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Description
Political Negotiations
Fandom: Mario and Luigi: Superstar Saga
DK Archer

----
Okay!  So this is weird.  first, I should warn you all this is a SLASH fic.  Meaning it contains homosexual content, and if that will make your brain implode, go elsewhere.  But it's only rated PG.  Also, though this could be viewed as a Stand Alone, when I wrote it I was thinking about a much longer fic I'm trying not to write XD  This would be Prologue.  Any further work will be decided by how well this is recieved.  *shuts up now*  Read
----

“So tell me about this ‘NEW York.’” The Prince said, directing the conversation away from his recent misadventure with his mother’s lapdog.  They’d stopped on the crest of a quiet hill, the sun setting in a spray of red out on the horizon, turning the streams in the valley into fire.  The Prince was sprawled out against an overgrown log, grass stains on his plain hunting clothes, his bow still unused in the saddle.  The horses milled quietly at the treeline behind them, black, lidless eyes reflecting the sky.  “What nation is it in?  Who’s your king?”

Luigi paused, fiddling with the ends of his mustache.  “The United States.”  He said.  “There’s no king.  We’ve got a….a president.”

Prince Peasley raised an eyebrow.  “No King?  Ugh.  Barbaric.  And what states would those be, United States of Confusion?”

“America.”  Luigi snorted.

“United States of America.”  The Prince frowned, brow furrowing and staring slightly past Luigi.  After a moment he grunted, waving a hand dismissively.  “I’ve never heard of it.” He admitted, not sounding that he liked the idea.  “Where is it from here?  Is it over the ocean?  Because I don’t remember my geography very well past the Tortoise Sea.”

Luigi shrugged.  “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”  Peasley asked, leaning forward onto his knees.  “How did you get here if you didn’t know where you’d been?  You couldn’t have just fallen from the sky.”

Luigi just held his hands up helplessly.  Peasley, whom Luigi had discovered in the past few months did not appreciate mysteries, kept frowning.  Luigi opened his mouth, trying to think of a way to explain, and coming up blank.  “I fell through a pipe.”  He tried, sounding clueless even to his own ears.  “Mario fell first and I grabbed him and we both went down.”

Peasley stared at him.  “You…fell through a pipe.”

“Yes.”

Further silence.

“As in…water pipe?”

“Sewage pipe.”  Luigi corrected, face coloring a little.

“So…After falling through into the sewer…you washed out here?”  Peasley tried, making a face.

“Something like that.”

The Prince seemed to think about it for a moment, frowning down at the valley below them.

“Eww.”  He decided after a moment.  Which had summed up Luigi’s feeling at the time it happened perfectly.  “Though not impossible, I suppose.  The Mushroom Kingdom’s royal family supposedly washed in from the sea some 200 years ago.  They came here from a place called Stokes.”

“That’s in England.”  Luigi said absently.

“Is that near New York?”

“No.  In Europe.”

“Ah.  Europe.”  The Prince resumed his stare across the valley, not wanting to admit he didn’t know where Europe was, either.  He trusted Luigi wouldn’t set him down for a geography lesson; after all, it seemed unlikely he’d ever come into formal diplomatic contact with the king of Stokes, or the President of New York, and his head was full of enough trivia as it was.

Luigi smirked behind his gloved hand and let it pass.  The sky was going from red to purple at the horizon, the evening star stubbornly appearing behind them.  It had been mid afternoon when the Prince had arrived at the Mario Brother’s home, having wrapped up yet another diplomatic meeting with the King.  These things had become habit.  The first had been two months ago, when the Queen herself had come amidst pomp and fanfare, trailing her son and locking them all up for three days in the King’s Summer Palace.  A note had come by courier about the same time, asking if the Mario Brothers would like the join the Prince on a hunt of the Royal Preserve as soon as this diplomatic mess was over, and perhaps catch up on each other’s adventures.

