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Do I care if I survive this, bury the dead where they’re found
In a veil of great surprises, hold to my head till I drown
Should I tear my eyes out now, before I see too much?
Should I tear my arms out now, I wanna feel your touch
Should I tear my eyes out now?
Everything I see returns to you somehow
Should I tear my heart out now?
Everything I feel returns to you somehow
Laurent stood in front of the mirror in his and Damen’s dressing room. They were getting ready to grant an audience to their subjects, as they tried to do a few times a month. It was still early in their joint reign, and they wanted to make sure the kingdom was not falling apart around them. And Laurent, particularly, wanted to gauge the attitudes and loyalties of those who sought audience and those in attendance. He and Damen had only just unified, and Laurent was not in the mood to be having another war so soon.
He knew it must be inevitable, though, so he stayed vigilant.
Laurent’s full royal regalia always took some time and effort to get into, more so than his less formal attire that he preferred. Damen, the smug brute, only had to wear a fancier chiton and a cape. But sometimes Laurent did not mind, like now, because his own clothing had extensive lacing which required help. Laurent had long ceased the use of any servant, allowing Damen to use his gentle fingers on his back and wrists and neck. Sometimes Laurent would let him do the laces he did not require help with. What had started as a show of power and subservience was now a show of care.
Damen was making that blatantly clear as he stood behind Laurent, brushing his long hair over his shoulder to kiss his neck as those rough hands worked to lace up the back of his doublet. Laurent could feel the warmth from Damen’s body, proving Laurent’s theory that Damen was actually a sun, filling everything in his wake with light and warmth.
“You always look so breathtaking like this,” Damen said into his ear as they both looked into the mirror. “I could go down on my knees for you right now. I am jealous of our people who get to do it so freely and openly.”
“You forget that you were once made to, Damianos,” Laurent said, turning to face Damen. He only made comments like this, now, because he and Damen had worked through this. Laurent had not forgotten or forgiven, and he did not think Damen did, either, but they had both accepted it and held no resentment.
Also, Laurent knew Damen liked when he talked like that.
Although Damen was no longer his slave, and really, when had he ever truly been, Laurent still had him wrapped around his finger.
Damen stepped away to grab their crowns. As he put Laurent’s on his head, he said, “I think getting to kneel for you is a privilege, an honor, and all our people know it.” Laurent closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the crown on his head, how it strained his neck and dug into his scalp. The crown was heavy, in every sense of the word, but he felt a lightness when wearing it. Because it meant he had won.
Laurent opened his eyes to find Damen gazing at him, his eyes and smile soft. Laurent reached up and tucked a thick black curl behind Damen’s ear before placing the golden laurels on his head, Damen bending down to made it easier. He turned to the mirror once more, just to double check the placement of his crown. Laurent was still getting used to this version of himself, this young man who commanded two kingdoms, this person wearing a crown, this person with Damianos beside him. This person, this young man, this frightened, heartbroken boy, a king. He had fought for it for so long, but part of him never believed it would happen. And it should not have happened. Auguste should have been the one standing here in front of this mirror, resplendent in gold, his power and strength and goodness radiating out for all to see and feel.
Auguste should be here, at least, to see that Laurent is impossibly happy.
And that was the thought that made the dams in Laurent’s heart and mind collapse. Like a wave, grief and frustration and heartache and anger washed over him. This had not happened since he realized he loved Damen, all those months ago, feeling sick to his stomach and so sure Auguste was judging him from the afterlife if one existed. His head was pounding and he thought he might throw up and he felt tears stinging behind his eyes and he wanted to scream he wanted to cry but he absolutely could not, not in front of Damen or the court or himself and his heart was beating out of his chest and his lungs refused to take in air and how dare he wear this crown like the imposter he was and--
“I am ready to go,” Laurent said, as he walked to the door, not even checking to make sure Damen was following him.
