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~ * ~
They warn Prince Gion about him.
Livio knows what they say. It’s the same thing, every time.
( Beware , they sneer and they’re trying to hurt so their words mean nothing at all really, your loyal dog might turn on you one day, and what will you do then? You trust him too much, and I might just buy his loyalty one day.
Prince Gion smiles back at them, stubborn and arrogant, and he says, Livio wouldn’t dare. )
Livio knows what they say, because Gion tells him, in the dead of the night, when Livio keeps his eyes closed and his breathing even and Gion pretends he doesn’t know that Livio isn’t asleep, and he tells him everything they say, and he presses kisses on his lips, on his face, on his neck and whispers love on his skin, vulnerable and trusting, and under cover of the darkness they both pretend Gion doesn’t speak and Livio doesn’t hear.
( Gion, they ask, and they mean well but they don’t know anything really, do you think you’re taking his obedience for granted? He holds so many - too many - secrets, are you sure he won’t take advantage one day?
Prince Gion smiles back at them, stubborn and arrogant, and he says, Livio wouldn’t dare .)
Livio knows what they say, not because Gion tells him, but because he plants recorders on Gion’s person, and because he has access to the palace’s security tapes. Those nights Livio tires Gion out past the brink of exhaustion, and he marks love into his skin, possessive and wretched, and in the light of day they both pretend the red and purple bruises hidden under Gion’s layers of long-sleeved shirts and designer jackets don’t exist.
~ * ~
Livio likes it - enjoys it, even - when Princess Gina visits.
It’s entertaining.
Princess Gina is naive and sweet, and she’s the only one in Gion’s inner circle that hasn't questioned his closeness with the heir apparent to the Italian throne.
Her fiancé isn’t much better on that front. Prince Ciel is flashy and charming, but he grew up without the intensive show-no-emotions training drilled into most of the other members of royalty, and so he wears his heart on his sleeve and doesn’t hesitate to voice his thoughts - not that he has particularly significant ones, at least not when it comes to Livio and Gion’s unconventional relationship.
“I don’t like you,” he’d declared, once, half-drunk, flashing his engagement ring obnoxiously in Gion’s face, Gina giggling in the background, equally tipsy, with a matching ring on her finger, “but do whatever with your love life, I don’t care. Vivre sans aimer n'est pas proprement vivre. ”
To live without loving is to not really live.
The French, Livio reflects, have always been known to be passionate.
So yes, Livio likes having Princess Gina back in Italy - the princess herself is too trusting to doubt Livio, and Prince Ciel is either oblivious or unbothered - but also because Gion tends to be in a good mood for a long while afterwards - provided Prince Ciel hasn’t done anything particularly offensive, of course.
Livio doesn’t mind it either way. He likes when Gion is happy and just a bit more smiley, but if Gion is pissed at the French then he seeks him out to complain, and Livio gets more from Gion no matter what mood he’s in.
Princess Gina and her French consort are the few who never truly question their relationship.
They usually stay in the palace for a short while - it could be a few days, it could be a few weeks.
He fucks Gion hard and fast on the nights his sister is in the palace, and Gion responds beautifully, arching against him so pretty and Livio would never call his love a slut but it’s a close thing, and he kisses Gion everywhere he can reach as a silent apology for his rough movements and thinks, mine mine mine .
Gion presses his face in the pillows to muffle his moans because even though the walls are soundproofed he’s terrified that their guests will hear, and he gasps out orders to stop as insincere as Livio’s whispered agreements, and Livio ignores him and rocks into him harder, demanding and greedy, trying his damned hardest to make him scream until he finishes, and Gion is overstimulated and sobbing as he follows suit.
He cleans them up and goes back to being the perfect aide and holds his prince, gentle and demure, and once the afterglow wears off Gion hooks an elbow around his neck to drag his face closer, and shoves their mouths together in an imitation of a kiss and says, with a throat hoarse from crying and his face still flushed red, “You’re mine.”
Livio leans down to kiss him properly, and the angle is uncomfortable but Gion clutches him and moans into his mouth and when they finally pull apart Livio grins. “I am,” he agrees, a foregone conclusion, and Gion huffs and drags Livio back on top of him for round two.
~ * ~
Prince Charles comes for semi-regular meals with Gion, and Livio knows the reporters see this and rain praises upon their “friendship”, and he also knows that the two of them use the time waiting for their meals to laugh about it, so.
Livio - Livio doesn’t dislike Charles’ visits, and he doesn’t particularly like them either. He’s fine with them, in the sense that he understands the need for them - Italy still carries the heaviest public debt in the eurozone, and her dependence on America for economic growth is unfortunate but necessary, and Gion is doing his best but a single person cannot undo decades of festering mistakes - at least not immediately - and Prince Charles’ support is irreplaceable.
