Scrap: Political Affairs
#3 of Scraps!
Spoiled princes. Language play. Hunky russians. Alternate history. Queers. 2340 words.
So, as promised, here's an older thing (circa 2010, based on a somewhat older piece), in lieu of an FA update. Fun one. :3
Prince Étienne dragged his heels behind the bustling stride of his mother. "Ugh, but _Ma_ma..."
"Oh, be quiet and listen to me for once," Reine Ghyslaine barked. The two were speaking in Portuguese, and so were ensured relative privacy despite the fact that they were moving through the very public court antecloisters; while a few of the other members of court would no doubt be able to understand them, most would not. Étienne's bearing didn't exactly defray attention, but as the highest-ranking members of this court, at least a little deference was accorded the two. If there were stares, they were not blatant.
"The Knyaz is by all accounts a proper gentleman, delightful company, the heir apparent to the tsardom, and currently a guest of our house, I'll have you remember. He represents a powerful political confidence, one you'll be dying to have should you end up taking the throne yourself. Making friends like him is simply common sense."
"In the unlikely event that I take the throne."
His mother stopped and glared at him, switching to Castillian Spanish, an even more unusual language in the Court of Versailles, since the war ten years ago. "Don't talk like that. Your brother's alive as of two days ago, but that could change in an instant. And even if it doesn't, you know well enough what he thinks of the crown. You must be prepared for him to abdicate to you; he knows you're better suited for the job!" Exasperated, she returned to Portuguese, and to walking. "Which is why you have to be thinking about alliances and friendships and endorsement!"
"Ugh, but he's such a dumb jock, Mama! All he talks about is hunting and sport! Spending five minutes with him is worse than an hour's lecture on grammatics! Can't you defer him?"
"Even if I could, I won't," the queen snapped. "It's common knowledge that you're not seeking a bride; he has every right, as an eligible suitor, to ask your company, and I every right to grant it."
"But I..."
"I've heard he's a lovely conversationalist," the queen said loudly over him, "and do remember that this is his request, not his parents'. He's shown a genuine interest in you; even if you foolishly decide to stonewall him, you owe him the dignity of your attention." She marched smartly up to the arched entryway to the courtyard and stood behind a pillar. "Now get out there and greet him properly, he's waiting for you."
Étienne groaned and rolled his eyes theatrically, but his mother stood firm, and so he staggered out into the courtyard. Of course, he knocked off the act as soon as he was out of the cloister and took up his normal tripping gait; no matter how he might abhor the idea, it would be poor form to behave that way in front of the russian crown prince.
The courtyard: a shaded, dewy area secluded with willows and artemisia. He often went without shoes in the summer months, and so the wet grass pressed up between his sandy-furred paws, itching a little, but cool and comforting at the same time. His outfit was cream and antique blue, loose and breezy, and moved with him when he walked; informally cut, with just pants and an elbow-length sleeved shirt, it nevertheless looked refined and tasteful.
Knyaz Dmitriy stood out from the few other heads in the courtyard because his was at least its own height farther from the ground than theirs. His fur was long, dark brown where it was visible, except on his head, where it was great white and black stripes running down the sides of his muzzle. He was broad-shouldered and well muscled, wearing dark leather and white linen, his ceremonial sword at his waist. He noticed Étienne shortly, and looked up to him, stance growing still and nervous as the feline approached.
Étienne stopped before him, considered him, and then greeted him in Linguor, the creole language used in all the continental courts. "Your Royal Highness." The title was a mere formality, as they were of the same rank in the french court - Étienne was the second son and Dmitriy the first, but Étienne was in his own domain, here, and Dmitriy was a visitor. They might have properly spoken to each other as equals, but Étienne felt like being formal. He bowed, about half-depth, keeping his eyes upon the badger's face.
Dmitriy met his greeting with the same. "Your Royal Highness." He bowed and swept up Étienne's paw; the feline thought for a moment he might kiss it, like a formal suitor, but the russian merely touched his nose to the back and breathed on it. Étienne couldn't help admiring the gesture; it was forward, but not overbearing. He'd have to remember that one.
