Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chanyeol’s most vivid memories are of fire.

It keeps him awake at night sometimes, the memory of the flames close enough to lick at his skin. He remembers fire, flames, and fear mixing with heat and the sound of Yoora’s screams as she hauled him out of bed. He remembers his own tears, his own screams, yelling for their parents as they perished among the burning timbers of their house.

In the after, Chanyeol remembers a different kind of fear.

Fear of abandonment, fear of loneliness, fear of losing his older sister, or being left by her. She wasn’t much older than he was, but after she had to grow up quickly. Their family isn’t particularly rich, but they each have a small inheritance, courtesy of their successful, merchanting parents. Unfortunately, they’re funds they can’t access unless they come of age or, in Yoora’s case, at the event of her marriage. She is betrothed, promised at birth to the son of a fellow merchant, and wedding plans go underway simultaneously as the funeral proceedings.

It’s a cruel circumstance to lose his parents and then his sister, too - in an entirely different sense, but losing her all the same - in such a short span of time. Chanyeol supposes he should be grateful that Dongwook, his sister’s husband, is a kind man, with a shrewd eye for business, just like his father. He treats his sister well, doesn’t beat her or bully her, like Chanyeol knows rich men are often wont to do. And he’d agreed to take Chanyeol in too, which had been his sister’s only stipulation before she agreed to such quick nuptials. He treats Chanyeol kindly, even if a little distantly, when he isn’t obligated to after they are wed.

In the after, he should be more than happy, more than satisfied, but he isn’t. He has his sister, food in his belly, and a roof over his head, but still there’s an emptiness in Chanyeol that chafes away at him in the dark, in the middle of the night when he’s half asleep. It’s an ache that craves to be soothed by kind words and a gentle touch, one that’s just for him and no one else.

Maybe that’s why he does it. Maybe that’s why, when a handsome man from the capitol, riding an equally handsome steed and the emperor’s banners waving in the wind behind him takes one look at Chanyeol, cocks his head and calls Chanyeol a pretty young thing- he says yes. Well, no. Chanyeol says thank you first, and then please second, when the man offers him a position in the palace.

Then he says yes.

—

The palace is as grand on the inside as it is on the outside, a study in opulence. Gold gleams from every high arch, glinting in the generous torchlight that both illuminates the halls and keeps them warm. Elaborate tapestries line every other wall, life-like portraits and incredibly detailed paintings of beautiful scenery line the rest.

After arriving at the palace he is bathed and dressed to within an inch of his life by a host of attendants. They scrub and pluck and lather him in sweet smelling oils, then take him to the infirmary where Chanyeol is thoroughly examined. He’s poked and prodded, handled quickly but efficiently. He’s ordered to disrobe and made to bare himself in ways that make the heat burn at his ears. He’s asked a series of embarrassing questions before being subject to cold, oiled hands between his legs. The touch is impersonal and necessary he’s told, so Chanyeol bears it with as little flinching as he can. Thankfully that part of the examination is quick and the court physician moves on without lingering.

After the physician is satisfied and Chanyeol is given a clean bill of health, he’s lead through the maze like halls by a young servant boy named Taeyong. The boy leads him with sure, steady feet, unfaltering despite the many turns and various pieces of decor that Chanyeol swears in his head they’ve already passed at least three times. Chanyeol trails behind him like a lost duckling, too conscious of the curious stares they garner, the excited tittering of the maids as they pass. It makes him squirm, makes him hunch his shoulders, keeps his eyes downcast and makes him huddle closer to his guide. But even with his head bowed, Chanyeol can tell that their surroundings become even more grand as they walk deeper into the palace, past the public rooms and into the royal family’s private quarters. The knowledge of where they’re headed makes Chanyeol’s heart thunder in his chest and his palms sweat. He’s so preoccupied with trying to stay calm he stumbles right into servant’s back.

“That’s quite all right, sir,” The boy says as Chanyeol apologizes, the words tripping off his tongue. Taeyong peers at him, taking note of his nerves and biting his lip as if deliberating over what to say. “You seem quite nervous, sir. But I assure you there’s no need. His Highness the First Emperor isn’t the one you need to impress, but he is the kinder of the two siblings. If you go honestly, you’ll have no problem earning his favor. You’ll need it if you are to be presented to his brother.”

Chanyeol finds no comfort in these words, though he does appreciate the gesture. “Thank you, Taeyong. Any advice regarding this harem I am to join?” He means it in jest, something to calm the slippery slide of the morning’s broken fast churning in his belly, but Taeyong hums softly, expression serious.

The boy leans in closer as he considers his answer, whispering, “I’m not one to heed palace gossip, sir, but rumor has it that the His Majesty the Second Emperor has only one rule for those in his harem.”

“And what would that be?”

“Not to fall in love.”

Chanyeol’s skepticism must be plain on his face because Taeyong continues, “Officially there are ten listed members of the harem, with you, sir, serving as eleventh. But my sister is handmaid to the First Empress and I myself have served in the palace for over two summers and only four of the ten have been in residence since.”

“What happened to the others?”

“Gone, sir,” Taeyong answers. “Never to be seen or heard from again.”

“Because they fell in love?”

This time Taeyong shrugs, uncertain. “So the rumors say, sir.”

Chanyeol mulls over the information as they continue down the hall towards a pair of large ornate double doors flanked by guards. He doesn’t have time to ask anymore questions before Taeyong signals to the guards to let them in. They enter a receiving room of sorts, obviously for private use if the various plush couches and low tables are any indication. Less gold drips from the ceiling, but it’s replaced by lavish woodwork and silk instead. Large windows with curtains partially drawn to block out the afternoon sun dominate the opposite wall, though glass doors leading to a spacious balcony overlooking a garden are thrown wide open. A gentle breeze ruffles the heavy curtains pushed aside as they move further into the room.

Sitting behind a large wooden desk, His Highness the First Emperor Seungsoo is bent over various rolls of paper, the scratch of his pen the only sound. Upon their entrance large, dark eyes catch and fixate on Chanyeol immediately. He lowers his gaze instinctively, unable to meet such intense scrutiny. His palms sweat and heat prickles along his hairline as Taeyong leads them forward.

“Your majesty,” Taeyong greets the emperor, bowing low, and Chanyeol scrambles to follow suit.

“This is he?” The emperor asks, his voice an imposing baritone. “The new addition to my brother’s harem?”

“Yes, your highness.” From his periphery, Chanyeol can see the boy straighten and he does the same, slowly.

“Leave us,” the emperor commands. The sound of wood scraping on stone is jarring in the relative quiet and Chanyeol flinches involuntarily. “Summon the others.”

With another low bow Tayeong is making his leave. Chanyeol follows his exit with his eyes, heart pounding in his chest. The emperor rounds the desk, coming close enough for Chanyeol to smell ink and burnt amber.

The First Emperor is not a tall man, but his presence is imposing nonetheless. He stands well below Chanyeol’s chin, in full regal attire, dressed in reds and golds. It’s like he glows against the backdrop of the sun streaming in through the windows and Chanyeol feels almost blinded. Smooth fingers cup his chin and Chanyeol stops breathing at the touch. He doesn’t dare look up, keeping his head bowed and eyes low, hands clasped stiffly in front of him.

“Chanyeol,” the emperor says his name slowly, sounding out the syllables. “That is what they call you, is it not?”

“Y-yes, your majesty,” He answers. The words stick in his throat and Chanyeol has to swallow several times, conscious of the fact that the emperor could feel it against the back of his fingers.

The emperor forces him to meet his gaze with a nudge of his fingers and Chanyeol has no choice but to meet his eyes. He’s fixed with a stare that leaves Chanyeol feeling bare, not unlike cattle being readied for auction. Those dark eyes leave nothing to chance, taking stock of every line and freckle on Chanyeol’s face before taking on the rest of his countenance from the breadth of his shoulders to the length of his torso, all the way down his legs and back up again.

“You have quite the comely face. After the initial resistance, I expect my brother will be quite pleased.” The emperor says, finally stepping away and Chanyeol can breathe again. “Do you have any other talents?”

Chanyeol balks momentarily at the question, mind scrambling to answer. “I can sing, your majesty, as well as play various instruments.”

“Do you dance?”

Chanyeol shakes his head. “I’m afraid not, your highness.”

The emperor leans against his desk with arms crossed, a look of contemplation furrowing his brow.

“You are aware of what a place in my brother’s harem entails?”

Warmth suffusing his cheeks, Chanyeol nods. “Yes, your majesty.”

The emperor hums before continuing to speak. “Our empire is vast and its power far-reaching enough that it requires not one ruler but two to govern it. My brother has no ambition so there is no question as to who will succeed the throne between us. I’ve already taken a wife and it’s only a matter of time before my children will roam these halls. While there is no pressure for my brother to follow suit, he’s practically married to the duties of the empire. This is where I need to impress upon you the importance of your role here.” The emperor fixes Chanyeol with another probing stare. “Simply put, a happy, satisfied emperor makes for a happy, satisfied empire. If you play your part well and he is pleased with your company, you and your family will be well taken care of for as long as you are in service.”

“Thank you, your highness. That’s very generous of you.”

His majesty snorts, a rude sound that startles Chanyeol out of the flurry of thoughts running through his head. “Don’t thank me yet. As comely as you are, so is the rest of his harem and even they fail to entice him long enough to ignore his responsibilities for more than an evening at a time. Being chosen is easy enough, boy. It’s staying in the harem that will prove to be difficult.”

Chanyeol doesn’t know if the emperor means for his words to sound ominous, but he can’t help but think of the gossip Taeyong spoke of, of those who were once there but are no longer. Apprehension starts to swirl in the pit of his stomach, ignored only at the sound of the door opening.

The emperor looks past him for the first time, gesturing behind Chanyeol. “Just you, little nightingale?”

“Am I not more than enough, your grace?”

The words are smooth, teasing, inciting a cool shiver down Chanyeol’s spine. Looking towards the newcomer, Chanyeol is struck by the beauty of him. He’s shorter than Chanyeol but broad shouldered, with hair dyed the color of burnt copper. It matches the color of his robes, lengths of silk that drag slightly on the ground but spared fabric at his chest. An enticing slice of skin is exposed from his neck almost all the way down his chest. The muscles of his abdomen ripple when he turns to Chanyeol.

“And who might this be?” Dark eyes lined with kohl rake Chanyeol up and down slowly, and the feeling of being like cattle at the auction returns.

“This is Chanyeol,” the emperor explains, “He is to be the new addition to your master’s harem. I trust that you will teach him everything he needs to know.”

The beautiful man makes a pleased sound, lips quirking and eyes glinting with intent. “Why, yes, of course.”

“Play nice, Baekhyun,” the emperor warns, leveling the man with a stern look.

“Always, your majesty.” Baekhyun turns to Chanyeol, grin widening as he curls fingers around the crook of Chanyeol’s arm. He sidles close, pressing up against Chanyeol’s side and Chanyeol’s head spins with the smell of musk and jasmine. “So tall, so pretty,” Baekhyun murmurs into the sleeve of Chanyeol’s own robes where he leans his head momentarily. He looks up at Chanyeol then, eyes bright, his grin sly. “You’re perfect.”

“I’m so glad you approve,” the emperor arches a single brow at Baekhyun, who only responds with a mischievous tilt of his lips. “Off with you both. I have much work to do.” They’re dismissed with a huff and a wave of the emperor’s hand.

Baekhyun bows, pulling at Chanyeol’s arm for him to do the same and with that they make their way out of the room.

“Follow me, please,” Baekhyun says, directing them towards another hallway and another set of doors. Chanyeol has no choice but to follow, unable and unwilling to shake off Baekhyun’s hold on his arm. Baekhyun leads them down a corridor framed by tall arches and lined with ivory columns. The portraits displayed here are just as grand and expensive looking as the others Chanyeol’s seen as he traversed the palace, with one glaring difference - all the people depicted are nude. His face heats at the realization, eyes catching at picture after picture of people cavorting and making merry in various states of nudity. His steps falter and he’d tumble to the ground if it isn’t for Baekhyun’s hold on his arm.

“Charming art work, no?” Baekhyun snickers when he notices Chanyeol’s crimson ears.

At the end of the hall is a lone red door inlaid with gold that glints even from afar. Chanyeol assumes that is their destination and makes haste, keeping up with Baekhyun’s nimble steps.

“Excited, are we?” Baekhyun laughs, the sound echoing as they reach the door. “You’ll fit right in.”

The rooms beyond the red door are nothing like the rest of the palace. Instead of red and gold - the official colors of the royal family - different shades of blue and black and charcoal grey decorate the harem’s private quarters. Baekhyun gives him a tour through a room dominated by a generous fire place that extends from one wall to another. A lavish navy rug spreads across much of the floor in front of the hearth. The rest of the room is littered with couches made low to the ground and an abundance of cushions. They peek into various doors with single beds that look untouched, as well as another room filled with nothing but clothes.

Baekhyun gives him no time to process any of this before he’s pushing Chanyeol onto one of the plush couches and dropping himself onto Chanyeol’s lap without preamble.

“Well, hello,” he purrs, leaning in close and caging Chanyeol in with his arms on either side of Chanyeol’s head on the back of the couch. One knee nudges up against Chanyeol between his legs, preventing them from closing.

“Let me introduce myself properly. I’m Baekhyun.” He shimmies on Chanyeol’s lap in an effort to get comfortable and Chanyeol can only sit, frozen in shock while under him. “Won’t you tell me your name in return, sir?”

“You- “ Chanyeol swallows thickly before continuing. “Y-you already know my name.”

Baekhyun tilts his head prettily. “Yes, but won’t you tell me anyway?”

“Chanyeol-“ he says haltingly. “My name is Chanyeol.”

“Chanyeol,” Baekhyun repeats slowly, curling his tongue around the syllables in a way that has Chanyeol following the movement with his eyes. “Tell me, are you a virgin, Chanyeol?”

Chanyeol stops short at the question, heat climbing up his chest. He shakes his head no.

“And have you lain with a man? Found pleasure in another man’s embrace before?”

Chanyeol thinks of the stolen kisses and discrete tumbles he’s had with the occasional stablehand or the son of one of his father’s patrons.

“Yes,” he answers but the gleam in Baekhyun’s eyes say that he wants to prove Chanyeol otherwise.

“We’ll see about that.” Baekhyun leans in then, tips Chanyeol’s head back with hands curled around the nape of his neck. He runs long, slender, delicate fingers under the collar of Chanyeol’s robes, tugs it aside until it’s loose and Chanyeol’s chest is exposed. He ducks his head to press his mouth against the other man’s jugular, lips curling against the skin where Chanyeol’s pulse jumps.

“W-what are you doing?” Chanyeol stutters, breath hitching as he feels the tip of Baekhyun’s tongue lick up the side of his throat. His hands fly up, pushing against broad shoulders before the other man can lean in any further.

Baekhyun pauses to wrap slender fingers around both of Chanyeol’s wrists, holding them, a firm pressure. “Be still,” he says, fingers squeezing ever so slightly. “This is your first lesson. In here, we are nothing without trust. ”

“Why are you-“ Chanyeol tries to tug his hands away from Baekhyun’s grip but finds himself overpowered despite the other man’s smaller frame. Baekhyun’s fingers become tight as he presses Chanyeol against the back of the couch by his wrists, blunt nails biting into delicate skin.

“Do not fight me,” Baekhyun says when Chanyeol tries to buck him off. He slides the knee between Chanyeol’s legs higher, until the pressure there is tight, almost painful, a warning. “I don’t wish to hurt you.”

There’s something in the way he says it - half a command, half a plea - that has Chanyeol still abruptly, heart racing suddenly at the position he’d found himself in. Trust, Baekhyun had said.

He exhales loudly, blowing through his nose and letting his body go pliant under Baekhyun’s. The pressure between his legs eases just a fraction and Chanyeol breathes a little easier too. He stares up at Baekhyun with a frown.

“Now, what?”

Baekhyun laughs then, letting go of Chanyeol’s wrists to cup his face and lean down to press a swift kiss to the furrow of Chanyeol’s brow. “How are you still so pretty even when you’re angry?” Baekhyun murmurs curiously. “Confusion also looks very pretty on you.”

Silently, Chanyeol just stares at him.

Baekhyun doesn’t elaborate right away, choosing to trail a finger down Chanyeol’s chest through the slit he’d made through his robes. Chanyeol lets him, stays still as he’d been originally requested and watches Baekhyun’s face as he traces over Chanyeol’s skin. His touch is soft, the pads of his fingers smooth and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Our master is a simple man,” Baekhyun starts, shifting once more until he’s sitting astride both Chanyeol’s thighs, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of Chanyeol’s hips. “He is handsome, kind, and generous. He works too hard and asks for very little in return. He lets us roam free and do as we please - he doesn’t let the usual rules of the palace stifle us. For royalty, he’s rather uncomplicated, but he’s still royalty nonetheless. As his harem, he has…certain expectations.” Baekhyun wiggles a brow for emphasis before continuing. “You must ignore the rumors and hearsay that abound in the palace. No matter the gossip, it is an honor and a privilege to serve our ruler in such a singular, unparalleled way. For your undivided loyalty, honesty, and devotion, you will be well compensated.”

