[There's something awe-inspiring about the sheer amount of passion there is in Nyx's reaction. Regis isn't sure what specifically makes him think that. Perhaps, it's the bend of the Glaive's neck as he throws his head back. Maybe it's the way his braids slide along his skin, one defying the others to settle into the space between his neck and shoulder. For just a moment, Regis finds himself fighting the urge to lean forward and take that errant braid into his mouth to see the kind of reaction pulling it might cause.

Of course, stopping to think about it is his mistake for Nyx has already begun to recover, redirecting the very literal sparks flying between them into something more purposeful. It's not just the use of magic that draws the low moan from Regis' lips, though; it's that focus, that control, coming so closely on the heels of that moment of unrestrained wildness. There's a beauty to it...and hasn't he used that word a lot tonight to describe this man? There are others, but something about using those words seems wrong to Regis. One implies being tamed, another conformation, and another timidity.

Nyx Ulric is none of those things.]

You're so beautiful. If I knew which deity was responsible for your making, I would shower them in praise.

[Despite the breathless, pretty words, Regis hasn't allowed the hand working between them to still, fingers quickening at times, slowing at others, never quite settling into a steady pattern.]

Will do you that again for me, wild one?