A/N: Ahhhh fun times in Larnion.
Enjoy~
How his mother thought she could hide anything from him at this point was just beyond him. Prince Kyle leaned back against the archway between a corridor and the kitchen around the wall, heightened hearing picking up clamor reporting on the King of Kupa Keep's arrival today. He narrowed his eyes and growled, remembering well that brown haired nuisance on the sparse occasions he'd been forced by his mother to accompany her on her trips to the humans' land. His nose scrunched, memories picking up mottled moments of the glutton's smell, a constant stench of slick grease and sickening perfumes. He could only assume that the fellow prince had believed the greater the smell, the greater the power. He certainly seemed to have that trail of failed logic following after him like the tail of a comet, depositing little bits of nonsense wherever he treaded. The redhead's shoulders sunk.
Of course, Eric Cartman was no longer a prince. He had been the full-fledged king for nearly four months now. His mother had quietly mourned her fellow queen's passing under the guise of carefully planning her son's preparation for his courting season. However, himself, his father, and his younger brother could all read it loud and clear: Sheila would have given anything to have gone to Liane's funeral. She hadn't heard of her passing until the mourning period of her kingdom had gone and passed, only learning of it through traveling word of Eric's coronation. She had honored the kind monarch in her own fashion, going out and planting a simple cymbidium orchid in front of one of their sacred trees, using her ever-loving green thumb magics to watch it grow before her eyes. Kyle had joined her in the courtyard on his own accord, watching the pink petals unfurling with a golden glow surrounding the plant. She'd grabbed his hand and stared at it in silence with him, one mourning a dear friend, the other mourning the stability of the empire knowing it was in the hands of the fat racist from all those years ago.
"Kyle, what flower will you plant when I die?" Sheila had asked softly.
The boy had looked at her and blinked, not expecting such a question. He'd cleared his throat, looking back at the satin petals gently dancing in the breeze. He let his mind flow back to the almanacs he'd been given to study for the majority of his life, mental images of arrays of colors floating through. "An iris," he'd finally answered. Sheila had smiled fondly, grasping his hand a little tighter and nodding to herself.
He should've known something would spawn from Liane's passing, he just didn't think that it would be brought onto his home territory. He leaned back further against the arch, fingers fiddling with the plush linen of his scarlet shirt, tracing along the golden embroidery of his dangling sleeves mindlessly. He knew the cooks had a habit of being insatiable gossips, often marring facts as word passed through the kingdom. But he couldn't help but feel his chest tighten at a clear mention of his name, biting his lip. Something was going on. Otherwise the workers wouldn't be preparing as hurriedly as they were.
"My Prince!" a familiar voice called, Kyle looking over to see Stan walking towards him with an unamused expression plastered across his face. "You need to stop running off from me," he lectured dryly.
Kyle rolled his eyes, "It's the fucking palace, Stan. Not the damn alleyways, calm down."
The tall noirette stood beside him, leaning against the wall with him and sighing. "You know how your mother is."
"And you know how I am," he replied smartly. He crossed his arms and looked at the taller human superiorly. "I think I can handle a problem arising in the halls."
"Your Highness, can you please just-"
He snapped his fingers up at his face and frowned, "You wanna come with me as a friend, fine. But don't pull this 'protect the delicate flower' bodyguard bullshit if my parents aren't around," he huffed, turning on his heel and beginning to make his way down the long corridor.
Stan rolled his eyes, hurrying beside him and looking down at the elf curiously. "Why are you hanging out by the kitchen, Your-" he paused as Kyle shot him a look and sighed. "Ky," he mended.
Kyle nodded approvingly, shooting him a small smirk for his frustration. The prince shrugged, "Something's going on. Have you heard anything of the Fatass King coming to Larnion?"
The ranger blinked, "I'd heard a rumor, but I didn't think it was actually true. What the hell is he doing coming here?"
The redhead twisted his lips suspiciously, "I don't know. I want to give the benefit of the doubt and say that he's coming to thank my mother for her friendship to Queen Liane. But if he's anything like the barbarian I remember, then I highly doubt that's the case," he sighed. He turned a sharp corner, Stan stumbling before hurrying to catch back up to him.
"Where are we headed?"
"The throne room," Kyle muttered. "I'm asking my parents what the hell they're trying to pull." They came up to the large door, a mahogany plank adorned with silver leaf trimmings cusping up the middle and towards the sides of the barrier. Stan tried to open the way for him before Kyle shoved him aside, pushing it open on his own and leaving the ranger to pinch the bridge of his nose as he followed. Always the stubborn independent, his prince.
