Work Text:
The lack of air in Mydei’s lungs makes him keel over, one hand clutching the side of his stomach. Honestly, despite the exhaustion seeping through his bones, he feels pride bloom from how far he was able to run without stopping—all those years of stamina training have definitely paid off.
He takes a huff of breath. One more. Another one. And another, until his vision clears once more. Well, as clear as it could be considering the moon is now tucked behind big, grey clouds. It’s almost pitch black.
“Shit.” He mutters under his breath. With a twist and a turn, he realizes he doesn’t have a clue where he is. There are no visible landmarks like that chimera-shaped stone he often goes to or that one tree with roots that looked like hands just west of it. All he sees are rows upon rows of trees and white snow laid upon the ground for miles.
Is he lost?
How can he, Mydeimos, the Mighty Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos, possibly get lost? How absurd. How laughably impossible for someone of his stature. No, he cannot be lost. He refuses to be. Surely, he’s bound to bump into something familiar if he keeps walking ahead. Or, he could just follow his footprints back to the castle. But the mere thought of having to force a smile and perform ridiculously boring small talk with every potential suitor his mother sends his way is enough to make him shudder. He’d rather wrestle to death with a dozen hungry bears.
So, the prince keeps walking forward.
The late night’s frosty breeze is certainly making its presence known with every step he takes, prickling upon his body like small needles burrowing inside his skin. The winter’s bite is sharp, and it lingers. Snowflakes swirl around as the wind continues to blow stronger. Mydei grips his cloak much tighter around him.
Left or right? He thinks. Everything looks the same beneath the moonless darkness. He can barely see anything but the silhouette of the trees around him, enough to save himself from the embarrassment of colliding into one. How preposterous would it be for the crown prince to get lost and smack his head on a tree all in one night? He can’t let that happen. Even without an audience present.
There must be a cave somewhere he can stay for the night, or however long it takes for the palace to be rid of their schmoozing visitors. He’s thinking about it now—fantasizing, even. The peace and quiet of the palace halls when they’re busy strategizing military plans instead of playing royalty. He’s a warrior, for Nikador’s sake. He’s meant to be out on the battlefield leading and fighting with his people. Not wearing itchy suits and having too much product in his hair.
A shiver racks through his body when another strong breeze filled with chill sweeps past him. He grits his teeth, and with a squint of his eyes, he swears he can see a blur of white zipping through the air, weaving between the tall trunks in the forest.
Titans, is he hallucinating now? Is it the cold getting into his head? He should’ve put on something warmer. No matter, he won’t allow the weather of all things to shake him. The crown prince won’t submit to laughable frost.
He keeps walking and walking, trudging through the thick snow until his knees give out. He collapses on his knees, shivering and cold, teeth chattering. He really should've thought this plan out better.
White flashes around him again—swift enough to flutter his hair. Through gritted teeth, he manages to stand back up, but the cold has begun to worm its way into his skin, seeping through flesh and bone, and he's disoriented. He can't tell which direction to go to.
He's truly lost now.
He was fighting with himself when suddenly, he saw a pair of legs right before him.
What greeted him was an unusual sight. Something he’s sure he cannot even conjure up within his own dreams.
There was a man with hair as white as the purest snow and eyes as blue as the sparkling ice upon the frozen lake behind his palace, standing right before him. Wait, no—he was floating in front of him! His feet weren't touching the ground!
He watches in awe as light spills from the man’s hands. Golden orbs of light that zip past him to lay down what seemed like a trail.
“Follow the lights. Return home.” The mysterious man speaks with a cheery lilt, but his voice is also rough and rich beneath every syllable, raspy in the way that someone’s voice might sound if they hadn’t talked in ages.
Panic rises within him when the man starts to walk—no, fly away. Without thinking much, he yells out, “No!”
The stranger turns to look at him with wide eyes. “No?”
“I do not wish to return home. Take me with you.”
How foolish, really. Offering to go with someone he didn’t even know. Someone disarmingly beautiful, it seemed like he was just a figment of his imagination. However, this man was helping him, and deep down, he can feel that he carried no ill will. He always had a good sense of people’s intentions. If what is in front of him was even a person.
