Years ago he'd served King Jarvan Lightshield II; now he serves King Jarvan Lightshield III, and eventually Xin Zhao knows that, assuming his age doesn't catch up to him first, he'll serve the brash young prince known as the Exemplar of Demacia. Honestly, it is a day he looks forward to: despite the prince's hot-headedness and his penchant for bravado and machoism, he cares deeply about the well-being of his people and his country, and he has the steel determination to achieve what he believes is best for them. That's not to say that he doesn't have much to learn, but Jarvan IV is a fast learner, and even if tragedy struck tomorrow he would be prepared to take up the crown.
"You're crazy," the Prince tells him, a frown on his face. He turns away from Xin's praise and reaches over to pull Garen onto the bed by his scarf even as the knight is only half-finished undressing. Garen stumbles on the edge of the massive bed, surprised, and ends up sprawling across both of their laps. Laughing, Jarvan twists the bright blue fabric in his hand and Garen fumbles onto his hands and knees, kicking his boots off the side of the bed as he allows himself to be manuevered into a kiss.
"You may scoff, but for once, you're selling yourself short." Xin rolls over and Garen breaks away at the movement, turning to catch him in a kiss instead. Jarvan still has a hold on his scarf, and when the prince starts to feel neglected he tugs at it again.
"I rather like being the Prince for now. Being a king is too restrictive, too many things to do. Meet with these people, appease those people, make speeches, deal with the numbers and the economy and make sure Noxus isn't getting too out of hand." As he's talking, he's undoing the buckles holding up Garen's pants. "You go with my father wherever he is; I'm surprised you have the time to even participate in League matches, still."
Xin shrugs and pushes Garen's pants down to his ankles. Garen kicks them off a few seconds later, and they join wherever his boots landed with a soft flump. "I think you're focusing too much on the amount more you'll have to do. To be entirely truthful, it's not that much more. It's more about the weight and finality of your decisions."
Jarvan looks even more perturbed at that, the grip on the scarf tightening as Garen kisses a trail down his chest and abdomen. Xin looks to the knight for backup; he knows they agree on this point, that Jarvan IV would make a fantastic king despite his hesitations, but Garen just shrugs back at him and preoccupies his mouth, instead. Traitor, Xin whispers at him. Garen just smirks around the erection in his mouth and chuckles deep in his throat, making Jarvan groan and sit up.
"That's even worse," the Prince mutters, the hand not holding the scarf grabbing Garen's hair. Jarvan had learned early that Xin wouldn't stand for hair-pulling, but Garen bears it with patience and hums as he bobs his head up and down, once or twice nosing into the thick, black hairs curling at the base of the Prince's cock. "I can hardly protect my own troops when leading them to battle. How am I supposed to protect and lead an entire country?"
A small upward movement quirks in the left corner of his mouth. Xin moves behind Jarvan and wraps his arms around the prince's broad chest. This must be a phase all young Lightshields go through; he remembers when a younger Jarvan III made almost the exact same argument. The thought makes him feel old though, and the current prince is grinding into his crotch, demanding attention, so he drops the argument and nips at the muscular shoulder in front of him.
On cue, Jarvan shifts and rises to his knees. Garen takes the opportunity to pull back as far as he can with the end of the scarf still in Jarvan's hand. There's a small, almost invisible trail of precum leaking from Garen's cock, and a little bit staining his hand. He licks at his thumb as Jarvan tugs on the scarf again, drawing his knight close as Xin grabs the lubricant from the bedside table.
For a moment, their movements pause. xin looks up and sees Jarvan with his head on Garen's shoulder. The prince's expression is contemplative; perhaps he's still worrying over the prospect of being king even surrounded by his two most trusted. The Prince, Xin has noticed, gets distracted easily, especially when the well-being of his people is at stake. Garen leans in and nibbles at Jarvan's ear. It takes Xin a quiet moment of observation to realize that even though Garen's lips are moving, he's not actually biting. But despite their proximity, he can't make out what Garen is saying.
It's a shame, because he's awfully curious. Garen isn't the greatest elocutioner, but he's inspiring. The title of the Might of Demacia is more than a physical trait; Garen's also got the strength of spirit that drives their people. And sure enough, Jarvan lifts his head and presses their foreheads together instead. Garen coaxes him into a kiss, smirking at Xin over Jarvan's shoulder. So not as much of a traitor as Xin had originally thought.