The note had been written on an informal, apparently by the prince himself.  Luigi decided to go immediately, excited at the idea of spending an evening with the Prince of the Bean Bean Kingdom.  Mario was more realistic.  The two of them had no idea how to hunt; they’d spent most of their childhood in Lower Manhattan and hadn’t even stepped foot in a forest until arriving in the Mushroom Kingdom.  And what would they hunt with?  They didn’t know how to fire a shotgun, much less a bow, and did Luigi really want to go blowing holes in innocent little forest dwelling beasties?

Luigi had faltered at that, but didn’t back down.  Eventually Mario sent the reply, that they’d go except they’d never done this before, and didn’t have the equipment.  A very, very curt note was sent back the day the hunt would likely take place, saying just “It’s Taken Care Of.”

Shortly after noon, the Prince had arrived, changed out of his formal attire and looking mad as hell when Luigi saw him out the window.  He was riding something Luigi immediately recognized as a horse, complete with mane, tail, and bridle, but looked almost like a topiary version, ripped clean out of the ground.  Its roots (which seemed to have taken the place of the horse’s hooves) were still trailing bits of dirt.  Two black, beady eyes looked out from under a mane of vines, tossing its head irritably as the weight of the roses in its mane dragged it over its face.  Two others were being pulled along behind him, twin animals that looked like green balloon horses.  They were round, sturdy, and largely featureless, looking like the failed prototype of the rose horse.  They were also about as advanced a creature as Mario and Luigi could keep ahold of.

Of course, when Luigi opened the door, the Prince’s stormy expression had been changed into brash cheerfulness.  It was a nearly faultless act.  He’d laughed, slapped them both of the shoulders (too hard) and made his usual, egocentric jokes.  It had taken an hour or so to get the both of them ready to go, but Peasley was patient, helping them back on the horses repeatedly and practicing firing recurve bows from horseback until they could at least get in the general vicinity of the target (and both brothers had painful bruises on their forearms.)  Then they’d set off.

On the trail, Peasley had talked about his recent exploits, and Mario had talked about theirs (or more accurately, his, since Luigi hadn’t been out much since the Cackletta incident.)  They hadn’t quite reached the boundaries of the Royal Preserve when Peasley sighted a stout, ugly animal snuffing through the underbrush.  Luigi couldn’t remember what it was called for the life of him.  The Prince, though, shot a bolt into the animal’s eye socket.  It ran squealing and shaking its head, splattering blood across the forest floor, and Peasley’s horse went after it at a run.  Luigi had paled and put a hand over his mouth.  Neither brother followed him.

When the Prince returned, about twenty minutes later, the gutted carcass was on the back of the horse and blood was on the front of the Prince’s white tunic.  Luigi was genuinely dismayed at the animal’s suffering, and Mario tactfully suggested that maybe they should go.

Two weeks later, another ‘diplomatic meeting’ had been arranged, and this one the Prince attended alone.  The Mario brothers received another invitation, but only Luigi accepted this time.  As upset as he had been over the last hunt he’d thought maybe the Prince would be a little more careful about it.  He was right.  The Prince arrived trailing a different horse with sweet pea blossoms growing from its mane, and they headed off again, without Mario this time, and not quite headed towards the Royal Preserve.

They spent most of that evening talking mindlessly back and forth, the Prince’s shoulders slowly relaxing the further they got from the meeting.  The horses wandered amicably through the web of trails in the woods, and though they saw several creatures off the path, Peasley didn’t fire on any of them.  Luigi didn’t ask any of the questions Peasley had come to anticipate; they didn’t discuss politics (Luigi didn’t follow them) or royal affairs, and he certainly didn’t gossip.  They didn’t know any of the same people.  Thank God.  By the time it was dark and they turned their horses around, they’d been talking about gardening for almost an hour, especially the cultivation of the Vegetable Horse (a close cousin of the Vegetable Lamb, now extinct, and quite distantly related to the Bean Bean people themselves.)  Luigi was surprised that the Prince would tend his own garden.  It would seem someone of his stature would leave that to the help.

