The Sole Prince

I am, aren't I? [part 3]

"Sorry," James blurts out, adjusting his head behind him, off from Sage's shoulder. The one brief moment of contact sends a deep warmth through the prince's body. As he moves his head off the captain's shoulder, he's never felt so cold.

"No need to be sorry." The captain smiles. "Be my guest," he says, turning his head to look at the prince. That's a phrase that looks could kill, but in James' situation, he's never felt more alive.

The prince smiles back, slowly lowering the left side of his head back onto the captain's right shoulder. The air feels clearer as he breathes it into his lungs. James begins to read again when he feels Sage lightly rest his head on top of the prince's. It sends a spark that shoots down the prince's spine, a shock that he wants to feel a million times more. He's eventually able to focus on the book again, getting through one sentence, when he feels the captain's right arm sliding behind his back. The prince can sense that the captain is about to rest his hand onto the prince's waist, his hand wrapped around him, holding him tight, but despite how badly the prince wants it, the touch doesn't come right away. Instead, a whisper appears.

"Is this good?" the captain says into the room's ambiance.

"Yes," the prince says, struggling to get it out.

"Can I?" Sage continues, lightly tapping a finger onto the prince's hip bone.

"Please."

And just like that, the captain is placing his hand onto the prince's waist, pulling James closer to his body. The embrace is warmer than the hottest fires. The prince breathes deeply, contemplating. He counts to three in his head before lifting up his left leg slightly and draping it over the captain's right leg, allowing the two to become even closer.

"Is that—" the prince can barely speak, the nerves and excitement too powerful for his body to handle.

"It's perfect," the captain says. James can feel the captain smile from above him. The prince smiles too, attempting to focus on the book he's still holding. Moments like these are so small. They don't exist to the rest of the world, but for these two, it is the world.

James is able to focus his eyes on the book, starting to read the passage out loud again. He gets around a page or two in when he adjusts his position on the bed, turning over to put even more of his weight onto the other man. The captain graciously accepts the gift, gripping the prince even closer. A few more pages in, the prince's left leg slightly bends, his knee now touching the captain's right thigh. To this, the captain lifts his left hand, and before he can even ask, the prince is nodding his head, catching the movement from the corner of his eye. Sage smiles, placing his hand onto the prince's knee. It takes James a moment before he can return to reading, unable to focus on the words. A few pages more, and the captain is lightly rubbing up and down the prince's hip with his right hand. The prince could die right now and be satisfied.

***

The captain feels as if he's touching the finest silks, yet those aren't even near the same caliber as the prisoner. It's as if he's touching a rainbow or a cloud or the feeling of seeing the sun after night or reaching land after being lost at sea. Or maybe something even greater. It consumes his body and his mind. He's incapable of wanting anything more, refusing to accept anything less.

But then there are the brief flashes like lightening that sneak into the back of his mind and remind the captain. And despite how the feeling of James' head on his shoulder, or hip on his hand, or knee on his thigh allow him to forget once more, Sage's decision manages to lurk back in.

It's not as if the captain is thinking of something other than the prisoner. It's not that; of course his thoughts are still about the man he's holding so tightly. It's just that they are ones of ends, not beginnings. Even the prettiest, and sweetest smelling, and most delicate roses have a thorn.