Chapter Text
It had been another long day of governance.
Today, he’d dealt with the neighbouring Novoselic. They were attempting to pawn off their princess to him as a bride, but the idea simply nauseated him.
He couldn’t exactly place why. Objectively, Princess Sonia Nevermind was a beautiful woman and would make a fit wife. With her full figure and wide hips, she’d be sure to bear him a proper heir, but…
His skin crawled at the thought of actually marrying her.
Of laying with her.
…It had to be the onion. The Novoselic were prolific in their use of the godforsaken vegetable in their cuisine, and it churned Byakuya’s stomach to think of having to kiss her.
For King Byakuya was a very particular sort of man.
He loathed the scent of poverty, the distant smokiness that clung to clothes not frequently washed, the lingering stench of garlic and onions, the cheapest and most readily available produce, the mustiness of sweat and grime no ordinary person could even detect…
And the issue with loathing the scent of poverty was that, in order to avoid it entirely, he had to enrich not only himself but his country as well. He commissioned engineers and inventors to create great leaps forward that would eliminate that which he hated most, and invested heavily in public hygiene initiatives.
Public bath houses so the unwashed masses could wash, free clinics so disgusting, disease ridden corpses wouldn’t line his streets, proper trade so not only could he collect bountiful taxes, but that the accursed scent of onion and garlic would never linger on the breaths of his subjects when he was forced to talk to them.
Which was why, despite having a fleet of servants, he hated ever seeing them.
He’d commissioned an engineer to create a special table for him, one that would lower into the kitchens, where his food would be placed, and then raised up to his personal chambers.
When he was done with his meal, he would pull a string that would ring a bell down below, and the table would retreat into the floor. If he desired something specific, he would send down a note with the only servant he could stand, his childhood butler Pennyworth, and he’d deliver it to the head chef.
It was a wonderful system, and he enjoyed taking his meals in peace and silence.
Today, he felt a craving. He wrote it down on a note card, which Pennyworth sealed in an envelope.
Braised duck and Tomato Soup
He was eager to fill his stomach with some decent food, have his daily bath and go to bed.
Sitting in his library, he heard the dinner bell ringing and the distant turning of mechanics beneath his floors as the table was rising. He took a moment to finish reading the paragraph, set his bookmark in, and get up to go to the main atrium of his chambers where his table would rise from.
The hardwood platform parted, sliding to the sides as the table rose up, and there, amongst his plate of braised duck, brioche bread, oysters, poached truffles, tomato soup, a salad of greens, chocolat biscuit et creme, all served with only the finest red wines…was a person.
They had short, light brown hair with mossy green eyes. He was sat on his knees, dressed in a maid outfit, knee length black skirt that umbrella’d around him, with a puffy shouldered top, square neckline, and a black ribbon and white frill headdress. Since Byakuya regularly ‘entertained’ in his chambers, the table was larger than necessary for just one person, so they weren't sitting in his meal. They occupied the half of the table that was, thankfully, empty.
“Y-Your majesty, I-I deeply apologi-”
“Silence,” Byakuya hummed, ever so slightly amused. The voice was deep- a boy? Why was a boy dressed like a maid…?
Byakuya took his seat at the end of the table, watching the brunette as he picked up his fork.
The boy maid stared back at him, lips set into a thin, firm line, a nervous sweat dripping down his temple as Byakuya ripped a haunch of duck from the serving plate, biting into it while holding it by the bone.
‘What awful manners,’ both thought, staring at each other.
Byakuya swallowed, tongue running along his teeth, clicking ever so slightly before he spoke. “Tell me,” He began. “Why is a boy running around in a skirt? Did the Novoselics send you to seduce me? Blackmail me into marrying their princess?”
“It’s…the uniform, your majesty,” He replied, cautious. “I am from this Kingdom, born and raised. I have no affiliation with the Novoselic.”
“Who has authorised this uniform?” Byakuya asked.
“I was under the impression it was you, My Lord.”
“Me?”
“Yes. Rulers are often said to have their particularities, I figured this was one when I was hired.”
“Hm,” Byakuya hummed. “This is not one of my particularities, I assure you. Someone in the hiring chain seems to enjoy boys in skirts, it seems.”
“...” He said nothing.
“What’s your name?” Byakuya asked.
“Makoto Naegi. I was hired only two months-”
“I asked for your name, not your life story,” Byakuya interrupted. “Why were you on my table?”