“And what are his…” Chanyeol hesitates at the word, thoughts going back to the singular rule Taeyong had mentioned. “…expectations?”

Baekhyun smirks, reaching up and running fingers through Chanyeol’s hair. Its soothing, the way he cards through the strands, pulling just a little at the ends so that Chanyeol is almost distracted - almost. “Mainly, that we stay safe and out of trouble - there are those in the palace who don’t look kindly upon our service here, so we must be careful who we trust and interact with. As the Second Emperor, he has many duties outside of the palace. When he’s gone too long, those who wish him ill-will become bold and sometimes there are those who attempt to harm him through us.”

Baekhyun levels him with a stare, not a hint of jest or mischief in his dark eyes. “This is why your first lesson is about trust. We in the harem only have each other and our master. Anyone else is subject to suspicion.”

“And what of the First Emperor?” Chanyeol asks.

Baekhyun’s lips thin into a line, and he takes his time answering. “He… is an ally, though he too has his own agenda. Tread carefully with him.”

Chanyeol nods in understanding. “What else is expected of us?”

A mischievous grin softens the lines of Baekhyun’s face and breaks the unexpectedly serious and tense atmosphere that had come over them. “Everything a harem implies of course,” Baekhyun says, pushing up against Chanyeol’s chest and wrapping arms around his neck. This time, when he leans in close, their breaths mingling, Chanyeol doesn’t flinch or move away. He stays still, waits for Baekhyun’s next move. Trusts.

Baekhyun dips his head, presses a chaste kiss to Chanyeol’s mouth, doing it again, twice, thrice more, gauging his reaction. “We are his harem but he doesn’t visit nearly as often enough.” Baekhyun murmurs the words against Chanyeol’s lips. “It can get a little lonely, waiting for him to come around, so we’ve been given leave to entertain each other - and only each other.”

Baekhyun tilts his head and swipes at the seam of Chanyeol’s lips with his tongue, asking for entry that Chanyeol is all too willing to grant. The kiss is soft, languid, sweet. Chanyeol doesn’t remember the last time a kiss wasn’t anything either platonic and familial, or rushed and clandestine. He gets swept away in it, the way Baekhyun leads him along, teasing with his tongue, his fingers in Chanyeol’s hair, his body undulating slowly in Chanyeol’s lap.

When Baekhyun breaks the kiss, he tugs at Chanyeol’s hair to keep him in place, thrusts his hips in a dirty circle that leaves Chanyeol gasping. He licks a stripe across the thundering pulse at Chanyeol’s throat before lifting up. He stares hard at Chanyeol down the bridge of his nose, a haughty tilt to his brow. “Only we and his majesty are allowed to see you like this - soft, and warm, and pliant with wanting. Your body, your talents, your devotion, your pleasure-” he punctuates the last word with a hand sliding down to cup Chanyeol’s cock, squeezing at its considerable length through layers of fabric and reveling in the way Chanyeol’s eyes flutter as he bites back a moan. “- they belong to us and no one else. Is that understood?”

“Y-yes,” Chanyeol draws in a sharp breath as Baekhyun gives his cock one last squeeze before leaning back and pulling at the loose ends of Chanyeol’s clothing.

“Pretty Chanyeol,” he murmurs, running hands up and down Chanyeol’s sides, cupping the muscles of his chest and rubbing at his nipples until they stiffen into peaks. “You say you know of pleasure but clearly there’s so much to teach you. I can’t wait to take what you know of pleasure and multiply it by tenfold.”

Baekhyun kisses him again, takes Chanyeol by the arms and wraps them around himself, low on his back, encourages Chanyeol to hold him close and press their bodies tight together. Baekhyun’s kiss is dizzying, leaving him with no choice but to comply.

Baekhyun chooses a rhythm that makes the weight of another hard cock pushing against his own undeniable. Somehow the knowledge that he isn’t the only one affected makes Chanyeol lightheaded with want. He can hardly breathe as it is, Baekhyun swallowing his every moan until the only sound in the room is the rustling of their clothes as they grind against one another and their labored breathing.

He didn’t expect to be seduced so suddenly or so quickly, but it's already more than anything Chanyeol’s ever experienced. He feels ready to spend without even undressing and he could swear it’s only been a few minutes. It’s too soon, too quick but heat and pleasure bubble low in his gut and his body shudders, seeking more friction until he’s breathless, almost there but not quite. He grips Baekhyun’s thighs and ass for purchase, whimpers Baekhyun’s name when he ignores Chanyeol’s pleas for more.

It takes long moments for either of them to realize they have an audience.

Chanyeol doesn’t register the sound of bells tinkling immediately, doesn’t even notice it until Baekhyun is chuckling into their kiss, pulling back to grin playfully behind Chanyeol.

“We have company,” Baekhyun whispers loudly, eyes twinkling with mirth. “A pair of impudent children.”

It’s then that Chanyeol notices the incessant ringing of bells, obviously calling for attention, and he feels heat crawl up his neck at the thought of someone watching. He feels his cock twitch though, and he isn’t sure if it’s such an unwelcome thought after all.

Baekhyun sits back on his thighs, leaves Chanyeol with enough room to crane his neck just enough to look behind him- the two men standing there are hardly children, he thinks.

Both undeniably handsome, seemingly even as tall as Chanyeol himself, they twine around one another, arms linked, hanging off each other’s shoulders in an enticing contrast: one with pale, smooth skin and haughty brows, the other tanned muscle, full lips and watching them with curious, sleepy eyes.

It’s unnerving, to be observed so intently. Long fingers flick idly at their wrists, no longer incessantly ringing the bells looped around them now that they’ve garnered the attention they were seeking. Neither of them speak, but the taller one with a flat stare merely arches a brow, seemingly waiting for either of them on the couch to act first.

Baekhyun doesn’t disappoint.

“Welcome back darlings, would you like to join us?”

—

Time passes differently in the palace.

After that first day, Chanyeol becomes a cautious student under Baekhyun’s questionable tutelage.

His constant presence has been both a blessing and a curse. They’re of the same age, both of them from merchant families, though Baekhyun’s are alive and well and far away, hailing from the north. Baekhyun tours him around the palace, teaches him how best to charm the cooks into giving them the tastiest offerings from the kitchen at any hour of the day, shows him how to slip away from the guards without getting caught, personally demonstrates to Chanyeol which nooks and crannies are best to sneak kisses in.

It’s easy to fall under Baekhyun’s spell. He has the act of being a tease down to an art form, flustering Chanyeol at every opportunity that it’s almost comical. Chanyeol is by no means a prude or a virgin but he’s like a skittish lamb every time Baekhyun brushes too close, cornering him behind every alcove, every blind turn merely to push up against him and breathe in the same space. He rests his head on Chanyeol’s shoulder, his chest, litters kisses all over his throat and neck at every chance he gets. Chanyeol tries to keep up with his advances, tries to reciprocate in much the same way but Baekhyun had been right when he’d said Chanyeol had plenty to learn about pleasure.

After the first lesson on trust, Chanyeol becomes intimately acquainted with the second lesson - the concept of patience.

While Baekhyun is a blatant tease, his ways are deliberate and obvious, easily anticipated, predictable even. In the end, Chanyeol’s greatest temptation comes in the form of the unknown.

Once a round of stilted introductions are made, Chanyeol fights the urge to hide his face behind his hands long enough to get to know the youngest members of the harem.

Jongin and Sehun are a sight to behold in their own right, both of them achingly handsome even while standing still, but even more so when they work in tandem. They know all too well that their attraction is doubly fatal when they work together, the contrast in their visuals and demeanor a captivating push and pull of energy that is devastating to witness. Their approach to seduction is much more subtle.

They welcome Chanyeol into their fold easily enough, both of them shy, Jongin with more warmth than Sehun - at least initially. Jongin is all sweet smiles and pouting lips, an innocence about him that belies his inherently sensual nature. He’s careless with the way he dresses, unconcerned about drooping fabric or bunched up lengths of cloth that expose delectable swathes of hard muscle and tanned skin. His every movement is unconscious fluidity, mesmerizing at every hour of the day, whether it’s in the early hours of the morning with his hair mussed and sticking up wildly in every direction, or just out of the bath with damp still clinging to him, or even after his lessons with his brow furrowed in concentration. Chanyeol is convinced Jongin is unable to look anything but beautiful at any given moment.

He feels much the same way about Sehun, though at first haughty tilt of his brows and firm set to his jaw has Chanyeol giving him a wide berth, preferring to admire his painfully handsome face from afar rather than up close. Surprisingly, it’s Sehun who demands his attention first, unleashing his own version of a devastating pout when Chanyeol doesn’t automatically dote on him like Chanyeol dotes on Jongin. He curls fingers around Chanyeol’s wrists, tugs at it petulantly and whines into his shoulder until he gets his way.

From them on, Chanyeol finds himself constantly sandwiched on either side by a clinging Jongin and an even clingier Sehun. It becomes a competition somehow, with Baekhyun as the scorekeeper and Chanyeol as the unwitting, but not unwilling, prize. When one grabs his hand, the other must too. When Sehun sidles up to his side, Jongin is there not long after to plant his head in Chanyeol’s lap. When Jongin surprises him with a kiss, hidden behind bookshelves on a rainy afternoon, Sehun corners him in the bath on the same day, leaving him flustered in the wake of Sehun’s meticulous hands scrubbing at his skin.

Baekhyun just laughs through it, cheerfully keeping score, telling him not to worry about who’s winning even as his eyes glint with something hot and heavy as he watches the two squabble for Chanyeol’s attention. It’s poorly hidden lust, something Chanyeol has begun to recognize in his short time in the palace. It’s there in the way Jongin slides a hand down his back every so often, too slow to be just teasing, too deliberate to be unconscious. He can feel it in the way Sehun holds him a little too tight when they tussle in play, the way he holds Chanyeol too close, takes a little too long to let go.

They don’t do anything about it though, none of them do.

Chanyeol supposes it’s another lesson he’s being taught, because he hears things sometimes, noises behind closed doors that are unmistakable, even to an unfamiliar ear. He wants to believe they’re trying to teach him something, tries not to let it hurt. This knowledge that he’s been welcomed but still somehow uninvited - it weighs heavily upon him, makes him seek solace in one of the few single rooms in their quarters, more often than not shying away from the massive one everyone shares in the main bedroom.

He visits his sister too, brooding mood lifted when he’s informed that he isn’t confined to the palace. There are certain lessons he must complete, classes on etiquette, how to conduct himself in formal company, how to dance. The dance lessons leave him exhausted and irritable, two left feet and the dance master’s sharp scolding making him unwilling to deal with the growing tension between him and the others. He takes whatever chance he can to get away from the palace, even for a few hours.

It’s about an hour’s ride on horseback to his sister’s house, her new residence that of her husband’s estate. Chanyeol is accompanied by an armed guard, four men in total to cover him in front, behind, and on either side. He thinks it’s a bit much just to get one village over but he remembers Baekhyun’s words of caution and does not complain.

As always, Yoora is a soothing balm to Chanyeol’s brewing inner turmoil. She knows exactly what to say to lighten his mood, feeds him sweet cakes, and lets him lay his head on her lap to fall asleep with her fingers threading through his hair. He tries to visit her often, at least once every few weeks, more so when she breaks the happy news to him: she is with child, a little boy or girl expected just after the new year.

Chanyeol is happy for her - happy for them - the new addition to the family a bright spot in their otherwise gloomy recent past. He watches her, watches the way she’s bloomed despite the tragedy that had fallen upon them. He can’t help but feel a little envious, a little out of place. A little stuck in the past. He wonders how their life would be if their parents hadn’t died, if their lives had followed the natural course they had been headed. Would she still be the happily married expectant mother before him? Would he himself be following in his father’s footsteps, groomed to take over the family business?

Questions, questions, so many questions, but in the end Chanyeol has no answers.

—

Chanyeol can’t breathe.

The flames are too hot and the smoke too thick to drag air into his lungs. He tries to open his eyes but can’t see past the shimmering heat and flickering shadows engulfing his bed. Distantly, he knows how this ends, knows that someone will come bursting through his bedroom door at any second and pull him to safety, but the suspense is agony despite the vague awareness of what really happens. Here, caught firmly in the clutches of his nightmare, Chanyeol can only lay frozen, tangled in his bedsheets as he chokes on a breath, everything burning, burning, burning too quickly all around him. It’s all too easy for this nightmare to spiral into an alternate ending, one where he dies like this, a coward in his bed.

Everything feels too real. The smoke, the flames, the heat, and the inability to breathe. This is it. This is how he dies. This is all he’s meant to be, nothing but a burnt corpse and ashes left in his wake. He never got to say goodbye to his parents, Yoora. Never even got to meet His Ma-

With a jerk of his neck to one side and a stinging to his left cheek, the nightmare disintegrates abruptly into moonlight streaming through large windows and silk sheets. A pair of dark, worried eyes gazes at him from above, distracting Chanyeol from the heavyweight pinning his thighs to the bed.

“Chanyeol!” Baekhyun whispers loudly, reaching out to cradle Chanyeol’s cheek where he’d struck him. “Wake up! You’re having a nightmare!”

Chanyeol struggles for another moment, trying to untangle himself from the clutches of a horrible dream rooted too true in reality. He grabs at Baekhyun’s wrist, holding on until ghostly flames recede from his periphery, enough to be aware of his surroundings. The aftermath of the nightmare leaves him drenched in sweat and panting, heart a thundering staccato in his chest so loud that he’s sure Baekhyun can hear it.

“B-baekhyun -”

“Shh,” baekhyun shushes him softly, gentle fingers carding through his hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re here, in the palace, you’re safe. Your sister is safe. Everyone is safe. There’s no fire.” He repeats the same thing over and over again until Chanyeol’s heart rate slows and it’s no longer pounding in his ears, until he’s able to breathe without feeling like he’s taking in smoke instead. Baekhyun settles himself more comfortably over Chanyeol in the process, laying his head over Chanyeol’s chest.

“You were crying out in your sleep and you wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t wake up when I called your name.” He says after a while, leaning on an elbow to peer down at Chanyeol’s tear stained face.

Chanyeol drags in a ragged breath, just enough to stutter out a rough “T-thank you” before he’s looking away from Baekhyun’s probing eyes and shifting uncomfortably. A different kind of heat rushes to his face when he realizes, belatedly, that Baekhyun is sitting on him, had likely trapped Chanyeol between his thighs while he thrashed in his sleep and kept the fingers of his unoccupied hand curled around one of Chanyeol’s wrists in a vise as he flailed.

“I’m sorry,” Chanyeol says, worried but still unable to look him in the eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

Baekhyun frowns at him, the expression tangible even in the dim lighting. “Never mind about me, what about you? Are you okay? Why are you sleeping by yourself?”

It takes Chanyeol a moment to reorient himself, scanning the room and the bed with a puzzled gaze. “Ah…” he says, remembering suddenly why he’s squirreled himself away in a separate bedroom instead of the large, main room with its giant bed that everyone usually prefers to sleep in. “It was late when I got back from visiting my sister. The others were already in bed. I - ” Chanyeol feels his ears burn at the memory of breathy moans and the steady, rhythmic thud thud thud of someone being bent over and fucked loud enough to be heard through heavy closed doors. “I didn’t want to disturb them, so I made my way here instead.”

“Silly Chanyeol,” Baekhyun reprimands softly as he swipes away at a lingering tear from Chanyeol’s wet lashes. “If you went to visit your sister you shouldn’t have let those naughty pups chase you out of bed. You shouldn’t have to be alone when you’re sad.”

“I’m not,” Chanyeol grumbles, stubbornly turning his head away from Baekhyun’s soothing fingers. “I’m not sad.”

“You aren’t sad?” Baekhyun scoffs, “Except you only ever have these nightmares after you visit your sister.”

“That’s not - “

Baekhyun shushes him once again, this time with a well-placed finger over Chanyeol’s mouth, effectively cutting off his protests. He presses in close, slots a knee between Chanyeol’s thighs and replaces his finger with his mouth, kissing Chanyeol softly, chastely before pulling away again. He forces Chanyeol to meet his gaze with that same finger, now underneath his chin. “It's alright to be sad. It’s alright to miss your family. But you must be honest about it. We can’t help you feel better if we don’t know how you’re feeling.”

It’s always too easy to fall into the depths of Baekhyun’s all too alluring gaze; the man uses all sorts of wiles to get his way and is more often than not successful. Chanyeol is hard pressed to look away, not when the weight of Baekhyun’s stare holds more than just wiles and allure. There’s fondness and concern, warmth and comfort - things Chanyeol is no longer familiar with, not since his life was upended and engulfed by flames.

Chanyeol grapples with the uncertainty, the doubt, struggles through the thick, honey-like residue of fear still clinging to the edges of his consciousness. It takes him a long time to muster up the courage to nod his head, to promise Baekhyun in a stuttered attempt that he’ll do his best not to wallow in sadness alone. It feels good to say it though, when he’s finally able. It feels good to have expectations placed upon him, because it implies a future, sparks a hope in him that had been slowly fading out.

