Archive of Our Own

The rising sun is warm on Eliot’s face as he wakes up, and the attic bedroom is still and peaceful around him. For a brief few moments in the hazy space between asleep and awake, he forgets the last ten years of his life. In those moments, his parents are still alive and his biggest responsibility in life is starting his training for the King’s army. His old dog Rusty is curled up at his feet again, and cook is frying up bacon in the kitchen downstairs. His mother is laughing at something his father has said, voice light and musical even then. Everything is as close to perfect as it can be.

But then the synchronized shrill of three bells ringing sounds out, and Eliot is pulled from his wistful dream state with the sharpness of being dunked in ice cold water. Groaning to himself, he rises, knowing he only has minutes to take care of his own morning needs before his family hunts him down for taking too long with breakfast.

Drizella arrives first to the table, sneering at Eliot as he enters with both arms full of serving trays and struggles to balance them all as he sets them down.

“Better not drop breakfast, cousin,” she warns. “Mother won’t be pleased.”

Eliot bites his lip, resisting the urge to argue back that her mother is never pleased. Instead he just nods, placing her tray in front of her, and setting his aunt’s at the head of the table until she arrives.

Anastasia rushes in next, their wicked cat Lucifer circling her feet as if to trip her, though she moves deftly around him in practiced steps.

“Ooh, you made the strawberry jam, Elly!” she says with delight as Eliot places her tray, unveiling the breakfast tartines and thick strawberry jam.”

Eliot manages a small smile to her, always the least cruel of his family, and she grins back brightly as she smothers jam onto the bread.

“Now now, Anastasia,” Eliot’s aunt says as she glides into the room. “Mind how much you eat, it’s nearly courting season.”

Eliot frowns as Anastasia shrinks in on herself and nods, nibbling on the bread with defeat instead of the enthusiasm she’d just had.

He places his aunt’s plate in front of her and gathers up the extras to bring back to the kitchen and clean. She watches him go with one eyebrow arched, as if daring him to speak out of turn. Eliot doesn’t bother, he gave up his dreams of a happily ever after the day they put his parents in the ground.

He’s not quite far enough away to miss when Anastasia timidly asks her mother if they should set another plate out for Eliot, to enjoy the breakfast he made them.

“Don’t be ridiculous, child,” his aunt says, voice deliberately raised and crystal clear. “We don’t dine with the help.”

“Can you imagine?” Drizella says with a cackle. “Cindereliot eating at our table! He’d get soot all over the place.”

Eliot sighs and shakes his head as he finally reaches the kitchen and sets about washing the dishes.

It’s just another day.

As always, Eliot works while the others enjoy their day. While they shop for courting season outfits, he scrubs the floors and washes the house’s many windows until they’re streak free. For a long moment, he stares into the back garden, remembering how his father would tend to the vegetables there despite having the money and an entire staff to do the work for him.

“We learn how to provide for ourselves, son,” he’d said when Eliot had asked about his gardening. “You never know when fortunes will change. Always know the best way to survive.”

Eliot, only seven or so at the time, hadn’t understood the message beyond the obvious food supply, but he’d nodded seriously at his father, face and hands streaked with the dirt they’d been planting in all morning.

“You’ll always keep me safe, right Papa?” he’d said, voice full of naïve youthfulness.

His father had laughed and scooped him up into a hug before tossing him over his shoulder and declaring it time to get cleaned up for lunch.

“Until my dying day, Elly.”

If Eliot had known he would only get another eight years with his parents, he likes to think he would have let his father hold him just a little bit longer that day.

The neigh of a horse draws Eliot from his thoughts, signally his family’s return, and he hurries back to kitchen to start preparing dinner.

“We’ll have to visit the dressmaker first thing in the morning,” his aunt is saying as the women walk in. “I can’t have my girls looking impoverished at a Royal Ball.”

“This is so exciting!” Anastasia grins. “Oh mother, she could make me something with that new yellow silk from the market, it was so pretty!”

Eliot can’t see their faces, but he can hear the scoff in Lady Tremaine’s voice when she replies.

“Perhaps something more slimming,” she says. “You know how plump yellow makes you look.”

“I.. I suppose,” Anastasia replies, sadly.

“Yellow is much better suited for my complexion anyway,” Drizella butts in.

Eliot rolls his eyes, thinking privately that the only thing suited for her complexion would be hellfire.

“I think you would look lovely in a yellow dress, cousin,” Eliot says to Anastasia as he sets a tray with afternoon tea and cups at the center of the dining room table for them.

Anastasia gives him a wobbly but genuine smile, and Drizella snorts an unattractive laugh.

“As if Eliot would know the first thing about fashion,” she says derisively. “You can barely even see his face under that ugly mop of hair.”

Eliot looks to the floor, not giving her the satisfaction of seeing him upset. His mother used to comb out his hair for him, arranging it in braids and other styles, even once he was old enough to do it himself. He’d pretended to be annoyed at the time, but he’d sat obediently at her feet every time, eyes closing in sleepy bliss as her fingers played through his long locks.

“The prince is looking for a wife!” Anastasia says, apparently too excited to be upset at her mother’s attitude for long. In two weeks time! All the young women of the kingdom are invited. Young men too!”

