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Laurent’s accession generated two weeks of non-stop celebration and festivities in the towns of Vere.
Two weeks of dancing, drinking, feasting and good spirit; local painters setting out stools and, for the low price of a copper coin, painting the faces of townspeople in vivid blue and gold designs; cloth merchants selling fist sized squares of silk with hand-stitched yellow starbursts; men spitting fire to the roar of a crowd; assemblies of beautiful women performing intricate and synchronized dances as musicians fiddled lively jigs.
Laurent and Damen had become somewhat of a novelty when, after defeating Kastor and the Regent, word of their fantastical feats spread like liquid gossip through both kingdoms.
It seemed they'd garnered a few fans as a result. This idolization had reached such an elevated stature that a new festivity had arisen as tribute to the paired kings: A lookalike competition, townspeople from all over coming out in costumes to compete.
Including Laurent and Damen.
Somehow, Laurent had gotten his hands on some low-quality blue and red material - as showing up in their real clothes would be too obvious - and coerced Damen into slipping the glorified potato sack on before he’d even had a chance to refuse.
Then they were sneaking out of the palace out onto the swarmed streets of the town.
In the thick of it, a rickety make-shift stage is in the center of the town square. Laurent leads Damen up and into line with their countless doppelgangers and casually checks out the competition. One competitor has manufactured a blonde wig out of hay, another thought to paint his eyelids blue and has thus far kept them closed; relying heavily on his Damen, a tall man with lumps of cloth stuffed in his sleeves, to guide him.
Laurent looks delighted. There was no telling what could happen if they were found out and for him, this was likely the appeal.
Damen, meanwhile, is trying very hard not to make eye-contact with the competition's officiator. He'd come overdressed, considering the company, with infallible professionalism to match. Why he was the one to pick was a mystery. It's unlikely he's seen Laurent or Damen close enough to judge a likeliness, but that wasn't guaranteed.
They are the eleventh pair on the stage. The officiator makes his way to them with the same leisurely pace he'd used to move between all the others. His eyes pass to them as if a chore and their raggedy costumes are afforded a single, cursory glance before the entirety of his attention lands on Laurent.
With disdain, ‘Did you forget to groom?’
So far, he’s had something to say to every coupling. It seemed they were not the exception. Laurent had messed his hair to counteract the natural shine and softness, and had dirtied his face with the grit on the wall of the alley they’d snuck down to reach the square.
‘Verisimilitude,’ Laurent had said, and gave Damen’s poor-quality shirt sleeve a precise yank so that it was noticeably ripped.
Damen reflects that this was a very clever precaution; even with Laurent’s messy appearance he couldn’t completely hide his beauty. But, a king would never be found with dirt smeared across his brow and cheeks.
'Is there something on my face?’ Laurent gives the officiator a look so guilelessly sweet that, had he known the true nature of Laurent's wit and tongue, he should have no reason to suspect that the man in front of him is the King of Vere.
The officiator scoffs. ‘Had you taken this competition seriously, you would have checked before coming up on stage.’ Turning swiftly to Damen, ‘And really, I understand King Damianos’ reputation precedes him, but even he isn’t as big of a brute as you.’
And with that, he moves on to berate the next pair in line.
Laurent lifts his fingers to his mouth to hide his laughter. Damen rests a hand on his shoulder and they pass it off as a reaction to being properly chastised.
They do not end up winning the competition.
This only buoys Laurent’s amusement with the situation, and after feigning an appropriate amount of disappointment, the two of them follow the long line of Laurent’s and Damen’s back down onto the street.
Damen takes Laurent's hand and leads then through the throngs of townspeople to a corner out of the way of the festivities. Only now that they're in a pocket of privacy do they allow themselves to break character.
They spill into laughter. A wellspring of joy and good humor swells inside Damen, urging him to lean forward to kiss Laurent’s sweet mouth.
‘We lost,’ Damen says when he pulls away and touches their foreheads. It is undeniably comical.
Laurent's smile widens as if reminded all over again of the ridiculousness they’d just experienced. His hand slides up to Damen’s bicep, where he’d ripped the sleeve earlier, and Damen is helpless not to lean into the touch. If a towns person were to walk by at that moment, there would be call for a re-vote: None of the other Damen’s had gazed at their Laurent’s with the naked adoration now stark in his eyes.
'If only you weren’t such a giant brute.’
‘You are right,’ Damen says solemnly, ‘The fault is mine. Let me make it up to you.’
Laurent’s hand has made it to the hinge of Damen’s jaw, thumb brushing his cheek as he hums thoughtfully.
He says, ‘I will,' and pushes, reversing them so Damen is against the wall with Laurent pressing forward. The softness of his breath fans over Damen’s lips. Damen lets them go pliant - waiting, never tiring of the thrill that strikes him anytime the two of them are intimate - and feels surprise as Laurent avoids his lips to bring his own to Damen’s ear.
‘But first,' Laurent says lowly, 'you have to find me.’
The heat of him disappears
Damen blinks, catching twinkling mischief in blue eyes before they face away and disappear into the crowd full of countless Laurent’s. Damen’s breath skates out of him. This is a dangerous game, only so much time can go by before the palace realizes they’re missing; Nikandros and Jord have no doubt already noticed...
An image flashes, of searching the crowd, of the heady chase that will no doubt ensue if he gives into Laurent’s game. His blood pumping, not from fear; A fluttering pulse under his mouth when he eventually catches Laurent; their twinned lust, magnified into searing tension at having chased and been chased, pouring over in ignited flames.
Damen straightens. Keeping his eyes on where Laurent had entered the crowd, he moves forward to follow.
-fin-