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Chapter Text

There are few places he knows as well as the keep at Acquitart. Nevertheless, Laurent would have taken a wrong turn several times by now if not for Damen’s steadying arm around his shoulders, subtly steering him in the direction of their shared rooms.

He should’ve seen it coming, really, when he chose drinking as the way to impress Makedon back at Marlas, should’ve anticipated that it would come back to haunt him. The thought is distant, hazy in a way that used to make his skin crawl, but it’s impossible to feel anything but safe and content with Damen’s warm presence beside him.

At least the hunt was a success, he thinks, before getting distracted by the way the moonlight plays across the planes of Damen’s face, turning his skin to gleaming bronze and highlighting the dimple in his cheek as he gives Laurent a smile.

He must have lost track of time after that, because the next thing he knows, they’re in their bedchamber, and Damen is in the middle of unfastening his laces with deft, practiced movements. Laurent lets out a pleased hum and presses closer, instinctively seeking Damen’s warmth even though the temperatures are still mild for the season.

“You’re not making this any easier,” Damen scolds him gently, the fondness in his voice belying his words. “Hold still, or we’ll be here all night.”

Suddenly, it strikes Laurent as terribly unfair that he’s already down to his white undershirt while Damen is still fully clothed, at least by Akielon standards. His fingers are unusually clumsy as he attempts to open the pin holding the top part of Damen’s chiton closed, but he persists with dogged determination until, finally, Damen’s glorious torso is bared to his gaze.

He leans forward, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the newly visible skin, his tongue darting out to tease Damen’s nipples. Delight bubbles through his veins, much like the sparkling wine that was served with dinner, as he feels them hardening under his touch.

Just as he’s getting ready to divert his attention to the lower parts of Damen’s impressive body, strong hands close around his shoulders, holding him in place.

“You’re drunk, sweetheart. I appreciate the enthusiasm, but perhaps we should just go to bed.”

Laurent nods eagerly, reaching up to take one of Damen’s hands and draw him towards the large four-poster bed dominating the room, making sure to sway his hips seductively as he goes.

“I meant, to sleep,” Damen says, and Laurent may not be looking at him, but he can easily tell from his tone that his eyebrows are raised in that expression he always wears when Laurent tells him about another one of his perfectly thought-through and reasonable schemes. “I know you don’t like—”

Under normal circumstances, Laurent finds Damen’s concern for his happiness endearing, but right now, he's floating on a haze of griva and the sheer force of Damen’s—very much naked—presence, and he’ll be damned if he lets Damen’s conscience ruin this for him.

It takes more effort than he’d like to admit, but he draws himself up to his full height and puts on his haughtiest kingly expression. “Fuck me,” he demands, taking care to enunciate the words properly. “I want you, Damen.”

Even in his inebriated state, he can reconstruct the struggle playing out inside Damen’s mind from the emotions flickering across his face, concern warring with desire. Deliberately, he licks his lips as he holds Damen’s gaze, and watches desire win out.

“Laurent,” Damen says helplessly, and then Laurent is being pushed down onto the bed, somehow losing the rest of his clothes along the way, until he finds himself pressed into the mattress under Damen’s weight. The room is slowly spinning around him, and somewhere in the back of his mind, there are other memories of moments like this one, drunk and with a heavy body pinning him to the bed, but they have no power over him as long as Damen is right here with him, his larger-than-life presence banishing any thought that is not about him, about them, together.

“Please,” he hears himself say, his voice coming out hoarse and pleading. He shifts his hips against Damen’s, trying to convey what his jumbled brain is unable to put into words. “Damen—”

“Shh, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” For a moment, Damen’s weight vanishes, but before he can do more than let out a wordless sound of dismay, Damen’s hand is there, right where he needs it, spreading warm slickness between his thighs. He lets them fall open wider on instinct alone, giving Damen better access, his whole body going pliant as Damen slowly works him open. He’s utterly unable to do anything but lie there and take it, but, judging by the constant stream of praise and endearments, Damen doesn’t seem to mind.

It feels as if hours pass like this, perhaps even days, and Damen’s fingers aren’t enough to quell the ache inside him. He grabs for Damen’s cock with uncoordinated fingers, finding it hard and weeping at the tip. Damen lets out a groan as he strokes it clumsily, his face pressed into Laurent’s shoulder.

“Now, Damen, please,” he gets out, and he’s far beyond caring what he sounds like, begging for Damen to fuck him.

He cries out in dismay as Damen’s fingers leave him, and then again, louder, as Damen’s cock replaces them, slowly and inexorably splitting him open. It feels like he’s floating on air, the searing heat of Damen’s cock moving inside him his only tether to the world. It’s like he is nothing but pure sensation, all rational thought fled for once as Damen fucks him with long, slow strokes, the way Laurent likes. He’s aware of nothing but Damen’s weight above him, Damen’s scent surrounding him, Damen’s voice in his ear, slipping into Akielon as he gets close. Laurent gives himself up to it until the pleasure crests and sweeps him away, and he knows no more.

Chapter Text

“Hello, lover.”

At the sound of Laurent’s voice, Damen looks up from the paperwork he’s been wrestling with for the better part of the evening, and promptly chokes on his own spit.

“Wha—” he chokes out between desperate gasps for air, unable to look away from the picture Laurent makes, leaning seductively against the doorframe. Instead of his usual Veretian-style attire or the occasional chiton, he’s dressed in what can only very generously be called clothing. The see-through blue silks cling to Laurent’s well-toned body in a way that leaves little to the imagination. Swirls of blue and gold paint decorate the ample skin on display, highlighting its pale fineness and hiding the freckles from months spent in Ios. As if to compensate for the lack of actual clothing, he’s dripping with jewels, from sapphire eardrops to a golden choker encircling his throat. By some trick of makeup, his eyes appear even larger and bluer than usual, and his lips…

“Like what you see?” Laurent asks, the confidence in his tone suggesting that he’s perfectly aware of the effect he has on Damen. “Ancel helped me with the paint.”

Damen doesn’t want to think about Ancel, not when Laurent, for some reason known only to him, is standing in their shared rooms, dressed as the most exclusive and heart-stoppingly beautiful pet Damen has ever seen.

“Is this for another one of your schemes?” he asks, finally, once he’s brought his heartrate down to slightly more reasonable levels.

Laurent’s seductive smirk softens at the edges, morphing into a real smile as he drops his persona for a moment. “No. But I thought it could be good practice, if we ever have to play pet and master again. Unless you’d rather keep working on that tax report…” He trails off, and the way he tilts his head back, exposing the long, graceful line of his throat, is not accidental at all.

Damen swallows heavily, feeling his cock, already well on its way to half-hard, swell even further at the blatant invitation in Laurent’s voice. “I could be persuaded,” he says, his voice coming out low and rough, and pushes his chair back from his desk.

Laurent makes a show of it, sashaying over to where Damen is sitting, hips swaying with every step. Through the silks, Damen can see the outline of Laurent’s cock, already heavy with desire. If he hadn’t already been more than happy to spend the night playing pet and master, this sight alone would have been enough to decide him. It’s so rare still that Laurent lets himself have fun, give into his desires, that Damen would be willing to do almost anything to see him enjoy himself.

So, he stays in his chair, lazily palming himself through his chiton, and watches Laurent’s approach. Once he’s closed the distance, he wastes no time climbing onto the chair with Damen, long, bare legs straddling him on either side. Damen spares a moment to be grateful that the chair is a particularly sturdy one, chosen because it’s comfortable even for a man of Damen’s size, but then Laurent lowers himself until his ass is pressed against Damen’s erection, separated only by two thin layers of clothing, and he promptly loses his train of thought.

His hand comes up of its own volition, fingers burying themselves in Laurent’s hair and catching on the tiny chains of sapphires threaded through it, his thumb spanning Laurent’s neck to brush against the gold at his throat.

“A pet, hmm,” he muses, pulling Laurent’s head back to expose his throat. He leans forward to press a slow, lingering kiss right where he can feel Laurent’s pulse thundering under his delicate skin, and his next words are muffled. “If you want me to renew your contract, you’d better show me what you’re worth.”

The fingers of his other hand brush against Laurent’s lips, pressing lightly until Laurent opens up, two fingers slipping easily inside the wet warmth of his mouth. He feels a shudder run through Laurent, feels the way Laurent’s hips are beginning to grind down against him as if he can’t contain himself any longer.

Laurent blinks up at him, pupils blown to the point that there’s hardly any blue left, and sucks on Damen’s fingers. Damen lets him for a few moments before pulling his hand back. “Go on, then,” he says, trailing his wet fingers down Laurent’s exposed chest until he finds a nipple. He circles it, tugs lightly until a gasp escapes Laurent’s lips.

“Yes, master,” Laurent says, regaining a little of his previous cockiness as he sits up straighter. Before Damen realizes what he’s planning, he’s already slipped off Damen’s lap and dropped to his knees between Damen’s spread legs. He makes a show of licking his lips, holding Damen’s gaze as he slowly draws the hem of his chiton upward until Damen’s cock is freed.

He’s still in his pet persona, seductive and sure of himself, but Damen knows that this still isn’t an act that comes easily to Laurent. So, he fights the impulse to grab Laurent’s hair again and push him down, instead holding himself perfectly still as he lets Laurent set his own pace.

It’s worth it when, finally, Laurent’s tongue traces along his heated flesh, delicately licking up the drops of pre-come that have formed, before his lips part further and he takes the tip into his mouth, swirling his tongue as his gaze remains fixed on Damen.

Damen keeps his hands to himself, doesn’t push up into the heat of Laurent’s mouth even though every nerve in his body screams at him to chase his pleasure. Even so, it doesn’t take long for him to reach his peak, the image of Laurent, dressed in silks, on his knees in front of him enough to drive him over the edge almost embarrassingly quickly.

“Well,” he rasps as Laurent fastidiously wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “I think you’ve earned yourself a reward.”

Chapter Text

It takes Laurent weeks to work up the courage to ask. Weeks in which he turns the thought over and over in his mind, worrying at it like a sore tooth. In the end, he blurts it out as they’re out for a ride, enjoying a rare moment of quiet.

“I want to try a ring fight. With you.”

The words are blunt, his voice steady. He fights down the urge to spur his horse into a gallop and flee.

To Damen’s credit, he treats the request with the same consideration he gives to everything Laurent says. “You mean, as roleplay? In bed?” he asks, as if he wouldn’t put it past Laurent to stage an actual ring fight in full view of the court. Despite it, there’s no judgement in his voice.

Laurent swallows hard. Nods. “I want us to wrestle, and then I want you to hold me down and fuck me. Make me take it, even if I say no. Especially if I say no.”

He knows what Damen must be thinking. Is this some twisted kind of penance for what he did to Damen, back when they barely knew each other? Or is it a way of facing what was done to Laurent himself, before? Laurent isn’t sure even he knows the answer, or perhaps he simply doesn’t want to know it. All he knows is that he wants it, needs it on an almost visceral level.

A better man wouldn’t ask this of Damen, wouldn’t make him relive his own trauma for the sake of Laurent’s sexual gratification. But then again, Laurent has never claimed to be a good man.

And Damen, being Damen, doesn’t point any of this out. He merely regards Laurent for a long moment, searching, and then gives one determined nod.

“All right.”

***

Laurent is wearing blue silks, but he might as well be naked for how exposed he feels. His heart is in his throat, breath coming quick and shallow, and he is excruciatingly aware of the slick feeling in the cleft of his ass, where he’s been prepared with scented oil.

The other pet is a giant, at least a head taller than Laurent, thick muscles rippling under bronze skin. He’s foregone clothing entirely, and Laurent’s gaze is inexorably drawn towards his huge cock, larger than any he’s ever seen even though it’s barely half-hard yet.

