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]

[ Following the guard’s gaze, he nods a little. ]

You’re right. [ Glancing at Orym, he smiles a bit mischievously as he leans in to whisper in Orym’s ear. ]

I have to bathe before bed anyway.

[ Then without another glance, he rises from the piano and starts heading towards the door.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[The sound the halfling makes at that is not his most dignified, but he can't be held to blame for that -- not with Brontë smiling that way, saying that and sending Orym's imagination racing to construct that image.]

Right, yes. That's...

[Get it together, Orym. He takes a breath, straightens up and hurries to catch up with Brontë, trying to look like he's not flushed and distracted as he falls into step with the prince.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë can’t help a small laugh, even as his mind starts to wander.

What other ways would he be able to draw such a sound from Orym?

Better not think about that too much, if he wants to keep a neutral face while they continue down the corridors of the palace.

When they finally return to his chambers, he does ask the maids to draw a bath for him. This is usually when he and Orym would part ways again for the evening, with Orym returning to the connected but separate chamber for him, keeping him nearby in case of something happening in the night.

But, as he dismisses the maids again for the rest of the night, he hesitates, because as much as he had been teasing earlier he isn’t entirely sure what to do. He doesn’t want Orym to leave, but…this is a far more intimate situation than he might be ready for. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym manages to keep the poise and posture required of the prince's personal guard until the maids are gone from the room, and the doors secured once more. This is when he would normally retire to his own chamber. He knows that.

But he doesn't want to go.

A breath and he moves closer to Brontë, closer than he'd have any right to be in his official capacity.]

May I stay?

[makingmyway]

[ He glances towards Orym as he approaches, and while he’s still wrestling with a bit of self-consciousness, the answer falls easily from his lips. ]

I’d really love if you would.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

All right. Thank you.

[Even if they do nothing more than kiss or stay close. There's a fairly giddy hope of maybe being able to fall asleep with Brontë in his arms. Though Orym would also not be opposed to more. This is still the first day they've even kissed, after all.]

You were right though, my Prince. You should bathe before the water gets cold.

[makingmyway]

[ He can’t help a smile, his heart easing somewhat knowing that Orym will be nearby - will always be nearby.

But as he glances towards the washroom, he nods a little and starts heading towards it. Suddenly feeling shy again, he waits until he steps behind the door to start removing his clothes.

Oh, but this might be tougher than he thought. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym exhales a breath as Brontë moves to the washroom. He dutifully turns his back, even if he is so tempted to peek, so tempted to help his prince out of his clothes, to slip into the water with him.

But he will behave, will not press for something that Brontë is not ready for. He's waited this long, and he will wait as long as he needs to for something more. The other man is more than worth the wait.]

I'll set out your nightclothes.

[makingmyway]

Thank you.

[ He calls from the washroom, as he sets his clothes aside. He could probably wear them again tomorrow, since he’d only just worn them for dinner.

But he can’t help feeling a little frustrated with himself. He’s well reached being of age, it shouldn’t be this difficult! Most others his age have had relations with others before, there isn’t any reason to be so shy and reluctant to be intimate with someone, especially with Orym, who he’s wanted for so long.

But it’s because it’s Orym, and it’s because he’s wanted him for this long. He doesn’t just want it to be like any other time others might have. He wants it to be special.

But…even if he isn’t ready to go all the way…it doesn’t mean they couldn’t be a little intimate anyway, right?

A small idea forms in his mind as he steps into the tub, relishing the warm water around him. He takes his usual time to wash his body before submerging for a moment to wet his hair.

Well…here goes. ]

Orym?

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[He's just finished setting out his clothes for the night when he hears his name. He glances back over his shoulder before trotting closer to the door.]

My lord?

[Old habits die hard, and he ducks his head sheepishly before adding,] Brontë?

[He'll get better at that probably. But he waits to hear what the other man needs.]

[makingmyway]

[ He hesitates for a moment, making sure he’s covered enough by the water infused with oils, obscuring his body just enough. Then, feeling his cheeks already flushed, he swallows the lump in his throat and continues. ]

Would you, uh…mind helping me? With my hair?

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

I...

[The halfling lets his brain wrap around that one for a moment.]

Of course, yes. I'd be happy to help.

[He'd be far too happy to help actually. He pushes the door open and heads inside, doing his best not to think too hard about Brontë being naked in the water right there.]