Laurent and Damen sat in the throne room: Damen with his effortless presence, his inability to not be commanding, sitting with his back straight and his legs wide, and Laurent, feigning casual grace always with the threat of cruelty underneath. He knew that he was well-liked, now that he did not have to be cruel to save his own life, but that did not mean he had lost his reputation as a cast-iron bitch. The only difference now was that he did not have to use it as a shield, only lashing out when needed (mostly at council meetings). And Laurent knew he was succeeding in pulling off this facade to the people in the throne room, even though he felt he could lose control at any moment.
As the petitions came--landlords begging for lower taxes, farmers requesting aid after a bad harvest, the usual needs of a people fresh from war--Laurent sat and listened, doling out judgment and aid almost automatically, his body and speech acting on their own accord from memory. Inside, Laurent felt ready to combust. He was only barely holding it together. Damen must have noticed something, because he placed his hand on Laurent’s on the arm of the throne. Damen didn’t look over, or say anything, or pause court. Only Damen could see through him like this, and he hated it. And he still hated how comforted and safe he felt from these small gestures.
It was nearing the end of court, when a teenage boy, no older than 16, stepped up to the dais.
“Your Majesty, Exalted,” the boy said in Veretian with a bow, his voice steady and too mature for his age.
“What is your name?” said Damen, his resonant voice filling the room.
“Victor, Exalted.”
“Rise, Victor,” said Laurent, his voice also steady and far too mature for his 21 years. “What do you bring to us today?”
“Your Majesty, my family’s trade is smithing. Me, my sister, my mother, my younger brother. It’s a good trade on the border, and with all the farms around us.” The boy looked proud as he spoke. “But my mother is getting old, and my sister is due to marry soon, and my younger brother is only 9. I’m but 15, your Majesty, only just now getting strong enough to swing the hammer.” With this, Victor forced his eyes to meet his kings. “Our shop is closing. My mother sent me here to find work smithing for the kings, or at least to be assigned to a shop in town.”
Damen shifted in his seat to lean forward. “Where is your father, Victor?”
“Both he and my older brother died, proudly, in the war in support of King Laurent.”
Laurent swallowed, and he felt clammy and too hot and too cold. He felt numb. He wanted to lash out. But that wasn’t him anymore, not to boys like this. Again, Damen must have noticed the shift in Laurent’s demeanor, squeezing Laurent’s hand. Laurent drew his hand back, almost forcefully. Before Laurent could speak, Damen responded to the boy.
“We thank you and your family for your service and support. You may apprentice with our blacksmith, with enough pay to support yourself during.”
“Thank you, Exalted. Your Majesty.” Victor backed away, bowing, looking relieved, before joining the crowd once again.
The petitions ended shortly after, the boy taken to the blacksmith as the crowd cleared. Damen and Laurent normally sat in the throne room for a few minutes after to discuss some of the concerns brought up while they were still fresh in their minds. But Laurent needed to get out of that room as soon as possible. He needed to be alone, to be away from Damen. Damen was entirely too susceptible to his emotions, and Damen experienced every emotion as if it were his last. Laurent needed...Laurent needed impersonal, detached. He had to be away from others to process these horrible moments when everything caught up to him all at once.
Laurent rose from his throne and headed to their chambers without waiting for Damen.
“Laurent?” he heard Damen shout after him.
“I’m going riding. Don’t wait up for me.”
Laurent managed to get to the stables without Damen, or anyone else, causing a fuss. Damen always knew when Laurent needed to be left alone, and he both loved and hated him for it. Damianos could be stubborn, hot-headed, almost violent, even--they had thrown plates, furniture, whatever was nearby at each other on more than one occasion--but he seemed so attuned to Laurent that sometimes it was stifling. He already felt so overwhelmed.
Checking over the horse Damen had given him, back at their summer palace where everything was simple, where even painful talks about Auguste and his uncle seemed safe, Laurent let the rote process empty his mind. Not as much as usual, but it was an improvement. After deeming the horse ready, he got into the saddle and went immediately into the quickest gallop he could.
The horse rumbled underneath him, and Laurent let his emotions rumble even harder. When he was younger, he would come out here alone for reprieve. He had been so confused, and he didn’t think that confusion ever went away, but riding always made him feel clear.
