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Chapter Text

Visitors came in floods and waves to Oikawa's coronation, both in carriages or on foot to witness the only king they may see in their lifetime. It seemed to require a great deal of standing and waving, then bowing to the nobles deeply enough they would find him amicable, but not so deeply as to lower himself. Royalty, he had found in life, was much like a particularly difficult game of chess at the wrong end of a sword; dire consequences for every wrong move.

Had he not been accustomed to being on his feet he would be sore, but long council meetings had taught him over the years of learning to become his father's successor that he was a pacer, dawdling round the long oval table to see which councilmen pulled facts from the thin air surrounding their heads, or which numbers had no sense of reality attached to them.

It still made him a weary man at the end of the day - the chefs from the distant mountains would not work without praise, needing his personal input of which apricot tart was the perfect sweetness, where his gardeners had taken his boyish interest in the gardens to mean that he wished to have a hand in each shade of rose cultivated for his sister's bouquet at his coronation. It helped little when he escaped their well-meaning clutches to the sharp eyes of his council who found his activities frivolous, and seemed to feel entitled to his every inch of contested attention.

If nothing else, he wished to be king for a hope of settling into normalcy and an era of carefully crafted peace he intended to maintain with every ounce of energy he could find. Each interaction felt carefully tailored to contain the exact right amount of joy, awe, and terror - a prince, after all, could not become a king without a hint of terror in his gait. It had felt difficult as a child, but in his young adulthood it seemed to come far more naturally.

"So good to see you," he smiled, the almost delicate golden chain at the collar of his heavy red winter cloak tapping softly against the shining edges of his cravat pin, the folds of it intricate and almost dizzying. Its pale off-cream colour seemed to bring colour to his face, drawing away from the lack of sun winter always brought to his northern lands. "A pleasure to have you here. In years to come, I should hope to see you at the anniversary of my inauguration."

A foreign noble smiled back to him, her nails softly digging in to the skin of his hand where she clasped it until she let go and brought it to her mouth to press a kiss to his knuckles, the shine from her lips leaving a small smudge on his signet ring. He'd have many more before the day ended, and no use for cleaning it before its due time.

"Ah, a fine man I hoped to see," he smiled as the next entered his castle, the servants harried and rushed in the late afternoon when most arrived.

"Yes," the man smiled back, bending slightly at the knee in respect. "Just one more day before I might call you my liege."

One more day, Oikawa thought. One long day of gifts and favours, and he would be done with it.

His coronation seemed to start from the break of dawn, his valet waking him at a seemingly ungodly hour to place him in a hot drawn bath, his soaps scented with lavender and thyme, scrubbed over his body with his harsh cloths by more hands than he could keep track of. Most days he refused the service of too many aides, but there was no avoiding it when perfection was required from him. Oikawa seemed to go through the steps almost entirely asleep, his hair brushed neatly back and his cool linen shirts perfected with last-minute touches from his best tailor.

New boots and fervently polished jewellery seemed to complete him after his cloak fell around his shoulders; the only thing lacking was the circlet he'd worn as prince, its precious gold and the rich inlaid emeralds not heavy but still a noticeable difference when he stood and held his head high. The crown awaiting him was much heavier, inlaid with rubies, pearls and onyx; his ancestors centuries down the line had crafted it painstakingly, and the care and detail had paid off in its survival. It would weigh on him, but it was an unmissable thing to the eyes of naysayers.

"Enough, thank you," he brushed away an aide straightening the edge of his cloak for the umpteenth time, settling it comfortably by shrugging his shoulders a few times. At least his clothing was comfortable; the more plain black breeches has made his tailors bristle until he'd suggested gold thread along the seams. They clung to him as only care, time, and detail could cause. For a while, he focused on it instead of the impending force behind the double doors from the royal wing of his castle, the increasing cacophony of noise as he neared them. For hours he would be presented with gifts, his father in a more distant throne, overlooking the ceremony from a separated distance.

When he entered, the room stilled, then cheered, the lighter morning drinks set aside for applause, then risen by his rowdier knights and soldiers who attended.

Their familiar faces seemed to lend him some tranquillity; their faith in him had been made clear during his practice of swordplay, their willingness to tease and truly fight him lending a distinct sense of camaraderie though even they would not settle to use his name for fear of impropriety towards their prince. They outclassed him by far when it came to swords and battle, but he needed only enough to defend himself if the worst were to happen.

Raising a hand to them, he ascended the dais, his father's throne waiting for him to claim it instead and to make his mark in it that his father might retire to the outer chalets for at least a while to allow him to find his feet as a ruler. As he sat, it felt slightly too large, but not unnatural. He'd been sitting in it intermittently since childhood, and knew the view well. In front of him a line started to form of well-wishers, each carrying a gift. Some brought only small trinkets; a small bottle of wine or a hand-carved trinket from wood, but they were appreciated all the same in their sentiment.

The occasional noble, their servants by their side seemed to bring more expensive gifts but their praise was more dubious; he scrutinized each to measure his response, letting his guard take gifts from those more venomous.

