Acute Accent. PG-15, Wille/Simon, romance/fluff, hopefully canon?
TFW you try to seduce your boyfriend while his mother is doing the laundry on the other side of a flimsy curtain, and all you get in return is lots of merciless teasing in Spanish.
Note: There is a bit of Spanish in this. If you can't understand the language, I would suggest not trying to translate it yourself as you read, not just because Google Translate is very hit-and-miss and might overlook some idiosyncrasies of the language in its results (seriously, GT can be very helpful but also half the time you'll just end up with something hilarious that makes little sense), but also because it'll make it easier to stay inside Wille's head. I've provided accurate translations in my author's notes at the end, so you'll be able to understand everything by that point anyway. Also, shout-out to Madi (TheBoyWhoWalksInTheLight on AO3) for suggesting Hamlet for Wille.
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This particular Saturday afternoon found Wilhelm and Simon in the latter's room, reading English-language literature under the yellow glow of his bedroom lights. Normally they wouldn't be doing homework on a Saturday— rather making... better use of their time alone— but they had an upcoming English assignment that required them to read a book. And while Henry's suggestion that they look up the CliffsNotes online and use that to complete their presentations wasn't terrible, Simon was enough of an overachiever that it was met with an eye roll and a shake of his head. And Wilhelm wasn't sleeping with Henry, so... here they were.
Wilhelm sat perpendicular on the bed, back against the wall with his legs stretched in front of him. Simon was stretched out on the bed, his head on Wilhelm's lap and his own tattered, ancient paperback copy of his assigned novel propped up in front of his face as he frowned at the printed words in front of him.
Wilhelm soothingly carded his fingers through his boyfriend's curls as he tried to focus on the page he was reading from the book he was holding in his other hand. Keyword being "tried." He kept getting distracted every other minute by the befuddled/miserable/frustrated expressions his boyfriend kept making.
It's not that Wilhelm wasn't enjoying Hamlet. He was. He'd chosen it from the list of "classics" their English teacher had provided for them because he knew the general gist of the story and thought he'd get a kick out of reading about a fellow Scandinavian prince whose life was decidedly more messed up than his own.
(Plus, it helped that Wilhelm didn't particularly care for the current Crown Prince of Denmark, either. The dude was like forty and boring as hell. Wilhelm could barely remember his name, but he did remember how the older royal would patronizingly call him "young man" in a way that sounded vaguely homophobic? Maybe that was just his own biases speaking, though.)
So yeah, he was actually rather enjoying it, or at least as much as one could legitimately enjoy a tragedy written mostly in iambic pentameter. It was just that the faces Simon was making were so much more entertaining.
He was just thinking this when Simon let out a huff and dropped his book, still open on the page he was reading, on top of his chest. "Can we take a break?" he asked with a defeated sigh.
Wilhelm had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. "We just took a break ten minutes ago."
Simon groaned in discontent, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands like he was getting a headache from reading too much. "I hate this," he said, stretching the last syllable into a whine.
He had chosen The Old Man and the Sea for his presentation. The only thing Simon knew about the book was that it took place in Cuba, so he thought it might give him a good opportunity to introduce his sheltered rich classmates to some aspects of Latin American culture. He was now regretting that decision with every fiber of his being, as the book apparently turned out to be the most boring piece of literature ever written, if Simon's complaints were anything to go by.
Wilhelm just had to laugh. "It can't be that bad," he said, lifting a corner of the book away from Simon's chest as if to take a peek, though he couldn't really read anything from that angle.
Simon scoffed. "This has got to be cultural appropriation somehow," he muttered, more to himself than to Wilhelm, really, but it was perfectly audible to both as he didn't move from his position. "Where was Hemingway from? British or something?" He pulled his phone out of his pocket to Google it.
"Hmm," Wilhelm mumbled, thinking. "I believe he was American. He did write the book in Cuba, though. It says so on the back." He tapped the paperback's back cover with one finger.
