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 ducks his head with an almost shy smile. He feels special in a way he can't remember feeling before, treasured even.

He wonders if he really deserves this, deserves Brontë, but he's also not going to question his good fortune. He will never question it.

The prince starts his song and Orym falls silent, listening to not just the music but the feeling behind it. And oh he can feel it, resonating through his heart, through all of him. By the time Brontë has finished the song, Orym's eyes look a bit shinier than they should, tears that have risen but he doesn't plan on letting fall.]

[makingmyway]

[ It’s everything he wishes he could say, but can’t because of who they are in the castle. But someday he hopes to, hopes to be able to say the words out loud for the world to hear, how much he loves Orym.

But for now, this is enough. For Orym to know is enough.

As the song slowly fades to an end, he opens his eyes and glances at Orym. He catches sight of the look in his eyes, but still ducks his head shyly as he glances away. ]

So, um… [ He laughs a little nervously. ] I take it you liked it?

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym watches Brontë look away, that shy way that he's seen in him so often. His heart feels like it's going to burst from his chest. Without answering he sets aside what's left of his pie (not much) and rises up on his knees, moving close enough reach out and catch the prince's chin gently, to urge him to look back to him.]

I loved it. It was beautiful.

[And Orym needs to kiss him in this moment, and he does.]

[makingmyway]

[ He shivers at that light pressure, drawing him back to meet Orym’s eyes. He can’t help a relieved sigh, hearing that Orym enjoyed the song he had written for him.

And when Orym kisses him, he moans softly, wrapping an arm around his waist to pull him closer as he’s more than happy to return it. The kiss is tender, but there’s a passion in it, a hunger for something more, something that, up until now, he had been to nervous for.

But secretly, something he hoped for with all of this today. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Closer was the halfling's goal all along, so he shifts further into those arms. His voice hitches in the kiss before it escapes in a moan, echoing that hunger. He's wanted so very much, but has made certain not to push, not to press Brontë for more than he was ready for.

And he wonders if it's his own imagination -- or hope, perhaps -- that he can feel that push for something more in the way that Brontë is holding him, kissing him.]

[makingmyway]

[ It’s exactly what he’s thinking, but Brontë doesn’t want to leave any room for doubt.

So after another moment of letting the kiss linger, he gently draws away, barely enough space between them to breathe as he speaks the words against Orym’s lips. ]

…make love to me, Orym…

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym takes the moment their lips part to take a breath, shakier than he would have expected, but he should know by now that being near Brontë always does this to him, leaves him breathless and swept up in everything about the other man.

And it does not help his breathlessness at all when Brontë goes and speaks those words. Orym swallows a sound that wants to be a groan and a growl at the same time, and move sto take the prince's face between his hands, cupping gently, holding before kissing him again.]

Yes. Of course. I want you, my love. I want you so badly.

[He will happily make love to him, do everything he can to make the other man feel as wanted and needed and loved as he is in this.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë shivers a little at the sound Orym makes, as it sends a thrilling sensation through him. Leaning into one of Orym’s hands, he gives a soft sound into the kiss, one hand resting over one of Orym’s as the other tangles in the fabric of his shirt. ]

I want you so bad too…and I’m ready now. Ready to give myself to you.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Those words are somehow even sweeter than the music that his prince had just played for him, even if he would not have thought that even possible. Another kiss pressed to those lips, a brief flick of his tongue along Brontë's lips.]

I'll take care of you. I promise.

[In this, with this gift that Brontë is giving him. And forever after.]

[makingmyway]

[ His breath hitches softly as that tongue darts across his lips, and with his fingers still gripping Orym’s shirt he leans back until he’s lying on the blanket with the other over him. ]

I trust you, Orym.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym moves with him, bracing one hand against the ground to one side of Brontë's shoulder. He holds himself up enough to look down at him, to let his other hand trace along his jaw, over his neck, slowly down over his chest, fingers catching at the fabric of his clothes.]

Did you... ah... bring anything?

[Orym did not pack for a tryst in the woods. But even if not, he is certain they'll find a way to make due.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë sighs softly, shivering at Orym’s touch across his body, and his heart skips as those fingers catch in his clothing.

The question gets a small laugh from him, though, and he nods as he reaches into his pack, retrieving a vial. ]

I’ll admit, I was…kind of hoping things would turn out this way.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym smiles as Brontë draws forth that vial, reaching to take it from his fingers before leaning in to steal a quick kiss from his lips.]

My scheming prince. I can't even tell you how sexy that is.

[That Brontë planned all this, put it together -- all the things they'd talked about, so many of his favorite things. And now this, their first time together, and Orym will do whatever he can to make certain it's good for him.

The vial is set aside for now and he begins to ruck the prince's shirt upwards, until his hands can go wandering over bare skin, warm and supple beneath his touch.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë can’t help blushing at that, even as he returns the kiss. He’s received many a compliment before, but coming from Orym always feels different somehow. And he’s certainly never been called that before, which sends another rush through him to know that Orym thinks so.