"My thanks," he smiled to a farmer in the area for trading, come to see their new king crowned to bring word back to his village and his children and regale them with no doubt harmlessly exaggerated tales. He seemed slightly awestruck in the presence of riches, but soothed by his smile. The people's love was what kept a ruler living after all. After a bow, he left to let the nobles behind him approach the throne; a small group, yet richly dressed. From the forests, if Oikawa was pressed to guess, but he rarely guessed out loud.

"Your attendance is much appreciated," Oikawa smiled to them, their names announced by the man accompanying them. They bowed as one. The man at the front seemed to stand out most; he was less tall than the others and had brighter colours on; someone used to being within the limelight. Oikawa pinned him as the noble of the bunch as he glanced over the group. His company was a tall woman with a severe face, softened by the feathered cut of her hair and the two smoothly furred feline ears not quite hidden in her straight hair. The man with him was even taller, broad and seemingly physically fit. His short brown hair and relatively plain face made him easier to overlook, but the calmness surrounding him seemed to still keep a gaze once it had been caught. If he were to judge, Oikawa would take him as related to the woman; he laid claim to two similarly furred ears, casually folded back to draw as little attention as possible. Where the woman's full skirts hid her tail, this man's hung passively along his leg, barely visible where his legs were slightly apart.

He was unsmiling, which was the oddest thing. So far, each of his guests had been as bright as was humanly possible.

"We are honoured to be here," the noble bowed to him again, his companions following suit. A not-quite-prince, but important nonetheless if he was the delegate sent. They were a private country and kept their inner workings tightly under wraps. He motioned to the woman, catching her hand in his as she seemed to instinctively raise it. "This is my concubine and lover."

The word seemed to shock the crowd, though they masked it in polite murmuring, the increased volume of it making the group in front of him tense almost imperceptibly. Their backs faced the room; only a slight grimace gave them away.

"We bring you a gift," the not-quite-prince told him, his other hand raising to gesture towards Oikawa. The other man started to walk forward, stopping short of the guards and their fingers inching towards swords. With a smooth gesture he knelt on one knee, his head bent and one hand splayed before him for balance. "A most illustrious concubine from one of our most noble lines."

The chatter seemed to become white noise; all melding together as his mind tried to drown out the man's voice. He didn't want a slave.

"He is both well-read and well-educated, enough so to rival half the politicians in our courts!" A faint laughter rose from the court at his obvious joke. Oikawa's eyes were fixed on the hint of pink of the soft inner skin of the ears he could now see up close. He could not reject a gift offered so proudly; he could not recall any other prince (no, king, he thought) being offered such an honour. Tearing his eyes away, he put on his most diplomatic smile and stood from his throne.

"Your generosity is boundless," he praised them, extending a hand to his... concubine felt so cruel to say, the implications of its lack of choice racing through his thoughts. He would offer the best life he could manage, but he mourned his free time, when he would take his rest - with the eyes of a concubine on him, he would have to perform his cheer and energetic demeanour for much longer into the night. "I thank you for your most kind gift."

Rising beside him, Oikawa looked this man in the eye who would likely never be free from him again, and heard a name put to the face - Ushijima Wakatoshi.

God help him.

Chapter Text

In fashion true to tradition, the kingdom allowed Oikawa three days to let his crown settle, his councilmen comfortable enough in their roles to let him go with only minimal protest. The inner guard standing proud in a deep, royal red by the doors to his wing of the castle knew their roles in stopping enquiries from coming through; the captain of his guard was suspiciously adept at picking out scheming nobles. When his minister of war finally retired, Oikawa had an eye on the captain already.

As much as the days had been touted as holiday by his family and court, the work would do little to stop. His private office had seen letters and reports increase in stacks as he'd sat in his throne all day, the long-awaited issues his father had never had the time for being pushed to attention by men eager to curry favour and find results from their new king.

Out of energy already despite the late morning and many hours of sleep, Oikawa sat in his sleeping robe at his desk, the robe again a red - his tailors seemed to have a preference for the colour on him. He couldn't recall his parents being dressed in so much, but it bothered him little. Barefoot and uncombed he curled sideways in his overstuffed office chair, its dark wood armrests quickly hidden by the reports splayed haphazardly across his thighs when he ran out of space on the dark wooden desk.

Numbers upon numbers upon numbers for reports on taxes, levies, expenditures and more - he couldn't start to think of a plan or a seam to rip open.

"Previous years," Ushijima told him, his hand seeming to appear over Oikawa's shoulder to drag his index finger down a page to Oikawa's left. It held details of the past five years, its expenditures and increases, the way it seemed to be fairly steady. His mind seemed caught between following the thread of looking at other years to start a plan, and remembering Ushijima was present.

Despite his size he still seemed quiet - when he had helped Oikawa, only a tad tipsy but exhausted, to his rooms the evening before, Oikawa had assumed he would seek a guest room with one of the servants. Unlikely, his sober mind told him now. Why would a concubine sleep elsewhere? It made little sense.

"Thank you," he said, glancing at the paper. The loose tail of his dressing robe caught his eye, his face flushing slightly. He rarely appeared before anyone looking less than perfect - no one but those who perfected him, really. Gathering the papers as neatly as he could, he set them aside and stood, the stone floor cold on his feet where he missed the woven rug. He tried to brush it off with a small laugh as Ushijima looked him askance. "I'll just dress. What must you think of me!"

