It had stealthily snuck up on him. It wasn’t like a cruel wind on the Varenne plains that hit like a slap in the face. No, it was gradual, as if it had been there all along and only suddenly had made its presence known. A dormant ember, dimmed and barely lit, that had somehow stoked itself back to life. Growing stronger until it had set everything ablaze and Laurent was entirely consumed with the feeling. Growing stronger until he had scarcely remembered the version of himself without it.
The mess of dark curls stirred next to him, sensing his unease. “Hmm...what is it?”
“I’m fine,” Laurent soothed. “Go back to sleep.” He slid his hand across the silken divide of the sheets and gently rested it in the subtle dip between the broad pecs that Laurent now knew so intimately. His fingers spread wide, he let his wrist roll with the rise and fall of each slumbering breath. Laurent laid his head back on his pillow and tried to let their twin heartbeats lull him.
“Are you ok?” The sleep-thickened question broke through in a muffled whisper.
“Yes, I promise I’m ok.” Laurent reaffirmed hushedly, as a calloused but warm hand crept up to find his own.
“I love you.” It was unplanned, this addendum, it had simply slipped out, barely audible but to himself. Laurent’s murmured confession triumphed in the open air, finally acknowledged.
My piece for the AFTG 2023 Big Bang! I got to work with the lovely and talented @leahlisabeth. Click here to see her amazing (and cute!) amigurumi dolls for my fic below.
Neil and Andrew move in together. As is normal, there are some bumps along the way. Or: Andreil host a brunch.
Read on AO3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
A little headcanon that came out of some discussions on Laurent finding closure for Auguste. Thank you to absolute legend, spinawren for betaing. Enjoy!
——
His eyes land on the stark engraving, the one that would never get old. His fingers brush against the debossed lettering, the simple epitaph, already smooth from his many traces. He has to feel it every time, as if to remind himself that this is real.
AUGUSTE DE VERE
It had only been 7 years since his death but even the past year had felt like a lifetime. Marlas is a distant faded memory, a sepia-toned and hazy image in the back of his mind. His fingers run across the edge of the altar, all the way from one side of the smooth marble to the other, resting again on the starched paper.
Laurent and Damen navigate the aftermath of the Vask mission.
A/N: Please enjoy part 2 of my spy AU! You don't need to read Counterintelligence first but there are some interesting parallels and background that will be helpful.
——
His eyes fluttered open and Auguste’s cragged face swam over him. So he wasn’t dead then.
“Laurent? Can you hear me?”
Eyes closed, Laurent nodded, not quite ready to speak yet. He allowed the sensations to flow through him, every nerve ending suddenly alight again. The flood of memories from Vask overwhelmed him after his dreamless sleep and he let every face of every mangled victim burn into his retinas so he would never forget. In his long and bloody career, he had never let himself forget. He couldn’t.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped back. A new and pressing thought pushing into the forefront of his consciousness.
My absolute fluff, no plot ficlet for @seasonsofcapri prompt: Coronation.
Read on AO3
——
It was never meant to be possible. The improbability of it was too great. The chances were too slim. A joining that defied all the odds. The two of them, standing side by side in front of their people, their nations — no, their country.
Yet, there Damen stood, bolt straight and awkward, forcing himself to gaze into the gilded mirror on this sun-streaked afternoon. His reflection stared back blankly, flecks of light across his face from the rays that broke through the gauzy white curtains that bloomed in the lazy wind.
Startling him, a bronzed hand reached up over his shoulder and brushed an imaginary wrinkle out of the embroidered twilled silk. “I still don’t know why they wear such gaudy things,” Nikandros wrinkled his nose as he surveyed Damen in his reflection, lightly fingering the lacework. “This is an opportunity to show off your muscles, your power, not be diminished within layers of cloth.”
Damen grinned back toothily in the mirror to his closest friend. “Come now. It’s not so bad once you try it.” He spun round in an exaggerated flourish, allowing the flowy sleeves to whirl.
“Hm,” Nikandros muttered, completely unconvinced with the faint edge of a judging scowl on his pressed lips. “I even brought you a bolt of that Thracian cloth that you like but no doubt, you’ve discarded it for something more Veretian.”
“It’s around here somewhere. I told you I love it and I promise it will be used for something beautiful,” Damen reassured, gesturing around the room laden with gifts and various outfits flung about. He couldn’t study the room too closely. The slew of fabrics and other items out of place from the last few days that he casually rested his eyes on were already adding to his building anxiety.
He took a long calming breath and turned back to Nikandros, adding, “And moreover, you know that I never looked good in that shade. Anyhow, it’s too late. I’m wearing this. It’s for him and I know he’ll like it.”
Nikandros’ face involuntarily softened at the glowing look on Damen’s face. It had been a slow and reluctant process, like coaxing honey from a bee, but his kyros was steadily warming to the thought of Vere. Slowly but surely, the tide was turning and trust was building between the Akielons and the Veretians. If there was going to be any truer sign of a partnership —one to display to the world— it would be this day. And for Damen personally, this was his triumph. He had envisioned this from the start. It was he who had convinced Laurent.
