Chapter Text
It only occurred to Lloyd on the journey back home to Frontera Estate (read: much too late) that, maybe, he should not have confronted Javier over their sex life the night before they were set to depart the Capital again alongside a convoy of the other Frontera workers.
Not because he was in pain, at least not any more than he would be if the roles had been reversed - Javier had taken evident pleasure in being infuriatingly gentle even as Lloyd demanded/begged/cursed at him to go harder and faster, so any ache was more from exerting lesser-used muscle groups - but because the late-running celebrations and multiple rounds of, er, natural disaster simulations had cut substantially into the time left to actually sleep.
(And having to hand the bonus pay over to all the Guild's workers before departure had definitely drained Lloyd further, beyond his usual hard-earned tolerance for late nights.
Javier, on the other hand, had seemed greatly invigorated by the display, as Lloyd had predicted. Well, happy wife, happy life, they said - and happy knights made for very happy nights, Lloyd was beginning to learn.)
Lloyd swallowed a yawn, and leaned against the carriage window, watching the royal palace’s much-improved roof slowly fade away into all-consuming whiteness. The first serious snows of the season had begun drifting down onto the Capital the previous week - thankfully they’d finished most of the work on the outside of the roof before that - and the weather had not brightened up much since. Winter had previously been a difficult season for the palace, with the weight of snow adding to that of the roof; Lloyd trusted that, this year, there would be no new cracks developing.
(Or so he hoped. With the pay distributed equally among all workers, the money-back-guarantee Lloyd had written into the contract would have to be paid from his own pockets, and the mere thought of losing so much money at once was making him feel poorly in more than one sense of the word.)
The carriage steadily rattled along the street, the crunch of snow under hooves and wheels and chatter of voices beyond its confines somewhat dimmed. On the opposite bench, Lloyd’s mother was embroidering miniature winter coats she’d made for his summons - bit weird, but at least this hopefully meant that there wasn’t quite so much no-pressure-at-all to produce or procure further grandchildren - while his father was content simply watching her while holding all her sewing supplies securely in his lap. Lloyd briefly thought of his other parents - Suho’s parents - leaning over a bill or a grocery list or Suho’s homework together; and while he didn’t think his chest would ever stop aching when he lingered on those memories, it was a bittersweet pain by now, made gentler by the knowledge that he had been loved once, and was now loved again. That he’d lost one home, and found another.
Speaking of, Lloyd couldn’t wait to be home. He hadn’t been back at the Estate for the better part of a year, and missed all the little familiar sights and smells and simple comforts of being just where he belonged. It would be lovely to simply sleep in his own bed again - and, come to think of it, do rather a bit more than sleep if Javier joined him in it. Which he would. Lloyd had done far too much sleeping alone in those awful months of relationship stalemate, and with Javier and him, there really was no point in keeping up the appearance of chastity before marriage.
Funny, how much had changed since they’d set out for the Capital in early summer of last year. Lloyd had gone to see the Queen in a virginal body, still considering himself a carefree bachelor (however foolish an assessment that might have been, in hindsight) and determinedly unconcerned about those threatening letters from Javier’s admirers; now, heading home again, he’d fucked and been fucked, gained a few more scars (but who was counting), and had gotten engaged. The only thing that hadn’t changed significantly was his finances. Unfortunately.
(There were other changes, small ones, in the Capital he left behind. A little girl who had nearly been made an orphan, and was now eager to study architecture. Less pigeon shit on the palace roof, and fewer cracks in its walls, which in turn meant that Alicia had just one less thing to worry about. A little padlock fastened to a hidden part of the Llojavi Bridge, which had actually been Javier’s idea, to “honour the love-customs of your original world, Master Suho”, no matter how often Lloyd had tried to explain that it wasn’t all that significant a tradition, and bad for the structural integrity of the bridge besides. The royal coffers were now a little lighter, and the pockets of the Guild workers a little fuller.
Tiny, unimportant changes - but they still mattered. Each and every one.)
Lloyd swallowed another yawn. He wanted to curl up on the carriage bench and nap, but had been planning to use the opportunity that travel provided to evaluate the state of public roads and other infrastructure in Frontera County. He flipped open his pocketwatch to check the time - it would probably take another hour or two until they reached the border. Might still be worth catching up on a bit of sleep.
And - his eyes flickered to the miniature portrait of Javier in the lid - if he was worried about a little nap turning into the sort of hour-long sleep that would have him wake disoriented and stiff and with a weird taste in his mouth when the carriage drew to a halt in front of the manor doors, then he could just tell his faithful knight to wake him when they reached the outskirts of the County, and Javier would no doubt comply.
(There was now a second miniature portrait in the pocketwatch, for which you had to carefully pry away the original one to find it hidden beneath, in which Javier was wearing a great deal less clothing. The royal painter had wept with joy when her muse of muses had agreed to stand model again, and only visibly salivated a respectful amount when the clothes had come off. It was fine; if nothing else, the artist’s own lust had ensured that the resulting tasteful nudes almost captured the superhuman attractiveness of the real thing.
Lloyd had been very pleased, and insisted on paying a fair price, even though the painter repeatedly pointed out that, by all rights, she should be paying Lloyd for the privilege.
Javier had asked if anyone would pay him, which was presumably a sign of Lloyd’s bad influence, and was ignored entirely.)
Lloyd tucked his watch away, and half-turned towards Javier to ask-
He paused.
Frowned.
Javier, too, was gazing out the window, watching the steady fall of snowflakes outside the carriage; and even though it was a pleasant enough temperature inside, and he was wearing his coat and a travel cape over it, there was a visible tremor going through him, as if he was shivering in the cold.
Oh, thought Lloyd, remembering. Right.