“I suppose somebody has to dance with the women while they wait for their turn with the prince,” Lady Tremaine muses.

“That sounds fun,” Eliot says, unable to keep the hint of wistfulness from his voice. “I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.”

“You know,” Lady Tremaine says slyly. “If the other women are preoccupied, my girls have a better chance of wooing the prince. Perhaps you should come along, boy.”

“Really?” Eliot asks, torn between hope and distrust.

“As long as you keep up with all your chores until then,” his aunt says. “It’s not as if the prince would fall in love with some poor orphan boy.”

“Thank you, Aunt Tremaine,” Eliot says, dipping his head in deference. “I’ll get everything done, I swear.”

“I suppose we shall see,” she says, smirking in that way that makes the hair on his arms shoot up.

Eliot, despite the warning bells ringing in his mind, chooses to ignore it.

In the days leading up to the ball, Eliot barely rests in his mission to keep the house sparkling clean and running efficiently before the ball. He scrubs every inch of the floor and walls, removes any speck of dust that dares to exist on any surface, and even washes all the window linens before putting them back in place.

On the day of the ball, he opens the solitary trunk of belongings in his drafty room, and pulls out the aged but still in good condition tuxedo his father had worn on his wedding day. It’s a little loose on him, his father having been hearty and wide and well-fed, but he thinks he passes well enough for a respectable gentleman in it. It’s then that his aunt enters his room and catches him peering into the mirror contemplatively.

He expects her to say something scathing, or maybe to tear up his clothing for daring to belong to her dead brother that she’d never cared about. Instead, she just hums in thought and massages a headache from her temples as she looks at him.

Her silver hair is down from its usual severe bun, and Eliot thinks to himself that she really could be quite pretty if only she weren’t so cruel. She looks like his father sometimes, in certain light, and the reminder makes his heart ache.

“Come have a cup of tea with me,” she says, surprising him enough that he can’t hide the shock on his face.

But he knows better than to argue, and follows her quickly back downstairs to the kitchen table where she sets out two cups of the tea she’s brewed.

“The house looks impeccable,” she says once they’re seated. “You’ve done excellent work.”

“Thank you,” Eliot says, gulping his tea nervously so that he doesn’t have to speak.

“Thirsty?” Lady Tremaine asks as Eliot drinks, and he nods.

She smiles slowly as she nods.

“You have been working so hard,” she agrees. “I’m sure you’re looking forward to the ball.”

Eliot nods, before finishing off the last of his tea.

“Very much so, Aunt Tremaine,” he says softly, yawning against the sudden wave of exhaustion he feels.

It must be all the physical labor he’s done over the last few weeks.

“Poor thing,” his aunt drawls. “Why don’t you go have a rest? There’s still hours and hours until the ball.”

Eliot hears the suggestion for the commands that it is, and struggles to his feet, reaching for their cups, but his aunt waves him away.

“I’ll take care of this,” she says. “You take that nap.”

Eliot nods, blinking sleepily as he all but staggers toward the staircase to his room.

It occurs to him only when his head hits his pillow that his aunt didn’t seem to have drank her tea at all.

But then everything goes black and the thought is gone.

Eliot wakes hours and hours later, gasping with the last remnants of whatever nightmare he’d been having. Peering around the pitch-black room, he realizes the sun has been gone for much longer than it should have been. Leaning over to light the candle by his bed, the clock beside it shows him that it’s nearly 9pm. He curses to himself, knowing the ball will be well underway by now.

Eyes stinging with tears, he curses himself again, for ever trusting his aunt and her surely drugged tea. The house is empty when he gets downstairs, and cold from dwindled fire. He looks outside, hoping there might still be a lone horse left to ride, but only sees the empty stables. Shivering against the cold, he trudges to the fireplace and tends to the low-burning embers. He flares it to life and adds more wood, slumping down to sit kneel in front of the growing fire to try and warm his chilled bones.

A gust from the chimney comes through and puffs up a small cloud of ash at him, coating his hands and the white cuffs of his dress shirt in black. As Eliot looks down at his hands his mind flashes back to that day in the garden, and the soot on his hands becomes soil, stubbornly covering his small palms. Maybe it’s the memory, or whatever his aunt put in his tea, but Eliot finds himself at this breaking point. He slumps further down, pressing his palms into the rough stone floor in front of the fire as he sobs. Even now, he barely makes a sound, heaving as he tries to hold himself together as his falling tears splash onto the stone.

“Oh, darling,” a voice sounds from behind him, causing Eliot to freeze with his breath caught in his throat. “You’re going to miss the whole party if you spend it crying on the floor.”

Eliot turns slowly as he gets to his feet, and finds himself facing a beautiful woman with long dark hair, peering at him sympathetically through kohl-rimmed eyes.

“Who are you?” he asks, before shrugging. “Not that it matters. I’ll never get to the ball in time anyway.”

“Not with that attitude,” the woman says cheerfully. “And you can call me Sophie.”

“Sophie,” Eliot repeats, racking his mind for any memory of the name. “Are you a friend of my aunt or cousins?”

“I most certainly am not,” Sophie says, wrinkling her nose. “Wretched women.”

Eliot laughs brokenly, and nods.

