Work Text:
PAST
“He’s the direct descendant of Thotsakan, with fangs as long as a finger’s length, eyes as black as his blood, and a body that holds ten heads when he is angered. You must be mindful of how you perceive him, or you will be his next prey,”
“Why would the King send him? The weakest faerie prince of all six of them? He should be the last option to be dealing with such an important case, and that too in collaboration with the Demon King!”
“He used to be the King’s favourite, and the strongest one as well.. Something changed, yet we do not know why. I would not call Prince Napat a weak one,”
“Maybe this is a trap? Maybe.. the King is just tired of his eldest prince wasting away his time as he frolicked about the villages with the lowlifes. What better way to get rid of him than pushing him into the lion’s den?”
“Brother? Brother!”
Prince Naphat is startled by the gentle hand of his sister who holds a lamp in her other hand. Her eyes are wide and worried for Pat, motioning to the fire that sizzles in the lamp; “You could have burnt yourself!” Paa warns him. “Have you been thinking about those harsh words again?” her voice softens, eyes laced with concern as she watches her brother resume his packing for the journey ahead of him.
“No, my dear sister,” he gives his sister a warm smile and a pat to her head. “It is just that..” Pat exhales softly, truly opening up to Paa after keeping his feelings locked up since he had been assigned to this mission. He sits on the edge of his soft bed, mourning for its loss in the upcoming days. “It’s is just that—” Pat turns to his sister; “Is he—that Demon King—is he as scary as the others said to be? With the long fangs, black eyes, and the ten heads? What does one even do with ten heads?” the prince laments.
Paa smothers a smile and joins her brother by the bed; she takes his satchel to resume packing for him as she replies; “Well.. I would say that they are lying, but only one of us have actually seen the Demon King a few years ago,” she begins with a wary smile. “And he is blind now,”
The prince is a grown man, once hailed to be the strongest of their kind—he could easily squash elves with one arm—and he is not easily swayed by fairytales or gossips. Alas, he feels his heart in his throat upon recalling the blind elder faerie that refused to speak of the Demon King after their conference. They were brought to form an alliance for the first time in centuries, a pledge to work together for wellbeing of both worlds.
“It must be a very complicated issue if both Kings of the demon and faerie realm would want to collaborate,” Paa tells her brother with a warm smile and a squeeze to his shoulder. “There must be a reason why the King chose you,”
Pat huffs; “He wants me dead by the hands of a cruel and atrociously faced demon,” the young pricne whines. “Why else would he send a mere prince to work with a Demon King that is known for his wickedness and ridiculously short temper?”
“Oh, brother,” Paa nudges him. “You are just being dramatic. I’m sure he’s a reliable partner,”
“However,” the youngest faerie princess continues as she reaches into her silk dress to pull out a little red velvet pouch, tied and sealed with a golden thread. “Should the Demon King harm you,” she hands him the pouch. “You must use this on him. It is salt extracted from the Holy Sea of Mae Khongkha. I had managed to sneak some out for you as the priests conducted the rituals. It is said that this salt can scorch his skin and burn his heart—if he has one,” despite the smile across her lips, the princess’ eyes remained sad, worried for her brother.
“Thank you,” Pat accepts the pouch and slips it into the pockets of his silk chong kraben with a warm smile for his sister. “Your brother will return in no time, hm? It seems as if you are the only one that would be happy of my return,” the prince jokes.
“Don’t say that,” Paa clicks her tongue. “You are bringing bad omens by saying that, brother,”
“Bad omens?” Pat echoes with a laugh. “I am to fulfil a mission with a Demon King as my partner. That is enough of a bad omen already. What more can I add?” the prince grins.
“We do not know the Demon King,” Paa reasons. “He could be a very gentle being, for all we know, brother. Do not be so harsh upon him,”
Pat gazes at the pouch of salt that rests in the pockets of his silk garment, exhaling softly; “One can only hope,”
--
“That is a child,” the King of the Demon Realm looks at his ministers, rubbing the throbbing points of his temples before continuing; “The eldest prince of the Faerie Realm, is a child,” he repeats. “I hate children. You know that,” the demon snaps.
“He is the same age as you when you ascended the throne, Your Majesty,” one minister pipes up. “We believe that the prince is most capable of working with His Majesty,”
“I ascended the throne almost a century ago,” the King deadpans. “Although I do not look my age, he is still younger to me. I do not like working with children. They test my patience. You are all aware of that. Yet, why would you make such a rash decision behind my back?”
The ministers of the Demon Realm stay silent, clasping their hands together and clearing their throats as they wait for either one of the older demons to reply the King. After a few minutes of deeply uncomfortable silence, another minister—nearest to the King’s right—answers; “Your Majesty, that faerie prince.. Is one of the strongest of their kind. The only reason we are choosing to cooperate with them is for their powers. With that in mind, it is obvious that the ministers would decide on the most powerful one of all,”
“Naphat of Nariphon,” The Demon King reads the scroll, a stare of disappointment directed at his ministers. “They’re minxes, are they not? Known for their seduction. How can you guarantee that he does not have an ulterior motive?”
“Well..” another minister—a half-faerie-half-demon thing—begins, and is immediately silenced by the other ministers. The King could not help but feel a little sympathy for him, well aware that the elder demon—faerie?—has been discriminated way before he had even been born.
“Silence, you,” he hears the minister beside the half-blood hiss. “You are only here for mere evidence of inclusivity of the Faerie Realm, we do not need—
“Let him speak,” the Demon King raises his hand without much thought. He looks to the half-blood, nodding.
When no ministers oppose him, the half-blood minister speaks up with wary in his eyes; “Faeries do not have any reason to come out of their kingdoms unless it is to engage in certain.. affairs with the Demon Realm,” he coughs. “Even now, the King sends his eldest son in lieu for the single purpose of our pledge of alliance for the future. It is a sign of respect for our terms,”
“If.. His Majesty is worried about the seductive traits of the Nariphon faeries, I shall cast you a spell that would make you immune to their seduction,”
Pran leans back on his throne, satisfied with the minister’s answer, and nods; “We have a mission then,”
--
Pat stares at the boy before him, his lips agape with shock. The pouch of salt shifts in his pocket as a silent reminder of its presence. “You..” the prince raises a hand to point at the boy dressed in black robes that were thick enough to obscure the shape of his body. “You’re the Demon King?” Pat could not believe his eyes.
This wasn’t a Demon King. This was a boy.
Pran scoffs, flicking his wrist in a single motion to produce a golden sceptre, studded with black gems, slamming it on the ground before him. “Would you rather I greet you with my true form?” he raises one eyebrow. “Fae,” the King spits.
Pat crosses his arms, then pauses, realising that he was standing before a king. A very powerful king at that. He ends up bowing with his hands clasped in a wai; “My name is Naphat of the Nariphon kingdom, Your Majesty,” he’s trying to be nice, of course he is. What if the Demon Boy—King—blinds him as well?
Pran is watching him with disdain in his eyes, as if he would be anywhere but here. For a brief moment, Pat wonders if he’s going to die when the king begins to summon something with the graceful movement of his hands only for him to build a bridge for the faerie to cross over as the river divides their kingdoms.
“I do not like wasting my precious time,” Pran tells him. “Make haste and get this over with,”
--
PRESENT
“Pat.. My love..”
“Wake up.. Please..”
“I’ve been waiting long, darling..”
The voices echo in his head as his vision returns. The faerie prince blinks slowly, his eyelids still riddled with the exhaustion of a long sleep. Despite being conscious, Pat fails to move his body, his mind filled with muffled screams that contrast the soft murmurs. He needs to wake up, the voice urges him, and it hurts his heart. It takes a while for his vision to return, the blinding light of the lamp making it harder for his eyes. There is someone next to him, someone who watches him with so much care and love that the bright light is immediately extinguished when Pat shows signs discomfort.
“Slowly.. slowly, my dear. I’m here,”
It was a familiar voice, that much he can tell. He’s surrounded by everything familiar; the scent, the voice, the gentle fingers that card through his hair, the heavy velvet cloak that he remembers burrowing under during rainy nights in the enchanted forest between their realms. Pat yearns for him again, feeling as if centuries have passed between them. It was the final push for his vision to finally clear out.
The first thing he sees is Pran, hovering over him with glistening eyes, eyebrows furrowed with concern, and lips mumbling his name over and over again. The hands that caress his face slow down upon registering the sudden clarity in Pat’s eyes; “Pat?” the Demon King gasps, a complete contrast from the first time they met. “My love,” Pat’s body is held closer to his chest, the caressing hands now inspecting his face.
“Pran..” Pat croaks out. “What.. what happened?” nothing hurts, yet he feels tired, as if waking up from a very long sleep. “Where..”
His voice fades away when Pran pulls him impossibly closer, hugging his body tightly, face burrowed in Pat’s hair as he exhales loudly with relief, “You’re safe,” the king whispers. “You are safe now, my love,”
Pat’s arms go around Pran without second thoughts, holding the man closer as they hugged. His heart aches so much despite knowing that Pran has always been by his side. It confuses the faerie so much, why he craves Pran like the air he breathes. “Why does.. why does it feel as if you have left me for a long time?” the faerie prince asks, nudging his nose along the length of Pran’s neck.
“I don’t know,” Pran answers. “I have always been here. By your side,” when the king pulls away, his eyes are red, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You were unwell.. It worried me,”
Pat looks down at his body, only a single silk sheet covering his lower half. There seems to be no blemish nor wounds; the prince was completely alright. “I am fine,” Pat mumbles to himself, almost confused with the state of mind. “Was I sleeping for too long? I can’t seem to remember much..”
Pran coaxes him back onto the pillows, a gentle smile on his face and oh, how Pat had missed that smile of his. “Get some rest, we will speak when you are feeling better,”
Feeling better from what?
--
PAST
“I wonder.. how does it work at the Demon Realm?” Prince Naphat asks his new acquaintance as they walk through the thick bushes of the enchanted forest. “Is the throne given to the strongest of all? Or is it purely hereditary? Is it—
Pran stops abruptly, whirling around with a deep scowl that instantly silences the rambling prince; “Do you ever keep quiet? We are on a quest,” the king snaps. He doesn’t bother waiting for Pat’s response before turning around and trudging down the dirty path.
“Well,” Pat catches up to him until his shoulder brushes against the grouchy king’s; “There is no harm in getting to know each other while this mission.. occurs,” he suggests. “After all.. it is just the two of us, don’t you think so?”
Pran remains walking with his tense shoulders and his head held high, the arrogance radiating off his body. “This is not a courting ceremony for us to ‘get to know’ one another,” the Demon King grumbles. “The more you speak, the more distractions there are, and we—
“WATCH OUT!”
Pat’s cry cuts Pran’s words, and before the king could register what was happening, Pat pushes him behind, shielding the Demon King with his body as something attacks them. All Pran could hear are loud and low growling, choked-off due to Pat’s hands around their throats. It was a goblin.
