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She loves Flame, she really does. And she loves his prideful stubbornness. She does not love that trying to get him to do anything he finds mildly uncomfortable can be such a chore. Even when she tells him that he'll enjoy it, if he just tries.
She's learnt though, over the months that he's been her guard. She's learnt that Flame responds so well to praise and even better to her displeasure. But the thing that always gets him to clench his jaw and comply is an order.
It has to be phrased just right of course. Too forceful and Flame will just glare (and, if it's anyone else, pull out his sword to fix the offence). Too nice and he'll scoff out a dismissal. Too transparent with the order and Flame will stiffen up like a great big tree and refuse out of pure pigheaded stubbornness. It has to feel like something he can't refuse but still like something he's choosing to do. A choice and not a choice at the same time. Because Flame's pride likes to war with his need to please and it's never fucking apparent which side will win.
It has taken her a while to phrase her requests just right. This, here, had taken her so much workshopping that the sheer embarrassment should have forced them into quitting at some point or another. Except. Except she's been wanting to see him like this for so long that nothing at all could have stopped him from being here.
She and Flame were matched in that regard, after all; one stubborn fool for another.
It had started with the shopping. "Need you to guard me," she said without telling him what exactly she was going to be doing. By the time she had dragged Flame out on her shopping trip, it was too late to back out.
It was easy enough to pretend that the pretty clothes she was picking out were for her. Eye something frilly and cute. Hold it up against him with the excuse she needs to see what it looks like against a person rather than on a hanger. Very politely ignore the pinkness of his whole face; the way his mouth parted at the feel of lace and his fingers traced along the hem of the soft skirts she picked out.
She'd ask for his opinion like she was worried about how she'd look in it and then thank him oh so sweetly when he bit out a compliment (or, better yet, stiffly but sincerely stated that he liked it). When she asked him to carry her bags, he barely grumbled about it before complying (he likes to be useful, she's learnt) and, as thanks, she had politely ignored his slight flush as his mind very obviously kept drifting back to the contents of the bags. At the way he couldn't hold himself still and had to keep fidgeting. At the way he couldn't even look down.
The wait afterwards was torture in the purest sense. He needed the time to settle, she knew. Yet, everyday she spent looking at the stack of dark clothes piled respectfully in her closet without doing anything about it made everything inside her itch.
Finally—finally, after thinking about it so long—she corners him after a council meeting. "I have a diplomatic mission tomorrow," she says, as quickly as possible, "and I need someone to test out outfits on. To make sure I'm making a good first impression,"
His blush is bright. Adorable.
"Uh… do you want me to like go get someone in particular?"
She loves him, she really does, but he can also be so dense sometimes. "Um, it's sort of… y'know sensitive." She bites her lip and look at up him through her lashes, knowing exactly what she looks like. "I was hoping you could help." Then she looks to the floor, allowing him a moment to process.
But she had dressed herself very deliberately that day. It was one that Flame had picked out, towards the end of the shopping trip when he was clearly tired and just slightly more willing to admit he has some desires. You'd look nice in this, he had said, dragging over a dress. It was a maroon one with puffy sleeves she'd slipped off her shoulders and a skirt that flared out at the waist. A little fancy. Pretty. In Flame's colours, even if he didn't seem to process that as he picked it.
She's only happy to indulge him, especially because the outfit is clearly working. He only tries to refuse them a couple of times before sighing. "Can we do it quick?"
She smiles, offering no promises. "I'll try."
Flame hates everything, he thinks. This really hadn't been how he had envisioned his day going when Zam had called him over. All he had been expecting was another round of pressing flouncy clothes onto him (and eyeing him like…), and, mostly, it was like that. Until, ten minutes in, Zam frowns.
The blouse with the truly massive sleeves is pulled away and her frown is followed by the softest sigh. "I just can't visualise it," she says. That familiar part of him rises again, willing to offer so much if it will just stop her displeasure. He breathes. Reins himself in. Tunes back into her musings. "I need some way to actually see them being worn."
"Bro, just use a mirror." He doesn't say are you stupid because no one says that to Zam and lives (and Zam, of course, isn't stupid). He also doesn't tilt his head towards the mirror next to her closet—the one that's so tall that it almost reaches the ceiling and spans the length of the wall. The look is implied anyway.
She tuts. "It's not the same. I can put on the outfit but I can only see how the outfit looks in one way, you know?" He doesn't, but he doesn't ask for clarification. He thinks this is one of those Zam things that he struggles to understand sometimes, anyway. "I need to see how the outfit looks to outsiders. I need like someone to try it on for me."
