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to have and to hold
Cale mentally pats himself on the back for telling the children to spend the night with Sheritt and Eruhaben in the black castle, though Raon took a bit longer to convince than his siblings. Cale would prefer to delay the conversation about human reproduction for a little longer if possible, especially since Alver might combust on the spot from embarrassment if the topic is broached in his vicinity.
Speaking of spontaneous combustion, Alver’s face is already a hilarious shade of red despite his darker complexion, and it shows no signs of returning to normal any time soon. Cale is not sure that he fares much better—the combination of his own embarrassment and activating Record is making him quite red-faced too—but he feels a hint of smugness at managing to fluster the other man this much with just a few kisses.
“Do you have any idea how much I’ve wanted to kiss you?” Cale says, delighting in the way Alver’s ears turn even more scarlet.
And, well… The Birth of a Hero was not a romance novel, so Cale has no idea whether the original Cale Henituse had sex in this body. Considering all the other random details that Choi Junggun included about people’s private lives, Cale is honestly surprised that the author didn’t include unnecessary details about the ‘characters’ fucking each other.
It’s ultimately for the best; Cale has read plenty of explicit content in his past life, but that doesn’t mean he wants to know about… King Shickler’s sexual history, for example. Choi Junggun definitely had some sort of crush on the whale with how much his looks were praised in the novels. Cale knows too much about all three transmigrating members of the Choi family already; he does not also need to know that the elder of the elder of his teammate as Kim Roksu feels strongly attracted toward DILFs.
Cale’s train of thought is interrupted when Alver coughs awkwardly. “Maybe you should kiss me more,” he says, likely attempting to be suave but failing miserably, “...since you said you wanted to.”
“Maybe I should,” Cale says with no shortage of amusement, “...since you asked so nicely.” He grows even more amused when Alver looks simultaneously annoyed at the teasing and surprised that his suggestion worked. Someone’s glib tongue clearly malfunctions when it comes to romantic overtures instead of political ones.
Alver crosses his arms. He would probably insist that he isn’t sulking, but Cale would disagree. “Well, get on with it then—”
Cale makes a mental note to use kisses in the future whenever Alver talks too much. The success rate for shutting him up has been a resounding 100% so far. From a scientific standpoint, it’s still too early to make any conclusions from such limited data, but Cale doesn’t see any downsides to doing more future research to see if the success rate holds up after rigorous testing.
Not that further excuses are necessary for Cale to make out with Alver. His hyung makes up for his lack of experience with incredible enthusiasm. The cute desperate noises that happen whenever Cale sticks his tongue in Alver’s mouth are also a well-appreciated bonus.
“Hey,” Cale says when Alver leans back to breathe (he clearly forgot his nose existed as an alternate airway). “Do you have any preference about who tops?”
Alver looks confused. “Tops…?”
Maybe Rowoon doesn't use that as slang. Cale makes a mental note to do more research before translating the term the simplest way he can think of, forgoing nuance in favour of situational clarity. “The one who sticks their penis in the other.”
Alver's brain kicks back into function, face rapidly turning redder shortly afterward. “N-No, I don’t think I have any strong preference…” His dark brows furrow for a moment in thought before he mutters, “Maybe you should…? I don’t, ah. Know what I’m doing.”
Is it still called ‘spontaneous human combustion’ if the person is a quarter dark elf? Cale wonders, briefly poking Alver on the cheek to see if his face is hot enough to catch on fire. Stranger things have happened in this universe, and Alver is a high-grade mage. Accidentally bursting into flames out of embarrassment could be a non-zero possibility.
(I would never do that to you! Cheapskate declares proudly.
Cale ignores him.)
Technically speaking, Cale doesn’t have much experience either. When he was still Kim Roksu, he didn’t have much time for relationships as a teenager or as a young adult. He was busy trying to support himself and live independently. Having sex was incredibly low on his list of priorities. The most he did was read romance novels of the occasionally scandalous variety.