When he noticed his horse starting to tire, he slowed down to a walk. Laurent had reached the bank of a creek, the soft bubbling of the water the only sound disturbing the peaceful silence. He dismounted, taking a moment to reward the horse with an apple, before walking to the edge. Laurent wrapped his arms around himself, something he used to do when he was younger, because it made him feel like he wasn’t about to explode or float away. The first signs of dusk made the bank soft, everything calm as time marched on. Laurent wished he could handle that change with as much graceful indifference as the water. Laurent wished he could just let this feeling wash through him, allowing it to happen to him, not force it away like he always had to, until it made its way out. He wished he could have had the time to nurture his grief, be more kind to himself, but it was too late now.
Auguste had been dead for years. Laurent didn’t remember when he stopped thinking about it every second, every day. He had never processed his grief. He didn’t know how. Laurent simply lived through whatever he had to, because what other choice did he have. He wanted to get into the water, baptise himself, let the water take him. But Laurent had had enough death in his life, and he had no interest in getting his clothing wet, or of stripping in the middle of the woods. So instead, he tilted his head up to the sky, the last beams of light filtering through the trees. Laurent let every wall down, forcefully and painfully, and tried to let the grief happen. He wanted to cry. He wanted it out, gone. But he couldn’t. He rarely could, anymore. Laurent dropped his head into his hands, falling down on his knees, screaming. He screamed until his voice cracked, until his throat was raw, until every bird had flown away. Then he laughed, because of how fucking pathetic he was, screaming with his knees in the dirt. Maybe his uncle had been right about some things.
The heavy door of their rooms slammed behind him as Laurent headed to their bedroom, way past midnight. When he opened the door, Damen was sitting on the bed, awake, head in his hands. Damen looked up at Laurent with a small, relieved smile.
“You’re back.”
“Yes.”
“It’s 2 in the morning.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t send the armies of both our kingdoms to look for me,” Laurent said as he walked to sit on the bed with Damen.
“I trust you. You’re too good of a rider.”
Laurent raised a brow at him.
“I would have at least waited until tomorrow,” Damen said with a grin. Laurent gazed at him. He almost felt guilty, having Damen, when so much had gone wrong in his life. He had come back from his ride, his mind still racing and his chest still tight. Laurent could not quiet his mind, which ran wild naturally. Riding was his usual solace, but even that had not worked. But with Damen, Damen filled him with so much luminosity that he burned and faded in complete bliss. He could never think with Damen. Laurent needed that exquisite blankness, now.
Laurent moved to sit in Damen’s lap, his knees on either side of Damen’s thighs. He claimed his mouth roughly, fingers clawing into Damen’s curls. Damen made a surprised noise before moaning into the kiss.
“Fuck me,” Laurent growled against Damen’s lips.
Damen grabbed him, his hands digging into Laurent’s hips and his ass, and flipped him, throwing him down onto the mattress. It wasn’t long before they were a tangle of limbs, white skin sliding against brown, choked cries and grunts escaping them both with abandon. When Damen finally entered him, with less preparation than usual, Laurent wailed, uncharacteristically loud. He wanted to feel something, anything, other than what he had been feeling today. The sharp burn of being penetrated snapped through his thoughts like a whip.
“Harder.”
Damen had both of Laurent’s knees pressed near his ears into the bed, leaning over Laurent so that he was bent in half, his ass rising off the bed. Laurent could feel Damen’s hot breath on his face and neck, like so many tender caresses. Even when Damen let himself go, surrendering to his instinct to mount and fuck, he was still so tender. How could Laurent possibly deserve this.
“Harder.”
Laurent scratched his nails over Damen’s scars as Damen slammed into him so hard that it hurt. The more Laurent tried to give up, to let his whole world narrow the points where their skin met, like he usually could, the more his thoughts rebelled against him. Every shock of pleasure Damen sent through his body lighted up his mind, his emotions battling and his body conflicted.
“Come on, you fucking brute. Did you forget how to fuck me in the past 24 hours. Or are you so barbaric you need to fuck three times a day just to keep the skill,” Laurent hissed out, staring up at the ceiling, completely still.
