âI love you too, Edââ Locke begins, without hesitation, before the implications truly settle in.
Like a best friend. Like a brother, almostâ
No, you jackass, thatâs not what heâs trying to say. Edgar doesnât run to catch, kiss, and lavish gifts on a bestie.
Well, other than Locke. Probably.
He looks up at his Kingâ His Kingâ and is awestruck for a moment. The waning sunlight catches the gold in his hair, giving him a halo of sorts.
Lockeâs mind races. Carefully, he wraps the chocolate in one of his many scarves and tucks it away in his jacket. He removes his bandana and slides fingers through silver curls.
Of course theyâre attracted to one another. That much has always been obvious. But Edgar is a King and Locke is Much Less Than (never mind he canât produce heirs) and Edgar knows everything about him. Everything. How fucked up he is. Of course Edgar could never replace Rachel. But the way Locke sees Edgar is so much different. He knows a great deal about Edgar, too. And respects him more than anyone else he has ever met, even Banon. And every moment he gets to spend with him feels like the best moments in his day. His week. His month.
âAll the time⊠I think about⊠when you kissed me. Pressed to the wall and IâŠâ So many years ago he felt like he had to scream just to get Edgarâs attention. All heâd ever wanted was the Kingâs respect. And now he had so much more. âEdgar, you know Iâm stupid. Are you saying what I think youâre sayingâŠ?â
Gods, why are the words so hard to say? His heart hammers.
âYouâ for some reason I canât fathomâ want to be with me?â
      âYou are pretty obtuse sometimes.â
The Kingâs answer comes with no shortage of humorous intent, lips twitching at their corners. Even for a habitual flirt like Edgar, the word âloveâ is not one that he throws around lightly. There is a weight to it that His Majesty would never pluck out of thin air so casually; even in the company of his very own flesh and blood twin brother. Compliments and sweet nothings oft leave his lips with ease -- but a genuine, honest-to-goodness confession from Figaroâs biggest heartbreaker? Unheard of.
     âI lay my heart bare and still you have the cheek to question it. Iâm wounded,
      Locke.â
Hands come to rest at his hips and he sighs in exasperation, lips pressed into a firm line as he tries to think of just what the hell heâs going to do with this big idiot. His idiot. They are opposites in almost every sense: social status, looks, attitude... Perhaps the only thing they do share is their quick temper and stubbornness, but these are not reasons to avoid one another, no -- each one compliments the other. Theyâve been the best of friends now for well beyond a decade.
Edgar cannot stand to be âjust friendsâ for much longer.
     â--And to think that when we first met, I couldnât stand to be in the same room
      as you... But now? I could not bear another moment apart. I had to see you.â
He moves to face Locke once more, figuring that no amount of verbal explanation will satisfy him -- and he tilts that scruffy chin upwards with one hand, dipping down to kiss him nice and slow.Â
Itâs deep and needy, and perhaps a little bit clumsy and forceful in his panic. After all, the very last thing he wants is rejection when itâs taken him this long to finally be out with it and say whatâs been gnawing away at his heart for so long now. He knows that there are a million reasons not to do this: why they canât do this, but there are a million reasons more that Edgar wants to, even if Locke cannot quite understand them.
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