Archive of Our Own

“No.”

“My Prince, please consi–”

“I said no.” 

“Your Highness –”

Touya raises a hand. The advisor’s mouth shuts; he knows how deadly those hands can be.

“I have not taken a companion for a reason,” Prince Touya says icily. “With my father at war and his nobles maneuvering themselves to be my most treasured favorites or my most ardent foes, I cannot trust any stranger that may be sent my way.” He sneers at the old man bowing before him. “Unless you’ve forgotten how we came to be at war?”

The advisor blanches at the reminder, eyes skirting away from Touya’s scars to rest on the floor. 

“My Prince,” he tries once more, this time with more humility than nagging in his voice. “This courtesan comes from your father directly. He is not related to the nobility, but is from the Court of Kamino.”

He? Touya thinks, eyes narrowing. Since when has Father given thought to my preferences?

“My father sent… him?” he repeats, no emotion coloring his tone. “A Kaminoan?”

“I… do not know if that is his country of origin,” the advisor admits. “Only that he was already working as a courtesan there. When the city fell, he asked if he could continue to serve in that capacity.”

He asked to be father’s courtesan, Touya thinks, disgusted by the thought. And father… passed him to me instead.

“He is not a noble.” Touya frowns. “Why should I consider him?”

Many courtesans were meant to curry favor in royal houses. Daughters and sons traded into service so they could whisper directly into the ears of power. A courtesan without connections would simply be a prostitute, likely skilled in dance or art or song, but still bought for the express purpose of pleasuring their sponsor.

“He is not nobility,” the advisor admits hesitantly. “But he is… highly sought after.”

So. A handsome prostitute.

Touya’s mouth presses thin. For all that he is a prince, he has not escaped the vices and vileness of men. Speculation on his lack of female companionship, commentary on his delicate features, eyes lingering on his scars as if they denote weakness… he has dealt with it all. Unsubtly and severely, for the most part.

This courtesan… pretty, without a family to protect him, and with no occupation other than what his body can provide… It's no wonder he offered himself to Touya’s father. Self-preservation is a trait Touya can well relate to.

It is… irksome, that the advisor will believe the courtesan’s appearance changed Touya’s mind, but it would be a weakness to insist that he understands the consequences of a comely appearance. 

“Bring him to my study after dinner,” Touya instructs. “I will meet with him. I will not guarantee he can stay.”

If he is still sane enough, I can find him a farm and an allowance to be free of this life, Touya muses to himself as the advisor bows in obvious relief. Father will be annoyed, but then he should have known better than to put me in this position.

With that thought in mind, Touya dismisses the advisor and awaits his next audience, knowing with certainty that whomever it is has come to petition for his time, his money, or his favor. Possibly all three.

It is a long, long day.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

He forgets about the courtesan, up until the guard outside his quarters clears his throat.

“Your Highness,” he murmurs respectfully. “Your guest awaits you in your study, as you requested.”

Touya stands there for a long moment, blankly wondering who might have come to see him at this late hour. Fuyumi? Natsuo? Surely not Shouto, whose free time from knight’s training is prohibitively limited.

“There are guards with him, Your Highness,” the man continues, clearly taking Touya’s silence for concern. “We would not let a foreigner wait unattended.”

Foreigner…? 

Ah, Touya thinks, recalling his early-morning meeting with the advisor. The courtesan.

“Very well,” Touya says, giving no indication of his annoyance or exhaustion. He’d just wanted to rid himself of his royal raiment and go to bed. “Have the maids prepare my bath. This won’t take long.”

The guard nods sharply, and Touya continues down the wide hallway to his study, where yet another guard awaits his approach with military readiness. Varied and colorful though the rumors about Prince Touya might be, none of the soldiers who had seen him fight had ever dared indulge in disrespect. 

“Your Highness,” the guard says sharply, turning to open the door. “Your guest awaits the honor of your presence.”

Touya nods, allowing the guard to precede him into the room, though he doubts the courtesan will be a threat. It never hurts to be cautious.

Three guards stand positioned around the low couch near the bookshelves, partially hiding the form of Touya’s guest. From what he can see, though, the man is lounging rather than sitting properly as one should in the presence of royalty.

The guard leading the way calls for attention, and the rest stand up straight before stepping back from the couch in sync. Touya’s eyebrows arch.

The courtesan is… asleep, by all appearances. Wrapped in a long red cloak, his tanned cheek smushed into the decorative purple pillow that Fuyumi had embroidered for Touya three winters ago. It’s… almost amusing, how little decorum the man has.

One of the guards must realize the faux pas, and he steps forward to shake the man’s shoulder when Touya raises a hand to stop him.

Gauntleted fingers withdraw, and Touya studies the prize his father has sent him. Long gold lashes feathering over freckled cheeks. Windswept blond hair falling over large, kohl-lined eyes, currently closed in sleep. There’s a bit of scruff on his chin, and even in slumber, his mouth curves like it’s meant to be smirking.

Touya can see nothing of the man’s body, but from his face alone… he knows that his assumption was correct. Pretty, alone, and powerless. 

A terrible combination in a war.

“Gently,” Touya instructs the guard, his voice low. He doesn’t really want to break the peaceful air surrounding his sleeping guest, but he also doesn’t want to deal with this tomorrow. Tonight, he can conduct a quick interview before he sends the man on his way, and then he can finally go to bed so that he may face the same parade tomorrow with one less item on his plate.

The guard reaches out, but the man’s eyelashes are already fluttering, as if Touya’s voice alone were enough to wake him. 

Golden eyes squint into the lantern-lit room, flicking around as if in question – perhaps he forgot where he was? – before landing on Touya.

“Ah, apologies,” he says in a low, accented voice, sitting up on the couch. “I was weary from so much travel, it seems.”

He pushes the cloak back from his shoulders, revealing bare arms and an indecently tight vest, meant to accentuate his small waist and muscled chest. Touya presses the tip of his tongue into his canine to keep from reacting.

“I understand my father sent you from Kamino?” he asks, voice steady. Almost bored.

A blond eyebrow lifts at his tone, but the courtesan nods. “Yes, Your Highness. I offered to serve you, and your father, the emperor, took me up on it.”

Serve me? Touya repeats in his mind. Not my father?

“Why me, specifically?” he asks, bemused. Surely rumors had not spread so far as Kamino.

The courtesan smiles, and oh, Touya was right about his lips. The left side ticks up higher, giving his smile a very smirk-like bent.

“Very few monarchs have ever been described by their soldiers as fair,” the courtesan says, though his emphasis on the word leaves Touya wondering if the soldiers meant fair-minded or fair-looking. “If I am to serve the nobility regardless, I decided to try for the fairest one, if possible.” He bows slightly at the waist. “I see that I was not misled by their words, Your Highness.”

That last was undeniably a compliment.

Touya’s gut tightens, though he doesn’t let his expression show his uncertainty. If the courtesan wants fair Touya, he will get him.

“And if you do not have to serve the nobility?” he asks mildly. “If I give you a sack of gold and an abandoned farm to refurbish and use as your own, would you take the offer?”

The courtesan blinks, clearly caught off guard. This time, it’s Touya who finds his lips quirking.

“You are not bound to me,” he says coolly. “Indeed, you are bound to no house, if I understand correctly. We are always in need of more hands in the field, with so many of our able-bodied men at war, and you seem…” he lets his eyes dip to the courtesan’s incredible physique “... more than capable.”

“You… do not want me?” the courtesan asks, as if struggling to accept the notion. Touya purses his lips.

“I want my people fed,” he returns. “More than that, I have no desire for a forced companion.”

The courtesan’s eyes widen. 

“I… was not forced, Your Highness,” he says carefully. “I was not lying when I said that I requested you.” He winces, perhaps realizing how suspicious his argument sounds. “If I am of more use to your highness in the fields, I can accept that, I just…” he huffs, letting his eyes fall. “This is the only life I’ve ever known.”

It is remarkable how pretty the man can be in his dejection. Touya feels his resolve weakening.

“Think about it,” he says, rather than commanding the man away. “Three days hence, if you choose the farm, it’s yours.”

The courtesan looks up, golden eyes almost amber in the lantern light. 

“And if I choose you?”

Touya’s heart thuds inside his chest.

“Three days,” he repeats, before turning on his heel and sweeping from the room.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

He does not forget about the courtesan again. 

The man is given quarters in the guest wing, is fed three times a day, and is even let out into the gardens that Touya’s mother so diligently cultivated all those years ago. All of this is reported to Touya by his father’s advisor, who seems to, more than anything, wish for Touya to keep the courtesan.

The old man’s continued pushing only makes Touya wary when he summons the courtesan to his study once more, three days later. As if the advisor has an ulterior motive.

If that motive is to distract me, he might be onto something, Touya thinks when the guards announce the courtesan’s arrival and let him in. He dismisses the men with a wave, though none of them look happy to be leaving a foreign courtesan alone with their prince.

I can handle him, Touya conveys with a look. His guards bow their heads in acknowledgement, unable to argue with him.

This time, there is no red cloak to shield the courtesan’s physique. Not too tall, but incredibly well-shaped, his pants stretch over his thighs, and his vest accentuates his tapered waist to an almost sinful degree. Touya takes him in under the guise of sizing him up, when really, he can feel his mouth going dry at the sight.

He hasn’t indulged himself in such a long time. Certainly never with someone he finds so attractive. If the courtesan chooses to leave, Touya fears he’ll actually be disappointed. 

“Your Highness,” the courtesan murmurs, bowing low with perfect elegance. Touya nods back at him, holding his peace. The man knows why he’s here.

Golden eyes peek up from under dark lashes, and Touya has to dismiss the mental images that the man’s look evokes.

“May I speak freely?” the courtesan asks demurely. Touya nods, shifting in his seat as subtly as he’s able to.

Straightening, but still holding himself with utter deference, the courtesan says, “I would like to remain at the palace to serve you, Your Highness. I understand that perhaps my hands would be of use in the fields, but I can assure you,” he smiles enticingly, “I can use my hands in other ways.”

Touya’s stomach swoops and heat blooms inside his chest.

“You would serve me despite being offered your freedom?” he asks, because truly, he cannot comprehend it. Most would have taken his offer before the words finished leaving his mouth.

The courtesan’s smile twists ruefully. “I have become accustomed to luxury, Your Highness.” He pauses. “At least, I have become accustomed to working after the sun sets. I fear rising with the dawn to tend a farm would not suit me.”

Hah, he is speaking freely, Touya thinks with amusement. 

“What do you think serving me would entail?” he asks, just to sate his own curiosity. He’s never entertained a courtesan before, though he’s certainly seen his fair share around the palace. If things are done differently in Kamino, however…

“I would be at your beck and call, Your Highness,” the courtesan confirms, taking a bold step forward. “My hands would be your hands, my body would be your body. Whatever you ask of me, I would do my utmost to deliver to your… satisfaction.” 

