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heyitsmemel · 26 days ago

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Asshole Part 3/3

Hi guys! I'm back!

Please note Yekitiverse is written like a novel. You do not need to read the others sections to understand, but if you're interested for context, here are the other parts.

CW: 4k words. Contains chara with a snz fetish, chara being sneezed on (consensually), illness, slight whump, humiliation, being sick at a fancy function, caretaking, and two guys who maybe, finallyyy admit they want to f*ck eachother! All characters in their mid 20's.

TW: Mentions of colonialism and ramifications on indigenous populations. Mentions of 'coming down' off fictional 'drugs' and nudity. NSFW (slightly) !!!

General Summary: Nass hates Prince Bellamy. But when they are forced to co-teach together at the University of Encouneteuro, Nass is forced to deal with a man who should be his enemy — and his cold.

____________________________________________________________

Nass knows he has mere minutes.

He tells himself he doesn’t care, that if Bellamy’s suppressant wears off in public it’s not his problem.

But it is. Nass, despite himself, cares very much what happens to Bellamy. And getting him out of here is the least he can do. Especially after he saved his twin sisters life.

From his position by the mosaic pillar, Nass watches Bellamy as he speaks with the Prime Minister of the central province near the dessert table. The Prime Minister, a short and round man seems more interested in dipping sugared Yekitian dates into the bubbling chocolate fondue than Bellamy’s answers.

Every few seconds Bellamy brings up a gloved hand to rub at his nose. As if summoned, Nass spots King Richis standing nearby, flanked by two royal guards. His amber, red crown glitters in the cold winter sun like a blade.

It’s now or never.

Nass moves quickly, sandals tapping against the stone as he hurries over.

Bellamy might never forgive him for this. But this is for his own good.

The chocolate fondue fountain is perched precariously on a raised brass stand, likely chosen for its elegance, not stability. The molten tiers glisten in the sun, the top dish full to bursting with thick, bubbling fondue.

Perfect. It certainly will be top-heavy.

Nass doesn’t hesitate as he whirls around the dessert table, making a show of looking at the trays like a curious student. Bellamy doesn’t even notice him at first — his eyes are half-lidded, nostrils twitching as he forces another breath through what’s clearly a congested nose.

Nass takes a date from a tray and pretends to stumble forward. His elbow clips the pedestal’s edge — just enough force to rock it but not enough to make it obvious. Nass clips it again, but harder this time.

“Your Highness,” the Prime Minister is saying, mid-bite, “I must say, this is the best fondue I’ve tasted since your cousin’s wedding. Were you there—?”

CRASH!

The fountain topples forward in a glorious slow-motion arc — brass catching the sunlight, the fondue sloshing like lava. The top bowl tips, the thick molten chocolate cascading through the air before—

SPLASH!

Bellamy is drenched.

The chocolate hits him chest-first, hot and sticky, soaking through the navy silk tunic and rolling in thick streams down his sleeves. The fountain smashes to the ground beside him, the remains spilling across the tiles in a dark, glistening halo, pooling under Bellamy’s shoes.

There’s a collective gasp. The Prime Minister screams. Somewhere, nearby, a server drops a tray.

Nass jumps around the table, grabbing a wad of nearby napkins and thrusts it toward Bellamy, all wide eyes and faux horror.

“I—! Skies, I am so—Your Highness, I didn’t see you—!” His face is a perfect picture of frantic apology, wide eyes and open hands.

Bellamy blinks at him in astonishment, nostrils flaring. His mouth opens but nothing comes out. His glassy eyes narrow into icy blue slits. Nass can’t tell whether he’s horrified or furious but either way, it’s the first time Nass has seen the prince speechless. And his suppressant is breaking down fast. His forehead glistens with sweat, his breath angrily panting in uneven stutters.

“What is the meaning of this?”

King Richis’s voice cuts through the courtyard. Heads turn in their direction as he stalks towards them.