Damen stopped, searching his face.
“I’m here. Where are you?” Damen had learned early on not to ask Laurent if he was alright. Laurent couldn’t meet his gaze. Damen made him so happy. Damen was so good to him, for him. Laurent loved Damen. Damen was so sure that, in another life where their countries didn’t go to war and Auguste lived, that he would have courted Laurent: that no matter what circumstance or situation or possibility, they would always have ended up together. But Laurent had never gambled in hypotheticals, especially what if. The fact was that Damen had killed Auguste, and now Laurent loved Damen. He traded one source of happiness for another, completely against his will.
And he wasn’t sure, given the opportunity, that he would change it, that he could give Damen up. Would he be willing to give up Damen, if it meant getting Auguste back?
Why wasn’t this working. Why could he still think.
Laurent met Damen’s gaze with a furious glare. “I thought you were supposed to be fucking me.”
“Laurent, sweetheart...no. I-I don’t know what’s wrong, but I don’t want this, not like this.” Damen let go of Laurent’s legs and pulled out. Laurent grabbed Damen by the throat and used their momentum to flip Damen onto his back. He grabbed Damen’s cock and sank down on it so quickly it knocked the breath out of him.
“Laurent, no. Stop.” Damen tried to grab Laurent’s hips, but Laurent pinned his hands down. “Why are you doing this?” Damen sounded confused. Laurent hated himself.
He leaned down and kissed Damen savagely, their teeth clicking together.
“Damen, please,” Laurent whispered into Damen’s mouth. He tasted salt and realized he was crying.
Why wasn’t this working.
He rocked and bounced and grinded into Damen, violent and cold and detached. All he wanted was Damen filling him, stretching him. And he was. But this wasn’t like every other time.
Why wasn’t this working.
Damen stopped struggling, instead rubbing comforting circles into Laurent’s hips with his thumbs. Laurent wanted to hit him. Laurent wanted to throw up. Laurent was already crying, so at least he didn’t have to want that. Laurent kept his forehead to Damen’s, holding on to his head and pulling his hair so hard that Damen winced. Damen was moaning, but his face looked pained. Laurent saw, and then closed his eyes so tight that he could do nothing but feel.
Why wasn’t this working.
Laurent grabbed one of Damen’s hand and placed it on his cock, and then placed his own hand over Damen’s. He moved their hands quickly and roughly, his cock not even hard and the skin dry. By the time he we was erect, he felt raw. When he finally came, it came out in a painful sob, his voice wrecked and helpless. Grief still flooded his body.
He kept going, forcing Damen’s orgasm out of him, needing to feel Damen mark him as his. Damen dug his fingers into Laurent’s ass as he stopped holding himself back and thrust up into Laurent. Laurent thought Damen looked sick.
Why wasn’t this working.
But instead of looking angry, or hurt, Damen simply wrapped his arms around Laurent and held him to his chest, not saying a word.
How could Damen possibly be so understanding, so selfless, so willing to be used even when he knew it was a bad idea. Laurent didn’t deserve this. Auguste would be sickened if he knew about his life.
Laurent ripped himself out of Damen’s arms and didn’t even bother to clean himself or Damen before grabbing a robe and leaving their rooms. He and Damen shared a room, but Laurent also had his own private chambers. Laurent pushed through the guards, demanding one fetch Jord to come guard his rooms with the express order to not let anyone, not even Damianos, through his doors.
He still didn’t clean himself before getting into bed, and stared at the ceiling, getting absolutely no sleep.
The sun eventually shone through the windows, casting its beams across Laurent’s still, pale form. Today, thankfully, was a day where he and Damen did not have any scheduled council meetings or other places to be. They had planned this, making sure they always gave themselves a few days every month to devote their attention completely to each other. After all, a relationship took as much work to keep strong and together as a kingdom.