Touya snorts softly at the obvious innuendo, even as it does terrible things to his insides. The courtesan’s eyes flash.

“I can give you a demonstration, if you prefer?” he offers, glancing without subtlety at Touya’s crotch. Touya… considers.

Father sent him to me, he acknowledges, as he has so many times over the past three days. I may not be his preferred heir, but Shouto is too young to take the throne, and Father cannot return to the palace until he has won the war. If he were trying to be rid of me, it would be a foolish move on his part.

So, intentional dethroning is unlikely.

The question is, does Touya trust his father to have vetted this courtesan to the fullest extent of his capabilities, as he does for everyone who comes into contact with Shouto? Or would Todoroki Enji pass the courtesan onto his eldest with the carelessness that he once passed his training onto another? With the carelessness that led to Touya’s permanent disfigurement?

He made the mistake of trusting Enji in the past and almost died for it. Almost died several times, if one counted how Touya flung himself into training to regain his father’s affection.

Reckless though he may be when throwing his body against sword and shield, though, Touya has not yet put his life on the line for the sake of pleasure.

Perhaps… he thinks, tapping a finger on his thigh in consideration. But not without precaution.

From within his sleeve, the metal warm from pressing into his skin, Touya draws forth a knife, watching as the courtesan follows the motion. Without expression, the prince uses the shining tip to gesture the man closer.

The man steps within range of the point without hesitation, seemingly unperturbed by the razor-sharp weapon.

“What should I call you?” Touya asks, eyes raking up and down the courtesan’s form, waiting for tensing muscles, for the lightning-quick movements of a death blow.

Instead, the courtesan sinks to his knees between Touya’s thighs and looks up at him with bewitching eyes.

“In my native tongue,” he says, licking his lips as if to display said native tongue, “my name means Eyes of the Hawk. For the court of Kamino, the name Hawks was easier to pronounce.”

Touya swivels the tip of the blade to touch just under the courtesan’s chin, lifting his head with the barest pressure. “Is Hawks what you wish to go by?”

Golden eyes burn into Touya’s.

“I will go by any name Your Highness wishes to call me,” the man purrs. “Hawks, Pet, oh, gods, yes.” He grins, and Touya snorts, leaning back into his chair.

“Very well,” he says aloud, not relinquishing his hold on the dagger, but relinquishing the caution that has held him back thus far. “A demonstration, if you will, Hawks.”

“Oh,” Hawks murmurs, shuffling forward on his knees to reach for the laces of Touya’s trousers. “I will, indeed.”

Before Touya can prepare himself in any meaningful way, the courtesan has his pants undone and is pulling his semi-hardened cock free of its confines. Touya does his best to stay impassive, but with the gleam in Hawks’ eyes and the firm way he tugs at Touya’s length, it’s a near thing.

“Bigger than I expected,” Hawks murmurs appreciatively. “Your soldiers did not do the descriptions justice.”

Touya, who often uses the soldiers’ baths after training, coughs slightly. He could say he wasn’t aware so many were looking, but that would be untrue. Princes drew eyes, whether the men looking were interested or not.

“It seems I will have to do something about the gossip running through my ranks,” Touya muses, watching with anticipation as Hawks leans forward, his hot breath ghosting over Touya’s length. “First my fairness, now my cock. They need more interesting topics to pass their time.”

Hawks chuckles breathily, each puff of air pulling more of Touya’s blood south. “Oh, Your Highness, I don’t think they could find a more interesting topic.”

Before Touya can reply, the courtesan closes that final inch of distance between them, his warm, wet tongue almost a shock to Touya’s cockhead. It takes everything within him not to make a noise at the sudden heat laving over his sensitive skin, but Hawks clearly notices his fingernails sinking into the arm of his chair.

“You can make sounds, Your Highness,” he murmurs, lips wet with spit and eyes gleaming in the lamplight. “I will take it as a compliment.”

Again, before Touya can come up with an appropriate response, the courtesan sinks back onto his cock, this time wrapping his lips around the head, humming in what sounds like satisfaction. Touya could not contain the low groan emanating from the back of his throat if he tried.

Golden eyes flash up to his, looking beyond indecent when the mouth below them encircles his length, but Touya doesn’t look away. Can’t look away when the man begins bobbing his head shallowly, his warm mouth a thrill beyond compare to Touya’s body.

Ah, this is what I needed, Touya thinks, sinking into the feeling of Hawks’ mouth on him. It’s so wet and perfect, it feels like Touya’s heart is in his cock, throbbing with need. 

He doesn’t lose his grip on the knife, but his grip on reality becomes lax as the courtesan sinks deeper, his strong hands coming up to brace on Touya’s thighs. Short nails dig into Touya’s scars through the fabric of his trousers, and though he can’t feel any pain, the sensation is still more than he’s used to. Coupled with Hawks’ nose bumping into his stomach, and Touya’s thoughts tumble away into nothing but heat, wet, and pressure, ever more insistent, ever more urgent. 

Biting his lip doesn’t stop the groan forcing its way up from his guts. It joins the loud squelching of spit, the sucking noises of Hawks’ throat closing around him, and Touya’s heart pounding in his ears. 

Fuck. Fuck.

The courtesan’s name burns at the tip of his tongue as hotly as the flames that licked his skin all those years ago, and Touya clenches his teeth around it like a cage.

“Close,” he grates out instead, in warning for himself or the courtesan, he can’t tell. The courtesan hums happily, golden eyes sparkling up at him as he reaches up to cradle Touya’s balls. 

That’s all that it takes.

Touya’s spine bows with his release, forcing him further down the courtesan’s throat, though the man doesn’t seem to mind one bit. He sucks and tugs at Touya like an instrument he’s mastered after a single play, and it’s almost embarrassing how long he draws out Touya’s release.

Almost, because Touya can’t work up any emotions other than bliss in the wake of Hawks’ demonstration.

Gods, if that’s just his mouth, Touya thinks, staring down at the courtesan in wonder as Hawks finally pulls himself off of Touya’s length. He doesn’t even cough, just licks his lips of spit and come before looking up at Touya with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Well, Your Highness?” he asks, voice rough and cheeks pink from their activities, but seemingly unaffected otherwise. As if he could keep going without effort.

Touya clears his throat. “For one who spoke so highly of his hands, I didn’t see their use until the end.”

Hawks’ shiny lips split into an indecent grin. “I felt it best not to overwhelm Your Highness on our first engagement.” He leans in, cheek nuzzling at Touya’s inner thigh. “Rest assured, my hands are even more gratifying than my mouth.”

I find that hard to believe, Touya thinks incredulously, though he refrains from saying it aloud. The courtesan is smug enough.

Instead of responding, Touya sits up, tucking himself back into his trousers with the mien of a man ending an interview. The courtesan has the cheek to raise an eyebrow at him.

“I allowed you three days to decide if you wished to stay,” he says finally, armor metaphorically back on now that he’s had a moment to collect himself. “I will take three days to decide the same.” 

The courtesan’s grin falls, and Touya sees once more that he has managed to surprise the man with his not-quite-rejection. It gives him a sense of regaining control, knowing the courtesan will have three days to consider his situation once more.

It is control that is sorely needed, when Touya’s body has gone so long without pleasure that the merest drop of it nearly had him calling the courtesan’s name like a whore.

“The guards will help you to your quarters,” Touya says in clear dismissal. Hawks’ surprised expression smooths as he composes himself.

“Very well, Your Highness,” he says, standing up and taking a step back. Touya can’t help but notice his pants are tight across his crotch. “I hope to see you again in three days, then.”

He bows at the waist, as elegant and handsome as ever, before turning toward the door.

Touya would like to think he watches him go with wariness and thoughtfulness in mind, but truthfully, he only notices that Hawks’ ass is just as pert and well-shaped as the rest of him.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The three days almost break him. Touya finds himself distracted, irritable, and even more reckless in training than usual.

“It is one thing not to feel your scars,” the palace physician scolds him. “It is another thing entirely to assume your scars prevent you from being skewered.” 

Touya accepts the scolding and the bandages old Chiyo wraps around his (lightly) stabbed shoulder without argument. He knows she’s not wrong.

Since his youth, Touya had faced injuries. Scraped knees, welts from training swords, and nicks from knives as he learned how to hunt and survive on the land, if need be. Royal he might be, but the emperor had never wanted his children to be helpless.

Which did not prevent Enji from being disappointed in his firstborn. Brought into the world early, small, and frail, Touya often fell ill as a child, trying to keep pace with his father’s relentless training and tutelage. Hunting, survival, fighting, paired with late nights reading, writing, and learning warfare. Touya strove beyond his limits to assume a man’s schedule until eventually, Natsuo’s growth spurt brought him level with his elder brother.

Enji moved on. Touya did not.

He continued training, continued straining his eyes by candlelight, forcing himself to learn, to excel. His father worked with Natsuo, far sturdier and naturally brilliant with a sword, while Touya burned himself from the inside out, trying to regain his father’s approval.

Eventually, Enji grew tired of Touya’s insistence on joining in training, and assigned him a sword tutor of middling rank. If Touya could best the tutor by the end of his fourteenth year, then Enji would reconsider resuming Touya’s training.

Touya put his all into the sword, rising before the sun, and often falling asleep to the sound of the midnight watch turning over. His hair began to change color, and with his youngest brother already growing like a weed, his desperation only grew.

He pushed, and his tutor praised him for it, telling him that Touya’s skills would soon surpass his own and that his father would surely notice. Touya’s starved sense of self-worth flourished under the praise, and thus he didn’t question a thing when his tutor suggested they go train outside the palace for once.

“Fresh air will do you some good, my prince,” the man assured, leading Touya out the back gate on horseback. “You’ll see.”

If by fresh air, the tutor meant smoke and ash, then yes, Touya did see. 

The assassination attempt was calculated. Clean. The tutor ran off with the horses as soon as the smell of smoke hit the air, and Touya was too far up the mountain to escape.

Sekoto burned, and he burned with it.

A nearby stream was his only saving grace. Touya stumbled into it blindly, unable to see through the smoke-induced tears. Once the water wrapped around his singed legs, Touya collapsed, putting out the rest of the flames attempting to engulf his body.

Smoke rolled over the stream, but the dip into the water was deep enough, and the fire was moving fast enough, that Touya was able to surface regularly for gulps of air before resubmerging, body burning with pain in some places, and hatefully numb in others.

He doesn’t know how long he stayed in the stream. Long enough for the fire to burn out and for him to register voices.

“...see if there’s anything left… send to… the emperor…”

Touya’s stinging eyes squinted open from the muddy bank he’d been clinging to for so long, and he saw the men trekking along the upper ridge of the stream, their long black cloaks with the hand insignia stitched in silver denoting them as men from Shigaraki’s army. Their closest neighbor and frequent enemy appearing this deep in Todoroki land would be shocking, if not for the fact that Touya was pretty sure they were looking for his body.

