#YOU EVEN GOT DAMENS DIMPLE

[kybelles]

egeria lives au where she meets laurent at the beginning of kings rising

read on ao3

~

The first thing he notices is how youthful she looks.

If he has his numbers right (and he does, he does) she should be close to sixty. Yet, lounging on her divan while two bulky male slaves fan her with giant leaves, Queen Egeria doesn’t look a day older than forty.

She is also one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen.

Her emotionless hazel eyes follow him like a cat as he comes closer. She doesn’t look like a woman who was held captive by Kastor and only recently got rescued by Nikandros at all. Inside her regal purple dress and with golden laurels in her hair, she looks every bit like the queen she is.

When he stands right in front of her, Laurent bows his head just the appropriate amount. From a prince to a queen. “Madam,” he says. “I was advised to come and greet you.”

The words are spoken in Veretian and he doesn’t use the correct title for queen in Akielon either. His words also imply he wouldn’t appear before her if it wasn’t for the insistence of his advisors.

He is the perfect picture of insolence. And what’s the point of impressing Egeria of Akielos now, anyway? Laurent has already burned down that ship. Burned and spread the ashes to the wind.

The queen’s catlike gaze doesn’t waver. Slowly, she looks at him from head to toe. “Laurent of Vere,” she says in a perfectly clear Akielon. “We heard you kept our son as a slave. That you beat him, whipped him, humiliated him in numerous ways.”

An icy shiver runs down on Laurent’s spine but his face remains neutral. As always. “I’m not sure what madam wants me to say. Would you like me to give you a detailed narrative?”

Rather than getting irritated, Egeria of Akielos slowly smiles. Laurent’s hand subtly clenches into a fist behind him when he sees a familiar dimple on her cheek.

“A sharp tongue,” she says in a terribly soft voice. “A vicious persona and a face that looks like it was carved by angels. No wonder my son was besotted with you.”

The implication that Damen was only interested in him because Laurent happened to match his tastes is so infuriating, so hurtful that it renders Laurent speechless. Egeria doesn’t seem bothered by his silence.

“I bet you wanted revenge for what happened,” she continues in the same softness. Her pronouns have changed from we to I. From queen to mother. “I bet you thought your treatment of him was justified. You thought he deserved it. You enjoyed making him miserable and watching him suffer. Men like you always find pleasantries in the most honorless practices.”

Men like him.

Men like his uncle. Men like Kastor.

His voice is nothing but a deadly whisper. “He killed my brother.”

“Princely blood, shed at war.” Egeria takes a small sip from her goblet. “If you had a shred of my son’s dignity, you would have faced him fairly, prince to prince.”

Something finally snaps in Laurent as a smile spreads on his face. “But Damianos wasn’t sent to me as a prince, was he?” he says, his soft tone matching Egeria’s. “He was kept in a cage like a wild animal, flung at my feet like he was the lowest creature ever existed… By your stepson, in case madam needs a reminder. I wonder what she was doing while her son was slowly surrendered by traitors.”

For a moment, he thinks he has won. Egeria’s fingers that are wrapped around her goblet tighten for a few painful seconds before she chuckles, waving him away as if he’s merely a misbehaving boy.

The treatment is so familiar that his mouth fills with bitter poison.

“We have no interest in explaining ourself to you.” she speaks serenely, her beautiful chin raised pridefully. “Dire circumstances force us to keep up this grotesque misalliance with Vere but beyond that, we don’t wish to endure your company more than it is necessary. Know that and act accordingly.”

Suddenly, Laurent is hit with the most unwelcome urge to cry. Even after the recent events, he can’t remember the last time he felt this small and insignificant.

His wounded shoulder throbs. His trampled pride gets another brunt, even though he didn’t think it was possible.

He recalls a few brief anecdotes Damen has told about his loving, fierce lioness of a mother. Desperately, even though he knows he has no right, he aches to see a glimpse of her, instead of this woman who looks at him with such great contempt.

“Madam doesn’t need to worry.” he finally says. “After the war is done, I shall go back to my country and I doubt we’ll ever encounter each other again.”

“After the war is done, you may go to hell for all we care.” Egeria says boldly. “Now, leave.”

[mfingenius]

Hey! I absolutely love your writing and was wondering if you could something with Damen constantly talking about Laurent where he works and Laurent sounding too good to be true so none of his coworkers believe him (or the roles reversed)?

The thing is, Damen isn’t crazy. 

At least, Nikandros thinks he isn’t; they’ve been best friends for over twenty years, and he knows Damen is usually a very realistic person, if naive and optimistic. Apart from that, Damen has no trouble getting people into bed. He’s never wanted a serious relationship, and he’s always enjoyed sleeping around, and it’s never really been a secret. 

Which is why Nik doesn’t understand why he’s making Laurent up.

From other people, people who can’t get a date, he gets it, but from Damen?

And what’s even worse, Damen is refusing to even tell him that Laurent is made up! Nikandros has always been in on his lies before, however few of them, so this is an entirely unprecedented situation, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

“So,” he asks, carefully. “How’s Laurent?” 

Damen smiles blindingly up at him. “Good. He just got a promotion at work.”

“Right,” Nik says dubiously. He clears his throat. “And, uh. Where is he?”

He’d come over to Damen’s in an attempt to finally get this to stop; after Damen had told him they’d moved in together, he knew this had gone too far.

“He went back to Vere for a couple days,” Damen says sadly, eyes flicking back to the TV where they’re watching a football game. “To visit his brother.”

“Oh,” Nik says. “Right.”

He wonders if it’s time to talk to a psychiatrist.

*

“You don’t bite your pens,” Nik says with a frown, when he takes one from Damen’s coffee table to sign one of their work documents. 

“What?” Damen asks, looking over. “Oh. No. Laurent bites things when he’s nervous.”

Nik squints at him. “Right.”

*

“What the fuck, Damen?” Kastor asks, when Damen takes off his shirt; Nik and Damen go to the gym together regularly, and, sometimes, Kastor joins. Nik turns around to look at what he’s looking, and catches sight of telling scratch-marks down his friend’s back. “Who did this?”

Damen grins sheepishly. “Oh. Laurent. He has sharp nails.”

Nik is beginning to think Laurent is not made up, but a very hostile cat. 

"Right,” he says. 

*

“He’s making Laurent up, right?” Lazar asks, squinting; they’re all huddled outside of Damen’s office, watching as he talks to ‘Laurent’ on the phone, grinning so widely his dimple’s showing. “There’s no way this guy is real.”

He just can’t be; from what Damen’s told them, Laurent just keeps sounding less and less like a real person; apart from the fact that he seems to be taken straight out of Damen’s every fantasy and dream, he just cannot be real; he’s too much of a contradiction, too many unanswered questions, a person like that simply does not exist.

“We all think so,” Pallas agrees. “But why would he do that? He’s never done that before.”

“He’s stopped sleeping around.” Nik says, because that’s the weirdest part of this. “I think this might be a serious problem.”

“Someone has to ask him,” Pallas says.

“We can’t just tell him,” Aktis says. “Let’s invite him and Laurent over. When he doesn’t show, we can try to talk to him about it.”

Nikandros nods.

*

Laurent, evidently, doesn’t show; Damen tells them he had a migraine, and then begins babbling about how kind and great and gorgeous his boyfriend is, so no one really has the heart to tell him he’s making it up. 

So they don’t.

They just go along with it, and continue inviting him and Laurent to things, to which Laurent never shows.

Until he does.

*

“I’m sorry I’m late.” The blonde doesn’t have a single drop on him, despite it being pouring outside. “I couldn’t get out of work.”

“They need you there,” Damen smiles widely up at him, and gladly accepts a kiss on the lips; Nik’s, Pallas’s, Lazar’s, and Aktis’s mouths are hanging open. “Guys, this is Laurent, Laurent, these are - why are you all staring like that?”

Nik can’t bring himself to close his mouth.

“You’re Laurent?” he asks, strangled. 

“Yes?” Laurent raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow, and Nikandros doesn’t know how, but he already fits Damen’s contrite description so well he cannot possibly be a hired actor.

“You exist?” Lazar asks.

Damen frowns at them. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“We - we thought you were making him up!” Pallas exclaims. “You - it was all too suspicious!”

“Suspicious?” Laurent asks.

“Yes!” Nik says defensively. “You never showed up to anything, you’re literally taken out of Damen’s dreams, and you’re - you don’t seem real.”

Laurent’s other eyebrow raises. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Before Nik can say otherwise, Laurent continues calmly. “I never showed up to anything because I’m Vere’s ambassador in Ios and my work is crazy, I assure you I’m not literally taken out of Damen’s dreams, and I am real.”

“Also, there are pictures of him all over my desk.” Damen points out coolly.

“What?” they all ask.

“You have some very poor observational skills for a private security company,” Laurent remarks mildly, and Nik can only stare blankly.

----------------------------------------------

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[mrs-amber]

speaking.

So, I found this prompt by @writing-prompt-s​ and couldn’t help myself. This was not exactly what this prompt was about, but here we go... A short fic in which Laurent doesn’t like talking and still get’s Damen’s attention.

[Read it in Ao3]

---------------------------------------------------

“But Auguste, I almost don’t see you around anymore.” He could feel he was pouting as he trailed after his brother, who took a moment looking at his outfit in the mirror before answering.

“I know, Lau… I’m sorry, I didn’t expect you’d be comfortable going out, so I never bothered.” He came closer to his younger brother, sitting beside him on the bed and shuffling his hair.

“Yes, I know…” He began and stopped, thinking of the best way he could say what he wanted. “I just didn’t expect that you’d go to college and forget we ever hang out together.” And that’s not how he wanted to sound at all.

“Oh, come on, Laurent. Would you like to go out with us, then?” His eyes were bright at the prospect. Laurent wasn’t super excited.

“God, why do I love you anyway?” He exhaled and dropped himself on the bed in a dramatic gesture. “I feel like I won’t have a better chance than this…” He stared at his brother, who had a smirk on his face.

“What if I tell you we can keep pretending you’re deaf?” And the wicked smile Laurent gave him was answer enough.

He couldn’t exactly tell when it began, but he never bothered to correct anyone, so it didn’t matter anymore. He had always been a quiet kid, prefering to read books and stay away from other kids whenever he could. It didn’t change much as he grew up. His mother was deaf and that’s why he learned at such a young age to communicate through the language of signals. At some point in his life, someone must have seen him communicating with her and his family, since they always talked through signals when she was around, and must have supposed that it was him the deaf one. 

It became an inside joke when he went out with his closest friends or his brother, they never expected him to interact outside their group and inside it he was almost as quiet. When they wanted him to pay attention or answer anything, they would communicate through signals. 

Laurent and his brother had almost the same age, barely a year of difference, they were in different years at school and took different classes, but they had the same friends and hung out with the same people. When his brother graduated, the only one who knew he wasn’t deaf was Ancel, a red haired boy that he was friends with since he was 9 years old and moved to this school. 

When they heard a honk outside, Auguste pushed Laurent out of the door of his room and downstairs to the exit. There was a friend of his who had come to pick them up, Damianos or something. Auguste introduced them, telling Damen who was him and then turning and telling Laurent the same, but through signals. 

Damianos’ eyes were already glued to him from where he was seated in the driver's seat and they went large when he realised what Auguste was doing and what it meant. He didn’t know how to react, considering he had no clue on how to speak through signals, his only reaction being a bright smile and an apologetic expression as he turned to yell at Auguste.

“How could you not have told anyone your brother couldn’t hear? How am I supposed to communicate now that I can’t even say ‘hi’?” There was another man seated in the front seat, and he was muffling a laugh as the brother’s got in the backseat of the car. Nikandros, he would later on learn his name. He looked a lot like Damianos, only a bit smaller. If only you could call it small.

“Oh, he can read lips, you know?” This made Damen blush, and wasn’t that dimple in his left cheek adorable? “But if you want we can teach you some words.” He said the last part lifting one eyebrow to his brother, making Laurent himself feel his face warming up when he turned to offer Damen a shy smile.

The following weeks Laurent was glad to say he saw more and more of his brother, even if it was almost always with his other friends. And not that he was complaining about that, since they always treated him very well. Some of them were actually making an effort to learn how to communicate with him through signals. Especially Damen who still didn’t seem to be over the fact he couldn’t properly talk to him and trailed after him whenever they went to help and always looked really disturbed when he couldn’t understand and had to call for Auguste to translate what Laurent said. Laurent found it really adoring and almost felt guilty for not telling him he could actually hear what he said and spare him the effort of trying. Almost, because he was really interested to know the lengths Damen would go just to understand him and make him feel comfortable. There must be a point where it would all come down and he would understand why he did it, someone couldn’t be interested in him that much just for the sake of it.

They would come to their place and watch movies, with subtitles of course, drink and play games, or they would go out to the beach, mall, movies, clubs or anything else they had in mind. Laurent was beginning to feel like he once more belonged somewhere, and it made him dizzy.

There was this one time they had gone out really late, it was a tuesday and all bars and clubs were closed. Nikandros and Auguste were really desperate for alcohol and said they couldn’t waste such a beautiful starry night without getting drunk and going somewhere they could really appreciate it. Laurent knew it was only because it was their last week at College that semester and they just wanted to celebrate. He offered to drive them, but Damen was already with keys in hand and said he would enjoy it more if he could properly see the stars once they arrived, and Laurent couldn’t contradict him.

Damen took them to a small beach he knew almost outside town, where the stars could be seen with little interference and where they could lay down in a pier that went deep into the calm waters. Nikandros and Auguste were already drunk from the cheap wine they had bought in the way and they were loud. Laurent could understand why Auguste would like to drink with Nik, since they had complementing personalities while sober but you couldn’t really tell who’s mind was thinking when they were drunk. They had horrible ideas and the other would just get along with it in a heartbeat and not even question their choices. And that’s why now they could see both of them running through the beach, already without shoes, racing toward the rocks at the end of it.

“God, I just hope they don’t get each other killed.” Laurent thought and had to remind himself that he wasn’t supposed to talk in Damen’s presence. It was a task that was getting harder everyday, the more comfortable he got and the more he wanted them to have a proper interaction with each other. He just couldn’t bring himself to cross that point, thinking Damen would lose his interest in him as soon as he realised Laurent wasn’t that big of a deal and didn’t have the ‘deaf situation’ to help.

They walked together to the end of the pier, where Laurent took off his shoes and sat at the edge to put his feet in the water, propping himself in his hand behind his back. Damen sat by his side, feet in the water. He took a long breath and then laid on his back to stare at the sky. The breeze was fresh and wet and played with Laurents hair, as he pulled some lost strands from his eyes. There were some sea birds fishing and sometimes you could hear a fish jumping and then falling again in the water. 

Damen moved his legs a bit and now he could feel his warmth spread through the layers of cloth and send shivers through his skin.

“You know, this would be a lot easier if you could at least hear me…” Damen started talking and Laurent felt himself freeze at the spot, before scolding himself to a relaxed position again. He wasn’t supposed to be hearing this, so he pretended he wasn’t.

“But I also think I wouldn’t be able to do this if you could…” He continued and his voice was barely beyond a whisper. “Since the first time I saw you, I knew it wouldn’t be easy and I would be doomed if I didn’t try. And here we are now, and I feel so stupid for not being able to tell you this in a proper way. I don’t even know how you feel about most things but I wouldn’t fool myself into thinking that you’d be comfortable if I asked anyone to translate any of this.” He exhaled and moved a bit. Laurent wouldn't turn around to know what it was, too shocked to do anything but stare at the sky ahead. 

“I know it’s too soon, but I think I’m in love with you. I think I have been since I laid eyes on you that first day, but I only realized how fucked I was the first time I heard you laugh…” He laughed and Laurent felt his heart flipping in his chest. He couldn’t help when he turned to look at him, his expression so tender and his eyes so soft and Laurent finally realized what all those looks he saw in the past weeks meant.

“What did you just say?” He gasped and brought a hand to cover his mouth. Damianos eyes went wide and he could swear he saw him pale.

[goldencuffs]

ok idk if this has been done before but hear me out. call me by your name au with elio!laurent and hot older oliver!damen 🤤 (happy ending tho bc i’m not a masochist) all this talk of older damen being hot as all hell got me THINKING

!!!!!!!! idek if this is ask is meant for me but as someone who genuinely loves the movie (not so much the book lol) i can get on board with this!!

also......on a completely different note....i actually have a wip that is heavily inspired by call me by your name. it takes place in summer, features postgrad damen who is helping out professor aleron, and laurent who is very smitten with damen and his muscles. here is a snippet from it (aka the only part that is semi edited):

It isn’t until Rochert tells everyone on the football team that Laurent is a desperate, whorish, cock-hungry slut that Damianos finally begins paying attention to him.

