marlowemuses | Lover, I know you're weary

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Lover, I know you're weary

It was a subtle thing. King Auguste wasn't sure how long it had been going on without him noticing. Months. Perhaps even years--Laurent was an introspective creature, and Auguste hadn't thought to look for signs of Laurent's infatuations. Laurent was nineteen now, and Auguste supposed that Laurent must have started feeling romantic attraction years before, but Auguste had never noticed. Laurent was still his baby brother, bookish and shy.

Laurent trotted after them everywhere. He was like a cat, in that it was hard to tell he liked you at all until you noticed that he took care to be in the same room as you as often as possible. Nyx was Auguste's best friend and his trusted guard captain, and it was often the three of them together. They were Auguste's closest and most trusted advisors.

So it took Auguste some time to notice that Laurent's eyes followed Nyx around a room. Even when he noticed, he thought that Laurent had developed some suspicion about Nyx. It took longer for Auguste to notice that on very rare occasions, Laurent's lips would part when he looked at Nyx and an expression of yearning would cross his face.

It was sweet, and at first Auguste dismissed it as a crush.

After four months, Auguste realized that Laurent was in love, and that he would never say anything and Nyx would never notice. So he hatched a plan.

It took some time for him to get a chance to speak to Nyx alone without Laurent present.

"I have a strange request to make of you," Auguste said. His eyes lingered on the door where Laurent had recently left.

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Beside him, Nyx stiffens as well, barely masking the dismay that flashes through his eyes.

"Auguste, that's..." Nyx trails off, not sure how to phrase his protest. Not sure if he even ought to protest. As Captain of the Guard, he'd stayed well out of the games of power, of politics and nobility, save when he intervened on the King's orders. But surely if Laurent were to be married, it should be for a love match. Not... for the game of power and alliances, as Laurent's phrasing seems to imply.

Maybe he's misunderstood.

"Isn't it a little early to be considering such things?" A weak objection, certainly, but Nyx can't think of anything better at the moment.

“He’s nineteen,” Auguste answered. “That’s plenty old enough.”

“If it’s a woman—“ Laurent started.

“It isn’t. I’ve taken your preferences into consideration. Male, handsome, muscular.” Auguste smirks a little as he lists off qualities.

Laurent’s surprised that Auguste knows all that. He didn’t think Auguste had ever paid that much attention to the things he kept secret. He flushes, tense and careful not to look at Nyx, who epitomizes the description. "There must be some advantage in the union. Are you selling me for an alliance?"

"I'm not telling you that."

Maybe it's his own naivete showing, the fact that even after ten years, he still hasn't accustomed himself to the cutthroat politics and subtle political plays of the Veretian court. Nyx doesn't care; the high, unhappy red flush of Laurent's face is more than he can allow, insubordination be damned. He may have been stripped of his title as Captain of the Guard, but the King himself had granted him this new assignment and Nyx would carry it out to his death, if need be.

"Quit it with the mysterious bullshit, Auguste. I know you've got yourself sunk eyeballs deep in politics and intrigue all day, but Laurent at least deserves to know who you have in mind." More than that, Laurent deserves to choose, to have his pick of the best and cleverest, finest men in Vere and beyond. Laurent himself deserves only the best.

"Very well," Auguste said, with a wide, leonine grin, because here they were dragging out of him the information he'd planned all along to give. He looked at Laurent, holding his eyes as he announced: "You'll marry the Duke of Amberley."

Laurent's brow creased briefly with confusion, because he can't immediately place that name. He knows all the nobles of the court and most of the noble houses of neighboring countries. Amberley is a Veretian name, but... there hasn't been an Amberley in decades.

"There isn't one," Laurent insists, less certain than he would like.

"There will be by the time you're married." Auguste points at the door, patient but commanding, and very careful not to look at Nyx. He doesn't want to draw Laurent's eyes to Nyx's reaction and give the game away. "Go."

All these years in court, and Nyx still doesn't have a face for cards, unable to disguise the look of utter shock and confusion that dawns over his expression as Auguste's words sink in.

On his king's orders, he trails after Laurent out the room, still in that same state of wordless shock. By the time Laurent finally turns to speak to him, Nyx has himself in at least some semblance of control, expression schooled to blank neutrality. After all, despite everything-- his own confusion, bafflement, the dawning realization of what Auguste's pronouncement really means, he hasn't forgotten his vow to his liege-- to keep quiet about his upcoming "promotion," as bad an idea as it may seem.

