Chapter Text
The morning light filtered through the canopy of ancient trees, creating golden beams that danced over the soft moss on the ground. The Kingdom of Larnion was at peace; the only sound was the rustle of leaves and the melodic song of birds that looked as if they were made of crystal. The air carried a sweet scent with a mix of damp earth and the perfume of flowers waiting for the King’s touch.
Kyle was kneeling before a bush of dry branches, focused. Stan stood behind him, hands crossed behind his back, his posture impeccable, though his eyes were fixed on the elf at his feet.
"Are you tense today, Stan?" the King asked without turning around.
"No, my King," he replied, because he would never admit that, in truth, he was simply admiring the view.
Kyle’s long, bony fingers worked like smooth conduits ever since he had begun focusing more on his plant-based magic. It was as if a faint green light radiated from his fingertips.
"I can feel your tension through the grass," the redhead finally said, pointing to a dry twig.
As if by magic, leaves began to sprout lightly along the entire length of the stick down to the base of the bush. With a flick of his hands, Kyle touched the ground and the bush bloomed completely, covered in several closed flower buds.
"Take off your shoes," the King ordered.
Stan hesitated for a brief second, but he found it remarkably talented how his King seemed to see him even with his back turned. With hurried fingers, he untied the leather straps and tossed aside his heavy boots. As soon as his soles touched the damp grass, he shivered, and a glimmer of comfort appeared in his blue eyes.
"Better, right?" Kyle finally turned around. "Look, Stan."
And he looked… at the bush. It was cute, sure, but also a bit boring. "Beautiful, my King."
"Haven’t you noticed anything different?"
Stan hated when Kyle asked those questions, because they usually came with a lecture about peace, war, the Stick of Truth, snow days, or crows. He tried to ignore it, but the silence stretched on; he knew Kyle did this when he wanted Stan to elaborate.
He cleared his throat. "The leaves are… very green?" he risked, realizing he’d missed the mark when Kyle facepalmed.
"Gods, Stan," the redhead rolled his eyes so dramatically he nearly turned inside out. "Look at the color."
"I don't get it. They’re green, aren't they?"
"The flowers, Stan!" His voice spiked with that typical irritation of someone who thinks everyone else is slow. "They’re purple!"
"Oh… yeah, it’s purple, true."
"I’ve been trying to synthesize purple pigment for months. At most, I could get a faded shade of lilac like Princess Kenny’s dress. But look… this is pure amethyst!"
Stan tried to look impressed enough to avoid a sermon on fantastic botany. "Good job, Kyle. The kingdom’s gonna be really colorful."
"It’s not about being colorful, Stan! It’s about magic frequency!" He began gesturing wildly at the bush. "If I can grow purple flowers, it’s because Mother Nature is allowing me a higher mana load. This changes everything—"
Kyle stopped talking abruptly, staring at Stan. The guard was still there, barefoot in the grass with his boots forgotten to the side, looking like an imposing warrior who had just been forced to participate in a science fair.
"You don't understand a thing I say about mana, do you?"
"I understood that you're happy with the flowers," Stan answered honestly. "And that my feet are getting cold."
The redhead rolled his eyes, almost wanting to smile at that. He already had an idea that human warriors couldn't produce mana, but he had no clue they knew nothing at all. He felt a bit of pity, but the way the dark-haired man stared at him was so cute that he let it slide.
"It’s not just about that…" his voice came out low and curious. Kyle took a few steps, taking Stan’s hand and pulling him closer to the flower. "It’s about the energy, the form… The power of Mother Nature." He moved closer to the petals, smelling the vibrant, sweet aroma. The fragrance made his skin crawl with goosebumps.
"Mother Nature?" Stan grumbled, also leaning in. All he could see was a pretty little purple flower. At the same time, he didn't want to hurt the King's feelings. "Uh… looks… cool… " He gave his best ‘I-get-it’ smile.
Kyle’s green eyes turned to him, sharp as a cat’s. "I know what you're feeling, Stan. You don't need to be afraid of annoying me."
The guard’s cheeks turned a bit red, embarrassed at being caught. "My bad… It’s just that it looks like a normal flower. But I know your magic is incredible, my King. The battles I watched against the Wizard were amazing." Stan was honest again, scratching the back of his neck. "I guess it’s because of this connection with Mother Nature that you can pick up on feelings, right?"
The elf nodded, but something felt strange now. His body was warm, and the man’s curious words only made him more interested in explaining mana. He took another look at Stan: bright blue eyes, slightly furrowed brows, toned arms peeking out from short sleeves. His personal guard was actually quite good-looking, wasn’t he?
But his mind pushed those thoughts away, returning his gaze to the flower. The dark, shimmering purple, like an amethyst, hadn't faded yet—a great sign that it had worked. Kyle swelled with pride and touched the petals lightly, checking if the color rubbed off on his thumb.
"All creatures come from her. If you have a good relationship with Mother Nature and great mastery of mana, you can do anything." His hand still felt normal.
"And that’s why you told me to go barefoot? To feel my energy or something?"