Then the Cataclysm happened and nobody had much time for anything other than ‘try not to get killed by monsters’, until everyone managed to return to some semblance of normalcy years later. Roksu had occasionally experimented around then, since he finally had the spare time and energy for it, as well as people he trusted to actually try anything with. All of that stopped when he had to become the new Team 1 Leader.
Still. Limited experience is more than zero experience. Considering Alver nearly had an anxious meltdown weeks ago in his office about the prospect of romance in general, Cale would prefer not to make his hyung even more nervous than he already is.
“Tell me if you don’t like something,” Cale says, tugging Alver towards the bed. It’s a bit endearing that the king lets himself get dragged around so easily. It’s also endearing that he just as easily topples onto the blankets with only a light push on the shoulder, though Cale would use many other inappropriate words to describe how that makes him feel that he wouldn’t be able to repeat in front of his children.
“Why are you so fucking heavy when you look like a twink,” Cale mutters, struggling to lift Alver’s hips off the bed to take his pants off.
“What’s a twink?”
“I’ll tell you later.” Cale finally manages to remove the damn pants and smallclothes underneath, mentally making a note to thank whoever was responsible for Alver’s simpler choice of fashion today. After the literal years it took to get to this point, if Cale was further delayed by unnecessarily complicated royal belts and buckles, something would have been set on fire. Probably Alver’s hypothetically offensive articles of clothing.
(I would do that for you! Cheapskate declares again, even prouder than before.
You will not set the King of Rowoon on fire, Super Rock says disapprovingly.
All of you shut up in there, Cale thinks in annoyance, feeling like they’ll start arguing if he ignores them like usual. I don’t need Ancient Power voyeurs when I take Alver’s virginity. Anyone who talks again while I’m busy will get absorbed into my soul.
Blissful silence at last.)
Cale returns his full attention to Alver who also seems temporarily distracted by something, judging by the other man’s quiet mumbling to himself. Alver suddenly blinks back into focus and then says with a small scowl, “Excuse me, I don’t think I count as a twink.”
Ah. Taerang must have explained.
Alver gives Cale an impressive side-eye despite lying down while half-naked; it must be a royal skill to look vaguely judgemental no matter what position you’re in, even if your entire ass is out. “Wouldn’t ‘twink’ describe you better? I don’t train more than two hours a day just for a scrawny bastard like you to call me—ah!”
Cale adds sucking Alver's dick to the slowly growing list of effective ways to make him stop talking so much. Cale hasn’t given a blowjob to anyone in a while—and not at all in his current body—so it takes a bit of time for him to remember what to do with his mouth.
Pro to sucking a virgin’s dick: Alver definitely doesn’t care what the fuck Cale is doing down there as long as he doesn’t stop doing it, judging by the muffled but very appreciative noises happening out of sight. They’re a fantastic boost to Cale’s confidence, and definitely preferable to panicked or annoyed commentary, so he Records every second.
Con: if Alver doesn’t fucking relax a little bit he might break Cale’s head, because it’s getting crushed between strong thighs that noticeably exercise for more than two hours daily, as the king grumpily mentioned less than a minute ago. The Vitality of the Heart can probably fix skull fractures, but Cale doesn’t want to test that theory because Alver will probably go immediately flaccid out of horror.
(If the Ancient Powers weren’t currently banned from speaking under threat of soul-based demise, they would probably express legitimate concerns that Cale seems more worried about Alver losing his erection than Cale’s head cracking like an egg. In the hypothetical event they could speak, however, Cale’s counterpoint would be that broken bones would be fixed near instantaneously, whereas Alver’s horror would cockblock both of them for another three years at minimum.)
“Spread your legs,” Cale manages to mumble, unable to fully detach himself to speak clearer because of the legs locking his head in place.
Thankfully, Alver somehow gets the message; his legs snap away from Cale’s head so quickly that both his hip joints crack. “Sorry!” Alver squeaks, fingers loosely latticed over his eyes as if he hasn’t decided yet whether to stop looking or keep looking.
Cale just blinks slowly and says, “Relax.” Though he can’t resist playfully patting the dick near his face in a mockery of comfort just to annoy and/or embarrass Alver. The resulting spluttering is as entertaining as Cale hoped.
