Chapter Text
Dumbdog was a royal guard. A royal guard with a very important job. And that job was to stand right where he was. His job was to talk to nobody. And be still, and not to eat or drink anything or move out of anyone's way, even though the room was absolutely bustling, and food was everywhere. And he would do those things, because he was really very good at his job.
Nothing really prevented him from eating, other than his own self-discipline and his helmet. Dumbdog was outfitted with shelves of heavy armor, including a plated helmet with only a Y-shaped opening in the front for him to see and breathe. But he could hardly get any food through it, and definitely not one of the large finger foods the nobles eat, nor the forks they use to scoop their caviar with. But still, he has eyes and he can ogle the food, even though he's not allowed to eat any. Nobody can see his face or know what he's thinking about.
Well... That's not true. And sensing his thoughts, he glances in front of him, where Steve is sitting, staring at him with a knowing smirk and throwing a grape into his mouth. Dumbdog is here to protect Steve, the prince hosting the party Dumbdog is currently stuck in, but Steve doesn't seem to care much what Dumbdog is here to do. He's lounging, sipping his latest glass of champagne and looking slowly more tipsy and dead to the world. His guard sighs, happy to be at the prince's side anytime but heartbreakingly tired of being sober and standing statue-still.
Steve leads the crowd through their paces, making several nobles at once laugh until they can barely breathe. He's charismatic, an excellent look for the prince, and works a room like he was born to do it. All the while, Dumbdog is behind him. And he can't help but want a bit more of Steve's attention on just him, but that's okay. Behind his eyes, he can see the hint of his own boredom in his prince's eyes. An indication that he's just as sick of this shit as Dumbdog is.
The two of them are on the third week of the trade negotiations with the neighboring kingdom, meaning the third week of entertaining their whole court. And while Steve was made for this life, maybe a little more than Dumbdog is, it doesn’t save either of them from the creeping exhaustion. Maybe that’s why Steve is shooting champagne like he wishes it was stronger. And why Dumbdog will keep eyeing the food like it’ll launch itself perfectly into his mouth if he stares at it one second longer. Man, shapeshifting powers are nothing compared to the levitation powers he's hoping will spontaneously develop for him.
Steve manages to extract himself from one more group of nobles and wanders over to a server’s tray. He swipes a little cracker and turns towards Dumbdog on his walk over to another table. A shitty hors d'oeuvre that nobody in the room will eat transforms effortlessly into a ripe raspberry in his long fingers. He pops it into his mouth when he thinks nobody is looking. But still he still winks at Dumbdog, knowing that the man saw and is useless to stop him.
Steve shoots another flute of champagne, bordering on a dangerous level. When he stands, he sways a tiny bit and nearly stumbles right into Dumbdog's arms. Dumbdog dutifully steadies Steve with an easy hand on the lithe man's back, and maybe his hand lingers too long. But who cares? Steve won't remember tomorrow, and none of these nobles even take notice of him. Rather, many of them have eyes glazed over and don't notice servants while sober. He may as well not be here at all.
Steve giggles as he sways, leaning in a bit too close to Apollo instead of pulling away to return to his important conversations. Not that he would be much good for them anyway. The hour for normal party chatter has passed. People are beginning to leave the ballroom already to return to bed and take up politics in the morning. But still, Steve is attempting to leave the party too soon. Dumbdog knows it. Steve is hosting, and the host is always expected to leave last. But Steve seems not to care much. He begins walking past the outside patio and to the atrium, using Dumbdog to steady himself. Less walking where he wants to go and more stumbling in one direction then making Dumbdog follow so he's not dropped onto the ground.
He's clever, that's why Dumbdog hates him. Truly despises him. He makes Dumbdog’s life so difficult. Oh, but his prince, his Steve, makes rich parties with shitty noblemen look like fun, and makes his hours of standing and staring longingly at the food almost worth it.
Steve's also drunk. He's so drunk. So drunk he takes Dumbdog’s hand in a vice grip. So drunk he pulls Dumbdog close and starts swaying to the music that Apollo has to strain to hear. And Steve definitely can't hear it, because he's so drunk you could smell the champagne on him from the ballroom.
Steve leans in and puts his head on Dumbdog's armored shoulder. It can't possibly be comfortable. "Are you having fun?" He asks, out of the blue.
"Maybe if we go back inside and get you to bed," Dumbdog answers. Steve huffs like he's never heard anything so ridiculous.
"But I'm having fun!"
