An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Characters: Jord, Laurent, Damen, Orlant, Lazar, the whole gang
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, POV Outsider, POV Jord, 5+1 Things, unfortunately the regent exists, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canon Typical Themes, some violence, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault
Summary:
Laurent arches an eyebrow. “I am married, Jord.”
Jord blinks at him slowly. “…To your job?”
“To a man.”
Jord’s eyes fall on Laurent’s bare left hand. “Right,” he says.
Or: five times Laurent says he's married, and the one time everyone finally believes him.
Saw this post about handholding and this little ficlet happened very quickly with very little editing so don’t judge her too harsly:
[In my mind, this happens between their adventure with Charls and Laurent’s ascension, but it’s pretty vague, so you can situate it wherever you’d like!]
-
Late one night as they lay naked in bed, drifting toward sleep after a long evening spent wonderfully making love, Laurent remarked, “You have such nice hands.”
He had been toying with Damen’s fingers, using a featherlight touch over the back of his hand from knuckles to the knob of his wrist, tracing the lines of his palm.
“Do I?” Damen asked, lowering his gaze with a pleased smile. He loved when Laurent’s heart spoke to him, especially in the form of an unexpected compliment. His post-coital vulnerability never failed to bring Damen to his knees.
“Must you always make me say it twice?” Laurent teased, bringing Damen’s hand to his lips to kiss, then placing it to rest against his own cheek.
Damen brushed his thumb across Laurent’s cheekbone, gazing at him in the soft candlelight. He would never grow tired of sharing these intimate moments with him, learning more of Laurent with every glorious confession.
With a soft, indulgent laugh in answer, “Yes.”
Laurent shifted a fraction closer, again tangling his fingers with Damen’s free hand. “I feel I embarrass myself reaching out for you so often. Is it such a surprise?”
Now that he thought about it, Laurent did seem to have a certain fondness for it. He often—shockingly at first—reached for his hand during meetings that droned on forever, beneath the dinner table, amongst crowds at court, as they walked through the gardens…
Squeezing Laurent’s fingers, Damen said, “Never hesitate to reach for me, my love. My hands are yours to hold whenever it suits you.”
He did wonder, though— Handling a sword had left its mark over the years, hard calluses and cuts that turned to scars. He felt ridiculous but shamelessly curious enough to know what it was Laurent liked about them that he asked, “You don’t find them too rough?”
“No,” Laurent denied, and the instant flush that rose to his cheeks suggested to Damen he was about to reveal something else. “In fact, I find myself quite attracted to the parts of you that are more… rugged, I suppose?”
“Is that so?” Damen asked, delighted but doing his best to disguise it. “Shall I try growing a beard or something then?”
Laurent’s eyes widened at the thought, as if Damen having one had never occurred to him, then his gaze turned darker in interest. “Mmm, perhaps so.”
They kissed, briefly, but deliciously deep, Damen’s fingers in his hair, their free hands still entwined between them.
“In seriousness,” Laurent started when they separated, toying with his fingers again. “I find them to be a mirror of the man who owns them. Incredibly strong and skilled, perseverant. I’ve seen them lethal, unimaginably gentle… I’m not sure there’s anything they cannot do to perfection.”
Damen said, blushing, “Now you’re just going on for my benefit.”
“I’m not,” Laurent said. “How I wish I could refute it! Your eternal competence is maddening. And rather intimidating, honestly.”
“Have you forgotten the rabbit already?” Damen asked. “Charls very nearly expired where he stood watching me. I hadn’t been scolded like that in years.”
Laurent laughed so hard Damen felt the mattress shake. “It doesn’t count if neither of us can do it, and I do not intend on learning that particular skill.”
As the mood settled again, Laurent placed his hand over Damen’s, guiding it slowly from where it rested against his neck down to his chest, then along his side to settle at his waist. His breath hitched on the journey, even under his own direction. Laurent said, “I love to have them on my body, Damianos.”
“Laurent,” Damen said, the moment quickly changing between them. He had been exhausted before, but he found, now, that he was ready again. He pressed his fingertips into warm skin, bringing Laurent impossibly closer.
“I never dreamed anyone could touch me like you,” Laurent said, “That I would long for it like this. That I would ache for you.”
“Laurent,” Damen repeated, an aroused, breathy whisper from his mouth. Laurent knew what he was doing. “I ache for you now.”
