Chapter Text
Auguste leaned against the inner courtyard wall, watching the first pale light of dawn lift the night. He felt boneless with exhaustion. Since the battle, they had held council, hammered out the treaty with Akielos and then celebrated, with endless toasts to their victory, his heroics and the King, his father. Somewhere in there he’d cleaned the blood and gore of killing from his body and had his wounds cleaned and dressed. There was only one thing he hadn’t done. He hadn’t checked on his hostage, the Akielon prince Damianos.
Only now could he reflect on what had been the closest fight of his life. When he unarmed the Akielon Prince, instead of killing him, he had put his sword to his neck and taken him hostage. It had ended the war. Now they had a treaty that kept Delfeur for Vere and a hostage that guaranteed the Akielon retreat.
In battle he killed without thinking, assured in his skill, rarely matched with a fighter of his caliber. In a duel of honor it was different. Or it had been. He had thought to make quick work of the Akielon prince, but in Damianos he had met his match.
The Akielon Prince had believed he would win. Auguste had seen that from the moment he rode up, removed his helmet and challenged him to duel, with excitement and assurance in his ringing voice and eager posture. Of course he knew of his reputation. A formidable veteran fighter and tactician already at not twenty summers.
That first engagement, Damianos had driven him back, as no man had done since he could remember. The shock of it had ignited his blood and a primitive instinct that this man had the ability to defeat him. With a roar he had unleashed a flurry of attacks that Damianos had taken and returned with deadly power and finesse. The time he’s pricked his shoulder had only seemed to settle Damianos into more brilliant sword work, as if he’d just realized he’d need his every reserve of skill to win.
“Finish him!” his guard had chorused when finally, in a desperate gambit, he managed to unarm him. In the intimacy of that fight, he had felt such a strange kinship to this rival Prince and he had a premonition that to kill him was to kill someone he needed to know for the future of Vere.
He could have let him pick up his sword, as honor dictated, but he had a stark awareness regarding how this duel might end. With his death, as easily as the that of Damianos. Then, it was just an instinctual decision. To put his sword to the Prince’s throat, give him no choice but surrender and end the war.
He recalled the struggle in the Prince’s expression, his body’s tension from a rigid tamping down of his instinct to fight. He didn’t want to die, but he hated to surrender even more. Auguste realized in that moment; they would both be Kings someday. This was a man he could befriend and parlay with in the future. This oddly enough may be an Akielon he could trust.
Auguste met the guards stationed around the hostage’s quarters and was given the worshipful greeting he now inspired as the Hero of the Battle of Marlas. Another mantle to carry he thought ruefully. After this he would check on Laurent who had left the celebration early, once assured of Auguste’s well-being.
The Akielon Prince was awake, reclining on the bed, gazing at the ceiling. Clearly, he had not slept. He turned his head, at the sound of Auguste's entrance and stood with alacrity. Auguste slightly raised his head to meet him eye to eye.
“Have your needs been taken care of?” Auguste asked politely. He felt oddly uncomfortable when faced with the desolation on Damianos's face.
“They have. I thank you,” Damianos said rather stiffly. “Has my father sent a message?” Hope and dread colored his voice.
“No,” Auguste replied simply.
Guilt and disappointment twisted Damianos’s face. Auguste knew he would feel just so if he had failed his father and country, and felt a twinge of empathy.
“You gave me the fight of my life. Either of us may have won,” he ventured truthfully.
“But I lost. I lost the war and Delpha for Akielos.” Damianos said with brutal honesty. His tone harsh. Every line of his body communicated frustrated aggression.
Auguste said nothing for a moment, then, ventured, “We were winning the battle. I believe we would have won. You saved many soldier’s lives with your gambit.”
Damianos nodded grimly. “Yes. I saw it clearly. Our line broke again and again on yours. You were…invincible. I knew there was only one possibility, for me to challenge and defeat you. In my arrogance I had no doubt I could.” His lip curled in self-disgust. Auguste couldn't help but notice the fine shape of his mouth.
“I’ve never had a closer fight.”
“I have not been defeated since I was 16. I was overconfident.”
“That time you reversed that uppercut towards my head to an undercut towards my stomach, I thought you had me.
“I did too, but you reacted so quickly and deflected it.”
“When you were off balance, I almost got inside your guard but you are a damned brilliant swordsman.”
“Not brilliant enough.”
They took each other’s measure, silently acknowledging how intrigued they were by the other’s sword work.
“I would love a rematch,” Damianos said, his eyes glittering with a passionate desire to somehow redeem himself.
“What stakes?” Auguste asked, curiously.
Damianos sent him a frustrated look. “Recovering my honor would be one.”
Auguste simply shook his head, communicating that the Akielon prince’s honor was never an issue.
He took a long moment to study him. He was just so large and yet he had never fought a man who was quicker. His combination of brutal strength and lightening reflexes were unique. His sword work had been intricate and intelligent. You came to know a great deal about a man when you dueled him to the death.
He was also very attractive, with his large, deep set dark eyes, broad cheekbones and that generous mouth. Then, there was his body, revealed in borrowed Veretian bed trousers, of heroic proportions and sculpted like a statue of masculine beauty.
