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Prince Wilbur was a lonely child. That much is obvious. The effects of years of quietly standing by as his father and older brother ran the kingdom and went to meetings and fought wars had turned him into a reclusive young man, one who could blend into the palace background almost as well as a servant.
That isn't to say Prince Wilbur doesn't have a spine. The few staff who have gotten a chance to know him tell stories of a sharp witted, opinionated, humorous boy who is just as quick to pull your leg as he is to sit quietly in the library and read book after book on political history as if knowledge alone could gain him entrance into his fathers council room. He was a lonely child, and now he is a lonely man. But he is not a dull one.
Maybe that's why Wilbur is here, many streets past what his father would consider a safe distance from the castle in clothes he borrowed from one of the stable boys. It had taken him 19 years to accept it, but there's nothing for him in the palace, only empty hallways and endless books and certainly no family or company. So, Wilbur left. He's planning on going back--Techno will throw a fit if Wilbur goes missing--but not before he's gotten a chance to talk to someone who doesn't bow or call him "your highness."
As luck would have it there was one such boy on that very street, and at that moment, he had his arm elbow deep in Wilbur's coin purse.
----
"Ow, ow, ow, ow what the fuck!"
The scruffy, dirt covered thief struggles fruitlessly against the guards' hold as they drag him through the palace halls.
"Look, gentlemen," Tommy starts, "I didn't know he was a fucking prince alright? Why don't you just let me go? A deal between equals--" He cuts off with a yelp as he's tossed into a room, stumbling.
"As you requested, your highness."
"Goodness did you fucking drag him here?"
Tommy's head snaps up just in time to meet the worried eyes of Prince Wilbur.
Fuck.
He thought they were bringing him to prison, not the prince's personal rooms. Tommy is so fucking dead. They're going to execute him right now and he'll never have gotten the chance to say goodbye to his many, many wives--
"Leave us," Wilbur orders sharply, and Tommy shrinks, eyes darting around the room for an escape route. Nothing is looking promising.
"I'm terribly sorry about them," The prince continues, and Tommy wonders why he hasn't just stuck a sword through him yet, "I told them to find you. I didn't think they'd drag you halfway across the city."
Tommy freezes as one of Wilbur's hands raises-- This is it this is it this is it --and… sets gently on Tommy's face? He blinks his eyes open, and Wilbur takes advantage of his shock to twist his face, looking for injuries.
When he spots a few bruises he frowns, a darkness swirling in his eyes that makes Tommy feel torn between shouting and cowering.
"Did they do this?" Wilbur asks, and Tommy shakes his head slowly, "Good. I would hate to have to get rid of them."
"Now," Wilbur removes his hand, "Are you hungry?"
Tommy's mouth opens and closes a few times in abject confusion.
"What?"
Wilbur laughs, "You're right, stupid question. You're a street kid. Of course you're hungry."
The prince ushers him across the room to a small table--desk? Tommy doesn't have the brain cells to decide right now--and sits him down in front of more than half a dozen different meal options. When Tommy's jaw drops at the sight of them, Wilbur smiles sheepishly.
"Sorry, I didn't know what you liked so I had them bring up a few different flavor profiles--"
"What the fuck is going on?" Tommy blurts.
"Oh," Wilbur blinks, "Did they not tell you?"
"I stole from you," Tommy says, "Why aren't you, I don't know, tossing me in a prison cell and throwing away the key? Is this food poisoned? Is this like, a weird fucking hobby you have or--"
"No, no, no," Wilbur hastens to explain, "No, look, I didn't track you down to punish you."
"That doesn't make any fuckin sense."
And it doesn't. Far less powerful people have tried to kill him for far more insignificant reasons. Why the hell would the prince be any different?
Then, prince Wilbur opens his mouth and changes Tommy's life forever.
----
Tommy has seen people smile before.
Smiles dripping with lust or pity or poorly concealed rage--even kindness a time or two, though Tommy isn't foolish enough to think it could ever last.
But prince Wilbur, second son of the King, gazes down upon Tommy with a smile entirely different from any of those.
Prince Wilbur looks at Tommy, son of no one in particular, with love .
----
"Wilbur?"
"Yes, my treasure?" Wilbur responds with a soft, teasing smile, and Tommy scowls despite the way the name makes him want to melt.
"Stop calling me that."
Wilbur hums and adjusts one of the many pieces of finery he's draped Tommy in.
"But how else would you know how prized you are?" He asks, and Tommy fights back a blush, "How important? How valuable?"
He runs his hands through Tommy's hair before settling them on Tommy's jaw, holding him delicately.
"Perhaps I could call you sunshine," Wilbur brushes Tommy's cheek with his thumb, "Or my love, or my darling… but none of those are enough."
Tommy's given up on resisting the blush now, and his whole face burns under Wilbur's careful attention.
"Until I find a suitable replacement, I'm afraid you'll simply have to bear it, my treasure."
"Fuck off," Tommy mutters, but it lacks heat.
Wilbur chuckles before pulling Tommy into his arms, kissing his hair then cheek then lips. Worshiping the only companion that has ever mattered in his life. Tommy relaxes into the hands and touch, letting himself be cherished.
"Now," Wilbur kisses Tommy one last time, "What was it you wanted to ask me?"
----
"Will you teach me to play?" Tommy asks one day as Wilbur strums on his guitar, serenading Tommy with his latest songs.
"Of course," Wilbur says without missing a beat, and within an hour Tommy has a brand new guitar and the singular attention of--in Tommy's opinion at least--the best musician in the kingdom.
Wilbur guides him until his fingers are too sore to press into the strings anymore, and then Wilbur carries him to their room and presses the tips of each of those fingers to his lips.
"I thought I couldn't love music any more than I already do," Wilbur says as they lay tangled up in bed, Tommy on his chest, head tucked into his neck, "And then I saw you play it, and I've fallen even deeper then I had thought possible."
"You're such a sap," Tommy says with fondness.
"I'm an artist, treasure," Wilbur clarifies with a smile, "And you are my muse. This is not sappiness, it is poetry."
Tommy snorts, "A sap and a dork. How did I get fucking stuck with this one?"
"Fate?" Will supplies.
"More like my shitty pickpocketing skills."
"Well, I suppose you could say that, too."
----
"I love you, Will."
"And I you, my treasure… and I you."