Damianos, or Damen, as he insists on being called, is Papa’s latest research assistant. Every year, Papa promises a sedulous student of his free residence in their guest house for an entire year, while cultivating said student’s brilliance. It’s part of Papa’s grand plan to create as many philosophers in a “philosophically unchallenged era”. Usually, the students have to dedicate a certain number of hours a week to help Papa research new material for his classes, grade papers, and translate niche, long poems no one besides patrons in Introduction to Classics reads. Damen himself is an enigma; he’s at the very least 6’ 5”, quite possibly taller, especially when he wears boots, bronzed, dimpled, and he spends nearly all his free time at the gym, on the field, or in the kitchen with Mama, sampling a bizarre new creation of hers.

He has also been the object of Laurent’s fascination and sexual dreams for the last three months. In fact, upon meeting Damen for the first time, Laurent’s first thought had been, I want him on top of me. Since then, his initial inner monologues haven’t deviated much. The only problem is this: despite Laurent’s continuous efforts to get Damen to grunt more than one syllable in his direction, Damen doesn’t seem to ever notice him. Even when Laurent lingers around the guest house doorway wearing his limited-edition Givenchy jacket and jeans that are a size too small, all Damen ever does is give him a polite, mostly uninterested nod.

At the end of the third month of pining with little reciprocation, Laurent decides that pursuing Damen is an unworthy, impossible task. His mind is mostly made up, until one Tuesday afternoon, as Laurent is leaving for his Philology class, Auguste and Damen come barrelling in through the kitchen doors, instead of through the patio doors.

The patio doors offer a direct path to the guest house; after a particularly vigorous training session, Auguste and Damen directly head through there to get high and drink. Auguste can’t do that anywhere besides the guest house; he had insisted on living on campus, with his other football teammates, even though their house is down the road from university, and at most, a five-minute walk.

Laurent is too distracted by the tightness of Damen’s shirt around his biceps to actually notice Auguste, until his brother pushes him to the side in order to get to the freezer.

“Oh my god!” Laurent gasps. Auguste is bleeding heavily. There’s red smeared all over his nose, dripping into his lips as he tries to stop the flow. Wrapping a paper towel around some ice cubes, Auguste tilts his head down. Damen hovers over him, saying something that is too quiet for Laurent to pick up on.

Laurent breathes in sharply through his nose; the dizziness he feels is sudden. He sits down at the dining table, a hand pressed to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut.

“You alright?” Damen calls out from the other side of the kitchen. He’s handing Auguste more ice. Laurent can’t even celebrate the fact that Damen is addressing him because he thinks he might pass out.

“Mmm hmm,” he says, or at least tries to.

“He’s scared of blood,” Auguste says. His voice is muffled around the paper towel.

A moment later, there’s a glass of water being placed down near his elbow. Laurent looks up at Damen, who isn’t quite smiling. He says, “Drink up. It might make you feel better.”

By the time Laurent has finished drinking his water, with shaking hands and a dry mouth, Auguste seems to be in better shape. There’s no more blood all over his face, just a streak of mud on his temple and sweat in his hairline.

“What happened to you?” Laurent asks. “Thanks,” he adds belatedly to Damen, who only nods, already back to his usual stoicism around Laurent.

He’s surprised by the anger twisted in Auguste’s features; Auguste is rarely antagonistic. “Do you know what that motherfucker Rochert has been saying about you?” Auguste’s voice is a brittle, biting sound.

Laurent almost says who? It takes him more than a few seconds for the name to register in his mind. When it does, he blushes, hard. “Um.”

He has a concrete idea of what Rochert could have said to piss Auguste off to this degree. The changing rooms aren’t soundproof, and yesterday, when Laurent had dropped off some papers to Damen as a favour to his father, he had heard Rochert’s booming voice telling Jord and Orlant that Laurent was a slut, always ready for cock.

Damen had stepped out of the changing rooms the moment Rochert had said, “He’s a straight up whore. Seriously. My cock was on fire and he still wasn’t satiated.”

His voice had carried into the space between them. It was as though Rochert was standing next to them; his voice was clear and unbroken.

Damen’s eyebrows had risen. Laurent, face hot, fumbled with the papers. “Here.” He shoved them into Damen’s hand.

Damen, wearing his letterman jacket and smelling like a generic soap brand, took them. For a moment, it looked as though he was going to say something. Then he smirked, and his eyes travelled over Laurent’s body in a leisurely place. It was the kind of once over someone promising a good fuck would do. Laurent had felt like his whole body was on fire, and not just his face.

Damen said, “Thanks,” smirk still firmly locked in place, before he turned around, heading towards the coffee shop.

On his walk to the other side of campus, Laurent had managed to convince himself that he had just been imagining the look. Damen had been staying with them for three months now, and in that span of time, the only thing he had said to Laurent that was longer than two syllables was, Does your dad stock any Patran dictionaries? It wasn’t conceivable that Damen now would suddenly look at him like he was a five-course meal.

Now, however, Laurent swears Damen is giving him the same kind of look, even if his mouth is set tight.

Still, there are more pressing matters right now. Taking in Auguste’s rumpled jersey and his glittering eyes, Laurent makes his conclusion. “Did you hit him?”

“Did I –” Auguste breaks off with a slow, incredulous shake of his head. “Yeah, I hit him! That little shit was saying the most disgusting things about you.”

Laurent recalls the conversation from yesterday. “I mean, it’s not – he isn’t that bad.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Auguste is getting more incensed. He’s practically vibrating with anger, hopping from one foot to the other. “Look Laurent,” he begins, and Laurent mentally groans; Auguste has gone into his lecturing mode. “It doesn’t matter who you sleep with or what your tendencies are in the bedroom, you never let someone talk about you like that. Alright? Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” Laurent says dutifully.

“I can’t believe the nerve of that guy,” Auguste says. “Apparently he’s been spouting this bullshit for a while now; he just waits until I’ve left practice. It’s lucky I forgot my wallet in my locker today.”

Laurent hums. Truthfully, he doesn’t care what Rochert – or the other football guys – say about him. Aside from a comment here or there, they don’t ever talk to him anyway.

Regardless, he’s touched by Auguste’s protectiveness.

“Thanks,” he says. “For protecting my honour and all that.”

Auguste throws him a fond, exasperated look. “Don’t thank me. Just… you know.”

“Yes,” says Laurent.

Damen says, “You going to class?” even though he knows Laurent has classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

“Yes,” says Laurent. “Philology.”

“I took that in first year too. If you need any help, let me know.”

“...Thanks,” says Laurent.

[jadejedi]

Love is a burning thing (1/7) A Captive Prince AU

Summary: Laurent doesn’t remember the first time he met Damen, or his family. It didn’t really matter when they had first met, because Laurent had known his whole life that the Akielons were loud, obnoxious, irresponsible, and stupid.

Or

A rival ranch AU

on ao3 here.

A/N: Fic and chapter title from my favorite country song of all time, Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire. This fic is inspired by my recent habit of listening to my “Country Music I actually like” playlist on my daily commute.

Chapter 1: Oh, and the fire went wild

Laurent doesn’t remember the first time he met Damen, or his family. It might have been at the county fair, competing in the cattle showings against Auguste, or maybe it had been around their little town, Damen with his half-brother and step mother, and Laurent with his mother and brother. It didn’t really matter when they had first met, because Laurent had known his whole life that the Akielons were loud, obnoxious, irresponsible, and stupid.

His father hated their neighbors. 

 The Akielon’s ranch, White Cliff (“There are no white cliffs in Texas”, Aleron would complain every time they drove past the sign at the end of the driveway), bordered theirs from the south. Although both ranches were very large, each with thousands of acres of land, their houses were quite close to each other, near the road that ran along the west of the two properties. There was no escaping each other.

They went to the same school, the same church, attended the same rodeos, the same county fair. They even frequented the same H-E-B. Hennike would scrunch her nose in distaste, pasting on a smile as Hypermenestra walked by, usually alone or with Kastor, and very rarely with Damen sulkingly following behind her, and Hypermenestra would stride by, and return the fake smile. If their husbands were with them, they would greet each other with a tight, “de Vere.”, “Akielon.”, without a second glance. 

Sometimes Laurent would see the older one, Kastor, driving an ATV along their shared fence, and would glare at him as he drove by. On occasion he would see the younger one, Damen, at school, since the elementary and middle schools were in the same building. Laurent would glare at him as he passed, and Damen would roll his eyes in response. That made it worse, to Laurent, that the Akielon boys wouldn’t even take him seriously. 

They took Auguste seriously, of course. He was closer in age to them, eighteen, where Kastor was twenty, and Damen twelve. Laurent, being only seven, was hardly considered a worthy adversary, unlike Auguste, who had competed against both brothers in cattle showings at the county and state fair. 

Laurent remembered watching the show last year, glowering as Damen stood proudly as he won grand champion in his first year of competition, and Auguste had been awarded reserve champion. His stupid dark curls and his stupid dimpled grin as he had sought out his mother in the crowd, where she sat away from her ex and his family. 

When Laurent was forced to speak to either of the Akielon brothers he wasn’t as cooly cordial as either of his parents were. 

“Are you lost?” Laurent demanded one day, as he got off the bus in front of his house. “Last I checked, your house was a mile and a half that way,” he said, helpfully pointing south, just in case they’d forgotten. Damen and his older brother were both waiting by the mailbox at the end of the de Vere’s driveway, Kastor’s slightly beat up Ford pick-up parked awkwardly on the grass just off the drive. The afternoon sun reflected off the silver paint of the hood.

 Kastor rolled his eyes, and straightened up from where he’d been leaning against the mailbox, muttering something about “Damn ungrateful de Veres”. Dust rose up in a small cloud as he shifted his feet. Damen looked troubled. 

Laurent crossed his arms, waiting for them to respond. It was hot, two hours south of San Antonio. It was only April and it was already in the nineties regularly. As his father liked to say, it was a dry heat, though. Not too bad.

He hoped that they weren’t here as part of the ever ongoing war between them and Auguste. Last time he’d gotten caught up between them, Damen had put a snake in his desk at school. 

“Well?” he demanded again, and resisted the urge to stamp the ground impatiently. He didn’t want to seem even more like a child then they already saw him as. 

Damen glanced anxiously over at Kastor, who didn’t look inclined to respond. He grimaced, and turned back to Laurent, who raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re mother is in the hospital,” he informed him, brown eyes wide with sympathy, hands shoved into his jean pockets. He glanced up at his brother again, who wasn’t even looking in Laurent’s direction. “Dad sent us to take you there. Aleron and Auguste are already there.”

Laurent stared at the two of them. Was this one of their pranks? Were they going to dump him into a mudhole and leave him for his brother to find?

Damen and Kastor wore twin solemn expressions.

The heat felt more oppressive than it had a moment ago.

Kastor got into the driver’s seat without a word, and Laurent only got into the back seat once Damen motioned him in from the passenger seat. 

Kastor drove them to the hospital, the country station blaring. Laurent could see Damen continuously checking on him through the rearview mirror, brow furrowed anxiously. 

Auguste was waiting for them outside of the ER, and Laurent hopped out of the truck and flung himself into his arms. He tried desperately not to cry, since he knew the Akielon boys were still watching, but he couldn’t stop the tears from soaking into Auguste’s blue button down. 

“Thank you,” he heard Auguste say to Kastor and Damen over his head. 

They both mumbled back a response, and Laurent could hear the sound of the truck pulling away. 

--

That was the beginning of the worst summer of Laurent’s life. 

Hennike passed away in May, and in June, Auguste graduated highschool. 

Laurent spent the summer tearfully begging Auguste to stay, to not go away to school. Everytime he did, Auguste would look helplessly to their father. 

“Laurent,” Aleron would say, “your brother has to go off to school. He can’t be putting it off just to take care of you.”

In July, Auguste lost his final 4-H cattle showing to Damen. Again. Laurent seethed as he was handed the grand champion ribbon, and this time, Auguste didn’t even qualify for state. 

He seethed as he watched Damen’s eyes sought out his mother in the bleachers, and then his father and brother and stepmother.

It was unfair, Laurent mused, as they drove home, staring out the window at the flat expanse of Texas, a rush of dull green and dusty brown. Damen had everything he didn’t. A mother who was still living. Two, if you counted his stepmother. A brother who was content to stay home and take online classes for college.

He had always stayed out of Auguste’s war with Damen and Kastor. The silly prank war, Aleron called it. Auguste would pretend to look affronted, and respond, “Dad, I’m defending our honor!”

But now Auguste was leaving in less than a month. 

When they dropped Auguste off at College Station, the three of them clad in burgundy Aggie t-shirts, Laurent resolved not to cry. He’d cried all summer, it felt like. 

Auguste knelt down to give him a big hug outside of his dorm. “You’ll be okay without me, Lau.” 

Laurent sniffed into his shoulder. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. He buried his face into the rough cotton of Auguste’s t-shirt. 

Auguste rubbed circled into his back. “It’s okay. You have to help Dad get the new guy up to speed. Who else is going to teach him the names of all the horses and the chickens?” 

Laurent nodded, and pulled back, looking into his brother’s blue eyes. Auguste smiled, and ruffled his hair, which Laurent always hated, but decided to tolerate, today. “Not to mention, you are now the only thing standing between the Akielon boys and total chaos. You have to continue my legacy, little brother.”

Laurent heard Aleron chuckle behind them. “Now, Auguste, don’t go pulling your little brother into your silly prank war with the neighbors-”

“It’s about honor!” Laurent was quick to insist, which made Auguste laugh. 

“Exactly!” He stood up, and nodded towards their father. There would be no tearful embraces between the two of them, Laurent knew. 

“You’ll both be fine,” Auguste said confidently.

Aleron cleared his throat. “We will be.” He looked uncomfortable for a moment. Laurent watched him fidget for a moment, before removing the big Stetson he always wore on his head and stepping forward to place it on Auguste’s head. 

Auguste looked surprised at this gesture. 

“Well, Laurent, we’d better go,” Aleron said, running his hand through his hat-flattened hair. 

Laurent looked at his brother. There were some clouds in the sky today, which felt appropriate, but Auguste was standing in a spot of sunlight, brightening the burgundy of his t-shirt, and highlighting the gold of his hair against the white Stetson, making him look every inch the golden son that he was. 

--

Coming home felt different. Their big ranch house felt empty, without his mother or his brother to fill it with their light and laughter.

Laurent was glad that the new hire would be living with them. He wasn’t sure if he could take it, just him and his father. 

Besides the usual ranch staff, Aleron had also hired Jord, to replace the work that Auguste did. 

Summer was over, to Laurent’s relief. School meant he didn’t have to sit around the farmhouse, staring at the spot on the couch his mother preferred, or at his brother’s door, waiting for it to open and Auguste to come striding out.

To Laurent’s dismay, not everything at school was the same. Damen, who was in eight grade now, did not even bother responding to his passing glares with a roll of the eyes, instead just shooting him wide-eyed, pitying glances.

Laurent hated it. Hated Damen, for reminding him with every look of what he’d lost.

After two weeks of this, he was sitting in the passenger seat of Jord’s old pickup truck, the cracked leather seats rough against him. They were patrolling the edge of the ranch’s property, as Jord often did, looking out for holes in the many miles of fencing, or fallen tree limbs, or signs of pests, or any other hazards. When they reached their shared fence with White Cliff Ranch, Laurent told Jord to stop. 

“What?” Jord asked, even as he did as Laurent said. “Do you see something?”

“No,” Laurent replied, opening the passenger door and hopping down onto the ground below. He grinned a bit. “Don’t wait up for me; I’ll walk back,” he said, eyeing the fence. 

Jord followed his gaze and rolled his eyes. “Don’t do anything too stupid. Your father told me about the antics your brothers and the Akielon boys got up to. They’re both older than you, and bigger.”

Laurent shrugged. “They’re boneheads. Don’t wait up,” he repeated, and slammed the door. He didn’t wait for Jord to drive away, just delicately pulled up a row of the barbed wire so he could carefully step in between. He was small, so it was easy. 

From there he walked steadily towards where he knew the main barn was on the Akielon property. He only knew from a couple of years ago, when they stopped by for Kastor’s highschool graduation open house, saying perfunctory hellos and congratulations. 

