against the world.
Wilhelm bargains with his mom to bring Simon back to the palace. The queen wants a clean sweep of the scene, time to plan out the next PR move, and Simon, if left alone, could fall vulnerable to reporters. By whisking him away, they all get what they want. She, the illusion that this was intended all along; he, more time with Simon, to make up for all the days that fear and hurt kept them apart.
Finally, finally, after the long car ride, and a tense private discussion with his parents, and an endless meeting with the royal court, Wilhelm is released. Finding Simon in his room, he smiles. For the first time since Erik died, the palace doesn't feel too huge around him. He approaches him wordlessly, just gathering up this moment: Simon borrowing his sweater, breathing it in, as in love with Wilhelm as he is with him.
When he's caught watching, he laughs for the sheepishness that crawls across Simon's face. His hands find Simon's waist, and no reason not to touch him. Teasing, he tugs at the hem of the commandeered sweater. That's when Simon says boyfriends, and Wilhelm looks at him like it's the most brilliant thing he's ever heard. Like the word never meant anything until those lips shaped it.]
My boyfriend, Simon.
[He tries it out the same way Simon tries out his clothes. With a smile that gives away his answer, he cups Simon's face in his hands. His fingers stretch into the curls behind his ears, stroking gently.]
( 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?
[Wilhelm likes this new title better than crown prince. He hasn't yet thought about the mantle he's taken up, of being the first openly queer heir to a throne. He hasn't yet considered all the good for which he could leverage his power and position. All he's thinking about is the boy now enclosed in his arms. How their bodies just belong together, fitting as naturally as the jagged edges of something once broken in half, and how much he wants to kiss him, touch him, breathe him. He could stay with his nose buried in Simon's curls forever.
A sigh, soft as snow falling down, slips from his lips as Simon brushes a kiss against the base of his neck. His hands sneak under the hem of his shirt to trace patterns into the small of his back, like they're exchanging messages in a secret code that only they know. Even when Simon lifts his head to speak, Wilhelm continues the other conversation against his skin.]
God, I hope not. [He wrinkles his nose, laughing.] It sounds so... Like, your only purpose in life is to hang off of my arm.
[There's a part of him that wants to ask him, for at least the third time today, are you sure you're okay with being all over the tabloids again? But Simon is smiling his beautiful smile, and it feels like everything might be okay for once. They've earned this moment of peace.]
Your official title is 'royal boyfriend and actual angel'.
[And they're earned this kiss, too, soft and sweet but with the weight of the ocean behind it.]
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It was out there, and it was beautiful. Him and Simon against the world.
Wilhelm bargains with his mom to bring Simon back to the palace. The queen wants a clean sweep of the scene, time to plan out the next PR move, and Simon, if left alone, could fall vulnerable to reporters. By whisking him away, they all get what they want. She, the illusion that this was intended all along; he, more time with Simon, to make up for all the days that fear and hurt kept them apart.
Finally, finally, after the long car ride, and a tense private discussion with his parents, and an endless meeting with the royal court, Wilhelm is released. Finding Simon in his room, he smiles. For the first time since Erik died, the palace doesn't feel too huge around him. He approaches him wordlessly, just gathering up this moment: Simon borrowing his sweater, breathing it in, as in love with Wilhelm as he is with him.
When he's caught watching, he laughs for the sheepishness that crawls across Simon's face. His hands find Simon's waist, and no reason not to touch him. Teasing, he tugs at the hem of the commandeered sweater. That's when Simon says boyfriends, and Wilhelm looks at him like it's the most brilliant thing he's ever heard. Like the word never meant anything until those lips shaped it.]
My boyfriend, Simon.
[He tries it out the same way Simon tries out his clothes. With a smile that gives away his answer, he cups Simon's face in his hands. His fingers stretch into the curls behind his ears, stroking gently.]
Yeah, I want that. Definitely.
no subject
( 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?
it's me
A sigh, soft as snow falling down, slips from his lips as Simon brushes a kiss against the base of his neck. His hands sneak under the hem of his shirt to trace patterns into the small of his back, like they're exchanging messages in a secret code that only they know. Even when Simon lifts his head to speak, Wilhelm continues the other conversation against his skin.]
God, I hope not. [He wrinkles his nose, laughing.] It sounds so... Like, your only purpose in life is to hang off of my arm.
[There's a part of him that wants to ask him, for at least the third time today, are you sure you're okay with being all over the tabloids again? But Simon is smiling his beautiful smile, and it feels like everything might be okay for once. They've earned this moment of peace.]
Your official title is 'royal boyfriend and actual angel'.
[And they're earned this kiss, too, soft and sweet but with the weight of the ocean behind it.]