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]

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…

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym only voices another moan muffled around Brontë at the roll of those hips, encouragement for his prince to continue moving, to take what he wants. Anything that the other man wants, if it's at all in Orym's power to give, it's his.

And gods it's worth it for the way his name sounds in that voice, breathy with pleasure.

He sucks at the cock stretching his mouth open, cheeks hollowing around him, tongue flat along the underside of his length.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë releases a shuddering breath as the vibration of that moan rumbles around him, sending sparks shooting up his spine. His grip on Orym’s shoulders tightens as his knees feel weak, and his hips once again jerk to thrust into that waiting mouth. ]

I-If it’s too much…tell me to stop…

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym's gaze lifts to seek out those pretty blue eyes, and there's really no hiding the lust lingering in his own expression before he lets his eyes fall shut before ducking his head forward to take Brontë's length in even further as if to assure the other man that he too much is the furthest thing from his mind.

His hands run down along Brontë's thighs, up to grip at his hips once more.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë’s breath catches as he notices Orym’s expression, swallowing the lump in his throat when he sees the heat and desire there. Then Orym swallows down more of his length, his head falls back as a moans erupts from his throat.

And as careful as he tries to be, he still thrusts more into Orym’s mouth, seeing how far the other man can take him. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[There it is. That's what he wants is to see Brontë letting go of some of that self control, of letting himself do what he wants, take what he wishes. Orym relaxes his jaw, lets his tongue slide along the underside of that cock as the other man thrusts into his mouth.

When Brontë's length hits the back of his throat, he can't quite hold back a soft choking sound, but manages to fight through it, swallowing him down all the deeper.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë shivers, his cock twitching as he feels the drag of Orym’s tongue along it. And he can’t help a moan as he hits the back of Orym’s throat, feels it tighten a little around him, even as the choking sound startles him. ]

O-Orym…? [ Despite the heat still burning in his core, he stills a moment as he swallows the lump in his throat, reaching up to comb his fingers through Orym’s hair. ] Sh-Should I stop…?

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[His eyes open, but only barely, as he looks up at Brontë through a fringe of lashes. His only response is a low, somewhat demanding moan. And just so there's no mistaking the intent of his message, the halfling very deliberately moves toward to slide his mouth along the remainder of his prince's cock, until he's swallowed him down fully, nose pressed to the coarse curls at the base of his arousal.

Brontë had better not stop, is what he's trying to get across loud and clear.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë sucks in a sharp breath as the moan vibrates over him, pulling a similar sound from his own throat. But then Orym takes him even deeper, and he makes a choked off cry at the feeling of Orym’s throat swallowing around his length, his nails digging even deeper into Orym’s skin. ]

O-Oh gods…

[ Swallowing the lump in his throat, he takes a trembling breath as he nods absently, the message loudly and clear. And after another moment he finally begins moving again, slow and careful thrusts in and out of Orym’s mouth. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[That reaction makes all this so very, very worth it. The halfling can't stop a pleased sound from rumbling in his throat as Brontë begins to move. For a long moment he watches the other man through half-lowered lashes before letting his eyes fall fully shut.

He may have fantasized about this more than once before, about the way that Brontë would sound and feel like this.

His cheeks hollow around him, sucking, tongueing at him as that length slides in and out of his mouth.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë may have fantasized about this a few times himself, but only in a vague sort of way. He’d known about the act itself, but had no idea that it could feel so wonderful.

And he never quite expected Orym to take in all of him. Just from their size difference, he had always wondered a bit how they might…fit, and he’d thought that if they had ever done this, that Orym would maybe take most of him.

But as he carefully moves, he feels Orym’s throat almost constrict around the head of his cock, and his head falls back as he almost loses himself right then and there. ]

A-Aaaaah…Orym…

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[It's crossed Orym's mind as well, and mostly led to a thoroughly determined halfling. He's too stubborn to have given up anyway, and the way that Brontë reacts to him, sounds, it is more than worth the effort.

The way his name sounds alone when Brontë cries for him that way is enough to make his own knees feel weak. But he keeps his feet and grips tighter at his prince's thighs, kneading softly in encouragement.]

[makingmyway]

[ A strangled sound rises up Brontë’s throat as those fingers work the muscles of his thighs, only adding more fuel to the fire that’s threatening to consume him again as he thrusts shallowly in and out of Orym’s mouth. ]

O-Orym…please, I…I’m so close, I’m going to -

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[And that, clearly, is Orym's goal. He opens his eyes to gaze up at Brontë, humming around him. It's permission and plea, for Brontë to let go, that Orym is ready, eager to swallow him down.

His eyes are fixed on his prince's face, wanting to see the way he looks as he comes undone for him.]