It was truly night when they came back to the Mario household.  They’d lingered in the yard for a moment, watching moths flirt with the porchlight and Luigi trying to decide how to get off this beast without falling off it like last time.  Eventually the Prince recognized the problem and dismounted, coming around and helping pull Luigi off the horse and nearly knocking the both of them flat for his effort.  Before he left, Peasley snipped a yellow rose off the horse’s mane and slipped it through the button hook of Luigi’s overalls.  In the slanted light coming from the Mario household, the Prince was smiling at him.

After that, Luigi had looked forward to their ‘hunting’ trips.

On the top of the hill, looking down on the wide valley, the sun had slipped into sleep and left only a faint, purple stain on the horizon.  Stars were coming out to pepper the sky, and the horses were settling down to take root for the night.  Peasley had been staring out across the valley for some time now, his earlier stubborn expression fading into a thoughtful, uncomfortable frown.  Luigi watched him warily, The Prince in Starlight looking different than The Prince in Daylight, as he looked different from The Prince at Sundown.  One piece of hair was out of place, curling up to meet the corner of his mouth.  Peasley turned his frown to Luigi, looking suddenly uncomfortable.

“You know…” he said eventually,  “These ‘negotiations’ my mother started are going well.  Very well.  I’ll only have to go back one more time.”

He should have sounded relieved.  He knew the Prince didn’t like to admit it, but whatever they were talking about at these negotiations seemed to put him in a foul mood.  Over the course of several trips, Peasley’s Blustering Hero act had worn down, and when he came to meet Luigi his temper was more obvious.  Though never towards him.  Peasley was careful of that.

Luigi fidgeted with a hole in the fingertip of his glove.  “Does this mean we’ll only go on one more ‘hunting trip’?”

The Prince leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his knees.  “I’m ….I’m not sure.”  He said unevenly, the veiled frustration in his tone making Luigi’s ears prick.  “There’s going to be so much planning.  So many things to do.  I don’t know if I’ll be able to meet you afterwards…”  he trailed off.

“…Oh.”

Luigi looked down at the ground between his knees.  It took him a few moments to realize the Prince was watching him intently.  Luigi glanced up, meeting Peasley’s gaze.

“Luigi….” Peasley began, then hesitated, trying very hard to find the right wording.  “If I had my way, I’d like to come back.” He said, reaching out to put a hand on Luigi’s elbow.  “It’s just that… I’m the heir to the throne,” he continued.  “And despite what most people think, that means I don’t usually get to do what I want.  Everything in my life…it’s planned years in advance.  I know what I’ll be doing when I’m sixty years old.  Do you know that?  I can tell you exactly what I’ll be doing on any given day, from here until the end of my life.”

He sounded bitter, not to mention mildly upset.  A little unsettled, Luigi hesitantly touched the hand on his elbow, not sure if he was allowed to touch a Prince.  Peasley’s other hand covered his gratefully, and he lowered his face, hiding behind a veil of hair.  After a moment his hand slid down and took Luigi’s properly, pulling it across to his own knee and exploring Luigi’s fingertips thoughtfully.  Luigi swallowed, face hot and embarrassed.  He looked at the grass instead of the Prince.  The Prince didn’t look at anything.

A night bug began to chirp somewhere in the grass.  Another one answered it from the trees.  Behind them, one of the horses grumbled and shifted, its roots creaking as it pulled them out of the dirt again.  Luigi was held prisoner, joints locked in an effort not to fidget, face burning and thinking the Prince had to be able to feel his pulse going in his wrist like that.  Peasley looked up after a moment, still gently running his thumb over Luigi’s knuckles.

