Lokisdottir: harry—monmouth: iamthefirechild: Kris couldn’t resist the temptation…
Kris couldn’t resist the temptation to run a hand along Harry’s ankle, enjoying the feel of the leather against his skin. “What changes aren’t acceptable?” he coaxed.
Henry tensed along the touch, watching his hand cautiously. “I know not of what…
“Though hiding a goat from a family of wolves will have the elders starve. I cannot simply hide; I do not want to lie to him. He is to be the person to put the crown on my head—there, I will stand differently.” He muttered, trying not to move away, the young prince sighed, averting himself. “I cannot simply forget the person I had known for longest. I am my own, though I am also his flesh and blood, a first born, heir and a brother.”
“Oh, aye, shape yourself to his desire alone, and lose track of who you are in the process,” Kris half-sneered. “The pitiable life of a prince of the realm, lauded by whores and thieves and half-drunken, Henry’s golden son. I could hate you for this.”
“I am to set a good example, I know who I am.” He frowned, looking elsewhere as he moved to lean back a bit more. “But not a prince of this ‘realm’ alone. Just a Prince of Wales. This whole realm, I do not think it needs a single kingdom of these persons. Then, what makes keep you from hating me?”
“You’re too damned charming, Harry.” Kris clenched his fingers around Harry’s ankle. “Hard to hate what you like so much.” A drawl filtered into his words as he spoke. “You’ve got it all. Loving father, brothers, girls at your feet, a kingdom to inherit … “