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The foreign king appears to be—uh, licking their prince?
Maybe they should—
Someone should probably do something about it. Like the royal advisor. Or the captain of the guard. Or the… court jester? Someone. But the youngest prince doesn’t seem particularly opposed to, or shaken up by the process of being licked. His eyes widen for a brief moment, but then he’s just as composed as ever. Granted, they did warn everyone that barbarian customs were different. But it could be argued without much difficulty that their poor prince wasn’t expecting the foreign king to keep unblinking eye contact as he drags his tongue along the prince’s cheek.
(Privately, most of the royal court members agree that the prince’s cheeks do look rather soft. And biteable. But seeing as he’s a prince, no one would dare brush even a finger against him without explicit permission and due reverence, let alone… Ah. Well.)
The guards all look vaguely uncomfortable. “Isn’t that—a barbarian courting custom?” one of them pipes up, clutching his spear as if for support.
What? Courting—courting as in marriage? As in… marrying their prince? But prince Shouto is—
Well. He’s theirs. He remembers the maids’ and cooks’ birthdays, fervently insists they take the day off, gives little children flowers and piggyback rides even when they’re commoners. This—this foreign king isn’t allowed to waltz into their palace and take their freely-given accommodations and stake a claim on their prince.
“Yes,” another guard says. “My—my sister married a barbarian. She says the first thing he did was pin her down and lick her. Maybe that’s why they used to have a, um, a reputation. Before. When everyone thought that what lay beyond our grounds was barren and populated by things that barely counted as human.”
Well—
The foreign king looks plenty human, alright. If a little… disrobed. The red on the prince’s face is slight, but unmistakable when you know him as well as most of the palace staff does. He’s—he’s flustered. In that way where it’s more likely to lead to a joining of their kingdom and the barbarian lands than a swift beheading, it seems. He’s staring at the king. His eyes mostly, but their prince’s gaze does keep darting a little lower too. Like he’s perhaps trying to appraise—
Oh, good heavens. King Enji will most likely pop a blood vessel. Or wage a war. Potentially both. Potentially at the same time.
And then—
“Oi,” the barbarian king says, smug. “All of you extras should stop looking.”
Stop looking? But obviously they’re supposed to look at their prince. Anything could happen. A lot has happened already. Prince Shouto is skilled with a blade, competent at hand-to-hand combat, and certainly sharp-tongued when he needs to be, but one could hardly be faulted for taking their job seriously. Because prince Shouto is also kind, and caring to a fault, and so soft-hearted it would be terribly easy to take advantage of it under the right circumstances.
As a child, he used to weep over seeing small birds separated from their mother and flowers that had gotten trampled in someone’s rush to get somewhere. Even the servants that weren’t with them back then have heard the stories. The queen, once she got better, grew fond of recounting them during meals while the youngest prince pretended he couldn’t hear and the oldest prince smiled and ruffled his hair and pinched his cheek like all older brothers are wont to do sometimes. The royal title doesn’t seem to affect that. He could hardly be blamed. Honestly, prince Shouto is very—
Well. It’s easy to want to look at him. To look after him. To make sure he’s safe and taken care of and has anything he might need and even a few of the things he doesn’t. Just in case. Because you never know. You never know, and they’re not getting paid to slack off.
Although—
Most of them might stay just for room and board and the promise of one of prince Shouto’s occasional soft smiles.
And now this—this scoundrel is telling them not to look. Who even knows if he could provide for their prince? If he knows anything beyond how to win battles and arrogantly tilt his chin up like everyone owes him recognition just because he managed to climb through the ranks. Does it truly matter that succession isn’t based on inheritance in the barbarian ranks? That he won his title? He can’t—
He can’t win their prince. Prince Shouto is not a possession. Prince Shouto is meant to stay here, to help his kingdom grow and prosper and give out his smiles like prizes for the worthy.
“Your highness,” prince Shouto says. It sounds like a warning.
But obviously the barbarian king doesn’t pay it any heed. “Don’t your highness me,” he says. “Stupid pretty boy.”
Gasps echo through the room, one more shocked than the other, but the prince only brings a hand to his mouth as if to hide a smile. Like he’s amused. Glad someone is finally proving themselves to be a challenge. To be more than the ordinary stuffiness of palace life filled with yes, my prince and of course, my prince, and anything you want, my prince.