It feels good, too, the way Baekhyun rewards him with more kisses, deeper, longer, backed by a heat that previously had just been simmering. It’s now ignited into something with the potential for more - much more. Baekhyun’s been away for a few days on some errands in preparation for the long awaited arrival of the Second Emperor and Chanyeol’s missed him. While he enjoys the company of the two youngest, they are usually too engrossed in lessons and too tired afterwards to indulge Chanyeol in his continued explorations of the palace. He’s been in residence for a few weeks now, but still has yet to see everything. The palace is vast enough that he doesn’t think he’ll ever see everything it holds, no matter how long he stays.

Chanyeol moans at the subtle grind of Baekhyun’s hips against his, resists the urge to do it again when it progresses to gentle rocking. He tries to push up, seeking more friction, but is stopped by a firm hand on the outside of his thigh. Chanyeol whines at the restriction to his movements, chasing Baekhyun’s tongue when he pulls away.

“There you go,” Baekhyun tilts his head and smirks at him, “That’s a better look on you.”

Chanyeol feels heat crawl up his neck at the teasing, shoving at Baekhyun’s shoulder before flinging an arm across his eyes so that he doesn’t have to see that smug face. Baekhyun’s subsequent laugh is quiet but full of mirth. He coaxes Chanyeol out of the single bedroom and into the communal one with promises of a fuller bed and warmer cuddles. He almost wants to be selfish and keep the knowledge of his tears and Baekhyun to himself but the lure of being held tightly enough to keep his nightmares away proves to be too tempting to resist.

When they enter, it smells faintly like sex though Chanyeol can tell right away that the sheets have been changed, already a different color than he remembers them from the the previous morning. On the bed, long limbs sprawl and intertwine, naked except for the sheets tangled around them. Jongin and Sehun are pressed so close together he wouldn’t be able to tell them apart if Jongin’s smooth tan didn’t contrast so enticingly with Sehun’s delicate, pale skin. Sehun stirs and eyes them blearily when they step in but its Jongin who rolls over to make space between them, arms flung out sleepily in welcome.

Chanyeol hesitates at the foot of the bed, still unsure of his place even after all the times he’s been repeatedly, gladly received. Baekhyun urges him out of his sweat-damp sleep shirt before nudging him into the middle of the bed where a grumpy Sehun glares at them with one eye open, impatiently patting the space Jongin created.

Baekhyun, for his part, wastes no time falling into Jongin’s open arms. He’s wrapped up quickly and securely by long limbs and they roll around like that before settling down again.

“Baekhyunnie hyuuung,” he hears Jongin slur from where’s he’s shoved his face into Baekhyun’s collarbones. “Welcome home.”

From not far beside them Sehun shivers a little, frown deepening and eyes narrowing further in Chanyeol’s direction. Jongin and Baekhun have taken the covers with them in their rolling around, leaving all of Sehun bare to the cool air. Aside from the shiver, he’s unfazed and stays silent, just pats the continued empty space next to him somehow in an even more aggressive manner. Chanyeol slips into that space without further fanfare, the appeal of Sehun’s broad shoulders too much to resist. He’s quickly entangled in long limbs in a similar fashion, though Sehun makes no effort to roll around or show a more enthusiastic welcome other than a sloppy kiss to Chanyeol’s ear before he presses the taller man’s face into the crook of his neck. He pulls at Chanyeol’s limbs until he’s comfortable, until Chanyeol is more on top of Sehun than he is on the bed.

“Where have you been?” Sehun asks drowsily. Chanyeol feels the words more than he hears them where he has an ear pressed more or less against the younger man’s throat. Chanyeol doesn’t answer, too embarrassed to say that he’d run away from exactly this - the intimacy of open arms and a warm bed, of the possibility of addressing the thoughts and feelings that constantly plague and overwhelm him. Instead, he just shakes his head, squeezes Sehun tighter.

Sehun huffs at him, pinches Chanyeol on the side in retaliation. He’s quick to hold Chanyeol against him when the older man flinches away. “Silly hyung,” he mutters sleepily before tugging the blanket away from under a grumbling Jongin.

Sleep is usually hard to come by after he’s woken up from dreams haunted by fire, but it’s easier somehow, like this, surrounded by warm, welcoming bodies on either side, ready to hold him any way he wants to turn. He’s honest enough to admit - even if only to himself - that this is exactly what he needs, what he craves for.

—

The next time Chanyeol wakes up is a more pleasant affair. He wakes to a chorus of quiet moans and the intermittent jostling of the bed. Blinking away the sleep from his eyes, Chanyeol tries to find the source of these sounds but doesn’t find it in front of him. With a stretch of his limbs he rolls over slowly, heart rate picking up in anticipation.

Not far from him, barely an arms length away, Baekhyun has the fingers of both hands curled atop two heads as they bob up and down, working in tandem to suck at his cock. Baekhyun arches his back and moans loudly as Sehun suckles at the tip, swirling his tongue and lapping at beads of come that trickle from the head. One of Jongin’s hands simultaneously strokes up and down the length as the other anchors Baekhyun’s hips to the bed. Seamlessly, they switch, and then its Jongin’s mouth his cock disappears into while Sehun reaches up to pinch a stiff nipple.

Baekhyun curses under his breath at their ministrations, fingers tugging at handfuls of hair as Jongin’s lips meet the base of his cock and stay there for a long moment before pulling back up and sinking down again. Chanyeol watches, riveted, as Baekhyun fights not to thrust his hips, thighs pinned down and kept open by any hand that isn’t actively touching his cock.

Chanyeol has to squeeze his eyes shut and suppress his own moan at the bolt of arousal that snakes like lightning down his spine and settles low in his gut, twisting the insides as he stiffens in the confines of his sleep clothes. He whimpers at the sensation, unable to hold back the tiny sound when his eyes flutter open to find both the youngest trying to kiss each other with the head of Baekhyun’s cock between them. Still, it’s loud enough to garner attention and sure enough there are fingers in his own hair just moments later.

“Good morning,” Baekhyun says to him, the phrase a breathless sound as the other two pause their attentions to greet him too.

The sight of them is a little overwhelming for Chanyeol, who is still reeling from last night’s nightmare, emotions still raw, still a little needy and wanting, and maybe just a little hurt, just a little jealous that he wasn’t woken up in the same way. He’s aware that that’s his fault too, for putting up barriers and setting up boundaries.

When he’d agreed on that fateful day months ago to come to the palace, he’d only imagined himself used for his body and his pretty face, largely ignored and left alone after he’d done his duty. Instead, he’s found himself welcomed too sincerely, his body left unused and his face sighed over too many times with no intention for anything more than admiration. It’s…a frustrating predicament because so far, those who’ve surrounded him poke and prod at emotions he wants kept buried deep, deep down. They poke and probe at his baser instincts too, teasing him both unwittingly and on purpose.

It’s an odd purgatory he’s found himself in and Chanyeol hates the prickle of tears at the corner of his eye, hates the way he can’t just appreciate the sun casting rays of light onto the bed and illuminating the beautiful trio of people in front of him. It makes him feel ugly beside them, this volley of negative emotions he harbors.

He’s so sure he’s ruined the moment if it isn’t for Jongin reaching out, hand slightly sticky, to reach for Chanyeol’s own. He links their fingers before tugging Chanyeol closer, close enough to press his lips against the inside of the older man’s wrist.

“Baekhyun hyung said you wouldn’t come to bed last night because you were sad,” Jongin says, tilting his head and resting a cheek over their clasped hands. “Is this true?”

Chanyeol is tempted to deny it, but it doesn’t feel right, not in this moment. There is no room for any sort of deceit in the way Jongin’s earnest gaze pleads for truth, for honesty.

So Chanyeol nods, swipes at moisture that’s gathered in his eyes. “Yes.”

Jongin makes a wounded sound, stretching his body alongside Chanyeol until their eyes are level. “Did you want to be alone?”

“No,” Chanyeol shakes his head, lips trembling at the word.

Jongin sighs, heavy in a way that Chanyeol isn’t used to hearing from the younger man. “Don’t do that again, please,” he says, forcing Chanyeol to look at him when he tries to look away. “Sehunnie and I are young, but we can hold you too. Maybe we can’t lessen your pain, but even we can do that much.”

Chanyeol protests loudly at that, thinks of the way Jongin who, despite his initially bashful nature, had pursued him in the palace’s extensive library just days after they’d met, offering Chanyeol his favorite spot to read: a cosy alcove only half uncovered by the sun and well-stocked with cushions. Since then, they’ve spent countless hours there together when they can, Chanyeol with a book in hand and a sleepy Jongin snuggled in his lap. He thinks of that moment and many more in between and fights the urge to make lofty promises he isn’t sure he can keep just to ease the hurt flitting through the younger man’s dark eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Chanyeol says instead. He glances briefly at the other two who have remained silent at his and Jongin’s exchange. “I will try.“

It seems to be a satisfactory enough answer because it makes Jongin smile down at him, a beautiful uptick in the muscles of his mouth that transforms his face from sleepily sensuality to something happier, maybe even smug. The sight of it has Chanyeol’s heart skipping a beat, spreads a glowing warmth through the cavity of his chest.

Jongin leans down to leave a sticky kiss on Chanyeol’s cheek, and when he isn’t pushed away he dips his head for another, this time to Chanyeol’s mouth. Jongin’s lips are pillowy soft, the kiss gentle but also filthy with the salty taste of Baekhyun on his tongue. The kiss reignites the heat that had been simmering just below the surface of his skin, making him push up against Jongin’s body, seeking friction. Jongin responds in kind, pressing him into the bed, onto his back so that they slot together in the most pleasing way.

Beside them, someone moans and the sound has Jongin pulling away to peer at him in question. “Is this all right?” He accompanies the question with a swivel of his hips that has the breath catching in Chanyeol’s throat even as he balks at the question.

He looks around and notices that all eyes are on him.

“Can I touch you like this?” Jongin prompts again as he lifts Chanyeol’s legs, tugging at his small clothes until they’re off, hitching them over his hips so that their cocks brush and grind in a way that has Chanyeol losing his train of thought.

“Yes.” The word is nothing more than a hiss between Chanyeol’s gritted teeth. Jongin obliges and the ensuing rhythm of their bodies is one as old as time.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can still see Baekhyun’s sharp gaze watching, even as Sehun’s ducked his head to take him into his mouth again. It adds yet another layer of heat to the arousal already burning through him, stoking the flames higher and higher and higher still. He pulls Jongin tighter against him, gasping when the younger man leaves bruises on his hips in kind.

This close, he can feel Jongin’s heart thunder along in his ribcage. It’s the satisfaction that he did this, that it was his hands, his ministrations that have Jongin scrambling for purchase on the sheets, grunting as they flirt with the edge control. Chanyeol’s body bows and arches at the onslaught of sensation. It’s been too long since he’s experienced pleasure not brought about by his own hands.

Now, Chanyeol’s had his hand up a skirt or two, tumbled in the hay with his fair share of willing maids and stablehands before the fire. But those had meant nothing, had stayed at lewd kisses hidden in dark corners, just rough hands and pent up bodies looking for release. There were no soft touches or lingering kisses to lead Chanyeol on, no whispered promises in his ear. He hadn’t been invested in any outcome other than release during those encounters and he’d expected more of the same when he’d first entered the palace.

But it hadn’t taken Baekhyun more than an eager, enthusiastic hello to have Chanyeol’s carefully laid expectations crumbling at his feet. All Jongin had to do was smile at him shyly from beneath sleep rumpled hair, Sehun merely pouted in his direction and Chanyeol already found himself hopelessly, irrevocably attached in such a short amount of time.

It scares him, the sheer amount of warmth and affection he’s willing to give and receive in return.

Chanyeol comes first, blindsided by an expert roll of Jongin’s hips. He cries out, hips stuttering and body quaking as he pitches forward into Jongin’s chest. Distantly, he can hear Baekhyun doing the same, cursing, a litany of Sehun’s name under his breath. Sehun whines in reply, loud and desperate even through the rush of blood in Chanyeol’s ears. Chanyeol chokes on a breath at the sound, spurts one last time into the mess between his and Jongin’s body.

Jongin slows the movement of his hips and pulls away to kiss down the length of his torso, sucking bruises down the middle of his chest, at stiff nipples on his way. Chanyeol moans, unable to curb the the sound as it echoes in the quiet room. It’s followed by a chorus of other moans not his own and continues on like a loop. Jongin adds his own when he licks sloppily at the come streaked over Chanyeol’s abdomen to clean him up.

“You taste so good,” Jongin pants over Chanyeol’s spent cock, his back and shoulders flexing in an enticing display of muscle as he runs palms down the outside of Chanyeol’s legs. His eyes are glazed over and his cheeks warmed to a pretty pink hue, visible even under the younger man’s well-earned golden tan.“You’re so pretty, hyung,” he adds the honorific as he bends over to press lips against the inside of a smooth, pale thigh.

Chanyeol can’t help the urge to close his legs at the sensual onslaught, still sensitive, every inch of his skin still on fire. Jongin takes pity on him and lets up his assault on Chanyeol’s overtaxed senses, easing him through the aftermath with more kisses - softer, gentler this time - to Chanyeol’s person. He kisses his way up until their bodies align once more and he reaches Chanyeol’s neck, sucking languidly at the column of his throat.

It feels like a long time to clear the haze of orgasm from his mind, but when he’s once again aware of his surroundings, it’s to the realization that Jongin is still hard. Chanyeol makes a noise of discontent, mind still sluggish after climax but determined not to be the only one to find satisfaction.

Chanyeol knows that objectively Jongin is beautiful - everyone in the harem is bound to be - but he wants to see Jongin at his most beautiful, to watch him unravel in the most vulnerable way. He reaches between their bodies for Jongin’s cock and the younger man groans, flinching away almost as if in pain, when he stops Chanyeol’s efforts with a hand gripped around Chanyeol’s wrist. “I can’t,” he says with a little desperate shake of his head.

Chanyeol looks at him in confusion. “Why not?”

Jongin just whines, pulling his hand away.

“Nini, it’s okay,” Sehun soothes, voice rough as he disentangles himself from Baekhyun’s spent form. He too, is still hard and leaking when he pulls Jongin away from Chanyeol and onto his side. He wraps long arms around Jongin’s middle from behind until they’re back to chest. “We’ve waited so long. One more time for Chanyeol hyung won’t hurt.”

“But-” Jongin shudders as Sehun lifts one of his legs slightly to fit his leaking cock into the tight crevice of Jongin’s thighs. They both moan when Sehun rocks a little, and Chanyeol feels his own cock twitch at the sight of them. “But last night was supposed to be the last,” Jongin whines again. “I promised.”

“A promise with good reason to be broken,” Baekhyun says as he sits up against the headboard slowly. He’s practically glowing with the rush of orgasm, color high on his cheeks, hair tousled, and chest a mess of blemishes in the shape of puckered mouths. He laughs when he spies Chanyeol’s continued look of confusion.

“We as a harem usually play very well amongst ourselves, what with his majesty gone away for such long periods of time,” He explains quietly, his words almost lost in the slick sound of the two youngest chasing their release. Baekhyun licks his lips, watches them fondly. “But there are some things we save just for him. To make the reunion that much sweeter.”

“Nini, Nini,” Sehun grits out, grip white-knuckled on the hand curved tightly around Jongin’s exposed hip. His thrusts turn wild with abandon as Jongin moans and grips the sheets, the muscle of his thighs rippling as he tries to clench them tighter. Jongin is hard and leaking steadily onto the bed, the veined length swollen with the need to come.

Chanyeol doesn’t realize he’s reached a hand out towards Jongin’s cock until its slapped away, the sudden stinging at his wrist jarring him from the fog of arousal threatening to overcome him once more. He looks up at Baekhyun who’d delivered the slap and is met with a mischievous gaze full of mirth. He wags a long, slender finger in Chanyeol’s direction and tsks.

“He comes untouched or not at all.”

Arousal twists sharply in Chanyeol’s belly even as Jongin sobs at the reminder. “I- I can’t. Hyung- please - Sehunnie-“

Jongin cries out, grinding his hips back and meeting Sehun thrust for thrust in his search for any kind of friction. Baekhyun moves close enough to lean over and curl long fingers into Jongin’s hair, pulling hard.

“Chanyeol-ah, touch yourself,” Baekhyun commands, his smile sharp and pointed, the look in his eyes hungry. “Let Nini watch. Help him come.”

Chanyeol couldn’t say no if he’d wanted, not with the way Jongin’s eyes are pools of dark amber, the pupils blown wide with lust and begging for release.

The first touch is electric, has Chanyeol faltering, still sensitive as he squeezes the head, just beneath the crown. Gods, he’s already hard again despite the remains of his first release still sticky on his abdomen. His stomach hollows out all the same when he thumbs at the slit. Baekhyun’s hand in Jongin’s hair doesn’t waver, so the younger sees the slight discomfort on Chanyeol’s face as he jerks his cock dry. Jongin lets go of the sheets long enough to pull at Chanyeol’s other hand and lick a wet stripe across his palm. He lets out a lewd noise when he sucks the middle three fingers into his mouth, tongue darting sloppily between the webs until saliva drips down Chanyeol’s wrist.

