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Damen had been at war too long. When he returned, everything was slipping from his grasp. His people, his partner, his crown. He had been busy protecting them, saving them, and he came back to the filled womb of his lover and his throne warmed by the ass of his brother.
His brother’s seed planted firmly in Jokaste secured him the right to rule until Damen could produce an heir of his own.
“How could you?” Damen was still in his war armor, breast plate hanging limply in his hand. He stood at the foot of the throne room, looking up at the two people he trusted most. Jokaste had no answers. Kastor had too many.
Damen, if he hadn’t seen the state of Akielos in front of him, wouldn't have been so abrupt with his desperation. Of course, he would be personally hurt at the betrayal of them laying together. His pride no matter the circumstance was wounded, his kingship stolen. Initially, he tried to plead his case through court, then publicly. He was rebuffed both times, beloved but unsired.
Next, he tried to utilize his time as a warrior. All he had done for the kingdom, and more than his pride had been wounded in those months. He was scarred, but decorated for the triumphs he’d faced in his time away. All this did, as his brother said, “forced his hand” and led Kastor to give him days to publicly hand over his crown, or face banishment.
He had been sitting inside Nik’s home, curled up in his sheets. His eyes were dried, but he’d spend hours there weeping.
“What else can I do?” He’d cried.
“I don’t know,” Nik responded solemnly. “Pray, I suppose.”
It was like an epiphany. Damen thought of all the temples, all the gods he could pray to. He went out the next day, deciding he’d wallowed in enough self pity and had to take action. It was a two days climb to the temple, and he packed up bread and meat in a satchel, and headed up the hill.
Making it to the top wasn’t too large of an effort for him, the first time. Cresting it, he was taken by the beauty of all the white pillars shooting into the sky. Vines and flowers representing each god sprawled up the columns, marble and gold statues everywhere he looked. Priests and priestesses milled about the gardens at the front of the hill. It would be a quarter of a day just to walk it, double that if he planned to stop and pray in each temple.
He walked from temple to temple, praying and waiting for a sign. Between, he would sip water from the fountains and nibble at his rations. He was full, the sun setting although it had warmed his skin, when at last, he reached the final temple. This one was smaller than the others, more intimate with less priests and priestesses. All of them wore sheer robes, their forms completely exposed through the soft, gauzy fabric. Their hair was down long, the fronts braided out of their faces. All of them were beautiful, carrying physical traits found from all over Akielos. Damen had to calm himself, to remind himself that he was entering a temple and should act as such.
“Hello,” A priestess, so blonde Damen almost forgot himself again, greeted him at the threshold. “Welcome to the Temple of Fertility.”
This was it, Damen decided. Fertility was his issue, and it would be his answer. Taking some of his best pieces of dried meat, he made his way to the final dais, deep within the temple. He placed the meet as an offering, making his way to his knees and bowing his head.
“God of fertility,” He began, “My mistress has abandoned me her womb, and yet it is still filled with seed I did not plant. If there is a way for this child not to have lineage connected to the kingdom once it is born…Perhaps being born with fiery hair or skin of milk would be enough. Or being dark as night, and a full head of curls, would prove that it not be of my brother’s descent.”
He waited in the silence, prepared once again to be rebuffed by the nothingness of it all. Then, the fountain behind him, a stagnant but beautiful ornate work of marble and gold, began to bubble.
“Thank you, thank you,” He foolishly said. It would take him a week before Nikandros said his prayers weren’t answered, but his call was.
“What does that mean?” Damen asked, eating with him at supper.
“You fool,” Nik scoffed. “Fertility must visit you. Grant you your wish, make a deal or something. Dried meat is not enough offering to have him change his entire course of one’s womb.”
So Damen returned, with the shield he’d won his first battle at Marlas with.
“My greatest honor, protecting me from my birth as a warrior.” He said, laying the plate down. Once again, the fountain bubbled, but he heard nothing in return.
He came back down the hill, turning right around with his favorite guard, offering him a life of priesthood. He took it, happily, but that offer didn’t even bubble the fountain as long as his shield.
A week later, he made another journey, desperately as Jokaste had begun to swell exponentially. He was carrying his crown, nothing passed down, but built just for him. It didn’t matter, he told himself, because if this didn’t work he’d never wear it at all. He could take his father’s, the one on Kastor’s head, the one he had no right to. Might never have a right to.
“Please,” Damen said, and spent two whole days in prayer, the fountain bubbling constantly now but nothing else happening. Desperately, Damen began to tear at his own clothes. He’d taken his last bite of food, his bones ached, and he threw his clothes into the offerings pile with disjointed movements.
