This is a fanfiction story about Prince William and Prince Harry and contains incest. This is entirely fictional and bears no resemblance to the sexual preferences of the individuals it describes. If you enjoyed it, or have ideas for its development, write to me (h4542335@gmail.com). Nifty always needs donations to keep up its amazing work. Use this link to donate if you've enjoyed this: https://donate.nifty.org
I turned into the drawing room, frustrated, angry and confused. I had only been back barely half an hour and had already had to face the fucking pathetic passive aggression of my father's private secretaries -- one after another obfuscating and blocking. How much longer would this continue? Why do I fucking bother returning if only to face this?
Standing here, looking out at The Mall, I can't help but remember earlier days. Wills's wedding, Granny's birthdays, the Diamond Jubilee. Also, of course, my mother's funeral -- walking down that road behind her coffin. Fuck, that was insane. The madness of those days, the madness of the crowds, the madness of Wills and I.
Those days following Mum's death are imprinted on my memory. That night in Balmoral where Wills had come into my bedroom (we had adjoining rooms) and slipped in beside me, holding me, his breath hot against my neck. It felt so natural, so comfortable. We had each other and nothing else mattered. I'm always here for you, Harry', he'd said. We'll always have each other', he'd said, his arm wrapped tight around my waist. Fucking hell, what a joke.
Yet you don't forget that kind of love. That kind of intimacy in the context of trauma.
He didn't either the night before his wedding. There'd been a dinner -- old friends, newer friends, some of Kate's family. We'd all drunk a lot and had crashed at Kensington Palace, dozy as hell, laughing like idiots trying to cut out the stress of the day to come. I'd brought shots for us all. Wills had protested but -- what the fuck? -- it had to be done. It was the only way to get through the whole thing. By eleven, we were all wankered and cabs had been called for some of the others and footmen were appearing, clearly implying it was time to wrap things up -- the household staff clearly nervy we'd be throwing up in the Abbey if we had carried on as we were.
I had stumbled back to my apartment. Fuck me, I was athletic in those days -- 90 minutes in the gym every morning. But, boy, was I fucked. I still remember looking at myself in the mirror, seeing my uniform hanging up, undoing my Blues and Royals tie and my shirt pressed tight against my chest (I was lifting insane amounts in those days) and randy as fuck. Drunkenly, I closed my eyes, my right hand had reached down to my suit trousers at an erection that had emerged from nowhere, my left hand ranging across my chest through my shirt, playing with my nipple. I had seriously needed to get laid and, my eyes closed, thought of the shag I'd had the previous week. Fuck, she'd been gagging for it. I thought about my cock deep in her cunt, in her arse, of spraying my cum across her breasts and feeding the cum to her. The very thought of it had got me wet again and I remember, my eyes still closed, swiping the pre from my head and lifting it up to my face -- seeking to remember the taste on her lips -- when my arm was halted mid-flow, my wrist having been grabbed.
Hang on, you', he'd said. Not so speedy'.
I turned abruptly, disturbed at being discovered - yet unbelieving that it could be him.
`Here', he said, taking my hand as he stood behind me -- his warmth enveloping me -- as he brought it to his lips.
`Fuck me', I uttered as he took my fingers dripping with it into his mouth, licking it off finger by finger.
`You taste fucking excellent', he'd said, as I felt his massive cock pressed against my arse, my suit trousers barely able to contain my arse, hard after weeks of squats and ready for the world's media in my uniform the next day.
`You feel fucking excellent', he whispered into my ear as I looked straight ahead in the mirror, our eyes meeting in the reflection as his other hand reached down and had taken hold of my rod through the fabric, his breath hot against me.
Wills', I gasped, as his tongue brushed against the lobe, what the fuck?'
I couldn't keep my eyes off you all night. Don't deny it' - he said, before I could say anything else - you've missed this'.
I couldn't deny it. My cunt had twitched for it: the thought of him inside me again as he had been every summer in Balmoral since Mum had died. What had begun with brotherly warmth had become something else. I remember exactly when. The summer of 2000. We'd gone out deer-stalking and he'd reached across to still me after he'd seen a 16-pointer, except this time his hand rested not on my shoulder but my arse. And just rested there a bit longer than you'd expect, before his hand moved down, beginning to caress it. I had frozen still initially, looking out at the deer, but then turned, breathless, to meet his eyes and their intoxicating mixture of lust and love. Before I knew it, his lips had been pressed against mine in the heather. We'd moved to a bothy within five minutes, overwhelmed with lust as, for the first time, he had taken me in his mouth.