It takes a couple of moments before the white-haired stranger, who was still hovering in the air, replies while pointing a finger at himself. “You wish to go with…me?”
He nods.
“That is…” He can see the hesitation clear upon his pale and striking face. It seems that the man’s tongue is heavy inside his mouth with the way he drags his words next. “I am not sure if that is wise. It will be better if you return home. I already saw a handful of your soldiers searching for you. The queen must also be worried sick.”
Mydei raises a brow. “You know who I am?”
“How could I not?” A small smile appears on the man’s face—wistful and so incredibly tender that it turns Mydei’s knees into jelly for but a second. “Prince Mydeimos, The Undying. The bejeweled spear of Castrum Kremnos. A formidable warrior who is also the envy of others in beauty. A respectable leader who does not demand his men to follow, but they simply do. They naturally look up to him because he has proven his worth a thousand times over. I mean, how could you not devote your life to a man so brilliant?”
How strange. Mydei feels a tug within his chest. As if those very words had managed to sink and seep through his very bones. This stranger’s bright blue eyes were gleaming with obvious adoration, making warmth spread all over his body. As royalty, he should be used to it, and yet, this man’s gaze carries overflowing honesty. The longer it takes for him to respond, the larger his smile grows with pearly white teeth showing. Mydei's face flushes.
“I never thought I’d manage to make the crown prince speechless.” He laughs. Laughs! And Mydei should be mad that he dares to laugh at him—to mock him, but he simply looks away with crossed arms. Charm seems to flow so naturally out of him.
“How brazen of you.” He sneers, but it lacks a serious bite. “If you knew who I was, then why did you reject me so? I, as your crown prince, demand that you take me with you.”
At this, the man’s laughter bubbles again. He attempts to stop himself with a hand clamped on his mouth, but the melodious sound rings out amongst the quiet forest. “Oh my, now he is making demands of me.”
The prince grunts, annoyed. “Am I not allowed to?”
“No.” The man shakes his head. “I quite like it, truthfully.”
“Hah! Of course!” He lifts his chin up with a grin. “I am the prince after all. Heir to the Kremnoan throne.”
He receives a chuckle. No trace of teasing or mocking. Just a sweet and simple sound as the man lowers himself back down to the ground.
“You are not afraid of heights, are you?”
“Nothing scares—Wait!”
He is suddenly lifted into the air. Up and above the trees and high enough to see the moon without the clouds blocking it.
His arms cling tight onto the stranger's body, and much to his surprise, he feels solid muscle where they touch. Firm, solid muscles that must allow this man to carry him like a bride, like he didn't weigh anything at all. Mydei is no small man. How ridiculous! How…amazing a feat! Such respectable strength. The conflict he feels must be reflected on his face based on the other’s response.
“I apologize, but I am quickly growing fond of teasing you, your highness.” What an annoyingly pretty smile, he thinks. “To see the expressions you make up close. It’s exhilarating.”
One would expect the experience of flying filled with the wind whipping against you violently, yet they glide rather gracefully in the crisp, cool winter night sky. It's still freezing cold. It doesn't help that this man seems to lack blood pumping inside his veins because he is not as warm as a person should be. Perhaps he will be able to feel more warmth underneath the fabric of his clothes? Maybe he can slip his hands beneath the hem of his shirt to warm them.
“My prince?”
“Hm?”
“What's gotten you so quiet?”
“Nothing that concerns you.” Mydei clears his throat. “Where are you taking me anyway?”
“My home. You can stay there until morning.”
Only until morning? Surely, he can demand to stay longer if he wishes.
The lights of the palace and its city glimmer in the far distance. They are mesmerizing against the stark darkness, shining with celebration. He feels pride bloom in his chest. His mother has done such a magnificent job taking care of Kremnos after his father passed. To think that they were on the brink of collapse just a few years ago, and now they can hold a ball grand enough for numerous kingdoms to attend.
In that moment, he feels content. He has successfully gotten away from all the nosy suitors and is held by a handsome and strong man as they fly away to his home, while he gets to admire the stunning view of his city. Exertion from today's activities begins to weigh down on him. Exhaustion sinks its teeth into him, his eyes fluttering close. Before he knows it, he lays his head on the other's shoulder and succumbs to slumber.
