faxpunk

Again too long for dreamwidth.

relief

It happens after their third date, when Maunu tells Jonas he would like to see his flat. There is absolutely nothing in Jonas’ flat worth seeing, so.

“The security needs to check the parameters,” Jonas says.

“Fuck the parameters.” Maunu kisses him. The royal guard is posted at the outside of the flat, and maybe it’s who Jonas is, or maybe the situation has gotten increasingly sloppy after he left the palace’s employ, but – nobody checks his apartment. Nobody checks him, except at the start of the date, a very half-assed pat down.

He should argue, but the mouth on his own is frantic, wet and needy. Maunu’s hands are holding fistfuls of his shirt, shoving him deeper into the flat. There’s the open kitchen expanding to the living room, a simple sofa and television set, and a bedroom that barely fits Jonas’ bed.

“Don’t you want a tour?” Jonas asks, but the joke doesn’t quite land when he sounds so gone himself, his voice low and hoarse.

“Hm.” Maunu’s hands move over his chest, pulling his shirt out of his trousers. Tthen he drops down onto his knees at the foot of the bed, right in front of Jonas. His hands are on Jonas’ belt, when he grins up at him. “I’m so fucking in love with you.”

It’s not the time or the place when Jonas imagined it, the confession spilling out of Maunu. He doesn’t know how to reply, he only knows he can’t say it now, not like this.

“You really know how to pick a time, huh?” he says instead, and Maunu grins before taking Jonas out of his underwear and into his mouth, sucking him all the way down to the base of his cock. He murmurs against the length, causing a pleasant vibration through the length, as if the hot tongue and tight lips weren’t already good enough. “Fuck,” spills out of Jonas, his hand petting down Maunu’s hair before sliding fingers into it.

Maunu moans around the cock when Jonas’ grip gets the exact right pull that he wants in his hair. It’s a lot, and it’s edging on too much sensation, especially after being away from each other for such a long time. Jonas pulls the mouth off his cock, gripping the base of his cock tightly, bordering on painful to keep himself contained.

Maunu looks up. “I was going to wait until you were in me to say it.”

“That would’ve been even worse timing,” Jonas comments, but focuses on getting rid of his clothes. “You have no sense of romance.”

“You didn’t say it back.” Maunu unbuttons his own shirt hastily, glancing up at Jonas. He looks so pretty; pinkened cheeks, lips wet and red, eyes gleaming darkly.

“I’ll wait until the moment feels right.” Jonas pushes him on the bed, climbing on it himself, his knees in the space between Maunu’s thighs.

“So you are in love with me.” Maunu’s hand grips his wrist, pulling Jonas’ hand onto his skin, like he needs to ask for it. Jonas touches him greedily, the edge of hip bone, navel, up to his chest and collarbone.

“It’s not precisely a new development,” Jonas mutters. He takes his hands off Maunu, long enough to position himself closer.

Maunu laughs, stroking himself lazily at the sight of Jonas over his body. “Oh, really?”

Jonas slicks the head of his own cock, eyes avoiding Maunu’s. “Do you maybe want to discuss this later?”

“You can’t fuck me and tell me you love me at the same time?” Maunu wraps legs around Jonas' hips. “Now who’s the one lacking a sense of romance?”

“Fuck,” Jonas grunts, feeling Maunu practically rub up against his cock, before he’s even lined himself at the entrance and had time to push in. When he finally does, it feels beyond tight, and Maunu finally shuts up, relaxing against the way the thick head invades him.

Maunu’s fingers wrap around his biceps. Jonas finally dares meet his eye, dark and searching. Like he’s unsure, even with Jonas so close and so overwhelmed by him. As if he has any reason to not know the truth already, Jonas by his side for months, adoring and pining, fucking him in a way that Jonas knows now was actually making love.

Something twists around Jonas’ heart, and he doesn’t want to say it, but he has to.

“I love you,” he tells Maunu, whose expression softens, even as a moan emerges out of him at the next thrust. “So fucking much. You’ve got no idea, and I don’t think you ever will.”