“What in the seven hells happened here?” The king shouts, taking in Bellamy’s drenched form. The wet fabric sticks to him like a second skin, clinging to the muscles in his upper chest and arms. “Bellamy, is this chocolate?”

King Richis’s voice seems to shatter Bellamy’s shock because he immediately bows, somehow managing to keep his voice even.

“It was an accident your Majesty,” he says, working his mouth into a neutral expression.

The prime minister points. “This man somehow knocked over the chocolate fountain.”

Nass keeps his eyes locked on the floor, watching the chocolate spill into the grout in between the stones. He doesn’t look up. He won’t look up. If he meets Richis’s gaze, he’ll do something he will regret. He might kill the king.

“Who is this idiot?” King Richis barks, gesturing to Nass. “Do you know him Bellamy?”

“No. I don’t.” Bellamy says instantly.

Nass does not dare look up. He is not like Bellamy who lives his life behind a mask. King Richis will see the lie on Nass’s face. And by some miracle, anyone standing nearby that realizes Bellamy and Nass do in fact know each other, say nothing.

“And since it’s this idiot’s fault.” Bellamy steps forward, putting his hand on Nass’s shoulder. “You must do me the honour of finding a fitting punishment for him, Your Highness.”

Bellamy’s hand curls tight into Nass’s shoulder.

“And rest assured your Majesty,” Bellamy continues hoarsely. “His punishment will be severe.”

Nass can practically hear the message in the frantic grip.

Go along with it if you know what’s good for you.

“Very well Bellamy,” The king strokes his bearded chin. “You may decide a fitting punishment.” Richis’s gaze whips back to Nass. “Now. Go on you fool, speak.”

“My sincerest apologies Prince Bellamy,” Nass forces himself to look up at Bellamy as the prince’s hand drops from his shoulder. The apology comes out in a tone that sounds mercifully normal. Because Nass is sorry.

Bellamy stands so still it’s as if he was carved from stone. His jaw is clenched so tight Nass can see the muscle tick; his shoulders locked back. His body doesn’t move but his feverish blue eyes are wide. So wide that Nass knows —

Bellamy’s terrified.

Nass realizes, with a gut punch of clarity, that Bellamy isn’t afraid for himself. He’s afraid for Nass.

Bellamy takes a sharp breath.

“Nex timbe be more careful,” he says with a sniff. His neutral expression cracks a little — Nass can see his nostrils flaring. But he doesn’t lift a chocolate-stained glove to his rub at his nose. He doesn’t dare. Instead, Nass watches his eyes flutter half-closed, hears the half cough Bellamy chokes back.

“Clumsy, wild Southerners,” King Richis mutters to no one in particular, loud enough for everyone to hear. “No manners. No grace. No understanding of decorum.”

His voice is oily. It snakes through the air and lands in Nass’s stomach like acid. He bites his lip so hard in an attempt to keep quiet that he tastes blood.

The Kings eyes narrow as he surveys his son. “This is ridiculous,” Richis snaps. “You’re a disgrace Bellamy. Your dismissed. Get out of my sight.”

Bellamy gives the smallest possible nod, turning stiffly. When he finally turns his back to his father Nass sees him shudder, finally pressing the back of his wrist to his nose. Nass doesn’t dare watch too long as Bellamy makes his way past stunned onlookers, heading in the direction of the University’s main foyer.

“You,” the king barks. “Get out. Guards, escort this Southern idiot out of my event.”

A Northern guard approaches. Nass lets the man seize his arm, lets himself be marched away, though he could easily fight back. Snap the man’s elbow with a twist. Burn through his velvet robe with a single flick of flame.

But he doesn’t.

Because for the first time in his life, Nass doesn’t feel angry. He feels something far worse and unfamiliar. Something unbearably soft flutters in his chest.

Bellamy lied for him. Even miserable and sick. Covered in chocolate in front of his subjects.

He lied to protect Nass from the king.

And that’s what Nass can’t stop thinking about as he’s led through the mosaic halls. He barely reacts when the guard releases him. Doesn’t even snap back when the guard orders Nass back to his dormitories. Not over the worry pooling in his stomach.