“Anastasia isn’t so bad,” he offers. “She tries to be kind to me, at least.”

Sophie smiles sadly at him, reaching out and brushing dust from his baggy shirt.

“Always so willing to see the good in people,” she says. “Like your mother in that way.”

“You knew my mother?” Eliot asks, trying to figure out how old this woman would have been before his parents died.

“Her whole life,” Sophie confirms, and Eliot gives her a confused look.

“I’m older than I look,” Sophie continues, with a cheeky little grin. “And when I found out she was gone, I decided I needed to help that sweet little boy I’d met all those years ago.”

“Me?” Eliot asks, and Sophie nods.

“You’re about a decade too late to help that kid,” Eliot says. “He died with them.”

“I don’t know,” Sophie hums. “I think perhaps he’s just been sleeping for a long while in there. Waiting.”

She taps what looks like a long silver stick against Eliot’s chest, right above his pounding heart.

“We can’t let you get to the party looking like this, though.”

Eliot frowns, looking down at his soot-dusted and wrinkled clothes, and cringes.

“Don’t fret,” Sophie says. “Just stand still for a moment.”

Eliot does as he’s told, watching with curiosity and not a small degree of wariness, as Sophie takes a step back and points her silver stick at him. He wrinkles his brow as she mutters a bunch of words under breath that don’t seem to make much sense but flow together all the same. It’s then that he feels the warm tingling start around his body, almost like being in a hot bath but without being wet. It’s a most peculiar feeling altogether. Glancing down, he sees his body is being enveloped by a bluish-white light, as he feels the fabric against his skin shifting. When it’s all over, he looks down again, stunned to see his father’s tuxedo spotlessly clean and perfectly fitted to his own body.

“I left this upstairs,” he says with wonder as he fiddles with the buttons on the tuxedo jacket he’s now wearing.

“That’s why it’s called magic, my dear,” Sophie grins, giving him an exaggerated curtsey.

“This is impossible,” Eliot says, staring between himself and Sophie in shock. “Impossible!”

“No such thing,” Sophie says, before giving him a soft but sad smile. “Well, nearly no such thing.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening here,” Eliot says quietly. “Did I die? I was really hoping to get to heaven, but my heaven would never look like this.”

“You are perfectly alive,” Sophie says. “And if you get yourself moving, we can get you to the ball before the enchantment wears off.”

“How will I even get there?” Eliot asks.

“Fairy godmother,” Sophie reminds him, tapping her wand to her temple. “I saw a nice big pumpkin out there that will make an excellent carriage. And I’m sure the chipmunks wont mind being horses for a few hours.”

“This is insane,” Eliot says, wide-eyed and feeling faint.

“You’ll only have until the clock strikes midnight,” Sophie says, bypassing his panic and steering him outside to the waiting carriage that was only just a pumpkin.

“Why midnight?” Eliot asks, even as he’s climbing into the carriage and listening to the horses chitter around vocal chords they aren’t used to.

“All magic has a time limit,” Sophie says. “Even mine. Now go, have fun! And oh, one more thing.”

Eliot titlts his head in question as Sophie taps her wand to his nose lightly, just once.

“Now they won’t recognize you,” she explains. “Even if they’re speaking directly to you.”

“Thank you,” Eliot says, still half convinced this is all an elaborate hallucination.

Sophie waves him off, and Eliot sits back, wondering when he’ll wake up.

The ride to the castle is long enough that Eliot has himself mostly convinced that he’s not dreaming by the time they get to the entrance queue. He fiddles with the turquoise and silver cufflinks on his sleeves, engraved with his father’s initials, and tries to remember to breathe.

The guards let him in without so much as a glance, and Eliot wonders if that’s part of the magic too. The room is as grand as its name suggests, gorgeously decorated in shades of purple and gold, lit up by hundreds of candles.

There’s more food piled on the one long table than Eliot things he’s ever seen in his entire life, and he heads for it as his stomach gnaws in hunger. He nods politely to a few other men who nod back and then ignore him. He’d be offended if he wasn’t so busy eating a little bit of everything he can fit on his plate. Heading to a tall standing table on the fringes of the dance floor, he sets his plate and the cup of wine he’d been handed down. He watches the revelers for a few minutes as he eats and drinks his fill. The women are beautiful in their colorful gowns, swirling like flowers as they spin. Everyone seems so happy, even if just for a night, and it fills his chest with warmth.

He spots his cousins in the crowd then, Drizella in a bright yellow dress that makes her bony frame look sickly in the candlelight. Anastasia wears a dark blue dress and a corset top that he just knows is pulled so tight she can hardly breathe. He watches as she tries to surreptitiously adjust the ties to be looser, and fails. She leans in to her sister, and Eliot imagines she’s asking for help. Drizella just laughs, before letting some goofy looking man sweep her away into a dance.

Eliot’s just about convinced himself to go offer his own help, wariness at being recognized be damned, when Anastasia is joined by a young blonde woman in a pale blue dress. Anastasia smiles gratefully at her and nods, and the women has her corset untied and retied in less than a minute. Anastasia breathes out with relief, taking the blond woman’s hands in her own as she thanks her. The blond woman just smiles back at her and shakes her head, waving as she disappears back into the crowd of dancers. Eliot watches with no small amount of awe as she manages to completely vanish before his eyes.

