Chapter Text
The starched fabric of Ten’s collar digs into his neck, aggravating one of the bruises hidden under layers of white powder. His handmaids had spent nearly two hours getting him dressed for the night, made longer by the amount of powdering they had to do to cover the angry patchwork of red marks on his neck. There had been no point to all their fussing, really, since Ten is planning on either getting new ones, or having Jaemin lick the powder off so the old ones would become newly visible. He tugs at the collar and readjusts his epaulettes as he scans the chattering crowd around the banquet hall through narrowed eyes. His line of vision is broken up by the massive candelabras and floral centerpieces lining the tables, but Ten can still see him: Johnny, standing by the door with a straight back and blank face, both hands folded on the hilt of the heavy sword between his legs.
Ten stares at him for a full minute, but Johnny never looks his way. Frustration still boils in the pit of his stomach, and it sours the longer Johnny ignores him. Eunuch, he thinks bitterly, then steals an iced pastry from Mark’s plate and tears off a bite.
“Hey!” Mark protests, though he sounds more disappointed than angry. Ten takes another bite, licks the icing from the front of his canines, then turns to Jaemin on his other side. Ten rests a hand on the back of Jaemin’s neck and slides his fingers up through his silky blonde hair until he hits the metal of his crown. Jaemin smirks at the touch, but continues eating his cake. Ten tugs on Jaemin’s hair until Jaemin turns to him, then leans in close to ghost his lips over Jaemin’s ear. “Hungry?” he whispers.
Jaemin’s eyebrows raise. “Now?”
Ten huffs and pulls again on the other prince’s hair. “Yes, now,” he says, his voice lilting into an impatient tone.
Jaemin’s smile grows, and Ten knows he’s won. He releases his hold on Jaemin’s hair and pushes his chair away from the table. Jaemin sets down his fork and rises slowly from his seat, and they both ignore Mark’s eyeroll as they make their way to the door, arm in arm.
Ten comes to a stop in front of Johnny. Jeno, who is standing on the opposite side of the door, looks over at them. “Johnny,” Ten says. Johnny spares them a glance, then returns his gaze to the crowd behind them. “Johnny,” Ten says again. “The prince and I are stepping out for a moment.” Johnny’s face doesn’t change, except for a faint, barely-there twitching around his mouth; he just nods and slides his sword back into its scabbard. Jeno does the same. Ten smiles sweetly and tugs Jaemin through the doorway, Johnny and Jeno following two steps behind.
Ten leads them around corners and up a flight of marble stairs to his favorite sitting room, which is small but lined with elaborately embroidered plush chairs and chaise longues. Johnny and Jeno automatically stop outside the door while Ten pulls Jaemin through, giggling loudly as Jaemin kicks the door shut behind them. He wastes no time pushing Jaemin up against the wall by the door, nosing into his neck and slotting their legs together. Jaemin groans quietly and runs his hands down Ten’s back, not bothering to avoid the delicate beading of the jacket as Ten continues kissing up his neck.
Though Jaemin is younger by a few years, he is also taller. Ten has to raise himself on his tiptoes to reach his jaw, and when he does, he gives it a sharp bite. “Ow!” Jaemin hisses, and Ten smiles and does it again. “If you want me to bite you back, just ask,” Jaemin says quietly.
“Why are you whispering?” Ten says, letting Jaemin flip them around until he is the one pinned back against the wall. His head falls back, and he sighs shakily as Jaemin’s lips brush over his throat.
“The guards will hear us,” Jaemin says. Ten can feel the vibration of Jaemin’s deep, quiet voice through his skin.
“So?” Ten returns, not bothering to keep his voice down. “They don’t count. They probably like it.”
If Jaemin finds the remark in bad taste, he doesn’t comment. Instead, he begins using his teeth to work over one of the powdered bruises just above the line of Ten’s collar, which he had left two nights earlier when Ten had invited him for a midnight trip to the bathhouse. Ten presses his hips into Jaemin’s, gasping loudly when Jaemin presses right back, rubbing against him with a pressure that has Ten whining aloud. He reaches up to grab Jaemin’s hair again, tugging on it the way he knows Jaemin likes.