“…Do I make you nervous, Luigi?”  he asked, keeping his tone carefully curious.  Luigi pulled his cap down low and shook his head stubbornly, humiliated and hoping that in the dark the Prince wouldn’t be able to see the color of his face.  After a moment Peasley’s gentle exploration stilled and Luigi let out a breath, wondering if he could get out of this with some semblance of pride intact (he doubted it.)

Crickets chirped in a long, pregnant pause. A hand touched his chin and Luigi jerked his head up, startled and wide eyed, and almost didn’t realize what was happening until it had happened.  The Prince had gone forward on his knees, leaning towards him, and his lips brushed the corner of Luigi’s, something his brain identified a moment too late as a kiss.  Luigi recoiled unthinkingly, nearly knocking himself over and clapping a hand over his mouth, staring at Peasley wide eyed.  The Prince pulled back, holding his hands up to show he wasn’t going to try anything.

Part of Luigi’s mind wondered, fleetingly, if it was possible to have a heart attack at his age.  If so, this might very well be one.  Peasley settled back onto his heels, turning his face down.  “I’m sorry.”  He said quietly, tone carefully masking whatever he felt on the matter.  “That was very presumptuous of me.  I should never have taken such a liberty.  I can only hope I didn’t completely spoil your opinion of me…” it trailed off, the Prince sounding momentarily lost.  Eventually he cleared his throat and stood, brushing the grass off his knees.  He’d yet to look at Luigi.

“It’s late.”  He said quietly.  “I’ll see you home.”

Luigi nodded dumbly, but didn’t actually move to stand until Peasley faltered and turned, climbing over the fallen log to go and wake the horses.  Luigi swallowed and pushed himself shakily to his feet, holding onto the log for support.  He watched Peasley’s back as he carefully patted both horses awake, letting them snort and stomp, irritably tearing up the roots they’d just put down.  Peasley carefully adjusted the bridles of both and then stood there, waiting, holding into his horse’s reigns and stroking its nose.  Luigi unsteady climbed over the fallen log and made his way towards them, heart still stuttering in his chest and hoping he wouldn’t go the same way his father had, at this stage in life.  Peasley didn’t turn to look at him.

Hesitantly, Luigi reached a hand out to touch his sleeve, but his nerve deserted him long before he got there.  He let his hand hover, and drop, stomach knotting up on itself.  Eventually, the Prince looked over his shoulder at him, forcing Luigi to pull the brim of his cap down over his eyes.  Damn it.  He took a step backwards, towards his own horse, and nearly tripped on it.  Peasley grabbed his arm to stop him from falling.

Luigi caught the Prince’s wrist before he pulled away again, shaking a bit, and did something that, as far as Luigi was concerned, was incredibly brave.  He pressed a quick, shaky kiss to the Prince’s gloved knuckles, letting go just as fast and turning away to fetch his horse’s bridle, unable to remember for the life of him where the stirrup was.  Peasley stopped him, pulling him back from the horse and making him turn.  Luigi couldn’t look at him.  Immediately Peasley’s grip softened, and he nudged Luigi’s cap up, standing on his toes to press a soft, determined kiss to Luigi’s forehead.  Luigi let out a shaky breath and held his ground this time, shutting his eyes and tilting his face down towards the Prince’s.

Peasley obliged him with another kiss.

They didn’t get back to Luigi’s house until late, late enough to worry his brother, who was sitting up with the lights on, making sure he came home.  Luigi came wandering in, dazed and disheveled, and headed straight for the bedroom.  A yellow rose had been stuck in the band of his cap.

Mario decided to keep his mouth shut.

It was, as had been unhappily predicted, the last hunting trip.  Luigi wouldn’t see hide nor hair of the prince for another three weeks, when his photograph was splashed on the front page of the paper, an arm around the Princess’s waist and both waving gleefully for the cameras.  The headlines happily proclaimed PRINCESS PEACH ENGAGED!

Political negotiations, indeed.

Mario had a bottle of mushroom schnapps in the kitchen cabinets for special occasions.  The brothers toasted the engagement, and emptied the bottle.