“I…There was a mistake.” Makoto said nervously. He pointed at the tomato soup- topped with a delicate swirl of white cream and garnished beautifully with herbs. “Someone put this onto your table, bypassing the poison tester. It doesn’t have the approval tag. I was about to take it off the table when it started to rise, I had to either get on before I was crushed by the mechanics or risk falling from a great height and letting the soup be served to you.”
Byakuya’s brows furrowed. Someone bypassed the poison tester…?
He stood, taking a silver spoon from the table setting, dipping it into the soup.
“Ah, please, no sir-” Makoto tried to say.
Byakuya lifted the spoon, sniffing it. No traces that he could tell. He checked the spoon itself, no discolouration… He pointed the spoon at Makoto. “Eat it.” He demanded.
Makoto froze, eyes going wide.
“Your king demands it.” Byakuya said simply, putting the spoonful closer to his lips. “If you were to die, I’ll pay your family handsomely.” He offered.
Makoto hesitated then, only for a second. But his eyes closed, and his lips tilted open to accept the morsel of tomato soup.
The boy swallowed it, wincing all the while as the admittedly delicious taste spread across his palette. At least his last bite was a tasty one.
But he didn’t expect to then be kissed, let alone have the kings’ tongue in his mouth the second he gasped in surprise. He blinked hard, breath held as Byakuya’s tongue slid across his own, then gliding across his teeth. He tried resisting, pushing at Byakuya’s shoulders, pushing the blondes tongue out of his mouth, but it only served to fuzz his mind more, feeling that hard, slick muscle sliding against his, feeling the sheer solidity of his king beneath his own hands…
Byakuya pulled away, that same devilish tongue lightly lapping his lips, leaving Makoto breathless. “Onion,” he declared with a chuckle. “Those moron Novoselans tried to poison me with onion .”
“Wh-what…?” Makoto wheezed, his face bright red.
“I loathe onion on principle,” Byakuya said. “They must’ve been under the impression I’m allergic to it.”
“O-oh…” Makoto half wheezed, dizzy with the sudden relief of his not-imminent death and the kiss. “I…I can let the chef know, take the table down and refresh your dinner, your majest-mmph!”
Makoto found his lips occupied once again by Byakuya, who kissed him deeply, pushing him to lay flat on the table as the king loomed over him, mounting the table and Makoto with it.
Byakuya parted again, this time to lay eager kisses along Makoto’s clavicle.
“Y-Your majesty!” Makoto squeaked. “W-what do you intend to do with m-!!” He gasped as Byakuya tore his uniform, ripping it straight down the front and exposing the shorter males’ chest.
“You arrived on my dinner table,” Byakuya said simply, grinning viciously as he looked up at the brunette. “I intend to devour you.”
Oh, this peaceful rule had been so dull , so boring . An assassination attempt! With onion !! It was laughable, but it was exciting ! Oh, how long had it been since his interest had been so piqued? His monotonous day to day lightened by something, anything even remotely interesting?
Byakuya felt like he had insects in his bones in the most delightful way. Like his heart was soaring, like fire raced in his blood. He kissed Makoto deeply, reaching below his frilly skirts and petticoats and finding a man's cock beneath, just barely contained by a scrap of lace and silk.
…Perhaps boys in skirts was one of Byakuya’s particularities, because he could feel himself groaning in appreciation for the practicality of the skirt as he stroked the maid, his fist gliding along the hot and hard shaft of the servant, swallowing his moans and whimpers as he lay there, taking whatever the king would give him.
Byakuya released Makoto’s lips, panting. His cock throbbed hard in his pants at the sight of his ruined face, bright red with tears sliding down his face, tongue still slightly stuck out, eager to lick and play with the king.
“Move,” Byakuya commanded, panting. “Lay on your front, I’m going to fuck your thighs.”
Makoto moved quickly, sliding off the table to position himself, hips raised and pulling his skirts up to his hips, knees and thighs held together for his king.
Byakuya reached for the food, fingers scooping up the half-melted vanilla cream delicately piped onto his dessert and smearing it between Makoto’s thighs, undoing his own front laces to pull out his cock, stroking it before placing the head between, trusting forward with a hard slap.
“Ah-!” Makoto gasped as he was rocked forward with the sudden movement, feeling the king’s cock gliding smoothly between his legs, his shaft rubbing up against his smooth, supple balls. His cock twitched, drooling precum onto the floor as he gripped the bone white tablecloth he lay on. “M-my lor-ough!”
Byakuya was relentless, fingers digging into Makoto’s soft, meaty ass as he bent him over the table, holding him down. He used the boy like a dog would use a pillow, rough as he snapped his hips forward, drunk off his own excitement as the little bitch raised his hips enticingly, as if inviting his king to move his cock from his thighs to that pink, unspoiled, puckered asshole.
