Rachrar

Storvorn struggled not to show his boredom, though the expression would have fit well on his delicate, sharp face. The man below his dias was wrinkling his hat in his hands as he stuttered through his woes. The open-air days were the worst thing the city offered to the poor; a chance to plead their case and get assistance. Of course, Storvorn did not give a single fuck about what the man wanted, paying enough attention to follow but ignoring the majority of the fumbling “your majesty”s and “begging your pardon”s.

Storvorn was good at hiding his disdain, thankfully. As king, he needed to look like he cared lest the commoners think that their king didn’t want to listen to their desires and might get some idea of rebellion in their minds. He had hated his etiquette training as a child but he wasn’t a fool, he knew it was useful, especially now. The man had been talking for a good few minutes, long enough for the people in line behind him to start to scowl. It was time to move on.

Storvorn raised a hand and the man stopped speaking mid-sentence, mumbling an apology before silencing himself entirely. “I see that you have been wronged, though I also see that the man who has aggrieved you was in a place where he could not win. A sheep is not worth a man’s life and wolves are known to be aggressive when cornered. I rule that the loss of your sheep was necessary to save the man’s life. On behalf of the city and my place as king, I hereby replace your sheep with one of the royal flock.”

The man’s mouth hung open in shock before he nearly fell over in thanks. Storvorn was sure that his sheep were nearly starving, or at least would look so, when given a royal sheep to care for, the replacement plump and large. Storvorn waved a hand once more to dismiss the man’s speech. “It is my pleasure to assist my subjects in any manner that I am able. Speak to the Keeper of the Animals and she will guide your next moves.”

The man was led away by a page and Storvorn had a moment to breathe. The Fool was next in line and Storvorn couldn’t hide his disappointment. What would Thane do now? Storvorn was tired, the day was long and the sun was running from the horizon’s kiss, the last rays of sunshine making the stained glass of the court glow. He didn’t need his jester’s foolishness to frustrate him further. He knew, however, that he could not simply send Thane away. The court was also bored with the commoners prattling on and if Thane made someone laugh, then his job was fulfilled.

Storvorn knew that no matter how terrible Thane’s next jest might be, he couldn’t do anything but give a laugh. It might even be sincere! And yet, he still did not look forward to it. Thane was the last person he knew from home, from Phoseon, and he had a soft spot for the man, the only one allowed to speak his mind before Storvorn (let alone in public) and avoid Storvorn’s wrath. Storvorn closed his eyes to gather himself and flicked aside a lock of coal-black hair before opening them once more.

Thane was on one knee, a hand held out as if hoping to receive a royal hand in his own, his other to his chest. It was a mockery of devotion and Storvorn felt a tension in his temple grow as Thane spoke, face hidden behind his grinning mask.

“Your Majesty,” Thane said, voice carrying through the large space and edging on insolence with the edging of mockery. “If I may speak, Your Majesty?”

Storvorn’s forehead throbbed, a headache coming on. If Thane tested his patience too much, Storvorn was as likely as not to send for the whipping boy. He wouldn’t punish Thane with lashes, but he could use another in Thane’s place and he knew Thane hated that more.

Storvorn inclined his head, giving the expected permission. It wasn’t necessary, of course, but it seemed that it was part of the joke that he was playing.

“I too have lost one of my flock, Your Majesty, a ewe named Ewe.” Storvorn’s expression darkened. “But every time I look for Ewe, all I find is you.” Thane stood, the bells on his hat jangling as he skipped forward to overdramatically lean against the heavy throne, a hand over his forehead in sadness. “And I am afraid, Your Majesty, that as you are Ewe, I must ask you to return to my flock to join your fellows in white. I am sure that Ewe would be much happier in my field and chewing cud rather than being lambasted by so many requests!”

Storvorn snorted, covering his mouth with a hand and looking away at the undignified sound. This time he didn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes, purposely exaggerating the movement to encourage the court to laugh. There were some giggles and a few guffaws from the ones trying to garner Storvorn’s attention the most as if Storvorn would be more likely to look at them simply because they found a poor joke amusing.

“Perhaps if you look in a mirror, Jester,” Storvorn said, keeping his tone light, “you might find Ewe in the reflection.”

Thane gasped and fell to the floor as if struck in the heart. Thane’s voice boomed in the space, echoing along the walls loudly and commanding attention. “Your Majesty! How clever you are to turn my jest against me so! I shall never speak again as I have been defeated in the realm of buffoonery, a master of fools sitting before me!”

Storvorn’s jaw clenched as the room erupted into hidden laughter, ladies hiding behind their fans and others not even bothering to hide their reaction to the insult. Of course that would be more amusing than some sheep pun. They all disliked him, Storvorn knew, all looked at him with jealous eyes, especially the duchess, all because he sat on the throne.

The young king waved a hand to the door guards, a few pages and servants stepping forward to the line of people yet to be heard. “The sun has set and the day is concluded,” Storvorn said, voice more firm. “I will hear the rest of the grievances next week. Give your requests to the Court Keeper and those who have been chosen will be seen then, all others will go to the lesser court.”

Storvorn stood, sweeping his cape out to flow by his feet. The rest of the court, who were mostly standing to begin with, bowed or curtsied as appropriate before taking their leave. The room was cleared relatively quickly, Storvorn giving a few nods towards some of the nobles to indicate that they were in his favor and knew that he could use them for some other tasks. He needed only to feed their pride to do so.

Once the room was empty, Thane stood from the ground to kneel before Storvorn, fixing a tie on his boot and speaking quietly. “Earl Grey has his eyes upon the marquess title now that Dumann has been officially declared dead.”

Storvorn acknowledged the words with a soft sound and Thane continued. “Dumann’s sons, Jimmy and James, are still living, and the earl may make moves to change that, though they have not taken the title nor do they seem to care to.”

Thane stood, the bows on Storvorn’s boots neat and even. “I see,” Storvorn murmured quietly, eyes scanning the room. The guards were staring into the distance, ignoring all the politics that they heard. Rather, they pretended to, and Storvorn wondered how much they did hear. Magic was forbidden in the court and the room’s own magic dampened all other spells, so likely very little if anything at all. Why Thane decided to say this in the throne room rather than somewhere more private, however, was a mystery to Storvorn. He acted as though it wasn’t surprising then turned on his heel.

“Come along, Jester,” Storvorn said imperiously. “I have need of amusement and you will serve as entertainment.”

“Have I ever failed you, Your Majesty?” Thane said, skipping down the hallway backward. He knew every turn in the building and many secret passageways so he wasn’t afraid of hitting a wall. Any servant who didn’t move, however, was on their own.

“To amuse?” Storvorn asked. “Often.”

“And yet,” Thane said with a long-suffering sigh, “you keep me. So much joy must be simply from my shortcomings! I will work to do worse just for you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Storvorn said, eyes flashing as he looked at Thane. He didn’t see Thane’s expression but knew that Thane was smirking. He had finally gotten under Storvorn’s skin and the pleasure of seeing Storvorn’s carefully crafted apathy breaking was one of his favorite things.

The doors to Storvorn’s bedchamber opened before he needed to speak or indicate so, waltzing in while the guards took their places on either side of the doorway. Thane followed with a joyous step, smugness radiating off of him like the sun radiated heat. The doors closed behind them, the hinges silent, though they both heard the guards beginning to speak to each other before the wooden barrier hid all sound.

Storvorn flopped onto the chair before his vanity, rubbing at his temple. Thane, all levity in his step and body language dropped, walked up to Storvorn more seriously. “You know that gossip is spreading about this.”

“About what?” Storvorn scowled as he unbuttoned the cape, tossing it over the back of the chair. “That you are in my bedchamber at night?”

Thane nodded, taking the mask off with a relieved sound. The mask was thin but when he wore it at all hours, it made his nose a little sore, and getting fresh air over his skin was the best part of the day. His blue eyes glanced Storvorn over, running a hand through his hair. Nobody saw it day to day apart from Storvorn, a little vanity that he kept from his time in the Phoseon court as a royal guard, but he was meticulous in keeping the sides dyed dark and leaving the top white regardless.

“What does it matter that the lessers speak? They will keep their tongue or find it in my hand should it wag too often.” Storvorn looked at Thane via the mirror. “You need to redye your hair. The roots are beginning to show.”

Thane frowned, moving to stand behind Storvorn, and leaned down to look into the silver-backed glass in an attempt to find the spot that Storvorn mentioned. He shifted his hair a few times before huffing. “My hair is perfectly fine.”

“Of course it is,” Storvorn said. “But since you are here, assist me to change into nightclothes so I may eat without dealing with this stiff fabric in the way.” Thane’s eyes narrowed, realizing he’d been played, but obediently assisted, setting the royal outfit aside in favor of softer fabric, though still finely spun. His hands were deft, assisting only when directed to, and Storvorn was quickly in more comfortable clothing.

“Storvorn,” Thane said, hands on Storvorn’s shoulders. Storvorn’s hand paused, about to wipe off the day’s makeup with a wet pad.

“What?”

“You can’t keep doing this.”

Storvorn tch’d. “Yes, I can. Why should I trust some other fool to handle my safety at night?” He continued the motion he had paused, the teal above his eyes fading away in a few swipes and leaving the emerald of his irises a little duller without the contrast.

“Because the only fool in your life should be me, and you should allow your guards to do their duty. You know I’m here to be your jester, not your royal guard anymore, not one that others know. Bringing me into your bedchamber is inviting gossip that you have given your honor to me.”

Thane took the pad from Storvorn, getting a last wipe over Storvorn’s cheek to catch the last of the powder. Storvorn glared at him before looking away as Thane tossed the dirtied cloth into a side basket. “I tell you this because it’s important and you know that.”

Storvorn was silent, crossing his arms and refusing to respond.

Thane picked up Storvorn’s clothing to set it on hangers for the laundress to gather that night. “Please think about it.” Storvorn sniffled, wiping at his eyes. “Oh, don’t you do that, you know well that I know your tears to be a tool, especially now since your makeup won’t run and make a mess on your face.”

