Chapter Text
***Peter’s POV***
Seven-year-old Peter was nestled against his older brother Will. It was their nightly routine- Peter would sit in Will’s lap as Will read him a story. Will had long occupied the parental role and it was all Peter had ever really known. Their mother died when Peter was born and their father was absent, too busy to be a parent. So the responsibility had fallen on Will. Peter had grown to love Will the way you would a parent- absolute adoration, respect, admiration, and unconditional love. He had always idolized Will. To Peter, Will was the perfect person. An incredible mosaic of kindness, compassion, patience, and beauty. When he looked at his older brother, a warmth tinted his world, like he wore pink-hued glasses. And being near Will always made the room smell sweeter, like fresh oranges and honey.
When Will finished the story, he placed a gentle but firm kiss on Peter’s cheek. He then whispered goodnight before leaving the room. The warmth of Will’s breath lingered, causing a crimson blush to bloom across Peter’s face. He bit back a smile as he felt a swarm of butterflies dance around his chest. If they weren’t trapped behind his ribcage, they probably would have ripped through his skin and fluttered around the room. Peter had no idea what the feelings meant. All he knew was that he loved Will.
Ten-year-old Peter sat in the Drawing Room, playing a game with his second brother Thomas. His sisters, Anne and Elizabeth, read books silently. All four of them pretended not to hear the loud fight that had broken out between their father and Will.
“You are twenty-three years old. It’s time for you to find a wife,” their father boomed.
“I don’t want to,” Will responded.
This was a fight they regularly had these days. For about a year, their father had been insisting Will get married. And, each time, it caused a heat to swell inside of Peter. A fire burned in his stomach, the flames licking at his lungs, making it harder to breathe. The idea of anyone taking Will away from him was enough to make his throat close up.
“I don’t care what you want. You have an obligation as the eldest to find a suitable wife, bear children, and become king. We’ve been over this a million times and I thought you understood. Are you being intentionally dense? Or are you actually stupid? How is it that at 23 you’re ignorant about your responsibilities as my oldest child?” The scorn in their father’s voice sent a chill down Peter’s spine. Peter couldn’t help but look up from the game he was playing with Thomas and glance over in Will’s direction. Their father’s face was red with fury, his eyes bulging slightly, his breathing ragged. Will, on the other hand, looked the most vulnerable Peter had ever seen. He wore a somber expression, pain weighing down his eyebrows and tears glistening in his eyes.
“I won’t get married,” Will said quietly, and it sounded more like begging than protesting. “Not now, not ever.” That tamed some of the flames burning in the pit of Peter’s stomach, lessened the intensity of his worries.
“You will get married, William. And you will get married now,” their father spat. Peter watched Will flinch and the fire inside of Peter expanded once again, blazing brighter and hotter.
“Please… just give me a bit more time.” It was practically a whisper.
Peter could see the tears rolling down Will’s face, causing his own face to scrunch up in pity. A pressure built up behind Peter’s cheeks. He wasn’t exactly sure what was happening, but it didn’t take long for his vision to blur as his eyes flooded with tears. Frustration was clawing up his chest, settling on his throat and choking him. Peter began to tremble. He hated seeing Will this way. It was wrong. It was wrong for a face so beautiful and perfect to be twisted with sorrow.
Their father just stared down at Will, not saying a word. Peter could hear the sniffles and slight gasps of Will crying. He began to squirm in his seat. He couldn’t take it much longer. He needed to say something, needed to find a way to help Will escape this conversation.
“Peter,” Thomas whispered. Peter’s eyes snapped over to his fourteen-year-older brother, quickly blinking away his tears so that he could stare into Thomas’ serious face. When their eyes met, Thomas simply shook his head and Peter understood. He swallowed down his anger, a thick lump of disdain sliding down his esophagus and settling in his stomach, smothering the flames.
There were a few more moments of silence and then their father spoke up.
“Fine,” he sighed exasperatedly. “A few more years.”
Those few years flew by. Thirteen-year-old Peter was seated in the banquet hall watching as woman after woman approached Will. Peter and his siblings sat off to the side, while Will and their father sat in the center of the room in the ornate, velvet chairs reserved for the heads of state. Peter couldn’t help but gnaw on the inside of his cheek, completely oblivious to the scowl he wore. Pretty girls in pretty dresses all flashed their pretty smiles at Will. They curtsied and said words Peter couldn’t hear but presumed were flirtatious.
Peter’s whole body was on fire. Fury painted his skin red and he could taste the blood in his mouth. A full plate of food sat in front of him, too nauseated to eat. It was sickening to see just how many women wanted to take Will away from him. It made his heart hurt. Like the organ was being suffocated by the smoke of the wildfire raging inside him. It was uncontrollable, rabid, and hungry, feeding off every positive emotion Peter had prior to the start of the evening. He couldn’t even recall how much he loved Will or how he wanted Will to be happy. All he could think about, all he could feel, all that existed inside him was anger. It wasn’t fair.