“She’s good at that,” a man’s voice appears at his side.

“Undressing other women?” Eliot asks with a chuckle, before he turns to face the speaker and pales in surprise.

“Your Highness, I apologize for my tasteless humor.”

The prince, stunningly handsome up close and wearing what looks like the softest tuxedo Eliot has ever seen, merely laughs.

“No need,” he says, leaning in close and speaking low. “She happens to be exceptionally good at that as well.”

Eliot flushes, realizing just how many eyes are the prince and himself at the moment.

“You’ve already picked your bride, then?” Eliot asks. “My cousins were really hoping to have a shot with you.”

The prince laughs again, and shakes his head with amusement.

“Parker won’t marry me,” he says. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“She would deny the crown prince?” Eliot asks with surprise.

The prince nods, grin melting into a sappy smile.

“She will do only what she wants to do, at exactly the time she wants to do it and not a moment before.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Eliot says on a sigh, staring into the crowd.

“Not marrying me?” the prince teases.

“Freedom,” Eliot clarifies. “Getting to choose… anything, really. Just getting to choose.”

“Are you a prisoner?” the prince asks, raising his eyebrows in fake-concern. “Should I call the guards?”

“Please don’t,” Eliot says, forcing a laugh. “I’m not a prisoner, not really. It just feels that way most days.”

“What’s the cost of your freedom?” the prince asks. “Rest assured I can pay any price.”

“You don’t even know my name,” Eliot says with wonder.

“Tell me, then,” the prince says. “My name is Alec Hardison, crown prince of our fair kingdom, and yours?”

“Eliot,” he says, reaching out for a handshake awkwardly before pulling his hand back. “Um, Spencer.”

“Your father was William?” the prince asks, smiling when Eliot nods. “My mother used to send her men out for the beets your father grew. She still talks about them.”

“I had no idea,” Eliot says. “It’s been so long.”

“Memory of an elephant, that woman,” the prince laughs. “This whole royal ball was her doing, too, you know. I didn’t ask for it.”

“Then why do it?” Eliot asks.

The prince shrugs and gives Eliot a helpless little grin.

“It makes her happy,” he says. “And she’s not wrong that having an official wife would be good for the monarchy. Maybe a kid or two to leave this all too when I’m gone.”

“Your… Parker doesn’t want your children?” Eliot asks before he can stop himself.

“The doctor said she can’t have them,” the prince says. “But that’s her business to speak on, not mine.”

Eliot nods.

“May I ask, your highness… what brought you to my table? Surely I wont be any help in finding you a wife.”

“You looked lonely,” the prince says, as if it’s just that simple.

Eliot reckons that maybe it is for a prince.

“I was,” Eliot admits, before ducking his head slightly. “I am. Have been for a long time, I think.”

“You should dance with me,” the prince says, holding out a hand.

“Won’t they talk?” Eliot asks, even as he puts his hand in the prince’s offered one.

“My interest in both men and women has never been a secret,” the prince says. “This isn’t the dark ages anymore, the people can keep their cruelty to themselves in the face of their prince.”

Eliot smiles at that, letting his eyes trail down the prince’s broad chest and strong legs.

“Then I’m honored to dance, your highness.”

They move onto the floor, and despite the years of rust, Eliot finds himself falling back into the old steps his mother had taught him. Letting the prince lead would be more difficult, he thinks, were it not for the fact that the man’s eyes never stop twinkling with gentle amusement. The strong arms holding him close don’t hurt either.

“Trying to steal my prince?”

Eliot startles out of his hypnotizing dance with the prince to see Parker there, staring at him expectantly.

“Be nice, love,” the prince says. “We’re just dancing.”

“I’m always nice,” Parker says, before sliding herself in between the two men and smirking. “My turn with the new guy, then.”

“Eliot,” he introduces himself awkwardly.

“Hands on my waist, Eliot,” Parker demands.

Eliot obeys.

Parker leads the dance and Eliot gives up trying to figure out what steps she’s following, letting her move him around like a feather in the air.

“You’re very handsome,” Parker says after they’ve been dancing a while. “I can see why he went to you.”

“You don’t seem jealous,” Eliot says. “Not really, anyway.”

Parker shrugs.

“He’ll always be mine,” she says. “But we can all belong to more than one person.”

“How modern,” Eliot chuckles.

“Do you like women?” Parker asks, eyeing him contemplatively. “You know… sexually.”

“Jesus,” Eliot wheezes at the blunt question. “I mean, I haven’t.. but um, yes. Yes.”

“And men?” Parker asks, eyeing her prince where he’s dancing with an elderly woman across the room.

Eliot nods, tightly.

“I’ve thought about it,” he says. “A time or two.”

Parker grins.

“When the clock strikes 11,” she says. “You should meet us in the guest chambers on the other side of this corridor. Knock three times so we know it’s you.”

“You do this often?” Eliot asks, thrilled and trepidatious in equal measure.

“Not really,” she admits. “But I have a feeling we’re going to get along really well. If that’s something you’re interested in.”

Eliot nods again, swallowing around a dry throat.

“Good boy,” Parker says as they come to a stop. She smacks his cheek lightly with one hand before pressing a soft kiss to the pink mark.