Laurent isn’t a fool. He knows what’s coming, that there’s no way he’ll be able to win a fight against such a brute. His insides clench at the thought of being pressed down into the cold, unforgiving floor, utterly unable to stop what he knows will happen.

For a moment, he feels almost lightheaded with a strange mix of fear and anticipation. Then, the other pet shifts into a wrestling stance. Laurent’s stubborn nature will not let him give in entirely without a fight, so he mirrors the other pet’s posture and forces his face into a smirk. “Come on, then,” he goads, voice shaking almost imperceptibly.

Nevertheless, he’s still entirely unprepared for the sheer strength and agility the giant brute displays. He’s toying with Laurent, that much is obvious from the way Laurent almost manages to gain the upper hand once or twice, but when he at last resorts to biting the arm clamped around his neck, the other pet loses his patience. Within moments, he has Laurent pinned to the ground, his bulk pressing Laurent into the cool tiles as he grunts with the effort of keeping Laurent’s flailing limbs contained.

Panic rises then, fueled by the inability to get away from the weight threatening to crush him, from the hands roaming his body as if it was the brute’s right—and it is, he’s won, and now he’s going to—

“No,” Laurent gasps out, twisting this way and that in a desperate attempt to free himself. “No, fuck you, get off me—”

The brute lets out a dark laugh, effortlessly keeping Laurent pinned in place. “I don’t think so,” he murmurs, leaning down to lick a stripe along Laurent’s collarbone and letting out a pleased hum. “I won, and I’ll have my prize.”

Before Laurent can so much as blink, the brute has flipped him onto his front with quick, efficient movements, one large hand on the back of Laurent’s neck to keep him down. He struggles in vain as the brute knees Laurent’s legs apart, as a thick finger probes at his entrance.

“Look at you, all wet for me,” the brute whispers into his ear, all eagerness. “You want it, don’t you?”

“No.” The word comes out on a sob, tears leaking from his eyes as he struggles to close his legs, to hide his shame. “Please, don’t—”

The brute doesn’t listen. He drags Laurent’s hips up with a bruising grip until he’s kneeling on spread legs, face still pressed into the tiles by the relentless hand on his neck. He tries to struggle, but the brute’s strength is too great.

“Please,” he begs again, his voice cracking over the word. “Let me go, I’ll do whatever you want, just—”

“But I want this.”

He feels the brute’s huge cock at his entrance, inexorably pressing forward as Laurent scrabbles for purchase on the slippery tiles. Laurent is clenched tight with panic, and the stretch burns like nothing he’s ever felt before as the brute fills him in one brutal thrust.

Laurent’s scream drowns out the brute’s groan of pleasure, and the hand moves from his neck to his mouth, muffling the desperate noises being punched out of him with every thrust. The brute fucks him for what feels like hours, until Laurent is sure he must be split open, his innards gaping out for the entire world to see. He’s given up trying to struggle free, all the fight fucked out of him along with the broken sobs still muffled by the brute’s palm.

When he comes, untouched, it is with the taste of salt on his lips.

Chapter Text

“I wonder what your stamina is like,” Laurent remarks idly one evening, as they’re lying in bed. The finger slowly tracing south along Damen’s abs makes his meaning abundantly clear.

“You know perfectly well I’ve lasted seven hours—” Damen begins, only to be interrupted by a kiss that feels distinctly placating.

“Yes, so I’ve heard several times by now,” Laurent teases, his face inches from Damen’s. “But I’m not talking about that. I want to know how long you can hold out without getting to come, before you’re begging me for mercy.”

In the span of one single sentence, the mood in their bedchamber shifts from playful and relaxed to charged with intent, like lightning waiting to strike.

“Do your worst.” Damen throws the words down like a gauntlet, as the Veretians are so fond of doing when they want to duel—instead of simply using their words, like sensible people.

He watches a slow smirk grow on Laurent’s lips. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

***

Minutes later, Damen finds himself supine on the bed, his arms stretched above his head in surrender. Laurent offered to tie them to the sturdy bedframe, but Damen gave his solemn word to keep them where they are, and so he will.

On the nightstand, a candle marks the passing time.

Damen’s cock is already at half-mast, simply from the knowledge of what is to come, even though Laurent hasn’t even touched him yet. He does so now, running his hands down from Damen’s shoulders with a barely-there touch, ghosting across his nipples and further down. He diverts along Damen’s hips, brushing against the inside of his thighs for a moment and making the muscles there jump, before retracing his steps. By the second pass, Damen is well and truly hard, his cock flushed a deep red and already beginning to weep at the tip.

Laurent looks absorbed by his task, a slight smile gracing his lips. Finally, he leans forward, his tongue darting out to trace a circle around Damen’s nipple, eliciting a gasp from Damen at the sensation. Normally, Damen would be reaching down to give himself a squeeze, just to take the edge off.

He remembers just in time that, tonight, he can do no such thing.

A curse escapes him as Laurent takes the nipple into his mouth, rolling the sensitive peak in his mouth before biting down lightly, just the right side of painful. Damen’s cock gives a jerk, a fresh bead of pre-come forming. He continues the same treatment on Damen’s other nipple, nibbling and sucking until Damen thinks he must go mad with it.

By the time Laurent finally touches his cock, he feels ready to burst out of his skin. Laurent’s grip is firm as he slowly moves his hand up and down Damen’s length, spreading the pre-come evenly from tip to root. Damen tries to stay still, he really does, but he can’t stop his hips from hitching into the movement, fucking into Laurent’s grip.

Laurent continues to stroke him, first slowly, then, almost imperceptibly, faster and faster, until Damen is moaning into each stroke, chasing his pleasure as it rises higher and higher—

“Oops,” Laurent says, unconvincingly, as his fingers clench tightly around the base of Damen’s cock, stopping his impending orgasm in its tracks. “Got a bit carried away there, lover?”

Teeth gritted against the ache in his balls, Damen shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he rasps, trying to sound as regal as he does in the council chamber. “Continue.”

And Laurent does.

Damen loses track of time after a while, as Laurent torments him with hands, lips, and tongue. He’s close, so fucking close, but every time he thinks that surely, this time Laurent will allow him to finally come, Laurent drags him back from the precipice again, waiting just long enough for Damen to recover a few shreds of self-control before starting over.

“Please,” he hears himself say, hoarsely, as Laurent’s tongue swirls around the tip of his aching cock. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out before simply combusting from frustrated desire.

Here lies Damianos, King of Akielos, who died from blue balls.

The snort he lets out at the thought turns into a groan halfway through as Laurent’s clever fingers slip between his cheeks, finding his entrance. He doesn’t push in, doesn’t do anything more than trace light circles around it, but the mere suggestion is enough to have Damen instantly back on the brink.

“Laurent, sweetheart,” he begs, not even sure what he’s asking for. They haven’t done that, yet, even though they’ve talked about it; now, though, Damen would give anything to feel Laurent moving inside him, hitting that spot that never fails to make Laurent cry out so sweetly.

Again, the heat low in his belly threatens to spill over, and again, Laurent draws back, glancing up at Damen. “You were saying?” he asks, faux-innocent. “Was that you begging me to let you come?”

It takes everything he has, but Damen manages to shake his head. “No,” he grinds out, trying—and failing—to summon up the flinty glare that manages to cow soldiers and Kyroi alike. His hands are still clenched into the pillow above his head, fingers aching from the strain, and he is soaked with sweat, but he’ll be damned before he gives up.

Laurent shrugs, as if to say that this is entirely Damen’s choice, and goes back to work.

Damen doesn’t know how much more time passes. Laurent has two fingers worked inside him by now, mercilessly teasing his most sensitive spot, while his other hand is wrapped tightly around Damen’s oversensitive cock. He looks up at Damen with mischief in his eyes.

“I love you,” he says, sweetly, artlessly, and Damen is helpless against the overwhelming surge of pleasure that floods him at the words.

When he comes back to himself, Laurent is licking stray drops of Damen’s seed off his fingers, looking extremely pleased with himself.

Chapter Text

“What is that?”

Laurent looks up from his paperwork to see Damen bent over a gilt box sitting on their lounge table. For a moment, he’s as confused as Damen sounds; then, he remembers that Ancel has been dropping hints about “bestowing some of his expertise on them so their sex life doesn’t get boring”. A box full of whatever Ancel thinks are appropriate sex toys for the Kings of Akielos and Vere would certainly be enough to make Damen sound the way he does.

Biting back a laugh, he gets up and joins Damen on their couch. As he inspects the contents of the box, it takes him less than a second to ascertain that this must indeed be a gift sent by Ancel. Who else would send the kings a collection of bejeweled handcuffs, silken blindfolds, crystal butt plugs in various sizes, and—even Laurent does a double-take at that one—what seems to be a penis pump?

“Ancel’s trying to spice up our sex life,” he says by way of explanation. Quite without his conscious choice, Ancel has become somewhat of a fixture in their lives, and since Berenger seems as smitten with him as ever, Laurent doesn’t see that changing anytime soon.

“Ohhhh.” Damen lets out a hum of understanding. Gingerly, he reaches into the box, as if expecting the contents to attack him. “Are these—”

“Butt plugs,” Laurent says, picking one up and holding it up for Damen’s inspection. It’s clearly of superior craftsmanship, smooth and polished and gleaming in the afternoon sunlight.

Judging by Damen’s expression, he hasn’t encountered this particular kind of toy before. A shame, really, Laurent thinks; with the size of Damen’s cock, a plug to keep one nice and stretched might come in handy.

“And you put them—”

“Up your ass, yes,” Laurent drawls, smirking at the look on Damen’s face. “Look, there’s even different sizes so you can work up to a larger girth.”

Damen still looks dubious, but Laurent is struck by sudden inspiration. “Let’s try one,” he suggests, exchanging the one in his hand for a larger version—closer to Damen’s size, although still considerably smaller. “You can put it inside me, and I’ll wear it for you. And then, when we have a free moment, you can simply take it out and slide right in, no need to work me open for hours.”

“But I like working you open.”

The plaintive note in Damen’s voice makes something warm and fond swell inside Laurent’s chest.

“Come on,” he goads, leaning forward to press a kiss to Damen’s cheek. “Ancel will be put out if we don’t use at least one of his gifts. Or would you rather try—” He gestures at the penis pump.

Predictably, Damen shudders and shakes his head emphatically.

“Butt plug it is, then,” Laurent says, self-satisfied.

***

The meeting with the Kyroi is interminable. Technically, Laurent doesn’t need to be there; Vere and Akielos are still two separate kingdoms. Still, they’ve both made a habit of attending council meetings when they’re visiting each other’s court, and so Laurent is stuck listening to the Kyros of Ellium expounding on the need for a reform of the shipping taxes.

He shifts subtly in his seat, the plug inside his ass shifting along with him and making him inhale sharply as it presses against his prostate. Luckily, Nikandros is just saying something in response to the Kyros, and the sound goes unnoticed.

He had been so sanguine about the entire thing earlier that morning, when Damen had slicked him up with clever fingers before sliding the plug in place, its base keeping Laurent spread open just like Damen’s thumb might. It’s tapered at the tip, and the perfect length to keep brushing against his most sensitive spot every time he moves. He’s been considerably more than half-hard throughout the entire meeting, and he thanks whichever deity might listen that he elected to wear Veretian clothing today. At least the tight lacing keeps his erection well hidden, unlike the looser flow of a chiton.

He shifts again, and from the seat beside him, Damen casts him a questioning look. Laurent glares back, trying to convey without words that he needs this meeting to be over, now.

It takes a moment of prolonged eye contact, but, finally, Damen’s eyes widen in understanding.

“You’ve made some excellent points,” he says, interrupting the Kyros of Ellium mid-sentence. “We will take everything you’ve said into consideration, and we’ll reconvene the day after tomorrow to discuss the finer points. For now, council is dismissed.”