Alver’s blush has completely overtaken his face and ears at this point. “How am I supposed to relax while y-you’re. Down there. Doing… things.”
“Sucking your cock?” Cale asks dryly.
Alver’s glare isn’t nearly as intimidating as it usually is when he’s half-undressed and trying to impersonate a ripe tomato. “Yes. That.”
Cale smiles brightly. “I’m sure the brilliant sun of the Rowoon Kingdom will learn and adapt quickly. After all, His Majesty is as quick-witted as he is wise, and as diligent as he is talented, with a sharp intellect both admired and envied by other countries’ rulers across the western and eastern continents alike—”
“I liked it better when my cock was in your stupid mouth,” Alver mutters mutinously, before suddenly realizing what exactly he just said and yanking his cloak’s hood over his face in embarrassment.
It’s tempting to keep making fun of Alver, but Cale decides he’d rather go back to teasing his future fiancé in a different way. He peppers gentle kisses up one of Alver’s legs, starting from his ankle and ending with a light bite to his inner thigh. Cale smiles smugly against Alver’s skin so the idiot can feel it even if he can’t see it.
Alver—still hiding under his hood as if trying to emulate the Henituse household’s famous turtle coat of arms—lightly kicks Cale with his other leg. “You’re driving me nuts you annoying piece of shit, I’m going to strangle y—a-ah, fuck!”
The second kick is accidental and definitely more painful. Cale ignores Alver’s quiet apology and (much louder) colourful cursing in favour of concentrating on what he’s doing. It’ll be embarrassing for both of them if Cale accidentally bites Alver’s dick because the king thrusts his hips or something. Just to be on the safer side, Cale avoids taking too much into his mouth; he sticks with using his tongue on the head while one hand gently strokes the rest of Alver’s cock.
It seems to work well enough if the shaky fingers yanking on Cale’s hair is an accurate indicator of how horny Alver is feeling. “W-Wait,” Alver says a bit later, panting, “I think I’m—”
(If anyone asks in the future, Cale was planning to behave. Really.
But hearing the word ‘wait’ after more than two years of waiting for this dumbass to notice Cale liked him strikes a bit of a nerve. And Cale is a petty bastard.)
Cale lets go of Alver’s cock as implicitly requested, but only after one final tug at the base while sucking hard on the tip.
The surprised yelp followed by cum hitting Cale in the face is to be expected.
Alver pulls the nearest pillow over his head. “...I was hoping I would last longer,” he mutters, clearly embarrassed even if his face isn’t visible.
“You lasted longer than I thought you would,” Cale points out, wiping his face clean with the part of Bob-Alver’s cloak that he can reach. He receives another light kick for his sass. “Hey! There’s nothing wrong with cumming quickly!”
“I know there isn’t!” Alver squeaks, clutching the pillow harder. “But it’s annoying when you’re the one saying it!”
Cale feels a bit offended. He’s not entirely sure why. But it’s Alver’s fault so the man will have to take responsibility for it.
Before any vengeance can be exacted, Alver takes the pillow off his face and frowns at Cale. “And it’s unfair that you still have all your clothes on,” Alver says disapprovingly, hooking his foot around one of Cale’s arms. “I want to see.”
Cale also frowns. “...I’m not sure you’ll like it,” he starts saying, but then Alver is lunging upright and dragging him closer by the collar to unlace and unbutton his clothing.
“I think we’ve established that I like you no matter what you look like,” Alver grumbles, somehow making the act of quickly removing both their clothes seem simultaneously crabby and attractive. “Weren’t you listening earlier?”
Whether Alver likes Cale regardless of outward appearance wasn’t the cause of concern, but hearing the reassurance still makes Cale feel a little flustered. However, his frown still deepens when Alver’s fingers hesitate over the gnarled scar tissue on Cale’s chest. “I know it looks a little gross so I can put my shirt back on if it bothers you.”
