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The throne room was empty, save for the King. In all his years of captivity at the palace, Shin Soohyuk has never seen Goldenleonard’s throne room quite like this. Golden light floods through the high-windows, basking the throne room in its warm glow. The ornate stained glass window above the throne casts a halo of its own on the man who stood on the steps of the podium. We will have to change that, Shin thought absently, glancing briefly at the scene depicted by the stained glass. It was crafted in honor of a man who was now dead, of a man who was never deserving of the Golden Blessing.
Shin Soohyuk stopped and kneeled several feet away from the steps of the podium. He waited. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the corpse of the First Prince, limbs in a heap and head at an odd angle. Based on his sprawl, he looked as if he’d been thrown from the podium. But the fall hadn’t killed him. It was the gaping wound in his side, staining the white royal clothing in a deep red, the prince’s dark blood pooling on the floor around him. A sword wound, Shin thought. The king had sacrificed his own son. Shin didn’t need to be told this. He knew it in his bones, a knowledge born from the fact that Wolfgang was not like his father. Wolfgang would not murder his own siblings. That was one of the many traits that set him apart from the tyrant.
Closer, on Shin’s left was the lifeless body of the former king. The tyrant had been decapitated, his head staked outside the windows of the throne room for the entire palace to see. Shin shuddered involuntarily. Not at the brutality of the action, but from the memories that coursed through him, of the continuous danger and threat the pederast had posed to him, of being freed from his captivity. Freedom. Shin didn’t comprehend the meaning of the word. At least, not how the word related to him. He was so preoccupied by these thoughts that it took him a moment to realize that Wolfgang was speaking to him.
“What’s this now?” the young King said, voice like liquid honey, sensual and deep and teasing. It made Shin’s chest tighten. “Rumor has it, you’ve been tending to your health these past few years.”
Head still bowed, Shin let the smallest of smiles grace his features. “Since the last half hour, my health has been restored,” he replied sedately. The smile hadn’t left his face. He missed this sort of banter with the prince – no, with the King.
Silence greeted Shin’s response. The only sound that could be heard were the King’s steps as blood-red booted heels walked down the podium steps.
“Shin.”
That same constriction gripped Shin’s chest again as the King said his name. The friendly banter was gone. He felt the weight of the moment.
“This is the sword I used to sever that man’s head,” Wolfgang stated. “This sword is now mine.”
Shin felt the flat side of the blade rest on his left shoulder, its lethal touch turned gentle in the hands of the man who now wielded it.
“I place it on your shoulders,” Wolfgang continued, “to bestow unto you a duty. I appoint you, a man as sharp as this blade . . .”
The sword shifted. Shin felt the motion of the wind as Wolfgang transferred the sword to his right shoulder and laid it flat there.
“ . . . the Minister of Financial Affairs of my kingdom.”
Shin lifted his arms, palms open to receive the sword from his King. He heard the faint brush of metal as the sword was returned to its scabbard and then the weight of the weapon was in his hands. He’d never held a sword before. He’d had no desire to. He knew his body was too weak for such things as swordplay. This sword was a mighty weapon, one that had to be wielded with great strength in order to behead a man. He would never use this sword in battle, but he understood the symbolic power of the King’s gift.
“It is an honor, your Majesty.”
Shin lowered the sword, placing it at his side. He waited, gaze cast downward. He still hadn’t looked at the King.
“Well?” Wolfgang said, the lightness returning to his tone. “Have I played my role well, then?” he teased.
Shin could no longer resist. He looked up.
For a moment, he felt blinded. He saw a vision of the King before him, regal in formal ceremonial robes, smiling (perhaps smirking ever so slightly) at him benevolently, the pure embodiment of everything that Shin believed a monarch should possess. The ideal King. His heart ached at the sight. He’d had this vision once before; on that long ago day when he’d first taught a street ruffian how to dress in royal attire. Then, Shin had been blinded by the white and gold. But now, all Shin could see was the black soldier’s uniform that Wolfgang had worn to lead the rebellion. Black and gold. The contrast suited the King better. It brought out his eyes and the lustrous gold of his hair; it was a stark contrast to the colors of the kings before him. Shin would see to it that the royal garbs were redesigned, separate and distinctive, the meaning of each item unique to Wolfgang’s reign.
