Chapter Text
The drive home is tense.
Simon chances a quick glance to his right where Marcus is sitting in the driver’s seat, taking them back to Simon’s house. The older boy is stubbornly refusing to say anything, eyes trained on the darkened street rushing before them, hands gripping the steering wheel just a tad bit too hard. It makes guilt curl Simon‘s insides together, because well, this is what he deserves right? He ’ d been too naive to think that Marcus would not notice anything off about him, after … that situation .
That situation which Simon absolutely cannot let himself think about because he would one hundred percent, no doubt, completely lose it right then and there.
God. Why is this his life?
The car takes a sharp left turn, pressing Simon against the car door. Marcus mumbles an apology.
Simon swallows, nods mechanically.
The tension stays infinitively charged between them, it makes Simon’s finger twiddle with each other in his lap and his right leg bounce up and down in a nervous rhythm. Time passes, the lights of Bjärstadt getting bigger and shining brighter in the nearing horizon line and suddenly, Simon can’t take it anymore.
"Tonight was fun“, he blurts out into the fraught space of the car.
Tonight was fun? He really couldn’t come up with something better? God, he wants to smack himself in the face.
Marcus doesn’t answer him immediately, every passing second in which the boy stays silent Simon feels the clamminess of his hands and uneasiness spread through him more and more.
When he finally does give him a reply, Simon had already given up on receiving one so he startles just the tiniest bit.
"It wasn’t as bad as I thought“, Marcus says pensively, before adding, "Although that was quite enough elitism and drunk, rich assholes to last me the next four years.“
Something about the way he said the last sentence, doesn’t sit right with Simon but he has too much on his mind right now to really dwell on what exactly put him off about that statement. So he only nods, snorts softly and looks out of the window to his right.
The silence once again lingers, but it’s a lot more easygoing than before. Simon watches the silhouettes of the houses and buildings on the outskirts of Bjärstadt getting closer, the world surrounding them outside the car getting brighter as they finally reach the first of the streetlights guiding them inside the town.
They don’t speak when Marcus drives them past the football field, past the only gas station of Bjärstadt. They still don’t speak once he sees the glowing LED sign of the only pizzeria here rush past them in streaks of red and green.
And to be frank, Simon is glad about that. As much as talking could have served as a distraction for him, he isn’t quite sure if he even wants a distraction at that point. He just wants to go home and really take some time to think about the events of the evening. Said events that may or may not include a certain prince . And his lips.
No, nope no-! This is really not something he should think about right now. Next to Marcus. His actual date of the evening.
But, as much as Simon tries to supress it, it’s too late. There’s a shudder inside of him, goosebumps rise over his chilly skin and suddenly, that same want which had practically shut off all other of his brain functions during the situation comes back with a vengeance and suddenly, it’s way too hot inside of the car and the front of his pants too tight-
Simon inhales shakily through his nose, holds the breath in his lungs for several seconds all the while feeling the pulsing of his heart in the shells of his ears, blood rushing and rushing , before he slowly lets it out through his mouth. He flexes his hands against his thighs, pressing down to try and ground himself in the moment which of course, does nothing the sorts. Fuck, what is wrong with him? It was just a stupid kiss.
A stupid kiss that set his whole being alight, as he hears and feels the sigh Wilhelm lets out against Simon’s lips, making him shiver and –
"Are you alright?“, Marcus asks him, honest concern discernable in the tone of his voice and fuck, it makes Simon feel so fucking bad and guilty. Here he sits next to his date , all the while fantasizing about someone completely different. Fantasizing about their lips and taste-
Get a fucking grip, idiot!
"Oh“, he says dumbly, letting a way too big and eager smile take over his face, "Yes, sure, I’m fine, all good, really!“
His inner Simon is facepalming himself hard.
Why is his life always set to diffculty extreme.
He sighs.
"Sorry, I’m just.. tired. This evening- it kinda.. it was-"
"It’s fine, I get it. It must’ve been very difficult for you to see your ex having fun with other people“, Marcus interrupts him which, rude, but also, what the hell is he talking about?
Marcus continues in spite of the big fat question mark that must’ve been Simon‘s face right now.