Kyle practically stomped towards his parents who were facing out of the window and talking. He cleared his throat impatiently and they whirled around, facing their son in surprise. "Kyle, what is it?" Gerald blinked.
"The fuck is going on?" he demanded curtly.
"Young man," Sheila warned, raising her brows expectantly.
He leaned his head back and groaned as Stan stepped beside him, holding in laughter. Kyle took a deep breath and folded his hands, forcing a patient smile on his face that Sheila had drilled into him over the years. "Why is everyone in such a fuss?" he asked politely, subtly kicking the shaking-with-giggles ranger beside him.
"Good," she nodded approvingly. "It's nothing to be concerned about, Kyle," she assured him. "King Eric wishes to speak with us of a treaty."
"Treaty?" he repeated, letting his folded hands fall to his sides and narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Why?" he asked bluntly.
Gerald hitched his brow, "To bring peace between our lands, Kyle."
"You realize he's a racist, right?" he bit. "He hates elves. All of us!" he gestured around frantically. "This is a plot, I can guaran-"
"Kyle!" Sheila snapped, the boy recoiling a bit and gulping. She sighed irritably and walked over towards him, a good half a foot shorter than him but enough to intimidate the boy. She grabbed his shoulder and pushed down gently, Kyle dropping down automatically to kneel on one knee in front of her with a pout. She looked down at him sternly. "Kyle, this is how ruling a kingdom works," she emphasized. "What have we told you is the most important element of leadership?"
He scrunched his face bitterly, looking down and muttering, "Being fair."
"Right," she nodded, tapping his head to get his attention back up. He raised those sharp emeralds back into her own and she sighed tiredly. "Bubbie, being fair means being fair to everyone. Even your enemies."
"But Cartman-"
"Ahp," she held up a finger. "He's king now, Kyle. You must address him properly since he's of a higher title."
He seethed between his teeth. "King Eric doesn't play fair. I don't think we should either. I think you should keep him out of Larnion."
"The decision is not yours to make, Kyle," she reminded him. "When you are king, then you may decide who crosses our borders. I only hope that you'll realize by then that all people have a right to earn your respect."
Kyle growled, "May I be excused?"
She nodded, stepping back and allowing him to stand. "Please, trust our judgement, Kyle," she pleaded.
"I trust you. I don't trust him," he spat, turning on his heel and folding his finger for Stan to follow. Stan gulped, bowing to the king and queen before hurrying after the stomping redhead. They made way out of the throne room, Kyle raking his hands through his hair in frustration, soft ember curls listlessly twirling around his fingers in a symphonic dance. He began leading Stan towards the far end of the palace and towards the stairs to his room, grumbling all the way.
Stan watched his prince's mumbling tirade and sighed, "Kyle, can I say something?"
"Go for it," he muttered, ripping open the door and stomping up the wooden stairway lit with different shades of elven magic set upon branches.
Stan licked his lips, following him up the way. "Maybe Cartman has changed," he winced as Kyle shot him a scathing glare. "I mean, it's been a very long time since you've seen each other, My Prince," he said softly.
Kyle rolled his eyes, "You know what I heard he did when his mother died?" he asked primly as they made it to his chambers. He stopped on the landing of the steps waiting for Stan to stand beside him and he took a deep breath. "He redecorated."
Stan cocked his brow. "Uh...Why is that a problem?"
"You're not an elf, you don't get it," he groaned in frustration. "You don't do that so soon after a passing of a beloved family member. You let their memory stay until you're sure that the spirit they put into every piece of what made their house a home has come out and found peace..." he dropped his shoulders and glanced out his window tiredly. "He's an awful person, Stan. I bet he was just waiting for his mother to die. He couldn't wait to take the throne."
"Are you not excited for your own ascension?" he questioned.
He paused before shaking his head softly. "No. I'm not. And not just because that means my parents are gone. I don't want to deal with these issues of letting various Eric fucking Cartmans into my kingdom, threatening my people...Just being a general pain in my ass!" he said exhaustively.
Stan smiled softly and chuckled, reaching down and grasping Kyle's hand, kissing his knuckles tenderly. "You worry too much, My Prince," he murmured, lips tracing down his arm and towards the distracted elf's neck. Kyle let out a soft sound as teeth gently nipped his exposed clavicle, leaning his head back and continuing to stare at the morning sun.
"Isn't that what being a king is?" he asked quietly. "Worrying too much?" He gasped lightly as Stan's hands trickled up his back and into his hair, pulling him into his broad chest. The redhead looked up into eyes blue as the still night tide, searching for answers from his best friend as he so often did.
