Archive of Our Own

The body falls from the sky like a shooting star, hitting the deck of their gauntlet runner with a sound so sickening that for a moment Will believes they’ll have to scrape the remains off. Yet, as tentative steps turn into some kind of half run, he realizes that the broken form of man still draws breath. He’s on his knees with his hand pressed flat against a broad chest before his mind becomes aware of the healing magic he’s pumping into his once adversary. 

Had it not been for the familiar uniform, filthy as it is–and the blatant truth that it could be no other–Will is not certain he would have been able to tell who it was that lay on the brink of death before him. Staring down at a face that is more blood than features, soft locks now matted and dyed red, he struggles to come to terms with the fact that this is Louis Guiabern. Or, more accurately, Louis Charadrius–though he still struggles with that as well. 

Will knows he should kill him. His sword is a heavy weight at his side that reminds him of its presence with every action that he takes. It’s not the impulse of a bloodthirsty tyrant–if anything it is the opposite; Louis would not abide by the mercy of his enemy. What remains of their story should end here and now with one swift cut to the throat–quick and clean, just as Grius said. Will knows this, and still he hesitates. As he wipes the blood from Louis’ face, ultimately doing more to smear it over the both of them than actually clean anything, the deep wounds marring his once perfect skin guide Will to his final decision. 

It is not a mercy. It is the kindest form of retribution he could possibly construct, and for a man as prideful as Louis it is a fate worse than death. 

It has been five months since Will’s coronation and only now is he beginning to feel the freedom to breathe. Once the dust had settled and the celebrations of a new King had come and gone, the true uphill battle began. A gruelling, near demeaning process of clawing through the political muck to garner respect not just for himself but for his chosen representatives as well. For the first two months of his reign there wasn’t a single decision he’d made that hadn’t received push back. He knew every excuse like the back of his hand at this point; ‘it’s too early, ‘we lack the funds and the manpower’, ‘after what the people were put through we shouldn’t rush into anything too hastily’, ‘you are still young, there’s much for you to learn of the ways of the world’.

The last statement chafes the worst. Will knows he is still young and idealistic and that the weight of what crushed his father underfoot still looms in his future but he has seen far more in the past year than any political pundit had hiding away in the safety of their manses. He’ll not be talked down by anyone who weighs the value of a life in coin and so he accepts each and every challenge to his authority like he would any other battle and, over time, emerges the victor. His victories come in the form of publicly funded schools and labour unions to protect the rights of the undertrodden, and as he pushes his view of the kingdom ever forward he knows that for as much as his senators hate him more with each passing day their begrudging respect grows. 

The reveal that Louis Charadrius, traitor to the crown, yet still lives nearly crumbles that respect back down to its foundations. It is made only worse by the fact Will’s own trusted companions question the wisdom of his decision; Strohl has yet to even acknowledge the man’s existence and the flicker of betrayal in Basilio’s eyes was nearly enough to make him doubt his course of action. Will stays resolute though; he’s known since Louis offered his hand to him in earnest that there are things only the two of them understand. He won’t ask his friends for acceptance or forgiveness, only their trust. If anything were to happen to put even that into question, Will won’t hesitate to bring this–whatever it is–to an end. 

Still, just because he no longer feels the full weight of a country’s expectations on his shoulders does not mean the amount of work he has to do each day has decreased any. Will rubs under his eyes; he hadn’t thought that being the King would involve so much paperwork. Admittedly, he hadn’t thought much of what it would mean to become a King when he first took the crown besides his hopes for the future and was, in many ways, wholly unprepared for the full breadth of the task. His driving force to learn came from the little voice in the back of his head calling him a bright-eyed fool; it sounded suspiciously like Louis. However, even his dedication to see each of his projects come to fruition as quickly as possible can not overcome the exhaustion that makes his eyelids drop with each passing moment. For as much as Hulkenberg might get on his case for slipping away when there’s still work to be done, even she would be hard pressed to argue that he hasn’t earned his rest. 

Speaking of his personal knight, Will turns to Gallica with a crafty smile on his face. His dear fairy guardian, who has long since abandoned her own work in favour of fluffing up the quills he has lying haphazardly across his desk, eyes him up suspiciously. 

“I know that expression…” She mutters.

“What expression? I was merely thinking about winding my day down in the library and was hoping, as my dearest friend, you would be willing to cover for me if a certain Dame knight came looking.” He defends himself with a casual tone, as if his intentions were truly as simple as he claimed. They both know better though, so he can’t exactly blame her when she crosses her arms and scowls up at him.

“Will, that’s mean.” Gallica says bluntly. Will has the decency to look apologetic but does not back down, already standing up to adjust his overcoat. If there’s anything the past few months have taught him it is that it’s best to ask for forgiveness rather than permission. 

Or, in lieu of that, to simply do without the expectation of either, but that’s a thought far too influenced by another’s presence for his liking. Will has no qualms about doing what he likes but there’s only so much he can inconvenience those he cares for before it sits ill with him. He wouldn’t be sitting here if not for his allies after all, and he’s not about to take them for granted. 

That’s not what this is though. No one is hurt by his dalliance here besides, perhaps, a bit of Hulkenberg’s patience. Something he’d happily avoid doing, so long as Gallica plays along. 

The fairy sighs, her wings fluttering to carry her off his desk and towards the open window. She clicks her tongue at him but there’s no real heat in the action. Most of her attitude is for show; she’s not really that annoyed with Will’s current fixation, not like some of his other friends, but she knows that this performance is expected of her. 

“I won’t lie to her, but if she wants to know where you are she’ll have to find me first. See you tomorrow, Your Highness!” She flies out into the evening light, more than likely to seek out another of her fae friends. He expects she won’t stray far–she never does. Even now, months after learning the truth of his existence, their bond is still as strong as ever and whenever Will finds himself in a spot of trouble Gallica always seems to know. 

