Welcome to the story! I am so excited to share this with you!
This first Chapter is LONG AS HELL. We get to meet all the characters, background info etc. Beast!Wade, Beauty!Peter, Gaston!Harry.
Fair warning guys, Harry is… icky. I had never realized just how awful of a person Gaston is with his borderline sexual assault on Belle until I watched the new movie and I couldn’t get it out of my head. So yeah, Harry as Gaston is icky.
Characters are Ryan Reynolds as Wade, Andrew Garfield as Peter, James Franco as Harry, and Sally Field as Aunt May.
I tagged everyone who liked/reblogged my preview post, so if you would like to taken off/ added to the tag list please let me know!
ADDITIONAL CHAPTERS HERE
I hope you all enjoy this :) Please reach out to me and let me know, I love to hear from my readers.
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Every significant moment in your life is inked on your skin in the form of flowers. A first kiss, a perfect day, a favorite memory, a wedding, the birth of a child, and of course, the death of a loved one.
The flowers first appear on your ribs, traveling up your side and across your chest, spreading to your neck and down across your back and if you are lucky, enough bloom to cover your arms and legs. By the time you are old, your skin is covered in lovely flowers and leaves and trailing vines, like tattoos that tell your life story, and the more intricate the blooms, the luckier you are.
Some people have flowers with specific meanings– blooms that signify compassion and care decorate teachers. The best lovers are covered in red flowers for passion and love. Others simply are covered in every flower imaginable, the random colors and designs filling their skin like a meadow filled with happy memories.
Both way are beautiful. Both ways are desired.
But then, some people have thorns winding through their flowers, black slashing through the colors. These are the people to avoid, the worst people, the people whose souls are so stained with their misdeeds, that it spills out onto their skin for the world to see.
These are the people doomed to be alone.
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Prologue
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Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle, deep in the heart of an endless forest.
He was beautiful, this prince, tall and strong with golden blonde hair, light blue eyes that glowed when he laughed, and perfect smooth skin nearly covered with flowers and blooms because the prince had had many happy moments in his twenty nine years.
But alas, despite his beauty, his heart was cold and his smile cruel, his words like barbs when he spoke.
Some of the townspeople blamed the late King, rest his soul, for turning the Prince so bitter. After the lovely queen had passed away shortly after the Prince’s seventh birthday, there had been no one to act as a buffer between the cruel King and the innocent boy, and the Prince had suffered for it. The King lived a life of drinking and partying, using and discarding any beautiful person that caught his eye, man or woman, and the Prince grew up with the same values. What had once been a teasing sense of humour turned sarcastic and cutting. Instead of laughing readily at almost anything, the Prince began only laughing at someone elses misfortune. The years turned the darling little boy into a cynical young man.
Others blamed the war that had nearly destroyed their kingdom years before. The Prince had ridden off ahead of their troops as a boy barely of age and had come home a hardened man. The soldiers told quiet stories of the Princes surprising talent of fighting with the twin blades known as katanas, how he could decimate an entire platoon just by himself. Spoke even quieter of his many romantic entanglements with the best looking soldiers, of nights spent listening to him find his pleasure, only to see him break the unlucky soldiers heart soon after. And just the barest whispers of the way the Prince would laugh as he tore through their enemies, blades flying, taunting and teasing non stop as he killed mercilessly. The way he talked about slaying soldiers as if it was a game, drunk and giggling about it over the fire.
Despite their negative feelings, all the townspeople waited eagerly for their invitation to the Prince’s 30th Birthday Party, for tonight he was to choose a partner to share the throne. The most handsome men and the most beautiful women made themselves up in their finery, each trying to outshine the other. Unlike most of the other kingdoms, having two Kings, or even two Queens, was not an issue. Several of the previous rulers had been adopted into the family because the ruling partners could not have a child naturally. Others had been carried by surrogates, and raised as royalty, the idea of “pure” royal blood an outdated concept they refused to engage in.
After all, families were about love, not about bloodlines, so the Prince could choose whoever he wanted.
Needless to say, the kingdom was almost in an uproar, each eligible person trying to figure out what they could do to catch the Prince’s eye.
As always, the castle was decorated in astonishing, jaw dropping colors, flowers imported from all over the world strewn across the tables and floors. Entertainers from the East wowed the guests with magic, and musicians from all the grandest symphonies played in every corner of the ball room.
And the Prince sat upon his throne, a self satisfied smirk on his handsome face as all the most beautiful people paraded themselves in front of him, each dress more intricate than the last, each suit a richer shade of varying colors, each glance more flirtatious, each smile more promising.
He was still so charming, even after going away to war, after becoming so bitter. When he wanted to pay a compliment, his words left the recipient blushing, fanning themselves. Older women who disapproved of his ways were swayed to his side by mischievous smiles and flirty winks. His eyes were like a magnet, and once he had you in his sights, you were already lost, and he knew it. His beauty was like a weapon, and he wielded it effortlessly.
This night, he was already drunk on wine, on the air of festivity, on his own sense of ego. His entourage tittered and giggled at everything he said, his blue eyes looked electric against the solid black of his suit, and he had already chosen three or four guests to spend his night with.
And the party was just beginning.
Oh little did he know.
It was an odd night, this one. A cold wind blew down from the mountains, bringing with it a wild storm. Inside the brightly lit castle no one even noticed, too caught up in their revelry, and only the doorman heard the timid knocks upon the grand door.
When the old beggar woman visited the castle that cold winter night, desperate for shelter, the arrogant Prince laughed in her face, then scolded her for being so rude as to interrupt his party. Clapping his hands for his guards, waving her away, he turned instead to whichever nameless, forgettable girl was in front of him at the moment and asked her to dance.
Furious that he could be so cruel to someone in need, the witch stood to her feet, revealing her true form, one of a powerful enchantress.
With a flick of her wrist, the musicians and entertainers were gone, the hall falling into such sudden, awful silence that the Prince could only stare in astonishment.
Another wave of her hand and all occupants of the castle were cast into the Grey Void, forced to hover between life and death, their souls imprisoned, their bodies cast far away, and immediately only she and the Prince were left in the grand ballroom.
“Have mercy.” He whispered, eyes widened in fear. “If I had known you were–”
The enchantress didn’t answer him, calling on her magic instead and casting a spell over him, ripping the flowers from his skin and he cried out in shock and anger. His clothing tore as the blooms were physically lifted from him, twirling in the air before evaporating into nothing.
“A man such as you does not deserve flowers.” She decreed. “You have had many beautiful moments in your life, been surrounded by blessings, and still only thorns reside in your heart. And now, that will be all anyone will ever see.”
The Prince screamed in terror then, as black thorns, long and jagged, appeared first on his feet, then traveled up his legs to his waist. “You will live a painful life, as the thorns take over your body. Every inch they grow will sting as a knife.” She announced in a terrible voice. “And every day you will remember how much your cold heart has cost you. Your people will forget your name, and children shall fear the story of the Lord of Thorns.”
“Please.” The Prince fell to his knees, as the black thorns inched up and over him, tears falling from his eyes as his body lit up with the pain. “Please, have mercy. Surely I can do something to reverse this, please, another chance. Anything. I am still young, surely I have not lived so terribly that I should be cursed the rest of my life.”
The enchantress thought for a long moment. “The most beautiful roses bloom surrounded by thorns.” She said finally. “Find your rose, before the thorns overtake you, and I shall lift the curse and return your life to you”
“What does that mean?” The Prince cried, slamming his first into the ground. “Tell me what that means!”
But she was gone, the empty air shimmering in her absence, and the Prince was completely alone in his suddenly empty castle.
There were no more parties, no more banquets, no more beautiful people dancing.
The woods were cast into a never ending winter, the castle hidden from view. The memory of the Prince wiped from the people’s minds, replaced with the tale of the Lord of Thorns, a man so soulless that not a single flower would bloom on his skin. It was a tale to warn children away from the woods, a tale to keep them from misbehaving and as the years went on, no one could even remember if the story was true or not.
No one remembered his name.
The Prince sat alone in his castle, in his rooms in the West Tower, staring out at the never-ending winter. Voices swirled around him, and he knew he was going mad, spending his years watching the thorns as they crept up his body towards his heart.
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Chapter One
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Peter hummed a soft tune as he headed into the village, heading for the bookstore tucked way back off a side street to return the book he borrowed last week. Dodging around housewives with their packages, children running and playing, and weaving in and around a few merchants and their carts, he slipped down an alleyway and into the shop.
“Ah Peter!” Mister Lee, the foreign man from a land no one had ever heard of, lit up with a big smile when Peter opened his door with a shy grin. “Always good to see you, boy, what brings you by?”
“Good morning, Mister Lee.” Peter handed him the book carefully. “I finished this one and…and do you think I could borrow another?”
“I think–” the small man tapped his chin thoughtfully, kindly. “I think you have read all of them, Peter.”
“Well then, I should attempt to read them all again.” Peter’s skin flushed a little in excitement, staring up at the bookshelf filled to bursting with novels. “What should it be this time? Knights fighting for far off lands? A tale of genies and sorcerers?” his slim fingers rested on a thin novel, the cover warn nearly bare from so many readings, the words so familiar Peter thought he might be able to quote it. “Poetry, perhaps?” his already soft voice dropped even further, his eyes darkening wistfully.
“That one is your favorite?” Peter nodded a little sheepishly and Mister Lee pulled the novel from the bookshelf, pressing it into Peter’s hands. “Then keep it. It’s yours.”
“Are you…are you sure?” Peter’s dark brown eyes looked suspiciously close to overflowing and the shopkeep patted his shoulder gently.
“Of course I am. You have read it more times than I have, anyway. Now go. I’m sure you have other errands to run.”
“Thank you!” Peter backed out of the shop, clutching the book to his chest. “Thank you so much! Thank you, thank you!” He headed back out, nearly running to get home so he could hurry through his chores and sit down to read.
“Peter! Hello!” Alec and Roberto, the town bakers, leaned out their window to wave at him as he passed. “Peter I have just made the sweetest bread, come have some!” Alec encouraged in his thick accent and Roberto nodded eagerly. “Sweetest you have ever tried!”
“Good morning!” Peter grinned at them and slipped up the few stairs into the pastry shop. “I don’t have a lot of time, but I’m never going to say no to your sweetbread, Alec.”
“You have another book, Peter?” Roberto asked, and Peter nodded, eyes sparkling.
“Mister Lee gave me this one.” he touched the red cover reverently. “It’s poetry. I’ve never even owned a book before and this one is so beautiful! I love the poems about nature and oh some of the love poems are perfect!” His eyes were sparkling and the bakers shared a fond glance. They loved Peter, with his enthusiasm for learning and the way his words tumbled from his mouth almost faster than he could think. They had known him since May and Ben had taken the boy in, and always looked forward to his visits.
“Ah, poetry.” Alec sighed dramatically and put a plate down in front of the boy. “Truly the way to a man’s heart, eh? I was reading poetry when Roberto fell for me. I’m telling you it works.”
“To be fair,” the big man argued, “you were also shirtless, my love. That was why I came to talk to you. Not because of the poetry.” He waggled his eyebrows. “He was lying shirtless on the beach as the sun was setting and the waves were playing at his feet. No poetry needed, Peter.”
“He lies.” Alec assured him, and kissed his husband on the lips. “He came and sat by my and I read him poetry for hours. Now, who are you set to woo with such finely written things?”
“No one.” Peter tried to speak around a mouthful of the sweetest, lightest bread he had ever tried, filled to bursting with sweet fruit and some sort of cream. “This is amazing Alec! Would you write down some of your recipes for me to keep? Aunt May has been teaching me to cook but I think I’d rather live off this instead of soups and stews.”
“Careful, Peter, you do not want to grow fat on sweets.” Alec warned good naturedly.
“Hush, let the boy eat.” Roberto scolded. “He looks as if a strong gust of wind would take him across the valley. Now.” He friend his attention back to Peter. “You do not have those pretty brown eyes on anyone?” Roberto queried, handing him a tall glass of fresh milk. “But you are so lovely Peter, surely there are plenty knocking down your door to marry? The red headed girl, Mary Jane, perhaps? You two have been friends for years. Or Tobey? He is quiet, but sweet, you two would make a good pair.
“Mary Jane loves Harry.” Peter shrugged his shoulders. “Always has. And Tobey isn’t really… not really who I am looking for.”
