Sun King and Slave Boy (royal!au)
Title: Sun King and Slave Boy
Characters: Fuji/Tezuka (girl!Yukimura mentioned)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1413
Summary: Something different.
Notes: Based on Em's idea that Fuji and Yukimura could rule the world.
-
Fuji grins and settles back on the throne. There's no reason for him to be there, it's the middle of the night and there are not any state affairs that require him to be in the throne room for the next week, but it's one of his favorite rooms in the castle.
If not his favorite.
Next to him, Tezuka stirs, not enough so that he's moving, but enough to rattle the leash, and Fuji glances over at him, a smirk on his lips. "The throne room's not so bad when it's deserted."
Tezuka only bows his head, deferring to Fuji's judgment even though he doesn't wish to. Fuji can see it in the lines of his body.
"Why are we here?" Tezuka asks instead, and Fuji chuckles.
"I like it here." Fuji says, and drops the leash; it's Tezuka's sign that he's free to do whatever he wishes, except leave. But Fuji is right - the throne room isn't quite so bad when they are the only ones there. Tezuka still doesn't like it, though.
In the throne, Fuji shifts, pressing his back against soft damask that covers the high back, wiggles down, sliding against the seat cushion. Tezuka glances at him once, as he moves to get comfortable on the cushion provided for him, and goes back to looking at the expanse of floor between the dais and the grand doors that mark the entrance. There's a guard on the other side of those doors, the post permanently manned. There's supposed to be one inside as well, but Fuji had dismissed him with a glance.
"Tezuka," Fuji says, his voice dropping to a whisper, and then Tezuka turns, finally. He knows what's coming, what has been coming, since Fuji woke him up and asked Tezuka to accompany him to the throne room. Asked, for once, not commanded, or accepted it as his due. They're equals, or as equal as they can get, sun king and slave boy. The leash is not the only thing that stretches between them.
Sometimes, Tezuka hates that leash, because it's a constant reminder of what they both are, but more often than not, he loves it: it's the thing that binds them together, ridges the chasm between them.
He moves, sliding on his knees to Fuji, around the throne of the sun king, that has stood for longer than Fuji has been alive, longer than Tezuka, longer than their grandparents and the ancestors before them, and will continue to stand, when they are gone. It has seen this, and more; the secrets written into the stone are not for mortals, and they are adding to those secrets.
Tezuka's hands go to the robes, carefully unknotting and sliding strings free, until the robes are loose, and it only takes a simple gesture for them to fall off of Fuji's body, silk fabric pooling on the throne. This is normal for them, usual and common. Tezuka never fails to be astonished by the gleam of Fuji's skin, in the glow of the moon from the high windows. And he leans forward to press a kiss to Fuji's chest, just above his heart, while his hands slid down.
"No," Fuji whispers, softly but his voice is loud in the silence and Tezuka draws back, recoils quickly. He's never been told no before, not in this. But Fuji's pulling back, a finger pressed to Tezuka's lips. "Something different tonight."
Fuji's tone is light and almost teasing, but there's something much deeper lurking behind his comment and his eyes are open and wide, serious. Tezuka doesn't have time to process this before Fuji's lips are against his, and his mind stops thinking.
In the years since he's been in the palace, something lower than consort to the prince who would become king, friend to the princess who had already taken on the mantle of queen, Tezuka has never kissed Fuji. Fuji's never kissed him. It was forbidden, he was told, as they made him ready to meet this prince not in the royal gardens, but in the royal bedchamber. And when they met, prince and boy, that knowledge had been there, burned into both of them. A kiss was not meant to be for Tezuka.
He's seen Fuji kiss, plenty of times before; his sister only, but Tezuka has seen them interact more times than he can remember. Seiko seeks out Syuusuke, Syuusuke seeks out her - they are bound closer than any two people Tezuka has ever seen. And this kiss is like those he has seen, but it's different. There's something possessive and hungry, raw, in Fuji's kiss, something that's almost enough to frighten Tezuka into drawing back.
As if knowing what he's thinking, Fuji wraps a hand around Tezuka's neck, and pulls him closer, and his hands go to Tezuka's robes, much simpler than Fuji's, to find the single knot that binds them closed.
It would be a scandal, Fuji undoing his robes, if they were not kissing, which is even worse. Fuji's their golden sun king, not to be made humble by such things as undoing his robes, especially those of someone else. But it's easy enough to forget, when Fuji's mouth refuses to leave his, even though they are both desperate for air.
Finally, Fuji pulls back, breathing heavily, but it's only for a moment, and then his lips are against Tezuka's once more, a ghost of a touch, as Fuji whispers against Tezuka's lips.
