riots: (Default)
k ([personal profile] riots) wrote2013-12-15 09:58 am

fic advent 2013: day fourteen

for [personal profile] severalstories
kris/kai
pg, 980 words
further continuation of this au



This is not proper behavior for a king, and Zitao likes to let them both know this by sulking by the doorway and scoffing at Jongin’s teaching methods, but Jongin lives for this. “Keep that foot back,” he cautions Yifan, lifting his practice sword once more. “You must present yourself as a smaller target.”

“Yes, sir,” Yifan grins at him, earning another outraged click of Zitao’s tongue. Yifan’s long hair is falling from its tie, but he only spares a second to push it away before he straightens, correcting to Jongin’s instruction. This is Yifan at his most casual, the robes of his station abandoned for the more practical pants and shirt. Perhaps he looks less king like, but Jongin prefers this Yifan. After all, this is his Yifan, is it not?

It has been only a few months since they have married, and Yifan seems to have even less time than before, but it matters less when it’s Jongin’s bed he returns to. It is a funny kind of intimacy, learning to share a bed with someone you are only getting to know, but it gets easier every day. Jongin has learned that Yifan is no more a fan of mornings than he is, and he fusses over his appearance for ages before he leaves their room. He has also learned the warmth of his long body during cold nights, and Yifan’s weakness for handholding. Jongin has never met anybody who can make him feel so physically small, and he relishes it.

And still, between Yifan’s myriad council meetings and diplomatic obligations, he makes time for Jongin and his lessons. It means the world to Jongin. There is not much for him to do here, really. Yifan is the busy one, and while Jongin is required to stand at his side during appearances and never embarrass him, but he spends a great deal of time simply filling his hours. Jongin is many things but sedentary is not one of them. Instead, he and Minseok spend a great deal of time on weapons training. It is good - Jongin likes the physicality of it, the familiarity. It feels useful - like he is accomplishing something.

And sometimes, he can get very close to Yifan, too. “Hands up,” Jongin says. “Ready yourself.”

“I am ready!” Yifan laughs. Jongin would argue that Yifan has never been ready - his stance is messy and he still is not as used to the weight of a sword as he should be - but it is no matter. Yifan will never be a champion swordsman anyway.

“Are you certain?” Jongin asks. Yifan’s hands dip just for a second, his expression exasperated, and Jongin uses the opening, leaping forward. Their swords collide with a noisy clang, and Yifan staggers back a few steps. “You do not look so prepared.”

What Yifan lacks in skill, he makes up in strength. He is not graceful, but he has learned quickly, and he meets Jongin’s blows each time. “You cheat,” Yifan accuses, no heat in his voice.

He lunges towards Jongin, scoring a tap across Jongin’s shoulder before Jongin pushes him back once more. It will bruise, and Jongin feels a surge of pride. Yifan is getting better.

“You say I cheat, and yet you have scored a point,” Jongin says, tipping his head. He slides back out of Yifan’s reach, then twists, landing his own blow across Yifan’s ribs. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Zitao shift uneasily. “I merely surprised you. Look to your own game, your Majesty.” The words are pointed - Jongin knows that Yifan hates it when he calls him by title when they are alone.

Yifan’s lips quirk up in a crooked smile. Jongin is expecting some kind of retaliation but it certainly is not Yifan wrapping one broad hand around his practice sword and jerking him in close. Jongin has been training with weaponry since he was young, and if he wanted, he could pull free. He does not, though. He lets Yifan pull his sword away, and it clatters to the ground, along with Yifan’s. “I thought we were practicing,” Jongin says.

Long fingers press gently against Jongin’s shoulder for a second, checking to make sure there’s no wound, and then Yifan tugs Jongin forward. “Is this not practice?” he asks. Jongin pushes at his shoulders half-heartedly, pressing the heel of his hand gently against Yifan’s solar plexus in the ghost of a defense move. “It feels like practice to me.”

Kissing Yifan is familiar now, but that does not mean that it is any less exciting. Sometimes Jongin thinks about how lucky he is. Not only to have been married to a King, but to have found himself in an arranged marriage with a man he is learning to care for, and someone who cares for him. Yifan knows by now that Jongin loves to be caged in by him, loves it when Yifan cups his face in his hands and kisses him until they are both breathless, and he takes advantage now.

“Your Majesty,” Zitao hisses, scandalized. When Yifan finally pulls away, Zitao is shielding his eyes with one hand. “Must you? Here?”

“Do you want to watch?” Yifan says, and Zitao looks like he might vomit in his mouth.

At Zitao’s side, Minseok snorts. “I think you might want to bathe before your meeting, your Majesty,” he says. Jongin wrinkles his nose at him, and Minseok shrugs an apology. “It is rather soon.”

“Never enough time,” Yifan sighs. He strokes a hand through Jongin’s hair and finally steps away. “You had better keep up with your practice,” he tells Jongin. “Someday, I might win.”

“I doubt it.” His grin is bright when he leaves the room, and Jongin’s matches it. He never thought he could be this happy here.



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