Chapter Text
His collar was too tight.
He’d been dressed in formal wear today, the suffocating fabric of his vest adorned with beads that weighed him down. The intricate patterns that stretched across the hem of the doublet were beautiful, true, but they weren’t him. He hated days like this. The ones where he was awoken by a servant's knock and immediately thrust into a long days schedule.
Breakfast with his parents
Greet the people lined outside the palace gates
Bid the king and queen farewell on their journey to a neighboring kingdom
Select the menu for a charity gala to be held in their absence, hosted by him.
And later that evening, sit for a new portrait to be hung in the desolate halls of his home.
God, he hated the way he looked in those paintings. Even the ones created way back when he was just a child. He was so stiff, so utterly emotionless that he looked every bit the ice prince people called him.
That name, a complete mockery of his true title that he’d heard whispered amongst the servants in the halls. It’s what the people deemed him. Forever frozen, never thawing, never cracking.
“My prince,” he heard Thyme’s familiar voice ahead of him. He zoned back into the present and stopped in his place, the echoing sounds of his boots hitting the marble floor fading away.
“Yes, Thyme?”
“They’re waiting for you in the carriage. You know how impatient the king can be on departure days.”
Ah yes, his father the king. Always ever so eager to flee the very castle and kingdom he reigned over.
“Well then, I suppose we shouldn’t keep him.” He retorted dryly and sped up his pace, meeting guards at the gate who ushered him into the carriage. He sat opposite his parents, who made no move to greet him when he entered.
“You’re late” his fathers stern tone reached his ears.
“The ship can hardly set sail without the king aboard.” He grumbled into his hand, propped up against the carriage door.
“What was that?” The king commanded
“Nothing, father. My apologies.”
They sat in uncomfortable silence as they took to the streets. It was always like this, awkward in a way that made Qin want to fidget with the rings on his hand. But he wouldn’t, that small quirk had been tutored out of him long ago. They just simply had nothing to say to each other. These were practically strangers to him, more the overlords he must answer to than any sort of parental figure.
“I put a lot of faith in you son, leaving you to your own devices on these extended trips. I hope I have not overestimated your readiness.”
“No, your majesty. I won’t disappoint you.”
They opened the windows then, leaning out to wave and smile at all the people lining the streets to bid their beloved king farewell. It was a controlled crowd, no clamoring over each other to get a better look, they simply waved back, bright expressions and excited shouts of greeting and well wishes.
Qin never liked to look outside, always tried his very hardest not to hone in on individuals within the crowd but rather let it be a blur of faces. All the people combine into one in his mind, allowing the intimidation of being outnumbered to fade. But something caught his eye today. A flash of dark blue fabric amongst the yellows and oranges most of the crowd was shrouded in. The figure moved against the crowd, not chasing the carriage but instead trailing quickly back up the hill towards the palace gates.
Qin’s eyes followed the movement. It was a boy, he realised, one with a messy head of light brown hair and arms full. He seemed young, probably the same age he was or maybe younger, and he was smiling. The prince couldn't think what that smile was possibly for. His task seemed arduous and exhausting, clutching white knuckles to the supplies he carried, bumping into excited people who weren't paying attention to their surroundings as he practically hiked uphill against the current. Surely that was nothing to beam over.
Qin watched as a child rushed forward and jossled the boy half into the street causing him to drop what was in his hands. The random child hardly turned back to apologize before running off, but the boy didn’t seem fazed. He did not yell after the child, simply smiled fondly after him as if reminiscing a time he was so young and carefree as he dusted off his bags and hauled them back over his shoulder.
He watched the stranger disappear into the distance and turned back in his seat. Why had his attention been swayed so easily?
Later, after he’d returned to the palace and gone about completing his list of tasks for the day , he sat in his drawing room. The maids had drawn a bath for him, one that was steaming hot with milky white water. There were petals in it, honest to god petals. They’d already laid out his finest garb as well, a white coat with long tails and golden detailing. The waist was a slightly cinched thick band of fabric done up in the front by two dozen tiny buttons. The slacks it paired with were a match, the same creamy white color and fitted to highlight the slender figure of Qin’s legs and accentuate their length.