"Tezuka," he says, and there's silence and so much possibility that Tezuka refuses to think because so much could follow, but what does is not any of the possibilities he had expected. "I want you."
Tezuka's about to tell Fuji he has him, will always have him, but the deeper meaning kicks in. His eyes widen because that is such a thing that's never crossed Tezuka's mind. If kissing is forbidden, to suggest a reversal of roles would be death.
"I know," Fuji whispers. "But no one will know."
Except for your sister, Tezuka wants to say, but he thinks Fuji knows that; if Tezuka can feel the presence of the queen in the throne room, in the light shining through the high windows, then he knows Fuji is breathing it all in. And she will betray nothing, they both know: there is too much between brother and sister for them to betray each other.
"It will hurt," Tezuka tells him instead; even though it has been years for him and his body has grown used to it, memory still lingers. "We have nothing, and you aren't-"
Fuji silences him by pulling back and drawing two of Tezuka's fingers into his mouth and moving them underneath his body. He wants this, Tezuka thinks, and slides a finger inside of Fuji.
Such things on the throne are not easy; Fuji shifts down, further and further, until he finally slides off the throne. Tezuka goes to pull him into his lap, to continue, but Fuji shakes his head.
"Sit," he whispers, and of all violations committed, or to be committed, it's the most sacrilegious. Tezuka closes his eyes against the thought.
"Of everything, Fuji, I can't do that," he says, and he can't even bring himself to open his eyes when he feels Fuji's hands on his face.
"Yes, you can," Fuji tells him, and pulls him up, and before Tezuka realizes it, he's being pushed into the throne, the soft cushions forming to his body as if they had been made for him, even as he slumps against the back. And then Fuji's in his lap and he can't protest anything, even if he had been capable of thought.
But he wasn't, because Fuji's hand wrapped around him and guided him, while lowering his own hips; Tezuka watches the play of emotions across Fuji's face, intense pain mingling with joy, until he's fully inside.
There are no words between them, not even the sounds of pain and pleasure. Words have no meaning in that moment between them, because everything Fuji could have said, he is saying with his body, and Tezuka is simply affirming everything. Even when Fuji finally hits the peak, Tezuka following a moment later, there are no sounds; only a wordless cry of pleasure from the king.
The light of the moon brightens for a moment, illuminating the throne room, and Tezuka can see tear tracks on Fuji's cheek. He reaches up to brush them away with his lips, and around them, the light fades.
Characters: Fuji/Tezuka (girl!Yukimura mentioned)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1413
Summary: Something different.
Notes: Based on Em's idea that Fuji and Yukimura could rule the world.
-
Fuji grins and settles back on the throne. There's no reason for him to be there, it's the middle of the night and there are not any state affairs that require him to be in the throne room for the next week, but it's one of his favorite rooms in the castle.
If not his favorite.
Next to him, Tezuka stirs, not enough so that he's moving, but enough to rattle the leash, and Fuji glances over at him, a smirk on his lips. "The throne room's not so bad when it's deserted."
Tezuka only bows his head, deferring to Fuji's judgment even though he doesn't wish to. Fuji can see it in the lines of his body.
"Why are we here?" Tezuka asks instead, and Fuji chuckles.
"I like it here." Fuji says, and drops the leash; it's Tezuka's sign that he's free to do whatever he wishes, except leave. But Fuji is right - the throne room isn't quite so bad when they are the only ones there. Tezuka still doesn't like it, though.
In the throne, Fuji shifts, pressing his back against soft damask that covers the high back, wiggles down, sliding against the seat cushion. Tezuka glances at him once, as he moves to get comfortable on the cushion provided for him, and goes back to looking at the expanse of floor between the dais and the grand doors that mark the entrance. There's a guard on the other side of those doors, the post permanently manned. There's supposed to be one inside as well, but Fuji had dismissed him with a glance.
"Tezuka," Fuji says, his voice dropping to a whisper, and then Tezuka turns, finally. He knows what's coming, what has been coming, since Fuji woke him up and asked Tezuka to accompany him to the throne room. Asked, for once, not commanded, or accepted it as his due. They're equals, or as equal as they can get, sun king and slave boy. The leash is not the only thing that stretches between them.
Sometimes, Tezuka hates that leash, because it's a constant reminder of what they both are, but more often than not, he loves it: it's the thing that binds them together, ridges the chasm between them.
He moves, sliding on his knees to Fuji, around the throne of the sun king, that has stood for longer than Fuji has been alive, longer than Tezuka, longer than their grandparents and the ancestors before them, and will continue to stand, when they are gone. It has seen this, and more; the secrets written into the stone are not for mortals, and they are adding to those secrets.
