for Dorian (makingmyway) - Prince Dorian /Palace Guard Orym AU

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym spends too much time watching the prince. In fairness, it is his job to do exactly that, but it's gone so far beyond just the act of guarding a young noble. Of course it has.

When he'd first been assigned to this position -- the personal guard to Prince Brontë, a promotion really, after he'd managed to be in the right place at the right time to thwart an unexpected assassination attempt against the King and Queen -- he hadn't known much about the younger Prince Wyvernwind, save what he could tell from afar -- that he was beautiful, fair-faced and strong-shouldered, that he always managed to look the part of dutiful and perfect prince.

As he got to know him though, he'd seen more. So much more.

The prince is genuinely kind, not only for show in public. He's gentle and soft spoken, surprisingly down to earth for a young royal who's been sheltered in his kingdom all his life. He's funny too, clever and quick-witted once opened up. It took some time, really, but they've both let their guards down around each other. Orym has to remind himself again and again that he's nothing more than bodyguard, here to keep the Prince safe. Not to keep him company.

But oh he likes his company, has come to look forward to hearing that musical laugh, come to treasure when he's managed to convince Brontë to play or sing for him. There's a warmth in his chest when the Prince confides in him, when he's given glimpses into those surprising insecurities, his hopes and dreams.

It's several months into spending day after day with the Prince that he realizes he's fallen for him. It's foolish. It's utterly foolish and it can never be anything. So he wraps those feelings away and pushes them down as deep as he can.

Today they're in the palace courtyards. The sun shines bright from a sky that is a perfect shade of blue interrupted only by a few white clouds. Orym is rolling his wrist to let his sword dip and then rise, the familiar heft and weight of the blade comfortable in his hand.]

You know, you're good with a blade. I've seen it. But I could probably teach you a few tricks, if you'd be interested.

Comments

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym shifts in his lap, rising up on his knees, straddling those legs. This gives him a bit more height, changing the angle of the way their mouths meet as he loses himself in that kiss, muffling another moan into Brontë's lips.

His hand settles against his chest, through the fine fabric of his shirt, but still slowly exploring, marveling at being able to touch him like this -- his beautiful, untouchable prince.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë can’t help a moan himself, tilting his head up to meet the change, one hand reach up to rest on the back of Orym’s neck and hold him there.

He shivers at Orym’s wandering hands, arching his body a little to curve into his touch, silently asking for more. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Oh, well. That is a sound, isn't it? Orym wants to swallow it whole, taste the other moans and cries that Brontë will make for him. The pressure of that hand at his neck has him losing a soft whimper to the prince's lips in turn.

Everything about the way the other man responds to his touch is thrilling, more than he could have ever imagined. His fingers find their way down, lower, slipping beneath the hemline of a shirt and finding their way to brush over warm skin.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë drinks in that sound, enjoying the feeling of being able to make his stalwart guard make such noises. He lightly runs his nails along the nape of Orym’s neck, wanting to see what other sounds he can draw from him.

At the same time he can’t help a shiver at the touch of Orym’s hands, his skin tingling as those fingers trail across it. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[The sound those nails draw from the halfling is as close to a purr as he can possibly make. This all feels so surreal, far too good to be true.

His hand runs up over his stomach, fabric rucking up as he does.

Breaking from that kiss to take a breath he draws back just enough to look at Brontë.]

You are so beautiful. [It is not even remotely fair.]

[makingmyway]

[ He hums softly at such a pleasing noise. He is quickly becoming addicted to this, to the feeling and sound and taste of Orym. It’s a bit dangerous, but he’s already too far gone to stop now.

He draws a breath as his skin is exposed to the cool air, a sharp contrast to Orym’s warm fingers. When Orym draws back, he slowly opens his eyes again, and can’t help a small flush at the compliment. ]

Thank you. [ It’s something he’s heard pretty often from just about everyone growing up, well-known acquaintances and strangers alike fawning over his looks. But it feels different somehow, coming from Orym. ] You’re quite handsome yourself, though.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym's expression melts into a smile at that.] Glad you think so.

[And he is glad about it. Brontë is absolutely stunning; anyone with eyes can see that. The halfling is well aware that there are countless suitors out there who would jump at the chance to court the younger Wyvernwind prince -- for that beauty or for the political clout and wealth that came with it.

He knows, gods he knows, that he can never really have Brontë, that someday his kind, gentle prince will find someone who can take care of him properly. But the idea of someone who doesn't value Brontë for all that he is, that makes Orym's blood run cold. Brontë deserves to be loved wholly and without condition or limit.]

But that's not why I fell for you, you know. [He informs him, fingers still twirling through a lock of Brontë's hair.] Do you want to know why?