Laurent pushed Damen to his back and followed with a leg over his thighs, straddling his waist. Without any hesitation or additional preparation, Laurent raised up and began the slow descent onto Damen’s cock, hard with arousal.
A choked gasp escaped him, and Damen sat up to meet him, to help ease him down. Laurent winced, a rush of air sucked through gritted teeth, but Damen was coming to learn that Laurent savored the stretch, enjoyed a little bite along with pleasure.
“Are you trying to kill me?” Damen asked, breathless into his mouth. They kissed, filthy hot, until Damen was completely inside, barely resisting the urge to thrust upward.
“Quite the opposite,” Laurent answered, clenching around him, subtly circling his hips in a way that elicited moans from the both of them. The tightness was exquisite, Damen’s cock perfectly rubbing against that electric place inside of him. “I’d like to keep you around a little while longer.”
Damen found himself pushed back to the bed, and Laurent followed him down. He laced his fingers with Damen’s and pressed their hands into the mattress above his head. For a moment, they only gazed at each other, basking in the significance of handholding and the anticipation of what was to come.
“Just a little while?” Damen asked.
Laurent said, “Forever,” with a sweet smile, and began to move.
Hey does anyone have a link to the post/fic about Laurent having husbands that keep getting murdered and the detectives (jord and lazar) think it’s def him but then Damen walks in and he’s very obvi in love with him and is probably the one doing it?
The downside to being a close friend to one of the NHL’s top players on the most successful new expansion team is that Bitty ends up in the press. A lot.
But this is different.
Jack just won his second Cup in three years. The celebratory parade brought out people in the city of Providence in droves. The beer was flowing and the laughs were infectious. Bitty may be out of college but his alcohol tolerance has stuck with him. He’d wound up buzzed and napping in the sun on a patio somewhere high above the city. He’d felt so high up, so out of view from the rest of the world, he’d been brave when Jack came out to check on him.
Brave enough to pull his fiance down on top of him so they could kiss lazily for a while. Slow and warm and happy.
They didn’t know people were looking out of the windows from the building next door. Didn’t know they’d wind up on the front page of magazines and websites. They were planning on coming out to the public, but not like this.
Georgia nearly had a coronary.
Their carefully laid plans had been blown to pieces; now they’re left to just do damage control.
OUT Magazine
Eric Bittle, close friend of Jack Zimmerman how we got him all wrong.
Written by Allan Hughes
Meeting Eric for this interview was less like entering a stranger’s home and more like going home to visit your aunt that always has your favorite sweets and a gift for you to take home. Walking into the door of Bittle’s small but neat home you’d think to expect a bachelor pad of sorts.
Beer cans and pizza boxes and hockey memorabilia strewn about like most college athletes, even former ones, tend to live for a while after graduation. But aside from a hockey bag spilling out of the front closet there was a distinct lack of disarray.
Sitting in a sunny kitchen, sipping proper sweet tea made me feel like I wasn’t in New England anymore but had somehow been transported to southern Georgia where Eric was born and raised.
“I’ve gotten used to livin’ through summers without the humidity. I don’t honestly think I could go back to that,” Eric jokes lightly when I ask about his decision to stay up north after graduation. The Georgia native managed to compete in not one but two ice related sports in his lifetime in the southern state. His first round of success came from his talent and dedication to figure skating.
“How did you make the switch to hockey?”
Eric laughs and birds outside the window chirp back.
“Better scholarships up here for hockey,” he admits and then turns towards the counter to grab the plate full of cookies and tarts and muffins. My sweet tea is refilled before I even noticed the glass was low while he continues. “I was ready for a change; those skin tight sequin covered costumes lose their luster after while,” he joked and my tea grew sweeter.
Eric doesn’t flat out refuse to talk about his time at Samwell, but he spends most of the time talking about his teammates instead of himself. He doesn’t talk about the way he grew as a player in his time there. Doesn’t talk about how playing on Jack Zimmerman’s line helped the NHL prospect in the long run. He doesn’t even mention how he was unanimously voted to captain the team his senior year, or how during his captaincy the team raised more money for charity than any of the other frat houses on the block. When asked about playing with Zimmerman, Eric’s answer was simple, “It changed my life.”
Conversation wandered as it tends to when you are so comfortable and absolutely completely catered to. We talked of his business, Bits & Butter, and how it has taken off with the help of baking classes and private catering in the evenings. When I mentioned I’d never had a coffee cake quite as perfect as his strawberry rhubarb one he stood from his chair and started opening cupboards. I watched as his deft hands and strong arms started mixing ingredients easily and automatically with not a recipe card in sight. As he worked we talked about his charity events the bakery has contributed to, and their focus on queer youth and connecting them with college scholarships.