“See you soon.”

She vanishes back into the crowd and Eliot stares after the space she’d been for a long while.

He dances with a few of the women in the crowd, making polite conversation, until he notices the clock creeping closer and closer to eleven. When it gets to be five minutes until the chime, Eliot slips off the floor and makes his way casually to the corridor that he needs to cross. The guards seem unsurprised to see him and let him through without fanfare. Taking a deep breath, Eliot steadies himself and raises his knuckles to rap three times on the thick wooden door.

It’s showtime.

Parker opens the heavy wooden door, wearing only a thin cotton slipdress and a smirk on her pretty face.

“Didn’t expect you to actually show up,” she says, ushering him inside the lavish bedroom and locking the door behind them.

“I’m no coward,” Eliot says, eyes glancing briefly at her perky breasts beneath her dress before flushing and looking away.

“Look your fill,” Parker says easily. “You came here to do more than look, I hope.”

“Ease him into it, my love,” the prince says, drawing Eliot’s attention to the fact that he’s leaning up against the high four-post bed mere feet away.

“Your highness,” Eliot greets, cringing. He’s unsure how to address a member of royalty he’s about to get naked with.

“Please,” the prince says earnestly, “no such formalities in here. Alec is fine.”

Eliot wrinkles his nose. “It feels wrong to speak so casually to my future king,” he confesses.

“Hardison, then,” the prince allows. “Not quite as familiar as my first name, yes?”

“Yes, your highness,” Eliot agrees.

Besides him, Parker snorts a laugh and jabs his ribs with a pointy elbow.

“Yes, Hardison,” Eliot corrects.

“Perfect,” Hardison praises. “Now, may I request something from you, Eliot?”

“Yes, your…” Eliot stumbles over his words, “yes, of course.”

Hardison grins, clamoring backwards until he’s sitting on the bed, spreading his legs slowly until Eliot can’t miss the unmistakable bulge beneath his long tunic.

“If you are agreeable,” he says. “I’d very much enjoy watching Parker kiss you.”

“Please,” Eliot nods in agreement.

“He’s so polite,” Parker coos, before wrapping her arms around Eliot and catching his lips in a kiss.

Eliot gasps into it, having not kissed anyone since his young teenage years but finding his footing quickly enough. Parker’s tongue teases his lips over and over but doesn’t dip inside his mouth, always pulling away at the last moment when leans in. Her strong fingers grip his shoulders with one hand, the other threaded tightly in the base of his long hair, tugging lightly as she grinds her body against his.

“Touch her,” Hardison commands from the bed, his own hand rubbing idly over is erection through the thin nightshirt.

Eliot slides his hands down from where they’d been hovering around Parker’s waist and cups her ass instead, dragging her up against the throbbing cock trapped in his tuxedo pants.

Parker moans into it, wrapping a calf around one of Eliots until he can feel the heat of her cunt even through their layers. He moves one hand to grip her thigh instead, holding her up and in place as they continue to kiss. He’s working on leaving trail of marks along her long neck when she pushes him away and lowers her leg again. At his confused look, Parker just grins and grabs one of his hands.

She leads it beneath her dress until Eliot feels slick heat dripping over his fingers. Shivering with anticipation, he moves his fingers experimentally, rubbing his thumb over the spot the older boys had always talked about. He’s rewarded with a breathy moan from Parker and the flutter of her heartbeat against the fingers pressed up to her folds.

“Want to taste?” Parker asks, skin flushed pink glistening with a light sheen of sweat.

Eliot nods eagerly, pulling his hand from her thighs and suckling on the two covered fingers, humming with interest at the taste of her. He eyes her hungrily, and she laughs in delight, before heading towards the large bed.

Eliot follows, watching as Hardison removes Parker’s dress, leaving her bare before them, long blonde hair cascading nearly to the perfect swell of her ass. They shift as one, until they’re sitting up against the solid oak headboard, side by side.

“Go on, then,” Hardison says, fluffing up one of their many pillows beneath Parker’s head as she lies down. “Taste some more.”

Eliot scrambles up on the bed, feeling overheated and slightly ridiculous to be still so dressed, but unwilling to stop for even a moment lest he lose his nerve.

Hardison shoves a thick pillow beneath Parker’s hips as she lets her legs fall open, exposing her soaked core to Eliot as he crawls between her thighs.

He laps at her like a man starved, tongue laving from the molten center to the throbbing bundle of nerves over and over until Parker’s legs begin to shake.

“Fingers,” she demands, bucking up into his mouth as he swirls his tongue around her clit. “Put them inside me.”

Eliot does so, slipping two thick fingers into her slick cunt, moaning as she clenches around them. His cock is painfully hard against the fly of his pants and he grinds against the mattress to get some relief.

“Suck her clit,” Hardison says, brushing his hand through Eliot’s hair gently before looping it around his hand like a horse’s reign. “Like I’ll do to your cock later.”

“Fuck,” Eliot moans against Parker’s clit as he does as he’s told, rubbing his fingers up against her walls as he sucks, and rubs his tongue against her.

Eliot’s eyes fall closed as he works on driving Parker over the edge, head held in place by Hardison’s strong grip. Hardison’s other hand rubs up and down Eliot’s back soothingly, a contrast to the whispers of filth he’s filling Eliot’s ears with.