“Please,” Damen said, returning to his knees. He decided then, he would not move an inch. The fountain still bubbled, he still had hope. The god’s eyes were on him, he just needed to make him listen.
He beseeched until his knees, already rough, were raw. His back sagged with the weight of his exhaustion, arching him into a grotesque excuse for half a heart. He looked like a man broken, beaten down by the weight of his prayer. At last, after hours or days, he fell forward onto his palms, hands unclasping and slapping flat against the marble flooring of the dias.
“Please,” he rasped. “I have nothing left to give. I have given you the crown from my head, the clothes from my back. I’ve given my stamina, my hunger, everything that fills me.”
He sat in the silence, the bubbling fountain echoing in the empty hall. Even the last of the monks had left his side, the priests needing them for more pressing issues than a singular poor lost soul. The raggedness of his own breath heaved pathetically in his ears, the only other sound in the room.
“Take me,” he said at last, his voice ringing clear, clearer than it had been in days. Strong. Right. “Take me and replace me with someone better than Kastor. Someone who deserves them, who will love them, someone who won’t run this kingdom into ruins. Please.”
He pressed his head to the cool floor, the sweat on his brow temporarily sated as he finally rested. He sat there on his hands and knees, head pressed into the ground for who knows how long. He closed his eyes, feeling sated and like he’d given his all. His people needed him, but that didn’t mean it had to be him to save them. He didn’t need the glory. He needed Akielos safe.
Abruptly, he sat. Without warning or preamble, even though his body should ache and hunger. It was as if his name had been called. A voiceless demand for his attention, and he couldn’t believe his eyes.
Above him, standing in front of his kneeling form, was the god of fertility himself. Strong, golden, lean. Something behind him shimmered, maybe it was wings or the light. Whatever it was was too…foreign for Damen’s eyes, shifting behind the god like waves. He was shorter than Damen, but seemed endlessly tall from his position on his knees.
His head was tilted to the side, thick blonde hair cascading over his alabaster skin, spilling pretty waves around his waist. He had an inquisitive look on his face, curious and haughty all at once. He looked like he should know all the answers and was confused how one could evade him. The dip between his questioning brows was the only marking Damen could fine on his skin.
“Perfect.” Damen breathed.
A small huff left the god’s nose in amusement. Damen reacted abruptly, snapping out his shock at the sight and bending back down to press his forehead at his feet.
“Forgive me,” he said, his breath suddenly lost to him again although he still felt better than he had in days.
He felt the god kneel in front of him, so familiar with the shift of his body as if it were an extension of his own. When the god touched him, he felt warm and firm. The god brushed his hand against the back of Damen’s hair, running his fingers through the softest pieces at the nape. He made a soft, approving hum. Damen didn’t realize he was holding his breath until the god gripped that sensitive spot, dragging his head up roughly to look at him.
They stared at each other, the god much closer now. His lips were like crushed roses, and his eyes were drops of the ocean. He had gold flecks in them, reflecting his hair that fell down his barely robed form like a cloak. Much in the same way that he gazed at the god, soaking him in, the entity was doing it in return. Drinking in his features, his eyes running over Damen’s own as if to memorize them.
Loosening his grip, something in his eyes cleared. He was much gentler now, guiding Damen’s mouth to his exposed thighs. He wore nothing but a silk toga, exposing his long legs and most of his chest and shoulders. Damen, taken over by some deep instinctual need, opened his mouth to the thigh being offered to him. Both on their knees, Damen felt himself press closer to the floor, to the flesh he so desperately needed to taste.
A small noise left the god, but a lower, animalistic growl found its way through Damen’s chest as he made contact. He dragged his tongue up the inside of his thigh, tasting something too sweet and pure, but just as heady as it needed to be to feel real. Like looking at him, it was too much and not enough. It was like his mind could barely contain all he was seeing, tasting, feeling. Yet, he couldn’t stand the idea of it ever ending. He wouldn’t survive that fate.
He sucked the flesh into his mouth, moaning around it and drawing further noises from the god’s throat. He pulled back, surprised by the pretty pink and purple marks on the practically glowing skin.
“Am I hurting you?” He asked, glancing up. The god, grabbing his jaw almost so painfully it hurt, stared at him again. Longer this time, long enough that the lightest marks on his thighs began to fade and the darkest crawled in color towards maroon. Damen found his features were arranged quizzically again, confused and intrigued.
“Please,” Damen said at last, when he felt himself beginning to strain under his chiton. “Let me.”