Prince Charles is irreplaceable.
For Prince Gion, at least.
And Livio tries not to be bitter about it, tries not to be upset that Gion’s brilliant mind craves stimulation, needs an intellectual equal that Livio cannot be - but Charles can.
Livio sees it in the way they banter, from Momosu Academy till now, see the way they had gone from disdainful threats to begrudging respect to playful jabs, and he adores the way Gion’s eyes brighten up when every couple of months Charles saunters into his room with his loud Californian accent and all American charm.
They dine - at a time Charles would call late and Gion would call early. Charles picks the place and Gion selects the menu, and Livio follows them dutifully and seats himself at a table nearby theirs and pretends he isn’t eavesdropping.
They don’t talk politics or partnerships until the wine starts flowing, and once it starts they don’t stop, bureaucratic jargon and legislative shorthand thrown back and forth until they cut a deal both are satisfied with, and any outsider - Livio - is only left bewildered with their conversation that sounded spoken half in code.
Dessert marks the end of their political dealings, and they switch back to casual conversation over lemon meringue and half-filled glasses of Prosecco, trading jokes and quips until their glasses are drained and their patience for each other depleted, and Gion makes his excuses and disappears into his study, and Livio is left to show Charles out of the palace and into his limo, or his helicopter, or whichever mode of transportation he’d need on his journey home.
Livio is content to let the time pass in silence - Charles is not.
He chats, asks deceptively innocent questions - he asks about his duties, asks about the gardens, asks about the royal siblings - and Livio is careful with his answers, phrases them as vaguely as he can without sounding too perfunctory. He’d never really seen Charles as a threat when they were still at Momosu, had taken Gion’s wariness as paranoia, because who expects the ridiculously average boy coasting along on generational wealth to be anything but?
Who expects the naive and bubbly fourth-generation rich kid from the land of democratic ideals to be a carefully cultivated pretence, designed by old money and political clout and a wish for relevance?
So no, Livio hadn’t seen Charles as anything more than he’d deigned to show, but now he knows better, knows about his under-the-table deals with Gion and Evan and god knows who else, knows about his rapid ascension through his country’s messy political sphere, knows about his quirky media personality - America’s latest darling, prepared to deliver on his promises to bring about a brand new dawn, one state at a time - just as fake as his happy-go-lucky persona back at school, and just as charming.
So Livio keeps his gaze forward and his replies simple, because he’s deathly afraid of slipping up and telling Charles something he shouldn’t. The American prince laughs, a promise of more to come, and waves him off with a cheery goodbye and a deep-seated feeling of unease - like he’d already given Charles everything he’d needed.
Livio heads back into the palace sombre and quiet on those nights, and Gion will be working on something or another, trade agreements and political meetings and official speeches, because his collaborations with Charles change things, gives Prince Gion more leverage to bargain with, gives Italy more room to grow.
Charles gives Gion more than Livio ever can, gives him money and power and influence and everything that matters outside of his darling sister, and Livio-
Livio can’t. He’s got nothing to give Gion except himself, and he’s already promised that over a long time ago.
He stands behind Gion’s chair and wraps his arms around his prince, and he’s careful not to dislodge any papers or coffee Gion might be holding, and for a moment he thinks he would willingly shatter if that was what it took to keep him close.
Or break him .
Livio thinks it’s a price he is willing to pay.
One of Gion’s hands snakes up over his head to pet his hair, and the contact is as unexpected as it is reassuring, and Livio is startled back into reality, and he breathes and tries to forget he’d ever imagined breaking him.
He keeps his head down, lips barely brushing the pale expanse of shoulder before him and his arms around Gion, as he continues to run soft fingers through messy silver waves, and he thinks, I’m yours .
Gion can’t hear him, but he hums as he reads through a particularly complicated clause in his contracts, and Livio closes his eyes and feels Gion’s hand in his hair and thinks I’m yours over and over again until he can imagine that Gion’s quiet hmm s are agreeing acknowledgements.
~ * ~
King Anu of Egypt is one of the visitors he utterly despises .
(He has a feeling - that hatred is mutual.)
King Anu is shrewd and fiercely protective, and he doesn’t trust Livio - never has, and probably never will.
But he calls Gion Bada and Gion dotes on him like his long-dead brother, and their relationship is somehow superficial and genuine at the same time.
And it matters, because while Gion never tried very hard to be the king’s replacement brother and yet Anu still has a vested interest in keeping him alive, and Gion trusts him and his proclaimed loyalty based solely on his physical features, and Livio doesn’t understand how Gion can trust over something so… shallow.
But Gion does, so Livio accepts Anu as a constant presence in their lives even if he doesn’t trust him fully, and unlike Princess Gina and Prince Ciel’s welcome intrusions and Prince Charles' profitable visits - Livio hates it when King Anu drops in unannounced.