Covered in charred debris and mud, they passed right by him. And Touya, with a strength he didn’t know he possessed, rose from the ashes and made his way home.

He got to the gates before he collapsed. 

The tutor was caught attempting to flee the country, his pockets filled with Shigaraki gold. His body was put on display to warn any other traitors who wanted to try their luck.

And Enji went to war for the insult to his family name, because Touya, in his words, would never be able to lead an army. Like he was deficient, and not recovering from horrific bodily injuries. 

I can lead a country just fine, though, Touya muses, testing Chiyo’s bandages for range of motion. It is the third day, and he’s hoping to make the best of it.

It’s been seven years since the war started, and it has been a long, grueling affair, requiring Touya to come up with ever more creative ways to support his country, his father’s armies, and the throne. Enji has never once thanked him for it.

Until now, he thinks, shrugging his tunic back on.

Audiences are closed for the day. Touya has reviewed the documents for imported grains, cattle, and sorely needed wool for the winter, and returned them to the minister of trade with his blessings. He has sparred with his guards, and while he came away with an injury, he knows it will heal. He has done enough. 

It is time to meet with his courtesan.

This time, he has the guards bring Hawks to his bed chambers before he dismisses them once again. The guard who caught him in the shoulder gives him a look of concern before Touya’s flat look sends even him scurrying.

Then, he is alone once more with the courtesan. Sitting in one of the chairs by his marble fireplace, Touya studies him.

Tonight, Hawks is clothed in loose, wide-legged pants that swish around his ankles enticingly as he approaches. The tight black vest hasn’t changed, cinched in so close to his skin that Touya can actually see the definition of his abdomen through the fabric. It is… impressive, to say the least.

“Your Highness,” Hawks greets, bowing low so that his blond bangs hang over his forehead. It’s a surprisingly endearing look for him.

“Hawks,” Touya returns, letting half-lidded eyes take the man in. “Have you been comfortable in your quarters? Do you lack for anything?”

“Only your company, Your Highness,” the man says smoothly, rising from his bow. A smirk tugs at his mouth, seemingly without his say-so. “Long day?”

Touya raises an eyebrow at the comment, but can’t deny it’s the truth. Between tossing and turning while thinking about Hawks’ mouth around his cock, several mind-numbing meetings, and the particularly brutal round of sword training earlier, he’s rather at his limit. To say the last three days have been long would be an understatement.

“Royal duty is not all gold and balls,” he muses aloud, rising from the chair with a small grunt. He has more than just the shoulder injury hiding beneath his loose tunic, though the half-bottle of wine he’d downed while waiting for his courtesan had taken the edge off.

“I’m hoping at least some of those duties involve balls, Your Highness,” Hawks says, his eyes wide and innocent. It actually makes Touya bark out a laugh.

“Persistent thing, aren’t you?” he asks, stretching his good arm over his shoulder. He doesn’t miss the way Hawks’ eyes flick to the bare strip of skin exposed at his waist.

“I like to think of myself as dedicated to my craft, Your Highness,” the courtesan returns slowly, licking his lips. Touya huffs, but doesn’t waste any further time with banter.

“Your dedication is noted,” he says, tilting his head to the canopied bed that the maids have so dutifully prepared for them. “Which is why I have decided to allow you to stay.”

Hawks beams so wide the corners of his eyes crinkle and a dimple forms in his left cheek. It’s distractingly charming.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” he says with another deep bow, before taking Touya’s indication and climbing onto the bed. “If I may ask… what are your preferences from me?”

Touya follows him, frowning thoughtfully. After the day he’d had, he hadn’t thought much beyond seeing that tight rear up close. By the jar of oil sitting on his bedside table, the maids had understood that preference without being told.

“What do you offer?” Touya asks curiously, leaning against the post at the end of the bed. If nothing else, the courtesan might have some ideas that Touya could entertain in the future.

“I am comfortable both receiving and giving,” Hawks says without an ounce of shame as he stretches himself across the soft sheets, already turned down for their use. “If you would prefer to be on top, I can please you with my ass, hands, or mouth.”

He doesn’t offer what he can do if Touya would like to be on the receiving end, though there’s a knowing twinkle in his eyes. Touya decides to table that thought for later.

“It would please me to see what I am working with,” Touya says instead, which is the politest way he can think to say strip, now. Hawks runs his tongue over his lower lip, grinning.

“As my prince requests,” he says, sitting up in the bed to reach behind him. Touya doesn’t understand why until he recognizes the motions of someone untying a corset, and his mouth goes dry.

No wonder the vest was so tight, he thinks, eyes trained on the way Hawks’ back arches as he tugs at the ties behind his back. The cut of the vest is low, too, giving Touya ample view of tanned chest muscles almost spilling over the bust.

Ah, fuck, he thinks, mouth going dry as the corset loosens, and Hawks undoes the front, letting the fabric slide off of his shoulders to reveal a sculpted torso straight out of Touya’s wettest dreams.

Hawks stretches tantalizingly, running a hand through his hair to better show off his bicep and flexing lats, and Touya feels his blood running south.

The courtesan continues the stretch into a long, drawn-out line of raised arms that ends with a blissful release of tension spilling across his face. Then, with catlike languor, he turns over on his hands and knees and looks over his shoulder at Touya.

“Would Your Highness like to do the honors with these?” the courtesan asks softly, tugging at the hem of his loose pants. Touya recognizes the invitation and lifts his chin to hide his nerves.

So what if it’s been a long time? With someone like Hawks under him, Touya need not worry about losing interest. If anything, he’s intimidated by the thought of how fast he’ll be finished.

He hums, then paces to the side of the bed, plucking the oil from the side table before turning to see the courtesan watching him with half-lidded eyes.

“You can touch, you know,” the man says softly, arching his back in invitation. “Your Highness.”

Touya’s expression remains coolly interested while his heart thumps in the fingertips he trails over Hawks’ shoulder, across his ribs, until he’s reached the hem of his pants. Without a word, Touya climbs onto the bed, maneuvering until he’s situated behind the courtesan’s offering.

Biting his lip, Touya lets his hand explore once more, pressing into the firm muscles lining either side of Hawks’ spine, pushing him into a steeper, more erotic angle, while eyeing the swell of his ass appreciatively.

The loose fabric does little to hide its shape, but that doesn’t mean Touya is content with letting the fabric get in his way. With his free hand, he catches the hem of the pants once more, then drags the fabric over the courtesan’s ass, revealing a wealth of tanned skin and taut muscle. Touya has to swallow the drool pooling in his mouth.

“Am I to your satisfaction, Your Highness?" Hawks asks, a tinge of mirth in his voice. Touya glances up to see the courtesan watching him over his shoulder. The man looks amused, but there’s definitely pink dusting across his cheeks as well. Apparently, Touya’s admiration hasn’t gone unnoticed. 

“You keep yourself in good health,” Touya manages, though it’s an extreme understatement. Hawks is the perfect specimen, in Touya’s opinion, and as he is the crown prince, his opinion is the only one that matters.

“My stamina has yet to be matched, either, Your Highness,” the courtesan agrees, a little hint of teasing creeping into his voice. “Though I’m sure I can be proven wrong.”

A challenge? Touya thinks, lowering his eyes once more to the pretty expanse of naked skin beneath him. How impertinent. 

He grins despite himself and notices Hawks’ expression shift in surprise.

“I take it there are some things my soldiers left out in their descriptions of me,” he muses. “Like the fact I hold the record for longest duel time in the palace.”

“Oh?” Hawks says, sounding delighted. “They did leave that out. Though wouldn’t your partner tie for the longest time?”

Touya gives in to temptation and leans down, letting his teeth get the smallest taste of flesh before he looks up, blue eyes meeting gold. “They would, if I’d only been fighting one person.” He meets Hawks’ gaze, then sees him understand with a flash of heated gold burning in his eyes. “Shall we test your mettle against mine?”

“Yes,” Hawks breathes, excitement sending goosebumps down his flesh. “Your Highness.”

Touya snorts, reaching for the stopper in the bottle and working it loose. It’s been so long, the rim has gotten gummy with dried oil. “You do not have to call me by my title when we are in bed, Hawks.”

The courtesan laughs, though the sound trembles a bit as Touya drizzles oil between his cheeks.

“Sh-should I call you by your name?” he asks shakily, voice catching when Touya strokes a finger against his wet hole. “Or would you prefer sir?”

Something in Touya clenches at the sound of that, and he feels a shiver shudder up his spine. “Sir will work.”

“Yes –” Touya pushes his finger in, and Hawks gasps “– sir!” 

Hawks is warm inside, Touya notes distantly, blood thrumming under his skin. Warm and tight. 

He rotates his finger, spreading the oil and trying to loosen the courtesan’s rim at the same time. He hears a faint whine from the head of the bed, but he can’t drag his gaze away from the soft hole sucking his finger in up to the knuckle.

It has been… far too long.

Adding more oil, Touya presses into Hawks with more confidence, feeling gratified when he hears the courtesan gasp again. Within a minute, he has a second finger inside the man, and is stroking his inner walls, searching for that carnal spot he knows is –

“Ah!” Hawks cries, eyebrows pressed tight in pleasure. Touya feels his dick jump at the sound and expression, then returns to his work with double the intensity.

More sounds spill from the courtesan, and Touya adds a third finger, intent on preparing Hawks for his bigger than expected cock. Hah, but the man could spin a compliment. And a performance.

Touya gives it to him. The clenched eyes, open mouth, and red cheeks are selling it. If Touya were less suspicious, he’d probably buy the act in a heartbeat.

But this is a courtesan. His job is to please people, whether he enjoys it or not. Touya isn’t here to win the man’s affection; he’s just here to make sure the courtesan’s pride in his work is warranted.

Pulling his fingers from Hawks’ ass, Touya takes just a moment to tug his cock free of his pants and slick himself up with more oil, before he positions himself at Hawks’ pink, puffy hole.

“If you have any objections, voice them now,” he says, proud of how steady he’s able to keep his voice. Hawks shakes his head desperately, then pushes his hips back into Touya’s dick. It’s a clear enough invitation.

So, Touya meets him, then he breaches him in a surge of hot, wet skin, and almost mindblowing pressure. It steals the breath from Touya’s lungs, how tight Hawks is around him. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, holding himself tight against Hawks’ ass, head bowed against the overwhelming sensations racing through his body. Pleasure, desire, need. It’s all he can do to pull back slowly. To set a pace that won’t have him spilling his seed in mere seconds.

“Ahhh~” Hawks moans, fingers clenching into the sheets. “Sir, you’re – mmm – so thick!” He rocks back again, taking Touya to the hilt, and looks over his shoulder. “Please, take me, sir~”

Touya bites his scarred lip, forcing himself to go slow, even with the courtesan’s encouragement.

