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Falling in love at first sight
–
The plump little princess is annoying him already. She’s only three years his junior but she may as well be a child for the precocious way she acts, for the way her voice lilts up at the middle and end of every sentence. Maunu doesn’t know enough Svenian yet to parse the words, so they are using his tutor Ilta as a translator. Princess Matilda asks about the books he’s read, he tells her he doesn’t read, it’s completely passé and hopes the translator doesn’t soften the edges on anything he tells her. All this is just a big waste of time, really.
He doesn’t <i>have to</i> like her in order to marry her, his sister told him ages ago. That’s why their mother and father are as they are, and why father is never at the palace for family suppers. It’s a simple enough business arrangement, to bind their two kingdoms together even further, to strengthen the ties. It’s boring, plain politics.
“The princess would like to know if you enjoy horseback riding or courtball,” the translator says.
Matilda looks at him with expectant eyes, and he doesn’t understand why she bothers. They have nothing in common. They don’t have to force friendliness in order to do this.
“I don’t like sports or horses or books, or <i>you</i>,” Maunu tells her pointedly.
The translator is taken aback, and she stays quiet for a beat, before plastering on the same polite smile that palace staff tend to have when they’re on the clock.
Then a rough male voice from the back of the room pipes up. “Don’t translate that.”
His accent is clearly Svenian but his Haemtongue is perfectly understandable, and Maunu looks over.
He’s never seen a man who looks like <i>that</i> outside of the magazines he keeps hidden beneath the wooden slabs of his bed, the ones not even the cleaning staff bother digging through. The Svenian’s shoulders are wide, rounded with thick muscle beneath the fine fabric of his suit, and his neatly cut, short hair trails into a closely trimmed stubble around a perfect, chiselled jawline. His eyes are narrow and icy blue. His face is captivating, its features bold and masculine. He looks like he could hurt you, or keep you safe, depending on what he wanted.
Maunu feels a frisson-like shiver run down his back. “What’s it to you?” he snaps, because his cheeks feel hot, and his heart won’t stop racing.
“She’s just trying to be nice,” the Svenian says.
Maunu looks away from him, back at the princess, and the translator. “Fine, leave out the last part. And ask her what she’s into, I guess. If you must.” He glances at the Svenian bodyguard, watches his mouth lift in a smile. “I can be nice, too.”
For the rest of the meeting, he barely hears a word the princess or the translator say. He’s solely focused on the bodyguard.
---
Non-consensual bathing
–
“Get in,” the crown prince orders, his voice tight and cold.
Jonas doesn’t have to ask what he means. The porcelain tub takes up half the room, lavish and modern, with wide rims that are stacked with plush, white towels and a tray with a champaign bucket and a gold-rimmed flute for it. Only one glass, so either the prince is not expecting company or won’t provide his guests any to begin with.
It’s a test. The prince’s pale, narrow shoulders glisten with the bathwater and his eyes are locked on Jonas as he undresses, the suit jacket, then the tailored shirt. He’s lost his gun licence along with his previous job, so the holster on his hip is unusually empty. He still keeps it on him, a reminder of who he was and who he is supposed to be.
He keeps his eyes lowered even as he gets in the bathtub; some fucked up royals prefer their servants that way. He feels the gaze on him, heat and curiosity. He’s bigger than he used to be, the muscles on his chest and arms bulkier than before. His hair is cropped short, brown with more and more greys as the years move past him. His cock is blessedly soft, even as the warm water jolts some buried desire in him, kicks up a buzz in his stomach, which is he ignores, does his best to think of just about anything else. It’s been a decade since he’s fucked a man. It’s not an interest of his.
“Well, this is a new setting for a job interview,” he says lightly.
The prince’s toes flex, brushing with his own. “You’re not bothered? That’s cute.”
“Not my job to be bothered.”
“Just your job to stay close?”
Oh, he’s flirting. Jonas smiles, shakes his head. “To secure any place you walk into. Closeness depends on the space, your royal highness.”
“Will you annoy me if I entertain visitors?” the crown prince asks. “And call me Maunu, for fuck’s sake.”
“Depends on the visitors,” Jonas replies, pauses pointedly. “Maunu.”
The prince grins, the toes sliding over Jonas’ ankle. “You want to vet them?”
“If need be,” Jonas says, nodding.
“Strip search?” The toes curl against his leg, reaching further up.
<i>Pathetic</i>, Jonas thinks, even as his blood rushes. He gives Maunu a flat look. “Is that what you need to hire a bodyguard for?”
Maunu shrugs, reaching over for the flute, filling it with champagne. “I need a new bodyguard, dad said. The old one retired.”
“He got tired of your visitors?”
“Whatever, he was a dumb old man who kept blabbing everything to my dad. I was glad to be rid of him. Are you in?” Maunu drains the glass in one long sip, his throat bobbing as he throws his head back.
“Yes,” Jonas confirms, and a new light sparks in Maunu’s eyes. “But I’m not bathing with your royal highness ever again.”
“And why is that?” Maunu asks, daring.
“I prefer showers,” Jonas says, and gets up from the bath, grabbing a towel before the prince can see the effect this soak has had on him.
–
Public sex
The bathroom has stalls with no doors. Jonas stands two steps from the urinals, between the sink and the wall and studies the nearby dispenser. It stocks condoms, chewing gum in three flavours (licorice, forest berries and birch sap) and tiny squeezy tubes of lubricant.
“Oh, fuck,” the crown prince moans, and his companion grunts into his next movement. The slap of skin against skin is rhythmic, but off beat to the music that pulses through the walls of the bathroom.
Jonas could technically watch, if he was to look over. The pattern is always the same: he pats down the man, as the prince watches him with an annoying grin. The two then go into the stall, do their thing, the guy leaves with a smirk and the prince washes his hands, and stares at Jonas through the mirror.
“Sure you didn’t want to join us?” he teased last time, and Jonas just gave him a look that said everything.
He knows the game now. The prince gets fucked in seedy bars and sex clubs by seedy and sexy strangers, and he stands guard. He wonders about the old bodyguard, who retired with a sizable palace pension – did he stand guard like this, hear the sloppy mouth sounds of the crown prince’s blowjobs? Jonas wouldn’t bet on it. Maybe the old guy got to spend his last years on the job with some of his dignity intact. Jonas has only worked for the prince for two weeks and is already so fucking tired.
The guy in the stall groans for the last time and the prince gives out a whiny, breathy cry; his usual orgasm, Jonas has already catalogued.
The prince comes out of the stall smiling that stupid, well-fucked smile, and Jonas looks away, in disgust mostly at himself. He could have worked any security job for less pay and never have to suffer through this.
“You know, I pick the ones without doors for a reason,” Maunu says slyly.
Jonas doesn’t meet his eye. “Not my job to watch, your royal highness.”
“Should I write it into your contract?”
“We could negotiate a pay bump, if you do.”
“That’s cute,” Maunu replies, tilting his head coyly. “It makes you angry, I can tell. Are you prudish?”
“I’m not angry.” Jonas rolls his shoulders back. “Or prudish.”
Maunu laughs. “Jealous, then?”
“I’m tired.” Jonas walks to the bathroom door, pushing it open impatiently. “If your royal highness doesn’t have an appointment for sloppy seconds, we’re meeting the prime minister tomorrow at seven AM.”
Maunu follows him, opening his fingers to spray the last of the water on his hands into Jonas’ face. “You take such good care of me, Jonas.”
Jonas hates him, but he’s not <i>immune</i>, exactly. When the crown prince brushes past him to exit the bathroom, his dick gives an unfair twitch at the barest touch.
–
Blueberry tarts
–
The silver breakfast tray has a pot of freshly brewed coffee, two wide-rimmed white porcelain cups and two blueberry tarts. Jonas looks up, eyes catching the collar bone exposed by the opening of the crown prince’s morning robe. Pale skin, bruising bitemarks.
“Breakfast,” the prince says innocently. “They do have that in Svenia, don’t they?”