Bellamy had left maybe a minute before Nass had. He can’t be far. He must be going back to his room to change. He must —

“hh–! h’IEGHkSsHh’u!”

Nass hears him before he sees him.

His head whips in the direction of the sound.

Bellamy sits slumped at the foot of the dormitory stairs; shoulders hunched as he sneezes loudly into his lap. His blue tunic sticks to his chest like a second skin — soaked through with chocolate and sweat. His curls are falling out of their careful slick, damp tendrils clinging to his fevered skin.

His whole body is shaking.

“Skies Bellamy,” Nass swallows back a gasp, skidding to a stop in front of him. “Why the hell are you sitting here?Do you need to go to the infirmary?”

“I just...” Bellamy blinks at him, voice barely above a whisper, thick with congestion, “...just ndeeded a moment. Please go away, Nass.”

Nass swallows back his worry. Then stares down at him.

At his trembling shoulders, his soaked clothes, his clenched jaw, the way Bellamy hasn’t even tried to move.

“You can’t get up,” Nass says quietly.

“You are such an asshole,” Bellamy says in lieu of answer. “How could you do that? Everything was fine. I had it under control.”

Nass can’t decide if Bellamy looks or sounds worse. His voice is gravelly, and his complexion has gone that horrifyingly grey colour, like the other day during the sparring match.

“You’re not fine,” Nass snaps. “Whatever drug you took is wearing off by the second, Bellamy. I needed to get you out of there.”

Bellamy sniffs. He raises a trembling hand to the back of his nose. It’s then Nass notices he’s discarded both of his soaked gloves on the stone.

“You ndeeded to mind your own… bh! business,” Bellamy furiously rubs at his reddening nose.

“I made sure to look like an accident,” Nass says. “Like it was my fault.”

Bellamy glares at him. “It was your fault.”

“I said sorry,” Nass says crossly. “I meant it.”

Bellamy shakes his head.

“How could you do something so stupid, Nass? Really I —…” His breath trails off, eyes fluttering before jerking against the back of his hand with a “Hh’TsshgGXT!”

The sound is so miserable and tired that it gets Nass kneeling. Bellamy’s eyes squeeze shut on the recovery. He drops his shaking hand back into his lap.

“Bellamy,” Nass whispers his name in a way he’s never before. “Look at me. Please.”

When he opens them, Nass takes a breath. Bellamy’s pupils are blown, his chest heaving, mouth trembling like he can’t get enough air. There’s chocolate smudged under one of his cheekbones and his eyes are wet and shiny with — with —

Tears.

It’s the first time Nass has seen Bellamy show any sign of fear, show any sign of something other than his trademark cool indifference.

“You could’ve been killed, Nass,” his voice is shaking. “D-do you understand? The king has killed for less. Far less. Or you could’ve been thrown out of the university. Eight years of study and he could’ve destroyed it in a second. And for w-whatd? F-for — ,”

“For you,” Nass interrupts, the answer rolling off his tongue. “It would’ve been for you, Bellamy.”

Silence stretches like thin wire between them.

Bellamy’s mouth trembles again. He’s so close to the prince he can feel his breath, hot and uneven on his face. He sees a smattering of freckles on his flushed cheeks, spots a slight bump in the bridge of his nose that he’s never noticed before. He realizes that the chocolate stain on his face is shaped like the Twarganda constellation, and his full Northern lips are — are — so close.

Too close.

Heat climbs through Nass’s chest like a rising tide. He wants to kiss him. No, he needs to. Just once. Just to feel what it’s like.

He’s going to kiss him just once and never do it again —

“hhiH’NGXTtS’suh!”

Bellamy wrenches his face away from Nass to sluggishly aim at the floor.

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as sways with another throaty “hh! hHHh’DZZSSCHh—'uH-!” that enunciates all the sharp sounds in his northern accent.

Nass has noticed these past few months Bellamy’s Northern accent is always more pronounced when he’s tired.