"It’s okay Simon, you don’t have to pretend with me. I can see that it still bothers you, all the things that happened with Wilhelm.“
Simon is staring openly at Marcus now, lips parted and small crease between his brows. (He skillfully ignores the voice inside of him that wants him to say ‚ That’s Crown Prince Wilhelm to you‘.)
Marcus glances at him out of the corner of his eye and must probably mistake Simon’s visible disbelief and confusion as sign of being ‚found out‘ or whatever, because he grins casually and says, "Well, hopefully we were able to give that spoiled brat quite a show tonight, huh.“
What?! The hell.
Simon’s brows scrunch further together as he turns his gaze forward, only on the fringes registering the now very familiar neighbourhood Marcus turns into, because he’s busy thinking-
Who the fuck gave him the right to assume these things about him? This was so clearly not what Simon was trying to say. And it’s not the first time he realizes, that Marcus is trying to put words into Simon’s mouths that weren’t his. Also, his past relationships are none of his business.
And and- did he just call Wille a spolied brat?! Marcus doesn’t even know what exactly happened between them! Who does he think he is?
It barely registers for Simon when the car comes to a stop in front of his house, too indignant about Marcus‘ audacity in the last few minutes.
He doesn’t really listen to Marcus‘ goodbye when he gets out of the vehicle and honestly, he doesn’t care enough at the moment. He just wants to be alone now.
He doesn’t even remember if he gave him a proper goodbye, because he’s already standing inside of his home with no memory of getting here and his mother is asking him how the choir perfomance went and if he had a nice evening with Marcus.
He gives her hopefully equally satisfying and vague answers to each of her questions, before he fake-yawns and tells her he just wants to sleep. Which, he certainly won’t for the next, at least, two hours because god did he really kiss Wille today oh my –
Once he’s sure he’s out of his mother’s visual range his legs speed up and he nearly ends up sprinting into his room, slamming the door behind him maybe a bit too harsh but he doesn’t care. He presses his back against the closed door, lets his head fall back against the wood with a small thump and breathes.
His heart is beating against his ribs so hard it reminds him of that ridiculous race for the spots on the rowing team and how he and Wille cheated, but in the end still ended up nearly not making it and thus having to practically sprint the last two hundred metres or so and oh god Wille-
And then, that situation comes crashing down on him full force, the image of Wille standing mere millimetres in front of him literally burned into his brain because all Simon can see now is Wilhelm, Wilhelm with that stupid, ridiculous wig on, looking as if he would die with how close Simon is to him and then and then-
The fire that had been ignited back at the palace by their lips meeting outside in the dark is rekindled in Simon’s stomach, raking and fuelling itself with only the memory of how soft Wille’s lips were and how they felt moving against his-
Shit. Why did he kiss him? This is exactly the reason why he needed space from the prince, the mere proximity to Wilhelm causing him to do stupid things he later regrets, because all he really wants is to forget and move on so he really has no idea why he kissed him-
No, no, wait- that's a lie. Fuck. That’s one of the biggest lies Simon has ever told himself, god, the answer has been burning inside of him since the first time he had met Wille, all the way back in October. The answer had still burnt, even through the Christmas break, even through the worst heartbreak in the history of heartbreaks it was still there, because how could it ever go away again?
The answer was plain and simple.
He kissed Wille, because he wanted to. Needed to. Like breathing.
Because he loves him.
And it needed Wilhelm telling him he‘s letting him go for Simon to finally realise that. Maybe not the whole love thing, he‘s pretty sure he had been somewhat aware of that somewhere in the deepest corner of his subconsciousness, but more like the fact that this will never go away. No matter how many rebounds he‘d have. No matter how much time would pass. No matter how much space he‘d bring between them. No matter how much he tried to resist it.
It. Would. Not. Go. Away.
He pushes himself away from the door then, stripping off his uniform jacket while he‘s at it and lets himself sit down on his bed. Because it's not enough anymore to only think about Wilhelm.
His arm does the familiar motion of reaching underneath his pillow on its own, the need for explicit thoughts for this action long replaced by the force of unashamed and needy habit, fingers brushing against the still soft orange fabric of Wille’s forgotten ( you mean stolen) sweater.
With one swift, checkless motion Simon finds his face pressed into the piece of clothing and inhaling its scent as if it’s pure cocaine. And to be fucking honest it might as well be, because the way Wille‘s scent injects itself into his bloodstream feels illegal.