Laurent sighed, almost in defeat, and sat up against the headboard. His and Damen’s spend was dried on his stomach and between his thighs. Laurent lightly ran his hand over his abdomen, letting it linger as he closed his eyes and dropped his head back with a soft thunk. Because he had allowed nobody in, including servants, Laurent had nothing to properly clean himself with. He sat, allowing himself to be mindful of his own body. He was in a lot of pain: his hips, his knees, his head, his entire pelvic area and genitals. It wasn’t that he was unused to Damen being rough, quite the opposite in fact. Damen always managed to take so much care to still not hurt Laurent, even if he was leaving Laurent bruised and red and gaping, and Laurent had not allowed that last night. He had wanted to overwhelm the black hole in his stomach with physical sensation, with intense pleasure and throbbing pain, with the feeling of Damen giving him every ounce of his attention and love.
But it had not worked. Laurent felt like shit.
He got out of bed, grabbing his robe and wrapping it around himself tightly. He walked to the door, opened it, and instructed Jord--who of course had stayed with him, he always did--to fetch a servant to ready a bath for him in his rooms. As he waited, Laurent walked over to the window and stared out over his kingdom. The intense wave of sadness about Auguste had mostly gone away; he had learned that holding onto that grief was dangerous. Now he was mostly numb, but felt guilt and anxiety about Damen. Laurent doubted that Damen would leave him over this, but being around him could very easily cause the wave to roar again, dashing him against the rocks.
The servant arrived, accompanied by a few others, carrying hot buckets of water to fill his tub. After they had left, Laurent lowered himself into the water, his skin flushing from the heat. He washed industriously, cleaning his hair and body, scrubbing every inch to guarantee he was clean. He allowed himself to rest in the water for a short time, after, until the water cooled. He so rarely had these moments to himself, as he spent so much time being a king or being a husband. Damen always understood when he needed to get away, but Laurent was so used to Damen being his anchor that he rarely needed the time away anymore.
Laurent got out of the bath and dried his skin and hair with the same stoic attention. Even though he spent the majority of his time in Damen’s royal chambers, which for all intents and purposes was their shared chambers, the servants kept plenty of clean clothes for him here. He grabbed a plain undershirt, underwear, and a doublet and pants which didn’t require the aid of servants to lace. He laced himself in, covering his body, the picture of severe perfection. Laurent had squeezed as much water out of his hair as he could, and he brushed the shoulder-length locks until they shone. When he went back to their room, he wanted to look unphased.
Laurent strode into his room without any announcement. It was still early, and he found Damen on a couch, wearing a simple chiton, and eating a light breakfast of fruits and cheeses. Laurent saw the weariness in Damen’s posture, and assumed he had not slept either. When Laurent went into the room, Damen looked up at him.
“Laurent.”
“Damianos.”
Damen got up and walked to Laurent. He stopped about a foot away, giving Laurent plenty of space. Laurent loved Damen for how he always just...knew. He looked up into those dark brown eyes he had lost himself in like bottomless pits, back when. He searched his gaze for anger, hatred, something, but only found worry and love.
“Did I hurt you, last night,” Damen said, breaking the tense silence.
“...What?”
“Did I...remind you of...did I do something that upset you.” Damen’s voice was soft, hesitant.
It dawned on Laurent: Damen thought this was his fault. Laurent choked out a cry as he surged up and grabbed Damen’s face in his hands, giving him a soft kiss.
“Damen...Damen, gods, I--.” Laurent whispered against Damen’s lips, then moved to kiss him across his face and neck. He was not as shy with his affection, now. He knew Damen would never hold it against him, and Damen would never see it as a weakness because Damen practically could not keep his hands and lips off Laurent.
“Laurent,” Damen sighed, the tension leaving his body, but the worry still clear as day in his eyes. “Love, what is it?”
Laurent gave him a final kiss, then walked towards the couch, facing away from Damen.
“Auguste.”
“Laurent. I--” Damen began, but Laurent cut him off.
“No, it is not...it is not you.” He turned to face Damen and sat on the couch, bringing his right leg up and resting his forehead against it. He let out a soft laugh before speaking again.
