horny homebody

knight x prince, in shadowed corners

uncropped on pixiv

⊹ standing too close. like just barely not touching. why are their shoulders breathing on each other??

⊹ conversations that sound normal but feel like foreplay. “pass the salt” has never been so loaded.

⊹ one of them says something flirty and the other freezes for 0.2 seconds like “oh.”

⊹ eyes dropping to lips and then—back up. with effort.

⊹ holding eye contact just a little too long. like... are they gonna kiss or duel??

⊹ unintentional physical contact that lasts one second too long and now they’re both broken

⊹ a hand on the small of the back. that’s it. that’s the tweet.

⊹ tension so thick that other characters start noticing like “hey are you two okay?” (they are not)

⊹ “accidental” sleepovers. “oh no there’s only one bed.” yeah. suuuure.

⊹ biting back a smile. biting back a moan. biting anything really.

⊹ one of them walks away and the other has to physically restrain themselves from watching the hips

“I can’t sleep.” Could be heard from the other side of the of the oak door. Quiet, gravely, but very much there.

The knight didn’t answer, he was to guard, not humour. Though, he did perk up at the sound of his highness's voice – nothing more than a natural reflex, of course.

“I cannot sleeeeep.” The royal spoke up again, more like a groan than a grovel this time.

Silence stretched between, broken only by the sound of quiet huffs and bedding being thrashed around until the Knight drew a long, drawn breath and finally entered.

No matter how quiet the Knight attempted to be, the metallic thud of his sabatons upon the floorboards echoed through the quarters, and step, by step, the Royal’s grin only widened until their Knight stood by their bedside, firm in place with his arms crossed.

“It’s late.” He spoke bluntly, quickly followed by “Are you ailed, fevered?” with a tilt of his head, or more so, a tilt of his helm.

“Are you tired?” The royal was fast to quip back, their expression softer, searching for who stood beneath the armour.

The Knight cleared his throat, then cleared his throat again before replying: “It is not my Duty to be tired.”

The royal laughed, reaching out to tug at their Knight’s gauntleted hand. “Well for tonight, your duty is to keep me company.” Their thumb lingered, stroking over steeled knuckles before letting go. “Sit!” They sprung from under the covers and pointed to the bed.

“I – I shan’t – Is that an order?” Their Knight faltered, momentarily, managing to console himself.

“You should know by now, of course it’s an order.” The Royal’s back was turned, but they glanced, pointing to the bed once again “Now. Sit.”

“…As you wish.” The Knight’s words trailed on a resolute sigh, mattress dipping as he sat down.

The hinges to the Royal’s wardrobe near flew off as they opened, garments thrown and strewn around the floor until a mumbled “Ah, Hah..” came from within.

“My spare nightgown,” The royal presented with a flourish. Simple white linen with an ornate design of the Royal Crest. It would reach down to the Knight’s knees, give or take an inch. “You can wear this.”

“Your Highness.” The Knight’s words came as a low warning – a glimpse of who he was trained to be. “I am not a man of gow–”

“It’ll be comfortable, and you’ll look sweet!” The Royal waved a dismissive hand. “Take it off, just for tonight.”

The longer the Royal spoke, their Knight bristled and squirmed under his suit of steel. “Is that an order?” He finally spoke again, far more hesitant.

“No, it is not.” The royal smiled, placing the nightgown down onto the bed. “Take your time.” They took a step back and turned around.

Silenced settled again as the Knight stared down. It was not an order – but an offering? Something that’d long become a foreign concept. Choice was not an option – only instinct and survival.

Eventually the Knight stood. Movements ridged as he began to undress, piece by slowly unclasped piece. The metal was worn and scratched, a mausoleum of memories to those fallen and those now too harrowed to draw sword ever again – Which one was he to become?

“Your Highness, I’m sorry” The Knight spoke up, his arms bent awkwardly in an attempt to grasp backwards. “The buckles of my Cuirass – My Squire, he usually –”

The Royal rolled their eyes before turning around. “I don’t want to hear about your little Squire Boy.” they scoffed, tugging a slight heavy handedly until the chest plate fell loose upon the bed. “There we go…” their voice softened again, fingers lingering as they trailed down the curve of their Knight’s spine.

His breathed hitched, body tensed almost in anticipation for something, that thankfully never came. He stood bare, stature lithe, plump and healthy in his stomach and thighs, with a dark shed of thick hair all over, all scarred skin, burnt flesh, muscles drawn taunt and fingers blistered. Exposed.

“All we have left is your helm.” The royal reached up to brush over the rusted buckle. “Will you let me see you?”

“Your Highness – Isn’t this –” The Knight swallowed thick, morals and principles shattering as he lowered his head.

“As you wish.”

The Royal’s touch was gentle, almost reverent as they removed the helmet to reveal who existed underneath. Their Knight’s hair spilled down over his face in long, wiry curls. His eyes dark-rimmed, didn’t meet theirs at first. Without the helm he looked his age: Young, weathered and wary.

The Royal took a quiet breath. “There you are..” They whispered. Not with pity or fear – just warmth. “How lovely you are.”

“That is not the word I’d use.” Their Knight uttered. He hesitated, just for a moment before reaching out for the nightgown. The linen draped, fitting, sort of, but it was of much higher quality than anything he’d had the pleasure to ever wear. “Thank you.” His hand brushed across to appreciate the fabric. “And you, are lovely too.” hesitating again, he reached out and stroked the pad of thumb across The Royal’s cheek.

“T-There is no need!” Their voice raised, cheeks reddening before they swiftly batted their Knight’s hand away.

The Knight didn’t flinched when their hand was swatted. He only smiled – a soft, almost smug sort of smile. “Forgive me, Your Highness.” he murmured. “I forget myself.”

For once, the Royal had no words, they could only huff. Putting distance between the two as they marched round to the other side of the bed. Their hands were restless, dancing the seams of the duvet until they pulled the covers back.

“Rest with me.” It was their eyes this time that did not meet, they busied themselves with fluffing up the pillows.

The Knight observed in silence, or perhaps silent amusement. He leaned down, movements slow and measure as he helped to arrange the bed. Their shoulders brushed, warm, sallow breaths ghosting each others cheeks.

Something in the Knight broke that eve, he who was destined to only take and kneel – allowed himself to want. “Is that an order?” He murmured against the nape of the Royal’s neck.

knights who try to focus on training the prince but struggle because he moans so cutely when he gets hit

femboy prince who knows exactly what he's doing and enjoys seeing the effect he's having on the knights in the communal bath house after training

knights who think they are really good at hiding how aroused the prince makes them

They sneak into my room at night, tying me to my bed and undressing me. Ignoring my panicked questions or my crying out. But it's all soon shut up with a hand pressed against my mouth and a cock being forcefully shoved into my boycunt. Being treated like a whore by one of the men and women hired to protect me and my kingdom, being degraded and fucked as if my cunt is free use.

WHAT ABOUT ALL OF THEM!!

What if the prince was just so slutty that he couldn’t handle just one. He had to whore himself out to the entire kingdom

He’s just so well known for spreading his legs for any man with a big enough cock to satisfy him. It’s gotten to the point where it’s normal to see him bent over in public taking cock.