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]

Is this all right?

[Because oh Orym heard that hitch of breath, and he has to force himself to breathe as well. He reaches a hand up to brush his fingertips along Brontë's cheek, soft. If the prince needs his space, Orym will give it to him without question.

There's dedication here, utter and complete, to his prince. He's been his guard; he always would have died for Brontë. But now, well, now he gets to live for him.]

[makingmyway]

[ A soft sound rises from his throat, and he closes his eyes as he leans into Orym’s touch. ]

Y-Yeah…it’s okay. It just, um…might take a bit of getting used to.

[ But oh how he wants to get used to it. Especially as he scoots a little closer, feeling the warmth of Orym’s body against his own. Hesitantly he rests a hand against Orym’s chest, opening his eyes again to watch the halfling’s face as his fingers brush over his skin. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Oh that sound does something to Orym, and he takes a breath to settle himself. Innocent thoughts, Orym. Innocent thoughts.

When Brontë moves closer, when that hand sets at his chest, Orym feels his heart flip over itself, and his hand drops from Brontë's cheek to set against the side of his neck.]

We have time to get used to it. But if it's ever too much, just tell me. Whatever you need, all right?

[makingmyway]

[ With a small smile, Brontë nods, even as his hand finds a small scar and he can’t help running his thumb across it. More than anything, he knows that he can trust Orym, that the halfling will take care of him and keep him safe. ]

I know…thank you.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

Thank you, too.

[Orym murmurs softly as that hand finds what he knows well is a scar. He wants Brontë to know him and all his scars, all his flaws and imperfections in him, all the vulnerable and fragile parts of himself. He thinks he can trust his Prince with those pieces of him.

His hand runs up Brontë's neck to settle at the line of his jaw.]

I'm going to kiss you again. [Orym warns him before doing exactly that.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë wants nothing more than to know everything about Orym; to understand Orym the way that the halfling knows all about him. He wants to cherish every part of him, all the good and the bad and the strong and the delicate. He would be happy to keep it all safe in his heart.

He shivers at the brush of that calloused hand across his skin, and he barely has a chance to nod before Orym’s lips find his again. With a soft murmur, his own hand finds Orym’s wrist as he returns the kiss, his lips automatically parting to invite him in. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Kissing Brontë is quickly beginning to feel like coming home, like finding the place in the world where he belongs, finally. The hand at his wrist is warm. All of the other man is warm, and solid and absurdly perfect.

He takes full advantage of that invitation, tongue teasing along that lower lip before slipping into his mouth to chase the kiss deeper, letting his tongue slide along Brontë's, shivering at the frankly exquisite feeling of it.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë is also quickly becoming addicted to the sensation and taste of kissing Orym, feeling so loved and at peace with him. He loves the feeling of Orym’s body against his, and he gently pulls him closer with his free arm.

He can’t help a soft moan as Orym’s tongue moves along his, the taste of him overwhelming him in the best of ways. He curls around him, his heart racing in his chest at being able to do this at all. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Oh this is going to be the death of him, Orym thinks, and he's okay with that. Brontë is every temptation that Orym could imagine somehow made flesh and wanting him just as much.

One hand has come to rest against the prince's chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleepshirt, losing a low sound of his own to that kiss. He knows he needs to keep himself in control here, knows that if anyone deserves the time and patience he wants to give this, it's Brontë, but oh it's hard not to press the other man back to the bed, to climb on top of him and see what it would take to have his prince moaning for him, begging for more.

He forces himself to break from the kiss just long enough to take a breath, to stead himself and murmur softly.] How are you so perfect?

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë shivers a little as he feels those fingers tangle in his shirt. And it sends a rush of different sensations through him; a sort of curious thrill that rushes through his blood, but at the same time a sort of panic that squeezes his heart.

As much as he wants, he can’t help still feeling nervous about the idea of physical intimacy. And he hates it, hates how timid he’s being, because he wants nothing more than to give Orym all of him.

But he wants to try. As long as it takes, he wants to be able to give himself to Orym someday. Because he’s more than worth it.

Opening his eyes when the kiss his broken, he feels himself blushing at Orym’s words. ]

I-I think…I think you think too highly of me, Orym.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym would wait the rest of forever for Brontë. As much as he wants him, wants to know him and his body in that intimate way, he can be patient. And if his prince is never ready for it, even just being able to hold him, to be held this way. That would be enough.

Brontë is everything that he's wanted, and his heart has been the other man's for some time now even if he'd never admitted it.]

Mm-mm. Not possible. You don't think of yourself highly enough, you know. So until you do, I'll have to remind you.

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë chuckles faintly, though he doesn’t have much of an answer for that. Orym is really the only one who thinks he’s worth anything, it seems.

But more than anything, he wants to be that. To be everything Orym believes him to be.

With a soft sigh, he settles in closer to the halfling, listening to Orym’s heartbeat as he rests his head on Orym’s chest. ]

Is…this okay?

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

Yeah. It's great.

[It's perfect. His fingers find their way to trace absentminded patterns against Brontë's back through the soft fabric of his sleepshirt.]

Sleep, my love. [He'd meant to say my prince but halfway to drifting off himself, other words come out, and they feel right enough that he won't correct himself.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë’s eyes widen in the dark as his breath catches softly, his heart skipping at the endearment. It was such a simple thing, but somehow…it feels like it means everything. ]

Good night…dear heart.

[ A fitting name, he feels, for the person who holds his entire heart already.

As he finally drifts off to sleep, he wonders if maybe he’s dreaming already. But waking up in Orym’s arms is everything he hoped it would be.

Being with Orym is all he’s wanted. It was difficult, of course, when they can only have stolen moments together during the day, to avoid anyone noticing anything has changed between them. Every once in a while they could slip away to be alone, but otherwise they really had nights to spend together.

