Captive Prince - Beyond Control [Lamen]
Apr. 24th, 2016 12:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scriveynerTitle: Beyond Control
Fandom: Captive Prince
Characters/Pairing: Damen/Laurent
Rating: NSFW/E
Length: 3358
Summary: The plant did not seem out of place in the King’s chambers, and Damen likely would not have noticed its addition to the many sprays of greenery that decorated the summer palace were it not for the fact that Laurent had set it in the center of the table and was currently, carefully pruning its leaves.
The plant did not seem out of place in the King’s chambers, and Damen likely would not have noticed its addition to the many sprays of greenery that decorated the summer palace were it not for the fact that Laurent had set it in the center of the table and was currently, carefully pruning its leaves. He hesitated in the doorway to the room. The spill of sunlight from the large uncovered windows did not reach the table where Laurent sat, although his hair shone freshly damp, tiny droplets of water sliding softly along the nape of his neck and vanishing into the gaping, loose collar of his shirt.
He was unguarded, fresh from the baths and clad in a loose tunic and leggings. Damen looked at him and felt warmth, peace. How unlikely.
“You stink like the stables,” Laurent said, and raised his eyes to Damen, setting aside the shears he’d been using. “I thought you were merely going to watch the drills.”
Damen grinned, they both knew he was unable to resist joining the guard training in their drills; especially here at the edges of the capital. The summer palace was meant to be a place for relaxation and recuperation, but as soon as he was fit to Damen was outside and training with the men. There was a lot of work to do, both on the battlefield and in the grand halls of the holds across the two countries before they could speak as if it were one.
He didn’t speak to what they both knew. “What flower is that? It hasn’t bloomed.”
“It’s rare,” Laurent said. “It was included among the gifts from the Vaskian delegation who visited weeks ago.” He touched one of the leaves still left along the thick trunk of the plant with two fingers. “I’d hoped to transplant it to the gardens here, but it apparently doesn’t do well in the heat.”
“Neither do you,” Damen murmured, and Laurent’s eyes darted back up to his, the touch of a smile pulling at the edge of his mouth.
“If it survives the summer I’ll take it to Arles, and plant it in the royal gardens there.” Laurent leaned back from his seat and frowned at Damen, who was smiling giddily again, taken by the fact that they could think like this, that there was a future to plan for. “You smell even worse this close.”
“Maybe I require some assistance in the baths,” Damen said lightly, one hand on his stomach, the ghost of a newly-healed wound and Laurent’s mouth ticked, the corner tugging upwards again.
“If you are that incapacitated I will call the servants.”
“I don’t want servants,” Damen said, and leaned forward, one palm on the table as he ducked his head down, the other brushing through soft, wet golden hair. There was a moment of hesitation when their eyes met, and then Laurent tilted his head and his ice-blue eyes slid closed as Damen kissed him.
#
Laurent left not long after that, dressed in another fine tunic. It was more clothing than most Akelions wore, but significantly less than what you would find in the courts at Vere. A compromise between sensibilities, carefully cultivated to acknowledge a joining of cultures. The off-white tunic did highlight the faint color that had started to appear on Laurent’s porcelain skin; weeks of sun in Ios would slowly turn even the fairest skin.
Damen made to rise, but Laurent had stopped him. “I won’t be long,” he said. He paused a moment in the doorway, as coolly collected as ever, and gave Damen a slow once over before entertaining a soft smile, an openness that Damen was still surprised by. He said nothing else, and closed the door behind him.
They missed dinner, which was really no great tragedy as far as Damen was concerned; servants had entered the chambers while they were in the baths and left round platters of food and pitchers of drink on the table that Laurent had been using to care for the plant. Damen picked over the food and looked at the plant thoughtfully; it seemed larger up close than he first thought. The thick green stem of the plant had been mostly cleared of its leaves, and there were several small buds closed tight along its offshoots. Damen hadn’t seen anything quite like it.
Dusk lingered in the south, and the servants had been in again to clear the food and light the lamps. Restless, and tired of waiting on Laurent’s return Damen decided to adjourn to the gardens.
It was tranquil there. Few courtiers had accompanied them here, most stayed at the main palace in Ios, heartily encouraged by the kyroi to leave them be to recuperate. Soon, sooner than he’d like they would ride back and start the long journey north, but for the moment … peace.