“Okay,” Maunu says, his voice fragile all of the sudden. “Show me.”

Jonas kisses him, rocking his hips slowly and rhythmically, wanting it to last longer, possibly forever. He wanted– he imagined it would be different, a candle lit room or a sunset or drunk or high or something that would make him say it, that would force the truth out of him. Maunu moans against the kiss, legs tightening around his waist, keeping him grounded to the spot. He fucks into Maunu and shows him what all of this has meant to him.

Even if it’s scary, and the future is unknown, and he’s still unsure himself if this is what either of them should do – it doesn’t matter. The feeling is too large to be ignored.

—

Getting found out

It’s not great that it happens before they’re ready, or that the leak happens to be to Svenian newspapers, who have ample access to Jonas’ work history, and can interview his old neighbours, school friends and military buddies at a moment’s notice. It’s not great that the palace PR seems to be the last one to find out, as it’s the Queen who reads the yellow press from other countries over lunch. It doesn’t help that when Maunu himself finds out, he’s naked next to Jonas, in the last vestiges of afterglow.

“Okay,” he says tightly down the receiver. Jonas notes the tone, and cocks his head to one side in question.

“I would hope your royal highness understands the severity of this situation,” Aava from the palace PR explains to him, which is as close as anyone not in the family will get to asking him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing.

“I understand,” Maunu says, swallowing. “I was very discreet. I did everything as it is supposed to be done.”

“Well, we must launch a defence,” Aava tells him. “First thing in the evening, an interview where you will deny the entire affair. You met as a part of a business dealing, and the angle makes it look more intimate than it really is. The photo is blurry enough for plausible deniability. I’ll come up with something.”

“No.” Maunu steels himself. “We’ll just tell the truth. Or a version of it, anyway.”

“Your royal highness,” Aava says in the tone one might say, you fucking moron. “You were seen kissing a man. This is not something we can admit to in public.”

“Well, the narrative changes.” Maunu glances at Jonas, who’s gotten up to dress himself. “Did you know the high chancellor in England used to be a gay man?” He sounds pathetic when he says it, echoing what Iiris told him once. So much of his courage drains out him over the phone call.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He hoped, perhaps in vain, that it might end up easier somehow. That the stars would line up so he wouldn't have to be brave, and strong. He's not strong. He's not fucking anything besides a half-decent fuck with a somewhat quick wit.

“I don’t understand the connection, your royal highness.” Aava sighs. “Maunu, if I may. I’ve worked with your family for two decades. You know what happened to the princess when she got all those ideas of her own. Don’t get any ideas of your own. It’s easier that way.”

“Just arrange the interview, I’ll show up,” Maunu replies. “I’ll say what needs to be said.”

“Thank you,” Aava says gracefully. “My assistant will send you a script and schedule with details.”

“What’s happening?” Jonas asks.

“We took an afternoon off and got outed.” Maunu grits his teeth. “I’ll deny everything, if you want. That’s what the palace wants, they’ll make up some excuse about – about us meeting regarding business or security matters. Say the photos were doctored. I don’t know.” His hand is shaking. Why is his hand shaking? “I’ll make it go away. Apparently there are quotes in the paper from your friends– I’ll make it go away. I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Jonas says, steps into his space, takes a hold of his hands.

“You didn’t want it.” The hand has stopped shaking, surrounded by Jonas’ fingers. “I’ll make it go away.”

“I did want it,” Jonas disagrees, and one of his hands moves to tilt Maunu’s chin up. “I always wanted it. It just took a while to–”

“It wasn’t supposed to–”

“And it is now, right? We’ll just,” and Jonas heaves a sigh, “deal with it. It wasn’t going to be easy the way it was supposed to go, either. I don’t give a great interview. My Haemtongue is shit, and I don’t charm strangers. So–”

“Well, fuck,” Maunu says, and regains some of his poise. “I guess I have to be charming enough for the both of us.”

“You kind of are,” Jonas says with a smile.

“This is dreadful.” Maunu takes a deep breath in, holds it. “It’s only the beginning. It’ll get worse, trust me.”