That had just been the start of it. He'd been -- we'd both been -- totally insatiable those years, finding in each other's bodies, in each other's cunts, comfort, release, and a strange sense of peace in each other. I still remember waking up in his arms once late August morning high up on the estate, wrapped up together in a sleeping bag and rich in the smell of cum, our sweat and arse. I'm not sure I've ever smelt anything so fine since.
And, yet, it all fallen away so quickly after his second year at St Andrews. Was that why I resented Kate? I don't know. She'd been like a sister. Fuck, she was now a sister, but there was something of another order about that night before he married her.
He'd pinned me up against the wall. He was like an animal, unhinged even. We hadn't been together for years at that point and yet the taste of my pre had sent him wild. He'd quickly taken off my braces, my trousers falling to reveal the jockstrap I'd become accustomed to wearing since being in the Army.
`Fuck me, I need your cunt', he'd exclaimed, as like some kind of ravenous beast his tongue had got to work on me. It was sensational. I've never received a rimming like it. It felt like he was there for hours, devotedly working himself into me with his tongue: probing, pressing, consuming me. I'd moaned like a fucking whore that night. God knows what the footmen thought in Kensington Palace but he was like no one else and knew my hole like no one else. My cock was seeping through the jock as I played with my nipples, the feel of my brother's tongue exchanging with his finger reaching up, knowing exactly how to make me squirm.
`Wills, you're fucking incredible,' I'd said, as I had moved down to kiss him -- our tongues exchanging the salty taste of my arsehole as my wet package pressed against his own suit trousers that were now barely containing him. As we'd kissed, I had released him swiftly with my free hand, manoeuvring my wet hole to his dripping head: gently, at first, easing in, our tongues playing with each other like they'd had years previously only now with a new urgency, a new desire, the thought of marriage clearly driving his desire to fuck me afresh.
I had pressed onto him, enjoying his gasp of pleasure as I enfolded that extraordinary piece of meat, feeling it press deep into my guts. Fuck, I had needed that more than I'd realized. I don't know how long that night had lasted. Thinking back, I felt like I rode it for several hours, feeling its pain and ecstasy as we looked into each other's eyes -- communicating something words couldn't -- until he let go. God, did he let go. I swear I felt every shot deep into me. My brother's loads one after another exploding into my guts as, almost within seconds of him, I involuntarily shot streams across his chest and his face. The sight is as fresh in memory now: streams of ivory across his chiselled face and hairy chest. I'd fed it to him there and then, his cock still deep inside me, pulsating as my hole tightened around it. My cum stretched between our two mouths, he'd whispered to me, `I love you like no one else'.
`More than her?', I'd muttered, pressing down to feel him as deep as possible inside me, the heat and sweat almost overwhelming.
`Always. No one else has this', he'd said.
No one else has this. Fuck, it's like I can almost still feel him inside me and yet we're now so far apart. When did it all fall apart?
The fucking dog-bowl incident was probably a turning point.
That night could have gone two ways -- a deep, three-hour-long fuck or what it became instead: anger, violence, resentment. Had we both chosen women who'd keep us apart from each other? I didn't know whether to loathe him or desire him. As I stand here now, in the Palace, it all comes back to me in a conjure of sensations: his cologne, that underwear he'd sent me back to Eton with that summer smeared in his cum; the taste of his massive balls in my mouth; the sound of their smacking against my arse in a palace broom-cupboard before the Golden Jubilee concert. My life's defined by him. I can't escape him. I want him and yet cannot stand him. For fuck's sake, my cock's even hard thinking about him now.
My thoughts are interrupted by a cough. A footman announces: `The Prince of Wales, sir'.
I turn sharply, acutely aware of the bulge in my suit trousers, to look across and see Wills standing in cycling Lycra, holding a helmet. Our eyes meet as I try to take in the sight: his shaven chest, his toned body and, unmistakably, the cock of my youth's desire beautifully sheathed and shadowed in the light of the drawing room down his left leg. He, too, eyeing what was no doubt my engorged schlong in my trousers, I long since having abandoned underwear in California.
`Hello you', he said, his left hand readjusting himself, his right putting the helmet under his arm.
`Wills, I, er --
`Leave us', he announced to the footman, who withdrew, closing the door swiftly to leave just my brother, statuesque in the afternoon light, looking deep into my eyes with a mixture of venom and what could only be described as a desire I thought I could never see again.
My eyes dropped again to the bulge as he put the helmet down on a desk and he walked across the dappled light towards me - his cock, I thought, growing as he did so.
To be continued