Semisonic (Frerard/Ferard)

Chapter 1: Who's Stopping You?

1850

The King was holding a royal event that evening which, in the most vague description of the sorts, was to find his son a wife. Of course, he'd tried multiple times before, but Franklin never showed a great deal of interest in any of the women his father deemed suitable for marriage.

He was growing old, after all, and Franklin, being his only son, is heir to the throne. In order to be granted such a position, however, it was necessary for Franklin to marry a lady who'd make an excellent Queen.

Franklin didn't care to do such a thing, for not only did he not seek marriage, women simply had no appeal to him. Having grown up within the strict confinements of his father's palace, Franklin knew nothing of the reasoning behind the perplexing phenomenon; he was merely under the impression that something was wrong with him.

On the contrary, Franklin did show interest in someone, but he daren't let slip past his lips that that someone was indeed another man. Although Franklin was never specifically informed that it was frowned upon, his father never spoke of two men engaging in a relationship. For that matter, his father never suggested finding a husband.

Franklin sighed, swirling maroon wine situated in his glass, his gaze drawn from the abundance of higher-class ladies to the the drink staining the inside of the glassware.

Unhappy, Franklin balanced his glass on a nearby table, before promptly slipping off down the corridor. Nobody noticed the lack of his presence at this point, which he was thankful for. He simply climbed the stairs, careful not to make much noise, and slipped into the calmer atmosphere of his room.

He sat on the edge of his large bed, feeling the material heat up beneath his body. It was considerably more comforting than the situation happening downstairs.

Franklin stared at the wall for a few moments before bringing his elbows to rest upon his knees, cupping his face with his hands. Something damp made contact with his fingertips, causing him to flinch. He didn't even know he was crying, at least not until now.

"Master Franklin?" A gentle voice cooed from the doorway. He recognised it as his head servant, Claude. Claude had sandy blonde hair swept backwards, pale skin and welcoming green eyes. They were basil green, speckled with a warm chestnut and bordered with a darker shade.

Due to the scene of the event, Claude was sporting his best clothes: black dress pants with a fresh pleat facing the centre of each leg, a matching tailcoat, a deep red shirt to match Franklin's wine and a black bow tie. His shoes had even been polished especially for tonight, though it was doubtful that any of the guests took notice.

On the other hand, Franklin did.

Franklin couldn't deny that Claude looked particularly handsome tonight, "Do enter, Claude, and I told you not to call me that. I hate my name, it's just Frank," the older boy shrugged, craning his neck to face Claude.

"Indeed, Master Frankl- Frank, Master Frank. Terribly sorry, your Majesty. I'm here to enquire why exactly you left the party – guests are waiting, after all. Your father aims to find you a wife this evening, sir, but you need to-"

"Please be quiet, Claude-" Frank requested, to which his loyal servant obliged immediately. "-I don't want to find myself a wife. You know I have no interest in women in the slightest." He sighs once again, something he appears to do more often now than he used to.

Claude knitted his eyebrows together, struggling to find suitable words, "W-well yes, master Franklin, b-but your father said-"

"No, I care not what my father said. I'm not interested in any of the women downstairs," Frank stated, voice stern. Claude simply nodded, the blood rushing to his cheeks.

"Take a seat here, Claude, just for a moment," Frank smirked, tracing a small circle beside him with his fingertips. There was a glint in his eye, and although Claude remained unsure of Frank's intentions, something about the situation unsettled him.

"Sir, I-I- that isn't permitted, I cannot do such a thing, you see," Claude rushed, relatively still yet still seeming to inch towards Frank as if he were some form of magnetic force.

Frank took his hand, tugging him onto the bed gently, "Father will never know, I won't tell." He licked his lips subtly, causing a reappearance of Claude's blush. Certain that their eyes were locked together, Frank cupped Claude's cheeks, to which made the other man divert his attention to the floor.

Frank exhaled heavily, tilting Claude's head up to force him to stare back into his eyes, "May I kiss you?"

Claude's bottom lip trembled, "I- prince Franklin, your father; you know relationships between master and servant are disallowed, let alone frowned upon. It goes without saying that it's the same for relationships between two males. I'd be hanged, what would happen to you, sir?" But despite the truth behind Claude's words, he found himself leaning in slightly, his eyelids considerably heavier than only moments ago.

"Please, just this once, treat me as your equal. I don't want to play master and servant, Claude, I merely plea to be Frank. Kiss me, Claude, allow yourself to fall, and I'll be at the bottom to catch you," Frank requested, voice low, throat tight. His mouth was dry, however his eyes had misted over, juxtaposing with his body's reaction to the fact he was truly about to engage in such an act.

Eventually, Claude swallowed the lump residing within his throat, nodding his head, although it barely moved. He reached out, although hesitant, and rested his hands gingerly upon Frank's hips, cupping his waist. Frank grinned widely, softy encompassing Claude's neck with his arms, the weight of them resting upon Claude's shoulders.

Claude shook with concern whereas the hammering against Frank's chest was solely from anticipation. After all, he was about to kiss a man. His eyelids fluttered shut, butterflies erupting in his stomach at the moment their previously unsullied lips became tainted with one another's saliva. It was anything but perfect, but that much didn't matter to either of the boys at all. The pair simply continued to move their mouths together in sync, neglecting to acknowledge the rest of the world.

In this very moment, it was purely a mindless sense of indulgence that the two had shared. When they finally pulled away, their lips were raw and swollen, but neither of them cared.

Claude blushed, embarrassment flushing his cheeks.

Frank smiled, though this time it was genuine and reached his eyes. Regret didn't cloud his mind for a second, not in the slightest, because Frank finally knew who he was.

And the rampaging opinions of his father and society didn't dawn upon him, not this time, because they truly didn't matter anymore.