The god smirked then, unfolding himself to his full height. Damen, still on his knees, leaned forward. He brushed aside the silk, glancing up for permission. Again, even though it was like some external force, likely the one right in front of him, was guiding him to do everything right, he still second guessed himself.
He hesitated only a moment before his lips found the apex between hip and thigh. He laid open mouth kisses from one side to the other, leaving a belt of warmth across his waist. Then he made his way down, fully unveiling him. His cock was pink, with the same shimmer that clung to him like a second skin. He kissed the blushing head until its color deepened, until he went from erect to solid under his mouth. Then, he took him to the back of his throat, grabbing onto his hips for purchase.
The noises leaving the god were almost unbearably pleasant. Small, whiney, bordering on desperate. He seemed so in control, if only Damen didn’t have the ears to hear him losing it. He was making him feel good, and he didn’t plan on stopping. It was too soon that the god grabbed him like a kitten at the nape again, pulling him off with an audible pop .
He was met with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes, and Damen wanted to protest as the silk fell back over the prize he’d been tasting moments before.
“I need-I need…” Damen didn’t know how to articulate himself. “I just need you.”
“I’m sure.” The god’s voice was like music, his speech a purr. “But I need a moment.”
“Why?” Damen heard himself whine, wincing at how petulant he sounded.
The god just chuckled, brushing a thumb along Damen’s cheek as his breathing calmed.
“Your mouth feels much better than I expected, human. You could not take me in a frenzy.” He said.
“I could,” Damen complained. “I could be whatever you need of me.”
“Such a loyal servant, you are.” The god cooed and Damen couldn’t help but feel the pride rush through him in a blaze of blood and heat.
“Let me show you how loyal,” Damen said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I cannot give you exactly what you seek,” He replied. “What loyalty do you owe me if I cannot answer your exact prayer?”
“I’ve already given myself to you. I demand nothing but that my people are taken care of. I don’t care how.” Damen said. He watched as the god’s eyes grew wide, and then he studied him again, searching for something Damen didn’t understand.
“You may call me Laurent, mortal. You are Crowned Prince Damianos?” The god, Laurent, sank to his knees. He seemed so much smaller now that they were at the same height, without the taste of him in Damen’s mouth.
“Yes,” Damen responded.
“Their strongest warrior, half starved at my feet.” Laurent practically giggled at the prospect. The sound tickled somewhere deep in Damen’s gut.
“Starved for more than they’ve taken from me, somehow.” Damen responded, his gaze dropping down to the exposed, reddened thighs below him.
He reached his hands out, brushing the fabric away again. He dragged his knuckles up Laurent’s cock, reveling in the way Laurent’s breathing picked up at the returned contact.
“Your people, you love them? Enough to give me your body?” Laurent said, his voice losing its sharp edges as Damen took him fully into his hand.
“Enough to give you my soul.” He said, bending back down to taste him once again. He was surprised by how much it tasted like nectar, but still had the heady tang of flesh. Human in every way that mattered, but divine in equal measure. He took his time, slow and methodical with each movement of his head and work of his jaw. He went until the shudder that ran through Laurent sent a lewd sound from him, causing his own cock to stiffen painfully. Then he sped up, cupping Laurent’s balls in his left hand and reaching for himself with his right.
“No,” Laurent snapped, and Damen sat up, pulling from him with a gasp. He still looked ethereal, but thouroughly fucked as well. He clearly had run his hands through his hair, and all the high points of his pretty skin burned bright pink. His lips looked swollen from his attempts to keep the wanton noises from escaping him.
“I’m sorry,” Damen said, his voice raw from his enthusiastic work.
“No, I just…there’s supposed to be a method to this, and you’re throwing me.” He said back, trying to slow his breathing again. Damen didn’t want him to get his breath back, to get his method on track. He wanted him, he wanted to fill him, to have him taste himself on his tongue.
“I’m sorry,” He said, this time without meaning it. He wrapped his hand around Laurent’s wrist, shocked by the delicacy of it. He was made of light and clouds, thunder and flesh. He was holding something that felt as breakable as glass, but was stronger than the earth itself.
He guided it to himself, and placed Laurent’s hand over his erection. Laurent swore softly under his breath, and Damen rolled his hips experimentally into his palm. A low moan pulled itself from his chest as he repeated the action, firmer this time.
Laurent squeezed, his lips parting as he watched the reaction it earned. He licked over them and Damen had to know how every part of him tasted, how every part of him felt. He leaned forward, pausing just a breath apart as the god gasped.
“Is this ok?” Damen asked, rolling his hips more insistently.