King Anu always comes in through the windows, never the doors, no matter how high up they are, and he always brings news and secrets and information, and Anu is one of the few people whose reports Prince Gion always needs to hear.
Livio isn’t allowed to hear those reports. Gion never tells him about them.
(He knows about them anyway.)
When they’re done discussing important political things Anu always asks Gion why .
It’s another reason why Livio doesn’t like him.
Why does he let Livio get close and stay close to him, Anu asks, gaze lingering on marks unfaded from Gion’s body; why does he trust Livio implicitly, Anu asks, ticking off the times that Livio had turned his back when they were younger; why doesn’t he replace him with someone stronger, richer, more powerful, Anu asks, and he pulls out a stack of folders, look, Bada , I made a list of my people who would serve you better than him-
Livio yanks out his earbuds and stares down at his phone, breathing hard, and he can’t hear Anu anymore but he can still see his mouth moving, as Gion closes his eyes and shakes his head in exasperated fondness and Anu tips his head back, smiling and talking, and his eyes meet Livio’s for a second through the room’s cameras.
No one is irreplaceable, Anu says to Gion, but really he’s telling Livio, and Livio reads his lips and feels ice shoot up his spine at the words, and he can’t help thinking that Anu’s right.
Gion won’t ever find anyone as good as him, but if he so chooses he can swap Livio out any time.
(Livio’s not sure what he would do, if Gion left him. He doesn’t think he’ll stay sane.)
Gion opens his mouth, and Livio’s heart is beating hard and fast, and he almost doesn’t want to hear his response.
Not him , Gion says simply, and Livio-
And Livio loves him so much it hurts .
Anu never stays very long. He stays long enough to deliver his reports and catch up with Prince Gion and by extension rile up Livio, but he’s usually gone by the next day.
Livio makes love to him on those nights, works him open slowly and carefully until Gion is writhing on his fingers and desperate for more, and he teases him with light touches and gentle kisses even as his other hand pins him down on their bed, the unrelenting grip at odds with the care he takes as he thrusts his fingers slowly into his twitching hole.
Gion’s voice goes high and breathless when he’s close, and Livio knows this tell, and edging his prince is glorious, as he withdraws his hands and admires the way Gion ruts back against nothing, making confused whines and his pupils blown so wide the blackness swallows the blue of his iris whole.
Livio manages to get him babbling half-senseless pleas by the third time he drags Gion from the brink of an orgasm, and he’s gentle and loving so he pushes in when Gion begs him to and swallows his moans and cries with endless kisses and when finally they both come Livio digs his teeth into Gion’s throat and savours Gion’s beautiful, beautiful scream.
When Gion comes out of the dazed and fucked-out bliss he sinks into, he sucks a matching hickey on Livio’s collarbone, and he says, dark and self-satisfied, “You’re mine.”
And Livio tears his gaze away from the red and angry mark he’d left on Gion’s neck so he can stare at the claim his love put on him, and his smile is reverent when he says, “ Yes .”
~ * ~
Prince Shintarou is a complicated case.
He’s a mess in Italy, already halfway to a panic attack when he steps off the plane onto Italian soil, and Gion is always there to hold him through the ride back to the palace as Pepper offers them both tea and Shintarou breathes and breathes and tries not to spiral.
Shintarou never comments on their relationship - not that Livio knows of, anyhow - but Livio can see when Shintarou side-eyes the button recorders hidden between blazer folds and slipped behind buckles and embedded in tie clips and the truly excessive amounts of CCTVs Livio had installed in the palace, and Livio can see when Shintarou drags Gion away for a “private chat” and Pepper would just happen to be at a perfect angle to block the view from the cameras and the audio files from his recorders would just happen to be corrupted.
He isn’t stupid. Shintarou is a computer genius - and Pepper is a technological marvel, decades ahead of anything the market has even imagined - and Livio almost doesn’t fault him, that his files are being targeted this way - Shintarou cares for Gion more than he does for Livio, and Livio knows that Shintarou would send his people after him in a heartbeat if he ever wronged Gion, and Livio would never , not again, but he appreciates the external reminder.
And Livio’s mostly sure Shintarou doesn’t plan on spilling about his spying habits to Gion - he hadn’t the first time he’d noticed, no reason to suspect he would change his mind now - but it isn’t just Shintarou blocking his signals to speak privately with Gion that is irritating.
He can read lips just fine, even if his audio recordings are unretrievable - but Pepper is always there, unwaveringly loyal to Shintarou and unbribable and a perfect, unmovable robot shield.
It’s irritating, so annoying , but he’d more or less grown up with Prince Shintarou, next to Prince Gion. Familiarity breeds contempt, but it fosters understanding too, and Livio knows what makes Shintarou tick, knows what Shintarou is thinking when his viruses overwrite the files of himself and Gion but leave the rest of Livio’s collection untouched.
