This is miserable…

The fanciful, jaunty music permeated throughout the grand hall as he watched the hypnotizing swirling of sparkly dresses on the dance floor. There were so many people that it was difficult to spot his brother in the middle of it all, expertly leading a gorgeous dark-haired lass with hazel eyes. He had never been graceful or surefooted, not like Philip. That’s why he always lurked in the corner, watching. Besides, so many people in one room made his heart race enough.

Instead, he studied people. He noticed the way hopeful young ladies looked at his older brother, that shine in their eyes and smile on their faces. It wasn’t dissimilar to how Percy had looked at him before. He wondered if he looked at the blacksmith boy the same way.

When he had pulled him into that alleyway, he hadn’t known what to expect. But that brief moment where his hands had been on him, he yearned for more. He kept thinking of the night he’d spent at the tavern. Looking back, he knew what he had wanted to happen in that moment, when they were inches from each other.

But that was him. Not Percy.

He took a heavy drink from his glass and sank into the wall, attempting to make himself even more scarce. Was it even possible to feel that way towards another man? It was certainly unheard of. Attraction was between men and women. Right?

“I assume you hate these just as much as I do.”

He turned his head in the direction of a smooth but masculine voice. A young man about his age, maybe slightly older, had sidled up next to him on the wall, bearing what he imagined to be a very similar expression to his own. As the man glanced over at him, he caught sight of his amber irises. His hair was shaped similarly to his own yet a warm brown coloration. And he was certainly taller. He smirked with the side of his mouth.

Aryn scoffed playfully into his cup. “Probably more so but yes. And you are?”

“Oliver Farrington. Your Highness,” he added in the last bit teasingly.

Aryn pressed his lips together anxiously. “Well I sure hope you’re not here to talk to me about politics, Oliver Farrinton,” he grumbled.

That made the young man laugh. “Oh, no no. No, I’m actually here because of my sister. She’s dancing with your brother right now actually.”

“Ah I see. She’s quite beautiful,” he added politely. His tone was more matter-of-fact than anything else.

“Thank you. She received all of the courtly dispositions in the family, so to speak.”

“Oh, so that means you’re the mysterious older brother who’d rather be honing his archery skills than playing house at royal balls?” he presumed with a smirk, turning to look at the young man. “Am I close?”

Oliver chuckled as a knowing grin grew on his sharp face. “Very close actually. Except it’s not archery. It’s fighting.”

Aryn glanced down at his hands which rested on his biceps, as he had set his cup down and crossed his arms. His knuckles were dusted with scabs and scars. A tingle ran up his spine.

“You fight? Isn’t that a bit… barbaric for someone of nobility?” he pointed out curiously, wanting to hear more.

Another smirk. “We all have our secret pleasures. Some more than others.”

At that he glanced over at Aryn, a different look in his eyes as he studied him briefly. His heart kicked up as he swallowed dryly.

“So tell me,” he started again. “Why aren’t you out there looking for a wife?”

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“Well, this is my brother’s ball, not mine. Besides, I’m in no rush to be married.”

“Curious. It seems to me everyone is, especially in our world. What, you're not just so excited to have little gremlins running around at your feet whose arses you have to wipe every hour?” he asked sarcastically, that same playful smirk on his face.

That made Aryn laugh. “Not particularly, no.” He bit his lip. “What about you? You haven’t married yet?”

“No, I decided a while ago that marriage isn’t for me. I like my freedom. And my sister is beautiful and smart enough to marry into just about any prestigious noble house. Maybe even your house, Stewart,” he pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

“Well I wish your sister all the luck. For your sake especially,” he teased.

The two of them fell silent for a few moments, watching the other guests twirl around each other, before Oliver stepped closer to him, their shoulders touching.

“You want to get out of here? I’ve had enough boring gawking for one night,” he murmured into his ear.

The tone of his voice had shifted drastically, and it made his heart begin to race, his palms growing sweaty. He let out a quiet, sharp sigh.

“Where to?” he asked breathlessly.

“Wherever we won’t get caught,” he whispered under the music.

His breath caught in his throat. He placed his glass down hesitantly and turned to exit the hall, Oliver following behind. All of the guards were stationed either in or directly outside the hall. Seeing as to how crowded it was, the two were easily able to slip past and head down the corridor towards Aryn’s chambers. He fumbled with the handle as his hands shook subtly before finally pushing it open, closing and locking it behind him.

“Oliver, I don’t know–”

He was suddenly pushed up against the door, their faces hovering in front of each other’s, before he pressed his lips to Aryn’s. At first he was so in shock that he didn’t move, but something about it clicked in his head. That missing piece of the puzzle he had been trying to solve.

His unresponsiveness caused Oliver to pull away slightly, their eyes meeting.

“Do you not?..” he prompted, starting to remove his hands from him as a look of severe regret grew on his sharp features.

But Aryn leaned forward and connected their lips again, closing his eyes. He felt Oliver’s hands slink their way back around his waist and pull their hips together. He smelled of soap and sweet herbs and wine. Their lips began to move in tandem as a rhythm was established, and he hesitantly moved his hands up Oliver’s chest and shoulders to his hair. His heart thumped loudly as it proved difficult to catch his breath. Soon he felt Oliver’s hands slide their way under his shirt, caressing his back as he teased his tongue into Aryn’s mouth.

He could feel the blood rushing, the knot forming low in his stomach. Suddenly his shirt was getting pulled over his head before their lips crashed into each other’s once more. He shivered as the chilled air now reached his skin. Strong hands gripped under his thighs as Oliver hoisted him up to rest on his hips, pressing him firmly against the door. His lips moved to his jaw, then behind his ear, then to his neck. A quiet noise escaped Aryn’s mouth involuntarily as his face flushed red, to which Oliver glanced up at him with a smirk.

Suddenly he was pulled away from the wall and thrown onto the bed. He sat up on his elbows to witness the young man deftly removing his shirt before climbing on top of him. As he went in for another kiss, the prince placed a hand on his chest.

“Wait,” he whispered breathlessly, looking up at the amber eyes.

He waited and leaned back just slightly, propped up on his arms. “What is it?”

In response, he slowly ran his hands down the man’s chest to his muscular abdomen, taking in his physique. He touched his hips, his back, his shoulders… everywhere he could. The expression on Oliver’s face had softened.

“Sorry I just… wanted to look at you,” Aryn murmured quietly, biting his lip.

A smile curled on the edge of his mouth. “Well, like what you see?”

“Yes I do,” he admitted with an airy chuckle, his cheeks turning pink.

Oliver slowly leaned forward and placed a soft, lingering kiss on his lips, keeping their faces close, his hair tickling his nose. He traversed down his neck, to his chest, then his stomach as he tucked his fingers into Aryn’s waistband.

What occurred next was unlike anything he’d experienced. Sure he had discovered self-pleasure when he came of age for it, just like all boys did. But this he had never heard of. And as he lied there, feeling Oliver’s hands and his mouth on him, around him, realization hit him like a horse running at full speed. He hadn’t known before what he wanted from Percy that night, but now he did. He wanted Percy to hold him and kiss him and touch him. He wanted Percy to make him feel like this.

He wanted Percy.