I'm sorry," said Damen.
Laurent gave him a strange look. "Why
would you apologise to me?"
He couldn't answer. Not with the truth.
He said, "I didn't understand what being
King meant to you."
"What's that?"
"An end to fighting."
Laurent's expression changed, the subtle
signifiers of shock imperfectly
repressed, and Damen felt it in his own
body, a new pull in his chest at the look
in Laurent's dark eyes.
Father, I can beat him, he'd said, and
he'd ridden out and returned to a hero's
welcome, to have his armour stripped by
servants, to have his father greet him
with pride. He remembered that night,
all those nights, the galvanising power of
his father's expansionist victories, the
approbation, as success flowed from
success. He had not thought about the
way it had played out on the other side
of the field. When this game began, I
was younger.
I want you," said Damen.
"You've had me," said Laurent. "Twice.
I can still feel the . . . sensation of it."
Laurent shifted, just so. Damen buried
his face in Laurent's neck and groaned,
and there was laughter too, and
something akin to happiness that hurt as
it pushed at the inside of his chest.
"Stop it. You will not be able to walk,"
said Damen.
"I'd welcome the chance to walk," said
Laurent. "I have to ride a horse.
He said, 'Damianos.'
Before Damen could tell him to rise, he heard it again, echoed in another voice, and then another. It was passing over the gathered men in the courtyard, his name in tones of shock and of awe. The steward beside Nikandros was kneeling. And then four of the men in the front ranks. And then more, dozens of men, rank after rank of soldiers.
And as Damen looked out, the army was dropping to its knees, until the courtyard was a sea of bowed heads, and silence replaced the murmur of voices, the words spoken over and over again.
'He lives. The King's son lives. Damianos.'
Stichwörter: captive-prince damianos
He wasn't sure how it would be, but
when Laurent saw who was beside him,
he smiled, the expression a
little shy but completely genuine.
Damen, who hadn't been expecting it,
felt the single painful beat of his heart.
He'd never thought Laurent could look
like that at anyone.
Your inclination appears to be much as
it was last night."
Damen found himself saying, "You talk
the same in bed," and the words came
out sounding like he felt: helplessly
charmed.
Damen said, with helpless honesty, "Laurent, I am your slave."
The words laid him open, truth exposed in the space between them. He wanted to prove it, as though, inarticulate, he could make up for what divided them. He was aware of the shallowness of Laurent's breath, it matched his own; they were breathing each other's air.
He reached out, watching for any hesitation in Laurent's eyes. The touch he offered was accepted as it had not been last time, fingers gentle on Laurent's jaw, thumb passing over his cheekbone, soft. Laurent's controlled body was hard with tension, his rapid pulse urgent for flight, but he closed his eyes in the last seconds before it happened. Damen's palm slid over Laurent's warm nape; slowly, very slowly, making his height an offering, not a threat, Damen leaned in and kissed Laurent on the mouth.
The kiss was barely a suggestion of itself, with no yielding of the rigidity in Laurent, but the first kiss became a second, after a fraction of parting in which Damen felt the flicker of Laurent's shallow breathing against his own lips.
It felt, in all the lies between them, as if this was the only true thing. It didn't matter that he was leaving tomorrow. He felt remade with the desire to give Laurent this: to give him all he would allow, and to ask for nothing, this careful threshold something to be savoured because it was all Laurent would let himself have.
Stichwörter: lovely-words m-m-romance m-m-love lovely-writing
Are you going to try it with me? Or do
you only take pleasure in attacking those
who cannot defend themselves?" Damen
heard the hardness in his own voice. He
held his ground. Around them, the tower
room was empty. He had sent everyone
else out. "I remember the last time you
were like this. You blundered so badly
you gave your uncle the excuse he
needed to have you stripped of your
lands.
He'd been kissing Laurent and that should not be interrupted. His eyes returned warmly, possessively to their object: Laurent looked like any young man who has been pressed against a battlement and kissed. The slight disturbance of the hair at Laurent's nape was wonderful.
C.S. PacatThe doors closed, behind him; he turned,
and saw Laurent.
His stomach dropped, a moment of
confused shock--he'd never expected to
see Laurent here.
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