The suggestion is casual, thrown out there like just more rambling of her puzzling mind. Except Flame becomes suddenly—startlingly—aware that there are only two people in this room right now and if the outfits can't be worn by Zam… well he's the only candidate left.
He swallows and finds he can't look at her.
"Who should I go get?"
"Anyone else in the castle who'd be interested in skirts and dresses?"
No. She's the only one in the castle who's really that interested in fashion and clothing. She's especially one of the few that enjoys wearing dresses and skirts. It makes sense, of course; she had been so scared for so long. He had watched her grow into herself and get comfortable with the dresses and the skirts and the occasional makeup and felt prouder than he's ever had words to express it.
Truthfully, he doesn't fully understand how she ever got to the point she did. It's not the same, of course. But Flame thinks he's beginning to understand how terrifying it was for her, to put on a skirt for the first time. To step outside and let the world see her as someone different. As herself.
But she turns to him, that sweet expression on her face that makes him feel like the whole world is rushing by, irrelevant except for her. "Do you think they'd fit on you?"
Something shudders. He thinks it might be him.
"Uh. Nah, bro. Aren't we like, completely different sizes?"
It doesn't deter her as much as it should. She just picks out a couple of pieces, examines them against his very very still figure and nods. "Would you try them on? Just to see?"
"What?" What.
Zam's eyes flutter. "Please?" She asks, all pretty and soft. There's movement and Flame's eyes flicker down automatically, catching the tail-end of Zam's dress slipping fully down her shoulders. Her shoulders are golden and warm and… And Flame's eyes snap up. Heat pools on his face like it's trying to snitch on him and before his brain can do something else stupid, he opens his mouth. "Okay," he says, which wasn't what he was planning on saying. At all.
"Really?"And Zam's voice is so soft. Open and excited, like she's been given some sort of incredible present.
It's impossible to not be affected when she sounds like that. It's impossible to take back his words when the risk is to watch her face crumble. To watch her brush off the disappointment like she doesn't look over the moon right now.
So he sighs. "I'll put one of those on, okay bro. Is that good enough?"
"Of course! Thank you, Flame. I really can't tell you how much this means to me."
"Don't tell me," he grumbles and grabs the bundle given to him.
Zam's bathroom also has a massive mirror adorning its wall. He looks at the clothes clenched in his hands. It's hard to make out what exactly the pieces are when they're just a blob of various colours. At least they're dark, with hints of orange along them. If Flame didn't know better, he'd say that they were picked for him (has Zam ever worn such dark colours? He's not sure).
When they're pulled apart, he sees that he's been given the blouse with the pirate sleeves and shorts that cinch at the waist and reach mid thigh. They're not anything fancy or too… girly really. Just fitted and much more theatrical than anything he's ever worn. More expensive too, but that's just Zam's taste.
He really had thought…
Well it doesn't matter now. He doesn't mind something like this. It's not… too out there and other than being fancy, it's something he might have worn. One day, maybe.
When he steps out, Zam's flopped down on the bed, flicking at the chipped edges of her nail polish. His exit draws her attention and immediately she's lighting up; bright and pretty and so overwhelming that he has to look away. "Wow," she says and it's hard to even think around the way her voice is sweeter somehow. Softer. (More intimate—but fuck that's not true is it? It's just Flame being weird. Again.)
"Spin for me?" She asks and he splutters.
"Spin? Bro, isn't this enough? I'm wearing the outfit."
Zam leans back and keeps looking at him with that steely determination; that expression that screams she will get her way, no matter what. That being pointed at him makes him flush. Especially when she continues, "you know how I said I need to experience the outfit from an outsider perspective? This is part of how to do that." The moment stretches out between them; Zam staring at him with something increasingly displeased and Flame frozen, unable to get his legs to work. There's something about spinning for Zam—showing off for her—that lodges against him and makes it hard to think.
Then she sighs. "Fine. It's okay, you don't have to."
"What do I do," he asks, before he can help himself, "just turn around?"
Zam's so still that he can't tell if the surrender surprises her or pleases her or makes her suspicious. "Slowly."
Okay. He does; a slow dragging turn monitored by Zam's burning gaze. He's so aware of her eyes on him. On the way she traces along every line of the outfit. He bets she's back to that cold furrow-browed calculating look that always makes her seem so untouchable. The circle completes and yeah. There's the look, tinted by something new. Something Flame's never seen before.
"Oh, I knew this would look good on you."
He doesn't blush. That would be stupid. He's an attractive guy, he's aware, and the outfit is designed to show off a figure. It's… he looks at the mirror and finds that the blouse is stretched out over his shoulders and the top couple of buttons he was too lazy to do up now create an enticing slice of his chest. The shorts are skintight on him. Zam's eyes keep snagging on them.