It feels good, sinking into Hawks’ warm body. Feeling his skin shiver beneath Touya’s fingers, his muscles tighten with invitation. Indulging himself, Touya runs his thumbs over the man’s lean hip bones, admiring the expanse of golden skin beneath him.

Hawks muffles a whine into the pillows beneath him, rocking his body back to meet Touya’s, seemingly eager to take his cock. Even if it’s an act, Touya can’t help the satisfaction that courses through him, seeing the courtesan stripped of words beneath him.

I would see him bare, he thinks, unbidden. Not just of clothes, but…

He catches the thought before it can go further. Before it can sink its hooks in his heart. There can be no love here, but there can be an understanding of safety and security in exchange for services rendered. That is as much as Touya can offer.

At the very least, I can make it enjoyable, he acknowledges to himself, leaning over Hawks’ back to take hold of his cock. The courtesan moans low and erotic in the back of his throat, and Touya closes his eyes, scarred cheek pressed to golden skin as he works to bring his courtesan to completion.

“S-sir!” Hawks gasps, voice straining with Touya’s ministrations. “Sir, please!” 

Touya smiles, not slowing his pace. Filling the courtesan over and over again, while twisting his wrist just so. It barely takes half a minute before Hawks comes all over his hand with a cry of ecstasy.

The cry pushes Touya over the edge himself, and he feels his balls draw up tight, emptying themselves into the courtesan’s core while his body strains through a few, final thrusts. It’s…

Perfect. Gods, he needed this.

Touya sighs against Hawks’ back, letting his sweat-damp forehead rest against those pretty muscles for a moment. Then he pulls back, his cock slipping free of its sheath with something like regret.

“Sir?” Hawks asks, voice muffled by the pillows until he turns his head. His cheeks glow a rosy pink that’s so enchanting, Touya is tempted to kiss him. “Your Highness, I am happy to keep going if you would like.”

He sounds earnest enough, and the expression in his eyes is… not without passion. Touya tilts his head, considering.

His shoulder aches from their activities, and the rest of his bodily bruises are making themselves known. However, it has been a very long time, and Touya feels far from fully sated.

“Very well,” Touya concedes, crawling up the bed to stretch out alongside the courtesan, back embracing the sheets like an old friend. “But you will be doing the work this time.”

Hawks huffs out a laugh and sits up on his elbows, face momentarily hovering near Touya’s. Again, the urge to kiss that little smile from the courtesan’s lips rises within him, but he shoves it back down in favor of watching the courtesan sit up, unashamed of the mess covering his crotch, before he slings a leg over Touya’s waist.

“Wouldn’t you prefer to be out of these clothes, sir?” Hawks asks, plucking at the loose tunic and trousers he still wears. Touya swallows.

Yes, he would prefer to go without the clothing that acts as a barrier between his skin and Hawks’ but that would entail Hawks seeing him naked. The scars along Touya’s jaw and arms are bad enough, but…

Perhaps Hawks realizes the source of Touya’s hesitation. Perhaps his father prepared the courtesan ahead of time. Whatever the case, Hawks’ golden eyes soften.

“I do not care that you have scars, Your Highness,” he says softly. “Not that my opinion should matter, but if that is what holds you back, rest assured, they could not deter me from riding your dick until the sun comes up.”

The declaration startles a laugh out of Touya, which makes it the second time the courtesan has managed to say something so outrageous that Touya couldn’t keep his composure. It’s at once endearing and a touch alarming, how easily the man has managed to get through his armor.

“Very well,” he says once more, lifting his arms in invitation. Hawks eagerly leans forward to divest him of his shirt, but the moment the fabric tugs at Touya’s shoulder, he hisses in pain.

“Your Highness?” Hawks says, pausing in concern. Touya grimaces.

“Training accident,” Touya explains succinctly, easing his arm through the wide sleeve so that Hawks can pull the shirt fully over his head. Once the tunic has been tossed aside, Touya finds himself under the scrutiny of calculating golden eyes.

“You’re bleeding,” Hawks says quietly, reaching out to ghost gentle fingers over the bandage wrapping Touya’s shoulder. Sure enough, there is a faint tinge of red seeping through the layers of clean white. “Do you need to see the physician?”

Touya snorts. “Who do you think dressed the wound? It will hold until morning.”

Hawks’ mouth quirks to the side in mild disapproval, but he doesn’t say more, instead letting his gaze drift down Touya’s torso, taking in the damage his body has survived over the past two decades. The purplish scars from his assassination attempt are of course the most prominent, but there are other marks. Sword cuts, marks from horse tumbles, even an old arrow wound from when archery lessons with Fuyumi had gone awry.

Touya knows his own body. He’s aware that it’s not pretty. But with the way Hawks looks at him, those same gentle fingers trailing down his chest… he can almost believe he’s a prize worth having.

“Sir,” Hawks says in a hushed voice. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Touya swallows, letting his hands drift up to hold Hawks’ hips. “Not all gold and balls, Hawks.”

The courtesan’s lips twitch into a smile at the reminder. “Of course, Your Highness. Only some balls.”

With that, he reaches behind him and takes Touya’s cock in hand. Already, Touya can feel himself filling out, which makes the glide back into Hawks’ ass that much easier. He exhales shakily as Hawks sinks down his length, and then golden eyes meet his.

“My mettle against yours?” he asks cheekily. Touya tilts his chin, bumping his hips up into the courtesan’s, eliciting a gasp from the man.

Hawks laughs, all pink cheeks and glowing skin. “Point taken, sir.”

Then the courtesan rolls his hips in retaliation, and Touya finds, over the next few hours, that the man had not been exaggerating about his stamina.

They don’t quite make it to the sunrise, but it’s a near thing.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Rumors spread quickly, no matter what Touya does or doesn’t do to feed them. Within the day, the palace is abuzz with the news that he has taken on a courtesan (“at last,” some say) who is not of the nobility. Tongues wag, and Touya’s patience wanes.

“Yes?” he prompts his father’s old advisor somewhat testily. The man had stepped in to see him between audiences and had that same anticipatory look that everyone has had in his meetings today. As if Touya bedding someone might give him wings, or a third eye.

Or perhaps they are looking for more leniency, now that he’s gotten some stress out of his system.

Unfortunately for them, my stress is tied to how much sleep I get, Touya thinks sardonically, while tapping his nails on the gilded arm of the throne. And also…

Well, he can admit, if only to himself, that his patience today isn’t just being strained by the lack of sleep.

The teasing from his siblings over breakfast, the whispers following him in the corridors, and, more than anything, the knowledge that Hawks awaits him once his audiences are complete. These things strain him more than just the two hours of sleep he’d managed.

“Ah, Your Highness,” the advisor fumbles, sweat visible on his wringing, paunchy hands. “I only wondered if the courtesan your father sent met your expectations?”

Touya looks at the man flatly. Frankly, he knows why his father left this man behind, despite him having once held a military rank. He’s just so… obsequious. 

“If I have any complaints, you will be the first to hear,” he says dismissively. “Is my next meeting ready to be seen?”

The man bobs his head nervously, then scuttles from the room to summon his next appointment. 

Touya releases a sigh, then allows himself a moment to imagine that thing Hawks had done with his tongue the night before.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“Welcome back, my prince,” Hawks greets from his languorous position in the middle of Touya’s sheets. Touya raises an eyebrow at the familiar address, as do the two guards standing to either side of the bed. He’d sent word ahead to them to bring the courtesan to his room, so they could already assume Touya is eager to enjoy himself, but for the courtesan to be so impertinent. Well.

“Did you have a pleasant day, Hawks?” Touya asks formally, as if to distance himself from the intimacy. Let the guards think that Hawks is simply without manners and that Touya is indulging him. 

Hawks pouts a bit, but still answers. “Yes, Your Highness. I was allowed into the gardens again, where I had the pleasure of meeting your sister.”

“Ah, yes,” Touya says, repressing a wince at the memory of Fuyumi’s grin over the yogurt dish this morning. “She mentioned as much.”

“I was unfortunately not at my best when we met,” Hawks continues mournfully. “I had to admit to her that I had very little sleep, you know.”

Touya represses the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and turns his attention to the guards. Their straight faces are too straight for his liking.

“You are dismissed,” he tells them both, tilting his chin toward the door. 

Their salutes are crisp, and their steps are measured. Touya still narrows his eyes at the sense of amusement rolling off the two of them.

Sparring partners for tomorrow, he notes mentally, turning his gaze back to Hawks, who blinks up at him innocently from his little nest.

“You are very lucky you’re pretty,” Touya states, reaching up to the clasp at his neck to remove his robe of state, tossing it onto the nearest chair without looking. His eyes are locked on Hawks, who gazes back with equal intensity.

“I’m lucky in more ways than one, sir,” Hawks says enticingly. “Mostly, that your guards didn’t come to my rooms five minutes sooner and interrupt my, ah, preparations.”

“Preparations?” Touya repeats, fingers fumbling at the knotted buttons holding his vest together. Hawks smiles wickedly, then rises from the bed in a way that can only be described as sensuous. 

“Yes, Your Highness,” he says, moving gracefully across the floor until he’s nearly chest to chest with the prince. “I will happily show you, once we’ve gotten you out of these clothes. May I?”

Heart thudding against his ribs, Touya nods, and Hawks, eyes glittering, goes to his knees.

There’s a moment where Touya thinks that perhaps Hawks will repeat his performance from the study four nights ago, but the courtesan surprises him by reaching for his boots, helping remove them one by one, his warm hands squeezing Touya’s ankles before smoothing up his legs to reach for his belt.

Touya swallows, unaccountably shaken by the small display of domesticity. The precision with which Hawks had set his boots aside. The… care in that gentle squeeze of his ankles.

He takes a breath, allowing Hawks to disrobe him.

Then he returns the favor, letting warm fingers tug at the fabric enveloping Hawks. Tease his golden skin. Evoke a laugh when they find a sensitive stretch to explore.

His own laughter joins Hawks’ when he realizes what the courtesan meant by preparations. And behind that laughter rises another feeling that he can’t quite put a finger on. Isn’t sure he wants to put a finger on just yet.

So, instead, he lets Hawks draw him into the sheets, where he can use his fingers for other activities.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Two weeks after Hawks’ arrival at the palace, Touya thinks he’s found a new equilibrium. Breakfast with his siblings, morning audiences, scrounging up resources for his father’s unending war, afternoon sparring, afternoon audiences, and then finally, the evening with Hawks.

Hawks, who truly does have skilled hands, Touya discovers. 

“You are in a better mood, lately,” Fuyumi notes playfully, picking up a peach from the breakfast display. She turns the fruit toward her brother and arches an eyebrow suggestively. “Can we send Hawks a thank you basket?”

Touya tilts his chin imperiously. “What makes you think he requires a thank you beyond what I provide for him?”

“He puts up with you every day,” Natsuo points out, poking a silver fork in Touya’s direction. “That said, can we not talk about Touya’s thank yous at the breakfast table?”