Kyle huffed, a sound like a spoiled child’s grumble. That was because, though he’d never admit it, Stan’s honesty was what pleased him most in the entire kingdom.
He knelt before the bush again. "Your feet are bare because I ordered it."
Stan sighed. Fine. Kyle commands, he obeys. That’s how a subordinate should be.
With the tip of his index finger, the King touched the center of one of the buds. The flower finally bloomed, elegant and fragrant. He plucked it with a gentle motion from underneath, taking care not to hurt his precious bush.
"Smell this. The scent changed too, didn't it?"
The warrior leaned over slightly, thinking it was a bit pathetic that his King, despite being the most important person in the realm with many war matters to attend to, was ordering him to smell flowers instead of training.
But he didn't think it was all bad; their walks through the forest were usually nice when Kyle wasn't lecturing all morning.
He took a deep breath. "It smells like… grapes? And something else…" He muttered. "It’s sweet."
"Sweet?" Kyle stretched his finger to another flower, which opened immediately. "It should be citrusy. How strange..."
Without removing the flower from the stem, he leaned down to inhale again. He didn't just breathe; he practically flooded his lungs with a dense, concentrated cloud of purple pollen.
Kyle coughed, turning his head aside and shaking it.
"See? I told you it was sickening," Stan laughed while the King scratched his nose. "So? Now you’re gonna tell me the pollen is toxic and we’re both gonna die?"
But when Kyle raised his head, his usual irritation seemed to have vanished. His lips were parted, his eyes slightly closed, but his pupils… they looked dilated. His green irises seemed to glow with the same hue as his magic.
"No… it’s something better," the redhead said, his voice sounding slightly higher-pitched.
"What’s better?" Stan took a step forward, curious now. "Is it a pollen that brainwashes enemies?" He joked, finding the idea of a little purple flower doing that funny.
But…
His King fell strangely quiet, looking at him with a face unlike anything he had ever seen. Kyle was normally ethical and composed, exhaling confidence while he ruled. At most, Stan had seen him annoyed with the Wizard Cartman or smiling when he controlled mana… Now, something had changed. What kind of look was that?
"Wait, are you serious? Is it controlling your mind or something?" He turned pale, grabbing the King’s shoulders. "Your pupils are so dilated…" he whispered. Stan had no idea what to do! He had never messed with mana, magic, or Mother Nature stuff.
"No, idiot… Gods…" Kyle teased, rolling his eyes while looking closer at his guard. They were close; the chills on the back of his neck wouldn't stop, and worse, everywhere Stan touched felt hot. "I’m just playing with you."
And he wasn't. Not even a little bit.
For some reason, his mind was a blank. The elf glanced at the flowers on the bushes, then back at the dark-haired man. He was dying to kiss that stupid, worried face. But the reason was—why? Was this the effect of the flowers?
"Kyle? Are you… are you drooling?" Stan asked with genuine concern, which only made the elf want to pounce on him even more.
Kyle wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb. "No! I’m… It doesn't matter." He stood up, brushing his hands against his tunic, and turned away.
"Are you sure? Your face is getting red. It’s not an allergic reaction, is it? I swear to the Gods, if you die because of some pollen…"
"I won't die, I'm an elf. I don't have allergies," the redhead explained. "Elves are beings of light and chlorophyll… it’s not like you… humans…."
He took a step forward, slightly invading Stan’s personal space. Stan remained still, but he had lived with the Elf King practically since he was born— elves tend to live much longer than humans. From their time together and his rank, Stan knew all of Kyle’s quirks.
And this, this level of proximity, was definitely not something he did.
"We don't have those biological imperfections that other humanoids have so frequently."
"Imperfections…" Stan repeated, confused. "Like what? Smelly feet?"
Kyle raised his hand, bringing his index finger to Stan’s jaw, lifting his chin and running a nail along the jawline. The texture was rough, a hint of a beard that, on any other day, the elves would call a "lack of basic hygiene."
"Your skin," he slid his finger to his cheek. "It has pores. So many pores. It’s fascinating how your body expels toxins in such a… primitive way, isn't it?"
"Dude, you're making me uncomfortable," he said, but he didn't pull away. "Why are you analyzing me like I’m a show horse?"
"I’m analyzing your aesthetics." Kyle had no shame. "For a human, you have a good bone structure. Proportional, symmetrical… Even this ridiculous facial fuzz you call a ‘beard’ has a shine that isn't repulsive."
He squeezed Stan’s cheeks hard; Stan’s lips contorted into a slightly (read: very) deformed pout. Kyle wanted to feel the heat, the light sweat emanating from Stan’s skin. The sound of his breathing felt like a war drum.
"Ky," Stan said, muffled. "Shtop ith."
"Shut up, I'm the King," he retorted, but with no authority. "I’m so confused. How can… someone with such… coarse genetics… be so visually pleasing…."
He took another step, forcing Stan to back up until the warrior’s back hit the trunk of an ancient tree. Kyle leaned in, the tips of his pointed ears turning red.