“The man who was sucking your dick when I came in, I noticed he didn’t sign anything before he left.” Jonas sits down, and pours coffee only for himself. “Or are you looking forward to being covered in the papers?”
Maunu smiles and takes one of the tarts. “We have an agreement with the press.”
“With the local press. Things get out via fax these days, you know. It could be in the papers of another country by evening.” Jonas looks at his coffee, and back at Maunu.
The prince shrugs. “I don’t really care about rumours.” He licks the rim of the pastry cup, cream filling on the tip of his tongue.
“Doesn’t the palace care?”
“I don’t know, you’d have to ask them.”
Jonas resists sighing. The prince is juvenile for his years, but that’s not really his problem. Except it becomes his problem as soon as something gets out and his incessant whoring becomes a liability issue. What is stopping a foreign agent from posing as the prince’s bedfellow in order to assassinate him?
“Did – what was his name, the old bodyguard – Waltteri talk to you about this?”
“He did, to the point of annoyance. Are you going to insist on annoying me, Jonas?” Maunu’s voice gains an edge, and he abandons the remains of the tart on the tray.
Jonas finds himself grinding his teeth together. “Just get a boyfriend who won’t leak to the press. Is that so hard?”
“I don’t want a boyfriend,” Maunu says with considerable distaste. “They’re fussy and demanding.” He grins suddenly. “Not unlike a bodyguard, really.”
“A fuckbuddy, then.” Jonas lets the comment slide.
“Not interested. I’d be bored to death within a week.”
Years of etiquette training ingrained in him mean that Jonas doesn’t let the first insult his brain comes up with emerge from his mouth. Or the second, or the third.
“We need to leave in thirty, your royal highness probably ought to get dressed,” he says and goes back to drinking his coffee, standing up so he doesn’t have to look at the crown prince again.
Maunu snorts but says nothing, and the silence simmers between them as he gets dressed. Jonas doesn’t look. He’s never looked, and he isn’t tempted now.
–
Midnight shift
–
The club ominously named ‘sin’, Synti in Haemtongue, is the worst of them. It’s got two underground floors, one of which used to be a cellar made for storing mead before the building got refurbished into a commercial space. The cellar is where the crown prince spends most of his time in, as he doesn’t seem to have much patience for the dancing that happens upstairs. Uncharitably Jonas thinks that dancing is too subtle for the prince. He prefers to get to the point.
Right now, he’s sipping a champagne cocktail from a wide-rimmed glass. He raises an eyebrow at Jonas.
“Can’t help but feel you’re judging me,” Maunu says.
“I’m not judging you, you’ve only had three visitors tonight,” Jonas points out. “That’s practically celibacy for you.”
“Would you prefer me to get whipped like that man over there?”
“You’re not getting whipped.”
Maunu laughs. “Says who?”
“A bodyguard of the palace has the right to hand anyone that does harm to the crown prince over to the constabulary. I don’t think anyone would take their chances on that.” Jonas looks up at the man Maunu pointed to, his muscled back flexing beneath the strikes. He is technically being lashed with a belt, not whipped, but Jonas is not going to argue semantics.
“You’re no fun,” Maunu tells him.
“There are other ways to have fun.” Jonas tears his eyes away from the reddened back of the young man. “Learn how to play chess, or backgammon.”
Maunu glares at him. “I already know how to play chess.” His expression changes to that of triumph. “It makes you uncomfortable to see me with men, why not just admit it?”
Jonas thinks about the last man who visited their private booth, his eyes glassy with ecstasy as the prince sloppily sucked him off, his lips obscenely red and wet, tongue darting out to–
“I’m not uncomfortable.”
“Good,” Maunu says, and gets up. He heads towards the tall, older man on the opposite side of the darkened cellar, bathed in blue and purple lights.
Jonas grits his teeth and adjusts his wrist to grab the sheathed switchblade hidden in his cuff. If he happens to find it on the person of this tall stranger, and send him packing before the prince can get on his knees, that’s not his fault. He’s just doing his job.
Snapping
–
The paycheck lands on his account on Friday afternoon and technically he has a day off. The crown prince is with his tutors and advisors all day, and the palace guards will join him if he wants to head out after. Jonas could use a night off.
But he can’t focus, knowing that the pattern of behaviour is clear. Whenever he has a night off, Maunu does something unbelievably stupid. Jonas has seen the headlines – maybe not in Haem but in Svenia, they report it, to revel in the fecklessness of the monarchs next door.
He could just quit and go work private security back home. It wouldn’t pay as well but it would be easy.
Problem is, he doesn’t <i>want</i> easy. Doesn’t want what he’s doing right now, either – the prince taunting him at every turn, giving him sly looks beneath the body of some asshole brute, like he knows exactly what Jonas is thinking. Jonas hates it.
And that’s how he finds himself at the private quarters of the crown prince, laying out his gun, his holster and his security badge neatly out on the glass table in the boudoir.
“What is this?” Maunu asks upon entering. “I thought you had a day off. Either you’re a workaholic or you missed me too much.” His smile falls off his face when he sees the gun and the holster.
“I’m quitting,” Jonas says. “I’ve had enough of this shit.”
“You signed a contract,” Maunu tells him. “You can’t quit.”
“Every contract can be reneged. Head of security doesn’t like to drag employment disputes through courts, I know that much.”
“What’s your price?”
“Sorry?”
Maunu sighs. “Everyone has a price. I know this is just a negotiating tactic, you want more money. Or you want better benefits. What is it?”
Jonas steels himself. “I want you to stop embarrassing your position.”
Maunu snorts. “Can you be a bit more specific?”
“I think you know what I mean.” Jonas looks away, feeling anger heat his cheeks. He’s not going to beg, and the prince won’t bend, so the only conclusion of this is–
“I’ll do it,” Maunu says lightly. “I’ll stop sleeping around, stop going to the clubs. But I’ve got needs, too, so who’s going to fill them, Jonas?”
He steps closer, tilting his head up to look at Jonas, studying him. His expression is too happy, too knowing. Like he manoeuvred this whole situation from word go.
Jonas <i>should</i> quit, just walk away from it all and never think about this annoying snoot again. But he doesn’t, because right now quitting feels a lot like losing.
“Fine,” he says, jaw clenched. “If we must.”
“Oh yes, you’re under such great duress, poor Jonas.” Maunu’s tone is mocking. “Enjoy your night off.”
Jonas doesn’t move.
The prince smooths palms down the lapels of his suit. “Or would you prefer to start now?” His voice drops lower, curling a tendril of heat in Jonas’ stomach.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he grunts, grabbing the gun, holster and badge on his way out the door.
–
Climbing a tree
–
Maunu is much shorter than the bodyguard. It’s been a part of the game, to toy with someone so much bigger than himself, to watch the wall of muscle practically vibrate with irritation over Maunu just living his life without care, such a simple thing. But Jonas has just upped the stakes, and Maunu, well.
“I thought we might stay in today,” he says, swinging one leg over the other. It’s an opening gambit, but he thought he might make their first time special somehow. They’re in his private bedroom.
Or, if he’s completely honest with himself, he doesn’t think Jonas ever would fuck him in public, no matter how much he wants to. It’s something to work up to.
Jonas tenses, the muscle in his jaw tics, relaxes. His eyes waver – annoyance, anticipation? – but then settle on Maunu’s face, looking back in control of himself.
“Fine,” Jonas says, a bitten syllable in Svenian. Maunu doesn’t love the language, but he likes the way it rolls off Jonas’ tongue, gruff and dark, edged with sarcasm sometimes.
“Come closer,” Maunu tells him.
As much as Jonas serves him, he can’t actually command anything out of him that isn’t listed in the employment contract. Luckily, it’s evident how much Jonas wants it.
Maunu slips off his shoes, and stands on the seat he was sitting on. Jonas’ eyes flicker with surprise, then automatically tilt up to look at him. Now Maunu is taller and he leans in, hands on the powerful shoulders, feeling the knotted muscle there. They’re breathing the same air, and the moment stretches, Jonas looking both hesitant and determined, but neither of them moves.