"We're leaving in the morning," Laurent announces by the time they're halfway down the hall. He doesn't look at Nyx. He doesn't want Nyx to have a clearer view of the bitter pain on his face, and thus has no idea of Nyx's reaction to the news.

He'd meant to ask--or tell--Auguste about his travel plans, but that had all gone awry in their conversation.

Laurent heads for the safety of his room, commanding more wine from a servant along the way.

Walking swiftly, Laurent keeps his expression cold and angry until he's safe in his room with only Nyx, and he can let a few of the fractures show. "This isn't like him. It's cruel. He's toying with me and withholding information for his own amusement. He's never been cruel before."

Sinking down onto a couch in his room, Laurent rests his elbows against the arm of the couch and lets his head hang over them. Even though he'd spent all his life expecting to be married off for political advantage, he'd still held out hope that he might be allowed to marry for love. And now Auguste is stealing that away without any comfort or reassurance behind his choice, without even a bare explanation. It's nothing like the kind and patient brother that Laurent knows, and the betrayal of it makes him want to cry.

Shit. Shit Laurent's reaction tells Nyx everything he needs to know-- Auguste had misjudged, had overstepped. And by his liege's orders, Nyx is forced to withhold information from the prince as well. Faced with Laurent's furious, betrayed expression... he swallows hard, forcing his fisted hands to unclench from his sides.

Sinking to his knees before him, Nyx takes one of Laurent's hands into his own, holding it cupped between callused fingers.

"Hey, easy," he murmurs, unsure if his reassurance would be welcome. "Nothing is set in stone yet. Auguste can still come to his senses. I'll speak with him myself, if you'd like. This is... this isn't fair to you."

Laurent's head lifts in surprise as Nyx takes his hand. He's not used to being touched at all, and this doting affection is everything that he wants. He barely hears what Nyx's is saying because he's so caught up in the gentle, worried expression and the way Nyx is holding his hand.

He's been besotted with Nyx for years, but he's never had Nyx's focused attention the way he has it now, and it makes his heart ache with love.

Unable to resist, especially now that he might not have another chance and now that it's an act of direct rebellion against his brother's wishes, Laurent leans in and kisses Nyx. It's soft and sweet, barely there, because Laurent doesn't want to force anything more than that upon Nyx.

One kiss, and Nyx's thoughts fall clear out of his head-- he'd been worried for Laurent, worried and outraged at Auguste, mentally tallying up years worth of service and trying to come up with arguments to dissuade his liege, and then--

Laurent's lips are unimaginably soft, pressed light as breath against his own in a chaste and careful kiss-- and Nyx feels it like a spike of desire hammered straight through his spine, a hot thrill racing through his blood, heat pooling in his groin. Unable to help himself, he leans eagerly into the kiss, lips parting in a rush of warm breath...

...before he comes to his damned senses, jerking away with a strangled sound, all the color drained from his face as he stares at Laurent, unable to disguise the shock in his eyes. And hoping against hope that the reaction Laurent's kiss had caused in him isn't as obvious as it feels. And what the fuck is wrong with him anyway? He's not-- some horny teenager anymore, ready to fall head over heels in lust for any pretty face that walks by. Nyx has kissed (and done more than kiss) plenty of sweet faced boys and handsome girls in his time; Laurent is beautiful (very, very beautiful, his mind unhelpfully supplies), but that doesn't mean....

"I, uh," he swallows and tries again, "Your Highness..."

For one perfect, wondrous moment, Nyx is kissing him back, pressing into it to encourage more. Then it's over and Nyx looks devastated.

Heart reeling at the emotional whiplash, Laurent puts a soft, apologetic smile on his face, hiding all the pain of the rejection. He knows how he has to handle this, even though it may cost him. It was his own choice, his own trespass, and he has to make sure that Nyx doesn't suffer guilt over it.

"Sorry," he murmurs, gentle and sweet, revealing the shy softness that he usually keeps hidden. "Thought it might be the last chance I had to kiss someone I wanted to kiss."

He draws back a little, giving Nyx some space to process that. He knows it'll embarrass Nyx, knowing that the prince has a crush on him. His best friend's kid brother. But that, at least, will make it harmless. Nyx will be able to dismiss a childish infatuation, and no one will be the worse for Laurent's little misjudgement. The kiss will live safe in Laurent's memory, and all will be well.

"Please forgive me."

Someone I wanted to kiss. And just like that, whatever haphazard attempt Nyx was making to gather his tattered shreds of good sense and dignity is lost. His gaze flicks up from where he'd been staring fixedly upon the floor, eyes widening at the tentative, apologetic smile on Laurent's face. Nyx had only ever caught glimpses of this shy and vulnerable side of Laurent in passing, and even then he'd wanted nothing more than to gather the young prince into his arms and hold him close, protect him from the ills of the world.

