#[ooc\ so thank you *so* much for sending this in dfkjwnerljknsdfksfs...

[moonshadowed]

@emcrse​ inquires:  [ POSITION ]:     sender rearranges the receiver’s hands to the correct, albeit more intimate position ( i.e. on their waist, hips, hands, etc. )

' THINGS DONE WHILE DANCING. ‘   always accepting.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it. Not really, anyway. Being with the prince was one thing-- that, at least, was something he’d almost accepted, though even through all the stolen glances and clandestine kisses he could never quite believe that it was really happening, that somehow he was his-- but being in his bedroom, alone, being with him, alone, just the two of them devoid of guards or advisors and all the time in the world? That, Julian thinks, he’ll never get used to, and perhaps that was for the best. He never wanted to feel like this was anything other than extraordinary.

As he so often does these days, he finds himself at a loss for words between the tenderness of his touch and the gentleness in his eyes as he moves Julian’s hand down to the small of his back, palm curling against his waist, and the feeling of their fingers interlacing. 

“...Thank you,” the doctor murmurs, hoping that the dizzy heat he feels is from the warm summer air from the balcony and the overpowering scent of jasmine wafting up from the gardens, not from their proximity. The music from the ballroom, muffled by the many floors between them and the rest of the world, picks up again, and he’s grateful that his feet seem to know what they’re doing, as he can’t take his eyes off of red curls, blue eyes, and freckled cheeks. You look entrancing in the moonlight, my love.

“You’re wonderful,” he begins, awestruck, and he’s overcome by warmth once more. After a moment, realizing what he’s said, he huffs a laugh. “At dancing, I mean, not to mention everything else. Surely it can’t all come from endless hours spent being bored to tears?”