Prince Harry part 5 (Patreon)

Three words mean loads 

part 1

part 2

part 3 

part 4 

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Harry loathed balls. 

He found them useless; an excessive showcase of opulence, designed to remind the wealthy of their wealth and all the finery they can afford. An invitation to the ball is second to that of heaven, or so that is how one would think with the excitement that buzzes through the halls of the castle. It was said that there would be potential prospects for the first son’s bride which led Harry to believe that his presence was unnecessary. However, through a glare and a threatened ear pinch the queen (his doting mother), it was made apparent his attendance was mandatory. 

In essence, Harry had not known he sounded so spoiled in his complaints. He’d been attending balls since the tender age of three and they begin to lose their magic around age ten. Very few occasions leave the enchantment of the ball still. . .enchanting, and that would be the very first you attend, the one that is thrown on your birthday in which gifts are bountiful, and the ones are thrown where distant cousins come to visit. Otherwise, they are much too boring, Harry is forced to dance with plenty of women he does not wish to know more than the bare minimum about, kept on his feet all night until the time pushes past midnight and his exhaustion leaves him practically asleep on his walk up to his room. He barely even peels his clothing off at that point, no matter how fine the cloth is woven to create them. 

However, Harry had not realized his privilege and therefore his indulgent lifestyle when it came to having the nerve not to like royal gatherings like balls - until Y/N’s face had lit up at the mere mention. Her eyes went wide and bright, a smile blooming on her lips, and she nearly drops the linens that she brought to his room and saw him looking at a rack of potential outfits.

“Oh, a ball!” She exclaimed, hopping a little, teeth showing with her grin, “I love balls! I know I’ve never actually. . .well, I’ve never actually attended one, but they always seem like great fun.” Setting the basket of linens down at the foot of his bed, she puffed the skirt of her dress dramatically and swayed, stepping from side to side, hopping a little off the small step that he takes up to his bed. “The dresses and the music and all the sweets, if we are quick, we get the leftovers from the party - Miss. Gretel in the kitchen will save us at least a whole cake or two! Sometimes I even get bread pudding!” Then she paused, dropped the skirt, and faced him, “And you always look so handsome, My Lord, I can never take my eyes off of you. They make fun of me endlessly for it - my friends - well, once I was so focused on you that I spilled water all over myself. One of the noblemen laughed at me which was not nice but - but wow, you were just so gorgeous I couldn’t bring myself to care.” 

Harry smiled fondly at her description of it, wishing that she knew more of this nobleman that laughed at her so he could give him a piece of his mind, and framed her face in his palms. 

“If you got any cuter it would be a crime.” He told her before he ushered her to sit in the chair beside the fire and promptly dropped to his knees, rucked her dress up, and licked into her. 

Harry offered Y/N a direct hand in deciding what he was to wear, accompanied by what jewelry, and what scent. He expressed many times how he wished she could attend with him and reminded her that if it were up to him and he was certain it would not stir a fuss he would have her there in a heartbeat. Y/N tells him that she doesn’t mind, “Knowing that I can just be in the ballroom and seeing you in this is enough for me. If you might save me a dance once we retreat back to your quarters? If you’ll have me that is.” 

“Of course I’ll have you,” he told her, sliding a pair of dangling gold earrings accentuated with ruby into her ear, holding the jewel at the pad of his fingertips and marveling at how such finery suited her (and how she maintained that awestruck look that only one who did not let themselves revel in riches would have), “I’d say my most coveted part of the night shall be getting into bed with you afterward.” 

She tiptoes to his mouth, smearing their lips together in a peck but Harry slides his hand around the nape of her head and keeps her pressed there. He revels in the squeak she makes against his mouth and suckles on her bottom lip for a moment before parting, smiling, clearly proud of himself. Grinning, he touches his tongue to his lips, “Why is your mouth so sweet, Darling? Are you sneaking desserts?” 

Y/N shied away from him, a guilt stricken smile on her mouth, “Oh, I am terribly sorry My L-- Harry. One of the women in the kitchen -- Miss Gretel -- she gave me some of the breakfast cake, the one with the crumbles. I had it before I came.” 

Harry grins, sliding his fingers beneath her chin and tilting her up so that their noses brush past one another, his other hand sliding down from her side and down to her hip, giving her a soft squeeze, “I s’ppose that means I can’t give you the slice that I brought up for you, hm?” Her face drops into a pout, “That’s far too many sweets so early in the morning. I hope you’re keeping your teeth clean, I’d hate for them to ache.” 

“I know my Lord, I apologize for being greedy.” 

Tutting his tongue, he plucks at her bottom lip, “Not greedy in the slightest Sweetheart, I’m glad you are so indulgent.” He cradles her sides, squeezing where she had become soft; no more jutting bones and sunken cheeks, she had begun filling out so nicely, “And since you’re so damn cute, how ‘bout I give you a little bit of it now, yeah? But you’ll let me feed you, won’t you Pet?” 

