Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prince Adam was having trouble finding his princess among the crowd of well-wishers in the reception hall. The painfully shiny chandeliers lit up every face, skirt and boot of foreign merchants, dignitaries and royals; but no hair was tan enough, no lips pink enough and no eyes as enchanting as that of his new bride.

Where could she possibly be? His internal conundrum hidden behind a dazzling smile that left many speechless in its wake. As he swirled and slid through servants and guests alike, something caught his peripheral vision.

Standing within the foot-high mirror was a living statue of a man. Tall and muscular, he almost seemed to burst through the white and gold tuxedo that set off his honey-coloured ponytail and fair complexion rather nicely. But looks were deceiving: generously full lips hid sharp canines and there was something about his azure eyes and the pale bruises beneath them that spoke of a dark history. Signs that he was never quite human, and would never be again.

Expressive eyebrows wrinkled. As soon as they were done here, he'd ask Lumière to cover this mirror up too. He hated the things. But first order was to find his love.

She wasn't in the gardens, though he found a few lovers there. He couldn't find her in the atrium, nor in her bedroom (though he hadn't actually gone in out of courtesy). He had nearly convinced himself to personally inspect the drainpipes when the thought hit him. How stupid of him! How hadn't he gone there first?!

True to form, he found her in the library. She sat on the window ledge, her white gown sliding over her exposed knees and pooling on the floor below. A strand of hair fell free from her elaborate bun and swung in the air in front of her face. In proper fashion, she was reading a book: a faded blue cover. The only thing she loved more than him was that book that she had read thousands of times, but never seemed to be bored with.

Normally, as she read, she would have an expression of pure content, but now, as her fingers darted along the pages, she was frowning. An equally beautiful vision, but seeing her in such grief made the prince's heart ache.

"Belle," he said plainly, stepping into her line of vision. She looked up, startled, before gracing him with a smile.

"Adam," the name sounded stilted – and almost unwelcome – from her mouth. It wasn't her fault, for just a day ago he had been known to her as Beast; more animal than man. It was the Beast that she came to love and was doubtless still trying to find her old sweetheart in this new body. Filled with a deep tenderness, Adam rushed to her as she rushed to him and the pair pulled each other into an embrace. It was a brief re-connection of bodies, a re-acquaintance of their hearts and minds. Adam placed a soft kiss into her hair. It smelt like strawberries.

He felt her tremor against him and realised, sadly, that she was shaking as she desperately clung to him. He hurt more when he heard her stifle a sob.

"Belle? Mon amour*, what's wrong?"

She shook her head against his chest, refusing to look into his eyes, "I love you, Beast. I love you!"

Something about her tone made the prince's heart sink. He no longer used the name Beast anymore – he was trying to rebuild his life as a human, trying to erase those ten years of painful solitude. Belle knew this, supported his rehabilitation, so the fact she had reverted to his old name…

"…But this isn't what you want, is it," he said it softly so it did not sound like he was accusing her. And how could he blame her? She was young, lively and adventurous – it was not her time to settle down. She hadn't spent lonely years, pining for something, someone. It occurred to him for the first time since he'd changed that he was too caught up in their young romance that he had forced her into marriage; that the only reason she said "I do" was because she didn't want to break his heart.

She seemed to cry harder at his tone, "I – I tried, Beast, I tried! I love you, I love you so much…but I – I can't do this I –"

"Shh," Adam rubbed small circles into her back to calm her down. There was a dull pain in his chest, but what mattered most to him was her suffering. He had to make a choice now: have the love of his life, forced into a life of marital servitude, or…

"Belle, listen to me," he held her tighter, committing her feel, her smell, to memory, "I want you to go upstairs and grab a cloak."

"A-Adam?”

"Take whatever you need. Cogsworth will have a horse ready for you, but you need to leave quickly –"

"Are you…?"

"– before I change my mind," Prince Adam used his thumb and forefinger to gently lift her face, pained when she lowered her eyes. Gently, he brushed away the tears. He needed to see her eyes, so he'd remember them when he'd undoubtedly regret this decision.

"Belle, please, look at me. I beg you."

Green moss gazed into blue skies with a sad freedom in them. It was almost as if they were reliving their first separation but the former Beast knew that this time, she would not come back for him. Her bottom lip trembled as fresh tears spilled down her heart-shaped face. She placed a soft kiss on the corner of her lover's mouth.

" Je t'aimerais toujours. "**

Adam fought the urge to run madly after her, drag her back by her long veil. He bit his bottom lip as a single tear slid over his cheeks to rest on his pronounced chin.

"Belle…"

She turned abruptly, her skirts swishing at her movement. She looked panicked, almost as if she expected him to go back on his word. He threw her a pathetically tragic smile.

"No matter where you go, you'll always have a place here. With me."

She mirrored his smile, both aware that it would never be the same, even if she did return. With no other words to share, Adam helplessly watched Belle pick up her skirts and practically fly from the library. His eyes lingered on the spot she had been, long after she was no longer there. He could still hear the orchestra playing for the loud wedding guests, but he felt too weak, too strained to see them now. The past few minutes would be too fresh and raw on his face, laid out for all.

His eyes mechanically scanned the window where she had been sitting. On the pane, looking rather lonely too was her faded book. Nothing in all his years had looked so priceless.

He kept himself together long enough to touch it. The moment his fingers brushed against the bound leather, he collapsed into a heap of broken sobs.

He loved her. Too much to keep her to himself. Too much to allow himself happiness.

Chapter Text

"Master, I am telling you, you must go after her!" Lumière's thin and buckled legs were no match for his master's strong and booted calves as he followed the young man deeper into the forest. Adam, though irritated, had to admire Lumière's persistence – especially since he was going out of his way to walk the most difficult paths as fast as he could. It was at times like these when he wished he was still a monster and his servant was still a candlestick so he could frighten Lumière into silence, and bound away. Four legs were much faster than two – especially since Lumière would have to slowly hop along.

Sighing, he sharply turned left, throwing himself over a particularly large rock, slipping under some leafy branches and vaulting over some undergrowth. He turned his head in time to hear his comrade's exasperated sigh. Despite himself, Adam felt guilty. All Lumière was doing was trying to stop his master from making the biggest mistake in his life and all he had done to show appreciation was skip meals, refuse baths and run off into the woods at every possible moment. If it were not for the dear Mrs Potts who (upset with the situation and fearing his sanity) had assigned a daily servant to ensure watch over him – he would have been rotting away in the West Wing.

" Je suis tellement desolé, vraiment, but I just need a moment alone," he smiled sadly at Lumière, who did not seem to know what to say. "Go home – I'm sure Fifi will be thrilled to see you."

His comrade gave a small start at the suggestion before miserably hiding a goofy grin. His expression turned serious again, "Are you sure, Master? If I leave you here you must promise not to get yourself in any trouble!"

"Yes Father," Adam allowed his smile to be a semi-tone happier, "You would think I'm the servant!"

Lumière still frowned (a comical expression on his long, animated face), waving a bony finger through the branches, "Promise or I am not leaving!"

The prince rolled his eyes. "I promise, I promise! Will you please stop worrying about me?"

Lumière withdrew his finger, a hesitant smile on his face, "Please meet me at the castle in an hour, or else that overgrown teapot will have my buns for dinner!"

Adam chuckled as he watched Lumière awkwardly make his way back to the castle, tripping and slipping as his stick legs wobbled over the leafy path. The poor man was more graceful as a candlestick, the young man thought as he continued walking off the path. Good old Lumière knew him better than anyone and would always respect his wishes – whether they were for the prince's good or not. He understood Adam's desire for solitude, even if he thought the misery was self-inflicted and unnecessary.

The sound of rushing water met the spurned prince's ears and he was somewhat soothed by the river that appeared in front of him. He looked into the far distance in the direction he came from and spotted the bridge that lead to his home, the water crashing against it and through it. He seemed far enough to allow himself a few minutes of sobbing and grass pulling before he reached into his loose white shirt and pulled out a faded blue novel. It was quite small in his large hands, but the spine fit perfectly down his palm. He flipped through the pages until he found where he was last. Finding a spot beneath a Weeping Willow on the banks of the river, Adam read.

The story was predictable, the things he had been fed as a spoiled little brat of unconditional love in the face of adversity, impossible magical happenstances and happy endings. The characters hardly evolved past falling in love and there was a particular page that had a corner missing, as if something had eaten it off. But he loved it because it was Belle's. Every page he turned, he imagined Belle turning it too as she sat in the town square. Every line he read, he could feel Belle's country-girl heart yearning for such things to happen to her. It bored him to death to read something as child-directed as this, but he felt the need to – to keep a bit of her with him; to bridge the rift of towns, ridges and valleys between him and her.

However, not even that fantasy connection could keep him from falling asleep in the warm afternoon. It was only much later, when the sun was just below the horizon, that he heard it: the sound of hooves heavy on the ground near him. The terrible neigh shocked his system into consciousness, the book falling off his face as he shot up. Still yawning and groggy, his blurry vision could make out a dark silhouette approaching fast and smoothly. His eyes adjusted in time for a demon of a pure black stallion to run past him, its burgundy leash billowing behind it and latching into the prince's boot.

Adam gave a rather girly shriek as he found himself dragged along the bank, twigs and rocks cutting into his back and whipping his face. His arms flailed helplessly to his side as he shouted and yelled for the damn creature's attention. Oh, how he wished he had claws to sink into its backside.

After several attempts, he was able to sit up straight and reach for the leash in his foot. He yanked at it, so that the horse kicked the air with its front legs and he stood. He felt something pop in his shoulder as the horse tried to bolt again.

"You little –"he tried again, nicer, "Shh…shh it's ok, boy. What's wrong?" The stallion jerked its head away from his hands, its frenzied eyes and piercing neighs focused on the river. Only now it seemed more like rapids than the peaceful current of earlier. And hopelessly lost in it, riding the current, was a body.

Without wasting a second, Adam leapt into the dark, icy blue. The water filled his lungs and he could hardly see the bubbles that escaped his lips. The ice felt like daggers digging into his clothes, attacking every sensitive pore – his balls were not saved from the torture.

He resurfaced again, his hair dripping in his eyes as he tried to reach the body. The current was advantageous and that, coupled with his hasty strokes, allowed him to reach what was now a burly man. He tried to grab the man's arm, but failed when he felt how hard and cold it was. The water kicked him back a bit and he reached again, this time digging his nails into the solid flesh. His arms cried when he tried to push the body closer to his and drape the arm over his shoulders. The body was too heavy and Adam was submerged again – this man had spent too long in the water that his body had turned blue.

Working against the current and keeping his victim above water was using all of Adam's energy as he fought for the banks. His one arm was around the man's waist, the other trying madly to get them out the water. The rapids mockingly slapped his face and blurred his vision and the roar of the water was deafening. A rather mean rapid crashed as Adam took a breath and his lungs contracted as he inhaled the water. His body slowed down and became heavy. He couldn't control his fingers.

He was going to die like this. Saving some faceless man from drowning only to die himself. The irony was not lost on him.

Then he heard it. The neigh. It would seem the stallion had continued to follow them and was now awkwardly moving in the water towards them. Had he the energy, Adam would have cried out in joy. He focused his energy on grabbing for the leash and prayed that the horse could get both of them out.

The stallion marched with a dogged determination and Adam nearly cried when his cheek roughly rubbed the grass. He couldn't feel anything, but he was certain it was amazing. Shaking himself, he turned to the bloated, blue figure on the grass next to him. He leant a shivering ear towards the man's lips to check for breathing. He panicked when he couldn't hear much.

Hands pressed to the man's chest, he put all his weight into driving down on the ribs. Once, twice, three times. Once, twice, three times. He covered the blue nose and pressed his lips to the frozen, chapped mouth. It was like kissing an icicle. He breathed, once, twice, each breath one he himself desperately needed to keep conscious. The world was spinning, but he wouldn't succumb until he knew the man was alive.

He repeated this ritual two more times before the figure seemed to take a sharp intake of breath, and cough up buckets of water. Adam rolled him over so he didn't swallow the water and looked pleadingly at the stallion, who was nudging – undoubtedly – his master's face.

"I-if you under…understand me," his voice seemed frozen too, "…castle…n-now…quick"

The horse's ears went back as if to say Oh, it understood him alright, and allowed Adam to lift the man – and himself – onto its back before charging at breakneck speed.

Adam didn't know how long far it took for them to reach his home, but they burst into the entrance hall, much to the surprise of his worried servants who had gathered there.

"MASTER!" Mrs Potts looked near tears as she pushed up to the stallion. Adam could barely register her small hand on his knee. She took one look at his wet, torn clothes, swollen and blue lips and scratched face before letting out a dismayed cry. He raised a shaking hand.

"T-this man's hurt…hel...help h-him. Plea…" he felt the world turn and was on the floor without knowing why.

His servants, his friends jostled around him and felt his forehead and pulse. Mrs Potts, Cogsworth and a very guilty-looking Lumière surrounded the other body, inspecting it then bolting upright, looking at each other in unadulterated shock.

"Is it…?" Mrs Potts stage-whispered.

"Couldn't be…"

"…but very likely is," Cogsworth paled.

Chip, who was at Adam's side, sidled up between the adults and gasped loudly.

"Mama, isn't that the man that tried to kill the Master?"

Chapter Text

Being a prince was a curse. A horrible affliction that Adam would have wished away if it were not selfish and common for him to do. Princes were self-sacrificing, conscientious and eternally chivalrous. A true prince would always put others before himself and carelessly risk their lives for women they'd just met (only to marry her immediately).

A true prince would certainly never think of dumping a man back into a river he'd just saved him from.

Prince Adam gazed at his arch-nemesis. He was barely moving, his chest rising and falling so slightly one could miss it if they weren't looking closely. The deep blue that had once covered his body had faded into a deathly grey. The bloating had decreased significantly, but his fingers, toes and cheeks were still pruned and soft and would have expelled water if Adam squeezed them. However, Adam could barely tolerate breathing the same air. Yet he could not pry his eyes away, could not turn his heel and march out of the makeshift infirmary. He didn't even have the heart to find something remotely blunt to bash the buffoon's brains out. All he could do was helplessly stare at the helpless man as he fought for his life.

He awoke with a headache. As he tried shifting his limbs off the bed, Adam realised that all of him seemed to hurt. The prince woozily stood, only to fall promptly back into the sheets. The world spun faster than he could manage. His throat grated with every sharp intake – he needed water. He needed food. He needed to know what happened to the man. Was he alive? Who was he?

Gaston…wasn't it? What a waste of such a handsome name. It didn't suit him, or rather, it didn't suit his personality. From what Adam recalled seeing during their first – rather heated – encounter, the man hadn't been bad-looking. Mind, it was very rainy and windy out and there was very little time to focus on the face brandishing a deadly weapon .

Cogsworth was being evasive. He was like that, especially if he knew of something that might upset his master. He'd bumble and blanch and look everywhere but at his master's face.

"W-well, you see, Master…in your c-c-current state, perhaps…not t-that we're h-h-h-…hiding something or anything…."

Adam huffed, his eyes going uncharacteristically narrow. He didn't like not knowing things, especially when they concerned him. And, if memory served correctly, the last time his servants plotted against him, a certain brunette found a way into his heart…

"Cogsworth…" he snarled baring the point of an unnaturally sharp canine, "I need not remind you who the Master of this house is."

"N-nnnnot at all, Master!" the man's pupil's dilated.

"WHERE. IS. HE. Do not make me ask again."

"B-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-but..!" the manservant shivered at the animalistic look in his prince's eyes before mumbling dejectedly, "he's in the West Wing, Sire."

"The West Wing? Is this some kind of joke?" Said Sire felt an anger boiling in his heart, "The West Wing I had SPECIFICALLY curtained off? THAT WEST WING!?"

Cogsworth was shivering in earnest when Adam had reached for his throat. The irate prince watched the fat little man squirm and squeal under his grasp, the skin on the man's face turning a sickly white as he suffocated. Good. Let the conniving little clock choke on his own saliva.

Adam caught himself in time – this was not the most regal way to deal with anger or betrayal. It still didn't stop him being angry though, nor did it quell the tingle of satisfaction he felt as he lessened his grip and tossed his gasping manservant out of the way.

"Pray to GOD I don't snap you like a twig the next time I see you."

The West Wing held too many memories; too many truths about the monster he had become. He hadn't changed it either – he wouldn't allow himself to forget. There was still his portrait, ripped from corner to corner, still visible layers of dust hanging on every surface. There were shreds of rich velvet curtains and throws hanging from broken pieces of foundation and that rose…that damned rose. What was left of it lay crumpled under its glass container, dead petals strewn everywhere. Adam shivered from a slight gust of cold wind that had found its way into the room. Even though the balcony doors were shut, there was a large part of glass missing from the bay window From their first encounter, Adam remembered.

He felt the world, once again, rocking back and forth in a nauseating fashion. That face…bloated though it was there was no mistaking who lay in his West Wing, in his bed.

"How could you not wake me," it wasn't a question, but a silent demand that was directed at Mrs Potts. The poor woman looked slightly insulted, but mostly hurt, at the address.

"You've been unconscious for two days, Master. Forgive me in thinking that you'd need to recuperate FULLY before receiving the news."

Adam wanted to shout at her, throw her against something and yell until his nanny wet herself. But he couldn't bring himself to do it to the woman who was like a mother to him. He couldn't find the strength to hold himself up. He turned to the still figure.

"I should kill him where he stands," the prince heard a voice resonate in the room. It couldn't have been his. He would never say it.

Mrs Potts' double chin wobbled in worry. She stepped forward, hesitantly raising her small hand to place on his forearm. "Master?"

She had yet to touch him, but Adam already shied away. His mind was set on one thought alone.

"Leave me."

Mrs Potts took a step back. Was she really hearing this?

"Leave me woman!" his whisper had become a deep resonating growl. The royal nanny wasted no time in rushing out the West Wing as fast as she could, giving a last reproachful glance at the prince as she hurried out the door.

Adam felt his back stiffly fall against the back of a broken chair, unaware of how he had managed to move himself on the other side of the room – especially since his eyes had never left his slumbering nemesis. If there ever was an opportunity, now was it. He could take out all his anger and depression with a simple swipe of a blade – revenge would surely provide some comfort. Right?

He made to move, to execute his plan, but his body had conspired against him. He stayed rigid in his chair, his jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. Would it truly be the best choice? Kill a dying man? Where was the honour in slaying a human being who could not even defend himself?

The prince clenched his fist. As much as he hated the man, this…imbecile…deserved a chance at life.

The door creaked open slightly, and Mrs Potts' nightcap popped into Adam's line of vision. He exhaled a resigned sigh, before beckoning her in. The sweet British woman hesitantly trotted in and stopped to glance nervously at the bed.

"Yes, he's still alive," Adam mumbled impatiently. His legs seemed to be working again as he pulled himself off the chair and stiffly laboured himself towards the door.

"Just until he's better, alright? Then…I'll see," Mrs Potts gave her annoyingly wise I-Just-Knew-You'd-Do-The-Right-Thing smile as the Prince sulked towards the door. Being a prince was horrible.

"And…I'm sorry if I came across as somewhat… rude. "

"It's alright, Master. Now go get some rest."

Yes – being a prince was – dare he say it? –  damnation.

Chapter Text

He'd be damned if he was going… there …again. Adam was going to stay as far away from that room as possible. He was not going to see the evil man trying not to die in it. Seeing him meant having to deal with him, and the prince had yet to decide the most dignified plan of action.

