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Being the Prince of Twoweekerry is no funny business.
For Louis, it means being the face of his nation, the pride of his kingdom. It means keeping the peace with surrounding territories and leading with strength and certainty. It means taking long, tedious, obnoxious trips when the Kingdom of Lemoncult threatens their former, stable peace.
Louis glances at his mother, the Queen of Twoweekerry, seated beside him in the black car. “I really don’t understand why we couldn’t fly. It would have saved us hours. We may as well be taking a carriage like in the olden days.”
“Oh, shush. Security would stick us on a private jet, and I’m not having that carbon footprint on my conscience.” Jay pulls him close, an arm around his shoulder. His seat belt cuts into his windpipe.
“Ugh. Mom.”
“Let me hold my baby.”
“Not a baby anymore,” he reminds her, because sometimes Louis thinks she honestly forgets.
“Always my precious one.”
“Mom.”
“Fine, fine.” She plants a kiss on his head and backs off. “Don’t want to ruin your nice suit, anyways. They got the color perfect on this one.”
Louis glances down at his yellow and blue suit, tugging on a sleeve that is starting to wrinkle. “Yeah, quite proud of it. Wish I could have worn sweats for the travel, though. It’s going to smell stale.”
“Well, we’re going straight into negotiations when we get there, so that wouldn’t have worked.”
“I know.” Louis glares at her. “We should have pushed it off until tomorrow, what with this car trip and all. What are we on, hour 20?”
“Five, Louis. It’s a five-hour drive. And look - it seems we’ve arrived.”
Louis turns to look out the window and sees the grand Lemoncult Castle atop a hill. Their car turns onto a winding stone road and begins its climb toward his personal hell. He isn’t sure if he’s relieved to get out of the car or if he’d prefer to do a few more laps between their capitals.
This would be fine if he were only meeting with the Queen of Lemoncult, Anne Styles. Unfortunately, life is cruel, and he’s fated to negotiate with the bane of his existence, Prince Harry Styles. He’s an absolute dick. Ever since they first met as babies, he’s been a pretentious suck-up, full of fake smiles and rules for his rules. Louis cannot stand him at all.
Alas, as he’s ushered from the car, he tries to center himself. Louis is here because Harry’s family is threatening their alliance, and Jay made it clear they needed to figure out what went wrong and rectify things. He has to be on his best behavior. He straightens his suit jacket and buttons it up, following his mother through the towering front doors.
The first thing Louis sees when he enters is Prince Harry fucking Styles wearing his same fucking outfit but with red instead of blue accents. Jesus Chr-
“Queen Anne,” Jay squeaks, trembling with excitement to see her friend. She quivers through a deep curtsy and waits for Anne to reciprocate before their faces break into wide grins, and they collide. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too, Jay. Oh my gosh. I have so much to catch up with you on. Did you hear about Darius?”
“What? No. Tell me everything.”
Louis flicks his eyes back to Harry, who’s grinning widely at him. His eyes aren’t creased like they would be if he was truly happy to see Louis, the smile he actually likes. Fake, fake, fake. Plus that suit, goddamn it. What, do they shop from the same designers too? That would be rich, but not a shock. Their mothers do most of the designer sourcing on their behalf. Suppose they do the job well for the outfits to fit so nicely. Louis’ gaze flickers around Harry’s chest, arms, and thighs, assessing the fit. Well tailored. He can see… a lot….
“Long time no see, Prince Louis.” Harry bows, his cheeks pink. “Been such a while that you needed to remember what my legs look like, hm?”
Shocked, Louis stiffens. “Watch your tone.”
“Merely a comment, sir.”
Louis nibbles on his lower lip, staring at Harry’s suit-matching nail polish. “What, was your goal to butter me up with my country’s color? Sure would fit your repertoire of tactics.”
This makes Harry’s brow furrow. “Not sure what you mean by tactics, but if you possessed basic decency, you would recall that yellow is a color used by both the Lemoncult and Twoweekerry Kingdoms. Not my fault you picked someone else to dress you.”
“You don’t know that someone else dressed me, butter boy.”
“I imagine it’s why your suit fits you so well.”
Louis blubbers, attempting to get words out before groaning. “God, you were always the kid asking for extra tutoring, weren’t you? Particularly diplomacy studies, memorizing every facet of the other countries so you could wipe their bums clean after they shit. Sorry, I can’t remember your colors since you so clearly copied ours.”
“I did, in fact, take diplomacy studies to a higher level. Perhaps you should have, and then you wouldn’t be forced to put up with butter boy.” Harry raises an eyebrow, but his torturously blank smile never fades.
“Always such a goody two shoes,” Louis mutters.
“Always such a lovely guest,” Harry replies, his jaw tight.
