// These characters belong to Tamora Pierce. The plot and OCs belong to me. : )
// This chapter contains slash.
Fairy Tale
Dithyramb
Joren found himself upon the dance floor, clad in a frilly sugar-pink gown with bare shoulders and his white-blonde hair curled up into a bun, a few stray wildly curling locks brushing his shoulders and back. Bare back, as the backside of the dress didn't reach a few inches past his waist. The front was tightly laced around his well-endowed chest--thanks to the generous use of what Lalasa had termed "falsies"-- and the feathery pink material of the skirt portion was split high at the sides, revealing his slender, milky white thighs and legs. Adorning his moon-white crown was a sparkling diamond tiara. He was looking for Laurent, whom he knew was with Nealan, but could only catch a glimpse of ebony hair and emerald eyes before the crowd closed around him, making it impossible for him to move. "Excuse me," he called, his voice coming out much higher pitched than it should have. "Pardon me, I have to get throu--" he was pushed aside by the crowd and bumped against another girl, who let out a stifled shriek.
"Oh, I'm terrible--Garvey?!" Garvey, cinnamon hair cascading down his back in waves and clad in an elegant evergreen dress with a low neckline, smiled.
"I was wondering where you were, Philippe! Having a good time?" Joren was absolutely at a loss.
"Why are you in a dress?" Garvey smiled and wrapped an arm around waist of the guy he was with, pulling the taller man down into a kiss. With a shock, Joren realized the taller man was actually a girl, dressed in a man's elegant red leggings and velvet tunic, a sword hanging at her side. She towered over them both, like a grown man over two teenage girls. With a further shock, Joren realized it was Kel. He looked around wildly. No one else seemed to find it odd that Garvey was dressed as a girl and Kel was dressed as a guy.
Then he realized, every woman in the room was a man dressed in a flowing ball gown and glass slippers, and their masculine partners were in fact women clad in men's garments. "What's going on?!" he gasped. Garvey smirked.
"Haven't you heard?" he asked airily. "It's Ladies Knight."
"In honor of my becoming a squire and eventually a knight, the king and queen have decided that all women shall become knights and squires, and all knights and squires shall become women," added Kel, leaning down and tracing Garvey's neck with a finger. Garvey giggled and whispered something into her ear, wrapping his slender arms around her broad shoulders. In return, she placed her hands around his tiny waist and the two began to slow-dance. Joren realized they seemed to be gaining more and more of a distance from him.
"Garvey! What are you doing?!" he called, not wanting to be left alone.
"Isn't it obvious?" replied Garvey with a titter. "I'm dancing the knight away!" Joren was about to run after them when a hand grasped his shoulder and spun him around. He found himself facing a very irate Nealan of Queenscove, stunning in a wispy silk blue gown and a pair of dangling sapphire eardrops.
"Philippe, you little slut!" he hissed. "Kel's my man! It's your fault she's not dancing with me and doing that!" Joren glanced over his shoulder to see what "that" was, only to find Kel's tongue engaged in a rapt exploration of Garvey's tonsils. Feeling slightly green (though it clashed with his ensemble), he turned back to face Nealan.
"So what am I supposed to do about it? Go eat some chocolate and drown your sorrows in milkshakes." He wasn't sure how that little rejoinder had popped onto his tongue, but found his contemplation cut short when Neal grabbed his waist and pulled him into a dance.
"If I can't have Kel, I'll take your man instead," he whispered cruelly, leaning down to bite Joren viciously on his exposed ivory shoulder.
"But I don't have a--"
"Mind if I cut in?" A finger tapped Neal on the shoulder. He looked up.
"Why you--" he gasped, but was left behind as a strong pair of hands replaced themselves over Joren's delicate waist, and he found himself pressed into a warm chest." He looked up into a pair of sparkling emerald eyes.
"Laurent? What are you doing here?" Unlike the other men, Laurent was actually dressed in a man's attire, with a dark burgundy tunic, black leggings, and a single silver and diamond eardrop through his left ear. The man ignored Joren's question and leaned down, breath tickling Joren's ear.