All was well the morning after he'd been to the West Wing. Spring was giving away to summer, and Adam had decided to amble about in the palace gardens. He tried, very hard, not to think about the glorious winter he'd spent there with Belle, but she seemed to be everywhere. Her breath was the air, her warmth the sun, her laughter the birds' song. Where was she now? Why had she not thought of writing to him, letting him know she was safe? Conventional their marriage was not, but he was still her closest friend – she owed him that much. Adam sadly left before his mind focused on the number of men his wife might have taken since.

The afternoon was a little more difficult. Adam had been writing certain letters to reconnect himself with dignitaries of various kingdoms and countries. Certainly not the most interesting thing to do, and Adam found his mind trailing. What would turn a man to murder? Had he loved Belle so dearly? Could Adam do the same for her? Was he less of a man if he couldn’t?

By evening, all he could think about was…Gaston. Mais vraiment , the name did not sit well on his tongue. All through dinner, his mind focused on the West Wing. He ate with most of the staff in the large dining hall – it was less lonely that way. Was Gaston lonely? Did he have enough strength to eat? 

"Go see him, dear," Mrs Potts intercepted him on his way to bed. She gathered his arm in hers and shuffled him in the opposite direction, "The poor thing's been alone for so long, and it would do him good to have some company."

"Can I not see him tomorrow? He isn't going anywhere."

"You'll have to deal with him eventually, Master. No time like the present!"

Adam knew better than to go against his nanny at times like this. He'd also been feeling guilty about how poorly he'd been treating everyone of late. It still didn't make him feel any less nervous.

"It's dark and he might be sleeping. Tomorrow, I beg you. I just need to think of what to say!"

Mrs Potts raised a delicate white eyebrow at him. "Alright then, dear. If you say so. But remember one thing."

"What?"

She smiled knowingly, "Control your temper!"

Sunrise constitutes a new day , Adam reasoned as he paced outside the West Wing door. He couldn't find it in himself to sleep. Not until he saw that the bastard was doing alright or, at the very least, was courteous enough to pass on during the night.

Gathering his courage, the prince stilled himself, hands on one of the large double doors. No time like the present…

Adam only made it half a step into the orange-lit room before he heard a whooshing noise and a sharp pain pierced through the side of face. He reached to rub his sore cheek and the sting intensified. Drawing his hand back, he saw a small smear of red. Something silver shone out of the corner of his eye: a polished fork, stuck in the wood of the doorway.

A fork. The bastard had attacked him with a fork. And had drawn blood.

Control your temper. Control your temper.

"You have all of five seconds to tell me where the hell I am, and who the hell you are," came a voice from somewhere near the bed, "I won’t miss next time."

Control your temper…control your temper…

Adam followed the fork’s trajectory to the bed, and the man sitting in it. Gaston was looking much healthier, if not quite pale from his bed rest. The soft dark hairs of his chest poked over his woolen shirt. His eyes, still watery, narrowed as one hand rested against a pillow. The other gripped a knife, poised to strike. The bed was some way from the door -  a clean throw from that distance, in his condition, was remarkable.

Adam wearily eyed the wielded knife, and his eyes caught a platter on the bedside table. It was filled with last night’s dinner, a pitcher and an assortment of fruits. Good food. Untouched.

“You’ve not eaten.”

“Don’t know you, not eating that,” he stuck his bearded chin in the air,  “Four seconds.”

Control. Temper. Control. Temper.

"Watch your tone, hunter,” Adam tried to calm himself. He already knew he was getting worked up, “I’m not the one tucked in bed.”

“And I’m not the one bleeding. Three."

Adam clenched his shaking fists and marched further in, half expecting the knife. Where was the gratitude? The humility?

"You'd think you'd show some politeness to the man who saved your life!" he snapped, stopping at the foot of the bed.

"Saved?" the man in bed laughed hollowly, but the grip on the knife tightened, “Waking up alone in a filthy room with a broken window, no apothecary in sight… Yes, so very saved!” if possible, his eyes narrowed more. "Two.”

Control…control….con…TROL…

"I," Adam growled back, "am the master of this castle and the only reason you're alive. You, hunter, are an inconvenience. You are still breathing because your corpse would be a bigger inconvenience. So you will eat, you will heal and you will LEAVE," his nose caught a sour stench.

“But first, you will bathe.”

The man in the bed snarled, but his nose twitched tightly. Adam turned on his heel while he still had composure. He was almost at the door before another whooshing and something silver collided with his shoulder.

CONTROL BE DAMNED!

Seeing red, he pulled the butter knife out of its shallow place and launched it towards the bed. He didn’t stay to see if it made its mark, but from the snarky laughter that followed him down the corridor, it didn’t.

Chapter Text

The West Wing was a collection of suites connected by corridors and loggias. The balcony of its master bedroom loomed over the sheer drop of the ravine, a hypnotic and terrifying view. No matter how busy the castle was, or how bright and cheerful the birds sang, sound never seemed to travel along the empty corridors. Perhaps it was too far out the way. Perhaps it was still cursed.

When Belle broke the spell, the West Wing did not transform with the rest of the castle.  It had been unsettling at first, as if some part of the enchantress’ curse still hung over Adam’s head. Then Belle left, and he found himself comforted by its unchanged state. Something about its disarray held memories and thoughts he couldn’t let go of. It was a sanctuary he visited when he wanted to forget the world he now found himself in.

The West Wing made Adam feel broken, but sometimes Adam liked to feel that way.

“Sire?” Cogsworth tapped his knuckles against the door of Adam’s study, his head popping cautiously into view. Adam looked up from his formal papers in irritation, though silently thankful for the distraction. He beckoned and Cogsworth shuffled in, blinded by the mid-afternoon sun that shone through the large stained glass windows behind the master desk.

For a second too long, the pair just looked at each other. Cogsworth’s nose twitched nervously as his eyes struggled against the sun’s brightness. Adam stared evenly, waiting for his valet to get to the point before conceding with a tired, “Yes?”

Cogsworth cleared his throat, “It’s time for lunch. Would Master like to eat lunch here, or-”

“I’ll take it in my suite,” the prince was eager to be away from any further duties today. The thought of a platter of food also reminded him, “And the hunter?”

“Will be eating in his new rooms in the North-West wing, Sire,” Cogsworth answered, pleased at the speed at which they had followed Master’s orders. Adam smiled, which made Cogsworth smile. 

As much as it rubbed him the wrong way, the prince knew Belle would have approved of him providing comfortable rooms for their unwelcome guest.  If the brute were to die, Adam could sleep at night now knowing he hadn’t contributed to it. It also meant…

“Actually, Cogsworth,” the prince called, as his valet left the room, “Thank you, but I won’t need lunch today.”

Adam took the staircase two steps at a time, content only when he was surrounded by the dark stone walls of the dimly lit corridor. The stale, tense silence of his sanctuary was worth the hunger pangs of a skipped meal. With the hunter gone, the West Wing felt like his space again - and he needed the space to plot.

Prince Adam was trying to be a good man, but even good men had limits. The villainous cur in the North-West wing had to go, and they had only made his stay more comfortable. They couldn’t in good conscience send him away now, but he would heal eventually. When that day came, would he leave? Or would he remember the Beast and the cursed castle, and finish what he started? Adam had not survived their last encounter, and Belle’s love would not save him this time. 

Yes - the hunter had to go, and soon.

But how? Adam stared into the dead eyes of the grotesque statues around him, hoping for an answer in the blank obsidian. They would have to drive him out, make it his choice. Starve him? He would only weaken and die. Let him escape? He hadn’t the strength to fight his way through the forest. Alert the town to the hunter’s state? They would bring their mob, and set siege to the castle again.

Adam chewed his lip in frustration as he reached the horned handles of his old bedroom door, and froze. The door was ajar, and in the open space, he could see a tall shadow being cast across the stone steps. Someone was in there, but who? Who would come here to thi-

… Gaston .

The hairs on Adam’s arms stood on end.

The curtains had been pulled open, their dust hung thick like fog. The sun was crawling its way to the horizon, colouring the disarray of the West Wing in orange light. Prince Adam’s lungs contracted as he inhaled and he fought the urge to cough. He kept his eyes trained on the silhouette by the balcony doors. 

If the man had noticed Adam entering, he did not show it. He stood facing the view before him. The prince kept near the door, just beyond the rim of the light. Seconds ticked by in tense silence.

"I know you." Gaston’s voice pierced the air like a puncture.

"Pardon?" Adam felt sheepish for how startled he sounded. He had expected this the moment he had entered the room. Yet hearing it had made it real.

The silhouette turned its head to the side. The prince could see the hunter’s profile, from the crooked nose to the bearded chin that bobbed as he spoke.

"Almost didn't recognise you – not as much fur as last time."

Adam felt the strings in his body tense as he watched the silhouette turn. Bare feet shifted silently, betrayed by dust that rose with each step. His movements, though fluid, were still lethargic. The hunter had not regained full motor control, Adam noted with appreciation. He had the advantage.

"What's the matter, Beast? Too kind and gentle to let an old rival die? Or did Belle promise her little pet a little pet?" he cooed condescendingly, his body slowly making its way to the centre of the room. Adam could hear the sneer tugging at the bastard’s lips.

"Shut up," Adam felt his face redden and his fists clench from more than just Gaston's words. Strangely enough, Belle hadn't crossed his mind in almost a week and he could not fight the shred of guilt that dug in his side.

Perhaps it was an exaggeration of the mind, but the cornered prince was sure he could see the twinkle of ice-blue eyes in the shadows. Gaston had almost crossed the room. 

"Oh dear, have I struck a nerve? Have I made you upset ?" he goaded, “What are you going to do, Beast ?"

The silhouette was close, close enough that Adam could see him. The hunter was in nothing but white underclothes, the strings of his shirt hidden under the black curls of his chest. His thick long hair framed his demented glare. 

It was then that Adam smelled metal, and noticed the blood dripping from the hunter’s right hand. The shard of glass glinted in the sun’s light as Gaston lurched forward. He collided with the prince, using the element of surprise. The hunter had lied - he had regained motor control. With bloodied hands, he brought the shard down.

Pinned to the floor, Adam caught Gaston’s arms before the glass could pierce his throat. His lungs screamed from the weight of his attacker and his mind raced wildly. The reason he was in the West Wing was forgotten.

“ Where is she!? ” the hunter demanded, spittle flying from his mouth, “Where is Belle!?” 

“I…don’t…know,” Adam strained through gritted teeth.

“ LIAR !” he roared and the shard came closer, “What have you done with her!?”

“She left!” Adam screamed. 

“ LIAR! ” Gaston shouted again. The glass shard dropped, and Adam craned his neck to avoid it. Gaston used the distraction, breaking free from Adam’s defence and clutching at the prince’s throat. He squeezed as hard as he could, “ GIVE HER BACK TO ME! ”

“She’s gone!” Adam wheezed. He felt his eyes prickle from the strain. 

The hands on his neck were strong, but they were shaking from more than rage. Gaston was losing stamina.

“She left me, hunter!” Adam bucked and twisted. The pair flipped and Adam grabbed the broad shoulders beneath him, shoving them into the wood with force. Gaston looked winded, the fight knocked out of him.

“I’m a good person! I did everything right! But she left me!”

He kept slamming the hunter into the floor. Adam noticed the distress in his voice and the way his vision was blurred with tears. But it felt so good to let it out - he was so tired of trying.

“She left me, and she’s never coming back!”

At last, Adam went slack. He let go of the shoulders under him, staring blankly in the distance. A single tear slid down his cheek. Then another. His chest heaved with sorrow.

“She’s never coming back.”

The world turned and Adam was once again pinned under his assailant. Through tears that would not stop, Adam glared at the hunter that loomed above him. Cold blue eyes surveyed the prince’s tear-stained face with a strange understanding. A right hand - big and filthy and wet with blood - clapped against Adam’s cheek twice. 

“Welcome to the club,” Gaston said gruffly before he hoisted himself out of the West Wing.

Chapter Text

The water around Adam’s waist was cold. Its relentless current crashed against his bare flesh like foaming ink. It pierced his side like liquid glass and when his blood touched the water, the water stilled. He watched as it snaked a trail ahead of him, pooling into a circle. And from the circle Belle rose. Floating as if dead.

Adam called out to her, and by his voice alone, the water ripped into motion. The current crashed and wind howled as he fought his way to her body. With each step, the water became choppier and Belle floated further away. An angry black wave rose high above him, and crashed Adam under its might. Ice water screamed its way into his mouth and down his throat. 

He was submerged, filled, terrified.

Adam bolted upright, eyes wide as he frantically gasped for air. Under the silk of his nightshirt, his heart beat as rapidly as the currents that had overwhelmed him. God upon God, it had felt so real.

Although his mind had calmed, it took longer for his body to register the shock. He willed his breath to steady as he focused on the moon that shone across the ornate duvet. Even his throat felt stiff and tender, a throbbing pain that made it hard to swallow.

But that was no dream . Adam gingerly placed a finger against the flesh of his neck, and winced. That pain was as real as what had caused it. With shame and confusion, the prince remembered what transpired in the West Wing that afternoon. He had been too distraught, too exhausted, to truly think about why the brute had only bruised him. He could not understand why he had shown such weakness to the hunter, or why the hunter did not capitalise on it.

This whole predicament was playing on his sanity. With a final firm push against his throat, Prince Adam settled back under the covers. The pain and bruising grounded him, but he wouldn’t know peace until he got answers. He did not even know what questions he had.

But he knew where Gaston would be.

The West Wing door was ajar, as it had been yesterday. Against his will, Adam remembered the day before. His heart beat with embarrassment and uncertainty. 

He creaked the door open, surprised to see the chamber itself was empty. A gust of wind from the balcony carried the faintest smell of soap and cologne - the sign he was looking for. Past the open balcony doors, taunting fate by sitting on the balustrade, glistening black waves were obscuring a face that stared down into the gorge below. The hunter’s white undershirt slipped down his shoulder, and the prince could see smatterings of purple and red bruises across his upper back. They looked painful.

Adam halted, not sure if he should follow the man outside. It seemed a bad idea, as the balcony sat directly over that fated ravine. The bad blood between them ran deep - deeper than some tears and shared heartbreak could fix. A word out of place, and the temptation for either man to push the other over might prove too great. But he couldn't exactly hold a conversation – or argument – out of earshot, so with a sigh he echoed the hunter's footsteps. The sun had yet scaled the height of the castle, casting a long shadow across the land. The air was ripe with the smell of mid-spring and a sudden gust of wind found its way under Adam's shirt. A small lock of golden hair found its way out of his ribbon and waved about his face with abandon. The hunter raised his hand far back behind him, an apple core in his large, thick palm. As Adam joined him at the balustrade, he threw it with force. The pair watched as it flew over the castle roofing and tumbled to the waters below.

“That is a far distance,” Adam remarked, as the core fell further and further.

“You have no idea,” a muscle in Gaston’s cheek jumped.

“No,” Adam turned his gaze to the hunter with narrowed eyes, before looking back down the gorge. “I suppose I don’t.”

“Maybe you should.”

The apple disappeared from view.

"That's the biggest horse I've ever seen, isn't it Mama?" Chip bounced on the balls of his feet, reaching his small hands towards the creature. Mrs Potts held him back with an equally tiny hand, chortling slightly, "Now, Chip, it isn't good manners to go around touching people's animals. Why don't you look at the other horses with Louis? There's a good boy. Have you been to see him, dear?"

The last part had been directed at Adam as Mrs Potts left her son with the young, pock-marked stable boy. The large coal stallion rolled its bloodshot eyes and perked its ears backward, baring its large, blunt teeth in a threat.

"Horrible little creature," Mrs Potts said neutrally as she straightened up and stared the horse in the eye, "Could've had my Chip's finger in a heartbeat!"

Adam stood a safe distance away from the beast's stall door, feet shoulder-length apart and hands clasped firmly around the riding crop behind his back. His loose hair was slightly windswept and his face flushed in the afterglow of good healthy exercise. The stable staff had their hands full with the hellbeast - he could not be shod, could not be ridden. Its master would need it in peak health, and so Adam had come to personally tend to it. Despite his best efforts the animal – much like its master – was unpredictable. It let him mount, just to buck him off. It would let him shoe the right hoof, but not the left. Sometimes it watched him quietly, and other times it charged at him with rage. Still, it kept his mind from thinking about the apple tumbling endlessly down the ravine. 

That morning on the balcony was tense, and Adam had left shortly afterwards. It had been a day or two since the prince had been in the West Wing, and his dreams had only gotten worse. He was truly at wits’ end.

"Well yes…and no. It’s…” he thought about the past few days, and sighed. He pressed his fingers against his bruised throat, “What do I do Mrs Potts? I can’t read the man."

"Well, for starters you can stop battering the poor dear," Adam winced at the no-nonsense tone of his minder's voice, "I nearly fainted when I saw the mess you made of his back! If you wanted him dead you should have left him floating!"

"I didn't choose to – do you hear that?" Adam's defence was cut off by the rustling of bushes. Every time he left his chambers, he was haunted by the feeling of being watched. He pinned it off to paranoia and the growing heat, but at times he wasn't sure.

"Oh Master, why can’t you control your temper?" Mrs Potts implored, ignoring his protest, "How would you feel? Rejected by the woman you love and forced to live at the mercy of the man you lost her to?"

"You forget I lost her too."

"And you’ll get no sympathy here, you won’t. I suggest you get washed up for lunch. Off you go!"

The air was still, yet the bushes rustled with zeal. Adam gazed about him twitchily. The walk back to the castle was lined with woods and bushes - too many woods and bushes. It could be a hare, or a crow. It could be an errant townsman. It could be the reaper, come to take a prince’s soul. Adam moved slowly, tiredly towards the impending structure of the castle. The afternoon sun beat down on him - spring would soon be over. He waited for the bridge, for open wide space before he removed the white cotton shirt that had stuck to his back.

Then it happened.

As the feeling left the back of Adam's head, he knew he hadn't been paranoid. As he felt the blunt connection to the nape of his neck, he knew that he should have been more vigilant.

A sudden sharp pain, and he was on his stomach. A warm trickle of blood trailed down his head and over the bridge of his nose. Above him, someone roared. On instinct he rolled to the left, narrowly missing the axe as it clanked against the stone. The sudden movement made Adam dizzy, but his reasoning was in hyper-drive. He needed to defend himself and he needed to do it inside.

He shot his knee up to the foot closest to it and his attacker lost balance. He heard the axe drop behind him and used the opportunity to scramble to his feet and bolt for the doors. The sound of heavy, laboured footsteps was not far behind him.

He burst through the doors, making a tapestry jump. Lumière and Fifi guiltily slid out from under it, tryst quickly forgotten at the sight of their prince.

" Sacre bleu! What has happened!?" Lumière rushed towards his frenzied master but not before the door burst open again.

Adam took in the dark boots, black tights and tight red shirt before his eyes recognised the face, " You !"

Gaston gave a grin as manic as his gaze, " Bon nuit, Bete."

Adam was then tackled to the ground, large fists connecting to whatever part of the prince they could reach. Not one to be bested, Adam placed his knee between them and turned to his side. The hunter was thrown onto the ground beside him and Adam clamoured over him, trying to reach the stairs. He felt the red runner burn his stomach and nipples as he was pulled by his leg. He turned as much as he could and bent his leg, flexing it so he kicked the larger man in the stomach. His assailant staggered back with a dark expression, before going blank and falling unceremoniously across Adam.

"Is he dead?" Fifi gasped, the ornamental vase still raised above her head.