“But Harry loves you.” Alec interrupted with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “The son of the Baron would be a wise choice.” Roberto mumbled something in Italian and Alec shook his head. “No, Roberto is right I suppose. Harry has changed from the boy we used to know, hasn’t he?”
“Not interested in Harry.” Peter swallowed the last bite of bread and licked his fingers, trying to hide the shudder that rolled down his spine at the thought of Harry. “Or in Mary Jane. I don’t think I will find someone to–” he looked down, self consciously, and Alec placed his hand over his heart.
“No, piccolo, do not say that you will not find love. What a tragedy for one so young to be so disillusioned.”
“Well, I won’t find it here, at least.” Peter didn’t raised his eyes, tracing over the worn bakers table with the tips of his fingers. “I’ve lived here my whole life, and I don’t even have a single bloom on my skin. Not a single moment happy enough to make a mark. I am obviously meant for someplace else”.
“Bah.” Roberto rolled his eyes. “Just because you have not had a moment for the flowers to bloom does not mean they won’t. Some people just need–” he gestured vaguely. “time. I did not have a bloom appear until I was nearly a man. And then once one appeared–” he spread his arms to show off the multitude of flowers covering him from wrists to shoulders, disappearing below the collar of his shirt. “Just time, Peter, time and the right moment is all it will take.”
Peter still looked sad, rubbing his hands self consciously over his blank skin. “Sometimes I think about leaving.” he confessed. “There has to be more than this, out there, right? You both are from far away, Mister Lee is from someplace across the water and mountains, and I–I have never even made it farther than the next village. There has to be more than this out there, for me.”
“Ah, cuoro mio, you make my heart sad, so sad to hear you speak of leaving.” Alec wrapped a big arm around Peter’s slender shoulders. “You will find the one who makes flowers bloom across your heart. One day, you will. I promise. And when you do, I will make you the grandest cake this country has ever seen to celebrate your wedding!”
Peter finally laughed a little, leaning into the hug, and Roberto wrapped up another large portion of the sweet bread. “For you, Peter, and your sweet Aunt.”
“Thank you.” He hugged Roberto as well, and stepped back out into the sunshine, book and bread held carefully.
“So pretty, he is.” Alec said with a sigh. “And smart. I do not understand why he has not found his match yet.”
“Perhaps he is right.” Roberto said with a shrug. “Perhaps this little town is not meant for him and he needs to find his match somewhere else. I had to travel to find you, husband. And it was worth it.”
“You are nothing but a big softy.” Alec teased, tracing the lily on Roberto’s palm that matched the lily over his own heart. “But you are right. I was certainly worth traveling for.”
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“Pete!”
Crossing the field that led to their property, Peter stopped and turned when he heard his name called.
“Harry!” he raised a hand in greeting, trying to smile even though his last several interactions with his old friend had been…awkward.
Harry was the son of the Baron Osborn, and the family had ruled over their valley for generations. Harry preferred to spend his time in the village, even attending the small school with Peter and Mary Jane and their friends instead of leaving to study in the bigger cities like so many other first sons did. Peter and he had always shared a close friendship, but ever since Harry had turned twenty one last year, he had been pursuing Peter in an overt way that had him constantly on edge.
Harry had always been a hands on friend, lots of hugs, back slaps, but suddenly it had become overly flirtatious, more of a caress than a friendly touch and his comments were more of a come on and seduction versus a conversation. And Harry was always around. He seemed jealous when other people talked to Peter, irritated when Peter didn’t want to spend time with him. Their easy friendship had become something of an obsession for Harry, and it made Peter uncomfortable.
But he had a hard time speaking up, a hard time saying no to his oldest friend, so he gritted his teeth and waited for Harry to pull up alongside him.
“I heard you were in town.” Harry slowed the gelding to a stop and leapt down. “Why didn’t you stop by and see me?” he reached out to pull Peter into a long hug, hands dropping low on his back and squeezing gently, urging Peter closer against him.
“Let go.” Peter mumbled and pushed away. “I was only visiting the bookshop and getting some bread.” he answered, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “What are you doing all the way out here?”
“Looking for you.” Harry’s lips curled up in a teasing, one sided smile. “I was hoping to catch you before you go home and walk with you.” He didn’t even try to hide his open perusal of Peter’s body, and Peter was glad his linen shirt and brown pants were loose on his slim frame.
Last summer they had gone swimming together, and as Peter had undressed, stepping out of his pants, Harry had moved up behind him, circling Peter’s small waist with him arm. “Peter.” he had whispered. “From the back you look just like a woman. You should grow your hair long like you used to, I always liked that.” And then his hand had started to slip lower on Peter’s waist, only stopping because the other boys were coming over the hill to join them.
Peter had thrown up twice after that, then told himself for days that it hadn’t happened like he thought, that Harry had only been teasing, that he was ridiculous for feeling so uncomfortable with someone he had known his entire life.
“So, can I walk with you?” Harry tilted his head and smiled again, a charming, heated look that usually had the women, and some of the men, scrambling to do whatever he wanted.
“Sure.” Peter nodded, trying to will the nausea away. He needed to get over this. Surely Harry wasn’t as bad as Peter thought he was. Surely it wasn't… it couldn’t be what Peter thought. He and Harry were friends. This was probably just a weird phase.
“What kind of book did you get this time?” Harry asked, looping the reins around his hand so the horse would follow and they set out together. “Did you take it to the childrens home to read?” Peter smiled a little, surprised that Harry even remembered that he did that.
“No, I’ll be spending tomorrow at the orphanage reading to the children. This one is um, poetry. It’s mine. Mister Lee gave it to me.” Peter send him a sideways look. Harry had never been one to put any value on reading, grabbing and hiding Peter’s books when they had still been in school, and making fun of him for caring so much as they had gotten older.
“Poetry.” Harry was laughing out loud, “Peter what are you doing with poetry? You talk so much anyway, are you going to start quoting us things we can’t even understand now? Why do you need poetry?”
“Maybe learning a little about love? And I don’t talk all the time. ” Peter retorted defensively, and Harry put an arm around his shoulders, tugging him closer, seeming not to notice how Peter stiffened.
“I suppose you have gotten better about talking. God, remember how you used to ramble on about absolutely nothing all the time? There is something to said for silence, Pete.” His arm tightened a little. “Besides, I can teach you all you need to know about love. You don’t need poetry for that. Once we are married–”
“Harry.” Peter leaned away, his eyes wide. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve told my father that we plan to marry.” Harry shrugged like Peter shouldn’t be surprised. “You are my oldest friend, Pete, think about how good we could be.” He paused under the giant apple tree at the edge of the yard, grasping Peter’s wrist and pulling him to a stop.
“Just think about it, Pete.” he leaned in closer, dropping the reins of the horse to cup Peter’s jaw. “We’ve known each other our whole lives. We know everything about each other. I’m set to inherit everything from my father, and you are so…beautiful. I can’t wait to put your first bloom on your skin. Your pale, perfect skin.” Harry ran his fingers down Peter’s arm, and Peter tried not to flinch.
Harry was covered in flowers and vines, his life lived with laughter and parties and beautiful people always willing to spend a night with him. He had received his first bloom at the age of fourteen, and now his arms and chest were almost covered. It only made Peter look that much emptier next to him. “We are a perfect match, you and I.” Harry said with a wink. “You’re like a blank canvas, and I have so much to show you.”
“A blank canvas.” Peter repeated, and tugged his shirt sleeves down a little farther. “Harry, that’s not really—”
“Hey, it’s fine.” Harry tipped Peter’s chin up. “I don’t care that you’ve never been with anyone, I don’t care that you are so innocent, that you spend your days reading. Because you are beautiful, and I want you. You’ll be twenty in a few weeks and we can get married then, for your birthday. It would be a perfect present for both of us. Just say yes.” Harry leaned even closer, his eyes somehow looking hard even though he was still smiling. “Just say yes to me.”
“Harry–” Peter tried again. “What about Mary Jane? She loves you.”
“I don’t care about that. I don’t care about her.” Harry placed a hand low on Peter’s hip, pressing him back into the tree, and Peter wanted to scream. Harry was only a couple inches taller, but outweighed him by quite a bit of muscle and Peter hated feeling so helpless. “All I want is you, Pete.” Harry dropped his head like he was going to kiss him, and Peter closed his eyes, wishing he was anywhere but—-
“Peter!” Aunt May’s voice carried across the distance to the house. “Peter is that you, there? Come home, I need some help with these mixes!”
“I’ve got to go.” Peter nearly cried, pushing Harry away as hard as he could and took off towards the house.
“Think about it, Pete.” Harry called as he mounted his horse. “We are perfect for each other, and you will see that eventually!”
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“Was that Harry?” May asked with a concerned look when Peter walked through the door and dropped the bread on the table with a huff. “Are you alright? I feel like you haven’t been as happy to see him lately.”
“It’s nothing.” Peter shook his head. “Everythings fine, Aunt May. He just missed me in town and wanted to talk for a few minutes.”
“Alright then, will you help me with these? I have so much to get bagged and labeled before leaving for the market.”
Aunt May, still lovely and spry well into her fifth decade, made mixes and poultices every year to sell at the big market a few towns over. Gathering herbs and flowers and spices, she would carefully measure them out into packages, with clear instructions on how much water to mix in, or which fresh ingredients needed to be added, to create lovely scented lotions, pain numbing poultices, or skin creams.
People loved them, coming to her from all over the valley with specific requests, eager for the chance to make up their own lotions or creams as they needed instead of having to pay the extra coin to buy them from the traveling merchants. Even local physicians came to Aunt May for the small packages that were specifically for pain relief for their patients.
“Will you start filling these?” She motioned to a big pot, and the dozens of small bags in front of it. “It’s an antiseptic cream with a bit of a numbing agent, and it was so popular last year I made an extra batch and now I’m behind.”
“Of course, Aunt May.” Peter rolled his loose sleeves up and tied an apron on, content to sit in the warm kitchen and work with his aunt.
“Have you decided what to do for your birthday, Peter?” She asked absentmindedly, sometime later. “Twenty is an important one. You know, I was only seventeen when your Uncle Ben saw me for the first time, but he was turning twenty the very next day. He fell in love with me at first sight, he always swore that the iris bloom on his palm appeared before he even spoke to me, and he knew I was meant for him.” May touched her heart, where her own iris bloom lay.
Peter smiled as he worked, listening to the familiar story. He had heard the tale so many times he had it memorized, but he never interrupted, never stopped May from telling it again. After losing Uncle Ben in a hunting accident several years before, Peter wanted to hear the story as much as May wanted to tell it, because it made the hole in their hearts hurt just a little less.
“–that’s why we should have a party. Invite the town. I’m sure Harry would be happy to have it at his manor–”
Peter definitely heard that sentence and couldn’t help his shudder, couldn’t help the way his hands clenched against the table.
How was he supposed to tell his Aunt that he felt threatened by his friend? That when Harry put his hands on him it made him physically sick? That it made him crazy to be manhandled just because he was skinny, to be leered after every time he bent over or stretched. Sometimes Peter wished he was a woman, just so he could scream assault and someone else would keep Harry the fuck away from him, but no one would take such a claim from a man seriously, and how could he think of something like that, when Harry had been his friend for so long?
“Excuse me please.” he whispered and went outside so he wouldn’t be sick in front of his aunt.
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Looking up from his book of poetry that night, saying the words out loud because he already had them memorized, Peter stared out the window into the dark.
“There’s got to be more to life than this.” he half whispered, half begged to the dark night. “Please tell me there’s more out there for me.”
But the night sky didn’t say anything, and Peter fell into a troubled sleep, dreaming of life with Harry, a life with no happy moments, and no flowers upon his skin.
I LOVE THIS CHAPTER
I LOVE THIS CHAPTER SO MUCH!
Wade just doesn't stand a chance against the sheer amount of charm Peter has. And Peter is falling in love as well. Almost edited most of this out because OH MY GOD it is fluffy enough to choke you, but I LOVE IT!
So I hope you guys do too :)
ADDITIONAL CHAPTERS HERE
Enjoy :)
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Somehow, breakfast together became a regular thing, and sometimes Wade made pancakes, other times Peter woke up early and had food waiting. At first they didn't talk at all, sitting on opposite sides of the big table, and Peter always had a book to read, so Wade just watched him as he ate, content to stare at the beautiful boy from under his hood.