A turn in the footpath took him toward the center of the gardens, a large fountain he’d played by in his youth. As he came up on it he found Laurent sitting on the stone that framed the fountain, watching the fireflies blink their slow message among the greenery. “Laurent,” Damen said, surprised to find him here, and Laurent looked to him, face shadowed.
After a long moment he looked away. “Aren’t you going to join me?” Laurent asked, and Damen did, seating himself on familiar old stone. The fountain behind them hissed and bubbled, its water constantly moving. Fireflies drifted along above the water, reflecting in the twilight.
Damen felt the silence keenly, it wasn’t right or comfortable. Laurent held himself tightly coiled beside him, incongruous with the relaxed pose he seemed to hold. They were alone here, he was safe in Damen’s presence but something troubled him enough to hold through even that. “I try to imagine you here as a child,” Laurent said into the darkness, something in his voice that Damen couldn’t identify. “But I don’t think it possible you were ever that small.”
“Nikandros was taller for most of our childhood,” Damen said. “He would gladly brag on that small victory, if asked.”
Laurent inclined his head to the side, still looking away. Then he laughed, and while it was not light it was not a bitter laugh, either. Damen said nothing as Laurent laughed, and he said nothing either as Laurent slowly leaned into him, hand covering Damen’s on the stone seat.
They sat together in silence at the fountain, and watched the fireflies.
#
Damen returned to their chambers alone. Laurent had said he was going to speak with his soldiers, quartered in the garrison with the palace guards. There was an uneasy truce between the men; all of Laurent’s soldiers came from their campaign but the palace guards had no time to be comfortable with the fact that their former enemies were now sleeping among them.
However, they were loyal to their King, and there had been no issues that had reached Damen’s ears. Yet.
One of the lamps in his chambers had been knocked over. Damen hesitated on closing the door, but the room was empty. The lamp was shattered, having rolled to the side, the oil spilled out onto the stone floor. The servants would deal with the mess, but it was sheer luck that the burning oil hadn’t fallen on the table, where it would have caught on papers laid out there.
That’s when he heard the noise of something soft across the stone. He turned, expecting attack but finding no one there, he stepped forward as he heard the soft dragging sound again. “Who’s there?” he challenged into the empty room. There was no response given, not that he expected one; while the king’s chambers were large and open there was not much that could hide an assailant for long. He stepped in deeper, toward the area darkened by the broken lamp, and saw the plant lying on its side on the table, its stalk and stem drooped over into the darkness. Its pot too was shattered, and as Damen moved to right it he realized that it had grown, tremendously, the stalk thickening closer to the floor, split off many times with stems of varying lengths and sizes.
He’d never seen anything like it. There wasn’t a plant he could think of that would grow this quickly, and have its stem lay in coiled like a rope upon the floor. Damen touched the stalk, and it felt warm to his fingers.
The door opened and he looked up to see Laurent standing there. He stared at Damen with an odd expression, and when Damen lifted his hand from the stalk it came back tacky and slick. “What kind of flower is this?” Damen asked, but Laurent wasn’t looking exactly at him.
“Damen,” he said suddenly, sharply, and Damen looked back in the direction he was looking, moving at the same time. It wasn’t fast enough; out of the dark corner it moved fast as lightning, looping around Damen’s wrist and yanking his arm back.
He moved with the pull, twisting under it and getting his hand around it, realizing in a detached manner it was the same stalk but thicker, longer, and moving of its own accord. He gripped it, feet braced on the stone floor and yanked, trying to break its hold on him.
Laurent was already moving in, scooping a knife from the table when another of the rope-like stalks shot out and looped around Damen’s lower leg, tight and yanking. That pulled him off balance completely and he hit the floor hard. Damen saw stars.
The stalks of the plant wrapped tighter around his leg and started to pull against him, Damen blinked back to himself as Laurent attacked the taut stalks with the knife, slicing through the one that held Damen’s wrist. With the slack he twisted and put both hands on the one that ensnared his leg, pulling with all his might, trying to tear the vine-stalk loose.
Laurent staggered backwards and Damen’s head shot up, one of the stalks had wound its way around the hand that held the knife and he was trying to yank it free. Damen surged, reaching upward for it but the thing took advantage of his distraction and ensnared his wrist yet again. He snarled and yanked, astounded at the strength of the creature, and then he saw Laurent go over backwards without enough time to roll. Damen yanked and struggled as Laurent hit the ground hard, his head knocking against the stone, and as he moved to yell for the guards, another stalk leapt forward and into his mouth.