Alver looks at Cale as if the redhead said he wanted to become Rowoon’s prime minister after all. “What the fuck are you talking about, you stupid bastard? I don’t care about what it looks like. I’m just angry about what caused it.” He pokes Cale squarely in the left boob out of annoyance.
“That happened years ago!” Cale protests, squirming away in mild embarrassment and another emotion he can’t quite define.
“So?!” Alver’s scowl regains some of its usual potency now that both of them are equally undressed. “I can still be mad at you about it. Idiot.” He leans forward to press a quick kiss against the scar. “Dumbass.” And then another kiss. “Bastard.”
Cale reflexively summons a small shield to block the third kiss before it lands. It makes Alver look a bit ridiculous with his lips squashed against a translucent silvery pane suspended in midair. “You don’t have to insult me that many times,” Cale mutters, ignoring how hot his face feels. He must have overused Record for the past hour or two. Probably.
“I don’t have to, but I want to. Never do something like that again.” Alver ducks under the shield to wrap his arms around Cale’s waist, burying his face against the skinnier man’s soft stomach. “...I killed the mood, didn’t I?”
Cale snorts. “A little bit. But it’ll come back.” Without a shirt on, he can feel that Alver’s face is extra warm. Cale runs his fingers through the other man’s uncharacteristically messy brown hair, lightly tugging on the silly cowlick that stubbornly refuses to lay flat no matter how much Alver keeps trying to comb it. It’s cute. Cale quietly commits that to memory too before asking, “Do you need a moment? Or we can stop here, if you want.”
Alver hugs Cale tighter. “...No, I want to keep going.”
Cale lightly flicks one of Alver’s ears before retrieving his spatial pouch with a small gust of wind. His cheeks burn at the memory of Violan primly handing him a vial of fantasy-lube, but he won’t deny that she spared him the indignity of asking Ron or Hans to get him some, or buying it himself and accidentally inciting Hilsman to start shouting rumours about Young Master Silver Shield finally taking a lover or whatever.
“On your back,” Cale says, giving Alver one last pat on the head. Watching the other man obediently let go of him and lie down is distracting to an almost distressing degree, but Cale eventually remembers what he intended to do. He nudges Alver’s legs apart and guides them into a bent position. “Hold these up for me.”
Cale is a slacker, after all. Why do extra work when his diligent hyung is always eager to do it for him?
Alver’s eyes widen a fraction and the flush across his cheeks darkens, but he tucks his hands under the bend of his knees to pull them closer to his chest. “L-Like this?”
That’s… more than what Cale was expecting Alver to do, actually, but there are zero complaints about the view. “Great job,” Cale says stupidly, giving an equally stupid thumbs-up of approval. I should have told him to do that after I got the lube, he curses internally, feeling embarrassed at how long it takes for his fumbling fingers to open the bottle. The certainty that Alver must be even more embarrassed—considering his dick and ass are currently on full display while waiting for something else to happen—makes Cale feel marginally better.
After what seems like an eternity, Cale gently teases Alver’s hole open with a finger, keeping a watchful eye on the king’s reactions.
Alver’s breath hitches at the first touch, flinching in surprise until gentle kisses coax him to slowly relax.
Once the discomfort starts to fade, Alver’s gaze turns distant and he moans quietly as Cale slowly adds more fingers inside him.
After a few more minutes pass, Alver is impatiently gasping for Cale to hurry the fuck up and fuck me already you teasing bastard—
Cale is so fucking horny right now and really glad that Alver was willing to bottom. Cale pours a generous amount of lube on his cock and carefully positions himself. “You ready?” he asks one more time, just in case.
Alver’s face looks somewhere between teary and homicidal. “Cale Henituse if you don’t put your stupid cock in me right now—”
Let nobody accuse Cale of being disloyal to his country. He hastily obeys his orders, groaning quietly at how tight Alver is. Cale squeezes his eyes shut and hisses under his breath: “Try to relax a little.”
The opposite happens.
Cale curses loudly.
…
Alver blinks dazedly. “Did you just…?”
Cale tucks his face against the crook of Alver’s neck in lieu of responding. Cale’s sure that Alver doesn’t need his verbal input to know that, yes, his dongsaeng did immediately cum inside his royal hole, because Cale’s also sure that Alver felt the answer to his question and additional words aren’t necessary.