He breathes in the unmistakable, musky fragrance of Wille’s cologne until his head is spinning and he’s breathing just a bit shallower, buries his nose just a bit deeper into the cashmere until he finds the gentle remnants of Wille’s shampoo, milk and honey, and that’s when Simon starts to burn.
Because it’s exactly the same thing he smelled just hours earlier, lips and tongue busy tasting Wilhelm after so long, oh my god, hidden underneath the powdery scent of the make up he had plastered all over his face and the faint smell of moth balls clinging onto these ancient clothes.
And fuck, it had driven him absolutely crazy, fuck. It had shattered Simon’s composure to tiny pieces, all memories of them in his room, alone and naked and sweaty resurfaced with a vengeance and had made his dick twitch against Wille’s robe pressing against him.
It had been enough to shatter Simon’s last bit of the composure he so meticulously and painstakingly had built up over the holidays, swearing to himself that he wouldn’t fall victim to the prince’s adorable smiles and hauntingly pretty eyes again. But look at him now. Fuck, completely losing it over this stupid fucking sweater and that one stupid kiss. He knows there would be consequences for him acting so- so fucking careless and needy and desperate to go around and kiss his ex during a date with someone else but-
Right in this moment, he couldn’t give more of a fuck.
He had missed Wille so frightening much, he still quite couldn’t grasp the scope of his love for the Crown Prince yet, it is all so much, everything is always so much with Wille, but now, now he allows himself to just give in. For one time because he‘s still mad at him and they will have to have a conversation about everything but, now-
He feels himself, hard and aching, pressing against the fabric of his boxers. He shifts his legs into a more comfortable position and the friction he feels against his erection is enough to pull a weak whimper from the back of his throat.
God he is so fucking horny, just because he kissed Wilhelm. Marcus does not have that kind of effect on Simon at all. Like, the first time he tried to get intimate with Marcus had been out of pure desperation to get rid of the lingering feeling of Wille’s eyes on him, he had realized while they had been watching the movie together after his attempt to get into Marcus’s pants. Not because he really was attracted to the older boy. Don’t get him wrong, Marcus is attractive but Wilhelm-
There isn’t that- that fire consuming him alive when Marcus kisses him. There isn’t that mind blowing, earth shattering feeling inside of Simon when he makes out with Markus. There isn’t that almost borderline feral need and want for more rendering him completely merciless under Marcus hands that one time their make out session got a bit steamy.
But when he thinks about Wille, thinks about his hands, his lips, his tongue on his neck licking up up-
Just that memory is enough to finally, finally propel him to let his right hand palm himself over his pants but no, nope this won’t do-
With hasty movements, Simon ditches one piece of clothing after the other, until he’s left in his boxers and that sweater still clutched in his hands. He watches his fingers submerge in the fabric (like when they had tangled themselves in one of Wille’s shirt in his haste to get it off the boy) , lifts his gaze and looks at himself in the mirror in front of him ( like the time he had continued writing that song), and his mind makes a split decision.
He detangles the sweater bunched into a ball, lifts it over his head and then he’s wearing Wille’s sweater again. Now, Wille’s scent hangs in the air, tangled around Simon and he lets out a deep breath. If he closes his eyes, it’s almost as if he’s actually here with him.
He lets his right hand settle over his hard cock in his underwear again. He’s really going to jerk off in Wille’s sweater, huh? Not the most desperate thing he’s ever done. (It totally is)
He twitches against his hand, and he throws his head back against the wall as he finally allows himself to relieve some tension by gently, slowly, stroking over his hard length. God, it feels so good, fuck-
He lets his eyes fall shut, but that was a mistake because immediately, he’s greeted by the image of Wille again, but this time not the Wille from the valentine’s ball no, it’s an image out of a dream he’d had over the holidays which had tattooed itself onto his brain because holy fuck, shit, it’s the hottest thing he’s ever- fuck-
It’s of course Wille. Wille, in front of Simon, on his knees and looking up at him a complete and utter wreck with those sinful, glistening pink lips stretching over Simon’s cock-
Simon shudders, feeling tingly and heat all over (because fuck!) and suddenly, him stroking himself through the fabric of his boxers was not enough anymore. He scrambles into a position which allows him to pull down and off his underwear, kicking his legs as his boxers get tangled in his feet.