So absolute is the King of Akielos’ power that none of the Kyroi dare offer any protest, although Nikandros sends them a look that says he absolutely knows what they’re up to and he’s judging them for it.

For once, Laurent can’t find it in himself to care. The moment they’re alone in the council chamber, he is tugging at his laces, growling in frustration as they get tangled.

“Here, let me.” Damen replaces his fumbling fingers with his own steady ones, stripping Laurent efficiently like he’s done so many times before. A gentle pressure on his back prompts Laurent to lean forward, bracing himself on the council table, his ass on full display for Damen’s gaze.

“Look at you, sweetheart,” Damen says, voice low and appreciative, and then strong fingers are tugging at the plug, pulling it out almost completely before pushing it back inside, setting up a steady rhythm. It feels good, so good, but it’s not enough, and Laurent lets out a noise of frustration as he shoves his hips back.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” Damen murmurs, pulling, and Laurent clenches around nothing, his hole achingly empty.

He doesn’t have to wait long, though, before the head of Damen’s cock nudges against his slick, loose entrance, sliding into him with only the slightest effort.

As Damen relentlessly fucks him into the table, Laurent admits to himself that, just maybe, Ancel’s gift wasn’t so ridiculous after all.

Chapter Text

The air of the baths is heavy with steam, Damen’s bare skin glistening with sweat. Opposite him, Laurent is equally nude, his fair skin flushed in the heat. In that hazy way that is so typical of dreams, Damen realizes they’re in the baths at Arles, the room covered in all-too-familiar painted tiles, gleaming in blues, greens, and gold.

Laurent’s wrist feels delicate in his grip, where he’s just caught it to stop Laurent from hitting him. There is ice in Laurent’s eyes as he stares Damen down. He knows the scene, he realizes with a jolt. In a few moments, Laurent will call for the guards, will order Damen bound to the cross and flogged.

Except he doesn’t do anything of the sort. Instead, his gaze travels down Damen’s nude body, lingering on the ridges of his abs and further down, where his cock has taken a definite interest in the proceedings.

“Well?” Laurent drawls, raising a disdainful eyebrow. “You were told to serve, weren’t you? Go ahead, then. Attend me.” His voice is cold, collected, but Damen sees the way his cock is beginning to fill, his breath coming ever so slightly faster. “On your knees,” he adds, making his expectation clear. He wants Damen to kneel for him, to suck him, as if he hasn’t been doing his best to make Damen’s life a living hell—

All of a sudden, the rage Damen has been keeping so carefully contained ever since he was brought to Arles flares to life, scorching his insides. Laurent has had him beaten, humiliated, almost raped, and now he has the nerve to order Damen to his knees?

It’s a split-second decision, using his grip on Laurent’s wrist to tug him off balance, turning the momentum into a wrestling move that ends with Laurent on his back, splayed across the massage table set up in a corner of the room.

Laurent looks up at him, the wind knocked out of him but his expression entirely unsurprised, as if he was expecting Damen to act in precisely this way.

“Go on,” he hisses, still gasping for air. He makes no move to fight back, to stop what he must’ve realized is about to happen, even as his muscles bunch under Damen’s fingers. “You want it, don’t you? Fuck me, then. It’s all you’re good for, now, slave.”

In lieu of a clever retort, Damen wraps his fingers around Laurent’s throat, not squeezing but using just the slightest bit of pressure to remind him that he could, if he wanted to, and there would be nothing Laurent could do about it. As if in response, Laurent’s thighs fall open wider, and Damen watches avidly as the icy blue of his eyes is consumed by the black of desire. With his other hand Damen fumbles for one of the ubiquitous vials of oil, removes the stopper with his teeth, and unceremoniously upends the entire vial over both his erection and Laurent’s ass.

Any patience he might have possessed is long gone, and he isn’t gentle as he shoves two fingers inside Laurent’s hole, causing a litany of curses to fall from his lips. Among them, though, Laurent spits at him to “Do it, come on, fuck me,” and Damen doesn’t hesitate. He withdraws his fingers, gives himself a quick stroke to spread the oil, and then, fingers gripping Laurent’s hips hard enough that he’ll leave bruises behind, he pushes inside.

The tight clench of Laurent’s body around him is exquisite, the preparation perfunctory enough that Damen’s cock barely fits. If he’s hurting Laurent, he doesn’t show any sign of it, panting through gritted teeth as his eyes bore into Damen’s own. He doesn’t speak, only small punched-out gasps escaping him as Damen begins to set a quick, brutal rhythm.

He’s leaning forward for a better angle, his face inches from Laurent’s, as a searing pain along his back makes his thrusts falter. Laurent’s nails, scoring deep lines into the skin of his back where he’s brought his arms around Damen’s sides. There’s a vicious pleasure in his expression as Damen lets out a grunt of pain, and Damen sacrifices his grip on Laurent’s hips to tug his hands away and pin them above his head with his superior strength.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Laurent rasps out, color high in his cheeks, as Damen resumes his brutal thrusts, and then he leans up as if to kiss Damen.

Instead, he tilts his head at the last moment, biting down hard on the joint of Damen’s neck and shoulder.

As he draws back with a smirk, his teeth are red with Damen’s blood.

Biting back a curse, Damen pulls out abruptly and grabs Laurent, turning him over roughly and slamming him back down onto the table, face-down this time. Mere seconds later, he has shoved back inside, Laurent’s body opening easily to him now that he’s been thoroughly fucked.

In this position, Laurent won’t have another chance to scratch or bite him, and he seems to realize that as well. Instead, he makes up for it by goading him to fuck him harder, spewing insults that Damen only half listens to as the pleasure inside him builds and builds.

He’s never been so rough with anyone before, but Laurent seems to relish it, tilting his hips into Damen’s thrusts as he slams into him again and again. He doesn’t know how long they keep at it, but eventually, Laurent is reduced to helpless gasps and moans as Damen ruthlessly hits that spot inside him over and over, until, finally, he clenches down tight around Damen and lets out a muffled cry.

The sensation is too much for Damen, and he thrusts erratically a few more times before burying himself deep inside Laurent as he spills into his tight heat, his vision going black for a moment.

“I’ll kill you for this,” Laurent gasps out, and Damen can’t help but think that this might have been worth it.

Chapter Text

There are more old wives’ tales about the great northern forests, on the border to Kempt, than there are books in the library of the palace in Arles. Tales about faeries and ghouls, about unicorns and monsters—both human in shape and not—and many more besides.

As Laurent stares at the figure across the clearing, he thinks, with a touch of hysteria, that he might have done well to listen to them.

The figure is humanoid in shape, but taller than any man he’s ever seen, with thick muscles and golden-bronze skin that shines in the pale sunlight filtering through the trees. It has tousled dark-brown curls, and Laurent could almost mistake it for a human—if a supremely well-shaped one—but for the otherworldly golden color of its eyes. It is also entirely nude, its thick cock hanging heavily between its legs.

He stands stock-still, hardly breathing, feeling like any movement will cause the creature to pounce.

The creature tilts its head, regarding him curiously, before baring its teeth in a wide smile.

It would be a comforting sight, if not for the fact that there are far too many teeth, and they are far too pointed to belong to a human. Devastatingly, a dimple has formed in the creature’s cheek.

“You’ve sought me out,” it says, and Laurent marvels for a moment that he can understand it without any difficulty. He isn’t sure the creature is speaking Veretian, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Only then do the creature’s words register.

“I didn’t,” he protests, instinctively, but as the words leave his mouth, it’s as if a veil is drawn aside, and he realizes that yes, he did come here searching for the creature, even if he wasn’t aware of it.

The creature seems to read his thoughts as if he’d spoken them aloud, for its smile widens. “Come closer,” it says, beckoning, and Laurent moves as if drawn on a string. “What do you wish for?” the creature asks, once Laurent is close enough to touch. “I can be whatever you desire.”

Right before Laurent’s eyes, the creature shifts, its body rearranging itself into that of a wolf-like figure, but upright on its hind legs like a human. Its cock, already impressive in its previous form, is even larger like this, the hint of a knot at its base.

Laurent draws in a sharp breath, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight. He should be scared, he thinks, but all he feels is an overwhelming need to touch the creature, and have it touch him in return.

“No?” the creature says, its voice perfectly intelligible even though it no longer has a human mouth. “Perhaps something more like this?”

It shifts again, and Laurent is faced with a dragon, golden scales glistening in the light. It is huge, magnificent in its glory, and once again Laurent’s eyes are drawn to its cock, now covered in scales and considerably larger than his own forearm. The thought of sinking down on it, feeling it move inside him, brings sudden heat to Laurent’s cheeks, but the creature is already shifting again.

“This,” it says with confidence, back to an almost humanoid shape. “This is what you need, isn’t it?” One of its many tentacles reaches out to softly caress Laurent’s cheek.

Unable to speak, Laurent feels himself nod in response, almost as if he’s no longer in command of his body, instead subject to some ancient imperative. The creature doesn’t seem to mind his silence, though. It reaches out, both with its arms and with its other appendages, and Laurent finds himself borne gently to the grassy ground, the creature kneeling in front of him. Looking down along his body, he realizes that he, too, is nude, the creature’s tentacles brushing tantalizingly across his bare skin.

“Please,” he says, suddenly finding his voice. “I need—”

“Shhh,” the creature shushes him, one tentacle nudging against his lips. “I know.”

Exhaling heavily in relief, Laurent lets his mouth drop open and welcomes the tentacle pushing inside. It tastes sweet, oddly like apricots, and Laurent laves it with his tongue, sucking on it and letting out a muffled moan as the taste intensifies. He’s so absorbed in his task that he barely notices the creature leaning forward until it can take one of Laurent’s nipples into its mouth, its sharp teeth scraping across the sensitive skin. Laurent’s groan is stifled by the tentacle in his mouth, which is now leisurely moving back and forth, fucking his throat as Laurent does his best to relax and breathe around it.

“See?” the creature asks, pausing briefly in its torment of Laurent’s nipple. “I know just what you need.”

At that moment, another tentacle slithers between Laurent’s legs, which have fallen open of their own volition. He shivers as it works its way between his cheeks, nudging against his entrance. Just as he’s bracing for the creature to fuck him without any oil to ease the way, there is a rush of slippery warmth where the tip of the tentacle brushes against his hole, and it slides inside easily, drawing a choked-off noise from him.

“So good for me,” the creature murmurs as the two tentacles settle into a rhythm, fucking Laurent in tandem. It’s almost too much, his neglected cock painfully hard as he pushes his hips down into each thrust. He’s not getting enough air around the tentacle in his throat, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s close, so close—

Another tentacle wraps around his aching cock, milking it gently, pressing down into the slit until he’s about to—

Laurent blinks his eyes open, half-expecting to see the creature from his dream in bed beside him. There’s only Damen’s regular human self, though, and Laurent doesn’t hesitate for long before shaking him gently awake.

He presses his leaking erection against Damen’s hips, and Damen’s sleepy expression lights up in understanding.

“Shhh,” he says. “I know just what you need.”

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry,” Laurent says quietly, regarding the drops of come splattered across his abs, “that it’s such a difficult thing for me, sometimes.”

It’s true that Damen has just spent the better part of an hour coaxing an orgasm from him, an hour in which nothing he did seemed able to send Laurent over the edge. It's like this sometimes, still, Laurent’s mind getting tangled in his past, even after all the times they’ve brought each other pleasure. Even so, he never wants to hear Laurent apologize for this kind of thing again, not when nothing about it is actually his fault.

