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The conversation started with an idea that came to them as they finished a walk with Wilma.
“Do you think we should throw Erik a party?” Simon asked as they entered their home, shedding their jackets and shoes.
“Like a welcome back kind of thing?” Wille asked thoughtfully, hanging up their coats.
“Or four years of missed birthdays, if you don’t think he’d be into that,” Simon suggested. “Something to celebrate.” He picked up a towel from the pile in the entryway and started attacking Wilma’s muddy paws with it.
“What are you thinking? Small like my eighteenth? Or big like my eighteenth?” Wille joked, referring to the private party they had had in secret with their close friends and family before the official occasion his parents had insisted on.
Simon shook his head, standing up and freeing their pup to run rampant in the flat. “I was thinking more like the anniversary party we threw for your coming out speech.”
“Now that was a wild night,” Wille laughed. “I think most of the actual evening is lost to me in a blur of booze, vanilla-cinnamon cake, and those streamers.”
A cheeky grin spread across Simon’s face. “And a whole lot of lube.”
Wille allowed a startled laugh to escape him. “Simon, Nilsson is right there,” he hissed.
“Eh, he’s heard worse, isn’t that right, Nilsson?” he called.
A slightly uncomfortable Nillson grimaced from across the room. “Indeed, Your Highnesses.”
“See, Wille? Nothing to-” Simon broke off abruptly. “Your Highnesses?” he repeated incredulously.
Following the emotional rollercoaster of a day that had started on almost no sleep to begin with, the look of sheer indignation on Simon’s face tipped Wille over the edge. He started giggling uncontrollably.
“What are you laughing about?” Simon demanded.
Wille just shook his head, entirely unable to articulate the realisation he had just come to. “You- you agreed to marry me!” he squeezed out between wheezes.
“I did not!” Simon corrected haughtily. “I proposed to you.”
“Whatever, you want to legally bind yourself to me. You want to be my husband.”
Simon crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m failing to see the punchline here, babe,” he said.
Taking a second to collect himself, Wille wiped at his eyes and took a slow breath. No good; one look at Simon and he was off again. “You, Simon, want to marry me, Wille,” he said, trying to regain control.
“That is pretty much the entire point of the operation, yeah,” Simon agreed.
“Simon,” Wille said, suddenly serious. He took both of Simon’s hands in his and looked into his eyes. “You’re going to be a royal.”
Simon heard the words but the meaning took a second before it hit his brain. When it did, he stepped back and swore, causing his fiancé to fall apart laughing again.
“Nilsson, you better take that back,” he demanded.
Nilsson, who now looked rather like he was enjoying himself, smirked and said, “Of course, Your Highness.”
“Stop laughing, Wille, you’re only encouraging him,” he sulked.
Still chuckling softly, Wille drew Simon’s face closer to his and nuzzled his cheek.
“Aw baby, don’t pout,” he said. “It’s not becoming of a man of your station.”
Simon put the palm of his hand flat on Wille’s face and pushed him away in disgust. “I’ve changed my mind. I want a divorce,” he said.
“A bit early for divorce, no?” Wille said, grinning amusedly and not at all looking heartbroken at being dumped. “Don’t you want to make it to the alter first?”
Simon shook his head firmly. “No, nope, this farce has gone far enough. I want out.”
“Oh, no,” Wille said. “So I guess this is it, then.” His terrible attempt at deadpan was ruined by the sniggers that kept escaping.
“You really look sad about that.”
“I am devastated. Truly.”
Simon straightened his sleeves and brushed a hand down his jumper. “Prince Wille, this time has been… damaging. Emotionally. I am sure I won’t recover. See you never.”
“Wait, wait, wait. As your ex-boyfriend and someone who cares, not about you but about my reputation as a lover, let me at least pay for your therapy,” Wille bargained.
Simon tilted his head, pretending to consider the offer. “That is tempting. It has truly been a rough journey for me.”
Smiling softly, Wille stepped forward back into Simon’s space. “I can’t imagine how traumatic,” he soothed.
“This would be just to protect your reputation?” Simon clarified. “To the nation?”
“Mm,” agreed Wille. “I can’t imagine the state of affairs if it got out that I bestow the people I bed with undue titles and then just cast them out. Like some kind of animal.” He brought a hand up to the side of Simon’s neck and felt his pulse jump. He stroked his forefinger back and forth gently, admiring the smoothness of the warm skin beneath.
Simon’s gaze fixed on Wille’s lips. “That seems… fair,” he whispered.
His eyes fluttered closed and they were close enough that Wille could swear he felt the slight woosh of Simon’s eyelashes fanning air across his face. He nudged infinitesimally closer and their noses bumped.
Simon tilted his head slightly and parted his lips, and what was Wille supposed to do except close the distance and slot their mouths together?
It started with a gentle pressure that sent thrill in tiny ripples across Wille’s body, but quickly became firmer. Kissing Simon was a dance, and Wille had learned the steps years ago.
With his free hand, he reached for Simon’s waist and pulled his body tighter against him. Simon responded by deepening the kiss and sliding one leg up Wille’s.
“Maybe- maybe I could leave tomorrow,” Simon suggested weakly as Wille started pressing kisses along his jaw and down his neck.
“Or, you could stay,” prompted Wille, sliding the hand on his neck up into soft curls and tightening his grip just so, eliciting a soft whimper from his fiancé. “Just think of the damage you can do to the monarchy from inside.” He drew back to admire the beautiful man in his arms.
“Inside?” repeated Simon thoughtfully.
Wille felt a hot twist in his core at the look in his fiancé’s eyes. “Nilsson, would you mind stepping outside?” he requested, not taking his eyes off Simon.
With a quiet “of course, Your Highness,”, Nilsson let himself out and Wille lowered his head for a longer, lingering kiss.
“In every sense of the word,” he growled against Simon’s lips, and set about making him forget what a proper form of address even was.