Description
Political Negotiations
Fandom: Mario and Luigi: Superstar Saga
DK Archer

----
Okay!  So this is weird.  first, I should warn you all this is a SLASH fic.  Meaning it contains homosexual content, and if that will make your brain implode, go elsewhere.  But it's only rated PG.  Also, though this could be viewed as a Stand Alone, when I wrote it I was thinking about a much longer fic I'm trying not to write XD  This would be Prologue.  Any further work will be decided by how well this is recieved.  *shuts up now*  Read
----

“So tell me about this ‘NEW York.’” The Prince said, directing the conversation away from his recent misadventure with his mother’s lapdog.  They’d stopped on the crest of a quiet hill, the sun setting in a spray of red out on the horizon, turning the streams in the valley into fire.  The Prince was sprawled out against an overgrown log, grass stains on his plain hunting clothes, his bow still unused in the saddle.  The horses milled quietly at the treeline behind them, black, lidless eyes reflecting the sky.  “What nation is it in?  Who’s your king?”

Luigi paused, fiddling with the ends of his mustache.  “The United States.”  He said.  “There’s no king.  We’ve got a….a president.”

Prince Peasley raised an eyebrow.  “No King?  Ugh.  Barbaric.  And what states would those be, United States of Confusion?”

“America.”  Luigi snorted.

“United States of America.”  The Prince frowned, brow furrowing and staring slightly past Luigi.  After a moment he grunted, waving a hand dismissively.  “I’ve never heard of it.” He admitted, not sounding that he liked the idea.  “Where is it from here?  Is it over the ocean?  Because I don’t remember my geography very well past the Tortoise Sea.”

Luigi shrugged.  “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”  Peasley asked, leaning forward onto his knees.  “How did you get here if you didn’t know where you’d been?  You couldn’t have just fallen from the sky.”

Luigi just held his hands up helplessly.  Peasley, whom Luigi had discovered in the past few months did not appreciate mysteries, kept frowning.  Luigi opened his mouth, trying to think of a way to explain, and coming up blank.  “I fell through a pipe.”  He tried, sounding clueless even to his own ears.  “Mario fell first and I grabbed him and we both went down.”

Peasley stared at him.  “You…fell through a pipe.”

“Yes.”

Further silence.

“As in…water pipe?”

“Sewage pipe.”  Luigi corrected, face coloring a little.

“So…After falling through into the sewer…you washed out here?”  Peasley tried, making a face.

“Something like that.”

The Prince seemed to think about it for a moment, frowning down at the valley below them.

“Eww.”  He decided after a moment.  Which had summed up Luigi’s feeling at the time it happened perfectly.  “Though not impossible, I suppose.  The Mushroom Kingdom’s royal family supposedly washed in from the sea some 200 years ago.  They came here from a place called Stokes.”

“That’s in England.”  Luigi said absently.

“Is that near New York?”

“No.  In Europe.”

“Ah.  Europe.”  The Prince resumed his stare across the valley, not wanting to admit he didn’t know where Europe was, either.  He trusted Luigi wouldn’t set him down for a geography lesson; after all, it seemed unlikely he’d ever come into formal diplomatic contact with the king of Stokes, or the President of New York, and his head was full of enough trivia as it was.

Luigi smirked behind his gloved hand and let it pass.  The sky was going from red to purple at the horizon, the evening star stubbornly appearing behind them.  It had been mid afternoon when the Prince had arrived at the Mario Brother’s home, having wrapped up yet another diplomatic meeting with the King.  These things had become habit.  The first had been two months ago, when the Queen herself had come amidst pomp and fanfare, trailing her son and locking them all up for three days in the King’s Summer Palace.  A note had come by courier about the same time, asking if the Mario Brothers would like the join the Prince on a hunt of the Royal Preserve as soon as this diplomatic mess was over, and perhaps catch up on each other’s adventures.