Johnny is right outside. There is no way he doesn’t hear the gasps and whines, the clinking of beaded jackets or the loud clatter as Jaemin’s crown falls to the ground from all of Ten’s messing with his hair (they both ignore it; it’s just a piece of metal, after all).
Ten wonders if Johnny’s face is red, if he is getting hard underneath his tunic, even as he tries to cast his mind anywhere else. It is probably hot under all that metal and leather, tight and uncomfortable around his groin. The stone walls of the palace are thick, but not that thick to muffle all sound.
Ten makes sure to moan even louder when Jaemin works a hand between them to rub over the laced up front of his pants. “Oh,” he whines, his voice pitching up, pushing into the touch as a wave of heat pulses through his cock from the friction.
“You’re so annoying,” Jaemin says, even as he runs his nails teasingly over where Ten’s cock strains against the thin fabric. “What, do you make Johnny stand and watch you jerk off or something?”
“Fuck you,” Ten hisses, gasping when Jaemin digs in with the heel of his palm, a jolt of hot pleasure running through him. He uses his hold on Jaemin’s hair to pull him roughly back to his neck. “And keep biting me.”
Jaemin obliges, though he mutters something that Ten doesn’t care to listen to. His mind is back in the hallway, his gut twisting in sick pleasure to imagine his moans reaching Johnny’s ears, loud even as Jaemin tries fruitlessly to muffle them with his hand. Johnny probably gets off on hearing him. And he probably even gets off on pretending he doesn’t enjoy it. Pervert.
Ten’s breath is hot and wet against Jaemin’s palm when he comes, his hips jerking against Jaemin’s slender thigh as he works himself through it. Jaemin comes a minute later when Ten gets a hand on the base of his throat, muffling his own cries into the top of Ten’s head. They stand close against each other, panting until they get their breaths back. Ten straightens out his jacket and readjusts his crown as Jaemin reaches down to retrieve his own crown from the floor.
Jaemin doesn’t look too bad, all things considered: his face is red and his crown is lopsided, but Ten is sure it is nothing compared to his own state. Luckily his jacket is long enough to cover the front of his pants.
When they emerge from the room into the corridor, Johnny and Jeno are just where they had left them, stoic as always on either side of the door. Johnny’s face is tanned as it always is from his weekly training out in the sunny courtyard, but it doesn’t seem to be red at all. Ten’s frustration with Johnny, which had disappeared with his orgasm, bubbles back up in his gut and it takes all of his willpower not to smack the sword out of Johnny’s aggravatingly sturdy hand. He wants to open his mouth but he doesn’t know what he would say, so instead he grabs Jaemin by the elbow and stalks back towards the banquet hall. His father is probably looking for him, anyway. Johnny dutifully follows, always two steps behind, his and Jeno’s heavy footsteps ringing loud on the marble floor.
Once they are back in the hall, Ten flops back into his chair and grabs his wine goblet. “Oh my god,” Mark says disdainfully, and Ten spares him a glance to see Mark’s eyes glued to his neck. “You’re unbelievable. You know we have an audience with the duke and duchess later, right?”
Ten scowls, but he holds his metal goblet out in front of him to assess the damage. Even in the warped metallic reflection, he can clearly see the bright red of the marks littered across his skin. Perfect. Ten sneaks a glance to the doorway at the far end of the room, but Johnny might as well be a statue.
♔♚♔
It is well past midnight by the time the banquet ends. Jaemin and the rest of the royal guests have long since retired to their rooms in the guest wing of the palace, and Mark has slipped away to some unknown corner to do whatever it is that Mark does. It isn’t Ten’s job to babysit him; Taeyong had never fussed over him when he was little, so why should he have to do the same for Mark?
Johnny would normally have retreated to the guard’s quarters by now, but with the influx of visitors for the coronation season, Johnny had been specifically requested by the king to accompany Ten directly to his chambers every night.
The moment the door shuts behind them, Ten’s already thin patience fizzles out to nothing. He tosses his crown onto his vanity then turns on Johnny, stepping into his personal space. “What is your problem?” he hisses, jabbing his finger into the metal plate on Johnny’s chest. The lion of the Lee family crest on his breastplate is well-burnished, flickering orange in the low candlelight. “Why are you still ignoring me? How come you never fight back?”