Mesmerized by every twist of Jongin’s tongue, Chanyeol almost forgets his purpose if it isn’t for Baekhyun’s clever hand delivering another sharp tug to Jongin’s scalp, dislodging his fingers from the younger’s mouth.

Chanyeol wraps fingers slick with spit around the base of his cock and pulls with an ease that punches the air out of his lungs. He loses himself in the feeling quickly, already so close to the edge yet again. Chanyeol blames it on the trio beside him, the way they gasp and moan his name like a siren song, searing heat coursing through Chanyeol’s veins. He struggles to keep his eyes from fluttering shut in pleasure, fights to keep them open so he can watch the others fall apart.

Sehun chokes on a gasp and Chanyeol notices the way Baekhyun has his other hand wrapped around his throat. Sehun’s hips stutter as his body shudders suddenly, coating Jongin’s thighs in streaks of come that seep through their tight gap. Jongin whines, grinding his hips back in a way that has Sehun’s blunt fingernails leaving red stripes on tan skin and eyes rolling to the back of his head before Baekhyun takes away the hand at Sehun’s throat. The youngest heaves a deep breath before going boneless, eyes glassy and limbs going slack.

Chanyeol doesn’t quite understand what transpires, but the way Baekhyun smooths the hair from Sehun’s forehead and calls him a good boy and tells him so good Sehunnie, so good, you did so well, hyung is proud has fireworks exploding behind his eyelids. Chanyeol shakes through his second orgasm with only the help of his hands and Baekhyun’s voice whispering sweet nothings not meant for him, but they might as well be. It leaves him exhausted, limbs like lead and mind buzzing with white noise. He thinks he hears Jongin come as well, but the awareness is distant, even if down, down, beneath the heavy fluff of cotton filling his head Chanyeol is satisfied that he does.

He might have fallen asleep after that, though Chanyeol isn’t sure. He can’t tell how much time has passed with only the angle of the sun streaming through the windows. He does know that he isn’t alone in bed, weighed down and pinned in place by familiar bodies on either side.

“You should ask,” Sehun murmurs into his shoulder, lips barely moving as he plays with Jongin’s fingers over Chanyeol’s stomach.

“I want to.” Jongin groans, a tiny sound with a depth of meaning.

“Ask what?” Chanyeol rasps, voice rough from sleep. Twin faces turn to him with uncanny synchronization, pleased smiles blooming in tandem.

Jongin hums. He and Sehun share a look and just like that, the answer is lost, the question forgotten as they greet Chanyeol good morning in other, more distracting ways.

—

Time moves differently in the palace.

This time, Chanyeol spends it reveling in new discoveries instead of wallowing in turmoil.

Almost as if that first morning was a catalyst, Chanyeol finds himself being seduced from the moment the sun comes up until the moon has replaced it well into the night. It’s as if a dam has broken and Chanyeol is a willing victim to the drowning that follows.

“Like this,” Sehun instructs, pulling Chanyeol to straddle his lap on one of the couches in front of the fireplace. They’re mostly the same height and build, but Chanyeol still can’t help but feel like he’s too tall, too big, limbs too long, and too heavy to sit like this comfortably. He sits stiffly, hovering over Sehun’s thighs, doesn’t know where to place his hands.

“Spread your legs,” Sehun says in measured tones, tapping the inside of his knees.

“But-“

“Hyung,” Sehun cuts him off, “Just trust me. If it isn’t comfortable we can always adjust until we are.”

He tugs Chanyeol down, knees sliding on the cushions until they’re chest to chest. “Sit. Relax,” he says, hands on Chanyeol’s ass, squeezing until he obeys.

Chanyeol does so gingerly, gnawing at his bottom lip as he settles his weight. “Are you sure this is all right?”

Sehun snorts, rolling his eyes. “It feels good when we sit like this on you, right?”

“Yes, but-“

Sehun cuts him off again, this time with a well timed squeeze to Chanyeol’s ass, brushing down the cleft, making Chanyeol jolt as he shakes his head. “It feels good like this too.”

He leans up, kisses Chanyeol swiftly before pulling back to see his reaction. Chanyeol doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but that doesn’t deter him from chasing Sehun’s mouth, tilting his head for something deeper. Sehun allows it for only a moment, quickly breaking away to nose at Chanyeol’s jaw. He rolls his hips, licking behind Chanyeol’s ear as he slides his hands up and down the older man’s straining thighs. Chanyeol stifles a moan as he ducks his head, trying to catch Sehun’s mouth again.

Sehun doesn’t let him, makes him work for another kiss with hands on his hips, guiding him into a rhythm in counterpoint to his thrusts.

“Feels good?” He mumbles into Chanyeol’s chest, licking at the heated skin.

“Mhmm,” Chanyeol answers, breath stuttering and cock stiffening beneath his robes, rubbing against the confines of his small clothes.

“The emperor,” Sehun starts, swirling his tongue around a nipple. “He likes it like this too, when we don’t give in so easily.”

Chanyeol whines when Sehun evades yet another attempt to kiss him. Sehun pulls Chanyeol tight against him, slipping his hands under Chanyeol’s robes where they bunch up around his thighs, seeking taut skin.

“And if-“ Chanyeol’s breath stutters when Sehun palms his cock, gasps when he squeezes. “-if we want to give in?”

The younger man laughs softly, brows arching and eyes crinkling in amusement. “That,” he says, “is an entirely different lesson altogether.”

—

Chanyeol’s education continues in much the same vein. They receive word that the Second Emperor will be returning to the palace within a fortnight, having concluded negotiations with the neighboring kingdoms at the northern border successfully.

Baekhyun is particularly excited, eager for correspondence from his family in the north.

“Little Seoyul used to call me prince,” he smiles fondly, at least from the one eye Chanyeol can see from. He’s sat in front of the vanity, perched himself on a stool as Baekhyun works, towering over him for once. He fights the urge to blink as Baekhyun motions for him to look up, smudging kohl along his eye line. “I’d call her my little princess. Siwoo, my brother’s youngest was too young to recognize me, the last time I visited.”

“When was that?”

There’s a pause that has Chanyeol curious but unwilling to pry.

“Too long,” Baekhyun says after a moment, avoiding Chanyeol’s gaze. He leaves it at that, quickly finishing up his work with a dab of rouge to Chanyeol’s pout and a hint of oil to his cheekbones.

“Beautiful. He won’t be able to keep his hands off you,” he murmurs as he steps back to inspect his handiwork. He grips Chanyeol’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning his head this way and that with a critical eye. “Almost perfect.”

“Almost?” Chanyeol asks, puzzled.

Baekhyun grins, pulling on Chanyeol’s robes until it slips off one shoulder, revealing an enticing swathe of skin. “You’re pretty with clothes on, but you’d be perfect without.”

Chanyeol’s face heats at the flirtation, pretending to aim for Baekhyun’s side with a fist. Baekhyun catches it easily, slender fingers encircling his wrist.

“Ah ah ah, that’s no way to take a compliment,” he admonishes playfully, leaning in to kiss away Chanyeol’s poorly hidden embarrassment. “You should accept it without shame. Gods know you can afford it.”

Chanyeol squirms, frowning.

“What’s wrong?” Baekhyun asks, sliding his fingers under Chanyeol’s fist to lace their hands together.

“Am I really - ” Chanyeol cuts himself off. “Do you really think he’ll like me? Do you think I’m…”

“Are you what?” Baekhyun prompts when he doesn’t continue, running his other hand through Chanyeol’s hair soothingly.

It takes Chanyeol a long time before he can answer, doubt swirling in his gut, making his stomach churn unpleasantly.

“Do you think I’m good enough to be here?”

“Oh, Chanyeol,” Baekhyun sighs, pulling him into his arms and kissing the top of his head. Chanyeol wraps his arms around Baekhyun’s middle, burying his face into the other man’s robes, uncaring of ruining his good work. “Pretty ‘Yeol. Look at me, darling. Look at me.”

Baekhyun cups his face, tilting it up to force Chanyeol to meet his gaze. “I lied. You’re perfect already, clothed or otherwise. We all adore you, and so will he.”

“I just- I just want-“ The heat of tears prickle at the corner of his eyes and Chanyeol groans, unable to go on, buries his face into Baekhyun’s middle once more.

I just want to belong.

The words go unsaid but its as if Baekhyun knows, just holds him close and murmurs sweet praise against his hair until Chanyeol almost believes him.

—

“Come closer, please,” Jongin asks through gritted teeth, breath short as Sehun strokes at the top of his spread thighs from behind.

They’re in a dressing room adjoining the dance hall where the two of them had offered to help refine his steps for the dance he is to present to the emperor upon his arrival. Chanyeol was in need of a lot of...refining when it came to the art of dance, but it’s clear the two youngest had a different agenda when they’d offered to help him.

The dance hall they used to practice was quickly abandoned after a short tutorial in which they favored seducing Chanyeol with the rhythmic movement of their hips and their sultry, heated gazes than actually helping him. The bells that had circled their hips and wrists lay forgotten on the floor beside the small cot they’d piled onto. Jongin sits between Sehun’s splayed legs, back to chest, and his turquoise silk dance costume dangling at his knees.

“Touch me,” Jongin begs when Chanyeol remains frozen, mouth agape by the door.

Chanyeol tries to swallow, mouth dry at the sight they make before him. “I. I thought you weren’t allowed to-“ he stops, abruptly losing his train of thought at the way Jongin moans, arching his back when Sehun pinches at his nipples.

“C-can’t come,” Jongin clarifies through a breathy whine, fingers digging into the flesh of Sehun’s thighs. “Can’t touch myself. But you can touch me. Please. Please please please touch me.”

Sehun bites at his ear, one hand slithering down his abdomen to encircle Jongin’s leaking cock. He strokes it, holds it up in Chanyeol’s direction as if in offering. Its flushed at the head, the shaft thick and veined, pearls of come beading at the tip and really- its not as if Chanyeol is trying to resist anyway.

He stumbles towards the cot, clumsily grabbing for a pillow as he lowers himself onto his knees. Jongin groans loudly the moment he lays hands on him, his body quaking beneath Chanyeol’s palms.

“Please,” Jongin urges again, sounding desperate.

Chanyeol ducks his head in answer, doing away with the rest of Jongin’s costume and kissing at Sehun’s fingertips where they curl around the base of Jongin’s cock before licking up the shaft and sucking the tip into his mouth. Jongin gasps, his fingers finding their way into Chanyeol’s hair.

“Oh - ”

The sharp tug at his head makes Chanyeol moan, the sound unbidden as arousal curls thick and slow in his gut. He’s learned that he enjoys this position, being on his knees with a cock weighing heavy and bitter on his tongue. Lightheaded. Struggling to breathe. He likes the effort it takes to work his mouth, choking on the feeling of a cock tickling at his throat. He’s had plenty of opportunity to practice as of late, on his knees and indulged by any of his three willing companions.

Chanyeol puts all of his practice to good use, swirling his tongue around the head and dipping into the slit. Sehun helps when he starts to bob his head, stroking at the remainder he can’t reach. It’s a different kind of choreography than the one they were meant to exercise today, but Chanyeol prefers this one. Jongin is especially beautiful like this, the color high on his cheeks, shamelessly begging Chanyeol for more when he shouldn’t. Begging for a release that is for none of them to grant.

It’s intriguing to learn of the little quirks and mannerisms they adopt in anticipation for the emperor’s arrival. Jongin’s blatant shamelessness is one, a direct consequence of his imposed abstinence, reduced to begging for ecstasy but forced only to teeter at the edge. Chanyeol has seen it, too, in the bratty jut of Sehun’s jaw, asking for one more and one more time. I can take it. Keep going. Fuck me again. Chanyeol can also tell there’s something in the way Baekhyun says no, doesn’t take his turn to sink his cock into the sloppy mess they’ve made of Sehun’s hole. Uses his fingers instead.

Chanyeol knows there’s something about himself too, the way they only fuck him with hands and mouth and tongue, never anything more, no matter how he’s tried.

“Yes- yes, just like that- ah,” Jongin’s hips jerk forward, down, down, down Chanyeol’s throat until he can’t breathe, caught a little unaware, until Chanyeol’s lips meet the circle of Sehun’s fingers. They feel tight against his mouth, coiled and unforgiving, wrapped around Jongin’s cock in a way that makes the other man cry out in frustration.

“Getting close, Nini,” He hears Sehun mutter into Jongin’s hair. “Be careful.”

Jongin whines, but settles back onto the bed. “Hyung,” he says, pulling Chanyeol off his cock with trembling hands. “Hyung you’re too good at this.”

Chanyeol coughs before grinning, pleased.

“Again?” He asks, voice rough, nudging at Jongin’s thighs until they rest on his shoulders, framing his head.

Jongin agrees with an emphatic, “Yes, please.”

—

The day of the emperor’s arrival comes too quickly and not soon enough.

In the days prior, the palace is agog with preparation. Frenetic energy encompasses the halls, a flurry of cooking in the kitchens, the corridors scrubbed, and all the gold polished until it gleamed. Even the harem isn’t spared from the bustle.

Chanyeol is dragged around everywhere, into the dancehall to practice - actually practice - for hours on end, burning the midnight oil until Chanyeol can barely feel his limbs, ears numb and deaf to the sound of bells ringing every time he moves. In the mornings Baekhyun has him standing like a mannequin for the seamstresses, swathes of cloth in every color held up against his face as they fit him in something worthy to be presented in.

Chanyeol doesn’t have time to be nervous at first, too busy with preparations to think too hard about how he will be received.

It isn’t until Baekhyun sits him down once again at the vanity to line his eyes with kohl that Chanyeol is overcome with nerves.

“Calm yourself,” Baekhyun reprimands, pulling at Chanyeol’s ear when he squirms in his seat. “I’m likely to poke an eye out if you keep with your fidgeting.”

Chanyeol pouts at him, rubbing his ear.

“I know you’re anxious,” Baekhyun starts, signaling for Chanyeol to close his eyes. “But there’s very little reason to be. I admit, the emperor can be a bit gruff at times and he may turn you away from his bed at first, but you mustn’t take it to heart. He turns away the rest of us just as often. It’s just a matter of time, as well as which one of us he gives in to first.”

He brushes the last bit of pigment over Chanyeol’s eyelids before assessing his work. “There you go, even prettier than usual,” He says. “If he isn’t smitten with you at once there are plenty of us who will take you to bed in his place.”

Chanyeol tries to smile but he’s sure it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Is there...anything I should do? To make sure he likes me?” He asks uncertainly.

Baekhyun shakes his head, hands on his shapely hips, emphasized by the cut of his own newly sewn robes. It’s made of a dark gray silk and undercut with navy, the fabric catching the light as he moves, making him seem broader at the shoulders.

“We’ve talked about this. If you go as you are, honest and sweet, like we’ve come to know you, then his majesty will adore you just as we do.”

“You have such faith,” Chanyeol says, still uneasy despite Baekhyun’s reassurances.

“It’s not so much faith as it is predictability.” Baekhyun shrugs. In the distance, the trumpets sound, signaling the opening of the palace gates. “His majesty has a penchant for pretty boys if the rest of us are any indication. That you’re sweet, too, is merely icing on the cake.”

With that, Baekhyun pulls him to his feet, lacing their fingers as they move out the door.

Chapter Text

It’s a long and arduous journey home.

Kyungsoo hates the travel, but he also dislikes the thought of being trapped in the palace, under the scrutiny of so many judging eyes and the weight of responsibility sitting on his shoulders. As they passed by miles and miles of countryside, he’d often wondered what it’d be like to halt the horses and wander out onto some farm and disappear into obscurity.

It had been a tempting thought, the closer and closer they got to the palace, even harder to shake when he could see it’s growing outline in the distance, it’s pointed steeples and sprawling architecture highlighted against the backdrop of the setting sun. It’s magnificent, but oh, the things Kyungsoo would do not to call it home.

The only one who’s made the whole trip bearable has been Jongdae, who’s good spirits and calming presence throughout has been Kyungsoo’s one saving grace. Even now, as they enter the palace grounds, he fields the multitude of onlookers and merry well-wishers who wish to welcome Kyungsoo home with ease and grace. He herds Kyungsoo through the palace gates and into the great hall, deflecting any who wish to detain them with a bright smile and quick footwork.

“Almost there, Kyungja,” he murmurs under his breath, glancing at him briefly and mindful of Kyungsoo’s pinched expression, signaling a headache.

Once they get to his private quarters, Kyungsoo deflates visibly, sinking into an armchair as soon as he gets rid of his outer robes. Jongdae comes up behind him to rub at his shoulders, kneading at the stiff muscle with enough pressure that Kyungsoo doesn’t automatically shrug him off. He lets it continue for a short while, savoring Jongdae’s skilled hands, his firm touch, and familiar presence.

For the most part Jongdae keeps his touch carefully impersonal. It isn’t until Kyungsoo’s eyes begin to droop and his posture loosens that Jongdae’s nimble fingers squeeze too hard, too tempting, at the nape of his neck.

Kyungsoo stiffens immediately and Jongdae takes his hand away in the same breath.