But—
It doesn’t make sense. Prince Shouto’s life should be filled with yes and of course and everything he might ever want, no matter how unreasonable. Not that he’s—not that he’s ever been unreasonable a single day in his life, but the point stands. They can’t possibly stand for having their youngest (and kindest, and strongest, and, um, prettiest) prince whisked away to some faraway barbarian land. Never mind what king Enji has to say about it. The whole kingdom would riot.
“Bakugou,” prince Shouto says calmly, appearing to have composed himself. “This isn’t—how we do things here.”
“I don’t give a—,” the barbarian king begins, only to sigh and clear his throat at prince Shouto’s quirked eyebrow. “You accepted my proposal.”
Prince Shouto blinks. “Proposal?” he repeats. “But you didn’t—there was no ring. Or a formal conversation surrounding the topic.”
“A ring?” the barbarian king repeats, now sounding vaguely irritated. “Why would I need a ring? I’m not trying to chain you.”
Prince Shouto laughs. It’s a lovely sound, matched only by the lovely sight. “And licking me implies a broader freedom?” he asks. “Does it all go away if I wipe my cheek?”
Suddenly, the barbarian king is turning impressively red. “It’s a placeholder,” he admits, almost too quiet to be heard. “Can’t exactly—you know.”
“No,” prince Shouto says, because seemingly the obvious implication is lost on him, “I don’t.”
“You know,” the king insists. “Come on, Shou—your highness. Don’t make me say it.”
Somehow, the prince’s pretty eyes only grow wider. And then—
The barbarian king sighs, and leans forward to grab him by the collar. Rather aggressively. If not for the obvious calm on the prince’s face, the way he shakes his head when the guards grip their weapons tighter, surely this would count as an open declaration of war. Then again, the foreign king did lick their prince. Licked him. Like he wasn’t royalty meant to be treated with the utmost respect. Like he wasn’t—well. Theirs. Explicitly unlickable. Except apparently not. Because that didn’t stop him. Isn’t stopping him now, either. Tossing prince Shouto around like he’s a sack of potatoes. The audacity.
Oh. He’s—
He’s whispering in the prince’s ear, surely things too uncouth to be spoken aloud, only confirmed by the fact that prince Shouto’s lips part, and his eyes widen, and his cheeks blush an even lovelier shade of bright pink, and then he’s—he’s gasping, and clutching at the king’s bare, muscled arms, and it all looks very, uh, well. Intimate, perhaps. Not unlike what the beginning stages of whatever the barbarian king is whispering in their sweet, innocent prince’s ear might look. And—this truly is inappropriate. They shouldn’t—intrude like this. But the prince can’t be left alone with a stranger. Especially a stranger with such obvious ill intent.
Eventually, they pull apart. They pull apart, and prince Shouto nods. “Okay,” he says.
The barbarian king looks openly surprised. “Okay?” he repeats. “Okay, like—like yes?”
The prince nods. “Yes,” he says. Assures. Like he’s making a promise. And he keeps his promises. Always. “I do not find your—customs particularly disagreeable. So, yes. I agree.”
The barbarian king looks very pleased with himself, a particularly feral glint in his eye. He licks his lips. Prince Shouto’s eyes follow the movement without much concern for decorum.
Good heavens, they’re losing him right in front of their eyes, nothing to be done about it. To some uneducated, naked beast. Who most likely intends to—to deflower him at the first opportunity provided. Oh, their poor, innocent prince.
“Good,” says the barbarian king. “C’mere, sweetheart.”
…
“We shouldn’t have left like that,” Shouto says.
Katsuki tsks. “You hate those things,” he says. “Stop acting all proper now.”
Shouto arches an eyebrow. “I’m not very proper around you, am I?” he asks. “Maybe I should—ah, attempt to rectify that.”
Katsuki, too busy nipping at his throat, makes only a vague sound pressed into Shouto’s skin. “Maybe,” he says, because it physically strains him to pull away, not to touch. “Later. We can even practice.”
Shouto pouts. “Katsuki, don’t be mean.”
“I’m never mean to you, baby.”
“You licked me.”
“You liked it.”
Shouto shakes his head. “I like you,” he says, “your highness.”
God, Katsuki wants to eat him whole. All those smitten extras can only dream of having him like this. Alone, and all for Katsuki. He’s never letting him go anywhere. “Yeah?” he asks. “How much?”
Shouto smiles one of those special Katsuki-only smiles of his. “Enough,” he says. “I think you know.”
And—
That’s the best part, actually.
Katsuki does. Doesn’t need to wonder.
Katsuki knows.