Written for Day 1 of Caesar's Palace Shipping Week
He stood in the cold stone doorway of Sebastian's bedroom in the castle, eyes that usually shone bright with laughter at someone else's expense darkened and serious, as he walked inside.
"Antonio, what are you doing in my room?" Sebastian asked. The sight of Antonio in his bedroom door was one that he had often dreamed of, the prelude to soft kisses and declarations of love, and the image in reality seemed strange and out of place.
"I need to talk to you," Antonio said. "Prospero is too lost in his books to realize that his dukedom is falling to pieces. I'm trying to hold the pieces together but I don't have enough power."
Sebastian crossed the room to him, wanting to say something but not knowing what. "I'm sorry," he told Antonio, feeling the inadequacy of every word. "I wish for all our sakes that Milan was yours and not your brother's."
"What if it that was the truth?" Antonio said, close enough to Sebastian that he could hear his breathing. "If I was the duke of Milan, and not this Prospero, if you were the king and not Alonso, what would be done?
"But we aren't," Sebastian reminded him. "There's an heir and a spare, and we're both the spares."
"We don't have to be, Sebastian," Antonio said. "We can be more than just spares."
"What are you saying?" Sebastian asked him. He was too close, far too close for thought, for breathing, for anything but simply existing in the same universe as Antonio. Sebastian could take him into his arms right now and make him forget about Prospero and the dukedom, but he couldn't. If they were found out, the resulting scandal would bury them both. He couldn't do that to Antonio. Their relationship would have to stay imagined kisses hanging in the air between them, and the too long glances in his direction that Sebastian prayed would remain unnoticed.
"What if the your brother, the king, took a sudden dislike to Prospero? If he was gone, exiled to some island far remote, then I would rule," Antonio said quietly, touching Sebastian's shoulder.
"Are you suggesting usurping him?" Sebastian asked.
"Yes," Antonio admitted. "And I need your help."
"What do you want me to do?" Sebastian asked, the unspoken, I would do anything for you hanging off the edge of the question.
"Just whispers in Alonso's ear. Mentions of Prospero's incompetence, hints of sorcery. Whispers are the strands in the spider's web of conspiracy and we can catch Prospero before he even knows what's happening," Antonio whispered.
"I'll make it happen," Sebastian promised.
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