Storvorn’s eyes wobbled, tears pooling in the corners but Thane stood firm. A few moments passed before Storvorn dropped the act, wiping at his eyes to get the water away. He was good at it, at least, and if he had not stopped, there would have been obvious tears dripping down his cheeks. “I don’t want anyone else. I don’t trust them. You’ve seen how Maghrebi looks at me.”

Thane didn’t deny that. The envy and anger that simmered in her eyes were obvious every time she met Storvorn’s, hidden the moment that someone might see. The exposed emotion was a threat; Storvorn was not safe from her ambition. “Be that as it may,” Thane answered. “We cannot allow these rumors to continue.”

“It’s too late for that,” Storvorn snapped, his patience fading as he yanked the crown off of his head to drop onto the vanity. “If they’re flying now, then changing anything will make us look more guilty as if I have now heard the tales and decided to send you out in an attempt to hide what I’m doing. The only way to truly quash the rumors would be to either hang you for the crime of stealing my honor or to tell them that I am Flametouched and allow a physician to verify that it is unbroken.”

Thane pinched at the bridge of his nose. Storvorn was right, and when it was Storvorn, being right was often frustrating. The court wasn’t aware that Storvorn was born with a hole rather than a pole, and if they did, then it would be quickly demanded that his barrier, magically bound because of his station to break upon any penetration, be checked. At that point, he would either have to allow the indignity of being seen by a physician or deny and imply that he was unchaste when all knew it was meant to be whole.

When Storvorn had been betrothed to Seth Erelin and moved into the city as part of the oath of marriage, he was but a child of 8 years. Oaths of loyalty and promises of chastity were made upon his arrival, the marriage completed in all ways but one, and he would not have given his honor until he came of age. When the king died, Storvorn had not yet lain with the king, though the day had been fast approaching. He still took the throne as was his right, but had to stay chaste until he was promised anew and his marriage bed filled with another.

The duchess tried maneuvering herself into gaining his hand and had been politely refused on account of mourning, but the clock was running out and his options were closing in. He could claim grief for only so long. Eventually, he would need to suffer the touch of someone that he did not trust and send Thane away from his bedroom at night, leaving his back open to any danger that might lurk in men's hearts. But not now, not yet.

“Besides,” Storvorn said, his voice much calmer as he ran a brush through his hair. “Even if it were true, at least it wasn’t some horse groom or peasant."

Jealousy flared in Thane regardless before he tamped it down roughly, taking the hairbrush from Storvorn and combing the strands himself. Storvorn’s eyes closed comfortably as he enjoyed the man’s pampering, genuine trust in his expression that made Thane’s stomach twist.

The man, barely more than a boy, was paranoid and easily convinced that someone was behind his back with a knife. His attitude had earned him the ire of every single one of his siblings and had fielded multiple attempts on his life; fitting since he had ended his elder brother’s. Thane had stopped the most egregious attack and bore the wound of the battle over his stomach, a deep slash that stung unpleasantly when he stretched too much. But here, Storvorn trusted Thane. Thane could hold a knife to Storvorn’s throat at this very moment and he wouldn’t move, merely complain that Thane needed to use a sharper blade to shave his stubble.

It was something Thane treasured, knowing that he and he alone held Storvorn’s unyielding trust. He understood why Storvorn was so wary of threats, though he did think many of them could have been avoided if Storvorn had hidden his contempt better. He didn’t understand why he was given such faith. He wasn’t the only one to save Storvorn’s life, the royal food tester had done so at least thrice.

“Thane.” Thane looked down to Storvorn, realizing that he had paused in the motions, and resumed. “Why don’t you call me Stor anymore?”

Thane’s hands stuttered. He couldn’t do that. He had stopped when Storvorn had blossomed into a man, afraid that such intimacy as a nickname might give the wrong impression if overheard. “It is inappropriate, Storvorn,” Thane said. “It would seem too familiar.”

“Hm.” Storvorn pushed Thane’s hand away from his hair. “I don’t want to leave for dinner. Bring me food here. I’m tired.”

Thane’s lips curled downwards. “Again?” It was the third night in a row Storvorn had requested his nightly meal in his room.

“Yes,” Storvorn said. “It’s getting cold out and the floors are uncomfortable on my feet.”

“Wear slippers,” Thane said dryly. “Most of the floor has rugs and you will not walk on stone that way.”

“I don’t care,” Storvorn said, and from the set of his jaw, Thane knew that further arguing was pointless when Storvorn was like this. Storvorn would dig his heels in if only to argue and it wasn’t worth the effort of trying to convince him otherwise.

Thane opened the door enough to speak to the guards before closing it. His hand lingered on the handle before returning to stand behind Storvorn’s shoulder. “It will be here shortly.”

“You requested your dinner as well?”

Thane had thought about not doing so but knew it would lead to a fight if he didn’t. “Yes, I did.”

“Good. Now, I want to play chess again. I want to be able to beat you for once.”

Thane smirked. “We will see.”

The chess game went exactly as Thane expected; Storvorn lost and nearly threw a fit after, shoving the board at Thane and knocking the pieces across the small table. It was better than he used to be, having thrown the board more than a few times before, but Thane still gave him a judgmental look. Storvorn pouted, but gathered the pieces anyway, shoving them into Thane’s hands roughly for the man to pack away.

Dinner, at least, was better. It was hard to fail that when a guard was brought in to test every single piece of Storvorn’s meal for poison. Once it was declared safe, the guard was shooed out and Storvorn actually began to eat.

“Why don’t you have me test it?” Thane asked, stealing a bite of Storvorn’s meat, much to his displeasure.

“Because you matter,” Storvorn said absently, focused on trying to do the same to Thane. Thane was too quick and Storvorn was rebuffed until he simply stole the fork from Thane’s hand, a tactic he hadn’t used before and that Thane didn’t expect. Thane processed the words as he watched Storvorn swallow the bite of carrot with a satisfied smile before he passed the fork back over. Thane’s eyes dropped to his meal.

Storvorn set his plates aside on the platter once he was done, stretching. The shirt rode up to expose his belly and Thane had to force himself to look away. He was Storvorn’s guard. He needed to guard him from all threats, including dishonorable thoughts, especially his own.

Storvorn looked Thane up and down and Thane felt like he was on display, Storvorn’s eyes lingering on his arms before pushing his chair back and standing. “You need to change to your night clothes.” He paused. “And I need to bathe.”

“I will take my leave then,” Thane said, glad for the perfect moment to slip away. Storvorn had servants specifically for this task and he did not want to take their place. 

“No.” Storvorn’s voice wasn’t firm or weak, more a simple statement of fact. “I want your assistance to wash up.”

Thane’s brow furrowed. This wasn’t something that Storvorn had asked him to do before, and with the talk earlier, he wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with that. “You have your attendants—”

“And one of them burned me the other day,” Storvorn said, cutting Thane off. 

“I’m sure it was an accident. You cannot keep sending your servants away when they make a mistake.”

“Can’t I?” Storvorn padded over to the secondary room, pausing with a hand on the door jamb when Thane didn’t move. “Are you going to help or not?”

Thane looked at the door, debating if he wanted to leave and force Storvorn to deal with it himself. “If I say no?”

“Then you will sit in my room and wait until I am done. But I know how you hate wasting water and you have not bathed today either. Come.” Storvorn walked into the bathing room. Thane leaned forward, running his hands over his face roughly as if it would help. He stood and followed Storvorn.

Storvorn had the taps on, waiting for the large tub to fill and picking out the soaps and towel he wanted for after, the fluffy fabric overflowing in his arms. Storvorn looked over his shoulder when he heard Thane’s steps, eyes widening for a moment. He didn’t expect it to actually work.

Thane ignored the expression and grabbed a towel of his own, setting it aside. He saw Storvorn begin to undress and turned away, hands hesitating over the buttons of his jester shirt, the overbright orange and yellow far flashier than the man ever wanted to be.

“You realize that bathing requires you to be naked, don’t you?” Storvorn said in a lazy drawl. “You may as well strip. I know you have extra clothing in here somewhere, you’ve been in different clothes when I wake in the morning.”

Thane scowled. He needed to remember that Storvorn paid far more attention than his petulant attitude would imply, somehow always forgetting it at the most annoying time. Reluctantly, he went to the linen closet he had gotten the towel from and reached in past the first stack and to the clothes behind. It wasn’t another jester outfit but a more casual shirt and pants, clothing he only wore when his false role wasn’t needed.

He didn’t turn around, knowing that Storvorn was naked at this point. There was a soft splash and Storvorn melted comfortably on the stone seat. “The water is warm, come on.” Another splash as Storvorn tapped at the water.

Thane looked over his shoulder. Storvorn’s eyes were closed, arms on the edge of the in-floor tub, and water up to his chest. There were bubbles that hid the rest of him (thank the Flames) but Thane was going to end up naked without anything to cover him until he was in the water. Thane looked at the clothes in his hands, then shook his head. He couldn’t do this.

Storvorn turned the faucet off without opening his eyes. “Hurry up, the water will cool down and you’ll have to deal with that.”

“I’ve showered in icy water pouring from the mountain tops, Storvorn,” Thane said. “And I have no issue doing so again.”

“There’s no need to anymore, not when you’re guarding me. I give you all my creature comforts when you are by my side.” Storvorn opened his eyes. Thane stood awkwardly, the tall man holding the towel with tight hands. He was still dressed.

Storvorn leaned his hand on a hand, raising a brow. “What, do you think I’d allow you to have a terrible time guarding me? When have I denied you something you wanted?”

When Thane was silent, Storvorn nodded to himself. “Yes. You’re honorable, you get to enjoy what I have, and you are skilled. That’s why you’re such a good guard.”

“I could be a terrible guard,” Thane said as though it could possibly be true.

Storvorn laughed, a short sound of denial mixed with mild amusement. “When you’ve guarded me for half my life and saved it more than once? I doubt it.”

“I could be turning against you. I could set up a coup.”

“You won’t.” Storvorn set aside a ring he forgot to take off, tossing it towards a towel like it wasn’t worth more than most men’s yearly salary. “You’re too noble for that.”