Alver’s startled laugh sounds almost like a hiccup. “...There’s nothing wrong with cumming quickly, as you so wisely said earlier.”
Sassy little shit.
Cale bites Alver’s closest nipple to retaliate, doing his best to ignore the lewd gasp and squirming that action accidentally causes. Or maybe Cale shouldn’t ignore those things so he can get hard again faster? It’s difficult to judge the best course of action. Further science is required at a future date.
“Just, um, give me a minute,” Cale mumbles, unsure whether he should curse the original owner of his body for having a weak-willed penis, or curse Alver for exercising way too much and having a really strong ass.
Alver stills. “A minute?!”
(Hey, Cale hisses to his hiding Ancient Powers. Crybaby. Shorten my refractory period.
Um… do I have to? the Vitality of the Heart asks, sounding suspiciously like he’s sobbing. Thief noona is annoyed that you used her to get lubricant, and Glutton noona is yelling that she got kissed by the king earlier… I don’t really want to get involved either…
Cale thinks about how much he enjoys the peace and quiet, actually, especially in his own thoughts, it would sure be a shame if he stopped having as many voices clamouring in his skull all the damn time—)
Alver chokes when the cock buried in his ass starts stiffening again. “What the hells,” he says, wide-eyed from a combination of confusion and arousal. “Cale, that was less than a minuhh…!”
“I’m being patriotic,” Cale mutters nonsensically, tilting Alver’s head backwards so his throat is bared for kisses. Some of Cale’s braincells probably abandoned him when he came earlier; it’s impossible to think when Alver looks so good underneath him and makes needy noises with every slow thrust.
“Stop—speaking—nonsense,” Alver manages to string together, which is impressive even if he can’t quite keep his voice steady. Despite his valiant efforts to appear unaffected, it would be obvious to anyone that he is nearly overwhelmed by all the new and very distracting sensations. His fingers dig into his thighs hard enough to bruise when he quietly begs Cale to stop holding back.
Cale makes a small noise of disagreement, leaving kisses along Alver’s jawline. “Mm… I don’t think I should,” Cale says, keeping his lazy leisurely pace. He’s already feeling a little bit tired and would rather avoid any sudden lectures about his lack of regular exercise. It’s annoying enough when it comes from normal-Alver; it’d be more annoying coming from horny-Alver. Definitely another mood-killer. “It’ll hurt tomorrow.”
Alver whines low in his throat. “Don’t care,” he hisses stubbornly, clumsily rocking his hips so Cale can reach even deeper.
…That should be illegal. Unfortunately, Alver would be strongly opposed, and therefore never pass it into law.
Cale swallows thickly. “Okay,” he says around a wooden tongue, before fucking Alver harder as requested. Cale pretends that his frenetic heartbeat is caused by the uncharacteristic physical activity, and not because Alver looks like he’s discovered a new addicktion and having a fantastic time of it. “Only the best for Your Majesty.”
Alver glowers and shakes his head. “Don’t call me that,” he complains, digging the heels of his feet into Cale’s back to pull him closer.
Cale leans in to kiss Alver on the mouth, half-deliriously wishing that the king’s shuddering breaths were something physical that could be swallowed whole. Cale wonders if this is how the Glutton felt when trapped beneath her blackened tree: endlessly ravenous and waiting for someone to offer themselves up as a feast and freedom alike. He sucks and bites on every part of Alver that he can reach until the other man is shaking.
“Hyung,” Cale says impishly, knowing that isn’t the correct answer either. His smirk turns into a light scowl when his bottom lip gets bitten due to royal impatience.
(A nicer man probably wouldn’t toy with the reigning monarch of his country, but Cale never considered himself to be a nice or good person in the first place.)
“Cale.” It’s somewhere between a plea and a sob, and Alver tightly wraps his arms and legs around Cale to touch more of him.
(And in the end, even someone that’s trash will start to have a soft spot for their lover after knowing them for this long, especially when he’s being sweet and achingly affectionate.)
