![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thatrcooperLook! I remembered to post a reminder!
I still haven't heard back from the auction people (??) but I'm going to assume it's all going as planned.
October 11, there will be a silent auction with all sorts of things from various authors, with all benefits going to the Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance.
Here is a link to the auction's Facebook page. Authors, Bloggers, and Readers Raise Awareness
I am will be offering to either a) write a series of letters or emails (at least two) between any two of my characters (your choice) OR you can get another short story set in the alternate universe version of Play It Again, Charlie in which Charlie is the reluctant host of an online cooking show and Will is a fan. (You can find that here). (and um, okay so a friend and I have a whole thing about the first time Charlie mentions Will on the show... and also a show Will hosts with Jeanine, in which he imbibes a bit and maaaybe says things he shouldn't, and then worries about what Charlie will think when he sees it. Ahem.)
Hopefully it all goes well and everything gets bid on and donations are huge.
In the meantime, here is the last prompt fill I promised to post. The *other* Will/Charlie AU, in which the prompt was "meet at a masquerade ball"
“You seem lost.”
That was an understatement. Charlie had no idea what he was doing in this place. He knew how he’d gotten here, the way he usually ended up in strange and uncomfortable situations—his family. Katia’s current boyfriend had money. Not just money, but Money. Yesterday Charlie wouldn’t have gone so far as to say Old Money, but looking around this house had him changing his mind. Charlie hadn’t met the man yet, but so far he was outside of Katia’s usual type, and she seemed to know it, which was why she’d begged Charlie to attend the party the boyfriend’s family was throwing.
Not a party, a ball. At a house in Seacliff, although calling it a house was a bit of a misnomer as well. Charlie had grown up very comfortable financially, and he had to admit to feeling self-conscious around this much discreet wealth.
It had also been a while since he’d been among this many people, and all of them strangers. Katia had left him in the foyer to find her boyfriend after they’d arrived, and Charlie hadn’t seen her in the time since. She’d probably gotten lost in the house. He couldn’t blame her. He’d tried to disappear to a lounge or even the kitchen, but where there hadn’t been guests, there had been caterers and serving staff, so he’d climbed the stairs and come out here.
As hiding places went, it at least had a beautiful view, and Charlie wasn’t the only one who thought so.
The man leaning against the balcony didn’t look like the type who needed time away from a good party. The point of costumes was to be someone other than yourself and this costume party, this masquerade ball as they insisted on calling it, was no different. Charlie knew that. So perhaps this partygoer wasn’t anything like his costume, which was… some sort of cowboy.
Realism hadn’t been the point of the costume, clearly. The man had chosen bright blue pants and a white shirt, with a flashy red kerchief tied around his neck. He had on a belt and holster, with a silver and orange plastic gun strapped to one leg. His black mask could have been a reference to the Lone Ranger, but since it didn’t match the rest of the outfit, Charlie assumed it was there to fit in with the masked theme of the party.
“Kind of butch, I know. But then, I was trying to be Joan Crawford in Johnny Guitar. She was a butch ass bitch,” the cowboy observed, as if guessing how confused Charlie was. He couldn’t see it on Charlie’s face; that was hidden by the mask Katia had chosen for him.
Charlie adjusted the mask nervously anyway. “Sorry,” he apologized immediately, then frowned. “Johnny Guitar?”
“Part of old Hollywood’s tradition of hiding queers in plain sight,” the cowboy explained, without actually explaining much. “My friend wants to impress someone here, so he wouldn’t let me wear something more flamboyant. Which made me think of hiding things in plain sight, like they had to do under the Hays Code in… Nevermind.” The cowboy sighed.
“I know what the Hays Office was. I just haven’t seen that movie.” Charlie heard the belligerent note in his voice and couldn’t explain it, except for the anxiety leaving him stressed. He hadn’t even touched a drink. “Sorry,” he said for the second time in a few minutes. “I thought I’d be alone out here.” He should probably go find some place unoccupied and wait for Katia to remember him.
“You know the Hays Code?” Instead of being offended, the cowboy perked up. He stood up from the balcony. Even at his full height, he’d have to look up to Charlie if they were standing face to face, which shouldn’t matter, except for how it somehow did. “Do you like old movies?”
Charlie adjusted his mask again. “I like them fine, but I read mostly,” he answered cautiously, wondering why Mr. Joan Crawford was asking. The cowboy had pale white skin, with honey-blond hair sticking out from under his cowboy hat. He moved with enough confidence to make Charlie wonder what costume he would have chosen without restrictions, but he didn’t ask. He was suddenly afraid to move away from the door. He’d walked up a lot of stairs to get here and he didn’t trust himself to move smoothly.