Not that Brontë could really complain about that. Once they were settled in his chambers, they were able to take time to explore one another, to become more familiar with each other. He still hadn’t been ready to take that step, but being able to hold Orym, to feel his body against him, get more comfortable with exposing a bit more and more of his own body, he was growing more confident with himself and this love blossoming between them.

It took a month, but Brontë finally feels ready to take that step with Orym. But he wanted to do something special, something worthy of what Orym means to him. And after a while, he comes up with something he feels is perfect.

It comes as a bit of a surprise to everyone in the castle when he requests to go hunting with Orym one day. Everyone who knows him knows he doesn’t like to hunt, and only goes when dragged along by his father and brother. But his father seems pleased that he’s finally interested, even if he clearly doubts that he’ll catch anything. But being underestimated works in Brontë’s favor this time.

Because he definitely doesn’t plan on catching anything.

The tricky part is trying to get everything ready without Orym knowing, but somehow everything goes without a hitch when they finally depart, riding out on their horses to head into the forest that surround the castle grounds.

He can only hope everything else goes just as perfectly. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[The nights are becoming Orym's favorite times, those quiet moments where he and Brontë are alone, where the rest of the world is shut outside their door and nothing else matters. He's come to learn the taste of his lips, the warmth of the other's body against his own, careful explorations -- not quite chaste, but never pushing too far.

He can't remember feeling this happy in a very long time.

Today though, Orym is curious as to what Brontë is up to with this hunting trip. He knows full well that hunting isn't the prince's favorite activity, and the fact that Brontë isn't exactly forthcoming with his plans on this, it does have the halfling very, very interested.

And either way, it means they'll be out and away from prying eyes, and there's something freeing about that. Orym is perched comfortably atop his horse, a loose hold on the reins for the time being.]

So, my Prince... [He begins.] What are we really going out here for?

[makingmyway]

[ From atop his own stead, Brontë glances at Orym with a grin. ]

Well…I did mention horseback riding as one of those things I imagined us doing one day, right?

[ He won’t reveal too much, but that should be as good a hint as any. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

You did, didn't you?

[As if Orym forgot a single thing that Brontë had talked about when they'd shared those sweet, romantic fantasies with each other. No he's thought a lot about them in that time.

He shakes his head with a grin.]

All right. I'll be patient, but you're being very mysterious.

[makingmyway]

I did.

[ Brontë smiles again with a slight incline of his head. ]

Well, I don’t want to ruin the surprise. But if you remember the other things I mentioned, you should at least have a guess as to where we’re going.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Any outing that has Brontë smiling this much for him is a good one, Orym decides even before he hears that next hint.]

All right. I have an idea now.

[He expects their destination to be the lake. And spending time with Brontë there, alone and away from anyone, honestly sounds like the best day he has had in a while.]

[makingmyway]

[ With a nod, his grin widens. ]

Great. Race you there then!

[ Those words and a laugh are the only warnings Orym gets before Brontë pushes his horse into a gallop, kicking up a bit of dirt as he dashes onward, heading for the lake nestled deeper into the forest. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

Cheater!

[Orym calls out after him with a laugh before urging his horse into a run in pursuit of the other man. It's been a while since he's been out in the woods, but he knows the forest well.

And he has a goal in mind, an exciting one.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë only responds with a laugh that echoes around them, as they continue to ride into the forest. Despite not enjoying hunting trips as much as his father or brother, he was at least familiar enough with the woods to navigate through it.

Especially to find the lake, which is one of his favorite places to escape to when he needed some time away from the palace.

Eventually they finally break through the trees and arrive at the lake, the water shimmering with the reflection of the sunlight above. Slowing his horse to a stop, Brontë takes a moment to enjoy the picturesque view, his heart racing in his chest as he takes in this beautiful backdrop to all his hopeful plans.

But he’s getting ahead of himself.

So he finally dismounts his horse, finding a spot to secure the stead and let it graze on the nearby grass. Glancing at Orym, he grins again. ]

I believe I won.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym rides along after, smiling at the sound of that laughter. His horse is -- by necessity -- smaller than Brontë's, but she's still a quick thing so he's not all that far behind at all, hot on his prince's heels.

The halfling brings his mare to a stop as well as the lake comes into view. It's lovely really, especially, the way that Brontë looks with that backdrop, and that happy look on his face.

He hops off his horse as well, setting her up to graze as well before turning to the prince with a pair of lifted eyebrows.]

I believe you cheated. [A laugh of his own.] But yes, you definitely won anyway.

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë snickers a little, walking over to Orym's horse and gently stroking her neck while giving the guard a cheeky smile. ]

It wasn't that much of a head start. If you couldn't keep up, then I was bound to get here first anyway.

[ Then he moves over to the horse's saddlebags hanging from its sides. He'd made sure that Orym hadn't been around when some servants were packing for their trip, so while there was some of the standard equipment that was required for this trip, even just to keep up the front, he'd managed to include some things that were part of the surprise.

So, as he opens one of the saddlebags, he pulls out a blanket that he holds out to Orym. ]

Here...how about you find a place to lay this out, while I get the rest?

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

Mmhmm. Fine then.

[Orym is smiling still though, fondly and not bothering to hide it. No one is out here. He doesn't have to hide the fact that the affection he feels for the other man is nearly too much to contain.

He takes the blanket and gives Brontë another curious look. Still up to something. He knows. But he nods.]

All right. I can manage that.

[With one last glance over his shoulder, Orym will go find a place to lay out the blanket, somewhere half in sun and half in shade, where the ground looks even enough that they won't be sitting on rocks or roots.]