Chapter Text

Gaston had a concussion, Mrs. Potts told Adam as he rested in his room. Or rather, Mrs. Potts near-shouted and shrieked as she paced the master chambers.

“I should have him hanged, drawn and quartered! Oh Master, how could he!? After all you’ve done for him!”

“Mrs. Potts, it’s fine, really!” the prince swatted at the handmaid tending to him, watching his nanny with poorly-concealed amusement. “He barely got a hit in.”

“ And you! ” the old woman pointed an accusatory finger at him, “I thought you had been taught better; I thought I had taught you better! And you’d been doing so well too!”

“ Self-defence , Mrs. Potts! What should I have done? Die? !”

With a distressed, tearful huff, Mrs. Potts stamped out the room in a myriad of skirt swishes, dismissing the handmaid with a brisk “Well, come on then, Margot!” 

Once alone, Adam pulled himself from the bed, sucking air through his teeth. Everything in his body hurt, like he was a live current of nerves. Shuffling, he made his way to his adjoining wardrobe - and the large mirror covered in sheets. He wanted to see the damage. He wanted to see how Gaston had marked him.

There was a bloodied bandage wound around his head, rending his hair a tangled, fluffy mess. His stomach and left nipple had the red, wet look of rug burn, and he could see small prickles of blood just under his chest. His sides, his right pectoral and the area just under his jaw had already begun to swell from where the wild punches had connected. The bruise around his neck had healed to a sickly yellow.

And he was smiling, so wide it hurt his face.

He normally hated his reflection, for he hated what he saw in himself. A failed prince, too broken to be good. But the Adam in the mirror didn’t care about being the perfect prince. The man in the mirror - bruised and bloodied with a fanged grin - looked alive .

Gingerly, he placed his hand over his injured nipple. The sting sent knots to the pit of his stomach. He looked at the mirror, and pressed it harder. The reflection twisted its face in pain…and arousal. Unblinking , Adam’s hand wandered lower to his side. He pressed at the rug burn, and moaned. He felt the knot in his stomach travel lower, and followed it with his hand.

He watched himself until he climaxed.

A storm hit that night. The castle was silent except for the sound of thunder and lightning - everyone had gone to bed. Even the guards, stationed outside the royal chambers, found it hard to keep their eyes open. The guards stationed in the North-West wing were nowhere to be found.

In the master bedroom, Adam dreamed of the rain. It hit his face, warm and thick. The sharp smell of rusted steel wafted along the wind. The pelts of water pinned themselves to his sides, releasing delicious bolts of pain along his body…

Except it wasn’t the rain.

A particularly painful shot of pain startled the prince awake, and with terror he realised the hot breath ghosting over his face. A dark, burly shadow had mounted him. A powerful thigh dug deeper into the burn on his side, but a thick hand cupped the yelp that escaped his lips. The prince slowed his breathing and forced his body slack, but kept the defiance well in his eyes. Red droplets fell from the looming shadow and onto his face, like bloodied rain.

“You fight well, pretty prince.”

 The hand pushed against his mouth forcefully before sliding across Adam’s chin, his jaw, and finally resting around his neck. With a small huff, strong fingers flexed themselves against his throbbing pulse. 

Adam’s mind rushed. The smell of blood and soap was mixing with something else - the same thing that had been stirred in the mirror. Without any clear thinking, he grabbed at the hand around his throat…and tightened its grip.

“Go on, Great Hunter . Kill your prey while it’s prone.”

A flash of lightning lit the room, and the man atop Adam. Raven dishevelled hair, a shaven face with a bruised chin, and mad blue eyes. A sliver of blood ran down Gaston’s face. 

Like an angel of death , the thought came unbidden.

The hand tightened and Adam choked a smile. He kept his eyes trained on the figure above him, even as his vision blurred. Blood splattered onto his face and into his mouth. Thunder clapped insistently. The figure above him loomed closer so hunter and prince were nose-to-nose. 

“You’re on borrowed time, Beast .”

As suddenly as it started, the hands choking him were gone. Adam gasped wildly for air as the dark shadow retreated.

“And I like it when my prey fights back.”

The deluge crashed into Adam, and pulled him into its depths. The water that crowded him was warm and loud - so loud. Its pulsing thrummed through his body. He held his breath.

There was a light above him, shimmering above the surface. The water was so thick and heavy. His limbs fought against it as he kicked and clawed his way up. His body grew tired, as his lungs begged for air. Frantically, he tried harder, but found he was only slowing down.

Do you like it, Beast?

That voice…Adam gasped in surprise, forgetting about his breath. The water pulled him back downwards, and he expected death. But he could breathe - it was as clear as air. He opened his mouth and sucked.

The water tasted like metal.

In the days he took to heal, the hunter did not visit the prince again. Adam would never admit it in the light of day, but at night he waited breathlessly for the hand on his neck and the blood on his tongue. Then sleep would take him, and the day would come. Adam had begun to think he’d imagined their encounter that stormy night, until he was ambushed on his way to the study. The fight was short-lived, however, as the castle was now heavily guarded. To Adam’s dismay, he had been unharmed.

Mrs. Potts had wanted Gaston punished. Indeed, everyone had. But when Adam vehemently refused to, and she’d looked carefully at his face, Mrs. Potts dropped the matter entirely. 

Every night in his dreams, he tasted blood.

"La vache!” Adam jumped out the way as a dark mass, ululating, flew off the chandelier. He didn't give it a second thought to grab the sword off a nearby suit of armour. Gaston grinned wolfishly as he wielded a kitchen knife.

Fighting for his life in his own home was becoming a daily ritual for the young prince. Adam revised the layout of the castle - which rooms had secret passages, and which had the best array of weapons. He did not know how the hunter had found the secret passage to his bedchambers, but it certainly made things more interesting. Cogsworth observed that he had become quite perceptive. Lumière commented on his sharp hearing. Chip marvelled at his lightning reflexes. Fifi politely asked him not to use the tapestries for shielding. Mrs Potts merely smiled in that knowing way of hers.

"Having fun, dear?" she asked as he was knocked into a wall. He merely grunted a reply before launching himself onto his opponent.

Their battles always left him covered in injuries, out of breath and unreasonably excited. Adam spent his evenings playing with his body in front of his personal mirror. More often than not, he succumbed to the need to gratify himself.  But it wasn’t just about arousal. There was something undeniably good about landing a well-placed punch or using the right fencing combination to slice a fairly deep wound. There was the relief of channelling a trigger-happy temper on something that deserved it. There was the pleasure of being marked with wounds and bruises. It was – dare he say it? – fun . It became less about survival and more about satisfaction, not that his opponent minded. In fact, the hunter seemed to revel in Adam's resistance.

I like it when my prey fights back.

"He's a lovely distraction, isn't he?" the apothecary’s apprentice had said one particularly hot day as she sewed the cut above his eyebrow. 

"A distraction from what?" he asked blankly. Adam had been watching the apothecary rubbing salve into Gaston’s battered torso, studying the way the hunter hissed at the pain.

"From the young Mistre-oh! I’m sorry, I…shouldn’t…" the poor girl flushed and busied herself silently.

It was true though, and Adam was surprised at how unaffected he was by this revelation. Whenever his mind wandered towards Belle, there was Gaston, armed and charging. Of late he had been so preoccupied with battle techniques and strategies and the pure adrenaline rush of pain that he hadn't found the time to think of her at all.

He never thought much of it until his rival had collapsed – shirtless – on top of his equally shirtless self, tired from a particularly passionate battle in the palace gardens. The sun dried their hot, sticky bodies closer together, their legs tangled down to their boots. Adam could feel the other man's heart beating, horribly out of sync with his own and thumping uncomfortably against his ribcage. A thick, sweaty lock of black hair, torn loose in their haste, draped over his chin and across his shoulder and Adam was finding it hard to ignore the thigh nesting against his growing erection. He was finding it even harder to ignore what felt like the startings of an erection gently poking into his thigh.

"You're heavy," he huffed, suddenly claustrophobic and aware of every blade of grass under him. As discreetly as possible, he started wiggling away from under the larger man, but stopped abruptly when a large hand found a way to his hip and squeezed.

" Ferme ta bouche ," came the gruff reply, tickling the spot behind his ear and making him sigh deeply. A nose nuzzled into the nape of his neck and lips ghosted over the flesh they found there. The young prince manoeuvred his arm so that he could stroke and play with the damp curls and received a slight nip on his earlobe as gratitude.

As unsure as Adam was, it must have been at that moment.

There, on the last day of summer, battered and beaten in the palace gardens with tenting tights and sensuous lips brutalising his ear and well-placed legs gently rubbing humming groins.

It must have been then that everything changed.

Chapter Text

Beauty is no gendered thing. It sits like paint on a canvas - sometimes oil, sometimes gouache. It is a fickle fancy that changes shape without warning - first a song, then a sunset, then a happy soul’s smile. It challenges the mind’s control of the heart. It demands the heart to feel deeper.

Belle had been beautiful in the way a rose was - a mind as sharp as thorns, but ultimately delicate to the touch. Prince Adam had strived to treat her gently. He had wanted to be good for her.

But Gaston…

Gaston was a beautiful wild thing that could be hurt; that could hurt. He was like the fangs that pushed against the inside of Adam’s mouth, the roar that ripped from Adam’s throat. His was the beauty of brutality. He felt right.

Too right.

They never did talk about that last day of summer, or how they became lost in each other’s oppressive heat. The luncheon bell chimed, and they disentangled themselves as if nothing had happened. Only the groundsmen had been outside and theirs was a profession of discretion - palace gardens were home to all manner of transgressions.

But it was undeniable that something had changed between them. Gaston continued his attacks, but gone was the malice. Adam too felt his bloodlust ebb into something deeper and hungrier. There was the pain Adam craved, but it felt different. Intimate.

Hunting season came, but Adam bloomed like it was spring.

The young prince looked up from his reading when the sense of being watched had gotten too distracting. He met a familiar set of piercing eyes and reproached the giddy sensation he’d started to feel around them. The strapping young man at the other end of the library table kicked teasingly at his companion’s chair. Adam sighed. He should have known better than to capitulate. 

Gaston's newest way of inciting a fight had become staring at Adam until Adam made eye contact - which the raven head did several times a day. Gaston's insatiable appetite for brawling was getting harder to endure, as Adam’s lusty impulses were beginning to bleed into their daily scuffles. Moreover, the hunter had recently taken to enthusiastic wrestling and Adam did not know how much restraint he had left.

He leaned back, gently tilting his seat away before turning a page. He was met by a disgruntled growl and an even sharper kick. Gaston’s provocation annoyed the prince more than the precarious teetering of his chair. It would be so easy to just lunge across the table… and do something regrettable. The blond bit his tongue and raised the old book up to his face.

Three, two, one…

"You’re not even reading, you rat’s ass."

"Gaston, chérie , when are you leaving?" he countered from behind the pages. He heard a haughty huff and lowered the hardcover to eye level.

The raven head had crossed the sleeves of his woollen overshirt over the alluring expanse of his chest. That was the part of summer Adam missed the most - for all his physical prowess, Gaston’s immune system had yet to fully recover. By order of Mrs Potts, he was no longer allowed to wander the castle barely dressed like that wonderful time Adam intercepted him leaving the north-west washrooms. That fight had provided Adam with sufficient glimpses and brushes against an enticingly sizeable…

Another kick to his chair brought him out of his licentious thoughts.

"You choose now to evict an ailing man? You would let him freeze to death in the coldest seasons? Why Beast, you do have a spine."

"Be quiet, or be scarce , " came the exasperated reply. Adam just wanted to reminisce in the only place Gaston’s presence hadn’t permeated. This yearning was a new sensation, and the young prince feared the strength of his desires would soon best the strength of his willpower. Desire made his mind cloudy. It made his bed too large and his body too hungry.

But the memory of Belle - his stubborn, delicate beauty -  sat like a lump of guilt in his heart. She steadied him. The more he thought of his wife - and the more he evoked her influence - the faster he could claw his way back to reason.

Gaston's eyes narrowed – he never did take rejection well. A well-placed kick against the table saw the hunter storming out the library. Something in Adam’s heart panged, but he returned to his reading. He would not be subject to his urges. 

He couldn’t be.

Adam didn’t want time to himself - he needed it. He needed pious contemplation to shame his mind back under his control. As it turned out, time to himself came in abundance.

The raven head was nowhere to be found - in truth, Adam hadn’t tried finding him. He expected Gaston would seek him out and agree to cool things down. Adam would sigh and yield and everything would go back to how it was before it felt too right. 

But the days rolled by and Gaston kept his distance. Adam dug up Belle’s book for the first time since that fateful spring and carried it with him everywhere. He couldn’t bring himself to read it, but its presence was like a talisman against his baser urges. This was as it should be, the young prince decided. The cold seasons would pass, and the hunter would be sent on his way. Adam would forget the blood and the dreams and the hunger and be a proper prince. A good one.

He spent the days locked in his study. There were correspondences from royal courts and land reforms from peasantry - a whole world outside the bubble Adam and Gaston had made for themselves. He signed where he needed to, and retired to bed without dinner. Fasting distracted him from his other hunger.

Every night, Adam found himself unable to sleep. He tossed and turned until he couldn’t stand being in bed. He paced through his chambers, reliving the heat of the summer sun and the leg between his thighs. The Adam in the mirror was again forgotten beneath white sheets.

It had been a week - a pious, contemplative, miserable week.

Adam stared listlessly at the papers before him, lost in thought. How did the devout manage? Were they all as bored and lonely as he was? Could they sleep, or did their minds also wander into the night? Did they also fixate on their bruises, those places temptation had touched?

“...begin preparations, sire. Sire?”

The prince snapped his head up in shock. Somehow, he had forgotten that Cogsworth and Lumière were in the room with him, talking. About what, he could not recall - he’d spent a week so deep in his head he could only register his own thoughts. Sheepishly, Adam cleared his throat and straightened up in his seat.

“I apologise…carry on.”

His majordomo and maître'd shared a quick glance. God, had they been talking that long? “Th-the ball, Sire,” Cogsworth said warily.

“Ball?” 

Cogsworth’s face ticked involuntarily, “As we’ve been saying for mont - ”

“ - Your allies, Master,” Lumière interjected smoothly, “The period to grieve the young Mistress is almost over, and they will expect your return to Society.”

“...By hosting a ball?”

“There have been balls all year. You declined attending a single one. Some are starting to take offence,” Lumière replied.

“Which is not good . A small kingdom like ours needs strong allies.” Cogsworth added.

Adam leaned on his desk, suddenly very tired. “And us having a ball…?”

“Is expected,” the tall, thin man replied. “The only thing more loved than a good party is its host.” 

“We’ve been isolated for a decade , Sire,” Cogsworth stated emphatically, “A ball would go a long way to helping our public image.”

The prince folded over and roughly buried his head in his hands. He hadn’t made a public appearance since his wedding. And that ball had ended… dramatically . Everyone had seen his wife flee the castle - a scandal that was only exacerbated by Adam’s dishevelled and pitiable return to the festivities. 

And then Gaston had arrived, and stole all of Adam’s time and energy. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost the will to perform his social duties. His servants were right; the kingdom would suffer in the long run. But the thought of people flooding his halls, expecting him to be the pious, contemplative royal he’d been all week…

God.

“Just do it, then.”

“Eh…well…,” Cogsworth stammered guiltily above the prince’s head, “I’m…glad?...we agreed on it. Sooner is better than later, so we cou-”

“-Actually, Master,” Lumière said suddenly, “Why don’t you get some fresh air, and we can talk later?”

Adam looked up in time to see Cogsworth shoot his companion an incredulous look.

“What!?”

The taller man returned an unreadable expression, “I’m just saying the Master could do with some air. A RIDE , perhaps. Maybe a trip to the STABLES to saddle up?”

“A trip to the…? Oh. OH!” Cogsworth’s face lit up in secret understanding, “Yes, yes! A ride would be very good! Very good indeed! So long as you go right now!”

“Well said, my time-savvy friend! Not a moment to lose!”

The young master squinted in confusion as the pair ushered him out from his desk and away from his study. Their haste was odd, but perhaps some fresh air would do him good.

The walk to the palace stables was a refreshing one, as the late morning sun caught the growing gold of the surrounding trees. The cool wind blew the care from Adam’s face like dust from an ancient tome. He was truly looking forward to a distraction from the growing desperation of his thoughts. He could ride until his heart and mind were clear enough to focus again.

The stable doors opened just as Adam reached for them, and he found himself staring at a face he hadn’t seen in a long, miserable week.

Ah.

So that’s why they wanted him to go riding.

Gaston looked just as surprised, but quickly schooled his features and looked away. Adam felt a flush in his cheeks, and scolded himself for it. 

“Oh.”

“Hmph,” the hunter replied. He was still looking away, but stayed blocking the stable entrance. Adam unconsciously followed the veins along the rolled sleeves to the large sack slung over the taller man’s shoulder.

“That’s…”

“Deer,” Gaston’s nostrils flared haughtily. Adam found himself watching the curve of his eyelashes. 

“Oh,” of course. He was a hunter after all, “I…”

…miss you.

“...Thank you.”

Something in the prince’s cadence caused the hunter to finally look at him. An expression akin to affection flashed across Gaston’s face.

“Guess I’m useful for something,” he murmured, stepping out of the way. Adam replied with a tight-lipped smile and downcast eyes, not trusting himself with anything more. The smell of sweat and blood hovered gently in the air as the pair passed each other. A dirty, gloved finger brushed lingeringly against Adam’s knuckles and his heart skipped a beat. The feeling of rough leather spread flutters from the back of his hand to the pit of his stomach. 

“...miss you.”

“Yeah, me too.”

It felt too right to say that.

Chapter Text

The black water rubbed against him - the faint smell of blood and tannin rising from its surface. The thing ahead rode the current like a plank at sea. Eyes, noses and mouths of all varieties flitted across its flat visage. Adam could not explain why, but he would not move towards it. He could not tell which features were Belle’s.

It rose. Its body jerked to life and beckoned for Adam with arms stretched imploringly. The tips of its feet skimmed the rolling current. A deep moan resonated from the living canvas of its face.

The wave would come soon.

“You knock!”

“No, you knock!” 

“And get maimed? Not a chance, you spineless excuse for a pocket watch!”

“Aha! Where’s all your bravado now? You cowardly, sentient candlestick!”

“By the stars! If the Master won’t give you a thrashing, I will !” Mrs. Potts promptly closed the distance between her and the bickering duo. Cogsworth and Lumière fell silent, hastily straightening up. The ruffled servants turned their attention to the large chamber door before them. It was silent behind the old wood.

Mrs. Potts sighed, “He’s not been out yet, has he?”

Cogsworth shook his head, hands clasped behind his back. “Not since yesterday. If I didn’t know better, I’d say a certain trip to the STABLES left him in quite the mood.”

“Oh, put it in your clock and eat it,” Lumière ignored Mrs. Potts’ abashed gasps in favour of sneering at his companion. “The Master’s been distressed since he stopped… entertaining … our rather provocative guest. How was I to know I was making matters worse?!”

Again they stared at the barrier between them and their mercurial prince. Cogsworth’s fidgeting began in earnest. Disturbing the master in his current state could spell disaster. But snubbing their socio-political allies would be so much worse .

“At this rate, we’ll never get the ball done,” Lumière lamented loudly. 

“At this rate, we’ll never get anything done!” Mrs. Potts bristled at the thought, pushing the large doors open with the force of the exasperated. A shocked but impressed Lumière grabbed at the sleeve of the terrified majordomo as he followed her inside.