Simon made a face that told Wilhelm all he needed to know about his opinion on said fact. Wilhelm chuckled but resumed running his fingers through Simon's hair in hopes it would have a relaxing effect.
The rant Simon had surely been just about to launch into was interrupted by a knock on the doorframe that separated Simon's room from the laundry room. "Are you boys decent?" came Linda's voice from the other side of the curtain.
Simon rolled his eyes at the question, but Wilhelm just smiled. "You can come in, Linda," he called out, and a moment later Linda pulled the curtain to the side and peeked in.
"Hey, you two," she greeted them with a warm smile as they both turned to look at her. "Listen, do either of you remember when I threw in the load of laundry that's in the washer right now? Has it been thirty-five minutes yet? I forgot to set the timer on my phone and then I fell asleep watching TV, and I can't remember when I threw it in."
Wilhelm had hung out in Simon's house enough that he was familiar with the most domestic aspects of the Erikssons' lives, and it wasn't unusual for Linda to ask about the laundry since Simon's room was the closest. Their washing machine still worked properly, but the timer was broken so the machine didn't stop by itself, and she had to set a timer whenever she threw a load in to know when to stop it manually. Sometimes she forgot, though, like today. Sara and Simon kept telling her to just buy a new washing machine, but Linda kept insisting that the expense wasn't necessary if they could still use their old washer just fine; it just took one little extra step.
Simon shrugged. "I haven't been checking my watch, Mom. We're reading."
Wilhelm, however, did remember. "It's only been about twenty minutes," he let her know.
She gave him a bright, grateful smile. "Thank you, Wille!" she told him like he'd won her an incredible prize rather than just given her some mildly helpful information. She showed her pride so easily, for even the smallest things— it was one of the things Wilhelm liked the most about Linda. He wished his own mother could be like that, but alas, no such luck.
Linda then turned to glance at Simon, a mischievous glint in her eye. "¿Ya ves? Al menos uno de mis hijos se hace útil," she told him in a teasing tone. Wilhelm knew some basic Spanish— however much he'd been able to retain from his princely lessons when he was younger, just about enough to introduce himself to foreign dignitaries and suck up to them a little. He could pronounce memorized phrases fairly decently, though Simon always made fun of him when he tried to say "Gracias" because he said it the way Spanish people did, which was different from the Eriksson's Latin American pronunciation.
In theory Wilhelm was able to pick out a few words he recognized, devoid of context. Whenever they were not speaking really fast, that was, which unfortunately was a lot of the time for Simon's family. Out of Linda's comment, he only really understood the terms for "one" and "my children," which were uno and mis hijos, respectively.
Simon gasped, staring at his mother in mock scandal. "Ah, así que ahora lo adoptaste oficialmente, ya veo," he threw back cheekily, looking amused. Wille got even less from that one. Something about adopting something? Adoption? What the hell were they talking about?
Linda just gave Simon a look— a mom look, all raised eyebrows and lips pressed together and quirked up. "Heeey," she retorted, stretching out the e sound in a sing-songy way. She said the word the way it's said in Spanish, where the h is not pronounced at all. "Los yernos también son familia, ¿no?" Wilhelm understood the word for "family"— it was similar enough to the Swedish and English— but not much more than that.
Whatever it was she said, it made Simon's face go as red as a stoplight. Mortified, he covered his face with his book and groaned. "Mamáááááááááá...!" he whined loudly. He pronounced the word the Spanish way, too, with the emphasis on the second syllable.
Linda propped her hand on her hip. "Simóóóóóóóóóón...!" she shot back in the exact same tone. She was grinning, though, and obviously enjoying the chance she got to tease her son, and it was infectious. Wilhelm couldn't help but smile as well.
Simon pulled the book away from his face and glared at her, but it was clearly just in jest. Linda winked at him and pulled the curtain aside. "Please check if you've got dirty laundry in here, my next load is the last one," she warned her son, with an extra nod to Wilhelm as if hinting that he should make sure Simon complied. Then she spun on her heel and let the curtain fall closed behind her, leaving them alone again— or at least as alone as they could be while she was still puttering around the laundry room.