“...Alver.” Cale watches with quiet fascination as Alver’s eyes flutter closed, only noticing that his long lashes are a bit wet because their faces are so close. Cale gently sweeps sweat-damp dark hair out of the way so he can press a light kiss to each trembling eyelid. He doesn’t know what to do with a heart that feels so full.
Alver doesn’t seem to know either. He just clings to Cale harder in a silent demand for more.
Cale has a hard time saying no to Alver’s heartfelt requests, but it’s fine since Alver has a hard time refusing Cale too. Both of them are long past the careful and calculated deals where their relationship first started; being generous suits their current selves better, when it’s clear that both of them only stand to gain. Cale gives and takes as many kisses as he wants, happy that Alver shyly does the same. It’s gratifying to know that they feel equally impatient and eager after the last few years of dancing around each other.
For once, Cale finds himself wanting to say many things. He swallows all the words before they can escape—most of them are very embarrassing for himself, Alver, or both—but thinks about them anyway.
Some of the thoughts started a long time ago, like: ‘I say it all the time because you make me do it but you really are handsome and beautiful’, or ‘I’m really glad you made me do so many troublesome tasks when we first met because I ended up having enough time to fall in love with you’.
Others are newer, like: ‘I want you to feel good’, or ‘oh that felt nice can you do it again’, or ‘I need my stupid hair to stop sticking to my stupid face so I can see you better and I’d get a stupid haircut if I didn’t think you’d banish me from Rowoon for doing that’.
(Also: ‘fuck I’m getting tired I really hope we finish soon’. But as tactless as Cale usually is, even he knows not to say something like that lest he accidentally give Alver erectile dysfunction for the rest of his life.)
Most embarrassing of all though, Cale wants to give Alver many perverted compliments that wouldn’t be out of place in one of the more obscene novels read by the past Kim Roksu.
Like how Alver looks so pretty when he’s crying because he feels too good to stop himself.
Or how everyone will know who Alver belongs to when they see the collar of bitemarks and bruises around his neck.
Or how Alver fits so perfectly around Cale’s cock as if he was made to take it and meant to always be there—
(—Do not tell him he was fated to be here in this particular context, Cale suddenly thinks, very stupidly, when he probably finds Alver’s prostate judging by the other man’s choked sobbing.)
It’s too damn hard to think. Using Record this entire time while exerting more physical effort than usual is making Cale feel lightheaded, even before factoring in how irrationally horny he is.
He decides thinking is overrated. Thinking too much is why he and Alver became the stupidest men alive for almost three years.
Alver would probably agree if his braincells hadn’t long abandoned him. He was still babbling semi-coherent sentences up until a few minutes ago, but all he can do now is claw at Cale’s upper back while moaning his name a lot.
Cale viciously approves. He can’t forget Alver, so it’s only fair that Alver remembers him too.
“Love you,” Cale says clumsily, letting his mouth and the other parts of him do whatever they want. His head feels like it’s full of soup. Romantic soup, whatever that is. It’s awful. He barely registers the sounds of their harsh breathing or bodies connecting, as transfixed as he is with the quiet rhythm of Alver still mumbling Cale’s name as if Cale is the only thing that occupies Alver’s thoughts. “Fuck. I love you so much, you silly bastard.”
“Love you so much,” Alver repeats dumbly, eyes still unfocused but also overflowing with affection.
Ah. Cale really might die at this rate. Mila-nim said he can’t shatter his plate any more. Can someone’s plate explode if they feel too many emotions at once?
Cale bites Alver’s neck possessively one last time when he cums again, somehow remembering to wrap his hand around Alver’s cock at the last second. Some fuzzy and distant corner of Cale’s mind feels smugly pleased that he doesn’t even have to jerk Alver off for the other man to cum too. The vast majority of Cale’s mind is blissfully blank though, and stays that way for a while.
Cale lazily sprawls on top of Alver even after he comes back to his senses. He’s so fucking tired. It’s okay. Hyung is strong. He won’t get flattened.
“...Wow.”
