Happy Santa_Smex, Everyone!
To: Everyone!
From: hikaridonya
Title: For King and Country
Recipient's name: Everyone!
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Atobe/Tezuka
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: I hope that you enjoy this, everyone. Happy smex! :)
Once upon a time there was a peaceful and prosperous kingdom, ruled by a kind and fair king. The king had fathered only a single son, a boy who was arrogant and stubborn, but possessed a big heart. This son was rapidly approaching his twenty-first birthday, a time of great importance, for at the age of twenty-one he was to become the crown prince and legitimate heir to the throne.
Though in the months leading up to this momentous occasion, something was to happen that would change his life forever...
----
There are few people on the main square this early in the morning. It suits Atobe and his men just fine, as it means they can carry on with their drills without distraction. Or mostly without it, because Shishido is eyeing the baker's daughter in a manner that he undoubtedly believes to be subtle.
“Your footwork is sloppy,” Atobe says, swatting behind Shishido's knees with the wooden staff he's holding. “Pay more attention.”
“Shit, Keigo,” Shishido hisses. “That hurt.”
“Point?” Atobe inquires, resting the staff on his shoulder. “Go through your drills again. And this time, try not to stare at every pretty thing that passes by.”
“You can be such a twat sometimes,” Shishido says, and turns back to Gakuto, who is sniggering behind his fingers. Shishido swings his sword at Gakuto, who belatedly blocks it, and bursts into outright laughter this time. “Shut the hell up.”
“I'll have you mucking out the stables again if you don't school that attitude, Ryou,” Atobe says.
“Whatever you say, sire.”
Atobe directs his men through their drills this time -- one, two, three, one, two, three -- watching them carefully, and walking the length of the line. Shishido's gaze doesn't wander this time around, though Atobe can attribute that to the fact that the baker's daughter has disappeared back inside the shop.
His own attention, however, is diverted as a horse enters the square via the main gate. It is laden with bags, the man astride it clearly having travelled from afar -- though he doesn't look foreign to Hyoutei. He is pale-skinned, and most people that come from beyond their borders have a tan at least, like the blacksmith and his son.
Atobe turns back to his men as the horse and its rider move beyond them, heading for the inner city. Perhaps he will see the stranger again, at a feast or some-such, if the man is here by the invitation of some member of the king's court, or if he has come with the intent of gaining an audience with the king.
“What did you say about my mother, you bastard?” Shishido screeches, wrestling Gakuto down to the ground, both of their swords abandoned, arms flailing everywhere so it is nigh impossible to tell which limb belongs to whom.
He turns his back for two minutes... Atobe sighs and takes his staff in hand, heading over to clean up the mess.
----
Atobe is right about seeing the man again, as he is at their dinner table that evening. He is seated next to his father's advisor, Tezuka Kuniharu, and there is an uncanny resemblance between the two of them. Atobe is surprised that he hadn't noticed it before, as Kuniharu is a constant presence in court.
“We all extend a warm welcome to your son, Kuniharu,” Atobe's father says, raising his goblet. “How did you find Kyuushuu?”
“It was an educational experience,” Kuniharu's son says. Atobe watches him carefully from across the table, drinking from his own goblet. “My instructors were all of the highest calibre, and I learned well from them.”
Atobe's father laughs heartily. “Wonderful. Then you are ready?”
Kuniharu's son looks straight into Atobe's eyes after the king speaks these words, and it's clear that he knows something Atobe doesn't. “Yes,” he says. “I am.”
“He has confidence, Kuniharu. He will do very well,” Atobe's father says. “Keigo will no doubt improve from your direction.”
Atobe feels the blood drain from his face, and his grip tightens around his goblet. He doesn't say anything.
“I shall strive to do my best,” Kuniharu's son says. “As my father and grandfather before me.”
----
“Can you believe him?” Atobe says, pacing his room. “It's practically an insult.”
“Of course, Keigo,” Oshitari says, without glancing up from his parchment. “You should be mortally offended.”
“I am!” Atobe slams his hand down on the desk, and Oshitari's ink-well tips dangerously, but doesn't spill. “Stop writing your ridiculous love songs and listen to me, Yuushi.”
“It's about Beowulf,” Oshitari says, placing his quill down. “Now, my attention is all yours, oh light of my life.”
“Don't be an ass,” Atobe says. “This is serious.”
“Keigo, he's going to be your advisor,” Oshitari says. “It's not the end of the world.”
“I won't have it,” Atobe says.
“Whatever you say.” Oshitari shrugs.
“I'll think of something,” Atobe says, and picks up the parchment Oshitari has been writing on. He glances over the loosely-scrawled lines of verse and smirks. “So. Beowulf's eyes are appareled in celestial light?”