“Next time,” he says, letting a confident smile curl his lips, “I’ll make you come so often you’ll be begging me to stop.” He can already see it in his mind’s eye, Laurent sweat-soaked and twisting on the bed, tears leaking from his eyes as Damen wrings another orgasm from him. It sparks a heat low in his belly, and he mentally curses the slew of meetings that mean they can’t simply stay in bed and set to work right away.

The quiet resignation is gone from Laurent’s expression, though, replaced by a light flush, so Damen counts it as a victory.

***

It’s late by the time they make it back to their chambers, and Damen is fully prepared to just ready himself for sleep. Laurent must be tired; he’s spent hours arguing with some of the more important lords in his court about much-needed changes to the pet system. He’s surprised, therefore, when Laurent undresses with his usual efficiency and regards him expectantly.

“Well?” he says imperiously, raising an eyebrow. “I was promised multiple orgasms.”

With a laugh, Damen crosses the short distance separating them and draws Laurent to him, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to his lips. “So you were,” he agrees, hiding his smile in Laurent’s hair. It’s grown longer over the past months, almost enough to tie it back, and Damen loves to run his fingers through it, mussing it thoroughly.

Without further ado, he drops to his knees in front of Laurent, nuzzling against his still mostly soft cock. It hardens quickly under his attention, and Damen hums, satisfied with his work so far, as he takes it into his mouth. Normally, he’d draw it out, go as slow as he can make himself, but that’s not the goal tonight. Instead, he sets a steady rhythm, his lips sliding up and down Laurent’s length, tongue sweeping along the underside and curling around the tip on each pass. Laurent’s hands drift into his hair, tugging lightly in the way Damen likes, the contact grounding them both. Laurent must have been more worked up than he thought; he can already taste the first drops of pre-come on his tongue.

With his mouth otherwise occupied, he can’t talk, but he looks up at Laurent and deliberately relaxes his throat, taking Laurent as deep as he can. Above him, Laurent makes a choked-off noise and jerks forward, taking the hint to fuck Damen’s mouth. His rhythm is fast, uneven, and it doesn’t take much longer until he’s spilling down Damen’s throat, fingers clenched in Damen’s curls and eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Damen lets his softening length slip from his mouth, licking up a few stray drops of spend, and blinks the tears from his eyes. He climbs to his feet, and by the time Laurent has recovered enough to speak, he’s already lifting him up into his arms and carrying him over to their bed.

Depositing Laurent on his back, he only pauses briefly to grab a vial of oil from the nightstand before diving back into the fray. Laurent has gone soft, but Damen distracts him with deep, heated kisses while he uses his fingers to coax him back to hardness.

“Damen,” Laurent protests as he begins to stroke him in earnest. “I really don’t think I can, not so soon anyway…”

“Trust me?” Damen takes in the light sheen of sweat already covering Laurent’s brow, the feverish glaze to his eyes.

Laurent nods.

“Good.” He coats his fingers in oil and resumes his movement, his other hand drifting further back to seek Laurent’s entrance. One finger slips inside easily enough; the second, a few moments later, requires a little more work. Soon, though, he has his fingers thrusting in and out of Laurent’s heat while his other hand jerks his cock with a sure grip. He adjusts the angle slightly and Laurent cries out, something halfway between a plea and Damen’s name.

Smiling to himself, he keeps hitting that same spot, until Laurent is reduced to bitten-off moans and gasps, until he jerks in Damen’s hand and spills, warm and sticky, over his fingers.

“That’s two,” Damen says, unable to keep the satisfaction from his voice. His own cock is rock-hard and wet with pre-come, but he hardly notices, too focused on Laurent’s pleasure to care about his own. “Turn over for me, sweetheart.”

Laurent seems almost dazed by his second orgasm, but he obeys, moving slowly until he’s on his elbows and knees, ass high in the air. This time, it takes longer to get him hard again, but Damen is nothing if not persistent, licking and sucking and bringing him back to full hardness with his fingers and tongue. Laurent’s third orgasm hits quietly, noticeably only by the way his arms collapse out from under him, leaving him prone on the bed. He makes a pitiful sound when Damen pulls his hips back up, his hole slick and open to Damen’s gaze.

“I can’t,” he pleads, voice muffled by a pillow. “Please, Damen, it’s too much, I can’t—” His voice cracks over the last word, his shoulders hitching in a sob.

“Just one more,” Damen coaxes, running a soothing hand along Laurent’s back. “For me.”

Laurent cries out as Damen’s cock slides into him, as Damen fucks him relentlessly. He cries loudest as he comes, for the fourth time that night.

Chapter Text

The Games are held in the great arena of Ios, to celebrate the first year of Damen’s reign. Unlike the last time, at Marlas, when Laurent still had everything to prove, he’s not participating in the Okton; instead, he watches from a shaded dais as Damen shines.

As guest of honor, Damen participates in all events, and while he doesn’t win every single one, nobody is left in doubt that he is every inch the rightful king.

Laurent, for his part, watches and suffers. Not from the heat, or from being in public all day; not even from Makedon dropping by to share a glass of griva. No, the thing that has him fidgeting in his seat, wishing the hours would pass more quickly, is Damen’s unbearable competency at everything he does.

It’s impossible to miss him on the field: taller and stronger than anyone else, skin burnished by sunlight, brown eyes alight with exhilaration. His muscles bulge and ripple as he wields his sword, lifts weights, or throws a spear, and Laurent’s throat is parched despite the constant supply of cool, citrus-infused water provided by his attendants.

For once, both in honor of the occasion and in deference to the heat, Laurent has opted for a chiton instead of his usual Veretian attire. He regrets the decision now, as the insubstantial bit of fabric does little to hide his burgeoning erection. Already, he is forced to cross his legs, in place of his usual comfortable sprawl, and the true test of his self-control, the wrestling, is yet to come.

Down on the field, the spear throw has just come to an end; Laurent, who has seen Damen throw a sword with deadly accuracy, is not surprised that he’s equally skilled with a weapon actually designed to be thrown. He watches Damen graciously accept the victor’s laurels, his smile bright and boyish. He has to fight back the urge to touch himself, to relieve some of the unrelenting ache, as Damen waves to the crowd, his biceps on full display.

Next up is Laurent’s personal nightmare, the wrestling tournament. In many disciplines, he can hold his own against Damen; in a few, he may even have the edge on a good day. When it comes to wrestling, though, Damen would wipe the floor with him every time, if they ever actually managed to get through an entire match without it devolving into something more reminiscent of a pet performance. There’s a reason Laurent practices his wrestling skills with Nikandros instead.

He watches with clenched teeth as Damen strips off his chiton for his first match, revealing his sculpted body for all to see. Laurent knows it isn’t like that for Akielons; knows that nudity in this context is perfectly normal for them. Still, he can’t help the surge of possessiveness, the bone-deep certainty that he’s the only one who should be allowed to see Damen like this. For a moment, it even distracts him from the throbbing between his legs. Then, Damen scoops up handfuls of oil and applies it liberally to his already gleaming skin, and Laurent lets out an involuntary noise. He sends up a quick prayer of thanks that he’s currently alone on his dais, except for an attendant stationed well back, who knows to be discreet.

The last time he watched Damen wrestle in the Games, back in Marlas, he was still so tangled up in everything that had happened between them that it was easy enough to push down any too inappropriate reactions. Everything was still so new, so fragile, and the odds of them ever finding their way to each other were minimal. Now, though… Now, Laurent knows Damen almost better than he knows himself, knows what he tastes like, what makes him let out a helpless moan, and how it feels be fucked by him in a hundred different ways.

He knows exactly how it feels to be held down just like Damen does now to his opponent, with strength and precision, and how easy it is for Damen to shift position just a little to allow him to slide into Laurent’s welcoming body. How good it feels, how safe.

Almost without conscious thought, his hand has drifted to the aching place between his legs, fingers skimming along his hard cock through the fabric of his chiton. He casts a wary look around, but nobody is paying him any attention, all eyes turned to the spectacle before them. Would it really be so bad if he allowed himself a little relief?

Surreptitiously, he hitches the hem of his chiton up so he can wrap his fingers around his length. Damen is taking his sweet time, even giving his opponent chances to try moves of his own; from the ease of his movements, though, it is clear that Damen could end the match at any time if he wanted to.

Laurent lets out a low moan as he begins a slow, steady movement, occasionally dipping lower to brush against his entrance in a tease for what is to come later that evening, when they are finally alone.

It still seems unreal at times that he’s the one who gets to be with Damen, who gets to share all his most private moments, when Damen could have anyone he wanted.

His hand speeds up, a spark catching low in his belly as, down in the arena, Damen transitions rapidly through a series of holds that end with his opponent pinned helplessly beneath Damen’s bulk, unable to move so much as an inch. Damen’s muscles bulge for a moment as his opponent attempts a final, desperate struggle, and Laurent’s stifled cry is lost in the surge of cheers from the crowd as Damen is declared the victor.

Still trembling from the force of his release, Laurent rinses off his stained fingers, all tension melted from his body. By the time one of the Kyroi drops by to discuss Damen’s wrestling prowess, he’s once more perfectly composed.

Chapter Text

“You could be a fisherman, hauling in the day’s catch on this deserted beach.” Laurent raises his hand to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun. They’ve stolen away to the summer palace for a few precious days and spent the past few hours alternately fooling around in the azure water and relaxing on the pristine white sand. In deference to Laurent’s delicate skin, servants have erected a small pavilion, before leaving them—blessedly—on their own.

Now, Damen puts on a doubtful expression, biting back a laugh at Laurent’s antics. “A fisherman? I’m not sure I possess any skill at fishing.”

Laurent rolls his eyes. “There will be no need for you to catch any actual fish. I will be a water nymph, snared in your nets. You will be apologetic and free me, and I will naturally be intrigued by my well-shaped rescuer.”

“Naturally,” Damen says dryly. With Laurent, nothing is ever simple; he doesn’t doubt that Laurent has already developed a complex backstory for each of their characters in his head, never mind that the only goal is to add some extra fun to their lovemaking.

It’s a skill that doesn’t come naturally to Damen; he isn’t cut out for pretense and make-believe. Laurent thrives on it, though, and so Damen is happy to play along, even if, according to Laurent, his acting skills leave quite a lot to be desired.

He watches as Laurent moves into position, his limbs tangled artfully in the nonexistent fishing net, the surf just lapping at his ankles. Schooling his features into something less besotted and more appropriate to a fisherman discovering a water nymph among his catch, he bends over Laurent’s prone form and carefully turns him over, sweeping his hands along his nude body in the pretense of freeing him from the net.

Laurent’s eyes are wide and guileless, their blue rivalling that of the sea. The sight makes Damen’s heart clench.

“Thank you,” Laurent says breathily, staring up at Damen like he’s hung the stars and moon. “I would’ve been doomed without your help.”

“You aren’t hurt, are you?” Damen asks, injecting the appropriate amount of concern into his voice.

“No,” Laurent demurs, lowering his gaze bashfully. “Thanks to you. How can I ever repay you?”

Damen may not be a good actor, but he recognizes a cue when he’s practically bashed over the head with it. “I could think of something,” he says, voice dipping low. “A beautiful creature like you… Have you ever been touched by a human before?”

Laurent shakes his head, eyes going impossibly wider as a flush colors his cheeks. “Never,” he breathes. “I—I’ve always wanted to meet a human. Are you very different from us?” His gaze drops to Damen’s cock, which is already half-hard.

Reaching down to give himself a good squeeze, Damen shakes his head. “Not so different, I think. I have some cover set up over there.” He indicates the pavilion. “We wouldn’t want you to burn your fair skin.”

Solicitously, he helps Laurent to his feet, Laurent letting out a low gasp as he half-swoons into Damen’s side. Taking the hint, Damen sweeps him up into his arms, easily carrying him the few steps to where blankets are spread in the pavilion’s shade. He’s learned the hard way that there are places sand should never, ever get into.