Shouto looks up from where he’s making art with the honey drizzled on his plate. “I haven’t met him yet,” he says, sounding put out. Fuyumi turns to their youngest sibling with a bright smile on her face.

“Oh, he’s wonderful,” she says. “We walk in the gardens together almost every morning. You should join us!”

“I can’t.” Shouto’s eyes cast down. “I am already breaking protocol by attending breakfast with my family. Most knights in training dine at the mess hall.”

Fuyumi’s excitement dims somewhat, but Touya gives his brother a considering look.

“Would you prefer to dine with the other trainees?” he asks, genuinely curious. Shouto doesn’t speak much about his peers or his training, but Touya, from experience, knows it can be difficult to bond when there is perceived favoritism. 

“No, I enjoy breakfast with you three,” Shouto says thoughtfully. “It does make me feel that I have to make up for the privilege, though.”

Natsuo scoffs. “You are a prince, you know.”

“I know,” Shouto shrugs. “No one makes me feel that way but myself.”

“And father,” Touya mutters under his breath, stabbing a strawberry. Shouto looks over at him.

“Yes, and father.” 

It’s fairly well known that the knights in charge of training up the next generation of warriors report the progress of their trainees to Enji. Shouto, in particular, is thoroughly watched. It’s no wonder that he feels he cannot skive off more than he already does.

“Well, I still think you should get to meet Hawks,” Fuyumi says stoutly, bringing the conversation away from the more treacherous waters of their filial situation. “He’s really quite charming.”

“And funny,” Natsuo puts in, almost despite himself. “I met him on his way back to his rooms a few nights ago, and he did this whole –” Natsuo shrinks into a sneaking pose, like he’s tiptoeing away “– act. Like he’d been caught doing something bad. As soon as I laughed, he clutched his chest all dramatically and demanded to know if I thought his suffering was funny.”

Touya’s stomach drops, but it’s Fuyumi who asks in a concerned voice.

“Suffering?”

Natsuo turns amused grey eyes on Touya. “He says you snore. Loud enough to wake the horses in the stable.”

Oh, Touya thinks, relief seeping into him against his will. Why he was concerned in the first place is a thought he’s not examining too closely.

“He kicks in his sleep,” Touya returns flatly. “I’ve got the bruises to prove it.”

Although, thus far, Hawks has only fallen asleep once in Touya’s bed. Typically, he leaves before either of them nods off, but Touya hasn’t been as cautious as he should be in the man’s presence. He’s dozed. And apparently snored.

Hawks, when he passed out that one time, was… soft. Just as he had been the first night Touya had seen him.

No flirting, no salacious looks. Just a young man, pretty, and almost… ephemeral. Like if Touya reached out to touch him, he would dissipate into golden light.

It’s possibly not healthy for him to be thinking of his courtesan so poetically, but Touya’s not sure he cares anymore. 

His sister is right. This is the happiest he can remember being in a long, long time.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

A week later, Enji conquers another city, and between the redistribution of rations and the absorption of rank-and-file conscripts, Touya finally has a few days of peace.

He decides to seek Hawks out in the gardens.

It’s a lovely day, with the chill of early spring giving way to warm sunlight, spilling onto the wide expanse of flowers, wandering mazes, and deep green shrubbery. Touya inhales the scent of the clean air deep into his chest, acknowledging that perhaps he needs to spend more time outside, rather than stuffed into the throne room or a training hall.

If this war ever ends, perhaps I can take Hawks out for a picnic, he muses, running his fingers along a delicate golden flower that reminds him of a certain pair of mischievous eyes. Or better yet, a retreat to the countryside estate. I think the fresh air would do us both some good.

He smiles to himself. The privacy and lack of duties would certainly be a bonus.

It doesn’t take him long to spot the man he’s looking for. Hawks is speaking with the head gardener, looking unusually solemn. Touya wonders if perhaps the courtesan has concerns about the gardens, but his musings are interrupted by Hawks looking over the gardener’s shoulder and beaming at his approach.

“My prince!” he calls, waving jauntily. Touya sighs, but doesn’t hide his own smile.

There is no avoiding the rumor mill now. Hawks is familiar with Touya, and Touya lets him be. If the nobles want to complain about it, they’ll have to do it to the prince’s face.

“Hello, Hawks,” he greets, drawing level with the men, before nodding at the gardener. “If I may borrow him for a moment?”

The gardener bows deeply, then beats a hasty retreat. Hawks watches him go with a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Ah, and here I was planning to get a bouquet delivered to your rooms,” he says wistfully. 

Touya turns, offering the courtesan his arm. “Oh? And what is the occasion?”

Hawks takes his arm, unashamedly snuggling into Touya’s side. “No reason, my prince. I just thought you might like a spot of color. The flowers also smell heavenly, don’t they?”

Touya tries to take a deep breath, to inhale the myriad floral notes wafting through the air.

It is difficult, though, when his chest is so tight.

“Maybe we can arrange for an evening in one of the private patios,” he muses aloud, working to keep his voice steady. “Would you like that?”

Hawks’ eyes sparkle when he looks up at Touya. 

“My prince, I would love that.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Touya arranges it. He can’t not, after Hawks looked up at him with so much delight.

Still, he is… nervous.

No, he is more than nervous. His heart races, and his stomach leaps with the thought of their planned evening in the gardens. 

Their date, as Fuyumi calls it.

It’s not that. It can’t be. But gods, does something in Touya long for it.

He’s aware that he shouldn’t. He’s aware that Hawks’ job is to make him feel seen and appreciated. That doesn’t stop the warmth that pools in his chest when he thinks about the man, as if Hawks has filled a hole in Touya’s heart he wasn’t aware was there. Long gone are the days when he told himself not to let his heart get involved.

(He wonders, briefly, if he ever managed to shield himself in the first place). 

Part of him wants to blame it on the sex, which is incredible and frequent and a fabulous source of stress relief. But then there are the little things that Touya thinks about in the small hours of the night.

The teasing. The gentle touches. The bouquets that now arrive regularly in his rooms. Hawks’ presence is everywhere, and Touya only wishes he had more time with the man. Not just in private, but walking around the palace. Suffering through meetings together. Attending balls, arm in arm. 

Touya can well imagine Hawks’ sharp tongue and quick smile in response to some of the more ludicrous proposals that Touya has to handle. He daydreams about it frequently.

Unfortunately, in a society that sees courtesans as pawns more than people, the most Touya can afford, for now, is a private terrace, set under an expanse of stars.

Footsteps approach, the sound of boots tapping on the flagstones, and Touya straightens his back into formality.

“Your Highness,” the guard announces their presence, as if the sound and flickering lantern light wouldn’t have done so. “Your guest has arrived.”

Touya turns to see Hawks, looking around with curiosity in his wide, golden eyes. 

“Thank you,” Touya says to the guard, nodding his head for the man’s dismissal. Over the past week, Hawks’ retinue had decreased from three to one. “Hawks?”

He holds out a hand to the courtesan while the guard bows and sees himself out. Hawks turns his pretty gaze on Touya, looking bemused. As if he hadn’t quite taken Touya seriously when he mentioned an evening in the gardens. 

“My prince?” he asks, taking Touya’s hand. “What is all of this?”

He gestures at the cushions and blankets spread across the terrace, the somewhat… romantic candles, scattered around. There are even faint strains of music spilling from one of the balconies overlooking the gardens, just as Touya had requested.

“A change of scenery,” Touya murmurs, pulling Hawks close, but not… touching. Not yet. “Would you join me for a meal?”

Hawks’ eyes shine in the lantern light. “Of course, my prince.”

Touya has ordered refreshments to his rooms more than once, particularly after several hours of exertion on both of their parts. But they have not yet shared a proper meal together, like one would with an equal. Touya… hopes to change that.

“Here,” he says, guiding Hawks across the cushions to the basket the kitchens had prepared. “I wasn’t sure what you liked best, so I had them prepare a bit of everything.”

Indeed, the basket is filled with cheeses, breads, meats, but also with plums, rice, and fish. There are even jams and sauces made in Kaminoan style, in case Hawks is feeling homesick.

“My prince,” Hawks whispers, seemingly at a loss for words as he takes in the spread that Touya lays out for them. “This is…” he swallows, looking up at Touya. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Touya nearly corrects his address, but pulls himself up short. He knows… he knows his tendency to overcommit at the barest hint of affection. His brand of commitment nearly drove him insane, once upon a time. Nearly got him killed.

Still, this is a relaxed affair. There is no need for such formality.

“My prince or sir will suffice,” Touya offers, acknowledging his courtesan’s penchant toward familiarity with a wry smile. “I hope you’re hungry.”

It’s the invitation Hawks needed to fold himself onto one of the broad cushions. After a moment’s hesitation, he reaches for a ball of rice, wrapped in a dried vegetable of some sort.

“I haven’t seen this in a while,” Hawks comments, studying the ball before taking a bite. His eyelashes flutter with pleasure. “Oh, I missed that flavor.”

Touya reaches for one of the balls himself, curious as to what flavor has Hawks so pleased. He’s surprised to find the vegetable tastes of brine, and that the rice is sticky.

“Unusual,” he murmurs, chewing thoughtfully. “Saltier than I thought it would be.”

“That’s the seaweed,” Hawks says, taking another bite. “Kamino isn’t far from the ocean.”

Touya nods, mind pulling up Kamino’s location on his mental map with ease. After poring over battle strategies for years on end, he’s well aware of Kamino’s proximity to the sea, to the land of Shigaraki, to the northern kingdoms. 

“Are you from Kamino originally?” Touya asks, thinking of the population’s fair complexions and dark hair. Hawks… does not fit the type.

“No, my prince,” Hawks laughs, plucking up a plum, pickled and somewhat wrinkly, before taking a bite. “My homeland is further south.” He shoots Touya a wink. “Much sunnier, but also much more boring.”

Touya mulls that non-answer over, but decides not to push. “What brought you to Kamino in the first place?” he asks.

Given the occupation Hawks found himself in, Touya’s not entirely sure he wants to know the answer. But if Hawks doesn’t want to answer, he’s long-since proven he will dodge the question, and Touya is indulgent enough to allow him.

Hawks’ gaze goes distant, the plum in his hand dripping a bit as his fingers squeeze into its fermented flesh.

“My mother was a peasant,” Hawks finally says, voice hesitant. As if he’s not sure he wishes to reveal so much. “Having a child to feed was beyond her capabilities, so when a noble spotted me on the street and offered her the chance to be rid of me, she took it.”

Touya’s heart sinks. He had hoped that perhaps, in some way, Hawks had chosen this life for himself. It was foolish, of course, but still. That hope had remained.

“I am sorry,” he says softly, meaning it more than Hawks will ever know. He understands what it is to be tossed aside by a parent, though not into such dire straits as Hawks had been thrust.

