harry—monmouth:

iamthefirechild:

harry—monmouth:

iamthefirechild:

Lightly, now, Kris introduced his tongue, flicking the tip of it at marks on Harry’s fingers, kissing down into the palm and over the heel of the hand. He bit at the base of the thumb before tucking Harry’s hand up against his face and mirroring the position himself. More kisses, then, to the edges of Harry’s mouth, along his jawline, Kris snubbing his nose up behind Harry’s ear. “Tell me what you want,” he murmured.

Henry had a reason to tense at Kris’ kisses, sweet and short were they; he let a slow breath from his lungs. He stole a simple and chaste kiss from Kris’ lips, bringing his head low as he looked to his side. He didn’t know what he wanted; he was always given everything he thought people thought he needed. The prince bit his lip, making a soft groan as he buried his face at the crook of the other’s neck.

Softly Kris stroked Harry’s hair. He let his own breath out in a slow exhale, shoulders slumping. He clearly had to give over his own hopes, because Harry wasn’t responding in any familiar way. And he couldn’t permit himself to just take. “Shhh, Hal, Harry, Henry, shhh.”

Hal had quieted by his words, though he still had only one question he kept in mind. He gently kissed Kris’ neck where he can reach without moving too much, giving into moving freely inch by inch.

“Tell me again. Why must you leave?” he asked quietly, though he hesitated to ask.

“Because this is not my true form,” Kris whispered. “Because after this night, I am a lady, and under the rule of my father, who is unlike to allow me any freedoms. Because,” he sighed, “this is like unto a dream, which fades away with the dawn. You would not wish my true self, prince.”