Makoto pulled at the cloth, a hazed heat rendering all thoughts useless as his king bent over him, pressing his body to the table, feeling the kings’ breath puffing in his ear as his hands touched him beneath his skirts, squeezing down and jerking him off. Makoto didn’t even notice when the silver platters nearer to the edge slid right off the table, splattering fine food that probably cost more than a month of his wages down to the floor.
“Mah-” Makoto moaned helplessly. “M-my King~! S-slow, please, please, I-I-”
He couldn’t eke out more of a warning, eyes clenching tight as the tight coil in the pit of his stomach snapped, and his entire body was held stiff as he came, his orgasm ripping through him as Byakuya kept thrusting, holding his manhood as he spurt his seed out onto the inside of his skirt.
He fell slack, his thighs loosening ever so slightly as his orgasm came and went. Byakuya slid off him, collapsing into a nearby dining chair. “Come,” Byakuya huffed, licking his lips. “I’m not finished, Makoto.”
Makoto slid off the table entirely, falling to his knees. He looked at the blonde with hooded eyes, mouth ever so slightly agape with a pant. His king was still hard, his cock still had smeared, melted vanilla cream all over it. He crawled to Byakuya, settling nicely between his thighs.
He went to work without instructions, mouth widening as he lapped at the kingly cock, tasting the sweet tang of dessert cream and the muskiness of the kings’ own pre that had been spread over his shaft via Makoto’s thighs.
He moaned, delighted as eyes closed, savouring the blonde as he licked at his shaft, eagerly laying open mouthed kisses along the base, then pumping the lower shaft as he took the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the thick intrusion.
Byakuya slouched in the dining chair, beautifully undone as he relished in his servant's mouth, a hand on his head, lithe fingers twitching as Makoto took to his newfound task quite well.
Then, he pushed, forcing Makoto’s head down fully onto his shaft, and though he struggled slightly, resisted slightly, he settled with lips stretched around the base of Byakuya’s shaft, throat bulged with the intrusion, staring up at Byakuya with ever so slight accusatory eyes, tears edging those remarkably beautiful mossy greens as he softly gagged around the royal cock.
Byakuya’s head tilted back, chest heaving, moaning openly to the high, vaulted ceilings as Makoto’s struggling made his throat tighten, trying to swallow, moaning and making his throat vibrate .
He came down the maids’ throat, heat emptying quickly out the tip of his cock, emptying into Makoto’s throat. Finally, he was releasing his hold on the brunette's head once he was certain he was done. The maid slid back slowly, panting with the effort of pleasing his king.
His soft, clean cock flopped onto Byakuya’s thigh as he chuckled weakly. “Mount the table, I’m sending you back.” Byakuya commanded, an eased smile on his face. “Remind the chef I don’t like onions, and dump the soup on his head before a new dinner is sent up.”
Makoto nodded, coughing slightly as he got up on slightly bruised knees, crawling back up onto the table, drawing his legs up so no part of him was hanging off it.
Byakuya reached for the string, ringing the bell below and starting the mechanism to lower.
Lapis blue and mossy green remained, staring at each other as Makoto was lowered with the mostly uneaten dinner.
Makoto, with his torn uniform, ruffled hair and skirt left askew, certainly did look like he’d been devoured as he rode the table back down to the kitchens. He tried to pull himself together as best he could, but nothing could hide his kiss-swollen lips or the impossible to hide tear down the front of his top.
As commanded, once he was back down, he delivered the kings message, dumping the bowl of tomato soup onto the chefs head before he stalked off to wash up and change his uniform.
He figured that would be it. He wasn’t even a part of kitchen staff, he was a part of the laundry staff and had just come in to place the damn table cloth.
Any questions he received after rumours began to spread, Makoto firmly denied. Despite the kings’ aloofness and even outright meanness, he still felt Byakuya to be a wonderful king. The nation had never quite prospered like it had under Byakuya, and he was determined to keep this one time indiscretion quiet.
The king simply had a momentary bout of madness after a laughable assassination attempt, and used Makoto to cure himself of it. And Makoto was happy to have been of use to him.
But then, Head Butler Pennyworth came to the laundry house, requesting him to the kitchens.
King Byakuya had sent down a note, making a request for his dinner.
Champagne, Makoto Naegi and a bottle of olive oil.
Makoto got up onto the table as the other servants piled on the king's dinner, the switch flipped and he once again rose up to the king's personal chambers…
He would return with the next days’ dirty breakfast dishes.