He hadn’t really had a plan when he’d hopped out of the truck. But now, walking under the occasional mesquite trees for a moment or two of shade, keeping his eyes peeled for rattlers as he walked through the scrub grass and past the thorny shrubs that dotted the land, a plan formed in his mind.

In the cooler hours of the evening, there was very little activity around the White Cliff farmhouse and barns. It was very easy for Laurent to sneak into the horse barn, and up into the loft, where they would get their hay everyday for the horses. 

It was even easier to untie the bales of hay, retying them with a knot that would immediately come undone if someone pulled on them. Not all of the bales, mind you. Just some of them. Random ones. He couldn’t lift up a bale by himself, but he could shove them around a bit, shuffling around the untied ones as best as possible. 

It was maybe not the most elaborate prank, but it would be obnoxious.

--

To Laurent’s delight, the plan worked just as he’d wanted. 

Damen confronted him at school a couple of days later. “Did you rig our hay bales to untie on us?” he demanded, before Laurent could get on the bus at the end of the day.

Laurent held back a grin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he insisted airily. “I certainly would never do something like that.” 

Damen rolled his eyes. “I’m watching you, de Vere,” he said, before stalking away. 

The next week, when Laurent went out to help Jord muck stalls, he slipped his feet into his muck boots, only to find them filled with manure. 

He was annoyed, but also somewhat pleased that Damen had decided he was a worthy adversary after all. 

[thelioncourts]

title: the mannequin gallery fandom: captive prince pairing: damen/laurent rating: mature words: 4793 for chapter three (3/?); 14856 all together

story summary: If things would have gone the way they were supposed to, Damen and Laurent would have never met. But things didn’t go the way they were supposed to, not at all, and their meeting ended up being the equivalent of skydiving with a malfunctioning parachute. Damen tried not to complain. After all, he was now living his dream; he was travelling with his best friend without having to make sure their “I"s were dotted and their “T"s crossed. And, sure, Laurent was difficult to work with, to work for, but he was also great to look at and they made it work well as long as they were anywhere but in Paris. But when Laurent’s past begins to cause present-day problems, Damen finds out those difficulties Laurent constantly displays were a bit more warranted than he could have ever imagined. And Laurent? Laurent finds out the truth – and finds out how to smile.

It was crazy to think all that could happen in a twenty-four-hour time period.

One minute, Damen and Nik were unpacking their belongings in a paid-for-by-Etoile hotel room, one minute later they were both delving into their own very important research, and one minute after that they were on a photoshoot set, their first photoshoot set ever.

Nik, upon arrival, was certain he was in over his head. Damen didn’t want to say it out loud, but he thought Nik was in over his head too.

In typical Nik fashion, his own researching had been spent going over each paper in the folder he had been given in the meeting. By the end of the day, there had been scribbles in all different colors of ink spattered across the surfaces of the pages, the meanings useless to Damen who had spent the same amount of time Nik had spent going over the folder figuring out how he could tag along to the photoshoot.

During his own research, Damen had discovered that most photographers do, in fact, have an agent that handles their business and, when available, attends photography events with them. Naturally, Damen had concluded, there was no one better suited for that role than he himself and he had told Nik as much in his fifth interruption of Nik’s studies that day. Nik had waved him off and Damen had taken that as a go-ahead to do as he pleased.

It’s how he found himself here, looking around in awe at the everything going on. He briefly wondered if all sets were this busy or if it was more an Etoile thing. Everything about Etoile seemed busy.

The shoot wasn’t scheduled to actually start until ten in the morning and the photographer’s call time had been for seven. Damen thought that seemed really early, but upon getting there and seeing the organized chaos of what was going on, he started to think seven wasn’t early enough.

He whistled under his breath and said so.

“It’ll be fine,” Nik said. He wasn’t looking at Damen, not looking at him at all. His eyes were assessing the room, the people, the lights. “All the photographers are meeting with the designer of this shoot, then the models are going to finish getting ready while we set up, then we’re going to set them up, and then the shoot begins. At least I think that’s how it’s going to happen. That’s what the papers said.”

A woman pushing a wardrobe cart walked by them, the black coverings for the clothing items hanging on it swishing against one another in an uneven fashion, all in contradiction with the one slightly squeaky wheel.

“So, who do you go to first?”

“Photographers are meeting over there,” a voice said from behind them. They both turned to see a woman with a severely cropped dark bob standing by a beverage table. She was watching them with blatant curiosity burning in her eyes. With a jut of her sharp chin, she was motioning over at where a large white covering was hanging from the vaulted ceiling of the gallery.

“Thanks,” Damen said after a moment.

[Continue on AO3]

“You both looked lost. Here, that kind of expression puts you behind the rest.” She walked toward them, a dark red mug steaming with caffeine in hand, and gave them her free hand for a handshake. “I’m Vannes. One of the designers. And you,” she said, pausing as she shook Nik’s hand, “must be one of our dear boss’ lovely photographer experimentees.”

“If that’s how we’re defining it,” Nik said with a purse to his lips.

“And that makes you,” she trailed, eyes moving over Damen.

“I’m his agent,” Damen said. Vannes laughed, the sound bright and loud. No one paid them any mind.

“You said that so confidently, I almost believed you.”

Her eyes kept that blatant curiosity in them as she walked back over to the beverage table. There was something there Damen didn’t necessarily dislike, but he did find unsettling. He and Nik looked at one another, each with one raised eyebrow.

“Shall we?” Damen asked after a minute with a smile on his mouth.

“Yeah,” Nik said. He was biting off a laugh.

It was an adventurous little walk over to where the curtain was. There was a handful of more carts with clothes that rushed by, each pushed by a harried looking assistant of some kind, and what was definitely one of the models, a tall thing with flaming red hair who didn’t see them as anything more than an obstacle needing stepped over in his path all on their journey over. But once there, they were face to face with Nik’s competition.

“We’ll get introductions out of the way so we’re all familiar with one another,” an older and stout man said in heavily accented French. “My name is Audin. I, as well as Ms. Vannes, am one of the assistant designers of Etoile’s gold label line. Charls, Etoile’s head designer, will be in and out as this photoshoot is taking place, but he is also checking in upon the final designs for the Paris Fashion Week clothing so he will be busy.” Audin began to walk, handing out papers to the five photographers. “I am aware that you received paperwork from our very own courageous leader, but you may find some of the information on this sheet extremely useful. Remember for those of you who may not have experience in a photoshoot of this scale, these days can go for well over twelve hours.” Damen and Nik shared another look after Audin most definitely looked at Nik as he said, ‘for those you who may not have experience.’

“Without further ado, I would like to welcome you, Mr. Jeurre from our very own France, and congratulate you on your opportunity today.” Jeurre was by far the oldest of the photographers, with short cropped hair and a horribly serious expression that downturned his thin lips. “I would like to welcome you, Mr. Guilliame, also from our very own France, and congratulate you on your opportunity today.” Guilliame was a timid looking young man with fidgety fingers and eyebrows that looked permanently high on his forehead. “I would like to welcome you, Ms. Talik, from Turkey, and congratulate you on your opportunity today.” Talik was a tall and muscled woman, nearly at eye-level with both Damen and Nik, and eyes so dark they could have been black. “I would like to welcome you, Mr. Hendric, from Denmark, and congratulate you on your opportunity.” Hendric was large, broad across the shoulders, and had a mop of red hair and a matching beard that was more orange than red. “And lastly, I would like to welcome you, Mr. Nik, from Greece, and congratulate you on your opportunity today.”

Today is going to be quite busy, but hopefully quite rewarding as well. I am looking forward to seeing each of you work.”

Audin didn’t stay to talk or mosey around. He left, finding his way back to a table where Vannes stood with her severely cropped dark bob, and Damen huffed out a laugh.

“I can’t help but feel like that welcoming was nothing but a show.”

“Yeah, my gut is telling me he just did that so we wouldn’t run out the door before they could effectively suck us in for the day,” Nik agreed. He huffed out the same kind of laugh, looked down at the paper in his hand, then looked up at Damen. Overwhelmed was an understatement. “I should –” he started, a hand motioning vaguely at nothing.

“Right. Yeah, of course, Nik. Go do your thing. I’m going to wander, see what trouble I can get into,” Damen said. “Maybe after I get a coffee.”

“I was going to tell you that you looked like a zombie from that shitty movie we watched last month, but I didn’t want to insult you.”

Damen laughed as he walked away, fighting down the instinct to flip Nik off, and then watched until Nik disappeared back behind the curtain. Then, just as he said, Damen started to take the time to wander.

The photoshoot was in a gallery, one located in the southern part of the city, and its grandeur nearly outmatched that of Etoile’s headquarters. It was an all-white gallery, nothing but perfectly glossy marble and empty white walls. There were statues here that reminded Damen of the ones back home, all white, even their eyes, but they didn’t invoke the same kinds of feelings as the ones home; they felt foreign and cold and yet Damen couldn’t not look at them.

“Big boy.” The pet name was said from somewhere behind him and, once again, he turned to find Vannes looking at him with that same expression she had worn minutes ago. “Need help working the coffee machine?”

“No, I’ve got it. Thanks.”

“So, if you’re not a photographer, what on earth are you doing here?” she asked, handing him an empty red mug identical to her own.

“I told you, I’m here with one of the photographers, Nik. I’m his agent,” Damen said. The coffee maker hissed, steam rising from where it was pulling a double-shot before filling up with ninety-degree’s hot water.

Vannes leaned an elbow against the table, lowered her head just a smidge, and said in a quiet voice, “You’re not really his agent, are you? Brother perhaps?”

Damen felt his cheek dimple. “Close enough. Best friends since we were in diapers.”

“You two must be the influencers then,” Vannes said, laughing like she had earlier.

“Influencers?”

“You know, those people on Instagram or whatever that have millions of followers and pretty bodies to keep those followers interested.”

“No,” said Damen. “We’re not like that. We don’t sell anything or –”

“You sell yourselves,” she said, the words accompanied by an eye roll. “You’re not so different from our boys. The main difference, however, is that our boys will eat you alive.” Vannes snatched a sleek black stir stick that sat available in a holder before turning and walking back to where the photographers had disappeared off to, her heels clicking. “Take a croissant, you’ll never have one this good anywhere else.”

Damen understood the overwhelmed look he had seen in Nik’s eyes earlier only, for Damen, he wasn’t sure if it was just being here, if it was the strong smell of the espresso in his nose, if it was the dizzying effect the lights that were getting set up over where the main photos would be taken, if it was the shimmering gold of the clothes and makeup and jewelry, or if it was the thrumming feeling that everyone’s smiles were fake and not telling Damen all he should know.

He shook off the feeling by walking again, this time with a steaming cup in his hands. He walked by the table of jewelry, glittering watches, rings, necklaces, earrings, and a few other items he wasn’t quite sure what to make of, and he didn’t dare touch them. He then walked by the clothing. Unfamiliar as he was with fabrics, he recognized the gauzy look of some shirts and he took in its appearance next to the embroidered sleeves, lace trim, and sleek looking fabric of some of the other pieces.

More people were arriving every second. Damen had noticed it as soon as Vannes had left, the constant opening and closing of the gallery doors, the parade of faces, some smiling and some not. In the corner he saw a familiar face. Jord was there, looking serious as always, and his sunglasses from the day before yesterday were firmly in place despite them being indoors. Damen thought about approaching him and then thought better of it. Instead he opted to wander more, letting his feet guide him where they pleased.

Across the gallery, he spotted Nik for the first time since they had separated. He watched as Nik took a few pictures of one of the statues, looked at the LCD screen, adjusted a few buttons that Damen was certain could change everything about a photo, then took another picture. He watched Nik repeat the process and when it became clear that Nik was going to do that for a while, Damen continued on.

In the far back corner was where the magic must be taking place. Magic, in this case, meant changing the models from every day-beautiful to Etoile photoshoot worthy-beautiful. There were more carts of clothes, more jewelry, a changing curtain, and a line of vanity mirrors that were lit up like the Eiffel tower at night. Damen found himself walking there, preparing to perhaps introduce himself to the makeup artists that might already be there, when he suddenly saw a swish of gold; and then Damen saw him.

Damen hadn’t expected the models to have been ready so early. Then again, Damen didn’t really know a lot about fashion so, looking at it now, his expectations were probably way off the mark anyway. Still, whatever expectations he had had going into this hadn’t prepared him for this.

Everything about him was gold.

He had legs a mile long, legs dressed in a loose and transparent gold material that brushed the tops of his bare feet. Across his shoulders was a drape of gold silk that clung to the skin right below his collarbones and then flowed, the holes of the sleeves so low the top three ribs on both sides of his chest showed. On one of his hands, one of his elegant hands, were four rings, three of them simplistic bands with the smallest of gems embedded in the metal whilst the last one held in its center a large citrine stone. On the other hand were three rings, each with equally sized jewels, ones that matched the jewels dangling from his ears. It was only when he turned, assumingly to talk to one of the makeup artists, that Damen got a look at his face and was able to take in the delicately placed gold leaf on his temples, that dusted the tops of his shoulders and the even more beautiful gold of his hair that had gold interwoven through the strands. Then the light hit him, and Damen saw the one piece of him that didn’t match, that wasn’t gold at all. Beyond the gold shadow dusting the inner corners of his eyes was the most startling blue color, brighter and clearer than the color of the water back home.

Even if he had been in a room full of nothing but the most beautiful of things, Damen knew then and there he would have never been able to look anywhere else.

Whatever snippet of conversation the model and the makeup artist had been having must have ended because suddenly he was walking toward Damen. Somehow there was both a determination and a carelessness to the way he walked, as though he was very ready for whatever was to come and felt very above it all too.

“À moins que cette tasse de café ne soit pour moi, il n'y a aucune raison pour que vous vous teniez ici.”

Damen had a lot of reactions to that. The main part of him wanted to laugh, that kind of laugh that comes out as a huff of air from his nose, and say something, something like, ‘This coffee isn’t for you, but my room has a coffee machine that’ll do a great job if you want to check it out.’ The other part of Damen wanted to say something of the same tone as his, something in French just to cause a reaction, something like, ‘Surpris, vous pouvez même me voir ici depuis ce grand cheval sur lequel vous êtes,’ or ask ‘Portez-vous de l'or pour montrer votre personnalité scintillante ou pour cacher votre merde?’ But instead of doing any of that, saying any of that, Damen just stared, taking in the way he walked as though he was gliding, taking in the hard pull of his otherwise full mouth, taking in the single strand of blond hair that had fallen out of his artfully done do and instead was swinging in front of those blue eyes.

It was only when he was standing by Audin, speaking, that Damen noticed Nik, still across the room, staring pointedly right at Damen whilst making the universal ‘Cut it out!’ motion across his neck.

It brought Damen back to himself and he laughed, laughing harder when Nik mouthed, ‘You’re dead to me.’ Damen walked over to Nik, mouthing back as he walked, ‘I’m the only thing keeping you from hanging yourself right now,’ with a noose motion and everything.

“How’s it going?” he asked, taking in the open camera bag and all the lenses scattered. The death stare he got from Nik said it all.

“I have no idea what I’m doing.” He lifted up one lens that was wider than the one already in his hands before setting it back down. “I knew that coming into this. I knew that when they handed me that folder and I most definitely knew it walking in here. But after that?” he said, jutting a thumb where Charls had joined Audin and the model, “I’m going to be lucky to get out of here alive.”

“Hey,” Damen started. “You’re going to be fine. They’re not even going to know what to do when they see what you create.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard what they’re saying about me. About us,” Nik said.

Damen leaned a shoulder against one of the many white pillars. “No?”

“Well half of them speak only French, so I’m sure my translation is off, but Mr. Denmark over there was talking to Jeurre, the old man, about how we’re influencers,” he said, making a face at the word.

“Oh,” Damen with the exact same face, “yeah. Vannes, our lovely friend we met when we first got here, told me that.” He took in Nik’s furrowed brow, took in the muscle clenching in his jaw. “Look, they might think of us, of you, like that right now, but I meant what I said, Nik. They’re going to see what you create and they’re going to realize how below you they all are. I –”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Charls announced loudly, his voice carrying far with the high ceilings. He sounded joyous and genuine, far different than anyone else here had sounded as they spoke. “Many of our models are in the final stages of dress. That means it will be time to begin in the next few minutes. Photographers, please begin setting up over here, to the left. I can’t wait to see what art you envision!”

“See?” Damen muttered. “That guy believes in you.”

Nik rolled his eyes and went to comment when the blond walked by again. He was going back toward the vanities where one of the stylists was beckoning him. Damen watched with rapt attention as the stylist fixed that loose strand of hair that had been one of the many objects of Damen’s focus earlier.

