[That first cry is met with an immediate easing of pressure, pale gaze flicking up to gauge the response, make sure it's as positive as Regis implied. Breathless approval is enough to almost make him let go, a grin tugging awkwardly at his lips and a sharp huff of breath escaping through his nose. The satisfaction of pulling responses, honest genuine reactions from a man he is only too aware keeps himself shuttered away.
There's an exhilaration in that he hadn't quite expected. It leaves him wanting more, so much more, greedy and needy and then Regis arches beneath his hand and he bares his teeth, growling around the grip on the King's wrist.
Gods above, just watching him come apart may well be enough to drive Nyx to the edge.
But Regis pulls at his hair and something hot and fierce flashes in that silvered gaze and he bites down harder, grinding teeth against delicate bones and fine tendons. He wants it. Of course he wants more, that's all he wants. But he doesn't want to be told. First a challenge and then an order and he fights it even if it is what he wants.
Contradictory, certainly, but Regis had thought it himself a moment before. Untamed was precisely what all Galahdians were but Nyx most of all. He finally releases the hold on Regis wrist and shoves himself to his feet, swift and abrupt, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair and leaning over the older man.]
That's hardly polite... sir.
[There's no respect in the honorific this time, just an answering challenge as he leans over the king, waiting to see what he'll do, how he'll respond, if he'll move closer, seeking his lips or sit back with all the regal presence he can muster.
Nyx truly hopes it is the former but whether he's stepping away from a man seeking a kiss or one appraising him he does, indeed step away. One easy movement, reaching down to snatch up his glass, the swift chill of his touch an audible crackling as he downs the glass in one smooth drink. And then he tips his head to the side, a smirk, another challenge, his hand dropping down to start lifting his shirt.
One brow goes up, an offer if his King is willing to ask nicely.]
Didn't anyone ever tell you to say please?
[And there might be a tiny hint of a bite in it, a mockery of insults about uncivilized Galahdians now turned back around on the most proper and dignified of Lucians. Unfair, perhaps, but it was a bit of a thrill all the same, demanding the King himself ask for more.]
no subject
There's an exhilaration in that he hadn't quite expected. It leaves him wanting more, so much more, greedy and needy and then Regis arches beneath his hand and he bares his teeth, growling around the grip on the King's wrist.
Gods above, just watching him come apart may well be enough to drive Nyx to the edge.
But Regis pulls at his hair and something hot and fierce flashes in that silvered gaze and he bites down harder, grinding teeth against delicate bones and fine tendons. He wants it. Of course he wants more, that's all he wants. But he doesn't want to be told. First a challenge and then an order and he fights it even if it is what he wants.
Contradictory, certainly, but Regis had thought it himself a moment before. Untamed was precisely what all Galahdians were but Nyx most of all. He finally releases the hold on Regis wrist and shoves himself to his feet, swift and abrupt, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair and leaning over the older man.]
That's hardly polite... sir.
[There's no respect in the honorific this time, just an answering challenge as he leans over the king, waiting to see what he'll do, how he'll respond, if he'll move closer, seeking his lips or sit back with all the regal presence he can muster.
Nyx truly hopes it is the former but whether he's stepping away from a man seeking a kiss or one appraising him he does, indeed step away. One easy movement, reaching down to snatch up his glass, the swift chill of his touch an audible crackling as he downs the glass in one smooth drink. And then he tips his head to the side, a smirk, another challenge, his hand dropping down to start lifting his shirt.
One brow goes up, an offer if his King is willing to ask nicely.]
Didn't anyone ever tell you to say please?
[And there might be a tiny hint of a bite in it, a mockery of insults about uncivilized Galahdians now turned back around on the most proper and dignified of Lucians. Unfair, perhaps, but it was a bit of a thrill all the same, demanding the King himself ask for more.]