“Good,” Maunu sighs, and that’s when Jonas kisses him, one arm crushing Maunu close to his body by the waist. Jonas’ unshaven jaw rubs against his own. His nose breathes in Jonas’ scent, wood and amber and thoroughly man.
Maunu grunts and he's hardening in his trousers. “Fuck me,” he murmurs into the kiss, which makes Jonas pull back.
Oh, dear. Too much too soon for the frigid little bodyguard. Maunu studies his face, the heated pink, the obscene red mouth, the uncertain eyes. He's almost cute.
“I don't think so,” Jonas says slowly.
“I've got other ideas, too.”
Maunu gives up his height and sits back down on the fine velvet sofa. Jonas stills but when Maunu’s hand cups him, his hips jerk forward.
“Any wishes?”
Jonas lets out a shuddering breath. “Yeah. Shut up.”
–
ballsack/some other oral related prompt
–
He brushes behind the balls lightly with the pads of his fingers, a touch barely there, and can practically feel the reaction ripple through Jonas. It’s astoundingly strong for such a tentative touch, but some men are sensitive to such tricks, Maunu thinks. It should make this easier, at least for now. Jonas is big, too big almost, stretching his jaw too wide open and the spongy thick head hitting the back of his throat, nearly kicking up his gag reflex. It’s not that he isn’t experienced, but he isn’t experienced with this: someone so tantalisingly big in all the right ways.
He flattens his palm beneath the heavy set, feels the tight weightiness of them in his hand. Jonas shudders above him, and his big hand finally lands on the back of Maunu’s head. Instead of taking charge, though, it’s a gentleman’s touch, petting and appreciating, finally tangling in his hair when Maunu takes the cock as deep as he can, fondling the pair in his hand as he does. It’s a good touch, but Maunu likes a bit of hair pulling. Well, they’ll both learn eventually.
Jonas groans and his hips jerk involuntarily as Maunu takes the cock out of his mouth, hand still firmly holding onto the balls. His tongue chases the taste of the cock, tip curling against the slit.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asks Jonas.
“Do you need it spelled out for you?”
Maunu hmms, lips vibrating against the rim of the head, pressed against the small bundle of veins there. “Do you want to come on my face?”
He likes the horrified expression on Jonas’ face, so easily scandalised. It might be fun to shock him further in the future; make him do things he wants to do, but doesn’t want to admit to wanting.
“Open up,” Jonas mutters, the rough skin of his thumb pressing into Maunu’s mouth.
Maunu lets his jaw fall open, his tongue taking small licks of the thumb before taking it in eagerly, lips tight around it. Jonas sucks in a breath, withdrawing his hand.
“Okay, fuck. Just, let me–”
The fat head of the cock slaps against Maunu’s tongue, and he keeps his palm where the balls can continue brushing on it. Jonas pulls himself quickly, but when Maunu looks up to make eye contact, his eyes move away, like he’s guilty for looking. Maunu knows what he must look like: mouth reddened and wet, a heated flush on his cheeks, eyes dark. Well-fucked, and they haven’t even begun properly. His own cock is painfully hard and wet at the tip, soaking a stain into his underwear. He’s good at waiting, though.
His hand finds the sensitive skin behind the balls once more, pressing against it, allowing Jonas' hand to control the movement, keeping his own fingers still. Jonas can’t take much more of it, his face twists and he jerks forward slightly, hunched over his hand as his cock spills a hot stripe on Maunu’s tongue. Maunu lets it sit there a moment before swallowing, his mouth closing on the tip when the next one lands.
The last spill does end up on his face, and Jonas watches dazed as he licks it off his fingers, following it up with careful cleaning of Jonas’ own cock, long, languid licks. Maunu doesn’t give this treatment to most people, but if they’re going to be exclusive, for whatever twisted reason Jonas cooked up in his head to make it acceptable, Maunu might as well give him the best he’s got. Maybe he’ll get something good in return. Jonas has always been his type: older, bigger, hairier. He <i>wants</i> to give Jonas the best.
Jonas tugs himself in, finally daring to look Maunu in the eye. “Didn’t even make it to the bed, huh.”
“Not my fault you were so easy,” Maunu comments, his voice hoarse in that way it always gets after a particularly big cock or a particularly rough treatment. “If you insist, though. Let’s go to bed.”
Jonas’ eyes flash, but he follows. Of course he follows.
–
Non-penetrative sex
–
The prince is going to kill him, Jonas is sure of it. He tries his best not to conjure up the image of Maunu’s mouth stretched around his cock, cheeks hollowed with the perfect amount of suction. He’s already half-hard again, and does his best to focus on the present, but it’s too much for him. Maunu’s cock is leaking onto his tongue, and the prince is moaning sweetly amongst the pillows of the bed. Jonas’ hand reaches up the lean torso to catch a pink nipple between his fingers, teasing it lightly before twisting and Maunu cries out, back arching slightly off the bed.
“Please,” he begs, and Jonas does it again, his other hand holding onto the lean jut of bone on Maunu’s hip.
He feels the prince’s hips lift off the bed, the deep groan and hiss when he finally crashes over, flooding Jonas’ mouth. It’s a familiar sound to him but he enjoys it better like this, the vibration of Maunu’s orgasm against his own being, his hands and tongue and Maunu’s toes curling against his shoulders.
Jonas’ head feels funny, like an itch beneath his scalp that can’t be scratched. He should take a moment to step back, get dressed, re-evaluate the situation before he gets too deep into this.
He should, and yet.
“Satisfied?” Maunu asks teasingly, after he’s sat up, his hands stroking up Jonas’ arms. “You’re pretty good at that. Not as good as I am but–”
“Shut up and turn around,” Jonas grunts, and watches the happy surprise on Maunu’s face as he does exactly as asked.
His back is a graceful slope, and Jonas can’t help but run his hands over it, all the way down to the tight, round ass. He wants to ruin it, tease out Maunu’s complete unraveling with his fingers and his tongue and finally fuck him so hard he can feel it the next day, but it’s too soon for all that. Instead Jonas slicks the head of his cock, and presses against the prince, the hot length poking through the space between his thighs.
Maunu groans, his ass lifting to push against Jonas before Jonas pins him further down with one arm. The hold is tight, but not so tight Maunu couldn’t struggle out of it if he wanted to. Jonas knows he doesn’t want to, the slack way Maunu feels in his grip, his body giving.
He thrusts his hips tentatively and the prince moans beneath him, the tight smoothness of his thighs surrounding Jonas’ cock. It’s a good fit, perfect really, and Jonas drives into it harder, hearing the wet moan that emerges out of Maunu as he does. He enjoys the view of Maunu’s slight, gorgeous body, one arm behind his back, tightly held by Jonas’ own, bigger hand. That fantastic ass, muscles taut with anticipation of Jonas’ next thrust. The head against the pillow, mussed blond hair, pink mouth wet and gasping.
Jonas fucks into him, pausing only occasionally to tease out the eager and needy whine out of Maunu, and then fucks his thighs harder, faster, pounding into him until he can’t hold on anymore. His second orgasm washes over him slower, more comprehensively, loosening all muscle knots and sinking that deep relaxation down to his bones.
It makes sense that he would fall asleep next to the prince, his beard stroked and his mouth kissed softly by him. He knows he should get out of there, re-assess, but he can’t, and he doesn’t want to, Maunu finally warm and pleasantly quiet next to him.
He’ll think about what it all means tomorrow.
—
Loud sex
—
Things can never stay simple. He should’ve known. The prince trails a hand over his shirt-covered chest, smiles up at him. Daring, annoying.
“You didn’t think we’d stay cooped up in silken sheets like a pair of lovers, did you, Jonas?” He tuts disapprovingly. “That’s a bit too boring for me.”
The toilet stall is too small on all sides. Maunu is crowding Jonas and he can’t focus on anything but the steady bass beat emanating through the walls.
“I’m not fucking you in the powder room,” Jonas says, his jaw too tight. It’s categorical, but Maunu just smiles like it’s another challenge.
