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The soft noise of the bedroom doors closing was enough to startle Laurent awake.
Laurent sat on the bed - their bed, Damen thought, pleased - the white sheets pooling around his waist. His right cheek held the impression of the pillow and his hair was a little rumpled. The moon was high in the sky, bathing their chamber with enough light that the lit lamp on Laurent`s bedside felt like an unnecessary luxury.
'Did I wake you up?' Damen asked.
'No… I-' Laurent trailed off, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. 'Yes,' he said, at last.
'Sorry.'
Laurent waved a hand, dismissing Damen's worry. 'Late night?'
'I was helping Nikandros burn some energy in the sparring grounds.' Damen said, 'He's worried about your coronation ceremony.'
Laurent frowned, 'My coronation? Why would Nikandros worry about my coronation?'
'I left him in charge of supervising the entertainment,' Damen moved to sit next to Laurent on the bed, 'He hasn't forgiven me yet'
Laurent tried to chuckle, but he yawned instead.
'Go clean yourself,' Laurent said, 'Then come to bed. I might need help burning some energy now that I have been awake.'
The water was tepid, but clean. Damen went through the practiced motions of cleaning himself, getting rid of all the sweat and dust from the training grounds. He did not linger. Laurent was waiting for him.
Once he was done, he stood in the doorframe, wrapped in nothing but the soft cotton towel he used for drying up. He allowed himself the pleasure of looking at Laurent.
Laurent had, to Damen’s infinite pleasure, gotten in the habit of sleeping naked. He blamed Akielos’ cloying heat at first, but, as the season changed, Laurent kept the habit, relying on Damen’s heat to keep him warm through the night.
Laurent had both his arms up in a lazy stretch, his body curving up like a cat's. He was yawning again, the twin buds of his nipples rising when his chest expanded. When he saw Damen watching him he turned, rested his head on his hand and smiled softly. His eyes traveled from Damen’s face to his chest. Then, deliberately, Laurent moved his gaze down, to the towel covering Damen’s groin. Damen dropped the towel.
'Like what you see?' Damen asked.
A faint blush painted Laurent’s cheeks, 'I always like what I see,' he said.
'Always?' Damen said, his own pleasure at Laurent's compliment pooling in his groin. Without waiting for an invitation, Damen moved forward, joining Laurent in their bed. Laurent's hair was soft to his touch and his neck warm under Damen's lips.
"Mhm," Laurent replied, lazily. His lips met Damen's in a open mouthed kiss,
"By this time next week you will be King of Vere," Damen said.
"You will have to kneel for me, then" Laurent said.
'I could kneel for you right now,' Damen said.
Laurent’s mouth curved, slow and dangerous despite the sleep still clinging to his eyes. 'Feeling lucky?'
'Always, when you are involved.'
'That is not luck. That is poor judgment.'
Damen laughed and caught Laurent by the ankle when he tried to retreat under the sheets. Laurent let himself be pulled, only a little, his body sliding against the linen, his hair falling over one eye. He was still flushed from sleep, soft in all the places he forgot to guard when he first woke.
He bent to kiss Laurent’s knee, then the inside of his thigh.
Laurent’s breath changed.
It was slight, barely there, but Damen had learned Laurent’s body with the devotion of a man learning a language he had once thought himself too clumsy to speak. He knew the difference between Laurent’s impatience and his uncertainty. Knew, too, the tension sitting high in his shoulders, visible even in the loose sprawl of him.
Damen lifted his head.
'You are tense,' he said. 'Your shoulders,' and brushed his thumb over the line of the muscle there. It was hard beneath his touch, 'Your neck. Your back.'
'Perhaps I am simply preparing myself to be crowned by a room full of men who would prefer to see me fail.'
Damen’s humor faded.
Laurent saw it and rolled his eyes. 'Do not make that face.'
'What face?'
'The one that suggests you are about to kill a council chamber full of old men on my behalf.'
'I would not kill all of them.'
'How restrained of you.'
Damen kissed his knee again, softer this time. 'Turn over.'
Laurent regarded him with suspicion. 'Why?'
'Because you are tense,' Damen said. 'Let me spoil you.'
For a moment Laurent only looked at him. There was something unguarded in the pause, something Damen did not touch too quickly. Then Laurent gave a small, affected sigh and turned onto his stomach, folding his arms beneath the pillow as if he were granting Damen a favor rather than settling eagerly beneath his hands.
Damen reached for the vial of oil on the bedside table.
Laurent glanced back over his shoulder as Damen climbed onto the bed and settled carefully over his thighs. The position made Laurent’s body go still beneath him.
'Relax,' Damen said, and let his free hand smooth down the center of Laurent’s back.
Damen tpped oil into his palm. He warmed it between his hands before setting them on Laurent’s shoulders.