“Do not mock me, Keigo,” Oshitari says. “You do not understand the intricacies of my trade.”
“There is something very wrong with your head,” Atobe informs him.
----
Atobe summons Kuniharu's son the moment he wakes, barely half an hour after sunrise. He's equally angry about the situation now as he had been the night before, but decides that he'll make the most of having this person around. Though perhaps he will not make use of the man in the way both their fathers had intended.
“You will arrive after dawn here every morning,” Atobe says. “You will bring me my breakfast, and then help me into my armour for morning training. After that, you will clean my room, and any clothes that require it. Any questions?”
Kuniharu's son looks perplexed for a moment, but bows his head anyway. “Of course, sire,” he says. “Shall I fetch your breakfast from the kitchens?”
“Yes,” Atobe says. “And make sure that the porridge isn't cold.”
“As you wish,” Kuniharu's son says, and a slight smile plays at the corners of his lips, the first time Atobe has seen anything resembling amusement on his face. The previous evening, Kuniharu's son had conducted himself with perfect solemnity, as his father has always done. “Shall I feed you as well? We wouldn't want you to damage your delicate fingers in any way.”
“Excuse me?” Atobe demands, after pausing a moment to ensure that he's heard correctly. “How dare you speak to me in such a manner!”
“My apologies, sire,” Kuniharu's son replies, and now he's positively smirking. The nerve of him. “I shall collect your breakfast.”
Kuniharu's son walks out the door, without so much as a bow, and Atobe feels his temper getting the better of him. “I'll have you put in the stocks, next time you speak to me like- come back here. I haven't finished with you yet.”
----
“Fuck, Keigo,” Shishido says, as he stumbles back from the force of Atobe's blade on his own. “What's gotten into you today?”
“Woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Gakuto offers, wincing as Atobe takes another brutal swing at Shishido. “Or maybe it's-”
“Tezuka Kunimitsu,” Hiyoshi says, kicking up dust as he enters the courtyard. “Son of the king's advisor.”
“Do not mention his name,” Atobe snaps. “He's nothing but an impudent little upstart."
"Watch it!" Shishido yelps, their swords connecting again.
“Again with the dramatics, Keigo,” Oshitari says. “He seems pleasant enough to me.”
“You would think so,” says Atobe grimly.
"You're going to die," Gakuto comments to Shishido, who doesn't even have time for his usual sharp retort.
“He likes my song,” Oshitari says, smiling. “He says it's inspired.”
“I think I'm going to be sick,” Atobe growls, looking more as though he's about to prove Gakuto correct.
----
Atobe returns to his room in much the same mood as he has been in all day. He does not take care in placing his sword down, nor his armour, caring little if he scratches either. He'll have Tezuka repair it come morning if they're damaged.
He turns to his bed and stops. Folded neatly and placed on the edge are his clothes, carefully chosen and clean, ready for his evening meal. Atop them is a note, in neat, cursive text.
Temper, it reads, is a weapon that we hold by the blade.
Atobe rips it up.
----
“Tezuka,” Atobe snarls, stalking down a long corridor. “Where the bloody hell are you?”
There is no sign of Tezuka anywhere. Atobe has searched the castle from top to bottom. Tezuka hadn't delivered his breakfast that morning, nor brought his armour -- polished and ready for training. He really was a miserable excuse for a servant, ignoring that it wasn't his job to wait upon Atobe day after day.
“You'd have thought,” Oshitari says, when Atobe stumbles upon him. He has his pen poised over yet another of his ridiculous ballads, this one no doubt containing words like 'lucent' and 'tumultuous,' or perhaps 'tempestuous' instead of the latter. “That after all these months, you'd have stopped treating him like your manservant.”
“I am his prince,” Atobe says. “He should do as I ask, no matter his position.”
“Try the library,” Oshitari says.
Atobe finds Tezuka there, seated at a table by the far window, overlooking the extensive palace gardens. He seems at peace, completely engrossed in the text in front of him. More history, no doubt. Tezuka has a particular fondness for it, as Atobe has unwillingly learned.
“Did you forget,” Atobe says, gritting his teeth, “that you are meant to serve at my convenience, not yours?”
“Was there something that you needed?” Tezuka asks, turning a page in his book. “A matter of grave importance, perhaps?”
“You didn't attend to me this morning,” Atobe says, taking the seat across from Tezuka. “Are you completely incapable of following orders?”
“I can only apologise, Keigo,” Tezuka says, glancing up at him. “Do you need my assistance now?”
“Obviously not,” Atobe snaps.
“Then perhaps you'll allow me to read in peace,” Tezuka says. “And I shall see you at dinner.”