“Princes,” Jay cuts in, her tone serious. Louis and Harry straighten and turn to her, their hands clasped behind their backs. “Anne - Queen Anne and I must freshen up. It shouldn’t take too long, so we’d like to ask you to wait for us.”
Anne claps twice. “Liam, Zayn? Could you kindly show the Princes to our diplomacy room?”
Two guards march up and salute their Queen before turning to the Princes and beckoning them onward. Louis levels his mother with a frustrated look as they pass, hoping she feels remorseful for not letting him change when she gets a break.
Louis and Harry shuffle into a conference room with a long, oval table at the center. Harry takes a seat where he has an engraved nameplate. Louis stands and stares.
“Please, feel free to sit anywhere, Prince Louis.”
“First of all,” Louis starts, his irritation flaring, “drop the formalities. I’ve known you since you wore nappies. Just call me Louis, for Christ’s sake.”
“I’m only being polite.”
“It’s just the two of us! You know I don’t care about all that in private, so could you stop acting like such a dick?”
“You’re right. So sorry that I have a decent sense of decorum. Maybe you missed some lessons there, as well. What were you doing, Louis? Sneaking off to steal lemons in the middle of your studies per usual?”
Louis’ nostrils flare. “Oh, are we going there, then? God, you’re so pompous. We were kids, and you were so concerned about getting in trouble that you refused to go on a tiny trip outside. Watch out! The guard’s gonna take you to Mommy Anne, and you’ll get spanked!”
Furious, Harry rises from his seat. “Do not call her that. She is the Queen of Lemoncult, and you have no right to address her otherwise.”
“Is that really what you’re stuck on? Goodness gracious, Harry. Live a little and get that stick out of your ass.”
Harry pinches the bridge of his nose and plops back down into his seat. “Let’s just… be quiet. Yes? Quiet would do us both good.”
“Of course, your highness. Your wish is my command.” Louis sticks his tongue out at the other prince when he shuts his eyes momentarily, already considering stripping his own titles to get out of this meeting. He huffs loudly, plopping into a random chair.
Time passes, and Louis grows antsy and bored quickly.
“Soooooooooooooooooooooooooooo,” he drawls, tapping his fingers against the table. “Do you want me to go check on them?”
“Do as you please,” Harry replies simply. “You are not my prisoner.”
Louis raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t mean to insinuate that I was. Perhaps your description is apt, though. Prisoner. Hm.” He opens the doors and pokes his head out. “Oi, lads. Do you know which way the Queens are?”
The two soldiers guarding the door flip around to face him and box him into the room. “Sirs, you’re expected to wait for the Queens to arrive. Kindly hold tight. I’m sure they’ll be returning soon.”
“I - really? I’m stuck with butter boy over here until God knows when? Maybe the term ’prisoner’ was right after all.”
From the corner of the room, Louis hears Harry groan, “What kind of diplomacy meeting is this?”
Louis purses his lips before breaking into a wide, fake grin, a trick he learned from his dearest, closest friend. “Thank you, men.” He turns back into the room and lets the doors almost slip shut before poking back out. “Oh, and can you send some snacks, drinks, or... anything? I’m absolutely starved.”
When he settles back in the room, Harry’s still quiet. Louis bides his time whistling and tapping his shoes on the floor. All today has been is waiting. Waiting for the car to get to the castle and now waiting for the Queens to return. It’s absolutely infuriating, is what it is. There’s a ripping headache blooming at the base of his skull, and he knows he would be better at restoring the peace between their nations if he’d had a few hours to nap.
The door creaks open, and both men whip their heads around and stand, prepared for the Queens. Instead, an enthusiastic blonde boy shuffles in, food and drink heavy on the tray he holds. He wobbles unsteadily, and Louis drops back into his chair, deflating.
“Prince Harry, your majesty. Prince Louis, your majesty. At your request. I come bearing lemonade, Prince Harry’s recipe, and lemon tarts, Prince Louis’ recipe - these are fresh from their travels.”
“Thank you, Niall. Do check on our mothers, will you?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Niall salutes both of them after arranging the tray on the table and whips out of the room like a rocket.
Harry and Louis eye each other cautiously as they take portions. “Lemons?” they ask simultaneously.
“You bake?” Harry changes course to question.
“You do things other than study?” Louis snarks in retaliation.
“I didn’t mean it to be rude, Louis.”
“At least you’ve dropped the formalities. And yes, I bake. I do a lot of things. I try to get experience working in many professions,” he explains, denying to himself that he’s enjoying the opportunity to gloat to Harry. Surely Harry’s a supreme gloater. “That way, I work with people all over my kingdom and form strong relationships with them. It also means I learn on the job about many different disciplines. You don’t get that from books,” he adds, smirking as he takes a bite of one of his lemon tarts. The zing shocks his system. He feels wide awake now.