Bellamy sniffs wetly in the aftermath, pressing his curled palm underneath his nose.

“Excuse bme,” Bellamy croaks, eyelashes fluttering. He pauses, as if allowing himself one second of misery before drawing his shoulders back, straightening. When he turns his head back to look at Nass his cheeks are very red.

Too red. And not just from his fever. There’s longing there, in his expression. So much so that for a moment Nass wonders if Bellamy wanted to kiss him too.

Another silence stretches between them, heavy with desire, heavy with the sound of Bellamy’s congested breathing, the pounding of Nass’s heart —

“You will be pleased to know that my father has agreed to consider reversing the Kureesh ban in Southern schools,” Bellamy says quickly, rubbing at his throat. A violent shudder runs through him, and then another, wracking havoc on his perfect posture.

Nass barely processes the news over the worry multiplying in his stomach.

“What did you promise him?” He finally says. “To get him to do that?”

“HeH—HhDJSCChhh’UMFH!”

That one sneaks up on him fast. Bellamy barely manages to smash a hand under his nose before bobbing forward. He nearly knocks into Nass’s chest who’s practically hovering over the prince’s lap.

The closeness of it all makes Nass dizzy.The force of the strangled, choked-back expulsion has made a few curls around Bellamy’s forehead come loose from their hold.

“Do you have sombething against personal space?” Bellamy groans, rubbing the abused skin under his nose with a finger.

Nass is beginning to think he has something against personal space where Bellamy is concerned. But he scoots back a few steps, forcing himself to ask:

“Bellamy what did you promise him? Your father?”

Bellamy’s nose twitches. He takes a long breath out through his mouth. Nass swallows another surge of worry. Bellamy’s bloodshot eyes are going in and out of focus. His lip’s part and then he’s wisping away to the side to let out a string of harsh coughs.

“I will travel the south with him in spring,” he finally says. “I suggested banning Kureesh would not improve our…relations.” Bellamy sniffs. “But having a member of the royal family speak to Southerners in their native tongue, might.”

Nass ribs ache like something is cracking open inside him.

“Though,” Bellamy blinks at him through wet lashes. “I will need to — improve my hh! my — “HEH’DZSSCHhhY’iuh!”

Bellamy does not need to finish his sentence for Nass to know.

He needs to improve his Kureesh.

Nass doesn’t feel like he’s in the room. His mind spins. A Northerner will speak with Southerners in Kureesh for the first time in history. Bellamy put his ass on the line for their country. For the good of their people. For him.

He stares at the prince. Stares at his shoulders trembling, pale, pupils blown out, nose leaking against his wrist and that soft feeling pulls at Nass’s chest again. That feeling he’s never felt before.

“I will help you improve your Kureesh before you travel,” he finally manages to get out.

Bellamy doesn’t reply. He just tips forward slightly and— “ hehh’TSSHH’y’euuh!” bobs forward into a cupped hand.

The throat scraping expulsion seems to have shattered the last vestiges of his composure because his clenched teeth begin to chatter. The miserable rattle cements Nass back into the present moment, has him immediately shrugging off his outer robe.

“Bless you,” he says softly, then frowns. “Your cold.”

The miserable sniffle and chattering of Bellamy’s teeth are enough answer. Nass wraps his dak red robe around Bellamy’s shoulders, covering his soaked tunic, easing an arm around him.

“You can s-stop pretending, Nass,” Bellamy mutters. “Stop with the r-roots. The r-remedies. The — the s-snuff bottles. You got w-what you w-wanted.”

The words hit like a punch to the stomach.

Nass cares. It’s not an act. Maybe it never has been.

“It’s not pretend, Bellamy,” he draws his robe tighter around the princes trembling form. His hand moves to Bellamy’s cheek, frowning at the scalding heat he finds there. “I — I care about you. I know it must be hard to believe after everything. But I do. And I did those things because I — ”

Because he finds him maddening. Beautiful. Brave. Because, despite everything, Nass likes him. Because if things were different — if Bellamy weren’t the prince, if Nass weren’t from a village his father helped terrorize — then maybe, just maybe—

He’d take him as more than a lover. He’d choose him. Every time.