In this moment, Laurent could ask him for the moon and stars, and Nyx would climb right into the sky to gather them for him, if only he'd stop looking at him like that.

"No, there's nothing-- Your Highness, please, you don't need to apologize." He's babbling now, and he doesn't know how to stop, grabbing for Laurent's hand in an attempt at a reassuring squeeze. "You've done nothing wrong. You know that I'm at your disposal. Anything you want. Anything at all."

Laurent squeezes his hand in return, charmed as ever by Nyx's earnest desire to please, and his smile becomes a more genuine and less apologetic.

Cupping his free hand around Nyx's cheek, Laurent brushes his thumb along the edge of Nyx's cheekbone, admiring him. "Careful," he murmurs, low and flirtatious. "You might give me the idea that you'd like to be kissed again. Though the 'your highness' is rather discouraging."

"Uh..."

If anything, Nyx looks like a deer caught in a hunter's sights, stilling like a wild creature about to bolt beneath Laurent's light touch. What is he supposed to say? How should he respond? Heady desire, duty, and some remaining scrap of propriety have a quick tussle in his head, with no clear winner.

When in doubt, try to turn it into a joke. Nyx manages something like an approximation of a chuckle, quirking a brow up at Laurent.

"If you wanted to practice kissing, Your-- Laurent, you know you have better options than the court's resident unwashed barbarian, don't you?"

"I'd be willing to personally oversee the bathing," Laurent flirts, unable to resist continuing to tease Nyx.

But then he draws his hand away, because he's not sure and he doesn't want Nyx to feel obligated. "Who are these 'better options'? My future husband, maybe? This mystery duke?" Laurent glances away, tension returning to his body as he shutters his soft flirtatiousness away again.

Nyx doesn't quite manage to stifle a wince at that. A stolen kiss here and there was all well and fine, but what would His Royal Highness have to say about actually getting saddled with a rough-and-tumble soldier like Nyx for a husband, the furthest example of noble, royal dignity imaginable?

"Better than that, I'm sure." He sits up as Laurent pulls away, not liking the drawn expression on the Prince's face. "Nothing's been announced yet, and surely no one could fault you for a fling or five among the court's eligible bachelors. You know you can kiss whoever you like, Laurent. I'm hardly going to run off to tattle. Whatever designs Auguste has up his sleeve, that's none of my concern anymore. I serve you now."

He can't stand Nyx's encouraging him to go bed half the court, particularly not immediately after Laurent had offered him his affection. Laurent rises to his feet and turns away, heading toward his bed and already starting on the laces at his wrists. "Aren't you under orders to keep anyone from getting too close to me? I have to be kept pure for the duke's enjoyment, after all."

Nyx trails after him, not sure what had spurred on Laurent's seeming change of mood. Thoughts of Auguste's farce of a planned marriage, perhaps? Well, Nyx can hardly blame him, and he winces again at the sharp pang of guilt beneath his breastbone.

"My orders are to keep those court vultures from trying to get their claws all over you. Whatever or whoever you see fit to approach-- that's different." High-handed and presumptuous toward his betters had been a charge often leveled toward him by puffed-up Veretian nobles, but Nyx doesn't care, catching up to Laurent and catching him by a sleeve.

"Whatever Auguste might intend, I won't be your jailer, Laurent. Order me as you please." He flashes Laurent a grin with just a trace of his usual cocky swagger, trying to recapture that sense of... sweetness, warm camaraderie they'd just shared. "You know I'm yours."

If anyone else had touched him like that, Laurent would have lashed out at them. But he wants Nyx to pursue him. He wants Nyx to want him. Laurent lets Nyx catch him, and can't help a tiny smile at Nyx's cocky grin.

"Why, Nyx," he teases, stepping a little closer and resting his free hand on Nyx's chest, just over his heart. "Are you flirting with me?"

And all of a sudden, Laurent is a step too close, an elegant hand placed upon his chest. Nyx's heart flip flops in his chest, a sudden, startled contraction, and in that moment he almost pulls away, almost calls an end to this... whatever it is. This is a dangerous game to play, and his orders to prevent anyone from flirting with Laurent ought to very well include himself, sham marriage or not, lest he take things a step too far. But Auguste's earlier high-handedness still rankles in his throat, and even if all of this is just an elaborate joke he's playing on his hapless former Captain... that doesn't mean Nyx can't enjoy the moment for what it is.