"You're going to have the worst hangover tomorrow."
"Okay? Whatta ya want me to do about it now? Huh, Dumbest Dog?"
Dumbdog chuckles, steadying his prince for the umpteenth time. Steve whines.
"Can'- can't see your. Face. Dumbdoggggg..." his prince whines, hand unsteadily pushing at the helmet.
"Stop that!" He mutters, lightly pulling Steve's hand away. But Steve only pouts harder, and his other hand ungracefully cups Apollo's cheek over the helmet. The metal flakes away, now only autumn leaves falling from Dumbdog's face. Dumbdog almost pouts, but Steve looks absolutely delighted. Doe eyed, looking as innocent as a lamb as though he wasn't the one to crumple his helmet without a second thought.
“That’s better…” Steve giggles, his hand warm on Dumbdog’s cheek.
Dumbdog blushes a little, trying to ease Steve onto the luxury seat on the patio. But Steve clings, trying to drag them both down. He almost succeeds, until Dumbdog puts his hand over Steve's, still on Dumbdog's own face. Holding his hands, Dumbdog urges Steve to sit.
"Sit with me!" Steve insists, trying to tug him down. Obediently, Dumbdog follows him. He wouldn’t be anywhere else for the world.
Steve picks up a pebble, breathes on it and rubs it against his shirt like he's shining a precious gem in a way meant to be endearing. But he's drunk, and he doesn't pull it off, so it just looks a little dumb. Which is somehow more endearing than if he's flawlessly executed the move. He goes "open wide!"
"We should get back to the party." Dumbdog mutters, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks.
It's easier to ignore when his face isn't exposed, one of the many reasons he enjoys his helmet. But someone felt the need to show off. And that same someone pushes the formerly-rock into his mouth. Dumbdog almost chokes but finally eats the now-grape. It’s too sweet from the vines, he almost laughs. Steve knows his preferences.
Once he’s satisfied, Steve leans against his side, a little weight that heats him more than it drags him down. He turns to the side and sees that Steve won't get up on his own as long as Dumbdog acts as an inhibitor to whatever he wants. Dumbdog has no idea what Steve wants, so he has to move the prince himself.
He turns to the side so Steve is against his chest, then swiftly hooks his legs under his arm. In one move that causes Steve to flail and grip his neck, he stands and scoops the man into his arms.
Once Steve's in a bridal carry, Dumbdog starts taking him to bed. Steve stares at him confused, like he's not sure how he got here. But then, with a mischievous grin, he pokes Dumbdog’s cheek. A power that isn't his bubbles under his skin and Dumbdog grows wolf ears and a tail. Luckily he's used to these antics because his step doesn't even falter.
“You are single-handedly the reason that superpowers are overused,” he mutters, “And you’re going to get me in trouble. I'm not allowed to transform unless you're in danger."
Steve giggles in Dumbdog’s new ears and teaches his hand up to pet the brown velvet. Well, if giving him dog ears and a tail didn't distract him, that sure does.
Dumbdog doesn't let his tail wag, but it's a close thing. Steve doesn't need an excuse for more ammunition.
"Aw, my cute little puppy! Do you want a little scratch? Or maybe the doggie wants to hump my leg?" He barely gets the sentence out through his giggles. He’s absolutely wasted.
At that comment, Dumbdog turns a brighter shade of red and makes sure Steve is high enough on Dumbdog's torso to not be worried about the man he loves (unfortunately) making comments like that. Even though the armor, he doesn't put it past Steve to try some dumb bullshit, while he's drunk and obsessed with getting under Apollo's skin.
Steve doesn't even seem to notice. He keeps playing with Dumbdog’s ears, paying special attention to where the ears meet the skin of Dumbdog's scalp. Scratching the skin there gives Dumbdog little shivers.
All at once, it overwhelms Dumbdog and he flexes his skin like a muscle. The ears ripple and disappear. Steve pouts. "Now who's using their powers when they're not supposed to?"
Apollo wants to kiss his prince's pout. But like a masochist, he continues on. 'Just get Steve to bed,' he thinks.
"Dumbdoggggg ... Answer me..... Don't ignore me..."
"I used my powers to keep you safe and get you to bed, which is my job, Stebon ," he says, putting an accent on the nickname.
Steve smiles like a cat that got the cream and all at once Dumbdog wonders if his life choices were a mistake.