Because Bellamy is everything Nass is not. He’s calm and grounded where Nass is chaos and flame. Bellamy is logical and infuriatingly observant while Nass wears his heart on his sleeve. Bellamy is kind and stupidly witty, while Nass fumbles for words.

Bellamy is all light eyes and wild curls and a nose that’s slightly crooked when you really look. Bellamy puts out Nass’s fires — literally and otherwise — and Nass might be in love with him.

He might be in love with the crown prince of Yekiti and he hates himself for it.

Luckily, Bellamy spares him from finishing that thought by gasping sharply — burying his nose in Nass’s robe with a damp “-hH’EHDSSH’Yue!"

Then another—"hhuhh!— hh!... AAHTCHSHhh’uye!!”

He sounds awful.

Bellamy’s breathing stutters. He coughs, harder this time — a wracking, wet sound that echoes through the marbled corridor. When he lowers his elbow from his face, Nass sees the red fabric of his robe decorated in streaky damp patches.

Nass tries not to think about how he will eventually get that robe back. Thoroughly sneezed in.

“S-sorry,” Bellamy whispers, voice faint. “I did not intend to…” He falters. “To use your robe as a tissue. W-will wash it f-for y-you.” His head rolls across his neck like it’s too heavy to hold up.

Panic coils in Nass’s gut like a snake.

“Okay—okay,” Nass says under his breath, grabbing onto his shoulder. “Okay, Bellamy. You’re done. We’re done. I’m taking you to the infirmary. Now.”

“Ndo,” Comes Bellamy’s shockingly angry reply. His arm shoots out, nails digging into his skin with a feverish urgency. “You will do no such thing, Nassim. That’s an order. Do you understand me? That is an order from your prince. Disobeying is treason.”

Nass’s mouth drops open. Bellamy has never — ever — pulled the prince card.

Something is very wrong.

“Bellamy —,” Nass starts.

“It’s justd the comedown.” Bellamy gasps. “That’s all Nass. Just the comedown.”

“I don’t give a fuck what it is,” Nass snaps. “You need a healer.”

“Anha gave it to me,” Bellamy grits out. “The suppressant. She will come find me after my father’s event is over. Everything will be fine.”

A jolt of shock runs through him. Anha? Gave Bellamy the suppressant?

How the fuck could she do that? She’s one of the best student healers. She’d know what that could do — is doing — to him.

Nass surveys Bellamy sweating and shivering, curls plastered to his forehead, pupiled eyes wild with panic.

Whatever this is — whatever this suppressant is doing — it’s breaking him down. Fast. Nass needs to get him to his room at least.

“Alright,” Nass says quietly. “Not the infirmary.” He softens his voice. “But I’m not leaving you like this. Let’s get you up.”

He doesn’t wait for Bellamy to argue. Just curls an arm around his back and hoists. Bellamy lets out a noise — a small, groggy sound of protest — but his legs buckle, before sagging fully into Nass’s side, head lolling against his shoulder.

“Where—,” he slurs. “Whad’re you— hh?”

“AheHDTSSS’Sshueh!!” It comes on so fast, so violently, that it rocks them both, nearly sending Bellamy sliding out of Nass’s grasp. Instead, Nass’s arms lock around him as Bellamy’s nose slams into the side of his neck, splattering his skin in misty droplets. The sneeze is so loud, so close, it makes Nass’s ears ring.

If this happened under any other circumstances, Nass thinks he would’ve come in his pants, standing right there at the foot of the stairs.

But the wet sniffing that follows — right in his ear — spikes another wave of panic through him.

“We’re going to your room,” Nass breathes, hitching him closer, trying to ignore the sticky warmth on his neck. “Bless you. Try not to sneeze us into falling over. Okay?”

“Did I…” Bellamy mumbles dazed. “No, I — whatd —?” he sniffs loudly again. “Did I…just sndeeze on you?”