“His name is Laurent.”

“Hm?”

Nik was squatted down, rearranging lenses, but now he was looking at Damen. The look in his eyes was too familiar, a resigned kind of look that Damen hadn’t seen on Nik’s face since Jokaste, and yet he was smiling. The upturn to his mouth made him look more exasperatedly fond.

“The blond. His name is Laurent.” Nik fiddled with two of the buttons on the camera, turning one to the left three times, turning the other to the right once. “He’s Etoile’s top earner and also the nephew of the owner. I would say he only got the job because of his connections, but clearly,” Nik said with a careless motion to where Laurent stood, “that’s not the reason. Or, well, not the only reason anyway.”

“Laurent.” Damen tested out the name. “He’s, uh, something.”

“He’s blond, blue-eyed, beautiful, and, if what I’ve heard is true, a raging bitch so yeah, he really is something. He’s all of your weaknesses wrapped into one.”

Damen ignored the last part. “Who said he’s a bitch?”

“Anyone and everyone that’s ever been in a room with him for longer than two minutes.”

“He can’t be that bad,” said Damen.

Nik shot him another look. “Jeurre over there has worked with him before. Jeurre says that at a photoshoot two years ago, Laurent made one of the newer designers cry so hard that he quit on the spot. I’ve heard one of the current designers talking about how Laurent refused to let one of the newest models, one of the newest signees, be part of this show at all and put down his foot until his uncle gave him his way. I also heard another one of the models say that Laurent gets to lead all the shoots because of his name.”

“Well, I think his face probably has a big thing to do with the last part,” Damen said.

“That’s not the point, Damen. He’s a spoiled, entitled, and, again, raging bitch. If he doesn’t like someone, he can and will make their life a living hell. And in this case, that means that if he doesn’t like me, it’s me whose life will be made a living hell and who won’t get a shot at making it beyond these next three days. But, if what I have also heard is true, he doesn’t like anybody so…” Nik trailed. “Who knows what that means.”

“Come on, who doesn’t like your smiling face?”

“Alright everyone,” Charls said over the noise of the room once again. “We are now ready to do our preliminary shots. Photographers, you will each do some photographs of our entire beautiful group before we start rotating each model with you all individually and in smaller groups, most likely duos.”

“Time to start,” Nik said with a huff.

“You’re going to kill it,” Damen said.

“Or get killed.”

The photoshoot background was nothing but a white backdrop, one that might as well have been the white walls of the gallery. The models were all in place and they looked like the inside of a jewelry box, all glittering and golden and bright. It was evident who the stars of Etoile were; they were placed near the front, shining. The redhead Damen and Nik had seen earlier was there, dressed in an all-sheer gold piece, the only solid bit of gold being the piece around his hips and the line of paint from the center of his forehead all the way down the bridge of his nose and the middle of his lips. Then there was a brunette, curly haired and young with green eyes and a flowing golden top, ones with sleeves that almost touched the floor when his hands were by his sides and a shock of gold shadow on his lids that made his green eyes look full of fire. Toward the back was a slew of other models, all pretty, if generic, mostly with hair in shades of brown and a small handful of ones with brown eyes that reflected the gold and made the eyes look like honey. And there, at the front, was Laurent. That loose strand of hair had long been put in place but Damen couldn’t not remember where it had fallen, how its gold had matched the gold of everything else and how Laurent’s blue eyes were the most startling thing in this entire gallery.

Damen, seeing that it was his time to let Nik do his thing, took a step back.

All five of the photographers had a different set up, had a different way of standing, and all of the models, even in a group setting, radiated a different kind of energy. Damen watched as Nik took a picture, checked it on the screen, adjusted something on the camera settings, and took another. He watched as Nik lowered himself a little, instead of standing at his full height. Then it became clear Nik had found the right settings for himself and his camera. And then Nik became less interesting to watch from his stagnant pose and Damen’s gaze quickly drifted.

Despite what Nik had told him about Laurent, Damen found himself drawn to watching the blond. There was something about him and the way he moved that was so unlike any of the other models, so unique to him and so graceful and elegant. Damen watched as Laurent pressed a shoulder against the redhead’s shoulder, watched as he lifted a single finger, one heavy with a ring, and placed it underneath the redhead’s chin where the line of solid gold paint ended.

It seemed too soon that things changed; Charls, who had been watching it all with bright hopeful eyes, started separating the photographers to different sections. It became clear the sections were random, that some photographers had sections of the gallery with pillars, or another had a section with the chandelier light overtop. Nik was led over to the gallery windows, bright and surrounded by the statues that reminded Damen of home.

The models were sent in groups and duos as said, all except Laurent who was moving around alone. Nik’s first photos were with the curly haired brunette and three of the less prominent models. Damen watched with fascination as Nik rearranged each model a few times, made some changes after taking three photos, and then took more photos, immediately pleased just as he had been with the group photos earlier.

Each group and duo stayed with each photographer for ten minutes. Damen realized it as he found himself watching Laurent move from the photographer from Denmark to the photographer from Turkey. The photographer from Turkey was in the section under the chandelier and Damen couldn’t not see how she moved back and played with her angles so the light from the chandelier created a rainbow effect with the light and shine of Laurent’s gold. Damen would bet money that those would be Times Square billboard worthy.

Damen had just turned to watch Nik ask the redhead to face the window when Charls announced that it was time for them to move once more. The redhead, heels clicking, left with a flirtatious wave. Then Laurent was there.

Laurent didn’t so much as even wait for Nik to mutter a hello or give him any kind of instruction before he was posing himself, the poses mostly just him standing and yet they were captivating in how natural they came to him. Nik went with it, not bothering to speak up, not until they only had another five minutes.

“Could you,” Nik started, his voice quiet in his attempt to not disrupt anyone else, in his disuse of it, “could you maybe pose with the statue?”

Laurent said nothing, only looked at Nik with a cool blue stare before moving to the statue closest to the window. With a gentle touch, Laurent pressed his fingertips against the statue’s own outstretched ones. Nik snapped a photo. Laurent stayed there for another thirty seconds, his eyes staring straight into the statue’s, and then he stayed there, his eyes staring straight into the camera. After that he shifted, turning himself into the open embrace of the statue’s arms, pressing himself against it close, pressing his cheek against its own cold one, soft as a lover. This time he looked ahead, his eyes finding an empty spot across the room, looking at it under his lashes, the look seductive and untrying. Damen’s breath was lost somewhere.

Nik asked Laurent another question, asked him, “Could you move behind the statue?” and Laurent did. Without prompting, Laurent draped his arms over its shoulders, but not before unclasping his shirt and letting it slide off his body so he could place it on the statue. Nik stepped closer so he was a foot away from the statue, so he could get a closeup shot of Laurent’s eyes against the gold of his now-discarded shirt and the white of the statue’s body.

And then Charls was calling again for the rotation to continue. Laurent left without a spare word or glance for Nik. The gold of his shirt, held between two fingers like it was a dirty handkerchief, trailed behind him.

Nik huffed out an unamused laugh. “Still think he’s not a raging bitch?”

[seas-of-ios]

Escort!Damen fic

pt 1/?

“Laurent I don’t expect you to be at the investor’s dinner this weekend but it would be responsible for you to make an appearance. You know it helps investor's confidence to meet the shareholders.” His uncle’s voice was sour, as it always was when he spoke of Laurent’s share of the De Vere business. “It makes them concerned for your reliability but we know how difficult these events can be for you. Of course I will make your excuses, regretfully. But really, these sorts of things are within your purview as a trustee. I know that…”

Laurent deleted the voicemail and threw the phone on the bed. He rubbed his eyes. There was a headache throbbing behind his temples.

Uncle was facing a dilemma in his ongoing quest to relieve Laurent of his small but vital portion of the company shares; missing a dinner like this would be another red mark against him in the eyes of the rest of the board members, and Uncle was always looking for reasons to discredit Laurent and move the board toward the unanimous vote it would take to remove him. On the other hand, Uncle had been right that investors wanted to see board members and shareholders at dinner parties, and his absence would be detrimental to the profitability of the event. Laurent wished he could take more pleasure in his uncle’s conundrum, but all he could feel was dread.  

The thought of standing in a bright room, surrounded by his uncle’s cronies, their fake smiles and monstrous platitudes, was sickening. Those glistening dinners always brought suffocating memories of being paraded at those events on his uncle’s arm, in the blurry aftermath of his family’s deaths and his early inheritance. No doubt this weekend Uncle would have his current boy on display.

Closing his eyes, Laurent practiced the deep breathing that his yoga instructor liked. When you’re stuck, he reminded himself, there’s an option you’re missing. It was something his father used to say to Auguste. If only he didn’t have to go to the dinner alone.

He blinked his eyes open.

The intercom rang from the front desk. “Monsieur De Vere, your guest has arrived. Shall we send him up?”

“No.” Laurent straightened the lapels of his suit jacket. “Have him wait in the lobby, I’ll be down shortly.”

In the elevator, the mirrored walls reflected him back a thousand times in every direction. There was no sound except for the rumbling of the mechanism. He was alone in a crowd. It was a familiar feeling.

Examining his reflection, Laurent smoothed a hand over his hair and took a deep breath. The multitude of people in the glass looked back, strange and unfamiliar in his stiff suit. Sometimes, Laurent could see his brother more clearly in the mirror than himself.

He wondered wryly if that was what it meant to be haunted.

The doors dinged and slid open on the lobby, shattering the glassy reflections with light and noise.

Almost as soon as he stepped out, Arnoul, the concierge, slid up to Laurent discretely and said, “Your guest, Monsieur De Vere,”

Following his discrete nod, Laurent looked across the room. The man was enormous, tall and broad shouldered, filling out an immaculately tailored suit. The agency had gotten that right, at least.

Laurent took a deep breath. He’d come this far, and the man was already paid for.

He strode across the lobby, hearing his own footsteps ringing on the polished marble. The man looked up as he approached. “Are you Laurent?” - he pronounced it correctly. Another point in the agency’s favor.

“Yes. And you are my date for the evening,” Laurent said. “What do I call you?”

“Damen,” said the man, and held out his hand.

Laurent took it, and instead of shaking it, he tugged Damen close, till their shoulders pressed together. The man moved easily, despite his size, to follow Laurent’s lead, and seemed relaxed with the proximity. Laurent hummed. “I’ll brief you on the way.”

He tucked Damen’s hand into his elbow and led him to the limo, pulled up in front of the building.

They sat opposite one another, city lights rolling by outside the tinted windows. Laurent clasped his hands in front of him, trying not to fidget. Damen had his hands on his knees, calm.

“We’re going to an investor’s dinner,” Laurent said, “for my family’s company. I expect it will be moderately less charming than a shark tank at feeding time.” Damen snorted. “You will be playing my respectable boyfriend who is wildly in love with me. You’ll be acting as a buffer. Hopefully people will be moderately less shark-like with you there. Just stand around looking pretty.”

“I can do that,” Damen said. “My professional persona is usually big and dumb.”

Laurent raised his eyebrows, almost startled into smiling. “As long as you’re dumb about stocks, not wine vintages.”

“Don’t worry. I know a salad fork from a seafood fork.”

“Good.” Laurent sat back. “Just stick close to me and make small talk about golfing. Our goal tonight is to make me look as responsible and boring as possible to the board members.”

“Responsible and boring, got it. Golfing, yachting, wine tasting. What about horse racing, is that too irresponsible?” Damen was smiling, small and teasing. He had a dimple.

Laurent felt his lips quirk. “I do like riding actually but let’s stick to dressage. The worst they can do is complain about my taste in entertainment then.”

TBC 

[dancingsparks]

How Laurent Got A Date Despite Being A Condescending Idiot

Thank you at my wonderful beta and the Capri Discord for inspiring me!

Also on Ao3

***

“I’ll go talk to him,” with a decisive nod, Vannes empties the last of her glass.

“Sure, if you think that would be fun. I won’t stop you.”

“Laurent, that was a threat. You were supposed to stop me and beg me not to, giving me the perfect opportunity to suggest you go over there. You have been drooling all evening and quite frankly, I am sick of it.” Laurent can feel himself blush as his eyes flit again to the man in question. It’s undeniable - he is very attractive. He is tall, a wild mess of dark curls on his head, ridiculously athletic and a warm laugh that reverberates through the entire room. However, Laurent had most definitely not been drooling over him. He glares at her for daring to suggest he would, receiving only a smirk.

“You do know how a threat works, right? It’s supposed to scare me into doing as you want. As I don’t care about him, there is nothing you could say to him that would make me want to go over there myself.”

“Okay, no threat then,” Vannes shifts in her chair, leaning closer to him, “let’s make it a challenge, shall we? I don’t think you have the guts to go over. I think you are scared to talk to him and would much rather sit here and whine later about the hot guy who didn’t talk to you.” She is right. Terribly, embarrassingly right and by the smug expression on her face she knows it too. Laurent throws his napkin at her. Vannes catches it and throws it right back, but this time Laurent doesn’t catch it, too caught up in staring at the ‘hot guy’. He is talking to a friend now, possibly a brother, laughing again, drawing Laurent in like a moth to the flame - helpless and doomed to burn.

Not only has she terrifying insight in his motivation, Vannes knows exactly what she is doing when she phrases it as a challenge - Laurent was never able to resist one of those and the wretched woman knows that all too well. “I don’t even know what to say to him, I will make a complete fool out of myself and he will laugh me in the face.”

“Nonsense, the room is full of very important and very sophisticated people. He would discreetly make fun of you with his friends after you left.” Laurent turns back to her, glaring. This doesn’t help his nerves at all, or her cause. “Look darling, this is one of those charity functions that few know the purpose of. He won’t be interested in what you have to say. Tell him you have money, tell him it’s more than you know what to do with. You are pretty, you are rich - that is all it takes here. Just smile, say something obnoxiously witty and throw your money around.”

That is not what Laurent wants to do at all. He is only here because Auguste asked him to and he is weak when it comes to his brother. There are very good reasons Auguste will inherit the company and Laurent will be his adviser. One being that Laurent is not good at dealing with shallow people, with this kind of events, smiling through insults and pretending to care. Neither is Auguste, but the difference is that he is utterly charming about it, it’s impossible not to like him.

“Why would I want to do that, exactly?”

“Because I dared you to. Now go.” She gives him a rather strong push, winks at him and orders a new drink as an have an excuse to flirt with the bartender. Laurent sighs. He knows he is being played, he isn’t stupid, and she couldn’t have made it more blatant. He should just stay here, defy her expectations and save his dignity. All the same Laurent stands up, cursing himself for being predictable and easy to manipulate, yet determined to make the best of it.

Thankfully the man is alone by the time Laurent reaches him - this will be painful enough without people to witness him. Laurent takes a deep breath, reminds himself of Vannes’s advice and puts on a bright smile.

“Hey there, what is someone as beautiful as you doing all alone?” Laurent cringes internally at the corny line, but the man rewards him with a warm chuckle that makes something flutter in chest. Perhaps it’s his heart, beating faster than it should, loud and surely audible to everyone else in the room.

“I could ask you the same. Why don’t you join me, remedy this situation for both of us?” His smile is even brighter up close, small and amused but sincere, revealing dimples that give him a cheeky charm. He is irresistible, and Laurent agrees before he can stop himself.

“I’m Damen, what’s your name? I don’t think I have seen you around before, I would have remembered.” There is something suggestive about his tone, stealing Laurent’s breath and making him blush. This is not how this was supposed to go, Laurent was supposed to be the charming and suave one, making him flustered and stumbling over his words. All Damen had to do was smile at him. Desperately he clings to what Vannes told him, to what these people always do when they have an unexpected problem: throw money at it.

“Laurent DeVere. Pleased to meet you,” wide smile here. “I’m sure you heard of my family - we are very wealthy.”

Damen laughs at that, throwing his head back, expressing his amusement with a full body laugh. Laurent is afraid he said something wrong but then Damen smiles at him, soothing the worry and replacing it with pride at making him laugh like that, like no one else did this evening, like he would like to do again. “Laurent DeVere, allow me to say the pleasure is all mine.”

The phrase is often used and seldom meant but considering the way Damen holds his eyes, speaking in an earnest tone, Laurent thinks he might mean it. Or maybe he is a fool charmed by pretty eyes and a bright smile. Laurent doesn’t care either way - he is having more fun right now than the rest of his time at this dreadful thing, so he would not question it now.