“Relax,” Jongdae says with a teasing lilt to his voice that Kyungsoo doesn’t appreciate. “It was but a suggestion,” he says, voice low and fingers returning to massage Kyungsoo’s temple. “It’s been a long and hard few months, your majesty. You’ve worked hard and done well. You deserve to indulge.”

Kyungsoo does shrug him off then, too aware of the heat that slithers down his spine at Jongdae’s words.

“Now is not the time, Jongdae,” Kyungsoo says, standing.

“It’s never the time with you,” Jongdae replies, his tone even, but Kyungsoo knows him well enough to detect the slight hint of ire. “You take me with you all the way to the other side of the kingdom for months at a time and you won’t even let me take care of you.”

Kyungsoo scowls, temper flaring. “I took you along because taking Baekhyun would likely incite a war instead of ease negotiations. If you hadn’t wanted to come along or if you’d wanted to go home sooner, then you should have said something.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, tension thick in the air before Jongdae breaks eye contact first. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

“Forgive me, your highness, that wasn’t a complaint,” he says. He reaches for Kyungsoo’s hand and Kyungsoo lets him. He brings it up to his face, cupping his cheek while he presses his lips against the inside of Kyungsoo’s wrist. “I am merely concerned for your well being. Won’t you let anyone take care of you?”

When Kyungsoo remains silent, Jongdae sighs again.

“At least let me order you a bath and some supper. I’m sure the First Emperor will come calling for you soon.”

He turns away then, walking to the door, and Kyungsoo tamps down the urge to call him back. A quick word with the servant standing outside and Jongdae is bidding him good night.

“Sleep well, your majesty,” he says. “You know where to look should you need anything.”

Jongdae doesn’t linger at the door, closing it with barely a sound behind him and not once looking back. He takes what little respite Kyungsoo has found with him, and its times like these that he wishes Jongdae would linger. Wishful thinking because Jongdae isn’t the type to coddle, preferring to speak plainly rather than play games. Even his teasing is straightforward and guileless, something Kyungsoo appreciates when he isn’t exhausted and irritable.

Besides, Jongdae was right. If he wanted to be coddled, he knows where to look.

Kyungsoo opts for supper first, preferring to have it served in his rooms, knowing that once he’s in the bath, he’s more likely to fall asleep in the water than be bothered to eat. As expected, the First Emperor joins him half way through the meal.

“Welcome home, brother,” Seungsoo says when he enters.

“It’s good to be back,” Kyungsoo replies, standing when the older man reaches to embrace him.

“You look none too worse for wear,” Seungsoo comments, accepting Kyungsoo’s offer of wine. “How are our friends in the Northlands?”

They talk through the rest of the meal, Kyungsoo giving him a summary of the negotiations at the northern border. It’s tedious telling, but he recognizes it for what it is - brotherly affection in its most subtle form. The timing could be better but it’s been nearly half a year since he’s been away, he can’t begrudge Seungsoo for interrupting his dinner.

“I’m glad things went well then,” Seungsoo says, draining his goblet of wine. “We may be well equipped for war, but I’d rather not jeopardize the kingdom over something as silly as trade routes.”

It’s much more than just about trade routes, Kyungsoo thinks, trying not to bristle at the implication that his six months toiling away at the northern border, engaging in a heated back and forth with emissaries of a foreign nation could be reduced to nothing more than silly trade routes. Though he supposes there’s a reason it is he who handles their foreign affairs and not his brother. Yes, Seungsoo is much better suited to implementing the laws than negotiating them.

“I, too, am glad,” Kyungsoo says evenly, sipping at his wine instead of tipping it back.

“I’m sure you are,” Seungsoo says, his tone slightly teasing. “It must have been lonely to have only Jongdae for company all this while. The rest of your harem has eagerly awaited your return.”

“Jongdae is no longer a part of the harem,” Kyungsoo says voice rising, temper getting the best of him. “That’s not the reason I brought him along.”

“Of course not, brother,” Seungsoo placates, but there’s that glint in his eyes that reminds Kyungsoo that he must always be wary - Seungsoo is an emperor first, obsessed with power in his own way, and only a brother second. While Kyungsoo is sure Seungsoo wouldn’t murder him outright, he wouldn’t put it past him to run their kingdom to the ground if he was left to rule alone.

“I’m tired, hyung,” Kyungsoo injects the honorific with just a hint whining, a reminder of the days of old, when they roamed the halls as carefree children and not whatever it is they’ve become. “If you’ll excuse me, I wish to retire to bed.”

“Yes, it’s quite late after all. Don’t let me keep you any longer,” Seungsoo says as he rises from his seat. “The Council gathers at noon tomorrow. No doubt they’ll want to hear about the negotiations in more detail.”

Kyungsoo sees him out with a murmured good night, somehow even more exhausted than he was prior. He makes haste to the baths without further getting accosted, bidding the bath attendants to make haste with their scrubbing, Kyungsoo too tired to sit in the warm waters for long but also unwilling to go to bed filthy from travel. They follow instructions well enough, but they are no less thorough, making sure Kyungsoo is not only clean but sweet smelling with all manner of soaps and oils. He’s nothing but a sleepy pile of bones and muscle by the end of it, sinking into the empty bed with a heavy sigh, all too aware of just how full it could be with just a summons.

Kyungsoo falls into a dreamless sleep before he does any such thing.

—

The next few days are an exercise in patience for Kyungsoo.

There are endless Council meetings, appearances at court, attending to this and that, and all the duties he’d neglected while he was away. It makes him miss the relative simplicity of being out of the palace. Out there, on the outskirts of their kingdom, he had only one objective. There was no putting on airs, no pomp and circumstance, no court politics to juggle and certainly no nobility to simper at him, looking for favors.

Jongdae is once again a godsend, running interference and picking up the slack when Kyungsoo falters in the proceedings. He’d been with Kyungsoo all those grueling months on the road; he’d been witness to it all, could probably have completed the negotiations in half the time if he’d been the one to wear the crown. If Kyungsoo had any doubt about where Jongdae belonged, it certainly wasn’t hidden away in a separate corridor, playing house with the rest of his harem. Jongdae shines like this, speaking for them both, arguing with presumptuous old men too privileged to be denied a seat on the Council. They know of his humble beginnings, and they resent the power Kyungsoo exercises to earn him a seat at the table.

“If you’re looking to wage war, that’s certainly one way to do it,” Jongdae says with a shake of his head, rejecting the proposed redrafting of the new trade routes. “The current draft of the new trade routes are fair. There is no use claiming a mountain range just for the sake of calling it our own if we don’t know how to navigate it.”

“Then we will learn,” one particularly ambitious councilman interjects. “We must expand the kingdom at every opportunity.”

“That is an incredible waste of resources,” Jongdae argues. “One cannot simply learn to traverse a mountain range on a whim. It takes planning, effort, and manpower. Will you be the one to climb the mountain yourself, my lord? Or perhaps are you willing to fund the endeavor?”

The councilman sputters indignantly, turning red in the face. Kyungsoo bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

“That’s enough,” Seungsoo raises a hand to interrupt before the man can reply. “There are reasonable arguments for both sides. We will adjourn for the day to deliberate and decide tomorrow on how we shall proceed.”

The council room empties at an alarming rate after that, no one eager to linger when tensions were running high.

“You did really well today,” Kyungsoo says quietly when only Jongdae and he are left to dawdle. They haven’t spoken much outside of council meetings, Kyungsoo caught up in the affairs of the court and Jongdae - Jongdae was very clear about where he could be found. “I’m glad to have you on my side.”

“I’m always on your side, your majesty,” Jongdae says, voice barely above a whisper and avoiding eye contact, fiddling with his stacks of parchment on the table. He pulls at the tight, high collar of his councilman’s robes and for a moment Kyungsoo catches a glimpse of a bruise to the side of his throat, uncovered for a moment before disappearing again. Kyungsoo is unprepared for the sharp prickle of heat that skitters down his spine, settling low in his gut.

“And I’m not the only one. How long do you think you can keep running away?”

With that, Jongdae leaves too. Leaves Kyungsoo in a mess of thoughts and unexpected arousal, contemplating his life choices.

—

All his duties upon his return culminate in a grand banquet fit for royalty, an indulgent three day affair that has Kyungsoo shaking his head in exasperation. His brother had spared no expense in celebration - kegs of wine and beer line the great hall while spears of meat and fish turn on spit roasts in the palace courtyard. It’s open to the public, and many a villager traipses freely through the public corridors enjoying the various spectacles that have also been prepared. During the day a circus troupe captivates the crowds, men and women dressed in glittering tights flying through the air, contortionists, sword swallowers, exotic animals, and peddlers from all around gather to sell their wares. At night the feasting continues, though most of the villagers favor going home and coming back the next day. Those left are of noble birth, and with the help of free flowing wine, the carousing takes on a more carnal nature.

When the sun sets, denizens of the night creep out, filling the palace with the smell of musk and clouding its hallways with the burning of pungent aphrodisiacs. Kyungsoo sits, grudgingly, at one such spectacle, forced to dine at the high table with his brother and other high ranking nobles.

“You’re in for a surprise, brother,” Seungsoo says to him, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “This next performance is especially for you.”

Kyungsoo barely has time to wonder what he means before the next performer comes up to the stage.

Baekhyun climbs the raised platform trailed by attendants carrying a large instrument behind him. He sits on a cushion on the floor in a flurry of dark robes. He’s in a mix of dark blue satin and black silk that contrasts with his fair skin, only emphasized by the new color of his hair, something dark, almost black and falling into his eyes - wholly different from the red tones he’d last seen him in. Silver chains hang low on his neck, calling attention to the sheen at his collarbone and chest. Silver rings glint at his hands and wrists, accentuating his slender fingers.

Two attendants block him from view as they set up the zither in front of him. Baekhyun glances up at the high table only once, probably just to make sure Kyungsoo is looking. He isn’t wrong. Baekhyun is a vision on the stage and Kyungsoo can’t bring himself to look away. He knows he is too, smirking, just slightly, just enough for Kyungsoo to see.

Baekhyun plays the zither expertly, captivating the room with just his presence and plucking at a few strings. The sound of bells joins him not too long after and the room lets out a collective gasp as two masked dancers step onto the stage. They move fluidly, in sync with each other, the movement of their hips hitting every note Baekhyun makes with his fingers.

Jongin and Sehun are unmistakable, even with only their eyes visible under the gauzy silver hood of their costumes. Their torsos are bare, rippling with muscle as they dance to the thrumming beat. Clothed only in thin muslin from the waist down, with very little left to the imagination they hypnotize the room.

Watching them, seeing those around him - including his own brother - looking on with undisguised lust, Kyungsoo is overcome with a sudden, searing jealousy.

Kyungsoo is possessive of very little, learning at an early age that in order to rule effectively, there was a certain level of selflessness required. With great power comes great responsibility after all, and Kyungsoo had thrown himself into serving his kingdom wholeheartedly. He wouldn’t hesitate to empty the royal coffers if it meant making life better for his people.

But the harem. The harem was his, and his alone.

No one else deserved to hear Baekhyun play, or Jongin and Sehun dance. They were perfect. They were beautiful. And they were his. No one else could appreciate their beauty or their talents like he could.

Kyungsoo seethes all throughout the number, mood growing darker the longer it goes on. Finally, Baekhyun plucks one last note and Sehun and Jongin drop to the ground, leaning back on their haunches so far they’re nearly parallel to the floor. The pose flaunts the lines of their bodies, thin muslin pulled so low across their hips another centimeter threatens their decency.

Jongin and Sehun rise and bow amid thundering applause that only further provokes Kyungsoo’s dark mood. Baekhyun stays seated, however, starting with another song as soon as the clapping and drunken hollering dies down.

It’s a lighter melody, more cheerful, making use of the zither’s softer notes. The song reminds Kyungsoo of traipsing through grassy fields with the smell of flowers in the air and the wind whistling softly in his ears.

There are bells again, softly tinkling as another dancer comes onto the stage. It’s a tall man Kyungsoo vaguely recognizes, unmasked and more clothed but undeniably pretty.

He’s in sky blue silk, the material more opaque than muslin but the way it molds to his body doesn’t leave much for the imagination either. The silk shirt is unbuttoned, the hems dangling along when he moves. There’s a gaping hole in the back that Kyungsoo doesn’t quite understand, but the view of his broad shoulders is enticing all the same.

This must be the new addition to his harem.

He’s heard a little of this new addition, enough to glean a name - Chanyeol.

A merchant’s son, recently orphaned, and too pretty for his own good. Kyungsoo’s caught glimpses of him too, tall frame hovering at doorways, large eyes watching him, curious, following him as he rushes from one Council meeting to the next. He’s never paid attention, too busy with the goings on in the palace to pay heed to an unfamiliar gaze.

Now, however, as he watches Chanyeol on the stage and takes his fill, he regrets not slowing down to look just a little closer.

Chanyeol doesn’t have the grace or the fluidity of those who are born to dance, but his movements are sharp, on beat, and flow enough for the lighter tune he’s dancing to. The bells at his wrists and ankles aren’t for tempting, rather their tinkling is an accompaniment to the song, contributing to the playful melody.

When it ends, Chanyeol’s nervous bow is met with as much curious tittering as it is with applause.

“An impressive collection of people you have there, brother,” Seungsoo says to him when he leans over again after the stage is cleared, making way for another set of performers.

Kyungsoo doesn’t deign to answer him, dark mood not abating. He excuses himself from the dining hall not long after, quickly losing interest in dinner as well as the rest of the night’s performances. His brother gives him a knowing glance and a sly smirk as he leaves, acting as if he knows exactly where Kyungsoo is headed.

Kyungsoo refuses to give in, not wanting to prove him right.

He pointedly bypasses the corridor with those familiar red doors, the same one he’s been avoiding since he’d returned to the palace. He proceeds right to his own quarters, making a beeline to his study for a much stiffer drink than wine.

When he gets there, someone is already waiting for him.

Baekhyun has commandeered his desk, sitting behind it in the large cushioned seat meant only for royalty. He has yet to change out of his performance attire, still a vision with dark hair and dressed in blue satin. He looks magnificent under the light of the moon streaming in through the windows and the lone candle he’s lit at the corner of the desk. Like some demon prince sitting on his throne, coming to collect from Kyungsoo the soul he is owed.

Two glasses of dark amber liquid sit in front of him, and his eyes lock with Kyungsoo’s the moment he enters the room.

His gaze his piercing, made even more so by the kohl lining his dark eyes.

“Welcome home, your majesty,” Baekhyun murmurs, offering Kyungsoo the other glass as he raises his own for a toast. His eyes don’t falter even when he takes a sip, the intent behind them unknown but…heavy. Kyungsoo takes the seat opposite him across the desk with an involuntary shiver of anticipation.

“I was hoping you’d be kind enough to seek us out first, being that you haven’t seen the rest of us in months,” Baekhyun’s dark eyes are hard as he speaks. “But I should have known better that first night when Jongdae came to us alone.”

He puts his glass down with a loud thud, forceful enough to have the liquid inside sloshing over the rim. “Do you enjoy being cruel, your highness? Does it please you to have your harem suffer this way? The Northland people have seen more of you in the past year than those you supposedly hold dearest. Must we abandon this kingdom and move north just to chase after your affections?”

“No,” Kyungsoo says with a heavy sigh, draining his glass in the process. “There’s no need for something as irrational as that.”

“Then what would you have me- us,” he corrects himself his tone carefully controlled, “what would you have us do?”

“Nothing,” Kyungsoo answers, making up his mind. He’d made up his mind the moment Baekhyun had stepped onto the stage. “Tonight, I will come willingly.”

“…You will?” Baekhyun’s facade of anger wavers in favor of surprise, eyes widening for a moment before they narrow once again. “And tomorrow night? The night after that?”

“Let’s get through this night first.”

“No,” Baekhyun shakes his head stubbornly. “You’ve heard of Chanyeol. You’ve seen him. He danced for you. He’s new,” Baekhyun continues. “He’s not like the rest of us. His heart is fragile, soft. If you make love to him and leave him, he will break. He’s not used to your brand of cruelty, your highness.”

Kyungsoo sighs again, guilt eating him up inside. “I’m not trying to be cruel, Baekhyun. That was never my intention.”

“And yet you are,” Baekhyun says, the words so plain and simple, yet they hurt like barbed wire.

“I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo says, softly, at a loss for words. He doesn’t know how to explain why he runs away, why it takes so long for him to give in. It’s not within his nature to let people care for him, especially the way Baekhyun wants to. It feels…wrong somehow, to accept the kind of love his harem wants to give. Too indulgent, too much, too good to be true.

“Your apologies are worth nothing without action,” Baekhyun replies just as softly, anger fading enough to make way for just a sliver of hurt to poke through. “We require penance.”

“Of what kind?” Kyungsoo asks, sensing a small opening for forgiveness.

Baekhyun shrugs, seemingly nonchalant. “You govern a kingdom, your majesty, I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

“And if I don’t agree to this penance?”

“Then maybe since you’re so good at forgetting we exist, we may as well not exist at all.”

The words aren’t meant to be a threat. No, the way Baekhyun says it isn’t threatening - it’s weary.