“Okay.” Jonas shrugs. “I knew that. I told you as much. It’s a terrible idea, and we’re doing it. Because it's what we both want, right?”

Maunu nods. He doesn't like the alternative, saying goodbye to Jonas again.

Of all the things Maunu has asked anyone to go through, this might be the worst and the most permanent. The limelight, the pressure, the whole world’s eyes on someone who didn’t ask for it at all, who fought against it every step of the way. And yet it feels good, and right, when Jonas kisses him, promises that he is in it, that he is committed, that he wants it just as much as Maunu does, if not more, even if it’s not easy along the way.

And that makes it all easier.

Surprising news

Matilda picks up the receiver on the fourth ring. “The Green and O'Connor residence, Manhattan -654 extension. To whom am I speaking?”

Jonas clears his throat. “Hi, it's me. Um. Jonas?”

Matilda lets out a light noise, excited. “Oh my! Jonas! You mustn't waste your paychecks on international calls. They are beastly, Jamie was just telling me the other day his workplace spends a million dollars on them every year. A million dollars! You don't know how much that is, of course. I think it's around eight million kroner? Six million?”

“Matilda,” Jonas says softly . “Nevermind the cost. I just have something to tell you and I wanted you to hear it from me, not the press.”

“Oh?” Matilda allows him the space to speak and it almost robs Jonas of his courage.

But this is important, and she should hear it all from him personally.

“The thing is, Crown Prince Maunu is announcing his engagement to a new person later this week.” he hears Matilda draw breath and hurries the next words our of his mouth. “And it's me. The person he's engaged to. Is me. Just so you know.”

Matilda is quiet for a beat. “Jonas,” she then says, agitated. “What is he making you do? What a ridiculous idea! You’ve never even looked at another man in that manner. You can’t bend to his will, Jonas, it isn’t right. Just because he will one day become king, doesn’t mean he gets to have his way with everyone as he pleases. Oh, we’ll have to call someone, maybe the Svenians can help you. Maybe the Americans can help you, if need be. It simply isn’t right–”

“Your highness,” Jonas says reflexively. “Matilda. It’s not like– It’s – I’m doing it because I want to. Because we’re together.”

“Together?” Matilda repeats.

Jonas takes a deep breath in. “Yes, together. Romantically.”

“But you hated him.”

“Yes, and then I stopped hating him.”

“Oh, but you’ve never–”

“Matilda,” Jonas says, tone slightly cutting. “I’ve never told you much about my private life, have I? He’s not the first man I’ve ever – been with.”

“Oh.” Matilda falls quiet for a moment. “Well, then tell me how it all happened, er, with him.”

“I'm not going to give you the whole story, I don't want to bore you.” Jonas also doesn't want to tell the whole story period, but nevermind that. “We just got to know each other through working together and slowly developed feelings for one another. It's quite simple, in a way.”

“He,” Matilda says with some hesitation. “He has been nice to you, I take it?”

Jonas doesn't have the heart to tell her he's never needed nice. “He's been very nice, very charming and genuine. He's great once you get to know him.”

It sounds a lot like bullshit, because it's only the things you're supposed to say. Maunu is not nice, but neither is Jonas. They're both sharp-edged people, vulnerable and terrified, and they fit together in surprising ways.

“I didn't know him at all.” Matilda states it like a fact. “I suppose that's what you're trying to tell me. But he was so cruel, Jonas. I don't understand.”

“He didn't want the match, the same way you didn't. I think you both knew that. Instead of talking it over, he acted horribly towards you, he lashed out.” Jonas looks at Maunu at the other side of the room, browsing a magazine while his eyes flick up at Jonas by the telephone. “That's his mistake to apologise for.”

“Oh! Nevermind me. I'm not jealous or thinking about the old times, that's all history at this stage. I just want to know you've made the right decision.” Matilda sounds worried. Jonas always thought she had a heart too big for her.

He grins at the phone. “It's the right one. I think he loves me.”

“And you him,” Maunu notes dryly, but doesn't look up from his magazine.