Stan kissed his lips softly, leading him back towards the large, plush bed and letting him slowly move himself on top of it before following, leaning over the prince and placing their foreheads together. "Perhaps," he finally answered, feeling Kyle's slim fingers tracing up his chest and curling around the back of his neck. "But for now, you need to let your parents worry about this. Not you."
Kyle sighed as he leaned his head back against his pillow, watching Stan as he slowly began to undo the ties of his robes, staring at the elf's skin slowly being revealed hungrily. "I'm not good at that," he smiled crookedly. "You know that."
He nodded, "I do." He leaned down and kissed beside his navel, tongue lightly tracing up his flat stomach and the intoxicating aroma of the forest that Kyle carried with him at all times, hands busying themselves with ripping off Kyle's boots and beginning to worm down his pants. Kyle squirmed and whimpered as he nipped his hipbone, leg jerking sensitively. Stan laughed hotly against the skin as he revealed each bit of Kyle's lower half an inch at a time. "I know you better than anyone," he reminded him, trailing kisses back up as he tossed the garment down onto the floor and hovered over him.
Kyle smiled fondly, fingers working to help Stan rid himself of his own clothes until they were lying naked against one another, lips gently brushing like a familiar static ringing through their nerves. Kyle's soft hands traced over Stan's broad chest, fingers curling around his shoulder and neck and pulling him closer on top of him, arching his body up against the familiar heat. Stan rubbed soothing circles over his hips with his thumbs, pulling him to encourage his eager upwards jerks.
Kyle turned his head, letting Stan bury himself into his slender neck and moaning softly, eyes hazily watching as the ranger's hand reached to his bedside table for the vat of oil he kept for such occasions. Stan had been his escape for nearly three years at this point, both of them happily shedding the stresses of their separate duties to fall into each other after the curiosity of being so close for so many years finally came to a head. A night of sneaking in wine to Kyle's room led to a drunken kiss and then further than Kyle ever thought he'd get at the tender age of fifteen. Not that he minded, but he knew how the kingdom would react if word got out that the prince was fucking a lowly ranger, a ranger who, even worse, was human. A scandal would begin and his mother would make sure that if he ever took the throne, he'd be doing it with broken kneecaps.
He gasped, chest arching into Stan's as an oiled finger probed inside of him, wriggling in the tight, unforgiving heat. The elf bit his lip, leaning his head back and lightly scraping his nails down his protector's back, drawing him in for another slow kiss. Their tongues played alongside each other as Stan questionably ran his second finger alongside the first, waiting for Kyle's nod of permission before sliding it in with its counterpart.
"Ugh, Stan," Kyle breathed against his mouth, lashes fluttering as he was spread, feeling Stan's hard cock resting on his thigh and licking his lips.
"Doin' okay?" Stan whispered.
Always the concerned lover, his ranger. "More," he hiccuped, thighs twitching as Stan pressed in his third and final finger, Kyle's eyes rolling back and he hissed and groaned through the digits playing inside of him. He grabbed Stan's shoulder and shook him, "No, you," he demanded.
Stan chuckled, kissing under his pointed ear. "These are me," he teased, pressing his fingers up and jittering his hand against his prostate, listening to Kyle whine and smiling.
"Your cock, you dick!" he hissed.
The ranger chuckled, tearing his fingers out and watching the strong prince whimpering and humping up against him desperately. "Hang on," he cooed, re-dousing his hand in the amber oil and stroking it along his skin, Kyle's writhing and pleading eyes shooting open at him with a dark evergreen gleam. Stan kissed him again, pressing Kyle's head back against the pillow under him and blindly reaching forward to grab another. He moved a strong arm under the frail body and shoved the pillow under his hips, Kyle never letting him leave the company of his tongue. Stan pressed his own hips forward, grabbing a hold of his cock and slowly rubbing it over Kyle's hole, the redhead lifting and spreading his legs for him. With a soft grunt he pushed his way in, pulling his head back just a hair to watch Kyle's reactions carefully.
Kyle blinked rapidly, head falling back and neck arching up as he moaned, the heat filling him to the breaking point. "Fuck," he whimpered, taking a gasp of air, swallowing down like he'd forgotten how to breathe as Stan continued to gently work his way down. He paused to give him a moment to adjust and Kyle whined. "Don't stop!" he begged.
The noirette chuckled, giving a firm, solid thrust to fully sheathe himself in the smaller body, Kyle's eyes clenching shut and a string of curses escaping his lips. Stan pushed his head down and recaptured the tempting mouth, swallowing his moans as he slowly began to pull back and press inside the tight heat. The prince let out a happy purr from the back of his throat, wrapping his legs around Stan's hips to urge him deeper.