It’s a warning, that he knows exactly what Livio is doing; it’s a reassurance, that he wouldn’t expose him to Gion - not yet, anyway; it’s a reminder, that he still has to be careful, because Gion would find out if he wasn’t - and what then?
Shintarou’s visits are the most routine of any of their other visitors, if not exactly frequent. Princess Gina’s trips home are irregular at best, Prince Charles’ social calls could have intervals of anything from a few weeks to many months, and King Anu’s drop-ins were unpredictable and abrupt.
But Shintarou comes to Italy like clockwork, five days in Rome twice a year, every year, with Pepper in tow, once in April and once in October, in part working through his trauma and in part - or so Livio suspects - avoiding the tourist crowds in his own country.
Shintarou has been in Italy for much of his adolescent years, and he comes to Italy every six months, and yet his Italian still has a touch of a distinct Japanese accent, a speech pattern he’d picked up from Honda Kon’ichi, his tutor and protector and a man drowning in guilt and regret, before he was Iseya, his shadow and protector and a man atoning for his sins.
Five days in Italy is all the time Shintarou spends each time, because he is not the successor to the Imperial House but he still has responsibilities as a member of the royal family, five days, always five days, no more, no less.
Five days of having corrupted files, five days of not knowing every movement and conversation that flows around Gion.
Prince Gion insists on seeing Prince Shintarou off at the airport - the paparazzi follows, cameras flashing and recorders in their hands - and the relief Livio feels when Prince Shintarou’s plane takes off is a little unkind but it means he has full access to Gion once again, and-
And that’s everything he needs, really.
They always take a car back, a white Maserati unremarkable except for its price, trident marked into the centre of the wheels, with tinted windows and soft carpeted flooring and huge plush seats draped in leather.
There’s a chauffeur in the driver’s seat, and a soundproof divider between the back seats and the drivers’, and Livio opens the door for Gion. He climbs in after him, and Gion eyes him with a smirk playing on his lips, every inch the pretty and pampered prince raised in the lap of luxury.
Livio wants to spoil him, wants to give him everything he wants and more; Livio wants to ruin him, wants to pull him from his pedestal and chain him to his side.
The car pulls into the main road, smooth and easy, and it will be another hour at least before they arrive back at the palace. Livio nudges Gion onto the floor, and the prince folds to his knees gracefully, perched on his heels and undoubtedly creasing his Oxfords.
He’s beautiful like this, on his knees, smile smug and dirty even as his face starts to colour, and Livio’s mouth suddenly dry, because what has he ever done to deserve-
“My love,” Gion whispers, and Livio’s breath catches and the next thing he knows is Gion’s hands on his thighs, pushing them apart, and fingers on his belt, undoing the buckle, and then Gion’s mouth, warm and wet, around his-
Livio moans, and when he bucks up it’s accidental and instinctive, and Gion gags around him as he chokes. If Livio was a better person he would let him take a break, to breathe and adjust, but as it is Gion’s lips are swollen and red and pretty around him, and he just wants so badly to ruin him.
He keeps a hand around the back of Gion’s head and pushes him down further, slow and unrelenting, and he revels in how Gion’s blue eyes go wide and shocked as he’s forced to take more . It’s a cruel pleasure, Livio thinks, and he watches Gion’s eyes fill with tears threatening to spill, and he thrusts a little, just a bit, just to feel Gion’s throat spasm helplessly around him and his nails dig crescents into his knees.
Gion’s face is flushed and tear-streaked by the time Livio comes, and he makes to pull away but he forgets about Livio’s hand on his head still holding him steady, and he nearly chokes on the first mouthful of come.
Livio keeps him between his legs until he swallows, and he pulls him off gently, and tips Gion’s chin up to admire his come painting Gion’s lips and chin and dribbling off Gion’s tongue.
He looks worn out and dazed and used .
Gion swallows again, and Livio stares, entranced by the way his Adam’s apple bobs, until he feels a pressure around his neck as Gion drags him down, and his prince’s voice is a little raspy and a little hoarse as he murmurs “ Mine, ” into his ear, and it almost sounds like his voice over one of his recorders that Livio refuses to feel guilty about, almost makes up for five days of silence in his earbuds.
Livio surges forward and kisses Gion hard, licks into his mouth and tastes himself on Gion’s tongue. “Yours,” he mumbles, their lips still pressed together, and Gion leans back to smile, pleased and dark and sultry, and Livio is suddenly very, very aware of the fact that they’ve still got a long way home.
~ * ~
The Princess Royal of South Korea does not come to Italy.
Instead, she sends beautiful, handwritten letters, letters that ask that Gion speak with her, either through secured calls with a fifteen second lag as their words are coded and decoded, or flights over the largest land mass on the planet, a lofty summons phrased like a polite request.