"So am I done now?"
Zam hums. There's another bundle in her arms but she doesn't offer it, just stares at him with that sweet smile. Flame doesn't say anything either, just accepts the bundle with shaky hands. He's pushing his luck, he knows but it almost feels worth it when Zam beams at him like that.
This time the top is cropped and hangs slightly above his belly button. It exposes a sliver of his stomach, taut and muscled. The shorts are much less tight than the previous ones and have enough extra fabric to drape like a skirt. It's not one, of course, even if it looks like one. It's just… comfortable really. And fashionable, he's sure.
Flame meets himself in the mirror. His eyes trace the outfit down to the way the shorts flare out at mid thigh. He's always admired the way Zam looks in skirts—strong and powerful and so euphoric that it's hard to feel anything but joy, reciprocated—but on him this just sits flat. Underneath the edges of the shorts, his legs are long and corded with unappetising muscle.
They're just shorts, he reminds himself, even if they're so much more exposing that just… wearing a normal pair of shorts. The difference is just a matter of style, after all.
But, this time, he finds himself standing in front of the door, hand hovering over the handle and too afraid to push it open. He looks stupid, he knows. Clothes like these aren't meant for him and they certainly aren't as flattering as they look on Zam. He's never… never really been insecure before but every time he thinks about opening that door, something roots him to the spot. It feels a little like walking towards an execution and he can't shake the sense that Zam is going to laugh at him the moment he steps through.
Had there really been no one else for her to play dress up with?
"Flame," comes her voice, always soft, always sweet. "Do you need help?" A part of him wants to shout yes and allow her to comfort him. Another part was to rip this outfit off himself and march away from her castle. He does neither of those things.
"I'm fine," he lies, "I'll be out in a bit bro."
His hand still shakes but now Zam is actually waiting for him. Now, he has to be out of this room soon or she'll just burst in and demand answers. Now, there's really no choice. So he turns the knob and steps out.
Zam doesn't say anything for a very long moment. Her eyes just drag over him, catching on his exposed stomach—a small lick of her lips that he's sure she didn't want him to notice—then lower, dragging over the not skirt and his exposed thighs, snagging on the way his hands are clenching and unclenching uselessly at his sides.
"This is stupid—"
"Can I—"
They both stop. For a moment, they just stare at each other, neither willing to speak. Then, as always, Zam fills the silence. "Can I ask a favour?"
"Yeah…?"
"Will you put on a skirt for me?"
Suddenly, air is hard to come by. He tries to meet her gaze but there's something that's stopping him from taking the final step down. Something stopping him from seeing exactly what she looks like right now.
"You look really pretty like this and I have a couple I've been wanting to see you in." A gentle hand reaches up and palms his face. She isn't forcefully when she turns his head, but maybe there's something to be said about how willingly he follows her lead. When their eyes meet, there's no hint of mocking or laughter or cruelty; just open raw want, plain as day. He barely registers the admission that Zam brought clothes specifically for him at some point.
"Bro, I don't even look good like this, why do you wanna see me in an actual skirt?" Zam's grip tightens enough that she'd be leaving fingerprints, if he was lighter skinned. Instead, it's mostly just a dizzying rush of want coursing through him; the knowledge that she could hurt him right now and he would let her. Wouldn't even protest.
"I said you look pretty. Do you think I'd lie to you?"
"No—no."
"Then?" He doesn't have an argument. Everything that comes to mind dies a quick painless death on his tongue. She's so beautiful below him and she's his empress. There's not a lot he wouldn't do for her and this is… it's nothing in the grand scheme of things. If she wants it and he can give it to her, then why wouldn't he?
"How many more are there?"
"Can you wear a dress and then a skirt for me?"
The question doesn't feel as intimidating as he expected it to. He nods without feeling bile crawl up his throat and when Zam hands him a dress, he takes it without complaint. His hands barely shake.
This one's decidedly more feminine. It's a deep red with a square neck. The top part clings to his waist and shoulders—not built for someone like him even if she had brought the dress in his size—and cinches him slightly, making his breathing unnecessarily difficult. The bottom part drapes over him and it's so incredibly soft that he finds himself tracing over the smoothness almost unconsciously. It's pretty. So pretty.
It looks wrong on someone like him. Someone who is only suited to violence. But he is PrinceZam's guard and his emperor told him he looked pretty. Maybe he doesn't have to believe it himself when her belief is enough. Maybe there's nothing wrong with accepting her version of the truth, just for this.
So he steps out.