The bedchamber had been silent because it had been empty. The autumn sun washed the stone walls in light, and the unmade bed had grown cold. A gentle breeze blew through the room, but the whoosh of wind came from behind a tapestry instead of the wide windows. The trio moved closer to investigate. A sconce to the tapestry’s right bore handprints from what seemed like recent handling.

Out of the corner of her eye, the housekeeper caught sight of a set of crockery - greased with the remnants of breakfast - stacked neatly on a nearby table. Mrs. Potts tutted as she shook her head.

“At least he ate first.”

Gaston missed him.

The thought swirled around Adam’s head, drifting in and out of detail. It didn’t matter that he said it first because Gaston had said it back . Yet the hunter had spent the rest of the day pointedly avoiding him - and Adam could have kicked himself for his foolishness.

Adam had hoped avoiding Gaston would rid him of his fixation, but it had only gotten worse. The less of Gaston he had, the more he hungered. The more he hungered, the more he obsessed. And the more he obsessed, the less in control of his yearning he became.

He needed to apologise. He had pushed Gaston away - and Gaston was going to stay away unless Adam begged him otherwise. Piety be damned, he needed his hunter.

And so, there he was. Perched prettily in a tree directly in front of the castle stables. At a first glance, the prince appeared to be enjoying a peaceful autumn morning, reading the book in his hands. That was ideal if any groundsmen or stable boys happened upon him, which a few did as dawn neared its end. But he wasn’t really reading, nor was he enjoying the morning. He was waiting. 

Finally, he caught the sound of heavy hooves and barking dogs. Adam stole as many glances as he could before the cobalt stallion and its raven-haired rider disappeared from view. He caught himself, assuming nonchalance as the stable doors opened and boots crunched their way over to him.

“... Bonjour .”

“Ah, bonjour, ” Adam lowered his book, feigning polite surprise. Gaston stood squarely at the base of the yew, staring up at Adam with suspicion.

“Aren’t you up early.” It wasn’t a question.

“Well, I…” I want us to be like we were before, so stop avoiding me , “You are too.”

“Hunting prep.”

“Is it going well?”

“Your men haven’t hunted in a long time, but they’re sharp. I’d like to join them.”

“Of course…thank you.” Just say it, just say sorry, “So…where are you going now?”

“...The armoury, maybe,” the hunter sniffed pointedly as he retreated, “ Bonne lecture , prince.”

Adam stammered, falling silent as Gaston left. Once alone, he shut his eyes and groaned. That should’ve gone differently. The young prince waited a while, finishing his chapter, before he too made his way back to the castle.

“If at first you don’t succeed,” he mumbled under his breath.    

“Well, the master’s not in the library,” Mrs. Potts sighed as the trio convened in the hallway.

Cogsworth swatted a spider that had crawled up shoulder, “He’s not in the West Wing either.”

“Then the master must be outside!” Lumière declared, already moving towards the entrance hall. “If we hurry, we might catch him!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, they were off. Minutes later, a hidden panel in the wall opened, and Prince Adam strode towards the armoury.

“... Bonjour …”

Adam sat up, placing his book on the railing beside him, “Ah, bonjour . You’re still here.”

“...I’ve finished now.”

“How is the armoury?”

“Your equipment is rustier than your men, but we have the hounds. I can make do.”

“Ah…” I’m sorry for pushing you away, stop avoiding me . “I’m…glad of that.”

“Mm.”

Say sorry, say sorry, say sorry. “So…where-?”

The luncheon bell chimed. Gaston scoffed, already walking away.

“ Bon appétit .”

Three servants - most unsuited to outside endeavours - reposed in a nearby alcove. They had searched most of the palace grounds before receiving word that their master had long since returned to the castle. They draped their tired, frustrated bodies along the wooden benches and sighed.

“I regret ever waking up this morning.”

“And I regret ever following you outside.”

Lumière stuck his tongue out at Cogsworth. Mrs. Potts retrieved her pocket watch. “We’re in luck, boys!” she crowed with delight. 

Both men looked quizzically at her. She pointed upwards, just as the luncheon bell rang through the gardens. Her companions looked even more confused.

“We’ve been going about this all wrong. We don’t need to look for the master, we only need to look for Monsieur Gaston!”

“And there’s only one place he’ll be right now!” Cogsworth exclaimed, finally understanding.

“Can we eat first, though?” Lumière moaned, sinking further into his seat.

Adam ate as fast as his stomach could handle, eager to catch Gaston before the hunter left his rooms. He was going to apologise and Gaston was going to forgive him before he drove himself insane. He took the fastest path to the North-West Wing, forgetting about looking nonchalant as he marched into the living suite. The open apartment had a slight chill that would only get colder as winter approached. The West of the castle was best only in summer.

Just then, Gaston exited his changing rooms. He had removed his hunting shirt, and Adam gulped at the hard, tanned muscle of his naked torso. The big, bare arm flexed as he undid the ribbon in his hair, black curls tumbling across his broad, scarred shoulders. 

Despite having just had lunch, Adam hungered .

The hunter froze in his tracks, having spotted the blond intruder. With more frustration than surprise, he exhaled loudly and sucked the inside of his cheek.

“Ah, bon- ”

“ Mais enfin!” Gaston threw his hands in the air. “Qu'est-ce que tu veux? ”

Gaston’s frustration was understandable, but the prince felt indignant nonetheless. “Nevermind. It’s nothing,” he muttered as he turned to leave.

“You said you missed me.”

Adam wheeled around, his mouth dry with embarrassment. “And you said it back!”

“I did.”

Silence spanned between them. Gaston sighed and rubbed his jaw roughly, “I didn’t ask if I could hunt in your woods yesterday. I should have.”

Adam felt the tension leave his shoulders. He let go of the breath he’d been holding. It was now or never, “ Je te demande pardon, mon chèr. I’m…trapped in my own head, and I blamed you for it.”

Gaston regarded him with the same warm gaze from yesterday. A smile tugged at the hunter’s lips. Adam’s stomach did a small flip. 

“Can we go back…to how it was?”

Gaston began to close the space between them.

“But see, I don’t -”

“MASTER!”

Gaston stopped abruptly as the castle maître'd rushed into the suite, followed by a very winded housekeeper and a faint majordomo. Adam watched them enter with wide eyes - he had a feeling he knew why they were there.

Mrs. Potts fixed a finger on him, her face flushed from exertion.

“Ball…now…please…”

Adam glanced at Gaston, who raised a thick eyebrow.  “Can’t that…”

“ Now…please… ” Cogsworth wheezed as he and Lumière bundled the prince by the arm and led him out the North-West Wing. 

“Now now, Master - the monsieur can wait, but the ball cannot!”

It was hours before Adam was let out his study. They had made good headway in preparing for the ball - his servants had made certain of that. Mrs. Potts had looked so close to murder Adam had almost forgotten who was in charge of whom. While he felt bad for forcing them to exert themselves, he still felt cheated. He was nowhere closer to fixing things with Gaston. 

Eager for some wine and a nap, he made for the stairs and froze almost immediately. A tall, dark figure leaned against the railing, cold blue eyes tinged with amusement… and something else. 

“... Bonjour .”

The hunter cracked a lopsided smile.

“ Ah , bonjour .” 

Chapter Text

Two apples sat on a derelict table in the West Wing, as red as the sun that had begun to set. The ravenhead reached for one, tossing it to his blond companion before cupping the other in his large hand. The prince gave the fruit a wary sniff before chancing a bite. The hunter polished his off in a few mouthfuls. Wordlessly, the pair moved out to the balcony.

Like so many moons ago, Gaston raised his hand far above his head and threw the apple core across the roofing and into the ravine. Adam leant on the balustrade beside him, watching as it tumbled down the gorge.

“...That is a far distance,” Adam couldn’t help saying. 

“You have no idea,” the corner of Gaston’s lip twitched good-naturedly.

“No,” the prince turned to his guest. “I suppose I don’t.”

Raven hair, still loose, caught the wind as Gaston raised his head to the sky.

“You asked if we could go back to before.”

Adam nodded quickly, taking another bite.

“Thing is…I don’t want to fight you anymore.”

Adam bit down too hard, and caught his tongue. Salty blood mixed with pieces of apple. He focused on the pain in lieu of his panic.

“Oh.” 

He raised the apple to his open lips again, and pressed his mouth against it. Gaston leaned over and grabbed the half-eaten fruit. With a level gaze, the hunter pressed his body against the prince’s side. A pink tongue lapped obscenely at the bloodstain left behind before he sunk his teeth in. 

“Hunt with me.”

Adam had hunted before. First, when he was a small boy. A travelling merchant had come to the castle with all sorts of wares - of which was a bow and arrow. It was a small set; the kind given to the sons of hunters. It was meant to ease them into killing, and Adam had wanted it. He screamed and kicked until his mother capitulated. With weapon in hand, the little prince terrorised the birds, the hares, and the servants. The more blood he drew, the giddier he was. Then one day, the bow disappeared, and the merchant brought newer and shinier toys to catch his attention. 

When vanity made him a beast, Adam had found release in the claws and fangs of his new form. They were quicker, more efficient and far more visceral. Human weapons would never compare to his monstrous speed and agility.

With the curse lifted, Adam feared he was far too heavy on his feet to successfully kill anything. And much to his own annoyance, he was right.

 “You’re holding it wrong,” Gaston chided. He sighed and waved his hand for Adam to do it again. 

“Give me a gun, this is stupid.”

“Guns don’t work in the rain. We discussed this. Do it again and do it right this time.”

The prince clicked his tongue and re-positioned the bow.

Adam lacked the skill for hunting. All he could kill were the bugs under his heel as he followed Gaston through the woods.  He had once come close to shooting migrating ducks, but lost concentration and injured an owl instead. Gaston hadn’t let him take it because he hadn’t intended to kill it. Without doubt, the hunter was a stern teacher.

Gaston was a fair and patient one, though. He never lost his temper; never snapped no matter how much Adam complained. He also possessed enough knowledge of survival and hunting to fill a whole library, much to Adam’s surprise. He knew the range of each weapon, and the type of underbrush that made for good bait. He even knew the castle hounds by name. Adam’s companion was more than just a pretty face, and that scared him.

As the days rolled by, a thought grew in the prince's head and fed on that fear.

A shot rang out through the morning air. The flock of birds scattered as one of its own plummeted towards the forest floor. The prince lowered the still-smoking blunderbuss as the hunter beckoned their hound over. With a “Well done, Paige,” the taller man retrieved the body from the Paige’s mouth, before feeding her a treat. 

Gaston presented the kill to his companion, “Not bad, prince.”

“It’s small,” Adam sneered as he regarded the corpse in the hunter’s hand. Gaston huffed, amused.

“A kill is a kill,” he wound Adam’s hair between his fingers and gave it a small tug. “Come, I’ll show you how to skin it.”

“I’d rather try for deer.”

“No,” the tug was firmer, followed by a gloved thumb tracing along the edge of Adam’s jaw. The jolt of pain and the gentle friction against his skin soothed his mood, as it always did. Even though Gaston saw these touches as rebukes, Adam didn’t. He yielded only  because his body would betray him otherwise. 

But today was different. Today Adam had made a kill, and it felt better than the fingers in his hair. He wanted to do it again.

“Don’t come with me, then.”

A flash of irritation crossed the hunter’s eyes. They took on a steely hue, before lighting up with amusement. With a deep laugh, Gaston tugged hard at the lock of hair in his hand. Pain and pleasure shot through Adam like lightning.

“Do you like hunting that much? That you’d do it without me?”

While he could bite back the moan in his throat, Adam could not control the way his body began to hunger . Blood teased along the length of him.

“I do many things without you, hunter.”

Blue eyes began to darken, “Do you like doing it alone?”

They were close to each other, so close to each other that Adam wasn’t entirely sure the arousal was his alone. He could see his reflection in Gaston’s dilating pupils, could feel the way the hand at his hair cradled the back of his scalp. How would he answer? How should he? What answer would make Gaston…

That thought returned.

Again.

That thought, that nagging mantra, broke the spell and landed him back to his senses. In a sense of shame and dejection, Adam swiped at the hand holding him and made for his horse. 

“...Let’s just go back, then.”

His flirty retort, like his good mood, was swiftly forgotten.

They never skinned that bird.

Hunts became a tense, quiet affair after that. Adam was so lost to his single worry that it took him days to realise Gaston was ignoring him. Adam’s body, accustomed to Gaston’s constant touching, suffered from withdrawal. Again, the prince’s own thoughts had pushed the hunter away from him. Again, his ego would not let him apologise. Instead, he focused on hunting. If he could not redeem himself with words, he would do so by actions.

But Gaston was not moved. He watched Adam’s progress with a blank expression, and spoke only when addressed. Adam strove harder, but still Gaston was as civil as stone. His scalp tingled with want, and his ears itched from loneliness. 

But nothing compared to the day he caught his first hare. With a bow and arrow, he stalked it relentlessly. The black-haired hunter followed some path behind, silently. With the blood rushing in his ears, he imagined Gaston pressed against him, guiding his hands to position. The shot was quick, mercifully hitting the hare in its heart. His biggest prey slumped to the ground.

He turned to his teacher with a smile as wide as the sun. Surely this would be it. Gaston would get off his horse, seize Adam in his arms and….

Nod.

“That’s it?!” Adam blurted incredulously, as he lowered the bow.

“Hm?” the hunter questioned from atop his steed. His tone of voice, however, was anything but quizzical.

“Just a nod?” the prince grabbed his catch by its hindlegs and swung it in the air, “With a bow and arrow - a bow and arrow - and all you can do is nod?! I’m trying here! Trying for you! And you couldn’t even get off your damn horse!”

“Oh, did you want something else?” came the bitter reply, “I thought you were so much happier doing it alone!”

Pain shot through Adam. A different pain. More than touching, more than flirting, more than anything, that hurt Adam the most. As if the arrow had shot through his heart instead. He opened his mouth in protest, but a lump in his throat had formed. The back of his eyes began to prickle. That thought returned. Tears already forming, Adam blinked rapidly and averted his gaze. He sucked on his tongue as seconds ticked by in painful silence.

The rustling of leather and metal sounded above him as Gaston’s boots appeared in his periphery. The larger man loomed over Adam as gloves reached for the prey in his hands, but Adam kept his grip firm. He was proud of his kill even if no one else was. Gaston sighed above him, wrapping a hand in the blond hair and another around his wrist. Adam felt lips, warm and hard, press against his hairline.

“ Ah, mon tresòr .. . ”

“...not the same alone.”

“Then together. Let’s hunt that deer together.”

The figure floated ahead of him, a body too blurred and bloated to see clearly. Adam looked at it dispassionately and turned away. He cared not for the person in the water. He only cared for the yawning sound of the black wave.

He only cared for how the wave would fill him.

Chapter Text

A deer trotted its way across the forest floor. It stopped at the base of a tree stump, sniffing at the bark and the plants around it. As it reached out to nibble on a blade of grass, an arrow shot out from a bush some way out. But it was too late - the beast had already fled, leaping deeper into the woods.

A blond man appeared from behind the shrubbery, a bow clutched tightly in his hand. He stared at the arrow, and the tree it was now in. A gloved hand pressed against the small of his back, pushing him forward. He pulled it from its landing place and returned to his mentor, eyes loaded with scrutiny. The pair observed the arrow in his hands.

“A second off. I was but a second off,” Adam stated curtly.

“They’re elusive,” Gaston twirled his hair between nimble fingers, “You’ve improved.”

Adam clicked his tongue and sniffed. Gaston laughed in response, cupping the prince’s chin and pulling his face closer. The pit of Adam’s stomach throbbed teasingly.

“Let’s get back.”

As soon as they returned, Gaston gathered the hunters and returned to the woods. Adam’s paltry kills would not be enough to sustain the whole castle, and they needed meat to cure through the winter. It was something his companion insisted on, and something he thrived in. Gaston knew each hound by its collar and each man by his cap. They followed him each day, and returned with plenty of good meat to go around.

But Adam couldn’t help feeling dissatisfied. That very worrying thought scratched away at his head. With each passing day it scratched harder and harder.

Through his study window, the prince watched as the hunters bantered and laughed amongst each other. His eyes bore hungrily into the hunter astride the coal black stallion. His hunter . He reached for some wine and swirled it aggressively in his mouth.

“Sire…?” Cogsworth ventured again. Adam cast a rather vexed glance over his shoulder. The castle majordomo looked fearful and exasperated. Adam was too irritable to care.

“What,” he demanded as he returned his attention to the courtyard below. He heard the sounds of Cogsworth shuffling behind him.

“W…well the guest list has been compiled and we’d like to send it, you see…so..uh..if the Master has s-some time…”

“Tomorrow. Afternoon.” Adam took another mouthful of wine, “I’m hunting in the morning.”

The hunters rode into the woods. As they left, Adam could swear Gaston looked up at him. 

The fretful majordomo nervously approached the master study, worrying about what would have him summoned so early. He took a few preparatory breaths and fiddled with his lapel before knocking shakily. He finally entered, and near jumped at the sight of Lumière and Mrs. Potts.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“You too, eh?” Lumière gestured to the seat beside him. Cogsworth sat down, his face turning a flushed red.

“Lumière, is this another one of your jokes?! You…you scrawny excuse for a-!”

Mrs. Potts held up a hand, confused, “So it wasn’t you, Cogsworth?”

“It would appear we’ve all been called,” the amused maître'd said, “Question is: by who?”

“By whom .”

“It is entirely too early in the day for this, my friend.”

Just then, the door swung open, and an agitated Prince Adam strode into the room. The servants, surprised, could only watch as he slapped a note on the table and marched to the stained glass window. 

“Master! You’re not hunting?” Cogsworth spluttered.

Adam jerked his head at the note with a scowl, and returned to glaring out the window. His servants huddled over the small paper and the writing scrawled across it.

Mon tresòr,

 Too many wolves. They need culling.

You probably have other plans too.

I’m sorry. 

“ Sacre bleu, the hunter can read!”

“Now, now, we can’t be sure of that.”

“But if the Monsieur can write, then he can surely read, you Pocket Watch.”

Mrs. Potts said nothing. Her eyes kept scanning those two telling words.

“Queen Elsa?”

“Too stoic.”

“Well how about…Prince Phillip?”

“Too annoying.”

“Prince Florian?”

“So we can all watch him pine over Phillip? No.”

It took all of Lumière’s self-restraint to not toss the list out the window. On the other side of the desk, Adam continued tugging at his hair.

Cogsworth’s moustache sagged, “Is there anyone on the list - anyone at all - you’d like to invite?”

The look on Adam’s face answered the question. 

An exuberant yell came from outside and the petulant prince leapt out of his chair. His frustrated servants looked on as he rushed to the window. He gave them an apologetic smile, and a quick “I’ll be in a better mood tomorrow, I promise,” before he fled the study. They stared at the closed door with growing incredulity.

“We will never get those hours back, you know,” Cogsworth bemoaned.

“One step forward, three steps back,” Lumière pinched the bridge of his nose.

Mrs. Potts frowned, reaching for the note.

“I fear the worst, boys.”

The young prince was not in a good mood the following day, for it was another day his hunter had left him behind. Nevertheless he made a valiant effort to participate in ball preparations. His housekeeper,  maître'd and majordomo, though relieved, warily eyed their unpredictable master. At last, their meeting adjourned, and his servants excused themselves. Adam returned to the study window, unaware Cogsworth had stayed behind.

“You know, Master…there is one thing we’ve not yet discussed…”

“A Royal Hunt?”

“A practice one. For next year.”

The library fires danced shadows across Gaston’s face. He grinned.