Turning once more to the mirror to adjust his curls for the millionth time, Damen’s golden cuff perfectly caught a beam, bathing the room in a speckled rainbow filter. “Are you still wearing that thing? It’s unseemly.” This time, a tinge of bitterness cut through Nikandro’s words.
Sighing, Damen made a final adjustment to the laces on the front of the soft blouse. “I give up on you,” Damen retorted with mock annoyance. He knew that Nikandros would follow him to the ends of the earth but his critiques were nothing else but exhausting and Damen was tired of having to explain himself.
“I told you already why we’ve kept these and I won’t explain it again.” Sighing, he peeled his eyes away from his reflection. There was nothing more he could do at this point. “Well? While you’re in this mood, go on, anything else you want to criticize before we go?”
Damen smirked at him as he strutted toward the middle of the room. Nikandros’ mouth was a thin line but it remained firmly shut. Damen landed in front of his friend and firmly grasped both his shoulders, meeting his eye. “My friend, come on, smile. It’s a happy day. You’ll love it, I promise. And you know, Jord will be there,” he teased, mischievously.
The stoic governor kept his face passive and smooth but his oldest friend recognized the ever so slight twitch in the right corner of his mouth. Who said all love was lost between Akielos and Vere? Grinning broadly, Damen swung his arm around his friend’s shoulder and led him out of the room.
——
The day was extraordinarily beautiful, and that was even with Damen’s happily biased filter. In the waning afternoon, the light softened all the sharp edges and there was a hazy diffused quality to the air. The servants did a perfect job of setting up. The main atrium courtyard where it was taking place was completely adorned. All the bougainvillea vines were trimmed back, though their reds and fuchsias were still a violent blanket of in-focus color. Additional white wisteria, Laurent’s favorite, were quietly woven through the rows of chairs and leading up to the front centerpiece. Like him, it was soft and understated, adding a calming presence to the scene but never taking the spotlight.
The large central dais stood at the front with both the Akielon lion and Veretian star raised high on prominent flags. More white wisteria creeped up the oaken pergola and gently draped over the tops, their ends softly swinging. Damen strode up to the front, the nerves starting to build more fervently as the hour grew near. Seeing the large crowd beyond waving an equal mix of both flags made him fully realize the impact and gravity of this day.
Damen paused, standing at his mark at the front, Nikandros by his side. Jord, resplendent and barely recognizable with a new shave and haircut, stood in a crisp Veretian blue tunic. Their eyes met and Jord nodded to him as he took his place next to one of the twin chairs. There was nothing to do but wait, which wasn’t a strong suit to begin with. Damen fidgeted, his hands wrung dry, except that they were slick with his sweat.
And then, there he was. Finally.
To a massive wave of cheers from the citizens of both sides, Damen and the others looked up to catch Laurent appearing at the top of the aisle. There were no words for his majestic entrance as his golden head appeared from around the arched hallway. As if surrendering to his unparalleled beauty, even the sky seemed to relinquish: in a quick gust of wind, a storm of colored petals rained down on them through the perfumed air.
Damen’s stomach flipped and lodged itself in his throat as his heart began racing wildly. Pausing at the start of the silk-lined aisle for the servant to remove his cloak, Laurent stepped forward, revealing a traditional Akelion chiton. The pale mauve cloth that Nikandros had brought with him seemed to dance in the summer wind as it clung to his pale frame. This simple outfit that made Damen’s legs go weak far more than any other showy Veretian garb. The din rose from the crowd as Laurent appeared to float down the aisle, his hand waving regally. Ever the composed monarch, the faintest of slants upturned the corner of his mouth when he met Damen’s eye.
At long last, at what seemed to be an eternity to Damen, Laurent reached the front and Damen extended a shaking hand to take the paler delicate one as he climbed the three small steps to reach the platform.
“Hi,” Damen breathed, so faintly he could barely comprehend if it was real or within his mind. All he could do was stare, taking in the ethereal vision in front of him. All he could do was try to capture every detail, memorize the exactness of how utterly flawless Laurent looked in that moment. To match the plain minimalistic chiton, he was completely bare save for the matching cuff on his wrist. His buttercup hair flashed just as golden as the jewelry, his usual perfect coif that sat so completely effortless.
“You’re staring,” Laurent mused wryly as he caught Damen’s gaze. The pad of his thumb brushed lightly back and forth against Damen’s hand that he held, interwoven with his own. The repetitive movement was reassuring and it kept Damen grounded.
“Come on, it’s time.”
He pulled Damen forward and they knelt onto the second step. Guion stepped forward from his seat in the front row with the other dignitaries. As the Councilmember connecting the two countries, it was logical that he would preside over the ceremony. He silenced the crowd with nothing but a gesture and moved to stand in front of the two. Laurent squeezed his hand tightly again and Damen managed to flash him a wan smile. It was all happening now.