“No,” Nass lies smoothly. “You didn’t. Don’t worry. Now shut up and let me get you upstairs.”

Bellamy in his right state of mind would probably rather sell a vital organ than sneeze, uncovered, all over Nass. The fact that he just did and doesn’t even seem to realize makes Nass so worried that he’s almost nauseous.

But he forces his feet to continue their ascent. Bellamy stumbles three times on the stairs, despite the warning, nearly taking them both down.

The whole walk back is a daze. By the time they climb the eight floors to their dorms, Bellamy is barely upright, muttering in half formed sentences. Nass is drenched in sweat from dragging his dead weight.

The moment Nass unlocks Bellamy’s door he nearly faceplants into the floor.

“I’m getting you out of these clothes,” Nass says, heaving Bellamy down into his desk chair.

“No,” Bellamy rasps, trying to wave him off. “Ndeed to— I’ll— Nass —I cand—”

But he can’t.

And he smells terrible. Like sweat and fever and chocolate. Nass closes the door behind them.

“No, Bellamy, you can’t.” Nass snaps though it’s devoid of its usual bite. “I’m going to help you. And you’re going to sit there, dammit.”

Bellamy starts to argue, but keels over coughing violently into his sleeve. Nass heads to the bathroom, wets a towel with scalding water, and returns to find Bellamy gasping, head rolling side to side.

Nass surveys him — pale, drenched, shivering.

He’s going to have to strip him of his clothes.

This is Yekiti. Nudity is nothing. Especially in the southern and central provinces. Nass has seen master sages walk out of the bath houses completely nude. He’s danced naked at summer solstice festivals with strangers and never thought once about it.

But this? This is different.

Because this is Bellamy.

And as Nass kneels— it does something to him.

“I need to get this off you.” He whispers. “Is that okay, Bellamy?”

Bellamy doesn’t respond. He just blinks at him — slowly, dazed — then gives the faintest nod.

Nass shrugs off the robe then reaches for the soaked hem of his shirt. His hands are surprisingly steady. He peels the tunic up over Bellamy’s torso inch by inch, careful of the sweat-slicked skin beneath. He doesn’t move to help as Nass lifts his arms — just sits there, trembling faintly. Doesn’t even move an inch even when Nass tugs the shirt over his head, exposing his naked chest.

Nass swallows. Tries not to look.

But of course, he looks.

Bellamy’s skin is hot to the touch — flushed and blotchy. Up close Nass can see a smattering of freckles on his shoulders, even dotting across the hard muscles on his chest. Nass’s eyes move downwards. A strange tattoo coils beneath his ribs — a dark, intricate symbol Nass doesn’t recognize.

“You have a tattoo,” He whispers, surprised, letting the stained garment fall to the floor.

“Y-you’re… undressing bme,” Bellamy words slur, eyes fluttering.

“Out of necessity,” Nass’s hovers, hands pausing at his hips.

“Liar,” Bellamy’s eyes close as Nass shimmies his sweat-soaked pants off him. “Y-you like it.”

Nass nearly fumbles. That bastard.

“I won’t leave you covered in chocolate, Bellamy,” he says trying not to stare at Bellamy’s large flaccid member, at the way his thigh muscles twitch with fever. His body is — is —

Stunning.

“H- how c-charitable,” Bellamy mumbles.“Whend — you are the reasond — I amb in t-this…. p-predicament.”

Nass doesn’t answer. He doesn’t think he can. Every nerve of his body is alight with desire, stronger than anything he’s ever felt.

But his arousal is not important. Bellamy is shaking like a leaf.

So instead, he gets to work.

He draws the warm towel, over his clavicle, over the glistening sweat collecting there. Bellamy makes a noise at this, a low strangled gasp in the back of his throat.

Nass continues.