As soon as he was sitting on his sheets again, naked except for Wille’s sweater, he wraps his hand around his already leaking cock and the sensation of release and pleasure and fuck it feels so good forces a low moan from his chest. He strokes himself, once twice, breath hitching, body shivering and abdomen clenching before the motion borders on painful.
Without thought, he lets go of his cock and brings the hand up to his mouth, gathering saliva with his tongue before licking three big strips over the palm of his hand. His hand then returns back to his erection, and he grips it again and oh-
It’s so similar, looks so alike- sure, his hands are much smaller than his but god, now looking and seeing, it’s as if, as if-
Simon’s eyes nearly go cross when he realizes his hand around his dick looks just as Wille’s would because of the sweater. And oh my god, holy fucking shit he wants, he wants-
The coil in his belly screws itself so tight and he’s getting so hot he’s starting to sweat ( into Wille’s sweater oh god) and he needs some kind of friction now or else-
His hand is dragging along his shaft before he has to think about it, pulling at his length and twisting his fingers at the top around the tip the way he knows sends shivers all over his intoxicated body, small moans spilling over his lips. His eyes stay put on his hand, completely lost in pleasure he imagines, wishes, it really was Wille’s.
Fuck, shit- how badly he wants it to be Wilhelm’s big hands, long fingers working him so good Simon forgets the ability to even think- how badly does he just want-
It’s as if him finally just giving in to, laying himself bare before the innumerable amount of longing he’d kept inside of him, longing for Wille Wille just Wille only him- that turned a switch inside of his head. Because everything he so desperately tried to keep under a lid and stowed away, shatters the container and it’s everywhere everywhere-
Simon chokes on a sob as at the same time, he digs his thumb into his slit leaking precome and he is hit by a wall of feelings so intense and scattered all across the range of possible emotions he feels like he’s going to combust. He’s angry, sad, elated, horny as all fuck, lonely. A symphony of shattered pieces crescendo-ing together into right now and it’s so much-
Fucking shit- the movement of his hand grows faster, harder tighter, he gathers more of the wetness his rock-solid cock is leaking at the top, and he whines at the now easier glide. He’s panting, trembling, fucking losing it-!
Everything loses its meaning, nothing matters anymore except the steadily erratic movement of his hand along his cock and the fabric of oh god Wilhelm’s sweater against his sensitive, blushed skin. He inhales sharply, nose and every other sense filling up with Wille Wille Wille please and his eyes roll back because it’s too fucking much-
He keens, his back arching off the wall as he comes, muscles in his arm spasming but not relenting in dragging his hand along his throbbing length, fast messily uncoordinated, working himself through the waves and waves of pleasure cursing through him.
He only stops when the feel of his hand brushing against the head borders on painful because of its sensitivity now. His chest is heaving, his whole body trembling and pulsing in the aftermath and he just breathes and lets himself enjoy the last remainders of that fucking intense orgasm he just had.
But when he does open his eyes, ready to let the rest of the world have part of his consciousness again, he takes in a sharp breath.
“Fuck”, he mutters because, well fuck.
So. In the heat of the moment, wearing Wilhelm’s sweater while getting himself off may have been an amazing, sexy, drive him crazy kind of idea, but now-
There are two long stripes of his come painted over the front of the orange material, and some of the come that had spilled over his hand had dripped onto the cuff of the sweater because the sleeve is just too long for Simon’s arm, so it had slipped down from the constant movement and got caught in the crossfire.
And well, sure, he could just wash it, no problem easy but actually, there is a problem because it’s not really him doing the laundry at home, it’s his mom. So, she definitely knows which clothes belong to Simon and which don’t so... If she were to see a complete unfamiliar sweater in the laundry bin, the chances would be sky high that she would be confused and want to take a closer look. And Simon absolutely does not need his mother scolding him for using clothes as his come rags on top of all the other shit going on in his life right now, so. He’ll deal with – this later.
As he’s sitting on his bed, now soft dick still in his hand and staring at the mess he is in the mirror, he once again is asking himself what the fuck he has done to end up at this point, sitting in the freshly come drenched, stolen sweater of the Crown Prince of Sweden.