“I love them, as you may have guessed.” A pleased, proud smile curved the cowboy’s mouth, which was pink and full. Charlie hadn’t noticed before and felt stupid for not noticing, although he didn’t know what good it would do him. He wasn’t here to date, and even if he was, he had a feeling that this cowboy would have been out of his league. He was hardly shy. “In fact, I talk about them so much, my friends have learned to tune me out. It’s best not to get me started.”
“Your friends tune you out?” Charlie really didn’t mean for his voice get sharp, but when it did, the cowboy tipped his head up, as if he was trying to squint and see through Charlie’s mask. Charlie shook his head. “That’s none of my business.” He tightened his mouth. He tried. But stress from a drive into the city to deal with a crowd of people and a flight of steep stairs, and he was in no mood to be nice. “But if you want to go on about old movies, what’s wrong with that? And why not let you dress how you want? They didn’t have to ask you to this party. Your friends sound like assholes.”
The cowboy’s mouth dropped open. Charlie closed his eyes and let out a breath. “Sorry.” His family would have been shocked. He wasn’t sure what had come over him.
The soft laugh from across the balcony made him reopen his eyes. The cowboy had his head to one side. “Your costume is more appropriate than I thought at first, you big, snarly beast.”
Charlie put a hand to the wolf mask covering the top half of his face. Katia had chosen it, he’d thought to match her outfit. She’d wanted to be a princess, in a big, golden gown, and Charlie had watched the cartoon enough with Alicia to recognize that he was supposed to be the Beast to match.
The thing was, he didn’t match. Katia had picked out an old-fashioned dress suit for him, and a wolf mask, but the fur on the mask was gray, and the suit, although it fit him, was black, not blue like the one in the movie. He’d been grateful for that earlier, but now it seemed like one more odd thing to explain, like why the costume had come with a dented, tarnished crown, which Katia had also insisted he wear. The crown was crooked, and rest just over one of his fake pointed ears. The whole costume had probably been recycled from a different set.
Charlie stopped himself from self-consciously straightening the crown. “I’m not really like this,” he said at last, because he wasn’t. He didn’t snap and he didn’t snarl and he didn’t lose his temper over trivial things.
“I suppose not,” the cowboy sighed. “If you were the Beast in this situation, then I’d have to be the Beauty, wouldn’t I?”
“Well, aren’t you?” Charlie responded without thinking, and had never been so grateful to be wearing a mask.
The cowboy stopped, just, stopped in place. His breathing ceased for a moment with an audible catching sound. He pulled his hat off to let it hang from the back of his neck, and the setting sun seemed to set his hair on fire.
“Are you… one of those people?” He waved at the rest of the world, or the rest of the house, and all the attendees of the ball. Charlie shook his head but the cowboy barely paused. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Charlie said dryly. He already knew the cowboy wasn’t. The rich and powerful could wear whatever they wanted, but those people downstairs weren’t the kind who wanted flamboyant at their parties unless it was the entertainment.
“The crown suits you, anyway,” the cowboy murmured, sounding very young for a few moments. Then his smile returned. “Even if you are hiding out here.” He patted the top of the bench barely within his reach. “You can sit, if you like. You don’t need to find somewhere else... unless you have to get back to someone.”
Charlie narrowed his eyes, though he doubted the cowboy could see it. “She’ll call when she needs me,” he answered after a while, and wondered how it was that even with a mask on, he could still see how the cowboy’s face fell. “My sister,” he added, although he had no need to, and got hot under his starched, rented collar when that got such a radiant reaction. “How about you?”
“Me?” The cowboy took a single step in Charlie’s direction then abruptly turned to face the ocean. “Just my friend downstairs.”
“Trying to impress someone,” Charlie remembered. “But not you.”
He got a dismissive wave. “Not that all this luxury isn’t grand, or that I wouldn’t say no to a palace, but, um, no. Not me. Anyway.”
“Anyway?” It could have been prying to ask, but masks made things easier, Charlie was discovering. This was the strangest conversation he’d had in a while, but it was also the only conversation he’d had outside of work that he could remember. Which was so sad he didn’t want to think about it.
“Anyway, a guy who can’t get his friends to watch his favorite movies with him is hardly the type to net a prince.” The cowboy made a little sound. “Like who am I? Claudette Colbert? Norma Shearer as Marie Antoinette? I don’t think so.”