His hands push Jonas down onto the seat. Maunu slides onto his lap, effortless and his body light for Jonas to hold onto. The prince kisses him, and Jonas allows himself to sink into it, the tight grasp in the back of his head, another hand in his hair. Maunu’s hips roll and Jonas hardens at the press against him, that perfect ass on his lap, Maunu’s little moans against his mouth. It makes him forget, slide away from the dingy bathroom setting and into another sphere altogether, one where there’s just them, wet heat and pressure.
“Touch me,” Maunu whines with another needy roll of hips.
Jonas pushes a hand between them, feels the fat little cock against his own abdomen, stuck beneath layers of clothing.
He opens Maunu’s belt buckle, then the zipper, and wraps his fingers around the hot, silken head, pulling the foreskin with two fingers. His mouth lowers onto Maunu’s neck, beard rubbing a burn as his teeth nibble at the sensitive skin.
“Oh, fuck,” Maunu moans, loudly just as they hear a spraying faucet on the other side of the stall door.
“Quiet,” Jonas whispers, his hand stilling but Maunu bucks up into it, body shaky with arousal.
“Please, please,” he says breathily, and pumps into the loose hold of Jonas’ hand, the tip of his cock wet with precome. “Oh, gods, please.”
It’s a performance and Jonas hates it, but it still has an effect on him, his own cock twitching, a deep heat in his belly. Fuck this. He lets go of Maunu’s cock and sits back to get his own out, watch as Maunu watches him do it, cheeks pink and that annoyingly gorgeous mouth shining in the dim light. He then encircles their cocks with one hand, coaxing another too-loud-for-public moan out of the prince.
“You’re so big,” Maunu says, the exaggerated awe almost making Jonas roll his eyes, if it wasn’t accompanied by Maunu thrusting tiny, controlled movements, fucking into Jonas’ hand, chasing his own orgasm.
“Do you have to,” Jonas grunts, but he’s already edging closer to the end, his hand working in tandem with Maunu’s own movements.
The prince just cries out in reply, spilling all over the tight fist. His hand lowers between them, pushing Jonas aside to jerk his messy, slick cock to completion, with furious pace.
“Come for me,” Maunu says right next to his ear, this time quiet enough for only Jonas to hear, and he does.
To his embarrassment, it might be the loudest sound of them all.
–
Getting filled
–
“More.”
Jonas follows the request, and Maunu’s breath hitches as he feels a third finger enter him. He tightens around the pressure of them and inhales deeply, breathing through. He hasn’t actually ever gone further than this, certainly not ever with someone whose hands are as big as Jonas’, wide palms with surprisingly graceful digits for someone in his line of work. Maunu’s thoughts drift to those same hands playing piano.
Not that he ever cared for piano music that much.
“Fuck, more,” he says, relaxing further. There is something loosening along his spine, when all the feeling is connected to the way Jonas’ fingers stretch him open. It feels good to be filled. It ought to feel even better to be more filled.
“Are you sure?” Jonas’ other hand runs over his hip, a warm, soothing touch.
Maunu’s head drops between his elbows. He’s sweating, he’s probably trembling a little bit, but he pushes back, eager and slutty, so his whole being gives off <i>give me</i> and <i>take me</i>. Sometimes the only way not to think about anything at all is just to take, and what’s what he wants. To take more.
He's already come once, sating the original urge in his brain. He's relaxed, breathing past the tension, moving through it. He just <i>wants</i>.
“Yes,” he groans, Jonas’ fingers flexing within him, a little flutter deep within.
A fourth finger joins them, thick knuckles embedded in him and Maunu’s cock gracelessly spits some precome onto the bed as his back arches. He’s so alive he can only moan, sob. It’s so good. It’s not enough.
“Don’t push yourself,” Jonas tells him, gentle despite the fact they were arguing just thirty minutes ago. Maunu hates this: the stupid caring top, when all he really wants is the abuse. But he’s never allowed anyone to go this far before, and he knows it’s precisely because he’s had too many guys who didn’t care at all.
“Fuck you,” he still says. “More.”
Jonas mutters something in Svenian. His other hand runs up and down Maunu’s spine, slides over his ribs, ghosts those gorgeous long fingers over his aching cock.
“I can just get you off like this,” he says. “You’re so tight, I don’t think you can handle all of it.”
His voice rumbles deep and thick, penetrates all the down to Maunu’s bones. Maunu drops down, soaked forehead hitting the cool cotton of the pillow. He didn’t think Jonas ever would – ready for the big hand to withdraw, the voice start to waver with hesitation.
Instead, it’s challenging. Daring him further.
“More,” Maunu begs against the pillow.
The last finger pushes in with more lubrication, but the pressure of it is actually better, makes it easier for him to breathe through it, allow it in, make him whole, make him full.
“God,” Jonas says and his hand tightens on the inside, pushing hard knuckles against the spot of no return.
Maunu doesn’t know what to do except crash, his whole body a needy, endless pulse around Jonas. He cries out until the bed is a mess and he’s spent.
Jonas is still inside him, and Maunu is completely loose, wrecked, complete. It takes Jonas a while to come to, pull out finger by finger. His other hand doesn't leave Maunu’s skin, touching and admiring. There’s a pause where he practically feels Jonas looking, astonished. A hand manoeuvres him onto his back. He knows he's being taken care of, cleaned up, but he doesn't register how much time passes.
“You’re insane,” Jonas says, laying down next to him.
Maunu just laughs and Jonas kisses him to silence.
—
Too late now
–
If Jonas could choose when and where he’d have done this for the first time, it would not be like this; them both loose and warm with sleep still, slightly scrambled heads from the alcohol at the royal soiree the night before. He didn’t drink on the job, but Maunu grabbed a bottle of champagne on his way out and insisted they celebrate by drinking some.
Celebrate what, Jonas doesn’t know and didn’t bother to ask.
Now there is an unexpected intimacy to it all. The crown prince kisses him slowly, hips rolling lazily against his own. He moans, then lets out a whiny little sound to let Jonas know it isn’t enough.
“Come on, then,” Jonas prods but Maunu refuses to move. Jonas gets on top of him instead, supporting his own sleepy body with elbows as their bodies line up against one another, and Maunu’s thighs spread on either side of him. Jonas feels too big and solid over his lithe form, a twinge of protectiveness as he feels his weight pin down Maunu, even though he knows it’s precisely what the prince likes.
Appreciative hands run up his arms, stopping to squeeze his biceps, then run down his chest. Jonas looks down, half-lidded blue eyes staring back at him.
“Morning,” Maunu says, voice raspy.
“Done admiring my body?” Jonas guesses his own cheeks are flushed pink.
“Never,” Maunu replies and kisses him again, soft and wet and giving.
Jonas imagines they could spend the whole morning like this, kissing and tangling in each other, his cock slowly thickening against the jut of Maunu’s hip. The prince is already hard, his balls drawn tight and his wet prickhead pinned between their bodies.
“Fuck me.” The request comes as a whisper, and Jonas hesitates.
They haven’t yet and he isn’t sure why. He always imagined it – in the dark of the seedy dance club or one of those awful private rooms Maunu used to favour. He thought it might happen quickly, uncontrollably almost, and that it might be angry somehow. A slap of flesh against flesh, over before he even understood it had begun, Maunu crying out prettily and coming all over his cock.
Maunu cants his hips towards him, rutting against him pathetically. “I need your cock in me, Jonas. Come on.”
Jonas gives in, a little too easily. “Fuck, okay.”
Instead of fast and frantic, it happens like this, with Maunu keen and soft beneath him. He looks triumphant as Jonas sits back on his knees and strokes his half-hard cock into full mast, finds the condom on the bedside table.
Maunu bites his lip as he slicks up Jonas’ cock carefully, then pulls it at his own entrance. Jonas allows the head to move against the hole, but not push in yet, spreading the slick along the rim. Maunu’s hands grasp his shoulders, getting impatient every second Jonas isn't already in him.