Damen bit down on it, tearing with his teeth — Laurent did not stir from where he fell, his face turned away from Damen and the panic rose in him, stronger even than whatever this thing was. He twisted and yanked and bit down but it seemed like from the dark sprouted a never-ending series of them, and they were intent on restraining Damen.
Laurent.
There was no spill of blood, his head had not been cracked open — and after a moment Damen could see the slow rise and fall of his chest and that allayed only some of his fear. That quickly turned over from fear to rage and he tore at the stalks, trying to bite through the thick one that lay crosswise in his mouth like a a horse’s bit.
If he could get to the table to knock it over, kick over a chair, some loud commotion to bring the attention of the guards…
The vines dragged him forward on the stone, away from Laurent and the knife. Both wrists were fully captured now, legs as well and more crept up further along his legs, wrapping tight around his bare thighs. Damen struggled hard but he had no purchase to gain.
He bit deep into the vine in his mouth and it punctured, sticky-sweet sap leaking from it but it never lost its shape, keeping his noises of anger muffled. He had to get free, he just wasn’t sure if he could.
#
After a while, the shifting tendrils slackened slightly. Damen pulled against them and was given enough lead to roll to his knees, but he could get no further. His arms were pulled behind him, and even putting his back into it, as hard as he pulled he gained no more leeway. He saw Laurent begin to stir, but he could give no warning, just hope that the thing couldn’t see him or sense him.
Now up on his knees, the vines that were wrapped around his thighs started to shift higher, and all at once Damen became aware of their intent. He twisted his hands in their restraints, tried to brace himself to yank but he had worn himself out struggling as hard as he had so far. He breathed raggedly around the vine that oozed, holding his mouth open and he felt multiple vines slide between his legs, inquisitive, searching.
This was really happening, and his body awakened to it. He tossed his head like an unruly colt bridled for the first time, and the vine wrapped tighter around his neck, yanking his head back. The sudden, painful lack of air distracted him to the vines sliding about him, and when he was released enough to tilt his head forward again and take gulping breaths around the bit he felt the way the curled around him, wakening him further.
When he raised his eyes to Laurent’s form, he saw that Laurent’s face was now turned to him, eyes open and watching. His own eyes widened; Laurent’s eyes were a little cloudy but he recognized the gears turning. Why hadn’t he scrambled to his feet, shouted the guards in? Laurent slowly, slowly raised a finger to his lips, and Damen struggled against his restraints.
The intrusion was slick and painful, not tentative in the least. Damen surged against his restraints, trying to get away as the slithering vine pushed against him. He had nowhere to go, and his entire body shuddered at the violation. Laurent was moving agonizingly slow, quietly moving into a seated position, reaching for the knife that had been knocked away when he fell. Damen had a sudden vision of Laurent getting too close to this thing, the vines curling around his limbs too tight, leaving purple bruises patterned across pale flesh; the expression on his face with the bit shoved into his mouth … and Damen felt his cock jump, the vines sliding over it.
He couldn’t make his words heard or understood, and try as he might ripping and gnashing with teeth the vine never seemed to disintegrate in his mouth. He closed his eyes and turned his attention inward, feeling out the shape of the vine fucking into him mercilessly. Then, without warning one arm went free and his eyes flew open. Laurent was already sawing through the second vine, holding Damen’s other arm — he twisted and caught the knife as Laurent dropped it, his own arm captured.
Damen surged forward, twisting. The vine fucking into him didn’t cease, his legs being so entangled prevented him from getting far, but he sliced through the vine that wrapped around his neck and tore the bit from his mouth, spitting tacky green fluid to the floor. He reached behind him and got hold of the one violating him.
Laurent hit the floor again, although this time he managed to avoid hitting his head. “If you wouldn’t mind to hurry up,” he said sharply, and Damen twisted around, sawing at he vines that held him in place.
Freed, finally, he staggered to his feet. Somehow his knees held. Damen dropped the knife to the stone floor and Laurent’s head jerked, he looked to the weapon and then up at Damen, incredulous, as the vines slid up his trousers.