“More noble men than I have been bought,” Thane pointed out, “and not for very much either.” He walked over to pick up the ring, turning it over in his hand. It was beautiful, a deep red ruby in the shape of a rose.

“Yes yes yes, good men have done terrible things,” Storvorn waved a hand dismissively. “But you won’t. I know this.”

“How could you possibly know?” Thane said, exasperated. “You know that I am aware of what happened to the previous king, even if I had nothing to do with it. Why would I not do the same to you?”

Storvorn’s eyes got flinty, narrowed, and sharp. The playfulness of an indolent king faded into a fierce tactician watching pieces on the board move according to his plans. “I know this because you know and you have not turned me over to the vultures circling me in hopes that I might stumble. I know the duchess has tried to buy you multiple times, along with at least one earl. I know you have more than enough information to have me killed and plenty of opportunities to do so. You have all the motives in the world; money, your own title, a return to home. But you haven’t. You’re an honorable man… except when it comes to me.”

Thane couldn’t deny the words. He had been approached and refused the offers, told Storvorn of every one, in fact, knowing that the hangman’s noose swung with only a whispered word in Storvorn’s ear. He had plenty of people who would be happy to pay him anything he asked for in return for a moment of time alone with Storvorn to kill the little king. But he wouldn’t, because just as Storvorn said, he was an honorable man, except when it came to Storvorn.

“Why didn’t you send me away with the rest of your men? Why did you include me in this?” He set the ring on a shelf, hand tight on the wood as if he would fall without the stability of the shelf to keep him upright.

“Because you stayed.” Thane turned around to look at Storvorn, confused. Storvorn waved an arm as though it was obvious. 

“The others left because they wanted to. They didn’t like me, didn’t want to help me in any manner. They found reasons and excuses, or manufactured ones, to run the moment that they could leave my service without shaming themselves. I know that many of them were lying, but I wasn’t going to keep a hateful man at my side. Every single one of them wanted to leave, every one of them but you. You were the only one to keep your post at my hand without resentment. You stayed at my side no matter how I berated you. You never struck me nor made a motion to do so even when I turned my own hand against you, nor when I used the whipping boy to show you my displeasure, knowing that it hurt you more than if I had turned the whip to your back. You care about me regardless, Thane, and so you stayed.”

Storvorn’s emerald eyes were hooded as he spoke and Thane was struck with the realization that no matter how he looked, Storvorn was no longer a child playing with pawns; he was a king making the nobility dance from square to square. He kept the dangers close, for a known threat was better than a secret one, and Storvorn’s attitude brought out every hidden fury to the surface. Storvorn’s very bearing, asinine and grating, was used judiciously as yet another tool in his pocket. It was as though Storvorn changed at that moment from the young prince he had dragged along the long trail, complaining and sniveling that it was cold to becoming a king in his own right. How had Thane been so blind to Storvorn’s growth?

Thane couldn’t keep looking at Storvorn. He undid the buttons of his outfit bit by bit, the fabric loosening until he was naked, still facing away. He had to turn to get into the water, but he didn’t want to present his nakedness to Storvorn. “Close your eyes,” he said. “Please.”

Storvorn didn’t speak. Thane turned around to see that Storvorn had, and not the fake kind that he used when he thought he was being sneaky, pretending to be asleep to avoid getting up early. Thane stepped into the water with nary a splash. “You can open them again.”

Storvorn’s eyes opened slowly, revealing the green bit by bit until he met Thane’s eyes. “I could tell you to do anything, couldn’t I?”

Thane soaped up a washcloth, scrubbing his arm to remove some dried ale that had fallen on him earlier in the day.

“I could tell you to kill someone and you would do it. You wouldn’t tell me no. Oh, you’d try to argue, I’m sure, and you would likely succeed, but you would do it in the end if I pressed you.” Thane’s hand stopped and his jaw tightened, refusing to lie and say that he wouldn’t.

“I could tell you to seduce someone for me to get information. I could tell you to leave me and become a beggar, and I would see you on the street by the castle, doing your best to make sure I was safe. You won’t leave, no matter what I do, no matter how cruel I could be. I could be a murderous tyrant and you would stay by my side. You wouldn’t help me, but you wouldn’t stop me either.”

Thane swallowed heavily and switched arms, his hand rougher as he tried to avoid thinking about what Storvorn was saying.

“If I told you to kill yourself, would you?”

Thane closed his eyes. “You wouldn’t ask me that.”

“No,” Storvorn agreed quietly. “I wouldn’t.”

He was silent now, the only sound being the soft splashes as Thane rid himself of the filth that often accumulated from his performances, some from the nobles purposely knocking drinks onto him for petty amusement and some the sweat of exertion. Storvorn luxuriated in the water, avoiding doing the very thing the bath was for.

Thane was squeaky clean before Storvorn moved to do the same, getting a new cloth to wipe himself down. He didn’t preen or speak, doing what he needed to. He had Thane on a leash— no, not quite, Storvorn mused. Thane was still his own man. Storvorn simply had a man who cared for him so much that he would sooner see Storvorn become a villain than let him die a hero.

Thane took the cloth from Storvorn when he finished his front, pushing him to turn so Thane could wipe down his back. He was delicate, the difference between them highlighted when they were so close. Thane’s hands were rough, a swordsman’s calluses making his skin catch on Storvorn’s. Storvorn, by comparison, was pampered. He wasn’t weak, he had training for many things to keep his body healthy, but it was the muscle of play, not of life. His hand rested on Storvorn’s shoulder, the cloth in hand but not moving.

“Thane?”

Thane moved the cloth to see that Storvorn’s back was scratched. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was too rough. Your skin is red, I’ll get some lotion once you’re out of the bath.”

“Thane.” Storvorn’s voice was firmer but still a request, not a demand.

Thane set the cloth aside. Storvorn had a cowlick by his right ear, he noticed. He’d seen him so many times, how had he missed it? Thane pushed it down only for the wet strands to bounce back to where they wanted to be. “Yes, Storvorn?”

“If I were to tell you to kiss me… Would you?”

Thane swallowed, hesitating and trying to figure out if it was some sort of trap. “Are you asking me to?”

Storvorn thought about that, then glanced over his shoulder. A fragility was in his eyes that Thane had never seen, an unsure vulnerability that made Thane want to reassure him that he was safe, that nothing would hurt him so long as Thane was here. Storvorn looked away again, unable to keep Thane’s gaze. “Yes.”

Thane twisted Storvorn so he could face him, looking down at the boy in his arms. Storvorn’s face was averted, afraid to see refusal, to see disgust, to see that Thane thought him a fool or unworthy. Him, a king, unworthy of his fool! A preposterous idea in any other scenario, but here, the final decision was Thane’s and he didn’t know on what side of the line Thane would fall.

Thane grasped his chin gently, pushing him up. Storvorn resisted for a moment before moving, eyes searching Thane for any emotion. Thane looked uncomfortable— no, when he was uncomfortable he had a tension in his forehead. He looked disgusted— no, else he would have a thinness to his lips and a tightness in his eyes. He was—

Storvorn's breath was stolen as his lips were met with Thane’s, somehow not expecting it. His hand rose to grab onto Thane’s shoulder, hesitantly leaning up as he closed his eyes; a plea, not a command. Who was Thane to refuse his king?

Thane shifted Storvorn over his lap, his back to the edge of the tub and sitting on a step. Storvorn’s thighs spread around his own, keeping his hips from meeting Thane’s by slightly hovering over Thane. Thane’s hand slid into Storvorn’s hair, guiding him in his first kiss, a gentle push to tilt his head so their noses would align with each other more comfortably.

Storvorn’s kiss was tentative and when Thane nipped his lip, Storvorn’s breath caught and he parted for Thane quickly. Thane was gentle, tongue pressing to meet Storvorn’s to entice him to return the motion and Storvorn followed Thane’s lead. Storvorn separated only when out of breath, pressing his forehead to Thane’s, arms around his shoulders. “If I were to tell you to touch me… would you?”

“Are you asking me to?”

“Yes.”

Thane’s hands lowered to Storvorn’s chest, thumbing over the hard nipples. Storvorn bit his lip, wiggling in place as he pressed into the pinches eagerly. Storvorn’s arms tightened around Thane, thighs spreading. Thane’s rising cock grazed along his clit and up towards his belly, the length making it a long, slow motion. Storvorn keened brokenly, a sweet sound that Thane planned on hearing again and again until Storvorn lost his voice. “Thane!”

Thane’s breath was shallow, chest feeling tight. He flicked at Storvorn’s nipples to watch him squirm, drinking in the view of the king on his lap, the way he mewled for more. He dragged his hands down Storvorn’s sides to his hips, thumbs following the curve of his pelvis. Storvorn’s head fell to Thane’s shoulder, panting against his skin. “Thane, by the Flames, I— I—”

“Shh,” Thane said softly, “I have you. I’ll always have you.” Storvorn nodded, nuzzling into Thane and pressing sloppy kisses along his neck. Thane was slow but it didn’t matter, not when every caress against Storvorn’s skin made him twitch. Thane pressed his lips against Storvorn’s shoulder, opening his mouth enough to catch him but didn’t bite down. Storvorn wriggled against him, dragging his clit over Thane’s cock from root to tip.

Thane tightened his jaw and Storvorn keened, hips riding against Thane hard enough that he grunted at the pressure against his cock, steeling himself not to thrust up. He nipped along Storvorn’s shoulder and with every bite, Storvorn cried out until his throat was dry and he was breathless. “Thane, please— if— if I were to tell you to— to touch me lower—?”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Thane said, moving his hand inwards and his thumb above Storvorn’s clit. Storvorn whimpered, rocking against Thane’s thumb desperately. “As long as you ask me.” 

Storvorn buried his face into Thane’s shoulder, making sounds that Thane thought he’d never get to hear. He teased Storvorn’s clit with light pressure, not wanting to overwhelm the boy. The pitch of Storvorn’s voice rose as Thane moved faster, stroking along the little nub and letting Storvorn rut against him, drinking in the sounds of Storvorn’s pleasure. Storvorn’s breath was shallow, chest heaving, and one last rough drag of Thane’s thumb undid him, sobbing as he came with little twitches, thighs tight and arms grasping him closer as if Thane would leave him.