When Jonas sinks in, bottoming out, he can see Maunu’s bliss written all over his face, the flush that has risen high on his cheeks. He feels the incredible tight heat around him, and has to close his own eyes, to savour it. He’s trapped Maunu beneath him and his thrusts are shallow at first, too focused on keeping himself contained at the overwhelming tightness, to not get pushed over the edge too soon.
Maunu’s eager moans right next to his ear don’t help. A hand slides into Jonas’ hair, holding him in place.
“Stop teasing,” Maunu whines, and Jonas’ hips snap harder into him, eliciting a throaty groan out of both of them.
The prince’s ankles hook behind Jonas’ back, and his cock spits a wet trail against Jonas’ stomach.
Jonas kisses him, because it feels right. To kiss him, to fuck into him so hard that Jonas gets to swallow all of his desperate, breathy little moans. He feels Maunu’s body arch toward himself in anticipation every time his cock drags out slowly, then drives it fast deeper back in. He pounds into the body beneath his own, takes his pleasure from it.
He can’t contain himself for much longer. His mouth slips onto Maunu’s shoulder, his teeth digging in and sucking. He rocks into the orgasm, hips pistoning violently, and the shudder that follows the wave is immense.
He draws back from sucking the bruise, and feels light-headed and a little stupid. He hasn’t marked up a lover in years, and doesn’t want to think about what it might mean.
He pulls out, earning himself a needy whimper from Maunu, even as Jonas drops beside him and wraps a hand around Maunu’s cock. It only takes a couple of tugs for him to spill all over Jonas’ fist, with the familiar breathy, deep cry, the one that drives Jonas wild all over again.
They don’t say anything afterwards. Maunu kisses him, the same lazy, sweet kisses they started with, his tongue slowly tracing Jonas’ teeth.
Later that day, Maunu’s fingers find the spot on his shoulder, rubbing the bruise as his eyes seek out Jonas. He grins, a secret smile just between them, and Jonas knows then he shouldn’t have ever started this. But it’s far too late to end it now.
–
Unusual sex toys
–
Maunu’s eyebrow lifts, the tiniest movement. “It’s not a big ask, is it?”
“I’m just wondering where you get your ideas.” Jonas looks at the thing in his hand again. It’s big and veiny, with a shiny iridescent surface, ribbed with what can only be described as fake, rubbery scales. “At least it doesn’t shoot fire.”
“Well, dragons typically breathe fire, they don’t shoot them out of their dicks.” Maunu grins. “As far as I know mythology, anyway. Did you get taught something else at school back home in Svenia?”
“Focus,” Jonas tells him. “This is a joke, right? All this and the box it came out of?” He moves his hand and the fucking thing jiggles. The balls hanging off it are heavy, and light-coloured, hazy like quartz crystals.
Maunu is already undressed, and pushes the box off the bed, out of sight. “You’re not getting a complex, are you? I just want something in me while I suck you off this time.”
“Why would I get a complex?” Jonas asks, making a face.
Maunu laughs, light and airy. “Well, you know. He’s bigger.”
“He?” Jonas asks and now he’s really had it.
“Don’t be jealous,” Maunu says and brings his mouth to the head of the monstrosity, pink lips gently opening to take it in, tongue coming out to wet the rim of the bulbous head. He can’t take much of it in, it is too big, but he can bob his mouth slowly on the head, as his hand encircles Jonas’ wrist, keeping the massive length in place.
Jonas hates it, but his blood rushes all the same, especially when Maunu’s eyes open to meet his. “Okay, just this once. Turn around.”
Maunu is smart enough not to look too gleeful as he takes the toy out of his mouth and moves on the bed. He lets Jonas’ hands position him, thighs opening wider, knees bent. The smooth line of his back stretches beneath Jonas’ hand, as his other slides between Maunu’s taut cheeks, finding his opening. Jonas shouldn’t be surprised but it’s already wet with lube, eagerly opened with fingers. His own cock jerks as the image of Maunu opening himself up all morning floats in front of his eyes. Gods.
“You really need a hobby, how long have you been waiting for this?” Jonas asks, but he couldn’t sound contemptuous if he tried.
“Oh, now you’re surprised I’m a slut?” Maunu pushes back on the hand. “Come on already.”
Jonas huffs, but removes his fingers slowly and positions the toy at the rim, the head wet and glistening from Maunu’s own mouth. He pushes it and Maunu’s whole body contorts briefly, tensing and then relaxing as he exhales carefully, back falling and rising.
“Okay to continue?” Jonas asks, and Maunu’s answer comes out creaky, but sure.
“Fuck, yes.”
“You look so fucking good taking it, you know that?”
Maunu just grunts in response, his thighs trembling as he widens them another small increment.
Jonas carries on fucking the toy in short, little movements further and further inside, Maunu breathing through and trembling with each inch that disappears inside. It’s a magnificent sight, absurd yet awe-inducing. His body takes and bends and adjusts. A bright pink rises to his cheeks and his mouth, slightly open as moans escape, is wet and flushed red as well. Jonas anchors him in place with a hand in the curve between his hip and thigh. His own cock is still stubbornly hard in his underwear, tip staining the fabric, but he’s determined not to touch it, no matter how much he wants to.
“Do you want to lie down so I can still move it, or do you want to sit down on it, keep it in place?” The toy’s length has disappeared all the way in, only the tight, round balls rubbing against Maunu’s perineum to keep it from escaping all the way in.
“Sit down on it,” Maunu says, and his voice sounds far away, floating somewhere in the distance.
“That was incredible,” Jonas tells him earnestly, and can’t stop his hands from touching Maunu as he moves, sitting down on the bed, moaning loudly as his body adjusts to the new position. Jonas strokes over his clavicle, throat, jawline.
Maunu grins up at him. “Let’s hope it doesn’t spit out fire,” he says, and takes Jonas’ cock out of his underwear, his own eager mouth taking it in, giving, wet and hot. Perfect, exactly as he always is.
--
Dominant bottom, submissive top
It’s cute, sometimes, how Maunu treats him like he’s never had sex before. He presents a game to Jonas as they’re kissing, Jonas’ arms tight around him.
“It’s called stop, continue.” Maunu takes a bite at his lower lip, then grins. “I tell you when to stop, when to continue.”
“Why don’t I get to tell you when to stop?” Jonas asks gruffly.
“Now where’s the fun in that,” Maunu says.
He undresses Maunu until he reaches into the prince’s underwear and gets told to stop. The moment stands still, anticipation hovering between them, heavy in the air. “Very good,” Maunu says, his hand stroking Jonas’ neck gently. “You’re great at this already.”
Jonas resists the urge to say something snappy back. “Thank you,” he mumbles instead, which makes Maunu smile.
“Continue,” comes the next order.
Jonas proceeds hungrily, lets himself be pulled onto the bed and over Maunu’s body. His head gets pushed down, a simple enough directive, and he takes Maunu’s cock into his mouth, laps happily at the precome dotting the tip. He lets himself become just a vessel, allowing Maunu to control the movement completely, his cock moving smoothly in and out, faster with every little push of the hip.
“That’s enough, you can fuck me now,” Maunu tells him and only the slight change in tone betrays the fact he’s at all affected by the proceedings. His pink cock stands up happily, erect against his flat abdomen when Jonas positions himself, arms bracketing Maunu’s slight shoulders. The prince’s cheeks are pink and normally Jonas would tease him as he stroked himself, slid the condom on and slicked the head. Now he says nothing, just allows Maunu to touch him, guide him, steady him.
“I own this cock, don’t I?” Maunu asks, grabbing a hold just below the rim of the head, making Jonas gasp. “Nobody else gets to play with it. It belongs to me.”
“Yes,” Jonas agrees, as ridiculous as it sounds. There’s a joy in it, too, just letting go and allowing someone else to give him what he needs.
“You’re mine,” Maunu tells him, voice low and intimate and commanding.
Then his hand wraps around Jonas’ wrist and controls the movement of his cock, sinking deep into the hottest, tightest space Jonas could ever dream of fucking. “Show me how hard you can fuck me,” Maunu tells him, fingers gripping Jonas’ short hair tight, enough to sting a little.