Their kiss deepens until Jarvan is scratching at Garen's chest, though one set of nails is dulled by the presence of a soft cloth leash. Garen obliges and moves so that they're chest to chest. He grasps both of their erections with one hand and begins to pump, though slowly. Jarvan hisses through his teeth and leans into Garen's touch, body nearly curling around his friend's frame.
For a while, Xin just watches the rhythm of their movements, how Jarvan's shoulders tighten when Garen thrusts against him, how Garen keeps them both upright even when his prince is leaning against him with practically his whole weight. Xin runs a hand down Jarvan's back and feels the shudder that runs along the muscle. He presses a thumb at the base of his Prince's spine and Jarvan leans forward some more, essentially drapes over Garen, and lifts his hips into the air.
Xin considers drawing it out, waiting - a small, selfish part of him wants the Prince all to himself. He wants the Knight too, tied up and legs spread, waiting for him. While he's fantasizing, though, Jarvan's breath is coming out in shorter and shorter bursts, and Garen's legs are shaking, just a little bit, from the strain of supporting both their weights.
There will be time in the future, Xin decides, for his own fantasies - for now, his Prince is demanding his attention, and his loyalty dictates obediance. He grabs Jarvan's hips and positions himself before entering with one deep thrust, burying his cock inside his Prince's body.
Jarvan jolts away in kneejerk response, only to thrust against Garen's body instead. He's tensing, and Garen is grinning and biting down on his ear (actually this time), leaving bright red marks as testament to his teeth. In a way he's marking his prince. Xin, not to be outdone, plants a kiss on Jarvan's neck, leaving a bruise just above where his neck slopes down to his shoulder. Jarvan doesn't even seem to notice, twisting the scarf in his hand so many times that Garen has to pull back on it or risk suffocation.
It takes practiced patience not to give into the urge to move inside of Jarvan, especially before he's ready. Garen's usually the more patient one, but it's been Xin's duty for years to wait on the king, and that includes future ones. He exhales and starts marking another part of Jarvan's neck - this time in the middle, atop a small bone that just barely juts out when Jarvan bows his head. He concentrates on that until he finally feels Jarvan beginning to relax and lean back into him.
At last, Xin moves, slowly at first, testing his Prince's limits. When the last of the involuntary jolts away finally fade, and Xin is satisfied with Jarvan's reactions, he starts moving faster. Jarvan lifts his weight off of Garen and balances on his knees for a little while before leaning back into Xin's chest, turning his head for a sloppy kiss. Garen lets out a huff of air and shifts forward as well, the rhythm of his pumping set by the rate of Xin's thrusts.
Jarvan leans his head back and groans, brow furrowing. From the way his abdomen is tightening, he must be close. Garen, Xin can tell, had reached the threshold some time ago, his patience and tenacity the last strand of self-control he's still able to hold on to. Xin can feel himself getting there, too, but it hardly matters; Jarvan must be the catalyst. He has to lead the charge or give the order or whatever, because as competant as Xin and Garen both are they're still soldiers and they wait for their Prince.
Their prince, who's breathing, rapidly and erratically, through his teeth at the ceiling to stop his sweat from running into his eyes. He leans back against Xin a bit more just as Xin thrusts hard and with a strangled cry Jarvan's entire body tenses. He finally lets go of the scarf and grabs Garen's hair instead, the other hand going to Xin's thigh. Garen lets out a breath mingled with a shout and cum splashes onto their stomachs, groins, all over Garen's hand and the small amount of bedspace in between.
Xin is still waiting, gritting his teeth as he waits out the last throes of Jarvan's orgasm before he allows himself release, holding his Prince's hips still as he thrusts deep and claims Jarvan's body as his own, spurting cum three times before he's finally spent.
Garen leans forward, looks like he's ready to pass out mess on his stomach or no. Xin pulls out and rolls over to the side, allowing his Prince to flop back onto the pillows, bringing Garen's weight along with him. Garen looks over and moves to Jarvan's other side, giving Xin enough space to scoot in close, his head resting on one of his Prince's outstretched arms.
There's something comforting about lying here on his side, almost trapping Jarvan under their bodies. In the future, Jarvan will need the strength to bear the weight of an entire nation. Whenever that may be, Xin thinks as he drifts to sleep, even if Jarvan isn't as prepared, he'll have his two most loyal beside him, and they won't be moved for anything.