Ushijima's ears tilted slightly to the side, betraying curiosity where his face remained impartial. As they caught his eye, Oikawa was fascinated all over again: they seemed soft and large, but he struggled to process them as real. They seemed unfathomable in their oddity, even as they moved to stand straighter; alert and ready as Ushijima watched him and seemed to try to make sense of his actions.

"What for?" he asked, reaching forward to hold at Oikawa's shoulder. Few people touched him so easily; he shivered slightly. "You've no meetings for the rest of this week. Unless you wish to leave... but you seemed to have no intention of it when you spoke of it last night."

He seemed to frown slightly on the end, and there was truly no good answer to that that didn't seem to demean Ushijima's presence to simply a member of court when his position in its nature was much more intimate. He couldn't agree with their situation regardless; books based partially on fantasy and part in reality had made him weary of the forced servitude a concubine brought with it.

"I suppose you're right," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. A small pin caught at his fingers until Ushijima reached out and pulled it away. His touch was so bold in the presence of a king; he couldn't determine if it was simply his personality, or a calculated show of seduction. "Taxes and clothing seem equally dreadful."

He sat again, hesitating a second before curling up again, his body angled towards the extra chair Ushijima had silently placed next to him. Before long he was lost in the paperwork, Ushijima's precise and logic methodology of sorting through the work and offering solutions of the obvious and the factual making sense of the mess. His theory and knowledge were impeccable; he would have been a force to recon with in politics.

When the servants rang for an early supper, he gathered his papers up again, the hours gone to epiphanies and plans, the concrete steps before him doing much to soothe his worries for the fiscal meetings awaiting him in only a few weeks.

"You know so much," he offered in praise, picking at the roasted lamb's shoulder on his plate, the sautéed vegetables beckoning him from under the thick gravy. He almost laughed at the speed with which Ushijima's lamb disappeared, the enjoyment plain in the way his tail curled and swayed comfortably, occasionally brushing softly past Oikawa's knee.

"It's only to be expected of me," Ushijima told him, pushing his asparagus around in an attempt to avoid it. It seemed almost endearing. "As concubines, it's only expected we will someday provide companionship to the elite. My noble line has been part of this for centuries - we are able to match any man pace for pace in politics, mathematics, the arts - anything. I have never failed a test from my tutors. I am equal in education and skill to any man in your castle."

A hint of pride crept onto his face, his ambitions and intelligence clear. It seemed a waste to keep him where he might not make use of his knowledge.

"That's impressive - I can't say the same," Oikawa laughed, eyeing his lamb. There was a lot of it; he considered offering it to Ushijima, weighing the implications of offering food he had already cut pieces from. It would seem rude, but far less intimate than what his court expected him to be doing. "If you wish to pursue something, you must let me know."

Nodding, Ushijima eyed the meat Oikawa finally offered, thanking him quietly before taking it.

"I find your presence and library sufficient at the moment," he said eventually, their plates polished and more papers appearing from his desk drawers. He'd be working until late in the night, but it was hardly anything new. Glancing to the side, he decided to go against the expectations of common courtesy.

"If you should like your own rooms to enjoy my library in-" he started, cut off by a shake of Ushijima's head.

"I find your quarters sufficient also," he said, his eyes almost piercing when he caught Oikawa's to lock their gazes together; conveying his honesty perhaps? Shaken by the firmness of his reassurance, Oikawa forced his gaze away and nodded.

"I'm certain my bed is large enough that we may take opposite sides, then," Oikawa turned from the topic, shying away from the implications of the bed they'd be sharing.

Chapter Text

His resting period seemed to last only seconds; gone like the candles by his bed melted down to a hardened puddle of wax, only distantly harkening back to their beginnings. His workload seemed only to slim rather than lighten in those three days, his tired mind refusing to grasp the concepts before him until he read it the seventh time over.

Sleep had been a hard thing to come by, his bed far smaller than he had ever imagined. Where it had always seemed spacious, even his long limbs not reaching the edges despite his tossing, turning and sprawling, it seemed his every move would brush a hand past Ushijima's hot skin; as he dozed lightly his fingers would tangle in soft fur of a tail venturing too close to his part of their shared territory.

No matter how far he moved himself to the edge of his bed, bumping his hands on his bed side table when he woke, he would always awake at some point in the dark night far on the other side, backs pressed together and legs tangled. It made for dreamless sleep when he could find it, but little sleep in general.

"Your first day as king," his aide remarked as he stood, his robe slung carelessly over the back of a chair and the faint growth of three days hidden in his chambers with nary a mirror or a razor having taken their toll on even his normally smooth face. Behind a partition, servants murmured to themselves over the odd tailoring of Ushijima's clothing; tight but richly embroidered, meant to accentuate the eroticism of his body and entice the eye; it was an outfit meant to inspire envy of the man who took Ushijima to his bed every day.

It tangled feelings in Oikawa's gut between arousal and a longing for unlaced shirts and conversation with no interference but the setting sun.

"Yes," he raised his arms to allow his belts to be settled comfortably, the worn leather sword belt sitting on his hips in a way only years of wear could facilitate. Its familiar weight soothed the growing knot in his stomach, his breakfast laying untouched.

