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]

[ 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.

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë smiles, gently tugging Orym’s shirt up and over his head again and placing it aside, leaning close and kissing along Orym’s collarbone. ]

Mm, good to know.

[ Then he sits back to give Orym more room to undo his own shirt. ]

Well, I’m glad we’re on the same page.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[A pleased little shiver at the touch of those lips to his skin. That's nice. Better than nice. He's so smitten with Brontë.]

It works out well, right?

[Still teasing as he continues with the prince's shirt before he can begin sliding it down from his shoulders. So what if his fingertips drag along skin as he does, any excuse to touch him.]

So beautiful... how are you real?

[makingmyway]

Amazingly well.

[ He hums softly in encouragement, shivering as those battle-rough fingers leave trails of heat across his skin.

But the compliment causes his cheeks to flush, as it always does, and he ducks his head shyly. ]

You consider me too highly, Orym.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

You don't consider yourself highly enough.

[Orym informs him, leaning close to press a kiss through his hair. He moves to stand then and holds a hand out to help Brontë to his feet as well.]

But I'm working on that. Give me time.

[He will, one of these days, find a way to make Brontë see himself the way Orym sees him.]

[makingmyway]

[ The blush on his cheeks darkens a little, but he can’t help a fond smile as he glances at Orym. Despite his station, Orym is the only one who’s ever really made him feel so important.

And he wants to be that, to be as worthy as Orym believes him to be.

Taking Orym’s hand, he presses a kiss to his knuckles first before rising to his feet. ]

Soon, we’ll have all the time in the world.

[ When they can really be together like this, without having to hide. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

Soon.

[Orym agrees as he looks up at Brontë, the love he has for the other man unguarded and open on his face. They'd run away and start a life together where no one knew them, where they could just be together, in love.

For now they have today, with no one else around.

He reaches out to start unfastening Brontë's trousers, since he's in a rather perfect position to do exactly that. Leaning closer he kisses at the jut of a hipbone.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë smiles with his own adoration, his heart once again leaping in his chest at the expression on Orym’s face. What he wouldn’t give to see it always.

But someday soon. For now, they would make the most of today, and enjoy their time away from prying eyes and anyone who would try to keep them apart.

He shivers as Orym’s fingers once again find the ties to his pants, and he places his hands on his shoulders to keep himself steady as Orym presses the light kiss, a soft sound rising from his throat. ]

You keep that up, and we might not make it to the water.

[ At this point, the lake might not even be enough to cool the fire Orym is already stoking within him once again. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[The halfling peeks up at him with a wicked smile, eyebrows lifting.]

Is that a threat, my love?

[Because it is not a very good threat in that it sounds pretty wonderful. Orym grazes his teeth over the spot that he'd just bitten.]

Lake's not going anywhere.

[He teases, continuing his efforts on undoing Brontë's trousers, beginning to slip them down from his lips.]

[makingmyway]

[ His breath catches at the look on Orym’s face, his throat feeling a bit dry. He’d really only meant it as teasing, but he’s hardly disappointed with the reaction.

Especially at the drag of those teeth on his skin, causing his cock to twitch once again. He can’t help a soft groan as Orym pulls his trousers down with his teeth, the sight making his knees feel a little weak. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Once Brontë's trousers are no longer a barrier, Orym turns to a less-than-subtle sort of teasing, lips trailing once more from Dorian's hipbone, this time, down, closer and closer to his cock, just deliberately skirting around it.

He peeks up at the taller man through half-lowered lashes.]

May as well get dirty before we hit the water.

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë sucks in a breath, those lips leaving a searing trail across his skin. He can’t help a whine as Orym comes so close to his arousal only to avoid it, and the look Orym gives him causes another twitch in his cock. ]

O-Orym…please…

[ He can’t even return the banter, already too desperate for more. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym would never -- could never -- refuse his prince anything. Especially not when Brontë pleads so sweetly for him. So the halfling relents, as if he isn't just as eager for this as the other man.

His lips wander once more, this time down to the root of his arousal, mouthing along the base of him before slowly working his way up along his length, lips and tongue playing over heated skin, one hand lifting to wrap fingers around the base of his prick.]

[makingmyway]

A-Aaah…

[ Brontë gasps when those lips finally brush over him, leaving him a little lightheaded as the blood rushes to quickly fill his length to hardness once again. His nails dig into Orym’s shoulders, leaving crescent marks in tan skin as his knees nearly buckle, and it really is just the halfling’s support that keeps him standing. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[It's an exceptionally gratifying feeling, the way he can feel Dorian's arousal responds to his touch, to hear the way his prince gasps for him. He'll happily provide whatever support that Brontë needs.

His hand strokes over saliva-slicked skin as he wraps his lips around the head of his cock, tongue pressed flat to the slit. He doesn't bother trying to hold back a groan of his own at the feeling of him, the taste of him.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë can’t help a groan of his own, the feeling of those lips and tongue on his cock sending a pulse of electricity through his veins as the sound rumbles over him. His body moves on its own, a shallow thrust of his hips to try and sink more into that delightful wet heat. ]

Orym…