He drags the wet towel down his chest, his muscled torso, towards the dip of his hips. He moves to wipe down Bellamy’s arms, the inside of his elbows. He’s never done something so fast before in his life and have it feel so agonizingly slow. He drags the towel down Bellamy’s long legs, trying not to linger, trying not to read too much into it. It’s just care. Necessity. And yet —

Bellamy’s eyes stay closed the whole time. His breath comes out in fast, shaky gasps.

Nass straightens, willing his brain to be normal, be normal —

Bellamy’s face is fire hydrant red and with a start Nass realizes there is still dried chocolate on his right cheek near the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t think about it.

He reaches out with the towel, very gently dragging it across his face. The second the towel contacts his skin, Bellamy’s entire face collapses, nose wrinkling. His nostrils flare and then he’s doubling over with two impressively loud “heH’SCHEUGHih-! hh’UH!hTSCHGHUh’Yeuh!! hh!”

Nass nearly drops the towel.

Bellamy doubles over, sneezing explosively, dampening his bare chest, thighs, cock. He forces himself to swallow drawing the towel over Bellamy’s speckled chest and thighs, wiping away evidence of his illness.

“Um w-wow,” he stammers out.

Bellamy doesn’t respond. Can’t. His eyes stream, face still twisted, chest heaving. His fingers claw at the armrest.

“Hh! Uh! H-IH!”

He’s going to sneeze again.

Nass hands move before his brain does.

He cups the towel around Bellamy’s mouth and nose, as Bellamy shudders into it with a “hh’MMMPH’sSCHhff!”!” The sheer force of the violent expulsion right into his hand is maddening, dizzying.

Bellamy’s eyes shoot open, pupils blown.

“N-Nass,” he breathes, just before—

“hh’MPFFSSCH’Yuhh!"

It’s full-bodied and helpless, spraying a flurry of wetness directly into the fabric.

“Bellamy my gods, bless you,” Nass says.

Bellamy’s hand finally comes up to replace Nass’s. He holds the towel securely against his own face. He blows his nose loudly before dropping it to the ground with a congested sigh. Then Bellamy shivers violently again — a full-body spasm that jolts his shoulders forward. His knees knock together.

Nass curses softly under his breath.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he says. “Come on. Bed.”

Bellamy gives a soft noise — not quite a word. His fingers twitch where they’re curled into the armrest. Nass heads to his dresser, pulling out the biggest, most casual piece of clothing he can find — which serves to be quite difficult. Eventually, he pulls out a simple linen dark green t-shirt that he wrestles over the prince’s head, shoving his arms through the arm holes.

Then he gets Bellamy standing upright — somehow — and guides him toward the mattress, his steps stumbling and loose like a drunk man’s. The prince collapses into the sheets, shivering so hard the whole bed trembles with him. Nass pulls the covers up to his chin, tucking him in tightly. But it’s no use.

He’s still shaking.

Nass stares at him for a long moment. Then curses again under his breath.

“Move over.”

Bellamy blinks at him, sluggishly. “W-whatd…?”

“Move,” Nass repeats. “You’re still shivering. I’m warm.”

Bellamy lets out a snort — a half-laugh, half-groan.

“Pigs must be flying,” he sniffles. “For you to be…bedding mbe.”

“Shut up,” Nass sneers, sliding under his covers. “I’m not bedding you, idiot. I’m making sure you don’t die of fever.”

“The l-lies we tell ourselves,” Bellamy’s lips curl faintly as Nass settles himself against Bellamy’s headboard. His mattress is soft, perhaps the most comfortable thing Nass has ever laid on. But he can barely concentrate on any of that over the way his legs and shoulders brush against Bellamy’s.

There is a silence as Nass’s body relaxes.

He stares at the hanging frost charm on Bellamy’s desk lamp then down to Bellamy’s mop of curls splayed out against his pillow.

Bellamy’s still trembling.

Nass swallows. He’s going to hold him just once. And never again. He’s practically too delirious with fever to remember anyway. Speaking of fever, he has to be sure to take Bellamy’s temperature later. He is like a furnace.

But for now, Nass tugs Bellamy close, pulling him against his chest.