Kyungsoo tries to imagine a future without his harem - without Baekhyun’s constant teasing, without Jongin’s sleepy whines in the morning, and Sehun’s brazen demands for attention - and he is left with nothing but the crushing weight of sadness in the hollow of his chest. It causes a terrible ache, something akin to pain but deeper, more profound.

“No, not that,” Kyungsoo says quietly but surely. “Anything but that.”

Baekhyun stands after a moment, black silk fanning around him as he circles the desk. He comes close enough for Kyungsoo’s to see the embroidery on them, whorls and starbursts weighing down the hem. He comes close and Kyungsoo’s heart races in anticipation.

Then, Baekhyun leans over him and crushes their mouths together in a searing kiss.

It’s dirty, full of tongue and teeth as soon as their lips touch, dirty, underhanded, and terrifyingly effective, just like everything Baekhyun does when he’s desperate enough.

“You infuriating man,” Baekhyun gasps, falling into Kyungsoo’s lap in a tangle of robes. He moans loudly when Kyungsoo hauls him against his chest, slipping a hand into the front of his robes to get at warm skin. “You could have had this all along. If only you weren’t so stupid. If only you weren’t so stubborn.”

It’s just like Baekhyun to still be able to form words in a moment like this, when Kyungsoo is reduced to nothing more than grunts and groans, and unexpected desperation fueling every press of his lips and lick of his tongue. Gods, he’s missed this.

Baekhyun tastes sweet, like the candied fruit served after dinner and temptation all rolled into one. He tastes like burnt sugar, left too long over the flames. Like too many moons past without the rising of the sun, an endless night, waiting, waiting, too, too long for rays to break across the horizon.

He tastes like regret, but also like longing. Bittersweet but delicious. Addictive.

“This- this is not surrender,” he says, licking into Kyungsoo’s mouth, stealing his breath before giving it back. “You are not yet forgiven.”

“No,” Kyungsoo agrees, reveling in Baekhyun’s sharp inhale when he sets teeth to the column of his throat, leaving bruises, marking him, a long lost reminder of whom he belongs to. Kyungsoo dips his head to leave another, but Baekhyun rips himself abruptly away.

He stumbles against the desk behind him, one hand cupping his neck where Kyungsoo had marked him.

“No more,” he says hoarsely, panting, eyes glassy, the expression on his face saying it’s the last thing he wants.

“No more,” Kyungsoo repeats dazedly, voice equally rough and unable to keep himself from staring at the way Baekhyun seem to glitter in the candlelight, always a beacon in the dark.

“Remember your penance,” Baekhyun straightens, visibly gathering himself and quickly regaining his composure - too quick for Kyungsoo’s liking. “Do not forget.”

And with that, he leaves Kyungsoo to ponder his fate alone.

Chapter Text

While he’d prepared himself for all manner of possible events when it came time to meet the Second Emperor, nothing could have prepared him for meeting Jongdae.

Jongdae comes to them in the middle of the night, tired and exhausted, with shadows beneath his eyes, but they glitter with excitement nonetheless. He’s a whirlwind of a man, made up of tightly coiled intensity barely held in by his compact frame, frenetic energy he doles out in measured increments - from the tone of his voice, to the way he stands, and the way his lips curl up naturally in a perpetual state of mischief. Everything about him is chaos controlled, as striking as lightning, as seductive as thunder. He falls into their mold easily, almost as if he’d always meant to be there.

I don’t bite, Jongdae says that first time they meet. Not unless you ask me. He says it matter of fact, with barely a hint of teasing. A statement rather than an exaggeration.

Chanyeol doesn’t fully understand what he means by that until he witnesses it first hand.

Jongdae has Sehun sprawled over his knees, ass in the air and whimpering into the crook of Jongin’s shoulder. Jongin pets his hair quietly from his seat on the floor, eyes dark and breath short as he watches everything unfold before him.

Jongdae waits until Sehun is an incoherent mess of tears and come, so close to the edge, begging for anything Jongdae will give him, before he asks, “Did you miss hyung, Sehun-ah? Did you miss being good for me?”

“Y-yes,” Sehun whines, an aborted sound as Jongdae brings his hand down sharp and quick, adding yet another hand print to the litter he’s already left on Sehun’s ass. Sehun sobs outright, legs threatening to give out as he sways with the force of Jongdae’s swing. His cock drags on Jongdae’s lap, long and hard and leaking.

“Is that right?” Jongdae asks, teasing, as he kneads the plump cheek in his palms.

Chanyeol squirms in Baekhyun’s arms while he watches from further up on the bed, just a few feet away. Baekhyun’s hold is tight across his chest and his cock is hot where it presses between his thighs. Chanyeol wishes he’d press it in, deep inside, where Baekhyun’s talented fingers have left him loose and slick with oil, in a place he craves touch the most.

“You missed me? Even when you had a new hyung to play with?”

Chanyeol shivers at the full weight of Jongdae’s intense gaze, the pupils too large, the look in them half crazed.

Sehun wails when Jongdae snakes a hand beneath him to stroke at his cock, squeezing just beneath the head. Chanyeol watches as Jongdae gathers the beads of come between his fingers, leaving them slick and shiny. He’s startled when Jongdae holds it up in his direction, beckoning him to come closer.

Chanyeol lays frozen for a moment, not knowing what to do.

“Go,” Baekhyun urges him with a low chuckle followed by a quiet hiss as his cock slips out from between the tight gap of Chanyeol’s thighs.

Chanyeol crawls over the short distance on unsteady legs, knees slipping in the bed sheets as he scrambles to get to Jongdae’s side. Jongdae continues to hold out his hand expectantly and Chanyeol does the only thing that comes to mind - he takes Jongdae by the wrist and sucks his come-slick fingers into his mouth.

Jongdae groans when he does, pushing his fingers until they tickle at Chanyeol’s throat, making him pull back just enough to breath. He sucks hard, massaging them with his tongue, searching for every last bitter, salty trace of Sehun he can find.

“Ah, I see,” Jongdae says, pleased, his tone knowing.

“Yes,” he hears Baekhyun chime in from not too far away.

“Yeollie,” Jongdae says his name so sweetly. “Yeollie, Yeollie, Chanyeollie. Shall I pat you on the head and call you a good boy? Would you like to be my good boy, too?”

It’s too much for Chanyeol. He shudders at the thought, heat blooming in his cheeks at the endearment. Nods, just barely.

Jongdae’s subsequent laugh is loud as it reverberates in the room when he says, “But only if you ask me nicely.”

—

He has no idea what he’s missing, Chanyeol hears them whispering when Baekhyun storms back to their quarters the night of the banquet. It’s late, and they’d all retired to bed early after a day of feasting, merry-making, and in their case, performing. He was told not to expect much, that it was unlikely the emperor would deign them with his presence, but Chanyeol’s heart had fluttered nonetheless, the possibility of finally meeting their master simultaneously making him simultaneously giddy with anticipation and brimming with anxiety.

But he had not come and Chanyeol had fallen asleep in a warm tangle of long limbs with the two youngest while waiting.

He’s only half conscious when the bedroom door swings open noisily, almost flying off its hinges when Baekhyun stomps back in.

Jongdae is right behind him, shushing him quickly.

“Stupid, stupid,” Baekhyun seethes, just barely heeding Jongdae’s request to be quiet. “Was I so stupid to think he’d run after me when I’d left?”

“Yes,” Jongdae says bluntly, helping Baekhyun out of his clothes. “Kyungsoo does not run. The most he’ll do is a brisk walk and this is if we are lucky.”

“Don’t jest,” Baekhyun huffs in annoyance. He’s not bothered by the slow, scenic route Jongdae’s fingers have taken in order to divest him of his clothing.

“Have a little faith, Baekhyunnie. He’ll come around soon enough. It’s only a matter of time.”

There’s more grumbling that follows, but quieter as they leave the room once again, likely heading for the baths.

Chanyeol lays awake for a little while after that, mind too busy with thoughts of the Second Emperor for sleep.

—

When Chanyeol finally meets the Second Emperor, it’s unexpected.

It’s happenstance when his majesty walks into the stable just as Chanyeol is preparing his own horse to ride.

He’s in plain clothes - riding breeches and tunic in boring brown and beige, nothing like the understated lavishness of deep colors like black and navy he usually dresses in. Chanyeol doesn’t recognize him at first, calling out a cheerful hello when he enters, thinking it’s one of the stable boys come to help him.

“It’s about time you’ve come,” he teases lightly as he readies to saddle up the horse. “You’re late. Now we must make haste.”

“Where are we going?”

The voice that asks is deep, unexpected, and so unlike Jongho’s smooth, accented syllables that Chanyeol does a double take, head whipping around to see who’d spoken. He’s met with dark eyes and furrowed brows, a generous mouth quirked in question. Chanyeol almost drops the tack in his arms as he realizes who he’s speaking to - he’s become so familiar with the handsome lines of that face, having watched the man so often lately from afar - he wouldn’t mistake it for anyone else from up close.

“Your highness!” Chanyeol exclaims, fumbling with his hands in his hurry to bow as deeply as he can. The heat rushes up his face and he cringes internally, embarrassment and horror warring within him when he thinks of how he’d so informally addressed the emperor. “Forgive me, I did not realize to whom I was speaking.”

His heart thunders in his chest as he waits for a response, his eyes trained on the shadow on the ground. The emperor comes closer and Chanyeol flinches hard when soft hands cup his chin, lifting his face.

“You are more skittish than the horse,” The emperor comments, tilting his head as he leans in to peer at Chanyeol closer.

Chanyeol hardly dares to breathe while the man takes him in, meticulously examining every angle of his face for so long that Chanyeol thinks he may be counting every every eyelash, every beauty mark he possesses. Chanyeol bites at his lower lip out of nervous habit and their faces are so close he could see the moment the emperor’s eyes darken further, pupils dilating, his gaze lingering a beat too long at Chanyeol’s mouth.

“I should be the one to ask for forgiveness,” The emperor says, stepping back, his hands slow to pull away. “I didn’t mean to startle you, Chanyeol.”

“You- ” Chanyeol stops, starts again, correcting himself abruptly. “His highness knows who I am?”

“Yes,” The emperor says, reaching for the saddle trailing on the floor. “Enough of this ‘your highness’ nonsense. Baekhyun and Jongdae use it too much to vex me for it to hold any honor.”

“Then- then how should I address you, your ma- ”

“My given name will do,” he says, lifting the tack and settling it on the horse’s back with all the ease and familiarity of someone who’s done it countless times before. “You can call me Kyungsoo.”

“Oh. Oh, no-“ Chanyeol stammers, eyes wide and shaking his head. “I-I could never-“

“Ah, should I order you to do it?” The emperor interrupts him yet again, pulling on straps to secure the equipment onto the horse’s back efficiently. “Is that how it is? Would you like that?”

Chanyeol is speechless, face burning at the implication.

The emperor - Kyungsoo as he wished to be called - hums, eyeing Chanyeol curiously when he doesn’t answer. “Too forward? A question, then, for another time. Now,” he says, petting at the horse’s mane affectionately. “Where are we headed?”

—

Chanyeol thinks it’s a surreal turn of events when the emperor offers to accompany him to his sister’s house.

He can’t exactly say no, dumbstruck when the emperor sends for a basket of goods from the kitchen, has it filled with pies and sweet cakes, diced fruit mixed in cream and sugar, fresh bread and a bottle of his very own favorite wine. Chanyeol assumes it’s a gift for his sister, though he thinks nothing could spare him her wrath, inviting the emperor into her home without any prior notice.

He loads the large basket onto his own horse, a massive black steed that towers over Chanyeol’s docile mare. They’re flanked on every side by members of his highness’s personal guard, replacing Chanyeol’s usual, more easygoing four. It’s daunting to be surrounded by so many serious looking guards, but they keep a good enough distance away so as not to hover.

They take the scenic route, going much slower than Chanyeol would with the goal of visiting his sister in mind. She’ll have to wait quite a bit for him to arrive if they continue at the pace they’re going.

“Why don’t we stop there to rest?” The emperor offers when they spy a glade from between the trees, just off the beaten path of the road they’re taking.

Chanyeol doesn’t think they need to, only a quarter of an hour away from his sister’s estate, but he doesn’t know how else to disagree.

They enter the clearing together, the guards fanning out to assume their positions silently, giving them the illusion of being alone. The emperor walks with basket in tow after refusing Chanyeol’s offers carry it. He walks towards a small pond in the middle, one edge of its banks covered in shade by a large tree growing next to it.

The emperor lays out a blanket and sits, looking up at Chanyeol when he makes no moves to do the same.

“Sit,” he says, and Chanyeol is scrambles to obey.

He gets his wrists slapped away when he reaches to help lay out the goods in the basket. It seems they aren’t for Yoora after all.

“Your majesty, let me-“

“You can sit right there,” The emperor says, unwrapping the food himself, one by one. “I see Baekhyun and the others have yet to corrupt you. You’re still too nice for someone who’s kept their company for this long.”

“The others are more than nice,” Chanyeol argues, feeling the need to defend them. “They’ve been very kind.”

“I didn’t mean to imply they weren’t,” His majesty answers, “Just that it’s probably my fault if they are a little spoiled- a little too well indulged.”

Chanyeol finds himself blushing again, all too familiar with the harem’s overindulgent habits.

“You’ve taken care of them quite well, your highness. You’re very generous.”

The emperor makes a noncommittal sound at his words, using his fingers to pick up a berry and dip it in cream. He holds it out for Chanyeol to taste, nudging it against his lips when he doesn’t immediately open up.

“Good?” He murmurs, eyes focused on the way Chanyeol licks away cream from one corner of his mouth. He must have missed a spot because the emperor uses the back of one finger to slide across the same corner and licks away whatever comes off.

The air between them is suddenly tense, heavy with something electric.

“Yes, your majesty.”

The emperor nods before looking away. Busies himself with yet another piece of fruit. “How have you enjoyed your stay at the palace thus far?”

“Very well, your highness,” Chanyeol answers before taking another proffered bite, this time some sweet cakes, a delicacy from the palace’s kitchens- coveted by many but granted only to a select few. Chanyeol makes a noise of delight as the sweet confection coats his tongue.

“Good?” The emperor asks him again, watching him intently as he swallows.

“Yes, your majesty.”

They continue on like that, sampling the food and talking in between until the sun creeps higher and higher into the sky, until sweat beads along Chanyeol’s hairline from the heat. It’s cooler under the shade, but not by much.

“We should continue on our way soon, your majesty,” Chanyeol suggests, nodding shyly at the emperor’s offer for the last bite of sweet cake.

“Yes, you’re probably right.” The emperor dabs the corner of a small cloth over Chanyeol’s mouth, using a different corner to wipe away the evidence of heat all along his forehead, the sides of his face, his neck.

The gesture is intimate but casually done, comfortable, as if it’s something they do all the time. It’s just like the way he’d insisted on feeding Chanyeol by hand, holding the food away every time Chanyeol had attempted to lift a finger. It made Chanyeol shy, but he can’t help but preen under the attention, liking the way the emperor’s heavy gaze followed his every movement. He’s allowed to drink his own wine, thankfully, but the emperor’s eyes do not falter even then. Chanyeol can feel him watching when he tilts his head back to drink deeply from the cup, throat parched but not because of the heat.

“I know you planned nothing more than to visit your sister today, but did you enjoy our little impromptu picnic?” The emperor asks as he starts to pack things away into the basket. “I’m sorry our first introduction was nothing grand.”

“Not at all, your highness,” Chanyeol is quick to deny. “I liked it very much. His majesty is also very kind. This was unexpected but…perfect. Thank you.” Chanyeol ducks his head, hands fisted into the edges of the blanket they’re sitting on.

“I have been told I am actually quite cruel.”

“Who would say such a thing?” Chanyeol exclaims in disbelief.

“Am I not cruel, then, to have kept the harem waiting?” The emperor muses, tilting his head at Chanyeol. “Am I not cruel to have waited so long to meet you, Chanyeol?”

Chanyeol thinks of nights past, the many times Jongin had begged for kisses and someone to touch him, but not for release. No, Chanyeol bore witness to the way he’d stayed faithful to his promise, always coming close but never tumbling over the edge. He remembers those same nights, Sehun always begging for more, marking a tick in the tally in his head, begging for them to ruin him just once more - seeing how many times he can come until he’s nothing but a quivering mass of muscle. He thinks of Baekhyun, of the way he ruts between anyone’s thighs or with a pillow between his legs - Baekhyun, who hasn’t used his cock on any of them no matter how much they’d pleaded.

Chanyeol thinks of himself, of the want, of the growing need within him, the need to be fucked, the need to be filled with something thicker, hotter, harder, than mere fingers and clever little toys.

Chanyeol feels his breathing go shallow and his britches go tight suddenly. His eyes flutter at the sensation when he answers, “M-maybe just a little- your highness.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause, in which Chanyeol wonders if he’s said the wrong thing.

“What will it take,” the emperor says slowly. “For you to call me by my given name?”

“What do you mean, your highness?” Chanyeol asks breathily, warm all of a sudden, but not from the heat of the day.