"You desired to speak with me?" Étienne asked, politely, but making it clear with his tone that it wasn't his idea of a good time.
Dmitriy noticed, and his stubby ears twitched back, but he visibly steeled himself and persevered. "You will not mind if we speak in german, I trust? Linguor is... ill-suited to this form of conversation."
"Of course," Étienne said, switching languages.
Dmitriy nodded, and turned away, hands behind his back. Étienne stepped up beside him.
"I... suppose you have guessed the nature of my inquiry, by now," the russian male said, uncomfortably.
Étienne tilted his head, curious at the other male's embarrassment. "I'm certain I would be delighted to hear your explanation," he said, ambiguously.
"I... have heard... that you intend to attend the ball this evening, at the consulate. I would be delighted if you would allow me to accompany you, as your companion."
"That ball, to the best of my knowledge, is to be solely in your honour. Surely you might spend it in the company of the young ladies bound to be there, rather than allow yourself a dedicated companion," Étienne said, raising an eyebrow.
"Nevertheless, I would... prefer your company," Dmitriy admitted.
The young mountain lion reluctantly considered the matter; he'd known it would be something like this. But, after all, it was a ball. He did enjoy social events. And he supposed he mustn't be rude, not after his mother had so forcefully directed him...
"Oh, I can't think of a good enough reason why not. So why not?" Étienne said, somewhat resigned, but smiling.
Dmitriy perked up and turned to look at him; he obviously hadn't expected the french prince to capitulate. "I... thank you very much, sir, I shall look forward to the event. I... hope you shall find me an adequate companion," he said, with a small bow.
Yes, I hope that, too,Étienne thought, but Dmitriy's expression was troubled enough that he couldn't bring himself to say it aloud. "I am certain..." he muttered vaguely.
"Your entertainment shall be my first objective," Dmitriy said, bowing with deference. It was a very proper, traditional thing to say. The next bit was not. "Trust... that I am more than willing to make this night... enjoyable... if you should desire it..."
Étienne caught his insinuation only because of the faint blush on his cheeks, and his mouth opened a little in shock. "D-Dmitriy! To say such things to me in court!" A broad grin split his features; he lowered his voice with a conspiratorial glance to the side. "You're hardly as much of a bore as I thought!"
The badger smirked. "Yes, I expect you'll discover that," he said, coyly.
Étienne laughed obligingly, no longer so apprehensive. "Oh, very well. Let it be an event, then!"
"Are you quite ready?" Dmitriy asked softly.
The carriage-ride to the consulate was mostly silent, but not stifling; the lack in conversation had not perturbed either, for reasons neither could isolate. Dmitriy wore a simple, if regal, ensemble of darkest blue silk and gold embroidery, more ethnic in appearance than formal, but not unsuited to the occasion. Étienne had selected his outfit with extreme care; he was mildly more formal in a coat and pants of cream, and shirt and shoes of grey. It was an atraditional but recognised cut of suit, which did well for his small stature and narrow hips. The darker grey ascot at his neck drew attention at a point; he'd considered a cummerbund, but he intended to dance, and it was not out of form for a young man such as him to remove his coat to do so.
"I believe," he said at a moment, "I am."
Dmitriy stepped out first, turned to offer him a hand; Étienne accepted it with inborn grace and a small smile for the badger. As of yet, Dmitriy had done nothing in the least objectionable to his sensibility, had not mentioned so much as a flintlock. Pleased, he had warmed somewhat toward his companion, and did not fail to notice how attractive he was in blue, or the relishing looks the badger threw the crisp lines of his outfit.
"You look stunning," Dmitriy said, as his foot touched the ground. It was the proper moment to say so, and yet Étienne believed it more than a pleasantry.
Inside, it was all introductions and greetings and congratulations. As the honoured guest, Dmitriy had a fair degree of social responsibility (which he might have been shirking somewhat by being unavailable as a companion), but he kept Étienne firmly upon his arm through all of it. Étienne was a gracious companion, and well-liked by most of the members of the court, and both found the experience was not painful or boring in the least.