Leaving him dressed and perfected, his aides bowed and took their leave; he would rather have had them insist he leave right that moment to start holding court with the populace seeking his advice for the morning hours, as was their tradition. That which could not be settled by gaolers and mediators would be brought before the king; it was, after all, rumour their line was chosen by God. What better judgement than the divine?

"I shouldn't feel so anxious," he ran his hands over his face, feeling his eyelashes on his palms and wanting to keep his hands firmly where they were. Foreign hands wrapped around his wrists and tugged them away; it was not gentle, entirely, but neither harsh. It was simply something that happened and he would have to face.

"Anxiety is a preparation of the body to face a task," Ushijima told him, the unsettling eyecontact returning. "This energy is better used in other ways than here."

A dictionary definition wasn't what he had expected; he almost laughed, but the levity helped. Taking a breath, then sighing, he righted his shoulders and passed his guards to the smaller court hall, taking his seat on the smaller, slightly less comfortable throne there.

"Begin!" he called, the guards having looked to him since he'd entered. On his command, they pulled open the heavy double doors to let the crowds flow in, the numbers they'd received the previous evening eliminating a need for queues and pushing and pulling. An administrator called for the first number, three men coming from the crowd to stand before him. This was something he could do - had done, in fact, many times before as prince.

Settling more comfortably, he let court flow through.

When he was done, he felt like he could sleep for the rest of his day - despite it only being three days, his time off had spoiled him in its privacy; he longed for the warmth of his study, the familiarly worn books around him and the ability to speak freely and doubt himself, Ushijima's helpful tips at his side.

In court, he could not interject so easily; a king interrupted was a bad sight for a country to see. He was grateful he wouldn't have to remind Ushijima of that, but it was hardly a surprise. Next he faced lunch, then council meetings. He settled comfortably in a corner of the light blue tea room, food quickly before him with plates stacked with his favourites. Halfway through a toasted teacake, he frowned, their topic of conversation forgotten.

"Is it normally expected that... persons of your profession are to sit in on court and meetings?" he asked, doubting that most concubines found plans for winter emergency supplies highly fascinating. He had just assumed when Ushijima had followed him, but his own reluctance was likely shared. Across from him, Ushijima shrugged.

"It varies by preference," Ushijima said, his hands cupping one of their largest teacups for the warmth it brought to him. "I find it interesting."

"I think my council would find you more pleasant than I, then," he laughed, momentarily forgetting his mouth and their place in the casual conversation he had come to enjoy with Ushijima. "I find it barely tolerable."

It was an exaggeration, but it brought a quirk to Ushijima's mouth at least.

"I am certain that even were we to plan every meeting on paper beforehand, you would not save any time," Ushijima's tongue peeked out to lick the tea from his upper lip; it seemed soft and pink.

"True," Oikawa sighed. "Very true."

He proved not to be wrong when it became late evening before they could retire. Oikawa fell backwards onto their bed, his arms splayed wide, the fingers of his right hand brushing the intricately carved headboard.

"What I wouldn't give to continue hiding in this room as we have these past few days," he closed his eyes, the faint sound of fabric rustling giving Ushijima's presence away as he divested himself of waistcoat and jacket.

"You find it so enjoyable?" Ushijima asked him, his voice holding a faint tinge of... hope? Could it be hope? It seemed a strange emotion to ascribe to the question, but it seemed almost certain. Had he not thought Oikawa was enjoying their time together?

"Very much," Oikawa said, unable to help the smile. He'd hidden little of himself in their time together, his efforts falling forgotten to Ushijima's lack of judgement by their first evening together.

"That's pleasant to hear," Ushijima told him, making the bed dip as he sat down a few inches away. "I had thought your people unaware of a concubine's role."

The bed seemed to shift slightly when Ushijima leaned forward, his hand pressing into the bed to take the weight of him as he leaned forward.

His lips were soft where they brushed over Oikawa's; he smelled of fresh cut grass and linen, a faint sense of mint underneath it. His tongue was as soft as it looked when Oikawa gasped, opened his mouth to protest; it plundered and explored him, drawing back to nip at his lower lip and leave him flushed, his breathing coming heavier. He lay there in silence for a moment, searching for reasoning, for motive in Ushijima's eyes.

"If I had not before, I would now," he said quietly, his fingers twitching where his arms still lay splayed; he felt vulnerable.

"I'm glad," Ushijima shed his belts, the heavy boots replaced by soft indoors slippers. No more came from him despite the way Oikawa burned. He touched his fingers to his lips, looking at them after to see if they seemed different, but they appeared entirely the same.

"Tomorrow I need to travel to the harbour for a ship's christening," Oikawa wagered, Ushijima's smooth hum continuing the conversation.

As he curled into bed that evening, back to Ushijima as always, his heart still burned. Any more of those kisses, and he would struggle to sleep at all.

Chapter Text

After he was kissed, he expected them at every turn and found none. Over dinner, if a smudge of jam from a sweet dessert tart were to stick to the corner of his mouth, it was politely wiped away with a slicked thumb; if he unsuspectingly turned and found Ushijima in close proximity, he did not step back, but neither did he make any particular advances on Oikawa.