Jonas fucks him, rocking his hips as Maunu’s hands run up and down his arms, gentle and appreciative. It’s a familiar blur, his mouth finds the prince’s so he can swallow down all the hot, breathy moans that he fucks out of Maunu.
“Stop,” Maunu says when Jonas has just found the perfect rhythm. A hand pushes him off by the shoulder and he groans when he pulls out reluctantly, his aching dick twitching with loss, embarrassingly wet.
Maunu looks at him, equally far gone but still holding onto the game he started. “Look at you,” he says, a little mocking. “So turned on you can barely cope. Do you need to come, Jonas?”
“Yes,” Jonas says, his voice rasping, his hand holding the base of his cock and thinking of anything else than Maunu’s magnificent body beneath his own. The feeling of him, the reddened lips and the obscene little flutter of his asshole. He almost tips over the edge, just taking it in.
“Continue,” Maunu says finally, stretching the moment out just a little more.
Jonas guides himself back in, groans with untethered satisfaction at the tight feel and thrusts. He’s not very in control of it anymore, the movement without rhythm, but he knows it’s still good. Maunu is barely holding on, either, his moans blending into higher cries. He’s on the edge, and –
“Stop,” Maunu says and pushes him off again, although the shove is a little more laboured this time.
“Fuck,” Jonas can’t help but mutter as he pulls out again. He keeps a tight grip on the base of his cock, then moves it slowly up. He’s more sensitive than before. He closes his eyes, breathes slowly. He’s so close. “Let me, please,” comes out of his mouth, involuntarily. “Please.”
“Let you what?” Maunu asks, a slightly damp hand stroking over Jonas’ chest, slim fingertips tickling his nipple.
“Let me come, please.”
“Oh, I don’t think you need to just yet. Your purpose is to pleasure me, isn’t it?”
The grip in his hair tightens so much it makes Jonas wince. “Yes,” he agrees.
“Continue.”
He ruts into the tight clench of Maunu’s ass, grunting with each thrust and when he hears the faint but present slap of his sweaty thighs against Maunu’s skin, he begs again, plea muttered against Maunu’s shoulder.
“Relax," Maunu says but he’s also close, teeth gritted. “Stop.”
It happens as he pulls out, Maunu’s ass tightening around the rim just as the head of his dick slides out. The sensation of it is too much, he curses and can’t even open his eyes to watch how he spills all over his own hand at Maunu’s opening. It’s a mess, and Jonas sits back on his heels to observe it, delirious with the empty, heavy bliss of his climax.
Maunu laughs. “Oh, Jonas. Now we should move onto the next game. This one is called punishment.”
--
Obligations
Queen Marjaana dabs the corners of her mouth daintily with a fine cotton napkin. She clears her throat. “Well, have you thought about Miss Revonlahti? Her family are industrialists, which is a bit distasteful but she's very polite and beautiful, which is more than you can say for most women of her age.”
Maunu has not and will not think of Miss Revonlahti. He sets down his fork and knife, dinner half-eaten. “I thought we would put off this discussion until the old man croaked and it became a necessity to produce an heir of some kind.”
“We agreed to table it indefinitely after the princess did her disappearing act,” his mother says politely. “Now it might be time to resurface the topic. It's all well and good for you to live the <i>lifestyle</i> but royal duties must take priority, too. Or what were you planning on doing, marrying a <i>man</i>?”
He taps a finger against the glass he was holding, wetting it in the cool mist formed by the ice inside. He can think of a dozen insulting things but none will ever leave his mouth. He knows better than to snap at her. She has ways of retaliation he doesn’t want to experience.
“Cousin Juhana married a man, it's not unheard of.”
Her eyes cast a brief look up, but she recovers quickly. “Cousin Juhana? Your cousin is barely titled, and he works in fashion. He could marry a shoe for all anyone cares.”
Maunu snorts. “Now that's a headline, ‘The Queen of Haem Advocates Shoe Matrimony’.”
She grows icy. “Please be serious.”
“I could marry a shoe and adopt some poor child, put them in line for the throne.”
“Adopt?” Her brows draw together. “Has your sister filled your head with more of her foolish progressive ideas?”
“Terrible, isn't it?” He smiles, but it feels forced. “She calls the royal lineage a breeding factory and I'm beginning to think she's right about that.”
“Oh, don't be crass.” The queen sighs. “We've been very lenient with you, dear. Now all you have to do for the family and the nation is what has been previously agreed upon.”
Maunu considers his words before speaking. He's been flighty, noncommittal and sarcastic with his mother before but this is fine, he knows where the line is. He doesn't oppose her unless he really has to. At least he didn't think he ever would, until he got the throne.
“I’m fulfilling my duties just fine.”
She seems bored by the topic suddenly. “Where’s that bodyguard of yours?” The queen edges her fork into the position on the plate that tells the staff it is time to move onto the dessert. “What an act of charity to hire him after he let that silly chubby princess flee from right under his nose. The Svenians can't have provided him with a glowing recommendation.”
“He's good at what he does,” Maunu says, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “He's taking a day off as I won't have to leave the palace today.”
“That’s good, you must make all staff take their requisite time off.” She takes a sip of her wine and looks at him carefully. “You've been keeping yourself out of the yellow papers lately, that's very wise of you. I think you may finally be maturing enough to be a true leader.”
He lets the patronising remark wash over him. “I'm focused on other things at the moment.”
“Well, focus on finding a graceful young woman, or I will find one for you. A Svenian with aristocratic background would be ideal but in a pinch, an elite socialite from Haem, Carelia or even Kure would do.” She makes a face. “Just not a Siberian, most of them have little to no understanding for the station of royalty. Forest folk, the lot of them.”
“Didn't you say you loved their traditional culture and textiles on your last diplomatic visit? Some hypocrite you are,” he teases her, knowing that teasing is familiar territory.
His mother laughs, always proud of her own incongruities. “Darling, anyone can like textiles. They're the easiest thing to adore.”
A week later, he meets with the prime minister of Haem. She lightly asks him if he's found a new betrothed yet.
“Oh, my heart was broken into pieces by that horrible princess of Svenia. I'm unsure I will ever recover.” He gives her a smile, and she takes it for the brush off that it is. “I'm sure I'm ruined for marriage.”
He notices the way Jonas’ Adam's apple bobs up and down on his throat, but his face remains unreadable.
“Plenty of contenders, I take it?” Jonas asks once they're alone.
“I'm not going to marry any of them,” Maunu says. He's known that for a fact since the day that Matilda ran away.
“Yes, you will,” Jonas tells him, like he's the one who gets to decide. “Of course you will.”
Maunu grins, sees no point in arguing it. He wants to talk about anything else. “How come I never see you take smoke breaks anymore?”
“I don't know,” Jonas replies. “Guess I found some new vices.”
Maunu needs a snappy retort, but finds himself unable to speak. All he can do is move his fingers along the buckle of Jonas’ belt, teasing. All he can do is what they always do, falling into each other.
--
Body worship
The prince’s hands travel over his upper body: arms, chest, lingering extra long on his stomach, feeling the way his abdomen flexes beneath touch. Maunu is perched on top of him, his smooth pale thighs on either side of Jonas’ hips. They’re both hard and still wearing underwear, but the situation is not developing, even at a slower pace. Maunu is simply feeling, fingers kneading into muscle. Jonas doesn’t really think of the contours of his body, the thickness of muscle as anything more than functional. All his professions, ever since the mandatory army training, required him to be in shape. He’s not beautiful like Maunu, body full of sharp, devastating angles.
“Are you finished already?” Jonas asks. He pushes his hips up slightly, not hard enough to throw Maunu off himself, but enough to remind him what else is happening.
“I really like your chest,” Maunu replies. “And I haven’t even got to appreciating your thighs properly.”
Jonas’ cock jumps at the thought, Maunu’s hands squeezing the muscle just below his ass, mouth ghosting over the inside of his thigh. “Well, get to it, then.”
“Patience,” Maunu chides him, but climbs off him, and pushes his knees between Jonas’ thighs, making them open for him. “Hasn’t anyone ever appreciated you before?”