Because not everyone has what it takes to make it through college on an athletic scholarship. The relentless schedule for workouts and games and practice keeps athletes at every collegiate level occupied constantly. The strength on Eric’s small frame was not hidden by his fitted jeans and snug t-shirt. Watching his muscles flex while he folded fresh strawberries and neatly cut rhubarb into the dough was mesmerizing.
Eric Bittle, entrepreneur, talented baker, literal embodiment of sunshine and boyfriend of NHL player Jack Zimmerman.
Or should I say, Jack Zimmerman, boyfriend of Eric Bittle?
Either way, the truth is out there now: our favorite NHL star and his BFF are not as they first seemed. But really, does it change anything? You all fell in love with Eric Bittle, the sweet southern baker. And you were already in love with shy and modest heartthrob Jack Zimmerman.
What the sports world has demanded from us fans and supporters is to renounce our loyalty to well beloved players when they are brave enough to share their orientation.
But the sports world also used to demand separate leagues for people with different colored skin. It also continues to pressure young children and their parents to make the lifelong commitment to sports and training and injuries.
The sports world has made progress. But it’s not enough. This is the time to show the sports world that we love our players for who they are and what they do for our teams more than who they go home to at night.
The soft look on Eric Bittle’s face as he talked about his boyfriend left no doubt in my mind of their happiness together.
Shouldn’t that be enough?
The article comes out in short order after the interview and Bitty blushes the whole time he reads it. He hadn’t meant to butter up the reporter, but he’d been so nervous a little extra Southern charm had slipped through. Jack just tells him not to worry, every bit of good press for them is good right now anyway.
If you want prompts can I suggest a modern LucettexWaltz au?
She comes to this street corner once a week, every week. It’s always the same day, a Wednesday. Early afternoon, when most kids are starting to get out of school. If anyone asked, she’d say it was because of the pastry shop on this street, best in the city. And she does always buy a few things, so it’s not exactly a lie.
Lucette, of course, comes for the shows. But only once a week, on Wednesdays. The day isn’t specifically important, and she’s sure if she came on other days, he’d still be here. His booth would still be set up, and behind his little red curtain, there’d be his puppets sticking out, a crowd of children gathered. She doesn’t stand too close, but near enough to listen to the story, her cheeks full of bread or sugar or frosting as she eats.
It’s kind of weird. Who does puppet shows on the streets? Magic shows, sure. Singing, performing. That’s not unusual. But the kids love it. The adults love it. She can blend into the crowd and not look too much like she’s been here every week, listening to his stories for a month.
Every Wednesday is fairy tale day.
She’s always had a fascination for fairy tales, ever since she was a child and her mother expressly forbade her to read any. Young girls of your breeding shouldn’t associate themselves with such nonsense. They were nonsense. Nobody ever fell in love because of a dance or from being held prisoner. But the ideas of love and kindness and escaping the life you were meant to lead is a bit... exciting, for lack of a better word.
Plus, the puppets are cute.
And maybe, it’s the puppeteer.
A month ago, she had come here because of the pastry shop. It was on the way to school, and she thought a pick-me-up would do her some good. A pickpocket had lifted her purse with such ease, that she’d been unable to do more but scream with outrage. And as if like magic, he’d shown up.
Okay, no. He had been setting his stage up for the day’s show, taken one look at her, and then ran off down the street after the thief. There’s something incredible about watching a man tackle another for you. He trotted back to her like it was absolutely nothing, a bright grin taking up his handsome face.
“Are you okay?” she asked at the same time he did, and she flushed in embarrassment when he laughed.
“I might have skinned a knee, but it’s an honor to come to the rescue of such a pretty girl.”
Her lips pursed. “I am not helpless. You should have held him until I called the police.”
Her cell phone was in her purse, though, and she knew she was being ungrateful. And the fact that he took it in stride, with only a slight tilt of his head and an amused smile on his lips, only made her more irritable.
“Shit. Well, I think that black eye of his might make him think twice, if that helps?” He held out his hand to her. “I’m Waltz.”
She stared at his hand for longer than she meant to before shaking it. “Lucette.”
“I really want to make sure you’re okay, but - uh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You ever seen a mob of impatient kids? Stick around for the show and afterward, maybe I can take you out?”