The note had been written on an informal, apparently by the prince himself.  Luigi decided to go immediately, excited at the idea of spending an evening with the Prince of the Bean Bean Kingdom.  Mario was more realistic.  The two of them had no idea how to hunt; they’d spent most of their childhood in Lower Manhattan and hadn’t even stepped foot in a forest until arriving in the Mushroom Kingdom.  And what would they hunt with?  They didn’t know how to fire a shotgun, much less a bow, and did Luigi really want to go blowing holes in innocent little forest dwelling beasties?

Luigi had faltered at that, but didn’t back down.  Eventually Mario sent the reply, that they’d go except they’d never done this before, and didn’t have the equipment.  A very, very curt note was sent back the day the hunt would likely take place, saying just “It’s Taken Care Of.”

Shortly after noon, the Prince had arrived, changed out of his formal attire and looking mad as hell when Luigi saw him out the window.  He was riding something Luigi immediately recognized as a horse, complete with mane, tail, and bridle, but looked almost like a topiary version, ripped clean out of the ground.  Its roots (which seemed to have taken the place of the horse’s hooves) were still trailing bits of dirt.  Two black, beady eyes looked out from under a mane of vines, tossing its head irritably as the weight of the roses in its mane dragged it over its face.  Two others were being pulled along behind him, twin animals that looked like green balloon horses.  They were round, sturdy, and largely featureless, looking like the failed prototype of the rose horse.  They were also about as advanced a creature as Mario and Luigi could keep ahold of.

Of course, when Luigi opened the door, the Prince’s stormy expression had been changed into brash cheerfulness.  It was a nearly faultless act.  He’d laughed, slapped them both of the shoulders (too hard) and made his usual, egocentric jokes.  It had taken an hour or so to get the both of them ready to go, but Peasley was patient, helping them back on the horses repeatedly and practicing firing recurve bows from horseback until they could at least get in the general vicinity of the target (and both brothers had painful bruises on their forearms.)  Then they’d set off.

On the trail, Peasley had talked about his recent exploits, and Mario had talked about theirs (or more accurately, his, since Luigi hadn’t been out much since the Cackletta incident.)  They hadn’t quite reached the boundaries of the Royal Preserve when Peasley sighted a stout, ugly animal snuffing through the underbrush.  Luigi couldn’t remember what it was called for the life of him.  The Prince, though, shot a bolt into the animal’s eye socket.  It ran squealing and shaking its head, splattering blood across the forest floor, and Peasley’s horse went after it at a run.  Luigi had paled and put a hand over his mouth.  Neither brother followed him.

When the Prince returned, about twenty minutes later, the gutted carcass was on the back of the horse and blood was on the front of the Prince’s white tunic.  Luigi was genuinely dismayed at the animal’s suffering, and Mario tactfully suggested that maybe they should go.

Two weeks later, another ‘diplomatic meeting’ had been arranged, and this one the Prince attended alone.  The Mario brothers received another invitation, but only Luigi accepted this time.  As upset as he had been over the last hunt he’d thought maybe the Prince would be a little more careful about it.  He was right.  The Prince arrived trailing a different horse with sweet pea blossoms growing from its mane, and they headed off again, without Mario this time, and not quite headed towards the Royal Preserve.

They spent most of that evening talking mindlessly back and forth, the Prince’s shoulders slowly relaxing the further they got from the meeting.  The horses wandered amicably through the web of trails in the woods, and though they saw several creatures off the path, Peasley didn’t fire on any of them.  Luigi didn’t ask any of the questions Peasley had come to anticipate; they didn’t discuss politics (Luigi didn’t follow them) or royal affairs, and he certainly didn’t gossip.  They didn’t know any of the same people.  Thank God.  By the time it was dark and they turned their horses around, they’d been talking about gardening for almost an hour, especially the cultivation of the Vegetable Horse (a close cousin of the Vegetable Lamb, now extinct, and quite distantly related to the Bean Bean people themselves.)  Luigi was surprised that the Prince would tend his own garden.  It would seem someone of his stature would leave that to the help.