“It was a long time ago, my prince,” Hawks assures him softly, giving Touya a small smile. One that looks genuine. “I have made peace with her choice, and have made choices of my own to become more than the station that I was born into.” His smile broadens into a grin. “I mean, look around us!” 

Touya doesn’t need to look to know the splendor of the gardens surrounding them, lit by lamplights and the sparkling stars overhead. Still, he lets his gaze flick away so that Hawks doesn’t have to perform.

“Your mother made a grave mistake, giving you up,” Touya notes, not quite banking the heat that sparks in his veins at the thought of what young Hawks had been through. “I do not intend to repeat it.”

Hawks looks at him, his golden eyes almost sharp with their intensity.

“Oh?” he murmurs. “Do you intend to keep me, my prince?”

Touya doesn’t pretend he doesn’t know what Hawks means. His courtesan is thinking of the long term. When he’s no longer young and attractive, and his muscles begin to sag. What will happen then. 

“When I was… thirteen or so, my nine-year-old brother caught up to me in height,” Touya says, though he isn’t sure why. He hadn’t given his mouth permission to speak, particularly not on anything so vulnerable.

“Natsuo always had a gentle heart, but he was good with a sword – a natural, according to my father.” Touya swallows. “I was small, sickly,” stressed, he doesn’t say. “My father wanted a prince who could lead armies. Natsuo was his choice.”

An ironic choice, in the end. When Touya crawled back to the palace, his younger brother was the first to visit him in the infirmary. The first to see the lengths that Touya had gone to, trying to regain their father’s affection.

Natsuo never picked up a sword again. No matter what threats Enji threw at him.

The refusal made their father move on to Shouto, much to Natsuo’s chagrin. Even with war on the horizon, Enji would not be deterred from having one of his sons become a warrior.

Touya opened his eyes, then, seeing his father for what he truly was. Not a wise and powerful leader, but a man obsessed with physical prowess above all else. It… disgusted him. And it alarmed him to see his youngest brother, barely six years old, picking up his first training sword, wrists bending under the weight.

He didn’t argue with his father about it, though. He’d learned that raging and stamping his feet earned him nothing but disdain. Instead, he allowed his father to look down at him in his hospital bed and name him regent with a sneer on his lips, while Touya bowed humbly and promised to look after the kingdom.

Then, authority secured, Touya set to safeguarding his younger brother. Ensuring that he would never be pushed in the way that Touya had been. 

Meanwhile, he drove himself ever harder. Leaving the medical wing against his physician’s advice, appearing at meetings that the advisors assumed he would never attend, forcing his body to work for him despite its injuries.

He grew, and so did his experience, though letters from his father still felt like they were addressed to that broken thirteen-year-old. Touya knew better than to let his father’s derision get to him.

Touya had become everything Enji wanted, under his nose. Natsuo was free to study medicine, which had always been his passion, and Shouto… Shouto was given the guardrails Touya never had in his training. It was hard, yes, but it would never be brutal.

“Your brother was your father’s choice?” Hawks asks, drawing Touya out of his thoughts. “But he…”

“Is studying with Chiyo to become a physician, yes,” Touya says dryly. “It was not a choice made with my father’s blessing. In fact,” he takes a deep breath, “if my father has his way, it will be Shouto who eventually ascends the throne, not me.”

Unspoken is the suggestion that this will give Touya more freedom, in some ways. Perhaps enough to keep Hawks by his side.

“Ah.” Hawks peers at him, fingers less tense around his plum now. “I’m surprised that your father passed you over for a military position. Your guards love you, and the soldiers out in the field adore you.”

Touya feels gratification and no small amount of vindication fill his chest. “Yes, well. Your mother was not the only parent who could not see potential if it hit them in the face.”

Hawks snorts, then glances up at Touya, somewhere between shy and sly. “I am glad you’re not off at war.”

Touya hums. “I can’t say I enjoy sleeping in a tent.”

“Beds are such a wonderful luxury," Hawks agrees, nodding in understanding. Touya laughs.

“Truly.” He looks at the cushions strewn about. “Though I hope you won’t object to one night roughing it?”

“Oh, I will whither away, for certain,” Hawks says seriously, popping the rest of the plum into his mouth. “Especially with these rations.” 

Touya laughs again, even harder, then offers Hawks a peach from the basket without thinking. His ears only flush when he remembers Fuyumi’s suggestive gesture with the fruit.

“Ah, yes,” Hawks says grimly. “A representation of my hardship.”

Then he takes the peach and sinks his teeth into it, juices welling up around his lips while he looks up at Touya through his lashes, eyes liquid gold and promising. With an obscene suck, he tears a chunk of flesh away, chewing on it while streaks of juice drip down his chin.

Touya swallows, eyes fixed on the wet temptation of Hawks’ mouth.

Then, as the man swallows his bite, Touya finally gives in. A hand reaching out without his permission, cradling the nape of Hawks’ strong neck, before pulling him into a kiss that feels like it’s been forever in coming.

Hawks hums happily against his mouth, sucking hard on Touya’s lower lip, before pulling back for air.

“Oh, my prince,” he murmurs roughly. “Yes.”

Touya hears the ragged desire in the man’s voice. It is all he needs to dive back in with enough force to drive Hawks into the cushions. Beneath him, his courtesan shakes with delighted laughter.

Will have him shaking for other reasons, soon, Touya muses happily, content to explore Hawks’ mouth like he’s wanted to for so long. 

Hawks gives as good as he gets, nipping at Touya’s lips, sucking on his tongue like a particularly delicious candy. Touya groans at the sensation, feeling the pull all the way down in his spine. 

Warm hands push their way under Touya’s shirt, tracing the scars that mar his lower back, digging into his skin hard enough to feel when Touya deepens their kiss. It’s a familiar dance, in a way, but with new steps allowed. Ones that feel like they’re moving together, and they can keep moving together.

Touya doesn’t like hoping. Hoping has brought him nothing but heartache.

But as he lets Hawks roll them over in the cushions, lets the man strip them out of their clothes… he allows himself to look up at the man straddling his hips, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide, and think:

This is all I want.

He reaches up, almost hesitantly, to cup Hawks’ jaw, smoothing his thumb over the man’s tan cheek. Hawks looks at him in something like confusion, until Touya draws him back in for another kiss.

In between kisses, Touya feels Hawks reaching over for something off to the side, and he squints his eye open just enough to see Hawks’ hand fumbling near the bread knife.

He grins against Hawks' lips. “To the left, peach.”

Hawks’ hand veers to the left, landing on the bottle of oil even as he huffs out a laugh.

“Peach?” he says questioningly, nipping at Touya’s scarred lip. “Is that your new name for me?”

“Mmm, only in special circumstances,” Touya hums, licking the corner of Hawks’ mouth. “Do you need assistance?”

“Please,” Hawks huffs, already dipping a hand behind him. Not to his hole, Touya realizes, but to take Touya’s cock in his slippery hand. “As if I would answer your summons without preparing myself.”

He wastes no time in spreading the oil over Touya’s cock, obliterating any response he might have managed. Instead, Hawks presses his forehead to Touya’s, golden eyes locked on his own blue ones, sharing his ragged air as he tugs Touya to full stiffness.

“My prince,” he gets out, not breaking their connection. “Please tell me I can ride you.”

“Hah,” Touya laughs breathlessly. “As if that’s a question.”

“Fair point,” Hawks snickers, lifting his hips just enough to guide Touya inside his heat. They both groan at their joining. “Fair point – hah – from a fair prince.”

Touya bites his lip, hands coming up to rest on Hawks’ waist. Just… holding him there.

“You deserve it,” he vows, not breaking eye contact. “Life has not been fair to you. But I will be, if you let me.”

Hawks’ expression doubles in intensity. 

“I believe you,” he says seriously, rolling his hips into Touya’s as if to drive the statement home. “I am yours, my prince.”

Touya’s heart swells, and he drags Hawks down for another heated kiss.

It’s the only way he can think to say, I am yours, too. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Two days later, Touya is staring out the throneroom window overlooking the garden, watching as Hawks and the head gardener converse once more. He’s curious to know what flowers will be waiting in his rooms when he arrives back, but more than that, he’s wistful at the sight of his courtesan, remembering how they lay together after their climaxes, staring up at the stars. Hawks pointing out the constellations he knew for navigation, and Touya relaying the legends he remembered behind their formations. Hawks had commented something about the Big and Little Dippers that had sent him into hysterics he hadn’t felt in years, and now… he’s stuck in another meeting.

“Your Highness,” someone calls, drawing his attention away from the window. He draws himself up at the sight of the muddy uniform and sleep-deprived expression. This man is a messenger from the front lines.

“You have word from my father?” Touya asks, cutting to the chase. The man nods respectfully and pulls a letter from his messenger bag. A guard takes it and passes it to Touya without being asked.

“His majesty the Emperor sends word that they are approaching the final city that stands in opposition to us,” the messenger says, summing up the gist of the letter. “He will remain until the fighting is finished, but then –” the messenger pauses at the look on Touya’s face, but continues, “– then he will be returning to the palace, Your Highness.”

“Understood,” Touya states, feeling numb at the thought of his father’s return. At the thought that this war might finally be at an end. “Thank you for your haste in bringing the news to me. My staff will see to it that you are well rewarded.”

The man bows, taking the dismissal with relief, while leaving Touya to think.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“My father is returning soon,” he tells Hawks later that night.

Hawks is curled up in Touya’s arms, as he has been wont to do since their terrace date. Touya has not discouraged the increased displays of affection, no matter what they do to his heart.

Hawks doesn’t react to the news at first, still tracing the lines of Touya’s scars with his fingertip. “What does that mean for us?”

It means Enji coming home and retaking the reins of his country. It means Touya being relegated to the sidelines once more, until his father has need of some alliance or another, after which Touya will be married off to the highest bidder. It’s only due to the war that Touya has avoided the prospects of marriage thus far.

Still… perhaps, if Touya plays his cards right, he can make Hawks part of the arrangement. Negotiate that Touya will do his duty to produce an heir, but no more than that. That his spouse’s position will not come before Hawks’ health and happiness.

It’s wishful, he knows. Enji is not the sentimental type, and he will not give a damn that Touya has become attached to his prize, even if he’s the one who put Hawks in Touya’s path to begin with.

“I’m not sure,” Touya says honestly, running his fingers down Hawks’ spine. “I will figure something out, though.”

Hawks shivers under his touch and shimmies closer, further cementing Touya’s affection for him. “I trust you, my prince.”

Touya huffs, thinking idly that if Hawks had taken him up on the offer of a farm, he would not be in such a position. Choosing between duty and the heart.

“Touya,” he murmurs in correction, not looking at Hawks even as the man pulls back to stare at him. “When we’re alone… it’s just Touya.”

He can hear Hawks swallow. Then, like a benediction, he feels Hawks’ lips press against his forehead. 

“Touya,” Hawks whispers reverently. He clears his throat. “I hope you’re ready for the whole palace to hear me calling that name.”