The miniature and green parasite is kicking against Pat’s chest as he holds it up to prevent attacks, its eyes are not the usual black, but blood red; the only sign to show that it was possessed. Pran watches with wide eyes as Pat tightens his hold around the goblin’s neck, crushing its windpipe in one swift movement. The goblin falls to the ground with one last wail, then fades to dust.
“That..” Pran breathes from the rush of adrenaline. He looks at Pat who shares the same wide-eyed expression as him. “Goblins do not attack,” he whispers.
Pat nods. “It was possessed,” he concludes as well. “Did you see its eyes?”
The king wishes to reply, but his eyes have travelled lower, to where Pat’s hands lie limp on his sides, dripping with blood. Concern and guilt fills him up as Pran grabs both of the faerie’s hands, biting back a gasp as the sight of long gashing wounds over his palms. “You are bleeding,” Pran says. “Let us—” he stops himself and instead, guides Pat to sit down, leant against the trunk of a fig tree.
“Oh,” Pat mumbles, as if only realising his injury after Pran had pointed it out. “I heal fast, do not fret, Your Majesty,” he smiles with reassurance and Pran wants to hit him.
“That was very careless of you,” the king says instead, looking at Pat with stern eyes. “Nobody fights a possessed creature. They are dangerous,”
“It was a tiny goblin,” Pat argues as he hides a wince while Pran treats him. “Barely the size of my arm,”
“Another minute, and you would have fallen dead had I not noticed the scratch marks,” Pran retorts. “Silly, silly, fae,”
“If you are thankful, you can just say that,”
Pran is silent for a long time, only the sound of crickets surrounds them as he very carefully removes the poison from Pat’s hands. Pat could not help but stare at the king who looked nothing like the stories he had heard of him. He did not have long fangs, he did not have black eyes, and he certainly did not have ten heads. Behind all those legends, and nightmarish stories, there was just a boy.
“Thank you,”
Pat is startled out of his thoughts a few moments later, from the soft voice. He looks down, and finds his hands completely back to normal, the skin smooth, and no blemishes at all. Pran is watching him with eyes that Pat couldn’t quite decipher, yet couldn’t quite stop staring at. “Thank you,” the Demon King repeats.
Beautiful eyes, Pat thinks, unable to look away from them. They sparkle under the night sky, just like the stars he would spend most of his time looking at before he sleeps. Pat doesn’t know how long he had been staring, but when the king raises an eyebrow, he is brought back to consciousness. The faerie prince is quick to look away, covering his eyes with a hand for extra measure.
He hears a chuckle, and the urge to look back begins to irk Pat. “What are you doing?” Pran asks with a smile in his voice.
Pat sighs; “I have been told that looking into the eyes of the Demon King would turn me blind,”
He is rewarded with laughter from Pran, and maybe, just maybe, blindness is not a bad thing after all.
--
PRESENT
“I am not..” Pat mumbles. “I do not.. I do not remember what happened before,” he accepts a spoonful of soup from his lover, the confusion still fogging his mind up.
Pran sits before him, holding a bowl of herbal soup so aromatic that it fills up their modest home. He’s watching Pat with worrisome eyes that he tries extremely hard to mask with a warm smile. “It’s alright,” Pran reassures Pat. “Do not overexert yourself,”
“Where are we anyway?” Pat asks once again, looking around the little home they were in. He has never seen this place before, and this definitely was not the Demon Realm. Faeries would not be able to survive in the Demon Realm, and the same goes to demons in Nariphon. They must still be in the enchanted forest. “But..” his thoughts are loud. “I do not remember the skies being so bright in the enchanted forest..”
Pat recalls their mission, the darkness of the skies due to the influx of power, the wilted trees, the possessed creatures of the forest, their last battle, and it’s enough to make the prince straighten up with recognition. “The battle,” Pat asks Pran, his eyes wide and expectant, “Did we win the battle?” his memories ended at the beginning of the battle, where he recalls their intertwined hands, their powers merging, creating a bigger, stronger weapon. Whether they succeeded or not, remains as a question to Pat.
Something flickers across Pran’s eyes, something so horribly sad that Pat wishes he had not noticed it. It makes him reach out to Pran, setting the bowl of soup down until they embrace each other, his warm cloak enveloping their bodies as they sought warmth from the icy cold weather of the forest. “We did,” Pran answers with a kiss to his forehead. “We won, my love,”
And it confuses the prince even more; he wonders why Pran would be so devastated despite their victory. Pat pulls away, with smiling eyes and lips, “You are not happy,” he whispers, his smile fading away the instance he notices the tears that threaten to pour out of Pran’s eyes. “My Pran..” Pat murmurs, his heart aching painfully at the sight, thumbing along the skin under the king’s eyes, watching the tears soak his fingers. “What happened, my love?”
Pran takes a while to speak, curling over his hands as he masks his sadness with a watery laugh, pressing his face into Pat’s hands and inhaling the familiar home he had grown to love; “I am happy. I have you here,” he speaks in a low tone, his voice rough from the lump in his throat. “Why would I be sad?”
They spend a long time just sitting in each other’s arms, with Pat’s gentle fingers wiping away the tears that Pran silently wept. He leans closer, locking their lips together in a soft kiss to convey the words he couldn’t quite find to speak to Pran. He finally feels like breathing again, a breath of fresh air entering his lungs after a long time. Pat doesn’t wish to question it anymore, and instead, bask in this moment with his lover. One day, they will be questioned, they will be separated, and they will be shunned for committing the sin of falling in love.
But that day will not come in a long, long time.
“I’ve missed you,” he isn’t sure who says those words, but Pat could not care less, not when Pran is here, holding him like nothing else matters in the world where their responsibilities are paused for a kiss.
Despite the cool weather, they’re warm inside here, clothes strewn all over the room, the bowl of herbal soup long forgotten as Pran places his prince against the pillows and takes him apart very slowly. Pat feels feverish from the heated kisses and the scorching breath of the Demon King that fans over his golden skin. He curls both his hands over Pran’s shoulders, pulling the man up for a long kiss, their tongues caressing each other so intimately that he’s shivering from shyness.
Pran pulls away when the heat becomes unbearable, his eyes now glowing red with arousal as he looks down at Pat, bare for him alone, his body shining with a thin layer of sweat, and he finds himself exhaling at the sight; “Do you wish for this?” his hands are trembling to touch the prince, to tear him apart and put his pieces back together. “I will.. I will stop if you do not—
The king’s words die at the back of his throat when Pat pulls him down to press their lips once again. “Please,” the faerie prince begs with a shaky moan. “Please embrace me,”
It’s absolutely baffles Pat how easily their bodies slot against each other, sliding easily from the soaked skin, desperate gasps being swallowed greedily as Pran thrusts inside him. The pain is there, but the pleasure is so much better. Pat holds onto his lover, whispering sweet nothings between their parted lips.
They did not have the time to relish in the pleasure of it all before. Before, it was rushed kisses, with clothes half on, chasing their climax and taking their fill of each other. Now, everything is slowed down, and Pat could feel even the slightest of movements. He never wants this to stop.
“Pran..” he whimpers when he’s close, arching his back to keep Pran deep inside of him, nails digging onto his biceps and urging his lover to look at him. Their foreheads touch, trembling bodies holding onto each other as Pran pushes and pulls him, hips stuttering when he reaches his peak. “Ah, please,”
“I got you,” Pran chokes out, leaving a bruising squeeze to Pat’s waist, bearing down faster and faster; “I have you, Pat, I have you,” he repeats multiple times.
Pat holds onto Pran with a metallic grip, leaving no inch of space between them when he reaches his orgasm, a cry of pleasure that Pran muffles with his lips. His vision blacks out in the brief moment, and all he recalls is the warm sandalwood of Pran’s scent, and the gentle hands that clean his body up.
--
PAST
It is too dark to venture deeper into the forest for today, they decided. Pat manages to find an abandoned rattan hut built by the tree faeries when they travelled for quests, and it seemed to be large enough to accommodate the both of them. “We can retire here for the night. Leave when the sky brightens,”
Pran remains nonchalant, standing before the hut with a displeased frown on his face while Pat climbs into it and covers the ground with banana leaves that he had found a few steps before the hut. “You can.. do that,” Pran mumbles. “I will keep guard,”
Pat sighs, cocking his head to the side with a raised eyebrow; “Then when will you get some sleep?”
“Demons do not need sleep,”
“But they require rest,”
Pran is silent at that. “Worry about yourself,” he snaps a minute later. “I shall rest when I feel so,”
Pat is adamant as he pats the bed of leaves he had created; “The leaves are very cool. You should come sit here,” he urges. “You can keep guard from here. It’s more comfortable,” he would not stop rambling about how comfortable the makeshift banana leaf bed is, or how Pran needed his rest. It irritates the Demon King to have such a loud being annoying him every second of the day.
Pran gives up eventually, entering the hut with a deep scowl and sitting next to the faerie who has made himself comfortable on the ground, hugging his own satchel. It’s silent for a few minutes, and Pran is thankful that the comfortable bed had put the prince right to sleep. He did not have the energy to keep up with—
“Do you have a name?”
Pran bites back a groan, rubbing away the frustration on his face with two hands; “I am starting to think that I should have blinded you before,” he says.
“I am just asking..” Pat speaks like a hurt puppy with little to no fear of the angry Demon King beside him. “Do demon kings have names? My name is Naphat—
“Yes, I know your name. You have said it at least a thousand times,” Pran cuts him off. “And even if I do have a name, you may not know it,”
“Aw,” the prince pouts, looking up at the king with sad eyes. Pran could not help but look back, wondering how such a grown prince who could easily kill a goblin with his bare hands, held such innocent eyes. “Why not?”
“Because,” the king forgets what he wishes to say, finding himself sinking deep into the prince’s round, sparkling eyes. If he looked closer, Pran could count the stars in them; “Because names are powerful,” he blurts out soon. “And no fool would be stupid enough to give up their power to anyone,”
Pat watches him with those same wide eyes that irked Pran. “Well.. I think names are beautiful,” he whispers in reply. “I think they determine who you are as a being. Not a demon, not a faerie, just.. a being,”
“You may not be comfortable enough to tell me your name,” the prince continues. “But someday.. I would like to earn it,” and he smiles like the starry night.
Pran doesn’t keep guard that night, for his eyes have found something else to look at.
--
PRESENT
The sky remains painted in beautiful hues of orange and purple despite the night that had begun. Pat wakes up, warm in Pran’s embrace as he sleeps soundly. Pran’s bare body is covered in little bruises, flushed around the chest and hips, covered only by a thin silk sheet. Pat feels as if he had been sleeping for a very long time, and the prince does not wish to sleep any longer.
He's careful when he pulls away from his lover’s embrace, tucking the sheets close to his body and pressing a soft kiss to his heated forehead before leaving. Pat grabs Pran’s discarded cloak, wrapping it around his shivering body as he walks outside the little home, sitting by the wooden steps. The little home that he woke up in seems familiar, yet Pat could not quite recall where he had seen it.
The prince looks around him; a home built by warm wood, situated high above the trees that overlook the enchanted forest. It’s beautiful, Pat notices. The breeze is cold against his heated skin despite the thick cloak that he wraps around himself. He’s never seen the sky this beautiful since coming here for their mission. Everything feels like.. a dream.
