[exo] the prince's favorite
Group(s): EXO
Main Pairing(s): Suho/Chen, Kris/Suho, Kris/Chen
Summary: He might be the prince’s favorite concubine, but he knows the prince will never be his.
Word count: 2581
A/N: Fill for this prompt at exopromptmeme
[exo] the prince's favorite
Jongdae has always been a favorite in the concubine crowd. Joonmyeon tells him it’s his bow-shaped lips.
“So. Absolutely. Tantalizing,” he says, dropping kisses between each word until Jongdae laughs and pushes his face away. Joonmyeon pouts, moving forward to kiss Jongdae again but the other man turns his head in the opposite direction.
“Only you,” sighs Joonmyeon, running his fingers through Jongdae’s black hair and dropping a kiss on the man’s forehead. “Only you would defy the prince of your kingdom.”
“That’s why you take me above the others,” Jongdae replies. He puts his hands on Joonmyeon’s chest and pushes the other man until he is sprawled on his back. Then he stares, knowing that this is an opportunity that many men and women would spend a lifetime without. Slowly, he runs his hands down Joonmyeon’s sides, focusing on the feel of the sinewy muscle beneath the silky smooth skin. A warrior prince-that was what Joonmyeon was.
Joonmyeon tolerates the staring and the petting well enough, but eventually he grows tired and grabs Jongdae’s wrists, flipping the man over. It is a complete reversal of their previous roles, but Jongdae moves into it fluidly. He arches up into Joonmyeon’s grasp and gasps as the other man moves his hand down until-
Later, flushed and tired, Jongdae takes the place that only he can. He snuggles up against Joonmyeon’s chest and traces lines on the plane of skin in front of him. Joonmyeon snorts but does nothing to stop Jongdae.
“You are my favorite,” Joonmyeon muses, cupping Jongdae’s cheek in his hand and running his thumb against the high lines of the concubine’s cheekbones. “I will make sure you have a seat of honor at the wedding.”
Jongdae sleepily blinks at the prince, but his good mood has already been spoiled. He stops tracing on Joonmyeon’s chest and rests his head there instead. The prince’s slow, steady heartbeat lulls Jongdae to sleep.
As the date of Joonmyeon’s wedding draws closer, Jongdae sees less and less of the man. When he does see him, Joonmyeon is never gentle, always hurried, pushing in and gasping out words of encouragement as they fuck in some forgotten filthy corner of the palace. Fuck because Jongdae no longer thought they made love.
The entire palace is out of sorts. Jongdae himself changes as the days count down. He wakes up earlier, takes long walks in the palace gardens by himself, no longer consorts with the other concubines, and overall becomes somewhat of a recluse.
“Can I sleep with you?” Yixing asks the week before Joonmyeon’s wedding.
Jongdae regards the other concubine curiously but says nothing, lifting up his blanket in invitation. Yixing crawls in beside him and immediately wraps his arms around Jongdae’s waist. Nobody in the palace dislikes Yixing. The blonde-haired boy is too sweet, too humble for anybody to take offense to him. Jongdae would even rank the other concubine high up in the prince’s affections, which was why it confused him at how easily he let Yixing into his bed. They should be rivals, not cuddling friends.
“Joonmyeon is getting married in a week,” whispers Yixing. His grasp on Jongdae’s midsection tightens until Jongdae is barely able to breathe. Then it loosens as Yixing mumbles, “I’ve seen his betrothed. Handsome, tall, strong. He will keep Joonmyeon safe.”
“You’re speaking as if you will no longer be able to keep Joonmyeon safe,” Jongdae teases, knowing how Yixing loves to bandage the prince’s wounds and then kiss them better.
Yixing stiffens and then nervously reaches up to smooth an errant strand of Jongdae’s hair. “Joonmyeon can only take one concubine to the new palace. That is their agreement.”
Jongdae is suddenly paralyzed with fear because even if he has not seen Joonmyeon’s betrothed, he has heard about him, and he knows that Yixing speaks the same language. He is terrified that Joonmyeon will take the more practical Yixing than him, the favored one. The thought makes him grasp Yixing’s upper arms tightly and stare into the man’s eyes. He is searching for jealousy, for intent, but Yixing simply stares back with clear brown eyes.