Wilhelm poked his boyfriend in the ribs with a finger. "What did she say?" he asked, curious.
Simon shook his head. "Nothing," he replied. "She's just teasing." He pushed himself up to a sitting position, a grunt marking the slight effort required for the movement. Once he was sitting up, he looked at Wilhelm over his shoulder. "What are you smiling about?" he asked, scooting backward and turning until his back was against the wall and he was shoulder to shoulder with Wilhelm.
Wilhelm shrugged. "I like the way your mom pronounces your name," he admitted easily. "It's cute." He extended one of his hands toward Simon palm up, a suggestion for his boyfriend to hold it. Simon did so without hesitation.
"It's just the way it's pronounced in Spanish," Simon said like it wasn't a big deal. And it probably wasn't for him, having heard it nearly every day of his life. But it always stood out to Wilhelm because it was almost an audible representation of a whole different side to Simon, and he wanted to know every side of Simon.
"Is it spelled the same?" Wilhelm asked, leaning his weight a little against his boyfriend's side. His knowledge of Spanish did not extend to the written word. If he ever had to write anything official in another language, they would probably get an expert to do it for him and just have him sign his name at the bottom. The written part of it had never been a priority in his princely lessons.
"Kind of," Simon retorted vaguely, and Wilhelm was about to ask how exactly when Simon tugged at their joined hands so that Wilhelm's arm was stretched out across his lap. He had to let go of his hold on Wilhelm's hand because the angle was awkward, but it was clear he was planning something, so Wilhelm let him proceed.
"You write it the same..." Simon began as he started slowly, delicately tracing the letters of his name with the tip of his finger on the pale skin of Wilhelm's inner forearm. The feather-light touch made Wilhelm's stomach swoop, and he closed his eyes to savor the sensation.
"...except..." Simon continued, "...it has an accent... over the o." He traced the quick diagonal mark where it would go on the word he'd just written with electricity on Wilhelm's skin, Wilhelm putting together the visual on the back of his eyelids. When he opened his eyes his breath had grown heavy, and the immediate lock of his gaze on Simon's generated an almost magnetic pull.
Wilhelm pulled back the arm that laid across Simon's lap, moving his hand instead to rest over the fabric of Simon's jumper where it covered the side of Simon's torso closest to Wilhelm. This allowed him to turn his body completely to the side, toward this boy he was drawn to like a moth to a flame, and sneak his other arm to wrap around Simon's waist, drawing himself closer.
Simon's breath hitched. His eyes widened. "What are you doing?" he whispered warily. But, Wilhelm noticed, he also wasn't pulling away.
"What?" Wilhelm said, his voice equally low, in what he wanted to be a defensive tone, but it didn't really come across that way because the amusement shone through the word. "I can't hug my boyfriend now?" He leaned in to tease the base of Simon's neck with the tip of his nose. He couldn't help himself when his boyfriend's delectable, tender skin was literally right there within reach.
Simon smelled like his coconut shampoo and a hint of the detergent Linda used for the laundry, and if Wilhelm hadn't been so invested in leaving a trail of goosebumps on the skin of Simon's neck, he might've poked his head through the doorway and thanked the woman because the unique mix of fragrances had become so closely associated with Simon in his mind in an almost Pavlovian manner. Coconut and freshness and Simon, and it never failed to fuel his desire.
"I don't—" Simon cut himself off with a shiver as Wilhelm switched his nose with his lips. Simon's eyes closed tightly, his voice breathy as he tried again. "I don't think a hug is your ultimate goal here," he retorted, biting his bottom lip to hold back a groan.
"Hmm," Wilhelm mumbled as he dropped a trail of soft kisses up the side of Simon's neck and up to his jaw. He moved slowly, barely a press of his lips, as he didn't want to leave any marks— at least not up there. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," he said, grinning against his boyfriend's beautiful golden skin.