With that settled, Will stretches out his arms. There’s an ever present kink in the back of his neck that continues to cause him discomfort when he turns his head the wrong way. Normally he’d ask Basilio to assist him with it–the man has extensive experience dealing with these kinds of body pains–but the paripus has been visiting acquaintances in Brilehaven for the better part of the month.

Will imagines asking Louis for help and wonders what kind of expression the man would give him in return. He has half a mind to find out. 

As he wanders into halls far too grand for his comfort, Will’s feet guide him to his destination. Even after receiving the Prince’s memories–his own memories, a realization so staggering it sometimes leaves him breathless even to this day–this place is unsettling in its unfamiliarity. There was a time in his life where would have filled these halls with laughter, riding his sword from room to room in search of his father, or Grius, or perhaps Hulkenberg herself–anyone who would have given him the time. Those days are long since gone and with them nearly everyone who would have remembered. Only his trusted knight remains, and she gets too misty eyed about topics of their shared past for him to press. 

With that said though, the ease of which he always found the royal library, no matter where in the palace he was, was a bit astonishing. It was as if his body knew where it was going and so long as he didn’t think too much about it he could trust that he’d find his way without fail. Today was no different, drifting from corridor to corridor, his only real focus on avoiding anyone who might waylay him. Thankfully the later hours have left the palace fairly empty, so much so that Will doesn’t see a single other soul until he’s standing outside of the library’s rather ostentatious doors. 

He’s considered replacing them in the past but the disgusted expression that never fails to cross Louis’ face when he sees them has made them worth keeping. At least for now; the painstakingly carved clemar wisemen who look down at him like the supreme gatekeepers of knowledge have begun to lose their sardonic charm. The longer they stay up though, the more refreshing they’ll be to pull down. 

Will knocks twice but doesn’t bother to wait for an answer. He never does–there’s no point, when there’d never be an answer. An initial scan of the room reveals no tall blond elda, the desk is empty and the seats unfilled. There’s a pile of books left on a table and try as he might, Will cannot remember which of them it belonged to. 

Well, he supposes it all belongs to him now but it’s become hard to divorce Louis from the library. At this point he’s certain the man is more familiar with the shelves than he is. Will still doesn’t know what to do with him; where he’s most skilled is where he cannot afford to place him most. This is a temporary measure at most but it is one that’s suited him well, at the very least. 

In the end, Will is not surprised to find the man between the shelves on biology and herbal medicine. They’d recently received a large shipment of firmly banned books; test runs before he resumes their mass publishing. A good number of those volumes were on the very topics Louis was rifling through. 

“Anything interesting?” 

Louis isn’t at all surprised. Will’s visits have become far too common at this point; in fact he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s become so predictable as to be timed on the dot. The taller man merely looks at the book in his hand with cool disdain. 

“Paltry at best. Whichever Sanctist revisionist was responsible for striking this one from the commons must have led a dreadfully boring life. A mere few months in the military would teach more about the differences in tribal anatomy.” His voice is a lazy drawl, but he still places the book back on the shelf with a certain reverence. No matter how scathing his criticism, Louis treats every book in this library like they’re worth their weight in gold. 

It is late enough that the sun has fully set, and in the soft light Louis is a sight to behold. Will has a full view of the right side of his face, both the bloodied red eye and the array of scars that stretch from mouth to brow. Even now, faded to a dull red as they are, if he stares for too long he feels they might consume the man’s face in their entirety. 

Louis turns to look at him and Will doesn’t even bother to cover the smile on his face. Everyone can agree the man is striking, though perhaps Will is alone in how he interprets the word. He knows, to Louis, the scars on his face are as much a morbid deterrent as they are an example of his failures. No matter how scathing the words of his detractors may be–and regardless if he deserves them–nearly all falter at the sight of him. Will has watched the words die in their throats as their eyes dart anywhere but what lay right in front of them. Some look positively sick–and Will is quite certain Louis enjoys every second of their discomfort. 

It doesn’t work on Will though, and if Louis is bothered by that he does well to hide it. There’s no doubt in his mind that the man is unhappy with his circumstances and certainly is counting down the moments until Will inevitably falls so ingloriously it puts his father to shame. When it comes to the topic of his injuries though, Louis is shockingly blasé. Perhaps it’s on Will for ever assuming otherwise. 

Louis clears his voice. “And in what ways has His Highness revolutionized this great Kingdom today?” 

It’s dripping in irony and it’s the closest to a ‘ how was your day? ’ Will is going to get. 

“My morning was spent mostly responding to the usual complaints that I’m being unfair to decent business owners for expecting them to pay their workers a fair wage.” Will lists off, voice light. “On my way to lunch with Eupha I was waylaid by a sect of Sanctist’s worried I was planning to shut down the church. It took a while to assure them otherwise.”

Louis’ scoff is proof that he’s listening. Their feelings on the continued existence of Sanctism is one of many, many points of contention. It’s a topic he generally avoids in more heated discussions. 

“As for this evening, I was reviewing material for the new general hospital project.” He trails off, voice lingering in the air. They’re trapped in a brief stalemate, eyes locked as neither says a word. Will sighs, leaning against the shelf. “Well, it’s been time consuming to say the least. There’s not much out there to act as a basis of comparison, so there’s been a lot of work to be done on my side before the construction can even commence.” 

They both know what it is that Will wishes most, but he won’t ask and Louis won’t say anything at all, and they’ll both keep making circles around the heart of the issue until nigh on forever. Will tells himself that this is fine even as he knows deep down this bubble of tentative peace between them can’t last forever. 