Tezuka's hands go to the robes, carefully unknotting and sliding strings free, until the robes are loose, and it only takes a simple gesture for them to fall off of Fuji's body, silk fabric pooling on the throne. This is normal for them, usual and common. Tezuka never fails to be astonished by the gleam of Fuji's skin, in the glow of the moon from the high windows. And he leans forward to press a kiss to Fuji's chest, just above his heart, while his hands slid down.
"No," Fuji whispers, softly but his voice is loud in the silence and Tezuka draws back, recoils quickly. He's never been told no before, not in this. But Fuji's pulling back, a finger pressed to Tezuka's lips. "Something different tonight."
Fuji's tone is light and almost teasing, but there's something much deeper lurking behind his comment and his eyes are open and wide, serious. Tezuka doesn't have time to process this before Fuji's lips are against his, and his mind stops thinking.
In the years since he's been in the palace, something lower than consort to the prince who would become king, friend to the princess who had already taken on the mantle of queen, Tezuka has never kissed Fuji. Fuji's never kissed him. It was forbidden, he was told, as they made him ready to meet this prince not in the royal gardens, but in the royal bedchamber. And when they met, prince and boy, that knowledge had been there, burned into both of them. A kiss was not meant to be for Tezuka.
He's seen Fuji kiss, plenty of times before; his sister only, but Tezuka has seen them interact more times than he can remember. Seiko seeks out Syuusuke, Syuusuke seeks out her - they are bound closer than any two people Tezuka has ever seen. And this kiss is like those he has seen, but it's different. There's something possessive and hungry, raw, in Fuji's kiss, something that's almost enough to frighten Tezuka into drawing back.
As if knowing what he's thinking, Fuji wraps a hand around Tezuka's neck, and pulls him closer, and his hands go to Tezuka's robes, much simpler than Fuji's, to find the single knot that binds them closed.
It would be a scandal, Fuji undoing his robes, if they were not kissing, which is even worse. Fuji's their golden sun king, not to be made humble by such things as undoing his robes, especially those of someone else. But it's easy enough to forget, when Fuji's mouth refuses to leave his, even though they are both desperate for air.
Finally, Fuji pulls back, breathing heavily, but it's only for a moment, and then his lips are against Tezuka's once more, a ghost of a touch, as Fuji whispers against Tezuka's lips.
"Tezuka," he says, and there's silence and so much possibility that Tezuka refuses to think because so much could follow, but what does is not any of the possibilities he had expected. "I want you."
Tezuka's about to tell Fuji he has him, will always have him, but the deeper meaning kicks in. His eyes widen because that is such a thing that's never crossed Tezuka's mind. If kissing is forbidden, to suggest a reversal of roles would be death.
"I know," Fuji whispers. "But no one will know."
Except for your sister, Tezuka wants to say, but he thinks Fuji knows that; if Tezuka can feel the presence of the queen in the throne room, in the light shining through the high windows, then he knows Fuji is breathing it all in. And she will betray nothing, they both know: there is too much between brother and sister for them to betray each other.
"It will hurt," Tezuka tells him instead; even though it has been years for him and his body has grown used to it, memory still lingers. "We have nothing, and you aren't-"
Fuji silences him by pulling back and drawing two of Tezuka's fingers into his mouth and moving them underneath his body. He wants this, Tezuka thinks, and slides a finger inside of Fuji.
Such things on the throne are not easy; Fuji shifts down, further and further, until he finally slides off the throne. Tezuka goes to pull him into his lap, to continue, but Fuji shakes his head.
"Sit," he whispers, and of all violations committed, or to be committed, it's the most sacrilegious. Tezuka closes his eyes against the thought.
"Of everything, Fuji, I can't do that," he says, and he can't even bring himself to open his eyes when he feels Fuji's hands on his face.
"Yes, you can," Fuji tells him, and pulls him up, and before Tezuka realizes it, he's being pushed into the throne, the soft cushions forming to his body as if they had been made for him, even as he slumps against the back. And then Fuji's in his lap and he can't protest anything, even if he had been capable of thought.
But he wasn't, because Fuji's hand wrapped around him and guided him, while lowering his own hips; Tezuka watches the play of emotions across Fuji's face, intense pain mingling with joy, until he's fully inside.
There are no words between them, not even the sounds of pain and pleasure. Words have no meaning in that moment between them, because everything Fuji could have said, he is saying with his body, and Tezuka is simply affirming everything. Even when Fuji finally hits the peak, Tezuka following a moment later, there are no sounds; only a wordless cry of pleasure from the king.
The light of the moon brightens for a moment, illuminating the throne room, and Tezuka can see tear tracks on Fuji's cheek. He reaches up to brush them away with his lips, and around them, the light fades.