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 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.

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë can’t help a small grin to himself. He’s looking forward to learning how to get more of those little noises from Orym. ]

Mm, I can’t wait.

[ They at least had the nights in his chambers, when it can just be to two of them for a while. They would just have to be mindful of how much noise they make.

His heart swells hearing the words, hearing the affection returned. He’s known, of course, this past month solidifying those feelings and his assurance in this relationship. But there’s something still so special to hear it spoken out loud.

And he still doesn’t quite know what he’d done to earn the love of someone like Orym, but he would never take it for granted. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[There's so much they still have to explore, and Orym is very much looking forward to each and every last one of those new experiences and discoveries with Brontë.

But right now he's beaming at the echoing of those words exchanged between them. They belong to each other fully, heart and body and soul. His gentle, sweet prince.]

I don't know how I'm lucky enough to have met you, never mind for you to love me...

[But he is not questioning it whatsoever.]

[makingmyway]

[ It’s an exciting yet comforting thought, all the experiences they have yet to share, all the things they can try together.

Because they are entirely and completely each other’s. He belongs to his loyal, brave guard, and Orym to him. ]

I think I’m the lucky one. You’ve done so much for me…and I can only hope I can do the same for you.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

You do.

[Orym answers, simply. Brontë has become the brightest spot in his world, his sun and moon and stars.]

Every morning that I get to wake up beside you, I can't imagine anything better than that.

[makingmyway]

[ His cheeks flushing, he smiles and presses another kiss to Orym’s head. ]

Neither can I.

[ After another moment of lying there, enjoying the other man’s presence, Brontë then stretches up to reach for the saddlebag again, fishing around inside until he retrieves a rag and water skin. Propping himself up on an elbow, he wets the rag a bit and gently starts to clean the both of them up. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym murmurs a soft sound of gratitude as Brontë cleans the both of them, setting his clothing back to right before helping Brontë put himself in order as well.]

You know, I've never enjoyed a hunting trip this much before.

[He teases, a playful glint in his eyes.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë chuckles, smoothing down his clothes as best as possible. The good thing about using hunting as an excuse is that everyone is expecting them to get a bit dirty and disheveled, so they didn’t have to worry about explaining anything. ]

Certainly the best hunting trip I’ve ever been on.

[ He teases back with a grin of his own, and a wink. ]

We also still have a few hours, as well. No one’s expecting us back until sundown, so if there’s anything else you’d like to do…

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym settles down onto the blanket beside Brontë, stretching his legs out in front of him, hands propped against the ground behind him. He looks over at him with that grin still on his face.]

We should go hunting more often.

[Just saying. Though eventually the Palace might get suspicious that they never seem to catch anything. Oh well.]

Well. There's the lake... we could go for a swim.

[makingmyway]

[ Pulling his hair up into something a little more presentable, Brontë chuckles softly. ]

That’s certainly the plan.

[ Honestly, given how resistant he’s been to hunting before, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for everyone to think that he’s just not very good at catching anything.

Leaning back on his hands a little, he glances at Orym and then towards the lake. ]

We could. I wouldn’t mind that. [ Then he grins again. ] Though it does mean we put our clothes back on for nothing.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

It's a really good plan.

[Orym laughs. There's a freeness in the halfling at the moment, all his usual carefully kept self control eased. He doesn't have to worry about who might see him looking too long or too fondly at Brontë, doesn't have to mind that he stays a proper distance from him.

They can just be themselves, and gods he wants this to be their life. Soon, he promises himself. He'll steal away his handsome prince soon.

For now though, another laugh and he lifts a shoulder in a shrug.]

Good point, but I kind of like watching them come off, so... not a big loss.

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë’s heart skips, hearing the lightness in Orym’s laugh. Seeing the guard so relaxed is such a rare thing, and he’s happy that he gets to see it now, knowing that he had a hand in setting him at ease.

And someday soon, they would get to be like this all the time. He just had to be patient, and eventually they would both get to be themselves.

The comment earns a faint blush, but then he smirks a little as he leans close, gently tugging at the hem of Orym’s shirt. ]

That’s true. But I kind of prefer removing them myself…

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym sits up straighter if only to make it easier for Brontë to rid him of his shirt if he likes.]

Oh. Well. I'd never dream of stopping you...

[Orym informs him, before his hands reach out to start easing the fastenings of Brontë's shirt undone.]

Because I like that best too.