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

[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. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym will be far too happy to make any of Brontë's fantasies reality, given that he certainly has some of his own. But those thoughts are not helpful ones to be having while he has to pretend he's nothing more than the dutiful guard attending to his prince.

Dinner feels longer than usual, even if Orym manages to act normal enough, fall into the usual banter between the other guards -- who good naturedly decide to tease him about swinging a weapon at his charge, which Orym laughs off with a wave of his hands. They were wooden swords, no need to be dramatic.

He's still grateful when the meal is over, when he's following Brontë down the palace corridors. There's a brief curious lift of his eyebrows as he realizes where they're headed, but he doesn't question it. Brontë has his reasons.

As they approach, he slips ahead of him to open the door, gesturing with a proper bow for the Genasi to enter first.]

[makingmyway]

[ He smiles faintly with a nod at Orym before he steps into the music room. ]

Just, uh…shut the door?

[ The music room isn’t really the most private place to have a conversation. But there wouldn’t be many others around here at this time of night.

Heading over to the large piano on the far side of the room, Brontë runs a hand over some of the keys, idly playing a couple stray notes before he takes a seat at the bench and begins to play a song, the low and rich sound of it giving it a melancholy tone. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[A nod of agreement.]

Yes, my lord.

[And once the door is shut, Orym relaxes back against it, shedding most of the propriety. That's normal, has been for a long while between them. Behind closed doors, when they're alone, Orym has allowed himself to be more casual, to treat the prince like a friend, for a while now. But now with their confessions, he realizes it's even more important to be proper in public.

So it's a relieved smile as he makes his way over to where Dorian is playing the piano, quiet as he stands next to the prince, not wanting to interrupt the song.]

[makingmyway]

[ He glances up as Orym joins him by the piano, another smile as he continues to play. There isn’t any sheet music, so it seems that he’s playing the song by memory.

The tune seems to increase in energy, swelling in pitch and volume. As it does, Brontë takes the chance to speak, his voice low enough that anyone passing by wouldn’t hear them over the piano. ]

My parents were informed about what happened on the training grounds.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym blinks at this information, glancing at the closed door.]

How informed?

[Technically no lines had been crossed out there on the training grounds, but they had come close to those lines, right up to them, and anyone who saw the end of it, well. There was tension in the air between them, something that felt like it was about to break open.

And it had not long after behind closed doors.]

[makingmyway]

Just that we were out there training. I don’t think anyone saw the end of it, otherwise my parents certainly would have said something.

But it still means people saw us out there.

[ They definitely will have to be more careful about this. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

And that's not a chance we can take in the future.

[It hadn't been a concern going out there. Orym had fully intended on it being an uneventful sparring session, a few sword pointers, a little getting their heart rates up. He's always enjoyed his time with the prince, thought of him as a friend.

But then they kissed and his entire world has shifted, something precious and important that he doesn't even want to consider losing.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë nods. ]

Right. Except… [ A small smile flits across his face. ] I don’t know how I’m going to keep from wanting to kiss you all the time.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym's eyebrows raise as he feels heat rising in his cheeks.]

All right, that was very smooth, my prince.

[He teases gently, stepping closer to where Brontë is seated. They have to be careful, but it really is a problem.]

But it is going to be hard... [He lifts a hand, the back of his knuckles brushing along Brontë's cheek.] ...keeping my hands to myself.

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë grins, but his expression softens as he leans into Orym’s touch, causing his fingers to falter on some keys. Then he laughs softly. ]

We might be in some trouble here, huh?

[ Yet somehow he can’t bring himself to regret anything. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

I think so, yes.

[Orym agrees, but there's an almost giddy smile on his face. No, there's not an ounce of regret in the halfling either. Instead he's pondering if he can insinuate himself between the prince and the piano keys and settle in his lap, to see how challenging he can make keeping up the song.]

I've had a long time to dream about you.

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë laughs a little, correcting the position of his hands to continue playing. The song is certainly starting to drift a bit, its tone a little lighter as each note seems to lazily transition into the next while he keeps his gaze on Orym. ]

Is that so? And what kind of dreams do I feature in?

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

All kinds.

[Orym answers with a playful twist of his lips. He knows it's not really an answer, so he elaborates.]

Sweet ones where we sit together watching the stars, your head in my lap. Some dreams where I spend the night in your bed, wrapped in your arms.

[His fingers trace along the prince's jawline.] And others where you let me get you out of your pretty clothes, you let me put my hands on you, your hands on me... [He trails off, touch still lingering.]

[makingmyway]

[ He smiles, though there is a faint blush on his cheeks as he imagines the scenarios that Orym describes. As much as he can play at being flirty - another skill he’s had to pick up when socializing with other royals and nobility, oddly enough - they both knew that he’s never had those kinds of experiences with anyone.

He shivers a little as Orym gently drags his fingers along his jaw, and he leans into the touch. ]

Hmm…those all sound nice. I’ve…had some similar dreams, to be honest.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[The way Brontë leans into his touch is thrilling, that the other man really does share his feelings, seems to want Orym as much as Orym wants him.

The music room door is not locked, but the halfling knows the staff is trained well enough to knock. So he'll take a chance, leaning in to touch a kiss by Brontë's ear, murmuring there, softly.]

Tell me about them?

[makingmyway]

[ The kiss sends another shiver down his spine, and more discordant notes sound on the piano as he releases a breathless sound. ]

Ones like…picnicking out by that lake in the woods, just the two of us. Going horseback riding…playing music for you on my lute…

[ His cheeks flush again as he glances away shyly. ]

I have one where…you whisk me away, far from here…and I thank my brave knight for rescuing me from this life…

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

Those sound perfect...

[And certainly things they could make happen, if they are careful. Oh so careful.

Those last words though, Orym stills.]

Brontë... [He leans his head against his prince's.] I would steal you away from here in a moment, somewhere no one could tell us that we can't be together.

[He's dreamed that dream too.] But I have nothing to offer you. No name or lands. The only things I have are my sword and my heart, and the one is already promised to protect you and the other, well, that's already yours.

[makingmyway]

[ His hands still on the piano, and eventually draw away to rest on Orym’s waist as he leans against him, closing his eyes. ]

If I wanted any of that, I would just stay here. But all I want is you, Orym.

If anything, I would worry that I would have nothing to offer you. As much as I would love to leave this world…I know that I wouldn’t be able to do much outside of it. I fear I would only hold you back.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

You could never hold me back.

[Orym smiled, winding his arms around his prince in turn.]

The only thing I want is to be with you. However that happens. Wherever it happens. We could make it work. Find a little place somewhere far from here. A small cottage with a garden out back. I could find work.

[His arms tightened around him.] It wouldn't be much, but it would be ours.

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë hums, a soft content sound as he nuzzles into Orym. ]

It sounds lovely. A simple life with you would be more than enough for me.