“Well then!” Matilda says, sounding bright. “I suppose I need to start thinking of a dress for the wedding. I'll bring Jamie along, of course. He hates a tuxedo, and to be photographed, but enjoys free food enough to be persuaded. He'll be very glad I'm no longer a princess by the end of the evening. Oh! I will need a new hat, of course.”

“Your invite will be the first in the mail,” Jonas tells her.

He feels lighter, better after the call ends. She was such a big chunk of his life for nearly two decades, and he’s happy she’s doing as well as she is. It might be strange to have her at the wedding, but it feels necessary, a good step for them both.

–

In-universe media

The Crown Prince’s Announcement: Our Commentators React

It’s Time

By Fredrik Törnqvist-Svensson, our Svenian correspondent

For too long have the conservative voices in Haem been allowed to mock the neighbours to the West for their early embrace of non-traditional relationships. After all, women were allowed to marry one around the time when Queen Kristina did precisely that in 1653 (although she did not inspire a trend in this regard, it was still technically in the books as a legal form of relationship), and men a couple of hundred years later. Even the most staunchly stuck-in-their-ways English gave the nod for same-sex couples to unite officially in 1963, and elected their first openly gay High Chancellor in 1980. Haem was far behind on these matters, only allowing registration for all couples without marriage in 1980 and then marriage for all in 1987.

What the commoners consider commonplace, the royals must follow eventually. They may uphold the traditions of their own palace, but they can’t keep the thoughts of the greater society from seeping in. It is welcome that Crown Prince Maunu has announced his engagement to Mr Jonas Gustafsson. It is even more welcome that the public polls show that his approval rating has climbed after the announcement. It is, however, deplorable that the King and Queen have not joined in the congratulations. This shows the distance between the rulers and their people.

I am, as are all other Svenians with ties to Kingdom of Haem, very happy that the crown prince has honoured the tie he made to the Kingdom of Svenia as a child by marrying someone from the country, albeit a commoner. This shows he is very forward-looking, and when the time arrives that he must ascend to the throne, it signals a progressive future for Haem.

Some Traditions Are Worth Keeping

By Kalevi T. N. Suokas, our palace correspondent

When Crown Prince Maunu announced his engagement, it seemed to me like the palace press office was scrambling to find anything good to say about it. Indeed, the only positive seemed to be that the crown prince is marrying someone, anyone at all. We all know the scandal of Princess Matilda of Svenia running off to do gods-know-what in the Federates of America, and while she may like to be called with her abdicated, unroyal moniker, I personally consider royalty a burden that one is born with, just like red hair or a big nose. It is not one that someone may simply let go, like a piece of clothing. While his royal highness and her former highness were engaged as children, the future of Haem was secured. Now the royal progression is unquestionably in jeopardy, and I wouldn’t blame anyone, commoner, aristocrat or royal, for asking questions.

As for the choice of whom the crown prince has decided to marry, I cannot find much good to say about, either. For he is just a man – not an industry tycoon, not a nobleman, not a brilliant scholar or scientist, not even an accomplished artist or musician. A Svenian man, who barely knows our language, our customs, our traditions. So old, that even if he were a woman – and I suppose this is one grace that he is not – he couldn’t bear an heir to the throne. What was the crown prince thinking, when he made the choice? What on earth possessed him?

The silence from the highest rooms of the palace is noticeable, and with good reason. Why should they accept such a foolish choice? Why should the people of Haem celebrate their future ruler’s unwise selection?

Some traditions were upheld for a very good reason, and I suspect the Kingdom of Haem will in time find out why.

A Celebration of Love, In All Its Forms

By Mainikki Luoto, a fashion journalist and our relationship advice columnist

The choice of suit for his announcement was very appropriate, a stunning navy blue with a subtle yellow tie. It was a message across the sea to our neighbours, our former enemies but our current closest allies. Crown Prince Maunu may have suffered a broken heart when Princess Matilda ran and became plain old Matilda Green, but he bounced back by falling in love for the second time, and this time, too, with a Svenian. What a great union between the two nations, and more importantly, a modern union, to signify that the future of the monarchy is not simply in uniting these two nations, but in allowing a foreign commoner into the royal fold.