“Almost there,” Parker gasps, body twitching beneath Eliot’s mouth. Her legs start to close around his head and he moves on instinct, using his free hand to press one of her thighs back down against the mattress. With a deep chuckle, Hardison uses his own free hand to hold down her other leg, keeping her held open to Eliot’s sweet torture.

It only take a few more moments before she jerks beneath him as she comes, arching into the air as Eliot works her through her climax until she smacks him away from her sensitive clit.

“Jesus,” Parker says when Eliot pulls away, his red and swollen lips soaked with her juices. “Look at you.”

Eliot lets himself feel just a curl of satisfaction at her obvious pleasure, and gives them both a little grin.

“You should lose the clothes,” Hardison says, as he tugs off his own remaining shirt and tosses it to the floors.

Eliot nods and struggles out of his clothes, letting them land where they fall, all the while watching the prince’s strong body being revealed.

“Look at you, indeed,” Hardison whistles appreciatively. “Beautiful.”

Eliot blushes, holding his hands awkwardly over his erection as he eyes Hardison’s impressive cock laying heavily against his thigh.

“Don’t worry,” Parker says with a small laugh. “He won’t put it in you the first time. We’ll need to work up to it.”

Eliot swallows heavily at the implication of more times to come, knowing he’s on borrowed time.

“Kiss me?” Hardison asks, holding out a hand for Eliot to take. Eliot takes it and lets himself be tugged close until he’s practically in Hardison lap as the other man kisses him soundly.

He’s softer with it than Parker was, slow and syrupy sweet, but no less skilled. Eliot runs his hands up Hardison’s broad chest, thumbing his nipples as he drags them back down. He smirks against Hardison’s lips when it causes him to shiver beneath Eliot’s hands.

“Let me?” Hardison asks when he pulls away, eyeing Eliot’s straining erection.

Eliot nods again and lets himself be manhandled until he’s lying on the bed beside Parker, and the prince of his kingdom is situating himself between his thighs with the eagerness of a child at Christmastime.

Hardison traces his balls first, toying with them in his hand and tugging on them lightly when it makes Eliot keen in pleasure. Reaching down, he traces them with his tongue, leaving wet tracks of saliva that make Eliot shiver with want when the air hits him.  

“Such a pretty cock,” Hardison says, before swallowing Eliot down right to the root.

“Jesus fuck,” Eliot gasps, twitching heavily in Hardison’s mouth as his throat flutters around the head of his cock.

Hardison laughs around him, and only the strong arm he’s left laying across Eliot’s belly prevents him from bucking up completely into the crown prince’s throat.

“I love the virgins,” Parker says, laughing lightly even as she presses a sweet kiss to Eliot’s gasping mouth. “Don’t worry about lasting,” she whispers low. “I know how good he is with that tongue, it’s a losing battle.”

Eliot nods, too wound up to speak, and instead frantically taps Hardison’s head to signal he’s going to come.

Hardison only shoves himself impossibly lower and Eliot looks over to Parker with a helpless expression.

“He loves it,” she assures him. “Give your prince what he’s craving, Eliot.”

Eliot comes a moment later, flooding Hardison’s throat and mouth, shaking as the prince continues swallowing around him and tracing him with his tongue until it actually hurts.

Eliot hisses at Hardison pulls himself off of his cock and rubs the back of his hand against the mouth set in a cocky grin.

“Not bad for a spoiled rich boy, huh?” he asks, sharing an amused look with Parker when Eliot just whimpers as he comes down from his orgasm.

Eliot watches with a loopy kind of interest as Parker pulls Hardison in for a filthy kiss before wrapping her legs around his waist as he slides into her with a smooth and practiced move. They move like a well-oiled machine together, no awkwardness or hesitation, and Eliot knows he’d be hard again just watching them had he not just spent what feels like his entire body out of his cock. From his angle, her can see Hardison’s thick cock disappearing over and over into Parker’s tight heat, stretching her to the limit in the best way. Hardison’s hand slips between their writihing bodies and he rubs her clit with precision until Parker is moaning out another orgasm, locking her ankles behind Hardison to keep him in place as she quakes around him.

“Come on,” she urges, “come on, come in me.”

Hardison does, all but collapsing against her soft breasts as he finishes, biting at her skin playfully as she rubs at his shoulders.

Eliot watches them softly, wishing that he’ll ever have the chance to feel the kind of love the two of them share.

A while later, a maid brings warm water and several cloths to the door that Hardison accepts with a grateful smile. He and Parker wipe Eliot down gently before cleaning themselves and piling back into the bed on either side of him.

“Warm enough?” Hardison asks, eyeing the sheet pulled up just over Eliot’s naked waist.

“I’m wonderful,” Eliot responds truthfully, growing sleepy from the warm touches and dim candlelight.

“I’ve been told I have that effect,” Hardison teases.

“Nobody tells you that,” Parker says, rolling her eyes playfully.

“Whatever,” Hardison huffs, before lying down on his side and curling one arm around Eliot. “Tell us about you, Eliot Spencer, son of the beet man.”

“Not much to tell,” Eliot rasps. “My father was a great man. I swore to him that I’d always take care of our family if anything happened to him. And then it did.”