It was... confusing; he wouldn't like to put the word disappointing to the sensation when he should not hope that Ushijima would force himself to feel an affection after trialling their relations together and finding them wanting.

It was not until two weeks later that he found himself in a rare period of being alone. As alone as he could be, at least, when the shifting of chainmail and quiet conversation reminded him always that his guards were a few steps behind him, ready to defend him at a moment's notice from dissidents and naysayers.

"...too young.." floated to him from the inner ballroom when he returned from seeking his Minister of Internal Affairs; it was odd for more reasons than one, but mostly because the room would be darkened and cold in the season when they had little reason for festivities. The upper walkways, often used as balconies by those who preferred to overlook rather than dance, were shaded from the ballroom by lush curtains drawn closed. He frowned to himself, stopping to twitch at the curtains and try to catch a glimpse of the speaker.

It wasn't quite subterfuge to listen in, falling more under survival instinct, and Ushijima would await him in his rooms or pass him on the upper walkways, after all; he had no appointments to rush to. One of his guards continued to walk, waiting then at the end of the corridor. His continuing footsteps had tricked the men below who had listen for the rattle of his armour and his steps to grow faint before they continued to speak; it was as clear a sign that their conversation was slander than if they had plainly said so.

"Too young," one of the men repeated again. His hair was short and orange, the colour foreign but the style quintessential for Oikawa's kingdom. He was slightly older, but still young enough that his entrance to court could have been recent. With one arm on a cloth-covered table, he leaned in towards his companion; the man was slightly out of view, but his voice was deep when he hummed in agreement.

"I find it hard to believe his Majesty let a boy run a kingdom," he sighed, shifting until even the deep jewel green fabric of his jacket sleeve was out of Oikawa's view from his angle. "As if ruling is such a tiring job! The boy's going to make a botch of it - see if we're not at war before the year is out! He makes us look weak."

The disgust in his voice was distracting; it echoed the treacherous voice in the back of Oikawa's mind that often spoke out in jealousy of the prince of their neighbouring kingdom who seemed to find ruling no more difficult than eating breakfast when it took Oikawa late nights and eons of study to accomplish the same; it was far easier to disagree with the inner voice of cruelty all men had than it was to argue with his court spreading gossip.

It distracted him from his surroundings; his eye did not get drawn by the opening door in the distance and the quiet, feline grace with which Ushijima slipped in to cut from library to bedroom, books under his arm where he had no doubt pilfered them from the watchful eye of the Head Librarian, his mature demeanour convincing the wretched old man that he would not smuggle old tomes into his bedrooms to read in the late evening.

Because it did not catch his eye, he didn't notice Ushijima until he was upon the other men, ears pinned back flat and his lips pursed - he had a severe face regularly, but its displeasure was evident in the furious swish of his tail.

"If that is not treason, it is at least slander." Ushijima spoke up. His voice carried firmly across the room, echoing from the high walls when there was little furniture to break the sound. Strangled gasps seemed to shock them, the idea of being caught likely never having occurred to them. Anxiety made itself known in the dryness of Oikawa's mouth; he didn't like the look of Ushijima alone with two men obviously not concerned with propriety confronted with their rudeness. He was tempted to send a guard, but when he looked the guard at the end of the hall had already disappeared; he was reminded again why he trusted these men with his life. He glanced back as Ushijima spoke again, cutting off the arrogant beginnings of a retort. "His Majesty, Tooru, makes for an excellent king."

He put his books down as one of the men stepped closer, then crossed his arms. The pose made his shoulders look even broader, the muscles in his arms obvious through the rich maroon of his afternoon jacket when they flexed.

"Kritica, for one, is proud as a country to be allied with a king who finds his focus entirely on the well-being and protection of his people, loved by commoners and nobles alike; he is a selfless man working himself to exhaustion to ensure every plan is foolproof and perfected; each council meeting is discussed into explicit detail for the good of the country and its people. Your king is a king who is skilled at negotiation and finds allies in each land he treads in." Ushijima's words struck a cord within him; he hadn't thought he'd been seen in such a light, and he couldn't deny it, but to hear pride was electrifying. "I for one am proud to be companion to our king, who is both kind and steadfast, determined and humble in his role, virtuous and righteous."

Unfolding his arms and taking his books, Ushijima turned on his heel to leave, his strides long and confident at having said his peace; he needed no confirmation for what he truly believed in. Trying to still his rapidly beating heart, the thumping of it seeming to ring Ushijima's emphasis on his name (Tooru; he thought of him as Tooru, not as king), he pressed a hand to his chest. The sound of silence, then doors closing made him move eventually, his guards sharing silent looks. Probably, he looked awestruck or something similarly gormless, but it could rearrange his face as much as he could cease breathing.

The door to his chambers loomed; in his mind he tried to rearrange his feelings and reconcile the man separated from him by only a thick slab of wood. Concubine had been the most prominent when they'd met; the preconceived notions would still not leave him of a people forced into their roles, with little choice but to accept it. Ushijima fit that in almost no ways; his mind was the equal of any, and his will of iron. It seemed unlikely he could be forced to do anything, but he couldn't fathom choosing to remain in a position where he was expected to spend his life with a king he knew nothing of.

