“Oh, gods,” Kris groaned. “You /asked/ me this, Harry, so no hitting. I like you. I mean, not just friendly ‘like to spend time with you’, more like sexual ‘like to undress you and make you unravel beneath my touch’. And now we’re just going to forget I said any of that, and mark it up to your never-to-be-sufficiently-damned ale.” He cracked one eye, watching Harry. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t get beaten up over this stupidity.
“No hitting.” The prince reassured, his hands pushed behind his back to put emphasis to keep his word. He raised his eyebrows, looking down for a moment to think, processing what was to be said to him. There were many barriers, if the prince had liked it or not, despite his rebellious and conceited natures. Classes, families, perhaps even years (be it from 1598 to wherever he was from), and all the rest. Though he talks to the thieves, exclaims in the taverns and talks of in the illegal houses, that was only so far out of his reach.
He looked down to Kris, wondering what he should do; he knew not of what to look like, sympathetic, sad or accepting..nor did he know what to say. The prince lent a small smile, “Though the person will pass for the morrow if he drinks the more damned ale..”
“Oh, sure, let’s just … pass right out. What, do you want me to lose control?” Kris sighed and dragged his hands over his face. “My whole life is just strange right now,” he muttered under his breath.