She nodded, Harry leaned in and suckled on her lip playfully, parting with a soft noise, before he goes over to his dresser where he had kept it fresh in a small box, unlatching it and revealing the slice of crumble cake that he had taken for her wrapped in one of his fine handkerchiefs. He brought it over to her, motioning for her to sit down at the area near his fireplace. He sits between her open thighs, setting the handkerchief down on her leg before peeling some off with his fingers, and she opens her mouth for him to set it on her tongue. 

Y/N hums, chewing slowly, thoughtfully, and Harry takes a piece for himself as he does. He takes another piece, waiting for her to open her mouth again and take another. One of Harry’s hand not occupied with the cake is squeezing her breast, kneading it gently, and she whimpers a little around his fingers, “Oh, listen to that,” he murmured, “Sweet little thing, you like getting touched on? Even more when you’re eating something sweet, yeah?” Again, she hums her assent, but before he pushes anymore into her mouth when she swallows she loops her fingers around his wrist, pausing him. 

“May I say something naughty?” She asks him and Harry nods, encouraging her, “My favorite sweet treat is your cock, my Lord.” 

Harry’s prick twitches hard in his trousers, his body bristling at her compliment, and he drags the skirt of her dress up, paying no mind to the cake that tumbles to the ground, “Fuck sake,” he murmurs, sucking a kiss onto the inside of her thigh, dragging her closer to the edge of the chair so that her bum hung off it, “I’m going to devour you.” 

If Harry could have spent the rest of his day tucked between Y/N’s thighs, alternating between feeding her and holding her apart so that he can slick his tongue against her clit - he would’ve. To hell with the bloody ball, he thought his place here suited him much better. He wished he could take her to the middle of the ball, on his throne, and snuggle against her cunt but he believes that it is much too beautiful sight and Harry was greedy himself - he would not share her. 

Yet he couldn’t have everything he wanted. 

So hours later, he was sat unenthused at the ball. There were people he entertained for a few moments, but he spent most of his time bad-mouthing his brother to his favorite nobleman (an Irish bloke who his brother had bedded his wife), choosing which foods he would surprise Y/N with later on that day, and avoid the women who wish to court him. The woman who was to wed his brother was nice enough, Harry had kissed the back of her hand as a sign of good faith but left it at that. Had he not a pretty chambermaid that makes his insides curl in the best of ways, he would have fucked with his brother and asked her for a dance, but he had no interest. Hell, where he usually is occupied all night finding someone to stick his cock into, he merely dances with on girl who had asked him politely, and in a way she reminded him a bit of Y/N. Not in everything, but in the shyness she had exhibited, and though he is a selfish bugger, if Y/N were to push past her timid ways to ask for a dance and that person denied her? Well, he’d have them sent to the ocean and executed, wouldn’t he? 

The night was as it always is, the chandelier glimmering on the various jewels that are slung around necks, dangling from ears, attached to the cuffs of their garments. Harry was guilty of having a few jade-colored gems fixed to the lobe of his ear, which he hadn’t thought to do until Y/N told him how pretty it would look. He had gotten many compliments on them, along with a matching jade-colored varnish that he had painted on his nails - Y/N had sat before him and carefully stroked the brush against his nails. She was diligent and though she did him beautifully, it left her hand covered and coated in the color. 

(It made them both giggle and only made Harry wish that Y/N could attend with him.) 

Harry was amidst instructing one of the servers - Arabelle, he believes her name is - to package sticky toffee pudding, custard tart, jam roly-poly, and banoffee pie for him to have later (which of course was meant for Y/N to pick at through the course of the next few days), when he feels a gentle tap on his shoulder. The boy he had caught Y/N speaking with three to four months prior that had convinced him he needed to let her know just how much he liked her, with a sliver of folded parchment in his hand, “I hate to disturb you My Lord, but I was asked to give this to you.” 

He took the paper, “Very well, thank you.” He unfolds it immediately, catching the very distinct handwriting that left him little notes if she had duties to tend to before he awoke in the morning, and his heart flips excitedly. 

Go to the Boudoir on the East Wing. 

Harry knows the Boudoir on the East Wing well -- he and Y/N had retreated to that very one after lunch when a crack in the dining hall’s wall left the room cold early in November. Both of them shivered their way through the meal, Y/N’s hands visibly quivering when she came around to refill his water, and he very gently touched at her thigh to let her know he felt the same. The Boudoirs were always very well insulated, the heat within them soothing, and while they were normally for women, this one was rarely visited considering that it was close to the servants quarters. Many of the nobles believed themselves too “high-born” to that close, as they believe servants must go in there in the night and sleep there instead of their cold, cement walled chambers. 

He had snuck her in there, bolted the door locked, and warmed her up (in quite a few ways). It was the first time she had rode his thigh, coming apart on his trousers with her fingers tucked down his waistband, twisting and pulling until he came over her hands. She’d spent the majority of her time hovering over his mouth, moaning against his, her lips hung open and only responsive when he would catch her lips in his own, returning to their open state if he drew backward. 