Harry patiently sips the lemonade, smiling softly as he does so. “That sounds lovely, Louis. You’ll be a fantastic ruler.”
And, no. That was not what Harry was supposed to say.
But then Harry takes a bite of his tart, and his mouth scrunches like he’s been kicked in the royal jewels. “Oh, heavens.”
“What? Can’t handle a robust flavor?”
Harry cringes, clearly uncomfortable. “I mean, I’m sure it’s great for some tastes. Just - a tart doesn’t need to be this tart. You know that, yes?”
Louis glares at Harry, the fire rekindled in his gut. He sips the lemonade Harry apparently crafted and is grateful to find that it’s sickly sweet. Tauntingly, he replies, “You know that lemonade should have lemons and not just sugar in it, yes?”
“It - it isn’t that sweet!” Harry takes another sip and purses his lips, grimacing. “Anyways, you’re one to talk.”
“Maybe stick to being a pretty face,” Louis decides. Oh - he didn’t mean to say it like that.
“Maybe stick another tart in your mouth,” Harry mutters.
Louis smirks. “Great idea.”
They’re silent again for a while. Louis is getting so frustrated with his mother. At this point, he assumes the gossiping tea was piping hot, as he can’t imagine what else would be taking this long. Maybe she was secretly pregnant, and now she’s off giving birth to another kid who can take Louis’ place in these negotiations.
After some time, it appears even Harry can no longer stand the silence. “How was the drive?”
“Terrible,” Louis grunts. “I’m sore and tired; this is the first I’ve eaten since I woke up this morning.”
Harry licks at his lips before glancing down. “I’m sorry you couldn’t breathe before we were pulled in here.”
“Speaking of,” Louis replies, suddenly overcome with curiosity. “What exactly has your family done to bring us here?”
“Mine?” Harry is taken aback in shock and glances around as though looking for cameras. “You must be joking, right? We’ve never been anything but cordial. I mean, look at our moms. They still get on like a house on fire.”
Louis snorts. “Well, we certainly didn’t do anything. Maybe some deal you made with us is expiring, and you felt we did too good of a job negotiating before. Like a delicious lemon tart, a negotiation needs a strong punch of confidence. That bit of tartness to stake a proper claim for what you deserve.”
“We’re not callous like you speak of. Sourness doesn’t suit strong leadership. Rather, you need to promote kindness, tolerance, and goodwill in negotiations. We won’t bully.”
“It’s called a backbone! Who taught you this, to just give and give and smile and smile? Fuck’s sake, we can’t all be as sweet as you, Harry!”
There’s a pause, and Louis feels his heart racing. He refuses to make eye contact with Harry.
Harry finally says, “You think I’m sweet?”
“I - uh.” Louis scuffs his shoe on the tile floors. “I meant the lemonade. Obviously.”
“...Oh.”
Louis sighs, dropping his head into his hands before sitting back up. He’s royalty. What is he doing? “Listen, I’m really sorry. I’ve been acting like a complete brat. I’m so exhausted, and like you said, the lack of a break has clearly gotten to me. Sometimes politics is a lot for me. It isn’t where I fit best, so it cuts to my weaknesses.”
Harry’s lip quirks up in the corner slightly. “It’s okay, Louis. I understand. I’m sorry you had to come all this way.”
“No worries. I imagine we’ll be out of your hair soon.”
Pausing, Harry takes another sip of his lemonade and, this time, visibly winces. He looks over to Louis, his eyes a tad disappointed. “That’s not a worry, Lou.”
The silence overtakes them again. Louis doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore. Surely it’s been a solid hour since their mothers left them alone. This is reaching obscene levels of disrespect, but it’s not divided by their kingdoms, so there isn’t much to be done about it.
“That color,” Harry says out of nowhere before coughing into his fist. “Uh, that color is nice on you. The shade of yellow. It contrasts well with your… your golden skin.”
Louis’ jaw drops because what did he just say? He has no idea how to reply to that. His cheeks blush harshly as he bites back, “And it doesn’t suit you very well at all, ghosty.”
Harry gasps but also clearly attempts to hold in laughter. “Excuse you?”
“You heard me,” Louis mutters.
“I can’t go outside too much. I burn easily,” Harry explains patiently.
“Sounds about right.”
“And I’m trying to stay safe since skin cancer runs in my family.”
Louis freezes, guilt gnawing at his fingers where they rest against the lemonade glass. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Louis,” Harry chuckles. “Didn’t mean to overshare.”
“You don’t look like a ghost,” Louis adds.
Harry laughs louder at that. “I kind of do.”
“Was rude of me.”