Thane gentled until Storvorn was still, the boy heavy against him as he came down from his first orgasm. Storvorn had never bothered to try it before, never found any pleasure in his own hand, and had long given up on the idea that he could get anything out of it, but Thane made him wish he had asked long ago.

Storvorn sniffled against Thane’s shoulder and Thane pet him patiently. “How are you feeling?”

Storvorn leaned back to meet Thane’s eyes, eyes watering and breathing through his mouth before he kissed Thane again and again, speaking between smooches and missing the mark more often than not. “Good— so good—”

Thane laughed softly at Storvorn’s reaction, returning each kiss with one of his own. Storvorn shifted and he brushed against Thane’s cock, eyes going wide before the blush on his cheeks deepened further. “If I were to— if I were to ask you—”

“Not that,” Thane said and Storvorn flinched, slightly hurt. “That’s for your marriage bed.”

Storvorn’s frown grew deeper. “But—”

“I won’t take your honor when I have nothing to give you in return.”

Storvorn’s expression was as baffled as if Thane had suddenly grown another head. “But you’re more honorable than I’ve ever been. Wouldn’t it be better to give it to someone that I know would treasure it?”

Thane’s shoulders drooped. Flames and Snow, he wished he could, especially with how Storvorn’s hips were moving along his length and trying to break his will. “I mustn’t. I’ve no claim to royal honor.”

“I bequeath it to you,” Storvorn said as though it solved everything. “I’m the king, I can do what I like.”

“You are a vile tempter, Storvorn,” Thane groaned. “It doesn't work that way.”

“I’ll title you.” Storvorn continued, speaking faster to ignore Thane’s words. “I’ll give you the marquess title that Earl Grey wants so much, or I’ll— I’ll announce you as my paramour—”

Thane closed his eyes, tightening his embrace and forcing Storvorn closer so he couldn’t continue the motions along his dick, his self-control eroding with every single shift of Storvorn’s hips. “What would the court say?”

“I don’t care what they say, they don’t matter to me,” Storvorn said. “I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll give you anything you need. You can have all the gold you can carry, all the gems in the treasury. I’ll give you as many mistresses as you like—”

“I don’t need, or want, any of that,” Thane interrupted, cradling Storvorn’s cheek. Storvorn’s pleadings faded into silence as tears began to drip down his cheek, genuine this time. “Hey, hey… Don’t cry.” He wiped aside a droplet.

“But I want you to,” Storvorn said, turning to kiss Thane’s palm. “Isn’t that enough?”

“If only it was,” Thane sighed. “I’ll give you all that I can, but I cannot take what I don’t deserve.”

“I’ll—”

“Stor, please.” Storvorn buried his face into Thane’s neck with sniffles. “I know. I’m sorry. But you are a king and I am your jester. It doesn’t work for people like us.” Thane ran his hand through Storvorn’s hair patiently in hopes that it might provide even the slightest comfort.

“I’ll abdicate the throne,” Storvorn said suddenly. Thane blinked at that. Storvorn? Give up his throne? The ambition finally conquered, his goal accomplished, and he would give it all up for Thane?

“Don’t do that,” Thane said, pressing a kiss to the side of Storvorn’s head. “You have what you spent your entire life working up to. Don’t throw it away because of some swordsman turned fool.”

Storvorn sniffled. “But you’re my fool.”

“And you are my king. That is why you must do as you must, not as you wish. If I had the choice,” Thane said, a smile in his voice in hopes that it might cheer Storvorn up, “I’d have you on your back before you could say my name.”

Storvorn snorted at that. “What about you, then?”

“Hm?”

“You’re still— I haven’t done anything for you.” Storvorn waved between them to indicate Thane’s hardness that he felt pressed against him.

“It will pass,” Thane said simply, shrugging. He’d rather watch Storvorn fall apart time and time again, pleasing the little king far more important to him than his own arousal. “You don’t need to do anything for me.”

“But I want to,” Storvorn said, frustrated. Thane sighed and Storvorn scowled at the denial. “Am I that undesirable?”

“Don’t you do that,” Thane said sharply. “Don’t you turn this against me because you can’t have what you want.”

Storvorn reached down between them to grasp Thane’s cock. Wary, Thane gave Storvorn space to stroke but kept an eye on the impulsive king, expecting him to do something foolish the moment he could. Storvorn bit his lip, focused on his task. Thane kept his hands tight on Storvorn’s thighs, both so he could rut the base of his shaft against Storvorn’s clit.

“Oh!” Storvorn jolted at the first thrust that actually made contact, hand pausing before returning to the task with vigor. Storvorn was determined, however, and his brow furrowed as he experimented with what made Thane’s breath catch.

The shaft under the foreskin was softer and it seemed like it felt better, or at least more strongly, from how Thane reacted. He pressed his thumb right under the crown on the bottom and Thane lost his breath. Storvorn picked up on it, rubbing against the traitorous part of him that desperately wanted to sink into the boy’s slit, grunting under his breath as the idea fanned the flames of his desire.

Storvorn nearly caught him in a weak moment after one particularly good squeeze, hovering over his cock and about to drop himself down until Thane’s hands pushed Storvorn away to straddle his knees before tugging him close once more, rough enough that they both gasped at the sensation of water currents swirling against them. Storvorn met Thane’s eyes for a moment, challenging him to see if he would stay strong. Thane met those determined green eyes with blue, keeping himself cool and in control.

Storvorn redoubled his efforts, bouncing on his lap and grinding his clit along Thane’s cock, trying to rise high enough that he could catch Thane’s cock between his thighs. Thane felt his balls pressed against Storvorn’s entrance when Storvorn dropped down, the heat calling to him. A zing of lightning went up Storvorn's back when he caught an idea, slowing his movements to try and keep his wits as he spoke.

“Just your fingers then,” Storvorn tried to compromise, knowing he almost certainly couldn’t get Thane’s cock where he wanted it so badly.

“It will still break the seal,” Thane pointed out.

“Then stay shallow,” Storvorn said as though it was obvious. Thane shook his head.

“No, Storvorn.”

“Use my ass,” Storvorn grabbed Thane’s hand to drag around and hold his cheeks. “It doesn’t count.”

Thane barked a laugh but didn’t move his hand away, groping the plush flesh in his grip. “Do you know how many have thought the same?”

Storvorn pouted and Thane felt bad that he shut Storvorn down yet again. “Well, it doesn’t count,” Storvorn muttered.

Thane shook his head, hands cupping Storvorn’s cheeks and separating them, his middle finger long enough to press against the tight hole. Storvorn’s eyes fluttered as he rutted against Thane, overacting the pleasure to tempt Thane more.

Thane didn’t say anything, mostly ignoring the bait. He looked around for oil, not wanting to admit that he might do what Storvorn asked for yet. On the other side of the tub was an entire selection, but it would mean that he had to carry Storvorn to grab it before returning. He looked at his hand; pruned. It was time to leave the tub regardless.

He stood, scooping Storvorn into his arms, and ignored the boy’s squawking. He looked the options over for a moment then grabbed a basic massage oil. With another awkward movement complicated by the weight in his arms, he grabbed the pair of towels they had set out and walked to the bed. He nearly tossed Storvorn onto the blankets but didn’t want to get them wet when the boy needed to sleep under them. He set Storvorn down and placed the towels on the bed instead. They were large enough to cover a significant portion of the fabric, and if he did spread Storvorn’s thighs around his own, there would be more than enough towel to reach from Thane to Storvorn’s head and prevent the wet hair from dampening the bedding.

Storvorn squirmed in place, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He didn’t realize how it felt being wet like this. He’d felt something like this a couple of times before, mostly looking at Thane, but never to this extent. Before, it was more akin to a soft warmth of a candle; now, a raging fireplace begging for more fuel. His lips glided against each other with no friction, soft sliding with a needful ache to be filled. He looked up at Thane from under his lashes, a hand on Thane’s chest when Thane turned back to face him. “Is that a yes?”

Thane picked Storvorn up rather than say anything and this time, he did give in to the urge and tossed Storvorn on the bed to bounce on the soft mattress. Storvorn gasped before bursting into giggles of triumph that faded into shallow breathing when Thane sat on the bed and beckoned for Storvorn to come over.

Storvorn slunk over to try and sit on his lap, but Thane kept him moving, laying down and shifting Storvorn until he was hovering over Thane’s face and facing away. Storvorn frowned in confusion. “What are you— OH!” Thane’s first lick was met with a cry so loud he was concerned that the guards might have heard, but Storvorn put his hand over his mouth to quiet the sounds, rolling down onto Thane’s tongue eagerly.

Thane laid out his tongue like a red carpet, tugging Storvorn down so he could rut against the warm muscle. Storvorn fell forward to one hand as his thighs spread, shivering. He was soaking and Thane took advantage of Storvorn’s lack of experience to distract him, licking at his clit before pursing his lips around it and sucking. Storvorn choked on a sound, arm trembling as he held himself up by sheer force of will.

“Oh Flames, Thane—” The words were muffled but Thane understood him anyway, yanking Storvorn down harder. Storvorn removed his hand from his mouth to help him better balance, whining.

He saw Thane’s cock bobbing before him and felt thirsty in a way that no drink could satisfy. Struggling not to moan too loudly, he went to his elbows and licked at the cockhead. Thane choked for a moment, not expecting it, but when Storvorn tried to pull back in worry, he tightened his grip on Storvorn to return with an “oh no you don’t” and a rough tongue between his lips.

Storvorn’s thighs were at his limit of spreading, making a thoughtless mental note to work on stretching so he could ride down lower. He was distracted not even a second later by Thane’s hips tilting upwards invitingly. Storvorn swallowed, nervous, but rested his weight on one hand, the other caressing the member like how he had learned that Thane liked.