“Maybe Barbara Stanwyck?” Charlie suggested, his face burning beneath the mask. He vaguely recalled reading Stanwyck was from Brooklyn, which made her feel a little more accessible than someone like Claudette Colbert.
Again, the cowboy went still. This time the sound he made as his breathing hitched seemed almost painful. He turned around very slowly. “Who are you?” It was barely a whisper. His voice was strained, and for the first time Charlie wondered if something particular had driven the cowboy to hide out here, or if he had simply needed a moment alone too.
Charlie opened his hands, not certain how to answer the question. It wasn’t like his name was famous. He wasn’t even on the guest list, he was a plus one. “Do you want me to get you some champagne or something?”
“Are you sure you aren’t a prince?” The cowboy demanded again. Charlie couldn’t tell if he was teasing, but he shook his head one more time. “No, I don’t need a drink. But thank you. You should get one, if you want. That’s the good stuff down there.”
“I’d prefer a beer, to be honest.” Charlie scowled despite himself. So the cowboy had been partying downstairs and something had sent him up here. “Are you all right?”
“Me?” Another dismissive wave. It was less convincing this time. “I’m here for the view.” He wasn’t looking out at the ocean. “You still seem lost.”
“I don’t feel lost.” It was as though Charlie could no longer stop to think before he spoke. He sucked in a breath, but whatever he could possibly say to explain how he was talking was forgotten when the cowboy curled his hands against the balcony behind him and tilted his head back.
“The view’s better from here,” he offered, and Charlie had no doubt that it was. He wasn’t sure what was happening. Maybe the cowboy was drunk. Maybe Charlie was, somehow, intoxicated by the sea air and the sunset. Or it was the mask and the suit that made him seem like someone a man like that would want near him. Charlie had never been to a masquerade ball, hadn’t even worn a mask for Halloween past the sage of seven; he didn’t know the rules. But he stepped forward again anyway.
He forgot about his hip and his limp until a moment too late to keep it from being noticed, but if he saw, the other man didn’t comment. Up close, even with the mask, Charlie could see wide green eyes with thick, dark eyelashes. “I was right. You are Beauty.” He had never said anything like that in his life, not even when he had wanted to. But when the whisper made him stop in confused embarrassment, the cowboy reached out and dragged him closer. He very, very carefully placed both hands on either side of Charlie’s face but didn’t make any move to pull away the mask.
“You like men?” He seemed to need to confirm this, and Charlie didn’t have time to wonder why before he went on. “You aren’t here with anyone? No one but your sister? And you don’t have anyone?” He let out a small sigh of happiness when Charlie shook his head.
“You don’t mind that I limp?” Charlie stared at the line of the man’s throat, the hint of a curve at his mouth. There was only a faint trace of champagne on the cowboy’s breath, and his gaze was steady.
“Are you in pain?” Those green eyes went wide, and that voice, not so strained anymore, was beginning to sound as honeyed as the man’s hair.
“Not right now,” Charlie answered honestly, and had no idea why that would make such a wide smile bloom on the cowboy’s face, but it made him smile in return.
“Then I don’t mind,” he was told. The cowboy was breathless. “I’m Will.”
“Will,” Charlie repeated firmly, cementing the name in his mind. “I’m Charlie.” He rested his palm against Will’s cheek, the ever so faint stubble, then dragged his thumb lightly across the corner of Will’s mouth. It twitched up into another smile.
“Charlie,” Will gave his name back to him. He ran his fingertips over the edge of Charlie’s mask.
“I’m not normally like this.” Charlie stressed, as though he wasn’t curving his hand to the back of Will’s head and drawing him closer.
“Maybe,” Will agreed, and made a sweet, soft sound when Charlie kissed him, the barest, briefest kiss he dared. “Or maybe,” Will added, licking his mouth before leaning up to kiss Charlie in return, just as lightly. “Or maybe you could be, if you wanted.”
The words made no sense. Charlie was hardly a fairy tale prince, and even if he was, Will wasn’t a princess, he was cowboy who was supposed to be Joan Crawford. But Will slid his hands to Charlie’s rented costume and let himself be kissed, and pressed to the balcony, and unmasked, as if Charlie had every right. He pulled Charlie’s mask away as if he had that right too, but kept the crown where it was, and he kissed Charlie back until his voice was hoarse and the sun had finished setting. And it was exactly where they were meant to be.