Pat is startled a minute later, when the booming sound of thunder vibrates through the home, followed by a strike of lightning. He wonders if it was going to rain, looking up at the sky that remains bright despite the thunder. However, upon closer inspection, Pat notices that the lightning has left a mark, a crack up in the sky. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion, inching closer to the edge of their home to inspect the sky.
A crack. Right where the lightning had struck. As if the beautiful world around him.. might be falling apart.
Pat thinks about the tears in Pran’s eyes, the sadness in his voice, and the desperation in his kisses. And he wonders..
What is he hiding from me?
“Can’t sleep?” warm arms come around the prince’s body, as Pran embraces him from behind, pressing his face into the curve of Pat’s neck. “How are you feeling?” his voice is muffled from the distracted kisses that he presses along Pat’s warm skin.
“Mm,” Pat answers, his eyes latched on the crack that hangs up in the sky. “I was just.. I did not know of this home,” he turns slightly, allowing Pran to press their lips together. “I have not..”
“Do you remember the times we prayed to simply.. exist together? Just like this?” Pran whispers, and Pat turns in his arms, their noses brushing in a soft manner. “The times where.. we wished that loving each other would not be such a crime in the eyes of your people and mine,” he tries to read Pat’s eyes, holding the prince tightly, wondering if he even remembers what Pran was saying. “We can have this now, darling. Finally,” Pran pushes the strands of hair that cover Pat’s eyes, watching them curl behind his ears. “Finally, I can love you fearlessly,”
“I will give you the answer to everything, my love,” the king reassures him with another kiss to his cheek. “I promise,” the arms go tight around him, and maybe Pat can stop worrying so much. Pran is everything he needs now. If Pran is with him, then Pat need not to worry.
“You promise?” Pat whispers.
“I promise,” Pran answers.
He promised.
--
The following morning, both lovers decide to take a long walk through the beautiful sunflower field that had not been here the previous day. The sun shines brightly among the yellow flowers, the sky a vibrant blue, without a speck of negative energy or darkness surrounding them. Pat feels as if he had stood in this exact spot, yet his memory does not recall any beauty in the enchanted forest they had braved through before.
“I feel as if I am quite familiar with these paths..” Pat tells his lover, a curious smile etched against his lips. “Yet, I have not come across such beautiful flowers before,” he accepts a baby sunflower from Pran, his smile widening at the sight. “Is this one of your doings, O’Great Demon King?”
The Demon King that Pat had grown to love begins to shake his head with a little chuckle of dismissal; “I did no such thing,” Pran lies. “Do you like it?”
Pat hums in question, looking at the flowers that surround him, the sun that burns into his skin, the birds that chirped, and the butterflies that flutter around them; This feels better than being home. “You did not have to,” the faerie tells him, tracing over the yellow petals of the small flowers.
“Answer the question, Pat,”
Pat faces Pran, the flower long forgotten as he links his fingers with Pran’s, pulling them to wrap around his own waist. They stand with their chests pressed, noses touching, with smiles brighter than the sun. “Yes,” the prince answers. “I like everything about this place,” he murmurs over Pran’s parted lips. “It is everything and more than what I want,”
Pran’s smile widens until his dimples appear deeper, and the faerie could not help but rub his thumb over the little dent; such beautiful features for a demon king should not be feasible. Yet here his Pran is, the most beautiful demon he has laid his eyes on.
“You know other demons?” Pran pulls only an inch away to make himself visible to the lovesick prince. His eyebrow is raised playfully, a feigned frown on his lips that hides the delightful smile. Only then does Pat realise that he had spoken his thoughts out loud.
“Why?” the prince curls into the king, “Jealous?” he whispers into Pran’s cheek.
The sun burns onto their skin, beads of sweat trickling down their backs as Pran chuckles into Pat’s lips, “Never,” the king whispers before hoisting his lover up into his arms and rushing back to the comfort of their home.
--
Time seemed to pass really slow when Pat is surrounded by his lover, trapped between the four walls, pressed against each other without an inch of space.
“Does it hurt?” a soft murmur over his flushed chest as Pran keeps Pat close to him, buried inside of him and trembling from holding himself back as he waits for Pat’s approval.
He feels so full, as if his heart was going to explode, and Pran looked so beautiful above him, flushed from head to toe, his eyes glowing a red amber, and the droplets of sweat that trickle down the length of his body. Pat feels his vision blurring with tears of ecstasy, just from the feeling of Pran inside of him.
The prince shakes his head, wanting nothing more than to have Pran inside him forever. He pulls the king to lie flat against his body, hugging him tightly, burying his lips into Pran’s mussed up hair when he begins thrusting in smooth strokes. “We—hng—we have prayed for moments like this..” Pat sniffles, a smile on his face despite the tears that pour out of his eyes.
Pran raises himself slightly, only enough to wipe those tears away; “No more of this,” he whispers, his thrusts slowing down to savour the moment. “No more tears, my love,” the king locks their lips together in a hot kiss, greedily swallowing the prince’s soft moans and cries of pleasure.
“I—Pran—ahng—” Pat digs his nails into Pran’s back, thighs tightening around his hips as the king picks up the pace. “It feels—uh—feels so.. good,” the prince is a babbling mess, with eyes rolling to the back of his head as he submits himself to Pran, to let the king take whatever he wishes to take.
--
PAST
“Were you told what this mission would be about?” Pat asks him one night.
It has been almost a week of them pushing through this forest to locate the source of the dark powers that are endangering the realms. They have come across goblins, lost souls, wild animals, and pesky parasites, all possessed by that same power. Yet, neither of them could locate the source of it all, and it’s starting to get into Pat’s head, that something must be horribly wrong.
With the help of Pran’s powers and Pat’s strength, they managed to wrangle in a wild boar to be eaten. Both faeries and demons did not need food to survive, but it helps by giving them extra strength to fulfil this mission without any mishaps.
As they ate, Pat asks him that question, and all he receives is a stare from the demon king before he resumes taking a bite out of the roasted meat. “What did your king tell you?” Pran asks a minute later, when Pat thought the question had been long forgotten.
The prince shrugs, eyes fixed on his piece of meat; “Nothing. I was ordered to accompany you,” a sad smile is painted on his face, Pran notices, “Maybe it was the easiest way for the king to get rid of his most useless son,” the boy whispers.
Pran watches him, the way his shoulders sag, the confidence he had been so used to seeing on Pat, now missing as the prince pretends to be fine; “Why do you think so?” Pran could not help but ask.
Pat looks up, eyes wide as if he hadn’t expect Pran to ask him that question, “I.. I mean it is well known in both realms that the firstborn prince of Nariphon is an abomination to the throne,” Pat tells him. “It is only my title and ranking, that had saved me from being exiled,”
“I could not fulfil my father’s wishes,” Pat continues. “I could not sit on that throne, decorated in gold as I hold a heavy crown above my head, and watch my people be separated because of their blood. And when I—when I expressed my feelings to Pa—the king,” Pat corrects himself. “I was hailed as a disgrace,”
Only the crackle of the fire could be heard after Pat finishes speaking. For a brief moment, the prince wondered if he had spoken too much, and maybe Pran would also be disgraced to be paired with such a weakling. He doesn’t dare to look up, afraid of what he would be seeing soon. Instead, Pat remains eating his meat with his shoulders stooped low, ignoring the suffocating silence between them.
“Naphat of Nariphon,” Pran speaks up later, when their food is finished, and the prince is cracking his head to find a way to escape. He looks up, and Pran is looking back at him with a very little smile, “The strongest of your kind, and the bravest of them all,”
Pat inhales softly, watching as the king shuffles closer to him until they sit with their shoulders brushing; “What?” the prince asks.
“That is what they told me,” Pran answers. “A strong, brave, and powerful faerie to aid this demon in a dangerous mission,” he faces Pat, the smile on his face being hidden with an arrogant smirk, “You father did not choose you. My people did. My people know what is best for our realm, and they came to me with you,”
“Disgrace,” the king continues. “You are not a disgrace for wanting equality over power,”
--
PRESENT
“Where are you going?” Pat whines when his lover leaves their warm nest of sheets to get dressed. He had hoped that Pran would stay with him a little longer as it had begun to rain, and the weather is perfect for holding each other with hot cups of tea.
Pran faces him after he covers his body with a cloak, one eyebrow raised in question; “The sheets are soiled, and our chamber is in a mess,” the king scolds. “Go get dressed. We have some chores to complete,” there’s a smile on his face despite dashing out orders for the prince. “We no longer have the palace servants to come to our aid,” Pran kneels before the prince who feigns to be asleep. “It is just you and me now,” he murmurs with a flick to his chin.
The smile that widens across his face makes it difficult for the prince to remain asleep. Pat opens his tired eyes, grabbing the king’s wandering hands to hold them close to his lips. “Always the sweet talker,” the prince murmurs. “Ah,” he opens his arms widely, “Give me a kiss and whisk me away, Your Majesty,”
Pran chuckles, shaking his head with a roll of his eyes before wrapping himself around his lover and giving him a well-deserved kiss. He could taste the sweet mango they had shared earlier, paired with the herbs of freshly brewed tea, and a distant taste of Pran on Pat’s lips. Pat hums into their kiss, arms snaking around his lover to keep him pinned against his body in hopes that Pran would forget about chores and stay here to just kiss him for the next few hours.
“I—mmh—I know what you’re doing, you sneaky minx,” he feels his lover chuckle against his lips despite the arms that tighten around him, fingers carding through his mussed-up hair just to hear the prince exhale softly into his mouth. Everything feels so good, and Pat is sinking again; sinking into the warm sheets, the pleasant weight of Pran on him, the gentle hands that hold him and the sweet lips that suck onto his own. Just when his body turns fluid, the wicked king pulls away with one last smooch, his grin wide and pure, pure evil.
“Up,” Pran wraps his hands around Pat’s wrist and pulls him into a sitting position in one swift movement. “We have much to do, darling,”
It baffles the prince how Pran instantly begins to strip off the soiled sheets and clothes to dunk them in a large basin of water filled with lemons. He pushes the sleeves of his cloak up to his elbow and sits by the basin, beginning to scrub and wash each article of cloth with focus. The prince kneels next to his lover, perching his chin over his palm; “You seem to know what you are doing,” Pat murmurs.
Pran smiles, eyes still focused on the clothes and sheets that he washes; “I do my own chores back at the palace,” the king explains. “I despise it when the servants touch my personal belongings. Hence—” he motions around him. “I learn to keep my chamber clean at all times,”
He could do this all day; watch Pran—a Demon King who had been painted as a wicked and vile creature, with inhumane features since Pat had been a youngling—do simple chores such as washing clothes, or making the bed, or even picking the perfect mangoes for Pat to eat, sitting by his side just to wipe away the juices that trickled down his lips. Pat could die a happy man like this.
“Oi,” he gets a splash of lemon-scented water to his face, easily bringing his mind back to consciousness. Pran is looking at him with yet another carefully hidden smile behind his smirk; “Are you daydreaming about your lover?”