But then one day, Peter started reading aloud from the book, his voice soft and full of awe reading whichever story had caught his attention. Wade had shrugged and made a comment about how he saw the hero of the story as selfish, and Peter's pretty mouth had dropped in shock, and he came back with a scathing retort before realizing what he’d said. Wade had been so surprised at the vehement reply that he all he could do was laugh, and after an awkward moment Peter started laughing as well. It became a habit then, Peter reading from his book and then they would talk about it for a few minutes, comparing their favorite parts, or arguing good naturedly about certain characters.
Every day they talked a little more, every day Peter smiled a little more, and Wade found it harder and harder to keep his distance, harder and harder to keep himself closed off.
One morning, maybe three weeks after the fight with the wolves, Wade noticed that Peter was re-reading a book for the third or fourth time. “Do you like that book more than the others?” he asked, and waited a beat. “Peter?” he said, a little louder and the boy jumped, startled from his chapter.
“Sorry.” he smiled and Wade hated how that made him warm inside. “Um, yes, I like it alright. Fairy tales aren’t really what holds my interest, but I've read the others so many times, I thought I'd try this one again.”
“Did you bring them with you? The books?”
“No.” Peter's cheeks tinged a little pink. “I found them one day when I was exploring the castle. I hope you don't mind me taking them. They were dusty and I figured no one else was reading them so--”
“Of course I don't mind.” Wade mumbled, and Peter smiled again before going back to reading. Wade watched him surreptitiously for a few more minutes.
“Come with me.” Wade made a sudden decision and pushed his chair back from the dining room table, crossing the room to where Peter sat, hand out.
Peter just glanced up from his book curiously. “Where are we going? You didn't even finish your food.”
“Come on.” Without even thinking about his actions, Wade clasped his big hand around Peter's wrist and started tugging on him, but Peter cried out and jerked away so fast he fell backwards out of his chair, hitting the ground hard.
Wade scrambled back several steps, folding his arms over his chest and dying inside because Peter had jumped like Wade's touch burned and that nearly killed him. He had thought they had moved past Peter being scared of him but fuck he had almost screamed feeling Wade's hands on him.
“I'm so sorry.” Peter jumped to his feet. “I didn't mean to pull away like that. That wasn't about you. I'm--” he closed his eyes and tried to pull himself together. Wade had grabbed him and all Peter could think of was Harry putting his hands on him, and had reacted before he could think.
“That wasn't about you.” He repeated, softer this time, because Wade's shoulders were hunched, his face hidden even farther beneath the hood of his ever present cloak.
“I shouldn't have touched you. I don't know what I was thinking.” Wade mumbled and withdrew a little more.
“No.” Peter shook his head. “No it's fine. Just a bad memory and I reacted too quickly. It wasn't you, it wasn't.” He moved closer. “Please.” He held his hand out, waiting, wanting him to try again, but Wade turned and fled the room instead.
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Wade wasn't at breakfast the next morning, and Peter stared down the table at the empty seat for almost an hour before deciding to go find him.
“Where’s Wade?” He demanded to the empty room, feeling a little awkward talking to nothing, but within just a few seconds, the air shifted around him and they replied.
The master is in his chambers. He does not want to be disturbed.
“I need to talk to him, to explain what happened and why I...well, why I did what I did.”
There is nothing to explain. He is aware that you do not want to touched by him.
The voices sounded peeved, protective over their master and Peter shook his head.
“Well, it isn't what you think. I over reacted and --” he laughed a little. “You know, I actually don't have to explain myself to the air, so I'm going to go see him.”
NO.
When Peter went to leave the room, a gust of air pushed the door shut with a loud thunk and he froze.
“Are you… keeping me in here?” For the first time since that awful night with the wolves, Peter was reminded that he was in fact a prisoner in the castle. “Please.” anxiously now, because the idea of being trapped scared him to death, “Please let me go.”
Leave the master alone. He is hurting bad enough without you making it worse.
“Just let me talk to him.” Peter said quietly. “I didn't pull away because of him. It wasn't him, it was me.”
Do not hurt him.
“I don't want to hurt him, I promise. I promise.”
*****************
Peter sat carefully on the floor outside the broken doors of Wade's chambers, facing out towards the hallway so Wade wouldn't feel like he was trying to spy on him.
Turning his head so he could heard, Peter cleared his throat rather loudly so the Lord would know he was there.
“That wasn't about you.” He said firmly. “It wasn't. You just startled me, and I reacted badly. Just a… bad memory.” Bile filled his mouth thinking about Harry and he shuddered a little. “I just wasn't expecting you to grab me, but it wasn't you that was the problem. It's me, and I'm sorry.”
There was silence for a long time, then Wade spoke, his voice so close that Peter jumped.
“What happened that you are scared for someone to touch you?”
He was sitting directly on the other side of the door, and it swayed on its hinges a little as he settled against it, wishing he was brave enough to just face the boy, but he absolutely wasn't. Not after that.
“Um.” He heard the scratch as Peter shifted against the door nervously. “Harry. Harry happened. He was, um, my best friend, and he decided he wanted me and--” Peter stopped talking abruptly and Wade's fists clenched in his lap. “He wanted me, and tried to--tried to--” A soft bang as Peter dropped his head into the door, his words choked. “He's bigger than me and--”
“Did he hurt you?” Wade interrupted, eyes closing at the pain in Peter's voice. “Did he hurt you?”
“He tried. I broke a vase over his head and pushed him down the stairs.” Peter said all in a rush. “So no, I guess it wasn't anything, it could have been so much worse and maybe I shouldn't even say anything, but when you grabbed my wrist I just--like a flashback or something. I'm sorry, I just--”
“Just because it wasn't worse doesn't mean it's nothing.” Wade said fiercely. “Don't discount your pain because you think it could have been worse.”
They fell silent, separated only by the heavy door, and Peter took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.
After weeks of trying to pretend that Harry hadn't happened, of trying to convince himself that nothing had happened, it was a relief to talk about it, even just a little. It was a relief to hear someone say that it was alright to be upset. And it was… wonderful that someone was Wade, the Lord.
Peter barely even let himself think of the Lord by his first name. It seemed too intimate. Even though it had only been a few weeks of them even being civil to each other, all he could think about was how Wade sounded when he laughed, how every once in awhile Peter would catch a glimpse of straight teeth in a flash of a smile beneath the hood. The sheer size of the arms beneath the layers of clothing and the muscles across the stomach and ribs that had flexed and shifted as he had treated the wolf bite. How he had at least six inches of height over him, and how for once, Peter wanted to feel small next to someone.
He was even fascinated by the thorns, wanted to put his hands on them and feel them, wanted to know what they would feel like if he pressed his mouth to them, if Wade would bend down and---
--and now he sounded like one of the princesses in the book of fairy tales.
Peter shook his head to clear his thoughts, and turned enough to slide his hand across the floor, behind the door just enough for Wade to see it.
“It wasn't you.” He repeated, softly, firmly. “I promise.” he waited through a few of the longest moments of his life, until Wade reached out and slid their hands together slowly. Oh. Peter shivered when the rough thorns scratched across his palm, and he flexed his fingers, lacing them together with Wade's.
The angle was a little awkward, but Peter was content to sit there as long as Wade was, content to just hold hands for a while.
********************
“I have something I'd like to show you.” Wade said a little uncertainly the next morning at breakfast and Peter closed his book instantly, looking up with a big smile.
“Of course.”
Wade moved towards him slowly, still covered by that ever present cloak and hood, but he held his hand out for Peter, wanting to cheer when Peter took it without hesitating, letting Wade pull him to standing, and following him out of the room.
“Where are we going?” Peter wanted to know as they crossed into a different hall than he’d ever been in. Wade had unlocked the doors with a big key and Peter had laughed a little. “I've never even seen this part of the castle, the doors have always been locked and I tried jimmying it open. This traveling merchant came through the village one time and taught me how to pick locks. My aunt was so--”” he snapped his mouth shut but Wade tugged at his hand.
“Keep talking.”
“I don't want to just be rambling.” Peter said with a shake of his head.
“Do people tell you that you talk too much?”
“Some people do.” Peter's voice quieted and Wade bit back a curse that anyone would make this boy feel self conscious about anything.
“I like your voice.” Wade admitted and glanced over in time to see Peter's skin tint pink as he blushed. “Now come on, just through here.” He reached for the handle of the big door, then hesitated. “Close your eyes.”
“Alright.” Peter smiled a little but closed his eyes, and Wade led him carefully through the doors into the dark room.
“Um, stay here. I'll be right back.”
It took a few minutes, but Wade found the rope system that would pull the huge curtains back, and started working on them, watching Peter turn in circles, his eyes still closed, chasing each new block of light that filled the room as the windows were uncovered.
“Alright.” Wade reached out and took Peter's hand nervously, thrilling when the boy squeezed his hand tight. “Open your eyes.”
Peter cracked first one, then the other, peering into the sunlight, looking up up up towards the high ceilings. Then his eyes widened, taking in row after row of bookshelves, all filled to bursting. Spiral staircases that led to a second level of bookshelves. Couches and over stuffed chairs tucked into every comfortable corner, pillows scattered all over the small balconies that overlooked the main floor. There were books in stacks on the floor because there wasn't room on the shelves. Lanterns in every corner so someone could read through all hours of the night.
Peter turned around and around, trying to take it all in, until he just dropped to his knees, his hand over his mouth, eyes filling with tears.
“Oh. Oh no.” Wade knelt in front of him. “No, no, Pete, I thought you would like it, don't be upset. Why are you upset? I just-- please, I saw you reading and--”
“It's a library.” Peter said and his voice absolutely shook with awe. “I didn't even know there were this many books in the entire world, and you have them all right here. In one library.”
“Um, right.” Wade watched his face anxiously, still unsure. “Do you--do you like it?”
“I--I-- this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.” Peter wiped at his eyes, unable to look away from the books surrounding him. “I've never seen anything like this in my life and oh oh it's so beautiful.”
“Then... it's yours.” Wade said softly and Peter's dark eyes jerked up, searching in the shadows of the hood to find him.
“You aren't serious.”
“Of course I am.” Wade took a deep breath and reached out to touch Peter's cheek with just the tip of his fingers. “If you want it, it's yours, Pete.”
“Wade.” Peter grabbed for his hand, bringing it to his lips. “This is the best moment of my entire life. Thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.”
Then he was gone, practically running for a staircase, desperate to get up to the second level and get his hands on everything.
Wade was left standing alone, rubbing the back of his hand where Peter's lips had rested for the briefest second, trying to breathe around the knot in his chest. Hearing his name, his first name, not Lord or Master or Prince, in Peter's soft voice had made his heart stutter, and his breath hitch and his mind was racing, trying to figure out what else he could do to make the boy smile like that, to make him touch him like that again.
“Wade!” He looked up when Peter called for him. “Have you read everything in here?”
“I only read books with pictures.” He said back, and Peter's whole face lit up and he laughed, and the sound was so sweet it nearly killed him.
“What's your favorite section?” Peter waved his hands around the huge room. “Give me a good place to start.”
Wade thought for a moment, because it had been years since he'd even set foot in the library, much less picked up a book to actually read.
“Wade?” Peter pressed when he didn't answer. “Will you show me?”
“History.” Wade blurted. “I always preferred the history section.” He climbed the stairs quickly and led Peter to a different corner, with smaller shelves and a big soft chair with pillows scattered on the floor. “This is where I used to do all my reading. All day long.”
Peter's breath caught and he stepped forward to run both hands over the books, slim fingers tracing the titles, whispering them to himself quietly as he moved down the bookshelf.
Wade leaned against a wall and just watched, wishing for the thousandth time that he could be beautiful again, that he could take off his cloak and hood and not be hideous, that he knew how the hell to get from barely talking to Peter to getting Peter to say his name like that again. Except maybe louder, and stretched out on Wade's big bed, and flushed all over because--
Well, fuck. A shudder went through his body, a jolt of heat winding it's way down his spine.
“--Pete, I'm gonna go um--” he tried to excuse himself before it became obvious where his thoughts were, but Peter wasn't listening, pulling several volumes down from the shelves and falling into the big chair, wrapped up in his own world of reading, so Wade just smiled a little and left him alone to read.
**********************
He is sleeping in the library. Wake him so he isn’t sore tomorrow. He will appreciate it.
Wade drained his glass of wine and headed back to the library at the voices prompting, finding Peter still curled up in the big chair, a book open on his chest, snoring lightly.
Damn. Wade's heart skipped a little at the sight, and he pulled the hood more securely around his face before leaning over the sleeping boy.