Damen ignored the look Laurent was giving him. The decoration of the room still called to mind his father; either Kastor had not taken time to visit the summer palace or hadn’t cared to redecorate — either way that worked to their benefit, as an old, favored sword still hung on the wall. His eyes must have passed over the weapon a thousand times since they arrived, but Damen pulled it down from the wall, and walked it back over to where Laurent lay on his back, twisting and trying to avoid the amorous intentions of the plant.
The weapon, despite no longer carrying the razor-edge that it would be kept to in the armory, did its work well. It severed all the vines in a single pass, and then Damen took a few steps into the dark, driving the sword deep into the writhing mass of vines hat existed just out of sight, lost in the shadows.
The twitching, severed vines on the floor went still, and after several long moments, Damen released the breath that he was holding. Leaving the sword stuck in the mass he knelt at Laurent’s side, helping pull vines free from him. “Are you okay?” he asked, fingers going to the large, apparent lump on Laurent’s head, heart in his throat. He had heard the sound of Laurent’s head hitting the stone, he had seen men felled falling in such a manner, but aside from a growing egg on Laurent’s head he appeared to be unharmed.
“I should be asking you,” Laurent said, his grip iron on Damen’s forearm. “Are you-?”
Damen nodded his head, uncomfortable but intact. “What was that? How long have you kept that in here?” With us, he meant to add but there was no need, because Laurent’s expression shifted around a bit.
“We need to burn it.”
“I agree,” Damen looked back at the mass of limbs, shrouded in the dark.
#
Damen stood at the window of the bedchamber and watched the bonfire in the courtyard, where the guards were dumping the remains of the plant. They had looked like they wanted to ask questions, gathering long cords of plant vines, but wisely did not voice any of them. Laurent sat at the low table, unchanged except for a bandage wrapped around his head. When Damen looked at him he felt that heartbeat of fear again, when he saw Laurent’s head hit the ground.
“You should sleep,” he said finally, and Laurent did not look up from the reports he was scanning.
“It’s not wise to sleep after a head injury,” Laurent said, and looked up when Damen joined him at the table. “You should, though.”
Damen’s mouth twitched a little. “I’ll stay with you,” he said, and was treated to a genuine smile from Laurent.
“I won’t tolerate any complaints in the morning,” Laurent said, his eyes returning to the reports that came from his soldiers in the barracks. Damen nodded, and took a report off the stack. He wouldn’t have slept, anyway.
Fandom: Captive Prince
Characters/Pairing: Damen/Laurent
Rating: NSFW/E
Length: 3358
Summary: The plant did not seem out of place in the King’s chambers, and Damen likely would not have noticed its addition to the many sprays of greenery that decorated the summer palace were it not for the fact that Laurent had set it in the center of the table and was currently, carefully pruning its leaves.
The plant did not seem out of place in the King’s chambers, and Damen likely would not have noticed its addition to the many sprays of greenery that decorated the summer palace were it not for the fact that Laurent had set it in the center of the table and was currently, carefully pruning its leaves. He hesitated in the doorway to the room. The spill of sunlight from the large uncovered windows did not reach the table where Laurent sat, although his hair shone freshly damp, tiny droplets of water sliding softly along the nape of his neck and vanishing into the gaping, loose collar of his shirt.
He was unguarded, fresh from the baths and clad in a loose tunic and leggings. Damen looked at him and felt warmth, peace. How unlikely.
“You stink like the stables,” Laurent said, and raised his eyes to Damen, setting aside the shears he’d been using. “I thought you were merely going to watch the drills.”
Damen grinned, they both knew he was unable to resist joining the guard training in their drills; especially here at the edges of the capital. The summer palace was meant to be a place for relaxation and recuperation, but as soon as he was fit to Damen was outside and training with the men. There was a lot of work to do, both on the battlefield and in the grand halls of the holds across the two countries before they could speak as if it were one.
He didn’t speak to what they both knew. “What flower is that? It hasn’t bloomed.”
“It’s rare,” Laurent said. “It was included among the gifts from the Vaskian delegation who visited weeks ago.” He touched one of the leaves still left along the thick trunk of the plant with two fingers. “I’d hoped to transplant it to the gardens here, but it apparently doesn’t do well in the heat.”
“Neither do you,” Damen murmured, and Laurent’s eyes darted back up to his, the touch of a smile pulling at the edge of his mouth.
“If it survives the summer I’ll take it to Arles, and plant it in the royal gardens there.” Laurent leaned back from his seat and frowned at Damen, who was smiling giddily again, taken by the fact that they could think like this, that there was a future to plan for. “You smell even worse this close.”