He recalls the last time Pran had asked him that question, a time where Pat had blatantly refused, hiding his embarrassment behind a cough. This time, the prince only inches closer, flicking the king’s chin with a cheeky smile; “Yes, is there a problem? I cannot daydream about my lover now?”
Pran’s hidden smile begins to reveal itself behind the cracks, fully blooming into a chuckle before pushing Pat away when the love boils over in the chambers of his heart; “Make yourself useful, will you?” the king scolds. “Here,” he pushes the basin of water; “Go pour this down and get me some more water,”
Pat accepts the basin with a raised eyebrow; “What will I get?”
The king sighs even as he moves instantly to give the prince a long kiss against his lips. “There; Happy?”
“Very,” Pat grins.
--
PAST
“Stay here,” tight hands curled around Pat’s shoulders, pushing him to hide between the thick bushes as the trolls stomped around them, releasing loud growls that vibrate around the forest. He watches Pran shed his protective cloak and throw it over his own body, successfully hiding Pat from the view of the possessed trolls. “Do not move an inch,”
“I—no—” Pat fights against the demon’s hold, “You cannot fight them alone,” the prince hisses. “Let me help you,” he wants to scream, wants to grab Pran by the neck and put some sense into the stubborn demon’s head. There was no way that Pran can defeat multiple trolls with his power alone. It was why he had been sent to go with the demon. “You can’t—no,” Pat chokes out.
Pran silences him with a hand over his mouth, eyebrows furrowed with restrained anger, lips turned into a scowl; “You are injured,” he motions to the still healing cut on the right side of his abdomen. There had been another attack—just a day ago—where Pat had not been cautious of his surroundings and was scratched by a goblin. The cut had been too deep for Pran to heal it with his powers, and it would take a while for Pat’s body to heal it as well. He is far from equipped to be fighting trolls that are double his size.
“Stay here,” Pran presses on, a gentle hand pressed over the healing wound; “I will be alright,” his eyes soften as something flickers in them; something Pat doesn’t dare to question. Pran curls a hand over Pat’s neck, caressing the heated skin there, giving one last squeeze before leaving Pat.
Before he could leave, Pat grips onto his wrist, holding him back for a brief second; “Be safe,” the prince whispers, eyes pained, hoping—praying—that Pran comes back safely.
He could hear horrifying screams of dying trolls, and louder growls of their angered pack, but what scares him the most is that he could not hear Pran at all. He could not find a single sliver of light to peek through the bushes that Pran had hidden him in, but as minutes passed, Pat’s fear worsens.
It has been silent for a moment now, no sounds of trolls entering his ear; Pat doesn’t think twice when he pushes himself out of the bushes and locates Pran.
The prince’s injury makes it slightly difficult for him to walk as fast as usual, but he pushes through the pain, sucking in harshly as he staggers forward to where they had seen the trolls. Pat could locate three trolls that lie still, their eyes wide open yet lifeless. He looks around the area, but he doesn’t find the demon king. Pat doesn’t know his name to call out to him, he doesn’t know anything about the king except his face and his soft voice, and that scares the prince so much.
He staggers forward a little more, biting back a painful moan when a tree brushes just over his wound. The silence is horrible for his palpitating heart, “Your Majesty,” Pat chokes out, darting around him to look for anything that resembled Pran. “Your Majesty?” his voice wavers, so full of fear, wondering if the trolls have taken him away. Maybe he shoul—
“I am here,”
Pat moves even before his mind could register the direction from where Pran’s voice is coming. He runs around in circles, trying to locate the groaning demon king until a red glow catches his eye. “Are you there?” the prince asks, and he is rewarded with a pained whimper.
The faerie manages to locate Pran, lying against a boulder stained with blackish blood, heaving deep breaths. “I—” Pran chokes out. “I told you to—mh—stay,”
Pat pays no heed to the demon as he gently pulls him to lie flat on his back; “You fool,” the prince’s vision blurs, hands scrambling to muster up the strength to heal the gash across Pran’s chest. Alas, he’s weak as well, and the power that he could summon would not be enough to make Pran’s wound heal completely. “Why did you—we could have hidden together,” he doesn’t understand why he’s crying, or why he’s desperate to heal Pran.
They manage to find a hidden spot behind the boulder, deeper into the woods so Pat could focus on Pran’s injury without having to worry about other attacks; “Faerie blood,” the king whispers to him when he finds the energy, “The trolls—mfg—they can smell your blood,” his eyes are pained when Pat touches his wound, hands clenched into fists to stop himself from crying out. “It was a risk,”
“No,” Pat grounds. “What you did just now? That was a risk,” there’s something in his voice that makes Pran’s chest flutter. He doesn’t dare put a name to that feeling. “You could have died,” the faerie chokes out.
Pran doesn’t stop himself when he curls a hand around Pat’s own that fusses with his wound; “I am immortal,”
Pat’s eyes are fierce when he replies; “You are immortal. Not invincible,”
“I feel weird,” Pran finds himself saying, eyes never leaving the faerie’s fierce ones. He pushes himself into a sitting position with Pat’s help, unable to stop looking at Pat. “No one..” the king murmurs, raising one hand to thumb of the tears that have fallen from Pat’s eyes. “No one has shed a tear for me..”
He doesn’t miss the yellow sparks that erupt from Pat’s fingers nor does he miss the faerie’s eyes darting down to his lips; “I..” Pat inches closer, as if spellbound. “I.. don’t—I don’t want to lose you,” he finally whispers, another trickle of tear rolling down his cheek. This time, Pran catches it.
The demon king nudges their noses together, feeling the power sizzle between them in orange hues over his injured chest. “Pran,” he whispers over the Pat’s lips. “My name is Pran,”
Amidst the mix of demon red and faerie yellow, the orange light that heals Pran’s wound, also illuminates their first kiss.
--
PRESENT
“It is different now,” Pat tells his lover one evening, as they sat on a boulder, overlooking the forest where they had shared their first kiss. “Everything about that place had been dark and scary,” he leans onto Pran’s shoulder, recalling the splash of blood against the rock, the way his heart had dropped, a myriad of emotions that tore his insides apart, and despite all that, the sweetness of Pran’s lips against his. “Back then.. our powers had been the only source of light,”
Pran hums, warm arms going around the faerie as they watch the sun sink into the horizon; “I never knew this place would be a beautiful place with just a little light,” he presses his nose over Pat’s hairline, “And a lot of love,” the king finishes with a kiss.
“I cannot remember much about the battle, nor do I remember the forest turning into something as beautiful as this,” Pat plucks a flower, watching it bloom bigger and bigger on his palm before he plants it back into the soil, “I would assume that our efforts did not go to waste, is that right?”
The faerie is met with silence for a long time; only the gentle fingers that card through his hair tells Pat that Pran is listening to him. When he turns and meets Pran’s eyes, Pat is met with that foreign emotion again; something so dark, so unbearably sad that is swiftly masked with a smile and a hum.
“Of course, my dearest,” the king murmurs with a kiss to his head. “You did well, my love. We saved our people,”
Pat doesn’t question him after that; instead, he remains resting against Pran’s side, relishing the gentle touches from his lover and the cool breeze that sifts through their heated skin.
That night, as Pran prepares to make their bed, Pat remembers to take off the clothes that have been drying by the veranda. The night is dark, but it is also beautiful, unlike the other nights they had spent sleeping in broken huts and dying trees. Pat could smell the faint lemon on their robes and the silky sheets. He feels.. as if he is living in a place better than home. He feels as if he is living in a dream.
Something bright flashes before his eyes just as Pat prepares to go inside and retire for the night; he looks up, and it’s another crack of lightning that has etched itself to the sky. Thunder booms after that, loud enough for Pat to hold the dried clothes closer to him in hopes that he wouldn’t be struck. He stands there, smack in the middle of the veranda, unable to look away from the cracks that have formed in the night sky.
The fear returns; the same sinking feeling in his stomach when he had seen the first crack form. The skies must be warning him, Pat concludes. But warning him from what?
“Pat, what are you doing there? I’ve made the bed,” he hears Pran’s voice calling him from a distance.
“C-coming!” Pat calls out with half a mind, his eyes remained latched onto the cracks.
Whatever it is, Pran would tell me, he reassures himself multiple times before putting on a smile and going back inside.
Pran waits for him with open arms, freshly showered and dressed in a silk tunic, his hair damp, smelling of lemons and the cool water from the river. Pat doesn’t think much about the cracks up in the sky as he sheds the outer layer of his robes and joins his lover under the warm sheets. They embrace each other with long sighs, as if separated for too long, with Pat’s head pillowed on the king’s chest, just over the heart he never knew existed.
“What is running through that little faerie head of yours, hm?”
He thought Pran would be asleep by now; Pat is momentarily surprised. The prince pushes himself upwards to look at Pran, catching the fond and relaxed smile on his face. He’s never seen the demon king smile like this before. As if he had nothing to worry about, and that he could die a happy being. That thought makes his insides churn painfully; Dying.
“This feels like a dream,” the prince blurts out, eyes wide with worry. “This.. feels like a dream, Pran,” he repeats.
The relaxed smile on Pran’s face falters only momentarily before the king smiles wider and holds his lover’s face between his palms. “A world without evil is a world like a dream,” Pran whispers. “What are your worries?”
Pat leans into his touch, nuzzling over Pran’s wrist, feeling the warmth there, enough to remind him that Pran is here—alive—in his arms. “I just..” Pat watches him, lips opening and closing as he tries to find the words to say. “We.. used to pray for a life like this,”
Pran’s smile fades away, replaced with that raw look; “We did,” the king agrees. “Which is why we are living in it now,” he pushes a strand of Pat’s hair behind his ear, fingers tracing along his jawline, “I promised to give you the answers, did I not?”
Pat exhales softly when the lump in his throat becomes too painful to bear, “It feels too good to be true,” he finally says the truth. “And I do not want to lose you..”
Pran doesn’t answer him, but his eyes turn glassy, mimicking the tears in Pat’s own.
The king holds his prince close to his heart; “You will not. I promise you, my love,”
--
PAST
“You have seduced me,” the king snaps, “You—has this been your plan all along? The people of Nariphon will pay for their betrayal to the—
Anger—and a mix of hurt—blinds Pat as he recoils from Pran, his heart breaking into pieces at the wrath in the demon king’s eyes. “You think so low of me,” he chokes out, “All this time, you—is that what you thought of me, Your Majesty?” there was no point of calling the king by his name. Not when Pat is nothing to him.
Pran remains tense, his jaw clenched with restrained anger, yet he doesn’t answer the faerie.
The kiss had been beautiful, it had been everything and more than what Pat had dreamed of. Pran had kissed him back, with a hand carding through the faerie’s hair, holding him close as they breathed in each other’s air. When they had pulled away, Pran had chased his lips. Why now? Why was he mad now?