Still, it was a relief to finally hear the first wavering notes of the violin, the introduction of a few harpsichord twangs. Dmitriy turned to Étienne with a broad smile.
"You would honour me with a dance, my dear."
"But of course!" Étienne laughed, following him onto the floor, already falling into position. Dmitriy was a traditional dancer, one hand clasped, the other on his partner's side, and he lead firmly, which Étienne was unaccustomed to. It was at first a little aggravating; he found it difficult to perform anything flashy or contemporary under such a tight lead. Soon, though, he found that Dmitriy was possessed of extraordinary energy when it came to simple, sharp formal steps. While a less interesting style of dance than he was used to, Étienne could not fairly say, by the third song, that he wasn't enjoying himself.
Upon the first slower song, Étienne drew close out of reflex, and what happened then might have been a dreadful faux-pas had the feline been female, or had Dmitriy failed to make that off-colour comment in court earlier. Even as it was, the badger grew still and pale as he realised what had just occurred, and Étienne looked up at him with a blankly shocked expression.
Their eyes met for a moment, Dmitriy offering apology and embarrassment, Étienne surprise, quickly changing to amusement.
"Goodness, Dmitriy..." he murmured, shifting slightly so that the badger's erection was no longer jabbing him in the stomach. "Your opinion of my dancing ability is... flattering."
Considering it lucky that he was able to retain most of his modesty, Dmitriy chose not to answer, but only to grin a bit under his profound blush.
Étienne, thoughts already several hours in the future, did not hesitate to remain in contact with that firm, thick ridge in Dmitriy's pants; quite the opposite. Their motion was slow but purposeful; they received a few sharp looks from elders who disapproved of the closeness, but with a good frequency of turning, the contact was less than obvious.
Fortunately, the badger had a better rein on himself, by the time they were called to dine. At the table, Étienne was surprised to find himself speaking with Dmitriy quite smittenly; the badger was almost anxiously interested in his fondness for painting, and when pressed confessed a minor interest, and little skill, in sketching wildlife. Étienne knew this probably tied in with his undiscussed love of hunting, but appreciated it nevertheless.
After making pleasant conversation for four courses, Étienne began to feel a sense of pity. "But I have been ungracious in my choice of topics;" he said, "shall we not discuss sport for a time?" He tried to inject a degree of enthusiasm into his voice, and rather failed, but it was the effort that counted, right?
Dmitriy jumped as though he had said something vulgar. "Goodness, no," he protested. "I daresay it would bore you, would it not?"
"Well, perchance it would not fascinate me," the feline admitted, "but surely you have hardly been enjoying all this talk which omits guns and horses."
"To the contrary," Dmitriy said slowly, blinking. He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, swallowed. "I... rather find that I remain fascinated regardless of what you say, so long as you are speaking to me."
Étienne opened his mouth, shut it. Covered the gesture by quickly taking a bite, then chewed slowly, to give himself time to think how to reply.
"You are a tremendous romantic, Dmitriy," he finally managed, and then blushed; the sentence had come out less certain and more taken than he had intended.
Dmitriy smiled a bit. "I would not have expected it of myself, I suppose, so I will not fault you your surprise. Nay, my dear, let us not discuss things that do not interest you. Do not fear that you shall fail to captivate me."
"I'm not_afraid_," Étienne responded with some haughtiness, but he knew there was no point in putting up a fight any longer. Dmitriy had quite successfully seduced him, and his aversion to the badger had nearly disappeared. Dmitriy was charming, made him smile, and gave him a soft, warm, trembling feeling he had felt for only a few other young men in his lifetime. And his mind still lingered on the feeling of Dmitriy's manhood pressed against his abdomen.
He wanted to feel that again. Preferably without the rough scrape of cloth in between them.
Always meant to finish this with a sex scene. Never got around to it. Oh well. Maybe someday. AND THEN THEY HAVE SEX. There. :P