Touya laughs wetly. “You are rather loud, aren’t you?”

“And whose fault is that?” Hawks pouts, burying his face back into Touya’s shoulder like he’s embarrassed. Touya knows he’s not, but the act amuses him nonetheless.

“I can… attempt your real name, if you’d like?” he offers hesitantly. He hasn’t asked so far, but if Hawks is calling him by his name, it seems only fair that Touya try the same for Hawks.

There’s a long moment of silence before Hawks exhales against Touya’s bare skin.

“I am happy to be called Hawks by you, Touya,” he says simply. “It carries less of the… history that my birth name holds.”

Touya nods thoughtfully, feeling his scarred chin ruffling Hawks’ hair. The explanation makes sense, though it doesn’t spare him a pang of disappointment. 

“With my father’s return, some of my duties should be relieved,” he says, instead of lingering in the hurt. “Would you be opposed to visiting the summer estate for a few days?”

He feels Hawks smiling against his skin, though his voice sounds unaccountably tight when he speaks.

“I would love that, Touya.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The next morning, Touya forces himself to pen a response to his father, giving him a report on the current food stores at the palace and asking whether or not his father will appropriate some of the conquered cities’ stores to support the returning army. He also reports on Shouto’s training, the mood in the court, and the new trade deals he has struck.

Finally, though, he forces himself to make the statement that spurred him write the letter himself, rather than assigning it to his father’s old advisor.

“Upon your return, after the court has settled, I plan to sojourn at our summer home with my courtesan. I will be gone for a week, at most, but I will be reachable via messenger for any questions that may arise in my absence.”

He signs the letter with his name and title, then presses it closed with his seal before sending for a messenger.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“Do you know when your father will launch his final attack?” Hawks asks a few days later as they stroll through the gardens together, arm-in-arm. Touya glances at him, askance, and Hawks smiles ruefully.

“I am planning for our travels,” he says conspiratorily. “If I must be waiting months, then so be it. But if your father is to return next week, I will be asking the palace tailor to expedite my requests.”

“Requests?” Touya repeats teasingly. “Are you planning to bring clothes?” 

“Not by the standard definition, no,” Hawks says primly, golden eyes laughing. “I am certain my prince will approve of them, though.”

“I’m sure I will,” Touya returns, leaning in to plant a kiss in Hawks’ soft hair. “To your question, though, I assume it will be a matter of weeks. His armies are on the final approach to Gunga, and we know they cannot hold for long.”

Hawks nods, his cheek rubbing against Touya’s sleeve. Then he stills, body going rigid for a brief moment.

Touya pauses, as he didn’t want to drag Hawks along, then follows the line of Hawks’ sight to a freshly planted flower bush of some kind. A rose, Touya thinks, cocking his head at the little gleam of thorns and red buds peeking out from between the verdant leaves.

“Hawks?” he asks, looking between the flower and his courtesan. “Is there something the matter?”

“Ah, no,” Hawks says shakily, taking Touya’s arm once more. “I thought I saw a bee. I’m terribly allergic.”

Touya inhales sharply. “I can have the grounds scoured and any insects found and destroyed.”

Hawks laughs breathlessly, clearly still rattled by the near miss.

“Yes, thank you, my prince.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

That night, as has become their custom since that night in the gardens, Touya and Hawks sup together in his room. It’s significantly more relaxing than attending dinners with his advisors or fellow nobles, though he knows he’ll have to appear occasionally if only to keep them from planning coups while feasting at his table.

Almost sleepily, between the wine and the crackling fire behind him, Touya spots a new maid enter the room, bearing a fresh ewer of wine. The girl shoots a look at Touya, then at Hawks, before dipping her eyes back down and placing the wine on the table. Hawks notes the ewer with something like… wariness.

Touya smirks, having heard the man lament more than once that these northern wines were too dry for his taste. They’re still awaiting a shipment from the south to sate his preferences, though, so his poor courtesan has had to subsist on water and juice.

“Pass the wine?” Touya asks, lifting his empty cup a little lazily. Really, the maid should have refilled his goblet before she left, but Touya knows she’s new. He certainly hasn’t seen her before.

Hawks reaches for the ewer slowly, almost reluctantly. Then, rather than simply leaning over to refill Touya’s cup, he rises, all hooded lids and seduction.

“Of course, my prince,” he purrs, moving as if to drape himself across Touya’s back to refill his goblet. Touya almost snorts at the performance.

Then Hawks trips, dropping the ewer entirely, and gods, that does it. Touya dissolves into peals of laughter, half brought about by wine, half brought about by Hawks’ shocked and disgruntled expression, thoroughly wiped of its succubus ways.

“Oh, fuck, Hawks,” Touya snickers, rising to offer his disheveled courtesan a hand up. “That was not to your standards, was it?”

Hawks huffs, brushing himself off while giving the red stain on the floor the evil eye. “I’ll show you my standards, Touya.”

Then he proceeds to drag the stumbling, giggling Touya to bed, the wine completely forgotten about.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Hawks doesn’t visit the gardens over the next week, strangely enough. Touya asks, but with preparations for his father’s return, he doesn’t think too much on the reply that Hawks has taken an interest in cooking. It simply means that they now take their dinner in the kitchens, so that Hawks can watch as the food is prepared, his gaze sharp and attentive as he takes notes on the different methods the cooks use.

It’s fun for Touya too, who hasn’t snuck into the kitchens since he was a child. Fortunately, the head cook is still the same old lady who snuck him cherry tarts back then, and she’s happy to do so again while regaling Hawks with embarrassing stories from Touya’s youth.

“Never thought such a fiery child would become such a responsible leader,” the chef whispers to Hawks with faux seriousness. “But just look at him now, holding the whole country together while his father’s away. If that’s not a prince to be proud of, I don’t know what is.”

Touya flushes under the praise despite himself, but it’s Hawks’ burning gaze that sends his stomach fluttering.

“I couldn’t agree more, ma’am,” Hawks agrees without a trace of his usual humor. Touya almost asks what’s got him so serious, but then Hawks smirks and sneaks a warm hand onto his thigh beneath the table.

“Think you could hold us together tonight?” he asks seductively, leaning to speak directly in Touya’s ear. Touya’s blush deepens.

“Really?” he mutters. “In the kitchen?”

“I was thinking the bed, actually,” Hawks returns innocently, “but if you prefer here –”

Touya elbows him to cut him off.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Touya is blinking sleepily, muscles pleasantly sore from the night before, when the messenger he sent to his father returns the following afternoon. There’s a reply to his letter, and Touya rips it open as soon as the messenger retreats, eager, but not allowing himself to hope that his father won’t object to him leaving for a week.

He skims past replies about the armies, the food, the new timeline, now that they’re camped outside the enemy’s gates. Instead, his eyes race to the bottom of the letter, where Enji has written two words in response to his request.

What courtesan?

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

His afternoon meetings proceed while his guards quietly escort his siblings to a safehouse. Touya gives no indication that anything is wrong until he summons his father’s advisor, the new maid, and the head gardener to the throne room. By the time they arrived, scuffed up and reeking of guilt, he knows his instinct was correct.

Gaze cold, he asks them for the truth. Truth that can be revealed of their own free will, or in the dungeons. 

It’s the maid who breaks down.

There was a plot from the Council of Nations. When the Todoroki armies began their approach on Gunga, an assassin would be sent to the crown prince. With his death, Enji would have no choice but to pull back. To return to his palace and resume control. 

The signal to the assassin would be a red rose bush, planted in the palace gardens. The same gardens that he walked through daily, with none the wiser that he wasn’t there to admire the flowers.

“He must not have seen,” the maid confesses, while the old advisor’s skin turns gray with fear. “He stopped coming, so the advisor provided me with poisoned wine instead.”

Touya holds himself steady. Tall and imposing, without a hint of the heartbreak spilling poison of its own into his chest cavity.

“And the assassin,” he states, turning his frozen gaze on the old advisor, who cowers under his scrutiny. “Is my courtesan.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the man whispers to the marble floors. He may as well have shouted the confirmation, for how quiet the room is. Even the guards, posted close for security, appear to be holding their breath.

Touya nods in understanding. Understanding that he will never be a person worthy of love. That those who come close to him, who bore their way into his heart, will only be using him for their own ends. After all, one time is an accident, two is suspicious, but three… three is a pattern.

His father. His tutor. And now… his courtesan.

Never enough, are you, Touya? he thinks bitterly, throat tight with a pain he didn’t know possible. Not even after burning had he experienced such agony as he does now.

He clears his throat. Then clears it again when the tightness remains. Giving it up as a lost cause, another sign of damage he can’t hide from the world, he speaks to his guards.

“Take them to the dungeons,” he rasps, not looking at the three miserable traitors in front of him. “If there are more involved in this plot… find them.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the captain of his guard says sharply, the lines of his face deep with anger. But he doesn’t move to obey immediately. As if he’s awaiting further orders. Touya clenches his jaw.

“I will be in the training hall,” he declares. “Bring the assassin there.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Touya is holding a practice sword in hand, gaze locked on the floor, when he hears the sound of approaching boots. His guards have been instructed to bring Hawks to the center of the floor, give him his own sword, then retreat to barricade the doors. None of them were happy about the instructions, but Touya brooked no arguments.

If the assassin wants his chance, he’ll have it.

Out of his peripheral vision, Touya can see the men leading Hawks, or whatever his real name is, to the starting position across from his own. The normally chatty courtesan doesn’t ask any questions, just accepts the training sword that is passed to him.

The blades are dull. But the points can still kill a man if they have the drive.

“My prince?” Hawks asks, voice so soft that Touya almost doesn’t hear him over the sound of the guards tromping away to the sidelines. Closer than Touya had instructed, but no matter.

“Assassin,” Touya greets coolly, lifting his gaze at last. Hawks is staring at him, expression tight, but not confused. Not denying.

“If… I can explain,” the assassin tries, voice still achingly soft. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“Then you should have killed me when you had the chance,” Touya sneers, taking a step forward, sword tip lifting into ready position. “It is too late now.”

Show me what you’ve been hiding all this time, Hawks.

Reluctantly, the assassin lifts his blade. His eyes bore into Touya’s own, looking almost desperate.

Touya ignores the look and raises his sword.

There is a reason his guards respect him when the rest of the court is content to spread petty gossip about him. Touya has put blood, sweat, and years into mastering the blade. Turning it into an extension of his arm, a harbinger of death.

Hawks’ sword slams into his own, the force of it jarring into Touya’s teeth. 

A sickly grin twists Touya’s lips. Of course an assassin sent after someone with Touya’s reputation would be skilled with a blade as well. It only makes sense.

“Touya,” Hawks breathes, his face too close, his expression too caring. Touya snarls, shoving him away with a ringing scrape of steel on steel.