“So, Damen, do you often frequent charity events?” Damen gives him a considering look, as if confused, but Laurent keeps his smile up. It was a normal question, there is no reason to be weird about it. Except if Damen doesn’t - oh no, what if Damen is here as someone’s plus one? Not invited personally because he doesn’t have the money to donate or the importance to be seen here. Now Laurent is forcing him to admit to something one would like to hide here. He is about to apologise but Damen is faster.

“Not as many as I would like, I am very busy you see.” Busy - of course. Laurent doesn’t believe him, but he would also not question him further, he humiliated the poor man enough for an evening. But there is something he could do to make it up to him - he gets invited to more events than he cares to count and if Damen wants to go, it would only be right to invite him along.

“You know, I could take you with me, to the next event. I always get terribly bored - but with you as my arm candy-” Laurent stops when he realises what he is saying. Trying to make it look intentional, he puts on the most pretentious expression he can muster - which is incredibly and disgustingly pretentious in his humble opinion - and gives Damen a cocky smirk. Once again Damen watches him steadily, a small smile curling his lips but his eyes clearly calculating.

“I don’t know-” Damen begins but Laurent interrupts him. He came too far to back off now.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I could send you a car if you need one. It would be very rude of me not to take care of my guest,” he is imitating his father when he is lecturing him about something, tone stern and face serious, but he adds a smile at the end because he really does want Damen to say yes. To Laurent’s surprise, he enjoys talking to Damen, despite the restrictions laid upon him, and would like to get to know him further. Ideally not in such a stiff and proper environment, but he will take whatever he can get.

“Alright then, how could I say no to such an offer,” Laurent feels like he is missing something, like Damen is really laughing at him now, but he doesn’t care. Damen said yes and somehow that is all that is important.

“I have to excuse myself for a moment, promise not to move?” he takes Laurent’s hands in his, eyes pleading with him and giving the simple request more depth than it probably needs. Laurent can’t say no.

“I promise to wait if you promise to come back.” Damen smiles at him, squeezes his hand, presses a quick kiss to his cheek and leaves, gone in the crowd. Laurent misses him already.

Laurent sinks down at a nearby desk, settling down for the wait and trying to reason this out. It’s ridiculous, that he should be so affected by someone who is only interested because of his money. But then, Laurent did all he could to interest him in his money. Maybe he should use the next evening - decidedly not a date - to talk about other things, find out who Damen is and test if he is interested in finding out who he is in turn.

“If I could get your attention for a moment,” Laurent groans, a speech is the last thing he needs right now. But the voice is familiar, almost like - but that can’t be, impossible. Laurent looks up, seeing that it is indeed Damen standing in the middle of the crowd, a space cleared around him, microphone in hand and a bright smile on his face. What is he doing?

“I wanted to thank you all for coming to this event - it means a great deal to me and being allowed to host it has been a great honour. I am sure the money donated today will make many lives better. I would love to keep talking to you all, but I have a stunning blond who keeps flirting with me and I would like to get back to him and I am sure you have your own things to get back to.” Damen says some more about the charity and how they could help further if interested but Laurent isn’t listening. This is mortifying! Humiliating! He wishes the ground would open and swallow him. The closest he can get to that is hiding beneath the table, which is cowardly and disgraceful, but he would do anything to get away now, before Damen comes back.

Trying to subtly glide of his chair and under the table to where the long tablecloth would finally shield him only results in him falling on his knees as he loses his balance, ripping down the whole thing with everything on it, creating a huge crash and turning every eye on him. Fantastic. Whispers break out, muffled laughter and pitying looks, and Laurent wants away. This has been a terrible idea, he should leave and forget everything about Damen and this mess and blame everything on Vannes.

“What’s someone as beautiful as you doing all alone on the floor?” Laurent flinches as Damen repeats the corny line he had used on him, throwing in his face how he behaved. Laurent is still thinking on his reply when Damen sits down next to him, closer than necessary for a conversation but not quite touching. He looks at Damen in confusion, shouldn’t he be laughing at him right now?

“I meant it, I really would like to flirt some more.” Damen is smiling, as if it where that easy.

“You are hosting this party.” It comes out more accusing than he hoped, but accusing is better than crying so he goes with it. Damen does looks appropriately scolded, blushing and fidgeting.

“Yes, I thought you knew. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Despite what his head tells him, Laurent, foolish and naive and hopeful, believes him. Damen is here, not laughing, sitting on the ground, surrounded by broken glass and spilled drinks, next to Laurent and smiling at him. It suddenly hits him that he could love this man, easily, that already he doesn’t want him to leave.

“I suppose I won’t have to take you to the next event then? That you will be invited yourself?” Laurent needs to know where they stand, if Damen even wants to be around him after the condescending way he behaved.

“No, and I don’t want to go anyway,” Laurent’s heart falls at that. Of course, he doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore. “I would much rather take you out on a date.”

Damen is smiling, small and crooked, dimple on his face and curls falling in his eyes.

How could Laurent say no?

[shipper-trash-bag]

Hospital AU

“Stop messing with your IV.” Sam turned his head to see the nurse walk in, chastising him. “You’re gonna bruise.”

Sam sighed, letting go of the aforementioned tube, laying his hands onto the bed underneath him. “Sorry, just bored.”

Nurse Shirley took pity on him, swiping the tv remote from inside the bedside table. He flicked the tv on and pressed the remote into his palm. “Here. Watch some tv. It’ll numb your mind, but that’s maybe just what you need right now.” He looked over Sam’s chart, adjusting the drip on the IV with a frown. “Did Greta adjust this? She’s slowed this down a lot.”

“Huh. Explains why my head feels like a cracked open walnut.”

“Oh, baby, I think it feels like a cracked open walnut cuz some jackass hit you with their car.”

Sixteen days. Sam had been in the hospital for sixteen days after being hit from the side by an oncoming car while out on one of his jogs. The driver still hadn’t been identified and as Sam clung for his life through three surgeries, Dean’s only solace through it all was to picture himself wringing the neck of the guy responsible until it turned all the way around. With four broken ribs, a small brain bleed, a broken femur and a crushed hand, they told him he was lucky to be alive. But being stuck in the ICU didn’t exactly feel lucky.

“The TV hurts my eyes,” he complained, covering his eyes as he shut the thing off. Letting out a blessed sigh of relief, he felt the other man’s hand on his shoulder.

Looking up, he saw the warm smile and felt calmer instantly. “It’s okay, it’ll take some time. How about some music? I can grab my MP3 player from my locker if you want.”

He shook his head, completely regretting it a second later. “No thanks, nurse Shirley, I think I’m gonna just stare at the tiles until the blur.”

“Oh, well then, since you have other plans.” He cleaned up Sam’s wounds, the incisions where they’d had to cut into him to set his bones was still tender. “And I told you, call my Gabriel.”

“Kay,” Sam slurred, feeling the morphine steadily pull into his bloodstream. “Oh, that’s the ticket. Oh, fuck yeah.”

Gabriel laughed at him, gently patting his pec as he covered it back up with the gown and the blankets. “Okay there big guy, just rest now.”

“Mmmm, m’kay. See ya.”

———————-/-

Every day was much the same. Greta has the night shift in watching over Sam, keeping him mostly comfortable as he slept, giving him sponge baths, much to his humiliation. She was a good nurse, but didn’t speak much and had unintentionally lowered his pain meds twice. At least, Sam hoped that was the case.

Gabriel had the day shift, and he brought with him sunshine and jokes. On the weekends, Sam and the other patients were stuck with Demon 1 and Demon 2, which, okay. They weren’t really that bad, but compared to Greta and Gabe, they might as well have been. It also helped him cope by knowing that the two nurses were sisters whose last name was literally Damen, which dean found very amusing. When changing his IV, Demon 2 missed three times, having to call the anesthesiologist to do it, only to be chastised for it cuz nurses aren’t supposed to put in IV lines! Great for Sam who now had more bruises than he needed.

Every Friday, Sam was disappointed to see Gabriel leave, and every Monday morning, when he’d wake up to Gabriel checking his blood pressure, he felt elated. It took him exactly three weeks before he realized why.

“So you have a crush on your nurse, big deal,” Charlie waved her hand around as she sat in the chair next to him. “It’s not the end of the world.”

Sam sighed. Here he was having some gay panic he hadn’t experienced since high school and Charlie was just sweeping it under the rug. “Charlie-“

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re not me, but still. You gotta take it easy or you’re gonna hurt yourself. Just ask him out when you check out and if he says no, then what’s the big deal? You won’t have to see his face every day if he rejects you.”

“Charlie-“

“And how’s my favourite patient today?” Gabriel daunted in, ridiculous duckie scrubs on as he rolled the blood pressure machine in with him.

Sam smiled small and warm, the warmth blooming in his chest heavy. “Good. Head doesn’t feel like it’s exploding every ten seconds.”

“Hey, that’s great! Just gotta check your blood pressure and temperature and I’ll be out of you and your girlfriend’s hair.”

Charlie laughed, wiping fake tears away from her face where there weren’t any. “Oh, boy. Do you see any girlfriends in here Sam? Cuz I don’t.”

Sam frowned, his dimples of discontent more pronounced than normal. “Ha, ha. Think he was referring to you, jackass.”

“Pfft! Please, the day I date a guy is the day hell freezes over, which reminds me,” she leaned in on her chair closer, tilting her face up at Gabriel from across the bed. “That nurse with the dark brown hair and Cupid mouth... she single?”

Gabriel shook his head, a shit eating grin curling onto his own mouth. “Oh, Dorothy? Oh, yeah. But she’s a tough but to crack. Many have tried, and many have failed.”

“Charlie’s not the average person, though.” Sam chuckled, remembering her list of conquests in college. “Call her the nut cracker.”

“Ew,” Charlie scrunched up her face is disgust. “You made it sound gross.”

He rolled his eyes, lifting his arm to be wrapped in the blood pressure cuff. “Oh, uh, huh. Sure I did. You’re the one whose mind went into the gutter, but whatever.”

They jabbed at one another, Gabriel being dragged into the drama as he checked over Sam’s vitals for a few more minutes. When Gabriel left to check on another patient, Sam couldn’t stop staring at the guy’s ass, something that Charlie picked up on immediately.

“Oh Winchester,” she drawled, his eyes snapping to hers in embarrassment. “You’ve got it bad. Never mind what I said before, this isn’t run of the mill stuff. Whatever you need, I got you, Kay?”

He nodded, letting his head settle down into the pillow, wanting the bed to swallow him home.

—————————

Gabriel wasn’t at work the day Sam was checked out of the hospital, or the three days before, either. Sam hoped it was maybe a few vacation days, or maybe a family emergency that kept him away, and not Sam himself. No, that wasn’t right. He didn’t actually want the guy’s family to be in an emergent situation, he just... Sam wanted to ask the guy out. He wanted to take him to dinner and the movies and to hold his hand and kiss him good morning and, and - and he was being ridiculous. Gabriel was probably already in a relationship or wasn’t interested in him like that. Either way, Sam felt like he was being an idiot.

He stood at the nurses’ station leaning half on the counter, half on Dean has he signed his release forms when Demon 1 came up to him. “Sam?”

Sam nodded, turning to look at her. He prayed that she wasn’t going to ask him to fill out anymore damned forms cuz his hand freakin hurt, okay? “Uh, yes?”

“Nurse Gabriel would like to see you.”

He looked at her in confusion. If he wanted to see Sam, why didn’t he just come to see him? The man was being ridiculous, but whatever. If Gabriel wanted Sam to play along, Sam would play along - just this once. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be right back Dean.” And he followed the nurse while on his crutches to a patient room. There, laid up in bed with a litany of bruises and a broken arm was Gabriel. Sam felt his mouth drop open in shock, unaware of what the hell to do. “Ga-Gabriel? What the hell happened?”

Gabriel turned his head from where he’d been watching the news to look at Sam. Instantly, his face lightened up and looked ten years younger. “Sam! Heard you were being discharged today and it felt wrong not saying bye to you.”

Sam lowered himself into the chair next to the bed. “What happened to you?”

“Tell me: the car that hit you? Blue Toyota Corolla?”

Sam blinked back confusion, head reeling back a bit in shock. “Uh... Yeah, why?”

“Good news is, they caught the guy,” Gabriel scratched at his nose, the bruises leaving him recoiling his hand on pain. “Bad news is he was a drunk driver.”

“How do you know that?”

“He hit my car Monday night as I was driving home from the hospital.”

Sam thought back as realization settled deep in his gut. “Oh! That’s why you haven’t been he- Gabriel, you were in a car accident! What did the doctors say? Did you have surgery? How long are you going to be here? Do you need anything?” Sam knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop. “Want me to get some magazines for you? Do you need more pillows? How long do you need the cast? Can I sign it? Do you have a lawyer? Cuz the firm I work for has-“

“Woah, woah, woah, babe. Chill!” His hand landed on top of Sam’s, a little clammy but still warm and comforting, even through the plaster. “I didn’t ask nurse Damen to bring you here for all that. I just wanted you to know they caught the guy and the I haven’t been around to see you cuz I’ve been loopy on meds. But I’ll be fine. The doctors here are great.”

“So are the nurses,” he blurted out, face turning pink.

Gabriel’s mouth curved into a mischievous smile, fingers curling around Sam’s. “Oh really? My, my, you do flatter me, sir. And yes, you can sign my cast, so long as you leave your number so I can text you when I get bored,” he winked.

Sam’s responding smile blotted our the sun. “How about I come see you for lunch tomorrow instead?”

He never thought he’d render Gabriel speechless, but here he was, mouth gaping in the wind. “You- really? You’re not sick of me yet?”

Sam curled his fingers around so that he could intertwine his fingers with Gabe’s. “Nope. Been working up the courage to ask you out for a month, now.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Well, then. Um, you really want our first date to be with me littered in bruises?”

Sam pulled the hand closer to his mouth to kiss the back of it sweetly. “I’m still bruises from the IV incident, so we match, at least. How’s 12:30 sound?”

Gabriel hummed, a light blush filling his face. “Sounds perfect.”

And it was. Even when Gabriel sneezed while trying to kiss Sam goodbye on the cheek after.

[kybelles]

for the dvd commentary meme:

Apparently it was all it took to set Damen off because he swallows his fruit and looks at Theomedes with accusing eyes. “Six months! That’s half a year, baba! How am I supposed to endure it until then?” His lip quivers again and this time, a sob escapes from his mouth. He turns his teary eyes to Hypermenestra. “I feel like my heart is breaking into pieces! Can a person die because of a broken heart?”

Keep him safe, a woman’s raspy voice whispers. Love him. Love him so much.

A memory. Egeria, untangling herself from his embrace in the middle of the night and stepping into the balcony for some fresh air. Theomedes, following after her like a sailor follows a siren. Egeria’s belly swollen with their unborn baby, her thin silk nightgown clinging into her skin, her skin glowing with both sweat and health.

You never looked more beautiful, Theomdes said unthinkingly as he stared at her. Egeria smiled cheekily at him, her dimple showing, hazel eyes shining with mischief. Flattery will get you nowhere when I’m this big, Exalted.

And then. The baby came too early.

Promise me he’ll be okay, Egeria whimpered as she continued to bleed and bleed. One of her hands was clutched in Theoemedes’s hand and his tears were blurring his vision. He kissed her knuckles, over and over again, until her last breath. I promise.

Theoemedes doesn’t recall a worse heartbreak he’s experienced than Egeria’s death but in the end, he survived. For his country and his family. For his motherless infant son.

HELLO GORGEOUS 💞 💞 wow, almost every question i got about this meme had been about egeria! i love that this sorta has become my brand ngl 🤭

i know the books repeatedly tell us theomedes' great love was hypermenestra and the only reason they couldn't get married was bc of her low status but i like to imagine theo and egeria also loved each other in some way. (hypermenestra and egeria too hehehe) i've actually become very attached to the idea of them being in a polycule since akielon culture is generally polyamorous. so, i wanted to portray theomedes' anguish over losing egeria and how much her death affected him even though she gave him a precious gift like damen. and how he had to pull himself together to take care of him since he was all damen had now.

i'm also a great "damen got his dimple from his mother" truther because i just like the idea of damen inheriting egeria's charm! in canon, damen is a very charismatic person who easily impresses almost everyone he meets and i just love the idea of egeria being the same. that even though these two people never got the chance to be a mother and son duo, damen still carries egeria's legacy by having her easy magnetism and her dimple. 🥺

[dreamdropxoxo]

I love your writings so much! They are all so good😭😭 and I can’t wait for your advent calendar!! In the meantime, would you write kiss no. 35?