“I can teach you,” Yixing offers, and Jongdae scoffs at the ridiculousness of the thought. One week to learn a completely different language. Yixing is crazy. But then he thinks of Joonmyeon in an unknown land, at the mercy of a husband who may or may not have the courtesy to talk to him in a common language.
“I can teach you,” repeats Yixing, and Jongdae rubs soothing circles into Yixing’s back as he mulls over the idea and finally nods. He will learn, if that’s what it takes to be closer to Joonmyeon.
Memorizing is the easier part. Jongdae has always had a sharp mind, and he finds the characters of the new language surprisingly easy to memorize and replicate. Speaking is another matter entirely. No matter how hard he tries the sounds stick in his throat and cling to his tongue.
Yixing does not despair, but Jongdae can see that the other man is getting frustrated. He takes frequent breaks, complaining of dehydration, and returns with a smaller smile each time.
Jongdae misses Joonmyeon, but his betrothed has arrived. Jongdae knows that this is a delicate time and that even the greatest men could be jealous of a concubine demanding so much attention from someone of such a high rank. He still can’t help missing Joonmyeon. At night, his bed seems cold without the prince, so he takes to sleeping with Yixing, curled around the other boy in a protective shield. It feels nice to care for someone so, and it takes his mind off of other matters.
Silk robes embroidered with the most gorgeous patterns of lilies arrive for Jongdae, and Yixing helps him slip it on, smoothing down the collar and quizzing Jongdae on foreign words as Jongdae stares at himself in the mirror.
Joonmyeon comes on the fourth day before his marriage and stays the night in Jongdae’s room. He does not ask for anything. He only lies down, with his head in Jongdae’s lap, and speaks of his husband-to-be.
“He’s handsome,” Joonmyeon says, reaching out with one hand as if he could grasp the phantom image in the air before him. “Tall. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how tall he is.” There is something else on Joonmyeon’s mind, and Jongdae can tell but does not press the issue.
“I have not seen him yet,” he remarks.
Joonmyeon turns his head to regard Jongdae curiously. “Do you wish to meet him?”
No, Jongdae wants to say. No, I do not wish to meet him, and I do not wish for you to go with him because this tall, handsome man has more on his side than looks. He has power, and he has you…will have you. Instead, he smiles and shrugs.
“I can arrange a private dinner for tomorrow,” muses Joonmyeon. “He will be busy, of course. He is currently meeting with our countrymen and taking stock of what will needed to be changed. He has already brought more food supplies and also medical equipment for our use. Today, he-“ Joonmyeon pauses and smiles such a brilliant smile that Jongdae is taken aback. “-stopped and gave his cloak to a young orphan while we were touring the countryside.”
“I am still your favorite. Am I not?” Jongdae asks as the silence grows thick. He does not want to respond to this anecdote. He just needs to know the answer to his question.
“Oh, Jongdae,” whispers Joonmyeon, pressing a kiss to Jongdae’s sweet perfectly bow-shaped lips, “you will always be my favorite.”
That night, Jongdae does not go to Yixing’s room. Joonmyeon whispers sweet nothings in his ear and watches Jongdae unfurl beautifully and completely under his fingertips. Jongdae falls asleep against Joonmyeon’s chest and wakes up against the cool side of his pillow.
Two days before the wedding, Joonmyeon introduces Jongdae to Yifan.
“Yifan, this is Jongdae.” Joonmyeon nudges Jongdae forward.
“Milord,” Jongdae murmurs, falling into a deep bow. He is raised up to full height, barely balancing on his tip toes, as Yifan takes his chin and draws him upward. Yifan turns his head from one side to the other.
“His lips,” Yifan breathes, and Joonmyeon laughs, a clear laugh that strikes right through Jongdae’s hearts.
“Quite beautiful, aren’t they?” Joonmyeon presses a kiss to Jongdae’s lips, but it doesn’t feel quite right.
“Does he speak?” asks Yifan, amused as Jongdae turns his head ever so slightly as a snub to the other man. He is not used to such acts against him, no matter how subtle they are.