“Pete.” he whispered. “Pete, wake up and go to bed, you don't want to sleep here all night.”
“Sure I do.” Peter whispered right back, and Wade bit back a laugh.
“Come on, you will sleep better in your room.”
“No way.” Peter rolled in the chair, drawing his long legs up to his body, burying his face in the cushions, and Wade got a look at smooth skin as his loose shirt rucked up around his ribs.
A tiny blue forget me not stood out against the pale skin, and above that, a small sprig of lavender, blooming in soft purple and bright green leaves.
“You only have two flowers, Pete?” Wade asked in a hushed voice, clenching his fists so he wouldn't reach out and touch, and Peter sat up then with a frown.
“I only have one. A forget me not.” He started to pull his shirt down self consciously, but stopped, his dark eyes widening. “Oh. Oh look.” He touched the lavender bloom reverently and looked up with big smile. “Wade, look at this.”
“Why do you only have two?” Wade knelt down beside the chair so he wasn't towering quite so far above him.
“I was blank.” Peter said slowly. “Up until just a few months ago. When little Gwen passed away, I woke up the next morning with a forget me not.” he touched it gently, and Wade tilted his head, trying to focus on the flower, and not on all the perfect pale skin Peter was showing with his shirt up that high. “But this one.” he traced the lavender. “This one is brand new.”
Peter looked around the library, at all the books, the big windows, the softly lit lamps, then back at Wade, his dark eyes staring into the shadows of the hood. He bit his bottom lip a little nervously, then reached forward beneath the cloak to press his hand to Wade's chest.
“This is the best day of my life, Wade. Thank you.”
Wade covered Peter's hand with his own, watching the boy shiver at the touch. “Did you bloom...because of me, Pete?”
“Yeah.” Peter's voice was hoarse. “I bloomed for you, Wade.”
Some lovely fluffy feels this chapter. Peter getting to take care of Wade. Wade getting all schmooshy and adorable. They are the cutest.
ADDITIONAL CHAPTERS HERE
Enjoy :)
************************
A marigold, in vivid orange joined the lavender and the forget me not on Peter ribs, and he touched the bloom carefully, smiling because he knew it was because of Wade.
“You missed breakfast.” He scolded teasingly when Wade finally showed up in the library the next morning. Peter had switched sections, pulling several novels and settling into one of the small balconies, reclined comfortably in a stack of pillows. “Where were you?” His eyes were lit with anticipation, and he was already reaching out for Wade, anxious to kiss him, to get close to him, to repeat what had happened last night.
“Rough night.” Was all Wade said, his voice tense and he flinched hard when he sat.
“You're hurting.” Peter sat up in concern, all thoughts of anything else pushed from his mind. “Last night they--” but he didn't have to ask because he could see the thorns that had crept up to Wade's ears, curling around the lobes like earrings, almost touching the edge of his face.
“Rough night.” Wade repeated and leaned against the balcony rails.
It had taken him by surprise, when the ache started deep in his bones late last night. He had lay on the floor and screamed into a pillow until his throat was raw, unwilling for Pete to hear him, unwilling to put Pete through seeing him like that again. Then he had cried into his bed, terrified because it had been so much worse this time, and he was afraid that it would take him over before he had the chance to tell Peter… anything.
“You could have called for me.” Peter was whispering, horrified, thinking of Wade going through so much pain alone. “I could have mixed up some cream and helped or--or-- oh Wade.” He wanted to touch so badly, but didn't want to cause any more pain, so he dropped his hands back into his lap. “What can I do? What can I do to help?”
“It's fine.” But Wade's jaw was clenched and his body stiff and Peter hurt for him.
“Um. Can I kiss you good morning?” Peter hesitated a little before reaching for Wade's hand. “I mean can we--are you hurting too much? Can I-- I just want to--”
“Come here, Pete.” Wade turned just enough to press their mouths together in a short kiss, then fell away, too sore and worn out to do much more than that. “You can always kiss me good morning. Never gonna tell you no.”
“Come to my room then.” Peter decided. “Come to my room and we can lay down together and I can--”
“Pete, I don't think--”Wade shook his head. He wanted so badly to just curl up and cry into Peter's lap because it hurt so much he could barely breathe through it. But he didn't want Peter feeling like now that they had… gone further together that now he had had to comfort Wade physically. He wanted Peter to touch him because he wanted to, no other reason needed. “We don't need to--”
“You just said you were never gonna tell me no.” Peter said triumphantly. “You just said that.” and Wade chuckled, painfully though, as the movement jolted his ribs, pulling and stretching at the newly sensitive skin.
“You are a brat, Pete.” but he struggled to his feet and let Peter take his hand to lead him out of the library and up to his room.
Wade stretched out on the soft bed and Peter disappeared for a few minutes to mix up some more of the cream he had used the previous night. When he returned, he didn't even say anything, just motioned for Wade to pull his shirt off and set to work on the newest thorns.
Wade lay there silently, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes as the pain finally eased.
*******************
“How are you feeling?’
Wade woke to Peter's soft voice, the sun low in the sky casting shadows over the room. “Did I sleep all day?”
“Sure did.” Peter smoothed gentle fingers over his forehead. “No fever or anything. Feeling better?”
“I am.” Wade sat up carefully and Peter fluffed a few pillows behind his back. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” Peter was staring at him, or rather trying not to stare, and Wade swallowed back the ball of uncomfortable in his throat.
“What is it? Why are you staring?” the question came out a little sharper than he intended, and he wanted to kick himself when Peter flinched. “I'm sorry.” He reached for Peter's hand. “I didn't mean to snap at you.”
“No, I'm sorry.” Peter squeezed his hand a little, then leaned forward hesitantly. “I just um, want to kiss you again? Now that you are feeling better?” His voice lifted like he was asking a question, and Wade just sat still, waiting to see what he would do.
“I've been thinking about you all day.” Licking his lips nervously, Peter drew his fingers over Wade’s face, over the strong jaw line, over his cheekbones, almost to his eyes, then down to his lips, then back up again to repeat the motion. “Thought about you all night.” Then, so slowly that Wade almost wanted to just yank him forward and get on with it, Peter leaned in and pressed their lips together.
Wade made an encouraging noise and Peter got to his knees, scooting closer to lay one hand on Wade's chest for balance, the other resting feather light on his neck, careful not to press too hard on the new thorns before kissing him again.
Longer this time, and when Peter touched the tip of his tongue to Wade's mouth, he opened up beneath him, holding onto the sheets so he wouldn't take over, trying to let Peter do what he wanted. Peter sat up a little more and kissed him harder now, licking and tasting through his mouth eagerly, the hand on his chest sliding up to his shoulder, trying to pull him closer.
“Mmm.” Wade sighed a little and shifted against the bed and Peter broke the embrace, meeting his eyes shyly. “Don't stop now.” Wade shook his head with a smile. “Just starting to get fun, honey.”
“Don't want to press too hard on your--” Peter motioned to Wade's thorns, blushing because of honey. “Want to be closer but don't know how to get--”
“Like this.” Wade's big hand nearly covered Peter's thigh, and he gripped him tight, lifting him into his lap, guiding him to straddle him. “This is how we get close.”
“Oh.” Peter perched awkwardly over him and Wade wrapped his hands around his slim waist and pressed him down, lifting his hips at the same time. “Oh!” Peter's eyes snapped open wide when they came together and his entire body shuddered. “Yes.” He rolled his hips experimentally and Wade dropped his head back and groaned. “More kissing?” Peter asked timidly, and Wade wound his fingers through that thick brown hair and slotted their mouths together greedily.
“As much as you want.” He mumbled against Peter's lips and the boy laughed a little in excitement.
************************
“Tell me about the story.” Wade said later that evening, after they had kissed until Peter could barely breathe, laughing and talking quietly until the sun had gone down and they'd had to light lamps to see. “About the Lord of Thorns.”
Peter's face flushed in embarrassment. “I'm so sorry for calling you that. Obviously the legend isn't true and I can't believe--”
“No, tell me. I want to know what they say about me.” Wade insisted. “Tell me.” He was feeling better, his skin not bothering him anymore, and feeling half drunk on the soft light in Peter's dark eyes, the way he kept touching Wade as if he couldn't get enough.
“Well.” Peter cleared his throat. “Most people say that the Lord of Thorns lives deep in the middle of a magical forest, all alone, because he doesn't want to be with anyone and chased anyone who ever loved him away. They say his heart is so cold, his soul so dark that flowers refuse to bloom on his skin, and instead thorns line his body. They tell their children to be good, lest the Black Lord carry them away.”
Wade shifted uncomfortably, irritated at the thought of being used as a story to scare children.
“But my aunt--” Peter continued, squeezing Wade's hand lightly. “My aunt always told me that the legend had it backwards. That thorns grew over the Lord to protect his heart.”
“Why would thorns protect--”
“Every rose has it's thorn.” Peter said softly, and beside him Wade stiffened.
“What? What does that mean?”
“It bothered me, not having any blooms on my skin.” Peter admitted. “For years, I watched my friends skin change and mine was always blank. And my Aunt told me one night that sometimes our hearts need something extraordinary to bring a flower around. For some people it could simply be a great birthday, other people needed full on, life changing moments. She said that every rose has it's thorn, and that to receive a beautiful flower sometimes pain and hard work was required. And then she said that the prettiest roses will only bloom surrounded by the heaviest thorns, because anything that beautiful is worth fighting for, worth the suffering and pain that might come along with it. So she always insisted that the thorns over the Lord must be protecting the precious, beautiful bloom of a rose on his heart. And only the person willing to fight the thorns could find it.”
“She always told me that it might take something extraordinary, but one day my skin would bloom.” Peter continued in a whisper. “And she was right.”
He squeezed Wade's hand and leaned close to kiss his cheek. “I have a new flower, and it's because of you. My heart needed you to bloom.”
Wade pressed him down into the bed and kissed him for a long time, until Peter was gasping against his lips and arching his body trying to get closer.
“What was that for?” He asked when Wade let him up for air.
“Because--Because--” Wade didn't really know what to say, so he just lay his face in Peter's neck, and breathed him in.
It was because Wade had finally realized what the witch had meant all those years ago.
The prettiest Rose blooms surrounded by the heaviest thorns.
Peter who was the key to breaking his curse.
Peter, the only beautiful thing that could bloom among his thorns.
This chapter is both beautiful and heartbreaking. I might have teared up a little.
ADDITIONAL CHAPTERS HERE
Enjoy :)
****************
Wade was nervous.
Don't be nervous.
He was so nervous.
“Did you find him something to wear?”
Of course we did. He will look wonderful. You look wonderful as well, Master. He will be completely enchanted.
“Yeah, I hope so.” Wade smoothed down the lines of his suit carefully, the black material making his light blue eyes look like they were glowing. He had forgone the customary neckerchief, leaving the top few buttons of the shirt undone instead so his thorns were more visible. Peter didn't hate them, Peter said he loved them, so he wasn't going to hide them anymore.
He's ready, Master. It's time.
*****************
Wade stood anxiously on one side of the split staircase, waiting for Peter to appear on the other side.
He had ordered the grand ballroom reopened and cleaned, the chandeliers lit for the first time since his horrible birthday party so long ago. The ceilings, decorated with painted cherubs and flowers outlined in gold, were sparkling, and the curtains had been pulled back from the huge windows, the balcony doors thrown open to let the night air in. Anything that had managed to bloom in the garden had been brought inside and the corners were filled with the bright flowers and vines. The the floor was polished to a high shine, almost enough to mirror the ceiling above, and--and-- he didn't know what else he could do.
This had to be perfect. It had to be.
Tonight was going to be… everything.
So now he waited for the boy he'd fallen in love with. Waited for the one who had dropped into his life and completely stole his heart. Stood at the top of the stairs with his shaking hands hidden behind his back and his pounding heart clogging his throat and waited for Peter, his Rose.
And oh there he was.
Peter stepped to the top of his side of the stairs with a nervous smile, looking down at his outfit uncertainly. The black pants and a fitted dark blue jacket with gold trim didn't seem near fancy enough for something like this, but the voices had insisted it was perfect, and the way Wade was staring, Peter supposed they had been right.
Wade started down his half of the stairs and Peter raced down his to catch up, meeting in the middle, and sucking in a quick breath at how good Wade looked in the perfectly tailored black suit, the edges of thorns peeking out from his crisp white shirt making him look wild.