Pat doesn’t think twice when he takes three long strides towards the king and grasps his wrist, unbothered by the scorching powers of the demon that burns through his palm. “Let me go,” Pran spits. “Or I will make sure you regret agreeing to this mission—
The faerie pushes a sleeve of his cloak down his arm, exposing a green charm tied around his wrist, a charm very familiar to Pat and his people; “You had a protective spell casted over you,” Pat whispers. “I noticed it the first time we met,” he pulls Pran’s wrist upwards, between their faces, as if reminding the demon of the charm that sits on his wrist, “Even if I do plan to seduce you,” the faerie releases his hand with a harsh exhale; “You are immune to it,”
He could apologize, he could hold Pat and yank him close to his body because that is what Pran yearns to do to the faerie. Alas, the stubborn king remains in his place, biting his tongue hard to refrain himself from saying anything he would regret. Pat watches him with pained eyes, and Pran could not help but let his eyes flicker down to those parted lips, slicked with spit and still red from being bitten so hard.
Pat waits, and he waits, and he keeps waiting for Pran to say or do something. “You..” the prince bites back a sob, feeling his heart clench painfully at the sight of the stubborn king. “I thought.. we..” Pat stops.
For a brief moment, Pran wonders if this is the end, and it pains him so much.
I am doing the right thing, the king thinks to himself. A demon and a faerie could never be together, he reassures his aching heart. If the world finds out.. it will be the end of us.
He waits, expecting Pat to back away and leave him to finish this mission by himself. However, Pat does the complete opposite; with flaring nostrils and fierce eyes, the faerie walks up to the king until their chests are pressed together, and before Pran could argue or stop him, Pat yanks him by the nape, slamming their lips together in a feverish kiss.
Pran—for the life of him—could not fight back, not when Pat’s lips tasted like everything that was missing in the past century of his life. Their first kiss had been soft, as if testing the waters. This kiss deepened the instance their lips touched, with days of buried desire clawing its way to the surface. Pat’s hands curled against Pran’s shoulders, gripping tight with an unrestrained desperation. He releases a surprised moan, muffled by the press of Pran’s lips when the king pulls him closer, tight arms wrapped around his waist until there was no space left between them.
“Pat,” Pran knew that what they were doing would only further complicate things, where both would fall deep into a hole they would be unable to crawl up from. His voice is barely audible when Pat pulls out another desperate moan from him; “We can’t,” were the only words that managed to escape his lips before he’s silenced again.
“I am—mfg—trying to stop,” he hears the faerie prince say, his voice rough, yearning for more than a simple press of lips, releasing yet another harsh gasp when Pran’s hand slips into his hair, pulling hard enough to send shivers down his spine. He feels Pat arch into Pran’s body. Fire engulfed them, burning into their skin as they held each other and kisses like their lives depended on it.
The prince and the king broke apart just for a moment, breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together. Even as Pran catches his breath, he ends up latching his lips down to Pat’s jaw, yanking the prince’s head back to trail kissed down his neck, relishing the way Pat’s knees trembled as his mind fogged with desire. They were not supposed to do this, but at that moment, Pat couldn’t bring himself to care.
Pran’s breath is hot and wet over his collarbone, fingers reaching up to pull his clothes further away from his body so his lips could reach more skin; “This—we cannot,” he keeps saying despite sucking fresh marks onto the golden skin, holding Pat close to his body to prevent them from falling.
He feels Pat’s hands pushed into his hair, holding the king in place, latched over the curve of his now bare shoulder as he shakes his head; “I know—ah—but don’t stop, please,” he chokes out, scrambling to pull pran back to his lips, tasting blood and the reckless abandon of it all. His body is trembling, his heart palpitating with every touch and every kiss, and he was sure that Pran could feel it too. None of it mattered. Not now.
Their clothes were shed in haste, desperate hands roaming across planes of skin, tracing over every scar as their words were exchanged in soft whispers and shaky breaths. Pat and Pran fall to the ground of the enchanted forest, with only their sounds of pleasure going with the silence of the night.
“Please,” nails crawl down Pran’s back as Pat arches off the ground with a desperate plea. The demon above him is rough and relentless, leaving bitemarks down the length of his body, lips closed around an erect nipple, sucking hard just to feel the faerie tremble around his arms. “I want you,” the faerie gasps, his hips trembling to stay still to the fingers that push in and out of him. “Ahng—Pran,”
Hot puffs of air begin to wet his golden skin as Pran pants over his chest, sucking and biting harsh bruises, with strong hands that hold his legs apart. The aroused demon king thrusts into his tight heat while the prince remains shaking under him, gripping onto the king’s calloused hands that hold his knees, crying out heated tears of pleasure.
“This,” Pran moans over a particularly ghastly bruise that blooms against his sternum. His hips are relentless, thrusting aimlessly to reach his climax; “This is what I have been missing for almost a century,” the king pulls his face away from Pat’s chest, his eyes glowing red, fangs popping out from the arousal as he watches the prince go cross-eyed with pleasure. “You,” he chokes out. “You are what I have been missing, my prince,”
The salty taste of Pat’s sweat, mingled with the petrichor and the smell of rustling leaves only becomes a fuel for Pran’s unbridled desires. The demon wishes he could consume the faerie whole, leaving punishingly painful bruises and touches that were enough for Pat to remember him for a long time.
“Please,” the prince whines yet again, a beautiful melody even as his legs fall limp on either side of Pran’s hips. He wishes to stay like this forever; pierced on the demon king’s cock, their hands entwined, bodies sliding over each other, mixing their own scents, sweat and releases as Pran ravages him.
“I could—ah—I could die a like this,” the prince finds himself crying out loud when Pran pounds into him with precise aim, filled with so much passion, pleasure and a hint of pain. His arms are stretched over his head, nails digging into the soil under his body, trying to get a grip of something as Pran mauls him like a predator.
“Hngh—oh—Pat—” he hears Pran moan into the column of his neck, his breath coming out in damp vapour that cooled his flushed skin. The faerie hugs Pran close to him, feeling his own cock leak uncontrollably, trapped between their slick bodies as the king picks up his pace. He could feel the way Pran’s hip stutter, followed by a single jerk before warmth fills him from the inside.
They go to sleep like that—covered in dirt, sweat, semen and spit, with only their discarded cloaks to serve as a sheet. Pran sleeps in the bracket of his arms, like death had resided in him while Pat lies wide awake. Pat turns, watching the sleeping figure of the demon king look so much younger, tracing the curves of his features before pressing a thumb over his parted lips.
Love, Pat thinks.
Amidst our impending deaths, I found love.
--
In the morning, Pat wakes up without the embrace of his demon, covered only in the comforting sandalwood scent of Pran’s cloak. He pushes himself up, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes to locate Pran among the darkness and the trees that surround them. Pat looked like a mess—he’s covered in dirt, his body sticky from the previous night, his hair clinging to his skin, leaves stuck to the strands—he needed to find the nearest lake for a bath.
Before the prince could properly stand, he hears the rustling of trees grow louder, and Pran emerges from them. He looked clean; dressed in a fresh set of clothes, his hair damp and skin flushed. The king holds a silk washcloth in his hands, his face unreadable, but also unbearably soft. Pran doesn’t say a word when he walks closer to Pat and kneels by him, their faces mere inches apart. For a brief moment, Pat closes his eyes, assuming that the king was about to kiss him, but stops immediately when he’s met with silence and no lips touching his.
When he opens his eyes, Pran has a small smile on his face; “How are you feeling?” the king presses the damp washcloth on his neck, rubbing away the worst of the dirt that clings onto his body. “I found a lake nearby..” he speaks with such softness that all the prince wishes to do is to slump against the king and let himself be coddled. “You could take a bath if you are..”
Pat nods, covering the hand that wipes him down with his own; “Yes,” the prince smiles back. “I would like that,”
Pran helps him stand and covers his bare body with the cloak. The lake is situated only a few steps from where they had slept, its water clear as crystal, but freezing cold. He gets into the water with the help of Pran’s hands around him until he’s shoulders deep. Pran remains by the lakeside, kneeling before Pat, his eyes—once again—unreadable. They don’t exchange any words, but their eyes never leave each other, the question hanging above their heads, heavy and unsettling.
The king decides to occupy the silence by using the washcloth to wipe down Pat’s body. His hand moves in gentle strokes, mindful not to brush over the sensitive spots or press too hard on his bruises. Pat watches him with round eyes the glimmer from the reflection in the water; he is unsure on what to say.
“You did not run away,” the prince finds himself saying a minute later, when he feels Pran wiping over the same spot for the third time. He takes Pran’s hand in his, the washcloth dropping into the water where neither of them makes a move to retrieve it. “Like the previous time,”
Pran remains quiet despite looking at Pat with those eyes again. “What can I say?” the king whispers. “You have seduced me,”
At first, those words angered Pat as he recalled their argument the previous night. However, before the prince could retort, his eyes land on the king’s wrist, where the bright green charm remains around his wrist, still activated to resist the seduction from faeries. When he looks up, Pran is smiling at him.
“You want this,” the prince realises as he pushes himself up and out of the water to sit beside Pran. The king doesn’t acknowledge his words but his hands move to cover his bare body with a fresh cloak, conjuring up another silk washcloth to dry his wet hair. “You want this?” Pat repeats his words in the form of a question.
Pran hums, “I would be a fool not to,” he murmurs, fingers gliding over the soft skin of his cheeks, down to his jawline, then curling around his neck. “They would never let us,” Pran says. “But I have spent a century catering to the needs of my people. It is time I make mine a priority,”
And Pat smiles at those words, linking their fingers together to press a warm kiss on his lover’s palms; “We can run away,” he suggests. “Live in a little and warm hut, with a chamber small enough to fit just the two of us,” the prince finds his smile widening at the thought, “Surrounded by colourful flowers, and a beautifully bright sky. Where nobody would dare to question us,”
Pran rewards him with a kiss to his lips, rubbing the tips of their noses together when the cool breeze sends chills down their spines. “I would like that very much,” Pran says.
--
PRESENT
The morning sun burns the prince’s skin a little more than the other mornings. He wakes up, momentarily surprised to find himself wrapped up in Pran’s embraced, his face pressed along the length of Pat’s sweat-sticky neck. The prince smiles to himself, unable to keep the happiness that radiates off his body; finally, Pat thinks, he’s staying a little longer in bed with me. The king need not wake up earlier than him all the time. He had no duties, no people to serve, or meetings to attend. It would not hurt Pran to sleep a little longer with Pat in his embrace.
“Good morning, my love,” the prince huffs out a reply mid-yawn, grabbing Pran’s hand that remains curled over his waist to press it over his bare chest. Pat gives a kiss to his knuckles as he pushes against the demon, waiting for him to pull Pat closer and place kisses against his skin. However, when Pran remains unresponsive, the faerie chuckles, placing yet another kiss to his palm; “All those chores must have tired you out, hm?”
He goes to give Pran’s hand another kiss, but pauses upon feeling the sudden chillness on the skin, and Pat furrows his eyebrows. The prince pulls Pran’s hair away from his chest, watching it flop down, the skin pale even as he presses onto it. Pat turns his head into Pran’s embrace, and he doesn’t feel the usual breathing that fans his neck; “Pran?” the prince calls out.
