̶f̶r̶e̶n̶c̶h ̶g̶i̶r̶l̶s̶ Danish princes
Potato190505 a thousand thanks for the inspo, darling!
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Horatio crept into the cozy alcove of the library (a favorite spot of his, with a few lovely chairs and a fireplace), taking care not to step on any of the bits of floor that he knew from experience would creak and groan under his feet.
Hamlet sat in a plush chair, his legs folded neatly underneath him, completely absorbed in some historical fiction or another. The individual novels began to blur together after one reached the L section of authors on the shelf. Regardless, it was very good.
Knowing full well that he'd pay for this later when Hamlet had to finish the book between classes (time normally spent with his attention on Horatio), the scholar reached out to gently run his fingers through the prince's hair.
Hamlet simply leaned into the touch, letting his eyes fall shut and not trying very hard to repress the small, happy sound bubbling up in his throat. Horatio, on the other hand, worked quite hard to repress a lovesick sigh.
"Hello, Horatio," Hamlet smiled, book forgotten.
"My lord," Horatio responded.
In the time it took Horatio to move around the chair and settle himself next to his friend, reluctantly having removed the hand from his hair, Hamlet had marked his page and turned his full, undivided attention to Horatio.
"By what act of Fortune's wheel have I been granted the gift of your presence?" he purred.
"My duty to a friend, my lord."
Hamlet put a hand to his heart.
"Surely not me," he said in mock offense before switching to a wide grin when Horatio shook his head. "Ros and Guil, then?" Another head shake. "Ah, then it can only be our fair Ophelia!"
"Really, my lord," Horatio sighed. "I do have other friends."
Hamlet, gasping, twisted himself upside down on the chair so his legs were draped over the back.
"Have you now! Tell me then, how is it that you still find time to visit little old me amidst your packed schedule?"
"Ophelia, my lord," Horatio laughed, "as we have already established. She wrote me complaining that there isn't anyone pretty in Elsinore at present for her to paint."
Hamlet scoffed. "So you've come to me to request I send her a sketch of you?"
"Not at all, my lord. I come to request permission to sketch you."
"Wherefore?" Hamlet asked, furrowing his eyebrows.
Because you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen, Horatio didn't say, and I wish more than anything you'd let me show you that.
"Because Ophelia misses you," he said instead, averting his eyes from the prince's (admittedly lovely) features.
"Perhaps, but she certainly doesn't think I'm pretty," Hamlet said, then lifted a hand to turn Horatio's face toward him. "Not nearly as pretty as you, at any rate."
Horatio attempted to halt the heat creeping up his neck entirely with denial, failed to do so, and looked away bashfully.
"I do believe you've gotten us confused," he responded.
"No, I'm quite sure I've got this right."
Hamlet spun himself upright again to rest a finger on the tip of Horatio's nose.
"I look like the human embodiment of a birch twig," he continued, "whereas you are clearly the love child of Aphrodite and Venus, were that biologically possible."
Horatio buried his face in his hands and let out an embarrassed groan as Hamlet laughed.
"N-no, you've got it all wrong," he stammered upon looking up again. "My lord, you're gorgeous. Regardless of the impossible standards you hold me to in your head, I'm certain Ophelia would rather do a portrait of you."
Hamlet, sighing dramatically, leaned his head on the back of the chair to stare at the ceiling. "Alas, she would. She enjoys making me look as glum as possible. So," he paused to rearrange his limbs into a Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls position, "how would you like me?"
Ignoring the prince's blatantly (and undoubtedly purpuseful) suggestive tone, Horatio shifted him this way and that, ending with Hamlet draped sideways against one chair arm with his legs over the other, head resting on his palm and face tilted toward the warm glow of the fire in deep contemplation. He pulled out a piece of parchment and outlined just enough for Ophelia to work with, only stopping after that because it was becoming more and more difficult to concentrate on paper Hamlet instead of real Hamlet.
When real Hamlet had returned to his book, Horatio deemed it safe to write above the picture: I'm so in love it's not even funny anymore. I swear I'm going to drop dead from happiness because he said I'm pretty. Help, Phe!
He packed up in silence, and Hamlet didn't appear to be going anywhere, so it was naturally a surprise when Horatio was halted by a hand on his shoulder on his way out.
"Can I see it?" Hamlet asked.
Horatio, whose brain had conveniently short-circuited, did nothing to stop the fingers that deftly plucked the paper from his hands.
Hamlet stood still for once, reading. A smile appeared on the corner of his lips, which Horatio only noticed because the prince's lips were usually where his gaze was drawn. For no reason fathomable to him, of course.
This also meant that he saw the exact moment that Hamlet's jaw dropped.
The silence tensed suddenly, broken only by the occasional crackling of the fireplace. Hamlet looked at Horatio over the paper, simply raising his eyebrows and pointing a finger at himself. Horatio nodded, then hung his head.
Tense silence shatters completely when someone unexpectedly bursts into laughter, in case you didn't know. Hamlet barked out a loud, genuine laugh, and the silence was violently thrown out the window.
"I-I'm sorry, I didn't-" Horatio floundered, entirely caught off guard by Hamlet's reaction. "S-sorry, I'll just go..."
And then Hamlet put a hand on his shoulder, and Horatio felt a touch of deja vu, but that too was shattered when Hamlet spun him around to press a kiss to his temple, still laughing joyously.
"Horatio!" he grinned, moving to kiss his cheekbone, eyelid, the bridge of his nose, all the way down to the corner of his mouth.
"May I kiss you?" Hamlet breathed against his lips, suddenly serious. And damn, Horatio wasn't about to say no to that.
It was the oldest thing in the universe when they kissed. Horatio weaved his fingers through Hamlet's hair because he knew Hamlet liked being pet, Hamlet held Horatio's waist because he knew they both needed some grounding, and the only thought running through their heads was, Why didn't we do this before?
~~~
Ophelia was confused to have received two Wittenberg envelopes in response to hers, but elated to have gotten one from each of her closest friends. In addition to a letter from her brother, no less.
She opened the one from Laertes first, a stupidly familiar "How are you, how are the king and queen, has Hamlet confessed his undying love to Horatio yet." She pocketed it to write a reply later.
Next, the one from Horatio. Impressed though she was by the scholar's ability to recreate human expressions on paper, she still grunted in annoyance at his pining. It would make a lovely portrait anyhow.
Finally, the letter in the expensive envelope from the prince himself. To her surprise, it contained not the usual disgustingly long monologue, but another sketch. She nearly dropped the paper in her squeal of delight.
Captured in Hamlet's signature charcoal pencil and fancy inking pen (a gift from Ophelia herself) was Horatio, head resting on his arms, eyes and smile shining with a warmth and affection she hadn't thought the prince capable of drawing. The reason for her outburst, though, was the messy scrawl below the image.
While he insists I'm the more attractive between us, I believe he's positively radiant. With any luck, the fact that he's breathless from my kisses as I write this may convince him of the truth. With (requited!) love from Wittenberg, Prince Hamlet.
Ophelia immediately began drafting a very aggressive letter to her brother, opening with: YOU'RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS.
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Phew, I'm glad I finished it before falling asleep. I think it turned out pretty nice. I'm feeling wordy today. I hope it shows.
Au revoir, my darling faeries. May you never smudge your charcoal pencils. *sniff* rest in peace, my lovely charcoal drawing...
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