_____________________________
When Mydei wakes up, the first thing that registers is the heat surrounding him. The cold ache in his body is now replaced by comfortable warmth, as if he’s poised in front of a fireplace back home. Coincidentally, he hears the crackle of fire. Then, he smells smoke and recognizes the flicker of flames glowing behind his still closed eyelids. A small sound of satisfaction escapes him as he snuggles into the softness around him, enveloping him like those exquisite furs he owned on his bed. Wait, did that idiot bring him back home?
His eyes fly open.
Bright eyes, large and unblinking, just a few inches away. His face was so close to his own that he could feel his breath tickling his nose. The man’s breath felt like the early winter air slipping past his slightly ajar windows, and so Mydei scrunched his nose in response.
The strange man’s eyes flickered to the action, eyes gleaming with something akin to curiosity. Mydei notices, involuntarily, that whoever this individual might be, is quite possibly the most ethereal being he’s ever seen. There’s a positively radiant glow surrounding him. His face is a mix of sharp and round features. Gentle and doe-like eyes, a strong nose and jaw, along with lips that curled just the tiniest amount on the edges. Wait, is this man smiling?
“What does that mean?” The man speaks, albeit hesitantly. “When you do that with your nose?”
Mydei, despite himself, swallows. He doesn’t answer.
The stranger raises his brows. Panic settles in his eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” When he still doesn’t answer, his delicate lips pull into a pout. “Am I scaring you?”
Scared? Him? Mydeimos, the Undying? He has conquered armies and monsters alike. Why would he get scared of some gorgeous man with a voice smooth enough to steal the air from his chest?
“Are you not aware of how inappropriate it is to be within the prince’s close proximity unless permitted?” He snarls, one of his hands shoving the other man’s chest.
“I—sorry!” The beautiful stranger clumsily scoots away from him, eyes wide. “I struggled quite a lot to get the fire going, and I was worried you were dead.”
Mydei raises his brow, waiting for him to address him properly.
“Uh, your highness.”
Mydei hums, satisfied. “You haven't told me who you are.”
The man brings a hand up to rub the back of his neck, shying away from his glance. “You may call me Phainon. That is the name I remember.”
“Phainon?” The name rolls off his tongue quite easily. Yet, he has never heard of a man named Phainon before in his kingdom. “Who do you serve?”
“Serve?” Phainon blinks at him. “I guess The Man in the Moon bestowed my title upon me, but I wouldn’t say I serve him. Just that he gave me these powers.”
“What exactly are your capabilities?”
Phainon chuckles nervously. “Nothing special really. I can fly and control the snow, ice, and frost.”
Mydei sits up, remembering the tale of the winter guardian. “Hold on, you're the Frost Weaver?”
Embarrassment fills the latter's face, flushing red and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I—it's a silly nickname the kids gave me. I make winter fun! Please just call me Phainon.”
“You cut yourself short, the Kremnoans consider you as a guardian. I also extend my gratitude for coming to my aid.” He replies. “Besides, Frost Weaver is an adorable name. Much more interesting than Phainon.”
“My prince, please. I might just encase my ears with ice if you keep referring to me as such.”
He thinks a sound similar to a laugh spills from his own lips. “I’ll reserve calling you as such for entertainment once I get thoroughly bored here.”
“Well, I’ll try my best to keep the crown prince entertained,” Phainon says before walking further inside what he realizes is a cabin. It’s quaint and small. Just big enough for two men of their size not to constantly bump into each other.
He was currently lying on the floor on top of soft blankets in front of a stone fireplace. There’s a small table with two chairs near the kitchen counters and stove. A love seat was situated by the wall just behind him with a painting hung above it that looked awfully familiar. It was definitely Kremnoan; he knew that much. It was a scene of a battlefield—men with spears bowing to a mighty warrior standing over them.
His hands sweep over the warm fur beneath him as he stares at it, the fireplace casting an orange hue upon it. He turns to look at the fire, which is flickering weakly. The logs were thrown in haphazardly in the middle, and the fire was poorly made. It’s slowly dying out already.