Guion started on the prepared, preapproved speech. Damen had read it already: it was all showy pomp and circumstance. An official statement of their intentions. So it didn’t matter that he heard none of it now. Nor the crescendoing spectators for that matter. All he could hear was his own heart thumping wildly as he kneeled, shoulders touching with Laurent, their hands still clasped.
Shaking his curls and taking a breath, Damen returned to the reality of this important moment. He didn’t know why his nerves were so jarred. Maybe it was that he had worked so hard for this moment and now that it was here, his goals manifested, he didn’t know what his future would hold. It was still blank, waiting to be written.
“And now, the crowns,” Guion proclaimed, his speech coming to a close. At this, Jord and Nikandros stepped forward, as previously rehearsed, and simultaneously placed the matching delicate filigree diadems on their heads. Damen leaned forward, feeling the weight of the cold metal as it fit onto his skull.
The silence that had swept through the onlookers during the speech was replaced by jubilant clapping and cheering that commenced all at once like a tide crashing forward on the sand.
“May I present the newly crowned kings of the combined territory of Akielos and Vere!” Guion bellowed as Nikandros and Jord swept their hands toward the pair, presenting them to the people anew. Laurent grinned at him and pulled him up, their hands still knotted. They turned toward the crowd, Laurent waving, effervescent as ever as Damen glanced around demurely.
Finally he turned to Damen, the cold azure eyes meeting his gaze. They were mirthful but a seriousness had overcome them suddenly, darkening them to twin sapphires. Damen swallowed thickly, expectantly. Laurent’s crown was almost completely blended with his gilded locks as he bowed his head slightly.
“My king.”
Damen beamed radiantly, flashing a stunning smile. For the first time that day, he felt completely at ease. He may not know what his future might hold but he knew who would be in it, standing by his side.
A little spy AU where Damen and Laurent have to work on a mission together.
1 | 2 | 3
——
“Sleep well? I think this should be rather fun. I almost never get out to Vask these days.”
“This isn’t a game, you know. This is a job. A serious one at that and there are real stakes.” Damen replied coolly, taking a small sip of the fortifying brown liquid and praying it would temper his nerves.
“If it’s so real, why do you use a fake name?”
Damen’s eyes flashed dangerously but Laurent’s were all amusement as they glimmered like a dancing summer sea.
“I use it because it’s to protect my cover and my job.”
“Oh sweetheart,” Laurent sighed with just a touch of pity, “do you think they don’t know who we are the minute we walk in there? It’s all just pretense and how we play the game.”
A little spy AU where Damen and Laurent have to work on a mission together.
1 | 2 | 3
“I think you may have met, but I’d like to introduce you to your new counterpart from the Veretian agency, ACQ.”
Unlike the slicked back look from the party, Laurent’s hair was more tousled and casual, the longer top falling gently behind his ear. He had replaced the evening suit with a casual dove gray number that accentuated all the right curves.
“You didn’t think that was the last of me, did you?” He said as a form of greeting, giving Damen a playful wink.
“What is this?” Andrew’s nose crinkles as he eyes the lumpy package suspiciously. His eyes narrow as he holds up the bad wrap job, the dancing Santas sprinkled on the wrapping paper smiling like fools.
Neil gulps. He knows how difficult it is to shop for Andrew let alone how bad he is at gifts to begin with. He’s never had to do it until he came to Palmetto and any show of affection is still difficult for him, let alone presents.
“It’s just…a gift.”
“Are we doing these now?” Andrew queries, the question a brutally honest one that hits Neil to his very core. They hadn’t ever discussed it and Neil panics that it might signal a step forward that Andrew is not yet ready for.
“I dunno…I mean, you don’t have to. But I did.”
Andrew doesn’t reply, instead he lifts it up close to his face and shakes it gently, as if trying to ascertain the contents by sound. Neil gulps, the anticipation of his reaction involuntarily making his insides quake.
Slim fingers that Neil knows like his own slip under an edge of the paper and purposefully drag across it, lifting the tape. At the shabbily tucked end, Andrew flips back the pointed corner and peels it back. The actions are slow and meticulous and Neil feels each lingering moment is a torturous taunt, one step closer to Andrew’s unpredictable reaction. The pounding of his heart drowns out any further attempt at speech.
At long last, the paper is off and the tissue inside shrugged off like a coat and Andrew holds up the item.
It’s a shiny silver lighter with AM engraved on it.
Andrew’s face is completely indecipherable.
The words come out all rushed and joined together, Neil’s cheeks burning hotter with each breath. “If you hate it, you don’t have to keep it.”
The words that come next are in German. No one else is in the room but the foreign words somehow come out more intimate. A secret only they share.
“I’m keeping it,” he says, simply.
It is clipped and direct without a trace of emotion but Neil knows what it means and it’s enough.