You like this one, right? [He picks up one of the bottles near the tub, uncapping it to breathe in the soft scent of it. Look, he knows what his prince smells like, all right? He's had a hell of a crush for a long time.]

[makingmyway]

[ He’s trying not to think too much about it either, how there’s not really much separating his naked form from Orym except a tub and only slightly obscure water. But it’s difficult, especially with the knowledge that Orym knows him well enough to know what his favorite potion for his hair was by its scent. It sends another flush to his cheeks, and he has to look away again. ]

Y-Yeah…that’s the one. There’s, uh… [ He gestures vaguely somewhere behind him. ] There’s a stool there somewhere, if you need it.

[ The tub is low enough that Orym is able to at least peer into it, though the stool might help with giving him some height to access his hair without too much trouble.

Dipping his hair into the water again, he sits up straighter in the tub to make it easier for Orym, trying to ignore how fast his heart is racing. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[A nod. The stool will help. He retrieves it, hopping up and taking a breath in order to steady himself. Focus, Orym. It's just washing his hair. That's all. Do not picture what he looks like beneath the water. Do not peek to find out. Do not imagine climbing into the water with him.

Just hair washing. Focus.

He reaches out to carefully gather Brontë's hair, fingers gentle before he reaches for the bottle once more. He pours what he hopes will be enough in his palms before sinking his hands into thick hair to begin to work up a lather, massaging at his scalp.]

[makingmyway]

[ As soon as those fingers sink into his hair, Brontë’s breath hitches softly, a shiver rolling through his entire body. ]

Oh…

[ If he had thought Orym’s fingers in his hair was nice before, it was nothing compared to now, as the halfling’s hands gently knead his scalp, easing some of the tension that had built up. His body immediately relaxes, tipping his head back a bit to lean into Orym’s touch. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym bites at the inside of his bottom lip at the way that Brontë sounds. Rein it in. Another breath and despite his struggles with his own imagination and racing thoughts, he can't help a smile.]

Feel good?

[His fingers continue their work, taking his time with this, enjoying the way that his prince seems to be relaxing beneath his touch. And well, Brontë has so much hair it will take some time just naturally to make sure he's thorough.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë can’t help a soft hum, his eyes drifting close under Orym’s ministrations. ]

Mm…feels really good…

[ He tries his best not to lean against the side of the tub, but he does lean back a bit more, giving Orym a better view of his chest, even from his position behind him. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

I'm glad.

[Orym's smile softens, as he watches him lean back. He's really in no hurry to be done with this, but eventually he realizes he may, in fact, be pushing it.

He leans in, pressing a kiss to Brontë's forehead gently.]

Lean your head back? Time to rinse.

[makingmyway]

[ He shivers again, the gentle kiss rousing him slightly from his sleepy daze. With another soft sound, he does as instructed and tilts his head back into the water to rinse his hair. ]

There…There’s another one? It’s just some oil to make my hair softer, but…

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym takes his time to run his fingers through his hair to make sure it's thoroughly rinsed.

A glance over at the array of bottles and he selects another bottle, uncapping it to sniff. This seems right. He holds it out for Brontë to see.]

This?

[makingmyway]

[ Finally cracking his eyes open to check the bottle, he then tilts his head back to look up at Orym with a teasing smile. ]

You’ve never seen me bathe before, have you?

[ It seems quite a coincidence that Orym is able to just guess the right one. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

Of course not. I'm a professional.

[Orym informs him with a lift of his eyebrow.]

They smell like you.

[And that is a soothing and sweet scent that he has certainly come to know and like.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë flushes a little at that. Though whether from the idea that Orym is so familiar with how he smells, or the other errant thought that passes his mind, he isn’t sure. ]

I wish you’d be a little less professional.

[ …okay, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but he’s going to blame the heat. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym feels himself flushing again, but there's a pleased, playful smile on his face.]

Yeah? How less professional?

[He starts working the oil through Brontë's hair now, just as gentle as before, taking his time with this.]

Would you let me hold you tonight?

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë blinks, and it’s his turn to blush as his bluff is called. But the suggestion still sends a rush of heat through him, and he’s glad he was seated in the tub because that coupled with Orym’s fingers still combing through his hair, he’s feeling a little weak in the knees. ]

I…I think I’d really like that.

[ The teasing tone from earlier is gone, as the words this time come out in a breathless whisper. ]