"Ahh, Philippe," he sighed. "You look absolutely ravishing. I shall 'ave to do some ravishing my self, non?" The two swayed from side to side, gently in time to the violins. "You are so beautiful," Laurent continued to whisper. "I cannot 'elp myself..." and he let his warm tongue slide into Joren's ear, then over his cheek, and with increasing urgency the other cheek. Soon he was frantically licking Joren's entire face, eyes, nose, even into his mouth and against his teeth.
"Laurent, stop," cried Joren, blushing red as the Kangenesian's attentions began to draw the eyes of the crowd. "Not here! Save it for tonight in bed!"
The tongue subsided and Laurent barked happily.
Barked?
Joren awoke for the third time that day, opening his eyes to find himself greeted by the liquid brown orbs of an enthusiastic Ariose. "Ariose? What are you..." he trailed off, finding himself in his own bed, in his own room, and greeted by the identical stares and smirks of three men at the foot of his bed. King Jonathan, Prince Laurent, and Lord Paxton. Each of them appeared to find something uproariously hilarious. Joren shrank back.
"Is something amusing?" he asked, tone as haughty as he could manage on such short notice. King Jon allowed himself an unkingly snort.
"No, Joren," replied Lord Paxton, trying to hide his smile. "It's just that when you're asleep, you're somewhat vocal." Puzzled, Joren cast his brain back to remember what he had said in his dream.
Laurent, stop! Not here! Save it for tonight in bed...
Joren's silent yet fervent plea for instant death went unnoticed by the gods, who were apparently busy elsewhere.
*GottasavefaceGottasavefaceGottasavefaceGottasavefaceGottasavefaceGottasaveface--* "Well," replied Joren, rolling his eyes and casting a haughty look towards the ceiling, "I'm afraid I don't recall any of my dream."
Laurent's divine lips curled into a suggestive smile. "Don't worry, my darling Philippe," he purred. "Tonight I will be sure to 'elp you remember..."
Joren looked away nervously. "Anyway," he began in an obvious attempt at a subject change, "how'd I wind up here and what are you" -- Joren did his best to fill the word with enough disgust to convey that 'you' was short for 'you vile and diseased carcass of flea-ridden vermin' -- "doing here, your Majesty?" The use of the honorific title and completely superficial smile Joren kept in reserve for such occasions decreed that his statement was within protocol. Barely.
"After you so beautifully fainted, I carried you 'ere to the palace to see a physician. 'owever I met these two on the way and they brought me 'ere to set you until you awoke," explained Laurent. He pulled a pocket out by a golden chain and glanced briefly at it. "I must be going, I 'ave business to attend to. I will see you this evening, around eight o'clock, at my apartment?" Joren reluctantly nodded, and the charming prince took his leave.
"Well, now that Sleeping Beauty is awake, shall we finish our conversation, Sir Paxton?" suggested the king with a smirk. "Perhaps we should adjourn to my private chambers to discuss the matter." Sir Paxton nodded.
"Joren, dinner's on the table. You received a note from Squire Nealan of Queenscove, too." With that, the two men left Joren's room and shut the door behind them. Allowing them time to remove themselves from earshot, the blonde squire snorted.
"'Conversing.' Is that what they call it these days." Raising his voice, he called, "Hey! Why not fetch Ol' Raoul and 'converse' with HIM, too?!"
"Joren," said Sir Paxton's voice just outside his door. "We did hear everything you just said, you know."
Fuck. Weren't they gone yet? "Umm. Ahahaha. I was talking to myself," replied Joren, automatically reverting to his superficial-smile face despite the fact they couldn't see him. He could hear the king snort and Paxy sigh.
"Sure. See you tomorrow and stay out of trouble."
"Don't I always?" Joren shot back.
"If by 'always,' you mean never, then yes, always," replied Sir Paxton. Joren heard the king murmur, "Maybe we should invite Raoul..." and the click
of the outer doors, then hopped out of bed and into the antechamber then kitchen.
"Neal, huh? What's he want?" he wondered, tearing open the envelope that lay on the table.
to be continued...
// These characters belong to Tamora Pierce. The plot and OCs belong to me. : )
// This chapter contains slash.