Auguste realized his attraction must have shown when Damianos returned a matching gaze of appreciation. The air between them was suddenly charged. Like any men, the raised blood of battle could easily turn to another type of arousal.
He brushed his hand through his hair, feeling caught out and awkward. He glanced away and said softly, “That would be a poor decision.”
“Or it could be a rematch of sorts,” Damianos replied with a note of challenge in his voice.
His own response roused, immediate and insistent. He always needed to fuck after a battle and his Pet, Naton was awaiting him. It wouldn't hurt to look though. He rolled his eyes over Damianos and affirmed the Akielon’s impressive arousal. Those thin linen pants weren’t very concealing.
Damianos searched his face and with a glint of satisfaction, moved decisively to set his mouth against his own. It was a kiss that started out asking, will you, and receiving his answer yes in response, turned dominating.
He liked the heat and scent of Damianos, the taste of his anger and pain and the power of his body locked against his. He thrust his hands into the Akielon's thick curls and pulled until Damianos yielded his neck. Without finesse. Auguste dragged his teeth along it and bit into his the soft flesh under his jaw . Damianos grunted and started away. They were breathing as hard as if they had been fighting. Damianos rubbed his neck and said with a lift of his brows, "You want it rough." Before Auguste could demur or form an apology he found himself grappled and thrown onto the bed.
He was stunned for a moment. He was no small man and the Akielon’s ability to toss him was impressive. Auguste kicked out and caught Damianos solidly in the chest, sending him slightly back. That was even more impressive. He’d put the whole force of his legs into that kick and he’d driven him back perhaps half a step.
Before Auguste could rise, Damianos was on him, straddling his hips and pushing him down into the bed; looming above him, blocking the light. They were enemies. They had tried to kill each other. Auguste thrilled at this new and dangerous game. He raised his arms above his head, deciding to invite the Akielon's dominance.
Damianos grunted his approval; gripped his wrists and shifted one of his massive thighs between Auguste's legs. The heat and pressure on his straining cock, caged in his tight laced trousers felt too good. He knew he could get off this way, rutting against the Akielon's leg. Damianos watching him squirm and thrust to completion. He wanted something else though. Purposefully licking his lips he said, “I want to suck you while you suck me." Damianos closed his eyes briefly, clearly struggling to collect himself. He released him and Auguste immediately missed all of his heat and power. Until Damianos stood to ripped off his loose pants. Seeing the length and width of his enemy's cock, Auguste blurted out, “Fuck!”
Damianos acknowledged his remark with a small smile and stalked over with the same lethal grace he had as a fighter. Looking at Auguste’s shirt laces as if they offended him he said, “Veretian clothing is very inconvenient.” He deftly opened the shirt laces and Auguste pulled off his shirt.
“Had some experience undressing a Veretian?”
“On occasion,” the Akielon acknowledged, wrapped his hand around himself, stroking and pulling roughly as he waited for Auguste to continue to undress. Auguste saw that yes, it could and did get larger.
Auguste sat on the edge of the bed, disposing of his boots and then kicked off his trousers. Leaning back on the bed, he deliberately showed himself for Damianos’s appraisal. He knew his body was formidably hard muscled and lean. His face was said to be almost as beautiful as his younger brothers. Then, he was usually the one receiving exclamations of awe regarding how gracefully he was endowed. He had no lack of confidence. He looked to Damiano’s reaction and was gratified to see his eyes heavy lidded as he gave an elemental sound of appreciation.
They arranged themselves on their sides, in reverse alignment. Auguste grasped Damianos heavy sex, tonguing and sucking the tip just as he felt a hot mouth envelope the head of his own. Forgoing finesse, Damianos pushed himself deeper into his mouth. His own body thrust forward seeking more. They both began fucking each other’s mouths, at first carefully, but finding a rhythm began thrusting and rocking while they moaned and bucked in unison. The realization that his cock was in the hot, talented mouth of the man who could have killed him today stoked Auguste's delirious desire to come down the Akielon's throat.
Auguste’s awareness was a blur of insistent climbing pleasure, the spicy scent of masculine arousal, mutual desperate groans and the animal struggle of their bodies. Everything they had experienced in the madness of this day, being on the edge of life and death together, was unleashed as they desperately careened to release.
As they disengaged, Auguste rolled onto his back, feeling languid and so replete. Until he became aware of an unfortunate development. His hand went to his throat. Damn, it was raw and hurt like hell. “Water,” he croaked out with a strangled laugh. Damianos left the bed and returned with an elegant Veretian cup incongruous in his battered hand. His expression was both concerned and gratified. Auguste swallowed and felt the cool water sooth the roughness.
“Auguste, I’m sorry. Are you injured?” Damianos sounded genuinely worried. He looked younger now, with the pain and guilt that had marked his face softened.
Auguste met his eyes as the absurdity of that question after this day struck him. He laughed helplessly, falling back on the bed, feeling giddy with the aftermath of bone melting pleasure and the preposterousness of bedding the rival prince. “Ah, Akielon, you may have won the rematch with that massive cock!”
