Work Text:
The Prince’s Preferred Paperweight
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The sun setting over the spires of the Roan Palace usually signaled the beginning of Alberu Crossman’s second shift. As the future King, his work was never truly finished, especially with the post-war reconstruction demanding his absolute focus. However, today, the golden light filtering through the office windows didn’t just illuminate stacks of paperwork; it caught the shimmering, vibrant crimson of Cale Henituse’s hair.
Cale was draped across the sofa in a manner that could only be described as aggressively languid. His long, red hair—which he had stubbornly refused to cut since the White Star’s defeat—trailed over the velvet upholstery like a spill of expensive wine.
Alberu tried to focus on the report from the Northwest region. He really did. But the sound of Cale lazily crunching on a grape was louder than any internal monologue about tax reforms.
"Cale," Alberu said, his voice a perfect balance of royal authority and weary affection. "Some of us are trying to run a kingdom."
Cale didn't even look up from the book he was holding—a trashy romance novel he’d likely stolen from the palace library. "You're doing a great job, Your Highness. The kingdom is practically running itself."
"It is not."
"It should be. That’s the point of a bureaucracy." Cale finally shifted, the silk of his shirt riding up slightly to reveal the sharp line of his collarbone.
He was, quite frankly, a nuisance. A beautiful, devastatingly elegant nuisance. Since the war ended, Cale had leaned fully into his 'slacker' persona, which apparently involved haunting Alberu’s office like a high-maintenance ghost. He looked ethereal in the fading light, his skin pale and clear, his eyes sharp despite his feigned boredom. He was so Pretty, and he knew it.
Alberu felt a familiar itch in his palms. Part of him wanted to toss a heavy ledger at Cale’s head just to see him squawk; the other, more traitorous part wanted to vault over the desk and kiss that smug look right off his face.
Cale set the book down and stood up. He walked toward the desk with the slow, deliberate grace of a predator who knew his prey was already cornered. When he reached the desk, he didn't sit in the guest chair. He leaned against the mahogany surface, right on top of a diplomatic missive from the Whipper Kingdom.
"Move," Alberu commanded, though it lacked any real bite.
"No," Cale replied. He reached up, his fingers drifting toward the magic tool hanging around Alberu’s neck.
Alberu froze. "Cale, I’m in the middle of—"
Click.
The clasp gave way.
In an instant, the golden-haired, blue-eyed 'Sun' of the Roan Kingdom flickered and vanished. The transformation was seamless, skin deepening to a rich, dusky hue, hair turning as dark as a moonless night. Alberu’s true form stood in the center of the room, his larger frame casting a shadow over Cale.
Alberu sighed, the vibration deeper in his chest now. "I’ve told you about doing that in the office. If a servant walked in—"
"The doors are locked. Raon made sure of it before he went to the kitchens," Cale interrupted. His eyes, usually so cold and detached, were tracing the lines of Alberu’s Dark Elf features with an intensity that made the Prince’s throat go dry.
Cale didn't say 'I love you.' Cale didn't say 'You look handsome like this.' He wasn't a man of many words when it came to his own heart. Instead, he reached out, his pale, slender fingers contrasting sharply against Alberu’s dark cheek. He traced the pointed edge of Alberu’s ear, his touch light but possessive.
Alberu’s resolve crumbled. He reached out, grabbing Cale by the waist and pulling him flush against the desk. The paperwork was definitely wrinkled now.
"You're a menace," Alberu growled, his voice dropping into a register that usually made Cale’s breath hitch. "You come in here, disrupt my work, expose my secret... what exactly do you want, Cale Henituse?"
Cale leaned in, his long red hair tangling with Alberu’s dark locks. He looked up through his lashes, a faint, provocative smirk playing on his lips. "I want my slacker life. And I want the person who’s going to give it to me."
Alberu’s grip tightened. He could feel the heat radiating off Cale. For all his cold exterior, Cale was always warm—a living hearth that Alberu constantly sought out to ward off the chill of his own duties.
"You're lucky you're pretty," Alberu muttered, leaning down until their noses brushed.
"I'm aware," Cale whispered back.