Wilhelm's slowly but surely snuck under the lower hem of Simon's jumper, greedily reaching for every bit of direct contact they could find. Blunt fingernails raking against the skin of Simon's abdomen, thumb dipping into his belly button, fingertips teasing the waistband of his jeans. Simon gasped.
"Wille," he whispered breathlessly, reflexively throwing his head back and to the side to give Wilhelm more access. "My—" Another gasp. "My mother is on the other side of that curtain," he finally managed, his breath ragged. The reminder was a warning, but it was followed by a muffled moan, so the sense of urgency wasn't quite there.
Wilhelm chuckled. "Well then," he said as he mouthed at the lobe of Simon's ear, "I guess you'll just have to be really, really quiet." His left hand made for the button on Simon's jeans, but the movement was almost nonchalant like it had gotten there by sheer coincidence.
Simon laughed, too, but swallowed back the sound when the button popped open. "You—" he tried, only to cut himself off as he pressed his lips together and then wet them with his tongue. "F-fuck you," he eventually got out, panting and squirming where he sat as if trying to get Wille's hand where he wanted it, quickly.
Wilhelm couldn't hold back a smirk. "That," he said as he oh so slowly, millimeter by agonizing millimeter, pulled down the fly on Simon's jeans, "may have to wait until later." There was a promise in those words that Simon acknowledged with a muted groan.
Wilhelm brought the slider all the way down and pulled the jeans open, and he was just about to get his hand inside when another knock on the doorframe shocked them both out of the haze of lust that had taken over them.
They sprung apart as if struck by lightning, back to their previous position side by side, Wilhelm's back hitting the wall so hard there was an audible thud. He pulled Simon's pillow onto his lap (bit of an obvious move, but beggars and choosers) and laid open his copy of Hamlet on top of it. Simon, regrettably pillow-less, zipped his fly up quickly and pulled his knees up to his chest, propping his own paperback open on top of them, in front of his face.
"Yeah?" he said, and if his voice sounded a little higher than normal, Wilhelm wasn't about to comment.
Linda once again pulled open the curtain and peeked in. "Gordo, en serio necesito que te fijes si tienes ropa para lavar." She was speaking so fast it was hard for Wilhelm to catch any recognizable words, but her eyes were sweeping the room, especially on the floor and toward the closet, so Wilhelm assumed it had something to do with the laundry. "Ya pronto voy a meter la última—" She stopped speaking abruptly when her gaze landed on the two of them on the bed.
They both stared back, trying to project innocent vibes, but Wilhelm would be lying if he said Linda's knowing gaze wasn't making him squirm. A moment later, though, she crossed her arms and directed an amused smirk their way. "...Really?" she asked, incredulous, and Wilhelm knew their supposedly innocent expressions did nothing. Yeah, they were busted.
Simon valiantly tried to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary. "What?" he asked defensively. "We're studying."
She arched an immaculately plucked dark eyebrow, fixing her gaze on her son. "Mm-hmm," she retorted, her tone suggesting that she did not buy that excuse one bit. Her smirk widened. "Tienes el libro al revés," she said, pointing toward Simon one last time before disappearing into the other side of the curtain with a tinkling laugh.
Wilhelm didn't even need to know Spanish to understand that, as Simon immediately pulled back his paperback to look at the cover, muttered "goddammit!" under his breath, and flipped the book right-side up. Wilhelm burst into loud cackles. Simon tsk-ed and pushed at Wilhelm's shoulder, sending him teetering to the side, his arms still around Simon's pillow. There was no need for it anymore; getting caught by an adult was a surefire way to kill the mood.
"Simón, la ropa sucia!" came Linda's voice once again from the laundry room, and Wilhelm gathered from the use of the word "clothes" in there that she was asking for Simon's laundry.
"I'm coming!" Simon replied, getting up off the bed and making for his laundry hamper inside the closet. The fact that he used those exact words had Wilhelm snorting into laughter once again, half sprawled on the bed as he was. Halfway to picking up a used t-shirt off the floor to throw into the hamper, Simon paused to narrow his eyes at Wilhelm. "Shut up, dumbass," he shot at him, but he was smiling. "This is all your fault."