It’s not all that rare to find oneself in love with someone one isn't supposed to love. Much has been made of the royal fiance, future prince-consort Mr Gustafsson, and his work history. He is a former military man (very sexy!) turned royal security (even sexier!). Some say that this provides a conflict of interest, but I think that’s an entirely trifling matter. He knows the palace already, he understands the royal custom and protocol. Who better to marry into the family? He is older, bringing a calming influence and wisdom to the relationship with the crown prince, who is only 29 years of age.

When two people fall in love despite their numerous differences, in age, status or even personality, something miraculous has happened. Love has allowed them to tap into the very core of our humanity, the place where we most seek companionship and care. The bond that forms must be exceptionally deep to become love.

I don’t make much of the fact that the crown prince is marrying a man. Such is his choice, and I’m sure he has thought long and hard about its consequences. I’ve been giving love advice for two decades, and the matters of sexuality are often secondary to the issues that are common between all of us, royal or commoner: the quest to find our person takes many forms, some more traditional than others. As to whether the union will produce an heir, I’ve got a novel idea for the traditionalists to consider: it’s none of our business, in the same way that the bedroom lives of our neighbours aren’t our business, until it rattles the china in the vitrine too much.

An Uncertain Union

By Saimi Frenckell, our chief of politics desk

The engagement announcement from Crown Prince Maunu arrives at a time of stability in the political sphere of our nation. The prime minister has done a fine job juggling her responsibilities to the nation and the whims of our King, who wishes to poke his nose where it doesn’t belong (and thank goodness for the press freedoms that allow me to write that). The economy is showing moderate signs of growth. The social assistance network expansion has worked tremendously. The opposition is searching for a new leader, and a new political thought. Some of the parties are clinging to old thought, while others are finding their reinvention through new philosophies.

Some have argued that the stability has been shaken by the announcement: we don’t know what Crown Prince Maunu looks like as King, but we at least now know he won’t rule anything like his father, nor will his prince-consort play as big of a role as his mother, the Queen. I would argue it remains to be seen. The crown prince has shown remarkable interest in the work of government, and gets along well with the political establishment. He doesn’t take an active interest in the work, but he has clearly studied the structures and ideas of modern politics, and he is constantly seen speaking on behalf of policies that seem to be in vogue with the public. It’s too early to know if he is a king of his people, but signs point to ways that he could be.

Marrying a man is unheard of, for a royal at least, and in Haem for certain. But this doesn’t have a huge role in the greater scheme of ruling a country. A consort is just that; a partner to the regent, a support system. This is a personal choice, and while I have my apprehensions about the quickness of the announcement, the hesitation in the future consort’s voice when he speaks Haemtongue, there isn’t a reason to judge it just yet. I’ll employ a wait-and-see approach: that’s the only reasonable thing to do, I think.

–

preparing for an interview

Maunu is about to go live on Svenian television, but it's Jonas who's a nervous wreck over it. “Relax,” Maunu tells him. “You don't have to speak Haemtongue this time. Shouldn't it be easier?”

“The press isn't as kind here,” Jonas says, fiddling with his cuffs. “You wouldn't understand.”

“Come on, it's so easy to give them the good old PR spiel.” Maunu walks closer, crowding him. “You know, we have got so much in common, it was inevitable that we'd fall in love.”

“What have we got in common?” Jonas asks, looking up darkly.

“We both like your dick in my mouth.” Maunu grins as he watches the words paint Jonas’ cheeks with a faint flush.

“Be fucking serious for once in your life,” Jonas scolds him, which only makes Maunu more enthusiastic.

“We have a deep connection,” he says, voice lowering. “When you work your hand into me, watching me take whatever you give me.”

“Stop,” Jonas groans but seems like he wants anything but, hardening against the press of Maunu’s body on his own.

“It's something that makes me emotional to think about.” Maunu plants his mouth against the space just above Jonas’ tie, kissing it softly. “Riding your cock so long it makes me cry, to get fucked as good and as hard as you fuck me.”