“I-I’m unsure. No human has tried.” He responded.
Damen closed the gap between them. He took Laurent’s bottom lip into his mouth gently, then his top. He kissed each corner, exploring softly at first. Then he sucked in his bottom lip, biting down until he fished out a high pitched whine. He used the opportunity to press his tongue into his mouth, tasting somehow even sweeter than his cock had.
As their kiss deepened, Laurent brought both his hands into Damen’s lap. He felt the air hit his suddenly hot skin, and then he could feel nothing but the gods hands. He dragged his nails down Damen’s chest, switching to gently trace his stinging path with the pads of his finger tips. Then, roughly, he wrapped his fingers around Damen’s throbbing length.
“Laurent,” Damen moaned. Laurent leaned forward, pulling his own clothing from himself. Both bare, he took their cocks together in his long fingers, pumping them in tandem. They moaned together then, and Damen wondered how it was so wet and warm. Looking down from his kiss, he saw Laurent dripping on the floor, lubricating them from how wet he’d become at his entrance.
“It’s like a cunt,” Damen gasped, growing harder at the idea of burying himself in Laurent to the hilt.
“I’m not bound—” Laurent stopped for a short gasp of breath, caused by Damen bucking into his hand and against him. “I’m not bound by mortal facilities.”
Without a second thought, Damen decided then he could no longer be useless. He reached his hand behind Laurent, and sunk two of fingers in to the knuckle. A choked sound left Laurent at the entry, a ragged attempt at breath made as Damen began to move inside him.
“It’s better than a cunt,” Damen corrected, as Laurent pressed back into him.
He watched in awe as Laurent’s hips began to roll to match his, their cocks smearing against each other and creating filthy noises from the wet friction of the act. Laurent grabbed the back of Damen’s neck with his free hand, bringing their mouths back together hungrily. Damen swallowed every pretty noise the god had to make, reveling in the feel of him tight around his fingers.
Damen brought his lips to his jaw, trailing messy kisses down the column of his throat. He bit down to suppress a groan that bubbled up, curving his fingers up at the same time. The sound that left Laurent was surprised and raw, so intensely obscene Damen would never know how he didn’t cum on the spot.
“Fuck,” Laurent gasped, and Damen leaned back just in time to watch him do exactly that. Laurent’s face screwed up in pleasure, and he painted stripes up Damen’s chest, spilling over both their cocks once it had lost momentum. Small, pitiful noises left him as he pumped himself through it, and Damen was even more confused how he hadn’t spilled his own seed in the process. He removed his fingers from Laurent, closing his eyes and moaning as he brought them into his mouth to taste.
“Everything about you is perfect,” Damen said. He cradled Laurent’s face in his hands, watching him try to get control over his labored breathing. His beautiful hair was plastered to his face in his spots, his lips swollen and his neck littered with bruises. Damen leaned forward, kissing him again, chasing after Laurent when he pulled back too soon for his liking.
“Take me,” Laurent said, continuing his backward descent until he laid on the floor of the dais. “Now, I need you to—“
His voice broke on a cry as Damen leaned forward, pressing his tongue into his weeping hole. He tasted him, deeply, and found great pleasure in making the god squirm beneath him.
“Please, Damianos, I do not ask—“ Again, his sentence shattered by the movement of Damen’s tongue inside him.
“I thought you were meant to be mine now,” Laurent whined.
“I am more than that,” Damen responded, pressing Laurent’s legs farther apart for deeper access.
“Then please ,” Laurent said. Damen dragged his hands up Laurent’s chest, tweaking his nipples as he feasted deeper. “ Take me. ”
And Damen didn’t know if he could resist any longer. He pulled back, drinking in the sight of the god splayed before him. His thighs pale as cream, burning pink at their centers with need. His cheeks and chest all matched the flaming color, and the glow he carried had seemed to brighten and expand, swallowing them both.
“You taste like ambrosia,” Damen said. “It is hard to break away from that. Forgive me.”
“Wouldn’t you like to feel that around your cock?” Laurent asked, as sweetly as he could.
“I’m afraid I will break as soon as I press against you.”
“I’m desperately trying to keep this fertility rite on track, so you should at least be able to fulfill the ending.” Laurent laughed breathlessly, cut short as Damen crawled over him, pressing himself to his entrance.
“I'm worried I’ll be too big,” Damen said, his breath shuddering at the barest of contact.
“Cocky,” Laurent said, his airy laughter returning.
“No,” Damen felt himself grinning, feeling silly and jubilant in a way only a fool who would be burying his cock soon could. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Laurent’s expression turned surprised again, but in a different way. It was soft, touched. He looked youthful, for the first time. Easy to hurt, even as he denied it. He looked human, although his beauty was still far from it.