He went about his routine, lathering himself in vanilla scented lye and scrubbing at every inch of his skin. He washed his hair too. It was getting quite long, he realized, the dark tresses beginning to trail half down his neck and poking down into his eyes when left un-styled. He liked it when his hair grew out this way, relished in the week or two he had before a comment from his father about how unkempt and unprincely he appeared had him cutting it short again. Qin smiled to himself at the thought of being portrayed with such hair in an official painting. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, a silent rebellion just for him.
He zoned out as Thyme came in to dress him, standing stiffly before his mirror and waving off the offer of a last minute trim. Instead it was styled with balm, feathering out at the base of his neck and fluffing slightly around his ears. His sleek heeled boots were laced tightly and his delicate crown was placed atop his head. He was ready.
“This way, my prince.” Thyme directed, leading him through the castle and down a hall opposite the royal residence side. His heels clicked against the marble floors and echoed through the empty halls as he followed, only muffling slightly when they treaded across the carpet. There were more guards stationed along the walls than usual, each one tucking their head and bending at the waist in a half bow as he passed.
They stopped before a doorway with two guards manning it. Thyme gave them a nod and the doors were pushed open.
“His royal highness, the Prince Qin Charat Kongsawadphakdee,” Thyme spoke into the room in a strong voice.
Two figures stood in the center of the room, bowing at a ninety degree angle with their heads tucked. Qin took a moment to survey the room, noting a single settee placed against a wall, a small table beside it with a vase of lilacs placed in its center. Close in front was a large easel and blank canvas propped atop it. In the back corner was what appeared to be an organized mess of supplies. His eyes were drawn back to the bent figures when the doors shut behind him and Thyme spoke again.
“My prince, this is Charan, a royal portraiture.” Qin watched as the older man raised to his full height to reveal a worn face adorned with spectacles. He was short but with a strong frame, and he was wearing an apron. The man beside him rose too and the prince was stopped in his tracks when he saw his face.
The boy was nervous, that much he could tell. Qin could tell he was fidgeting behind his back by the way his arms shifted at his sides, and he was biting at his lip. His hair was a lighter shade of brown, brushed back but somewhat tousled as if he’d just been combing his fingers through it. His eyes were sharp and sparkling, his cheeks flushed and his lips parted. He was beautiful.
“And who is this?” Qin asked, lifting a finger to point lazily at the tall stranger.
“My apprentice, your highness. I was told it would be acceptable to bring him-”
“Yes, yes. That’s fine. Where do you want me?”
Charan scrambled to reply, Qin’s upright demeanor coming off as intimidating even to someone several decades his senior.
“Just here, your highness.” He held his arms out and pointedly directed Qin towards the settee.
“I was asked to capture you in a soft and pleasing manner. This will after all be the first your potential matches see of you.”
“Excuse me?” Qin questioned. “What do you mean ‘potential matches’.”
“Yes, my prince. This portrait will be duplicated a few times over and sent to the eligible ladies your father is considering betrothing you to.” Thyme cut in, rushing to explain before hustling towards the door and knocking twice.
“I leave the prince in your hands, Charan.” And he disappeared down the hall.
Qin, ever the stoic prince, kept his shocked and furious reaction trapped behind an aloof expression. This was just like his father, to hide his true intentions behind unassuming plans, and to ensure he would be far away when they came to fruition so that Qin had no one to bring his gripes to.
Betrothal. He didn’t want to be betrothed, not yet anyway. He understood that it was a part of his role in the kingdom, to secure some sort of advantageous match and further the family line. He was an only child after all, he carried the weight of their dynasty on his shoulders as he was so often reminded. What he didn’t understand was why he was lied to about this, why he wasn’t included in the decision making. He’d never protested when it was brought up casually before, never given his mother and father any reason to believe he’d fight them on this. But as per usual, he was treated as an outsider. Like he wasn’t a part of this family at all but rather some shapeless entity that haunted the palace halls with no feeling and no opinion.
He set himself on the settee, his expression blank and back ramrod straight. He felt awkward as the room went silent, Charan setting up his canvas and sitting down on the stool, his apprentice wandering off to mess about in the corner.