Shaking himself mentally, he went for the door; there was no use wondering, and he would simply have to find out for himself the old-fashioned way: by being brave, and asking.

Chapter Text

His heart pounded in his chest as he approached his own doors; he'd had the rooms since he'd been old enough to no longer need a nursemaid or a nanny, and they had been a sanctuary after he had in a fit of teenage pique banned all but his immediate family and those invited to his rooms. It had been the first time he had exerted power and realized what his words could do, what they meant. It was almost amusing how he had discovered his voice, and now seemed to have lost it as he stood before the carved doors, his guards looking politely past him, not questioning his fretful sighs and his hand lingering on the handle for a fair few minutes.

Eventually, his thoughts jumbling enough he could pick no clear consensus of what to say or how to say it, he took a breath and pushed through, the door toppling open with more strength than intended as he stumbled inside and accidentally slammed it. Ushijima's alert eyes shot to him, something between protection and caution battling in them. He had seemed ready to lunge at the first sign of danger, his fingers curled over an antique silver letter opener in lieu of anything else.

And though many things drove Oikawa to breaking point, that was what did it. Men protected him in his every move, but their pockets lined with gold for their trials, even if their loyalty was firm. That Ushijima, not even expected by their friendship to protect him, would move so quickly and without hesitation, unwound him completely.

He has spent so long keeping his heart as the core of closely guarded citadel, shut off by spiked barricades along its walls, an armed guard patrolling the balustrades and archers at the ready for fear of that which would happen if he were weak, if the wrong man were to enter. Ushijima's kiss, his fingers that lingered a moment too long on his shoulders were like a carefully planned siege, steadily wearing at his defences until he was nothing if not laid bare and vulnerable for conquer. 

Chapter Text

Oikawa awoke ravenous, but food felt like one of the last things on his mind when their closeness demanded his memories surface again; his legs were tangled with Ushijima's, the sheets tugged from where they'd been tucked under the mattress to wrap haphazardly around them when the uncovered windows, left open in their post-coital sleep, had blown a cold with through in the night. He felt sated, which was a new sensation, but not an unpleasant one.

It made him mourn that the servants would come soon to bring him breakfast and pass on that which his advisor had deemed urgent for the day for him to look at. They would also be there to make the bed - his face flushed to think of the stains of their pleasure hidden there on his linen sheets, the faces they may make as they were tugged from his bed and sent to the laundry rooms.

Slowly, with great reluctance and a modicum of pleasant aches, he untangled himself and wrapped himself in the robe by his bed, sitting heavily at his desk. On his bed Ushijima was only stirring lightly; when he slept, very little would wake him again. The sun seemed to warm his face too much as he turned and instead nuzzled into a pillow, his arms coming up to clutch it tightly in a sad replacement for Oikawa's presence.

"Good morning," one of his quieter servants greeted him, baring a platter of seasonal fruits and pastries; there seemed to be little there, but neither of them were very much morning people or breakfast people. Oikawa and mornings only tolerated eachother as convention stated they must. He smiled in thanks; his silence would have seemed rude if not for that they knew if he struggled to function before he allowed himself a moment to sit and truly wake up; with his mind shrouded in a pleased haze it seemed even more difficult.

It took until he was dressed and ready to hold court again before he was mostly awake, juice of pressed apples sat beside him in one of his favourite glasses as the crowd milled about, glancing at him on occasion. He wondered if he looked different, if they could perhaps tell their king had been screaming in pleasure in a man's embrace not even a day ago. He struggled to keep himself in check, but he could do little to avoid thinking about it until he called for the first case to come forward.

He managed six of them before the late morning came and Ushijima appeared; tailored again in slim fitting clothing and a small, golden earring in deference to Oikawa's valet and their enthusiasm in dressing them to the nines. His heart skipped a beat for a second - did men fall in love so quickly, or had he not realized it before? With a nod, he acknowledged Ushijima sitting next to him without interrupting his peons, then beckoned forth the men who would come next.

His magistrate had flagged them as particularly interesting - they hailed from the same region as Ushijima, and found the lingua franca difficult to grasp, their words often lost in translation, then in the frustration of being misunderstood. It worked as a vicious cycle until his magistrate had suggested Ushijima assist and take on a role in the courts as more than a bystander, to let him take on a role more active and more public where many would see. His help in solving problems would work in his favour and hopefully endear him to at least a few.

"Please," he motioned to them, their eyes flickering hesitantly back and forth until the smooth syllables of foreign words curled around Ushijima's tongue and encouraged them to talk; their stories spilled out easily, their body language genuine if nothing else until a translation was murmured into his ear, Ushijima's hand on his forearm making it hard to think when his skin burned. He wanted to sod the court and be someplace private, but long years of resisting such urges for entirely different reasons kept him sitting and listening, thinking of a balanced verdict.

He'd halfway reached one when Ushijima suggested one instead - fair, balanced, unreasonable to one party but only in their opinion. Nodding, he motioned for Ushijima to declare the verdict instead, lending his own weight behind it to convince any naysayers of the finality of it.

After that, his eyes kept drifting to his companion until he could finally flee to lunch.

"There is an orchard," he said. "Not far from here."