He was so close now that he could see the reflection of his own red face in Stan’s dilated pupils. His hand still squeezed the guard’s cheeks, forcing that ridiculous pout that made Stan look like a fish out of water.
"Open up."
"Wha?"
"Your mouth, Stan! Open your mouth! I need to see your structural integrity." He was impatient, wiping his free hand on his tunic because it was starting to sweat (which was absurd and extremely rare for an elf). "Humans rot so fast, I can’t have a bodyguard whose smile looks like a cob of corn!"
Stan grabbed Kyle’s wrist with a firmness he wouldn't usually use with royalty, freeing himself from that invasive grip.
"Dude, stop it." He was slightly annoyed. "Did you forget I'm a human who lives with elves? I’m clean; I’m not like the filth from Kupa!"
"Kupa Keep is an open-air landfill, Stan, don’t use it as a benchmark!" The high-pitched tone channeled the overwhelming shame he felt when Stan held his wrist, showing that if he weren't a subject, he could probably snap it in half. "And I didn't call you filthy! I'm calling you… perishable! I need to inspect your molars to ensure you won't get an infection in the middle of a royal escort!"
"My molars?" Stan let go of Kyle’s wrist and took a step to the side, but the elf followed him, cornering him against the tree again. "I’m not your slave, you don’t need to worry about my health that much."
"You're my warrior, it’s preventive!" He was so close he could smell the mint—likely from some leaf Stan had been chewing—on the human’s breath. "Humans are… fragile. You break. You mold. I need to be sure you're complete!"
Kyle reached out again, but this time he didn't squeeze. He used his thumb to lightly pull Stan’s lower lip down. It was a quick gesture, almost clinical, if not for the fact that Kyle was holding his breath. "Open your mouth, that’s an order."
Stan rolled his eyes so hard he nearly saw his own brain, but he finally gave in with a defeated sigh. "Ahhh..." He opened his mouth, showing white and surprisingly straight teeth.
The elf completely forgot to look for cavities. He was mesmerized by Stan’s tongue, the curve of the teeth, the moisture...
Gods, I want to bite that, Kyle thought, and the idea scared him so much he almost tripped backward.
"See?" Stan said, closing his mouth and speaking a bit crookedly because Kyle was still holding his jaw. "Everything’s in place. Can I go back to wearing my boots now, or do you want to count how many toes I have too?"
Kyle didn't let go of his lip. Instead, his eyes moved up to Stan’s—that shade of blue that was so… annoying. Why did humans have such vibrant colors? Elves had earthy tones, forest and light. Stan was an explosion of primary colors.
He didn't usually feel this way.
The truth is that desire, in the Kingdom of Larnion, is a very bureaucratic thing. Something that happens once every hundred years to produce new citizens. But there, Kyle felt a fluttering in his stomach he hadn't felt in a long time.
"Your tongue is very pink."
"Seriously, man… tongues are pink. Humans are pink and red inside, just like any other humanoid…"
"No, seriously. Why does your blood pulse so close to the surface?" His tone sounded almost desperate. "Why are you so warm? It’s like your body is wasting caloric energy!"
"Kyle. You’re shaking. That flower made you sick." Stan was losing his annoyance and starting to get worried. "We need to go back. You're acting like… I don't know, like you want to eat me but you're disgusted by it."
"I don't want to eat you!" Kyle turned red immediately. "Sex is an unnecessary and unhygienic exchange of fluids that humanoids invented to pass the time between one war and another!"
"I wasn't talking about sex… My Gods, Kyle. Let go. You're starting to hallucinate."
Kyle squeezed Stan’s shoulder, feeling the muscles under the leather tunic. ‘He is so solid,’ he thought, dazzled. ‘So real. Unlike me, who feels like I'm made of paper and wind.’
"I… I’m not hallucinating." Kyle let go of the human’s face, taking two steps back and adjusting his crown of twigs, which had become slightly crooked. "I’m… just… surprised by your anatomy. You’re like…"
"Like what?" Stan asked, frowning as he massaged his cheeks, which were still red from the pressure of the King’s fingers.
"It doesn't matter!"
The problem was that, now that the realization had sunk in, the silence between them became heavy. The scent of those purple flowers was in his brain, and that scent gave him a primitive urge to forget he was a King and act like an animal.
He wanted to pounce on Stan’s neck.
There was no cleaner way to put it. He wanted to bite, to bury his face there, to ask Stan to pick him up and squeeze his chest muscles….
"My King, let's head back to the castle," Stan insisted.
Kyle stood still, tilting his head slightly. Stan had broad, thick shoulders. The redhead wondered if Stan could throw him over his shoulder and carry him to the castle like he was a prisoner….
He shook his head. 'Why am I thinking this?! I’m an elf! I’m the King!'
"Stan," Kyle sighed. "Put on your boots. Go ahead of me."
"I can't leave the King alone."
"I'm not alone, and I’m ordering you to go first. I have to check something."
Stan was worried about his King, but he eventually obeyed and walked with slow steps, as if wanting to maintain a safe distance.