“You said you struggled with the fire?” He calls out as he watches the flames about to turn to glowing embers.
Somewhere inside a room, Phainon replies. “Yes, sorry! I don’t do very well with heat.”
Mydei shakes his head. It doesn’t take him long to rekindle the fire. It burns brighter and hotter within the cabin’s enclosed space. He sighs while he rubs his hands in front of it.
“Oh, you made it stronger.” Phainon emerges to stand by the kitchen with an uneasy expression. The white-haired man’s hands wring together the pillow he was holding.
“Is that a problem?”
“If it pleases you, then I do not have any complaints.” He hurriedly tosses the pillow to Mydei—a horrible combination of purple and yellow—and returns to the corner of the room like a kicked puppy. “I’m just going to keep my distance if you don’t mind.”
Mydei, amused, crosses his arms and shifts his weight to one foot. “It can’t be that bad. You live in Castrum Kremnos, where the summers are particularly unforgiving.”
“That’s why I stay here in the woods. It’s much cooler.”
“Then why do you have a fireplace if you cannot withstand heat? A stove?”
A pregnant pause. An avoidance of gaze. “For decoration.”
“Uh-huh,” Mydei says, unconvinced.
“Anyway,” Phainon quickly changes the topic, clapping his hands together enthusiastically. “Just inform me when you are ready to return home, and I will escort you personally.”
“I do not wish to return home anytime soon.” He confesses.
“Why not? Your people need you, your highness.”
Mydei sighs and pushes his hair back. If becoming a prince only involved tactics and might, then he would not be opposed to coming back home. However— “My people need something else of me that I cannot bear to fruition yet.”
Phainon tilts his head inquisitively.
“I must bear a child. An heir.” He reveals. “That is why the queen has held several balls in disguise to find me a partner worthy to be a part of the Kremnoan bloodline. A partner worthy of me.”
Slowly, the white-haired man offers him a careful nod. The silence stretches and stretches until a palpable tension sits in the air. Phainon has gone very still, but Mydei can hear the cogs running in his head. Can see how he's weighing the next words about to come out of his mouth.
“If I may be so bold,” Phainon suddenly starts. “How can one be worthy of the crown prince?”
Mydei laughs. A combination of mocking and provoking. A challenging grin on his lips. Sharp blue eyes widen in surprise. “Do I interest you, Phainon?”
The name rolls off his tongue as if he's known it all his life. Something about its two syllables felt right down his throat and behind his teeth. What he liked even more was the reaction it garnered.
A visible full-body shudder overtakes Phainon. His eyelids grow heavy. He gives an audible gulp. How easy of him. And how easy of Mydei to revel in such a response. Excitement buzzes off his skin.
Slowly, as if in a daze, Phainon nods.
A hum escapes him before he leisurely approaches the slightly trembling man. Every step pulls the invisible string between tighter and tighter until finally, it is on the verge of snapping when Mydei stands before him. Glorious and confident. Ready and headstrong.
“Would you like to prove yourself to me?” He asks.
He gets another nod. It's desperate. Clumsy. Oh, but Mydei relishes in that.
Phainon's eyes glaze with something so sticky—so syrupy. Shameless awe clings to the way he drags his gaze all over Mydei’s face down to the expanse of skin on his chest. “I—” He swallows, struggling to tear his stare away from where they were glued. “I confess I have only watched how humans copulate. I haven’t partaken in it myself.”
For some reason, Mydei finds it endearing. He must really have a preference for pathetic men. Well, pathetic and perverted men since Phainon had just admitted to watching other people have sex.
Mydei slowly backs away to lie back down upon the blankets on the floor and he watches him squirm. With the pillow handed to him propped under his head, he makes sure to lean against it, angle his body enticingly—legs spread open and arms stretched above his head. He extends the invitation.
“Come, then. Show me how Kremnos’s winter guardian pleases a prince.”
A blur of white flashes and the next thing he feels is a weight on top of him. Eager and needy. A flurry of pressing and caresses.