“You can’t hurt me,” He said, his voice barely loud enough to be heard.
“Good,” Damen said.
“Please-please, don’t make me ask again.” Laurent stuttered, and something about the softness that was overtaking him made Damen need him even more desperately.
Damen grabbed each of Laurent’s thighs in the palm of his hands, enjoying the sight of how his palms made the large god look small and fragile. He pressed them back, exposing his hole for easy access. He hummed a sound of approval, before sinking into him how he’d imagined. Except it was beyond anything he could have thought up. It was as if Laurent had been built to fit around him, his muscles hot and quivering around Damen’s length.
“Fill me, please.” Laurent was whimpering, arching his back as Damen barely began to move.
“So needy,” Damen teased, as if he wasn’t feeling the exact same.
“Says the man who lived on his knees—” Laurent bit out, but the sting of his retort was blunted by Damen picking up his pace, fucking into him so thoroughly he could no longer speak.
Damen watched as he writhed under him, slowly picking up the pace just to drag out the neediness a little longer. He was mesmerized by the way the shimmering kept spreading out around them, by the way Laurent’s head lulled back. He leaned down, kissing up his jaw.
“I’m supposed to be telling you what to do,” Laurent said around soft cries.
“Aren’t you?” Damen asked, digging his teeth into where neck meets shoulder.
“I should have to tell, ” Laurent said. Damen tried to ignore it, continuing his movements, until Laurent reached down to still him. Damen pulled back to look at him. “Do you just know?”
Damen nodded.
“Oh,” Laurent said, his eyes going wide.
“Is that alright?” Damen asked.
“More than alright, actually.” Laurent said, cocking his head to the side, a secret smile playing at his lips. “Don’t stop.”
So Damen continued, picking up his pace, now basking in the glow of pleasing his god. They began to move together then, Laurent finding a pace under him that sent noises full of need and want tumbling from both of their mouths. Damen leaned down, pressing their lips together, moaning against him. Quickly, Damen was at the very precipice of release.
Laurent started whimpering then, wiggling against him like he could feel it happening. He moved under Damen like he was impatient, desperately needy for it. Damen reached down, splaying his hand across Laurent’s stomach and pinning him against the ornate flooring.
“You’re so desperate to have me fill you up,” Damen teased, dragging his lips down the column of Laurent’s neck, repainting it in bruises the shades of plums. Laurent shivered under him, small, helpless noises escaping him. “So let me.”
“Please, Damianos,” Laurent said, and he placed both his hands on Damen’s face, forcing him to look at him. “Please.”
And how could he deny his god?
Spilling into him was like the earth cracking opening, swallowing them both whole. Laurent came again, his lip caught between his teeth as he tried to contain the sounds leaving him. Damen became something splintered and then altogether too whole. He came with Laurent’s name in his mouth, and Laurent whispered his in turn. He brushed strands of hair from Damen’s forehead as he caught his breath, and his eyes shone.
Damen looked down to where his hand was still spread over Laurent’s stomach, now filled with his seed. It sent an aftershock through his cock, a small pulse that pulled a squeak from Laurent’s throat.
“What-what does this mean?” Damen asked, because he hadn’t really thought any of it through. “I’m yours now. I assume-but-“
“Damianos,” Laurent said. “Please let me catch my breath.”
“My apologies,” Damen said, but he tried to bite back the smirk he felt tugging at his lips. He pulled, gently, from Laurent’s opening. Slower than he needed to, just to watch the god’s face screw up in sore, overly sensitive bliss.
They laid next to each for quite some time, and Damen couldn’t help himself from glancing down at the exposed nakedness of them both. His cheeks grew flushed and hot at the sight of him spilling down Laurent’s thighs. Even though he had told himself he would remain silent, he heard himself talking before he could recognize it.
“I hope that I am yours.” Damen said, looking up into Laurent’s face. He still glowed faintly, but it had dimmed, although the color itself was richer. He was vivid and sharp, he almost burned to look at. He was a star exploding, dying, millions of years before Damen got to witness it. He was the cosmos itself, bigger and brighter than anything Damen would ever know. He revered him, he worshiped him, he needed him.
“I’ve never…” Laurent started and stopped. He tried to look at Damen, his face adorably squinting in confusion before looking up at the ceiling. The tiles were painted, stories of Laurent himself looking over the tangled and naked bodies of lovers. Tangled like they were on the floor, Damen’s fingers playing loosely in his golden hair, Laurent’s own hand splayed across Damen’s strong breast.