There was no response.
Pat turns, immediately pushing the king onto his back and unfastening his cloak to expose his chest; he looks pale, with little to no colour on his cheeks and lips, hands lying limp at his sides and his heart frozen. “Pran,” the prince is desperate as he places his palm flat over Pran’s heart to generate all the power he could get.
The faerie isn’t even sure if this could work; it is a spell that he uses to help injured animals and wilted plants, and there was no guarantee that it would help Pran. Still, Pat allows himself to calm down, murmuring the chant just over Pran’s chest, watching as the warm yellow light seeps out of his fingers and illuminates the paleness of Pran’s skin. “Please,” the prince whispers. “Please wake up,”
The morning sun is nowhere to be found, and the sky turns dark.
Thunder booms behind him, followed by the crash of rainstorms.
Pran wakes up with a sickening gasp, his back arching off the sheets, curved against Pat’s hands that heal him. His eyes are wide, lips parted as he greedily breathes in the air that is forced through his lungs, coughing up a dollop of blood over Pat. Everything burns inside of him, similar to the night he had held a lifeless Pat and vowed to come back to him. “Pat,” he chokes out. “Pat,”
“Pran,” Pat’s eyes are red and wide, glassy with tears that mix with the splotches of blood against his cheeks. “You—you were not breathing,” he sobs. “You—I had to use my powers. What—
The sky outside is dark again despite it being morning. It crackles with thunder and lightning, the rain pouring down, crashing onto the roof. Pat holds Pran close to him, trembling hands pressed over his lover’s chest to check if his heart remains beating. The prince could not stop crying at the mere thought of losing Pran. “You promised me,” he sobs. “You promised to give me answers,”
Those unbearably sad eyes return again, filled with unshed tears; Pran pushes himself up with difficulty, his arms trembling, his body weak, only being able to hold himself for a brief moment before he falls into Pat’s embrace. “I—I feel weak,” Pran whimpers into his lover’s neck. “Something is.. something is happening to me,”
And it absolutely scares Pat so much because he didn’t know what was happening to Pran, or how he could take away his pain.
Pran might leave him all alone in this world, and Pat would not be able to survive it.
“Pran?” the prince whispers to his lover, gentle hands brushing over his pale skin, freezing to the touch. “My love..” the prince sniffles, his voice wavering with the fear of the future.
Pran’s eyes are half-lidded, lips parted to breathe very minimal air, his body growing heavy the longer Pat holds him. “I.. I did not mean for it to arrive so soon,” the demon croaks out before he goes limp against Pat’s body.
“Pran? PRAN?” the prince cries out loud, tears streaming down his face as he sets Pran down, flat against the bed, pressing his ear to his chest. He releases a sob of relief when he is able to hear the faint beating of Pran’s heart despite his motionless body.
Lightning sizzles behind them, more cracks forming in the sky that was once beautiful. Pat covers his lover with the sheets to keep him warm, pressing a kiss to Pran’s cold forehead; “I will save you, my love. Wait for me,”
--
“I think it is time, general,” the palace medic informs the general..
The sky is unbearably dark in the demon realm, a sudden chillness falling over the place. Their king’s body remains unharmed, enclosed in a glass capsule as his soul wanders about. Li Ming recalls the last words Pran had told him, the tightness of his hands around the soldier’s arms, the desperation in his voice.
“No matter what happens,” Pran had told him. “Do not wake me up. Even if my body weakens, even if I am on the brink of death, do not—do not, wake me up,”
King Pran was everything, but he was never selfish. It makes the general wonder just how love could ruin one’s life, even the mightiest of them all. Shameful; that was the only word he could think of. The king was a selfish and shameful being, and he has left his people to the hands of Li Ming.
“If you do not bring the king back now,” the medic informs with a worrisome frown, “I am afraid that the king will die,”
Li Ming remains quiet, hands clasped behind his back as he watches the sky gradually darken, overpowering the remaining flames in their homes. The demon realm is coming to an end, and there was nothing Li Ming could do.
“General,” the medic presses on. “His body is weakening, and his powers have disappeared. It is only a matter of time before his skin begins to burn,”
“Quiet,” Li Ming snaps, “I need to make a decision,”
“There is no time,” the medic exasperates.
At the end, the solution was inevitable to Li Ming. He needed to save the people of the demon realm, and the only way to do that is to bring his king back.
--
Pat’s hands remain trembling as he pounds various number of herbs into the mortar, known for their healing qualities. He needed to focus if he wanted to save Pran, and it seemed to be a challenge for the prince. Pran remains motionless against the bedsheets, the rain crashing behind them with thunder and strikes of lightning.
“Your Majesty,”
The faerie’s hands halt their movements upon hearing a faint whisper amidst the deafening rain; he must be hallucinating—
“Your Majesty I am here,”
Pat stands abruptly, rushing outside their home to follow the hushed whisper of an unfamiliar being. The rain pours down his body, soaking his clothes and body until his vision blurs. He could barely see anything due to the rain clouding his vision and the darkness of the sky around him. The prince grabs a lantern, flicking his fingers to create a small spark that would light it up and offer him slight illumination in the darkness.
A demon stands before him, dressed in a bloodstained tunic, the strings undone before his chest, also soaked from the rain. He looked young despite the scar that runs across his face that leaves one of his eyes permanently red. There’s something in his enclosed hand, a faint glow of red seeping through the slits between his fingers. Neither of them speak for a long time.
“Who are you?” the prince finds his lips moving on their own accord, chest heaving from the sudden coldness of the rain.
The demon seemed to be frozen for a second, shoulders tense, jaw clenched and eyes unmoving. He moves after a brief moment of registering Pat’s words, bowing down with respect; “Your Highness,” he greets. “I am Li Ming, general of the demon realm and second in command to His Majesty,” his eyes hold a hint of arrogance in them, a blinding contrast to the loyalty that his voice held. “I have come to take him back,”
It takes Pat a while to understand what Li Ming’s words meant, but before he could ask further questions, the general walks past him, into their home without bothering to ask permission from the prince. Pat follows him behind; “I did not give you permission to enter our home,” he snaps. “Leave or I will—
“The king is dying,” he finds Li Ming kneeling beside his lover, the glowing light in his hand, now revealed to be a rare herb that the soldier had brought for the king. It pulsates on his palm, illuminating the dark room and giving a little colour to Pran’s pale skin. Li Ming looks at Pat with those same arrogant eyes, “And I am here to save him before it is too late,”
“What do you mean by that?” the prince could not believe his own ears. He touches Pran over his chest, feeling the faint thuds of his heart, and he looks to Li Ming; “How do you know that?” his voice wavers and everything hurts.
For the first time since he had arrived, Li Ming’s features soften, a sort of gentleness radiating from his eyes as he exhales slowly; “His Majesty possesses the power to leave his body for a certain time period,” the general explains. “When you were.. when you died.. the king could not bear the news,” Li Ming looks around him, around the enchanted forest and the comfort of their home. “This.. I am afraid that this is all an illusion that he has created to be with you,”
“What?” Pat murmurs. “I do not.. I do not understand what you are..”
His words are cut short when the general raises one hand, his eyes sad, palm upturned in offer for Pat’s hand; “Allow me,” the boy whispers.
With a deep breath, Pat takes his hand.
--
PAST
They’re close to giving up this battle. There are too many possessed creatures that could not be fought off by just the two of them. They’ve alerted both realms for help, but it was too late.
Pat is dying.
And Pran.. needs to fend off the creatures before they completely kill his lover off.
The sky is pitch black due to the influx of power from a weapon that Pran had only heard about in mythologies told him by his parents, almost a century ago. The presence of a power larger than the demons and the faeries, one without resemblance but only a light that would come when the world is ready to be destroyed. A presence that even Pran and Pat could not fight.
Pran remains strong despite the pain that courses through his veins, and the blood that trickled down his injured wounds. He needed to stay strong for the two of them, just until help arrives. “Please,” the demon prays. Pran prays to the presence that hangs up in the sky, controlling the creatures that rush to attack him. “Us demons are sinners. Do not hurt that faerie,”
Worshipping something that he refuses to accept as God would only lead a demon like Pran to his demise. It would strip him off his birthright to the throne, put his own people against him, and he would be disowned as a demon—all for the sake of love. Yet, Pran makes no move to stop himself when he kneels down onto the ground that was soaked with blood of the creatures he had slew, hands clasped together into a prayer; “I pray to you,”
He could feel his insides burn by saying such holy words. If not this, then sooner or later he would die from the simple prayer itself.
Pran looks behind him, where Pat lies motionless against a rock, hidden behind the pentagram he drew. The demon king hunches onto himself, defenceless against the presence that floats above him, hints of a golden chakra that remains hidden behind the dark clouds and thundering storms. “Ple—ahng—please,” his body burns its way from his insides to the layers underneath his skin, and he falls flat to the ground, unable to withstand the pain.
“YOUR MAJESTY! YOUR MAJESTY WE HAVE ARRIVED, WH—
It felt like a blessing and a curse at the same time, because despite his people who have arrived to help him, the presence above did not seem to care for Pran’s prayers. When he turns around with the last remaining strength that he has, Pat is still motionless. “No,” the king whispers. “No, no—
“Your Majesty,” he recalls the face of his general, holding him up with sturdy arms. “I have alerted the infirmary; they will be arriving shortly. Please—
“No,” Pran clings onto his general, shaking his head desperately as little patches of burns begin to eat his skin. “No,” he repeats. “Take me—ngh—take me to Pat,”
His general’s eyes are wide, as if he could believe his own ears. “I—Your Majesty,” he chokes out. “You will—you will die out here—
“Please,” more creatures are being summoned and the general needs to protect the king. “Li Ming,” Pran begs, his eyes filled with unshed tears that he looked almost.. ordinary. Weak and powerless. “You must listen—ah—listen to me,”
General Li Ming bites his tongue, his mind in a mess, unable to decide what was best for the kingdom. At the end, Li Ming has no other choice but to obey the king’s orders; “Yes, Your Majesty,” the general relents as he walks towards the protective pentagram that keeps Pat hidden away from the eyes of the creatures. “Please,” he helps Pran to kneel beside Pat’s motionless body. “Be safe,”
As the general whips out his sword to begin fighting alongside his and the faerie warriors who have just arrived as well, Pran turns to his lover. He gathers Pat into his trembling arms, staggering and falling onto the ground from the burns that are gradually spreading against his body. “My love,” the demon sobs. “Please wake up,”
He could feel Pat struggling to breath under the hand that presses over his sternum. Pran tries to heal the gaping wounds around his body, alas, his own body is so weak that he could barely remember the chant for it. Pran hugs Pat close to him in hopes that he could at least let Pat take some of the life from his body. “Pat.. look at me, please,”
Pat’s eyes open very slowly, as if mustering up the strength to do so, just to look at Pran one last time. Upon catching the sight of burning skin that’s travelling up the demon’s body, the prince exhales softly; “You.. fool,” he whispers. “I—mgh—why wou—” he breaks into a painful cough, his body trembling in Pran’s arms.