“I speak,” Jongdae replies. He replies in Yifan’s language, watches as the other man’s eyes widen. Joonmyeon tilts his head at Jongdae curiously but says nothing.
“I suppose you will be bringing him to the new palace.” Yifan turns to Jongdae, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Will he?”
Jongdae feels his heart catch in his throat. This is his moment to assert himself, but he simply turns to look at Joonmyeon and then turns back to face Yifan before replying, “Nothing in the future is set in stone.”
“Wise and beautiful,” chuckles Yifan. He moves forward, slides Jongdae’s robes off his shoulders, and stares at the unblemished skin. Jongdae does not flinch. He even leans into Yifan’s touch as the other man drags a finger down his neck to his clavicle, stopping there to trace the defined edges of his collarbone.
It is only when Yifan kisses him that Jongdae begins to panic because he knows that Yifan must know what he wants. Why else would Yifan kiss him this way, touch him this way in front of Joonmyeon? It is to establish dominance.
Jongdae allows Yifan to push him to the bed, watches as Joonmyeon watches him.
“Do you bite?” Yifan runs his thumb across Jongdae’s lower lip teasingly.
“Only if you ask nicely,” replies Jongdae in a snarky tone. He can see that Yifan doesn’t take well to it, not like Joonmyeon does, because the next second his robes are completely stripped off and he is bare. Still, Joonmyeon says nothing, only watches him.
I’m his favorite, Jongdae realizes as Yifan reaches into a drawer. I’m his favorite, but he is not mine. He is suddenly acutely aware of the way Joonmyeon is watching him. Joonmyeon is watching how he responds to Yifan. Joonmyeon is not truly watching him.
That night, Jongdae is left unsatisfied, trembling at the precipice but never able to make it over the edge. Joonmyeon does nothing, and in the end Jongdae is sent back to his own room to leave Yifan and Joonmyeon alone.
Yixing slips into his bed that night and begins to trace lines on his back.
“What are you doing?” Jongdae asks.
“What you do,” Yixing replies, digging in deeper now until Jongdae hisses, sure that Yixing has broke through the delicate skin with his nail.
“I drew regret,” Yixing says, “and love and-“ Yixing hesitates, and Jongdae rolls over to look the other man in the eyes. “-ownership.”
Jongdae closes his eyes, trying to remember the strokes Yixing drew on his skin. “What will you do here,” he asks, “when Joonmyeon leaves? What will Chanyeol do? What will Baekhyun do? What will they all do?”
“I’ll continue to live as I have before, serving whoever else may need me.” Yixing nods seriously, and Jongdae chokes out a laugh. He could never do that. His heart, his body, his soul, himself belong to one man and one man only.
“Joonmyeon,” he murmurs well after Yixing is asleep back in his own bed, and only then does he allow himself to be satisfied.
Jongdae gets his seat of honor at the wedding. In the front row. It is nothing like he imagined, having the weight of everyone’s gazes on him except Joonmyeon. Because Joonmyeon’s gaze is fixed on Yifan.
The other concubines sit in the second row, so there is no comfort from them. Jongdae is forced to watch as the prince he loves slips away even more than before.
At the banquet, Joonmyeon forces Jongdae to sing.
“Let’s hear that beautiful voice of yours,” he says, patting Jongdae’s cheek in a manner supposed to be intimate. “Yifan would love to hear you sing.”
Jongdae opens his mouth and sings. He sings in a language unfamiliar to him, a song that Yixing has taught him many times over. A child’s lullaby transformed by his voice into a different type of song.
Yifan claps at the end, and Jongdae returns quietly to his seat. There’s a weight on his leg, but it is not Joonmyeon’s hand. Jongdae looks up at Yifan silently. Yifan smiles and squeezes Jongdae’s thigh.
Jongdae knows that Yifan does not dislike him. He knows that the other man finds him attractive. None of these things change the fact that Yifan is the very person who is taking away what could-should-have been Jongdae’s. Jongdae sneaks a glance at Joonmyeon, but the other man is hooked on a story Yifan is telling of his homeland.
That night, Joonmyeon is not the one who appears in Jongdae’s room. Jongdae had been hoping; he really had. He hopes until the end when Yifan appears, already flushed and sweaty from a previous exertion. Jongdae knows who he has just been with.