Livio knows her letters, baronial envelopes sealed with candle wax, traditional ruby coloured seal marked with the distinct impression of Princess Su Jung’s unique signet ring.
Livio knows her letters, neatly penned Korean characters, small lines of navy blue ink dotting creamy white papers smelling faintly of the princess’ custom-made lavender scent.
Livio knows her letters, pleasant greetings and perfunctory well wishes, subtle digs and inside jokes, imposing demands and reluctant pleas, all rolled into one, because they work together, the prince of Italia and the princess of Daehan Minguk, an alliance forged as children that neither names friendship , and yet the perfect and flawless royals show each other their weaknesses and ask them for help, and rests easy in the knowledge that faultless assistance will be exactly what the other provides.
Livio knows Su Jung’s letters, and everything that follows after, from the flights to the talks to the trip back home.
The princess does not come to Italy.
He’s nonplussed when a maid knocks on Gion’s door, and shyly announces the Korean Princess, and Princess Su Jung appears behind her, not a hair out of place, smiles her camera-beauty smile at them, and waves elegantly.
There’s a pause as they both stare at her. And then-
“Han! How nice to see you!” Prince Gion says, bright and press-perfect, and steps forward to press a light kiss on the back of her hand. He glances over at Livio and the maid. “Fetch us some tea, please?”
“Alex wants to propose,” she tells Gion, when tea has been delivered and everyone else has taken their leave, but Livio is just one room over with earbuds in his ear and real-time CCTV footage playing on his phone.
Gion blinks, dark lashes sweeping over surprised blue eyes. “Congratulations?” he says slowly.
Su Jung laughs weakly. “I wasn’t supposed to know,” she says, and she sounds frustrated, and she sounds sad. “I wish I didn’t know.”
“Hey,” Gion says, faintly alarmed, as Su Jung swipes an angry hand across her face. “Hey, Han-”
“It’s just,” she burst out, voice cutting sharp across Gion’s half-formed sentence, “I found the ring under his bed - he’s so bad at hiding things, my god - and I didn’t mean to, I dropped my earring and I was looking for it, and I got curious, and now-” her voice chokes off, and she draws in a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh. “Well. Now I know.”
Gion nods. “Is him wanting to propose a bad thing?” he asks.
(Livio notices a movement at the entry of the palace, and pulls up a different camera’s feed.)
“It’s been, what, eight years? Nine?” Gion again, natural and questioning. “Did you want a longer dating phase?”
(He recognises the newcomer, and smiles.)
“It’s not about that,” she tells him, and she sounds tired. “It’s- everything else.”
It’s everything else.
It’s not just Alexis and Su Jung - it’s Alexis and Su Jung, and Momosu and South Korea and the rest of the world.
It’s the rumours that will come, of the Korean harlot who slept her way into Momosu’s good graces, of the Momosu whore who fucked his way into Korea’s noble scene - it’s the rumours that will come, vicious and biting and utterly untrue .
It’s the constant spotlight focus, the personal and invasive questions the gossip mags want to know, the reporters sticking their noses where it decidedly did not belong - it’s the constant spotlight focus, their every move captured and scrutinised.
It’s the tough calls they'll have to make, when the rest of the world pits them against each other, when Su Jung is first and foremost the admired Princess Han of South Korea, when Alexis’ principal responsibility lies with his father’s stretch of islands and his inheritance - it’s the tough calls they’ll have to make, when their duties come before their marriage.
It’s everything else, because Alexis is the only thing Su Jung is sure of, except she isn’t even sure of that, because Maria had been sure of Vladimir, and that had earned her an elopement and a divorce and years of fucktoys and now a tentative dating phase, doing it over again, as people instead of puppets, as Maria and Vlad instead of the Russian couple, because they grew up and grew apart and drew back together, the same but different, and polished bangles and silver swans and a heart-shaped lock on the Luzhkov Bridge whose key is lying somewhere on the ocean floor with Maria’s ten-carat diamond are the only things left unchanged from their first courtship.
Maria was sure of Vladimir, and she still is, but Su Jung-
She’s has never been as resilient as Maria, and she wants so badly to marry him but she doesn’t know if it will last, and she will break if Alex leaves her like Vladimir left Maria, and-
Su Jung breaks off into a sob, and seems to realise she’s gotten to her feet at some point in her explanation, and drop back into her chair without her usual grace, dragging a hand over her face as she draws in shuddering breaths and Gion politely pretends he’s suddenly gone deaf and blind.
(All the while a figure draws closer to their room.)
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” she says, and finally takes a sip of her tea. It’s gone cold.
Gion picks up the teapot again, refilling her cup with steaming liquid. “Talk to him?” he suggests, lightly sardonic.