“You’ve never what?” Damen asked, his voice soft.
“It’s not supposed to be like that. So…pleasurable. So overwhelming. I lost myself.” He said, and Damen couldn’t piece together if this was good or bad.
“Did I do something wrong?” Damen asked, and it spurns a laugh from the gods chest.
“No,” He said. “I’m not used to being with child is all. I usually don’t unless needed. I’m meant to…put it in someone else. I took it all as my own. You made me a bit…greedy.”
Something in Damen cracks open, and his hand finds its way back to Laurent’s stomach. He traces gentle shapes onto it, his mind so full and frantic it might as well have been empty for all the good thinking was doing him. His child was in this god. His child was in Laurent.
“I must say you’ve made me a bit greedy myself.” Damen says, and he can’t hide the grin that cracks his face in two. Laurent smiles back, much more shyly but with no less joy.
“Greedy, yet you’ve given me all you care about, all that you are.” Laurent murmurs back, his own hand finding its way onto Damen’s as he continues tracing his soft patterns.
“You’ve given me much more than I’ve given you. Or at least, you will.” Damen sits up, pressing a kiss to Laurent’s lower belly.
“I cannot leave my duties. I’m not a bed mate, if that’s where your mind is going. The baby will be brought to you in nine months time.” Laurent says. Damen sits up fully, looking down at him.
“I will take whatever you can give me. Whatever time. Am I meant to never be taken by you again?” Damen asks.
“I believe,” Laurent says, cheeks flushing crimson. “I was taken by you.”
“Will I never get you again? If not I will roll over and spend the rest of my lifetime under you until you send me away.” Damen grabs his waist, pulling Laurent to straddle him as he rolls to his back. Laurent lands with his hands on either side of Damen’s head, a surprised noise jumping from him.
Damen lifts his hips, rubbing their naked bodies together and everywhere they connected crackled with the feeling of lightning. Laurent groaned, his head lolled back as he ground down into him. Damen dug his fingers into Laurent’s hips, watched him move above him. Laurent reached down, slipping Damen back inside of himself. They made love quickly this time, both still sensitive from the first fuck. The sound of their breathing and coming together filled the room and faded almost as fast, Laurent falling forward and pressing his lips against Damen’s as they both came again.
“Stay with me,” Damen spoke against his mouth. “At least until day break.”
“You are exhausted,” Laurent said, but his voice had little fight. He only sounded concerned.
“Then we can sleep, with me inside you.”
So Laurent curled up into Damen’s chest, and although they said they would sleep, he awoke from his nap hard and already rutting into a whimpering Laurent. Twice, this happened, before Laurent said he was too sensitive, too full. Then it happened once more, Laurent sprawled onto his hands and knees, his thighs sticky and dripping from both of them giving their all.
Eventually, real sleep did find them, only an hour before dawn. Laurent dragged himself down Damen’s body, taking him into his mouth and finally letting him feel his exhaustion. Laurent crawled back up to his place in Damen’s arms.
Damen placed a kiss to the crown of Laurent’s head, breathing in his scent as he did so. He traced his shoulder blades, his spine, his lashes, anything he could reach as the god laid curled up to his chest. He memorized everything he could, his taste, his scent, his feel. He wanted it all imprinted in his mind in case he never got him again. Just as sleep finally took him, the sun creeping up over the horizon, Laurent whispered something soft against Damen’s skin.
“You’ve given me everything,” he said. “I’ll give you all I can in return.”
_________________________________
Damen awoke feeling battered and bruised. His cock felt deflated, his stomach empty, his throat parched. A priestess allowed him a bath, a husk of bread, and a glass of water. He made his trek with just enough energy to collapse out front of Nik’s door, where he slept for three days.
He spent three months there, half sure his time with the fertility god had been a dream. His only proof was everything the god has taken, including his own mind and heart it seemed. He yearned for no other, although he tried twice to bury his fractured thoughts between spread legs. Both times, he made his way up to the temple, apologies and pleading and anger on his lips.
He found himself at the temple weekly. Sometimes, he would talk about the positive headway he was making helping his people despite his brother’s immense fuck ups. Other times, he would weep at the ways he was watching everything he loved crumble. Then, on the worst nights, he would sit at the dias and weep and scream. He would beg just for the god to let him know it was real, that he had touched him. He could be patient for his people, he would shout, but there was a yearning in him that was ripping him apart. The ribbons of him that would be left by the end of his rants would leave him feeling shamed.