They’re both on the brink of death, with bodies hunched over each other, unable to form words without doubling over in pain. He feels Pat raise one hand up to his cheek, where the skin is slowly burning away to reveal red hot flesh that bleeds into his fingers. With the last ounce of strength the faerie has, Pat attempts to heal the burn, flickering lights of yellow that glow from his finger.
“No,” Pran tries to stop him, failing miserably when his body is frozen. Only then does he realise that Pat has frozen his arms from moving; “NO,” Pran cries out. “Stop—you’re—you’re killing yourself,”
Pat’s body turns pale as the last push of power begins to heal Pran and suck the life out of him. Despite all that, he remains smiling, with eyes so full of love as the world ends around them; “Come.. meet me when I am reborn,” Pat whispers. “Will you?”
Pran sobs into his lover’s bloodstained hair, pushing against the restraints that Pat had put around him; “No. NO. I will meet you now. I will—Pat,” the king sniffles. “I love you,”
The hand that presses against his cheek, falls to the ground, Pran’s wounds, nowhere to be found.
He barely has time to grieve over his lover before Li Ming is rushing to his side, holding the demon by his shoulders; “Your Majesty, we have to go,” the general grits out. “We must—the creatures are far too strong for us to—” Li Ming stops himself when he realises that Pran is not listening to him; “Your Majesty, we must make haste!” he screams.
But Pran remains adamant to stay by Pat’s side, holding his limp body against his chest and shaking his head like a little boy deprived of his parents. “No,” Pran chokes out, swallowing the lump in his throat as he turns to Li Ming. “I am not returning,” the king whispers. “I will stay with him,”
Li Ming bites back his exasperation, trying to pull the king away from the faerie’s dead body; “Your Majesty, the people need you,” he raises his voice in desperation. “The battle is far from over, and the realms are being destroyed. We need you—
But his pleas fall on deaf ears as he watches the king straighten his back with determination in his eyes; “No matter what happens,” Pran tells him, his eyes bright red, the wind swirling around them as bright red flames erupt from his fingers. “Do not wake me up. Even if my body weakens, even if I am on the brink of death, do not—do not, wake me up,”
With a final chant, the king too, falls over, his body turning limp.
--
PRESENT
Pat is reeled back to the present with a sudden push to his chest, and he stumbles to the floor of their home, breathing heavily from the rush of memories. He looks up to find Li Ming who watches him with a mournful expression. “I..” the faerie could not find the words. “He.. he blocked my memories,” the prince realises with a lump in his throat. “I did.. I did not know that I had died,”
“He is dying now, Your Highness,” Li Ming tells him softly. “If he does not return to his world, his soul would be lost, and this world..” he motions to their home, the pain evident in his voice; “It would be destroyed,”
“I will give him this herb,” the general continues. “It will help give him a little more time in this world that he has created for you, but not for long. I do not have the power to make the decision for His Majesty,” he carefully crushes the leaves of the herbs between his palms before sprinkling it into Pran’s parted lips. Then, Li Ming stands with another bow for the prince, “He will be awake in a while,” his eyes are worried for the faerie and the demon as they dart between the two of them. “I hope you make the correct decision.”
--
Pran feels as if he has fallen down a cliff when he wakes up that evening. He could barely hold himself up without his arms trembling. The king looks around him, unable to locate Pat, but sensing that he is nearby. Everything feels cold despite the absence of rain outside; Pran pulls the silk sheets around his body just as a painful cough escapes his lips, rattling his insides.
He is dying, and he could feel it.
The world that he had created is no longer the beautiful fantasy him and Pat had dreamed of. It’s dark, with cracks forming upon the skies, surrounded by wilted flowers and tall trees that muffle out the remaining source of light. Pran presses a hand over his chest, and he feels his heartbeat; abnormally slow. It was only a matter of time before he leaves Pat.
“You are awake,”
The king turns in time to watch his lover enter their crumbling home with a wooden basin—filled with water—hooked on his hip and a washcloth that hangs out of it. The faerie remains nonchalant as he places the basin of water by Pran’s side and kneels beside him with a warm smile. Those eyes are usually easy for him to read, yet Pran fails to read them now.
He feels Pat’s cool hands on his neck, gently manoeuvring them until Pran leans a little on his chest while the faerie removes the sheets from his body; “How are you feeling?” Pat murmurs over the heated skin of his temple before placing a chaste kiss there. Pran doesn’t answer him and instead, opts to watch the hand that carefully dampens the washcloth with warm water to wipe over his skin.
Pran turns his head just enough for their gazes to lock, and even then, Pat remains calm and collected; a complete contrast what Pran had assumed when Pat finds out about this illusion. For now, he doesn’t say a word and leaves his lover to tend to him. For now, Pran basks in his lover’s embrace, in his sweet scent, in his gentle hands, in his soft lips, in his crumbling illusion of a world with Pat.
Tears stream down his face without him realising, and all Pat could do is wipe them away with a quiet exhale, touching Pran so gently as if he would break into pieces at any given moment. Pran musters up the strength to trap his hand, pulling it over his lips to press a long kiss there. “I am.. so sorry, my love,” Pran croaks out. “I am—hng—sorry that I.. could not give.. you the world,”
Pat’s smile is a sad one, but he remains braver for the both of them.
Lightning crackles behind the embracing lovers, but neither of them flinches.
The prince holds the king close to his chest, humming a deep melody that would help ease the pain inside of Pran. “You fool,” the prince whispers as their noses brush against each other. “All I asked is for your heart,” he murmurs.
“Take it then,” Pran forces out, his chest burning with pain as he clings onto Pat with all his strength. “It was yours—it has—ah—always been,”
Instead of answering, Pat leans down to give Pran a kiss; hard press of lips against his dry ones, conveying all of the words they did not have the time or strength to say out loud.
When they pull away, Pat’s eyes are wet with tears that drop onto Pran’s cheeks; he doesn’t wipe them away.
“Not here, my love,” the faerie whispers. “Not now,”
His skin begins to burn, spreading from his chest throughout his body; there was no time, but despite all that, Pran clings onto Pat, his nails digging onto the skin, “Then when?” the king cries.
Pat’s arms are so, so warm around him when he hugs Pran; “When I see you again, Your Majesty,” he replies. “You have places to be. People to save. When the time is right, you may come to me. But for now,” a bright yellow glow radiates from the prince as he smiles down at the king. It blinds Pran even as Pat gives him another kiss to his forehead, “I love you too,” he whispers.
Pran closes his eyes.
--
FUTURE
This art auction seemed to be the last place Pran wishes to be at, which is ironic given the fact that it was being held at his hotel.
“This way, khun,”
He looks to his side, buttoning up his velvet coat before offering a smile to the executive officer of the hotel—a burly man in his fifties that Pran had watched grow up since he was a child—who guides him into the doors of his hotel. “How is everything tonight, Petch?” the chairman asks.
Petch nods with a smile to his boss; “Everything is going great, Khun Parakul,” the large crystal chandelier that hangs above them casts a warm glow of yellow in his lobby, causing a familiar feeling of warmth to bloom in the demon’s chest. “The auction is about to begin, and rest assured, it will run smoothly. I have a feeling that this might be our most successful one in years,” the man grins, a greedy grin with dollar signs hanging above his head.
The gallery is occupied with many patrons tonight, each of them dressed extravagantly, conversing with other business owners before the artifacts that were about to be auctioned. Pran steers clear of them, well aware that one conversation with them would be enough to drag the demon into an investment plan or business opportunities. He’s had enough of people using him for his wealth. As much as the demon wishes to return home without bothering about this event, Pran needed to make an appearance to get the show going. It was his event, unfortunately.
The only place that seemed to be free of those avaricious sharks was the dimly lit bar situated at the far end of the gallery. Pran turns to Petch with a gentle pat to his shoulder; “I’ll be at the bar. Call me when the auction starts,”
“Of course, sir,”
Pran walks over to the bar, shooting a warm smile at the bartender who instantly prepares his usual order for him; “Busy night?” Pran asks Li Ming.
Li Ming offers his king a smile before shaking his head. He occupies himself by wiping around a rum glass; “You know rich people,” he tells Pran. “They don’t need to ask for things,” Li Ming motions to the number of waiters carrying trays of beverages for the patrons to accept. “Makes my job easier at least,”
Pran hums as he takes a sip from the glass of bourbon whiskey, feeling the familiar burn rush down the length of his throat. The faint classical music that plays around the room, along with the sweet smell of Thai desserts were enough to keep him company. Pran instantly feels his shoulders relaxing to the sounds of violins.
It has taken him millennials to blend with humans, yet today is one of those nights where Pran is just sick of putting on this mask. In fact, today is one of those nights where he feels more human than ever; tired, uncomfortable, and restrained. He pinches the bridge of his nose, stifling yet another sigh.
Li Ming could sense the fatigue around him instantly. He was the only person where Pran could go to when the protective walls become a little harder for him to withstand. Li Ming shoves a hand into his pocket and pulls out a white packet, tearing it open to reveal a round yellowish sweet. “These are lemon lozenges. They’re meant to be medication, but I’ve grown to like them, Your Majesty,” the bartender whispers to his king.
Pran accepts the lozenge with a scoff; “Don’t call me that. I’m no longer a king,” he pops the sweet into his mouth, relishing the burst of lemon on his tongue, “And why are you on medication?”
Li Ming shrugs. “They give me energy to keep up the—” Li Ming motions to his face, where his usual scar is carefully hidden using his powers. “I hear that sweetness helps to curb the sadness,” he smiles.
“I am not sad,” Pran says without looking at his general.
Li Ming is distracted by another customer for a minute. A minute that Pran uses to savour the sweet taste of lemon on his lips. It has been a while since he had tasted lemon. When Li Ming returns, he observes the king for a minute before he speaks; “You have been grieving for centuries now, Your Majesty,”
Pran looks up, and is instantly met with Li Ming’s knowing look; the king looks away with a cough, “Enough with those eyes,” he snaps. “Do your job,”
Li Ming snorts, reaching down to pull up his tote bag. He waves it in Pran’s face with a cheeky smile; “I did. My shift is over,” the bartender smiles.
“What?” Pran frowns.
“I love work-life balance,” he grins. “Never had that when I was a general,”
“Oh, fuck off,” Pran shoves his friend away with a hidden smile.
Li Ming waves back to the lonely demon before he leaves. Within a minute, another bartender takes his place. He’s shakier and more nervous upon noticing the chairman of the hotel sitting by the bar. Pran waves him off with a tired sigh; “I’m alright,” Pran tells him.
He has half the mind to leave the bar when the nervousness of the new bartender begins to irritate him, but something stops him. The scent of jasmines, a sweet scent that never failed to leave Pran wide awake at night, wondering if he was here, wondering if he should’ve searched harder for him after all these years. The demon is frozen, his heart slamming against the cages of his ribs, and for the first time in thousands of years, Pran is afraid to turn around.
“Not your thing too, I assume?”