"Ahh, Ah fuck," he groaned, hands dropping from Stan's back to grip at the bed underneath him above his head, nails digging into the laundered sheets and knuckles hitting the twisting vines headboard as the ranger's rhythm rocked him back and forth. Stan's strong hands remained wrapped around his hip and fisted beside the Jew's head. He grunted, hips smacking against Kyle's ass with heavy thuds as he fucked him in long, smooth strokes. His dick rubbed beautifully against Kyle's prostate with each push, the redhead yelping softly with every impact. The friction rushing inside of him was like the glow of a fireplace; Familiar and heated, dangerous but irresistible.
The prince could never deny what being with Stan did for him; The idea of something so forbidden in his lineage, the mere notion of him not waiting until consummating his future marriage to have his first time. Stan was everything he wanted, but, he also knew that this was as much as he wanted. He always wanted the boy using his body to be involved in his life, and the way they were now was good enough to last him the rest of their lifetimes. Happily friends as a prince and his bodyguard on the outside, and secretly sharing their private intimate moments on the inside.
Kyle smiled, darkened eyes half-lidded as he looked up to stare at the ranger, finding him staring right back with such fondness in his eyes that it sent Kyle's over-stimulated body into a further stir. "Stan," he whispered desperately, reaching up with one hand and lightly tracing down his strong cheekbone with a genial brush of his fingertips. He bit his lip and moaned as Stan kissed his hand, never losing his deep rhythm. "Ungh," he shuddered, hand dropping to tap Stan's still oiled fist beside his head, the noirette opening his fingers and letting the redhead slide his palm through the slickness. The prince grasped around his own stiff cock, mouth dropping in a silent cry as he stroked himself.
Stan licked his lips, switching the hand grabbing Kyle's hip and grasping his free fingers in the other. Kyle turned his palm and they laced their fingers together, staring at one another silently, heavy pants and sweat all they needed to communicate with each other, the occasional brush of the back of Kyle's knuckles over Stan's stomach as he continued to thrust.
Kyle felt the heat coiling inside of him rapidly, his hand, Stan's precise aim, and the adoring stare he was receiving all overwhelming him. "Stan..." he moaned. "I...I'm..." he closed his eyes, breath rapidly coming and going from his lungs. He was drowning, and Stan was pulling him down to the bottom of the sea, crushing every bit of his royal authority and making him a pure victim of the tide in his strong, knowing hands.
Lips brushed over his own like lightening, "Come on, My Prince," Stan murmured.
Kyle's brows knitted in absorption, hand speeding against the ridges of his cock. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he whimpered, head falling back and letting out a loud cry as he sprung loose, Stan's teeth latching onto his shoulder as he continued to push inside of him while Kyle rode his orgasm through. The Jew's body twitched, that fireplace bursting from its hold within him, burning each inch of his insides until the nerves settled, embers flickering with life as they laid upon the stone of the kiln. His hand fell from his dick, his cum settled between the both of them and looking up exhaustively as Stan continued to press inside of him, rocking his limp body on the bed. Stan muttered a simple 'shit' before his hands tightened around his hip and fingers, Kyle wincing as a final, sharp thrust sent the ranger over the edge inside of him. He felt Stan milking himself inside of his still-contracting muscle, the boy spilling into his body like the oil placed there prior.
He leaned his head back in satisfaction, a grin over his slim face as he took a shaking breath. Stan kissed his neck chastely, slowly pulling his spent cock out of the tired body, treasuring each lingering inch of heat. He finally found himself completely separated, feeling the loss hitting him miserably. One look at his prince's happy smile calmed his dissatisfaction, however, his own body trembling as he continued to hover above him and watch the redhead with loving eyes.
Kyle tilted his head and fluttered his eyes back open, that smile still over his face as he uncurled their hands, bringing his unsullied palm to lightly cup Stan's face. "Thank you," he whispered.
Stan snorted, "My pleasure, Your Highness."
Kyle rolled his eyes at the title, no longer distracted by hormones as he clasped the back of Stan's neck, pulling himself up and pressing their lips together yet again. Stan sighed happily against him, clean hand running up through the thick, gorgeous curls atop Kyle's head and rubbing his fingers through the strands. They continued to lightly play with each other's bodies, tips of their nails brushing over known sensitive spots and laughing softly against one another. A sudden noise from outside broke their concentration, a large shout announcing the arrival of a carriage from outside Kyle's front-facing window.