“I’m sorry. I love my people,” he would say, his energy spent. He wanted to say more but it wasn’t until months later, after an uprising against Kastor almost cost them both everything that he finally yelled so loudly the priestesses ran, scared. He broke vases, overturned tables. His fury did not match his words, but it matched the hurt that colored them all.
He started by saying he loved not just his people, but Laurent too. He loved that he was a drop of starlight made sentient, he loved the feel of him under himself. He loved his curiosity that night, his flushed cheeks, how he seemed so human even as he said he couldn’t be. He loved that he took care of his people, of all people. And he hated him for abandoning him and leaving him alone after that night.
The fountain roared to life, the walls and pillars shook. Damen was sure he would be smited on the spot. The wrathful image of Laurent appearing in front of him made him dizzy, and he fell to his knees. Laurent’s hair blew around him in an invisible wind, his eyes painfully blue. They did not speak. Laurent, quickly and efficiently, disrobed them both.
Laurent looked beautiful. His stomach was round, full with Damen’s child. He glowed so bright Damen had to squint his eyes. He was angry, but Damen didn’t feel like it was all directed at him. Their lips crashed together violently, their nails and teeth digging into each other. Laurent forced Damen onto all fours from his knees, and Damen cried out as Laurent entered him with no preamble or warning, his cock damp with oil.
Laurent fucked into him with the same fervor and anger Damen had just destroyed his temple with. He pounded into him relentlessly, and he distantly remembered Laurent mentioning “a frenzy” that Damen would not be able to take him in. Almost in a trance, he wished he could rub it in that he was taking it quite well.
Laurent’s thoughts poured from his mind into Damen’s, incomprehensibly at first. His mind buzzed, his cock grew painfully hard and he felt himself leak onto the floor. Suddenly, Laurent’s thoughts came through, choppy as waves in a storm.
Impatient…unappreciative…scared…lonely…need…need…need…
Laurent whimpered then, filling Damen. He pulled from him, and Damen felt his thighs grow wet. Damen had never been taken before, and he felt the absence of Laurent like a wound. He needed him even more fiercely than before, needed to find his release within him.
Laurent, knowing, always knowing, shoved him roughly to his back. He mounted him, sliding down onto him so quickly it pulled tandem groans from them both. Damen tried to buck into him but the searing command of no filled his head so quickly it was like he’d been physically pinned down. He gritted his teeth, watching Laurent find his release atop him again and again while it felt like his own cock had been stopped just at the edge of satisfaction.
“I will beg.” Damen said, tears pricking at his eyes as Laurent found release a third time atop him, his chest splotchy and red. He had tears running down his cheeks, his lips swollen from his own teeth trying to cage the noises ripping themselves from his chest.
“I have done it before, I’ll do it again-“ Damen was cut off by Laurent riding him harder, and it felt like his hips were growing bruises where their skin met.
“ This is what you call begging?” Laurent’s voice came from his mouth, but everywhere else as well. From inside Damen, from the room, from the sky. He clearly meant the destruction that had been strewn about.
“I need you. I needed you and you left me,” Damen bit out, and he finally found his will to move again. He thrusted up onto Laurent, and the sounds of them fucking became as violent as thunder.
“You gave yourself to me, I will decide what you need!” Laurent shouted, and Damen was momentarily distracted by the beauty of him pregnant and wrathful. His child in there, growing, feeding off the power he hated was turning him on to behold. His anger quickly turned to desire in his gut as he and Laurent came together and broke apart again and again.
“Then what do I need?” He grunted. Laurent looked momentarily taken off guard, clearly having still expected a fight.
“To behave,” Laurent hissed back once he had recovered.
“I need you.” Damen said again forcefully, and suddenly he was climaxing so hard he thought he might go blind. Distantly, he heard Laurent swear under his breath. He felt him make a mess of them both again, his nails digging deep crescents into Damen’s biceps.
“You are an idiot. A barbarian. You destroyed a place of worship.” Laurent snapped, not moving from his seat in Damen’s lap.
“When I gave myself to you, I never said I was smart. May I?” His hand hovered over Laurent’s belly, and Laurent made a noise that was half frustration, half surprise. He gave the barest nod, and Damen caressed his stomach gently. They both watched as Damen touched him tenderly, openly. He sponged kisses to his soft skin, whispered against it. So much time passed, Damen thought Laurent might just kick him out or disappear.
“What do you want from me?” Laurent’s voice tore through the air, strangled and more than a little broken. Damen glanced up at him, not sure he had a real answer. He pondered for a moment.
“This,” he said finally. He leaned forward, brushing a whisper of a kiss against Laurent’s mouth. “This.”