It was a voice he remembered like the back of his hands. A voice that he prayed to never forget in case it resurfaces after all this time. Pran turns, and is instantly met with a faerie; a faerie so beautiful that it has the demon freezing up, a faerie he only remembered in the little fragments of his mind, a faerie he held in his arms when he died, a faerie he loved, and a faerie who loved him.
“Hello?” Pat waves a hand before Pran, his eyes curious. “Too stunned by my beauty?”
Pran is startled out of his reverie at that sentence; he needed to get his head together. “I—no,” the demon forces out. “Are you here for the auction as well?”
Pat gives him an oddly judgemental look before smiling so beautifully that Pran could not help but stare at his lips. He looked so much like the faerie Pran had fallen in love with. The faerie he had spent years searching for, and failing to find. His heart is beating so painfully fast that the demon would not be surprised if drops down and dies like how the humans do.
“Yeah,” Pat motions for the bartender with a flick of his finger, “It’s my first one, so I’m a little lost,” he pauses; “Not to mention—a little bored too,”
The same talkativeness, the same charm, the same smile.
“You’ll get used to it,” he’s still in a trance, unable to keep his eyes off Pat. The faerie—human, now—looked more beautiful than the last time Pran saw him. Back then, it seemed to be impossible for anyone to be more beautiful than his beloved faerie. This man is.
“Really?” Pat turns in his chair to face Pran. They’re both quiet, with Pran gripping onto his empty whiskey glass, and Pat watching him. “This isn’t your first rodeo then,” the man smiles, his eyes crinkling.
Pran takes a deep breath to find time to form his sentence; “You can say that,” he replies. It’s very obvious that Pat doesn’t know who he is, which is relieving for Pran. He doesn’t know if he would be able to turn down an investment proposal from anyone who even remotely resembles Pat.
Pat gives him that oddly judgemental look once again, before he masks it with a smile. He thrusts his hand out for Pran, “My name is Pat, nice to meet you,”
I know, Pran takes his hand. “Pran,” he introduces curtly, taking the man’s hand as he held his breath hard.
“Do we know each other?” Pat asks instantly, and Pran is taken aback by the question. The former laughs, tightening his hold on Pran’s hand; “I—sorry for being so direct,” he smiles. “I just—you’ve been—I mean the way you looked at me. Maybe it’s just your eyes,” his smile turns confused.
Pran swallows the lump in his throat; “I get that a lot,” he lies.
They look down at their hands that remain clasped together. “Nice bracelet,” Pat points out before letting go of Pran.
The demon looks down, noting the green charm that was now encrusted with gold, wrapped around his wrist. He could not help but choke out a laugh; You were mad when I wore this, he thinks. “Thank you,” he ends up saying. “Someone I loved got it for me,”
“Loved?” Pat echoes.
“Love, sorry,” Pran corrects.
The man before him is silent for a moment as he takes multiple sips of his white wine. “And is this person that you love.. here today?”
Pran purses his lips as he considers the question; “I would say so,” he answers.
It pulls a laugh out of Pat; a beautiful, addictive laugh that has Pran smiling until his lips hurt. He never knew his lips could hurt from smiling so much. “You answer in riddles,” Pat replies when his laughter dies down. “I like that,”
They’re silent once again until Pat asks him another question; “Listen—Pran,” he downs his red wine in one go, grimacing at the burn and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. The action felt out of character from the gentleman he met just a few minutes ago, “I like you. I want to get to know you. I’m interested. But there’s only one problem,” he leans closer to Pran, the sweet smile he had seen just a minute ago, now replaced with a cocky smirk. “How good are you at running?”
The question startles him immediately, and Pran pulls away with a questioning glance; “What? I don’t know what you’re—
“THIS IS A ROBBERY, EVERYBODY GET DOWN!”
Gunshots are heard along with the shrieks of his patrons. Pran barely has time to turn around and assess the situation when he feels something hard poking against his back. “Come with me if you value your life,” he’s met with those same round eyes, now turned into fierce slits; half of Pat’s face is covered with a black cloth.
“What?” Pran is unbearably confused.
He notices the man roll his eyes; “Oh my god—” he stifles a groan. “You’re rich; have you never been robbed before?” his voice is muffled when he speaks.
Pran stares once again; “I—is that what this is?” the demon realises.
He could easily dismember the man before him with a flick of his finger, rewind time so the robbery would not happen, or even erase his memories of even being a robber. Pran could do that and so much more. And yet—
“Okay,”
He follows Pat—the fucking robber—out through the commotion and a number of other masked individuals that wave their guns around to prevent the authorities from coming close. It feels nice to have Pat so close to him like this again, although the circumstance was hardly romantic. He could smell the jasmine radiating from Pat, which only made Pran smile fondly; “What the fuck are you smiling about? Are you not afraid for your life?” he hears Pat cry out amidst the screams and gunshots.
Pran doesn’t answer him until he’s shoved inside a bright cherry red car—Pat was a horrible robber—and his hands are tied with a frayed rope. “Death would be the least of your worries when you’ve lived as long as I have,”
Pat tightens the seatbelt around him before pulling out his mask. He gives Pran a deadpanned look; “You’re barely thirty, calm down,”
“Why did you kidnap me?” Pran asks him as the car begins to move.
Pat sighs; “Why did I kidnap one of the richest men in Thailand?” he wonders out loud. “You’re not really the bright one, are you?”
“I don’t know..” Pran retorts. “One of us is smart enough to own multiple hotels around the world. And the other.. is a robber,”
“Asshole,” Pat snaps. He opens his mouth to speak again when his phone begins to ring. With an excited grin, Pat answers it and puts it on speaker; “Napat Napping; You name it, we nap it. Who am I speaking to?”
“Ai’Pat!” the man on the other end of the call curses. “Where the fuck are you?”
Pat releases an incredulous laugh, “I’m driving of course,” he says. “I got the guy,”
“Pat,” Pran hears a very long sigh. “You fucking moron. The guy we’re supposed to kidnap is here. YOU KIDNAPPED THE CHAIRMAN OF THE HOTEL,”
Pat hits the brakes instantly, whirling to his side to look at Pran, his eyes wide and lips parted; “W-what?” the man stammers. “But I thought—you said Pran. We’re kidnapping a Pran,”
“PRAN PHASSAKORN. THE FAT OLD MAN THAT STOOD BY THE DESSERTS TABLE,” the man screams. “NOT PRAN PARAKUL. THE FUCKING OWNER OF THIS HOTEL,”
Despite the panic on Pat’s face, Pran could not help but marvel at the beautiful features of his lost love. He smiles yet again, but Pat may have mistaken it as anger; the kidnapper looks away with a loud cough. “I—phi, what now?” the helpless man whines like a little boy.
“The cops are searching for you, and there’s nothing we can do. I should’ve known you’d fuck this up. This is all that fucker P’Bas’ fault. I told him you weren’t ready for this. We’re all going to die and it’s—” he’s rambling mostly to himself, and Pat’s face is growing paler by the second.
With a quick flick of his fingers, Pran manages to cut the rope around his wrist in half. He grabs the phone, ending the call with a single tap before facing Pat.
For the first time that night, Pat is quiet.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Pran begins.
Horrible start, because Pat’s eyes are tearing up. “I’ll send you back to your home,” he squeaks. “Please don’t get me arrested,”
Adorable, even after all these years.
Pran waves him off with a click of his tongue. “We can’t go there,” he tells Pat. “My men would be searching that place by now,”
“Oh, fuck,” Pat curses. He pushes a hand through his hair and—long gone is the macho kidnapper that had threatened to take his life away if Pran disobeys. “What do we do? What do I do? Paa’s going to kill me if I end up in jail. I’m going to—
“I know a place,” the demon blurts out, enough to silence Pat. “It’s hidden from everyone,”
Pat looks at him with those round and teary eyes; “How can I trust you?” the grown man sniffles.
“You don’t have a choice, really,” Pran replies
“I’m going to die, aren’t I?”
“Relax,”
--
“Well, since we’re going to be here for at least a night,” Pat tells him as soon as he’s comfortably wrapped up in the silk sheets that Pran had offered him when they reached the hut. “We could play a game?”
Pran had switched out of his expensive suit for a simple pair of jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt. He had offered to give Pat some clothes too, but the man insisted on staying in just his tank top and boxers. Not that Pran minds the view.
“What game do you have in mind?” Pran sits beside his lost love on the veranda of their home as he hands him a cup of warm tea; he finally finds the view beautiful now.
Pat accepts it with yet another glowing smile; “Two truths and a lie,” he takes a sip of tea before setting the cup down to completely face the demon. “I’ll go first,” his eyebrows are furrowed when he begins to think; Pran doesn’t take his eyes off them even once. “Okay. I love rugby, I’ve gotten shot before, and I hate making friends,”
“You love making friends,” Pran says without a second thought. It’s a little too fast even for Pat who stares at him with shocked eyes. “I—uh—you were a great conversationalist. I noticed,” he coughs.
Pat seemed to fall for his lies as he shrugs and then continues to smile, oblivious to the intense palpitations of Pran’s heart. “Your turn,”
“Hm, let’s see,” Pran hugs himself as the cool breeze enters their home. “I.. am a demon, I don’t look my age, and.. I love children,”
Pat groans loudly; “Come on!” he scolds. “That’s too easy! It’s obvious what the lie is,”
Pran smiles, jerking his chin at Pat, “I’d like to see you try,”
The man is frowning when he crosses his arms and answers; “You’re not a demon,” he says.
Pran clicks his tongue with a shake of his head, “Wrong; I hate children,”
His answer makes Pat laugh instead of questioning the other two statements, “Which of the seven sins are you?” Pat jokes along.
“None,” he answers honestly. “I was from a different realm,”
It doesn’t get the reaction that he had expected from Pat. “You’re weird,” is what the man says. “I’d be creeped out if you weren’t so handsome,” his smile is contagious, so much so that Pran smiles back. “Well—technically, you lost,” Pat points out a few seconds later. “You need to be punished,”
“Take my heart,”
The smile is wiped out of Pat’s face, his jovial features softening into something else, something Pran wouldn’t dare to name.
Pran inches closer to the man, inhaling the sweet jasmines around him before a hand is pressed over his chest, halting his movements. Pat’s eyes are wide as he searches for the meaning behind Pran’s words; “You speak in riddles,” he repeats with a softened smile. “At least take me to dinner before I take your heart,”
The demon releases a breathy laugh as he looks down at the hand that touches his heart; “Do you think I’m lying?”
“Mm..” Pat hums in contemplation. “Before, yes. Now..” his eyes flicker down to the demon’s parted lips. “Not so much,” the man murmurs. “You know me.. don’t you?”
Pran purses his lips, cocking his head to the side; “You can say that,” he repeats.
It pulls another smile out of Pat, followed by a laugh of disbelief. “Is this a dream?” Pat whispers, unable to wrap his head around whatever that is happening between them.
The demon whistles, curling his own hand over Pat’s one that touches his chest; “I sure hope not,” he replies.
The sky around them is clear and void of cracks as Pat’s smile brightens up his whole world.