It had been many years now since Lloyd had first read The Knight of Blood and Iron. Many years since Javier the tragic novel protagonist had become Javier the person to Lloyd.
(Javier the comrade-in-arms. Javier the friend. Javier the little shit. Javier the lover…)
But Lloyd remembered. Writing always tended to stick in his head, whether it was civil engineering textbooks or semi-trashy webnovels. The Javier Asrahan of the novel was far removed from the man visibly shivering on the other side of the carriage bench, of course; the novel’s knight might be a hero, a warrior, but he was also someone who had been broken beyond repair by cruel fate. Lloyd had refused to let that happen to his Javier. Had shielded him where he could, and not always succeeded - but he suspected that it had already made a world of difference that he’d tried.
Only, he’d come into this world much too late to do anything about this old wound.
Lloyd remembered liking that little detail, when he’d read about it. That Javier Asrahan, even years after being rescued from freezing to death by Arcos Frontera’s kindness, would always dislike the winter months, and feel himself shiver at the sight of snow, no matter the actual temperature. It had been the most relatable aspect of this flawless hero protagonist, to Suho; he’d also hated snowy days on which construction work could not continue, and he had nothing better to do than freeze in his little apartment he couldn’t afford to properly heat.
…Lloyd liked the detail less, now.
“Oi, Javier.” Lloyd made a show out of stretching into another yawn that turned his face into a grotesque horror mask, and then roughly throwing himself across the bench so that he was plastered against Javier’s side, head pillowed on his shoulder. “I’m gonna nap on you. Wake me when we cross the border.”
“What am I, your pillow?” Javier instantly shot back, muscles tensing as if he was seriously considering shoving Lloyd away just for the sake of principle, fiancé or no.
“Yep.” Lloyd pressed closer as obnoxiously as he could, throwing one leg over Javier’s and snaking his arms around that annoyingly trim waist. “And, little tip: good pillows don’t talk. Or move. Keep still, and let me get my beauty sleep - that’s an order from your Lord.”
Javier let out an annoyed huff, and even without seeing his face, Lloyd knew that he was glaring and pointedly trying to communicate with just the disdainful angle of his eyebrows that he objected to being objectified. His tense shoulder muscles were still beset with tremors under Lloyd’s cheek - it wasn’t just the movement of the carriage, Lloyd could tell.
But then, slowly, slowly, Javier relaxed.
“Beauty is well beyond your reach, even if you slept a thousand years,” Javier said coolly - but the hand he moved to rest on Lloyd’s nape was steady, and not shaking even a little bit.
Lloyd did not respond, kept his eyes stubbornly closed - but he couldn’t quite prevent a satisfied smirk distorting his lips. Take that, lingering tragic backstory trauma!
“So…” said another voice, and Lloyd suddenly remembered that he and Javier were not actually alone in the world. Or even in the carriage.
He opened his eyes to his parents both wearing the sort of expression that made it very obvious that, yes, this was the gene pool that had produced Lloyd Frontera.
“We’ve been wondering,” said Lord Arcos, in the exact same pleasant-demanding tone Lloyd sold people bridges and ondol flooring with. “How do you boys feel about a spring wedding…?”
And so they got married that spring, lived happily ever after, and never again had stupid arguments over their roles in each other’s lives or in their shared bed.
…
…well.
Almost never.
On their wedding night, Lloyd argued that it would be very romantic, to make love for the first time as a married couple the same way they had first fucked while still living in delicious sin; and accordingly, Lloyd should definitely 100% top tonight. Javier politely-yet-firmly disagreed, pointing out that he should have the right to this “second first” to balance the scales; and that it would be only fair to reverse those initial roles on such a significant occasion.
The discussion quickly turned heated. Further arguments were made and discarded, harsh words were spoken, sexual prowess was downplayed, and insults were handed out left and right. Most notably, genitals were creatively and unflatteringly compared to a wide variety of vegetables and a handful of especially ugly fruits.
(At one point, they even both considered the word that starts with d- and ends in -ivorce. Neither of them said it out loud, of course, but they thought it.)
Things might have gotten very ugly indeed, from that point on. Uglier even than Lloyd’s face at its worst. And they would have gotten over it and forgiven each other in a week or so, but they’d never quite forget this less-than-auspicious start to their marriage.
Fortunately, for a single shining moment, a Higher Power intervened and temporarily provided Lloyd with half a brain cell (perhaps it had been the messenger box, which had been trying to subtly allocate some unused RP points into Lloyd’s WIS stat for years at this point), prompting him to pull a coin out of his discarded waistcoat’s pocket and tell Javier “let’s just toss for it”.
Of course, Javier’s eyes immediately narrowed in suspicion, and the next ten minutes were spent accusing Lloyd of being a cheat and a scumbag and inspecting the coin for any signs of tampering. Five more minutes of arguing which of them got heads and who got tails, and then another five until they grudgingly agreed that neither of them would perform the coin toss, and they would instead enlist Ppodong’s help.
“May the better man win,” Lloyd muttered through gritted teeth, as they both stood half-nakedly side by side and watched a little hamster figuring out the best way to toss a coin nearly the size of its head. Despite the lingering venom in his voice, and the clear implication that he considered himself the better (regardless of any and all protagonist hero status), his hand was worming its way into Javier’s between them.
“May he indeed,” Javier agreed mildly, though still with an undertone of that is quite obviously me, Suho, and it’s cute that you think you can pretend otherwise. He threaded his fingers through those of his Lord Husband, and ran his thumb over faint lines of old scarring and the metal of a new ring.
Ppodong flipped the coin with a determined squeak.
The result of the toss need not concern us. Know only that both accepted the outcome - one rather smugly, the other unconvincingly pretending to be angry - and that, afterwards, they really and truly never had a serious fight that prevented them from having mutually enjoyable sex ever again.