[Earlier in the night there is no doubt a joke about the recovery period of young men would have followed that statement, but it's not a joke that comes to Regis' lips now. Instead, it's a desperately relieved sigh caused by the rest of his control finally slipping away. So many of his early memories are of his father drilling into his head how important always keeping control was. Even when he hit his teens and began rebelling in his own way, the control was never far away, a shadow constantly lingering over him waiting to assert itself again.
Perhaps that is why the fire leaps so high in that moment, shattering away any of the shadow that dares remain. There will be soot to clean from the mantle and grate tomorrow, but nothing flammable the flames lick at actually catches. The same holds true for the thin decorative candles that are scattered throughout the room. They burst into flame so hot most snap at the middle, wax and ash all that is left by the time they hit the carpet.
Regis doesn't acknowledge the flame around them, groaning lowly into Nyx's mouth even as he brings the hand he's using to stroke them upward with more pressure than before, ending with a sharp twist and then pulling away. If what's left of his shirt wasn't ruined before, the fact he drags his fingers over it to dry them before he takes a firm grip on Nyx's hip, seals its fate. Regis' other hand meets the Glaive's backward motion once more before he pulls away, repeating the actions he just finished with his previous hand so his grip doesn't slip when he adjusts their position.
The whole time, Regis' lips don't move far from Nyx's, the words whispered against them no order, but a soft needy plea.]
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Perhaps that is why the fire leaps so high in that moment, shattering away any of the shadow that dares remain. There will be soot to clean from the mantle and grate tomorrow, but nothing flammable the flames lick at actually catches. The same holds true for the thin decorative candles that are scattered throughout the room. They burst into flame so hot most snap at the middle, wax and ash all that is left by the time they hit the carpet.
Regis doesn't acknowledge the flame around them, groaning lowly into Nyx's mouth even as he brings the hand he's using to stroke them upward with more pressure than before, ending with a sharp twist and then pulling away. If what's left of his shirt wasn't ruined before, the fact he drags his fingers over it to dry them before he takes a firm grip on Nyx's hip, seals its fate. Regis' other hand meets the Glaive's backward motion once more before he pulls away, repeating the actions he just finished with his previous hand so his grip doesn't slip when he adjusts their position.
The whole time, Regis' lips don't move far from Nyx's, the words whispered against them no order, but a soft needy plea.]
Do not deny me.