Steve ruins another piece of Dumbdog’s armor, this time his chest plate. It falls away, droplets of water onto the marble palace floors. Dumbdog scowls. "You got my shirt wet."
"Come lay down with me!" He begs, making childish grabbing hands at Dumbdog. Secretly, Apollo knows that the moment he's closer, more of his armor will mysteriously become one with the water cycle. Well, at least the two of them have the unspoken understanding that any armor Steve destroys is armor he's remaking in the morning.
"Steve, I swear, go to bed."
"No. Not unless you come here."
"For the love of God, man."
"I will scream. I'll do it. I'll get you fired."
"You scream every minute of your life you moron. That's not going to do anything."
"But I'll still scream. And it'll cause a huge commotion and you'll still have to explain yourself."
Dumbdog weighs his options. There's a definite chance that Steve really will scream. In fact, it's more likely that he'll hold his promise than the chance he's lying. But what are the chances that he wakes up tomorrow, hungover, and freaks out even louder when someone is in his bed? A peasant, who definitely is supposed to be guarding him and not falling asleep on the job?
But even as quickly as that particular thought surfaces, he dismisses it. Steve cares very little for status, he's never had problems talking to anyone of any social standing. And Steve is familiar with Dumbdog. Some say he’s over familiar with the man who’s supposed to start and stop his relationship with the prince at ‘guard ’. The biggest risk is whether someone walks in.
What if someone walks in?
He doesn't know for sure. He can suspect he might be at risk of getting fired. But nobody ever enters Steve's room. And the knight wakes up at 5 am sharp every morning, barely an hour before Steve, and earlier than most of the servants begin making their rounds. The manservants are preparing breakfast by 5:30 but won't even blink if Apollo is there, and Steve will have more armor for him by then.
Before Dumbdog can continue going through the pros and cons, Steve physically grabs him and pulls him down. The knight is stronger than him by a mile, but the man takes him by surprise and the knight falls.
"I will scream." Steve announces when Dumbdog inevitably begins to squirm.
"Don't scream," Apollo pleads, realizing the instantly worse position it puts him in if Steve screams while Apollo is in the bed, as opposed to standing a safe distance on the other side of the room.
"Then stay."
"You won't be happy in the morning."
"I'll be hungover. I won't even notice you're here."
That's very true. He is incredibly dead to the world for at least 5 hours after waking whenever he drinks. And simply unresponsive for the first hour of that time. Even if Dumbdog helps Steve with his hangover…
Steve buries himself into his arms and Dumbdog realizes he's at his prince's command. Not out of any sense of duty. But just because he wants to. Just because he loves the man who's trying to crawl into his skin.
Steve is softer, covered in warm cloth and smelling of cherries and expensive liquor. And Dumbdog's stronger, more resolved, but he's still utterly helpless. So he settles and lets Steve do whatever he wants. Because Steve always does whatever he wants. He's thin and lithe, but his hands are soft. He smiles and laughs without anything to fear because Apollo is there to make sure that nothing ever touches him. And Dumbdog lies still and imagines himself a little softer and a little nobler. Someone that could be just like Steve. Someone who could clutch Steve to his chest without calluses on his hands or reservations about status.
Dumbdog could never love Steve without Steve's sharp edges. His bony elbows, his attitude, his loud ass dumb jokes that make Dumbdog lose his mind. But he wishes he could file himself down until he was smooth, something Steve could hold in the palm of his hand. But no. He will be sharp, a blade to defend the man he loves but can never have. He will spend his life defending a man who will never love him, and he will live and die by Steve's side. He wouldn't have it any other way.
Dumbdog pictures himself sitting with a golden crown instead of a metal mask. A purple robe and intricate stitching instead of a plain black tunic and protective plating. His arms itch, he knows he doesn't want that life. Oh, but the idea of it.... The idea of the world he could live in, the people he could love unabashed and free...
The person in his arms right now. What a ridiculous thought. The reason they can't be together has nothing to do with where Dumbdog sits on some social ladder. If Steve wanted him, only heaven and earth could try to stop him. His prince doesn’t listen to what others think is proper. The only reason Dumbdog has no chance is simply because Steve doesn’t love him that way. And Dumbdog knows that. He doesn’t hide anything from Steve, so he’s sure the prince knows. But the prince doesn’t love him the same and isn’t capable of the same love Dumbdog commits illegally. So that’s that, and Dumbdog will die protecting him, no matter whether Steve feels the same.
Dumbdog has a job to do. He’s a loyal servant.