His legs weakened. The culmination of years of work was standing in front of him and the moment had become overwhelming. He slipped from his kneeling position, sliding to the floor. Wolfgang was undeterred by this reaction. The King was striding towards him with calm, easy steps. Before Shin even realized it, Wolfgang had crouched before him in a most un-kingly gesture, but he was too flustered to comment. Uncertainty was not in his nature, but he felt uncertain now. Unmoored. He was drifting in the burnished gold of the throne room.
A hand was under his chin, a thumb brushing against his lower lip. The gentle pressure under his chin increased and then Shin was being lifted, his body moving of its own accord as though he were weightless. Floating. His eyes were locked on the golden gaze of the King and that gaze compelled him to move, even if his consciousness hadn’t caught up with his actions. He was standing in front of the King, involuntarily leaning towards him. His hands dropped to Wolfgang’s waist, both to prevent himself from falling forward and to keep a modicum of distance between them. Wolfgang was cradling the side of his face and Shin leaned into the touch.
Dimly, he was aware of Wolfgang’s other hand grasping his upper arm and then travelling upwards, briefly resting on his shoulder before moving under his cape. Wolfgang’s hand was warm, fingers smooth and callused as they passed by Shin’s neck, thumb caressing Shin’s jaw. Shin felt the tug of the cape being loosened, heard the sound of the golden pin that marked him as one of the “King’s Children” clatter to the floor. Wolfgang leaned forward.
“Remember,” the King said, voice low and deep in Shin’s ear. “I am the one who took off your cape.”
The cape was sliding off his shoulders, Wolfgang’s hand guiding the material.
“Since the day you swore to be mine,” Wolfgang continued. “You heart’s belonged to me.”
Shin’s back felt cool as the cape fell away.
“And from today onward, your body belongs to me.”
Wolfgang flicked the cape away with his right wrist, his left hand clasping the back of Shin’s neck.
“For as long as you are alive and breathing, you shall be mine.”
Shin acquiesced to the pressure of Wolfgang’s hand on his nape and leaned into Wolfgang’s embrace, slotting his head neatly against the King’s shoulder. Since their dance at the ball, Shin had known that it would be like this. They fit together perfectly. He had traded captivity with the tyrant for a lifetime with his King. Warmth suffused his cheeks at the acknowledgement and he closed his eyes. He inhaled Wolfgang’s scent, sweat mingled with blood and leather. This was the scent of a coup d’état.
Shin broke with decorum and returned Wolfgang’s embrace, wrapping his arms around Wolfgang’s back. He hugged the King fiercely, squeezing tightly to prevent the sudden trembling in his body. Wolfgang made a soothing sound, the kind he would make to calm one of the anxious horses in the royal stables. One hand traveled up and down Shin’s back, the other arm wrapped around Shin’s waist.
For long moments, they held that pose, a tableau of King and Kingmaker in the fading afternoon light of the throne room. Shin knew when the mood between them shifted. He knew because he was now calm, his trembling dissipating under Wolfgang’s comforting touch. But there was a restlessness in the King now, a shift in his body language that was mirrored by Shin. It was anticipation. Excitement. Finally, Shin thought. Finally. He hardly had a chance to lift his head from the King’s shoulder when lips came crashing down on him. Of all the ways Shin had imagined that their first kiss would turn out . . . this . . . now . . . in the context of the moment . . . this made the most sense.
Wolfgang’s mouth was heat and fire, possessiveness lacing every touch and swipe of his tongue. He demanded entrance, and how could Shin possibly refuse him? Shin melted against the King, fingers gripping Wolfgang’s shoulders. They kissed until they were out of breath, and Wolfgang moved from Shin’s lips down to the curve of slender neck, trailing a length of butterfly kisses. Shin felt helpless against the onslaught, almost as if he were drunk from the physical affection. Touch starved. You are touch starved, his mind supplied. He could feel tears welling in his eyes at the realization.
Wolfgang, ever perceptive to the smallest changes in those around him – and in Shin Soohyuk, most of all – drew away. “What is the matter?” he asked.
Real tears were threatening now at the look of concern on the King’s face, at the sound of worry in his voice. “I –” Shin began, but his voice faltered.