Damen didnt really know how to give a massage. He knew how one was given to him. That was different, and he was aware of the difference as his hands started to work. A prince of Akielos was taught to command bodies, to use them, to receive service from them. He had memories of slaves kneeling behind him after training, their oiled hands working the soreness from his muscles while he spoke strategy with Nikandros or listened to reports. He had not thought, then, to wonder what it meant to be the one giving.
Now he watched Laurent’s eyes fall half-closed beneath his touch, watched the guarded tension of his body begin, unwillingly, to ease, and felt something low and satisfied settle in his chest. Damen was not skilled, no. But he was attentive.
He pressed his thumbs into the tight muscle beside Laurent’s neck, slow and firm, and felt Laurent’s whole body resist him for one stubborn second before yielding. The sound Laurent made was very small. Almost swallowed. Damen would have missed it if he had not been listening for exactly that.
'There,' Damen said.
Damen worked his hands lower, remembering the rhythm of palms smoothing oil over skin, the slow patience of it, the way a body gave itself over when touched correctly. His imitation was imperfect. He was too large, too intent, and perhaps too pleased by every small sound Laurent failed to swallow. Laurent did not seem to mind. And, little by little, beneath Damen’s hands, Laurent softened.
The nape of his neck. The vulnerable line between his shoulder blades. The narrow dip of his waist. The soft, pleased sound he made when Damen found a knot and worried it loose with patient fingers. Damen alternated between firm pressure and lighter touches, palms spreading oil over pale skin until Laurent shone faintly in the lamplight.
His breathing deepened. His knees parted by the smallest measure. His cheek pressed into the pillow, lashes low, mouth no longer sharp with words. Damen leaned down and kissed the back of his shoulder.
Laurent hummed.
It was a lazy, indulgent sound, and it went straight through Damen.
'You like this,' Damen said, mouth against his skin.
'You are large and warm and occasionally useful.'
Damen laughed into the curve of his shoulder. Laurent’s lips twitched, as if he could not help himself.
Damen moved lower. He kissed the knobs of Laurent’s spine, the small of his back, the place where his body dipped before rising again beneath Damen’s hands. Laurent’s fingers tightened once in the sheets, then loosened.
Damen’s mouth followed the path his hands had made.
He had touched Laurent everywhere. Kissed him everywhere, he thought. The thought came with the familiar satisfaction of possession, the private, hard-won privilege of being allowed this. Laurent beneath him, trusting him with his body, the rare openness of his pleasure.
Then Laurent shifted.
It was nothing. A small movement of his right knee, opening himself by a fraction. Damen was sure Laurent wasn't even aware of making, but It changed the line of him completely.
Damen’s hands stilled on Laurent’s hips.
Laurent looked back at him, sleep gone from his eyes now. 'Damen?'
Damen did not answer. He was looking at the place Laurent had bared to him without quite meaning to. At the slick shine of oil on his skin. At the vulnerable intimacy of it. At the last place his mouth had never been.
The thought struck him with such force that he almost laughed at himself.
In Akielos, a king did not put his mouth there. Men would take pleasure in a dozen ways and give each act its name and rank. There were things slaves did. Things soldiers whispered about after too much wine. Things princes were permitted to receive but not perform. A man of rank might want, might use, might command. He did not lower himself in that way. He did not kneel there. He did not open his mouth and give. Damen had never given it much thought. Like many things in his own culture, it had simply been what it was. Now he saw it for what it really was: a small, foolish thing standing between himself and Laurent’s pleasure.
Laurent’s gaze sharpened. 'What?'
Damen ran both hands down Laurent’s sides, slowly, until they settled on his hips.
'Nothing,' Damen said.
'That is not your nothing voice.'
Damen smiled and bent to kiss the round of Laurent’s ass.
Laurent went very still.
Damen kissed him again, lower.
'Damianos,' Laurent said, and this time there was warning in it, but not refusal.
Damen lifted his head. 'Tell me if you want me to stop.'
Laurent’s throat moved. He looked caught between suspicion and arousal, between some cutting remark and the truth of his body, which was already betraying him. His cheeks were flushed. His eyes were dark. His mouth slightly parted and his lips red where he'd been biting it.
'What are you doing?' Laurent asked.
Damen slid his thumbs inward and gently parted him. 'Spoiling you.'
Laurent’s breath left him in a broken sound.
Damen leaned down and pressed his mouth to him.
Laurent jolted, 'D-Damen—'
Damen held him firmly, not trapping him, only steadying him. He kissed him again, deliberate and slow, learning the shape of him with his mouth. Laurent’s body was rigid beneath his hands, every muscle drawn tight with shock. Damen could feel the effort of his restraint. The way Laurent fought not to move, not to make noise, not to give Damen the satisfaction of knowing exactly what it did to him.