"Fuck," says Zam into the quiet of the room.
Then she's stepping forward. It's not a rush—never a rush between them. She just steps forward on steady feet until they're standing right in front of him. Slowly, a hand comes up and rests right in the slight curve of his waist. He doesn't know what to do other than meet the slight touch; their hands interweave over his waist, just held there.
"You should let me dress you up more." Flame doesn't speak—can't speak. What in the world could he ever say to something like that? It's not like he cares much what he wears. Zam could dress him up if she wanted. He'd even… swallow the humiliation if she wanted him dressed like this too. Anything for her.
But well. "Bro, this is like the fanciest thing I've ever worn. I don't even have like anything nice for you to dress me in."
It doesn't deter Zam as much as he thought it would. Instead, her grip on him tightens. Her eyes keeps flicking over him, dragging her burning gaze along him. Then, "I'd buy you a whole new wardrobe, if you wanted me to."
What the hell is he meant to say to that?
"Bro, I mean, it's—it's your money you're wasting."
Zam bites her lip and Flame finds himself leaning down into her orbit. Into the slight flush on her cheeks.
"Well, when it looks this good, is it really a waste?"
He can't respond to that. Zam's flirted with him before, of course, but never this directly. Usually she's all coy smiles and sweet teasing as she dolts out her attention amongst her favourite guards. Usually in a way that makes it clear she's never fully serious. Sometimes she looks at him like she wants to drag him far, far away, except she looks at Pangi like that too (and she never stops looking at Wemmbu like that).
But this? This is something only he's ever dragged out of her; it leaves him feeling adrift in this sudden shaky ground between them. A whole host of possibilities stretch out between them. Would Zam allow him to lean down further and kiss her? Would she allow him to go further? Would—
"You said you had like a skirt for me too, right?"
The moment shatters just like he meant it to. And, yet, he can't help but feel sad as they pull away from each other. The movements are sudden and janky; too aware of the unusual closeness they've been indulging in. He can still feel Zam's eyes on him but he refuses to look now after… all that. He just takes the final bundle with numb fingers.
There's a lot less fabric in this one than the previous ones. it shouldn't surprise him that the last one is the most audacious but… fucking hell.
The first piece is a tight black crop tank top that hugs him in a way that's edging towards uncomfortable. There's a small licking of flames along its edge and heat rushes through him at the thought of Zam seeing it and thinking of him; her seeing it and choosing to buy it with the goal of putting it on him. The second piece is a pretty pleated skirt that's in a matching orange. It's also tiny. He wears it just below his bellybutton and it still struggles to reach mid-thigh.
There's so much skin exposed to him in the mirror. He can barely look at himself without wanting to rip the clothes off him. Yet, his hands shake and never move. He keeps looking.
Fuck.
Fuck.
"Um. Zam?"
"Is something up?"
"Bro." He doesn't offer anything else. Zam knows what she did anyway; he can hear her giggling even through the door.
"I promise I won't laugh when you come out," she says, amusement threaded through her voice, "I just thought the outfit would match your whole thing y'know. I even have little demon horns, if you wanna wear them."
"Bro!" He does not. He cannot put into words how much he does not.
"I'm sorry," but she's still giggling. "Please, can I at least see it?"
He's a little afraid to walk in this with such little fabric covering everything. He's a little afraid that there's a small—but loud—part of him wanting to do so anyway just to see Zam's reaction. She had liked all the other outfits and even if this one is intentionally provocative (in what he hopes is a joke)… well, sue him, he's curious what their reaction will be.
Then, the much more insistent part of him lets him know that there's no way he can step outside of this bathroom and maintain his dignity. This is… almost a mockery. He can't be seen like this. "Zam," he ignores the voice crack, "I'm—bro this might be too much for me. Like, I don't think I'm leaving here with this one, bro."
"Please?" Zam's voice is softer now, rounded out with concern. The laughter's gone. "I know it's a lot but I think you'd look really pretty in it. I just wanna see it?"
"Bro, I feel like I'm wearing underwear or something. There's so much skin." Usually, he prefers easy breathable clothes. A shirt and pants; something light and easy to move in for maximum combat efficiency. So this is… new. And overwhelming. And there's air between his legs and it feels like if he moves just slightly wrong the skirt will expose everything.
"Flame," her voice changes again. The sweetness slips away like ice and is replaced by something demanding and powerful. It's her empress voice. The one she uses to issue commands.
It's a voice that means trouble and Flame finds himself instinctually straightening up. A hand moves to his hip, searching for a sword he doesn't have.
"I asked you to show me. Will you do that for me?"