He draws in a breath as his shirt is lifted higher, and he shivers as calloused fingers leave a heated trail over his skin. This at least is familiar, they’ve done a lot of feeling and exploration over the past month. But knowing where it’s leading to now leaves him trembling with anticipation.

And still quite a few nerves. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[His shy prince. Orym adores him, adores the way that blush warms his skin, all of him. It washes through him, the love that he feels for this man. The idea of finally being able to experience each other in this way, to have Brontë completely, as his, it's a dizzying, wonderful thought.

He ducks his head to begin kissing slowly down Brontë's chest, down further, a slow and deliberate path to the waistband of his trousers. His eyes flickered up to look at Brontë's face, his expression, wanting to make certain he isn't moving too fast.]

How do you want to do this, my love? Would you have me inside you? Or do you want to take me?

[makingmyway]

[ He draws in a breath as Orym’s lips trail down his body, sending his heart racing, and his body arching to follow them. A part of him is still a bit anxious, but more than anything he wants this, wants Orym, wants to belong completely and entirely to this man.

With a shuddering breath, Brontë glances down at him as he speaks, considering for a moment. ]

I…I want to feel you inside me first. Show me…show me how it’s done.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[The halfling smiles at the answer, nodding.]

I'll show you, love. I'll show you how good it can feel.

[He promises. It's a vow he will take very seriously. Brontë deserves to be treated like the precious thing that he is, deserves his first time being special. Orym turns his attention back to the prince's trousers, unfastening them so he can begin to ease them down from his hips, down along those long, toned legs.]

[makingmyway]

I know. I trust you, Orym.

[ He trusts Orym with every part of himself. His loyal guard, who had seen who he really is, he’d already trusted his heart and soul to him. And finally now he could trust his body to him as well.

So he lifts his hips as Orym draws down his trousers, helping to remove them until he’s lying entirely naked before the halfling, his arousal already half hard for what’s about to come. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[That trust is such a heady thing. He will do everything he can to make sure he never does anything to betray that trust. And his own trust is fully placed in his prince, has been long before they confessed their feelings to each other. Brontë has long been the star that he set his compass to.

He eases his trousers down and away, fingers following their way up his legs, urging them to part for him so he can settle himself between his legs. To let his fingers trace gently over Brontë's cock, wrapping around him to see if he can coax him to full hardness.]

[makingmyway]

[ He shudders at the feeling of sword-rough fingers trailing over his skin, and he willingly parts his legs, seeing Orym sitting between them already has his cock twitch even before those fingers wrap around it.

But when they do, he sucks in a sharp breath, the touch already sending a rush of heat to his arousal that pulses in Orym’s hand. This is already far more intimate than anything they’ve done before, and he feels as if his heart is about to burst from his chest. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[What a perfect reaction. Orym's gaze is fixed, rapt, on Brontë's face, taking in each reaction, each nuance of his expression. There's a heat in his gaze, a desire that he's been careful to rein in until his prince was ready for him.

But now, now they're here.]

You are... the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my life.

[He breathes out the words in a rush.]

I want to taste you. I want to know what you feel like in my mouth. Let me? While I prepare you...

[makingmyway]

[ Meeting Orym’s gaze, seeing how much the halfling wants him, hearing those words has the dark flush spreading across his ears, down his neck and shoulders.

And he wants him too, more than anything wants to be consumed by him. So with a ragged breath, he nods. ]

O-Okay…Yes. Whatever you want…take it.

[ There’s absolutely nothing he wouldn’t give to Orym now. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[A smile at that, though there is a definite heat in the expression. Everything about his prince is a perfect picture of desire, of everything that Orym could possibly dream of in a lover. And real and here and wanting him.]

Good. Let me hear you, Brontë. It's only us out here.

[No need to be quiet when there's no one around for miles.

He shifts down along Brontë's body, settling between his legs, stretching out on the blanket so that he can lean in and lave his tongue along the head of his cock, taking his time lavishing attention there, learning the taste of him, the heated flesh beneath his tongue.]

[makingmyway]

[ The look on Orym’s face, soft and affectionate but still with an intense hunger, has a lump forming in Brontë’s throat, knowing that he could be responsible for such a look.

And he can only imagine what he must look like, as filled with love and desire for him as well.

His eyes stay fixed on Orym until the wet heat of his tongue swipes across his arousal, and his head falls back to the blanket as a sharp gasp escapes his lips, his body jumping at the attention. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Green eyes are fixed on Brontë’s face still, right until that moment the prince's head falls back. He is stunningly beautiful, impossibly so, and Orym has to wonder how in the world he's this lucky. There's no way he should be, but he won't ever take this for granted.

Lips part and he takes that length into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the head, suckling gently.

His fingers reach out to find the bottle he'd set aside earlier.]