Damen knew anyway.
He licked him, slow and flat, and Laurent made a sound into the pillow that he failed entirely to disguise.
Damen’s grip tightened.
There was something dizzying in it. The taboo of it, yes. The thought of every Akielon lord who would blanch at the sight of their king with his mouth there. But beneath that, stronger than that, was Laurent himself. Laurent trembling under him. Laurent’s body opening in helpless increments. Laurent, who survived by controlling every room he entered, being undone by the press of Damen’s tongue.
Damen wanted to ruin him gently. He wanted to make him feel so much that there was no room left for anything but him in Laurent's mind.
Laurent’s fingers were white in the sheets. 'Do not stop.'
Damen smiled against him. 'I had no intention of stopping.'
'Then why are you talking?'
Damen laughed, low and pleased, and Laurent swore at him in Veretian.
Damen rewarded him by licking him again and hips gave a small, aborted movement.
There. Damen felt it. The first crack in his restraint.
He pressed one hand to the small of Laurent’s back, stroking. With the other, he spread him open and used his mouth more surely, more deeply. Laurent’s thighs trembled beneath him. His breathing had turned uneven, every inhale caught on the edge of a sound he would not release.
And yet, Laurent was still trying to hold himself apart from it.
Damen could feel it in the tension of his body, in the careful stillness of his hips. Laurent’s desire was there, bright and fierce, but leashed. Contained. As if surrendering to pleasure was a concession he could not afford to make.
'Laurent.' Damen lifted his head just enough to speak.
Laurent looked back over his shoulder. His face was flushed, his mouth parted, his eyes bright with wanting.
'Let go,' Damen said.
'I—' Laurent started.
Then, unexpectedly, he let out a frustrated sound, rough and low, almost a growl.
'Let me have it,' Damen said, gripping his hips more firmly.
That was all it took.
Laurent moved against his mouth.
Not much at first. A hesitant roll of his hips, as though he expected Damen to mock him for it. Damen hummed his appreciation and pulled him closer, answering the movement with his tongue. Laurent’s head dropped forward. His hands fisted the sheets.
'Ah—' Laurent breathed. Then again, less controlled, 'Damen.'
Damen had never wished so fiercely for a bard’s talent. He wanted to make music out of that sound. Wanted to keep it somewhere it could never be taken from him.
He feasted on Laurent’s pleasure.
Laurent’s restraint broke by degrees. First his breathing, then his hips, then the careful sounds he had tried to keep between his lips. He was gorgeous like this, undone and still proud, as if even surrender had to be performed with royal dignity. Damen spread him wider and gave him his mouth until Laurent was shaking with it, until the room was full of the wet sounds of Damen’s hunger and Laurent’s broken attempts at quiet.
When Damen slid one slick finger inside him, Laurent arched.
'Damen.'
Damen paused. 'Yes?'
'If you stop now, I will have you executed after the coronation.'
Damen laughed against him, breath hot and damp, and pushed his finger deeper.
Laurent’s answer broke apart halfway through a curse.
He was so tight around Damen’s finger that Damen had to move slowly, working him open with care even as Laurent’s body demanded more. Damen kept his mouth on him as he did it, tongue and finger finding a rhythm that made Laurent’s hips jerk helplessly against the sheets.
For a few moments, Laurent bore it in silence.
Then Damen crooked his finger, searching, and Laurent’s whole body seized.
'Damianos!'
There it was. Damen’s full name, ragged with impatience. A sign Laurent was getting close to the edge of his control.
Damen lifted his mouth only enough to answer. 'Yes, your highness?'
Laurent looked back at him. His eyes were dark and furious, his face flushed past any hope of dignity.
'Your king demands to be fucked.'
Damen’s cock throbbed at the words. He wanted nothing more than to obey. Instead, he pressed his finger deeper and watched Laurent’s mouth fall open.
'You are not a king yet,' Damen said. 'I outrank you.'
Laurent’s answer caught when Damen bent and licked him again.
'And do you think this is a position befitting of—' Laurent’s voice broke. 'A-ah—of a king?'
Damen chuckled, his breath hot against Laurent’s hole.
'A king may do as he pleases.' He grabbed Laurent’s hips with both hands and used his thumbs to spread Laurent’s cheeks apart. 'And having you like this pleases me.'
Laurent buried his head against the pillow to hide his reaction from Damen.
Luckily for Damen, he could not hide the flush that painted his back, or the way his whole body shivered. Laurent held to the sheets as if they were the only thing keeping him together.
Damen lowered his mouth again.
This time Laurent did not try to stay still.
His hips moved back against Damen’s tongue with a sharp, helpless little roll that made Damen groan. Damen gave him more, licking him open, fucking him slowly with his finger until Laurent was breathing in broken sounds and pressing himself back with less and less shame.
