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]

[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.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Every last sound that leave Brontë's lips feeds the fire that is burning in Orym, the building pleasure that is mounting like a storm on the horizon ready to break. That twining of love and lust, of the physical desire and the emotional bond they already share, it's intoxicating.]

You are mine, Brontë. My all and my only...

[But he gives in to what he's asked of, giving him more, bracing an arm on the ground to one side of the prince, his other gripping at his thigh as he begins to move with greater speed, intensity. rolling into the other man again and again, claiming. Brontë is his, and in this moment that's all they are -- each other's loves, not a prince and his guard, not two forbidden from begin together, just them and the world is as it should be.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë gasps when Orym moves faster, his back arching as the other man pounds into him, reaching further and sending sparks through his veins. He feels each thrust, a reminder of how Orym feels, that Orym is making him his. That they belong to each other now, and no one can take that away from them.

That no matter what comes next, Orym will always be a part of him; his heart, body, and soul will always belong to this man that he loves more than anything.

Writhing a little under Orym, he starts trying to move his hips, bringing that length somehow even deeper into him. His inexperience is clear, but he still tries to match the pace being set, wanting to bring some pleasure for Orym as well. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym gasps softly as Brontë begins to move with him. Inexperienced it may well be, but it's the most breathtaking, arousing thing that Orym could imagine, they way they move together, the way he can watch his prince begin to come apart for him. He wants to be the one to give him pleasure, to make him feel this way -- he wants to be the only one.]

That's it, my love. You are so, so good for me...

[Everything and anything that Orym could ever dream of or want is right here in this man. His hands run up along his thighs to grip as he moves against him. He can feel the way that Brontë's passage grips at him, tight around his cock as he drives himself inside him again and again.]

[makingmyway]

[ The flush on Brontë’s face darkens, his heart skipping at even the small amount of praise. But coming from Orym means everything, because of how much he’s wanted him for so long. This man who has become so important to him, that he would be willing to give his entire self to him.

To belong to Orym completely, and to have Orym for himself. ]

W-Want to be good for you, Orym…only you.

[ He moans as Orym hits somewhere deep inside him, his hips rocking and his muscles almost clinging to him. His entire body is trembling as the tight pressure within him is starting to become too much. ]

O-Orym, I…I can’t…I’m going to -

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

Only me... [Orym agrees, voice softly awed, as if it's the sweetest gift that he has ever been given. But awe or not, there is a possessive note to that voice. Brontë is his and only his, and his heart is and will be the prince's until its last beat.

He's had him like this, and soon they will have each other with no one in the way.]

That's it...

[Orym moves, hips rolling at that same angle, hoping to see his prince come undone for him.]

Come for me, my love... come with me.

[Because Orym cannot hold back any longer, thrusting harder inside him, burying deep as he comes, spilling himself deep inside, claiming him, marking him. His, now and always his.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë sucks in another sharp breath as Orym strikes that spot again, and his body almost seizes up with a cry of Orym’s name as his climax tears through him. He’s only vaguely aware of the heat of Orym’s seed filling him as pleasure racks his body, sending sparks flashing across his vision.

But deep down he knows that it means he truly belongs to Orym now, stained as he is with Orym’s essence within him and the halfling’s length imprinted inside him. No one else will ever fit as well as Orym does ever again, and the thought has his own spend splashing across their stomachs. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym watches Brontë come, hears the way that he cries out his name. He thinks he will die a happy man hearing his name on Brontë's lips, in that tone.

Hips still rocking against him, through the waves of his climax, through Brontë's before he finally comes to rest against him, gasping softly as he tries to catch his breath back to him.]

Brontë... that was... you are... amazing.

[They've known each other intimately now, joined together as closely as possible.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë shudders as Orym still moves against him, continuing to stoke the fire for a while longer. When the halfling finally stills and rests against him, he wraps his arms around him and holds him tight. ]

If I was…it’s because I was with you.

And…thank you, Orym. That was…more than worth the wait.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym sinks into Brontë's arms without hesitation, eager to melt against his warmth, that affection. He presses a kiss to the edge of the prince's jawline, soft and sweet.]

Mm... more than worth it is right. You're worth any wait, but... [Now he grazes his teeth along the spot he'd just kissed.]

Maybe we don't wait so long before the next time. I've had a taste of you. I might be addicted.

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë hums a pleased sound at the gentle kisses, but shivers at the gentle graze of teeth. Turning a bit more towards Orym, he gently nips the tip of his ear in return. ]

Mm, agreed. Now that I know what that’s like, I would definitely like to do it more often.

[ Pressing his face into Orym’s hair, he nuzzles in a bit and sighs softly. ]

…I love you, Orym.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[A soft but rather sharp inhale at the feeling of those teeth at his ear. There it is; he knows his prince has teeth, the capacity for that playful, sharper side.]

Good, me too.

[Anything that has him closer to Brontë. They'll have to be careful when they're not quite so far from the palace and prying eyes, but they'll manage it.

But more importantly, there are those beautiful words. His heart aches with how full it feels.]

I love you too, Brontë. So much.