The two of them pulled apart and glanced at each other before hopping up with shaking legs and carefully walking to either side of the viewing, sticking only their heads around to see. Kyle growled as an ornate carriage pulled in through their front gates, decorated with garish jewels. He shook his head, "That's Fatass for you. Can't even travel through the barren lands between us without announcing who he is."
"He's going to get himself robbed," Stan raised his brow.
"Good," he scoffed. He looked at his ranger and crossed his arms. "Still think he's changed?"
Stan took a deep breath and looked at the prince concernedly. "I don't know, Ky...maybe. At least try to give him the benefit of the doubt?" he pleaded.
"Why?" he snapped.
"Because not all humans are inherently evil," he winced.
Kyle opened his mouth to retort before it slowly closed, looking at the sculpted man before him and taking a deep breath. "You're right," he conceded. "Not all humans are evil. The ones adopted and raised by elves are all right," he teased.
Stan snorted, "And a few others here and there, ya know."
"No, I don't know. I only know one human so well. And it's hard to say someone's evil when I crave his cock so often," he winked seductively. Stan rolled his eyes amusedly, following Kyle's lead and cautiously backing from the window to hide their bareness before turning and beginning to wash themselves off from the small water basin by one of Kyle's massive bookshelves. They silently cleaned themselves before Kyle let out a long sigh, drying his stomach and the insides of his thighs, twisting his lips in thought. "A treaty always comes with prices," he murmured.
"What?" Stan cocked his head as he began to redress.
Kyle followed suit, slowly sliding on his tight, jade pants and staring at the floor as he worked them up his slender hips. "Treaties are never just...treaties," he finally elaborated as he began to work tying his shirt back into place. "There's always someone who ends up losing something in the end."
"And...you're afraid it's Larnion who'll lose something," Stan continued quietly, snapping his chest armor back into place, watching as Kyle covered up his subtle markings over his pale skin and hiding his pout.
"Of course," he shrugged, finishing his lacing and walking to the mirror on the side of his room, trying to fix the disaster Stan had created with his hair. "Whether or not it's Fatass himself doesn't matter in that aspect. You know as well as I do that all members of Kupa Keep know nothing of sacrifice," he said sternly, cursing at a knot in his curls.
Stan nodded slowly, grabbing Kyle's discarded boots and making way towards him, kneeling down beside of him to help him slip them on as he worked his hair. "Perhaps that's the majority, but I'm sure there must be some people willing to give everything for someone or something."
"But who are those someones or somethings?" he questioned, looking down at the ranger lacing up his high brown boots. "Are they fighting for a god? Are they fighting for the preservation of themselves?"
"Perhaps love," he murmured. "Humans feel love the same as elves."
"No, you don't," Kyle corrected, getting a raised brow from his bodyguard and sighing. "You humans can fall in and out of love, we can't," he said sadly. "When we lose one another, we don't move on. We literally can't." Stan continued staring at him, the prince reaching down and grabbing his other boot, sliding the tight leather up his left leg and lacing it himself. "You know once elves fall for someone, they mate for life, Stan."
"But what if the affection isn't mutual? I figured you just did it out of tradition," he narrowed his eyes.
Kyle smiled sadly, "It's always mutual. Elves are attuned to one another. When you find the one you belong with, the bond forges and can only grow stronger," he held his hand down and helped pull Stan back onto his feet, helping fix his lopsided helmet. "That's how we are. It's how we've always been..." he trailed off and sighed. "But that comes with such a price. Honestly, it terrifies me."
"Really?" he questioned.
The prince nodded. "The idea of someone having such a tight hold on my heart...someone that I wouldn't be able to function without...I hate it," he whispered, tracing his fingers over Stan's breastplate. "That's why if one of my parents die...I have to take the throne right then and there," he muttered. "Because they just can't handle the responsibility without the other...That's perhaps the one thing that humans have over us: Your ability to look the other way," he said, frowning and turning on his heel, heading towards his stairs and glancing back at the dumbfounded ranger. He smiled softly, "Come on, let's see what Fatass is up to." He began walking down the stairwell and Stan let out a long, deep sigh through his nose as he began to follow his prince. The noirette watched the curly mop in front of him as Kyle regained his dignified air, brushing off the events that'd transpired between them as though they'd never happened, his chest tightening in despair before he shook it off, remembering his one truth in this life that he had been taught and held so dearly: Kyle came first.
A/N: I haven't written a pure Style scene in five years. FIVE YEARS. That's friggin' insane. How'd I do because I dunno tbh pfff.
Thanks for R&Ring!