“Maybe I require some assistance in the baths,” Damen said lightly, one hand on his stomach, the ghost of a newly-healed wound and Laurent’s mouth ticked, the corner tugging upwards again.
“If you are that incapacitated I will call the servants.”
“I don’t want servants,” Damen said, and leaned forward, one palm on the table as he ducked his head down, the other brushing through soft, wet golden hair. There was a moment of hesitation when their eyes met, and then Laurent tilted his head and his ice-blue eyes slid closed as Damen kissed him.
Laurent left not long after that, dressed in another fine tunic. It was more clothing than most Akelions wore, but significantly less than what you would find in the courts at Vere. A compromise between sensibilities, carefully cultivated to acknowledge a joining of cultures. The off-white tunic did highlight the faint color that had started to appear on Laurent’s porcelain skin; weeks of sun in Ios would slowly turn even the fairest skin.
Damen made to rise, but Laurent had stopped him. “I won’t be long,” he said. He paused a moment in the doorway, as coolly collected as ever, and gave Damen a slow once over before entertaining a soft smile, an openness that Damen was still surprised by. He said nothing else, and closed the door behind him.
They missed dinner, which was really no great tragedy as far as Damen was concerned; servants had entered the chambers while they were in the baths and left round platters of food and pitchers of drink on the table that Laurent had been using to care for the plant. Damen picked over the food and looked at the plant thoughtfully; it seemed larger up close than he first thought. The thick green stem of the plant had been mostly cleared of its leaves, and there were several small buds closed tight along its offshoots. Damen hadn’t seen anything quite like it.
Dusk lingered in the south, and the servants had been in again to clear the food and light the lamps. Restless, and tired of waiting on Laurent’s return Damen decided to adjourn to the gardens.
It was tranquil there. Few courtiers had accompanied them here, most stayed at the main palace in Ios, heartily encouraged by the kyroi to leave them be to recuperate. Soon, sooner than he’d like they would ride back and start the long journey north, but for the moment … peace.
A turn in the footpath took him toward the center of the gardens, a large fountain he’d played by in his youth. As he came up on it he found Laurent sitting on the stone that framed the fountain, watching the fireflies blink their slow message among the greenery. “Laurent,” Damen said, surprised to find him here, and Laurent looked to him, face shadowed.
After a long moment he looked away. “Aren’t you going to join me?” Laurent asked, and Damen did, seating himself on familiar old stone. The fountain behind them hissed and bubbled, its water constantly moving. Fireflies drifted along above the water, reflecting in the twilight.
Damen felt the silence keenly, it wasn’t right or comfortable. Laurent held himself tightly coiled beside him, incongruous with the relaxed pose he seemed to hold. They were alone here, he was safe in Damen’s presence but something troubled him enough to hold through even that. “I try to imagine you here as a child,” Laurent said into the darkness, something in his voice that Damen couldn’t identify. “But I don’t think it possible you were ever that small.”
“Nikandros was taller for most of our childhood,” Damen said. “He would gladly brag on that small victory, if asked.”
Laurent inclined his head to the side, still looking away. Then he laughed, and while it was not light it was not a bitter laugh, either. Damen said nothing as Laurent laughed, and he said nothing either as Laurent slowly leaned into him, hand covering Damen’s on the stone seat.
They sat together in silence at the fountain, and watched the fireflies.
Damen returned to their chambers alone. Laurent had said he was going to speak with his soldiers, quartered in the garrison with the palace guards. There was an uneasy truce between the men; all of Laurent’s soldiers came from their campaign but the palace guards had no time to be comfortable with the fact that their former enemies were now sleeping among them.
However, they were loyal to their King, and there had been no issues that had reached Damen’s ears. Yet.
One of the lamps in his chambers had been knocked over. Damen hesitated on closing the door, but the room was empty. The lamp was shattered, having rolled to the side, the oil spilled out onto the stone floor. The servants would deal with the mess, but it was sheer luck that the burning oil hadn’t fallen on the table, where it would have caught on papers laid out there.