“Your parents died?” Parker asks gently, and Eliot nods.

“Oh, El,” Hardison says, sighing softly. “No wonder you looked so sad.”

“I’m alright,” Eliot says, because it’s mostly true. Until he stops and thinks about it, anyway.

Hardison just hugs him closer.

They talk for what feels like years, trading little stories of their childhoods and the adventures they got up to. Parker speaks of her own dead parents with the kind of carefully detached emotion that Eliot knows well from his own mirror. Hardison tells him how he was never supposed to be so close to the throne, but a terrible sickness had run rampant through the palace twenty years ago, killing off both of his older brothers and several other family members and friends.

“I think you’re going to be a great king,” Eliot says truthfully, and Parker scoffs playfully.

“You’re just saying that because he sucked your cock.”

“I’m not,” Eliot insists. “Anyone can suck a cock. And any royal ass can end up king. But not everyone can be as kind and caring as his highness seems to be.”

“You flatter me,” Hardison says warmly. “Go on.”

“Don’t ruin it,” Eliot laughs.

Hardison kisses him instead of arguing, and Eliot falls into it gratefully.

They’re all sleeping deeply when the clock chimes loudly, counting down to midnight. Eliot wakes in a sweat, remembering the magic that keeps him concealed will be wearing off. Rushing to dress, he struggles with the shirt, sending one of the cuff links to the floor unnoticed as he hops around.

“Eliot?” Parker asks, sitting up and looking at him blearily. Hardison wakes beside her and looks over as well.

“Where are you going?”

Eliot gives them a pained looked as the clock strikes again.

“I’m so sorry, I need to go, I’m almost out of time. I wish I could stay.”

“Then stay,” Hardison says. “You can stay here, with us.”

“You won’t even remember my name in a few moments,” Eliot says, distraught to feel his eyes fill with tears. “When the spell wears off.”

“Spell?” Parker says, frowning.

“I’m sorry,” Eliot says again. “I’ve loved this, I’ll remember it forever, I swear.”

He runs out the door before they can stop him, dashing for the main door of the castle through the still partying crowd. He feels his body tingling as his feet hit the outside grounds, and his clothes go back to their shabby and loose fit as he feels the intricate braids falling from his hair.

He curses as he sees his carriage shrinking back into a pumpkin, somehow unnoticed by anyone else around. His horses, squirrels again, run off into the night, leaving him all alone.

With a deep sigh, he begins the long walk home.

To Eliot’s surprise, his aunt and cousins don’t notice anything is amiss with him. Instead, his cousin rave about the party and how lovely it was, even if the price wasted his time dancing with men when he was supposed to be looking for a wife. Eliot smiles to himself as he scrubs the breakfast dishes, remembering Hardison and Parker’s soft touches and heated touches.

“You should’ve seen it,” Anastasia whispers to him when the other have retired to their rooms for a nap. “Mother said you were ill, but I wish you could have been there!”

Eliot doesn’t correct her, just nods encouragingly.

“The prince spent most of his time dancing with this beautiful blonde woman…and.” She pauses, as if struggling to remember. “There was someone else, I think. A man, perhaps.”

“I’ve heard the prince has equal love for men and women,” Eliot agrees easily.

“It’s all a blur,” Anastasia confesses. “Maybe I did have too much wine.”

Eliot smiles sadly, a reminder that the magic had worked as intended.

“I’m glad you had a good night, cousin,” he says.

Anastasia gives him a contemplative look, her light eyes shining in the sunlight from the window as she assesses him.

“You don’t deserve how mother treats you,” she says quietly. “Drizella, too.”

Eliot startles slightly, her words the last thing he’d be expecting to hear.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to see how bad it’s been,” Anastasia says solemnly, and Eliot softens.

“You were only a child when my parents died,” he reassures her. “You don’t remember how it was. Before.”

“Still,” Anastasia says, eyes filling with tears. “It’s not right. One day, I’m going to get married and be able to leave this house. And you’re going to come with me, ok?”

“Ana,” Eliot says softly, smiling wistfully at the teenager’s naïve hope. “It’s not your job to worry about me. You just don’t let your mother turn that good heart of yours into stone. Promise me that.”

“I swear,” Anastasia says. “But I mean it, we’re both going to get out of here. And we’re going to be happy.”

“I believe you,” Eliot says, before opening his arms and letting her tuck into his hold for a hug. “Go rest, cousin. All that wine, remember?”

Anastasia nods, still sniffling as she pulls away, and heads off to her own room, leaving Eliot alone with his thoughts.

Days pass without event, and Eliot would swear the whole thing had been a particularly vivid dream if not for the fact that the remaining turquoise cuff link sits on his bedside table, a reminder that the magic did exist if only for a night.

He’s just finishing up cleaning the flue of the fireplace one afternoon when a loud knock sounds on their front door.

He wipes the ash as best he can on a cloth and heads for the door, shocked into stillness when he sees a short and stout man in a royal uniform, stood next to the prince.

“Your highness!” Eliot squeaks, scrabbling into a bow before stepping back to let the men inside.

His voice attracts his aunt and cousins, and they all but scramble into the large front room. Lady Tremaine plasters on a wide smile and curtsies to the prince.