“I would like you to call me by my name, Chanyeol,” The emperor says. “What must I do for you to grant me that favor?”

Chanyeol allows himself a moment to think, his mind sluggish all of a sudden, whether from the wine or the company, he cannot tell. He’d like to think it’s wine that makes him so bold to speak.

“A kiss, your majesty,” Chanyeol suggests, heart racing. “Kiss me.”

The emperor pauses his tidying to give Chanyeol a scrutinizing look, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“You are learning from Baekhyun after all.”

All of Chanyeol’s bravado leaves him as quickly as it comes, makes him hide behind his hands in embarrassment. He can’t believe he’s been too honest, too bold, so shamelessly asking for a kiss. It’s the wine, he thinks. It must be the wine.

The emperor’s low chuckle sounds even closer than it was before and Chanyeol startles when a gentle hand prods at his shoulder.

“Come on, then,” the emperor whispers from up close, tilting Chanyeol’s chin as he leans in. “I’ve wanted to kiss you all morning.”

Chanyeol sighs when their lips meet. The emperor’s mouth is soft, with a hint of sweetness from the cakes they’d eaten. The kiss is slow, languid - but chaste. Much too chaste compared to the kisses Chanyeol’s become used to. He finds himself chasing after the emperor’s mouth, whining in protest when the probing tip of his tongue is denied access.

“So sweet, Chanyeol,” The emperor murmurs against his lips as he moves to pull away.

“It’s the cakes, your ma- Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol corrects himself. The emperor - Kyungsoo - smiles, the look on his face very much pleased. Chanyeol finds his bravado once more, shifts on the blanket so he can wrap arms around Kyungsoo’s neck and drag him down to lay on the blanket. “But you should kiss me again to make sure.”

Kyungsoo readily obliges him.

—

They don’t make it to his sister’s house that day.

They spend the rest of the morning by the pond, sharing kisses and more food that they unpack again after deciding not to visit Yoora after all. Chanyeol will have to send a lengthy apology in a missive later, maybe with an accompanying basket of sweet cakes if he plays his cards right.

Kyungsoo still insists on feeding him by hand, though instead of wicking away crumbs and cream with his fingers, he kisses them away instead. The hint of his tongue sweeping at a corner of Chanyeol’s mouth is maddening. Chanyeol tries his best not to chase after it, remembering someone’s distant words, about how he shouldn’t give in so easily because the emperor likes it when they play hard to get. It’s so hard when Chanyeol wants nothing more than to deepen their kisses, to feel the heavy weight of Kyungsoo’s body against his own.

But they spend the morning going no further than chaste kisses and hands wandering well above the waist and over their clothes. The restraint Chanyeol has to exercise not to loosen the ties at his collar, to offer more skin for Kyungsoo to peruse is…considerable. He’s so used to outright begging for what he wants that it almost hurts to stop himself from pleading for more when Kyungsoo says it’s time to go, that there are duties he must attend to in the palace.

Chanyeol doesn’t want it to end. The whole morning has felt like something of a fever dream - imagined, unreal. But it feels real, the way Kyungsoo holds out a hand to help him up, a hand on his back to lead him back to where they’d left the horses to graze. His hand is warm, smaller than Chanyeol’s with delicate fingers and nails ragged, bitten to the quick. He hadn’t expected that unintentional show of nerves, finding it hopelessly endearing.

They’re quiet on the ride back. Chanyeol appreciates the time to gather his thoughts and Kyungsoo was known to be a man of few words, so the silence is not uncomfortable.

They enter the palace through a back gate Chanyeol’s never noticed, hidden by shrubbery and clearly seldom used, opening directly across from the stables.

When they dismount, there’s a bevy of people waiting for them, Jongdae heading up the front. He’s in his councilman’s robes, hands on his hips and a delicate brow arched, watching and waiting.

“So you are why his majesty was nowhere to be found,” he says, tone stern, but a twinkle in his eyes. He turns to Kyungsoo. “When you said you were going for a ride, I didn’t know you meant the whole morning.”

Chanyeol flushes hot in embarrassment, biting his lip in chagrin and trying to hide behind his horse.

“We lost track of time visiting with his sister,” Kyungsoo lies easily, the words likely for those gathered to collect him, none too subtle about their eavesdropping.

“His sister, yes,” Jongdae nods sagely, turning his attention back to Chanyeol. “How is she today? Faring well, I hope?”

“Y-yes, she’s doing quite well, thank you,” Chanyeol stammers, unable to make eye contact.

Jongdae hums vaguely, gesturing at Kyungsoo. “When you’re ready, your majesty, the Council awaits you.”

“One moment,” Kyungsoo says. “I’ll be right behind you, councilman.”

Then he walks towards Chanyeol, who stands frozen by his horse as he approaches.

“Shall we ride again tomorrow?” He asks, smile wide and eyes crinkled as he tilts his head to peer up at Chanyeol.

And-

And he looks so, so-

Chanyeol’s stomach swoops at the vision he makes, so handsome, so lovely, his face illuminated by the sun, his lashes casting shadows on his cheek as he waits for Chanyeol to reply.

Chanyeol can only tip his head in agreement, not quite believing this new turn of events.

“Excellent. I’ll see you tomorrow, Chanyeol-ah.”

Then he kisses Chanyeol, right on the mouth, right in front of everyone watching, leaning up on his toes to reach him.

Chanyeol stands dumbfounded, clutching at the horse’s saddle even as Kyungsoo pulls away, the kiss too quick but devastating all the same. His ears are ringing, the sound loud in the collective silence that had fallen. The emperor leads the way back into the castle without preamble. Chanyeol locks eyes with Jongdae who watched the whole exchange with an excited looking gleam in his eyes, falling behind.

Later, he mouths at Chanyeol before he, too, makes his way back into the palace.

—

“You.”

Chanyeol freezes, startled, as the door slams open. “Me?”

“Don’t be rude, Hun-ah,” Jongin reprimands, trailing after the youngest as he storms into baths. “He’s still older than us.”

They’re in their practice costumes, thin fabric almost transparent with perspiration at the neck. Chanyeol stands on one side of the pool, confused and thankful to be waist deep in the waters. “What’s going on?” He asks, “Has something happened?”

“You,” Sehun repeats, stripping himself and wading into the water with astonishing speed.

Alarmed, Chanyeol avoids his outstretched hand, “Sehun, what - mmph- !”

Sehun cuts him off, corners him against the opposite edge of the small pool, cold, smooth stone digging into his back. He gasps as Sehun snakes his tongue into his mouth, kissing him deep. Chanyeol finds himself returning the kiss just as fiercely, having spent the whole morning simmering in arousal.

He moans when Jongin pushes at him from behind, water splashing over the edges of the pool as he makes room for himself, followed by arms wrapping around him from behind, pulling Sehun tight against them.

“Does he taste like him, Hun-ah?” Jongin asks breathlessly as he rubs his stiffening cock into the cleft of Chanyeol’s ass, the water making it a smooth slide. “Does he taste like Kyungsoo hyung?”

“I don’t-“ Sehun says in between kisses, “I don’t remember what he tastes like anymore.”

Sehun’s large hands skim Chanyeol’s waist, tugging at his thighs, lifting them to fit around his waist. Chanyeol floats in the water - clinging to Sehun in front, framed by Jongin in the back, but it's Kyungsoo’s presence that weighs them down and envelopes them.

“Where did you go? Where did he take you?” Jongin whispers darkly into Chanyeol’s ear and biting at the lobe. His voice is rough, sounding nothing like the Jongin Chanyeol knows. “It’s all over the palace, you know. How the emperor ran away with you this morning. How he kept the council waiting for hours. How he kissed you in front of everyone.

“Did he- did you let him fuck you?” Jongin asks as he palms at Chanyeol’s ass beneath the water, clever fingers deftly finding his hole.

“N-no,” Chanyeol arches into Sehun’s chest, breaking off their kiss as he gasps for air, crying out as Jongin exerts pressure just behind his balls.

“But you’d let him next time, won’t you?” Sehun asks, holding Chanyeol’s face in his hands, forcing Chanyeol to look at him. “Let him fuck you and come back to us. Let us taste him on your tongue.”

Sehun kisses him again and Chanyeol’s answer is stolen along with his breath.

—

The following morning, Chanyeol finds his way to the stables a little later than usual, kept awake until the early hours of dawn by jealous, longing hands that milked him dry, and generous, relentless mouths that marked him and kept him too occupied to keep the time.

Chanyeol has never felt so sated and so exhausted at the same time.

It must show on his face because Kyungsoo’s mouth quirks up at one corner, the expression on his face too smug for a split second before he’s able to smooth it into something more neutral.

“Good morning,” Kyungsoo calls out from where he has both the horses saddled up, basket of food secured on his steed, and his royal guard at the ready.

Just like yesterday, he leans up when Chanyeol is close enough, this time using what he can reach of Chanyeol’s shoulder for leverage to press their lips together in a short kiss. Even though he’d anticipated it, Chanyeol still feels his stomach tie itself in knots at the gesture, fights not to follow Kyungsoo’s mouth when he pulls back.

“Did you sleep well?” Kyungsoo peers up at Chanyeol, lingering, clearly in no hurry to put distance between them. “Or rather, did you sleep at all?”

Cheeks flushing, Chanyeol pulls at the open collar of his riding tunic in answer, just enough for Kyungsoo to see the evidence someone’s - Chanyeol isn’t sure whose - mouth had left on his skin. Baekhyun had insisted on dressing him this morning, instructing him to wear one of Jongin’s tunics, knowing the younger man’s preference for wide, open collars would serve a purpose this morning. Chanyeol hadn’t been able to deny them, not when they’d bribed him with favors for later.

“No, I suppose you did not.” Kyungsoo grins at him before taking his hand and leading him to the horses.

Their morning rides become habit after that.

They don’t happen everyday, because Chanyeol could never survive the sleepless night that would inevitably follow and still be up early enough not to waste away the morning on horseback. But he looks forward to every time they’re able to, finding himself quickly drawn to the emperor. Kyungsoo was both a man and ruler of little words, preferring action to verbal expression, but he hid an often wicked sense of humor beneath his quiet, steadfast demeanor, and Chanyeol looked forward to unearthing it as much as the kisses they shared.

But he has to admit, he looks forward to the kisses the most - his favorites are the ones Kyungsoo gives him in greeting, and then the one he gets when bidding him goodbye. Those kisses are the softest, the truest, the ones with the least amount of ulterior motive. Chanyeol savors the memory of those kisses alone, will kiss and tell about everything else they do, but those kisses he keeps to himself.

In time, they move on from chaste kisses, to kisses that leave them both breathless and panting, the kind that has Chanyeol begging with his eyes, with his body, if not his words. There are the kisses that Kyungsoo leaves on his body for the others to find, kisses that have the guards’ ears as bright a red as Chanyeol’s face when they head home.

It’s all building up to something, Chanyeol knows. Every outing, every kiss, every hello and subsequent goodbye. There’s an undercurrent of tension that doesn’t belong to them alone and though it fuels the intensity between them, it confuses Chanyeol too. It makes him doubt Kyungsoo’s intentions, makes him question every minute they spend together, makes him wonder if Kyungsoo even likes him at all, if he’s just a means to an end. A substitute for someone else. An unwitting pawn in a game he isn’t familiar with.

It eats at him, makes him question the others too, makes him yearn for an empty bed, all alone so he can gather his thoughts. But the others won’t let him sleep alone for long, and truth be told Chanyeol is no longer used to an empty bed. He knows there are questions to be asked, but the harem isn’t where the answers can be found.

So Chanyeol gathers the courage to ask for days, bides his time, but he loses confidence at the last minute.

He and Kyungsoo are in the gardens, having decided that morning to stay within the palace grounds instead. It’s warm out, one of summer’s last days before it gives way to the colder months. The air is sweet with the smell of flowers in full bloom, the sounds of birds singing as they flit through the trees.

He sits in the shade of one such tree, his head in Kyungsoo’s lap, Kyungsoo’s fingers tracing the skin under Chanyeol’s open collar. His hands are soft, his touch gentle, and his humming is enough to lull Chanyeol into dozing, only half awake when he finally asks, “What made you ride with me that day?”

He peers at Kyungsoo through the slit of one eye, shielding his gaze with the back of his hand where an errant ray of sun slices through the canopy of leaves and onto his face.

Kyungsoo doesn’t answer right away. His tune fades out and he lets silence sit between them for a long moment in the aftermath of Chanyeol’s question. Chanyeol holds his breath, not knowing if maybe he’s shattering the perfection they’d found in their time together.

“Do you know,” Kyungsoo says quietly, looking off into the distance. “That someone once told me that you had a heart so soft and so pure, that if I broke it, I might as well lose the harem I hold most dear?”

Speechless and suddenly wide awake, Chanyeol shakes his head.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Kyungsoo says, tapping the tip of Chanyeol’s nose with a finger before running hands through Chanyeol’s hair, pulling at the strands as he continues to speak. “But it made me wonder, who could this person be? What kind of person could inspire such loyalty and affection in people pledged to be my own, people I considered mine? Who are mine, and have never faltered in their affections for me. What seducer could seduce the likes of my harem away from me?”

“I-“

“Shh, let me finish,” Kyungsoo shushes him with a finger pressed to his mouth and a smile playing on his lips.

“All that wondering made me curious, made me want to meet you. But I had responsibilities to attend to when I returned to the palace and by the time those were done, I had my own pride to contend with. You must know my relationship with the harem is…complicated at best,” Kyungsoo says with a wince and a shrug. “The harem was born out of necessity when my brother and I decided to rule together. A way to keep the peace between us so that we would not fight for the throne. But I disliked the idea of collecting people and using them for my own pleasure. Many have come and gone as time passed, and I’ve done my best to make sure that those who leave are well able to care for themselves. It was not my intention to accept another into the harem, but I was not here to decline when they found you.”

Chanyeol stiffens at that, at the thought that Kyungsoo hadn’t wanted him. That maybe, Kyungsoo didn’t want him - even now.

“I’m not finished,” Kyungsoo chides, tweaking at his ear, eyes probing - reading Chanyeol’s face and knowing he was jumping to conclusions. He sighs. “I’m not the only one who decides who stays. Had Baekhyun or any of the others objected to you, you’d have been turned away the same day you arrived. They may share well amongst themselves, but make no mistake, they’re jealous creatures at heart. For them to accept you as one of their own, to offer you to me, to protect you against my supposed brand of cruelty, is no small feat.

“Does that answer your question?” Kyungsoo asks, peering down at him.

“Am I...as you expected?”

Chanyeol thinks about it, thinks about all the other questions that have sported in his mind, begging to be answered alongside with the first. Thinks about how selfish it is to want to know, when there are other, more important things that needed answers, but he can’t help himself either. He, too, has manifested into a jealous creature, wanting things only he could have. Private things, just between the two of them.

“Angling for compliments, now are you?” Kyungsoo teases lightly.

He’s not, and Chanyeol says as much, pouting up at the emperor even as the man pulls at Chanyeol’s collar, leans down half way to meet him in a kiss.

“More than,” Kyungsoo murmurs into the space between two breaths as they kiss and kiss and kiss. “You - all of you - are more than I expected. More than I deserve.”

Chanyeol whines, face flushed and heart warmed, pleased at the tender words. Chanyeol shifts until he’s sitting up, mouth slanted against Kyungsoo’s, kissing him hard against the tree. Kyungsoo lets him, holds Chanyeol by the nape of his neck until they’re both breathless and panting, until Chanyeol is aching to straddle his lap, legs spread wide to feel Kyungsoo against the back of his thighs.

“Please,” he begs, clutching at Kyungsoo’s robes, kissing down his neck, looking for more skin to bruise and claim. He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for, just that he wants - needs - more from Kyungsoo, maybe all of him, everything, regardless of what the emperor is willing to give. It feels all consuming this need, a small candle that had been burning within him, igniting into an inferno and eating away at all common sense.

“Not here.”

Chanyeol whimpers at the words, moans outright when Kyungsoo’s fingers twist in his hair, tugging sharply, until their eyes are level.

“Not here,” he repeats, leaning in until their foreheads are touching. “Because no one out here deserves to see you beg so prettily.”

Chanyeol surges forward with another desperate sound, uncaring of the fact they’re outside, able to be seen and heard by the guards who stand watch and anyone passing by. This time, Kyungsoo only lets Chanyeol deepen the kiss momentarily before he’s gentling him through it, and then pulling back, Chanyeol’s bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“Yeollie, Yeollie, Chanyeollie,” Kyungsoo says, Jongdae’s voice echoing in Chanyeol’s head. “Would you like to help me?”

“Yes,” Chanyeol answers all too readily, “With what?”

“With penance.”

Chapter Text

Chanyeol agrees to help Kyungsoo with his penance as long as penance started with him.

He comes to him in gauzy, white silk - a sheer slip of a thing that pulled tight at his broad shoulders and cinched at the waist, the thin fabric showing much of his chest before flowing loose at his hips with nothing underneath. Against the candlelight, it leaves almost nothing to the imagination. Kohl lines his eyes, making him look almost feline as he peers at Kyungsoo from beneath darkened lashes, shadows cast against his rouge smudged cheeks. His mouth catches the light when he speaks, bottom lip glossy and slick.