That’s when he heard the noise of something soft across the stone. He turned, expecting attack but finding no one there, he stepped forward as he heard the soft dragging sound again. “Who’s there?” he challenged into the empty room. There was no response given, not that he expected one; while the king’s chambers were large and open there was not much that could hide an assailant for long. He stepped in deeper, toward the area darkened by the broken lamp, and saw the plant lying on its side on the table, its stalk and stem drooped over into the darkness. Its pot too was shattered, and as Damen moved to right it he realized that it had grown, tremendously, the stalk thickening closer to the floor, split off many times with stems of varying lengths and sizes.
He’d never seen anything like it. There wasn’t a plant he could think of that would grow this quickly, and have its stem lay in coiled like a rope upon the floor. Damen touched the stalk, and it felt warm to his fingers.
The door opened and he looked up to see Laurent standing there. He stared at Damen with an odd expression, and when Damen lifted his hand from the stalk it came back tacky and slick. “What kind of flower is this?” Damen asked, but Laurent wasn’t looking exactly at him.
“Damen,” he said suddenly, sharply, and Damen looked back in the direction he was looking, moving at the same time. It wasn’t fast enough; out of the dark corner it moved fast as lightning, looping around Damen’s wrist and yanking his arm back.
He moved with the pull, twisting under it and getting his hand around it, realizing in a detached manner it was the same stalk but thicker, longer, and moving of its own accord. He gripped it, feet braced on the stone floor and yanked, trying to break its hold on him.
Laurent was already moving in, scooping a knife from the table when another of the rope-like stalks shot out and looped around Damen’s lower leg, tight and yanking. That pulled him off balance completely and he hit the floor hard. Damen saw stars.
The stalks of the plant wrapped tighter around his leg and started to pull against him, Damen blinked back to himself as Laurent attacked the taut stalks with the knife, slicing through the one that held Damen’s wrist. With the slack he twisted and put both hands on the one that ensnared his leg, pulling with all his might, trying to tear the vine-stalk loose.
Laurent staggered backwards and Damen’s head shot up, one of the stalks had wound its way around the hand that held the knife and he was trying to yank it free. Damen surged, reaching upward for it but the thing took advantage of his distraction and ensnared his wrist yet again. He snarled and yanked, astounded at the strength of the creature, and then he saw Laurent go over backwards without enough time to roll. Damen yanked and struggled as Laurent hit the ground hard, his head knocking against the stone, and as he moved to yell for the guards, another stalk leapt forward and into his mouth.
Damen bit down on it, tearing with his teeth — Laurent did not stir from where he fell, his face turned away from Damen and the panic rose in him, stronger even than whatever this thing was. He twisted and yanked and bit down but it seemed like from the dark sprouted a never-ending series of them, and they were intent on restraining Damen.
Laurent.
There was no spill of blood, his head had not been cracked open — and after a moment Damen could see the slow rise and fall of his chest and that allayed only some of his fear. That quickly turned over from fear to rage and he tore at the stalks, trying to bite through the thick one that lay crosswise in his mouth like a a horse’s bit.
If he could get to the table to knock it over, kick over a chair, some loud commotion to bring the attention of the guards…
The vines dragged him forward on the stone, away from Laurent and the knife. Both wrists were fully captured now, legs as well and more crept up further along his legs, wrapping tight around his bare thighs. Damen struggled hard but he had no purchase to gain.
He bit deep into the vine in his mouth and it punctured, sticky-sweet sap leaking from it but it never lost its shape, keeping his noises of anger muffled. He had to get free, he just wasn’t sure if he could.
After a while, the shifting tendrils slackened slightly. Damen pulled against them and was given enough lead to roll to his knees, but he could get no further. His arms were pulled behind him, and even putting his back into it, as hard as he pulled he gained no more leeway. He saw Laurent begin to stir, but he could give no warning, just hope that the thing couldn’t see him or sense him.
Now up on his knees, the vines that were wrapped around his thighs started to shift higher, and all at once Damen became aware of their intent. He twisted his hands in their restraints, tried to brace himself to yank but he had worn himself out struggling as hard as he had so far. He breathed raggedly around the vine that oozed, holding his mouth open and he felt multiple vines slide between his legs, inquisitive, searching.
This was really happening, and his body awakened to it. He tossed his head like an unruly colt bridled for the first time, and the vine wrapped tighter around his neck, yanking his head back. The sudden, painful lack of air distracted him to the vines sliding about him, and when he was released enough to tilt his head forward again and take gulping breaths around the bit he felt the way the curled around him, wakening him further.