Laurent looks ethereal, draped across the blankets, drops of water still clinging to his legs and his hair already bleached even blonder by the sun. “I want to please you, to thank you for your help,” he says, the very picture of bashful desire. “But I never knew humans were so…so big. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappoint me, sweetheart,” Damen says, and for once he speaks with utmost sincerity.

Laurent must hear it, too, because he breaks character for a moment to send Damen a warm smile before adopting a helpless expression. “I’ve never—” he starts, before letting out a pitiful moan. “It aches.”

“Where, sweetheart? Are you hurt after all?” Damen asks, crouching to cup Laurent’s face.

“No. It aches down there,” Laurent whispers, leaning into Damen’s touch.

“Oh. I know just how to help you.”

Gently, he pushes Laurent’s let up, giving himself access to Laurent’s most intimate places. “There?” he asks, trailing a finger along Laurent’s erection, spreading the liquid beading at the tip until the head is gleaming with it.

Laurent lets out a noise that is half moan and half agreement. “But I wanted to please you,” he says, distraught, as Damen works him slowly from root to tip and back.

“You do,” Damen reassures him. They didn’t bring any oil, so he has no intention of fucking Laurent, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other things they can do. He settles down more comfortably beside Laurent and turns him to his side, so that their cocks are brushing against each other. “Here, like this,” he says, and wraps his fingers around both of them.

He begins to thrust, slowly at first, then faster, as Laurent joins in with tentative movements of his own. Damen encourages him along, first with words and then with a hand palming his ass, until they’re both fucking Damen’s fist, their cocks sliding against each other with delicious friction.

It feels amazing; the gentle rushing of the waves, the heat reflecting off the sand, the scent of salt in his nose, and, best of all, Laurent’s warm body pressed against his own. It doesn’t take long for Laurent to spill across his hand and cock with a cry, and with the wetness of his release making the slide even smoother, Damen follows soon after, adding his own spend to the mess between them.

“Mmm,” Damen hums, pressing a contented, lazy kiss to Laurent’s brow. “I think perhaps I shall just keep you to myself, never let you return to the sea. I’ll fuck you so good every day, you won’t even miss it.”

Chapter Text

“I found a book,” Laurent says as Damen appears in the doorway, still dressed in his more formal court clothes, with a deep red sash and gold embroidery along the hem of his chiton. And it isn’t a lie, technically, even if his discovery wasn’t as accidental as he makes it sound.

He’s painfully conscious of the fact that Damen’s experience in matters of sex—lovemaking, fucking, whatever one wants to call it—vastly outmatches his own. Damianos, famous for his virility and stamina, leaving countless lovers well sated; and on the other hand, Laurent, whose only prior experience, as Damen has convinced him by now, had very little to do with what normal people consider enjoyable.

So, naturally, he’d turned to the library for help and found a wellspring of information, ranging from clinical essays to anatomically questionable romance stories. Among them, he’d stumbled across the book that now sits on his desk, bound in finely embossed dark-red leather, golden lettering spelling out the title: The Art of Bondage.

Ever since he discovered it a week ago, he has been unable to banish it from his thoughts; the beautifully rendered images of figures wrapped in ropes, crisscrossing over their torso or twining along their limbs, some even suspended in mid-air.

He isn’t sure he’ll ever bring himself to let anyone—not even Damen—tie him up like that, trussed up like a pig for the slaughter. It is, perhaps, too reminiscent of memories that are better left buried. But the thought of Damen, bound, all his strength contained by strands of silk that Laurent has placed there…

“Oh?” Damen says now, jolting Laurent back into the present. “What’s it about?” He sounds genuinely interested, the way he always is, no matter how obscure the subject of Laurent’s reading.

“Rope,” Laurent says, enjoying the way Damen’s expression morphs into one of slight bewilderment. After a brief pause for effect, he adds, “And how to tie someone up with it.”

The confusion vanishes from Damen’s face. “Ah, yes, there are some very useful techniques for tying up an opponent, especially if the circumstances aren’t—”

“You misunderstand. I meant, to tie someone up in the bedroom. For pleasure.”

Laurent watches as Damen’s eyes go wide. “Oh! I’ve heard of that,” he says, nodding. “I believe some of the eastern Vaskian tribes practice these techniques. I didn’t realize there were books about it.”

“It sounds…intriguing, doesn’t it?” The experience conveyed by growing up in the snake pit that is the Veretian court allows Laurent to keep his voice nonchalant, despite the way his heartbeat has sped up. “Perhaps you’d care to let me try it on you, sometime?”

He has yet to discover something that Damen isn’t willing to try for him at least once, but it’s still a relief to see the clear interest on Damen’s face.

“My schedule is clear for the rest of the day.” If anything, Damen sounds excited to try this new thing together, always so ready to deliver himself into Laurent’s power if that is what he wants.

“I—” Laurent clears his throat. “Yes, that would be adequate.”

Of course, Damen sees right through him in a way that would be humiliating from anyone else. With a grin, he sweeps out his hand. “Show me, then. What did you have in mind?”

***

It feels almost ritualistic, carefully winding the lengths of silken-soft rope around Damen’s beautifully sculpted body. Kneeling nude on their bed, Damen cuts an imposing figure even with his arms held together behind his back as Laurent slowly follows the instructions set out in the book. He begins with Damen’s wrists, encasing them in layers of rope, before moving up Damen’s strong arms bit by bit.

The feeling of having all of Damen in his power, the sheer blind trust of it, is almost enough to bring him to his knees. He hopes with everything he has that he’ll never take this for granted, no matter how much time they have together.

In front of him, Damen has gone oddly quiet, where he’d normally keep up a stream of conversation, soothing or teasing or praising, as the situation demands. Now, though, he’s quiet, only his deep breathing audible in the otherwise silent room.

“Damen?” he asks, half worried that he’s pushed Damen too far. “Are you…”

It takes Damen an unusually long time to answer, and when he does, his voice has a dreamy quality to it. “Fine,” he murmurs, twisting his head briefly to give Laurent a reassuring smile. “This is nice. It feels…grounding, in a way. Are you having fun, sweetheart?”

Laurent nods, his throat too tight to speak, before turning his attention back to his work. The pattern climbs higher and higher up Damen’s arms, encasing his thick biceps and making the muscles stand out even more between the tight strands of rope. Then, the loop around Damen’s chest, encasing the muscles there and accentuating the darker color of his nipples. Another loop, this time around the back of Damen’s neck and back towards his arms, now cinched tight behind his back from the shoulders down.

Damen always has a regal posture, honed from almost two decades of fighting, but this rope harness causes him to hold himself even straighter, the expanse of his chest on full display.

With hands that shake ever so slightly, Laurent finishes tying the diamond pattern down the middle of Damen’s back, until he’s trussed up like a present Laurent is gifting to himself. His work done, he spends a long moment admiring the sight of Damen, still on his knees, Laurent’s handiwork decorating his back, the white silk a stunning contrast to his darker skin.

As he rounds the bed to regard Damen from the front, he sees that Damen’s eyes are closed, an expression of bliss on his face. Finally, Damen’s eyes blink open, and despite his submissive position, there’s a note of command in his voice.

“We are definitely doing this again.”

Chapter Text

Damen isn’t nervous. That would be ridiculous; he’s the King of Akielos and has faced much greater challenges than a room full of members of the Veretian council. It’s simply that he doesn’t like the idea of other people getting to witness a moment that should belong to Laurent and him only, which is a perfectly normal reaction as far as he’s concerned.

So, no. He’s definitely not nervous.

He misses Laurent’s presence at his side, though; they were separated hours ago to be bathed and primped and prodded until they meet the standards for a royal consummation ceremony. Damen has been soaped and anointed with scented oils, his hair and nails freshly trimmed, and in the interest of avoiding a diplomatic incident he’s gone along with all of it, only putting his metaphorical foot down when it came to shaving his chest and intimate area. Laurent hasn’t complained about his personal grooming habits before, and the council will simply have to deal with the sight.

He assumes Laurent has been similarly readied, but, as tradition dictates, they’ll arrive separately in the consummation chamber where the council will already be waiting. It all feels perfectly ridiculous to Damen’s Akielon sensibilities, but if this is what it takes to make the Veretians accept their marriage, there’s no question of going through with it.

For a brief, blissful moment, Damen’s thoughts turn to their wedding ceremony earlier that day—the brilliant smile on Laurent’s face, the feeling of their hands bound together with the ceremonial ribbon, the way it slowly sunk in that this is real, that they get to spend the rest of their lives with each other.

Then, the attendant indicates that he should proceed into the consummation chamber, and Damen takes a deep breath and steps over the threshold.

The chamber, ordinarily used as a guest room, has been outfitted with a semicircle of chairs surrounding the large four-poster bed, and the thick bed curtains that usually keep out the cold have been replaced by gauzy wisps of fabric, intended to allow the council to see what is happening while still providing the illusion of privacy.

The chairs are already occupied, and Damen nods in response to Berenger’s reassuring smile while doing his best to ignore the way that Vannes is practically leering at him. Herode, for his part, appears half-asleep, while Chelaut and Jeurre are carrying on a quiet conversation.

They all fade from Damen’s mind, though, as Laurent enters the room. Like Damen, he’s been clothed in a silken robe, and the short braid he’s taken to wearing has been unraveled, leaving the tips of his hair to brush his shoulders. He looks ethereal, somehow both vulnerable and commanding at once, and Damen loves him so much he fears his heart might burst from it.

Laurent’s lips quirk in a small smile, and then Herode—as the senior councilor—is already rising to his feet, delivering a short speech about the importance of this ceremony. He ends with some remarks relevant to their particular situation.

“Usually, after the consummation, the council would examine the sheets for, uh, evidence of both the virginity of the bride and a successful consummation. In your case, matters are obviously both slightly more complicated and easier, since the question of heirs does not come into play. We have discussed the issue among ourselves and have agreed that it will not be necessary to examine your bodies for evidence, but that it will be sufficient to see proof of your, uh, completion on the bedsheets, along with our personal witness testimony, of course.”

Damen experiences a brief and visceral bout of absolute fury at the thought of these men—and woman—violating Laurent’s privacy by inspecting his most intimate place for evidence of their coupling, never mind that they have apparently—and wisely—decided against it. Before he can so much as draw breath to give them a piece of his mind, and damn the diplomacy of it all, however, Laurent is already inclining his head in agreement.

From there, everything proceeds with astonishing efficiency and, for Veretians, with a minimal amount of fuss. They climb onto the bed and only then, with the gauzy curtains firmly closed, strip off their robes, leaving them nude. Damen had been worried how they’d both be able to perform under such circumstances, but even though he knows the council is still perfectly able to see everything, the curtains do, in fact, help to maintain an illusion of privacy. It helps, too, that the councilors are mostly professional and matter-of-fact about the entire thing.

In any case, it doesn’t take more than the sight of Laurent, naked, to have Damen halfway roused, and after some indeterminable time spent kissing and touching, they are both ready. A few vials of oil are nestled among the pillows, and Damen reaches for one, pouring a generous amount into his palm and coating his fingers. He doesn’t think Laurent would have let the attendants prepare him so intimately, and he’s proven right as he reaches between Laurent’s legs and finds him still tight and unprepared.

“I wanted you to do it,” Laurent whispers, pressing into Damen’s hand, and Damen works him open slowly, thoroughly, as if they have all the time in the world. Let the councilors wait on their pleasure if they insist on being here in the first place.

Finally, he deems Laurent sufficiently ready and spreads the remaining oil over his length before tossing the vial away. It clatters to the ground somewhere to the side of the bed.

No matter how many times he gets to do this, he’ll never tire of the way it feels to slide into Laurent’s waiting body, the overwhelming heat and tightness of it, the way Laurent tries so hard to stay quiet but can’t completely stifle the low moan escaping him.