“Welcome back, your majesty.”

He sits demurely, long, long legs folded beneath him atop Kyungsoo’s bed, like a glistening pearl pillowed by dark sheets, Kyungsoo’s penchant for black serving as the perfect backdrop for the white silk fanning around him. His cock pokes out from between his legs, destroying the perfect silhouette of his pose, but Kyungsoo finds it distracting for other reasons.

It’s easy to see Baekhyun’s influence, Jongin and Sehun’s conniving, even Jongdae’s particular brand of subtle manipulation in the way Chanyeol so easily maneuvers himself in Kyungsoo’s private quarters and on his bed. Or maybe, Kyungsoo is just that gullible, that susceptible to the wiles of a pretty boy with wide, innocent eyes, a sweet smile, and a hard cock.

“I thought,” Kyungsoo says, approaching the bed cautiously, reverently. “That we had agreed you’d call me by my given name.”

Chanyeol follows Kyungsoo’s movement with his eyes, tilting his head up when Kyungsoo comes close enough to stand at the edge of the bed.

“We also agreed you’d kiss me for that favor.”

“Have I not given you enough kisses?” Kyungsoo asks, reaching for Chanyeol in the middle of the bed. Chanyeol goes willingly, crawling on his hands and knees until Kyungsoo can curl fingers at his nape, bringing him closer.

Chanyeol nuzzles his cheek into Kyungsoo’s palm, kissing the inside of his wrist. “Not nearly enough, your majesty.”

Kyungsoo hums in agreement before giving in to the need to place much deserved kisses to the perfect moue of Chanyeol’s lips. Chanyeol opens up to him naturally. Their tongues slide against each other with ease, fueled by an urgency that had been simmering between them for days - an urgency that had been palpable the moment Kyungsoo had stepped into the room to find Chanyeol ready and waiting.

“Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol sighs, pushing up against him. Like this, with him kneeling on the bed and Kyungsoo standing, they are of the same height. He wraps his arms around Kyungsoo’s neck until they’re chest to chest, the warmth and weight of him enticing. Chanyeol’s cock is a hard, hot presence against his hip. Kyungsoo curls his tongue into Chanyeol’s mouth, licking hard behind his teeth and earning himself a whimper in return.

“Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol moans this time when he runs fingers up and down the sides of Chanyeol’s long torso, catching at the fabric of his robes, pulling it higher and higher until he meets naked skin and warm, supple thighs.

“You’re trembling,” Kyungsoo says when he breaks their kiss to nip at Chanyeol’s bottom lip.

Chanyeol nods, burying his face against Kyungsoo’s neck, sucking at the skin of his throat. “I. I’ve waited so long. I’ve- heard so much. I imagined, so many nights, what it would feel like to- to lay with you and know for myself.”

“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo groans, the words setting fire to his insides. “Chanyeol- shall I fuck you? Would you like that? Would that please you, love?”

“Yes,” Chanyeol moans, running desperate hands down Kyungsoo’s arms and taking him by the wrist, pulling it behind him, guiding Kyungsoo to his ass. “Yes, I- I’m ready. Please, Kyungsoo-“

Momentary confusion plagues him before realization has Kyungsoo inhaling sharply, his fingers met with something other than flesh. He knows exactly what it is, the hard, unforgiving feel of glass unmistakeable amidst all of Chanyeol’s softness.

“Show me,” he demands, voice hoarse and hands fighting to stay gentle as he handles Chanyeol by the hips, indifferent to delicate fabric straining as he pushes him face first onto the bed. Kyungsoo can’t sweep aside Chanyeol’s clothing fast enough, the sound of splitting seams lost in the rush of blood in his ears. Chanyeol scrambles to stay on his knees, spread wide and hips thrown back to show Kyungsoo his hidden prize.

There, nestled between his legs, tucked away and kept warm by his body, is a glass plug.

It must be new, Kyungsoo thinks dazedly, because it’s not one he recognizes. It looks to be made of black glass, the flared base ringed in silver and encrusted with glittering onyx. He reaches out to trace the gems, unable to resist the urge to exert the slightest bit of pressure, dark tendrils of satisfaction curling low in his gut when Chanyeol’s broken moan follows. He pulls at it next, just to hear Chanyeol moan again. The plug itself seems small, but weighted, the widest part of the bulb easing out of Chanyeol in one smooth slide and hanging heavily between Kyungsoo’s thumb and forefinger.

“Who-“ Kyungsoo has to clear his throat and start again, mouth dry as he pushes the plug back inside, marveling at the way way Chanyeol’s body swallows it up with ease. “Whose grand idea was this, hm? How did you know to tempt me this way, Chanyeol-ah?”

Chanyeol can’t answer with words, not with the way Kyungsoo angles the clever little toy, knowing it was shaped to devastate in the most pleasurable of ways. Kyungsoo doesn’t expect an answer, knows exactly whose pretty fingers stretched Chanyeol’s hole, whose mouth left bruises for Kyungsoo to find on the smooth skin of Chanyeol’s inner thighs. He knows from whom Chanyeol learned the most enticing pose and the most lurid way to beg. Kyungsoo knows, because for all his running and avoidance, his harem knows him too well. Knows all the things he likes and all the things he cannot resist.

“Did you ask for this, or did they tell you?” He continues, distracted, eyes riveted to Chanyeol’s hole as he slides the plug in and out, in and out, slick and easy with oil. “Did they fuck you before hand? Whose cock made you loose and wet for me?”

“N-no one,” Chanyeol gasps, fighting for breath as he works his hips backwards, chasing more stimulation. “No one will fuck me. Saved it- saved me j-just for you.”

Surely he isn’t -

“Don’t stop,” Chanyeol whines at Kyungsoo’s distracted pause. “Not- not virginal. But they wouldn’t- they said I should-“

He cries out, back arching involuntarily when Kyungsoo, overcome with arousal, shoves the plug in all the way and keeps it there, pressing the glass head where he assumes Chanyeol’s prostate to be. His aim proves true; Chanyeol writhes on the bed, knees giving out, and Kyungsoo doesn’t let up, not until Chanyeol’s body seizes, muscles locking and mouth caught open on a silent scream as he comes.

Kyungsoo gentles him through it, slowing his ministrations until Chanyeol is slumped onto his own mess, little stuttered breaths the only sign of consciousness.

Kyungsoo pulls the plug out completely, slowly, mindful of the puffy edges of Chanyeol’s hole. Gods, the plug must have sat inside him for hours. Just the thought of Chanyeol plugged up and waiting patiently for him to return drives Kyungsoo to distraction. Entranced, he slips in two fingers with just enough slide from leftover oil to get him to the first knuckle. He’s barely able to keep from groaning when Chanyeol shivers, tightening around him. He’s so warm inside, so soft, and Kyungsoo throbs at the thought burying himself into that tight heat. He’s crushed by the weight of months and months of restraint, of self enforced celibacy, and he really does feel stupid for denying himself all this while. Feels even more the fool for waiting so long and denying Chanyeol the fucking he so prettily begged for.

Kyungsoo leans over with renewed resolve, running the flat of his tongue along Chanyeol’s cleft, lapping at the rim where his fingers disappear inside. He groans at the taste of him, the feel of him, musky and warm and pliant. Chanyeol whimpers, shuddering at his curious touch.

“Chanyeol,” he calls out, removing his fingers and kissing up the length of Chanyeol’s spine. “Sweet Chanyeol, can you take me, love? Will you let me fuck you?”

The endearments slip easily, readily from his lips, Kyungsoo unable to hold back his affections. Like this, nodding his head and gasping his assent, trembling beneath Kyungsoo’s own shaking hands, he deserves every endearment and more.

With help, Chanyeol turns into his back, away from the mess he’d made in the sheets. His silk robe is ruined, stained with his release and torn where Kyungsoo’s fingers had been careless. Kyungsoo divests him of his clothing with little difficulty, the garment made with removal in mind.

Chanyeol’s naked body is magnificent, revealed even more so under candlelight. He’s made up of smooth, pale skin, littered in parts with the evidence of previous lovemaking, bruises made by mouths Kyungsoo longs to trace with his own. Long, long legs that Kyungsoo can’t wait to wrap around his waist and hitch upon his shoulders. His cock is thick and long, even while soft, smeared with come and Kyungsoo can’t resist the urge to dip his head, licking along the shaft and cleaning him up with his tongue.

Chanyeol moans, his knees coming up to frame Kyungsoo’s head, locking around his ears. Kyungsoo wraps his arms around supple thighs, fingers bruising the delicate insides to keep them open. Chanyeol’s cock stirs as Kyungsoo swirls his tongue around the head, dipping into the slit to lap at the bitter saltiness that starts to bead at the tip. Kyungsoo loves the feel of him firming up in his mouth, not quite hard enough just yet to have him choking. Chanyeol makes the loveliest sounds when he starts to bob his head, sucking hard just beneath the crown.

“Ah-” he cries out, hips jerking in an aborted thrust as Kyungsoo continues to hold him down. His fingers bury themselves into Kyungsoo’s hair, not quite tugging. “Kyungsoo-“

The way Chanyeol says his name - his tone desperate, pleading - is what finally drives Kyungsoo to the edge.

He places one last kiss to Chanyeol’s cock and herds the taller man to the center of the bed, pulling him up part of the way with an arm around Chanyeol’s slim waist. He divests himself of his own clothing with admirable speed, the need within him coiling tight as he undresses, Chanyeol’s dark eyes never leaving him, full of blatant lust. In this instance, Kyungsoo allows himself one moment of vanity - he may not be muscled like some herculean god, but he is fit, body toned from months idling at the northern border with little to do but exercise while waiting for negotiations to progress.

He kneels over Chanyeol on the bed and takes his cock in hand, stroking himself to full hardness. He watches the way Chanyeol’s eyes seem to be fixated and takes pride in his thick girth, makes sure to squeeze the fat head so he can gather the slick there and smear it over Chanyeol’s waiting mouth. He makes a needy sound when he sucks on Kyungsoo’s fingers.

“Where’s the oil, love?” Kyungsoo asks, breathing raggedly.

Chanyeol pulls his mouth away with a slick pop, and rummages around the dark sheets before he holds up a familiar vial. Kyungsoo takes it from him.

“On your knees,” he urges, prodding at Chanyeol’s hips to turn him over once again. Chanyeol hesitates, then shakes his head.

“Like this,” he says softly, color high on his cheeks even as he spreads his thighs to welcome Kyungsoo between them. “Want to see you while you fuck me.”

Kyungsoo chokes on a breath as he pulls his knees to his chest, reaches down with both hands and grips his ass, holding himself open. His puckered hole flutters as it is exposed once again and Kyungsoo’s vision dots at the edges as arousal slithers like lightning down his spine.

Kyungsoo wastes no time in spreading the oil onto his fingers, careless about how much spills onto the sheets, too eager, too impatient for the feel of Chanyeol hot and tight around him. He sinks his fingers into Chanyeol once for a cursory stretch and finds no resistance, even when he scissors them, then adds a third with ease. The plug had done its job well.

“Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol whines when Kyungsoo’s fingers graze his prostate deliberately, teasingly, until he’s gasping for breath. “Please...”

He begs so prettily, eyes damp and glistening, that Kyungsoo has to obey. He slides his fingers out, coating them with more oil and spreading it onto his cock. Chanyeol tilts his hips eagerly when the tip brushes his rim and Kyungsoo, eases himself in - just a little, just enough for Chanyeol to feel the stretch - before pulling back out. He does it several times, watching as Chanyeol gets more and more desperate.

“Don’t- don’t tease,” he complains, biting at his lip and frowning up at Kyungsoo.

Kyungsoo huffs out a laugh that turns into a moan he can’t stifle when he decides to stop teasing after all, pressing into Chanyeol slowly, steadily. Chanyeol exhales, the sound loud, as Kyungsoo buries himself to the hilt, undulating his hips to find the perfect rhythm for them both.

“Oh. Oh- yes.” His nails bite into Kyungsoo’s back, causing stinging lines as he runs them along Kyungsoo’s spine. “That feels so- you feel so-“

Kyungsoo returns the sentiment, gritting his teeth against the pleasure pulsing in his groin. Chanyeol envelopes him in tight heat, velvet soft, squeezing around him deliciously every time he manages to hit the right spot. Kyungsoo shifts on his knees, bends Chanyeol over to hook his long legs over his elbows and thrusts hard. Chanyeol keens at this newfound angle, back arching and face contorting in pleasure. He pulls at Kyungsoo’s shoulders, grasping for purchase but finding none. Kyungsoo works his hips in tight circles and watches Chanyeol’s face for that tell tale sign of impending bliss.

His blood pounds in his chest trying to hold back his own pleasure, wanting to feel Chanyeol convulse around him, hot and tight, over and over again. It feels so good he’s nearly vibrating out of his skin in anticipation of falling over the edge. Chanyeol doesn’t seem too far off either, his cries of pleasure getting louder and louder as Kyungsoo slowly loses control.

“Come for me, love,” Kyungsoo pants, pressing his head into Chanyeol’s throat and licking at the tendons straining in his neck. “Take your pleasure. Let me feel it.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t know if it’s deliberate, but Chanyeol starts to shudder, tightening around him and coming - almost as if on command. The thought that he could have - that he’d been trained to, that he did because Kyungsoo ordered him to - is what ultimately has Kyungsoo unraveling, chasing his own lust as it spirals.

He drives into Chanyeol with the force of months of pent up need, months of restraint and a misplaced sense of judgment for a cause he’s having trouble believing in as Chanyeol milks his cock with his body and takes him so well.

He sets teeth to Chanyeol’s throat as white noise fills head, succumbing to orgasm but holding back just enough not to bite down too hard, just enough to leave a mark, a bruise of his own. He feels Chanyeol jerk beneath once more, both their pleasures coming to a head, Kyungsoo with a guttural groan and Chanyeol with a choked off gasp.

Kyungsoo let’s himself bask in the potent aftermath for only a moment before needing to move, letting Chanyeol’s legs fall back onto the bed with a soft thud, his limbs a dead weight. Kyungsoo sits up, his cock slipping out with a little hiss. He rubs at Chanyeol’s thighs, his hips, reaching over with one hand to stroke at the skin below his collarbone, right over his heart. It’s beating rabbit quick in his chest, and Kyungsoo leans over to brush his lips over the warm skin, slightly damp with sweat.

He kisses his way up Chanyeol’s neck to pepper kisses along his jaw, sliding his lips across both his cheeks before settling on his mouth. He murmurs sweet nothings into the scant space they breathe in, gentle praise and uttered promises until Chanyeol kisses back.

Everything is soft, and perfect, and though Kyungsoo isn’t usually prone to sentiment, he can’t help but think that if this is how penance is to be, then he wouldn’t mind having to do it over and over and over again.

—

(Later. Much, much later…)

Kyungsoo is a fool. It doesn’t occur to him until later, much later, but by then it’s too late.

In hindsight, he should have known, but he was lulled into a false sense of security by Chanyeol’s sweet face and shy demeanor. He’d let himself forget under whose care Chanyeol had stayed while at the palace, but it’s all too clear now, Baekhyun’s meddling; Kyungsoo realizes it in the way Chanyeol had agreed all too readily to help him. He sees Jongin and Sehun’s mischievous ways reflected back at him with Chanyeol between his legs, still clothed but even then, too beautiful and too enticing for Kyungsoo deny. Jongdae’s guidance is also unmistakable with the wide strip of leather cord Chanyeol holds up in his hands, offering it up to Kyungsoo with wide, beseeching eyes. His gaze flits between Kyungsoo’s neck and his lap, thoughts plain on his face: a collar for Kyungsoo’s neck or his cock?

“Shall I help you put it on, your majesty?”

Kyungsoo narrows his eyes at the use of his title, his usually effective glare doing nothing to quell the look of mischief he spies lurking behind Chanyeol’s otherwise neutral expression.

“You are enjoying this,” Kyungsoo says, his tone accusing.

“Tonight you are no emperor. Instead, your body will be a slave to the harem. Everything we desire, you will give freely and without hesitation.” Chanyeol says with an impish shrug. “This is the penance you agreed to, is it not?”

They hold each other’s stare for a long moment before Kyungsoo concedes with a sigh.

“Undress me.”

Chanyeol makes a pleased noise at the command, momentarily setting aside the piece of leather to get his hands on Kyungsoo’s robes. Kyungsoo had dressed with less in mind after bathing, anticipating that he wouldn’t be wearing much for long. Still, Chanyeol takes his time, running his hands up and down Kyungsoo’s sides, following the seams with slow, seemingly reverent hands.

A loud, impatient knock sounds at the door. He glances at Chanyeol, who has a question ready at his lips.

“Are you ready?”

It’s tempting to say no. To go back to living his life empty, devoid of any joy to fall back on. But the heavy weight of sadness hasn’t left him yet, at the thought of anyone else leaving, no more harem, no one waiting for him to home come - the ache is too fresh for him to consider any other answer.

“Let them in,” Kyungsoo says in lieu of the word yes.

Apologies are nothing without action, after all.