Kurt slipped out of his chamber and crept quietly along the long stone hallway, where lanterns flickered softly from every archway. His soft leather shoes made almost no sound on the hard stone floor.
As he came closer to his father's great hall, he could hear the musicians playing and the sound of the guests' laughter. He adjusted his mask, a sinister bird's face with a long, dark beak, and quietly slipped into the room.
If no one noticed him come in, or recognized him in the mask, no one could make him dance with the visiting prince. His father expected him to wed his old childhood playmate Blaine, in order to solidify a business contract between their two families. That was what his father had said, but Kurt had also suspected his father wanted him to be protected. Kurt was aware of the dangers of being a wealthy young prince, but it was a bit insulting. His father was more protective of him than Prince Blaine's parents were of Blaine's sister, Princess Rachel.
Kurt had shared his feelings with his father, and Burt, with tears in his eyes, had spoken of how he had failed at protecting Kurt's mother, and had lost her to a dagger's blade in a robbery one night...and how he would never forgive himself if anything happened to Kurt.
Kurt knew he resembled his blue-eyed mother, and he tried to understand his father's wishes and his worries.
But he felt absolutely nothing for Prince Blaine.
The music stirred him, but Kurt did not dare move out from behind the large stone pillar that hid him to join the throng of dancers, for fear of being recognized. He simply hoped for a glimpse of some of the beautiful men he knew would be invited tonight.
Perhaps he'd even meet a new prince.
In a moment of weakness, he had trusted his friend, Princess Rachel, with his plans to sneak into the masquerade ball tonight. He wondered if he had been wise to confide in her, but she swore his secret was safe with her.
The torches in the room gave the dancers only enough firelight to avoid stepping on each other's toes, giving Kurt ample cover of darkness to watch them without being recognized.
Kurt watched the dancers spin around the room until he spied Rachel, her long hair braided down her back, her beautiful green dress trimmed in gold thread, the skirt flowing out prettily as her partner gently spun her around the room.
The man was tall, with a slight cleft in his chin and a sunny smile he aimed down at tiny Rachel as they danced together. The upper half of his face was obscured by a beautifully crafted golden lion's face mask, which went perfectly with his tousled mane of sandy hair, giving him the appearance of having just rolled out of bed.
The dance came to an end, and the dancers and other guests politely applauded the musicians. Rachel's partner removed his mask to adjust the ribbons, and Kurt's heart stopped.
"He doth teach the torches to burn bright," Kurt murmured to himself. "Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."
The young man had also frozen, his pale blue eyes fixed on Kurt, his mouth dropping slightly open, as Kurt ducked behind the pillar again.
Kurt smiled with his mouth behind his hand as he imagined marching up to Adam, taking his hand, and leading him off into some dark corner of the castle, away from his father's prying eyes.
"The measure done, I'll watch him place of stand, and, touching his, make blessèd my rude hand."
Lost in his thoughts, Kurt slipped his bird mask up off his face.
"Good evening, sir."
Kurt jumped as the man he had been admiring appeared at his side in the dim lit room, and gently offered his hand to Kurt.
"Your hand is like a holy place that my hand is unworthy to visit," said the young man. "If you're offended by the touch of my hand, my two lips are standing here like blushing pilgrims, ready to make things better with a kiss."
Kurt's heart thudded in his chest. "Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this, for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."
The man smiled, as Kurt pressed the flat palm of his smaller hand against his larger one.
"O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do," said Adam, and he bent his blond head down over Kurt's brown-haired one and...
and Kurt woke up before their lips could touch.
Damn it!
Kurt rolled over in his empty bed in Bushwick, letting the feelings of rage and frustration that his dream had catalyzed wash over him.
Frustration that his dream had stopped just before he could kiss Adam.
Rage about his father trying to push Blaine on him at Christmas.
Even rage at Rachel for dancing with Adam in his dream, when Kurt wasn't allowed to.
Kurt got up, put on his robe and stepped out of his room. He moved back his cloth partition, walking past the Christmas tree (he really need to talk to Rachel about taking that thing down) and headed for the kitchen.
Kurt stopped when he smelled something delicious cooking.
Kurt stepped up to the broad-shouldered young man at the stove from behind, throwing his arms around his slim waist.
Adam moved the pan off the hot burner and turned in Kurt's arms to face him.
"Good morning, Kurt," said Adam, his voice sending delightful shivers up Kurt's spine.
"Good morning," said Kurt, reaching up to gently kiss Adam, who was still holding a spatula.
"What's wrong?" said Adam, noticing the wrinkles on Kurt's forehead and his tense, worried posture.
"Oh, nothing," Kurt answered with a laugh. "I just had a dream that Rachel was dancing with you in a scene from Romeo and Juliet, and I woke up feeling really jealous that it couldn't be me."
"Well, she can't have me until three o'clock. We have a few hours until rehearsal yet," said Adam.
"As long as she understands that once we're off stage, you're mine," said Kurt sleepily, wrapping his arms tighter around Adam. "I have a sword in that scene, you know."
Adam dropped the spatula on the floor with a clattering sound. He looked a little stunned.
"What?" said Kurt, confused.
"You said I'm yours," whispered Adam.
Oh. I did, thought Kurt.
Kurt bit his lip, his heart pounding in his chest. He stepped out of their embrace, and took Adam's hand. He nodded.
"Adam? Would you like to...um... make us official?"
Adam lifted the hand that was holding his to his lips, and kissed it. "Of course I would, sweetheart."
Holding hands and grinning stupidly at each other, they began to bring their lips together again, and Rachel walked into the kitchen, singing a loud show tune.
"Are you making that for me?" she asked loudly.
"Good morrow, Juliet," said Adam.
"Get out, Rachel," said Kurt bluntly.
Rachel let out a loud, sharp laugh. "I'm hopping in the shower now, and I'll be singing so loud, I won't be able to hear a thing!"
"Good," Adam growled as he lifted Kurt up in his muscular arms and carried him back to bed. Breakfast lay cooling and forgotten on the stove.
~the end~
(notes: This fic was written on October 3, 2015. With apologies to my dearest Will Shakespeare, who wrote the spoken lines in the dream...although he borrowed the plot, too. I read an article recently that said writing your character waking up a from a dream is a tired old cliché . Screw that, kids. Also, a friendly reminder that Oliver Kieran Jones (who played Adam) performed with the Royal Shakespeare Company.)