“You're insufferable.” Jonas’ hand curls around the back of his neck. “I can't mess up your suit or your hair, but I need to fuck you right now. Okay?”

“You don't think I can get it done?” Maunu asks sweetly, pushing Jonas down to the sofa of the dressing room, before locking the door. Jonas hurries his fly open, and Maunu sits down next to him.

Maunu bends his body towards him, giving him a hot mouth to fuck up into, feeling the strong fingers stroking up and down the back of his neck, overly careful not to make a mess of anything. Maunu wants him to forget himself, to leave a mark like he used to.

“Fuck, I love you too fucking much,” Jonas says when it's over, catching his breath. He inspects the damage, fingers sliding over Maunu’s jaw to feed him the last drops of his come. “You're insane, about to go on television with a well-fucked mouth.”

Maunu just grins. “I think I look better this way, don't you?”

“Gods help me.” But Jonas is smiling, too.

“I meant everything,” Maunu says. “It's not PR bullshit. I played mind games to get you, but I'm not sorry because it got me here.”

“You're fine,” Jonas tells him, between kisses. “You're perfect for me.”

–

Wedding ceremonies

They run through the rehearsal a fifth time for Jonas’ benefit, and he feels the patient stare from the ceremony officiant heat his face. There are simply too many steps to the traditional Haem wedding ceremony. The hand-holding in the barrel of rye chaff is weird enough, but then there is the passing over spruce branches, the lighting of the fire, and finally the flower crown adornment.

“When my parents got married, they sealed the union with a shot of distilled rye alcohol,” Maunu whispers halfway through the walk over spruce branches. Their feet are bare, and the ceremony hall smells of fresh spruce and wild flowers. “Eighty proof.”

“What the fuck,” Jonas mutters.

“Apparently it doesn’t give a good example to the nation for responsible alcohol usage, but it is very traditional. Back in the countryside, the village witch used to bless the shot before the couple would take it.” Maunu smiles placidly. “Have you read up on our neighbours, the Carelians? They still marry bears.”

“That’s not true,” the officiant says curtly. “The ceremony pays respects to the traditional forest god in the shape of a bear, but they marry each other, just as we do.”

“Whatever,” Maunu replies.

“We won’t light the fire now, obviously,” the officiant says plainly. “It’s daytime.”

“This takes place at night?” Jonas asks, shocked.

The officiant doesn’t hide his eyes rolling this time. “A union is bound at the end of the day or the beginning of the new one. Since his royal highness decided to marry at such haste, the day starts too late for the forest spirits to wake. A marriage that doesn’t respect Tapio might fail at the first forest crossing.”

“Ah yes, a forest crossing!” Maunu rolls back his shoulders. “We do those every night, don’t we?”

The officiant doesn’t share his humour. “The royal cabin is in the middle of the forest, on lake Poikelus. You will go there for your honeymoon.”

“A honeymoon is in – Haem?” Jonas confirms, feeling disappointment sink in his chest.

“No Haem king honeymoons abroad,” Maunu says, shrugging. “It’s customary to spend a week by the lake.”

“In late August, one should hope it won't be cold to swim in.” The press secretary Aava stands next to the crown prince, looking like they’ve eaten a lemon. “But beggars can’t be choosers.”

“It’s so wonderful to be among supportive people in one’s court,” Maunu notes sarcastically. “What’s the next part? The flower shit?”

“The flower shit isn’t arranged yet,” Aava replies drily. “We’ve got hats as a replacement.”

“Terrific,” Maunu says. “With this hat I take thee–”

“Please be serious,” Aava tells him. “We’ve gone through a lot of trouble to adapt the ceremony for two men. It wasn’t easy.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Maunu agrees. To Jonas, he says, “You’ve got no idea how many references to a fruitful womb they had to take out of the diatribe. Unless you’ve got a fruitful womb you’ve not mentioned to me before?”

Aava makes a pained noise. “Your royal highness!”

Jonas takes the hat given to him by the officiant. “Is this going to go okay?” He places the hat on Maunu again.

Maunu smiles from beneath the rim of the hat. “Of course.”