"Who, me?" he instead replies, gaze dropping to the hand on his chest and then slowly lifting to meet Laurent's gaze full on. lips curving easily in a familiar lazy smile before Nyx flashes Laurent a warm and perfectly flirtatious wink. "Can't imagine why you'd think that."

Laurent's smile is genuine this time, more genuine than it's been in a while, and he slides that hand up to curl around Nyx's neck. Pressing in close, Laurent watches Nyx's eyes for a moment, fingers tangling gently into the hair at the back of Nyx's neck, and he guides Nyx into another kiss. If this is all he gets, and if Nyx is willing, then Laurent doesn't see any reason to deny himself.

His nerves almost get the better of him-- and there's a laughable thought, that he, Nyx Ulric, ex-refugee, hardened soldier, and former Captain of the Veretian Guard, could be left quivering in his boots at the prospect of kissing one too-beautiful prince.

Which is... nonsense, of course. What is he, some sort of shrinking virgin? No, Laurent has a hand at the back of his head, lovely lips curved into a soft smile that reaches all the way up to his eyes, and if Nyx doesn't-- think too hard about things such as consequences and royal decorum, about nothing else but the promise he'd made Laurent...

I'm yours.

Nyx closes that last inch between them, covering Laurent's mouth with his own. It starts out careful, tender and chaste, until a faint pang of terror/dread/guilt tightens in his chest and Nyx leans in further to shut up the voice of reason, deepening the kiss with warm lips and a careful brush of tongue.

Laurent makes a soft little sound of contentment as Nyx's tongue tentatively explores his lips. He presses a little closer, hand tightening on Nyx's neck while the other hand slides down Nyx's arm, finding one of Nyx's hands and putting it on his waist, encouraging Nyx to touch. He wants to be held, and embraced. Even though he knows that this likely means nothing in particular to Nyx, it means the world to Laurent.

His kiss is shy and soft, revealing the honest nerves he feels beneath his usual confident demeanor. He's waited so long for this, always denying his own desires in favor of the advantage that his virgin bed could offer the kingdom. Now, over the course of just one day, he's ready to throw it all away.

Nyx follows Laurent's lead, the hand on his waist sliding to the small of his back as he draws him closer, ardent and adoring as he kisses Laurent deeply with skilled tongue and warm lips. Here, at least, they're back in familiar territory, and everything will be fine if only Nyx doesn't allow himself to think, only to respond to the sweetness of Laurent's mouth and the unspoken yearning of his body.

A step forward, and he has Laurent very nearly pressed up against him. The heat radiating from his body is intoxicating, leaving him breathless with desire. The hand on Laurent's back has drifted lower, resting on his hip, and Nyx's heart seems to skip a beat-- this is the Crown Prince he's touching in such a familiar way, he shouldn't-- No. If he follows this line of thought, then he'll have to stop, and Nyx... doesn't want that.

Laurent's aching with desire and nerves. He wants this so badly, even if Auguste is furious. It's so hard to think of Auguste as furious, and he's never punished Laurent for anything like this before. He's always encouraged Laurent to go after what he wants, and Laurent has always chosen the practical, dutiful options.

"Take me to bed?" Laurent asks, murmuring against Nyx's lips. It's a little too hesitant to be a command, but Laurent's certain that he wants this. He wants Nyx. If he only gets a night, or even if he's fortunate enough to have a few days or weeks, Laurent wants Nyx. "You're mine for tonight."

Something in his chest flipflops as Nyx's thoughts all come stuttering to a halt. Kissing and flirting, that's one thing. It's all play, in the end, harmless and sweet. But what Laurent is suggesting... is a step beyond the precipice, from which there's no return. And in this, his head and his heart are both aligned.

This is a mistake. Laurent is merely acting out against Auguste's chafing restrictions and cruel secrecy. When he finds out the truth of Auguste's intentions, foolish as they might be, he may well feel deceived, hurt and angry.

But... Nyx swallows hard as his arms tighten around Laurent's back, unwilling to let go. In the end, it doesn't matter. Not what Nyx wants, nor what consequences he might face. Only what Laurent asks of him. Only his desire. Exhale, a long breath, and when he lifts his gaze up to meet Laurent's eyes, if the expression on his face isn't exactly romantic, well... steely determination and willing acceptance will have to be enough.

"As you wish," he murmurs, "my Prince." And in one smooth motion, he leans forward and-- scoops Laurent up and off the floor, an arm around his shoulders and the other tucked beneath his knees, carrying him back toward his quarters.

Lover, I know you're weary

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