Louis breaks eye contact first. He grabs a pair of white gloves he had set aside and slips them on in one smooth motion. Will’s eyes follow the entire process only to drift upwards, his attention always so enraptured by the sins etched into Louis’ very face. He’d feel worse about staring if it ever actually seemed to bother the other man in any meaningful way. The scars cut so deep into the muscle that Will doesn’t even realize Louis is smiling mirthlessly until he turns back to face him. 

“After such a tiresome day I can only imagine you’ve come here for the express purpose of… sleeping upon the stacks, I suppose?” 

It’s meant as a jab towards Will’s unfaltering persistence to come see him at least once a week, if not more, but the young King has little to defend himself with. Hulkenberg has found him on multiple occasions sleeping in some reading nook–undoubtedly making his sore neck muscles even worse. Louis will place each and every book back with tender care and yet leave the boy without so much as a blanket. 

After staring at his own writing for multiple hours of the day though, Will’s a bit done with reading at the moment. Instead he grins conspiratorially. 

“I was wondering if you might join me in my quarters for a spot of recreation?”

“You know, I’d half expected something different when you first invited me.” Louis comments, his head resting on the back of his hand as he lounges in one of Will’s many unnecessary armchairs. Honestly, he understands having one or two but five of them decorating various spaces of his sitting room seems rather excessive–even acknowledging the name of said room. It’s only one of a small handful of times Louis has ever been in his quarters, and the thought of it is still a touch jarring. 

Will looks up at him from his seat across the table, rolling a pair of dice in his hand. They’re onto their third round of backgammon with one win each and at the moment it looks like he is clutching the win. Raising an eyebrow as he releases the dice, he asks, “And what did you expect?”

“Chess.” Louis says simply. Will could snort at the obvious answer if it didn’t risk setting the other man in a cankerous mood. Of the many things Louis Charadrius was good at hiding, his subtly competitive nature was not one of them. He was clearly not appreciating the idea of losing. 

“I’d not challenge you to a game I have no chance of winning.” Will responded, and for as humble as his words are his tone comes across smug. He’s no fool; the only wins he’s ever clutched against Strohl in chess he’s quite certain were given to him out of pity and there’s no doubt in his mind that Louis is an even better player. “I think it’s more fun to combine a bit of luck with skill when it comes to games.” 

“There’s nothing amusing about leaving things up to chance.” Louis bites back, even as he takes the dice in hand. He rolls, releases, and frowns as the revealed numbers don’t allow for any convenient movement. Will’s own roll has him sending one of Louis’ pips back to the centre. 

They’re bold words coming from a man who’d narrowly missed death multiple times, surviving only due to the will of the fates. Then again, Louis may very well credit his survival to his own sharp thinking and nothing else. It isn’t as if Will is much of a spiritual person either; more than anything he just enjoys the thrill of not knowing an outcome. 

The game’s outcome at this point though is near set in stone. Will is only dragging things out of a desire not to see the night end, but there’s only so much feigned consideration over movement choices he could reasonably draw out. As he passes the dice back, a thought comes to his head. 

“And what of the other half?” 

Louis looks up from the board, and the sight of Will’s own reflection in his bloodied eye has him swallowing. The man raises an eyebrow, unsure of what Will is referring to. He clears his throat and shifts in his seat. 

“You said you had half a mind as to what I was referring to, so what did the other half expect?” He explains. 

“Ah,” Louis responds. He taps a finger against his cheek, specifically against the scar that must have ripped from the corner of his mouth all the way up to the bottom of his ear. Will’s eyes have followed that particular one more times than he’d ever care to admit. “I feel it should be obvious that I had expected you were inviting me for sex.” 

Will feels like he’s swallowed his own heart. He can feel it thumping in his throat, a chaotic series of palpitations which couldn’t possibly be healthy. With his mind suddenly so filled with fantasies of what that ruined flesh might feel like under his fingers, he can barely babble out his response. 

“Would you have accepted?” 

It’s asked far too quickly not to come across sickeningly desperate. In that moment Will feels very much like the nineteen year old boy he is and not the King and ruler that he’s supposed to be. Louis’ stares back at him with half lidded eyes and a self-satisfactory smile. 

“I am here, am I not?” 

Will doesn’t know whose mouth is on the other’s first, only that it’s warm and wet enough to distract him from the sound of the backgammon board hitting the floor. He doesn’t know if it was a deliberate action on Louis’ part or not and frankly he does not care. There’s more pressing things on Will’s mind, like the surprising softness of Louis’ lips contrasting with the stiffness of his right cheek. He’s fantasized about this for months now but he’s only ever had various romance novels as a reference and this is nothing like what they describe. There’s no fireworks or butterflies–there’s no sweetness to speak of. It’s more aggression than lust, though there’s more than enough of the latter to keep him coming back for more each time they part for a breath. 

Louis’ lip catches between Will’s teeth and for a moment he thinks of the human abomination he’d fought those five long months ago. Will has never considered anything as beautiful as its chipped porcelain face and gaping maw of a mouth, lipless and tongueless. The length of time it takes for him to fight against the impulse to bite down until flesh breaks beneath his teeth should be concerning. Instead it has him kicking off his shoes and crawling onto Louis’ lap. 

As they break once more, Will’s view of Louis’ face is far closer and more intimate than it ever has been and he feels sick with desire. Half of his face is such a painful mess that he doesn’t even know where to look; the other, still so angelic that it stirs feelings of inferiority in his belly. The man before him has become a living embodiment of beauty and horror and Will wants nothing more than to bend at the knee in worship. If any of his dearest friends were to hear his thoughts he knows they would recoil in disgust. 