Johnny is silent for a while, and Ten thinks he might explode if he goes another second without hearing Johnny’s voice. Eventually, Johnny speaks, his voice low and steady. “My job is to protect you, your highness. Not to engage in petty fights with you for your own amusement.”
Ten balks, heat rushing to his face. “My own amusement? My own amusement?” he sputters, feeling his blood start to boil. “You’re a human being, not a corpse! If someone bothers you, you have to bother them back. I don’t care what your job is.” He pushes his finger into Johnny’s chest harder than he intends, but Johnny is solid as a granite wall and doesn’t budge. The blood is now pounding Ten’s ears. He presses his palm flat against Johnny’s chest and shoves. Again, Johnny doesn’t move. “No matter how much I touch you like this,” he says, reaching up and shoving Johnny first by one shoulder, then the other. “You won’t touch me back?” Johnny raises an eyebrow, still stone-faced, though Ten realizes with exhilaration that there is a definite flush creeping up his neck.
“I know you want to,” he says, his voice dropping an octave, and this time he is sure he doesn’t miss the way Johnny’s mouth twitches. “I know you want to touch me. But you can’t, can you? You can’t lay a hand on me.”
Johnny is now clearly breathing harder than before, his breastplate rising and falling rapidly. His eyes are practically burning, and Ten suddenly feels very, very small. And then, Johnny takes a step forward, and Ten stumbles backwards, almost tripping over a footstool behind him. Johnny instinctively reaches out to steady him with a hand on his arm, then releases it just as quickly. But he doesn’t stop walking, so Ten has no choice but to continue stepping backwards. “I don’t need to lay a hand on you, your highness,” Johnny says quietly.
“Why not?” Ten retorts, though his voice comes out sounding shakier than he expects. But Johnny doesn’t respond, just keeps stepping forward until Ten is almost fully up against the wall. He feels unbearably hot and prickling under Johnny’s iron gaze, watching the movement of Johnny’s eyes as they rove over his face, down to his neck, and back up to his lips.
Ten’s mouth feels dry. “What, nothing to say for yourself?” he says, trying for teasing but it comes out sounding more like pleading. His legs are shaking and wobbly underneath him, and he finds it very hard to remain upright. He doesn’t know what he wants Johnny to do, but he just - he needs Johnny to do something, or he will either lose his mind or pass out.
Johnny is standing so close that his breaths stir Ten’s hair. Ten opens his mouth to make another demand, but Johnny beats him to it. He reaches down, unhooks his scabbard from his belt, and tosses it to the floor, where it falls with a deafening clatter. And then, he speaks. “Turn around.”
Ten’s mouth falls open. Johnny still doesn’t make any move to touch him, just stares down at him with a heaving chest. Some distant part of Ten’s brain cries out for him to push back, to admonish Johnny for speaking to a prince that way, for making demands with no honorifics. “Turn around,” Johnny says again, even more quietly this time. But there is something in his voice, something heavy and thrilling that makes Ten’s knees feel weak and the blood pound between his legs, that actually compels him to follow Johnny’s command. Breathlessly he turns to face the wall, his heart pounding in his throat, and he allows himself a flash of triumph for actually getting a rise out of Johnny. But any rational thought in his body melts away when Johnny steps towards him, cages him in from behind, and uses his knee to shove Ten’s legs apart.
Ten can’t help the surprised whimper that leaves his mouth. He nearly slumps against the wall, weak from arousal, but Johnny uses one hand to grab his wrists and pin them up above his head. Even though Ten can’t see behind him, he can feel the strength and barely-restrained power radiating from Johnny. He has seen Johnny training shirtless in the courtyard enough times to know exactly how muscular he is, and not only that; Johnny knows how to use his body. But Johnny isn’t pressed up against him - other than the knee between his legs and the hand on his wrists - and Ten hungers to feel more of him, shaking with how much he wants it.
Ten arches back and grinds against Johnny’s knee, already achingly hard despite having gotten off just a few hours earlier. And that was nothing compared to the desire he feels now, which is so bad it practically makes his teeth hurt. Although Johnny doesn’t move his knee, he lets Ten roll his hips back and rub the crease of his ass on the solid muscle of his thigh. The sensation as a whole is overwhelming and yet completely unsatisfying; Ten doesn’t want to just feel Johnny on him, he wants Johnny inside of him, wants Johnny to bend him over and give it to him deep and rough, like he wants. Like he needs - no, like he deserves.
