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On a perfectly normal morning, in a perfectly normal kingdom, two occupants on a bed stir. It’s not unusual to see both kings sharing a bed- hasn’t been unusual in years, especially since the time Vere and Akielos officially became one kingdom once more. But duties had pulled the two kings in separate directions and only last night they had been able to come together once more.
And they had. Come together. A lot.
Now they stir towards the waking world: one brown, thick arm shifting to grab a hold of a paler, more slender one.
“Mmm,” says Laurent, the Northern King.
“Indeed,” says Damen, the Southern King.
Both freeze. Both lift their heads.
“By the-“ Damen says, slamming a palm over his mouth. No, over the mouth that had been Laurent’s, just last night. He raises the same palms in front of his eyes and blinks hard, like that could get them to look like his own. But no. They are his husband’s hands: slender, pale, beautiful like moonlight.
“This must be a dream,” Laurent says, frown deep. He, too, examines his hands, then glances down at the rest of his- Damen’s- body. His gaze lingers between the thick thighs, then lifts up when Damen chuckles.
“If this is one, then it is certainly odd,” Damen says and his grin is an utterly odd sight on Laurent’s sharp face.
Laurent in Damen’s body keeps frowning. “Maybe this is an attempt on our lives once more? There is some trick.”
Damen lets out a confirming hum, then struggles to get himself out of the tangled sheets, misjudging the distance between himself and the edge of the bed and nearly face planting on the floor. He huffs, lets out a barking laugh that sounds unbearably wrong.
He looks back at his husband. In his own body.
“So that’s what I look like when I don’t understand something,” Damen snorts. He puts his hands on his hips, marveling at how slender those hips are. It’s one thing to hold them and stroke them but completely different to actually having them.
Laurent scoffs but he holds back a snappy remark. Instead he pats his body down like expecting it to explode. “You are certainly… something.” Like he doesn’t already know it.
Damen snickers. “And don’t you know it, sweetheart. Now get that beautiful ass up the bed and let us go see someone who could help with this situation. Although I do admit I find it the most amusing.”
The sheets rustle as Laurent manages to get himself standing. “Of course you would find it amusing. I would rather have my body back where it belongs.” His eyes are wonderfully narrow.
Damen winks. “It is where it belongs. Close to me.”
Laurent huffs. He comes a little closer so Damen can see a surprising darkening of the already dark cheeks.
“How do you even move around with all this… mass,” Laurent huffs again, the sound so Laurent that Damen has to bite back a laugh.
“I didn’t stop growing until I was well in my twenties.”
“And well into your thirties, I would say,” Laurent says, nose wrinkling in a way it never does with Damen.
“Can’t help it. It’s in my blood,” Damen says cheerfully and begins looking for something to cover himself up with: not that his chitons ever particularly cover anything. Laurent does the same next to him, swaying a little as he tries to adjust to the balance of a much bigger body, letting out such sweet, frustrated huffs that Damen has to laugh and pull Laurent closer to kiss him. Damen finds it absolutely hilarious to be the one tilting his head up, instead of down.
“You are ridiculous,” Laurent says, finally managing to find a chiton. But his face has softened considerably.
“Only for you,” Damen says and rubs his thumb over the dimple on Laurent’s (his own) left cheek. He always did want to find out what it feels through another person’s hands.
His reward is a smile.
In the end, they manage to pin their respective chitons with minimal fondling. Damen is downright cheerful as he leads his less cheerful husband and fellow king out of the rooms and into the halls.
They try their best to play each other: although Laurent still has that odd little flush on his face and he keeps shifting and Damen can’t quite figure out the length of Laurent’s hair, letting it flow free behind him. They make their way to Paschal and the other Main Palace physicians.
“There is a little problem,” Damen says.
“There is a huge problem,” Laurent says, right at the same time.
The physicians share looks.
“Um,” says Damen, gathering Laurent’s hair over one shoulder. He finds it rather good to drag his fingers through it. Maybe he should grow his own hair long as well.
“We seem to have,” Laurent starts, his frown once more deep. “Exchanged bodies.”
The physicians share looks. Paschal begins to massage his temples.
Damen and Laurent share a look. It is beyond odd to see their own bodies through another’s eyes, almost disorienting.
Yet Damen still seems to find it amusing. Laurent less so. Especially because he can’t quite get the hang of Damen’s body: Laurent’s own body is the perfect size. Tall, slender, just enough muscles to hold his own in combat. But Damen is built like a tree trunk.
Right down to… his parts.
The parts that Laurent is intimately familiar with over the years. The same parts that keep bothering him now as he tries to adjust his stance.
“Maybe you should wake up,” Paschal says after a moment. He looks older than his years.
“What now,” Damen says. His hands are on his hips now, feeling Laurent’s slim bones through the luxurious material of the chiton.
“But we’re-“ Laurent starts. Then he blinks.
He blinks.
The ceiling above him is the ceiling of their joint bedroom in Delpha. Laurent inhales sharply as the bed creaks when its other occupant shifts.
“My, what a dream,” Damen murmurs, head of dark curls raising from his pillow to blink sleepily at Laurent.
Laurent stares. Damen stares back.
“You’re you,” Laurent says.
Damen blinks. “I am… me? As far as I know.” He smiles, always utterly disarming no matter the time of the day. “Are you still asleep, sweetheart?”
“Shush,” Laurent says and moves to straddle his husband.