Louis, who’s probably more aware than any of them, does not. Instead, he turns his head as Will goes back in for another kiss. Bruised lips meet ravaged skin and for a moment he feels struck mad. His tongue lathes at the flesh, committing the feel of spit slick scar tissue to the deepest parts of his memory. It’s positively filthy–Will probably looks more like a beast than a man–but he cannot stop, not when there’s so much skin left unexplored. Louis only manages to bring it to an end with a rough tug to the hair on the back of Will’s scalp, pulling back far enough to expose the boy’s throat. 

“I have no qualms about taking you on this chair but I don’t see it being a particularly enjoyable experience for either of us.” Louis says, pressing his face to Will’s jugular and making known the threat of teeth. The young man would have argued that he doesn’t need this to be enjoyable if the realization that Louis Charadrius is going to fuck him didn’t immediately melt all of his thoughts into sludge. 

It’s hard to move though. His legs are still straddling Louis’ own and his hands itch to touch his face. Louis is not making it any easier; despite his own words his mouth is still on Will’s throat. The anxiety of having a man, who not so long ago wanted him dead, so near to his arteries pools between his legs and makes his dick throb. If Louis ends up slitting his throat then he hopes he’ll at least have the decency to kiss him a few more times while he bleeds out. 

Will doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed when Louis finally releases his neck with one last suck against his pulse, the skin otherwise unscathed. Then Louis is standing, hands hooked firmly under Will’s ass and he feels like his world is spinning. He loops his own arms around the man’s shoulders, clinging to him, feigning a fear of heights or being dropped when really he’s just wholly intoxicated by the other’s presence. Will has never been drunk before but this all consuming desire must be the closest thing to it. 

“I presume that’s the way to your bedroom?” Louis asks casually, gesturing to the closed double doors to the east of the room. Will is almost fooled into thinking he wants this more than Louis does. The man betrays the depths of his own desire though by digging his fingers into the fat tissue of Will’s ass and thighs. 

“Y-yeah.” Will stutters, distracted with running one hand over Louis’ cheek. He turns his head, catching a finger in his mouth and biting down–not enough to break skin, but it is enough to leave an indent. Will groans. 

They almost make it to the door without incident outside of the machinations of wandering hands. Will keeps this room sparsely decorated besides what was already there when he moved in, obscene amount of armchairs and all, so there’s not much to get in the way. As such, the surprise of being slammed against the wall is enough to suck the air from his lungs. Louis’ mouth is back on his before he can even breath. This time Will really does bite down on the man’s lip, though not as hard as the twisted part of his psyche desires. He can feel Louis’ smug smile. 

They’re close enough to the door that Will could reach out to touch it had he not been busy tugging Louis’ coat off his shoulders. That struggle is a whole process of shifting and touching, and as Will wraps his legs around Louis’ hips and hooks his ankles they grind against one another. If there was any doubt left over how much Louis actually wants this, it’s quickly laid to rest by the hardness brushing against his thigh. 

This time it’s Will pulling at Louis’ hair. “The chair was one thing but I’m not losing my virginity against a wall.” 

Louis’ eyes widen just a fraction. “Virginity?” He repeats, as if he’s any reason to be shocked that Will doesn’t have a lot of experience with this kind of thing. If this is what triggers cold feet in his choice of partner, Will might just die of frustration.

“Not like I had much of an opportunity until now.” Will mutters, yanking open the first two buttons of Louis’ shirt. What goes unsaid is that, even if he had, he’s doubtful he would have acted upon it. Until a few months ago, Will wasn’t even sure if he was capable of sexual attraction. He was more preoccupied with the tasks at hand, of the kingdom’s future, of keeping his supporters happy. 

Then he saw Louis’s shredded face coated in blood, and as he cradled him in his arms and stained his hands red all he could think about was how he wanted to stare at that face for the rest of his life. Will knows there’s something very wrong with him but it’s not as if Louis is any better. Already whatever reservations the man might have held about stealing away ‘ His Highness’ purity’ have all but vanished, leaving behind something far more eager. 

Trying to get the door open without one or both of them falling in their current predicament would have been a lesson in futility, so Louis finally places him back down on his feet. Will doesn’t mind so much as it means he can sneak his hands around Louis’ waist once his back is turned, fiddling with the belt buckle that keeps him from his prize. 

“Incorrigible.” Louis scolds. Will feels no shame, only satisfaction when the damnable thing hits the ground. 

The moment the door is open, Louis grabs one of Will’s wrists and tugs him forward. Will stumbles forward, trips on his own feet, and hits the floor with both knees. It’s a nice view from down there though, staring up at Louis who looks down on him with a bemused expression. It’s only made better by the short distance between his mouth and the man’s crotch. 

Louis grabs him by the chin, forcing him to look back up from the obvious erection the man is sporting. “You’re free to risk the rug burn if you’d prefer staying down there, but come to bed with me and I promise to drown you in pleasure.” 

The rug burn sounds nice but what Louis promises sounds even nicer. Will is shaky getting back up on his legs but he does manage to. In the darkness of the room Louis leads him effortlessly to the bed without so much as a second glance. Will, who knows exactly who he inherited this room from, chooses not to think much on the reason the man would be familiar with its layout. He’d much rather think of their own blood spilling over the sheets than someone else’s. 

Oh, that’s probably bad to think about , Will acknowledges in his mind. He’s fairly certain sex shouldn’t involve as much bloodshed as his imagination is currently providing. In an effort to push it from his mind, he instead pushes Louis down on the sheets and enthusiastically straddles him. The man humours him for all of thirty seconds before their positions flip, Will pinned to the mattress by Louis’ hand on his throat while his knee parts Will’s thighs. 

“Afraid of having someone else take control?” Will mocks. Louis scoffs but refrains from taking the bait. 