“To what do we owe the honor, your highness?” she asks.

“Forgive my sudden intrusion,” the price says, with a charming smile. “But I’ve been on the hunt to reconnect with someone I met at the ball.”

His eyes scan around the room, falling on each of the women’s faces and frowning.

“I remember you,” he says kindly to Anastasia. “But I’m afraid you aren’t who I’m missing.”

“Do you recall her name, your highness?” Eliot asks, despite the gnawing angst in his gut.

At his normal voice, the prince turns, head cocking as something flashes across his face.

“I’m afraid not,” the prince says. “It’s the oddest thing, truly. I remember the whole night in details, expect any detail of her face.”

“Must have been the wine,” Eliot says faintly. “I mean, I’ve heard it was strong.”

“Have we met?” the prince asks, eyes narrowing. “You don’t look familiar… and yet.”

“I doubt that,” his aunt cuts in with a condescending laugh. “Our little cindereliot wasn’t anywhere near the ball. Poor thing fell ill just before, you see.”

“Cindereliot?” the prince asks, and Eliot rubs self-consciously at his dusty hands.

“The cinder ash gets all over me when I clean the fireplace,” he explains.

“Ah,” the prince says. “And your name is Eliot?”

Eliot nods, torn between begging the prince to remember him and fearing they will drag him off to the asylum for sounding insane.

“And you’re sure we haven’t met?” the prince asks. “Forgive my forwardness, but your hands seem so familiar to me.”

Lady Tremaine tenses behind him, and Eliot knows the strong grip of her fingers on his shoulder is coming before he feels it.

“You should go wash up before making supper, boy,” she says. “No need to bother his highness further.”

“It’s no bother,” the prince says, giving Eliot’s aunt a sharp look.

“Perhaps the link?” the stout man says, handing the prince something small.

“Right!” the prince says, grinning and holding up the cuff link Eliot had lost the night of the ball. “Does this look familiar to anyone? I don’t suppose anyone has the initials W.S. in this home?”

“Nobody here,” his aunt says quickly, giving the prince a faux apologetic look.

The prince’s eyes catch Eliot’s again and he feels himself running before he can help it, heading for the table beside his bed.

“My father,” he gasps around catching his breath when he returns to the confused prince. “He was called William. William Spencer.”

The prince’s eyes widen as recognition flashes across his face.

“Beet boy!” he says, grinning with delight. “I remember you! At least, kind of.”

“This proves nothing,” Lady Tremaine says. “Those are common initials.”

“They are,” Eliot agrees, fixing her with a venomous stare before turning back to Hardison.

“But I just so happen to have the matching cuff link here.”

Hardison takes the offered link from Eliot’s hand, fingers brushing as they move.

“They’re identical,” he confirms, grinning widely before freezing in thought and frowning at Eliot.

“Why don’t I remember anything else?” he asks. “Parker doesn’t either.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” Eliot confesses. “Not sure how you even remember this much.”

“What is going on?” Lady Tremaine demands. “You’ve never met the prince, boy.”

“I assure you he has,” the prince corrects. “Well met, in fact.”

Eliot dips his head, flushing pink.

“Oh my god,” Anastasia whispers aloud behind him.

“What does he mean, mother?” Drizella asks.

Eliot doesn’t bother listening to whatever nonsense his aunt replies, and decides for the second time in as many weeks to be brave. Letting out a nervous laugh, he steps forward and tugs the prince into a gentle kiss.

Hardison startles in surprise at first, but waves away the shocked man at this side who reaches for his sword. He kisses Eliot back soundly, cupping the back of his head with both big hands, fingers threading through the messy brown waves. When he finally pulls away, his eyes are clear and his smile is as wide as an open sky.

“Eliot,” he says on a happy sigh. “You ran away.”

Eliot nods.

“I had to,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Hardison says. “Just come home with me, and we’ll figure out the rest from there.”

Eliot nods, biting down on the joyful grin that wants to take over his face.

“I just need five minutes to pack.”

Hardison smiles at him, soft and sweet and looking like the next fifty years of his life.

“Take your time, I’ll be right here.”

Eliot grins.

“You know,” Eliot muses several months later from the balcony of the bedroom he hardly sleeps in. “Your mother is going to make you marry somebody royal one of these days.”

“My mother adores you and Parker,” Hardison says, unconcerned.

“What’s not to adore?” Parker asks, grinning up at the men leaning on the balcony from the chair she’s curled up in, their tabby cat asleep in her lap.

“Aren’t you at all worried?” Eliot asks.

The last months have been a dream, and Eliot is nearly always half-convinced he’s going to wake up from it at any moment. Even when Anastasia repeatedly pinches him when they run across each other in the halls of the palace.

“We’ll make it work,” Hardison says. “I might have to marry someone one day.”

“Politics!” Parker scoffs.

Hardison rolls his eyes playfully at her before meeting Hardison’s gaze again.

“But,” Hardison finishes with a satisfied grin. “Today is not that day.”

Eliot shakes his head at his love’s attitude but lets himself be pulled into a sweet kiss anyway.

Parker and Hardison have given him what he’s always wanted, the promise of love and a happily ever after.

And for once in his life, Eliot believes.

The End