I still haven't heard back from the auction people (??) but I'm going to assume it's all going as planned.
October 11, there will be a silent auction with all sorts of things from various authors, with all benefits going to the Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance.
Here is a link to the auction's Facebook page. Authors, Bloggers, and Readers Raise Awareness
I am will be offering to either a) write a series of letters or emails (at least two) between any two of my characters (your choice) OR you can get another short story set in the alternate universe version of Play It Again, Charlie in which Charlie is the reluctant host of an online cooking show and Will is a fan. (You can find that here). (and um, okay so a friend and I have a whole thing about the first time Charlie mentions Will on the show... and also a show Will hosts with Jeanine, in which he imbibes a bit and maaaybe says things he shouldn't, and then worries about what Charlie will think when he sees it. Ahem.)
Hopefully it all goes well and everything gets bid on and donations are huge.
In the meantime, here is the last prompt fill I promised to post. The *other* Will/Charlie AU, in which the prompt was "meet at a masquerade ball"
“You seem lost.”
That was an understatement. Charlie had no idea what he was doing in this place. He knew how he’d gotten here, the way he usually ended up in strange and uncomfortable situations—his family. Katia’s current boyfriend had money. Not just money, but Money. Yesterday Charlie wouldn’t have gone so far as to say Old Money, but looking around this house had him changing his mind. Charlie hadn’t met the man yet, but so far he was outside of Katia’s usual type, and she seemed to know it, which was why she’d begged Charlie to attend the party the boyfriend’s family was throwing.
Not a party, a ball. At a house in Seacliff, although calling it a house was a bit of a misnomer as well. Charlie had grown up very comfortable financially, and he had to admit to feeling self-conscious around this much discreet wealth.
It had also been a while since he’d been among this many people, and all of them strangers. Katia had left him in the foyer to find her boyfriend after they’d arrived, and Charlie hadn’t seen her in the time since. She’d probably gotten lost in the house. He couldn’t blame her. He’d tried to disappear to a lounge or even the kitchen, but where there hadn’t been guests, there had been caterers and serving staff, so he’d climbed the stairs and come out here.
As hiding places went, it at least had a beautiful view, and Charlie wasn’t the only one who thought so.
The man leaning against the balcony didn’t look like the type who needed time away from a good party. The point of costumes was to be someone other than yourself and this costume party, this masquerade ball as they insisted on calling it, was no different. Charlie knew that. So perhaps this partygoer wasn’t anything like his costume, which was… some sort of cowboy.
Realism hadn’t been the point of the costume, clearly. The man had chosen bright blue pants and a white shirt, with a flashy red kerchief tied around his neck. He had on a belt and holster, with a silver and orange plastic gun strapped to one leg. His black mask could have been a reference to the Lone Ranger, but since it didn’t match the rest of the outfit, Charlie assumed it was there to fit in with the masked theme of the party.
“Kind of butch, I know. But then, I was trying to be Joan Crawford in Johnny Guitar. She was a butch ass bitch,” the cowboy observed, as if guessing how confused Charlie was. He couldn’t see it on Charlie’s face; that was hidden by the mask Katia had chosen for him.
Charlie adjusted the mask nervously anyway. “Sorry,” he apologized immediately, then frowned. “Johnny Guitar?”
“Part of old Hollywood’s tradition of hiding queers in plain sight,” the cowboy explained, without actually explaining much. “My friend wants to impress someone here, so he wouldn’t let me wear something more flamboyant. Which made me think of hiding things in plain sight, like they had to do under the Hays Code in… Nevermind.” The cowboy sighed.
“I know what the Hays Office was. I just haven’t seen that movie.” Charlie heard the belligerent note in his voice and couldn’t explain it, except for the anxiety leaving him stressed. He hadn’t even touched a drink. “Sorry,” he said for the second time in a few minutes. “I thought I’d be alone out here.” He should probably go find some place unoccupied and wait for Katia to remember him.
“You know the Hays Code?” Instead of being offended, the cowboy perked up. He stood up from the balcony. Even at his full height, he’d have to look up to Charlie if they were standing face to face, which shouldn’t matter, except for how it somehow did. “Do you like old movies?”
Charlie adjusted his mask again. “I like them fine, but I read mostly,” he answered cautiously, wondering why Mr. Joan Crawford was asking. The cowboy had pale white skin, with honey-blond hair sticking out from under his cowboy hat. He moved with enough confidence to make Charlie wonder what costume he would have chosen without restrictions, but he didn’t ask. He was suddenly afraid to move away from the door. He’d walked up a lot of stairs to get here and he didn’t trust himself to move smoothly.