He pressed a kiss to the length, dragging his lips down to the base before moving to the other side and doing the same. He paused at the tip, licking at it like candy, and felt Thane growl against his clit. Storvorn shivered at the vibration, breathing over Thane’s cock as he struggled not to be too loud when murmuring his prayers to the Flames.

He leaned down again, licking more aggressively before enclosing the head, lapping at it to see how Thane reacted. The man shuddered, pushing Storvorn enough to growl a command. “Suck it.”

Storvorn felt himself gush anew as he obeyed, swallowing roughly and trying to go lower. He hit his limit unfairly quickly, choking for a second before repeating the motion. It took a few tries to figure out how far he could go, his hand making up for the rest with squeezing strokes. Thane’s head fell to the bed, hissing Storvorn’s name.

Emboldened, Storvorn worked himself down the shaft, finding that limit once more. He held his breath and tried to go lower but that wasn’t quite the right motion. He closed his throat and that made it harder. It was a few aborted attempts before he figured it out, the rest of the member sliding in with rough swallows and a whine.

Thane’s hands clawed into Storvorn’s thighs to keep him close enough to lick his entrance, the wetness sweet upon his tongue. Storvorn choked again, pausing to catch his breath. He couldn’t focus anymore, not with how Thane was thrusting his tongue inside in a mockery of how he wanted to fuck him, teasing his puffy, swollen lips.

“Please please please—” Storvorn didn’t even realize he was babbling, head buried into Thane’s thigh as his hand jerked Thane off. “Flames, please please—”

“Don’t you dare move,” Thane demanded and Storvorn obediently went still, hand on Thane’s cock remembering to move every few seconds. Thane’s finger ground against Storvorn’s slit, gathering the copious slick.

“F-Flames, are you going— are you going to—”

“I said, don’t move,” Thane growled. “Or I’ll stop.”

“Yes yes, I can do that— oh Flames—” Storvorn bit his lip before he realized he was biting too hard. He didn’t want to leave an obvious mark, couldn’t give even a hint of what happened here. He brought his hand back up to cover his mouth instead. He could at least wear gloves without looking odd.

Thane’s fingers slowly, gently pressed inside. Storvorn’s eyes watered from how good it felt, the way his lips were pressed open, the hole aching for it but so tight, and Thane’s touch had to be firm to move deeper. Shallow thrusts until Thane found the barrier, fingers pulled back until there was no danger of breaching Storvorn’s honor, but it still left the tips of his fingers inside.

Storvorn was quaking, his entire body keyed up. He remembered to move his hand on Thane periodically as Thane carefully, with equally unsteady fingers, fingered Storvorn shallowly. Storvorn’s muscles were knotted from how hard he held himself back. He wouldn’t have if it were anyone else, but if it were, this never would have happened. He had Thane’s trust that he could control himself and he didn’t want to break it, not anymore.

When it got to be too much, when his thighs quivered and tears dripped from his eyes from the effort of holding himself still, he forced himself to speak. “I can’t— I need to move—”

Thane left Storvorn empty as promised, then yanked Storvorn down onto his tongue and Storvorn muffled his pleasure with his hand as he shuddered through his climax. Thane’s face was covered in Storvorn’s slick, the man not hesitating to continue the motions until Storvorn was shoving away and pushing at his face from overstimulation.

Storvorn felt boneless as he collapsed on the bed from exhaustion, guiltily looking at Thane’s hardness so close to his face. He nuzzled against it with soft sounds and pants. “Please…” he pleaded, keeping his voice low. “Let me— let me please you!”

Thane sat up, shifting Storvorn over to sit on the towel. His eyes were blown wide, panting as much as, if not more than, Storvorn. His cock was hard as stone, stiff in Storvorn’s grip. “Come here,” Thane said, sitting on the edge of the bed and guiding Storvorn down. Storvorn followed, the stone rough and slightly painful on his knees, confused but doing as he was told. It made sense a moment later when his head was right in front of Thane’s hips and his cock was at eye level.

Storvorn shuffled forward and opened his mouth to suck but Thane grabbed him by the hair. He wasn’t rough, but it was controlled. “Lick along the bottom,” Thane said, voice husky and deep. Storvorn followed the shape of Thane’s cock, flicking the tip with a cheeky swipe of his tongue. Thane forced down a moan.

His hand was tight on Storvorn but only on the tips of the boy’s hair, afraid of breaking even a single strand and hurting him. “Put your tongue under the head.” Storvorn did so, breathing over the tip as he waited for the next instruction.

Thane’s self-control was sorely tested when Storvorn looked up to meet his eyes, his face splattered with precum and need in his expression. He very nearly jerked Storvorn down to swallow him whole but held back, knowing that a little teaching now would make it all the better in the future— if there was a future. “Close your lips around the tip. Good, good,” he praised when Storvorn did. Storvorn squirmed in place, wanting to do more, taste more of the salty precum in his mouth, swallowing thoughtlessly.

Thane grunted as his hand tightened, surprised to see Storvorn’s eyes flutter at the feeling of his hair being pulled. “Deeper, keep your teeth covered.” Storvorn sank down on him slowly, a hand on a thigh, the other on the bed and clawing into the blanket. When Storvorn hit his limit, he increased his grip on Storvorn’s hair to prevent him from going any further.

“Your hand, cover the rest that you can’t suck.” Storvorn’s hand was so small and warm around his girth, stroking what he could not swallow. “Move back, keep your hand moving to the tip until you go back down to your limit.” Storvorn caught onto the rhythm quickly, focused on Thane’s pleasure to the exclusion of everything else, eyes closing. “Yes, like that.”

Storvorn swallowed and stars burst in Thane’s vision. “Keep doing that,” he said, voice shaking. “Faster. Good boy.” Storvorn whimpered around Thane’s cock and Thane smiled in amusement. “Is that what you like? Being called a good boy?”

Storvorn couldn’t nod but the hummed “mhm” worked as well, eyes wet as he opened them once more. “Keep being a good boy then, you’re doing so well for me.” Thane pushed Storvorn down a little further when his lips met his fingers, long enough for Storvorn’s breath to skip before moving Storvorn off entirely. Storvorn’s lips were tight the entire time, parting from the head with an audible pop. His mouth was open, drooling, and eyes wobbly, his hands holding onto Thane’s hips as if to stuff his mouth full once more. Thane kept him off, however, all the better to watch the boy struggle and beg wordlessly to fill himself the only way he was allowed.

A groan rumbled in Thane’s chest as Storvorn was allowed to drop down again, letting go of his hair entirely. “It’s all on you now, Stor, be good for me.”

To say the little king was eager was an understatement, almost gagging himself in the hope of going deeper, swallowing him to the root and feeling the hair against his nose and chin, to get the scent of Thane embedded into his mind as deeply as his pride was in his soul. A passing thought of Thane sitting on his throne with his cock in Storvorn’s mouth, petting his hair and telling him how good he was— Storvorn’s throat opened further and he dropped like a rock, eyes rolling into the back of his head from the feeling of Thane’s cock spreading his throat open.

Thane bit his lip, thighs tight on Storvorn’s head, stomach in knots when Storvorn moved faster. “A little more, just a moment more for me, Stor—” Storvorn tapped on Thane’s thigh to give his permission, and Thane’s hand grabbed the back of his head, shoving that little bit deeper into the tight, wet heat of his king’s throat. “Such a good boy for me—”

His balls throbbed against Storvorn’s chin as he came, filling the boy’s throat with thick cream at the same time that he grabbed a fistful of Storvorn’s hair to yank him off. Storvorn tried to dive back down but Thane’s hand kept him still, his other hand covering Storvorn’s to keep him stroking, to encourage every drop of cum to land on that pretty face. Knowing that he was the first, the only, to cover Storvorn’s face with seed was too good to allow Storvorn to swallow a drop.

Finally, his cock was done, the last spurts of cum dripping off of Storvorn’s chin, a few thick ropes caught in those raven locks. Storvorn’s eyes were bright and his lips were swollen as Thane brushed a thumb full of cum into Storvorn’s mouth. “Lick it up, swallow it for me like a good boy.” Storvorn took every drop given to him, licking Thane’s fingers clean until there was nothing left and Storvorn was mindlessly licking at his thumb in hopes of more.

Thane set his hand aside to look at his king, the boy on his knees and looking like he could fall asleep right there. Thane leaned back, making a motion for Storvorn to stand up. With great reluctance to leave the softness of the bed, he grabbed Storvorn’s hand and tugged him towards the bathing room. They needed to bathe (again) and Storvorn needed to return to his body, airheaded and fuzzy in a way that left him thoughtless.

The bath helped him come back down to earth, a gentle wipe down with the washcloth ending with him leaning against Thane, eyes closed. Storvorn opened his mouth to speak before shaking his head, nuzzling into Thane.

“What is it?” Thane asked, wiping at a mark on Storvorn’s shoulder before realizing it was a bruise from a bite.

“I wish it were different,” Storvorn said softly and Thane knew what he meant. If Storvorn weren’t a king, if Thane weren’t a fool, the world would be a much different place for them.

“I know.” There wasn’t anything that could be done about it, so he didn’t bother trying to say otherwise as he helped Storvorn out and tucked him into bed.

His hand held Storvorn’s cheek for a long moment as he struggled to move away, finding he had little strength to move away from Storvorn now that he didn’t have to hold back his desire. Storvorn’s hand raised to hold onto Thane’s, turning his head to press a kiss to his palm.

“It’s alright,” Storvorn said, both knowing that it wasn’t. His hand snaked back under the covers. He wanted to tell Thane to come into bed and sleep with him, but that would almost be worse than allowing him between his thighs. Thane’s eyes softened. He leaned down to press a kiss to Storvorn’s forehead.

“Sleep. We have politicking to do tomorrow and we need to be awake to avoid any traps.” Storvorn’s eyes closed slowly.

“Kiss me.” Thane pressed their lips together gently, separating a moment later to see that Storvorn was already asleep. He brushed a wild strand of hair back to join the rest.