Fairy Tale
Dithyramb
Joren found himself upon the dance floor, clad in a frilly sugar-pink gown with bare shoulders and his white-blonde hair curled up into a bun, a few stray wildly curling locks brushing his shoulders and back. Bare back, as the backside of the dress didn't reach a few inches past his waist. The front was tightly laced around his well-endowed chest--thanks to the generous use of what Lalasa had termed "falsies"-- and the feathery pink material of the skirt portion was split high at the sides, revealing his slender, milky white thighs and legs. Adorning his moon-white crown was a sparkling diamond tiara. He was looking for Laurent, whom he knew was with Nealan, but could only catch a glimpse of ebony hair and emerald eyes before the crowd closed around him, making it impossible for him to move. "Excuse me," he called, his voice coming out much higher pitched than it should have. "Pardon me, I have to get throu--" he was pushed aside by the crowd and bumped against another girl, who let out a stifled shriek.
"Oh, I'm terrible--Garvey?!" Garvey, cinnamon hair cascading down his back in waves and clad in an elegant evergreen dress with a low neckline, smiled.
"I was wondering where you were, Philippe! Having a good time?" Joren was absolutely at a loss.
"Why are you in a dress?" Garvey smiled and wrapped an arm around waist of the guy he was with, pulling the taller man down into a kiss. With a shock, Joren realized the taller man was actually a girl, dressed in a man's elegant red leggings and velvet tunic, a sword hanging at her side. She towered over them both, like a grown man over two teenage girls. With a further shock, Joren realized it was Kel. He looked around wildly. No one else seemed to find it odd that Garvey was dressed as a girl and Kel was dressed as a guy.
Then he realized, every woman in the room was a man dressed in a flowing ball gown and glass slippers, and their masculine partners were in fact women clad in men's garments. "What's going on?!" he gasped. Garvey smirked.
"Haven't you heard?" he asked airily. "It's Ladies Knight."
"In honor of my becoming a squire and eventually a knight, the king and queen have decided that all women shall become knights and squires, and all knights and squires shall become women," added Kel, leaning down and tracing Garvey's neck with a finger. Garvey giggled and whispered something into her ear, wrapping his slender arms around her broad shoulders. In return, she placed her hands around his tiny waist and the two began to slow-dance. Joren realized they seemed to be gaining more and more of a distance from him.
"Garvey! What are you doing?!" he called, not wanting to be left alone.
"Isn't it obvious?" replied Garvey with a titter. "I'm dancing the knight away!" Joren was about to run after them when a hand grasped his shoulder and spun him around. He found himself facing a very irate Nealan of Queenscove, stunning in a wispy silk blue gown and a pair of dangling sapphire eardrops.
"Philippe, you little slut!" he hissed. "Kel's my man! It's your fault she's not dancing with me and doing that!" Joren glanced over his shoulder to see what "that" was, only to find Kel's tongue engaged in a rapt exploration of Garvey's tonsils. Feeling slightly green (though it clashed with his ensemble), he turned back to face Nealan.
"So what am I supposed to do about it? Go eat some chocolate and drown your sorrows in milkshakes." He wasn't sure how that little rejoinder had popped onto his tongue, but found his contemplation cut short when Neal grabbed his waist and pulled him into a dance.
"If I can't have Kel, I'll take your man instead," he whispered cruelly, leaning down to bite Joren viciously on his exposed ivory shoulder.
"But I don't have a--"
"Mind if I cut in?" A finger tapped Neal on the shoulder. He looked up.
"Why you--" he gasped, but was left behind as a strong pair of hands replaced themselves over Joren's delicate waist, and he found himself pressed into a warm chest." He looked up into a pair of sparkling emerald eyes.
"Laurent? What are you doing here?" Unlike the other men, Laurent was actually dressed in a man's attire, with a dark burgundy tunic, black leggings, and a single silver and diamond eardrop through his left ear. The man ignored Joren's question and leaned down, breath tickling Joren's ear.