“I love them, as you may have guessed.” A pleased, proud smile curved the cowboy’s mouth, which was pink and full. Charlie hadn’t noticed before and felt stupid for not noticing, although he didn’t know what good it would do him. He wasn’t here to date, and even if he was, he had a feeling that this cowboy would have been out of his league. He was hardly shy. “In fact, I talk about them so much, my friends have learned to tune me out. It’s best not to get me started.”
“Your friends tune you out?” Charlie really didn’t mean for his voice get sharp, but when it did, the cowboy tipped his head up, as if he was trying to squint and see through Charlie’s mask. Charlie shook his head. “That’s none of my business.” He tightened his mouth. He tried. But stress from a drive into the city to deal with a crowd of people and a flight of steep stairs, and he was in no mood to be nice. “But if you want to go on about old movies, what’s wrong with that? And why not let you dress how you want? They didn’t have to ask you to this party. Your friends sound like assholes.”
The cowboy’s mouth dropped open. Charlie closed his eyes and let out a breath. “Sorry.” His family would have been shocked. He wasn’t sure what had come over him.
The soft laugh from across the balcony made him reopen his eyes. The cowboy had his head to one side. “Your costume is more appropriate than I thought at first, you big, snarly beast.”
Charlie put a hand to the wolf mask covering the top half of his face. Katia had chosen it, he’d thought to match her outfit. She’d wanted to be a princess, in a big, golden gown, and Charlie had watched the cartoon enough with Alicia to recognize that he was supposed to be the Beast to match.
The thing was, he didn’t match. Katia had picked out an old-fashioned dress suit for him, and a wolf mask, but the fur on the mask was gray, and the suit, although it fit him, was black, not blue like the one in the movie. He’d been grateful for that earlier, but now it seemed like one more odd thing to explain, like why the costume had come with a dented, tarnished crown, which Katia had also insisted he wear. The crown was crooked, and rest just over one of his fake pointed ears. The whole costume had probably been recycled from a different set.
Charlie stopped himself from self-consciously straightening the crown. “I’m not really like this,” he said at last, because he wasn’t. He didn’t snap and he didn’t snarl and he didn’t lose his temper over trivial things.
“I suppose not,” the cowboy sighed. “If you were the Beast in this situation, then I’d have to be the Beauty, wouldn’t I?”
“Well, aren’t you?” Charlie responded without thinking, and had never been so grateful to be wearing a mask.
The cowboy stopped, just, stopped in place. His breathing ceased for a moment with an audible catching sound. He pulled his hat off to let it hang from the back of his neck, and the setting sun seemed to set his hair on fire.
“Are you… one of those people?” He waved at the rest of the world, or the rest of the house, and all the attendees of the ball. Charlie shook his head but the cowboy barely paused. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Charlie said dryly. He already knew the cowboy wasn’t. The rich and powerful could wear whatever they wanted, but those people downstairs weren’t the kind who wanted flamboyant at their parties unless it was the entertainment.
“The crown suits you, anyway,” the cowboy murmured, sounding very young for a few moments. Then his smile returned. “Even if you are hiding out here.” He patted the top of the bench barely within his reach. “You can sit, if you like. You don’t need to find somewhere else... unless you have to get back to someone.”
Charlie narrowed his eyes, though he doubted the cowboy could see it. “She’ll call when she needs me,” he answered after a while, and wondered how it was that even with a mask on, he could still see how the cowboy’s face fell. “My sister,” he added, although he had no need to, and got hot under his starched, rented collar when that got such a radiant reaction. “How about you?”
“Me?” The cowboy took a single step in Charlie’s direction then abruptly turned to face the ocean. “Just my friend downstairs.”
“Trying to impress someone,” Charlie remembered. “But not you.”
He got a dismissive wave. “Not that all this luxury isn’t grand, or that I wouldn’t say no to a palace, but, um, no. Not me. Anyway.”
“Anyway?” It could have been prying to ask, but masks made things easier, Charlie was discovering. This was the strangest conversation he’d had in a while, but it was also the only conversation he’d had outside of work that he could remember. Which was so sad he didn’t want to think about it.
“Anyway, a guy who can’t get his friends to watch his favorite movies with him is hardly the type to net a prince.” The cowboy made a little sound. “Like who am I? Claudette Colbert? Norma Shearer as Marie Antoinette? I don’t think so.”