A sound similar to a whine rips from Phainon’s throat as his hands greedily map out and explore Mydei’s magnificent body. He's breathing really fast. Spurred on by lust and admiration.
The crown prince lets him. Basks in the undivided attention as Phainon basically worships every inch of his body. He shivers from the hands slipping underneath the fabric of his clothes. One of them wanders between his chest and he arcs towards the touch—his back bowing away from the floor. Another hand wanders to grasp the inside of his thigh and his hips roll upwards, so achingly close to where he craved the touch.
Every single reaction from Mydei’s body is fuel to the fire stoking inside Phainon. He feels lightheaded. Everything feels too hot. Too warm. Mydei felt so delightfully warm against the chill within his flesh. It has always been there. Cold and frigid. Something he always feared confronting about himself. But this—having a warm and gorgeous body underneath him, it seems to slowly thaw that feeling away.
And so he chases and chases until the dignified prince is reduced to a blushing and panting mess. They work together to peel off the clothes covering them and as soon as they're off, both of them fully bare, his hands fly to the puffy nubs begging to be touched on the prince’s chest.
Mydei’s lips fall open in a silent “oh”. His eyes roll back in pleasure, desperately searching for the sensation once again. Skin against skin, he can feel each and every movement with heightened gratification. His head fills with the need to take and take. To let the man above him do as he pleases.
“It's no wonder the palace was filled with your suitors, my prince.” Phainon pants into the curve of his stomach. The muscle there flexes, sensitive to the cold air spilling from his lips. His hands find purchase among white locks to anchor himself as a hand squeezes a handful of his pecs. “Look at how beautiful you are. I feel truly honored.”
“Flattery won't get me pregnant.” Mydei gasps, the knee pressed to the growing need between his legs rolls just right. “Get inside me. Now.”
He meant it as a command but it comes out as a plea. It's breathless. The growl in his throat dissipates into a helpless whimper.
Phainon—who declared that he has not partaken in such activities before—skillfully teases one of his nipples with his tongue. The sensation is strange. The muscle is split between cold and warm, yet pleasurable all the same. Then, he feels it—the hardness that was carefully pressed on top of his thigh. Nikador. The sheer size of it knocks the breath out of him.
There’s no word for ‘backing down’ in the Kremnoan language.
He wraps his legs around the other's hips and his hands gently cup his face. Phainon’s eyes tremble at the intimate gesture. Dazed blue eyes hold his gaze as he brings their faces closer. He smiles. Phainon’s heartbeat is pounding against his chest.
The hand on Phainon's cheek travels down to grab him by the chin and Mydei captures him in a soft but hungry kiss.
A desperate sound made in the back of his throat rings out in the small cabin. He's not sure if it's Phainon or him but the kiss quickly turns heated. Tantalizing. Gravitating towards the other's obvious want, digging deep below his stomach.
Tongues and wet mouths intertwine. Hands grasping any part they can reach to keep each other so impossibly close. But it's not rushed. Each kiss filled with the need for more, more and more.
Mydei tears away with a gasp when Phainon’s hands sweep under his knees. He pushes them close to his body until he's practically bent in half, exposing his cunt aching to be filled. It glistens under the fire's orange glow—already dripping with need and clenching around nothing.
“Oh, Moon above.” Phainon's voice was nothing short of delirious. He can't tear his eyes away. Admittedly, he's watched the prince touch himself before but to see this close for himself. He might just pass out before he can even join their bodies together.
“Phainon.” His prince calls out, rough and demanding. He thinks his desperation is mirrored as clear as ice on the other's face, on his whole body that cannot sit still. “Phainon, focus.”
Right. He can't disappoint the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos after all.
And so, he leans back on his knees to give himself a pump or two. He's never been this hard before. So much so that his cock twitched out of his control. Amber-colored eyes stay glued to it as he pulls their bodies closer but they flicker up to meet his gaze once the head of his cock slides so sinfully good between the crevice of Mydei’s cunt.
“Nikador—” The prince rolls his hips to meet him halfway when he repeats the action. Phainon takes a sharp inhale of breath. The sight alone is enough to almost make him finish. “Inside. Get inside me.”
