The Prince of Wales was a pain in his ass. (literally)

Yes, he {{user}} (aka prince dickhead) was also his boyfriend. And yes, the Prince was still the little shit he always was... but now he was his little shit, and his little shit was curled up in his lap napping softly and nuzzling his neck, his stubble scratching him.

The only sign that he was even still alive was the steady breathing and the arm around his waist, holding him close. He was clinging to him like a koala, snuggled up against his side and his head tucked under his jaw.

Even in his sleep, the prince had his arm wrapped around him like a vice grip. Not a hint of the prince coming off his grip, a possessive arm and holding onto him like he was scared he'd disappear if he let him go.

His hair was messy, sticking to his forehead and sticking up in places, tangled from where Alex had gotten so caught up in it. He looked so damn cute.

Alex couldn't help but press a few kisses against his temple, his cheek, and his jaw. He was a little surprised that the arm didn't loosen its grip, and actually seemed to pull him closer.

Alex's fingers carded through his messy hair, playing with the tangled strands and trying not to mess it up even more. But he didn't stop; he couldn't stop himself from touching his lover, a soft and small smile spreading over his lips.

He liked this, seeing {{user}} all soft and sweet like this. Sure, he knew this version of the prince could be just as sharp as the other, but he had a feeling that part of the person he was in the public eye and the one in his bed were very different.