Between each thrust, Yifan explains why he came there. “Joonmyeon is unused to the submissive role,” he pants. “A first time is such a delicate situation. There’s no way to satisfy yourself fully without hurting the other, and I would never hurt Joonmyeon.”
At the end, Yifan gives a little laugh and says, looking Jongdae straight in the eyes, “I know why you’re Joonmyeon’s favorite.”
Jongdae wishes for one last time with Joonmyeon, one last memory before the man slips away forever.
Jongdae’s one last memory comes the day before Joonmyeon is set to leave for the new palace. He has not heard any word of which concubine will be the one to depart with the prince, but then Joonmyeon shows up at his door and tells him to pack. Jongdae feels a rush of satisfaction at being chosen and then a rush of concern for the other concubines.
His feelings focus onto one person and one thing only as Joonmyeon pushes him onto the bed. Joonmyeon is unnaturally gentle, moving slowly even as Jongdae writhes and begs for more friction.
At the end, Jongdae rests his head against Joonmyeon’s chest and begins to trace again. He traces regret over and over until Joonmyeon snorts and then changes his strokes so that he is tracing love. Eventually, his wrist tires of that, and he switches to the final character Yixing taught him. Ownership.
He wakes up that morning as Joonmyeon is dressing.
“Pack your things,” Joonmyeon orders, but Jongdae only stares as Joonmyeon winces in pain as he straightens up and struggles not to limp. He realizes something then, something that he remembers as he hugs Yixing, Chanyeol, Baekhyun, Sehun, everyone goodbye, something that he keeps in mind as he travels to the new palace. By the time he arrives, he holds it as a definite truth.
“He is the prince’s favorite,” they twitter as he situates himself into his new room.
Jongdae sighs. He might be the prince’s favorite concubine, but he knows the prince will never be his.
- Hope this is what you wanted, anon OP! (I also hope it isn't too angsty.)
- I have issues with formatting on LJ. I apologize.
- First thing I've written for EXO in a while. I'm trying to ease back into writing them.
Main Pairing(s): Suho/Chen, Kris/Suho, Kris/Chen
Summary: He might be the prince’s favorite concubine, but he knows the prince will never be his.
Word count: 2581
A/N: Fill for this prompt at exopromptmeme
[exo] the prince's favorite
Jongdae has always been a favorite in the concubine crowd. Joonmyeon tells him it’s his bow-shaped lips.
“So. Absolutely. Tantalizing,” he says, dropping kisses between each word until Jongdae laughs and pushes his face away. Joonmyeon pouts, moving forward to kiss Jongdae again but the other man turns his head in the opposite direction.
“Only you,” sighs Joonmyeon, running his fingers through Jongdae’s black hair and dropping a kiss on the man’s forehead. “Only you would defy the prince of your kingdom.”
“That’s why you take me above the others,” Jongdae replies. He puts his hands on Joonmyeon’s chest and pushes the other man until he is sprawled on his back. Then he stares, knowing that this is an opportunity that many men and women would spend a lifetime without. Slowly, he runs his hands down Joonmyeon’s sides, focusing on the feel of the sinewy muscle beneath the silky smooth skin. A warrior prince-that was what Joonmyeon was.
Joonmyeon tolerates the staring and the petting well enough, but eventually he grows tired and grabs Jongdae’s wrists, flipping the man over. It is a complete reversal of their previous roles, but Jongdae moves into it fluidly. He arches up into Joonmyeon’s grasp and gasps as the other man moves his hand down until-
Later, flushed and tired, Jongdae takes the place that only he can. He snuggles up against Joonmyeon’s chest and traces lines on the plane of skin in front of him. Joonmyeon snorts but does nothing to stop Jongdae.
“You are my favorite,” Joonmyeon muses, cupping Jongdae’s cheek in his hand and running his thumb against the high lines of the concubine’s cheekbones. “I will make sure you have a seat of honor at the wedding.”
Jongdae sleepily blinks at the prince, but his good mood has already been spoiled. He stops tracing on Joonmyeon’s chest and rests his head there instead. The prince’s slow, steady heartbeat lulls Jongdae to sleep.