“I’ll give you the best Hunt of your life, mon tresòr .”

Chapter Text

The sky was pale with the promise of dawn when a courier arrived at the servants’ entrance. The air was alight with the sound of merry men and happy hounds. At the directions of the castle housekeeper, the courier carried the large sack in and was tipped handsomely. With the promise of good ale that night, the courier excused himself, bumping the sack as he hurried away. Letters spilled across the stone floor. The housekeeper frowned - she would not reward him as generously next time.

She beckoned the footmen over. The four young men lifted the bag with ease and carried it away. The old woman watched after them with satisfaction. They had done it - the invitations had been sent and the responses delivered. But a bigger challenge lay ahead: the situation between the Master and his guest.

She could never have predicted the path of their relationship. The hunter was a good influence in many ways, and a great distraction for the prince. But if Monsieur Gaston felt the way she suspected…then he was on the road to heartbreak. 

Prince Adam was like a pup chasing a wagon: he never really wanted to catch it. It would ruin him. 

Monsieur Gaston was a hunter - a man of action. Should he reciprocate…

“Lord, spare me should anything happen on that hunt!”

Prince Adam had been awake for as long as his servants had. Excitement and nerves bubbled through him, making his hands tremble and shake. As he fumbled through buttoning his hunting jacket, he tried to pace his thoughts.

A Royal Hunt. His first of many more to come. 

There were no visiting companions, no spectators to cheer them on. But he had his hounds, his men, and his raven-haired hunter. That was all he needed. 

A familiar, nagging thought returned, pushing a button out of place and releasing it from the prince’s grasp. He tutted in irritation, driving the thought out his mind before trying again.

“You have a mirror, don’t you?” came a voice from behind Adam, making the prince start. He turned to the figure leaning against his chamber walls. It was hard to tell how long he had been there - the hunter moved so silently sometimes. 

“ Et maintenant tu ne fait que de frimer ,” the prince hid his embarrassment behind a clipped tone. 

“ Viens. ”

With a wolfish grin, Gaston strode over. Calloused hands buttoned the hunting jacket with ease. Something about his content expression forbade Adam to look away. He watched the curve of the hunter’s nose, so close he could feel the heat of the other man’s breath. Again, that damned thought came and snagged against his mind.

“Oi.”

His jacket had been buttoned. Large, long fingers cupped Adam’s chin and tilted his face further upward. Ice blue eyes washed over him. 

“If you overthink, you’ll do something you’ll regret.” The hunter’s voice was not unkind, “Your mind needs to be here with me. Can you do that?”

Adam blinked his thoughts away.

“I can try.”

They rode for hours before the stag finally collapsed. It would change course suddenly, slipping between trees, and for a second all would seem lost. But then a hound would catch the scent again and the chase was on.

Gaston was in his element. Atop his coal-black steed, he looked more prince than Adam. It was his voice the hounds obeyed, and his lead the men followed. The howling of the wolves came ever closer, but none of that mattered. They were a unit: as deadly as any pack that would cross their path. 

The prince had never seen his companion so animated - it was as though the raven head were a boy again. It had never occurred to Adam that it was Gaston’s first Royal Hunt too. Common folk were never more than spectators. Something about that made it even more special. It was theirs to share. The thought tugged again for attention, but he shook it away. They had finally worn the beast down.

Gaston whooped with joy and immediately rushed to its side. At his command, the hounds ceased their attack and sat at attention. Its back was turned to Adam as he approached - its ribcage heaved as it fought for its last breaths. Dismounted, the hunters circling it all turned to him, as if in some grand ritual. Gaston reached for the reins of the prince’s horse, and tilted his head with a smile.

“Claim your prize, Prince.”

The forest was ripe with the fight for life and the promise of death. The pulse of the earth rang in Adam’s ears. He could feel the ground beneath his feet, and the firm push of Gaston’s hand against the small of his back. There was silence save for the huffing of the dogs, and the animal he was about to kill.

He withdrew his sword and held it over his head. He could feel his heart quicken, as he and the ailing stag shared life for the last time.

So this was the hunt.

But it wasn’t his hunt.

It belonged to the man beside him. The man the men respected, the hounds adored and the weapons submitted to. The man who had given him the hunt of his life.

The man who should give him many more.

With flourish, Adam lowered the blade and extended it.

“It’s yours.”

Gaston’s eyes widened. A gasp rippled amongst the hunters. This was unheard of.

“I…”

“Claim your prize, Hunter.”

With gleaming eyes and hands that trembled, Gaston reached for the sword. With fluid motion, the sword was brought down. Blood sprayed the two as the men around them cheered. But all Adam could see was Gaston.

And the way he looked at him.

The air had grown moist during the hunt, and now the rain had come in earnest. The smell of earth and wet fur rose into the air, but there was something stronger than that - the smell of arousal. 

Adam could feel the hunter’s eyes on him as plainly as he felt the pulsing between his legs. His heart beat wildly against his chest and throat. He felt a looming sense of fear and finality, and something inside him welcomed it. He found himself staring into the dead gaze of the stag, its neck bouncing limply along the trail.

Had it welcomed him too?

Lightning crackled across the sky. The groundskeepers retired from their duties. The hunters left for the kennels and tannery. The stablehands retreated to their chambers. 

Adam and Gaston were alone.

Adam’s hands betrayed him. They fumbled around the saddle and its buckles, trembling a little more each time. His mind screamed at him to escape, but his body…

…hungered.

“ Viens. ”

Rough hands engulfed his, their warmth burned through his flesh. He released a shuddered gasp at the contact. His stomach hollowed and ached.

The hunter guided his hands through unbuckling, his body so close that Adam felt the air leave his lungs. He needed to leave. He needed the blood to return to the rest of his system. He grabbed at the saddle and rushed to hang it up. Thunder clapped through the stable. 

He could hear the sound of boots following him. Heavy footfalls, closing the distance between them. He wanted Adam to hear him coming.

Adam hung up his saddle. A large hand slammed the wall beside him as a large, hard body slid in behind him. A rapid heartbeat pounded into his back. Something poked against him, like a hot rod.

Lighting cracked.

“I…” the shaky words died on Adam’s lips as fingers removed the ribbon from his hair. Wet tendrils slapped against the back of his neck before being moved across his shoulders. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as a mouth set itself against his pulse. It sucked and bit, sending shivers of pleasure down him. He could not control the whimper that escaped him, or the way he tilted his neck for more access. 

His mind emptied of all but hunger . 

He felt himself harden and swell. The hardness behind him bucked against the constraints of his tights. Teeth sunk down deep into his flesh and he cried out, arching into the body against him. The pain was exquisite.

A low moan sounded against his ear before he was wheeled around and slammed against the stable wall. A large, powerful thigh rammed itself between his legs. The hunter’s girth jutted against him as their hungry lips collided. It was the taste of sweat, rain, and the hint of Adam’s blood.

The stable went bright with lightning as a tongue slipped into Adam’s parted mouth. He sucked on it needily, clinging to broad shoulders. He rutted into the body before him and it rutted right back. 

“ Mon trésor . Mon désir .” The hunter sighed. A hand reached for the space between his open legs.

Thunder shook the stable. Adam jumped. A vision flashed across his mind. Delicate features, soft brown curls. Warm, intelligent eyes looking on him adoringly. 

Belle.

His wife . 

Horror seized him. Gaston pulled back, cold blue eyes searching the prince’s frozen expression. 

“Get away from me.”

Gaston backed away as if the words had been screamed. Raw emotion coloured his face, but Adam could not look at him. He could only run into the rain as fast as his feet could take him.

The fire crackled. 

It felt like it was berating him.

Adam sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his clasped hands. His wet clothes were drying in the next suite, but he had not found the care to re-dress himself. He hadn’t eaten dinner; hadn’t moved from his spot for hours since. The storm raged on outside. 

Was this regret?

The pit of his stomach still ached with need. He could still feel Gaston against his body. With trembling fingers, he traced the spot on his neck where Gaston had broken skin. A tear jumped from his eye and onto his cheek. He sucked on his bottom lip.

They had gone too far. Further than he had ever been with anyone.

Even Belle.

He lay down, staring at the canopy above him. His heart shuddered against his chest so hard, he felt like it was bruising. Why had he given in?

Why had he stopped?

Tears blurred his vision. His body cried for Gaston. He spread his legs and slid his hand along his length.

He closed his eyes and returned to the stable. Adam worked his aching flesh, and imagined another hand. 

Thunder clapped and Adam sobbed, shielding the sound of a panel clicking open.

The night had been terrible. The storm had only subsided close to sunrise, and it had been loud.  Adam would have stayed awake regardless; his dreams taunted him. One moment Gaston was thrusting above him - the next Belle was on her knees, taking him in her mouth. That fearsome thought stayed quiet, but foremost, in his mind.

He debated and pondered until the first rays of light. By then, the hunters were awake, preparing for the day’s work.

He strode across the courtyard, hoping to appear more certain than he felt. He searched for his hunter - for Gaston was his . Their hunger was shared. Their hunger could be sated. Belle had his heart, but Gaston…

Gaston could have everything else.  

But Gaston was nowhere to be found. A group of hunters had gathered, deep in what seemed like an intense discussion. At the sight of their prince, they removed their caps, hastily lowering on bended knees. Adam waved them to stand again and surveyed the men in attendance.

“Has he not come yet?” He didn’t need to specify. 

The men looked amongst each other knowingly. They knew who he meant. A tall man, with an expression of deep regret, stepped forward.

“Your Majesty.” He bowed his head, “We were sure you knew…”

The thought clawed on and whispered in his ear.

“Monsieur Gaston left.”

How long, Adam?

“He returned to town early this morning.”

How long will Gaston stay with you?

Chapter Text

The Royal Hunt was only a part of the hunters’ lot. After the prince and his quarry had been safely returned, their real work began. There were dogs to feed and meat to skin, after all.

Monsieur Gaston was meant to join them, but he had disappeared. The hunters did not worry. Instead, they eagerly waited until dinner, where they could talk freely amongst themselves.

At last, it became too dark and too stormy to continue working. The men gathered around their ales, their dinners growing cold and forgotten. This was the norm when the gossip was fresh. For booze was easy to ingest, and took less time in the mouth. A man beckoned to his tankard, and another barrel was opened. While normally a gluttony, there was cause for celebration. It was their first royal hunt in over a decade - and what a hunt it had been. A juicy bit of venison, and the rarest thing they’d ever seen.

“Name one royal that would give up the coup de grace. Bugger that, name one noble !” a man raised his finger emphatically, “That’s respect!”

“But did you see the way they looked at each other?” his companion’s face was flush with excitement. “There’ll be riding, I tell you.”

The first man slapped his friend’s arm. “Henri, you eternal romantic! Impossible!”

“ Quelle surprise . Pierre and his counterarguments,” an older hunter drawled. He swung back a mouthful of beer.

“My Margot says he still keeps Mistress’ suite like it was before she left - won’t even change the bedding!” Pierre insisted conspiratorially. The old man huffed in reluctant agreement - the Mistress had cast a large shadow.

The man named Henri crossed his arms, “I still say there’s something there.”

“ Even if there was …! In a world of kings and viscounts with hair fluffier than his, why would the prince settle with…” Pierre gestured at every man in the hall. 

“Monsieur Gaston is the best of us all,” the old man countered.

“And will still just be one of us.”

A large bang rang through the hall, and all the men fell silent. From an obscure corner, a large fist hovered in the air, the table under it split and broken. With menacing movements, a large figure rose from the shadows. Monsieur Gaston wore a face full of dark, unreadable expressions. He scanned the hall slowly, before storming out the door. 

“...Think he heard you,” Henri murmured.

The room remained hushed for some time. 

No one lit the secret passages, but that meant little to Gaston. He knew every step of the staircase he climbed, down to the uneven paving. Thunder shook the walls as he pushed further upwards. Beer couldn’t wash the taste of the prince’s blood from his mouth, and he had tried valiantly. 

If confronted directly, the prince would flee as he always did. One moment he was a panting hole made for ruin, the next he was as cold and distant as stone. No more. Gaston wanted an explanation. No, he demanded it. He deserved it, as much as he deserved that taunt, pliant body against him.

Another peal of thunder rumbled through the castle as the panel slid, and the Master Bedroom came into view. A strangled sound surprised the hunter, bidding him to proceed silently. Gaston was but a few steps in before he flung himself against the wall, eyes wide with shock and hand firmly against his mouth.

For on the bed, naked and splayed like a feast, was the prince. 

Acres of sumptuous flesh writhed as his hips jerked upwards. The thin film of sweat on him glistened like glazing. His penis, veined and flush with blood, leaked freely as it slid in and out of his closed fist. The lips that had so wantonly latched onto Gaston elicited whimpers and moans. 

Lost in a world of his own, he stroked and sobbed. Gaston felt his mouth dry and his manhood swell. His prince needed comforting. His prince needed his hunter. 

A haze of lust skirted the edges of Gaston’s mind as his arousal tormented him. His body slid off the wall, succumbing to its need.

“Belle…”

The ravenhead froze. It felt like the storm had moved to his chest. Lightning blinded his sight, and burned words into his memory.

..he still keeps Mistress’ suite…

“Belle…” 

Even if there was…

“I’m sorry…”

...he will still be just one of us.

“I’m so sorry.”

Gaston left the next morning, a shadow chasing the storm on the horizon. He rode through the courtyard wildly, his mind frenzied. His heart…

… broken .

This was more than Gaston could bear. And bear it he would not.

There was no water. There was no wave.

Adam stood alone in the darkness of the void.

The body twitched like a dying fish, and he was so thirsty.

His heart screamed and his ears began to bleed.

Dawn crept up the castle walls, spilling into the open windows. Its light shone into the master bedroom, and into the eyes of the man awake in bed. Temporarily blinded, the man cursed and rolled over. There was a banging in his head and a scratching in his throat. He reached for the pitcher on the bed beside him and gave it a sniff. Water. He slammed it back down with disdain and rang for a chambermaid. 

A young woman with the demeanour of a skittish doe rushed in, balancing a tray laden with fruits, bread and a fresh pitcher. The prince watched her through a bloodshot squint as she fearfully prepared his breakfast. He tried to give her a grateful smile, but her flinching implied that it had not come across so. She warily watched as her dishevelled master clumsily poured a glass of wine, trying to ignore the red stains she would certainly have to clean later. He dismissed her with a grunt of thanks and settled against the headboard. He downed his drink in one gulp, eyes closed until his headache subsided. When the fog replaced the pain, he opened them, and poured himself another glass. 

After he had finished, Adam wiped his soiled hand against the bed covers. There was less this time, which was to be expected. It had taken a while just to get himself hard enough to enjoy it, and by then he was already chafing. The fire cast shadows over his uneaten dinner.

He couldn’t think about that stormy evening at the stables without feeling deep shame and regret. He couldn’t fantasise himself astride Gaston without wanting to cry. And when he felt like crying, he drank. It helped ease the pain, and it helped him sleep. 

Gaston’s stay was never meant to be permanent. He was meant to heal, and to leave. After which Adam was meant to continue being an upstanding royal. Gaston had kept his part of the deal, but Adam couldn’t. As long as he lived, he would never be the picture-perfect prince.

What would have been if Adam hadn’t…?

Hastily, he reached for the pitcher and drank mouthful upon mouthful until his thoughts were murmurs in his mind. 

He dreamt of famine that night.

The fourth day Adam finally left bed. He slouched into the study, sat behind his desk and asked for a glass of water.

Lumiere, Cogsworth and Mrs. Potts looked like they had seen a ghost. 

“Go to bed, Master,” Mrs. Potts pleaded after another night had drawn to a close. Adam reached for a slice of cheese and nibbled at it gingerly. The fire cast the master study in a warm glow. 

“Good night, Mrs. Potts,” was the only reply. Near tears, Mrs. Potts placed a tender hand on her master’s arm.

“Talk to me, Master. Please.”

“I did this to myself. And now I’m bringing you all into it. I can’t help how I am, I -” the prince caught himself, his voice breaking. “Could someone bring me some wine, please?”

He allowed himself to cry that night.

It had been 10 days since the big storm. Despite the bustle of the castle, it felt as though there were a heavy curtain of silence along the halls. Everyone performed their duties with a certain sombre, made more pronounced whenever the Master was in the room. He looked more spectre than man some days, a fact amplified by his recent penchant for midnight wandering.

They all missed the hunter. His presence had been like violent sunlight. 

The clock chimed in the study. Adam observed his dinner, certain that Mrs. Potts would be delighted at how much he’d managed to eat. Satisfied, he reached for a bottle of wine and began his walk.

The Witching Hour transformed the castle into a crypt of shadows. Adam found it easier to process his feelings in the dark quiet of his empty halls. There were no pretences, no shame. Only the conversation between bare thoughts and raw emotion. 

What was he feeling today? Adam strolled along the corridor, taking a swig from the bottle. As always, his heart replied in pain. 

Why? Because of Gaston.

If it were just lust he felt, why did he hurt? Surely he could move on, couldn’t he? Adam climbed the stairs to the West Wing. There was something about the hunter that had gotten under his skin in a way no one else had. It was clear from recent developments that Adam had grown quite attached - so much so that he feared madness. But if that were the case, why had he turned the embrace away?

If it were just lust, why would no one else do?

The door to his old bedroom was ajar, the flickering of a single candle cast down the corridor. Adam stopped for a second, before his feet took on life of their own and sent him running towards it. His mind rattled off every prayer it knew, every wish it could utter.

He burst into the room and into the arms of the man inside. In that strong embrace, his heart and mind finally told him…

Why no one else would do.

Chapter Text

He felt amazing.

He stunk of sweat and meat, but he was there . He had come back. And he felt…

… amazing .

It had only been a fortnight, but an eternity’s worth of emotions erupted as Adam clung onto Gaston. Broad, strong arms encased him like a barrier from his thoughts. Adam wanted nothing more than for them to squeeze him until his ribs broke. Hunger and longing and something far deeper stung his eyes. 

A large, gloved hand cradled the back of Adam’s head. The smell of filthy leather tickled at his nostrils. A small, shuddered sigh sounded from above him. It took all his courage to look into the face of the man who had driven him mad for a fortnight. 

The two weeks apart had given Gaston the appearance of a wild man. He was dishevelled, from his matted hair to his dirty beard. His face was gaunt and tired, but that didn’t matter. He was there . 

“You’re back.”

Ice blue eyes, wet with unshed tears, gazed back at him.

“It’s late. I’m sorry.”

Adam didn’t reply. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Gaston’s neck and pulled him in.

Gaston’s lips were stern and hard against Adam’s at first. They seemed to resist, recoiling from the contact, but not for long. A keening sound from the back of Adam’s throat broke the last of the hunter’s defences. Chapped lips pressed tenderly against the prince as a skilled tongue darted across his bottom lip. Alcohol and butterflies swirled around in the pit of Adam’s stomach. He parted his lips and Gaston eagerly claimed him. 

They broke apart for air, snatching the briefest of breaths before coming back together. Adam angled his head to feel Gaston’s tongue deeper in his mouth, savouring the way the slick muscle slid against his. Gaston’s hands made fistfuls of Adam’s hair, tugging him back when they needed to breathe. Pain and pleasure and the feeling of yes ran right through Adam each time their lips met. Words of adoration rang out in his head. He sighed deeper into each kiss, feeling settled. Safe.

Tired.

Sleep snatched Adam and carried him away. 

It was late morning when Adam finally opened his eyes. Chill gave way to the fragile warmth of autumn afternoon. The birds and servants coloured the air with sound. Muscles stretched and popped as Adam wriggled along the length of his bed, smiling.