It was truly night when they came back to the Mario household.  They’d lingered in the yard for a moment, watching moths flirt with the porchlight and Luigi trying to decide how to get off this beast without falling off it like last time.  Eventually the Prince recognized the problem and dismounted, coming around and helping pull Luigi off the horse and nearly knocking the both of them flat for his effort.  Before he left, Peasley snipped a yellow rose off the horse’s mane and slipped it through the button hook of Luigi’s overalls.  In the slanted light coming from the Mario household, the Prince was smiling at him.

After that, Luigi had looked forward to their ‘hunting’ trips.

On the top of the hill, looking down on the wide valley, the sun had slipped into sleep and left only a faint, purple stain on the horizon.  Stars were coming out to pepper the sky, and the horses were settling down to take root for the night.  Peasley had been staring out across the valley for some time now, his earlier stubborn expression fading into a thoughtful, uncomfortable frown.  Luigi watched him warily, The Prince in Starlight looking different than The Prince in Daylight, as he looked different from The Prince at Sundown.  One piece of hair was out of place, curling up to meet the corner of his mouth.  Peasley turned his frown to Luigi, looking suddenly uncomfortable.

“You know…” he said eventually,  “These ‘negotiations’ my mother started are going well.  Very well.  I’ll only have to go back one more time.”

He should have sounded relieved.  He knew the Prince didn’t like to admit it, but whatever they were talking about at these negotiations seemed to put him in a foul mood.  Over the course of several trips, Peasley’s Blustering Hero act had worn down, and when he came to meet Luigi his temper was more obvious.  Though never towards him.  Peasley was careful of that.

Luigi fidgeted with a hole in the fingertip of his glove.  “Does this mean we’ll only go on one more ‘hunting trip’?”

The Prince leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his knees.  “I’m ….I’m not sure.”  He said unevenly, the veiled frustration in his tone making Luigi’s ears prick.  “There’s going to be so much planning.  So many things to do.  I don’t know if I’ll be able to meet you afterwards…”  he trailed off.

“…Oh.”

Luigi looked down at the ground between his knees.  It took him a few moments to realize the Prince was watching him intently.  Luigi glanced up, meeting Peasley’s gaze.

“Luigi….” Peasley began, then hesitated, trying very hard to find the right wording.  “If I had my way, I’d like to come back.” He said, reaching out to put a hand on Luigi’s elbow.  “It’s just that… I’m the heir to the throne,” he continued.  “And despite what most people think, that means I don’t usually get to do what I want.  Everything in my life…it’s planned years in advance.  I know what I’ll be doing when I’m sixty years old.  Do you know that?  I can tell you exactly what I’ll be doing on any given day, from here until the end of my life.”

He sounded bitter, not to mention mildly upset.  A little unsettled, Luigi hesitantly touched the hand on his elbow, not sure if he was allowed to touch a Prince.  Peasley’s other hand covered his gratefully, and he lowered his face, hiding behind a veil of hair.  After a moment his hand slid down and took Luigi’s properly, pulling it across to his own knee and exploring Luigi’s fingertips thoughtfully.  Luigi swallowed, face hot and embarrassed.  He looked at the grass instead of the Prince.  The Prince didn’t look at anything.

A night bug began to chirp somewhere in the grass.  Another one answered it from the trees.  Behind them, one of the horses grumbled and shifted, its roots creaking as it pulled them out of the dirt again.  Luigi was held prisoner, joints locked in an effort not to fidget, face burning and thinking the Prince had to be able to feel his pulse going in his wrist like that.  Peasley looked up after a moment, still gently running his thumb over Luigi’s knuckles.