As he begins to thrust, sparks of pleasure dancing along his nerves, he all but forgets about their audience entirely.

Chapter Text

If Laurent was forced at swordpoint to name his very favorite part of Damen’s body, it would be a difficult choice. Damen is exceedingly well-made, after all, with long, muscled limbs, a well-defined torso, and a dimple complementing the clean, strong lines of his face—and that doesn’t even account for his other attributes, such as the tempting swell of his ass or the delicious, thick length of his cock.

The wielder of the hypothetical sword might, however, be surprised by Laurent’s answer:

Damen’s hands—strong and deft and yet surprisingly gentle when they need to be.

Long before Ravenel, before anything ever happened between them, Laurent fantasized about Damen’s hands; how they would feel on his body, in his hair, holding him down. Now, he knows the reality of them, the gentleness with which they cup his face, the steadiness as they unlace his clothes, the power in them as they wield a sword or apply a wrestling hold.

Right in this precise moment, one of them is gently wrapped around his throat, holding him in place, quiescent, as the other traces shapes all across his naked skin, until Laurent is half out of his mind with need. He starts to fidget, trying to get Damen’s fingers where he needs them—his cock, his ass; he’s no longer picky—but it takes nothing more than the slightest warning squeeze around his throat to make him subside.

Damen’s cock is a hot weight against the side of his thigh, and Laurent burns with the contact. He must make a plaintive sound, because the grip around his throat loosens, and Damen’s voice is low and warm as he soothes him.

“Poor sweetheart,” he murmurs, letting his hand drift along Laurent’s jawline and higher. “Am I making you suffer? Here.” Two fingers press against his lips, parting them, and Laurent lets out a noise that would embarrass him under other circumstances as he takes them eagerly into his mouth, laving them with his tongue and sucking on them. Damen’s fingers are as beautiful as the rest of him, long and thick and covered in scars from decades of fighting; not the pampered hands of an aristocrat, but the hands of a man who’s willing to put in the work, to lay down his life for his kingdom and the people he loves.

The fingers help, giving Laurent something to focus on, but eventually, he shifts again, impatient, willing Damen to finally touch him where he needs it most. He half expects Damen to withdraw once more, to make him wait for it, but this time, Damen acquiesces.

“What do you need, love?” he asks him, regarding him intently. He withdraws his fingers from Laurent’s mouth and Laurent chases after them instinctively, unwilling to let go of them. “My cock?” Damen asks, pushing his length against Laurent’s thigh as if to emphasize his point. “Or—”

“Your hands,” Laurent blurts, feeling a blush rise on his cheeks at his over-eagerness. Dredging up the last of his composure, he clarifies, “I want you to use your fingers. As many as you can fit.”

Looking up, he catches the sharp intake of breath, the way Damen’s eyes go dark.

Moments later, he finds himself flipped to his front, the way Damen handles him as if he weighs next to nothing sending a fresh spike of arousal through him. Habit has him lifting his ass without conscious thought, and Damen wastes no time shoving a pillow underneath him for support. He used to feel exposed like this, uncomfortable. With Damen, however, there’s nothing but eager anticipation in his mind as he spreads his legs further, giving Damen better access.

From his new position, he can’t see what Damen is doing, but the sound of glass on glass tells him that Damen has reached for one of the vials of oil always stockpiled on their nightstand. There’s the slick sound of liquid being spread across skin, and then Damen’s warm hands are back on his body, massaging the globes of his ass lightly before dipping into the cleft between, where Laurent is empty and aching.

Damen takes his sweet time, tapping lightly against his hole with a finger, circling the rim to spread the oil evenly before finally pushing inside with a single finger. Laurent lets out a low moan, muffled by the pillows, as his body opens easily, accepting Damen inside like it’s done so many times before. It doesn’t take long before a second finger joins the first, stretching Laurent open as Damen scissors his fingers, sliding deeper to brush against that sensitive spot and sending a jolt of pleasure through Laurent that makes him cry out.

He’s already on edge, his erection rubbing against the pillow with every twitch of his hips, providing added friction that keeps the pleasure building and building.

The fingers withdraw briefly, only to push back inside with a third one alongside, making Laurent’s hole burn slightly with the stretch. Damen fucks him like this for a time, leisurely thrusting his fingers in and out of Laurent until his breaths have turned to gasps, hips moving erratically as he tries to fuck himself back on Damen’s fingers.

“Do you need more?” Damen asks, and Laurent nods into the pillow, half delirious with desire. He lets out a sob as the fingers withdraw, but then more oil is being poured, and four fingers push back inside him easily, his hole loose and open for Damen. Then, suddenly, there’s more pressure at his entrance, as Damen begins to work his thumb inside as well, until all five fingers are buried inside Laurent’s body.

All at once, the sensation becomes too much, and Laurent spills into the sheets with a choked-off cry, his entire body shaking with the force of his orgasm.

“Perhaps we could try the entire fist, next time,” Damen remarks casually, and even through his post-orgasmic haze, Laurent feels his cock let out another small spurt of come at the thought.

Chapter Text

The first time it happens, they’re in Damen’s study in Ios, and Laurent has just come up with a solution to a particularly thorny issue regarding the tax system of the soon-to-be-joined kingdoms. Damen doesn’t think he can be blamed for his sudden and visceral need to have Laurent in his arms.

Things evolve from there, and before long Damen is on his knees, Laurent sprawled in his chair in front of him, his fingers curled into Damen’s hair as Damen swallows him down.

He loves doing this for Laurent, loves drawing out progressively louder and less coherent noises from him, loves pushing him over the edge and feeling the hot spurt of his seed down his throat. It’s perhaps not what some people would consider seemly for the King of Akielos, but Damen couldn’t care less. In this, as in everything, they’re equals, and there is no shame in kneeling for Laurent.

He relishes the slowly building ache in his jaw, the tears forming in the corners of his eyes as Laurent pushes his hips upwards, sliding deeper into Damen’s throat. The tang of pre-come on his tongue intensifies as Laurent’s moans increase in volume, and he knows it won’t be long now until Laurent finds his release.

It’s at precisely this moment that Damen hears the door creak open behind him, a familiar voice ringing out.

“Damen, do you have a moment to discuss—”

There’s a sharp, shocked intake of breath, and then hideous silence.

Damen is in no position to speak, his mouth still otherwise occupied, but above him, Laurent straightens from his debauched sprawl, his still-hard cock shifting in Damen’s mouth as he does so.

“Hello, Nikandros. What an unexpected pleasure.”

With a feeling of regret, Damen lets Laurent’s length slip from his mouth and half-turns to face his oldest friend, who is staring at the scene laid out before him with a horrified expression. “Nik,” he says, his voice rough as gravel. He brings up his hand to swipe at the drool in the corners of his mouth and watches Nik’s eyes follow the movement, the horror in his expression slowly replaced by a blank, polite mask.

Laurent must see it, too, because his tone is dry as dust. “Oh, I’m sorry, are we inconveniencing you? Am I not supposed to have my husband suck my cock in the privacy of his own study?”

Damen fights down an inappropriate urge to laugh. Sometimes, he still finds himself stunned by how much he loves Laurent in all his acerbic glory. “Could you give us a few minutes, Nik?” he asks instead, although they all know he isn’t asking so much as ordering. “I’ll join you shortly.”

With a stiff nod, Nik backs away, closing the door behind himself with a firm click, and Damen knows he hasn’t yet heard the last of this.

He turns back towards Laurent, cock still mostly hard and a smirk on his lips. Damen bends down to lick a stripe along the length of it before taking it back inside his mouth, curling his tongue around the head and drawing a gasp from Laurent’s lips.

Let Nik wait a while; he has more important matters to attend to.

***

The second time, they’re in the stables at Marlas, which is admittedly a more public space than the royal study. They’ve just returned from racing along the tracks crisscrossing the grounds surrounding the palace, and, somewhat predictably, Laurent won, reaching the imaginary finish line a few seconds before Damen.

This means, of course, that Laurent gets to name a favor, and in this particular case, the favor involves both their breeches shoved to their ankles and Damen’s fingers wrapped around both their cocks as he jerks them slowly. They’re in an empty stall a few places down from where their own horses are happily munching on fresh hay, Damen’s lips on Laurent’s in an attempt to keep them both quiet.

It’s only somewhat successful; Laurent keeps making small, desperate noises that get swallowed up by Damen’s mouth, and their breathing seems overloud in the small space.

“So perfect for me,” Damen breathes into the space between their mouths, drawing back for a moment. “Go on, let me see you come for me.”

He digs the tip of his thumbnail into Laurent’s slit briefly, relishing the full-body shiver it draws out of Laurent, before resuming his stroking. They didn’t think to bring any oil, but their cocks are both leaking enough to provide sufficient lubrication, allowing Damen’s fingers to glide easily along their lengths.

Little by little he speeds up his movements, resisting the instinctive urge to thrust his hips upward, until he can tell by the tension in Laurent’s body that he’s close. His own climax is approaching rapidly, the first tell-tale tingles already building low in his belly.

“Now, love,” he gasps out, sinking his teeth into Laurent’s bottom lip as he spills hotly over his hand and Laurent’s cock both, his vision momentarily whiting out with the force of his release. He feels more than sees Laurent follow him over the edge just a few heartbeats later, slumping forward to rest his head against Damen’s shoulder as they slowly come down from their shared high.

The clearing of a throat makes them freeze, and then the door to the stall is drawn open, revealing both a very pretty strawberry roan and a familiar pet, green eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I don’t mean to disturb you two lovebirds, but Ruby has worked very hard and deserves her feed and a good rest,” Ancel tells them, clearly biting back a smirk. “There’s no need to glare at me, I did wait until you were done! Nothing worse than a ruined orgasm, is there?”

***

When they’re caught by a cackling Vannes mere days later, Damen buried deep inside Laurent in a clearly not sufficiently secluded alcove in the pleasure gardens, even Damen has to admit things may have gotten a little out of hand.

Chapter Text

The baths in Marlas are a mixture of Akielon and Veretian features, much as the rest of the palace. The colorful tiles, in tasteful shades of blue, are Veretian—although more subdued than the palace baths in Arles—while the water system itself is Akielon.

Damen and Laurent are currently soaking in one of the warmer pools, sprawled out side by side on the low bench that allows the occupants to sit comfortably in the water, just their heads and shoulders coming up above the waterline. There’s a perfectly serviceable bath in their suite of rooms, of course, but sometimes it’s nice to have more space, and more options regarding the water temperature.

Sweat beads at Laurent’s brow, his damp hair hanging loose down his back, long enough by now to brush his shoulder blades. His face, he knows, must be slowly turning the color of a boiled lobster, much like the ones served at dinner a few days ago. Damen, in contrast, appears impervious to the heat, sprawled out with his legs spread and his head tipped back against the rim of the pool, eyes closed and a contented smile on his face.

“Do you want to move to a cooler pool?”

Laurent looks back over at Damen to see his warm, brown eyes trained on Laurent’s flushed face, a small crease of concern between his eyebrows.

“I’m fine,” he demurs, because the hot water feels good against his limbs, still slightly sore from a vigorous training session earlier in the day.

“Are you sure?”

Part of Laurent wants to roll his eyes at Damen’s concern, but instead, he lets his lips curve in a wicked smile. “I could be better, though,” he says, voice dipping low and heavy with implication.

As expected, Damen’s concern is replaced by intrigue. “Oh? And how may I improve your experience of these fine baths?”

Laurent makes a show of pondering the question, biting his lip until it’s red and tender. He notes in satisfaction how Damen’s eyes zero in on his mouth.

