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]

[ His smile somehow softens, and he finally lets his knees buckle to let himself sink to the ground, unable to hold himself up any longer. But it puts them at a more even level, and he gently tugs Orym closer to capture his lips, a sound rumbling from his throat as he tastes himself on Orym lips. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Oh, that's lovely. This way he can step close and wind his arms around Brontë's shoulders to lean into kissing him. Orym could spend entire days kissing his prince, losing himself in the heat and taste of his mouth.

They'll eventually make it to the lake, probably. Maybe.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë shivers a little as Orym’s arms wrap around his neck. He rests his hands on the other man’s hips, holding him close as he deepens the kiss a moment.

Then he draws back, just enough space for a breath between them, as he lightly tugs on the waistband of Orym’s trousers. ]

I feel that things are a little uneven here…

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym hums happily against Brontë's lips. He hasn't forgotten his own arousal, but is very caught up in the kiss, and isn't all that concerned by it.

At least until those clever fingers tug at his trousers. Oh.]

You don't have to worry about that. [Orym did, after all, get exactly what he wanted.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë considers that for a moment, even as he leans up for another kiss. ]

You’re sure? [ Oh, he absolutely isn’t about to let that stand, but he has an idea for how to take care of that.

So instead of pushing, he simply smiles as he tugs at the ties of the trousers. ] Well, at least let’s take that dip in the lake. That should help you cool off.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

I'm sure.

[Another kiss works for Orym though, and he's distracted enough by that kissing that he doesn't worry about how easily Brontë seems to have given in.]

Yeah, lake sounds good.

[Distracted, very very distracted.]

[makingmyway]

[ He grins a little to himself, realizing that Orym doesn’t seem to suspect anything. But he hides it with another kiss, as he slowly undoes the ties to Orym’s trousers, before easing them down his toned legs. ]

Well then. [ Carefully rising to his feet, he then holds a hand out to Orym. ] Let’s go then.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym reaches out to take that hand, tangling their fingers together and starting down to the waiting lake. The air is warm beneath the bright midday sun, and the water looks clear and inviting.

And Orym has no idea what's in store for him at all.]

[makingmyway]

[ His smile softens a bit as their fingers entwine together, and with a gentle tug he leads Orym to the edge of the lake. A quick dip of his foot to test the water - not too chilly, but cool against the warm sunny day - before he slowly steps in further to let the rest of his body submerge under the surface.

He waits for Orym to join him in the water, then glances around until he spots some rocks sitting against the bank.

From here they look to be about the right size… ]

Hey, come with me a second?

[ He doesn’t quite wait for Orym to answer before he starts swimming towards the rocks, but he does glance back to see if he’s following. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym hesitates at the shore, not for any concern over the water or temperature, but because like this he can watch Brontë as he wades into the water. Eventually he shakes himself out of the trance to head into the water himself.

It's cool and welcome, and he finds himself over his head before he reaches his prince, but he's a good swimmer so it's not an issue.]

Yeah, of course.

[As if he'd refuse anything that Brontë asked of him. So he swims after the other man, a little curious.]

[makingmyway]

[ He smiles to himself as he continues towards the rocks, waiting for Orym to catch up. When the halfling gets close enough he pats the lower of the rocks. ]

Sit up here for a moment?

[ Even with the guard’s height, the stone was low enough that his lower half would still be underneath the surface while seated. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym looks at the prince curiously, but hops up onto the rocks as Brontë asks him to, legs dangling over the edge. He's still mostly submerged in the water, and it's a comfortable enough perch.

He reaches a hand out towards the other man to beckon him closer.]

Why here?

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë swims closer easily enough, a mischievous smile on his lips as he runs his hands over the inside of Orym’s thighs. ]

You didn’t really think I wouldn’t take care of you, did you?

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym can feel his cheeks go red as realization washes over him, as he's pinned by the mischief in that smile. His thighs spread at the touch of those hands.]

Ah... I...

[Well, no he should have known better, shouldn't he have?]

[makingmyway]

[ With a chuckle, Brontë leans up on the rock to hover close to Orym’s face. ]

You’re turn, Orym.

[ Then he steals a quick kiss, before stilling his breath in his chest and ducking underneath the water to press more kisses to Orym’s still hard arousal. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym is leaning up, and then after, that kiss as if he could chase it. Then Brontë is disappearing beneath the surface and that mouth is at his cock and he can't stop himself from gasping, voice releasing in a moan.]

Brontë..!

That's... [Fuck. Fuck fuck. It takes him a moment to realize and remember that his prince doesn't need to breathe when he doesn't want to and he realizes exactly what he's in for and gods he's too turned on for words.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë can’t help laughing a little to himself at Orym’s reaction, muffled as it sounds underwater.

Trailing his lips along Orym’s length for another moment, he nuzzles down at the base before slowly moving back up to the head. Then, careful to keep out as much water as he can, he takes the tip into his mouth, running his tongue along the slit. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[The vision of what he's watching is a bit blurred through the surface of the water, but he can feel everything so keenly he could still picture it even if his eyes were closed. That mouth is so much hotter than the water around him, and his arousal throbs at the attention.

He braces his hands against the rocks beneath them, head falling back with a groan.]

You're a wicked thing, my Prince.

[makingmyway]

[ Orym might feel the way Brontë smirks as that, and he hums softly around him, running his tongue along the underside as he bobs his head, taking Orym all the way down to the root. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Water or not, Brontë can probably hear the sound that Orym makes as the other man takes his length in fully.

The heat of that mouth is so different than the cool water of the lake, and Orym thinks it may drive him actually mad.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë hums again, his tongue curling around the length in his mouth as he swallows around it. The perks of their size difference means that he’s able to take Orym completely without too much issue, even if the halfling is thicker than he’d expect.

Still he’s able to move with little difficulty, drawing back until the only the tip remains in his mouth before swallowing him back down again, his hands running along Orym’s thighs in time with the bobbing of his head. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Entirely wicked, but this is not a complaint at all. Just the contrary, really. The overwhelming bliss of having Brontë's mouth around him. He knows he can't last, knows that he's already being pushed towards that edge.

Another groan and he slips his fingers into that hair beneath the surface, a soft warning that he's close, that he's going to come.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë shivers as those fingers tangle into his hair. He can feel Orym getting close, and so he sucks harder, hollowing his cheeks and running his tongue along the underside of Orym’s length with each bob his head. Anything to push Orym closer to reaching his climax. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[And Orym has no defense to any of that. Nor would be. Brontë's mouth is too good, and everything that the halfling feels for the other man far too strong to last.

So he doesn't try to any longer, letting go and losing a cry of Brontë's name as he spills himself into that sinfully talented mouth.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë is quick to swallow Orym’s seed as it spills into his mouth, not wanting to lose a drop. He continues stroking the inside of Orym’s thighs, as if to ease him through the orgasm, swirling his tongue around the softening member to clean him up.

When he’s sure that Orym is fully spent, he slowly draws back from the length, swiping his tongue over the slit once last time before letting it fall from his lips completely. Then he rises back up, but only enough for his eyes to break the surface of the water in order to look at Orym in a cheeky sort of manner. ]