#damen has it badddddddd
Summary: Coming from a country whose dress customarily exposed much of one’s body, Damen never thought he would become flustered over the thin skin of an inner wrist, or the elegant curve of an ankle bone. Yet, as with most things involving Laurent, Damen found himself helpless in the face of a suitor whose form was perpetually shrouded in no less than five layers.
Chapter Two, A Taste of Patras, here on AO3.Excerpt below:
It was difficult, having an extended courtship that precluded any physical intimacy.
It was strenuous when one’s suitor strolled into a room full of visiting royals and dignitaries and courtiers, having traded his already customarily tight clothes for an outfit that challenged any sense of decency.
Surely Damen had never seen someone so fully dressed be so exposed; none of the materials Laurent wore were transparent, like a pet or slave’s, yet each layer cleaved to his form with a familiar longing.
A bright yellow jacket, barely able to close over the span of Laurent’s chest, was held closed by a measly thread that left the rest of the jacket’s material spilling outward. The curve of his sides, from his ribs, down his cinched waist, and to his hips, were profanely concave. His chest and stomach were concealed by a blue shirt too light to be a part of Laurent’s own wardrobe, yet seemed scandalously exposed. Coral-pink laces trailed where only eyes dared, and Damen’s fingers twitched hopelessly to unfasten them. At another time, Damen might find such colour choices offensive.
The smooth lines of Laurent’s legs were graced by the strangest pants Damen had ever seen — a feat, given his continued bafflement at the concept of pants. These hugged Laurent’s thighs so tightly, the flex of muscles was visible with each step he took through the silent court. A thrilling intimation of strength under his soft outward appearance.
But the strangeness came from the trousers’ length: they stopped just above Laurent’s knees before giving way — it was convenient Damen was currently seated — to stockings such a shade of white they looked, at first deceitful glance, like naked flesh. And they may as well have been, for the way the silk stretched over Laurent’s shins and around the curves of his calves, concealing absolutely nothing save for the exact hue of his skin.
Familiarity was found only in the haughty lift of the young prince’s chin as he strode toward the royal table, gaze refusing to settle on any person. Even his gait, with which Damen was intimately familiar, was unusual this evening. The permanent insouciance that eased the grace of his limbs was replaced with a stiffness befitting the moniker of “frigid” that Veretian courtiers quickly learned to never use in Damen’s hearing range.
It must be the footwear, he realised. Though heeled footwear was customary to Veretian men, Laurent’s usual boots were swapped for shoes that did not reach above his ankles. They were as tight as the rest of his ensemble, almost disproportionately small, especially against the overlarge bows that flopped forward over his toes.
The top of each foot was left uncovered by the shoes. With the sheerness of the stockings, one could easily imagine Laurent’s legs were exposed from his knees to the tops of his feet.
Damen was parched.