“Hmm,” he hums, bringing a finger up to tap his abused lip for good measure. “We are both naked, and there are bath oils stored right over there… I’m sure you can think of something.”

Water sloshes over the edge of the pool as Damen explodes into a flurry of motion, drops of water still clinging to his muscled chest. Moments later, Laurent has been manhandled into a kneeling position on the stone bench—his upper body draped across the heated tiles surrounding the pool, with a towel placed underneath for his comfort—and Damen has acquired one of the vials of oil.

Laurent’s lower body is still under the waterline, and the water sloshes again as Damen pushes his thighs apart with a sure grip. The heat of the water against Laurent’s exposed entrance almost takes his breath away, and he exhales heavily into the steam-clouded air as Damen’s oil-coated fingers find their way to his body.

“Look at you, all pink and hot for me,” Damen murmurs, circling Laurent’s rim before pressing one finger gently inside. “I could spend hours in here with you.”

“We’d end up wrinkled like old prunes,” Laurent retorts, but Damen chooses this moment to insert a second finger, and Laurent’s voice hitches over the last word, rather ruining the effect.

“I’d love you even if you were wrinkled like an old prune,” Damen says, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of Laurent’s neck. “You’d be the most beautiful prune in history.”

“Oh, shut up,” Laurent mumbles, the warmth in his chest warring with embarrassment, “and fuck me.”

“As my king commands.” Damen begins a slow rocking movement, thrusting his fingers in and out of Laurent’s body before adding a third. Laurent relishes the stretch, the faint burning sensation that feels heightened by the heat of the water surrounding him, but for once, Damen’s fingers are not what he’s after.

“With your cock,” he demands, infusing some of his usual hauteur into his voice. “Or are you afraid you’ll faint from the heat if all your blood rushes to your giant manhood?”

A low chuckle from behind him, rich and warm. “What makes you think my blood isn’t there already?” As if to underscore Damen’s words, something hard nudges between Laurent’s legs from behind, right below where Damen’s fingers are still buried inside him. His hips twitch backwards on instinct, seeking out more of that delicious stretch, but Damen’s hand on his waist holds him firmly in place.

He lets out a noise that comes embarrassingly close to a whine as Damen withdraws his fingers, his hole feeling empty without any part of Damen to fill it. “Damen,” he manages, somewhere between an order and a plea, but Damen is already moving, his cockhead nudging against Laurent’s slick hole.

The oil does its job even in the water, and Damen works himself inside Laurent’s body, an inexorable slide until he’s seated deep inside Laurent, his hips flush with Laurent’s ass.

The sudden feeling of fullness is enough to make Laurent feel lightheaded, and he lets out a low moan as Damen withdraws almost entirely before slamming back inside. He sets a punishing rhythm, fucking Laurent hard enough that his vision starts to go black around the edges even as his cock feels ready to burst. He loses track of time briefly, only coming back to himself somewhat when Damen wraps a hand around him in the water and begins to stroke him off almost roughly, until Laurent is writhing beneath him. His vision is going hazy again, and he’s distantly aware of coming, his body going limp in Damen’s grip as Damen’s hips stutter against him, heralding his own release.

The next thing he’s aware of is Damen’s voice, caught halfway between laughter and concern.

“Sweetheart? I think you fainted. I’m going to move you to a colder pool, all right?”

Internally, Laurent lets out a groan. He’s never living this one down.

Chapter Text

Damen enters their suite of rooms to find Laurent at the center of an explosion of fabric. Before he can begin to make sense of the display, Laurent looks up and sees him, a small, familiar smile warming his expression.

“Damen! Look, Charls has been by to deliver the new clothes I ordered.”

Damen feels his eyebrows climb high on his forehead. “I can see that. Are you sure there’s any fabric left in the kingdom?”

Laurent lets out an indelicate snort. “Possibly not. But it was necessary to procure some clothes that embody Vere and Akielos, and that don’t result in me being cooked alive in summertime. Just wait until he’s finished with your new clothes… I told him to add some extra laces, for verisimilitude’s sake.”

Wincing, Damen looks down at his simple, no-nonsense chiton. True, it does get a little chilly in winter, especially when they’re staying in Arles, but he really, really doesn’t want to spend the better part of half an hour getting dressed each morning.

Laurent must sense his despair, because he beckons Damen forward until he’s close enough to tug him down into a brief but thorough kiss. “I could show you some of the more…inspired pieces,” he murmurs into Damen’s ear, and any thought of the horrors of Veretian clothing is wiped from Damen’s mind, instantly replaced with desire.

“It’s important to make sure the fit is right,” he says, knowing full well that Charls would never deliver a single article of clothing that isn’t perfectly tailored to measure.

Retreating to one of the settees grouped around the low table, he makes himself comfortable and watches Laurent sort through the piles of fabric until he finds what he’s been looking for. Picking it up, he vanishes into their shared bedroom, and Damen spends the intervening minutes entertaining himself by mentally sorting through matters he wants to discuss with Nikandros on his upcoming visit to Marlas.

The clearing of a throat heralds Laurent’s return, and Damen opens his eyes to behold a vision in rippling shades of blue, accentuated by delicate gold ribbons. The expression on Laurent’s face is almost one of nervousness, and Damen takes the time to really look, his gaze taking in the flowing fabric. There’s lacing down the chest and at the wrists, gathering the wide sleeves, but compared to the usual Veretian style it looks much less restrictive. It’s longer, as well, falling loosely to mid-thigh in a style reminiscent of a chiton, and the breeches underneath are almost austere by Veretian standards, with only some light, decorative lacing. The overall effect is stunning, softening Laurent’s silhouette while underscoring the beauty of him, and the colors suit him perfectly.

“Beautiful,” Damen breathes out once he’s found his voice. It’s a perfect mix of Veretian and Akielon, and yet something so uniquely Laurent as well that he doesn’t even have the words for it. His expression must say it all, though, because Laurent’s cheeks flush a delicate shade of pink, and he looks away for a moment before returning Damen’s gaze.

“Actually, the part I wanted to show you isn’t even visible yet,” he says, eyes sparkling with mischief, and Damen’s mouth goes dry.

He watches, breathless, as Laurent begins to take off his outer layers—not with his usual quick, efficient movements, but languidly, making a show of every touch, every sliver of skin revealed to Damen’s hungry eyes.

Finally, Laurent is left only in the upper part of his outfit, his long, bare legs tempting Damen to touch, to press open-mouthed kisses along the delicate skin of Laurent’s inner thighs. He watches, spellbound, as Laurent reaches up to untie the final bit of lacing, the tunic slipping off his body like a silk sheet and pooling on the floor.

Damen forgets to breathe entirely at the sight of Laurent, standing there in a sparkling, shimmering…thing that molds to his muscled torso, ending just above the swell of his ass and the half-hard length of his cock. The latter is covered by nothing more than a scrap of shiny fabric, hardly enough to contain Laurent’s burgeoning erection, and in the back even that tapers off to a thin strip, nestled between Laurent’s cheeks.

“Fuck,” he wheezes, the word coming out strangled. “Laurent, what—”

“It’s called a corset,” Laurent explains, his voice husky. “Veretian noblewomen wear them underneath court dresses. I thought you might appreciate the look on me, as well.” Again, that barely-audible note of nervousness.

Instead of forcing his muddled brain to come up with something coherent, Damen does what he does best: he acts. In the space of a heartbeat, he’s up and across the room, catching Laurent in his arms and pressing biting kisses into his neck and chest, just above the edge of the corset. Laurent molds himself close, tilting his head to allow Damen better access, and Damen’s hands drift down to palm Laurent’s ass, running a finger along the bit of string vanishing between the cheeks before delivering a light smack to the bare skin.

Laurent jolts in his arms, a startled moan escaping him, and Damen bodily picks him up and deposits him onto the settee, bare ass high in the air, the muscles of his back flexing under the thin fabric of the corset. One of Laurent’s cheeks is slightly pink, and Damen delivers another smack to the other to make them match. Digging his fingers into the muscle of Laurent’s ass, he spreads him, one finger dragging the insubstantial bit of fabric aside so he can dive forward and press his tongue against Laurent’s entrance. He licks with abandon, sucks on the rim before biting down onto the meat of Laurent’s ass and returning again to his spit-slick hole, pressing inside with his tongue until Laurent is reduced to incoherent moans.

As he palms himself through his chiton, Laurent’s cries echoing through the room, he makes a mental note to send Charls a particularly lavish thank-you gift.

Chapter Text

At first, Laurent isn’t sure what has woken him. They’re staying at an inn, on another one of his undercover “fact-finding” missions, trying to suss out some separatists in northern Aegina, close to the Patran border. Invariably, Laurent will receive a strongly-worded letter from Nikandros once he finds out, lecturing him on the duties of a king (i.e., not putting the other king in danger), but despite the risk, he loves these missions, the chance to get out of the palace and act.

So, initially, Laurent thinks it may have simply been another guest returning to his room in the small hours of the night, or perhaps the innkeeper doing his final rounds before locking up. He turns over in Damen’s arms, fully prepared to go back to sleep.

Then, he hears it again: footsteps, barely audible even in the quiet of the room.

His eyes snap open, adrenaline rushing through his veins. The sudden tension in his body disturbs Damen’s sleep, and he shifts next to Laurent, sleep-heavy eyes blinking open. Laurent catches his gaze, tries to convey without words that something is wrong.

Movement in the corner of his eye has him throwing himself to the side on instinct, and he hears a whooshing noise as something thuds into the bed beside him. His hands go to the knife under his pillow without conscious thought, and in the light of a few lanterns in the inn’s courtyard, filtering through the thin curtains, he can just about make out a hulking shape looming over him, the blade in their hand catching the light.

The trap sprung, there’s no longer any need to stay silent. “Damen,” he shouts, vaulting out of bed—stark naked, since they hadn’t bothered to put their clothes back on after their last round of lovemaking—and shifting into a fighting stance, “assassins!”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Damen shouts back from where his forearm is all that’s keeping a second assassin’s knife from plunging into his chest. Laurent can’t afford to waste time watching; he has to trust that Damen can take care of himself. His own opponent is already upon him again, swinging something heavy at his head. Laurent dodges, and before the assassin has the chance to recover his balance, he brings his knife up between the man’s ribs, slicing neatly into the soft flesh below. Behind him, he hears crashing and cursing, but he keeps his attention on his opponent, jerking his knife back out and slitting the hapless assassin’s throat with a swift movement. He grimaces as blood splatters across his bare skin and the man collapses like a puppet with its strings cut.

On the opposite side of the bed, things have gone ominously quiet, and he looks up with his heart in his throat to see Damen, his arm still wrapped around the second assassin’s neck, which dangles at an angle that is definitely not natural. He lets out a relieved breath at the sight.

“Damen,” he begins, only to freeze as he notes the darkness slowly staining Damen’s bare chest, barely visible in the dim light. “You’re hurt,” he gasps out, crossing the room in a few quick strides until he’s right in front of Damen.

“It’s just a shallow cut,” Damen says and lets the dead assassin slide to the ground. “I’m fine.” Laurent isn’t sure what his face is doing, but it prompts Damen to bring his hands up and cup Laurent’s cheek. “I’m fine,” he says again, leaning in to brush a gentle kiss against Laurent’s lips. Laurent blinks, dispelling visions of the last time Damen ended up on the wrong end of an enemy’s blade. “It barely even broke the skin,” Damen insists, and Laurent lets out a wet laugh.

“You’re literally dripping blood, Damen.”

They obviously can’t stay in the compromised room, so Laurent wipes off the worst of the blood, gets dressed, and persuades the half-asleep innkeeper to give them another room as well as some fresh water. By the time he returns, Damen has already searched the would-be assassins.

“Someone must’ve tipped them off,” he says grimly. “We should return to Ios at first light.”