Awwwww! Thank you so much 🥰 This means a lot to me. Sorry that it took so long (the calendar is already finished and I only now post your prompt...). But I hope you like it anyway! ❤️

The prompt is from the list here, where you find an overview over all my answers. (Original post of the prompt list here). 

35. An awkward kiss given after a first date.

Laurent sat in Damianos’ car before his house. They had been on their first date to the museum and it had been very fun. Laurent knew he wanted another date, because Damen wasn’t boring and he wasn’t arrogant and he made him laugh.

So, all in all it was a pretty good score he could draw at the end of the evening.

The only problem in their current situation was that Damen was actually Auguste’s best friend and not supposed to invite him on a date, at least if you asked Auguste. 

To be fair, Laurent was 20 and old enough to decide who he wanted to go on a date with or, even more important, who he wanted to fuck (not that this was what was happening here, but there was potential). However, his older brother was overprotective. Especially since the death of their parents and normally Laurent didn’t mind, but when Auguste had yelled at Damen because he had asked his younger brother out, said younger brother had yelled back and the two blonds had had a shouting match right there in their kitchen with Damen looking back and forth between them like a scared puppy.

“Uhm, so I think I should let you go now, shouldn’t I? Auguste might rip my head off otherwise and I quite like my head where it is now,” Damen spoke up softly, a smile on his face and his fucking dimple right there for Laurent to stare at.

“Yes, I quite like your head where it is now too, it would be a shame should something happen to your face,” Laurent replied without really thinking about it. It was all the fault of this dimple! Seriously, who would be able to think when Damianos Vallis smiled at them like that with the FUCKING dimple so shamelessly displayed on his stupidly handsome face.

“Oh, I’m glad that you’d miss my face at least, should your brother decide to kill me.”

“Yes, I assume it would be a comfort to die with the knowledge that I’d be incredibly sad over the loss of your face.”

Damen nodded sagely, his eyes twinkling when he looked at Laurent and that was another reason why he wanted to have a second date with the dark haired man. He just got him and his humor and he always tried to make a serious face and play along.

“Absolutely. I think it would be almost worth all the pain and torture I’d have to endure previous to my death.”

Laurent couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping his mouth. “Oh, but honestly, I think you settle for too little. If you already risk death and destruction by the hand of my overprotective brother then I think you should get a kiss from me.”

Damen’s gaze dropped from Laurent’s eyes to his mouth and he breathed a, “Yeah?”

“Yes. At least.” Laurent grinned and leaned over the centre console. Damen stared at his lips like hypnotized and it was only too easy to grab his collar and drag him close enough to press their mouths together. 

Something dug quite uncomfortably into Laurent’s stomach and Damen was obviously surprised judging by the quiet gasp leaving his lips, but it was a good kiss. Especially when the other man finally caught up with what was going on and kissed him back. 

One large hand found its way into Laurent’s hair and he was dragged even further over the console. It really wasn’t the ideal position for a kiss, but fuck, if Laurent would complain. He opened his mouth when Damen’s tongue traced his lower lip and groaned in satisfaction when he finally felt-

There was a sharp rap against one of the windows and Damen pulled back as if he had burned himself. Laurent looked up and saw an Enraged Older Brother stand beside the driver’s side of the car.

Damen was tomato red, or at least Laurent suspected, it was hard to tell with his darker complexion and didn’t dare to meet Auguste’s eyes, who was at least crimson in the face and glared at the two of them.

Laurent rolled his eyes at his brother and turned towards Damen. 

“Yes, well, that seems to be my clue. It was nice, and if you survive whatever Auguste plans, I’d really like to go on another date with you. Goodbye Damen.” He leaned over again and placed a soft kiss on Damen’s warm cheek, he could swear he could hear an enraged sound from outside, before climbing out of the car with a bright grin.

Auguste stomped towards him and opened his mouth to rebuke Laurent, no doubt, but the younger of the deVeres, only took his wrist and dragged him towards their house.

“Did you have to do that? The kiss was actually getting quite nice.”

Auguste sputtered and threw his hands in the air. “You can’t even drink alcohol! How come you think you know what you want in a man? Goodness, Laurent!”

Now this discussion was old and boring. “Calm down, Auguste. My god. It’s not was if Damianos is a axe murderer. He’s your own best friend! Why are you even friends with him if you think that he isn’t trustworthy? Shouldn’t you be relieved that I picked someone you know and apparently like enough to sleep in the same bed with?”

“Oh no Mister, you can’t counter with logic here! Let me be irrational for at least half a day before you bring your arguments!” Auguste yelled and Laurent couldn’t help but start to laugh. 

“Alright! Then you get the whole morning tomorrow to be irrationally stupid and angry with me, but after that we’ll talk about what a good guy Damianos is. Deal?”

Auguste bit his lip and nodded. “Deal. And now go to bed!”

Laurent laughed. “Fine fine. Sleep well, I love you.”

“I love you too.” Auguste said and smiled at him when Laurent turned around to look at him as he walked up the stairs.

[sir-pyllero]

Keeping Score

My very first Captive Prince drabble is a silly, mostly dialougue based feel-good Modern!AU in which Auguste is dating Nikandros which leads to Laurent meeting Damen and that means Nicaise might soon have four dads.

”Third date, huh? You going to tell him?”

Auguste glanced at Laurent through the mirror. “You know I will,” he replied and wiped the last of the shaving cream off his face.

“And if he’s not okay with it?”

“Then that’s it.”

“That’s it?”

“Laurent.”

“Just making sure.”

Auguste sighed. “If he’s not okay with it then there’s no point, is there?”

“But you like him.”

“I do. Which is why I really hope he’s okay with it.”

Laurent hummed. “Just a t-shirt?” he asked when Auguste picked out a black one.

“Yeah, we’re just going out for coffee.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“He’s seen the house, right?”

“He has.”

“So, he knows you could take him to all the Michelin places in the city without making a dent to your bank account?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. Well. He just scored a point,” Laurent said, following Auguste out of the room.

“You’re keeping score?”

“Of course.”

“How many points does he have?”

“2.”

“What’s the other point for?”

Laurent smiled. “You like him.”

--

“I, uh… I have to tell you something.”

They had been sitting the in the corner of the café for about an hour when Auguste finally decided to drop the bomb. It was a shame, really, he had enjoyed this date so far, just as much as the first two. Not only was Nikandros easy on the eyes, he was also easy to have a conversation with.

Auguste really, really hoped that he’d be okay with it.

“You’re married.”

Auguste chuckled. “No.”

“Okay, good. You just sounded so serious. The last two times I was told ‘I have to tell you something’ like that were when Damen first told me he was going to propose to his girlfriend and then called to tell me she fucked his brother and he was going to move in with me.”

“Uh…”

“Right, yeah. Sorry.” Nikandros cleared his throat. “You just really did sound serious. I have a habit of… I don’t know… rambling?”

“It’s okay. So, Damen lives with you?”

“Oh, no, not anymore, all that was about a year ago. His new place is right above mine, though... Might as well have stayed with me, I guess, but it does make dating easier not to have someone much better-looking hanging around your corners.”

“He’s not”

“What?”

“Better looking than you.”

Nikandros huffed. “You’ve met Damen.”

“Yes, I see him almost daily. And I think you underestimate yourself.”

“Are you trying to make me blush? I’m a grown man, I don’t blush.”

“Of course not.”

“Didn’t you have something to tell me?”

For almost 30 seconds, Auguste had forgotten that the fast beating of his heart didn’t have much to do with their playful bantering. He took a deep breath, squeezing his empty coffee cup. “Well. I don’t live alone.”

“The house is huge.”

“Yeah…”

“And?”

“…I share it with my son. And my brother.”

Nikandros blinked. “You have a kid.”

“Yeah. He’s 11.”

“You had a kid when you were 20.” Auguste nodded. “Are you divorced? Not that that matters, I’m just… curious.”

“No, it’s uh… It’s bit of a story, actually,” Auguste admitted.

“I have time,” Nikandros shrugged. “Unless, of course, you don’t want to tell me which is fine, too.”

“It’s not a secret. His mother really wanted a baby. We were good friends and we were young and I… offered my services,” Auguste explained. “I figured I’d be the cool dad, you know? The kind that doesn’t have much responsibilities but has him every other weekend and takes him to Disneyworld and buys him whatever he wants. I practically raised Laurent – my brother,” he clarified when Nikandros looked confused. “– so being the fun parent was going to be easy.”

“But he lives with you now?”

“He does. His mother died in childbirth.”

“Oh… fuck. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. My plans changed a bit after that.”

Nikandros nodded slowly. He didn’t say anything for a while and Auguste didn’t try to interrupt his train of thought. He knew that once Nikandros had processed everything, he’d then decide whether to stay or leave, and Auguste took the quiet moment as an opportunity to get ready for both scenarios.

“Can I just ask you something? Sort of personal?” Nikandros asked, his voice breaking the silence.

“Sure.”

“You are from Vere, right?”

“True.”

“And you have a bas… uh… a - a child out of wedlock?”

“Well… It’s not like we’re royalty,” Auguste joked. “But in all seriousness, yeah, it’s still not… preferred, though the people are not as backwards about it as they used to be. But we moved to the States when Laurent was still a kid and even my parents were too thrilled to have a grandchild to care that I didn’t marry his mother.”

“That’s good.”

“It is. And listen, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I know I should’ve made it obvious from the get go that I’m a package deal and…”

Nikandros silenced him by putting his hand on top of Auguste’s, catching him off-guard. “Don’t think you have to explain to me why you didn’t tell me about your child. I’m sure you had your reasons and I’m sure they’re perfectly reasonable.”

A warm wash of relief went through Auguste and it came out as a smile. Nikandros smiled, too, and it certainly didn’t look like he was going to bolt out of his chair and run. “Thank you.”

“No need. So, what’s his name?”

--

When Laurent opened the door, he most certainly was not expecting a man the size of a fridge to stand behind it. With a blink, he acknowledged he was an insanely good-looking man the size of a fridge.

“Uh… Am I at the right house?” the man asked, looking from his phone to Laurent.

“That depends,” Laurent said. “Are you delivering Chinese?”

“No?”

“Then I think you might have the wrong house.”

“Huh… Right. I’m looking for Nikandros?”

Laurent’s eyebrows shot up. “Nik’s real name is Nikandros?”

“Oh, this is the right house!”

“Is Nikandros out on a date with Auguste?”

“He is, yes. I have his car, so he asked me to pick him up. I’m a bit early, though. I just wanted to make sure I had the right house because… well, wow! I thought my parents’ house was big, but this is more like a mansion. Anyways, now that I know I’m at the right place, I can go wait in the car. Sorry to have bothered you.”

Laurent let the guy take a few steps before making a split-second decision and calling out: “Wait!” The guy turned around. He was smiling. He had a dimple.

Fuck.

“Auguste texted a while ago that he’s going to be late. He told us to order food. We tend to order way too much so… you’re welcome to share. You’re probably going to have to wait a while.”

The guy frowned and took his phone out of his pocket. “That’s weird, Nik didn’t… Oh. He did. Damn.”

Laurent shrugged. “My offer stands.”

“You’re absolutely sure I wouldn’t be a bother? I can just come back later.”

“It’s fine, come on. The food will be here soon.” He stepped aside to let the guy in. “I’m Laurent.”

“Damen,” the guy said. “Damn, this place is even more impressive on the inside,” he continued. “You live here, too?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. Veretian?” Damen asked, nodding at some of the decorations as he followed Laurent to the kitchen.

Damen recognizing Veretian style did not make him any less attractive and Laurent had to bite his cheek not to show how impressed he was. “Originally, yeah. We moved here when I was four, though. Hey! Nicaise, dinner will be here soon!”

Nicaise was sitting on the kitchen isle, feet hanging in air and eating chocolate sauce straight out of the bottle. “I’m having dessert first,” he said with a shrug.

“And I’m sure you’ll want dessert after, too.”

“I’m a growing boy. Who’s the brute?”

“He’s a friend of Nik’s. I invited him to share our dinner since your dad’s going to be late. Oh, and hey, you’ll never guess what Nik’s real name is.”

“Nikoangelo.”

“Better. Nikandros.”

“Nikandros?” Nicaise huffed. “Is he Greek?”

“Close,” Damen said. “Akileon. We both are.”

Nicaise frowned. “Aren’t we supposed to hate them?”

“That’s ancient history and you, smart-ass, don’t even have Veretian passport,” Laurent said. “This is Nicaise, by the way. Auguste’s son.”

“I gathered,” Damen said. “I didn’t know Auguste had a son. Nik didn’t say anything, either.”

“He didn’t know, either. He does now, though, and since they’ll be back late, I guess he didn’t run for the hills. That’s another point for him,” Laurent said, the last part directed at Nicaise.

“He’s got 4 now, then.”

“3.”

“No, Dad says he likes dogs. That’s a point.”

“He likes kids, too,” Damen said. Laurent felt a little stab in his gut but masked it with a curious ‘oh?’ “Yeah, I mean. When he talks about future goals, he wants a family. One of our friends has a little daughter and Nik just turns into pudding when she’s around. So… yeah. Auguste having a kid wouldn’t scare him away.”

Laurent felt the corner of his lip pulling upwards. “Well,” he said. “He hasn’t met him yet.”

“Hey. I am perfectly lovable.”

“Mmhm.”

“You love me.”

“I’m obligated.”

“Fuck you. I’ll get it!” Because at that moment, the doorbell rang. “Where’s your wallet?”

“The desk.”

“He uh… He’s a handful, I’m guessing?” Damen said carefully when Nicaise rushed out of the kitchen.

“He’s better when his dad is home. I’m the cool uncle, I can let a few things slide. Beer?”

“I’m driving.”

“Hm. Well, that’s a point to you,” Laurent said. “Water, coke, root beer?”

“Water’s fine. And why would I need points?”

“You never know.”

“Then I’d like to mention that I absolutely love dogs.”

Laurent’s heart made a delighted little jump. It surprised him enough that he was sure his cheeks flushed red and he turned to the fridge to take out two water bottles and a cola for Nicaise. “So…” he said when he turned back to face Damen. “What do you do? For living?”

“I’m an architect. I work with Auguste, actually. Or, for him,” Damen replied. “That’s how they met. Nik and Auguste.”

“Ah. You’re Damianos.”

“Well, that sounds even sillier than Nikandros,” Nicaise declared before Laurent could explain how he knew Damen’s real name.

“That’s rude,” Laurent chastised. “Was it the cute one?”

“Yup.”

“How much did you tip him?”

“You’ll sleep better if you don’t know.”

“Nicaise…”

“What? He’s a student with a student loan! I did a good deed! When I die, I’ll come back as a noble steed for my good karma!”

Damen laughed out loud at that, causing both Laurent and Nicaise to turn to him. “You can’t argue with that logic.”

Nicaise grinned. “See? Even the brute agrees. Can I eat in the living room?”

“Go ahead.”

Nicaise loaded his plate with a lot more food than he would probably eat and normally Laurent would have told him to leave half of it, and come back if he was still hungry after eating the first half. Now, however, he was strangely glad that Nicaise would most likely stay out of the kitchen for at least half an hour.

”You know about me?” Damen asked when Nicaise was out of sight.

“Auguste has mentioned you, yes.”

“Oh God. He’s complained about me, hasn’t he?”

“As a matter of fact, I think he’s rather impressed with you.”

Damen whooped. Laurent found it quite adorable and for that, he internally shook his head at himself.

“That’s a relief. I thought him not telling me that he has a son was an indication that I was on some sort of a black list,” Damen said.

“That’s not it, trust me. He’s just insanely protective of Nicaise. We both are,” Laurent explained.

“But you invited me in,” Damen pointed out.

“You’re friends with Nik and he’s a good guy so… Yeah, I invited you in.” Not to mention I want to stroke your hair and put my finger in your dimple. Laurent cleared his throat. “Take whatever you want. I like everything.”

Laurent was sure a guy of Damen’s size could eat a whole lot more than what he put on his plate, but he didn’t want to stomp on his subtle way of being polite. They made small talk of Laurent’s history studies and why he hadn’t taken the family route to be an architect. They touched the subject of Damen’s brother taking over their family’s company but Laurent didn’t probe when Damen changed the topic quite quickly. Nicaise appeared at some point to declare he wanted ice cream but was quickly off again with his full bowl to watch what Laurent was quite was not an appropriate movie for a boy for his age.

“I get why you’re fond of him,” Damen said.

“Other than the fact that he’s my nephew?”