Once they were settled the painter turned to look upon Qin’s rigid frame. He exhaled and sent a fond smile towards the young boy playing at manhood before him.
“My prince, you must relax. Let your wardrobe tell the story of regality, I’d like to capture you as you truly are. You want to make a good first impression, right?” his tone was coaxing, and Qin could tell the man was attempting to loosen him up. “Why don’t you try to move around a bit, see what position is most comfortable. You’ll be stuck in it for quite some time.”
Qin hummed, shifted back a bit until his body touched the backrest and crossed his legs, placing his hands atop one knee. He straightened his spine and stilled, raising a single eyebrow in question.
‘Better?’ it asked.
“My prince, if you don’t mind, perhaps I could have my apprentice assist? He’s very good, studying at the royal school of art. Anatomy is one of his favored subjects. Duang, if you could…” Charan gestured vaguely in Qin’s direction.
The boy stepped back into the light and towards the prince. He knelt before him and lifted a hand.
“My apologies, your highness.”
When the boy's hand touched his arm Qin couldn’t restrain the slight flinch he gave in reaction. His hand was so warm and sparks shot down the limb in his hold until his fingers were tingling.
Duang. That was his name.
Duang looked up to meet the prince’s eye for the first time and he smiled.
Qin recognized that smile, it was the one that had so adamantly caught his attention amid a sea of people just this morning. He froze as Duang’s hand slid down his arm to reposition it, propping his elbow on the arm of the settee and folding it so his wrist lay lax over its edge.
“Lean back and uncross your legs, please” Duang spoke low, practically whispering in Qin’s ear. He did as the boy asked, allowing his ever so perfect posture to falter and lounging back.
Qin was struggling to control his breathing now. No one had ever touched him so casually, not even his parents. He was used to the professional and task driven touch of his dresser, the calculated affection before crowds from his parents. The warm, carefree yet careful way Duang touched him was foreign and it was throwing him off.
“Much better. Thank you, Duang.” Charan spoke and Duang backed off to hover over the older man's shoulder.
Qin’s eyes followed him. He found himself curious about the boy in ways he’d never been about anyone. His opportunities to socialize with those in his own age group were few and far between, typically limited to large social gatherings that required every etiquette rule be strictly adhered to. But here and now, he had some sort of high ground. It was just the three of them, and there was no one here to correct his form, really.
He observed Duang where he stood, the long loose sleeves of his blouse emerging from the shoulders of a navy blue waistcoat, the slightly too large slacks presumably held up by a belt beneath it. There was a button missing, he realized. He’d never paid enough attention to anyone to notice their buttons.
They remained here for hours, the candles that lit the room melting away as the time passed. Duang had been sent to request refreshment from the servants twice. Charan kept the boy busy, swapping out his brushes and cleaning the ones used between, adjusting and replacing candles as the lighting shifted and altered the shadows encompassing him. Qin’s body felt stiff, and no matter how much he didn’t want to return to his rooms, he was growing tired.
“I believe I should like to retire now, if that’s alright.” He spoke, lifting himself to sit up and rolling his shoulders.
“Yes, of course my prince. I shouldn’t like to tire you too much on the first day.” Charan spoke hastily, moving quickly to drop his brush into the glass at his side and stand. Qin stood too, shaking out his numb arms and twisting at his hips to release the tension in his spine.
“My deepest appreciation for your work today, Ser. I shall meet you here again tomorrow to continue.” Qin spoke, casting one last glance at the boy called Duang before striding to the door.
He met Thyme outside of them and was escorted back to his rooms where they went about the task of undressing him. He requested another bath, feeling stuffy from the hours spent in the small room surrounded by the heat of candle fire. He lazed in the bath until the water went tepid.
