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When Scott is twenty-one years old, Skizz finally gives in.
They run into each other on his day off, in a dark back-alley bar where the prince can get away with hiding his face. Skizz, however, has been staring at this man’s face every day for the past three years, and he perks up immediately when the prince enters and picks out a table in a dark corner to sit at.
Skizz gets about five seconds to watch him before the prince’s eyes catch his, and he watches Smajor’s head dip sideways into an invitation. Skizz slowly gets up, which settles the prince’s eyes back on the crowds around them. He stops by the bar on his way over, getting hands on two pints of a mead he knows the prince likes.
He reaches the table with the mead in hand, gesturing with his head for an empty chair, which prince Smajor pushes out with his foot so Skizz can sit. They’re sat next to each other, backs to the wall so they can keep an eye on the crowds, yet secluded enough that they feel safe to speak candidly.
“You come here often?” Skizz starts with a wink, putting the mead down in front of prince Smajor.
The prince rolls his eyes at his antics but does gratefully pull the mead towards himself.
“Yes, actually,” Smajor says, “do you?”
Skizz knows the reputation this bar has – knows that very few people will be leaving here alone today – but that’s an invitation if he’s ever heard it, and he’s in a reckless mood.
“Sure do! No better place to find some company in all of Rivendell,” Skizz says as he raises his glass for a toast. The prince clinks his own glass against Skizz’s before they both take a sip.
“I thought you said I was the best company in Rivendell,” Smajor teases.
“You are,” Skizz confirms, “and here I’ve found you.”
“Careful now, Skizz,” the prince hums into his mead, “I might start getting my hopes up.”
“Yeah? How so?” Skizz asks like they don’t both know what the prince is talking about.
“I might start thinking you’ll take me to bed, finally.”
“I’ve been thinking it, too, Major. Get with the program,” Skizz takes in the way the prince’s eyes widen before he takes a big gulp of his mead. So, he wants to get out of here quick, then. That’s no problem with Skizz. Still, it’s way too much fun to mess with the prince a little, and Skizz has always had a terrible habit of playing with his food.
“Pace yourself,” he says, in no way like it’s a request, “I’d like to talk to you a little longer.”
The prince follows his orders without hesitation, setting the mead down with a guilty look in his eyes.
“Good,” Skizz says, “now tell me what you’re usually in this bar for.”
Four hours later, in the dead of night, Skizz is laid out in the prince’s bed. He’s on his back, one arm stretched out to the side so Smajor can curl up to him. They’re both naked and tired and very satisfied – like itching your leg after it comes out of a cast. Skizz curls his arm slightly so he can run his fingers through sky-blue hair. The prince makes a soft sound and curls up to him more.
Skizz has been in this room plenty of times before – he’s the prince’s main guard, after all – but he’s never seen it in the dead of night. Of course, it’s the middle of winter, so everything is the dead of night. Still, he’s never seen the moon cast onto the spruce wood floors quite like this. It’s a nice view, he thinks, or maybe that’s just because of the company.
One of Smajor’s hands comes up to trace patterns through Skizz’s chest hair, and Skizz tightens his arm around the prince’s shoulders in response.
“Why did you change your mind?” the prince asks softly, as to not disturb the peace.
Skizz hums to himself and think for a moment on how honest he wants to be.
“Major, when I met you, you were young and heartbroken and lonely,” he says, running his fingers through the prince’s hair again, “None of that has changed. But you’ve given all those pieces of yourself a place these last three years.”
He pauses for a moment as the prince lets out another soft sound at the hand in his hair.
“I’ve watched you grow, prince Smajor. I’ll be honest – I love you, man. Which- what a great world that is, where I love the man I’ve pledged myself to.”
The prince shifts in his arms, launching himself up until he can solidly press his lips to Skizz’s. It’s not a deep kiss – not this time – but there’s a lot to be said within it.
“And I didn’t change my mind,” Skizz tells him at last, “I wanted to say yes back then, too. But I wasn’t lying, you were too young.”
Something passes over the prince’s face that’s rare enough that Skizz can’t quite read it. Happiness, maybe. The prince lies back down.
“You’re a good man, Skizz. I feel the urge to give you my name,” Smajor says into the darkness. Skizz just squeezes his shoulders again.
“I’d never forgive you if you did.”
There’s a moment of quiet and the prince hums and burrows himself deeper into Skizz’s side.
“You know,” Smajor starts, “in another life, I would’ve liked to pledge myself to you, too.”
Skizz takes it for what it means – I love you, too – and passes his fingers through the prince’s hair one last time.
“Go to sleep, prince Smajor. We’ve passed the winter solstice – there’s longer days ahead.”
The prince does so without comment. Skizz doesn’t go to sleep.
He lays in the darkness for another hour, listening as prince Smajor’s breathing evens out, watching the moonbeams crawl over the floor and onto the prince’s face, and then worms himself out from under the prince. He sees Smajor’s face furrow further for a moment, before Skizz pushes a pillow into the place he once occupied and the prince goes back to rest.
There will be consequences for this, one day. Right now, Skizz presses a soft kiss to the prince’s hairline, before pulling on his clothes and sneaking out of his room. Impulse is on guard outside, but he’s kept secrets far worse for Skizz. This one will be no different.