[makingmyway]

[ It’s one of the things he most fears, really - that sometime soon, his parents will arrange for him to be married. He knows it’s his position; as Secondsun, he’s bound to one day marry someone of status in order establish connections to support their family’s influence and continue their line, especially in the off chance that Cyrus wouldn’t be able to take his place as the next king of the Silken Squall.

He knows all that…but he’s always dreaded the day that his parents marry him off to the highest bidder, as it were.

For now, though, it’s not something to worry about, especially with Orym in his arms, and he shivers a little as the halfling plays with his hair. He’d had a feeling that the guard hadn’t fallen for him just for his looks - Orym doesn’t seem the type to be as superficial as that - but he does tilt his head curiously at the question. ]

Why?

[ ’Why me?’ ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym glances at the hair twirling around his fingers. He would love to play with it, braid it, twine it through with vines and flowers. He wonders if Brontë would allow him to, sometime.

For now though, he has a question to answer.]

Because you were a mess. [A pause as he realizes that this doesn't sound very complimentary, so he adds quickly.] I mean I've seen you be the perfect prince, not a step or word out of place, when you have to be. But when you're just you... sometimes you stumble over your words, or you fluster because you don't know what to say at all. You're always kind and sweet and funny and unsure, and it's real. It's not a show because people might be watching, it's just... a good man, doing his best. How could I not fall in love with you?

[Orym has known royals and nobility, and to find a genuinely good person in their ranks is rarer than it ought to be, often because they have no need to be kind.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë blinks, his cheeks once again colored with a dark flush. It was strange, because the things that Orym had noticed about him, these reasons that he’d apparently fallen for him, are the exact things that he tries so hard to hide. The side of himself that he can’t show to his family - or anyone - in fear of being rejected somehow, of being seen as not good enough. The parts of him that he’s most insecure about is what this man - this amazing, wonderful man - apparently likes about him.

No…he said loves. Orym is in love with him. He feels as though his heart is about to burst, so full of affection for him.

With a shaky sigh, he pulls Orym closer, resting his forehead against Orym’s as he closes his eyes. ]

You…You are the only one who sees me this way, Orym. You see everything about me…and still accept me for who I am. You’ve been so kind and patient with me, while being my guard and keeping me safe.

That’s…that’s why I couldn’t help falling in love with you. Because I know that I can trust you with all of me.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym leans into him happily, eyes shutting as well as their foreheads touch, basking in the feeling of being this close, of being held. He's wanted this so much for what feels like forever.

He opens his eyes as Brontë speaks, fingers brushing along his cheek.]

I see you, Brontë. All of you. [He agrees. And there's nothing more beautiful that he's seen in his life.

Hearing that his Prince is in love with him too has a flight of butterflies taking off in his stomach.]

You have my heart, my Prince. And I'll always keep you safe, all of you.

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë nods as he leans into Orym’s touch, opening his eyes and looking at the other man with a small smile. ]

I don’t know what I did to deserve you. But I will do my best to take care of your heart as well.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym shakes his head. If anyone who isn't sure he deserves this, it's Orym. And he knows how dangerous this is, for the both of them.

But he's never seen Brontë smile like this, and it's because of him, somehow. How could he give that up?]

I know. There's no one else I'd trust more to give it to.

1/2

[makingmyway]

[ Another smile, and he slips Orym a quick but tender kiss. ]

I’ll do my best to be worthy of such a precious gift.

2/2

[makingmyway]

[ He wants to do more, to kiss Orym more, but a knock at his door causes him to jump, an unfortunate reminder of the reality of the world they live in.

Fortunately no one enters, the maid on the other side simply informing him that it’s almost time for dinner. And he bites back a groan before answering. ]

Thank you, I’ll be out in a moment.

[ He sighs, looking back to Orym. It was time to return to their stations. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym jolts to attention immediately at the sound of that knock, sitting up straight and very ready to move if the door so much as twitches like it's going to open.

He sighs in relief when it appears it's not going to open and looks back to Dorian offering a faintly apologetic smile. He leans close, stealing one last kiss, brief and full of longing before he climbs his way out of Brontë's lap.]

You should get ready, my lord. You wouldn't want to be late for dinner.

[And Orym will escort him there, as always.]

[makingmyway]

[ He nods, but doesn’t move to get up just yet. Dinner means dining with his family, having to endure his parents’ criticisms for things they’d heard throughout the day, while Orym had to dine with the other guards in a nearby but separate room.

He doesn’t think he can handle that now. But what choice do they have?

Eventually he does get up and slides off the chaise. It’s only then that he remembers the layer of dust on himself and clothes from their earlier training, and he bites back another groan. He’s glad he’d asked the maids for some water to clean up before, but it’s still going to take a while for him to get cleaned up.