“Well, yeah. I know lots of people who couldn’t give a rat’s ass about their nephews.”

“Hm. Me, too.”

“So I think it’s cool, you know. This little family unit that you have going on. You’ve clearly made it work,” Damen said, smiling.

“We have. Which is why we’re very careful about who we let in it,” Laurent said.

“Nik’s a good guy, I swear.”

“I believe you. Are you?”

Damen’s expression changed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you already scored a point since you absolutely adore dogs,” Laurent said, quoting Damen from earlier. “And you’ve managed to score a few more in a very short amount of time, if you’d be interested to… take advantage of that.”

“You’re the younger brother of my boss,” Damen said. “We really should just stay friends.”

“Friends. Is that what you want?”

“I work for your brother, Laurent.”

“He won’t mind. If you really are a decent person, he’ll probably encourage it,” Laurent said. “Just tell me, if Auguste wasn’t your boss, would you hesitate?”

Damen shook his head, no. “I’d have already asked you out.”

“Then ask me out.”

Damen took the tiniest step forward. Laurent’s felt a thrill go through him, and that was a new, exciting feeling that he really wanted to explore.

“Will you go out with me?”

“Yes,” Laurent replied right away. “I just – I don’t have the option to hide my family from you anymore, so to speak. So before a… date? turns into anything more, I have to make absolutely sure that you are in fact a good guy. You’ll have to patient with me. I’m telling this to you now because we’ve known each other for 20 minutes and it’ll be less awkward for you to just decline and walk away. I won’t be easy. In any aspect of dating. Even this – what we’re doing now - is actually foreign ground for me.”

Laurent took a deep breath after his little speech, sure that his cheeks were flaming. Damen was smiling so that his dimple was very visible, and Laurent swore he could drown in those eyes.

“I’ll do my best to make sure you never have to doubt that I’m a good guy. How’s that sound?” he asked.

“That sounds… great. Great.”

“Good. A date, then? Dinner?”

“Yeah, that…”

“I’m home! Where are you, there’s someone I… Oh. Hi, Damen!”

Auguste came into the kitchen then with Nikandros behind him. He paused to take in the two plates on the kitchen counter and raised his eyebrows at Laurent in silent question. Laurent shrugged, but failed to keep the tiny smile off his face.

“Damen didn’t see Nik’s text until he was already here, so I invited him to share the food,” he said, opting for the truth as an explanation. “Nicaise is watching something R-rated in the living room.”

“I’ll throw you under the bus if his teachers complain about his language again.”

“Of course.”

“Anyways, uh… Laurent. Meet Nik. Officially,” Auguste said, stepping aside a little so that Laurent could shake hands with Nikandros. “Nik, this is Laurent.”

“Nice to meet you,” Nikandros said politely.

“Likewise,” Laurent replied. He did smile, but at the same time he hoped his eyes communicated that even though he was the younger brother, he’d have no problem kicking Nikandros’ ass should the need arise. To his benefit, Nikandros seemed to understand, as he offered a little nod as an assurance.

During their silent exchange, Auguste had brought Nicaise back to the kitchen. The boy was still a little small for his age and looked even smaller next to his dad, who competed with Damen in size. Quite a lot of his confidence had been left on the couch, and he pressed himself close to Auguste as Nikandros offered his hand.

“Nicaise, this is Nik. You’re going to see a lot of him from now on,” Auguste said, putting his hand thought Nicaise’s curls.

Nicaise stayed silent for a moment, eyeing Nikandros suspiciously. When he finally spoke, what he said was: “Damen’s real name is sillier than yours.”

Auguste made a sound to probably scold Nicaise, but it died when Nikandros just burst into laughter, which scored him another point in Laurent’s book.

“It is, isn’t it?” (“Hey!”)

“If you ever move in here, can we get a puppy?”

“We’ll make it our mission to make your Dad agree.”

“Okay. Can I go now?” Nicaise asked Auguste.

“Yeah. But you won’t finish that movie!” Auguste called after him as Nicaise disappeared. “He’ll warm up,” he said to Nikandros.

“That’s better than what I dared to hope. I thought he’d lock himself inside his room,” Laurent said.

“It’s a win, then?” Nikandros asked.

“Definitely,” Auguste confirmed. “Well, I guess we shouldn’t keep Damen waiting any longer.”

“There’s still food,” Laurent hurried to say. “You didn’t have dinner, right? You can finish this and we’ll… we’ll give you a little while longer? To… finish… your date?”

Auguste took the hint before Nikandros, who was frowning now, did. “Are you hungry?” he asked, and Nikandros blinked.

“I could eat.”

“Great! We’ll be…” somewhere you can’t see us “…in the garden.”

Laurent only stopped to turn the TV off (which earned him a “oh, come on!) because Nicaise hadn’t obeyed Auguste and led Damen out to the backyard and to the little secluded area behind some rose bushes where he liked to read. The bushes were also conveniently tall so that they could not be seen from the first floor of the house.

“Did you turn their first date into our first date?” Damen asked, amused.

“We’ll call this a pre-date?” Laurent offered. He was a little breathless.

“I’ve never had one. What does it entail?”

“I was thinking… if you don’t mind… a kiss? Because I think I might panic and it’s better to get it out of the way now so that it doesn’t ruin our actual…”

“Why would you panic?”

Laurent paused, realizing that little slip was quite a lot more than what he wanted to reveal to someone who was still practically a stranger.

This once, however, he chose not to turn back and retreat.

“Not now,” he said instead of fleeing. “Maybe… one day, okay?”

“Okay.” Damen pushed a strand of Laurent’s hair behind his ear. It was such a gentle touch, unlike what Laurent would expect of someone of Damen’s stature, and that in itself was strangely assuring. “I’ll kiss you now. Just push if you don’t want it.”

He was tall, so tall, but Laurent didn’t feel any fear as he closed the distance between them, slowly, giving Laurent every chance to change his mind.

Laurent didn’t, and Damen’s lips were so soft he almost moaned.

And that’s the beginning of how Nicaise suddenly had basically four dads.

[mfingenius]

Roommate AU

“Oh, you’re here!”

The only thing Laurent can think when he looks at the man is big. He has dark skin, dark, curly hair, and big brown eyes. Puppy eyes. He’s taller than Laurent – a lot taller than Laurent – and easily three times as wide. He’s a giant.

“I’m Damen,” He holds out his hand and smiles. He has a dimple. “Auguste told me about you.”

Right. Right.

“Laurent,” Laurent shakes Damen’s hand, feeling his face heat. Fuck. “I, uh.”

Damen doesn’t seem to notice Laurent’s nervousness, and he smiles widely.

“Do you need help unpacking?” He asks excitedly. “I can help you carry boxes. I'm, uh, strong.”

From anyone else, it would’ve sounded like a brag, but Damen says it almost shily. It’s infuriating.

Laurent has to stop himself from reaching out to touch Damen’s muscles as he says, “Yes, you are.” Damen looks at him weirdly, and Laurent turns red. “I mean, yes, I do. Need help. Unpacking. Thank you for offering.”

“Of course,” Damen says, and, together, they carry up the rest of Laurent’s boxes.

He seems unable to look away from the way Damen moves while he grabs the boxes and walks up the stairs, and nearly stumbles over his own feet because of how distracted he is.

“Water?” Damen offers, once they’re done. Laurent nods, and Damen walks towards the kitchen.

“This is a very nice apartment.” Laurent says, looking around. He’d never seen the apartment before; he’d lived with Auguste, before, and thought that he’d stay there through University, too; that plan had quickly changed when Auguste’s girlfriend had moved in with him. Laurent doesn’t want to ever have to listen to his brother having sex again. “Why aren’t you charging me more for it?”

“Oh,” Damen says, from where he’s taking the jug of water out of the fridge. “Well, uh, my family is rich. And I own the place, so it’s not like I need the money. When Auguste asked I told him you could live here rent-free, but he said you wouldn’t like that.”

Laurent hums. Auguste was right, of course. If someone had offered to let him live with them rent-free, Laurent would’ve thought they wanted something in return, most likely sex, and he would’ve gone looking for another place.

“I’m not rich,” Laurent says. “But I could pay more. If you wanted.”

It’s a lie. Their parents died when Laurent was four and Auguste was ten. Somehow, in the eight years that their uncle had the total control of their family fortune, he’d either transferred or spent it. What little had been left, Auguste had spent in the apartment he’d bought the second he was eighteen and on the lawyer that helped him acquire Laurent’s custody.

As it is, he’s going to be having a hard time paying Damen rent – which is pathetic, really, because it’s ridiculously cheap for the apartment that it is – but he says it because he doesn’t want Damen to think he needs to do Laurent favors just because Auguste and him are friends.

“No, it’s alright.” Damen shakes his head. He offers Laurent a glass of water, and Laurent takes it, drinking slowly. He hears the unmistakable sound of paws against the wood floor, and he feels excitement swell in his chest before he even sees what he knows is coming. “Oh, no, wait-”

It seems that even knowing what’s coming doesn’t save him from the absolutely huge dog that jumps at him and takes him down without so much as a bark. It places its big paws on Laurent’s chest once he’s on the floor, and then begins licking his face. Laurent is in heaven.

“No, Eurydice!” Damen says, but Laurent can’t see him because of the 120 kilograms of fluff on top of him. “I am so sorry, she is not usually like this-”

“It’s alright,” Laurent says, silly smile on his face. The dog stops licking him and merely lets herself drop on top of Laurent, panting happily. Laurent can’t breathe. “She’s gorgeous.”

A moment later, Damen has gotten Eurydice off him and is helping him off the floor with a sheepish smile.

“Are you alright?” Damen asks, placing his hand on the back of Laurent’s neck and checking him over. Laurent’s cheeks, previously flushed from happiness, now darken because of the touch on his neck. “Does anything hurt?”

“No,” Laurent says. Eurydice is lying on the floor with her head between her paws, looking chastised, and Laurent pouts in return and pets her head. “She’s amazing.”

“She is,” Damen says, looking fond. “She’s also a devil when she wants to be, but even then, I love her.”

Laurent grins. He's never had a dog because Auguste is allergic, but he loves animals in general, especially the big ones. He thinks living with Damen is going to be a lot better than he expected.

*

Laurent had thought that he’d spend his time at Damen’s cooped up in his room, avoiding all and any human interaction. He was wrong.

They have dinner together every day, the same as breakfast before Laurent leaves for University and Damen leaves for work. He works in his father’s company, and though Laurent isn’t entirely sure what he does, he thinks it has to be something physical, because he’s seen Damen’s friends and they’re all ridiculously big and strong.

They even begin taking care of Eurydice together. Damen jogs with her in the mornings, Laurent walks with her at nights. Damen quizzes Laurent when he’s studying, and Laurent returns all of Jokaste’s - Damen’s ex girlfriend, who fucked his brother while they were still dating and is now living with him – things to her when Damen says he doesn’t want to see her.

It isn’t until they’ve been living together for six months that someone points it out to him.

“You’re dating.” It’s Auguste, of course. “That is literally a relationship.”

“It’s not,” Laurent argues, as he’s cooking dinner. They trade turns, and even though Damen is a much better cook than Laurent is, Damen eats his food without complain. “We’re friends.”

“Friends don’t go on dates once a week.” Auguste says.

Laurent rolls his eyes. Just because they have a restaurant night in which they go out

every week, it doesn’t mean they’re dates. “They’re not dates.” He tells his brother.

Eurydice barks happily, meaning that Damen is home. A second later, Laurent hears the door shut.

“I’ve got to go,” He says.

“Fine,” Auguste says. “But you’re dating. You have a boyfriend. I thought you should know.”

Laurent rolls his eyes and hangs up the phone.

“Was that Auguste?” Damen asks. He kisses Laurent’s cheek – he does that, he’s a touchy person, it doesn’t mean anything – and offers a bouquet of flowers. He knows Laurent likes sunflowers, it doesn’t mean anything either.

“Thank you,” Laurent says, cheeks heating. He puts the flowers on the counter – he’ll find a vase for them when he finishes cooking – and stirs the pan. “Yes. He’s... dumb.”

Damen laughs and leans against the counter.

“Auguste is dumb?” he asks with raised eyebrows.

“He’s being dumb.” Laurent corrects. “He thinks we’re dating.” Damen frowns. “We aren’t?”

“We are?” Laurent asks. He’s had a crush on Damen for months now, but he didn’t think he could ever be attracted to him. Damen is – Damen. And Laurent’s just... himself.

“Well, yeah.” Damen says, bewildered. “We literally go on dates weekly. I just brought you flowers!”

Laurent looks down at the flowers.

“Oh.” he says. “I thought - I thought you were just being nice.”

Damen looks uncertain. “Fuck, I'm sorry, I should’ve been clearer – if you don’t want to, we can-”

“No!” Laurent says quickly. “I mean, I want to. I do. Want to. Date you.” Damen’s entire face brightens. “You do?”

“Yes,” Laurent’s cheeks are burning. “Yes, I do.”

“Good,” Damen says. He looks away, chewing on his lower lip. “Can I kiss you?” Laurent nods.

It’s the best – and admittedly, the first – kiss he’s ever shared.

---------------------------------------------------------------

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[mrs-amber]

watching the stars

It was a beautiful night. The sky was clear and there was no moon, so you could see all the stars shining and twinkling above. He could actually recognize some constellations and was fondly remembering the days when his little self used to go into the night with his older brother while he taught him all about them. A soft but cold breeze ruffled the trees around the building and played with Laurent’s blonde locks.

He was feeling very peaceful, trying to remember everything from the past two weeks he spent in his brother’s house. Damen’s house. This part he wasn’t trying so hard to remember since he mostly just embarrassed himself in front of him. Why would anyone keep trying to remember something like this? Anyway, what matters now is that he doesn’t want to leave. He had spent so long without his brother, that leaving him again seemed just as painful as it was in the beginning. And then there was Damen.

And speaking of the devil…

“Hey, there... Aren’t you cold?”, he could have been shouting for how he made Laurent jump, but his voice was soft. And now that Laurent was looking at him, his expression was as well. Oh, he was so gone for it. 

“A bit, but there’s no problem. It’s really nice out here tonight.”

“Yes, it is…”, his gaze trailed Laurent’s form crunched on the ground, and then back again to look into his eyes. For all that mattered, Laurent couldn’t bring himself to look anywhere else than the deep warm brown that were Damen’s eyes. 

“Do you want to sit here with me?” and well, wasn’t it a bold move to invite your crush to sit on the floor with you? His mind couldn’t be working properly anymore, he was sure.

And Damen did. And not just by his side, but by his side, do you get it? And it was so close that suddenly Laurent couldn’t remember why he actually said the night was cold at all. The warmth flowing through Damen was like a caress in the blonde’s skin and he had to concentrate very much to take his mind somewhere else.

“So, what are you doing out here all by yourself in the cold?”, he asked while pushing his knees up and propping his arms on top of them, fidgeting with his fingers. The muscles in his biceps were even more prominent like this. Not that Laurent noticed, of course.

“I don’t want to go home just yet, I miss being around Auguste… Home is never the same without him, and the past weeks were the best I had in a long time, to be honest. I think I’m just not ready for them to be over.” 

Was it too much to tell Damen these kind of things? It seemed so easy to talk to him, even considering how his heart was already racing just to be around him. Damen always seemed interested in his friend’s little brother. Maybe this was it, right? He wanted to be friendly because he was Auguste’s brother. Or not?

“Well, as far as I know, they’re not over until tomorrow morning. We still have the night, right?”, he glanced sideways to look at Laurent. 

His heart skipped a beat. We was all he could think about. What the fuck. What in hell did he mean whit that? We? 

He tried to read the expression on Damen’s face, but it kept changing. From curious and casual at first, then possibly recognizing something in the way the blonde was staring back at him, it changed to a more suggestive one and he smirked. Sometimes Laurent was caught off guard by his smiles and the way they lit up his whole face, accentuating his one side dimple. 

Laurent mustered all he had in him and looked away. To the sky. The sky was a safe place to look at. His heart seemed to recover his frenetic rhythm from the momentarily mismatched one. Not that it made him feel any better, but he was getting used to it. Maybe he was sick.

“When I was little, about five or six years old, Auguste would sneak out of bed with me and take me to our garden so we could look at the sky without our parents noticing. He would then tell me stories that he read in books, about every constellation he could recognize. Some of them he made up from the constellations I thought I was recognizing but only later on I realized this, anyway. Sometimes our parents noticed. Sometimes they got mad, especially when we were close to winter. Other times they would just bring a blanket outside and wrap us in it…”, he was mostly babbling at this point, remembering everything he and his brother would make up at that age.