Su Jung laughs. “Not sure how I’d bring it up,” she admits, “What do I say, ‘hey Alex, so I accidentally found my ring, and I want to say yes but I don’t know if we’re ready for everything that comes with it?’”
“That works,” Alexis says, behind her, phone held to his ear, and Su Jung startles. Gion raises his cup to his lips, to appreciate the fresh aroma of the tea, but mostly to hide his smirk, and hangs up on Alexis.
One room over, Livio laughs out loud.
“Close your mouth, Han, you’ll attract flies,” Gion says, smug victory singing in his words.
Su Jung closes her eyes. “ Gae-sae-ggi ,” she hisses out, slowly and clearly, as Alexis blinks in horrified surprise. “How?”
Gion shrugs, smooth and pleased. “I had a meeting with Alexis, supposedly, well,” he glances at his phone, “it was supposed to be ten minutes ago, but I think we can reschedule.”
Su Jung turns back to her boyfriend. “Were you outside the entire time?” she demands, switching to Korean, her rapid fire words tripping over themselves. “How much did you hear?”
Alexis pauses. “Everything,” he admits. “I wasn’t outside the whole time, I only just reached, more or less - but I was on call with Prince Gion.”
Gion holds up his phone, flashing his call log, as he takes a long drink of tea. “Modern technology, so efficient,” he says, and smiles. “Alexis, Su Jung, you have the room, if you want to talk - if you don’t, I’m sure one of you has a hotel room, or a credit card. Alexis, I’ll meet you tomorrow.”
Alexis nods. Su Jung sighs. Gion sets his cup down, and walks out of the room.
Livio is waiting for him, just outside the door.
“Let’s go,” Gion says, heading down a corridor, Livio falling into step automatically behind him.
“Where to?” he asks, still amused by Alexis’ perfectly timed entrance, and Gion gives him a look , blue eyes sparkling and suggestive.
Gion smiles. “I’m high on success, and my afternoon meeting was just cancelled,” he says. A hand reaches out to snag Livio’s shirt and pull him close. “What shall I do with my time, Livio?”
“Me?” Livio offers, playing along, and laughs when Gion tilts his chin, waiting for a kiss. He complies, gentle and sweet, while he walks Gion backwards to the wall, and nips lightly on his lip before he pushes his tongue in, quickly and effectively turning the kiss hot and obscene.
They break the kiss gasping, and Gion must be still buzzing with happiness for Su Jung, because they both know Alexis will show up to the meeting tomorrow as an engaged man, because Gion smiles again.
“Maria and Vladimir, Su Jung and Alexis,” he says softly. “Everyone’s getting married.” He looks up, and Livio wants to bring up Princess Gina’s wedding in the next quarter just to rile him up, but there’s something hopeful and unreadable in his eyes that Livio doesn’t dare claim, doesn’t dare mention-
“I’m yours,” he says instead, falling back on an old promise, and Gion leans up to kiss him, and his prince says, quiet, “I know.”
~ * ~
Most of Gion’s birthdays are quiet and lazy.
He tends to the birthday-break tradition, and for a few days every year, he takes Livio and disappears from his duties and the palace.
Gion likes Florence, Livio comes to know, likes the ninety minute flight from Rome to the Tuscany capital, likes the art and the culture and the red terracotta rooftops, likes the small villa a few miles from the city’s downtown - a Christmas gift from Gina a few years ago, after he’d bought her a luxury apartment in Milan for her birthday - regularly maintained, beautiful and perfect.
Livio follows Gion through the cobbled streets of the gorgeous city, buys him lavender flavoured gelato cones and knock-off ten euro cartoon headbands, taking in the sights and the food and the people, and when night falls they return to the villa with a mini cake and a bottle of wine.
Gion’s face glows in the candlelight, and he deliberately pours Chianti over himself, pretty and captivating, and Livio doesn’t mind his expensive wine tipped over Gion’s lap if it means he can taste it when he licks over his skin as he comes in him later.
Venice is Gina’s favourite city, and it ranks decent on Gion’s list too, even if he doesn’t go there particularly often, too many people around and too far away from the capital for leisure trips like these, but he does go there sometimes, when he wants to see the winding waters of his sinking city, when he wants modern romance and classical beauty.
Livio fucks him sweet and slow, spills into him as Gion digs his nails into his shoulders, the aching pain a sharp contrast to the way he tightens around him, soft and warm and pliant, and they both fall asleep in a tangle of limbs and love, water lapping gently six floors below their hotel room window.
Gion doesn’t go out of Italy much for his birthday, but they’d gone to Norway once, to see the northern lights, with Ciel and Gina and her baby bump.
It was cold and beautiful and enchanting, and Livio was entirely happy to drag Gion close and kiss his cold lips even without the brilliant dancing greens and purples of the aurora borealis dancing in the dark sky above them, vibrant and gorgeous and absolutely freezing, but perfectly perfect nonetheless.
