Jesper's hands, cradling the small of his back and the back of his neck, draw his attention closer. Gently pry him from the tight crush of everything that's made it hard to get out of bed lately. It's a simple thing, being touched, and right now simplicity is exactly what Wilhelm needs. He can almost ignore the quiet ache that wishes it were someone else's hands on him, someone else's lips seeking his.

As Jesper dubs the evening they'd spent together at the party a date, soft surprise stumbles across his expression, settling into a shy smile. His name sounds good on Jesper's tongue. Though he knows the other boy has probably pronounced dozens of names with the same golden warmth, he doesn't doubt that it's genuine. Having lived in the upper class world of facades and flattery, Wilhelm has a sense for these things.

"You can call me Wille," he breathes.

Except he doesn't give Jesper a chance to try out the nickname, as he tilts into another kiss. Apparently answering his challenge — make it up to me then — he doesn't waste much time on chasteness. His tongue slides across Jesper's lower lip; he tries a playful nip. His hands go from tracing gentle patterns into Jesper's shoulders and down the front of his shirt, to nudging at him to scoot back so that he can settle into his lap, knees bracketing thighs to slot them closer together.