Alver’s voice is an absolute mess, which would be enough to reinvigorate Cale for another round if he were the type of person to exercise on a regular basis. Instead, Cale chuckles tiredly against Alver’s collarbone, the sound closer to an exhale than a laugh. Cale’s own voice isn’t much better when he asks: “That’s all? Just ‘wow’?”
“I don’t know what else to say,” Alver says, half-yawning through most of the hoarse words. He sleepily wiggles away from Cale, eyebrows slightly pinched together. “...I guess I could also say I feel… sticky.”
Cale takes that as his cue to pull his penis out of Alver’s posterior premises. Cale’s too tired and lazy to do anything else though. But Alver’s correct: both of them can be aptly described as ‘sticky’, and it’s getting less pleasant the longer they bonelessly lay there.
“Can you take care of that with magic or something?” Cale asks, partially out of genuine curiosity and partially because he’s grasping for excuses to stay in bed. The bath is too far away, even if his limbs were working well enough to take him there.
Alver sighs and then mutters some sort of incantation which immediately takes effect. Magic is amazing.
“Ooh, convenient…” Cale claps lightly in genuine admiration as Alver’s spell cleans both of them and the bed. Aside from the physical exertion, Cale’s other least favourite part of sex was always the mess. Being almost-engaged to somebody with magic is very useful. He curls up next to Alver with a yawn, dragging a blanket over both of them. “You can fuck me next time. Then I can slack off.”
Alver splutters in response. “You’ll drive me nuts regardless of what I choose, I’m sure,” he grumbles halfheartedly.
Cale resists making a mischievous comment about nuts, but only because he’s unsure whether the joke will land in this universe. It’s possible that Taerang would help explain the Earth terminologies again, but Cale doesn’t really want the spear to chime in right now and interrupt the afterglow.
“You’ll do great,” Cale says instead, sleepily patting Alver somewhere. It might be one of his boobs. He’s not entirely sure. “I believe in you, hyung. Don't let performance anxiety keep you from reaching your full potential as a top.”
“Why do you only talk this much when you want to annoy me.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Cale impulsively grabs Alver's left hand to bite at his ring finger, leaving small marks near the knuckle. Something warm sits in Cale’s stomach when he squints at his handiwork. “I guess this’ll do until you can get yourself a ring too.”
Alver—evidently still brainless in his post-coital daze—blinks owlishly at Cale in lack of comprehension. “Until I can get myself a ring…?”
Who knew that the infamously clever King of Rowoon would be reduced to a much dumber parrot after having sex. Then again, Alver was also blankly repeating fragments of Cale’s sentences before and during the aforementioned sex.
“I got my own engagement ring, so it’s only fair if you have to get yours,” Cale says patiently. He sleepily shakes a fist around in the air to try and jog the other man’s memory.
Alver looks flustered at the reminder of his embarrassing behaviour earlier in the evening during the most awkward royal proposal in the Rowoon Kingdom’s entire history. “I’ll add that to my schedule as a high-priority task,” he mumbles. “Frankly, I was surprised you didn’t already have my ring too, stashed away in another pocket.”
“Well, we still need to do…” Cale furrows his eyebrows, feeling too sleepy to string words together. “...Official stuff, right? I figured it’d be better to finish that first before you start wearing a ring in public and giving all the nobles heart attacks. Aren’t royal marriages usually complicated?”
Alver shoots a look at Cale. It’s neutral, but it somehow comes across as incredibly disrespectful and Cale isn’t sure how that’s possible. He wonders who his hyung learned that from; they must be a rude individual.
“Calling royal marriages ‘complicated’ is a bit of an understatement,” Alver says dryly, rolling his eyes. “Do you even know what’s involved?”
“Nope, but I'm sure you’ll handle it for me,” Cale says with full confidence. Alver always took care of the most annoying tasks in the past few years, and there’s no way Cale will let the other man stop doing that even after they finally get married.
As Alver tries to lightly suffocate Cale with a pillow, both of them think that all of this will take time to get used to.
But that doesn’t particularly bother either of them.