He moved up over Laurent, covering him with his weight, kissing the back of his neck. Laurent’s skin was damp beneath him, warm and flushed. Damen pushed his hips down against him, letting Laurent feel the hard length of him.
Laurent made a sound of approval into the pillow.
Damen slid a hand beneath him and found him hard. Laurent thrust into his palm at once, a sharp, helpless movement that made Damen’s breath catch.
'No,' Damen said, and drew his hand away.
Laurent lifted his head. 'No?'
Damen caught his hips and pulled them up, depriving Laurent of the friction he had been chasing. Laurent made an indignant sound, which only made Damen want him more.
'You come on my cock,' Damen said, 'or not at all.'
Laurent looked back at him, eyes narrowed and fever-bright. 'Hurry up, then.'
The first press of him was always enough to steal thought from Damen’s mind. Laurent was tight and hot around him, his body giving with that same impossible mixture of resistance and trust. Damen went slowly because he loved this part: the way Laurent’s breath caught, the way his shoulders tightened and then eased, the way he bore the stretch with a kind of fierce, private satisfaction.
Damen bent over him and kissed his shoulder.
'Good?' he asked, because he always asked, because Laurent’s silence was not always an answer.
Laurent turned his face enough for Damen to see the glitter of his eyes.
'If you are asking for praise, you will have to do better than that.'
Damen thrust deeper.
Laurent’s mouth opened in a wordless breath.
'Better?' Damen asked.
'Do not become arrogant.'
'Too late.'
Laurent laughed, breathless and wrecked, and Damen felt it around his cock.
He began to move.
Slow at first, then harder when Laurent pushed back against him. Damen gripped his hips with both hands and watched himself disappear inside him, watched Laurent take him, watched the flush spread down Laurent’s back. The sight was almost more than he could bear. Laurent’s head was turned into the pillow, but he could not hide the shiver that ran through him with every thrust. Could not hide the way his body opened for Damen, hungry and helpless and demanding.
Laurent’s answer was lost on a moan.
Damen leaned down, his breath hot against Laurent’s ear. 'You are beautiful, your majesty.”
Laurent shuddered beneath him.
Damen felt the words land. Felt Laurent’s body tighten around him, felt the fragile edge of his control splinter further.
'You are impossible,' Laurent said.
Damen drove into him harder.
Laurent cried out.
There it was. No cleverness. No deflection. Just Laurent, bare beneath him, taking pleasure because Damen was giving it to him. Damen wanted to gather the moment in his hands and keep it and make a vow out of it.
They had done this more times than Damen could count, and still it was heady every time. The way Laurent came undone under him. The sounds he made. The way he said Damianos when he was close, as if Damen’s true name belonged to that moment more than any throne room or battlefield.
Selfishly, foolishly, Damen wanted more.
He wanted everything with Laurent.
He wanted to mark him in ways the world could see and in ways it never would. Wanted his scent on Laurent’s skin, his mouth on every hidden place, his seed deep inside him. The thought was impossible and absurd, and still it seized him: that if his body could make a claim there, if his seed could take, if he could leave something of himself behind, he would.
Laurent reached back blindly, fingers catching at Damen’s wrist.
'Damen.'
The sound of his name broke whatever patience Damen had left.
He slid a hand beneath Laurent and wrapped around him. Laurent thrust into his fist once, twice, then went tight all over, his body clenching hard around Damen’s cock.
'Damianos—'
He came with Damen’s name in his mouth.
Damen followed him almost at once, buried deep, his hips pressed hard against Laurent as pleasure tore through him. He held Laurent still for it, forehead pressed to the back of Laurent’s shoulder, breath ragged, the world narrowed to heat and skin and the impossible gift of Laurent beneath him.
For a long moment neither of them moved.
Then Laurent said, muffled by the pillow, 'I hope you realize this will make a terrible precedent.'
Damen laughed weakly against his back. 'For coronations?'
'For you. You will be insufferable now.'
'I was already insufferable.'
'Yes,' Laurent said, turning his head just enough to look at him. His face was flushed, his hair a disaster, his mouth soft. 'But now you will be smug.'
Damen kissed him.
Laurent allowed it for several seconds before saying, 'You are still inside me.'
'I know.'
'And heavy.'
'I know.'
'And pleased with yourself.'
Damen smiled against his mouth. 'I know.'
Laurent’s eyes narrowed, but there was no bite in it. Only heat, and exhaustion, and a tenderness he still pretended not to give freely.
'Clean me up,' Laurent said. 'Then come to bed properly.'
Damen kissed him once more, lingering. 'As my king commands.'
Laurent’s mouth curved.
'Not yet,' he said.
Damen looked at him, at the moonlight on his skin, and his heart ached.
'No,' Damen said softly. 'Not yet.'