“You do not get to use my name,” he spits, before spinning on his heel, bringing his blade around in a blinding arc. Once more, Hawks meets his blade, his wrists as steady as stones, even as Touya bears into him. 

Hah, perhaps he should have been Enji’s son, a wild part of Touya thinks, laughing almost hysterically at the irony. The man he’d held so softly, the man he’d caressed more gently than the most delicate of blossoms, was more a warrior than anyone Touya had ever faced.

How could I not have seen it? he thinks, breaking away, only to strike again, this time in a barrage of blows that Hawks deflects each time, seemingly without effort.

The well-muscled body, the stamina that matched any soldier in their prime. How could Touya have been so stupid? 

“My prince –” Hawks tries again, his voice rough like he’s holding back tears. Touya does not want to hear it.

With a cry, he lunges forward, uncaring if Hawks skewers him, uncaring if he risks his own life. His sword flashes, again and again, clanging against steel with a speed fueled by more hurt than he’s ever known. Hawks’ eyes widen, and he’s forced back onto his heels, defending against the rain of blows that Touya volleys at him, one after another, after another.

You used me! Some part of Touya wants to cry. I trusted you!

He slams his sword into Hawks’ so hard, the assassin grunts trying to block it.

I fucking loved you!

With a twist of his wrists, Touya disengages, then he leaps into the air, bringing his sword up in a strike that he knows in his bones will end it all if Hawks doesn’t block.

Their eyes meet, and Touya can see that Hawks knows it too. That Touya is beyond caring, beyond words.

The assassin’s expression crumples. Not in defeat, not in fear. But –

He drops his sword, eyes falling closed as he accepts his fate.

Touya’s heart stops. His momentum does not.

He slams into Hawks, knocking both of them to the ground, his sword piercing into the floor just to the side of Hawks’ head, the tip of it cracking the wooden boards. Touya crouches there on top of the assassin, panting, eyes wild.

Hawks gazes up at him, mouth trembling and eyes full of softness that doesn’t belong.

“Tou–” he catches himself, swallowing hard. “Your Highness. I abandoned the mission. Weeks ago.” He reaches up, hesitating only a moment before cupping Touya’s cheek. “I’ve been trying to protect you ever since.”

Touya’s heart thunders so loud in his ears, he almost can’t make sense of the words. 

“The maid told me everything,” he gets out, voice grating in his throat like it’s being drawn over a wire. “The rose bush, the wine.”

“The knife you keep under your pillow, the food you don’t have checked,” Hawks continues for him. “I had every chance to kill you.” He smiles, though its shape is wobbly. “I spilled the wine, if you recall.”

Touya’s eyebrows press together in confusion. “But –”

He trails off because Hawks did trip that night. Hawks, whose step is usually as light as a dancer’s, and just as sure. 

“I didn’t respond to the signal in the garden,” Hawks says, running his thumb under Touya’s eye. “So the council sent a maid and made sure she was serving us that night.”

“You let her close,” Touya hisses, still not believing what he’s being told. 

“I couldn’t very well attack her across the table,” Hawks huffs. “But I could watch what you were being served, afterward.”

No, surely not.

“Dinners in the kitchen…” Touya whispers. 

“And breakfasts, and lunches,” Hawks agrees. “At least for me. Nothing made it to your table without my eyes on it.” He lets his expression fold into miserable concession. “Eyes of the Hawk, remember?” He swallows again. “Or Takami Keigo, if you prefer.”

Shock jolts through Touya’s body at the sound of his name. The name he’s ached to know for so long, now given freely when it’s far too late.

“You betrayed me,” Touya croaks out, feeling his treacherous eyes fill with tears. “You were sent to kill me.”

“I was,” Keigo acknowledges. “And I couldn’t do it.”

“Why?” 

Because even Touya knows, deep down, he’s not someone worth saving. It’s his fatal flaw, to never be enough.

“I love you,” Keigo says simply, that tragic smile pulling at his lips. “I love your blushes and your hands. I love the way you talk about your siblings, the way you work hard for your people. I love how the guards tease about you when you’re not around, because they love you, too. But more than anything,” he pauses, tears welling in his eyes. “I love your kindness. You have so many reasons to hate this world, and you didn’t let them rule you.”

“So, what?” Touya asks, voice choked. “You want my kindness to spare you?”

Keigo doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just continues rubbing his thumb soothingly across Touya’s cheek, wiping away the tears that drip down his face.

“I trust you, Touya,” Keigo finally says. “Whatever you choose, I will accept.”

Touya closes his eyes, letting the words wash over him, bleeding into the grief-drenched fabric of his being, still mourning what he thought he knew.

It is a long time before either of them moves.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Word comes that Enji has won the final battle and that he returns ahead of his army, seemingly driven by the conviction that his eldest has blundered.

Keigo cannot stay in the palace. 

Once more, Touya finds himself making the offer he made so many months ago.

“An allowance,” he murmurs, passing the bag of gold to Keigo under the darkness of night. “And your farm.”

He hands over the deed without fanfare. Keigo stares at it for a long moment, his golden eyes reflecting amber in the dim lantern light.

“Even though this is more than I deserve,” he says softly, looking up at Touya with an expression of longing etched into his face, “I still choose you.”

Touya’s heart clenches painfully. “Between my father and the council who sent you, you are not safe here.”

No, indeed, there have already been attempts on Keigo’s life. Hired mercenaries mostly, allowed a touch too close by Touya’s guards, still resentful of the ex-assassin on their prince’s behalf.

“Come with me?” Keigo blurts out, almost desperately, reaching out to grasp Touya’s cloak. Touya’s chest burns.

He’s thought about it. Gods help him, he’s made plans on top of plans to release him from his duty just for a taste of the affection Keigo holds for him.

But his duties aren’t just to his people or his birthright.

“One day,” he murmurs. “When I can be sure my siblings won’t suffer for my absence. If you can wait…”

“I can,” Keigo assures, gazing up into Touya’s eyes with conviction. “I will. I will wait for you, Touya.”

Touya nods, throat too tight to speak as he draws Keigo into one final kiss. It tastes, to his distressed surprise, of peaches.

“Go,” he gets out, pulling away before he does something stupid. “Go, now.”

Keigo stares at him like he’s trying to memorize his face, before he closes his eyes, jaw clenching. Then he turns and disappears through the secret gate, his steps as silent as a cat’s.

Touya watches, even long after his love has disappeared into the night.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Epilogue

A year passes, and Keigo grows used to rising with the sun despite himself. As one who had always moved in the shadows of night, whether for pleasure or for pain, he hadn’t been jesting when he said he was not partial to rising early.

Oddly enough, even with the new schedule of working in the fields, testing his grain and soils in different patches, trying to see what grows the best, Keigo still finds himself with more time on his hands than he did as a pampered courtesan in the palace. Something about being constantly on edge, communicating with the Council’s network in the hidden corners of the palace, moving in secrecy – it had all coalesced into a stressful residence. Frankly, his time spent with the prince had been the most enjoyable, particularly when Touya began lowering his walls.

Keigo smiles fondly at the thought of the prince, though with no small amount of regret accompanying his joy. Like a bright spot and its shadow, constantly hand in hand, moving through his memories.

He misses the prince. More than he thought would ever be possible for him to miss a person, before he took the mission. His laugh, his surprisingly sweet side, his thoughtfulness.

Even before the prince’s caution began giving way to caring, Keigo hadn’t been sure he could go through with his directive. Touya’s reputation really had preceded him, back then.

Keigo had been in Kamino, working a similar mission on the Shigaraki heir, when the Todoroki army arrived. 

Young Shigaraki fled, and ‘Hawks’ had to lie low.

As he flitted through the conquering soldiers’ camps, he picked up conversations here and there. Soldiers wishing that Prince Touya were the one leading the army, as he had a much more judicious hand with his men than Enji did. Others bragging that they were able to train with the prince before coming to the front lines. Still others reading letters from home, relieved that their families were in good hands.

Keigo took the information in thoughtfully, before eventually he received word from the Council.

You have a new mission. 

He had grimaced as he read the details. That he was to position himself next to this fair prince for the express purpose of killing him. He much preferred the missions where his eventual victims deserved their place in the dirt.

Still, he could see the Council’s reasoning. Enji needed to be stopped while the Council disentangled itself from Gunga’s illicit operations. If their complicity was discovered, their power would be forfeit.

So, Keigo went. And he fell in love. Truly not what he intended.

He sighs at the thought, stirring some honey into the tea he made. With Touya’s allowance, he could regularly purchase different flavors from the vendor at the market, and many of the floral blends remind him of the gardens.

Remind him of Touya.

He moves to the plush chair in the corner of the main living room, thinking perhaps he’ll pick up some seeds next time he’s in town… begin a garden of his own… when there’s a knock on the door.

Keigo freezes, cup half lifted to his lips, staring at his front door.

No one… no one comes to visit him. Few outside of the townsfolk even know that he’s taken on the once-abandoned farm.

Assassins from the Council? he thinks warily, setting his cup aside silently. He has a knife at his hip, mostly used these days for clearing out weeds and slicing apples, but still kept sharp, just in case.

“Keigo?” a familiar voice calls from outside the door. Keigo’s heart leaps, and he scrambles for the door so quickly, he bangs into it before wrenching it open.

There, in the light of the setting sun, stands Touya, looking almost as surprised as Keigo feels. 

Words lodge in Keigo’s throat, staring into those blue eyes he dreams about so often. The kind eyes that saved him, in far more ways than just sparing his life. Touya grins.

“I brought peaches,” he says, lifting a basket on his arm. Sure enough, there’s a small mountain of the fruits, ripe and round. Keigo laughs wetly.

“My prince,” he gets out in a strangled voice. Then he’s pulling the basket from Touya’s hand and dragging the prince into a fierce kiss.

Touya’s mouth moves against his own, as familiar as breathing, and Keigo groans into the movement, heart swelling to the bursting point.

The prince grins against his lips, warm and exuding happiness like a physical force around him. Keigo truly doesn’t know how he got so lucky.

They pull apart, and Keigo can see Touya’s grin, his lips kiss-swollen and tempting beyond Keigo’s willpower to resist. He’s just about to lean in again when Touya speaks.

“Just Touya, Keigo,” he says, hands circling Keigo’s waist like they belong there. “No longer a prince.” He looks up at Keigo from under his long, white lashes in a way that causes Keigo’s heart to physically clench. “And I’m hoping you’ll be able to show me how you’ve adjusted to life without much luxury.”

Keigo laughs. “So you want to plow the fields with me?”

Touya’s expression scrunches. “Ah, I’d forgotten about the jokes.”

Cheeks hurting from beaming so wide, Keigo leans in to kiss Touya again.

“Don’t you worry, Touya,” he promises. “I do have a bed.”

“Good,” Touya says softly, cradling Keigo’s hips even closer. “I think we have some lost time to make up for.”

Keigo nips at Touya’s bottom lip.

“That we do, my prince.” 

The End.