The tarts before them were an early product of the spring harvest, slightly harsh until the cinnamon balanced them out, more of it on the top until the criss-crossed crust baked off to an aromatic golden-brown, tempting him to take a bite from it with a smudge of the fresh cream from the bowl near his plate. Ushijima's seemed more slathered in it, though he ate methodically from crust to innards, then finished it off with the crisp berry tea, a deep purple inside his cup.

"We could go," Oikawa offered, glancing towards the bookshelves in the room. Like most rooms, it had at least one with maps; it encouraged impromptu planning and a modicum of frivolousness. Likely none detailed enough. "If I had a map, we could see."

It was only a hint, but seemed to prompt Ushijima to nod and see to fetching one, gone before he could say much to stop him or tell him asking a servant would suffice; they wandered by on occasion, running errands or fetching this and that for other nobles. Their king would be much more of a priority, though he rarely asked them to put him ahead of other tasks. Swirling his spoon in his tea, he watched the light glance off it at the rounded angles.

Someone sat across from him as he waited; an ambassador and a peer, both men he only vaguely recognized as from minor families and minor countries, not particularly people who moved in his circles. His guard moved to warn them off as he leaned back in his chair instead, projecting an air of confidence. There was little they could do to him, after all; he was surrounded by those whose livelihoods were to protect him.

"We're concerned, Majesty," the ambassador told him, his hands crossed on the table, too close to the tarts for Oikawa's comfort in not thinking he might take one. They were hard to come by in this season, and close to one of his favourite things in the world. The man appeared to hesitate, as if he wasn't sure if he should bring it up or not. "I will be honest: your concubine concerns many of us."

The man next to him nodded along, his hair seemed lank as it moved along with his motions.

"Despite being only a pleasure slave, he seems very..." he hesitated, one hand turning in the air. A stab of offense already lanced through Oikawa at the coming insults - he could see them from a mile off - but shame followed it quickly at the epithet. He had thought only of his own pleasure, forgetting that it was Ushijima's role, that they had not simply met and fallen in love. This was duty.

"I will stop you there," he warned, motioning to his guard to close in, their broad bodies intimidating to any who proved to come too close to him. "For your own good."

Sour but cautious, they left without much protest, and left Oikawa with the sinking feeling in his gut - he would have to take the sword to his chest, and sod convention - he would have to ask Ushijima to leave.

Chapter Text

"I have prepared a chateau for you," Oikawa started one of the most difficult speeches in his life. In his hands he wrung a pair of his soft leather riding gloves; they were a deep, deep brown, lined with warm fur. His cloak lent him a physical warmth that couldn't seem to permeate his skin even though his hands were clammy and hot where they gripping at the reigns of his horse, trying to still it where it shifting anxiously beneath him when it felt his nervousness, how his legs twitched and shifted back and forth when he couldn't sit still.

Across from him, on one of the chestnut mares from the stables, Ushijima frowned at him, silent but still questioning. Around him the early daffodils of late winter were just starting to peek from their protective shells despite the frosts on the grounds around them; they were much braver in the face of cold than he was. His guards stood along the other ends of his gardens on a higher ledge where it wouldn't take them long to reach him, but they'd be well out of earshot. He didn't want anyone listening in on this.

"It's to the west, so closer to your homeland," he continued, the sharp edge of one of his nails catching on the side of his finger. He'd need to file it later, he thought inanely. "As you will still be under my care, it shouldn't offend your king but rather seem like I am simply too busy."

He hadn't meant to add that; in his plans, he had been cool and final, with only a few sentences spoken before Ushijima's acceptance broke his heart. The silence made him want to fill it with words though; explain, to make himself seem less cruel.

It would be easy to seem cruel and drive him away with harshness, but he couldn't bare to think that Ushijima might find him an intolerable person, and be gladdened to escape from his presence. He may already, but his treacherous mind would not let go of how he'd felt a certain intimacy and trust in their evenings shared in bed and their days shared in politics and quiet moments.

"I-" he started, inching his horse closer by accident. "I just can't do this. I can't force you to be with me."

Like a coward then he turned and fled, and let himself think of his people and their funds instead, and the upcoming spring banquets welcoming life back into their homes. It was only a little funny that his heart felt like it was withering inside him when he would be holding speeches of the exact opposite far too soon.

It took after that three days before he could face Ushijima, finding sleep in his office and the abundance of work that never seemed to stop. He'd just woken with ink on his left cheek and his clothing askew when the drapes on his windows being drawn back woke him first gently, then harshly when the sun shone right in his eyes and revealed Ushijima tying them back with the thick golden cord.

"Good morning," he pushed himself away from his desk, trying to brush wrinkles out of his clothing with little luck when he'd slept hunched over all his night. His back protested and his fingers still felt slightly cramped, but he was even almost caught up with the more boring tasks he always shoved aside. "Lovely day."

The breeze felt slightly cool when he had no waistcoat, made colder by the realization the chateau would be finished today; he would likely not see Ushijima again save for if he was to travel specifically there. Time alone would prevent him from doing so.

"Good morning," Ushijima replied politely. He was already dressed, which was odd for him at this early hour. Normally he rose at least mid-morning, seeking breakfast from the kitchens rather than making a servant bring it to him. The choice and all the options seemed to inspire him to seek something new most days, sometimes telling him about it with pleasure or annoyance.
 
