Okay so what if since only royalty wear capes with their chitons in Akielos, what if every time Laurent decides to wear a chiton and go around the town, damen has to convince him to wear a cape to cover himself because oh no hes hot and laurent is like hell no its hot until damen practically drapes himself over him while holding the cape so he has no choice because damen is possessive and protective like that jhfdsfjhb
“Laurent.”
“Damen.”
“Laurent.”
“Damen.”
“Laurent!” Damen feels like a pouting child, but he can’t help it.
Laurent huffs in amusement as he tightens his sandals. Usually, servants do it, but the thought of letting anyone near Laurent right now had made Damen slam their bedroom door on the servants’ faces.
“You wanted me to wear this,” Laurent reminds him. “You bought it for me.”
“Well, maybe I was wrong to,” Damen says. He did buy the chiton for Laurent, and, admittedly, they are usually that short, but Laurent is - well, he’s Laurent, and Damen has never seen this much of his skin bare unless they’re in bed together. “I think your Veretian clothes might be better for today.”
Yes, definitely pants. And a jacket. And boots. Fuck, Damen loves those boots.
“Damen, it is scorching outside.” Laurent rolls his eyes. “I am not wearing Veretian clothes.”
“But-” Damen cannot think of a valid protest. I want to keep the sight of your legs to myself? Laurent will laugh at him. Suddenly, he looks to their bed and brightens considerably. “Alright. Of course. A cape then.”
“A cape?”
Damen grabs his own cape - he only ever uses it in very formal events, and this is anything but, but he needs Laurent to wear something more. “Yes. To signal you’re royalty.”
Laurent rolls his eyes. “They will hardly forget, Damen, they’re our soldiers.”
“Still,” Damen says. He puts the cape on him, and then grabs him because Laurent wobbles under the weight of it.
“How do you wear this?” he asks, gripping Damen’s arm tightly. “It weighs a ton!”
“It doesn’t,” Damen says; he doesn’t think it does, at least. Admittedly, it’s quite big on Laurent, and it drags behind him more than it’s supposed to, evidence of their height difference. The gold chains and heavy fabric must make it quite heavy for Laurent’s smaller frame.
“It does,” Laurent says. “Damen, I can’t wear this, I won’t be able to walk!”
“Oh,” Damen says, gleefully. “Does that mean we’re staying in?”
Laurent gives him a look.
“Or,” Damen offers generously. “I could carry you.”
He doesn’t think he’d have any trouble carrying both Laurent and the cape all day. If anything, he’d quite enjoy it. He hardly gets any opportunity to be close to his husband in public.
“That’s not going to happen,” Laurent says. “I just won’t wear the cape.”
“But-”
“You’re not wearing one.”
“But-”
“It’ll be fine,” Laurent stands on his tiptoes and presses a chaste kiss to the edge of Damen’s lips. “Come on.”
*
Damen is not happy about this; Laurent had said it would be fine, but it most evidently won’t be. He can see everyone staring at Laurent’s legs. The chiton is much too short, and though in a different way, it’s more revealing than Laurent’s skin tight Veretian pants.
After he catches Nikandros staring - Nikandros, who would still most likely prefer to die before bedding Laurent - he begins walking behind Laurent and glaring at anyone who dares to look their way.
“Husband, you look like a guard dog,” Laurent remarks, after a soldier practically runs away after Damen’s glare. “It’s fine. Will you just let it go and walk with me?”
“But they’re staring!” Damen says. Laurent reaches back and grabs his hand, and Damen begins walking beside him reluctantly.
“So?” Laurent asks. “They can’t do anything.”
“That’s not the point,” Damen grumbles.
Laurent laughs at him. “Then what is the point, Damen?”
“That your legs are a godsend and he only wants them for himself.” They both look over to see Lazar leaning against the wall. “His words, not mine.”
Laurent raises an eyebrow at Damen.
“Makedon forced me to drink Griva!” Damen defends.
“He did,” Lazar agrees, snickering. “And Damen gave us all a very long speech about your legs.”
“Lazar,” Damen says threateningly. “Be quiet.”
“And how they look wrapped around him.”
“Lazar.”
“And how when-”
“I will fight you,” Damen snaps, cheeks heating.
Laurent laughs again, pressing a kiss to Damen’s arm. “Did you, now?”
“I was drunk,” Damen repeats. “And it will never happen again, I swear it.”
Laurent hums. “I don’t know. I like you calling my legs a godsend.”
Damen says vehemently, “They are.”
Laurent smiles and presses another chaste kiss to his lips. “Don’t worry. They’re only for you to touch. And I’ll let you, later tonight.”
And then one more kiss, and Damen blinks, a little dazed. “Good, yeah, that’s - good.”
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