“…Do I make you nervous, Luigi?”  he asked, keeping his tone carefully curious.  Luigi pulled his cap down low and shook his head stubbornly, humiliated and hoping that in the dark the Prince wouldn’t be able to see the color of his face.  After a moment Peasley’s gentle exploration stilled and Luigi let out a breath, wondering if he could get out of this with some semblance of pride intact (he doubted it.)

Crickets chirped in a long, pregnant pause. A hand touched his chin and Luigi jerked his head up, startled and wide eyed, and almost didn’t realize what was happening until it had happened.  The Prince had gone forward on his knees, leaning towards him, and his lips brushed the corner of Luigi’s, something his brain identified a moment too late as a kiss.  Luigi recoiled unthinkingly, nearly knocking himself over and clapping a hand over his mouth, staring at Peasley wide eyed.  The Prince pulled back, holding his hands up to show he wasn’t going to try anything.

Part of Luigi’s mind wondered, fleetingly, if it was possible to have a heart attack at his age.  If so, this might very well be one.  Peasley settled back onto his heels, turning his face down.  “I’m sorry.”  He said quietly, tone carefully masking whatever he felt on the matter.  “That was very presumptuous of me.  I should never have taken such a liberty.  I can only hope I didn’t completely spoil your opinion of me…” it trailed off, the Prince sounding momentarily lost.  Eventually he cleared his throat and stood, brushing the grass off his knees.  He’d yet to look at Luigi.

“It’s late.”  He said quietly.  “I’ll see you home.”

Luigi nodded dumbly, but didn’t actually move to stand until Peasley faltered and turned, climbing over the fallen log to go and wake the horses.  Luigi swallowed and pushed himself shakily to his feet, holding onto the log for support.  He watched Peasley’s back as he carefully patted both horses awake, letting them snort and stomp, irritably tearing up the roots they’d just put down.  Peasley carefully adjusted the bridles of both and then stood there, waiting, holding into his horse’s reigns and stroking its nose.  Luigi unsteady climbed over the fallen log and made his way towards them, heart still stuttering in his chest and hoping he wouldn’t go the same way his father had, at this stage in life.  Peasley didn’t turn to look at him.

Hesitantly, Luigi reached a hand out to touch his sleeve, but his nerve deserted him long before he got there.  He let his hand hover, and drop, stomach knotting up on itself.  Eventually, the Prince looked over his shoulder at him, forcing Luigi to pull the brim of his cap down over his eyes.  Damn it.  He took a step backwards, towards his own horse, and nearly tripped on it.  Peasley grabbed his arm to stop him from falling.

Luigi caught the Prince’s wrist before he pulled away again, shaking a bit, and did something that, as far as Luigi was concerned, was incredibly brave.  He pressed a quick, shaky kiss to the Prince’s gloved knuckles, letting go just as fast and turning away to fetch his horse’s bridle, unable to remember for the life of him where the stirrup was.  Peasley stopped him, pulling him back from the horse and making him turn.  Luigi couldn’t look at him.  Immediately Peasley’s grip softened, and he nudged Luigi’s cap up, standing on his toes to press a soft, determined kiss to Luigi’s forehead.  Luigi let out a shaky breath and held his ground this time, shutting his eyes and tilting his face down towards the Prince’s.

Peasley obliged him with another kiss.

They didn’t get back to Luigi’s house until late, late enough to worry his brother, who was sitting up with the lights on, making sure he came home.  Luigi came wandering in, dazed and disheveled, and headed straight for the bedroom.  A yellow rose had been stuck in the band of his cap.

Mario decided to keep his mouth shut.

It was, as had been unhappily predicted, the last hunting trip.  Luigi wouldn’t see hide nor hair of the prince for another three weeks, when his photograph was splashed on the front page of the paper, an arm around the Princess’s waist and both waving gleefully for the cameras.  The headlines happily proclaimed PRINCESS PEACH ENGAGED!

Political negotiations, indeed.

Mario had a bottle of mushroom schnapps in the kitchen cabinets for special occasions.  The brothers toasted the engagement, and emptied the bottle.