“Not at all. You’re more than free to have control once you know what to do with it.” He says, nudging his knee against Will’s erection. The young King can barely manage a gasp with the hand crushing his windpipe. Louis doesn’t relent until Will’s mouth is slacked open and there’s a trail of saliva dripping down his chin. He blinks the dots from his vision as Louis tugs his pants down to his ankles.

“I wanted to see you naked first.” Will grumbles, feeling a little bold. Louis laughs at that and it’s a surprisingly warm rumble. 

“I’d be shocked if you can see anything at all in this darkness.” An equally warm hand wraps around Will’s dick and his hips jolt upwards. Louis readjusts, using his own body to weigh Will down. It feels so good that he nearly forgets that Louis has brought attention to something he very much wishes to rectify. 

The man has already begun to stroke him lazily and very clearly neither knows nor cares to know why Will begins straining against him. It’s only when the boy starts making grunts of effort–not the moans of pleasure Louis is likely looking for–that he sighs in irritation. “Do you ever settle down?” 

“I want to see your face.” Will offers as explanation. Finally his fingers find the lamp sitting atop his bedside table and after a short second of fiddling around warm light halos over them both. Louis is so breathtaking it makes his dick throb in the man’s hand. 

Louis gives him a strange look, resuming his stroking. “You really do enjoy how I look, don’t you?”

Will feels it should be beyond obvious by now. Maybe early on, while Louis was still recovering and looked at him with more contempt than intrigue, he had made an effort to hide it but there’s really no point to it now. There’s no doubt in his mind that Louis still plans out every detail of his inevitable downfall when there’s nothing better to be doing, but he believes they’re close enough at this point to say their attraction is mutual. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Will asks, knowing full well what Louis really means. It earns him a squeeze that has him wincing; it’s as delicious as he hoped. 

“The rest of your trusted companions certainly do not. You don’t look at me as they do.” 

Will is growing breathless and talking is becoming difficult. For someone who keeps prodding him for answers, Louis is not making it easy to hold a conversation. “And h-how do they look at you?” 

Louis’ grin is all teeth as he bends forward to bite Will’s shoulder. The sound he makes is somewhere between a gasp and a cry. The man speaks against his skin, more vibrations than sound. “Like I’m a monster.” 

Will is so painfully close but the urge to respond is too great to ignore. “You are a monster.”

It was clearly the wrong thing to say. Louis’ hand stills, stealing with it Will’s teetering orgasm. His mind panics, cradling Louis’ face with his trembling hands. He babbles his explanations as quickly as he can. 

“You’ve killed more men with your actions than some armies, and I know even now you feel no regret about it. You planned to turn almost everyone in my country into humans–already did so to your soldiers who looked up to you and believed in you. It’s not your face that makes you a monster, it’s your actions.” Louis’ eyes narrow which gives Will the chance to press a kiss to the eyelid of his bloodied sclera. “But I am here, am I not?” 

Louis’ echoed words seem to be enough to sate him; Will’s fevered kisses hopefully help. He’s not about to pretend the man he’s chosen to sleep with is a saint, it’s just that he still wants him in spite of what he’s done. 

Or, perhaps, because of them. There’s still a part of him that wants to slide his nail under the orb of Louis’ eye and pull it free from the nerve just to see how far back the discoloration goes. Thankfully, for both of their sakes, Louis’ hand returns to pumping him and Will falls back against the pillow. 

“You speak as if you’re any better than me, and yet do we not have the same goal ultimately? I would have offered a quick release from the shackles of conscious thought to anyone judged unworthy–yours is a slow death, the destruction of all they’ve ever known as they watch on helplessly.” 

Will really shouldn’t be as shocked as he is that Louis would bring their ideological debates to the bedroom. Each stroke to his cock ebbs his thoughts further and further away and he can only assume it’s deliberate. That said, he’s doubtful Louis has a desire to win this particular argument through means of making him come his brains out; more likely, he’s just getting off on watching Will struggle to think. 

“I’ve never once claimed to be a good person.” Will says, gasping. He’s sure he must look ridiculous to Louis with his face so flushed and sweaty while his brow furrows in thought. “I’m just as selfishly dedicated to seeing my vision of the world executed as you are. I can’t control if people call me a hero or a sinner for it.” 

Will might have his ideals but he’s not as naive as some–even his own companions–believe him to be. He knows what it will take to bring true equality to his kingdom, that anyone digging their heels into the sand will be given a choice; adapt or die. Will’s not inherently a cruel person but there’s a limit to both his kindness and his tolerance. He won’t concede to anyone unwilling to give up the power they hold over others. The only difference between him and Louis is that the latter believes change can only happen by culling the weak; Will inherently believes it only possible through protecting them. 

All of that is a mouthful though, and nothing he hasn’t said to Louis in the past. He’d much rather be chasing this orgasm he’s on the precipice of. Reaching up to run his hand over Louis’ scars, he grins at him. 

“Besides, I don’t think a good person gets off on thoughts about ways to destroy their lover’s face more .” 

Louis positively swoons. Will’s certain the man has been complimented for his beauty a hundred times over but that’s the last thing he’s interested in. He adores Louis’ ugliness, craves it, wants to see more of his rotten heart etched into his skin. The human form his body had twisted itself into during their final confrontation is, in Will’s eyes, the most authentic representation of who Louis truly is deep down and he demands more. 

“Bite until it bleeds.” Louis says, pulling him in for yet another kiss. Will doesn’t even think twice, catching that plump lip between his two front teeth and clenching his jaw until he tastes blood. As Louis pulls away he chases with his tongue, only to be stunned silent as the man bends and wraps his mouth around Will’s cock, split lower lip still dripping red. 

Will lasts for a pathetically short period of time. Louis has barely bobbed his head before he comes undone, semen spilling forth more so than shooting. In his defence, he wasn’t lying about his lack of experience. He can count the amount of times he’s masturbated on one hand, irony intended. 