Phainon is nothing but obedient. He lines himself up, and pushes in.
Wanton moans tear into the air as their bodies collide. Mydei’s arms fly up to wrap around Phainon’s neck to anchor himself; he is getting stretched so tantalizingly good that his toes curl, his body thrumming with both pain and pleasure.
The slide is smooth but it burns so well. The addicting drag of warm walls enveloping Phainon turns his brain into mush. Fills his head with nothing else but Mydei, Mydei and Mydei. Drives him through pure instinct. By the incessant want to please and to serve.
When their hips flush against each other, leaving almost no space between, Phainon sobs. A garbled noise bubbles in his throat, tears forming in his eyes.
“You feel so hot, your highness.” He whines—overwhelmed but still greedy as he begins to rock his hips while babbling. “You're so warm around me. So soft. Everything is so hot. I can't think straight.”
Mydei thrashes under him. Each roll of Phainon’s hips hits just shy of making him see stars. Each thrust carves within him deeper and deeper until he can feel it on his stomach. He submits to pleasure. Reduced to moans and nails raking behind Phainon’s back as his thrusts begin to pick up speed.
The slap of skin against skin echoes within the small confines of Phainon’s home.
Both men have completely lost themselves as their bodies surrender to their primal needs. There—in the back of Mydei's head–screams a voice that tells him Phainon is a liar. How else can someone inexperienced bring the crown prince to complete submission? How is the crown prince aching—demanding for more of him?
Phainon’s eyes stayed glued to him. His gaze burned his skin; every twitch or sound he made, the other's blue orbs were there to catch it.
"Mydeimos." Phainon rasps out, almost like there was no air in his lungs. Mydei shivers. His name sounds so right coming from Phainon’s mouth.
All that spilled from him in response were broken fragments of Phainon's name.
The pace speeds up. It builds, and it builds until—
Mydei’s vision turns white, his whole body shaking uncontrollably as his climax hits him like an aftershock, unable to stop the amount of liquid squirting out of him, reaching up to their chest. A soft whimper falls from his lips as Phainon spills inside him not long after with another sob—the warmth a strangely comforting feeling.
The sounds that escaped Phainon's lips were nothing short of sinful as he rode out his high, moving in shallow thrusts.
The obscene sound of cum inside him squelches as their bodies keep moving together. Phainon spills more seed inside his walls, driving him to the brink of insanity. He relishes in the feeling. Filled with evidence of Phainon’s eagerness.
Mydei keeps him locked in place with his legs and he reaches for his face again. The moment turns tender and intimate. Their lips meet in a kiss that seals an understanding. An unspoken agreement and gratefulness. Their paths had crossed for a reason and it was destined as so.
The prince suddenly tastes tears in his mouth and he smiles into the kiss. “Are you able to deliver just like that whenever I wish?”
The provocation sizzles. Lightheaded and completely under Mydei’s spell, Phainon nods. For what else can one do but to offer himself to Mydeimos?
“Whatever you demand of me, I will give.” Then, he nuzzles his face below Mydei’s belly—right where his womb should be. “I don't fully understand what I am myself. I am not certain if I can give you a child, but I want to try.”
“Keep trying, you shall.” Mydei declares with a grin. “For as long as you need to.”
_____________________________
When Mydei returns home, he brings the good news of his pregnancy.
Queen Gorgo, who was rightfully mad at his disappearance, breaks into tears and throws a celebration. The man his son had brought home with him, who he claimed to be the father, stood awkwardly behind him while he pulled at the fabric of a suit that seemed a size too small for him. She didn’t question it. For he seemed wonderful and strong. Beautiful and capable, just like her Mydei.
She didn’t question when the pair would seem to disappear into thin air. How servants report hearing their laughter from above the roofs some nights. Didn’t ask questions about the snow that managed to litter the corners of the prince’s room. Or how, once their child was born, she was able to freeze the milk in her bottle and preferred to chew on it instead. Hell, she almost had a heart attack when the little angel started floating in the air!
Whoever—or whatever—this Phainon might be, all she knows is that he makes her son glow with joy. After all, her son’s happiness has always been her most special treasure as queen of Castrum Kremnos.