We're Burning (Frerard)

8. Soft Beds Should Be Handed Freely, Change My Mind (You Can't)

„O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” - Shakespeare, Romeo and Joliet

———

When Gerard awoke, he couldn't find it in himself to move from his place on the bed. He felt so content: rain tapping quietly on the window, his body laying on the soft bed, under the soft and silky blanket, his hands flat against the smooth sheets. He felt as though he was on a cloud.

He shivered from the cold, and curled under the blanket, snuggling into its warmth. He sighed; the bed was so much better than the practically block of wood and blanket he had in the elf quarters, he didn't want to get up, or wake up for that matter.

Wait, Gerard thought and frowned, his bed really wasn't comfortable at all.

Oh fuck—

Gerard's eyes shot open and he pulled himself into a sitting, he looked frantically and fearfully around the room. It was not his – he didn't even need think to know that.

The room was large; scratch that, it was huge, the bed alone was huge. There was a big desk and a chandelier, which, Gerard was pretty sure he had never had. The room was filled with open books and maps, and few swords and guns.

But it didn't matter what was in the room since, well, Gerard didn't know where he was. And that was quite concerning, quite a lot actually for someone of his status, a slave for all gods' sake.

Gerard's eyes widened even more, they were raw and dry. He recognized the feeling, he had awakened with it hundreds of mornings before – he had cried. He just needed to remember why he did this time. Then, Gerard's hands began shaking as the memory of the last night unfolded in his brain like crumpled paper.

Bryar, he remembered, and his breath caught in his throat. With trembling hands, Gerard lifted the blanket, and sighed in relief. He was wearing pants, and underwear. His butt was sore but it wasn't something too much. He remembered why it hurt, Bryar; he had touched him, and tried to take him, but then the Prince—

The Prince.

A warm feeling spread in Gerard's chest, and his hands ceased shaking. The Prince stopped Bryar's assault, he helped Gerard, he lied for him. But then again, the prince, he had claimed Gerard as his own, deeming him to a possible very early death and to misery for the time he had left.

Gerard sighed sadly and looked around again, he couldn't recognize the room, but there wasn't anyone in it. He was alone, and although he didn't like being alone, he felt content the way he was at that moment. Just him and the bed, under the soft covers. He wrapped the blanket tighter around himself and closed his eyes, letting himself relax for once in a long time.

Something creaked, and Gerard's eyes shot open in panic, looking for the source of the noise. After a brief second, they landed on a door, or rather, an open door, in which—

Gerard's cheeks flamed a fiery red and he looked away; fuck, being the only word to occupy his mind. The Prince stood by the door, his hair dripping wet and curling around the edges, shining like melted chocolate. He was wearing a pair of black pants and boots.

He was also very much just buttoning his white dress shirt, his whole chest on display, showing off multiple tattoos that Gerard was quite sure if a human girl saw she would faint. Or drool. Both, probably.