“I want to wear my red jacket this evening,” Atobe says as he leaves, and nothing more.
----
“You do realise,” Shishido says, as they both sit on the steps of the castle, stone cold beneath them. “That you follow him around like some love-sick puppy?”
“Shut up, Ryou.”
----
Atobe drinks more than he intends to at dinner. The wine is good, and warms him from head to toe, flushing his cheeks, making him less irritable even when his father mentions the coronation's date, the fourth of October, the day of Atobe's birth and the day when he will finally turn twenty-one.
"So handsome," one of the ladies whispers to another, perhaps believing herself to be far enough away that he cannot hear. But when he glances at her, he realises that she's watching someone else entirely, a welcome change of routine. Atobe turns his head in the direction she's pointing.
His gaze falls on Tezuka, and first he scoffs. Handsome? Irritating, perhaps, and full of himself, but never handsome. Then his eyes linger for too long, an effect of the wine, and in an unguarded moment finds himself admiring the way that the candlelight bounces off of Tezuka's hair, making it shine. If Oshitari could see his thoughts at this very moment, he'd be mocked into eternity, Atobe muses, and looks away.
When he stands later, he can't keep his balance, and requires assistance to return to his room. Tezuka is first at his arm, holding him up, guiding him. Atobe's head swims with thoughts that he shouldn't have, and he pushes them down, deep down, where no one will be able to see.
Tezuka helps him out of his clothes, and into something more comfortable, so that he can sleep well. He lies down on the bed, and Tezuka brushes his hair from his face.
“You look good in red,” he whispers, next to Atobe's ear. “Good night, sire.”
Tezuka confuses him.
----
The feasts begin the week before the end of September.
Royalty and lesser nobility from lands far beyond their borders travel to Hyoutei to pay their respects to the new crown prince. They fill every guest suite in the palace, and they seem to take more space even than that, occupying every hall and corridor. Everyone knows why they're here, what is happening. Atobe's mood darkens drastically as he goes to great lengths to avoid the unmarried daughters, sisters and cousins, who come dressed in rich silks, chiffons, and laces, dyed in hues bright, pale and dark, all of them attempting to monopolise his time, so they may claim that they've been given more consideration than the others at a later date.
When he manages to break loose from the hordes of them, he is accosted by princes and dukes and barons, all of whom wish to clasp his hand as though to assure themselves that the treaties between their kingdoms will continue through Atobe's reign as well as his father's.
This has been a long time coming, Atobe knows this, and yet...
He finds Tezuka seated beneath a willow tree at the edge of the gardens, Atobe's last potential refuge against the swarms of well-meaning visitors.
“Are you ready?” Tezuka asks, as Atobe sits down next to him.
“Read to me,” Atobe orders absently, staring out across the gardens, feeling as though he can see across the entire kingdom that will be his, all from this one peaceful vantage point.
Tezuka doesn't press him further, and turns back to the start of his book. “Long ago, in the grey mists of the Danish marshes, a monster born of the hatred of Cain rises up to terrorize Heorot, the great mead hall of King Hrothgar...”
Atobe listens to Tezuka's telling of this fantastical tale, Tezuka's voice soothing and soft. He falls asleep, head resting against Tezuka's shoulder.
----
And then Tezuka starts to avoid him.
It isn't so obvious at first; Atobe just can't find him in his usual places. His room, the library, the gardens. But soon, Atobe doesn't see him at dinner. It's as though he's slowly disappearing from Atobe's life, while the rest of Atobe's time is consumed by diplomats and princesses, marchesses and foreign kings. This thought, niggling at the edge of his mind, makes his heart tighten painfully. Tears sting his eyes only when he is alone at night and can allow himself the weakness for a moment, before blinking angrily. The tears never fall.
He searches.
----
“Perhaps,” Oshitari says, smiling in an evil, infuriating way that suggests he knows something Atobe doesn't, “someone has captured his interest.”
“Don't be ridiculous,” Atobe snaps.
“I'm only saying, Keigo-”
“Well don't.”
----
Shishido is in a black mood. His attacks are harsh and unforgiving, which leaves his defence wide open. He scowls and curses when his footing slips, and his sword lands shy of where he'd intended it. Atobe punishes him for it, feeling less than forgiving because of his own foul mood, kicking Shishido hard in the side. Shishido grunts and falls on his ass with a thud.
“What is wrong with you?” Atobe says.
“He's pissed because he didn't get any last night,” Gakuto says idly, from where he's leaning against a wall.
“Such sorrow,” Oshitari adds. “That his lady fair spurns his affection.”
“That's not-” Shishido says, turning crimson all the way to the tips of his ears. “Fuck you all.”