“Maybe.”
She hadn’t stuck around, though.
But she’d come back the following week, curiosity dragging her by the ear. And she stayed only long enough to watch the puppet show before disappearing again.
She never stays after the shows. She never talks to Waltz. She doesn’t know why (somewhere, her mother’s voice is lingering and guiding her and giving her terrible advice, and that’s probably why). But she enjoys his stories and his puppets and the joy the audience experiences. It makes her happy.
This week’s show is a little different. She can tell immediately because the puppet on the left looks exactly like her, down to her little felt scowl on her little felt face. And on the right, in a ridiculous wizard’s hat, is the Waltz puppet.
“Once upon a time,” Waltz says from behind his red curtain, “there was an unhappy princess. Every week, she came to visit the village’s wizard in disguise, so that none would know she had escaped from the palace. But she needed his help, you see. She believed that his magic would make her happy, but the wizard knew that wasn’t how magic worked. Still, she was the princess, and he couldn’t fail her. He didn’t want to. So every week, he welcomed her into his home and gave her the only magic he knew to give her: his time.”
Lucette sucks in a breath and tries to not go behind the stage to kick him. It would make a scene. She doesn’t want to face the mob of children.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
In which Damen finds it extremely tedious to lay around in bed all day, even if he’s recovering from a stab wound. Thankfully, Laurent is there for him, with his walls down, ready to share some details about his past never before spoken of.
My written contribution to @capri-anthology! A world of thanks to my beta @littlekingofcats and to @petitster who illustrated my piece! Doesn’t seem fair to not thank @a-kielon, thank you so much Clara for your hard work, you made this project a delight to work in.
Okay, I am in desperate need for some new Patater I have read a bagillion times. Prompt: A & B are watching TV and after a while A closes their eyes. Thinking they are asleep, B starts watching their favorite animated movie from when they were a kid, not knowing that A is wide awake and trying hard not to laugh at how adorable it is that B still like kiddie movies.
thank you so much for this prompt!!! i’m not sure i hit the mark 100% maybe? but i thought it could actually fit in perfectly to a headcanon i posted recently that i was really excited about? so i was so happy to get this and hopefully the tooth-rotting fluff makes up for the slight deviation. i hope that you like this!! ))))) i’m still taking prompts so feel free to send in more! xx
i’ve also added this to my ao3!!!
Most people would say that Kent Parson was shameless, unafraid to tell the world who he was.
But that wasn’t strictly true, because Kent did have his limits.
Most of them just revolved around not appearing like a loser in front of Alexei Mashkov, because he actually really liked him and didn’t want to weird him out only three months into their relationship. The Kent Parson that was displayed to the outside world, the one that Alexei knew best, was very different from the Kent Parson he was in private, and he was terrified by the idea that Alexei might not be interested in him for long. Alexei was leaps and bounds out of his league.
But, Alexei looked sound asleep– curled up a bit to fit his frame on the couch, and head in Kent’s lap– which Kent couldn’t really blame him for. He’d flown in from Providence only this afternoon, and he’d had a game against the Schooners go late, into a shootout, the night before. He looked peaceful and soft, and Kent’s heart hurt for a moment over the sheer amazement that he was the person who got to have these moments from the giant defenseman.
Kent brushed a soft hand through the other man’s hair and grabbed the remote off the side table with the other, looking through Netflix to try and find something new to watch.
They’d spent the evening just like this, watching movies and eating take-out from the new Indian place nearby and sitting close enough at all times to feel the other’s presence, because the last time they’d seen each other was when Kent had been able to sneak away to Phoenix to see the Falcs play the Coyotes a month ago and they’d only gotten two hours actually together, even though it’d been a nice change to watch Alexei skate, live, from the position of a spectator.
Presently, Kent wound up in the children’s movies section, because, without-a-doubt, they were his guilty pleasure. He’d never admit it, outside of not actually complaining when he was helping out with his teammates’ kids and they begged to watch their favorites with him, because otherwise he was sure he’d get chirped to hell and back for it.
He wasn’t sure if Alexei would care that much, but since he was asleep, Kent supposed it didn’t matter, waiting for something to catch his eye.
He found it in An American Tail, something that he’d definitely tortured his mother with as a kid with constant rental from the library and watching it every day they had it. He wasn’t sure the last time he’d seen it; not for years, probably– not since those days.
Kent turned the movie on, and settled more comfortably, absently stroking Alexei’s hair gently every so often, hoping not to wake him up until he was tired enough to go to bed himself, or until the movie was over.