But if he doesn’t, his parents will have even more to say. ]

Orym, would you mind getting me another outfit from the wardrobe?

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Ah right, they're both more than a little covered in dust. And now so is the chaise. Oops. Well, Orym can take care of that while Brontë cleans himself up and gets dressed.]

Of course.

[The halfling goes to select something, familiar enough with what his prince's parents will expect for a family dinner to find something suitable for Brontë to wear. He drapes it carefully over an arm so he doesn't drag the garment and moves to set it carefully on the end of the bed.]

[makingmyway]

Thank you.

[ While Orym chooses an outfit for him, Dorian removes his dust-covered clothes and sets them aside to be taken to be washed later, then moves to the basin of water. Grabbing a cloth, he dips it into the water to run it over his face and neck, the parts that had been most exposed and dirty. He also runs the damp cloth over his shoulders, then dips it into the water again to run through his hair.

He doesn’t have enough time to really wash his hair before dinner, but he can at least wipe it down a little and make it look clean. When he feels cleaned up enough, he then pulls his hair up into a tight bun, hiding what he can’t really clean, before moving to the bed to put on the clothes Orym selected.

And the entire time, he avoids Orym’s eyes, entirely aware of the state of his undress while he was cleaning up. It’s not like he hasn’t been like this around Orym before, but…somehow, after all their recent confessions, it feels different. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym sees about dusting off the chaise and sees about shaking some of the dust off himself as well, though that's less of a concern. The other guards won't care if he looks like he was out rolling around on the training grounds. Part of the job, after all, as long as there's not some official function at the palace.

He is very aware of Brontë changing and washing and he really does try to keep his eyes to himself. He doesn't want to be improper, and it's far from the first time that he's seen this but. Yeah, it's different.

It's also impossible not to look. The prince is gorgeous and Orym is only a man.]

[makingmyway]

[ Honestly, it’s not Brontë has never seen people looking at him before. And he’d be lying if he said that he doesn’t like the attention sometimes. But he’s also had people who made him feel uncomfortable with how they look at him.

It’s not at all like that with Orym. Even with as fast as his heart is racing, a part of him likes knowing that Orym might be looking, might be wanting him.

And he can’t help a small smile to himself as he slowly gets dressed, making sure to give Orym quite a view. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Oh more than might. Orym absolutely wants Brontë, but he also won't be the one to push for it. He's well aware that his prince -- despite being absurdly attractive -- has not taken any lovers or entertained and suitors. Orym would have known given his duties. But he won't push for something that the other man isn't ready for.

That doesn't mean he's not picturing it right now though while he's trying not to stare too much at the same time that Brontë is giving him such an amazing view to stare at. By the time the prince finishes dressing, he will have one brightly blushing halfling trying to stand and look casual by the door.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë had always been reluctant to take a lover, one of the reasons he’d been avoiding his parents’ discussions about marriage. Part of it was because he’d always been afraid of sharing that part of himself with another, afraid that he wouldn’t be accepted. But he’s had plenty of fantasies, and more than a few that involved Orym himself.

He wonders if maybe Orym might be willing to fulfill some of them with him…

Finally finished dressing, he turns back to Orym, and seeing the color on the halfling’s cheeks, he can’t help a small, mischievous smile. ]

Ready?

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[...he did it on purpose. Orym blinks at him for a moment before laughing.]

You're an awful tease. [A pause before he adds, amusement still clear in his voice.] ...my lord.

[He nods at the question. He's ready. He moves to push open the door, stepping back to let Brontë step through so that he can fall into step in his usual place just behind and to the right of the other man.]

[makingmyway]

[ He should be used hearing the title coming from Orym, but it’s the way he says it that sends a shiver down his spine.

He’ll definitely have to talk to Orym about some of those fantasies sometime.

With a nod of his own, he steps out of his chambers and, once Orym steps behind him, makes his way to the dining hall, easily slipping the mask of regal prince back on once he begins to see other people.

Eventually he and Orym have to part ways, with Orym joining the other guards as Brontë goes to dine with his family. It’s the usual conversations over dinner, ranging from more politics to discussions of him and Cyrus finding potential marriage candidates, as well as how their studies are going. Apparently he and Orym had been spotted earlier when they were on the training grounds by some of the guards, who told his parents (“It’s good that you’re taking an interest in learning to protect yourself.” “If only you could apply yourself that way to your other studies.”), but fortunately it seems that no one had noticed how the sparring matched had ended.

After what feels like forever, dinner comes to an end. Feeling a little anxious, Brontë waits for Orym to join him before heading, not for his chambers, but for the music room instead. ]