This year Gion doesn’t leave Rome - he doesn’t even leave the city centre, actually, just tells his chief-of-staff not to find him. He tugs Livio into a classy, discreet, possibly overpriced hotel twelve minutes from the palace and into a pre-booked suite and rides him till they’re both sticky with sweat and come. Gion manages to doze off while Livio runs the bath, and he looks so darling on maroon silks stained with come dribbling between his legs that Livio wants to go again.
He gathers his prince into his arms, and deposits him into the warm water. Gion makes a tired, drowsy sound, but doesn’t open his eyes. He’s drifting off by the time Livio dries his hair and takes him back to the bedroom and falls asleep on the comfortable sheets.
Livio wakes up to an empty bed, a faded warmth in the sheets the only indication another person had ever been there.
He rolls out of bed into a fresh set of clothes - thank you room service - and pads out of the room on soft cream carpets.
He finds Gion in the en-suite kitchen, sitting at the counter, a half-eaten cup of berry yoghurt in front of him as he watches the teasmade brew a steaming cup of chai.
Gion raises an eyebrow at him when the teasmade dings, loud and cheerful, and Livio obligingly crosses the kitchenette to fetch his tea for him.
“Happy birthday, love,” he says, as he presses the cup into Gion’s hands and a kiss to his temple.
Gion hums happily, swaying lightly against him as he sips at his tea, and he says, “I have something for you.”
It’s two months after that dodged conversation in the palace halls, and Livio should have seen this coming, but his stomach still drops, terrified and disconcerted, as Gion pulls out a tiny velvet box from his pocket.
He steps away from Gion before he can feel him shaking.
Gion is resolutely staring straight into the depths of his tea. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to, I just thought-”
“I-” Livio tries. His voice comes out croaky. He clears his throat, and tries again. “I can’t .”
He can’t, is the thing, he wants, he wants, and Gion is everything, everything he’s ever wanted, everything he still wants, everything he will ever want, and everything he’s not allowed to have, everything he can’t possibly ask for, when the years by Gion’s side, in his bed, as his bodyguard, as his lover, should be everything he deserves and everything that is enough.
Wanting more shouldn’t even be a thought to cross his mind.
He still wants, though, his greed insatiable even as his logic screams at him as he converts that desperate desire into dark possessiveness and recording devices, a way to sate the hunger he rationally knows he can never truly feed.
“Why,” Gion says, flat and cold, still looking at his cup. He takes a drink and puts it down, and Livio can hear the tea slosh and the cup scrape as it is set down unsteadily on the marble counter, and see the hard-set lines of his shoulder, angry and confused and hurt.
Livio swallows as he thinks about how to phrase his answer, instead of stepping forward to wrap himself around Gion, hold him until the distress is gone from his voice and his posture.
The words are bitter on his tongue. “I’m honoured, Your Highness-” and Gion makes a choked noise at that, because Livio hasn’t called him Highness properly for years, they were supposed to be past that, but now’s a time when Livio needs Gion to remember his position and his own rank and the gaping chasm between them, risqué and improper, “but the fallout and the scandal is not,” His voice closes off, and Livio swallows hard, forces himself to push past the lump in his throat. “Italy has expectations, Your Highness, and a perceptive wife of noble birth is one of them. I’m just,” he says, weakly, “I’m just your aide, Gion, I’m not- I can’t be forever.”
Gion’s head jerks up so fast Livio spares a hysterical moment to be concerned for his joints.
“Not forever?” Gion hisses, snarls , suddenly furious as he slips off his counter stool. “I met you when I was seven and now I’m almost thirty and you’re still here, and unless you want to resign or break up,” he crosses his arms, sour and sullen, and scowls. “This feels reasonably close to forever for me.”
“Your duties,” Livio manages helplessly, and resigning is a terrible idea, but breaking up sounds even worse, and on top of that he wants nothing more than to kiss the frown off Gion’s face and say yes, yes , anything . “The papers. They’ll talk.”
Gion sighs.
“Livio,” he says, soft and gentle, as he steps into his space, “I’m the crown prince. I deserve the dignity of a love match. If I say I want you, and you want me back, I can make us happen, and damn the consequences. People will always talk, anyway. If my relationship is a scandal, at least it’s real.” His eyes glitter, vicious and pretty. “If Italy calls for me to bow out of the succession line, she’s welcome to screw herself over trying to find a competent replacement.
Livio can’t speak. He can’t move. He thinks he’s delirious and he thinks he’d be happy to stay in this hallucination, where Gion just offered to give up everything else for him, because he can’t possibly have heard that right.
“Tell me to stop,” Gion says, as he cups his chin with one hand and pulls him down with the other.