“Do you see those three stars aligned over there?”, he said pointing to the sky just above them.

“Yes”, but he wasn’t looking at the sky. Laurent could feel his face warming under the other man’s stare.

“You have to look at them to know, Damianos.”

“Don’t get me wrong here, but this is more interesting to look at than them”, he had a soft smile and a fond expression, trailing Laurent’s face.

What? His brain shut down.

And did he just got starstruck gaping at Damen whit no other reaction at all? He didn’t know, because his brain wasn’t working anymore. 

When Damen brought one of his hands to brush off a strand of hair that had been blown by the breeze from Laurent’s face, he didn’t even flinch, too petrified to remember how to move. He tucked it behind his ear, and Laurent melted a bit into the touch. Damen proceeded to cup his head, putting a hand behind his neck softly and leaning closer, slowly enough that he could say no or back away if he wanted. He didn’t.

He closed his eyes and leaned in to end the distance between them. Damen’s lips on his were soft, so soft and so sweet. And he kissed with a tenderness Laurent couldn’t have expected from him. Lips lingering in his own, and when he backed away Laurent clashed his hand in his shirt and brought him closer again by the collar. Their lips crashing into each other in a more desperate and passionate kiss this time, tongues searching and breath hitching until there was no air left and they had to part to breathe.

“Fuck, I wish we had done this sooner. I think I’m not ready for your time here to be over as well…”

This time, Laurent couldn’t bring himself to be bothered by Damen’s straightforwardness or his lack of shame. 

[nikanndros]

Fake Courting AU. Part 1/2. 

Laurent gestured subtly, towards the other end of the ballroom where a group of men were talking amiably. “Him,” Laurent said.

Auguste looked. “What about him?”

“I’m going to court him.”

There was a long pause. “That’s King Damianos of Akielos.”

“Okay,” Laurent replied.

Laurent was watching the man with a calculating eye. Damianos, oblivious, laughed at something his friend (Nikola?) was saying. He had a certain charm about him - all smiles and the kind of self-assurance that was attractive. If one was into that. Auguste was not into that. And he certainly wasn’t into his darling little brother being into that.

“I have every faith in you, Lo,” Auguste said. “But he hasn’t shown any interest in courting you.”

Laurent shrugged, uncaring.

“He’s Akielon,” Auguste tried, a little desperately.

“No one’s perfect.”

“He,” Auguste was grasping at straws here, “When he arrived, he said ‘my eyes hurt from all the extravagance’. He doesn’t like Vere.”

“That just means he’s sensitive to beauty,” Laurent replied, airily. “Which is a point in my favour.”

Auguste sighed, heavily. “Why him?”

At that, Laurent looked to him. His blue jacket made his eyes stand out especially well tonight. Auguste would have preferred to introduce him to some Veretian noble to marry, someone who would respect - and also be subject to the whims of - Laurent. Damianos was a giant who would steal Laurent away to Akielos and probably add him to a harem of a hundred.

“I’m twenty-one. Mother said that if I didn’t pick someone to pay court to by the end of the year, she’d arrange a marriage for me herself,” Laurent said.

“The year ends at midnight.”

“Yes,” Laurent said. “I did think she was serious. She has since assured me that’s not the case.”

“I’ll argue with her about it,” Auguste said. “There’s no need for you to make a choice so soon.”

Laurent gave him a look.

“I’ll talk to her about it,” Auguste amended. “Politely, but sternly.” Their mother was a formidable woman.

“Relax,” Laurent said. “Damianos is handsome enough; everyone I have spoken to says he’s good-hearted and a delight to be bedded by. He isn’t a terrible choice.”

“You can’t decide to marry someone based on that!”

“I didn’t say we’d get married,” Laurent said. “We’ll court and become engaged, and then I’ll stage a terrible fight and he’ll return to Akielos alone in the new year. I’ll be broken hearted, mother will pity me, and then she’ll stop pressuring me to marry.”

“Damianos will never agree to that. He doesn’t even know you.”

“Well,” Laurent said, straightening his shoulders. “He’s about to.”

-

Auguste knew that he was charismatic. It was easy for him to make friends and find people to laugh at his jokes or to make eyes at. But Laurent had a different kind of charisma, that he could seemingly turn off and on at will. Auguste watched his quiet, bookish brother walk over to the King of Akielos - their sworn enemy until very recently - with all the confidence of a seasoned soldier.

And then, with an absolutely calculated lack of grace, Laurent stumbled and accidentally nudged into Damianos.

The scene played out: Laurent apologised, Damianos gestured to brush the matter off and then got a good look at Laurent and froze. Laurent said something, doubtlessly charming, and the King laughed. He had a dimple. Auguste watched his brother duck his head shyly, like a virgin milkmaid, and then Damen was smiling down at him, his friend ignored.

Auguste sighed and accepted a refill of wine.

-

For the next two weeks, Auguste kept catching glimpses of Laurent and Damianos. The whole court started gossiping about the pair the moment Laurent was seen publicly laughing at one of Damen’s jokes. It was a special delight (and dread) to see the way Laurent’s plans came together when one was privy to them.

Auguste suspected that Laurent only really told him in order to stop any brotherly posturing. It was a good choice. Even knowing Laurent wasn’t serious about his courtship, Auguste was still tempted to give Damen a talking to. Especially when rumours abounded that the Akielon King had entered Laurent’s rooms some nights.

-

“Damianos invited me to spar with him,” Auguste said.

Laurent nonchalantly turned a page in his book. “Yes,” Laurent said. “He was going to ask you to wrestle, but he didn’t want to embarrass you too much.”

“What?” Auguste said. “I could beat him in any sport.”

Laurent laughed. “I’m sure you could,” he said, in a way that meant he didn’t think so at all.

Auguste was struck with the sudden fear that maybe Laurent had fallen for the brute, after all. He felt a keen sense of loss, just at the idea that his brother had found someone new to idolise. He’s never so much as suggested that Auguste could lose in any arena before.

“I’ll wrestle him,” Auguste said, foolishly.

Laurent finally put down his book, only to raise an eyebrow. “Auguste,” he said carefully. “Akielons fight in the nude. You’ll give up before you’ve even taken your jacket off.”

“I will not,” Auguste said.

-

Damianos had reacted skeptically to Auguste’s offer to wrestle him, but in the end he agreed.

“We can go slowly,” Damianos suggested.

Auguste was glad that this was a private ring. He was feeling very odd, preparing to engage in sport without clothing. He’d scandalised himself.

“No,” Auguste said. “Let’s get this over with.”

It took Damen a humiliating fifteen seconds to put Auguste in the dirt. (And even then, he was pretty sure the first ten seconds had been pity). Damen was on top of him, legs pinning his own legs, hands pushing Auguste’s wrists into the ground above his head.

The doors burst open with a resounding clang. A gasp.

Auguste looked up to see Laurent, clutching his heart in the doorway. Next to him were two boys from the court, notorious gossipers that Laurent usually disdained.

“Damianos!” Laurent said, in a voice worthy of the greatest actors. “With my own brother! How could you?”

Damianos had sat back and was looking at Laurent in confusion. “What?”

“I thought we had a connection,” Laurent said. “But I cannot abide by this. I will not marry a man who isn’t willing to devote himself to me entirely. This was a mistake.”

With a flourish of drama, the likes of which Auguste had never before seen, Laurent turned his head mournfully and declared: “I shall never trust again!” before storming from the room. His two companions were quick to chase after him.

The doors closed behind them.

Damen looked at Auguste. “What.”

Auguste sighed. “I don’t pretend to know what happens in my brother’s mind. It’s best you forget any ideas of continuing to court him.”

“We weren’t courting,” Damen said, brow furrowed.

“You were seen going into his rooms at night.”

“To discuss him training to fight in one of our schools,” Damen said. “He only had evenings free.”

Auguste rubbed a hand across his forehead. He was getting a headache.

-

“But did it have to be me?” Auguste asked his brother later.

“You haven’t taken a lover in a while,” Laurent said. “Some distasteful rumours started popping up and this quashed them.”

Two birds with one stone. How very like Laurent.

-

Laurent performed his heartbroken ruse well. He avoided Damen at all costs; leaving events early or forgoing them entirely. He locked himself in his rooms and could be seen wistfully lamenting from his balcony. The court was abuzz with the scandalous gossip of Laurent’s first, tragic love.

Damen, for his part, just smiled guilelessly and pretended not to speak Veretian well whenever anyone was bold enough to comment to him directly on the matter.

Unfortunately for Laurent, perhaps, he could not avoid Damen when it was time for the royal family to see off the foreign king.

Damen clasped hands with Auguste, kissed Hennike’s cheeks, and then turned to Laurent. There was a heavy pause in which the entire court waited for a grand gesture or even hostility between the two, but Damen just gestured at a servant. The servant stepped forward and handed him a book, which Damen then held out to Laurent.

“I’m sorry for the way things happened between us. But all the same, I’m glad we crossed paths, however brief that time was. I hope you’re future is everything you want it to be, Prince Laurent.”

While Damen was mounting his horse, Auguste looked over Laurent’s shoulder at the book. It was a collection of fables. Laurent tipped it open to a page in the middle, that Auguste saw had been bookmarked.

The Lion and the Fox, it said, in elegant Akielon letters, with the translations underneath. It was hard to believe that Damen had had brought this book to Vere with him, and so he must have hastily commissioned someone to have it made in the past few weeks. Auguste watched Laurent’s eyes skim over the page, and then he snapped the book shut and held it to his chest.

As the Akielon entourage rode away, Laurent watched them, an odd expression on his face.

Auguste considered the way that Laurent stood, his new gift held to his heart. 

“Oh no,” Laurent said, very softly.

[laurent-ofvere]

@howdoidemi: “this is my first time writing the CP characters, so I’m not confident enough to actually make a story, but I love this au you guys keep talking about and you asked so…”

It was hot, Laurent thought. The day, of course, definitely not the spectacle his brother’s best friend made in the pool. Laurent had come outside earlier in the day when it was still cool enough to be tolerable, intent on doing a little landscape sketching. So much of the garden was in bloom that the air was constantly laced with a warm sweetness. It was just becoming noticeably, almost uncomfortably warm when the back door to the house opened and Laurent heard footsteps. He was more focused on his shading than on who was approaching, so his attention was really only caught when his feet caught some of the splash of what had surely been an impressive cannonball. Snapping his head up towards the pool to immediately yell at whoever had nearly gotten his sketchbook wet, Laurent’s words quickly died in his throat. Damen broke the surface of the water with a gasp that was quickly followed by a boisterous laugh. “It’s colder than I expected!” He called towards Auguste who was just dropping their towels in a nearby chair. “Hey Laurent!” He waved cheerfully. Laurent frowned slightly in response. The big, beautiful oaf had nearly gotten him wet. He’d been coming to their house for years. Everyone knew how protective he was of his sketchbooks. “Are you going to stay outside?” Auguste asked as he leaned over, trying to get a peek at what his brother was working on before the page was tipped away from his view. “If so, we’ll be careful not to splash in your direction.” “Thank you,” Laurent said sincerely as his eyes fixed once more onto the paper in hand. He tried to continue with what he’d come outside for, really he did. But it was just unfair how eye-catching Damianos was. Even on a normal day just sitting around their house and hanging out with Auguste, Damen had Laurent’s attention. He had several filled sketchbooks from throughout the years to prove it. But during summer, in the sun, dripping with the crystal clear water of their pool, Damen was truly in his element. He glowed, and Laurent hated the things it did to his stomach. Without meaning to and before he was even fully aware that he was doing it, Laurent’s pencil was tracing the lines of Damen’s hair, more wave than the usual curl as it was weighed down with water. His smile was blinding in the sun, that cursedly perfect dimple standing out on his cheek despite how much darker his skin had gotten from constantly being in the sun these past weeks. He and Auguste were roughhousing, originally playing some version of water basketball that had turned into more of a wrestling match than anything else.

Laurent could hear them laughing as they played their games, but he was more focused on the cut and curve of Damen’s well-muscled frame and the shadows the afternoon sun was casing on him. Damen and Auguste were both tall and athletic, but their builds were markedly different. Where Auguste was lean muscle, strong but narrow, Damen was all broad shoulders and thick curves. Before he knew it, Laurent’s page, originally meant for the garden’s landscape, was full of Damen. Damen’s arms, Damen’s back, Damen’s smile, and - Laurent’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly - Damen’s abs, accented by a happy trail. That damned happy trail had haunted Laurent’s dreams on more than one occasion. Again: it was unfair how eye-catching Damianos was. “Laurent!” Thoughts interrupted, Laurent looked up to see his brother waving at him to catch his attention before pointing down at his arm. Laurent looked down at his own arm and almost groaned. The sun had shifted and he’d apparently been sitting in direct sunlight for a good while judging by how pink his skin had gotten. Flipping his sketchbook shut and setting it down on the table next to him, he turned to give Auguste a stern look. It was only when Auguste nodded in understanding and waved him on that Laurent headed inside to find some aloe and sunscreen. “He really does burn easily, doesn’t he?” Damen asked as he pushed his hair out of his face and watched Laurent leave. Swinging his attention back to Auguste, he asked, “Why don’t you?” “Genetics,” Auguste shrugged as he reached for the small basketball they’d been playing with. “He got our mother’s skin. You’ll rarely catch either of them in direct sun for very long.” Damen nodded with a small hum. As he thought back on it, he realized that Auguste was right. In all the years he’d known the family, he couldn’t recall Laurent or their mother being outside much. “I need something to drink,” he announced suddenly, slowly wading towards the steps to exit the pool. He wasn’t even anywhere near the chair with their towels when Auguste called out, “Be careful of Laurent’s sketchbook.” “I know,” Damen laughed. Laurent was more protective of his sketchbooks then most people were of their children. He would never intentionally do anything that could damage one. That being said… Damen looked over his shoulder, back towards the house, as he dried himself off. Laurent was extremely talented. It never failed to amaze him on the rare occasion he managed to talk Laurent into showing him some of his recent works. He had a eye for depth and detail that Damen usually didn’t even notice existed until he saw it put on paper in pencil or charcoal. But one thing Laurent never let him look at, never let anyone look at as far as he knew, was what he kept in those personal sketchbooks of his. Stepping closer to the table and making sure that his hands were thoroughly dried, Damen reached for the edge of the sketchbook that had been left behind. “Damen," Auguste warned, now leaning along the edge of the pool closest to where Damen stood. “If Laurent catches you, he may very well kill you. You are aware of that, yes?” “I’m just going to take a quick look,” Damen insisted. “The curiosity has been killing me for years.” Even as he heard Auguste saying something about refusing to take responsibility for whatever befell him, Damen flipped through a few blank pages until he got to the most recent page Laurent had been working on. There were the garden’s flowers and bushes and trees, of course, but scattered among them was something that surprised Damen. It was him. His heart stuttered a little not having expected to see himself in such finely drawn detail. Damen wasn’t exactly what he would call vain, but he knew that he was attractive. Still, there was something about the way that Laurent had drawn him that seemed to accent all of his best features. It was flattering if he was completely honest. Extremely so. He was smiling so wide his cheeks were starting to hurt. Clearing his throat, Damen quickly let the sketchbook fall shut once more and turned his attention back to Auguste. “Do you want anything to drink while I’m inside?” “No,” Auguste sighed. The smile on Damen’s face said everything. Auguste had never looked through one of Laurent’s private sketchbooks, but he knew exactly what his friend had found inside. It couldn’t have been more obvious from his reaction. With a skip in his step, Damen made his way inside, towel slung around his shoulders to catch any stray drips from his hair. He ran into Laurent about halfway to the kitchen. “Laurent,” he greeted, “I’m getting drinks. Want anything?” Laurent looked at Damen carefully. Something was different. Cheerful seemed to be Damen’s default disposition, but the way his sparkling smile stretched across his face with extra enthusiasm bordered on suspicious. “No,” Laurent answered at length. “Thank you.” Damen smiled at him even brighter - if that was possible - and continued on his merry way to the kitchen. He’d known Damen for years and even with all of their various interactions in that time, Laurent felt that moment in particular had been odd. Different, somehow. It was in the way Damen smiled at him. Not in the normal way he did, as someone smiling indulgently at their best friend’s younger sibling, but in a way that was more specifically aimed directly at him. If Laurent had to describe it, he’d probably call it dopey. An idiotic kind of smile, too bright and too honest. And it was beautiful. It really was unfair.