Storvorn Korik was the second born prince to the quiet kingdom of Phoseon in the year 580, a beautiful land built upon mountains on the northernmost edge of the Vegrediac Tips mountain range. The land outside was buffeted by the snow blizzards that raged above them and the magma tunnels of the volcano slumbering below left the people with little space to grow, and so blossomed the Faith. Built of the duality of heat and cold, it reveled in the exchange of life and death.

He was Flametouched, born with a vagina but without breasts or a penis, a rare blessing among his people, and Storvorn found his peace in the Flames’ heat. He was a child when he heard the Snow for the first time, the cruel, icy whispers in his ear impossible to ignore. It was always so bitter cold, the ache of distrustful gazes on him encouraging the Snow’s cruelty. His coal hair was a signal to every person in the kingdom that he was born wrong because of his mother’s sins. But if he were the eldest, they would have to silence themselves lest they speak too loudly of their crown prince.

The letter opener was dull but the point was keen enough to sink into Luhen’s throat, his elder brother’s life spilling out in fat, red gushes and staining his clothing scarlet. He would be king. The crown was made for him and him alone!

He was found by his younger brother and the screaming changed everything.

Nothing was said of Luhen’s death. His passing was a mystery to the masses, some sickness that took him in the night, and they all grieved the loss of the firstborn.

He was nearly 9 when he was summoned to his father’s chambers and told his life’s plan. Storvorn was to be betrothed to a king of another land, some small city-state named Everia. 

Storvorn went through the ceremonies marking them wed in all ways but the last, too young to consummate the marriage. It meant that it was technically tenuous, that they were not really married, but it was close enough for the lessers to kneel before Storvorn where they belonged.

The Snow kept him cold at night as his guards left one by one, replaced by people that he did not trust. Only one guard was left in the end, Thane, a guard that had stood by him so long that he didn’t remember when he first met him. A noble man who chose to doff his armor in favor of a jester’s mask on arrival to better ensure Storvorn’s safety; no one would expect that the jester was originally trained as the royal guard.

Years passed and Storvorn’s simmering anger and the Snow’s cold caresses grew in tandem. His 18th birthday was coming up and the night he came of age, he would need to share the king’s bed and finalize his marriage. Disgust welled in him at the idea.

Storvorn’s ambitions led him to meet another with a similar drive, a duchess. Duchess Maghrebi told him of the magic she studied and her plans to become queen, if only there were an unmarried king that needed a queen. Storvorn found her distasteful but he followed along until they came to an agreement.

Storvorn would take tea with Seth that evening and slip poison into the cup. Once Storvorn was past his socially obligated grief, he would take her hand in his and they would rule together. She would ensure that no dagger ever met his back with guards she would magically bind to protect him. He had merely to give her a crown of her own.

The king did not wake the following morning. 

The crowning was quick and the council of nobles that confirmed the rightful king pushed to agree by Maghrebi’s backroom talks. Her demands of Storvorn became stronger as the years passed. Storvorn refused, crying for an understanding of grief to the public and stifling her efforts. Their relationship soured when she realized she’d been played.

Her return to Storvorn months later was as more than a duchess, a goddess-empowered woman who no longer desired the crown. She could control from the shadows, and as long as Storvorn did what he was told, he would stay safe and cozy on the little throne he so loved. Storvorn had been bested and he hated her. Hated her so much that even the Snow turned against her, hissing in his ear of murder more often than it spat against him.

He had been trained for the court as a child but Seth had never shown him the realities of ruling and he floundered. Malcontent grew in the hearts of the citizens, spiking forward into attempts on his life that the Snow swore was because he didn’t deserve the throne, that he had not earned it, merely stolen it. When the attempts become an occurrence to plan around rather than a rarity, Storvorn fell into the Snow’s vicious embrace.

The Snow told him how worthless he was but also of every attempt, many of which never came to be. Enough did, however, that Storvorn’s understanding of paranoia versus realistic worry was blurred and the noose began to swing with more regularity than a clock.

He grew up in a comfortable, if constantly roving, family. Never one to care about what others thought, he made his own path through life, gathering gold and knowledge. A sorcerer, he felt the thrum of magic over his skin like others feel air, able to manipulate time and feel the ticking of the clock in every heartbeat. Intelligent, but foolish, he decided to do something nobody else had done before; make a multilayered spell scroll.

He took his time, gathering spells that created fire and explosions and destruction from every corner of the plane possible, venturing to other planes to gather even more. He began his work, taking time to weave each spell into the scroll bit by bit. Arrogance was his downfall however, as the scroll worked. In fact, it worked so well that he was on his back with no recollection as to how, blood pooling out his body, seeing a leg much, much too far away, arms even further. It was due only to how much gold he spent on a daily basis that he was found. With every coin emptied from his pockets, he was healed, though had major trauma to his body.

As long as he was alive, it was enough. He would get back to how he was before, better even. New magical prosthetics replaced his arms and leg, runes crossing his body in every direction to keep his body functional. At least it meant he didn’t need to eat nearly as much, something he had never found pleasant, and could replace it with magi-packs, magical sources of energy. Expensive, but worth it.

He saved acquired 3 baby mimics to use as emotional support animals tools. One is a vest over his chest, one a band over his arm, and another acting as a bag. His hubris, but not his arrogance, tempered, he makes his way much more carefully. Ourbill likes what he cannot break, finding that few can stand up to his standards of relationships. He is unyielding, but fair. If he says he is going to do something, he will, be that punishment or reward, no matter how ridiculous the reward might be. The only creature who has yet managed to keep his interest, the only one to actually enjoy the yoke of his control, is Tillie. Pun’s eldest brother and a creature more mimic than man with a feral attitude, Tillie finds the rigid, unchanging rules comforting. He can break the rules, but he knows precisely what will happen and why, and the consistency is soothing.

He gathers gold lawfully, down to the very last bylaw and city code, manipulating the meaning however it best serves him. The memory of the explosion that nearly killed him is always in the back of his mind, and a noise too loud can cause him to immediately overthink, forcibly turning his mind to whatever it is he’s focusing on to avoid actually processing his emotions. He even turns it into a test of his own will. He uses magic that explicitly creates thunderous rumbles and explosive bursts, forcing himself through it as a means of proving to himself that he is in control. He plans now to gather gold and power, to become a mogul of merchantry and run a massive, plane spanning company that contains anything and everything a customer could wish to purchase.

He knows that not all people find Planewalkers comfortable to look at. The single large eye can be piercing, following every action keenly and obviously, especially when the owner of the eye is shrewd and looking for weakness to exploit. And so, for those weaker folk, he adopts a human form.

Pun’s hands hovered over the door, humming softly under his breath. The slight changeling’s face was hidden by a smiling, mouthless mask, as cheerful as the rogue himself. The church had been poorly secured, surprisingly, and the windows might as well have been open for the ease he had found in getting past them. But the bounty was finally before him-- if he just got the door open.

Wary of magic, Pun waved a hand over the lock beneath the knob, a ring on his finger attuned to magic remaining still. Alright then! Pun smiled brightly, pleased. Who knew what god these guys followed, but he was clearly an inattentive one. Pun reached into his waistpouch, pulling out his lockpicks and set to work, slotting in the tumbler picker and the anchor gently.

Pun’s hips swayed in time with the quiet humming, the fabric tassels attached to his waist bouncing merrily. The pick caught a tumbler with a soft click and Pun brightened, leaning closer, hood pressing against the wood grain as he tried to hear better. He even closed his eyes to focus, listening so hard to the lock that he entirely missed the footsteps behind him.

The paladin yanked Pun up by his hood, the fabric choking out a panicked “Urk!” as he was lifted to eye level. The paladin was tall, hugely so, probably ten feet, so Pun’s feet kicked uselessly a good few feet above the floor, lockpicks clattering against the painted tile. Pun’s hands flew to his neck instinctively, trying to loosen the noose his cloak had become enough for speech.

“H-hey, Knight Guy, li-listen, it’s not what-- okay, it kind of it what you think it is, but it’s for a good reas-- hhnk!” The knight’s grip tightened, pulling the fabric tighter and Pun’s words stopped with his breathing. His gloved fingers scrabbled pointlessly against his throat, desperate to grab the knot keeping his cloak together and get free.

Just as the knight’s other hand was raising, fingers clenched in a clear punch, the knot unraveled and Pun dropped like a rock. His training and practice in acrobatics and flashy moves were the only things that kept him from breaking his knees from the dead drop, managing a quick roll and springing to his feet. His hands flew to his back, grabbing for his daggers as he backstepped, pleading with the knight.

“Come on, please, I don’t wanna fight you! You’re bigger than me, it’s just not fair, you know? Feels a little one-sided and, uh, I’m not-- I’m not really a fighter, I’d prefer to just, you know, not fight, if we could maybe--” The knight slammed out with his shield, catching Pun’s attempt at dodging with just the edge of the metal against Pun’s shoulder and spinning him out.

Pun spun against the floor hard, rolling to his front, thankful for his mask protecting his face even as he watched his daggers bounce away, far out of reach. “Oh no.”

“This is the last time you steal from the temple, thief,” the knight’s voice rumbled above him as that massive hand grabbed the back of Pun’s head, pinning him to the ground. Pun began to sweat, actually worried now. He had another dagger in his boot-- well. He did, until he heard the paladin set the shield down with his other hand and dig into Pun’s skinny boots. Boot daggers were common, so he didn’t feel too surprised, but he hadn’t actually been caught in a while. What did surprise him, however, was that the paladin didn’t stop at taking the dagger out, but tugged the boot off entirely.

“W-wait, what are you--”

“Shut up. Scum like you hide weapons everywhere. I’m making sure you don’t have anything before I bring you up before the Paragon.” A knee was pressed against Pun’s back, firmly enough to ensure that he wouldn’t be able to get free, but not hard enough to quite hurt. It was heavy, and the armor dug against him, but the paladin was being remarkably gentle for the damage his sheer weight could inflict.

“Look, you don’t need--”

“I said, shut up, before I gag you.” Pun scoffed at that, but when the knee pressed harder and he felt his spine pop, he went silent.