As Louis straightens up, smearing red and white across his lip with the back of his hand, his expression is predatory. 

“Are you sated yet?” 

Refractory period be damned, Will needs Louis to carve him open before this night is over. He spreads his thighs further, coaxing Louis back between them.

“You promised me I’d be drowning with pleasure but I’m still breathing, am I not?” He says coyly, though contrary to his words he does find himself panting.

Louis strokes his face none too gently, nails scraping. “You should be careful of your words, Your Highness .” 

Will is being very careful, his intentions deliberate. He nuzzles into Louis’ hand and lets his jaw go slack; his partner does not disappoint, slipping two fingers in deep enough that Will gags. They press down first on his tongue and then on his soft palette, drawing tears to Will’s eyes as he coughs and chokes around them. He can feel every rough callus and battle scar; Louis hands are not nearly as pristine as the gloves he often wears. 

When Louis finally releases him, his middle and index finger are thoroughly coated in saliva and mucus. It’s all they have in the way of lubrication–when Will replaced his bedside candles with magla powered lanterns he did away with all the lamp oil–and it will no doubt hurt, but Will doesn’t care. He meant carve as literally as he did figuratively. 

“It’d be easier if you turned over, but I don’t suppose you have any desire to do so?” Louis asks. Will shakes his head; half of the reason he wants this is to look at the other man so as much as being fucked face first into the mattress sounds great it would defeat the purpose. Louis, satisfied with the answer, pins Will’s thigh to his chest in one solid motion. The stretch burns, but not as much as the feeling of fingers prodding at his tight rim does. Will is thankful for Louis’ firm hand keeping his leg in place otherwise he’d certainly be squeezing his thighs together by now. 

As his fingers penetrate, Will turns his head to bite down on the pillow. He has to search for a while to find any pleasure in the pain but slowly it’s beginning to build. Louis is being, by his standards, fairly gentle with him and while Will does want to hurt he’d rather get to the point of actually being able to take the man’s cock first. There’s still plenty of hours left to turn him into a crying mess. He wonders if it's really possible to scrape a man’s back raw in a fit of pleasure or if Junah’s romantic novels were full of it. 

Louis doesn’t praise him with words but his actions say more than enough. He rubs a thumb over the curve of Will’s knee with the same reverence he expresses towards the books in his– their –library and it makes Will choke up more than any fingers in his throat are capable of. They’re a funny pair; Louis’ words are so often filled with spite and malice and yet here he is treating Will so delicately. Will on the other hand can hardly imagine talking to Louis without at least a little bit of respect, all while fantasizing about slicing the man’s scars back open. 

In his mind it’s fair game; he’s just as often lost himself to thoughts of being gored open on the helm of the Charadrius as Louis looks down at him like he’s hunted prey. Will isn’t entirely familiar when it comes to books on psychology but he does wonder if having his developmental years be so filled with violence has had a lasting effect on him. 

The noises coming from between his legs are obscene, only made worse by his own gasps and groans. It takes some effort but soon two fingers become three as Will’s dick begins to stir once more. Though he couldn’t get a good read on Louis’ size when he’d brushed up against it earlier, their difference in height suggests it’ll be a tight fit regardless. As the anticipation grows too much for Will to handle he finally grabs Louis by the wrist. 

“I’m ready.” He says, stroking the bone that juts out from the curve of his wrist. Louis’ fingers still but they stay put, curled deep. 

“You’re far from ready.” The man says in response, straightening up his fingers and watching Will shudder just to make a point. 

“Don’t make me beg.” Will says, forgetting who he’s talking to. Louis’ eyes look like they’re glowing with his renewed interest, and his fingers prod deeper still. His touch makes every part of Will’s insides throb; it’s too much and not enough all at once. With his cock still sensitive from his previous orgasm, he can’t even touch himself as a distraction. He never should have opened his stupid mouth but it’s far too late to take back his words. With wet eyes and trembling lips he catches Louis in his gaze. 

“Louis, fuck me, please .” 

It’s enough. There’s no hurry in Louis’ movements as he pushes Will back down and begins stripping his trousers off, but there is firm resolution in every action. For extra measure, the man removes his shirt as well and Will follows along with much shakier hands until they are both nude and bare before one another. His own mouth waters at the sight of the scar beneath Louis’ left pectoral, skin haphazardly stitched together and in some areas stretched so thin he can see the ribs beneath. Will’s not exactly a romantic but there’s a certain satisfaction in knowing he’s the closest to ever reaching Louis’ heart. 

He’s so distracted by Louis’ torso that he forgets to look any lower. It’s not until he feels the heft of something warm and stiff on his stomach that he finally glances down, only to be consumed by an all different hunger. Between his girth and his length and the noticeable vein that runs from frenulum to base all Will can think about is how unfair it is not to have it in his mouth. 

“Are you quite done staring yet?” Louis asks, and contrary to his words he doesn’t sound annoyed in the least. While he’s tempted to say no, Will knows for how good the man looks now he’ll look even better inside of him. 

“I’ve been waiting for this for far too long to waste it staring.” He admits, and he expects Louis to follow up with a scathing remark about his desperate pining. Instead, he catches a brief softening of his expression that almost makes him wonder if he imagined it. Then he thinks of the hand Louis had offered him half a year ago, back when they were nothing more complicated than two enemies standing in opposition of one another, and wonders if just maybe Louis has been waiting for even longer than he has. 

