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 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. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym loses another groan as Brontë lingers on his cock, trying to remember how to breathe as the other man finally draws off him. He's half lost in bliss, still coming back down to earth when Brontë half surfaces.

The halfling manages a half silent laugh.]

I'd say don't look so pleased with yourself, but that was amazing. You deserve to be smug.

[makingmyway]

[ Finally fully emerging from the water, Brontë grins between the strands of hair sticking to his face, rivulets of water running down his skin as he leans over and captures Orym’s lips. ]

It certainly comes in handy sometimes, not having to breathe.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym leans into that kiss, tasting himself on Brontë's lips even as he shifts forward on his perch on the rock, closer so he can slip right into his prince's arms.]

Wicked thing.

[He accuses again, but there's a smile on his face as he steals another kiss, softer this time, sweeter.]

Beautiful creature. [Another kiss.] My love.

[makingmyway]

Mm, what can I say? You certainly inspire something in me.

[ Brontë grins into the kiss, bracing Orym between the rock and his own body, holding him as close as he can. ]

I love you. So much.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Perfect. Exactly where he wants to be. He lifts a hand to brush back some of that wet hair from his face, fingertips lingering at his cheekbone.]

I love you too. Desperately.

[He spends a moment looking at the handsome face before him.]

It'll be like this all the time, someday soon. No worrying about anyone watching us or catching us. Just you and me.

[makingmyway]

[ His smile softens, and he leans into Orym's touch with a soft sigh before leaning to rest his forehead against Orym's. ]

I can't wait. Just the two of us, being able to love each other without anyone or anything to stop us.

I want nothing more than to be with you.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[The halfling shuts his eyes as their foreheads touch, just enjoying the moment, the closeness and the warmth of it.]

Me too. You're all I need. Always. My stolen prince.

[They'll carve out a life for themselves. It's still a thrilling, terrifying idea.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë shakes his head. ] No...when it's just the two of us, I'm not anyone's prince.

I just want to be yours.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

You are mine. My love. My world. My everything.

[Orym smiles, tilting his chin so he can brush his nose along Brontë's, a soft, tender gesture.]

But I am stealing you away. [He teases gently.]