“Tell me to stop,” Gion says, again, their faces an inch apart. His gaze flicks to his mouth, and back up, as he waits.
Livio blinks, realising Gion wants an answer. “Don’t stop,” he says.
If this is a dream, he doesn’t want it to end.
Gion leans forward, and kisses him slow and loving, and Livio’s hands slide over Gion’s waist to press him closer, effortless and natural, like he fits there, on his body, in his life, with his heart.
Livio breaks them apart, after a time between a fraction of a heartbeat and a stretch of eternity. Gion makes a vexed noise, and pushes forward, chasing another kiss, and Livio’s head spins as he pulls away again. He has to take several breaths before his dizzy mind clears enough to string a line of thought together.
Even so, he only stutters out “ yes ” before Gion’s mouth is on him again, sucking a patch of his throat red and purple and throwing all coherent thought right out the window.
Gion leans back away after a while, and he’s smiling as he says, “Yes?” His gaze traces his face before dipping to the hickey bruising nicely on Livio’s throat.
Livio’s whole body is tingling and his head is spinning. “Yes,” he confirms, not entirely sure what he’s agreeing to but knowing he’d give Gion the world if he only asked.
Gion’s gaze softens and he drapes his arms over Livio’s shoulders, a half-hug. “Are you sure?” he asks, “If you want to wait some more-”
“No,” Livio says firmly, some of his senses beyond Gion in my arms Gion on my lips Gion on my throat coming back to him, long-overdue, and he can still see the small red box sitting on the counter, all but forgotten. “I want you. I always wanted you, I’ll always want you. You’re-” You’re everything .
He doesn’t get to finish, because Gion is ducking out of his arms and walking back to the counter, hopping onto one of the barstools. Gion tosses the box at him and crosses one leg over the other expectantly, regal in his easy elegance.
“Ask me,” he says, and Livio smiles.
“I love you,” he says, bluntly, matter-of-fact, “I think I’ve always loved you, before I even knew what it was,” because why else would he spend the interest-development phase of his life focused on nothing but Gion , and even after that his life had revolved around Gion, and even now he’d still follow him to the ends of the earth. “I have loved you since I learned it with you, I have loved you from first glance to now - I have loved you my entire life, and I don’t know how to stop.” He glances at the ring box in his hand. “I don’t want to stop.”
He takes a breath, as he risks a glance at Gion. “I’ve given everything I have to you,” Livio says, and it comes out a little accusing. He smiles, reassuring, as he continues, “I signed my life to you almost two decades ago, and I would not renounce my oath, and I will serve as long as it pleases you, with no hesitation and no regret,” he recites, a modified version of the pledge he’d taken when he first signed under the palace’s contract. “I would just ask something in return.” The pledge had called for nothing to exchange his loyalty for.
He opens the ring box. There are two rings inside, identical bands of polished silver and glossy obsidian looping around each other, tasteful and simple.
“Anything,” Gion promises softly, his eyes shining.
Livio twists the box around so the rings are presented to Gion, and the prince had picked out the rings himself - he must have, because Livio had never even heard discussion of them before - but Livio still hears his breath hitch. “I want you,” he says, and relief is heady and dizzying as he voices the words he’d never imagined he could. “I love you, I want you, I want you more than anything. I’m yours, I was always yours; but I want you too.”
He kneels, and it’s immensely similar to how he’d sworn his oath, an age ago. He supposes love is just another oath, when it comes down to it.
“I want you,” he says again, “May I have you?”
And Gion is on him, his kiss hard and pleading, almost before he finishes the proposal. “Yes, yes, yes ,” he breathes. “I’m yours. Please.”
“My love,” Livio gasps out, as he fumbles for the rings, and he thinks, mine, my love, mine mine mine .
He manages to grab one ring from the velvet slot, which Gion promptly snatches from his hand while he’s distracted with his tongue tracing the curve of his lips, and that’s just unfair .
They pull apart laughing, and Gion makes a “give me” motion as he snickers, and Livio obediently holds out his hand. Gion slips the thin circle of metal onto his finger, and it slips on his finger a little too easily, he’ll need to alter it a bit tighter, but it’s his and perfect.
He pulls out the other ring, and Gion smiles coy and teasing as he puts the metal band on him.
He reels him in to kiss, again, and he can feel the cool metal on his hand as he pulls Gion closer, and the hard ridges of the black stone is a keen but welcome shock against his cheek as his prince - his, his, his - brushes a hand across his face.
Everything else - the ceremony, the papers, the duties, everything else will come later. For now, Livio revels in the warm press of Gion around him, in the tiny kitchenette of a hotel in the heart of Rome, his world in his arms, and the future a bright but distant thing.
“You’re mine,” he whispers against Gion’s ear, just to feel him shiver, and he strokes a thumb over the ring, and thinks, I’m yours .