“Oh.” Peter swallowed. “Oh. You look--”
Wade smiled a little, just a slight lift of his lips, and held his hand out for Peter to take, turning him in a circle to see every inch of the black and blue suit.
“Amazing.” Wade's eyes softened when he saw the sheer panel on the right side of the jacket, the cut out following the curve of the flowers inked onto Peters ribs. “Beautiful.” He put a big hand just there, his thumb rubbing over the lavender bloom slowly and Peter shivered a little, smiling up at him.
“They insisted you would love that.”
“I do. Want to see your flowers all the time.” Wade cleared his throat and stepped back a proper distance to offer his arm with a flourish. “Shall we dance?” Peter grinned up at him and took his arm, letting Wade lead him down the rest of the stairs and onto the dance floor.
“I don't know how to dance though.” He reminded him and Wade just shushed him.
“I'll show you. Music first.” He raised his voice a little and within a few seconds, soft strains of music floated through the ballroom from… somewhere, and Peter raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Don't question the magic, remember?” Wade teased and bowed low in front of him. Eyes twinkling, Peter did the same, and when he straightened, Wade stepped forward and gripped him tight around the waist.
“Hand on my shoulder Pete, that's perfect, we're going to hold hands like this, and ready?” Wade counted off the beat softly and they started moving across the floor, the smile on Peter's face growing as he caught the rhythm.
“This is so much fun. I can't believe I've never danced before.” He almost stumbled and Wade caught him with a quick smile, keeping them moving.
“I used to dance all the time.” Wade turned them around the floor, leading Peter through the steps with a natural grace. “I miss it. But this is better, dancing with you like this.” He pulled Peter closer in their next turn, until their legs brushed together. “I think everything is better now, with you, Pete.”
Peter's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to reply but Wade shook his head. “Later, hm? We can talk later.” He brushed his lips over Peter's, thrilling when Peter sighed and leaned closer. “Let’s just dance for now.”
Peter lost track of time, of how many times they circled the ball room, how many times Wade switched steps to teach him a new one, chuckling as Peter tried to follow them all enthusiastically. Peter absolutely shouted with laughter when Wade spun him around and dipped him low, nipping a quick kiss onto his neck before lifting him up and moving across the floor again.
He was simply the happiest to be held in Wade's arms, watching him smile so much, hearing him laugh. It certainly didn't hurt that Wade filled the tailored black suit nearly to bursting, that every time he moved them througha new step Peter could feel the muscles in his arms bunch with every turn.
Wade had ordered wine brought up from the cellar and inbetween songs Peter sat on his lap, sharing his glass, until he was tipsy and giggling, dancing becoming less about the steps and more about sliding his hands over Wade's hard body, pressing as close as he could get and asking for kisses every few minutes.
“If I would have known you were such a lightweight,” Wade teased, “I would have saved the wine for the end of the night.”
“Nooooo.” Peter protested. “This is beautiful and fun and I am so--” his voice softened and he traced Wade's jawline, touching lightly over the Thorns. “Wade I'm so--”
The music changed then, the rhythm slowing and Peter started humming along with the melody, a faintly surprised look on his face.
“Do you know this song?” Wade asked, looking pleased and Peter nodded.
“My aunt used to sing it to me, when I was little. When I couldn't sleep, or when it stormed and I was nervous. She would rub my back and sing this song and I haven't heard it in so long, I'd nearly forgotten.” He hummed a little more, resting his head on Wade's shoulder as they swayed to the slow rhythm.
“My parent used to dance to this song.” Wade's voice was wistful. “It's one of my only memories of them. My mother laughing as my father twirled her around the floor, the pianist playing this tune over and over. Back when things were happy. She would sing along until she was out of breath from dancing.” His hands tightened on Peter's waist. “Would you sing for me, Pete?”
“I can't really sing.” Peter said, blushing a little. “I mean, I won't make your ears bleed but--.”
Wade brushed a kiss over his forehead. “Sing for me anyway.”
Hesitantly, Peter started singing as the melody changed into the bridge, and the music swelled around them.
“Ever just the same, ever a surprise, ever as before, ever just as sure, as the sun will rise.”
Wade cleared his throat and joined in, his deep voice rumbling through his chest, and Peter stepped closer still, looping both arms around his neck as they moved slower together, their voices blending together quietly.
“Tale as old as time, tune as old as song, bittersweet and strange, finding you can change, learning you were wrong”
“Certain as the sun, rising in the east, tale as old as time, song as rhyme, beauty and the beast.”
“Come here, Pete.” Wade took his hand and led him out to the balcony, still humming softly as the music faded to nothing behind them.
Peter sat on a bench overlooking the moonlit gardens and Wade sat next to him, holding both his hands, looking suddenly nervous.
“What is it?” Peter asked with a gentle smile. “What's on your mind?” He reached up and parted the collar of Wade's shirt to press his hand to his chest. “This is such a perfect night. What are you thinking about?”
“Are you happy here, Pete?” Wade asked softly, covering Peter's hand with his own. “Happy in the castle? Exploring the garden, and reading in the library and--and spending your nights with me?”
“Of course I am.” Peter's eyes lit with joy. “I've never been this happy in my entire life. Not ever. I mean, you’ve given me flowers, and my library, and waking up next to you is--”” he blushed a little. “But there's only--” he hesitated, chewing at his bottom lip nervously. “It's just that--”
“What is it? Tell me, sweetheart. Whatever it is, I'll give it to you.” Wade encouraged and Peter looked sad.
“My Aunt May. I was on my way to meet her when I got lost, and she has no idea where I am, or even if I'm alive. She and I are all each other has, after Uncle Ben passed away. And thinking about her worrying about me all this time is…” Peter squeezed Wade's hands anxiously. “I miss her, and I worry about her and I really want to see her again. She's my family. I miss her.”
“I see.” Wade felt something like panic crawl up his throat. “So you--you want to leave, then? To go back to your Aunt?”
“I just want to see her. Just one more time.” Peter's eyes filled with tears. “Just to let her know I'm alright. Just to hug her one more time. A few days at the most.”
“I understand, Pete. Of course I do. Selfish of me to think you wouldn't want to see her. Of course I understand.”
They were quiet for a long time before Wade leaned forward to kiss his lips. “In the morning, alright? Stay the night with me tonight and I'm the morning, I’ll-- I'll let you go.”
“I'll come back, Wade.” Peter promised, over and over as Wade scooped him into his arms and carried him towards their room. “I'll come back to you.” and Wade smiled, trying to pretend like he believed him.
*******************
*******************
“Beautiful.” Wade whispered as he lay gentle kisses over every flower on Peter's skin, scraping his teeth over the delicate lines until Peter whined and tried to twist away.
“Beautiful.” Wade whispered as he pulled long legs up over his shoulders, and pressed as close as he could into Peter's body, until he couldn't move any further and Peter's fingers were digging into his shoulders as he gasped with pleasure and pain.
“Beautiful.” Wade whispered as he moved inside him, as he touched him, as Peter arched his back to pull him deeper, as they rocked slowly together in the fire-lit room.
“Oh, oh so beautiful.” Wade groaned when Peter lost himself, pushed over the edge by Wade's hands and mouth, when Peter dragged him down into a kiss, pleading into his mouth to please come for me, oh Wade oh let me feel you, let me feel you lose control for me please honey please.
“Beautiful.” Wade whispered as he watched Peter sleep until the sun was coming through the windows again.
“Oh, baby boy, please don't don't leave me.”
******************
But in the morning, Wade watched from his window as Peter rode away, taking every last piece of beautiful in the castle away with him.
He will come back.
“He won't. He’ll go home and forget me, like everyone else did. The curse remember? Wiping me from their minds.”
He loves you.
“I guess I'll never know.”
And when his body started aching, when the thorns started climbing his skin again, Wade couldn't even scream, couldn't even cry. He just sat on his balcony and stared out into the empty gardens, letting the pain wash over him until his vision went dark.
He didn't care.
Peter had left.
The thorns could have him.
Wade was done fighting.
Peter is the sweetest, and Wade stands no chance of not falling in love.
I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this story! Share the love and like and reblog for me! And oh my gosh I have been loving hearing from you guys, so keep those messages/ asks coming! love my readers!
This Chapter picks up right where Chapter Five left off.
Catch all the ADDITIONAL CHAPTERS HERE
Enjoy :)
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The fire was burning bright, Wade slumped painfully in his great chair, when the boy came back inside from the stables, clutching several parcels to his chest.
“Um, my Aunt--” he started hesitantly. “My aunt makes poultices and pain relief things, and I had some in Phillips saddlebags. I'm going to mix some up for you.”
Wade didn't answer, turning his face into the side of the chair, closing his eyes against the pain in his side. The boy should have left him in the forest. Now, in the warm room, the adrenaline was wearing off and Wade was getting light headed from blood loss, the hurt making him shake violently, and he didn't even hear what the boy was saying to him, didn't even register his cloak being moved aside, but then everything in his body seized, his back arching and he shouted out in anger, jerking away when the boy laid something against him that made his skin feel like it was falling off.
“Fuck! Fuck!” Every movement hurt and Wade swore again, forcing himself to still before turning furious eyes on the boy. “That hurts!”
“If you held still it wouldn't hurt as much!” he snapped right back and Wade's lips curled in a snarl.
“If you hadn't run into the woods this never would have happened. I wouldn't have had to take on a wolf pack to keep you safe.”
The boy dipped the rag in some water and squeezed it with shaking hands. “If you wouldn't have scared me I wouldn't have run away!”
Wade's mouth dropped open. “You were in the West Tower. No one is allowed in the West Tower! If you would have stayed away, I wouldn't have had to yell at you.”
“Maybe.” the boy huffed, reaching for another one of small packets, emptying it in the water and submerging the cloth. “Maybe.” he said again, softer. “But it wouldn't hurt for you to control your temper.” he swallowed hard, slim throat jerking with the movement. “Hold still, alright? This is going to sting some more.”
Wade clenched his teeth, bit back a groan of pain, but didn't pull away, and after a few minutes, the boy wrapped the wound with some gauze and backed away a few steps to start cleaning up his supplies.
“My names Peter.” the boy said hesitantly, so quietly Wade almost didn't catch it. “And I--I--I’m sorry for going into the West Tower, My Lord.”
“Um.” Wade was speechless for a minute, the anger gone from him instantly at the unexpected apology. “It's… fine. No harm done, I suppose.”
Pretty red lips lifted in a small smile, and Wade found himself staring, something like interest curling through his body. “I'm going to check your temperature, alright? Just need to make sure an infection isn’t setting in.” Peter asked, moving towards him, and Wade startled violently when Peter touched his forehead, hissing in pain as the gauze pulled at his wound again.
“Alright? Does that hurt?” Peter looked down at him with a frown and Wade swallowed.
“I--I--” he licked his lips nervously. “It's fine.” Peter nodded shortly, and held his palm against Wade's head for a minute, then seemed to be satisfied and pulled away.
“It doesn't seem like you have a fever and the wound is clean, so you should be alright. Just rest, and lots to drink, alright?”
“You are...good at this.” Wade ventured and the boy smiled again.
“My Aunt taught me. She always said that being able to take care of someone else was the greatest feeling and I guess I have to agree. Always liked going along with her when she went to help at the orphanage.”
Peter tucked everything back into the bag he had brought with him, and turned to leave, hesitating at the big doors. “Thank you for saving my life.”
“You’re...welcome.”
Wade was still staring at the door long after Peter had left.
Peter. The beautiful boy who had stood up to him. Who had defied him. Who had tried to fend off wolves with only a branch. Peter. Had brought him home. Had cleaned his wounds. Had thanked him. Had touched him.
And that was it, right there.
He had forgotten what it felt like to be touched by someone.
****************
****************
“I brought you dinner.”
Peter's soft voice pulled Wade from staring into the fire, and he shifted gingerly in the chair, tugging his hood up farther around his face, the blankets up over his arms.
“Not hungry.”
He was actually starving, but he was feeling vulnerable, unsure of himself around the boy. Since last night, when Peter had touched him, Wade was suddenly uncomfortably aware of how badly he wanted it to happen again.
Not once in all his years could he remember craving physical contact beyond just sex but he did now. A friendly touch, a smile-- anything. After so many years of being alone, to be in the presence of someone so young and pure and beautiful made him feel old and hideous and damaged.