Pun was stripped without pretense, though the knight did make the effort to leave all of the clothing intact, presumably for modesty’s sake when Pun went before his superior. It felt like mere moments passed before Pun was naked, barring the mask.

The knight shackled his wrists together, Pun inspecting them with a keen eye. At least they were pretty common manacles, and Pun had unlocked dozens like them before, so as long as he could reach his lockpicks, it wouldn’t be an issue. If he could just get to the lockpicks, a few feet away--!

Pun was let go to sit on his rump, the cloak tossed over his shoulders and clumsily tied in front of his collarbone, the knight pausing before flipping the hood up to rest over Pun’s head. Pun adjusted so he was sitting on the cloak, looking up at the massive man. Though his face was hidden, he still gave a sultry stare, letting a faint purr enter his voice as he spread his legs, putting his cock and balls on full display.

“Like what you see, paladin boy? I bet you don’t get any in your order. You must be so pent up…” Pun inclined his head pointedly at the knight’s crotch, wiggling his fingers suggestively. “I don’t mind if you take out a little of that on me. Or. Well. In me.” Pun wiggled his hips, letting his cock bounce a little, spreading his thighs a bit more to reveal his pale hole behind, leaning back onto his elbows.

The knight stopped, seemingly frozen in place in an otherwise amusing pose, one hand halfway through the straps on his shield and the other on the edge, keeping it in place. “... I’m not a knight. Or a paladin yet.”

Pun’s hidden grin grew. Hook, line, and sinker. These religious order types were always so repressed, and it sounded like this guy was still weak to the temptations of the flesh. “What should I call you then?”

“My name is too good for the likes of you.” The knight slowly set his shield down, eyes behind the slits in his helm shifting back and forth nervously as he moved to sit on his knees, fingers twitching as he couldn’t seem to stay still.

“That’s fine,” Pun answered easily, sighing softly as he shifted his weight, his cock plumping beneath the knight’s sight, rising in interest. “You can call me Thief if it makes you harder.” He was a slut for armor, and strength, and size, and this guy really just kind of ticked all the boxes. Granted, Pun was a slut to begin with; this knight-that-isn’t just met all his preferred criteria.

Pun heard the knight’s breath hitch, a shifting of his pants indicating his own burgeoning erection. The knight looked around, then came to a decision. He stood up, Pun’s pleased heat dissipating quickly in panic. “Wait, I can make it worth your while, I can--”

“Hush, or we will be found.” Pun closed his mouth quickly enough that his teeth clicked together. Ah. So it was like that.

“I can be as silent as you want,” Pun promised in a whisper. The knight scooped Pun’s clothing and weapons together in a pile, then picked up Pun bridal style, the confiscated goods hanging from his hand behind Pun’s back.

The knight peeked through the corridor before taking Pun out, slipping into what looked like a servant’s passage, taking turns left and right before pushing open a door that looked the same as any other. The knight deposited Pun on the bed, setting the bundle of Pun’s items and clothing on a table far out of Pun’s reach. The clank of his armor, however, prevented him from hearing the soft tink of a lockpick falling to the ground as he turned around to latch the door. 

Pun was swift and silent, snatching it up and sticking it in the knot of the mask straps, slipping back onto the bed and spreading his legs once more before the knight turned around. The shield was set near the door, the scabbarded sword set on a display near the shield. 

The knight looked at Pun, and though his faulds were metal, he still saw a slight shifting of the knight’s erection pushing against the armor. Still, however, the knight did not move.

Pun waited, but the knight didn’t move forward. Was he second-guessing? “Come on… haven’t you wanted to feel the heat of someone around your cock?” Gauntleted fingers clenched as the knight controlled himself, a hesitant step forward before pausing.

“Let me suck your dick,” Pun purred. “Let me show you something you’ve never had. Empty your pent up sack in my ass, paladin boy. I’ve never had someone as big as you… I bet that my ass is gonna milk you dry.” Pun leaned back more, thighs spread wide and manacled hands pulling at his cock, the eager member fat with need, the tip even pearling with a bead of pre-cum glinting in the candle light. “Please, I need it, please fuck me…”

The knight couldn’t control his soft sound at that, a low groan at the lewd display. Another moment of clear indecision, but Pun slipped his hands down further, pressing his fingers against his asshole, spreading his cheeks with a moan. The knight’s control broke and he surged forward, jerking his gauntlets off before collapsing onto his knees before Pun, hands grasping Pun’s hips and pulling him over the knight’s lap, grinding upward against Pun’s needy hole.

“Fuck,” the knight groaned, head lolling back. “I’ve never-- I don’t want to hurt--”

Pun brought his arms around the knight’s neck, the manacles behind his back, nuzzling into the knight’s shoulder. “Oil, or grease, or fat,  something slippery to ease the way,” he explained, rolling his hips against the rapidly warming metal. “Anything like that, do you have some?”

“I-- yes, yes, just wait here,” the knight, reluctantly, placed Pun back on the bed and pushed himself to his feet, looking in some drawers.

“I have nowhere better to be,” Pun joked, mostly to himself, quietly enough that the knight didn’t hear. The knight returned with a small leather bag in hand, Pun tilting his head in curiosity. 

“It’s, uh. Mutton fat. For the armor.” He seemed unsure, but Pun nodded.

“That will be perfect! If you want to unlock--”

“No.”

Pun changed tack easily, “if you want to just smear some on your cock, and finger me a little so I can fit your massive dick in, then it’ll be fine.”

The knight nodded slowly, setting the waterproof bag on the bed before undoing his belt. The faulds were separate from his breastplate and he set them aside, unbuckling his underpadding and shoving his pants down just enough to free his cock. Probably wanted to stay as clothed as possible, just in case, which Pun would normally make a teasing remark about, but he was far too distracted with the drool-worthy cock before him.

It was thick and long, befitting the knight’s massive stature, and Pun felt his mouth water at the sight. Uncut, he watched the veins pulse and the member twitch at Pun’s clear interest, weighty enough that it didn’t hold itself up straight, half slumped against the knight’s thigh.

“Holy shit…” Pun swallowed audibly, fingers clenching from desire to touch, to feel the foreskin slip back and reveal the wet, shiny head. He wanted to deep throat it, feel the weight on his tongue and taste the salty precum, feel it pulse in his throat and fill him until he was choking on cum, dripping from his lips. What he said, however, was “I want that inside of me so bad.”

The knight’s breathing shallowed and his cock jerked. “You are so lewd.”

“You have no idea, knight boy,” Pun said. “Come on, come on, get the fat so you can fuck me, please!”

The knight picked the bag up with shaking hands, pulling the drawstring and revealing the milky colored fat. He stared at it for a beat, then swiped a generous portion and reached to himself, slicking his cock with slow pulls. Pun watched as the red glans was revealed again and again, glistening with fat and precum.

“Please--” Pun whined, hips wriggling on the bed needfully. “I want you so badly!”

“Fuck…” Pun heard the knight murmur, panting lightly. He dropped his cock, grasping the fat with unsteady hands and pulling off a glob, free hand grabbing Pun by the calf. He jerked him closer to the edge of the bed, making Pun yelp in surprise. Before he could say anything, however, the knight was gently prodding at his asshole and Pun gasped, legs spread far enough that he could be doing the splits against the floor, giving the knight easy entry.

“Yes-- ye--oh!” The knight’s finger, thick as it was, still slipped inside easily, pushing the fat inside. The cold fat melted almost immediately, and the knight pulled out, making Pun groan in complaint before a second finger was opening him, turning the groan into a joyful noise. “Yes, like that, now-- now spread your fingers, spread me open and push in de-- deep-- shit, yes, good--”

The knight did as he was told, gentle but firm as he opened Pun up, other hand rubbing gentle circles over Pun’s hip. He adjusted the angle, twisting his wrist and Pun gasped, arching upwards as the knight pressed against his prostate. “Yes yes yes there, fuck, do it again, please, please!”

The knight repeated the motion, watching as Pun’s cock spurted pre-cum. “A-- another finger, I’m ready, more, more!” Pun shivered at the feeling as the knight added a third finger, feeling the slight burn of the stretch and reveling in it. His own hands rose to bite at the fingertips, moaning against his palms in a pathetic effort to keep quiet.

“Ssshh!” The knight withdrew his fingers and Pun whimpered, squirreling on the bed as he tried to follow the retreating fingers. “I’m right here.”

A few moments later of the knight slicking his cock, just to be sure, and wiping his hand off against the bed roughly, he grasped Pun’s waist, pulling him off of the bed and onto his lap, cock slipping between Pun’s cheeks. “Fuck…”

Pun rut against the knight, whining as he was lifted, looping his arms around the knight’s neck. The knight was panting in his ear, holding himself as he lowered Pun again. The blunt head caught on Pun’s hole, the tight entrance resisting. Pun breathed out, melting against the knight and relaxing his muscles. The knight’s cock slipped inside faster than either of them expected, both gasping, Pun’s back straightening as he felt the member press his walls open ruthlessly, the accidentally rough and fast entrance burning in the most delicious of ways.

“I’m sorry--!” The knight went to lift Pun, taking the groan and hissing as pain, apologetic.

“Deeper!” Pun begged, nails clawing against the knight’s back and shoulders. “Hard, and f-fast!” The knight was startled, but released Pun’s hips, letting him slip down with gravity until he was fully hilted. “Gods above, yes-- oh yes!”

The length was perfect, head rubbing against the right spot and gliding past, the girth keeping that pressure the entire thrust inside. And then the knight lifted him, slamming him back down as he rolled his hips up, forcing all air in Pun’s lungs to expel in a sharp moan. “Yes-- just like that-- don’t stop!”

Thus emboldened, the knight took to the task with vigor, bouncing Pun on his cock eagerly. Pun rested his masked face against the knight’s pauldrons, hands raising to grab at the hood for something to hold onto as he was fucked. Even as he gasped and panted, he kept his wits enough to remember the hidden lockpick.