Things were quiet for all of maybe twenty minutes, when a loud sneeze from below him made Kent jump. Kent looked down, and noticed that Alexei was definitely awake now. Well now this was embarrassing. He quickly grabbed for the remote; maybe Alexei was still too asleep to notice Kent was watching a fucking cartoon movie and he could change it to something a little… cooler.
But instead, Alexei put long fingers around Kent’s wrist, and mumbled: “Нет, котёнок, you enjoying, not turn off.”
He sounded oddly awake and Kent frowned. “You’ve been awake this whole damn time, haven’t you?”
Alexei let out laughter, not even having the decency to sound sheepish as he admitted with a “Да.”
“Fuck you,” Kent grumbled, still clutching the remote, still having half a mind to save his dignity a little if he could and change it to– maybe a horror movie, or something, even though he actually kind of hated those.
But Alexei took the remote from his hand, and put it on the coffee table in front of the couch, and his head still in Kent’s lap meant the blonde was pinned where he was and wouldn’t be able to reach it again without pushing Alexei off. And Alexei seemed content to stay where he was, twining his fingers through Kent’s now empty ones, stroking his thumb along the side of Kent’s hand. “What wrong, моя любовь? Not be embarrassed. Tell me about movie? What is? I’m not know this one. Мыши русские?”
“I don’t know what that means,” Kent pointed out. There were small handfuls of Russian Kent could pick out, from Russian teammates throughout his life, and now with the way that Alexei threw Russian into casual conversation– Kent wasn’t sure if it was to prod Kent into learning more or so he could say sappy things that he knew Kent couldn’t understand, because Kent had repeated some of the phrases Alexei muttered to him to the Russian on the Aces and they were usually sugary sweet ridiculous that made Kent want to cry.
“Sorry”– but Alexei didn’t sound very sorry at all– “I’m ask, mice are Russian?” Kent looked down, and saw Alexei’s head turned up to him, a small smile on his face.
“Oh, yeah, they are.” Kent used his free hand to poke Alexei in the ribs. “And they’re Jewish– did you catch that in the beginning? They’re celebrating Hannukah?”
At that, Alexei’s smile spread into a grin. “Нет, I’m not notice that! Movie is American? With Jewish Russian mice! What is this movie?”
“It’s called An American Tail, it’s from the 80s,” Kent explained, and suddenly didn’t feel too embarrassed about being caught watching it because Alexei seemed delighted over this new discovery. “You don’t think it’s stupid?”
Alexei sat up then, surprising Kent like usual with the gracefulness he could have off the ice, with that huge lanky frame, and leaned into Kent’s space. “Think is wonderful, not you should be embarrassed,” he assured. “It’s cute, you enjoy movies from childhood, is sweet. I’m love it. Not think anything about you stupid, котёнок.” Alexei pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Kent’s mouth.
Kent couldn’t hold back a small smile even as his cheeks flushed and he gently shoved at the Russian, muttering: “Stop, you big sap, you’re clearly the embarrassing one.”
But Alexei laughed that bright, deep laugh and just grabbed at Kent, pulling him close. “Not stop, know you love when I’m embarrass you,” he protested, placing more kisses all around the blonde’s face, seemingly anywhere he could reach as Kent squirmed in his grasp, trying to act annoyed despite giggles betraying him.
“No, no, stop! You’re missing the damn movie, you goon! He’s gonna meet Tiger!”
“Who is Tiger?” Alexei asked, settling in and turning back to the screen, throwing an arm around Kent’s shoulder. Kent settled in, too, leaning into Alexei’s side and curling up a bit.
“You’ll find out if you watch the movie,” Kent responded.
“Fair, okay, I’m watch movie now. Shh, no distract,” Alexei teased, placing a last kiss into Kent’s hair and squeezing him gently.
Things were silent between them until the credits were rolling, then Alexei, beaming, exclaimed: “Good movie, Kent! Can’t believe you hide this from me. New favorite, we watch again sometime?”
“Babe, we can watch the other three right now,” Kent explained, exiting from the play screen and back to the menu.
“Is more! Замечательно! Let’s watch, please.”
Kent laughed softly, nodding and clicking play on the next movie in the series.
russian translations:Нет = noкотёнок = kittenДа = yesмоя любовь = my loveМыши русские = are the mice russian? (which alexei translates… but hey)Замечательно = wonderful