For the first time in two weeks, he had slept the night through. 

Wine dreams about Gaston were usually torturous - famine, hunger and the sense of sin. He would wake up at all hours with the stench of vinegar on his sweat. But this time…it felt real, raw. Gaston had looked at him with such tenderness. Gaston had held him and kissed him like something beloved. 

He could spend his life asleep reliving that wonderful dream. 

Settling in the main suite, the prince began picking at his breakfast. Idly he wondered which meat would feel the same as the tongue he’d so vividly dreamt of. He had just begun sucking on his selection, when the doors burst open and three very frazzled servants rushed in.

“Oh Master, forgive us! ” Mrs. Potts wailed with a look of wild concern. 

“We insisted!” Lumiere bemoaned.

“We begged !” Cogsworth squalled.

Feeling his good spirits waning, the prince cast a warning glare. But as soon as words had formed on his lips, Adam found his body moving on its own accord. 

His voice gave out as if it had been summoned out of him. His face, initially laden with a fearsome frown, gave way to an expression of naked vulnerability. His heart, weakened from so much pain, howled with immense hope and fear.

“We truly tried-” Lumiere rushed to say.

“We told him to await an audience -” Mrs. Potts stammered.

“But he walked right in! ” Cogsworth shook in fear.

Gaston’s gaze never wavered. As the pair closed the gap between them, the hunter bowed.

“It’s early. I’m sorry.”

There was something about his torn portrait that deterred Prince Adam from looking at it. The damage he could bear - perhaps even admire the brute strength he once possessed. But sometimes the wind would blow the canvas back in place, and the face so much like his would demand to be seen. He wished Gaston would stop looking.

“There’s a bloodied sack outside my study door.”

Gaston glanced over his shoulder, before returning his attention to the canvas. “Well, you weren’t in your study.”

Adam joined the hunter, keeping his voice as level as he could. “That doesn’t explain why it’s there.”

Eyes flashed down to him, the barest hints of something bubbling beneath the mask of indifference. As if realising his mistake, Gaston swiftly moved away. All Adam could see was the back of his wolf pelt cloak.

“You’re a prince. I’m… common . An audience with you requires a gift.”

His voice lowered.

“And I have nothing else to give you.” 

Silence hung thick and low in the air between them. Light filtered through broken windows with harsh truths. This wasn’t the Gaston of Adam’s dreams; the man who kissed him back by candlelight. 

This was the real Gaston; the man who would never kiss him again.

Adam rubbed roughly at the tear that had begun to form. He had ruined that for them, and he had no right to cry about it.

“It’s appreciated.”

“Mm.” Gaston kept his back turned. 

The blond cleared his throat awkwardly. With an uneasy step forward, he scrambled for something to say. 

“Where did you go?”

“...Home.” The reply was gruff. Clipped.

“It must have been a relief to be back again.”

“It was…nostalgic.”

“Did much change? You’ve been gone nearly a year - ”

The hunter turned abruptly. Adam’s words trailed off as Gaston came within a hair’s breadth of him. 

“May I stay the night?”

Hard eyes bore into him.

“You won’t even know I’m here.”

True to his word, Adam saw neither hide nor hair of Gaston for the rest of the day. He tried his best to go about his duties, as the ball loomed ever closer. But it proved even harder when any vague shadow in Adam’s periphery sent him reeling.

Gaston’s absence was more distracting than his presence, and Adam was sick with longing. Not for the hunter’s lust, but for his anger. His disdain. Adam longed for a reprimand, for how could he apologise otherwise? How could he restore a rift neither of them acknowledged? 

Night fell. Shadows brought the cold with them. As the prince stood aimlessly in the West Wing, a gloved hand closed the stable doors shut.

The tide returned in part. Black water tickled at his toes, then fled. Adam chased the retreating wave. It had been so long since he had water.

“Please!”

The wave grew bigger, darker. It licked itself away from him in disdain. He pushed harder. His bones creaked from pressure. 

“I made a mistake!”

It hurried faster. Faster Adam chased. 

Bones cracked. 

Legs broke. 

“Please…”

It had been so long since he had water.

“Good Heavens!”

Adam woke with a start, rubbing his cheek against stray splinters and dust. The shock of being awake quickly subsided, and stiff discomfort began to settle into the prince’s body. As he lifted himself off the floor, he was greeted by the wide-eyed stares of Mrs. Potts and two handmaids. 

“Just the state of you!”

The elderly housekeeper wasted no time in fussing, beating the dust off him with small hands.

“What in the devil -!” she straightened up immediately, cheeks flushed with shame. Behind her, the handmaidens clapped their hands over their mouths.

“... Bonjour ,” Adam replied, for lack of anything else to say.

“You could have caught your death in this cold, Master!” Mrs. Potts shrieked. Her jowls shook as she stared up at him, “...Were you here all night?”

The young man averted her gaze with a crestfallen look. He could not bring himself to answer. Instead, he strode off wordlessly.

It was well past noon when Gaston approached Adam again. Crossing the courtyard, the prince caught sight of his huntsmen crowding a large, unkempt man. He mumbled something, which led the huntsmen to laugh jovially and remove a bloodied sack from his back. Adam watched the interaction wistfully.

Sack in hand, the huntsmen returned to work. Adam observed the blood on the stone paving until hefty, dirty boots obscured his vision.

“I was on my way to you,” a voice sounded above him.

“Walk with me?” Adam said, unable to make eye contact. Gaston huffed in agreement and the pair fell in step. The prince vaguely remembered a time when those gloved hands had brushed against his.

“Today…it’s just a doe. But she’s fat and healthy,” the hunter broke the silence. 

“Thank you,” Adam bit his bottom lip, “Gaston, I-”

“- I’d have given her to you myself, but your men…” he chuckled. “I missed them.”

Adam jerked his head in irritation. It wasn’t the conversation he wanted to have. He didn’t want to talk about deer, or other men Gaston had missed. 

“When you left…many people missed you.”

“Mm.”

They were approaching the castle doors. Eager to keep talking, Adam searched for a lighter subject.

“Back home… I’m sure your friends missed you as well.”

“In theory.” 

“How was it to see them again? They must have been so happy to -”

But Gaston had suddenly stopped walking. Caught off guard, Adam nearly fell up the steps. He turned to the hunter quizzically. Something swam the surface of Gaston’s eyes.

“Let me stay the night,” he said. 

“For every deer I bring, let me stay another night.”

Three more days went this way. Three more deers, wrapped in soiled bags. 

Gaston slept in the huntsmen’s quarters - the men wouldn’t have it otherwise. Each night, their jolly banter travelled along the wind. Their candles burned to the quick. It seemed like light had once again touched a part of the castle. 

But it made the shadows more felt. And no one felt them as keenly as Adam.

The wave stopped running. It stood still, a wall without end. Adam crawled towards it.

“Please.”

But it did not care. For it had turned to sheets of ice, and all Adam could do was burn his fingers.

Midnight brought with it silence. The West Wing was cold as a crypt. Lit by candlestick, two pairs of feet made their way down its chilly corridors.

“In here,” the gentle voice said. A small hand pushed at the grand wooden door. The force of the door excited the wind, and a candle inside went out. The chamber’s inhabitant did not seem to notice. Instead, the silhouette shivered, and huddled further into itself.

“He was here last night too,” the woman continued.

Steely blue eyes narrowed. “…This isn’t my fault.”

Mrs. Potts pursed her lips tightly together, “You abuse my kindness, Monsieur Gaston. A night, you said - no one would know! - and it has been many nights since. Was I a fool to trust you? Are you a man with no honour?” 

“I meant it. I did. Things…happened.”

“Stop this, dear. Please .” Teary eyes bore up at him. “I cannot imagine what has happened between you - but talk to him. Or leave us all be.”

With the shove of her candlestick, Mrs. Potts strode back into the darkness.  

It wasn’t cold anymore.

Warmth broke the black of Adam’s dreams. There were two candlesticks, flickering on the floor beside him.  He’d only come with one.

He shuffled himself upright, surprised to find a cloak covering him. A wolf pelt cloak. Candlelight animated the confusion on his face.

“Next time, bring your own."

The sudden appearance of another caused him to jump. Eyes searched the shadows beyond the rim of light. With slow, careful steps, Gaston stalked forward.

Blue eyes widened. "Am I dreaming again?"

"Again...? Oh. No."

Adam didn't dare a blink as he watched the hunter sit across from him. With bated breath, he watched Gaston drink from the bottle in his hands. Red liquid splashed as he watched it swirl.

“I can’t tell you about home, prince.”

Adam felt the wall push harder against his back. Unsure of what to say, he was grateful when the hunter offered him wine. He let his appreciative gulps fill the silence, stopping only when he had courage enough to respond. Their fingers brushed tips as he handed it back.

“I only...it wasn’t my place to ask that of you. I am sorry.”

“You don’t understand.”

Gaston took a long swig of wine. 

“I never went back. That’s why.”

Chapter Text

Hot wax fell on Adam’s hand. The pain grounded him, made the conversation real. The hunter’s words rattled in his head like ball bearings.

“What…?”

“You heard me.”

Gaston took another swig of wine. He stared at a spot on the floor, sucking the inside of his cheek. Adam noticed the way the other man’s hands twitched around the bottle. The prince clenched his own fist, holding on to the sensation of wax cracking over his skin. Pink blotches bloomed across his knuckles.

“...Where did you go then?”

Gaston wildly scanned the wall furthest from them, as if preparing himself.

“The outskirts. I watched them.”

The corners of his mouth rotated downwards.

“I was waiting for the perfect moment. But the more I watched…they’re doing so well.” He huffed. “ Par la grâce de Dieu , LeFou got married !” 

The hunter continued to drink. Silence hung in the air. Cold air bit at the bruised flesh of Adam’s hand. When Gaston finally spoke, the scent of wine was heavy on his breath.

“There’s no place for me there. Not anymore.”

Adam leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper.  “You watched them all this time?”

Gaston shook his head and sniffed.  Adam’s eyes widened in understanding. The truth was unspoken, but clear.

I endured the forest.

Wanting to comfort the hunter, Adam shifted closer. His hand closed over Gaston’s gently. 

“Why didn’t you come back sooner?”

Gaston offered a hollow laugh, violently pulling his hand away. Cold eyes, full of accusation, bore into Adam. 

“I didn’t leave by choice, did I?”

The prince averted his gaze, bowing his head. That kiss in the stables was fresh in his mind.

“Losing you was my biggest regret.”

“Don’t.”

“... I’m sorry.”

The hunter’s eyes suddenly looked quite tired. His gaze returned to the spot on the floor. Time passed, and with it, tensions eased. A large, calloused hand settled over Adam’s and squeezed hesitantly. Adam squeezed back, and the briefest of smiles spread across the hunter’s face. Adam’s heart clenched at the sight.

“What now?” he asked.

“I’ll bring another deer today.” The ravenhead’s eyes flicked up to the blond, “Every day, as many as you want.”

“I don’t want deer.”

The sky outside turned light with the threat of dawn. Fog began to rise from the ravine below. Adam drank from the bottle until he could taste the sediment.

“I want you to stay, Gaston.”

Something about Gaston in Belle’s old rooms felt…strange.The hunter’s large, imposing form crowded Adam as the prince guided him through each chamber. Perceptive eyes took in everything: from the books on the dining table, to the wardrobe full of lavish gowns.

“A woman sleeps here.”

“ Slept here.” Adam blushed, “These…uh…used to be someone’s rooms”

“Your wife’s.”

His blush deepened. “This is the sojourner wing. You’re free to use it for as long as you like.”

Gaston didn’t answer. He reached for a pillow, but recoiled before touching it. He looked at the dirt on his hands and turned to Adam.

“This is too much.”

“This is the least I can do. Belle…she isn’t here anymore. But you are.” Adam paused, “I’d like you to consider yourself a guest here. ”

Silence spanned between them. Gaston pursed his lips.

“I’ll leave when it starts snowing.”

Despite Adam’s protests - or perhaps in spite of them - Gaston refused the bed that first night. He slept in front of the fireplace, claiming he was too dishevelled for the upholstery. When morning broke, he led the huntsmen into the woods and returned with the bodies of two healthy stags. 

“I said I didn’t want deer,” Adam frowned over ball plans.

“You’re welcome.”

“...Forgive me, chéri . They’ll make a great dinner.” 

The hunter’s eyes widened, then softened. Adam realised, in horror, that he had used the pet name aloud. In response, Gaston rubbed the back of his neck somewhat bashfully.

“I’ll sleep in the bed if I have a bath first.”

Sunset filtered weakly into the study and over the papers in Adam’s hands. With a frustrated sigh, the prince scratched out his previous annotation and scrawled a different name. Somewhere on the other end of the room, the clock chimed for dinner. Adam dipped his quill in ink as the door swung open.

“Get out. I’m busy.” Adam snapped as he continued writing. Whatever it was, his servants would have to handle it themselves.

“Aren’t you always,” a deep voice retorted. Adam’s head shot up in surprise, fast enough to catch Gaston’s retreat.

“Wait!! Wait!” he began hurriedly, ushering his guest back inside. “Ignore me. I can be irritable when I’m working.”

“Then I should leave.” The hunter stood in the doorway, beckoning out. But something about the prince’s tousled hair and pleading expression bid him enter. As he stomped back into the study, the young man behind the desk beamed.

“Make yourself comfortable  - I’ll just be a second.”

Adam wrote quickly, frequently peeking at Gaston wandering along the bookshelves. As he lowered his quill, the clean-shaven hunter picked a small blue book from the shelf and flipped through it. 

“This one looks different from the others.”

“It’s Belle’s.”

“Hm,” the hunter placed it back immediately. “And you kept it?”

“She might want it back someday.”

Gaston didn’t reply; he only ran his tongue across his teeth loudly. The clock ticked away as he sat down. 

“You’ve been in here all day. Go to dinner.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat something.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won't.”

 Adam glared. “I don’t have the time to eat!”

Gaston glared back. “You won’t have the energy to work!”

The pair glared daggers at each other. The clock chimed again. At last, Gaston clicked his tongue and rose from his seat. With a muttered “ Mon Dieu, tu me fatigue, ” he left. Adam stammered fruitlessly after the hunter, before resignedly returning to his work.

A quarter of an hour later, Gaston returned with two dinners on a tray. He made sure Adam ate every crumb.

“What is that?” Gaston asked curiously, leaning over the desk. “You’ve been crying over it for days now.”

Adam lowered his quill and shifted so Gaston could better see the wrinkled parchment. Names had been crossed out and re-written so many times that the writing was barely legible. Adam had half a mind to throw it out and start anew.

“We’re to have a ball here in midwinter. These are the seating arrangements.” He ran an ink-stained hand through his hair. “Or at least, they’re supposed to be.”

Gaston let out a low whistle, leaning in closer. The scent of soap teased at Adam’s nostrils; the hunter didn’t normally smell this good in the evening. Raven hair, still damp, swung between them as Gaston traced his fingers over Adam’s writing.

“But they’re your friends. Does this even matter? ”

“It shouldn’t, but…” Adam jabbed his finger at a particular name circled in the centre of the page. “I put this Jezebel near anyone he’s not humped yet, and I could start a war. And I can’t begin to place her anywhere,” his finger hovered over another name. “So private, no one knows her from the trees.”

Gaston surveyed the table seatings once again. “Has he humped her yet?”

“God forbid!” Adam snorted back a laugh. The thought of Queen Elsa making a mess of his sheets was ludicrous.

“And is she the kind to start a war over some humpin’?”

Adam sucked on his quill, “...Unlikely.”

“Then put them together.”

“Gaston, Eric is a sex pest!”

“And he’ll either get lucky, or get punched. Now clear the table.” Gaston pointedly placed the tray on the edge of the desk. 

Adam rolled up the parchment and made room for the venison stew and red wine. The night before had been roast boar, and the night before that steamed fish. With Gaston as a dining companion, Adam found himself enjoying food again. It was easy to make time to eat if there was someone to eat with. It was even easier when dinner was followed with conversations by the fireplace.

“You don’t have to eat with me, you know.” Adam spoke up, half a bottle of wine later. Firelight glistened on the empty plates behind them.

Sharp teeth flashed in a smile.

“I know.”

The cold snap came fast. Dawn ceased to melt the frost, and the hours of light were fewer. Winter had found its way to France. 

The first snow was the signal all the castle had been waiting for. Although too wet to stick, the sight of snowfall filled the halls with excitement. Clad in rough woollens, the servants bustled well into the night. Soon the snow would fall in earnest, and the ball would be upon them at last.

Two men, standing quite close together,  watched the flurry from under a loggia. 

“It’s snowing,” said one. A stray snowflake caught on his hair. His companion reached for it, melting it to ice between his fingers.

“It’s only sleet.” His hand hesitated, before twirling the lock of hair. Golden curls wound around his thick finger. 

“Until it starts snowing, you said.”  Blond lashes flickered closed. “You’ll be leaving soon.”

“Do you want me to leave?” 

“I’d like you to visit, and often.” 

“That’s not an answer.” 

The blond clicked his tongue, waving the fingers from his hair. “ Ne me taquine pas, Gaston .”

“Tell me to stay, Adam.” The hunter’s voice dipped low. The tenderness of it surprised Adam, and he found himself staring back at eyes staring into him. “Tell me to stay, and I’ll have no reason not to.”

Promise swam in the air between them. Adam’s heart skipped a beat, and then another. The same fear from before crept along the halls of his mind. But another feeling, a stronger one, seized him and held tight.

“Stay with me, chéri .”

Gaston smiled. The tips of his fingers traced Adam’s jaw.

From behind a palace window, Mrs. Potts looked on and smiled.

Perhaps she had made the right decision the night Monsieur Gaston had come knocking. 

Perhaps there was hope after all.

Chapter Text

Life in the castle had grown chaotic. Ball preparations were driving everyone to breaking point. Mrs. Potts lost her voice yelling for items to be cleaned, and cleaned again. Cogsworth reviewed the names and needs of every guest until his eyes blurred over. Lumiere worried over the meal plan so frequently that even his nightmares had a menu. 

As for their Master…

Adam knew what he wanted now. In truth, he had known since that hot summer day in the gardens. Only now, he allowed himself to want without shame. 

Gaston had stayed because Adam had asked him to. In the scarce hours of light, he cured meat and sharpened weapons. In the dead of night, he retired quietly to his rooms. 

The time between, he reserved solely for Adam.

The prince and the hunter fell happily into the comfort of each other’s company.  Food was eaten, wine was drunk, and hours were lost to poorly concealed flirting. It was not long before the touching returned.

Small brushes of the fingertips became pulls, tugs, and the slightest hint of a kiss against Adam’s hairline. Although far too gentle, Adam savoured the skinship with the knowledge of one who had gone without.

In all their hours together, the pair never talked about their encounter in the stables. Adam held hope for a second chance.

A shadow passed over Prince Adam’s desk, the silhouette familiar and welcome. Only one man looked like that. He sighed instinctively as Gaston’s wide, hard chest pressed against him. The hunter’s lips felt warm against his head, spreading tingles through his scalp.

“Ah, mon tresòr .”

Calloused hands settled atop his shoulders before sliding their way down. Hefty arms boxed Adam in his seat, surrounding him with the smell of sweat and musk. He inhaled the scent eagerly. It pooled in the pit of his stomach and sat there comfortably. Skilled fingers danced across Adam’s knuckles to the flesh between them… 

“It’s time to stop thinking.”