Laurent nods. “But first, we’ll get cleaned up, take care of your wound, and get some sleep.” He leads the way to the new room, which is similarly appointed to their old one. Once they’re both clean, he dresses Damen’s wound as well as he can with limited supplies. The sight of the white bandage, bright against Damen’s dark skin, is a stark reminder of what he could’ve lost.

All of a sudden, he’s filled with a burning need to prove that they’re both still here, still alive. “Damen,” he forces out, all the spent adrenaline coalescing into an ache that only Damen can assuage. “I need—”

He reaches for Damen blindly, desperately, his blood singing with the aftershocks of danger.

“Laurent.” Damen sounds equally wrecked, his fingers shaking slightly as he draws Laurent close. He’s hard against Laurent’s hip, and Laurent feels his own cock responding in kind. He presses up against Damen, seeking his mouth, his touch, wanting to crawl into his skin and never leave.

Damen arranges him until they’re chest to chest, their cocks caught between their bodies. It’s almost enough like this, the friction as they thrust wildly against each other, no finesse or thought to the movement, but then Damen gets a hand between them and wraps his long fingers around both of them, and oh.

Laurent keens as he thrusts up into Damen’s firm grip, their mingled pre-come easing the slide just enough. Damen fists them both tighter, and bare moments later, Laurent is spilling between their bodies, every last drop of tension draining out of him along with it. Damen follows almost instantaneously, and they stand like that for long minutes, breaths slowly evening out.

Just then, something occurs to Laurent, and he groans, hiding his face against Damen’s chest.

“Nik is going to have my head for this.”

Chapter Text

Damen looks up from where he’s attempting to suck as many bruises into the delicate skin of Laurent’s inner thigh as possible to see the vial of oil Laurent is holding out to him.

“Hmm,” he hums, darting out his tongue to taste. “Why don’t you take me tonight, for a change?” He loves fucking Laurent, the tight clench of his body around his cock, the needy little sounds he makes when Damen fucks him nice and slow. But it’s been a while since they did it like this, and he misses the feeling of Laurent pushing into him, branding him with his touch. He never imagined he could enjoy being taken—certainly, none of his partners had ever suggested it—but with Laurent, everything is different.

He can’t see Laurent’s expression, but he hears his sharp intake of breath.

“Are you certain? We could—”

“Yes,” Damen cuts him off, punctuating the word with a playful bite to Laurent’s thigh. “Fuck me.” The crude language doesn’t come easily to him, but it seems Laurent has been rubbing off on him.

“All right. Get up on all fours, then.”

Damen obeys without a second thought. He sinks down onto his elbows, thighs spread apart to allow Laurent access to his most intimate place. There’s some rustling as Laurent moves into position behind him, then the sound of the stopper being removed from the glass vial. Damen can’t help but draw in a sharp breath as cool fingers touch the cleft between his cheeks. Laurent’s other hand caresses his buttocks, blunt fingernails digging into the muscle and drawing a low groan from Damen’s mouth.

“Your ass is perfect,” Laurent says conversationally, uncurling his fingers only to deliver a stinging slap to the same place. “So round, so…bitable.” He sounds almost surprised, and Damen lets out a grunt as Laurent’s teeth dig briefly into the meat of his ass, just the right side of painful.

“Yeah?” he breathes, anticipation curling in his gut as Laurent’s slick fingers brush against his entrance. “It’s all yours, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” Laurent agrees, possessiveness bleeding into his tone, and he pushes two fingers into Damen’s body without warning. It doesn’t hurt, but the stretch, so soon into their play, is intense, and Damen curses under his breath as Laurent begins to scissor his fingers, stretching him open with careful precision.

“Fuck, Laurent.”

“The other way round, this time,” Laurent says, smirk audible in his voice. Then, his tone changes, going soft and reverent. “You’re so beautiful like this, Damen, do you know that? All that power, all that strength, and you’re on your knees for me, letting me do whatever I want.” He punctuates this with the addition of a third finger, and Damen lets out another choked-off moan both at the feeling and at Laurent’s words. Laurent is right, he would let Laurent do whatever he wants; all he wants, all he needs, is to make Laurent happy, to be good for him.

“Please,” he hears himself beg, and Laurent obliges, pushing deep and crooking his fingers just so, brushing against the bundle of nerves that never fails to make Damen cry out.

“That’s it,” Laurent croons, even as he mercilessly keeps his fingers right on that same spot, until Damen doesn’t know if he wants to shove himself back onto Laurent’s fingers until he comes, or twist away from the sensation that is quickly becoming overwhelming. “You’re being so good for me, Damen, so perfect.”

Damn lets out a broken moan as he pushes helplessly back against Laurent.

“Can you take one more?” Laurent asks him, tapping his little finger against Damen’s stretched-out rim. “For me?”

Damen feels full to bursting already, but he finds himself nodding anyway, groaning out something that Laurent correctly interprets as assent. He wriggles his fourth finger into Damen’s hole alongside the three that are already there, and Damen lets out something caught halfway between a cry and a moan, eyes watering at the intensity of the feeling.

“So good,” Laurent praises him, “you’re doing so well, love.”

Damen is pushing mindlessly back onto Laurent’s fingers, his cock hanging heavy and leaking between his legs, and he’s almost there, just a little more—

He keens as Laurent withdraws his fingers, leaving him empty and aching, so close to his peak but unable to get there without Laurent fucking him open. “Please,” he begs, his voice cracking over the word.

A slick sound, and then something larger than Laurent’s fingers is pressing against his abused rim. He tries to push back into it on instinct, but Laurent’s hands keep his hips in place with an iron grip.

“Not so hasty,” he commands, and Damen exerts the last vestiges of his willpower to hold himself still as Laurent brushes the head of his cock against his hole again and again, catching briefly against his rim before sliding past.

“Look at you,” Laurent breathes, his voice finally showing the first signs of strain. “You’re being so good for me, aren’t you?”

Damen nods helplessly as Laurent’s praise sinks into his body like hakesh, stoking the flames even higher. “Yes,” he gasps out, a plea and a vow at the same time.

“Yes,” Laurent agrees, and then he’s finally pushing inside, spreading Damen open and possessing him, touching him in a way nobody else ever has before, and never will. Even with thorough preparation, the feeling of Laurent inside him, fucking into him with short, hard thrusts, is nothing Damen will ever get used to. It lights up every single one of his nerve endings like wildfire, making his arms shake and his blood sing. He lasts an embarrassingly short time before he comes, spurting hot stripes of come onto the sheets below him, his arms finally giving out as he goes entirely boneless with his release.

“Good boy,” Laurent gasps into his ear as he keeps fucking him, and, pathetically, Damen feels his spent cock give a helpless little twitch at the words.

Chapter Text

“You went,” Damen says through clenched teeth, “to confront him all by yourself? Alone?”

“Of course not.” Laurent shrugs, which makes the cut along his shoulder sting. “I took Lazar and Huet with me.”

“Oh, well, that’s fine then,” Damen snaps, in a tone that suggests nothing has ever been further from fine. “And is there a reason you couldn’t be bothered to wait for my return from Thrace?”

“Yes, actually,” Laurent snaps back, his own hackles rising at Damen’s attitude. “We needed to move before he could destroy the evidence of his treason. By the time you returned it would’ve been too late.”

“We have soldiers, an entire royal guard of them, in fact, for precisely this situation.” By the look on his face, Damen is barely hanging on to his composure. “You are a king, Laurent; you can’t put yourself in danger like this. An inch to the right and you would be dead right now, do you even realize that?”

“I do, thank you, but none of our guard would have been able to identify him. And I’m fine, this is barely even a scratch.”

“You nearly died, Laurent!” Damen is full-on shouting now, his eyes filled with anguish.

Laurent takes a step, closing the distance between them to reach up and cup Damen’s face. “I didn’t, though. I’m fine, and the traitor is caught.”

“I should put you over my knees for this,” Damen mutters, tension still radiating off him. “You promised. You said we’d do all this together.”

Laurent tries—and fails—to tamp down the shiver of intrigue at the thought of being laid out across Damen’s thighs as Damen’s palm connects with the exposed flesh of his ass.

“Maybe you should,” is what leaves his mouth instead of the apology he’d meant to voice.

Confusion creases Damen’s brow, and Laurent lets his lips curl in a suggestive smirk until the meaning of his words sinks in. Heat flares in Damen’s eyes, banishing the pain and anger.

“Strip,” is all Damen says, a king’s command.

Fingers almost clumsy with a mix of apprehension and anticipation, Laurent complies, working open the laces on his trousers until he’s left in his white undershirt. He’s grateful that he was already only lightly dressed: no jacket since it aggravates his shoulder, and no boots since he didn’t plan on leaving their chambers.

Damen has taken the opportunity to sit down on their couch, muscular thighs spread slightly to give Laurent plenty of space. An imperious gesture beckons Laurent to lay himself across their expanse, head cushioned on the armrest. Like this, Laurent’s ass and thighs are exposed, his cock caught between his body and Damen’s thighs.

“How many?” he asks, his voice shaking slightly.

Damen runs one of his hands along the exposed skin, making Laurent shiver. “I haven’t decided yet. I suppose it depends on how well you learn your lesson.” He digs his fingers in sharply for a moment, and Laurent flinches from the sting of it. “What was it you did wrong?”

For a moment, Laurent considers playing the brat, but this is for Damen as much as it is for him, and Damen needs the reassurance. “I put myself in danger instead of waiting for you,” he says meekly, but catching the traitor was important, and he didn’t have another option, and he was right to act. “But it was—”

The palm of Damen’s hand connects with the bare skin of his ass with a resounding smack, and Laurent’s words are cut off by a shocked exhale. Damen isn’t pulling any punches, and Laurent blinks against the sudden sting of tears.

“No buts,” Damen says firmly, smoothing his hand over Laurent’s abused skin and making it sting anew. “You were stupid and reckless, and you could’ve gotten yourself killed.” His voice cracks over the last word, and moments later, a second slap lands on Laurent’s other cheek, sending up twin flares of pain. “Say it.”

Laurent swallows down his pride, almost choking on it as it sticks in his throat. “I was stupid and reckless,” he grits out, and then cries out as Damen lays several slaps on his ass and the back of his thighs in quick succession.

“And you won’t do it again.”

Smack.

“And I won’t do it again.” Unless it’s necessary to protect you or our kingdom, Laurent adds silently, blinking away the tears that have begun to leak from his eyes.

Smack.

He’s hard against Damen’s thigh, and Damen must be able to tell, but he makes no mention of it even though his own cock is pressing against Laurent’s ribs as well. Instead, Damen continues to layer slaps across his skin, sometimes hitting the same spot twice and making Laurent cry out.

Laurent isn’t sure how long it goes on for, the skin of his ass and thighs on fire until he finds himself whimpering with every new impact, but finally, Damen pauses.

“Five more, I think,” he says, voice rough. “Count them for me.”

“One,” Laurent cries, as Damen’s palm lands on his right cheek with devastating force. “Two,” his other cheek. “Three,” caught on a sob. “Four,” between heaving breaths.

He waits for the fifth and final blow, but Damen pauses, takes his time to dig his fingers into the abused skin until Laurent thinks he must die from the intensity of it all.

Smack.

Damen’s hand lands across both of Laurent’s cheeks, the impact pushing him into Damen’s thighs, but before he can even cry out, Damen is already pulling him up until he’s straddling Damen, his ass burning where it sits against Damen’s thighs.

Damen takes both their lengths into his large hand, warm from the impact against Laurent’s skin, and begins stripping them roughly, making Laurent gasp and moan.

He comes embarrassingly quickly, tear-stained face pressed into Damen’s neck as he shakes apart, and thinks that, as far as he is concerned, this was hardly an incentive to behave himself in the future.