So he makes his way there, knocking on the door quietly, and only a few moments go by before the lock jiggles and the knob twists. The door cracks, Y/N’s hand darts out and grabs his wrist and he’s drawn into the room quickly. In a flash he’s shoved against the door, Harry squawks some as he adjusts, Y/N’s hands are on his biceps, fingers dipping into his bicep like she’s keeping him still. Her face is pulled into a frown and Harry feels worried fill him immediately - who made his girl frown? She so rarely ever does, unless she’s doing a sweet little pout because he’s teasing her - but it was not often that he saw her frowning. 

“What’s wrong?” Harry’s hands raise, taking hold of her sides, “What’s happened, are you alright?” 

“I am jealous.” She states simply, her frown deepening and Harry tilts his head. 

“What?” 

Y/N looks down, breathing a slow, sad, deep sigh and swallows thickly, “I am jealous!” She knuckles at her eyes, “I do not like this feeling - it is so dark and just. . .just foul, but I. . .I cannot help the way I feel. It has slithered around me like the evergreen vines and I’ve become so entangled in it that I’ve gone and taken you from the ball like a petulant child!” 

Harry’s brain is rolling, his brows furrowed as he tried to decipher what she meant - what he could have possibly done to make her jealous, and he reaches up to cradle her cheek in his palm, “Tell me what I’ve done?” He strokes the tender skin with the pad of his thumb.

She looks into his eyes, appearing more frustrated with herself than she was with him, and he feels like he could get lost in her gaze. Even in her distress, she had to be just about the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, “I saw you dancing. . .you were dancing with that girl,” her eyes cast downward, huffing some at herself, “And she was very pretty -- very, very pretty, and she comes from wealth, and you two looked. . .you two looked well off together.” Tears gather at her waterline and Harry feels his heartbreak, “And she could dance! I cannot dance at all, but she could dance with you.” 

Shaking his head, Harry reaches up with his other hand so that he is cradling both her cheeks, “Oh Sweetheart,” she moves in, pecking her mouth, “Oh Sweet girl, do you really think that I have any interest in that girl? I gave her one dance and bid her goodnight,” he shook his head once more, “I only danced with her because she asked nicely and reminded me of a sweet, shy chambermaid I’ve been privy to; even during, though, I just longed that you be with me, even if you’ve got two left feet.” 

A giggle bubbles from her throat, but she returns solemn, “It is hard - it is hard to see you with someone that I am not. Who. . .who it would be suitable for you to b--” 

“Who says you are not suitable for me?” He cuts her off, sliding his hand down to her shoulders, pulling her a little closer to him, “You are more than suitable, my Love, don’t think so lowly. Maybe we are unable to showcase our relationship outright entirely but that does not mean that this is any less. . .any less than a relationship between I and a noble. All those bloody people give me a headache! You are the only person -- the only person I have ever felt this way for; I am so completely and wholly enamored by you.” He squeezes her, “Are you unhappy with how things are?” 

“No!” She protests, “No, I love how things are. I do not wish for things to change, or to be in the limelight or anything of the sort I just fear. . .I just fear that I am holding you back. I feel that I am not good enough for you sometimes.” 

Harry frowns, “How could you ever. . .ever think that? I obviously do not do well enough to assure you. That you are good for me. Too good for me in fact. You are beautiful, you do not need wealth to be a good person, or interesting, or any of that! The only thing you hold me back from sinking into that cesspool of narcissism that those fuckers out there are all sunken in. Fuck sake, Darling, you are so incredible and you don’t even know it - I am so hopelessly in love with you and I will spend every moment of every day proving that to you.” 

“I love you,” a small smile drags at her mouth, blooming as she repeats herself, “I love you. I love you!” 

Chuckling, Harry nods, taking her by the face again and kissing her, “I love you,” he kisses her cheeks, her nose, her eyes, her forehead, and lands back one more on her mouth again, “You silly little thing, I love you so much. The endless supply of desserts didn’t clue you in and cuddle demands didn’t clue you in?” She giggles, dipping her face into his chest, “And don’t feel bad about feeling jealous, yeah? Every time I see you with one of them chimney sweep bloke, I could just about pop with how jealous I get. Do you ever wonder what’s goin’ on when I barely let ya get out of bed? Make ya cum about thirty times and smother ya in cuddles afterward?” He draws away from her, “Fuck the rest of the ball - are you finished with your duties for the night?” She nods her head and he grins, “Perfect, ‘cos you and I are spending the rest of the night in my quarters. Unbothered apart from the box of sweets that will be delivered to me, if they are not already there. I propose that we eat until our bellies are swollen and a rub on you a little, hmm? Get out those knots in your back? Does that sound like a good plan?” 

“Yes,” she nods quickly, slinging her arms around his throat and hugging him tightly, “The best plan.”