As the date of Joonmyeon’s wedding draws closer, Jongdae sees less and less of the man. When he does see him, Joonmyeon is never gentle, always hurried, pushing in and gasping out words of encouragement as they fuck in some forgotten filthy corner of the palace. Fuck because Jongdae no longer thought they made love.
The entire palace is out of sorts. Jongdae himself changes as the days count down. He wakes up earlier, takes long walks in the palace gardens by himself, no longer consorts with the other concubines, and overall becomes somewhat of a recluse.
“Can I sleep with you?” Yixing asks the week before Joonmyeon’s wedding.
Jongdae regards the other concubine curiously but says nothing, lifting up his blanket in invitation. Yixing crawls in beside him and immediately wraps his arms around Jongdae’s waist. Nobody in the palace dislikes Yixing. The blonde-haired boy is too sweet, too humble for anybody to take offense to him. Jongdae would even rank the other concubine high up in the prince’s affections, which was why it confused him at how easily he let Yixing into his bed. They should be rivals, not cuddling friends.
“Joonmyeon is getting married in a week,” whispers Yixing. His grasp on Jongdae’s midsection tightens until Jongdae is barely able to breathe. Then it loosens as Yixing mumbles, “I’ve seen his betrothed. Handsome, tall, strong. He will keep Joonmyeon safe.”
“You’re speaking as if you will no longer be able to keep Joonmyeon safe,” Jongdae teases, knowing how Yixing loves to bandage the prince’s wounds and then kiss them better.
Yixing stiffens and then nervously reaches up to smooth an errant strand of Jongdae’s hair. “Joonmyeon can only take one concubine to the new palace. That is their agreement.”
Jongdae is suddenly paralyzed with fear because even if he has not seen Joonmyeon’s betrothed, he has heard about him, and he knows that Yixing speaks the same language. He is terrified that Joonmyeon will take the more practical Yixing than him, the favored one. The thought makes him grasp Yixing’s upper arms tightly and stare into the man’s eyes. He is searching for jealousy, for intent, but Yixing simply stares back with clear brown eyes.
“I can teach you,” Yixing offers, and Jongdae scoffs at the ridiculousness of the thought. One week to learn a completely different language. Yixing is crazy. But then he thinks of Joonmyeon in an unknown land, at the mercy of a husband who may or may not have the courtesy to talk to him in a common language.
“I can teach you,” repeats Yixing, and Jongdae rubs soothing circles into Yixing’s back as he mulls over the idea and finally nods. He will learn, if that’s what it takes to be closer to Joonmyeon.
Memorizing is the easier part. Jongdae has always had a sharp mind, and he finds the characters of the new language surprisingly easy to memorize and replicate. Speaking is another matter entirely. No matter how hard he tries the sounds stick in his throat and cling to his tongue.
Yixing does not despair, but Jongdae can see that the other man is getting frustrated. He takes frequent breaks, complaining of dehydration, and returns with a smaller smile each time.
Jongdae misses Joonmyeon, but his betrothed has arrived. Jongdae knows that this is a delicate time and that even the greatest men could be jealous of a concubine demanding so much attention from someone of such a high rank. He still can’t help missing Joonmyeon. At night, his bed seems cold without the prince, so he takes to sleeping with Yixing, curled around the other boy in a protective shield. It feels nice to care for someone so, and it takes his mind off of other matters.
Silk robes embroidered with the most gorgeous patterns of lilies arrive for Jongdae, and Yixing helps him slip it on, smoothing down the collar and quizzing Jongdae on foreign words as Jongdae stares at himself in the mirror.
Joonmyeon comes on the fourth day before his marriage and stays the night in Jongdae’s room. He does not ask for anything. He only lies down, with his head in Jongdae’s lap, and speaks of his husband-to-be.
“He’s handsome,” Joonmyeon says, reaching out with one hand as if he could grasp the phantom image in the air before him. “Tall. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how tall he is.” There is something else on Joonmyeon’s mind, and Jongdae can tell but does not press the issue.
“I have not seen him yet,” he remarks.