“Maybe Barbara Stanwyck?” Charlie suggested, his face burning beneath the mask. He vaguely recalled reading Stanwyck was from Brooklyn, which made her feel a little more accessible than someone like Claudette Colbert.
Again, the cowboy went still. This time the sound he made as his breathing hitched seemed almost painful. He turned around very slowly. “Who are you?” It was barely a whisper. His voice was strained, and for the first time Charlie wondered if something particular had driven the cowboy to hide out here, or if he had simply needed a moment alone too.
Charlie opened his hands, not certain how to answer the question. It wasn’t like his name was famous. He wasn’t even on the guest list, he was a plus one. “Do you want me to get you some champagne or something?”
“Are you sure you aren’t a prince?” The cowboy demanded again. Charlie couldn’t tell if he was teasing, but he shook his head one more time. “No, I don’t need a drink. But thank you. You should get one, if you want. That’s the good stuff down there.”
“I’d prefer a beer, to be honest.” Charlie scowled despite himself. So the cowboy had been partying downstairs and something had sent him up here. “Are you all right?”
“Me?” Another dismissive wave. It was less convincing this time. “I’m here for the view.” He wasn’t looking out at the ocean. “You still seem lost.”
“I don’t feel lost.” It was as though Charlie could no longer stop to think before he spoke. He sucked in a breath, but whatever he could possibly say to explain how he was talking was forgotten when the cowboy curled his hands against the balcony behind him and tilted his head back.
“The view’s better from here,” he offered, and Charlie had no doubt that it was. He wasn’t sure what was happening. Maybe the cowboy was drunk. Maybe Charlie was, somehow, intoxicated by the sea air and the sunset. Or it was the mask and the suit that made him seem like someone a man like that would want near him. Charlie had never been to a masquerade ball, hadn’t even worn a mask for Halloween past the sage of seven; he didn’t know the rules. But he stepped forward again anyway.
He forgot about his hip and his limp until a moment too late to keep it from being noticed, but if he saw, the other man didn’t comment. Up close, even with the mask, Charlie could see wide green eyes with thick, dark eyelashes. “I was right. You are Beauty.” He had never said anything like that in his life, not even when he had wanted to. But when the whisper made him stop in confused embarrassment, the cowboy reached out and dragged him closer. He very, very carefully placed both hands on either side of Charlie’s face but didn’t make any move to pull away the mask.
“You like men?” He seemed to need to confirm this, and Charlie didn’t have time to wonder why before he went on. “You aren’t here with anyone? No one but your sister? And you don’t have anyone?” He let out a small sigh of happiness when Charlie shook his head.
“You don’t mind that I limp?” Charlie stared at the line of the man’s throat, the hint of a curve at his mouth. There was only a faint trace of champagne on the cowboy’s breath, and his gaze was steady.
“Are you in pain?” Those green eyes went wide, and that voice, not so strained anymore, was beginning to sound as honeyed as the man’s hair.
“Not right now,” Charlie answered honestly, and had no idea why that would make such a wide smile bloom on the cowboy’s face, but it made him smile in return.
“Then I don’t mind,” he was told. The cowboy was breathless. “I’m Will.”
“Will,” Charlie repeated firmly, cementing the name in his mind. “I’m Charlie.” He rested his palm against Will’s cheek, the ever so faint stubble, then dragged his thumb lightly across the corner of Will’s mouth. It twitched up into another smile.
“Charlie,” Will gave his name back to him. He ran his fingertips over the edge of Charlie’s mask.
“I’m not normally like this.” Charlie stressed, as though he wasn’t curving his hand to the back of Will’s head and drawing him closer.
“Maybe,” Will agreed, and made a sweet, soft sound when Charlie kissed him, the barest, briefest kiss he dared. “Or maybe,” Will added, licking his mouth before leaning up to kiss Charlie in return, just as lightly. “Or maybe you could be, if you wanted.”
The words made no sense. Charlie was hardly a fairy tale prince, and even if he was, Will wasn’t a princess, he was cowboy who was supposed to be Joan Crawford. But Will slid his hands to Charlie’s rented costume and let himself be kissed, and pressed to the balcony, and unmasked, as if Charlie had every right. He pulled Charlie’s mask away as if he had that right too, but kept the crown where it was, and he kissed Charlie back until his voice was hoarse and the sun had finished setting. And it was exactly where they were meant to be.