“You know, it’s funny. Auguste has been dead so long, a few years shy of a decade. I don’t...I’m not consumed by it, anymore.” He looked up at Damen. “I haven’t been since you, the first hopeful thing in my life since him. You support me so much, Damen, and I hate you for that, you know.”
Damen chuckled. “I know,” he said, moving to sit near Laurent, the atmosphere lighter.
“But every once in awhile, there will be something: a song a vendor is humming in their stall as I walk past, the sunlight coming through the trees just so when I ride,” Laurent smiled at Damen, “some of the stupidly noble things you say. And it all comes back. And how I am in his place, how I wear his crown, how I am living my life and how I am so happy, and he’s dead. His body has probably completely decayed, sloughed away in his crypt. And I’m so alive, and I didn’t think I would be. And he’s not here and I can’t--I can’t tell him and I feel like such an imposter. And I’ve done so many horrible things, sometimes I disgust myself. And the fact that I would not change a thing, I feel so guilty and I can only imagine how he would see me.”
Damen slowly moved his arm to wrap around Laurent’s shoulders, telegraphing his movements so that Laurent could say no. The warm weight, so familiar, made his breath shudder out.
“And yesterday, I looked at myself in the mirror and it was suddenly too much. And that boy…” Laurent swallowed. “I tried riding it out. It’s what I normally do when I’m upset. But I could not shake it, and I just wanted to feel something, anything, that wasn’t what I was feeling. And you know that I cannot think when you make love to me with your words, with your body. Damen, god, being with you is one of the only things that stops the whirring of my mind, anymore. And when you fuck me…. But it wasn’t working. It felt so good but I was still upset and I did not understand how I could feel so good and so fucked up all at once and I just wanted to feel nothing for once in my life and I was so sure I had made you hate me and--”
Damen interrupted him with a kiss. Again, Damen knew when his mind was spinning out of control, and he knew what comforted Laurent: Laurent had asked for this so many times, before. Laurent groaned deep in his throat.
“Damen,” he said, resting his forehead against Damen’s forehead.
“Laurent, listen to me. Auguste would be so happy that you are happy, wouldn’t he? And grief is...complicated. Do you not think I feel similarly about Kastor? Back when...before, when you came to hold me? Nobody in my life had ever done that for me before. I was the crown prince, I am the king, and I cannot show that to others. Sometimes I go and spar for hours. Sometimes I take eons practically worshipping you in bed just to replace the weariness with how happy you make me.”
Laurent brought his hand up to Damen’s cheek. Usually, neither of them was this unguarded. Laurent was more open with Damen now, but this was new territory. Even when they had first had the discussions about Auguste and Kastor, it was matter of fact, it wasn’t whatever they were doing now. They were both quiet for a moment.
Laurent took a deep breath. “Damen, if I hurt you--”
Damen kissed him again. “Laurent, I knew something was wrong, and I...I know it is your body and I have no right to tell you what you can do with it, but it upsets me when I can tell you are using sex as coping, when you are using it to hurt yourself. I do not like doing that to you.” He gave Laurent a soft smirk. “I thought we had both gotten our fill of that early on.” Laurent tugged on his hair a little. “I could tell, last night, that me arguing would only hurt you more.”
Laurent nodded against his forehead. “Alright.” He did not say sorry, just like he had not said that he loved Damen, yet. But Damen knew, and Laurent knew that, and that was enough for now.
He took a moment, resting with Damen like this, and thought of the impossibility of this moment. About how life, especially his and Damen’s, is so complicated and unfair and impersonal and uncaring yet manages to wear you down anyway, like it’s out for revenge. But that life could also give him moments like this, and could give him people like Damen, and people like Auguste. How tired life made him but how simple things, like the support of his guard, or the simple touches of a lover, somehow made it all worthwhile. He thought of Auguste, this god of a brother he had worshipped until he couldn’t anymore, and how he still carried that heartache with him everywhere, but it kept Auguste with him.
Laurent did not believe in an afterlife, for how could the indifference of fate possibly give us that reprieve, but maybe, if it were true, and if Auguste could see him, he would understand everything.