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]

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.]

[makingmyway]

[ Another intake of breath, trailing into a shaky moan as that blissful heat wraps around his cock, which sends a rush of electricity that leaves his entire body tingling.

His fingers find their way to Orym’s head, gently tangling in his short hair. ]

Gods above, Orym…please…please…

[ He isn’t even entirely sure what he’s asking for, the words tumbling from his lips as he squirms a little, searching for something but he isn’t sure what. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym hums around the cock in his mouth even as he slides his lips further down his length, taking more of him into his mouth. Whatever it is that Brontë is pleading for, Orym fully intends to give it to him.

Even if he fumbles slightly given his distraction, he does manage to open the bottle, to pour the oil over his fingers, slick, letting it warm between his fingers before he begins to probe at his entrance, fingertips circling gently before one begins to twist its way inside him.]

[makingmyway]

[ He feels that hum vibrate around his length like thunder, sending sparks shooting through his body, and his fingers tighten in Orym’s hair with a groan.

Then those fingers start tracing around his entrance, and he gasps, his eyes shutting tightly as his hips jerk towards Orym’s hand. When one finally presses into him, another moan escape him as his hole resists just slightly before yielding. ]

Oh…Orym…

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[His tongue plays along the underside of Brontë's cock as he slowly begins to bob his head, to let the length of him slip from his mouth nearly entire before taking him back inside, further this time, working his way down him bit by bit.

His eyes flicker open to look back up at the sound of his name.

Good. That's what he wants, wants Brontë to enjoy this, to feel good. He wants to be the one to make him feel good. He presses his finger deeper, beginning a slow rhythm of fucking in and out of him, letting his prince grow accustomed to the feeling. He tries to keep his focus, tries not to lose himself in the thought of how tight that passage is, what it will feel like to be inside him.]

[makingmyway]

[ His breathing starts to come in short pants, his body trembling as if it can’t decide whether to thrust into Orym’s mouth or rock into his hand. The heat is quickly burning through him, and yet he needs more, it’s not enough not enough not enough… ]

Nnnnnngh…!

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym wants to take his time, to make certain that Brontë is prepared for him, ready for him. But he can feel the way that his prince is trembling for him. It's breathtaking really. He adds a second finger, a third soon after.

Slowly, he draws off his cock, fingers still pumping inside him, though looking specifically for that spot inside him now, wanting to show Brontë exactly how amazing all this can feel.]

Talk to me, my love. How does it feel?

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë’s moans rise in pitch with each finger that enters him, his heels digging into the ground for purchase as he rocks into Orym’s hand, searching for more of that building pressure within him.

His breath catches when his length slips from Orym’s lips, and he can’t help whimper at the loss. ]

S’good…so good, Orym…don’t stop, please…

[ Then those fingers brush against something that sends a jolt through him, like electricity and he cries out in surprise as the muscles clench around his fingers. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[There. Orym smiles softly at him, at his beautiful prince lying before him, wanting him, crying out for him that way. It's the most amazing sight to see, and Orym wants to commit this moment to memory forever.]

I won't... I'll give you everything you want...

[He lets his fingers continue their assault on his prostate for another moment, twisting deep, but he knows the other man is ready for him. Slowly he draws his fingers free, watching the way that Brontë's hole seems to beg to be filled.

Slick fingers spread the softly scented oil along his own cock, hissing given how keyed up he already is, how achingly hard and desperate to be inside him, to finally know what it's like to join this way, to be so intimately close to each other. He moves to position himself, the head of his cock nudging at his entrance as he looks up to meet that beautiful blue sky gaze.]

Relax for me, Brontë...

[makingmyway]

[ Another sharp cry passes his lips as those fingers continue massaging that bundle of nerves, sending pulses of heat throughout his body. Then he whines softly as they withdraw, leaving him feeling strangely empty.

Tilting his head a bit to watch Orym, his mouth going dry as he sees him stroke himself. Then as the guard positions himself and he feels the heated tip press against him, his breath hitches in a nervous sort of sound.

But as he meets Orym’s eyes, he swallows thickly and nods, trying to take a few breaths to steady himself and loosen his muscles. ]

…o-okay. I…I think I’m ready, Orym.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

Tell me, if anything is ever too much.

[The halfling nods, offering a soft smile, hand reaching up to brush gently along Brontë's cheek as he begins to finally -- gods, finally -- press forward, his cock sinking inside that tight passage. His teeth grit against a groan, but it escapes anyway.]

You feel... so good. So perfect.

His hands drop to grip at Brontë's hips as he keeps a hold of his self control to move slowly, hips rocking in shallow, gentle rolls as he buries himself slowly, inch by inch.]

[makingmyway]

[ He manages a small, somewhat shaky smile of his own, leaning into Orym’s touch. Then the other man starts to enter him and his breath hitches, his body tensing just slightly as the ring of muscles yields to the stiff length pressing into him, sending sparks licking up his spine. ]

A-Ah…!

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

That's it...

[Orym purrs to him softly, reassuring as he keeps himself in check, even if the way that Brontë's hole grips at him makes him want to bury himself in that willing body all at once. He won't though. He wants this to be good, to be perfect, for his prince.]

You're doing so good, my love. So good...

[makingmyway]

[ His heart skips in the middle of how fast it’s racing, the words warming him just as much as the feel of Orym sliding further into him. He can almost feel every inch of that length inside him as his walls cling to it. ]

Orym…Orym, more, please…need to feel more of you…

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

Yes, gods yes.

[Orym would give Brontë anything he asks for. The fact that he also desperately wants the same thing is only an added bonus. So he quickens his pace, a harder thrust that has him burying himself fully inside him, groaning, hands gripping tightly at Brontë's hips.]

Ah... [A sharp exhale, and he forces himself to hold still, to watch the way that the other man reacts.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë gasps sharply when Orym is finally fully buried inside him, and the muscles tighten around that length as if it keep it there inside him, feeling it hot and pulsing. It sends another rush through him, causing his own cock to twitch.

And then the realization that they’re finally joined settles over him, causing a different kind of warmth to swell within him, as he rests his hands atop Orym’s at his hips. ]

Oh, Orym…

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym smiles, the expression heated still, interrupted as he drew a shaky breath to steady himself, as he looked down at Brontë. All of him. Beautiful and wanting him, their bodies joined as closely as they possibly can be.

His.]

My Prince. My love. There you are, so perfect for me. Like you were made for my cock.

[He murmurs softly, all affection, before he catches Brontë's eyes and starts to move, a slow, careful withdrawal, a short rock inside him, testing the waters, making certain that his lover was ready for him.]

[makingmyway]

[ The expression on Orym’s face, the way he’s looking at him, is almost enough to undo Brontë right then and there. Knowing that Orym truly loves him, that he wants this just as much, and now they are finally able to share their love through a physically intimate connection. It’s almost more than he can take.

But he manages to keep control of himself for the moment at least, wanting to hold out as long as he can, to make this as good for Orym as well.

It’s difficult though as the other slowly draws out of him, a gasp escaping his lips as he feels every bit of that cock drag along his walls, almost clinging to him.

And it feels amazing…but not enough. ]

O-Orym…dear heart, please. I n-need…more. Want to be yours…only yours.