When he raised his eyes to Laurent’s form, he saw that Laurent’s face was now turned to him, eyes open and watching. His own eyes widened; Laurent’s eyes were a little cloudy but he recognized the gears turning. Why hadn’t he scrambled to his feet, shouted the guards in? Laurent slowly, slowly raised a finger to his lips, and Damen struggled against his restraints.
The intrusion was slick and painful, not tentative in the least. Damen surged against his restraints, trying to get away as the slithering vine pushed against him. He had nowhere to go, and his entire body shuddered at the violation. Laurent was moving agonizingly slow, quietly moving into a seated position, reaching for the knife that had been knocked away when he fell. Damen had a sudden vision of Laurent getting too close to this thing, the vines curling around his limbs too tight, leaving purple bruises patterned across pale flesh; the expression on his face with the bit shoved into his mouth … and Damen felt his cock jump, the vines sliding over it.
He couldn’t make his words heard or understood, and try as he might ripping and gnashing with teeth the vine never seemed to disintegrate in his mouth. He closed his eyes and turned his attention inward, feeling out the shape of the vine fucking into him mercilessly. Then, without warning one arm went free and his eyes flew open. Laurent was already sawing through the second vine, holding Damen’s other arm — he twisted and caught the knife as Laurent dropped it, his own arm captured.
Damen surged forward, twisting. The vine fucking into him didn’t cease, his legs being so entangled prevented him from getting far, but he sliced through the vine that wrapped around his neck and tore the bit from his mouth, spitting tacky green fluid to the floor. He reached behind him and got hold of the one violating him.
Laurent hit the floor again, although this time he managed to avoid hitting his head. “If you wouldn’t mind to hurry up,” he said sharply, and Damen twisted around, sawing at he vines that held him in place.
Freed, finally, he staggered to his feet. Somehow his knees held. Damen dropped the knife to the stone floor and Laurent’s head jerked, he looked to the weapon and then up at Damen, incredulous, as the vines slid up his trousers.
Damen ignored the look Laurent was giving him. The decoration of the room still called to mind his father; either Kastor had not taken time to visit the summer palace or hadn’t cared to redecorate — either way that worked to their benefit, as an old, favored sword still hung on the wall. His eyes must have passed over the weapon a thousand times since they arrived, but Damen pulled it down from the wall, and walked it back over to where Laurent lay on his back, twisting and trying to avoid the amorous intentions of the plant.
The weapon, despite no longer carrying the razor-edge that it would be kept to in the armory, did its work well. It severed all the vines in a single pass, and then Damen took a few steps into the dark, driving the sword deep into the writhing mass of vines hat existed just out of sight, lost in the shadows.
The twitching, severed vines on the floor went still, and after several long moments, Damen released the breath that he was holding. Leaving the sword stuck in the mass he knelt at Laurent’s side, helping pull vines free from him. “Are you okay?” he asked, fingers going to the large, apparent lump on Laurent’s head, heart in his throat. He had heard the sound of Laurent’s head hitting the stone, he had seen men felled falling in such a manner, but aside from a growing egg on Laurent’s head he appeared to be unharmed.
“I should be asking you,” Laurent said, his grip iron on Damen’s forearm. “Are you-?”
Damen nodded his head, uncomfortable but intact. “What was that? How long have you kept that in here?” With us, he meant to add but there was no need, because Laurent’s expression shifted around a bit.
“We need to burn it.”
“I agree,” Damen looked back at the mass of limbs, shrouded in the dark.
Damen stood at the window of the bedchamber and watched the bonfire in the courtyard, where the guards were dumping the remains of the plant. They had looked like they wanted to ask questions, gathering long cords of plant vines, but wisely did not voice any of them. Laurent sat at the low table, unchanged except for a bandage wrapped around his head. When Damen looked at him he felt that heartbeat of fear again, when he saw Laurent’s head hit the ground.
“You should sleep,” he said finally, and Laurent did not look up from the reports he was scanning.
“It’s not wise to sleep after a head injury,” Laurent said, and looked up when Damen joined him at the table. “You should, though.”
Damen’s mouth twitched a little. “I’ll stay with you,” he said, and was treated to a genuine smile from Laurent.
“I won’t tolerate any complaints in the morning,” Laurent said, his eyes returning to the reports that came from his soldiers in the barracks. Damen nodded, and took a report off the stack. He wouldn’t have slept, anyway.