His mind was a mess, filled only with thoughts of the boy he’d met today. Duang, a painter’s apprentice, a student at the royal college, a commoner. Qin never thought of himself as ‘above’ anyone, but he was aware of their difference in station. Of how strange it was that someone with so little to do with his life had stolen his attention like this. It wasn’t just curiosity, though that was a large part of it, he simply felt drawn to him. It was as if he was the sun, and Qin; Icarus. Everyone knew how that story ended. Qin tried to focus his thoughts elsewhere, he thought about the idea of betrothal that had been gracelessly thrust upon him today. It was maddening, to feel so unimportant, not even worth a simple conversation, but to still be held to this standard of perfection. And then, on top of it all, to be expected not to react. To be forced into a position where he could do nothing but swallow the fury and sit still, poised and perfect like always.
The more he thought of it the more his rage grew. His heart was racing with it, the indignity and disrespect. This was a decision that would change his life forever, and he didn’t even deserve so much as a warning. God, and the painting. That stupid painting he already knew would have him displayed like a peacock in a cage, some fucked up false sense of lazy relaxation that completely contradicted his true feelings permanently recorded and copied and sent all over the kingdom to present himself like a horse for auction.
He needed to see it, he realized. He’d never taken a moment to check its progress before he retired for the night. He exited the bath and dried himself quickly, wrapping himself in a thick dressing robe and cinching the belt tightly before pushing out of his rooms and into the open hall. It was night now, the guards would be scarce, especially on the far side of the palace. Besides, he was the prince, anyone who dared to question him would be reaching far above their station.
“Shall I escort you, my prince?” Asked the guard as the doors were pulled shut behind him.
“No need. I can’t find sleep. A walk around the palace should help, I believe.” He left it at that.
He can’t remember the last time he walked these halls bare foot. It was kind of nice, the cool flooring grounding him as he strolled briskly down them. He realized as he neared the familiar set of doors that he really should’ve taken a moment to dress before he left his rooms. He was completely bare beneath the robe, even his hair was still wet. The uproar that would be triggered by his falling ill was too much to consider now.
Qin shook off the thought and pressed the doors open, slipping inside and closing them carefully behind himself. He turned and stepped further into the room, where the canvas still sat drying. He stopped before it and stared. It was definitely incomplete, just the basis of his posture and a general outline of the backdrop. His face seemed to be where Charan had focused his energy today. His expression was bright, his eyebrows relaxed and lips turned slightly up. It was a face he’d never seen reflecting back at him when he looked in the mirror, and staring at it now made him furious.
It was like staring at a version of himself that could exist, but didn’t. In another life he might be allowed that peace, he might have that gleam in his eye. But in this life, it would only exist here, on canvas. On a piece of artwork that wasn't even meant for him. Nothing was ever for him.
In a misguided moment of unrestrained fury, he reached for the abandoned glass of mud colored water that sat on the ground before the canvas and lifted it. He poised to strike, to toss the water onto the canvas and rid himself of the sight, but a voice behind him gave him pause and he startled, dropping the glass onto the carpet at his feet.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, my prince.”
He hadn’t noticed him, this whole time he didn’t even glance into that shaded corner Duang stepped out from.
“What are you doing here?” Qin asked, clutching tightly at the edges of his robe.
“Cleaning. Always cleaning.” Duang responded, stepping closer. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see the painting.” Qin couldn’t meet his eye.
“You came to ruin the painting, you mean.”
“That’s a very audacious accusation, coming from an apprentice.” The prince was breathless, taking small steps back as Duang continued to step forward.
“You’re very underdressed for a prince.” Duang shot back. His voice was like gravel crunching beneath his feet, all rough and low.
Qin inhaled sharply, suddenly feeling bare before this boy's burning gaze. Gone was the polite and professional manner of a painter’s apprentice, he was all fiery flirtation and presumption now. Qin’s back hit the wall, his hand coming up to rest on Duang’s chest as if to push him away, but he didn’t.
“What are you doing?” He asked, breathless. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“I saw you watching me, when you thought I wouldn’t notice.” He whispered. “If there’s something you want, you need only ask, my prince.”
He saw him. He noticed him.
“You forget yourself.” Qin tried to hold on to his stoic persona, wielding his station like a shield.
“I do not. I am but a humble servant of the crown. Ask what you will of me, I am eager to please, your highness.”
