#todolf implications

All three blondes are there when he arrives - the King, ethereal as ever, seated with a silvery veil across his knees. The Hunter, skulking in the darkness, eyes flashing at the light. And the Warrior, watching like the king, but with eager eyes.

“My prince.” Ru- Tod, he is Tod now. The memories always linger in the Warrior’s presence, and more at his speech.

A single tap of the King’s finger later Tod is flowing to his knees in a gesture they all know well and laying his head at the King’s knee, the veil cool and smooth against his cheek.

“Your skill with the veil-” The King speaks rarely, but even when his voice is soft it is impossible to ignore. “Leaves something to be desired.”

Tod wants to glare at the Warrior, for it must have been him that told. But the King is the King. Perhaps he simply knows. 

A cold hand - the King’s hand - adjusts his head to the side, where the Hunter is seated with a similar veil over his knees. A moment later it is fluttering through the air in a graceful arc, though Tod finds his gaze wandering to the toned body of the Warrior. 

“Were you even watching?” There is almost amusement in the King’s voice.

“Yes.” Tod replies. Because technically the King hadn’t asked who he had been watching. 

Fingers twine into his hair, making a small adjustment so his eyes are once more on the Hunter.

“Again.” The Hunter obliges. The material flows like water almost, the motion endless and natural, the drop of the fabric perfect. Tod’s eyes still drift to the Warrior’s form, and he knows it - the quirk of his inviting lips certainly says that much.

“Switch places.” The Hunter passes the veil over to the warrior, and Tod’s eyes remain affixed on him as he adjusts the veil so it lies across his lap.

“Again.” The movement of the material is hypnotic, Tod’s eyes watching as it goes up, then down, resting just behind the warrior. The Warrior, with his perfect angelic visage. And Tod wants.

“You try.” The hand in his hair is gone and Tod stumbles to his feet, taking the veil that the Warrior places in his hands and sitting where his friend had, trying to get the veil to lie correctly. It just doesn’t want to, creasing wrong, not flowing like it had for the others.

He hears a scoff - the Hunter, no doubt, and he glances up, scowling at the pretty blonde only to catch the King’s eye. Get on with it.

Tod realizes his foot is still on the veil two moments too late to do anything about it, and instead of slipping up and into the air as it had before, the veil only makes a few jerky movements before falling right back where it had started. Tod’s cheeks burn red, and he hears the snickers from the Hunter.

On a whim, he hurls the veil in his compatriot’s direction to the shock of said compatriot. It hits him about a moment later that he’s already disobeyed the King. Well fuck. Better make sure it is worth it. He wouldn't say he hurls himself into the Warrior’s arms, but Tod is Tod - he can be demanding with his kisses if he wants.

The Warrior certainly isn’t complaining as he pulls Tod closer, claiming another kiss. It isn’t often that they get to kiss anyone more than once. 

The Hunter is still sputtering when they part a few moments later, but the King almost seems to approve. Then again, Tod still isn’t all that good at reading the King.