It’s a thought that makes his stomach tighten in knots, and it’s also wholly unnecessary to dwell on right now. Instead he places his hands on either side of Louis–purposefully digging into that earlier scar with his fingers–and pulls his legs up as far as he can get them. Louis does the rest, until they’re locked together intimately and the man is teasing his anus with the flushed head of his cock. There’s no sweet exchange of words, no ‘tell me if it hurts’ –it will–or ‘I’ll be gentle’ –he won’t. It’d all be meaningless fluff anyways and Louis is far above such things. There’s no warning at all when the man pushes into him in fact, and their perspiration slicked foreheads rest against one another as they groan in unison. 

If Louis pauses, it is for his own sake only. Will knows this because no matter how much he bites or claws or cries, the man is relentless. By the time Louis’ hips rest against his ass his eyes sting from the tears and there’s blood beneath his fingernails. Will doesn’t even consider apologizing; if the bastard can’t sleep comfortably on his back tonight he more than deserves it. He’d be a damn liar though if he didn’t acknowledge this was everything he’d been hoping for. If Louis intends to drown him, he’s very near slipping beneath the waves. 

The older man’s lip has since stopped bleeding but all it takes is Will’s canines to open it back up again. The tangy, iron taste on his tongue is accompanied by Louis’ slow pull out and thrust. He’s very clearly testing the waters, seeing how much Will can truly take before breaking, but it’s still enough to have the young King wincing. 

“You’re too anxious.” Louis says against Will’s ear, biting down on the lobe. Will squirms, but calming his racing heart is easier said than done.

“Distract me.” He gasps. Louis hums.

“I’m afraid should I say the wrong thing you’ll insult me to my face again.”

Will just barely holds back on calling him a prick, if only to save himself the man’s smug satisfaction. He racks his brain for any safe topic to bring up before disregarding the whole idea of a ‘safe topic’ altogether. Being safe has never been the nature of their dynamic. 

“I want you to aid me in seeing my hospital project to fruition.”

Louis frowns. “Is that an order, Your Highness?”

“What?” Will asks, before a sharp thrust rattles his thoughts. He just barely manages to shake his head as he pieces them back together again. “N-no. I would never-”

“You seem to be making a lot of assumptions based on what you seem to think you know about me.” His voice is cold even as he continues to fuck into Will. He’s drawn away from him though, an arm’s length away and every attempt Will makes to reach him is brought to a quick end with each brutal thrust. Will wants to point out that Louis’ family name was the last thing on his mind–that he only ever got this idea from the way Louis seems to gaze more longingly at certain topics than he does others–but he can’t even manage a single word between his groans and moans. He’s too weak from the pain-pleasure to even stop the man from turning him onto his stomach. 

“I suppose, should I accept, the next step is department head? Or perhaps you’ll flex your influence to deliver me straight into the role of director. Dress me in tailored white and pin proof of your ownership to my breast just as you did the rest of your partisans?” Louis thrusts are downright malicious. Will can feel each one all the way to the base of his spine and the worst part is that he can’t even enjoy it. The sheets between his fingers don’t feel nearly as good as Louis’ flesh or hair. 

“I had expected,” Louis begins, voice deceptively soft, “That you’d planned to send me away once I was recovered enough to sate your ego. I’m only disappointed you settled on such a dull excuse to do so, truly I expected more. Should I leave you with one last painting of my face to stroke yourself over before you banish me from the palace?” 

Oh. All at once the pieces line up and Will realizes this was never about the hospital in the first place. Perhaps Louis was correct in accusing him of making assumptions because Will feels more than a little blindsided. Will can’t feel too sorry though, not when the man is doing the very same. Struggling to lift his head from the pillow, he flails blindly with one hand for contact. 

“Louis, I’m not banishing you or sending you away or whatever you think this is.” He groans, voice only marginally muffled. Louis makes a sound of disbelief and attempts to shrug Will’s hand off but the young man is resolute. “Ugh, turn me back over and look me in the eye so we can talk .” 

Will is ready to put a stop to this whole thing if Louis ignores him a second time but after what feels like an agonizing length of time–that was likely only a few seconds–he relents. It’s a shame he’s too annoyed to take the time to appreciate how exertion has painted his partner’s face a lovely shade of red. Biting his tongue he chooses his next words very carefully. 

“I wanted to ask you because I like talking to you. I value your input and I enjoy our discussions. I even like when you point out all the ways I’m wrong in that annoyingly smug voice of yours.” Will’s pretty sure Louis isn’t the only one with a red face at this point. He wishes more than anything that the man’s expressions could be even a little bit easier to read. It feels like the first time he’s really looked at Louis, not just lusted over the lines on his face. 

The man looks tired. Will shuts his eyes once more. “Do you really think I’ve kept you around just to make myself feel better?” 

“Don’t you?” Louis responds with his own question. Until recently, Will might have not known the answer to that question. Now he is certain. 

“I don’t.” He says firmly. “I want you to be here, so long as you want to be here too. That’s it.” 

It’s so easy to say he’s shocked he hasn’t been able to say it until now. With his patience at its limit he grabs Louis by the ends of his silky blond locks and drags him down to his waiting mouth. Any worries he might have had are put to rest when the man returns his enthusiasm in spades. This certainly won’t be the last they visit this topic but at least Will feels they can put it to rest for now. One thing’s for certain; he really needs to learn to keep his thoughts to himself during sex. He feels exhausted and horny and very much like he deserves to be pounded to oblivion about now. 

If the next thrust is any indication, Louis agrees. Will has–somehow–relaxed his body enough that Louis’ cock hits a spot so deep it makes his toes curl. No more energy is spared for words; the only sounds that escape their lips are the gasps and groans of pleasure as they devolve into a mass of lips, tongue, and hands. Will’s quite certain not even his highest collared shirt will be able to hide all the bruises on his neck tomorrow. When Louis’ back straightens as he bottoms out inside of Will, the boy bites down on the pink nipple teasingly close to his face. It earns him a moan and a slap to the thigh; which one is the greater reward he truly could not say. 