Joonmyeon turns his head to regard Jongdae curiously. “Do you wish to meet him?”
No, Jongdae wants to say. No, I do not wish to meet him, and I do not wish for you to go with him because this tall, handsome man has more on his side than looks. He has power, and he has you…will have you. Instead, he smiles and shrugs.
“I can arrange a private dinner for tomorrow,” muses Joonmyeon. “He will be busy, of course. He is currently meeting with our countrymen and taking stock of what will needed to be changed. He has already brought more food supplies and also medical equipment for our use. Today, he-“ Joonmyeon pauses and smiles such a brilliant smile that Jongdae is taken aback. “-stopped and gave his cloak to a young orphan while we were touring the countryside.”
“I am still your favorite. Am I not?” Jongdae asks as the silence grows thick. He does not want to respond to this anecdote. He just needs to know the answer to his question.
“Oh, Jongdae,” whispers Joonmyeon, pressing a kiss to Jongdae’s sweet perfectly bow-shaped lips, “you will always be my favorite.”
That night, Jongdae does not go to Yixing’s room. Joonmyeon whispers sweet nothings in his ear and watches Jongdae unfurl beautifully and completely under his fingertips. Jongdae falls asleep against Joonmyeon’s chest and wakes up against the cool side of his pillow.
Two days before the wedding, Joonmyeon introduces Jongdae to Yifan.
“Yifan, this is Jongdae.” Joonmyeon nudges Jongdae forward.
“Milord,” Jongdae murmurs, falling into a deep bow. He is raised up to full height, barely balancing on his tip toes, as Yifan takes his chin and draws him upward. Yifan turns his head from one side to the other.
“His lips,” Yifan breathes, and Joonmyeon laughs, a clear laugh that strikes right through Jongdae’s hearts.
“Quite beautiful, aren’t they?” Joonmyeon presses a kiss to Jongdae’s lips, but it doesn’t feel quite right.
“Does he speak?” asks Yifan, amused as Jongdae turns his head ever so slightly as a snub to the other man. He is not used to such acts against him, no matter how subtle they are.
“I speak,” Jongdae replies. He replies in Yifan’s language, watches as the other man’s eyes widen. Joonmyeon tilts his head at Jongdae curiously but says nothing.
“I suppose you will be bringing him to the new palace.” Yifan turns to Jongdae, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Will he?”
Jongdae feels his heart catch in his throat. This is his moment to assert himself, but he simply turns to look at Joonmyeon and then turns back to face Yifan before replying, “Nothing in the future is set in stone.”
“Wise and beautiful,” chuckles Yifan. He moves forward, slides Jongdae’s robes off his shoulders, and stares at the unblemished skin. Jongdae does not flinch. He even leans into Yifan’s touch as the other man drags a finger down his neck to his clavicle, stopping there to trace the defined edges of his collarbone.
It is only when Yifan kisses him that Jongdae begins to panic because he knows that Yifan must know what he wants. Why else would Yifan kiss him this way, touch him this way in front of Joonmyeon? It is to establish dominance.
Jongdae allows Yifan to push him to the bed, watches as Joonmyeon watches him.
“Do you bite?” Yifan runs his thumb across Jongdae’s lower lip teasingly.
“Only if you ask nicely,” replies Jongdae in a snarky tone. He can see that Yifan doesn’t take well to it, not like Joonmyeon does, because the next second his robes are completely stripped off and he is bare. Still, Joonmyeon says nothing, only watches him.
I’m his favorite, Jongdae realizes as Yifan reaches into a drawer. I’m his favorite, but he is not mine. He is suddenly acutely aware of the way Joonmyeon is watching him. Joonmyeon is watching how he responds to Yifan. Joonmyeon is not truly watching him.
That night, Jongdae is left unsatisfied, trembling at the precipice but never able to make it over the edge. Joonmyeon does nothing, and in the end Jongdae is sent back to his own room to leave Yifan and Joonmyeon alone.
Yixing slips into his bed that night and begins to trace lines on his back.
“What are you doing?” Jongdae asks.
“What you do,” Yixing replies, digging in deeper now until Jongdae hisses, sure that Yixing has broke through the delicate skin with his nail.