Pun adjusted so he was more draped on the knight’s shoulders, jerking at a particularly good thrust and rubbing his cock against the knight’s breastplate. “Fuck, knight boy, you feel so good--”

Pun took advantage of a high bounce to reach behind his head and grab the lockpick, relaxing into the knight’s hold as he worked at the manacles. It was just a few moments, however, before the knight’s thrusts got faster and sloppier, thrusting harder and pausing before repeating.

“I’m gonna--” the knight warned Pun before gasping, holding Pun down so he was as deep as possible. Pun felt the faint pulses as the knight came deep inside, even the twitches of the knight’s balls, pressed as tight against the knight as he was.

Pun moaned softly, tensing and rolling his hips to encourage every last drop out. “Just like that, cum in me til I’m dripping your seed...” Pun felt the thick cream seep out as the knight gave a last few thrusts, leaving white streaks on the dark armor, a satisfaction deep in his chest at the idea that he left a filthy little mark on the knight.

“D-damn…” The knight grumbled, movements getting a little longer. “I’m still-- still hard… I didn’t know that was possible…”

Pun shivered at the sensation of the knight’s husky voice rumbling through his body. “Keep going, fuck me til you’re satisfied. I haven’t come yet, after all.” Pun bounced lightly on the knight’s dick, humming as he felt the knight struggle with overstimulation. “Come on, knight boy, don’t leave me hanging.”

The knight groaned, reaching under Pun’s arms, hands over Pun’s shoulders and palms on Pun’s back, pulling Pun down as Pun sunk on his dick, grinding against his prostate perfectly and making Pun writhe uselessly against the knight’s chest.

“Faster!” Pun pleaded, but the knight kept his thrusts slow and deep, and Pun’s toes curled at the sensation, panting out soft whines. “O-ohh gods…”

The knight took his time, forcing Pun to deal with the slowly ramping speed. As much as Pun begged and demanded faster, the knight was insistent on the steady pace, the patient burn making him really feel each and every inch of the knight’s cock as it inexorably forced him open again and again. Pun panted against the inside of his mask, feeling boneless as the wet slapping sounds echoed in his ears. The knight’s cum made the fucking even easier, the filthy noise of their coupling loud in the empty room, Pun’s moaning having reduced to little whines and whimpers.

Pun’s hands followed muscle memory, using the increased noises to cover the lock picking, the manacles releasing quickly. Pun caught the locks, holding them in one hand as he rode against the knight, the adrenaline of getting out of the cuffs translating right into his dick. He rut against the knight, whining at the lack of sensation against the armor, shoving himself down more roughly. Now that he was free, he could focus entirely on the feeling of that fat cock spearing him open.

“Mmm, faster, faster,” Pun complained, trying to drop down harder on the knight, who simply chuckled. The laughter was the only warning before Pun was suddenly bear hugged around his waist, kept still as the knight leaned forward, letting Pun’s upper half rest against the bed with the knight resting his own weight on his knees. The position gave him more leverage, and he immediately put it to good use, thrusting into Pun hard and fast.

Startled, Pun moaned, the sound rising in pitch until it was nearly a scream, cock bouncing against his own stomach and liberally spraying precum. The knight shoved a hand between them, grabbing Pun’s cock and jerking him off as roughly as he was fucking him, and Pun’s sounds only increased. 

Pun’s mask had been shoved up in the commotion, revealing his mouth, and he put it to good use trying to silence himself by shouting his pleasure against the knight’s neck. The under armor padding was perfect to bite into, howling as his prostate was struck again and again, the knight’s calloused hand nearly sharp against Pun’s cock, thumbing the head until Pun was screeching with full body shudders.

Vague words were mixed into the sounds, all positive and praising and only rising in pitch as his own orgasm approached. He couldn’t even warn the knight, but the vice-like convulsions of his ass was warning enough, the knight choking out a noise of his own before thrusting harder, longer, slower thrusts right against Pun’s prostate.

The cum spurted from Pun’s cock, a dribble with every thrust against his prostate milking him for all he was worth, sobbing against the knight in pleasure. The knight thrust in once, twice more before stilling, groaning lowly as he came again in Pun, the changeling weeping as he scratched at the knight’s back, noises that sounded akin to “yes” and “thank you” dripping from his lips.

They stayed in place for a few moments, which in Pun’s state of only vaguely understanding time, could have been anywhere from seconds to minutes. Pun twitched as the knight pulled out, feeling cum drip out of his ass liberally, shuddering at the sensation, trying to clench and keep it inside. But, fucked loose as he was, there was no stopping the filthy mess.

Pun was the first of his kind (changeling), but was not a natural creation. His "father" was a awakened mimic wizard, part of a large, black market corporation. Pun, then named Glaukos, was not the only creation his mimic "father" made, Pun's "brothers" being an Aberration and a Doppelganger, all the first of their species. 

Growing up as a specimen was miserable, though Vinnie (Pun's father) did legitimately care about them and love them. Pun was the golden child, as much as a laboratory specimen could be, and as a result got the majority of Vinnie's attention, giving Pun a great people sense. Pun instinctively watched people, learning how to interact by copying their actions and words, learning that he could do so much more than simply copy people. He could become them.

With this newfound knowledge, Pun broke out of his captivity as a young teen and struck out in the world, hoping to find a path of his own, taking a new name that better fit him: Pun. His father knew, and did not pursue— he had problems of his own that needed tending, including getting out of that corporation, but Vinnie's story is for another time. Pun, a poor and sheltered child, did not know how to find safe employment, and with his changeling skills, he went for the most profitable and easy path; thievery. He joined a Thieves’ Guild, working through them rather lazily and pushing boundaries, knowing that his unique abilities made him hard to replace. 

He gained a boyfriend when he was 15— but it was not a good relationship. His boyfriend, Victor, was a human man of 20 who took great pleasure in grooming Pun into exactly what he wanted Pun to be. Pun, already feeling abandoned when his father didn’t try to find him, latched onto the man with all the eager gullibility of a teenager, his sense of self and life revolving around the man.

Victor was a subtle worker, taking Pun’s confidence in himself and breaking him down bit by bit with casual, patient barbs. It was a death of a thousand cuts; statements like “it’s alright, Pun… Nobody can expect someone without ears to hear anything anyway” were common and only got meaner. As their relationship progressed over the next few years, the backhands became more and more cruel, culminating in making Pun afraid to show his real, natural face, deeming it the face of a “gross little maggot.” Victor was quick to gaslight Pun and played sweet with him in private, praising Pun for “looking so pretty for him” when Pun borrowed one of the boyfriend’s random and ever changing lusts.

It took multiple years before Pun began to realize how cruel the relationship was, and then only when the abuse became more and more overt. Physical backhands for “speaking out of turn” were the norm and rape under the guise of “you never say no anyway, so shut up, you know crying makes me sad” were the only sexual activities they had at that point. Pun’s joy, quality of life, or pleasure was never considered important or even worthy of being entertained. Even other members of the Thief's Guild looked uncomfortable and awkward, and they were hardly paragons of morality, often more stabby than talkative. 

It came to a head in their final mission together. It was a joint effort to sneak into a minor noble’s bedroom and steal away an heirloom, and for their skill at that point it should not have been as difficult as it was. Before the mission, however, Pun had been abused quite thoroughly, along with the accumulating aches and declining mental state. His balance was off due to weak legs, his voice was hoarse because his throat hurt, and bruises littered his body. He was in no condition for something as intense as the guards that rushed out, having been tipped off.

Pun was the look out, hiding on a roof nearby after actually capturing the heirloom, watching as his boyfriend was apprehended by the guards. Pun clutched the bag to his chest, watching and unsure of what to do. He wanted to help Victor. But he also desperately wanted to run away, afraid of both Victor and the guards, and not sure which he feared most. He knew that the moment he did leap into action to defend his boyfriend, he would be overwhelmed in the same way. But if he didn’t and Victor managed to free himself, he would look for Pun and punish him afterwards. There was no winning.

With the ache of his body weighing on him, the abuses piling up and weakening him, his emotions dulled from the pain he had endured, he couldn’t move to do anything. He was going to lose out either way, and the guards gave him at least one out, and at that, one that would end the other danger. Hope bloomed in him, a weak and flickering flame, that he might actually escape the hell his relationship and life had become.

His perch on the edge of the building was hard to balance on, and with that minor hope in his chest, Pun stepped back, denying Victor his help. Victor howled in fury, swearing curses and promising dire consequences if he was not released. The guards were less than amused with Victor’s struggling and fighting. After a minute of trying to force Victor to give in, the guards’ patience wore out. They were not city guards, but mercenaries, and had been authorized for any actions providing it protected the noble they served. Their tolerance for bullshit was low, and with the trouble he had been causing, along with making a solid few hits on the guards when defending himself, the guards stopped trying to hold back.

Pun watched a dagger slam into his boyfriend mid scream, cutting his yelling off immediately into choked gasps. Pun pulled his hood up, vowing right there and then to never give anyone that kind of power over him again.

Pun took his now ex-boyfriend’s face to be his most often used human disguise. Though he fiercely hates him, the sting of bittersweet love there once was couldn’t be forgotten. There had still been moments of joy between them, and though he was aware of how horrible the relationship was, emotions made little distinction in what should be and what was. Pun got no true sense of closure, only a violent and abrupt ending to the relationship, and it left him adrift for a time, not knowing who or what he really was.

He broke away from the guild and searched for a purpose of his own making, refusing to obey anyone else or be tied down with any sort of commitment. After all, if he didn't care about anyone, nobody would care about him, and that meant nobody could hurt him again. Pun did many things to get by, including theatrics, acrobatic shows, even some musical shows, but never really found his groove. Pun eventually went to a brothel and offered his services, and found peace in the easy money to be had by pretending to be someone else and spreading his legs. Naturally, the brothel wanted to keep him as a permanent member, and after an uncomfortable altercation with the house mistress, Pun left to wander the world.

Now, he sells his skills as a thief and assassin as easily as he sells his body, shameless in his own desires and urges. He does not value himself highly, and as such puts himself into sketchy situations often just to prove to himself that he can get out of them. His spite keeps him going most days, and the mental numbing combined with physical pleasure keeps him going the rest.

Art Credit: Naut