𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐧, young royals

Chapter 24: Simon

Tell Me You Love Me,  Sufjan Stevens

24: Simon

Lunch with Wilhelm's parents had gone as expected. Very formaly.

We'd gone to a chic restaurant on the scenic periphery of Stockholm, seated at a table that gave sight to the mountainsides.

I'd obliged myself to keep my posture as straight as possible throughout the meal, trying to refrain from tugging at my collar, where an itch from the rough linen of my button-up had grown, and answered their questions in an almost rehearsed, proper speech.

Was I this desperate to make an uttermost perfect first impression on Wilhelm's parents? Maybe.

Their questions had wheeled around the typical subjects of the first meeting between in-laws, like my family, my hobbies, my school life... and I'd answered them with a depth that was respectful of the circumstances.

I think every time I met with Wilhelm's parents, I fathomed a little more why he was the way he was—suppressed and insecure. I understood because that's exactly how they'd made me feel in the span of one meal, though I doubt it had been their intention.

But in essence, everything had gone well, and there was a sense of accomplishment that came with properly meeting his family.

"Do you think they liked me?" I wondered aloud in the back of the car driving us back to Hillerska.

Wilhelm clasped my hand and briefly pecked my lips. "I do, believe me. They're just not really used to the idea of... us yet."

When I didn't respond he added, "Don't worry, Simon. My parents don't invite just anyone out for lunch; they're trying. And I do think they really liked you."

I frowned. "Are you certain? because it felt like I was under a microscope the whole time."

"Welcome to my world," he said, sighing, and smiled sarcastically.

I chuckled, our knees bumping against the other, and grabbed his chin between my index and my thumb. Our lips connected, softly, diligently, before his hand started groping my tigh, feeling the denim of my pants, and suddenly, there weren't butterflies in my stomach. There were moths, seeking light, so naturally drawn to his aura.

And then, in the heat of our kiss, Wilhelm's hand deserted my tigh, reaching blindly for something behind his back. After rashly fumbling and feeling the inside of the car door, his fingers pushed on a button, and a privacy screen fell between us and the front seats.

Oh? I grinned against his lips.

As a result, we seemed to double with intensity.  Our tongues lashed past our lips, noses bumping, and his hands wrapped around my hips to tug me closer.  I unfastened my seatbelt in a matter of seconds without care for consequences, and he broke away to do the same.

When we crashed into each other again, his hands climbed up my torso and disjoined the first four buttoms of my shirt while mine untucked his from his jeans.

I slid my hands under his button-up and touched on his stomach, circling his navel with my thumb.

"Tell me if you ever want to get away," he panted against my mouth, breaking away to plant moist, suctioning kisses down my jaw and collarbones, "we'll run away.  We'll go far away."

My fingers meandered down over the buckle of his belt, zipper, and his breath hitched in his throat when I slipped my hand between his legs and gripped his inner tigh.

"How about Paris?"

Wilhelm chuckled, his teeth and lips pressing on the skin of my neck, eyebrows furrowing.