The worst part of it all was the smile on Will’s face. He seemed like he was enjoying the attention. To Peter, it appeared like Will might have even been interested in some of the women. And it was painful. So painful that it caused that uncomfortable pressure to build behind his eyes. The more Peter stared at Will, the more the pressure grew in intensity, until his eyes were blurry with tears. Peter quickly swatted away a tear that was rolling down his cheek and tucked his chin to his chest, hoping no one had seen. He stared down at the plate of food and tried to get his emotions under control.
“You okay?” A voice asked from beside him. Peter blinked back his tears and looked over at the man seated next to him. James was Will’s best friend and had been a constant presence throughout Peter’s childhood. He was the son of a non-royal Duke, their father’s closest confidant, so he’d grown up alongside Will.
James was conventionally very attractive, with broad shoulders, a symmetrical face, and a warm smile. He was also extremely thoughtful and kind. He and Will were actually very similar. Even though they were unrelated, Peter considered James family. They all did. In a lot of ways, James felt more like a brother than Thomas did.
“I’m fine,” Peter whispered in response.
“I’ll be honest,” James started. “You don’t seem fine.”
James smiled down at Peter, that perfect smile. And it made Peter feel a little happier, feel a little less miserable. But then Peter looked over at Will, who had a smile on his face too. And his smile was perfect in its own way- it was crooked and goofy and little toothy- and it made Peter’s heart beat faster. But then the pain swept in. Will was smiling at some woman. And that realization caused Peter’s smile to quickly fall. He ripped his eyes away and forced them back down on the plate of food.
“Peter?” James asked in a hushed tone. Peter didn’t respond. He just focused on his breathing. Focused on calming down. Focused on anything other than thoughts of Will.
“Peter?” James repeated. Peter finally met his eyes and gave a strained but convincing smile. James seemed to visibly relax.
“What’s going on inside your head?” James asked with a chuckle. Peter gave a half-hearted laugh of his own, but brought his bottom lip between his teeth. “What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong? That’s a good question… What’s wrong with me?
And then it hit him. Like a slap across the face. It stung.
Peter pushed back from the table and slowly stood. The shock he was experiencing caused him to stumble slightly, his knees giving out for a moment. James caught his elbow. A concerned look flashed across James’ face and he opened his mouth to say something.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Peter mumbled, pulling his elbow away from James’ grasp. He then turned on his heels and hurried off.
As he rushed down the hall, the sound of Peter’s quick footsteps synced up with the sound of his heartbeat. Both were racing. The loud rush of blood in his ears was a reminder that he was still conscious, still alive. But panic was rising. It was wrapping itself around him like a heavy blanket, constricting his body, making it harder to move, harder to breathe. He continued to hurry down the hall until he was far enough away from the banquet. He rounded a corner and finally stopped, falling back against the nearest wall. He was in a wing of the palace no one ever went to. He was surrounded by doors leading into offices and sitting rooms that always remained empty.
Peter took deep breaths. He tried to calm himself down by thinking of happy things. But all of his happy memories involved Will. He thought about reading stories with Will, playing games with Will, walking through the gardens with Will, pulling pranks on their other siblings with Will, having Will brush his hair after a bath- the memories went on and on. They were the things that made him happiest. But there was something different about them. They were a little darker, a little dimmer. They were tarnished by the realization of his own feelings. And they were dripping with something new, something foreign: lust.
And that lust was causing Peter to think more about Will’s curly hair, his crooked smile, his bright eyes, his toned arms, his sculpted chin, his defined calves, his strong hands. Images of Will’s body moved through Peter’s mind like a slideshow. And with each image, the blood in Peter’s body meandered lower and lower until it had all settled between his legs. Peter had touched himself a few times, but it had never been like this. This was the hardest he’d ever been and it was unbearable. His cock strained against his pants and it felt swollen, like it would burst if he touched it. But, at the time same time, it felt like it was begging to be touched. With a shaky hand, Peter reached down between his legs, undid his pants, and freed his cock. His member was weeping, pre-cum leaking from the tip. He slowly wrapped his hand around the length and hissed sharply.
It felt better than all the times before. Not because he was older or because his technique had improved. But because his head was filled with thoughts of his older brother. His older brother who would never return his feelings, never consent to the sin that was loving him. His older brother who would marry a beautiful, equally perfect woman, have children with her, and be happy without him. His older brother who he could never have. And that felt illicit and dirty and wrong and deeply arousing. It also felt better than all the times before because he was pretending it was Will’s hand wrapped around his cock. That it was his brother’s long fingers and rough palm and strong hand gripping him. Peter began to stroke, slow and steady. His breathing grew ragged as he struggled to draw air. It was overwhelming. The thought of his older brother jerking him off was so incredible that his whole body heated up and he began to sweat. Peter was unravelling and could feel himself approaching the edge.
And then a familiar voice cut through the air, slicing through the sounds of pre-cum on skin and Peter’s panting.
“What are you doing?”
Peter immediately released his hard cock and his whole body froze. Everything stopped: his heart, his breathing, the pumping of his blood, and all thinking. He looked over at Will. Peter expected his brother’s expression to mirror his own horror. But it didn’t. There was something devilish about Will’s expression. Almost like he was enjoying what he saw. His eyes gleamed and his usual crooked smile spread across his face. Peter could feel his heart slowly start beating again. Just looking at Will was giving him a renewed vigor and he felt his cock twitch with excitement.
Fuck.