“Not like this,” Jonas says. His cock aches in his underwear and he shudders a little when Maunu runs hands down the tops of his thighs, fingers petting the coarse, short hair there. “I mean, one of my girlfriends talked about it but she never did —” Maunu’s fingers tickle the inside of his knees, and he draws a quick breath. “That, what the fuck.”
Maunu smiles. “You’ve had a lot of girlfriends?”
“A couple,” Jonas says. He reaches out to grab at Maunu, his ass or thigh or hip, anything to get them to the action quicker, but Maunu resists.
“Boyfriends?” Maunu asks, his tone even. His fingers have moved to calves, sliding over once, then digging fingertips into the muscle. It’s not a painful touch, but enough to jolt Jonas.
“No,” Jonas admits. He fooled around in the army, had a friend during his first palace years jerk him off a couple of times when the stress got to be too much. Some random encounters after that, between his girlfriends; all fleeting, all meaningless.
Maunu says nothing at first. “You should be appreciated.”
He lowers himself onto the bed, adjusting himself in his underwear. His mouth kisses the inside of Jonas’ thigh, one hand dipping on the bed to slide under his ass.
“Fuck,” Jonas says, and lets his eyes close. His cock throbs, but Maunu is diligently avoiding touching it at all, instead kissing and nibbling on the flesh of the thigh, nose digging into the space where skin meets the fabric of the underwear. “Could you just–” He quiets, not above begging but unsure he needs to cross that line just yet. “Let me appreciate you, the same way?”
“Oh, I already know you do,” Maunu says, and opens his mouth, the ridged edge of teeth sliding over the head of Jonas’ cock, trapped in underwear. He nearly bucks off the bed. “Sensitive?” Maunu teases.
“Fuck, please,” Jonas manages tightly.
“Please what?”
“Let me fuck that pretty mouth, please.”
“Only because you asked so nicely.”
Maunu stretches the waistband lower, pushing it below Jonas’ balls, tight and heavy with anticipation. His mouth kisses the tip of the cock, sliding over the drop of precome before enveloping the head. Jonas keeps his eyes closed, knowing that if he watches, he won’t last very long.
He reconsiders. Maybe it’s nice to be appreciated.
--
Miss Iiris Sumu is perfect, there isn’t any other word apt to describe her. Her body is slim and ethereal, and it may as well be a clothes rack for the way everything fits her to the tee. Her elegant brown hair is glossy, wavy and shoulder length, framing her face without being too cumbersome to style. She is twenty-five with a Master’s degree and a stellar career record, although not anything so important that she couldn’t abandon it to raise a family.
With a pianist mother from the Franc Republic and a banker father from Haem, she’s equipped to navigate international high society with complete ease. She speaks five languages fluently, and laughs charmingly but not too loudly. She’s beautiful, graceful and has tact in any situation. She doesn’t drink to excess, and holds the wine glass in her hand like it belongs there, but has only taken two sips all evening, during opportune lulls in the conversation when it wouldn’t be rude to do so.
His mother would be thrilled with the match, and Jonas’ words earlier that week make Maunu grind his teeth. He entertains the potential of Iiris Sumu for too long. He talks to her through the evening, bends his head to hear her better in the increasing volume of the party, a celebration of an old forest god at the top of the biggest hotel in Hiidenlinna. The rooftop garden has been decorated with tall trees and mossy rocks, big trunks for people to sit on, and music thrumming a pleasant, jazzy beat. He’s bored by it, but it can’t be helped, this is precisely the kind of patriotic soiree that he should make an extended appearance at.
Jonas is somewhere, too, but Maunu decides to not look for him like he normally does.
Iiris laughs at what he just said, a little too easily. Suddenly Jonas is there, his form tall and wide near, approaching Maunu from the left. It sends a familiar tingle down Maunu’s spine, his whole body wired with anticipation for the touch he knows won’t come.
“And this is Mr Jonas Gustafsson,” Maunu says lazily, feeling suddenly much drunker than the second before. He gestures with his empty tumbler of whisky towards Jonas, whose eyes watch his swaying hand with increasing annoyance. “My personal, private bodyguard.”
“How pleasant! I’m happy to meet him, of course,” she says, and Maunu notes the way her eyes spark as she looks him over. She’s evidently dazzled by Jonas’ everything, gaze lingering on his shoulders, then his face. “Does he stay by your side at all times?” she asks with a hint of mischief.
“Why, of course,” Maunu says flatly. “Don’t you, Jonas?”
“I get some blessed days off,” Jonas notes. “Not the Day of Tapio, apparently, but many other ones.”
“Well, you don’t revere the forest god,” Maunu says, then turns to Iiris. “Svenians have their own religious traditions. I’m sure he doesn’t care about ours.”
“Not my job to revere,” Jonas says with a shrug, and looks away. He’s bored, Maunu notes. Angry, maybe?
Iiris studies Jonas, her wine once again forgotten. It could work, Maunu and her, so long as she didn’t expect him to fuck her. A neat visit to a discreet infertility clinic, nine months and he’d do his best to be a faithful husband and a doting father. It could work, and eventually, once the kid is a bit older and spending more time with tutors and carers than her or him, she could find a lover who’s more her type. Maybe someone built like a brick wall, if she’s so fascinated by Jonas. Well, he considers darkly, who wouldn't be.
It wouldn’t be a charmed life, but crown princes don’t get to decide what kinds of lives they lead. Eventually you become king, and then the fun really ends. He may as well get used to it.
“What a pity your betrothed ran off, your royal highness,” Iiris says finally. “I’m sure she would have enjoyed living in Haem.”
“Her loss,” Maunu says with a smile. “But it leaves the door open for me to find a new lovely companion. Someone who appreciates this kingdom in all its beauty.”
“Someone who reveres its gods.” Iiris raises her glass and they clink to the gods, the future, the beauty of the forest. She smiles and her eyes dart to Jonas.
Maunu could be with her. It wouldn’t be easy, but she’d make it as pleasant as it ever could be.
–
barebacking
–
After the party at the rooftop garden, they get in a black car that drives them to the private royal residence in the town centre, near the old stargazing tower. Maunu seems antsy during the drive, but says nothing and does nothing until the chauffeur has pulled into park. Jonas tries not to pay attention to the prince’s mood. The evening went as well as the crown prince’s future marital prospects went, he supposes. The young socialite woman stuck to Maunu’s side throughout the night. It’s not Jonas’ business.
“Mr Louhikko,” Maunu tells the driver. “Leave the car as it is, please. Have a good night.”
Jonas looks over at the crown prince after the driver has left. “Guess that’s my cue to go as well.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Maunu says tightly and climbs on top of him, straddling Jonas’ thighs. Instead of kissing, however, Maunu just grins down at him. “Have you ever fucked in a car, Jonas?”
“Once or twice,” Jonas replies, his hands running down Maunu’s sides, one hand sloping down to grab his ass. “What’s it to you?”
Maunu says nothing, just breathes in and out for a moment, his face in the shadows of the dimly lit vehicle. “Just fuck me here. As hard as you can.”
Normally, it would be a simple enough challenge. Confined space, Maunu smiling and wriggling under Jonas’ hands like he needs taming. This time, however, the request sounds vulnerable and exhausted. As though he needed to be touched, or something terrible would happen.
Jonas doesn’t want to investigate it further. They’re not in the place to talk about things, and that was never their prerogative to begin with. It’s not what they’re about.
“Okay,” he says, one hand gripping Maunu by the hip, the other cupping his front, already hard. “I can do that. Without–?” He keeps condoms in Maunu’s bedroom nowadays. They’ve fallen into a pattern. For all Maunu used to love public sex, he seems to prefer the private space.
“Without,” Maunu says, with conviction.
Jonas undresses him easily, kissing over neck and chest, lingering on his nipples until they’ve become pink and puffy. Maunu is silent apart from the moans and whimpers, rutting against Jonas’ hand until it’s taken away from him, and his body is prone against the seats. Jonas admires it, stroking himself over the most beautiful ass he’s ever seen, and he gets a thought in his head that one of these times it will be the last time they ever do this. He slicks himself with spit and tries to ignore the thought.