Wolfgang didn’t let him finish. He was removing Shin’s glasses, folding them and tucking them into Shin’s pants pocket. He was brushing the wetness from Shin’s eyes with his fingertips. “Come,” he said, reaching down and grasping Shin’s hand firmly. “Let us look at your handiwork.”
Shin didn’t understand what Wolfgang meant. His ‘handiwork’ was right in front of him, holding his hand. His handiwork had been kissing him only moments before. Shin was still too emotionally wound up to protest, and so he followed as the King lead them back to the podium, up the steps until they were standing in front of the throne.
Ah.
Wolfgang gestured at it. “Sit,” he said.
Shin started. “Sire,” he started to say.
“Sit,” Wolfgang repeated, this time maneuvering Shin into the throne.
Shin sat down without his usual grace. He felt dwarfed by the throne, hands clasped in his lap, legs pressed tightly together. He didn’t belong here. He was the King Maker, not the King. Wolfgang, on the other hand, appeared to be enjoying his discomfort. He stood in front of Shin with his arms crossed, one hand under his chin as he watched Shin thoughtfully. There was an expectant gleam in his eye that made Shin uneasy.
“Sire,” Shin said again, about to stand up. His movement was aborted by Wolfgang suddenly bracketing him, one arm braced on either side of the throne. His face was dangerously close to Shin’s, the smirk on his lips now matching the gleam in his eye.
“Minister,” Wolfgang said, as though trying out the title. “Wait for a moment longer.”
“Wait for what?”
Wolfgang’s answer was to tilt his head, slotting their lips together. Shin gasped, the sound muffled by Wolfgang’s mouth. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. Was it always going to be like this? he wondered. From now on, was it always going to be like this?
Yes.
Wolfgang pressed him back into the throne, covering Shin’s body with his own. A kind of madness had seized them both, hands clawing at buttons and clothes. Wolfgang’s armor was harder to remove, so Shin abandoned it in favor of stripping off his own clothes. Wolfgang was of the same mind. He made quick work of Shin’s black pants and underwear, while Shin unbuttoned his dress shirt. He felt slightly dizzy, his clothes too constricting. He was lying half draped over the throne, not fully conscious of what was happening. His mind was a mess, a jumble of contradictions. More. More! No. Stop. More! He was going to panic; he could feel his anxiety winning out over desire.
“Shhh,” Wolfgang said, soothing him again like a skittish colt. “It’s all right. It’s all right.” He was still touching Shin, kissing him, but his actions had also slowed.
Shin was aware of Wolfgang’s weight pressing down on him, of the hand that was stroking his inner thigh, of the hardness pressing into his hip that did not come from a sword hilt, of his own aching erection and the pre-come leaking from his tip. He tried to will his body under control as Wolfgang nuzzled at his neck, hands still roaming his chest, occasionally pinching a nipple and eliciting a moan from him.
Wolfgang pulled back slightly, just enough to be able to gaze down at Shin. He was breathless, and Shin took some satisfaction in being able to do that to him.
“We’re not going to go all the way,” Wolfgang told him.
“All the way?” Shin echoed, almost uncomprehendingly.
Wolfgang chuckled. “Look at you,” he said, brushing back a lock of Shin’s hair that had fallen into his face. “You’re a wreck. A beautiful wreck.”
Shin did feel wrecked.
“Sex wasn’t part of my plans when I was briefing the troops,” Wolfgang explained, the teasing lilt returning. “Clearly, an oversight on my part,” he added. He grinned lasciviously and Shin flushed in response. “I don’t have any supplies with me,” he explained. “And as much as I would love to fuck you on my throne, I also don’t want to break your back.”
Shin’s ears were burning. Wolfgang had cut down on his profanity considerably over the years, but this vulgarity in relation to him was . . . was . . . Shin glanced away. It was hot.
“Where does that leave us?” he managed to get out.
His reply made the King laugh, full-throated and deep. Wolfgang’s laugh reverberated around the empty throne room and it made Shin’s heart sing.
“We can’t go out in this state,” Wolfgang agreed.
Shin’s gaze dropped to where Wolfgang was undoing the buckle of his belt, unlacing his pants, and freeing his cock. Shin continued to watch unabashedly as Wolfgang spit into his palm before taking himself in hand, lazily stroking up and down. Shin was mesmerized by the sight, his own erection temporarily forgotten. When he finally looked up again, Wolfgang was smirking at him. It was an expression that plainly said, Do you like what you see?