Still giggling— he couldn't stop— Wilhelm beamed at his boyfriend, thinking maybe the guileless-little-lamb act would work better on him than it had on Linda. "I love you," he told Simon with a bright, too-innocent grin.
All he got for his love and devotion was a copy of The Old Man and the Sea aimed straight at his head, which he just barely managed to deflect by using Simon's pillow as a shield.
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Author's notes!—
Hamlet is William Shakespeare's longest play, a tragedy where the titular Danish prince seeks revenge for the death of his father. It is indeed written mostly in iambic pentameter, which is the most common meter in English poetry, each line consisting of five iterations of an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable. (With my apologies to Crown Prince Frederick of Denmark— I literally know nothing about the man, so the description I used here for the "current" Danish Crown Prince is purely fictional.)
The Old Man and the Sea is a Pulitzer Prize- and Nobel Prize-winning novel by US author Ernest Hemingway about a fisherman in Cuba that is widely recognized (...by me...) to be the most boring novel ever written. I had to read it in high school, and it scarred me for life, so now I must inflict the same pain on every teenage fictional character I write about at least once, because evil begets evil. Sorry, Simon.
Spanish translations:
* "¿Ya ves? Al menos uno de mis hijos se hace útil." = "See? At least one of my children makes themselves useful."
* "Así que ahora lo adoptaste oficialmente, ya veo." = "So you've officially adopted him now, I see."
* "Los yernos también son familia, ¿no?" = "Sons-in-law are also family, aren't they?"
* "En serio necesito que te fijes si tienes ropa para lavar." = "I really need you to check if you have any dirty laundry."
* "Ya pronto voy a meter la última—" = "I'm about to throw in the last—"
* "Tienes el libro al revés." = "Your book is upside down."
* "La ropa sucia!" = "The laundry!"
Gordo means "chubby one," and while it might sound weird to non-Spanish speakers that we use that as a term of endearment, it's actually very common. It's not really about the person's weight/looks at all, but it's not ironic either: it's more about how most babies are chubby, and the old idea that the chubbier a baby was, the healthier they were/more respectable the family was, because it means they had money for food. (This is, of course, a very outdated idea, but the endearment remains.) So, basically, your parents start calling you gordo/a or gordito/a when you're a baby and it just sticks, regardless of what you look like when you grow up. Yes, we Latin Americans are super weird about nicknames. ;)
People from Spain, at least those who speak Castilian Spanish (but I believe this is also common to at least a few other dialects in Spain), pronounce z's and c's (before e's and i's) in what is known as an "interdental" pronunciation, meaning the tongue is between the teeth so they sound like th's do in English. In Latin America, we just pronounce them the same as s's. It's one of the clearest markers you can check to be able to tell when someone is from Spain, or if they learned Spanish from a person from Spain.
Mamá and Simón are both acute words in Spanish— meaning the emphasis is on the last syllable. This is what the accent marks (the little diagonal lines over the a and the o, respectively) represent. In Spanish we call this accent mark tilde, and we use them to mark emphasis in certain words that require them regardless of whether the words are acute or not (there are rules to know which words take a tilde or not). In general linguistics (not just for Spanish but for other languages as well), the accent mark that goes down from right to left (so, the same one we use for the tilde in Spanish) is known as an accute accent. That is where the title of this story comes from, as well as it being a pun on "A cute accent" because I am a giant dork. xD
I hope you liked this! I will take any opportunity I get to positively rep my Latin American culture, and I'm very happy YR gives me the chance to do just that through the Erikssons. I would love to see a scene like this in canon, though I know it's a tough chance. For more hopefully canon-compliant Wille/Simon standalones, check out my new one-shot collection, A place where I could ease my mind. In the meantime, however, you can hit me up on Twitter (girls_are_weird) and Tumblr (girls-are-weird) to chat with me about anything Young Royals. I always love to hear from you!