For just a moment, the world around him stilled and went quiet. There was nothing but this boy and the way he made him feel. He felt alive, felt real. Duang was looking at him, he had been since they’d first been introduced, and he was seeing someone worth effort. He was willing and eager to carve through the princely facade to the person underneath, and to admire him. To touch him.
He didn’t think, just raised himself onto the pads of his feet and pressed his lips to Duang’s. Just for a second, just to know what it was like to kiss someone because he wanted to and for no other reason. It might be his only chance. Duang’s lips were soft and slightly moist from the way he’d licked them just before they collided. Their lips slotted together in a drawn out kiss and Qin tried to deepen it but Duang pulled back.
He was breathing hard too now, his arms bracketing Qin’s head and palms pressed flat against the wall behind him.
“You have to say it, my prince.” He insisted.
“Qin. Just Qin, please.”
Duang grinned down at him, his eyes tracing across the prince’s listless expression. He licked his lips again.
“Alright, Qin. What do you want?”
Something about the way his name sounded on the boy’s lips was a nail in his coffin. He was doing this. Propriety be damned, his station be damned, his parents be damned. He wanted this, wanted him, and it was right in his reach laid out on a silver platter. When would he ever get the chance again?
“Kiss me.” He breathed out, and moments later Duang’s mouth came crashing down on his. The collision was so hard it forced his head back and he would've bumped it hard on the wall if it weren't for the hand that cupped the back of his head now. Duang’s long fingers played with the hair at the back of his neck and Qin gasped as his tongue came out to lick across the seal of his own.
He’d never kissed anyone before, never so much as held hands with anyone since he was a child. This was so much, so fast. But he needed it more than he’d ever needed anything. More than the air his lungs were screaming for now.
He opened his mouth at Duang’s insistence, taking the opportunity to suck in a much needed breath before Duang’s tongue plunged inside. He licked the inside of his mouth, his tongue tangling with Qin’s own as he tasted him and Qin moaned against him. He tried his best to keep up, to lick back and run his own tongue over Duang’s teeth, but the apprentice wouldn’t allow it. He dominated the kiss, never letting up and only allowing small moments to come up for air. Qin was dizzy, from lack of oxygen, yes, but also the insanely overwhelming feeling of being so desired.
Duang wanted him, he could feel it with every nibble on his lip, every slide of Duang's hand further and further down his back.
Duang’s kisses grew off center, his lips began trailing across Qin’s jaw and down his neck, sucking and biting lightly as he went. Qin bit his lip to stop an escaping whimper, his own hand gripping hard at Duang’s shoulder.
“Please”. He quietly moaned, though he didn’t know what he was begging for.
“Please what, Qin?” Duang’s voice grumbled into his skin.
“Touch me.”
“I am touching you”
“More. please, more. Touch me, feel me, see m- ah!” Qin’s breathy begging was cut off when Duang gripped one thigh and hoisted it over his hip, pressing his leg into the most sensitive part of Qin. There was hardly anything separating them, just the robe that was quickly becoming undone and the thin fabric of Duang’s trousers.
Qin ground his hips down and moaned loudly, Duang taking his lips again to quiet him. They parted but held their mouths open, lips still touching as they both breathed heavily.
“No one’s ever kissed me before, Duang.” Qin whispered it like a secret.
“That’s a shame.” Duang whispered back against his lips, eyes locked on his and hand slipping around to cup his cheek. “You deserve to be kissed until you’re breathless. Touched until you fall apart. No one has ever given you what you need, what I can see you’re so desperate for.”
Duang squeezed him and hiked his leg up higher, changing the angle and slotting their hips just so. Qin felt the hard length of him there and gasped, his waist twitching to seek out friction.
“I can give you what you need.” Duang said, and it was soft. Genuine, like he understood how much this meant to Qin. The prince had never felt so bare, but here in the dim candle light, Duang had stripped away every layer of him, he’d seen the touch-starved boy beneath it all, and he’d kissed away the emptiness.
Qin said nothing. He feared that if he did, his voice would crack and he’d become another puddle on the floor. He didn’t want this to be over, so he just nodded. He stared into the eyes of someone who had known him a day, and already seemed to understand him better than anyone else, and he told him yes.