“Do you still want to hurt me?” Louis asks. 

Will’s answer is instantaneous. “ Yes .”

A second later and he’s choking on three fingers in his mouth. Skin shreds like paper between his teeth; if he’s able to catch it between his jaws, it bleeds. By the time Louis is satisfied there is more blood pooling in Will’s open mouth then there is saliva. The man’s lovely pale hands are a goddamn mess; from appearance alone he might have fared better with a meat grinder. Ultimately it’s all surface level but that’s still enough to flood Will’s groin with heat. 

Louis ups the ante by wrapping that very same hand around Will’s stiff penis. Each stroke smears his length with sticky red; he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away even had he wanted to. Will’s certain there’s no words in this language or the old to describe the level of obscenity he’s witnessing and-

“Oh fuck.” Will swears as his cock pulses and then shoots white ropes across Louis’ hand and his own stomach. Louis makes a noise of appreciation before folding him in half; Will has nowhere to look but up at his face while the man chases his own release. He’s partway convinced this was all some grand assassination attempt on the other man’s part to fuck him to death by the time his hips finally slow. The flood of warmth inside him is barely noticeable compared to how awful he feels in all the best ways. His body is going to hurt for weeks. He already wants to do this again tomorrow. 

Louis pulls out and releases his legs. They flop on the bed like they’re made of lead, and Will isn’t sure he can even move a single muscle in his body until Louis suddenly stands without a word. He grabs the man’s hand–the one not bitten all to hell–before he’s even conscious of what he’s doing. Will’s fumbled enough times with his words tonight that he refrains from speaking, choosing instead to entwine their fingers together. Louis breathes deeply. 

“If you’d have me stay,” He pauses, and Will hopes he’s not imagining that hint of desire. “I’d see to this first.” 

He flexes his other hand and Will awakens once more to the reality of the situation. Wincing, he bows his head in apology. 

“I can heal that myself, if you’d like?” He offers. It’s been a while since he last called upon the powers of any of his Archetypes but the strength of his healing abilities shouldn’t have waned too much. 

“Would it heal without scars?” Louis asks. Will nods his head, prompting the man to steal his hand back to his side. “I should think not then. I’ll be more than fine with a bit of gauze and sterile water.” 

Will doesn’t truly realize Louis’ intent until the man has vanished into his en suite bathroom. He finds himself extremely grateful for the gloves Louis insists on wearing; the last thing Will needs is to make his staring problem worse. It’ll already be hard enough as is just talking to him in a public setting all while knowing what lay beneath that thin layer of white cloth. 

Will is almost asleep when his bedmate finally rejoins him. He groans as Louis rolls him on to the side and pats him down with a dampened cloth; he’s almost certain the man has let it go cold on purpose. They don’t exchange so much as a goodnight when he slides under the covers next to him but when Will rolls over to rest his head against Louis’ shoulder an arm curls around his waist. 

Everything else fades to black and whatever dreams he might have had that night are lost to the haze by morning. 

“Will, you had better not be sleeping in! There’s two– two –full stacks of documents on your desk that weren’t there yesterday and I do not want to have to do them myse- what are you doing in Will’s bed! ”

The sound of Gallica’s shrill scream wakes Will up with a start. For a moment he’s transported back to the gauntlet runner and his tiny little bed, getting woken up in the middle of the night to fight whatever manner of beast has managed to climb on board. He fumbles for his bag and smacks his hand against something to his left. 

“I hope this is not the wakeup I’m to expect every morning, unless you’d like me to reconsider accepting your offer again in the future.” A familiar voice rumbles in his ear, rough from sleep. 

Will shoots up in bed, knocking the covers astray. Gallica screeches again and quickly covers her eyes with her hands. 

“ Why are you naaaaked! ”

Will is still scrambling for an explanation when the door to his room is thrown open. Hulkenberg storms in, spear drawn and expression fierce. “Gallica, I heard your cry! Is His Highness alright- you! ”

Her voice is even louder than Gallica’s and there’s a pounding in Will’s temples that threatens to turn into a full blown migraine. Hulkenberg points her spear at Louis, who watches her like the cat that got the cream. Will can’t even begin to address this right now, choosing instead to sort out which articles of clothing belonged to him from the pile on the floor.

“Get out of His Highness’ bed, cur!” Hulkenberg is demanding. She even stomps her boot against the floor for extra measure, as if any form of intimidation would ever work on Louis. 

“I’m quite certain that’s the last thing you’d like me to be doing right now.” His tone drips with arrogance. Will rolls his eyes as he pops the buttons of his shirt back into place.

“What does that-” Finally it seems his knight has put two and two together if her gasp is any indicator. Will has not once seen the woman in such a state of shock before, comparable only to when she found out her lord still yet lived. Already he knows that by the day is out the only one who won’t know the full details of this morning will be Junah, and only because it’ll take longer than a single day for a carrier pigeon to reach her. 

“Hulkenberg. Gallica. The sooner you allow us to make ourselves presentable the sooner Louis can leave.” 

Neither women so much as hesitate. He can hear them start whispering before the door to his bedroom is even closed. Turning to Louis, he’s not at all surprised to find the man hasn’t moved a single muscle. Will tosses a shirt across his torso, a strategic decision to distract him from how mouthwatering Louis looks in the morning light covered in bruises and scratches. He’s not about to risk traumatizing two of the people he cares for most because his dick won’t cooperate with his head. 

Louis places one bandaged hand on his cheek, pulling Will’s ear to his mouth. Will wouldn’t dare repeat a single word said to another soul, but he does agree that Brilehaven certainly sounds lovely this time of year and yes , perhaps a trip might just be in order.