[In those moments while Regis is waiting for his answer, he realizes that he may have been very wrong about some of the things he's considered unchangeable truths. At this rate, it's not going to be the Crystal or even the Empire that's the death of him, but Nyx Fucking Ulric instead. That shift from heat and bite to gentle warmth sets his body aflame at every point where their skin comes into contact. His blood and the magic within sing, telling him he should just forget he asked the question, that he needs to take this one last precaution, and Regis has to scramble to gather what few shards of his control remain in order to deny the request.

Those shards of control are scattered once more when Nyx finally gives his answer, the sharp short words driving a groan from his lips. Regis barely has the presence of mind to release the hold he has on the Glaive's cock before the shudder hits him. When he settles his hand again, this time against Nyx's hip, it's still shaking. His eyes are hazy when he turns them toward Nyx, his voice is soft, though, steady when he speaks.

It's not much, but Regis is going to take a little bit of pride in that.]

As you wish. If it is any comfort, sir has now retired for the evening.

[His fingers press harder into Nyx's hip as much to steady the remaining tremors in them as to feel skin and muscle under them.]

Third drawer down in the dresser. There's a box that will have all we need. Just ignore the fact the tag on the top says it's from my son.