He tries to rub up against the wall in front of him for some friction, to relieve some of the pressure on his aching cock, but he can’t quite reach it and stay on Johnny’s leg at the same time. When he whines loudly in frustration, Johnny makes a sound from deep in his chest. “You’re being noisy, your highness,” Johnny says as he raises his free hand to where he is pinning Ten’s wrists against the wall. He takes one of Ten’s hands, pulls it free, and holds it in front of his mouth. “Someone might hear you.”
Ten realizes what Johnny intends to do right before he does it, and he opens his mouth just as Johnny pushes Ten’s own fingers past his parted lips and holds them there. Ten rolls his eyes back, dizzy and trembling with arousal, as he sucks his own fingers into his mouth. They taste sweet, still with the remnants of the icing sugar from the pastry he’d stolen from Mark at the banquet. Ten whimpers around his fingers as he rolls his hips, still buzzing with dissatisfaction and yet so turned on it hurts, cock throbbing whenever Johnny lets out a panting breath, the only sign he is affected.
But when Ten arches his back and manages to push himself higher up Johnny’s knee, a thrill of arousal courses through him at the feeling of the faint outline of what is unmistakably Johnny’s hard cock against his hip, radiating heat from underneath his tunic. Johnny practically growls in his ear and pushes Ten’s fingers deeper into his mouth, using his knee to keep him just out of reach. Saliva pools around Ten’s teeth, and his tongue pushes up against his fingers when he swallows, imagining it to be Johnny’s cock in his mouth instead. He’ll have Johnny on his knees begging for more once he shows him what he can do with his mouth.
But right now Ten feels like he is the one begging, even though he can’t use his words, being gagged by his own fingers. He is unable to touch himself, his cock throbbing and wet where it is still trapped tight in his pants. His eyes are watering from the frustration, and he cries out, over and over, while he continues to rub himself desperately against Johnny’s leg, leaning forward as much as he can to try to get at least some friction where it would actually feel good.
Ten’s thighs and arms are burning from the effort of keeping himself upright. Johnny must sense his frustration, because he releases Ten’s wrist and hand, letting Ten’s fingers fall out of his mouth. Ten gasps for air, saliva running down his chin, as he slumps against the wall and barely manages to keep himself upright by balancing on Johnny’s knee. Johnny presses him forward into the wall, breathing heavily into his ear. “I got you,” he murmurs, then slips a hand under Ten’s jacket and shirt.
At the feeling of Johnny’s strong, callused palm on his stomach - not even anywhere near his painfully throbbing cock - Ten gasps as his gut lurches and a wave of heat spreads through his body, and he comes with a surprised whimper, trembling against Johnny from the suddenness of it. Johnny presses his hand more firmly into his stomach, rubbing it in slow circles, which sends another wave of pleasure through Ten so intense he almost whites out. His hips continue to jerk forward of their own accord, still rutting down on Johnny’s strong thigh as he pants and whines on every exhale.
Ten’s legs are shaking and his head is pounding. This time, when he starts sliding off Johnny’s knee, unable to keep himself upright, Johnny doesn’t stop him. Ten falls to his knees and slumps on the floor, with the shadow of Johnny over him. He still feels shaky and lightheaded from the orgasm, but he has enough presence of mind to spin around and look up at Johnny’s face, almost passing out again from the weight of Johnny’s gaze on him. He manages to raise himself up on his knees and reach for Johnny’s hips, desperate to feel the weight of Johnny’s cock on his tongue, feel the throbbing heat of it between his lips. But - maddeningly - Johnny steps away just as Ten’s hand brushes the front of his tunic, his face flashing with something Ten doesn’t know how to understand. When Johnny takes another step back, Ten’s hands fall uselessly to his sides.
“Good night, your highness,” Johnny says, his voice infuriatingly steady. He bows, picks up his discarded sword from the floor, and backs out of the room. When the door swings shut behind him, all the candles in the room flicker from the sudden gust of air. Ten sits on his knees as he stares at the closed door, his body limp and his mind spinning.