It was distracting, and irritating, and Wade thought he might say something mean just so the boy would leave him in peace with his brooding thoughts.
But Peter didn't leave.
“You need to eat to get your strength back. Healing takes--takes a lot out of a body.” Peter was chewing on his bottom lip nervously and Wade refused to stare.
Flat out refused.
“I'm fine.” Wade grunted and Peter's face fell a little.
“Alright then.” He looked down at the tray piled with sandwiches and a hot bowl of soup. He had been making his own food for a while now, finding that the castle kitchen was always surprisingly stocked, and he had been so sure Wade would appreciate the gesture, even if it was pretty small thanks for saving his life.
“Do you want me to look at your wound?” He tried again, holding up the small bowl where he had mixed up an antibiotic cream with a numbing agent, but Wade shook his head.
“No need.”
“I already mixed up the pain medication.” Peter said with a sigh. “Please just let me--” he gestured helplessly and Wade closed his eyes.
“Go back to your room, boy.”
“It's Peter. Not boy.” He sounded a little irritated now, and Wade raised an eyebrow, turning in his chair to look at him fully.
“Alright then, Peter.” He said slowly, and damn if the boys big brown eyes didn't widen a little, his fists clenching at his sides. What is that reaction for? Wade wondered, and smiled the tiniest bit.
“Peter.” He said it again, just to see the boy flush a pretty shade of red. Interesting. “If you leave the medication, I will apply it myself. But… thank you.”
“I don't mind.” Peter's voice seemed a little hoarse and he cleared his throat loudly. “The bite is-- around your back, easier if I do it.”
“Trust me. You don't want to touch me.” Wade said and Peter took a step forward, his hand outstretched.
“That's not true.” He blurted, then snapped his mouth shut and shook his head. “I mean, I don't mind the--the thorns. They don't matter to me. I just don't want you to be hurting.”
“Everything always hurts.” Wade leaned back in his chair.
“Well then, let me help a little.” Peter insisted, moving to stand in front of the chair. “Just with your back. This will clean and numb it and-- please?”
Wade flicked his eyes to Peter's, stunned by the amount of emotion swimming there.
“Why does it matter?” He grumbled and Peter bit that bottom lip again.
“You saved my life.” Peter began rolling up the sleeves of his baggy linen shirt. “The least I can do is make sure you don't die of infection.” then he rolled his eyes. “Even though at this point it will most likely be your own stubbornness that will put you in the ground.”
“Is it your mother or your father who encouraged the sarcasm?” Wade asked, fighting a smile at the snarky tone, sitting up begrudgingly and moving the blanket and robe out of the way, turning so Peter could reach his bare back.
“I don't know my parents. They died when I was young.” Peter mumbled, and Wade frowned.
“I'm sorry I didn't realize--”
“I know you didn't.”
Peter brushed Wade's cloak aside, and started peeling the gauze away carefully, not letting himself stare at the thorns that criss-crossed Wade's ribs. “I was raised by my aunt and uncle, until my uncle passed away a few years ago. Now it's just myself and Aunt May together. She is my only family.” He reached for a soft rag to pat over the teeth marks, cleaning it gently before reaching for the antibiotic cream. “This is going to sting for a minute, then it should numb.”
Wade flinched when the cool cream spread over his sensitive skin, then sighed in relief when the pain disappeared.
“Alright?”
“Yes.” Wade said, and then, awkwardly, “Thank you.”
Peter's lips curled in a little smile, and he kept working, making sure every inch of bruised skin was covered.
“So.” he started, “so you handle katanas unbelievably well.”
“You… you know what they are?” Wade was completely surprised and couldn't even hide it. “How would you even--”
“I read a lot.” Peter confessed. “Or at least I try to. And I read that they used to use katanas in the old wars, that it was something only a few people ever mastered. But the way you used them on the wolves was incredible.”
“Um. Thank you?”
“I'm serious.” it sounded like the boy was smiling, and Wade wished he could see it. “You must have been in the militia for a long time to gain a skill like that.”
“Five or six years.” Wade said slowly. “I enjoyed it. War gave me something to focus on besides...well, it gave me something to focus on. Something to excel at. When the fighting was over, I didn't really know what to do with myself.”
Peter smoothed a fresh bandage over the numb skin, securing it tightly. “Some of the older men in the village are like that.” He stepped away to wash his hands. “All they ever were were soldiers, and don't know what it means to be a civilian.” Motioning at the bandage, he said. “That should hold for the night, we can do this again tomorrow.”
“You learned all this from your Aunt?” Wade asked, settling back in the chair, pulling his cloak tight around himself again, hiding as much of his skin as he could.
“She is something of a healer, I suppose you could say. Helps a lot in such a small town as ours, we don't even have a full time physician. She spends a lot of time helping at the orphanage, and so do I. She does the medical side of things, and I help out with the chores.”
“Why the orphanage?” Wade asked, needing to know more about this bright eyed boy, who was so quick to want to help.
“My Aunt and Uncle couldn't have kids.” Peter explained, leaning against the table and folding his arms. “So for years, they spent time at the children’s home helping out. Once I came along, they just took me with them, and I grew up learning to help those less fortunate than me.” He looked inexplicably sad all the sudden, and rubbed his lower right rib a little.
“Are you hurt?” Wade asked and Peter shook his head.
“No, I just---” he hesitated. “A little girl at the orphanage passed away right before--um--shortly before I ended up lost in the woods, here. It was difficult on me.”
Wade leaned forward in his chair, surprising himself with the want to comfort him. “She was special to you?”
“Like family.” Peter ran his fingers through his hair and lifted one shoulder in resignation. “Anyway, um my Aunt taught me everything she knows. Every year she makes extra to sell in the harvest season market, that's where she should be now. I learned how to make the mixes with her, which herbs and flowers to gather.” Peter wiped his hands on his pants. “Some people made fun of me for learning medicinal things instead of hunting or being a soldier or even farming like the people outside of the village. But it's coming in handy, isn't it? I'm just glad Phillips saddlebags didn't get lost or torn into by mice, even just these small packets are several days of work and--”
“You talk quite a bit once you get started, don't you?” Wade observed and Peter jerked a little, flushing a dark red.
“Sorry. I know I talk too much.”
“No it's…” Wade tilted his head. “It's fine, I'm just not used to hearing someone else in the castle.” And he was being honest. After so many years of being by himself, Peter's quick way of talking was more than welcome.
It almost worried him, how much he enjoyed it.
“But they talk constantly.” Peter looked up with a half smile. “I guess I thought you would prefer the silence.”
“Who talks constantly?” Wade asked and Peter frowned at him.
“They do.” He waved his hand over his shoulder. “The servants? I'm assuming those are the voices I hear.”
“You hear them too?” Wade looked so astonished, even beneath the shadow of his hood that Peter almost wanted to laugh.
“Well, yes. They took me to my room, showed me the kitchen. Why wouldn't you think I could hear them?”
“I didn't really think about it. I've been alone so long.” Wade said softly. “I--I thought it was all in my head. I thought I was going mad.”
“How long have you been here? Like this?” Peter asked and Wade sighed, sounding entirely defeated.
“It's been so long, I've lost track of the years.
****************
Wade ate when Peter brought him food the next night. He sat hunched over in his chair so Peter could change his dressing, trying not to shiver every time the boy’s fingers brushed his skin, trying not to think about how good something so simple felt.
“Is the food alright?” Peter asked, and Wade jumped a little, startled from his thoughts.
“You don't have to fill the silence.” Wade grunted, trying to hide his reaction, and Peter's hands stilled.
“Sorry.”
Wade closed his eyes in frustration. “No, I don't mind. Keep… talking. If you want to.”
But Peter stayed silent, and when he finished, retreated to wash the cream off his hands, gathering his supplies and heading out the door.
“It looks good.” He said quietly. “I don't think you will need anymore antibiotic cream.”
“The foods really good, Peter.” Wade said quickly, gratified when Peter's ears tinged pink.
“I'm glad I could help. Um, good night, My Lord.”
“It's Wade.” he blurted and Peter hesitated. “My name is Wade. You don't have to call me ‘my lord’.”
Peter just smiled. and then he was gone, and Wade wanted to curse because the room had never seemed so lonely.
**********************
**********************
“Peter.” Wade knocked at his door early the next morning, and a bleary eyed, messy haired Peter opened it, staring at him in confusion.
“It is early.” He said slowly and Wade was grateful the hood hid his amused smile at the boy's tone.
“I thought we could have breakfast together? Since you made dinner last night?” He held his breath, hoping Peter didn't just close the door in his face. It had taken him hours to work up the courage to even come up the stairs, and he had lain awake all night trying to figure out exactly what to say.
When it came right down to it, Wade wanted to be around him. Soak in that beauty, stare at his smile. Just be in the same room, even if they didn't talk. And he wasn't sure how to make that happen, but food seemed like a good starting point.
“So breakfast?” He asked again, shifting nervously.
“It's early.” Peter said again, closer to a whine this time and Wade fought back an even bigger smile.
“I made pancakes?” He said hopefully, and the door opened wider, dark eyes sparkling a little.
What? Two updates so soon! Yes! I really want to get to the good part of this story, so I edited like crazy all morning long and here we go!
I love everything about this chapter.
If you are new to the fic, find ADDITIONAL CHAPTERS HERE
Enjoy :)
*********************
It took several days to work up the courage, but Peter slowly started leaving his room for longer and longer periods of time, guided by the hushed voices as he explored.
There were long hallways filled with suits of armor, bare spots on the walls where every painting and portrait had been pulled away. Peter touched the dusty spots thoughtfully, wondering if the Lord had taken them down after the thorns took him over.
He didn't know what magic lay behind it, but his room was always clean, and when he couldn't sleep, there was always a torch burning to light his way as he wandered through the halls. He wasn't allowed to leave the castle, but he could peer over at the stables from a window he'd found, and the voices assured him Phillip was being cared for. How, Peter didn't know, but he was content to know the horse was alright.
He'd decided after several days that the voices belonged to servants of the castle, and even though that didn't explain how voices kept the rooms clean and made sure there was always food, it did explain their attachment to the Lord, and why they were so careful when they spoke of him.
One day in his exploration, he stumbled across a small stack of books in a corner, just lying there as if someone had picked them up to read, and never had put them back away.
Overjoyed, beyond excited to have something new to read, he had carried them back to his room, and spent most of the next week or so curled in bed reading. The voices had murmured excitedly about how his love for books was something he shared with the Master.
Before the curse he loved to read. Perhaps you can bring him back with this.
“Bring him back from where?”
From himself.
********************
This night, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders for warmth, Peter wandered farther than he ever had before, turning left to go up more stairs instead of right to head towards the main floor like he usually did.
No, not that way. The voices seemed agitated, upset, their usual hushed whispers buzzing like insects against his ears. Come away from there. No one enters the West Tower.
“Why not?” Peter stared up the dark stairs. “What's up there?”
The master's chambers, no one enters the West Tower, come away come away.
Peter ignored them, going so far as to brush the air around him as if shooing them away, and continued up, holding the blanket tighter as the air seemed to get thicker, colder against his skin.
At the top of the stairs, two big doors hung halfway off their hinges, and Peter slipped between them cautiously, taking in the room behind them with wide eyes.
Furniture lay in pieces, scattered across a bedroom that was easily three times the size of his own. Curtains had been torn to shreds, hanging off snapped poles, still trying to cover dirty windows and a giant bed sat up on a platform, the blankets a mess as if the master of the castle had just barely rolled out of them. On a side table, a decanter of wine and cup lay knocked over, still spilling into the thick carpet.
Peter swallowed nervously, moving further into the room.
In the weeks since he had refused the Lords demand for dinner, he hadn't seen the man once. Peter moved through the castle as he pleased and only a few times had he caught a sight of a cloak disappearing around a corner, heard the deep voice answer a question from the voices before retreating. It was odd, but also a relief. He hadn't wanted to see the Lord, but looking at the mess he wondered if the other man had been trying to avoid him, if Peter being there made him uncomfortable and for whatever reason that thought made Peter a little sad.
With another quick glance around the destroyed room, Peter turned to leave, tucking the blanket more securely around his arm to ward off the chill. It wasn't his business how the Master lived, and he was intruding. He needed to leave.
A soft cry of pain stopped his steps, and he hesitated, craning his neck to see if he would hear it again.
“Ahhhh!”
There it was again, louder now, and Peter moved cautiously towards a door at the far end of the room that he hadn't noticed earlier.