With lightning speed, Gaston snatched the parchment out from under Adam. Stationery toppled and teetered. The prince made an indignant sound from the back of his throat, steadying the ink pot. 

“You are an insolent, unholy distraction!”

“Yes.” The hunter drawled, rolling the parchment between his thick palms. With a free hand, he reached for the nape of Adam’s neck and squeezed. 

“That’s enough for today.” His fingers pinched a little tighter to punctuate their point. Through half-hearted protests, Adam allowed himself to be dressed and led outside.

Fresh snow piled high, shielding the surrounding forest in a quilt of cold silence. The remaining wolves had scattered - their calls only whispers on the harsh wind. The grounds were bare but for the two men walking together. 

“What’s ailing you now?” Gaston asked over the rim of his muffler. “It wasn’t the seating this time.”

Adam blew hot air over his bare hands, “The boarding. Many guests hail from far away. They’ll need to stay a night.”

“Ah,” the hunter replied absent-mindedly. His focus was on the tips of Adam’s fingers, and the painful shade of red they were turning.

“Your gloves…”

“I forgot them.”

“You forgot them yesterday, too.”

“I did.”

Gaston tutted gently, bringing them to a stop. He pulled his muffler below his chin, revealing the beginnings of a lopsided smirk. 

“No other way for it, then.” 

Adam gasped softly as the hunter’s breath made contact with his skin. The warmth felt like pinpricks, travelling along the tips of his fingers to the base of his spine. It was just as exciting as it had been yesterday.

Adam studied the flakes that had gathered at the tips of Gaston’s eyelashes, and how they framed his heated gaze. Those sharp eyes stoked the fire in him, forcing the breath from his lungs.

Dare I…?

The muscles in his hand twitched instinctively, as though the time for thoughts had passed. The tip of his finger stretched forward until it found its mark. Gaston’s eyes widened at the soft grazing against his lips, but shuttered close as the digit gently moved across his tender flesh. He gave it a nip, pulling at the skin in a sting of pleasure, before lapping Adam’s finger into his mouth. 

A gasp of surprise rose from the back of Adam’s throat. With dilated pupils he focused on the sensation of it. The soft, wet inside of the hunter’s mouth felt like velvet against his nerve endings. The curl of Gaston’s tongue tickled just right as he moved along Adam’s index. 

Thoughts long gone, Adam twisted his wrist and tapped gently against Gaston’s lips with his middle finger. Gaston obliged, bobbing his head to accommodate the digit. Adam gently traced along the roof of Gaston’s mouth until he found a spot that sent a vibration of moans along his flesh. Cheeks hollowed, making the inside of the hunter’s mouth tighter and hotter. Adam grew dizzy as his pants grew tight and taunt. 

At last, and yet all too soon, it was over. With intoxicating slowness, Gaston slid the prince’s fingers out his mouth. A glistening string stretched between his moistened lips and Adam’s slick fingers. As Gaston’s hands trailed down the side of the prince's coat, Adam stared lustily at his fingers, and the sheen of saliva. His mouth felt empty and needy.

Without a second thought, he shoved his own fingers deep into his mouth and sucked at them. He savoured the taste of Gaston, still warm and slick against his tongue.

“You’ll make them colder,” Gaston protested breathlessly, eyes clouding over as he watched. When Adam had finished, he kissed the prince’s fingers before drawing gloves from Adam’s coat pocket.

“Put them on.”

A smile crept along Gaston’s lips as he led them back to the castle. 

“My mouth can do so much more.”

The wave was melting.

Adam lapped at its teat and swallowed slick saliva. 

He wanted to make it drown him.

It was a month away from the ball when Gaston broached the topic of returning to the huntsman’s quarters. Adam gazed up from his plans, bewildered.

“Whyever would you want to do that?”

“Your guests,” the hunter replied. He was, as usual, twisting the prince’s hair around his hand. His eyes scanned the parchment before them, resting pointedly on the sojourner wing.

Adam’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What does that have to do with them?”

Gaston sighed, stopping his ministrations. “I know what I am, prince .”   

It had been a while since Gaston had addressed Adam by his title. Something about it felt wrong. Realisation then dawned on him, followed swiftly by indignance. With facetious deliberation, he grabbed at an ink pot and began writing. Gaston looked on in disbelief.

“You’re a madman.”

“All guests are equal in my home,” Adam placed his quill down, admiring his work. The hunter’s name sloped and looped across the sojourner wing in wet, florid ink. “In any case, you’ll still be here after the ball.”

“I will?” 

“You will.”

Moments passed. Only the sound of the crackling fire accompanied Gaston’s movements. As he lowered himself, the hunter kept his gaze steadily on his companion’s face. He was unreadable, as though two thoughts were at war. Adam’s breath grew shallow as he tried to make sense of the larger man’s expression. 

Then Gaston leaned forward and kissed him.

It was a chaste, solid thing that lasted but a second. The hunter’s lips were softer than he’d remembered, pursed and pressed against his. They felt placatory, hesitant. And just as soon they were gone.

In the firelight, azure eyes turned large and wet.

Adam couldn’t sleep.

His mouth had felt cold the hours since Gaston had kissed them. The scene re-played every time he closed his eyes, each time revealing a detail he had missed. To witness it was agony; to deny himself was torture. 

The midnight chime echoed his sigh, as if it too were searching for the answer to his question.

How do I keep him here?

The young prince found little joy in food or sleep. Days were passing with no answer in sight. Gaston carried on as ever, but there was always a wistful tint in his teasing. Time was the enemy that sat between them.

Guests were by nature temporary; intruders welcomed and tolerated for a moment in time. The time always came where the guest - or the host - grew tired of the pretence. That time would come for them too.

But it was the only thing that kept this common man in the home of a prince. And so, Adam thought. He schemed and plotted fruitlessly, and time counted down all the same.

There were ways - dark, brutish ways - to keep the hunter by his side. It would break them both, and steal the light from those strong blue eyes. To use them would make him a monster.

No, he would find another way. 

And so that night, like many others before, Adam found himself wandering the dark halls of his castle. Wind pelted snowfall against frosted windows, howling against his whirring thoughts.

The blond followed his footsteps down the familiar corridors of the West Wing. The outside chill blew in through broken glass and loose stone. Adam clicked his tongue and bade the goosebumps away.

The wind pursued regardless, chasing him through the thick doors and into his former bedchamber. His fingers trembled slightly as he held the candlestick to meet the eyes before him. Warm, welcome lips pressed against his.

“I couldn’t sleep either.”

Chapter Text

Gaston’s lips could end winter with the very fire that scorched through Adam. This all felt familiar somehow, as though it happened before. Past events paced the edges of his subconsciousness, darting in and out of memory. Then the kiss was done, and the thought dissipated.

Save for his boots, Gaston had undressed for bed. He had left his housecoat unbuttoned, revealing the white of his underdrawers. Dark hair spanned across his bare chest with the softness of a recent bath. His thick locks hung loosely around broad shoulders, a black so deep they glistened like moonlight on the sea.

And there was hunger . Lurking just beneath the surface… 

Daring Adam to coax it up. 

Candlelight caught raven hair as Gaston turned his head. Adam followed his eyeline to the defaced portrait that loomed before them.

His stomach turned, as it always did when he saw it. But today, something kept his head in place. Something urged him to keep looking.

His own eyes looked right back.

Gaston moved forward, brushing tattered canvas into place. Strong fingers stroked at the painted Adam.

“ Il est agréable à regarder, non? ”

“ C'est une façade ,” Adam mused. “Pampered, primped and preened. Like all good princes should be.”

“And he’s not those things.”

“Hence he hates this portrait.”

Gaston turned back to him. 

“So we’re all bound by your pedigree.” His eyes trailed the length of Adam’s body. “Good to know.”

Dust rose as Adam stepped forward, his hand moving to the small of Gaston’s back. Dilated pupils reflected his own. 

“We don’t have to be.”

“But we are.”

“ Oh, chéri.”

“ Mon tresòr. ”

Wind blew hard through the broken windows as mouths pressed greedily against each other.  It wasn’t the sweet pecking from before. It was a shared aching: denied for so long, and finally requited. Adam’s lips throbbed from the force of it. Barrel arms crushed him against the hunter, and he begged them to bruise. Their candles clattered to the floor, extinguished.

Gaston pushed harder, the incisors of his teeth claiming the bottom of Adam's lip. Adam whimpered, rotating his hips to meet the larger man's body. Gaston's tongue traced over the skin it had captive, before he bit down hard.

Pain blinded Adam. The taste of metal that found a way onto his tongue informed him that the hunter had drawn blood, and was suckling it. He could not fight the arousal straining against his tights, nor did he want to. He was greeted by a low moan and an equally strong erection when his hips jerked upwards.

But it was still not enough. He wanted, craved , more.

Mounting wind burst into the chamber. In the darkness, Adam pawed past the warm chenille until he felt naked skin. Though the hands that explored Gaston’s flesh were cold, the hunter urged Adam on. Muscles rippled under his fingertips as the ravenhead purred in pleasure. Sharp teeth bit down on his wounded lips again, and Adam sunk to his knees in submission.

The floor beneath him turned gold.

Gaston’s manhood jutted out before him. Adam’s mouth grew wet. Steadying himself, he looked up to the face in the shadows. He didn’t need to see Gaston nod - he could feel it in the fingers that carded through his hair. With hands that shook from anticipation, he pulled at the thread of Gaston’s drawers. Linen floated to the floor. 

Hot gold burned. They ignited the chandeliers.

The smell of musk hit the back of Adam’s throat. The palm against his scalp began to guide him, until the tip of the hunter’s penis pushed against his lips. Adam opened his mouth, and let Gaston in.

The hot, hard rod stretched past Adam’s lips. The taste of salt was mixed with blood. 

Memories of Gaston sucking his fingers flashed back and Adam mimicked the ministrations. Gaston’s moan was thick with relief. His breath came out in short, eager gasps as the prince sucked him off.

Adam slid all along the shaft, flattening his tongue against the underside of Gaston’s penis. Suddenly he gagged, and the fingers in his hair turned into fists. A yelp of pleasure ripped through Gaston, causing his hips to piston further into Adam’s wet mouth. Gaston’s manhood pulsed bigger and Adam’s throat contracted again. 

It felt like drowning. His muscles were raw.

The hunter tugged Adam off him, hissing at the cold air that hit his leaking cock. Adam gasped frantically for air.

“I’ll hurt you. Stop.” 

The hand that clutched blond curls was shaking. Adam pushed the hunter’s legs against the wall.

Gold sparks flew. They spread across the stone.

“Hurt me, chéri. ” 

Gaston gasped, then groaned. Suddenly, Adam’s mouth was torn open by the force which Gaston entered him. The breath left his lungs as the head of Gaston’s cock punched against the back of his throat. He gagged and retched, but the cock in his mouth pushed deeper. Gaston pulled out and snapped back in. Tears clouded Adam’s vision. Somewhere above him, Gaston was moaning. Finding pleasure in his mouth. Every nerve inside him tensed.

Euphoria exploded around Adam, filling his tights with his seed. He clutched for the wall to tether him.

Gold spun from his fingers. They painted the statues.

Lost in the afterglow, Adam’s muscles had grown looser. Hands tilted his head back, as the hunter chased his release. With a desperate, guttural moan, Gaston came. Hot, bitter liquid flooded Adam’s mouth. Adam messily gulped each ribbon. The softened cock slipped from between his lips, and he coughed. Semen and bile burned a trail up his throat.

Drawers still around his ankles, Gaston lowered to his knees. With gentle hands, he cradled the prince’s face and kissed him deeply. Weak from exertion, Adam obliged. A skilled tongue lapped at the seed still in his mouth, and his eyes fluttered shut. His trembling fingers laced into the silken strands of the hunter’s hair as he let Gaston embrace him.

The wind howled outside. But blow as it might, it would never again enter the West Wing. 

For the West Wing had healed at last.

Chapter Text

The water brought with it warmth, salt and comfort.

Adam floated in its endless embrace. 

The surface was still too close.

It was with effort that Fifi drew back the heavy ballroom curtain, the force of which nearly threw her off balance. The dust rose like a mist, prompting the young maid to clutch her handkerchief closer to her mouth. The winter sun blinked blearily through fine particles. Fifi stood in wait for the air to clear, regarding the ballroom walls with a sense of resignation.

This was her third day of preparations. These were the last set of curtains before she could remove the sheets from the furnishings, and time was not on her side. How Mrs. Potts managed this alone for so many years was beyond her. But she would take the mantle for the honour it was and suffer in silence - until the evening when her Lumiere came by for his … goodnight kiss.

Just then, the Master appeared in the ballroom. He entered with confident strides and a look of mischief, his hand twisting around a bolt of fine fabric. He must have thought he was alone, for he stopped suddenly upon noticing Fifi. As was her duty, the servant promptly curtsied before her master, trying her best not to sneeze.

“Oh. Bonjour Fifi.” the Master tipped his head. “You didn’t see me here.”

Without further explanation, he waved away at the dust and rushed towards the shadows of the large hall. Thinking nothing of it (for again, she hadn’t the time) Fifi returned the handkerchief to her mouth and reached for the paddle. She had just just begun to beat the dust from the curtains when another figure stomped in. Everyone in the castle knew that heavy footfall, always preceded by the Master’s presence, could only belong to one person. Fifi needn’t have checked, but did so out of servility and a slight sense of curiosity. Sure enough, Monsieur Gaston stood like a large mass, hair wild and eyes narrowed. He tipped his head, and Fifi held her breath as she curtsied.

“Did you see him come this way?”

A second ticked past. “I’ve been told to say I haven’t, Monsieur.”

Keen eyes scanned the hall from the high walls to the white sheets of various shapes gathered in the centre.

“Tell him I want my ribbon back,” the hunter retorted before marching out the ballroom.

“...he’s not getting it back,” piped up a voice from behind a settee. Fifi sighed, earning a mouthful of dust for her efforts.

“When I get my hands on you…” Gaston shouted down the loggia, more a promise than a threat. Adam laughed breathlessly over his shoulder, clutching the threadbare ribbon tighter in his fist. The mornings were as cold as the evenings now, but the prince’s cheeks were pink from exertion. 

His hunter was used to chasing, after all.

Their little game led both men through the length of the castle - sometimes they bolted down corridors, other times they side-stepped busy servants. For their part, many of the castle staff chose to ignore the pair, favouring the prince’s frivolity to his all-too-often melancholy. It was hard to deny that there was something infectious about the way the two went on - twitterpated children unaware of all but the other.

With relief in his overworked lungs, Adam slowed to enter the suite. Wind tickled his neck as a hand reached for him. He vaulted over the couch and made it to the door in time for his legs to give out beneath him. A large arm circled his waist to catch him. 

“My my,” Gaston chuckled in his ear, “If you wanted to play in my bedroom, you only had to ask.”

“Shut up and open the door,” Adam wheezed through his grin.

Everything about the sojourner suite had changed. Antlers, sanded down and polished, awaited mounting. Furs from both men’s kills kept the rooms warm. Gone were the books stacked in every corner; the stray brown curls that hugged the upholstery. The memory of Belle was fading from its walls.

And today, her presence would be gone forever.

With bated breath Adam led them to the gilded wardrobe. He took Gaston’s hand in his, and placed it around the handle.

The hunter stilled. “I keep my clothes in the armoire.”

“Open it anyway.” the prince demanded. Seconds passed before Gaston obliged.

Belle’s gowns, those silk and velvet pieces, had been stripped and unravelled. With painstaking care and remarkable speed, the court tailors had made new use of the fabric. 

Sumptuous coat jackets and formal breeches now hung in their place.

“I hope they fit,” Adam whispered with less confidence than he had hoped. He rested a hand on the hunter’s arm and listened to the sharp intake of breath.

“These are…”

“The ball’s in two days. Wear them.”

Gaston had no words of thanks - but the way he tossed Adam onto his bed said plenty.

Dawn came late to the castle. It crawled along icy peaks and snow-covered fields, ushered along by bitter winds. It arrived but moments before the first carriages peaked on the horizon. 

From the basements to the rooftops, everything was ready. Mrs. Potts (with the help of a staggering amount of honey tea) was back in action, barking last-minute orders until everything was to her exact specifications. With mere hours to spare, the servants gathered in the entrance hall in perfect line, awaiting their guests…

…and their Master.

Seconds ticked by in silence, as every head in the hall slowly turned towards Cogsworth. Expectant eyes bore into the majordomo before he conceded.

“Alright, fine! I’ll go get them,” he exclaimed before making the long and unwelcome trip upstairs.

“They’re here,” Gaston taunted at the sound of knocking on the door. Adam stopped pacing and threw himself dramatically onto a nearby chaise lounge. 

“Tell them to go away. The ball’s off.”

“Ah… t’es nerveux. Big man such as yourself, sulking about his room like a scared boy.”

“Yes, chérie, irritate me. That will work better,” Adam snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. Still, he let the hunter pull him up to his feet and straighten his jacket. 

“You’re addicted to agony.” The knocking grew louder. Gaston flicked a finger against the prince’s forehead, “Stop it.”

“Make me.” Adam countered petulantly. 

Gaston grinned wolfishly. “Careful. I might.”

Fingers reached for Adam’s ponytail and tugged.

“Would be a shame to make a mess of your hair.”

“Be quick.” Adam breathed.

It had taken a worrying amount of time to get the Master to leave his room, but he seemed to be in a good mood when he finally did. No one decided to comment on the suspicious purple bruise just under his jaw, or Monsieur Gaston’s hand on the small of his back. At last everyone was in place, and just in time.

The doors swung open…

“Queen Elsa, my Lord,” Cogsworth announced as the ruler of Arendelle stepped forward, looking every bit as aloof and fragile as she had last Adam saw her. Adam bowed deeply as she curtsied, staring past Adam as though she wished to be anywhere else.

“Queen Elsa,” Adam said dutifully. He remembered the guest notes Cogworth had given him, and refrained from kissing her hand. “Thank you for coming.”

“Prince Adam,” she said, seeming relieved that he kept his distance. “It’s good to see you again.” Her solemn eyes drifted to the large man at his side, curiosity swimming beneath their glassy surface.

The hunter bristled slightly behind Adam. “Allow me to introduce Monsieur Gaston,” the prince said simply, leaving the explanation at that.

Gaston bowed deeply, “An honour, Your Grace.”

Elsa tipped her head and strode away. Adam swore he could see a flicker of amusement tugging at her lips. His thoughts were interrupted by the rush of a body enthusiastically colliding into him.

“Adam!” the waves of black hair nuzzled against his chest boomed happily, “I missed you like you wouldn’t believe!”

“Eric…” Adam said warily as felt the hands of his childhood friend settle lower and lower on his back. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Far too long.” Prince Eric broke away, his face alight with impish glee. “I hope you haven’t forgotten about me, beautiful.”

“Still the same as always, I see.”

“And always for you,” Grey eyes roved shamelessly over the older prince. Gaston cleared his throat aggressively from behind Adam, a hand coming to the blond man’s side and squeezing.

“Oh,” Adam tried to step aside to present his guest, but the large hand only pulled him closer. Gaston was taller and larger by far, but Eric stared up at him with the confidence of someone twice the hunter’s size.

“And you are…?”

“Monsieur Gaston,” Adam interjected, sensing the tension, “My guest. Gaston, this is Prince Eric. My -”

“Close friend,” Eric finished off, his gaze burning a hole through the kiss mark under Adam’s jaw. He bowed stiffly and with a final raised eyebrow at the two, wandered off. Gaston bowed in return, his grip on Adam’s side turning painful.