"Ahh, Philippe," he sighed. "You look absolutely ravishing. I shall 'ave to do some ravishing my self, non?" The two swayed from side to side, gently in time to the violins. "You are so beautiful," Laurent continued to whisper. "I cannot 'elp myself..." and he let his warm tongue slide into Joren's ear, then over his cheek, and with increasing urgency the other cheek. Soon he was frantically licking Joren's entire face, eyes, nose, even into his mouth and against his teeth.
"Laurent, stop," cried Joren, blushing red as the Kangenesian's attentions began to draw the eyes of the crowd. "Not here! Save it for tonight in bed!"
The tongue subsided and Laurent barked happily.
Barked?
Joren awoke for the third time that day, opening his eyes to find himself greeted by the liquid brown orbs of an enthusiastic Ariose. "Ariose? What are you..." he trailed off, finding himself in his own bed, in his own room, and greeted by the identical stares and smirks of three men at the foot of his bed. King Jonathan, Prince Laurent, and Lord Paxton. Each of them appeared to find something uproariously hilarious. Joren shrank back.
"Is something amusing?" he asked, tone as haughty as he could manage on such short notice. King Jon allowed himself an unkingly snort.
"No, Joren," replied Lord Paxton, trying to hide his smile. "It's just that when you're asleep, you're somewhat vocal." Puzzled, Joren cast his brain back to remember what he had said in his dream.
Laurent, stop! Not here! Save it for tonight in bed...
Joren's silent yet fervent plea for instant death went unnoticed by the gods, who were apparently busy elsewhere.
*GottasavefaceGottasavefaceGottasavefaceGottasavefaceGottasavefaceGottasaveface--* "Well," replied Joren, rolling his eyes and casting a haughty look towards the ceiling, "I'm afraid I don't recall any of my dream."
Laurent's divine lips curled into a suggestive smile. "Don't worry, my darling Philippe," he purred. "Tonight I will be sure to 'elp you remember..."
Joren looked away nervously. "Anyway," he began in an obvious attempt at a subject change, "how'd I wind up here and what are you" -- Joren did his best to fill the word with enough disgust to convey that 'you' was short for 'you vile and diseased carcass of flea-ridden vermin' -- "doing here, your Majesty?" The use of the honorific title and completely superficial smile Joren kept in reserve for such occasions decreed that his statement was within protocol. Barely.
"After you so beautifully fainted, I carried you 'ere to the palace to see a physician. 'owever I met these two on the way and they brought me 'ere to set you until you awoke," explained Laurent. He pulled a pocket out by a golden chain and glanced briefly at it. "I must be going, I 'ave business to attend to. I will see you this evening, around eight o'clock, at my apartment?" Joren reluctantly nodded, and the charming prince took his leave.
"Well, now that Sleeping Beauty is awake, shall we finish our conversation, Sir Paxton?" suggested the king with a smirk. "Perhaps we should adjourn to my private chambers to discuss the matter." Sir Paxton nodded.
"Joren, dinner's on the table. You received a note from Squire Nealan of Queenscove, too." With that, the two men left Joren's room and shut the door behind them. Allowing them time to remove themselves from earshot, the blonde squire snorted.
"'Conversing.' Is that what they call it these days." Raising his voice, he called, "Hey! Why not fetch Ol' Raoul and 'converse' with HIM, too?!"
"Joren," said Sir Paxton's voice just outside his door. "We did hear everything you just said, you know."
Fuck. Weren't they gone yet? "Umm. Ahahaha. I was talking to myself," replied Joren, automatically reverting to his superficial-smile face despite the fact they couldn't see him. He could hear the king snort and Paxy sigh.
"Sure. See you tomorrow and stay out of trouble."
"Don't I always?" Joren shot back.
"If by 'always,' you mean never, then yes, always," replied Sir Paxton. Joren heard the king murmur, "Maybe we should invite Raoul..." and the click
of the outer doors, then hopped out of bed and into the antechamber then kitchen.
"Neal, huh? What's he want?" he wondered, tearing open the envelope that lay on the table.
to be continued...
/* I hope you liked this chapter! Please be sure to review. In answer to moonshine, there's not a lot of gay people, only Laurent. Garvey's just in love @_@ and Jonny needs a break. Paxy is just...Paxy ^^ New chapter coming soon. */