They stayed for a second, Ushijima standing, seeming to almost tower as his eyes bored into Oikawa's.

"I'm not leaving." he said eventually, and drew a chair to sit, leaning his elbows on his thighs and resting his chin on his hands. "I have spent my entire life working towards making my noble line proud, to providing companionship to the king I chose, and I will not be shunted easily."

He leaned forward a bit, putting him arm's distance away.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked, too candid to really bare. It made Oikawa want to shrink away and hide under his desk rather than peel away his layers of fear and show himself, but there was no option to leave in this, not when his mind lingered on chose, and choosing, and a choice.

"I'm afraid anyone would do," Oikawa said before he lost his nerve, sitting on the edge of his chair to come closer, consciously defying his unreliable instincts. "I'm afraid you are with me only because you must to fulfil your duty. I'm afraid I'll get hurt when I let myself be with you, and I am only a presence to you."

He swallowed hard, the idea of it stirring up emotions he would rather not give the time of day, and pushed on.

"I am afraid that I am alone in feeling this way," he added softly, rubbing his hands on his trousers when he didn't know what to do with them, but could hardly sit still. He could almost hear the question on the tip of Ushijima's tongue. "Like I'm in love with you."

Standing, he paced around his desk, the door temptingly close and almost irresistible until he was grabbed by the wrist and pulled towards Ushijima, toppling him onto Ushijima's lap and all too close to his eyes, his sinful mouth, the uncertain words that would soon come.

"I am smart, strong, a noble and more," Ushijima told him. "If I wanted to be anywhere else, I would be."

His arms wrapped about Oikawa's waist, his fingers lacing where they met eventually. It was a loose grip, but utterly inescapable when he couldn't so much as bring himself to move a finger.

"You," Ushijima told him. "Are beautiful, and just, and hard-working. Your perseverance and intelligence are like a flame to this moth."

Hearing Ushijima describe himself as a moth was ridiculous; he was far closer to a giant, slinking beast that had Oikawa's heart thoroughly cornered without protest.

"Like I am in love with you, too," he whispered, the end of it seeming to fade almost into the nothingness of a soft, hot kiss that seemed to fall short of pouring the relief, the previously restrained want into it. He broke the kiss eventually, watching closely as Ushijima's eyes betrayed a light in them. "If you were mine, it would balance us."

Nodding, enthused and choked up, he supposed the chateau would do for a lovers' escape.

Chapter Text

From their chateau he could see a lake; it was only small, and Tooru largely referred to it as an overgrown pond. He'd quieted when Ushijima had pointed out that one could not dive in an overgrown pond, looking thoroughly chastised and only slightly sulky. It was an endearing look; Ushijima had spent too many weeks, or even months, watching him strain himself between the pressures of court and his misguided belief that his affection was insincere.

He bristled slightly from his perch near the apple trees, a poor stray orchid taking the beating as his tail lashed at the thought. Ushijima did not do things half-heartedly, and love was at the bottom of the list of consideration, if not entirely crossed off it.

"I'm drowning!" Tooru called from the lake, splashing dramatically and high enough up the shore that he was only waist-deep, his hair sodden and sticking to his temples. He seemed to only get louder until Ushijima stood, then stared wordlessly for a moment before he turned and dove further into the water to swim closer to small island in the middle of the lake and the tiny boat there that held the clothing they hadn't intended to shirk in the middle of nature when they'd awoken in the mornings. He could almost imagine a scandalized footman spreading gossip already.

Taking a small detour, Ushijima took to the small cliff overhanging the lake instead of going from the shore; from here he could dive, the lines of his body sleek and straight as the plunged into the water and used his momentum to catch up to Tooru and tug him down by the leg before they both surfaced, lightly staying afloat a few dozen yards from the island.

"Oh," Tooru let himself stop floating for a second, his arms resting on Ushijima's shoulders. He looked good with a light in his eyes and solid sleep, coaxed to bed rather than bent over his desk rifling through papers while burning the midnight oil. It did not mean he was never bent over his desk, but at least occasionally it was a pleasurable affair. "I've been rescued by this dashing cat."

Tooru rested the back of his hand on his forehead, emulating a damsel in distress at the quirk of Ushijima's brow.

"Such bravery, rescuing a king, deserves a knighthood," Tooru teased, letting himself be pulled along by Ushijima until they were close enough to stand and walk instead, sitting heavily on the grass, food and wines between them. Only a bottle was open; the rest back in their small boat. Swimming and alcohol rarely mixed.

"Clearly, you are in need of a keeper," Ushijima remarked as he spread a soft, flat bread with rich butter and filled the pocket inside it with anything that would fit, making it almost comically large and drawing Tooru's sceptical look. "I am afraid I will have to fill this position."

Laughing, Tooru crossed his legs in front of him and cut into his apple with his paring knife, popping a slice in his mouth. So much later, his relaxation curled a pleased knot in Ushijima's chest. It spoke to him of rightness and correct choices, so he sat back too, and considered how he would coax their ministers into allowing him to steal away Tooru for a trip to Ushijima's ancestral home.