Atobe sheathes his sword. “Who?” he says.
Shishido makes a strangled sort of noise and flails his arms around, as though it'll discourage the others from tattling on him. Unfortunately, for Shishido, both Gakuto and Oshitari have a penchant for gossip.
“Daughter of the Fox and Hound's landlord,” Gakuto says. “Great ti-”
“Thank you, Mukahi,” Atobe says, as he places a consoling arm around Shishido's shoulders. “Perhaps she's playing hard to get.”
“You're a dick,” Shishido says, attempting to shrug Atobe off. “I hate you.”
“I could have you put in the stocks for that,” Atobe says. “Then what would she think?”
“That he's an even bigger loser?” This comes from Mukahi, of course, who can never learn when to shut his mouth.
“At least she acknowledged me,” Shishido says. “Which is more than any girl has done for you, moron.”
“How would you know?” Gakuto asks, scratching his stomach.
Shishido gives him a look. “You'd have been bragging about it,” he says. “All the fucking time.”
“He has a point,” Oshitari says, clapping Gakuto companionably on the shoulder. “We'd know every intimate detail.”
"Screw you," says Gakuto, shrugging his hand off.
They all wander away once the ensuing argument dies down, their training finished for the day. Shishido lingers behind, and walks side by side with Atobe all the way back to the castle.
“You need to talk to him,” Shishido says, as though he thinks himself the very pinnacle of wisdom.
“I don't need to do anything,” Atobe says.
“Suit yourself. But you're going to regret it.”
----
The fourth arrives. Too quickly, Atobe thinks. He feels sick from the moment he wakes, knots tight in his stomach. He can't eat the breakfast the maid brings him, though it smells absolutely divine. He sends her away with harsh words, wishing she was someone else. Similarly, he doesn't eat lunch. His stomach churns with nerves.
In the afternoon, Oshitari comes to his room. He bears a thick cloak, trimmed with fur. He helps Atobe into his clothing, and fastens the cloak around his shoulders. It's heavy, and feels strange around him, a stifling heat.
He has been raised for this moment his whole life. He wishes he could be twenty forever. He wishes he didn't have to face this alone.
He stares at the oak door, carved with elaborate fruit and animal patterns, the flora and fauna native to Hyoutei. Grapes and apples, bears, wolves, and hares, all of which will be under Atobe's jurisdiction someday.
“Take a deep breath,” a familiar voice says from behind him, and fingers link with his own. “You can do this.”
Atobe pushes the door open.
----
Atobe doesn't join in with the evening's celebrations, though he is considered the guest of honor. However, he doesn't feel up to drinking the wine that is making everyone else's conversation so easy. He watches as Oshitari whispers sweet nothings to a pretty lady with long black hair. He watches Shishido dancing with an equally pretty brunette, desperately trying not to tread on her toes. He'll fail in this endeavour, Atobe knows. Shishido never does mind his footwork the way he should.
Tezuka approaches him, as the feast is dying down, his cheeks flushed red from the wine he's drunk, though he's still steady on his feet. His voice still strong. “I'm sorry,” he says. “I should never hav-”
“Shut up,” Atobe says, taking Tezuka's hand in his own. “And come with me.”
From behind them, he hears the brunette's indignant exclamation, and he smiles slightly.
----
Atobe isn't sure how this has come to be, or even why. He'd fully intended on speaking to Tezuka, setting a few things straight between them, when Tezuka had pressed him firmly against the wall, and proceeded to kiss him thoroughly.
Tezuka's teeth are grazing his shoulder now, his fingers digging into Atobe's hips, drawing them closer even though they're flush against one another already. Atobe can feel those teeth and those fingers leaving marks all over his skin, bruising wherever they touch in a way that will ache beautifully the next day. Tezuka's cock slides thick and heavy between his thighs, the head brushing against his balls with each thrust. Atobe can't control his reactions as his head rolls back and he moans, allowing Tezuka to move his mouth to his neck, lavishing attention upon it.
Things become more desperate as time moves on, and Atobe wraps his arms around Tezuka, fingers clenching and curling, nails scratching down his back, marking him just as surely as Tezuka's marked him. Tezuka fills him to bursting, and curls his fingers around Atobe, stroking him, whispering against his neck. It takes little time at all, and there is a roaring sound building in his ears, like waves crashing against the cliffs, and it's all over.
They lie there for what feels like hours afterwards, sweaty and sticky and laughing. This may or may not be love, but whatever it is it fits, and it's right.
----
Tezuka watches Atobe sleep. He brushes his hair from his face, listens to him breathing. Atobe will be king someday, and when that day comes, Tezuka will stand alongside him.
Always.