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“What are you doing?” Chanyeol asked angrily. He gripped his arm and pulled him into an alcove, locking the wooden door behind him.
“What do you mean,” Baekhyun said, shocked at Chanyeol’s glare. He had never seen Chanyeol like this, the proud, regal prince from the neighbouring country, who had always been on his best behavior. “It’s my palace. I think I can walk around whenever I pleas—”
“It’s not that,” Chanyeol interrupted, running a hand through his carefully styled hair. Baekhyun watched as his neat hair became undone, somehow making him look even better. He blushed and looked down at his shoes, trying not to look affected by his fiancé in the middle of the day. “Are you even listening to me?” Chanyeol barked, eyes narrowed.
“I am,” Baekhyun replied sulkily, slouching against the wall. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” Chanyeol loomed over him, a dark and angry presence.
“You did!” Chanyeol yelled, balling his hands into fists. Baekhyun watched, slightly worried, as Chanyeol stepped back from him, pacing in the small space of the alcove, muttering to himself as he fisted his own hair.
“You did!” Chanyeol repeated. He looked straight at Baekhyun. “Look at you! What are you wearing?”
Baekhyun frowned and looked down. “What do you mean? It’s a nice shirt!” he said, affronted.
“It is,” Chanyeol said loudly. “It’s just,” he glared at Baekhyun’s shirt as if he wanted to set it on fire. Baekhyun scowled. He didn’t need this stupid prince to tell him what he should wear, fiancé or not. “It’s just… you’re showing yourself to everyone!” he yelled, louder than Baekhyun had ever heard.
“What?” Chanyeol’s red ears nearly made him giggle, but Baekhyun frowned harder, confused.
“Look at you,” Chanyeol said softer, hands coming up to cup Baekhyun’s face. Baekhyun flushed under his gaze, feeling too naked. “You don’t even know what you’re doing.” His hands slid down, past his neck, and past Baekhyun’s shoulders. “Look at you, trying to seduce everyone in this palace. They were all looking at you,” His fingers pressed down onto Baekhyun’s shirt, on his chest, and Baekhyun gasped, shaking his head. “These are mine, Baekhyun,” Chanyeol said, voice like silk, tightening around Baekhyun’s chest. Baekhyun whimpered as his thumbs pressed on both of his nipples, the thin shirt baring his dusky pink nubs to Chanyeol’s gaze.
“These are mine, don’t you remember?” Chanyeol asked, flicking both of them at the same time. “They are for my eyes only, my little prince. Why are you showing them to everybody?”
“I didn’t,” Baekhyun whispered, his eyes searching Chanyeol’s face desperately. “Chanyeol, I didn’t.”
“You didn’t?” Chanyeol asked, pressing Baekhyun closer to the cool wall. “Then why were you wearing this shirt, my love? They’re calling for me, look.” Baekhyun mewled when Chanyeol flicked his erect nipples again, the filthy sight of the pink nubs straining against the thin shirt making him blush.
“Were you waiting for someone else to do this to you? You naughty prince,” Chanyeol whispered in his ear, his jaw on Baekhyun’s cheek. “Should I take care of them now, your highness? Before my little fiancé forgets to whom his nipples belong to?”
Baekhyun was trembling under Chanyeol’s touch, every word in his ear shooting straight down his spine. Underneath the thin material of his shirt, he was all heat and nerve endings, crafted by Chanyeol’s skillful hands in his own chamber every night, destroyed by his hands now, in the cool air of the alcove.
“Please,” he hiccupped, nipples aching, his cock aching, his skin aching for chanyeol’s touch. “Please, Chanyeol.”
“As you wish, my love,” Chanyeol said, and then his fingers were playing with Baekhyun’s nipples, flicking and pressing. Baekhyun shuddered as Chanyeol pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck, his collarbones, and then his mouth, hot and wet, on his right nipple.
“Are we going to remember, then,” Chanyeol asked, tracing the nipple with his tongue, kissing it through the shirt. “Are we going to remember that this belongs to me?”
Baekhyun keened, too lost in the fire of Chanyeol’s touch to reply. Chanyeol’s hand came up to thumb at his wet cheeks. “Answer me, my love.” Chanyeol’s voice was tender and was made to destroy, to ruin Baekhyun until he is nothing, until he is nothing but fire.
“Yes, yes,” Baekhyun cried out, gasping when Chanyeol bit on it.
“And this?” Chanyeol asked, fingers tweaking his left nipple until it peaked, rosy and red.
“Yes, Chanyeol,” Baekhyun sobbed, eyes fluttering shut. “Please.”
Chanyeol didn’t reply, but he lapped at the right nipple gently, and then: “come for me, Baekhyun.” Baekhyun shattered as Chanyeol twisted his left nipple, his cry dying in his throat, reduced to nothing but Chanyeol, Chanyeol, Chanyeol.
When he opened his eyes, he was sitting against the wall and there was a wet patch on his favourite trousers. Chanyeol hovered above him, eyes dark and deep. Baekhyun hiccupped when Chanyeol placed his robe on his shoulders, fingers trailing down his chest.
“See you for lunch, my love,” Chanyeol whispered, placing a warm palm on his cheek. Then he unlocked the alcove, walking out into the hallway.
Baekhyun pulled himself to his shaky feet and sprinted back to his chambers, hoping nobody saw him along the way. He never wore the shirt out in public again, but he gave it an honorary place among his nightwear.