Bellamy tucks himself against Nass like he’s meant to be there — head dropping onto Nass’s shoulder, nose pressing under his jaw, legs tangling with his. Nass hears his exhale, the loosened breath of relief.

“Have you decided on a fitting punishment for me, your Majesty?” Nass asks, mostly just to say something, anything, over his pounding heart.

He hopes Bellamy is too out of it to notice.

Bellamy buries his face deeper into Nass’s shoulder. “I assure you,” he sniffs. “T-this horrible cold you will most certainly catch from mbe will be punishment enough.”

At this point Nass highly doubts it’s just a simple cold.

“Butd no need to punish you Nass,” Bellamy mumbles. “You do that enough to yourself… with — your — your — sndff — attraction to bme.”

Nass goes still.

“Is it that obvious?” Nass whispers.

He doesn’t know why he admits it, but he does. Maybe he’s tired of fighting with himself. Of stamping it down day after day. And Bellamy has always been hyper observant — has to be — as the prince.

“Yes.” Bellamy shivers.

“I… understand you know,” He adds after a beat of silence. “I’ve been told I’mb very charming.”

Nass snorts at this.

“But maybe in another life,” Bellamy continues, voice cracking. “We could’ve been something.”

Nass is quiet for a moment.

“Maybe in another life,” he finally whispers, chest aching.

The words hang there, unspoken and devastating.

Thankfully, they get a reprieve from the heaviness when Bellamy gasps. Bellamy’s nose presses into Nass’s chest. He inhales sharply before muffling a —

“Hh’AEDTSSCCH’HY’uee!”

It bursts through the fabric of his shirt, hot and wet. Nass goes completely still. Bellamy gasps before curling into him with another needy —

“heH’SCHEUG’Hiih-!”

Every cell in his body lights up as Bellamy pants, shaking, having thoroughly soaked the front of his tunic. Nass feels blood racing towards his pants, feel the stiffness of his erection that is just barely veiled by the blankets.

Swallowing, he grabs tissues from the nightstand, handing them over as Bellamy pulls his face out of Nass's shoulder, blinking dazed.

“I’mb so —,”

“Bless you,” Nass interrupts. “It’s fine.”

If only Bellamy knew how fine it really is.

Bellamy takes the wad from him, raising it to his streaming nose. After emptying his sinuses, he drops the tissues back onto the bed, then slides back down to rest on Nass’s shoulder.

“I f-feel horrid.” Bellamy mumbles with a shiver. “You’re — w-warmb… Nass. I’mb — c-cold.”

Nass swallows, hard.

The words are so needy, so unlike him, that Nass lifts a hand into Bellamy’s curls.

“What are you doingd?” Bellamy mumbles tiredly.

“Just relax, Bellamy,” He rubs slow circles into his scalp. “Hasn’t anyone ever done this for you?”

When he was ill as a child Nass’s mother used to rub his head for hours.

He hears Bellamy muffle a laugh at this, as if Nass has told some hilarious joke.

Then —

“Have you forgotten where I come from, Nass?” he says with a sniff. Though his breathing slows just slightly, exhaling in what sounds like relief.

Nass swallows again. Tries to focus on moving his fingers through Bellamy’s wild curls. Tries not think about how this kind of intimacy isn’t meant to be temporary.

They lapse into a silence, only punctured by Bellamy’s congested breathing and the ticking of his sundial on his green walls.

“Thank you,” Bellamy finally says. “For getting me out of there.”

Nass blinks through a sudden sting in his eyes. “Thank you for saving my sister life.”

Bellamy doesn’t ask how he knows. He just coughs and mutters—

“Didn’t do it… for you.” He sniffles. “But you’re welcome.”

Nass doesn’t know how long he lies there like that, fingers moving gently through Bellamy’s hair. But when the prince’s breathing evens out, soft and slow, Nass doesn’t move.

Maybe in another life, they could’ve been something.

But definitely not in this one.

Bellamy is the prince.

And Nass is from the south.

But for now — just for now — Nass lets himself pretend.

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