Damianos grinned at him and Auguste stared at the sight. That golden brown skin in contrast with those beautiful teeth and damn, those enticing dimples and that sculpted jaw.
“I never thought this day would end this way,” Damianos said, becoming serious. “In all the tales of great battles I recall none with this ending Veretian.”
“One of us should be dead,” Auguste said sobering.
“Not one of us. Me.” Damianos said starkly. “You saved my life. What made you do it?”
“Our fathers will die someday and we will rule. I had a hope we might find a path to peace between our countries.”
Damianos gave him a speculative look, and took some moments before replying. “What do you have in mind?” Cautious, wary.
“Nothing specific. Just that we come to know each other, develop understanding and perhaps even trust. Then we negotiate differences rather than war. Our fathers would never do this, but we may try. The way you fought, I believe you are an honorable man.” For an Akielon, unsaid, but there between them.
Damianos stood and took a shallow cup of water to drink. Watching the movement of his strong brown throat, viewing the power and symmetry of his body, Auguste was aware of what an opponent he was and how close he came to being the loser in their fight.
Putting down the cup, he said, “Let us begin by your calling me Damen. It is the name my friends call me.”
“Damen,” Auguste said, trying it out. “Damianos is quite a mouthful.” Realizing the innuendo in this remark, he felt a smile return and found it met in Damen’s answering one.
“I don’t have a small name. You are stuck with Auguste in my case.”
Damen nodded. “Less of a mouthful than Damianos, only a bit unwieldly.”
At this entendre their amusement turned to shared laughter. “A duel with swords, one with cocks and now I think you should let me fuck you,” Auguste suggested.
Damen frowned, “After this day, you are definitely not getting a leg over me.”
Auguste said, “Fair enough. I should see to my brother. I promised him I’d visit him last night and it is the new day. He’s probably still awake and waiting. Is there anything you require before I go?”
Damen shook his head and said with genuine warmth. “Thank you for seeing to my needs. You are a generous man.”
“It was my pleasure,” Auguste replied, feeling languid and replete, hearing it in his own voice. He began the tedious process of dressing and decided to forgo his outer shirt and leave on his light under one.
Damen threw himself back on the bed and stretched like cat-like, watching him with teasing eyes.
“Stop looking at me like that and cover that becoming very interested cock of yours or I will be even later for my brother.”
Damen slowly and languorously pulled up the linen sheet to barely cover his lower body and then said invitingly, “I’ve just realized, there is something else you can do for me.”
There was a rap on the door and an imperious voice entered, “I require my brother. Is he within?”
“Shit, it’s Laurent.”
There was no time to compose himself. Auguste hissed to Damianos, “Cover yourself!” and when Damen barely moved, “Now!”
Laurent entered, his hair almost silver in the early morning light, his pure blue eyes taking in the scene with aplomb as observed lightly, “You have become better acquainted with our hostage.”
“As you see,” Auguste answered, pulling on his last boot. Auguste realized how badly this reflected on him in Laurent’s eyes. He imagined what he would hear later. Bedding that Akiekon savage Auguste? Were there no Pets at your disposal? No one else willing to accommodate the Hero of Marlas?
“We have not met. I am Laurent. Please do not get up. You look very comfortable where you are.” Laurent drawled as he acknowledged Damen, who only put his outrageously muscled arms behind his head and let the sheet slip lower.
Auguste tried to ignore this byplay while tucking his shirt into his trousers. “I am sorry I did not come to your chambers earlier, I was detained.”
“Yes, Detained. Clearly so. Are you free now or still becoming better acquainted with our guest, so to speak?” A deceptively polite skewering.
“I was on my way to see you.” Auguste inwardly groaned, giving up any hope of salvaging this situation in Laurent’s eyes.
Laurent’s face was aloof and curious as he observed Damianos, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying Auguste’s discomfort.
“Are you finding our hospitality adequate?” he said in a voice silken with malice.
“More than adequate,” Damen replied, radiating satisfaction.
“Yes, you seem surprisingly at your leisure for a captive Prince. I am gratified to know it.” Laurent turned to Auguste, “I will see you at breakfast.” With a nod to Damen and a repressive look to Auguste, he turned and left.
“He is…” Damen said.
“Yes,” Auguste agreed.
“I am in for an interesting breakfast conversation. He will show no mercy. He has the most lethal mouth on him when he is vexed.”
Damen said, “I believe I received a lashing in just that short interchange. He’s fourteen? What will he be like at twenty?”
“It is frightening to contemplate. Don’t be surprised if he visits you later. He likes to know everything and he’ll want to take your measure.”
“I will prepare myself.”
“Don’t bother. It isn’t really possible.” Auguste said, feeling exposed and off balance at the prospect of facing Laurent at breakfast. “I shouldn’t keep him waiting. He’ll think we are getting further acquainted.”
“You’d best be off. I’d like you in one piece next I see you,” Damen replied, his voice husky with promise.
Auguste gave him one last lingering look and a conspiratorial smile. Once in the hallway, he found he could not restrain his laughter. Oh Laurent. How to explain this?