“Goddamnit.” The noise was definitely coming from there, and Peter peeked around the corner the see the largest, most ornate bathroom he had ever seen.
There was a large tub, big enough for two full grown men, sunk into the floor to make filling it easier, and what looked like marble floors stretching out to touch floor to ceiling mirrors.
It would have been beautiful, if the tub was clean, if the marble floors weren't crossed with grime, and if the mirrors weren't all cracked and shattered.
But Peter didn't notice any of that, because there, kneeling on the floor facing the mirror in nothing but short briefs, was the Lord of the Castle.
His face was hidden in his hands, broad shoulders shaking with each ragged breath and Peter couldn't take his eyes off the thorns inked onto his skin. The ones on his feet were the thickest, with barely any skin showing through. Moving up his legs, they wrapped around thick thighs, slashing up across his waist, criss-crossing over his back and covering his shoulders, thinning out to sharp points at the bottom of his neck.
A low groan came from the big man, and Peter could see his skin start turning red, could see the thorns shift against the skin, and the groan grew into a cry of pain.
Then he started shouting, his voice rising in pitch until it hurt Peter's ears, his back arching in agony, and Peter watched in horror as the barbs at his neck started thickening and stretching, the ink moving up his skin, up the back of his neck until it touched the base of his scalp,
And the Lord screamed through it, a fist lashing out, smashing into the already cracked glass over and over until blood ran from his knuckles, and Peter stumbled back a few steps in shock, tripping over a broken chair and crashing to the floor.
The Lord’s head jerked up at the noise, furious blue eyes narrowing, staring at Peter through the glass.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was deep and ragged, furious and pained, hoarse from screaming, but his eyes were burning and Peter couldn't look away from the reflection.
“I'm sorry, I heard screaming and--”
“Get out.” He snarled, struggling to his feet, leaving streaks of blood on the glass.
“I'm sorry!” Peter cried, but reached out with one hand. “I just--can I help you? Are you alright? What is--”
“GET OUT!!!” A vase was flung at him, shattering against the walls and Peter turned on his heel and fled, a howl of rage following him down the stairs. “GET OUT!!”
No no please don't leave please don't leave he needs you, he needs you.
“Let me out! Let me out now!” Peter yelled to the air and the front doors of the castle blew open in a rush of night air. He nearly fell down the stairs outside, his feet slipping on the ice, hugging the blanket to his chest as he ran for the stables, for the comforting presence of his horse.
“Phillip.” He tossed only a saddle blanket over the big grays back. “Get us out of here, boy. Now! Go go go!”
The faithful horse set out in a dead run towards the castle gates, Peter stretched out flat over his back, holding the blanket as tight as he could with one hand, the other wrapped in Phillips mane.
He couldn't even see where they were going, the wind in his face forcing him to duck his head, burying it in the horse’s neck, trusting Phillip to get them out of the woods somehow. He just had to get out of there, had to get home.
He was scared, terrified, and couldn't stop the tears trailing from his eyes. All he had wanted was something different from the village he had grown up in and instead life had landed him here. Trapped in a castle with a man who was literally what horror stories were made of.
He was scared and all he wanted to do was get back home.
Peter heard the wolves before he saw them, a single howl making him jerk upright, straightening to run his hands soothingly over Phillips neck. “Hey hey, we're okay. We're alright, big boy, just keep going.” The horse had slowed down, nervous, and Peter urged him forward again.
Then several more animals joined in on the howl, rising and falling in an eerie harmony, and Peter's heart stuttered in his chest.
“Let's just… let's just keep going.” He coaxed, and Phillip danced a few nervous steps before continuing onward, even slower now.
The wolf seemed to appear out of nowhere, one moment the path ahead of them was clear, the next, a ghostly white shape, sharpening into teeth and claws, glowing eyes and a continuous snarl coming from curled lips.
“God.” Peter swallowed hard. “Alright. We might be in trouble, just stay easy, Phillip, come on.”
The wolf started forward, just a few steps, and the horse panicked, rearing back, hooves slicing through the air, and Peter tightened his legs and arms around him. “Easy boy, easy, throwing me won't solve any---ah!!”
A wolf leapt from somewhere above and to the left of them, knocking Peters slight frame right off Phillips back, and the horse squealed in alarm, bucking and kicking, and nearly trampling Peter as he fled the clearing.
“Shit.” Peter usually didn't curse, but this was good a time as any, as the wolf that had knocked him down advanced slowly, joined by three others that flanked him in a semicircle, teeth bared, snarling and growling and Peter scrambled back against a tree, breathing hard, trying to keep himself calm.
When one got a little too close, Peter kicked out with a wild yell, and it retreated a few feet, snapping its teeth in agitation.
“Alright, we can do this.” Peter reached up and tugged hard at the branch directly above his head, putting his whole weight on it until it broke off in his hands, and he swung it in a wide circle, forcing the wolves to keep their distance. “That's right, stay away.”
Peter wasn't stupid, he knew he couldn't keep it up forever, and after several swings with the big branch, as the wolves started retreated less and less, he knew he was fighting a losing battle.
The wolves knew it too, and this time when one of them darted forward, another came in from the right at the same time, and Peter only had time to scream.
Then there was something like a war-cry ringing through the air, and the wolf went down in a spray of blood, it's head nearly severed from its body.
A shocked silence fell over the forest, and Peter waited, eyes wide, branch held out defensively, staring at the short curved blade buried in the ground next the dead wolfs body. The animals were all bristling, shifting nervously, eyes darting around, unsure whether to take their eyes of their prey, or try to focus on whatever new predator had killed one of their pack.
Then the biggest one growled, her head snapping around as a tall figure stepped from the trees close to the downed wolf, reaching out and calmly pulling the sword from the ground, wiping the blood off on his long black cloak.
“Get behind me.” Wade commanded, and watched as the boy started edging towards him. Keeping one eye on the wolves, the other on the kid, Wade pulled the other katana from the sheath on his back, holding one in each hand easily, loosely, wanting to smile at the familiar weight. It had been a long time since he had even picked them up, much less tore something apart with them.
Once the boy was safely behind him, Wade backed up a few steps, crowding him against a rock wall so the wolves couldn't circle around. “Stay there.” he snapped, and crouched down a little, waiting for the animals to make their move.
It didn't take long.
They all rushed at once, from every side, and Wade was surrounded, overwhelmed by hundred of pounds of snapping, vicious flesh. With another wild cry, he dove right into the fray, swinging the blades, cursing and swearing and fighting as hard as he could.
A wolf went down when the blade sliced a leg off at the joint, the sound of it's pain making Peter cringe, closing his eyes and hiding his face from the blood.
Then another fell, a blade to its throat, and the snow stained bright red.
There were only two left, the Alpha female and a beta, who started backing up, jaws popping in agitation, soft whines and snarls from their throats.
Wade took two big steps forward, brandishing his swords and baring his teeth right back. They retreated further back, nearly to the tree line and Wade started to stand straight.
Then from above the rocks where Peter hid, a big wolf jumped onto Wade's back, throwing him to the ground, jaws closing around his ribs, and Wade screamed at the top of his lungs.
But it was less a scream of pain, and more a scream of rage, and he rolled impossibly fast, upsetting the wolf and jumping to his feet, lashing out with both blades, slashing and cutting furiously until the body lay at his feets in ribbons.
Then with a flick of his wrist, he sent the sword in his right hand flying, slicing through the air to bury in the side of the largest female.
The last wolf turned tail and ran, whimpering and crying out in fear, and Wade limped across the clearing to retrieve the sword from the dead Alpha. He wiped both blades clean in the snow, drying them carefully on the edges of his tattered cloak before replacing them in their sheaths.
“Good christ.” Peter whispered, edging out from the rocks. Without the cloak covering him, all Peter could see was pale skin, black thorns, and so much blood it made his head swim. “You killed-- you killed them.” God there was so much blood and the smell of death hung heavy in his nose. “You killed them. That was--” he didn't have any words for it, just spreading his hands helplessly.
Wade's blue eyes narrowed, and he reached for his hood to cover his face so the boy would stop staring, but small the movement made him flinch in pain, and then he staggered, his legs giving out and sending him pitching to the forest floor.
“Oh no.” Peter was moving before he realized it, stumbling through the snow, dropping to his knees beside the man. “Oh no no no, please be alright. I--I--” He looked around wildly, then cupped his hands to his mouth and started whistling for Phillip. Grabbing at the blanket he had dropped when the horse bolted, he spread it with shaking hands over the Lord's body, trying to cover him as much as he could. “You’re alright.” he mumbled, tucking the edges around him.
“You’re alright. I'm not going to leave you here. Gonna get you back to the castle and we--” he jumped to his feet when Phillip came galloping back into the clearing. “Oh good boy.” Peter crooned, urging the horse forward. “Good boy. Come here and help, alright?” he knelt back by the Lord’s shaking body. “Can you stand? I need you to help me, you’re way bigger than I am, come on, lets stand. I'm not going to leave you, alright? Not going to leave you. You saved my life, I can't just leave you here. Not going to leave you.”
Peter and Wade meet! And it's-- well you all have heard the story, you know exactly how this first meeting will go!
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***************
Peter woke up on the forest floor, shivering in the snow.
Snow? He thought, because that wasn't right. It was only August, there shouldn’t be snow for another couple months. Shaking his head, wincing when pain zinged through his skull, he sat up slowly, looking around for Phillip.
“There you are, boy.” he called to the nervous horse softly. “You alright?”
It was slowly coming back to him-- the deer that had jumped out of the brush, startling Phillip and sending him skittering towards the edge of the trail. The way the ground had started giving out, and with a shriek from the horse they had tumbled backwards and over a cliff Peter hadn't even realized was there. He didn't even remember hitting the ground, but it was night now, which meant he had been unconscious on the cold ground for hours.
Peter checked Phillip out quickly, running trembling hands down the horse’s legs, checking for breaks or sprains. “Oh, you only threw a shoe, huh? That's lucky.” Peter breathed a sigh of relief, pressing his head to the warm body. “I can't ride you with a shoe tossed, but that's alright. Let’s see if we can get out of this snow, come on.” he looped the reins loosely through his hands and started walking down a barely there trail, just able to watch his footing with the light of a shockingly full moon.
“Alright, big guy, we are fine.” Peter talked soothing nonsense to the animal as they walked, trying to keep them both calm. A check of the saddlebags showed he hadn't lost any of his food, and the slim book of poems was still wrapped tight at the bottom. The horse pranced nervously, too young to be comfortable with new circumstances, since he had never actually been off the farm. He was only four or five years old, fast, but not useful on the farm. May had let Peter keep him only because delivering the colt had been one of the last things Ben and Peter had done together, and Peter loved the animal desperately.
“Okay, we are just gonna walk until we find some shelter, alright?” He patted Phillips neck reassuringly, tucked his riding coat a little tighter around himself, pulling the hood up and over his hair, and headed down the path, talking quietly about everything they passed just to keep himself and the horse calm.
He didn't know how long they walked, but his feet were hurting and he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open when seemingly out of nowhere a castle was looming out of the dark, looking impossibly forbidding in the moonlight.
Peter sucked in a quick breath and the horse nickered uncertainly, nudging at his shoulder. “I know, Phillip.” Peter said quietly. “I'm a little scared too, but we can't stay out here all night, and I don't know how to get back home, so we got to give it a shot.”
He took a deep breath and walked the horse through the gate, heading up to the big doors. Peter glanced uncomfortably at the gargoyles lining the path, at the sharp spikes and harsh edges of the castle.
“What is this place?”
********************
“Hello?” Peter pushed open the doors of the castle, unnerved when they swung open so easily, then slammed behind him. He shivered a little, but pushed the hood back from his face. “Hello? Is anyone here?”
The whole place was dark, the impressive ceiling of the foyer arching so high, Peter couldn't even see the top. He had found hay and water in the stable, so he had left Phillip there, not willing to leave the horse in the cold, but he didn't understand why the castle seemed so… empty.
Voices, to his left and Peter whirled around.
“Hello?” He called again, but no one was there, and no one answered his call.
There was light, looked like a fire, in a room to his right and Peter made his way over cautiously.
“Oh, thank god.” He breathed, seeing the huge fire and an oversized chair. “Hello?” He called just once more. “I don't mean to intrude, but I've lost my way. If I could just warm up…?” He edged closer to the chair as he spoke, but he didn't hear voices again, so he sat slowly, sighing in relief and gratitude as he sank into the soft cushion, feeling warmer already. “Just going to sit here for a minute. Just going to--” he was already drifting off to sleep before he finished the sentence.