“Ton ami te baise avec ses yeux.” 

“Quiet, chèrie.” 

“Princess Rapunzel, my lord,” Cogsworth announced loudly.

It was late morning when the last royal had arrived at the castle. As was expected of a gracious host, Prince Adam strode down the endless corridors of the guest wing, ensuring everyone was comfortable. He felt winded from so much social interaction, and was eager to retreat into his study until someone dragged him out of it. To make matters worse, Gaston had begun to put distance between them whenever anyone was around. It was clear that the hunter felt out of his depth amongst the aristocrats and monarchs.

Sighing, he turned a corner in time to witness Prince Eric stumble out of a room that most certainly wasn’t his. Adam’s eyes narrowed as the younger man smoothed his hair and made his way down the corridor. Walking with a slight limp and grinning like a cat with cream, his childhood friend looked… sated .

“Eric. You didn’t.” Adam chided as they crossed paths.

“I didn’t.”

“...You’re lying.”

“I am.” Eric limped off, humming to himself. Adam pinched the bridge of his nose and marched towards the room his childhood friend had come from. He swung the door open with such force that Prince Phillip - who had been pulling on his boots - lost balance and fell back onto the unmade bed.

“T’es le roi de cons, Phillip.” 

“Adam!” Phillip said with a little too much zeal, scrambling to his feet. “I was just -”

“Debauching Eric?” the blond raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. His other childhood friend balked.

“It’s the other way around, I swear! He…threw himself at me!”

Adam jerked his head in irritation, “N’importe quoi. I pity the princess you marry.”

Phillip had the decency to look guilty as he ran a hand roughly through his hair. “Would calling it a lapse of judgement convince you otherwise?”

“This time? Or the times before that?”

Phillip laughed nervously at his friend’s reproach, rubbing the back of his neck. “Goodness, are we that obvious?”

“Discretion was never Eric’s strong suit,” Adam sighed, leaning against a wall. “Poor Florian.”

The brunette winced at the sound of the German prince’s name, as if saying it would manifest the man himself. 

“Don’t tell Florian?”

“Don’t tell him what?”

“Exactly,” Phillip smiled sheepishly. “Thank you.”

The castle was abuzz with excitement. Guests rested from their long journeys as the servants bustled preparing the night’s feast. Snow fell steadily outside, piling against the window panes. The knocking on the master study was insistent.

The hand that had been stroking Prince Adam to completion retracted swiftly as the hunter cleared his throat and wordlessly took his leave, opening the door for Cogsworth and brushing past. Adam hastily tucked himself away, watching Gaston leave with a sense of frustration and hopelessness.

The sight of his master in such a forlorn state tugged at Cogsworth heartstrings. He gripped harder at the box in his hands, more determined than ever to bridge the gap that kept the prince and the hunter from truly being equals.

“If I may, Master…”

Chapter Text

The canister was long, cylindrical and sealed with wax. The varnished wood felt smooth against Adam’s palm as he carefully tipped it in his hands. The parchment inside bumped gently against its edges like the promise it posed to be.

“So it is possible…?” 

Cogsworth drew himself up to his full length, as if his posture had some bearing on the validity of the document within. “Entirely possible. In fact, I’d say that, without a shadow of a doubt, that the contents sealed within that simple cylinder hold the key - no, the answer! - to the current conundrum concerning Monsieur Gaston. I’d even go as far as to say -”

Adam brusquely waved a hand, silencing the majordomo. His stomach was bubbling with growing anticipation and Cogsworth’s excitable prattling only served to make him more anxious. Forcing his hands steady, the young prince made short work of breaking the box’s seal and spreading the thick parchment across his table. Sloped letters, meticulously written in ink ages old, covered the ancient paper with the exact words Adam wanted to see.

He eagerly grabbed a quill and dipped it, almost tipping the pot over in his haste. With flourish and a touch of desperation, he signed his name and stamped his royal insignia. Minutes passed in silence as his heart and hopes dried with the ink. 

“...What if he says no?”

“Now, Master,” Cogsworth countered, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You can’t possibly believe he would.”

The light from the chandeliers bathed the hall in a golden glow of warmth. The large windows, curtains dusted and drawn, showed a picturesque forest blanketed by thick, white snow. An orchestra conjured the perfect notes for the bilious dresses and tailcoats that twirled in tune. Beautifully painted faces laughed amongst themselves. It was a wondrous winter ball like no other before. 

Prince Adam descended the grand staircase, his deerskin boots silent against the rich blue of the velvet carpet. He circled the edge of the dancefloor as determined eyes searched the crowd of familiar faces, looking for one in particular. Instead, he found Florian deep in conversation with Eric near the dancing couples. With a look of devilish delight, Eric clapped Florian on the back and strode away, leaving the young prince to stand to the side with a look of deep longing etched across his soft features. Sure enough, his baby blue eyes were stuck on none other than Prince Phillip.

“Just ask him to dance, Florian,” Adam chided gently. The German prince looked over with a start, eyes wide and sheepish.

“Oh, Adam. I was just…thinking.”

“Thinking a hole into the back of Phillip’s head?” 

Florian flinched, his cheeks growing visibly pinker. When he spoke again, his voice was so small that Adam could not hear it over the swell of the orchestra.

“Hm?” Adam leaned closer. The younger man grew agitated, flustered at having to repeat himself.

“I said that we’ll be travelling together at the start of spring. Phillip and I.”

“Oh.” Adam bit back a smile. “Lucky you.”

“ Meine Güte , no! Not ever! It’s not like that!” Florian bristled before his shoulders sagged and he sighed. “...Unfortunately.”

Adam huffed. “Just make sure your face isn’t as morose as it is now and you might stand a chance, dear friend.” He too clapped Florian’s shoulder and left the brunette without a second glance. 

While Adam always did have a soft spot for his youngest childhood friend, the man had been openly yearning for Phillip since they were boys. It was high time Florian did something about it - Phillip could only feign ignorance for so long.

“My, Master, but don’t you paint quite the picture!” Mrs. Potts exclaimed, appearing beside Adam as he watched the festivities. Blues eyes ceased their searching to focus on his housekeeper and trusted friend. Her usual nightcap was traded for a tight bun, and in place of her apron was a simple muslin overskirt of powder blue. Beads of sweat gathered at the base of her hairline and just above her lip. She had come quite the way just to see him.

“Taking a break from the festivities?” He observed warmly. When she, Lumiere and Cogsworth had requested a ball for his staff in the lower quarters, he hadn’t hesitated to grant their wish. The castle servants had made everything possible despite the chaos their master had beset them, and were deserving of the celebration. Only a handful were needed in the main hall, after all. 

Mrs. Potts chuckled softly, “All they want to do is dance and drink. I can only keep up for long. Besides,” her thin lips stretched into a warm smile, “A little birdy told me about your plan. And I couldn’t be happier,” the older woman turned her attention to something on the far end of the hall. “That boy belongs here.”

He followed her gaze, and felt the very breath leave his body.

A familiarly tall and imposing figure stepped out onto the ballroom floor, powerful legs wrapped in scarlet cloth and long boots. Broad shoulders and large arms bore the black velvet and red trimmings like a sultry second skin. A bolt of crimson ribbon tied raven-black hair fashionably into place. Everything about Gaston spoke volumes of sensuous command, and Adam hungered more than usual.

Icy blue eyes hungrily bore into Adam from across the hall as the hunter bowed and held out a gloved hand.  

“Go on, then,” Mrs. Potts whispered, pushing the prince forward gently.

A new song began to play, quick and sharp, carrying Adam to the centre of the floor and into those thick, expectant arms. Gaston smiled something sinful and, with a hand gripped tight at Adam’s waist, led them into a wild dance.

Their movements were fast and furious, clearing a circle around them as guests gazed on electrified at the sight. The infamously hermit prince, and the mysterious man that had appeared in the space his wife once stood. Words were whispered, glances were shared. Understanding rippled across everyone there: something deeper was unravelling before their very eyes.

But none of that mattered to Adam. He cared not for the eyes that bore into them, or the whispers that buzzed over the swell of the orchestra. All that mattered in that moment was the solid feel of the body sliding so perfectly against his, the lusty smirk that set his heart alight…

And the gaze that told him the world was theirs alone.

But then the song ended, almost abruptly, and the spell was broken. Adam didn't even realise he was out of breath until the light-headedness kicked in. The crowd applauded zealously - at once approval and appraise. A new piece began and the floor was soon awash with skirts and boots in motion – attention had shifted from the two heaving, flushed men clinging desperately to each other.

Concealed amongst the dancing couples, Adam firmly pressed his lips against Gaston’s before taking the larger man by the hand and heading in the direction of the West Wing.

He wouldn’t wait any longer. It was time.

The desk under Adam shifted as he rolled his hips upward, causing the candelabra the men had hastily brought with them to teeter precariously. The shadows in the dimly-lit room flickered in and out of prominence, oddly in time with the soft moans and heavy breathing that filled the room.

“Wait,” Adam’s hands closed around Gaston’s before the larger man could finish untying his drawstrings. The lips moving over his pulled back, twisted in confusion.

“Then why are we in the West Wing? Away from the party,” a thick palm rubbed against his clothed length, “Just the two of us…”

“ Sois patient, chéri, ” Adam bit gently at the hunter’s lips, even as he kept grinding himself into the larger man’s hand. “I have something for you first.”

“Something better than your mouth on mine?” Gaston raised an eyebrow. Nevertheless, the hunter steadied Adam by his thighs as the prince leaned across the desk and pawed past the candlelight. His fingers found their mark. With careful hands and a deep breath, he handed the wooden canister over. 

“For you.”

A blank stare greeted him “...You got me a round box.”

Adam clicked his tongue, “ Tu m'énerves vraiment parfois . Just open it.”

With a skeptical sneer Gaston took the cylinder, feeling it out in his hands. Adam slid himself off the desk, too anxious to stay still. He bit his tongue to actively keep from rushing the hunter and ruining the moment.

After a second that stretched to infinity, Gaston finally twisted the cap off the cylinder. The thick roll of parchment slid effortlessly into his calloused hand. 

“This is…” 

Adam held his breath as the larger man rolled the scroll open. His heart flung itself repeatedly against his chest as sharp eyes darted across curved letters. The music from the ball, once faintly heard, wound down into a silence neither man could register over the sound of their own thoughts.

“ …C’est quoi, ca…? ” 

“C'est ce qu'il dit.” Adam replied. 

The crest for Le Grand Veneur sat strong and bold at the top of the declaration, followed by the terms and conditions of the position. Gaston’s lips mouthed the written words once, then twice, as if in disbelief. The ink on Adam’s signature was barely a day old. Alongside it, was space for another: the signature of his new Grand Huntsman.

“Tell me you’ll sign it, chéri.”

Gaston wasted no time with words; he grabbed the potted quill and scrawled his name with the urgency of a man afraid his chance would pass him by. They watched the ink dry with bated breath.

“Royal office…” Gaston murmured in disbelief. There was a tremor in his voice, the only hint of the emotions that seized his heart.

“Yes…”

A strangely soft gaze fell upon Adam. A large hand cradled the back of his head. “I could stay here. With you. As…equals…”

“If you’ll have me.” The words hung sweet in the air. A proposition. A request.

“Oh, I’ll have you. Again. And again. And again.” 

Adam’s triumphant laughter promptly devolved into an eager moan as the hand in his hair pulled him closer and the ravenhead’s lips descended hungrily on his. Fingers fumbled hastily as both men hurried to remove the cloth that separated them, before the young prince found himself flipped around and bent over. The edge of the desk dug into his hips as rough hands yanked his drawers down. The combination of the air against his flesh and the growl that rumbled from behind him made his painfully stiff length weep.

“I'm going to know you, mon trésor. ”

Gaston sucked on his finger fervently, coating them with slick saliva.

“And you're going to let me.”

There was no time to reply; no sense in waiting for what both men knew would be assent. With the heel of his palm resting on pert, pale flesh, Gaston teased a lubricated finger around Adam’s puckered rim. 

The whimper was all the hunter needed to hear. Colour exploded behind Adam’s closed eyes as one thick digit successfully pushed through the tight ring of his entrance. All his consciousness narrowed down to the muscles contracting around Gaston’s finger - the sharp, stinging burn that almost sent him over the edge. 

And then Gaston began to move, inching himself deeper into Adam and curving slightly as if testing the tight, hot walls encasing his forefinger. Adam grunted in pain, before shuddering in pleasure. The softest “yes” fell from his lips unbidden.

“You’re so tight…” the hunter panted. He sounded strained, as if he was fighting to pace himself. Another finger breached Adam, stretching him out as his muscles gripped tightly against the intrusion. 

A guttural yelp punched its way out of the prince and he gripped the table hard. His eyes began to water. His leaking cock twitched. Bursts of light went off at the corners of his mind.

“Chéri … je te veux …”

It was when the third finger slid into his twitching hole that it happened. Gaston brushed against a set of nerves nestled so deep in Adam that both of them were surprised when the blond bucked back and sucked him in deeper. A second ticked by in silence before, with a deep and hungry moan, Gaston redoubled his efforts, pistoning his fingers against that sweet spot with brutal precision. Despite his eyes rolling back in his head, Adam had enough mind to wrap his hand around the base of his cock and grip hard.

He didn’t want this to end. He needed more. He needed every thick, cut inch of Gaston tearing him apart, loving him from the inside out.

“ Mon trésor …” Gaston grunted as he withdrew his fingers. The hot, wet end of Gaston’s head pushed boldly against Adam’s entrance, coating it in precum. The tip inched closer, muscles began to yield…

"...Adam?"

Both men halted, as if turned to stone in their compromising position. The blood from Adam’s cock rushed to his head in quick order as he straightened up. Who could need him at such a pivotal moment? What selfish ingrate walked all this way to-

The scowl etched across his face dropped to a fish-mouthed gape. He stared at the figure before them for what felt like a lifetime, shaken.

"Belle?"

Chapter Text

“Belle?”

Soft, pink lips curved into a beautiful smile. “It is you! Oh, Adam, how I’ve missed - ”

Belle stopped short, as the elation of seeing her estranged husband ebbed away into the realisation of what was before her. She gasped, covering her mouth in shock.

Adam fumbled frantically with his drawers. “ Chérie , I can explain…”

“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, I…!” shielding her eyes with a small, gloved hand, Belle rushed out the master bedroom. Light footfalls echoed down the corridor, unbearably loud in the tense silence. 

A hand reached for his shoulder, but Adam shrugged it off jerkily. His heart had dived straight into his stomach, and his head spun so fast he felt sick.

Belle was here. She had come back to him.

She had seen them.

“...So that’s how it is.” Gaston’s voice was achingly raw. He didn’t bother looking at Adam as he laced himself up and walked stiffly out the West Wing.

“He’s alive,” was all Belle could say when Adam finally joined her at the foot of the stairs leading to the West Wing. Gaston was nowhere to be seen. 

Adam’s head felt unbearably heavy as he nodded. “We…found him. In the river. Shortly after…”

“After I left,” Belle’s voice – that sweet melody he never thought he’d hear again – was painfully soft. Her warm, expressive eyes turned downward as she bowed her head, brown locks curled invitingly over the nape of her neck. She’d cut her hair, Adam noticed with surprise, as he took in each detail. There was something endearingly at odds about the short, masculine style and the simple, foreign gown that sat on her body as though it belonged to someone else. 

Time had changed Belle. It had made her even lovelier. 

The swell of the music cut abruptly once again at the sight of Prince Adam and Princess Belle stepping back into the ballroom. Eyes darted excitedly between the estranged spouses. Tongues wagged wildly in speculation. As tall as she held herself, Adam could feel Belle’s nails digging deep into the fabric of his jacket sleeve.

A strange mix of irritation and appreciation washed over him, prompting him to take Belle’s hand in his and lead her to the centre of the floor. Their steps clicked against the marble, echoing off the walls as the crowd watched on in hushed, morbid interest. Belle’s eyes locked onto someone in the crowd - the tall brunet man at Princess Rapunzel’s side - and she halted slightly, surprise and recognition sparking from their shared gaze for but a second.

With a sweep of the blond’s arm, the orchestra began again, the hesitant notes growing in confidence as Adam placed his hand along the familiar line of Belle’s waist. The beautiful browns of her eyes sparkled, and with a brilliant smile they fell into step.

He had missed dancing with Belle. He truly had.

The gardens shimmered under the light from inside the castle, each snow-covered hedge transforming into a low wall of glittering diamonds. Even as husband and wife huddled along the paved stone paths to avoid the cold and wet, ice still clung to the underside of their shoes. Music weaved its way between each falling snowflake and beyond the black night sky.

In another time Adam would have relished this solitude, would have taken Belle into his arms and shown her the depths of his ardour. But while his heart still sang with joy at the sight of her, here again, something had shifted between the two of them. Love he felt for her – yes – but he had to know for sure…

She let him place his hands on her waist and draw her closer, but she must have felt it too; for her kiss was as perfunctory as his. When they pulled apart, the same expression fell across both faces. Snow crunched as a shadow moved just out of sight and towards the frozen wilderness, unnoticed.

“I love you,” Adam said.

“But you love him more.” 

The words felt like a lash to his soul with how gently they had been uttered. Words he had never said – not even to himself – were spoken with such understanding by the one person who should never have had to say them. Adam’s face clouded over as he pulled her cloak tighter around her.

“ Chérie , I…”

“Shh, mon chér ,” a gloved hand came to his cheek. Snow sat on her lashes like jewels. “ Tu es mon autre moitié, but our love has changed. And..I’m glad it did.”

Tears sprung in her eyes, bright with a sense of freedom, “We wouldn’t have made each other happy, Adam. I…I know that now. You would never have been enough.” 

Her lips trembled as the corners of her mouth turned upwards.

 “I wouldn't have been, either.”

Adam stared out the bay window, not believing his eyes. Just an hour ago, he and Belle had held each other in the palace gardens and the snow had been light, melting against their hot cheeks and merging with their tears. Now, the gardens were concealed by the relentless wind and ice of the blizzard. Behind him, the ball continued in its revelry - for what did the weather matter to all his guests but one?

In his periphery, he could see Cogsworth tottering across the length of the hall towards him. The majordomo’s face was red, and he had the glassy eyes of a man several glasses of wine into a good night. Adam inwardly applauded his servant: even in his state, he had the sense to attend to his duties. Yet something about his uneasy gait and the constant twitching of his nose seemed to indicate more than a drunken disposition.

“Sire, all the guests have rooms accounted for…except one,” Cogsworth’s voice was low and urgent, a hint of a slur hanging on the edge of every word. 

Knowing to whom the majordomo was tactfully referring, the young prince turned his attention to the floor. Belle was dancing in circles with a man – a “Flynn Rider”, he’d been told – and chatting animatedly as if to an old friend. With their similarly cropped hair and wide grins, the pair could almost be confused for the same person.

“Belle can take her old rooms,” Adam replied, his eyes never leaving her face. “Monsieur Gaston…will stay with me.”

The prospect of his hunter in his rooms – in his arms at last – had made the decision an easy one to make. The guilt that weighed on his heart had been lifted by Belle’s understanding, and the realisation that she was right: they weren’t meant for each other the way Gaston was meant for him.

And it was time Adam let his hunter know.

Cogsworth’s face paled, his eyes narrowing in distress. “Ah…oh – that is to say – there is… one caveat with that…” His voice carried a hesitance that compelled Adam to look at him. From the other end of the hall, he could see Mrs. Potts and Lumiere with equally ominous expressions.

A sickening realisation dawned.

“Cogsworth…where is Gaston?”