The Prince didn't bother arguing. He closed the distance, his lips meeting Cale’s in a kiss that tasted of suppressed frustration and overwhelming devotion. Cale was surprisingly responsive, his hands sliding up to grip Alberu’s shoulders, pulling him closer as if trying to merge their very shadows.
It was always like this in his true form. Cale was never distant when the disguise was off. It was the silent confession Alberu cherished most: Cale loved the man behind the mask more than the crown he wore.
The transition from the office to the bedroom was a blur of hurried footsteps and lingering touches. The palace was quiet, the guards well-trained enough to ignore the muffled sounds coming from the Crown Prince’s quarters.
Inside the darkened room, the only light came from the moon, silvering the edges of the heavy curtains. Alberu pushed Cale back onto the expansive bed, the red-head’s hair fanning out across the white silk sheets like a crown of flames.
"You're staring again," Cale noted, his voice slightly breathless. He looked wrecked in the best way possible—shirt unbuttoned, eyes hazy with a rare vulnerability.
"It’s hard not to," Alberu replied, shedding his own royal tunic. His Dark Elf physique was broader, more muscular than his human facade, and as he hovered over Cale, he saw the way Cale’s pupils dilated.
Cale reached up, his palms flat against Alberu’s chest, feeling the steady, heavy thud of his heart. He didn't speak. He never did in these moments. But the way he arched his back, the way his fingers curled into Alberu’s skin, said everything.
Alberu leaned down, kissing the sensitive column of Cale’s neck. "Tell me," Alberu coaxed, his voice a low vibration against Cale’s skin. "Say it once."
Cale let out a soft, frustrated groan, his head tossing back against the pillows. "You... annoying Prince..."
"That's not it." Alberu bit gently at the junction of Cale's shoulder and neck, eliciting a sharp gasp.
"Alberu..." Cale’s voice was a strained thread. He wrapped his legs around Alberu’s waist, pulling him down, seeking the friction, seeking the weight. His body was trembling, a fine shiver of anticipation that he couldn't hide.
Alberu chuckled, a dark, rich sound. He loved this. He loved that the Great Hero, the man who had outsmarted gods and kings, was reduced to a shaking, desperate mess under his touch. And he loved that he was the only one allowed to see it.
"I’ve got you," Alberu whispered, moving to capture Cale’s lips again. "I’ve got you, Cale."
The act was not just physical; it was a reclamation. After years of blood and sacrifice, this was the peace they had fought for. Every touch was a reminder that they were alive. Every muffled cry from Cale was a victory.
As Alberu moved within him, Cale’s eyes remained fixed on Alberu’s face—not the golden prince the world knew, but the Dark Elf who belonged only to him. Cale’s hands were everywhere, tracing the tattoos and the scars, his touch reverent despite his lack of words.
He was more responsive like this, more open. He didn't have to be the 'Young Master Silver Shield' here. He could just be Cale. And Alberu could just be himself.
When the climax finally hit, it was shattering. Cale clung to Alberu as if he were the only solid thing in a collapsing world, his face buried in Alberu’s neck, his breath hot and ragged.
In the quiet aftermath, the room was thick with the scent of sex and expensive incense. Cale was curled into Alberu’s side, his long red hair a chaotic mess across both of them. Alberu was tracing patterns on Cale’s hip, his mind finally at rest.
Cale shifted, pressing his forehead against Alberu’s shoulder.
"The necklace," Cale muttered, his voice thick with sleep.
"What about it?"
"Don't put it back on yet."
Alberu smiled, a genuine, private thing. He kissed the top of Cale’s head. "I won't. Not for a while."
Cale hummed in approval, his breathing evening out. He was already drifting off, the exhaustion of his 'slacker' lifestyle finally catching up to him.
Alberu watched him for a long time. He thought about the paperwork still sitting on his desk, the meetings scheduled for the morning, and the weight of the crown. But then he looked at the man in his arms—this beautiful, annoying, silent man who had given him a reason to want the throne in the first place.
He adjusted the blanket, pulling it higher over Cale’s bare shoulders.
"I love you too, you crazy bastard," Alberu whispered into the darkness.
Cale didn't respond, but he did squeeze Alberu’s hand in his sleep. It was more than enough.
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