*****************
Theres a boy in the castle.
Wade twitched in irritation, knowing better than to look over his shoulder, knowing that no one was there. After all these years, he had decided the voices he heard were in his head, after all these years he knew he was probably just going mad.
Sir. Again, more insistent this time. There is a boy in the castle. He came in from the cold. Go to him.
Wade shot to his feet, grabbing a hooded cloak, and nearly running down the stairs, anger pulsing through his body. After so many years of solitude, some boy had the nerve to intrude upon him, to walk into his castle. How dare he? How did he even find this place? Wade was going to throw him out into the cold and --
------oh fuck he was so beautiful.
Wade slowed to a stop, his throat convulsing as he swallowed hard, staring at the sleeping boy in his chair.
He is beautiful. The voices reiterated his thoughts, and the boy twitched in his sleep as if he'd heard them, prompting Wade to step farther away from the fire, farther into the shadows so he could watch for just a little longer.
It had been so long, so long, since Wade had even seen another person, much less one that looked like this.
The boy was thin, too thin, Wade could see the ribs rising and falling beneath a baggy shirt, but lean muscles rippled in his legs when he shifted in the chair. The cloak hanging off him was worn, the hood falling back to show thick brown hair that begged to be touched, and plump red lips that made Wade clench his fists. Perfect smooth skin, any flowers hidden beneath his clothes, but oh Wade wanted to see.
“Is someone there?” The boy stirred, blinking deep brown eyes, trying to orient himself. “I'm sorry for sleeping, I was just--”
“Who are you?” Wade interrupted, his voice deep and hoarse from disuse, and the boy jerked fully awake, eyes widening, searching the shadows.
“Who's there? Show yourself.”
“Why are you in my castle?” Wade countered, voice rising in annoyance at being questioned.
Calm, master. Calm, he is just a boy.
“I just… lost my way and--”
“So you thought to enter my castle uninvited? To help yourself to my fire? To warm yourself in my chair?” Wade was angry now, because the boy was so young and why couldn't he have been someone who could help instead of someone who just reminded Wade of everything he had lost?
“I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was trespassing, I just needed a warm place to--”
“The price of trespassing is prison.” Wade threatened, unable to curb his bitterness. How could this boy be so innocent in such a cursed place? “Is life in my dungeons worth this?”
“Please.” Peter licked his lips nervously and Wade wanted to scream because he couldn't look away. “Please, mercy--”
“Mercy.” Wade growled, the word alone turning him to furious, memories of that night rising up in his mind. “Mercy is not a word I understand.”
Faster than Peter thought possible, a big hand reached out and snatched at him, grabbing a handful of his cloak and dragging him off the chair and onto the floor.
“Oh god, please.” He begged, almost running to keep up with giant strides, trying to get a look at his jailor. “I'm not even sure how I ended up here, I was trying to--”
“Quiet!” Wade snarled, heading up so many stairs Peter thought his legs might give out, but he scrambled to keep up, banging his knees on cold steps, turning one corner after another in the dark until he knew there was no way he'd ever find his way out again.
Finally the man in the shadows stopped and Peter realized in horror they stood in front of a jail cell. “Are you really going to--” he cried out when the man basically tossed him inside, slamming the door shut with a heart stopping clang.
“Now you can think about what you've done.” The deep voice said. “And perhaps you won't be so hasty to help yourself to what is not yours.”
“You're going to keep me here?” Peter shook his head, starting to tremble as the cold of the cell seeped into his bones. “I don't even know what I did wrong, I don't even know who you are!”
“That… doesn't matter.” But there was hesitation this time, and Peter gathered his courage.
“I should at least know who is keeping me captive.” He said, even as his voice shook a little. “Who are you?” When no answer came, he straightened up and asked again. “Who are you? Come into the light.”
There was silence for a horribly long moment, and then the rustle of clothing, and Peter shut his eyes against sudden flare of a torch.
When he dared open them, his mouth fell open in shock.
“Good Christ.” He whispered.
Peter could only stare at the black thorns inked over the man's skin, thick and jagged, coming up from beneath his pants, up over his waist, across his bare chest and up his arms, reaching towards his neck.
“Good Christ you're real.”
Furious blue eyes bored into his own, and a big hand came up to brush over a bare skull.
“What does that mean?” The man snapped.
“The Lord of Thorns.” Peter was suddenly lightheaded, and dropped to his knees on the cold ground. “You're real.”
“Is that what they call me?” Wade bared his teeth in an awful smile, and pulled his cloak back up around his head and body, securing it tightly. “What a wonderfully appropriate name.”
And then he was gone, the sound of his steps echoing across the dark stone.
Peter was left alone in the cell, staring blankly at the wall, trying to wake himself up from what was so obviously a nightmare.
But morning came and Peter knew he wasn't dreaming.
The Lord of Thorns was real, and he was trapped in his castle.
Suddenly all those sweet, love story versions that his Aunt May had told him seemed horribly, horribly wrong.
We get a little more into Wade’s personality here. Also, I am fairly proud of how I managed to combine the “voices in Wade's head” with the whole “no real servants in the castle” from the movie, so I hope you guys enjoy it.
ADDITIONAL CHAPTERS HERE
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Enjoy :)
*****************
You should put him in one of the bedrooms. He doesn't need to be locked up, what harm could he do?
We haven't had visitors in so long.
Don't keep him in the cell.
Wade growled a little, pacing back in forth in his suite. “Lord of Thorns.” He snarled. “I used to be the most beautiful man in the kingdom and now I have been reduced to a child's horror story. The enchantress has erased everything about who I am!”
That is not his fault.
“He stared at me like I was a monster!”
Can you blame him? You dragged him through the castle and threw him in prison. All he needed was a warm place to sleep.
“How did he even find me? All these years and not a single visitor and--”
Maybe he is the one. Maybe he can break the curse. Maybe that's why he found us.
“I don't even know how to break the curse. And why would some child be the key? No, he will stay where he is. I don't want him anywhere around me.”
Then let him go.
“I--I can't. He has to stay. I don't think...I don't think I can handle being alone here anymore.”
Defeated, Wade stared at the painting that still hung in his bedroom, the only one still left on the walls, even though there were multiple slash marks through it.
He hated it.
Hated seeing himself how he used to be.
His hair had fallen out within a few months of the curse, his last remaining piece of beauty, laying in clumps on his pillow every morning. All his flowers had been ripped from his skin and replaced with the thorns that grew thicker and longer every new moon. They were nearly to his neck now, and his skin itched from it, the sensitivity almost too much to even wear much clothing, so he spent his days in just pants and a cloak, and the night tossing and turning on the silk sheets on his bed. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept through the night, couldn't remember the last time his skin didn't hurt, couldn't remember the last time he hadn't been angry to his core.
And now this.
This beautiful boy, with big eyes and plump lips and a soft voice even when he was frightened that made Wade want … something. But he didn't know what that something was.
He didn't remember the last time he wasn't angry and bitter.
He couldn't remember the last time anything like desire or want had moved him enough to even take himself in hand to bring his release.
Wade couldn't remember the last time he felt human, and that terrified him nearly as much as never breaking the curse.
“Go get the boy.” He finally said, sinking down into his bed. “Go get him and put him in the East Tower. Keep him far away from me but--but--”
We will take care of him.
*******************
Come with us.
Peter wasn't sure if he actually heard something or not, and waited, holding his breath until it spoke again.
Come with us. The voices repeated and he stood to his feet stiffly.
It was dark again, but just barely, and he realized with a start he had managed to fall asleep curled up in the cell.
“Who's there?” Peter asked shakily, and jumped in fright when the heavy door swung open with a slow creak.
Come with us. There's a bedroom you can sleep in.
“I don't want to make to him angry.” Peter protested. “I don't know what he will… what he will do to me.”
He is not as cruel as he seems. The voices said calmly. Now come, you will catch your death of cold.
That seemed like a curiously maternal thing to say, and Peter felt the oddest inclination to trust whoever was speaking, so he took a hesitant step into the corridor.
Hurry now.
A torch lit with a burst of light several feet in front of him and Peter grabbed it, holding it high. Down the hallway. Follow us.
He followed as quickly as he could, listening hard as the voices directed him through turns and down the stairs until he came to a big set of double doors. Through here. He pushed hard and the doors swung open to reveal a giant bedroom with vaulted ceilings, beautiful stained glass windows, and a big bed fluffed high with quilts and pillows. A fire crackled behind a grate and it was so warm and comforting, Peter instantly started feeling drowsy again. Sleep here. We will wake you for dinner.
“Um. Thank you.” Peter said hesitantly, and gave a little wave in the direction of the noise. The air seemed to shiver around him and the voices whispered excitedly in hushed voices, and then with a small puff, they were gone, the door shutting behind them.
Peter took another cautious look around, then started stripping, leaving the damp, chilled clothes on the ground and diving into the bed.
God it was the warmest, softest thing he had ever lain in, and before he could even register how good it felt, before he could worry any longer about his bizarre situation, he was fast asleep.
******************
Invite him to dinner.
“Absolutely not.” Wade shook his head, slouched in the chair in front of the fire. “I told you I don't want him anywhere near me.”
Invite him to dinner. This is a chance to break the curse. Be nice to him, gentle with him. Woo him.
“Woo him?” Wade barked a laugh. “I am a character from a child's nightmare. And he is a boy.”
Being with a man never stopped you before.
“It's his age that's a problem.” Wade growled. “Not that he's--”
He is beautiful. And surely he is of age.
Invite him to dinner.
“He won't want to eat with me. He thinks I am a monster.”
He won't if he knew you were the one to give him the room.
“He doesn't need to know that.”
This is our first chance in years to break the curse. Please. Please just try.
“Fine.” Wade kicked the chair away as he stood, thick boots clumping heavily on the stairs as he made his way to the east wing. “This is a terrible idea.”
It can't possibly hurt.
He paced before the door for a few minutes before clearing his throat, readjusting his cloak and hood to cover as much as he could and knocking loudly.
“You will--” he cleared his throat again. “You will join me for dinner.” His deep voice carried through the door, and inside the room, Peter jumped.
He'd been staring out the narrow window, wondering if he could make it to the ground by tying the sheets together, and the pounding at the door had startled him.
“I'm--I'm not hungry.” He said nervously, looking around the room for something to defend himself with if he had to. “Go away.”
Outside the door, Wade's jaw dropped. “It wasn't a request, boy.” He snapped. “You will come downstairs and eat.”
“I'm not hungry!” The boy said again, a little firmer this time.
“You will do as you are told, and present yourself for dinner this minute or I will break this door down!” Wade yelled, pounding hard on the door.
“Please just leave me alone! I don't want to be around you!” The boy sounded near hysterical, but Wade was already angry and didn't care.
“Fine!” He shouted. “Then you can go ahead and STARVE!”
But Wade was already gone, throwing the table in the hallway against a wall, furious with himself, with the boy, with all of this. “If he won't eat with me, he won't eat at all!”
After the noise subsided, Peter sank to the floor next to the bed, unable to stop the trembling and hid his face in his hands. He should have just said yes, because he hadn't eaten since leaving the farm… when? yesterday? Two days ago now? And he was starving.
But he was done letting someone else make demands of him. He had waited too long to try and stop Harry and that-- and that--
Peter shook his head firmly, scrubbing the tears off his face.
Even if it meant spending the rest of his life in a cell, no one was ever going to force him to do something he didn't want to, not again.
*****************
Peter looked up when his door cracked open, and with a gust of air, a cart rolled through into the room, piled high with little sandwiches and a hot kettle of tea.
Sorry we cannot put together an entire dinner for you. The voices sounded apologetic. But of course we won't let you starve.
“Thank you.” Peter reached for the food slowly.
The master means well. He has been alone for a long time, he as forgotten what it feels like to be around people.
“How long?” Peter asked around a mouthful of a surprisingly good sandwich.
We have lost track of the years. They sounded so sad that Peter's brow furrowed. Don't worry. We will work on him. Please don't give up.
“Give up on what?”
On him. He needs you.
*******************
“Did he eat?” Wade asked when the air stirred around him.
Yes, sandwiches and tea. He's asleep.
“Thank you.” Wade tipped his glass back and drained it. “I don't… I don't want him to be hungry.”
We know.