“I cannot give you domesticity. I cannot lay pregnant in your lap while you whisper to our son about all the things he will be.” Laurent’s voice sounded tight, guarded. Damen brushed his thumb back and forth, reveling in the way Laurent seemed to unconsciously lean into it.
“But you are,” Damen responded. Laurent’s eyebrows pinched.
“At the behest of you ruining my temple.”
“I would remove my own legs from my body if it meant I could hold you like this again. I can desecrate myself next time, I don’t care.” He said.
“You need a queen. You need heirs, you need-“
“Why? Why would I need another heir when this baby is from the womb of a god?” Damen asked.
“Damianos-“
“I do not want anyone else.”
“We both have roles we must fill.” Laurent’s voice wound even tighter, priming to snap.
“There are always gaps in obligation. Hours, minutes, seconds. I would take seconds, Laurent. I would take anything you have to give.” Damen said, bringing his hand to Laurent’s face and pulling his mouth to his own.
They kissed, softly at first. Then need broke through, and it turned hungry. Again, they forged a type of war with their bodies. Hurried, messy, needy. The anger Laurent had been carrying melted off with it, and they laid in each other’s arms at the end with heavy breath.
“If you do not want me, that is another thing. I will not force you to have me.” Damen said, and he could barely look at Laurent as the words broke from his lips. Laurent grabbed his hair at the nape, as he so often liked to, and forced him to look at him.
“I have never gotten to want , Damen. I do not get to want.” He said.
“Why?” Damen asked. “Do your work, and in the moments you usually spend with the clouds, lie with me. Bring our child shells from far away seas, books from your temple. Kiss me quickly in between people worshiping you, because they will never be able to hold a candle to the way I beseech your name.”
“You will not be taken seriously as a ruler without a queen.” Laurent responds, but his eyes glisten and his voice catches.
“They already wish to overthrow Kastor. Even without your help I am growing support, enough to take it back without an heir. Once you have given birth to our child, they will not care about anything except the restoration of order in Akielos.” Damen grabs Laurent’s hand, brings it to his mouth to kiss his open palm.
“Say yes,” Damen whispers against him.
“I will try,” Laurent responds. “I don’t know what any of this will look like.”
Damen is barely listening, as he leans forward and kisses him with a fervor he didn’t know he possessed. They kiss until Laurent must leave, abruptly with his cheeks pink and his belly glowing.
In the final months before Damen meets his son, he takes back Akielos on his own. He is just sitting on his throne for the first time, battle weary and worn, when it looks like the space in front of him splits open. Collapsing at his feet, he narrowly catches his god before he hits the floor. His skin is moist with sweat, and his breaths are coming hard and fast. The guards around him raise their weapons, but drop them as Damen shouts orders to prepare the royal bed for a birth.
Their son is born less than an hour later. Laurent lays in the bed for two days, tired and nursing the infant. He requests to name him Nicaise, after one of his deities who is always causing trouble. Damen had spent the entire birth and following days saying things like “you look so beautiful” and “you did so well.”
“I have to go,” Laurent murmurs into the quiet room on the third night. Damen was holding him, watching their son suckle on his finger. He knew it was coming, but he still felt the fear grip his chest. When would he see him again? Months? Years?
“I will be here for you, my love. So will he.” Damen said, pressing a tender kiss to Laurent’s lips. He was gone within moments, Nicaise held firmly in his arms.
To his relief, it was less than a few hours. Laurent would come back to nurse the baby, if only for long enough to feed him. Damen would press kisses to his forehead, his nose, his cheeks. Laurent seemed to always find time, at least once a week, to arch down in front of Damen and ask him, sweetly, to fuck him.
Once the baby was weaned, Laurent would disappear for days at a time, but never longer than that. Damen had a crown made for him, the throne for the queen becoming a type of makeshift temple in the throne room for Laurent himself. Those who could not make it all the way to the temples would leave him gifts and pay their respects. Laurent, during one of his rare stints that lasted longer than a day, even got a coronation and wedding ceremony.
“Your human customs are so silly,” Laurent said, but blushed the prettiest shade of pink as Damen slipped the ring over his finger. Occasionally time would split them apart, but he could look down at the band on his finger or up at the crown on his head and know that they would be together again.
Damen had received his prayers. He was a king. His people were safe. He had a healthy son. He did not know he would have more prayers, ones not so easily answered. Laurent had his duties, as Damen had his. They would do their work, and at night, the king would get on his knees, calling out for his god. There were the clouds and there was a kingdom, and they had found love in between that.