“Louis,” Harry admonishes, his cheeks even pinker than when he first noticed Louis checking him out. “I - I didn’t mean to be so… blunt. It was crude of me.”
Louis’ turn to blush. “It definitely isn’t a problem,” he admits.
The silence that returns to them is different now. Not full of discomfort, but instead crackling with something fresh.
Louis takes another sip of the lemonade, just a small one. “It’s really not that bad. I tend to avoid sweeter things, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy them occasionally.”
Harry hums and glances at his plate, coated in a thin layer of crumbs. “Might be a bit hypocritical of me should I claim otherwise for your tart.”
Louis hums and takes a small bite of his pastry before pausing, an idea striking him. As he’s mid-chew, he sips Harry’s lemonade and lets the flavors meld together in his mouth.
His eyes open in an excited flash. Harry stands up and walks towards him, his gaze curious as he watches Louis.
“Maybe that’s it. Your drink and my tart simply need to balance out. When you have them at the same time, they do that. It’s perfect, the harmony.”
“Is that so?” Harry smiles, but it’s the real one, the one where his eyes crinkle up.
Louis always was a sucker for that smile. It was why he’d always looked forward to trips to Lemoncult Castle as a kid, begging Harry to break the rules and steal lemons with him. Begging Harry to give him an ounce of attention, which he instead poured into his books and studies. His excitement turned to irritation over time.
The excitement has returned tenfold, though. Louis’ stomach is full of butterflies. Or maybe that’s the feeling of too much lemon in his gut, but it doesn’t stop him from trying the combination again.
“You have to try this, Harry,” Louis insists, pushing his plate towards Harry without thinking about it. There are more pastries on the serving platter, but his own plate and half-eaten tart seemed a better option for some reason.
“You’re right,” Harry replies, his smile fading as his brows furrow. “I have to know for myself.”
Louis rises up, intending to grab another tart, but Harry’s hand slips around the nape of his neck. Before Louis can move, Harry’s other arm presses into his lower back and pulls him in.
Harry nudges their lips together softly. Sweetly. Louis digs his fingers into Harry’s hips, shocked and amazed.
“Such a lack of decorum,” Louis whispers when Harry pulls back.
“Forgive me. I suppose you’re rubbing off on me, and I’m turning into a sour, lemony rebel,” Harry teases, his grip firm.
“Lemonrry, really,” Louis teases. “I can think of nothing sweeter. Lemonade is great, but I want another taste of you.”
The two princes melt together, Harry allowing Louis to nudge him back against the conference table.
“Speaking of rubbing off,” Louis mutters into Harry’s mouth, making Harry laugh.
They grip tighter and tighter, latching closely as they move. It’s so much. Louis had never let himself think this could ever happen, and here they are, from biting each others’ heads off to… well. Many things involving multiple heads, soon.
Just as things are really getting tangy, Harry’s breaths turning into whines, the doors break open with the sound of chattering followed by a gasp. Louis and Harry jump apart, caught like deer in headlights as their mothers stare at them, wide-eyed. In his pants, Louis’ cock throbs. That’s probably visible. Lovely.
“Jay?”
“I think it worked, my dear Anne.”
“I think you’re right,” Anne replies, giggling into her closest friend’s shoulder.
“Oh my god, mom, you’re so embarrassing,” Harry whines.
“Wait a second,” Louis says, glancing between the Queens. “Did you two trap us here so we’d get to know each other?!”
“Mmhmm,” Jay says, nodding. “So you’d see what you were missing.”
“Mission accomplished,” Harry admits with a bright blush. “Does that mean our Kingdoms aren’t actually at odds?”
“Only you two. Well, I guess that’s been taken care of!” Anne winks at them.
“This is perfect,” Jay sighs dreamily. “Lemoncult and Twoweekerry never felt right. It’s been such a long time since the Kingdom of Lemonrry was whole. We should probably start planning the wedding and merging logistics, yeah?”
“Mom, oh my gosh,” Louis whines. “It’s been, like, fifteen minutes.”
“A sweet fifteen minutes?” Harry nudges Louis’ foot with his own, suddenly bashful.
Louis’ grimace fades as he glances at Harry, who meets his glance, his entire face softening. “Yeah,” Louis agrees, wrapping an arm around his future Prince of Lemonrry. “A perfect, balanced, harmonious fifteen minutes.”
He wraps an arm around Harry’s waist, and they lean into each other. For all their tense history, they have a familiarity that lets them fall into one another easily.
“Suppose thanks are in order, so thank you, our Queens.” Harry catches his lips for a brief peck, and Louis’ heart bursts with inspiration, turning to his mother and future mother-in-law with a passionate gaze. “Now, who can show us to the kitchens? We have tweaking to do.”