Shin liked. Very much. But that didn’t mean he was going to say it out loud.
“Let’s try something else,” Wolfgang said.
Seemingly without any effort, he reached down and lifted Shin from the throne. Shin automatically wrapped his arms around Wolfgang’s neck, at the same time locking his legs around Wolfgang’s waist. He’d always known that Wolfgang was strong, but this was a little ridiculous. Wolfgang was handling him as though he weighed nothing.
By the time Wolfgang settled into the throne with Shin straddling him, Shin wasn’t sure what to expect. He felt a twinge in his lower back from where the edge of the throne’s seat had dug into him while he’d been sprawled on it. As if reading his mind, Wolfgang placed one of his hands at the base of Shin’s back, massaging the area and giving Shin extra support. He was looking at Shin a little expectantly.
“Should I service you, my King?” Shin asked, with only the faintest hint of hesitation.
Wolfgang’s smile grew, the warmth of it reaching his eyes. “No,” he said, leaning forward and brushing his lips against Shin’s in a gentle caress. “I will take care of you,” he replied. “Just as a king should care for the well-being of all his subjects, but you most of all,” he added, resting his forehead against Shin’s.
The blush on Shin’s cheeks spread along his face, its heat traveling down his neck and onto his chest. His skin was so pale. There was no doubt that Wolfgang could see it. Wolfgang, on the other hand, was tanned by the sun. His blush was harder to spot. Now, he was spitting into his palm again. (Lube, Shin thought. They were going to need a constant supply of it in the future.) Wolfgang reached forward and grasped both their cocks in his hand.
“Oh,” Shin gasped involuntarily, hips jerking forward at the touch.
Wolfgang had latched onto his neck again as his hand continued to work them both over. Shin recalled the morning of his confession to Wolfgang in that empty palace hallway, how Wolfgang had grasped his wrist and pulled them into a secluded alcove, how he had left his mark on Shin’s neck. Wolfgang was nuzzling that part of Shin’s neck now, laving it with his lips and tongue. Shin bared his neck some more, his breath coming in harsh gasps. He wanted Wolfgang to mark him. But instead, Wolfgang lifted his head.
“You’re so wet, Shin,” Wolfgang said. “So wet. Leaking. All for me.”
Shin’s grip around Wolfgang’s neck tightened. Wolfgang’s words were having just as much of an effect on Shin as his actions. Of course, he’d be good at dirty talk, Shin absently thought, his hips moving to Wolfgang’s quickening rhythm. Of course.
“I want to touch you,” Shin muttered between labored breaths.
Wolfgang’s answering laugh was warm. “Next time,” he promised.
Wolfgang’s grip was firmer now, his strokes smooth and slick. Shin could feel the muscles in his stomach contracting. He was close. He buried his head in Wolfgang’s neck to muffle any sounds he might make, even though there was no one else to hear.
“You don’t have to be quiet,” Wolfgang told him. “I want to hear you come. Will you come for me, Shin?”
It was too much. Shin was spilling into Wolfgang’s hand, body shuddering from his release. He hadn’t made a sound. Wolfgang continued to stroke him through his orgasm, wrenching every last drop out of him. He kept stroking after Shin had come, his cock now oversensitive to Wolfgang’s touch. Shin didn’t have the energy to protest, even as some part of him was vaguely aware that Wolfgang had not yet climaxed. He lifted his head, cupping Wolfgang’s jaw with his left hand and bent down to kiss the King. He swallowed Wolfgang’s orgasm in that kiss. He felt the King’s climax in the jerk of his body, in the sudden stillness of his hand, in the pulsing of his cock against Shin’s own, in the way that Wolfgang seemed to melt into him, boneless and content.
They sat on the throne as their bodies cooled and their racing hearts slowed down. Shin felt uncomfortable now that they’d both come, aware of the sticky mess between them that painted his stomach and thighs, and streaked Wolfgang’s clothes and armor.
“Next time, Shin," Wolfgang promised. "I will fuck you properly on this throne.”
The objection was automatic. Shin’s head had cleared and the protest was on the tip of his tongue: about propriety and etiquette, about not abusing the throne with their sordid affairs. But all he did was lean forward and kiss the King again.
Fin.