“I drew regret,” Yixing says, “and love and-“ Yixing hesitates, and Jongdae rolls over to look the other man in the eyes. “-ownership.”
Jongdae closes his eyes, trying to remember the strokes Yixing drew on his skin. “What will you do here,” he asks, “when Joonmyeon leaves? What will Chanyeol do? What will Baekhyun do? What will they all do?”
“I’ll continue to live as I have before, serving whoever else may need me.” Yixing nods seriously, and Jongdae chokes out a laugh. He could never do that. His heart, his body, his soul, himself belong to one man and one man only.
“Joonmyeon,” he murmurs well after Yixing is asleep back in his own bed, and only then does he allow himself to be satisfied.
Jongdae gets his seat of honor at the wedding. In the front row. It is nothing like he imagined, having the weight of everyone’s gazes on him except Joonmyeon. Because Joonmyeon’s gaze is fixed on Yifan.
The other concubines sit in the second row, so there is no comfort from them. Jongdae is forced to watch as the prince he loves slips away even more than before.
At the banquet, Joonmyeon forces Jongdae to sing.
“Let’s hear that beautiful voice of yours,” he says, patting Jongdae’s cheek in a manner supposed to be intimate. “Yifan would love to hear you sing.”
Jongdae opens his mouth and sings. He sings in a language unfamiliar to him, a song that Yixing has taught him many times over. A child’s lullaby transformed by his voice into a different type of song.
Yifan claps at the end, and Jongdae returns quietly to his seat. There’s a weight on his leg, but it is not Joonmyeon’s hand. Jongdae looks up at Yifan silently. Yifan smiles and squeezes Jongdae’s thigh.
Jongdae knows that Yifan does not dislike him. He knows that the other man finds him attractive. None of these things change the fact that Yifan is the very person who is taking away what could-should-have been Jongdae’s. Jongdae sneaks a glance at Joonmyeon, but the other man is hooked on a story Yifan is telling of his homeland.
That night, Joonmyeon is not the one who appears in Jongdae’s room. Jongdae had been hoping; he really had. He hopes until the end when Yifan appears, already flushed and sweaty from a previous exertion. Jongdae knows who he has just been with.
Between each thrust, Yifan explains why he came there. “Joonmyeon is unused to the submissive role,” he pants. “A first time is such a delicate situation. There’s no way to satisfy yourself fully without hurting the other, and I would never hurt Joonmyeon.”
At the end, Yifan gives a little laugh and says, looking Jongdae straight in the eyes, “I know why you’re Joonmyeon’s favorite.”
Jongdae wishes for one last time with Joonmyeon, one last memory before the man slips away forever.
Jongdae’s one last memory comes the day before Joonmyeon is set to leave for the new palace. He has not heard any word of which concubine will be the one to depart with the prince, but then Joonmyeon shows up at his door and tells him to pack. Jongdae feels a rush of satisfaction at being chosen and then a rush of concern for the other concubines.
His feelings focus onto one person and one thing only as Joonmyeon pushes him onto the bed. Joonmyeon is unnaturally gentle, moving slowly even as Jongdae writhes and begs for more friction.
At the end, Jongdae rests his head against Joonmyeon’s chest and begins to trace again. He traces regret over and over until Joonmyeon snorts and then changes his strokes so that he is tracing love. Eventually, his wrist tires of that, and he switches to the final character Yixing taught him. Ownership.
He wakes up that morning as Joonmyeon is dressing.
“Pack your things,” Joonmyeon orders, but Jongdae only stares as Joonmyeon winces in pain as he straightens up and struggles not to limp. He realizes something then, something that he remembers as he hugs Yixing, Chanyeol, Baekhyun, Sehun, everyone goodbye, something that he keeps in mind as he travels to the new palace. By the time he arrives, he holds it as a definite truth.
“He is the prince’s favorite,” they twitter as he situates himself into his new room.
Jongdae sighs. He might be the prince’s favorite concubine, but he knows the prince will never be his.
- Hope this is what you wanted, anon OP! (I also hope it isn't too angsty.)
- I have issues with formatting on LJ. I apologize.
- First thing I've written for EXO in a while. I'm trying to ease back into writing them.