—Released from the weight of the jacket, Laurent rolled his shoulder, as he did sometimes after a long day in the saddle. Damen brought his hand up to squeeze Laurent’s shoulder gently— and then stopped.
Prince’s Gambit was by far my favorite out of the Captive Prince Trilogy. Golden Age vibes, Commander x Second-in-command, UST, it truly had it all to make me fall. This was one of the scenes that had me actually trembling while I was reading.
This is a re-post of a revised version of this art. A couple of people have pointed out that Damen looked too white, which was a fair point, so I wanted to revise it.
Damen actually started out much darker when I first began drawing, but I got too wrapped up in the act of drawing itself, as well as adjusting for overall colour balance etc. that I didn’t even notice the end result until Anon pointed it out! Definitely a case of needing to take a step back from my own work than anything intentional. As someone with an Asian heritage, whitewashing is the last thing I’d do. Hope that clears everything!
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.
I did this Captive Prince sketch a long time ago ! But I lined it on Procreate last week at the convention and I coloured it and… I’m so happy with the result ! It’s probably from the beginning of their relationship, where Damen could have killed Laurent asap haha !
Saw this post about handholdingandthis little ficlet happened very quickly with very little editing so don’t judge her too harsly: [In my mind, this happens between their adventure with Charls and Laurent’s ascension, but it’s pretty vague, so you can situate it wherever you’d like!]
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Late one night as they lay naked in bed, drifting toward sleep after a long evening spent wonderfully making love, Laurent remarked, “You have such nice hands.”
He had been toying with Damen’s fingers, using a featherlight touch over the back of his hand from knuckles to the knob of his wrist, tracing the lines of his palm.
“Do I?” Damen asked, lowering his gaze with a pleased smile. He loved when Laurent’s heart spoke to him, especially in the form of an unexpected compliment. His post-coital vulnerability never failed to bring Damen to his knees.
“Must you always make me say it twice?” Laurent teased, bringing Damen’s hand to his lips to kiss, then placing it to rest against his own cheek.
Damen brushed his thumb across Laurent’s cheekbone, gazing at him in the soft candlelight. He would never grow tired of sharing these intimate moments with him, learning more of Laurent with every glorious confession.
With a soft, indulgent laugh in answer, “Yes.”
Laurent shifted a fraction closer, again tangling his fingers with Damen’s free hand. “I feel I embarrass myself reaching out for you so often. Is it such a surprise?”
Now that he thought about it, Laurent did seem to have a certain fondness for it. He often—shockingly at first—reached for his hand during meetings that droned on forever, beneath the dinner table, amongst crowds at court, as they walked through the gardens…
Squeezing Laurent’s fingers, Damen said, “Never hesitate to reach for me, my love. My hands are yours to hold whenever it suits you.”
He did wonder, though— Handling a sword had left its mark over the years, hard calluses and cuts that turned to scars. He felt ridiculous but shamelessly curious enough to know what it was Laurent liked about them that he asked, “You don’t find them too rough?”
“No,” Laurent denied, and the instant flush that rose to his cheeks suggested to Damen he was about to reveal something else. “In fact, I find myself quite attracted to the parts of you that are more… rugged, I suppose?”
“Is that so?” Damen asked, delighted but doing his best to disguise it. “Shall I try growing a beard or something then?”
Laurent’s eyes widened at the thought, as if Damen having one had never occurred to him, then his gaze turned darker in interest. “Mmm, perhaps so.”
They kissed, briefly, but deliciously deep, Damen’s fingers in his hair, their free hands still entwined between them.
“In seriousness,” Laurent started when they separated, toying with his fingers again. “I find them to be a mirror of the man who owns them. Incredibly strong and skilled, perseverant. I’ve seen them lethal, unimaginably gentle… I’m not sure there’s anything they cannot do to perfection.”
Damen said, blushing, “Now you’re just going on for my benefit.”
“I’m not,” Laurent said. “How I wish I could refute it! Your eternal competence is maddening. And rather intimidating, honestly.”
“Have you forgotten the rabbit already?” Damen asked. “Charls very nearly expired where he stood watching me. I hadn’t been scolded like that in years.”
Laurent laughed so hard Damen felt the mattress shake. “It doesn’t count if neither of us can do it, and I do not intend on learning that particular skill.”
As the mood settled again, Laurent placed his hand over Damen’s, guiding it slowly from where it rested against his neck down to his chest, then along his side to settle at his waist. His breath hitched on the journey, even under his own direction. Laurent said, “I love to have them on my body, Damianos.”
“Laurent,” Damen said, the moment quickly changing between them. He had been exhausted before, but he found, now, that he was ready again. He pressed his fingertips into warm skin, bringing Laurent impossibly closer.
“I never dreamed anyone could touch me like you,” Laurent said, “That I would long for it like this. That I would ache for you.”
“Laurent,” Damen repeated, an aroused, breathy whisper from his mouth. Laurent knew what he was doing. “I ache for you now.”
Laurent pushed Damen to his back and followed with a leg over his thighs, straddling his waist. Without any hesitation or additional preparation, Laurent raised up and began the slow descent onto Damen’s cock, hard with arousal.
A choked gasp escaped him, and Damen sat up to meet him, to help ease him down. Laurent winced, a rush of air sucked through gritted teeth, but Damen was coming to learn that Laurent savored the stretch, enjoyed a little bite along with pleasure.
“Are you trying to kill me?” Damen asked, breathless into his mouth. They kissed, filthy hot, until Damen was completely inside, barely resisting the urge to thrust upward.
“Quite the opposite,” Laurent answered, clenching around him, subtly circling his hips in a way that elicited moans from the both of them. The tightness was exquisite, Damen’s cock perfectly rubbing against that electric place inside of him. “I’d like to keep you around a little while longer.”
Damen found himself pushed back to the bed, and Laurent followed him down. He laced his fingers with Damen’s and pressed their hands into the mattress above his head. For a moment, they only gazed at each other, basking in the significance of handholding and the anticipation of what was to come.
“Just a little while?” Damen asked.
Laurent said, “Forever,” with a sweet smile, and began to move.
I read this book series because of this request and honestly even tho I was taken aback by the (very explicit) first book, this series was wonderful and got better with every book!! So thank you so much for this request, anon!
Laurent was in the library, sitting among his dearest friends, apart from his brother Auguste and prize-winning horse:
His books.
There were hundreds of them lining dozens of shelves along the walls, and because his father was King of Vere, all of it belonged to Laurent by extension.
He was thrilled and fortunate to have so many. Laurent loved to live through stories, to be transported to other worlds in his mind and go on magical adventures without ever leaving the palace. He had a hunger to learn everything he could—every language and battle strategy, and an endless number of useful facts to share with Auguste. From the moment he learned to read, he had promised himself he would devour them all, even the boring ones, because knowledge and stories were never really boring to Laurent.
Except on the day the Akielon Prince came to visit Arles.