“As hard as you can,” Maunu reminds him, muttered like he’s a little bit embarrassed. “Can you hold me in place as you do it?” His arms stretch behind him, folding against the middle of his back.
“Sure,” Jonas says with some hesitation, but it’s not difficult to wrap his fingers around the two wrists where they meet. It feels good, the way Maunu relaxes into the hold, and it anchors Jonas there tightly as he pushes himself into Maunu, fucking himself further and deeper with little rolling movements of his hips.
Maunu’s moans against the leather are breathy and tiny at first, and grow louder as Jonas pounds into him, increasing intensity with every thrust. The little ah-ah-ah’s become luxurious cries, neverending as his whole body tenses beneath Jonas and convulses around him, the tight clench around his cock even tighter.
“Fuck,” Jonas grunts before he comes himself, spilling hot into Maunu whose body is already a quivering mess beneath him when he finally pulls out slowly. He cleans the prince’s fluttering hole with the pocket handkerchief from his suit, and he suddenly understands he never actually undressed all the way, his cock wilting and dripping outside his opened trouser front.
How come they’re so in each other’s worlds that he didn’t even realise?
“That was great,” Maunu says, sounding lazy and sated. “Let’s go to bed.”
Before he can process it, Jonas says: “I think I might go home, actually.”
“Home?” Maunu repeats.
“I’ve got my place two streets down, you know. I’m off the clock until seven am tomorrow.”
“Right,” Maunu says, lifting his hips on the seat to pull on his trousers. “That’s fine. You’re allowed to do that.”
Jonas wishes he didn’t sound like that, but deep down he knows what this is about. Jonas is taking away one of Maunu’s favourite toys, that’s all. Maunu isn’t wounded, he’s spoiled.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jonas tells him when they’ve dressed and he’s seen the prince at the door of his chambers.
“Will you?” Maunu asks, with an edge of sarcasm. Jonas is about to answer before Maunu shuts the door on him, with one swift movement. '
--
Standing around
Iiris Sumu laughs and her body keels towards the prince on the sofa. It’s an intimate gesture but there’s nobody here but them, and Jonas.
Jonas ignores it. He tunes out what is said, his brain already tired enough from hearing so much Haemtongue all day long. He’s come to enjoy the fact that Maunu speaks Svenian to him in that flat accent. He isn’t sure what it means, except that he hasn’t been home in almost a year. The calls and faxes to his brother and his old friends usually help keep the feeling at bay.
He has a lot of experience tuning out things he doesn’t need to hear. When he first got a job with the princess, he listened to everything with one ear. Every mathematics lesson, every etiquette tutoring session, even the discussions she had with the royal hairdresser. Eventually he stopped paying so much attention, even asked the head of the palace if he could stop attending. But the Queen of Svenia was extremely paranoid about the possibility of the young princess being kidnapped, which is why she was scarcely allowed to leave the palace complex.
Maunu doesn’t need him here, either, he thinks a little bitterly. He doesn’t need to make Jonas see whatever this budding relationship is, or what it will eventually become: a romance that’s purely for show. A marriage that exists only to allow the nation who it wishes its leader was.
Iiris Sumu is beautiful, but she’s far from stupid. This makes her good for the role Maunu is looking to cast. For now, they’re simply young and in love. On the program this week is a visit to an art gallery and then a stroll around the grassy hills near the old fortress, weather permitting. The visitors to the old fortress should be the ones to leak the first photos to the press.
From there the rest falls into place: deny, more candid photos, deny, rumours swirling, deny, first official appearance, first official press interview, engagement, wedding, baby.
Maybe he doesn’t need to be here for the rest of it, he thinks wearily.
--
Therapeutic spanking
Maunu suggests it lightly when his schedule has nothing for the rest of the day. “Let's play punishment again.”
Jonas feels himself pinken slowly from the collar up. “What have I done this time?”
Maunu reaches for the back of his neck, fingers teasing over the closely shaved nape. “Oh, you've been a little morose lately. I thought it might cheer you up.”
Jonas lets out a laugh, a brief gruff sound but he can’t deny it. “I’m not sure it’ll help.”
“We should give it a try,” Maunu says sweetly, the same tone of voice he used for directions the last time they played this.
Heat gathers at the lower part of Jonas’ abdomen, an invisible pull at his balls. Fine, so he’s into it. He’ll let Maunu do virtually anything at this point, and maybe that’s part of his problem.
“Alright,” he says tersely and starts pulling at his own tie, loosening the knot.
They undress in silence, with only the occasional hot glance passed between them. By the time Jonas is done, he’s fully hard. Maunu arranges him on his hands on knees on the ludicrously large bed, close enough to stand at the edge of it to have leverage for his strikes. He’s strong but with willowy arms, compact muscles and long fingers. Before he started last time, Jonas didn’t genuinely think a single blow would hurt him.
They did.
It shames him slightly that he likes it so much. He has done his best not to think about it further, the act of being so openly exposed, his body prone to receive punishment. He doesn’t know what it says about him.
“Ten on each side to start with, I think,” Maunu says matter-of-factly. Jonas grunts in response, to indicate acceptance, consent. At least Maunu doesn’t keep him in this position long enough to tease a plea out of him, to do something, to do anything except keep him waiting.
The first one always shocks him, the sharp burn of pain. He moves forward with its force, his cock bobbing along. The second one is better, and they get increasingly worse. After seven, Maunu takes his time checking the damage, using his non-striking hand to cool the reddened skin.
“Look at you,” he says, hand dipping below Jonas’ stomach to run his fingers along the length of his cock. Jonas shudders at the touch, embarrassing himself further. His back curls like a cat’s, trying to keep it together. “You’ll get more, not to worry.”
Jonas huffs, halfway between indignant and laughter. Then the next one arrives, sharper than the ones prior to it, faster, too. Like Maunu was just practising before. But the rest are punctuated with hungry grabs at his ass, kneading the flesh possessively, playing with it, the stung, pained muscle.
“Gods,” Jonas groans and it makes Maunu pause again, take stock of his work.
“Are you close?” he coos, fingers sliding on Jonas’ chest, slipping on either side of a tiny, puckered nipple. The knuckles push together, squeezing and Jonas jolts again. “So sweet.”
Jonas wants to argue he’s not sweet, he’s not the prince’s lovely plaything. But his body is a trembling mess, his cock slowly trickling precome onto the bed.
“That’s twenty, but I’m afraid you might not be able to handle more,” Maunu says. His hand has stayed on the nipple, playing with it idly between blows.
Jonas breathes roughly, tightening his core, bracing on his arms. He’s not going to beg, but: “I can take more.”
Maunu’s striking hand skitters over his burning skin, between his legs. Two fingers press behind his balls, insistently stroking the tight skin. “Don’t try to be a hero, Jonas,” Maunu says softly, and the fingers move again pull loosely on the base of the cock. The hold is barely there but it pushes Jonas over the edge, makes him crash whitehot, his hips bucking helplessly into Maunu’s hand. He spills and slumps, narrowly avoiding landing into his own, pathetic mess.
“Fuck,” Jonas gasps, chest rising and falling heavily. His ass hurts, throbbing skin against the cool sheets.
“Doesn’t that feel much better?” Maunu says. He sits down next to Jonas, stroking fingers through his chest hair.
Jonas doesn’t want to admit it, how the searing pain pushed him through the unpleasant thoughts in his head. Most of those thoughts involve Maunu, but nevermind that.
“Get in here,” Jonas says instead. The kiss Maunu falls into is unexpectedly soft, exploratory. Like a first kiss, even though he can reach down and feel Maunu heavy and hard in his hand, so ready for his own climax. “Now how can I make you suffer?” He hates how intimate he makes it sound. They’re not meant to be like that.
“You <i>know</i>,” Maunu teases, and Jonas’ hands move him as if by second nature, until he’s perched on Jonas’ chest. He spreads Maunu’s thighs further apart, pushing him down against Jonas’ tongue.