And he can't refuse. It's conditioned in him at this point to listen to that voice as it issues orders. But she's not unreasonable. If Flame requested something, she would grant it, wouldn't she?
"Would you—bro, can you like… close your eyes or something?"
Zam hums. "And if I did, would you come out of there?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. They're closed now."
So there's no backing out now. Zam is waiting and he's… fuck, but he hates disappointing his emperor. So he opens the door and steps out.
Zam is standing closer to the door than she was before and her eyes are closed as promised. Flame looks down at himself and then promptly looks away, the embarrassment rolling through him. He tries to open his mouth and nothing comes out.
It feels like something will fundamentally change if Zam sees him like this. She'll look differently at him or hold him in a different regard or something will fall away that he can never recover. Flame doesn't like losing and this is too close; dancing on the knife's edge of being too similar to that crushing weight.
"I'm gonna open my eyes now," she says and give him no time at all to brace himself before her pretty golden eyes are on him.
The very air goes still. Her gaze clings to his face that's frozen in fear, then trails down his body; a small part of her lips at the way the top hugs him, a sharp hiss at his exposed stomach and then she gets stuck at the skirt. Flame swallows and shuffles around, unable to sit still with the intensity of her scrutiny on him like this.
"Flame." He can't look at her. He can't. "I want to touch you."
It's so hard to breathe or nod or do anything but stand here looking dumb. Even his hands hang at his sides uselessly.
"Flame. Look at me." The empress voice asks, because she knows he'd never disobey her when she sounds like that. When he looks down, Zam's pupils are blown out and her whole face is dusted a beautiful pink. He's leaning closer without thought, wanting to chase that pink. Wanting to see her like this forever.
"Zam," he says. It might be the only thing he can say at this point.
"I'm going to touch you now, okay?"
He nods, which is easier than saying please.
Her hands are just as soft as everything else about her. They come up and cup his face first, pulling him closer until they're finally breathing the same air. They're so close. Everything in him screams to close the distance and yet his body stays caught, now fully under Zam's control. Slowly, the hands trail down his chest. They brush his nipples and he jolts, which Zam is kind enough to ignore. The hands keep dropping lower and lower until they stop right at the flames on the top.
"This is unfair," she says. "I brought this thinking it would be mostly funny." The words go through him, sharp and harsh. This haze of sensation dulls until he becomes aware of the pounding of his heart and the ragged edge of panic rushing through him. "Should have known you'd look incredible as always."
The panic stops. Everything stops. Suddenly, it feels like he's delirious. He becomes aware that his hands are shaking so badly that it's embarrassing.
"Zam. Bro, I need—Zam."
He grabs her lapels. She doesn't say anything, just indulges him silently so he pushes. She walks backward, following his lead. He walks her back—half in disbelief as he does it—into her bed and keeps pushing until she sits. Then he does the most embarrassing thing he can think of and drops into their lap, pressing his head into her neck.
"Oh. Sweetheart." Then she's wrapping her arms around him and holding him tight against her. "Is this too overwhelming for you?"
He nods.
"It's okay," her voice is sweet again; soft and soothing like she's coaxing still a frightened animal. It's not an unfair comparison, really. "It's alright. I promise you look incredible. You look so perfect. You are perfect, you know. So perfect for me."
He doesn't whine. That would be stupid.
"It's weird," he says into her neck. It's the only place he feels comfortable right now and it saves him the humiliation of admitting weakness right to her face. There's relief to be found in that, he supposes. "I—I—the skirt y'know. Not used to it."
He's the immortal demon. He's the best pvper on the server. The strongest on the server. And yet, if anyone could see him right now…
But Zam hugs him tighter. She turns her face so slowly that he feels the entire movement. Then, with astonishing care, she presses a kiss to his cheek. The haze come back, softer now but comforting nonetheless.
"Weird bad?" She asks, in that gentle tone. He shakes his head in response. "Just overwhelming?"
He nods.
It feels like something is crawling through him, so blinding that it's hard to look at. Somewhere, distantly, he's aware that the skirt feels… nice, maybe? He's not sure. Everytime he tries to look at that feeling too directly, that shaky horrible form of adrenaline floods him. It's nothing like the rush he gets before fights. This makes want to throw up a little.
"Do you want me to keep holding you?" Zam asks, now running a soothing hand over his dreads.
And yeah, that sounds nice. Incredibly nice. He nods.
"This will pass in a little bit, yeah?" She whispers the words right into his ear, "and then you'll show me how pretty you look in this, right?"
"In—in a little bit?"
"In a little bit," she agrees.
So he closes his eyes and just lets her confidence diffuse into him. Lets her be strong for him, at least this once.